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Soul “The Last Deathscythe” Eater was known for many things. The spooky appearance of crimson eyes and snowy hair, the slouch that only someone as cool as himself could truly pull off, the dedication to a runt of a meister with an attitude that landed somewhere between determination and a death wish. This and more made up his carefully curated reputation. Paying attention in class? He’ll leave that to the nerds, thanks.
That said, when Stein’s droning ceased and Soul’s lazy eyes focused enough to realize that the weapons-only class surrounding him was snickering - in his direction, no less - he wished just the teensiest bit that he had a semblance of context.
“Well?” The drag of a cigarette that had to be breaking several laws punctuated Stein’s raised brow.
Soul scowled, brain furiously wracking through any memories of the previous 40 minutes. The history and theory behind weapon genetics was about as fascinating as Black*Star’s hygiene, which is to say, Soul couldn’t really give less of a shit and couldn’t remember a goddamn thing. His eyes hopelessly roved the chalkboard covered in squares, doodles, and cramped handwriting he couldn’t make out. I’m going to fail this class and Maka is going to implant a genetics book in my skull. Do I need glasses?
Stein asked again, as if speaking to an infant, “Do you know anyone with scythe genes? Besides yourself, of course.” Soul’s eyes shifted to Tusbaki besides him, who was biting her lip to contain any further giggles. All this, over a stupid question?
“Uh…. Well, there’s old man Death Scythe.” He ventured warily, feeling rather like he was on a dissection table under the grey-eyed glint of his professor. There’s no way someone issued this man a medical license.
“Yes… and?” Came the bland prompt. “Anyone related to him, perhaps?”
He squinted down and shifted in his chair, feeling more and more uncomfortable. Sensing the weight of his classmates’ eyes still on him, he cleared his throat. “But… Maka is a meister, not a weapon.”
“While that may be so-” Stein puffed a small stream of smoke and pointed his cigarette at the young weapon. “-weapon genes are recessive and it’s incredible how many generations can be skipped before it presents. Especially given the multitude of weapon types, and how they interact with eachother.” The soggy end of the cigarette returned to his mouth as he sat down backwards on his chair, idly rolling himself with his foot. “Maka certainly carries the scythe gene." A wicked smirk carved his face. "It may not be present on her, but with you both carrying the scythe gene, what are the odds your child would be a scythe?”
“My-?!” The class erupted into unfettered snickering once again as Soul’s horrified brain skipped a broken record over Stein’s words again and again. Your child, Maka’s child, yours and Maka’s child, your little scythe child with your meister Maka?! That Maka? YES that Maka, and her child with your, the child you and Maka-
Tsubaki cleared her throat and took one for the team, raising her hand and murmuring through her barely contained smile, “A 25% chance, Professor?”
Soul barely registered the affirmative response through his ears ringing and the flush crawling down his neck. His strangled noise of confusion prompted another knowing glance from his probably evil professor, who mercifully rolled his chair back towards his board.
“Looks like at least someone seems to be paying attention. Yes, Tsubaki is correct. A child of Maka and Soul’s would have about a 25% chance of becoming a scythe of considerable power. A meister gene is much harder to tell, but given Maka’s spiritual power and the strength of the team’s soul resonance, the likelihood is high.” He scrawled along an open square, presumably to prove his statement, but Soul could hardly see it. Why were they discussing this?! This was extremely inappropriate! What the hell! He was going to tell Kid before rumors got out of hand and old man Death Scythe broke into and set fire to his bedroom. His eyes darted to the door, where the window revealed a mercifully empty hallway. His heavy exhale may or may not have held a prayer of thanks.
“It’s important to understand the chances you could have when coupling with another weapon or meister. Some genes are going to be more powerful than others, but-” Soul couldn’t listen to anything else, and his short circuiting brain had officially gone offline. A child that was his and Maka’s! And it could be a scythe? COUPLING? Oh my god it could be a scythe. Would it be red like him or grey? Would it have sandy hair? Would it have green ey- WOAH there cowboy. Cool guys do NOT go thinking about their nonexistent future kids with their strictly platonic meister no matter how badass and beautiful she might be.
When the bell rang, Soul was out of his seat and flying down the hall before any further snickering could catch up to him. Screw this, he was skipping the next weapons-only classes until he graduated.
—
If Maka noticed that his head was more in the clouds than usual, it didn’t seem to phase her. How was it that his every waking moment of the last three weeks had shifted dramatically, and she didn’t even care?! While he usually appreciated that she had learned to give him space, he was maybe sorta kinda absolutely spiraling.
He slouched into their sofa moodily, hooded eyes locked on a spot on the ceiling and hands clasped on his chest. He had no idea what a baby would even need. Diapers, probably. Like a billion clothes. A baby backpack so I could bring it around without getting tired. Band-aids? He recalled the amount of times he’d accidentally sliced Wes and grimaced. Lots of Band-aids.
His eyes slipped unbidden to the blonde who was walking back and forth for her Sunday tidying ritual. She hummed to herself as she swept the smallest amount of dust they acquired into a tidy pile. I bet she was the perfect kid. Probably adorable. Probably a little angel. She swept everything into the pan and dumped it into the trash, smiling with satisfaction as she clapped the dust from her hands. Not like me.
His eyes returned to the ceiling. There was no way she even wanted kids, given her family situation, right? The little chubby face of an imaginary white-tufted child with green eyes melted from his mind with a pang. His hand rubbed across the puckered skin of his scar through his shirt, and a frown etched into his features. Soul had never really given any thought to kids before, and the thought of his own had been laughable. Now that it had been brought to his attention, it seemed to be all that he could focus on. And a kid with Maka? I’ll-kick-you-into-next-week Maka? The Maka that got raw fish just so she could complain she didn’t want it when he was shy and didn’t want to go inside? The only human being in the whole world he would share a home with, and felt comfortable with, and that he would die for without question, without hesitation? The Maka who heard the twisted melodies of his soul and held his hand anyway?
His balance was thrown as Maka scooped up his feet, sat down on the couch, and dropped them back on her lap. The warmth of one hand stayed on his ankles, while the other reached for the remote.
“Done! Doesn’t the apartment feel so much better?” The handkerchief holding back her hair was crooked and she smelled a bit like sweat mixed with lemon cleaner, but Soul’s heart clenched in his chest. No way, right?
She didn’t wait for a reply as she scrolled aimlessly, flipping to Soul’s favorite cooking channel as she settled deeper into the couch. Her hands both found their place rubbing sweetly and soothingly on his ankles. Some nights had him rubbing her shoulders to work out the ache of swinging a weapon nearly twice her size, some nights had them patching up blood and cleaning wounds as they hissed, checking the other to ensure they were still alive. Times like these, with the sunlight streaming through the window and the quiet settling into his bones were fewer, but they were some of Soul’s favorites.
Even when things were peaceful, she still wanted to touch him.
After a while of her thumb pad rubbing circles over his ankle bones, the weight of his thoughts simply couldn’t be contained to only him. He had to know. He let out a small cough, signalling a question, and she looked at him curiously. When his eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, ears slowly turning red, she pinched his calf.
“What?” She sniped, too content to do more than pretend to be annoyed. With a smarting calf and the image of an older Maka holding a red-eyed toddler on her hip, he grumbled out a quick and unintelligible,
“Doyouevenwantkidsorwhatever?”
“Do I… Want kids?” She repeated, eyes turning thoughtful. “I mean… I think that could be nice. Someday, I mean! Not- now?” She alternated between looking at him and glancing back at the forgotten television, a note of shyness creeping into her voice. “...I like kids.”
His heartbeat quickened, and he hoped that she couldn’t feel it through the pulse in his ankles. “Even-” His throat cleared again, and he dreaded and anticipated response. His question slipped out as a whisper. “Even if it was a Scythe? I uh- a Weapon, I mean?” He dared to dart his eyes down to meet hers, and the careful look she was giving him did nothing to ease the tightness in his throat.
She chewed the question over for a few moments, where he was certain his heart would completely abandon his chest.
“I- Of course I’d love my kid if it was a weapon.” Tenderness saturated her words, and for a moment Soul saw her resemblance to her father. “My kid would be perfect, weapon or not.” The relief warmed his bones like a cozy blanket, and the knot deep in his chest slowly started to loosen. The breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding whooshed out. Her cheeks tinted and she enunciated carefully, eyes fixed on his ankles, “I think I would really like a scythe child.”
“Oh. Thats- cool.” He said lamely, feeling ridiculous at the relief he felt and the smile he felt threatening his lips. He could fly. He could play piano for her and bathe her in a black dress of his soul, he would fight demons and madness and-
“You?” She asked with careful nonchalance, and suddenly the palms on his ankles felt like a furnace. “Do you.. Ah, want a weapon kid? Or… something?”
He saw himself curled around Maka, cradling her close and tender. He could practically feel her lips on his as he fully considered a future that had previously been so unlikely, so unreasonable, that it could never even be thought about. He imagined bringing her tea as she read comfortably in his clothes, imagined delivering a warm kiss to her temple. He imagined carrying her to bed where he could keep her safe safe safe. Where he could wrap his soul around her and feel a small, delicate combination of the both of them take root at the center of her being. The image of Maka blowing raspberries on the tummy of a little albino with a scythe arm had his heart sprinting for the Olympics. He pictured the three of them making dinner, training together, napping in the afternoon desert shade… He felt almost delirious, and he was almost positive his eyes were misty.
“I.. Yeah, Maka. I think I really want that.”