Here goes. This'll take a while. Thank you Caitlin, or 221stepstobakerstreet on tumblr dot com, for beta-ing this despite that fact she does not read/watch Soul Eater. She is hilarious.

Obviously, I do not own Soul Eater, but even if I did, I'd probably write dumb secretly not fanfiction for it anyway, so I may be lying.

I'll add the art links when they arrive on the Masterpost thread, and I recommend checking out 'In the House of Molly White' because I adored it, and like, I was not expecting the ending. (Also I illustrated it, but I still have to scan that big ass picture somehow.)

Here's to Resbang 2013!


1. Playing Cards and Youtube

Some called it fate, and some called it luck. Some called it a heap of lies cleverly engineered to give them an interesting backstory, but Soul and Maka called it a hell of a coincidence and more than a little creeping on both their parts.

There'd always be a lot of arguing at the start of the story but eventually they'd fall into step with each other and be laughing and blushing and smiling and finishing each others' sentences without too much interruption.


"I couldn't believe it when our agent told us someone wanted to do a documentary on our story. I didn't think it was all that exciting."

"Are you kidding, it involves Black*Star, how could it not be exciting?"

"So, how did you two first meet?"

"I thought everyone knew that story."

"Well, let's be on the safe side and tell it anyway."


Between the two of them, they'd agreed the initial encounter was probably a Tuesday, but may have also been a Wednesday. Sometime in early October(according to Maka), or maybe late September(in Soul's opinion). They'd been walking, both shuffling cards, flipping them quickly in their hands and counting them as they moved from hand to hand through the air. Passers-by who didn't bother to help glanced at the explosion of playing cards before rolling their eyes and moving on.

The cards fluttered to the ground like confetti, both of them far too startled to do anything but stare at each other through the cards falling through the air. It wasn't until the cards settled on the ground that either of them reacted properly.

Maka had glared at him like it wasn't both their faults and -Soul always mentioned this part of the story- didn't bother with the usual double take at his quite frankly fucked up pigmentation. She just sat down cross leggedly on the ground and started flipping cards into separate piles almost faster than Soul's eyes could follow, thoroughly annoyed that her count had been messed up. It took her a second, her thought process lagging behind the task at hand, to realise there were two decks despite the fact she was sorting them into two stacks.

Soul joined her on the pavement, moving cards into the decks she'd already started and trying to avoid the all too clear view down her top.

She was more than likely already mad enough at him.

"I'm Soul." He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry about this, I just wasn't paying attention."

"Maka." She was curt. Probably wanted him to shut up and leave her alone with her card counting and cheap tricks. He wasn't curious enough to be an asshole in her eyes. "It wasn't entirely your fault. Just about eighty percent,"

"Thanks-hey!" She smiled at him, genuinely.

"An argument could be made for seventy." Did she know she was kind of quoting the Avengers, or was she just like that?

"There's only three types of people who shuffle cards like that in the street, so tell me, are you a gambler, a con artist, or a magician?" He took his deck and started counting the cards; she did the same with the other deck.

"Aren't they all the same thing?" She flashed him a practiced smirk, the kind he knew she used on her audience. He noted with surprise for the first time that his cards were green backed and hers were red. He offered her the green, his deck.

"Those aren't mine."

"But the red matches my eyes so much better." She took the green deck, but handed him back his phone number, the one he'd slipped carefully in between the cards. The one she wasn't supposed to find until later when hopefully she might remember him as more attractive than he looks right now, with his hair deflated and pushed back out of his eyes with a thin black hair band because he was getting it cut and the barber would kill him if he had gel in it.

"Thank you, Soul 'Eater' Evans. You can keep this though."

She got up and walked away, leaving him dumbfounded she'd seen that and more than a little disappointed for a minute before he realized that this was most certainly not his messy handwriting or his digits. He'd fist pumped the air in the middle of the street before; worried she might glance back at him, nodding and carrying on his path, flipping her cards in his hand.

They both Googled each other that night, over curious and both rationalizing it to be 'too soon to call'. Maka had immediately more success that Soul, as magicians and people in general that go by the name of Soul 'Eater' Evans are pretty thin on the ground. He was already pretty well known, with a steady enough stream of gigs and the all important Evans family trust fund ensuring he, unlike her, didn't need to work a day job. He looked damn handsome in his stage getup, having garnered more success than Maka, who was still a street performer with a small cult following that had a tendency to creep the crap out of her.

He'd broken almost all ties with his family(apart from the famous family trust fund, she suspected), the musically prestigious Evans family of New England. He'd been classically trained in piano, but she couldn't find any clips of him playing, though she couldn't avoid clips of his elder brother Wes Evans, violinist extraordinaire. She guessed he was good, but in a sort of generic kind of way. Music had never been her strong suit and the music she liked, tended to be the music that her roommate liked- dancey type techno music.

Blair, Maka's roommate and professional porn model, arrived home late. She was trying to leave the porn scene with mixed results that were turning out to be mostly 'I didn't get the part of the person in the thing that doesn't have anything to with porn but I do have a shoot in the next few days that has got to do with porn'. Blair liked being sexy and it showed. She kissed the top of Maka's head as she passed. Blair was openly affectionate, and while it had bothered Maka two years ago when Blair'd been the only person to answer her ad on CraigsList, she'd gotten used to the woman's strange habits and the smell of burnt fish on an all too regular basis.

Something in the vicinity of Blair mewed. Maka's head shot up to see Blair stiffen, then try to quickly regain her composure and keep heading to the fridge.

"Blair." Blair pretended not to hear, and talked loudly over another mewing noise while she rummaged in the fridge for-Maka suspected- milk. Maka stood. "Blair. Your purse is meowing."

"You're hearing things, Maka. I think you need to get your ears checked." Maka could see the flush on her roommate's ears-she was wearing enough makeup to cover the red in her cheeks. "Anyway, purses don't-"

"Meow," said Blair's purse. Her blush heightened to the levels that Maka could see a pink flush through her make-up.

"Blair, do you have a kitten in your purse?" Maka asked, crossing her arms and tapping her foot.

"I don't not– maybe- possibly, there is a slim chance a kitten just sneaked into there I mean I don't really know whether-"

"Blair."

"Oh Maka please don't be mad she just looked to sad and lonely in the rain-" It hadn't rained all week "-I couldn't just leave her there, Maka, she needs me and I promise I'll take care of her and I'll house train her and everything and I won't let her into your room and she's really sweet and you'll just love her Maka-!"

"Stop a minute Blair, and slow down. Take the kitten out of your purse before she pees in there or something." Blair bundled the little ball of black fur into Maka's arms. "Blair this isn't what I meant- hello sweetie! Aren't you just the cutest thing!"

Blair smiled. She was much cleverer than she was given credit for. Maka looked up from cooing at the kitten.

"Okay, you can keep the kitten if the landlord says it's okay." Maka started talking to the kitten again. "What's your name, precious?"

"Oh! Maka that's perfect! Hello Precious!"

"Blair we aren't calling this kitty 'Precious'. Name her something sensible, like Emma!"

"But Maka that's so boring." Blair whined. "You can't name her that!"

A short and strange and wonderful piano solo is drowned out as they continue to argue over the name of the newest resident of apartment 12C.


"We both partook in some minor cyberstalking that night."

"I wouldn't call it cyberstalking... it was more like research."

"It was creeping."


Soul spent the night on Youtube, watching her do card tricks mostly, insanely clever ones he's never seen before, on street corners filmed with poor quality camera phones. He texts Black*Star, real name Brian, who's still on the street performance circuit with his 'assistant' Tsuabki. She was just as capable a performer as Black*Star, but too shy to really showcase her talents. Tsubaki was happy to take a back seat to Black*Star, which was strange for a sword swallower.

They might have crossed paths with Maka. Street performers had some kind of extremely exclusive circle that he'd never been privy too. His familial connections had made certain he'd skipped a few steps he was sure he'd regret in later life.

Black*Star -who couldn't type anything unless it was capitalized- replied with 'SHE GOT GREEN EYES AND BLONDE HAIR YEAH? WE USED TO GO THE SAME ELEMENTARY SCHOOL. I THINK SHE'S TSUBAKI'S FRIEND. SHE'S A TOTAL BOOKWORM.'

Soul stared at his phone until it flashed with a secondary, confirmative message. The response, however, was a little different than expected.

'YEAH TSU KNOWS HER FROM AROUND. SHE GOT SOME SERIOUS ISSUES THOUGH. WON'T ASSIST FOR NO ONE. NOT EVEN ME! YOU'VE MET HER DAD, THOUGH.'

Won't assist. Pretty girl who wouldn't assist, not even to try make a start in the industry.

Soul's met a lot of people in his life as a potential trophy son, and his life as a juvenile delinquent, and his life as an up-and-coming magician. He couldn't think of anyone immediately, so he checked the card. Just her first name and her number.

Soul sighed and replied, asking who her Dad was.

'WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T REMEMBER? HE'S YOUR FUCKING HERO SOUL. THAT SPIRIT ALBARN GUY. NOWHERE NEAR AS GOOD AS ME, BUT THEN, WHO IS?'

He had met Spirit Albarn once, a long time ago, and acted like a complete idiot and geeked out. The man was his childhood hero and magician idol. He was the one who gotten him into magic and Soul had his daughter's number.

This was the best fucking day ever. He dug out his copy of Spirit Albarn's autobiography and flicked to the glossy section in the middle with the full colour photographs. There she was, about five years of age captioned, 'Spirit and Family'. And again, 'Daughter Assisting' with a smiling twelve year old Maka Albarn.

He'd needed a new assistant, ever since Kim left to assist Ox Ford, for higher wages and more grovelling.