My name is Scales, this is supposedly my fandom blog. My fandoms are mainly Soul Eater, with little bits of a:tla, fma, star wars, dbz, and lots of other anime trash. (my personal blog is http://scalesfromadragon.tumblr.com/)
Hi yes hello it’s been like 10 years since I’ve written any fanfic but may I present this humble offering because I felt like writing a little bar AU for my OG ship. Don’t know if the characterization is any good but it was a late night crash out fueled something or other. Enjoy!
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Maka woke up with a sated grin on her face. The pillows were soft, but her memories of soft hands gliding along her skin felt better. Her memories of lips pressed against her neck, or of lips softly but passionately working together with her own. Teeth nipping at her neck and breasts. Her memories were clear and vivid. A large part of her wanted to relive them; repeat that whole night over. As much as she hated to admit it, Liz was right. She did need something to release stress. And by god, she got a release. Or five.
She looked over and there he was. Unkempt white hair all over his eyes, a little trail of drool going down his chin. Gross. He was still asleep. Not surprising, she naturally woke up early and he didn’t seem the type to be awake at a reasonable time of day.
Maybe a good thing he was still asleep. Random hookups were not in her usual itinerary of a night out. Not that she had a usual anything when it came to going out. Liz would drag her out once in a blue moon and she would get a drink and sip on that same one until the ice melted because she hated the idea of being drunk in a building full of predatory males. By the time she had finished the first drink, Liz would be almost the point of tipsy that is unnoticeable to the untrained eye and then she would leave with her preferred man of the night and then Maka would pay for her one drink, tip generously, and then leave. Last night started out no different than usual. Except what switched up the “routine” was her bartender telling her her tab had already been paid for and being asked to sit for a drink with him as a tip.
Her usual bartender, Soul, who was always very nice to her in a sarcastic, no-fucks-given, I’ll-kill-any-man-who’s-creepy-to-you kind of way. He had actually given many a man the stink eye when he could see they had been making Maka uncomfortable when they had decided their rightful place was sat next to her at the bar. He only had to intervene once when this one man would not take the hint and walk away. That man was met with a snarl and a threat of getting kicked out of the bar before he walked off grumbling about how “male bartenders always want all the pussy to themselves.” Maka never felt like Soul had those intentions. Even when he asked for a drink with her, it felt very friendly.
“I’m clocking out and have been looking forward to this shifty all day and if I have someone to talk to, then all the regulars won’t come hounding me to take shots with them. Really I’m just trying to not talk to the undesirables and also not trying to get obliterated.”
She agreed with very little hesitation which already was out of character for her. She usually took the time to weigh her options but he was a very respectful guy and a great bartender. She didn’t mind staying for another drink.
Maka is snapped out of her memories by the sound of rustling beside her. He rolls over facing her and she’s terrified that he’s going to wake up or worse, put his arm across her body thus trapping her in this bed. She should probably get up if she wants to make a stealthy escape. He lays there, bare chest rising and falling with peaceful breaths, occasionally catching. He should go to a sleep clinic and get that looked at.
He doesn’t look near as grumpy as he does when he’s behind the bar. At work he always looks two “make it strong for me bud?”s away from jumping across the bar and strangling someone. But then again, that pissed off, stressed out look seemed to melt away as soon as he sat down next to her at the bar. It was probably just the stress of the job causing his demeanor. Or maybe that was his “bartender persona.”
Maka always loved to peoplewatch whenever she was at a bar, patrons and staff alike but the bartenders were more fun to watch. The way they handled seemingly a million drink orders all at once and dealt with rude assholes and drunk idiots all night was a sight to behold. It was really fun having Soul sit with her and tell her about all the regulars and what they’re known for, what they drink, and hear just how much all the bartenders knew about the ins and outs of the lives of all these people even if they had no clue what their name was. The psychoanalysis of each person was really fascinating. A bartender can tell so much about a person just based on what they drink, what type of stories they tell, what type of people they talk to, and how they treat their bartenders.
“So what can you tell me about me based on all those factors?” The curiosity got the better of her.
“Oh, you don’t want to hear that. As you’ve seen, my summaries of people are a little too blunt and quite frankly, I just worked for the past 12 hours so I extra don’t have the capability of sugarcoating shit.” Soul sipped his drink with a heavy sigh as if reliving his entire shift in the split second of saying the words “12 hour shift”
“No I do. I mean, you’re making me nervous by saying that, but even if you’re spot on, you can’t tell me anything about myself that I don’t already know.”
“Okay, but I appropriately warned you and you doubled down and you were the one who asked.” He gestures to the bartender for a shot and asks if she wants one as well. Fuck it, she’s about to get analyzed by a virtual stranger, she might need something to take the edge off, so to speak. Plus she wasn’t drinking liquor that night so she could afford to have one without fear of getting too far gone.
The bartender walks off and Maka looks at him expectantly. “Okay, you always come in with your friend and she always almost immediately disappears on you so I can tell you are never the one to initiate going out for a drink and instead she probably drags you out because you’re probably always cooped up in the house reading a book and fully in bed by this time of night. You probably work a 9-5 because you always start yawning like clockwork at about 10pm even though you try to hide it.”
The shots arrive and Soul seems to take that as his cue to stop his assessment of her. “That wasn’t bad. I don’t know why you acted like it was going to be much worse.”
“Yeah, that’s because I didn’t go that deep. But was I right?”
“Pretty much hit the nail on the head.” He raises his shot glass to hers and they cheers the nicely layered yellow and red shooters. It goes down with ease when suddenly what he said hits her. “So there’s more to the analysis?”
“Hm?” He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and Maka could swear she catches a hint of a smirk underneath his arm before he surfaces with a neutral expression.
“You said you didn’t go that deep. That indicates there’s more that you think about me and I wanna know what it is.”
“Nah, that’s where I get in trouble and that ‘wasn’t bad’ analysis makes you all self-conscious and get mad at me for existing.”
“Does that happen to you often?”
“No, I can just tell that much about you.”
Maka smiles softly and decides to let the topic slip away. Maybe he was right, maybe she didn’t want to know how she came across to random people based on very minimal interactions. Especially because she really didn’t care what people thought of her so why would this bartender be any different?
Maka wakes up out of her haze yet again to more movement coming from the other side of the bed. This time he turns away from her and she actually commits to her speedy escape. She mentally maps out where her clothes were taken off the night before and weighs the risk of going to the bathroom giving him enough time to wake up. Worth it. Getting a UTI would just be a bitter reminder of poor decisions.
She gets up and walks to the bathroom to find her clothes having been picked up and even folded sitting on the bathroom counter. That was nice. When could he have even done that? They went to sleep at the same time right after all of the activities, didn’t they? Whatever the case is, this made the quick getaway easier.
Once she was fully clothed in her uncomfortable going out clothes that Liz had picked out for her she was ready to silently open the door and walk back to her car. Lucky that he lived within walking distance of the bar. She takes a deep breath and braves the bedroom again praying he’s still asleep. She doesn’t exactly know how to have a morning-after conversation. Is saying “this was a mistake” too mean? Would “I had a nice time” come across as patronizing? Maybe a “I don’t really do this and just need to get home” would suffice? Whatever words would be the best doesn’t matter as she sees eyes shut and she is able to sneak out the bedroom.
Is leaving without saying a word worse than any of those verbal options? Should she leave a note? Then she would, again, have to grapple with the best thing to say. It’s probably fine. Women in male dominated fields. Just leave without saying a word. Ghost mode. He’s a bartender that lives within walking distance of his job. This probably isn’t the first time he’s gone home with a girl and probably isn’t the first time he’s woken up alone. It’s probably fine.
That makes it sound cruel. Maybe she should leave a note? With what? It’s not like there’s a notepad laying around somewhere. Maybe the fridge?
Huh, there is. But what should she put in the note? Should she leave her number? Is it rude not to leave her number? Leaving her number gives him the option to reach out to her, turning this note into a full fledged conversation and the thought of that terrifies her. She barely knows what to say in a note let alone in response to a “what happened?” text. Ew. She had received enough “what happened to us?” texts to last her a lifetime. Men are pigs. Ghosting her and then asking what happened a couple months later. This is why she doesn’t date. And instances like this is why she never in a million years would’ve thought she would participate in a one night stand. Men are trash. Women in male dominated fields, no note, just run.
She puts the pen back down on the notepad stuck to the fridge and turns toward the door only to be scared shitless by the sight of Soul standing in the doorway of the bedroom, hands in the pockets of his plaid pajama pants. Nice of him to put some clothes on because the sight of a naked man at 7 in the morning would have sent her into a spiral.
“Man, I thought you were gonna write a novel with how long you were poised with that pen. I was looking forward to it.” He doesn’t seem upset and he doesn’t move from the doorway. Maybe he’ll let her make the speedy getaway after all?
“Sorry, I didn’t know you were awake, I was just—”
“About to leave without a word? Respect, I guess. Go on, you know where the door is.” He tosses his head in the direction of the door, still unmoved. Apparently the quick escape is very much on the table.
“You’re not gonna try and stop me?”
“Do you want me to? Because I’m kinda big on respecting boundaries and if you want to leave, who am I to ask you to stay?”
“Do you want me to stay?” Suddenly the running out the door idea seems rude and maybe she wants him to ask her to stay.
“I want to make some breakfast or go back to sleep. I would be more than happy to make you a plate if you wanted, but again, if you want to leave the door is right there. I can even go back to the bedroom if it would make for a more comfortable exit for you.” He takes a small step backwards, eyes still locked in with hers.
“No wait,” Maka speaks before she can formulate words to follow. “I just– I mean. Uh…”
“Let me start on some breakfast while you get your words straightened out.” He finally emerges from the bedroom and pulls a stool out from the counter for her to take a seat as he fires up the stove.
Maka watches as he rummages through the kitchen, still unable to formulate real words. His kitchen looks very well stocked, much better than any other man’s apartment she’s been in. He goes to work making a breakfast, each ingredient precise even though not a single thing is measured. Not that you need to measure anything for French toast, eggs, and bacon. But still, the way he prepares it all, not just throwing it together, with the care and pride he uses when mixing cocktails at the bar.
She remembers him explaining all the different cocktails and the ones he enjoys making even though if you ask him for anything with more than 2 ingredients he’ll look like he’d spit in your drink.
“Bartending is only 10% actually making drinks and when that other 90% is tolerable, the craft of making a good drink is what I live for. On a busy Saturday night? Order your shot and beer and get the fuck outta my face. But on a slow Tuesday evening? Oh man, I make a great old fashioned.”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever had one of those.”
“Oh, I think you would really like them. It’s only 3 ingredients but the complexity of the flavors? It tells a story. It takes you on a journey that only you and the bourbon can go on. The subtle fruit notes, the hint of sweetness that brings out the flavor of the alcohol burn, the smell of the barrel. Done properly, an old fashioned is an experience that even people who hate bourbon can appreciate.” The twinkle in his eye as he went on about the different flavor profiles of different bourbons made Maka hold onto every word. The passion this man displayed was more intoxicating than the liquor he spoke of.
Without realizing any time has passed, there’s a breakfast plate in front of Maka and she’s suddenly back in the kitchen as Soul leans back against the opposite counter with his own plate in his hand.
“Thank you.” is the only thing she can muster up to say.
“Welcome.” He says through a bite of french toast.
They share the meal in silence and still no words enter Maka’s head. She did want to leave, and still mostly does, but she doesn’t know how or what to say. Soul stays on the other side of his small kitchen, doesn’t try to force any conversation, doesn’t try to convince her to stay, doesn’t even try to close the distance between the two of them. He contentedly eats his breakfast in the quiet, the only sounds being the crunch of bacon or the click of silverware on the plates.
Maka finishes her plate and Soul grabs it to rinse it off and place it in the dishwasher before resuming his place against the opposite counter.
“So,” he starts. “Would you like a tshirt, or a flannel, or a hoodie or something to cover up? It is the Lord’s day after all, and you are dressed for a Saturday night.”
Suddenly hyper aware of how low cut her shirt is she lifts her arm to cover the very minimal cleavage her small chest will allow.
Soul chuckles as he walks to a closet beside the front door and pulls out a plain black zip up hoodie with just an Adidas logo on the chest and holds it out to her. “No need to cover up on my behalf. One, I’m not looking, I try to be respectful. And two, well uh,” he scratches the back of his neck and suddenly his confident air starts to deteriorate as he looks to the floor and shuffles his feet a little bit. Is he nervous? “Yeah. I just figured you would be more comfortable with something a little more conservative.”
She looks at the jacket in her hands and can’t fight the hint of a smile that creeps onto her lips. She puts it on with a barely audible “thank you” and suddenly she’s completely lost on the protocol on leaving. Not that she really knew it to begin with.
“Listen, Soul,” She hops off the stool so she at least is ready to start walking out the door. “I don’t usually do things like this.”
Soul lets out a laugh and the self-conscious feeling comes back to her and she finds herself holding her arms across her completely covered chest. “Sorry, it’s clear you don’t, especially considering you had all of breakfast to figure out what to say and that’s what you came up with.” Maka’s self-conscious feelings turn to irritation and he seems to notice the shift. “I’m sorry. I really am. I’m not used to this either. I don’t do this literally ever. But if you have something to say, you can just come out and say whatever you want. I promise you’re not gonna hurt my feelings.”
“I just don’t understand the protocol for this sorta thing is all.”
“Why does there need to be a protocol? Who’s making up these rules for you? Just say what you’re feeling. Or don’t and just walk out the door. Whichever you’d prefer.”
“Which would you prefer?” She looks to him almost hopefully. She wants to leave to escape this awkward interaction but she does want him to show an interest in her like he did the night before at the bar. They talked for hours locked in conversation as if there wasn’t a single human in the world other than the one in front of them and now he seems so aloof.
“I would prefer you do what makes you the most comfortable. Although I would be lying if I said I didn’t want you to stick around or at least give me a little glimpse into what’s going through that head of yours.”
Maka sits back down on the stool. So much for being ready to walk out the door at a moment’s notice. “The thing is, I don’t do this. Ever. I don’t do one night stands, I don’t do hookups, I barely even date unless my friends force me into a blind date. I don’t know what came over me last night and I really want to blame it on the alcohol and yes, I’m sure that was a contributing factor but the truth is, I think I wanted to. Maybe something in me wanted to make a rash decision and do something out of my usual. Or, maybe I wanted…” she trails off. She almost let herself be vulnerable and quite frankly, that is the last thing she wants. Being naked and tangled up with a virtual stranger is enough vulnerability for one 24 hour period. And at least that vulnerability led to good feelings. Emotional vulnerability just leads to feeling exposed and gives him the opportunity to make fun of her or pour salt into the freshly opened wound of sharing her feelings.
Soul lets her words hang in the air longer than she would’ve expected. Maybe he doesn’t know what to say either. Eventually he breaks the silence with a loud clearing of his throat. “Look,” he actually takes a step toward her to look her in the eyes but doesn’t do anything to initiate any physical contact. “I don’t do this either. I’m in almost the exact same boat. Except for the fact that my friends know better than to set me up on any sort of date blind or otherwise. Cards on the table? I wanted to sit and have a drink with you. That’s it. I just wanted to get a chance to talk to you. I was not trying to seduce you. I wasn’t planning on taking you home with me. Do I regret it? Not at all. Pardon the gross fuckboy-esque comment, but you’re hot as fuck and I had a damn good time last night. But that aside, I had a great time just getting to know you. Shooting the shit and laughing with you. If you had ended the night at any point throughout our conversations at the bar I would’ve been perfectly fine. I was surprised when the night took us back here. And I was damn nervous too. Hell, I was nervous to ask you for a drink in the first place.”
Memories of the night flash back through Maka’s head. The way his rough grumpy bartender persona faded into the soft sweet guy that sat down with her. His psychoanalysis of her. Him not wanting to say more than what little assessment he gave her. His look of shock when she was the one who said “I kinda wanna get out of here. But with you.” That’s right. She was the initiator of the extracurricular activities. The way he fumbled over his words when he offered his place that was within walking distance. The way his breath caught when they walked through his front door and she pulled him into a kiss giving him no time to say anything.
“All this to say,” he brought her back to the present moment, and just in time before she started reliving some dangerous flashbacks. “I had a great time with you. If this is the only memory I ever have of you, that’s alright by me. If you want to leave, go home, act like this never happened, cool. Just tell me. Next time your friend drags you out to my bar I won’t treat you any different, I won’t make a big deal, no one will know. I think it’s trashy for a guy to brag about their ‘conquests’ anyways-that’s my friend’s term, not mine by the way. But, if you wanted to stick around, maybe talk some more, get to know each other more, I don’t know. I would maybe be down for that as well.”
If Maka didn’t know what to say before, she didn’t even know what language she spoke after all of that. Here she was being the forward one last night and now with nothing to say, terrified of being vulnerable to a stranger who practically just poured out his heart to her.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Um, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific, I kinda said a lot.” His hand found its natural place at the back of his neck again. Wow, he really was nervous.
“You said you wanted to have a drink with me. You say you want to talk to me more now. You said you don’t do this ever. What is it about me? What made you pick me out of the lineup?”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t know anything about me. We don’t know each other. Why am I the one out of the whole bar that you wanted to have a drink with?” She remembers the short blonde that always runs up to Liz and gives her a hug when they see each other. She always comes in at the point of the night when Liz has all but forgotten about Maka so they’ve never had the pleasure of meeting. She always orders from only Soul and always places her breasts fully on the bar whenever she says anything. Surely she would be more his type or whatever. She’s certainly more forward and can actually carry a conversation in the brief interactions she has with him on a regular basis.
“Maka,” the soft way he said her name sends a warm shiver through her body. It’s said with such a plain matter of factness but mixed with something she can’t quite place. “When you’re there, there is no ‘whole bar.’ There’s you and a shit ton of people that don’t matter.” Maka feels warmth creep across her cheeks. “You want to hear the rest of my assessment of you?”
This piques her interest but she’s more nervous than ever because he hasn’t been wrong about anything so far and he is far more emotionally intelligent than any man she’s ever been with. “I thought you said it would make me mad at you for existing.”
“Eh, I figure you’re still 5 seconds from bolting up from that chair and out the door so what do I have to lose?” Maka gives a slight nod indicating he is, yet again, right about her. “The way you sit at the bar content with sitting by yourself and still entertain these creeps at the bar long enough to very politely decline their attempts at flirting, shows me that you are very sure of yourself. You might have some father issues but not in the way that a lot of the girls at the bar do. You understand who you are and you’re not afraid to sit with yourself and enjoy your own company. But because of that, you attract the delusional loser type of guy who thinks you will mother him and help him figure himself out and that’s not your job. I feel like you’ve probably spent your fair share doing exactly that with past partners and it’s left you feeling empty in any kind of relationship you’ve been in. It’s caused you to not be able to open up and talk about how you feel in any of those contexts because what are they gonna be able to offer you when they don’t know how to process or even recognize their own shit? So you sit at the bar, hoping and praying no one comes up to talk to you but letting them and waiting for the opportunity to reject them in the nicest way I’ve ever seen. You simultaneously don’t give a fuck what people think of you and care about people so much that you don’t want to hurt their feelings. I’m tempted to tell you you could stand to be a bitch more often but I know people get that side of you only when they truly deserve it. But I bet you were a bitch in middle school or even high school. But somehow still in that genuine and caring way. You contain multitudes and I only see the surface of it.”
Well shit. It would be nice if he was wrong about something. But nope. Hit the nail on the head. Again. All Maka wanted to do now was shrink into herself. Run away back to her house and curl up under her covers where no one can see through her like that. But then again, no one ever did see her like that. It’s just this guy. But if this random bartender can figure all that out, plenty of other people have to be able to see it too.
“Sorry, I told you I don’t sugarcoat things. I shoulda quit while I was ahead. That was overstepping.”
Something comes over Maka and she can’t stop herself before she realizes she’s off the stool and kissing Soul. It seems to be her only way of being vulnerable. But it does the trick as she can feel the tension in both of their bodies melt into the kiss. Soul gently places a hand on her cheek as he kisses her softly but with a passion that whispers sonnets and songs into her body. The kiss had to have lasted no longer than 5 seconds but in that one moment, years and lifetimes were lived between the two of them. Entire cities and civilizations were built and torn down and rebuilt in that fleeting moment where their lips were pressed together.
“Hey,” She says after a time of silence, how long it lasted neither of them could accurately say. “If I stick around, will you make me an old fashioned?”
“That’s, um, not really a morning drink, but, uh, I think it can be arranged.” Soul is out of breath as if the kiss took years off his life.
“How about this?” He looks up at her expectantly. “I go back to my place and find some clothes that feel more like I’m me while you take a nap and we continue this later today?”
“If you think I’m going back to sleep after all of this, you’re off your rocker. But that sounds like a very reasonable deal.”
Maka lets a smirk creep onto her face. “I think I might be able to help you get back to sleep, if you’re up for it. Then I can resume with my sneaky getaway.”
Caught completely off guard by this addendum to the plan, Soul perks up in every way as Maka grabs his hand leading him back to the bedroom.
This time around, when she gets up to get dressed, her clothes are strewn around the room and she silently walks out the bedroom and does leave a note this time.
“Here’s hoping you don’t sleep too much of the day away. I’ll be back later. Just text me a good time, okay? -Maka”
She looked back at the note and started toward the front door finally.
“Fuck it.” She says under her breath as she pivots and goes back to the bedroom. She could use a lazy Sunday where she gets to sleep in too. She changes into the pajama pants he had on during breakfast and crawls into bed to be met almost immediately with that arm she was so scared of earlier wrapped around her pulling her in closer, the sound of his breath in her ear and the feel of his heart beating against her back a soothing lullaby as she drifts off to the best sleep she’s had in a long time.
It sticks with me, it sits with me just how much it terrified him that she wouldn't run. Scared and confused and in pain for the few fleeting moments he had left of consciousness, of uncertain death, and it could've been thrown away for nothing.
It's something that fascinates me about his borderline martyrdom complex; an opportunity, a chance, just for her to get away from a danger they can not overcome, and if he's gone, what else is there for her not to follow. I've written about it a couple of times, what it looks like for this realisation to sink in, but honestly, given that his greatest fear afterwards became "not being strong enough," I think he was fully aware of the implications.
In those few remaining seconds, he had no certainty that she would even live, there was no time to think through "I will block this." And that scared him more than the likelihood that he was probably going to die in that moment. But he didn't, and he has to keep going. Become stronger so it doesn't happen again, that blocking for her isn't the only option, that they won't be overwhelmed a second time.
Until eventually, the real fear is the doors he's already begun to open inwards-out.
hey it’s ok if you lost your ai virginity back when you were uneducated. a lot of posts go like “reblog if you have never ever used generative ai and never ever will!!!” but it’s ok if you have used gen ai before and it’s even ok if you used to think it was cool, back before you understood what it really was and how it worked, either because no one had taught you about it and you discovered it on your own or because the only education you had received about it was from the tech bros. you’re not a burger with a bite out of it for having used ai. ok
It is 100 percent okay to stop using it today and join the "boo AI" club.
This isn't a purity thing. This is a "everyone stand with us against destroying the environment and giving asthma to poor people" thing.
Did you know that when one community says no to an AI data center, they specifically search out communities with fewer resources? Communities that can't defend themselves? And the pollution 100 percent affects their health and wellbeing, in addition to burning through our already scarce drinking water.
You can stop using character.ai today. You can say "I listened to the facts and stopped." And another thing: don't you think it's a bit more impactful to have used it, stopped, and then you're in a position to say how little it helped? How doing things for yourself improved your life?
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