cannibal-nightmares

[cannibal-nightmares]

Funny Thing About Opinions

Stein is at a banquet he wishes he weren’t at.

Something a bit free-form. don’t take it too seriously. Social burnout in the overwhelming face of well-intent.

Soul Eater - Stein & Spirit // hurt/no comfort, hurt/comfort, loose AU, low social battery, asocial Stein, non-chronological, cliffhanger, social burnout, anxiety, implied SpiritStein, whether it's OOC by the end is up to your imagination Word count - 1,667 -- [AO3 link] - [x]

It was like his teen years, at a party surrounded by people he didn’t want to talk to, having conversations he didn’t want to have. Of course he actualized the feeling of honor he was supposed to be experiencing, but his preoccupied thoughts had him distracted from the present, an itching under his skin that had his soul reaching to rattle the bars of its cage.

“Franken, is it?”

The teen refocused his attention from his right where some peers mingled by the front door. He’d observed the girl now in front of him before: If it weren’t for the fanned ember within her soul, she might have otherwise been reduced to being plain and blonde.

“You’re Spirit’s partner.”

“Stein.” He corrected her. “Sure.”

“Word has it you’re the top-performing meister of the academy. I didn’t take you for the party type.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I’m trying to get to know you, aren’t I? Spirit said you might be aloof.”

“So you know him, after all.” It was a statement, not a question. “Although, Spirit wouldn’t call me by my first name to someone whom we weren’t mutually acquainted.”

“Sheesh, would you relax? This isn’t an interrogation, you know.”

He huffed with a forced half-grin, taking a learned sip from his solo cup, a drink he didn’t realize until then he had actually wanted. “Yeah. Excuse me, Kamiko.” Stein shouldered himself through the crowd to meet the stairs without a second glance, wandering until he found a bathroom or quiet bedroom or broom closet.

It was a child-like overwhelm.

The teacher nudged his shoulder, but he couldn’t hear what she had suggested to him. He turned over his fist and watched closely to its center as his fingers peeled away to reveal a grasshopper in his palm, its legs readjusting in anticipation. On cue, as it jumped out of the boy’s grasp, he scooped at the air to catch it once again in two cupped hands, amused by the timely prediction.

“Don’t you want to play with your friends?”

Hesitant--not of anxiety but of thought--he raised his gaze to hers before calculating the outcomes of possible answers; he glanced blankly to the kids his age chasing each other around a swing set, already assuming the insect to hop out his hands. The short answer was, no, he didn’t want to play today. Why did they insist he couldn’t continue on reading from individual time? He didn’t like that recess followed and interrupted such honed focus, it often made his skin crawl; sometimes he could force the feeling away, sometimes it welled in his chest and flooded into his head, especially when people would ask him questions-made-rhetorical with such readable answers. To speak would spout a stream he would not be able to stop.

In his thoughts, Stein felt his own soul twinge with frustration, followed by a short anger, then a sinking defeat. He shook the grasshopper in his hand to help himself think, but the effort was fast-discovered futile. They had taken his books away before, and his retaliation was met with a confused discipline. He’d considered repeating his anarchy over and over again: He could play the long game, but the chance that it wouldn’t have amounted to anything by the end, he decided, wasn’t worth wasted time consistently committing to time out.

Still, the jagged juxtaposition was gutting him through his sternum.

“Oh, honey, you’re going to make the bug dizzy doing that.”

Stein couldn’t unclench his fist as he brought both hands to the sides of his head, squeezing pressure into his skull. It was relaxing. It tuned out the shrieking kids and muddied her voice into a more bearable volume. The touch, then, to his shoulder startled him and had him retreat inward, a soothing humming in his throat. Why couldn’t she see what he wanted? What was it that he needed? Why was it all a trick? How was the truth of the matter so wrong?

It was a declared selfishness.

“Stein!” An echoed calling shouted from a distance.

The grad student snapped out of his writing in a haze, meeting the wall to finally note how dark the room had become. Someone was making a racket from the street below and a sharp buzzing rang from downstairs.

“Stein, you can’t tell me you’re home right now!”

His hesitation was less that of startled anxiety, but more that of recollecting where he was and why. Stein’s chest eased as the picture reformed in front of him, a peace in remembering he was safe in his own sanctity.

“I mean, I guess you can, atleastthen I’d know you’re not off dead somewhere or something…” As the voice trailed off, Stein couldn’t ignore the slur on its tongue, sparking his attention to fast conclusions. He stretched out his arms over his head before hoisting himself out of his chair to meet the window, sheer curtains obstructing the pedestrian’s view of him if they had tried to look.

On the street was a wobbling redhead in a mussed suit jacket and nice shoes. The man’s soul was glowing warm, but was going dim in disappointment. Stein’s hand twitched to open the window in reply or to meet the front door, though the blanket of solitude weighed comfortingly over him.

“What was it all for, Stein?” Spirit begged. “Can we not celebrate you?”

The amusement from the graduate’s face faltered. He had been told before not to acknowledge the creeping resentment that started to bloom in his throat, but something spurred like a quiet gnawing behind his ears. There it was again. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. He was grateful, sure, but his wants didn’t match expectations.

“Professor Stein!”

A girl in a blazer bounded towards him from the crowd of familiar faces. He politely moved his champagne to his side.

“Your speech this evening was just the encouragement the kids needed to hear to keep their spirits up. And a congratulations are in order to your anniversary.”

He had given a speech? Oh, he must have, it would explain the distracting cross-frequency that buzzed over his attention. Although his half-smile stemmed from somewhere genuine, he had to force his focus in response.

“I’m flattered, Maka, though my work would not be much without the perseverance of my students.” A beat, and he let his colors bleed in front of the young woman. “Too, I think this event needs to shed more emphasis on its alumni than some of those like me…”

He fiddled with his glass in the slight unprofessionalism. Now that his students were long-graduated, he felt more comfortable than some of his peers to regard them as comrades rather than pupils, especially as some of them were teachers, themselves. In the past, he would have put up a front for her, hidden away his discomfort to lead by example and to spark her own confidence, but these days he trusted he could be met in the middle, giving a sort of cue he wanted to reserve his niceties if they needed to be more applicable elsewhere. She caught it.

“For everything that you are.” Maka tipped her head and toasted her glass.

He had to blink away his surprise.

“And to yours.”

He hadn’t intended on slamming the door when he got home, but the window panes across the living room rattled as he stumbled into the breezeway. Stein’s heart was pounding—he hadn’t noticed it had gotten that bad—his hand tracing the wall for balance while the other fumbled to unbutton his collar. His foot lagged at the crossroads of the hallway where he could pace to his room, his sight stuck on the couch that was just two steps away. A deep sigh that unhitched the tightness in his chest, Franken allowed his chest to meet the cushions, his face half-smushed into a throw pillow.

No more. Not again. He couldn’t even acknowledge when someone had entered the room to place a blanket over him.

“Stein.”

Standing near the double doors of the banquet hall’s balcony, Stein hadn’t realized he had got caught in a loop of cranking at his screw, his eyes closed and face turned downward, his brow exhibiting a faux focus to the room. Everything had gotten so loud, he couldn’t tell even when the volume was turned down by the dissipating crowd.

“It’s a little much, huh?”

Cutting through the static was the cool air from outside that seeped through the aging architecture. He wanted to think. He needed to think. He threw on the cruise control and restarted on safe mode; all he had to do was ride out the rest of the evening, ignorantly pretending he would be able to confidently acknowledge when the road ended. Without opening his eyes, he nodded upward just once to the presence that approached him, fire to fingers that continued the ratcheting.

“Let me take your glass.”

It was out of his hands.

“Come, follow me outside.”

The flute was replaced by a squeeze to his palm, to which Stein returned. A step, a cr-clacking, a rush from a breeze, a few more steps followed by another cr-clack, then almost-silence. He brought his grip away from his bolt to meet his face, soothing himself with loose knuckles to rub at his temple. The other hand followed suit.

“Sit with me.”

He did, guided by the elbow. The concrete was cool.

“I don’t normally negotiate.” Stein muttered with a humored rise in his voice, but his face remained unmatched and flat.

“Shut up.” Spirit huffed playfully.

He did.

It was dark, Stein didn’t have to open his eyes to know that, and the fragrance of night was refreshing to their lungs; the light music from beyond the wall caught his attention in waves, he but was beginning to make his escape out from the rip current. One last hand to his back, and, finally, a deep and granted exhale of mutual salvation.

[cannibal-nightmares]

"Say you don't want what you can't resist Waving that sword when the pen won't miss Fire in the sunrise, heavy is the crown"

[ x ]

alternative versions:

[cannibal-nightmares]

"heavy is the crown," the new linkin park single, being featured in the s02 arcane first ep has me mad laughing oh no oh no

[cannibal-nightmares]

? ? ?

tw: delusions

being schizophrenic is going to the dog park and thinking a stranger is someone you know--someone who doesn't even have a dog and doesn't even live in the same city, someone who doesn't even match the physical description of the stranger--and that they're monitoring you for reasons you can't discern. I know my friends wouldn't hurt me but the deception isn't very,nice you feel?

[cannibal-nightmares]

they're like flat stanleys to me. they go wherever I go.

artist

[cannibal-nightmares]

idk i just know they were a nightmare as academy students

[cannibal-nightmares]

kind of so funny that they were like "here's our new album we really went back to basics with this one :) $20 amps no pedals no bullshit just 6 mates hanging out playing simple good old fashioned rock music" and then 2 months later they reappear like surprise!!!! we also made PART 2: FORTY PIECE ORCHESTRA

[cannibal-nightmares]

tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain you are young and life is long, and there is time to kill today and then one day you find.. ten years have gone behind you.. no one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun

[ x ]

[cannibal-nightmares]

[cannibal-nightmares]

watching the English dub of Soul Eater and Ouran back to back is so funny because this character is voiced by exactly who you think he's going to be voiced by

[cannibal-nightmares]

Sad Pilot

[cannibal-nightmares]

heh I want a hug so bad but I feel like I'm dripping with aqua regia

[cannibal-nightmares]

there's a bit of psychology within myself that i understand better now. have sleepy stein.

[ ypsilon by ólafur arnalds ]

[cannibal-nightmares]

this song gives me such an ego trip

[cannibal-nightmares]

I'm happy to finally be back home and I've missed greggo and he's missed me but I'm also certain he has not missed my insomniac ass

[cannibal-nightmares]

And you may ask yourself:

Where is the god that guides my hand?

How can the hands of others reach me?

When will I find what I grope for?

Who

Who

Who is going to teach me?

[cannibal-nightmares]

The smoke in my lungs, the fire on my tongue The stumble in my step, the long gap between breaths