#they use this as a way to teach young meisters how to get a grip on handleing a weapon

[1spooky-dad]

I love making hyper complex ocs that fit into whatever story they're for, idk how people can stand to just slap an oc into a story with no explanation. Where did they come from? Who is their entire extended family? What environmental changes shaped them into who they are today? How close to canon can you get them while still being op as shit but also still likeable and believable?

[snorlaxlovesme]

SoMa Week 2017

Day four: Habits

Soul’s fixation with Maka’s hands becomes normal after a while, but is there a reason behind all those impromptu hand massages?

“Hey, whose turn is it to make dinner tonight?” Maka asked Soul, gingerly stripping her dirt-covered gloves from her fingers.

“Yours,” he said with a sadistic grin. Soul was always delighted on any day that wasn’t his turn to cook. “And don’t think I’m letting you back out of it again. I know we have groceries this time.”

Maka nodded absently, looking down at her scarred and calloused hands mournfully. She could barely uncurl them without feeling a tremor run through them.  It was only a month and a half after their fight with the Wolf Man, and while the burns on Maka’s hands had finally healed, the sensitivity remained a constant problem. After missions their functionality was shot to hell. She flexed them gingerly, hoping she’d be able to hold a spatula for next half hour.

“Hey, what’s the hold-up?” Soul called from the living room after not hearing pans clanging together. “You’re not gonna pull that I-have-too-much-homework crap again, are you? You promised to actually make dinner tonight.”

Maka grit her teeth and grabbed a nonstick pan from the drying rack, trying not to think about how difficult it would be to hold a pencil later when she finally did do her homework.

“I got it, I got it. Just don’t rush me, okay?”

Soul must have noticed a change in her voice, because he dropped the asshole routine and turned around on the couch to look at her. “Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing,” she said, reaching into the fridge to pull out the ground chuck for hamburgers. The cool packaging of the beef felt wonderful on her swollen hands.

Soul rolled his eyes and stood up. “Whenever you say ‘it’s nothing’ that means something is wrong and you’re too stubborn to tell me.”

Maka stuck her tongue out at him as he made his way to the kitchen, but didn’t try to dispute him. He was right, after all.

“Your hands are hurting again, aren’t they?” he asked, watching as she tried to grab a spatula using only the tips of her fingers.

Maka sighed. “A little.”

He met her in the kitchen and took hold of one of wrists, bringing her hand closer so he could see it in the light. In most cases, Maka bared her battle scars with absolute pride. She loved her job as a meister and she knew that every scar on her body was an indicator that she made it out of a hard battle alive. But the scars on her hands weren’t inflicted by a kishin, but by her own stubbornness and stupidity. If she hadn’t been so insecure after their fight with the Demon Sword she wouldn’t have caused her and Soul’s wavelengths to be out of sync. The newly pink scars on her hands were a reminder of the way she almost broke up their partnership, and looking at them made her feel a little sick.

Soul prodded one of her callouses without warning. Maka yelped and snatched her hand away.

“Ow! What’s your problem?”

Soul took her hand back. “Sorry, I just wanted to see how bad it was.”

“Yeah, well a little warning would—be—” she trailed off when Soul’s hands moved to grip her whole hand instead, pressing his fingertips softly into the sore parts of her hand. “—nice…….”

It became increasingly hard to focus when Soul’s thumb and index finger were pressing against either side of her hand, massaging slow circles into the meat of her palm. The sensation was foreign and so welcomed that Maka completely forgot what she was talking about. His hands moved slowly up hers, rubbing her knuckles gently and pinching each finger around the joint until she could slowly unfurl her fingers. Maka watched the whole ordeal speechlessly, not sure what to say when her partner gives her a hand massage two minutes after berating her for not cooking dinner fast enough.

“Does the left one hurt too?” he asked.

She nodded slowly, and watched in amazement as he gave her other hand the exact same treatment. He rubbed each bit of her hand with careful scrutiny, waiting until she was able to flex it properly before he finally let go.

Maka looked down at her hands, which definitely still stung but were a lot more mobile than they hand been five minutes ago. How did he do that?

But as Maka opened her mouth to ask him what that was all about, Soul was picking up the package of beef from the counter to get a better look at it.

“Burgers? Cool. Tell me when they’re ready.” And with that, he went back to the couch to watch more TV.

Maka looked down at her hands in bewilderment, flexing her hands again. She still wanted to ask him about what just happened, or thank him maybe, but it seemed like he didn’t want to talk about it. So she picked up the package of beef, intent on leaving it be, for now.

-

“You know, you could just be like a normal person and borrow my laptop,” Soul said, chin resting on his arms as he sat across from Maka in the library, staring at her in boredom.

She didn’t even bother dignifying him with a response, too intent on finishing her essay before study period was over. Her hand was cramping furiously, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her from hand-writing it. Maka would type her homework out when she bought her own laptop, not use Soul’s stupid gaming laptop that his rich parents from the east coast sent him for his birthday. Maka didn’t need his dumb charity, not from a slacker partner who didn’t even write his essay at all. No, she had her lucky pencil and fifteen minutes left of library time to finish this essay, if only Soul would stop bothering her when she was clearly BUSY—

Her pencil snapped in half in her furious grip, and Maka’s hand stilled.

Soul looked disbelievingly at the splintered pencil half still in Maka’s iron grip. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a little crazy?”

“This essay needs to be finished, Soul,” she said angrily, looking at the two inches of pencil left in her hand. Writing with this was going to kill her.

Soul rolled his eyes before unceremoniously grabbing her right hand and cracking her knuckles one-by-one. After writing two and a half pages by hand already, she didn’t think it was possible to gain feeling back in her fingers, but there it was, blood flowing to the tips again. He kept his hold on her for only a moment longer to roll her wrist forwards and backwards a couple times before letting go without a word, handing her his mechanical pencil.

“Don’t snap that one too,” he told her with no real heat in his voice, his head already returning to its old spot on top of his folded arms.

Maka looked at her rejuvenated hand, her partner, and the pencil.

“Only twelve minutes now,” Soul said lazily, looking at his wristwatch.

Maka shook her head a little and pulled her notebook back towards her, using her new pencil to write out her third main point.

-

Anya fell unceremoniously onto her ass, and Maka giggled a little at her pout.

“It’s okay to not get it on the first try, it’s a complicated move,” she told the first-year gently. Sometimes she and Soul tutored underclassmen on the weekends (well, Soul’s participation wasn’t exactly voluntary), and young Tsugami and her two meisters had become their favorite team to teach. Anya was a very diligent meister, but she didn’t seem to take failure well.

“But it is not my first try!” she cried stubbornly. “I should be better by now. We’ve been practicing for hours.”

Maka laughed and leaned Soul’s handle on one of her shoulders. “You just switched with Meme fifteen minutes ago. Give it another try.”

Anya took a deep breath and looked at her halberd until she heard Tsugami give her a tinny “I’m ready!”

Anya began the sequence again, spinning Tsugami rapidly while performing complex footwork that would allow for tighter circles when she was dodging multiple attacks. Maka watched Anya’s face scrunch up in concentration as she focused on her steps, but her hands grew sloppy. Before Maka had time to intervene, Anya had conked herself on the forehead with the bottom of Tsugami’s handle.

“You’re not letting your weapon help,” Soul said from his weapon form, where he’d been watching them as well. “Tsugami’s supposed to be guiding half of her movements, but you’re taking complete control, Anya.”

Anya looked bitterly at Soul’s blade. “What else am I supposed to do if she’s not contributing?”

Maka could just barely hear a small “I’m sorry” from the tip of the halberd. Tsugami always had a hard time speaking up for herself under stress.

Maka said, “Tsugami, transform. I want the three of you to watch Soul and I perform the move again.”

Tsugami transformed back and went to stand between Meme and Anya, unconsciously scooting a little closer to Meme in the process.

“Alright, Soul,” Maka said. Soul nodded in his blade and she took a deep breath, letting everything fall away as she took a step back and immediately fell into an effortless rhythm, spinning Soul and twirling her way through the complicated step sequence like it was nothing. She’d been doing it for years, so of course this move was second nature to her, but it was even easier because she had given Soul the reigns on her hand movements. He spun in and out of her fingers in quick propeller motions, never once fumbling in her hands or coming close to hitting her. The trust she gave him allowed the sequence to look less like a battle movement and more like a graceful dance.

After a few moments she stopped, resting Soul’s handle on her shoulder again. Her left wrist twinged a bit from practicing for so long, but she ignored it.

“Do you guys get it now?”

Maka didn’t think it was possible for the three girls to look more bewildered than before, but one look at their little ‘o’ faces made it clear that the lesson still hadn’t stuck.

“Listen, with practice it will become easier. You just have to learn to trust each other and understand your partner’s strengths and weaknesses—Yes, Tsugami?”

Tsugami put her hand down. “Is it customary for weapons to massage their meister’s hands too?”

“Custom—what?” Maka looked beside her to see that Soul had transformed without her noticing, and his softer hands were delicately rubbing circles into her inner wrist. The slight stinging pain was already beginning to wane.

“Oh, uh, that.” After years of Soul taking her hands in his and miraculously alleviating her pain, Maka had gotten accustomed to it. It wasn’t until now that Maka actually stopped to think about it. Was it a weapon thing? Something that Soul was taught in one of his weapon classes? After-mission medical care was something they had learned back when they were still first-years. Cleaning your partner’s battle wounds was supposed to be a bonding experience for meisters and weapons that brought you closer together.

But this didn’t seem like the textbook stuff that they normally did after coming home from a mission. Soul barely needed an excuse to take her by the hand and massage her knuckles. Sometimes it was after practicing, but other times it was just while they sat on the couch watching TV together. Maka could have the remote in one hand, scrolling through their recorded programs, and the other would be between Soul’s while he rolled her wrist and pressed his thumbs into the meat of her palm.

Why did Soul do that?

Maka looked at Soul for some sort of answer, but Soul just continued his ministrations until he seemed satisfied. Maka had to admit that her wrist felt fully functional again. (And how did he do that?)

When it was clear that Soul wasn’t going to respond, Maka struggled for an explanation. “It’s, um, not customary, per se, but maintaining some form of—of physical contact,” Maka swallowed, “with your weapons outside of battle, can strengthen your bond as partners?”

She looked to Soul again, but he was doing a fantastic impersonation of a mute person today, looking in the distance and refusing to meet her gaze.

Even though her explanation didn’t sound the least bit sure, the three freshman took her word for it. Tsugami and Meme both turned to Anya, where both of them attempted to soothe the bump growing on her forehead.

“Ow! Stop poking it, Meme!”

Maka took this to be a good stopping point for the day, and wished the girls good luck on their form work as she followed Soul off campus, where he had already started pacing away.

“Hey!” Maka said, jogging a bit to catch up with him. “What was with the silent treatment back there?”

Soul’s gaze remained trained ahead. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Just didn’t have anything to add.”

She could have just let it go, but now that Tsugami brought it up, Maka was curious. “So I was right? All the stuff you do with my hands is just a weapon thing?” She didn’t even really know what she meant by that, but that’s all it could have been, right?

“Your hands are a big part of who you are as a meister. It would make sense to keep them in good condition,” he said stoically. It didn’t feel like the whole truth.

“So this is just…to keep me in top form as a meister?”

Soul took her left hand in his as they walked, and again Maka couldn’t help noticing how natural it felt after years of impromptu massages. His fingers were warm as he entwined them with hers.

“What other reason would there be?” he asked her, face falling into a smile that made her palms start to sweat a bit.

If Soul noticed, he didn’t say anything, and Maka was glad for that. She spent the rest of their walk home trying to control the frantic beating of her heart, but she noticed with interest that she never made any attempts to take her hand back, either.

[colleydogstar]

A Ranger’s Tale - 3 - The Three Sisters

Story and all other character by @rollem-bones. As mentioned before, the log has a mix of 1st/3rd person tenses due to play styles.

Our story continues...

The standing stones. 'The Three Sisters' as Salicia explains to you when you arrive to the clearing. The three stones with their runic carvings aren't the only ones, merely the three centerpieces of a megalithic site. "Pritchard's going to do his thing," Donnel explains to you while the caster makes his way to inspect the stones and speak in strange whispers. "In the meantime, tell me what there is to you?" he questions, arms across his broad chest. It would seem, you think that the canine demihumans at least are no shorter than the humans.

 Rhodie watches with curiosity to see what Pritchard is about to do. She then looks at Donnel, slightly intimidated by a combination of now being shorter, and him just seeming a bit intimidating since they first met! "What there is to me?" She rubs the back of her head, "Not sure I follow exactly. Like... what's special about me?" She shrugs, "I'm just some guy who tries to entertain people back home. I've never really been the big adventure-y type outside of the tabletop games my friends and I would play. Was just a guy with a show and a pencil to draw when I wanted to."

 "Games?" Donnel asks. "You roll bones, then?" he gets a chuckle out of that. "A right gel she is. Maybe you'd fit in with us more'n I thought." He takes a few steps away, looking over the slightly sloped clearing around the Three Sisters. "Gel, Salicia gave you that knife. Come on over here and show me how you handle it."

 "Is it weird being called a 'gel' feels less weird than being called a girl? That's probably weird." Rhodie shakes her head, more things to get used to. She slumps a bit at Donnel's request. "Aaaaand here goes all the good things you were starting to think about me, right out the window." She takes the blade out, giving it a good moment, to judge the weight in each hand before gripping the handle. Rhodie's other hand hovers over her gripping one, almost like a guard, as she steadies her breath. This guy is way, way more knowledgeable on this stuff and is probably about to kick her ass. Still, that's probably gonna happen at some point, so better to do it now, right?

 Donnel draws his blade. A simple looking longsword. It doesn't look like the ones from the faires. It isn't ornate. It isn't costumed, it's worn and stained from oil and use. The handle is wrapped in leather and the pommel is scratched, the crossguard has clearly been used. It doesn't look cool or shiny, but it does look very used to being used. And the stocky schnauzer turns and wields it like it were made of air. "Now then. Let's not draw much blood. No use in wounding. But don't you hold back none," he says, eyes focused on you as he holds his sword cross and his bushy mustache twitches.

 Rhodie lets out a nervous laugh, "And here's where I embarrass the hell out of myself."  She takes a breath, and then goes to strike. She tries not to swing to widely, more 1/4 circle angle, than half.

 Donnel is waiting for the attack. The flat of his blade catches your arm and he steps aside, letting you slash the air with a slight push. "Fast," he remarks, keeping his guard up and waiting for your next move.

 Rhodie immediately turns and moves to get in closer. "Lighter body, feels FASTER!" She says the last part as she goes for another short swing.

 Again Donnel is waiting. You're lighter, probably stronger pound for pound, but you're untrained and the older Sergeant makes that clear when he steps into your swing and bops you on the joint of your neck and shoulder with the worn pommel of his blade, then gives you a shove back away from him. "You're green, gel. I won't be holding back next time."

 The older demihuman presses his attack. With you bopped and pushed back, he makes for a relentless assault against you, stepping in and thrusting his blade, pushing toward you to keep you on the back of your heels, or paws as the case may be.

 The setter girl lets out a yip as she's bopped, stumbling forward. She recovers in time to turn, and sees the follow-up coming at her. She goes to try and dodge to the left of the blade, twisting her body.

 Fast as you are, Donnel is a step ahead of you. His thrust, which you deftly avoid, turns into a swift elbow at your ribs. Just a bit winded, you're not licked yet. However, the older man hasn't broken a sweat yet.

 "Came in too fast, gel, can't feint like that," Donnel says, reading your motions. Your swing meets the flat of his blade, catching on the crossguard, and then you find that his open hand finds it slapping hard across your face. He steps back again and makes one more quick rush. "Let me show you how it's done," he says before he quickly reroutes his motions in mid step. Faster on his feet than he looks.

 Rhodie stumbles back with another canine yelp as she's slapped in the face. She tries to bring the blade down to defend against the sword, using her free hand to try and reinforce her grip. "Crapcrapcrap"

 The former human is starting to look panicked. She knew she was going to be outclassed in every way in this, but it doesn't really do much for her anxiety knowing that! She goes for one more attack, at the last moment, transferring the knife to her free hand as she tries to jump up and punch Donnel right in the dog nose.

 Your jumping catches him off guard. He turns, moves from you. But you're on the ground running. Running and darting. Smaller, with a smaller weapon, but you're faster than him. Still, you're expecting an attack from one direction, ducking under the blade swiftly, when right before your eyes his closed fist appears as though from nowhere.

 Rhodie grins a bit, she's starting to adapt a bit to the body. Then the fist catches her right in the dog face.

 And you go tumbling tail over tea kettle on the grass. The world spins as you've been knocked for a loop, but it focuses on Donnel looking down at you a moment later. "You got quick feet, gel," he says, reaching down to take your hand and clasp your shoulder so he can hoist you up to your paws and pat down your cloak. "But you fight like a street urchin. All slash and know control."

Rhodie grunts, holding her muzzle, and wincing as she's helped up. "Hnngh, like I said.. was all training for shows, not actual combat." She hangs her head. "Well, I'm as good as dead in this world if I ever get into trouble."

 Donnel barks a laugh, clapping you on your back. "Nonsense," he cries. "We'll learn you good, gel. You ain't too old to teach. We'll start with that little thing you got there. You ain't got the arms for Salicia's axe, but I can show you how to use a blade and a bow proper. How'd you like that?" he offers, holding his hand out to you.

 Rhodie looks at the hand, still holding her muzzle. That hurt, she hasn't been punched like that since high school. She takes Donnel's hand with her free one. "I'm all for learning if it means I don't die as an Irish Setter... or a girl..." Donnel's laughing, he's not glaring angrily at her. This is good right?

 "Good," Donnel says. He walks back over to Salicia to speak with her. He leaves you to stand on the grass while the two of them talk, and Pritchard walks about the stones, still focused on whatever it is he is doing with them.

 Rhodie replaces the blade in her belt, pausing to look over her hands and arms. Her tail sags behind her as she sits down on the ground. She pulls her legs in to rest her head on her knees as she looks out at Pritchard. She's sorta watching, but also sitting in thought.

Pritchard works, stopping at some of the runes carved into the old stone. He runs his fingertips over them and a faint silver wisp rises from them as his lips speak silent words. He's a fairly tall man, young, it's not hard to notice his hair being a grey that doesn't quite look natural, especially for his age. He stops at the second stone and the wisp rolls against the runes there, glowing faintly in his passing. He stops and looks to the side, at something, but seemingly only he can see it at the moment.

 The dog-girl watches, but not even the impressive real magic happening in front of her seems to be snapping Rhodie out of the funk she let herself slip into. At first at least. She lifts her head when Pritchard doesn't move toward the third stone. Should she ask if he's OK, or would that interrupt... ah screw it, "Everything OK, Pritchard, sir?" She calls down

 Pritchard stops. He hums and looks over his shoulder toward you. "Were you watching?" he asks. "Are you curious? If you'd like, come closer. I know this must be more alien to you, far from the dullness I'm inflicting on Salicia and Donnel."

 Rhodie gets up and cautiously makes her way over, straightening her borrowed cloak. "Completely and utterly alien. I've only seen stuff like this in stories back home. But yeah, definitely color me curious."

 Pritchard holds his hand over the runes. "These glyphs speak to old power. In reading them, in passing some of my own talent through them, I can speak in a way to that power." He looks at you and offers his hand to you. "I do this to consult with the entities of these forests to understand their concerns. This land may be owned by the Meister, but even he must pay fealty to the forces at work here."

 Rhodie looks the glyphs over, and then over at Pritchard as he talks. She reaches out to take his hand. "So the lands here are in a way, somewhat sentient?"

 Pritchard nods. "Spirits, gods, geists, what you may call them." He interlaces his fingers with yours to lift your hand up to the runes. They glow under your fingertips, or probably under Pritchard's. "Listen with your mind, not with your ears," he says, though his words sound like they come from the far end of a tunnel despite him being next to you. The world seems to pale about you, covered in a rolling fog that seems to hide shadows and shapes moving in the swirls and eddies. They watch and whisper in languages you don't understand.

 "Sooo... surrounds us, penetrates us, binds the galaxy toge-" She stops when she sees the glow, staring at their hands. "My mind... right." She takes a breath and tries to focus. "Oh.... oh wow." Comes an awed whisper.

 Pritchard pulls your hand from the runes. "Less binding and more a terribly dangerous group of forces that can demand your attention should their whims dictate, but can also help you if your needs align," he explains to you, releasing your hand.

 Rhodie nods, taking it in. She ponders, "Could their powers be along what you mentioned my first night here then? Like.. what brings the..the.. Oh, what you called me. But brings people like me here for whatever purpose they might have?"

 "It is possible," Pritchard admits with a nod. "The Three Sisters is a holy site. One of several. Older than the Meister's grounds. I may work for Silberschmidt through the Order, but I understand what really controls this forest and that's the powers that be here." He looks at the third stone. "Not much left to speak with here. There are dangers, weeds that need culling. Something is making restless dead." He sighs, looking back at you. "You will assist us, won't you?"

 "Holy site... Wow, OK, them gathered here like that makes a lot of sense then." She then thinks, and gives a small bow in direction of the pillars, hoping to show a sign of respect. "Thank you..ah.. forces.. for allowing me to listen, even if I don't understand what was said yet." She looks back to Pritchard. "I'm still not sure I won't be more of a hinderance, but I'll gladly do what I can. You three are helping me, it would be rude not to return the favor."

 Pritchard smiles at you. "Thank you, Rhodie, I appreciate that," he says, putting a hand at your shoulder before he walks off. "But with the information gained here, I think we can move on with a slight detour to put some dead back into the ground." He pauses. "Also, I'm not really a holy man, or a druid, take much of what I say with a grain of salt. My philosophy is at odds with many of theirs."

 Rhodie laughs a little, "That ok, most of the holy men on my world are at odds with each other as well. No one person is ever going to get it right by themselves. ...Wait, dead back in the ground. Like... zombies? Undead?" Her tail sags again.

 "Of course," Pritchard says in a matter-of-fact sort of tone. Indeed the undead, in such a casual manner.