#courageovercomesmadness

//I’ve been having the same issues with gifs on my personal

He could hear the clock ticking in the background, like a bomb waiting to go off; the class ready to explode from their seats at the end of the lecture. The familiar drawl of the professor’s voice echoed through the large room as he recited their present chapter blandly, reading straight from the textbook as usual. His crimson eyes were cast downward, staring at the page the professor was currently lecturing on, his cheek pressed against his fist, propping his head up by resting his elbow on the table. He was staring intently at the content of the splayed open book…or so it seemed. As convincing at it may have appeared from a lower level, the ivory haired weapon was dead asleep. It wasn’t surprising, really. It was his usual way, especially when Professor Stein would drone on and on like this…he’d conked out around fifteen minutes into the lecture. Something about the effects of emotional connections and romantic activity on soul resonance. He wasn’t sure. He was snoring lightly, a trail of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth and hanging almost all the way to the table. He shifted slightly in his sleep, his head’s weight hanging and leaning to the other side of his palm. This caused his spiky head to droop off his hand and, embarrassingly, to fall flat against the table with a loud “thwack.” It immediately jolted him from his slumber, a hissing sound squeezing from his throat as his shoulders tensed with pain. '...ugh...how uncool...' He thought to himself, sitting his head up slightly and pressing the heel of his hand against his swollen forehead, fingers raking into his snowy bangs. Thankfully, it didn’t look as though Professor Stein had noticed. He simply continued to lecture, asking if any of the students had any questions or comments. Of course, no one answered him; no one ever answered…spare, of course, two model students. It was always the same two hands that would shoot into the air like spiraling fireworks: One was that of Ox Ford, a total nub. A baldy with coke-bottle goggles and a nerdy, “I’m better than you” disposition. The other…? The other was the lithe, delicate hand of his meister. He glanced up from the table apologetically at his meister, who he was sure had noticed his little outburst, even if the teacher hadn’t. His meister: Maka Albarn. A totally not hot girl. She was bookish at best, with her tawny, honey colored hair tied back appropriately into a pair of prim and proper pigtails. She wore a school uniform, completely up to code, although she was the only girl in the whole school he knew who wore it. Her mossy green eyes were set shallow on her high cheekbones. She was achingly thin, but she was stronger than anyone else he knew. She was strong enough to hold his heavy scythe form…and strong enough to punch a full blown kishin directly in the face. The scar that still lingered across his chest burned from the memory. He was fiercely loyal to her; he’d die for this girl, if necessary, and the scar that stretched from his collarbone to his opposite hip was the proof of his, forever stitched to his body. Despite the unpleasant memory, he grinned at her all the same. Hard to believe it had been a whole year since he and his partner had defeated the kishin Asura. It still felt like just yesterday…and traces of the madness still flowed through both their blood. Little Demon may’ve been weakened, but he was still there, sitting in the black room of his soul…he could feel it. Soul sucked the drool from the corner of his mouth with a sharp slurp, his ruby eyes dipping under the table to the hem of his partner’s plaid school skirt and trailing down the length of her bare thighs. She certainly had long…legs…He suddenly blinked, shaking his head furiously and reluctantly turning back to the lecture in order to clear his head. Must’ve been that trace of madness still creeping around in his mind…