AN: I do not own Soul Eater, its characers or world. They are the sole property of their wonderful and rightful owner.

Complete crack, and badly written at that. Haven't we ever wondered what it must've been like when Blair decided to make her home with Maka and Soul?

Because we all know what happens when stray cats decide to unexpectedly adopt you, especially when you've never considered yourself a cat person. Or when you've tried to kill them. I can only imagine its all the more chaotic when that cat is rediculously magical.

Hell.

That's what Soul had felt like while he duped Maka in order to double-dupe Blair when they'd still thought she was a regular witch. He knew Maka was going through hell because of her parent's divorce, and her already low opinion of men in general. He also knew he'd worked damn hard to earn himself his friendship and trust with his partner. But it had been the best thing his boy mind could come with at the time, a sure-fire, end this quick, get 'em from the back victory preying on Blair's desire to possess him as Maka did. And it had worked, and he knew there were no hard feelings between himself and Maka, because when you can feel each other's souls, there's no hiding true intent, and once his scythe is in her hands, wavelengths are never veiled for long.

And also because they're both just that cool, anyway. Even though he'd eaten a damn cat. Hell.

They both expected to go home and lick their wounded pride and regroup for the struggle to collect 99 souls, again. They did not expect to go home to lick their wounds, regroup, and house-train a new cat. He was still bemoaning his loss on the ride home, while Maka yelled at Blair from behind him, and that was about all he was aware of - Maka yelling at Blair. He had no idea until they reached the apartment that Blair had been following them home the whole friggin' time.

By then, it was too late for him to join his partner's efforts to shoo the nuisance away. She'd become attached. How she became attached to people who'd literally cut her in half, he couldn't even begin to guess. Mostly because he did not have the blood or the energy for this, after four days of the nose-bleeds, the Maka-scoldings and the shattering disappointment of his monumental screw-up.

So when they finally made it into the apartment, Blair slipping through the door through their legs, cat-form and cat-style, all he could manage was to collapse on the couch and moan loudly. Maybe that was the wrong thing to do, possibly it was his moan of exhaustion and defeat that was the starting bell for the mayhem that ensued for the rest of the night. Blair was on his chest in a heart beat, in cat form, thank God, and Maka scolded them both as she wandered down the hall to do fuck-knows-what-he's-too-tired, Blair get your weird cat nose outta my face!

"Nyah!~"

And she was off, padding happily down the hall, presumably to bother Maka, who he could hear tromping and rustling around between their bedrooms and the bathroom but was still too flustered to give two craps about whatever she was up to. Until Blair came shooting down the hall again, and he spied Maka rounding the corner, full laundry basket in her arms, still lecturing Blair about Boundaries, and Off Limits, and Pay Your Bills, and wearing his shirt and no pants, what the hell?!

Since when is that legal? Is that allowed to be a thing? He sputters indignantly, sitting up on the couch to watch Maka disappear towards the washer with the laundry, her never ending tirade of rules hurled at Blair in her bizarre Girl territory-marking ritual that apparently required his clothes as part of the ceremonial dress robes.

Not having learned his lesson, he collapses against the back of the couch once more, again letting out a loud, exasperated moan. Which again, by some arcane magic Blair is probably throwing around, triggers some catalyst as Blair comes shooting back into the living room, Maka hot on her tail, beside herself and red-faced.

And now Blair's in woman form again, smiling and laughing happily and tangling in his sprawled legs and bending over and Ass, Blair! Jeesus! And Maka's got a book on his head before he even knows what's happened, and Blair's a cat again, deftly sticking her paw in the door on the cupboard that holds their TV and DVDs and climbing inside it while Maka bends over, screaming into it for her to come out and take her lumps and Panties, Maka! Jeesus!

But she doesn't have time to brain him for that one, as Blair shoots out and becomes a human again, grabbing Maka in a huge hug and spinning her around - and all Maka can do is scream over Blair's shoulder as the hug ends and Blair becomes the cat again, darting across to the other side of the living room.

"Why're you looking, Soul! Don't you dare climb that, Blair, that's not for climbing!"

- and he just can't even, anymore. He doesn't have the blood for this. He slinks out, covertly slouching around the corner of the wall to get to the hallway and make a mad dash for his room before either female can notice his yellow-bellied escape. He closes his bedroom door behind himself, tossing off his jacket and shirt and making his way to collapse on his bed, facing the ceiling, and this time he holds in any noises, dammit. Clearly if they don't hear him, they can't find him or make more trouble. He hopes. His hopes are dashed after five seconds of blissful, false-confidence inducing silence.

Blair finds him, by smell, or deduction, or cat senses, and comes bursting into his room in a cloud of purple magic-smoke, bounding onto his lap on his bed and Maka is hot on her tail once more, as Soul is bounced into a sitting position by the force of Blair's fully grown woman body weight on his legs - thank God she missed his dick with a blow like that - and his face is nearly smashed in her jiggling mounds she calls cleavage.

" - Off Limits, too!" Maka's still screaming, and now Blair's the cat again, trying to leap from his legs but this time Maka's ready and grabs the scruff of her neck mid-air and suddenly everything in the world stops to hold its breath. Soul is still wheezing, though, mostly because he was scared shitless by Blair's blusterous lap-attack, but also because Maka's arm raised like that gives him another eagle's eye view of her panties, goddammit, Maka! He isn't tall enough yet for her to be parading around in his shirts with no fucking pants!

But Maka is blithely oblivious to it all, triumphant in finally capturing the object of tonight's every torment, and she marches Blair and herself back out of his room, lecturing the whole way in the manner only Maka could make into a normality.

"You leave him alone, you've done enough damage already and you've got a mess of DVDs in the living room you're going to clean up. Then you're going to make a list of the groceries you're going to be buying, and where you're putting them so everyone knows what's yours, and then you're - "

Her voice trails off behind his door as she closes it on her way out, her steady commands murmuring down the hall and back towards the living room where he presumes she somehow manages to put the cat to work cleaning up her own mess. Soul exhales and attempts to calm his pounding heart, for about the hundreth time, and collapses face first into his sheets, groaning again and to hell with whatever comes because of it. Maka's white panties keep flashing behind his eyes, and he isn't sure if he hates Blair for the chaos she's unleashed in their previously quiet apartment, or if he's grateful for the apparently now-legal clothes stealing phase she's initiated in his Meister.

Something about Maka wearing his shirt so blatantly chips away at his feeble self-control and gives his pubescent hormones more excuse than they need to stir his blood - like he has enough to spare for that, as is.

The coming weeks mark what becomes the norm for them. Her turn on laundry day is now Maka's day to steal and wear his clothes, claiming she has no clean ones left of her own, although she manages to find clean bottoms to wear with his shirt, thank Death. Blair comes and goes as she pleases, as a cat should, and is obnoxiously underfoot - as cats are wont to do - whether in human form or cat, and continues to piss off his Meister by glomping him every chance she gets. His live-wire hormones react every time, much to his cranium's depleting bone mass.

He doesn't understand it, although he'd once overheard Blair explaining it to his red-faced Technician with weird statements of boy-smell, and powerful soul, and sweet dispositions that he didn't care about understanding anymore. As soon as he figured out they were talking about him - so uncool - he'd turned tail and gone back to his room for ten minutes to wait out the disturbing Girl Talk. Eventually they all adjust to each other, and a balance is worked out, and Bu-Tan becomes another close figure in their lives.

Not that she makes it any less chaotic, as cats are wont to do.

Aw, hell.