#my ficlets

[babygirltommykinard]

Scene

Tommy calling Buck, wanting to apologise for how everything went down. And to tell him that he wants to see him again because he knows he fucked up and Buck deserves the whole truth and not the mean-spirited things that came out of Tommy's mouth in the heat of the moment. It goes to voicemail.

He looks at his phone, sorrowfully.

Camera zooms in on the phone then zooms out.

Phone is now on the floor in the middle of debris showing "1 missed call from Tommy 💔". Slowly pans over to show Buck's hand laying beside it, just out of reach.

Pans out, Buck's jeep in the middle of the freeway totaled. Only Buck's arm can be seen from underneath it.

End Scene

[part 2]

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Hi love!!! It’s absolutely been toooooo long since I set a request but I read your prompts & had to send this in!!!

Neighbor Eddie? Maybe he sees the new neighbor moving into the apartment next to his & gets a little obsessed with her? Constantly timing it out to see her in the halls or at the mail room, knows where she works so he “accidentally” stopped in, knows her favorite coffee shop, he’s just always “accidentally” bumping into her , possibly dark sorta stalker-ish story?? Idk Halloween got me in spooky vibes lately & i loved it!! if you’re not comfortable writing this I totally understand but as always I hope you’re doing good!!🫶🏼🫶🏼

(11. New Apartment and 16. A flock of crows) with Eddie Munson. Thank you for your request lovie, I hope this is deliciously spooky!!

Warnings: Stalking, obsession, Dark!Eddie, mentions of homicidal thoughts and torture, mentions of sexual content, 18+ content!

Days were becoming shorter and shorter— darker and gloomier. Through the bleak winter clouds your eyes were drawn to the inky crows circling above your head. Their squawks and wails so violent you could have mistaken them as alarm bells ringing in your ears. They knew something you didn’t.

It was evident that something wasn’t right. An ominous darkness that lay festering beneath the surface of the deceiving ordinary. You had felt it since you moved from your home town— since you had laid your head down to sleep that first night in your new apartment.

It was comparable to a pair of beady eyes staring at you from a shadowy corner. The coat rack that your brain had convinced you was a man looming at the foot of your bed. The feeling made itself known. It demanded to be felt.

At first, you couldn’t have possibly suspected the curly haired metal head who cozily lived across the hall was to blame for your bazar paranoia.

But then you began to see more and more of him…

Eddie was his name. Eddie Munson.

Time continued its endless march onward and you hadn’t noticed the pattern because you had blindly narrowed it down to mere coincidence that you were seeing him so often. And that’s how Eddie wanted it to be. Undetectable. Like micro dosing you with a highly addictive drug. He wanted you to think of him often, but he had to be discreet about how his practices were played out.

It started in the laundry room in the basement of your shared apartment complex. You would be waiting on your load of laundry to finish in the dryer whilst Eddie would be waiting for his things in the washing machine. This was the first of many evenings shared this way. You and Eddie stood silently whilst the clink and clank of fabric shook in the operating machines in front of you. He had clearly left some loose change or maybe a lighter in his pockets.

Until you decided to try and spark the first conversation, “You’re in apartment E, right?”

And that’s all it took for the poison to seep penetratively deep into Eddie’s psyche. He was enchanted by you. Blanketed in a fog of your perfume. Your voice like a siren song lulling him to a watery grave. You had bewitched him. He was hooked.

“I live right across the hall from you in letter F. I moved in last week.” Most people mistook Eddie’s silence as ignorance, but not you. You could see that he wanted to talk to you. You understood him.

“Eddie. It’s nice to finally meet you.” He replied sheepishly and you would be lying if you said that his voice hadn’t caught you off guard. Gruff with a hint of softness— like he hadn’t spoken aloud in a while.

There was an allure to him that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. The way his cheeks heated and his eyes darted everywhere but your face. It’s almost as if he was being seen for the first time. Like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been…

“I heard you play guitar? Sounds pretty cool. I can hear it through the walls sometimes.” You offer him a polite smile to try and coax him out of his shell, but he remains reserved. His arms crossed over his chest and his wild hair falling into his eyes. His eyes that seemed to be the deepest shade of brown you had ever seen. Swallowing light and offering only darkness.

“Didn’t mean to bother you. I’ve been needing to sound proof my walls.” His voice remained lodged in his throat, strangled. He wanted to keep the words unspoken. Thoughts that were meant only for him.

You wave away his worry with a flick of your wrist, “It doesn’t bother me. I do enjoy a good thumping base when I’m doing the dishes. Gives me a reason to dance around and not look clinically insane.”

Your laugh left him stilted— like a deer frozen in headlights. It was a sound he had only dreamt of. Something pulled straight from a fairytale. Your claws sunk into his skin further and his entire body erupted in an itch to run away from you.

“Sorry, I sometimes get ahead of myself, my name’s—“

Before you had any time to even just simply introduce yourself, the brunette was taking off out of the room. Like a criminal fleeing a crime scene. Full of panic and spontaneity.

“Wait— you forgot your�� laundry…” And at that point you were meekly talking to empty space. Bumbling like a desperate fool.

If only in that moment you had taken the opportunity to look inside of his washing machine to discover that it was actually empty all along…

Eddie’s uncontrollable fascination with you only worsened with time and he found himself dressed in a dark zipper sweatshirt and a black baseball cap— premeditating his plans before he saw them through. He followed you to and from where you worked at a small bookstore near the edge of town. His breath breathing a thick spread of condensation onto the window pane as he searched for you through the glass. He would stand there for ridiculous amounts of time, sometimes for hours.

However he knew that to avoid suspicion he had to come inside at least a few times. Just to be safe.

He would trace his painted fingertips along the spines of books in the music section of the library and he would pick up one or two of the hardcovers and glance at the front page and the blurb on the back. Just to try and show some sort of faux interest. He would do this all whilst keeping his intense gaze fixated on you.

Your warm smile that always met your eyes. The way your nose scrunched slightly as you concentrated. He appreciated each article of clothing you wore and how the colours contrasted and complimented you beautifully. He longed to hear you laugh and he despised whenever another man would talk to you.

It caused his mind to darken to places it never had before. He would contemplate torture and homicide. He would indulge in fantasies of tying the men up to chairs, beating them into puddles of blood and drool and then making them watch as he fucked your sweet pussy silly. It drove him insane. You drove him insane.

He blamed you for what he was becoming. This animalistic hunter who only had an appetite for you and only you. Nothing could quench his thirst. There was nothing strong enough to drown out the thoughts he had about you.

It’s how he found himself standing behind you in the queue at your favourite cafe. Eddie found the coffee shop to be incredibly basic and he couldn’t quite understand why you loved and preferred it over any other, but if it meant that he got to see you more often then he would come here for the rest of his life.

Eddie hated coffee. He couldn’t stand the stuff. But just because he bought one, didn’t mean he had to drink it. All he had to do was to look like he was. So he nestled himself into a small crook at the hidden away corner of the store and left himself the perfect view of you from afar. He had your order memorised. Alongside the scent of your shampoo.

One day he promised himself that he would work up the courage to let himself into your apartment and see what trinkets of yours he could take but it was something he appreciated that it needed intricate and precise planning. Perfection took time, after all.

“Eddie?” You beamed down at him, your small and white ceramic mug and saucer balancing in the palm of your hand steadily, “What a pleasant surprise! How are you?”

Eddie gulped thickly at the thought of being caught and his trained and alert eyes follow your movements as you take a seat in front of him, welcoming yourself at his small table for one.

“I’m good. How are you?” His answers were always clipped and short. Nothing too interesting to draw you in, but enough mystery to leave you wanting more.

“Same old, same old!” Your shoulders bounce in a quick and dismissive shrug but he already knew what you had been doing prior to this interaction, “Do you come here often? I swear I’ve seen you in here a few times…” You weren’t confident in your allegation which caused Eddie’s heart to settle in his chest. He had you right where he wanted you. Dumb and sweet.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” He cocks one of his eyebrows at you challengingly and his lips curve upward into a sly smirk. In just a sentence he had disarmed you and you melt into your seat comfortably.

“I’ve become quite the regular here…” You sip at the rim of your cup, leaving traces of your lipstick behind on the pristine glass which Eddie knew he would be taking home with him later, “It’s just so cozy! I love it.” You snuggle down into the collar of your cableknitted sweater, the one Eddie had watched you buy from the second hand store just a few blocks over.

Eddie knew you so well. All of your cute mannerisms and your nervous tells. But you hadn’t the faintest clue about him.

Everything seemed to shift one morning when you had stumbled into Eddie when you were retrieving your mail from your post box. It had become a theme for you both to be grabbing your mail at the same time, and somewhere inside of you, a part of you that existed deep down, began to feel uneasy around Eddie.

You began to take notice of the look in his eyes. He always seemed to be somewhere else. Miles away. You could always feel his presence so close behind you, an eerie existence that you couldn’t ignore. His breath would sometimes tickle the hair on the back of your neck and you could have sworn you had felt him sniff your hair at least once of twice.

You started to try and avoid him at any given opportunity. You thought that because he never spoke to you much anyways then there couldn’t be too much harm in the matter.

The only problem was the double edge to your sword. You thought Eddie wouldn’t notice… but of course he did. And it angered him to a point of no return.

“Jesus Christ!!” Your hand clutches at your heart, your fingers fisting at the fabric of your sweater, “I didn’t even hear you come down the stairs…” Your breathing is erratic at the discovery of Eddie standing behind you. It was his intention to remain quiet— to catch you off guard. He liked to see you scared and riled up… it.. excited him.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Although his words sounded sincere, they weren’t. But he knew that you couldn’t tell the difference, “You okay?” He is closer now and he is nearly fleeting at the reflection of himself mirrored in the irises of your gorgeous and blown eyes.

He hears you gulp down a pool of saliva and it causes his smile to widen further, “It’s awfully early to be downstairs, is it not? Where are you off to?” He nearly pins you against the wall of metal post boxes but quickly reverts to opening his own locker. It was empty inside but you didn’t have to know that. He enjoyed toying with you. Puppeteering your feelings like a master of strings.

“I’m going to work.” You were struggling to deflect the annoyance and fear in your voice and Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle to himself lightly. It was a Sunday morning— you weren’t going to work. Actually, you were only down here to try and avoid running into him later on. You couldn’t hide from him anymore. He saw right through your charade.

“You’re going to work at 7 a.m. on a Sunday?” He pried further just so he could see you squirm. And the view was fucking delicious.

“Yes—“ He didn’t allow you to finish.

“In your pyjamas?” He takes his time as his eyes drink in your appearance from head to toe and you are suddenly under the impression that you may be in terrible danger…

“Well… I’m just about to go and get ready so… yes.” You slam your locker closed, twisting the key hurriedly and darting toward the staircase.

“One sec, I’ll walk up with you.” Eddie’s stern voice stills your movements and you shake your head, smiling uncomfortably. The corners of your mouth don’t meet your eyes. Eddie notices this.

“I really should get going—“

“And done.” He closes his locker with such gentleness that it makes your head spin and as he walks over to your rigid frame empty handed you feel your heart shudder in your chest.

“You didn’t have any mail?” Accusation is clear in your voice as you stare at his hands knowingly and Eddie stops dead in his tracks. His once warm smile falls from his lips and his eyes harden to as cold as ice as they meet your own.

“And you don’t have work today.” You watch his head tilt off to one side, like an interested dog listening to its owner for further command and your skin crawls with horrid goosebumps. Your stomach twists into anxious knots and your heart rattles so loudly in your chest that you are afraid he will hear it.

A dreaded silence falls over the empty hall, nothing to be heard but laboured breath. Your voice tremors with anticipation as you bring yourself to ask the question that you already know the answer to.

“How do you know that, Eddie?”

He offers nothing but a vacant stare, almost like he is waiting for you to make the first move. If you run, he will be sure to chase after you. But once he has you in his clutches— he won’t let you go.

“How do you know that.” You ask again, grasping the paper envelopes so tight to the point that they begin to crinkle in your grip. Eddie’s fingers twitch, longing to touch something. To touch you. To hold you still. He couldn’t handle much more of your minuscule frantic movements.

“I think you know how, sweetheart.” Groomed eyebrows perk up on Eddie’s forehead, beckoning you to antagonise him further. His eyes look scarily black now, lifeless like a shark circling its prey. He takes tedious and careful steps toward you but you match each one with a step further up the stairs.

“Well… I… I need to get going. Time is ticking.” You flash him one of your forced smiles again and it’s enough for Eddie to finally reach out and grab you from behind.

His fingers tangle through your hair and he yanks you back down from the staircase. Your envelopes aeroplane across the room and his fingers clasp firmly over your lips before your horrified blood curdling scream can leave your throat.

Eddie moans erotically into your ear as his nose tickles up the nape of your neck. His nostrils whiffing in your scent deeply like a bloodhound on the hunt, “Oh, baby. So soft. So beautiful.” He groans again as his fingers indent into your skin harshly and your thrashes against his restraint fail. Your back is flush against his hard chest and only one of his arms is strong enough to keep you there, “Finally I can have you all to myself…” His voice had shifted downward an octave and you can feel his wolfish smile against your neck before he starts to gnaw and nibble on your skin, “Hope you’re ready for the time of your fucking life…”

-

forgot I had a tag list whoops, my bad! Enjoy xoxo

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers @rainybloo28 @munson-enthusiast @godcreatoreli @littlefreckles4 @what-the-jams @tlclick73 @ameliapond1995 @thepurplelovewitch @somethingvicked @costellation-hunter @munsonzgf @emxxblog @ingridvasquez @sadbitchfangirl @im-julessssss @munsonburn3r @unclecrunkle @cierra222 @ziggeddie @yarafae @sidthedollface2 @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @purplewitchcauldron @manitskatrina @georgeweasleyslostearhq

[sysakiddo]

Okay so in this James Bond verse, Daniel is the 007, and he is getting a bit too old to jump from buildings and fuck a new target's wife every week although he is far from ready to quit! BUT then he gets assigned a new Quartermaster.

Daniel can't get over the fact that his new Q still has spots and scoffs in his ear 24/7 and is so bitchy and not reactive to Daniel's banter. When he complains to M about it, Q finds out and tells Daniel, I would of course prefer working with 006 but I am stuck with you. Daniel shudders at the thought of spending more than an hour in the hold of Charles' criminal beauty. So of course Daniel is on a mission to prove himself here! 

He breaks into Q's office on several occasions, each one getting him a scowl and a very controlled speech full of death threats. If you do it again, 007, I won't hesitate to use the new taser pen on you. It has enough power to put you in your crib for a few hours. 

Daniel likes it when Q flirts with him. 

Cue lots of hushed conversations via his comm, trying extra hard to make Q laugh, this honking sound that spooked Daniel the first time it boomed in his ear. 

[insert half cooked plot here]

Cut to two years in, they finally have a lead on a bad guy they've been looking for. Lo and behold, it's a trap and Daniel gets kidnapped!! His Q is freaking out! He heard the kidnapping happen live and couldn't do anything!!! He should have predicted this and protected his agent!! 

So when they finally get a hold of a shitty short video from a security camera, and when Q sees Daniel's pale form, blood dried on his chest and fingers crooked in weird angles, the pit in his stomach is the worst he has ever felt. Or so he thought but THEN. another footage comes in, the same camera angle but without Daniel now and with several other men. The tallest one looks straight into the camera and then the footage turns black. The AI powered tech displays the identity of the man on the screen. Jos Verstappen, it says. Underneath in red, possible connection to: Q. 

Max doesn't see it, already out of the room, vomiting into the bin right in front of M's office. 

more of this

[sufferu]

Okay, so. This is actually a rather big spoiler for No Refunds, so imma need all of you to hush up about this one when it comes to the current main fic ;)

Anyway — here’s the first draft of a very essential upcoming scene, for all those who wish to see it.

No Refunds Ficlet: March Away From Omelas

____

The five Royal Selection Camps met inside City Hall. Crusch Karsten, flanked by Ferris Argyle and Wilhelm van Astrea. Felt, attended by Rachins, Gaston, Camberley, and the Sword Saint himself. Anastasia Hoshin, with her personal knight and the Captain and Vice Captains of the Iron Fang. Priscilla Barielle, who had elected to witness the ensuing spectacle alone. And of course — Lady Emilia herself, with Beatrice, Otto, Garfiel, and the Oni twins all standing by her side. With a singular exception, nobody else was allowed within the building: they were alone.

That singular exception stood in the middle of the room, of whom a decision now had to be made.

“…I didn’t do anything wrong,” Natsuki Subaru said uncertainly. Why were they all looking at him like that? He wanted to take a step back, but managed to resist the urge just barely. “Priestella is saved now, isn’t it? And— we’ve taken care of five Archbishops of Sin.”

He was objectively correct, about both of those things. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, the Battle of Priestella had ended with zero casualties thanks to his contributions. There had been structural damage to the buildings of the city, sure, and there had been injuries here and there — bruises, gashes, broken bones — but nothing that had been lethal, and likely nothing that was going to be permanent. And of the five Sin Archbishops that had attempted to siege the city — one was dead, and the other four had been successfully captured, awaiting transport to the capital of Lugunica. Nothing like this had ever been accomplished in recorded history. In every sense of the word, Subaru had pulled off a miracle.

But in order to do it, he had—

“How many times?” Julius croaked. Subaru glanced his way, and froze at the look of devastation on his face. “Subaru — how many times was it?”

“I—” Subaru broke off. There was a long, long silence as everyone waited for him to answer. “…Does it matter?” he finally retorted. “I think the results speak for themselves, don’t they? Everyone’s safe, and everyone’s happy! Isn’t that the only thing that really matters, in the end?”

Otto made an indecipherable noise. Nobody looked at him.

“You didn’t answer us,” Wilhelm growled. The raw anger in his voice made Subaru stiffen. “How many times was it?”

When Subaru didn’t answer, everyone knew it was because he didn’t know.

“What a boorish question,” Priscilla scoffed. She was the only one there who looked relaxed, fanning her face gently as she peered at the lot of them from the side of the room. “Subaru saw that there was danger and rose to the challenge. If he bled for it in the meanwhile, what does it matter?”

“‘What does it matter?’” Felt repeated, her quiet voice already glittering with the warning sparks of her growing rage. “Big Bro just — killed himself, again and again, for OUR sakes, and — and ‘What does it matter?’”

“For Subaru, the ultimate sacrifice is a thing that he can make as many times as he wishes, as a means to an end,” Priscilla answered. “He can accomplish great things with his ability. He HAS accomplished great things, even. If I were his liege, I would be rewarding him for his accomplishments, not stifling his potential.”

“‘Stifling his potential’?” Felt repeated, disbelief coloring her voice red. “You’d call him — him DYING, again and again — you’d call it POTENTIAL?”

“Has he not allowed you to witness a miracle, peasant?” Priscilla returned. “Through his efforts, he has brought about a solution that would otherwise never have come to fruition. This is a thing to celebrate, is it not?”

“It is absolutely not!” Mimi cried out. “Mimi didn’t want this! Mimi didn’t want to survive because — because someone did THIS for her sake!”

Felt took a deep breath, clearly trying to maintain her composure. “…Subaru,” she said, directing her words towards the focus of the conversation. “Do you really think that winning the fight today was worth — this?”

Subaru stared back at her like she had grown a second head. “Of COURSE it was,” he scoffed, as if it were the obvious answer. “I’m just one person, and — not even a particularly valuable one at that.” From the corner of the room, Otto stared at him with growing despair. He didn’t even notice. “Sure, it — it sucked a lot, but I did it, and now everyone’s fine! So of course it was worth it.”

Felt swallowed, trying her hardest not to scream. She folded her hands in front of her — a practiced motion, one Reinhard had instilled into her through hours and hours of those stupid etiquette lessons. “And…” she faltered. “And you would do it again, if you felt that it was necessary.”

Subaru visibly flinched at the suggestion, but quickly moved to answer her. “O-Of course I would!” he insisted, his eyes darting around. Nearby, Crusch and Reinhard both stared at something that nobody else could see. “I—I AM still a knight, you know. It’s a knight’s JOB to put others before themselves. And…” He swallowed. “I know I’m not good at it, but if I try hard enough — well. My…circumstances…I mean — I’m in the perfect position to put others before me, right?”

“Because you never have to stop doing it,” Julius realized. “Because even if you die — you don’t have to stop.”

Subaru didn’t realize the surge of devastated nausea that such a realization had inspired in the gut of the Finest of Knights. “Exactly!” he crowed. “That’s exactly right! You see?”

Someone made a horrible strangled sound. Nobody knew who it was, and everyone was too focused on the matter at hand to find out, anyway.

“And if we’re not okay with it?” Felt pressed, trying to ignore the hole that was widening in her gut. “If we don’t want any part of — of an exchange like that?”

“…That’s ridiculous,” Subaru scoffed. “Why would anyone not — want to live? That’s stupid.”

“Why indeed,” Ricardo muttered.

“Maybe it’s not that — that someone doesn’t want to live,” Crusch said, her voice tense. “Maybe it’s that someone doesn’t want their life to be saved through…” She shook her head. “Maybe they consider — other things, to be more important.”

“Like what?” Subaru retorted.

“Honor, maybe,” Crusch said. “Ethics. Dignity. Integrity. Any of the things of which a loss would turn a person into a dog. …You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Valuing the alleviation of momentary suffering over a perfect ending is the way of dogs,” Priscilla replied, her eyes glinting. “If momentary suffering is necessary for a perfect ending, then to undergo it for the sake of fulfilling his duty — that is the sign of a wonderful knight.”

“There are limits,” Felt forced out through gritted teeth. “To what level of ‘momentary suffering’ is acceptable. Not that I’d expect YOU to understand that.”

“Lady Felt—”

“Don’t!” Felt snapped. Reinhard stopped. “Just— don’t. Not now.”

“I’d say it’s a perfectly acceptable level of suffering!” Subaru retorted, raising his voice. “I’m the only one who has to go through it, so I’m the one who gets to decide what’s acceptable, right? That’s how it works!”

“No the FUCK it’s not!” Rachins bellowed, taking a step forward. Reinhard quickly grabbed his wrist, preventing him from marching over to punch Subaru in the face. Rachins didn’t even glance back at him, fixated solely on the object of his rage. “You don’t get it make a choice like THAT when you— when you’re planning something THAT HORRIBLE!” he spat. “Who the fuck would be alright with this?! Just one ultimate sacrifice is hard enough to stomach, but — you can’t even tell us how many times it was! How am I supposed to go forward when I know you— YOU—”

“You might have DIED if I didn’t do anything!” Subaru protested. “If it was you or me— even if I had to choose all of you hundreds of times over, then—”

“How was it your place to make that decision for us?!” Anastasia burst out, uncharacteristically emotional. She hadn’t looked this way even back at the inn. “I didn’t want this!” she cried. “I didn’t consent to this! I never wanted to be complicit in something this awful, and here YOU went and made the choice to — to repeatedly sacrifice yourself for all of us regardless! I didn’t WANT you to do this for me!”

“We weren’t able to do anything,” Ferris managed, white as a sheet. He was gripping his head. “We weren’t able to stop nyew at all. And nyew didn’t stop nyerself, either: the first thing nyew decided to do when the Witch Cult attacked was…” Ferris fixed his gaze on Subaru, glassy with panic and devastation. “So long as nyer a knight, and protecting the country is nyer job— we won’t be able to stop nyew at— at all—”

“Oh like that’s any different than what Reinhard is doing,” Subaru retorted. “What, so him being unstoppable in his role as a Sword Saint is fine, but me using my own ability to act as a knight is crossing a line? How is THAT fair?”

Reinhard flinched violently, taking a step backwards.

“How DARE you make a comparison like that?!” Felt spat, finally snapping and raising her voice to a roar. “HOW DARE YOU?! You wanna know what the difference is, Subaru?! Reinhard being the Sword Saint doesn’t mean we’re all dooming him to fucking KILL HIMSELF for our sakes!”

“I can’t believe you would even SUGGEST such a thing,” Julius snarled, uncharacteristically vicious. “The role of the Sword Saint is a heavy one, yes, but it isn’t in any way the same thing as someone sentencing himself to execution after execution for the rest of —” Could Subaru die a natural death? He didn’t even want to THINK about the concept of an eternity trapped in a fate like this. “— of his natural life! You absolute— how could you even consider—?!”

Reinhard was not allowed to wish for his role as the Sword Saint to be taken away from him. Wishing for for such a thing was as good as poisoning his mind against the kingdom itself. In any case, nobody could ever strip him of his title even if they wanted to: nobody was more suited to the role of the Sword of the Kingdom than Reinhard van Astrea.

But now, he realized with a bolt of absolute clarity— now he was on the outside, looking in. Subaru wasn’t wrong about his curse positioning him in a manner that made him uniquely suited for the role of a knight. But if they allowed him to take that position up once again—

Reinhard thought of himself, and how he was never going to escape his title. He thought of Subaru, who was inches away from thrusting himself into the same position. He thought of an old story about his grandmother and grandfather, and how — just once — a Sword Saint had been set free.

“Subaru—” He tried to say, stepping forward, but Wilhelm held out his arm before anyone else could see what he was doing. Reinhard glanced his way, and saw ice blue eyes glimmering with the conviction of tempered steel.

—Reinhard understood. He stepped back to where he had been a second before.

…He likely wouldn’t have been allowed to be the one to do so anyway. Reinhard van Astrea could not act against the good of the kingdom, no matter who got hurt in the process.

Julius was still speaking. “How do you not understand?!” he shouted, his eyes blazing. “You seem to be thinking of this as— as some sort of— you just don’t get it, do you?! Do you have any idea how—” Horrified. Disgusted. Devastated. Mortified. “—how ANGRY we are with you right now?”

“I mean, I’d probably do it anyway!” Subaru pointed out, folding his arms stubbornly. “Whether I have the title or not, I’m always gonna want to help the people around me, right? You can’t stop me from doing THAT.”

The temperature of the room dropped significantly. Subaru’s eyes widened, his arms springing up to wrap around his chest at the sudden chill. A couple of pairs of eyes flickered to Emilia, who sat motionless in her seat.

“…For nyer own sake,” Ferris hissed, one of those in the room that was utterly unaffected by this cold air. He looked very much like he wanted to murder Subaru on the spot. “I am going to assume that was nyer misguided attempt at cracking a JOKE. But on the off-chance that nyew were being serious, I can assure nyew: we have ways of keeping people alive against their will if nyeed be.” He grinned, his face so sour it looked like it might curdle milk. “Nyew’ve seen me deal with suicidal Witch Cult prisonyers, Subaru-kyun. Do nyew think I’m above treating nyew the way I treated them?”

Subaru took a step back.

“Ignoring the absolutely disgusting moral implications of what you just suggested you planned on doing to yourself for the rest of your life,” Julius said coldly, eyes fixed on Subaru’s face. “You do realize that you just threatened ALL OF US, by saying that you would use time travel to bend reality to your heart’s content regardless of how we feel about it — do you not?” Subaru flinched. “I assumed you were better than that.” Julius rolled his shoulder. “But Ferris is right: if you are NOT better than that, then we can find a way to make sure we don’t have to worry about you deciding to reverse time behind everyone’s backs.”

“The lot of you are being ridiculous,” Priscilla scoffed. “Your wonderful knight saved an entire city almost single-handedly, and you wish to remove him from his post? Sacrifice is a part of life. If you can’t stomach the sacrifice necessary to feed the fire of life, then you are unfit to stand in the light of mine gaze.”

“There’s a fucking limit to the kind of sacrifices a reasonable person should accept!” Felt shot back. “Not like you’d understand a thing about being reasonable, you— you MONSTER. How can you talk about someone ripping himself apart so flippantly?!”

“If ripping oneself apart is what a person wishes to do, then I shall not stand in their way.” She smiled. “Just as there is beauty in war, there is beauty in sacrifice — or in this case, the dance of eternal sacrifice, in service of the greater good.” The Sun Princess frowned down at Felt, who was staring at her with a look of horrified disbelief. “It is not Subaru’s fault if a peasant like you cannot handle how he chooses to live and die,” she said coldly. “If he has made his choice, then he has made it so.”

“That’s vile…” Felt choked out. “Even for you, that is VILE.”

“Personal autonomy has limits,” Crusch said coldly. “If a man’s personal autonomy involves harming others, then he must be stopped. Likewise, if it involves him ripping himself apart, then we have a moral duty to stand in his way. — Especially if he has the gall to declare that it is for OUR sakes.”

“As a knight of Lugunica, I understand the nobility of sacrifice,” Julius said. He did not flinch as Priscilla turned to watch him, nor did he look her in the eye. “But as a knight, I understand the weight of it, as well. Giving up one’s life for a cause is one of the heaviest sacrifices one can make — and it is exactly because of that, that I cannot stand for someone who plans to make that sacrifice so many times in repetition.” He turned to face Subaru, alone in the center of the room, and took a deep breath. “In saving Priestella from the Witch Cult, Natsuki Subaru has fulfilled his duty as a knight once and for all,” Julius declared. “He has made the ultimate sacrifice, and he has done so — many, many times over. Allowing him to continue to do so for the sake of this country would damage the worth of the entire nation, and I refuse to stand for it. That’s all I have to say.”

“I stand by my knight,” Anastasia announced, stepping forward. “We are not animals, and I refuse to live as an animal by depending on someone to harm themselves for me in perpetuity — and I refuse to allow my country to do such a thing, either. And I am no longer willing to wait two years for a decision to be made: Natsuki Subaru will be removed from his role today, or the Anastasia Camp will consider him and all of his allies its enemy.”

“The Iron Fang stands with its employer,” Ricardo added, his voice like steel. “But even without its relationship with the Anastasia Camp, I would never stand for something this disgusting, nor would any organization that I lead. And—” He shook his head, looking very much like he wanted to strangle someone. “And I’d HOPE that if — those who I care about — were thrown into a situation — like THIS — that the people they meet would have the basic decency to refuse the same.”

“Mimi hates this,” the eldest of the Pearlbaton triplets forced out, uncharacteristically enraged. She was scratching at the top of her head, yanking at her orange hair. “Mimi hates everything about this. How dare— how DARE you—”

“We want nothing to do with an arrangement like this,” Hetaro confirmed. “I don’t want to be saved by someone doing — this. It’s sick. I’d rather just die.”

“I don’t want to die,” Tivey muttered. “But if I were to live a life dependent on something like — THIS, I’d be no better than vermin. And I don’t want anyone forcing me into that role, either. We stand with our Lady.”

“The three of us might be vermin,” Rachins growled. “But even WE are above depending on an eternal living corpse for our lives and livelihoods. You can fuck right off with that, Subaru.”

“I wouldn’t call us vermin—” Camberley objected.

“All the more reason, then,” Gaston said firmly. “None of us are gonna accept something this — gross. Ever.”

“I agree with those idiots,” Felt snarled, stepping forward defiantly. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about ‘the greater good’: this is vile, and I would be utter scum if I rolled over and let things continue like this. Thank you for your service, Big Bro: now fuck ALL THE WAY off with this Unsung Hero bullshit.”

“My role as the Sword Saint is a duty granted to me by Od Laguna,” Reinhard managed, both outraged and devastated beyond words by the comparison. “It is a burden that I would not wish upon anyone, but the sole grace of my role is that I have been granted it specifically because my capabilities allow me to fulfill it without — undue sacrifice. For you to try and take something like it upon yourself through the use of a curse this vile…” He shook his head. “I will stand with whatever Lady Felt decides,” the Sword Saint said. “As she is against — everything about this — so am I.”

“Disgusting,” Ferris hissed, bristling. There were tears in his eyes. He shook his head, muttering the same word over and over again. “Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting — Nyatsuki Subaru, I hate nyew so, so much—!”

“To keep Natsuki Subaru as a knight after this would be considered the height of indecency,” Crusch declared. “That is where I stand, as do my Camp and my Estate. Lady Emilia, I must insist that you remove him from his position NOW, or I will render our alliance null and void. That is my ultimatum.”

“This— This really feels like an overreaction!” Subaru stammered, backing away from the sea of anger and devastation. “Didn’t everything work out alright, in the end? Wasn’t it worth it? One life in exchange for all of Priestella—”

“It wasn’t just one life, Subaru,” Ricardo spat. “It was one person, over and over again, who decided all on his own that we were the kinds of ANIMALS that would be absolutely fine resting our lives on — on a fucking monstrosity like that!“

“We didn’t even get a CHOICE in the matter,” Ferris cried. “Nyone of us did. “Nyew just went ahead and decided for nyerself that we’d all prefer this — this utter BULLSHIT.“

“Do you not get what an embarrassment this is?” Julius snapped. “For someone to have stepped in and decided on their own that they’re going to take all the suffering of — of the Royal Selection Camps, of the White Scales of Priestella, of EVERYONE who might have otherwise decided to fight back on their own accord — for them to have stolen that choice away and forced everyone else to accept not just one singular sacrifice, but a string of sacrifices so long that you haven’t even been able to tell us how many deaths make it up! It’s a humiliation of the highest order, because you just forced ALL OF US to be complacent in one of the most monstrous, inhuman scenarios I can imagine.“

“Fuck nyew,” Ferris breathed, looking like he was on the verge of passing out. “Fuck nyew, Subaru. Fuck nyew, fuck nyew, fuck nyew—”

“I really don’t think—!”

“How would you have felt,” Felt interrupted. “If Big Sis had done all of this on your behalf?” Subaru froze. She grinned at him, all teeth and no joy behind her smile. “You’d fucking hate it, right?” she asked cheerfully. “You’d scream, and you’d probably cry. You might even throw up, you’d feel so awful. And if she turned to you and said ‘But I gave you a miracle, aren’t you proud of me?’ I’ll bet you’d want to scream at her for it, too.” She leaned forward. “How DARE you do that to us.” Felt hissed. “How fucking dare you.”

“And to think!” Anastasia laughed. It was a venomous, bitter sound that made Subaru want to recoil. “To think, I actually was starting to believe the others’ insistence that you could be trusted to man your post responsibly!” She stared at him, eyes hard. “I was right about this whole situation from the start. Keeping you as a knight was a ridiculous notion, because — THIS — was always going to be the outcome, one way or another.”

Subaru was speechless. Slowly, with jerky movements, he twisted around to the one camp that had yet to make its final assertion.

“G-Guys…?” he managed.

“Cap—” Garfiel hesitated, and then shook his head. Subaru visibly wilted. “Natsuki Subaru can’t be a knight anymore,” he declared. “This is horrible. I didn’t want this. I never wanted anything like this. If I let him do this for — for MY sake, how could I ever look myself in the mirror again? ��And I don’t think he’s ever gonna stop unless we force him away from the edge.”

“This is the absolute worst thing you could have done to me, Subaru,” Ram snapped. “I don’t know how you don’t understand that. I don’t WANT to persist via your acts of self-harm: I’m perfectly happy to live to the best of my ability and accept my death when my time has come to an end. A life of dignity is one that I desire most of all. —And here you are, planning to force me to rely on your trail of self-destruction for the rest of my natural life? That’s a vulgarity beyond words.”

“I really thought you had learned,” Otto muttered. His face was buried in his hands. “I really, really thought you had learned, Subaru.”

Despair slowly dawned across the face of the self-proclaimed knight.

“The old me might have allowed for this,” Rem admitted. Her voice was quiet and broken. “I am not that woman anymore. I won’t let you do this to yourself.”

“Betty doesn’t want her contractor to become a living corpse, I suppose,” Beatrice said quietly. “Betty wants you to be happy, but that also means that she doesn’t want you to destroy yourself. You can hate me for this if you want, Subaru. But I can’t let you — I can’t let you do this.”

Subaru stared at all of them, his upper lip wobbling, and then his eyes flitted to the last person in the room, the one who had not said a single thing since they had entered the building.

Emilia could not bring herself to voice the words, but her silence spoke a thousand in its stead. Subaru made a horrible croaking noise, wide-eyed and devastated.

Wilhelm had to force himself to speak, but when he did, his voice came out loud and clear and true.

“Natsuki Subaru.”

Subaru could no longer be a knight. For him to continue being a knight would be for him to continue to sacrifice himself for the sakes of those around him, over and over again, without regard for whether they wanted him to do so or not. For him to remain a knight would be for the kingdom to approve this cycle of endless self-destruction, so that it could profit off of his pain until the day it finally sucked him dry. —And this could no longer be a decision that waited a year, a month, a day, but rather a move that had to be made as quickly and decisively as possible.

Lady Emilia had already realized what Wilhelm was about to do. Her eyes were glassy and dull, but she bowed her head in assent when he briefly caught her gaze. Do what you must.

For his own good, Subaru could no longer be a knight. However, Emilia firing him after just a year of service would leave a black mark on his record that could last until the end of his life. And with him having saved the Watergate City nearly single-handedly, for him to willingly abandon his duty now would paint him as a fickle, untrustworthy coward for the rest of his life. Titles brought with them expectations and responsibilities, and great deeds even more so. Subaru had somehow entangled him in a web of both that threatened to trap him as the nation’s self-replenishing sacrifice for — in a worst-case scenario, perhaps for the rest of eternity.

“W-Wilhelm?” Subaru whimpered, his voice high-pitched and uncertain.

But there was a way to retire him that would not impact his reputation, or hamper him from pursuing any other future career path he may choose, or even leave him with the majority of the blame. It was the same way that, many years ago, a young man on a mission had set free the woman who would become his wife.

Subaru would hate him for this until the old man’s dying day, and perhaps even beyond that. But Wilhelm loved him, and that meant he valued the quality of the boy’s life more than he ever could his personal reputation in his eyes.

Priscilla realized what the Sword Demon was about to do moments before he opened his mouth again. She sighed, snapping her ruby red fan shut. The sound echoed through the room like a thunderclap.

“Natsuki Subaru,” Wilhelm Van Astrea declared. “Due to finding you unworthy to serve our nation as a knight of the Kingdom, I challenge you to a duel.”

*

Wilhelm had challenged Subaru to a duel over his position as a knight of the Kingdom. Subaru’s liege, Lady Emilia, had consented to such terms. If Subaru were to win, he would be allowed to remain where he was. If Wilhelm were to win, then Subaru would be forced to retire from his post — and in the eyes of the public, all the blame for his removal would rest squarely on Wilhelm’s shoulders.

Subaru, Wilhelm, and everyone witnessing the event knew what the outcome was going to be.

“What are you doing?!” an old lady cried from the stands. “What are you DOING?! He saved us — he saved all of our lives! Stop, STOP—!!”

“Natsuki Subaru-dono is a hero!” shouted a young man, hands clenching the rails. “Why are you doing this?! What did he do wrong?! He didn’t do ANYTHING, just LET HIM—!!”

“Wilhelm—” Subaru tried to plead, one last time.

Wilhelm met his gaze with one fierce enough to burn. “This is for your own good.”

Subaru swallowed, and raised his whip.

It only took three hits. The first smacked the handle of Subaru’s weapon with the flat of the blade, knocking it out of his hands and into the air, where it spiraled in an arc. The second whacked Subaru on the top of his head, stunning him hard enough to make him lose his balance. The third took advantage of this wrong-footedness by slamming into his chest, knocking him down on his back. Then the weight of the man’s knee settled against his chest, pinning him to the ground, with the edge of the blade grazing against his throat. And that was that.

“The winner,” Ferris announced, his voice muffled in Subaru’s ears. “Is Wilhelm van Astrea.”

It had not even lasted a full ten seconds. Those who watched would later describe it as Wilhelm scruffing him, much like one would a misbehaving puppy. Even the way he had pinned him to the ground had been careful, less like an actual fight and more like a sparring session between parent and child.

It was a duel far gentler and kinder than his previous with Julius. But the results were far graver in his eyes, for he had been successfully stripped of his title as a knight and reduced to simply being Natsuki Subaru.

[blorbocedes]

max n pastry…

"So, when did it start? Single seaters?" Max's shoulder nudges against Oscar's. His tone is light and curious, as if he were asking Oscar's favourite ice cream flavour.

"I have no clue what you're referring to, mate." Oscar replies, schooling his tone in flat blankness.

Of course he knows what he's talking about. Because bloody Mark has it all over his weepy, proud face. Anyone can look him and just tell. Oscar feels weirdly exposed, and he hates it.

"There is, of course, nothing wrong with it. After all, he also married his manager so it makes sense he would, with you. It's all he knows." Max's Dutch lisp catches on some of the words. He pats Oscar's knee. Oscar's wearing shorts, the kind that are easy to sneak a hand into.

Oscar balls his fists, fingernails digging into the flesh.

It's all he knows.

He's not some victim. Oscar knew what he was doing when he signed up for it. He knows what he's doing now. He doesn't come second to anyone, not even Mark.

Oscar wants to say it's not what you think it's like. But that would be admitting to it all, and his defensive reactions have been drilled out of him. Back when Mark worried about being careful. Now even the kinds of Verstappen can put two and two together. Lando never noticed, thank God. Oscar couldn't deal with the sympathy in eyes, the well-meaning attempts to 'help' that would make his skin crawl.

"Sure you're not projecting there?" Oscar retorts.

Max leans in closer. "You know. My manager used to be my dad's manager."

Oscar feels the lump in his stomach lurch.

He looks at Max in the eyes, and it is knowing.

[khaleesiofalicante]

"That child is staring at you." Malec

“That child is staring at you.”

Magnus pauses his inspection of the dessert table and twirls around to find his friends.

Catarina tugs at the lapels of her jacket and not-so-subtle tilts her head to the right, gesturing towards a little boy who is indeed staring at Magnus – not-so-subtly either.

When Tessa said ‘come as you are’ to the wedding, this is probably not what she meant, Magnus thinks. 

“I told you not to wear that jacket,” Ragnor hisses as he adjusts his bowtie for the hundredth time. Magnus just knows Catarina is going to pluck and throw it off the balcony any minute now. “The thing is a choking hazard for children. Poor thing is probably thinking you’re here to murder him.”

Magnus looks at the child again. 

He doesn’t look scared. If anything, his brown eyes are curious. Maybe he likes choking on sequins. Children are odd like that. 

“He’s probably wondering how you come you’re having dessert, and he is not,” Catarina coos, ready to feed the boy herself. “We should probably get him a plate-”

“Yeah, you do that,” Magnus hums and turns around. 

He has a strict policy about these things - Stay away from children, vegans, and Peruvians. The last time he interacted with one of those things, he almost died. One of his biggest nightmares is dueling with a Peruvian child who just happens to be vegan.

Ragnor tackles Catarina and drags her away before she decides to babysit yet another abandoned child at yet another party. Magnus chuckles to himself as he returns his interest to much sweeter things. 

He’s barely served himself the chocolate mousse he’s been eyeing since he got to the venue when he feels something pull at his jacket.

He immediately worries he’s somehow subconsciously brought Chairman Meow to the wedding – against Tessa’s strict orders. He’s pretty sure it’s all a ruse to stop her husband from bringing his own. 

Magnus thinks it’s a stupid rule. How come children are allowed and cats are not? Sure they both get messy easily, but at least cats know how to clean themselves up. 

“Um, hello little one,” Magnus greets the child awkwardly. 

Okay. Now what?

“Do you like boys?” the boy asks him seriously. 

Magnus frowns a little. 

Sure, no heterosexual creature would wear this outfit – as if they can pull it off! But it’s not very nice to assume, is it? Where are this child’s parents and what have they taught him?

But Magnus doesn’t have the energy or patience to educate this boy on gender norms, so he simply nods. “Yes.”

“Okay, thank you,” the boy replies and then runs away.

Okay then. 

Magnus turns back to the dessert table. Chocolate Mousse, here I come!

He takes his dessert plate and makes his way back to his table. A loud child runs past him, mouth covered in what could only be from the now-ruined chocolate fountain. Magnus shudders as he takes his seat next to his friends. “Why would anyone want one of those?”

“Chocolate mousse?” Catarina steals a bite from his plate. 

“Children,” Magnus corrects.

“Ah,” Ragnor says. “I thought we had the talk, Magnus? Do you need a refresher?”

“I didn’t ask how people have children, Ragnor, I asked why,” Magnus rolls his eyes, stabbing at his dessert with a spoon.

“We need alcohol for that conversation,” Catarina informs him with a huff, before lowering her voice. “This wedding doesn’t have an open bar.”

“That’s because our dear Tessa knows what certain people get up to when there are open bars at weddings,” Ragnor hums into his glass of white. 

“Hey, you’re the one who dared me to make a champagne tower of my own!” Magnus argues. 

“Magnus!” Catarina giggles, already a little tipsy from the limited wine they’ve been hogging all evening. “You must have an open bar when you get married.”

“When I get married?” Magnus glares at the certainty in her voice. “I’ll have you know that I never intend to tie the knot. If anyone is next in the group, it’s Ragnor.”

“Unless I’ve been secretly married this entire time!” Ragnor gasps dramatically. 

Magnus rolls his eyes fondly at the man’s theatrics, who is also tipsy now, and pulls his glass of wine away. Tessa, the wisest among them, made a good call by cancelling the open bar. 

“My point is,” he clears his throat and turns his attention to Catarina again. “I don’t know understand why anyone would want any of that. Marriage and children, dear god, the children-”

“Excuse me?”

Magnus turns around at the voice and then blinks slowly. A pair of dark blue eyes blink back at him.

Neither person says anything for a moment. They simply stare at each other. 

In Magnus’ defense, there is a lot to stare at. 

Ragnor clears his throat loudly behind him. Magnus coughs. “Can I help you?”

“Sorry,” the tall, hot, stranger clears his throat, shaking his head a little. “I was gonna-But then your face-”

“Is something wrong with my face?” Magnus frowns, dabbing his mouth with a napkin to wipe off any excess mousse. 

“No. No. Nothing’s wrong,” the man replies quickly, looking horrified. “Actually, everything is right with it. Perfectly right.”

“Uh,” Magnus replies eloquently. 

Catarina, ever the helpful one, parrots off a list of digits. “That’s his number if that’s why you’re here.”

“Catarina!” Magnus hisses under his breath. 

Not that he minds. But it’s not very helpful. What if the man forgets it? Maybe she should write it down in a napkin or something.

“Oh, uh, actually, I wanted to ask you if you mind talking to my son and telling him you’re married?” the man replies. 

Magnus blinks at those confusing words. “Pardon?”

“My son,” the man repeats slowly, as if he thinks Magnus is inebriated like the rest of his friends who are giggling behind him right now. “He asked me to ask you out.”

“Oh,” Magnus says.

Maybe children aren’t completely useless after all. 

“You have a son?” Magnus asks the important questions first.

“I have two,” the man smiles fondly and then points at the distance. 

And there they are. 

The inquisitive and slightly unnerving one – and the little, loud one who looks like he stuffed his face in the chocolate fountain again.

“Those are your children?” Magnus inquires and the man nods. Well, this is very important information indeed. “I see.”

“Rafael can be a little intense,” the man chuckles awkwardly. “He’s not gonna take no for an answer unless there is a logical flaw in his plan.”

“I’m sorry, how old is this child again?” Magnus asks curiously.

“He’s five,” the man replies. “Max is three.”

“Great age for them to adjust to new family dynamics,” Catarina provides unhelpfully.

“Okay, that’s enough wine for both of you,” Magnus glares at her before moving away her glass too. 

The stranger looks horrified by that. “Oh no, I wasn’t propositioning you or anything-”

“Why not?” Ragnor frowns, offended on behalf of Magnus. “He does have a face where everything is right. Your words, mate, not mine.”

“Ragnor!” Magnus hisses again and turns to the stranger, taking pity on him. “I am so sorry, eh-”

“Alec,” the man provides.

“Alec,” Magnus smiles at the man. It suits him. “It seems I have two children of my own.”

“They grow up so fast, don’t they?” Alec sighs wistfully.

Magnus laughs at that and then sighs softly. “I am happy to talk to your son. Although I am not actually married, and I don’t condone lying.”

Ragnor and Catarina cough loudly in unison. Magnus chooses to ignore them. 

“Oh,” Alec says, nodding in understanding. “That’s fair. Maybe you could just say you’re not interested? I’m sure Rafael would understand. I’ve been teaching them both to take no for an answer.”

“That’s very important,” Magnus nods appreciatively. And then. “But as I said, I don’t condone lying.”

“Oh,” Alec says again. And then. “Oh.”

“Hm-hm,” Magnus grins at that. 

“Right,” Alec clears his throat and turns to Catarina. “I’m sorry, can you say his number again? Wait, I might need a napkin-”

“I’m sure I can put in your phone directly, darling,” Magnus chuckles as he gets off the chair. “Now, should we go tell your children that you’ve succeeded in your quest?”

Alec smiles before frowning again. “Rafael is gonna be insufferable about this.”

“Not to scare you away already, but I am worse,” Magnus informs as he grabs the man’s arm. “Lead the way.”

“I told you you’re next!” Catarina yells after him. 

Magnus doesn’t flip her off. Not with the wedding photographer lurking about. Tessa will have his head if she finds evidence of his unruly behavior at her wedding. 

“Hey, quick question,” Alec stops, looking a little worried. “You like kids, right?”

“Oh,” Magnus says and then smiles. “I love kids.”

[wordy-little-witch]

I'm caught perpetually teetering on the line between competent Buggy and absolutely fucked up into success Buggy, but I think I found a work around, and the reveal comes via Cross Guild - Mihawk specifically. Ergo, I thus drop little random numbers here for reading pleasure before I actually EXPLAIN it.

<><><><>

Crocodile

It was not abnormal for the clown to butt heads with the former warlord. They both had very strict and evident opinions, thought one (cough Buggy cough) was much more verbose about it. Running an expansive business with a bumbling fool of a face man was enough to instigate migraines in the most patient of men.

Crocodile was not a patient man.

One could only imagine the sheer agony of his day to day.

This came to a head, as such things tend to do, on a mundane Tuesday afternoon, barely past midday. Buggy had scuttled in, a veritable mess of a person, hair in disarray and sweaty. Crocodile had taken one look and sneered at the other in disgust. This, in turn, has set Buggy off.

The clown had apparently been out with the lower ranks, building rapport and assisting with the laborious tasks assigned to them. It was something he had done before titles had even been a passing thought to be disposed on his name, and he had made it abundantly clear that it would not stop now nor in the foreseeable future. Admittedly, Crocodile had tuned out much of it in preference for more entertaining thoughts, such as brutally mummifying a certain clown.

Thwack

Crocodile nearly dropped his cigar. He blinked, automatically turning a glowering glare at the other as he shifted his shoulders. Buggy simply huffed, pale though he was, meeting the dark scowl with one of his own.

"By the Seas, why do I even bother with you, I swear-!"

As fast as he had stumbled in, Buggy was gone. Crocodile stared after him well after the door clicked shut. He rubbed his shoulder with his remaining hand, grimacing thoughtfully. Buggy had hit him. Not hard enough to cause damage, not even enough to leave a bruise, but it stung. It had connected.

He was a Logia user, and the Clown had solidly hit him.

Thoughts racing, he tried to convince himself it must have been due to some leftover sweat from the physical activity the blue haired menace had been rambling about. Turning back to his paperwork, he firmly told himself that that was all there was to it.

He pointedly ignored the fact that Buggy's hands had been dry and dusted with dirt.

<><><><><><><>

Mihawk

Life on the island was much removed from the monotony of Kuraigana. It bustled with life here in a way both alien and vaguely familiar to the swordsman. Despite the brightness of the colors and the loudness of the cacophony, it was almost... charming.

He'd never admit that outloud, however.

One thing he did not find very enjoyable was the lack of challenge here. Most who used the blade and called this archipelago home withered under his attention, paled and bowed out from an offer to spar with stuttered excuses and fear in their hearts. It was disheartening, especially given how many of the showed halfway decent promise.

It was a slowly crawling Sunday evening when he happened across a small squadron of the newer recruits in one of the sandy clearings. Many were younger than expected yet carried a look of maturity far beyond the planes of their faces. Mihawk had found himself admittedly rather intrigued when Buggy had personally offered to welcome these young adults at best, teenagers at the lower end, to the Guild.

Even now, a few weeks into their stay on the isle, Mihawk noticed a marked change - a slight build of muscle mass, a more healthy coloring, cleaner clothes and faces. They were doing well, he noted.

They were also all working studiously with blades in hand.

He watched them work for a time, hidden into the shadowed spaces of the trees near the clearing, allowing himself but a moment of observation. His gaze inevitably shifted to their katas, their grips, their footwork. He frowned, brow furrowing slightly as he considered them, the oddly familiar movements ringing an unnamed bell within his mind.

A bright laugh distracted him, and he turned a glance to Audrey, one of the younger recruits, spinning fluidly between a parry, redirection, and then a slash. Her bright red plait swirled after her, and suddenly Mihawk was standing straighter, walking into the clearing.

The jovial air was quickly hushed, eyes growing wide as many bowed their heads in deference. Audrey met his gaze head on with a reckless defiance undercut only by the sheer terror she tucked behind bravado in her summer green gaze. "Sir," she nodded once, voice impressively level despite the white knuckles grip on her blade, now held at ease yet defensive.

He nodded once in response. "My apologies to have interrupted," he announced cooly. "I found you all practicing by chance and am quite pleased by your skills. It is evident you have an acceptable level of respect for the craft."

Many faces lit up at the compliment. Audrey herself smiled brightly, showing a little gap in her smile. Somehow, it made him almost fond of such a look.

"That being said," he continued before any further reaction could be given, "the swordplay you lot have been utilizing, wherever did you learn it?"

"C-Captain Buggy, s-sir!" A blond lad responded brightly with a smile, enthusiasm not defeated by his stutter. Thómas, if Hawkeye recalled correctly. "H-He has b-bee-been teaching us-s," the other hiccupped happily.

"The..."

"Chairmen Buggy said he knew a few styles. For now, we're learning this one - he said it would be easiest on us for the time being. Once we're stronger, he'll help us find individual styles to expand on!"

"Is that so," he replied absently, mind racing. He knew this style - he'd been on the receiving end of it more than once, after all. Never once had he considered that Shanks' impeccable footwork may have been a set style. It had seemed too randomized, too shaken from the norm to have a specific sequencing. And yet...

And yet.

"The Chairmen knows this style well enough to teach it then."

"Yes sir!"

"Mm. Thank you, then. You have given me much to think on. Keep up the good work."

Leaving just as suddenly as he'd arrived, the swordsman set on a straight path to the animal tents. The clown would doubtlessly be there at this time of day. Mihawk had gotten a general idea of the man's excessive schedule in his time on the island after finding the other's Presence too soft and wisp-like to pinpoint.

Yet a other odd thing about the clown, he supposed, making his way along.

Finding the clown had been easy. Guiding him from the masses had been equally so. Convincing him to spar had been... not. If anything, it had been loud, expressive and interspersed with crying. It had taken Mihawk quite explicitly swearing formally to not kill the other outright for Buggy to even stop his pathetic yet endearing tears.

Mihawk shook the latter thought off as quickly as it came.

Buggy asked if his daggers would suffice as a weapon, citing that Mihawk had been the one to ask for a spar, after all, and thus had a decent amount of choice. Pleasantly surprised by the clown's knowledge of the code, he'd cited it would be fine, as he would not be utilizing Yoru for this regardless.

They took their positions on opposite ends of their designated battle ground, eying one another carefully. With the clown right before him, Mihawk focused his Haki, intending not to quite crush the other but to study him as thoroughly as possible, to push his limits as it were.

Buggy surprisingly opted to play it safe, not lunging forward in a reckless attack as he so often seemed to do. Taking the signal, Mihawk moved instead, intending to push the other back, to catalogue his steps. Instead, Buggy twirled, one knife sliding sinfully along his own before looping back off again, redirecting his momentum easily without incurring nor causing any damage.

The dark haired man blinked.

He'd... barely felt the other move.

Typically Haki would ebb and flow around a person or object with the movements of the host. Split seconds before one moved towards the left, their Haki would lean into the motion. Identifying, studying and reacting to the Haki as opposed to the physical form took years of practice and mastery, something Hawkeye excelled in. His Observation was rumored to be on the same scale as Charlotte Katakuri, after all.

And yet a clown had blind sided him.

In response, he turned, rerouting his energy into a graceful arc. This time, he saw Buggy move, body fluid as he shifted around the threat despite his Devil Fruit. Mihawk wondered absently if the Haki would cause damage before he lunged backwards as a dagger came dangerously close to his mustache. He allowed his surprise to show for a moment, gaze darting to Buggy. He'd expected a stunned look, perhaps a smug, prideful expression.

The face which met him was closed off, locked down tightly, offset even further by the garish painted smile on the other's sun kissed face. Buggy's eyes, usually a soft blue that summoned the skies to his very irises had frozen over into something iced and glacier like. Mihawk was fascinated.

Their dance continued on, far longer than the taller had anticipated. Their deadly dance was near silent, save the sharp swish of silk-sheering sharp blades through air.

Mihawk made one more movement in, managing to chip away at defenses to leave an opening for his knife to slip in silently. The blade cut through cloth and - not skin, not flesh, but something. Mihawk was suddenly frozen in place, staring at where the blade sat innocently up to the hilt in the new gap between Buggy's lower and upper ribs.

"Well, guess that call it, then," the blue haired man sighed, pulling back his hands to resheath his weapons. "That was a hell of a work out, man, you are fast as fuck. Nngh~" He stretched, a few vertebrae popping as he stepped back to spin on the ball of his foot, hair swishing. "Want to head back? Dinner ought to be ready soon. ... Mihawk?"

The dark haired man had since straightened, staring between his blade and Buggy's body, whole and hale. "... is this the reason for your oddities?"

"What?"

"You... why would you..."

Buggy, now wary, seemed to debate his next move. That was all Mihawk needed to meet the otherr man's gaze head on.

"It is nearly impossible to completely suppress one's Haki, and yet yours fits you like a second skin. It is hardened, expansive, and dense." He frowned. "It is... frankly speaking, more than merely intimidating."

Buggy rubbed his elbow. "Don't... over think it, okay? It's nothing special-"

"It is."

"It isn't, okay-?"

"It is and you do so without so much as uttering an indicator. Your Haki is so tightly bound that I could feel the moment my blade passed that barrier. You have and continue to actively do what many consider impossible." He stepped closer. Buggy stepped back. Mihawk followed. "You use an impossible technique with your Haki." Step. "You are teaching a recruit squadron swordplay in the steangest yet most effective manner I have seen in a long while." Step. "You certainly used Armament during this exchange on instinct alone." Step. Thump. Buggy stared uo, huddled back to a tree trunk. Mihawk leaned into his space. "And, perhaps strangest of all, you use a variation of Shanks' Violeta Vendetta for your bladed battles. Tell me just who or what you are, clown - because a fool or failure is not among them."

Silence reigned in the clearing.

Mihawk stared.

Buggy gulped. "He still... calls it that?"

What. "What?"

"Red hair... bastard stills calls her Violeta...?"

Mihawk nodded. Buggy laughs.

And then? Well, then Buggy explains

[triptychgrip]

Viktor and Yuuri Answer The Web's Most Searched Questions

“I’m Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov!”

“And I’m Yuuri Katsuki Nikiforov!”

They turn to look at each other and grin, attempting to speak in unison.

“And this is the WIRED Autocomplete Interview.”

They’re a little off on the wording, but what is simultaneous is the way they break out into giggles right after saying ‘interview’. It’s only been a few seconds since the cameras have begun rolling, and Viktor is already feeling charmed by the pink tint staining his husband’s cheeks.

“Aww, and we even practiced that a few times!” Yuuri says, now donning a cute little pout.

“It was my fault,” Viktor automatically pipes up, before letting his heart-shaped smile take over his face. “I started speaking a half-beat too late because I was too busy admiring your pretty eyes, love.”

Giggles and hushed whispers immediately break out on the WIRED filming set, but Viktor only has eyes for the way Yuuri’s lips instantly morph, curving into a pleased, albeit shy smile. 

“You’re sweet, Vitya,” he murmurs, before reaching over to hold his hand. 

There’s not much space between them to begin with on the bench they’re seated on, but Yuuri closes that miniscule gap so that their thighs are pressed right up against each other. Viktor hopes the audience is grateful; the slight tension his love is now holding in his leg will give the cameras a nice view of his immaculate, muscular thighs, outfitted in the sleek trackpants that Mizuno specifically designed for him. (After some sleuthing, Phichit had informed the two of them that Kenjirou had gone ahead and bought four different pairs.)

Nyala – the WIRED production assistant in charge of this episode taping – then hands them the show’s distinctive looking question tableau. On it, are Google’s top ten most searched questions containing their names. They’re partially covered, which adds to the fun: they’ll be taking turns reading them aloud, while unpeeling the adhesive covering to reveal each query.

As they’d agreed earlier, he will read and answer the first question, so Yuuri holds the board steady.

“What did Yuuri and Viktor…”

Viktor pauses to draw out the suspense, and then whips off the adhesive in one rapid motion, his enthusiasm almost causing Yuuri to topple over.

“Oops! Sorry, Yuranya!” he exclaims, feeling a bit flustered as he helps his spouse right himself and presses a kiss to his temple. 

Nyala’s eyes are glittering with amusement, so he aims a sheepish smile at her before facing forwards.

“What did Yuuri and Viktor do before they met?” he reads off, feeling quite pleased with this clear opportunity to extol Yuuri’s praises (and, additionally, to lambast certain International Skating Union officials for not recognizing how talented he was prior to that silver medal win at the Barcelona Grand Prix Final).

“Well, the short answer is that we were both competitive figure skaters, but the long answer is more interesting! Let’s start with my Yuuri, because my side of things is boring, not to mention quite sad,” he chirps, not even batting an eye when his husband begins to splutter in protest next to him (“Vitya! Five gold medals at World’s is not sad!”)

But Viktor feigns an inability to hear Yuuri’s counter, and whips his phone out. 

One of the first things he’d done after they’d met at the banquet was to look up as many of Yuuri’s Senior division competitions as he could, hungry to expand his personal archives with any video or photos he could get his hands on. By now, his love is aware of his meticulous culling efforts, because he wears a pained expression as Viktor begins to talk and flip through his photo gallery.

“Where to even begin?” he says, allowing his voice to slide into that grandiose tone that Yurio claims “makes you seem even more punchable than normal”.

“Since we only have an hour for this taping, I will unfortunately have to limit myself to the year of Yuuri’s skating career before he and I met,” he continues on, making sure his annoyance is plain. “And, for those that don’t know, we met in December 2015 at the Sochi Grand Prix Final.”

It’s a testament to their many years of being together, because Yuuri doesn’t even tense at the mention of Sochi. He knows Viktor would never try to embarrass him by contextualizing the event in a way that makes him uncomfortable, and, besides, his spouse now shares the opinion that pole-dancing into your soulmate’s life is a pretty badass meet-cute. Even so, it had taken awhile to convince Yuuri’s anxiety of this, and Viktor owes a lot to their couples’ therapist for that mindset change. 

“Look at this picture of my beautiful Yuuri on the podium at Four Continents’ in February 2015!” he exclaims in triumph, holding his phone up so that the camera operator gets a perfect view. 

Taken in Seoul’s Mokdong Ice Rink is a photo of an adorable, 22-year-old Katsuki Yuuri, wearing a shy smile and holding a bronze medal. Next to him is an obviously ecstatic Celestino Cialdini.

“Now, no offense to anyone, but take it from me: my husband was severely underscored at that competition and should have been standing higher on that podium. Well before he ever broke my World’s winning streak, Yuuri was commanding audiences the world over with his stunning artistry. Particularly, his dazzling interpretation skills,” Viktor states declaratively, his tone brooking no argument.

Well, almost no argument. 

Yuuri makes a barely perceptible noise of disagreement, but it’s enough to make him turn and bestow his most unimpressed expression onto him, as if daring him to issue a rebuttal. 

“Something to say, Yusha?” Viktor prompts, a bit goadingly. “Do you wish to argue with “Living Legend” Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov, who, I daresay, might know a little something or two about judging politics and biased scoring?”

His love gives him a light smack on the bicep, and when he replies, his tone is prim.

“If you want biased scoring to be the focus of this question, then I’ll have to bring up your European Championships score from 2013, where you were unfairly beat out for gold by our good friend, Christophe Giacometti.”

An “oooohing” sort of taunting sound ripples around the set, but far from flustering Yuuri, he just raises a brow and sets his jaw. (Viktor feels quite turned on at the look, as well as his protective instincts.)

“I know how the internet loves to spin things but there’s nothing to spin,” Yuuri continues, dryly. “Christophe, himself, made a big stir at the post-skate press conference about judging bias, and he still regularly tweets at the officials from that competition…so much so, that two of them have blocked him on Twitter.”

Viktor gasps with delight at the memory of this juicy event and his spouse’s answering smirk is all the permission he needs.

“Ok, let me set the scene for you all!” he eagerly volunteers, sitting up straighter on the bench. 

He makes a big show of clearing his throat and Nyala – who, evidently, has the patience of a saint – hides her smile behind her hand. It’s a wonder that she hasn’t redirected their attention back to the question list, yet.

“January 2013: Zagreb, Croatia,” he continues on, in the grave “I’m narrating a documentary” tone that he knows will make Yuuri laugh. “Twenty-three-year old Viktor Nikiforov takes his starting position on the ice of Dom Sportova arena. Unlike present-day, his hair is much more lustrous, and he has not yet needed to start using thickening oil as part of his nightly primping regimen.”

Yuuri smacks his bicep a second time.

—

Hope you enjoyed this ficlet! I adore writing post-canon interview/game content featuring sappy/extra married Viktuuri, so if I get the energy (and need the distraction from my WIPS *nervous laughter*) I may expand this into a proper fic.

If you’re also a fan of this type of thing, you may like my story on ao3 featuring their joint appearance on Vanity Fair’s Lie Detector Game series. It’s one of my favorite things I’ve ever written :)  

[clawbehavior]

‘change of plans,’ yohan says as soon as the elevator doors ping open to reveal his associate judge. he pivots neatly, trusting gaon to follow. ‘instead of meeting with the financial crimes team, we’re getting dinner with a former executive assistant from saram media.’

‘chief,’ replies gaon, hurrying after yohan as they exit the building. ‘there’s something i need to tell you. urgently.’

‘after dinner,’ yohan offers without breaking his stride, mind moving faster than his feet. ‘if the assistant has credible information on irregular expenditures we can -- ‘

‘i’m leaving the live court.’

years of fighting practice are all that prevent yohan from tripping over the last step in the staircase. he whirls in place to stare down his associate judge, who moves fluidly down the stairs to meet yohan, face resolute.  ‘and law, for the time being.’

yohan searches gaon’s stubborn expression for clues and finds none. his associate judge was straightforward to a painful degree, so he can’t parse out this sudden need for gaon to stand his ground.

‘where to?’ he asks and immediately blanches when gaon replies unflinchingly, ‘the social responsibility foundation. jung sunah invited me to be her executive assistant, seeing as the position was vacated by her promotion following chairman seo’s untimely passing.’

‘you mean his murder,’ yohan replies, appalled at gaon’s cavalier attitude. ‘or did you forget that along with the rest of your senses. kim gaon, what are you doing?’

the doors slide open at the top of the stairs, unseen footsteps halting then frantically shuffling away, eager to escape the scene unfolding near the back entrance of the ministry. 

‘making a difference,’ gaon replies. he has the gall to find this a complete answer and doesn't elaborate.

‘isn’t that what you’re doing at the live court, in the country’s first truly democratic --’ he ignores gaon’s skeptical eyebrow -- ‘trial in half a millennia. stay here. this is where you can make a difference.’

‘once upon a time, yes, when cha kyung hee was our primary opponent but the game has changed,’ gaon replies. ‘it’s gotten far bigger than us, than the live court. the SRF chooses our cases. our evidence gets tampered with. our witnesses go mum or missing.’ gaon follows yohan’s gaze when yohan looks away irritatedly at this recollection of their failures. ‘i’ve played the game your way but it’s not working. we need a man on the inside.’

‘she’ll hurt you,’ yohan replies lowly. ‘she’ll destroy whatever idealism you have left, manipulate you into compromising on your principles, threaten you with her own hands if being in association with her doesn’t put you in danger first.’

‘that's not so different from the danger i currently face,’ gaon counters quietly.

yohan refuses to feel shame. refuses to look away or cow down. ‘being my associate judge is what makes you vulnerable. gaon, jung sunah won’t trust a thing you say or do. she’ll misguide you, use you, and discard you.’

looking into gaon’s far too knowing eyes, yohan suddenly recalls with abrupt clarity how it felt to squeeze the younger man’s neck while gaon scrabbled uselessly at yohan’s hands, face turning red as he choked before yohan slammed him against the bookshelf in the study.

gaon shrugs but he looks invigorated instead of defeated. ‘maybe so but she can’t be everywhere at once. when she looks at me, you’ll be in the shadows. and when she’s distracted by you, i’ll have your back. yohan,’ he shakes his head. ‘we don’t know what the SRF is planning, only that lives are at stake. we can’t wait for her to act first.’

‘save your heartfelt speeches for the public, gaon,’ yohan grouses, unable to maintain his composure given how fast this conversation is going off track. ‘i won’t let you go. in fact, i forbid it.’

‘you can’t stop it,’ gaon says, expression turning tender as he looks at yohan.  ‘PD-nim aired it in an announcement just now. preventing me from leaving will mean contradicting an official communication from the ministry --’ 

he gasps when yohan springs up the two steps separating them and grabs gaon by the collar, tightly, yanking him in. where words failed violence would suffice. ‘i’ll retract it,’ yohan breathes, eyes blazing. ‘frame it as hearsay and fire the entire production team for their careless mistake. 

‘you could,’ gaon says, unresisting, ‘chain me to you, and the live court. but i would escape eventually. seeing me unhappy would affect you. you’ll slip up.’ and his hands come to rest on yohan’s trembling frame, sliding down yohan’s back in a physically soothing gesture.

‘you have some nerve,’ yohan says with a dangerous manic grin, before he hauls gaon in for a fierce and fiery kiss. it’s their first one and the furthest thing from gentle but gaon comes willingly, hot little mouth opening under yohan’s aggressive tongue as gaon practically climbs on top of him, crushing yohan's suit jacket and messing up yohan’s coiffed hair in his greedy hands. 

‘one year,’ gaon tears his mouth away to pant, wetly and hotly against yohan’s lips. he presses their foreheads together. ‘one year to find out what she and the SRF are planning. after that, you can get me out of there. i promise.’

‘i want daily check ins and a GPS tracker on you at all times, do you understand?’ yohan snarls and sinks his teeth into gaon’s plump lip, splitting it down the middle and licking the blood that wells up. 

‘this is crazy and dangerous,’ yohan pants. 

‘yes, yes,’ gaon gasps. they’re in public and in imminent danger of being caught. it’s taking all of yohan’s discipline to leash the animal part of him that wants to claim gaon on the public steps for all to see like a lion in rut.

‘which is why it’s going to work,’ gaon says. ‘now kiss me darling, before have i go.’

‘presumptuous,’ yohan replies but his entire body short circuits at gaon’s intentions, his skin going hot and his core trembling in anticipation.

at the top of the stairs, gaon pauses and says nonchalantly, ‘tell elijah i’ll be home on mondays, wednesdays and thursdays to make dinner. and, don’t worry about maintaining my bedroom. i moved all my things into yours before i left.’

‘or prescient. trust me. i know what i’m doing,’ gaon throws over his shoulder and leaves.

[dax-enfinity]

I started the DANDADAN anime since it’s on Netflix and I think it’s cool as hell!

Therefore I made my FIRST EVER DANDADAN fanfiction!! (It’s Momo/Okarun BTW and I don’t know their ship name yet…)

FOR MY FIRST FIC IN A FANDOM I’VE ALREADY GOTTEN SO MANY KUDOS??? 14 KUDOS NOW???

[this-sapphic-paradise]

Continuation of this ask

Sharp pain emanated from Kate's side, but thanks to Yelena's magical and definitely not FDA approved anesthetic, it was quickly fading to a dull pulsating that she could mostly ignore as she watched the former Black Widow meticulously arrange on the coffee table everything she would need to stitch her up.

"I didn't know you were back in the city." Kate said, looking away from her own body as Yelena began sewing her up.

"What kind of spy would I be if you knew about my comings and goings, eh?"

"True."

After a beat, Yelena answered truthfully, "I had a lead about a person I've been investigating. Thought I'd drop by and check in you while I'm here."

"I'm glad you did." Kate smiled softly, momentarily distracting Yelena from the task at hand.

"Yeah, I mean, you clearly can't survive without me."

"Pfft!" Kate scoffed playfully. "I could totally do that myself, you know!"

"Has nobody told you it's bad to lie, Kate Bishop?"

"Pot, meet kettle!"

Yelena frowned and looked around her. "Are you making tea?"

Kate chuckled and shook her head. "It's an expression."

After quick work with the stitches, Yelena cleaned up and grabbed two beer bottles from the fridge, offering one to Kate as she joined her on the couch.

"Thanks for patching me up." Kate said, holding her bottle up to Yelena who clinked it with hers.

"Any time."

The two drank and chatted, catching each other up on their very eventful lives. As the hours ticked by and the topics to keep their conversation going naturally dwindled, Yelena asked abruptly, "Do you go out with women, Kate Bishop?"

At Kate's completely befuddled expression, Yelena clarified, "Sexually, I mean."

"Oh, no, no. I got you..." Kate blinked, trying to wrap her head around the sudden shift in conversation.

"It's okay if you don't."

Yelena's nonchalant tone was making Kate even more perplexed, but she tried to play it cool by taking a swing of her beer before answering.

"I mean... I haven't. But...."

"But?"

"I wouldn't be opposed to."

Yelena grinned at the cute blush on Kate's cheeks, but she chose to not comment on it.

"Great." Setting her empty beer bottle down, Yelena stood and said, "You're taking me on a date tomorrow night, then." And she kissed Kate's cheek before heading toward the window. "I'll meet you downstairs at 7. Plan something fun, Kate Bishop."

With a wave and wink, Yelena stepped off the window leaving a stunned Kate to plan their date.

[sysakiddo]

Max is the youngest Dutch chef with three michelin stars and is seen as the world’s best cook by most of the relevant people. Buuut the word gets out that he doesn’t treat his cooks very nicely and then one time, someone he had fired said Max got physical in several instances. Max thinks it’s all bullshit and doesn’t listen to the buzz, he wants his food to speak for him. So what if he raises his voice sometimes? They are not in kindergarten, for fuck’s sake. 

The restaurant’s marketing team is not thrilled. They make a plan to salvage his reputation. Basically, they make him be the judge for one of those Masterchef VIP things, where he needs to comment on horrible food made by some celebrities who are usually too dumb to read the script. He says he will do one season, unfiltered, and then never walk out of his restaurant ever again. He doesn’t care about his reputation in the tabloids, he only cares about his stars. 

Daniel just won his third WDC. He’s also there. Cooking. His marketing teams think this is a beautiful opportunity to milk the American market. And Daniel is like, you want me to cook now? Okay. He is on top of the world, he doesn’t give a shit. 

His opinion changes drastically during the first challenge.

They are supposed to make a food they would cook for a friend. To balance Max out, the other judge is Charles. With one Michelin star. Max tries not to make himself look too smug about it. 

“So, what is this pasta situation?” Charles asks Daniel, who is currently failing to drain the pasta water without getting rid of half the pasta down the drain. 

“Um, I’m making pasta and chicken,” Daniel smiles and points at the charred chicken breast served on the table. He puts a bit of pasta next to it unceremoniously, “There it is! I’m done.”

Max narrows his eyes. “With sixty minutes on the clock, you are done after twenty?” he asks. 

Daniel giggles, “Yeah, I drive fast cars for a living.” 

“Your girlfriend must not be thrilled about your performance.”

Daniel laughs nervously. Max doesn’t join him. Charles bites his lip so as not to snort out, and points at the selection of spices Daniel hasn’t touched once during the cooking. 

“Maybe you could play with the seasoning now,” he says to soften the blow that came from his co-judge. Max moves on to another contestant without saying anything else. 

When Daniel brings them his final dish, Charles says, “It’s bland,” while Max looks him straight into eyes and says, “The chicken is so overcooked I feel like it had been killed years before I was born.” 

Daniel’s palms are sweaty, his jaw keeps ticking. He still laughs, loud, too fake. He sees Max visibly cringe. Even worse, the judges pick the contestants into their teams after that. Max picks him into his blue team as the second-to-last. 

They finish rolling and Daniel practically runs to the changing rooms, speed dialling the head of his marketing team.

[sufferu]

I was asked for a snippet from the Dogshow series. I have delivered. As the exact scene was not specified, I decided for myself.

Dogshow: No Way Home

____

[“But no matter how pathetic I was, you and Mom still treated me the same as always,” Subaru said. “That’s what scared me most of all…”]

“They…” Emilia choked out. “They really did…They really did love him, didn’t they…?”

Otto thought of his own parents, and how patient they had been with him for all those years. He swallowed, fighting back tears.

“Those bushes there really are fascinating!” Anastasia was saying loudly. “They look just like some of the foliage we have back here, don’t they?! I wonder if maybe there’s been some cross-barrier transport of — of seeds or something! Or perhaps it’s just the convergent evolution Hoshin once described at work—”

[“I wanted you to say, ‘I don’t love you.’ ‘I despise you.’ ‘You’re not my son.’”]

“…What?” Ram croaked. Rem watched silently from beside her, carefully stone-faced as she watched this tragedy unfold. “Subaru, you wanted…what?”

Subaru didn’t answer. He had stopped moving a while ago. He was staring at the metia, unable to look away from his father’s face.

“I mean, really!” Anastasia continued loudly, a frantic edge to her voice. Mimi was nodding along theatrically from beside her. “I wonder if we could cross-breed exact replicas of those — what did you call them, Subaru?! Sakura trees?! If those bushes’ similarities really are just the result of convergent evolution, then—! I mean, I know for a fact we have trees very similar to those sakuras in Kararagi, so it’s not all that far off to conclude that we might be able to—!”

[“I wanted you to tell me that and throw me out. I wanted you to make me give up.”]

“…Oh, fuck,” Anastasia managed, finally unable to avoid listening to the conversation.

Next to her, Julius made a horrible, horrible noise.

Onscreen, Subaru continued to speak about how he had grown past these feelings. How he had found a way to live for himself, to start striving to better himself — and how the people he had met since had allowed him to do so. But Ricardo couldn’t focus on any of that, because all he could think was that THIS was the version of Subaru that his parents remembered.

A young boy, on the cusp of their culture’s idea of adulthood, who had suddenly retreated into his shell amidst disapproval from his peers. Who’s difficulties in interacting with others HADN’T been due to a difference in culture after all, with him struggling so much to make and keep his friends even back home that eventually he had felt that he had no choice but to give up in that pursuit entirely. Who had fled from his duties as a scholar and holed himself up in his room, refusing to leave for any reason except to eat. Who was constantly waiting for his two parents who loved him very much to revoke that affection out of frustration and throw him out.

Who was just waiting for an excuse to go and end himself, giving up for good.

Ricardo suddenly thought about Ana-bo. He wasn’t her biological father, but he had — he had bathed her, and fed her, and secured her work, and fought to protect her from unsavory types, and watched her grow up from a little orphan brat into a strong, capable woman. He had known her, and he had loved her, and she had become — family, to him, most definitely. In a sense, perhaps she could be considered his daughter after all.

What would he have done, if Ana-bo had — sometime on the cusp of adulthood — had withdrawn into herself so completely and utterly that she refused to socialize with anyone unless she were forced to do so? That she no longer tried to work, or learn new things, or improve her skills, but instead escaped into storybook after storybook about being whisked away to a place where she could be someone, anyone other than who she had been before? That she curled up in the corner of her room and waited for Ricardo to throw her out on the street, because then she would finally have an excuse to — to finally go and fucking kill herself?

Stop it, Ricardo hissed at himself. But he couldn’t stop.

He wouldn’t have let it get that first in the first place, first of all: he would have dragged Anastasia out of her room by force and force-fed her a decent lifestyle, if need be. In fact, part of him thought that Subaru’s father had been somewhat useless in that regard: had there really been nothing his old man could do to stop him from crawling into his shell and refusing to come out for several months on end? But even if there wasn’t anything he could do about it, he wouldn’t have abandoned her. Even if he were going by Kararagi’s age of adulthood being 15 where — Japan, it was called — their age appeared to be 18, he still would have known her for four, five full years, and that had been more than enough for him to start caring about her more deeply than he had ever expected being able to care about anyone. What would he have done instead? Well, the answer had to be “whatever he could.”

But then, what would he have done, if — in the middle of a depressive spiral so severe — Anastasia had vanished into the night without a trace? He would look for her, obviously. He’d spare no expense, either, and — and he’d keep a tally of every cent he spent, so that when he finally found her again he could shove the receipt in her face and tell her that she was going to work to earn back every last bit in order to make up for scaring him so badly. But then — if he never found her — he’d never stop looking, would he? Or maybe he’d be forced to stop? But then he’d still be waiting, and he’d still be putting up posters and asking for leads, and as the years passed he’d be thinking of what she might look like now, how she might have aged, what sort of life she might be living far away from home, hoping against hope that she hadn’t actually gone and—

But the reality would be worse.

It would have been better if this hypothetical Ana-bo had been given the mercy of a quick death, on her own terms. It would be better if Ana-bo had died just once. It would be better if she didn’t have to experience — being slit open and bled out, being drained of all her energy bit by bit, being thrown down a hallway and crushed by a giant flail in a place where she was supposed to be safe, being tortured by someone she had thought she could trust in the woods where nobody could hear her cry, being attacked by a pack of vicious, wild animals, being publicly humiliated and beaten half to death for the crime of being a brat in the wrong place at the wrong time, being forced to witness the corpses of all of the people she had grown to care about and told that it was all her fault, being kidnapped and tortured in a cave by a madman, being turned away as she begged and pleaded and prostrated herself for help, being chased by a vicious monster intent on erasing her from existence, being frozen to death bit by bit as a vengeful spirit forced her to suffer through every second, being possessed and forced to beg for a mercy kill right when it looked like the world was about to turn out alright, being blown up, being forced to watch as her support network was shattered behind her back once again as her closest friend was erased from everyone’s mind but her own, being forced to suffer again and again and again without an end in sight—!

Was it a mercy, that Natsuki Kenichi would be forced to conclude that his only son had gone and killed himself? Was it a mercy, that he would never find out the truth of what his child was being forced to endure in his absence? Was it a mercy, was it an injustice, what the actual FUCK was this horrible, horrible—!

“Ricardo?”

With slow, jerky movements, Ricardo turned to face Ana-bo. She was watching him with large, worried eyes. She had been so upset a second ago, staring at that metia with a slack jaw as she made a miserable choking sound, and here she was pushing that aside for his sake. How could he have ever deserved—!

“Mmph!”

Ana-bo made a startled noise as Ricardo practically dove for her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling him tight to his chest so that nobody could ever take her from his side. Normally she would protest this action greatly. But now, after a moment of shocked silence, that wise, kind, clever, wonderful daughter of his hugged him back.

“Ya don’t need to cry,” Ana-bo murmured. “‘M not going anywhere.”

In truth, Ricardo hadn’t even noticed that his cheeks were wet. He didn’t have it in him to be ashamed. All he could do was clutch her close and wait for the shaking to subside, bit by bit.

…If it were Anastasia, Ricardo would have prayed for someone to be looking after her in a situation like this. Father to father, he could do the same for Subaru’s old man if need be.

—Though, from the look on Wilhelm’s face, Ricardo wondered if his own involvement would even be necessary.

Wilhelm had his hands raised to cover his mouth in a decidedly uncharacteristic display, so horrified he was by the reveal of the prior state of that young boy. Subaru had… Subaru had…

This wasn’t what he had expected. A young, dumb boy who got into mischief perhaps a little too often for his own good, sure. But a youth who had shrank away from everything so completely, so utterly, that he had really begun to think that there was no future for him at all—!

What a horrible thing for a father to hear from his son. What an awful thing for a son to voice aloud — or to feel, in the first place. Wilhelm had seen blood and carnage and despair on the battlefield, but for some reason it was now that horrified nausea twisted his insides into knots.

“I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die! No! No! Help me! No! I don’t want to die!”

Subaru hadn’t REALLY wanted to die. But — had he not fully understood that, back then? How could he not have known—!

(Wilhelm did not think of his own son, who…may have been left in a similar state. For all of his courage on the battlefield, the Sword Demon could not bring himself to think about that.)

[“FATHER HEADBUTT!!!”]

[Natsuki Kenichi slammed an axe kick down on the head of his beloved only son.]

Julius squawked loudly, abruptly snapped out of his horrified silence. Next to him, Mimi’s despaired expression shifted as she — mercifully — broke into peals of laughter.

[“A lot of what you just said bothers me, but you know what’s the worst?” Kenichi was scolding, suddenly rather serious. “You wanted me to hate you, so you tried to achieve that by playing hookey? Are you dumb?! And if you want to get me to throw you out, pick a more active method! Who would ditch their own kid just because he retreated into his shell?!”]

Ricardo — relaxed, just the slightest bit. At least…at least that old man had told it to him straight. Right?

[“You’re so twisted, you’re on the fast track to being an idiot!” Kenichi cracked his knuckles, grinning. “I’d be glad to set you straight by force if you want…”]

Wilhelm chuckled weakly, trying desperately to force down his turmoil and keep it cool. “Perhaps…Perhaps all fathers have that attitude, even beyond the Great Waterfall…”

Ferris said nothing. Ferris hadn’t moved an inch since the reveal that Subaru had been waiting for an excuse to go and die. Wilhelm didn’t…know what to do.

[“…But it looks like you’ve already been knocked down and stood yourself back up, so there’s no need.” Kenichi’s voice had softened, his fist relaxing into a hand he extended downwards to pull his son back up. Subaru smiled as he accepted it.]

“They really did love him,” Crusch echoed softly. “Didn’t they?”

Anastasia stared wordlessly at the interaction. A very personal sense of loss gnawed at the heart of the former hyena — and a sense of despair at the dawning realization of just how fucked up this situation really was seemed to take over her mind like an invasive species of poisonous flowers.

She reached forward and pulled all three triplets into her lap, hugging them close.

[“Remember what I said?” Subaru was saying. “I found a girl I like. Plus, there's a girl who said she loved me, despite the way I am. And neither one of them knows I'm the son of Natsuki Kenichi. In their eyes, I'm just Natsuki Subaru.” He sighed aloud. “No, in all of their eyes…I was Natsuki Subaru. I finally figured that out.”]

[“It took you long enough. You’re just now coming around to saying all this? I should whack you.”]

Emilia stared at the screen, eyes dull and faded. Rem’s were much the same. On one hand, it was wonderful to be told that Subaru had achieved something so precious due to their influence. It was perhaps the greatest compliment either of them could receive.

But, on the other hand…

[“Um,” Subaru was saying, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Sorry about putting you through—”]

[“If you feel sorry, all you gotta do is take your time making it up to us.” Kenichi grinned, giving him a thumbs-up. “Take good care of me and your mom when we’re old, my eldest son.”]

In the present moment, Subaru finally made a noise.

It was soft, and quiet, and very hoarse — but Beatrice, who had not taken her eyes off of him once, noticed all the same. “Subaru…?”

Subaru’s pupils had shrunk even past their usual states, his whole body shaking as he stared up at the metia in horror. Tears were staring to bud in the corners of his eyes. More horrible croaking noises were leaving his throat. One by one, the people of the audience turned to see what was going on.

“…Natsuki-san, please—” Otto said, the first to reach out. “It’s alright. It’ll— It’ll be alright—”

“Please don’t cry,” Emilia agreed, unusually gentle. “Please, not…” Not while we can’t hold you.

[The Subaru onscreen had already started to cry. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I— I’m sorry. I can’t— I-I'm sorry! I won't be able to make anything up to you before…” He finally, properly burst into tears. “I will never see you again!”]

As that cold reality was voiced aloud, the Subaru in the present finally sobbed — and with that first step, the entire dam seemed to shatter until there was nothing left for him to do but fall to the floor with a thump, curl into a ball, and wail in despair.

“Subaru—!” Julius cried out, trying desperately to hold back his own tears at the horrible sight.

“Subaru-dono, please!” Wilhelm tried to say, reaching forward to try and ease his cries. His hands met glass. “We’re right here, please just—!”

[“I-I’m sorry!” Subaru apologized, over and over again as his sobs grew and grew and grew. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”]

“I-I’m sorry,” Subaru echoed weakly, tears streaming down his face to form a puddle under his cheek. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I wanna— I wanna go home—!”

Beatrice choked back a cry of despair of her own. “Subaru—!”

[“No matter how much time passes, you’re still such a handful, son.” Kenichi sighed, but he was smiling as he rubbed a bawling Subaru’s back. “Sheesh…”]

The current Subaru had no such comfort to be given to him. Nobody could reach him, no matter how badly they wanted to, no matter how hard they tried. All there was left for him to do was wail and wail and wail as the horrible despair surrounding his untimely departure collapsed on him anew.

[blorbocedes]

maxcar + sweet lovin 🫶

"I know I'm not Rocky," the RB20 speaks sadly. "I can be tricky. Hard to handle. Unreliable. Nowhere near his perfection."

Max runs his hand along the smooth sidepod. "Hey, it's okay. I know you are trying." The car thrums under his touch.

It's a bit like taming a horse, the bond they have. If Max treats his car too harshly during a race, it will also stop listening to him and they will thrash against each other. But there are also some beautiful moments, when he manages to drive the car outside of its capabilities.

"7 race wins is nothing to be ashamed of. I have had worse cars, you know?" Max tries to comfort. He grips the halo to jump in, the car opening up easily for him. Built for him, the fit is snug to his exact measurements. There is a possessive satisfaction in that. No one, not even Checo, can get in his car and do what he can. Will only ride for him.

"I am going to try to change." The RB-20 promises. The engineers will take it apart, refit with new parts. Try to tweak out where they went wrong with the upgrades. A new floor, new flexible front wing. The whole makeover.

Max knows there will never be another Rocky. He's made his peace with that. There is no place he feels more himself than inside a Formula 1 car, where man and machine meld together into one analogous, sentient being. He dreams of the perfect lap, the perfect race, hitting the apex just right knowing just the right amount of curb that car can take even as its growling under him, dreams of the unforgiving nature of the car, the stifling heat, how it squeezes and hurts and demands his blood, sweat, piss and tears. When they crash, they crash together and when they win, they cross that finish line together. There is no car without the pilot, no pilot with the car.

"We still have races left to win." Max promises, hands gripping the wheel and turning on the engine.

"The championship." The RB20's engine comes alive under him, purring under him, vibrating into him.

[bvckbiter]

By some stroke of Tyche, Jason Grace stirs to wakefulness when Alabaster comes to check up on him. As he takes a seat across his captive, Grace slurs out, “Where am I?”

“Hardly your first concern,” Alabaster curtly replies. “How did you pass through my wards while unconscious?”

“Wards?” Hazy blue eyes blink rapidly. “I don’t understand.”

Lips curling into a sneer, Alabaster wordlessly casts light from his palm. The green glow washes over their faces.

“Little praetor. You got quite a number of my subordinates killed. Don’t play dumb, Jason Grace.”

“I don’t know who that is,” the son of Zeus—Jupiter, really—pleads. “Is that… Is that my name?”

Alabaster rears back in surprise.

“What have we here?” he murmurs, casting a basic diagnosis incantation.

While Jason Grace looks too confused and helpless under the magical bindings Alabaster spelled on him to be telling anything but the truth, it doesn’t make the readings any less shocking.

He’s a total amnesiac.

And he reeks of Juno’s magic. His patron’s magic.

***

“So what do we do with him?” Claymore asks later on. “Will you use him?”

To get back at Olympus, Claymore means. Jason Grace is currently primed for it—malleable to Alabaster’s care but still powerful. However, there are more pressing matters to attend to. Lamia and her unknown mistress, for one.

Alabaster caresses his left forearm, where his deceased siblings’ names are inked into his skin.

“Not just yet.” His vengeance will have to wait.

“Then what are we keeping him for?”

Alabaster smiles. “The little praetor and I can start with hunting down my dear sister—and killing her for once and for all.”

[shieldofiron]

Billy had a dirty little secret.

No, not the gay thing. It was 2023 and even if his dad was a major asshole about it, Billy knew in the grand scheme of things he was just another semi-closeted white gay with an OCD diagnosis and a countdown in his head until he could move out of Indiana and back to someplace more accepting.

No, Billy had an even worse secret. He liked romance novels. And not the cutesy ones with cartoon covers. The kindle app on his phone was full of bonkers vampires, mafia bosses, blue aliens, and secret princes. His library card back in California had a 40 dollar fee on it because he had desperately checked out his favorites, the ones with the busty, Fabio, neon covers, before he got sent to Hawk-a-loogie Indiana.

That’s how he found himself flop sweating in the back stacks of the local library, desperate to find the right shelf without having to ask the kindly older lady behind the counter with the cats knit into her sweater. She looked like she had dropped right out of 1983, and she was eyeing him with a too curious look.

“Can I help you, dear?”

He closed his eyes, hot shame pouring over him, “Romance? My uh… stepsister wants some books. Any old thing will do.”

She just hummed, and indicated a door to the right of the children’s section. “In the basement. Shelves F-K.”

Billy didn’t have high hopes, considering that they’d been shoved to the basement. He’d been so wrong.

It was a paradise. Not only older, historic titles he’d never seen in person, let alone had the opportunity to read, but new stuff too. He goggled at an original cover copy of Indigo by Beverly Jenkins and Prince of Scoundrels by Loretta Chase as well as a brand new copy of Cat Sebastian’s latest gay romance, the cover glossy with a fresh library covering, the corners still sharp.

45 minutes later and more than a little late to pick up Max, he crawled back to the counter, the coveted gay romance sandwiched between two straight ones and a random mystery book thrown on top for cover.

The librarian eyed him carefully.

“You know, we have a romance book club,” she pulled out a small pink flier, “If your sister is interested. I host it, once a month.”

He glanced over it swiftly, clocking her name, Claudia Henderson and filing it away.

“I’ll let her know,” more like he would drag the Shitbird kicking and screaming.

She smiled, “I hope you will.”