#my ficlets

[sufferu]

And that’s not all, folks! Because while I was working on that, I was ALSO working on…

BTZ II Ficlet: The Guy I Like

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Emilia hated to admit it, but she had almost skipped the dance entirely.

It wasn’t that she didn’t think that the dance would be lovely. Everyone had been working so hard, so that the entire night would be as wonderful as possible, and everything up to this point had been something out of a dream. Emilia herself had been front and center with the preparations, so she knew that everything was in place to make this dance one that everybody would remember for all the right reasons.

But she also knew that Subaru…

For the most part, Subaru had been helping out with the preparations in as many ways as he was allowed: preparing food, setting up decorations, organizing the itinerary, if it needed to be done he was there trying to make sure it got done well. At one point he had even tried to help the entertainers unload their materials, and had only just been stopped by Ricardo from accidentally diving headfirst into a large carton full of explosive fireworks. Several people had tried to tell him that there was no need, that he could just rest and let everyone else do all the work, but Subaru had insisted. And of course he had insisted on helping in any way he could: that was the type of boy Subaru had always been.

But that wasn’t all he had been doing: ever since Subaru had learned that there was a dance in the works, he had been PRACTICING. If the librarian was to be believed, he had almost exclusively borrowed books focused on dances for couples, the kinds of dances that one would use to court a prospective lover. And with both Julius’ little brother and the famous songstress Liliana acting as his instructors, he had apparently been steadily improving, bit by bit. Just in time for the formal dance that they would all be attending together.

Even if Wilhelm hadn’t overheard one of his talks with Joshua, it didn’t take a genius to understand what he was planning to do.

It wasn’t that Emilia hadn’t wanted him to learn how to dance, or that she wasn’t flattered by the assumed reason for his sudden interest in the subject — or even that she was entirely against the idea of taking his hand when he would come to ask her onto the dance floor. But the Subaru that she had danced with in the Mathers Estate that one glorious night was a different Subaru entirely, and…

Would it be fairer for her to say yes, or to say no? She wasn’t sure. The thought of that conversation, of that choice — it was tying her stomach into an unpleasant knot. She hated the idea of hurting Subaru, and she didn’t know which decision would hurt him more. She didn’t know, and she didn’t want to make the wrong choice. She…didn’t want to choose at all.

Not for the first time, she wished that things could be simple.

—Julius seemed to be enjoying himself. It was nice to watch him converse with his friends from afar. He was talking with Reinhard, currently. Emilia watched as his shoulders shook with laughter, his hand automatically rising to cover his mouth. She found it oddly charming, how he tried to cling to proper decorum just by habit alone. Ferris didn’t seem to find to charming, if the healer’s eye-roll was any indication. She doubted that Reinhard even noticed: it wasn’t the sort of thing that most people would take note of, after all.

Emilia wondered if someone would ask Julius to dance tonight. Somehow, that thought just made her feel worse.

Perhaps she should have avoided this part of the celebration after all.

“It’s a nice party, isn’t it?”

Emilia blinked. While she had been distracted, the one that she both longed and dreaded to confront had snuck up on her.

“The one and only!” he confirmed, at her surprised exclamation. His voice was so cheerful. It made her heart ache. “I couldn’t help it: seeing a beautiful woman all on her own at a party like this doesn’t make any sense, right?” He posed theatrically for emphasis, apparently completely ignorant to her internal dilemma. “She should have guys falling over themselves to ask her to dance with them!” he declared. “Any other scene just doesn’t make sense for such a wonderful heroine…”

“Ah…” Emilia pressed her lips together. “I don’t think…”

Part of her dearly wanted to accept his offer. She could do it so easily, too. She could reach out her hand, take his in hers, walk out onto the floor as one. It could be a wonderful, magical night, reminiscent of that one they had shared in a time that had never existed, where she and her new knight had celebrated hand-in-hand in a room full of people who loved them both. She — couldn’t have that same thing, she could never replace what she had lost, but it would be similar. If she closed her eyes, she could even pretend that it was the same.

But she would have to open her eyes eventually, and it just wouldn’t be…!

“You know,” Subaru pressed, a bit of his teasy attitude falling away, leaving room for a slightly more serious tone. “I think you’re supposed to ask the guy you like to dance, at an event like this.”

“A—Ah…” Emilia shifted nervously, feeling those old butterflies spring up in her belly, because for a moment she heard someone else teasingly asking her to dance, at a time that most of the rest of the world had long forgotten about. The butterflies grew claws, then, ones that stung and left aching, hurting grooves behind. “I guess you’re right,” she managed.

But that Subaru whom she had loved and the one who stood before her now were two different people. She knew that her forcing the latter onto the former just to suit her own desires would be…

But oh, how it hurt.

“So what’s keeping you?” he asked, voice light and playful. Emilia wilted slightly. “You were looking forward to it, right? Everyone’s been rushing like mad to make sure this party’s as good as it gets, and I know you were one of them. —But you haven’t even gone up to talk to him yet.”

Emilia inwardly winced. Subaru had noticed, then. She hadn’t wanted him to realize that she was avoiding him, she had just needed some time. Hastily, she moved to apologize. “I— I know I haven’t—” she stammered, but then she stopped. “—Ah?”

Something wasn’t…

“Huh?”

Something about how Subaru had said that…

“The guy you like,” Subaru repeated. His eyes weren’t on her anymore. He was looking at— “You haven’t gone up to talk to him once,” he added. “Don’t you want to dance with him tonight? You’ve worked so hard to get everything to this point, right? Shouldn’t you celebrate?”

“The guy I like…?” Emilia repeated, feeling slow.

“Yeah,” Subaru said, as patient as he always was. Emilia finally turned to see who he was looking at.

She had been watching Julius earlier. Subaru had seen, hadn’t he? But she really had to admit, now that he had drawn her attention back to him, that he really did look wonderful tonight. Anastasia had clearly made it a point to dress him up, and Emilia had to say that the Merchant Princess had done a spectacular job. Just looking at him when he looked like this sent her heart aflutter, no matter how much she prayed for it to be still.

“Ah.” Emilia breathed. “The guy I like…”

For a long moment, there was nothing for her to say. Subaru had caught her red-handed, after all.

“I’m not sure,” Emilia admitted, shifting nervously. “I mean…”

“What’s there to be unsure about?” Subaru asked. “You like him, don’t you?” And Emilia suddenly felt completely out of her depth, because she had expected that she would need to have a very different conversation with him tonight. “And I’m sure — I’m sure he likes you back. And— there’s nothing wrong with giving it a try, right?”

Nothing wrong with it… Emilia swallowed. Was that true? Could she say that?

“Don’t tell me you’re getting shy,” Subaru teased. “You’ve worked so hard to make all this happen, so shouldn’t you try and get what you want out of it?”

Emilia — hadn’t really thought about that. It sounded so plain when Subaru was the one to say it.

“What I want…?”

Part of her immediately cried out that she just wanted everything BACK. Her old Camp, her old knight, her old love — why couldn’t she just get back everything that she had loved and lost?

But that would mean—!

Subaru’s blood-spattered body, pained whimpers, lifeless eyes — to go back to how everything was before would mean that she would have to accept that as the price. No, no, that was unacceptable. She didn’t want to go back if that was the ticket she had to use in order to do so, she couldn’t.

But what else was there? Was it alright for her to turn away from it? Could she really just pretend that it had never happened? How would that be fair?

What was it that she wanted?

—Emilia suddenly felt the warmth of two sturdy hands, blissfully familiar, clasped around her own. She looked up at Subaru’s smiling face, her own eyes wide and round.

“I know that it’s been rough,” he told her gently. “I don’t know what you’ve been working so hard on, but — I know it’s been hard.” He rolled his shoulder. “You deserve a fairytale happy ending after all that, don’t you?”

“A fairytale happy ending,” Emilia echoed.

“Yeah.” Subaru’s eyes glinted playfully. “With a shining prince and a white horse and a bunch of talking animals.”

“Oh, you’re being silly again,” she laughed, but her mirth petered out sooner than she would have liked. There was a ball of guilt that had settled in her stomach that seemed to soak up such lightheartedness. Because Subaru was right here, wasn’t he? Why would she want anyone else? Why wouldn’t she want her wonderful knight? Even if things would never be the same between them, shouldn’t she…?

But she didn’t, did she? If things were never going to go back to how they were, then could she really force such an empty facsimile to take root in its place? The thought of such a charade somehow hurt more than the thought of just letting it go.

And Julius was…

“But…I don’t think—”

“Don’t think about it then.”

Emilia faltered.

“Everyone knows you earned it!” Subaru insisted. “Don’t think about it, just reach out and take it!” His hands were so warm. He was always so warm. What had she done to deserve such a wonderful…! “You can ask for forgiveness later if you mess up, but can’t you think of yourself just this one time?”

He was right there. He was right there, and yet so far away, because there were two Subarus in her memories and she loved them both so very much—!

But one of them was gone forever, wasn’t he? And the other one…deserved to come into his own.

And Julius was—!

“Emilia.”

Emilia stopped.

“You are — amazing,” Subaru said, his voice achingly sincere. Anyone who doesn’t see that is…” He shook his head. “I’m sure he sees it, too. Why wouldn’t he? You like him for a reason, don’t you?”

—She did have a reason.

At first, Emilia had appreciated Julius’ company simply because of their shared grief, with both of them having loved and lost the same person in a manner that nobody else could really sympathize with — not to the extent that the two of them could with one another. Then she had sought him out for more pleasant reasons, finding comfort in his dry sense of humor, soothingly calm presence, and the slightly dunderheaded nature that reminded her of — someone else, but not quite enough to take his place in her memory. And then at some point, she had started to see him with what felt like a different, newer pair of eyes, noticing all of the little things that she had never quite seen before. The way his shoulders hunched when he laughed, the slight dorkiness that distinguished his genuine grin from his politer, more businesslike smile, the mischievously playful shine that glinted in his eyes whenever he got an uncouth idea — sometimes she wondered if she was seeing him the way Subaru had seen him, back in the old timeline.

At first she had spent time with Julius alone, during those first few weeks when she was terrified of so much as staying in the same room as Subaru, for fear that his exposure to her would result in him getting hurt all over again. But it had been with Julius’ encouragement that she had eventually reconnected, and then most of her time spent with Julius had been time spent with Subaru as well. It had been awkward at first, but as she watched the two of them play so happily for hours each day, that awkwardness — and the sadness underlying it — had slowly but surely melted away. Because Subaru was right there, even if he wasn’t quite the same, and he and Julius were as friendly with one another as they had been before — and surely that meant that something was going right? It hadn’t taken long for her to properly join in with them after that.

Those hours spent with the two of them were some of the most treasured memories she had in this new timeline, but this Subaru was so clearly a different person from the one in her memories, and sometimes it hurt. There were days when she left with her heart full in her chest, and there were days when all she wanted to do was cry. But the latter grew fewer and fewer as time went on, thanks in no small part to Julius and how he so clearly UNDERSTOOD, in a way that nobody else really did. And then the former days grew more and more numerous, and the Subaru she knew now was characterized with boisterous confidence, and never-ending cheer, and insolent teases meant to goad Julius into getting up and playing “just one more game” with him over and over again until he was finally too exhausted to do anything but lie next to them in the grass.

And then eventually, alongside those treasured hours with him and Subaru both, Emilia found herself wanting to spend time with Julius alone — but not in the same way as before. Not as a grieving person would seek solace, but as a person who already had what they needed to be happy would seek “just a little bit more.” Emilia wasn’t really sure when it had started, but at a certain point she had realized…

“You’ve done — so much for me,” Subaru said, so very painfully sincere. “I couldn’t possibly ask for anything more.” As if he had not given her so much more, and so many times over. “And — that’s the kind of person you are to everyone, so I don’t think anyone here ever could, either.” That was the version of Emilia that Subaru saw. Emilia thought that such a person must be truly amazing, for him to speak of her in such a way.

…Perhaps he was right. Perhaps they had both done enough for one another that they could finally call it even. —And was it really fair, to keep denying herself based on her assumptions of what Subaru wanted for her? Was it fair to herself? Was it fair to Julius?

Was it even fair to Subaru himself?

“I think that you should focus on yourself for once, right?” Subaru insisted. “What is it that you want, Emilia?”

What was it that EMILIA wanted?

Emilia wanted sweet drinks in the morning, and sunny afternoons, and evenings spent reading fairytales with the people she loved. She wanted her friends by her side, either most days or every day for the rest of her life. She wanted the people she treasured to be happy. There were a lot of things that she wanted.

But what did she want from Subaru? What did she want from Julius? What did Emilia really, really want?

…Emilia knew what she wanted. She had known for a while, really, and now she turned to accept that desire with open arms. It hurt, it stung, it burned. But somehow, it also started to melt that weight that had settled in her stomach, like a block of ice thst had finally been placed in the warmth of the sun.

—Emilia knew what she wanted.

“Subaru?” Emilia asked.

Subaru was smiling at her. “Yeah?” he asked. His voice was rough, and casual, and playful, and within it she heard the echo of someone else. Someone she would never see again.

Emilia took a deep breath. “I love Julius,” she confessed.

Subaru didn’t look surprised by this statement at all. He was still smiling that warm smile that she loved so very much. “Yeah.”

Emilia swallowed, gripping his hand in hers, knowing well and good that this was — in a sense — her final goodbye. Her final goodbye to a boy who had never really existed, and who was never going to exist again.

“I love the way he laughs at silly things,” she said, and if someone were to ask, she wasn’t sure if she would be able to answer the question of which man she was talking about. “I love how much he loves fairytales, and old stories, and spending time reading them over and over again.” Those blissful days at the Karsten Library were the first to spring to mind — and then those sunny afternoons in the garden, and strolling through the capital, and all three of them sitting alone together in Subaru’s room. “I love how he always wants to help anyone and everyone, just because he thinks that it’s the right thing to do. I love how reliable he is: even when everything seems reeally hard, and nobody else has the strength to keep going, I know that I can trust him to…”

And just how many memories did she have of that? Could she even count them all?

Emilia knew what she wanted, and now it was time to reach out and take it.

“I want to see him smile,” she declared. “I want him by my side, as we build a future together. Even if he tells me that he’s not enough, that there’s someone else he thinks is better, that he doesn’t think he’s the one for me…” Emilia smiled, warm and bright. “I know that I want him next to me, always.”

That was what she wanted, most of all. Perhaps it was a silly, selfish thing to want. Perhaps Julius would protest again, no matter how much his eyes said otherwise, and say that he was not the right person for her. That there was someone else she should be looking at instead. But that someone else belonged to a different Emilia in a different time, and Julius was — for the Emilia of the now, Julius was the one she wanted, most of all.

—Ah, she’d always love Subaru, curse her beating heart. In a sense, all that she had just said she desired from Julius were also things that she desired from HIM, her very best friend. But…she could never love him like a lover again. Not really.

It was nice, that he was the kind of friend that would understand something like that. Really, what had she done to deserve having someone as wonderful as him in her life?

“I think that you should ask him to dance with you,” Subaru prodded. “I’ll bet that if you do, he’ll say yes.”

“Eh?” Emilia started. She hadn’t thought about— “Ask him to dance?”

“Why not?” Subaru shrugged, as cheerful and nonchalant as he always was. “We’re at a dance, aren’t we? Isn’t asking the guy you — the guy you like to dance with you — that’s what you’re supposed to do here, right?”

“Uh…”

That’s right. They were at a dance. For all that she had fretted about that fact coming to the event, she hadn’t even really thought about…

“I suppose so,” Emilia acquiesced. “But…”

Subaru didn’t hesitate. He never did. “Go on already, go!” he insisted, lightly pushing her shoulder and making her stumble in Julius’ direction. The purple-haired knight finally seemed to notice the two of them from across the room. He was standing with his friends, Ferris and Reinhard, the former of whom was rolling his eyes while the latter had an oddly alert look on his face. Emilia wondered if either of them noticed the way he kicked his foot slightly when he caught her eye and smiled, brushing his hair behind his ear with his hand in a clear attempt to maintain a sense of formality.

“You only live once, don’t you?” Subaru said. “Shouldn’t you try to live without any regrets?”

You only live once.

“I—” Emilia managed. “…Yeah.”

You only live once. Coming from Subaru’s mouth, that sentiment really did mean the world. For her to hear him say something like that…was a greater victory even possible?

“Yes, you’re right.”

Live without any regrets. Had that not been the point of all of this? Emilia had carried so many regrets with her, from that old timeline where Subaru had…but she had avoided it, had she not? Hadn’t she gone through these past three years — there had been a couple of hiccups, perhaps, but she didn’t have any real regrets, did she?

How could she have any regrets? Subaru had come out the other side safe and sound.

“Thank you, Subaru,” Emilia said, and she didn’t even know what it was that she was thanking him for. All she knew was that she meant it from the bottom of her heart. “You really are…”

Amazing. Wonderful. The most perfect friend that she could ever have made. Nothing she could say would have held a candle to how she truly felt in this moment, because Subaru was just that much of a blessing.

Regardless of her loss for words, Subaru seemed to understand. She finally smiled back, and then she finally let him go.

Julius watched her as she approached, his eyes soft and slightly sad, but growing more curious as she came closer and closer. When she was an appropriate distance, he bowed to her politely. “How may I assist you, Lady Emilia?” he asked.

Emilia felt so warm. Julius and Subaru were both so silly, weren’t they? She cleared her throat, and held out her hand.

“Subaru believes that I should ask you to dance with me,” she declared.

Ferris choked, his eyes widening in shock. Reinhard looked — like he had already been surprised, and was simply coming to terms with it. Had he been listening? Dunderhead.

Julius looked astounded. He quickly glanced over her shoulder to lock eyes with the boy who was still watching her from across the room. Emilia couldn’t see Subaru from this angle, but whatever Julius saw looking back at him was enough to smooth his features into a true, genuine smile, and he graciously accepted her hand.

“If Subaru really has handed you over to me,” he said teasingly. “Then I’d better live up to his expectations.”

Emilia laughed. Really, what had she done to deserve any of this?

*

“He let her go,” Reinhard said, astounded.

He didn’t need to say it: even if Reinhard had been the only one able to actually hear what they were saying, practically everyone had been watching their interaction with bated breath. Wilhelm himself had been readying himself to intervene at the first sign of trouble. He knew that Subaru had been trying to learn to dance for weeks, and while he had tried to gently discourage it — he had tried to justify it to himself by saying that knowing how to dance was a good skill to develop regardless, but the truth was that he simply hadn’t had the strength to squash such an innocent effort entirely. He sympathized with Subaru greatly, but knowing that him trying to force such feelings onto Emilia would only end—

But watching Emilia and Julius walking hand-in-hand onto the dance floor, smiling peacefully as Subaru watched patiently from afar, it looked like his fears had been misplaced.

“I thought for sure he was gonnya ask her to dance,” Ferris marveled. “I knyow Emilia was thinking that.”

Wilhelm knew that had been the plan. He had seen the moment that the plan changed. That moment when Subaru’s eyes had flitted between Emilia and Julius, when he had hesitated, and when he had appeared to finally acquiesce — in a manner that Wilhelm had assumed would be far above his years.

For Subaru to have made such a mature decision, to have followed through with it so completely, and to have done so all on his own…

“Didn’t know he’d have it in ‘em,” Ricardo was agreeing. “Was kinda preparing for him to start lashing out the moment he realized…but I guess there was nothing to worry about after all.”

Wilhelm suddenly felt overwhelmed by a surge of utter pride and adoration, because he knew good and well that his own youthful self never would have been able to do such a thing. But of course Subaru could, of all people, part of him scoffed. Subaru is a wonderful person. It was in moments like this when he truly understood just how correct that assessment really was.

“—Subaru-kyun’s gone,” Ferris said. Wilhelm started. “Guess that talk was all he had in him after all.”

“He’s—!” Reinhard suddenly looked alarmed. “Did anyone see where he went?” he asked. “He’s only been gone for a moment, right?”

“Oh, hush. He’s probably just off sulking somewhere.” Ferris sighed, rolling his eyes teasingly. “And he was doing so well, too…”

“If all he needs after that is a good sulk, I’d say let him!” Ricardo clapped Ferris on the shoulder. “I know if I had to do that for a lady I liked, I’d be off drinking ‘till the sun came up the next day.”

“You’d get over it by the next night,” Tivey retorted. “Everyone knows what you’re like with women, Captain…”

“Oh shush, you brat—”

“…I’m going to go and check on him,” Wilhelm decided. Ferris was right, in a roundabout way: even if Subaru had been mature enough to do something so astoundingly selfless, that did not necessarily mean that his beloved grandson had come out of it with his heart unscathed. “If she asks, tell Crusch-sama I’ve stepped out for a moment with my grandson, hm?”

That was the first time he had called Subaru such a thing out loud. Ferris, Ricardo, Reinhard, Tivey, and everyone else in earshot gave him near-identical-looking grins. Wilhelm rolled his eyes, and stepped out of the ballroom through the same back door that Subaru had probably used. The music and sounds of merriment were merely muffled when he shut the door, as opposed to being cut off entirely.

It really was such a lovely celebration. But he could give his compliments to the organizers later: right now, Wilhelm had something more important to take care of.

[tommysdaddykink]

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

[blorbocedes]

Blorbo doing an ask game?? day officially made. cheating a little bit but can I ask for norstappen and arranged marriage or crying?

okay only cause you were so nice about it

Lando is sitting in his veil, looking glum, when Max enters. He manages to muster a glare at Max.

His little wife. Something glowers in Max's chest at that, that they're finally married. Not that Lando is too happy about it.

"Help me get this stupid corset off." Lando demands, getting up and turning his back to Max. There's a tangled mess where he's clearly tried to undo it himself and failed. The pristine ivory white boning is taut, fitted to him like a glove. Where Lando didn't have much of any breast to push, it certainly cinched his waist to an impossible degree. And made it harder to run, if he had been planning on it. Nevertheless, Max thought he looked absolutely lovely the entire ceremony, even if he did get out of breath at times.

Max diligently untangles the knot, then taking the two free separate ends he pulls as tightly as he can - cinching it. Lando, not expecting it, gasps as his back is straightened.

"Sorry," Max says, going back to undoing it. He carefully unties every hook in repetitive movements - each one loosening it ever so slightly. Max's fingers brush against the soft flesh of Lando's back and he can see where the bodice has made indentations on the skin. Lando has a gorgeous flush spreading down to his neck, as Max finishes -- revealing his bare back splattered with freckles like constellations.

Lando is all pink when he turns around again, kicking off the bustle without much care. He's just in a silk petticoat and his veil. Without being asked, Max gets to undoing the clips hidden in Lando's curls to keep the veil in place. The additional height he has over Lando helps. When Lando's looking down, there's the slightest hint of sparkle on his eyelids -- although he has no need for blush.

"Why'd they put roses everywhere? How're we supposed to sleep?" Lando whines. Their complementary Hilton honeymoon suite came with the bed decorated in rose petals shaped into a heart. Max thought it was quite romantic.

"The idea is we wouldn't be getting much sleep, no?" Max teases him.

"Don't get ahead of yourself and think we're doing anything tonight." Lando grumbles, self-consciously crossing his arms over his bare chest.

"That's alright." Max hums agreeably. He's in no rush. They have the rest of their lives to get to that.

Lando's not the happiest bride on his wedding day. He was still reeling from the betrayal. This old silver haired American, some multi-millionaire, was ready to invest millions in their family business for Lando's hand in marriage and his grandfather was all too agreeable for the bride price. Old moneyed families are quite old-fashioned like that, what Lando wanted wasn't even in the question.

Max put up an alternative offer and he had Lando's reluctant acquiescence. Better than being sold off to some geezer. But Lando showed up to the reception wearing Doc Martens under his dress and Max was not about to let his bride runaway in front of his entire family, friends, industry leaders, and the Prime Minister. So he kept a hold of Lando's hand from their First Dance until they made it into the limo, with Just Married~ painted on the back, with Lando digging his nails and refusing to look at him.

His parents always said marriage is hard work.

With the veil off, Lando runs his fingers through his curls and making a disgruntled face that it is stiff with product.

"I feel... gross." Lando goes to the two person sized shower + bath + jacuzzi bathroom and pointedly clicks the lock shut.

Max thought he made the prettiest bride. Stumbling through reading the vows, not being able to look Max in the eye -- too embarrassed. Their kiss was chaste, respectful, and not at all encompassing of all the things Max wanted but it was enough; he was kissing his lawfully wedded bride.

Max undoes his cuff links. He was completely at ease, in his bespoke black suit and bow tie.

Max is almost asleep when Lando rolls on top of him. All the makeup scrubbed off, in his comfortable pajamas. "I've changed my mind. Let's fuck."

"Is this going to happen a lot?" Max laughs, hands easily finding Lando's waist, reaching for the bare skin under his shirt.

"I dunno. You signed up for it."

[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???

[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.

[bvckbiter]

“Leave me behind.” – ethabaster (romantic) angst

for the request game

Alabaster stares at his boyfriend. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.” Ethan turns over in his bunk to face the wall, away from Alabaster. “If you really plan to defect, you better fucking leave me behind.”

“Why?”

“I’m in this for better or for worse, Bas. There’s no world where I take the easy way out.”

“The easy way—” Alabaster swallows hard as heat rises to his face. He’ll be damned if he cries in front of Ethan, even if the tears were of anger. “Ethan, if this goes on, nine-tenths of our army will be decimated by the time we win.”

“That’s the price of war.”

“Three of my siblings died today!”

“Not in vain. We rescued the Clazmonian Sow from the Hunt.”

“And that’s what they’re worth?” Alabaster’s voice crack. “A flying pig? Makes me wonder what you’d trade me in for.“

A sigh. Ethan sits up.

“Come here.” Ethan draws him in. A sob rips a path out of Alabaster’s chest as he buries his face into his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

A few seconds is all he lets himself indulge in before Alabaster pulls away, furiously scrubbing at his eyes. "if you're really sorry, then come with us," he says heavily. "I'll lose my mind if I see any more of my siblings die. Or you."

"I can't." A strong hand tucks errant strands of hair behind his ear, rueful and loving. "Three of your siblings might've died today, General, but do you know how many other demigods have died since I joined the Army?"

Alabaster sniffles. Maybe thirty-two, thirty-three. He'd lost exact count at twenty. Keeping demigods alive as the Army moved around the North American continent without the magical protections that Camp Half-Blood offered had been incredibly difficult; not all newcomers adapted well, especially the younger ones.

He's so tired.

"We have a cause, and we have a responsibility to the corpses we stand on," continues Ethan. His hand slips down Alabaster's face, tracing his jaw before nudging the younger boy to look at him. "I can't let their deaths be in vain, even if you're willing to turn tail because some of them hit closer to home than you were prepared for."

"Do you always have to be so pragmatic?" Alabaster heaves.

"I'm not saying that I relish their deaths. There's a reason why I remember the number, and every single one of their names and faces." A trembling smile spreads on Ethan's lips. "But it's nothing that I don't expect of myself, too."

With the tidal wave of grief and the combined six hours of sleep he'd managed over the past three days, every remaining neuron in Alabaster's brain is struggling to keep firing. Too many emotions and arguments and apologies fighting its way out of his body.

It's infinitely easier to sink back into Ethan's embrace.

"I hate you," Alabaster mumbles.

"You like that I give zero fucks about openly disagreeing with you. I mean, you said so yourself when you very dramatically made your feelings for me known." Soft snickers escape them both, before Ethan's tone turns somber again. "Changed your mind?"

Their foreheads touching and fatigued breaths mingling, Alabaster traces the eyepatch strings along Ethan's temple.

"A good general doesn't leave his men behind, I guess," Alabaster answers, hoping and holding his mother's words to his aching heart as a balm.

We will be victorious, Alabaster. I'm sure of it.

---

"Child," his mother warns, Greek fire-green eyes flaring in alarm as Alabaster's discordant laughs echo around them.

"Mother," he says hysterically. "Even if I leave him here, I can't let his death be in vain."

"Think about the siblings you have left under your care."

"Ethan would've wanted this." His fist curls iron-tight around his sword, the handle of it now bound to his hand by the frayed eyepatch he'd pried off Ethan's broken body. "We regroup."

***

thanks for this req! it was extremely yummy to write 😋

this is based off an idea i had of ethan and al having kind of opposite trajectories wrt their loyalties to kronos. ethan is under no illusion that hes being a hero and this will be a bloodless fight, only turned by the excessiveness and aimlessness of kronos' violence; meanwhile al genuinely wants to be the good guy and struggles with making sacrifices even if it's for what he perceives as a good cause - right up until he's lost too much and he gets hits with the worst case of sunken cost fallacy known to man

ethan is a tad manipulative here, which is something i don't think i see that often in fanworks, but i just think that with al being Delusional™️, ethan is also kind of the og Delusional™️ even if it's to a lesser degree, so it's fun to kind of sprinkle in how one influenced the other... al had to learn his shit somewhere.

casualty numbers completely made up on the fly. im not here for statistics-scaling

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.”

[charlottesweetly]

Ted and Charlotte both have problems with drinking a bit too much, a bit too often. Charlotte always has a flask on her and sneaks sips throughout the day, Ted pours himself a glass as soon as he gets home. Every fight Charlotte has with Sam ends with too much wine, every fight Ted has with Charlotte ends with too much whiskey. Charlotte can't remember a day she went without a drink, Ted can't remember the last time he slept without one.

Ted sees Charlotte's problem. He notices whenever she drinks at her desk or in the break room or on her smoke breaks. He smells it on her breath when she comes over after a bad day. Always tries to stop her from breaking open a bottle of wine, but knows she'll just go to a bar if he doesn't give in. He tells her she needs to stop drinking so often, that surely the way her hands shake when she's sober should tell her she has a problem, but Charlotte denies it. These are nicotine withdrawals she says, nothing else. I'm fine, its fine, I just need to take the edge off. Ted doesn't believe her.

Charlotte sees Ted's problem. Knows whenever she gets a garbled text from him that he's drunk out of his mind again, recognises the hangover he has each morning. She tells him he has a problem, and that he's going to get seriously sick if he doesn't slow down and give his liver a goddamn break. Ted doesn't even deny it, but the doesn't mind if he gets sick. There's nothing for him to live for, anyway, so he may as well drink himself to death one of these days when he gets the courage to do it.

The fights with Sam get more intense and more frequent and Charlotte starts crashing at Ted's place more days than not, always bringing a bottle or two with her that she slowly goes through on his couch. Ted stops pouring one out as soon as he gets home so he can be sober enough to look after Charlotte when she inevitably shows up. He stays up with her until she falls asleep, takes care of her when she drinks herself sick. He still drinks before he himself sleeps, though. He has a few more now, though, just to forget the awful feeling he has that even after all this time together, after everything he does for her, Charlotte always goes back to Sam.

Ted's hangovers get worse, and Charlotte can tell he's drinking more than ever now after she falls asleep. He barely functions in the mornings and starts staying home from work more days. Charlotte knows it's partly because of her, and the guilt eats at her.