A/N: This is basically what the title says; a bunch of bits and pieces of things that either I or my siblings thought up idly. None of them are very long. Having really bad writers' block on J'ai Mal, Rabe, IDAFY, and FQ, so this is kind of a...writers' block dissolver? I suppose. It's not supposed to be serious, and I will, in most likelihood, continue posting one short thingy a day or so until the writers' block is completely decimated. Read.
Bits and Pieces
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#1 Justice
(using prompts and snippets 1, 4, 5, 19, and 23)
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It was a dark and stormy night. Lightning flashed past the enormous windows in the luxurious suite of rooms appointed to the Maou and his fiancee, causing the darkness in the room to flicker and dance. And then, with an ominous creak, the door opened...
Slowly...
Slowly...
Ever so slowly...
And a shadow with slightly more dimension than the others sleekly slid into the room silently and approached the sleeping golden-haired occupant of the bed where it lay, insensible to the world.
It was the Maou, and he was taking care of business.
If one made a word problem to display the reason he was there, it might work something like this: Maou equals Defender of Justice. Wolfram equals quite...desirable. Yuuri equals not thinking of Wolfram in the way the Maou did (at least, not consciously). Maou plus Yuuri equals one body. One body equals no opportunity for molestation of said Wolfram by said Maou. Being restrained from sexing the object of Maou's fantasies equals unjust. Therefore, if one carried the ones, cross-multiplied, and added up everything just right, one would come to the conclusion that, as the DEFENDER OF JUSTICE, the Maou had to remedy the unjust lack of Wolfram-molestation. It was simply his job, and you couldn't blame a champion of justice for doing his job, now could you?
Only, it seemed that if you were named Wolfram and happened to be a golden-headed, green-eyed, fiery, and impetuous blond, normal rules did not apply to you, because Wolfram had awoken after the Maou's hand had slid up under the small silky slip of nightgown he usually wore to bed, and had immediately attempted to toast his king and sovereign. That qualified, in the Maou's book at least, as blaming him. He disliked being blamed for doing his job.
Therefore, if one had looked through the immense, hardly practical for defensive purposes window, one would have seen a figure, all milk-white and cat-sleek, tied up on a bed with what seemed to be an extension of the shadows surrounding it on top of it, moving. One would have heard small whimpering moans and breathy grunts and might have wondered, what in hell are they doing? And one would have gotten one's answer when the darker personage shuddered and screamed, "JUSTICE!" out to the night.
The Maou had done his job quite well indeed.