Summary: Three one-shot looks at the complexities of the Schwarz dynamic.

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz or any of the characters used herein.

Warnings: The ratings for these fics are G, PG-13 and R, respectively. The last two contain yaoi elements.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mazeltov!

All in all, it was quite the festive shindig. People were getting tipsy, shouting 'mazeltov' at the top of their lungs, whirling about and generally making fools of themselves.

In the midst of it all, a wild looking redhead and a cackling albino were holding a chair up in the air and singing (caterwauling) lustily as a ring of revelers danced about them.

The only one not having a great time was the boy perched precariously on the chair, who shouted down into the crowd, annoyed.

"Crawford, make them stop!"

"Why?"

"Because it's ridiculous!"

"So?"

"But I'm not even Jewish!"

(A/N: 'Mazeltov' is Hebrew for congratulations.)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuigim Do Dorcha Ocras

It wasn't always like this.

The clash of blades and fevered groping as the fight becomes something else, passionate, but harsh and desperate nonetheless.

It wasn't always this way.

Aya didn't hunt dark beasts, once.

Things are complicated.

Bodies torn and blood spilt and Farfarello there beside him…who is the dark beast, now?

Things are different.

It's different and the blood never comes off of his skin and only the madman understands.

Understands the complication of killer and saint, each struggling to survive in one battered body…makes things simpler.

It wasn't always like that…

…but now is all Aya has.

(A/N: The title is Gaelic for 'I understand your dark hunger.')

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wir Sind Die Traumer

Picture the redhead forced onto his knees, his mouth for once too occupied to babble incessantly. Imagine the nasal whine as you push him up against the wall. Toy with the notion of thrusting into him, dry, listening for the held back screams.

A noise intrudes.

Change scenarios.

Picture the redhead dropping to his knees, effortlessly bringing you to bliss. Imagine the contented purr as the two of you come in synch. Toy with the notion of holding him in your arms, grinning in his sleep.

"Schuldig?"

"Ja?"

"Stay the fuck out of my fantasies."

"Wait, which ones were yours?"

(A/N: The title is German for 'We are the dreamers'.)