#compound-gins

[mssorceressupreme]

Working Late | F.W

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Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: you got a new job at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and you’ve developed a strong attraction to one of your new bosses.

Warnings: boss/employee, age gap (ish), making out, shy reader (not a warning lol but yk). Actually it's kind of a sweet fluffy-ish one, might make a pt 2. with more smut tho idk

———

It all started with butterbeer. Ginny Weasley and you had decided to meet at The Three Broomsticks for a long-overdue catch-up. The amber liquid foamed in your mugs as you laughed about school, gossiped about classmates, and vented about our worries. But your laughter faltered as you stirred my butterbeer idly.

"I just don’t know what I’m going to do after Hogwarts," You confessed, keeping your gaze fixed on the swirling foam. "Everyone seems to have their plans lined up, and I’m… stuck. No job, no prospects, nothing meaningful."

Ginny cocked her head, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "You know, my brothers could use some extra help at their shop. You’ve heard of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, right?"

Your heart skipped. Of course, you’d heard of it. And of Fred.

"I don’t know your brothers that well," You mumbled, cheeks warming. Ginny waved you off, grinning.

"Doesn’t matter. I reckon they’ll like you, and I’ll put in a good word."

Unbeknownst to her, the mention of Fred sent your heart into overdrive. He was everything you weren’t—loud, confident, and irresistibly charming, well you had your own charms but his was just effortless. Not to mention your stupid infatuation with him.

You barely spoke to the twins at school, your shyness building a wall you were too scared to scale. Besides it kept you safe, from unwanted conversations, judgement and meaningless social interactions.

Still, Ginny’s determination left you little room to argue.

“Uh sure, thanks Gin.” You forced a smile, unsure of whether seeing Fred, let alone being in the same compound as him would help with your infatuation. This forced proximity might be the end for you.

It’s time to let go of him and move on, you mentally slapped yourself. Besides, he was a couple of years older than you, no way he’d go for you right?

———

The following week, you stood outside the shop at 8 a.m., shivering slightly despite the warmth of the sun.

To your surprise you actually got the job, Ginny managed to secure you a position. And after a quick interview with George last week, you found yourself rewarded the position of becoming an official employee of the store.

Great, you had misread the opening time—Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes didn’t open until 9. Just as you debated whether to leave and return later, a deep, groggy voice startled you.

"You’re early."

You spun around to find Fred Weasley standing behind you. He was taller than you remembered, his fiery hair slightly tousled, his jaw more defined. His eyes, sharp and glinting with curiosity, locked onto yours, and your stomach flipped.

"I, uh, thought you opened at eight," You stammered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

Fred smirked, his voice still husky from sleep. "Well, early bird gets the worms. Come on in, I can give you a quick tour."

He unlocked the door, holding it open for me. "Ladies first."

———

Inside, Fred gave you a whirlwind tour, his tone surprisingly serious as he explained the tasks. Stocking shelves, organising merchandise, assisting customers—it all seemed simple enough until we began working side by side.

"Here, let me show you," Fred said, reaching over your to grab a box from the top shelf. His arm brushed yours, sending a wave of excitement through your body.

The proximity was electrifying, and you found focus wavering. “These are our latest addition, love potions. We have yet to stock them on the display there,” He leaned in closer to you, pointing to the pink display near the entrance, “See that one, the pink stand there.”

“Do we get to sample one of the potions?” You teased, wanting to ease the tension.

He paused, turning to you, “Have someone on your mind for these eh?”

Your eyes grew wide, “Oh no no, no one at all, just wondering.” You forced a smile, mentally face palming yourself.

He smirked, then continued explaining to which you nodded slowly, listening attentively to everything he instructed.

“George was supposed to help bring these boxes up to my office but since he’s not here yet, ‘spose you could help bring them up.” Fred gestured to some boxes by the door, newly delivered packages.

“Yes sir.” You replied hastily, making your way to the boxes.

“Fred.” He chuckled softly, “Just Fred would do.”

One by one, you carried what seemed like never ending inventory into his office upstairs for him to stock check them, making sure the quality was up to par.

Finally, it was the last box’s turn to be brought up, as you were carefully walking up the stairs, the entrance swung open and George ran in, "Oi Fred, Ginny said Y/N would be starting today, have you showed her-"

Upon hearing your name, you whipped your head around, missing a step in the process, and tripping right outside Fred's office. The box fell on the ground, and out spewed the items, clinking and clanking on the floor. It was some mini metal boxes with assorted treats inside of them. "Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry!"

The items scattered across the floor, and you crouched down hastily, picking them up one by one. Fred was in his office, rushing to your aid as soon as he heard the noise.

"Accidents happen all the time, don’t worry about it," Fred said, kneeling to help. Upon picking the items up, your hands touched, grazing each other softly and you froze.

His eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching. The air thickened with something unspoken, something undeniable, before a loud voice interrupted you. "Oh hey guys, sorry I was late, was caught finding the keys to me' office." George apologised, he saw the two of you kneeling on the ground, giving Fred a quick glance before darting towards you.

"Y/N! We meet again, I trust Freddie has shown you around. Come on down when you're done yeah, the shop's opening soon." George instructed before heading downstairs.

As the day wore on, you noticed whispers among some customers—girls your age, glaring enviously.

"She only got the job because she’s Ginny’s friend," one of them muttered.

"Why is she the only employee? If I had known, I would've applied too...obviously for George." The other one giggled.

"Whatever, she's not even that pretty, they probably hired her out of pity."

Fred happened to overhear their conversations, and his eyes shot daggers at the girls, but forced himself to remain calm, they were after all his customers. "Actually," he interjected smoothly, "she’s here because she’s a hard worker and great at what she does."

His words left you stunned. Had he been paying that much attention to you? You pretended to be busy with another task, acting as though you hadn't heard a word they said.

A few hours passed and boy, you were already tired, legs exhuasted from standing all day and arms from all the reaching, stocking, grabbing and the likes. How on earth did the twins manage to do this everyday, you wondered.

While restocking on a ladder, a mischievous kid aimed a Decoy Detonator at you, hoping to get trial some pranks with the samples provided.

The explosion erupted in your face, colourful sparkling fireworks crackling around you, causing you to loose your balance, "Merlin!" You panicked as you slipped, falling off the ladder. Before you could hit the ground, you felt a strong pair of arms wrapped around your waist.

His familiar scent filled you, it was him. Fred.

You gasped, gripping his forearms. He pulled you upright, his hold lingering for a moment too long.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice low, his breath warm against your ear.

You nodded, but your pounding heart felt like it would bust right out of you at the rate it was beating.

Once he made sure you were alright, you carried on. Though the rest of the day was a bit dull as Fred was in his office doing paperwork, whilst George stayed downstairs entertaining the customers.

You could't help but think back to the situation moments before, the way he held you, his scent, his voice, Merlin this was not helping your crush at all. And it did not help that he looked so handsome in that all black suit he was wearing, ugh your mind began to wonder, but that did not hold you back from delivering great customer service.

"Thanks Y/N, have a good day!" A kid waved at you before leaving, and you waved back grinning.

"Enjoy your new gizmo!" You smiled with awe, among the devils, there were also the sweetest most angel-like children you came across in the store.

The next few days flew by, you quickly adjusted to working at the shop, your kind demeanour welcomed guests and made them feel right at home.

You barely saw Fred as he was buried in work, constantly in his office, but you learnt to live with it. After all, you were here to gain experience, not date your boss.

One particular night, you stayed back in the stockroom as there had been a surplus of inventory, and since you had no plans, you decided to help out as much as you could, sorting out new arrivals for the next week.

"Working late?" a familiar voice asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.

You shrugged, smiling. "Just wanted to get ahead."

He frowned slightly, feeling guilty that you had been overworking yourself. "How bout a reward then, say, dinner?"

"Dinner?" Your heart soared, but his next words tempered it.

"Just a casual, y'know thank you dinner."

Still, you agreed. ___

You walked to The Three Broomsticks together, you felt a bit upset that he kept a good distance from you, though he thought it was respectful, a part of you wished he stood closer.

At the restaurant, he pulled out your chair, playfully grinning, "M'lady." He teased.

"And what would the lovely couple like to have for dinner tonight?" The waiter asked and, as you were about to deny that you were a couple, Fred played it off and went with it.

"I'll have the steak and chips, and she'll have the fish and chips."

"Amazing, it'll take 10-15 minutes, have a lovely evening guys. What a beautiful couple you two make." The waiter complimented, before taking our menu's off us.

"You did not." You chuckled with disbelief.

"Did what?" Fred defended himself, raising his hands.

"Why didn't you say we weren't a couple." You laughed, shaking your head.

"And embarrass the poor lad? Not a chance, besides, what's wrong with that." He shrugged nonchalantly at the last bit, and you bit back a smile.

After dinner, Fred insisted he walk you home for safety reasons, "Can't have my best employee not getting home safely." He insisted.

"I'm your only employee." You retort, laughing softly.

"And the best one at that." He added.

The moment you reached home, he paused outside your door. For a moment, his gaze dipped to your lips, and you held your breath. Could this be it, the moment you waited for.

But he stepped back, murmuring, "Goodnight." Flashing a small smile before he headed home once you were inside.

---

The next day, you wore a skirt to work, wanting to feel more free, plus it was way too hot to be wearing jeans or pants. But of course, there was the underlying reason of wanting to catch a certain someone's attention.

As you arrive, George greeted you, his playful cheerful self did not go unnoticed. Fred however was quieter, sterner, and noticeably distracted. He brushed past you more often, his touches lingering but you shrugged it off, thinking you were imagining things.

"Hey Y/N, Fred's asking for you, he's up in his office." George informed you, while you were rearranging one of the messy shelves, you nodded and made your way to Fred.

You found him alone in his office, staring out the window.

"Fred?" You knocked softly.

He turned, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Shut the door."

You obeyed, suddenly nervous.

"Why are you wearing a skirt?"

"I thought it would be appropriate, given how incredibly scorching today's weather is." You replied, truthfully.

"Merlin, you don't know what you've been doing to me as of late." Fred sat on one of the leather couches in his office, rubbing his temples as he did so.

"I'm sorry, I can go change if you want-"

"No. It looks good on you, come here." He ordered, and you slowly made your way towards the couch where he sat, standing in front of him. "Bloody hell, you don't know do ya?" He eyed you up and down, his gaze exploring your figure.

"I’ve been trying to ignore this," he continued, "But I can’t..."

"Ignore what?" You whispered, your pulse racing.

"You."

His confession hung in the air, heavy and intoxicating.

"Fred, you have no idea how long I've been waiting for you." You finally confessed. "Ever since Hogwarts...I just...figured I wasn't your type."

"You think I haven't noticed you before? Everytime you came to the Burrow, seeing you in the halls, always hanging with my sister. The wrong Weasley, dare I say. You have no idea how much I wanted to come in and sweep you off your feet. But you know, you, always into your books, always in your own world, I just-...and now seeing you again, Merlin, it's like you've got me wrapped around your finger again."

You responded by closing the distance, sitting on his lap, straddling him which earned a groan from him. Immediately, his lips captured yours in a kiss that was fiery, desperate, and everything you'd dreamed of.

You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as his hands gripped your waist. His arousal was growing beneath you and you could feel yourself getting soaked just from this, all that pent up tension was getting released.

"I’ve wanted this for so long," You admitted breathlessly.

He smiled, his forehead resting against yours. "Me too love."

For the first time, the tension between you broke, replaced by something infinitely sweeter. ___ A/N: Might do a part 2, with more smut? Or how it's like at WWW now that they've established they like each other? Not sure yet hehe

(Update: check out Pt 2 here!! 🥰 )

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Liqueurs

Liqueurs

Also known as cordials.

Distilled spirits that feature flavorings such as fruits, herbs, and spices.

Heavy, sweet, and complexly flavored drinks.

These sweet alcoholic beverages are used to make cocktails, or can be served alone as aperitifs or digestifs.

Making Liqueurs

Involves adding fruits, sugar, cream, spices, herbs, nuts, and flavorings to a liquor base at a distillery.

The sweetness of liqueurs is their most common feature.

Although, they can range widely in sugar content.

Popular types of liqueurs: orange liqueurs, herbal liqueurs, and coffee liqueurs.

Liqueur vs. Liquor

Both are drinks with high alcohol content and similar-sounding names.

However, there are essential differences between these two categories:

Fermentation: Liquor—also known as hard alcohol, spirits, or distilled spirits—is a category of alcoholic beverages that ferment and undergo distillation. In the distillation process, heat and condensation increase the alcohol content, and a significant portion of the water boils off, concentrating the alcohol and particular compounds. Liquors usually starting with a grain base (distillers occasionally use fruits). The six main categories are whiskey, brandy, rum, vodka, gin, and tequila.

Flavorings: Most liqueurs begin with liquor as a base; then, distillers add herbs, spices, and other flavorings. Bartenders can serve liqueurs as-is or add them in small amounts to a liquor base to form mixed drinks.

Sugar: The main difference between liquor and liqueur is sweetness. Liqueurs are intensely flavored with the most predominant note usually being sweetness. Flavoring herbs and oils and added sugar provide flavor and texture.

Alcohol content: Both liqueurs and liquors have a range of alcohol content. Most liquor is in the 40 to 55 percent range of Alcohol by Volume (ABV), or 80 to 110 proof. Liqueurs typically contain more ingredients, so the alcohol content is generally lower, from 15 to 30 percent ABV or 30 to 60 proof.

15 Popular Types of Liqueurs

There is a wide range of liqueurs, from cream-based cordials to proprietary recipes.

Amaretto: An Italian liqueur made from apricot kernels, which give the liquor a distinctly bitter almond flavor. Its name comes from amaro, the Italian word for “bitter.” Sweeter notes of brown sugar temper the bitterness of the apricot pits. It contains 21 to 28% ABV and can be sipped alone or added to cocktails.

Amaro: A broad category of regional Italian bitters. Made from either a neutral spirit or brandy, this bitter liqueur is a staple in the Italian lifestyle. A curated blend of botanical ingredients—typically an inherited recipe that includes herbs, spices, and flowers, as well as barks and roots like gentian root, cinchona, and wormwood—gives each variety of amaro its unique flavor. Campari, Cynar, Fernet Branca, and Aperol are popular amaro liqueur brands.

Anise liqueurs: Anice, the primary flavoring agent in black licorice, is a popular ingredient in alcoholic drinks in many countries and cultures: Ouzo in Greece, Sambuca and Galliano in Italy, Pernod Absinthe in France, and Raki in Turkey, among others.

Chambord: A popular brand of raspberry-flavored liqueur. The ingredients are red and black raspberries, honey, vanilla, and cognac. Chambord is great for making Raspberry Mojitos and Raspberry Margaritas.

Cream liqueurs: Thick, sweet liqueurs made with the addition of milk or a milk substitute, along with sweetener, to provide a creamy sweetness to the drink. Baileys Irish Cream liqueur and Amarula are two examples of cream liqueurs.

Creme liqueurs: Creme liqueurs are thick, sweet, syrup-like beverages. Unlike cream liqueurs, creme liqueurs do not contain dairy. Instead, added sugar provides a thick consistency. Crème de cassis (made from blackcurrants), crème de cacao, (a chocolate liqueur) and crème de menthe are different flavors of this category.

Coffee liqueurs: These liqueurs contain caffeine, and the predominant flavor is coffee. Coffee liqueurs, such as Kahlúa from Mexico or Irish Sheridan, are generally served with cream and sugar.

Elderflower liqueurs: These herbal liqueurs provide a light, floral note to cocktail recipes. St. Germain is a popular brand of elderflower liqueur.

Limoncello: A liqueur flavored with lemon peel. Limoncello is strong, sweet, and bright yellow.

Medicinal: Some liqueurs, such as Chartreuse and Benedictine, were initially used for medicinal purposes. These liqueurs tend to be floral and highly complex, with an ingredient list that remains secretive.

Orange liqueurs: These liqueurs feature predominant orange flavors, and are broadly known under the labels curaçao or Triple Sec. Popular brands include Cointreau and Grand Marnier.

Schnapps: Some varieties of schnapps do not classify as liqueurs, but those with added sweetness and flavoring agents, such as peach schnapps and peppermint schnapps, are liqueurs.

Drambuie: This Scottish liqueur has a base spirit of Scotch whiskey and a proprietary blend of herbs and spices.

Frangelico: Italian liqueur flavored with roasted hazelnuts; comes in a uniquely shaped bottle, modeled after a Christian monk, complete with a rope belt.

Strega: Italian herbal liqueur that gets its name from the Italian word for witch. The distinctive yellow color comes from saffron, imparting flavor to the liqueur.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Cocktails ⚜ Food History Wine-tasting ⚜ Drunkenness ⚜ Drinking ⚜ Literary & Hollywood Cocktails

[jtargaryen18]

Under His Skin ~ Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Words: 5k

Pairing: Jonathan Crane aka Scarecrow (Nolanverse Batman) x F Reader

Warnings: Stalking, sabotage, gaslighting, head games, x-rated fantasies, oral (m receiving).

Jonathan continues executing his plan to temporarily stabilize Ares. But her continued absence disrupts the system. When she fails to return to Arkham for a second day, Jonathan decides to reestablish control by visiting her at her gallery... with unintended results.

Disclaimer:The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site.

Jonathan had returned to Arkham on Monday in exceptional form. The weekend had been productive -- precise, deeply satisfying.

He and Ares both primarily worked Monday through Friday, though they were technically on call on the weekends. A rotating PT doctor usually handled weekend rounds, a contract fill-in with no investment in long-term cases and no real oversight of facility activity.

So when Jonathan showed up Saturday morning? No one questioned it. He’d signed in, conducted “follow-ups,” and remained in the south wing for just under two hours. He’d completed another round of tests on a low-risk inpatient, one of Arkham's long-term residents. Unremarkable diagnosis. No family. No one watching too closely.

Subject 034.

Responsive. Highly suggestible.

Fear index response: elevated.

This time, the modified compound absorbed more efficiently. No need for direct injection. A simple aerosol dispersal had been enough. The results were beautiful. Shaking. Dissociation. Vocalized distress. But more importantly, truth beneath fear. Exactly what he was after. After logging the data, he’d started something new. Jonathan started designing a filtration system for his personal use. A way to be in the room without absorbing the poison. It would provide him with field readiness, a way to control the chaos, protection. 

By the time he left, Subject 034 was sedated and stable. Nothing had appeared unusual. He didn’t need anyone’s permission for this. Not anymore. He just needed a system distracted enough not to notice.

And right now, Arkham was very, very distracted.

Ares arrived late and reeked of alcohol. It wasn’t overwhelming, just faint beneath the cologne he’d clearly applied to cover it. But Jonathan noted it immediately. So did two of the nurses. The junior staffer at the front desk didn’t make eye contact when Ares passed. The security guard shook his head.

Jonathan didn’t say anything. He simply logged the observation.

Unshaved. Late. Auditory processing delay. Olfactory trace: whiskey or gin.

By eleven, Ares had snapped at a nurse, misfiled a patient transfer order, and quietly admitted to Jonathan in passing that he’d “forgotten” about a meeting with administration that had been on the calendar for two weeks.

Still functioning, but barely.

And sticking to his plan, Jonathan made no move to escalate. He reminded Ares gently about the admin meeting, handled the file fix himself, and smoothed things over with the staff with the ease of a man who knew how to fix a narrative before it bent too far. It was all part of his plan. Ten days of breathing room. Just enough time to make the fall look inevitable… and him look indispensable. It was working.

It should have been satisfying. But it wasn’t.

She didn’t come. Again. By now, she was off her pattern. Off his rhythm. You don’t get to become unpredictable now.

Her absence wasn’t just a missing piece. It was a disturbance, a weight in the system he couldn’t rebalance without her. He’d expected distance after their last interaction. A pause. Reflection. But not withdrawal or silence. Not this.

Ares was worse, visibly. Agitated, sluggish, and hungover. His judgment was fractured. His affect, unstable.

What happened over the weekend? Had they fought? Had something shifted between them that Jonathan hadn’t seen coming? He didn’t like not knowing.

Every other variable is accounted for. But not this one.

If Ares was spiraling and she was staying away because of it, it changed the timing. It changed the narrative.

I need her back in position. And if she wouldn’t return on her own? Jonathan would create the conditions to draw her out. He closed his notebook with deliberate calm. 

If she won’t return on her own, I’ll reestablish contact on neutral ground.

Not at Arkham. That would feel too formal, clinical. She’d feel cornered. A space where she felt safe would be better. Her space, her rules. A visit that felt like a choice instead of an obligation. He would bring a peace offering.

Moving to his desk drawer, he removed a slim folder he kept tucked beneath the more visible files. Personal notes nothing clinical or official. He flipped to the page labeled [Her Name] – Observational Patterns. 

Favorite café: Haven Leaf, three blocks from gallery. Orders consistently: arugula + lentil bowl, no onions, sub lemon vinaigrette. Always asks for extra lemon. Once corrected staff about packaging, prefers compostable over plastic lids.

He’d observed it three times. Noted it after the second. Confirmed it after the third.

It wasn’t just lunch. It was a demonstration. I see you. I understand detail. I listen. It was, in a word, earned.

This is the reset.  She’ll see I can adapt.  She’ll start to trust the version of me I give her.  And then she’ll come back into the story, exactly where she’s supposed to be.

He checked the clock. It was late afternoon. Too late to act now, not if he wanted the moment to feel deliberate. Tomorrow.

Jonathan would let her absence stretch a little longer. Let her wonder if she’d been forgotten and allow Ares to decline just enough to feel like it was all her fault. 

Then I’ll show up.  Not as a threat. As a solution.

He slid the folder back into the drawer and straightened the crease in his coat. 

Tuesday will be better for re-entry.

Tuesday afternoon, the gallery was quiet. Almost too quiet. 

You’d spent the morning rearranging an exhibit you’d already changed twice. The artists hadn’t noticed. But you had. Nothing felt settled.

You hadn’t eaten. You hadn’t gone to see Ares. You kept thinking about the fight from Saturday night, the first night he’d finally made time for you in over a week. It should’ve been a relief. You'd planned to have dinner at his favorite restaurant and actually managed to grab a reservation last-minute on a cancellation. You’d picked the place for a reason. It was somewhere familiar and quiet. Somewhere that felt like you and him before all of this. You’d even hoped to go back to his apartment after, for a quiet, intimate night. Something soft and healing.

You just wanted to reconnect.

Instead, it had spiraled. It ended in shouting. A misunderstanding and misdirected frustration that caused wounds neither of you had words for. He’d shut down. You’d raised your voice and pushed harder than you meant to. And now? You weren’t even sure what you were fighting about anymore. It hurt.

You knew Ares was embarrassed by what was happening. That he was scared, but wouldn’t say it, not out loud. Not to you or maybe not even to himself. It was pride. Or fear of what it would mean if he said it out loud and couldn’t fix it.

You didn’t go to see him at Arkham yesterday. And today, you still couldn’t make yourself do it. Not because you didn’t care, because you did and you wanted to go. You just didn’t want to continue the fight in Arkham’s halls. Not if something you said came out wrong or if he looked at you like he had nothing left to give.

You were sipping ice water behind the front desk when the bell over the door rang. Your heart jumped just a little. You weren't expecting anyone. Was it Ares? Had he come to see you because he also didn't like how things were left? Maybe, for once, he’d come find you instead of waiting for you to do all the fixing.

It wasn't Ares. 

Dr. Crane stepped into the gallery like he’d done it before, calm and straight-backed. He crossed the room slowly, quietly--like he belonged--and placed a black bag on the front counter with deliberate care.

You stayed behind the desk, one hand still wrapped around your water bottle like it could anchor you, the other slowly lowering into your lap. A chill ran down your arms. Why is he here?

The last time you’d seen him, you’d nearly fallen apart in his office. And he’d done nothing, just sat there coldly watching. Like your pain had been an interesting reaction in an experiment he wasn’t really invested in, just there to log the outcome. There hasn't been an ounce of comfort or empathy. Nothing. Just observation. Like you were another file he’d already finished reading.

You folded your arms across your chest before you stood, a subtle barrier between you and him. This was your space.

If he thought anything of your reaction, it didn't show. Crane just watched you, waited. "Lunch,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You blinked, caught between annoyance, confusion, and something colder you didn’t want to name. “Dr. Crane.”

He inclined his head. “Miss.”

You didn’t invite him in. But you didn’t ask him to leave either. The long beat of silence stretched out uncomfortably.

“You didn’t come to Arkham yesterday," he said. "Or today.”

You stiffened, instinctively on guard. “I didn’t think I was required.”

“You’re not,” he said. “But your absence was felt.” He moved a little closer, slow and unthreatening. His tone was gentle, but exact. “Ares had a better day Monday. But that kind of improvement isn’t always sustainable. Especially without consistent environmental support.”

You stared at him. “Are you saying I’m environmental support now?”  You meant it to sound sharp, maybe a little sarcastic. Somehow you didn't hit that note. And underneath it, something twisted in your chest. Is that what I’ve become to Ares? A stabilizing factor? A comforting presence? Not a partner or someone he trusts? It stung more than you wanted to admit. Not because Crane said it, but because maybe he wasn’t wrong.

And worse? He made it sound like a compliment. Like it meant something. Were you just another condition to be managed then?

“I’m saying,” Crane replied, “you matter to him. And I believe he stabilizes faster when you're present.”

His phrasing was so matter-of-fact it disarmed you. 

“I thought you didn’t do emotional nuance,” you said quietly. “Back in your office, when I…” You stopped yourself.

Crane nodded, like he already knew. “I was trying not to make it worse. I’ve seen grief weaponized. I didn’t want to push you into anything you weren’t ready to feel.”

You looked at him, surprised by the softness in his tone. It wasn't warmth, but caution. Like he’d studied loss in a lab and learned just enough to simulate empathy.

“I wasn’t ready,” you admitted.

“I’m sorry,” he said and he meant it. Or he was good enough to make you think he did. 

He didn’t push, and he didn’t stay long. 

“Oh, before I forget.” He reached into the small black bag he’d set on the gallery’s front counter earlier and pulled out a neatly folded paper bag, sealed with a compostable sticker from your favorite vegan café three blocks down. “In case you haven’t eaten.”

You blinked, opening it to see its contents. Inside was your usual order. Not the standard menu item but your version. Subbed dressing, extra lemon wedge, no onions. Your stomach fluttered, more from confusion than hunger. How did he...

“Thank you,” you said cautiously.

He didn’t explain. Just gave a small nod. As he turned to go, he paused beside a large canvas near the door, a striking, oil-dark piece with a murder of crows painted in jagged, chaotic silhouettes. Their wings blurred into one another, sharp angles bleeding into a smudged black sky. There was no ground or horizon. Just movement, and darkness, and eyes that followed. You’d always admired the artist. She was brilliant, raw. 

But this piece? This one was different. It felt like darkness closing in, like something coming for you, whether you saw it or not. You’d never told anyone that and you usually placed the painting near exits, just in case.

You weren’t surprised he liked it. “Is that for sale?” he asked.

You nodded. “Of course. Local artist. She's good.” You walked over to him, grabbing one of the cards clipped to the frame. Your hands were slightly shaky, and it fell to the floor before you could hand it to him. "I'm sorry." You kneeled on the floor in front of him to retrieve it and glanced up at him, because you still weren't entirely sure you trusted him. Slowly rising to your feet, you handed it to him and your fingers brushed during the exchange. Just a second. You pulled away first, and he didn’t react. But for a reason you couldn’t explain, the gallery suddenly felt colder.

He took the card gently, slipped it into his coat pocket without looking. “I’ll see you at Arkham tomorrow, then?” he asked, his intense gaze locking with yours.

You hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

You walked him to the door, still unsure what had just happened and how it managed to feel like an apology without ever actually becoming one.

Crane paused before stepping out. “See you tomorrow.”

And then he was gone.

You watched him walk out into the afternoon sun, perfectly composed. The gallery felt lighter once he was gone, but you wouldn't say better.

Still…He hadn’t been what you expected. Not this time. You locked the door and turned back to the crows trapped on the canvas of the painting. You wondered, distantly, what he saw when he looked at them.

The door shut behind Jonathan quietly. The kind of silence that invited reflection. He just walked down the gallery steps slowly, coat buttoned, posture straight. The warmth of the late afternoon sun hit his shoulders, but he didn’t feel it. Not after what just happened. It was playing over and over again in his mind. The dropped card. The way she’d looked up at him from the floor before the brush of her fingers against his. It shouldn’t have meant anything. It wasn’t part of the plan.

But it had struck something in him that had never threatened his self control before now. By the time he reached the sidewalk and turned left toward Arkham, he still hadn’t gotten his balance back.

Shaking his head to clear it, Jonathan forced himself to concentrate. 

She took the food he brought her. Not with trust or ease, but she did accept it. He’d watched her fingers hesitate over the bag, watched the micro-tension in her shoulders. Her reluctance was visible. But she didn’t pull back or question the gesture. She also didn’t send him away which he half-expected.

That mattered. Fear was too obvious and resistance too loud. But reluctant permission, well, that was the truest kind of control.

She’s not ready to trust me. That’s fine. She’s ready to wonder if she should. And that's better.

It was better tham empathy, comfort. She was still deciding and he was shaping the answer. 

Progress.

More than that, she’d listened. She’d let him speak, uninterrupted. She’d allowed him to frame the absence -- both Ares’s decline and her role in the system. And in the end, she agreed to return.

Control regained. He exhaled, slow and steady. The encounter hadn't gone exactly as he intended. Reaching into his pocket, he fished the card out.  

She’d handed it to him from the frame beside the crow painting. She’d dropped it first, her hands trembling. From his visit? He could still see it in his mind's eyes. She kneeled in front of him to retrieve it, hand reaching across the floor, her eyes lifting to meet his from below. There was nothing calculated or staged about it. 

But the image? Kneeling. Looking up. Just… waiting. His breath hadn’t caught and his heart hadn’t accelerated. But something else had, something sharper from deep within. It wasn't desire or power, just the flash of something he struggled to name. 

She had no idea what that looked like, how naturally submissive that unintentional pose was, and that made it worse. Then she stood and handed him the card. For the briefest second, their fingers touched. Jonathan didn’t react outwardly, but internally, his mind stilled. Not because of the touch itself. No. It also wasn’t calculated nor was it part of the test.

She didn’t mean to touch me. But it still happened.

For years, touch and physical contact had been transactional. Sometimes a necessary step in gaining access or information. College trysts, colleagues at conferences, overeager interns mistaking distance for mystery. He’d allowed it, participated when useful. But he’d never felt anything.

Jonathan didn't feel desire or warmth. Certainly not pleasure in the way others described it. He didn’t believe physical closeness offered anything particularly valuable, not beyond the momentary biological release people seemed irrationally obsessed with. If there were any benefits, they were hormonal. Temporary and meaningless. Flesh wasn’t interesting. Behavior was. And behavior could be mapped and measured, predicted even.

Until now. 

I can't stop seeing her glance up at me from the floor, eyes wide, lips parted. Then she touched me by accident, and I can’t stopped thinking about it.

Most people didn’t touch him, not intentionally. And when they did, it was always followed by hesitation and regret. That brief flash of discomfort in their eyes like they’d just crossed some invisible line.

Once again, she hadn’t flinched or looked repelled. She didn't apologize. Like it was normal. Like I was normal. And that, somehow, was even worse. It stayed. 

He slid the card into his coat pocket, already memorizing the number printed in small black ink. And for the rest of the walk back to Arkham, he could still feel where her skin had met his.

When he reached the front doors of Arkham, Jonathan straightened his cuffs, adjusted his coat, and re-centered his expression into something neutral. Inside, the air was predictably cool. The hum of fluorescent lights, the faint antiseptic sting that clung to everything reminded him of where he was. Where his focus needed to be. 

Familiar ground.

Making his way to Ares’s office without rushing, Jonathan kept one hand tucked casually in his pocket, fingers brushing the edge of the artist’s card like it was an afterthought.

He knocked once. No answer. Crane opened the door anyway.

Ares was at his desk, awake, but slouched. His shoulders hunched, and his tie was askew. His eyes were bloodshot, and a mostly untouched coffee sat beside a stack of reports he wasn’t reading.

Jonathan stepped inside, wordless, and slowly circled the room. Scanned the files, checked the timestamp on the system logs. Picked up a clipboard to skim its contents before putting it down again.

This is what I know. This is control.

But the tension racing through his entire body didn't go away. His memory from the gallery wouldn't let him. 

Kneeling. Glancing up. That pause between her fingertips and mine.

Jonathan was here. In the system, in the structure he’d built around himself. And yet, he felt completely derailed.

Ares mumbled something, barely audible. Jonathan didn’t catch it and didn't care. He stepped back out into the hallway and let the door close behind him.

Control regained?

Maybe not. Not yet.

When Jonathan saw her again, stepping out of the Midtown bookstore on a rainy Thursday, he thought he was hallucinating. It had been ten years since he saw her last. She'd been away at college and came to visit her family. She'd been there for a long weekend, not enough time to try and orchestrate paths crossing. 

But there she was.  Older and softer around the edges. Hair pinned back in a way he didn’t remember, but her face… her face hadn’t changed at all.

He watched her from across the street. She didn’t see him.

She smiled at the clerk walking out behind her. Laughed at something small and adjusted the strap of her bag like it still didn’t sit quite right. 

She came back.

And for days, Jonathan followed her. N ot obsessively at first, but carefully.  From a distance, t racking her routine. Mapping it. Finding comfort in how familiar she still was, how she bought the same kind of tea, how she paused at certain corners when she walked. How she still left the house without an umbrella, even when it rained.  He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her until the system settled around her again.

It was a Wednesday when everything shifted.  He hadn’t been following her that day. Just passing through Midtown, almost mechanically. 

And then there she was, on the sidewalk, walking into a restaurant.  Laughing with h er hand in someone else’s. Matching wedding rings. He was a  tall man, clean-cut and confident. The kind of man people looked at without remembering.

In her other arm? She held a toddler, a girl of maybe two who looked just like her.  Same eyes and hair. Same quiet spark.

Jonathan stood frozen just past the crosswalk, one hand still in his coat pocket.  He watched the hostess open the door and watched them step inside. He watched her smile, not at him. She pressed a kiss to the little girl’s forehead as the man guided them to a table.

And something ripped quietly at the edges of his control.

You came back. But you didn’t come back for me.

He didn’t follow her again after that.  Didn’t need to.  The variable had changed and t he subject was no longer viable.

But the memory? That stayed.  Not because she left. Because she never gave him a chance to matter.

Jonathan returned to his office and shut the door behind him, softer than usual. The silence should have helped but it didn’t. He didn’t sit. Instead, he paced. His strides were long and measured across the floor with his hands behind his back, every motion precise. But his mind was elsewhere. 

Unacceptable. Jonathan didn't allow himself to slip into fantasy.They were distortions, unstructured internal projections with no measurable outcome. Psychologically speaking, they were the brain’s way of coping with unmet needs. False stimuli designed to soothe. He didn’t need soothing. He needed control.

And yet, his heart was racing. His hands clenched behind his back, nails pressing into his palms. He tried in vain to redirect his thoughts to data, structure, and most importantly, fact.

All he could see her was kneeling in front of him on the gallery floor. That glance up at him... It wouldn’t stop playing. Like someone had hit repeat. Like he was someone's else's behavioral experiment. 

Jonathan's mind went to picturing her entering his office without knocking, just a soft turn of the handle, a gentle creak of the door. She’s carrying the crow painting, of course, but it’s not about the delivery. It's merely an excuse. Her gaze moves across the room, her expressive eyes luminous, curious. Underneath is caution and something else...

"I didn’t want the front desk to handle something this delicate," she says, shifting the frame slightly in her arms. "And I thought…"

Watching her carefully turn to carefully place the paining in the floor, leaning it on one of his bookshelves, he waits.  Her gaze is on him, quiet and open. She wants something, but doesn't know how to ask for it. 

Her eyes are soft, her posture uncertain. She’s not here for Ares. She’s here for him, walking back to his office door and turning the lock with a graceful hand.

"Have you been a good girl, today?" Jonathan asks, knowing it will earn him that smile. Her teeth sink into her enticing lower lip.

​"Yes," she whispered because good girls answer with their words. She doesn't touch him, not yet. She doesn't have permission. 

But he grants that. "Show me," he says firmly, stepping back so he can lean against the front of his desk, keep himself steady.

Meekly, she moves closer before kneeling in front of him, getting on her knees. When she's better trained, he'll keep a special cushion in his office, just for her visits and occasions like this. In the meantime, good girls don't complain. 

Jonathan takes a deep breath, watching her delicate hands work the fine leather belt at the front of his slacks. She makes quick work of it, opening his slacks and pushing them down just enough to free his cock and when she sees it, she glances up at him -- that glance -- confirming she has his permission. At his nod, she gets her hands on him, her mouth on him. Jonathan knew he should have told her not to make a mess of him but as her heated lips close around the head of his cock, he sucks in a breath and his eyes slide closed for just a moment. Her hands are warm and soft as they work him, her little mouth heaven as she slowly takes him deeper. 

He loved the way that once she got him right there to the edge, she's stop and do something different to frustrate him, to drag it out. Today he wouldn't punish her for that. Not when that big-eyed gaze was on him, seeking his approval. Not when she was literally drooling around him and drops of it fell to form wet circles on her knees, darkening the fabric of her slim gray skirt. 

Jonathan let her know when he was ready to come, taking control of her head with his hands. He fucked her face, slowly at first. But as that wave on sensation started crashing around him, his movements were rough and fast. He reached his end when he noticed those pretty tears sliding from her eyes, a slight smudge of mascara at her left eye from her efforts, from choking on his cock...

Taking deep breaths, Jonathan leaned back in his office chair, thick white ropes of his come all over his hand, his briefs. Somehow his slacks has been spared. Tucking himself back into his slacks, he did a messy job of it, he wiped his hands with tissues from the box on his desk. Straigtening his coat, he hurried out of his office to the men's room and cleaned up there. 

Jonathan was angry at allowing it. Masturbation wasn't a problem, but a healthy way to keep biological processes from interering with his work. He did it often in the privacy of his own home. He'd never allowed himself to do it at work, however. He was grateful that at some point in his reverie he'd locked his office door.

Returning to his office, he again locked his office door. At least until he could compose himself. The fantasy folded in on itself like a trap. It was ridiculous. Out of character. Uncontrolled. But he didn’t dismiss it. Not entirely.

Slowly, he reached into his pocket and removed the artist’s card again. Studied it. Ran his thumb along the edge where her fingers had pressed it.

Then placed it carefully on his desk

Jonathan hadn’t decided to buy the crow painting for her approval or to impress, nor to connect. He liked it. It wasn’t beautiful, nor was it balanced. What he liked was its restless, unsettling vibe. A canvas of motion without origin. Aggression without consequence. Wings blurred, angles clashing, with no sky to escape into. It wasn't a piece that wanted to be understood and didn't care to be explained. It was the kind of chaos that didn’t apologize for existing.

Jonathan respected that, recognized it. And he wanted it on his wall here in the office until he moved into Ares' office as the new Administrator  Then it would hang there. Prominent. Permanent.

A reminder of the chaos that birthed control. Of what came before the fall. The shape of those crows, the jagged wings, the stretched silhouettes, the way the eyes bled into the dark, It gave him an idea for the mask he was developing. Something primal and stark. Something that blurred identity and turned fear into a specific face. 

He planned to go to the studio to pick it up himself. A calculated excuse to see her and initiate the next step on his terms. But the artist, chatty, perceptive in the way creatives often were, had offered a different arrangement. The artist could arrange for her to deliver it to him. 

“She’s at Arkham most days anyway to see Ares. I’ll have her bring it to you.”

At first, he’d considered declining. But then? He saw the value in letting it play out. He’d still get the interaction and proximity. But now, it would unfold here, in front of Ares. She’d arrive with the painting. For me. And Ares would watch it happen. And best of all? He didn’t have to lift a finger.

Flipping open a slim black notebook, not the formal logbook for patient records, Jonathan made notes. He turned to her page, reviewing the day’s observations. Small notations on marginal behavior changes. Tone, posture, word choice. Then he paused, writing a single line beneath the last note.

Unintended tactile response → retention trigger. He underlined it once and closed the notebook. There. Labeled and catalogued. Not about her. Not about me. Just data.

Done with his inexcusable mania, his gaze fell on the card again. It was worn slightly at the corners now, a faint smudge on the edge from where his fingers had lingered too long, too often. He stared at it for a moment longer than he meant to. Chaos, without apology.

Jonathan opened the drawer that no one else touched. From inside, he pulled the mailing envelope. Her necklace was already inside. Without a word, he slipped the artist’s card in beside it. There was no need for a note or label. Just the weight of the meaning he wasn't prepared to name. Then he closed the envelope, like he was sealing something sacred, and returned it to the drawer.

Reeaching for a blank notepad, he began to sketch.

[blueiscoool]

200-Year-Old Message in a Bottle Found on a French Clifftop

Volunteers on an archaeological dig in the ruins of an ancient Gaulish village high above the cliffs in northern France this week uncovered a small glass vial —and within it a neatly rolled, 200-year-old message from a colleague from another era.

The note was written by archaeologist P.J Féret, who conducted a dig at the Cité de Limes site in January 1825, the town supporting the dig, Eu, said in a Facebook post.

Féret wrote —perhaps as inspiration to the nascent archaeologists standing in his footsteps nearly two centuries later— that he was a member of several scientific societies and he "continues his research in this entire vast compound."

"It was an absolutely magic moment," Guillaume Blondel, who heads the archaeological service for the town of Eu, told the BBC. "We knew there had been excavations here in the past, but to find this message from 200 years ago… it was a total surprise."

"Sometimes you see these time capsules left behind by carpenters when they build houses. But it's very rare in archaeology," Blondel said. "Most archaeologists prefer to think that there won't be anyone coming after them because they've done all the work!"

Municipal records confirmed that Féret conducted a first dig at the site 200 years ago.

The oldest message in a bottle ever found was 131 years and 223 days old when it was discovered, Guinness World Records said in a statement. Australians Tonya and Kym Illman found the message on Jan. 21, 2018, at Wedge Island, Australia.

A German ship captain threw a gin bottle overboard on June 12, 1886, Guinness World Records said, with a message written in ink, that contained the ship's coordinates and details, including departure and arrival times. The note, from the Deutsche Seewarte in Hamburg, requested the finder deliver the note to the nearest German Embassy.

If authenticated, Féret's 200-year-old message in a bottle will be the oldest ever found.

By Cara Tabachnick.

[dunnounderscorewhatever]

🌸ByaHisa/ByaSana🌸 Fic Recs

As a longtime fan of this ship, I've read my fair amount of fanfics. That being said, I'm listing some of my favorites here in case you're scrolling through the tag and wants to read some nice fics.

DISCLAIMER: Of course there are many other great fics out there and I will try to keep this list updated, but these are currently the fics that I could remember from the top of my head.

A Thousand Springs by TollPatsch - Mio dropped to her knees and lowered her head to the ground in front of him. "Kuchiki Byakuya-sama. In all the years we have been married, I have never wanted to trouble you. This the first and last time I would dare." Her voice trembled and she gathered all her courage. "Please help me." Byakuya stood. "I cannot." [Pre-canon. OC/Byakuya/Hisana, with slight divergences]

Status: 4/? (Incomplete)

This was a great fic I stumbled upon a few years back. Definitely one of my favorite ByaHisa/ByaSana fanfics ever. I was a bit skeptical about it at first seeing as it included Byakuya x OC, but honestly the author introduced the OC so well right on the first chapter that you start rooting for her. Love the prose and world building in this one, but you should be warned that this fic hasn't been updated since 2019.

100 Byasana Oneshots by LadiiAJ95 - This is 100 oneshots of Byakuya and Hisana's time together after their marriage.

Status: 59/? (Incomplete)

Probably the first ByaHisa/ByaSana fic I have ever read. Pretty much a different story in each chapter showing us moments throughout their marriage.

A Band of Travellers by A_Fine_Piece (AO3 / FF.net) - One choice can transform everything. As unrest surges in the Rukon Districts, an unlikely band of Shinigami must restore the balance. Or die trying.

Status: 16/? (Incomplete)

A fic for those who like the idea of shinigami!Hisana. In this fic she is the Lieutenant of the 4th Division. I won't spoil too much but she goes out on a mission with Byakuya, Kaien and Gin.

Ruin & Rise Series by A_Fine_Piece

The Darkest Black - To Hisana, fortified compounds and spellbound doors are not obstacles, they’re invitations. When her last job goes sideways, Hisana is soon given the opportunity to win back her zanpakutō and learn precious information about her sister’s whereabouts. The catch? She must infiltrate House Kuchiki as a maid and steal a valuable piece of art.

Status: 14/14 (Complete)

Oh my. Buckle up and get ready for the ride. And when you finish reading this and you still want more, worry not, there is also a sequel!

[SPOILERS BELOW FOR THE DARKEST BLACK! SKIP STRAIGHT TO A THIN RED LINE IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO READ THE SUMMARY OR MY COMMENTS ABOUT THE FIC]

An Education - As punishment for the attempted theft of a priceless piece of art, Hisana is required to complete her training at Shin'ō Academy, where she must navigate the treacherous machinations of nobles while hiding her connection to a certain heir….

[THIS IS YOUR FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT BELOW IS A SPOILER FREE ZONE FOR READERS OR FUTURE READERS OF THE DARKEST BLACK]

Status: 27/27 (Complete)

This story is a continuation of The Darkest Black and boy oh boy, buckle up cause you're in for a ride (part 2). Without wanting to spoil too much, if you thought the previous story evoked strong emotions (anger) you have not read the classism of this second part yet.

Mortal Devices - When research and schematics are stolen from the Twelfth and end up in the World of the Living, Soul Society scrambles to retrieve the documents before they can be used for mass destruction.

Status: 6/30 (Incomplete)

I must admit I have yet to start this one because I still haven't finished the second part. To be updated...

A Thin Red Line by A_Fine_Piece - An AU in which Hisana never died. There are exactly 16 stories, but one in particular (my favorite, I must admit) tells the story of how Hisana and Byakuya got together at last:

Part 0: Turning Back the Hands of Time - Set prior to the beginning of the series during Hisana and Byakua's courtship, Hisana is a well-regarded courtesan with a client list that her contemporaries would kill for....

There are some heavy scenes although nothing completely explicit so I would recommend that you always read the tags provided by the author.

Stages by A_Fine_Piece - Byakuya Kuchiki was young and naive. He was just the type of man who would actually fall in love with his whore.

Status: 5/5 (Complete)

Once again check the tags.

You can also find the author on Tumblr: @afinepiece and @create-with-afp. This author has contributed greatly to the ByaHisa/ByaSana community. I've only listed these fanfics because these are my favorites, but there are many more if you check their blogs or AO3 profile.

Ophelia's Dream by Josey - Alone and pregnant, Hisana searches for the father of her child.

Status: One-shot (Complete)

This is more of a Hisana-centric fanfic, but it's quite interesting. It plays with some coincidences from the Bleach universe and since we know nothing about Hisana or Rukia's backstory, I can see this as one of the many possibilities.

The Firefly Wakens by 100demons - Byakuya falls in love for the first time. (Needless to say, it freaks him out. Considerably.)

Status: One-shot (Complete)

I've probably read this fic more than twice.

To Love Means to Let Go by kusudama_akatsuki - The great Kuchiki Byakuya has never submitted to defeat, not even when love was the question.

Status: One-shot (Complete)

A cute little short fic.

Marriage Is by Watch_Shield_Kill - You might have an idea of what to expect, but you never actually know what you’re in for when it comes to marriage. There are ups and there are downs, and sometimes, you don’t even know what to call it other than love (and maybe not even that). Told in vignettes long and short, this is Byakuya and Hisana’s marriage at its best, worst, and everything in between. (For ByaHisa Weekend 2022)

Status: One-shot (Complete)

Beasts, Gods, and Other Creatures of the Night by Watch_Shield_Kill - She wanders the forest in search of sustenance and light to shut out the past. She doesn’t expect to find cherry blossoms passing through an open glade. And she certainly doesn’t expect to find the Shinigami wielding them. But just when she thinks there can’t possibly be any more surprises, the Shinigami keeps coming back—and so does she. (For ByaHisa Weekend 2022)

Status: One-shot (Complete)

When The Sky Burns by Kuroi-cho-tsuki-shiro - It's 1940, the world is at war, and the death of two more will go unnoticed here, but there are other worlds than this. All Hisana wants is to go home. Not AU. Hisana and Rukia. Beginning of Hisana x Byakuya.

Status: Complete? Sort of?

This is actually part of a series about Rukia. As this is Fanfiction.net, there is no way to group stories into a series as you see in AO3, but each synopsis has a number at the end so the reader is aware of the reading order. I wouldn't say it is the exact chronological order of the original timeline, but I believe it is how the author intended the stories to be read.

I will link the other ByaHisa stories in chronological order below, but it is also worth checking out the other stories from the series.

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19

[NOW SOME SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION]

Hidden Truths by Yours Truly - Hisana is a soul from Rukongai with a secret connection to a rich nobleman with dubious businesses spread throughout Soul Society. All Hisana wants is to find her sister, but once the rich nobleman manages to place her inside Seireitei as the new cleaner for Squad Thirteen, the peace she so longed for is nowhere to be found.

Byakuya is the hope of the Kuchiki family, but with his ill father, a demanding grandfather and his impending nuptials, he feels the pressure suffocating him. But everything changes when a chain of events unravel his perfectly organized world.

Status: 1/? (Incomplete)

My first ever published ByaHisa/ByaSana fic! Yay!

There is only a prologue for now but I will hopefully be posting the first official chapter in the coming months.

I do have around three or four ideas for byahisa stories, but they're all still early drafts that will probably never see the light of day. If you read A Thousand Springs (which I highly recommend. It's the first story on this list for a reason!) you might notice that this fic was slightly inspired by it.

I have a lot of things to say about this story, but seeing as I've only published a prologue so far, I'll keep my mouth shut.

[zepskies]

I had another idea about soldier boy…🙃💞

Imagine his partner dragged him to a 90s night at a club…LIKE DRAGGED HIM. He didn’t want to go, he didn’t wanna see anybody, he didn’t want the entire get-up and actually having to pretend to enjoy himself. Then after he steals his girlfriends Gin and downs it, he just lets loose and doesn’t give an F.

Hello, friend! I love this idea!! 🥰

This one intrigued me. I dug deep into my '90s music playlist for inspo! And if you want to know something about my writing process, I often write with music in the background. It sometimes drives the tone and feel of what I'm writing.

But anyway, getting into this imagine!

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female Reader Word Count: 1,000 Warnings: 18+ only - just to be safe.

Imagine: Taking a reluctant Ben to a ‘90s night at the club.

You love spending time with Ben, living together, sharing your lives and your space. You've been helping him catch up on TV shows and movies he missed, helping him adapt to the ways things have changed.

He really hates all the self-checkout screens and shit at the grocery stores now. (Like for fuck's sake, he's just trying to buy his beer and coffee creamer in peace. Everything's a touch screen nowadays.)

Even the damn McDonald's has an order screen. His hand once broke straight through one out of sheer frustration.

But anyway, when Annie invites you to check out this awesome club with her and Hughie and Frenchie and Kimiko, you're sold the moment she says "'90s theme night." However, you also know that convincing Ben is going to be a nearly insurmountable task.

"That sounds dumb as fuck," he tells you.

You frown at him, hands on your hips. "Come on, Ben. It'll be fun!"

Ben likes to have a good time. Lord knows. But you also want to look the part — dressing up for a decade he had no part in.

The '90s weren't exactly a fucking party for him. In fact, he tries harder than you know to block out that entire decade, as that's when the Russians started to get truly creative on that compound...

Sensing you're losing him to his memories, you grab his hand and stroke his cheek. "I promise, if after an hour you're still not having a good time, we'll leave."

You give him those eyes. You ply him with sweet and tantalizing kisses. And you show him what outfits you're considering. (One dark green dress in particular already has his dick twitching to attention in his pants).

So that's how Ben ends up caving. For you, and no one else. (As usual.)

For a while he just sits at the bar with you while you catch up with your friends. You're so damn excited, he can tell. The inside of the club is interesting, he supposes, with dim lighting and a DJ on the stage with a very sophisticated looking setup that Ben finds wholly unfamiliar.

The music, however, is ass so far. What the fuck is this, Hip Hop? Rap? R&B? He can't tell, and he doesn't know any of the songs. It sounds like a bunch of fucking whining. And don't get him started on whatever you call grunge.

The bottom line is, this entire thing is not his scene. It makes him feel out of place...it makes him feel old. In a way that he doesn't truly feel all that often, even when he's with you. So he really wants to fucking leave. But he doesn't.

He just downs his entire whiskey and then another. He sees you're still nursing a gin & tonic beside him while you watch your friends head out onto the dance floor. Hughie, that moron, actually seems to have some moves as he shakes his ass around his blonde girlfriend. Ben rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"Poison" by Bell Biv DeVoe comes on, and you light the hell up. You're smiling and bopping to the music.

And you look beautiful tonight. The short, dark green dress is eye-catching even under the dim lights. Your hair is wrapped in a tight but messy bun. You've got some tall black boots on and a black velvet choker around your neck. You're adorable and sexy all at once.

Ben can tell you want to join your friends on the dance floor, but you're nothing if not loyal. You did promise to stay with him. And you give him a flirtatious, teasing smile, bumping your shoulder with his.

"How're you doin', babe?" you ask.

"Fine," Ben replies, with his usual stoic front. Your mouth quirks. But when "No Diggity" by Blackstreet comes on, not only are you excited, but you also get an idea.

You slowly slide out of your seat and move in time with the beat, just vibing, dancing near your boyfriend.

You give him a little show, twirling under his hand, brushing against his side and letting your fingertips slide against his neck, down his thigh. Your touch makes small zings of sensation run through Ben's body, teasing, arousing. You know exactly what you're doing.

"Shorty get down, good Lord. Baby got 'em open all over town. Strictly biz, she don't play around. Cover much grounds, got game by the pound…"

Ben watches you with rapt attention. The smooth, sensuous way your hips move to the beat. You remove the pin from your hair and shake it out in front of him, then beckon him with a hand.

"Come on. Come dance with me."

You continue to roll your hips nice and slow. Teasing him with the curve of your ass, as well as your smile.

"She's got class and style. Street knowledge by the pound. Baby never act wild, very low key on the profile..."

Ben finally realizes that you don't see him as "the old man in the club." You invited him because you want him with you.

And what, is he afraid or something? Like he cares about what the rest of these fucking pussies think of him.

Fuck it. He takes your gin & tonic from the bar counter and downs it all, a nice burn down his throat. Then he reaches out for your hand and firmly takes it.

You lead him onto the dance floor, where you guide his hands onto your hips and he draws in behind you. You reach back, your hand gliding up the back of his neck and into his hair.

"You're blowing my mind, maybe in time. Baby, I can get you in my ride..."

Ben knows how to dance, but this is different from what he's used to. So he follows your lead at first.

"I like the way you work it. No diggity, I got to bag it up (bag it up, babe)…"

But then, he lets the smooth beat infiltrate his body and he just lets go. His feet and his hips and his hands on your body — he turns you around and pulls you in close, flush against him so he can feel every part of you where you fit just right.

Your chin tips up and your lips brush against his. "Having fun yet?"

Ben smirks. When he gets you home, he's fucking you in nothing but the boots and that little velvet choker. But for now, he's having a good time.

AN: Thanks so much for this ask! I truly had so much fun with it. 😊

Next time:

I've got an imagine from a friend of mine. She requested some clothes shopping, some jealousy, and a whole lotta Soldier Boy being himself. (I added in some dressing room shenanigans for good measure. 😏)

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[secret-bug-pain-blog]

The fun part about stress is that when you're under a particularly large amount of stress from a single source, it's really hard to actually buckle under that One Thing. Even if it's a really, really big thing, that is threatening to ruin your entire life in one fell swoop, it's hard to fully get yourself to wrap your head around it. Big Things, in our experience, almost always take a good chunk of time to chew on and fully digest. You don't give way under the weight, you simply have to chew on it. Work through it. Maybe not directly work on it, but you don't really shatter from it. It just sort of hangs over your head, like a single massive weight.

The thing about these sorts of weights, of course, is that this adds to the stress from other things. You don't break down about the Big Things directly. When it happens, it won't be the Big Weight of, say, that cloying medical problem. It'll be the little things. That big weight is too big to really wrap your head around, too heavy to comprehend in one piece - so what gets you is, instead, the little things. The stuff that reminds you of it, in a way that's ever so more tangible.

Because you don't just think about, say, your future potential inability to financially support yourself. You go on with your life. You keep acting as normal. You work as you are, for as long as you can. And then that straw comes along.

You go out to a club with your friends. You think of buying drinks together. All of a sudden, you remember your bank account. Every penny spent on gin feels like a risk, a waste. You're irresponsible. You're wasting your savings away. How long can you sustain this? Everything you buy, and everything your friends buy, feels like abrasions on an invisible plane. Thinking about it makes you feel sick, and the more you stay, the worse you feel.

It's not spending two dollars on a beer, realistically, that's causing you the stress. It's the looming spectre behind it. The problem, showing itself in symptoms, so much more easily grasped. Your phone slips from your hands, and you think of the nerve problems that will only compound, and all of a sudden the mere idea of picking it up and dropping it again makes you feel sick. Your friend texts you something just north of warm, and all of a sudden you're spiralling worrying if your continuing problems have finally alienated them.

It's easier to grasp the smaller things, you see. It's easier to have one little thing happen and realize that you'll have to grapple with that for the rest of your life than it is to go through the symptoms list, because it's simple and immediate. Thinking of your future is too big to wrap your head around, but thinking of having to rely on someone to hold your hand just to walk you to the bathroom, over and over for the rest of your life - that thought scares you, more than any thought of the underlying cause ever would. It's not she's dead, it's how will i water the roses without her? or what will i do on tuesday now that she's gone? or how do i ever care for her pets?

Small is easy to grasp. Easy to think about. Easy to worry about. Easy to have happen, and have the horrible, bleeding spectre of its underlying cause crash into you, and leave you shaking and struggling to pull yourself together on the floor. A forced windows update might not scare you, but the looming fear of forced obsolescence will, the horror of not even being able to choose to opt out on a should-be-optional update.

Which is to say: it's not being forcibly turned into a werebeast that really gets you. Not the blades at your heels, or the blood on the floor, or the immediate knot of emotions when you realize your teammate's just seen you behead someone without even meaning to do it. It's not the injury, or the inability to walk, or the burning like boiling oil trickling down your muscles hours afterwards. What really gets you, once everything's over and done with, is sitting down and realizing that your only pair of shoes has been slashed to ribbons because of your own cursed body's spur blades.

Because it might not be the boots, on their own, causing the problem. But that, in and of itself, makes it worse. Because even if it's not the core of the problem, it's still the part that you'll fixate on, because it's faster, because it's simpler, because it's so much easier to grasp than wrapping your head around all that's been done to you, and crying over something as horribly, horribly trivial as boots makes you sound - well, it makes you sound like an immature fool, doesn't it?

A cruelty, perhaps, that the emotional state at which you'll cry over boots isn't one where you can put the source of the problem together. But really, knowing that it's the werebeast thing doesn't make you feel any less stupid. Because now you're the kind of person who cries over boots, and stupid, material possessions, when you have so many more problems, when a slip of your sleeve could get you arrested. And that, more than anything, makes you feel a tiny bit more helpless than before.

They were good boots, too.

[off-main-street]

Piece of a WIP

There were nights in Korea when Bj couldn't sleep; most nights actually. Even when his body was three steps beyond exhausted, his mind would race through every thought he'd ever had since childhood, and when then the squeak of his cot as he tossed and turned got to be too much, he would slip on his dusty boots, and his tattered blue robe, and cross the compound to the mess tent, empty except for a handful of others in the same position as him. 

Perched at a table in the corner, he would reread the latest letter from Peggy two, maybe three times before folding it back up and carefully slipping it into his pocket, his mind now running towards new anxieties that haven't even happened yet, and maybe never would. 

When dawn started to approach, he would go back home to the Swamp, and make sure that Charles was still covered up in cot, because even a pompous jerk deserved a comfortable night's sleep if he could get it, and then BJ would miss falling back into his own bed by a few feet by sinking into the chair next to where Hawkeye laid. 

It would take him at least a minute for him to find the courage to turn his head to look at his friend's war weary face, because he all ever wanted to do in those moments just before the birds started to sing was to soothe his own restlessness, and reach out and trace the worry lines around Hawkeye's mouth, smooth away the crease of fear in his forehead, and help him forget where he was, how long he'd been there, and just how much longer it could be before he got to go home. 

Truth was there was very little Bj didn't want to do for Hawkeye. Even though he wasn't a violent man, he was fairly certain that he would kill for him; he might even die for him too. 

Another truth, one he tried not to think about, was there were other places Bj wanted to touch on him, but for far less noble reasons than war and friendship. 

He couldn't pinpoint when it happened; was it one sticky evening when he looked up from a glass of their gasoline gin and their eyes met mid laugh? Or was it when they were walking shoulder to hip through the mud on their way to post-op? Bj had no idea, but somewhere in their time together, he started to look at Hawkeye in a way he'd never looked at anyone else before - not even his wife in those early days of falling in love with her.

God, he wanted him like a soldier longed for peace! And maybe he was delusional, maybe he was crazy, but he was pretty sure Hawkeye wanted him too.

Sometimes Bj imagined them far away from their hellscape of brown and green, and blood and death; their faces golden from the warmth of the sun, their feet clean by the blue of the ocean. He imagined there was a place in the world where they could still exist together, and he wished as much as he didn't that his feelings weren't just a symptom of his immense loneliness, just a circumstance of war. 

A war that eventually did end. A war they both walked away mostly whole from, and settled back into their lives on opposite sides of the same country. 

Bj could barely stand it at first. 

After the high of making love to Peggy once again wore off, he found himself wandering the house at night, looking for Hawkeye's face in the darkness, searching for his laughter in a crowd; wondering what he was eating for breakfast, if his coffee was hot enough, if he was taking a pretty girl out on a date; if he was thinking about Bj too. For a year Hawkeye’s manic presence was the only thing that brought him comfort, and suddenly it was gone, and the whole world had fallen silent. 

He tried to write to him a hundred times, but once he stopped himself from spilling out everything he shouldn't say, all that was left on the paper was: dear, Hawkeye, I miss you, and even that was too telling. So, he never wrote, and he never got a letter, and he told himself that maybe whatever part of Hawkeye belonged to him was left behind in that abandoned hospital in Korea. 

Then it happened.

Three days after he turned thirty, in the same stack of mail that brought him his final divorce decree was a bright red envelope, B.F Pierce, M.D, Crabapple Cove, ME stamped in the corner as the return address. It took him until sundown, and two old fashioneds before he opened sat at the kitchen table of his city rental and opened it. 

Happy birthday, Beej

I miss you.

-Hawkeye

[argyleheir]

Drabble - Mix

It's Argyle's Fandom Cheese Plate - Day 18! | Fandom: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde | Pairing: Henry Jekyll/Gabriel Utterson

"And now," says Henry, "the tertiary compound."

With great care and exactly as he has explained, I watch my friend let two perfect orbs of vermilion-hued fluid drip from the flask to the beaker—swirl the lot round—and then produce in the latter a most extraordinary effect.

"Gabriel!" Henry coughs against the ensuing billow of smoke. In a moment, he's enshrouded; but his voice is clear enough: "The window, man! Get the window!"

I run to it. And then to him. "My dear! Are you quite all right?"

He smiles. "Of course." And then: "Your gin and tonic, however..."

[madness1999sworld]

Oh, what a life

Summary: Tatiana has been through hell growing up to an abusing and alcholic father and a mother just wanting to keep the peace while raising her and her little sister. What happens when she leaves her home to find a new purpose in life?

TW: cursing, fighting, 18+

Although it's not discussed that the reader is black in this chapter, she is. So, no hate or racism in my comments, ask box or messages your ass will get blocked, no questions asked. Now hope you all enjoy

Minors do not interact

Chapter 1: a new beginning

It's the middle of the day and I have been on my journey of self-discovery for almost a week and a half now. Wanting to figure out what I want to do with my life. It’s been hard but rewarding at the same time. I thought it would be better for me to leave my home due to the toxicity of my abusive alcoholic father. I couldn’t bare the pain of being hurt by him anymore but I also feel regret for leaving my mother and little sister with him. As I’m walking out of the woods I see a trail that leads to a temple of some kind in the distance. When I walk closer, I hear what is like a group of people making a sound in unison. I become curious and walk a little quicker. Once I reached the temple I saw a man standing in front of the compound, wearing a gray ninja suit with a mask on his face, all I could see was his eyes. As I walk a bit closer, he sees me and speaks

???: Hello, are you here to join the Shirai Ryu

Me: *confused* Shirai Ryu? Sorry, I don’t know what this is.

???: *gins through mask* It is quite all right.We are a clan of fighters, trained to help defend our people and our realm.

I nod my head in interest at what he said, wanting to join but am unsure whether or not I should do so, due to my appearance and hardly enough fighting skills.

???: so, are you interested in joining our clan?

Me: I am but…. *is unsure* Do you want me in your clan, I mean I’m kinda on the chubbier side of things and I don’t have much fighting skills. I only do it if I don’t have much of a choices.

???: nonsense the Shirai Ryu does not discriminate against anyone based on anything, and don't worry about your fighting skills we will help you learn more.

Me: *tankful* then I would love to, thank you for that

???: No problem, now I’ll tell the master of the clan and tell him that you would like to join.

Me: alright

I watch the man head into the temple feeling happy that I will finally have a purpose in life, instead of just searching endlessly for something that I didn’t even know what it was I wanted to do. As I wait a few more minutes I see a man walking towards me, he seems to be maybe a few years older than me, to which I think, “Could this be the master of the clan”?

Master: *stern* so you wish to join the clan?

Me: *is a bit intimidated* umm yes sir.

The Man looks at me up and down unimpressed. “I thought the guy that was out here earlier said that nobody will judge me in this clan, what the fuck”. He looks me in the eyes again and starts to speak.

Master: you look like you can hold your own, follow me, please.

I looked at him confused not expecting that compliment from him due to the way he looked at me but I followed him nonetheless. As we’re walking in the temple, it’s very nice and calming inside the gates some students are training outside whether it’s light excurses or fighting with a dummy or a partner. We head inside the temple and walk into I presume a training room area in the center of the compound. we walked to the middle of the room and stood on a fighting mat. I look around and see theirs more students watching us outside of the fighting mat.

Master: if you want to join this clan you must fight me. To see if you're good enough. No weapons, no powers. Just raw strength.

I stand in front of him shocked and in terror wondering how am i going to pull this off but still stand my ground not wanting to waste my opportunity to be in the clan.

Me: *nervous* are you sure

Master: *smirks* Yes,I am *gets in fighting position*

Me: Ok *also gets into position*

He waited for me to make the first move, I didn’t want to but I didn’t have much of a choice.so, I threw a punch as hard as I could, to which of course he doges it. He counters it with a kick to my stomach. It hurt like hell but I keep fighting through the pain. He then grabs me by the collar of my shirt and slams me to the wall.

Master: Not bad. But you're still not strong enough.

He lets me go and takes a few steps back, I get off the wall wincing in pain but continue the fight. He waited for me to make the first move again, To which I got a bit fed up. So I kick the man in the leg and follow that with a punch to his face. He falls to the ground, hurt by my attack, he gets back up into his fighting position.

Master: Not bad. But you still have much to learn.

This time I wait for him to make a strike against me. He charged at me trying to grapple me to the ground but I dodged it just in time and ended up kicking him to the ground instead. To which he got back up and tried to sweep my legs. I jump over it and back away from him. He runs after me again trying to punch me but I grab his fist and punch him instead. The master grunts in pain but quickly recovers and tries to put me up by grabbing onto my arm but I used my weight to my advances so he hopefully wouldn’t be able to pick me up and puts me over his shoulder. The master struggles trying to lift me up, which is the only time I thank the gods for the weight that I am. He then tries to think of another strategy. This gives me the advantage to knee him in the stomach and kick him in the face. Thankfully with that final blow, it ended the fight. The Master clearly hurt tries to get up but is unable to and falls back down due to pain. trying to catch his breath he said.

Master: Not bad….. You have potential.

I thank him but am trying to catch my own breath, proud of myself for beating him, and can finally join the clan. The Master sits up from the ground and tells me to sit and take a break which I do. He looks at me, breathing heavily.

Master: You have talent but you have much more to learn. Now are you ready to join the Shriai Ryu?

Me:*gins* Yes I am

Master: *smiles* good, now what is your name?

Me: My name is Tatiana but people call me Tati

Master: It nice to meet you Tati my name is Kuai Liang, but you may call me Scorpion. I will teach you everything there is to know about ninjutsu. *smiles*

Me: Thank you, Kuai Liang

Kuai Liang: You are welcome. Now let us begin training.

After everything, it has been several weeks, of working hard training in different fighting styles, and different weapons, and even enhancing my abilities. To find out I had powers of my own when I was younger things would happen but I always thought that it was coincidental or just my imagination playing tricks on me but to find out it wasn’t. I have Telekinetic powers to help me with life and battle. Kuai Liang even told me about the History of how the Shirai Ryu was formed and the clan's mission to protect Earthrealm. From what I found shocking, I feel sorry for Kuai Liang for breaking ties with his brother Bi Han but I don’t blame him for it either. I finished my daily training for the day and was told that Kuai Liang wanted to speak to me. So, I went to his office, knocking on his open door.

Me: you wanted to see me LIang

Kuai Liang: Yes. Have a seat.

Me: *sits down in front of him* is something wrong

Kuai Liang: I have a task for you Tati.

Me: What is it, Liang?

Kuai Liang: Some bandits have been causing trouble in the outskirts of the Shirai Ryu territory. I want you to track them down and take care of them.

Me: I will do everything that I can

Kuai Liang: I have faith in you Tati good luck.

He hands me a map of the location of the bandits marked on it. I thanked him and left out of the temple to look for the bandits. I make my way to where the location of them is on the map, as I get closer I hear shouting and laughter. I see a group of them gathered around a campfire, drinking and having a good time. I remanded hiding from them and listening in on their conversation.

Bandit #1: Man, this is the life! No one to tell us what to do. We can do whatever we want!

Bandit #2: Yeah, but we’re running out of food. We need to find a way to get more.

Bandit #3: I heard there’s a village nearby. We could hit it up and take whatever we want.

The men laugh and toast to their next plan. I looked at them in disgust, hating these types of people thinking that they can just do anything without there being consequences for their actions. The men are too busy celebrating to notice I’m here so, I thought why not freak them out a bit? I use my ninjutsu skills to silently move through the trees getting closer to their camp. I throw a kunai at one of the bandits, striking him in the shoulder. They all look around, startled, not knowing where I am. I throw a couple more hitting each bandit but not in a fatal area. They all seemed to panic and try to flee but I made sure they were not able to by incapacitating them with sudden strikes. The leader, I presume, gets up and tries to attack me but I overpowered him easily. I appear In front of all of them giving them a warning to leave and never come back or else. They shake their heads vigorously and scurry away tripping over themselves out of fear. I roll my eyes at The cowards and head back to the temple to let Kuai Liang know that the bandits have been taken care of.

*back at the temple*

Kuai Liang: Excellent work, Tatiana

Me: Thank you, Liang

Kuai Liang: You did well. I am proud of you. You have proven yourself to be a valuable member of the Shirai Ryu. *smiles*

Me: I’m honored. *bows*

Kuai Liang: Alright, this time I have a special assignment for you. I need you to go to the Wu Shi Academy and deliver a message to Master Bo Rai Cho. it is an urgent matter.

He hands me the scroll that has the message inside it. I take it carefully not wanting to drop it or break it open. I place it in my belt holster to make sure it stays firmly in place, so nothing will happen to it.

Me: Of course, I won't fail you.

He nods his head, letting me know that he believes in me, in not failing this task. I look down at the scroll to make sure everything is in order and make my way to the Wu Shi Academy. Once I made it to the entrance to the Academy I saw an elderly man sitting down outside and looked to be meditating. I didn’t want to disturb him but I knew this was an urgent matter so, I walked up to him closer.

Me: Excuse me, but are you Bo Rai Cho by any chance?

He opens his eyes and looks at me a bit confused yet cautious but nods his head regardless.

Bo Rai Cho: Yes I am. Who are you?

Me: My name is Tatiana, I was sent here by Master Kuai Liang from the Shirai Ryu to give you this urgent message.

I give him the scroll with the message inside. He takes it and reads carefully, understanding the urgency behind the message. He looked at me again and began to speak.

Bo Rai Cho: I see, Thank you for delivering this message. Please tell Kuai Liang that I will do everything in my power to help the Shirai Ryu.

Me: You're welcome and Thank you, I will let him know as soon as I get there.

As I leave the academy to make my way back to the Shirai Ryu to tell Master Liang I delivered the scroll, I feel a strange present behind me. Looked and saw a figure in the shadows, soon realizing that it was Sub-Zero, the grandmaster of the Lin Kuei clan. I immediately get into my fighting position even if I’m a bit nervous.

Me: What do you want?

He walks out of the shadows slowly and menacingly, watching me. Not taking his eyes off me for a single second.

Bi Han: I heard that you're the new member of my foolish brother’s clan. Am I correct?

Me: why do you care?

He walks closer to me, his breath frosting up in the air. I’m still standing in my fighting position, wondering “What the hell is this guy gonna do”?

Bi Han: I care because you are working with the enemy. The Lin Kuei have been enemies with them ever since my brother formed that clan.

Me: They’re the enemies *roll eyes* You’re the enemy. You're the one who betrayed your family and realm because you were selfish and just wanted more power.

I continued to stand my ground, pissed that he would even think that I would betray my clan just like that. If anyone was foolish it would be him. I guess I pulled a nerve cause he started throwing ice balls at me i blocked myself from them but the ice was getting to me, making me feel weak and tired. I use my telekinetic powers to stop the ice balls. He was shocked to see his ice balls just floating in thin air. He looks at me in surprise. It allowed me to throw the ice balls back at him and kick him in the face. He stumbles backwards, grunting in pain. He looks at me in anger.

Bi Han: You have some skills I’m impressed

He raises his hands creating an ice wall in front of us blocking my exit. I take out my sticks, which I am temporarily using for training purposes. I start attacking him with them, he dodges my hits and counters them with his hands. He uses his powers again to create an ice blade and tries to cut me. I block his attack and hit him in the knee with one of my sticks. He grunts and falls to the ground, Sub-Zero looks at me in hatred.

Bi Han: You’re good, but not good enough.

He attacks me again by creating a barrage of icicles with his powers and sending them flying towards me. I use my powers to stop them and have them fall to the ground all around me but making sure they don’t hurt me. Sub-Zero becomes more frustrated that I keep avoiding his attacks. He concentrates and creates a massive ice wall in front of me, it’s so thick that I can barely see through it. I hear him stepping back waiting to see if I can break through it. I take a few deep breaths, focusing on my senses, once I am ready, I created a sonic boom with my mind breaking the ice wall and knocking sub-zero backward due to the fore of it. He has a look on his face, of anger and respect.

Me: It’s over Sub-Zero. Just give up.

Bi Han: You are powerful. But I am not one to give up so easily.

He gets back up and readies himself into a fighting position. I become even more annoyed and get into my fighting position again. Sub-zero starts running toward me and attacks me with a fury of punches and kicks, he is fast and powerful but lucky I can keep up blocking each attack and even landing a few of my own on. He looks tired but keeps fighting me with all his might. I seep his feet which caught him off guard and falls. He tries to get back up but I pin him to the ground, he tries to break free but I punch him in the face knocking him out. “Finally this fight is over”. I breathe heavily trying to catch my breath, thanking the gods that it’s finally over. I looked around the wood trail and realized that I just fought Sub-zero and not only that I’ve won.

Me: *whispers* Holy Shit. I just fought Sub-Zero. And won, I need to tell Master Kuai Liang.

I start climbing up the trees to make my way to the temple only to stop in my tracks to see Lin Kuei soldiers walking around the woods monitoring the area, most likely waiting for Sub-zero’s report. I make sure that they don’t see me, still moving from tree to tree. Escaping the scene, making my way back to the Shirai Ryu. I made it outside of the gate of the temple. I stop to catch my breath for a moment and look at the temple.

Me: I made it, now I must find Master Kuai Liang and tell him what happened after giving the scroll to Bo Rai Cho.

I make my way inside the temple looking for Kuai Liang eagerly wanting to tell him what happened. As I searched, I found him sitting in his throne room looking out at the courtyard. I walked up to him but calmed myself before speaking.

Me: master I have returned, You will never guess what happened, on my way back home.

He smiles when he sees me, but Immediately stands up and walks toward me, curious about what I have to say.

Kuai Liang: What happened?

Me: After giving the message to Bo Rai Cho, Sub-zero appeared behind me on my way back home.

Kuai Liang: *surprised* You’ve encountered Sub-Zero

Me: Yes Master.

Kuai Liang: What happened?

I told him everything from Bi Han appearing in the shadows to me beating him and escaping the woods with his soldiers waiting for their next order from him. Kuai Liang looked at me proudly, impressed.

Kuai Liang: So you defeated Sub-Zero. That is quite a feat. I am so Proud of you. You have done well. Your skills and dedication have not gone unnoticed.

Me: Thank you, Master.

Kuai Liang: come I have something to show you.

I follow him through the temple to a small room. There I see a pedestal in the center of the room and on top of it, two swards are there, one sword has a long, curved blade and a handle that has a red cloth wrapped around it. The blade is made from this mysterious, shimmering black material. The second blade is made from pure silver, it has an intricate design etched onto the blade. The hilt is wrapped in black leather and has a red dragon carved on it.

Kuai Liang: these swords used to belong to my father the grandmaster of the Lin Kuei but due to the circumcisions between me and my brother they stay here at the Shirai Ryu.

Me: they're beautiful.

Kuai Liang: Yes they are. But now I would like for you to have them. Take them you have earned it.

Me: Really? *shocked* Thank you Master

Kuai Liang: You are welcome. My student. But remember these swords are not just weapons they are a symbol of the responsibilities you have to protect this clan and our values. I have faith in you and I know you will make us proud.

He hands me both swords and puts his hand on my shoulder, reassuring me.

Me: I’ll do everything that I can.

Kuai Liang: *smiles and nods his head* I know you will. Now go. Train hard. You have a long journey ahead of you.

I bow to him and start making my way to the training room, as I leave I hear Kuai Liang calling out to me.

Kuai Liang: remember my student, The path of a warrior is not easy, but it is worth the journey. You have the strength and determination to succeed.

Me: I won’t forget.

I enter the training room and start training for a few hours before heading to my room as I finish up, a thought comes to me. “ Whatever happened to that guy that I met that, that was in front of the temple gates when I first arrived here”?

[lithub]

June 24, 2025

Today, we’re thinking about what we can learn from Zohran Mamdani and Mahmoud Khalil, looking back at what the Hays Code did to Hollywood, remembering Alice Notley, and more!

On Lit Hub dot com:

What The Great Gatsby’s “glittering, gin-soaked indictment of how wealth, class, and social polish warp the distribution of power” can tell us about the absurd fiction of legal equality in America. | Lit Hub Politics

Sally Ventura remembers one of America’s earliest modern school shootings in Olean, New York. | Lit Hub History

Rebecca Grant chronicles how Mexican feminists fought for reproductive freedom at home and throughout the world. | Lit Hub Health

Steven W. Thrasher considers how Mahmoud Khalil and Zohran Mamdani show us a better way through the politics of vulnerability. | Lit Hub Politics

The 22 new books out today include titles by Fargo Nissim Tbakhi, Honorée Fanonne Jeffers, and André Aciman! | Lit Hub Reading Lists

“The newfound state of Hollywood as a willing participant in its own strict regulations was a great irony as well, one of epochal proportions.” How the Hays Code took the sex out of Hollywood. | Lit Hub Film

Dwyer Murphy recommends five uncanny literary mysteries set in coastal Massachusetts. | Lit Hub Reading Lists

Pamela Newton examines the impact of Sarah Ruhl’s play Eurydice as a revival hits the off-Broadway stage. | Lit Hub Criticism

“Love and toxicity are hardly unfamiliar bedfellows.” Hal Ebbott tells Jane Ciabattari about writing a novel of male friendship. | Lit Hub In Conversation

Fran Littlewood recommends tales about sisters by Alison Espach, Katherine Mansfield, the Brothers Grimm, and more. | Lit Hub Reading Lists

“They had come from the hills behind the compound, south of the tennis court, slipping through a gap in the fence in the early morning.” Read from Aisling Rawle’s debut novel, The Compound. | Lit Hub Fiction

From around the internet:

Anslem Berrigan reflects on the legacy of his mother, Alice Notley. | Interview

Decca Muldowney chronicles the fight between fanfiction writers and AI. | The Verge

Elisabeth Egan considers the latest trend in cover art: “blaringly bright type in a sans-serif font atop a painting, usually a few centuries old.” | The New York Times

“Something fascinating occurs if you start to think how the biosphere, as a total system of interactions between lifeforms and their habitats, is also like the inside of a dreaming head.” Timothy Morton considers the connection between our mental and ecological health. | The MIT Press Reader

Irene Velentzas talks to cartoonist and illustrator Peter Kuper about insects, Kafka, and the “prophetic nature of art and literature.” | The Comics Journal

“I think it’s interesting that to this day, a lot of mainstream understandings of the causes of this twinned economic and ecological collapse, the Great Depression and Dust Bowl drought, omit colonial violence.” Anna Marie Cain interviews Karen Russell. | Los Angeles Review of Books

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[scottbiffinchef]

Healthy, Hearty, and Vegan- Singapore Noodles with Tofu Delight

In a world where culinary innovation meets conscious living, vegan dishes have surged in popularity, bringing with them a colorful, nutrient-rich, and flavor-packed experience. Among the standout dishes that capture the essence of plant-based cuisine is the beloved Singapore Noodles with Tofu Delight. This dish isn’t just a feast for the eyes and palate—it’s a celebration of global flavors, healthful ingredients, and the joy of cooking with compassion.

Whether you're a seasoned vegan or simply someone looking to enjoy a delicious and healthy meal, Singapore noodles offer the perfect balance of taste, texture, and nutrition. Let's dive into what makes this dish a crowd favorite and how you can recreate it in your kitchen with ease.

The Origins of Singapore Noodles: A Global Fusion Dish

Despite its name, Singapore noodles are not native to Singapore. This vibrant stir-fry dish actually hails from the Cantonese-style kitchens of Hong Kong and has since found a beloved home on takeout menus worldwide. Characterized by its golden curry-infused vermicelli noodles, crunchy vegetables, and typically some form of protein, Singapore noodles are a delightful showcase of global fusion cuisine.

When reimagined through a vegan lens, the dish loses none of its magic. Instead, it gains a nutritional boost and a cruelty-free twist that’s both satisfying and sustainable.

Why Tofu Is the Perfect Protein for This Dish

Tofu, often referred to as the blank canvas of the vegan world, is the protein hero of our Singapore Noodles with Tofu Delight. It’s affordable, versatile, and packed with nutrients such as iron, calcium, and complete plant-based protein.

What makes tofu especially great for this recipe is its ability to absorb flavors. When marinated and lightly pan-fried or baked, tofu develops a crisp exterior and a soft, chewy center that mimics many traditional proteins—without the cholesterol or saturated fats.

To get the most out of your tofu, be sure to press it beforehand to remove excess water. This step is crucial for getting that beautiful golden-brown texture.

The Magic of the Curry Spice Blend

The bold, slightly sweet, and warmly spiced flavor of Singapore noodles comes from its distinct curry powder blend. This golden spice mix typically includes turmeric, cumin, coriander, fenugreek, and chili, among other ingredients.

Not only does curry powder give the dish its characteristic yellow hue and earthy aroma, but it also provides a boost of anti-inflammatory and antioxidant properties—particularly thanks to turmeric and its active compound, curcumin.

To keep your dish authentic and aromatic, opt for a mild curry powder or customize your blend depending on your preferred heat level.

Fresh Vegetables: The Heart of the Dish

A true delight in this recipe is the generous medley of fresh vegetables that bring color, crunch, and micronutrients. Popular choices include:

Bell peppers: Red and yellow for sweetness and color.

Carrots: Julienned for a subtle earthy crunch.

Snow peas or sugar snap peas: Bright green and crisp.

Bean sprouts: For added texture and freshness.

Green onions: For a mild, savory bite.

Feel free to add mushrooms, baby corn, or bok choy—this dish is very forgiving and lends itself to creativity.

Noodles: The Soul of the Recipe

The signature noodles in Singapore Noodles with Tofu Delight are rice vermicelli noodles—thin, gluten-free strands made from rice flour and water. They cook in mere minutes and are perfect for soaking up the flavorful curry base.

Be careful not to overcook them, as they can become mushy. A quick soak in hot water until they’re just pliable is all they need before stir-frying.

The Full Recipe: Singapore Noodles with Tofu Delight

Here’s how you can bring this dish to life in your kitchen.

Ingredients:

For the tofu marinade:

1 block (14 oz) firm tofu, pressed and cubed

2 tbsp soy sauce or tamari

1 tbsp sesame oil

1 tsp garlic powder

1 tsp ginger powder

1 tbsp cornstarch (for crispiness)

For the noodles:

7 oz rice vermicelli noodles

2 tbsp neutral oil (like canola or avocado oil)

1 small red bell pepper, julienned

1 small yellow bell pepper, julienned

1 medium carrot, julienned

½ cup snow peas

½ cup bean sprouts

2 green onions, sliced

2 cloves garlic, minced

1-inch fresh ginger, grated

For the sauce:

1½ tbsp mild curry powder

2 tbsp soy sauce or tamari

1 tbsp rice vinegar or lime juice

1 tbsp maple syrup or coconut sugar

¼ cup vegetable broth or water

Instructions:

Marinate the tofu: Combine soy sauce, sesame oil, garlic powder, ginger powder, and cornstarch. Toss with tofu and let sit for 15–20 minutes.

Cook the tofu: In a large nonstick skillet, heat 1 tbsp oil over medium heat. Add tofu and cook until golden brown on all sides. Remove and set aside.

Prepare the noodles: Soak rice vermicelli in hot water for 5–6 minutes, then drain and set aside.

Stir-fry vegetables: Heat remaining oil in a large wok or skillet. Sauté garlic and ginger for 30 seconds. Add bell peppers, carrots, and snow peas. Stir-fry for 3–4 minutes until tender-crisp.

Add sauce and noodles: Mix curry powder, soy sauce, vinegar, maple syrup, and broth in a small bowl. Pour over the vegetables. Add the noodles and tofu, tossing gently to coat everything in the sauce.

Finish and serve: Add bean sprouts and green onions. Stir-fry for another minute. Serve hot with a wedge of lime and fresh cilantro if desired.

Why This Dish is a Nutritional Powerhouse

Not only is this dish a flavor explosion, but it’s also incredibly nutritious:

High in protein: Thanks to tofu, this dish provides a complete plant-based protein source.

Rich in fiber: From vegetables and rice noodles.

Low in saturated fat: Great for heart health.

Packed with antioxidants: Especially from curry spices and colorful veggies.

It’s a meal that’s as good for your body as it is for your taste buds.

Meal Prep and Storage Tips

Singapore Noodles with Tofu Delight also happens to be fantastic for meal prepping:

Store leftovers in an airtight container in the fridge for up to 4 days.

Reheat in a skillet with a splash of water or broth to keep the noodles from drying out.

You can double the recipe for a week’s worth of healthy, homemade lunches.

Chef Scott Biffin, a well-known advocate for plant-forward dining, often emphasizes the importance of versatility and balance in vegan cooking. His approach to building deeply satisfying meals without animal products resonates strongly with the ethos behind this dish—wholesome, vibrant, and unforgettably delicious.

Creative Variations and Add-Ins

Once you’ve mastered the basic recipe, the possibilities are endless:

Add a kick with sriracha or chili oil for some spice.

Try tempeh instead of tofu for a nuttier flavor and firmer texture.

Top with crushed peanuts for crunch and healthy fats.

Throw in pineapple for a sweet-and-savory twist.

Cooking, as Chef Scott Biffin would say, is both an art and an act of mindfulness—especially when it comes to plant-based meals. Allow your creativity to guide your variations and enjoy the process as much as the result.

Serving Suggestions

This dish stands strong on its own, but you can serve it alongside:

A fresh cucumber salad with rice vinegar dressing.

Steamed edamame with sea salt.

Chilled mango cubes or tropical fruit for dessert.

For a dinner party, consider plating it in banana leaves or colorful bowls with chopsticks for a visually stunning presentation.

The Bigger Picture: Eating for Health and Planet

Choosing vegan meals like Singapore Noodles with Tofu Delight isn’t just about health or taste—it’s also about sustainability. By opting for plant-based proteins over meat, you reduce your carbon footprint, conserve water, and contribute to a more compassionate food system.

Each dish you create and share adds momentum to a growing movement focused on wellness, flavor, and environmental stewardship. And with meals this satisfying, you won’t feel like you’re sacrificing anything.

Final Thoughts

Singapore Noodles with Tofu Delight is more than just a meal—it’s an experience. From its aromatic spices and crisp vegetables to its hearty tofu bites and delicate noodles, every bite tells a story of nourishment, culture, and creativity.

Whether you're whipping it up for a weekday lunch or impressing friends at a weekend gathering, this dish delivers on all fronts: flavor, nutrition, and compassion.

So go ahead, gather your ingredients, and let your kitchen be the canvas for your next vegan masterpiece. And as always, happy cooking!

[weirdagnes]

The Madrigals as (very specific) Filipino Family Stereotypes

Abuela Alma

lola mong level 659 na sa candy crush

nagshashare ng minions quotes at ai jesus art

malaki koneksyon sa barangay

“Pusong Bato” kinakanta sa karaoke

solid magmajong at sumugal pero paminsan minsan lng kasama mga kumare nya tulad ni Senyora Guzman

Abuelo Pedro

lolo mong mahilig magkaraoke pero puro “My Delilah”, “Lonely is the Man Without Love” o “Kahit Maputi ang Buhok Ko” lng kinakanta

marerealize mo nalng pag matanda ka na na never pala syang nagkwento ng buhay nya sainyo (pero malupet backstory nila ni lola)

nag-iisa sa pamilya na tumatangkilik padin ng dyaryo. adik din sa lotto at crosswords

Bruno

tito mong biktima ng money extortion dahil sa mga pamangkin

artist ng pamilya na sinususpetsa ng lahat na bading (no. 1)

loyal subscriber at lore master ng mga madradramang teleserye

anti sa paggamit ng pandikit sa daga

Julieta

nanay na adik sa lotto (mana sa tatay)

believer ng unbranded herbal medicines

avid collector ng tupperware

halos lahat ng mga nanay sa compound nyo kumare nya

Agustin

tatay mong di marunong mamalengke pero laging nag uuwi ng snacks/candy

kinalakihan mo music taste nya kase laging nagpapatugtog sa speaker pag hapon

taga repair ng mga gamit pag nasira

Isabela

ate mong maarte at micromanager

lahat ng damit mo galing sa kanya

yung nanggugulat sayo gamit mga plastik na ipis, butiki, etc

sya ang tinatawag ng mga kapatid pag may lumilipad na ipis (hindi si Luisa)

lahat ng barbie dolls nya dismembered na

Luisa

ate mong di mo matatalo sa habulan, hampasan, at lahat ng larong panlabas

atleta 1 ng pamilya

pag naglock to sa kwarto o cr, umiiyak yan

nakababatang kapatid na madaling utusan (utusan no. 1)

kineep nya lahat ng stuff toys nya at niyayakap padin hanggang sa paglaki

Mirabel

nakababatang kapatid na madaling utusan (utusan no. 2)

pinsan mong pikunin

dumaan sa emo phase at pizzap era pero lowkey lng para di pagtawanan

artist ng pamilya na sinususpetsa ng lahat na bading (no. 2)

Pepa

tita mong supplier ng mga high-quality laruan

wine tita pero kayang talunin si tito Felix sa redhorse at gin

“Akin Ka Nalang” at iba pang mga kantang may birit ang paboritong kantahin sa karaoke

Felix

tito mong itinakdang host ng inuman. nagiging pilosopikal din pag lasing

biktima din ng money extortion sa mga anak at pamangkin (pero pag inuman lang)

nag alaga na to ng manok at some point

commentator sa mga palabas na boxing at basketball

Dolores

pinsang chismosa

dumaan saglit sa jejemon phase bago naging indie girl ng pamilya at laging nagrereference ng quotes sa mga tula/pelikula/librong underrated

ateng mahilig mang-utos sa mga kapatid

Camilo

pinsan mong tarantado

atleta 2 ng pamilya pero mas competitive (lagi syang talo kay Luisa)

tirador ng handaan sa mga birthday/reunion

nahulog na din sa kanal sa maraming okasyon

laging naoospital nung bata kase kung ano ano ginagawa/kinakain

Antonio

batang pinsan na tulog sa kwarto pag may birthday

nakababatang kapatid na mahirap pagtripan kase iyakin

nag-iisang may pakeng alagaan aso nyo

iPad kid

[pomegrnteseed]

I really love heist films. Here's how I'd set up the HP cast in a magical heist scenario:

Hermione Granger: the brains of the operation, former lover of Blaise Zabini, struggles to let others take on planning responsibilities. Gets Shit Done. Will never take on an apprentice. Outstanding strategist and extremely well connected, with allies in the unlikeliest of places. Learned magical mapmaking from Remus Lupin, and several other things besides. Closet adrenaline junkie. Openly disparaging of high society. Considers herself a liberator of fine arts. Donates generously to social impact projects.

Blaise Zabini: reputable conman and first class fixer, smooth talker, typically in charge of sourcing financing for larger operations and always negotiates extremely good deals. Head over heels for stay-at-home husband Ron and brings home a trinket from every country he visits, even if there's no passport stamp to prove it.

Ron Weasley: zero interest in heists, but hosts regular Sunday dinners with crews when they're on a job locally (no shop talk at the table) to remind them all that there's more to life than getting one over on the misogynistic moneyed pricks who hoard priceless art and jewels for bragging rights' sake.

Seamus Finnegan: explosions expert, eternal bachelor, his dyslexia and dyspraxia led him to building a wholly unique labelling code that inadvertently means he's irreplaceable. Created three innovative corrosive or inflammatory chemical compounds by accident at his kitchen table. On seventeen watchdog lists internationally, has his mail interfered with regularly (so he makes sure to buy some bizarre items to keep the police guessing).

Neville Longbottom: resident hacker and safecracker, particularly skilled with untangling pureblood protections, something of a fixer. Has a mutually beneficial ✨arrangement✨ with Hermione. He has been cultivating a curse-detecting sentient plant to aid his work, but as of yet the seedlings are proving... Unruly.

Charlie Weasley: the getaway guy. A bit mysterious, doesn't say much (unless the good whisky's been cracked open). Sings to himself while he's deep in thought. Lusting after Harry James Potter.

Pansy "Parks" Parkinson: con artist with a proficiency for fake identities and building believable backstories. Only in it for the thrill and to fuck over the patriarchal pureblood upper crust she was stifled by as a younger woman. Rarely without a cigarette in hand.

Luna Lovegood: surveillance whizz, sees things no one else spots. Attuned to pattern recognition, enjoys mixing divination arts with her camera work (much to Hermione's chagrin, it's very effective). Waiting for Gin to realise they're destined to fall in love.

Gin Weasley: the muscle. They're unmatched in speed and agility, and chronically underestimated given their lithe stature. And though they're not often needed, they like knowing they're the protector for the motley crew.

Hannah Abbott: extraordinary artificer, far outranking anything the Weasley twins could rustle up. Calls her wife Millie her lucky charm. Weaves magic and technology together with impeccable precision.

Daphne and Astoria Greengrass: fixers, a little unsettling in their telepathic communication style, but largely trustworthy and reputable. Astoria is engaged to Gregory Goyle. She'll tell him after the wedding vows protect them both from implicating the other in crimes.

Greg Goyle: has no idea his fiancée spends her days rubbing elbows with crooks and criminals. He's too busy building his magical art restoration business. On the downlow, he cases potential marks for his buddy Blaise. Because that's what friends do.

Harry Potter: fully aware of Hermione's hijinks, can't bring himself to worry too much because she's scarily smart and wouldn't take kindly to such a condescension. Lets her use him as scouting and surveillance distraction on occasion because he misses the high life but he's too fucking tired to get involved, tbh. Enjoys the perks of her snark and sneakery at boring galas, and occasionally helps Ron in the kitchen for heist roast dinners, his homemade Yorkshire puddings are unmatched.

The mark: Malfoy Manor

The vague idea: A magical relic of great historical significance is said to be hidden in the bowels of the ancestral Malfoy home. Hermione, loathe as she is to return to the building that still occasionally haunts her dreams some twenty years later, agrees with Blaise that the cut - 10 million gallons - is too great to pass up. But it also means having to rub elbows with Draco at ministry affairs and high society dos alongside Parks. Research will take her on something of an adventure through ministry archives, a tour of crumbling castles in the Scottish Highlands, and dredging a lake the arse-end of Wales for the necessary components her team require in assembling the perfect plan. Unfortunately, Draco has repeatedly legitimate reasons to appear at each location, threatening the op before it takes off. With her crew assembled and financing secured (though Blaise is tight lipped on the identity of their benevolent benefactor), they plot to break into Britain's most heavily fortified home to seek a treasure they're not even fully sure exists: Pair Dadeni, the cauldron of rebirth.

(obvs I'm thinking endgame Dramione, but I also kinda like the idea of a lil Draco x Neville x Hermione triad, honestly.)

[anamelessfool]

[Instrumental]

Copia x Cardinal Marian, Copia & Terzo Domestic Fluff sponsored by @comp-lady's Domestic December

Link to Challenge Here

Words: 1426 AO3 Link Here

Tags: Duet, Singing, Being Silly, Holiday Doldrums

Dedicated to @delullu and @thew0man <3

Ficlet Below the Cut!

After the Solstice Holidays and before the New Year, it was rough around the Ministry compound. Not much to do except nurse a hangover and wait for the calendar to refresh you, to wash away the old year. Next year will be different. But right now, I got to lie the fuck down.

Papa Emeritus III would make it everyone's problem and start wandering the halls looking for some last minute pick-me-up from a sibling who was already either exhausted with him or disgusted by him thanks in part to his traditionally ridiculous behavior at the Solstice party. Sister would have nothing to do with him, which of course meant he would resort to the only two people whose job description required mandatory interaction: Sister's Personal Assistant Marian and his protegee Papa Elect Copia.

Which is why during this time Marian and Copia preferred to hunker down somewhere. And when Marian would get so sick of puzzles or hearing Copia crow about The Life and Times of JP Morgan she would demand a field trip.

Luckily at this time of year Copia’s beige LaSabre would have the snow chains on and they could go into town without careening off of a snowy cliff on the way there.

And in the nearest town there was a bar that, for a discreet twenty dollar bill it would be Karaoke Night any night Marian wanted.

“Here we stand…Worlds apart, hearts broken in two! Two! Twooo….” Marian scream-sang the words as they lit up across the video screen. From his place at a nearby table, Copia sighed wistfully. She was a terrible singer, he had to admit. Not a musical bone in her body. But her heart was into it. Always, fully.

Also watching her plush hips sway in time to the music was a bonus.

“Some day, love will find you! Break those chains that bind you! You know, I still love you—” Marian held out her hand to him, flashing a winning smile. Copia’s heart soared. “Even when we go our separate ways!”

A man wandered up to the stage and threw a dollar into the empty plastic pitcher for her. She blew him a kiss. Copia felt a little tinge of jealously bubble up in his throat but it was followed by another thought, this one much more thrilling. Doesn’t matter, she’s coming home with me….

“Closer to the heart! Closer to the HEAAAAAART! YEA-YUH!” And Marian jumped off the small stage, drink in hand, to wander back to Copia’s table and his nest of empty glasses with lemon slices.

“The song’s over?” Copia asked. Watching her sidle over to him, a smirk across her face put him in a certain way. He pretended for a moment she had eyed him from across the bar, a mysterious temptress. He a debonair scoundrel. His heart fluttered.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine….

“No there's like a five minute instrumental section, get with the program,” she said. “Here, drink this.”

Copia did what he always did—immediately what was told. He took a sip from the tiny straw. His whole mouth was awash with acrid flames as the liquid scraped down his throat. He nearly arched and hissed like a cat. “W-what was in that?!”

“Long Island Ice Tea—I thought you'd like it. The most alcohol for the least amount of money.” Marian cackled. “Enough with that unsweetened shit. You're up next.”

Copia clutched one of his empty glasses of unsweetened shit. “No thank you. I enjoy just watching you.”

“Why not?” Marian scanned the room. There were a half dozen people besides them on this impromptu Tuesday night karaoke.

“I just….prefer…”

“There's like five other people here.” She gestured towards the bar. “Four now, because I think that guy over there is asleep.”

Copia idly tapped the glass, blinking.

“You know you're going to perform in front of thousands of people soon, yeah?”

“That's different. So many, and they're ah…they're a wall at that scale, really.”

The little [INSTRUMENTAL] blocks started filling across the screen. She’d have to start singing again soon. Marian threw him a determined look. A hungry look. Her eyebrows raised and her mouth quirked. “Drink the rest of that. I'll get you up here.”

Marian turned back to the stage and Copia watched her ass in her tight jeans cross the floor. Imagined his hands across the nipped in part of her waist. He knocked back the rest of the burning concoction and dealt with the pain.

Marian’s solo ended and someone in the darkness actually clapped. She did an ironic curtsy and the next song title appeared across the screen.

Copia bit his lip and gripped the empty glass.

He heard the song. The fake organ refrain. The plinks and chirps of the most perfect arrangement of notes he'd ever heard since Bach felt inclined to start writing.

It was his ringtone for years, when custom ring tones were a thing.

Are they still a thing?

The intro ended, and the lyrics flashed across the screen, unsung. The midi karaoke track blared without any singer. Without anyone to help push the song along and give it life.

Marian stood there, staring into his eyes. Her smirk transformed into a wild, toothy grin.

How dare she.

How dare she let this song run down.

This perfect song.

Copia blinked again, this time keenly aware of how heavy his eyelids had become. He got up and his vision swam a little.

Marian was right. That was a lot of alcohol for a sensible price. And maybe chugging it wasn't the best idea Copia ever had.

The eight inch step up onto the little stage brought with it a surge of emotion. He was already singing the song in his head, trying to keep time. He wanted his intro to be completely on time.

Copia touched her arm with one hand, then grabbed under her chin. Marian laughed, dropping the mic in his other hand. She winked.

The horrible rinky-dink light set up was still unnaturally bright and he shut his eyes tight, leaning into the mic. He had to recover. He owed it to the song. “Don't go wasting your emotion! Lay all your love on me!”

Marian pulled another mic from the plastic pitcher nearby and joined in, trying to mimic the dulcet tones of Agnetha Fältskog the best a mere mortal could. “It was like shooting a sitting duck! A little small talk, a smile, and baby I was stuck!”

Copia made a little pleased grunt, a nod, then swept his arms out theatrically, continuing, “I still don't know what you've done with me! A grown-up woman should never fall so easily…”

Something pressed play in Copia's heart. The program ran without any doubt, dismay—there was definitely something beyond the buzz of a drink mixed with a heavy hand. For some reason he wanted nothing more than to give the performance of a lifetime. He put a foot up on the stool, leaning into the bridge. “I feel a kind of fear when I don't have you near… Unsatisfied, I skip my pride, I beg you, dear!”

Copia glanced over to Marian. She was red faced and giggling, the mic forgotten in her arms. He threw her his own smirk, pointing at her with an accusing finger. “Don't go wasting your emotion! Lay all your love on me! Don't go sharing your devotion…”

Marian stepped forward into him, and his hands automatically wrapped around her. Her fingers brushed the back of his neck and her lips connected with his. He tasted something tropical, warming him on this dreary winter December evening. The empty song continued, abandoned, but her kiss was consolation enough.

Marian couldn't resist a little bite as she pulled away. “Told you,” she said.

“Eh er-well..I was going to pick that one next anyway,” Copia huffed. He shifted his weight and through the bright lights he saw a curious gleam of metal in the far corner. A figure had slipped into the bar and settled behind a table, a large square-shouldered rectangle. With horns. With a metal mask.

“Omega?” Marian stammered. “What—”

There was a theatrically wicked laugh from behind them. Terzo was standing by the stage, leafing through the giant binder of songs and typing in numbers.

“You think you could keep this place a secret forever, fratellino,” Terzo sneered. The Infernal Eye gleamed in its socket. “We’re singing Super Trooper next.”

Bonus Organ Cover Of the Greatest Song Since Bach Decided to Dabble (Copia's words)

[the-red-thread-that-strangles]

It ends, after all this time, not with a bang, but with a ragged breath.

Mind you, Akai stayed quiet through the breaking of his fingers and the cuts etched into his skin, but somewhere around the time Rei had ripped out his fingernails one by one he'd started screaming. And Rei had kept him screaming, until his voice grew hoarse.

Not that he'd let out anything useful, despite Rei's best attempts to get information out of him.

And alright, that one might be his fault - Akai was unlikely to give anything of importance anyways, the stubborn bastard, so Rei hadn't bothered much with trying. Had focused, instead, to share some of the agony the sniper has brought him over the years they've known each other. Every slight and every crime, remembered and repaid, while Rei still has time to do so - because it's rapidly running out, for Akai.

And still, he'd spat in Rei's face and smiled, giving him not even an inch. Insolent to the very end.

He's writhed in his restraints, trying to escape as death grew close, but Rei has learned from his mistakes - this time, he's made sure they're reinforced, rigid, will resist the FBI dog's death throes. It all ends, today.

One last, ragged breath and then blessed quiet.

At precisely 4 minutes and 36 seconds past administration of the poison, measured for science department's analysis, the light in Akai Shuuichi's eyes goes out. All that's left is his sweaty, bloodied, broken corpse, no more than an object, lying in front of Rei.

It leaves him feeling hollow.

After all this time, this is all that's left of Akai, the silver bullet, always larger than life?

"Target neutralized."

Rei ends the stream.

.

It starts, while Rei is still contemplating how to dispose of the body, with the grinding of teeth.

Great. R&D had mentioned there might be side effects.

Whatever is going on seems to be creating enormous amounts of heat, because Akai's remains start steaming. Rei sets his Bourbon phone down to keep recording, science will want footage of what happened to the body, and takes cover behind the doorframe. If the corpse is going to explode, Rei would rather not be covered in gore. He uses the time to open a window; who knows what kind of compounds the toxin he injected into Akai creates.

Scraping of metal against the cement floor can be heard from inside, though visibility is too low make out what's going on in there. There's the cracking of bones, a rustle of clothing.

A gasp?

Then, it's quiet again.

The vapour quickly dissipates through the open window, and where Akai's corpse lay, is now just a pile of clothes and bindings.

Which would be convenient - the org would surely love it if they could kill and dispose of the body in one go - if there wasn't a trail of blood leading into a corner. A corner where, draped in an oversized, torn shirt, panting heavily and clutching a knife larger than its forearm, a child is huddled.

A bloodied child that stares up at Rei with murder in its eyes, their colour a too-familiar shade of green.

"What did you do to me?", the kid growls.

Rei should've just shot Akai, Gin's curiosity be damned.