#Sacred scones

[these-detestable-hands]

Honestly feeling kinda meh about it but I'm still happy I experimented a bit with the weird lineart

[coffeenewstom]

Toms Kaffee-Moment: Afternoon Tea im Strand Palace Hotel

Toms Kaffee-Moment: Afternoon Tea im Strand Palace Hotel

The Strand ist eine der typischsten Straßen in London. Ihren Namen hat sie aus einer Zeit, als an ihr noch die Themse vorbei floss, bevor sich das Thames Embarkment  dazwischen schob. Früher einmal war sie die Verbindung zweier Städte, City of London und City of Westminster. Heute beginnt die Straße am Trafalgar Square und verläuft nach Osten bis zur Grenze der City of London, wo sie in die Fleet…

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

Honey Cappuccino with Cinnamon

Kento Nanami x Barista! Reader SMUT, MDNI, 18+ ONLY

You get a new patron in your cafe, a dashingly handsome, well mannered, well spoken, Kento Nanami.

wc: 13k, whoops

Content: Smut, Fluff, comfort, kind of a slow burn, kissing (ooooo!!), sex, brief fear/violence (but not sexual), small curse appearance, cunnalingus, reader is female, smoking, swearing no spit (r u guys proud or disappointed), bad ending

Ao3, Masterlist, Coffee headcannons. dont reproduce my work or post it anywhere else. i came up with it out of my head. Enjoy.

You loved your morning openings, most people would have preferred to sleep in, enjoy their mornings at home, take their time getting ready for the day, all while the sun was settled in the sky. But you loved waking up in the misty dark, walking in the clean, morning air, and setting up the cafe before the sun found its way out of bed. The hour and a half before the cafe opened felt like you were the only person in the entire world, total serenity. You could make your own coffee, just how you liked it, luxuriate in the smells of last night's prepped pastries baking to perfection in the oven, work at your own pace while listening to an audiobook or a playlist that you chose. It was the time you looked forward to most throughout the week; your perfect hour of bliss. Uninterrupted bliss. 

The ringing of the door chime was your indicator to return to reality and remember that the cafe didn’t exist solely for your own personal enjoyment, but was in fact a buzzing success. From 6 AM opening to 7 PM closing the cafe would see anywhere between 300-700 customers a day. The large majority of them just stopped in, ordering, and leaving upon receiving their coffee and scone or whatever it was they wanted. A handful you saw nearly every day. You, of course, knew their names, you were a professional. But your first rung of memory was always their orders. 

The gentleman that comes on his bike with his canvas backpack -- a double espresso with equal parts hot water to the espresso. 

The woman who comes with her daughters every morning -- two blended caramel frappes for them, three shots of espresso over ice in a large cup for her. (she pours a protein shake over it and mixes it together. She’s been trying to get you on it. You tried it once, she's onto something.) 

The college kid whose eye bags have doubled in size since they first came in. -- Iced americano, one more shot than you feel is ethical each time. 

Three shot soy latte guy, small decaf mocha woman with a fresh set of nails every time you saw her, long pull espresso always in a porcelain cup for the older woman with the faded purple lipstick, etc. etc. 

The mental list of orders must have been a mile long but you kept them all in your heart. You have seen people before job interviews, between shifts, between jobs, on breaks, days off, first dates, break ups, going to work, coming from it, anything in between. Second only to your sacred alone time, was the way you got to know the people who continued to come. Your position as a customer service worker was not without the obvious dregs of complaints and entitlement from the comers and goers, who never asked your name or about your day, and always had something wrong with their drinks, but it was all overshadowed by the kind faces you recognized so well. And nothing could compare to seeing someone for the second or third time, knowing you had secured another person a favorite coffee shop where they could feel comfortable and know that this small, but vital, piece of their life would be taken seriously and made carefully, exactly to their tastes. You liked giving people that peace, a little taste of your own. 

This morning when you opened, you got into the cafe at 4:30. Early for the 6:00 opening but you wanted to enjoy the languid morning hours a little extra today, and you did. You took your time setting the pastry display, straightening up the table, setting up the self service bar. Before you knew it, there was only a half hour left before opening. The large drip brewers were prepped, ready to fill the cafe with the rich smell of fresh coffee at the touch of a button, the last batch of lemon scones were in the oven, you had just finished counting the drawer for the register and were about to spend the last twenty minutes before turning on the open sign in sweet, perfect silence, enjoying your own favorite coffee when the bell chimed.

“We’re not open yet,” your eyes stayed closed, prepping for the first sip of your perfect morning indulgence. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. The sign is on, I didn’t realize.” A rich, oaky voice filled the echoey cafe. 

You opened your eyes and turned to face the voice. The owner of the voice was a tall man, over six feet, a full, broad figure clad in a tan coat over a dark blue button up. The outer layer couldn’t conceale the way his shirt stretched over his chest, buttons meeting, but just barely. A queer looking yellow tie spotted almost like a cheetah or a banana thankfully covered the higher up, more stretched gaps. But what struck you the most was his face, hard lined cheekbones, long, slender nose, hard set jaw, thin but full rosy lips, a set of unique green lensed glasses resting over his eyes. He was stunning, completely beautiful, the kind of beauty that could strike a god down to earth for the chance of love. You felt your throat tighten, your mouth fall open.

“I-uh, Sorry.” And yet you still couldn’t figure out how to respond. 

He took a moment to look at you, then checked his watch, pulling up his sleeve for you to see the joint of his wrist. Behind him you could see the white neon light of the open sign shining through the front window. Your face heated, mortified at how unprofessional you were being, gawking at him. 

“Oh. I am early-- I’ll come back. I’d hate for you to star----”

“No!” you interrupted, waiting just a touch too long before continuing, “You’re barely early, excuse my flippancy, please come in. What can I get you?” 

You took your place behind the counter, he moved to the other side of the counter, he scanned the menu board above your head, turning his chin up slightly, giving you a view of the muscles in his neck. Your mouth watered. You brought your eyes down to the screen in front of you, desperate to quiet the thoughts in your mind. 

“I really would hate for you to start work early. Especially for my sake I can wait outside.” 

“Don’t be silly! I couldn’t have you out there waiting when I can help you now.” 

You absolutely could, and had, on many occasions done exactly that. Letting the morning rush wait until operating hours no matter how early they wanted to “just squeak in super fast!”. But you wanted to keep him inside, bring him closer, give him anything he wanted. Hell, if he turned out to want all the money in the register you probably would have at least considered it.  

The rich voice filled your ears once again, “A cappuccino, please. With just a bit of honey, please.”

Great order, and so polite. 

“You got it.” You plugged it into the computer, the total appearing on his side of the screen, “dry or wet?” 

He cleared his throat abruptly, eyes wide behind the thick frames, “uh…?”

You didn’t realize how it came out, “more milk or more foam?” 

He collects himself, “uh wet, then.” 

You nod, “any preference of milk?”

“Whatever you have is fine.” 

You started the espresso grinder, the whirring filling the soundless air of the cafe, “this is a cafe, we have like six milks.” 

He nods, “right. Um…whatever you use I’m sure is fine.” 

You mirror his nod, “oat is, then. Anything else I can get you?” 

“One of those croissants, please.” He gestured to the pastry case, ten perfect flaky butter croissants sitting beautifully. 

“Great choice.” You smile, “I’ll get your drink.” 

You turned back toward the espresso machine as he moved to start paying on his screen of the register. You were grateful to have an excuse to turn away from him, away from the magnetism of him, to have something to focus on and hopefully regain an ounce of your composure. 

Nanami collected his breath, grateful to have your sparkling gaze out of his immediate eyeline. It takes more focus than would normally be necessary to complete his payment. Fingers trembling over the ‘no receipt’ button, his eyes drifted up again. The large espresso machine in front of you hissed and dripped the fragrant, rich liquid into the small espresso cup underneath. 

“Is this your first time in?” Your voice rang like a bell in the empty cafe, you were pouring milk into a metal pitcher as you spoke to him, not missing a drop. 

So much ease, precision, the routine of skilled work over years of honing, everything was perfectly measured, foamed, and stirred. You clearly took care in what you did, your hands were so still and even as you tipped the small fridge door open with your foot to slip the milk carton back inside. The brief scream of the milk knocked him back into his senses. 

“Yes.” He answered, hoping to keep his internal chastisement out of his tone. 

You nodded watching the milk whirlpool in its small silver pitcher, “I thought so. I don’t think I’ve seen you in before. I’m basically always here, and I think I would have remembered you.” 

A blush heated your cheeks, but you discarded it as steam, pulling the wand from the pitcher and tapping its bottom against the counter. You poured the honey sweetened espresso into a small to-go cup, and topped it with a fair serving of water before meeting the lip of the pitcher with the liquid so the foam could slide perfectly across. 

Nanami watched the smile slide across your lips, cheeks pulling upward, a satisfied sigh leaving you as you perfected the drink. His drink. His. 

He shouldn't be acting like this, he just stopped in to get a quick coffee before returning to the school. The last assignment had been grueling, he was only just finishing it. Talk about Overtime. This was ridiculous, he had been in an awful mood before walking in, miserably dragging himself through the doors of the first lit up cafe he stumbled across. And yet here he was, his previously drained heart beating, no palpitating, in his chest at just a few exchanges. You finally turned back around to face him, presenting the drink to him without its lid, letting him see the perfect line of dusted cinnamon across the foam cap. 

“Here you are!” You beamed at him, hoping to see a flicker of a smile or some kind of praise. 

He didn’t smile but you thought maybe you saw something soften in him. He accepted it across the counter, bringing it up to his mouth and taking a sip. Then he smiled. He couldn’t help it. It was perfect. Perfectly sweet from the honey, but still letting the robust bitterness of the espresso shine, the body of the oat milk complimenting the two perfectly, making the whole concoction taste like a cinnamon and oatmeal cookie that he’d indulge in in some private, anonymous, curseless cafe that he thought only existed in his mind. But he may have found it. 

“Wow. It’s excellent.” His lens-guarded eyes warmed at you through their green filters, “Thank you.” 

A chrysalis was twitching in your heart, “You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.” 

A moment passed as you waited for him to speak again, praying this interaction wouldn’t be over yet. The chime of the bell at the door broke you away from him, turning to see the beginning trickle of the morning flood enter. He was a nice enough guy, same thing every morning: four shots of espresso with two brown sugars in a porcelain mug that he would sit at one of the back tables in and read the morning paper no matter how ungodly early it was, but right now you wished he never dared step into your shop in the first place. When you looked back and saw the end of Honey Cappuccino’s motion to check his watch, he met your gaze once again. 

“Oh! Your croissant, I'm sorry.” You breathed out, kicking yourself for being foolish enough to think he was lingering to talk to you more, not waiting for the rest of his order.

“Right.” You heard from above you as you opened the pastry case. 

You retrieved the biggest, prettiest pastry for him and put it gently into a paper bag, straightening up to hand it to him. 

“No one going to work this early should go without breakfast.” You smiled, hoping to soften the blow of your unprofessional behavior. 

He nodded, accepting the bagged pastry, “Thank you, for indulging me so early. Next time I assure you I will be within the operating hours.” 

The chrysalis stirred again and you giggled its rhythm, “Don’t you worry. You come back anytime, okay?” 

He nodded again, before moving toward the door. You couldn't help the way your rubbernecked his exit all the way past the edges of the large shop windows. Turning back to the register and seeing your early bird regularly standing before you. Thankfully you knew his regular order by heart and could plug it in and nod through polite conversation without having to stop your rumination 

He had said Next time, implying he would come in again. You said a silent prayer to nothing that he would. At least so you could redeem yourself. So you could remind yourself and demonstrate to him  that you were a consummate professional. The rest of your day was spent smoothly, that tapping, fluttering feeling in your chest was quiet and still. You made drinks, cleaned and stocked the store, were courteous and charming with customers and coworkers alike. But you couldn’t get the man from this morning out of your mind, you didn't even ask what his name was. He would only be Honey Cappuccino Guy, for now, and that would have to be enough for now. 

Nanami entered the school still nursing the last dregs of the cappuccino, savoring the taste of honey and the memory of you in tandem. The high of your interaction was beginning to wane, the head and body ache of a night of reconnaissance and curse slaying an albatros growing denser and denser around his neck. He longed to finish his report and head home as soon as possible, already budgeting the allotment of time that felt appropriate for an early afternoon nap before resuming the chores he had left unfinished at home in a rare act of laziness. He hadn’t eaten his croissant yet, finding it rude to eat on the train, and his stomach felt barren, it seemed every part of him was echoing in discomfort. An echo that was seemingly non-existent in the warm light of the cafe. 

He sighed, rounding the corner to the small extra room that had been designated as his “office”. Not being a member of the teaching staff at Jujutsu High, there was little necessity for him to have a space of his own on its campus. He could easily complete his necessary paperwork in the common areas, or even at home. But Yaga had insisted on marking one of the empty offices as his, with some encouragement from a certain white haired sorcerer. The dwindling number of active sorcerers in the area was certainly a motive to keep each other close. So Nanami obliged, stopping by for meetings, assignments; both at their beginnings and upon their completion.  

This last assignment had been grueling, extending too far into the night, he almost felt dishonest filling out the time card associated with the final report. Nearly twelve straight hours of traveling, hunting, and fighting. It was a miracle he wasn’t delirious. He stretched back in his chair, the lactic acid that longed to settle in his back and legs crackling and redispursing. He found himself again remembering the lilt of your voice, the smell of lemon and sugar and fresh roasted grounds in the air of the cafe. The sense of peaceful indulgence carried him through the next two hours of work before he could drag himself home to shed the day and pass out, dreaming amorphously about flaky pastries and kind expressions. 

It would be almost two weeks before you would see him in the cafe again. You were restocking the milks in the small fridge underneath the counter that housed the espresso machine when the bell rang. It had been a dreadfully slow morning, mostly regulars and single, simple drink orders. It had given you plenty of time to clean, and fantasize. The large, well dressed man from eleven days ago hadn’t yet left your mind. His voice, his stature, his odd clothing, his demeanor. You were positive your memory had to have been generous the more and more you recollected the meeting, surely no one person could be so handsome. So charming, so, in the truest sense of the word, attractive. But when he stepped through your threshold once again, you found that your memory was ironclad. Tall, broad, sculpted features, odd glasses, leopard print tie, pristine styled hair, every detail of him was perfect. Your breath caught in your throat, but even that couldn’t interrupt the smile that widened on your lips. 

“It’s you.” you all but gasp out. 

He crosses toward the counter, a faint smile showing itself only on the edges of his lips, eyes wide and set on you, an expression you couldn't realize was mirroring your own awe. 

“You can say that about anyone. It’s always true.” His voice was just as smooth and even as before, you felt an all too familiar stirring in your chest. 

You laugh, “Good point. I didn’t expect to see you back. Thought I might have scared you off.” 

“Certainly not!” He can feel the burn in his cheeks, “You were kind enough to extend your hours for me. How could I not return to at least say thank you.” 

“Oh!” you chastised yourself for the twinge of disappointment you felt realizing he wasn’t here with any motive other than politeness, “It was no trouble really, it’s like the easiest drink in the world to make.”

He nods, “well, Thank you nonetheless, your work got me through the rest of mine.” 

You let out a low whistle, “That was one hell of a clock in time. Do you always go in that early?” 

“I was finishing up actually. Long project, I…lost track of time.” He wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to provide you with more information, ordinarily he would dodge questions in their entirety. Truthfully he would ordinarily never be in this situation to begin with, never having been one for casual small talk.  

“Wow…that’s intense.” you couldn't imagine working such a strange schedule, what extreme hours like that must do to a person, “what is it you do?”

This is exactly why Nanami does not engage in casual small talk, does not approach topics that could lead back to sorcery or jujutsu or anything related to his job, why he does not talk to the pretty girl behind the counter. Because now he has to lie. His heart sinks, but he steels himself. 

“I'm a sort of exterminator.” He answers smoothly. Not technically a lie. 

You hum, seeing him stiffen; you’ve seen this before, folks can be cagey about their professions, and particularly assumptions made about them based on what they do, you knew when not to pry, “Hm. You must have to be on your feet a lot.” 

He’s grateful you chose a surface level observation instead of prying further. 

“Well what can I get for you today? Got another long one in the books? Should I break out the hard stuff?” You smile warmly at him, catching his eyes. 

It's then that you realize he isn't wearing those peculiar glasses that he had before. Thick green lenses absent, and amber eyes revealed in their stead. The outermost rings of his irises were dark, oaky brown, his lashes were long but faint, small freckles now visible across his nose and dappling the tops of his high, hollow cheeks. Not only was your memory not being generous, he had somehow become more handsome. You took in a shaky breath, trying to ignore the stirring inside of you. 

“One cappuccino with honey, please. Just the same as last time.” 

“You got it!” You tap the corresponding buttons. 

He pays with a card, a chime sounding as he taps against the reader. He is grateful for an excuse to look away, it feels like every time he looks at you, you’re looking back at him, so intently. He feels studied by you, hot under your gaze. He wonders to himself if the blush he feels creeping up the back of his neck is visible to you. Your smile earlier made it begin its journey from the warmth of his chest up toward the tops of his ears. His harness feels too tight, his jacket feels stuffy and restricting. He reaches up as you finish up the payment across from him and tugs his tie looser, routinely unbuttoning the first button of his shirt. It's then that he notices his hands are sweating. 

Fuck me. Pull it together. He pleads to himself accepting the receipt as you turn away.

Back facing him you begin weighing out the espresso, you can hear his footsteps as he steps off to the side. You catch your breath, gearing yourself up for your next move. The drink comes together quickly. Honey, espresso, steamed and frothed oat milk, a small dusting of cinnamon. You giggle to yourself about the cinnamon on the creamy foam mirroring the dusting of freckles along his face. God, you're pathetic. You roll your eyes at yourself and inhale. You turn back to the counter before stalling. He wasn't waiting at the counter and you had, once again, been too frazzled to ask his name. 

“Uh…H-honey cappuccino?” Your voice wavered weakly. 

He crosses over from the other side of the cafe where he had been admiring the community board, where local artists would hang their work, organizers would add flyers for local events etc. He traversed the room in three long strided steps. 

“I’m sorry, I usually ask for a name, I forgot.” You explained. 

He accepts the paper to-go cup between you, “It’s Nanami, thank you.” 

“It's nice to meet you.” You smile. 

“And your name?” He is quick to inquire. 

You tell him, smile widening, he nods and repeats it softly. He sips from the black lid, ignoring the initial shock of heat. It's just as perfect as before, a small sound of approval resonates from his chest, you wish it had less of an effect on you than it does. 

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented, thank you.” He offers a small, polite bow before sipping again. 

“Like I said, it's an easy drink.” you shy away from his compliment. 

“Well, I’m grateful.” He begins to step away from the counter. 

“Thank you. Have a good rest of your day.” You put on your most professional and least loaded smile, “Come by and see us again Mr. Nanami.” 

He nods at you, smiling as he turns and exits the cafe. 

And he did come by again. And again. And again. 

Beginning as once a week, then twice a week, soon he begins to factor a third visit into his weekly routine. Coffee the same every time, including sometimes a pastry; taking a particular liking to the ginger and poppyseed scones, and the oat and lemon frosted cookies, but more often than both leaving with a simple croissant. One some trips the conversation if brief; shallow, single day focused conversation topics: weather, traffic within the cafe, the pastry selection you had out that day. On other days he would ask you questions: when did you learn to make coffee? Have you always lived in this area? Etc. Some days you would be so bogged down with making orders upon his arrival that one of your coworkers would be the one taking his order instead. You quieted the rising jealousy as you heard your fellow barista giggle and swoon at his rich, staccato voice. On those days you would write his name cleanly on the side of his cup and make sure to linger at the drop off counter as you called his name for his drink. 

“Busy in here, huh?” You baited, handing him the steaming cup. 

“It seems my favorite secret cafe is not so secret anymore.” Nanami’s voice sounded truly disappointed. 

You faked insult, “You think you discovered this place? I’ll have you know we’re a local staple!” 

He let out a small laugh, sipping his drink and sighing, “perfect as always, thank you.”

“Of course Nanami, anytime.” You blush at his praise, it never gets old. 

“WIll you be here next Wednesday?” He asked. 

He had never asked for your schedule before. You tried your best to hide your excitement. 

“I will! I’m opening. So feel free to stop by thirty minutes before if you're desperate.” you teased. 

He let out a guilty laugh, “ Well, I'll see you then. Well within operating hours, I promise.” 

You nod, a bit too quickly, “Sounds good.” 

He smiled and nodded again, turning and exiting. 

Your favorite coworker who had been working the register approached you, following your eyeline as it tailed him out of the cafe. 

“Planning on asking him out soon?” She poked your side. 

“No way, Nanami?” You dismissed, “Yeah right, he’s just being nice.”

“Right.” She begins, “because he comes here every week because the coffee here is just that good.” 

Her tone is cutting and sarcastic, she pushes your shoulder lightly before returning to the register, leaving you to your own thoughts. You hadn’t considered the fact that he could actually be coming here for you, of course you hoped and fantasized about exactly that, but faced with someone else’s observation you felt…strange. Embarrassed and exhilarated. You wondered what would come on Wednesday. 

“Thanks for taking me to coffee Nanami-san, You really don’t have to treat me!” Ino Takuma beamed as he walked into the cafe. 

He was beyond excited when his mentor had asked him to have a meeting today after training to discuss the upcoming recommendations. Nanami held the door for Ino as he babbled his way inside, reciting his thank yous over and over. 

“You’re welcome, Ino. I asked you here because I have something to discuss with you. Consider it an expensed lunch.” 

“Still! Thank you so much. I’m honored that you would make time for me, I know how demanding the schedule of a grade one sorcerer can be!” Ino continued, wanting to showcase how prepared he was to take on the demand himself. 

“Lower your voice,” Nanami chastized and pushed up his glasses, shielding his eyes as he scanned the population of the cafe. It must be a slow day, only three patrons to be seen. One sitting at the bar top, reading the newspaper, and a couple seated in the front corner, focused on splitting a pastry right down the center with a small butter knife. 

“Nanami!” 

Ino watched as the muscles in Nanami’s neck appeared. Not in frustration or exertion, the way he had seen so many times before, but a completely new reflex. Dare he think, excitement? He watched carefully as his mentor was urged forward by the woman behind the counter, the beautiful woman behind the counter. Nanami was quick to cross to the empty counter, Ino trotted behind with wide, watching eyes. 

“Good morning! It’s still morning isn’t it?” You smiled craning to see the wall clock. When you turned back your gaze fell to the slightly younger man behind Nanami. He was probably twenty or twenty one, his frame similarly toned and cultivated, hair shaggy and smile twinkling, “You brought a friend. Wait! Is this your brother?”

You looked closely between the two men, both handsome, both well made men with cut features and toned, imposing bodies. A similar height, a similar build. The younger man’s coloring was slightly darker; Nanami’s eyes amber, where his were deep oak, Nanami’s blonde hair contrasted against the other’s shaggy brown hair, but you could see where a family resemblance would reside. 

“No.” Nanami answers cooly, much to Takuma’s chagrin (despite its honesty), “Ino is an apprentice of mine, I’m treating him to lunch today because of his hard work.”

“Well, congratulations, it’s nice to meet you.  What can I get you both?” You smile, side glancing at Nanami. 

Ino blushes through his order, taken by how magnetic you feel when you talk to him. Privately watching how Nanami listens closely when you talk, uses his eyebrows more in his responses to you. You know his order, you sound flirtatious as you ask if he wants his “usual”, Ino sees as Nanami’s lips curl as he nods and selects two pastries from the case to accompany their lunch. Was Nanami…flirting? It seemed everytime you would turn your back, Nanami was catching his breath, and as soon as you returned he hung on your every word. Ino was beyond delighted, he had never seen this side of his mentor before. He watches as you complete the payment, fluttering your lashes and stringing your words together. When the order is complete he follows Nanami to a table in the back of the cafe.

“Ino, I wanted to ask you…”Nanami struggled with the next part of his request. He had found himself at a loss for what to do recently, feeling his standing with you plateau, “I hope you will forgive the candor of my question, In fact I- I am slightly embarrassed to even be asking you,”

“Go ahead, please. You have helped me so much, I’d be happy to try and help however I can. ” Ino had a growing suspicion as to what could have been the subject of his inquiry.  

“The…barista, what do you think of her?”

Nanami prepared himself for anything that could come next. Ino could laugh at him, Ino could laugh in pity before explaining that it was pathetic for a man of his circumstance to be entertaining the idea of a relationship. Ino could chastise him for reading into the kindness of someone who is actively working customer service. Ino could express his disappointment of not talking about the recommendations. He could call upon Nanami’s embarrassment for his own inexperience with flirtation. Nanami prepared himself to be exposed, shamed and cursed. 

“Oh! So you know she really likes you, I think she seems funny and smart. She’s really pretty, like really beautiful. I like her outfit, and hairstyle.” Ino began just as eager and delighted as he had been when Nanami invited him to lunch.  

“Wait, what do you mean she likes me?” Nanami’s brows inched together, although subtly. 

“Oh! Well, she smiles a lot when you talk and listens really carefully, and she called your name when we got here and…”

“That’s her job, she has to be polite and accommodating.”

“Sure,” Ino nodded, “But she seemed really interested in you, not so much with me. I don't know, I guess, but it just seemed like she liked you” Ino shrugged. 

Nanami was lost in thought as Ino trailed off. Could you really like him? Your encounters were so brief, he was so stilted around you, or at least he felt as much. You were accommodating and kind because you were good at your job, it was only natural that he recognized it as charm. He missed your call of his name, signaling the drinks he and Ino had ordered were ready. 

“I’ll get them!” Ino perked up, standing quickly and heading to the pick up counter. 

You pushed the two fresh drinks forward as the shaggy haired mentee approached the counter. He had the floppy stride of a well trained dog, bouncy and excited as he hurried over. 

“Thank you so much!” He beamed. 

“You’re so welcome, enjoy. Your food should be out soon!” You smiled back. 

“Hey, can I ask?” Takuma leaned in conspiratorially, “does he come in here a lot?”

You couldn't help but indulge the genuine curiosity in his voice, “A few times a week for about two months. How long have you been working with him?”

“About two years.” He answered, “I’m so glad too, he usually never takes someone under his wing like this!” 

You smiled, cocking your head to the side, “So he’s a big deal at work, huh?” 

Takuma nodded, “Oh yeah! He’s focused and hardworking, brave and careful.I hope to be half as skilled as he is one day.”

Your smile grew at the extrapolation. It was praise befitting of the man so dedicated to his work that he could be seeking out coffee at five in the morning at the end of his shift. The younger man nodded and couriered the drinks back over to the table. You thought you saw as Nanami’s eyes flashed over to you, but behind his glasses it was hard to be sure. You smiled all the same, just in case. You returned to your work, Ino and Nanami would both wave goodbye to you with mannered ‘thank you’s’ offered as they left after their meeting. You watched as Nanami held the door over his mentee’s head, ushering him out and looking back over to you. You looked away quickly, and when you looked back he was gone. Your lower lip settled in between your teeth, replaying your memories of him in a flash before returning your attention to the steaming milk whirlpooling in front of you.  

You didn’t see Nanami for three weeks after that. 

You were today’s closer, your shift already dragging far into the afternoon. The morning crowd was tired, desperate, and reliant upon memorized routine above all else. Simple orders, simpler conversations. The evening crowd was far more likely to experiment. They are unpredictable en masse in a way that your morning regulars were not, making it so that you had to be that much more attentive when discussing menu options. Not only that but you also had to clean and secure all parts of the cafe before you could leave. On a usual day this is fine, although a complicated and oft tedious dance, but today it is much worse. Your usual array of alternative milks were on backorder meaning you were running out more and more with every order, with now replacements on their way. Also dwindling in stock were multiple menu items, including both pastries and lunch menu components, flavors, even lids for to-go cups had started to wane faster than anticipated. You recalled a conversation with your manager that ended dismissively about the coming weekend and how poorly you were prepared to do your job effectively. Your concerns had been barely acknowledged at the best and outright discarded at worst. Over the course of the last three hours you had had eyes rolled at you six times, had to remake a drink four times, been asked why your stock was so low ten times, and had to give one full refund to a customer who took it upon himself to reprimand you personally for the lack of options available to him. You tried your best to push through but the orders kept coming, and the wait times grew longer and longer, you weren’t making nearly enough progress. 

“Switch out?” Your coworker offers to you marking your wide, scared eyes gazing at the growing number of tickets. 

“Please.” You nod turning to operate the register instead. 

They nodded taking over at the espresso machine from where you left off. You approached the counter just as a woman stepped forward from the line. 

“Hello! What can I get you?” You smiled brightly. 

“Well, I don't know yet…”She was already frustrated, “I’ll tell you in a minute.” 

She turned her gaze upward to the menu board above your head, rolling her eyes on the ascent. It shouldn’t have, but it brought a hot burn of tears to your eyes. Sure, she was being condescending, but you dealt with far more pointed forms of belittlement on a daily basis. Somehow though, after the day that had already transpired, you had to choke back tears. You felt yourself shut down in order to keep from crying at such a stupid remark. You took her order without incident, asking only the necessary questions and issuing the payment efficiently. Upon retrieval of her receipt she left the counter. The tears were threatening to spill over as you sighed in relief. In an example of the universe’s kindness you saw your coworker approach, indicating to you that it was time for you to take your lunch break. You passed her quickly as she entered the floor, grabbing your bag and rushing out the front door in embarrassment. Or rather, you tried to rush out of the door. As you scrambled toward the threshold you collided with something hard, it felt like you hadn't bothered to open the door at all, study and unmoving. You bounced back, feeling a rattle in your bones as you tried to gather your senses enough to turn your head upwards. Two strong hands gripped you in place. You gazed upon the face above you, looking down with wide, green guarded eyes. 

“Are you alright? I didn’t see you, I’m sorry.” Nanami’s hands moved up your arms to your shoulders. 

You haven't ever seen his face so worried before, eyes carefully studying you, brows furrowed, hands hard on your arms, “I--i--Its been..”

Nanami sees the tears well up in your eyes, brimming and nearly spilling over, “Were you going outside? May I join you?”

You nod and he ushers you out quickly, holding the door before following in stride as you hurry down the sidewalk. He watched as you pulled a pack of cigarettes from your purse, drawing one forward, long and thin, and continued to dig inside the bag, growing more and more frustrated. Nanami pulled his own lighter from his jacket pocket, a pristine silver zippo with the characters of his name engraved at the base. He lit the end for you and watched you savor the first drag. Your eyes closed and your lips plump and pursed around the filter. When you opened your eyes and exhaled you offered him a cigarette from your pack, and he took one. Smoking the same cigarette as you made him feel close to you somehow. He lit it as you plopped down on a smoker’s bench two and a half blocks from the cafe. 

“Bad day?” Nanami asked after a beat or two.  

You groaned in response, resting your head on your hands and your elbows on your knees, cigarette dangling dangerously close to your hair. He nodded, suddenly feeling awkward and ill prepared to comfort you. You had probably left the cafe to be free of customers and work, and here he was following you. Shame rose in his chest as he realized his imposition. All the same, Nanami stood next to you, smoking silently, trying to offer you the space you needed, space he had already intruded on. The wind rushed past the both of you, the coming fall air carrying the cigarette smoke away. It seemed to trigger the raising of your head.

“Do you like your job, Nanami?” 

He was surprised. Not by the suddenness of the question but by the sincerity in your voice, and the defeated look on your face. The tops of your cheeks were wet, your eyelashes damp, the usual casual smile you carried now replaced by a deep frown. The sight tore at his heart, until now you had been a consistent source of joy for him, he never expected to see you in such duress. 

“No. I don’t.” He confessed, it was always relieving to be honest about his distaste for sorcery, he made no effort to conceal how he felt, but when he has to do it every day he finds himself pretending occasionally. 

You nod, understandingly, taking the cigarette between your lips and sliding over, for him to plop into the seat next to you and continue, “Well I love mine. I know it’s silly, it's just coffee. But, I don't know, I like seeing people everyday, talking to them, providing something they can enjoy and indulge in, no matter what happens over the course of the day. Something they can rely on for comfort.”

You shook your head, already starting to chuckle at yourself for how stupid you must sound. Before that feeling could take root, Nanami cut in. 

“It’s important. It isn’t silly at all. These people come to you to provide them with a service they can not provide themselves, something you have spent years perfecting for their benefit. You sustain people with energy, you allow them space to rest and stay cool, you offer a moment of kind conversation in a time when people feel more lonely than ever.” His voice stayed even, almost stern, as he spoke to you. 

You watched his face as he spoke, similarly stoic. He was being overgenerous, far too complimentary of your work in something as brief as a coffee stop. You knew this to be the case, it had to be. But, his words echoed the same romanticism that filled you when you had first started in coffee, you did like the idea of providing for people, you liked having a specialized skill, you genuinely cared when your customers engaged you in conversations or told you their problems, human connection was the main draw of the job. And it was why you loved it. You were able to connect with hundreds of people a day, if only for a moment. 

“What happened today?” He inquired further. 

You sighed, “Not any one thing. Just one of the bad ones. I hate disappointing people, and I disappointed a lot of people today.”

“So what?” He responds flatly, taking a drag of the loaner cigarette.  

You’re shocked, a confused laugh leaves you. 

“So what.” He repeats, “if they are disappointed, then they can get over it. Surely the next time they stop in you will take the great care of them that they are used to.” 

His voice is sincere; as though it’s the most obvious, logical line of thinking available. You wanted to defend how bad you felt, to slip into your habits of valuing the negative outlook rather than compartmentalizing. But you can’t, looking at Nanami, with his kind, intelligent eyes looking right back into yours, you’re struck by the heart of his words. You nod reflectively, considering all the situations today where you could feel the disappointment coming from a customer; each situation would be easily fixable when more resources or corresponding orders came in. You had plenty of experience diffusing situations like this, you would be able to fix them all eventually, and anything you didn’t get the chance to — was out of your hands. 

“Thank you.”

 Nanami watched as the smile returned to your face. Your eyes had dried themselves, your back stood straighter as you finished your cigarette and extinguished against the sole of your shoe. He had smoked much slower than you, he wasn't a frequent smoker anymore, an old habit that lingered from needing quick getaways from his former office, so the nicotine buzz was starting to swirl his head, he noticed a small tremor in one of his legs that he recognized as his limit. 

You tucked the butt of your cigarette into a small outer pocket of your purse. Nanami followed your motions, extinguishing his own and handing the double checked no longer burning butt to you. You tucked it inside the same pocket, holding them there to dispose of properly later in a real trashcan. Smoking was bad enough for the environment, you didn’t need to add litter to the equation. Some silly, overly whimsical part of you treasured the idea that the remnants of his mouth and the remnants of yours were in there together, getting cozy. 

He shared that thought with you, although privately. 

“How long is your break?” Nanami asked, wanting to scrub his mind of the thoughts of the indirect kiss between the two of you occurring in your pocket. 

You reached across his lap and took his left wrist in your hand pulling it over to you. His heart stopped, he didn’t dare breathe, immediately conscious of the smoke on his breath wouldn’t disturb you. You had never touched him before, excluding the collision that brought the two of you out here. Nearly three months of over the counter exchanges without a single instance of contact, broken here, with your warm, soft fingers touching the thin skin on the inside of his wrist. He watched your face as you looked at his watch. 

“About ten minutes left.” You sighed. 

You looked back at him, your hold on his arm had brought him closer, much closer than expected. You still held his wrist, his face couldn’t have been further than eight inches, you had never been at eye level with him before. You could see his face so much closer and clearer, you could see the pores on his cheeks, the discoloration under his eyes from overwork and lack of sleep, you thought you saw some deeper discoloration around the side of his eye, but brushed it off as shadow. Your eyes flicked down to his lips, thin and shapely, a full bottom lip with a soft rosy hue. When you met his eyes again you could see through his glasses, seeing that his eyes were trained on you  just as intently. You felt that familiar stirring and buckling in your chest that had become so synonymous with your feelings of excitement around him. He was so close, so focused on you, you felt intimidated, and observed. You released his rest, back into his lap. 

“Thank you, Nanami. I needed that.” You sighed, looking away from him, trying to break the growing tension between the two of you, “I’m sorry you had to see me like that, I promise I'm usually better at this.” 

Nanami shook his head, similarly thankful for the severing of intensity, “don’t apologize, I understand. I’m glad I was here.” 

You took in the sidewalk and the street, the cool early fall air around the pair of you, the weather was perfect. Beautiful sun, chilly air, the smell of coming evening rain. You stood, brushing the back of your pants off for any eager fallen leaves that you had been previously too frustrated to notice. He stood quickly to meet you, adjusting his coat and sleeves to busy himself. You two took another moment to adjust yourselves before locking eyes again. You offered him the kind smile he knew so well. 

“Are you ready to head back?” Nanami cleared his throat. 

You nodded, feeling much more grounded, and grateful for this moment of respite. You walked back together, not needing to exchange words, just simply walking side by side the all too short two blocks back to the cafe’s door. Once you reached the door Nanami stalled. Something in him changed, an aura you hadn’t seen in him before 

“Would it be okay if I came by later today?” He asked, not quite looking at you, but over you and into the cafe behind you. 

“S-sure, of course.” You felt yourself shrinking, the embarrassment of how vulnerable you had just been creeping in in a vignette, shading the moment of connection you had just shared with him. 

Nanami gave a clipped nod, looking around once more before turning his gaze down to you. 

“Okay. I’ll be back here tonight. Take care of yourself.” He nodded once more before turning and heading back down the street, 

“W-wait, did you want your coffee?” Your sentence began as a call but faded into a whisper as you realized he wouldn’t be turning around. 

You watched his silhouette descend the path, turning and disappearing into the city. You weren’t sure exactly what happened, what you had done or what had called him away. But before you could dwell too long you heard the voice of your coworker calling to you, asking you for help back on the cafe floor. You looked once more down the path that Nanami had left down, before returning inside to finish your shift. 

The rest of the day passed as well as it could have, and regardless of how grueling it was moment to moment, the time passed anyway, and once the cafe had cleared itself and the hiss of the open sign was made silent, you found yourself alone. The bakers had completed their prep bakes for the next day, allowing them to cool in the large industrial freezers overnight, the other baristas had swept and mopped before clocking out and returning to their own homes. You stood behind the counter waiting on the espresso machine to complete its last cleaning cycle. Nanami hadn’t come back as he said he would, and while you were alone you didn’t feel like hiding your disappointment. You scanned through what you could have done wrong, everything you said, everything you did, suddenly all felt wrong and overly familiar. You’d scared him off. But scared him off from what, you couldn’t figure out. According to your coworkers, he was flirting, and you knew you were, at least to some degree, however fruitless you considered your efforts. 

You were too bogged down by your spiral to hear the shlucking sound coming from the back. The espresso machine's routine of purging and clicking was too loud for you to hear the store room push itself open. It wasn't until you heard the broken, amalgamated voice calling out that you felt the fear slash itself up your spine. You couldn’t decipher the words, they were too garbled, like that of someone underwater trying to speak to you through an AM radio. The pitch was too high for your ears, and too low to even exist. You stood completely still, no one else should have been able to enter the building, the only unlocked door was the front, large lights and plenty of people making it safer than exiting out the back. Some instinct in you was holding you completely still, restricting you from being able to turn around and see where the sound has come from. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t move, the only thing you could think about was your coworker set to open tomorrow, and what ungodly nightmare was she going to have to walk into. Tears fell from your eyes, the wetness of your cheeks snapping you out of your paralysis, your body shaking as you started to turn and face what was coming. 

“Don’t turn around.” Nanami stood in front of you, his usual tan jacket removed, moving his sleeves up his arms, his gaze locked behind you. 

Your breath found you again, chin quivering with fear and relief at the sight of him. 

“Close your eyes.” Nanami’s voice was darker than you had ever heard before.He looked completely different, intense and large and imposing, if you didn’t know him you could have been scared of him, “Trust me, you’ll be fine. Close your eyes.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, immediately missing the comfort the sight of him provided. You heard a thunk, a grunt, a slash, and then nothing. 

“You can open your eyes.” Nanami’s voice came from right behind you. 

You turned around quickly, seeing him standing over a pile of knocked over cups and pitchers, holding what looked like a butcher’s knife wrapped in cow print fabric. His yellow tie that you had grown to admire as a symbol of him was loose around his neck. He was still looking down at the ground. Once he seemed satisfied with whatever it was, he looked back at you. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, sheathing the paddle looking blade on the brown leather holster on his back, you had never noticed it before. 

“What the fuck was that?” You couldn't help the tears that fell from you as your body started to shake harder and harder. 

Nanami put his hands on your shoulders, his grip tight and soothing, “I’m sorry you had to see that. But it’s gone now, I assure you.”

You couldn’t help yourself, you started sobbing falling against his chest. He held you tight against him, letting your tears soil his shirt and your body tremble in his arms as he held you firm. You wept until openly, feeling no shame, there was no room for shame with all the fear and adrenaline vacating your body. He made no move to quiet you or tell you to calm yourself, he simply held you close. 

“Can I take you home?” Nanami asked, his voice resounding from his chest where your ear was pressed. 

You nodded. 

Nanami had started sensing the build up of cursed energy on his last visit before bringing Ino. It was faint enough that he couldn’t place if it was coming within or from the general street. On his subsequent visits he noticed it growing exponentially, building on itself in a way that was inching toward concern. His selfish motives for bringing Ino to the cafe were overshadowed when he picked up on it as well. Confirming Nanami’s suspicion that it was an internal problem, and one growing more and more dangerous by the day. Earlier today was the first time he had noticed its effect in action. You tear stained face, the disgruntled patrons, you fevered, overworked companions. He knew he had to intervene. He had come after closing hoping you had already gone home, hoping to take care of it quietly before it became a larger problem. It wasn’t until he saw you terror-stricken with a low level curse emerging from behind that he conceded he would have to tell you. He didn’t want you to have to experience any of this, you shouldn’t have to face the reality of this world, and the monster’s within it. You deserved the same ignorance as everyone else outside of sorcery. But it was no longer his decision. 

He walked you home, which wasn’t far from the cafe, and up to your apartment. You unlocked the door and stepped inside, he hesitated briefly before following you. These aren't the circumstances he had anticipated for his first foray into your living space, but again, it was out of his hands. 

“You said ‘it's gone now’, what is ‘it’?” You asked as you locked the front door behind you, check the peephole for anything out of order. 

Nanami sighed, “It’s…a lot to explain, most of it would be incomprehensible right away. It would take me hours to make it all make sense. And that isn't a slight against you, it’s because I know you're smart that it would only take that long.”  

Your voice was returning fully, the fear having left itself behind at the cafe, “Nanami, you knew. You knew that whatever it was was there, you…killed it? Drove it away? Would it show up here? Do I need to be worried about this thing coming here?”

“No.” he was quick to shake his head, “It’s dead. Well it wasn’t ever really alive, not really. But you don’t have anything to worry about, anymore. I’m sorry it got that bad.”

“Please just tell me.” You groan, “Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

And he believed you. So he told you. 

It took nearly four hours, one and a half pots of coffee, and a few crudely drawn diagrams on the back of a take out menu that he drew. But eventually you understood that what had attempted to attack you was a curse, and that curse had likely been building over a series of months or maybe years before it reached this form. He was a sorcerer, a kind of soldier tasked with the exorcisms of these curses in an intensely guarded organization dedicated to keeping curses secret and the public safe. The young man, Ino, who he had brought with him is a sorcerer as well. He explained the rank of threat, and how yours was incredibly low for any skilled sorcerer, which apparently, he was. He showed you the blade he kept on his back, the one that had been hiding just below his jacket for the entire time you had known him. He explained to you how he was able to kill the curse in a single strike, how his technique worked. When his explanations had been completed you felt strange. Stuffed to the brim with new information, most of which terrified you and made you feel powerless against a threat you could have gone through your whole life without knowing about.  But a part of you felt good, knowing there were people kind enough and skilled enough to make this an insular problem, one that did not necessitate the knowledge of the general populace out of sheer humility. 

“I understand that this must be a lot for you to take in. But, I promise you that what attacked you tonight will never show its face again. I can give you a talisman, something to keep in the cafe to keep it safe from future curse development.” Nanami had taken off his coat and harness, his blade lay on your coffee table alongside his glasses and your purse. 

“Was that why you left so quickly today?” It may have been a silly thing to inquire about in the wake of so much life changing information, but you couldn’t hold your tongue. 

Nanami nodded, “I had to run back to my..boss basically, and get a formal assignment to exorcise the curse. I’m sorry I left. I didn’t want to. When we got back the energy was too strong, I knew I would only have a few hours.” His apologized, setting his nearly complete coffee cup on the table, “But I had to make sure that nothing happened to you,” after a beat he adds, “or your coworkers.”

“So you, you saved my life tonight.” You whispered. 

The front pieces of his hair had fallen out of their usual styling, they now hung in front of his face. Through the sandy strands you met his eyes, looking tired and locked with yours. The faint bruise on his brow suddenly made sense, the bags under his eyes, the serious demeanor, it was all recontextualized. You didn;t stop your hand when it traced your middle finger over a small, well healed scar along his eyebrow. 

“I wouldn’t say that.” Nanami conceded, usually not one to accept praise for his work. 

“Nanami you saved me.” Your hand cupped his cheek, “I would be a mess for someone to clean up tomorrow morning if you weren’t there.” 

He was speechless, your hand on his cheek was warming as heat crept to his face. Your eyes were so big and beautiful, your lips looked so soft as they shaped your gratitude. 

“Thank you.” 

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Was all he could choke out. 

You had read about this. After near death experiences, or other instances of extreme adrenaline, the body could have all kinds of after effects; nausea, sleeplessness, exhaustion, arousal. The arousal coursing through your body was a natural side effect of what you had just been through, and what was right in front of you. He had been there watching over you, keeping you safe from threats you couldn't even imagine. Every day he returned was another day that he was caring for you, protecting you, trending to you. His skin was smooth and hot under your touch, the hair of his sideburns was soft under your fingers, it felt like every nerve in your body was turned up to a thousand. The quick hatching chrysalis was nearing its emergence, it was so still as you leaned closer to him. 

“You must be tired. I can go, if you need to sleep.” His resolve was faltering. 

“If you aren’t busy, I know it’s been a long night,” Your hand traveled down to his shoulder, the barrier of his shirt helping him regain some sense, “I think I would sleep better if you were here. Just for the night?”

The cock of your head and the flutter of your lashes made your offer clear. Nanami’s cheeks became more pronounced as he tried to swallow down the burning desire to have you right here. But he, too, had read about the aphrodisiac effects of adrenaline. He knew that there was a chance that your gratitude and your exhilaration were converging inside of you to make you feel like you wanted him, when you were actually just happy to be alive. 

He put his hand on your arm, “Sometimes, when someone has been through something like what you have, they may look for…other forms of excitement to help with the adrenaline dump…it’s very natural..”

The back of his neck was hot, his shirt felt too tight, his pants felt much too tight, his mouth was so wet he risked drooling right in front of you. But he couldn’t take advantage of this moment, it would be wrong. He liked you. Ino claims you liked him, but he doesn’t know for sure, it would be deplorable for him to act on this offer without knowing if this is something your right mind wanted. 

“I’ve read that before.” You nodded, looking at his hand wrapped around your forearm, he was so big, “I’ve never experienced a curse before.”

He nodded along with you, still watching your mouth move. 

“But, I’ve experienced attraction before, Nanami. I know what it feels like to want someone. And I want you.” You told him, pulling your legs up under you on the couch.  

A small shake from his head, “It’s just psychosomatic. You’ll feel better in the morning, or after a shower. It’s the adrenaline.”

“I don’t think I had excess adrenaline the morning you came in first. Or the next time, or earlier today outside. Nanami,” You dipped your head down to look up at his, “Nanami, please. I’ve been too scared to say anything, I didn’t want to seem unprofessional or scare you. But, I like you. I really like you, I think you're gorgeous and kind and funny. You’re brave and smooth and a little weird, but I like that.”

He scanned your face for signs of lying, twitching eyes, avoidant eye contact, swallowing, anything that he could rely on to keep himself from getting exactly what he wanted. But he found nothing. Nothing to let him off the hook of being honest about how he felt. 

He let out a heavy breath, his hand on your arm growing tighter, “I fell for you the moment I walked in. Everytime I went back I went for you. To see you. I think you’re so beautiful and charming. I don’t want this to be wrong.”

You shook your head, your hands returning to his face, the one he had on you now moved to the back of your couch, “It’s not wrong. Nothing about this is wrong.”

He grips your hands, looking you right in the eye. You see his pupils have grown wide, you can feel the sweat on his palms, mixing with your own on the backs of your hands. He held you right in front of him, looking over every inch of your face. You were gorgeous, His heart pounded in his chest, like it was reaching for you. He let out a grateful breath. 

“Thank god.” He couldn’t wait any longer, and neither could you. 

The both of you leaned forward in the same moment, meeting at the perfect center of both pursuits to press your lips together. The chrysalis inside of you hatched, the beating of your heart, the flapping of wet, quickly drying butterfly’s wings. He touched your neck, downy hairs at the nape of your neck soft under his fingers. He was quick to pull you by the waist into his lap. His tongue was smooth on its entrance into your mouth, tasting the underside of your own, the backs of your teeth, the coffee you had shared. The kiss was heated and smooth, personal styles learning to blend together. Your arms wrapped around his neck, hands in his hair, over the back of the couch, anywhere to offer you stability. Nanami’s hands gripped your waist, sliding under your shirt and feeling the first of the body he dreamed of. Kicking himself in the privacy of his own home for thinking of you so disrespectfully. But in your home, on your couch, with you in his lap, he wanted to worship you. The hands he had cursed for pleasuring himself to the thought of you were not reverent as they felt your hips, your ribs, the sensitive flank inbetween. He could feel your shiver as he made his way back and forth, you were sensitive there. He was toying with you, relishing in your hissing inhales, and your breathy moans. But you were never one to be toyed with, you tested a personal theory of yours, one you had formulated with your hand in your panties on nights when sleep wouldnt come and you looked to your own devices to tucker yourself out. You scratched your nails across the cropped undercut at the back of his neck, gripping and tugging at the hair. Nanami let out a strangled moan underneath you, his hips bucking into yours, and his hands gripping you tighter. Just as soon as his mouth left yours, he found your exposed neck, kissing, practically lapping at the skin there. This pulled the more embarrassingly pitched moans out of you. High whimpers as you keened against him in his lap. 

“You’re so beautiful, you’re so good, fuck.” He peppered his praise in with kisses along the column of your throat. 

You haven't heard him swear before now, the words fell from him so easily. He was clearly practiced, it made you wonder what other sides of him came easily that you hadn’t yet seen. 

“Yu-you are,” You could feel your brain covering itself in honey, the saccharine sweet feeling of him under your, on you, all around you, consuming your ability to think. 

You felt him smile against your skin, pulling off of your neck and sliding his hand around to the back of your neck. 

“I-I don’t do this very often, it’s been a while, please don't tease me too much.” This was the softest you had ever heard him, his voice was breathy and it almost came out as a beg. 

You looked down at him sweetly, his hair mussed across his forehead, buttons of his shirt seeming to have undone themselves, tie falling to either side, his chest flush in splotchy red patches. He looked stunning, the light of your living room you had previously considered unflattering, was golden hour. 

“We can take it slow, if you want.” You offered, wanting to accommodate him, the way he had already for you. 

He shook his head leaning forward and readjusting you on his lap. When he settled you back down you realized the reason for his frantic reaction. The very big reason. The pants tenting, hot, probably leaking, reason. 

You nodded, quick to understand. You leaned forward to kiss him again, making sure to grind yourself down in his lap before pulling off completely and grabbing his hand, tugging him behind you. Nanami felt drunk following you to your room, found himself almost stumbling as he unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. He crossed the threshold to your bedroom where you had already pulled your work pants off, standing in only a thin tank top and your panties. You approached him with mock disappointment and your bottom lip between your teeth. You moved your hands over his chest.

“I wanted to be the one to take off your shirt,” You cooed. 

Nanami’s hand found the lapels, “I can button it again if y--”

You giggled, “Next time.”

Before pulling him into another deep kiss by his neck. His hands found your hips, eager to slip one finger under the top of the waistband and feel the hidden skin. You slid his shirt down his shoulders, the tie falling along with it. Your lips smacked together over and over as you both tried to touch as much skin as was available to you. You pawed at the hard lines of his back, feeling ridges and valleys and muscles. He, similarly, was quick to find the hemline of your shirt and slip underneath. You both let out a haughty moan as he cupped one of your bare breasts. IF you had had your eyes open, you would have seen his eyes roll back in his head as he slipped his tongue between your lips once again, squeezing the tit in his hand. You freed your arms and pulled the shirt over your head as he undid his belt. 

“You’re so gorgeous.” Nanami gazed over you. 

“You’re gorgeous.” You echoed, hopping on to the bed and watching him pull his grey slacks down his legs. He wore a pair of navy colored briefs that hid almost nothing, especially the nearly black splotch of precum that had accumulated. 

“Fuck, you’re hot.” You marveled at him, his body, the evidence of the effect you had on him, his face, him, all of him. 

Nanami sucked in a quick breath, fighting his embarrassment by looking at the hungry look on your face. You were nearly naked on the bed, waiting for him. You had only your panties on, your chest exposed, nipples once puffy now hardening with excitement. Eyes trained on him, mouth panting and swollen from his kiss. He could see a small bruise forming on the side of your neck, he would apologize in the morning, flowers or breakfast, but for now it was all his to admire. He joined you on the bed, climbing over your body to do so. His torso caged you in completely, wide shoulders shadowing over your frame. He pulled you by your thighs. Taking time to stretch your legs and admire the muscle and skin and fat that made up your gorgeous form. He seemed impressed with your flexibility, at least the little click of his tongue indicated as much. His clothed cock pressed right against your panty clad pussy, both hot and begging to be aligned. He pressed his hips a little as he brought one of your ankles to his lips, kissing the ball, then up the calf. You moaned at the wet kisses, relishing in his affection. He looped his thumbs into your panties, releasing your leg so he could pull them from your legs. Nanami caught your eyes before spreading your legs in front of him, you gave him the go ahead and he sank before you, aligning himself to see your pussy spread open for him. If he wasn't drunk earlier, he was now. Sticky, dripping, gorgeous. He couldn’t hold back, he licked a long, wet stripe up you slit, tasting his first of you. 

Your body was on fire, completely electrified, and weightless underwater all at once. His tongue made its home between your labia, sharp nose being buried in your mound. Your back arched off the bed as a wanton moan left your wet mouth. Your hand flew to his hair, finding a grip for you to cling to. Your other hand held your breast. Nanami’s tongue flicked itself up and down, kissing your clit, drawing out more and more arousal from your dripping hole. 

“Fuck, you taste so good.” He says, soft enough to be just for himself. 

You can't respond, only mewl as he sucks at your clit. You release your breast and grip on to the headboard, accidentally pulling yourself away from him. Nanami grabs your hips and pulls you back onto his tongue. 

“Come back.” He mumbles, again, almost to himself. 

“N-Nanami, i-..”You are cut off by another harsh suck to your clit, his tongue circling inhumanly. 

You were so close, it usually would have taken you much longer to orgasm but the excitement coursing through your body and his skill had turned you to keening, pathetic putty in mere minutes. He flicks his golden eyes up at you, watching you start to unravel. He knows what to do, or rather what not to do, he carries on exactly as he has been, every flick of his tongue pulling you down further. It became too much, and you bubbled over. You cried out in white out pleasure, pulling on his hair. Your legs clapped around his head. He drank up everything you gave, your moans upsettingly muffled by your flesh over his ears. 

When he felt you relax again, he pulled his mouth from you, a thick, gossamer string of spit and cum connecting from his lips to your pussy. The hand from his hair fell to his face, pairing nicely with his blown out eyes and fucked out expression. He caught his breath while looking over your body, your full breasts, your tummy rising and falling as you caught your own. He moved over you once again, kissing you deeply. He tasted like you, his tongue was heavy and hot in your mouth, his hands were fast to rid himself of his underwear and pull your legs over his bare hips. You could feel the length of his cock pressing against your throbbing, overly sensitive cunt. Your outer lips, now much more sensitive from Nanami’s expert work. 

“You’re amazing.” You gasped out against his mouth. 

He hummed pridefully, kissing you again. He grinds his hips hard, hoping to prepare you further for what's to come, but he miscalculated, a rare occurrence. Both of you let out long, glorious moans as he pushes himself inside of you, all the way to the hilt. Nanami shudders briefly before gaining his strength back, you dig your nails into his back, but he cant feel anything except the pulsing of your pussy around him. He may never be able to think again, not of anything other than having the hot velvet muscle between your legs tight around his cock. You whimper at his penetration, feeling him press the deepest parts of you. Tip of his cock kissing your cervix, just as passionately as he kissed you. He was not a small man by any measure, and the entirety of his cock probably made up close to eight inches, with the girth to burn as it stretched you open. 

Which he did again, catching your panting lips on his own, quick kisses between caught breaths as you both adjusted to the feeling of being joined together. He pulled his hips back, pulling a shaky moan from you, and pushed in once more. Somehow he reached even deeper than he did before, his cock arching up to press that beautiful, spongy spot inside of you, the spot that made you clit throb and your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Look at me, baby.” Nanami pleaded, “I wanna see your pretty eyes.”

Your eyes flutter open, a drunken droop to the lids as he thrusted again. He found an even, well paced rhythm. Kissing you occasionally, when one of you wasn't gasping out in bliss. Your hand moves up one of his arms, gripping his taut bicep and his sinewy shoulders. He pressed his forehead to yours, looking down your body to see his pelvis meeting yours. His cock throbbed inside of you at the sight, in turn making your walls grip him tighter. You pull him back to your lips, wanting to be consumed by every sensation he could give you. His hand by your head grips the pillow hard, ripening a hole in the casing. You move your hand up to meet his, holding it and interlocking your fingers. His grip softened instantly, becoming as sweet and generous as ever part of him had been already. You felt him twitch inside of you once more. Followed by a choked moan. 

“I-i, baby I,” Nanami struggled to get his words out as he drove himself further and further into you. 

“Please, Nanami, please.”You held him closer with your thighs, purring out his name. 

“I didn't put on a condom,” He struggled to collect himself, he knew he could be responsible with you, “I should..”

“Dont pull out,” You whine, sounding more pitiful than you intended, “please Nanami, cum inside me, please.” 

He finds your eyes quickly, his heart melting at your big watery pleading eyes. You swollen lips, you drooping, drooling mouth. How could he deny you? Nanami made quick work of chasing his own climax, thrusting harder, fucking faster, holding your body still underneath him. You feel every thrust in your throat. His pace quickens and his thrust become shallow and choppy. Nanami lets out a delicious, languid moan as he cums. You can feel his thick cock depositing load after load of cum into you. An elongated, uninterrupted E sound. He holds you at your hip and when your hand still holds his. His face is now buried in your neck. Your legs are slung over his hips along with your other hand over his shoulder. He thrusts twice more before stalling, having emptied himself, but not yet gathered the desire to pull out. When he finally comes to, he releases your tender hip and pushes himself up from above you, looking down at you. You pant up at him, taking in a post-coital vision of him you never expected, and he, the same. He flushed, sweaty, messy, drool and cum drying on his chin, hairstyle ruined by your grasping. You imagine you looked just as disheveled by half as gorgeous. Nanami, would of course, disagree. He kisses you again, soft and deep. When he finally pulls himself out of you he takes the spot to the right of you in bed. You lie together, allowing your bodies to return to a blissful equilibrium. You roll onto your side, moving a hand over his stomach. 

“So you’ll stay the night?” you gave a sly smile. 

And he laughed. Truly laughed, before kissing you again deeply. 

And he did stay the night. After a quick shower the pair of you returned to bed and slept soundly in each other's arms until he got up before the sunrise to make it back to his apartment with enough time to change before work. He kissed you goodbye and assured you he would come by the cafe. And he did, he met you right at the end of your shift, a bundle of flowers in one arm. He invited you to a home cooked dinner at his place. You were surprised at his determination to make you an established couple, but not even close to put off by it. 

“I know it’s a little unorthodox, but I am about to start a new assignment and it’s shaping up to be a lot of work. I may be indisposed for a few days. I’d really like to see you again before then” He explained as he walked you home. 

“I’d love to,” You giggled, kissing his cheek and admiring the bouquet he had picked out, “Where are you going for your assignment?”

“Shibuya.”

OOOOOOOOOOO SURPISE, anyway hope yall like it and came good. Love you all, thanks for 150 followers. Also im on my barista high horse a little, but just be normal and nice to people, and if you'd tip a bartender, tip a barista. it's the same job. I hope this was worth the wait. I have work in fiv ehours. -Doodle.

[thetiredstuff]

This is just mostly a handy little post for me but I asked people to rec me some destiel AU best friends to lovers fics and this is what I got:

Recs from ltleflrt:

okay, cupid. by orange_crushed On Air by wincechesters Just Turn Around and Go by @porcupine-girl Version 2.0 by Elizabeth1985 aka @cocklesheadboop Ignore the Butterflies: Best Friend Advice from Dean Winchester by impatient14 A Match Made (and Misunderstood) by surlybobbies More Views. More Money. by herbivoredinosaur Remember When by VioletHaze aka @scones-and-texting-and-murder When In Vegas by Dmsilvis & TobytheWise

Recs from doctorprofessorsong

One of my favorite fics of all time is Evangelist by @valleydean. It's really enemies to friends to lovers but the enemies part becomes friends pretty quickly because they are deeply obsessed with each other. One of the classics if you haven't read it is To Build a Home. Childhood friends who broke up and find themselves back in each other’s life. It is very angsty but they have a lifelong friendship so you get a lot of childhood and teenage friendship moments. If I may self recommend, I just wrote Can't Fight the Moonlight in which they are in this post canon partnership and both want to add sexual intimacy but the partnership is soft so you get some really fun platonic intimacy. It's not AU, obviously, but may have something of what you want. Seraph by @dothraki-shieldmaiden is a superhero au where they are friends and roommates to lovers. It has great world building. More than Kisses by @friendofcarlotta is a friends to lovers epistolary romance. Dean and Cas are pen pals and they share an absolutely gorgeous emotional intimacy. Tiamatv has a few that fit the bill. I'm gonna mention Marchen because I love the world built in that one. Dean Winchester is a prince locked in a tower. Feel free to also skim my fic recs. @riversrecs

Recs by castiellesbian:

tiamatv's "It's the End of the World (As We Know It)" is a friends to enemies to lovers if that counts? They were childhood best friends in that one "A Midterms Night's Dream" by Englandwouldfall is an au where they're roommates (oh my god they were rommates). "In Some Sacred Place" by schmerzerling is a good one where they're friends throughout most of the fic, but it's kind of depressing overall

Recs from porcupine-girl

Just Turn Around And Go (roommates-slash-best-friends): https://archiveofourown.org/works/4228830 Like four weddings and a funeral but without the funeral (Sam POV, Sam is clueless and doesn’t realize they’re together): https://archiveofourown.org/works/6225625 Go Down With This Ship (online fandom besties, don’t realize they know each other irl): https://archiveofourown.org/works/8023642

Rec by trampledundercas

#i thought of ‘ready to fall’ by lemonsorbae on ao3

A whole bunch of recs from dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you

A Tale of Two Tropes by Amelia_Clark (E, 7k) As You Walk On By by MercyBraavos (E, 23k) Are We Any Different? by LeviathanBlue, SerpentCountess (T, 41k) More Than Kisses by  FriendofCarlotta  (E, 29k) things i knew when i was young by stormwarnings  (T, 16k) Alright  by  turningthepages  (T, 46k) To Build a Home by intothesilentland  (M, 383k) When In Vegas  by  Dmsilvis, TobytheWise (E, 16k) The Ocean Between Us  by  noxsoulmate  (E, 27k) Room for Two (The Mattress AU) by  almaasi  (E, 14k) Honey-Baked  by  mishaminion69, sydkn3e (E,  89k) The Ones We Choose  by  lightmyway  (E, 82k)

EDIT: MORE:

Recs by bexfangirlforlife:

The Graveyard Shift by riseofthefallenone. PurgatoryJar Evangelist by embrancsxx0 Stay with me Sweetheart by Mandalarose We are what we pretend we are by tricia_16 Tricks of the Trade by Trenchcoat_Impala

Recs by impaledbeetle:

okay, cupid by orange_crushed Seek to Know You Better (E) by ahurston Après (E) by Imogenbynight Here's a couple aus that i really really enjoy that aren't necessarily best friends to lovers: spirit of the west (M) by teen_dean Parachutes (E) by chaoticdean (this one literally changed my life it is so good) And This, Your Living Kiss (M) by opal_bullets (again, this is life changing) Roll With It (E) by saltnhalo (this is a The Proposal (movie) au) Shut Up (Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is) (E) by kototyph

Recs by butch--dean:

spirit of the west by teen-dean (everyone should read this 90's horse girl dean au where he befriends cas, a local veterinarian) I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart) by unicornpoe (I am a sucker for all "cas using dean as a vessel" fics) Après by imogenbynight (surely everyone has read this? dean and cas in paris what more can you ask for) under the midnight sun by northernsparrow (dean is the caretaker of a research station in the arctic and cas is a mysterious bird researcher) (I also rec you can keep holding on by this author but be warned that it is very grief-driven - but it is an in-depth study of the way they care for each other) though the course may change by imogenbynight (fake dating AU at a couple's retreat - another one that everyone has probably read but is so worth mentioning in case you haven't) there's no cell service in the afterlife by screamsintothesun (cas gets back from the empty and his phone blows up with dean's voicemails & texts) Gold in the Edges of Our Vision by SewingNatural (dean and cas eat peaches together on a hot summer evening. The writing style on this one is really really lovely) these are just a few from my bookmarks but also there is a really good rec list here & here (this one has a link to a specific friends to lovers list here) that I refer to often when looking for new fics/authors to dig through!!

Recs by mercurialkitty for some reason tumblr won't allow me to add them to my post so just click on their name to go to their post!

These are all the ones i've gotten up til now but will def edit if I get any more. If you see this post and think of a Destiel AU best friend to lovers fic that isn't on here or just a Destiel AU (no abo) fic that isn't on here: PLEASEEEEEE GIVE ME ALL THE DESTIEL AU FIC RECS (no abo)

Also i didn't tag the people who recommended it cuz I don't wanna annoy them but I linked back to all of their original posts or comments!

A hugeeeeeeee thank you to everyone who replied to my annoying messages for fic recs cuz I really really appreciate it. thank you all so so so much!!!!

[nickel156]

It's funny to me that E/riel shippers want the next book to be all about forbidden romance, a blood duel, Gwyn being a lightsinger, and a rejected bond. Have they forgotten that SJM is a fantasy author? While ACOTAR blends romance and fantasy, SJM’s plots are never solely focused on romance. If the book revolves entirely around a rejected bond and forbidden romance, where’s the fantasy element? What's the main plot? Is Elain supposed to be a spy and a fighter too? A book covering all of that would need to be over 800 pages. I really don’t see how that would work.

It's truly hilarious that anyone thinks there's going to be a forbidden romance.

Where Elain and Az are just sneaking around.

WITH A MIND READER 🤡

Also the fae have a gross sense of smell, so they'd all know if they were together.

Plus the added trauma of a rejected bond. Like they're just gonna have a quick sit down coffee conversation and break their sacred bond over scones 🥸

A blood duel would not happen because Lucien actually respects his mate and her wishes. I simply don't see him being the kinda male to do such a thing.

Gwyn and her backstory has the potential for a large story arc. Sjm put a lot of research into the little mermaid for her retelling.

And for all of that to take place in another female's book?! I think not!

KoA was so damn long, I wanted to quit the book. I don't need another one, tyvm.

I distinctly remember hearing chapter 97. And thinking, oh my God. How long is this book?! Just get on with it!!

[spinallyspiraling]

In truth, the kingdom of heaven is within man far more completely than he realizes; and as heaven is in his own nature, so earth and hell are also in his constitution, for the superior worlds circumscribe and include the inferior, and earth and hell are included within the nature of heaven. As Pythagoras would say; "The superior and inferior worlds are included within the area of the Supreme Sphere." So all the kingdoms of earthly nature, the minerals, the planes, the animals, and his own human spirit are included within his physical body, and he himself is the appointed guardian spirit of the mineral kingdom and he is responsible co the creative hierarchs for the destiny of the scones and metals." ~ Manly P. Hall, Melchizedek and the Mystery of Fire

Jacob's Ladder / 33 segments of the Spinal Column, 33 Degrees of Freemasonry, 33 years the life of Christ.

The Physiological, anatomical, Chemical nature of Man and his spirituality. The microcosm within the macrocosm. To understand the huge and lovely Universe and all its secrets, all you need to understand is the mini-Youniverse. Your body, and its Spiritual secrets, encoded in the Bible, described in the Vedas and most of the other sacred books. The agenda though, of each institution which gives you this same ancient wisdom, is different for each.

You ascend the 33 steps one by one. One (ARC) degree at a time. At the top, the (33rd degree) you reach the domed temple of initiation. This is like the Kundalini energy rising up through the 7 energy chakra-vortexes (Menorah) in your spine.

[shadowtriovibes]

break a sweat: prologue

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Chapter Rating: G [Fic Rating: E]

Word Count: 1.3K

Summary: Sebastian Sallow was seven years old the first time he rode a broom.

i'm officially launching my rewrite of the "break a sweat" series as a multichapter fic! please enjoy this new prologue, which sees sebastian receive his first broom.

AO3 permalink: break a sweat

November 7, 1881

Sebastian Sallow was seven years old the first time he rode a broom.

He awoke on the morning of his birthday as he did most days, tucked inside the cozy warmth of the Sallow family’s coastal cottage.

November had arrived in the Highlands, which surely meant that winter was just around the corner. But that morning, the sun shone brightly over the rocky shoreline and the powerful gusts of wind with which Sebastian had become intimately familiar seemed to be holding themselves back.

It was almost as if the wind itself knew that this day was special – that one young boy would soon be meeting one of the greatest loves of his life: flight.

—

Albert and Margeret Sallow had left London with their young children in 1877. The family settled near the Firth of Forth in Ivanbreck, a small wizarding hamlet just outside the Muggle town of Gullane and not more than thirty kilometers from Edinburgh.

Four years later, the children had grown into curious, restless young things whose minds seemed to wander past the walls of their family home and out across the hills and valleys that lined the winding road toward Hogwarts.

Still without their own magic, the twins spent most of their days at their mother’s knee reading books well beyond their years about the study of magic. Sebastian and Anne were both desperate to start school, much to their parents’ bittersweet delight.

When Sebastian blinked awake the morning of this seventh birthday, the first thing he thought to himself was Only four more birthdays until Hogwarts.

Sebastian and Anne tumbled downstairs like a pair of drunken nifflers, slipping and sliding in their thick woolen socks toward the kitchen, where the smell of rich breakfast foods called them in like a siren’s song.

“Mummy!” Anne called out happily, skidding into her mother’s open arms. “It’s our birthday!”

Sebastian nearly collided with the dining table, only to be spared when his father snagged him by the sleeve of his pajamas and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Happy birthday, son,” Albert murmured into his sleep-mussed hair.

Then his mother hugged him as well, pressing seven kisses to each of Sebastian’s cheeks while he giggled delightedly.

“You two are getting so big,” Margeret crooned. “Seven years old, I can hardly believe it!”

“Go on, Maggie, let the boy breathe,” Albert laughed.

His mother had prepared a special breakfast with all the family’s favorites: thick-sliced bacon, oat porridge, juicy sausages, toasted oat bread, and, perhaps most importantly to Sebastian, a basket full of warm tattie scones.

“Make sure you have plenty to eat,” Albert said, winking across the table at his wife. “You’ll be needing your energy this afternoon.”

Sebastian squirmed with excitement throughout the meal as he wondered what his parents had in store for him and his sister. Birthdays were sacred to the Sallow family, and he’d never had one that was anything less than spectacular. (Of course, he could only remember a handful of birthdays at such a tender age).

Would they be going into the city to see the Muggle museum? Or perhaps Diagon Alley to get some new books… Maybe, he thought, just maybe they’ll get to see Hogwarts.

But instead of instructing the twins to get dressed and put on their traveling cloaks, Albert and Margeret simply took their children’s hands and guided them to the sitting room.

Resting on the low table by the fireplace were two long, thin packages wrapped in brown parcel paper and tied up with string. Each package had a small tag hanging from the narrower end: one marked with an S and the other with an A.

Sebastian felt his fingertips start to tingle as he tiptoed toward the table. Is this magic? he wondered to himself. Is it happening now?

“Go on, sweetheart,” Margeret whispered to Anne, who clung tightly to her skirts. “That one’s for you, do you see the ‘A’ on it?”

While Anne gingerly untied the wrapping strings and rolled back the paper, Sebastian eagerly tore into his gift with no thought of preserving its wrappings.

Inside was a riding broom. Shorter than a standard model from the sporting goods shop on the high street, this broom was evidently made for children who had yet to receive their magic. It had shiny metal footrests at the bottom and handles at the top with leather grips. Etched into the top of the broom handle were the words Oakshaft ‘81 – Junior.

Sebastian’s fingers trembled as he stroked his fingers down the length of the polished handle. He could have sworn he saw a handful of sparks flicker from his hands as he lifted the broom, but as soon as he noticed them they dissipated into thin air.

“What do you think, my boy?” Albert asked him proudly.

Sebastian hardly knew what to think. Brooms like this didn’t come cheap, much less two. His parents had always seemed comfortable as young professors, studying magical theory and offering instruction to a handful of local wizarding families with homeschooled children. But a gift like this…

“Thank you,” Sebastian whispered, blinking back tears. “I love it, thank you.”

With a proud smile, Albert scooped up a teary-eyed Anne and asked, “What do you think? Should we take them out for a spin?”

The rest of the afternoon, Margeret watched from the ground with a book in her lap, watching with equal parts maternal joy and anxious fear as Albert circled the twins on his dependable Smethwyck Spinner from the 1870s. To begin, he taught Sebastian and Anne how to kick off from the ground and ascend into the air.

“That’s it!” Albert roared as Sebastian floated fifty feet into the air and spun in a wobbly circle. “Excellent work, Sebastian!”

Anne took a bit more coaching to eventually lift her feet off the ground, but by the time she was giggling nervously and taking slow laps around the cottage, Sebastian had discovered the aerodynamics of forward flight.

“Not too fast, darling!” Margeret called out from below. “Oh, please do be careful…”

Sebastian didn’t touch the ground again for hours. By the time he eventually landed, panting and windswept and deliriously happy, it was nearly time for dinner.

“I take it you like your gift, hmm?” Albert asked with a knowing grin as he helped Sebastian store his broom in the small shed behind the house.

“I love it!” Sebastian exclaimed. “I’m gonna fly every day, and I’m going to be so good – maybe I’ll even play Quidditch!”

“Maybe you will,” Albert said indulgently.

“Dad, did you play Quidditch while you were in school?” he asked curiously.

Albert shook his head. “No, I wasn’t very good back then. I suppose I’m a fair flyer now, but the rest of it – the athleticism – that wasn’t for me. Nearly always had my nose buried in a book back then.”

“You still do!” Sebastian pointed out, and Albert laughed, tossing his head back.

“Aye, I do,” he agreed. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I suppose. But if Quidditch makes you happy, you ought to go after it. There are plenty of things you can’t learn in books, after all.”

—

Sebastian and Anne were orphaned in the spring of 1882. In the end, Sebastian learned that perhaps there was a downside to having your nose buried in a book all day.

Feldcroft was a smaller hamlet than Ivanbreck. Uncle Solomon was less patient than Albert and Margeret, and he hardly had any books in his rather unadorned cottage.

…Sebastian didn’t want to be a professor anymore.

But he still had his broom.

By the time his eighth birthday arrived, Sebastian had already decided that he’d do whatever it took to be the best damn Quidditch player Hogwarts has ever seen.

[heyjude19-writing]

hello!

I'm the anon that asked this Q: https://www.tumblr.com/heyjude19-writing/738695824048095232/i-really-enjoyed-that-u-made-a-drarry-starter?source=share And am never more grateful that you made this. Thank you.

Is there a way we can look forward to taking u up on the tag, "dozens" of other fic recs to extend the reading guide even more? I love the way you choose fics. They speak to my soul! Thank you.

hello anon!

Ask and you shall receive:

The Healer's Guide to Transfiguration The Gala Variations on Intimacy Sweeter the Second Time Around Amateur Cartography On the Perils of Free Advice Little Bites Operation Get Draco Laid Legacy of Fred Weasley I’m Never Lonely When I’m With You Bond Tango Hot for Teacher A Darker Blue Love in Other Places Scone Strategies Signed and Sealed Courting Customs Most Sacred Thirteenth Night The Art of Seating Etiquette Universal Truths I Am Jack’s Broken Heart Merry Dépaysement 

[deadpanwalking]

A Cooking Egg by T.S. Eliot

    En l'an trentiesme de mon aage     Que toutes mes hontes j'ay beues

Pipit sate upright in her chair Some distance from where I was sitting; Views of the Oxford Colleges Lay on the table, with the knitting.

Daguerreotypes and silhouettes, Her grandfather and great great aunts, Supported on the mantelpiece An Invitation to the Dance.

. . . . .

I shall not want Honour in Heaven For I shall meet Sir Philip Sidney And have talk with Coriolanus And other heroes of that kidney.

I shall not want Capital in Heaven For I shall meet Sir Alfred Mond: We two shall lie together, lapt In a five per cent Exchequer Bond.

I shall not want Society in Heaven, Lucretia Borgia shall be my Bride; Her anecdotes will be more amusing Than Pipit's experience could provide.

I shall not want Pipit in Heaven: Madame Blavatsky will instruct me In the Seven Sacred Trances; Piccarda de Donati will conduct me …

. . . . .

But where is the penny world I bought To eat with Pipit behind the screen? The red-eyed scavengers are creeping From Kentish Town and Golder's Green;

Where are the eagles and the trumpets?

Buried beneath some snow-deep Alps. Over buttered scones and crumpets Weeping, weeping multitudes Droop in a hundred A.B.C.'s.

[phdmama]

On a Wednesday, In a Café

(For @phoebe-delia who puts up with me and lets me pop in to ask things like WHO INSULTED TAYLOR SWIFT’S SENSE OF HUMOR?? This is just a tiny little vignette inspired by Start Again. I think this also fits for @drarrymicrofic and the prompt “hope” - in a way.)

The café is weirdly busy for a Wednesday morning. 

Draco is moderately disgruntled. He’s used to having the place to himself — his Wednesday mornings are sacred. It’s the one day of the week he can sleep in, as he doesn’t have to be at work until after lunch, and he loves coming to this small, cosy coffee shop. He always gets the same thing, the largest café au lait they serve with two shots of vanilla and whatever savoury scone they’re baking that day, and he always sits in the same place, one of the big comfy overstuffed armchairs in the corner by the fireplace. He reads whatever journal he’s brought along and he eats his scone and he drinks his coffee and it’s just. Really nice. That’s all. 

Okay, at least today, no one is in the other armchair, so when Draco sits down and pulls out his journal, maybe it’s a little louder than usual, but things are still fine in his world. He’s managed to tune out the sounds of the people around him, reduced them to background white noise as he reads up on the latest innovations in cauldron technology (spoiler alert: InstantCauldron™ is a misnomer because it does not, in fact, do all the prep work for you even if it does brew in less than half the time a standard cauldron takes, so there’s really nothing Instant about it, not that Draco is bitter). In any case, he’s focused on what he’s reading which is why at first he doesn’t really register the words that he’s hearing.

“Did you hear about…”

“I read that…”

“Did you know he…”

And Draco doesn’t even have to look up to know what’s happened.

Potter is here.

Draco slowly lowers the journal to his lap and learns that he is, in fact correct. Standing at the counter in a pair of ratty jeans and a giant hoodie is one Harry James Potter. His hair is ridiculous and his trainers have seen far, far better days, but he is, as always, infuriatingly handsome.

Except for the tension that Draco can read clearly in his shoulders, the way his eyebrows furrow in a frown, and the way he’s glaring suspiciously at the cashier. He has his reasons, Draco knows.

Late last year, some eight months ago now, Potter had come home from a mission to find his live-in lover in bed with not one, but two young men. Not just any young men, it turned out, but two young men who were high on the Ministry’s Most Wanted List.  Potter had arrested them all on the spot (Draco has to give him credit for a cool head under what had to have been rather stressful conditions). When the now-ex was out on bail, the first thing he’d done was go to the press and air all of Potter’s… Well, not dirty laundry exactly. None of what Potter gets up to in his own bed chamber is particularly sordid or shocking (some of it sounds like great fun, actually) but it is, well, private. 

And privacy is a luxury Harry James Potter has had very little of. 

Potter accepts his drink, and turns around, eyes scanning the room as if searching for the knife he knows is aimed at his back, but then he catches sight of Draco and something very strange happens.

Potter’s shoulders drop, the lines in his forehead smooth out, and then, shockingly, he smiles.

Draco blinks in confusion but no, his eyes are not deceiving him. Potter is raising his cup to his lips and taking a sip, never breaking eye contact, and then, after he swallows, that smile still playing about his beautiful lips, he starts walking toward Draco.

“Anyone sitting here?” His voice is low as he nods towards the empty chair next to Draco and for a moment, all Draco can do is stare at him, dumbfounded.

“Malfoy?” Potter prompts and Draco shakes his head.

“Oh, sorry. No. No one’s sitting there,” and to Draco’s deep astonishment, Potter sits down.

Potter leans back, cross one leg over his threadbare knee, and takes another sip.

“So,” he says, “how have you been?”

[meowww-ffxiv]

(day to day activities in the Pentaghast Household)

[7am]

Typically, a servant would wake Theodore with a knock on his door and then enter with a washbasin filled with warm water and a clean towel.

Mordred did it, nowadays. He did not knock. He did not even announce himself, actually, until he had set the washbasin down on one side of the room. Then he would come to Theodore's bedside and simply sit down.

The dip of the bed was enough for a seasoned warrior of Theodore's caliber to immediately open his eyes. There would be half a second where he just squinted up at the fluffy head and the two-colored eyes hovering above him, before he sighed.

Theodore always sighed when woken in the morning, like the very thought of another day was troublesome.

Mordred's ears flicked. He giggled, in the way he usually did when Theodore had done something adorable.

"Tea or coffee?" Mordred asked.

"Tea," Theodore said.

"Wrong, it's coffee."

Theodore sighed again, much like a put-upon dog, and rolled over for his sacred five-more-minutes while Mordred left the room and returned ten generous minutes later with both coffee and tea, and fresh-baked rolanberry scones.

[8am]

Mordred did always help Theodore dress.

Well, usually he helped him don and doff his armor, like a squire would their knight. Except Mordred was the one who forged the armor as well, so it was more akin to being wreathed and crowned by your liege.

That was a non sequitur. Being dressed by Mordred was not the same as being armored by him. Mordred moved Theodore with such efficiency that it bordered ruthlessness, pulling his clothes on and lacing them up and fastening buttons like... Well, like a tailor.

Theodore was fully awake by this point -- he had been fully awake since Mordred sat on the bed -- but he was still not feeling like doing anything more than the bare minimum, so he endured this process with demureness. While working, Mordred laid out the plans for the day as such:

"Lunch with a bunch of Gridanian artisans looking to establish a branch of Fen-Yll Fineries here, twelve-sharp. Your sister will visit at two-sharp to discuss converting an old weaponry warehouse into an extra dock for airship cargo. At around seven, you have evening tea with those three dowagers who were always asking after your heir."

"Hm." Theodore squinted at his opened wardrobe. "Let us go with green for the dominant color today, if I will be wearing this to lunch. It will make the Gridanians more at home, and hopefully put them at ease. I should change before talking to Meledia, though."

"Or she'll laugh at you, right," Mordred snorted. He lifted two tunics and a coat out of the wardrobe, and these went on Theodore quickly, too.

When he was done, Mordred hopped back with hands on hips to examine Theodore. He, too, took a chance to examine his companion...

Not that it was necessary. Mordred tended to dress like a popoto sack only when he did not want to be seen. Here, in Theodore's home that they now shared, where he was both master and ever welcomed, Mordred dressed to match his partner -- Thanalan embroideries upon tunics with Coerthan silhouettes, his sash elegantly slanted yet fastened with a polished silver buckle that bore the crest of Theodore's house. His sleeves were wide but precisely short of his hands, and they bore rings interlinked with chains.

Few Miqo'tes truly resided in Ishgard, still, even with the influx of skybuilders from all over following the Firmament's restoration. And Mordred Surana belonged too much to the desert to ever be called Ishgardian. Yet he had integrated himself with them all the same.

He tapped a polished, dainty toe-boot on the floor, tail swishing. "Very good," Mordred declared.

With a gesture, he ushered Theodore out the door of his comfortable quarters and into the day ahead filled with tasks and talks.

And somehow, like witchcraft, Theodore would not even miss that bed until that night.

[10am]

When Theodore's father was still alive to plague these halls, the strict schedules he set for the servants were meant to punish them for tardiness and slacking.

Mordred had banished him and his shade so thoroughly from Theodore's house that not even the servants seemed to remember what it was like to be late.

But they did not run late, that was the thing. If Master Surana descended to the kitchen at six-sharp and found that Theodore's morning meal had not yet been made, he would sigh a certain way and do it himself, and it would make the kitchen girls blush redder than if they were caught reading porn in the middle of mass.

In this way, Mordred ran the house around his own punctuality. And he was punctual. When the grandfather clock struck ten, it was time for the servants' children's first lessons to be over. Mordred would have sent out maybe three to five missives by then, and he would join them in the drawing room for their break.

There were six children total, of varying ages. They were taught their basic letters and arithmetic, but beyond that their interests varied wildly. One girl had a love for music. One wanted to be a botanist. Another dreamed of opening her own bakery. A boy of eleven wanted nothing more than to travel to Dravania and rear chocobos. The other two boys wanted to be adventurers.

The eleven-year-old was the oldest. The youngest was the six-year-old who wanted her own bakery. Mordred sat in the drawing room with them, kneading colored dough, and asked each, "What did those old folks tell ya today?"

Repeating learned information was teaching, in a way, Mordred once told Theodore. If the children could learn to relay the information to him -- that was, teach -- they could retain it better. That was why he always did it immediately after their first lesson, which was usually their most important one and the one they were least interested in.

So the children took turns, and told him. And they kneaded colored dough, and then Mordred baked them into cookies that might not always taste good because the children were the ones who picked color combinations. This was alright, since anything that didn't taste good would be fed to strays in the streets. Or Mordred composted them in that big bin in the Firmament.

They had an indoors garden, a converted chapel with excellent water and air flow. They grew lettuces and carrots and even a hardy strand of wheat there. The children took turns taking care of the garden. This was usually the last thing they did together before their two-hour break ended and Mordred said goodbye to them, so they could go to their next lesson.

The garden was Mordred's making. A miniature sun was held in a statue of a woman's uplifted hands that provided light for the herbs and vegetables. Sometimes, when the children had gone, Mordred would sit at the statue's foot, close his eyes, and bask in that light.

Today, Theodore joined him. He carefully spread out a blanket before settling down by his side. Almost instinctively, Mordred's tail curled around him.

"All of the children are very excited to meet dragons," Mordred said eventually. "Ysayle..."

Theodore looked up at the face of the statue, at its gentle smile and flowing hair. Though it was unpainted, he knew it to be silvery-white.

[12pm]

The head chef decided the meal plans with Mordred and Theodore's mutual input, but specialty meals like the one served at lunch with the Fen-Yll representatives were made by Mordred himself.

Since the weather had been too poor lately for airships, their visitors had arrived by foot. Theodore had acquired the news the day before, when a missive arrived from Whitebrim from them apologizing for the delay.

Therefore, a feast fit for a rich man of Gridania awaited them in Theodore's dining room: mushroom cream soup, steaming eft-tail quiches, Mun-Tuy tonics served in elegant brass cups that showcased Mordred's skill in metalwork, pickles made with vegetables from their indoors garden, miniature royal maple cakes, and fresh fruits expertly cut by the head chef, arrayed in flattering platters.

"Gridanians do not usually cut their fruits," Theodore said.

Mordred looked at him. "But they're not in Gridania. They're in Ishgard. And Ishgardians always array their platters," he answered.

Therein, Theodore supposed, lie Mordred's opinion about the matter their guests were here to discuss.

"You do not wish to invest in their venture."

"I don't," Mordred agreed after a moment. "Fen-Yll is a luxury brand known well in the Black Shroud and in Gridania. If they take roots here, they'll have access to the bounty from the Diadem and Dravania. The Twelveswood is notoriously anti-poaching, so this is their alternative to access those resources. I don't want them cornering an underdeveloped Ishgardian market. Instead, I'd rather they set up shop on the terms that they will take apprentices. So long as their students are Ishgardians themselves, the populace's mastery will be developed and the skill remains within the country."

Hence the dishes set up the way that they were: a collection of Gridanian fares that showed their visitors Mordred and Theodore's understanding of their country, their culture. But the most iconic and homely of those dishes -- fruits, vegetables -- purposefully prepared Ishgardian-style. Foods pleasing and familiar in their core, but in those preparations reminding the guests that they were guests, and should not overstep their bounds.

"You are perhaps wasting your time on people who might be without the acumen to understand your meaning," Theodore said eventually, though he did not bother to hide the mild awe he felt.

Mordred shook his head. "They don't need to understand it. Food is taste and presentation. It's just to underscore our discussion."

The visitors were understandably disappointed to hear that they would not receive funding from the Warriors of Light, though the good food and Theodore's gentle persuasion seemed to leave them open to the idea of setting up a "workshop" -- somewhere they could make and sell Fen-Yll brand leatherworks in Ishgard.

"Who taught you such mindfulness over a meal?" Theodore asked afterwards.

"A woman who ran a brothel," Mordred replied. "If all goes well, she's lining herself up for a Syndicate seat."

[2pm]

Meledia was Theodore's twin sister, older by two minutes. The way she acted, though, you would think she was older than him by four years.

"Aren't you a little under-dressed to receive guests?" she asked when she walked into the side-lounge and found Theodore half-sprawled on the couch with a book in his lap.

"Are we role-playing the Holy See at mass, that you deride me for immodesty because I fail to have an overcoat on?" Theodore replied. But he did put both feet on the floor, set the book aside, and come to take her gloves.

She used the opportunity to kiss him on the cheek. Theodore grimaced, leaning away -- he always hated it when she doted on him like he was a child -- but Meledia slapped his arm with her glove and then tossed them on the coffee table.

"Mordred told me you are here for very serious business, not to bully me."

Meledia rolled her eyes. "I can do both at the same time, Little Brother. I haven't seen you in two weeks. Can't a lady enjoy herself a little?"

"The lady does have a habit of taking the whole arm when she is offered a thumb," Theodore answered. They took their seats on the couch, however, and he smiled -- not tiredly, not politely. He just smiled.

Meledia smiled too, one very like him and in that likeness was their mutual relief.

They had been separated for years. They had spent many of those years not even knowing if the other was dead or alive. Even now it seemed so much a miracle that Meledia couldn't help but lay a hand on Theodore's arm, and he clasped his hand over hers.

A moment later, they let go. And then it was to business--

A knock on the door. Mordred's voice drifted in. "Tea!"

Theodore opened it to find that Mordred was holding an entire tray of more than just tea. It was an entire feast in miniature of sweets and fruits, and yes, a teapot and two cups.

Meledia jumped to her feet and helped him carry it all in. She picked up her gloves and shoved them into her dress's pockets like they weren't made from expensive silk, so he'd have somewhere to put the tray down.

"You're eating this good everyday?" Meledia whistled at Theodore -- a rather unladylike, roguish habit she'd picked up from her years in Limsa Lominsa. "Goodness, let me borrow your head chef some time."

"Would you ever give him back? Unlikely. So, no," Theodore answered.

"Oh, I made these," Mordred said. "Sent chef on vacation. He deserves it."

Meledia clapped her hands in very sincere glee. "Ooh, you did?! I get to taste the famous Warrior of Light's pastries? Thank you, Mordred!"

Mordred's ears flicked. His cheeks darkened, and he looked away. But the excited back-and-forth of his tail betrayed him.

Meledia's lips trembled. She was trying very hard, Theodore knew, not to squeal and do something regretful like hugging Mordred. She had never met Miqo'tes until she came to Limsa Lominsa, and Theodore had heard that Meledia found their semblance to cats to be incredibly cute.

Mordred did genuinely look cute when he had no idea what to do with a compliment that he liked. If they were in private, Theodore would be kneading his ears by now.

Alas, they were not. So, loudly clearing his throat, Theodore poured the tea and doled out the pastries.

They did talk business afterwards, but not for very long. Soon the conversation drifted towards what each had done in the weeks they didn't see one another. And then that drifted into anecdotes of their past that Meledia gleefully shared with Mordred while Theodore vehemently edited her line-by-line.

There was not a drop of wine or anything alcoholic in anything Mordred brought, yet by the time Meledia left, red-faced from laughing, Theodore was warm all over. Warm from the core of his soul.

[7pm]

"Arrange some kind of accident for those dowagers. I do not want to deal with them," Theodore said.

He was face-down on the couch. This was not unusual in and of itself. He might even be inspired to move from this position provided there was a worthy emergency.

Unfortunately for all, he was lying on top of something very fluffy and precious.

Mordred's tail twitching tickled Theodore's waist, and his voice sounded very squeezed and muffled when he replied, "We're not hiring hits on old women just 'cos you're not feeling like talking to them."

Theodore performed a maneuver. It was a bit like if a dumpling wrapper gained sentience and encircled its filling. Or like a jellyfish devouring prey, he supposed. Either way, Mister Meow was certainly more forgiving than a real cat, because aside from two or three squeaky complaints, he sullenly let Theodore do as he liked.

"Send them away," Theodore muttered, burying his face in a velvety tail. "Else I shall arrange the accidents myself."

"Let go of me then."

"Send one of your familiars or voidsents."

Theodore could feel Mordred rolling his eyes, but he heard a snap of fingers and a zing of aether gathering and dissipating.

And, indeed, no dowager came to bother them that night.

[these-detestable-hands]

Didn't get tagged in this but I saw someone else do it and it looked fun so uh

Rules: make a poll with five of your all time favourite characters and then tag five people to do the same. See which character is everyone's favourite!

And I'm tagging:

@crabknee @vinegar-on-main @beantothemax @ancestorlegacy @stars-and-loops

Also put them in order of when I started liking them just cause :3

[scotianostra]

May 10 1307 saw The Battle of Loudon Hill, near Darvel.

Ask any bairn, or even adult, what Robert the Bruce’s most important military victory was, and they will, of course, answer the Battle of Bannockburn. This battle was his most impressive and one of the most significant battles in that it finally drove the English from Scotland and opened the north of England to Scottish raids which would eventually culminate, in 1328, to England accepting Scottish sovereignty. However, Bruce’s most important victory, arguably, was at the Battle of Loudoun Hill in Ayrshire. This was the Bruce’s first major victory and the turning point in his fortunes, it is by no coincidence that David Mackenzie chos Loudon Hill for the main battle and climax in last years, Outlaw King. Bruce’s army, mainly on foot, were outnumbered perhaps by as much as six to one, by a force mainly consisting of cavalry.

In 1306, Robert the Bruce began to make moves against Edward. He murdered John ‘the Red’ Comyn , his main rival for the crown of Scotland within sacred ground in the Greyfriars Kirk, Dumfries. He immediately moved to have himself inaugurated as King of Scots at Scone in March 1306. An enraged Edward declared that no quarter would be given to Bruce or to those who supported him and dispatched Sir Aymer de Valence, the Earl of Pembroke with an army to deal with Bruce’s rebellion.

Aymer de Valence had experience against the Scots, but mixed fortunes, beaten soundly at what has been described as a skirmish at Blackearnside in Fife, against Wallace, he returned to fight The Bruce in 1306 at Methven and was victorious, so must have been super confident coming up against the Scottish King, the English King labelled an Outlaw. He was also the brother in law of the murdered John Comyn, so it was a wee bit personal.

Bruce also lost a battle shortly after Methven against fellow Scots, The MacDougalls, who were also related to Comyn, after this he retreated to lick his wounds, and supposedly watch a spider refuse to give up when having trouble spinning a web, giving him the inspiration and the story behind the phrase, if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.

Bruce returned to the fray in early 1307 at Turnberry. He now switched to using guerrilla tactics; they had worked for William Wallace before the disaster at Falkirk, the first action was ambushing the English at Glentrool in April before meeting the enemy in pitched battle at Loudoun Hill.

Bruce had learned his lesson from his defeat at Methven. There he had been unprepared and ambushed after taking Valence at his word. Bruce had been prepared to observe the gentlemanly conventions of feudal warfare and invited Valence to leave the walls of Perth and join Bruce in battle. Valence declined and the king, perhaps naively believing that the refusal was a sign of weakness, retired only a few miles, to nearby Methven where he made camp for the night. Before dawn on 19th June 1306, Bruce’s army was taken by surprise and almost destroyed.

The lesson had been learned. Chivalry was dead.

Nearly one year later, Robert the Bruce and Aymer de Valence would again face one another. The outcome would be very different. Valence challenged Bruce to fight after the Scot’s success at Glen Trool. Bruce accepted the challenge and the battle was fought on the plains under Loudoun Hill on 10th May 1307.

Bruce took the opportunity of the challenge to prepare his ground, cutting three ditches inward from the edge of the bogs, leaving 90 metre gaps in the centre which were to be guarded by dismounted pikemen, while soil embankments with ditches protected the flanks. This forced the English to approach through the narrow front created by their opponents, restricting their movements and deployment capabilities effectively neutralising their numerical advantage. It was reminiscent of William Wallace’s great victory at the Battle of Stirling Bridge, with the same filtering effect at work.

King Robert gathered his small force of 500 to 600 men and awaited the approach of Valence’s 3,000 strong army. The English force was split into two squadrons as they advanced on the smaller army. The Scots used their spears to great effect against both men and horses, leaving many dead and wounded. The English assault began to collapse. The Scots seeing their enemy begin to falter, charged their opponents who broke and fled the field. However, the Scottish army would have been unable to chase down their routing opponents for long due to them being on foot and not horseback.

None of the sources for the battle provide any indication of the losses suffered by either force, but we can safely assume that the number of casualties would have been lower than other medieval battlefields due to the lack of any meaningful pursuit of the routed English army. Wiki merely says Scots losses were low, and English “in the hundreds” The numbers are unimportant, it drew a line in the sand Scotland and King Robert was ready to take on the might of their English neighbours.

Edward decided to head North himself and sort out “those troublesome Scots” but at 68 he was an old man by medieval standards, and a bout of dysentery that a younger man may have fought and won put an end to him, he died within sight of Scotland at Burgh-by-Sands, near Carlisle. The invasion fizzled out.

The Bruce spent the next 7 years taking castle after castle and laying them to waste so they could no longer garrison enemy troops, until by 1314 all that was left was Stirling Castle, and then there was the battle I spoke about at the start of the post, our greatest victory against The English perhaps, but really the Battle of Loudon Hill showed the Auld Enemy “Nemo me impune lacessit” ‘Wha daur meddle wi’ me"

The photos are my own from the Commemorations I have attended there, the structure you see is called Spirit of Scotland and actually represents William Wallace, the 5 meter high frame with Sir William cut out in the middle. The event is hosted every year by The Society of William Wallace.

[fluttereyes]

Scottish Halloween

Stuff you may or may not want to know.

Did you know that Halloween originated in Ireland and came across to Scotland very early on? It is, of course, named for the shortened All Hallows Eve, and was originally the festival of Samhain where the veil between worlds was lifted and spirits could roam the mortal realm.

How do we do Halloween in Scotland?

Well Trick or Treat is a new thing brought to the world from American movies and TV shows but long before that and still for many in Scotland we have our own traditions. Trick or Treat is known as 'guising' (disGuising), where we dress up and go around the neighbours doors looking for sweets or other Halloween goodies. Most often it was fruit and nuts we were given, not sweets. The art of guising is to confuse spirits and allow children to 'blend in'. The poem we recited on a door being opened was "The Sky is blue, the grass is green, anything for my Halloween" At this we were instructed to work for our goodies, we had to sing, dance, tell a joke or say a poem, so rather than evil tricks for sweets we entertained for them. If we knew the neighbours well or if it was family we could go inside where they would have apples bobbing in a bucket and you could 'dook' for an apple, hands behind backs. This is a reference to the Druids seeing apples as sacred. More often than not they had strings with bread hanging from them covered in treacle and you were to take a bite (hands behind your back), obviously you were in a terrible state by the time you got home, (it's supposed to be scones but I was raised in a poor area). We carved turnips (neeps) and never pumpkins, which are easy, turnips are extremely difficult to carve, neep lanterns are also known as 'tattie bogles'.

You can throw a nut on the bonfire and if it quietly fizzles you will have a relaxed life, if it pops and cracks you need to change something in your life.

Hanging scissors on the back of your door can keep out evil spirits. Quite often bonfires are lit to keep the spirits away or the fire of a candle inside a neep lantern. Some in Scotland and Ireland still celebrate actual Samhain.

In the 1700's the eating of pork was banned under the witchcraft laws, so often people serve up sausage rolls or other pork pastries, I think it was around the 1950's before the law was repealed.

Just some rubbish to fill your brain with from an old Scottish woman.

[docholligay]

Do you have a dish or recipe you're very traditional about? Like "it was good 200 years ago, it's good now, no notes"

OHHHHH man. This question is actually harder to answer than you'd think!

Because CONCEPTUALLY, no. I am a person who believes in, mostly, culinary boundaries being pushed, being fucked around with. I am not one of those people who believes that for something to be adapted is to be inferior or fake--I think American Chinese food, Tex-Mex, and British Indian food are all FUCKING BANGERS, they just happen to be different from what I'm going to call their "source cuisines" (I am not even going to go into how saying they aren't 'real X food' erases the efforts of immigrants in a different country, and also ends up flattening, in the above examples, EXTREMELY fucking diverse countries. Like I am not super up on China or India in a culinary sense, only in a passing one, but I do in fact know quite a bit about Mexico and uh there are absolutely places in Mexico that use dairy jesus fucking christ) but they are heroes in their own right.

I also think that tweaking something comes from a place of interest, usually, and desire to make something interesting, or to make something work, or to push your neighbors and family. So, like, I know everyone lost their minds about GBB's smores incident, but, even as a protector of the idea that American Culinary Traditions are Valuable, I think it's really annoyingly precious to be like "A digestive is nothing like a graham cracker" oh ffs shut up I have told people in the Uk to sub in digestives a zillion fucking times they are like 2% different you are being a fucking weirdo. (In the same way the internet LOSES IT when I say most scones are essentially US cream biscuits, but if I put them both on a plate and said "One of these is a scone recipe and one is a cream biscuit" most people couldn't do better than 50/50 quit being stupid who do you think BROUGHT IT OVER HERE)

So, again: Conceptually I do not necessarily believe in culinary sacred cows.

CONCEPTUALLY.

In the real world, in which I am forced to square with my belief structure and its consequences, I was once served an Old Fashioned in Scotland with SELTZER WATER in it, and despite Glasgow being King of the Scottish Mainland I GASPED AUDIBLY but the woman at my hotel (that I highly recommend to anyone staying in Glasgow, which I actually preferred to Edinburgh) was so kind and sweet and delivered it to my room so I DRANK IT, and I have since discovered that there are some people who actually think this is a correct way to make an Old Fashioned and unless you are using the rotgut they made in the South during prohibition you have no business and no right and I hope you know you are unraveling the fabric of society.

[firewoodfigs]

27 looks like flowers and takeout. Dandelions springing in familiar fields, seeds floating without aim. Disillusionment. Slow breakfasts. Disgruntled cats, expression mirroring our own. Indolent strolls down the River Seine, and then anxious walks around the same old insipid backyard. Suburban dreams. Capitalism. A bank account that’s finally, finally no longer in deficit. Random, ill-timed bouts of flu, each one worse than the other. The occasional indulgence—a trinket on flash sale, pretty crockery. Scones and berries. Dining and imbibing, and then balancing it with leftovers for the rest of the week. Merlot, and whiskey shots. Taylor Swift. Old friends gathering around new hangouts. Estranged relatives. Expectant, selfish ones, too, making the same appearances and demands. Dents in memory, and capital. Debt and bills and taxes. Farces and new faces. Eclipses, eclipsing fretful worries of yesterdays. A pink, wintry sun illuminating flights of stairs leading up to a sacred heart. Heaven, maybe. Squalls beating down highways, and castle and spires shrouded in mist and fog. And a promise of forever and beyond.