#cinnamon java

[the-crazy-echidna-lady]

[kitchenutensilfamilyau]

So, Cinnamon comes to visit his mom after- not- for a good chunk of time. Like he hadn't seen her since he was 17, and he's in his early 30s here lol. He came to apologize to both her and Joe, but Joe had just barely left a few months ago by this time. So that's how he meets his nephews. As a way to apologize, he tries to be active in the boys' lives the best he can.

alt below the cut

[my-little-cuppy]

[fatehbaz]

[T]he Dutch Republic, like its successor the Kingdom of the Netherlands, [...] throughout the early modern period had an advanced maritime [trading, exports] and (financial) service [banking, insurance] sector. Moreover, Dutch involvement in Atlantic slavery stretched over two and a half centuries. [...] Carefully estimating the scope of all the activities involved in moving, processing and retailing the goods derived from the forced labour performed by the enslaved in the Atlantic world [...] [shows] more clearly in what ways the gains from slavery percolated through the Dutch economy. [...] [This web] connected them [...] to the enslaved in Suriname and other Dutch colonies, as well as in non-Dutch colonies such as Saint Domingue [Haiti], which was one of the main suppliers of slave-produced goods to the Dutch economy until the enslaved revolted in 1791 and brought an end to the trade. [...] A significant part of the eighteenth-century Dutch elite was actively engaged in financing, insuring, organising and enabling the slave system, and drew much wealth from it. [...] [A] staggering 19% (expressed in value) of the Dutch Republic's trade in 1770 consisted of Atlantic slave-produced goods such as sugar, coffee, or indigo [...].

---

One point that deserves considerable emphasis is that [this slave-based Dutch wealth] [...] did not just depend on the increasing output of the Dutch Atlantic slave colonies. By 1770, the Dutch imported over fl.8 million worth of sugar and coffee from French ports. [...] [T]hese [...] routes successfully linked the Dutch trade sector to the massive expansion of slavery in Saint Domingue [the French colony of Haiti], which continued until the early 1790s when the revolution of the enslaved on the French part of that island ended slavery.

Before that time, Dutch sugar mills processed tens of millions of pounds of sugar from the French Caribbean, which were then exported over the Rhine and through the Sound to the German and Eastern European ‘slavery hinterlands’.

---

Coffee and indigo flowed through the Dutch Republic via the same trans-imperial routes, while the Dutch also imported tobacco produced by slaves in the British colonies, [and] gold and tobacco produced [by slaves] in Brazil [...]. The value of all the different components of slave-based trade combined amounted to a sum of fl.57.3 million, more than 23% of all the Dutch trade in 1770. [...] However, trade statistics alone cannot answer the question about the weight of this sector within the economy. [...] 1770 was a peak year for the issuing of new plantation loans [...] [T]he main processing industry that was fully based on slave-produced goods was the Holland-based sugar industry [...]. It has been estimated that in 1770 Amsterdam alone housed 110 refineries, out of a total of 150 refineries in the province of Holland. These processed approximately 50 million pounds of raw sugar per year, employing over 4,000 workers. [...] [I]n the four decades from 1738 to 1779, the slave-based contribution to GDP alone grew by fl.20.5 million, thus contributing almost 40% of all growth generated in the economy of Holland in this period. [...]

---

These [slave-based Dutch commodity] chains ran from [the plantation itself, through maritime trade, through commodity processing sites like sugar refineries, through export of these goods] [...] and from there to European metropoles and hinterlands that in the eighteenth century became mass consumers of slave-produced goods such as sugar and coffee. These chains tied the Dutch economy to slave-based production in Suriname and other Dutch colonies, but also to the plantation complexes of other European powers, most crucially the French in Saint Domingue [Haiti], as the Dutch became major importers and processers of French coffee and sugar that they then redistributed to Northern and Central Europe. [...]

The explosive growth of production on slave plantations in the Dutch Guianas, combined with the international boom in coffee and sugar consumption, ensured that consistently high proportions (19% in 1770) of commodities entering and exiting Dutch harbors were produced on Atlantic slave plantations. [...] The Dutch economy profited from this Atlantic boom both as direct supplier of slave-produced goods [from slave plantations in the Dutch Guianas, from Dutch processing of sugar from slave plantations in French Haiti] and as intermediary [physically exporting sugar and coffee] between the Atlantic slave complexes of other European powers and the Northern and Central European hinterland.

---

Text above by: Pepijn Brandon and Ulbe Bosma. "Slavery and the Dutch economy, 1750-1800". Slavery & Abolition Volume 42, Issue 1. 2021. [Text within brackets added by me for clarity. Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[prattlinpeach]

Saturday...Hmmm...A new coffee shop, tattoo expo, and some yummy pho!

Moss does not grow on a rolling stone! And who doesn’t love the Rolling Stones?! ha ha! We started the morning with a dog walk, well, first it was a snuggle with the dogs, I let them sleep with me last night, I couldn’t resist, they’re so cute and cuddly! After we got out of bed, it was a walk around the blocks, Bee decided she wasn’t going, so I left her at the house and Ruby and I walked…

[shiningjustforreid]

stains

glimpses through fem!reader and Spencer’s relationship, through four instances of spills.

word count: 3.5k ish

a/n: i love the idea that for some of us, our personalities are made up all the things we like about the people we know and see. the idea that we’re all little bits and pieces of the things we love, and our experiences. this sort of explores that. (also this was mildly self indulgent because much like reader i’m a klutz!) <3

warnings/tags: 18+ for implied intimacy and canon typical violence for cm, pet names up the wazoo, reader is lowkey clumsy, Derek Morgan being himself, reader gets injured but she’s fine, who’s Maeve?, anxious love confession, Spencer adores reader so so much, S1 and S6 (ish) Spencer, Spencer in and post prison, love letters, marriage, kids, and briefly mentioned pregnancy, girl dad!Spencer Reid my beloved

- ✩ -

coffee - the first stain

To be honest, at first, he’s appalled.

The mug you set down on his desk isn’t his, so God knows whose mouth was on it last. You - somewhat carelessly - plopped it down on the file he’s working on, grinning that thousand watt smile he’s secretly become fond of. You’re wearing a sweater he noticed that brings out your eyes - a berry colored wool garment that he wishes you’d wear more.

“Hey! Morgan said you were exhausted. Thought I’d make you coffee.”

You pick it up, and set it down again, for emphasis, and a few drops make their way down the side and onto his case file, surely creating a cinnamon toned half circle that Hotch will not love. You don’t notice, watching his face.

“I made it with a bunch of sugar. Just how you like it, right?”

Suddenly, he realizes he’s been staring up at you, and then his mouth is moving faster than his brain.

“Yeah, I uh, I am pretty tired, now that you say it. Didn’t sleep well, long night, you know?”

You nod, sipping your own coffee, fingers wrapped around the ceramic.

“I get that. Goes with the job, right?”

“Oh, absolutely, yeah, I- wait, Morgan said that? Did he— what else did he tell you?”

You grin, coffee mug to lips again.

Stop staring, Reid.

“Nothing, really. Just said you needed a boost. Thought I’d provide.”

Titling your head a tad, you look down, a mild panic crossing your face when you see you’ve stained his file.

“Oh my God - Reid, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

He’s quick to shake his head, hands coming up to reassure, his eyes wide.

“No no no, it’s okay, truly, I-I made a mistake on that one anyways. I’ll need to have a new copy printed, honest.”

Frowning, you look him over, searching for a tell, something to let you know whether he’s lying or not.

“Are you sure? I can do it, I’m not that behind on mine, I could—“

Before he thinks - you’d assume, with all his brains, he would - his hand grabs your arm, that gorgeous sweater under his finger tips, his eyes locked with yours. He says your name, once, his tone more serious than he’d like.

“It’s okay. Thanks for the coffee.”

You blink, and then a slow grin takes over your face.

“You’re welcome. Let me know if you need more.”

For a moment, neither of you move, the heat of his hand burning through the wool on your arm, until he lets go like you’re the one scorching his skin, like he’s just realized that he’s touching you. You laugh a little, awkwardly, and he grins with the same level of unpracticed nerves, and you head back to your desk.

He picks up the mug, and sips slowly, closing his eyes for a moment - it does have a mountain of sweetness, the saccharine liquid coating his mouth but soothing his senses. When he sets it down again, it’s on a part of his workspace not occupied by case work. Just as predicted, the file that once housed the beverage now bears a semi circle of dried java. His pointer finger traces the stain, clockwise and then counter, for a moment, before he glances up in horror to see Morgan, of all people, signature smirk in place.

“‘Thanks for the coffee’. I don’t what’s sweeter, that coffee you just got or-“

“Shut up.”

He mumbles, face flushed, small smile on his face despite the teasing. He traces the coffee stain one last time before he hastily tucks the soiled paper away in a drawer.

blood - the second stain

“What do you mean you aren’t getting a response from her on comms?”

He’s so scared, he can’t even stop to think just how breathless and afraid he sounds, as he turns to Hotch, who fixes him with a look that clearly says, Calm down, Reid.

“It could just be non-functional, or got knocked off, or caught.”

Hotch says calmly, almost maddeningly so. Spencer swallows back the protests, the arguments that swell up in his throat like bile.

They’d created, and given the profile, and once Penelope had narrowed down the couple possible properties their potential unsub owned, you, Morgan, and Prentiss had headed into an abandoned storage facility, silent and careful.

Perhaps not careful enough.

The voice in his head reminds him, almost sadly, and he grits his teeth inside tightly drawn and chapped lips. Shaky hands smooth over his slacks, again and again, as his eyes stay fixed on Hotch.

“Ask-ask Morgan again. If she’ll respond.”

He’s given a frown, dark brows pulling together in a very typical Hotch-like manner.

“Is there a specific reason you’re asking about her, Reid?”

Is there? God, he doesn’t know. You bring him coffee nearly every morning, but perhaps that’s just kindness. Then there’s the chocolate sprinkled donuts that start his work day from time to time - maybe you just enjoy pastry treats, and think of him, when you buy one. Oh, and heaven forbid he forget the way you’ll come by his desk, and ask for clarification on a piece of paperwork or a procedure - that you probably could’ve asked Hotch or Prentiss about. You listen, active listening too, eye contact, body still - when his explanations turn into rambles about statistics about this type of criminal, your eyes watching his face, your own voice quiet.

Is he deluding himself? Seeing phantom romance where there’s maybe merely nothing but platonic affection? Blinking, once, he shakes his head in response to his Unit Chief’s question.

“No Hotch. I’m just worried, she-well, she hasn’t responded, and Morgan has, and Prentiss has, and I—“

Speak of the devil, Morgan’s voice comes through, demanding and tense.

“I need a medic. Prentiss and I secured the unsub, but, not before—“

Oh God. Not before that bastard got to you with a baseball bat, to the back of the head, you unaware before your face met the concrete below. Spencer’s not even asking for permission, snatching the keys to an SUV off the desk nearby and flooring the gas pedal.

You can’t die. Not before I—

Driving there is like hell - his lungs burn like there’s smoke and ash polluting them, and fear feels like too tame a word to describe the overwhelming panic that seizes his heart the more he drives.

I’m a fool, he thinks wildly, as his knuckles grip the steering wheel like a vice. A damn fool if I don’t tell her-

He’s barely got the thing in park before he’s scrambling out the driver’s side door, Converse immediately coated from the dusty ground outside the facility.

When he finds Morgan, and you, head lolled to the side, eyes closed, face pale as his must be, he falls to his knees with little regard for his own pain or discomfort. Morgan watches, careful, his voice gentle when he speaks, trying to calm his terrified friend.

“She’s still out, Reid. Just a nasty whack to the back of her head, okay? Easy.”

Trembling thumbs trace and hold your face, like it’s made of paper, as he swallows hard to keep the ache behind his eyes from becoming tear tracks down his face. He spots the gash, trickling crimson down your ashy skin, onto his shaking hand, but doesn’t move from holding your face. A deep contusion, furious and violet-toned, on the back of your head, makes the air leave his chest like he’s been choked.

Beautiful girl, I couldn’t stop this.

He could sob, and he nearly does, until you make some sort of confused noise and force open your eyes. Light rushes through his heart, rekindled warmth as he meets your eyes, and yet, he finds himself almost frozen.

“Spencer? What, I thought-“

“Listen to me.”

He forces himself to speak - he has too. What if he doesn’t get the chance, and all he ever gets to associate you with is caffeine, sprinkles, and a listening ear? No, that won’t do. Not in the slightest.

You meet his eyes, hazy, but listening. Morgan’s brows furrow, as he protests,

“God, man, she just woke up, let her-“

Ignored, as Spencer often finds himself doing when there’s more pressing matters than banter, than propriety.

“You need to know. That I-care about you.”

Blinking, you swallow, and suddenly, the throbbing pain in the back of your skull is slightly dimmed.

“That I can’t let another sunrise or sunset go by where you don’t know that I’d give you the stars if you’d let me. Where I can’t touch you, where I can’t make sure you understand that I’ll protect the light you have inside you until I’m burnt from it. You absolute angel, I-“

He shudders, almost afraid of his own earnest, and says your name like it’s a prayer.

“I love you. Even if you don’t return it, my heart is yours.”

Morgan’s grin is wide, and he shakes his head, almost in amazement. Your own face is flushed, as you hear sirens and medics, your voice crackly and rough from pain, but still, that smile he’s grown to associate with his heart fluttering graces your face.

“My heart is yours, Spencer. Glad you’re finally realizing how absolutely in love I am with you, you goose, even if it took all this.”

He laughs a little, almost deliriously, and smooths his trembling hand over your face.

“Guess the doughnuts weren’t enough, huh?”

You manage, and he shakes his head, quick to push back.

“They were. You’re always enough for me, no matter what you do.”

Could he sound any more smitten?

Procedure says he can’t go in the ambulance with you - there’s no need, you’re just getting stitches and some ice and he can visit you at the hospital, okay? But as he heads back to the - oh dear, still running, he really was in a hurry, wasn’t he? - car, Morgan glances sideways at him, signature smirk in place.

“Pretty boy, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Spencer stares down at his hands in his lap. They’re stained, and a grimace floods his face when he realizes it’s not dirt, but your blood, coating his fingertips. A soft sigh escapes his lips, and he bites back a nastier retort than his friend deserves.

“I guess I did. I can’t believe it took-“

Morgan sighs, stopping Spencer’s inevitable incoming guilt filled rambles.

“Hush. You told her. That’s what matters.”

Glancing down at Spencer’s fidgeting hands in his lap, he presses on the gas.

“Let’s get there, so you can get that off you. I’m shocked you got all dirty, with your germ thing.”

Spencer shrugs, looking out the window.

“For her? I’d-I think I’d do anything. No matter what it stained.”

Soap finds his hands at the hospital, but he finds you soon after, unable to stop the gentle press of his lips to your forehead, or the soft murmurs that follow as he tries to remind himself that much more of your blood didn’t spill.

ink - the third stain

Emily has to physically hold you back in the court room, when they take him out, his eyes fixed on you, and the team, almost hopeless.

“Then your client is a flight risk.”

You’re quite literally fighting her, suddenly terrified in a whole new way for your boyfriend, tears staining your face.

“Bail is denied.”

She’s got both arms wrapped around you, her soft, ‘I know’s, and ‘I’m sorry’s barely heard over your own pleas for her to let you go.

“Defendant will be remanded to federal custody pending trial.”

You hear someone sobbing - angry, fear-filled wailing - and until Emily has you turned around, your face in her shoulder, comes the realization that it’s you.

“He’s-Emily, what are we going to do, he’s not going to be okay, I-I can’t—“

The days that follow are dark. Going to the BAU without Spencer, let alone waking up without him beside you, is enough to send you into a spiral. You try to remind yourself that he’s worse off, that whatever hell he’s experiencing is ten times worse than your quiet fear and loneliness. So, to try to combat the weight that squashes your heart, you write him letters. Daily letters.

Spencer -

We have a case in Florida. Emily says it’ll be quick, but the Florida ones never are. We’d solve it ten times faster with you, you know? Geographical profiles are much harder alone, that’s for sure. The plane ride is quieter without you, and no one’s saying anything - you’d be saying something if you were here. Maybe that’s why we’re quiet. ♡

Every day. You don’t relent. If you can’t mail them in whatever town you get stuck in for work, you mail them in one big envelope when you get back home.

Spencer -

That case was rough. I cried twice - once when I spent over two hours staring at the map at the precinct and couldn’t find anything new, and once when Rossi accidentally snapped at me. He said he was sorry, that he’s ‘on edge’ right now - but aren’t we all? Emily’s working really hard to try to get you home. I wish I could come see you. I hope you’re safe. I love you. ♡

When you learn that he didn’t put you on the list of people who can visit him in that concrete hell, you almost lose what’s left your nerve, breaking down in Emily’s office, shaking. You don’t know whether you’re furious, in despair, or numb to it all.

“Emily, why? Why doesn’t he want me to come see him? If it was me, I’d want to see him every day, I wouldn’t want him to leave!”

She sighs, her face tight. Twisting your hands in your lap, you search her face for answers. Nausea claws at your throat.

“Honestly, my guess is it’s just that. He knows that if you come, he won’t want you to leave. It’ll hurt too much.”

“But Tara, and you, and his mother, and-

Spencer -

I think I understand. Sort of. I feel like there’s this pressure in my chest, and I can’t ever fully breathe. Not since you’ve been away. The weight on my heart never goes away. Missing you more every hour. ♡

Despite the slew of handwritten letters that reach him, you only get one back, after you and the team search his apartment - you keep it in your purse pocket, folded safe, and read it whenever your throat feels tight and your eyes burn. His untidy scrawl is enough to make you feel like a part of him is actually inside this letter - like he’s reading it himself to you, interwoven in the fibers of the paper.

Angel -

I wanted you to know I’m in solitary now - I made sure of it. I know you want me safe, almost more than I do. I love you beyond what I can say, my beautiful girl.

Yours, Spencer.

One night, you’re curled up in Spencer’s apartment, writing him a letter, as is your nightly routine. The ink stains the side of your hand now - an ever-present reminder of the fact that your heart constantly feels ripped out of your body. After addressing the letter to him, your phone buzzes - Emily.

Oh God.

“Hey. We figured out that- oh, you don’t care about all that. He’s coming home.”

She doesn’t need to tell you twice. Paper and ink pen tumble to the floor as you shove your feet in shoes and snatch your jacket off the coat tree. Tension is coiled in your body the entire way there. Ink still stains the side of your hand, a permanent reminder that every time you needed to just tell him something - you had to pick up pen and paper.

Heart in your throat, you push open the door with shaking hand. There he stands, your Spencer. He’s still him, you think, although his face is tight, and sleep clearly hasn’t been something he’s seen much of.

Three months.

You walk in slowly, body trembling. One hand reaches up, runs through the curls that have grown so long.

“Your hair.”

You breathe out, voice barely audible. He nods, his face almost impassive. Tentative fingers trail down his cheek, make a path to hold his face. He nods, and then, you notice his eyes are misty.

“My angel.” He murmurs, almost in awe, and takes you in his arms with a fervor. Crushed against him, face buried in the cool fabric of his shirt, you bite back a sob, arms threaded around him.

“No. Cry, my darling girl, I’m— I’m tired of doing it alone.”

How could you refuse him? Just hearing his voice, let alone the relief you feel at being touched by him again, is enough to satisfy you for days, you think. For a bit, all that’s heard is uneven breaths, until he speaks, his voice rough and shaky.

“I need to see your face.”

He pulls back, face shining with tears, and you swallow back the lump that just won’t leave your throat.

Calloused hands - less soft than you remember - take yours, and then he frowns.

“Your hand.”

Your right hand is held up, inspected, like the blue on the inner side of it is red instead. You smile, laughing a little, still breathless.

“Ink, baby. Just ink. I was writing you a letter.”

He shakes his head, rubbing at the navy stain with his thumb, as if that will remove it.

“I would’ve kept writing. Never given up. You’d be sick of letters from me.”

“Never, sweet girl. There is no part of me who could ever find himself sick of you.”

After you’ve come home, he wastes no time in pressing less than tender kisses to your mouth and jawline and the column of your throat. It’s not until he’s reacquainted himself with your contours and the dip of your hipbones and the soft way you gasp out his name when he does that, that has you next to him, so he can see your face.

He needs to see your face.

Hand in his, still faintly stained from ink, he examines it, and then, softly, hesitantly, he meets your eyes.

“You know ink poisoning is actually rare? Pens we use are designed with non-toxic ink, to decrease any chances of fatal ingestion.”

You never mind his information sharing, but your eyebrows furrow tiredly at his timing.

“Spence, I’m not saying I don’t care, but we just— you just—”

“Please. Let me look at the woman I love and pretend for a few moments that my damn eidetic memory won’t play back the last three months of my life like some wretched tape.”

You let him, as he holds your cobalt-colored hand and your eyes droop, his soft voice telling you that rubbing alcohol will probably get that stain out. It almost feels normal.

Almost.

paint - the final stain

“Spence! Can you get paint water out of carpet with any amount of ease?”

You call your husband, turning back to your mildly sheepish five year old, whose water color adventure on the coffee table has quickly gone south.

In walks Spencer, not even noticing the overturned hard plastic cup or purpley-blue spill, eyes going straight to his daughter’s nearly finished picture.

“Beautiful, Penny. Looks incredible.”

He murmurs, bending to be eye level with a beaming Penelope, hand on her arm, before turning to you, mild tension and stress lining your face. His smile is gentle. It’ll wash out.

“Rubbling alcohol, angel.”

You nod, tension easing from your shoulders.

“We’ll go get it - we always clean our messes up, right lovely?”

He asks your daughter, lifting her with practiced care. She giggles, nodding, as they head from the room, letting you take a breath and set up the paints and picture in a new location - the kitchen table, with some newspaper tucked underneath because she’s five, and you of all people know spills happen.

Once she’s set up again - she really is so quiet when she’s engrossed in something - you find yourself curled up with Spencer on the couch, head on his shoulder, watching her paint and sing-song to herself.

“Think she’s lonely?”

Spencer asks, turning to you, his grin wide.

Troublemaker.

“Hmm. I think you just like me pregnant.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Maybe. Maybe I don’t want Penny to be sad, ever.”

Silence, then, for a bit.

“She’s so much like you.”

Spencer muses, his fingers drawing patterns on the side of your sweater. You smile, fondly.

“You say that because I’m clumsy. She was dancing around with that paintbrush, that cup of paint water stood no chance.”

“No, I say that because she shines like you. No matter what tries to dim her.”

That night, when you peek in your daughter’s door to see Spencer reading her A Little Princess, she’s propped up against him, hazel eyes barely open. Affection swells in your chest as his voice carries on, even though she’s clearly almost in dreamland. In you walk, pressing a kiss first to her forehead, then Spencer’s. He smiles gentle up at you - this is his favorite time of the day - and keeps reading.

“Perhaps there is a language which is not made of words, and everything in the world understands it.”

Once you’re back in the living room, you check on the earlier spill from today. All that’s left is a barely visible blue spot, no bigger than a quarter.

“No one will see it but you.”

Steadying, warm arms wrap around your ribs, and soft lips press against the side of your neck, washing away any insecurity about the state of your carpet.

“Besides, stains aren’t bad, sweet girl. They’re little reminders that things happened, good things, or bad things that brought us together. Memories, attached to splotches, attached to wounds, to paper, to skin. How convenient, to carry our most impactful moments like heaven-sent tattoos.”

[redrose10]

🌹 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

To-Do List♥️

Yoongi

Series

𝓒𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓸𝓷 & 𝓥𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓪 (Completed)

Summary: You were selected to marry the wayward CEO/Billionaire/Heir, Min Yoongi. You went into it with an open mind and heart determined to try and make it work. Yoongi on the other hand had no intention of ever letting you in let alone allowing himself to fall in love with you. Slowly you start to associate the smell of cinnamon and vanilla with the feelings of hurt and sorrow.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 The Proposal

Alternate Ending 1 (very angsty) Alternate Ending 2

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓾𝓭𝓮 𝓘𝓷𝓷 (Ongoing) (On hold)

Summary: You have never experienced true love which is hilarious considering you write romance novels for a living. When you end up staying at The Interlude Inn located in Holly Falls you start to wonder if maybe the answer to your newest love story is sitting behind the welcome desk. Quickly, you find out that Min Yoongi hides a lot of pain and sorrow behind his shy smiles and quick glances.

Part 1 Part 2

Raspberry Romances (Completed)

Summary: There’s no one on this planet you hate more than your coworker/secret crush Min Yoongi. He’s an arrogant, rude, womanizer who gets under your skin every single shift and you can’t wait for your day to be over so you can get away from him. Unfortunately when Jimin, your caseworker from The Ministry of Adoration, shows up offering you both a raspberry jam filled cookie, things take a surprising turn for the worst and you can no longer get away.

Chapter 1- Coffee and Cookies

Chapter 2- Whiskey and Wedding Cake

Chapter 3- Tea and Tteok-bokki

Chapter 4- Sparkling Cider & Strawberry Pie

Chapter 5- Tacos and Tangerine Juice

Cold Brewed Love (Completed)

Summary: When you begged the owner of Jin’s Java House to hire more employees you didn’t mean for him to stick you with the cold, rude, arrogant CEO Min Yoongi. Over time something begins to brew between you both and you end up forced to make decisions way above the pay grade of a cafe barista.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Cherries (Completed)

Summary: He hated them yet they became a symbol of your love for each other. Until one day they just might be what tears you apart.

Part 1 Part 1.5 Part 2

One-Shots

He Knows

Promise

The Beanie Blues

Oblivious

I’d love too

24 Hours

Cuddle Noodle

118 Slides (Namjoon x reader)

These Cheeks are Yours Forever and Ever Babe

Drabble Game

Jin- 1

Yoongi- 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Hobi- 1 2

Namjoon- 1 2

Jimin- 1

Picture Game

Everything Will Be Okay Nervously in Love (NSFW)

Pumpkin Spice Lattes Three Little Words

Even Zombies Need Love

Tulip Trees

A Growing Family

The Devil is Beautiful

Min F.cking Yoongi

Secrecy

Hair Tutorials

Kangaroo Vows

Maybe In the Next Life Part 2

Prompt Game

Bonnie and Clyde

Fire & Ice

Beauty and the Frog

Lemonade (Jungkook)

Do You Want Some Ramen?(Jungkook)

I Will Always Love You

The Silent Game (Taehyung NSFW)

The Cookie Jar (Namjoon)

Sprinkles

Valentines Prompt Game

Quiet Baby

Six Annoying Cupids

The Boy Next Door

Be My Valentine

Confetti Cake Crush

[bluepandaears]

As much as I love a good Barista AU, I am not a coffee drinker. I drink a crap ton of tea though so... ta da! DBDA as tea! Enjoy.

Charles:

Cinnamon Vanilla Chai served in a handleless tall stoneware mug because who bothers with handles anyway? All they do is slow you down and if you burn your fingers picking it up it's your fault for not wearing gloves.

Bold but sweet. Can be quite bitter if over-brewed. Pleasant aroma and caramel colouring for a warm and comforting blend of black tea, spices, and natural vanilla flavoring. Perfect for warming during colder months.

Edwin:

Java Masala Chai served in a sensible ceramic mug with a slightly chipped saucer. The inside bottom of the mug has a sassy comment that changes depending on the day of the year.

A blend of black tea, cardamom, cloves, cinnamon, black pepper, and ginger, with a twist of added coffee because just like coffee Edwin is an acquired taste and yet millions around the world are addicted.

Prepare a cup of your favorite milk, add a generous teaspoon and let it simmer for 10 minutes - careful contents will be hot and if you burn yourself it may mock you for your low pain tolerance.

Crystal:

Immortal Emperor Puer tea cake

Fantastic tea but you have to break into it first. Brew in a ceramic pot then transfer to a dreaming tree travel mug for a quick get away.

A Ripe Shou Puer that is a dark, opulent infusion mirroring the richness of ancient traditions. Made of tightly compressed leaves, aged to perfection, it exudes an earthy allure of walnut, vanilla, and aged oak that transcends time.

Niko:

Magnolia Green Tea served in a lovers double spout ceramic teapot. Be vigilant and don't let the water get above 85˚C otherwise you'll scorch the leaves.

The Magnolia flower or Hanakotoba represents a love for nature, nobility, perseverance, dignity, and everlasting connections. Made with green tea for the inherent health properties, Magnolia Green Tea involves layering fresh magnolia flowers with the tea leaves, allowing the natural fragrance of the flowers to infuse into the tea. This gives the tea a delicate floral aroma and flavor, with a smooth light citrus, floral, and honeysuckle taste. Pair with dandelion salad.

[pupsmailbox]

CAFÉ ID PACK

NAMES︰ acid. affogato. amera. america. americano. arista. aristo. aroma. bailey. barista. bean. brew. brewed. brewer. bucks. caccino. cafe. caffeello. caffein. caffeine. caffeinella. caffeinelle. caffeinello. caffeinetta. caffeinette. cake. cap. cappe. cappuccino. chino. cinn. cinnamon. coffae. coffea. coffee. coffeella. coffeelle. coffeer. coffeera. coffeero. coffeette. coffeine. coffie. cream. creame. creamer. creamie. creamy. creme. cubano. drip. espesso. espressa. espresso. grande. java. javaella. javaelle. javalle. joe. joel. joeline. joey. joseph. kaldi. koffae. koffea. koffee. koffie. kopi. lait. latte. lattelin. lattelina. latteline. lattell. lattella. lattelle. lattello. lattetta. lattette. lottie. macchiato. miato. misto. mocca. moccino. mocha. mochaccino. morning. night. perk. roma. shiver. venti. warm. zarro.

PRONOUNS︰ affogato/affogato. aroma/aroma. bagel/bagel. barista/barista. bean/bean. book/book. breakfast/breakfast. brew/brew. cafe/cafe. caffeine/caffeine. café/cafè. calm/calm. cap/cino. cappuccino/cappuccino. coffee/coffee. coffee/cup. comfy/comfy. cookie/cookie. cozy/cozy. cre/cream. croissant/croissant. cup/cup. donut/donut. early/earlie. espresso/espresso. flat/flat. foam/foam. frap/frappe. frappe/frappe. heat/heat. hot/hot. ice/coffee. ice/ice. late/late. latte/latte. mocha/mocha. morn/morning. morning/morning. mud/mud. muffin/muffin. mug/mug. night/night. pastry/pastry. peaceful/peaceful. pre/press. pump/pumpkin. pumpkin/pumpkin. scald/scald. snug/snug. soft/soft. sugar/sugar. tremor/tremor. warm/warm. whip/whip. whipped/cream. work/work. ☕. 🌡️. 🍁. 🍂. 🍄. 🎃. 💧. 📚.

[the-crazy-echidna-lady]

Witch Cinnamon, done. Uh, he's technically a good witch, but uses dark magic for doing certain good things. Like necromancy to revive unjustly killed animals that haven't been dead long. He has two familiars, Scarlet (cardinal) and Bellow (moose) and resides in the mountainous woods with them. The spike antler is actually a wand he uses for more control. Creatures of the night AU belongs to @firecurls-27 and myself.

[kitchenutensilfamilyau]

[my-little-cuppy]

Mean, male fluttershy. But look he's smiling for once.

[greghatecrimes]

PPTH Gang + What I Think They’d Order At Starbucks, brought to you in incredible and unnecessarily extra detail by a very tired barista!

House: Black eye (black coffee with two shots of espresso), adds his own cream and sugar very sparingly. Occasionally when he’s alone he orders a Caramel Ribbon Crunch frap (guilty pleasure).

Wilson: Grande hot latte with soy milk. He used to order the “skinny vanilla” (latte with skim milk and sugar free vanilla) but stopped because House made fun of him for ordering the white mom drink.

Cuddy: This woman will drink any kind of coffee she can get her hands on in the morning. Even really, really shitty coffee. She just needs something to get through the day. But if she’s got time for Starbucks, I know she’s absolutely getting a tall Brown Sugar Oat Milk Shaken Espresso with two extra shots of espresso (four total). (That is a lot of espresso for a small drink and she needs all of it). She looks so stressed out that the barista draws a smiley face or a star next to her name on the cup, or writes “have a great day!”

Cameron: The Taylor Swift latte. Grande skim latte with caramel. She’s a basic bitch but she knows what she likes, good for her! In the fall she’s 100% a pumpkin spice latte girl and she probably also has the date written on her calendar for when Peppermint Mochas come back in the winter. When asked her name: “It’s Allie, A-L-L-I-E. Thanks!” automatically spells it out to make the barista’s life 3x easier.

Chase: Cameron orders for him because Chase has no idea what the names for anything are. Also likes a good Peppermint Mocha around Christmas (Cameron got him hooked; he stops drinking them after the divorce). Rest of the year he goes for an Americano, iced or hot, with almond milk. His Starbucks name is Bob, which never fails to make Cameron laugh. (Now I’m imagining putting that order out and yelling “ICED AMERICANO FOR BOB!” into a busy cafe and Chase standing there cluelessly like “who? me?” until Cameron nudges him, and I’m laughing my ass off)

Foreman: Regular, plain ol’ black coffee, any kind of dark roast. He adds his own cream very liberally but isn’t a fan of sugar in his coffee.

Thirteen: I spent way too much time thinking of the perfect thing for her. If she just gets coffee at work, just regular decaf coffee is fine. The bitter taste wakes her up since there’s no caffeine. If she wants a nice coffee, I think she’d like a decaf Doppio (two shots of espresso) with a bit of almond milk, one pump of vanilla, and one pump of hazelnut. Hot or iced, but always decaf. Gently but firmly tells the barista to please make sure it’s decaf because she’s “caffeine intolerant” (not wholly a lie. Helps her avoid the caffeine jitters.) Never uses her real name, either gives a random one or just says “Thirteen, like the number” when asked for a name by the barista. Always leaves a tip when she has cash. Orders her drink iced at any time of year if she’s in the mood for it and gets harassed by House for it.

Kutner: Rotates between different superhero names for his Starbucks name (Tony Stark, Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Clint Barton, etc.). Taub wants to melt through the floor every time he gets coffee with Kutner and his order is called out. Kutner thinks it’s hilarious. I really feel like he would be happy with anything you give him, but I think his go to if he’s specifically at Starbucks would be a java chip frap despite the fact that Taub lectures him about it (if he’s gonna treat himself to expensive coffee it may as well taste good!!). Also RIP Kutner you would have loved the Dragon Drink so much (both for the badass name AND the fact that it’s purple)

Taub: Doesn’t go to Starbucks often, probably really only goes with Kutner. Just orders a regular latte or cappuccino. He says he doesn’t see the point of adding in all the flavors and stuff because it’ll just drown out the coffee. Might put some cinnamon on top if there’s a shaker of it on the condiment bar. Would add cinnamon or nutmeg at home if he has the luxury of having a late morning and making his own coffee.

Bonus! Amber: Drinks iced coffee in the middle of a blizzard. Could also down shots of espresso like they’re tequila. The most intense bitch. Would be very visibly tense or stressed when ordering but as soon as her order’s done she’d thank the barista pretty genuinely. Go-to order is a cinnamon dolce latte, no whip but keep the cinnamon dolce powder.

[greenlaut]

fuck it,

LIST OF INCENSES I THINK AC 1 - AC UNITY CHARACTERS WOULD LIKE

credentials: (1) incense is a big thing in my country both for daily and religious uses; (2) i have a shit ton of incenses bc i use them regularly

ALTAÏR IBN LA'AHAD — his most familiar scent is frankincense bcs either umar or rashid lit up a lot of frankincense (haha old man incense). BUT his favorite scent is jasmine because it's sweet and calming it's like a soothing balm to his running thoughts and worries. also the scent of jasmine here has supernatural connotations, so i think it's fitting for altaïr as the master assassin herald of death etc etc

MALIK AL SAYF — oud. definitely oud. very charismatic and heavy. definitely suits him bcs as soon u enter his space u will think he's someone not to be trifled with. it also has a family/brotherly connotation to it which suits malik. if u want combination; oud + sandalwood

KADAR AL SAYF — champaca. it's sweet and bright. reminds u of a singing bird maybe? if u catch a whiff of it in the wind it feels like napping in a hazy afternoon.

MARIA THORPE — jasmine with tuberose. almost woody? floral. probably reminds you of moonlit night with silk curtains blowing in the wind

EZIO AUDITORE DA FIRENZE — sandalwood. a classic. with frankincense and myrhh. this scent reminds me of church (our churches usually light these scented incenses). it's heady and heavy. if you smell it too much it can overwhelm you.

LEONARDO DA VINCI — citrus and agarwood. very playful and has creative vibes to it. it also smells very unique and reminds me of a warm person

CONNOR KENWAY — majegau. this one is very specific. majegau is a type of tree sacred to people in bali region (i'm from java so i dont know much). but the scent is very mountainous. it reminds me slightly of sandalwood but much lighter, and gives off a more foresty vibes. it has a very respectful but down-to-earth air to it that suits connor's person

AVELINE DE GRANPRE — citrus and vanilla. i'll be honest i never had this one, but i'm trusting what people said. it's apparently very unique and refreshing scent when burnt. kind of woody surprisingly with just a hint of sweetness to it. i also think aveline would like clove incense. it's sweet and has something underneath that feels like it's ready to strike

ADÉWALÉ — also an oud enjoyer methinks. maaybe oud + frankincense. i think smelling the incense will help settle down his thoughts and pain, bcs it's a very meditative and heady scent. charismatic vibes

EDWARD KENWAY — tobacco, clove, and cinnamon. it's smoky and heady. kind of pirate vibes. it's a very overwhelming scent to some people bcs of the tobacco

HAYTHAM KENWAY — i feel like he has a very old man taste so i'm chucking lotus OR frankincense. i think he'd like both bcs they're the most "classic" incense scents. definitely charismatic tbh

SHAY CORMAC — tobacco. smoky. just a classic "smokes and mirrors". it's kinda sad? it's a very lonely scent i think

ARNO VICTOR DORIAN — vanilla with sandalwood. it's heady and sweet with woody undertone to it. it has a european vibes to it that i personally dont like to light (vanilla doesnt smell good in humid weather to me), but definitely suits arno. it's sensitive yet strong, kind of tragic

ÉLISE DE LA SERRE — rose. definitely rose. cloying, floral, and sweet. has mixed receptions; it's a classic scent but i personally dont like it. i think it suits élise for her complicated nature. flitting and impossible to mistake

fin.

[discordantpiano]

dark academia recipes ☕️🥐

chocolate-caramel rum coffee

ginger cream bars

chocolate cannoli cake

magical coffee

cinnamon pastry

java muffins

chocolate sweet rolls

espresso con panna

chocolate-filled croissants (vegan)

tiramisu (vegan)

mini espresso bundt cakes with dark chocolate rum glaze (vegan)

cherry coconut scones (vegan)

salted chocolate mousse (vegan)

dalgona coffee (vegan)

[duckymcdoorknob]

Hi Ducky! Congratulations on 1K! That’s awesome! I would like to place an order for a small and large macchiato with light ice and cinnamon and java chips. The names for the order being Diluc and Venti.

YES

THATS ALL

NO FURTHER QUESTIONING

(Ducky gets back into writing? Real not fake?)

CW BELOW THE CUT: This do have tickles in it ngl.

♫ -ᥕᥲі𝗍ᥱr, ᥕᥲі𝗍ᥱr, ⍴ᥱrᥴ᥆ᥣᥲ𝗍᥆r- ☕️

The thoughts currently in Diluc’s head were indubitably illegal. Now, he’ll never act on them, mind you, but he’s thought of twelve ways to Sunday on how he’s gonna kill that bard.

Archons willing, he definitely did try his damndest to keep his composure for a good amount of time. But now? He can’t stand it anymore.

Today, the Anemo user had been acting seemingly normal today, chatting up a storm with Six-Fingered Jose about songs and such. But something deep within him told him that Venti was just minutes away from doing something that the bartender would regret.

—

He ought to be a fortune teller, Diluc thinks, as he grabs his forehead in disappointment.

—

It seemed that Venti was… sober today? There’s no chance; the bard never spends Fridays sober. Or Mondays… or Tuesdays… or-

You get the picture.

Diluc had an important task to do at closing: inventory counting. He hated it with every ounce of his being, but it was a required task for a tavern owner.

Unfortunately, the drunkard bard had not understood the seriousness in the red-haired male’s tone when he said “Get the hell out, we’re closed.”

So, currently, Diluc sat. Narrow-eyed glaring down the bard that was happily sipping at his first dandelion wine of the night.

“We’ve been through this, Venti. I’ve told you four times now that I have to count the inventory. Bar’s closed.” The Pyro user grumbled as he swept the floor around the stool the Anemo user was on.

“Aw, but Master Diluc, I just got here! Let’s have fun!” Venti whined in a faux-sadness.

The tavern owner pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance as he huffed out a breath. “I will tell you once more. Leave mora on the counter, or put it on the tab you’ll never pay off, and leave. I’m closed.”

“Ah, you know me very well, Master Diluc,” the Anemo user chirped. “But the night’s still young! Let’s play a game!”

“What are we,” Diluc grumbled, “five years old?”

“Don’t act like such a wet blanket, Diluc!” The bard chirped in reply, smiling brightly.

“Fine, you wanna play games?” The red-haired male rolled up his sleeves and slowly closed in on his regular patron. “Let’s see if you can actually escape with the bottle you stole.”

Venti’s eyes widened.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you.” Diluc replied. “You have one goal: don’t let me catch you.”

And so, the two took off in a grand chase. Venti hurdled tables and ran circles around the tavern, coddling the bottle that he did indeed steal. With it tucked away safely in the waistband of his shorts, the Anemo user took off upstairs and hid.

Diluc was quick to follow, knowing exactly where Venti had gone. Though, he remembered playing this exact game with Kaeya when they were just boys.

With a quick survey of the upstairs, he spied a quarter inch of green sticking out of the broom closet.

‘His clothes got stuck in the door.’ He thought with a sigh and a smile. ‘Just like Kaeya… hiding decently, but giving yourself away accidentally.’

Diluc ran loudly past the door, then tiptoed back in front of it. The second it opened, he hid behind, waiting for Venti to run past him.

As soon as the flash of white and green appeared in his peripheral, the Pyro user stuck out his right arm and trapped the bard, holding him close to his body.

“WAAAH! Oh that was cheap!” Venti cried. “Now, put me down, and let’s play another round!” He finished his demand with a hopeful smile.

“I don’t think you realize the situation you’re in.” The red-haired man replied with a sinister smile. He looked down at the bard ensnared in his right arm, an evil idea crossing his mind.

Venti’s eyes widened, and he soon started to wiggle, kicking his feet frantically. “W-Wait! Diluc! Let’s-Let’s talk about th-ihihihihis! hyahahaha!”

Diluc had begun to wiggle the fingers of his free hand along the short male’s side. “There’s nothing to talk about, bard. I’ve explained the rules to you clearly. You’re the one choosing not to listen.”

“Wahahahait! Dihihihiluhuhuc! Dohohohont tihihihickle mehehe!” Venti whined through his giggling.

“Apologies, Venti, but this seems to be the only way to get my point across.” The red-haired male replied as a slight smile toyed at the corners of his lips. He turned his wrist and prodded at the bard’s ribs.

Venti lurched downward, slipping a bit in Diluc’s hold.“Ehehehaha! Wahahahait! Nohohoho!”

The tavern owner’s smile couldn’t help his widening smile. The annoying bard (unfortunately) reminded him of more and more memories he had shared with his baby brother. Kaeya had always been super ticklish, and Diluc always used this to his advantage.

Venti giggled helplessly as Diluc mindlessly tweaked at his ticklish ribs. The black and blue-haired male pushed up against the arm that was trapping him. However, whenever he made any traction, Diluc somehow managed to press against a sensitive spot and make him slump downward.

“Dihihihiluhuhuc, plehehehehease! Mohohove spohohohots!”

With a quirk of his brow, Venti’s “assailant” obliged to the demand. Unfortunately for the bard, the latter had opted to go for the most ticklish spot on his body.

Diluc’s hand worked under the corset that had worked itself loose and untucked. He pushed outward, causing it to untie and fall into his palm. Effortlessly catching it, he placed it neatly on the counter next to him. As he began to zero in on his target, Venti wiggled like never before.

“Okay no! I change my mind! You can- eep! You can go back to where you were- ah!” With every squeak, the bard twisted his body away from the threat of tickling fingers. But, the red-haired male was closing in quickly. If Venti could pray to himself, he would have done so tenfold.

Diluc’s fingers lowered onto Venti’s stomach and pinched around his belly button. The Anemo user’s eyes widened as squeaky laughter bubbled out of him. He wiggled incessantly and kicked his feet. “DIHIHIHILUHUHUC! NOHOHOHO! CMOHOHOHON!”

The winery owner smiled down at the giggly bard, not caring to lift his attack just yet. However, he would watch carefully to not go too far, the bard’s comfort at his top priority. Venti’s pink face was resting against the arm trapping him, his eyes squeezed shut in mirth.

“EHEHEAHA! OKAHAHAHAY! OKAHAHAY! IHIHIM SOHOHORRY-“ a snort echoes through the room, causing both parties to freeze in shock. The bard caught his breath before he made an attempt to make some sort of excuse.

“I- um-“

“Again.”

“What?”

“Do it again.”

“Do what- Diluc? What do you mean do it ag-ahAHAHAIN? DIHIHIHILUC!”

Well, so much for counting inventory tonight. Instead, the tavern’s owner had a much more noble task to do. Venti’s sweet, frantic laughter bounced from wall to wall as little snorts left him. As for Diluc… he can’t remember a time that he’s smiled this much.

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————