#peppermint prattles

[blackberryandpeppermint]

Francake :)

Made by Dancakes

[amortentia-over-ice]

The Remedy - Garreth Weasley x F!MC

SUMMARY: Garreth knows the exact cure for your hangover. And plot twist: it's not one of his potions.

Warnings: 18+, Characters aged up. Mention of Drinking. Smut. P in V.

Word Count: 2.5k

You stumbled back into the Gryffindor common room, bleary eyed and forcing yourself not to look at your pocket watch. It hardly mattered, however, considering that you could already see the sneaking suspicion of the sunrise as purple streaks colored the sky through the tower window. 

You were still absolutely pissed off of your face, courtesy of the giggle water and fire whisky, so you thought nothing of it as you started stealing pillows off of the common room couches. Giddily, you found a corner of the room and stacking them around each other. You giggled as you looked at your work of art in progress.

YOU were going to make a PILLOW FORT...NOT sleep in your own bed like some regular loser. This (your drunk mind decided) was a far better option. 

Clumsily, you army crawled your way in once every pillow had been added to the massive pile, wrapping your robes around you to serve as a blanket you let out a contented sigh, shoving one last pillow against the hole you crawled through, promptly falling asleep in your cushioned little hovel. 

A few hours later…

“....Did the house elves do that?”

“A little redecorating perhaps...?” 

“Redecorating? Gar. Please.”

Garreth Weasley was hardly listening to Leander prattle on as he thoughtfully regarded the odd pile of pillows in front of him. It was interesting, he noted, that the pillow pile had magically appeared the same morning that Natty had mentioned to him you hadn’t returned to your dorm last night. 

He had already been worried that Sebastian had somehow kept you too late...or worse...that he had somehow snuck you into the Slytherin dorms instead. 

But then...as he heard a faint snore emanate from within the pillows, he gave a slight, but relieved, grin. 

“Right, then.” He sighs as he sits down patiently in front of the pillow fort, conjuring two mugs with steaming hot tea.The smell of peppermint drifts into your cave, your favorite.

You stir with a groan due to your monstrous headache, and the next thing you hear is Gar’s cackle right outside this odd structure you had found yourself in. 

Naturally, you had a very foggy idea of how you ended up in a pillow fort.

You poked your head out to find Gar grinning at you, holding out a mug to you in offering. How could he look so endearingly at you while you were SURE you looked like a pile of hippogriff dung? 

“Er– morning! By the way, I’m going to kill Sebastian for this.” He says in a  light voice entirely too cheerful for your current headache. You smirk at the slightly out of character threat to your mutual friend. Sebastian had been known to get the both of you into similar states more than once in the past. 

You sigh and shake your head, “It’s not totally his fault. I can’t ever resist a dare from that Scottish fool. Which I guess makes me one too.” You conceded in jest, but still  you accept Gar’s offering gratefully.

Your lean on your elbows, taking a gratuitous sip of the peppermint, sighing at the warmth as it soothes your throat. 

He raises his mug to yours, as if in a cheers before taking a sip as he cracked open his potions book. Most of the students had left at this point as classes had already begun, but clearly Gar must have guessed you’d be here a while. 

Finally you spoke, eyeing him suspiciously, “You’re being awfully nice to me for someone who just woke up in a pillow fort. No questions you want to ask over there?” 

He chuckled before shaking his head, taking another sip of his tea patiently as he continued to read. 

Your eyes narrowed further. 

“Does the book mean you’ll be here a while then? You might be waiting a while before I leave this cave, just so you know. The levels of shame are high.” 

He smirked again, taking another sip.

“Oh me? Just drinking my tea.”

You laughed ruefully, “Right, so I can assume you're not just here to gloat at my hungover state then?” 

This time, he slurped his tea even louder. 

“Gar.” At that accusation you glared again and he laughed as he ducked the spare pillow you threw at him. 

“Relaxxxxx.” He teases as his lips curl in another grin,  “Seems like we may be here a while. Perhaps more tea?” He says smugly as he refills his mug, and you give him another eye roll. 

“You know...I’m going to have to get you back for that. And no amount of tea is going to keep you safe from me.” You add teasingly from your pillow throne. 

But then, his eyes meet yours with just the slightest bit of mischief glimmering behind all that green as he says, “...And what if I don’t want to be?”

Your smile matches his, playing along with him as you softly ask, 

“Be what, Gar?”

You watch as he smirks, sets down the tea and crouches down to you at eye level. Up close you can almost count his merry freckles, even as curl falls in his face his eyes stay on yours.

“If I don’t want to be safe from you, silly.” 

Your grin deepens as you reach forward to tug him down by his tie. 

“Careful. I bite.”

“In that case, move over.”

He doesn’t hesitate before he’s following your tug, crawling right into your space, arms and legs all a tangle as you both laugh at the fact there is not a single graceful way to maneuver yourselves with the limited space in your pillow cave. 

His breath is hot as he laughs mere inches from your own face, and you fall over off balance, but his arms are quick as they snake around your lower back and tug you close.

“C’mere.”

His voice is playful, but his hands are firm as the sudden and eager movement makes you lose your breath as a small laugh escapes to match his own. 

“So bossy today.” 

You cuddle into him, following the line of his body and letting a deep sigh go as you find the spot you’ve fit into many times before. 

Gar lets out a contented hum, just as pleased at the feel of you against him, settling back against you as he runs an idle hand through your hair. 

“So lazy bones, shall we just hide in here all day?” He says softly into your hair as your fingers play at his collarbones. 

“Why? Have somewhere to be?” 

“No…not any place I’d rather be, anyway. Perhaps I should have brought you one of my new concoctions to help that hangover.” 

He murmurs so close to your ear, that he feels you shiver against him and he smiles. 

“...Or perhaps another remedy for you today...?” His hand trails up your side slowly, until it finds your chin, your lips. His thumb draws across your lower lip slowly, and all of a sudden you are very, very awake. 

“I’d much prefer the second option. Your potions always have a weird aftertaste of grapes.” You whisper as you scrunch your nose, and he leans forward to nibble it. 

“Tsk, Play nice.” The look in his eyes as his mouth hovers near yours is anything but hurt, especially as they flicker down to your lips. 

“I can do that.” You breathe slowly as you lean forward, wrapped in his arms, and in the warmth of your cave, your lips touch his without a care in the world…hangover forgotten. 

He presses back immediately with a small sound, his lips part for yours slowly, as if taking his time to taste you. His hands wrap into the fabric of your shirt tighter, while quickly moving to tug the fabric upward to reach the warmth of your hips.

Your half working brain is already going: yes, yes, yes.

Your torso mindlessly arches into his palm that continues to touch every inch of you slowly and gently. He makes a grateful noise as you move against him.

You and Gar were friends, after all. The very best of friends. The type of friends who could do this…. And do it well. 

“Someone seems to be feeling better,” He mumbles, giving you a half smile between your kisses, that are far from stopping, as he lifts your shirt over your head, and you tug the buttons from his. He pulls back quickly, only to help you shrug it off his shoulders, before he is back on you again, devouring your neck. 

You gasp, leaning back for him as his lips are preoccupied with hot, open mouthed, kisses along the column of your throat, and finally your hands are in those wild red curls as you hold him there. 

“Gar!” You sigh in surprise, and he just stops to give you a wicked grin before coming back to your neck, your ear.

“What? You asked me to help you feel better didn’t you?” 

As his hushed tease brushes against your ear, his hand sneaks down your stomach, to your thigh, casually bunching up the fabric of your skirt in his hands. 

“Yes.” You manage to breathe out, and it’s an answer to two questions. At your words, his palm hooks your fabric to the side, dragging up the wetness already there with a sigh.  You rock into his hand greedily and he obliges with a finger slipping  into you gently. Now you’re moaning, and he’s rocking his own hips against you.

Somehow, you manage to note that you DID build a good pillow fort as it’s somehow staying together despite the way the both of you are climbing all over eachother, with no regards to much except tearing your clothes off.

Your hand reaches towards his trousers and she shifts for you, tongue slipping into your mouth as he enthusiastically slips a second finger into you, the feel of him stretching you causing more of a mess as your hands reach for his cock. 

He’s already impossibly hard and ready. You. swipe your thumb along the bead of moisture from his tip with a smile, and he jolts into your touch. You use the stickiness of it to drag the moisture down his shaft and he moans into your mouth. Cheekily, and because you can, you use your other hand to cup his balls and bring him closer into you. 

“M-merlin, you can’t keep doing that,”  He mumbles in a rush, his breath mixing with your own panting, as his fingers continue to get the same reaction from between your own legs. His fingers become slightly less gentle, pressing deeper and faster inside you. You fight a moan as it slips through your lips, your hands accidentally tugging on Gar’s curls. 

He makes a noise, and your eyes snap open your words rushing out, “I-I’m sorry I-”

Gar’s mouth catches yours to cut off your protest, “No, don’t stop. Please.” 

He enjoys the feeling of your fingers in his hair, eyes rolling slightly  back in his head as he feels your nails. Then he realizes he doesn’t know who needs the “remedy’ anymore. You. Or him. 

He feels his skin flushed all over from everywhere you're touching him and he takes in a shaky breath before moving clumsily to get closer to you, removing his hand from you to snake down to your thigh to shift you open to make room for him. You oblige, shifting for him, leg lifting to hook around his hip. He hungrily comes back for your mouth, but you move at the same time.... you both accidentally bump heads. 

“Oops.” You whisper, you both giggle, and he finds it so adorable that he can’t help but kiss your lips again as his hands fight to tug his belt off, trousers down. Suddenly, he sinks back against you, his hard cock pressing between your legs as his hips rock, teasing, to rub against you. 

“Oops.” he whispers back with a wicked grin, and you only respond by tugging him closer by his hair again for another hungry, open mouthed, kiss. 

His hands find your face, a hand gingerly wrapping around your cheek. Everything pauses for a moment as he finds your eyes. A long breath before a subtle nod from you, and you don’t look away from him as you feel him press into you. 

Your mouth falls open, face twisting in sweetness and his expression conveys the same. He breathes out slowly, feeling your warmth close in around him. It's almost too sweet for anyone to bear, and yet he is the one lucky enough to try.

His forehead falls against yours, and your lips rise to meet his quickly between your huffing breaths as he moves deeper.

“Are you oka-”

“Yes. Merlin yes.” 

After some resistance, you find your body is not only taking him, but begging for more. 

You can hardly breathe before he tilts your jaw back to him, for another kiss, before his hips begin to move further. 

The sounds of the both of you fill the small space with shaky breaths, your bodies finding a rhythm as you rock back and forth amidst all the pillows. In the secret space, there is only you and him, and whatever cure you were looking for, you don’t think anything is better than this. 

Your breath comes faster, and his name fills your lungs. 

He loved the sounds you made, so much that he’d already lost himself in them. His strokes become steadied, determined, his free hand wraps around your lower back to anchor you and keep you against him and his pace. He sank into you again, and again your name a breathless whisper into your ear. You can do nothing, but lift your hips to meet him. 

At the slight change in angle, your eyes flashed as your body twisted in pleasure, 

“Gar.” Hearing his name from you in such a way elicits a choked “fuck” from him, before a rush of breath as he instantly recognizes the need in your voice. 

His thrusts became less steady, more demanding, a low groan from his mouth watching you under him, his hair wild and falling in his face as he doesn't dream of stopping. 

Your body seizes, nails digging into his skin, and nothing can compare to the wave of nerve endings firing, penetrating each of your senses. 

He holds you through it, pressing deeper into you as you writhe against him 

And then suddenly he slams flush against you, a groan of your name as he comes hard and fast. The arm that holds him up is shaking as he huffs, a few tremors working through him in the aftermath. He falls against you in an ethereal haze. 

You're both recovering, lost in the haze, the smell of the both of you taking over your small hideaway. 

He turns towards you, his smile uneven. You smile back, brushing his hair gently out of his face. 

“.....I do feel much better now.” You whisper cheekily, and he huffs a small laugh, 

“Mhm.” He tugs you back over for a few more cuddles, glad to hide away from the rest of the world with you as long as you could. 

[icyhotheartwritings]

Pet death/incoherent grieving ramble

Loki passed away Tuesday night. It doesn’t feel real. I mean, we just celebrated his birthday - our birthday - three days before. He was fine. He tried to buck me off a couple weeks ago. He was sprinting around acting a fool when mom got Waffles out without him not a day before.

He was only 22. We were supposed to have years left. Years. I was expecting at least 28, hoping for 30 or more. I never expected to lose him so soon. He was so healthy, I did everything I could, every supplement he could possibly need, vets and farrier and anything he needed, he got.

We were training for a show next month. I was working out ways to cure him of not wanting to ride alone. We had plans to ride with people. We had a whole show schedule for the summer. I was going to build trail trial obstacles. We were going to conquer the fucking world. And now he’s gone. Just like that.

The worst - and best - part was… there was nothing that could have been done. It wasn’t a case of if we got there an hour or two earlier, gotten to the vet sooner, he would’ve been fine. There was nothing. There was no hope. When we got to the vet they were talking surgery, then said it was too bad for a referral, then she got the bloodwork back and he was gone. Suspected internal melanoma that killed his digestive system, or something similar. Wasn’t a gas colic. Wasn’t something that could be healed.

Some incredible stranger helped my dad bury him next to Dreamer. Dad buried his peppermints with him, every piece he could find in the tack room, like Dreamer had his butterscotches. We’re buying wildflower seeds to scatter over them.

The morning feeder bought some plastic flowers and taped them to his gate with an led candle light. I cried.

I swore that Loki would be my last horse, that I couldn’t go through the pain of losing them again and again like Star and Carrots and Quinn and Dreamer but I was supposed to have more years with him and I don’t think I’m done yet. The barn owner said his stall is mine, that I can take all the time I need to find the right horse and I think I’m giving it a couple months before I begin to look in earnest. Nothing could replace Loki. But he never replaced Carrots. And Carrots never replaced Star. And I know I can love another horse, but I just… I need time. There’s two BLM mustang auctions in about four months. I might go. Waffles is a mustang. He’s a good horse.

These past 6 months have been. Absolute hell. I’ve lost a cat, a dog, and Loki. Almost lost another cat, it’s a fucking miracle we still have him. But Darcy and Loki were not even 4 weeks apart. It’s been a hell of a March.

With Snarky and Darcy, at least, we knew it was coming. We had warning. Snarky had cancer. Darcy was old and sick. They were both old, older than they had any right to be. But Loki was young. And it was so goddamn sudden.

When I’m hurt and grieving, I don’t… show much outward emotion. I’m the rock for everyone else. I hold it down until I’m alone and can let myself cry. For him, I screamed. I fell to my knees and I screamed.

It feels like a piece of my soul has been ripped out of my chest. Torn out, pulled apart, and the pieces set to light. I loved that horse with everything I am. I hope he knew how much I loved him. He was part of me. All my animals are, but he was special. He was my baby, my everything. I thought he was dead during the big fire, the last thing I heard before the cell service went out was that my mom couldn’t get to the barn and my horse was trapped, and all I could think was that I wanted to run down that burning hill and join him. But we got through it, both of us, together. We got through everything together. He’d always be there for me, he’d wrap his big head around me and hug me as I held onto his neck and he’d let me groom him while I prattled on about this and that. And now I have to get through this alone and I don’t know how I’m going to do it.

I don’t know how to end this post. I miss my horse. And I don’t want to go to work at the barn tomorrow and see his empty stall with the breakfast he didn’t finish.

[tugoslovenka]

Warding Bond - Chapter 3

Little Lamb

A/N:

Also posting on AO3!

Raphael tended to his flock like a shepherd to a herd. The servants that furnished the House of Hope were souls long lost, searching the empty barrels of their reasoning through daily tasks delegated to them by no one in particular. It was the hope of liberation that held together the delicate threads of their sorry existence. The devil was clever with his deals and all the more ruthless against those who breached them. No one was allowed to see their terms and conditions. 

Why would she have bothered finding a way out of hers? 

The lives she led—whoever she used to be—no longer mattered. She would be reminded of her role for perpetuity to come; an obedient little lamb, suckling on the teet of the man who domesticated her. Though, she did begin performing a duty more important than that of an ornament who watched countless faces sign their souls away. 

She became a puppet, tasked with beguiling the very man responsible for her endless torment. Astarion would fall victim to the same trap as she did. He was rather desperate, as she learned. Now in the process of becoming a mind flayer, he was running out of time in his mission to destroy Cazador Szarr through spite alone. 

“You, my dear, are the missing piece,” Raphael dragged a claw up her shoulder, down her back, examining the runes the vampire lord had carved there. 

“His ritual?” Varra asked, her words void of emotion. 

“He needs seven thousand and seven precious souls to complete it. How unfortunate that two have gone missing.” 

“What about Astarion?” 

A chuckle. 

“He will willingly—and rather stupidly —come like a lamb to its own slaughter. Cazador will make quick work of whatever pathetic attempt at freedom he has concocted with his foolish friends. After all, a master knows not to interrupt his inferiors in the midst of a mistake.” 

Varra searched his eyes for clarity. Her part in this was crucial, that much she knew. What was itching at her worries was exactly how she played a part in it. She hissed when his nail dug into the scarred skin of her backside. He had given ample attention to her ritual markings ever since Astarion first visited the House of Hope. 

As expected, she was not privy to the meaning they held. 

That didn’t stop him from pondering out loud, however. Often, she would hear him cursing the Hells and the archdevils that ruled them. However intricate his plans, they lacked someone’s permission. Even still, he bragged tirelessly about the masterful gambit of duping the pale elf who was, in his words, so desperate to tie his own noose. 

“The poor sod can’t even read them!” Raphael roared in laughter as he sat in the warm pool bubbling with peppermint oil. Harleep was dutifully by his side, stroking his belly and humming in approval. Varra, as usual, stood watching until she was beckoned to join. 

“An alcoholic in a distillery would be easier convinced to stop,” the incubus purred, inching his way between the devil’s legs until he reached his master’s member. 

“Oh Varra, I will miss you once this is over.” 

A smile. A nod. A bow. The training he had given her was instilled into her bones. A few strokes later she was instructed to join the pair. It was a semi-regular occurrence, one that didn’t agonize the human for long. The days blended into one, as did the couplings she was commanded to take part in. No longer was she inside her body, controlling its movements or rationalizing her decisions. 

A shell of a person, possibly. Though even shells had hard exteriors. 

“Are you new to Baldur’s Gate? I’m sure I would have recognized a delicate flower such as yourself amidst these twisted weeds.”

Astarion had spent the better part of the night prattling. Althea soon learned he was fond of his own voice, even more than she expected. His grip was possessive, keeping a firm hand on her hip as they walked through the empty halls of the Ancunín Estate. Most of the partygoers remained in the main ballroom as per his request. The few allowed free rein were one of two kinds of people; spawn and about-to-be spawn. 

“I came for the festivities. I heard the Feast of Heroes was quite the event,” Althea smiled, not too wide, nor too pouted—just enough to hide her intentions, and long enough to encourage him to continue his tales of bravery.

Uncanny didn’t begin to describe the way women and men threw themselves at the vampire. He was a known figure of great political power, that was evident enough, yet one whose curse was widespread throughout the Sword Coast and beyond. Never before had the desire to become a spawn been classified as an illness of its own.

The clerics and healers of the realms were strongly against his reverence in society, let alone him wielding one fourth of the power in one of the most influential cities in Faerûn.

And yet, lines of people stood in front of the estate every day, asking— begging —to be bitten by a vampire lord.

“We try our best,” he grinned, hitching his hand upward to grab her waist. She didn’t have time to study the confusing paths they took, drifting through multiple hallways, before her feet unexpectedly stepped on familiar carpet. Instincts were quicker than training, it seemed, and her feet planted themselves firmly on the ground as she recognized the room.

Tall walls, etched with darkwood and gold, and a high ceiling hung with dozens of chandeliers. Statues cradling greatswords were protruding from the wallpapers. More so than anything else, it was the smell of blood that caught her attention. She looked down, noting the crimson color of the rug that paved the way towards an enormous double door.

This was the room he had taken her to. A lamb offered to the lord of the house, Cazador Szarr.

“Is something the matter, darling?”

Quickly shaking the anxiety that seeped through to her bones, she plastered the same practiced smile on her face.

“Apologies, Lord Ancunín. I have never visited a building so grand,” she breathed through a chuckle, awkwardly stroking the side of her neck in an attempt to pass off her shock as discomfort.

“Astarion,” he corrected. “I don’t relish being called a lord any more than a hero does a savior. My friends call me by name.”

“Are we friends, my lor— Astarion?” She blinked.

“We could be. If you play your cards right.”

He tugged her forward, dragging her skirt through a puddle of blood. The clicking of her heels was the only sound that broke the eerie silence, until her ears picked up soft smacking and quiet moaning. An incantation followed by two fingers snapping bid the giant door to open in an instant.

Behind it was a scene most familiar in the House of Hope, though not as polished in the choice of guests. Creatures—humanoids, non-humanoids, undead, monsters—engaging in acts that would induce a snide comment even from Harleep. Through it all, the metallic smell hung in the air, blanketing the walls with the scent of iron. The floors were slippery from it. Most of the guests were covered in it.

Astarion carried on indifferently, casting a cantrip to deplete the wetness as he strolled down the chamber. Althea, ever so slightly trailing behind the vampire, wasn’t awarded that privilege, and so she felt a slight tug at her train once the satins absorbed enough blood.

“Welcome to the real Feast of Heroes, my dear.”

A gilded, spotless throne loomed from the back of the room. No guest dared go near it, and the direwolves that sat a few feet before its steps ensured that. Althea was permitted through by virtue of Astarion’s presence. She slowly made her way to the lush-looking chair where the man of the house sat comfortably, legs dangling over one of the armrests.

“Sit,” he commanded, a smirk playing on his lips.

And so she sat, uncomfortably shimmying her way into his lap. The vampire’s right palm began wandering the firmness of her belly, held together by the corset that choked it, momentarily stopping on her breast. Before she could protest the impropriety of his boldness, he squeezed at the soft skin of her throat, apparently having found the quickening pulse too appealing to resist.

“You’re nervous, my sweet,” he hummed, his gaze still fixed on the guests that indulged themselves for his viewing pleasure.

“I—I don’t think this is very appropriate, my lord—”

“Astarion.”

“Astarion,” She gulped. “I’ve not arrived for… whatever this is.”

His brow shot up as he finally glanced down at her.

“Yet your body tells a different story.”

She noticed the exposed, hardened nipple that had somehow escaped the confines of tight fabric. Her cheeks flushed a bright red, and she quickly dragged the neckline of her dress until it covered her again.

“Apologies. I must have given you the wrong impression...” She wiggled her hips in an attempt to rise to her feet, but was quickly yanked  back onto the throne of his lap. 

“What impression would that be?” He studied her expression, which must have been a mix of bewilderment and horror. The hand that had clawed at her stomach now found its place softly grazing her cheek, as he hummed in approval. The iciness of his body hadn’t changed. If anything, she was convinced he might have become part Frost Giant.

“Astarion, I am not comfortable with this.”

Another hum. This time of curiosity.

“Alright,” He relented, removing his hands from her body, perching them on the arm rests instead. She all but fell off the seat causing her head to now make snug between his legs. She looked up at him in embarrassment. The vampire examined her again, tilting his head to one side.

A sharp pain erupted from the back of her skull. For a moment, she felt compelled to speak the truth, to air out whatever thoughts she’d lodged in the deepest parts of her mind. But charms seldom worked on a warlock, let alone one indebted to the Baron of Cania.

He was trying to pry her open like a tome to peruse her thoughts.

Unfortunately for Astarion, all he would find was a palimpsest whose contents were long since effaced.

Althea rose to her feet, patting away the dust that caught parts of her dress. The noise hadn’t stopped, and neither did the blood frenzy. An incubis had ripped out the throat of a tiefling during a crazed fucking, causing a crowd to form, eager to suck away at the exposed nectar that sated their needy appetites.

None of it unsettled Lord Ancunín. He simply waved them away, reminding the direwolves to take better care that the incident never happen again.

“I apologize for misreading your intentions, Miss Prilith.” 

Astarion had appeared next to her, again. His hands were clasped behind him, again, although this time, a man and a woman, each clinging to one of his shoulders, stood wrapped around his middle. Althea hadn’t noticed the time passed, but she must have been staring at the depravity of the scene for too long. Her mouth was dry, her mind urging her to drink from the squirting pool of blood that showered the guests with seemingly endless vigor.

“Is that… man, going to be okay?” she asked, hoping the innocence of her question painted her as a naive, easily controllable damsel rather than an intelligent threat.

“Assumedly not, darling,” He beamed.

The woman, elven, with eyes bloodshot and flaking ivory skin, turned to Althea with a frightening expression. Fangs bared, she possessively grabbed at her master’s vest, shaking her head. This was rewarded with a soft pat on the head, reminiscent of a daft dog earning her meal after guarding the livestock for the day. The claws burrowing themselves into her master’s fine leathers loosened at his touch, caressing his body down to the bulge between his legs.

“There, there, Elowyn. We ask before we do!” he disapproved.

“But my lord, you requested—”

“—Our guest is clearly disturbed by our public displays of affection. Why don’t you show Miss Prilith to the nearest quarters, help her unwind from a hard day’s travels, hm?”

The sign was subtle; a brief spark in Astarion’s eyes, which seemed to kindle something in Elowyn. Her limbs momentarily slumped, as did her head. What Varra would have thought was a display of impressive charm , Althea recognized as the unwavering arcane obligation it was, which prompted his spawn to mutter a quiet acknowledgement before carrying out his orders.

These hallways were different from what she remembered. Though the sensation of anguish nonetheless remained, the emerald hue had been replaced by a decadent rose, painting an atmosphere of passion. It was a clear sign to anyone who entered this side of the manor; a coven of vampires assemble here. 

First, second, third, fourth, fifth. The fifth door to the right from the main chamber was where she would sleep. Elowyn mindlessly pointed to a set of towels, a bar of soap and rosemary oil in the bath next to her bed.

“The lord likes us clean,” she parroted in a daze before closing the doors behind her.

The room certainly smelled pristine. Bergamot seemed dominant, followed by a hint of aged brandy that pierced through the citrus that clung to the furniture. Althea lightly touched over every piece, feeling for any imperfections and indents, but none were present. Compared to the House of Hope, whose cracked marbles held the histories of the wretched souls that touched them, the smooth wood of the Ancunín Estate lacked the abundance of victims necessary for over a hundred years of vampiric rule.

Lord Ancunín was either very good at hiding his secrets, or there were none in the first place.

For a man with over a century of experience in manipulation and domination, there was a resounding lack of servants and spawn ready to do his bidding.

Something wasn’t making complete sense.

Scrubbing away the dirt, rainwater and disgust her skin collected in her pursuit of Lord Ancunín, Althea’s hands gently smoothed over some of the runes carved into her back. Even after 200 years of wear and tear, they still hadn’t faded. Sometimes she wondered if Cazador’s stubbornness vested them with timelessness, forever to mark their wearer as someone else’s possession.

Her soul—whatever was left of it—wandered between the fingers of many petty rulers and self-proclaimed, all-powerful despots. Should she return alive from all this, she could confidently boast about beating fate three times.

As she reached for the soap, the small chain that dangled from her neck clanked against the porcelain, scattering her thoughts in an instant. Even a mouse wouldn’t be frightened, yet to her, it was as if she were standing in the Temple District during prayer hours.

She fiddled with the locket, admiring the craftsmanship that tied her destiny to everlasting doom should this scheme not succeed. A three-pronged trident, piercing a golden ring like the spires did Cania.

It was within the caress of those harsh winds that Varra agreed to lease the powers from Baator’s greatest wizard for exactly 364 days.

Meeting any member of the Lords of the Nine demanded powers beyond mortals’ means. Only few could withstand the physical and emotional cruelty necessary to impress any of the lords enough to be granted audience with them. Though, most fools fortunate enough to speak with one of the archdevils typically ended in brainless, indentured servitude, the likes of which not even the great illithids of past could fathom.

And yet, she was courageous enough to straighten her spine and gaze up at the towering figure before her.

Mephistopheles, ruler of the Eighth Circle of Hell, master manipulator and the most powerful mage among the archdevils. 

Father to a son by the name of Raphael, who just so happened to meddle in his affairs one too many times.

[ryanstillwrites-if]

“Gabriel” hehehehe

Before you even knew it, you were at the front of line, the barista asking you what you wanted and you recited the list of orders everyone had prattled off before you left, finishing off with Gabriel's peppermint tea.

[femuirdris]

A Feeling of Kinship

Fire Emblem: Heroes / Awakening / Three Houses | Rating: G | Character Focus: Seteth, Frederick

Two grown men have a tea party.

[Read on AO3!]

Seteth investigated his mirror image, smoothing down singular hairs out of place and pinching his eyebrows to align the same direction. He combed his beard and adjusted his circlet, fidgeting until he was finally satisfied with his appearance.

After all, it was not every day he personally had tea with a lord’s retainer from another world, let alone someone as like-minded as himself.

Of course, he interacted with many different heroes on a daily basis, from training to arena matches to simply standing guard in the castle, but he wouldn’t call most of them friends. He tended to dote on Flayn and spend the rest of his time with his companions from Fódlan—though, with the varying timelines that the heroes hailed from, determining whether a comrade saw him as friend or foe was nigh impossible.

After one more fiddle with his cuffs, cape, and belts, he nodded at himself with a contented little smile, and departed towards the gazebo.

As he approached, he was surprised to find, rather than a man in a hefty silver and cerulean suit of armor, seated at the table was a man in a dapper brown vest buttoned over a neatly pressed white dress shirt, black slacks, and dress shoes. Around his neck was a neatly tied bow. But, his messy brown hair and untamable cowlick gave him away; this was certainly the same man Seteth had met clearing rocks from the roadside.

Seteth took a few moments longer to observe the man meticulously fine-tuning the table setting. The small round table was covered with a white and gold tablecloth, reminiscent of the banners that adorned the castle halls. Upon the table was a three-tiered display of assorted pastries, along with a gorgeous ceramic tea set.

He sucked in a breath before greeting his new friend. “Good afternoon, Sir Frederick!” His voice nearly cracked in his excitement. How unbecoming.

“Ah, Lord Seteth!” Frederick replied, and in one smooth motion he was on his feet, offering the unclaimed chair to Seteth. “Please, have a seat!”

“Thank you, my good sir,” Seteth accepted with a smile and a polite nod as he seated himself. When Frederick joined him again, he continued, “However, I cannot accept the title of lord, as I am only the advisor to the archbishop, Lady Rhea. You may simply address me as Seteth.”

“Ah, yes, Lo—er, Seteth. As you wish,” Frederick agreed. “Shall I pour you a cup?”

“Your chivalry knows no bounds. I would be delighted.” As Frederick poured the tea, the familiar scent of ginger filled his nostrils. “It seems we must have similar tastes! Are you a fan of ginger root, as well?”

Frederick’s lips curled into a small, but delighted smile. “Actually, I consider myself something of a connoisseur of all teas, depending on the occasion. Black teas make for an excellent energy boost during sleepless days. Ginger and peppermint are energizing, different herbal blends are excellent for relaxation and healing. I quite enjoy licorice root as a dessert; the natural sweetness shines through,” he explained. “However, I must say I did choose ginger with you in mind. I took it upon myself to ask your sister your preference. As I was not sure what the Askrian equivalent of ‘four-spice blend’ would be, I opted for ginger.”

Seteth’s eyebrows raised to touch his circlet. “You researched and procured my favorite tea for this occasion! I am most surprised. The only other person who has ever been so aggressively thoughtful is the professor. I appreciate your consideration!”

“You are one of the few who seem to appreciate my devotion. Lady Sumia of Ylisse, Sir Jakob of Nohr, and Sir Seth of Renais are the others. I am often criticized for my purported excess of zeal…” Frederick prattled, taking a sip of tea.

“I, too, am often criticized. My sister has called me ‘intrusive’ and ‘overbearing’ for my concern with her relationship with the other students in the Officers Academy.” He paused to inhale a whiff of the ginger as he took a sip. “Even Professor Byleth believed me to be a disgruntled and mistrusting nuisance for her first few months of instruction. I was only trying to protect Flayn from a woman I considered to be a stranger, regardless of Lady Rhea’s fondness for her.”

Frederick’s eyes lit up. “You truly do understand! Milord Chrom decided nearly immediately that the stranger we found sleeping on the roadside would become our chief tactician! He and Lady Robin were practically honeymooning from the moment he took her hand. She failed to even remember her own name and from where she hailed! I took it upon myself to be extraordinarily vigilant of her behavior to ensure milord’s safety.”

Seteth shook his head in shared disbelief. “Incredible coincidence. You know, the professor’s father, Jeralt Eisner, failed to let her know her own birthday! And she ended up blessed by the power of the goddess… this is why three of the professors share the mint green hair color, you see.”

His new friend chuckled. “Your mysterious professor was blessed by your goddess. My mysterious tactician was cursed to inhabit the Fell Dragon’s consciousness. Hence, the numerous Robins who claim to be the Fell Dragon Grima.”

“Ah, such as the gentleman whose garb disintegrated in battle!” Seteth recalled, Frederick eying him with a quizzical brow. “Yes, I am somewhat familiar. A shame—was the evil expelled?”

“In my timeline, Lady Robin sacrificed herself to rid the world of the Fell Dragon for good, yes. Er… she defeated her future self, that is? Time travel shenanigans, you see. It is all quite complex, I’m afraid…” Frederick explained, his brow furrowed.

“Ah, well, at the very least you can mostly discern which Robins are friend or foe,” Seteth uttered, a twinge of both jealousy and sadness in his voice. “Apparently there are… approximately ten significant ways in which my world’s timeline splits, depending on where the professor’s loyalty or the mercenary Shez’s loyalty lies. For instance, one of the Byleths despises me, for she sided with Edelgard in the war…” His voice trailed off.

“Askr is a curious melding of worlds, indeed. I am astounded with the possibilities—and how much the decisions of one person in each of our worlds can impact the lives of everyone in that world. It seems the Robins, Byleths, and even the Shezes share that in common,” Frederick pondered, his eyes following the delicate movement of the tea remaining in his cup.

Seteth hadn’t considered just how similar the experiences in the other worlds were to his own. His mind was a storm trying to wrap his mind around just how many alternate realities were possible, silence falling between the two men.

“However, existentialism is not the reason you intrigued me so, my good knight,” Seteth said with a smile, changing the subject. “You go so far as to remove rocks from the roadside so your liege does not trip?”

“Indeed! I must do whatever I can to keep milord safe. Whether it be taking a blow for him in battle or simply removing potential allergens by dusting, no task is too great or too small so long as it protects his wellbeing,” Frederick explained with a proud grin. As he deserves to be, Seteth thought with a mild envy. Flayn would chastise him for being so intrusive.

“How noble! I am ashamed to say I cannot compare. I protect my dear sister from miscreants who have potentially ill intentions, giving them stern talking-tos, and also watch over her in battle, but I fear my worry never dissipates…” He paused a moment, racking his brain for other unique instances of doting on Flayn. “Ah! When Flayn was young, I did write her fables—tales of ancient Fódlan, of the goddess and the saints, of morals and justice. I should think instilling great values in a loved one is a form of protection!”

“I would agree wholeheartedly! Providing a moral compass is extraordinarily important!” Frederick nodded sipping more tea. “You write?”

This time it was Seteth’s turn to beam. “I do. Writing fables continues to be a delightful outlet. In fact, I am a published author here in Askr! Commander Anna and I donate the profits from my work to support the less fortunate children in the realm.”

“Most impressive!”

“My thanks.” Seteth smiled into his cup. Convincing the commander to donate the profits took quite the effort, and he enjoyed the rare opportunity to discuss his works. “Do you indulge in any creative work for leisure?”

“I do not… particularly consider it leisure,” Frederick grimaced at the word. “However, I do enjoy knitting and embroidery—whether it be scarves or blankets to keep milord warm in the cold months, or a ‘Daddy’s Little Princess’ shirt for little Lucina, or a floral patterned dress for my wife.”

He didn’t take Frederick to be a married man, perhaps due to his everlasting devotion to the prince of Ylisse.

“You’ve a wife!” he exclaimed, finally noticing the ring on his finger.

“Indeed, as well as a child from the dark, alternate future, too. We’ve yet to have said child in my own timeline though.”

Seteth stared blankly. He knew of the Divine Pulse the goddess Sothis once wielded, but time travel from alternate futures? Earlier Frederick had alluded to it in their discussion of the Fell Dragon, but he figured the time travel was related to the dragon’s own powers. Human children, too?

“…Er, come again?”

“Ah—yes, all of the married couples of my time have had their children travel through the flow of time to change fate. Again, though, it’s curious that so many of the heroes here hail from different timelines. Apparently the Lissa of this world is married to a Frederick of hers, and their son is Owain? But I am married to Lady Sumia and our daughter is Cynthia… and I’m told one of the Chroms has married Sumia in his timeline, and their Cynthia has deep midnight blue hair like her father. It is… mind boggling, to say the least…” Frederick must have realized he was once again caught in the confusing web of alternate realities and timelines, and shook his head. “I apologize for my ramblings. Tell me, are you married? Do you have children of your own?”

A brief panic washed over Seteth, his eyes wide and his pointed ears pulling back. He gripped his cup tightly, his knuckles turning white.

Frederick hesitated, “M-my apologies if I struck a nerve—”

Seteth took a deep breath to regain his composure, and replied, “I have been married twice, actually. My late wife passed away in wartime long ago, and I found new love in the professor.” He sighed, the thought of his Byleth easing his nerves. He hesitated a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “We—do not have children at this time. My sister Flayn is the closest thing to a daughter, having raised her since her infancy.”

It was not necessarily a complete lie. Perhaps one day his new friend would know the truth, but even this realm with no bearing on his own, he couldn’t take the risk. Fortunately, Frederick did not see through his façade, and if he did, he was polite enough not to mention it.

“Ahh, I am relieved you were able to find love again; I could not imagine. From all that I know about you so far, you are deserving of the utmost happiness,” Frederick said, his smile returning.

“As are you, sir! Why, you must be the most steadfast, dedicated retainer I have ever known!” Seteth exclaimed with gusto. “I am delighted to call you a friend.”

“As am I!”

[bookwyrminspiration]

Prattle?

Hello! An excellent question for which I'll probably have a very long answer, but nevertheless!

Prattle: Your favorite candy

I don't have one specific, but I really like both yorks and snickers! Well, really anything with either mint or caramel is nice, but those two in particular I have a fondness for. Any holiday (read: valentines, easter, etc.)my parents will buy me a bag of york peppermint patties as part of the little ensemble they do to celebrate. Something about the texture is very Yes. And then snickers have a bit of crunch which in my mind elevates them above things like milky ways.

But! There are lots of other candies that are enjoyable! My dad loves kit kats, so growing up I developed a liking for them as well (and the association that they go with root beer). Same with Reese's peanut butter cups, as my mom and sister love them.

[ghostofstudentspast]

Peppermint and Lavender

Blaise x reader

This is just a short little drabble for those of you who love Blaise as much as I do! Is it a cliché? 100% but I hope you won’t mind haha

Requests are open! Even if the character isn’t on my Masterlist I’d be happy to try my best.

This is pure fluff! Just something for a rainy day 💕

Blaise Zabini has been in love with you since the first day you sat next to him in Charms class. Okay maybe not love but that was the first time he really noticed you. He noticed the way your fingers delicately held your wand, more a part of your arm than an object. He saw the way your eyes sparkled when you were the first one in the class to get a compliment from professor Flitwick. He couldn’t stop looking at the way the afternoon sun made your hair look so damn soft.

Ever since that day he noticed you everywhere he went. Sitting across the hall during meals, catching you pulling a face at your assignments during potions, he just couldn’t stop looking at you. Of course, he’d never say any of these things out loud, especially not to you.

It was the first time Blaise had ever been this infatuated with someone. Even if it was just from afar. You were barely friends, partners occasionally but he knew you weren’t so friendly with Draco and Pansy and they made up most of his friend group. But he’d made it his mission to make sure you saw him as a more gentle snake, even if he was still a snake.

_____________

“Looks like we’re partners for the day then,” a low voice spoke from beside you.

You had been late to potions, something that never happened. Practically throwing yourself into a chair near the back, you’d managed to fly under the radar of professor Snape, another unusual occurrence. The boy who you had nearly smacked with your bag happened to be the only person who made you forget how to speak.

“Looks like it,” you squeaked and focussed on the front instead of meeting his dark eyes.

Blaise was one of the most handsome boys you’d ever laid eyes on. Then again, all of the girls at Hogwarts were acutely aware of this. He was quiet but charming when he did speak. All of the girls in your dorm seemed to fawn over him, including you...silently of course.

“I didn’t think we’d ever brew Amortentia with Snape as a professor,” Blaise whispered to you as the man in question prattled on about the potion.

“I don’t believe for one second he’s ever fancied someone,” he chuckled softly and his breath his your cheek. He smelled like peppermint and you felt your heart beat just a little faster.

“I’m inclined to believe you,” you let out a shaky laugh and bit your lip as to keep from saying anything stupid. I fancy you.

Blaise was hard to read. He was friendly, in his own way, always helping with projects in way that made you think he could read your mind. Like now, he passed you the knotgrass before you could even ask. But he was also very guarded. Granted, you weren’t as close to him as say Malfoy, but he always had this calm expression, like he was waiting for something important.

His hand grazed yours as you handed him the potions book you were sharing between the two of you. Sparks shot up your arm, just like every other time you’d accidentally touched. Your eyes met his and you smiled nervously, his lips twitching up into a small smile on their own.

“Counterclockwise Y/N,” he grabbed your wrist before you could stir the wrong way. His hand covered yours and your breath hitched. He was still looking at the recipe but his thumb was absentmindedly circling the back of your hand.

“Right,” you mumbled as he dropped his hand once you started stirring, skin on fire.

The completed potion now bubbled gently before you. It was a lovely shade of pink and had an alluring look to it. Of course it would look appealing to drink, it was a love potion.

“Alright, smell your potions, tell your partner about it, or don��t I don’t care. If it smells like the person you love, you probably haven’t completely failed. So note it down, bottle it, and place it at the front for a grade.” Snape spoke up from the front of the classroom.

“What do you smell?” Blaise was staring at you intently as you leaned over the cauldron, already dreading what would come next. You knew what it would smell like because he was sat so close to you already.

“Um...peppermint,” you started, it was a general enough smell, “a log fire and coffee,” you finished lamely. You didn’t dare look at him in case he saw how red your face had become.

It was him. Blaise released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and he couldn’t help but smile as he looked at you. You smelled him.

“Don’t you want to know what I smell?” he asked as you started to bottle the potion. He didn’t even have to lean in to know. You’d sat beside him enough times that he’d memorized your scent.

“Zabini, Y/L/N, stop chatting and hurry up, class is over.” Snape called from the front of the class. It was true, the room was slowly starting to empty of students and you would soon be the only ones left.

You quickly put the stopper in the vial and rushed up to the front to drop it off as Blaise cast a quick scourgify on the cauldron. You were fiddling with your sleeves on the walk back to your station and Blaise held out your bag with a small smile. You took it without fully meeting his eyes and but the inside of your cheek nervously.

You did want to know what he smelled but you weren’t sure if you could handle the rejection. You weren’t dumb enough to believe that he would pick you out of all of the girls who lay themselves at his feet. You were just...you.

“Thanks,” you said softly and took the bag before ducking into the hall quickly. Blaise frowned before following you out and catching you in the hall.

“Y/N wait,” he grabbed your shoulder lightly and spun you around. You looked at him with wide eyes and Blaise’s heart leapt in his chest. He swallowed and took a step closer to you, “I smell lavender,” he took another step closer, “fresh laundry,” he stepped impossibly closer, the two of you now almost chest to chest, he lowered his head so you were face to face and he sniffed for dramatic effect, “and parchment...” he trailed off.

“You’re not messing with me?” you whispered as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Never,” his eyes were earnest and his mask for once had fallen away. He looked nervous but had a small smile playing on his lips, “Will you go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend? A proper date?”

“I’d be a fool to say no to that,” a relieved laugh bubbled out of you.

Blaise closed the distance between you and pressed his lips ever so lightly to yours, a question. You stood on your toes to press yourself back into him, welcoming the feeling of his soft lips against yours. You smiled into the kiss as he sighed happily and wrapped his arms around you to deepen your kiss.

“As much as I love doing that, I think McGonagall with have my ass on a plate if I’m late for my next class,” you broke the kiss with a chuckle.

“We wouldn’t want you missing such an important body part would we?” he replied and drew back with a wide grin, he was so incredibly handsome when he smiled. You loved that it was you making him smile. “Let’s get you to that class then.”

He grabbed your hand and let you lead the way through the halls. You could see people staring at the unlikely pairing of you but Blaise was proud and still held a satisfied little smile on his face. Your cheeks were flushed and the attention didn’t help but he just drew you closer, wrapped an arm around you and kissed the side of your head.

“Next weekend feels like a lifetime away,” he muttered in your ear.

“I’m sure I can arrange for a stolen moment or two,” you answered as you came to a stop just outside of your Transfiguration class.

“I would be over the moon,” he winked and pulled you in for a hug.

“I already am,” you said into his chest and gave him a small squeeze. You kissed his cheek and darted into the classroom with the promise of many more stolen kisses and moments to come.

[shutupandshipit]

A Scene Meant to be Secret - Oneshot

Summary: Sero had the worst luck of the entire class and a bad habit of walking into situations that inevitably scarred him for life.

Or where Sero should really stop walking around at night and just sleep instead. Sero's POV of some soft Bakugou and Midoriya.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T (just for the wound description)

Notes: Here, have another outside POV of BakuDeku. Aizawa's POV was fun and so was this, so I might just keep writing them. Hope you guys enjoy!

Sero had the worst luck of the entire class and a bad habit of walking into situations that inevitably scarred him for life. He wished he could give the seemingly supernatural power away to someone like Mineta or Hagakure who might enjoy using it, but he was cursed to live with it, so he did.

Just last week, he'd walked in on Mina and Kirishima vigorously making out just as she was slipping her hand into his shorts. They were supposed to be studying, but that's what he got for not knocking.

Then, the week before that, he'd found Mineta rifling through a pile of dirty magazines and unsolicited pictures of girls from around the school in the middle of the night. He'd been at the table in the common room, salivating and utterly disgusting.

While Sero didn't know why he'd decided that was a good place to do that, he pushed that out of his mind. Instead of questioning, he burned the pile immediately on the back lawn while Mineta watched and shouted and squirmed. He had the hope that whatever demons or bad luck followed pictures taken without girls' knowledge would be dispelled with the burning of them. Unfortunately, now Mineta starred as his ever present sleep paralysis demon.

Then the week before that, he'd come across Aoyama and a pile of cheese. He hadn't stuck around long enough to find out what that was all about, but nightmares about the scene haunted him just to this day.

So, when he walked down to the common room closer to midnight than lights out, he wasn't really that surprised to hear a scuffle down below.

"Deku," he heard Bakugou growl roughly, and a quiet shushing.

"Ssh, stop being a baby. Do you want Mr. Aizawa to come out and catch us?"

He stalled on the stairs, straining his ears for what exactly was going on. If it wasn't anything crazy, then he could get some juice and just go back to bed. Maybe he could break up whatever fight was brewing before it even started. If it was something weird or crazy... Well, he wasn't equipped to handle that on his own and would just go back to his room without getting anything.

Silently stepping off the last stair, he peaked around the corner. The soft warm light from one of the overhead stove lights illuminated Bakugou and Midoriya sitting by the stove where a steaming bowl and a pot on a burner sat. Steam rose thick from the pot, but neither moved to get it.

Midoriya dipped a rag into the bowl at his elbow. "You need to be more careful, Kacchan. What if you had moved a second slower? You could have lost your eye because of that guy. Why do you have to fight everyone?" he reprimanded, wiping at the blood streaking down from a cut running straight from the corner of Bakugou's tightly closed eye back along the side of his head.

His hands were shaking.

Bakugou laughed hoarsely. "That's rich coming from you, Deku. You're just as bad as I am, you just don't start the fights. I saw you hit that guy. How's your knuckles?"

Silence fell in the room, and Sero fought the urge to swallow. If he did, they'd surely hear him. He'd never seen these two be soft with each other, and why would he have? They'd been at each other's throats since the first day of class.

Midoriya continued bandaging Bakugou's face without comment, still glaring at the other teen. When he was done, he tossed the rag back into the bowl and got up to pour water from the pot into two waiting cups.

"Deku-"

"I'm fine!" Midoriya snapped.

Sero had never heard Midoriya talk to Bakugou like that. His breath caught in his chest, and he held it there. Midoriya turned back as Bakgou caught his fingers. Just that one touch had Sero's mind reeling. What was he witnessing?

"You're shit at lying. Give me your hand."

With a sigh, Midoriya turned and let himself be pulled close until he was standing between Bakugou's knees while he examined his hand between their bodies. The top of Bakugou's head looked like it was touching Midoriya's chest from where Sero stood.

Midoriya flinched above him, and Katsuki murmured, "You're going to have to get this checked out by Recovery Girl in the morning. I think something is broken."

It was so quiet in the dorms, Sero could hear the water boiling in the pot, the sound of every breath they took and how they'd synced up.

"I'll be fine," Midoriya mumbled, and Sero flinched away from the scene as he felt more than heard Bakugou's anger rise.

He took a moment to catch his breath as Bakugou started shouting.

"Stop playing the fucking martyr! You want your hand to get more fucked up than it already is? You want to not be able to move it at all? Is that what you want, Deku? Because it's not-"

Sero peaked out again as Bakugou suddenly went quiet, just panting out his frustration.

Midoriya had his hand over Bakugou's eyes, staring softly down at him. "Breath, Kacchan, you're starting to panic again. Calm down, please. You're going to reopen your wounds."

"I can't calm down when you're always getting hurt," Bakugou growled, curling his fists in Midoriya's t-shirt at his waist, "And then refusing to go to Recovery Girl when there's clearly something wrong. There's nothing wrong with asking for help."

"Says the guy who is way to stubborn to ask for help himself," Midoriya teased, leaning closer though his hand remained over Bakugou's eyes, "So stubborn."

"Same to you."

"I learned how to from you." When he dipped his head down, catching Bakugou's parted lips, Sero couldn't hold in his gasp of surprise.

A hand slapped over his mouth to silence him though, and the other two seemed too preoccupied as Bakugou wrapped his arms around Midoriya's waist to hear him.

The hand dragged Sero away and back up the stairs, holding him hard against a soft chest. When they were finally on the second floor landing, Sero wriggled free of the hold and turned to find open air. "Hagakure?" he whispered after a moment of confusion.

She shushed him loudly, a hand slapping back over his mouth. "Shut up or they'll hear you!"

"What the hell is going on anyway?" Sero whispered back quickly, eyes searching for something to latch onto, but there was nothing. It was disconcerting that he knew Hagakure had to be naked and that she found it a good idea to walk around naked. Really, the whole situation, Midoriya, Bakugou and Hagakure made him uncomfortable. All he'd wanted was some juice.

"Nobody knows about them. This happens a lot though."

"What? Them making out in the kitchen?"

Hagakure's laugh was quiet, just a breath, and he could imagine her smothering it with a fist. "No.  Them coming back after curfew and sitting in the kitchen to talk. It happens all the time. I assume the kissing happens while they're out."

"How has Mr. Aizawa caught them yet?"

Hagakure hummed. "I think he has, but whatever they're doing must be important. Or they only get caught in the kitchen, so he can't do anything about it. They come back all banged up a lot of the time too."

"That's so weird," Sero whined.

Again, she hummed. "Maybe. I think it's sweet."

Sero groaned, but didn't resist as she pulled him quietly back down the stairs. When he peaked around the corner, the pair was just breaking apart from their embrace.

Midoriya reached for the cups, handing one to Bakugou before sitting back down to hook his foot around Bakugou's calf. He smiled. "Are you ready for the test?"

"Okay, I'm going to go make some noise," Hagakure whispered in his ear before her presence was gone.

Sero swung back around, pressing his back to the wall as she trampled down the stairs.

"Shit," Bakugou whispered, and the scramble of scooting stools was loud in the quiet.

Hagakure moved passed Sero with a brush of air, and she gasped theatrically. "Oh! Midoriya, Bakugou, hi! Couldn't sleep either? What are you drinking?"

"Oh, evening, Hagakure. It's just, uh, some peppermint tea," Midoriya mumbled.

Taking a breath, Sero followed Hagakure out, rubbing at the back of his head as Hagakure prattled on near the others. He retrieved what he wanted from the fridge and hurried away, but not fast enough apparently.

"Hey, Elbows!" Bakugou called before he could make it to the stairs and he stalled, turning back to smile widely at him.

Sero really hoped he didn't look suspicious. "Yeah, Bakubro, what's up?"

"Make sure to sleep. I've not going to go easy on you in training today just because you're fucking tired. You got that?"

"Sure, sure," Sero said, waving him off as he mounted the stairs. Well, at least he could count on Bakugou's attitude to never change towards him, but man, he really did wish he could just forget about what he'd seen.

[herradhighpriestess]

Deliberate Exchange

Summary: Elka Green is at work the morning the Exchange. She is one of the hostages pulled onto the motorcycles and not released. Elka is married to a conservative judge, in a loveless marriage, there's all sorts of drugs, sex and violence and political references/quotes that could offend, I hope you enjoy, xoxo I don't own any of these characters etc.

Chapter One: A Personal Note

Elka Green climbed the steps of the Exchange building, her eighteen hundred-dollar Gucci heels sounded in staccato clicks on the pitted and well traversed steps of the Exchange.

She tossed her hair back and adjusted the silk scarf that was loosely wrapped around her slim neck. Elka’s dark blonde hair fell long past her shoulders.

A sharp breeze blew in her direction, and a single tendril of her macadamia nut oiled hair caught in the loose knot of her scarf. As the wind died down, the single strand of warm blonde hair pulled free of her scalp and settled in the silken valleys of the designer fabric.

Elka paused at the top of the steps when she heard someone call her name.

“Elka, hey Elka!”

She forced her lips into a welcoming smile as Jerry Reynolds jogged over to her.

“Hey Elka, how was your weekend?”

“Good morning Jerry, it was pleasant. Thank you for asking.”

Jerry ran a manicured hand through his seventy-five-dollar haircut. Elka started walking again and kept her matte lipstick smile fixed in place as she headed in the direction of an organic coffee cart.

Jerry kept pace and prattled on about his weekend, completely oblivious to Elka’s disinterest. She struggled to not roll her eyes as Jerry rattled off story after adventure about his wild weekend.

Elka’s smile turned genuine when Albert Phinney pressed a white lid on a recycled paper cup and passed it to her as she walked up. “Good morning Mrs. Green, I hope your weekend was well,” he added as she accepted the hot cup from his hands.

Albert watched her intently as she took a sip of the steaming soy concoction. She smiled warmly when the sweet espresso flooded her mouth and coated her taste buds.

“Today, it’s a soy hazelnut macchiato with a dusting of cinnamon and nutmeg.”

Elka took another sip as Albert whispered that he had added some light agave syrup. Monday through Friday, Albert made Elka a mystery espresso. It was a tradition that had started more than seven years prior and showed no signs of stopping unless one of them ceased to live.

It had been Elka’s first day at the Exchange, she had started on the lowest part of the totem, barely clinging to its wooden splinters. She had been obscenely early for her first day, not many people had been around. Albert had been brewing coffee and unwrapping and arranging sweet pastries and Bavarian cream filled delicacies onto plastic platters.

Elka had straightened the stiff collar of her stark white blouse and pinstriped blazer as she approached Albert’s coffee cart. He had offered her a warm smile and didn’t tell her that he wasn’t quite set up for business yet when he saw her nerves peeking out from behind her statuesque and stoic facade.

Elka stood a little over 5’8 and in her Jimmy’s, she came in just a hair under six feet. Albert’s smile broadened when Elka couldn’t decide on a coffee and held up a wrinkled, liver-spotted hand to pause her indecisive litany.

“Allow me to make you a drink not on the menu,” he had whispered in a low conspiratorial tone and bustled about steaming soy milk and adding an amber colored sweet syrup.

Elka had smiled gratefully and accepted that first drink which started the long-running weekly tradition of Albert creating her morning coffee. She always abstained from one of the tempting and delicious looking buttery pastries. Every great once in a while, Albert would top one of her morning espressos with whipped cream and fat light-brown raw sugar crystals.

Elka put a few dollars in the battered paper tip cup and headed to the large revolving doors of the Exchange with Jerry hot on her highfalutin shiny, leather heels.

Elka breathed a sigh of relief when Jerry said he’d catch up with her later and hopped into an already packed elevator to head to the bustling seventh floor. She casually waved at him and continued in her preferred solitary fashion of the carpeted floor of the Exchange.

She sipped at her macchiato and reveled in the sweet coffee as she readied her mind for the day.

Elka was Mrs. Elka Alsina Green. Married just under four years to Justice Calvin Patrick Green of the Supreme Court.

They had met when Elka had been a key witness in a defense case against a legal firm CEO caught up in a masterful Ponzi Scheme. Judge Green had waited until the verdict had come in and had slammed his gavel down before asking her out for dinner.

In their short marriage, Elka’s bullish behavior and competitive drive led to her being promoted to her current position of an Information Systems Analyst Supervisor. Her intense focus at the Exchange led to people loving or hating her, unfortunately Jerry was head over heels for her, smitten beyond belief, despite Elka’s multiple reminders of her marriage.

She hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings by adding that she held zero attraction towards him.

Elka swirled the coffee in the dull green paper cup as she stalked through the Exchange and paused to say hello or offer a few passing words to several colleagues. After she finished the coffee, she fished a pack of gum from her burgundy Louis Vuitton bag. Soon the sweet and artificial peppermint coated her tongue and chased away her coffee breath.

Elka adjusted the shiny plastic badge over her heart as a familiar and delightful nervous energy filled her body, leaving a vast tingling in its wake that danced through her limbs as she waited for the opening bell to ring.

As Elka’s heartbeat increased and she snapped her gum faster, Jerry had remained at the Exchange entrance and looked down at the older man running a stiff bristled brush over the tops of his shoes.

Jerry could nearly see his reflection in the buffed surface of his shoes.

“You can’t short the stock because Bruce Wayne goes to a party,” Jerry said loudly to the man sitting next to him. The man whose name Elka couldn’t seem to remember. Dennis.

“Wayne coming back is change. Change is either good or bad. I vote bad.” The man who Jerry was looking down upon in his current sitting position as well as in life was a very loyal man with five grown daughters. Esau pretended to be every part the simple-minded man who was shining the shoes of the pretentious, all in hopes for a few crisp bills and shiny coins to rain down around him.

Esau continued to work the brush over the tops of Jerry’s gleaming shoes, urging a glow to swim to the surface. As Jerry and Dennis continued to discuss Bruce Wayne, Esau let his eyes wander over to his black nondescript backpack which held a loaded automatic weapon.

“On what basis?” Dennis asked.

“I flipped a coin,” Jerry answered casually before adding. “Come on let’s go scalping,” he said as he tossed a fresh five-dollar bill to land next to Esau‘s leg.

Esau watched Jerry adjust and smooth down his royal purple tie that stood out proudly against his bright blue and white striped shirt.

While Elka covered a deep yawn, Scott Carthwright pulled a creased ten dollar bill out of his pocket when the delivery guy from Antonio’s, a stellar delicatessen, walked up with a brown paper bag.

Scott opened the bag and pulled out the parchment wrapped sandwich that was supposed to be a mortadella on wheat with a fat pile of pungent pepperoncini and thick rings of Vidalia onion. He was looking forward to the olive oil and balsamic dressing that would soak the bread and impregnate it with the progeny of sweet, bitter, spicy, and savory. Scott let out a dramatic exasperated sigh and looked at the delivery guy who sported sharp features and a hooked nose. “It says rye, I said no rye man.”

The salt and pepper haired delivery man, Joshua, flicked his eyes over to the clock before his gaze landed on Scott’s plastic badge and ID number, G13689.

While Scott continued to bitch about his sandwich, on the marble landing of the carved staircase, Karl pushed a wooden handled mop along the floor after a pair of traders walked past. His beige monochromatic clothing made him almost disappear in the sea of ostentatious bustling busybodies with their platinum money clips, excessive caffeine consumption and high blood pressure.

Karl glanced down at his sunny yellow mop bucket filled with sudsy water.

Submerged in the soapy water was a matching automatic weapon to Esau’s, which laid in deadly dormancy, waiting to take lives.

Elka glanced up at the large clock and made her way to her glass-walled corner office, which was sprawling and spacious, she smiled at the fresh peonies her secretary Janice had left on the corner of her desk.

No sooner had Elka taken her seat and booted up her computer, when her life changed irreparably by a masked man in a leather jacket.

The metal detectors began to blare their alarms as Bane walked into the lobby of the Exchange, armed guards milled about with their federally issued .40 caliber handguns.

Bane’s broad shoulders were encased in a well-worn and creased leather jacket. DCS Downtown Courier Service, was emblazoned across the back in dull brick red letters.

Bane’s thick and heavily corded muscular neck and body were obscured by the fire engine red helmet that drew the attention of Sandra, a full-time member of the Exchange’s security team.

Sandra approached Bane and began to recite her repetitive litany for newcomers to the Exchange.

Her dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail and she struggled to not roll her eyes in irritation at yet another person not being able to read the sign that clearly stated to remove all headwear, from hat to motorcycle helmet.

“Hey rookie, lose the helmet. We need faces for camera.”

“Come on,” Sandra managed before the red helmet was off Bane’s head and smashing into her face. The bridge of her nose exploded, and she saw bright blue stars before losing consciousness.

She would awake in a narrow emergency room gurney a while later, a plastic IV line in one arm, keeping the pain down to a dull roar.

In a brutal display of startling power, Bane moved to the right and swung the helmet in an arc, catching another guard in his forward momentum. He dodged left and avoided the next man’s reaching arm and gun. Bane slipped around the man’s extended arm and forced him to discharge his weapon before dropping him to the ground.

Bane looked around at the fallen guards, his veins and arteries swelled and became engorged with lethal toxicity. His body moved with the feral grace of felines stalking in the tall brush of the Serengeti.

“This is a stock exchange, there’s no money you can steal,” Jerry said in a tone that still held the repugnant tone of his obnoxious silver-spooned upbringing.

“Really? Then why are you people here?” Bane rebutted quickly and pulled Jerry roughly by the neck to a nearby desk. Bane slammed Jerry’s soft featured face onto the desk’s paper cluttered surface and ripped the plastic access badge from his chest.

Dennis tried to sink into his seat and disappear off of Bane’s radar, his sweating fingers struggled to not drop Bane’s red motorcycle helmet onto the ground. He felt like he was going to piss his pants, sphincter tightening. His stomach threatened to reject his liquid latte breakfast, acidic bile burned at the back of his throat.

While the metal detectors continued to blare their alarms as the masked group of men stormed the lobby. The masked men were all heavily armed and swarmed the offices and took up post by the elevators.

One of the men sprayed a line of bullets in the ceiling and the abrupt gunfire quieted a lot of screams.

Another anonymous man lifted a bullhorn to his masked mouth and began to speak. His voice reverberated through the lobby and reached Elka’s ears as she crawled under her desk and hugged her knees to her chest, through the glass walls, Elka could see that Janice had taken the same position under her own desk.

“Disobedience will be punished by death,” the masked man began and in a brutal display of startling power, grabbed one of the crying interns who was wailing incessantly and pulled her to her feet. He swung the bullhorn in an arc, catching the crying woman in mid-sob and knocking her unconscious to the floor.

“Cooperation and silence are what will allow you to retain your life.” Elka peeked around the corner of her desk as the masked man looked around at the people shaking in fear, the veins and arteries in his muscular neck swelled and became engorged with lethal toxicity. His body moved with the feral grace of felines stalking their unsuspecting prey in the tall brush.

Elka ducked back under her desk as the man’s gaze took to sweeping across the faces of the scared men and women standing in trembling huddles. They were corralled by their own fear, nearly paralyzed with the thought that the next bullet fired was going to kiss them between their shoulder blades.

Elka took a sharp intake of breath and nearly felt the weight of the masked terrorist’s eyes pass over where she was hidden from view. She flinched when she heard his voice grow in volume as he moved down the hallway, his men had spread out and were dragging people from their offices and impromptu hiding spots.

Elka pressed her lips together and inhaled deeply through her nose, she tried to remember all the jargon her yoga instructor spouted about finding a place of calm and being able to breathe away anxiety. She closed her eyes; her heartbeat was pounding in her ears with a dull roar and she couldn’t shake the image of the masked man. A short film on perpetual repeat, danced behind her eyelids of his predatory stalking around the Exchange floor, his eyes found every weakness among the hostage masses, from their red blood cells to their very warm, wet core.

Elka risked another peek around her desk just as the armed man did another visual sweep. His eyes landed on Elka when her face appeared around the mahogany desk. Elka found herself unable to move, trapped under his warm caramel colored eyes.

As the dangerous man approached her with light footfalls despite his heavy boots, he watched her expression fill with fear. He smiled behind his mask as he closed the distance between them, walking towards her with deliberate and painful slowness.

He stopped in front of her, “stand up,” he ordered and pointed to the floor in front of him. He watched her struggle to stand and found he barely had to drop his eyes to return her wide-eyed stare. His eyes fell to her plastic badge indicating her supervisorial capacity.

The next few moments were a blur for Elka, she was startled back to reality by the feel of his massive hand enclose around her bicep.

From the closeness of his proximity, his voice caused her stomach to clench and her mouth went dry.

“How much longer does the program need?” the intricate metal asked man asked Esau, with his eyes completely trained on Elka and the rapid and rise and fall of her chest.

“Eight minutes but they cut the fiber, cells working,” Esau said as he watched the progress of the computer program weave its way into the monetary network.

She flinched when she heard his voice call again to the man that had until not too long ago, shining shoes.

“Time to go mobile,” sounded the masked man’s musically toned voice as he closed a large hand around her upper arm. From the closeness of his proximity, his voice caused her stomach to clench and her mouth went dry.

The next few moments were a blur for Elka, she was startled back to reality by the feel of his massive hand yank her around by her bicep.

Elka heard the shouting of the masked man’s counterparts and fresh gunfire erupted as she was pulled towards the exit doors of the Exchange.

“Everybody up!” a deep male voice shouted and was followed up by a spray of bullets. Some hit yielding flesh with a meaty smack.

“You two, move.”

Bane paused in front of Dennis and pulled at the red helmet that he was clutching like newborn stock options.

“Thank you,” Bane said in a haunting and melodic tone as he pulled the helmet from Dennis’s sweating hands.

Elka seemed to wake up as the physically imposing man pulled her towards a line of waiting motorcycles.

She began a futile attempt to pull free of his grasp.

He didn’t audibly respond to her feeble attempt at resistance, instead he tightened his grip until he forced a hiss of pain from her lips and yanked her towards the closest bike.

Bane didn’t relinquish his stranglehold on Elka’s arm, even as he swung his leg over the bike and settled on the padded seat. He spared a glance at Elka before he pulled her to perch in front of him.

Her fears were renewed when he started the bike’s engine and began to let it idle as the other men with him gathered the remaining hostages at the exit doors and got on the bikes as they gunned the engines to life.

Outside, SWAT and police milled about and argued about the best approach to the terrorists.

Foley and Blake had their firearms leveled at the Exchange as one of the rooftop snipers squinted and called out. “I’ve got something.”

“Steady….” Foley called.

“Steady.”

The hostages started down the steps of the Exchange and the security chief shouted over the growing Gotham Police Department’s adrenaline buzz.

“Hold your fire, they’ve got hostages.”

In the midst of the shouting, Elka tried to slide out of Bane’s grasp, she almost squealed with victory when the toe of her shoe hit the ground. Her joy was fleeting as Bane wrapped a powerful arm around her and pulled her back until she was flush against his chest. She was forced to shift her body until the smooth, metal gas tank was cool against the inside of her trembling thighs.

As Bane and his men tore through the city on their motorcycles, they dropped their hostages one at a time.

The police force erupted in chaos and officers tried left and right for a clean shot at any and all of the terrorists, while trying desperately to avoid the innocents.

Some of the unlucky guys and gals landed poorly and Gotham’s emergency room had a slew of broken wrists and ankles to grit-filled road rash.

The original objective had been to take temporary hostages in order to ensure a safe escape from the Exchange.

As Bane urged the bike’s speedometer higher, Elka squeezed her eyes shut.

Bane kept his grip on her strong and unyielding, through the razor thin vents of his mask, he could detect the sensual aroma of a high-end parfum, sold only in overpriced blue glass bottles.

The fragrance held the sweet and citrus undertones of rosehips and bergamot.

Bane inhaled a lungful of the subtle fragrance as he continued to maneuver the motorcycle through the city.

As he steered them further from the Exchange, Elka began to fall still under her body’s shock response.

“Where are you taking me?”

Bane was genuinely surprised when Elka’s voice sounded above the wind rushing past them. He responded immediately and without delay as soon as her last spoken syllable had tumbled from her lips.

His single word response caused her vocal cords to temporarily cease to function.

“Home.”

[blackberryandpeppermint]

I’m so very bored so send me a character to share my unhinged thoughts about.

[tss-grimmverse]

Chapter 2: Gloxinia

it doesn’t mean much

it doesn’t mean anything at all

the life i’ve left behind me is a cold room

Virgil stirred to wide-eyed awareness twice in the night, both times because he thought he heard doors opening. But he was too exhausted to get up and check, and reluctantly settled down after the adrenaline wore off.

The third time he opened his eyes, the sky outside his bedroom window glowed an early morning blue and he desperately needed the restroom.

Groaning, he grabbed his hoodie from where he’d slung it over the headboard the night before, pulled it securely around him, and padded across the hallway. Once finished, he tiptoed cautiously into the main room, finding it exactly as he had left it the night before.

Was he still alone? If the sounds he’d heard were Logan coming in super late, at best the dude was probably still asleep.

Hell, I should still be asleep, Virgil thought, wandering blearily into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, more out of curiosity than actual hunger, and let out a surprised laugh.

“Holy troll shit, that is a lot of jelly,” he murmured, pulling out a jar to read the label. Crofters Organic.

Oh.

That explained the postscript.

The sound of front door opening and closing startled him to his feet. Virgil hastily replaced the jar, lining it back up next to its dozen or so neighbors.

Closing the fridge door, he looked over the counter and found himself face to face with the most gorgeous person he’d ever laid eyes on. His heart stuttered. The newcomer dumped a keyring on the counter…shit, this was Logan?…and adjusted a pair of half-moon glasses.

“You must be Virgil,” he said in a deep, tranquil voice, stepping out of a pair of worn athletic shoes.

Virgil made a croaking noise that tried to become a greeting before getting stuck halfway down his throat.

Logan swept through the apartment, disappearing into the furthest room and reemerging with a towel. Sweat glistened on his bare chest, bark dark and beech smooth, and sparkled in black hair braided into a dozen wavy rows against his scalp. The guy had one of those sculpted, solid builds, all broad, lean planes and bold, sensual lines. An artist’s dream to shade; a little awkward to hug.

Virgil swallowed hard, forcing his poor gay eyes away.

Somehow between the normalcy of the apartment and the weirdly formal note, he had forgotten that Logan was half faery; half Court Fae, in fact, if his looks were any clue. Such faeries were, as a rule, heartbreakingly beautiful.

Upon closer examination, his non-human heritage was obvious. Ears that swept up and back to points on either side of his head, clearly visible to Virgil’s changeling gaze. Frost white streaks that twined through his braids. And those fae, prismatic eyes: the irises an explosion of frost and indigo and smoke that coalesced into a deep slate gray.

Eyes that gazed a little too deep, burned a little too wild behind his glasses.

Virgil knew he ought to say something, but his addled brain had forgotten how to operate his mouth.

“Apologies for my unkempt state,” Logan said as he patted himself down. “I always do my running in the morning before it gets too hot.”

“Uh…yeah,” Virgil muttered, wrenching his gaze from smooth muscles and a graceful sweeping collarbone to Logan’s stormy eyes, so striking in that dark face. “No, I mean…that’s cool.”

Eloquent, Virgil.

Logan eyed him impassively.

Virgil became abruptly and painfully ashamed to be dressed in nothing but ratty boxers and a faded hoodie. Maybe he could just escape into my room and put pants on or would Logan hate me for being rude but maybe he already hates me for being half naked in the living room what the hell is wrong with me…

“Do you drink coffee?”

Logan hung the towel over one of the dining room chairs and swept past Virgil into the kitchen. A trace of that elusive teal scent from the night before followed in his wake, nearly making Virgil swoon. Even his voice was sexy: dark and ocean blue, pleasantly filling the room without being loud.

Kelpie’s mane, Virgil, get your shit together. It’s not like you’ve never seen a hot black dude before.

He pulled his hoodie more tightly around himself.

“Uh, yeah,” he belatedly answered Logan’s question. “Coffee’s great.”

“Personally I like tea.”

Oh. Well, Virgil did usually manage to say the wrong thing.

Logan pulled a Keurig machine from a bottom cabinet and set it up on the counter.

“Herbal, preferably,” he added, “though I have been known to enjoy a good Earl Gray from time to time.”

“Earl Gray.” Virgil forced a chuckle. “You Captain Picard or something?”

His Rennie family had all been very fond of Star Trek, which was the only reason Virgil knew anything about it.

Logan, however, frowned.

“I am Logan Ursae.” He adjusted his glasses. “I assumed the Youngstown Grimms would have at least informed you of my name before sending you here?”

Virgil wasn’t sure if he was being mocked or if the guy was just that literal.

“I meant, like, the Star Trek character, dude. Obviously I know who you are.”

Logan’s mouth twisted and he turned back to the Keurig.

“I’m afraid I am not at all knowledgable about popular human entertainment. I find most of it trite and shallow.”

Virgil scuffed his bare foot uneasily over the carpet. Usually he preferred people to speak their minds instead of fucking around…but this guy took that philosophy a bit far.

He did write that stick-up-the-ass note.

“Do you know that proper peppermint can be frustratingly difficult to procure unless one grows it themselves?” Logan said, once again ignoring the awkward silence that had fallen.

Or maybe Virgil was the only awkward one, as usual.

“And it cannot be grown from seed, only cuttings.”

Virgil made a noncommittal noise, unsure if Logan was even expecting a response at this point.

Logan held out a box of flavored coffees, packed side by side and seemingly organized by color.

“Um…hazelnut if you’ve got it,” Virgil muttered. “Should I, like, help or whatever?”

“Nonsense, you are my guest. Plus my kitchen is not large enough to accommodate two people comfortably.” Logan waved a graceful hand as he filled a copper kettle. “I will start our drinks, and then perhaps we should both get dressed for the day.”

Virgil flushed and pulled his hoodie closer, aware once again that he’d galavanted out here in his underwear and worse, Logan had noticed. Had he seen Virgil ogling his bare chest?

Was that why he kept prattling on about tea?

He’s probably already decided I’m weird and creepy, he’s just waiting for the right moment to call me out…

“Why even have a coffee maker if you don’t drink coffee?” Virgil asked, and then flinched. He had a bad habit of masking his anxiety with belligerence.

It was why people tended not to like him.

Logan’s mouth quirked as he centered a mug under the Keurig. “You are not the first changeling I’ve taken in.”

He brushed past Virgil again (that scent, gods, Virgil’s brain swooned again), heading towards the back bedroom.

“Go and change while I shower,” he threw over his shoulder. “Then we can properly acquaint ourselves with one another.”

With that, the door clicked shut, leaving Virgil alone with a gaping mouth.

“Bloody redcaps,” he muttered, yanking a handful of his faded purple hair. ‘Acquaint ourselves’, my gay ass. Said with a straight face. How the fuck is anyone that oblivious?

“Naughty, naughty thoughts, changeling.” Remy’s amused smirk and sunglasses were just visible from his cabinet’s half-open door. “You’re lucky the Bear’s not a telepath.”

Virgil, flushing, made a rude gesture in the brownie’s direction and stalked to his own room, slamming the door. He then leaned against it and exhaled, his heart still throbbing unsteadily in his chest.

Logan was…not what he had expected.

Virgil wasn’t sure what he had expected, after reading that note from last night. Certainly not some hot nerd with a gorgeous runner’s body and a quiet, self-assured aura, plus a bit bossy, and damn, why do I find that kinda hot?

Remy’s taunt came back to him and he groaned, covering his face. They were naughty thoughts; thoughts a changeling like himself had no business entertaining. A beautiful half-faery deserved far better than a former thrall who’d done the sorts of things Virgil had done…

Plus you haven’t made the best first impression, have you?

Virgil thunked his head against the door, realized he’d been wool-gathering like a moron for several minutes, and went to change clothes. He took a little time to comb his hair and rub a little patchouli oil behind his ears. He wished he owned something nicer than ripped black jeans, faded band t-shirts (mostly metal), and one bulky, black plaid hoodie.

He hated that it suddenly mattered.

When Virgil emerged, Logan had already returned to the kitchen, dressed in a pair of dark jeans, a plain black polo that clung rather unfairly to his arms and torso, and…Virgil almost chuckled at the sight…a blue striped necktie.

Somehow, he made it work.

“Sit where you’d like.” Logan poured hot water into a galaxy mug without turning around. The Keurig spat the last of its sweet smelling contents into a second mug, and Logan carried both to the table.

Virgil sat, feeling self-conscious as Logan passed him his coffee.

Because now the half faery clearly expected them to talk about things.

Virgil hated talking about things.

“I imagine you have questions,” Logan stated without preamble.

“I…guess?” Virgil took a shy sip and winced as it burned his tongue.. “I mean…they didn’t tell me much about you back in Ohio,” he admitted. “Only that you have some ability to hide changelings from other Fae, and that’s why I’d be safe here.”

Logan stirred a generous dollop of honey into his tea, tasted it, grimaced, and added another spoonful. Virgil stared, morbidly fascinated that anyone so doggedly serious would want their drink that sweet.

“My ability to hide you is actually a byproduct of what I am, rather than anything I do.” Logan explained. “Simply put, even as a half-blood, my Court magic burns strong enough to mask yours. A proper Court faery could hide you far better, but finding one who wouldn’t immediately turn you back over to your master would be…”

“Impossible?” Virgil shivered.

“Improbable.”

There were a million questions Virgil probably needed to ask, since he was stuck here. But as usual, his mouth refused to cooperate.

Logan eventually got up to fry a couple eggs and fix some toast, prompting Virgil to ask about the fridge full of jam, which sparked a passionate one-sided rant about fruit spreads, organics, ethics, and the superiority of Crofters that spared Virgil the need to do anything except nod with wide eyes until breakfast was over.

(He was permitted to taste the sacred jam, and had to admit that it was pretty good).

“We will need to pick up Nicodemus this morning,” Logan stated once they’d finished eating and carried their plates to the sink.

“We?” Virgil echoed, choosing to focus on that rather than on who or what a ‘Nicodemus’ might be. He slid his plate into the soapy water as Logan washed, almost dropping it when he accidentally brushed Logan’s forearm. The half-faery’s skin was smooth and pleasantly cool.

“I do not think it safe for you to be left here alone for long periods of time, at least not at first. Therefore you will need to accompany me on errands. I suggest we take thirty minutes to digest and then be on our way.” Logan paused, and turned to properly face Virgil. “If…that is agreeable to you?”

Virgil’s dislike of being ordered around must have been visible on his face. He schooled it to neutrality and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Good impression, Virgil, come on.

“I mean, I don’t have anything going on until classes start in two weeks, so…you know, whatever you need to do is cool with me.”

Great. Now stop rambling, idiot.

Logan nodded and swept past again, down the hall, and then his bedroom door was closing firmly behind him again. Virgil huffed and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Definitely not a man of excess words.

Or, and I’m just spitballing here, he thought wryly as he meandered back to his own room. Maybe he hates you already.

Gloxinia: love at first sight

[wp-blaze]

A Note on Memories: Birthday Cakes Made by Mom

There is nothing more perfect than a mother that spends hours crafting a magical birthday with every cent and ounce of time she can spare.

[gustworks]

Afro Man / Vacon [English Translation]

[NND] | [YT]

Track, Lyrics: Vacon (mylist/29879988)

[Original Lyrics]

—

Translation: Kirbop (@gustworks)

Proofreading: goShogo (@goshogo)

chewin' over what had we done

dozens of times...

da da

it was so sharp n' strong

stimulus like peppermint gum

the fleeting love

reminiscent...

never can do a 180

play sanity

it was like I was dreaming

being in your arms

been hoping I wouldn’t wake up

don't know since when but it’s what I’m feeling

god, if you’re there, you’re so cruel

(while in an unconscious)

passing the buck to someone

like a baby I cry in the night

da, da

it rings painfully hollow

rock me in a cradle

half-truths spill out

prittle-prattle, aren’t I such a let-down

I just wanna breathe a sigh of relief

how many times have I done this already? I don’t even wanna count

cuz I know...

if you're gonna do it then "do it COOL."

your favorite phrase

I'll bet you feel pretty great

(...if things go well)

you sure are skilled, with all sorts of things

maybe it's a kind of talent?

what a trifle, it doesn't matter

to me anymore

a paper dream worth half a year

I tried to leave it behind

I can only let out a scream

the day we met

shines radiantly, kaleidoscopic

again, with that broad smile

you come for me

hold up!

I might just get aggressive about you

my lips, gently biting them, throwin' at ya

I have a funny idea

...I'm such an idiot

hold up!

I might just get serious about you

your lips, I'll snatch them away

the whole world, whole thing fell into a slow dance

your broad smile when you pulled out

an oddly mature love letter you hid inside your afro hair

I can't forget it

since that day I’ve hated

I’ve hated kind people

that's why now this is the one romance

we're in similar circumstances

we made up with song and dance

I believed we were "meant to be together."

...there's no way we were a dream, you and I

without an umbrella

I dashed out, without even a destination

as if cutting through the rain I go for a run

when did I start crying?

feel like a wet rag, ooh

sank down in the spot

yes I know...

hey, where should we redezvous?

I'll be waiting at that place

as always

fxxx, feels like I’m losing it

even after looking away there’s only things I hate

what a fool, there's no saving me

I'm so thin,

you can see right past me

it hit me then

all these things I can never get back

IT SUDDENLY

my hands only know how to destroy

again, once more, again...

teach me how to put an end to this

I bungled it

it just about to crumbling

hold up!

I might just get aggressive about you

my lips, gently biting them, throwin' at ya

I have a funny idea

...I'm such an idiot

hold up!

I might just get serious about you

your lips, I'll snatch them away

the whole world, whole thing fell into a slow dance

my breath might just stop

Just a moment, please!

the Life got bored of the two of us

not a gamble, not a ramdom

hooked on sound and light, treasure hunting

this is gonna get funky

white marshmallow and chocolate fountain

how was it

sorry, I can only write sad songs

won't you please forgive me already

I promise I'll never write HER name

so sinful, escape the blame

let's end it already

man, c’mon, just dance, sing with passion (the stressful everyday's gone!)

your head's voluminous, and like "nidus-avis" (raising birds in it)

haha, as if!

if we go like this forever (you know, however till dawn)

you can't even bring yourself to say goodbye, don't pretend to be COOL

we were the same kind of person

I realized this only after we ended up the way we are

just kidding

a sweet dream worth half a year

when I close my eyes

I remember everything

I can recall everything

(woo give me a little mo' time...)

hold up!

I might just get aggressive about you

my lips, gently biting them, throwin' at ya

I have a funny idea

...I'm such an idiot

hold up!

I might just get serious about you

your lips, I'll snatch them away

the whole world, whole thing fell into a slow dance

your broad smile when you pulled out

an oddly mature love letter you hid inside your afro hair

I can't forget it

I don't want to forget it

[forever-dreaming-cullen]

[FIC] In the Heat of Summer - Slightly NSFW

Late to the party for day 2 of @cullenappreciationweek: Day 2: Commander Cullen

Thank you to @ekoorb03 for the awesome beta!

Summary: It's summer in Skyhold and it's hot. Cullen and the Iron Bull are sparring, and Bull isn't the only one not wearing a shirt. You get a front row seat to the action, and the temperature just shot up about a hundred degrees!

Read it on AO3

The summer sun high in the sky greets you as you exit the Great Hall, trying to escape the endless prattle and demands of the simpering nobles your position forces you to deal with. As the cool breeze fluttering through the tree branches ghosts over your hot skin, you sigh in relief, happy to be free of the stifling air inside the keep.

As you hop down the steps to the courtyard,  you turn your head to the raucous shouting ringing out from the training yard where a crowd has gathered. Curious, you increase your pace as you jog toward it. When you draw closer, you curse your diminutive height because you can't see anything over the heads of people circled around the fenced-in area.

"Show 'im, Commander!" someone shouts near the front of the crowd.

"That's the way!"

You frown. Cullen? He’s fighting someone in the ring?

The clashing sounds of steel on steel reach your ears as well as the grunts of the fighting men and an embarrassing heat pools between your legs. Maker, you have to know. You push forward and as the onlookers notice who is jostling them for space, step aside to allow you through. Being Inquisitor has some perks, after all.

When you get to the fence, the sight your eyes behold stuns you into silent motionlessness. Dancing around the Iron Bull with a grace that no man his size should possess is Cullen, your Commander, and the man you have been pining for since the moment you saw him on the battlefield near the Temple of Sacred Ashes. And he is completely bare-chested.

You think you might faint as you watch him deftly block an attack from the Iron Bull with his shield and jab forward with his own sword. Sweat glistens on the rippling muscles of his chest, shoulders, and arms as he brings his sword up to catch the head of Bull's great ax with a force that shoves the larger man back.

You finally have some answers to things about him that you've wondered about, alone in your bed late at night. Things like, for example, does he have hair on his chest? He, in fact, does: soft golden down covers his pectorals, now darkened with sweat which narrows into a trail that arrows down his impossibly toned abdomen and disappears into the waistband of his pants...which are hanging low over his muscled hips. You bite your lower lip. Maker, if those breeches fall any lower, you’ll get the answers to the other questions you have about your Commander’s gorgeous body.

You scrabble up the fence and perch there to watch the rest of the fight. The Iron Bull has strength and stamina on his side, but Cullen has agility and tactical experience. The two warriors are evenly matched and watching them spar is a joy.

"Hey, Cullen," Bull calls out as he tries to get in a blow under the ex-Templar's shield. " Thought you oughta know. You got a special audience."

Cullen neatly blocks him and casts a quick glance toward the sidelines. You can tell when he spots you, for his eyes widen and his defense falters for a second. Taking advantage of the distraction, Bull lands a glancing blow to Cullen's left shoulder. You gasp, covering your mouth as Cullen staggers backward under its force. But Cullen recovers and maintains his balance, shifting his stance and swinging his sword threateningly.

"Now that was a dirty trick, Bull, " Cullen hisses through his exerted panting.  A dangerous smirk crosses his lips. “But it doesn’t matter — I’ll still best you!”

He launches himself into a leaping spin, performing a shield bash that stuns the big Qunari and lets him land a  hard blow against the other’s large hand with the haft of his sword, sending his opponent’s great ax flying to the other side of the arena. Sticking his sword into the ground, tip first, he tosses away his shield and offers his hand.

"Do you concede?"

Bull laughs loudly and engulfs Cullen's hand in a hearty shake. "Yeah, I concede," he says. "Appreciate the spar, Commander." The crowd erupts in loud cheers of victory and congratulations for the Commander.

“It was a good fight. Thank you for helping me  with this demonstration." Cullen nods to Bull, clapping him on the bicep, then turns to the recruits gathered on one side of the training yard. "And that is how you can best a much larger and stronger opponent."

The young recruits, apparently impressed by their fierce and experienced Commander, send up a rousing cheer. You watch as he gives them some further instructions before dismissing them for the afternoon. The sun shines down on his blond head,  picking up the paler strands in his golden hair. Would it feel as smooth as it looks? You shake your head to get rid of the image of you running your hands through his thick locks. He is the Inquisition’s Commander, and you are the Inquisitor. There is a war going on, and you have no time for such foolishness.

You are about to jump off the fence when you notice that on his way to the Herald’s Rest, Bull has stopped beside Cullen to tell him something, nodding his horned head in your direction. You can’t quite hear what he says, but Cullen shoots a quick glance at you and his cheeks pinken slightly. Bull grins wide and gives the Commander a shove toward you. What were they talking about?

You don’t have long to wonder, because as Bull leaves the ring, Cullen faces you and regards you with his golden eyes. The intensity of his stare unnerves you a little...okay, it unnerves you a lot, and you nearly topple backward over the fence when he starts walking toward you. No, he is stalking toward you, with all the savage grace of the lion he is nicknamed for.

And then he is in front of you, all 6 feet plus of him, so close that you can see the droplets of sweat clinging to his chest hair. You watch a droplet run from his collarbone down to where the hair is thickest at the center of his chest and swallow, very aware of the heat of him standing before you. You dare to glance up, and Maker, you almost wish you hadn’t because he’s looking at you with heated golden eyes.  He places one hand on the fence on either side of you and continues appraising you, one corner of his mouth turned up in that smirk that always makes you melt.

He raises one honey eyebrow and says "So, Inquisitor, did you enjoy the show?"

You blink and stare into his eyes."I —  yes, I did," you stutter helplessly. The scent of fresh sweat, dirt, and man is nearly overwhelming.

"I'm glad to hear it," he murmurs and leans in closer. "And now, my lady, I seek a small token of your...appreciation. Would you allow your humble Commander this?"

That golden stare is anything but humble. You lick our lips; your mouth has gone as dry as the Hissing Wastes. “W-what do you want?”

A warm chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Nothing so onerous, dear lady, I assure you. “ A hand comes up to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger so that you can’t look away from his gaze. “It is only a kiss I seek. Surely you would not begrudge a man so little?”

So little, indeed. What would he say if you told him that you fear you might explode into a million pieces at the touch of his lips? That you’ve dreamed about kissing him every night since Haven? You lick your lips again, clenching your hands into fists to prevent them from reaching out to touch all that tempting skin that was so close, even as you feel yourself leaning forward toward him.

“Yes, alright, Commander,” you rasp out, your voice cracking from the dryness in your throat.

His smirk widens into a grin that shows off his beautiful white teeth. He leans in again and covers your lips with his. His lips are surprisingly soft, and the outline of his scar presses against your mouth. What would he do if you licked it?

Then his tongue presses against the seam of your lips, asking for entry, and already drunk on his nearness, you open for him. He slips it inside your mouth and explores its contours, sliding against yours, so slick, wet and delicious. Boy does the man know how to kiss!

And he tastes so good, of peppermint and his unique flavor  — better than you ever dreamed on those lonely nights alone in your tent. You drink him in and slide your own tongue against his, kissing him back with a fervor that you are pretty sure you've never felt for anyone else. He tilts his head and slants his hot mouth over yours to deepen the kiss, and one of his hands buries itself in your hair while your own wrap around his neck. When he lifts you off the fence and pulls you against him, your legs find his waist and wrap around him.

The kiss goes on and on, and you don’t want it to stop; you would happily die in his arms. Your erect nipples, separated from his hot skin by only the thin fabric of your sleeveless camisole, brush against his hard chest. A needy moan rises from your chest as his strong hands cup your ass and press you firmly against his erection. You grind against it, desperately seeking friction to assuage the ardor rapidly taking over your mind and body.

“Atta girl, Quiz!” It’s Sera’s voice, carrying down from her room above the tavern.  Other sounds come to you then, too: the hoots and hollers of the crowd that hasn’t yet broken up and are now shouting out encouragements to Cullen. Your cheeks heat as you pull away from his lips and he chases after the kiss before leaning back, one brow arching in question.

“You should let me down now, Commander,” you whisper.  “We, um,  have an audience.”

But he does not release you. Instead, the insufferable man tightens his grip on you and that damn sexy smirk of his turns up the scarred corner of his mouth.This close up, you can see each little crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and Maker, how you would love to kiss each one.

“If you think I am letting you go now when I have just discovered what a fiery minx you are, you are quite mistaken.”  With one hand holding onto you, he vaults over the fence, using his other hand for leverage and stalks through the crowd, making for the stairs to the battlements.

“Where are you taking me?” The pool of fire between your legs threatens to engulf you because you think you already know the answer.

He glances down at you, taking the steps two at a time. “To my chambers, Inquisitor. I need to debrief you in private about some important…matters.”

“Oh.”

You smile, waving to the soldiers you pass as your Commander carries you off to have his way with you. You couldn’t be more pleased.

[vvakarians]

Tagged by @goblin-deity to have my inquisitors companions describe them!! This is at the peak of all approval maxed out or lost.

Cassandra:

The Inquisitor? Well, at first I believed they were a monster; perhaps one easily struck down, but a monster all the same. Purely for the crimes I thought they had committed. Of course when that was disproven I was at a loss. I found myself needing to get closer to them to further understand who they were. In reality the Inquisitor is empathetic —often to a fault— which I cannot blame them for, even if it’s often frustrating when attempting to show them the logic of the situation. But even through their mistakes I have watched them grow and learn. The Lord Inquisitor is a gentle soul wrapped up in anger and doubt, yet it does not consume them. They are more than most think they are, even themself. I hope one day they learn to forgive, they deserve a happier life than the one the Maker seemingly planned for them. Perhaps they will show me they can break tradition one more time.

Cole

Calliope is big. They walk into a room and even if no one listens they are loud, frightening; they are heard. But they are also kind and sweeter than the honey from the kitchen, the one with lavender mixed in. Calliope is warmth when the snow has made your laugh brittle and your feet hurt. Hope and compassion follow them everywhere they go, even as darkness closes in behind them. There is sadness too; deep and dark within them, they are afraid of it. The wolf lingers in their shadow and is waiting, but I think he waited too long. Calliope is stronger than even the Iron Bull. Twice as much. And their fangs are larger.

Sera

Bit daft, but I like daft. They took a while to warm up to, what with all the pomp and shit. Not that it was their fault, it follows Callie like the Blight. Nasty shit they got messed up in. Good friend though. They listen real well and wipe away your tears even if they’re the real snotty ones. I like their smile, it’s nice and bright, scares the knickers off the nobles too.

Callie is good at coming up with pranks too. We once turned all of Curly’s smalls bright pink just to hear him squawk the next morning. Was the last time I saw ‘em smile, y’know. Wanna see them smile more. Solas was shit to them and he took their light, friggin’ elfy. They’re too pretty for him anyway, they deserve someone who will treat them like the greatest person in Thedas. Andraste knows they have bad taste though, we’ll see how it works out.

Iron Bull

A terror, but they’re my terror. Calliope’s got a good head on their shoulders, maybe a little too compassionate for a perfect leader, but they get the job done. Knows how to swing a sword and hit the right places to kill anything that breathes, which is great. Strong as a fuckin’ dragon that one and twice as fierce. I don’t always agree with them but that’s all in good fun, most of the time it’s on whether peppermint goes with hot chocolate or if Sera should pour elfroot tea in Solas’ wine from the windowsill or above him. We get along just fine. And we trust each other. That’s what friends do after all, we keep each other sane and happy. I learned that from them, we could all use that lesson. Wouldn’t want anyone else beside me in battle, or when the demons get a little too loud.

Dorian

A little more magial training would suit them, however I’m not complaining. Calliope is...a true warrior and friend, you don’t often come across both in one person. I don’t know how many times I’ve prattled on for hours about one piece of magical theory and they hadn’t even fallen asleep once! Not to mention they offered to punch my fathers lights out for me. Didn’t take them up on it but it was a kind gesture.

They’re the one person I would trust above all others here. Callie is fiercely protective and loyal, you’d never find a better confidant. Some have misused that privelege and they will suffer dearly for it. Not only do they have a massive army of close friends—Calliope is brutal when you’ve hurt them and it cannot be repaired. They wouldn’t get you killed mind you, but they will get angry and leave you to be a meal for a dragon. The Inquisitor is someone you want on your good side, never your bad. Of course, you don’t need to do much other than be a compassionate person for them to be your friend for life.

Vivienne

I will not speak ill of the Lord Inquisitor, it is indecent. We may not agree wholeheartedly on much but I think they are a fair, just leader for the Inquisition. Whether they were sent here by the Maker or simply bumbled into our arms no longer matters. They decide the fate of Thedas and I will follow so as long as they don’t turn into an Archdemon or a magister. The Inquisitor holds our hope, and I continue to believe in them. I feel that perhaps they’ve grown on me in such a way that I need to get a better tailor for them, and crush a few eggs into a certain mans smallclothes drawer.

Varric

Chompers is a good kid, no ifs ands or buts about it. They’re trying their best and people need to give them some slack about it. Callie has all the makings of a tragic hero and I’m done writing tragedies. I think they’re gonna do amazing just like they always have been. They’re loud enough, witty enough, and quick enough to outalk Grand Duke Gaspard let alone Empress Celene. Hell, they could talk Corypheus to death with all their facts on dragons. We get along just fine. Maybe they’re shit at Wicked Grace and have bad taste in apostates so far but they’re still...family, and a good friend. Honestly, they remind me of Hawke. I want them to have a good life. They’ve had enough shit done to them at this point. People want them to lead but I’ve seen the stress it causes. I just hope they can search around for some breathing room.

Solas

They are intriguing at best and frustrating at most. Endearing perhaps as well. The Inquisitor has fantastic ideas about the Fade and the spirits within it, however they lack the training to properly understand. In time I hope that they learn all that they desire, they deserve that much. As much as they are a good listener they can be infuriating at times, but such is the fate of many Dalish elves I’ve come across. Other than that there is not much to say about the Inquisitor. I’m sure you’ve all heard of our little spat a few weeks ago. That’s all you need to know. They are a strong and stubborn person, they will lead the Inquisition to greatness I’m sure.

Blackwall

Callie is...well, Calliope. They gave me my life back when I didn’t think I deserved it, for that I thank them. The Inquisitor says they’re no herald, no prophet for Andraste but I believe they were put here for a reason. Whether that was by the Maker or simply just because, it doesn’t matter. I will serve them well, as both a friend and a warrior in their ranks. Even when they learned of who I was they still gave me their trust, their unwavering loyalty. Which both overjoys and frightens me. The Inquisitor needs a strong hand alongside them, and I hope that I can provide that for them. Callie isn’t breakable but they can shatter, and they shouldn’t have to.

[nevas-secret-santa]

Coffee Shop AU Oneshot

Hope you like it, Neva! - Secret Santa

Morning sunlight shone through the windows of the coffee shop. Phil was still bleary-eyed even though he’d been up for a few hours. Customers open and closed the door in a rush on their way to work. He smiled as he handed them their steaming cups of coffee, warning them that it was very hot. His co-workers were making coffee and cracking jokes and Phil was still regretting getting out of bed that morning.

With the morning rush over, Phil covered the front by himself while his co-workers baked all kinds of scrumptious sweets. Mindlessly, he counted the pennies in the tip jar when the bell on the door jingled. He put on his best sunshine smile despite the sleepiness the begged him to do otherwise. Phil looked up and when he met those gorgeous honey brown eyes, he was suddenly he got out of bed that morning. The pair of gorgeous eyes belonged to a boy that had just walked in. He was wearing an oversized black sweater with black jeans despite the nice weather. Little curls had fallen onto his forehead from his stylish poof. Phil watched, completely enraptured, while the boy brushed the curls back up with his fingers. It was only then that he realized the boy had asked him a question.

“Are you open?” the boy asked, a little louder this time.

Phil blinked hard and shook his head a bit.

“Uh, yes,” he said, extremely flustered, “yes we are, um what can I get you?”

The boy smiled, “Just a medium coffee, black.”

“Sure, coming right up,” Phil grinned before tripping over his shoelaces and falling on the floor. His hand shot up instantaneously and announced a little too loud, “I’m good!”

The boy let out a hearty laugh, “Are you okay…?”

“Phil,” he supplied, “and yeah I’m good.”

“I’m so good,” he muttered to himself through gritted teeth getting up from the floor and getting to making the coffee.

“That’ll be two quid?” Phil held out the coffee to the boy

“Thanks, Phil,” he grabbed his coffee and handed you the exact change.

“No, problem,” Phil said, “I hope to see you around here again...?”

“Dan,” the boy chuckled, “and you definitely will.”

Dan grabbed his coffee and left, leaving Phil utterly breathless.

Now that the morning rush was done Phil finally had time to wipe up the numerous coffee spills on the counter. His thoughts, of course, turned back to Dan. He couldn’t stop thinking about him, he was so tall and his cute little curls, Phil could imagine how it would feel to run his fingers through them. The bell on the door startled Phil out of his daydream. To his surprise, he looked up and was facing Dan. Phil immediately noticed the black earrings in Dan’s ears and was taken aback by how much he liked them.

“Hi Dan, what can I get you?” he asked him, pleased with the fact that he hadn’t made a fool of himself yet.

“What do you recommend,” Dan smiled and leaned on the counter.

Butterflies started flapping away in Phil’s stomach

“Well, that depends on what you’re looking for?”

“Something a little sweet and festive.”

“I have just the drink for you.”

Phil went to work pouring coffee and mixing syrups. He handed Dan the steaming cup.

Wafts of cool peppermint and warm coco danced up to Dan’s nose as he took a sip. His eyes widened, “This is the best peppermint mocha I’ve ever had.”

Phil grinned, “That would be thanks to my super secret recipe for peppermint syrup, I always put marshmallows on mine, if I haven’t eaten them all already.”

Dan chuckled, “I wonder if I could get you to spill the secret.”

“You could always try,” Phil replied.

Dan blushed and looked away briefly.

On the wave of confidence he felt on making such a pretty boy blush, Phil scribbled something on a napkin and handed it to Dan.

“Here you go,” he said trying to sound as nonchalant as possible despite the butterflies in his stomach fluttering even more rapidly than before.

Dan accepted the napkin, not at all noticing the blue numbers on it. He reached for his wallet but Phil stopped him.

“It’s on the house, don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks, Phil,” Dan said, he opened his mouth to say something but then he changed his mind.

“Have a nice day, Dan.”

“You too.”

Dan left the store leaving Phil confident that he was going to get a text from a very cute boy later that day.

Dan plodded down the busy street, the freezing wind brushed his skin leaving his cheeks and nose rosy red, he didn’t feel the cold at all though because all he could think about was the super cute barista at the coffee shop he found yesterday.  He sipped more of his mocha and sighed with contentment. Phil was cute and he could make a good drink, Dan thought to himself. He was so immersed in his thoughts that he didn't notice the man who was clearly late to work coming towards him. Mocha spilled all over Dan’s jacket and jumper as he was pushed aside by the man.

Dan groaned, he was fine but his jumper was soaked. He grabbed the napkin Phil gave him and started dabbing and folding it over. Midway through he noticed some numbers on the napkin. His heart skipped a beat, Phil had given him his number! It took, Dan all of his might to keep his emotions in check and not make a scene, He unfolded the napkin and scanned over the numbers only to find the last two had been completely soaked in coffee and were illegible. His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. There was no time to turn back now or he would be late for his meeting, but he could try afterward. He was filled with determination.

The meeting lasted much longer than it needed to and four hours later Dan burst out the door and walked over as fast as he could. He burst inside, a tad breathless. A few patrons were sitting at the tables but luckily there was no line. Dan walked up to the counter and tried to compose himself. A young woman who looked about eighteen was behind the counter.

“Hi what can I get you?” she asked.

“Hi-um, nothing, right now, I was just wondering if Phil was still working? He was here this morning?”

“Sorry, I’m new here so I don’t know who Phil is, but all the morning shift people got off about a half hour ago, sorry,” the barista replied.

Dan’s heart sank, “It’s fine,” he said downtrodden.

He left the store and resolved the come again tomorrow.

Phil sat in his living room that night watching Buffy. Every notification he got he scrambled to see if it was a text with Dan. Eventually, though, he gave up and turned his phone on mute. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be and hopefully, Dan would never come into the coffee shop again so Phil wouldn’t have to face him.

Phil wiped up the coffee stains on the counter. It was his morning shift in a week, he’d been grateful that his manager had scheduled him for night shifts since Dan had always come in the morning. The bell on the door signaled him that a customer had come to the door and Phil looked up and instantly he felt his throat tighten. Dan was standing there. He had a smile on his face, but Phil decided the best way to remain calm would do just give him his coffee and make him leave as soon as possible.

Skipping all niceties Phil asked, “Peppermint mocha?”

Dan look a bit taken aback at how abrupt Phil was, “Yeah, thanks, but Phil I-,” Dan started.

“That’ll be 4.50, thank you for your business,” Phil cut off.

Dan looked hurt and Phil felt bad for a moment, but he turned away to make the drink. He finished in record time and handed the drink to Dan, barely looking at him.

Dan hesitated before taking the cup and turning to walk out, He stopped though, and turned around.

“I haven’t seen you here in a week.”

“I worked nights,” Phil replied, he wondered why Dan was trying to start a conversation, he was the one who rejected him!

“Oh, I see,” Dan said looking awkward but not wanting to leave.

“Well, I have some stuff I have to do now, so-” Phil started.

“Phil, I wanted to call you, but I spilled my mocha on myself and I used the napkin and I didn’t realize until too late that you had given me your number and I couldn’t read the soggy napkin and I came back to say sorry, and yes I’m so sorry-” Dan prattled on and on but Phil didn’t hear anything after he realized that Dan liked him too.

He was filled with warmth and happiness and in a burst of emotion he leaned over the counter and gave Dan a quick peck on the lips to cut him off.

Realizing what he did he turned beet red and started sputtering out an apology, “Oh my god, Dan, I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know what came over me!

Dan laughed lightly and smiled, “its okay, it’s more than okay.”

Dan walked around the counter and kissed Phil. It was the best kiss Phil has ever had, it was sweet and sincere and full of warmth.

As the broke apart, Dan laughed, “Does this mean I can get more free peppermint mochas?”

“If you keep you keep on kissing me like that, you can have whatever you want,” Phil replied dreamily, only half joking.

“I’m getting the better end of the deal, if you ask me,” Dan smiled before leaning in again.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!