#matcha scribbles

[twstjam]

Really bad Malleyuu doodles but it's literally just me married to Malleus

I would be a very eepy queen. This isn't even a reference to the Sleeping Beauty theme I am just a very eepy guy. Biar Valley is doomed.

[tallmatcha]

WIP Wednesday

Long time no write.

Tagging: @gilgamish @wraith-caller @archangelsunited @aesadraws @saltymaplesyrup @ludicrous-musings @kookaburra1701 @dirty-bosmer @mirrordaltokki @thequeenofthewinter @nomorescore @whatsarasaid @downontheupside

As always, no pressure.

Rays of Gold - a story of pre-Shattering Leyndell

Chapter 1

Liurnian dawn was identical to Liurnian dusk: bleak, blue, and plagued by a mist so thick that it crept between the plates of Darian’s armor and burrowed beneath his clothes, settling upon his skin like cold sweat. As it collected at the base of his neck and ran down his spine, he clenched his gloved fists and fought the urge to shiver. None of the other men appeared bothered. He would not be the first to complain.

The waterlogged earth sucked at his boots, and the loud squelch that accompanied each step had long since gone from grating to infuriating. Stopping even for a moment would cause him to sink into the loamy soil; so overburdened was he by steel, leather, linen, and the weight of his own pride. He pressed on, ignoring the chill and the ever-present miasma of petrichor and wet rot. Bravely, he straightened his back and looked up to address his Master—or, rather, his Master’s horse, for his head barely came up to the beast’s shoulder.

“They’re saying the new Lord Lowell has Liurnian sympathies,” he declared.

Sir Owain’s horse snorted. Owain himself didn’t so much as glance down at his squire. “And who are they?”

“The men.”

“Which men?” The harshness of his tone caught Darian off guard. “If you volunteer information, be ready to disclose where it came from.”

“Sir.”

“I abhor idle talk, Darian.” 

“Sir. My apologies, sir.”

Had the discussion ended there, Darian would not have pushed further, for he knew better than to test his Master. To his surprise, Owain spoke again. “House Lowell has served Leyndell for centuries. We’ve never had reason to question their loyalty. The new Lord was educated at the Academy of Raya Lucaria. That on its own isn’t indicative of treason.” He shot Darian a pointed look. “Do not suggest such a thing again.” 

With that, Owain urged his steed to a canter and rode to the front of the line. Darian squared his shoulders and apologized to the ground, watching listlessly as muddy runoff welled up in the craters left by Lamaech’s hooves. He imagined the same filthy water seeping through his pores and diluting his blood, then leaching deeper still to rot his bones.

Only the carriage remained relatively unmarred by dirt. It was massive—needlessly so, for it was only meant to carry one passenger—and obscenely ornate, every inch adorned by curling flourishes, scalloped columns and garlands of laurel. Darian assumed it was just as sumptuously appointed within. Lord Lowell would spend the next three days warm and dry, and his sainted shoes need never touch the ground. 

One of the trolls tasked with pulling the carriage sank to its knees, exhausted. Its companion stopped, looked about nervously, then began to moan in distress. Darian felt a pang of sympathy for both creatures as his comrades drew their swords and approached the pair, banging on their shields and shouting threats. 

He glared reproachfully at the carriage. Such trouble, and all for one Lord.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

misc doodles that go Nowhere but my heart <3 i have developed a fondness for Taro Milk Tea!

[happycricketbox]

eepy

[softlittleheartsandsparkles]

I had really tasty matcha bubble tea yesterday. *-* I forgot how much I love the smell and taste of matcha. ( also love that shade of green. its such a soothing shade of green.)

[cyvvien]

And I am here again with yet more shaker charms

These took so much longer but I love them so much. I also have an alternate ship version where the drink colors are swapped!

[mangomonk]

i caught myself

↳ summary: remus goes to a coffee shop for the first time ↳ content: fluff, oblivious idiots x idiots, coffee shop au, rock band!muggle ↳ a/n: i wanted to write something fun and i've been listening to too much of my punk rock playlists from when i was 15. feel very free to listen to "i caught myself" by paramore (or any paramore song) while reading..! i love portrayals of remus as an earnest loser where the reader/sirius is ridiculously infatuated with his endearingly awkward ways. in other news, i've given up on using 'y/n,' it killed me every time i had to type it so i just chose a random name, feel free to make a mental edit to 'y/n' if you're more comf with that.

It's rush hour when she first sees him. She almost doesn't — it's just her and her coworker today and her eyes are only moving from the cash register's buttons to each cup as she hastily scrawls names and orders onto the plastic.

"Hi, what can I get for you?" She asks half-distractedly as she finishes writing Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino before sliding it over to her coworker with an apologetic look. Frappes are the worse to make, and it doesn't help that the line is nearly to the door now. She almost doesn't look up but the silence to her question is a little too long, so Winnie darts a quick look up, hoping to see no one standing there.

What she's not expecting to see is a man with wide brown eyes and equally brown hair squinting at the menu above her head. Winnie thinks he's the most good-looking man she's ever seen. As she tries to recap the Sharpie, she stabs her own hand. "Shit," she mutters automatically.

"Sorry?" The ridiculously good-looking man asks politely, his gaze flickering from the menu to her. His eyes are the same color as caramelized sugar and Winnie thinks he looks just as sweet as she watches him pull at the frayed collar of his knitted jumper.

"Nothing, nothing," Winnie says with a dismissive hand as she puts on her best customer-service-smile. "What can I get you today?"

His brows furrow as he turns his gaze back to the menu. "What—" he begins, drawing out the word slowly. Winnie takes his hesitation to steal another appreciative glance at him — he's tall, his frame somewhere between lean and lanky, though it's hidden by a jumper that's clearly been knitted to be a few sizes too large for extra comfort. "—would you recommend?"

"Well, what do you normally like?" Winnie asks, casting a glance behind him. As much as she'd love to talk to this cute stranger for the rest of her shift, the line has started to wrap around.

The man rakes a hand through his hair, tousling already-tousled waves of brown. He looks sheepish and a little panicked. "I've never really had coffee before," he admits. A little strange, but Winnie's not one to judge, especially when he's looking at her with deer-in-the-headlight eyes.

"How about I get you my favorite drink then?" She suggests, already reaching for the sharpie and another cup. It's a trick she's learned from working in the coffee shop for the past few months — customers are less likely to be unhappy with their surprise drinks if they think it's your favorite drink.

The man nods, his shoulders sagging with apparent relief. Matcha latte, she scribbles before looking up at him again. "Can I get a name?"

"My name?" He repeats, looking dumbfounded as if she had just asked for his number.

She lifts the cup and shakes it a little to draw his attention to it. "For your order."

"Remus," he says, straightening. He clears his throat. "Remus Lupin."

"Got it," she says as she writes it down. Remus Lupin. She's never had a customer give her a full name before, but Winnie doesn't have time to ponder it as she slides the cup to her coworker. "That'll be $4.50."

He fishes out a $10 and when she tries to hand back the change, he shakes his head with a soft, polite smile.

"Come again," she calls after him, pleased, before turning back to the monstrous line that had managed to form behind him. "I can help the next customer."

— — — — —

The next time she sees him, it's just her behind the counter. Since the rush died down an hour earlier, she's been leaning over the counter squinting at an eight count that she can't quite get right. When the door jingles, Winnie puts down her pencil and moves back behind the register.

"Hi! What can I get for you today?" She asks before she properly looks up. It's the fluffy-haired man from last week. Today he's wearing a scarlet and gold jumper bunched at his wrists and slacks the same brown as his eyes and hair. She doesn't recognize the lion emblem embroidered on his chest — it doesn't match any of the mascots of the nearby universities. When he unwraps his scarf, she can see that his cheeks are flushed red from the cold. It's a good look on him. "Cold outside?"

"Getting there," he says with a soft sigh.

"I can't wait," she says conversationally. "I love autumn."

"Hm," he says, ending the conversation rather abruptly.

Winnie tries not to grimace at the awkward silence as she pulls out her sharpie from the pocket of her apron. "So, what can I get for you today?" When he hesitates for a moment too long, his gaze darting back up to the menu behind her, Winnie tries for conversation again. "How was the matcha latte last time?"

Remus hesitates, his gaze darting to her. "It was very green."

The response is so unexpected that Winnie barely bites back a bark of a laugh before she catches herself. She wasn't a gifted conversationalist, but Remus was making her seem like a total extrovert. "It was," she agrees, smiling now. Up close, she can see shadows below his big eyes. Maybe he needed an espresso? Or less coffee and more sleep. "I'm guessing it wasn't to your taste? I'll let you order today—"

Remus seems to catch himself because he straightens hurriedly. "No, I'll have a matcha latte," he says firmly, already fishing out five dollar bill.

Winnie punches the numbers into the cash register and nods him along, but he hesitates, looking at her expectantly. "Don't you need my name?"

"Not unless it's changed from Remus Lupin," Winnie chirps cheerfully, biting back a smile as he blinks at her rapidly. "Has it?"

"No," he says, clearing his throat. "It's still Remus Lupin."

"Coming right up, Remus Lupin," Winnie says with a mini salute as she turns to start making the drink.

After he leaves, she notices a strange looking coin in the tip jar that hadn't been there before. When she squints at it, she can make out the carved word, Sickle. With raised brows, Winnie slips the strange coin into the pocket of her jeans.

— — — — —

The next time she sees Remus Lupin, he's wearing a long coat over a sweater vest. Winnie thinks he looks like a cute little professor.

"Hi, how's it going—" she's beginning to say just as Remus says choppily, "It's cold outside. Now."

They both blink at each other for a moment before Winnie grins a little, inwardly pleased that he remembered their last conversation. "Yeah?" She turns to squint critically out the window. "On a day like this, I'd kill to be in bed with a warm cup of tea."

Remus nods thoughtfully before pausing. "Not matcha?"

"Matcha strikes me more as a spring-summer drink," she muses.

He nods again, eyes darting to the menu above her head. Winnie is used to this now, so she waits patiently for his order. To her surprise, he looks at her again tentatively, his brown eyes startling bright. It feels as though she's been sucker punched.

"I'm not much of an autumn or winter person," he says. It takes her a moment to realize that he was still referencing their previous conversation. "The cold gets to my joints," he adds, looking a little sheepish.

"Ah," she says dumbly, nodding, before blurting, "Well, did you know that matcha has antioxidant and anti-inflammatory effects?"

Remus blinks at her as though she's clubbed him over the head. "Anti-ox-i-dant," he repeats slowly, as if saying the word for the first time.

Winnie inwardly grimaces. Why was she still talking about matcha? She had been so caught off guard that he was continuing the conversation and that his eyes were stupidly pretty that she had fumbled a little. "Er, so what can I get for you?"

"A cup of matcha then," Remus says, fishing a five dollar bill from his pockets. "For it's anti-ox-i-dant effects."

Winnie's cheeks burn a little as she waves him off. "It's on the house today," she says.

Remus looks surprised as he hesitates. "No, I can pay—"

"No, no, it's on the house," Winnie says firmly, thinking inwardly, For my piss poor attempt at conversation. Before he can insist, she takes her Sharpie and writes Matcha latte, even though it's only her behind the counter today. "Name?" She asks, half-teasing, half-hoping to distract him from trying to pay.

He blinks, looking startled. "Remus Lupin," he answers automatically, straightening.

"Just making sure it hasn't changed," she hums, smiling a little as she gets started on the latte.

To her surprise, Remus laughs, the sound low and rich and warm. "It hasn't yet," he says, glancing down at her name tag for a moment before looking back up at her, his brown eyes wide and bright as he drops the ten dollar bill into the tip jar. "Thank you, Winnie."

Winnie is too stunned by his laugh to complain.

— — — — —

Remus starts to come by more frequently. She can never quite figure out his schedule — it's sporadic, sometimes during rush hour where they can only exchange a few words, but mostly when the coffee shop is empty. She's grown so accustomed — and perhaps, has quickly begun to look forward — to seeing him that she can't help but look up hopefully when someone comes in.

Their conversations at the counter gradually grow less halting. She makes a point to always ask his name and Remus dutifully plays along each time, his lips twitching each time he gives her his name.

"You're always working on music," he observes one day. He must have come in without her realizing because when she looks up, she finds Remus nodding down at her paper.

"I am," she agrees mournfully. "I study music at the local university," she tells him, straightening her apron.

"That suits you," he says with the soft smile that she's grown terribly fond of.

Pleasure warms her chest as she tries not to beam at him. Though their conversations are mostly quiet and simple, it feels as though she's always trying not to smile a full-teeth smile at him.

She learns that he's only recently graduated from some sort of private boarding school. From his vague references, it sounded like one of those preparatory schools for gifted students. It doesn't strike her as much of a surprise — from his responses, Winnie can get a sense for how knowledgeable and bright he is, though to be fair, he always seems to bring a new book in when he visits. It might also explain how awkward and closed off Remus is, Winnie decides — she thinks public schools build thick skin. Winnie doesn't really mind the occasionally halting conversations though — Remus, for his credit, is a wonderful listener and always asks her questions when she talks about her band. And something about the attentive way Remus looks at her makes her feel comfortable about talking. She's almost worried that she talks too much — it's a welcome reprieve from the quiet slowness or the repetitive "Hi, how are you?'s" of the coffee shop.

"Sorry," she says one day when she brings him his drink. "I realize that I talk your ear off whenever you're here and I'm sure you've got things to do, books to read."

Remus shakes his head, sending his fluffy brown hair falling against his brow. It's gotten longer since the first time she's met him, the ends beginning to curl down the nape of his neck and around his ears. It's a good look on him, though admittedly, Winnie finds herself thinking that whenever he comes in.

"It's no problem," Remus says easily. Winnie nods, about to return to the counter when he clears his throat. "I... enjoy your company," he says with an impossibly tiny smile. At the sight of it, Winnie wants to fall to the floor, but she hasn't mopped it yet, so she opts to stand perfectly still instead. "If you ever feel inclined to take a break to chat, the chair is always open."

Some days when the shop isn't too busy, she takes him on his offer to sit and chat. Some days their conversations are long and winding, about nothing in particular, and on some days — mostly the days where he looks strangely exhausted — they both sit in a comfortable silence with Remus reading his books and Winnie laboring over her music.

One day when she's put all her focus on composing, Winnie nearly jumps out of her skin when Remus speaks up. "New song?"

Winnie looks up from her sheets at his question. A little thrill runs through her body when she sees that his book has been discarded to the side as he looks at her curiously. "Old song," she sighs. "I've been trying to finish these lyrics," she says, giving a frustrated glare to the paper. "I wanted to finish it in time for my band's next show, but I can't seem to get anywhere good with it."

Remus hums thoughtfully. "What's it about?"

"It's a love song," Winnie says before thinking. She darts a quick look at Remus as her ears burn, but fortunately, he's looking down at her lyrics thoughtfully. To be fair, she reasons with herself, she had started writing it before meeting Remus. "I've been stuck for ages now though."

"Hmm," Remus hums, leaning back in his chair to stretch his lithe limbs before letting his arms settle on his head. It's an effortlessly attractive motion — Winnie tries not to stare. "I'm sure you've tried already, but maybe you can draw inspiration from experience?"

Winnie clears her throat. "Oh, er, well, I actually don't really have..." She falters, feeling her cheeks burn. She's undeniably red now. "—experience in that realm," she finishes lamely.

"Ah," Remus makes a sound, his eyes widening a fraction as he re-rights himself to sit up straight in his chair. "Sorry, I just figured that you... That there'd be..." He stops himself, looking sheepish.

"That I what?" She presses, arching her brow to deflect from her reddening face.

"I just thought that you'd have experience in relationships," Remus coughs, his cheeks pink now. It's cute enough that it nearly distracts her from the mortifying conversation they're having.

"Ah, no," she says, swallowing. Then she adds hurriedly, darting a glance at him, "It's not that I don't want to date. It's just the type of guy I've attracted in the past has always been—" Winnie cuts off her rambling abruptly as Remus leans forward, brown eyes trained on hers.

"Has been what?"

"Oh, I don't know," she mumbles, scrubbing a hand over her face, grimacing. "You know, tattoos, eats cigs for breakfast. Maybe my nose ring gives the wrong impression," she lets out an embarrassed laugh, wishing that the ground would open up and swallow her whole to stop her nonsensical babbling.

"I see," Remus says slowly in a tone that very much sounded like he didn't.

"What about you?" She blurts. Remus looks startled, so she shoulders onwards. It feels as though she has nothing left to lose, anyways. "I'm sure you were popular in school."

"Ah," he says, making a noise at the back of his throat. He rubs the nape of his neck, looking embarrassed as he looks down as his discarded book. She bets he wished he never stopped reading. "Not really," he says. "I was always busy with school and, er, other things, so I never..." He trails off, making a vague motion with his hands. "Yeah," he finishes lamely.

"That's a surprise," Winnie says, inwardly relieved that he wasn't dating anyone. "I'm sure you had plenty of admirers."

Remus smiles at her wryly, a flash of embarrassment flickering across his face. "My mates had plenty of admirers," he says, though not enviously. Winnie waits patiently for him to continue — one thing she's gathered from Remus was that he often deflected talking about himself through talking about his friends. Sirius, Peter, James, she had learned were their names. "Sirius, in fact, was plenty popular." He darts a strange look to her, his brows knitted together and contemplative. "You'd get along well with him, I reckon."

— — — — —

Another day, during rush hour. She can see him waiting in the long line stealing glances at her that sends her heart stuttering. When their gaze meets, she offers him an apologetic smile. Remus just returns her smile and shakes his head, sending his hair down across his brow.

When he finally reaches the counter, he doesn't leave her any time to say hello. "I have a mate," Remus starts, pausing long enough for her to raise a brow.

"A mate," she drawls, trying to decode the peculiar expression on his face. He's visibly hesitating, his brow furrowing and relaxing as if he's overcoming some inner dilemma. Winnie waits patiently.

"A mate," he says again, rubbing the base of his neck. "That wants to learn how to play the guitar."

"I see," Winnie says slowly, patiently.

"It's Sirius — my friend that I told you about before," he adds, not quite looking at her but not quite looking away either. "Obviously, you can say no, but I thought that since you played the guitar, that maybe you'd...?"

Winnie thinks about it for a moment, an idea forming in her mind. She felt a twinge of guilt briefly for having an ulterior motive, before reasoning with herself that she was about to give a free guitar lesson. "I can give him an intro lesson," she says. "But only because he's your good friend."

Remus relaxes, his face breaking into a smile that only makes her feel better about her choice. Lord, she thinks, her eyes tracking his dimple. She thinks if he smiled like that at her, she'd do anything. "Brilliant," he beams.

A customer behind him clears her throat meaningfully, jolting Winnie out of the conversation. She had entirely forgotten she was working.

"So, a matcha latte?" She asks loudly. When she looks back at him, she's expecting him to sport his normal embarrassed half-smile, but she's caught off guard to see him grinning at her roguishly. Remus never fails to surprise her.

Remus nods, clearly trying not to laugh as he fishes out a bill. Winnie goes through the motions of punching in the numbers and preparing the cup. "We can do it at my flat, I have an extra guitar," she tells him as she finishes his order.

Remus smiles and nods, turning to leave when a thought occurs to her. "Oh, and Remus?" She calls after him.

He whirls around, brows arched and eyes wide and attentive. "Hmm?"

"You'll be there right?"

"Me?" Remus blurts, looking startled.

Winnie bites back a sigh. As she expected. Doubling down, she nods. "I'm not going to let a random man into my flat," she tells him, brows arching. She tries to ignore the customer behind him huffing impatiently.

Remus hesitates. "Sirius isn't a random man." Despite herself, Winnie likes this stubborn side of him.

"I've never met him," she sniffs, jutting her chin out mulishly.

"So you'll feel better if there's two random men in your house?" He counters archly.

But Winnie had been expecting this. She gives him a smile. Remus blinks, looking startled as any semblance of resistance dissipates. "You're not just a random man," she says meaningfully.

Remus blinks again. Then he turns, clearing his throat as he begins wrapping his scarf around his neck. Winnie thinks she can see a pink flush crawl up his neck before he covers it with a scarf, but she might just be seeing what she wants to see. "I'll be there," Remus says gruffly with a stiff nod.

Winnie mimics his stiff nod and bites back a smile.

"Thank you for waiting," she says to the next customer with her best customer-service-smile.

Before Remus returns for his drink, Winnie makes a split-second decision to write her number on a napkin. The idea has her stomach doing a dangerous, giddy flip in her stomach, but she does it anyways and slips it under his drink waiting on the counter.

— — — — —

The next three weeks is grueling for two reasons. The first is that she doesn't see Remus once, despite taking extra shifts. The second is because she waits for a phone call that never comes.

She's never given her number to anyone before so she doesn't quite know what the socially acceptable amount of time is before getting a call, but after the first five days of radio silence and his absence in the coffee shop, she's sure that she's made a terrible mistake.

She feels embarrassed and a little foolish, wishing she hadn't gotten swept up in her hopes and his stupid brown eyes. She had been silly — she was just an overly-chatty local barista and he was just a nice customer with a nice smile and nice eyes and nice everything who put up with her rambling. It's a little mortifying to think back on, so Winnie tries not to think about it, though every time the door's bell jingles, she's caught in a vicious cycle of hope, disappointment, and embarrassment.

She reckons that if he did ever come back, she'd either just pretend as though she never gave him her number or she'd hide in the storage room. The latter option sounded the most appealing the longer she went without seeing him.

She's closing up the shop one night when the door bursts open, the bells jingling loudly. Startled, Winnie nearly drops the bucket she had just finished mopping with. Her heart drops to her stomach.

"Hi," Remus says, pink-cheeked and breathless. "Are you closed?"

Winnie stares at him wide-eyed. She has a brief irrational flash of self-consciousness as she holds a mop and bucket in her hands, her hair and makeup unruly after a long shift. "I—" Winnie bites the inside of her cheek, looking at the clock. She was just a local barista, and he was just a customer, she reminded herself, swallowing back the growing burn of embarrassment in her belly.

As if sensing her hesitation, Remus straightens, clearing his throat. "I mean, you don't have to make a drink or anything actually, I just—"

"I can make a quick drink before I close up," Winnie says hurriedly, not quite able to look him in the eyes as she moves behind the counter. Memories of her giving him her number is seared in memory and it takes all her willpower not to crumble in mortification in front of him.

"No, it's alright," Remus says hurriedly, following her. "I'll help you close up."

"No, go sit over there," Winnie says, her voice a little too clipped. Remus hesitates, floundering before stubbornly following her again. Too close. She whirls around on him, exasperated and embarrassed. Pride wounded. "Remus, I'll make your drink just—"

"Winnie," he cuts in softly, his eyes tracking over her face carefully, quick to pick up her emotions. Winnie diverts her eyes mulishly. "I didn't actually come for a drink today," he says in a patient tone that only amplifies her growing embarrassment that she hides under irritation.

"Then I'm guessing you came to mess with a small local business," she grumps unfairly to herself, stomping behind the counter to drop the mop and bucket into the storage closet. Remus follows her doggedly.

"No, that's not why either," he says, huffing out a good natured laugh. Winnie ignores how smooth and honeyed it sounds.

"Then why'd you come so late? Seeing as how you haven't come in the past three—" Winnie cuts herself off, mortified, before stalking past him to busy herself with wiping down the counter.

"That's exactly why I came," Remus says from behind her. "I haven't seen you in three weeks and I wanted to see how you were doing."

Winnie swallows, caught off guard by his straightforwardness. And then she continues to scrub the counter aggressively, refusing to turn around and be swayed by him, though she could feel her grievances begin to dissipate. "Well, you could have called," she grumbles pointedly.

"I, er, don't have a telephone."

"You don't have a telephone," Winnie repeats automatically, before turning to balk at him. He looks embarrassed, his fingers fidgeting compulsively with the sleeves of his lumpy cardigan. In disbelief, she squints at him suspiciously. "Listen, Remus, I really won't be offended if you weren't interested, so there's no need to make up an excuse—"

"It's not an excuse," Remus interjects, straightened. He looks visibly affronted, his lips twisting into a slight frown. "I don't have a telephone."

"Oh," Winnie says dumbly, her voice small. And then she frowns, still skeptical. "How do you get into contact with your friends? Carrier pigeon?"

Remus lets out a huff of a laugh, mirth flickering in his brown eyes. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

For some reason, she believes him, so she drops it. It's probably the warm fondness in his eyes that neutralizes her. "I see," she says finally, unsure about whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

Remus seems to notice because he clears his throat. "I would have called you, really," he says. He's looking at her with those brown eyes again, big and earnest, and Winnie can't help but stare.

Flustered with the way he was looking at her, she turns to grab a tray of milk cartons. "I thought you were ghosting me," she grumbles. "I mean, I give you my number, you don't call and stop showing up. What's a girl supposed to think?"

Remus follows her, even closer now, close enough that she can smell his cologne — he smells good, she notes distractedly — and gently takes the tray of milk cartons from her hand, his big hands enclosing over hers briefly. Winnie nearly drops the whole tray. "You're not getting paid for that," she says, flustered and embarrassed and—

—and Remus is smiling at her with an impossibly patient and endeared smile, the sort that softens his eyes into little half-moons. Lord, Winnie thinks, her mind going unhelpfully blank as any memory of her mortification fades quickly.

"I would have called you," he says again, turning to look at her properly. He clears his throat, his eyes snagging on to hers intently. "I wanted to call you." He's holding the tray of cartons and she's trapped in the corner and the whole thing feels a little ridiculous, especially with the way her heart is stuttering under his gaze. He steps closer, his shoulders curving over slightly as he tries to match her height to appear less imposing. "I'm sorry for not giving you a heads up — I got swept away for work, but I'll let you know next time that happens."

"There's no need," she mumbles, flushing now. God, he probably didn't even know what he was doing. "It's not like we're..." The words die on her lips. She doesn't really know what she wants to say. Were they friends? She sure hoped so, but she could see how she was just a local barista and he was just a regular.

Remus ducks his head a little so that they're looking at each other properly again. They're close enough that Winnie can see his long lashes fluttering across his cheeks. She can see the splay of freckles across his tan skin. The thin shadow of a scar across the bridge of his nose. It's like she can't escape as her mind goes unhelpfully blank again. His eyes are warm and apologetic and earnest and Winnie feels like she's being seen right through. "How can I make it up to you?" He asks, looking entirely sincere.

Winnie's mouth — her heart — moves before her mind does. "My show," she blurts.

His brows furrow ever so slightly. "Your show?" He repeats, understandably not following because she was barely coherent.

"Yes," she says, straightening and doubling down. "I'm having a small show. With my band. This weekend. You should come." God, Winnie thinks, grimacing at how choppy her words were. Remus is looking at her with those distractingly pretty eyes again, so she steels herself, taking a steadying breath. "I mean, I'd love it if you came."

Remus nods, his lips twitching as if she hadn't just given an awful word-by-word monologue. "I'd love to."

— — — — —

The venue isn't terribly large, but even on stage staring into a dark crowd of faces, Winnie can spot Remus immediately. That's how she knew she was in trouble. Well, maybe she had already known she was in trouble the first time she heard Remus laugh properly.

She's had shows before, but this one feels different. It feels as though it's only her and Remus. So as Winnie plays her guitar and sings her songs, she gives in to the enamored thrill blossoming in her chest and pours it into her music. She hopes he can hear it.

The show passes by in a euphoric blur. All Winnie can really remember is Remus beaming at her from the crowd — and her beaming back — but she thinks it went well. Backstage, her bandmates are energetic and grinning widely, clasping each other on the back. "One of our best," their drummer proclaims, cheering.

Winnie tries to smile and listen, but the excitement of the show has started to turn into a bundle of growing nerves as she waits backstage with her bandmates.

"Waiting for someone today?" Doreen, their bassist, asks astutely as she starts moving some of their equipment.

"No," Winnie blurts unconvincingly, only gathering delighted hoots from the others.

"I knew this one felt different for a reason—" Doreen shouts gleefully, before falling silently abruptly, her eyes falling on someone behind Winnie. It takes all of her willpower to look casual and not whirl around. "Oh. He looks like he should be in a band," Doreen's voice drops into a hushed whisper. "Can we please add him? He can... play the triangle or something. He can be the face of our band. Our new mascot—"

At this, Winnie frowns and turns around. She wouldn't exactly say that Remus, with his soft jumpers and fluffy hair, looked like he'd be the face of a rock band—

"Hi," A voice, smooth and pitched low, says. "Winnie, right?"

Winnie stares at this stranger uncomprehendingly. He's strikingly handsome, his eyes the color of mercury and his hair the color of ink. He's all sharp angles and perfectly unruly curls and devilish smile, the type that Winnie has seen before. It comes with the crowd a rock band attracts, though this man in particular looks as though he was carved out of marble with his aquiline nose and high cheekbones.

Winnie blinks at him. "Yeah," she says uncertainly, scratching her cheek. "Er, do we know each other?"

"Winnie, this is Sirius," a familiar voice cuts in from behind the dark-haired man. Winnie straightens, her eyes snagging immediately on him as he steps out from behind Sirius.

Unlike Sirius's leather jacket and tattoos, Remus looks so painfully out of place in his sweater vest and slacks. She's impossibly endeared at the sight — in fact, all she can really do is stare dumbly at him. He's holding a little bouquet of yellow flowers. Her heart gives a dangerous squeeze.

Doreen clears her throat, jolting her out of her fixation. Winnie tears her eyes away from him to give his friend a polite smile as she shakes his hand. "Hi there." Distractedly, she turns back to look at Remus. "I didn't know you were going to bring a friend—"

"We love friends," Doreen says brightly. Winnie bites back a laugh at Doreen's lovesick scheming as her gaze snags on to Remus again. "Friends are always welcome here."

"I've heard loads about you," Sirius says smoothly, flashing her a charming smile. She swears she can hear Doreen faint next to her. "Remus, in fact, doesn't ever stop—"

Winnie's stomach does an Olympic-gymnastic-level flip as she watches Remus indiscreetly dig his elbow into Sirius's ribs. Sirius seems unbothered, but he stops and gives Winnie a smarmy grin.

"How was the show?" She asks, her gaze darting to Remus. It's like she can't stop looking at him.

"Brilliant," he blurts, beaming. "Absolutely brilliant. You were amazing," he says, eyes bright. "I mean, I knew you loved music, but seeing you in your element..." He stops abruptly, looking embarrassed. She isn't sure if it's the lighting, but his cheeks look pink. Or it's a reflection of how red her face has turned. Pleasure blooms in her chest so violently she feels a little dizzy.

"I'm glad you liked it," she manages, uncharacteristically bashful. She can feel her bandmates staring at her, slack-faced, and forces herself to ignore it. "I wasn't sure if it would be your type of music, but..."

"No, it was," Remus says hurriedly, turning to look at Sirius. "Right?"

Sirius nods, looking between the two of them with great interest. "Remus was practically on his knees—" Another jab into his ribs.

Winnie bites back a laugh, flushed and pleased, before nodding down at the bouquet in his hands. "Are those for me?" She asks, half-bluntly, half-hopefully.

Remus looks down at his hands as if he only just then remembered what he was holding. "Oh, yeah, yeah," he says. Winnie thinks she's dreaming for a moment, until Remus thrusts it into Sirius's hands. "They're from Sirius."

She blinks. Sirius blinks, an equally baffled expression on his face though he covers it up quickly. "Oh," the dark-haired man says slowly, his silver gaze flickering to his friend. "I guess—"

"—as a thank you for agreeing to the lesson," Remus cuts in hurriedly as Sirius hands it to her uncertainly.

Winnie takes the bouquet, bewildered now, but she plasters a polite smile on her face. "Er, it's no problem at all," she says, unsure about whether to say that to Sirius or Remus.

Sirius takes it in a stride though. "I would kill to play the guitar like you," he says, voice dripping with charisma. "How'd you—"

"You can try my bass, if you'd like," Doreen interrupts from behind her. Winnie's jaw goes a little slack — Doreen's the most protective with her bass — but her bandmate shoots her a meaningful look.

"Brilliant," Sirius says brightly. Winnie turns to watch Doreen in disbelief as they disappear into the backroom.

"Now he's not a random man, right?" Remus murmurs to her, his breath coasting against the shell of her ear. She nearly jumps out of her skin at the proximity.

"I suppose not," she says, trying to keep her cool but Remus is looking at her with bright eyes. It doesn't help when his lips quirk triumphantly, smugly. "But—" she interjects before it can widen any further, "—if it turns out that your friend is horrendous at the guitar, I think it's only fair if you also have to suffer through it."

Remus's brows shoot up. "And if he's good at it?"

"Then you get to witness my masterful teaching."

He huffs out a laugh, a little disbelieving, a little amused. "Fine," Remus sighs, but he's clearly trying not to smile. She finds herself wishing that he did. "I'll be there."

— — — — —

Sirius, as it turns out, is awful at the guitar. Winnie tries to chalk it up to it being his first time trying it out, but even then, he seemed... challenged.

She had been teaching him for an hour now — her sitting on one of the kitchen stools she had pulled into her flat's shoebox of a living room-bedroom situation, Sirius sitting on the couch with her old guitar precariously balanced on his knees. Remus tried to excuse himself once he realized his friend was musically challenged. Feeling merciful — and also realizing that Remus's presence was making her too nervous to focus on teaching Sirius — Winnie nodded him towards the kitchen. She had spent all morning meticulously cleaning her flat — even she knew she was being a little ridiculous and overly nervous when she started scrubbing at the oven — in preparation for the session. Even then, the knowledge that Remus was in her flat filled her with a different type of nerves.

"Let's take a break," Winnie huffs finally, setting her guitar down.

Sirius rises to his feet and stretches, looking relieved. "I'll get some water for us?" He offers, already making himself at home. Winnie nods, waving him off as she tries to fight back the incoming migraine from stressing over Sirius snapping her strings. At the reminder of his hand-eye coordination and all the glass she has in her cupboards, she springs to her feet quickly.

"Maybe I should just charm the guitar," Sirius is murmuring when she walks in to the kitchen.

"No amount of charisma will charm the guitar," Winnie says, amused. The boys straighten, looking strangely guilty.

"But Sirius is particularly charming," Remus supplies abruptly, darting a quick look to Sirius, who just looks startled by his friend's sudden proclamation.

"I see," Winnie says slowly, exchanging a baffled glance with Sirius.

"Right, well, I ought to practice some more then," Sirius says, giving a salute as he leaves the kitchen.

"Is he that bad?" Remus asks once Sirius leaves.

"It's like he's never used his hands before a day in his life to do anything," Winnie whispers to Remus with a solemn nod.

Remus makes a choking sound as though he's trying not to laugh. Winnie wishes he did. "You don't know the half of it," he huffs, lips curling as if he's sharing a secret.

"He's not really not very good with his fingers," Winnie admits honestly, lifting her cup to her lips.

"That's not his reputation among the girls," Remus blurts.

Winnie chokes on her water and starts coughing violently. Alarmed, Remus reaches out and pats her on the back. "What?" She rasps around a sore throat as she turns to give Remus an incredulous look.

His expression is too carefully neutral as he shrugs at her. "Sirius has always been Hogwart's most sought after bachelor," he recites, as if she's supposed to know what this meant.

"What's going on, Remus?" Winnie questions, her brows shooting up higher. "You've been acting strange recently. It's like you're trying to sell me this poor boy or..." She falters, turning to look at Remus. To his credit, he looks sheepish as he looks away to inspect her cabinets. "Remus," she begins, her voice dangerously low. "Please tell me you're not trying to set me up with your friend."

Remus goes pink in the face and it's all she needs to confirm her suspicions. Inwardly, her heart drops a little, but outwardly, she just stares at him, waiting for a proper response. As if realizing there wasn't a way of getting out of this, the brown-haired boy sighs a little, raking a hand through his hair. "I just thought you two would get along well together," he says, looking at her with earnest eyes.

It hurts. Much more than she cares to admit. Trying to swallow back the disappointment, Winnie turns so that he can't see it on her face. So that's what this has been about. "For how long?" She asks, her throat dry. She can feel a headache coming on.

"How long what?" Remus asks. He sounds confused.

"How long have you been thinking about setting us up? Did he even want to learn the guitar?" Winnie thinks back to Remus's reluctance on coming to her flat. She thinks back to him bringing Sirius along to the concert. She thinks about how much she likes Remus and how she thought he felt the same way. So it had all been one sided. Humiliation burns in her stomach as she stares down at her hands.

"No, he did, he did want to learn how to play the guitar," he says quickly. "Or, er, he was interested in learning after I told him about you. Sirius is a great guy, really!" Remus, all too late, seems to sense something amiss when she doesn't respond. He straightens, an expression of growing alarm on his face. "Are you... upset?"

"No," Winnie says. She wasn't, for once. In fact, she just wanted the ground to open up and swallow her hole. "I'm just..." She trails off, pinching the bridge of her nose before exhaling quietly.

"Sirius is a great guy, I promise," Remus says again, slowly as if not to spook a wild animal. But Winnie has already been spooked.

"Yeah, he is," she says, her voice pitched just slightly too high and just slightly too clipped as she turns to flee the kitchen. "But not very great at the guitar, so I'd better go check up on him. I suspect he'd find a way to set fire to my flat with just a guitar."

"I'm an idiot," she mutters to herself, closing her eyes for a moment.

A cheerful voice chirps up from the couch. "So, when can I join your band?"

— — — — —

Winnie doesn't go to work for the rest of the week. She asks her coworkers to cover her shift with a fake cough and a groan of a headache. The headache part isn't really a lie — ever since her conversation with Remus in her kitchen, she's felt a dull ache drumming behind her eyes. So she's holed herself in her apartment — specifically her bed, under lots of blankets — sulking and moping by herself.

By the fifth day, Winnie realizes bitterly that she can't keep this up. She has rent to pay. On the day that she's decided to come back into the coffee shop, her phone rings. "Winnie, are you coming in today?" her coworker asks.

"Yeah, I'm feeling better," Winnie lies as she stuffs her apron into her bag.

"Great," her coworker says before pausing. "There's been a bloke coming by asking for you."

Winnie can feel the headache come back full force. "A bloke," she repeats, knowing full well they both knew who she was talking about.

"Tall, brown hair. I told him you've been out sick, but he seems worried, so you ought to give him a ring."

To her chagrin, Remus is there the first day she comes back.

"Hi, welcome," she says, her voice tight. Winnie plasters a too-bright smile on her face to compensate. "What can I get for you today?"

Remus blinks. "A matcha latte. How have—"

"Coming right up," she says, punching in the order with rapid speed. Still smiling brightly. "That'll be $4.50—"

Remus hands her a five before she can finish.

"Here's your change, sir—" Winnie tacks it on at the end of the sentence before she can help it. Remus's face crumples in confusion for a moment, his brow furrowing together as he watches her for a moment longer. It feels as though his eyes are burning through her.

"You can keep the change," he says softly, still looking at her.

Winnie forces out a thank you. She feels as though her smile is starting to look like a grimace. Her cheeks are hurting. He's still looking at her with those stupidly pretty brown eyes. She knows he's waiting. She forces herself to look back down at the register before straightening. "Next in line, please."

— — — — —

To her relief, she's not on cash register duty the next time he comes. Winnie ducks her head with forced concentration as she makes an order. She's definitely too concentrated on making the drink that she doesn't notice the way his face brightens again when he sees her as he nears the counter. She's definitely too concentrated to hear her coworker take his order of a matcha latte. She's definitely too concentrated to feel his eyes on her as she busies herself behind the counter. She definitely wasn't paying attention.

This game of concentration can only go on for so long, Winnie realizes belatedly after she finishes making his drink. She stares down at his name on the cup glumly for a moment before putting her best customer-service smile back on. "For Remus," she calls out without quite looking up. Though she knows that he's sitting patiently at his normal table.

When he comes, Winnie puts a straw on the lid, trying not to look as tense as she feels.

"Hi," he says, looking at her fully in the face.

"Hi," she says back, not quite looking at him, but also not quite looking away. This time, there's no line and nowhere to escape to.

Remus fiddles with the straw wrapper slowly. "How..." He falters, his eyes imploring as he tries to catch her gaze. His brows are furrowed slightly. "...have you been? They said you've been ill?"

"Ah yeah," Winnie says weakly, busying herself with tidying up the straws and napkins by the register. "Caught a cold."

"It's not Dragon Pox, is it?" He says, his brows furrowing even further, a crease of concern between them.

Winnie blinks at him. "Dragon Pox?"

Remus blinks back at her. "Oh, maybe not then," he murmurs hurriedly before clearing his throat. "Er, if you're still feeling ill, I have this—" He reaches into the pocket of his long coat and pulls out a small vial. Winnie stares at it blankly. "—that helps with cold symptoms."

She squints at it, dubiously. "Is that medicine?"

Remus fiddles with the little glass vial. "Something of the sort."

"You just carry that around... in your pocket?"

"Well no," Remus says, looking embarrassed now. He clears his throat as his eyes dart down to the vial. "I wanted to give it to you, but I thought that dropping it off at your flat might be too much."

"Oh," Winnie says dumbly. Her stomach does a traitorous flip and she forces herself to also look down at the vial as her last defenses against him begin to crumble. She should've known this was going to happen. "That's sweet of you."

"It's nothing," he mumbles, setting the vial on the table. "Er, are you busy today?"

Winnie swallows. "Yeah, I've been out, so I ought to pull my weight around here," she says, though she thinks the both of them knows that it's a lie. The coffee shop barely had anyone else in it. But Winnie doesn't look up at him to see his face fall — she knows that if he just flashes her his doe eyes, she'll be back at square one. She forces a smile on her face.

Remus nods. His disappointment is clear on his face as he stuffs his hand back into the pocket of his coat. Winnie tried not to think about it. "Right, well, I'll be over there if you need a break."

— — — — —

Her landline rings again for the third time in the past fives minutes as she tries to get the chord progression correct. Though she's been trying, she's hit an even bigger music-block recently. Winnie squints at the number — it's the same one that's been trying to dial her. With a frustrated sigh, she sets her guitar to the side and picks up the receiver from the landline with a little too much vigor. "Hello?" She asks, the irritation in her voice cutting through clearly.

"Winnie?"

She pauses, taken aback. "This is she," she says after a moment. Who would be calling her nearly at midnight?

"Sorry, were you sleeping? I just got a telephone and I wanted to call, but I didn't realize it was this late—" The person on the other end sounds a little out of breath.

"Sorry, who is this?" She asks, bewildered now.

A pause. "It's Remus."

Winnie nearly drops the phone. "Remus?" She repeats.

"Yeah," he says uncertainly. "Remus Lupin," he adds, as if that'll help.

"Of course I know who you are," she says, a little disbelieving.

"You didn't sound like you did a few seconds ago," he says good-naturedly.

"Well, I wasn't expecting a call from someone without a phone."

He huffs out a laugh, soft and quiet. Hearing it close to her ear through the receiver makes a warmth spread through her chest. This was dangerous. She settles back on the couch as Remus continues talking, his voice soft like he's trying not to wake up his flatmate. "Well, to be fair, I did just get it."

"I never thought I'd see the day," she murmurs despite the danger bells tolling in her head. "What made you take the technological leap?"

Winnie can almost hear his eye roll through the receiver. "Well, I may have offended a girl at this coffee shop I frequent by not having one. Thought I should right my wrongs."

Her heart stutters dangerously in her chest. She's glad he can't see her because she can feel a pleased warmth flushing across her face as she lies down on the couch and kicks her legs over the armchair. She wants to scream from the giddiness. And then scream again for having no dignity. The thought that he had gotten a phone to call her is entirely absurd, but Winnie almost lets herself believe it. "I see," she says after she collects herself for a moment. "Sounds noble." A pause. "So you kept my napkin."

"No," Remus says automatically. "Sirius threw it away."

Winnie frowns, her brows furrowing. "Then how'd you get my number?"

"I memorized it."

She nearly falls to the floor at that, the phone rubbing against the couch as she sits up swiftly.

"Hello?" Remus's distant voice calls uncertainly through the speaker. "Winnie?"

"Hi!" Winnie chirps into the phone quickly, too brightly. She's beyond glad Remus can't see her face — she knows she's bright red now. And she's trying hard not to grin ear to ear. "Sorry about that, poor connection," she fibs.

Remus pauses. She can almost hear the frown in his voice when he speaks up again. "Is it my phone? The man at the store said it might—"

"No, no, that was on my end," she says quickly, fanning herself now. She needed to calm down. Immediately. "So, why did you call?"

A pause. She can hear him shuffling like he's sitting down. "No reason," he says. "I just wanted to hear your voice. I like this. It feels like I can hear you smiling."

To hell with calming down. She was getting no sleep that night with the way her heart was palpitating. "Holy hell," Winnie murmurs out loud, very sure now that Remus was trying to kill her. Death by heart attack. Remus Lupin, the secret ladykiller.

"What was that?" Remus asks through the phone.

"Nothing," Winnie mumbles, closing her eyes.

They both fall silent, though Winnie is sure he can hear her thumping heart through the receiver. "Er, Winnie," Remus speaks up finally. "The other reason I wanted to call was I suppose it had felt like it's been ages since we last spoke and I missed talking with you."

Winnie's heart does a dangerous quiver. And then she catches herself, all too soon, and all too suddenly.

Even after the past few weeks of trying to get over her unrequited crush, all it took was a few sweet words from him for her to cave and start at the beginning again. She couldn't keep being pushed and pulled and pushed and pulled. If she wanted to properly move on, she needed distance. Proper distance.

As if sensing something, Remus speaks up again hesitantly. "Did I do something?"

"No," Winnie says, closing her eyes. She can almost hear him breathing on the other end of the call. This would be easier to do over the phone, when she can't see his big brown eyes staring back at her earnestly — although she feels as though she's committed it to memory and can imagine it. "It's me, I— It's nothing that you've done or anything, I just need space."

"Space," Remus echoes quietly.

She tries to let out a light laugh. "Yeah, I've just got a lot on my mind recently. It's nothing you've done."

Remus is quiet for awhile before he speaks up again. "I'm here to listen if you ever want to talk through anything," he says softly. "We're friends, after all, right?"

"Friends," she murmurs to herself before straightening. "Right, of course."

More silence. "Well, it's late so I'll let you go." A pause, as if he's waiting for a response. Waiting for her to keep talking like she always did. Waiting for a reason to keep talking.

"Good night, Remus," she says instead, her fingers tightening around the receiver.

"Good night, Winnie." Winnie can hear the disappointment in his voice and lets it sink into her like a dagger. She needed to remember it to move on. Then maybe they could properly be friends. Winnie hangs up the phone first.

— — — — —

"Morning, Winnie," a bright voice chirps.

Winnie looks up, startled to see a pair of striking, but familiar gray eyes peering back at her. Sirius Black is standing in front of the counter, grinning at her widely. "Sirius," she says, surprised. "What can I get for you?"

Sirius gives the menu a cursory glance. "Huh, matcha," he says to himself thoughtfully.

"That's what Remus normally gets," she offers, trying to be helpful.

Sirius looks back at her, his eyes bright and startling astute. "You know," he says, dropping his voice to a secretive murmur. Despite herself, Winnie leans closer curiously. "Remus thinks matcha tastes like grass."

Winnie recoils, bewildered. That wasn't what she was expecting to hear. "Grass?" She repeats, a little affronted now. "It does not taste like grass—"

"Winnie," he says again, arching a delicate brow at her. "Remus thinks matcha tastes like grass."

She shoots him a baleful glare that goes against her customer service training. "Okay," she exhales. "So what drink would you want then?"

Sirius sighs as if she's being terribly daft. "What I'm saying is that Remus hates the taste of matcha but comes here nearly every other day to drink it. Isn't that strange?"

Winnie blinks. Once. Twice. It's as if Sirius can see the thought forming on her face because he starts to grin. "But," she says stubbornly, mulishly. Sirius's grin falters. Winnie takes secret pleasure in that. "—he drinks it every time."

Sirius's expression goes slack, but Winnie refuses to be deterred. She had already tricked herself twice into thinking that there could be more between her and Remus, she wasn't going to put herself through that again. "Merlin," Sirius exhales, scrubbing a frustrated hand over his face. "You both are so bloody stubborn—"

"No, he doesn't," a voice cuts in from behind her. Her coworker steps in with an equally exasperated expression. "Winnie, I'll be honest with you, he only ever drinks it when you make it. Whenever I hand it to him, it just sits there."

Sirius's grin returns, full force, as he nods excitedly. "I'm only telling you so that you can both stop dancing around each other. And so he can stop playing your bleeding cas— casserole... Merlin, what are they called? The little magical music squares?" Sirius flounders and turns to her coworker for help.

"Cassettes?" Her coworker supplies uncertainly.

"Cassettes!" Sirius agrees, looking relieved before he rounds on Winnie again to continue his berating. "So he can stop playing your bleeding cassettes around the flat!" And then he pauses. "Er, no offense, your music is great, but I just can't keep listening to the same album—"

"He has my cassettes?" Winnie whispers, wide-eyed.

Sirius stares at her like she's being impossibly dumb. "Yeah," he says, solemnly. "Everyday I'm a little tempted to throw them—" He seems to catch himself because he shoulders on smoothly. "Anyways, while he's been sulking around the flat, I finally found out that Moony was being ridiculous and was trying to play cupid. He can be incredibly dense for someone so smart," Sirius sighs, grimacing. "By the way, I actually was interested in learning the guitar."

Winnie stares at him dumbly, a little shell-shocked. "Oh," she says as Sirius gives her a wink.

"He's coming by later," he says as he turns towards the door.

"What?" She blurts. Remus hasn't come by or called her ever since she had asked for space, expectedly. She had been ignoring the empty feeling since then, reasoning it to be a necessary development for her to move on.

"I told him you had called on the — what's it called? — phone-tele saying you wanted to see him."

"What?" Winnie exclaims, but Sirius is already fleeing through the door. Dimly, she thinks that he didn't even order a drink.

"Go easy on him, sweetheart! He likes tea!"

— — — — —

"One matcha please."

"Name?"

A small, uncertain smile. A hesitant hint of a dimple. Her heart quaking again. "Remus Lupin."

"Coming right up."

Winnie tries to still her shaking hands as she makes him a drink. It doesn't help that she can feel her heart bursting through her chest. She takes a steadying breath and rakes a hand through her hair before taking the drink to his table. "For a Remus Lupin," she announces, setting the cup down in front of him. It's near closing time and there's no one else in the coffee shop.

Remus looks up, his brows shooting up below his waves. "What's this?"

"Earl gray," she says, matching his gaze.

His brows furrow. "But I ordered matcha."

"It's a personal recommendation from the kitchen," she says, nodding down at the tea. "I heard that matcha tastes like grass."

Remus's face pales, but he manages to cover it up with a nervous laugh that only confirms her suspicions. And her hopes. "Matcha doesn't taste like grass—" he begins, but his voice falters when he catches sight of her smiling.

"Remus," she says brightly, her smile broadening. "I finished the song."

"The song," he says blankly, looking startled as if he's trying to keep up. He blinks at her rapidly.

"The love song I've been stuck on," she reminds him impatiently.

"Oh! Oh! See, I knew you'd be able to finish," Remus says, still looking bewildered.

Winnie smiles at him. "It was inspired by you."

"Inspired by me," he parrots for a moment, nodding, before his eyes widen fractionally. "Inspired by me?" He blurts.

"What I'm saying is," she begins, folding her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. "I like you."

Maybe the only way to move on was to be properly rejected. Or maybe the only way to move on, Winnie thought selfishly, was to give in to the hope that Sirius had planted.

Remus's face goes slack. And then, wonderfully, a soft pink flush begins to crawl up the nape of his neck, dusting his cheeks in two brilliant splotches. "I— Winnie— But you're—" he flounders, mouth opening and closing repeatedly. Dimly, Winnie thinks it's a little unfair how adorable he looks flustered. She also thinks that she wouldn't mind always seeing him flustered.

"But I'm so what?" She asks, tilting her head to the side casually, despite her thundering heartbeat.

"But you're so, so—" he's stammering now, flushed and a little wild-eyed. "—incandescent."

Winnie thought she had control over the conversation, but at his admittance, she feels a little dizzy. "Incandescent," she repeats in a wide-eyed whisper. In that moment, she knew that no boy would ever call her anything as meaningful. That there would be no other boy that would mean anything to her.

Remus's face only turns a brighter scarlet as he backtracks. "I mean, you're you and I'm— I'm Remus," he says nonsensically.

"Remus Lupin," she corrects with a weak laugh, heart still thumping dangerously.

Remus nods earnestly, as if that's supposed to make any sense. "Yeah," he says, throat bobbing as he swallows. "And, and you could do so much better." Winnie's heart clenches a little at the way he can't meet her eyes. "I'm— I'm not good with people— I wouldn't be good for you."

Winnie chewed the inside of her cheek uncertainly. "Remus, I can't tell if you actually think that or if you really don't like me and are just using that as an excuse because I'd rather it if you just rejected me outright—"

"Of course I like you," he blurts a little frantically with a disbelieving laugh. Winnie's heart trembles so violently that she thinks she needs to take a seat. Remus, on the other hand, pales a little at his outburst as he scrubs a hand over his face. "I mean, anybody would. But you could do so much better. I mean, I'm not good with people or talking and I don't—" She can see that he's begun to work himself up into some sort of frazzled frenzy. "I don't have tattoos or eat cigs for breakfast," he blurts.

Winnie does a double-take. "I know?" She says, bewildered. "Where is this coming from?"

"You said the type of guy you're attracted to has tattoos and eats cigs for breakfast."

Winnie balks at him for a moment before she realizes what he's talking about. She wants to laugh but instead holds it in as she stares fondly at the man in front of her. "Remus," she sighs again, stepping closer to him. The knowledge that he liked her back sends thrilling waves of adrenaline through her. Even though he's taller than her, she feels as though she's the one towering over him.

Emboldened, Winnie takes a deep breath, rises to her toes because he's so bloody tall, and grabs him by the cheeks. Remus's mouth clamps shut as his eyes widen. She wishes she could pour all her emotion into her palm and just press it against him so that he would understand.

"I said that those were the guys I attract, not that I'm attracted to. And I think you're lovely, to say in the least. You're kind, brilliant, a wonderful listener. I think your eyes and your smile are stupidly distracting— Actually, I think you're just the prettiest boy I've ever seen. And I wish you could see these things for yourself, but if it means that I have to love you for the both of us, I would be happy to. If you'd let me."

"Oh," Remus blurts, two bright scarlet splotches flushing on his cheeks. Up close, Winnie can see the way the light catches like gold in his brown eyes.

"Sorry, I'm always talking your ear off," she whispers, her fingers curling a little in the waves his hair. His skin is soft and warm beneath her fingers. "It's fine, really, if you want to reject me. But it's not fair for you to make the decision based off what you think I should want. Because I know that I want you and that's enough for me, yeah?"

Remus parts his mouth and Winnie is so sure that he's going to say something stubborn again.

"Can I kiss you?" He murmurs, brown eyes blown dark and wide as they dart to her lips.

Caught entirely caught off guard, all Winnie can do is make an assenting sound before his head is dipping down towards hers swiftly, as though that was all he was waiting for.

There's no soft, chaste exploration she had expected — instead, Remus kisses like he's burning up from the inside, like he's melting into her. His mouth is warm and sweet — he tastes like the earl gray tea she had made — and his lips are soft as one of his hand rises to catch her jaw, his other hand slipping gently to cradle the back of her head, his long fingers in her hair, as he tilts her face up.

Winnie's mind went blank the moment his lips slotted against hers, but she's rendered entirely useless when his teeth tugs at her bottom lip gently. All she can do is cling onto his neck and shoulders — she doesn't even know when her hands had moved from cupping his face — as Remus tries to guide her even closer to him. Winnie doesn't even have the capacity to feel embarrassment at the appreciative sigh that's pulled from her lips when he deepens the kiss.

To her mingled disappointment and relief — because she's started to run out of air and was feeling light-headed — Remus pulls back just far enough to peer at her with wide eyes. "Sorry, was that too much?" He whispers, voice wonderfully hoarse, his lips still brushing against hers. His brown eyes dart from her eyes to her lips and back around as if he can't decide where to look.

Total ladykiller, Winnie thinks dimly. Somehow, he always managed to catch her off guard even when she thought she was in control. "Um," she manages, breathless, her heart nearly giving out now. "Wow."

When she catches sight of him properly, another thrill runs through her. His pretty eyes are dazed over and his lips reddened and flushed. He looks a little dizzy. "Yeah," he murmurs back, equally nonsensically. He brushes a thumb across her jaw, sending a shiver down her spine. Catching this, Remus just smiles at her, as if impossibly endeared, and it does little to calm her heart. "How about a date tomorrow?"

"Not a coffee shop, I hope," Winnie says mulishly in an attempt to deflect from her warming cheeks. But Remus, as always, can see right through her.

A soft laugh rumbles in his chest as he smiles down at her fondly. "We can go wherever you want."

— — — — —

It's rush hour again. There's a dozen cups lined up for her to make and she's begun to lose track of what she's doing. When she glances down at the name of the one she just finished, Winnie doesn't bother hiding her grin as she calls out, "An earl gray for a Remus Lupin!"

Winnie's smile widens when she catches sight of him in his knitted sweater. And then, "I'm missing a drink."

Her smile falters in confusion as she looks down at the earl gray in his hand. "Hm?" She hums, frowning now.

Remus nods down at the other drink she had finished making, his lips twitching. Winnie blinks at his smile distractedly before peering at the cup. "Matcha latte for Cariad?"

Remus just smiles innocently at her, his eyes warm and fond. "That one's for you."

a/n: hope you enjoyed! love love love hearing your thoughts, so let me know what you think! <3 i feel like i could make a whole remus coffee shop -verse of oneshots now... if that's something.... we would be interested in............. i love the idea of wizards interfacing with muggle society and how shite they would be (re: sirius not knowing how to do anything). even though remus's mom is a muggle, i imagine since he's been at hogwarts for most of his life from 11-18 and spent his childhood moving around a lot and living in the more rural areas, i wanted to play off the idea that though he's been in muggle society, he's probably awkward as hell in a muggle city. edit: more remus x winnie oneshots on my masterlist! >> my masterlist!

[revengeghoulette]

Matcha Latte w/ Rose

Part 1: The Meet Cute, Barista Swiss x Professor Mountain

I’ve had this idea written down since February, because a friend made me a matcha latte with oat milk and a splash of rose and I was like yup this is definitely Them. I also definitely did not describe my dream of owning a book & coffee shop. 

No mentions of matcha this part, but definitely next part.

@divine-misfortune bc i really enjoyed your tags :) @obsidianghoul, @gottagho-st @foxybouquet @rainsbasspick @hypnoneghoul bc Swissalps

Slightly edited, might go back in and edit some more

Swiss works at a quiet little bookstore and coffee shop owned by an elderly couple. They’ve been training him to take over the business since they're too old to be doing this sort of thing, and want to leave it to a local who will take care of their business. He’s always wanted to be a businessman and run a little local shop. A safe space for all the so-called weirdos in the community, especially the college kids trying to figure out who they are. Fresh baked goodies round the clock, fresh coffee, a bookstore with an upstairs quiet area for studying with sleeping pods in case anyone needs a place for the night, or just needs a nap. 

Once he officially became the owner, he changed its name to Rosy Crown Bookshop and Cafe. He hired a few teens, a handful of part-time college kids, and his friends Mist and Sunny, who help run the bookshop side of things and do other management stuff. 

Swiss enjoys working as a barista and running the cafe. He enjoys seeing all the new faces at the start of the semester, but mostly, he enjoys the fact that his coffee shop is the go-to study place. He also hosts study sessions, trivia nights, and other little destressors for students. During midterms and finals, the cafe would be open 24/7 for those procrastinators and extreme studiers. Mist, Sunny and Swiss don’t mind staying open for them and working long hours. 

The start of a new semester was around the corner. New faces were slowly starting to roll in, exploring the bookshop, trying the seasonal drinks, and a few asking for employment. Many nervous freshmen calm down after chatting with Swiss, knowing they have a safe space to come to for studying.

Swiss was finishing opening the coffee shop when he walked in. He’s tall, slender, wears glasses, tousled reddish brown hair that matches the autumnal leaves outside. Swiss was taken aback by this beautiful man… wait no. Ghoul? There’s a certain scent to him. He was too distracted to notice that he was ringing the bell for assistance. Snapping out of it, Swiss walks behind the counter to take his order. 

“Hi, welco-” Swiss starts, but never finished.

The man looks up the menu, only to say “12 oz drip coffee.” 

Swiss is shocked at the man’s abruptness, “oh sure, name?” 

“Mmmm…ark. Mark,” the hottie answers with some hesitation. 

Swiss smiles because it reminds him of those customers that like to make up names for their orders like Obi Wan or Rapunzel, “Mark?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, ca-can we rush this? I’m late for my first day,” the ghoul man stammers out

“You got it!” 

Swiss turns around to fill a cup with drip coffee. Before handing the cup over, he scribbled out a little message on the sleeve, “Good luck” 

“Here you go, on the house,” Swiss slides the coffee across the counter. 

“No, I have to pay,” he insists, fishing for his wallet in his messenger bag. 

“Mark, I’m serious. It’s on the house. Now go before you're even more late,” Swiss shoos him away playfully. 

The day goes on smoothly, but Swiss couldn’t get Mark’s smile out of his mind. 

“Whatcha doin’ there Swissypoo,” Mist pokes Swiss while he’s staring off into the distance as she wraps her apron around her waist. 

“Huh? Oh, nothing,” Swiss tries to play it off. Mist chuckles because she doesn’t believe him, but won’t push it. 

The entrance bells ring announcing the arrival of a customer.  Swiss stands up a little taller, and dusts off his apron. Mist looks between the customer and Swiss. There’s something there, so she hangs back, refilling the caramel sauce squeeze bottle, watching them interact. 

“Hi, welcome back,” Swiss smiles at the man. 

The man in front of him looks almost embarrassed, apologetic, “Hi, I’m- uh, sorry about um earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it, I understand,” he brushes him off. 

“I’ve felt bad all day so I thought I’d come and buy a little celebratory pastry,” the stranger flashes him a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling a little bit. 

“How did today go?”

“It was actually pretty good, thank you. Can I get a slice of the carrot cake please. Can you make it to go?” 

“Absolutely,” Swiss grabs the slice and places it on a box, scribbling ‘For surviving the day’ on the lid before handing to him, “Here you are.”

“Thank you! I’m Mark, by the way. I know I told you earlier, but I wanted to properly introduce myself.”

“Nice to meet you, Mark. My friends call me Swiss.” Swiss extends his hand for a hand shake and Mark meets his hand, static shocking both of them. 

Mist was right, there was something there. She was definitely going to question Swiss once this guy leaves. 

“What the fuck was that?” Mist pushes Swiss to the back of the house, slapping his arm. 

Laughing, Swiss pushes Mist away by pushing her forehead, “What do you mean?”

“Dude, sparks were literally flying. C’mon spill.” 

“Nope! My shift is over, BYE!”

With that, Swiss takes off his apron, and leaves the shop. Mist is flabbergasted by what just happened. 

Mark came in every morning that week to get coffee before jetting off to work. Everyday Swiss would write a little something on the sleeve of the coffee cup, or on the napkin with his pastry. Mark has never mentioned them, but Swiss is hopeful he saw them. 

It’s Saturday, and he’s not expecting to see Mark, but it’s a nice surprise to see him walk in and take a seat at one of the corner tables. After setting his bag down, he walks up to the counter. 

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Well, hello stranger. Can I get you your usual?” Swiss asks as he’s about to turn around. 

“No, actually. I was wondering if you could make me your favorite drink. I don't usually drink like those fancy coffee drinks, but my TA was giving me shit for always drinking the same thing, so I wanted to explore different caffeinated drinks, I guess, and I didn’t know where to go, so I figured since we kind of have a rapport I could ask you. Oh my goodness, I'm rambling, I'm sorry!” 

Swiss smiles kindly at him, chuckles a bit. “TA? Are you a teacher?” 

“I’m a professor at the local university,” Mark explains. 

“Emeritus Tech? I graduated from there! But yes, why don’t you go sit down, and I'll make you something” 

Mark takes a seat and pulls out his laptop and a book. Swiss returns with a latte. 

“This here is a vanilla latte. Everyone says ‘it's basic,’ but it’s a good beginner coffee drink if you’re just starting to explore the coffee world. You can change the flavoring and the type of milks used. It’s vanilla flavoring, a shot of espresso, and milk with some foam on top,” Mountain lifts an eyebrow at the design on top, “It’s a swan,” Swiss answers his unspoken question, flashing him a smile, “I used oat milk because I find that it gives it a creamier, slightly thicker consistency. Enjoy. I’ll make my rounds.” 

Swiss leaves Mark to his own devices, but he watches him from behind the bar. Mark takes a cautious sip from the mug, closing his eyes and savoring the taste. He didn’t know coffee could taste so good. He just stuck to drip, because he was too scared to order or make different drinks. 

As the afternoon crowd slowly started to leave, Swiss began cleaning around, organizing shelves and restocking books and coffee supplies. Mark’s eyes would often wander to Swiss. He’d catch him dancing, humming to himself, reading the summaries of books before shelving them. Mark was entranced by Swiss’ silly little shenanigans.  

Mark stayed late to finish his lesson plans. Swiss occasionally brings him water, or a sweet treat against Mark’s wishes, but he still eats them. Mark wraps up his plans, grabs his things and leaves, waving goodbye to Swiss. 

Swiss switches off the open sign after staying open an extra hour just for him. He grabs a rag and a bin to clean off the table Mark was sitting at when he finds something scribbled out on a napkin. 

“Thank you for all the notes on my coffee and pastries. Call me -M” with his number written below. 

A giant smile forms on his face, he looks at the note again because he doesn’t believe it real. He’s so happy and excited that his tail unglamours and wags with happiness. 

From across the street, Mark watches as Swiss’ tail wags, admiring the dimples on his face. He’s so beautiful, Mark thinks. 

Swiss finishes closing duties and gives Mark a call after locking the door, to keep him company while he walks home. 

“Hello?” a groggy voice answers 

“It’s Swiss, sorry is this too late? I can call at a different time.” Swiss starts to panic, scared he woke him up. 

“No, no. It’s okay. I was just dozing off on the couch. I- I, thanks for calling, I-” Mark breaks out into a quiet giggle, “Oh this is dumb, but I wanted to hear your voice,” Swiss blushes hearing Mark say that, “Oh, also, you have a cute tail.”

“Wait. You saw that?!” Swiss is shocked. He thought he was alone, or at least, didn't think anyone would be paying attention to him. 

“Sure did, and my name's Mountain, not Mark, and I also have a tail.”

Swiss is relieved by the confirmation that he’s also a ghoul. 

“Mountain… I like it. It suits you.”

They talk as Swiss makes his way home, and late into the night, way beyond their bedtimes, and fall asleep on the call. 

After that phone call, Mountain went to the coffee shop every day before and after work. He’d sit in his usual spot and do some grading, or read a book while waiting for Swiss to get off work. 

Mountain’s become a regular, and the employees start to recognize him and his order, as well as some of his students. The coffee shop has become a secondary office where students stop by just to ask him clarifying questions, or sometimes they’ll set up a meeting to discuss larger topics. 

He’s met Sunny and Mist during the shift overlap, and they sometimes sit with him to keep him company when work is slow. They all know they’re ghouls living amongst humans. 

Sunny loves to discuss books. Keeps him updated on the latest book releases and also customer drama. Mountain is a big time consumer of customer drama. In return, he gossips about his students.

They’ve also discussed hosting some sort of reading or book program in collaboration with the bookshop. Talks about hosting Q&A’s with a variety of subjects have come up. 

On a quiet Friday night, when Swiss’ shift ends, Mountain walks him to his apartment as per the routine now. Once at the entrance, Swiss turns to him and meets his eyes. 

“I want to ask you something,” Swiss starts. Mountain waits for him to continue

“Would you, maybe, want to go out with me?” 

Mount eagerly smiles and nods, “I’ve been waiting for you to ask, and if you didn’t do it this weekend, I was going to ask. Yes, Swiss, I’d love to go out with you.” 

“Would you wanna come in? Stay the night perhaps? We can watch a movie, and have some frozen pizza? Neither of us have work tomorrow, and we can sleep in?”

“I-” Mountain starts, but is met with Swiss’ puppy eyes, “I can stay, yes.”

Swiss sighs in relief, grabbing hold of Mountain's hand, guiding him inside the building while rambling on about tonight's plans. Mountain laughs, squeezing Swiss hand a little tighter, sending a little thank you to whatever god made this happen.

Part 2: The Date... coming soon.

[twstjam]

"Lili? Raising children?! HAH! That's priceless. I wouldn't trust him to care for a rock!"

You've seen young Lilia, now get ready for YOUNGER Lilia with LONGER hair!!!

This is brought to you by a design I found in my files that inspired me to think about Lilia (and Mallenore) before the human invasion happened on Land of Briar. I came up with it just now but I hc that Lilia and Mallenore BOTH liked to dye their hair and would often match (because they were besties your honor)

Anyways Thoughts time: I think that Lilia was/is really popular among the fae nobility considering he was the princess's best friend and also a very promising soldier. I also wonder though... If he was popular because of his looks and if he had lots of admirers and suitors and people interested in him romantically, but aside from hook-ups and such he wasn't all that interested in relationships because they were too demanding (also there's the thing where a lot of people wanted to have kids and at that age he Very Much Did Not).

In his suitor suit lines I think he mentioned that he can date whoever as long as they can respect each other's interests or something. That and based on what we've seen in Chapter 4 I get the vibe that he's the kind of guy who likes doing what he wants and when he was younger he had much less patience with people ordering him around too much. (he still follows orders but he's not COMPLETELY happy about it, based on how he complains about Mallenore)

Those are just MY interpretations though, also I haven't fully read Chapter 4 because full english translations haven't come out yet so some of my info here might be off oops

[tallmatcha]

Dear everyone I told I wouldn't write Final Fantasy 16 fic: I lied. Here's the start of Sol Invictus.

It starts the way it ends: with fire. 

The same nightmare has tormented him for for thirteen summers. The first was the cruelest, for he didn’t understand then that he was dreaming. Time and distance haven’t lessened the pain, but they have at least allowed him to separate past and present. 

As always, he is formless, watching himself from afar. All is as he remembers: Ifrit Gate in shambles, embers raining down like falling stars, and those wings—those terrible, glorious wings, blindingly bright against the night sky, radiant enough to shame the sun. 

The sun. The First Son. His brother, the Dominant of Fire, Lord of the Inferno, trampled underfoot. The firebird’s talons, black and vicious, shining with the blood of House Rosfield’s heir. With one fell swoop, Rosaria’s hope burns to ashes. 

It is then, always then, that Joshua awakens.

[ventique18]

Twisted Wonderland Illustrations Masterlist

🌸 Links under the cut 🌸

Regular Style

Malleus Draconia

A little but sunny

Season of love

Glorious

Happy Birthday Malleus 2024

Lecture notes scribble

Smart casual

An unexpected encounter

Love at first realization

Kisses

Morning coffee

Sakura matcha

Little star

Expressive dragon

Sunflower

Book 7 if

University AU ID card

Love gestures

Kundiman (Love Song)

Colors

Love

Fool in love

Contamination (+ Azul)

I like you (I love you)

Fate

Wish Upon A Star

Kiss Day

Tsunotarou!

Sketches

Beloved (yandere)

Beach boi

My everything

Summer day

Fae

Enchanted

King of the Abyss

Tipsy

FMalleus x MYuu

Warm

Papa

Papa Hornton

Young master

Solitude of the moon

Gentle flower

Love language

Cute

Desire 🔞

Faceswap

Hatchling

Hot kiss

Matching tamagotchis

Others

Leonameow express

Jamilmeow express

Azulmeow express

Riddlemeow express

NRC Top Secret Elite Squad

Papa and Mama Draconia's Valentine's date

Strawberry tyrant (Riddle)

Assemble, mighty rabbit knights! (Silver and Sebek)

HBD Leona 2022

HBD Leona 2023

HBD Silver 2022

HBD Silver 2023

HBD Riddle 2022

HBD Idia 2022

HBD Idia 2023

HBD Azul 2022

20-pixel tiny boys (Diasomnia)

Unusual expressions (mal, vil, leona, azul)

Distressed expressions (mal, leona, riddle, jamil)

Love Shot (Leona)

Transit (Diasomnia)

Malleus' parents headcanons (oc)

Witch Princess (Meleanor Draconia)

Chibi Style

Malleus Draconia

Mallemeow express

Potato farmer

Hedgehogleus

Meowlleus Drawrconia

He bounce

Bocchi

Soaring boys

Sleepy Diaso

Dragon and girl

Aranara Malleus

'Puter Malleus

Tiny hearts

Tandemalleus

Baby Malmal loves you

Malleusaurus

[beenbaanbuun]

petals for amour - choi hansol

words - 4.1k

genre - hurt/comfort

warnings - florist!reader, barista!vernon, serial dater!vernon, reader cries… a lot, readfer is hopelessly in love with vernon, jealousy (from both parties), vernon is clueless

The flower display in the window of the shop needed rearranging. It had for a while, but you just hadn't had the time. It's not like the shop was ever-bustling, but still. You were too busy doing other things. Procrastinating, for example, or daydreaming about an alternate reality in which you actually had a well-paying job and a relationship outside of your never-ending daydreams.

But your coworker had made a display using a mish-mash of ugly purple and yellow flowers. Not the pretty pastel type either. No, the type that made you gag every time you saw it out of the corner of your eye. That wasn't even mentioning the fact that she’d completely ignored the meaning of the flowers she’d put in the display. Sure, the language of flowers wasn't exactly common knowledge, but for a florist, it was kind of the bare minimum.

You started from scratch, disposing of the rest of the flowers in the window in the bin behind the counter. Instead of the garish display that was there a few moments prior, you decided to take a softer, more calculated approach. Soon enough, the table in front of you was littered with a selection of wild roses, red carnations and white lilies, the meaning of each of them intermingling perfectly. It was a display that represented love; an emotion that you were familiar with.

A small, bitter smile rested on your face as a certain someone came to mind. You were a friend to him, but he was so much more to you. You felt silly thinking about him in that way, especially when the feelings were anything but reciprocated, but you couldn't help it.

It was hard for you to admit that you loved him, especially when it was clear as day to see that he didn’t love you in the same way. It broke your heart to hear him tell you that every day before he left through the door of your shop to go on yet another date with yet another girl who was much prettier than you. That was the issue with loving a serial dater; you had to watch every day as he fell in love with seemingly every girl other than you.

“What's got you thinking?” Speak of the devil. The bell above the door gave you little to no warning that Vernon had walked in, his loud voice cutting through the gentle chime. “I was stood outside the window for like five minutes. You were just zoned out.”

“Hey, Vernon,” you muttered, straightening up the last few snowdrops before spinning around to face your friend. As usual, he was dressed in his work uniform, a brown apron tied around his waist with a cute little bow at the front. “Did you bring me my drink?”

“Of course,” he held out a white cup that you knew contained matcha, your name scribbled across the side. You snorted and took it from him. It was made by him, you realised as you took the first sip. He always added a dash of caramel syrup to make it extra sweet for you. It was just the way you liked it.

He took his position, leaning up against your counter and kicking his leg up so it rested against the wood. You had to stop yourself from staring at him as he let himself relax. He just looked so effortlessly handsome with his perfect, tan skin and his deep chocolate eyes. Not to mention those plump li-

“How’s work been?” You cut off your own train of thought before you could begin to spiral.

“Hard,” he sulked, jutting his button lip out in a way that made him irresistibly cute.

“And yet you still found time to bring me my drink?” You were being sarcastic, of course. He brought you your drink every day, without fail. No matter how busy it was at the cafe, he’d always devote his lunch break to coming to see you. It had become a part of both your routines, and you couldn’t imagine it any other way.

He’d even done it once when you were at home, sick. Instead of your regular matcha in his hand, he carried a flask of freshly brewed green tea. It wasn’t your favourite drink, and he knew that, but he was convinced it would help you feel better. And with Vernon being as stubborn as he was, you had no room to argue when he showed up at your door with a sympathetic frown and a warm hug.

“I always have time to bring you your drink,” he smiled back, “you get grumpy if I don't.”

“More like you get grumpy if I don’t let you,” you corrected, “it’s been so long since I’ve gone a day without seeing you. I miss it.”

You continued to work as Vernon stood at the front desk, chatting idly with you as you strolled around with a spray bottle in hand. Every so often, Vernon would say something that would get him squirted like he was a kitten that was misbehaving. He never batted an eye, though, simply letting out one of his contagious laughs and wiping away the wet patch on his apron.

“I forgot to tell you about the dream I had last night,” he said as he checked his watch to see how much longer he had with you. By your calculations, he’d be leaving in 10 minutes and you’d be free to once again spiral into a world of delusional daydreams, set in a world where your feelings were reciprocated. “It was about you.”

“Elaborate,” you said as you brushed away some dead leaves that had tumbled to the ground.

“So, you know how I’m going on that date tonight?” he asked.

How could you forget, you thought to yourself as a scowl grew on your face. He’d been going on about this one for a whole week, reminding you each and every day just how pretty she was. Smart too. You tried to stop yourself from resenting the poor girl who you hadn’t even met, but before you knew it, you already hated her. You wanted to know what it was about her that had snatched Vernon’s attention. You wanted to know what it was about you that hadn’t.

“Well, I’m taking her to a fancy restaurant. She’s classy, so I think it’d suit her,” you could practically hear the dopey smile that he was wearing, even though you weren’t facing him. In a way, you were glad you couldn’t see him. You knew it’d sting to see him so excited about seeing a girl that wasn’t you. “But in my dream, you showed up instead. Claimed you were my date. Weird, right?”

“Right.”

“You were dressed in that long pink skirt you always wear. The one with the flowers,” he let out a chuckle, “I think that’s my favourite skirt of yours. You just look so happy every time you wear it. You did in my dream, too.”

His dream sounded an awful lot like a recurring daydream of yours. The two of you on a date, smiling and happy. You couldn’t count the number of times you’d thought about the outfit you’d wear if he were to ever ask you on one. The pink skirt was a regular. Daydream Vernon would never fail to compliment you on it, making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“It’s my favourite skirt, too,” you said.

“You looked very pretty in it,” you were glad you were still facing away from him. You couldn’t help the heat that rose to your cheeks, just like you couldn’t help the shy smile on your lips. “I think I almost developed a crush on you.”

Yet as soon as the corners of your lips even dared to twitch, your happiness was instantly shattered.

Almost. He almost developed a crush on you. That was all it took to wipe the stupid smile off your face and replace it with a solemn frown. How dumb of you to get so excited over a passing comment? It’s not like he found you pretty in the way he found every other girl pretty. You were his best friend, after all.

And that’s all you ever would be to him. After years and years of trying to get him to notice you, you were still at the bottom of his list. You were practically ‘one of the boys’, except more emotionally available. You couldn’t bear to remember all the times he’d showed up at your house and used you as a shoulder to cry on after a bad date. Not that you expected much else. That’s what you were to Vernon; someone he could always count on in his times of need. A friend, and nothing more.

“Don’t you have to go?” You tried to sound chipper as you spoke, but even to your own ears, it sounded like you were on the verge of tears.

“You okay?” he asked, obviously picking up on your sudden switch in mood. You cursed yourself for not being a natural-born actress. It only added to the long list of things to hate yourself over. You know, along with the fact that you were trapped with a crush on a man who’d never love you back. Not to mention the fact that you were idiotic enough to let his offhanded compliments go to your head, only to be so cruelly brought back to earth by his thoughtless words.

“I’m fine! It’s just a mood swing,” you muttered. Vernon moved from behind you, trying to get a look at your face. He was just trying to confirm that you were fine before he left you on his own. Of course, you weren’t. So you bobbed down, pretending to pick up something invisible off of the floor. It only served to make Vernon worry more, but he knew not to push.

He made a mental note to see you later, probably after his date had finished. The two of you could sit on your bed and watch kid's films together, just like you always did when you were sad. He’d let you rest your head on his lap, and he’d play with your hair. It was a surefire way to make you smile, and his favourite way to calm you down. Your hair was just so soft, and you always looked so soft and cuddly when you were dozing on his lap.

He’d make sure to not tell you about how his date went. Not tonight, anyway. You always seemed to be in a worse mood whenever he talked about the girls he went on dates with. You were probably just protective of him, he’d tell himself. If you went on as many dates as he did, he’d probably be pissed too. You were much too sweet and kind to be dating just any man. If it were up to him, they’d have to go through a strict vetting process first, and maybe then, if they proved themselves to be of the highest standard, he’d let them within a six-foot radius of you…

“Are you sure?” He asked one last time. His voice was quiet, as if he was scared that a sudden rise in volume would make everything worse. “I can skip work if you want.”

“You’re not getting fired because of me,” you were equally as quiet, “now go. I’ll be fine.”

But you weren’t.

The moment he was out of sight, you let the tears begin to fall, despite the fact that you weren���t even sure what was making you so upset. You knew he didn’t like you in that way, and yet his confirmation of it seemed to make you spiral into a deep pit where the only thought circling in your mind was just how unlovable you were. Because how, when you’d been trying so hard for so long, did he still only see you as a friend?

He went on failed date after failed date, yet he still never saw you as an option. At this point, you were convinced that he could date every woman in the world, and you’d still come in last place. You were so close to getting what your heart desired, and yet so far.

You shut the shop early. It’s not like you ever got many customers anyway, and you could always stay open a little later on a different day if you needed to make up some hours. Besides, no one was going to walk into a florist when the sales clerk had mascara tears running down her cheeks, right? You could hardly promote love and happiness when you looked like Miss Havisham herself.

Although there was a chill in the air, you took the long way home. The way that meant you didn’t have to walk past the cafe where Vernon worked. That way you knew you were safe from another emotional outburst that was bound to happen the second you saw his face again. It just meant that you had to bundle yourself up extra tight in the thin jumper you’d worn to work that morning. You spent most of the journey trying to ignore the fact that you were shivering and carried on along the road to your home.

It came as no surprise when your feet led you straight to your bedroom once you got back. You couldn’t remember if you’d locked the front door, but honestly, you didn’t care. All you wanted to do was curl up into a hall and sob into your pillow. The floral material of the pillowcase stared at you, practically begging for you to wipe your makeup off before you started your second crying session of the day. Of course, you ignored it. It was too much effort to get out of bed again, and even more effort to wash your face.

Besides, the pattern on the fabric resembled the one of your pink floral skirt, and the last thing you wanted to be reminded of was that skirt. You didn’t know if you’d ever wear it again after Vernon had complimented it like he had. You didn’t want him to call you pretty if he wasn’t going to mean it.

For the first time ever, you were happy that you lived alone. With no roommates, there was no need to keep your cries quiet. You could let out all of your emotions without any judgment from anyone. All you had to do was hope that you were quiet enough that your neighbours didn't put in a noise complaint. You didn’t think you were in the right frame of mind to have to deal with some police officer at your door asking about some ghostly wails that were heard coming from your bedroom. ‘The man I love doesn’t love me back,’ isn’t exactly a widely accepted reason for disturbing the peace of your neighbours. They’d probably think you were insane for your overdramatic reaction. You felt that way, anyway. Insane and unjust and overdramatic in every way possible.

Still, the floodgates were open and there was no way to close them again. Wave after wave of tears left you with no break in between them. You were tired and dizzy, probably from the dehydration, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. As the world around you spun, all you could think about was Vernon, and you, and how pathetic you were for falling in love with him. Of course, it only released another flood of tears, and the cycle continued until you drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

A few hours had passed before you felt the shifting of your mattress as someone sat next to you. A warm hand brushed over your face, tracing your features as if the person were trying to commit them to memory. The tip of a finger was used to wipe away the tear stains that had collected under your eyes. It tickled a little as they accidentally brushed over your eyelashes. You scrunched up your face and let out a whine of protest, which only served to make the other person laugh. A beautiful, musical laugh that you could recognise anywhere.

“What happened to your date?” you mumbled, sleepily. You didn’t open your eyes to look at Vernon, and Vernon made no move to take his hand away from your face. Whether you wanted him to or not was a complicated question and one that you weren’t prepared to decipher right now. You just lay there and enjoyed the soothing patterns he drew upon your skin.

“I left,” he said simply as if that explained anything at all.

“Did you not like her?” you questioned, trying to get more information from him.

“Not as much as I thought I would,” his hand moved to cup your jaw as his thumb brushed against your lips. It was a confusing gesture; one that you were tempted to associate with romantic attraction. Once again, you had to reign yourself in.

“Any reason?”

“I kept thinking about you,” his response to your question was met with silence from you. Shock and confusion coursed through you, making you fumble through your thoughts as you tried to rationalise what he just said. You seemed sad earlier, you told yourself, he must’ve just been worried. There was obviously no other reason he’d think about you.

He stopped talking for a few seconds, moving around until instead of being sat up, looking down upon you, he was lying next to you. He kept his hand upon your face the entire time, and you decided that you were grateful for that. It felt nice to know he was there.

“I kept comparing the two of you,” he said, quieter now than he had been before, “I was telling myself that you were funnier, and you dressed better and had a nicer laugh and prettier eyes. All of which is true, by the way.”

Upon hearing his words, you finally let your eyes flutter open. If this discussion was going to take place, you’d rather look into his eyes and know just how sincere he was being. It took a moment or two for them to focus, but once they did, you were met with such a beautiful sight. Vernon grinned at you with his beautiful smile, eyes twinkling as they met yours. You were convinced he’d stolen the stars and hidden them within his deep chocolate irises. He, of course, would deny all accusations made against his name. He’d claim he wasn’t a thief, but you knew that wasn’t true; he’d already stolen your heart.

“My eyes aren’t that pretty,” you responded, unsure of what else to say.

“Well, they’re prettier when they’re not all red and swollen,” he joked, “I came here to tell you something but I don’t know if I can. Not when you look like you’re about to burst into tears.”

“Shut up,” you hadn’t thought about the state you were in, but now it was the only thing you could think about. You must’ve looked a mess after all that crying you’d done.

“I’m kidding,” he wiped at the underneath of your eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. He didn’t even blink an eye when the white material got covered in your makeup. “You’re pretty all the time.”

Maybe if you started crying again, it’d shut him up. Because the more he said, the harder it got to keep your thoughts sane and you really didn’t want to set yourself up for more heartbreak. It was difficult, though, when every word he said made you want to lean forward and kiss him. In all honesty, it was taking everything you had to stop yourself from doing exactly that.

“What did you want to tell me?” you decided that changing the subject would be a better way to keep your sanity in check.

Instead of answering you, though, he shuffled closer. So close, that you could feel his breath brushing against your face. He wore a stupid grin, one that made your heart flutter and your face heat up in a pretty pink blush. If Vernon noticed it, he ignored it. Gone was the usual teasing at the visual proof of your embarrassment, replaced instead by a tender look in his eyes. A tenderness that he often shared with you.

“I think I’ve been an idiot,” he said. It was strange; words that he usually spoke in such a jovial manner were instead recited with an unfamiliar seriousness to them. Rather than joking with you about an order he’d got wrong, or about how he’d tripped over in front of one of his dates, you were sure that this time whatever he'd done this time was serious. It worried you to no end.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, hoping that he’d give you a straightforward answer.

“Do you want to know why my dates always fail?” He replied. It wasn't an answer to your question, but you were sure it was leading there. So you nodded and waited for him to start talking once more. “It’s because none of them are you, Y/N.”

His words didn't register at first, taking a few seconds for the meaning to finally sink in. When they finally registered, you were sure it was a joke. You felt certain that in a second or two, he’d break into a fit of giggles before telling you that ‘you should’ve seen the look on your face’, or something along those lines. He’d smile, and press a kiss to your forehead, all while ignoring the pain that you were trying to disguise with your own fake laughter.

But it never came. There was no sign of his words being a joke anywhere on his face. In fact, you’d go as far as to say that his expression showed quite the opposite; he was nervous. Why, you weren’t quite sure. You couldn’t quite convince yourself that he was actually telling you the truth. Now, that would’ve been cause for laughter.

“When I saw you for the first time I felt something that I’ve never felt with anyone else. No matter how many dates I go on, no one makes me feel the way you do,” Vernon continued, his voice cracking a little as he spoke.

“How do I make you feel?” You replied.

Vernon thought about it for a second, a tender look in his eyes as he stared at you. The look he gave you was familiar, and yet this time it meant so much more, not just to you but to Vernon as well. It was full of a feeling that had laid dormant within him for a long time. A feeling of your own that was finally being reciprocated.

“Whenever I’m with you I feel like you’re the only thing that will ever matter,” he whispered as he shuffled closer to you. His face was only a few inches from your own, now. You couldn’t help but want to lean in and close the distance, “I can't focus on anything else when I’m with you, and when I’m not, all I can focus on is how much I want to see you again. Even when I’m with other girls, you’re the only person that fills my head.”

“Vernon,” you said before he cut you off.

“I think I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and for a moment or two, it felt as though time had stopped. The words that you’d longed to hear for so long were now out in the open, and you couldn’t quite believe it. You dug your nails into the palm of your hand, wincing as you realised that you weren’t dreaming.

“Vernon,” you mumbled, “are you being serious? You’re not joking right?” You had to make sure it was true before you let yourself fall any deeper than you already had.

“No,” he replied, leaning closer. Your lips were just a few inches apart now, his breath warm against your face. “I wouldn’t joke about something like this, Y/N. I’m serious; I love you.”

You couldn't help but smile. A true, love-sick smile.

“I, uh, I think I might reciprocate those feelings,” you spluttered, finding it difficult to get the words out. It certainly didn’t help your nerves when Vernon’s only response was a confused face.

“Huh?” He replied. He looked cute with his brows furrowed and his lips pursed and for just a second, you forgot your nerves.

“I love you too, dummy.”

[gravedigginbbydoll]

Iced Coffee with Lavender Syrup

Barista! Robin x F! Reader

AN: Just a little blurb, flirting and fluff. Enjoy!

The only coffee shop with the right atmosphere and cozy beverages that you could stand was a tiny hole-in-the-wall place right next to the local bookstore. You felt at home among the dark brick walls, local artists’ work, and thrifted furniture. The atmosphere was cozy, with plenty of plants to liven up the place. You thought it couldn’t get any better. It was your safe haven. 

At least until she showed up. 

You had been scolding your friend over her recent trial at the brand-new cafe in town that was far too blindingly white and minimalistic in decor for you. She complained that it was overpriced and every barista looked like a copy of the others. “Super creepy,” She shivered, clearly set on not returning. 

You walked up to the counter and snorted, shaking your head. “Look, everyone knows that the best baristas are gay,” You stated jokingly, looking at your friend. 

“Never heard that one before.” A raspy voice interrupted your thoughts, and you felt goosebumps travel up your arm and heat spread across your face as you looked towards the counter. 

And there she was. A new barista. She had a choppy bob of wavy dirty blonde hair, and her long, straight nose was dusted with freckles that spanned out towards her cheeks. Her eyes were lined with messy black liner, and she wore mascara, causing her blue eyes to sparkle, a sort of mischief swirling in them. Her lips were twisted in a crooked smile. She wore the usual uniform of a black shirt and the label with the small shop’s logo and her name. Robin. You also see the telltale heart pin sporting the lesbian flag. 

Oh god. Hot lesbian barista.

She leaned forward towards the counter, palms flat on the barrier between you two. You noticed her many rings and short painted red nails on her hands. You felt a flutter in your stomach. You tried to meet her deep blue eyes regarding how they explored you. 

“So what’ll it be for you lovely ladies?”, She flirted, the raspy feminine voice making you feel the heat spread across your face again, this time reaching the tips of your ears. 

After that, it was a blur. You had ordered an iced lavender and oat milk matcha latte, which earned you an eyebrow raise and smirk. Your friend seemed oblivious to your useless pining and how you felt like you were struck by Cupid. 

When you walked up to grab the drinks, you noticed Robin had switched with her coworker and been the one to make them. When she called your order, your friend was on the phone with a family member, something important. You walked up to grab the drinks, your palms clammy and your voice weak. 

“Thanks…” you mumbled, grabbing the drinks Robin placed on the counter, your fingers brushing. You immediately raced away, making a beeline for your friend. You sipped on the drink, practically sighing. It was sweet and light and…perfect. You noticed a scribble on the cup, figuring it was the label for the drink. You glanced at the writing, feeling your stomach erupt in butterflies, and you felt your mouth get tugged up into a smile. 

Sappho’s Sip. 

From then on, you began visiting the coffee shop more than usual and staying longer when you had time to spare. You learned around when Robin arrived (she always came in around 10 am and stayed until 6 pm, unless it was a weekend, then she was there from 8 to 4.). You had come to visit for a sip before starting your day and coming in when it had ended, and you were free of responsibilities. 

You would curl up on the velour green couch that was so soft and clearly a well-loved vintage thrift, pulling your laptop into your lap and slowly sipping whatever Robin had concocted. You could barely speak in front of her but always seemed to squeak out your order when she asked. She had made a game out of it, writing different names of sapphic women in history, literature, and even media on your cups instead of your name. You had practically snorted when you saw the cup on the day, and she had written:

 ‘Alice from Twilight (Not gay but should’ve been).’

You knew she was funny, but your constant visits had you noticing little things about your (very pathetic) little crush past the basics. She got a tiny scrunch in her nose when someone ordered something she deemed questionable (which made you question her taste because who hates mint chocolate?!). She always seemed to sing softly in a sweet and serene voice along to the music softly coming from the speakers, and you were sure it was her own playlist because she knew every word. She seemed to really like what you deemed as ‘sad girl’ music (Phoebe Bridgers, Mitski, Beabadoobee, Lucy Dacus, Etc) but also was known to occasionally play more upbeat artists that were still very gay (MUNA, Rina Sawayama, Chappell Roan). She liked to dress in a gender-neutral way. She prided herself on the perfect combination of masculine and feminine clothing and accessories. She also was quick-witted and sharp-tongued, her sarcasm and teasing of her coworkers a clear sign of affection. She was consistently getting picked up by a tall man with brunette hair that practically wore him, the two of them constantly bickering and teasing each other until he left the shop with his free black coffee. 

Today you had a great day, which undoubtedly affected how you walked into the shop. You dressed nicely and tried to preen yourself to impress the tall blonde, trying to walk with your head held high and your chest forward. You see her at the counter, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. Sure, it’s just a crush, but you can’t help but feel your breath taken away whenever she smirks at you or teases you for your order. 

She smiles that crooked and confident smile she reserves for you. Her eyes seem to especially twinkle, and her freckles remind you of a million little stars dusted across her nose. God, she was captivating. 

“What’s it gonna be? Iced Lavender Soy Mocha? Rose Oatmilk Latte?,” She teased, leaning a bit forward, elbows on the counter. You can smell her; the scent of coffee, tea, something floral, and a hint of sweetness. You wonder if she smelled like that after work, imagining hugging and holding onto her, catching a whiff of her away from the strong scent of coffee. Your stomach flip flops as you try to gain the courage, your voice stuck in your throat for a minute. 

“A-Actually…what would you recommend?” You eventually squeak out, your heart racing. She looks mildly surprised and then smiles in a way you’ve only seen with her (what seemed to be) closest friend. She had a wide toothy grin, her eyes slightly squinted and twinkling with amusement. 

“Aw, you want something from lil’ ol’ me? I’m flattered, Princess.”

You feel your heart going wild as your stomach twists and turns. You laugh softly, your whole face getting hotter by the second. “Yeah, I trust your judgment, Robin.” You see her smile turn crooked once again, the little smirk making you feel like you lost oxygen. You’re trying to play it cool, but you feel like screaming and jumping wildly inside. 

She cocks a brow at you playfully, grinning. “You sure you can handle it? I am a professional, after all. My drinks are much more intense than others,” She taunts, leaning forward as if this is a big secret. 

You nod, gulping down what little saliva you have. “I’m sure.” 

She nods and takes your payment, but you notice the significant discount from the receipt she hands you, something she clearly snuck in. 

You sit down, awaiting your drink, your hands shaky. Was she flirting? Or is she just nice? You felt like maybe she was trying to be friendly, and your brain misinterpreted it due to the blonde’s charming personality and good looks. You sit up when she calls your name, heading over to grab the drink, surprised she left it on the counter and winked at you since she usually hands it to you directly.

You look at the time on your phone, cursing and rushing out the door, remembering that you have to meet your friend to discuss some kind of get-together later for someone you were close to. While walking briskly, you glance at your cup and feel your smile grow, your heart aflutter as you read what Robin scribbled onto the flimsy plastic. 

Call me.

Below was scribbled a set of numbers and a messy heart. You hurried to add the number to your phone contacts, feeling your heart soar. You take a sip of the iced drink, and your tongue dances with something so delicious you feel the urge to moan. You smile and giggle softly to yourself, texting the new contact immediately. 

YOU: The Robin is a perfect drink. Best one I’ve had.

ROBIN: Guess your theory about gay baristas is fitting then, huh? Maybe we can test if it extends to other things, too…outside the cafe. 

You: I’d love to. 

You squeal, giggling while briskly walking to avoid sidewalk traffic, weaving through the crowd. You couldn’t wait to tell your friend about the blonde barista and see if she was better at everything. 

[striderl]

I have a general art-related question, if that's okay. I admire how _quickly_ you seem to be able to produce art -- whenever someone sends you a character-based ask, you seem to always answer it with a nice little picture (not just a scribble or something) with lineart and often colouring too! Do you have any advice for acquiring art stamina like that? I used to enjoy drawing, but got burnt out on it because every piece felt like so much WORK and it drained the enjoyment for me. I absolutely could not match the output you do!

Thanks for the compliment, lensman! Your drawings are equally cool too! I'm engrossed in the textures especially. And yes, sometimes I’m even amazed by the many asks I’m able to answer in a single week. Usually, I answer them within 3 days, in rare occasions, it may take me 2 weeks or so to answer them.

As for insights, there you go.

#1: Practice is the key. To not get art block, you need to be constantly practicing, like doing scribbles on your sketchbook when you have time. It can be anything, from basic shapes to “whatever you can spy with your little eye”. Also, improve your speed while doing it, and limit your time to finish an acceptable rough draft, so you won’t lose the motivation to finish the entire drawing.

#2: Mastery. READ THE MANUAL AND INSTRUCTION of whatever platform you are using to make art, and master the tools, so you won’t drag on too long on a single project. Personally, I use a mixture of Procreate and ibisPaint X to make art and comics. And the skills don’t come for free, you need to constantly learn new features in order to keep up the pace and limit the time you spend on each project. Honestly, I think I spend more time on Youtube, Pinterest, and Instagram scavenging art tips and resources than doing other things with them. The result is rather rewarding, the knowledge I gained about the color wheel, anatomy, and platform features like multiply and overlay are really helpful.

#3: Reference. I always have available anatomy or art references on my side, usually from Pinterest, so I don’t need to waste time speculating what the result would look like. I also collect references I’m interested in whenever I have time, so I’m well prepared whenever I want to start a new project.

If you want to check it out, this is the cover I made for Foley’s playlist, which I finished within 3 hours.

#4: Motivation. You need to truly enjoy the process of producing art in order to not get an art block. I think I never get a single art block period so far. Why? It’s the only way I get to relieve my anxiety. College can be really harsh sometimes, I have a really small social circle, and on top of that I need to deal with stress which most of my peers don’t even need to worry about, like managing an apartment, doing accounting on my own, taking care of electric bills, and more. What’s worse is that people can be massive suckers sometimes, and I just turned 18 a few months ago. I know I can’t just throw a tantrum or jump off a building whenever I feel stressed, so I just move on and focus my attention on doing better in art. If people want to insult me, I just insult them back with my talent.

Also, I mentioned this in my reblog to your Skibidi Toilet anniversary post. My parents don’t approve of me doing art like this, because it’s “unrealistic” and basically “useless”, I just want some space where I can express my creativity. Ironically, defiance can be a motivation sometimes.

Plus, I just purely enjoy the feeling of sitting in my room, listening to my favorite playlist, and sipping on a cup of hazelnut matcha, while doing art. And I always, ALWAYS appreciate people putting comments in their reblogs, it’s like an accomplishment, and it shows that people really check out my content and READ IT, instead of “wow, cool art”.

If I don't feel like doing art, I'll just go for a 5 miles run instead. Physical health is still important : }

[cyvvien]

More mochi cats!

Reblogs appreciated! Ko-fi || Store

[reidslovely]

In a Corner I Haunt: Everybody Moved On (Chapter Two)

ch. 1 (currently being edited)

I did not intend on this little angst piece becoming a bigger idea, but here we are. Currently there is no graphic content, bur this series will eventually contain smut so I’m asking for solely an 18+ audience. 

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!OC

Word Count: 3k

Series Warnings: Cheating, Thoughts of cheating, Smut, Angst with semi happy ending, Divorce, Discussion of parental depth, Mentions of past domestic abuse, Neglecting spouse, Cursing, Peter on the verge of a nervous breakdown. More to add. 

Chapter Warnings: Description of love interest, Love interest is given nickname, Implied thoughts of cheating, chapter is pretty diff Peter heavy. 

please reblog and/or comment

There was a girl who sat in the west courtyard of ESU on Saturday, Sunday, Wednesday, Thursday and occasionally Friday his sophomore year. She sat under the same tree since the start of the spring semester, the old cherry blossom tree that was right off the path Peter skated everyday towards Dr. Octavius’ lab. On the weekdays she had her laptop snug in her lap with whatever it seemed she could get from the campus cafe, her favorite seemed to be a Matcha Latte with some type of croissant sandwich. On weekends she sat there enjoying the warmer days with a book, or sitting in a cardigan working on her laptop.

On some days Peter found himself walking past, and walking slower to really capture her and her beauty. On occasion he thought about stopping and talking to her. Asking her about what book she was reading this time, or what it was she was typing away on. However, according to his friends that would be stalkerish, giving away that he had been watching her quite a bit over the last few weeks. That girls liked to be met organically, without being watched beforehand. So here he was camera in hand, swallowing his words in his throat as he approached her.

“Photo for the ESU Daily?” He whispered nervously, his words slewing out in one big word.

“Do we take random photos for the Daily now?”

“Oh well, it’s this piece I’m working on about students who take their..their work outside.” The lie seemed perfect to him, no flaws, the best and most calm lie he’s ever told.

“I’ve never seen you in the writing room.”

What.

“Mhm, what?”

“I’m a writer at the daily.”

“Oh..” Peter’s eyes shifted around uncomfortably, clearing his throat and opening his mouth to defend himself.

“But I have seen you in the darkroom. You’re Parker.”

“Peter..Parker. Peter Parker.” He thrusted his hand into her face smiling. She smiled, choking on a laugh, taking his hand and shaking it.

She looked up at him, giving him her name with a sweet smile. Her eyes setting a part of his soul on fire, he was sure of it. There was a softness that grew in the pit of his stomach as he looked down at her.

“Not to make this awkward but do you stare at all the people you’re interested in from a distance or just a select few.”

“Oh you noticed that.” He laughed, his hand coming up to tuck his hair back and scratch his neck out of embarrassment. “Select few. You should feel really flattered.”

“Good, I do.” Her laugh echoed in his ears, settling into a part of his brain and making a home in his memory already. “Do you want to..I don’t know have a seat.”

Peter physically restricted himself from sitting next to the girl, he knew he’d be so late and Otto would maybe actually kill him this time.

“I would really love to, but I’m about to be late and if we are gonna have a..seat together I’d like to be alive for it.” Quickly, Peter scribbled his phone number down onto a gum wrapper he found in his pocket. Handing it to her. “Here is my number, you can call me and we can like, meet tonight or whenever at that uh- italian place up the block.”

“Leo’s?”

“Yeah that one is perfect.” He smiled as he ran backwards away from her. His cheeks burning red, he wondered if his smile was still noticeable to her. Peter turned around taking off towards Otto’s lab, jumping up out of excitement. His other commitments would have to wait till after this date.

Tears hung in Peter's eyes today, his stomach had crawled its way up his throat. He looked at that same tree today, hands dug deep in his pockets. He had decided to take a small detour on his way to pick up his daughter from the English department. He approached the tree that still stood in the west courtyard; tall and barren from the cold season. It felt like a laugh in his face. An evil metaphor crawling out of the shadows at him, showing him what he had thrown away. He reached out letting his finger draw over the initials carved poorly into the tree. It was a silly thing he did for her on their two month anniversary, forever commemorating their meeting spot, thinking that one day he’d bring her back here and purpose. Coward.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzzzz..

Peter dug his hands around in his pockets grasping at his phone, finally getting it in his palm. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Alice, sorry I’m on my way now I just got stuck on the subway. Camilia  excited?” He asked as he cut through the west courtyard heading towards the Lee English Hall.

“Well she’d be a little bit more excited if her daddy were on time.”

“I know I just ran into a old friend, and then I got caught-”

“I do not care Pete,” Her brief scoff was heard on the other side. He knew it was not directed at him. She was really stressed with her first year teaching. “I just need you to get here so I can teach my one o’clock lecture baby, please.”  

“Gotcha, headin’ your way now.” Peter hummed slowly, pushing through students on the sidewalk mouthing apologies. “I love..” the dial tone rang loudly in his ear. “You.” He sighed, pocketing his phone and continuing his walk.

Had this been a couple years ago he would be skateboarding through these people not worried about what they thought of him, he missed being young and non caring. Peter looked at the couples eating outside on the benches and suddenly he remembers being that boyfriend bringing his girlfriend lunch between classes. Rushing kisses, and rushing through lunch, skipping out on the last bit of Otto’s lecture and lab work to get to the journalism building as fast as possible. He remembers her surprising him during lab hours with dinner, they would sit and enjoy one another's company till early morning hours. Then they’d pick whose place to go back to, then she’d fall asleep on her shoulder the subway ride back.

He has a beautiful life now, but now he can’t even begin to think about what his life with her could have been like. He could have had Camilia  with his girl, they could have gotten engaged that night had he just not gotten cold feet. Peter shook his head pulling himself out of his selfish and insane thoughts, and suddenly he was in front of Lee Hall where the English department was. He sighed walking around the back entrance where the offices were located, and muscle memory carried him the rest of the way down the hall.

“Daddy!”

The voice piped up as Peter pushed open the office door, Alice smiled at her daughter and it slowly disappeared off her face as she looked at Peter. He took his daughter into his arms as she climbed up his side.

“Got everything ready?” Peter asks, kissing his little girl's head. “We gotta go see grandma May. Then we are gonna go get ice cream, and then we are..off to the science museum” Peter spoke in a theatrical voice, making his daughter smile. He grabbed her, lifting her up, moving her around like a rocket shooting off. Alice stares at the two, a smile on her face directed only at their daughter.

“Peter, can you take that outside please. I’d like for my office to not be destroyed. You two get too rowdy, and it always ends up with something broken.” She sighed, blowing her daughter a kiss goodbye.

“Momma ‘s not our fault.” Camilia says, her annunciation falling short due to her missing teeth.

“No baby it’s not. It's daddy’s for passing on all those awesome spider powers to you.”

Though she says it like a compliment, Peter can hear the passive aggressiveness lacing his wife's voice. It would be a lie to say it isn’t pushing a knife deeper into his stomach, his sweet girl would never have referred to him this way. So dismissive, inciting that he was a problem to her life. He shook his head and put on a smile, kissing his daughter's head. “Bye Allie, say bye momma.”

“Bye momma.” Cami waved as Peter carried her out of the office, her spider-man backpack thrown over his left shoulder.

“Okay daddy?” Camilia asked, looking up at him, her big doe eyes reflecting himself in them. Peter smiled down at his daughter, the metaphorical knife leaving his gut.

“I am perfect, Cami. How about you, are you good- wanna walk?”

“No, wanna stay here.”

She says watching the people pass by them, Peter smiles as he approaches the subway station heading down the steps. He looks down at his daughter and back ahead of the hoards of people ahead of them. He thinks that he could do this on his own, he thinks about the life he and his daughter would have had he just held out for a bit longer, and he thinks about her again. Then the doors of the subway open, and he steps on bringing himself back down to reality as his daughter talks to him about all the animals she saw on her way to ESU this morning and for the next couple hours he’s content living in this bubble. Once his daughter dozes off on his shoulder he thinks about his sweet girl once more, wondering if her number is still the same. He contemplates calling her, begging her for one last touch. Begging to have her one more time, begging her to be the mother to his child. Promising to change, to not pull back at the last second this time. Then the cart jolts, and he catches his daughter in his arms remembering the man he is.

…

May’s house is just the same as it has been for decades, except now for the first time in about 20 years there are toys scattered on the floor once again and he walks into the house surrounded by the scent of cookies.

“Nana!” Camilia yells running to the kitchen as soon as Peter put her down. Peter heard May’s gasp followed by a groan as she reached down to pick the little girl up.

“Hi May!” Peter smiled walking to the kitchen putting his keys and Camilia’s bag down on the counter.

“Hi babies.” May says kissing Camilia’s head and reaching up to kiss Peter’s cheek. Peter smiled letting his hand rest on her back. “Oh Cami let those cool.” Peter says, reaching his hand out to catch his daughter before she could grab the hot cookies.

“Okay..” She sighs, wiggling out of May’s arms, landing on her feet as she hits the ground.

“Oh she stresses me out when she does that. She gets that from you.” May laughs, wagging a finger at Peter, watching Camilia grab her bag running to the living room.

“I know I apparently gave her all her negative traits.”

“Oh who says that?” May questions, pulling the cookies off the sheet and putting them on the plate.

“Alice.”

“Well..” May points the spatula at him like she’s about to say something profound. “Oh well, maybe I shouldn’t say that.”

“No, no, let's hear it.” Peter laughs his hand on his cheek.

“Alice has more negative traits coming out her tuchus than you have in your whole body. Which one of you started fighting crime at eighteen years old, and which one of you got your daddy to pay your way through college mhm?”

May was never a fan of Alice. May was a very big fan of his sweet girl, she adored her and he knows the two still frequently talk during holidays and other times just when they feel like it. May was more devastated about their break up than he was at the time. Which couldn’t prepare him for what her reaction was about to be.

“I saw her today.”

May’s jaw dropped, as did the spatula landing on the linoleum floor. “Oh my gosh how was it, how was she? How do you feel?”

“She looked..beautiful as ever, the same as the day I left her. Older now obviously but, it was like looking at a ghost.” Peter laughed. “I got so overwhelmed..now I can’t get her out of my head, May. I just, I’m so wrapped up in what could have been. I made a mistake. I think I made a big mistake.”

“I told you that five years ago..you’re just like your uncle. Goes in one ear and right out the other until you’re ready. I swear..” May shook her head laughing, putting a cookie in Peter’s hand and several on a plate for Camilia. Peter’s lips pushed into a bittersweet smile and he nodded, his aunt was right.

“Cami, come get your snack.” Peter says. Camilia runs in and leaves so fast it’s like she never even entered the room. Peter watched her sit on the couch TV blaring to where she couldn't hear.

“You calling that little girl a mistake?”

“No, just my marriage.” It was a loaded statement. Peter had asked Alice to marry him after only six months and impulsive night after attending a friend's wedding. There was no ring, just this intense pressure to settle down and do it soon. “Camilia made it better, for a while. We both love her, we just..haven’t loved each other in quite a while.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I know.” May says. “I tried to warn you several times leading up to the wedding. Even on your wedding day. This is not love Peter. This is infatuation, infatuation wears off.”

“I thought you were just saying that because you wanted me to marry your girl.”

“My girl” was what May used to call her. Peter thought it was cute, May always wanted a daughter and she became that by extension of Peter. But he always called her angel. He couldn’t place why or how that nickname came around. Maybe because she was, to him, some type of divine entity that came to him to pull him out of that dark place. Whenever speaking to her or about her it was always angel this, angel that.

“Well..it was partially that too but I never liked Alice. She never liked me. She wouldn’t let me give you a way at your wedding because I wasn’t your biological mother and that only women are given away. Oh that made me so mad I coulda hit her, but I reframed, I kept my mouth shut.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen t’ya May.”

Peter says, reaching his hand across, holding her hand. “You are my mother. Biological or not you raised me, you know this. I wish you had told me before today, I don’t think I would have gone through with the wedding.”

“Sweet to say but you would have.”

Peter tilted his head holding his aunt's hand reassuringly. “Are you gonna see her again?” May asks.

“I’m not sure. I’d like to. I dunno if she…would want to see me again.”

“Well you didn’t hear this from me, but I don’t think she’d be too disappointed in hearing from you again.”

“Thanks May. You always know what to say.”

Peter smiled hugging his aunt kissing her head. His heart settling into his chest again felt right, and knew what to do but his brain was still screaming at him. “Come on, living room. Let’s see what Paw Patrol is up to today.”

Peter grabbed their drinks and the plate following into the living room, both of them sitting on either side of Camilia. Angel still lingering in the back of his mind.

…

May almost kept them the whole day, if Peter hadn’t caught his watch when he did he would have missed general admissions to the museum. Peter practically had to drag Camilia away from May, her begging to stay the night. Peter promised that he would message Alice about it to make sure it was okay after they got out of the museum.

“Are we gonna see the big t-rex?”

“Of course we will Cami, I’d be a terrible daddy to not let you see the dino.”

“You really would be.”

Peter laughed and rubbed his daughter's head ruffling her brown curls as they walked the steps to the science museum. “Up!” She demands whispering a please at the end, Peter caved lifting her up carrying her on his shoulders.

Showing the woman at the door their tickets, Peter smiled gratefully at her. As they walked in Camilia’s gasp could be heard, Peter smiled his eye catching what she was looking at. In the center of the room stood a banner for the new dinosaur exhibit and a small skeleton of a velociraptor next to a statue of one.

“He was about as big as you are honey.” Peter laughs.

“Cool.” Camilia smiles, her hands drumming on top of her fathers head in excitement. Peter laughed, reaching a hand up to stop her patting her small hands reassuringly. A voice rang out behind him that made him stop in his tracks.

“Picture for the Bugle?” His angel's voice rang out behind him, Peter turned around hugging his daughter's leg.

“Peter.” She smiles, she was dressed differently than what she had been earlier at the restaurant. Her brown hair clipped back out of her face, eyes looking up at him like they never lost him.

“Angel.” He whispers.

Her head tilted to the side like a dog hearing its owner's voice. She laughed, dropping her shoulders. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. I was starting to think you forgot about that name.”

“Never.”

She looked at the little girl on his shoulders. “This must be the sweet Camilia you were telling me about earlier.”

“This is yes. Camilia this is-”

“Angel.” Camilia states.

“Sure yeah, we were old friends in college.”

She was almost your mother.

He refrains from speaking.

Angel smiles lifting her camera snapping a photo of the pair, Peter smiles looking past the camera and to her.

“Perfect, that's gonna go on the front page.” She hums, Peter looks confused. “Jameson put me in charge of the opening of the dinosaur exhibit and I’m writing a piece about it.”

“Since when did Jameson stop caring about hard hitting news?”

‘Since I begged him to let me make the dinosaur exhibit front page this week, and the museum is paying him to do it.”

“Now that sounds like him.”

It’s silent for a moment and Peter feels all his emotions building up like vomit in his throat, no way to stop it.

“Do you like dinos, Angel?”

Camilia asks looking down at the lady, Peter smiles, pulling his daughter off shoulders holding her to be eye level.

“I do.”

Before Peter could stop himself, the words fell out of his mouth. “You should walk it with us. Cami could easily be our tour guide.”

“You know what I’d love too.”

“Great.”

Peter nodded at her, as soon as the words left him Camilia’s feet hit the ground. her hand grabbing Peter and Angel’s, smiling up at them as she begins to drag them into the start.  Angel’s smile lit his insides on fire just like at the restaurant, just like all those years under the tree on the west courtyard at ESU.

This could only end in one big glass shattering way, as it did all those years ago.

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