#Melancholy story

[ath1a]

Espressos and Almond Lattes

I work in a cafe as a barista. My job isn’t particularly hard, I go through the days serving customers and cleaning tables. I find enjoyment in making drinks for people though, the cafe being a microcosm of everyone’s lives, put together in an amalgamation of different personalities, backgrounds and experiences. There is one customer in particular who caught my eye.

A man, who comes occasionally, entering for the first time after ‘noticing the signboard outside’. It was hard to understand him at first, his likes, dislikes and if he had any preferences for any drinks.

Usually he orders the first thing he sees on the menu boards, barely making eye contact, paying and walking away after getting his drink. But occasionally he orders one specific drink; a double espresso, no sugar. He orders the drink for small periods at a time, before going back to choosing random drinks.

A lot can be said about a customer, from the drink they choose, to the way they enter and leave, and even their reaction to a drink. You can tell whether they’re happy at their current point in their lives or if they’re experiencing a major event.

The man in particular is an interesting case. When he orders the double espresso for the first time in a while he seems to really crave the caffeine, understandably when you work long hours like I suspect he does - the bags under his eyes somewhat visible. But during these - espresso periods let’s call them - over the short time he’ll order them he starts to enjoy them less, sometimes commenting that its too bitter for him, and the caffeine is taking a toll on his body. Sometimes I mildly suggest he choose another drink instead, or maybe adding something extra for a change. The man insists he wants the espresso, but then a few days later he’ll order the triple shot mocha with cherry syrup or the pistachio cold brew with whipped cream. It’ll go on for a few weeks before he’s back to ordering the double espresso, no sugar.

And the cycle continues.

Until one day a few months down the line he comes in, leaving his bag at his usual chair before coming to me. Huh, that’s strange, he usually takes his drink first. I pay no attention until I realise he’s making direct eye contact with me, and not just for a few seconds. I wait expectantly for him to tell me his order, only for him to look at the menu board, falter and clear his throat, looking me in the eyes again.

He asks me to make something for him, a drink of my own choosing. Oh.

Oh.

Right, yes I need to make him…

An Almond Latte, I tell him. That’s what I’ll make for him.

You see almond lattes are my favourite drink. They’re very warm and inviting, the mildly bitter notes mixed with the subtle sweetness of the milk and the coffee blend. But they’re also the furthest thing from an espresso, not only in taste but also in appearance. almond lattes are a warm brown, compared to the dark almost inky black liquid of espressos.

They’re so different I doubt he would even like it.

I don’t usually make them for others, as a general rule for myself. The last time that happened it resulted in the customer never returning… I guess they really hated it, huh? Yet, somehow I’m now standing by the coffee maker, and the small jug of milk is in my hands, about to be frothed. I keep blanking out while somehow assembling the drink well enough to serve to the man, his sudden behaviour change at the forefront of my mind. By the time I’m done making it, he’s still there at the counter, ready to take the drink. I dust some cocoa powder on top and I gingerly place the drink on the counter, steadily awaiting his reaction.

Until I realise he’s smiling. He’s actually smiling - the corners of his mouth have tugged up into a faint smile, an expression I realise I’ve never actually seen before on him.

I want to see it more often.

The man tells me that next time I can bar the cocoa powder, but he wouldn’t mind any variation in the drink next time. Next time. He wants to order it again.

And he does, again and again, until it becomes his usual order. Over time I make slight changes, until I find the best combination for him. Over time his expressionless exterior breaks, the both of us sharing smiles from the cafe, even an inside joke or two about the other customers. Over time I realise my heart swells whenever I see him come through the door. Over time he starts leaving his coat with his bag, and his stays in the cafe get longer. Over time I see his gradual change through the months of ordering the almond lattes as he becomes less aloof, and more open.

I feel as if we have gotten incredibly close over time.

Until one day, he comes through the door, the winter chill cutting through the steamy warmth in the air and I can tell something’s up. He doesn’t meet my eye as he comes in, putting his bag down but not his coat, and for some reason I feel sick. Understandably I make mental excuses, maybe he’s in a rush, and can’t sit down for long today. Even though he’s made himself late for meetings by staying here before, he’s told me that himself. He doesn’t make eye contact with me as he comes up to the counter, and there’s a sinking feeling in my chest when I ask him for the usual-

No. He says. He still refuses to meet my eyes, the space around me apparently more compelling than I am. I ask him what he wants instead as I try and swallow the lump forming in my throat. I feel like I’m having to silently beg him to look at me. Why won’t he look at me?

He awkwardly clears his throat and asks for a double espresso, no sugar. Oh. Wait what?

I have to stop myself from asking him to repeat his request, I know I heard him loud and clear. I feel empty inside, but still, I go through the motions, making the drink for him. At one point I blankly stand by the coffee machine, the large mechanical box being the only visual barrier between me and him, while multiple questions cloud my mind.

Why the sudden change, what prompted it, did he not like the almond lattes? And if he didn’t, why did I keep making them for him?

I pour the dark liquid into a to-go cup, since he doesn’t seem to be sticking around today. I place it on the counter, and he gives a hard look at the cup, before looking back at me for the first time today. His eyes soften, and there’s almost a look of regret, but I blankly look back at him, my unwavering gaze showing no sign of any emotion. He looks back at the cup for a split second and grabs it, taking the cup. I nearly don’t hear the muttered apology as he leaves, taking his bag from his usual table and exiting.

The man’s trips suddenly become less frequent, only for a few minutes to grab his drink and leave. I’ve been sitting in the break room a lot these days, while I drink my almond lattes by myself. I prefer the solitude, that way I can enjoy them in peace, without the input of others.

Sometimes when the man comes in, he looks like he might order an almond latte, but the words double espresso, no sugar come out his mouth.

Anyways, I don’t think he’ll order an Almond Latte anytime soon, he likes Espressos too much to stop drinking them. It’s not my job as a barista to make him change his preferences either.

That’s up to him.

Funny how he made me think I could, though.

All works belong to @ath1a. Please do not repost without permission.

[iwritepoorly]

Hibernator: Stories for the Long Sleep — Out Now!

HIBERNATOR is a winter horror anthology that features 9 authors and 9 different sleepy snow stories. Ranging from cosmic to folk, southern gothic to psychological, HIBERNATOR ties together some of the best voices in horror. Subscribe To My Newsletter! This anthology includes my weird, melancholy story, “Rooted”! It’s about a young man who wants to escape the small town life, but his parents…

[flovoid]

♬ BUT I MISS YOU, C’MERE! ♬

‘Your Origin’ girlies gettin the special treatment nods x3 

[virulent-scum]

When your summer days come tumbling down and you find yourself alone

Then you can come back and be with me

Just close your eyes and I'll be there, listen to the sound

Of this old heart beating for you

[isolated-ink]

Take me where the forest meets the ocean

In her mind, she could almost see him. A figure in the shadows, watching her with quiet, steady eyes. There was something about him that felt safe, yet dangerous all at once. Not the kind of danger that would hurt her, but the kind that came from carrying his own pain, his own battles. His presence felt like a warm fire on a cold night—comforting, but with a power she couldn’t ignore.

She imagined the way he’d hold her, not to keep her trapped but to remind her she wasn’t alone. He wouldn’t need grand words or promises; his actions would speak for him. A warm hand on hers, a hug that lasted just long enough to chase the shadows away. Even in silence, she would feel it: “I’m here. I see you.”

But she couldn’t ignore the darkness in him, either. It wasn’t cruel or selfish—it was the kind of darkness that came from surviving hard things, the same kind she carried in herself. It scared her a little, but it also made her feel less alone.

[verdemoth]

I've continued playing Fallen London on and off and I've been wanting to make a new ref for Mel for AAAGES, not just to update old art but also show some of the character development Mel's experienced after a handful of years in the Neath! The ES 'Adornment' especially was a major turning point for Philomel and sparked Mel's revolutionary leanings, and is when Mel began to realize Mel's formed meaningful ties just as important as Mel's quest for vengeance. This year's estival (the Coilheart Games) brought out another evolution of this, and Mel's settled into an investigative role in the adamant belief that such worldshattering secrets and threats that encompass the entire city should NOT be purposefully withheld from the people living in it.

Image text is probably hard to read, and there's a transcript below this readmore

Text Transcripts:

In the top right are some quick details. Mel's full name is Philomel Pelayo Muros. In the style of other Fallen London characters, Mel's epithet is 'the Steely-Eyed Gun-for-Hire'. Mel uses no pronouns, Mel's 38 years old and 5 feet 2 inches tall. Mel resides in the Flit, and Mel's profession is as a mercenary and freelance investigator. The faction Mel is closest to is the Revolutionaries, with which Mel has 15 Renown. Mel is an Ambition: Nemesis character.

Below this are some notable player character attributes. Of the main attributes, Philomel has high Dangerous and Watchful but low Persuasive. Mel also has high Dreaded. Of the quirks, Mel has high Steadfast, Melancholy, Ruthless, Forceful, and Magnanimous, but low Subtle and Heartless. Mel also has the quality 'Tragedy: Death of a Spouse'.

Paired with the portrait in the top left are these notes, pointing to several parts of the illustration: "Permanent dark circles from years of stress, poor sleep and frequent nightmares. Mel always looks exhausted and more than a little haunted."

"Mel has acne scars, and a lot of other scars. Mel accumulates wounds almost as quickly as Mel does nightmares."

"A skull fracture obtained during 'Adornment' resulted in some long-term afflictions. These include vision and hearing loss (both on Mel's left) as well as vertigo spells. Mel also fractured a wrist and dislocated a shoulder, now prone to re-injury."

"Mel originally shaved just for ease in tending to the fresh wound. But Mel ended up vibing with the style and is still sporting it a few years later."

The next notes point to the raven (named Sarangerel) perched on Mel's arm in another illustration: "A black raven from the Surface - very rare in the Neath. She spent a good many years with the Tomb-Colonist who first found and nursed her to health, and who gave her her name. Sadly, that chapter has come to an end. She's befriended Philomel, and is glad for Mel's companionship. She doesn't speak much these days, but she sings beautifully her wistful, plaintive melodies."

With the drawing of Mel's hand are these notes: "Finally bothered to ditch the New Newgate cuffs, but Mel got used to the weight and replaced them with heavy bracelets. The 'jewels' are coloured glass."

Each of Mel's possessions are accompanied by a note:

"Rose-Shaded Lenses. Prescription, for light sensitivity and migraine. They've seen better days."

"Revolutionary's Red Feather Pin. Kept close at hand, seldom displayed."

"Horseshoe Lapel Pin. Always part of Mel's ensemble. Worn in reference to a departed friend."

"Ring with a Rose Motif. Of significant sentimental importance. It was an anniversary gift."

"Simple Derringer. Typically hidden somewhere on Mel's person, though Mel now favours a knife. Mel's aim isn't what it used to be."

Text transcripts end here.

[onemillioneggsandcounting]

You ever finish a horror story with an ending that leaves you distraught and just know that you won’t be normal again for a bit? Like you have this pit in your stomach and you just kind of

[shrineofdolls]

don’t worry they just play rough

after Melancholy it will be Nonchalant’s turn

[mumblesplash]

i have a confession to make

[try-set-me-on-fire]

I got love to give, and give and give

Rated T // 1,638 words

“What’s up with you, Buckaroo?” She laughs, poking his silly cheek.

“I love you,” he says, so sweet, looking even happier just to say it. “So much, Hen. Do- did you know it?”

“Yes,” she says, laugh still in her voice but chest a little tighter. “I know it, Buck.”

He drops his cheek to her shoulder, and then turns his head quick to kiss the spot. “Good. You’re the best. You should know it, a- a hundred- a thousand percent.”

—

Hen thinks about Buck at a party

[mythboundcal]

The Last Person to Say My Name That Way Naruto (Kakashi) Fanfic by MythboundCal

He dreams of her in water.

Not the battlefield. Not the mud and blood and the moment everything went wrong. Just… water. Still. Cool. Quiet.

Rin sits with her feet in the stream. Not smiling, not angry—just there. Like the past didn’t happen. Or maybe it hasn’t yet.

“Kakashi,” she says, and that’s the part that breaks him.

Not her face. Not her voice. But the way she says his name. Like it still means something good.

He doesn’t speak. Not yet. Not in these dreams. He just sits. A little downstream. Close enough to feel the ripples.

“You still think it was your fault,” she says after a while, plucking a petal from the water. “It wasn’t.”

“You died,” he replies. The petal slips through her fingers.

“So did you,” she says.

That part stings. Not because it’s untrue—but because she says it without blame.

Kakashi stares at the water. There’s no reflection. There never is.

“I’m not looking for forgiveness,” he says.

Rin hums. “Good. Because I’m not offering it.”

A pause.

“I’m just here.”

And somehow, that’s worse.

Because he wants to be punished. He wants her to scream. To cry. To make him say it out loud. But Rin… is just kind. Like she always was. And it guts him in ways the war never did.

She stands. Water doesn’t cling to her feet. She leaves no footprints on the grass.

He doesn’t look up. But she touches his shoulder. And for a moment, his whole body remembers what it was like to be chosen without effort.

“Try again,” she says gently. “And let someone say your name the way I used to.”

She fades before he can answer. She always does.

But when he wakes up, Kakashi whispers it to the ceiling anyway—

“Rin.”

And the way it echoes in his own voice… almost sounds like hope.

[loredrinker]

Here stands a man At the bottom of a hole he's made Still sweating from the rush

His body tense His hands, they shake Oh this, this is a mad boy

Here stands a man With a bullet in his clenched right hand Don't push him, son For he's got the power to crush this land

Oh hear, hear him cry, boy

~The War - SYML

[luvinaeverdene]

Carol (2015)

Directed by Todd Haynes

[casart]

The Art of Saying Goodbye🥀

I had the privilege of drawing for @rosepetalgold for this year's @sandersidesbigbang !!

You can read their lovely fic The Art of Saying Goodbye that includes one of my favourite writing prompts - spirits! I had a lot of fun working on this piece; Victorian fashion trends really suit Logan~♡

[ID] (Image depicts a drawing of an old-fashioned picture frame overgrown with blue petunias. Within the frame is a pale, desaturated photo of Logan with a neutral expression on his face. He is looking off to the side, wearing what appears to be a faded beige vest over a white collared shirt with a dark blue tie.)

[paulandjohn]

[blahblahbih]

I have been bewitched body and soul

@autoraving (TikTok) I love you

I didn’t know there was a way for me to be even more in love with them, im so utterly enthralled

How am I supposed to function now?