#the night café

[kahvedebiyat]

[elvendeity]

"I'm only asking for strength for my days. Teach me the art of small steps."

1 @soracities || 2, 3 shanna van maurik || 4 winter of artifice by anaïs nin || 5 hermann hesse, in an excerpt from hermann hesse on little joys, breaking the trance of busyness, and the most important habit for living with presence, the marginalian || 6 café terrace at night (place du forum, arles), Vincent van Gogh || 7 oamul lu || 8 leaves, lloyd Schwartz || 8 tony kushner, angels in america || 10 dead poets society || 11 a prayer, antoine de saint-exupéry 

reading lists and more

[hearts4golbach]

The Night Shift.

Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Reader.

Chapter 30.

the day before the concert, tara and i spent hours putting together our perfect Falling in Reverse concert outfits. with the two of our closets combined, and with the help of Jake and Johnnies too, but they don't need to know that, we were finally content with what we were going in. clothes were scattered everywhere, but we'd worry about that later.

Tara decided on a mini skirt with 3 different belts that we had found in jakes closet, which she had stacked strategically. she took one of my blinged up hot pink crop tops that i hadn't worn since 8th grade and had that as her top. she threw a fur coat over the top of everything. she threw on her chunky black boots with spikes and a cute pair of leg warmers on to finish the look. she had been planning on the makeup she was going to do for months, but all it was was her usual makeup with pink eyeshadow and eyeliner stars on her cheek.

i ended up wearing [outfit of your choice] and paired it with [makeup of your choice].

johnnies outfit was jaw-dropping. he chose his black lace button up and obviously wore it halfway unbuttoned. he layered about 10 different necklaces and rings. he also decided on wearing a new pair of dark red skinny jeans with his usual black boots. he tied it all together with his leather jacket. for johnnies makeup, he smudged red lipstick under his eyes and streaked black eyeliner down his face.

jakes outfit was just as cunty as the rest of us; he wore a cropped black tank top paired with his favorite pair of flared jeans. he also chose his belt with bullets on it. he decided on not even bringing a jacket with his reason being "he has tattoos for a reason." he also wore platform shoes and an arrangement of bracelets, some i had never seen before. jake decided to wear no makeup to the concert.

tara slept over so it'd be easier for all of us to take the 4 hour drive early in the morning. we had decided to rent a hotel so we could all get fucked up during the concert and not have to worry about driving home when we could just call an uber. all of us were restless that night, but forced ourselves to sleep so we were really ready for the concert.

i woke up the next morning wrapped in johnnies arms, per usual. the alarm was reverberating in my ears as Johnnie was also starting to stir awake. he opened his eyes and squinted them to look at me, a small smile forming on his face. "mornin'." his groggy sleep voice greeted.

"good morning. you excited?" i asked, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. i climbed out of the bed and stretched, making a million different bones in my body crack at once. "we gotta hurry up and take our showers since everyone else needs to, too."

Johnnies eyes scanned over my body. he sighed and propped himself up on his elbow. "do you want to just take a shower together? it'd save time." he smirked, gently squeezing my hand before he began fidgeting with my fingers.

"i like that idea." i placed a gentle kiss on his lips before dragging him out of bed into the bathroom.

i started the shower, making sure it was nice and warm as Johnnie got undressed. i wasn't far behind him, getting undressed myself before stepping into the shower with him. the warm water on my back woke me up as much as it was relaxing. i watched as the water trickled down Johnnies body and seeped into his inked skin. he ran his moist hands down my body and grabbed the body wash. he squirted some into his hands and began to wash my body. he had nothing but admiration in his eyes as they trailed over every part of me. he made sure no part of me was unwashed before going to wash himself. i did the same for him, helping him wash every inch of his pale skin. he shampooed and conditioned my hair, and while i wash washing mine out, he cleaned his own. he kissed me softly, but passionately before turning off the shower and climbing out. he wrapped me up in a soft towel, as well as himself.

we made our way back to our bedroom to pack our 1 day trip bags quickly. i stole johnnies pair of chunky pajama pants to wear on the drive, as well as my Lana Del Rey tee that was beaten up and bruised from all of the use. i packed all of my makeup and my concert outfit. i didn't bother packing an outfit for the second day there since we were leaving and heading home as soon as we got checked out of the hotel. Johnnie packed pretty much the same thing as i did, the only difference being he did pack an outfit for the second day. he threw on a pair of black skinny jeans and a My Chemical Romance tee shirt to wear on the drive there.

there was a small knock on the door before tara's bright voice called out, "you guys up?" we both answered yeah at the same time. she opened the door and greeted me with a hug. "morning!" she greeted excitedly.

i hugged her back tight. "morning, Tar." i heard the shower start from down the hall. "damn, is Jake just now getting in?"

"yeah, it took me, like, 20 minutes to actually get him out of bed. he snoozed his alarm 3 times before i had to go in there and drag him out of bed myself." she sighed, sitting on the bed next to me.

Johnnie shut down his PC so it wasn't wasting electricity while we were away. "well, that's Jake for you."

tara rolled her eyes. "yeah, well, he needs his beauty sleep, anyway."

"did you get your bag fully packed?" i asked, tossing my bag over my shoulder.

"duh, i got everything ready." she smiled.

the three of us moved down to the living room, bringing our bags and everything else we needed with us. Johnnie sprawled himself out over the couch. i made my way into the kitchen and grabbed a bunch of water bottle and a few snacks for the road, putting them in one of my goat bags and setting it with the rest of our shit. Jake ended up joining me in the kitchen with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"okay, slut." i mumbled under my breath jokingly. i walked back out of the kitchen to join Johnnie on the couch.

"i know you are not talk to me, skank." he snapped his fingers and grabbed his zyns and decaf coffee off of the counter. he threw that shit in the microwave like it was nobody's business. he leaned against the counter and went on his phone.

i rolled my eyes, "is your bag even packed?"

"no," he answered nonchalantly before taking a selfie. i realized later on that he had posted it on his instagram story.

"that's wild that you're worried about your coffee right now, then." i laughed, "what if we're late to see Ronnie?" i over exaggerated.

he pursed his lips, "well, Ronnie can wait for my coffee." he smiled, taking a sip before heading up to his room.

tara had hopped in the shower immediately after jake did. she always took extremely long showers, but she made it quick today.

Jake made his way back downstairs with tara by his side less than 10 minutes later. with all of our bags and shit we needed on hand, we headed out the door.

Johnnie and I climbed into the back seat while jake and tara took the front. tara had music privileges for the first hour of the drive. her music taste was definitely different from mine, but I didn't mind it.

I leaned my head against johnnies shoulder and stared out of the front windshield, watching as all of the buildings and cars sped past. he wrapped his arm around my waist, his hand resting on my hip as he went on his phone to scroll through tiktok. my eyes flickered to his phone, watching as he reposted silly edits of himself, and of me and him, that fans had created.

Jake and tara had begun bickering about her lip smacking that annoyed jake ever so much. I felt johnnies shoulders jiggle, signaling that he was laughing. I quietly laughed along, aswell. they fought like a married couple, sometimes.

I could feel myself becoming drowsy as the car lulled me to sleep. my eyelids felt like bricks. it was way too early in the morning for this, especially when I was in and out of sleep all of last night. I gave in, letting my eyes fall shut as I slowly fell asleep on johnnies shoulder.

I woke up about an hour and a half later. johnnie was now watching Netflix on his phone. tara was passed out in the front seat, and jake was next to her, gently bobbing his head to the slower song playing on the radio. johnnie had felt me stir awake and began to rub my hip gently.

johnnie cleared his throat, "was that a good nap?" he teased.

I stretched my back before placing my head back on his shoulder. "Actually, yeah. your shoulder is a great pillow." I placed a kiss on his cheek, nuzzling my head further into his neck. "we should stop and get breakfast somewhere."

"I second that." jake stuck up one finger before rubbing his tummy. "I could eat a horse pussy right now."

his weird comment made tara finally open her eyes, as she had been stirring for a while. "what a great sentence to wake up to, jake."

he patted her knee, "sorry, sweetie."

we pulled into the closest McDonald's and bought breakfast. jake ate with one hand as he continued to drive, nearly fisting the breakfast sandwiches he had gotten. Jake and I both got coffees and the same breakfast sandwiches, a mcgrittle. we were practically twins at that point. I smiled at johnnie as he happily munched on his breakfast next to me. he smiled back.

by the time we were all done with our breakfast, we were about an hour out from the hotel. jake and tara switched seats since she offered to drive the rest of the way.

the rest of the drive was silent except for the soft music on the radio. I could tell we were all pretty tired from the long drive, and we'd all probably need a nap whenever we got to the hotel. to be fair, the coffee did wake up me and jake, though. honestly, nothing slaps like a good McDonald's coffee with extra creamer this early in the morning.

we had finally made it even earlier than we expected. I climbed out of the car and stretched, cracking my back before grabbing my things out of the car. Jake got the key card for the hotel while we unpacked the car, although there wasn't much to unpack. we brought all of our bags inside and made out way up to the hotel room.

the room was extremely nice. there were two beds, a large window with a beautiful overview of the city, and the usual hotel room accommodations.

I threw myself onto the bed I was claiming for Johnnie and i. I watched as jake filled the mini fridge with water bottles. we all took our concert outfits out of our bags so they wouldn't get wrinkled from staying cramped up for too much longer.

Jake and I ordered lunch from the hotel, although it was a pretty late lunch. the three of us started on our makeup, which influenced jake to actually do his own. he ended up smudging eyeliner in his waterline before calling it a day.

none of us changed into our outfits. we all sat on our respective beds and ate our lunch-dinner while watching some random ghost hunting show on the channel that was already on whenever I had turned on the TV.

before taking another bite, I spoke up. "are we going to leave as soon as we're ready so we don't have to wait in a long ass line to get inside?"

Jake gulped down what he was chewing. "That's what I was thinking, yeah." Tara and Johnnie agreed with him. 

after finishing our food 10 minutes later, we all got changed. I smoothed out my outfit in the mirror.

Johnnie came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. "you look great, baby." he smiled, planting a kiss on my cheek.

"thank you," I turned around, hooking my arms behind his neck and kissing his lips softly.

Tara's chunky shoes clumped down the hallway as we made our way to the elevator. "over here sounding like a fucking elephant, damn." jake teased her, gently shoving her shoulder.

she shoved him back harder. "shut up, they're cute!"

Johnnie gripped my hand, interlocking his fingers with mine. I scanned his whole body, admiring how good he looked in his outfit. fuck, he looked hot. I smirked slightly before turning away. a blush was painted across his face as he smiled.

Jake called the Uber as we waited out front of the hotel.

"why did you just now call it? why couldn't you have called the Uber when we were getting ready, it would've been here by now." I scolded, not actually caring, just wanting to complain and annoy jake.

"because I didn't know how long it'd take you ladies to get ready. don't act like I haven't heard the conspiracy theories about girls taking forever to get ready."

"conspiracy theories?" I repeated, "conspiracy theories is wild."

"well, they seem to be true." he crossed his arms, popping his hip out to the side.

"like you don't take 2 hours in the bathroom every morning playing with your hair." I retorted, looking around to see if the Uber was close.

"okay, well, that's different." he rolled his eyes.

"mhm, right."

the Uber arrived eventually. we all piled in the back, pretty much sitting on top of eachother. we were all buzzing with excitement, and we weren't even buzzed yet.

"I think my first goal when we get there is to get a drink," I admitted with a sly smile plastered across my face.

"I second that." Tara was fixing her makeup in her phone camera.

"me too." jake and Johnnie responded in the same tone at the same time.

the 20 minute drive to the stadium felt like a 20 year drive, but I knew that was just the excitement and eagerness getting to me.

whenever we arrived, it took us 30 minutes to get inside, which was much better than it could've been.

we wandered around the stadium, looking for a good bar that had been set up. we ran into 3 before finding one with a good menu compared to the other ones.

we hurriedly ordered our drinks and made our way to our 'seats,' although none of us would be sitting during the actual concert.

we were an hour and a half early, or at least an hour and a half early for the openers. I had high hopes for the concert, I mean, it was a rock, emo, whatever you wanna call it, concert after all.

I sat back in my seat, propping my feet up as I sipped on my drink. to say it was strong would be an understatement, even though I was far from a lightweight.

"wanna try a sip of mine?" johnnie offered, handing me his clear plastic cup.

I gratefully accepted, handing him mine in return. I hummed at the taste of his, "I think I like yours more."

"honestly, me too." he laughed. we ended up trading drinks.

tara took a video of the four of us. "holy shit, falling in reverse!" she screamed over the hundreds of other people in the stadium that were most likely saying the same shit. she ended up posting it on her story.

the openers came on with a bang. smoke covered the stage before a much smaller artist, I wasn't sure of the name, strutted onto the stage.

the crowd cheered, but not as loud as I knew it'd be whenever Ronnie came on.

the small band played 6 different songs, and they were all surprisingly good. they were more of a nu metal band compared to Falling in Reverse. I mean, I wasn't complaining.

the four of us spent majority of that time taking pictures for our Instagrams. I mean, obviously. what else would you expect?

Jake and I were on drink duty. we sped back to the pop up stand and ordered everyone the same drinks they had had before, except me and johnnies were flipped.

we made it back just in time for the openers last song. it was a bug finale, to say the least. the LED screen behind them flashed before everything went dark. the crowd roared with excitement.

we were left in the dark suspensully. i was practically shaking with excitement as i heard the low murmurs of the crowd. the LED screen turned to a dark red moments later.

finally, Ronnie walked out onto the stage with the rest of the band members following. everyone cheered and shouted as they came out on stage. johnnie and jake seemed over the moon with excitement. but, so were me and tara.

Ronnie greeted the crowd, earning a screaming mess of greetings back. he laughed before getting into the very first song.

of course, he had to open with one of his most popular songs, 'The Drug in Me is You.' I knew this song like the back of my hand, just like every other song by him.

I gripped johnnies hands, shaking him as I screamed the lyrics in his face. I was as dramatic as I could possibly get, and he returned the same energy.

Johnnie took out his phone and recorded a snippet of the first song before flipping the camera to us and pulling me in, kissing me on the lips before ending the recording. I knew his fans would eat that shit up whenever he posted it.

we went just as hard for the next few songs before another one of my favorites came on, 'Get Me Out.' I practically screeched whenever I heard the first few words of the song.

to say everyone's hair was a mess at this point in the concert would be an understatement. Me, Johnnie, jake, and tara were sweaty and dirty, but that didn't stop us in any way.

Johnnie gripped my waist tightly as we screamed the lyrics out into the crowd and towards eachother, our energy never fading.

there was a short intermission, which gave me and jake just enough time to run and grab more drinks. to be fair, all of us were pretty drunk at this point in the concert, but who was there to tell us no?

we scrambled back to our seats as we heard the drum rhythm for 'I'm not a Vampire' begin.

I could see johnnie singing the lyrics as he watched the performance on stage. since we were still a bit of a walk away, I took a picture. seeing him in the stadium lighting was heavenly, and he seemed so into the music, it just made for the perfect picture of him. I planned to set it as my lock screen as soon as we got back to the hotel.

there was not much different about the last few songs, except for the fact that I was exhausted and out of breath. I had a feeling I wouldn't have a voice in the morning, either.

as the last chord of the song rang throughout the stadium, Johnnie gripped my waist and kissed me passionately. I reciprocated, kissing him back with the same intensity. he pulled away, his eyes sparkling. "I love you."

my lower lip quivered as I couldn't help but smile. "I love you, too."

[ineffable-gallimaufry]

welcome to the sunlite all-day café ! founded some time in the late 1800s and stuck in night vale ever since, the sunlite all-day café was featured in episode 204 of welcome to night vale and now here's the whole menu! it's finally done!

[mofu-sand]

art by mofu_sand on twitter

[lebn]

'It often seems to me that the night is even more richly coloured than the day, coloured in the most intense violets, blues and greens.’

~ Vincent van Gogh wrote to his sister, Willemien (1888).

This animation of 'Terrace of a Café at Night (Place du Forum)' is made by @andrey.zakirzyanov.

🎶 by @a_surotdinov

🖼️ in the collection of the lKröller Müller Museum, Netherlands.

[artsandculture]

Terrace of a Café at Night (1888) 🎨 Vincent van Gogh 🏛️ Kröller-Müller Museum 📍 Otterlo, Netherlands

Nocturnal painting Van Gogh had intended to make a nocturnal painting for some time. And not one in the conventional manner, in shades of black and grey, but actually with an abundance of colors. Equally unconventional is that he paints this gas-lit terrace of a café in Arles in situ and in the dark, because colors have a different appearance during the day than by night.

Sharp contrast The most eye-catching aspect is the sharp contrast between the warm yellow, green and orange colours under the marquise and the deep blue of the starry sky, which is reinforced by the dark blue of the houses in the background. Van Gogh was pleased with the effect:

I believe that an abundance of gaslight, which, after all, is yellow and orange, intensifies blue.

Constellation He writes to his sister Wil: ‘I enormously enjoy painting on the spot at night.’ The fact that he observes keenly is borne out by later astronomical research. He painted the constellations precisely as they appeared on the night of 16 or 17 September 1888.

[fidjiefidjie]

"La meilleure chose que l'on puisse faire quand il pleut est de laisser pleuvoir." 🌧

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Gif de Paco Yao

[fxckingdvmbass]

...so i have a new au, that im attached to, thats just senpai x bf x pico but more of senpai x bf cyz im very attached to them specifically and is totally wholesome minus the on going murder cases and trauma that all of them have

.

so anyways

[scribbling-dragon]

Watcher’s Nest Café

Chapter 8

summary:

The café was quiet.

The customers inside were sitting contentedly at their own tables, each lost in their own worlds as they spoke quietly amongst each other. He didn't know what he expected, really, from a café that relied on the local student populace. And with several final deadlines yesterday, there wouldn't have been many people willing to get up this early, let alone make the trek to the café with the miserable weather outside.

Scott wishes that a few more people would come in, only so that he might have something to do.

(ao3 link)

(masterpost)

(4,913 words)

and this is it! the complete thing- it’s been really fun to write this, so i hope you enjoy the final chapter of this fic!

The café was quiet.

The customers inside were sitting contentedly at their own tables, each lost in their own worlds as they spoke quietly amongst each other. He didn't know what he expected, really, from a café that relied on the local student populace. And with several final deadlines yesterday, there wouldn't have been many people willing to get up this early, let alone make the trek to the café with the miserable weather outside.

Scott wishes that a few more people would come in, only so that he might have something to do.

Something to stare at other than the empty seats at the front bar, something to focus on other than the absence of someone that hasn't even been inside of the café for the past few days.

It shouldn't be bothering him as much as it is. He likes to think of himself as an incredibly composed person, someone that can roll with the blows that life chooses to deal him, even if it unbalances him for a few moments.

The sunlight, cold and pale, streams in through the windows at the front of the café. It pools just in front of the counter, spilling over the wooden tables and almost blinding Scott with how bright it is.

The light is always like this, early in the morning and during winter. It’s cold and bright, shining in through the windows and forcing him to squint through the light to try and smile at the customers. Normally, he’d have someone sitting at the front bar with him, though, whether that was Cleo or Pixl or even Martyn, recently. Normally, they’d be sat there, one or two or all of them, complaining about whatever early-morning classes they have as Scott contents himself with listening, occasionally contributing, and serving the customers.

Normally, on slow days like today, he’d lean over the counter, rest his arms against them, and join in the conversation. He’d smile, far easier than he normally does, and simply talk. Cleo would raise an eyebrow at him if he flirted with Martyn a little too obviously, hiding a smile behind their drink.

Normally, Pix would pretend he was actually doing his work, tapping away at his laptop, but infrequently enough that Scott, and anyone else bothering to look, would know that he’s not actually being productive, with how often he would pause to lean in and mutter some joke, or give some random fact that no-one actually understood why he knew, to their small group at the front of the café.

But it’s not a normal day.

It’s not a normal day and he’s stood, alone at the front of the café. Standing still behind the counter, hands folded neatly in front of himself as he tries not to think too much.

It’s not a normal day, because his head still hurts, despite the tablets he’d taken before he left Grian’s house this morning, and there’s a slight pulsing behind one of his eyes as he breathes slowly. He’s still not sure what it is that Grian puts in his mystery mix, but he vows (again) to never drink it again, because he still feels a little sick. Or that might just be the anxiety.

Because it’s not normal, as much as he’s trying to convince himself that it is; because he doesn't normally sit outside, in the cold, when he knows it’ll only make him hurt even more. He doesn't normally sit and let himself think, even if it’s only for a moment, that Martyn actually meant his words and that they weren't just the musings of a drunk person.

He’s not sure if he imagined the dismissal this morning, as Martyn barely glanced up from his phone. Barely looked towards him, hardly even spared him a smile, before he was looking away again. As though he didn't care. Like he didn't pay any mind to the words they shared last night.

He breathes out shakily, smiling as a customer comes to ask for a second drink. He smiles as best as he can, though it feels more like a grimace, and asks if she’d like anything else with that. She smiles politely back at him, her smile far more put-together than his own, and declines.

She taps her card against the machine, and he asks if she wants her receipt as he taps on the screen. He hands her receipt over, promising that her drink will be over in a minute. She smiles at him again, still well put-together, and returns to her table.

He drifts away, just slightly, as he makes the drink. He’s made this drink a thousand times before, will probably make it thousands more times, and he walks through the steps easily, thoughts spinning away from him. He can hardly grasp onto them long enough to string three words together, setting the drink down with a clink from the ceramic.

She doesn't even look up, murmuring a “thank you” that he pays very little mind to, returning behind the counter and trying not to favour his leg too heavily.

He drags the stool out from beneath the counter when he gets back, giving into his pride for a moment, if only because the sharp pain lancing through his leg is quickly becoming irritating and not at all worth it. It wasn't worth it when he sat outside, in subzero temperatures, and he knew that then. He knows it even better now.

He swings his other leg back and forth as he sits, hands curled loosely around the edge of his seat. One of the tables empties, chairs scraping back and breaking through the fog of his mind. He looks up, blinking twice to clear his eyes and watching as they leave.

He stands, dragging himself from his stool, and cleans their table. He returns the dirty mugs to the sink, leaving them for a moment as he returns to wipe the table down, cleaning it quickly before returning to his stool.

There aren't enough dirty mugs to justify running a full sink of water, for now, so he leaves them. He’ll get to them in a moment, once there’s a few more mugs or plates and it’s later in the day, and his brain feels less like it’s trying to burst out of his skull.

The bright morning light isn't helping, with how it streams through the windows and hits him directly in the eyes. But he can't just close his eyes and lay his head down- it would be unprofessional, and his boss hasn't come in recently, so he could visit any day now, checking up on him and making sure that the café he doesn't even care about is running to a “proper standard”.

He squints his eyes halfway shut, and he can almost see Martyn sat at the counter across from him, chin resting in one hand and balancing his head with the other as he stares down at whatever assignment he was struggling with at the minute.

The sunlight always hit his hair just right, seeming to illuminate it- turning it to gold right in front of Scott’s eyes, as cliché as that sounds. It’s almost embarrassing, the way he sounds like a teenager with his first crush, prone to waxing poetic about the smallest details.

Maybe he should have been a writer. His English teacher had always pushed for him to do that, nudging him along the path, even once he reiterated that he wasn't interested. He could, if he wanted. His grade in English was good enough to get him into most universities nearby- but it’s not something plausible.

He’d never been able to shake the habit of poeticising everything he comes across that snags his attention, only catching himself once he’s halfway through thinking about the exact green of the grass or the way the clouds hang heavy and low in the sky. It would be embarrassing, if any of his friends could read minds; thankfully, they cannot, and he hardly leaves any of his musings out there for someone to stumble across by accident.

The bell chimes, interrupting his train of thought. He looks up, curious to see who his next customer is.

He blinks once, then twice, staring at Martyn.

Martyn stares back at him, chest rising and falling quicker than usual, as though he’d run here. Or done something else to physically exert himself recently. His eyes are slightly wider than usual, hair falling over his face in a way that’s not at all like the usual, purposeful way it falls over his eyes.

His hair catches the sun just right, still. Lighting up behind him in hues of wheat-gold. The door swings shut behind him, slipping free from his fingers as he continues to stand in the threshold. The bell chimes once more as the door latches into place, and the small sound seems to break Martyn out of whatever had him frozen in place before.

Nobody even looks up as Martyn walks over to the counter, and Scott leans back on his stool when Martyn reaches him. He glances past Martyn, before looking back up at him, worrying his lip between his teeth, careful not to split the skin. He’s more than aware that Martyn could accuse him of…something. He’s not sure what, but he knows that he could definitely get him fired from his job if he was embarrassed enough about last night.

“I'm sorry,” Martyn says, the words spilling past his lips hurriedly as he continues to stare down at Scott. He slowly stands from his stool, not liking the height advantage Martyn has over him, however slight, when he’s sat. He freezes in place as the words percolate through his brain and process, leaving him staring at Martyn.

“Uh,” he says, intelligently.

“I'm sorry,” Martyn repeats, quieter this time, leaning over the counter. It puts them closer together, their faces scant inches apart. Martyn looks tired, probably as tired as he looks, the toll of staying up late and drinking more than is probably healthy. “I shouldn't have let you leave like that this morning, but I did anyway, and I feel like shit for that.”

“I- yeah,” he nods at that. “Just…do we really want to have this conversation here?” He asks, lowering his voice a little bit further when the girl from before looks over, slipping her headphones down to listen a little more intently. She looks away when Scott catches her eye. “It echoes.”

Martyn looks a little taken aback, before looking around and realising that the café is actually quite full, even if it’s really early in the morning and the only people here are those with the day off or a later shift, or something. Scott doesn't know anyone in here, aside from the one lady watching them intently from the booth beside the window. She comes in twice a week, the same days every week, and orders the same thing every time. He thinks she might be lonely, that she comes here for the conversations Jimmy normally engages her in and to people-watch.

“Yeah,” Martyn looks back at him. His eyes are still shining with something, hair lit up and framing his face, almost like a halo. He scoffs internally at the comparison, stuffing it away and hoping that he never thinks of it again. His face feels a little warm. “I just, I couldn't wait. I knew you were working, so, just, tell me to go away if this is pushing any boundaries, yeah? Because I know you can't exactly leave if you're uncomfortable, and that’s the last thing I want.”

“Come, uh, come to the back,” he steps back, swinging the counter up so Martyn can shuffle through. He can only pray that his boss doesn't choose today as the day he comes in to check that everything is running smoothly.

The girl from before gives him a judging look, eyes sweeping up and down Martyn- and, alright. Maybe not the best look, especially when his clothes are very obviously rumpled and look like they've already been worn. Absolutely not the best impression to be setting right now.

He glares at her, just because he can, and because it’s expected of him at this point. She stares right back at him, quirking an eyebrow judgmentally before she turns back to whatever the hell it was she was doing. He doesn't even know her.

The door swings shut behind him and Martyn, and then they're both stood in the break room-storage room fusion. The boxes are pushed into one corner, filled with the things that can afford to sit in there for another week until they have space for the stock out front.

“I'm sorry about last night,” Martyn says. His stomach drops a little at the words, the slight hope he’d managed to convince himself wasn't dangerous promptly shrivelling up and dying. “I didn't mean to get that drunk, I definitely wasn't sober when I had that conversation with you, and I don't think you were either.” He’s refusing to meet Scott’s eyes, even as he continues to stare at him. He should be burning a hole into the side of Martyn’s head with his stare, but Martyn remains unaffected.

“Ah, yeah,” he chokes out, feeling as though he’s speaking past a lump in his throat. He swallows, in an attempt to get rid of the feeling, but it remains lodged firmly in his throat. He feels like he can't breathe. “Neither of us were very sober then.”

Martyn scuffs his foot over the ground, back and forth, back and forth, before looking up and meeting Scott’s eyes. There’s something there, and these are the sorts of things that Scott prides himself on- he might not be great at the academic intelligence, though he’s decent enough, but he likes to think that he more than makes up for it with his emotional intelligence. Still, he finds himself scrambling for an answer that doesn't present itself when he looks into Martyn’s eyes, feeling slightly breathless and more than a little sick.

“I still meant it.” Martyn says. He refuses to look at Scott again. He feels almost weak in the knees with relief, the wave crashing over him so abruptly and with so much force that he’s almost carried away by it. He sways, a little, and his knee twinges with the motion. “I just…” he trails off, sucking in a large breath, “I just didn't want to keep thinking things over if you…didn't.”

“I- Martyn,” he can't help it. He really can't. He sighs Martyn’s name, feeling the lump in his throat disappear as he swallows. His heart seems to replace it, seeming to lodge itself right in his throat with how hard it’s beating. “Oh my god.” He laughs a little, because he feels incredibly, incredibly stupid now. Like he’s overlooked everything.

“What?” Martyn looks worried now, hands clasped tightly together, tight enough that he can see the whites of his knuckles.

“We’re both idiots,” he manages, breathing it out between laughter.

“Hey!” Martyn puffs up, looking offended and relieved at the same time. “What do you mean?”

“You know all of our friends had bets on us, right?” He asks, instead. Martyn blinks at him. “They had a board in their kitchen, apparently, but they wiped it off before the party, so we couldn't see it. Xisuma told me.”

“They- what?” Martyn sounds so genuinely confused that he can't help but laugh again, bending over slightly as relief sweeps over him again. “They bet on us?”

“Did you expect anything less?” He asks.

“I- no! But I still would have appreciated being told. Why did Xisuma tell you?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs, “guess he took pity on me.”

“Aw, man,” Martyn sighs, slumping against the opposite wall and tipping his head back. “I do feel like an idiot now- all of our friends knew and they didn't say anything?”

“We figured it out eventually,” he shrugs, going for it far more casually than he actually feels. He feels like he should be screaming, or something equally dramatic. Maybe sliding down the wall in a panic. He should probably be checking that there aren't any customers waiting outside. He finds that he doesn't actually care, when Martyn looks up.

“Guess we did,” Martyn says. He pushes himself off of the wall, taking one step closer. The break room isn't that big, and with that single step the distance between them is halved. Scott could reach out right now and grab him by his hoodie. He doesn't, looking at him from beneath his eyelashes as Martyn wavers. “Do you…have an answer to my question?”

Scott debates for a moment, continuing to watch Martyn from half-lidded eyes, leaning against the wall beside the door. He smiles, tilting his head to the side. “What question?” Martyn left him to stew in his emotions for a few hours, he can afford a few moments of floundering.

“You're seriously gonna make me ask?”

He considers it for a moment, before allowing his smile to spread a little wider, showing off his teeth as he looks up at Martyn. He expects a little surprise, maybe for Martyn to pull back as his teeth are revealed. He doesn't waver, continuing to stare down at him. “Yes,” he breathes, after a moment. He hardly needs to speak louder, with the distance between them even the slightest sound will be heard.

“Scott,” Martyn says, stepping closer, but not touching him, hands still hovering as he pushes closer, toeing the line between friendly closeness and…something else. “Have you ever thought about kissing me?”

Yes, he thinks but doesn't say. He’s thought about it several times, so many times, over the past few weeks. Every time Martyn would smile at him, grinning in his stupidly infectious way; every time he would comment on Scott slipping something from a rude customer. Every time the sun would hit his hair just right and he’d light up the entire café. Scott wasn't sure how people could look away from him when he was like that.

Martyn’s still watching him, still waiting for his response. His hands still hover, close enough that Scott can feel the warmth of his skin, but not quite touching. Not until Scott says he can.

“More times than I can count,” he replies. Martyn flushes at that, blush rising high on his face, causing his ears to turn pink at the tips.

“Then,” Martyn says, “can I kiss you now?”

“Please,” he breathes, hands already reaching up to pull Martyn closer to himself, because he’s not certain he can deal with the almost touching for much longer without going entirely insane. “Martyn,” he says, voice embarrassingly soft as he hooks his hand around the back of Martyn’s neck, pulling them closer.

One of Martyn’s hands settles on his hip, pulling them flush against each other. The other raises to his face, pushing his hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear, and kisses him.

It’s chaste, just a simple brush of lips on lips. Martyn pulls back a moment later, eyes already blown wide, blushing like someone that’s just had their first kiss.

“Martyn,” he asks, a teasing lilt working its way into his voice. “Have you ever kissed someone before?”

“Yes,” Martyn hisses, face growing pinker with embarrassment. “Of course I have.”

“Have you ever kissed someone for longer than a moment?” He asks, he softens his voice, “I'm not making fun, I promise.”

“I- no,” Martyn’s eyes dart away, then back to him again. They drop to his lips, and Scott smiles at the silent admission. “It…I never felt the need to do more than that.”

“Can I kiss you again?” Scott asks.

Martyn nods slowly, still watching him. He smiles, tightening his grip on the back of Martyn’s neck and pulling him closer until he’s close enough to connect their lips again. Martyn goes easily enough, the hand still resting on his hip squeezing tighter for a moment before relaxing again.

Scott sways into Martyn, pulling him down as he brushes his tongue over Martyn’s lips. Martyn makes a small noise at the action, but he doesn't pull back, even as his lungs must begin to burn. Scott’s own lungs are burning, too, but he pushes further into the feeling, biting down on the very edge of Martyn’s lip.

Martyn pulls back with a gasp, eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Too much?” He asks, cradling the side of Martyn’s face in the palm of his hand. 

“I- no,” Martyn breathes out, still staring at Scott. It’s almost intense enough to make him cower away from it, but he pushes himself towards it instead, leaning further into Martyn, pressing them close together until his chest is resting against Martyn’s, close enough that he can hear the thump-thump-thump of his heart. “Just…unexpected.”

“In a good way?”

“The best way.” Martyn agrees, and then he’s kissing him again.

Martyn’s hand crawls into his hair, tugging at the strands there, lightly at first, then harder when it makes Scott bite his lips again, swiping his tongue over the spot a moment later to soothe it.

Martyn pulls back again, still staring at him with those wide eyes, pupils swallowing a lot of the colour in his eyes, making them look far darker than they actually are.

“Can I-” Martyn stutters off, out of breath and flushed, “Can I touch your hands?” He asks, after a few moments of catching his breath, staring down at Scott.

“Huh?” He pulls his hands back slightly at the question, flexing his fingers and listening to the way the leather creaks. Martyn reaches up to catch his wrist, holding it firmly but not tight, continuing to watch Scott.

“You can say no,” Martyn tells him. And his voice is sincere enough that Scott knows it to be true. He could say no and they could both move on; continuing kissing, if they wanted to. Even if Scott really needs to at least poke his head out and make sure that there’s no massive queue of customers awaiting his return.

“Why?” He asks instead. Because his hands feel sweaty, uncomfortable within the gloves, and taking them off doesn't seem like the worst decision in the world. He can think of several, far worse, decisions he could be making right now.

“Because…I want to see all of you,” Martyn says. “You're just- you're hiding your hands, and I don't know why. And everyone else seems to know, but I don't, and I want to tell you that it’s fine, but I can't, because I don't know.”

“And what if it isn't fine?” Scott asks. Because he has to. He has to. He’s worn gloves for the past four years, and no one’s ever asked him to take them off. Everyone’s just assumed that he’s wearing them for a reason, to hide something - and they're right - and they can't bear to be proven right. “What then?”

“Then we work past it,” Martyn says. “I don't know what to do with myself, Scott, you've driven me insane. I can hardly think of anything else; I've hardly been able to focus on my work, knowing that you're out there, somewhere, and I could be there with you if I wasn't working.”

“That’s silly,” he says. But he would be lying if he said he wasn't touched. It’s sweet, especially with the way Martyn smiles down at him.

“Please?” Martyn asks, and the last of his (admittedly very weak) resolve crumbles in the face of Martyn asking.

“You can't- you can't run away,” he says, even as he pulls his hand back, loosening the gloves. He can't remember the last time he took them off outside of sleeping, and even then he wears them to sleep in sometimes. Can hardly stand the sight of his hands himself.

He eases the leather off anyway, shivering as the air hits his skin and scales. He flexes his fingers, moving them around, even as he keeps his eyes fixed on Martyn. One, to watch his reaction, but two, because he cannot bear to look at his hands himself.

Something brushes over the back of his hand and he gasps, the small sound falling past his lips involuntarily. He shuts his eyes, keeps them squeezed shut and simply nods when Martyn asks if he’s alright.

“They're just…sensitive,” he manages, after a moment, once the feeling of gentle fingers on the back of his hand has eased. “I don't…I’m not used to someone touching them.”

“Oh.” Martyn says. He brushes a careful hand over the scales on Scott’s wrist again, before slowly trailing back up. He twists his wrist at the end, fits their hands together carefully, holding Scott’s hand carefully, as though it’s something to be protected.

“How can you,” he chokes out, breaking his silence when Martyn continues to hold his hand, looking completely unbothered. “How can you just hold my hand? You're not blind, are you?”

“Of course I'm not blind,” Martyn looks him in the eye. “I'm simply appreciating you as a whole, your hands are a part of you, how could I dislike them?”

“How can you just say something like that?” He can feel his face heating up, the way his fins press back against the sides of his head in embarrassment. “They're everything that people find disgusting about sirens. The only thing remaining to identify us as something else.”

“And Jimmy has the yellow feathers of a Canary,” Martyn says. “That identifies him as an omen of death, of misfortune, but everyone is friends with him still. Tango’s sclera is almost black, and I'm pretty sure we've all seen the depictions of demons like that, but Tango isn't a demon; I'm pretty sure he’s the furthest thing from a demon.”

“That,” he doesn't have a good argument against that, nothing to argue otherwise. “I guess.”

“Is it so hard to believe that I might care for you because you're just…you?” Martyn laughs. “At the risk of sounding cheesy, I don't think there’s much you could do to push me away now.”

Yes, he wants to say, yes it is hard to believe you. Because Martyn was doing what his family had chosen not to do. What his father and his brother had decided they couldn't deal with, couldn't stand seeing the reminder of his mother. Couldn't bear to see the resemblance between the two, when she had abandoned them so easily.

The weight of the watch in his pocket can attest to this. Its face cracked and broken, hands perpetually stuck in a time of the past. It speaks of a tipping point- a point of no return, something that he cannot, would not, return to, even if he was given the chance. He’s not sure he could face his brother again.

He doesn't say this, just sighs and rests his head against Martyn’s shoulder. And Martyn holds his hand.

The sound of the bell interrupts them, and his head jerks up, pulling his hand free from Martyn’s grip.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, realising that they're still stood in the break room. “Oh my god, Jimmy’s never gonna let me live this down.”

“What?”

“I abandoned the café to come kiss you in the break room- I make fun of Jimmy for doing that.”

Martyn stares at him, wide-eyed, for a moment. Then he laughs, the sound so loud compared to the quietness of before.

“I need to go,” he says, pulling his glove back on, fumbling to tighten it properly again and cover up the mess of scales that is his hand. “Oh my god, they're gonna make fun of me. They're gonna be horrible.”

“I'm sure it’ll be fine,” Martyn says, but he’s still laughing when Scott escapes the break room, still a little pink in the face. There’s only one customer waiting, and he doesn't look like he’s been stood there for too long, so Scott breathes a sigh of relief.

The girl from before is gone, leaving two empty mugs in her wake. The lady in the window booth gives him a small thumbs-up.

*

“How are you always right?” Jimmy complains, leaning over Grian’s shoulder, reading the message from Martyn. “It’s not fair, the universe is rigged against me.”

“Then you gotta stop betting, Timmy,” Grian nudges at him, shutting his phone off when Martyn’s texts devolve into nonsense. “If the universe is against you, you're never gonna win.”

“I thought for sure I would be right this time,” Jimmy slumps over the counter, ignoring Grian as he collects his spoils of war. He looks unbelievably smug- and really, they should ban him from betting ever, he seems to have made some kind of deal with Luck, with the way he keeps winning.

“There, there,” Tango pats him on the head, messing his hair up worse than it was before. “At least it wasn't as bad as-”

“If you bring up the Sheriff Incident one more time,” Jimmy growls, “I might kill someone.”

“Did someone say Sheriff?” Grian spins on his heel, wearing a smug grin very reminiscent of a cat. “Lemme tell you, I have an entire folder dedicated…”

“Kill me,” Jimmy whispers to Tango. “Send my congratulations to Scott, and then kill me.”

“No can do, buddy,” Tango pats him on the head again. “I like you too much to do that.”

[abugsjournal]

as a barista the urge to write an arthur morgan coffee shop au fic is so strong

[hearts4golbach]

The Night Shift.

Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Reader.

Chapter 23.

"Is that taco bell breakfast i smell?" jake said, sounding as if he was about to start floating to locate the smell. he turned the corner into the kitchen, where i was sitting with tara.

it was 7 in the morning, and the 4 of us were about to go finally pack up my old apartment. they insisted on helping despite me saying i could get it all done myself since i didn't own much anyway.

"Yes, jake." she rolled her eyes, tossing him his usual order. he squeeled like a little girl before tearing into the wrap.

"im gonna go get johnnie up." i walked down the hall towards our room and walked in silently.

johnnie laid on the bed with a peaceful look on his face. his arms were tucked awkwardly under his head as his legs were tangled in the blankets.

i gently shook his shoulder, placing a kiss on his forehead. "Good morning, sleepy head. we have breakfast."

he rubbed his eye, black eyeshadow transferring to his finger. "mornin'." he pulled me in, kissing me softly before sitting up. "When you were asleep, i organized the closet. you can fit your clothes in half of it now."

"Oh my god, really?" i furrowed my eyebrows, a small smile growing on my face.

"i mean, yeah. where else are you going to put your clothes?" he slipped on his socks and stood up.

his fingers tangled with mine as he led me back into the kitchen and sat down next to me. he rested his hand right above my knee as Jake immediately started a conversation with them. i passed johnnie his breakfast, and he dug in, clearly starving.

jake looked down at his phone, "what time do you think we'll be done?"

"Well, im not too sure. i mean, theres 5 of us packing up my tiny apartment, so it's probably around noon." i thought outloud, earning a 'hm' from jake.

everyone had finished their food. jake and tara went to get their shoes on and start the car while johnnie went to take off his makeup. i sat in the kitchen on my phone, waiting for johnnie to be done.

"Ready to go?" he asked, his clean face making me smile. it wasn't often i got to see him without makeup.

"mhm." i stood up and stretched. i put my hair into a messy bun to get it out of the way before walking out the door, johnnie not far behind me. "Thank you again for helping with all of this."

"Don't thank me." he hesitated as if he was going to add onto the sentence. he gently rubbed my lower back.

i hummed, "Okay, then."

Johnnie and i sat in the back of jakes car while him and Tara were up front. I zoned out. thinking about my old apartment made me nervous. although i wasn't going alone, something still felt off. after the incident and how easily i got imhured, i didn't want the same to happen to them. Or maybe it was the fact that my creepy old neighbor lent me a piece to a vaccum, and i still need to give it back, but i seriously doubted that was the reason. i decided to shove my paranoia down as i didn't want to let it ruin my day.

it was if i had blinked and we were already there. i picked my head up, rubbing the cheek that was leaning on my arm.

"i was room number 206," i commented, pulling the keys out of my pocket.

"i can't believe theres not a fucking elevator. This bitch has 5 stories." Jake complained as we tromped up the stairs.

"Just be glad she's not on the 5th one," tara wiped smudged lip gloss off the corner of her mouth.

"Exactly," johnnie nods, slightly out of breath.

i unlocked my front door and pushed it open, revealing my still messy apartment. "Oh, i never came back to clean up." i admitted, even though it was plain to see.

"dont worry about it, missy." jake teased in his southern accent.

tara and jake covered the kitchen while johnnie and i started in the living room. we all added songs to the spotify queue and got to work. i was smart enough to keep boxes stored in my closet. There was always a just in case thing. The living room was nearly empty, the only furniture consisting of a rug and a small sofa that i planned on putting by the trash for someone else to take. i didn't have much decoration, either. All that i had was a painting, my mother had made me and a thrifted portrait of marilyn monroe. The only other things on the wall were some empty colorful vases on a small shelf.

we quickly wrapped those up while tara and jake stacked all of my plates and bowls in between wash cloths. I announced we were moving to a different room before heading into the hall to focus on the closet.

The closet didn't take much work. We shoved blankets and towels into one big box before moving on to my bedroom.

my room was a much bigger task, considering this was the room i spent most of my time in. i sat at my vanity and began packing it up while Johnnie took over the closet.

"i want to stream later, and i was wondering if you wanted to be on it." Johnnie mentioned, bagging up clothes that were hung up.

"Sure, that sounds fun. im still kind of nervous though, what if your fans don't like me?" i glanced over.

"They'll love you, i promise." he smiled at me. "i was thinking i could do your makeup for the stream."

"fuck yeah." i agreed, standing up and making my way to my side table. "Didn't we make those plans a while ago?"

"Yeah, but then a bunch of shit happened. and i figured since we're together now, everyone should get to know you a little better." A light blush spread across his face.

"Good idea. im down," i agreed.

The rest of the house was packed up within the next 3 hours. Jake and i moved all of the furniture down to the garbage bins, with little help from tara and johnnie. i took one last look at my empty apartment before locking it up and turning in my keys.

[ineffable-gallimaufry]

breakfast and lunch menus for the sunlite all-day café are done!

(edit: full menu here)

[semioticapocalypse]

Lothar Rübelt. Tired market workers in a Naschmarkt Café. Vienna. 1952

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