#last edit i made i turned a song into a newspaper this time a vintage political poster. love turning things into other things <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[thekidsarentalright]

NO, WE WILL NEVER BELIEVE AGAIN

[bastillewolf]

Midnight In Sheffield (III)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: When a soon-to-be-wedded insomniac author heads back home to visit her parents, she comes across the likes of a mysterious musician whilst on her sleepless escapade in the AM.

Notes: Took a bit longer to edit this chapter, and made it longer. Hope you enjoy!

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

@alexbandguy86​​​​​ @bettyschwallocksyee​​​​​ @fookingsummertime​​​​​ @juicebox-baby​​​@darksydork7​​​​ @edgythought​​​ @toolateformcrtooearlytoleaveemo​

Song recommendation: ‘Bistro Fada’ by Stephane Wrembel

Chapter III - No. 1 Party Anthem

It couldn’t be.

Surely, she hadn’t been that drunk.

If so, she would’ve felt more than embarrassed.

She was standing in the very street she had wandered through the night before, yet nothing seemed familiar. There were no vintage sales, or shops for that matter, or Ford Roadsters that were illuminated by the antique streetlights perched on cobblestone roads.

Instead, she was faced with boring old Sheffield; cracked and bruised asphalt. A few clothing stores and a newspaper office. There was one pub, but not the one she’d been looking for.

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Mark said.

“I- Uh, yeah. I could’ve- I could’ve sworn it was here,” she stuttered in response.

“The pub you went to?”

She nodded silently.

“Maybe you went in a different direction. You were tired, happens to the best of us.”

She shot him a look. “I grew up here, Mark. I know my way around this place like the back of my hand, yet that street I went into… I’d never seen it before in my entire life.”

“Hm, strange,” he noted. She knew he was mostly humouring her, and couldn’t shake off the feeling he had been judging her ever since they talked over what happened. It must look crazy, she realized, but to her that was no excuse to not be understanding. He was to be her husband, after all, and weren’t those things most important in a healthy relationship?

“Call me crazy if you want, but I’m telling you; I went to a different pub last night.”

“I know, I believe you.”

She gave a slight sigh of relief.

“Now, come on, let’s go find a restaurant, because we’re not going to that pub on an empty stomach.”

 They had searched all over town, with Mark generously tipping the cabby to take them everywhere they wanted. Not necessarily an odd request, but when she started to ask the driver about an old pub with the exact descriptions, - not failing to mention that smoking had been allowed - he gave her a strange look and told her he’d never heard of such a place before.

He must know, as he’d worked as a cabby for ages.

And so, she was currently sat at a random local bar Mark picked out, slumped in her seat, while her fiancée chatted on with Rachel and James. She couldn’t even bring herself to be annoyed with the pair, her mind too clouded to think of anything other than that very clear night.

She touched Mark’s shoulder, and muttered in his ear that she was going back to the hotel.

He nodded, “I’ll text you when I’m coming back. Don’t stay up too late.”

She smiled lightly, and kissed him on the cheek, before slipping out of the door, and leaving the musky scene behind her.

She didn’t really pay attention to where she was going. She was staring down at her feet, which kept their leisure pace on the tiled sidewalk.

She didn’t even bother giving the man in a tracksuit she nearly bumped into a second glance, or the dog that barked at her.

She walked up the few steps, through an alley, until she rounded a corner and was back at what appeared to be the main street. Only then did she actually bump into someone.

“You just keep appearing out of nowhere, don’t you?”

“Miles?”

She rubbed her tired eyes, until the flickering had disappeared, and she could look around again.

A cobblestone street, antique metal streetlights and shop windows filled with antique wear. The man that stood in front of her wore the same suit as yesterday, but without the tie and the top buttons of his shirt undone.

She couldn’t help but throw her arms around his neck in relief.

He huffed in surprise, “Good to see you again too, love. Hope that man of yours hasn’t been treating you poorly again, has he?”

“I’m just relieved to see you again,” she replied, avoiding his question, “I can’t believe I didn’t find this street earlier this afternoon! I went looking all over the place for it! Even asked a cabby, but he didn’t know what I was talking about. I’m so glad I found you.”

A mysterious glint flashed across his eyes. “Look for me, did ya? Worry not, love. You can always find me prancing about in the AM. I’ll most likely still be in bed in the afternoons. Best stay away from me then.”

She snorted as he linked her arm with hers and followed his lead into the pub, missing the way he’d given her a worried glance as she tried to memorize the name of the residence, which was painted in a neat cursive on the sign above it.

Mardy Bum.

 “Taken that bird with you again, Miles?” Alex asked from his seat at the wooden table, his foot sliding a chair out for each of them from underneath the table.

“Couldn’t help myself, Al. I just keep running into her. It’s like fate.”

“Call it fate or whatever you want, mate, but there’s no hiding you’ve always fancied the married girls.”

“Sorry, could you repeat that for me?” Miles held a hand to his ear facetiously. “I couldn’t hear you over the tune of ‘The Bad Thing’.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Are you playing cards with us, or what?”

Miles looked back at her, waiting for her answer. She shrugged, “As long as it’s not strip poker.”

“Shame,” one of the other men at the table muttered, who she recognized from the previous night as Alex’s drummer.

“This is Matt, by the way,” Miles pointed at him, before turning to the other two band members. “And that’s Jamie, and Nick. You remember them from yesterday, no?”

“Of course, you put up a great show.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere in a game of cards, love,” Matt teased, as he shuffled the deck of cards like he’d do every evening.

 And so, the night went on, filled with light and pleasant conversation, and a few more antsy rounds of cards. The beer gradually switched to something stronger, which she identified as a very fine whiskey. Not wanting to think about their tab yet which was bound to arrive at the end of the night, she enjoyed the smooth liquid burning her throat, and beat Jamie once again at his own game.

“I don’t like her,” he grumbled.

“Don’t be petty, Jamie. It’s not her fault you’re shit at cards,” Matt said.

“I’m not shit! I won last time!”

“Last time we let you win because it was your birthday,” Alex smoothly chimed in.

“What?!”

Matt burst out laughing at the guitarist’s aghast facial expression, and she noted even Alex himself smirked along with the merriment. She had only known him for two evenings, but from the lack of lines around his mouth, he didn’t seem like he smiled often, so it was nice to be graced with one.

What she did want to be able to unsee was the way he kept looking at her over the deck in his hands with those dark brown eyes. It made her squirm a bit in her seat.

“So, if we asked you to write an autobiography on the band, would you do it?” Nick asked. She’d told them about her career path, and how she hadn’t been able to write anything for a long while.

“I mean, if that’s what you’d want.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Matt quickly intervened.

“Well, why not?”

“She’d never believe us,” Alex drawled.

She met his eyes once more, and they looked awfully calm.

“No offence, but unless you’re going to tell me you go to Hogwarts and practice magic, I’m afraid you can’t say much that makes me find the story of a band who plays in pubs unrealistic.”

“A band who plays in pubs?! You must be joking,” the bartender suddenly intervened, setting the glass down which he had been drying with a towel for the past half hour. “They’re the most famous band in England! Even have their records played in America, they do. I’m lucky they still play in here, or it wouldn’t be so packed every Friday night.”

“We’d never abandon this place, John. This is where we became men and had our first beverages as adults,” Jamie said, raising his glass.

“Don’t play the fool with me, Jamie. You’d had too many pints before you got drunk to be a first-time drinker, and I’ve seen you sneak through the back when you were younger.”

“I didn’t know there was a certain age you’re supposed to be,” Alex quipped.

“Cause nobody told me!” Miles suddenly shouted, rising from his chair and humming a tune to himself as he cradled his drink closer to his chest.

“For the last time, Miles, if you’re going to dance, please find yourself a partner that isn’t the alcohol.”

The man in question pursed his lips thoughtfully at Alex. “Great idea, mate. I’m gunna take a piss and when I get back, I’ll have found my partner.”

He stumbled off in the direction of the restroom, and the group shared a look, for the hour was growing late and they were the only ones left in the pub.

“Sorry about Miles. He gets awfully vague when he’s drunk,” Nick told her.

She smiled. “Don’t worry about it, I’m having a laugh. I wish I could spend the whole night here. Haven’t had this much fun in a while.”

She noticed Matt trying to subtly glance down at his watch, which was close to striking 3 AM. “Probably not the best idea, love. I think it’s time to go home.”

Alex gave him a look. “Why? She could stay a bit longer, wouldn’t hurt anyone,” he slurred.

“You know why.”

“My fair lady!”

Their heads turned towards the back of the bar, where Miles had gotten down on one knee in front of a mop perched in a dirty bucket. “Please, grace me with a dance.”

The silence that followed seemed to be the cue for Miles to think the mop had accepted his offer, and for Matt to definitely call it a night.

Nick and Jamie helped Miles across the street – after managing to pry the ‘fair lady’ from his arms –  while Matt chatted away with John as he was closing the bar, and she was suddenly left alone with the singer himself.

“May I walk you home?” He asked her. “No funny business, I promise.” Though he’d held his hands up in surrender, the action was contradicted by the mischievous glint in his orbs.

“Sure,” she replied, and a very small part of her wished she had just said ‘no’.

 “So, since you’re famous and all,” she started, her gaze trained upon the way her feet carefully stepped on the individual stones cemented into the street’s dirt. “Have I heard any of your songs before? What were you guys called again?”

“I don’t think you would have. And we’re called the Arctic Monkeys.”

She raised her brow, the name sounding vaguely familiar.

“Stupid name, I know.”

“No,” she quickly said, “Not at all, actually. It’s somehow… Very fitting.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

 She smiled at him, until her eyes turned up to the sky, which was filled with flickering lights in the darkest of blues. “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

He hummed. “You must not be one to stay up late often, then. It’s beautiful, sure. But not the best sight I’ve ever seen.”

“What is the best sight you’ve ever seen?”

He studied her for a moment, and couldn’t tell if he was deciding on whether to answer her or not, or thinking of long-lost memories. “France. On the countryside. I’ve been all around the world, but that one night – probably caused by the empty bottles of tequila, might I add – was incomparable. Starry, with a really thin crescent moon in the sky, which Jamie described as ‘the moon’s side boob’. I thought that was quite profound. So, I wrote it down. Might even slip it into a song one day.”

The corners of her lips quirked up mischievously, the tingling sensation of the alcohol running through her system finally catching up with her. “Sing me a song, Alex.”

“A song?”

“Yesss,” she pleaded.

“Not sure your husband would agree with that.”

“He’s out and about with Mark and Rachel. Said he’d text me if he’d get back. I think we’ve got time.”

There was a quiver in his stride. “A text, you say?”

She nodded absentmindedly. “Anyways, he’s not my husband, so being serenaded isn’t illegal just yet.”

He let out a chuckle, but it was short-lived. “Could you humour me for a bit?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Could you tell me who’s the ruler of England right now?”

“What?”

“Just- Just answer the question, please.”

“The… the queen.”

“Ah.”

“I didn’t get that wrong, did I? I’m quite plastered, I’m afraid.”

“No, not at all. Perhaps we do have to save that serenade for another night, though.”

They’d halted, but the building in front of them was not one she recognized, and the route they’d taken too short to have been able to get to the hotel. “I don’t think this is-“

He kissed her on the cheek, more gently than she would’ve expected, which left her hanging with her mouth slightly open, numb from sudden surprise.

“Have a good night, love.”

He spared her one last glance, until he turned, and walked back through the dark and deserted street.

She sort of stumbled through the doors, and her eyes widened at the sight, for she was back in her hotel, and when she looked outside, she no longer met with the cobblestone street, but only the cracked asphalt of New Sheffield.