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tracybirds · 1 year

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Where Parallel Lines Meet (7/?)

I hate to say it but this fic is just getting longer and longer >< I've never experienced the "spirals out of control" thing and it's quite unnerving!! Big thanks to @gumnut-logic who has the dubious pleasure of listening to my ravings while I try to figure out how exactly things are gonna go and for reading all the bits I threw at her :)

I hope you enjoy! There is a language warning for this one because well... you'll see. They just keeping fighting with each other!!

Title is adapted from a line in Sarah Howes’ poem ‘Relativity’ (scroll to the bottom of the article)

A fight between John and Alan is followed by an interstellar storm with unexpected consequences.

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They found Scott in the hanger, talking quietly with Brains and frowning as he ran a hand through the holo in front of them.

His tan had faded without time to spend out of doors, running the island trails or enjoying the pool. There were dark smudges under his eyes, the skin paper thin and shiny, reflecting the blue glow of the holo as he squinted. Glancing up, he spotted the two teenagers walking towards them and closed the holo. He slid the device over to Brains who nodded at the two boys and abruptly left.

Alan’s eyes followed him for a moment, wondering what had come up on the rescue, but then he turned and met Scott’s gaze. Scott pursed his lips together tightly and gave a minute shake of his head, warning him off any questions about the holo.

“Did it go okay?” Alan asked instead.

“Fine,” said Scott shortly.

Alan raised an eyebrow, taken aback, and John crossed his arms with a scowl.

“Just because you’re exhausted doesn’t mean you have to take it out on him,” he snapped. “He’s just worried.”

Scott gave him a sharp look, his eyes wary and appraising. He sighed, letting his head fall into his hand. Alan suddenly had a vision, or possibly a memory, of their father, bent over and aged before his time in the same place where Scott stood now.

“You’re right,” Scott admitted and the image shattered. “I’m sorry, Alan. Virgil was right, I need a break.”

“You all do,” said Alan. “I could help, you know I–”

“No.”

Alan stopped abruptly.

Scott shook his head and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t mean it like that,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

Alan reached out, pulling his brother instinctively into a hug. A wave of fatigue crashed over him, as though his brother’s exhaustion were his own. He didn’t argue, didn’t press, didn’t do anything except hold his brother up in the only way left to him. He closed his eyes, ignoring the pinprick of tears that were always only a few awful seconds away from spilling over, focused instead on Scott. It wasn’t time to collapse himself, not when his brother needed him.

John coughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. He grimaced a little as he caught Alan’s eye, almost cringing away at the silent invitation to join them.

Alan understood and signalled Scott with a subtle tap to his shoulder.

Scott pulled away in an instant, scrubbing his eyes and yawning.

“How far away are the others?” asked Alan.

“They were probably half an hour away from being done when Virg sent me off. I’d guess another hour or two.” He stretched widely, groaning as his bones clicked and settled into place. “Let’s go upstairs, yeah?”

“You should be in bed,” said John, looking his brother over. “That’s why Virgil sent you home, right?”

Scott rolled his eyes.

“Dinner first, then I promise to sleep, how’s that?”

His point was made with a loud growl that echoed between them and Scott patted his stomach, grinning at John.

“Good enough for you?”

There were no further arguments and they were soon assembled in the kitchen, pizza toppings scattered across the counter and voices loud and jubilant.

“Quit trying to put green things on my pizza,” grumbled Alan, swatting at Scott.

“You have to eat your vegetables,” said Scott, leaning over to drop more rocket on Alan’s creation. He snatched the cheese back and began to munch on it.

“Oh sure, because ham and cheese has so-oooo many vegetables.”

“It’s got tomatoes on it.”

“Tomato paste doesn’t count!” said Alan, waving the spatula wildly at him. “Get that stuff off!”

A large splodge of the paste flung from the utensil, landing squarely on Scott’s cheek.

Scott laughed, wiping it off and spreading it over Alan’s shirt in retaliation.

“Ugh, Scott,” he whined, scrubbing at it. “This was fresh this morning.”

“Well, it’s not fresh now, and not because of the tomato,” John piped up from his perch on the counter, wrinkling his nose, and Scott pointed at him emphatically in agreement. Grated cheese dropped from his fingertips and he picked it up, shoving it into his mouth with a grin.

Alan scowled at them both.

“Whatever,” he said. “I’m being ganged up on, I see how it is.”

“Just solid facts,” said Scott casually, as he sprinkled more cheese into his mouth. “Wash your shirts more often, squirt, then see what we say.”

“You’d just tease me on something else,” huffed Alan.

“It’s almost unfair,” said John, his eyes dancing as he swung his legs. “You being such an easy target and all.”

Alan punched him lightly in the arm.

“Shut up,” he said, pulling a face at him. “And you, stop eating the cheese,” he exclaimed, stealing the bag back from Scott whose hand had snuck into it again. “We need that for the pizza.”

Scott pouted, but his easy smile soon returned.

“That’s the last one in the oven now,” he said. “There’s like eight of them cooking, you don’t seriously think we’ll need more, do you?”

Alan rolled his eyes.

“Well, I need it for lunches. What exactly do you think I eat when you’re not here.”

“Fruits, vegetables, wholegrains, dietary fibre,” said John, ticking off the list on his fingers. “We certainly haven’t eaten anybody’s secret ice cream stash recently.”

Scott groaned, as he started to wipe down the bench.

“Ice cream, Alan, really? Gordon’s going to kill y–”

“What the hell is going on here?”

The words fell flat and cold across the kitchen, drawing their eye unwillingly towards Virgil. He stood still, solid and furious and eyes only on Scott.

Alan backed away in an instant, eyes wide as he tugged at John’s sleeve.

“Virgil, I–” began Scott, but Virgil cut him off, hand slashing through the air as he swept away all argument.

“I sent you home to sleep,” he snarled. “I gave you specific instructions, you were falling asleep at the controls.”

“Oh, and you weren’t?” snapped Scott, his temper flaring. “Don’t be such a hypocrite Virgil, I’m not the only one skirting flight hour regulations here.”

“I have a co-pilot,” shouted Virgil, jabbing his finger at Scott’s chest. “We can take turns; we don’t run the same risks you insist on taking when you flout the rules.”

“I know what I’m doing!”

“Yeah, ignoring the guy who can ground you for a week, that’s always wise,” snarked Gordon, limping into the room. He winced as he fell into the nearest chair, propping up a swollen and bandaged ankle on the table.

“Shut up, Gordon,” said Scott and Virgil in unison.

Scott whirled back on Virgil.

“You can’t ground me,” he said. “You know you can’t.”

“I should,” snapped Virgil. “Hell, Scott, I’m doing everything I can to make sure I don’t have to, but when you won’t even sleep when you’ve been awake twenty hours and physically sent home, you’re not leaving me much choice.”

“I was a trained test pilot,” shouted Scott. “A fucking specialist in the armed forces. We did training under conditions you couldn’t even dream of and if Dad were here–”

“Well, he’s not, is he?” piped up John. “That’s like 80% of the problem, isn’t it?”

“No,” said Gordon, an awful, leering smile spreading over his face. “The problem is you’re not here actually.” His eyes flashed dangerously as he leant forward. “We could have done it with four. But Kayo’s up on Five and now it’s just us. So why don’t you shut up and stop talking about things you don’t understand.”

Alan swore under his breath, helpless and frozen as John’s eyes sparked, his cheeks flushing as scarlet as his hair even as his lips thinned, turning a bloodless white.

“Gordon, stand down,” snapped Scott, but the taunt took like a flame to a gas line, an explosion of indignation and fervent fury.

The shouts smothered the atmosphere and Alan’s hands crept up over his ears, trying to block out the cloying antagonism that had burrowed beneath his brothers’ skin. There was no reason, only emotion and every accusation only set off further eruptions and the tension rose, fists at the ready, electricity crackling in their eyes, daring each other to take the first swing, to just try it and see where it left them.

“Stop it,” whispered Alan, his voice clogging in his throat. He sucked in a breath, watching helplessly as his words did nothing, the awful feeling of everything going wrong and they would never make it out of this mess growing hard and vicious in the pit of his stomach.

“Stop,” he choked, but the words died on his tongue as Scott screamed at Virgil and John jumped in between, Gordon hollering from his seat at them both.

He suddenly saw them as they must once have been, lost and alone and grieving a woman he had never known. He didn’t doubt that the last time this had happened, they were teenagers.

What could Alan do? Even when their dad had died, they’d stuck together. Scott had even said so, vowing they wouldn’t fall apart like they had before. Alan had always wondered what he’d meant and now, with a sickening certainty, he knew.

The overlapping voices and whirling fury rushed around him, one second a violent wave and the next a landslide, and it went on and on and it wouldn’t stop, it couldn’t stop, not unless someone gave way and left their ground forfeit.

“STOP IT,” shouted Alan, stamping his foot and to his horror, he found his voice wasn’t only loud, it was burbling with unshed tears.

“Please, just stop,” he croaked, staggering forward. He hardly noticed the deathly silence that followed, or the hands that caught him, then held him close. He only knew that whatever happened now, he was done. Done with the arguments, with the helpless waiting, with watching his brothers slowly kill themselves for someone else’s crimes.

He leant forward, resting his forehead on a warm shoulder, and relished the sudden and blissful stillness in the room. He breathed in deeply and opened his eyes, blinking slowly as he took in the scene.

It was Scott he’d stumbled into, catching him as only Scott knew how to do. He looked like he was at war with himself, trapped between guilt and worry, and as Alan watched, tears began to run silently down his cheeks.

Alan couldn’t remember ever seeing his eldest brother cry before.

Gordon looked equally stricken, eyes darting between everyone in the room as though he no longer knew who was on who’s side. A gentle hand rested on Alan’s back and he jumped.

To his surprise, John was hovering at his elbow, eyes wide and full of guilt of his own. He flushed and drew away at Alan’s stare, withdrawing to the other side of the room.

And Virgil…

Virgil stood frozen, his mouth agape and his complexion white. There was a developing bruise on his cheekbone, as dark as the shadows under his eyes. His skin looked sallow, exhaustion and stress painted as clear as day in the worry lines that marred his brother’s forehead. He glanced away, as though the sight of Alan was too much to bear, his lips moving in silent apology.

Alan knew what he was about to do and leapt forward, catching Virgil’s arm as he turned away.

“Stay,” he pleaded. “All of you.”

“I need to sleep Alan,” said Virgil, wearily. “I can’t do this now.”

“You have to,” he insisted. “You have to stay, you have to listen.”

He took a deep breath, glancing at all of them, sagging and defeated on the kitchen floor, making sure to catch Scott and Gordon’s eye so they knew what he had to say was for them all.

“You have to stop. Now. If you won’t ground yourselves, I’m doing it for you.”

No-one moved.

Alan breathed harshly, his chest heaving as his family digested his proclamation, knowing things were desperate by the way not one of them argued.

He was certain there was some kind of silent conversation happening, and John shifted beside him, but Alan’s eyes were fixed on Virgil.

He nodded slowly, looking dazed and his lips parted as if to speak.

A shrill beeping cut across him and Virgil jumped back, his eyes sliding towards the oven along with the rest of the family.

Gordon stood and hobbled across the room, ignoring Virgil’s dismayed exclamation.

“Oh, nice,” he said peering into the oven with a grin. “Pizza party anyone?”

***

The conversation wasn’t over, was indeed hardly begun, although they all knew how it would end. Still, the evening fell into an old routine, old enough that even John started to relax as squabbles broke out over pizza toppings and snack divisions.

Gordon claimed the crowning glory of an actual couch – “Don’t you know I’m injured, Alan, you go on the floor!” – and was gleefully dictating his movie choice to John, who was in turn swiping back and forth and ignoring him resolutely.

“We’re not watching that,” he said loudly over Gordon’s protests. “It was stupid in the ‘10s and it’s stupid now.”

“But Johnny, sharks! And tornadoes! And I’m stuck here like this all sad and in pain.”

“Great, you can watch it later since you’re not going out for a while.”

Virgil groaned.

“Gordon, it’s been years, stop trying to get us to watch that damned movie.”

“Guys, shush,” said Alan, gently nudging Scott whose breathing had grown slow and even. “I think he’s asleep already.”

Virgil yawned and blinked blearily.

“Told him so,” he muttered, pulling the blanket up to his chin and snuggling down on Alan’s other side. “Gordon, find a compromise.”

They found one in the new remake of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, both John and Gordon happily agreed on Jules Verne and whispering commentary back and forth to each other on whether the movie had done the story or the science justice.

Virgil drifted off soon after, as Captain Nemo proudly showed off his technological marvel to his prisoners, and Alan didn’t follow much else although Gordon and John’s jibes grew steadily louder. He was too busy feeling warm and safe, cocooned as he was by his two eldest brothers, both of whom seemed intent on never letting him go ever again. There was a steady glow inside him, not as wild as a flame but just as precious on a dark night.

He was happy, he decided. If there was such a thing as deciding. And maybe there was, because now that he’d decided, he couldn’t help but feel it, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face.

“What’s got into you?” asked Gordon, eyes dancing in the holo-light, reflecting the shallow turquoise seas of the Mediterranean.

“I’ve missed you, that’s all.”

Gordon levered himself upright, looking intently at Alan as though trying to read something in his eyes that had become overgrown and lost to time.

“It’s going to be okay, Allie,” he said softly. “It’s been a shitty year, but it won’t last.”

“I know,” said Alan, and he did.

John watched them, his expression growing wary.

“You’re not going to hug, are you?”

“Only if you get over here,” said Gordon with a grin. “Hey, this movie stinks. What do you say we put on your favourite show?”

“You want to watch The Code?” asked John in disbelief.

“What?” said Gordon looking confused. “No, Stingray. It’s like a hundred years old because you have the worst taste, but it’s pretty fun. Not scientifically accurate at all, but you never seemed to care.”

“I’ve never seen it.”

“What?” chorused Gordon and Alan, momentarily forgetting their sleeping brothers.

Scott mumbled something in his sleep and they all froze, before he settled again, his face pressed against Alan’s shoulder.

“You’ve made me watch it with you a million times,” whispered Alan. “It’s like… one of my first memories, that fish jumping out of the ocean.”

John shrugged.

“Guess I was in college when I saw it or something.”

“Oh man,” said Gordon, his excitement warring with his hushed tone. “This isn’t gonna screw with the timeline or something is it?”

John levelled him with a stare.

“I’m like… twenty-nine or something,” he said, gesturing at himself. “Consider the timeline screwed.”

Alan snorted, trying to hold back his laughs, and John shot him a smile, evidently trying not to look too pleased.

“Then what are we waiting for,” crowed Gordon, ignoring Alan’s protests to keep it down. “Hop to, Johnny! You’re gonna love this!”

John grabbed the controller, poised to scroll through the catalogue as requested, when the holo beeped loudly, its sound harsh in the dark.

“What’s happening?” said Scott, jolting upright and looking wildly around him. “Is everyone okay?”

“It’s Grandma!” exclaimed Alan, pointed at the flashing framed photograph on their dad’s desk. He shoved Vigil lightly. “Virgil, wake up, it’s Grandma!”

Virgil grunted, drawing the blanket over his head.

“’t’s early,” he mumbled. “Tell her ’m not hav’n br’kf’st…”

Gordon threw a cushion at him.

“Wake up, Virg!”

Scott turned the lights up to full brightness and Virgil groaned and sat upright, glaring at him through squinted eyes.

“I thought we were meant to be asleep.”

“Grandma, wouldn’t call if it weren’t an emergency,” said Scott anxiously. “Hey, Grandma, we hear you, everything okay?”

“Thought we weren’t meant to be doing emergencies either,” muttered Virgil, but Scott ignored him.

The sun had set in Brisbane already, but the harsh lighting in the lab was bright, illuminating every wrinkle and worry line on Grandma Tracy’s skin. Alan didn’t think he’d ever seen his grandma look so worn before. His hand found its way into Virgil’s, who pulled him instinctively into a hug.

“We have an update,” she said. “We thought we were on the right track last week, but I didn’t want to raise your hopes. But I spoke with Dr Roberts half an hour ago and the results seem conclusive.”

She looked at all of them, taking in their appearances one by one.

Scott, the dark circles under his eyes pronounced in the glow of the holo, towering over them all.

Alan, wrapped in his brother’s arms, wild and hopeful.

Virgil, head drooping on Alan’s shoulder, but growing more alert by the second.

Gordon, frozen, his eyes darting between his siblings.

John.

John whose hands were trembling.

John whose eyes were wide and fearful.

John who hadn’t seemed able to breathe since Scott answered the call, frozen like a prey animal under the scrutiny of a predator.

John, who must know what she was here to say, as they all do.

John, so young, with so much life to live and so much to lose.

Grandma Tracy drew her gaze back to Scott.

“We can reverse it,” she said quietly. “The lab will take several months to develop the method, synthesize the agent. But it can be done.”

Cheers erupted in the room; the brothers unable to contain their delight. Alan whooped excitedly, dragging his family in for a hug.

“John’s coming back!” said Gordon happily. “I can’t believe I’ve actually missed him.”

“Does this mean you’re coming home too, Grandma?”

Before she could reply, there was a loud bang and the four brothers sprung apart.

“Oh, shit,” said Gordon, his face paling as he stared at the slammed door.

Scott made to move, but Alan held him back.

“No,” he said, softly. The glowing warmth in his chest sputtered and died. “Let him go.”

#alan tracy #john tracy #scott tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #thunderbirds are go #sometimes i fic #enjoy <3 #i should probably wait until I've do a full read through tomorrow morning when I'm not drugged up on sleeping meds but here we are #I am simply impatient so excuse any errors you spot.....

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your-eyes-can-be-so-cruell · 3 months

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We used to have players in the league who committed to the peroxide hair, week in week out, instead of only doing it for a mid season crisis. We used to be a country. Alan Smith, you will always be famous ❤️

#yes this was inspired by seeing that garnacho had done it again #that boy is talented but he’s mad #any excuse to post Alan #Alan Smith #manchester united #premier league

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fumbles-mcstupid · 2 years

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Hi I love your queue tag 💙

thank you!! it's like my favorite Alan line in JP3 tbh, like thee Alan thesis statement since it's him downplaying how terrified losing sight of Billy made him, which trying to brush off and cover up his feelings only serves to make it MORE obvious how emotionally involved they are, and making it into a joke to be more gentle with Billy after being so alarmed and sharp with him, like, instantly shifting into soft/joke mode once he saw Billy's smile!!!

so yes I'm glad you like it bc it sparks a little bit of that billyalan goodness in my heart every time I use it

#it serves its purpose WELL #anyway thanks for the ask I will indeed take any excuse to ramble on about these two #ask #Alan x Billy #billyalan #Jurassic Park III #JP3 #otp: I rescued your hat

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sophaeros · 8 months

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1,8,9,12 for music ask game :D

it's ok i will answer 8 regardless :3

8. a song that makes you want to lie down and melt into the loving embrace of the floorboards and never get up again

i cannot listen to dandelion wine by gregory alan isakov it genuinely makes me miserable and i dont know why. it fills me with such an intense bone deep longing and nostalgia for something i have never known. love it forever

#ask #smokinnicsuckindic #ask game #sick tunes #gregory alan isakov #i'll take any excuse to talk abt things i like #longtime viewers may have seen me mention this song before. still havent listened to it in like a year maybe i should sometime

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jinhogwarts · 1 year

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at some point in my life i was so obsessed with sweeney todd (the tim burton movie) and hannibal (the nbc tv show) and like. i swear i'm not a cannibal and or a murderer, i'm actually vegetarian pacifist, but like. like. yeah.

#okay to be fair #i was obsessed with any tim burton/johnny depp/helena bonham carter/alan rickman movie #and hannibal is still one of the best tv show imo #so i'm not gonna excuse myself too much for it

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secondhandmckie · 2 years

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// time to get fucky with timelines tbh

#ooc #nightmarecountry #ANY EXCUSE TO MESS WITH ALAN

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iron-niffler · 2 years

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why does this sound like some deep profound quote you find on tumblr

ian malcolm tumblr account when

#excuse me just fangirling over the fifteen second clip they posted of alan ellie and ian just vibing #i cant wait to see them again #if any of them die though i will riot <3

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importantbusinessdinosaur · 10 days

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What do you think of 2000AD comics?

2000AD is great, Judge Dredd is one of those comics you can just get really into at any point in your life, if you ever want a glimpse into UK comics scene it's always worth looking at, especially the Judge Death stories with Brain Bolland art.

Mag-freaking-nificent.

Okay, formalities out of the way? We've said Judge Dredd is cool?

Right.

Sit the fuck down and let me tell you about my favourite 200AD comic.

Let me tell you about:

NEMESIS THE WARLOCK

NEMESIS THE WARLOCK!

FIGHTING THE EVIL OF THE CHIEF TERMINATOR

TORQUEMADA

Look let me get into this. Most people know Kevin O'Neill because of his work on League of Extraordinary Gentlemen with Alan Moore. I know him most for Nemesis.

Nothing comes close to the absolute insanity and creativity of Nemesis the Warlock. It is some of the greatest design work ever done and speaks volumes of the environment it was created in.

Every panel, every scene has new and inventive characters, environment, objects. It doesn't stop surprising you with how it portrays everything. They mess with scale a lot, having huge sculptures of people as buildings or just making people tiny on Moebius inspired planes

Have a look at this shot of Nemesis at his writing desk

There is so much going on there it's fantastic. Anyway. Plot? Plot. Nemesis is the leader of the revolutionary army fighting Torquemada, who wants to exterminate all alien life so that only "pure" humans exist. Sounds pretty straightforward right?

Except Nemesis is a Warlock, he only does things in the most over the top evil way to combat him. And not in a "sacrifice your troops" evil way, but in a "haunt this guy and make him think I'm the devil so he does my bidding" way

(I want a church organ with a "brimstone" intonation)

Nemesis also comes through a matriarchal society, and when they attack his family he does indeed go ballistic. I feel it's important you know what the females of his species look like.

Awesome.

Any way thank you for giving me an excuse to talk about Nemesis, I highly recommend it it's an absolute blast.

#2000ad #nemesis the warlock

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stilestilinski · 2 years

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i just want to start this off by making this clear: i don’t care that byler isn’t canon. i don’t have any serious ships in stranger things and i knew that the duffers would never make it canon in the first place, since our community is almost always put on the back burner for cishet characters/romances. no, my problem is this: what was the point of having will fall in love with mike? narratively speaking, what did will gain from him having feelings for his best friend? what did it showcase? that what, will is gay? most of us who really watched the show knew that already. they’ve hinted at that plenty of times throughout the entire show that will was gay without involving mike at all (the homophobic bullying, his brother telling him not to worry about being normal, being completely uninterested in girls, his alan turning project, being uncomfortable with the girl next to him in class flirting with him, etc). those hints would have been telling enough without having will be in love with mike. and to make matters worse, they decided to have will use his unrequited love for mike, to help him confess his love to his girlfriend, and then have will watch it in person and suffer. what a joke. if they had truly wanted give will some type of romance arc, they easily could (and should) have introduced someone new in s4 that he met in school that he’s crushing on, and that develops throughout the season into s5. after all, they just introduced eddie this season and all of us loved him, so they could have done the same with a crush for will if they really wanted to. but no. instead, they once again have the gay kid pining for his straight best friend (and actively helping said friend with his relationship problems) while all his other friends get to have interesting, well developed, requited, romantic relationships. hell, they could have had the arc just been about will himself figuring out his sexuality, no romantic feelings involved, but they couldn’t even give will the dignity of that either. we had to watch his heart break over and over again throughout the season, for essentially no narrative reason. so i don’t really give a shit that it’s “realistic” for someone in the lgbt+ community to fall in love with a straight person. nothing about this show is “realistic”. it’s literally about a girl who has superpowers, murderous dnd monsters, and an alternate reality in small town indiana. i’m sorry, but “realism” is a bullshit excuse and will deserves more than being just the sad gay boy who falls in unrequited love with his straight best friend. will deserves character development, plot relevance, love, and happiness, and i’m tired of seeing queer suffering in media for the sake of heterosexual characters and their development.

#stranger things #will byers #byler #i literally cringed the whole time like what was the fucking point of that arc??? to help mike out??? give me a break. will deserves better #st spoilers #mimi.txt

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respectthepetty · 3 months

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Pit Babe Jeff x Alan & Kenta x Pete Colors Ep. 11

I'm challenging myself with this show and seeing how good my color skills really are, so I'm doing my normal thing of watching it double-speed on mute, but now, the captions are off also. It's just colors and vibes here.

Disclaimer: I've been listening to Drake's "You Broke My Heart (Fuck My Ex)" on repeat for over two hours, so I'm *in* my feels, and all of them are salty.

Jeffrey, the red? Really?! Is it because you are looking at Barbie suffering and know the truth?! YOU KNOW, MOTHERF*CKER!

Love that Pete's side starts with the blue-est drink because he is a GOOD MAN, while Waymond's side begins with the non-blue side since he cannot pick a side in this color war!

Peter, I know you were a red, but I also notice you in that blue blazer, and the way you look at Waymond. I wish Waymond could see that no matter how much the red may linger, he NEEDS to make a choice. Be blue. Commit to it, Way Way.

Babe is back in black, Alan is blue, and Jeffrey is a LIAR!

"You broke my heart. I had my doubts about you from the start! I swear you're dead to me. Does Mercedes make a hearse? FUCK MY EX!"

All I'm getting out of this is Jeffrey and Charles have a dad and Decanus was the fall guy for this very-dumb-plan. I am not a Dean apologist, but I am very much on his side, without a doubt, no hesitation.

Alan Scale - 12/10. Why?! WHY?! It's not even the damn outfits. IT'S THE RED TUBE OF PRODUCT PLACEMENT Y'ALL ARE SHARING! Are y'all secret agents?! Do y'all have superpowers? What in the hell is y'alls deal?!

KIMBERLY! Not wearing red. I wouldn't either. Fuck them hoes. You're a free man now. I love you and I like you.

Alan, you have never done anything wrong (expect apologize to lying Jeffrey), and you using the blue tube of product placement is healing my soul. I love you. I like you. I respect you.

Pete in the blue shirt too! My holy trinity is coming through. Kimberly, Alan, and Peter, you are good men, and I have never doubted you. You three will save the day like the PowerPuff Girls. Sugar, Spice, and Chemical-X. Beat the hell out of Mojo Jojo Big Red. And in case it's not clear: Alan = Buttercup, Kim = Blossom, Pete = Bubbles

Kentana, why do you have spies at Bubbles' place?! You were spying on him in the woods, and y'all had that moment. Why are you so obsessed with him?

Jeffrey, in the blue. Better be telling Buttercup you're sorry for LYING and that you love him. You will never find a better man. NEVER!

Oh, are you telling him that?!

I think you are! There is pink!

Buttercup, these was cheesy af, and I'm disgusted at myself for smiling when the hearts connected.

POP OFF, SIR! Sex on the blue bed!

Sex in the blue shower!

Cuddles in the blue bathroom! Jeffrey is gonna be blue one way or another, even if Alan has to -redacted- it into him.

Big Red did wear red once?! Color me shocked, but who are these kids in the past? A blue kid and red kid? Which one are you, Kentana?

I love that the blue is *right* there next to Kentana, yet he stays in the black. He is a Black Brooder, but he is blue-adjacent, and I just do not understand why he can't be loyal to the blue instead of the red.

Oh, wait! Was that them as kids?! Pete, in his red pants, emerged from the blue (because he has always been a GOOD MAN!), but . . . that means Kentana was the little blue kid? Kentana, what made you go black? The abuse? The manipulation? You and Barbara are the same text, but different font, and I just need you to be better. Kiss Peter and let him heal you because this is the second time you have pushed him against a wall, and I think you want any excuse to be on him.

Waymond, I'm stressed over your ass. Color-coded boys in love get happy endings, and unlike Kentana who is color coded black and Southwest Airlines and Vegas' Hedgehog who are just pure color chaos, you refuse to pick a damn color. And do you know what that means? No happy endings. You are paired with Peter, and he is trying with you, but it's episode 11 and you haven't solidified your color. Are you black? Are you blue? Are you red? Are you gonna kiss Peter because if not, Kentana sure looks like he will? ARE YOU GOING TO GET A HAPPY ENDING?!

Peter, always in the blue! ALWAYS! Give that blue to Waymond. Give that blue to Kentana. And kiss them! I cannot support Waymond and Kentana's wrongs if they don't kiss a boy (with consent, Waymond!)

KENTANA! In the dark, again. Pete is always coming from the blue, and you are always in the dark. SEE THE LIGHT, KENTANA!

Oh my god! The dark versus light. Y'all were best buddies since childhood. Quit your shit, Kentana. You are a good guy in there. I saw it in the beginning when you looked sad that Barbie was being hit, but I need you to act! I need you to do something, and I'm hoping it won't be sacrificing yourself. Kiss a man! Kiss Kimberly already! You and Waymond are scaring me!

OH SHIT!

Pete. Liked. It.

Waymond. Waymundo. Way. I thought you were supposed to be with Peter and Kimberly and Kentana would be the new Kardashians, but . . . are you going to be the sacrifice? You cannot settle on a color. You haven't kissed a man (with consent). You are drinking all the time. You were taking pills to cope with life. Kiss any man so I can know you are safe.

FUCK!

Way, please touch Whiny Winifred and convince him not to do shoot. Way, please do not take a bullet for Barbara to atone for your sins. Barbie can fix himself if he is shot. Way, please do not do this to me. Please. I'm begging you.

Don't. Fucking. Do. It.

#pit babe #pit babe the series #the colors mean things #and they will guide me the whole way through #color coded boys in love #episode 11 #way is gonna do it #he is gonna break my heart to redeem to himself #It's because I like Nut that I cannot be rationale about this #I'm gonna be stressed all week

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tilebytiles · 2 months

Text

When the Sun Goes Down (Alex Turner x Reader) - Part 1

summary: your favorite barista is ... a vampire?

word count: 5k

warnings: animal death, mild violence

You didn't like going to the café near your flat much. For one, finding the energy to even drag yourself out of bed was difficult most days, but topping that off with interacting with and being surrounded by complete strangers? It was like a circle of Hell reserved for the socially inept and the painfully anxious. Still, you couldn't deny that the barista that made your drink nearly every time you did go there made it worth it.

You were pretty sure his name was Alex; you had never thought to read his name tag properly, since you thought it would be weird if you barreled in, going, "Hey, Alex, get me that mocha latte! And make it with oat milk!" However, the brief glimpses you'd gotten out of the corner of your eye told you his name, if it wasn't Alex, for sure started with an A. Andrew? Anthony? Adam? Aidan? Alan? None of those really fit him, and the first two didn't even seem like they'd fit on his name tag. Alex seemed the most appropriate.

It wasn't like you two had spoken beyond formalities. You came in, exchanged the usual greetings, recited your order, and then he asked for payment and called your name once your coffee was ready. That was the most you ever spoke to one another. You, being so socially awkward that even your therapist cringed on your behalf sometimes, could never work up the courage to go beyond the script you two had developed. You wanted to- he seemed interesting. His hair sat a bit shaggily on his head, getting in his eyes sometimes and only being restrained by the hat all of the baristas had to wear. He had big brown eyes and arguably one of the prettiest smiles you'd ever seen.

The barista that was possibly named Alex had been the subject of a number of artworks, some being simple sketches and some being full-fledged paintings. There had been a couple of times where you'd gone to the café just to study him. You were aware it was all probably quite creepy, but in your defence, he was an easy subject to study and also your favourite. Everyone was made differently, you were well aware, but you didn't think you'd ever seen anyone that looked like him. The fact that he was so unique made you want to devote entire sketchbooks to studies of him. Besides, no one except you ever saw the pages of your sketchbooks or the canvases lying around your flat, so it wasn't like you were trying to get attention from his likeness. It was mostly just for your own enjoyment.

"Y/N?" The sound of your name being called made you jump a bit, and the pen you'd been mindlessly sketching with jutted across the paper awkwardly. You dropped the pen onto your sketchbook and got up from your table, heading to the counter. As you approached, you made sure to read his nametag this time- it was Alex.

You took the portable cup from him, and even with the sleeve it sat in, it still warmed your previously cold hands up. Your name was scrawled on the sleeve in the handwriting you'd come to recognise rather quickly. You smiled at him. "Thank you. You could have just left it on the counter, you know."

He returned your smile and shook his head a little. "Nah, it's alright," he said. "I just don't want a repeat of the time your coffee almost got stolen."

Brief glimpses of Alex trying to get the attention of the customer that had taken your coffee, mistaking your name for hers, without being any louder than he had to flashed through your mind, and you had to stifle a laugh. You'd felt bad for him- you could tell he wasn't the greatest in social situations, either, even as a barista, and since he couldn't really leave his spot behind the counter, he was left awkwardly calling, "Ma'am? Um, ma'am, excuse me- ma'am?" until she finally turned around and realised he was talking to her.

"So," he said, shifting his hat atop his head, "will you ever show me what's in that sketchbook?"

He'd seen you with it before, and he'd asked about it, too. You had been vague every time, too embarrassed by the idea of him opening it just to find dozens of sketches of his face from all angles. There were a few full-body sketches, and you used those to draw out different outfits on him; you wondered what he'd look like in a suit, or clad in leather, or in a cosy jumper. You imagined him in different poses, too; crouching, kneeling, sitting thoughtfully with his head in his hand, leaning against a wall. Some of the sketches had the privilege of being coloured in, but the rest were just line drawings with some shading.

You sighed. "Probably not."

His lower lip jutted out in what you guessed to be a pout. "Why not?"

"It's not very interesting. I don't know why you want to see it."

"Because I'm sure you're a great artist."

You snorted at that. "Just drop it, please."

He didn't. Instead, his pout only seemed to intensify, and his eyes practically glimmered in the light. You couldn't tell if they were just naturally that way, or if he was about to start crying. "Please?"

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to fight his pleading, but it was no use. You groaned and said, "Fine."

His face did a complete 180, and he practically beamed at you. "Thank you."

You quickly looked away before you started staring.

You remained in the café for the rest of the day, something you’d only done once before. It felt a bit strange to watch customers come and go, come and go, come and go, and then just go. About twenty minutes before closing, you began packing up your things to head home. You hadn’t brought much; just your bag, your sketchbook and a few different pens. Your coffee cup had long since been drained, and you made sure to throw it away before heading out the door, a small chime signalling your departure.

You made a swift left and went down the sidewalk, subconsciously avoiding any cracks you encountered. Sometimes, you counted how many steps it took to cross one square, although you weren’t sure why you did it. You weren’t very far from the café, however, when you heard a metallic thumping. The sound made you turn, but when you looked around, you couldn’t immediately see anything wrong. You were about to dismiss it when you heard it again. It was coming from the dumpster by the café.

You knew there was the chance for you to become something out of a horror film; a ruthless killer would jump out from behind the dumpster and stab you to death, then throw your body in, and eventually, you would end up compacted into a trash cube like the ones in Wall-E and no one would ever find your body. Despite that, you approached anyway, albeit rather slowly. You figured if you didn’t rush over, you’d have more time to see if there was a killer waiting with the feasting mice. Your shoes were virtually silent as they moved along the asphalt lot. You heard a faint snapping sound, like bones breaking, which made you cringe.

When you got close enough, you could make out a figure that was crouched down beside the dumpster, turned away from you. You squinted at them and studied their attire … the knot of what you guessed was an apron, pressing into their lower back … an unruly mess of hair that swept against their shoulders … wait. “Alex?”

The figure froze and turned to face you. It was Alex, but something was very, very wrong. There was a dead mouse in his hands, the white fur of its neck stained red with blood. Blood was smeared on his hands and around his lips, and glinting in the light of the nearby street lamp were two perfectly pointy fangs. Your eyes widened, and every synapse in your brain seemed to fire at once, screaming at you in a ghastly choir to get the hell out of there. You remained stuck in the same spot, though, with you and Alex just staring at each other.

You finally opened your mouth to scream, and Alex jumped up, dropping the mouse. “Don’t,” he said in a low voice. The seriousness that coated his features now, creasing his brow and darkening his eyes, scared you so much that your mouth immediately snapped shut. He sighed and looked down at his hands. He moved to wipe them on his apron, then seemed to think better of it and held them awkwardly away from his clothes. “I know this looks bad.”

“Of course it does!” you hissed. “What are you doing?”

“Uh.” He looked off at the street, watching a car as it sped by. He was still tucked away in the shadows of the building, meaning only you could see him. “If I told you,” he said slowly, his gaze sliding back over to meet yours, “you wouldn’t believe me.”

You released something that was between a scoff and a laugh. “And I’m just supposed to pretend I didn’t just see you covered in blood with a dead mouse in your hands?” He nodded slowly. You wanted to smack him. “I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”

He sighed and nodded, looking down at the asphalt. “Fine. I’m a vampire.”

You blinked. “A vampire,” you repeated slowly. “But … I thought vampires killed people.”

“We can. Some do. I don’t.”

“So you feed on the mice instead?”

He nodded. “I don’t feel great doin' it, but it’s the only way I can survive.”

“Right.” You tried to keep your voice level, but you still wanted to scream. You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs and run down the road, flailing your arms, and if you accidentally got hit by a car in the process, would that really be so bad?

“I need you to promise me something.”

Your jaw worked slowly. You wanted to be snarky and demand something in return, but you were too nice to try and blackmail him. “What?”

“You can’t tell anyone.”

“I was totally planning on telling my therapist,” you replied sarcastically.

The joke drew a small chuckle from him, but the hint of a smile that came with it was instantly gone again. He sighed and tilted his head back, looking up at the endless void of stars. “I’m sorry, really. I … I hate when people find out like this.”

That caught your attention. “This has happened before?”

“Not exactly like this, but my, um, my friend, he- he found me with a mouse in his flat. It had gotten caught in one of those wooden mouse traps, and I hadn’t fed in a couple of days by then, and I felt weak, so I took it out and … and then he came in. He was nice about it, but, you know, it still sucks.”

“Was that a pun?”

He blinked and lowered his head to look at you. “You know, I hadn’t even realised when I said it.”

"Right. So ... how long can you go without feeding?"

He looked off towards the road again, seeming to think about it. "A few days at most, maybe. I eat normal food, but if I don't get blood, it's like ... dyin' of dehydration."

That made you wince a little. You'd always heard of how terrible dying of dehydration was, and you felt bad knowing that was basically what he was at risk of all the time. It wasn't like he could go around and kill mice every day, and he seemed reluctant to go after anything else. "Are your friend and I the only people that know?"

He shook his head, still staring at the road. Another car sped by. "My parents know, along with a couple more friends of mine. You're the only stranger that knows."

"Am I really a stranger if you've made my coffee for months?"

That made him smile again, and this time, it stuck around longer than the previous one had. "That's true. I know you hate regular milk, you love lattes, and you never order iced coffee 'cause you're cold all the time."

You were surprised he'd even remembered you nervously rambling about that once. That wasn't important, though. You let out a quiet sigh. "It ... it's getting late. I should head home. Will you ... be alright?"

He finally looked at you again and nodded. "I can get myself cleaned up just fine."

You nodded. "Okay, um ... goodnight, Alex."

"Night, Y/N."

You slowly turned and began to walk back to the sidewalk, your mind still reeling from all the information you'd just received. When you glanced back to see if Alex was still there, he was already gone, and the mouse had been left near the dumpster.

•••••

Lucky for you, you had therapy the next day.

Your leg bounced anxiously as you sat in the waiting room, nestled into the far right side of one of the leather sofas. Your elbow dug into the arm of the sofa, and you had your head in your hand while you stared out the window, observing all the passersby. You saw a man on a bike; a woman with a child; a couple, holding hands as they went; two girls chatting and presumably laughing (you couldn't hear them) that you were 99% certain you went to uni with. All sorts of people passed by the window every time you were here, and it was slowly getting to the point where you could pick out the ones that made this sidewalk part of their regular route.

"Y/N, you can come on in, I'm just gonna pop off to the bathroom first," your therapist said, making you turn your head. You watched as she walked across the waiting room and into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind her with a soft click. Her name was Mary, and she'd been your therapist for the last two years. Initially, you were hesitant and reserved with her, having never done therapy before and being unsure of exactly how much you were supposed to share- revealing personal details about yourself to a complete stranger scared you, anyway, even if they were there to help you. She was understanding, though, and after a couple of fluke sessions where you didn't say much, you finally began to step out of your shell with her. Initially, you'd thought you'd only do it for a few months and then cope with the rest yourself, but it turned out that your brain was like the world's biggest jumble of cords and it would take a lot more than a few months to unravel it. Two years later, and there were still some rather stubborn knots that needed taking care of.

You pushed yourself up off the sofa and walked out of the waiting room, heading down the hall and into the first door on the left. The office was an old house that had been bought and remodelled, meaning that every room had a homely feel to it. Mary's office was no exception; in fact, you were convinced the at-home feel was entirely her idea. There was a sofa pushed up against the wall the door was in with a couple of throw pillows on it, and across from it was Mary's desk. There was also an armchair directly across from the door that she sat in during your sessions; she only sat in her desk chair when she was scheduling your next appointment. There was a window that let you see out onto the street, and a tall plant of some sort beside it; her degrees were framed and hanging up on the wall above her desk; she had a number of pictures, both on the wall, on her desk, and on the bookshelf that was beside the sofa; and in the center of the floor was a fuzzy circle rug that you wanted to run your hands through. You never did, though.

You plopped onto the sofa, sitting in the center this time, and lifted your legs up, crossing them beneath you. You waited a couple of minutes, and then Mary came in, shutting the door behind her with the same gentleness she'd shown the bathroom door. She grabbed her teal-coloured tumbler and sat down in the armchair, smiling at you. "How have you been?"

You thought back to what you'd seen the night before and quickly tried to shove that memory out of the way; you might have joked to Alex about it, but you were absolutely not telling your therapist the barista you had a small crush on was a creature of the night. "I've ... been pretty good," you said slowly.

She rose an eyebrow at your hesitancy, but didn't say anything. "Have you been working on getting out of your flat every day?"

You nodded. "It's helped my mood a lot, surprisingly."

"Well, I wouldn't tell you to do something if I didn't think it would help." She offered you another smile, then asked, "And the nightmares?"

You tensed up a little and looked down at the fuzzy rug, wishing now more than ever that you could lie facedown on it and never get back up. "They've gotten worse recently. I'm not sure why."

"Has anything happened?"

You quickly racked your brain for any potential triggers and slowly shook your head. "Not that I can think of."

"Any additional stress?"

"No."

"Hmm." She sat back in the armchair and took a sip of her drink, glancing out the window. "What are they about?"

There it was. The question you'd been secretly dreading. "It's like ... I'm stuck in a building, and I can't get out."

"Describe the building."

"It was ... it was kind of old looking, at least inside. It reminded me of one of those old Victorian houses. The walls were a dark red, and there weren't many lights. It was like a maze. I kept running through halls and making different turns, but no matter what I did, I couldn't get out."

"And then what?"

"I ran into him again."

"The tall man?"

"Yeah." The man that had been appearing in your nightmares with increased frequency over the last few months or so was only referred to by you and Mary as "the tall man." You couldn't recognise him at all, but every time you saw him, he terrified you. And then you'd wake up. The first time you'd mentioned him to Mary, she grew worried that he was from a traumatic event you'd blocked out. You didn't think he was, but his recurring presence in your sleep still scared you. Sometimes, you wondered if you were just going insane.

Mary sighed. "I still worry it's from trauma, Y/N."

"I don't know," you said. "If it was, I feel like I would have nightmares about the same thing. I don't, though. Every time he shows up, it's in a completely different place."

"Did he say anything this time?" You shook your head. "Right." She looked down at the rug, chewing on the inside of her cheek, and then looked back up at you, managing a small smile. "What about that boy?"

You blinked. "That ... boy?"

"You know! The one from the café? How are things going with him?"

Ah. Alex. "Well, I mean, he makes my coffee. Uh ... he asked about my sketchbook yesterday."

"And what did you say?"

"I said no."

"Y/N!"

"What? I don't need him thinking I'm a creep!"

"I think he would be flattered," she said with a shrug. "It's not every day that someone gets whole sketchbook pages dedicated to them."

You looked away as your cheeks flushed. You had to admit, you'd had that exact line of thinking before, but you could never convince yourself of it. You got the feeling that the flattery would take the backseat in comparison to the creepiness of it all. It felt stupid and weird to even have a crush on him in the first place (you were barely willing to admit you had a crush on him at all); you two only spoke to each other because you had to. If anything, maybe he found you annoying. Maybe he didn't like how often you'd started coming in accordance with Mary's "get out of the flat" regime. Maybe he hated making your coffee. Maybe he hated you. Now that you knew he was a vampire, maybe he'd break his no-humans rule and kill you and suck all the blood from your body until you were nothing but a lifeless husk.

"Earth to Y/N."

"Huh?" You looked at Mary, who just smiled and shook her head. "Sorry, did you say something?"

"You zoned out on me. I was starting to think you'd never come back into orbit."

"Oh ... sorry."

She shook her head again. "It's fine. I was just saying that I think you should try and talk to that boy more often."

"But I only ever see him at the café."

"Then work out a way to meet up with him outside of work."

"I don't know."

"You need the social interaction. Your resolution this year was to be less of a hermit, right? You can't really do that if you don't talk to anyone."

You knew she was right. She tended to be. "Fine," you mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'll talk to him the next time I see him. But what should I say?"

"Try to find common ground. Figure out his interests and go from there."

The rest of your session went about as smoothly as any therapy session could go, and your next appointment was exactly three weeks out. Although you were tempted to just head straight home, you decided to finally bite the bullet and get the conversation with Alex over with. You weren't sure how stable any friendship you might form with him could be, considering you knew his darkest secret before you knew his last name, but you tried to remain optimistic. You took the bus to the stop that was closest to the café and forced yourself to take a couple of deep breaths to keep calm before walking inside.

The café wasn’t that busy, which immediately made the tension in your shoulders lessen. There were a few people already in line, though, so you slowly made your way to the counter, suddenly finding it impossible to stand still. Your eyes darted to every crevice of the café they could possibly reach, although you avoided looking at any faces on the off chance someone would look at you at the same time and you’d have to awkwardly look away. When it was finally your turn, Alex looked up from the till, his face falling slightly. “Y/N. What can I get you today?”

Fuck. He was already annoyed that he had to deal with you after last night. “Uh, just the usual, please.”

“Will that be all?”

Yes. “No.” What? “Uh, I wanted to ask, um …” He stared at you, waiting for you to finish, and you blurted out, “What do you like?” Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Maybe today was the day you’d run into traffic.

His brows knitted together as he seemed to process what you’d just said. You wanted to sink into the floor. “You wanna know what I like?” he asked slowly. You nodded. “Alright, well, uh, I think the croissants are pretty … swell. I like the cakes, uh-“

“No,” you interrupted, “that’s not what I meant. I meant, like … interests.”

You watched as realisation dawned on his face, his brows raising and his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape. “I like music. I like, uh, readin’ books. Um … I write sometimes, too, although I think I’m shite at it. I like those old black and white films. Why are you askin’?”

“I was going to see if we could be friends, maybe,” you mumbled, looking down at the counter. This was all suddenly incredibly embarrassing. You felt like a child again, and you absolutely despised it.

“Oh.” You looked back up at him, rather hesitantly, expecting him to look annoyed or disgusted. Instead, he was smiling. It was faint, but it was still there. “We can be friends, Y/N. You coulda just started with that, though.”

“Al, you better not be flirtin’ with the customers.” The sound of someone else’s voice startled the both of you, and you both looked at the barista that was currently frothing milk. His name tag said Miles, if you were reading it right.

“I’m not,” Alex said sharply, glaring at him. Miles just grinned and winked at you before turning his attention back to the device he stood in front of. Alex rolled his eyes and turned to face you again. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” you said, although the implication of Miles’ wink that Alex could flirt with you made your cheeks go red. “Um, is it alright if I give you my number?”

•••••

Alex stretched himself out on the grass, letting out something between a groan and a sigh. A beam of sunlight filtered through the branches of the tree you were underneath, casting him in an otherworldly glow and turning his irises into pools of honey behind his sunglasses. "God, I love sunny days," he sighed.

It was the next day, and after the two of you had exchanged numbers, Alex had suggested hanging out since he didn't have work that day. It wasn't like you had anything else to do besides rotting away in your flat, so you agreed. Another day of getting outside meant another sticker on your calendar. February was almost complete. You'd stopped by the café beforehand anyway, though, just to get coffee and a snack. You were sipping at your perfectly toasty mocha latte, and Alex had already managed to down half of his black coffee.

He looked up at you as you bit into your cookie, catching the crumbs with the white paper bag your treats had been slipped into. He didn't say anything for a few moments, just watched you. Then he asked, "You haven't told anyone, have you?"

You lowered the cookie back into the bag. "No," you said. "I saw my therapist yesterday, funnily enough, but I kept my mouth shut."

Amusement danced in his eyes as he remembered your remark. "I'm sorry you have to deal with this now."

You shrugged a little. "It's fine. Adds a bit of excitement to my life." Now it was your turn to eye him. "If you're a vampire, how come you're not a pile of ashes right now?"

He barked out a laugh at that. You quite liked the way his laugh sounded. "Honestly, I was scared to go outside when I got turned, but when I finally did, I was ... fine. I guess it's 'cause I'm not a purebred or anything."

"Oh. So what vampire perks do you get?"

"Well, I can run really fast, although I don't really use that one 'cause I don't run anywhere. I can see in the dark. Erm ... I can sunbathe and not get burnt?"

It was your turn to laugh. "No wonder you're so pale."

"My skin glistens. Like I'm covered in a bunch of tiny crystals."

You set the paper bag down in the grass, deciding to forget about your cookie for now. "Does all the regular stuff still hurt you?"

"Yeah. I mean, I haven't tested a stake to the heart, and I don't plan to, but everythin' else ..."

"Do you not age anymore?"

He shook his head. "I mean, it's hard to say. You don't change much in your twenties, I don't think. But after I got turned, I just ... knew. It was a weird feeling. It still is."

That made you frown a little. You were beginning to wonder if he even enjoyed being a vampire. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that you were turned against your will."

He nodded slowly, turning his head ever so slightly to stare up past the branches, watching the clouds as they drifted by. "It was over a year ago. There was ... there was this man in my dreams." His hands, which had been supporting his head, were now waving around in the air, adding gestures to his words. "Every time I saw him, it freaked me out, although I didn't understand why. It was like seein' him triggered somethin', and I'd immediately wake up. It went on for a few months, and then one night, when I was walking home from work, someone jumped out of an alley and knocked me out. I don't remember anything that happened afterwards, but when I woke up, I had the strangest craving for blood."

Although his story did make you sad, your mind immediately latched onto one detail in particular. "Wait, you saw a man in your dreams?"

"Yeah, he was a fuckin' creep. Dunno who he was."

"Was he tall and wearing a black cloak with his hair gelled back?"

"Yeah." He looked back at you, his brows furrowing. "What are you gettin' at, Y/N?"

"I ..." You gulped. "I've been seeing that man in my dreams since November."

Slowly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, still staring at you. If you looked hard enough, behind those sunglasses, you were pretty sure there was a hint of fear in his eyes. "November?"

You nodded. "I didn't know what to think of it, and my therapist thought that maybe it was related to trauma, and-"

"Y/N," he interrupted, his voice much graver than it'd ever been, "you're not safe. They're gonna come for you."

•••••

tags: @elexnorislingtxn / @edandmollydeservebetter / @sagegreensimmr / @billyseye / @supernaturalandpain / @not-a-big-slay

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #humbug #humbug era #arctic monkeys #fanfic #alex turner x you #alex turner x y/n

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