#and my sister has the fucking nerve to start cracking jokes about a fucking shooting at a synagogue.

[houseofwolvess]

im so fucking ashamed of my sister

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home — Chapter One: Flightless Bird, American Mouth

a/n: I've been working on this story for mooonths now and I'm so excited to finally share it with the world! It's heavily inspired by Harry's Behind the Album mini doc, except I changed the setting to Hawai'i because I've personally spent some time there and as they say, write what you know! YBMH takes place in the period between One Direction's hiatus and Harry's first album/tour, but with that being said, this is entirely a work of fiction and some events don't follow the true timeline. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my little story, I hope you love it as much as I do! It will be updated every Friday at 5 PM PST. My inbox is open, so feel free to talk to me once you've finished reading! I'd love to hear from you :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 5.5k

May, 2016

Harry watches LAX get smaller through the airplane window and visualizes all of his worries stuck at the terminal gate, their magnitude also diminishing as he takes flight. He sinks lower in his seat and skims through playlists on his phone when a nagging feeling at the back of his mind pulls his attention away from the screen. Looking up from the song choices, he spots a cell phone quickly lowered from his line of vision and a girl with flushed cheeks who quickly averts her gaze. Harry shoots a tight-lipped smile in her direction and goes back to his phone with a sigh. The days when he could roam the streets freely without fear of recognition—or worse, harassment—feel like an entirely different lifetime. He sometimes imagines that he’ll wake up back in his childhood bed as if the past five years had all been a dream, but he never does. In fact, his privacy and anonymity seem to dwindle with each minute of radio play that One Direction receives. It’s a bittersweet pill to swallow, but one he hopes will go down easier with some time in the Hawaiian sun.

His close friend and new manager, Jeff Azoff, had suggested the vacation as soon as the band privately agreed to take a hiatus.

“You’ll go home for a few weeks,” his voice had crackled through the speakers of Harry’s phone. “Visit your mom and Gem, lay low for a while until the smoke blows over,”

Harry mulled it over in his mind, eyes flickering over the rolling landscape outside of the tour bus window.

“Then what?”

“Then you go for a little vacation. The label offered to cover a house in Hawaii so you can start working on the album,”

“Alone?”

Jeff chuckled lightly on the other end before responding. “I mean, if that’s what you want,”

“No,” Harry corrected. “You and Tom should come. Mitch and Bhasker, too,”

“The dream team,”

“And there’ll be a studio there?”

“Yes,” Jeff started, almost hesitant. “But I don’t want you to think about that too much,”

“But you said the label—"

“I also said vacation. Look, Rob said ‘it will all happen in due time,' did he not?”

Harry twisted the rose ring around his finger, tracing over the silver petals and thinking back to his conversation with the CEO of Sony Music, Rob Stringer. Upon the proposal of his debut solo album, Rob had told him that the most important ingredient for a successful debut would be patience. The singer had agreed in the moment, but every day not spent in the studio felt like a test he hadn’t studied hard enough for.

“Yeah.”

“So you take the free vacation,” Jeff suggested. “You go out, live, get some writing material. Maybe mess around with some tunes. And then we come back to L.A. and get to work. But until then, I just want you to focus on taking it easy.”

So take it easy he had. Or at least he had tried to when he was back home in England. Harry quickly grew restless after what felt like the millionth awkward conversation with past friends and acquaintances, all of which eventually led to the topic of One Direction and it’s unexpected hiatus. After one month at home, his mind and journal were full of ideas for songs, things that he wanted to say before he lost his nerve. One night as he tossed and turned in bed, he shot Jeff a text, just two words that would kick off a three month getaway to the Big Island of Hawai'i:

I’m ready.

********

“Sounds great, I'll go put in your order.” Alani offers sweetly, trying not to overdo it with the customer service voice. After waiting on the family at her designated table, she heads back to the kitchen and finds her younger sister, Pua, crouched in the corner taking what appears to be a serious phone call.

“I don’t know, I just saw it!” Her sister cries in a hushed tone. “Where do you think he’s going?”

“Is everything okay?” Alani cuts in with concern.

Pua whispers into the speaker before bringing the phone to her shoulder.

“Harry Styles was just spotted on a plane this morning,”

“Who?”

“The guy from One Direction,” her sister explains with a hint of irritation in her voice. “The band who sings that song you secretly like, ‘Fireproof,'”

Alani vaguely recalls the melody, but she waits expectantly for Pua to elaborate. “And this is news because…”

“Because the band just broke up, so where could he possibly be going?”

"The unemployment office?”

Pua rolls her eyes and returns to her phone call while Alani envelops her in a tight hug.

“I’m just kidding!” Alani apologizes, squeezing tighter despite her sister’s attempts to break free. “I’m sure he’ll be living off of royalty checks until he’s, like, eighty,”

“Get off me, freak!” Pua cries out, finally breaking the embrace.

Alani clutches her chest and pulls out an invisible knife. “Ouch. I’m telling Harry you said that,”

“This is exactly why I don’t tell you things.” the younger sister huffs, storming out of the kitchen through the employee entrance where Alani’s best friend, Maleah, has just arrived.

“Looks like someone forgot to eat their Cheerios today,” she remarks, tying her curls into a high ponytail.

Alani shrugs and leans against the counter. “She’s going through something. Just discovered that boys in pop bands are, in fact, just regular boys.”

“Poor thing,” Maleah frowns. “We all have to learn eventually.”

********

The sky is a blend of cotton candy pink and burnt orange when Alani returns home from the café with a strawberry smoothie in tow. She empties the mailbox and sorts through the various bills and advertisements, but her stomach drops when she sees a familiar return address label. After a quick greeting to her excited dog who waits at the door, Alani bolts up the stairs and quietly shuts the bedroom door behind her. Breathe, she reminds herself before tearing into the envelope and discarding it onto the wooden floor.

Dear Ms. Hale,

We are very grateful to have received your submission to Rolling Stone magazine. However, we regret to inform you—

She doesn’t read the rest, slumping to the floor in defeat. The sixth rejection letter from Rolling Stone lies crumpled at Alani’s feet and she kicks it across the room with a frustrated grunt. She had worked for over two months perfecting her analysis of Joni Mitchell’s Big Yellow Taxi and its allusions to the environmental impact of urban development in Hawaii. As part of her initial research, Alani had even traveled to both the Royal Hawaiian hotel in Honolulu, which is the famous Pink Hotel mentioned in the song, and Foster Botanical Garden that Mitchell referred to as “the tree museum.” She was certain that her effort and persistence would result in at least a consideration. The second third time's the charm! Maleah had joked watching Alani submit the piece. Six articles in the span of two years, each one facing the same rejection despite the increased effort Alani had put in over time. The fact that the rejection letter hadn’t changed over the course of the two years brings an incredulous smile to her face, and her stomach turns when she considers that the editors probably hadn’t even read her work, anyway. All that effort, she thinks to herself, all that time, for nothing.

“It will take time,” her favorite professor, Dr. Hudson, had reassured her three months after the Joni Mitchell article was submitted. “Every great writer faced countless rejection until that one piece. Yours will come. Keep your eyes open and your pen ready.”

Alani sighs and lifts herself off the floor, choosing to crawl into her unmade bed instead of slumping onto the hardwood. She hears a soft scratching at the door before her King Charles Spaniel, Freddie, pads into the room.

“Come here, bubs,” Alani whispers. He obeys and burrows into the duvet, giving her temple a gentle lick before nuzzling into the nape of her neck.

“You still love me, right?” she asks, voice cracking. “Even if I’m a failure?”

Freddie sniffs her ear in response.

********

“Right,” Harry says, his tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he reads the map. “No, left, sorry,”

“Do you actually know how to read a map?” Jeff teases, correcting the turn.

Harry pouts in response, his brows furrowing. “In my defense, we’re literally in the middle of fucking nowhere,”

“There are worse places to be,” Mitch pipes up from the back seat. “England, for example, where they say things like ‘litchrally’,”

“Very well said, Mitchell,” Jeff Bhasker adds with a fake British accent of his own.

Harry turns to his friends in the back seat with a finger pointed like an agitated mother. “If you lot don’t shut up, I’m gonna lead us to a volcano and push you in,”

“Where are we even going? I forgot,” Tom complains.

“To get food,” his manager responds from the driver’s seat. “I think,”

“Why can’t we just stop there?” Mitch asks pointing to a café pulling up on their right.

Jeff merges into the turning lane quickly without a second thought. “Good enough for me, I’m starving.”

“Sorry, H.” Mitch pats his friend on the shoulder.

Harry scoffs. “You’re the one who wanted poke.”

The Aloha Nui Loa Café is much more spacious than the exterior suggests, yet it still feels cozy. The walls are painted sage green and adorned with various local art pieces, as described by the plaques that accompany them. A skylight fills the center of the room with plenty of warm lighting, leaving the space along the walls in a bit more shade for an intimate feel. In one corner, a hanging disco ball leaves freckles of sparkling light along the walls where the sunlight hits, making the whole image very idyllic in Harry’s mind. As if he couldn’t enjoy the setting more, he hears the beginning of an Otis Redding song that he’s had stuck in his head drift through the restaurant speakers.

“Welcome in!” a voice calls, which pulls him from his survey of the room. His head whips to the source—a girl around his age with wavy, dark hair and honey skin. “For here or to go?”

Harry takes a hesitant step up to the counter. “For here,”

She smiles warmly and pulls some menus from under the counter. “How many in your party?”

“Five.”

“Great, follow me.”

Harry and his friends follow the waitress to the corner of the room under the disco ball and take their seats at the round table.

“My name is Alani,” she introduces herself, setting the menus down. “I’ll be serving you today. Can I get you started with some drinks?”

Harry continues scanning the restaurant while his group orders. His eyes land on the shirt that Alani is wearing, a white tee with the words “Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey” in blue lettering that surrounds a picture of a cartoon bee.

“Harry,” Jeff says gently, catching his drifting attention.

The singer turns to his manager, who nods to Alani waiting with a pen pressed to her notepad. Harry feels a rush of embarrassment creep across his cheeks and he clears his throat to cover it.

“Just water,” he says, eyes glued to the menu. “Thanks.”

“You got it.” Alani nods, flashing a toothy grin at the rest of the group before turning back to the kitchen. Harry. Her mind repeats, finding a hint of familiarity, though she doesn’t know why.

When Alani arrives at the drink station, she finds her sister staring at her, mouth agape, while Maleah unsuccessfully conceals her laughter.

“What?” she questions, checking herself for any embarrassing stains or smells.

“You were—and he—” Pua stammers. “He was—and then he—”

“That’s Harry Styles,” Maleah translates, her voice hushed as she peers over her friend's shoulder.

Alani turns to steal a glance at the table she just seated, but Pua and Maleah latch onto her and shake their heads frantically.

“Don’t look!” her sister hisses.

Alani smirks, amused at their reactions. “No shit. That’s One Direction?”

Maleah snorts, clasping a hand over her mouth as Pua huffs. “No, dumbass! It’s just Harry. I don’t know who the other guys are,”

“But the blonde guy? That’s not—?”

“No!” Pua and Maleah giggle in unison.

“Okay, geez,” Alani relents. She manages to steal a quick glance at the table over her shoulder, immediately searching for Harry. Her eyes scan over the long, curly hair kept out of his face by a pair of white sunglasses that she had seen on Kurt Cobain once. All of his features are sharp and striking, from his pointed nose and defined jawline to the bright blue eyes. Or maybe they were grey? Alani wonders, trying to remember the exact shade. He doesn’t look anything like the fresh-faced teeny bopper she’d had in mind, the one from a music video her sister had shown her a long time ago. She would have never guessed that the What Makes You Beautiful singer had so much dark ink trailing down his bicep and forearm, though her knowledge of One Direction was very limited.

“What did he order?” Pua questions, her eyes wide.

Alani quickly snaps back to reality and resumes filling the drinks. “A water,”

“Oh my god,” Maleah swoons. “I’m never drinking anything else ever again,”

“I didn’t even know you liked him,” Alani teases with an eyebrow raised.

Maleah sneaks another peek at the table and catches her lower lip between her teeth. “I mean, I didn’t really think so either but look at him. What a fucking dream,”

Harry was objectively handsome, this Alani could admit, but she personally didn’t see the appeal and had a strong feeling that he was just like every other male celebrity. The fact that he hadn’t even bothered to make eye contact with her only served as further proof of what she knew to be true.

“Okay, well, your dreamboat is waiting for his water. So excuse me,” Alani winks, making her way back to the table.

The singer spots Alani returning out of the corner of his eye and the sight of her causes a strange flutter in the pit of his stomach that makes him want to duck for cover. Instead, he pulls his phone from his back pocket and pretends to be occupied with something on the screen.

“Okay,” she greets, setting the drink tray down. “I have a Blue Hawaii, a Mango Mama, two Loco Cocos, and a water,”

The group graciously accepts their drinks with a chorus of “thank you," but the only one under Alani’s scrutiny is Harry. He still doesn’t meet her almond eyes, and though she figured he wouldn’t, she can’t help the inkling of disappointment that washes over her. After taking their meal orders, Alani heads back to the kitchen, checking on her other customers along the way. Harry’s eyes follow her and he observes the way customers light up at her presence, indulging her conversation with laughter. He watches as she lingers by the jukebox in one corner of the room, a detail he had missed in his initial scan, and waits anxiously to see what song she chooses. Baby I’m-a Want You begins softly and Harry feels the corner of his lip curl ever so slightly. Good choice, he thinks.

********

“He’s still here,” Pua muses, peering through the tiny window in the kitchen door. It had been nearly two hours and the five men were still seated around their table cracking jokes and doing a lot of talking with their hands.

Alani doesn’t look up from her bowl of sliced kiwis, offering a hum in response. “And what do you want me to do about that?”

“Nothing,” Pua shoots back. “Don’t bother him,”

“What kind of girls do you think he’s into?” Maleah asks, attempting to peek through the window.

Alani shrugs, bored of the conversation and of thinking about Harry. “I don’t know, but I’ll bet he’s a real sucker for the ones who stalk him while he’s eating,”

“How does he make eating a salad look hot?”

“Can we talk about something else now?” Alani whines, poking holes in a lone kiwi with her fork.

Pua tosses a wet dish rag in her sister’s direction and cheers when it lands in her face. “Go see if he wants more water, he looks thirsty.”

“I already refilled it,” Alani defends. “Twenty minutes ago. I’ve refilled it a hundred times, I’m surprised he hasn’t peed his pants.”

I’m gonna piss myself. Harry thinks, his right leg bouncing to distract himself. He really wasn’t all that thirsty, but he couldn’t stop himself from finishing each glass of water that Alani placed in front of him. He really wasn’t all that thirsty, but he couldn’t stop himself from finishing each glass of water that Alani placed in front of him. Like clockwork, she would return to fill his glass almost as soon as the last drop had been drained, and so what began as a little experiment slowly turned into a bladder hazard. But if the trend was to be trusted, she would be back any minute and he wasn’t going to miss it; afterall, there were only so many ways to casually linger in a small café without making it weird. Unable to bear it any longer, he heads to the restroom and hopes that Alani doesn’t clear their table before he has a chance to see her again.

Harry pads down the back hallway with his eyes cast down at the floor, which proves to be a mistake when he walks directly into another person.

“Sorry!” they both apologize quickly, Harry’s palm taking purchase on the other person’s upper arm.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” he offers, finally meeting the dark, mocha eyes already looking back at him.

Alani presses her lips into a tight smile. “Me either,”

Harry’s heartbeat picks up when he realizes it’s her, and he isn’t aware of how close they’re standing until he detects the faint scent of kiwi on her breath. He takes a step back and rakes a hand through his hair.

“So I guess I’ll just—”

“Yeah, sure.”

Green. Alani notes to herself. His eyes are green.

********

Shortly after Harry returned from the restroom, him and his friends settled their bill and headed out. Alani cleared their table and her eyes nearly fell out of her head when she saw the hefty tip left behind. The word mahalo was also left behind on the receipt, underlined twice, and she wondered if it was his handwriting.

Later that night, she settled into bed with her laptop and hesitantly typed his name into Google. As she expected, countless articles about the split of One Direction emerged, most of them speculating what was next for each member. To her surprise, however, Harry’s name seemed to be mentioned more than his fellow bandmates as various sources labeled him “the next Justin Timberlake” and rising star of the group. Upon further investigation, she learned that the demand for information about the elusive Harry Styles was high, especially concerning any possible solo music. No news had yet been confirmed by Styles himself, nor anyone claiming to represent him, but she still wondered if his presence in Hawaii had anything to do with a possible solo project. Almost as soon as she thought it, Alani dismissed the theory in favor of the idea that he was most likely just taking a vacation. And from the buzz that she saw surrounding the news about One Direction, she couldn’t blame him.

The more Alani read, the more she wanted to know, and something deep down told her that his was a story worth telling. Of course, the only problem was that she had hardly talked to him, and there were only so many things she could say about the fifteen glasses of water he downed. There was no way of knowing if she would ever see him again, either, or if he was merely stopping in Hilo on his way to another island or somewhere else entirely. Alani sighed, thinking back to her most recent rejection from Rolling Stone. She knew that there was no possible way she would ever see or talk to Harry ever again, and even if she did, why would he bare his entire soul to a stranger? Still, she let her mind wander through the possibility.

Dear Ms. Hale, the letter would read, we are very grateful to have received your submission to Rolling Stone magazine and are pleased to inform you that your piece on Harry Styles will be featured in next month’s issue. Additionally, we would be honored to have you on staff, effective immediately.

It was far-fetched, Alani knew this, but she dozed off that night with endless ideas swimming in her head.

********

By the third day after his visit, the only trace of Harry is in Alani’s search history. She would have completely forgotten about him if it weren’t for her sister’s constant reminiscing and multiple attempts to rename the house salad to the “Harry Special.” As a result, a part of Alani’s thoughts periodically linger back to that day and the subsequent hours spent on Google that she’d rationalized as research instead of stalking. Somehow the knowledge that she’ll never see him again only adds fuel to the questions still burning in her mind, but a customer clearing their throat while she sorts menus below the hostess podium interrupts her thoughts.

“Welcome in!” She calls, standing. “What can I—”

She stops in her tracks, unable to believe her eyes. Harry blinks and waits for her to continue.

“What can I get started for you?” Alani tries again, hoping that he hadn’t noticed her shock. Luckily for her, Harry had been too focused on choosing his next words to register her mistake.

“What’s in the Honu smoothie?” he asks, mentally kicking himself for asking such a stupid question when the menu just inches above her head clearly spells it out.

Alani hums, thinking back to the times she had made the smoothie herself. “Kiwis, spinach, mango, avocado, and a hint of lime,”

“I’ll take one of those,” Harry says, reaching for his wallet.

Alani punches in the order with trembling fingers and nods. “For here or to go?”

“To go,”

Disappointment fills her chest. Sure, she hadn’t planned on seeing him ever again, but the fact that she did felt like a sign. If she wanted to take the chance, she’d have to do it fast.

“Anything else?” she asks, weighing her options while he skims the menu.

“No thanks.”

Alani makes the smoothie quickly, head spinning. She had spent most of the night after their initial meeting planning out exactly the type of questions she hoped to ask him and what kind of article she would write. She was used to writing about what she knew—artists and music she’d admired for years— but she figured that starting fresh with someone she hardly knew would be a good challenge. Not to mention that it seemed like just the thing Rolling Stone would jump for. Alani finally works up the courage as she finishes his smoothie, but when she returns to hand it to him and hopefully strike up a conversation, his ear is pressed to his cell phone. She holds out the drink and he graciously accepts, giving her a small nod as a “thank you” and rushing out of the restaurant.

Two days later he returns and is seated at the counter, typing away on his phone. Alani feels both a rush of optimism and annoyance at the universe for dangling his presence so unexpectedly. She starts heading over to him, but Maleah cuts in.

“Trade me?” she proposes, eyes wide.

Alani blinks. “Oh, I would but I—”

“Please,” her best friend pouts. “I’m leaving to see my grandparents in stupid California for two months. Who knows when I’ll get the chance to see him again?”

Alani sighs, but gives in, reluctantly exchanging Harry for the family of four seated by the window. A strange feeling settles into the pit of his stomach when he sees that she heads in the opposite direction after a hushed conversation with another waitress. He doesn’t know why she traded him for a different customer, but he takes the hint.

A week goes by without another sighting of Harry and Alani has permanently taken on the role of greeting hostess in hopes of seeing him again. Her heartbeat temporarily speeds up when she sees a long haired customer approach the door, but her spirits quickly fall when the face doesn’t match his.

Another week brings another disappointing realization that Harry might be gone for good. One rainy morning when the restaurant is quiet and only two customers huddle together in a booth near the back, Alani hunches over the hostess podium and doodles on a stray receipt— a sunflower, a crescent moon, and two hearts. The bell above the door jingles but she doesn’t look up, too absorbed in her scribbles.

“Do you serve coffee?”

The familiar accented voice stops Alani’s pen dead in its tracks. She lifts her eyes first to confirm, and then straightens up when she sees that her ears haven’t deceived her.

“Yes,” she swallows.

“Great. I’ll take it to go,”

She slightly deflates, but Harry thinks he’s reading too much into it.

“Actually,” he corrects anyway, just in case he isn’t. “I think I’ll stay for a while,”

Alani flashes a warm smile and nods in the direction of the counter. “Right this way,”

Harry sheds his windbreaker onto the back of the seat, revealing a black and white Rolling Stones t-shirt that makes Alani’s blood pressure rise. A sign, she thinks.

“What do you want in your coffee?” she questions carefully.

“Nothing,” he responds, shaking out his damp hair gently. “Or actually, uh, butter...if you have some,”

Alani blinks, not sure if she’d heard correctly or if there had been some transatlantic miscommunication.

“Butter?”

“Yeah,”

“Like the—”

“Spread, yeah,” Harry confirms. “It’s weird, I know,”

She lets out a light-hearted laugh and nods. “It’s a...unique request,”

“I thought the same thing at first,” Harry confides. “It’s not bad, actually. But maybe I’ve just been in L.A. for too long.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

She offers a polite smile and heads to the kitchen where the cook and two other waiters talk amongst each other. Alani is grateful that the restaurant is slow this morning because she knows that it means minimal interruptions to her time with Harry. To ensure this, though, she asks one of the other waiters to cover the podium and returns to Harry with his coffee.

“One butter coffee, free of judgement,” the waitress announces, setting it down.

Harry grins softly, stirring the drink with the spoon Alani provided. “You can judge, it’s alright,”

“I just wanna know why,”

The coffee had been part of a fad diet while on tour in order to boost Harry’s energy on stage and stay trim for the hundreds of photo-ops he would be a part of. He doesn’t know how to communicate all of this to Alani, however, not sure how much she knows about that part of him, so he shrugs and tells a simplified version of the truth.

“I read about this trend a while back, it's called bulletproof coffee. Supposed to get your energy up and I needed it for my job,”

“Which is…” Alani trails off, downplaying the knowledge that she had acquired from Google.

“I make music,” is all Harry says and he takes a sip of the drink to avoid elaborating.

“Anything I would have heard?”

He swallows hard and listens to the faint rumbling of thunder outside before replying. “Possibly,”

“Try me,” Alani challenges.

He narrows his eyes and takes another sip of coffee. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself first?”

“What do you wanna know?”

Everything, Harry responds internally, though he reigns it in. “How you got into waitressing,”

Alani sighs, resting her elbows on the counter across from him. “There’s not much to tell, it’s a family business. What I really wanna do is write,”

“Music?”

“Articles. I’m studying Journalism at UH,”

Harry hums in response, filing the detail away in the back of his mind. “Sounds interesting. You ever publish anything?”

“Not yet,” Alani shakes her head gently, toying with the sleeves of her green University of Hawaii crewneck. “Hopefully soon, though,”

Harry racks his brain for something else to say, but before he can, Alani speaks up again.

“Is it my turn to ask something now?”

He offers a curt nod and stirs his coffee.

“What kind of music do you write?”

Harry chooses to be vague again. “Different stuff. Pop, usually. Been messing with some classic rock, though,”

“Explains the shirt,”

He peers down at the design on his tee and agrees. “Yeah, I guess so,”

“Do you like it?” Alani asks, her eyes begging to make contact with his again. “Writing music, I mean,”

“Yeah,” Harry confirms, tapping his spoon against the rim of the mug. “I really do,”

Alani’s heart pounds. This is her chance, a moment to finally secure her breakthrough piece. She doesn’t know how to approach it, so she opts to dive right in without looking back. The worst he can say is no.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“That’s cheating,” Harry teases lightly. “It's my turn,”

She pouts playfully, but obliges. “Fire away,”

Harry doesn’t know which question to ask first, but when he glances down at the crescent moon inked on her wrist, he decides to start there.

“What’s with the moon tattoo?”

Alani isn’t sure what she expected him to ask and wonders what purpose such a detail could possibly serve him, but she answers anyway.

“Oh, well,” she begins, tracing her index finger over the outline. “It’s kinda the meaning of my full name. It’s Mahealani, Hawaiian for ‘heavenly moon,'”

Fitting, Harry comments to himself. Every detail he learns about her makes him want to learn that much more, from her favorite foods to the last thing she thinks about before falling asleep. Studying her expectant eyes, he suddenly remembers that it’s his turn to respond.

“That’s cool,” is all he says.

Alani doesn’t know what to make of the faraway look in his eye, but she decides to pose her most burning question while he appears to be in good spirits.

“I know this is gonna sound totally out of the blue,” she starts, working past the lump in her throat. “But when you mentioned how you write music, I was just reminded of this assignment I’m working on in my class,”

Harry waits for her to continue, nursing his now lukewarm coffee.

“I’m supposed to write a piece about someone who I don’t know that well,” she continues. “You know, to practice our interviewing skills. And, well, I was just kind of wondering if you might be interested in helping me out—being the subject, I mean,”

Alani had every intention of telling Harry the truth, about how she really planned to submit the article to Rolling Stone in hopes of securing an internship before her college graduation next Spring. But as she started speaking, she quickly realized how it would come off: a complete stranger asking for personal information to submit to a well-known publication. She knew that there was a chance he would shut down and never return, so she lowered the stakes and hoped that this route would be less risky. Was it ethical? Alani hadn’t decided yet, but she would work out the details later. After six failed articles and two years of rejection, she saw a ray of hope and wasn’t going to let it slip away.

Harry ponders her offer for a moment, which confirms that she had recognized him. Normally he would be off-put by such a request, and to a certain extent he is, but there is something sincere in her voice that he trusts deep down. Before he agrees, however, he decides to fish around a bit to test her reaction.

“You know who I am,” he says gently. “Don’t you?”

Alani’s heart drops into the pit of her stomach, not sure what to say next. She hopes with every fiber of her being that she hasn’t upset him, or worse, ruined her chances, so she decides to offer some truth to throw him off her scent.

“My sister recognized you,” she explains. “That day you came in with your friends. I thought they were your bandmates at first,”

This lets Harry know that she isn’t a total stalker, which is comforting, but he wouldn’t have been minded if she were a fan simply engaging in conversation.

“Oh,” he laughs weakly.

“I totally understand if you say no,” Alani offers quickly, trying to smooth things over. “I just thought it was worth a shot. And that it might be more interesting than interviewing our produce guy,”

Harry decides to give her one last scan for any sign of insincerity. He’d always felt that his gut instinct was strong and it hadn’t led him astray thus far.

“An interview?” he clarifies.

“Just one,” Alani promises. “An hour, tops. And you can proofread all of it once I’ve finished, too.”

Harry waits a beat, already knowing his reply, but he wants to see how she will react to his silence. She doesn’t budge, almond eyes set and determined.

“Okay.”

next chapter

[angrylizardjacket]

dirtbags // 5: Charlotte

Summary: High School AU. 1985. Winter. Charlotte and Razzle are officially not dating, while Lola’s not dating someone but won’t say who, though she’s contemplating sleeping with Tommy in an effort to get him to stop pining for her, which Charlotte thinks is a terrible idea. Except that Charlotte lets slip to Tommy that that’s Lola’s plan, and he doesn’t take it well. The whole pack ends up at the Drive-In, which is going great for Charlotte and Razzle right up until Nikki decides to be an ass, and Charlotte realises that Tommy has spoken to Lola about their fight. It looks like things will be getting worse before they get better.

A/N: 6655 words. long overdue sorry!! @misscharlottelee and @evaangelics my beloveds this is, as always, for you both. ft. asofterworld quotes

my sister and i both hate antique shopping. but we love hating things together.

So yes, technically Charlotte and Razzle spent the better part of Heather’s party in a dark corner being altogether gross, as an incredibly drunk Peach had informed them both before she was pulled away by a far more sober Vince, which Charlotte hadn’t thought much of at the time, herself more than a little tipsy, but hearing Eileen rant in the diner the following day had made her feel a little guilty for not paying more attention. Not that anything bad happened, but still, she felt partially responsible for the young ginger girl. 

But the point is that Charlotte and Razzle are not dating, despite what everyone in their weird and ragtag bunch of lunchtime delinquents likes to imply. If Charlotte could justify punching Nikki again, she absolutely would. It’s not her fault that Razzle’s interesting and kind and honest and funny, and if she finds herself feeling a little heady, a little good-nauseous, like she had back when she and Duff had first been dancing around the idea of being a couple, she pushes those feelings to the back of her mind and distracts herself with something, anything else. 

Right now, she’s got a terrible headache and is having a whisper argument with Lola in the middle of art, trying to talk her out of pity-fucking Tommy.

“You make it sound so crass and heartless,” Lola’s lip curled, frowning at the red pencil in her hand and the cartoon drawing of a flower in her notes, “pity-fucking,” the word sounds wrong on Lola’s lips, tone derisive, “you say it like I don’t care about him.”

“Don’t pity-fuck my cousin, you can both do better,” Charlotte rubs at her temples, eyes closed, as Lola makes a noise like she’s not too sure if that’s a compliment, “a few weeks ago, you promised me you were just friends -”

“He’s a hopeless romantic who keeps hearing about cheerleaders sleeping with people who aren’t him, lemme put him out of his misery -”

“By fucking him? What if he catches further feelings for you?”

“I dunno, I’ll kill him?” Lola suggests flippantly, and when Charlotte cracks her eyes open to level a glare at Lola, the dark haired girl is grinning, clearly joking.

“Why Tommy? Why can’t you sleep with someone less related to me?” Charlotte hisses, tone vaguely annoyed and desperate, “I thought you were getting laid? What’s up with you and Nikki anyways?” There’s a shift in her tone, and Lola makes a face, pressing a little harder with her pencil. 

“I am sleeping with someone less related to you,” Lola says, though there’s a strangely guarded quality to her voice, “not Nikki, for the record; he’s the one who suggested I sleep with Tommy to begin with. He’s too much of a bitch to fuck me himself,” she mutters, mostly to herself, a little wrinkle creasing the bridge of her nose as she thinks about it. 

“Wait, you’re seeing someone? For real? And it’s not Nikki?” Charlotte’s expression lit up, and Lola gave her a calculating looking out of the corner of her eye.

“I bet we both know another person I’m not sleeping with,” and Lola’s tone is mean and a little venomous as she deftly changes the subject, “how is our favourite exchange student, by the way?” Charlotte realises too late that her excited questioning of Lola’s private life may have touched a nerve. For all that Lola’s become more open in the few months they’ve been friends, there were strange lines Charlotte kept finding. Lola never really acted as though she cared much about Charlotte and Razzle’s vague status, so to use it against Charlotte was a surprise, and a clear giveaway that one of those lines had been crossed. It got Lola’s message across well enough, and Charlotte’s mouth snapped closed. 

Lola was a terrible distraction when she wanted to be.

“Lola’s not seeing anyone,” Nikki says flatly around his cigarette, and when Charlotte realises she’s gossiping with Nikki Sixx, she wonders idly where her life went wrong, “she’s fucking someone,” he corrected, “and she refuses to tell me who, but she’s not seeing anyone.” He sounds far more annoyed than Charlotte had anticipated, and she can’t help herself. She tugs on that string.

“Wait, so it’s actually not you?” 

“Lola’s dad is built like He-Man, Master of the Fucking Universe, have you seen him, Charlie? I couldn’t stick it in his daughter and bring myself to look him in the eye every other day; and I’m past worrying if he’s gonna toss me into space like he’s an Olympic hammer thrower,” Nikki considers for a moment, before heaving a sigh, “I just don’t wanna disappoint him.”

“You think fucking Lola’s gonna disappoint her dad?” Charlotte’s brow wrinkled with slight confusion, “why do you even talk to her dad every other day?”

“We work together?” Nikki says, like it’s the simplest answer in the world, and oh, suddenly Charlotte knows exactly why the back of the fry cook in Leo’s looked so familiar. Nikki can obviously read it on her face as the realisation, the full understanding of the situation dawns on Charlotte, but it still doesn’t stop her from bursting out with laughter.

“Oh dude, you definitely cannot fuck your boss’s daughter, no matter how much you so clearly want to -”

“Hey!” Nikki snapped, “bold words coming from you, Miss Lee; you already made sure Razz has had the full American High School Experience, or are you waiting for Prom to go full cliché about it?”

“Nikki, I’ve already punched you in the face once, so help me -”

“Yeah but now I know what to expect, I’m kinda into it,” Nikki’s grin is all teeth, and he leans across the table, into Charlotte’s space, “do it again, Miss Lee,” he teases, offering up his cheek to her, grinning from ear to ear. Charlotte makes a disgusted noise, leaning back, crossing her arms.

“You disgust me; can you please quit your job so you can fuck Lola?” 

Thankfully, this seems to take the wind out of Nikki’s sails, his expression falling to something irritated as he huffs and drops his gaze, sitting back dejectedly, and pointedly refusing, unable to come with a snide comeback in time to save face. 

“Lola would punch you in the face,” Charlotte pointed out, tone a little smug, and Nikki presses his lips together, trying very hard to keep his expression neutral as a blush creeps up his cheeks. 

“So would that leggy redhead of yours,” he’s quick to change the conversation, “isn’t she in the musical? You know my band’s still looking for a singer -”

“Lemme stop you right there,” Charlotte stops Nikki in his tracks, holding up a single hand for silence, “first of all, the only person Eileen hates more than you is Vince Neil, and she told me personally that she’d rather eat glass than join your band, secondly -”

“You talked about my band with her?” There’s something a little bashful in Nikki’s voice, and the blush hasn’t left his cheeks; the whole picture would be endearing if he wasn’t such a colossal asshole.

“Secondly,” Charlotte tries again, “you know her name’s Eileen; everyone knows her name is Eileen, stop calling her my leggy redhead,” she ordered, before taking a deep breath, trying to let her irritation subside, “and thirdly, Lola was the one who asked Eileen to be in your band, Eileen just brought it up to me because she knew Tommy was in it.” Nikki, who had already been pink all over, was steadily turning red, trying to hide it as he made a show of patting down his pockets looking for his cigarettes.

“Lola... uh, she talks about my band? She asked if Eileen wanted to join us?” He’s shooting for casual and missing the mark miserably, much to Charlotte’s delight.

“You’re so in love with her,” she smirks. Nikki scowls at her. The bell rings.

i have found a way to watch video in your head. high definition, with instant replay. it is called having regrets.

When Eileen invites Charlotte to the drive in, and suggests bringing Razzle, she insists it’s not a date, that some of the people from the musical were just getting together to watch the new horror movie, and she thought it would be good for Razzle to experience a proper, drive-in movie. That probably should have set of alarm bells in Charlotte’s mind, since everyone knew that if you take someone to a horror movie at the drive-in, you generally don’t end up actually watching much of the movie. It’s one of the oldest tricks in the book. 

But Eileen’s adamant, and Charlotte honestly wouldn’t actually mind sneaking off with Razzle at some point, if the opportunity arose, not that she’s admit that. 

“I should ask Lola to go,” Tommy says, tone a little wistful, when, on Thursday, Charlotte tells him her plans for the following evening; alarm bells definitely start ringing. 

They’re in Tommy’s kitchen after school, with his mom at the supermarket, and his dad at work, they’ve got the house to themselves, apart from Tommy’s sister upstairs, monopolising the phone. Charlotte’s sitting on the counter, while Tommy’s staring into the refrigerator, not actually looking at what’s in there, thoughts miles away as he considers his own words.

“Shut that if you’re not going to get anything, and no you shouldn’t,” Charlotte shuts him down immediately, to which Tommy frowns, asking derisively when she became the boss of him, slamming the fridge closed, “I thought you two were just friends,” Charlotte counters with.

“I can ask a friend to the drive-in,” though the way he suddenly can’t meet her gaze betrays him, and he flits over to a cupboard, opening it and staring at the food inside, trying to decide on an afternoon snack, “why are you here, anyways?” At this, Charlotte goes quiet and pensive, looking down at her knees as her heels kick softly against the cupboards below, trying not to think about how her mother keeps leaving college brochures out, with Law, Accounting, and Medicine courses all meticulously highlighted, or how whenever they’re in the same room, she’s treated to passive aggressive questions about whether she’s seen the brochures her parents know she definitely hasn’t touched.

“Am I not allowed to hang out with you?” Charlotte finally surfaces from her thoughts to see that Tommy is waiting for an answer.

“Not if you’re going to be an asshole.”

“If you’re going to daydream about Lola, I’m going to be an asshole,” Charlotte fired back, snarkily, and Tommy narrowed his eyes at her.

“You’ve become kind of a bitch since you started hanging out with Nikki,” he huffs, and Charlotte straightens up where she’s sitting, eyes going wide with disbelief, with slight outrage.

“I’m just fucking sick of hearing you chase after girls who don’t want you! It’s all you ever talk about!”

“Lola wants me! Lola fucking wants me, Charlie!”

“She doesn’t want you, she wants to pity-fuck you so you’ll get off her damn case! Just how naïve are you, Thomas?” Charlotte yells back, and immediately smacks her hand to her mouth, regret written all over her face. Tommy’s expression falls like his heart is breaking. “Tommy -”

“A real, fucking bitch,” there’s a shake in Tommy’s voice that is breaking Charlotte’s heart, and she tries to apologise, but he tells her to go home. 

Yes, she leaves, she shuts the door behind herself, but she can’t bring herself to go home. Her feet carry her while her mind is blank, but when she looks up, she’s pushing open the door to the gas station, seeing Mick Mars look up from his magazine. Before he greets her, she sees the way his eyes search the space around her, roam the empty fuel pumps, as if expecting Tommy to pop out behind her. Then, once he considers himself safe, he puts down his magazine, tilting his head curiously at her, at her dejected demeanour. 

“Charlotte?” She’s actually surprised that he knows her name, and Charlotte hovers in the door, letting in the cold air from outside as she deliberates. Why had she come here of all places? “Are you okay?” The words sound strange, like he’s not used to saying them, not used to showing any sort of care, but she appreciates them nonetheless.

“I was a massive asshole to Tommy,” the words spill from her before she can stop them, and she watches Mick’s expression, can almost see him fight back several sarcastic or congratulatory remarks, suppressing his own well-worn irritation for her cousin, instead, just making a noise in the back of his throat that she can’t quite decipher. Then, he looks out the window, looks to the clock on the wall, and takes his feet off the counter carefully. 

“Do you want a slurpee?” He asks, obviously a little uncertain of how to proceed.

“Not really,” Charlotte admits, and Mick awkwardly looks around, as if to offer something else.

“Do you smoke?” He’s already pulling a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. Charlotte shoves her hands into her coat pockets, shaking her head, looking at the floor, not quite sure where to go from here herself, “do you mind if I smoke?” 

“No,” her voice is small.

They sit on the step by the door outside the gas station, side by side, silent for a few minutes as Mick smokes his cigarette. No cars approach, but they watch some drive by as the sun sinks lower in the sky. 

“I told him Lola doesn’t want him, that she’s just interested in pity-fucking him because she thinks it’d get him off her case,” Charlotte admits, and from the corner of her eye, she sees Mick wince, a sign that what she’d said truly was a dick move. 

“That would’a broken the kid’s heart,” Mick muses around his cigarette, and Charlotte, who’d had her knees curled up to her chest, rests her chin on them, with a quiet ‘I know’. 

“He said I turned into an asshole since I became friends with Nikki Sixx, and then I just managed to prove him right,” she seethes, disappointed in herself more than anything else. 

“That’s your first problem; being friends with Nikki Sixx.”

“That was an accident,” Charlotte tried to defend herself, “and I’ve been friends with Nikki for kind of a while, honestly, but I was just so sick of hearing Tommy moon over girls who don’t even look twice at him, like they hung the stars in the sky -”

“Charlotte,” Mick interrupts her, his voice soft but insistent, and when she finally looks at him, he’s actually frowning at her, hands stilled with another cigarette half-pulled from it’s packet, “that’s not... you know why what you said hurt him, right? You know you could’a said that about any other cheerleader he was into and it would’a rolled right off his back, right?”

Oh. Oh no. Slowly, Charlotte’s expression crumbles as the full weight of her words dawns upon her, her guilt skyrocketing. Face in her hands, she actually wails, and Mick gives a firm pat on the back as a show of support. 

“They’re friends, Mick.”

“I know, Charlotte.”

“God, fuck, he probably thinks that I mean she doesn’t even like him as a friend, Mick!”

“Yeah,” he sighed deeply, giving another pat, “I know, Charlotte.”

“I just... don’t want him to get his heart broken,” she admitted, her only attempt to justify herself, which Mick didn’t accept as a proper answer for a moment.

“He’s sixteen, he’s gotta make his own mistakes, and,” at this he hesitates, lighting up his cigarette and taking a long draft as he deliberated saying his next words, “don’t ever let her know I told you this,” he adds seriously, “but the last thing Lola wants to do is hurt that kid; if anything, she’s hoping hooking up with him will strengthen their friendship, and raise his confidence for when he goes after other girls.” This... is a lot to process.

“How do you even know this?” Charlotte asked, bewildered, and Mick scrunches his face up and takes another long inhale on his cigarette.

“We’re friends,” is what he settles on.

“What?”

“Lola and I... are friends,” he sounds like he doesn’t want to admit it, and visibly cringes as he follows it up with, “she cares about that kid, and speaks very highly of him, and of you, honestly, and maybe the kid’s not as irritating as I had him pegged as. He’s still irritating, but he,” and he audibly groans, hanging his head for a moment, as if disappointed that he’s even saying any of this, “he’s a good friend to Lola.” It’s like the words themselves hurt him to admit, so he changes the topic quickly, “she told me he’s in a band with Sixx, actually,” and his tone is thankfully much less strained as he straightens his posture a little, ignoring Charlotte’s frankly flabbergasted expression, “I’ve been seriously considering joining them.”

“You sing?” Is what Charlotte hears herself say, without really registering it. Mick snorts derisively.

“Fuck no, I play guitar.”

“You sho- you should join them,” Charlotte babbles, trying to make sense of everything that she’d just learned, and now this of all things, but it’s going to take her a while. 

“I should,” he agrees with the barest hint of a smile, once more clapping her on the back. He hesitates before he stands, like he wants to say something else, but instead, he gives an awkward smile and gets to his feet, heading back inside, leaving Charlotte in silence. 

Eileen gives her a lift to school the following morning, seething about how Peach got a part-time job and their parents still aren’t happy. It’s conflicting for the older sister, who hates hearing the derisive way her parents refer to Peach as a ‘burger flipper’, while Peach herself had sneered when Eileen had asked about the job, telling her older sister that she was done grovelling at their parents’ feet just to exist, with an implied ‘unlike you’ which had been so uncharacteristic of the usually kind and upbeat Peach that it had sent Eileen spiralling. It was the third day in a row Eileen had been ranting about it, about how she just wanted to support Peach, but that her whole family appeared to be turning on each other.

Charlotte found herself relating to that particular sentiment far too well.

Half their ragtag bunch of lunchtime misfits is notably absent from their usual lunchtime hang out, so while Charlotte spends the forty minutes picking apart her food like she’s trying to deconstruct it atomically, Razzle sits diligently as Eileen carefully and meticulously braids his hair, while he asks if he needs to bring anything, or wear anything special to the drive in that Friday. Charlotte’s not paying them any attention, just letting her gaze roam distractedly essentially until the bell rings, and Eileen pulls the hairband from her own hair to secure Razzle’s braid, before taking off. 

“Anybody home in that head of yours, Charlie? The bell’s gone,” Razzle’s offering her his hand where he’s standing, and Charlotte finally returns to reality from her blank, concerned mind, wiping the last few crumbs of her sandwich on her jeans picking up her bag with one hand and taking Razzle’s hand with the other. Today he’s chosen to wear a royal purple collared shirt, several sized too big for him, with the sleeves rolled up, tucked into tight, acid-washed jeans littered with naturally-made holes, his backpack on his back, and a black, corduroy jacket slung over one shoulder; with his newly acquired braid, the whole look is quite fetching, quite -

“You look like a prince,” Charlotte feels rather foolish for even saying it, can feel as the blush rises on her cheeks, but Razzle’s beaming as he pulls her to her feet, and doesn’t let go of her hand for a moment. 

“Well then I must be truly lucky to get court a princess like you,” and coming from anyone else, it would have sounded cheesy, or the phrase princess would have been derisive or snide, but he’s sincere, almost painfully so, and Charlotte ducks her head, “not courting,” Razzle corrects quickly, and Charlotte doesn’t think about how her heart sinks at that, despite how they’d talked through this.

“Princess Charlie -” something about the way he says her name always hits her hard, because hearing how it sounds, the reverence with which he says it, the nervousness, she leans in and kisses him quickly, can’t help herself, can’t stop herself. But then she’s leaning back, getting a better grip on her backpack, but - “wait, wait, wait, Charlie, wait -” Razzle, for the barest moment, tightens his grip on her hand, and she’s terrified that she crossed a line, that she’s done something wrong, but she turns back, and he doesn’t seem to be mad or concerned, instead he drops the jacket he’d been holding, gently taking her face in his hands, “can’t spring that on me and get away with it; lemme do it proper.” 

i am going to build a new boyfriend out of garbage and dirty feathers. no one else will touch him. 

 “Did you tell Tommy we were coming here?” Eileen hissed, startling the hell out of Charlotte at the concession stand at the drive-in before the movie began. Charlotte, who had been hovering in line, nervously retucking her nice blouse into her skirt every few minutes, almost jumped out of her skin at her friend’s voice in her ear.

“Yeah, I - why?” Looking around, Charlotte thankfully can’t see Tommy’s shitbox of a car, but it becomes readily apparent the source of Eileen’s frustrations, when she spots a shiny, red sports car parked four cars past where Keanu and his good friend and well known fellow theatre kid Alex Winter were sitting on the hood of Keanu’s car, chatting animatedly with Razzle, who they had been quick to warm to him upon meeting him about twenty minutes ago. 

“Charlie!” The name came out as a frustrated noise from between Eileen’s clenched teeth, her eyes glued to Vince Neil’s ostentatious car, and Charlotte looked down for a moment, before adjusting her skirt again and retucking her shirt as she spoke.

“I didn’t know he’d tell Vince; I haven’t spoken to him since yesterday afternoon,” and she hesitates before adding, “we got into this fight and I’ve been trying to figure out how to apologise but I don’t know how, so it kind of slipped my mind, I didn’t know -”

“We’ll talk about you and Tommy later, I promise, but right now I need you to tell me three convincing arguments as to why I shouldn’t pop one of Vince Neil’s fucking tires.” Eileen’s hatred of Vince is perhaps getting out of hand, Charlotte considers, prying Eileen’s vice-like grip from her upper arm, considering for a moment.

“I know you have no qualms about becoming a felon to protect Peach,” Charlotte says with half a smirk.

“Absolutely none,” Eileen agrees without missing a beat, which was both amusing and heartwarming.

“- but your mom would probably pull you out of public school to enrol you in that strict, girls-only, future-nun-school, Our Lady Of Perpetual Sorrow,” Charlotte’s trying so desperately not to smirk, not to give her amusement away at the concept, “and you can say goodbye to any chance you had of ever making out with your co-star on or off stage.” 

Eileen turns as red as her hair, but at least she takes a moment to calm down, glancing over her shoulder at the three boys who were waiting for them. Keanu looks over for a moment, catching her gaze, waving and grinning from ear to ear, and Charlotte practically cackles as Eileen’s blush deepens. 

“Look, Eileen look,” Charlotte pointed insistently back at the boys, to where Alex had hopped off the hood of Keanu’s car, and was making his way over to the pack of kids Eileen had vaguely gestured to earlier, mentioning that they made up most of the technical theatre department, despite their leather jackets and motorcycles, leaving Razzle and Keanu chattering away, “Alex is going to hang out with the Crew boys, leaving Keanu free to comfort you during the scary movie.”

Eileen takes a deep breath, not even pretending like that wasn’t what she wanted, steeling herself to head back, and ignore Vince Neil’s goddamn car. After a beat, however, she turns to Charlotte, looking altogether stern and collected.

“I know I said you and Razzle could stay in my car, since I’m hanging out with Keanu, but don’t have sex in there -”

“What?!”

“Don’t have sex with Razzle in my car,” Eileen practically ordered, and Charlotte nervously looked to the guy ahead of her in line. He looked back at her, between the two girls, then thankfully stepped up to the counter without a word. 

“I wasn’t planning on it!”

“Well you also weren’t planning on being make out buddies after getting drunk and being the gross PDA couple at Heather’s party,” Eileen sniped back, “listen, I just want Peach to be able to sit in my car without either of your bare asses having touched any of the seats.” 

“I won’t let either of our bare asses touch the seat,” Charlotte agreed, mortified.

“And no stains -”

“Eileen!” Charlotte all but screeches, right as the messages before the movie started playing.

“Eileen, the charming Mister Reeves wants a word with you,” Razzle’s voice joins them just moments before Charlotte’s pretty sure she would have expired from embarrassment, and at the mere mention of Keanu, Eileen relaxes a little. All three of them glance over to Keanu’s car, to see the man himself leaning against his windshield, cigarette idle in one hand as he watches the first of the preview trailers. As much as he makes gestures like he’s about to take a drag, the cigarette never quite makes it to his lips before he extends his arm out beside him again, like he’s going through the motions without really following through. Eileen, as if drawn to him by a spell, practically floats away.

“She’s a strange one,” he says fondly, though Charlotte kindly doesn’t point out the hypocrisy in his words, “Keanu and Alex act like she’s some aloof, inscrutable woman; weren’t sure we were talking about the same woman,” he huffed a laugh, much to Charlotte’s disbelief.

“Eileen... she is an aloof, inscrutable woman, you just happen to live with her arch nemesis, and- you’re- we’re- you know, we’re...” Charlotte gestured between herself and Razzle, flushing, as his smile widened, “and you know, I’m her best friend.”

“Guys, are you buying food or what?” The concierge asks; a tired-looking kid Charlotte recognises from Tommy’s year. She hops forward, ordering food, and waiting for it to be prepared, all while standing by Razzle’s side, his chin on her should as they watch the preview trailers. He’s behind her, warm and solid and grounding, which is exactly what she needs as her cousin’s beat-up excuse of a car screeches into the lot, almost spraying gravel thanks to his sharp turn into the first available space. 

“Oh god, oh fucking hell,” Charlotte breathes, clenching her eyes tightly shut, “if you see a blonde-haired, six-foot stick-insect, who looks like he’d cheat on his girlfriend,” she starts, whole face scrunching with frustration, “and-or Nikki fucking Sixx, well, that would be about right; that feels like how tonight would go,” she lets out a long, frustrated breath, and she feels Razzle lift his chin from her shoulder right as he makes a noise of confusion.

“Tommy just arrived,” she clarified.

“Oh?”

“And we kind of got into an argument yesterday.”

“Oh.”

Charlotte’s name is called and she collects the bucket of popcorn she’d ordered for the pair of them, and Razzle picks up their drinks, heading back to the car as the movie opens. 

“You wanna talk about whatever’s going on with you and that Drummer Boy?” Razzle asks as they’re settling in the back seat together. Charlotte’s detaching the front seat’s headrests with possibly too much vigour, but declines, despite the frustration written all over her face. Razzle keeps a careful hold on the drinks that he’d thought were safe to balance on the centre console as Charlotte foisted herself over the back seat to pull the blankets she’d packed from the trunk. 

“You sure?” Razzle tried again, still with one hand nervously keeping the drinks in place, the other firmly holding their bucket of popcorn out of harm’s way. With a blanket securely bundled in her arms, Charlotte gives him a flat look, that quickly disappears in the face of his genuine concern.

“No, Razz,” she sighed, “I’m just mad at myself for letting this, like, fester, you know? I should have apologised sooner,” she huffs a sigh, unfurling the blanket with far more care now, draping it across both of their laps. 

“You’ve a good heart, Miss Lee,” Razzle assures her, but Charlotte’s face scrunches reflexively at the nickname, having only ever associated it with Nikki Sixx’s dreadful attempts to hit on her.

“Thanks, but please don’t call me that,” Charlotte gives a strained little smile, but Razzle nods and takes it in stride, finally getting himself comfortable and sitting back against the seat, one arm draped across the back, the other holding the popcorn in his lap.

“No worries, Love; I could call you Charlie, but I always thought it sounded a bit weird coming from me,” Razzle is rambling as Charlotte settles against him, tucking herself up close to him, “had a mate back home called Charlie, but short for Charles; absolute cockhead,” he clicks his tongue as Charlotte can’t help but giggle, “I could always keep just calling you Love, but it’s not as personal, you know? And Charlotte... it’s a pretty name, but it would be like if you started calling me Nicholas, be a bit weird, don’t ya think?” He mused, and Charlotte’s eyes drifted from the opening scene of the movie, where a menacing looking knife-glove was being created, to Razzle’s face as he chattered away. 

“I could keep calling you Princess Charlie,” as he says that, he looks to her, and seems a little startled to see her looking back at him, “like the other day,” his voice is softer, eyes wide, roaming her face, as if trying to capture her fond expression in his memory forever.

“You wouldn’t imagine your friend Charlie from back home a tiara?” Charlotte’s voice is amused, as is her expression, and Razzle’s eyes crease in the corners as he smiles; his eyes as so blue, so honest.

“You’d be the only Princess Charlie in my life,” he assures, giving her shoulder a squeeze where his arm is wrapped around her, and Charlotte doesn’t even think about how they’re less than a minute into the movie before she’s kissing him. 

At least it gets her to stop thinking about Tommy. 

Honestly, it gets her to stop thinking about everyone and everything that isn’t Razzle in this car in this moment, which is fine for her, because her life is somehow currently a stupid, complicated mess of people and emotions, and Razzle is nice to her, and a damn good kisser, and gentle, and his hands are warm -

“Miss Lee, does the Declaration of Independence mean nothing to you?” Comes shouted through the wound-up window of the car, startling Charlotte, who’s been in Razzle’s lap with his lips on her neck, so much that she jumped, smacking the back of her head into the roof of the car. Razzle reached out for her, expression concerned and lips kiss-bruised, as Charlotte held her head, wincing. Looking to the window, however, she could see Nikki Sixx pressing his face to the glass, looking altogether unsightly, with Lola a few feet behind him, drawing something in the gravel with the toe of her shoe. 

Assholes!

“I’m gonna kill him,” Charlotte says with deadly calm the moment she understands the situation, though Razzle seems to have anticipated this, and has his hands on her thighs, keeping her secure in his firm grip.

“No,” Razzle says, voice equally as calm, his gaze focused on Charlotte, and not on Nikki who had put his open mouth on the window, puffed out his cheeks, and proceeded to lick the glass. Charlotte scrunches her expression for a moment, internal debate raging between her desire to stay in the car with Razzle, and her need to beat the ever-loving shit out of Nikki Sixx for being a smartass.

“I’m gonna crack the window and inch and tell him to fuck off,” Charlotte says, looking back to Razzle, who was wearing an expression of faint amusement, and his grip became a little less firm. Reaching over, she wound down the window an inch. Immediately, Nikki looked through the gap, cheek still pressed to the window as his gaze darted around the cabin of the car, no longer obscured by the window tint. 

“I’m surprised you know what the Declaration of Independence is,” Charlotte said, tone icy as she moved to sit next to Razzle. 

“Honestly I stole that line from Lola,” Nikki admitted, and upon hearing her name, even faintly, Lola joins them, thankfully not pressing herself to the window, instead standing close to Nikki, her hip by his, hands in her jacket pockets. 

“Were they doing it?” Lola asks far too casually, almost too quiet for Charlotte and Razzle to hear, though they do, and both blush, even as Nikki pulls back, making a face. 

“No,” Charlotte calls back, and Lola’s expression turns smug as she holds out her hand, making a ‘hand it over’ gesture to Nikki, only for him to begrudgingly hand over a five dollar note. 

“Shoulda waited ‘til the end of the movie to ask,” Lola’s grin stretched wider, even as Charlotte tried to splutter a protest, and Razzle had to press his face against her shoulder to muffle his laugh at the whole situation.

“Why are you assholes here?” Charlotte hissed; strangely, Lola’s expression fell, and she stepped back again, adding more to her gravel drawing with her shoe, not looking at the car. 

“We’re at the drive in because I’ve heard this is a good movie,” Nikki goes back to staring at them through the inch crack in the window, “and we’re here-” his tone turns proud while his smile turns sharp as he taps his nail against the glass, “because we’re trying to give Tommy and Heather privacy,” he all but sings. There’s... a lot to unpack there, however before Charlotte can process any of it, Lola grab’s Nikki by the elbow, pulling him away.

“Come on, I didn’t take a night off to talk to people I can see every day, did you bring weed or not?” She insisted, tone frustrated leading him towards the concierge stand. Something about it had Charlotte’s heart sinking, even as Razzle’s still chuckling and confused about what was going on, Charlotte’s heart was sinking. 

Tommy had driven Nikki and Lola - and Heather? What? - to the drive in. Tommy and Lola had almost definitely spoken about the fight Charlotte and Tommy had had, which means Lola almost definitely knew what Charlotte had said. 

“Everything okay, Princess?” Razzle had asked gently, his arm around her once more as Charlotte had buried her face in her hands. 

“My whole life is fucked,” Charlotte muttered, and Razzle pulled her in close to him. Her legs bridge over his thighs, and he’s holding her close with both arms, keeping her warm and secure, and Charlotte takes a moment, then another, then a third, to take comfort. 

She’s going to miss this. Going to miss him. Fuck, she can’t think like that, can’t keep reminding herself of the time limit on their friendship, the reason she’s scared to call it anything more. 

Everything is fucked, but this one moment, how Razzle was holding her close, devoid of it’s context, it was pretty damn great.

a friend will help you move. a best friend will help you move bodies. but if you have to move your best friend's body, you're on your own

Charlotte goes to see Tommy on Saturday morning, but when she gets there, he’s not home. 

“He’s at a movie~ with a girl~!” Athena sings, when Charlotte asks, and Charlotte, confused and concerned, looked to her aunt, Tommy’s mother, who gave a kind smile and nod of confirmation. 

“He was so nervous and excited, spent a long time doing his hair just right,” she giggled fondly, pride in her voice, but Charlotte’s heart was in her throat. Had what she said somehow guilted Lola into dating her cousin? That could only end badly for both of them, oh fuck -

Except when she bursts into Leo’s at eleven, after most of the breakfast diners had vacated, and the lunch rush was still about half an hour away, Lola was standing behind the counter... with Peach? Teaching her how to fold silverware in napkins correctly? 

“Do you know... do know that thing where you fold it into a swan?” Peach asks, giggling, right as one of the other kind-faced staff members approaches Charlotte and asks her how many people she’d like a table for. Lola instinctually looks to the door, and Peach catches on a moment later, and suddenly both girls behind the counter are frowning in Charlotte’s direction. Lola mutters something to Peach that’s too quiet for Charlotte to hear, and the younger redhead immediately takes the silverware they’ve already wrapped, going around and dispensing it amongst each table’s silverware holder. Peach is in uniform. 

“I just...” Charlotte’s voice is soft, while her gaze is locked with Lola’s, brushing past the host who’d greeted her, “I need to talk to Lola.” The host looks over his shoulder at Lola, who looks his way for the barest moment and gives half a shrug. The kid backs off, looking past Charlotte to the street outside to see if anyone else was coming in after her, and upon seeing no-one, he heads back to the counter. 

“Hey Peach,” Charlotte says as the redhead slides past her to get to another table. Peach doesn’t even look at her when she gives a flat greeting in response. 

“How can I help you?” Lola’s painfully sweet customer-service voice hurts more than any sarcastic remark she could have come up with, and it’s eating Charlotte alive to know what Tommy told her, what Lola thinks Charlotte thinks of her to make her act so hostile. The way she’s smiling so widely coupled with her dead-eyed stare is unnerving. 

“Keola!” It comes as a shock when a firm voice comes from the kitchen, and Lola practically jumps from her skin. Looking to the source, Charlotte sees the face of the man she’s only ever seen the back of in the kitchen, taller than anyone else in the restaurant, and he looks like Lola.

“What?” Lola hisses, surprising Charlotte, and the man looks to Charlotte, giving her a warm, friendly smile, before he answers.

“If you need to talk to,” and the man pauses, tipping his head a little as he looks to Charlotte, “Charlie?” And Charlotte, kind of confused and nervous as to how he knows her name, nods in confirmation, “you can take your break, okay? Water, fresh air, outside -” and without waiting for a confirmation, he calls the kid who had greeted Charlotte to come and take Lola’s place at the counter, as Lola begrudgingly grabs a bottle of water from beneath the counter, and storms out from behind the counter, past Charlotte to the door. 

Charlotte, a little terrified, looks to the man, who gives another bright smile.

“Sorry we haven’t properly met, I’m Leo, glad to finally meet you, Charlie,” and immediately everything makes total and complete sense, and Charlotte nervously greets him, and takes off after Lola, who had disappeared down the street. 

[bowieandqueen11]

Not Coming Back / Uris! Reader Angst

Request: Could you write an imagine where the reader is Stan's sister and has to tell the losers club that he's dead? 

Okay, dear anon, my feelings :’( <3 This is an alternate version of my imagine Beep Beep Richie, if you haven’t read it! 

Starting to step into the restaurant, your heart beats painfully hard in your chest, terrified to be back in Derry but glad to be stepping out from the inky darkness of the town’s chill night and into some kind of warmth. As you enter the Jade of the Orient, stalling slightly as you swear you feel eyes burning into the side of your face, you look behind you quickly, searching into the deserted street for some kind of movement but the only thing you feel is a flash of pain in your palm, a reminder of the promise you made many summers ago. Though the street hadn’t heard laughter for a while, there were still the street-lamps stubbornly glowing their off-auburn light against your skin, nostalgic in their feel as they light the red brick buildings under the rainy sky. Shooting memories of pitiless shining summer suns beating its hot rays down upon your face with the promise of a noon of glaring turquoise skies and clouds that flutter by like turtles swimming through the ripples of an emerald ocean flash through your mind, the air hot and oppressive as the squeals and groans of good old Silver filled your ears, bumping and skidding over little pebbles that spray out like rain drops onto this road. The memory of your brother, his little curls hitting against his forehead as he cycled down next to you, a smile twitching on the corners of his frown in his usual fashion as he skidded out of the way or Richie as he brakes suddenly. Bumping into you, the two of you share a small look, rolling your eyes before just silently talking between yourselves for a moment, until the two of you burst out in fits of giggles.

But there’s no hope left here. Derry’s, and your abandonment was no longer a temporary thing, there was no joy, or warmth for you back here. You would never hear your brother complain about the Losers again, would never hear him hark on about all the birds he had spotted near the fountain today as the two of you lie side by side on his bed. You would never again be able to sit down next to him, placing the moving boxes down into his new home as he sighs happily. You would never be able to nudge his ribs as he squints at you, laughing at the faces he’s pulling in his wedding photos as you flick through them, relishing in the memories. You would never again be able to hug him for successfully starting his first accounting job, for all the highs and lows of your shared lives. You would never see him again.

Or so you thought.

‘Hey, Eds, what the hell happened to your fanny pack?’

As Eddie turns away from the fish tank, a little more hyped than he should be both in total terror and the slight relief his heart still feels at having escaped Myra, of having been taken back to the one place he always knew where he belonged, where he was always destined to be, his mouth twitches into a smile as he sees you standing gingerly next to the giant gong, letting out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in.

‘Y/n… It’s so good to see you’, Mike says with a hesitant and slightly far away smile on his face as he begins walking around the circular wooden table to get to you.

‘Yeah, congrats on b-b-being the f-fourth Loser here, and s-still being early.’

‘When did the stutter come back, Big Bill?’ You clamp a hand over your mouth, wonderment at the old nickname slipping through your mouth that you hadn’t thought about in years.

‘It’s alright, y/n’, Eddie starts, ‘it’s been happening to all of us too.’

You nod gingerly, looking around at the three boys you had spent nearly every day of your childhood with, the boys who look back at you with equally devoted and terrified eyes before a smile twitches at your lips and you run over to them, engulfing them all into the biggest, tightest bear hug you’ve had since the day you left Derry.

As the ripples of the gong fill the otherwise silent private room with a dull thudding beat, it’s final shrill crescendo making you wince back a little into Eddie’s maroon jacketed arm, you’re surprised to turn around and find the shy smile of Richie Tozier glaring back at you, an unholy mustard yellow gleaming into your eyes. You don’t notice Ben and Bev watch the two of you with little smirks on their faces as you just freeze, Richie in fear that seeing all his old friends again would bring on another panic attack, you to try and stop the tears from welling in your eyes that Stanley would never again be with them. The Losers’ Club would never be whole.

Finally, Richie breaks the tense silence by saying, ‘I guess this meeting of the Loser’s Club has officially begun, hey y/n? I have to say, you look just as smoking hot as I remember you.’

‘Oh god, beep beep Richie’ the rest of the guys groan out, laughing timidly amongst themselves as they move to sit down, but thankful for the little sliver of familiarity the moment had allowed them to revel in before the more serious business began, before playtime was over and they had to face up not all of them came here for a pleasant little reunion dinner. Sliding down into the seat next to Big Bill, you smile pleasantly at your old friends, ignoring Eddie raise his eyebrows slightly at Richie as Ben takes a big swig of his drink, everyone noticing but not daring to mention the way your eyes would slide quickly over the one last remaining seat opposite you, a blaring big hole in your heart, and the awkward elephant in the room.

‘So..’, Richie starts, fiddling with his beer, ‘is Stanley really that much of a pussy, y/n? Huh?’

‘He’s a busy guy, Richie, I bet he just had something else on’, Beverly quickly replied, but her fingers slightly trembled against the white tablecloth anyway. Bill nods eagerly in agreement as Mike just stares at you, his smile dropping down into the most heartbreaking frown as you realise he hadn’t told the others yet either. It filled you with a warm flash of comfort, just for a moment, that you weren’t alone in this grief.

‘Yeah, he’s a big fancy accountant now, isn’t he?’ Ben adds.

Eddie elbows Richie slightly in the ribs as he starts spouting again. ‘yeah, Big man Stanley Urine always was going to make it, wasn’t he?’

And that’s when you broke.

You didn’t think you had ever felt such pain before.

‘I’m sorry about the empty seat, y/n, but we all wanted Stanley to be here tonight too. And in a way, he is, he’s with all of us.’ Mike nods slowly at you, telling you it was time.

‘What are you mushing on about now, Mike’, Richie laughs hoarsely, but everyone could tell it was just the nerves.

You weren’t expecting the deathly silence that filled the room, the painful gasps and dropping off glasses onto the floor as you manage to whisper out:

‘Stan...Stan isn’t coming, because Stanley’s dead. He died a few days ago.’

‘Wh-what?’, Eddie breathes out, his breaths coming out short and desperate as he fumbles in his pocket for his aspirator.

‘What the fuck do you mean?’, Richie starts, believing you were joking until he noticed the tears streaming down your cheeks in hot, volcanic gushes, splattering like pregnant blood drops onto your empty plate.

‘It’s that clown isn’t it’, Beverly adds, staring down at the swirling drink in her hand with wide eyes, ‘…Pennywise. He killed him, didn’t he. It’s starting to click back into place now, all the things I wanted to forget. But Jesus, y/n, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I never thought Stan....’

Bill could do nothing but nod at Mike, a faltering frown cracking on his face as he gazes slowly across the oaken table, ignoring Richie’s slight glance over at Eddie, whose eyebrows are furrowed in pain as he stares at Bill. 

‘L-let’s start d-drinking, s-shall we?’

[dontcallmehelpless]

Counts For Something (Thomas x Reader)

I actually really like this, so I hope you guys do too! I think a sequel is necessary for this one, so hopefully I’ll write that soon. Enjoy :)

Warnings: swearing & drinking

Words: 2,789 (damn)

Thomas knew that debate class would be the same as last year. The only person who could even come close to outsmarting him was Alexander, so this class would be easy for him. He went about his day, waiting for the clock to strike 12 so class could begin. This class would be an easy one for his junior year of college, something that would get him credit without having to do much work.

That was, until he actually walked into class.

There, at the front of the room, there was a girl, already arguing with someone. Their voices were raised, although he couldn’t tell what they were arguing about.

“You. In the purple,” you yelled, glaring at him. He pointed at himself, unsure of who you were talking to.

“Well I don't see anyone else in purple, so yes you,” you continued shooting him daggers.

“Is it really necessary to stare at someone for that long? I understand that girls normally don’t take this class, and I also understand that you're the reason for that,” you accused.

“Hun, why don’t you do us all a favor and go back to your home-ec class and learn how to cook, you're embarrassing yourself,” Thomas shot back. Your hands were in fists at your sides, redness blossoming across your cheeks.

“Actually, both genders should know how to cook, because neither sexism nor feminism are going to help you when you’re hungry,” you smirked, watching the grin on his face falter.

“Ah, Jefferson, I see you've met my delightful sister, Y/N,” Alexander chimed in, strolling up next to you.

“Now that you mention it, I most definitely see the resemblance. Short, angers way too easily, and the red faces during debates, how sweet,” cooed Thomas, knowing it struck a nerve.

You couldn't deny it, you and Alex were basically the same people. Always doing something, going someplace, arguing with someone.

“Sad isn't it? That a little freshman can shut you down just like that,” antagonized Alexander, with a snap of his fingers.

“What's sad is the fact that she thinks she’ll get anywhere in this class. I might have to do a little work with you around, little Ham, but what do they say? The more the merrier,” replied Thomas, snarkiness evident in his tone.

“Just you wait Thomas, just you wait,” you hissed, shaking your head, retreating back to your seat.

You were more than relieved, to say the least, when class was over. Thomas and Alexander screeching at each other the entire class period gave you a headache, and all you wanted to do was go home and sleep. Unfortunately, that wouldn't be the case.

You walked into your shared room with the one and only, Angelica Schuyler. You two were very similar, especially when it came to your views on things like equality and women’s rights. Upon walking into your room, you found her gossiping about who knows what with her little sister, Eliza. You groaned and flopped face-first down onto your bed.

“Rough day already Y/N? You've only had what, 2 classes already?” Angelica said, Eliza giggling next to her.

“Ah, you just had your debate class, didn't you?” Eliza chimed in. You groaned again.

“I'll take that as a yes. So you've met the wonderful Thomas Jefferson?” smirked Angelica, realizing the cause of your mood.

“She most definitely has, but she also knocked him down a few notches, which I’d say is pretty impressive in itself,” Alexander said, walking into the room and pressing a kiss to Eliza’s forehead.

“Hello my darling,” he cooed, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him.

“Hello, how was debate class?” she asked him.

“It was-” Alexander started to reply, before you cut him off.

“Horrible. He did nothing but scream at Thomas the entire hour, causing this wonderful, skull-splitting headache,” you grumbled, pressing your face into your pillow in attempt to stop the pain.

“Shut up, you're just mad because I got Jefferson to stay quiet for longer,” he said, sticking his tongue out at you, earning a shove from Eliza.

“Knock it off, both of you. There’s a party tonight to celebrate everyone being back and we're all going,” Angelica announced, earning eye rolls and mumbles for replies.

“You guys have fun, I'll be staying here, I have a date,” you replied, wiggling your eyebrows.

“With who, your bed?” Alex scoffed.

“Nope, my bed and Netflix,” you replied, flashing a cheesy smile in his direction. He rolled his eyes in response. You all continued gossiping and ranting for hours, something you missed while you were a home, away from the campus.

Eventually, people started saying their goodbyes so they could go get ready for the party. Alexander and Eliza left together, so being the obnoxious little sister you were, you yelled “get some” as they left.  Alexander turned around one last time to flip you off, before grumbling and continuing out the door with Eliza.

“So, thoughts on Jefferson?” Angelica asked you, closing the door and sauntering over to her bed.

“I hate him,” you mumbled into your pillow.

“That's too bad really, because he’s going to the party tonight, and I think he’s looking forward to seeing you,” she wiggled her eyebrows as she said it, earning an eye roll from you.

“You need to stop rolling your eyes so much, one day they’re just gonna roll right out of your head,” she joked.

“If it means I wouldn't have to ever deal with Thomas again, I’d be delighted,” you shot back. Angelica laughed, dragging you towards the bathroom.

“C’mon, we need to get ready!” she said excitedly.

After making sure your hair and makeup looked perfect, you slid on a pair of burgundy shorts and a black crop top, as well as black converse.

“Really? That's the best you could do?” Angelica laughed, jokingly.

“Yes, and just be happy I’m even going,” you retorted. She rolled her eyes and sipped one of the drinks you two had made for while you were getting ready.

You met up with Eliza and Alexander before walking to the party together.

“Oh, did I forget to mention whose party this is?” Angelica smiled, knowing she was up to something.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Alexander yelled, earning a slap on the shoulder from Eliza.

“No, now pull yourself together Alex, and Y/N, you better behave yourself as well,” said Eliza, wiping her hands on her skirt.

“Fine, but the second he tries to pull anything, I'm leaving,” you grumbled, not in the mood for any more of Thomas’ bullshit today. You approached the house, music seeping through the crack under the door and the open windows. Right as you went to push the door open, someone opened it from the other side.

“Hamilton! Little Ham! Glad to see everyone could make it,” Thomas said, smirking, knowing he was making you angry.

“If I’m gonna make it through tonight, I need a drink,” you responded, taking the cup from Thomas’ hand and finishing it off. He just raised his eyebrows at you. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you muttered a ‘thanks’ before setting off to find another drink.

“Ah, isn’t she the charmer?” Thomas laughed, earning an eye roll from Alexander and a shove from Angelica.

“You mess with her, and I swear to god-” Alexander started, only to get cut off by Thomas.

“You’ll what? You’ll yell at me? Have Washington come after me? Please, save yourself some time and stop being so petty,” Thomas shot back, leading Alexander to scoff and shake his head.

“Son of a-” he started, shaking his head before Eliza gave him a little shove and glared at him, a warning to knock it off. They wandered off into the room, most likely in search of drinks or Alexander’s best friend, John.

You, on the other hand, had found the liquor. You were four drinks in before anyone found you. Luckily, it was only Eliza who had found you.

“Y/N! How many drinks have you had?” she demanded, but you just giggled at her.

“I've only had like, two drinks. I promise,” you said, standing up straighter and nodding. She just shook her head, grabbing a bottle of water and handing it to you.

“By the time I get back here, you better have drank all of that,” she said sternly, before walking away. You looked at the bottle of water, shrugging, and tossing it off to the side. You finished the drink in your other hand, before heading to dance.

You shook your hips to the music, swinging your hair around you. You forgot about all the stress from earlier, as well as your headache. Pretty soon, you felt someone dancing directly behind you. Turning your head, you found the familiar poof of curly hair.

“Where have you been? I haven't seen you in so long!” you exclaimed, hugging the tall Frenchman.

“Ah, mon amour, I only returned from France a few days ago,” replied Lafayette, pulling you into another hug. You squealed as he picked you up and spun you around. The squeal caught the attention of some bystanders, including Thomas. His eyebrows furrowed, watching the two of you. He just shook it off, turning around to continue his conversation with James.

The rest of the night was a blur, not only because of the alcohol, but because you were having so much fun. It felt amazing to just let loose and not worry about one single thing.

Once Alexander and Angelica managed to get you into your bed, you gladly curled up and pulled the covers over your head.

“Night,” you murmured in response to the two, who just laughed and said their goodbyes.

Waking up the next morning was one of the worst things you could've done. Between your returning headache and the yelling of the Schuyler sisters, you were done. And the best part was, it wasn’t even 10am.

They eventually quieted down, making getting out of bed a little easier. You were considering skipping debate class today, you really weren't in the mood for Thomas’ comments. You didn’t want to know what he’d say about you if you didn’t show up, so you sighed and started getting ready.

Once you looked decent enough to go to class, you gathered your things and headed down to the hall where the debate class was held. Upon entering the room, you were greeted by the magenta-clad, mac-n-cheese-obsessed, Thomas Jefferson.

“Y/N! Wasn't sure if you would be here today, you know, with drinking half of my liquor last night,” he taunted, shooting a wink in your direction. You rolled your eyes, sliding down into your seat. You weren't in the mood to argue today, which was odd, especially considering you were Alexander’s sister.

“What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?” he continued, only pissing you off more. Once he realized you weren't going to respond, he laughed to himself and turned away, muttering something to James.

Alexander brought you Advil and water when he came to class, god bless him. You gladly took them, taking two pills and washing them down with the water.

“So about last night…” he trailed off, giving you a stern ‘big brother’ look.

“I know, I was out of line. It won't happen again,” you replied, giving him a small smile. He smiled back, patting you on the shoulder.

“Well in that case…” he said, before turning to face Thomas, “Jefferson! I see you're still wearing that god awful purple jacket.”

“I see you're still hiding behind Washington. Do us all a favor and just leave, clearly you aren't doing anyone a favor,” Thomas retorted.

“At least I have a good fashion sense!”

“At least I have the common sense to sleep once in awhile!”

“Maybe that's why you never get anything done, because you're always sleeping. Or maybe it's because you're too busy hee-hawing with Sally Hemmings,” Alexander smirked, knowing he hit a rough spot with Thomas.

“It's more than you're doing,” Thomas replied, returning the smirk, watching Alexander’s face falter.

“Can you two seriously shut up for once?” you yelled, gaining the attention of the two boys. They both silenced, a small smile playing on your lips.

“Thank you,” you said, making sure the sarcasm was dripping from your voice.

Once the class finally ended, you were more than happy to go back to your room. Once again, Angelica and Eliza were gossiping about who knows what. You immediately turned around and walked out, ignoring them calling your name. You walked around for what felt like hours, just wandering aimlessly, before settling down on a bench in a nearby park. You sighed, checking the time, seeing the bright numbers telling you it was 6:32pm. You put your sweatshirt under your head as a makeshift pillow, before laying down and facing the sky. You had no intentions of staying here all night, just long enough to clear your mind.

You thought about everything going on in your life. Sure, there were good things. You had an amazing roommate, luckily not stuck with someone who was the complete opposite of you. Your family, including Alexander, was incredibly supportive of everything you did. For the most part, classes were easy.

But then you also had your fair share of bad things.

For one, your debate class was a wreck so far, and you were only two days in. Thomas always seemed to be at your’s or your brother's throat, and it got very old, very fast. Not to mention all Alexander talked about was how much he loathed Thomas. Two days in, and you were already stressed. You didn’t know about what even, it was just like a dark cloud constantly looming over you.

And then there was Thomas. No debate class, just Thomas. You didn't really know what to think, you had heard stories from Alexander growing up, but you never thought it would be that bad. He just seemed-

“Little Ham! Didn’t expect to see you here this late,” Thomas greeted you, grinning.

“Thomas, how wonderful,” you spat, not bothering to look at him.

“What're you doing? Still feeling a little woozy after last night?” he asked.

“Thinking. Enjoying the silence. Something that was just perfect until you decided to show up,” you snapped. You didn't want to talk to him right now. As a matter of fact, you didn't want to see him, even think about him right now.

“Well then, I guess I’ll just be going,” he responded, sulking just enough to make you feel sorry.

“No, wait. I’m sorry, today has just been really shitty,” you called, sitting up and putting your head in your hands.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked, as you fiddled with the strings on your sweatshirt. You shook your head, letting out a big breath you didn’t know you were holding.

What he did next kind of shocked you.

He sat down next to you, not saying a word, and lightly rubbed his hand over your back, as if he was letting you know that everything was going to be okay.

Now you knew he wasn’t absolutely heartless, but from the way he had always acted towards you, it was less than expected.

You felt water hit your hands. You looked up, expecting to see raindrops, but were confused when you saw nothing. Thomas reached over, using the pad of his thumb to wipe your tears away.

“I don’t even know what’s wrong,” you said, laughing through the tears. He laughed with you, but this time it was different. It didn’t sound the same from when you heard him laugh, then it sounded snarky, almost forced. This time, it sounded genuine, almost carefree.

“I should get going,” you stood, wiping your hands on your pants.

“Yeah, I should probably finish my run and get back,” he replied, standing as well. You mentally slapped yourself.

“I'm sorry for keeping you,” you said sheepishly, not looking at him.

“No, no it's fine,” he flashed you another grin, causing a small smile to form on your lips in response.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, turning and starting to jog away.

“Goodnight,” you called after him. He turned to look at you.

“Night little Ham,” he winked, causing your cheeks to become a light shade of pink.

As he left, you found yourself not wanting him to leave.

Wait, no. You loathe him. Alexander loathes him. Everybody loathes freaking Thomas Jefferson.

But as you watch him jog away, you can't help but feel your heart flutter at the thought of what he did tonight.

Maybe that counts for something.

[officergrimes-daddydixon]

Summary:You are Rick’s sister and have been seperated from him since the beginning. What happens when Glenn and Daryl find you and take you back to Alexandria?

Note:Enjoy!

Warning: fluff, blood, mentions of death —————————————————————————————————-

Your heart was pounding and your legs were throbbing as you ran through the woods. All you wanted to do was take a breath and sit down but you didn’t have time. Your camp had just been overrun by a group called the saviors, and you weren’t prepared to become their prisoner. Most of your friends had died anyway. You saw them get gunned down or beaten to death. There was nothing you could do but run, run as far as you could and not look back. Tears began to cool your burning face as you thought about your brother for the first time in years. You wondered if he was alive and out there somewhere, in this cruel new world. Your thoughts were dismissed as you ran into a clearing and you skidded to a halt. Your deep breaths had caught the attention of walkers and they were now turning to face you as you had run into their area.

“Shit” you muttered under your breath.

You turned to run but stopped as you saw the walkers emerging from every direction. You couldn’t get away from these dead assholes. You took the gun from its holder and shot at the walker, the sound muffled thanks to the silencer. You carried on aiming and shooting at the ones who got too close for comfort, but like always you had run out of bullets and you had none to spare. You angrily threw the gun to the ground and let out a frustrated sigh as you grabbed your knife and plunged it into the walkers’ head.

You felt yourself get light headed for a second and you quickly squeezed your eyes shut to keep your blood flowing. “C’mon (y/n)” you muttered to yourself.

You stabbed a walker through its head and behind you was another. You turned and placed your hand on its shoulder, your hand flying up to its head but someone had beat you to it. An arrow flew past you and hit the walker you were about to kill. Everything went silent for a moment and you thought you had gone crazy. Where the hell did that arrow come from? You spun around, your eyes scanning the surrounding area but you saw no one. A walker came up behind you but you ended its second life. Your eyes scanned the treeline and this time you saw a gruff looking man come out. He held a crossbow and he sent an arrow flying at a walker. You wondered if he was part of the group that just took yours out, but you figured if he was he would have killed you by now.

Both of you worked together to finish off the remaining walkers. When he had taken out the final one he then turned the bow on you.

“What the hell?” you said, out of breath.

“Daryl!” Your eyes looked to the man who had come out from the trees, he was Asian looking and he carried a gun. “Put it down man”

“She could be a threat” the man called Daryl mumbled back. He kept his eyes on you the whole time, making you feel slightly uncomfortable.

“We’re here to recruit, not kill”

Daryl hesitated before quickly pulling away and lowering his weapon. He paced around a little before squaring up to you, getting in your face. “How many walkers have you killed?”

“Step the fuck back” you said, pushing him away from you as you didn’t like how close he got. He went to lunge forward but the Asian man grabbed his arm and sent him a warning look.

“How many walkers?” the Asian man said this time.

“I don’t know, I don’t keep count” you replied, getting angry at their dumb question.

“How many people you killed?” Daryl spoke, making you shoot your eyes over to him. You bit the inside of your lip as you quickly looked down to the floor and then back up to him.

“Two”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter-”

“Yeah it does!”

You hesitated before answering. “It was either me, or them”

Daryl kept his eyes locked on you but this time you stared back, not wanting him to think you were scared or weak.

“I’m Glenn” the Asian man said, stepping between the two of you as he sensed some tension.

You decided to peel your eyes away from Daryl’s glare as you looked at Glenn.

“(Y/n)” you said bluntly.

“Hi (y/n). We’re from a community, not too far from here. We come out maybe once or twice a week to try and recruit some people” Glenn said.

“Recruit? You planning on having a war with the walkers or something?” you joked, sending the two men an ‘are you crazy?’ look.

“Sort of. We’re planning a war but not with the walkers. Have you heard of a group called the saviors?”

You tilted your head at his question and squinted your eyes. “The hell do you know about the saviors?”

“Not much. We’re doing a favour for the Hilltop”

“I know a little something about the saviors.”

“We’ll explain everything in more detail if you come back with us. We have food, water and shelter. We got guns and people”

You ran a hand over your face as you contemplated what to do. You knew you wanted revenge on the saviors for what they did to your group, but how could you trust these people? It was a risk you were willing to take, you knew that if you got into trouble you’d find a way out. You always did.

“Fine, take me to your group” you said, taking a step forward.

“Great!” Glenn looked to Daryl who still had his eyes on you but he immediately looked away when you all started moving.                                                                                            *****

You looked up at the tall walls that surrounded the community. On the walk back there, Daryl told you that this place was called Alexandria. Other than that, you didn’t talk much to the two of them. You trailed slightly behind them as you wanted to be cautious, and you left yourself a trail to follow in case something went wrong.

“Eugene!” Glenn shouted as you approached the gates. They slid open with ease and your eyes scanned the inside of the community. You could see rows of house and you immediately started getting your hopes up.

“Who’s this?” Eugene asked, watching you nervously.

“(Y/n), she’s gonna help us with the saviors” Glenn spoke.

Eugene nodded his head and watched you cautiously as the three of you walked in. You felt everyone’s eyes on you as you walked. You must have looked a mess from running, not to mention you were covered in sweat and blood.

“Where’s Rick?” Daryl asked a woman with a sword.

You tilted your head at the name and you furrowed your eyebrows. The girl with the sword looked at you and then back to Daryl. “He’s inside” she nodded her head towards a house before walking off.

There was no way it was your brother. But you couldn’t help but let your heart speed up at his name. You followed the two men into the house and your nerves were building up, you assumed this Rick guy was the boss because he was inside while everyone was out working.

“Hey Rick!” Daryl’s gruff voice rung throughout the house.

“In here”

A voice came from the kitchen and your heart raced. Half of you knew it wasn’t your brother, but the other half didn’t want to lose hope. You eagerly followed Daryl into the kitchen and tears immediately hit your eyes. There he was, Rick. Your brother. His eyes looked up and his face changed when he saw you. He looked shocked but over the moon. Nevertheless, both of you kept your cool as you spoke.

“Rick?” you took a step forward and he stood from the stool.

Rick opened his mouth to talk but he was lost for words. He smiled as he took a big step towards you and pulled you into his arms. It felt good to know after all this time he was alive. The last you had heard from him was before he was shot on the police chase.

“I didn’t know you were still alive” he said, his voice cracking just a little.

“I thought you were dead too” you said, letting out a small laugh.

“Someone wanna explain what’s going on?” Daryl spoke from the doorway, both him and Glenn looking confused.

“This is my-”

“Aunt (y/n)!”

You broke away from Ricks hug as you were attacked by Carl, his arms wrapping around your neck.

“Carl! You’ve grown so damn much!” you said, letting the tears drop as you hugged your nephew. The last time you saw him he up to your waist and now look at him.

“She’s your sister” Glenn spoke, nodding his head as he understood.

“Dad, she has to meet Judith!” Carl spoke.

“Who’s Judith?” you asked, pulling away from Carl and ruffling his hair.

Everyone paused for a second before carl realised what he said. “Oh, yeah” he whispered. “I forgot”

“It’s okay” Rick said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Hello? Who’s Judith?” you asked again.

“Lori’s daughter” Rick said, lowering his head.

“You had another!” you squealed.

“It’s Shanes”

“Oh” you said, dropping your head as well. “I’d like to meet her anyway, is Lori here?”

“You have a lot to catch up on” Daryl mumbled before walking off. You looked at Rick and followed him through the house. Although you knew a lot of people must have died, you were happy that you had finally found your brother. You were excited to help your new group with the saviors and maybe even get to know Daryl a little more, he was very mysterious. —————————————————————————————————-

Tags: @teenagetragediesforeveryone @reedusteinrambles @youandyourstupidrope

[lost-n-stereo]

For @iammeaday who prompted me with Bellamy finds himself mildly obsessed with the blonde girl that always falls asleep reading in the library he works at.

we’re some kind of royalty (you and me)

Every Tuesday and Thursday, like clockwork, he watches her.

Not in a creepy way, of course. It’s just kind of hard to miss her, blonde hair wild and unruly, wrapped up in a messy knot on the top of her head. Always in yoga pants and a BU hoodie or sweatshirt, sometimes hanging off one shoulder while she chews on a pencil or drinks from an oversized coffee tumbler.

She’s gorgeous, in a word.

The funny thing is, it’s not even her looks that cause him to stare. It’s the fact that every Tuesday and Thursday, like clockwork, she falls asleep at her table. Right in the middle of the library he works at, stacks of textbooks surrounding her. She just drops her head right there on her open notebook and sleeps.

He thinks she’s premed, judging by her textbooks, and if it were anyone else he’d promptly wake them up (nicely of course, he’s not an asshole) and let them know that the library is not a motel. But there’s something about her that stops him every time he thinks about doing it.

For one thing, she’s younger than him, probably a sophomore, and she’s obviously taking a heavy course load. He remembers his first couple of years here, how stressful it was and he’s a history major, which isn’t easy but it’s certainly never tired him out so much that he had to catch naps in public places.

Unable to help himself, he starts to look forward to those days that he knows she’s going to come in.

One Thursday, when he’s behind the desk and checking books back into the system and completely in the zone, he hears a little throat clearing noise that makes his eyes shoot up.

“Sorry,” she says with a smile. “I don’t mean to bother you but can you check and see if this book is here?”

He nods a little harder than he means to and his glasses fall slightly down his nose. He reddens a little when she chuckles. “You didn’t bother me,” he says, looking down at the paper she slides forward instead of at her.

“I’m Clarke,” she tells him as he types in the long ass title of the book she’s looking for.

“Bellamy,” he says as the screen loads. “So you’re premed, I’m guessing?”

Clarke laughs and nods over towards the giant stack of books at her usual table. “How’d you guess?”

“Just observant, I suppose.” He winks at her before telling her where she can find the book she’s missing. She thanks him and takes off in its direction, her grey heather sweatshirt hitting just above her ass and he has to force himself to not watch her walk away.

She can’t be much older than his sister and the thought of someone his age checking his sister out makes him want to put a fist through a wall so he’s not going to be that creepy upperclassmen that checks out the younger girls.

Clarke gives him a brilliant smile, all pretty pink lips and straight white teeth, when she walks back to her table with the 700 page textbook in her hands.

He tries really hard not to grin back like an idiot but he’s almost positive he fails.

*** Tuesday she brings him a coffee.

“For your help the other day,” she explains as she slides the paper cup across the front desk.

Bellamy chuckles. “Thanks but you do realize that’s kinda my job, right? And by kinda I mean it is my job.”

Clarke just shrugs and throws him a wink before heading to her usual table.

He brings her a chocolate chip muffin on Thursday, because he’s seen her with them a few times so he knows she likes them. She shows up at six o’clock on the dot every day she comes so at 5:55 he places the muffin on a napkin from the snack shop and waits.

He watches her face go from confused to knowing in a matter of seconds and she’s smiling wide when she looks over at him.

“You?” She mouths, pointing to the muffin, and he nods. “Thank you.”

He mouths back, “You’re welcome” before sitting down at his computer. It’s hard to keep the smile off his face for the rest of the day.

***

They go back and forth every Tuesday and Thursday.

It’s almost always food of some kind. Coffee or cookies, homemade brownies (hers) or leftover ceviche (his). One day she leaves a DVD copy of The Outsiders because in one of their few conversations he mentioned that he’d never seen it and she had practically thrown her biology book at him.

She stills falls asleep every single time, usually around nine when she’s put in a solid three hours of studying and she’s hanging on by a thread.

One Saturday he’s passing by one of those teen accessory stores in the mall and sees something that makes him laugh out loud. He probably looks like a creep walking into a store that sells stuffed animal keychains and earrings shaped like ice cream cones but if he doesn’t buy this he is going to regret it forever.

He’s never been more excited for a Tuesday before.

***

She’s cracking up when she walks up to his desk.

“What is this?”

Bellamy laughs out loud when she dangles it from one finger by the black satin strap. “It’s an eye mask.”

Clarke snorts. “I can see that,” she says slowly, as if he’s a moron. “But why did you buy me an eye mask?”

“Because you always fall asleep,” he repeats in the same tone. “Thought these bright fluorescent lights might be a little harsh when you’re trying to catch up on some zzz’s.”

Clarke’s eyes crinkle a little when she smiles. “Noticed that, hmm?”

Bellamy shrugs and leans forward on the counter so they are almost nose to nose. “It’s a little hard not to notice you, Clarke.”

Her eyes flick up and down over his face, from his eyes to his lips and then back up again. “Is that so?”

He barely has a chance to nod before she’s leaning over the desk and pressing her lips against his, just once quickly. “Wanna go for coffee after I study?”

“Need a pick me up after all that sleep?” he jokes and she pokes him in his chest with her pointer finger.

“Something like that.”

He’s grinning when he grabs her by the strings of her pink BU hoodie so he can give her one more quick kiss. “I’ll meet you here after your study nap.”

“Shut up.”

Bellamy laughs to himself when at ten minutes to nine Clarke pulls her new Shh….The Princess Is Sleeping eye mask on over her eyes without even looking at him first and rests her head on her folded arms.

Twenty minutes later she’s yawning and packing up her stuff before heading in his direction.

“Short nap,” he says playfully when she heaves her bag up onto her shoulder.

Clarke gives him one of her brilliant smiles again. “Hard to sleep when you’re excited for something.”

She holds out one of her hands and he slides his fingers into hers as they walk out of the library.

*** She buys them matching eye masks for their six month anniversary.

“King and Queen?” He says when he holds each in his hand. “Which one’s for you and which is for me?”

Clarke throws her head back, her laughter bright and contagious. “You’re such a smart ass,” she chides as she takes the Queen from him and sets it on the nightstand on the right side of his bed. It quickly became her side after he got his apartment two months ago.

He hasn’t gotten the nerve to ask her to move with him yet but he’s getting there.

“So I’m your king, hmm?” He drags her over to him so he’s sitting at the end of the bed and she’s straddling his legs.

“You are,” she nods and drops a kiss on the tip of his nose. “And I better be your fucking queen.”

Bellamy kisses his way from her shoulder to her chin before capturing her bottom lip with both of his and tugging.

“You most definitely are.”

Later, when her body is wrapped around his and the only thing she’s wearing is her Queen eye mask, he thinks of how damn lucky he is that she chose him to be her king.