#HEY. SORRY YOU HAD TO WAIT THREE MONTHS FOR A PUNCHLINE

[bluecubeblues]

Sky with a pipe

What crimes will they commit

★ PREV | FIRST | NEXT ★

[science-hoes]

Daylight: Month Four

Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of PittFest, Robby opens up about his family history (mention of camps), a really emotional chapter tbh but it’s a bit shorter than the rest

Chapters: Month One, Month Two, Month Three, Month Four

Description: Robby and the reader have someone important reveal their baby’s gender, and Robby finds an old family heirloom as their baby’s first gift.

Michael Robinavitch Masterlist

—

Robby’s knee bounced with anxiety, eyes focused on the door of the cafe. He hadn’t even touched his coffee, arms crossed over his chest. You, on the other hand, were contently munching on some kind of pastry that you couldn’t pronounce, but maybe that’s why it tasted so good.

“Need your nicotine gum?” You muffled through bites of your treat.

Your fiance pulled his lips to the side, revealing the gum he was already chewing between his teeth, eyes riveted on the door. “This isn’t a good idea.” He gritted.

You placed a hand on his bicep, squeezing gently. “Robby. It’s gonna be fine. You two have made great progress.” You soothed.

Robby only looked away from the door to the envelope that rested in the middle of the table. “I just don’t want to overwhelm him. I don’t want to backtrack on the progress.” He confessed.

You took a sip of your decaffeinated iced coffee to soothe your cravings. “You’re overthinking this.”

Your level-headed response almost annoyed him. He looked at you, sipping on your iced drink with not a worry in the world. “You know, when I say that to you, you get angry at me.” He protested.

You shrugged and winked at him, and he rewarded you with a small smile that quickly vanished when the bell rang over the cafe door. Jake walked in, scanning the tables until he spotted the two of you. He grinned and headed over.

You rose to your feet and threw your arms around him. Even though you were closer in age to him than you were to Robby, Jake had quickly warmed up to you. Even after PittFest, you continued to talk with him while he and Robby mended their relationship slowly but surely. For a while, you served as a middle man for their communication, mediating the best you could.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you!” You greeted, hugging him tightly.

Jake laughed as he returned your embrace. “Good to see you, too. Sorry I couldn’t make coffee last week. Had an exam to study for.” He apologized.

You waved him off. “No worries. You better be making A’s.” You teased.

The boy smiled proudly. “Always.” He replied.

Robby stood awkwardly behind you, waiting for his turn to speak, rustling his faux hawk as he ran an anxious hand through his hair. Jake looked to him, and the tension was still there. The memories of blood and tears and hateful words that could never be taken back. Leah’s lifeless body underneath his hands. Before the shooting, Robby would have hugged him as tight as he could, but now, he was afraid to even shake his hand.

Instead, Robby just offered his fist, and Jake bumped his against it. “Hey, man. How are you?” Robby greeted.

Jake shrugged but smiled slightly. “Can’t complain.”

The small talk was forced. But at least they were talking. You sat down at the table again, and they followed suit. Jake’s favorite drink and pastry were already on the table waiting for him, just like every time he and Robby met up.

“So, what’s the surprise? Are we going on a fishing trip?” Jake asked, looking at Robby as he munched on his pastry that looked a little too good and maybe you were going to have to get Robby to get one for you.

You looked at Robby and gave him a smile of encouragement. Robby folded his hands in front of him on the table, fidgeting with his thumbs. “Um…” He mumbled. “We’re having a baby.”

The words were simple and quiet. But Jake’s eyes widened. “A baby?” He repeated, mouth agape.

Robby nodded and couldn’t help but smile a little bit. “Yeah.” He confirmed.

After looking between you and Robby to see if there was some kind of punchline, Jake beamed with excitement. “No fucking way!” He exclaimed, tapping his hands on the table.

You giggled at his reaction, and Robby broke into a laugh of pure relief. “16 weeks.” You announced.

Jake leaned in closer. “Is it a boy or girl?” He asked, eyes shining with curiosity.

You waited for your fiance to answer, knowing that every interaction was calculated and diligent. “Actually,” Robby pushed the white envelope toward Jake with a shaking hand, “we wanted you to tell us.” He answered.

Jake met Robby’s eyes, his smile dropping a bit. “You want me to know first?” He asked earnestly.

Robby smiled as naturally as he could, trying to mask his anxiety. “The nurse said it’ll be in the top left corner of the paper.” He explained.

Jake took the envelope and flipped it in his hands until he found the seal. Robby’s hand grasped yours tightly, trying to ground himself through the whirlwind of emotions he was experiencing. You felt your heart speed up as Jake tore open the envelope and unfolded the paper.

“Are you ready?” Jake asked before letting himself read the results.

You and Robby both nodded, breathing shakily at the anticipation. Jake’s eyes scanned the paper, and a smile broke on his face. He looked directly at Robby, and it was the first time in months that he smiled at him like that.

“It’s a girl.”

A girl. The words echoed through your mind. You were having a baby girl. Tears stung your eyes, and you placed your free hand on your belly. Robby took in a shaky breath, and his entire face went red, all the way to his ears as he fought back tears.

“A girl?” He breathed and looked to you, bottom lip quivering. “We’re having a baby girl.”

You nodded and squeezed his hand tightly. “I know you wanted a boy, but-“

Robby shook his head, clenching his eyes shut. “No.” His voice cracked. “I’ve always wanted a girl.”

Jake laughed with joy, reading the paper again. “I’m gonna have a baby sister?” He asked without missing a beat.

Robby’s eyes snapped to Jake, widened with shock. The question was simple, but the implication was so much more. After berating the old attending just a few months ago when Leah died. Denying him the position as a father figure in a fit of anger despite doing more for the boy in just a few years than his real father did his entire life. When patients asked him if he had any kids, he no longer answered with “Yes, I have a step son.” He would just quietly shake his head with negation.

Then the dam broke. Robby’s body wracked with sobs, and he let go of your hand to cover his face, trying to mask his unexpected reaction. Instinctively, you scooted closer to him and threw your arms around him. Jake did the same, their first hug since PittFest. Unconscious tears fell from the teenager’s eyes as the catharsis mended an old wound. Robby was surrounded on both sides with embraces from the people who loved him most.

He eventually pulled you both in closer to him as he managed to catch his breath. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.” He apologized with a breathy laugh, voice cracking through the emotions.

You wiped some of the wetness on his cheek away with your thumb, ignoring the tears that fell down yours. “The barista probably thinks Jake just told you that you’re dying or something.” You teased.

And your little family all laughed together for the first time in months in that cafe.

—

After an hour of catching up, you and Robby parted ways with Jake, promising to see him again next week for coffee. On the ride home, Robby held your hand across the console, rubbing circles on the dorsum of your hand with his thumb. You looked over to him when he stopped at a red light. He had a smile on his face that hadn’t faded since the cafe.

“So this whole time you were trying to gaslight me into thinking the baby was gonna be a boy?” You asked, a playfulness in your voice.

Robby chuckled and shook his head, eyes still on the traffic light. “No. I was trying to gaslight the baby. Because I figured whatever I wanted, the baby would be the opposite.” He explained.

You rolled your eyes but laughed nonetheless. “Crazy old man.” You muttered, squeezing his hand. “I think you’re meant to be a girl dad.”

He let off the brakes as the light turned green, continuing the journey home. “Why do you think that?”

You shrugged, watching the pedestrians on the sidewalk as you drove by. “It’s just your vibe.” You replied simply.

“My vibe.” He repeated the youthful lingo in his mouth with a small laugh. The car was silent following that, with just the radio playing as background noise. As Robby pulled into the driveway of your house, he gave your hand one last squeeze. “Go on in. I need to get something from the attic.” He said.

You did as he said, stepping inside your warm home. Without a thought, you walked into the spare bedroom. It would become the nursery. You sat on the guest bed, crossing your legs, imagining the color that you would paint the walls, where the crib would go, how many stuffed animals to collect.

Robby walked into the room, holding a tiny, weathered box. His eyes were fixed on it, not looking up as he sat next to you on the bed.

“Whatcha got there?” You asked.

He silently opened the box. He gingerly lifted a small, dainty bracelet that hung from his large fingers. A Star of David charm clung to the chain, and you could just barely see a Hebrew word etched into the Star.

“It was my savta’s when she was a baby.” He explained and took in a deep breath. “It was the only thing that wasn’t taken when they…” His voice caught, struggling to recall his family history. “When they sent her family to the camp.” He swallowed thickly, and you rubbed a calming hand on his back. “When she went back to their house years later, she found it tucked under a floorboard where her mother had hidden it.”

He opened your palm and let you hold the small bracelet. In that moment, you felt a powerful connection to his past, something you didn’t get to hear about often.

“Before she died, she gave it to me and told me to give it to my daughter. To tell her how Robinavitches persevere. To tell our family’s story.” Robby explained, brushing his thumb over the charm. “I never thought I would ever have a daughter to give it to.”

That’s when his eyes met yours. They glimmered with tears, but he smiled anyway. My God, it’s so beautiful when that boy smiles. You closed your hand over his, encasing the bracelet in between.

“What was her name?” You asked.

“Elisheba Rabinovitch. The “a” and the “o” were swapped around when she moved to America.” He explained.

“Elisheba.” You repeated. “Is it Hebrew?”

He nodded, unconsciously rubbing the pendant underneath his shirt. “Yeah. It translates to Elizabeth.”

“Was Rabinovitch always her last name?” You asked.

Robby nodded. “Her husband died before my dad was born, so her last name passed on to him.” He explained.

“Did she ever call you Robby?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Oh, no. Always Mikhael.” The Hebrew pronunciation rolled off his tongue with ease. “But I like being called Robby. It feels like I’m more connected to her in that way.”

You smiled and rested your head on his shoulder. “She would be so proud of you.” You noted.

Robby just hummed in acknowledgment, hopeful that your words were true. You moved his hand with yours to rest on your swelling stomach, pressing the tiny bracelet against it. As you held your daughter’s first gift in your joined hands, you decided on her name. You didn’t tell Robby then, but your mind had been made up.

Elizabeth Robinavitch.

—

A/N: I cannot WAIT to write the next chapter because Jack and Robby are gonna set up the baby’s nursery (or: how many ER attendings does it take to put a crib together?) 🥰

[iblameashley]

Date-night with König. SFW.

Civilian | Male | Gay

1,200 words

Content: Date-night, Hand-holding and Kissing.

Mostly just cute fluff.

Date number three. König was sat at the table fidgeting, waiting for Alex to arrive. This was all still so new to him. The restaurant was dimly lit, soft music playing in the background. There was a candle flickering at the centre of the table.

He saw Alex come through the door, he exchanged words with the head waiter, and was escorted over. König stood up nervously, taking in the sight of Alex all dressed up. Alex had worn a light-blue button down with black slacks. He felt under-dressed in comparison, a simple polo and khaki's, wearing the black face-mask that covered most of his scars.

"H-hey, Alex" He stammered. "You look..."

Alex beamed him a smile. "Thank you. You look great too, Tobias."

König looked uncomfortable. "König. Please... Its. I just prefer König."

Alex nodded. "Okay."

König motioned to the seat beside Alex, and they both sat down. His leg became restless and his heel tapped at the floor.

"I've never had Sushi before." He said as he looked over the menu.

"I think you'll find a lot of things you'll like," Alex said. "There are many options, we can start with the vegetarian stuff first, if you want." "S-sure." He couldn't look up at Alex. Though he did make passing gazes at the top of his shirt. The top button open, and a little tuft of chest hair poking out. "This is the third date..." He mutter to himself.

"Hmm?" Alex asked.

"Nothing. Just deciding what to try."

Alex smiled. He could see the red spreading across König's face. It was endearing that such a big man was so easily flustered.

After ordering several different options, they began to slip into casual conversation. It had been rocky at first, König's life had been mostly military; something he really avoided talking about. Alex could see when there was a knot forming in König's stomach, and would change the topic, the poor man was torturing himself enough just being out.

He had even managed to convince König to take his mask off before the food arrived. König had hesitated, ashamed of his face. But Alex was unbothered, though he did take everything in. The thick scare that ran from König's temple to his jawline. The one from his lower lip to his chin, and the one next to his ear that ran half way down his neck that looked like a burn. There was also a small chunk of flesh missing from one of his nostrils. So many stories. Maybe one day König would tell him.

As the conversation progressed, König began to lighten up; open up. He practically ignored the Sushi, stuffing one piece in and continuing a story. A stray dog he had made friends with, 'Nala'. Places he loved to go in Austria and Germany. The few family members he still had. It was the most enthusiasm Alex had ever seen from the man. They shared a love of dogs and the countryside. They both spoke multiple languages, though Alex joked it was a shame he didn't know German.

In an awful attempt at humour, König had cracked a joke. A terrible, awful joke about a guy who stole 'all the calendars' and 'got twelve months.'

Alex nearly choked on his water as König landed the punchline. In between hacking up a lung, he laughed uncontrollably. The attention it drew from the rest of the patrons made König shrink down in his chair and look at the wall.

When Alex had finally composed himself, he apologized for the outburst. "I love puns." He said, still huffed out some laughs.

"You've got a smile that could disarm an army, its quite the weapon." The words slipped from König's lips before his brain could register what he had said.

There was a silence that hung in the air between them for what felt like an eternity. Alex was flabbergasted by the sudden admission. König was considering jumping off the roof.

"Oh mein Gott" He whispered. He looked up at Alex, just sitting there. "I-I'm so sorry, Alex! That came out completely wrong, I must sound like an idiot. Ich könnte im Boden versinken." (I could sink into the ground)

Alex reached across the table and gripped one of König's hands tightly. He thumbed at König's rough, calloused hands and smiled. "König, its okay. I understand what you were saying. I appreciate the compliment."

König began to relax, and squeezed Alex hand. His heart was burning bright as Alex's soft hand embraced his.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Alex said. "You're doing fine. I'm here. You've already won me over... so just be yourself."

König swallowed hard. This was the most interest anyone had ever had in him. Alex wasn't scared of him, or using him as a quick fuck. He talked to him like he was just another guy. Well, not just another guy. They were on a date.

König's head was swimming in happiness the rest of the date. He refused to let Alex's hand go, save long enough for Alex to pay the bill. "My treat." He had said as he handed his card to the waiter. He wouldn't take no for an answer.

König, not wanting to let the night end, insisted on walking Alex back home. It was a fairly long walk, nearly a half-hour from the restaurant.

"Du berührst mein Herz auf eine Art und Weise, die ich nicht in Worte fassen kann." He mumbled along the way. (You touch my heart in a way that I can't put into words)

"You going to tell me what that means?" Alex inquired.

"Nein." König chuckled. "Its my secret."

When the reached the stoop of the apartment complex, Alex walked up the first two steps and turned to face König. Finally at eye-level with the man. Those striking blue eyes. The short, dirty-blond hair with whisps of grey. His lips, a soft pink.

"Je peux t'embrasser?" Alex asked. (Can I kiss you?) "What?" König asked.

"Its my secret." Alex winked.

Taking the chance, he put his arm around König's waist and pulled him in. Their faces were centimetres apart, and König's nervous breath was warm on Alex's face. Alex leaned in and pressed his lips to König's. They were soft, and he eagerly leaned into it. His hands made their way to Alex's waist and held him tightly.

König tilted his head, and in his timid nature, slowly slid his tongue in. It barely grazed against Alex tongue before pulling back. Their lips parted briefly, then locked again. A little more tongue again. When the moment passed, König rested his head against Alex's.

They stood there in the cool night air, enjoying a new moment. A peaceful moment König had never experienced before. It was almost overwhelming for him, to have experienced so much joy in so little time. Three dates. He was falling in love.

König watched as Alex entered his building, and only left when he saw the light of his apartment flicker on. "Goodnight." He whispered.

He put his mask back on to hide the idiotic smile plastered across his face, and decided to walk the full hour back to the base. He wanted the time to replay the whole date. The kiss, especially.

[goddessofmischief]

Hi! Absolutely love your Rick Flag series. I was just wondering if you were ever going to write the aftermath to “Betrayal.” I’m really curious to know what happened with Peacemaker and if Punchline and/or Rick made it out alive. I low key want some angst but our man deserves sooo much better. Thanks! Keep up the great work 😊

A/N: Bet you didn't expect me to pull this out of nowhere... the long awaited sequel to 'Betrayal!'

Betrayal, Part 2 - Rick Flag x Punchline!Reader

...

“I love you more than anything.”

"I love you too.”

You shut your eyes, waiting for Peacemaker to pull the trigger - knowing you were needed, knowing you were loved.

Until... he didn't.

You opened your eyes-

And saw that Rick had wrestled Peacemaker to the floor.

"Rick!" you shouted, diving between them. Peacemaker landed a kick to your ribs, and you doubled back, writhing.

“I’m sorry!” Peacemaker shouted, climbing on top of Rick and attempting to knock him out. “I don’t wanna do this-”

Undeterred, you dove back in -

“Hey. Hey, Chris. Look at me. You don't have to do this.”

“He’s gonna tell ‘em.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to kill him for it. He’s a good man. You know that. You know that.”

“I’m sorry,” said Peacemaker, and that was the last thing you heard before he slammed you into unconsciousness.

... When you woke... the first thing you saw was all the blood.

The second was Rick’s dead body.

“He’s gone,” an voice told you, and you glanced up to see Bloodsport.

“Where’s Peacemaker?”

“He’s done.”

“Done?”

“I killed him.”

The truth rang clearly in your head - Peacemaker was dead. There was no revenge to be had.

And Rick Flag... the first man you had ever really loved... he was gone, too.

You crawled over to his body, cupping his face, wishing you had some word, some incantation to undo what had been done, and suddenly, Bloodsport was next to you, grabbing your arm, dragging you away-

“He’s gone! You have to get out of here!”

"I'm not leaving him!"

"You have to!" Bloodsport shouted. “This building is about to go down!”

“No, I can still...” you hiccuped, and realized you had been crying. “I can still save him-”

“He’s dead. You can’t. No one can.”

With those words, you let him drag you away.

...

You weren’t sure why you had returned to Waller.

After Corto Maltese, you’d had options. You could have run away with the rest of the surviving Squad. Could have boarded a plane and prayed Waller never set off that bomb in your head on a dare.

But you had always been one to play the odds - and besides. Your time was up. You’d served enough missions, worked off your life sentence. You had graduated, once and for all, off the Suicide Squad.

You had won.

“Welcome back, Punchline,” said Waller, shaking your hand. “I like the new suit.”

You smiled. The suit was nice - your first purchase of your new life, a trim design with a flattering silhouette. If you didn’t know better, you’d feel like you were dressed as Waller’s apprentice.

“Thank you, ma’am. I look forward to wearing it in the real world.”

Waller emitted one of those half-smiles you were all too familiar with... I know something you don’t.

"Terrible thing,” she mused, almost to herself, though you knew it was a show for you. “...To happen to our Colonel Rick Flag. Terrible, terrible. And when the two of you were going to have such a life together. Who knows? Could’ve had a house... a few kids...”

You swallowed, tears pricking your eyes. You’d grown used to it. Rick had been dead for three months, and you’d realized the grief would never go away.

“Anyway. I’ve decided to grant you another option - if you’re amenable to it.”

“Another option, ma’am?” you asked warily, and she stood up.

“Follow me to the med bay.”

...

You’d always hated the med bay.

For one, it was so deserted. Working with a Suicide Squad meant there weren’t usually any injuries - you either came back whole, or didn’t come back at all.

Today, though... there was a body.

“We have a patient,” said Waller, casually, bringing up a data view on her pad. “Tell me if you see anything familiar.”

She passed you the pad...

And it was a photo of Rick.

You burst into tears, and she exhaled.

“This doesn’t... he isn’t...”

“He is,” she confirmed, and you dove through the glass door - not caring about the scrapes or cuts, just needing to be with him.

“That’s coming out of your pension, you know,” said Waller, exhaustedly, as you  leaned over the hospital bed.

It was Rick, no doubt, and looking as unbothered and peaceful as you’d ever seen him, as if he were only sleeping.

“Is he...”

“Alive. Don’t remember a damn thing, though.”

There it was. The reality check. As hard as it was to take your eyes off him, you turned them on Waller instead.

“What do you mean?”

“He thinks he’s straight out of the Academy. Doesn’t know how to lead a Suicide Squad. Doesn’t know one exists. And he won’t recognize you.”

“I...I...”

“That’s alright. Take your time with it. But that’s your option, Punchline. You’re free to leave. Take your bag and go. But if you stay... I’d be willing to promote you.”

“To what?”

She nodded to Rick.

“How about his old job? With another duty, of course. The training and mentoring of Rick Flag. You know... keep an eye on him. Make him himself again. If anyone can do it, it’s you. Without you, well...” Waller sighed. “I fear we might never get him into shape again.”

You rose from the ground, staring into Waller’s eyes.

“When do I start?”

...

A/N: Here it is... the conclusion to this era of my Rick Flag series! Would we like to see Punchline’s adventures mentoring Rick Flag? Let me know!

Rick Flag Taglist:

@blondiekook@giggles75th@woodlandmouth@xoxabs88xox@yinrose98@witchygagirl@sorrow-has-a-place-here @ateliefloresdaprimavera@fellowscrawnybisexual @afandomswineaunt @nastywhoberi@mrscolonelrickflag

[gisachi]

Can you do number11 🥺

Hii! Thank you for this number! Beware, tooth-rotting fluff ahead. :3

11. Morning kisses that are exchanged before either person opens their eyes, kissing blindly until their lips meet in a blissful encounter. (2,367 words)

.

.

.

They were seven when Ran first learned the cure to her inability to sleep. She was a child then and didn’t know what insomnia was. What she knew was that she was too awake to sleep and too sleepy to be awake. Her incessant rolling and fidgeting under the duvet must have bothered another restless soul as she felt a small, warm body creep into the wide space of her mattress a few seconds later.

“You’re so annoying!” came the squeak of a young boy near her ear. “Maybe that’s why your parents asked you to sleep on the floor instead of beside them.”

She looked over her shoulder ready to bicker, but was too careful not to wake up the four adults sleeping on two double beds of their one bedroom lodge, the one they reserved for their winter getaway in Gunma. “But you’re sleeping on the floor, too!”

Her annoyed snarl barely had an effect on him as he continued rattling. “I chose to sleep here. If I knew you’d be sleeping here too then I would’ve stayed with them up there.” He momentarily propped his body up to peek at the two drooling figures on the bed beside where he and Ran lay, then slumped back down and sighed. “On second thought, I don’t want to sleep there either.”

Under the blanket, Ran rolled her eyes. “Not a mama’s boy or daddy’s boy then.”

“You said something?”

“Ah. I said shut up Shinichi, you’re making it harder for me to sleep.”

“You’re making it hard for me to sleep, barou. You toss and turn too much, my futon is all jumbled up,” he gestured vaguely on the abandoned mattress on their left.

“Oh, sorry for the inconvenience,” she answered dryly, and Shinichi didn’t appreciate it judging by the sullen pout on his face.

After some silence, he spoke. “Fine then. Let’s count sheep together.”

“Count what?”

“Sheep. One sheep, two sheep, three sheep. Know how to count or what sheep is?”

She eyed him under the duvet. “You’re unbelievable.”

“But you’ve never counted sheep?” his voice was genuinely surprised. “It’s effective and I can prove it. Come on, face me. Let’s alternate and see who gets to sleep first.”

Shinichi started with one sheep, and Ran reluctantly followed with two. He went on, and she went on, and on the thirtieth sheep Ran was glaring no longer. With a neutral expression, she closed her eyes, brain still attentive to her even counts answering his odds. She could hear the grin in his voice as they reached a hundred, but came one hundred thirty-six her head felt woozy, and her last memory was one hundred forty-eight and the ghost of his voice, ‘Told you so. Good night, Ran.’

They were seven when they first experienced sleeping beside another warm soul that weren’t their parents’.

.

.

They were twelve when counting sheep began losing its effect. Drinking chamomile tea was a hit and miss. It turned her drowsy at the wrong time of the day (P.E. class, specifically) and kept her awake in the wee hours of night. Shinichi wasn’t blind to it, pulling her to a corner a few blocks from her house, patting her ever so lightly on the cheek.

“Careful, blockhead. Your bed’s still a hundred feet away.”

“Bwuh?”

Shinichi raised a brow at her pathetic sleepy face. Lacking a sensible response, he tugged her out and pulled her by the arm for a brisker walk.

“Don’t let me have to carry your butt to your house.” He scoffed, hand folded over hers. “After-school naps, Ran. Take lots of those. Dad says naps cure everything.”

“I am not going to sleep in the afternoon,” she yawned.

“Shh. Naps. You on the couch, me on the other couch. I accept no argument.”

Ran yawned again. “...Don’t wanna.” But the moment they entered the agency and her body flopped onto the receiving couch, she was off dozing like she’d lost sleep for a decade. In the haze of her head, she heard the echo of a whisper, ‘Told you so, idiot.’

They were twelve when Ran began appreciating afternoon naps.

.

.

They were thirteen when Shinichi had a nightmare in broad daylight. He took a nap while Ran finished homework. Startled by the horrific gasp behind her as she sat on his desk chair, she whipped around to find a restless Shinichi, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead.

“Ran?” he panted heavily, staring at her like she’d grown a third arm. Ran felt anxious just by looking at him. “Shinichi?”

She climbed his bed and knelt beside him. Her hand found its way to his back, stroking it comfortingly. “What happened?”

“No...Nothing,” his voice was calmer, though hints of anxiety still remained. “Just a really bad dream.”

She knew that his nightmares started coming after his parents left for New York three months ago. Though he claimed it was his choice to stay, Ran didn’t need to hear from him to understand the crippling loneliness that came along with being left behind.

“You miss your parents, don’t you?” She saw him tense, but stayed silent.

She sighed, brushing his hair in languid strokes. “Shinichi, I’ve been missing my mom since she left dad. You don’t have to hide it from me. I understand what you feel.”

Though still mute, she felt him lean his head into her caressing hand, closing his eyes then opening them again instantly, as if startled by what he had done. “They’ll return on Christmas, so there’s nothing to miss about them.” He coughed and looked away, rubbed the lower half of his face to hide the growing streaks of pink. Unable to suppress her smile, she giggled.

“See? That wasn’t so difficult to admit, right?”

“What? I didn’t admit anything.”

“Oh, shut up you tsundere boy. Move a little, I’m going to lie down.”

Shinichi made a face, but still complied. They lay on his bed, face to face. Shinichi’s eyebrows were knotted, Ran’s eyebrows were calm. They inwardly acknowledged each other’s presence, until Shinichi broke eye contact and shifted on his side to face the ceiling, tucking his arms behind his head. “I’m going back to my nap.”

“Mm,” she mumbled. “Guess I’ll nap, too.”

She might’ve drifted to sleep earlier, for before falling into unconsciousness, her ears picked up a voice that wasn’t hers, appreciative and soft, ‘Thanks, Ran.’

They were thirteen when they began napping next to each other on a real bed.

.

.

For the most part of middle school and high school, it was safe to say that she never lacked sleep. Not when she’s constantly dragged by her best friend who loved it as much as he loved reading and playing detective. He’d get mad whenever she teased him about it, defending that he wasn’t ‘playing’ as one, he was one. It took two newspaper clippings, two online articles, and one television interview for Ran to believe otherwise.

“I get it, I was wrong,” she said one afternoon as she finished skimming over an internet article with his big bright picture attached.

“Come again?” a goofy grin was etched on his face. Ran chortled and rolled her eyes.

“Look at your picture though. The only thing missing is the height indicator in the background and you won’t be able to tell the difference between this and a mugshot.”

“Hey!” he snatched her phone from her hands and rolled to the other end of her bed, taking another good look at the photo. “It doesn’t! I look great.”

“Not saying you aren’t!” she extended an arm over him, snatching her phone back. “You look great, Hannin-san.” A sly beam stretched over her lips, watching Shinichi’s ticked off expression with amusement and contentment as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’m joking,” with a smile, she poked his arm and he threw a glare. “You are a great detective, Shinichi.” His silence indicated he was waiting for an impending punchline, but nothing followed. This time, she was truly being honest.

Though his eyes remained narrow, his jaw relaxed and lips quirked ever so lightly. With one sharp exhale, he turned to his side, bringing his face a breath away from her, his cold toes lightly grazing her stocking-clad ones. “Let’s nap.”

“Mm!” she closed her eyes, ignoring the sight of his cheeks dusting with crimson and the feel of her own warming up.

.

.

That had been the routine, an exchange of ‘Let’s nap’ and ‘Okay.’ Ran remembered the shock that passed Sonoko’s face when she first told her about it. An hour-long conversation happened just for Sonoko to explain the implications of ‘sleeping together’ and for Ran to vehemently deny and clarify what she actually meant.

The conversation reminded her of the countless advice her mother gave her about being too close to a boy. Her mom would know. But for Ran, none of those applied to Shinichi. ‘Shinichi isn’t just a boy, he’s my childhood friend, my best friend. Shinichi isn’t a boy, he’s a man, a gentleman at that,’ she’d always think. Their afternoon naps of intertwined limbs and innocent hair strokes were normal occurrences. Hell to implications for all she cared, all she knew was that not once in her life did she feel uncomfortable napping and waking up beside his person.

If she had to be honest, napping with Shinichi had and would always be the highlight of her every day.

.

.

They were seventeen when Ran started to worry.

“Am I being a drag?”

“Hn?” Eyes closed, he mumbled, weakly, left arm draped over her waist.

“I mean, you just finished a case, and you must be tired and want to sleep in your own room, instead of you know, rushing here to me...just because I mailed and said I was scared of thunder...” Ran rambled, thought trailing into a murmur as she ended. Her fingers twisted onto the back fabric of his pullover, her cold feet entangling with his warm ones.

Her room was quiet, save for the pattering rain, their regulated breathing, and Shinichi’s calm heartbeat pressing on her ear. “Don’t think about it too much,” she felt his chest rumble as he spoke, voice muffled by her hair. “After a long day, there’s nothing I want to do but return home.”

“But this isn’t your house,” Ran pointed out.

Shinichi was silent, and when she looked up to inquire again, she found him already drifting to peaceful slumber with a smile gracing his sleeping face.

They were seventeen when Ran started wondering what he thought.

About this, about them, about her.

.

.

They were eighteen when they had a huge fight.

She honestly couldn’t remember the reason why. It was easy to forget the reason for a fight when longing overpowered spite. He didn’t come over for a nap for three consecutive days; her sheets were cold and his smell on them was faint. She hadn’t cried this much since the day her mom left the apartment, and even then Shinichi was there to comfort her. Now she was literally alone; even her dad wasn’t around due to a weekend assignment in Nagano.

But came midnight, there was a loud knock and she answered, and Shinichi stood before her in his windbreaker and sweatpants, panting heavily and she figured he must have rushed from his house to hers. “I’m sorry,” he uttered, breathless, and it was all it took before she had him wrapped around a wistful embrace, her silent tears absorbed by the fabric of his clothes.

Shinichi’s shoulders relaxed, breathing more subdued as his hand crept up her locks and gently combed them with his fingers. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Her hands curled on his upper back, clenching his clothes tight. “Me neither.”

With bated breath, he pulled away and looked into her eyes, “Count sheep with me?”

“Yes,” she replied.

They were eighteen when he spent the night with her, the first time since they were seven.

.

.

She woke up beside him on daybreak, not sunset. It was strange but wasn’t; foreign but wasn’t. She’d been waking up to this face for more than half of her life, what was there to feel unsure of?

His scent was back on her sheets, powerful and riveting. His body heat engulfed her senses, insulating her from the cool morning air. She didn’t need to see his face to know that he was awake, too. Limbs intertwined as they often were, she felt a deep intake of breath above her head and a lazy kiss planted on her hair.

She never, never wanted to let go.

She smiled over his shirt, lips skimming over the cotton like she was used to doing this before. She’d only been touching him with her hands, not her lips. But his lips on her hair made her chest well up; she felt special and she wanted him to feel special, too. After all this time, he had always been.

With eyes still shut, she kissed his chest over clothes, tilting her head up by fractions until she breathed on his neck. He craned his head down, blindly kissing the corner of her eye, then her cheek, until his nose bumped with hers.

In that moment, everything left unspoken, everything secured behind clenched teeth - came crashing upon them in the form of interlocking lips, gentle, restrained, but tender, burning with love and yearning, an all consuming flame. It burned their lungs, made breathing hard but they’d never been so awake, so alive.

The morning was cold but their hearts were ablaze.

It was after that their eyes opened, heads swirling and pulse drumming loud. He moved his hand from her waist to caress her pink cheeks, loving gaze not straining away from her face.

She leaned into his palm, eyes shutting again. “Good morning.” (You stayed the night.)

He smiled and pulled her flush, chin resting on her head. “Good morning.” (I didn’t want to leave.)

Shinichi and Ran stayed like that for a little while.

They were eighteen when they both realized they’d willingly count infinite sheep if it meant sleeping and waking up next to each other entangled and loved like this.

.

.

.

[red-riot-rat]

Wing Love

Request: I think requests are still open? If so can I request Kaminari with an s/o that has a vampire quirk? Like she consumes blood to use her quirk and also has wings?

HEY HEY! request are indeed still open babes! i love this request anon

Kaminari Denki x Vampire quirk! reader

Genre: fluff

warnings: none

AN: your boy hasnt proof read this, he is very sorry..

-

-

-

-

Ah yes, the perfect day. It wasn't windy at all, the sun was out, no clouds in sight. The birds sang, and flowers grew. God, is was so perfect.

Well, maybe the perfect day for someone who, quite frankly, wasn't a vampire.

-

You ran down the street, a cloak covering your wings from the sunlight. No one payed any mind to you, they were quite uncomfy to say the least. It was an odder sight to see you run down the street instead of flying, but on day like this where the sun felt like it was burning holes into your skin, you can't expect anything else.

Your heavy boots clacked with every step, as you ran uphill. The last person you expect to start running along side you, is your boyfriend.

Kaminari Denki.

“Hey my immortal baby!” He panted. It sounded like he’d been running for a while to try and catch up. 

Note, you're not actually immortal, maybe your boyfriend actually thinks you are or maybe it's just a little thing he's got. Why? You have no clue.

“Hey.” you greeted back, just as tired as he is. You both slowed as the hill rounded out, and he fell onto the ground.

“Aw, is my Chargebolt in need of a quick recharge?” you laughed at him as you leaned over him, hands resting on your knees. He fought to keep his breath steady as he smiled at you.

“Yes please.” he teased.

You held your hand out, and he took it with no hesitation. You pulled him close and kissed him on the lips.

You both stayed there, kissing each other in front of the school, forgetting that you were both late to class.

“HEY LOVEBIRDS!” somebody yelled. Kaminari jumped, and you looked up towards the voice.

Smiling at the voices owner, you waved.

“Hey Jirou!” you answered, ignoring the fact she called you ‘lovebirds’.

“Get up here weirdos!” she shouted.

You took the blondes hand again, and ran into the school. Your cloak flowing behind you, you looked beautiful.

Kaminari knew that, he knew you were beautiful. But for him to see it in person, amazes him every time. He's seen you almost everyday for 8 months, either through a facetime call, or in person.

But you're goddamn beautiful.

“You're so pretty!” he called out to you, as you ran down the hall. You giggled at his words, and he blushed. He loves hearing your laugh, especially if he caused it. 

“Shut up, you gotta run faster!” you replied with another laugh.

You both ran a bit more, and skidded in front of the 1A class door. Kaminari leaned on the door, and smirked at you as smoothly as he could.

“Hey babes. I  want to suck your blood..” he began. Your cringed slightly, ready for the punchline.

“And your t-” he fell to the floor with a loud thud, as the door slid open fast. 

“Don't finish that Kaminari. Ew.” Mina said in absolute pure disgust. She switched her eyes to you and smiled. 

“Deku wanted to ask you questions, and freak you out with his mumbling!” She said, with a giggle. 

You laughed, and reached out a hand to the blonde sitting on the floor. 

“Deja vu, huh?” he stated with his signature smile. 

“I swear, Denki. I love you.”

“Heh, I love you too bat babes.” With that, he took your hand again, and walked with you into class.

You sat on Bakugou's desk, since he wasn't there. If he was, he would make a point to ‘blow your ass up’, his words. Deku asked question after question about your quirk stopping every once and a while to scribble something down, or mumble to himself.

“What blood do you drink?”

“Simple. Only the blood of animals, but only predators. Mainly wolves, but the blood is extracted in a safe way.” You can promise everyone that.

“Is it weird when you drink blood?” Mina chimed in. 

You laughed, and confessed that when you were young your parents had to explain to you that not everyone drinks blood for their quirk to grow and enhance itself. You had actually freaked a kid out, when he tried your juicebox, and you casually stated it was just blood.

Deku spewed more questions, and as you answered them, the boys started to gather around. They had gotten bored, but frankly always get a kick out of Deku’s constant flow of questions.

“Can we see your teeth again?” the green haired boy stared daggers at your mouth, waiting for it to open. You smiled to show off your white fangs, and Kirishima smiled behind him.

He called you his ‘fang buddy’, as Midoriya switched his gaze from your teeth to his notebook. He drew your fangs in a nice little sketch, and didn't even give you time to compliment it before rushing back into the jig.

“What do your wings feel like?” Midoriya asked. He stared at you, and you stared at him blank faced. You opened your mouth but were soon cut off.

“Feels like leather, but softer. They feel really nice, and they’re sensitive to light too, so they wear a cloak in the sun. The edges of the wings feel very thin, and are darker than the rest of it.”

Kaminari stated. Your head spun on a swivel, and you stared at him. He was just sitting on the floor, scrolling through his phone. 

Did he not realize he was spewing knowledge, some even you didn't know about?

He continued on as more and more of the girls huddled around to hear Kaminaris odd tangent on your wings.

“The top of their wings, they reflect a red kinda in the moonlight. They get really cold at night when they're out, but it's better than them being overheated in the sun.”

This was so out of the ordinary for him, for you. Whispers circled around you, as Mina stared her phone camera on you from a distance. She planned to send this to Bakugou.

“The base of their wings are dark and match the tips of them. They start just below their shoulders, and I think they said, it's about 25 feet from one wing to the other. ”

You grew red in the face as all heads turned to you.

“You know so much about them, it's so- so manly!” Kirishima cried, as Deku frantically scribbled everything down. You stared at the blonde on the floor, as his head slowly rose, and he came to realization what had just happened.

He didn't mean to let all that info slip, not that it was a bad thing. But he had spent so many hours with you, training, helping your sore wings, he just could tell someone the details of your wings from his brain like he was reciting poetry.

“Okay wait hold up… Mina don't send that to ANYONE yet.” He said as he turned to you, redder than you if that was possible.

“You know all that off the top of your head?” you questioned, taken back. He smiled sheepishly, and apologized.

“I didn't mean to let that slip, I'm sorry, I didn't even realize I was doing it!”

You stared at him in awe, and slowly began to smile from ear to ear.

“You're apologizing? And for what? That was adorable! I didn't know you knew that much about me, my wings especially!” 

He rubbed the back of his neck and once again tried to be smooth, “What can I say my vampire babe? I would love to see those wings of yours-”

“Once again Kaminari, NO.” Mina stared at him.

“And that's on what?” she shouted.

“Periodt!” a few others from the back of the class shouted.

You laughed at him, and took his hand as you pulled him closer.

“I love you, and your few braincells that like to focus on my wings charger boy.” you smiled at him, as he grinned red like a tomato.

“My three braincells work only for you babes!”

-

AN: kid has no idea if this is good or not... spare me

[softbiker]

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: maybe a bad word or two? I forget, sorry

Summary: If it’s green, it’s healthy. Nobody tell Steve otherwise.

Word count: ~2k (oops my hand slipped)

A/N: This was supposed to be a very short drabble based on a conversation I had with @kentuckybarnes​ last night...and then I don’t know this happened. Anyways! This is a little gift for @nacho-bucky​ , who deserves all the extra whip; the story features her character Agent 41, as well as a brief appearance by @kentuckybarnes​ Agent 28! A “reader” character may or may not make an appearance ;) Enjoy!

He hasn’t said so out loud - not yet - but Steve is really proud of her. She’s been doing really great this time around. Really, really great. 

After last year’s health kick ended (sometime around the holidays, even the heroes stop caring), everyone’s diets slid back to a state of normal that was…somewhat shy of their (read: Steve’s) original goals. Sugary cereals and waffles dripping in syrup and butter; everyone having their own pint of Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer; Sam and 41 insisting on an extensive comparison of all available delivery pizza, often side-by-side taste tests that led to multiple pizzas devoured each night. 

Steve gave them a warning this time, 4 weeks in advance. It would be hard to jump right in and change their habits on January 1, since they’d be up late partying the night before, and then of course there were the holiday leftovers, etc etc. So he’d give them some time to mentally prepare.

“Mark your calendars, guys,” he warned, eyebrows arched, Captain Six-Pack posed in the community kitchen. “We’re cleaning up this kitchen - starting February 1st.” 

A month of healthy eating - but he picked the shortest month, so he was going easy on them, right? 

Like before, he had worried a little about their agent with the biggest sweet tooth. Poor thing, 41 had nearly had a breakdown last time, and Steve thought she might hate him forever. It was probably a close call. But she made it through the first time around, and February is only 28 days anyway. Well, 29 this year. 

She took it like a champ. Met his announcement with quirked brows and an amused glance in Clint’s direction, but no more wailing and gnashing of teeth than the rest of the team. Bucky had watched them over his steaming mug of coffee, secret smile around his mouth. 

“You know,” 28 piped up from across the island. “It might be a good idea to cut back on caffeine, too. It is an addictive substance.”

Bucky’s eyes had twitched, big knuckles flexing as his hand tightened on the mug.

“Come back with a warrant,” he grumbled. 41 giggled behind her hand and patted his shoulder. Steve just rolled his eyes.

Fast forward a few weeks, just over halfway through this little challenge, and he has to admit that she’s really leaned into the healthy lifestyle. More so than last time; in fact, she’s the one in the kitchen, night after night, iPad poised with a healthy recipe from Pinterest. Everything she’s made has been damn good - he always goes back for seconds. And she’s the first to volunteer to go for grocery runs for the team, dashing off to Whole Foods and the farmer’s market, a triumphant return with a beaming smile and arms full of lush, colorful produce. 

Feeling accomplished, and not a little proud of his leadership skills, Steve decides they’ve earned a little treat. Just a little one. 

Modern coffee and Steve Rogers have struck a deal - he’ll pipe down about price margins and inflation, as long as they continue to deliver strong, kick-you-in-the-teeth flavor. He loves a mean cup of joe, bitingly bitter, with only the occasional splash of milk to soften the harsh taste in his mouth. Coffee was scarce during the war, desperate rationing pared down the drink to little more than brown water, drunk from a helmet while he crouched down next to Buck in a foxhole. He’ll dig a little further in his wallet for something stronger than that. 

He’s familiar with the Starbucks down the block from the tower, having stopped in several times after runs with Bucky and Sam; they haven’t been in a while - a part of his health initiative includes less eating out and more making their own food and drinks. But it’s just coffee. And coffee has plenty of health benefits - he was just reading an article this morning about studies on the preventative effects of caffeine in dementia patients. Not that his brain cells are likely to be affected, but still.

Coffee it is.

41’s eyes light up when they walk in the door, a chorus of “Hello!” and “Welcome to Starbucks!” greeting them from behind the bar. She can smell the syrup in the air, blenders whirring double chocolatey chip frappuccinos with extra mocha drizzle and - what did the menu say? A…caramel ribbon crunch? Yum.

Steve Rogers is a purist in terms of coffee. The concept of frappuccinos and white chocolate mochas makes him want to roll his eyes a little. But he doesn’t make the rules - and hey, the people who invented this are raking in profits, so it looks like they’ve got the right idea. 

Clint’s got his arms around 41 from behind, his chin propped on top of the beanie he knitted her, both of them swaying a little as they glance over the menu. Steve knows Clint is a coffee-addict, too - he’ll probably order straight espresso. 41 loves her lattes, the sweet-flavored ones of course, but she’s done so well cutting out sugar. He trusts her. She’ll be fine. 

It’s just the three of them, with a list of coffee orders to bring back for the team. The cafe doesn’t seem too busy, so he doesn’t feel like an asshole when he shuffles up to the register, pulling up the list on his phone. 

“Be with you in just a second, okay?” 

His head pops up and he notices her standing there, smiling over her shoulder as she preps a new batch of coffee to brew. He nods, a little smile - “sure” - and slides one hand in his pocket while she finishes. She’s efficient and fast, measuring the grounds into the basket, sliding the urn into place and pressing the right button. He notices the way her hair swings, twisted up into a big butterfly clip at the back of her head, the ends falling like a ponytail, longer strands hanging next to her face. 

And then she’s twisting back around and popping up at the register, a nose-scrunching smile and a “What can I get started for you today?”

Blink.

“Um, I’ve got a list-” He fumbles for his phone again. “Sorry, it’s quite a few drinks.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” she nods. Smile still curling up her cheeks - he can’t quite tell if she’s wearing makeup or if that glow is just natural. 

“O-okay,” he clears his throat, swipes at the notes app on his phone. “So first, a tall dry cappuccino with an extra shot-”

He gets through Sam, Bucky, Nat, Wanda, and 28’s orders, before sliding his phone back in his pocket, puffing a harsh breath past his lips. 

“What else can I get for ya?” The barista leans a hip against the counter, tilting her head, smiling eyes still watching him. There’s just something about that look - like she’s in on a joke and he’s still waiting for the punchline. 

“For me…uh,” he shrugs, falling back on a standby. “An Americano, with a little bit of milk and cinnamon, please.” 

That makes her smile deepen, and he would really love to be let in on the joke, but she just nods and repeats the drink, tapping the buttons on her screen. 

“Okay - anything else?” 

“Oh, and whatever they’re having.” 

Over his shoulder, he nods Clint and 41 forward, their hands linked as they slide up to the register. With a smile and a quick greeting, Clint goes for a triple shot, double cupped, one Stevia. Pretty standard - whenever he’s not sharing sweets with his sweetheart, Clint tends towards strong flavors. For Christmas, 41 bought him a bag of something called Death Wish coffee - he brewed it all within a week. 

When it’s her turn, 41 grins at the girl behind the counter, standard sweet and friendly. She leans close to the register and tilts her eyebrow as she orders. 

“I’ll have a spinach milkshake,” she hums. “Venti, please. Oh! With extra whip.” 

Spinach milkshake, huh? Steve’s ears prick up, a little bubble of pride floating up in his chest. He knew if she just gave it her best shot, she’d get used to it. 

The barista grins back at her, and Steve does not at all notice the dimple in her cheek. 

“You got it, girl,” she winks. 

Steve pays, leaving a generous tip in the jar by the register, as the girl flits away from the computer to help prep their drinks herself. She smiles and chats with 41 over the espresso machines, her hands wicked fast between steaming milk and pulling espresso, lining up the finished drinks in the little cardboard tray at the end of the bar. Under her apron, she’s wearing a pair of baggy overalls and for a moment a memory sweeps up in him - factory girls and borrowed boots and rolled up sleeves. A victory smile, that’s for sure. Standing next to Clint at the counter, he pretends not to watch. 

She’s got the trays loaded up, all except one, and turns around to the counter behind her, pouring cold milk and some kind of green powder into a blender. Must be 41’s drink - she’s busied herself at the counter writing everyone’s names on the tops of their cups, adorned with little hearts. Characteristically cute. 

The blender whirs loudly, and as she reaches for a cup and lid the barista meets his eyes over the machines. It startles him, that guilty thump in his ribs, like he was caught doing something he shouldn’t. Her smile stays glued in place as she turns back to the blender, fetching the pitcher and neatly filling the cup with the creamy, green drink, before dropping the pitcher in the sink to rinse. She flips the metal canister in her hand, shaking it a few times, before swirling up a veritable mountain of whipped cream on top. 

Steve sighs one of his long-suffering sighs, his eyes flitting up to the ceiling before he catches the look of excitement on 41’s face, already peeling the wrapper from a straw as the pretty barista snaps the plastic lid over the cup. Well…what can some whipped cream really hurt? At least it’s a healthy drink…she called it a ‘spinach milkshake’ and he has no idea what the ingredients would be in that, but the bright green color has him sold on some marginal health benefits. She’s earned a little dollop of cream. 

“Here you go, babe,” the barista grins as she hands over the drink to an eager 41, who immediately scoops her finger under the dome lid and pops a little whipped cream into her mouth. 

“Mmmm,” she smiles, dreamy. “You did great.”

“Oh, thanks,” the girl laughs back, now wiping down her counters with a rag, cleaning up any of her milk and coffee spills. 

“Seriously,” 41 insists, between slurps through her straw. “You’re, like, my new favorite person.” 

“Hey, now,” Clint hip-checks her as he reaches around to grab the drink carriers. He offers the barista a smile. “Thanks, kid, it looks great.” 

“Oh, it’s no problem,” she insists, sliding away her steaming pitchers and milk jugs. 

They’re turning to leave, all drinks accounted for, and the girl gives Steve one last smile as she turns to restock the cups next to the espresso machines. He sips his Americano - good, bold, perfect combination of milk and cinnamon. 

“Steve?” 41 is slurping at her…spinach thing, Clint holding the door open with his back, hands occupied with the drink trays. Steve licks his lips. 

“Excuse me, miss?” Starbucks employees have their names on their aprons, right? He remembers that being a thing.

She turns back, bright-eyed, expectant. 

“Yes, Captain?” The smile twitches at the corners of her mouth. “Anything else I can help you with?” 

He opens his mouth, starts to say yes, not surprised she recognized him but willing to hope-

His eyes slide down to the top of her apron, corners adorned with colorful, cute little pins, black name tag fixed to the top left corner. A neat cursive scroll spells the word ‘Fourteen’ in stark white chalk. 

Oh. 

His mouth shuts. 

41 gives an exuberant wave as she grabs his elbow and all but drags him out the door. The grip around his drink tightens when he almost stumbles over her behind him. 

“Thanks, see you next time!” 41 grins. 

Without breaking his gaze, the barista leans against the counter and winks, waving her fingers at them. 

Maybe he should give one of those spinach milkshakes a try. 

[ajokeformur-ray]

Hmm, speaking of the current global situation we’re facing against, how about a HC between Arthur and the reader, who is a frontliner. There was an outbreak in Gotham and the reader has to join the other doctors and nurses to treat the infected patients. Of course Arthur would be very worried for her, but she comforts and assures him that she will come back to him safe and soon. They would exchange letters and couldn’t stop thinking of each other. Angst, but with some fluff too. How about that?

This is a request based in reality so I reference disease, deaths, illness, social distancing, depression and suicidal rates increasing (just one line on the last two things listed). Please skip this one if you need to, because I had to take breaks from writing this and I almost cried at several points.

I also kind of feel like I’m being disrespectful of the current global climate by writing this; please know that I do not view this situation through a purely fictional lens. I am aware of myself and of the world and I wrote this as respectfully as I could. If this is viewed as offensive or anything like that (I’m really anxious about posting this so I’m sure I’m overthinking) then it’ll be taken down immediately and no more will be said about it.

WC: 1, 284.

The unthinkable had happened.

There had been an outbreak of illness in Gotham City and it was so virulent, so aggressive, that you and Arthur would have to be separated while you pulled back to back shifts at Gotham Central Hospital.

People were contracting the disease like it was going out of fashion. There had been no warning, no inkling that this would happen, and as such (and also due to the government’s poor funding and organisation), little had been done in the way of protection.

Everything was happening so fast. No one knew what was happening, no one knew what to do.  People were panic buying, people were freaking out. Some people were preparing and being cautious... and then there were the people like you.

Essential workers, who didn’t have the luxury of going into quarantine to wait out the disease. People like you, who had to find alternate living arrangements for the time of the pandemic because you couldn’t risk the people you lived with getting sick.

People like you, who had to leave behind their loved ones for a time for safety, to help others. It was your job and you loved your job... but for all of your training, you could never have foreseen this.

Arthur was worried out of his mind; worrying about bills (he had been laid off from work due to the pandemic), how he would get food (you told him that you would get everything), how you would get fresh clothes...

A laughing attack was always on the back of another and it was all you could do to keep Arthur calm enough to have a proper conversation with you.

In the end, it was decided that you would call each other as often as you could, and you would exchange letters left in the crevices of freshly washed clothes (from Arthur to you) and on top of piles of clothes which needed to be wash and groceries which were essential (from you to Arthur).

It was a huge inconvenience and oh, how desperately you missed each other, but it had to be done. 

This was no joke. There was no punchline. 

A sentiment Arthur knew well, a bit too well, and he took this in stride just like he did everything else which happened to him. 

The process worked pretty well, all things considered, and both of you adored receiving letters from each other.

hi beutifull. i miss you so so much. your the lite of my life. i hope your drinking enuf and eating dsintly. i love you - a.f.

Hi, baby. Make sure to take care of yourself for me, okay? I’m real, I’m here for you and I love you. I’ll be home soon, angel. - Y/N.

Exchanges stretched across the weeks, which bled agonisingly into months...

Every single day people were dying. There weren’t enough medical supplies, beds, the funeral industry was booming... it was terrifying and in the midst of all the chaos, you most needed your clown.

There was nothing either of you could do, though, but to hold on. Arthur had touched these letters; his cool hands had worried over them, his face had undoubtedly been pressed into the clothes, inhaling your scent before he washed them and folded them... the sweet man even ironed them for you.

It was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do. Nothing was improving but nothing was changing.

Soon, the disease peaked but you knew that there would be a second wave. People would get complacent and so it’d kill more people than the first.

Even when the social restrictions were lifted and your job slowed the tiniest amount, you stayed away from Arthur knowing that complacency would have devastating results.

You called each other every day, both of your voices thick with unshed tears.

Arthur always greeted you with a barrage of questions. “Hi, angel. Are you feeling okay? Any fever? How’s work? Are they looking after you, are they - “

“Hey, Arthur, shush, honey. I’m okay, it’s - it’s hectic but it’s not forever. Can you hang on for me, just for another day?”

That was how the both of you had to take it - just a day at a time. That was all anyone could do in circumstances such as these.

Depression and suicide rates were increasing too, as were rates of other social atrocities... it was maddening but Arthur was your one constant, just as you were his.

“Yeah, I can... yeah. It’s just... a day, isn’t it, Y/N?”

“It is, Arthur. I’m so sorry, honey. I’ll be home as soon as it’s safe.”

“I know. Just - don’t ever forget I love you. Please.”

A sad smile from each of you, separated by the city, “I love you too, darling. Don’t you ever forget. I have to go, Arthur, but I’ll phone you before bed, okay? I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/N. You’re the best part of all of this, the best part of me.”

Tearful goodbyes, reluctant spaces as each of you held onto the others’ silence for as long as you could. Neither of you wanted to end any of the phone calls you had every day. 

Death hung over your heads; any phone call could be the last, any letter could be the last...

It took a large toll on your mental healths but you had to keep going. You had to, there was no other way.

Months bled into each other, and everything was just one long today with snatches of sleep in between. Your soul became as worn as your body but soon, soon, it was safe enough for you to go home.

You were going home.

You phoned Arthur to tell him the good news first, knowing as you did that if you just turned up at home unannounced, he would think you were a hallucination. 

“I’m coming home, Arthur. I’ll be home at my usual time. I’ll see you soon!”

“Wha - what? Y/N, do you - do you mean that?”

“Yes! I’m coming home, so just wait for me. I love you.”

You didn’t give Arthur a chance to say it back before you hung up the phone in the office at the Hospital, grabbed your bag and took care of all the extra measures at the entrance of the Hospital before you were on your way home.

Your physical exhaustion was overridden by your desperate desire to see Arthur for the first time in almost three months.

You ran up those stairs, lungs and the backs of your legs burning alike, but you used the physical pain to push yourself around the corner, into the foyer of the apartment complex and, not trusting the lift, you ran up the eight flights of stairs separating you from Arthur.

Arthur Arthur Arthur Arthur Arthur I’m coming home I’m going home Arthur Arthur Arthur - 

You fumbled with the keys, wrenched the door open and yelled out his name.

The quick padding of bare feet on the worn carpet, your name almost shouted, and you caught a blur of Arthur before he crashed into you, arms around you, lips anywhere and everywhere he could reach... oh, but it felt like heaven as he sobbed and laughed against your skin, so emotionally drained and overwhelmed was he.

You weren’t much better off but that was okay. There was time now, for the both of you, to reunite and to find yourselves and each other again.

The danger had passed. You were safe and loved by each other and you felt your souls, tortured by the others’ continued absence, click back home.

AF/J @impulsiveclown @notyourlittledoll @astheworlddturns @fluffedstar @jokersqueenofchaos @germansarechill @tsukiakarinobara @d-dreemurr @lynnesm @sagyunaro @sgtsavoytruffle @docsportello @ezziesworld @flowerglitterwoman @ben-solos-writing-avenger @jokers-doll @jokershyena @arthurjokersgirl @antonija89 @lilliryth @hotpacino

[alleiradayne]

Can’t Fight This Feeling

Summary: Dean and his long time hunting partner pose as a couple buying a house to sneak in and cleanse it. Square Filled: Fake Dating Warnings/Tags: All the fluff, arguing, lying about pregnancy, arguing, angst, cliffhanger! Part II will be done as a part of Song Bingo. Characters/Pairings: Dean Winchester/Reader Word Count: 1,642 A/N: For @spnfluffbingo2019​, this fills the square Fake Dating. Thank you, as always, to @atc74​ for beta’ing. Song: Can’t Fight This Feeling by REO Speedwagon

“This one,” Dean said. “This is it. I can feel it.”

Y/N turned in a slow circle, eyes wide and jaw gaping as she marveled the giant ballroom. And Dean couldn’t help but stare, his heart overflowing at the sight of her childlike wonder.

The realtor had crossed the massive floor to open far curtains, allowing in more light. Deep oak grain shimmered golden brown in the bright spring sun angled across the planks. More ornate wood lined the walls and a massive hearth of granite and wood consumed the entirety of the furthest wall.

“We’ll take it.”

The realtor looked up from her tablet, hesitant. “I'm sorry?”

Dean neared Y/N and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “She said we want to buy the house.”

The realtor scanned the ballroom as though she might find the punchline to their joke hidden somewhere in it. “But you've not seen the rest of the house? There’s three wings!”

Y/N grinned as she looked up to Dean, and he smiled back at her. “I'm sure it’s beautiful. But we’re in a bit of a hurry,” he said as he reached for Y/N's still flat belly. “Need time to get settled in before we’re too busy. Right, Y/N?”

She turned into him and smoothed her hand over his on her belly. “Yeah, we’ll need time to get the nursery put together,” she agreed.

When Dean regarded her, Y/N looked up to him, her smile matching his, toothy and wide. “So, do you think we could seal the deal today?” he asked the realtor.

He might as well have slapped her. Vicky remained frozen by the nearest window still holding the curtain she had drawn. She shook her head as though to clear it, then said, “I… yes. But it’ll have to get a hold of the seller’s realtor and—”

“Wonderful,” Dean mused. “Whatever you need to do, that’s fine, we’ll wait. After all, we need to look at the rest of the house.”

The realtor nodded as she headed for the towering double doors at the far end of the ballroom. “I just… need to go make a few phone calls, get things started. Feel free to explore,” she said with a flat smile.

Dean and Y/N remained in their place until Vicky rounded the door. After a second, Y/N raced across the room on light footsteps, peeked over the frame, and Dean waited. When Y/N turned back with a thumbs-up, she said, “She’s gone. I can hear her talking downstairs, but we’ve got probably twenty minutes.”

“Awesome,” he said as he tossed her two hex bags. “Corners.”

She caught them and turned back to the far end of the ballroom. “Nice work with the fake pregnancy.”

Dean stopped short of the floor as he knelt, a pang in his chest catching his breath. “Yeah,” he started. “Thought it would make the relationship convincing. Not to mention our wanting to buy a three-million-dollar house after only seeing one room.”

Her bright laughter echoed through the empty ballroom, much to Dean’s dismay. “Relationship. Ha! As if we would ever be in a friggin’ relationship.”

He tried to laugh. Dammit, he had to, like he had to hide the way he felt about Y/N for the last six months. “Yeah. Hilarious,” he said though a short chuckle.

Though he had kept his focus on their work—cleansing a haunted house was hard enough to begin with—Dean couldn’t help but glance out of the corner of his eye at Y/N across the ballroom. Everything she did, from the intent and dedication with which she worked, to the little tune she hummed to herself as she flitted about the ballroom, Dean adored. Despite his very strong attachment to her, he had kept his feelings to himself for so long, there would be no point in ruining the friendship. With his luck, she most likely viewed him like a little brother. Even worse, he had noticed her eyeing Sam in recent weeks. And he wasn’t about to get in the way of that.

“Hey, baby.”

Y/N’s mocking voice sounded over his shoulder as he finalized the hex bags. When he looked, he found her draped in one of the gaudy curtains, the sleeves of her t-shirt and legs of her pants rolled up and hidden to so she appeared naked.

“What are you doing?”

She dropped the curtain as she scoffed. “I was just… it’s such a ridiculous house. Can you imagine the parties? All the people that made out in these god-awful curtains?” she said as she flipped a hand at the fabric.

Dean shrugged. “Sure,” he said with a half-hearted laugh. “I guess.”

Y/N glared at him. “What’s your deal? Ever since the realtor left, you’ve been all depressed. Did you like her? Did you think she was cute?”

“What?!” Dean barked. “No! I just… I’m focused, okay? We’ve only got ten minutes to finish this shit.”

Y/N held up her hands as she backed away. “Jeeze. Sorry I asked. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Wait,” he said as he stood. “I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she said, “I get it, you’re busy, I’m bothering you. I’ll leave you—”

He grabbed her wrist as she turned for the other end of the ballroom. “No. You’re not bothering me. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Her casual shrug broke his heart. “Nah, dude, it’s fine. I know when I’m not wanted—”

He hardly had to pull. Y/N fell into his arms with barely a tug of her wrist. If he had any say in the matter, Y/N had wanted him to do it, ready and waiting. And when his lips landed on hers, Y/N melted in his embrace, arms and legs giving way to his wants. Thank God she kissed him back, her tongue diving into his mouth with equal fervor. Though regret plagued him, Dean reveled in the euphoria that was Y/N’s affection as she returned his kiss. Rough hands groped and pulled at impeding fabric, grasped at hair and neck and hands, both so eager for more. They had to do something, make up for lost time, for the months he had wasted burying his wants so deep. He was about to pull her shirt overhead, the hem gathered in his hands, when the realtor returned.

“I just got off the phone with the seller’s—”

Y/N rolled her head over her shoulder as she looked back to the far door, but she made no effort to leave Dean’s arms or find any semblance of propriety in Vicky’s presence. “Sorry,” she started as she placed a hand to Dean’s chest. “We were so happy… we just… couldn’t wait.”

Dean wondered how much of that statement was a lie. If she felt anything close to the way he did, she hadn’t lied at all. If he had a say, they wouldn’t make it back to the Bunker tonight. And thankfully, the warmer weather had picked up, so a night in the Impala with the woman he had fallen in love with so many months ago sounded like the perfect ending to their hunt.

“C’mon, Y/N,” he started. “We should get going. Call us when you’ve got the details ironed out? We can take a look at the rest of the house another day.”

Vicky raised a curious eyebrow as she regarded them both. “Uh… sure. Everything will be ready to sign in a few days. In the meantime, you could—”

“Thanks, Vicky,” Dean said as he passed her, Y/N by his side. “Look forward to hearing from you.”

Vicky said nothing as Dean patted her shoulder. Outside the ballroom, they took the stairs and, when sufficiently out of earshot, raced down the remaining flight to bolt out of the door. Dean hopped into the driver's seat of the Impala parked at the bottom of the steps, and Y/N jumped into the passenger seat hot on his heels.

Baby roared to life, the radio blasting REO Speedwagon, and Dean wasted no time tossing the shifter into reverse and slamming on the gas. Gravel sprayed in a wide arc as he threw the wheel to the right and the car banked hard to the left, spinning about face. The Impala lurched forward when he wrenched the shifter into drive and put foot to the floor, tires spinning in the dirt until they bit solid ground and emerged on the empty county highway.

They rode in silence for several minutes until Y/N shut off the radio. “What just happened?”

“I think we forgot to actually cleanse the house,” Dean groaned.

“Not that!” Y/N shrieked. “You kissed me!”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t hear any complaints, sweetheart,” Dean barked. “In fact, I remember your tongue in my mouth.”

“What?!” she shouted. “Fuck this noise, pull over, Dean. Right now!”

He would never know exactly why he obeyed her command but pull over he did. The car lumbered over the shoulder and into the dirt around a bend, almost entirely out of sight from the road. Dean slammed the shifter into park and turned to look at Y/N to find her face flush and chest heaving with her rapid breath.

God help him, but he couldn’t. He stared openly, enthralled by the steady rise and fall of her tits. The urge to touch, to feel, to bury his face in her, all of her, overwhelmed him, threatened to ruin everything. But he resisted despite the deep ache between his legs.

“Do it.”

He blinked, once, then twice. “Do what?” he asked.

Y/N visibly softened as her shoulders slumped. “I want you. And you want me. So, do it.”

He hesitated a breath a breath too long. Y/N grabbed his hands and jerked him to her breasts.

“Fuck me, Dean.”

Feedback is appreciated! Feel free to reblog, too!

If you want in on any of my tags (Sam/Jared, Dean/Jensen), send me a DM or an ask!

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN FLUFF BINGO MASTERLIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

The Whole Thang:

@atc74  @hannahindie @bevans87  @meganwinchester1999  @plaided-ani-on-hiatus​  @oneshoeshort​ @jonogueira​ @andkatiethings​ @elfinmox​ @wonderfulworldofwinchester​ @princessofthefandomrealm​  @just-another-busyfangirl​ @jmekitchens​ @81mysteriouslyme​ @dolphincliffs​  @seenashwrite​  @canadianspnhunter​  @meowmeow-motherfucker​ @depressed-moose-78 @staycejo1​ @hobby27​  @pretty-fortune @mypopculturediva​ @fanfictionjunkie1112​ @sandlee44​ @4llmywr1tings​ @claitynroberts​ @maddiepants​ @scarletluvscas @donnaintx​ @blackeyedangel9805​ @rainflowermoon​ @winchesterprincessbride​  @lazinessisalliknow​ @the-is13​ @waywardafgrandma​ @keymology​ @sister-winchesters99​

Dean’s Dames (Jensen):

@supernatural-jackles​ @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​ @akshi8278​

[coffeecrusadeclub]

Marry You

Cyrus POV:

I paced back and forth the living room of my 2 bedroom apartment. TJ was at work and I had Andi, Buffy, and Jonah over trying to prepare for my date with him tonight. It wasn’t our first date, and hopefully not our last. It was just our normal Friday Date Night, except it wasn’t. Not for me anyway. You see I had been planning to propose to TJ for months and today was finally the day, and man were nerves hitting hard.

“Cyrus! Cyrus stop!” Andi exclaimed pulling me from my thoughts, while Buffy grabbed my shoulders to stop me from pacing.

“Everything is going to be fine Cyrus. He’s going to say yes” Buffy loosened her grip on my shoulders and we sat down across from Andi and Jonah. 

“But what if he doesn’t! What if he says um! What if he says he has to use the bathroom and leaves! What if-”

“Cyrus!” All three shouted, stopping my ramble from going further.

“He’s going to say yes Cy-guy” Jonah smiled softly at me

“Just relax, breathe Cyrus. There is no reason to stress out” Andi squeezed my hand softly.

“Easy for you to say! You’re not the one proposing!” I exclaimed back frantically, causing the whole group to laugh

“Well Cyrus, may we remind you she proposed to Amber, and was not nearly this stressed” Buffy laughed, shoving me playfully.

“Yeah well- that was different okay!” I put my head down on the table.

“Cyrus I promise you it’s going to be okay” Buffy put a hand on my shoulder

“But what if it’s not. We couldn’t be more different. What if- what if he’s only dating me still because he feels bad? I’m sure he’s gotten tired of me complaining all the time. Or tired of having to deal with me on bad days, which are often I-” I cut myself off and sighed

“Cy have you seen the way he looks at you?” Andi questioned

“Or how he talks about you, man when you aren’t around he talks about you as if you were water and he was dying of thirst.” Jonah stated laughing softly

“And when we play basketball all I have to do is shout ‘hey Cyrus’ and he gets distracted instantly and starts fixing his hair” Buffy added and I shoved her playfully

“Hey that’s cheating! You use me to cheat” I joked

“I don’t use you to cheat. I use your name, there’s a difference Cy” she teased

“Still!” I smiled softly before taking a deep breath

“Alright lets get you ready its already 7, he’ll be here in a few minutes. So that means you don’t have much of a head start”  Andi announced 

As if he had been summoned, we heard TJ’s keys jingle and he walked in.

“You guys! I was waiting for you to buzz me up for 15 minutes! Where are your phones!?” Marty exclaimed walking in behind TJ.

“Oops sorry love” Buffy greeted her boyfriend with a kiss

“I still don’t get why you are all here to help us get ready. Its just date night, we do this every week” TJ laughed as he put his keys on the counter.

“Because we haven’t helped you get ready for a date night in awhile and we have nothing better to do so me and Andi are making the boys help” Buffy replied. TJ believed that because luckily enough for us that was exactly like something they would do.

“Alright no more chit chat. TJ hurry and take a shower. A FAST shower, Me and Jonah are helping Cyrus so by the time you get out we should have already picked out clothes and whatever hair supplies we need and made it into the guest room. Marty and Buffy are helping you in the main bedroom ok? ok. Lets go!” Andi order and we all followed commands.

~~~

It took about half an hour to get me ready, it took TJ 10 minutes longer because of his shower. Jonah, Andi, and I had been seated in the living room when Buffy and Marty made their way into the hall.

“Cyrus Goodman, may we now present to you the boy you are for some reason in love with..” Buffy started, causing me to blush.

“Mr. TJ Kippen! Can you take the floor please” Marty finished as they moved out of the way to reveal TJ. I stood up and smiled at him

“You look- you look amazing TJ.” I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around his waist.

“Same to you darling dearest” TJ smiled at me, softly leaning in to kiss me.

“Ok! Hurry go your reservations are in 15 minutes!” Buffy shouted pulling us apart and rushing us out the door.

“Alright Driscoll we’re going. And hey guys? Don’t be here when we get home yeah?” TJ smirked at them and a blush crept along my face as they all agreed they’d be gone.

~~~

After dinner I ended up in the drivers side of our car, with TJ in the passenger seat unsure of where we were going.

“Hey you missed the turn” TJ instructed pointed backwards

“No I didn’t we aren’t going home love” I smiled, softly pressing my hand against my sweater pocket where the box, holding the ring, was located.

“Where are we going? I want to go home and have you to myself. I don’t want to share you anymore today, I wanted to show you something” TJ whined. I giggled in response.

“We are going to the park. We haven’t been to the swings in awhile, I miss them” I smiled. 

It was only half a lie. We were going to the swings, and it had been awhile. But we weren’t going because I missed them. That’s where I was going to propose. It had been the first place we truly got to talk to each other, where we had made up after our first big fight, where we had our first kiss, where we went after our first date, where he asked me on our first date... Its a spot thats special to us in a way most people wouldn’t get and that’s what made it the perfect spot to propose.

We pulled into the park and I looked towards the swings and smiled. Buffy and Andi had went ahead and put up fairy lights hanging from the swings. I knew they were still here but wasn’t sure where. Andi was here to take pictures and I knew Buffy was with her and possibly one of the boys since it was dark out.

“What the- Why is there lights on the swing set?” TJ questioned

“Just another service they provide” I smiled and TJ gave me a confused look and I laughed, “Andi and Buffy knew I was bringing you here, they must’ve done this.” 

“Wow they really weren’t joking when they said they had nothing better to go” TJ laughed as we sat side by side on the swings. We sat in silence for awhile before TJ broke the silence.

“Do you remember the first time we were here? You were singing your swing set song”

“Yeah I still remember it too. Legs go up, legs go down that’s how we make the swing go round. Drag your feet you go slow, the more you drag the less you go..” I paused, a light blush growing across my face, “God I was embarrassing.” 

“I thought it was endearing. I asked if you had a song for the slides but I didn’t expect you to actually have one”

“Oh my gosh tell me you don’t remember that” I laughed

“Oh I definitely remember! We go down, We say yay. We don’t climb up thats the wrong way.”

“No o m g stop TJ why do you remember that!?”

“Because it was cute.. God I still remember how nervous you were though I feel bad, you were scared of me”

“That was because I didn’t know you. You can be intimidating you know” I smiled at the memory of that conversation

“I remember.. that moment was so powerful.. I think that was when I had fully accepted I had a crush on you” TJ smiled

“When did you start falling for me?” I asked curiously, a mischievous smile on my face. I had wanted to know the answer for so long but he never told me.

“Remember that night at the basketball game? I wasn’t playing and you went to check on me and I tried to push you away but of course that didn’t work. I think the moment I realized was I was falling was when I said I didn’t want to tell people about my learning disability.. You said its an overused buzzword, there was nothing wrong with me. That was the moment I realized I was screwed, I had fallen for you.” he smiled softly at me and I took his hand

“Well for me, I realized it later.. I had had a crush before but it was different. It was like a hype thing for me. You? I fell for you slowly then all at once..” I paused and TJ let out a soft laugh

“Did you really just quote the fault in our stars?” He nudged me a bright smile on his face.

“Yes now shush so I can finish.” I paused and kissed his nose before continuing. “I think the moment I started to fall was when you apologized to a trashcan to sit with us” I laughed, “But that wasn’t the moment I realized. For me the moment I realized was when you rapped an apology to Buffy”

“Oh God you remember that? Please don’t repeat it” TJ laughed and started swinging a little higher

“I do remember but I won’t sing it because you asked..” I paused its now or never right? “Hey stop swinging babe I want to ask you something”

I watched as TJ slowed his swing to a stop, “Sure whats wrong love?”

I took a deep breath and nodded, “TJ I love you more than anyone in this world, I don’t think I could live without you in my life. It has been 13 years since we met, 11 since we started dating.” I paused kneeling and pulling the box out of my pocket, revealing the ring inside it.

“Cyrus..” TJ whispered, tears in his eyes

“I would be the luckiest guy on the planet if you said yes... Thelonious Jagger Kippen.. Will you marry me?”

“Cyrus I- um-”

“Um? No don’t say um” I stood up in a panic and took his silence as an opportunity to panic. “Um means no, We are going to be like Bex and Bowie. You’re going to say um and then in a few months you’ll ask and I’ll say um and then a few months after we’ll both say yes but then you’ll say no and the-”

I was cut off suddenly as TJ pressed his lips against mine, kissing me until he felt I had relaxed.

“Cyrus the answer is yes, it was always going to be yes” He said, seconds after pulling away

“But you said um... um means no...” I replied, avoiding his eyes.

He lifted my chin with his hand so I was looking at him, “Cyrus I said um because you beat me to the punchline” He smiled softly and I gave him a look of confusion. He reached down and pulled a small red box similar to the one I had dropped on the floor in panic.

“I was going to propose too... at dinner but Buffy and Marty said to wait, I guess they wanted you to beat me”

“They wanted to take pictures, they’re hiding somewhere watching” I laughed pulling him closer to me.

He laughed too, wrapping his arms around my waist, our faces inches away from each other. “So what do you say... Will You Marry me Underdog?”

“Absolutely Teej. Will you marry me?”

“Yes” He replied closing the gap between us, kissing me as he lifted me up and spun. “Yes absolutely yes” He continued happily as he put me down.

We stayed like that for a few minutes, his arms around my waist, mine around his neck, Only to be disturbed by the sound of Andi dropping her camera and not so quietly cursing Jonah for pushing her. We laughed turning to where we had heard our friends. This is what I had to look forward to for the rest of forever, I couldn’t be more thrilled.

---

I was gona be mean and leave it off at TJ saying um and then reblog with the rest but I didn’t. Your welcome lol. This was longer than I meant for it to be but I hope you liked it please reblog thank you love yall!

[celtics534]

Natural Chapter 17

And we have reached the end! Thank you guys so much for being so amazing during this story! I had way too much fun writing it! @thedistantdusk, @gryffindormischief, and Arnel were amazing throughout the entirety of this fic and I appreciate everything they have done for me! 

Also read on: FF.net or AO3

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry flexed his fingers the minute Ginny released his hand. They had been in the private hospital room for over three hours and there was still another centimeter of dilation to go. The last contraction had nearly made Ginny break his hand.

 “You’re doing so well, Ginny.” Padma beamed, as she looked up at Ginny from her position at the end of the bed. “I think we’ll be ready to push in the next hour.”

 “Thank, Merlin,” Ginny groaned as she fell back into the pillow.

 Molly came over and wiped her daughter's brow with a wet flannel. “You're doing great, dear.”

 “I don't know how you did this six times.” Ginny reached a hand out to Harry, who took the offering. “I know I should feel sorry about your hand, but this is all your fault.”

 “I'm more than happy to take the blame.” Harry leaned over and kissed her soaked forehead. “Do need anything?”

 “Other than your spawn out of my body? No, nothing --” Ginny cut herself off with a grunt as another wave nauseating pain plowed through her body. She squeezed Harry's hand in a vice-like grip, making him wince.

  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 “And we're at ten centimeters!” Padma called. She waved her wand and a Moses basket appeared from thin air. “You ready to meet your baby?”

It was then that it all became real to Harry. He was about to become a father. Sure, he had thought about it over the course of the last seven months. But daydreaming about something and being presented with it before your very eyes were two very different things.

 He looked over at Ginny. Her hair was matted and her face flushed, but Merlin she was so beautiful. Words became lost to Harry. He nodded at Padma, who was smiling at him.

 When Ginny nodded her agreement too, her breath steadying, and Harry wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders as he kissed her temple.

 When she looked up at him, Harry could see her own excitement through the pain.

 “Alright, Ginny, on the next contraction I need you to push. Can you do that?” Padma’s calm voice seemed to bolster Ginny’s confidence.

 Again, Ginny nodded.

 “Okay, then, here we go.”

 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 “How long does it take to have a baby?” Sirius asked, his body slumped in the chair as a moody teenager might after being told they couldn’t go to a party.

 Both families had assembled at St Mungo's. George had sent patronuses out to everyone he could think of. Harry, his mother, Harry’s mother, all his brothers, the staff at Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Yeah, the last one didn’t make sense, but he had been in a panic, alright?

 George had been sitting in the same chair since Harry had arrived. Harry had rushed past him, straight into the room his wife had been checked into. Next to arrive had been Harry’s parents (which included Sirius), then George’s parents came into the reception room not a minute later. That had been five hours ago. Since then, more people had arrived, including both the Harpies and Puddlemere teams, but they had been told to leave as to not overcrowd the relatives room or the new parents.

 Lily scoffed at Sirius. “I was in labor with Harry for twenty hours, Sirius. It can take a while.”

 Sirius straightened. “I remember that. That seemed so much quicker.”

 James laughed. “That’s because you and Remus decided to show up pissed off your arses and slept for most of the birthing process.”

 “We had been honoring the future marauder!”

 “Not to mention,” Remus spoke from his corner seat. “You forgot to message us until Lily had already been in labor for fourteen hours. We would have been sober if you’d called us sooner.”

 Sirius beamed at his friend. “That’s right! Moony’s got a point. You didn’t send us that patronus until well after midnight. We’d already been in the pub since eight and we had to give cheers to the impending Potter, didn’t we?”

 Lily quirked a brow at the defensive men. “Wait, if James sent you the message at midnight, why didn’t you show up until two in the morning?”

 “Yeah.” James frowned, looking between his two oldest friends. “I never thought about that…”

 Remus’ face darkened with a deep flush that spread down his neck. “Well… you see. Sirius may have shouted something along the lines of, ‘we’re having a baby!’. So everyone wanted to buy us drinks.”

 “And we may or may not have let them think we received a message telling us our adoption application went through.” Sirius shrugged. “To be fair, we’d make an adorable couple, wouldn’t we Remus?”

 If possible, Remus’ blush became more prominent. Everyone in the room was silent until Arthur snorted with laughter. Fred, George, and James followed closely behind. Soon the entire reception room was full of laughter. Everyone was too distracted to notice a disheveled but happy Harry walk into the room with a small bundle encased in his arms.

 “I must have missed the punchline.” Harry’s voice made all heads swivel in his direction in sync, like demon dolls in a muggle horror film.

 James stood from his chair as Lily’s hands came up to cover her mouth at the sight of her son with a baby in arms. “Oh, Harry!”

 “I’d like you all to meet my daughter, Euphemia Potter. But you can call her Mia.”

 Right as Lily started moving in closer to see her granddaughter, Molly walked out of Ginny’s room with another baby, this one wrapped in a blue blanket.

 “Oh and this is my son, Lancelot Potter.” Harry nodded his head towards Molly. “But we’re calling him Lance.”

 “Twins?” James’ jaw dropped, his hand grasping for a chair to hold him up. “Why didn’t you tell us you were having twins?”

 Harry kissed his daughter on the top of her little red head as he passed her to Lily. “We didn’t know. Apparently, Lance is quite a prankster already.” He took Lance from Molly and rubbed his son’s back, whose hair was jet black just like his own. “He thought it would be funny for Mummy and Daddy to think they were only having one baby, so he hid behind his sister.”

 Sirius laughed. “A future hide and seek champ.”

 “He and his sister are gonna be a handful,” Molly mused as she moved over to her husband, who had just been passed Mia.

 “Don’t I know it.” Harry let out a small laugh as James cradled his grandson for the first time.

 “How’s Ginny?” Lily asked, placing a kiss on Harry’s cheek.

 “Incredible.” Harry beamed. “She did so well.”

 “How did she take the news about a second baby?” James pressed a kiss to Lance’s nose before handing him off to Fred.

 “Let’s just say I learned some new curse words.”

 Sirius let out a bark of a laugh. “That’s my girl.”

 “That’s my woman.” Harry’s smile filled his face. “It’s…” He took in a deep breath, his eyes following Mia as she cooed up at Bill. “I still can’t believe we had twins.”

 Lily pulled her son into a tight hug. “Your father and I will head out and get some more supplies for when you and Ginny return home. Another cot, swing, a lot more nappies.”

 Harry pressed a kiss to Lily’s cheek. “That would be amazing, Mum. I hadn’t even thought about our home stock.”

 “You’ve had more pressing matters. Speaking of.” Lily released him and gave him a little push towards Ginny’s room. “Go check on your wife.”

 “I’ll bring the little ones back, dear.” Molly smiled at her son-in-law. “You go spend some time with Ginny.”

 Harry hesitated, looking between his children (who were being held by Bill and Sirius) before nodding. When he entered the private hospital room, Ginny was still laying on the bed, freshly showered (Molly having helped her before bringing out Lance), her eyes closed. When she heard Harry’s footsteps, she opened her bleary eyes.

 “Hey. How did everyone take our little surprise?” Ginny voice sounded raw, so Harry grabbed a cup of water from the bedside table and helped her sit up so she could take a drink.

 He waited until she had finished before answering softly, “I’d say they were just as shocked as we were. I thought my dad might pass out.” Ginny let out a little chuckle. Harry leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Do you need anything, love?”

 Ginny shook her head, sliding to one side of the bed. “No, I’m fine, but I wouldn’t mind if you joined me.”

 Harry toed off his shoes before lying beside his wife. They rested in comfortable silence, Harry’s arms draped over Ginny’s hip, their hands intertwined.

 That was how Molly and Lily found them, each grandparent holding a grandbaby. The new parents had fallen asleep in the lull.

 “Oh dear.” Molly smiled at the sight of her daughter. “I still can’t believe my baby has babies of her own now.”

 “I know what you mean.” Lily pressed a kiss to the top of Lance’s head. “It feels like just yesterday that Harry was telling me girls had cooties and he would never get married.”

 “Ginny always claimed boys ruined everything, so the minute she moved out, she would never talk to another boy again.”

 Lily laughed quietly. “How old was she?”

 “Oh, must have been six, maybe seven. Ron had just knocked out her front tooth so I could see how she concluded all boys, as she put it, stunk.”

 They settled the twins in their respective cots, with no fuss. Deciding to let the tired young couple sleep, Molly set a charm around the bed and put the babies in cots so she and Lily could talk.  

 “Bastille came back,”’ Lily told her. “I saw him as we left the reception room. I’m sure that means the rest of the team isn’t far behind.”

 “I’m sure Harry will be glad to see his friends,” Molly mused as she pulled out a ball of wool she’d been working with from her bottomless bag.

 “I’m guessing the Harpies won’t be far behind. You know.” Lily nodded her head at her son and daughter-in-law. “They’re gonna ask who won.”

 Molly sighed, her eyes rolling, but a small smile quirked at the corner of her lips. “I’d expect nothing less of my daughter. We’ll leave it to teams to inform them.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a skein of green wool. “I got this in case the baby got Harry’s eyes. I think little Lance will be the spitting image of his daddy.”

 Lily smiled and accepted the offered wool and hook and started crafting a jumper for her grandson. “And Mia looks just like Ginny. She already has her wide eyes and fiery hair.”

 The two women fell into silence, ever watchful over the brood of Weasley and Potter children.

 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 Harry kissed the top of his four-month-old daughter’s head. Little Mia was currently bouncing on his chest while Lance rested on his back, as Harry watched his Puddlemere team fly drills. The muggle chest carrier was perfect for when he and the twins were watching practices.

 “What do you think, Mia?” Harry looked into his daughter's soulful brown eyes. “Do you think Coleman’s cutting it?”

 Mia blew a bubble out of her nose, a wide grin on her chubby cheeks.

 Harry laughed and kissed her once again.

 “Harry?” Devlin spoke from behind him. Harry turned to smile at his captain. His captain. He was still amazed by the fact that he was the coach of Puddlemere United Quidditch Club. It was like a dream. Mix that with his fun-but-chaotic home life and Harry was on cloud nine.

 “Yeah, Leo?”

 “I have some new plays I want the beaters to work on. Wanna take a look?”

 Harry looked over his shoulder and smiled at his cooing son, before leading the way towards his office. “Do you have a diorama? You know I’m a sucker for a good presentation.”     

 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 “Ginny, do you know where Lance’s stuffed snitch is?” Harry yelled from the floor of the twins’ nursery. He couldn’t for the life of him find where his son had lost the toy Harry’s father had bought. When does a seven-month-old find the time to hide a toy?

 “Check by the nook in the sitting room,” Ginny said, Mia perched on her hip as she stopped in the nursery doorway.

 Harry rolled onto his back to look at his amused wife. “I did check there. And before you ask, I checked under the sofa too.”

 Ginny snorted. “It seems we’ve been through this a few times if you know all my questions. Is there no mystery left between us?”

 “I still don’t know how I got you to marry me, that’s still a mystery.”

 Ginny rolled her eyes affectionately as she walked out into the sitting room. Harry smiled as he followed her. Ginny had placed Mia in the swing that was identical to the one her brother was using. Lance had drifted off within a few minutes of being placed in the rocker. Harry had been looking for the stuffed snitch since that moment because he knew his son would want to snuggle with it once he woke up, doing his best impression of a fog horn until his demands were met.

 Harry admired his children for a moment. Even months later he was still amazed by them. Mia with her red hair that matched her mother perfectly. And Lance sucking his little thumb as he slept. Nothing was more precious to him: His children and his wife.

 “Found it.” Ginny kept her voice low when she spoke across the room. “I think our son will be going to Hogwarts, dear.”

 Harry watched Ginny summon the toy from the top of the bookcase. “He must have made it fly up there.” Ginny walked to her still snoozing son and placed the snitch next to him. “Come on, let's go have a cup of tea.”

 Ginny led the way into the kitchen and placed the already full kettle onto the burner. Harry started pulling mugs from the cupboard. “I can’t believe they’re both already showing signs of magic.”

 “I know! I asked Mum if it was common for a baby to show powers this early on, and she told me that Fred and George were changing each other’s hair at around nine months.” Ginny moved in close to her husband and wound her arms around his waist. She rested her head on his chest, enjoying the silence that had become a rare commodity in their house over the last seven months.

 Harry pressed a kiss to the crown of her head before breaking the quiet. “What time do you have practice today?”

 “Noon.” Her voice was muffled by his chest.

 “Okay, I need to go in and fill out some forms for the new seeker training Devlin came up with. It shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

 The kettle began whistling strains of what would rapidly become a screech, signaling its readiness. Ginny pulled away from Harry’s chest reluctantly in order to serve them tea, hopefully before the twins woke from the sound. “So how about after you drink your tea you head out and sign the papers. You’ll be back by...” She looked at the clock ticking on the wall. “Eleven o’clock, the latest?”

 Harry nodded as he took both mugs of freshly poured tea and carried them to the little kitchen table. They sat across from each other, their normal spots, before Harry handed her one of the mugs.

 Some people couldn’t stand silence. It made them feel awkward, like there had to be some sort of conversation, no matter if the topic was interesting for both parties. Ginny loved the fact that neither she nor Harry was like that. They had always appreciated each other’s company whether words were spoken or not.

 It was odd to think about how natural everything felt with Harry, even after many years of being together. Yes, you can learn the quirks of someone and learn to adjust, but if you haven’t found the right person, it may never feel legitimate. With Harry, it had always been like this. Harry: her best friend, lover, and everything in between.  

 “What?” Harry quirked a brow at her.

 “Huh?”

 “You were giving me with that look.” Harry’s lip curled upwards in a lopsided grin. The grin that she found way too sexy. “What were you thinking about?”

 Ginny refused to blush;she would not give him the satisfaction. “Bananas.”

 Harry’s grin fell into a grimace of confusion. “Bananas?”

 “Yeah.” Ginny drained the rest of her tea in a large gulp while getting out of her chair. On her way to the sink, she paused by Harry, her lips moving close to his ear. “I was thinking about the versatility of a banana in the hands of a well-trained chef."

 Harry cleared his throat nervously."Ah, very…culinary."

 Ginny ran her nose down his stubbled chin as her free hand moved down to his thigh. "It just so happens you're in the presence of a culinary artist with such a specialty in mind.” She smiled when Harry audibly gulped. “I think bananas will be involved in dessert tonight.”

“Can we skip dinner?” Harry’s sultry tone made Ginny want to skip lunch and dinner.

 She tilted her neck so their lips connected for the briefest of moments, then stood straight. “Nope, you’re just gonna have to wait.”

 Before Ginny could even fully place her mug into the sink, Harry had her wrapped in his arms. Her back pulled tightly to his chest. His mouth trailing down her neck.“You know, bananas can go really well with breakfast.”

 Ginny snorted, but placed her mug carefully down in the metal basin before turning to face her husband. “And even when you have to finish quick, bananas are still extremely satisfying.”    

 “The twins have another twenty minutes left on their swing cycle...”

 “I’m due for some potassium. Care to lead the way, darling?”

 Harry lifted her up into the air, making Ginny wrap her legs around his waist to steady herself. “It would be my pleasure.”

 “Actually, I think it will be both of ours.”

 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 Harry closed his eyes, listening to Lance’s breathing even out. He had lifted the finicky baby out of his crib to comfort him. It had taken the better part of an hour, but eventually Harry had laid down on the sofa with Lance on his chest where he had cried for a few more minutes before settling his face into his father’s neck.

 Harry heard the muffled crash of a camera lens closing. He opened his eyes to see his wife, still in her practice uniform, holding a camera. She smiled unapologetically at him. “I couldn’t resist.”

 “It’s fine.” Harry kept his voice low, palm warm and broad across Lance’s slowly rising and falling back. “How was practice?”

 Ginny knelt by the edge of the sofa and kissed Lance’s head before giving Harry a chaste kiss to the lips. “Good. Coach Guro thought we did such a good job she let us leave fifteen minutes late, instead of the usual thirty.”

 “Impressive.” Harry shifted slightly to test his son’s consciousness. Lance didn’t even notice the shuffle. “Alright, I think he’s ready to go back to bed.”

 “I’ll take him.” Ginny smoothly scooped Lance into her arms, not even disturbing the tyke. Harry waited a few minutes after Ginny left the room before sitting up. He stretched his stiff arms over his head while letting out a large yawn.

 “Now isn’t that a lovely sight?” Harry twisted slightly, letting his arms fall. He quirked an eyebrow at his wife who watched him from the doorjamb. She moved into the room, stopping right in front of Harry. “Have I ever told you how much I love your stomach?”

 Harry thought back over the years... the way her hands gravitated towards the hair that spread down his navel. “I’m pretty good at reading between the lines, love.”

 Ginny smirked. “Another thing you’re natural at, huh?”

 “Another?” Harry moved his hands to rest on her hips while she straddled his lap.

 “Oh yeah.” Ginny nuzzled her nose across his unshaven jaw (between feeding the twins and shaving, Harry had made a choice, alright). “There are many things you’re very good at.”

 “Name one.”

 Ginny trailed her lips across his skin, setting each spot where her lips touched on fire. “Comforting our children for starters. Your seeker skills are next to none. And..” Her tantalizing lips hovered over his, “Don’t even get me started on your finesse last night.”

 Harry smiled at the mere thought of the previous night. “Well, I can’t argue that.”

 “Good.” Ginny connected her smile with his. “You should know by now I’m always right.” She stood, her hand stretching out for him to take. “How about we give last night a run for its money, huh?”

 Harry let his wife lead him to their room, unable to stop thinking about how perfect his life was. He never thought he would live a life like this, with two incredible children, a flawless wife, a job he loved. Everything had turned out better than he’d ever imagined. So pure and natural. He’d never trade it for anything.   

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Seventeen (Once and Never Again)

The joke: a Themis graduate/rock star falls in with another alumnus whom he hated and a Great Thief. The punchline? Who better to understand how it is to be shaped by betrayal.

on ao3

A lot of the faces at the Prosecutors Office are familiar, even after years away, because the average age trends about two decades older than Klavier and at that point little changes other than the one Payne’s horrible hair. The most familiar face he absolutely does not want to see is two days after he gets back — he is coming out of the elevator, still puzzling over a conversation he had this morning with Prosecutor Edgeworth that felt like it had at least three hidden layers. And there in front of him is someone he remembers from school who he wishes he didn't.

Sebastian Debeste looks older, but not by much — not by seven years, with his round face and hair much the same — and wears glasses now, his eyes gone huge behind them as he recognizes Klavier. They stare at each other, Klavier struggling for something to say, anything, even just "Hello, Prosecutor Debeste," and he manages nothing before Debeste, who was probably going to the elevator, makes an undignified retreat toward the stairwell. He is barely out of Klavier's way before Klavier bolts for the main lobby, sure that Debeste’s eyes follow his flight.

He isn't assigned to a case that goes to trial for a month and a half after his return; it does not take him long to refamiliarize himself with the office, but it gives him time to come to know the people who have arrived since his departure. He ends up down at the precinct a lot, consulting with the detectives there, learning the faces he hasn't seen before. He wishes he could work with Daryan again — one of the things he likes about Daryan is that even if he has his moments in which he is an asshole, he is consistent in it, and Klavier knows what to expect from him.

Others, not so much.

The first time he realizes that he is going to have trouble is a week after he returns to the office and he is sent down to the precinct to seek out Detective Gumshoe. Klavier recognizes the name, remembers the detective from that damned Gramarye trial, and recalls him being amiable. This recollection ends up in pieces approximately ten seconds after encountering the detective. Klavier manages to say, "Herr Gumshoe, I have some files that were requested from the office. My name is—"

"Yeah, pal, I remember you. Gavin, the kid who made Mr. Wright lose his badge!"

Something in his chest flash-freezes, brittle frost clinging in between his bones. He thrusts the files into Gumshoe's hands without a warning. "Phoenix Wright," he says coldly, his throat beginning to lock and leaving every word clipped short, "lost his badge himself, for forging evidence."

"Tell yourself that all you want, pal," the detective says (and Klavier does tell himself that, often, every time that trial's ghost emerges from the grave to haunt him. He has to tell himself that, he can't have been wrong; it has to have been Phoenix Wright, all him, only him), "but I know Mr. Wright, I knew him for a long time, and he would never do something like that!" The detective is at eye-level with Klavier, seeming a little shorter when he hunches, his shoulders high, staring down Klavier, like a bull about to charge.  

"Then I'm sorry that he disappointed you," he says, and the lump in his throat has dissolved into a bitter-tasting bile, knew him for a long time and he would never, "but sometimes no matter how many years you've known someone, you don't actually at all."

Something must show on his face because for a moment the detective falters, something like pity flashing across his features, and even when he again appears as though he wants to charge Klavier down, something of his anger is gone. "Yeah, but not Mr. Wright."

What would it be like, he wonders, to have the detective's staunch, unreasoning loyalty; his is the faith of hundreds of witnesses Klavier spoke with in his time as prosecutor, every loved one, family member, friend, of a suspect who insisted again and again, they would never do this, they could never do this, I know them and there's no way—

Is everyone like that in some way? The thought flits across his mind and lodges itself in his heart which feels swollen too big for his chest, like it will soon suffocate him. Is it Klavier who is wrong, somehow, to think that the only thing that even seemed remotely implausible about the story is that Kris left behind enough evidence to be caught?

Much as he hates the tailspin into existential crisis, hates the reminder of the case that led him to flee the office, sometimes he thinks Gumshoe’s objection to him is better than the alternative. Gumshoe at least had a real, concrete problem with his real, concrete past actions, rather than, like other detectives and prosecutors he keeps knocking heads with, taking issue with a facsimile of Klavier Gavin constructed only on rumor and presumption. He’s used to people reading him wrong; he just expects it from the tabloids, not coworkers.

“You’re not on tour anymore, dude,” Daryan says to him one day at lunch, in the middle of May, three weeks after their return. “Nobody loves you here.”

“Quite rude of you to say,” Klavier says. “Not even you, Daryan?” He tries to put his chin on Daryan’s shoulder but is shoved away with a hand in his face before he can manage. “My own friend, betraying me like this? After everything we’ve been through?”

“I’m gonna hate you in a minute if I didn’t, dude.” Daryan rolls his eyes but is laughing.

“You’re also quite wrong. I’ve met a few fans down here at the precinct.” It’s the opposite side of the coin from those who dismiss him as a vapid rock star; these detectives, the fans, still only know him as a construct. But at least it is a kind of interaction at which he is well-practiced.

“Almost evens out the fact that Skye hates you extra.” Daryan shakes his head. “She’s a fuckin’ ice queen, hates everyone, but god, dude, what did you do?”

“I have never seen her before in my life.” Another virtue of Gumshoe: he aired his grievances, not like Skye, who told Klavier to fuck off without either preamble or a follow-up. “I suppose it is my natural effect on women, ja?”

“You mean the part where you instill in them an insatiable lust for murder?”

“Yes.”

“Cool; just wanted to be clear, so that we — oh my god not again.”

“What?”

Daryan is looking at something through the doorway to the hall, at an angle Klavier can’t see. He sits up and leans over Daryan’s shoulder to follow his same line of sight. “Vending machines,” Daryan says, gesturing to the machines, and the young woman sitting on the floor in front of them. “She’s always fucking doing this.”

“Who, and what?”

Daryan stands and motions for Klavier to follow. “Yo, Faraday,” he calls on approach.

The woman looks up. She has long beautiful glossy black hair that she swings over her shoulder with a toss of her head. “Hi, Daryan!” she chirps. Klavier can see now that she has her hands stuck through the flap of the vending machine, maneuvering what appears to be pliers duct-taped to two pieces of rubber tubing. He thinks he can see the concept behind it — the tubes as extensions of the handles to operate the pliers and grab a bag of chips — but in practice it does not seem to be working out that way.

“There’s other vending machines in this building, you know.” Daryan sounds like he has said this before. He sounds weary.

“Yeah, but none of them stock Snackoos, and I paid for my Snackoos, so I want my Snackoos!” The pliers clatter noisily against the inside of the glass pane as she attempts to extract her innovative mechanism. “Haven’t seen you around before,” she says to Klavier, apparently unconcerned with holding a conversation from the floor. “Are you new here? I’m Detective Kay Faraday!” She grins and extends a hand up to him.

“Prosecutor Klavier Gavin.” He has to awkwardly double over to shake her hand. “I worked here before but have spent several years on leave.”

“Oh, so like Daryan.” About five seconds pass in silence and then Faraday gasps. “Wait! Are you in his band too?”

His band? Klavier does not have to look at his friend to know the smug expression that must be on his face, but he chances a glance anyway and yes, Daryan looks very smug. “Ja, he is in my band.” Daryan shoulder-checks him right into the vending machine. With the collision, the bag of Snackoos is jarred loose.

“Thanks, guys!” Faraday says brightly, retrieving her snack from the machine and jumping to her feet. “Anyway that’s cool that you’re in a band. That sounds way more exciting than the average day around here.”

“It is,” Daryan says.

Faraday shoves a handful of chocolate into her mouth and her bright eyes dart between the two of them. Klavier can see the question, the obvious why did you come back to work, then? and he forces the detached mask of celebrity and its empty smile, back into its place. “Hey, you know what’s cool about here, though?” she asks. “Me!” She places a playful punch on Klavier’s chest. “Maybe we’ll get to work together!”

Klavier knows a genuine smile when he sees one; Faraday’s is. “Perhaps we will.”

“I’ve gotta get going,” she says through another mouthful of chocolate. “See you later, Daryan!”

She darts off down the hall with her hair swinging behind her like a cape. “That’s Faraday,” Daryan says, still sounding something between tired and bored. “The unstoppable force to” — he hits the vending machine — “this ol’ bastard of an immovable object.”

“I think I like her,” Klavier says.

Daryan rolls his eyes. “Always a sucker for a pretty face.”

“Blatantly untrue.”

Daryan looks at him.

“Maybe a little true.” But he has to admire the tenacity of someone who has improvised an invention that attempts to optimize her vending machine experience. Plus, she didn’t blow him off like more of his coworkers than not have.

And she is pretty. That is true.

He isn’t lucky enough to be assigned to work with her on his first case back out on investigation. He has to work with Skye instead, which is a miserable experience for both of them, and he is almost ready to wish he had never returned right until he meets the reason exactly why he returned. When the girl, pouting about not being allowed to investigate the crime scene, hands him the letter of defense request, he looks down and nearly drops it in shock, faced with the name Apollo Justice. That is the man who has been staring unabashedly at him, then.

He escorts them into the crime scene anyway, because he has looked it all over and will know if something has been changed. And Skye remains with her Snackoos and fury and he imagines if they touch anything she will tear them apart. If Justice is corrupt and tries anything, he and Skye will catch it, and he will nail him to the wall in court tomorrow and be done with it.

That isn’t how it happens and by the end of the case he thinks he has a little more measure of the man and no more perspective on Kristoph, which doesn’t really surprise him. Daryan heckles him for losing his first trial back. Faraday hears half of their conversation and, apparently having talked to Skye about the investigation at another point, demands to know who on earth if not the mafia prince was the murderer. Daryan wanders off back to work after getting tired of Faraday snickering like a child at the word panties as Klavier tells the abridged version of the trial. “Finally, an interesting case, and Ema doesn’t even appreciate it.” She pats Klavier on the shoulder. “It’s okay though; she doesn’t like anyone.” She pauses, her hand hovering in the air. “Except me, of course.”

The next three weeks of cases he continues to work with Skye. He is starting to grow used to hostility — from her, from other prosecutors, especially Edgeworth, and Klavier can see himself thrown out the door when the mantle of Chief Prosecutor falls to him as it looks wont to do sometime in the next year — and started to ignore it. It’s isolating, certainly, when the three nicest to him since he arrived back have been the dog he didn’t know Kristoph had that he is now responsible for, and at work Faraday, who he sees less frequently than the hawk that at some point took up residence in the courthouse. (And if he really wants to feel lonely, the only other two names he can add to the list of “most pleasant interactions with people I didn’t already know” are Justice, the man who put his brother in jail, and his assistant who Klavier took to be his little sister until he saw her name is Wright.) But he’s spending more time back with the band, prepping for a concert in their home city for the first time in years, and that takes a little bit of the sting away.

He does email Faraday, and Justice and Fraülein Junior Wright, inviting them all to the concert. He’s definitely not desperate for a social circle outside of his band. He’d invite the hawk too if it wasn’t a bird and thus probably unable to read, or have an email. Fraülein Wright emails back with no less than a dozen smiley faces and five less-than-three hearts. Faraday’s response is much less prompt and contains about seventeen frowny faces interspersed between phrases about how she already had plans and save a ticket for me for the next one!!

Sincerity is the hardest thing to gauge in text and Klavier has no way to know how genuinely Faraday means what she wrote until he runs into her at the Prosecutors Office two days before the concert. Or rather, she runs into him, with no more warning than a yell of “Yo! Klavier!” before he is knocked off-balance by a fast-moving humanoid shape.

“H-hello.” He manages to stabilize himself against a wall and Faraday is beaming at him.

“You know, Daryan mentioned the concert last week and like — Sunshine Coliseum is kinda a big deal — so I went and looked you guys up and shit, you guys are actually legit celebrities! And your music is actually really good!”

There is a moment during which what she says has not registered; and then it does, and Klavier doubles over wheezing.

“You thought we were bad?” he manages to gasp out.

Faraday throws her hands in the air. “Well, how was I supposed to know? The only pop culture I’ve been in tune with in the past decade are some eighteen new derivations of the Steel Samurai!” She wrinkles her nose but is still grinning.

“I preferred the Jammin’ Ninja, myself.”

She glances around as though she expects the Steel Samurai to materialize through one of the walls for the slander. “Word of warning,” she says in a voice dramatically hushed. “I might agree, but don’t say such things ‘round these parts.”

“What, that the original Steel Samurai was an overrated show with poor production values and—”

Faraday slaps her hand over his mouth with such force that his head bounces off the wall. “No!” she cries. “Sorry, that probably hurt.”

Klavier wonders what anyone else passing through the lobby thinks of whatever is happening here. “It did,” he says when she removes her hand and steps back, putting a little space between them again.

“I swear I didn’t come over here to beat you up,” she says with a grin that does not look very apologetic. “If I give you my schedule in advance, you’d pick the date of your next concert based on that, right? I would really love to go.”

In that, he can read her sincerity. “I have not a clue when our next show will be,” he says, because this concert is meant to be something of an end note, and an apology, but also mostly to rectify the fact that he didn’t get to perform with Lamiroir before he had to come running home, “but once a day is chosen, I will inform you immediately, ja?”

“It’s a date!” she exclaims. “Get me front-row tickets so I can heckle you.”

“Don’t push your luck, Fraülein.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “Well, I think — oh, hey, Seb!” She bounces on her heels and waves across the lobby to flag someone down.

It’s just Klavier’s luck that she’s friends with Prosecutor Debeste.

“Kay, what are you — oh. H-hi, Prosecutor Gavin.”

“I had something to run by Mr Edgeworth. You two know each other?”

Debeste eyes Klavier with suspicion benefitting a stray alley cat. “We… were in the same year in the same school,” Klavier answers, when it looks like Debeste won’t.

“Oh.” Like a balloon sputtering out, Faraday deflates. She looks at Debeste and her mouth twitches into a frown, just momentarily, but long enough that it is clear something is unspokenly passing between them. “And you studied abroad, too, right?” she asks, and the chirp like a songbird is back in her voice, pushing aside whatever it was that made her falter. They talk about banal things, where in Europe he was, where in Europe she and Debeste assisted on Interpol cases — and if anything has Klavier reassessing his old impressions of Debeste, it is that — until Debeste nudges her in the shoulder and points at his watch.

She sprints out the door yelling her goodbyes across the lobby, receiving dirty looks from everyone else around, and leaves Klavier and Debeste with each other since they saw each other two months ago. “So you, uh, know Kay,” he says, twisting his hands together and toying with the fingertips of his gloves.

“Ja. You are friends?”

Klavier almost takes pity on him and goes for the stairs instead of the elevator, but instead they both wait there, Debeste’s foot tapping at the floor with impressive speed. “Yeah, we — we’ve worked together for a long time. Since — well.”

Since something he doesn’t want to talk about. Klavier can guess. He had been at the Prosecutors Office since January. He remembers the events that started off April.

When the elevator doors crawl open, Debeste almost looks like he wants to run. “Herr Debeste,” Klavier says, staring at the numbered buttons and wondering which floor Debeste’s office is on. Debeste stops on the threshold and the doors bounce open again off of him. “I find myself thinking, since our last encounter, that I am far from the man I was at seventeen, ja?” And better, too, he hopes.

Debeste keeps his face firmly turned forward, but his eyes dart toward Klavier. He takes that as a cue to continue. “And I should hate to be judged as who I was seven years ago.” And maybe that can’t be helped, maybe the Gramarye case will be his mantle for all time, but he at least can be less of an asshole than he was in that trial. He won’t let Kristoph decide how he should act toward anyone else. He decided that with Justice. “And I think then I should offer you that same courtesy as well, to not be judged as who you were.”

Because frankly, Klavier remembers him being an idiot.

(An Interpol consultant, really?)

“Ah, yeah.” Debeste chuckles somewhat nervously. “I was, um, insufferable when I was seventeen.”

“Ach, I was quite the douchebag myself.”

Debeste snorts. “I mean — Kay hated me at first. How hard to you have to work to get Kay to dislike you?”

Rather hard, Klavier thinks, considering that she likes Daryan, who is off-putting on first impression to most people. “Well, she never met me at seventeen.”

Debeste’s office is on the twelfth floor. He stops with his hand over the door, frowning like he has something difficult to say, but when he opens his mouth all that he says is, “See you around, Prosecutor Gavin.”

And Klavier doesn’t think more of it that day, but later, when the dust has not settled but is no longer being stirred up higher into the sky, he is staring at an email from his manager, cc’d to the publicist team, a charred guitar on the table behind him, and he thinks, at least he’s one more person I can add to the “pleasant interactions” list.

He didn’t know it was possible to be this tired.

He starts talking more to the hawk and to Vongole. He ignores an email from Professor Courte and three of deteriorating professionalism from Faraday. He chats about the weather with Debeste, ignores the look around his eyes that shows him struggling to figure out how to broach the topic. He lies to his bandmates and says that he was asleep when they send concerned texts checking in, even though he doesn’t sleep before one am most nights.

He doubted the accusation leveled against Daryan more than he ever doubted the initial news about Kris, right up until the reasoning started to line up too well, make too much sense; but the conversation of several months ago with Gumshoe still haunts him, the way the detective believed even in the face of evidence. I knew him for a long time, and he would never—

But he did, Wright did and Kris did and Daryan did. Sometimes no matter how many years you've known someone, you don't actually at all. Isn’t that what Klavier said? Isn’t that what he keeps discovering for himself? How could the detective still believe in Wright? It isn’t supposed to be like that, not after the verdict comes down. Not after the evidence is —

Evidence is everything.

At the end of July his attempts at work one morning are interrupted by a furious banging on his door. “Klavier Gavin!” The voice is surprisingly unmuffled by the solid wood in between them. “Yo! I know you’re in there! Seb says he sees your bike still here when he leaves and already in when he comes in. Do you sleep here? That’s kinda gross, like go home and shower, dude.” A different intonation of thump comes from lower on the door. Klavier assumes she kicked it. “I see the light on in there! I know you can’t be sleeping through this racket! Show yourself, villain!”

Klavier rests his head on his desk. His attempt to tell her to go away comes out of his throat a barely-audible croak.

The door handle rattles, then stops. When the silence has gone on for about a minute, he starts to think that he is free, only for the lock to click and the door to slowly swing inward. He springs to his feet, nearly overturning his chair, and Faraday appears on the threshold, kicking the door fully open. “Faraday, what the—”

“You weren’t answering your door,” she says. “Or your email.”

“Then take a hint!”

She steps into his office and pushes the door back closed behind her. “Nice guitars,” she says brightly, and as her eyes drift from the wall to Lamiroir’s still on the table, she frowns. “It’s a shame about that.”

“Faraday.”

“About everything,” she adds. “When you find out someone’s not who you thought they were.”

She’s trying to sympathize. Klavier can only half-swallow the anger that was brewing in the pit of his stomach. “I don’t want to talk about this,” he says. He’d already had to talk about it. He’d had to say something and then it had to be filtered and curated and caked in stage makeup to be acceptable to be read by the world. The statements released to social media were barely made of his words, by the end; because his words weren’t coherent and the feelings they conveyed couldn’t be sanitized and rather were quarantined.

They are celebrities, him and Daryan, and they never belonged to themselves. Their meteoric rise and the blazing place of glory from which they fell were never theirs.

“Then can I talk?” Faraday asks. She’s sitting on a precarious stack of binders that he hasn’t returned to their places. He starts to raise a hand to gesture her to the door and stops. He combs his bangs out of his face instead. He doesn’t say anything.

“I wondered what people were saying, like online and stuff,” she says, and Klavier looks back at her in alarm, trying to read from her face whether she has stumbled into that part of the fandom. Her expression doesn’t hint as to the presence of repressed horrors working back to the surface, so it seems she didn’t. “And it’s weird, that there’s all these people who never met you who are mourning this thing that happened, and that even me knowing him for a couple months means I knew someone different than they’re thinking.”

She leans toward him like she’s offering him the chance to follow that. He does not take it. “Because I actually knew him as a person, you know?” And still didn’t even realize that they were celebrities until they basically told her. “I split a pack of Swiss rolls with him that last day. He was pissed about not being on the case” — Klavier knows this — “and I told him not to worry, because the truth always comes to light and we always make sure the innocent get their due.” She frowns. Her perch wobbles beneath her and she plants her feet back firmly on the floor. “I meant that to be reassuring but I guess it didn’t work like that.”

“Nein. Not at all.”

Her dark eyes stay fixed on his face. “I’m sorry,” she says. “That’s all.” When she stands, the tower of binders slips apart to scatter across the floor. “Ah — shit.”

“I will arrange those,” Klavier says, waving his hand to dismiss her from the mess she has made. “Just try not to sit on anything else, ja?”

“I will sit on everything,” she says, looking and sounding very serious despite the actual words. Her eyes are wide like an owl’s when she stops on her way back out the door. “Everything.”

She sends him the culmination of the unprofessional emails the next day, consisting of seven emoticons, three words abbreviated and two misspelled, inviting him out to drinks with herself, Debeste, and Skye. He declines. Better not to push his relationship with Detective Skye from “workplace antagonism” to “off-hours hostility”, although some of the concert evening before the murder happened probably tripped them over that line. He can tell when he’s not wanted. It might not cause his behavior to change in any way, but he can tell, and this one isn’t a fight worth having.

Except Faraday keeps emailing him invitations, and then whether she convinced him or he made the step himself, Debeste starts asking him if he wants to join their outings. It’s harder to decline him, in person, when he’s making sad puppy eyes at Klavier over cheap sushi they grabbed for a quick lunch. The sudden sensation of guilt blindsides Klaiver; does he feel bad for disappointing Debeste? Is that what this is? How is one of his few friendly relationships with someone he knew just well enough to hate in school?

“Why does Kay like you?” Skye asks him.

“Why does she like you?”

Skye flips him off. He isn’t sure when she dropped the act of cool professional disdain but now at least they can be honest about where they stand: sweet sweet mutual antagonism.

“She doesn’t really like me either,” Debeste says. “She knows how to hold grudges.”

Klavier should know how to navigate that kind of person, but really, he doesn’t. His conversation with Debeste turns to the “secret project” that there have been rumors of since the start of the summer — some foundational plans for reform, Debeste says, which he has apparently learned from Edgeworth, though that is also all he has learned from Edgeworth — and an Interpol case that very likely will be pulling Debeste and Faraday off the continent for the month of September. Once they are gone, Faraday sends more emails that come at odd hours for both Los Angeles and France — and then Cohdopia, then Romania, then Germany. Klavier knows absolutely nothing about what the pair are up to besides their ever-changing locations. Their case keeps them away into October.

The winds are shifting back at home, too. He and Skye are told the morning of that they are the prosecutor and detective presiding over the (pardon the pun) trial run of those mentioned reforms. Klavier starts to say that he really would have liked to have had some advance warning as to his role in the Jurist System, and to know at least a little about the committee that has been working on this since — when, exactly?

And then he is told that Wright is involved and he throws his hands up. Of course there is no warning. Of course there is no preparation time. A man who has never once in his life thought ahead about anything would not offer others the courtesy. The only thing he and Skye can agree on is that they don’t like to be left scrambling but aren’t surprised that they have been.

It’s Wright. This is the best he will give.

The victim’s name is Drew Misham. Klavier tells himself he doesn’t know that name. He tells himself it’s coincidence. He tells himself it has nothing to do with that.

(But it’s Wright. He must have an extra ace up his sleeve. Why else would he want the man who disbarred him to stand as prosecutor for his pet project?)

And it’s not a simple case (of course not), and it’s not coincidence. Face the music, Gavin; there’s no way out but down through the dark.

When he gets home after the first day in court, after a second investigation that yields nothing but frustration, he passes out on his couch and ignores emails from Courte, Debeste, and Faraday, all asking about the Jurist System.

He ignores new ones the next day, too.

Instead of calling in sick, which he probably couldn’t be blamed for doing, he goes in to the office while the last vestiges of night still cling to the slowly-lightening sky. It could be inspiration for a song; it could be a metaphor. He lets it go without further acknowledgement. He doesn’t get any work done; instead he remembers when his brother came to visit him in this office seven years ago. He remembers his brother’s laugh, yesterday. He still leaves late and goes in early again the next day. It means he doesn’t have to talk to anyone but still almost feels useful for being there.

At nine am, still early enough that some of the less dedicated have not yet arrived, someone knocks on his door. He wants to ignore it.

“Prosecutor Gavin?”

He stares at the computer screen in front of him which has gone dark. His reflection — a hot fucking mess if he can say so himself — stares back. He can’t let anyone see him like this. He has a face to uphold, a reputation that has already been tarnished enough.

“Prosecutor Gavin? I saw your motorcycle in the garage. I know you’re here.”

When did Debeste get back?

Klavier opens the door.

Debeste doesn’t look much better than Klavier feels — clothes rumpled, hair a ruffled mess, eyes visibly bloodshot beneath his glasses. “When did you get back?” Klavier asks, because Debeste looks surprised at his appearance, as though he was prepared to keep knocking and had no plan in place for if Klavier were to answer. “You look terrible.”

“To the office? An hour ago. I had some things to clear with Prosecutor Edgeworth. To Los Angeles? Three hours ago.” He blinks for a whole second and shudders, shaking his head, trying to wake himself. “I wanted to know what your thoughts on the Jurist System are, from being there.”

It made me lose my brother.

As though he didn’t lose Kris long ago.

Klavier steps aside to let Debeste in. “I think it could be a very good thing,” he says.

They talk about other cases where they have been left scrambling for evidence, because evidence was everything; about how to possibly even begin implementing this system on a larger scale; about the kind of shifts in office culture that will need to happen; about how it would affect curriculum at Themis Academy. Klavier thinks he might escape having to talk about the cause of that look of pity that Debeste keeps shooting him. There’s so much else to discuss, and Klavier can skirt around the details of the case just enough that a certain name isn’t mentioned. Not by him.

But when there’s a lull, Debeste says, “I’m sorry.”

“I need to get back to work,” Klavier says.

He stands and gestures to the door. Debeste gets to his feet but does not move.

“I didn’t know what to do when my father was gone,” he continues. “I faced him and said what I wanted to but then I had no idea what to do after that. I knew who I wanted to be but how to get there seemed like an impassib—impassable wall. But I learned to accept help from other people. That’s what I had to do.”

Klavier had looked it up out of curiosity, some months ago. Blaise Debeste was executed last May, falling squarely in the middle of the average five-to-seven years from sentencing to conviction. “I’m quite fine on my own, Herr Debeste.”

But the question that Gumshoe left him with nearly half a year ago still hangs over him like a shroud. “When the charges were first raised against him, did you think, simply, there is no way he did this? Were you surprised?”

“Of course I was,” he replies, which is not really the response Klavier wants to hear. “Someone I trusted made the accusation and I couldn’t believe it.” And someone who Klavier was sure to be corrupt brought the charges, and Klavier barely doubted. “I thought my father could do no wrong, certainly not murder. And then — and then there was one piece of evidence, one detail that was so distinctly my father that I… I realized. Even I couldn’t miss that one.”

He fidgets nervously while he waits for Klavier to respond, but he does not say anything else, not even the question he must be thinking: Why do you ask?

Why does he ask? Maybe he needs more than a hawk or his brother’s dog to confide in. Maybe he needs to clean the skeletons from the closet he alone keeps. After the secrets he and Kristoph shared came to light, maybe it is time for this, too.

“I was… surprised, quite, to learn he had committed murder, but I did not doubt it. I did not question the veracity of the charges until I saw Wright’s name as a person involved and only then did I wonder, could my brother have been framed? And even then, I asked myself, is Kris capable of murder, and I figured, yes. Who believes that so easily, so readily, of their own family? What is wrong with me?” He stumbles back into his chair, sinking down in it, clutching his head with his hands. The silent screaming inside his skull has taken physical form, a pounding from the inside out. “And after all those years that I trusted Kris too much — I trusted him enough that I ruined an innocent man’s life! Unthinking! Unquestioned!”

Only later, only too late, did he question, and he did not allow himself to consider other answers. “I trusted him just as long as it took to fuck everything up! I should have asked more questions — I should have been more suspicious — how could I not even have questioned why he knew about the forgery! How could I have been such an idiot?” He hears from Debeste the sharp intake of air through gritted teeth at the word. “To not even ask! To think nothing was wrong when so much did not make sense! I was a prosecutor! It was my job to question! To never assume — to never simply believe!”

Klavier looks up. Debeste is quiet, his expression stricken and his eyes wide and teary and fixed on the window behind Klavier. He moves to sit on the table next to him, misses, and thuds down to the floor. Blinking fiercely, he says, “If you’d stayed at Themis and not gone off to study abroad, you should have been valedictorian.”

“You were valedictorian of our class,” Klavier says, head back in his hands. “Why should my presence make a difference in regards to your standing, ja?”

“No, I mean — you should have been. You wouldn’t have but you should have and I—” His breath shudders when he inhales and he holds it for a moment before his shoulders slump with his exhale. “My father bought my grades.”

Klavier blinks.

“I don’t know if it was with money, or influence, or threats, or the agge — aggregate, of the possibilities, but none of my accomplishments were mine. My class rank wasn’t mine, my badge wasn’t mine, and I didn’t notice. Not until he told me.” Sebastian fiddles with the badge on his lapel. “Everything was because he wanted a shining star of a son to crown his rule and even if he didn’t have that he could at least make people think he did. He made me think I was what he wanted. I didn’t question it. I never doubted.”

“He was your father,” Klavier says. “He was Chief Prosecutor, he was Chairman” — he had power of the likes that Kristoph could only dream — “and surely a man like that is trustworthy, ja? Surely you can trust your father, ja? Surely your father has no reason to lie to you, and you were seventeen.”

Sebastian is still blinking back tears but his lips curl into the tiniest smirk. “Yeah,” he says. “And surely you can trust your brother, yeah? Surely your brother has no reason to lie to you. You were seventeen.”

A turnabout worthy of any of the trials in which Apollo stands behind the bench.

Klavier rubs his eyes. “Perhaps we should not have been prosecutors at seventeen, ja?” But Klavier had a harder time facing down his brother at twenty-four than seventeen, while Sebastian at seventeen could still throw his father’s yoke from his shoulders.

“And maybe our families shouldn’t have been…” Sebastian makes a noncommittal noise and shrugs.

“Manipulative douchebags?”

Sebastian’s laugh is weak. “I don’t think that was what I was going for but it might be a synonym.” When he drags his fingers through his hair he doesn’t smooth it down but instead pushes strands up out of alignment. “It’s hard to face the truth but it’s always better once it’s done.”

And Klavier knows that. He’s always known that. But there’s something slightly comforting in someone else caring enough to make the reminder, like Apollo, almost adorable in his earnestness, try to remember what’s really important to you. “It is,” he agrees softly.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” Sebastian says, clambering back up to his feet. Klavier starts to tell him that was an excuse, a hollow pretense for Klavier to throw him out before he had to talk about the pain of the past six months; but Sebastian probably knows that, right? Knows that and has given them both a graceful way out. “And I need to go shower and sleep because I haven’t for thirty hours.”

“You didn’t sleep on the plane?” Klavier asks.

“Not with Kay around. She gets very excited finding out which of her favorite movies she can watch. And insist that I watch.”

Klavier does not know what Faraday’s tastes in film are, but he has a hunch that there is very little good about them. “Ach, perhaps you should deal with that,” he says.

“See you around, Prosecutor Gavin,” Sebastian says.

Klavier stares at the closed door long after he has left. Maybe he should get some sleep, too.

He deliberates it with eyes unfocused on the darkened screen of his computer and after some ten minutes he gathers himself together to call out. He goes home to Vongole’s tail thumping on the floor, no idea of his turmoil — just happy to see him again so soon. There’s something to consider there but hell if he knows what. For a moment, when he lets himself collapse into bed, there is no weight of anything his brother has saddled him with more than the dog who thinks him a more comfortable pillow than the three beds he has failed to convince her to use.

When he wakes up around dinnertime, it is to an email from Faraday inviting him out to drinks on Friday with Sebastian and Skye. His usual answer is already typed out, his finger hovering over the send button, before he really starts to think. Vongole is barking from her bowl and he deletes the message as he pours out some food for her. His new reply is one word: Sure.

Maybe he’ll regret it, but Skye throwing a drink in his face or him making Sebastian hate him again or whatever could happen will be no worse than the ever-growing stack of regrets from every other point in his life.

Skye doesn’t directly address him all night, which is about what Klavier expected, but the surprising thing is that she seems to tolerate Sebastian quite well, despite what he said once about her disliking him. She leaves early, to Faraday’s chagrin, saying that she’s taken a vacation “after that shitshow Mr. Wright dumped us into” (that “us” being the most neutral way she has ever acknowledged Klavier’s existence) and is flying out to see her sister in the morning.

“You’re gonna be getting drunk on the plane anyway!” Faraday whines, hanging halfway out of her chair with her arms around Skye’s waist. If Skye takes one more step, Faraday will hit the ground hard. “Why not just start hungover?”

“Your Interpol trips must be a blast,” Skye says over her shoulder to Sebastian as she pries Faraday’s arms apart. She looks more amused than Klavier has ever seen her. Faraday seems to have that effect on people.

“They are… something,” Sebastian says.

Faraday falls out of her chair.

When the three of them leave, later, Klavier intends to just go home, but then he is wedged between Faraday and Sebastian and somehow lets them drag him into a cab that they take back to Faraday’s apartment. “We do pizza and movie nights,” Sebastian explains as Faraday laments to no one in particular that she is craving mozzarella sticks. “Sometimes with Ema but usually just us and really awful movies.”

“Klav,” Faraday says. “Klav. Klav. Have you ever seen Giant Octopus Tsunami vs. MegaShark?”

“Why the hell would I have ever seen that?”

“Because it’s fuckin’ awesome and you are going to stay and watch it with us because Ema won’t. Like. It’s a tsunami full of giant octopuses...es and it’s gonna make landfall and destroy the city unless the scientists can engineer a giant shark to eat them all before it can—”

Klavier tips the cab driver extra.

Faraday’s apartment is a mess with the decor of a dorm room, Christmas lights strung up around the living room and pictures without frames taped up in a collage on one wall. Faraday goes into her kitchen and starts tossing bags of snacks in to Sebastian. Despite working with Skye for six months, Klavier had no idea there were this many flavors of Snackoos. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure of where he should be while they argue about what kind of chips she needs to put on on her shopping list. The pictures draw his eye again.

A lot of them are selfies but rarely is she alone; by Klavier’s rough estimation, Sebastian is in over half of them. Most have a strip of masking tape stuck beneath them with the year and the location, and most are in Europe. Vacationing in between Interpol cases, perhaps. A woman who appears to be about their age with short grayish hair and a scowl appears in several, her expressions comical next to Faraday’s huge grins. Skye shows up a few times as well. Klavier recognizes Detective Gumshoe, of all people, in several of the photos that are unlabeled, but two include the dancing Blue Badger outside of Criminal Affairs. In one Faraday has her badge shoved toward the camera, Gumshoe beaming behind her.

In the center, in a place of honor, is a photo printed larger than the others, of Faraday, younger, and Gumshoe with, of all people, Prosecutor Edgeworth, who does not look happy to have been dragged by the neck by Faraday into frame.

He thinks of all of the curt conversations he has ever had with Edgeworth, both before he left and now that he has come back, and wonders if Faraday has lucked her way onto a barely-existent good side, or Klavier has for reasons unknown gotten on his bad side. Could it be as it was with Gumshoe — something about Wright?

Faraday and Sebastian are yelling at each other about pretzels.

On the TV stand, there stand four framed photographs. Three include Faraday: her a small child, beaming at the camera with a man with brown hair half pulled into a bun; her, slightly older, and a tall man with graying hair and a ratty gray trenchcoat; and her about the same age as prior with an older, white-haired couple. The last is of the two men together, without Faraday, the photo centered awkwardly in the frame and too small for it; the edge next to the brown-haired man is torn but the shoulder of someone else is visible.

“That’s my dad and Uncle Badd!”

Klavier jumps. He doesn’t know how Faraday got behind him without his noticing. “My dad was a prosecutor,” she says, pointing to the brown-haired man. “And Uncle Badd was the detective he always worked with, like me and Sebby now. Oh, and those are my grandparents. I lived with them after Dad was murdered.”

Klavier opens his mouth and closes it. He wouldn’t know what to say to that even if he were completely sober. “Oh,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“It was… it was just over fourteen years ago, now,” she says. “Sometimes still hard to believe.” She smiles but it’s a sad look. “I think he’d be proud, though. Uncle Badd says he would be, whenever I go see him — he’s in prison now,” she adds, casually, like she hasn’t just dropped the heaviest parts of her life on Klavier’s shoulders with no warning. “Seven years out of fifteen for covering up evidence of thefts he and Dad committed.”

Klavier turns to stare at her. “They felt the law was too limited for some things,” she says, tugging at her scarf and swaying a little on her feet, “and that some wrongs never got brought to court, convictions that should’ve didn’t, and a smuggling ring that they were chasing — there was never enough evidence, you know? The smugglers’d do whatever to get evidence back, or kill witnesses, or whatever underhanded. And in the law they felt, like, they couldn’t do it in the law. That it’s all about evidence and sometimes there’s no legal way to get permissible evidence.”

“And evidence is everything,” Klavier says.

Kay plops down on the floor. “So they’d steal it, all these corporations who dealt with the smugglers, they’d go in and steal it and release all their shady documents to the media, and then when the break-in was investigated, Uncle Badd would make sure there was no evidence for them to catch my dad. But then they caught on, and they killed Dad.” Her sad smile reappears. “We caught ‘em eventually. I helped. And Mr. Edgeworth did too. Us and Gummy.”

Sebastian drops a bag of Snackoos on her head and offers a bag of pretzels to Klavier. They are all sitting on the floor now. “I can’t wait to tell Uncle Badd about the Jurist System,” she continues. “I don’t think it would’ve helped for the smugglers but the rest, the limitations of the law that they saw…”

“The law isn’t absolute,” Klavier says. “It has to change.”

Kay nods. She misses her mouth when she tries to eat a Snackoo. “Change to better serve justice and the truth,” she says. “I bet Dad would be happy with it too. What’s the plan for uh… um… like doing the thing, all over—”

“Implementing it?” Sebastian asks.

Kay sticks her finger in his face. “That!”

“For now the talk is that a trial will have a jury when the prosecution requests it,” Klavier says. “Ease us into it, and the public too, ja?”

“Cool,” Kay says. “That’s cool.” She flops back to lean against Sebastian’s shoulder. “I wanted to be a prosecutor once. Be just like Dad. And then I helped out on some investigations, and then watched the trials, and I decided I’d rather be out there on the crime scene than standing in court. So I became a detective instead. But wouldn’t it’ve been funny if I was a prosecutor with you guys too? Or if I’d been then maybe you’d be different things.”

Klavier shakes his head. “I only wanted to be a prosecutor,” he says. “Music was a hobby and I went to Themis and didn’t have any other plan.”

Sebastian doesn’t say anything but Klavier remembers the conversation they had about his father and doubts that there was any other path for him, either. “Oh yeah,” Kay says. “You went to Themis, too.” She reaches over and grabs a handful of pretzels from the bag Klavier has. “What was it like? I wanna know, because I went to public high school and the only thing I learned about the law is whether it’s legal to grow weed beneath the bleachers; and the answer, my friends, is shockingly no.”

“Shockingly,” Sebastian deadpans. “I mean, it was, um… dubious, considering, you know, the grades thing.” She must know the story of his father because she nods without questioning the vaguery. Didn’t he once say that the two of them had been friends since then? “Is that more or less dubious than bleacher weed?”

“One time the school got evacuated because there was a kid setting toilet paper on fire and it got mistaken for a bomb,” Kay says, which is absolutely not an answer to the question that Sebastian asked. “But I guess Klav you left and went to wherever-the-fuck in Europe—”

“Deutschland.”

“Dutch-land, where’s that?”

“Germany.”

“Oh.” Kay considers that in silence for several seconds, her eyes going crossed. “I’m super drunk.”

“I am aware.” Her story about her father and uncle was surprisingly coherent, all things considered. Klavier tries to remember what she was saying to him about Themis. It’s more difficult than he thought. He might be drunk too. “I had always wanted to study abroad,” he says. “And I knew I could likely get my badge sooner there. It wasn’t a problem with Themis, ja, that I left, though the experience did… very much depend on the professors.” He remembers the head of the prosecution course to be entirely unexceptional — or rather, he doesn’t remember. “Herr Debeste, did you ever have Professor Courte?”

“Courte… Courte… no, doesn’t sound familiar.”

“She taught the judge course — was my favorite professor. Taught me there should be no truth but that found properly, that justice cannot come from unjust means.” And it had been that which brought him to a different conclusion than Kristoph: that the law cannot be static.

Sebastian shakes his head. “No wonder I didn’t have her,” he says. “My father wouldn’t let me take a class with someone he couldn’t buy.”

No; and Courte would rather die than let herself be bought. “She was a big inspiration for me,” Klavier says. Her, and his brother; so at odds with each other. “We stayed in touch while I was studying in Germany.” And now if he could just have the guts to push through the shroud of shame to reply to her emails. How did Sebastian grow from where they were at seventeen, but Klavier regress into a neurotic wreck?

“Most of my memories of Themis are kind of terrible,” Sebastian says, “but maybe we should go back sometime. Show Kay around—”

“Best bleachers to grow weed under,” she says.

“—Introduce me to your professor.” Sebastian continues like he hadn’t heard Kay. She pouts at being ignored.

“Ja; perhaps we’ll have to do that someday.”

Kay is watching him now, and even with her face pink, her eyes a little glassy and unfocused, he can still see that she is evaluating the expression on his face, deciding what needs to be done with his crestfallen look. “Did you guys even have bleachers?” she asks, prodding his leg with her foot and grinning at him, attempting to draw one back out from him. “Or do law nerds not know how to play sportball? Hand-eye coordination test, quick!”

She throws the whole bag of Snackoos at him.

After they have spent another ten minutes reminiscing on Themis and hearing Kay’s Public School Stories that they have no way of knowing if true, Kay stands up, stumbling and nearly falling over Klavier, to find her phone to order pizza. Klavier stops her to tell them that he has to go home to let the dog out, expecting a fight with Kay like Skye had earlier. What he does not expect is Kay to whirl around to stare at him, her eyes huge, looking at him like she has never seen him before. “You have a dog?” she asks. “Holy shit you have a dog! I want to meet your dog. Klav. I gotta meet your dog.” She tumbles onto the couch. “Party with your dog. Klav. Klav. I am inviting myself over to your house. Where do you live.”

Sebastian looks absolutely mortified. “Kay—”

Klavier had known he was lonely; he had figured that out easily for himself, even before losing Daryan. He just hadn’t realized how lonely until for this portion of the evening he wasn’t. “We can get pizza with my dog, ja? So long as you do not actually feed it to her; she is getting a bit round.”

Kay is already crowing something about sleepovers and Sebastian is saying something else and Klavier thinks for a moment that he is a teenager again, naivety gone but the rest — unselfconscious and surrounded with people for a movie or games in a dorm room—

He doesn’t want to ever again be who he was at seventeen, but there might be something to keep from then in spite of it.

His apartment looks nothing like Kay’s; her mess is obviously lived in, and cozy despite itself. After six months his is still barren, empty walls and boxes containing both his and Kris’ material lives stacked in the corners. But with the three of them sprawled on the floor, Kay with her face shoved into Vongole’s fur but still arguing with Sebastian over pizza toppings, Klavier almost feels like it could one day be a home worth staying in.

[eerythingisshaka]

Wakanda Got Y’all

[Black Panther x Insecure Mashup]

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N:  This was something a friend of mine and I thought of after like the second or third time watching Black Panther together. I wrote this back in April, actually.  Since Black Panther is coming to America to do his community service and whatnot, it’s only natural that Issa and We Got Y’all somehow gets involved too for research purposes!

“What time are they supposed to be here by?”  Issa asks Frieda in a deadpan tone.  

“Uh, 2 o’clock.  It’s only 1:45, they are still on the way for sure.”  Frieda assures.

It was put in motion a month ago that We Got Y’all would be making a collaborative effort with an international organization to create a revamp to the kids after-school program.  Things had become a bit stale for Issa and her co-workers at their respective locations.  The children were acting out due to the boredom; they felt from the same old field trips and curriculum they are forced to consume every semester.  

“I know, but what happened to ‘early means on time, on time means late.’  We been sitting here forever, I’m ready to ghost already.”  Issa rolls her eyes.

“Ooh, you’re preaching to the choir.  Big weekend plans?”  Frieda perks up.

Issa thinks to herself.  Her netflix list is hoarded with documentaries and old shows she keeps meaning to binge through, but then she has Real Housewives and of course it was a wash day.

“Um yeah, probably gonna hit the town up with Molly.  Scope out the man meat running around the jungle, know what I mean,”  Issa laughs whilst lying.

“Yeah man.  That sounds so cool, I wish I had your energy.  I’ll probably just be in channel surfing, shaving since I’ve been putting that off.”

Issa stops smiling as she was embarrassed, thinking about why she felt she had to lie to make herself seem cooler.  She was supposed to be cool by default being the black representative at her office but she always felt ten steps behind in relevance except for with Frieda.  But whenever she got gumption to open up, Frieda would say some really dumb shit that would just jade out Issa.

Soon the door to the conference room opened.  In walked two women, bald and dressed like Sharon Stone at Coachella.  They didn’t say a word or crack a smile as they stared into the depths of Issa and Frieda’s souls.  Frieda hops up, “Hello ladies.  I’m Fri-”

“Silence!”  One on the right said in a foreign tongue.  Issa stands up next to Frieda.

“The hell is this about?  Is security knowing about this?”  Issa whispered.

“Security hasn’t been around here for about three months now.  The budget wasn’t accommodating for it.”  Frieda explained, nervously.

Right after finishing her sentence, a man walks in with purpose.

“Good Afternoon, ladies.  I apologize if we kept you waiting too long.”  he says walking in.

Issa looks over a quick moment, wondering who in the hell would be wearing a wool trench and all black in the middle of Crenshaw but he wore it without problem.

“Oh, no problem at all!  I was a little put off by your Stepford Baddies rolling in with you though.  Are they joining the conversation or…”

He looks away at them, nods and they disperse.  Turning back to Issa and Frieda he is apologetic.  

“No, they are my royal guard in a way.  Dora Milaje is what we call them back home.  Ayo and Okoye are my most trusted, but they can be a bit abrasive to outsiders.  Please let me introduce myself, I am T’Challa.”

He reaches his hand out and Issa takes it, “I’m Issa, and this is Frieda.”

Frieda tucks her hair behind her ear and shakes his hand vigorously, smile taking up her whole face.  “It is so good to meet you, Your Highness. I hope your travels weren’t too difficult to get here.”

He shakes his head, smiling, “No, not at all.  Much easier then finding my country, that’s for sure.”

Frieda and T’Challa laugh at this, but Issa is lost.  Why is a third world country being remote a punchline?  She joins their dying chorus of chuckles a little late and continues.

“Were there others that were supposed to come though?”

“Yes, they will be joining us any minute now.”

On cue, a woman and man walk in to join them.  1a woman in green with bantu knots comes in slightly irritated looking but brightens ups quickly at the sight of Issa and Frieda.

“Hello!  You must be Issa and Frieda from We Got Y’all.  Apologies for the staggered entry.  I am Nakia, I’ll be working directly with you guys on the outreach program.  And this is Erik.”

The man is standing against a wall in the back, also wearing a jacket on a sunny California day.  He plays with a  toothpick in his mouth and says, “What’s up, how you doin’, Is?”  

Issa squints at him, put back by his attitude.  She thought about how he fits in with the international outreach program team.  He sounds like every other nigga in Los Angeles.  But looks a whole helluva lot better than them.

Issa stammers, “Hey, um nice to meet all of you!  Let’s have a seat and we can go over the points.”

Gathered around the table, Issa starts.  

“So, I wanted to start off by saying how great it is to have you here.  We could really use your influence to get some great things going here.  Do you want to share what made you decide to start with us?”

T’Challa paused, and as soon as he began to open his mouth Erik jumped in, “Yeah, he just trying to atone for the sins of his father and ancestors ignoring his people for so long, right cousin?” He leans, golds twinkling.

T’Challa says, “N’jadaka, you gave me your word-”

“Yeah, and I told you not to call me that in the States either.  Got a reputation to keep on.”  He looks at Issa, smiling wryly.  “But I’d love to hear you call me a liar.  You know what it is, Wakanda been had all these resources and manpower to get shit done, didn’t do shit; so now shit gotta get cleaned up.  And NOW here his ass come.”  He leans back, scoffing to himself.

Frieda looks around confused, “I’m sorry, but we didn’t get a clear history of your background T’Challa.  The United Nations summit speech revealed you all were well endowed- or, sorry equipped- or tsk, you all hold a lot of materials that can benefit a host of people.  But to start here in LA, what makes this area stand out.”

“We have a past here ourselves.  Our War Dogs have many posts throughout the world and a couple of decades ago, my Uncle, Erik’s father, laid a lot of groundwork here in a way that was ahead of his time but a little short-sighted.  We want to do right by this area for what it has been plagued with since, and use it as an example to go forward in other communities.” T’Challa says.

“And with a bit of a push at home, we have decided that now is the best time than any to open our borders to distribute aid.  Wakandans are an intelligent, proud people and we have no reason to waver on this endeavor.” Nakia adds.

Issa nods, “That sounds great! So what is your first order of business?”

T’Challa starts, “We want to buy out the building my Uncle was posted in, and the surrounding units.  We hope to repurpose them , make them into office/community center spaces to educate and equip people with the resources to do well for themselves.”

“He wants to give y’all a fancy YMCA for now, just to get his feet wet.  Putting his money to work for him, we will see how much work HE put in though.”  Erik sneers.

“Nakia has already been appointed as the head of this project, you know that.” T’Challa chimes in annoyed.

“Yeah, yeah.  Wakandan women break their backs just to stay second place to their men. You know, I hope you gave your Dora some raises cuz if it weren’t for them sistahs, you’d be-”

T’Challa jumps up, “N’jadaka!”

Erik rose as soon as T’Challa had twitched a muscle.  Eyeballing each other, this created a bit of an awkward moment for everyone.  Nakia has her hands out between them, saying to them in Xhosa, “Aye!  We are here to do business!  A truce has been put between you.  We cannot let a grudge stop us from helping our communities.  Keep your masculinity to a minimum, we are in a meeting for Bast’s sake!”

Nakia smiles, stretching out her hand, “I hate to cut this short for myself, but I have other matters to attend to.  It has been a great pleasure to speak with you both.  I will email you on some event ideas for the future.”

T’Challa and Erik keep their eyes on each other until Nakia boxes them both on the chest, before walking out.

T’Challa turns to Issa, “Thank you, Issa.  My apologies for our outburst; death and family squabbles are all that is guaranteed in life, as the saying says.”

Issa quirks her face up, “I thought it was death and taxes…”

“Is it?  Sorry, taxes are not a thing in Wakanda’s economy, I confess.”  T’Challa says meekly.  

Issa looks at him shook, “No taxes?  You know how much money I would have if I didn’t have taxes?  You have any extra citizenship cards or….”

T’Challa chuckles, “No, but let me make it up to you with a drink or a bite to eat, both of you.  We can go over particulars more closely as well.”

Issa smiles a little more goofy than she meant.  This fine African King wants to strut the town with her?? Well, it’s a professional dinner date, but still!

Issa exclaims a little too loudly, “Yeah, of course! Ahem, um, we can make that happen.  Just give me your contact info.”

“Thank you, Mr. T’Challa. I can’t wait to really pick your brain.  Maybe I’ll get a haircut prior!”  says Frieda, smiling gleefully.  

T’Challa and Issa look at her confused.  

“The fuck you talkin’ bout lady?”  Erik asks.

“Well, you seem to keep a lot of women around, well not a lot but with short cuts, and with Issa in the mix, I was just trying….trying to fit in there.”  Freida mumbles, her energy dying with her supposed joke.

“Ha HA!  She said you only rock with bald headed baddies, my guy.  And for real, she got a point.  He the romantic one anyway.  Not like he would do much hair tugging any damn way.”

“Erik, I am so glad you gave me the opportunity to finish our challenge.  Remember how that almost worked out for you?”  T’Challa says threateningly, pointing towards Erik’s face.

Issa swiftly turns back to T’Challa, “This really has been fun!  A drink sounds really good right now I’ll go over the quirks of California humor while we’re there too, huh?”

“So, I can’t join your little tea party?”  Erik looks dramatically shocked, clutching his pearls.

“Oh, well yeah you can.  I didn’t know how involved you were trying to be in this project.”

“Oh I’m getting involved,” takes a step closer to Issa. “Very involved.  Plus, why would I turn down a reason to pop bottles on cousin’s tab,”  Erik bites his lip, clapping T’Challa on the back.

Frieda clears her throat, “Then we can make ourselves a double date then!  It works out just fine that way.”

Erik looks sideways at her, “Who the hell said date, Felicia?”

T’Challa grabs Erik’s shoulder, “Be polite, remember?  Excuse his attitude, it does not come from my side of the family.”

“Neither does style, my nigga. Shit, your sister just got you out of your Samaritan sandals yesterday.  Keep it pushing man.”

The back and forth continues as they leave the building.  Issa and Frieda collectively sigh.

“Oh my God!  That was cray, right?  A King, his subjects, his antagonizing brother, I feel Shakespearean!”  Frieda says excitedly hyperventilating.

Issa laughs, “Yeah, they just seems like a regular Black family to me, with accents.  But I’m going to go so I can be ready for tonight.”

“Oh, we should coordinate our outfits.  Are we doing professional, casual, sexy?”

“I’ll let you know when T’Challa hits me up with the location details, ok?”

------

Issa sits at a table waiting for her friend to join happy hour; ain’t no way she was going to go out without getting some information to and from her.  She trots up and sits down, breaths out deep.

“So, when are we getting our royal wedding? Did he present you with a gift yet?  What color were the rose petals he steps on?” she says with a hair flip, tongue out gagging.

“Uh-uh, Molly.  We just got a Black royal, no way can there be two.”  Issa says.

Molly rolls her eyes, “But bitch, there is two, more than.  I read the nigga T’Challa is deadass the richest one out here on the planet!  And he is inches away from you and you not tryna trap him?”

Issa massages her temples in frustration, “I just got out of a relationship.  Why would I subject myself to a low level as to offer my body and time to someone just so that I can have a possibility at a wealthy life?  One that I have never seen evidence of yet, by the way.”

Molly says out the side of her mouth, “So you had a man last year, life goes on.  Plus, it’s better than seeing every broke part of these niggas and still fucking with them in spite of it all.”

“Wow!  Are we here to read or are we here to drink?  Cuz school is done, the kids are put to bed, and you’re not my mama.”

“Girl, somebody’s gotta be.”  Molly quips before the waiter steps up to the table to take their order.

Issa starts, “So anyway, me and Frieda are supposed to meet him and his cousin for a drink to talk over We Got Y’all.”  

“Ugh, why do people always have to involve their family with their business?  That’s a recipe for disaster.”  Molly says fanning herself.

“I mean, they say he is like their American liason at this point.  His cousin is from here, so in case things get lost in translation, he can bridge the gap.”

“Oh?  What’s his cousin name?”  Molly asks intrigued.

“Erik.  And I swear he was coming on to me in the middle of the meeting.”

“Is he foine?”  Molly asks.

The waiter comes back with their drinks in time for Issa to sip.  “Woo!  Yeah girl, he is finer than a rat tail comb.”

“Ok, cuz I know Frieda ain’t going after one of them seriously; I think I need to come with you to scope the real estate.”  Molly says stoically.

Issa giggles, “Girl, what?  This is business, not a speed date.”

Molly raises her hands, “I know, I know!  But listen, these are international and halfrican ass niggas you are associating with.  If they looks are worth an ounce of the wealth they possess, I’m packing one to go, and winging the other one for you.  Cuz it ain’t fun unless the homies get some!”  Molly says giving Issa’s hand a motherly shake.

“Ugh, fine.  But don’t do the most!  This is my job, I’ll give you the signal when it is time for you to swoop in and sink you talons into the prey.”  Issa says demonstratively.

Molly peers at you, “So you callin me a bird, bitch?”

Issa shrugs when her phone dings for a text.  Looking at it she sees it is T’Challa asking about a date for the meeting.

Swirling her drink, Molly asks, “What’s up?”

Issa says, “The guy, T’Challa wants to know if tomorrow is good for our dinner meeting.”

“That works for me!  Ask him if you can bring a plus one!”  

After texting T’Challa back, Issa sucks her teeth, “Molly, Frieda is my plus one!  I told you this is business until I give you the signal.

Issa gets a message back.  Reading it, Molly asks what it says.

“He has someone else that will be coming to.”  Issa reads.

“See!  If he bringing someone, you can too!”

“Hmm, someone named M’Baku.  Just showing him around the city from what it sounds like…”

Molly claps, “Another one!?  Oh my God, that’s a lotta brown chirren on ya Forbes list!  Let me at it.  Bitch, Whatchu got in your closet?  Do we need to shop?”

Issa gives Moly a look, “With what money hoe?  I got some stuff I can put together.”

“Nah, we aren’t patching shit up, we are arranging a look, building a fit.  If you need something let me know, cuz your success somewhat depends on mine.”

“Thanks for saving my poor ass.  But ok, I’m peeping that.  Leggo!”

Part 2

Other Works

King Kil’mawalls  

T’akia

Some Weeks Are Better Than Others

Commencement Day

Song of Stevens

The Coffee Prince

N’Jadaka’s Helpful Hands

[itsallavengers]

Coffee and Kisses

For @smarterest wHOMST I LOVE and who deserves much presents and fics and kindness. Merry christmas dude!! ! ! I’m sorry this is so late i oNLY JUST FOUND WIFI

There was a man who came in every Monday at 12pm sharp and ordered an Americano, stayed in the shop for exactly thirty-two minutes, and then left.

 That man was called Steve Rogers, he was twenty-six years old, and perfect.

 Not that Tony was stalking him or anything. He was just observant like that. And someone like Steve was very difficult to miss, after all, the guy was famous. Distinguished artist, even Tony had heard of him, and he hated art. That spoke volumes about how good and how- well- famous, he actually was.

And he always stopped off in the coffee shop Tony worked in, for a reason Tony could not yet fathom.

Not that he was complaining, mind- he would happily stare at that gorgeous man from behind the counter every single moment of every single day if he could. Damn. That ass alone would be enough- but then his eyes. His face. His smile, Jesus, it could kill a man from twenty paces and they’d die feeling happier than they ever had before in their lives. That was the type of person Steve Rogers was.

Tony’d had thirteen conversations with him during his visits to the shop, and he was already pretty much in love. Stupid, maybe. Irrational, definitely. But did Tony care? Not even slightly.

 He sighed into the coffee machine and wiped the stray cocoa dust off on his apron. Now was not the time to be thinking about Steve Rogers- he had to work. It had been stupid to wait for him, really- Steve was a society guy, and it was Christmas day. He was probably spending it at a party or something. Or, more likely, with his family. Friends. Etcetera Etcetera.

It was stupid.

Stupid stupid stupid- just because Steve had come in every other Monday in no way guaranteed any other visits. He probably didn’t even think the shop was open at all- most shops shut for Christmas. Tony had just been lucky enough to land with a café that didn’t- that required him to show up at seven a-fucking-m in order to take out the trash and start his shift. On Christmas fucking day.

But hey, at least the customers weren’t being as bitchy as usual. And he was getting tipped double, which was nice.

He wasn’t disappointed in Steve Rogers not showing up at his stupid café to order to his stupid americano and smile his stupid smile at Tony. He wasn’t.

 (Read more, mobile users!)

“You’re disappointed, aren’t you?” Clint nudged him in the ribs and Tony jerked away sulkily, shoving him over to the other side. Clint checked his watch and then sighed dramatically. “He’s not in at his usual time which means he’s not coming which means you’re disappointed-“

“Shut your face, Clint, I’m not disappointed,” Tony snapped irritably, wiping down the surfaces with newfound vigor, “I’m just annoyed that I have to work on Christmas day, that’s all.”

“Don’t bullshit me man, you hate Christmas,” Clint sing-songed, thwacking him over the head with a tea towel, “no, you’re pulling your sad face because dear Steven hasn’t turned up and flirted with you over the counter like he does every week. You’re pining after him-“

“I am not pining after Steve Rogers, Jesus, he’s just a customer!” Tony hissed in annoyance and turned around, definitely not pouting. That would just be childish.

“Come on, Man, when are you gonna write down your number on his coffee cup like he’s been waiting for you to do since this started?” Clint asked him, “we all know that’s what he’s waiting for. I see him check the damn thing every time he walks out the door.”

Tony spluttered a little. “I can’t just- that’s Steve Rogers. AKA world-famous-incredibly-rich-so-totally-out-of-my-league Steve Rogers! I can’t just write my number on his cup, Jesus Christ, don’t be stupid.”

Even with his back turned, he knew Clint was rolling his eyes. “Oh, Anthony,” he sighed dramatically from behind Tony, and then he felt something hit the back of his head and turned, looking down at the festive decoration that had been thrown at him.

“Don’t throw things at me-“

“Then don’t be dense-“

“-it’s what most normal people consider unprofessional, actually-“

“-you know the guy’s head over heels for you, fame or not, he’s obviously waiting for you to make the first move, dammit Tony, why don’t you just ask him out!” Clint grabbed his shoulders and shook, cutting Tony off mid-sentence. “Stop making it so hard for yourself to be happy, dude, come on. It’s Christmas.”

Tony looked at him, before rolling his eyes. “He’s not even here,” he muttered grumpily, “probably spending important time with his girlfriend. Who’s probably a supermodel.”

“Uh, we googled him buddy, and it said he was single,” Clint waggled a finger and then poked it in Tony’s chest, “and anyway, what are models compared to this? Only Tony Stark can pull off engine grease mixed with chocolate powder, all smeared on one face. Now that’s artistry.”

Tony grinned a little, striking a pose in the empty coffee shop whilst Clint pretended to take photos. “Mm, yes, how could Steve Rogers, the world-famous multimillionaire, ever resist me? Tony Stark, professional idiot and part-time coffee grinder? It is written in the stars, Clinton, you are right- no model could compare to my grace,” He did a twirl on his toes and then bowed, looking up and spotting-

“Oh no,” he blurted, hand slamming across his mouth as he stumbled mid-bow.

 In front of him, Steve shuffled bashfully on his feet, obviously holding back a rather large grin.

 Clint turned around and looked where Tony was, and then promptly lost his shit. Loud, annoying laughter filled the room, which was actually kind of lucky because otherwise Steve might have been able to hear the terrible squeaking noise that Tony had just made in his mortification.

He would have to move. There was no other option. Russia, maybe. They seemed quiet over there- probably wouldn’t ask questions. It would be a hard life, but he could make do.

 “Uh,” Steve said, tapping his fingers absently on the counter, “hey. So-“

“I was talking about someone else,” Tony blurted loudly, shoving Clint hard and sending him stumbling out into the corridor that led upstairs, then slamming the door before he could come back in, “there is… we have three Steve Rogers’, actually- the one I was talking about is also- uh, a millionaire. And famous. I don’t know, you heard of him? He does- he… uh, car design.”

Definitely Russia. He could probably get in one of tomorrow’s flights if he got the early one.

In front of him, Steve was smiling down at him; his cheeks a little pink. He ran a hand through his hair- of God, Tony loved it when he did that- and then licked his bottom lip nervously. “Shame,” he said in the end, “although I gotta admit, it seems me and that other Steve Rogers are pinin’ after the same guy.”

Tony looked at him, waiting for the punchline- but Steve just continued to smile anxiously. He was very… genuine, was Steve. It was crazy- Tony didn’t even know him that well (more’s the pity,) but he knew that there were very little people in the world like him. And so after a while, it occurred to Tony that there might not be a punchline.

Steve might actually be serious.

“You…” Tony started, shaking his head a little, “you and- do you mean-“

“I really shouldn’t be here right now,” Steve said hurriedly, leaning forward against the counter, “I’ve got to get to some stupid function like, half an hour ago- but I knew you were in today and I just…” he looked down a little and rubbed awkwardly at his neck, and Tony wondered very briefly what their children would look like, were that biologically feasible. “I wanted to see you,” Steve said in the end, looking back up and shrugging, “I always come in on a Monday hoping to score your number, and I thought you might be feeling extra generous today. Christmas spirit and all.”

Tony gaped.

And then gaped a little more.

And then choked on air, just for fun.

“Tony?” Steve asked, looking slightly concerned. His face turned down at the edges, which was honestly the most terrible thing Tony had seen all month, “Tony, hey- if you don’t want… sorry, I’m not- I’m not very good at reading people? Honestly, it’s fine-“

“Yes, oh my god, number, fuck, here-“ Tony had lurched forward and grabbed the very muscular arm before he could even think; letting his finger clutch at the slight rain-wet material of his jacket. He reached blindly for a pen, before Steve shyly held one up for him and then grinned.

“So that other Steve Rogers guy-“ he began as Tony started scribbling hastily over Steve’s hand, “- you think I could take him in a fight? Purely out of curiosity, of course.”

“Oh definitely,” Tony told him quickly, looking up for a moment and beaming, “the other Steve is like, sweaty. And tiny. You’d annihilate him.”

Steve nodded sagely, looking down at his hand. “Nice to know,” he said softly, a smile curling around his mouth. “Hey- when do you get off work?”

Tony paused, checking the clock. “2:30,” he answered, wondering what this was leading up to.

Steve nodded, and he looked slightly anxious again. Tony wanted to kiss him so bad. So so so bad. “So- you wouldn’t happen to be interested in joining me for a Christmas party with my friends, would you?” He asked, before holding his hands out and adding hurriedly “you don’t have to if you don’t want to, I know that’s… pretty forward- but they all know about you and they want to meet you, and you told me last week you didn’t have plans and I just- yeah. I thought- but you shouldn’t feel any obligation to-“

“You told your friends about me,” Tony cut in dumbly, staring at Steve in confusion. Why would Steve-

It hit him then. “Wait- you… you actually like me?”

Steve laughed, rubbing his neck again. “Well- I mean, yeah. I’m gonna be honest with you, Tony- I don’t even like the coffee. I just saw you in the window one day and-“ he stopped, shrugging his shoulders sheepishly, “-and yeah. That was it for me, really.”

He looked at Tony with soft eyes and a soft mouth and soft hair, and Tony just thought ‘perfect’; the word like a broken record in his head, just going over and over and over- Steve was perfect and Steve was wonderful and Steve wanted to take him to meet his friends-

“Of course I’ll come,” Tony told him, resisting the urge to jump up and down on his feet, “I’d love to. Where- where do you live? Or where do you want me t-“

“No no, I’ll come get you, don’t worry,” Steve waved him off and shook his head, “I’ll- oh shit, I really need to go- I’ll call you, okay? Tonight will be fun, my friends are nice, believe me, you’ll really- you’ll really like them,” Steve started backing off back toward the exit, and Tony didn’t miss the little spring in his step as he reversed, bumping into a railing as he went and then moving out of the way hurriedly, blushing even deeper. “Sorry, sorry, I really need to-“

“Go, Steve,” Tony laughed and waved him away, and Steve returned it, his blue eyes sparkling happily as he felt blindly for the door handle and then turned it, unwilling to turn back around until the last possible moment. Tony was giggling like an idiot, and kept waving until Steve was out the door, his blonde hair blowing everywhere in the sharp December winds.

Lucky, too- because at that moment Clint chose to make his dramatic re-entrance, slamming open the door and holding his arms out wide, as something ridiculous and green jingled on top of his head.

“Look, Mistletoe, now you have t- oh,” Clint paused mid-statement, looking around the room in confusion, “where’d Steve go?”

Tony stared at the stupid Alice band Clint had stuck on his head, and then an idea popped into his head. Rushing forward, he jumped up and snatched it off Clint’s head before the man could even yell out, jamming it quickly on his own head and then vaulting the counter.

“THIEF!” Clint screamed, pointing a finger.

“BORROWING!” Tony responded, already halfway out the door. He slipped out into the sharp cold before Clint could yell more obscenities at him, looking left and trying to find Steve through the milling crowds.

There- about fifteen feet away and hailing a cab, buttoning his coat right up to his throat and looking as edible as always.

“STEVE!” He called out, cupping his hands over his mouth and starting to jog forward. God, it was fucking freezing without a coat.

The man turned, looking in confusion to where Tony was running. When he realized who it was calling him, he smiled a little bewilderedly and then gestured for the cab driver to give him a minute before shutting the door. “Tony?” He asked, gesturing to Tony’s headpiece in confusion, “uh- what have you got there?”

“Mistletoe hat!” Tony said happily, landing a few paces from him and then jigging his head up and down a bit, the long extending antenna from which the obnoxiously green mistletoe hung jingling along with his movement.

Steve stared at it for a second and then burst out laughing. His face crinkled up beautifully, and his eyes shone in the watery Winter light.

Tony was gone, gone, gone.

“Ingenious,” Steve breathed after a moment, licking his bottom lip again and then stepping forward a bit. “I can’t go breaking ancient tradition now, can I?” He asked softly, taking Tony’s face in his hands and cupping his jaw softly.

Tony’s breath hitched, and he shook his head a little manically. “Certainly not,” he confirmed- and then before he could say anything else, Steve’s mouth got in the way.

It was very soft. Chaste. Only a few seconds, and then Steve broke away, moving off just an inch so that their noses were still brushing. It was the best kiss of Tony’s entire life, hands down.

“Consider that a preview,” Steve whispered, thumb stroking along the jut of Tony’s cheekbone. He smiled and then lifted his head up a little bit, pressing another small kiss to Tony’s nose, then higher still until his mouth was on his forehead. “And those ones were just for fun,” he added mischievously.

Tony briefly forgot how to breathe for a moment, but thankfully remembered just in time to say “darling, if that’s the preview, I really doubt I am going to make it to the grand finale.”

Steve laughed again, and then made a sad face. “Ugh, I really really have to go,” he whispered apologetically, making an aborted move to step back, “I Really really really really have to go.”

Tony giggled slightly hysterically, beginning to push Steve back in the direction of the cab he’d been originally getting into. “Then Go, Mr hotshot, don’t let some random barista keep you from your vital Christmas networking-“

“Ugh, don’t even talk about it,” Steve groaned and rolled his eyes back in frustration, “it’s hell, honestly, I’d much rather spend my time with the random barista.”

Tony’s face softened, and he looked down at his watch. “Give it an hour and a half,” he said, “and you can spend as much time with him as you want.”

Steve took another step back toward the couch and then, seemingly unable to stop himself, came right back to Tony and kissed him quickly again. “I’ll hold you to that,” he mumbled against Tony’s mouth, and then pulled away swiftly, spinning on his heel and getting into the cab before he could change his mind.

He wound down the window and then slipped on a pair of shades which he’d been keeping in the pocket of his jacket. “Merry Christmas, Tony,” he said softly, before the cab pulled away and Tony was left at the side of the road, wearing a ridiculous hat and an even more ridiculous smile on his face.

 He glanced upward, stuffing his hands into his pockets and nodding once. “Okay,” he muttered, “okay- merry fucking Christmas indeed.”

[myaekingheart]

91. The Thunder That Follows

Today is a winding road that's taking me to places that I didn't want to go Today in the blink of an eye, I'm holding onto something and I do not know why I tried I tried to read between the lines I tried to look in your eyes I want a simple explanation For what I'm feeling inside I gotta find a way out Maybe there's a way out -Thunder, Boys Like Girls

               Deciding to move in together was simple. The actual process of it, however, was far more complicated. Kakashi watched as Rei sat atop his bed poring over countless real estate ads. She was so focused, so serious, it was actually kind of adorable. Toshio shifted beside her, resting his head on her knee, and huffed. Kakashi leaned forward to scratch his head and peer over the paperwork, asking “Have you found anything interesting yet?”

               Pouting, Rei looked up at him and asked, “Why is this my responsibility? You should be looking, too!”

               Kakashi chuckled and brushed the hair out of her face, asking “How do you know I haven’t?”

               “Have you?” Rei asked, cocking a brow in suspicion. Kakashi kissed the tip of her nose before pulling his desk chair over.

               “Here and there” he replied, straddling the seat. He leaned his toned forearms against the back of the chair and smiled. “But I haven’t found anything good yet.”

               Sighing, Rei shook her head and asked, “How do we even know what ‘good’ is? What are we even looking for?”

               “Preferably someplace that isn’t a barn” Kakashi replied.

               “Ha, very funny” Rei glared at him. “Be serious for a minute, though. There are a lot of things to consider with this. How much do we want to spend? What do our finances look like? And what about locations? Where do we even want to live? And what kinds of things are we looking for in an apartment anyway?”

               “You sound like you’re conducting a job interview” Kakashi laughed.

               Rei frowned and launched a pillow at his face. “I mean it!” she shouted. “We need to figure this out, Kakashi! Or else we’ll never get anywhere.”

               Kakashi dodged the projectile at the last second and shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “You’re making this so much harder than it needs to be” he replied. “We’re doing well financially so rent shouldn’t be too big of a concern. Location isn’t that important so long as we stay away from the high crime areas. And we really don’t need someplace very big. Just one bedroom and bathroom should be fine.”

               “Two bedrooms” Rei insisted. Her eyes immediately darted back down to her paperwork, and she prayed she didn’t appear suspicious. Deep down, however, she was constantly imploding. Her last mission had left her rather paranoid. That enemy-nin, Omoitsuku, was so sure of himself in his perception that she was pregnant. She tried to tell herself there was no way she could be, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. The memory of Tanjo didn’t help. Even if she didn’t particularly feel pregnant, the fact that there was a chance she could be and not have any idea horrified her. She refused to end up in the same nightmarish predicament. She couldn’t afford to think about that now, though. She couldn’t afford to have a panic attack about it in front of Kakashi. If she let these thoughts out into the open, they would feel so much smaller and insignificant. An overreaction, even. Toshio licked her knee and shook his head so that his floppy ears whacked against her arm, snapping her from her existential crisis.

               “Alright” Kakashi nodded, “Two bedrooms it is.” He didn’t think much of her statement. If anything, he assumed she simply wanted to take advantage of any extra space. Perhaps even create a room for Toshio and the other ninken. Or they could make a home office. He wasn’t sure why they needed one, but he certainly wasn’t opposed. It was just an extra room.

               Rei raked her fingers through her hair and Kakashi could see that she was reaching the end of her rope. As cute as she was, he also refused to let her spiral into a panic attack over something so trivial. Rising from his chair, he tilted her chin upwards to look at him and smiled back at her.

               “We’ll find someplace” he said. “I promise. Don’t get yourself so worked up about it.” She frowned but was not about to protest. Protesting would raise suspicion, and that she could not have. She would just have to accept it, and wallow later when she was alone. That was the downside to moving in with someone, she soon realized: the lack of “alone”. Although if things were just as she feared, she would likely never have a moment to herself ever again.

               Toshio watched Rei pace her apartment the next day as she flipped through her neglected calendar. She hadn’t checked off any days since September—three months ago. And as such, there weren’t any red dots for miles. How was she supposed to know whether she was in trouble or not if she hadn’t even been keeping track? She groaned and tossed the calendar to the wayside, trudging back into her bathroom for the fourth time that day. She rooted around inside her cabinet and tugged out another box of cheap pregnancy tests, ripping the top open and pulling out one of the stupid little sticks. She hated the ritual of it, the embarrassing nature of the procedure, and especially the waiting. Toshio nudged the door open and peered inside as she peed, watching her curiously. Face reddening, she panicked and threw a sock at his shoulder. He backed away dutifully.

               When she found yet another negative, she tossed the pregnancy test across the room and watched it ricochet into the trash can. She should’ve felt relieved but she just could not bring herself to truly trust it. After all, false negatives happened all the time. Perhaps she hadn’t done it right, or her urine wasn’t concentrated enough. Either way, she refused to let herself accept this. There had to be some sort of hidden punchline here, something sinister just waiting to pounce on her. She was traumatized and she needed definitive answers now.

               Sitting across from her in the dango shop, Sekkachi couldn’t help but restrain her laughter. “I have so many questions” she said once Rei was finished explaining her situation. “First of all: how the fuck did you manage enough piss for, like, seven pregnancy tests? You did say seven, right?”

               Rei cringed and slapped Sekkachi across the table. “Can you keep your fucking voice down?” she whispered. “What are you? The damn town crier? Shut up!”

               “Oh, as if nobody is going to know what’s up when Planet Rei walks the village in nine months” Sekkachi laughed.

               “You’re not funny. You know that?” Rei replied. “Anyways, I drank like twice my weight in tea.”

               “And the prognosis?” Sekkachi asked. “Should I start stockpiling diapers for you?”

               “Stop” Rei insisted. “Just stop.”

               Sekkachi raised her arms in surrender. “Sorry, just trying to be supportive” she joked.

               “For your information, they all came back negative” Rei said.

               “Then what’s the problem?” Sekkachi asked. “You took seven tests, they all said no. You’re not pregnant. Easy answer. Now grab some booze and rejoice.”

               “It’s not that easy” Rei replied. “What if they’re all false negatives? What if I did it wrong? I’ve gotta just go to the doctor and get a blood test done or something. Then I can know for sure.”

               Sekkachi blinked and then shook her head, laughing under her breath. “Wow, you’re really fucked up in the head, kid” she said. “How the fuck do you pee on a stick wrong, anyway?”

               “Easy for you to say when you’ve been pissing in little cups your whole life” Rei fired back. Sekkachi was not necessarily proud of her monthly follow-ups, but she wasn’t ashamed either. She made no effort to hide the fact that she was chronically ill. It was just another facet of her life. At this rate, she knew the Konoha hospital like the back of her hand.

               After a few moments of silence, Sekkachi’s attitude finally sobered. “Let me guess” she started, resting her chin in her hand. “You want me to come with you so you won’t feel so scared, right?”

               “You’re not the best choice but that would be preferable, yes” Rei replied.

               Sucking in a deep breath, Sekkachi slapped her thighs and rose from seat. “Alright then, let’s go” she said, motioning for Rei to follow her.

               “W-wait, what?” Rei asked, frantic. “We’re going right now?”

               “You want to get this over with, don’t you?” Sekkachi asked. “Or are you still clinging to that last shred of stubbornness knocking around in your skull? Come on.” As scared as she was, Rei knew this would be for the best. Sekkachi was not one to sugarcoat the situation, and so her blunt delivery was really exactly what she needed. Rei gathered her things and with Toshio by her side, followed Sekkachi out into the street. The blue-haired kunoichi smirked as she tugged Rei along by the hand, making eye contact with strangers as she shouted, “Wide load, coming through! Watch out, lady with a baby!” Rei’s face burned bright red as she tried to hide even more of her face behind her hair.

               As they arrived at the hospital, Rei scurried in close behind Sekkachi only for them to be stopped abruptly by a stout, stern-looking woman. Something about her struck Rei with a strong, almost unnerving sense of déjà vu. “No dogs in the hospital!” she shouted, pointing at Toshio.

               Rei blinked and tried to think of a valid excuse but before she could even fathom an idea, Sekkachi was already stepping in to defend. “Oh yeah? And what if he’s a service dog?” she asked.

               “Then where’s his vest?” the woman asked. “And I’ll need to see paperwork.”

               It was then that Rei realized why this woman had looked vaguely familiar. Her cheeks burned at the thought, but she pushed past Sekkachi and apprehended her anyway. “Hey, wait a minute, don’t I know you?” Rei asked. The woman cocked a brow, unamused. “Yeah, we’ve met before” Rei continued. “A few months ago. At the bath house. Do you remember? There was a man who walked in on us, and you threw a stool at him.”

               The woman paused, recounted the memory in her head, then narrowed her eyes but her blushing cheeks told a much different story. “Yeah, and what about it?”

               “You thought he was pretty cute, didn’t you?” Rei asked, winking. “I don’t blame you. I think he’s pretty attractive myself!”

               Sekkachi leaned down and whispered in Rei’s ear, “What the fuck are you doing?” but Rei simply swatted her away. She had a plan now that she fully intended to utilize.

               The woman pursed her lips and considered the concept—as if she hadn’t already thought about it before. “Yeah, well didn’t I tell you if you didn’t snag him up quick, I’d do it for you? What success have you had?”

               A small smile tugged at the corner of Rei’s lips as she rested a hand atop Toshio’s head. “I’m here on very important business regarding our relationship, but seeing as he himself could not be here, he gave me strict instructions to bring this dog along instead. You wouldn’t want to go against his wishes, would you?"

               The woman smirked and rolled her eyes. “How do I know you’re not lying just to get your pooch past security, hmm?”

               In mock offense, Rei pressed her hand to her chest and gasped dramatically. “Do I look like the type of person who would lie to you?” she asked.

               Without even missing a beat, the woman bluntly replied, “Yes.”

               This is getting nowhere. Sighing, Rei dropped her eyes to the floor and shook her head. “Listen, I know nothing I say is going to convince you otherwise but I really need this dog to come with me” she said. “He’s a certified ninja hound, and he needs to be at my side at all times. Especially now.”

               “Oh yeah?” the woman asked. “And what makes today so special?”

               Rei chewed her lower lip and replied, “I’m here to get some, uh…important testing done.” Toshio nuzzled Rei’s hand in comfort, emphasizing her point.

               The woman glanced to Sekkachi, arching her brow as if to question the validity of Rei’s statement. Sekkachi nodded. “Oh, god, yeah. It’s real bad. Rei here could be terminal! If she finds out she is, in fact, going to die, she’s going to need this dog by her side or else you’ll need to cart her away in a straight jacket like Hannibal Lecter. You wouldn’t want that now, would you?”

               Rei nodded, adding emphatically, “My anxiety gets absolutely awful! Lady Hokage herself had to put me on a long leave of absence from work because I’m just such a basketcase. I just freak out! I bet it’d be really uncomfortable for all the other patients, it’d really deal a critical hit to their morale. You wouldn’t want to put them through that, would you?”

               The stout woman pursed her lips as she considered her options a moment. Before she could actually say anything, a bubbly young woman bounded into view, starry-eyed and shouting Sekkachi’s name. “I didn’t know you had an appointment today!” she exclaimed, taking the kunoichi’s hands in hers. “I’ve missed you so much!”

               Rei stifled a laugh, asking “Sekkachi, you know her?”

               Sekkachi nodded, trying not to draw attention to herself. “This is Hiretsuna, the receptionist here. She always checks me in when I have my follow-ups.”

               By now, the stout woman was looking among the three of them utterly confused and frustrated. Hiretsuna wrapped her arm around the woman and leaned her head against her shoulder, scrunching her nose and asking, “I hope you haven’t been giving these girls a hard time!”

               “No…” the stout woman grumbled. She wiggled her way out from beneath Hiretsuna’s grasp, then shuffled back to the nurse’s station. Hiretsuna giggled and waved goodbye at her before pulling the two of them to the reception desk.

               Hiretsuna spun behind the desk and began flipping through her chart of incoming patients but frowned when she didn’t find Sekkachi’s name. “Are you sure your appointment was today?” she asked.

               “Actually” Sekkachi began, scratching the back of her neck sheepishly, “my next appointment isn’t until next week. We’re really here for her.” She cocked her head toward Rei, and Hiretsuna looked her up and down as if searching for some sign of injury or illness. When she found none, Sekkachi leaned across the counter and whispered, “See, the thing is is that she’s pretty positive she’s knocked up and it’s really important she finds out for sure or else she could find herself in the center of a huge scandal.”

               Hiretsuna gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh no!” she whispered. “What kind of scandal?”

               “Let’s just say the dad is kind of a big deal” Sekkachi replied. Then, as if to illustrate her point, she whipped her ninja headband off her arm and covered one eye with it while grabbing a stack of papers from the desk to cover the bottom half of her face.

               Hiretsuna’s eyes grew wide as she exclaimed, perhaps a little too loudly, “You’re having Kakashi’s baby?!”

               Rei buried her face in her hands as patients in the waiting room began to peer over curiously. If Kakashi Hatake had gotten someone pregnant, they wanted to know about it. Sekkachi tried to soothe Hiretsuna’s overzealous rambling, insisting that this was confidential information and needed to be kept on the down low, but not much helped in the way of her excitement. Rei peeked through her fingers to assess the damage, catching her name scribbled on a piece of paper titled “urgent care” or something to that effect, and then her gaze shifted to the nearest hall where, standing in the center, she locked eyes for a split second with none other than Sakura.

               “Oh my god, we have to go” Rei whispered, tugging Sekkachi’s hand. “We need to go right now.”

               “Wait, you haven’t finished getting checked in!” Hiretsuna called after them. Rei was already skirting the corner to a row of triage rooms.

               Sekkachi strained her neck past the corner and shouted, “Just tell them I’m here, top priority! I’ll pay you back, promise!” And with that, the three of them—Rei, Sekkachi, and the dog—had disappeared into a nearby triage room.

               Heaving a sigh, Rei collapsed on the exam table and dug the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. “How the fuck do I constantly get myself into these situations?” she groaned.

               “Well, pulling out next time might help” Sekkachi jested, hopping up onto the counter.

               “Not that” Rei replied through gritted teeth. “I swear, I must just have the worst luck on the face of the planet.” Rolling her eyes, Sekkachi launched a cotton ball at Rei’s face. She sat up and glared. “What the fuck was that for?”

               “Stop feeling sorry for yourself” Sekkachi replied. “Nobody wants to hear you complain.”

               “You’re the only one here” Rei argued.

               “Yeah, and I don’t want to hear you complain” Sekkachi said.

               Rei rolled her eyes and adjusted herself on the exam table. The paper crinkled beneath her, a reminder of just how uncomfortable this whole thing was. “Hey, what did you mean when you said you’d pay Hiretsuna back, anyway?”

               Sekkachi flippantly launched a cotton ball into the trash can, missing by a few centimeters. “Oh, nothing” she said. “We’ve just got this deal where she does stuff for me and I repay her in taiyaki. They’re her favorite.”

               “That’s cute” Rei smiled. “How long have you been doing that for?”

               “Eh, maybe five years now?” Sekkachi asked. “She’s been a real help with all the medical bullshit I go through. She’s a little out there but she’s nice company.”

               “Oh, so this is like a date thing then!” Rei exclaimed.

               “No!” Sekkachi fired back. “It is absolutely not like a date thing. She’s just a friend of mine, okay? Besides, she doesn’t swing that way. Not everyone I hang out with is gay, you know.”

               Rei chuckled and raised her hands in surrender, muttering a halfhearted “sorry” under her breath. And then the door opened, Toshio picked his head up, and in stepped a doctor. A heavy anxiety fella cross the room.

               Rei toyed with the hem of her shirt and looked everywhere but at the doctor as she explained the circumstances. It wasn’t that he was mean or dismissive in any way—if anything, he was more than happy to administer the blood test—but the mere fact that she was speaking this situation into existence horrified her. She felt small and scared and stupid. All seven pregnancy tests had come back negative, she should’ve taken that confidently. Why was she so stuck on this?

               Toshio rested his head in Rei’s lap as they proceeded with the lab work. She watched her blood fill up the little vial as if in a trance, hypnotized by the sight of it. Sekkachi launched another cotton ball at her head to bring her back to center.

               “How, uh…how long do you think it will take to get my results?” Rei asked as the doctor finished up.

               “Oh, it should only take a few hours!” he cheerily replied. Rei’s face fell.

               “H-how long is a few hours, though?” she asked. “I mean, that could be anywhere from two to, like, five, right? That’s not a definitive enough answer! I-I can’t wait that long!”

               Sekkachi rested a hand on Rei’s shoulder, pursing her lips. “Rei, calm down. It’s not that big of a deal.”

               “B-but it is a big deal!” she protested. “I need to know whether or not I’m pregnant right now!”

               A sympathetic expression crossed the doctor’s face as he approached the door. “I know it’s hard to wait for answers, but we need time to do the proper testing” he explained. “Blood tests aren’t as quick as urine tests, but they are much more sensitive and can give us a more accurate result. Please, try to understand.”

               Toshio nudged Rei’s hand and licked her fingers in comfort. She really had no other choice but to resign to her fate. She watched the doctor slip out of the room and her entire body suddenly felt hollow and shaky. She stared at the door creaked slightly ajar and whimpered, to no one in particular, “What am I supposed to do now…?”

               It was in moments like this that Rei was truly grateful for Sekkachi’s companionship. Without a second thought, she leapt down from the counter and guided Rei out into the waiting room, sitting her down and then approaching the vending machine. She returned with a rice cake for herself and a packet of cookies that she handed to Rei. “To help your blood sugar” she explained. Rei took the package but honestly couldn’t even bring herself to eat. She was far too anxious.

               A long stretch of silence passed, allowing Rei to fully implode on herself. She eyed the clock with fury and frustration, willing it to move faster yet at the same time wanting to stay trapped in this uncertainty forever. The definitive result terrified her. Maybe I never should’ve done this, she thought to herself. If the home pregnancy tests were negative, she should’ve just believed that they were negative. Now she felt as if she was blowing this entirely out of proportion and digging herself into an even deeper hole than she was already in.

               “Hey” Sekkachi suddenly said, nudging Rei’s arm. There was a strange, serious expression on her face that only made Rei that much more anxious. “You’re really nervous about this, aren’t you? Like, genuinely, seriously nervous?”

               “Well, I mean…yeah” Rei replied quietly. She crinkled the plastic packaging in her lap, chewed her bottom lip. “Maybe I’m overreacting but…I just need to make sure.”

               “I know” Sekkachi replied. Another beat of silence passed. “Rei, I just want you to know that…that whatever result comes back, I’m here for you. You know?”

               Now things were really getting strange. Sekkachi acting genuine was so rare, it only further emphasized how deeply in trouble she was. Rei could feel her hands go numb and tingly as she sucked in a deep breath and tried to remain calm. Once she had regrouped, she gave a single, definitive nod and forced a smile on her face. “Thank you, Sekkachi. I appreciate it.”

               The next hour passed rather uneventfully with Sekkachi mainly just trying to keep Rei calm. She’d point out other patients in the waiting room and make up stories about who they were and why they were there, frequently concocting the most unflattering scenarios. One man was there to get his toe sewed back on after a freak kunai accident, but they would have to work quickly because it was on ice and if it all melted, they wouldn’t be able to reattach it. Another woman was there trying to hide the fact that she had gonorrhea but had no idea who she got it from. It was when a heavily pregnant woman crossed the hall, hand on her belly, that all of Sekkachi’s hard work was completely erased. One look and Rei was panicking once again.

               “Just take a deep breath, it’s fine” Sekkachi murmured, trying to remain inconspicuous. “I know you’re freaked out but this is nothing, everything’s gonna be fine, it’s really not—”

               “Rei!”

               She heard his voice and could immediately feel the ice slide down her spine. The large glass doors swung open and there was Kakashi, frantic and rushing towards her. She rose to her feet involuntarily and he pulled her into a tight hug.

               “K-Kakashi…what are you doing here?” she asked, voice unexpectedly hoarse.

               He pulled back to better view her and explained, “Sakura overheard everything when you were checking in and came to get me.” A wave of anxiety shivered through Rei’s body at the mention of Sakura. She knew nothing good would come of running into her like this. Kakashi brushed the hair out of Rei’s face and then asked, “Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”

               Biting her bottom lip, Rei dropped her eyes to the floor and suddenly felt as if she was going to cry. She tried to swallow back the lump in her throat but it was no use. Every time she opened her mouth, she could feel the hot tears threatening to spill.

               Sekkachi reached out and placed a hand on top of Kakashi’s, shaking her head. “Now’s not the time” she said. Kakashi understood the situation quickly, nodding once in affirmation before sitting Rei back down. He took the chair beside her, massaged the base of her neck, held her hand. Toshio scooted nearer and rested his head on Rei’s knee, closing his eyes peacefully. Well, Rei thought to herself, if I have to be in hell, at least I have incredible support.

               It was almost five o’clock when Rei was finally called back to receive her results. Hiretsuna hugged her clipboard to her chest as she waited for Rei to follow her back, a bright grin on her face. Kakashi rose alongside her, holding her hand. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked quietly. Rei gave his hand a slight squeeze to silently say yes, please. “Okay” he said, and there was a certain confidence in his voice that was mildly soothing. “Let’s go.”

               The exam room smelled distinctly like disinfectant, that cold and sterile scent that in a moment like this made Rei feel like she was going to be sick. Kakashi sat down beside her, hand firmly on the small of her back, as the doctor stepped inside with a stack of papers attached to a clipboard. And then he said it, the one thing Rei had been waiting to hear all this time. The final verdict on this horrifying escapade. “The tests came back negative. I’m sorry.”

               Rei’s entire body tensed up, her hands going numb, and she felt all of the anxiety from the past few days rising up inside of her throat. She cupped her hand over her mouth and stared at the floor, her vision growing blurry. The doctor excused himself, saying he would give them a few moments of privacy, and once he was gone, Rei officially broke down.

               She wasn’t even really sure why she was crying. This is what she had wanted, wasn’t it? She didn’t really want to be pregnant…did she?

               Kakashi rubbed her back and whispered affirmations until the worst of it was over and she could finally breathe. “Rei” he whispered, “What exactly is going on?”

               She shook her head, not wanting to answer, even burying her face in her hands so she could avoid the confrontation. Kakashi did not press her, which made her feel all the more guilty for not speaking. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m so sorry” she whimpered.

               “What are you sorry for?” he asked. “Rei, please, just tell me what’s going on.”

               Rei wiped her nose with the back of her hand, sucked in a shaky breath. “I-I don’t know, I just…after that last mission I got so paranoid…that one guy was so certain I was telling the truth, and he had all these really valid reasons for believing me and I just…i-it got into my head, and I started thinking ‘well, what if I actually am and I don’t even know?’ And then I-I thought of stupid fucking Tanjo and how she didn’t even know she was pregnant, and how it’s possible to never know until you’re on all fours in searing pain and I just…I can’t go through that, Kakashi. I can’t not know, I can’t run that risk of not knowing, I just—”

               “Shh, calm down” he whispered, recognizing that she was getting herself worked up again. He pulled her into his arms and held her close, rubbing her back gently. After a few moments, he spoke again. “You can breathe now, Rei. You got your answer. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

               “I-I thought so, but…” Rei’s voice trailed off, and she suddenly felt so sick and disgusting.

               Kakashi leaned back to look her in the eye, cupping her cheek in his hand. “Rei” he said, his tone much more serious than before, and for a moment she feared she was in trouble. “Did you want to be pregnant?”

               The look in his eyes, the way he spoke to her just then, was enough to send her spiraling yet again. She tried to remain composed but she was faltering. “I-I don’t know…” she whispered. She wiggled out of his grasp then and curled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her waist and leaning forward so that her head was nearly resting on her knees. “I don’t know what I want anymore, Kakashi. Everything just feels so weird. I just…I’m in a really weird place right now, I don’t know.”

               He took a minute to process her response before asking, “Do you not want to move in together?” Rei’s eyes widened as she looked up at him, suddenly terrified that perhaps he was saying he no longer wanted it. It would make sense, heartbreaking as it was. Why would he ever want to live with a basketcase like her? “I don’t want to put you through this if this is becoming too stressful for you” he explained.

               “No” Rei shook her head, sitting upright again. “No, I want to live with you. I want to move in with you.” Her hand hesitated a moment before reaching over to grasp his. “I’ve been so stressed thinking about it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it. I guess I’ve just been having a really hard time figuring out where we are in our relationship right now…I don’t know, that’s so stupid but I just…I feel like there are so many expectations now to get so much done in such a short amount of time, like we’re running out of time, and like we’ve already wasted so much time, I just—” Spilling it all out was forging yet another lump in her throat and with a small, interrupting yelp, she felt herself begin to cry again.

               “Rei, look at me” Kakashi whispered, caressing her cheek and squeezing her hand in comfort. “Listen, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, okay? I don’t want you to worry about all of that right now. We still have all the time in the world to live our lives together. Let’s just face one thing at a time, okay? This isn’t a competition, we’re not in a race against anyone or anything.” She wanted so desperately to believe him, but it was so hard to come to terms with the fact that she was not wasting her life away. He pressed his forehead against hers, tugged his mask down to kiss her softly, and she felt that overwhelming love for him swell deep within her chest once again. As unresolved as she felt on the walk home, she tried to drill Kakashi’s words into her head with the hope that they’d eventually stick. Then, in an effort to quell her anxiety, she took great care in absorbing every ounce of the moment. She intertwined her fingers with Kakashi’s, rested a hand on Toshio’s back, surveyed the muted, dusky glow of the sun and the way it warped the color of Sekkachi’s hair. Because at the end of the day, that was what really mattered the little moments, the here and now. She rested her head against Kakashi’s shoulder tiredly and he gave her hand an affectionate squeeze.

               It’s okay, she thought to herself. We’re in no rush.

[turtle-burgler]

Hamilton is the Julius Caesar of the modern day. It got a country fired up about history, it’s a brilliant work of art, and sometimes it puts iambic pentameter above historical accuracy. (and THERE’S a MILLion THINGs i HAVEn’t DONE)

Before we dig into this video, just so you know, this isn’t going to be a Cinema-sins style list of “well actually, rap and hip-hop weren’t really a thing until the twentieth century, so it’s extremely unlikely that george washington would have rapped” or “wait, why do these women keep the same fashion silhouette through several decades despite being well-to-do.” There are other youtubers who could do that and better (Karolina Żebrowska, I’m looking at you).

Nope, this is for everyone else out there who left Hamilton thinking, “That was amazing--but how much of it really happened?” Even if you’ve read all eight hundred-some pages of the biography that inspired the musical, there are some parts of Hamilton’s life that you might not know!

Or hey, maybe you do--I’m not a historian. If you’ve got any tidbits or corrections, please drop ‘em in the comments!

Trigger-warning for some human rights violations coming up in the slavery section--don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Hamilton wasn’t proud of his heritage. Sorry Lin! Hamilton might be the most emblematically hip-hoppy rags-to-riches founding father, but he wasn’t open about his past when he was alive. A wealthy background was a requirement for a politician https://www.historytoday.com/archive/months-past/birth-alexander-hamilton

Heck, he was probably even lying about his age when he got to NYC in order to get into college. When he sailed into New York, he claimed to be 15--but may have been a couple years older. https://www.history.com/news/5-things-you-didnt-know-about-alexander-hamilton

Hamilton’s mom wasn’t exactly a--wait, I want to stay monetized--a “lady of the night.” She wasn’t particularly monogamous, and the marriage laws at the time made her unable to divorce her first husband once they separated. This did, as the musical claims, make Alexander “illegitimate.” https://www.americanheritage.com/boyhood-alexander-hamilton#2

You might have left the musical assuming that Hamilton was a single child with no parents. Not true! He grew up with a brother-in-law and had a living but estranged father, both of whom he tried to keep contact with as an adult.  https://founders.archives.gov/?q=Correspondent%3A%22Hamilton%2C%20James%20Jr.%20%281753%E2%80%931786%29%22%20Correspondent%3A%22Hamilton%2C%20Alexander%22&s=1111311111&r=2 https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-14-02-0369

Based on the musical, Burr’s life was over the moment he shot Hamilton. He’s the one survived but he paid for it. Little did we know--Burr’s life only got more exciting after Alexander’s death. It’s too much for me to include in this video! A vice president on the run from the law! Corrupt land holdings! Trials! War with Spain? Jefferson out for blood? Taking over Mexico! Scamming widows? Going to court Alex Hamilton Junior? All this and more in the sequel musical: Hamilton Junior: Burr’s Revenge!!! (fake) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aaron_Burr

Burr’s own legacy child, Theodosia, was lost at sea--making her “blown away” by a storm just as Phillip was “blown away” by a gun. Oof.

Haven’t heard of Hercules Mulligan before the musical? There’s a good reason--he’s pretty obscure, but the name was too good for Lin to pass up. Via Hamilton: The Revolution: "Listen, Mulligan didn't grow up to be a statesman like Lafayette or Hamilton. But his name is just the best rapper moniker I ever heard in my life. So he gets the most fun punchlines."

The American Revolution wasn’t originally against King George--the colonies thought George would be on their side against the discriminatory practices of Parliament. They were wrong. https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/congress-adopts-olive-branch-petition

No, Hamilton probably did not have a tomcat named after him. https://www.bostonglobe.com/arts/theater-dance/2016/07/07/group-upset-that-hamilton-alleges-martha-washington-named-tomcat-after-him/XSoUG3OaDUtbxxu1plxbyJ/story.html

Angelica did not marry for practicalities sake--she went against father’s wishes, forcing her to elope. https://www.newnetherlandinstitute.org/history-and-heritage/dutch_americans/angelica-schuyler-church1/

Angelica’s father did have a son… named Phillip. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philip_Jeremiah_Schuyler

The idea of Yorktown ending the war is a historical myth. In the live-musical-only scene of Alexander receiving news of Laurens’ death, it claimed that he died for no reason in a war that had already ended--but that’s not an accurate timeline to use. https://newrepublic.com/article/118561/american-independence-myths-lies-may-comfort-facts-matter

Was Burr actually a better lawyer than Hamilton? It’s hard to tell--SOMEBODY made a dramatic murder accusation in court that was remembered through the ages for its drama, where the lawyer held a candle beneath the suspect’s face and proclaimed ““Behold the murderer, gentlemen.” but accounts differ on whether this lawyer was Burr or Hamilton. http://www.murderbygaslight.com/2010/12/manhattan-well-mystery.html

It’s historically only POSSIBLE that ham COULD have asked burr for help on federalist papers, not a real event and is artistic embellishment

Hamilton talked for 6 hours but his audience not just listless because Passion, listless because endorsed a constitutional monarchy. Probably omitted for being notoriously Un Patriotic “Mr. Hamilton had been charged with holding an opinion in favor of monarchy, and it had been said he proposed a monarchy to the Convention” https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-25-02-0295

Ham’s relationship w washington often antagonistic--they did good work together, and the washington (*farewell address) address portion of the musical was accurate, but their relationship was not as warm as portrayed. In fact, Hamilton broke up with Washington over something apparently petty. When Alexander ran late for a meeting, he found Washington on top of a staircase, frowning at him and scolding him for being disrespectful. Alexander decided on the spot to quit his job. In letters, he insisted that "three years past I have felt no friendship for [him] and have professed none.” The two made up eventually, but the musical skips past this fight in favor of keeping both of the men sympathetic. https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/hamilton-and-his-patron-george-washington/ 

Washington’s ‘not yet’ is justifying such an insidious attitude in american politics toward slavery arghhhh. From Hamilton: The Revolution: "Washington, of course, owned hundreds of slaves, and did not emancipate them until his death at the end of the century."

Speaking of glossing over racism , the sally hemings thing . Sally was 14 and technically a free woman in france but was manipulated into coming back to america. Her children by Jefferson were only freed after Jefferson’s death, and Sally herself was never a free woman. The scandal of Jefferson’s “concubine” made the headlines in 1802.

https://www.monticello.org/sallyhemings/

Side note, if we’re talking about Jefferson, we all know he bred slaves for profit? Right? I had to get 546 pages into “Thomas Jefferson: The Art of Power” to find out. “"he calculated he was getting a 4% increase in capital assets per year on the births of black children" and used slave-breeding to get credit to build his mansion. 

Are we still talking slavery? Ham was like technically against slavery but still took advantage of it due to his wife’s place of privilege, since the Schuylers were slaveholders. This is in contrast to john adams Xtreme human rights positions https://www.varsitytutors.com/earlyamerica/early-america-review/volume-15/hamilton-and-slavery

The Chernow biography does claim Laurens and Hamilton as strong abolitionists, but their political stances tended to be based on property rights and practical considerations for padding out the army rather than a belief in equality. https://www.varsitytutors.com/earlyamerica/early-america-review/volume-15/hamilton-and-slavery

Hamilton’s had many children that just didn’t make the cut for the musical. During a post-show Ham4Ham special, the musical hosted the stories of the other Hamilton children--in Sound of Music parody form. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yx98h6rqC6w

Say no to this is just plain ol apologetics. Putting ham in a position of unwilling victim to the reynolds’ sexy wiles. Not a lot of evidence for this and it really is up for debate if maria knew about her husband’s plans, but ham’s reactions aren’t so much ‘guilty about infidelity’ as ‘james is such a pain in my butt’ (and for good reason for the latter, like… Yikes) Most of the Reynolds pamphlet is about James Reynolds’ harassment of Hamilton. https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-21-02-0138-0002#ARHN-01-21-02-0138-0002-fn-0035

One last time loses its context as a political jab that encourages American isolationism. https://history.state.gov/milestones/1784-1800/washington-farewell

We Know was not actually a dynamic trio of jeff/madison/burr. Instead, the three characters were James Monroe, Abraham Venable and Frederick Muhlenberg. It’s not hard to see why Lin wanted to change this for the sake of the narrative. https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-13-02-0165

For this reason, Hamilton also challenged Monroe to a duel! Monroe chose Burr as his second, but no shots were actually fired. https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-26-02-0001-0201

Burr also challenged Angelica’s husband to a duel.  (above)

The musical skips Phillip’s awkward, polite exchanges with george eacker, as well as the first duel between Eacker and Phillip’s friend. No one was hurt in this first duel--which was the norm. https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-25-02-0258 https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/duel-history-dueling-america/

Is there discourse around whether Hamilton really threw away his shot? Of course. He definitely claimed to have thrown the shot intentionally, but it may easily have been a misfire. http://www.aaronburrassociation.org/Smithsonian.htm  According to Van Ness, “As to the pretence that [Hamilton] did not intend to fire and that [Burr] knew it, it is more dishonorable to the deceased than the survivor” https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-26-02-0001-0275

What do you think of the musical? Historical revisionism or teaching tool? Any corrections or quibbles? Please leave them in the comments below! 

Smell you later.