#and there's some rhetoric about them stealing our jobs too

[ravenovni]

Y'all ever see someone claim something about a country's culture and the person doesn't necessarily seem ill intentioned but you just have to cringe real bad because they clearly don't know what the hell they are talking about?

I don't even remember the context I saw this in but sometimes I remember that time I saw a (non-Portuguese?) person claiming Portuguese people aren't racist against Brazilians.

IIRC they were saying this in comparison to another ex-colonial country to claim that other country had a stronger racism problem

[burning-bubble-tea]

Just saw a news article of the conservative leader in my country talking about removing temporary foreign workers and using rhetoric such as calling some of them terrorists and…. Sigh………..

The problem isn’t the immigrants. It never is. But xenophobia strikes again.

Also I think the mistreatment of said temporary foreign workers is a bigger risk and issue rather than “there’s too many foreign workers”. Like we built our fucking economy off of the labour of temporary foreign workers where they are exploited, mistreated and abused but yeah sure, they’re the real monsters here.

I don’t care if temporary foreign workers are stealing our jobs and not paying taxes or whatever. Most of these people are being taking advantage of and abused by their employers. They’re the ones at risk, they are the result of a broken system, they are not breaking the system. If they were we’d live in a better world.

[makmalaon]

The Angel Of Death (Our Holy Saints Of Death 2)

I find that everyone is more or less the same. Everyone’s engulfed in their own egos and biases about the world. It doesn't matter where I travel.

A few dozen teenagers scattered in my aunt & uncles backyard in a Houston suburb. Everyone was high on weed or nitrous with breaths smelling like beer and or tequila. Police sirens blared throughout my relative’s home and to the neighbors next door. The sounds of a local gangbanger rapping over a drill beat about selling drugs and killing people blaring on the speakers. 

Everyone ran out the back or hopped a fence to neighboring houses. I was high off a cocktail of drugs and it was all a blur. I passed out. I woke up in a hospital with my uncle yelling at someone on his phone next to my bed. 

“She’s wild. Out of control. We can’t have her around the kids. They look up to her and she then she does shit like this. She’s gotta go.” 

“No. Dad please. Nobody got hurt. She didn’t do anything wrong.” Said Maria, their youngest daughter. 

“She embarrassed us infront of our neighbors. Our lives are practically ruined. I know they’re talking shit about us in their groupchats. Excuse my language.” 

“You’re so dramatic tio.” 

“Girl.” 

He walked off and his boots clacked as he knocked over a tray of food by the table next to my bed. It looked like something a guy vomited at the party last night which made my stomach tense up. The smell was a mixture of diarrhea, tamales and Modelos which refused to be forgotten by my nostrils. It made me want to faint. 

My room was the size of a one bedroom apartment. Outside the window was a view of downtown Houston from the third story of the hospital. My aunt cried as my cousin wrapped her arms around her. 

“Valentina, are you okay?” Said Jane. 

“What happened?”

“You passed out in the backyard when the police came to break up your party. You looked like you were dead so they called an ambulance for you.” 

“You had us worried sick. Your parents are having a mental breakdown because of you.” 

“Have they tried praying away the stress?”

“Not now.” 

“They don’t really believe in mental health so I don’t even think they see it as a mental breakdown. It’s probably the devil or some stupid bullshit like that.” 

“Now’s not the time for your snarky disrespectful teenage nonsense. You’re leaving for Mexico city tomorrow afternoon. We already booked your flight for you.” 

“I’m sorry. I tried to tell my parents to give you another chance but they won’t listen.” 

I couldn’t care less. I hated it here in America. The people in Texas were fat, racist, dumb and southern hospitality only extended to white people. Houston was supposed to be some sort of liberal utopia compared to the rest of Texas but the average person here were awful too. They used the word “Mexican” like it was a slur. The food here was covered in oils and butter with major portions. I loved making money in dollars by scamming, shoplifting, robbing and selling drugs. I made over thirty thousand USD in the 4 months that I’ve been here which should be enough to pay for my college tuition.

The only thing I’ll miss about this godforsaken country filled with gullible entitled low IQ losers is how easy it is to make money. There’s always a new method around the corner. I hear Americans complain about immigrants stealing their jobs or making some sort of excuse for being poor but the fact of the matter is that most of them are entitled, lazy and stupid. Most of my Mexican relatives here were poor, uneducated and exceptionally dumb but they always had a way to make money. If the people of this country get beaten in the job market by people like that then the problem is them but of course most of these idiots can’t admit that to themselves so they have to resort to racism and xenophobia. 

I saw some people using the same rhetoric in Mexico but towards the slew of so-called digital nomads gentrifying parts of the city and to dehumanize migrants from south or central America. 

I ate a mega-dose of edibles and did whippets last week. I couldn’t stop thinking about how America was a dying empire. I kept seeing visions of buildings on fire, people rioting and political extremists fighting one another near government buildings. My mom used to think I was a mystic but she did a 180 once I started acting out around the time uncle Paulito got released from jail. He was sentenced to twelve years in prison for sexually assaulting a college freshman walking home from class. His defense was that the 18 year old shouldn’t be dressing in such a skimpy fit if she didn’t want that kind of attention from women. She wore a white tank top, white tennis shoes and skin tight jeans. I was shocked when my parents took his side. My mom believed that he was misguided and needed to repent in the eyes of the lord. My dad believed that the girl was lying and that she was trying to get men in trouble by dressing that way. 

I had some resentment towards my parents for being such meek religious pushovers but I couldn’t take them seriously after this whole situation unfolded. The sex pest uncle needed a place to stay after prison so my parents offered to take him in. I was 12 years old at the time. The little respect I had left for them disappeared and I started hanging out with the burnout kids. After a few weeks I realized they were a bunch of morons who were more concerned with getting high and looking cool than actually accomplishing anything. 

My goal since I was a child was to become a millionaire and I didn’t care how I’d do it. I know I didn’t want to be poor like most of the people in my family or working class like my parents who lived paycheck to paycheck throughout their lives. 

They both worked 12 hours a day while my grandma looked after me and they always preached hard work despite never being able to move out of the slum they grew up in. Neither of them have ever missed a day of work and they were never late. Mom worked various retail jobs throughout my life and dad always worked some sort of strenuous manual labor job. 

She had some sort of personality disorder which she sought 0 professional help for and dad’s knees are on the verge of giving out. They both have chronic lower back pain and they don’t have any medical insurance. They both opted out of seeing a doctor and instead resorted to this faith healer they met at church when I was a child. They have the two of them rub essential oils on their backs then have them recite some prayers. My parents thought they were cured but the crippling pain returned every few weeks. The catholic shaman suggested a visit every couple of weeks where he would sell the overpriced oils and unlicensed massage services. Mom loved these services while others.

I arrived at Mexico city international airport with nothing but my backpack full of clothes and a bunch of cash and weed carts in a hidden book safe mixed with a bunch of American snacks in my luggage. 

Mom, dad and aunt Viviana were waiting for me. She wore a black satin dress, Louis vuitton millionaire sunglasses and red Louboutin heels. She had a red Chanel classic handbag and had gold jewelry on each wrist, finger, ankle and wore a gold Tiffany curb chain necklace. Heads turned as she ran towards me to give me the tightest hug I’ve ever received in my life. 

The smell of vanilla and flowers overpowered my nostrils. 

“Oh my God Valentina baby I missed you so much.” 

I teared up. I hated just about everyone in my fucked up dysfunctional family but she was my favorite aunt because she’s hands down the coolest person I know. During elementary school when the teachers asked the class what they wanted to be when they grew up, I said I wanted to be like her. I looked up to her because she made it out of that slum my kin were stuck in. She’s also the prettiest and best dressed person I know. Most of the girls in Tepito knew her and looked up to her. My parents resented her because they thought aunt Viviana was a bad influence and they believed that she worshiped the devil or she was some sort of evil witch. 

“Get in the car right now. We have so much to talk about.” 

“We were so worried about you. Oh dear lord what’s gotten into our precious daughter.” Said mom as she clasped her hands together with a rosary in her hand. 

“Ease up on the poor girl. She just got off a flight and she was just discharged from the hospital. Are you hungry?” 

“The food here is overpriced. We have food at home.” Said dad. 

“You’re such a cheapskate. I’ll pay for our meal.” 

“No. You’re not gonna reward this hoodlum after what she’s put our family through.” 

“I’m starving but I don’t want any American food. I’m sick of it and it made me fat.”

“Girl don’t be ridiculous. You look skinny. Anyway, let's stop by the taqueria near the house. They have some decent tacos.” 

“No. She’s gonna march in her room and she’s gonna stay there until she learns her lesson.” 

“What the hell is wrong with you big brother? That’s child abuse your weird old man. You look like a gay pornstar from the 1980’s with that mustache and mullet combo. No wonder your daughter doesn’t respect you.” 

“She’s our child and we’re gonna do whatever we want with her. And don’t talk about adult stuff around her.” 

“I hate you. I wish I lived with aunt Viv.” 

“You don’t want to live with me.” 

“Yeah she probably has a bunch of weird guys coming in and out of her house.” 

“Oh so now that’s a problem but not when you let that pedo uncle stay with us?” 

“He’s family. He said that girl was lying and we believe him.” Said mom.

“Then why did he go to prison?” 

“Because the criminal justice system in Mexico is broken and our country wants to be like America so bad that we started adopting that evil woke culture of theirs where women can do no wrong and all men are evil.” 

“Mom, you don’t seriously believe that.” 

“It’s true. Even if he really did it then he already paid his dues in the eyes of the law and he said he’s been heavily devoting himself to Christ.” 

“Oh right because religious people definitely aren’t weird pedos and sex criminals.” 

“That’s enough. What’s gotten into this daughter of ours. Goodness. I’ll pray for you even harder tonight.” 

“You can pray all you want. I’ll always hate that abusive pedo pig and I know he’ll never change because people like that never really do.” 

“Let’s all calm down. Let me grab some coffee with my niece somewhere in the airport while you two go somewhere to cool off too.” 

My parents agreed even though they bickered with one another over what they should do with me. Auntie talked to me about being less reckless about my activities and to stop wasting my time with petty schemes. She told me that I needed to surround myself with powerful and successful people, especially men. They told me not to waste my time with loser boys because they’re going to leave me broke, heartbroken and probably pregnant with little financial support. 

Whenever I asked her what she did for a living and how she made it out of the slums, she would always change the topic. 

“Once you’re grown, I’ll tell you.” 

Everyone suspected she was some sort of high end escort and had more than a handful of rich sugar daddies who funded her lifestyle. On her social media pages, she always posted about being in some foreign country and she always stayed at 4 or 5 star hotels.

I wouldn’t judge her if that was her line of work but that’s not something I could ever do. I despised being around men for any meaningful amount of time and I hated catering to them. She thinks of me as her sweet niece who’s straying from the right path but I’ve known since I was a child that I would never become some corn functional members of society like my parents because they do exactly as they’re told and what’s expected of them based on what Mexican culture dictates but it gets them nowhere meaningful. 

They go to church every Sunday and they’re still the most miserable, hateful and unlikable people I’ve ever known but they mask their bullshit behaviors under layers of superficial kindness, compassion and empathy. Most of the people from the shitty church are just like them too. The pastor seemed like some sort of predator or abuser too. He glanced at me all the time and he even made a comment to my parents about me developing into a beautiful woman while looking at my breasts. When I told mom and dad about it, they told me to not wear such revealing clothes next time we’re in church. I wore jeans, sneakers and a long sleeve tank top which didn’t even reveal any of my body parts outside of a tiny bit of my lower stomach. 

I had enough money saved up to move out and I made a plan to rent a place in Polanco using an identity I stole from a person in Katy, Texas. I was at a Walmart parking lot and this woman was screaming at the top of her lungs while flailing her arms. A bunch of her stuff spilled onto the parking lots as she ran away from security. I picked up her wallet which had her driver’s license and social security number. I tried looking her up but couldn’t find any information outside of an inactive facebook page where the last post was complaining about her being potentially homeless. They had a terrible credit score and seemed to be deeply in debt. I used these pieces of ID to open a bank account with a credit union which had terrible security. I did cashapp flips and other petty scams on social media. They’d transfer the money to my friend’s account who was a pro at bank drops and he’d send the money around until it got to my account. I had 22790 USD on this account after spending a few months in America. 

I learned about scamming on social media after this guy at a party my bestie threw kept trying to recruit people to work on his credit card fraud scheme. I befriended the guy, partied with him and through the information he gave me I was able to learn how to figure things out on my own. He told me which sites to go to where I could learn about the industry and some of them were on the clearnet while others on the dark web which seemed scary to me at first but it was actually pretty tame compared to what the media reported on because most of the things I saw were related to drugs or fraud. Pedophilia and gore were also huge on the darknet but there weren’t really any sort of hitman for hire services or red rooms because according to one user from the fraud forums I browsed it was too hot due to the authorities cracking down heavily on that type of behavior. 

“Girl what’s been going on with you?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I heard you were doing all types of drugs. Word is you’re doing other stuff too.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh c’mon. You know you can talk to me. Your family in Texas told us they heard you sold drugs, shoplifted, scammed and did all sorts of stuff.” 

“If I did then I shouldn’t talk about it right.” 

“You can talk to me about anything. I wouldn’t judge you for it.” 

“I sold drugs. Scammed some people online. I shoplifted and did credit card fraud. I stole some person’s identity and I’m going to use it to rent a nice apartment somewhere in CDMX.” 

“Wow you’re crazy. Don’t use someone else’s identity. You’ll probably get caught. Nobody’s going to believe you’re an adult.” 

“I can’t live with my parents anymore. I hate them so much.” 

“There’s no way they’ll let you live on your own.” 

“Well I think now they will. They seem like they hate my guts.” 

“If they say no then they’ll get the police involved, they’ll find you and then arrest you for stealing someone’s identity.” 

“I think I’ll actually kill uncle pedo if he looks at me the wrong way.” 

“I asked your parents if I could be your guardian. Your mom seemed like she was on the fence about it but your day outright refused. If they let you move out then I’ll rent an apartment under my name.” 

I hugged her. She always came through for me when I needed her the most. I loved her more than anyone or anything in the world. 

As soon as I got home I started packing as many of the things I needed into my luggage and backpack. I resented most of my clothes after moving to America because I got them from the market near Tepito and they seemed cheap now that I got a taste of the brands Americans liked. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m moving out dad. Don’t try to stop me.” 

“Where are you gonna go? Who are you staying with?” 

“That’s none of your business.” 

“None of our business? You’re our fucking daughter.” 

“Language honey.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I have enough money to stay at Airbnb’s and hotels.” 

“What about school?”

“I’ll still go to school. Don’t worry. I’ll get a college degree. I don’t want to end up working low wage jobs like the two of you.” 

Dad grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. I pushed him off me and grabbed the pepper spray from my purse. He dropped to the ground streaming in pain. My eyes teared up. The smell was unbearable. I grabbed my backpack and ran out. A cab was parked a block away and I got inside then told the driver to get me to the city center as fast as he could. 

I’m at a 4 star hotel near the airport. I used a stolen credit card I bought of a site to book a room for a night. I’m messaging a bunch of weird men on my fake social media accounts. One of them offered to pay for my flight and accommodation to Cancun. Another one said they would fly me out to Los Angeles to have dinner. 

I paced around my hotel room as a reggaeton playlist I made was blaring through my portable speakers. I lost track of how many times I took a puff from my mango flavored vape. I got 7 missed calls from mom and aunty Viviana messaged me an hour ago. A plane took off and my eyes were drawn to it. I needed a break from Mexico city. I’ve only been to the surrounding areas and my parents took the family to Guadalajara when I was 6 years old. I wanted to go to a place with lots of tourists so I could scam them without feeling any remorse, especially if they were American. Aunt called me and a pit in my stomach made me answer even tho I wanted to ignore her. 

“Oh my god baby girl what the hell happened?”

“Dad was getting handsy with me so I pepper sprayed him. “

“You’re crazy.” 

“I thought he was gonna hit me or something and I wasn’t about to let that weird old man do that to me.” 

“Where are you now?”

“I’m at a hotel. I have to leave the city for a bit because I can’t be around them.” 

“Where are you going?”

“I might be going to Cancun.” 

“I’m there right now for the next few weeks. Come visit me.” 

“I don’t want to bother you.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.. You know I’d do anything for you.” 

I’m at the Cancun international airport and from a distance I saw the only family member I trust with a brooding and bald muscular man who was about 5 '9 wearing jorts, wheat colored work boots and a white tank top. She ran towards me while wearing her white designer platform sneakers and athleisure clothes. 

“Oh my god you poor thing. I’m sorry I look so gross. I just got done working out.” 

“Stop fishing for compliments babe. You know you look hot.”

“Ew shut up. You’re being weird and gross.”

They were side by side and he proceeded to grab her by the hips then pulled her towards him but she pushed him away. Her face was red as she started smacking him in the face. 

“Go be useful and throw this bottle in the trash.” 

“Who’s your friend?” 

“That’s Gabriel. He’s like my boyfriend or something like that.” 

“Yo babe check this out. Kobe.” 

He was about 12 feet away from the recycling bin as he did a jump shot like he was in a basketball game. The bottle flew past the bin and hit a baby in a stroller. It was getting pushed by a woman passing by. The screams of the crying infant verberated throughout the airport. He ran the opposite direction. 

“He is such a fucking idiot. I’m sorry babe.” 

“He’s kinda funny.” 

“He’s fun to laugh at because he’s so dumb. More like a court jester instead of a standup comedian.” 

“He’s pretty swole.” 

“He’s the beefiest guy I’ve ever been with. I usually go for skinny guys but he’s different.” 

“Aw you like him.”

“Ew don’t be weird.” 

A group of tourists with American accents started yelling at a front desk agent in English. That along with the crying children grated my ears. 

“Why are you crying?” 

“I don’t know. There’s just so much going on right now. All the stuff happening at the airport is making my head spin.” 

“Ok let’s get out of here. First I gotta find that roided oaf. He drove me here.” 

There were signs all over the airport about the A/C not working. The smell of sweaty people made me want to faint. I stepped out to vape while aunty was on the phone yelling at her man. My hands were shaking. Shivers went throughout my body. I tried to do some deep breathing exercises I learned from a therapist I saw for 1 session in America. My gay friend Diego wouldn’t shut up about therapy whenever we smoked and he went on about how life changing it was. It didn’t really do much for me. I felt like I was paying someone to listen to me bitch about my problems. Whenever the mental health professional offered me solutions to my problems, it made me feel angry and bitter. It was condescending to think that some breathing exercises and worksheets could fix my dysfunctional family. My independent self didn’t need some old person who got paid 200$ an hour telling them that their feelings were valid and that all I needed to do was to love and accept myself then move on. I figured that out on my own when I was a child. The whole thing was a waste of money. No amount of sessions would get rid of my violent urge to kill all the losers in my stupid fucked up family. 

“Where the fuck were you?” 

“Sorry babe I had to get some KFC. I needed the protein. It’s been 3 hours since I’ve eaten anything and I felt my body go catabolic.” 

“You stupid meathead. You made my niece wait in this hot ass airport with all these weird nasty people.” 

“I said I was sorry babe. I’ll drive extra fast to make up for it.” 

“You’ll get us killed.” 

“I’ll fast and furious this shit. Don’t worry about it.” 

We’re on the highway and Gabriel’s going about 120 mph on his dodge charger. Aunty yelled at him throughout the whole ride and told him to slow down but he just kept laughing at her. I zoned out and the whole ride felt like a blur. I couldn’t stop thinking about my next move. Scenarios about reconciling with mom and dad replayed in my head. As much as I hated the two of them, there’s a part of me that believes they can change. My catholic upbringing made it hard for me to see anyone as irredeemable even though I know that there are people who are so fucked up that they don’t deserve to roam around free because they’re a bunch of abusive and predatory assholes with no will to change. 

“You can stay here for as long as you want until things die down with your parents.” 

“Wait really? Babe we never talked about this.” 

“This is my apartment. You don’t even pay rent.”

“Yeah but still.” 

“We have a guest room for a reason.” 

“Thanks for the offer aunty but I can’t stay here for too long. I need some time alone to think things through.”

“Where are you gonna go? What are you gonna do?” 

I didn’t have a plan. I had no idea what I was doing and I had to constantly remind myself that I wasn’t in Mexico city anymore. It was nice to be around someone familiar but I don’t want to be a drain on the only person in this world that I loved and respected. 

“I’ll stay with friends in Guadalajara. I always loved it there.” 

“Let’s grab something to eat first. There’s this great Korean spot a few blocks from here. You like Asian food right?” 

We’re eating Korean barbecue and this hole in the wall restaurant. There was an assortment of Japanese decorations all over the place. The employees were a mix of Mexican and Chinese immigrants because I heard the Asian workers speak Mandarin. The food was fine. The Kimchi tasted like it was store bought. The food here was nothing like what I experienced in Texas. It seemed like a watered down version of any sort of Asian food I’ve tasted. The menu was filled with Mexican and Asian fusion foods. There wasn’t anything too unappetizing but they sold sushi burritos which made me nauseous. Apparently it was one of the most popular sellers on their menu because I saw more than a handful of people enjoying it. 

I felt uncomfortable being the third wheel to my aunt and her partner. She tried her best to include me into each conversation they had but I couldn’t muster anything other than one word or short responses. I wanted to crawl up in a ball and die. She seemed gleeful in their arguments with one another. They reminded me of an elder couple who were lost in their own little world and exhausted every possible conversation available so they spent most of their time arguing over little things. I’ve never seen her expressing this many emotions over a man. She always told me that she saw men as nothing but piggybanks who were incapable of ever loving a woman in a way they deserved. It didn’t seem like a great way to think about half the world population and I felt like I would be miserable if I ever believed in something similar. Throughout my life I saw aunt Viv as a strong and independent figure but there were times where it felt like it was a mask. She would slip up and I’d often think about how lonely she must feel underneath it all. She always expressed to me that romantic love was a delusion created by men to keep women subservient and that anyone who believed in the notion was a fool. Even if she was right, I always told myself that I would break the rules and make myself the dominant one of a relationship. I wanted to be the center of a man’s universe where they served me and fulfilled every desire. This wouldn’t seem like love to most people but others' opinions of my life bore no importance to me since most people were selfish and self-important. Every thought or belief was an expression of somebody’s biased worldview and life experiences which shouldn’t affect me at all since these weren’t concrete truths. 

In my home life my parents bombarded me with made up rules and imposed stupid standards on me under the guise of religion and culture. Their friends at church were also gossipy and judgmental control freaks who felt the need to have an opinion over every little thing. They were morally righteous but turned a blind eye to everyone in their circles who went against these principles and made every excuse imaginable for these people. More than a handful of people from the church were exposed for being predator, abusive, creepy and I’m pretty sure at least half of them were pedophiles because whenever I played with the other kids during Sunday school, we’d make fun of all the weird touchy adults which was almost the entire congregation. 

One 12 year old boy killed himself after accusing another member of molesting him in the parking lot during a bake sale while everyone was indoors. The 50 year old man and father of 2 boys and 1 girl within similar age ranges lured the preteen into his car by asking for help unloading boxes then pinned him down in the backseat. He told his parents who went to the pastor but he asked for proof and that family wasn’t able to provide any so they were ostracized from the church for causing drama as the members there put it. A handful of boys came forward to say that the same man rubbed their shoulders or legs inappropriately but most of the adults agreed that it was just part of Mexican culture. The rapist’s name was Alexandre Alejandro Flores and he attended mass every Sunday with his family. Some of the members urged their kids to keep a distance from the man but nobody ever spoke up or confronted them about it. The kids called the man Lex the pest and bullied his kids relentlessly. Word got around to the middle school they attended and kids would throw rotten fruits at them during lunch, stuffed them into lockers and physically assaulted them during recess or after school while they waited for the bus. 

Gabriel started flexing his biceps after fixing his plate of mongolian beef, korean fried chicken and rice. Viviana was fixated on his arms. 

“You’re so weird.” 

“C’mon look at how freaky my arms look. All veiny after the gym”

“You’re embarrassing us. There are people everywhere.” 

“They’re not even looking over here. Maybe if I did a front double bi.” 

She started punching his arm and smacking his head as he swatted her hands away. 

“Is everything ok with your meal sir?” 

“We’re ready to go.” 

I offered to pay for the meal but she pulled my hand away from my purse as I reached for my wallet. She always insisted that men pay for meals and just about everything for a woman because they invented those stupid bogus chivalrous rules to subjugate women under the guise of doing nice for them and everything was set up against the feminine so it was the least they could do. I agreed with her and I always expected every guy I went out with to pay for me even if we’re just friends hanging out. When they asked me to pay an equal share then I’d tell them everything is inherently biased against my gender and if they argued with me I would never speak to them again. 

While in the car, she leaned in and placed her head on his shoulders. It made me teary eyed that somebody as jaded as my aunt found some variation of love even though she wouldn’t ever admit that she loved him. I wanted a guy who was similar but with a nice full head of hair, a prettier face and a higher IQ. 

As soon as we got back to the apartment, the bald man jumped on the couch then sprawled out as he unbuckled his belt. 

“You’re being gross. Go do that shit in our room.” 

“This is my home. I can do whatever the fuck I want.” 

She threw her purse at him and the two of them headed to their room where I heard a lot of shouting. After a few minutes they went silent. I sat on the couch scrolling through my phone. My mind went blank from all the options I had. On one hand I liked that I was free from my parents but I hated the way things played out because I was gonna miss all my friends from middle school. I was a little excited to start high school and I was sad I wouldn’t see my friends. I wanted to tell Sarah about all the money I made and all the cute boys I hooked up with in Texas. I wanted to know if Maria was still stuck in her on and off toxic relationship with Jose. Some days I wanted to be an average teenager but I knew that’s not the path God laid out for me. 

I worried about aunty and hoped she wasn’t getting murdered so I knocked on the door. When she opened it I saw a 4 foot statue of a skeletal grim reaper with mini statues, flowers, tequila and chocolate on an altar next to the bed. Her hair was disheveled and her face flushed as she cleared her throat.

“Is everything ok girlie?” 

“Yeah I was just checking to see if everything’s fine on your end because it was too quiet.” 

“Everything’s fine. We were just talking things out.” 

He laid on the bed and snored so loud I could hear faint sounds of it while I was in the kitchen. 

“I’m gonna head out and get some things at the market.” 

In the living room I paced around while taking a puff from my weed cartridge every few minutes as I looked at the TV which was on the local news. They talked about a local police officer getting murdered and how it could be linked to the cartel. They showed a video of the man’s corpse on the side of the road with two bullet wounds in the chest but his face was blurred. 

My brain was stuck in a loop of thinking about whether or not I should live the life of a traveling scammer vagabond going from one foreign country to another or whether I should go back home and try to salvage the situation with my parents. I truly wanted to do well in school and get into a top Mexican university to study computer science because I didn’t want to end up in a cycle of poverty and work menial jobs like my parents. 

After pacing for what felt like hours, my body was exhausted and I was couch locked. My stomach grumbled but I didn’t want to get food. Even getting up and going to check if there was food in the fridge seemed like an impossible task. 

“Where’d your aunt go?” 

“She said she went out to get something at the market.” 

“It’s dark out. She shoulda been back by now. She’s not answering my texts or picking up the phone.” 

I spaced out on the couch looking at the ceiling while the short stocky brute stepped out of the apartment. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. 

I woke up to Gabriel yelling. 

“Is everything ok?” 

“I can’t find Vivianna. I called everyone we know and drove around town.” 

“Maybe she’s busy with something.” 

“She’s never gone more than a few hours without at least texting me.” 

My mind replayed a conversation I had with her where she talked about how she kept weird men online company for money. I assumed she was doing some form of online sex woke but she was probably too embarrassed to outright say it and she probably felt like I was too young to talk to about something like that. She complained about having to deal with strange men being obsessed with her. She claimed that a few of them were stalking them but that she felt safe with Gabriel by her side. Auntie told me that most people online were a bunch of nerds who were all talk and she felt confident that she could handle them if they ever tried to confront her in person. 

The TV was still on and the weather person talked about cloud skies in the morning and afternoon. 

“I’ve been up all night and I don’t know what to do.” 

“Should we call the police or something?”

“She hated the police and she wouldn’t want that.” 

“I’m sure she’s fine. She disappears from time to time. I’m sure she’s ok somewhere.” 

My stomach grumbled loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“Are you hungry or something?” 

“Yeah I haven’t eaten since we went to the restaurant.” 

“We can head to that cafe the two of us usually go to a few blocks away. Maybe someone there might be able to help us. They know her over there.”

I ordered an iced coffee and chocolate croissant as the man went around talking to the workers and the people at the shop. 

“Nobody knows anything. Somebody mentioned hearing about the police finding a dead body by the tourist area with all the 4 star hotels.” 

I coughed as crumbs of the croissant littered my lap and spread throughout the table. 

“Do you think it was her?” 

“I knew I shouldn’t have fallen asleep and went with her to the store.” 

“This isn’t your fault. Maybe she’s just busy meeting with friends.” 

“She would never go off somewhere without telling me. I’m such a useless idiot.” 

The image of such a muscular man displaying this much emotion made me want to burst out into laughter but I didn’t want to be cruel and insensitive. He reminded me of some of my gay friends but I don’t think my aunt's boyfriend was a homosexual. Maybe he was bisexual or just a really emotional metrosexual man from all the exogenous hormones he injected in his body. 

I learned how to take over people’s phones and machines using a method my online hacker friend showed me. It was easy enough to get people to download a pdf file or open a phishing link but it made me feel creepy doing that to people I know. I have this urge to know everything about everyone around me at all times. I imagined what that one therapist would tell me and how it was some sort of defense mechanism I developed from years of childhood trauma. When I took over my creepy uncle’s laptop, I found out that he spent all of his time online looking up porn with barely legal teens. I didn’t find any sort of illegal material involving minors but I think that’s because he was a lot more careful with his sex crimes rather than him not having the urge to look at underage girls.  

“Now landing in Mexico City. The local time is 1:30 p.m. The weather is gloomy with heavy rain in the evening. I hope you enjoyed your flight folks and have a wonderful day.” 

It’s been over a year since I returned to this city. I spent a year in Cancun scamming tourists and doing various other schemes. I had a credit card fraud ring running where I paid taxi drivers and minimum wage employees working in shops around touristy areas to install skimmers. 

I hated these stupid gringos coming into Mexico and treating it like their personal playground. Most of them were poor or middle class at best but they walked around this country with an air of superiority. They didn’t bother learning the language or the customs and they looked down on the locals. The banks gave them their money back after a few weeks so there was no harm and no foul. I saw what I did as karma for gentrifying cities and shitting them up like a bunch of pale faced rats who reeked of mayonnaise. 

I made over 600 thousand USD over the course of the year. It made me feel good knowing I’d never have to work another day in my life in the next 5 years. I invested the money in some local businesses to clean the money. I owned a laundromat, 2 taco stands, an ice cream truck and I owned half the stores at the flea market 4 blocks from Zona Hotelra. All the beauty, home decor, electronics and vintage clothing stores belonged to me. I would use the cards I got from the tourists to buy merchandise then hire locals to run the stores. I’d pay them double the market rate. I also used clone cards to withdraw money from ATMs. Most of the cops in the city were crooked and easily bought off. Gabriel helped me with the business. Underneath his goofy and airheaded personality was a personable and charismatic leader that a lot of the locals looked up to. He had this ability to hyperfocus on any task put in front of him. He abused adderall but since I went through a 1 gram weed cartridge each day, I wasn’t in any position to judge him. 

“Valentina. Is that you? You look like a grown ass woman.” Said Maria. 

I kept in touch with Maria and Sarah because they were my two closest friends since elementary school. Maria was done with Jose and she’s obsessed with Kpop now. There’s a college guy from Korea named Andrew that she won’t shut up about. Maria was busy with school and working at her parent’s convenient store. I told her about the money I was making and I was gonna ask her to work for me because she seemed tired from having to deal with her parents. 

We went to a starbucks in the airport because the girls were dying for coffee since they said they barely slept after partying the night before. 

“I heard you were like a cartel drug boss or something.” Said Maria. 

“Girl shut up. Don’t talk about that here.” 

“It’s so loud and busy here. Nobody’s gonna hear us.” 

“I’m not in any cartel. That’s crazy.” 

“You keep flexing crazy amounts of cash in our group chats and you’re always high as fuck of those fire ass weed carts.” 

“Do you know where I could get some adderall?” Said Sarah. 

“Bitch what the fuck? Isn’t that stuff like Meth or something.” 

“I need it for my ADHD and there’s a supply shortage right now so it’s hard to get some.” 

“That shit isn’t real. You spend too much time online on those kpop spaces and that’s why you’re all retarded now.” 

“You’re so fucking dumb.” 

Sarah grabbed her blueberry muffin and licked it. 

“Ew you’re fucking nasty fuck you.” 

Everyone’s sweating in this one bedroom apartment full of strangers. I heard about Chino but wasn’t too familiar with the others. He seemed a little naive but I could tell by his dead eyes that he’s killed someone before or at the very least gone through severe traumas. Once you murder somebody it leaves off this tell. I’m not sure if other killers developed similar abilities or if it was just me. 

He looked like one of those Kpop idols in the face but he had Lucha's body. 

There are exceptions to the rule of course like Leo who was so clean cut and mild mannered that one would think he worked at an office. He could kill someone without blinking and it didn’t seem like he felt bad about anything he did. He always claimed to be motivated by something divine and what he did was whatever was best for humanity. The deeper you peeled the layers behind that man, the more insane he seemed but he was a good person deep down. 

This old bastard won’t shut up and as soon as I saw the opening, I pulled my gun out and put a few bullets through his skull.

That look on my future husband’s face gave away that he had a weak stomach. He was no longer in the room with us mentally, emotionally or spiritually. I held him and pressed his head against my chest. He sniffled and his soft skin pressed against mine made my pussy soaking wet. 

After the cleanup crew arrived, I asked him if he wanted to come to my place and hang out. As soon as we got to my place, I grabbed his cock and leaned in for a kiss. He didn’t hesitate to kiss me back and press me against a wall. 

Once our first session was done, we smoked a blunt and some cigarettes then went on until I ran out of condoms. I didn’t want him to leave, even if it was to go to the convenience store across the street. I told him to fuck me raw. I didn’t care if he got me pregnant. He’s mine. Nobody else could have him other than me and anyone who tried to steal him from me deserved to get their ass beaten or murdered. 

I remembered Maria telling me that with some guys you just know they’re husband and baby daddy material. She considered herself a love witch who worshiped La Santa Muerte in the red aspect along with Aphrodite and when she told me that I thought she was a dumb delusional weirdo but seeing how some men fall in love with her within minutes of meeting them changed my mind. One man left his family and gave her his month salary just to take her out. She didn’t even care. The man tried to rob a bank to afford her attention but he was in jail. She wrote him a letter from time to time because in her words he was a useful idiot who would do anything for her no matter how she treated him. Maria had at least a dozen men at her disposal at any given time. She was the ugly duckling for most of her life but then she started experimenting with witchcraft and glamour magick then out of nowhere she looked like an Instagram model. People accused her of using filters or photoshopping all her pictures online but once they met her, they realized that her skin glows naturally and her curves are natural. I texted her about Chino while we were in a cab on the way to my apartment and she told me he was the one for me. I trusted this evil witch with anything related to love, lust and men. 

His voice, hair, body and the way he carried himself gave me butterflies in my stomach. If I saw he walking around then I would think he was nothing but another self-absorbed gym rat douche but Willie told me that he was battling homelessness, mentally ill and came from a dysfunctional family which made me want to take care of him in a way that nobody else could. He told me how selfless he was and how he’d help the homeless. 

I've only been with a handful of guys and they were all the same. They didn’t understand the concept of empathy or compassion and they were self-absorbed no matter how big, tall or how they presented themselves. One guy was a sensitive artistic type who turned out to be a covert narcissist and pathological liar who’s manipulate girls into sleeping with him by pretending to be in tune with his emotions but once you got to know him, he was just another egotistical asshole. Another guy was a gym rat who surprisingly had a big thick cock but his entire life revolved around the gym and he spent more time posing in front of a mirror then nurturing an interesting personality. 

The last guy I was with was a tall, skinny and average looking nerdy type of guy who was studying to be a doctor. He was smart but after the honeymoon period, he did everything he could to make everything about him. Everything was a weird power game. I picked up on it after 3 weeks of dating him. Whenever he felt threatened by a guy he’d single out something that he thought was would make that person insecure then harp on it until he felt like he got one over on them. It was fun at first but he kept doing it and it made me think he was an annoying insecure loser. He was lousy in bed and had a long skinny dick which felt like a pencil going in and out of my vagina. 

He held me in bed and I felt so safe. 

“You keep staring at the scar on my stomach.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to.” 

A wave of disgust overcame me as the tone of voice never came out of my mouth for anyone ever before. 

His dick was the perfect size. Girthy and long enough to rub my cervix. He ate my pussy like nobody I’ve ever met and I’ve hooked up with two girls. Once when I was drunk at a party and wanted to know what it felt like and another time I dated this gorgeous half Mexican and half Colombian model for about 3 weeks until breaking up with her because she was too obsessed with me. She stalked me and everyone I knew. She wouldn’t let me have any friends and she would install spyware on all my devices to track me. It was fun for a week and then it became overwhelming. That sort of behavior is only fun when I do it to someone else. 

“Does it freak you out?” 

“No I like it.” 

“You don’t have to lie to me.” 

“I’m being serious. I think it looks good. Honestly. How did you get it?” 

“My dad used to beat my mom whenever he had a bad day. I stood up for her and it pissed him off even more so he beat the hell out of me.” 

I held him closer to me but he pushed away. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to dump that on you.” 

“I was the one who asked about it.” 

“It was weird of me to bring it up.” 

“I don’t think it was. I’m actually flattered that you would be comfortable enough to share that with me.” 

“I barely know you.” 

“I mean you saw me kill a person in front of you. That’s a really intimate thing to share with someone.” 

“You’re funny.” 

“Was that your first time ever seeing someone get killed?” 

“Not really. I’ve seen people get stabbed or beaten to death while I was homeless. The more I see it, the harder it gets for me to witness.” 

“Why? Isn’t it usually the opposite?” 

“Life is the most precious thing on this planet. Nobody really has the right to take that away from anyone.” 

“You picked the wrong line of work.” 

“I’m trying to change things.” 

“So what do you think of a murderer like me?” 

“People are more than the things they do. Nobody’s irredeemable.” 

“I go against everything you stand for.” 

“To be honest, that guy seemed like a massive piece of shit. He probably deserved to die.” 

“So some people are more worthy of livin than others.” 

“There are always exceptions to the rules.” 

“I know. I was just messing with you.” 

“I hate when you do that.” 

“I’m sorry.”

What’s wrong with me. I don’t apologize to anyone ever. Something about his presence turned me into a different person. I knew that he could snap my head in half with his bare hands without trying but it made me feel special knowing he would never do something like that to me. Deep underneath his sweet exterior, I sensed a great deal of rage and trauma waiting to be unleashed. I can’t wait to witness that so long as it isn’t directed at me. If it came to it, I could kill him with no hesitation but I know it would eat me up inside afterwards. I’d miss seeing his cute face, his big juicy cock and that talented tongue of his. 

I’ve known this guy for less than a day but I knew he was going to be an important person in my life. If he ghosted me I would murder him. 

“You seemed so natural doing what you did.” 

“They don’t call me the angel of death for nothing.” 

“How did you get that nickname?” 

“I’m the best sicaria in all of Mexico.” 

“That’s bold of you to say.” 

“It’s not just me who says it. People gave me that nickname after I killed some really powerful people.” 

“What was your first time like?” 

“It was cathartic because the person I killed really deserved it.” 

“What did they do?” 

“They killed the person who mattered the most to me.” 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened and who were the people involved.” 

“Some weird obsessed stalker murdered my aunt. She was a content creator and got lots of weird fans. One day she went to the store then never came back. The cops found her body near a hotel in a touristy area. I hunted the guy down and after that I kept on killing anyone who got in my way.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that. That must have been so tough for you.” 

“It took me so long to get over her death. Nothing beats the feeling of avenging her death.”

“How many people have you killed?”

“I lost count.” 

“You’re scary as hell. If I didn’t know this about you, I would think you were just a sweet and pretty girl.” 

“I can be sweet just like I can be mean, scary and vindictive. It all depends on how somebody treats me.” 

“Is killing your main way of making a living?” 

“I own a bunch of businesses?” 

“Are they drug related?” 

“Most of them are legit. I’m in control of most of the adderall, speed  and ADHD meds circulating in Mexico and most parts of the United states.” 

“Why ADHD meds?” 

“My friend has that condition. She told me how there was a shortage and a large demand for them. I capitalized and at the same time I figured I’d be helping an entire community of people get their meds.” 

“I have ADHD too.” 

“No wonder you’re good in bed. She told me people with your condition were great at fucking.” 

“I don’t know about that.” 

“I hate how you can never take a compliment.” 

“They make me feel weird.” 

“Are you a masochist or something?”

“What the hell? You’re being weird.” 

His look of embarrassment was so cute. 

We went to watch the Joker movie in theaters and I pictured myself as Harlequin while he was like a more socially acceptable version of Arthur Fleck. They have a similar backstory. After the movie he told me he really related to the main character of the movie. We were smoking in my car outside the cinema and he was telling me how he used to have a therapist who dropped him as a client because the government quit funding the nonprofit he went to as a teen and the whole program got shut down. I got on top of him and started kissing him while grinding on his dick. I hit the steering wheel and the car honked as a group of middle aged people walked by. 

“Good thing your windows are tinted.” 

A block away there was a mini food market and we stopped to have some tacos and elotes. 

“You two were at the theater a few minutes ago. I saw what you two were up to.” 

“What?” 

He got in that man’s face without a moment of hesitation. 

“Bro chill. I’m not judging your freaky asses. Just be careful next time. There were people there with their families and shit.” 

This middle aged man in baggy jean shorts, dusty white basketball shoes and white tall tee was making me uncomfortable. 

“Mind your business old man.” 

“Alright whatever bro.” 

He walked away but we spotted him smoking a cigarette in the parking lot while on the phone since the food stands were so close to where the cars were parked. 

“He’s a sicario.” 

“That old bastard? No way.” 

“I remember reading about a notorious hitman in this area who wore a similar outfit. Isn’t it weird that he followed us here from the movie theater?” 

“He just looks like any other creep. He probably wanted to join in.” 

“Don’t ever doubt my intuition. I’m always right about these things.” 

“Go talk to him. I’ll figure something out.”

He walked off as I held my street corn on one hand and my vape in the other. 

I made eye contact with the man while I approached him. My legs felt heavy and he kept looking at me from head to toe. 

“Where’s your boyfriend? Did he leave you here to meet with his boyfriend or something?” 

“I think he went to the bathroom. Are you hungry?” 

“Actually I was about to grab some elotes but if you’re offering.” 

He took the stick off my hand then took a bite with bits of corn and cheese falling on the ground. 

The sound of a gun getting clocked. 

“Who do you work for?” 

“What the hell? Look buddy I’m poor. I have about 200 pesos in my pocket and I was about to buy dinner.” 

“Get in the car and start driving. Don’t look at me. I’ll shoot you if you don’t comply.” 

We’re driving on the highway and we’re heading to the outskirts of town. It’s freezing cold and shivers went throughout my spine. Nobody spoke a word for what felt like an hour. I’m in the front seat while Chino was in the back with the gun pressed against the back of the man’s head. 

The roads were pitch black now and we could hardly see the road. Nothing around us but the desert. 

“Stop the car.” 

The three of us got out of the car and the man had his hands up. 

“I’m not who you think I am.” 

“Why did you follow us back there? Who are you working for?” 

“I was hungry after watching that Joker flick. It was an emotional experience for me.” 

“Stop fucking around. I’ll shoot you if you keep fucking with us.” 

I patted the man down and grabbed the pistol around his waist. He emptied his pockets and I snatched his wallet and keys from his hands. 

“I like to keep a gun on me for self defense. I live in a really bad part of town.” 

He shot the ground about 2 inches from the fat middle aged man’s foot. 

“I’ll ask you one more time. Think really long and hard about your answer.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about man.” 

He left off another shot and hit the man on his right knee. The two of us were by the side of the car as the stranger collapsed on the ground with the headlights pointing at them. He screamed while holding on. 

“Fuck ok. Look, I don't have a boss. I’m like a freelancer. Some guy hired me to follow the two of you.”

“What did this guy look like?” 

“He was bald and had pale white skin. He was probably like 5’10 and really skinny. He wore an all white suit with black loafers. They looked fancy.” 

“What else?” 

“I don’t know what else you want me to tell you. I think he called himself Zeke or something. He had a Z tattoo on his neck.” 

Another loud bang as the man collapsed on the ground. 

“Why did you do that?” 

“He lied. He was sent to kill us. The guy who hired him was probably part of the Zetas.” 

“Why kill him?” 

“We have to appear strong and send our enemies a message. These people are animals. The only language they understand is violence.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be a pacifist or something?” 

“That’s Leo. He breaks his rules from time to time.” 

He got in the driver seat and as I got in the car I leaned over. His face partly visible . I grabbed his face and looked him in the eyes. You’re mine. I kissed him and I knew this man was always going to be by my side. 

[titleknown]

This, btw, is why I think the "being mature means realizing you'll have to give up bananas under socialism and be okay with that." framing is such dogshit on all levels.

Like, the ways production and use are set up are gonna have to change in the US if we're to whip imperialism, I am not naiive enough to deny that, and there's no doubt there's some tough questions to answer wrt how we get [X] once we stop fucking stealing from countries by forcing them to basically be factories for [X]

But that framing basically takes those questions, and tells people asking them to go fuck themselves and settle for less.

On the disadvantaged side that's actually receptive to this, it helps cultivate a fundamental incuriosity about what we do after the injustice stops, or more relevantly how we get there or how to prevent backlash in the transition without the sort of thing that'd lead to mass graves.

And, let's be real, most of the ways in which that style of rhetoric is effective is motivated by a "fuck 'em, they've had it too good for too long" mindset in its audence, even people who agree with it would probably admit that, and IDK, but incuriosity + a vengance mindset never leads anywhere good.

But, also on the flipside of those who currently get to have nice things, the incuriosity ignores the fact that when something's taken in the current economy via resource constraints, it's usually with zero support network and; more relevantly; zero care for if what fills in the gap actually does an adequate job.

Like, it's literally how capitalism defends the status-quo, just with different value judgements, when we should be breaking their models over our knee. This is why the whole "you may not have bananas but you'll have healthcare and perfectly cromulent substitutes" point people use to try and mitigate this also sucks.

Because, as anyone who's been subject to this is probably aware, the pretense of "perfectly cromulent substitutes" isn't ever for the benefit of the people being given those substitutes; it's for the benefit of those giving those substitutes to pretend they're being fair.

Like, it's usually by people who don't value anything we'd lose and have a very specific idea of how people Should Live too; from what I've noticed.

Like, the big example I always think about is how degrowth environmentalism talks about how much time we'll have for painting and kite-flying and barn-raising and such but then absolutely shit on computers basically telling people if their primary hobbies, creative outlets, or tools are computer-based they can go fuck themselves because the people saying it usually place no value on them.

Which like, on that end, I'm not suggesting other folks using that rhetoric of subsitutition are insincere in that way, just that the burden of proof is on you to prove that you're not Like That.

And, really, it's just... I wish people trying to tackle these questions of political economy would stop trying to cater to one side by sloppily coating over the actual logistics with a rhetoric that mostly gains hold via resentment (Whether they admit it or not) and telling the other group about the sacrifices that people who don't value what would be lost would make for them the same way capitalists would.

Questions of political economy and justice in political economy are hard even before you get to the propaganda-divide, please stop making it miserable to engage with by taking that wedge and stomping it in, and actually think about bridging this shit.

I was thinking about how it feels like often leftists' propaganda to certain demographics clashes with each other, and there needs to be a synthesis?

Like, how the main instrument of what I'd call "the gilded choke-chain" for the middle class is stability and fear of predation/deprivation within the chaos they percieve as the societal default due to market-brain, so a lot of our propaganda to them is about how stability and prosperity can be maintained in a leftist society.

But for those in the poor, especially those BIPoC folks or folks in the Global South, stability is what they fear, because their view of "stability" means their continued oppression in the current order, so the propaganda towards them disavows comforts they never got and talks about the need to burn it down.

And it feels like those clash in terms of our message, and there needs to be a way to wed the needs those two modes address beyond just "different propaganda for different people" if that makes sense?

IE, how to both talk about how we're going to bust the Omelas kid out of prison but also the need to research how to maintain material prosperity without the Omelas kid...

[a-dragons-journal]

If you really think you can get trauma from kids on tiktok calling themselves kin for their own fun and happiness then you don't need to cry to the kin community to validate your obsessive bullshit you need fucking therapy because you clearly have bigger problems than worrying about what a bunch of goofy teens are doing with some vague relatively unknown terms in their own ways without your personal approval

Y'know, somehow I knew I was going to get this anon when I posted that.

Anon, I need you to understand that at least from my perspective, it's not about kids having fun. It really isn't - though I can see where it comes off that way sometimes.

It's about the fact that it's become increasingly difficult, almost impossible on some platforms, to find others with experiences like your own because every time you think you've found one, it turns out that they're just pretending for fun and think you're weird and "crazy" when they realize you're actually being honest and genuine.

It's about the fact that more and more often these days, when you do find yourself in that situation, you're suddenly being attacked with classic antikin rhetoric - "you're delusional," "you're taking this too seriously," general bullying and harassment, and yes, "you need help" - from people and a space that you thought were safe. It does a lot more damage from people that you'd let your guard down with than it does from self-proclaimed "antikin."

It's about the fact that we created these words to describe our own experiences, specifically to describe our own experiences, and now because of people stealing our words, when I see someone saying they "kin" something I have to question every single time whether they're actually 'kin or whether they're someone who might very well attack me for actually being 'kin.

It is, in part, about the fact that sometimes what causes trauma - clinical trauma, I mean - is not necessarily something "big and obvious" that everyone would assume causes trauma. People have different thresholds for things.

It is, for that matter, about the fact that every single time we try to say "this is hurting us, please stop and use the words that actually mean what you're doing instead of misusing ours," we get immediately dismissed by answers like yours, anon - by "you're taking this too seriously."

Generally speaking, I take what people tell me in good faith - if someone tells me they're having anxiety spikes whenever they see KFF, I assume they're telling the truth unless I have evidence otherwise, and whether that qualifies as clinical "trauma" or not, what it is is suffering, preventable suffering. I do, in fact, agree that anon should probably see a therapist about it - not because it's something that shouldn't matter to them, but because it clearly DOES matter to them, and it's something that's harming them, and a therapist's job is to help cope with that.

But then, if one can dismiss that harm with "you shouldn't care this much, so it's your fault that you're hurt," then I suppose that makes it easier to ignore one's own responsibility for it, which is probably why so many KFFers use that argument.

Because again: it's not about "kids having fun." Kids can have fun in a way that doesn't actively drown out and try to erase an entire community. And I'm sorry, but something that by definition is integral to one's identity and sense of self is likely to make people upset when it's bastardized and attacked from all sides.

That was already probably more than you wanted to read, but should you be willing to read more, have an older post from me on why this matters so much to us, and my entire "kin-for-fun" tag which has both more constructive discussion posts about the matter and accounts from numerous individuals who've been hurt by the KFF phenomenon.

[urjabhi]

Kim’s getting in touch with his Drama skill

00:00 - La Puta Madre's peones & Racist Lorry Driver

00:52 - the pre-eminent spousal surveillance firm & Plaisance

01:29 - the Boogie Street shakes & Acele

Transcript:

RACIST LORRY DRIVER — "Listen up, fuckwit. You don't scare me. You cops don't run Revachol West. You don't run Martinaise. You don't run shit."

RACIST LORRY DRIVER — "You're all bark and no bite. The real dogs are up in Jamrock. Everyone knows that."

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant turns to the lorryman. "You mean *La Puta Madre*."

INLAND EMPIRE — The name resounds like a bell in the air -- a dark gong. You get a bad feeling about it. ENCYCLOPEDIA — A legendary -- and not in a *good* way -- crime boss from Jamrock. Controls what is probably the most powerful organised crime outfit in Revachol West.

ESPRIT DE CORPS — Looks like the lieutenant has a plan. Let him do this.

RACIST LORRY DRIVER — For a moment the lorryman is silent. Then he spits on the pavement. "Yeah, him."

YOU — Cross your arms and nod.

KIM KITSURAGI — "Then I presume you're familiar with his *peones*?"

RACIST LORRY DRIVER — "Yeah," he says, unsure where this is leading. "They're his little bitches. He's got them all over the unions."

KIM KITSURAGI — "Not just the unions. He has peones *everywhere*. Some say he even has them in the RCM." He gets closer to him. "Dirty fucking peones who'd do *anything* for him. Multi-ethnic drug addicts..."

DRAMA — The lieutenant adopts a rodentine quality. Be cool, sire. He's getting *into* this.

YOU — Say nothing.

RACIST LORRY DRIVER — "You're not peones," he says. "You wouldn't be investigating a drug-thing, if you were."

KIM KITSURAGI — "No. Of course not. *We're* not peones. But *if* we were... and one of Madre's drivers were to be stealing from him -- then it's a good peone's job to find out who that is."

DRAMA — He's surprisingly good at this. Not bad at all... Look at him lurching.

KIM KITSURAGI — "It's not a hard job. It won't take a long time. It won't make Padre Madre *angry*." He looks at him. "But a stupid fucking racist is standing in the way, *protecting* this fucking thief..."

RACIST LORRY DRIVER — His eyes dart between you and the lieutenant. "I'm not scared of you -- or the mob. I'm under the protection of the Lorrymen and Carters Guild."

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant raises one eyebrow. "You've seen the corpse in the yard, yes? You took a peek. I *know* you did. Did his shitty little guild protect *him*?"

RACIST LORRY DRIVER — "Nah. You wouldn't just leave him out there if you..." He tries to light a fresh cigarette, but his hands are shaking now. The sentence simply ends.

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant turns and gives you a barely perceptible nod.

ESPRIT DE CORPS — I've softened him up. As best as I could. Now it's on you to finish the job.

***

DRAMA — Time to fire up the old lie machine!

YOU — "Ma'am, I am a renowned private investigator, a paragon of law and a specialist in all things criminal." KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant shoots you a sideways glance. "And I am his private partner, John... Shao. Together we run the pre-eminent spousal surveillance firm in Revachol."

ENCYCLOPEDIA — Shao is what the Seolite Empire was called in the Occident, back when far less was known about the people. It was a barbarian Other, ever so mystical, on whom you could project any kind of exotic fantasy. The legend of it persists and a lot of people still think the 'Shao' is a thing.

YOU — "We are truly private in our partnership." KIM KITSURAGI — "Once we've caught our client's spouse *in flagrante delicto*, we blackmail them and pocket the money ourselves, because that's what private investigators do. Now, I see that *you* are a married woman..."

RHETORIC — Some penetrating sarcasm from your colleague there.

PLAISANCE — "What nonsense are you two going on about? This is not relevant at all. And besides," her lip curls in disgust, "*my* husband would never do such a thing. We are proper people." YOU — "Mind your manners, John. This isn't the great Shao Empire, where you can talk about sex stuff so openly!" PLAISANCE — "This is preposterous, a waste of my time and of no help to anyone." She looks displeased. KIM KITSURAGI — "Our sincere apologies, ma'am. No more nonsense. We're offering to assist you with your troubles, *pro bono*." Despite his apologies, there's a twinge of amusement in the lieutenant's eye. YOU — "It's a good offer, ma'am. I urge you to accept our help, it may be the only chance to save your business!" KIM KITSURAGI — "That's right. When not spying on the love affairs of the ultra-rich, we solve unusual mysteries by the lorry-load." YOU — "What better way, than to ask us --" PLAISANCE — "Oh my god, will you stop with the incessant yammering? It's too much." Her palm goes to her face. "If you wanted the key to the back door you could have just asked for it." YOU — "Fine, I'll ask for it. Can we have the key?" PLAISANCE — "Absolutely not!"

***

YOU — (Say it again louder, she might not have heard you over the wind.) "DO YOU WANT TO PARTY?!"

ACELE — "Yeah, I heard you, but what do you *mean* by 'party'?"

KIM KITSURAGI — "Yes, what *do* you mean?" The lieutenant sounds serious.

YOU — "I mean: we get drinks -- and we also get drugs."

KIM KITSURAGI — "Yeah, man..." The lieutenant suddenly appears to your right with his collar popped *insanely* high.

KIM KITSURAGI — "Got any dope? We need some dope bad." He scratches his nose, then his armpit through the jacket. "I got the *Boogie Street* shakes."

DRAMA — He's really shaking and everything!

YOU — "Wow!"

KIM KITSURAGI — "Tryin'a score some *dope*, man. Tryin'a score some smack -- you got any?" He hops from one foot to the other.

ACELE — "What's *smack*?"

KIM KITSURAGI — "The *D*, man, gotta hit that D!"

ACELE — "What's... 'the D'?"

YOU — "Kim, she seems legitimately confused. Tell her what this *D* is."

KIM KITSURAGI — "*Diamorphine*, girl. Quit clownin'. We need a hook-up for that D..." He breathes in through his teeth.

ACELE — "Diamorphine? But that hasn't been around for years -- five or more, like, seven years maybe? Everybody just does *hunch* now."

REACTION SPEED — Interesting.

KIM KITSURAGI — "Really? What's that?"

ACELE — "Hunch is like ten times stronger than diamorphine and *waaay* more lethal. I think the name is... B-hydroxy-something."

ENCYCLOPEDIA — B-hydroxy-phenothiazine. Somewhere in the soggy remains of your factual memory, you know the name. From the streets.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — It's the dark lord himself, put into chemical form. Even I don't suggest it.

KIM KITSURAGI — "Okay." The lieutenant stops hopping. "That's... that's real bad. Someone should definitely look into that..."

KIM KITSURAGI — He rolls his collar down to normal human level and pulls out his familiar notebook. "We're from the police, by the way."

ACELE — "Oh, of course." She doesn't look surprised.

REACTION SPEED — C'mon. She must have known it the moment you walked up to her.

[dontbipanicjonsa]

Been thinking about Dark!D*ny and

I think for me, it comes down to two things:

The utter hypocrisy re: her supposed abolitionist ways

The escalation of her power and the destruction she wreaks

Because I can't really fault her for smothering Drogo. I can't really fault her for letting Viserys die. I can't really fault her for murdering the shit out of Kraznys. I can't fault her for freeing slaves (as if). I can't even fault her for wanting revenge.

Let me explain-

I think if we compare the capture of the Lhazareen and the capture of Meereen, it paints a very clear picture of where D*ny is headed.

The Lhazareen

Ok. First, the whole 'D*ny has no power' argument has to stop. She's the khaleesi. Her husband is the khal. Of course she has power.

I'm NOT saying Drogo isn't absolutely monstrous to her. I'm not saying she chose to marry him. I'm not commenting on their relationship at all.

In a patriarchy, (upper class) women gain property/power/control over others in exchange for sexual/reproductive service. So D*ny, simply by virtue of being the khal's wife, or simply because she's pregnant with his kid (neither of which were her choice) has power.

For comparison, Cersei, who is abused by her husband, the king, still derives power from her position as Queen and mother of the princes/princess. See what I mean?

?? Drogo decides they're gonna sail to Westeros and gives his rousing speech because D*ny was almost assassinated. The attack on the Lhazareen was done in service of D*ny's conquest of Westeros. Let's repeat.

The Lhazareen were attacked to further D*ny's interests.

The Lhazareen were attacked to further D*ny's interests.

No, it wasn't for Rhaego, he's a fucking foetus he doesn't HAVE interests. It's not for Drogo, he doesn't give two shits about Westeros. IT"S FOR D*NY. And that is her 'power' in action. Her power, that she derives through her husband, because PatRiarChy. But power.

And you know what? Sure. It's fine. She didn't know what a bloodbath it was going to be. That's not her fault. And yeah, she IS ready to accept the bloodshed as necessary collateral. That is...a bit more questionable. But she does try to help some women.

Does she only help them because she can see their suffering? Probably. There's plenty of suffering not in her direct line of sight that she allows. But ok. Sure. It's not her job to save everyone (nevermind that they're suffering to further her interests).

The whole 'save them by marrying them to their rapists' thing makes me more sad than enraged. It's tragic. It's D*ny, making women marry their rapists in the same book where she married her rapist...thinking she's ok, thinking they would be ok too. It's the cycle of abuse in motion, right before our eyes.

This is an explanation I accept. All that bullshit about how powerless D*ny is? Pls. Women and children are being enslaved right there on the same page, so D*ny can win the IT, and she's powerless ?? stfu

Ok. I get it. She's not powerless, but how far does her power extend? COULD she have gotten away with getting all the newly enslaved Lhazareen freed? We'll never know. Does that absolve her?

Slaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on Slaver's Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.

NO.

This- the capture and enslavement of the Lhazareen people- is a direct consequence of Viserys' ambitions, which is a torch that D*ny has now willingly taken up. THAT ^^^ is a price she's willing to pay, or rather- make others pay.

Buuuut it's fine. She's inexperienced, and her power is certainly limited, and hey she tried. Sure. Moving on.

Meereen

(TW: mentions of rape)

Fast forward four books and D*ny is approximately 100x times more powerful than she was in the Lhazareen scene. Let's see how she does now-

A boy came, younger than Dany, slight and scarred, dressed up in a frayed grey tokar trailing silver fringe. His voice broke when he told of how two of his father's household slaves had risen up the night the gate broke. One had slain his father, the other his elder brother. Both had raped his mother before killing her as well. The boy had escaped with no more than the scar upon his face, but one of the murderers was still living in his father's house, and the other had joined the queen's soldiers as one of the Mother's Men. He wanted them both hanged.

I am queen over a city built on dust and death. Dany had no choice but to deny him. She had declared a blanket pardon for all crimes committed during the sack. Nor would she punish slaves for rising up against their masters.

xxx

A former slave came, to accuse a certain noble of the Zhak. The man had recently taken to wife a freedwoman who had been the noble's bedwarmer before the city fell. The noble had taken her maidenhood, used her for his pleasure, and gotten her with child. Her new husband wanted the noble gelded for the crime of rape, and he wanted a purse of gold as well, to pay him for raising the noble's bastard as his own. Dany granted him the gold, but not the gelding. "When he lay with her, your wife was his property, to do with as he would. By law, there was no rape." Her decision did not please him, she could see, but if she gelded every man who ever forced a bedslave, she would soon rule a city of eunuchs.

SO anyway how is D*ny rating on the 'tried to prevent rape' scale?

She even went so far as to summon Irri, hoping her caresses might help ease her way to rest, but after a short while she pushed the Dothraki girl away. Irri was sweet and soft and willing, but she was not Daario.

Oh look she's in the negative :/

How's she doing on the slavery front? She's got all the power now...

"Your slave Missandei." Jhiqui had a taper in her hand.

"My servant. I have no slaves." Dany did not understand. "Why does she weep?"

xxx

There was no slavery in the free city of Pentos. Nonetheless, they were slaves.

...

D*enerys spends five books gaining power. How does this affect the condition of her people? Is the condition of the Meereenese better than the condition of the Lhazareen had been, all the way back in the first book? No. It's worse.

People have still been raped. People have still been enslaved/remained enslaved. People have starved. People have been brutally murdered. And at a much larger scale than book 1.

This is what it comes down to. D*ny is a villain because her climb to power is characterized by death and destruction, always. Isn't that the trademark of a villain?

D*ny is a girl who truly believes in her own PR, but when you look at her words and actions-

"The Good Master has said that these eunuchs cannot be tempted with coin or flesh," Dany told the girl, "but if some enemy of mine should offer them freedom for betraying me . . ."

"They would kill him out of hand and bring her his head, tell her that," the slaver answered. "Other slaves may steal and hoard up silver in hopes of buying freedom, but an Unsullied would not take it if the little mare offered it as a gift. They have no life outside their duty. They are soldiers, and that is all."

xxx

"No," she pleaded. "Save him, and I will free you, I swear it. You must know a way … some magic, some …"

...how much of her actions are truly altruistic? How much is performative?

Despite her anti-slavery rhetoric, D*ny consistently benefits from slavery- and slavery flourishes.

Despite her 'oh no I don't wanna bring death and destruction anywhere', her actions continue to bring exactly that- and it never stops her from doing it all over again the next time.

Not to dismiss her internal struggle. But really. Being upset at the thought that you might be a bad person doesn't make you a good person. For that matter, being worried if you're going mad or not...doesn't mean you're not (not that I'm saying she is). Seriously, where did that logic even come from? Ultimately, her internal struggle makes her a more compelling character, sure, but it doesn't actually make her a better person.

The point is, her story is absolutely rooted in hypocrisy. Her destructiveness only escalates with her power. Her so-called good intentions never pan out- because her own actions undermine them. And because she has the self-awareness of a pigeon, she never gets better.

She IS the villain who thinks she's a hero. She isn't just a villain because she's done bad things, but because she's utterly unaware (or deliberately obtuse) of the bad things she's done, and so she's incapable of learning, and so she's only getting worse.

Take a step outside her POV and it suddenly becomes clear.

Let's recap.

D*ny has-

Wayy more power in Meereen. Less in Lhazareen

D*ny did-

Less to prevent rape in Meereen. More in Lhazareen

D*ny benefitted from-

Slavery in Meereen. Slavery in Lhazareen

D*ny was-

A slaver in Meereen. A slaver in Lhazareen

D*ny wreaked-

Death and destruction in Meereen. Death and destruction in Lhazareen.

D*ny, riding high on her power-

Ordered the murder of children. And much more.

Power is NOT good for D*ny.

[nctsjiho]

DREAM’s Lost Member (JiHo x DREAM cute moments)

Fan Video by “Neomu Lonely” on YouTube

(indented text = comments added by the maker of the video) Hi guys!

JiHo is finally back from NCT’s dungeon and there already have been so many cute moments of her with the Dreamies <3 So here’s a little compilation of those with some of my older favourite moments

[7DREAM return! 7+맛=Show]

JiHo looks so cute during this interview! Focus on how the boys keep looking at her with big smiles and sparkling eyes, they’re all soft for our baby girl

“Fans have been waiting for a long time. Finally NCT’s youngest brothers have returned as 7. Back with a full-length album, welcome NCT DREAM!” JiHo announces standing up whilst clapping her hands.

7 boys appear on screen, waving towards the camera, cheering and with wide grins on their faces, they sit down on the couch and chairs provided for them. As soon as they are seated Mark counts down for their greeting “One two three! To the world! Here is NCT! Hi, we’re NCT DREAM!” JiHo smiles and applauds again, glancing down at her cue cards.

“It’s nice to see all 7 of you guys back together again and this time you’re back with your first full-length album. Hot Sauce! I know the fans have been really excited and curious about the album, could anyone perhaps introduce it for us?” Jaemin and Renjun look impressed by JiHo’s words which seem to flow effortlessly off her tongue. Chenle then goes ahead and introduces the song and Mark follows to introduce their title track.

JiHo always avoided being the host for older NCT content. I’m so surprised at how she talks with such confidence and ease! Well done JiHo <3 

“Just before you guys performed some of NCT DREAM’s biggest hits ‘BOOM’ and ‘Ridin’‘. Normally this song is performed by 6 members right?” JiHo looks up at the boys only to have to try and keep herself from laughing. “Isn’t that something you know already, JiHo-ssi?” Questions Renjun with a smirk on his lips causing the other boys to snicker. The girl clenches her jaw slightly and mumbles, “That was a rhetorical question Renjun-ssi.” She sighs deeply before continuing to the real question. “This time Mark performed with you guys as 7 members. How was it? Do any of you have any funny stories about practise?”

Chenle puts up his hand to indicate that he wants to answer and JiHo gives him a nod. “Actually, when we started practising for BOOM and Ridin’, Mark hyung couldn’t be there because of another schedule. So to figure out our positions we got some help from one of our other (NCT) members.” The grin on his lips almost reaches his eyes and the camera pans to JiHo who lowers her head, trying to hide her reddening cheeks. “Ah~ They must have done a really good job...” “Yes, she helped us with a lot of preparation for this album.” Haechan’s ears perk up at the mention of a ‘she’ and when they all realise Chenle just exposed JiHo helping the group out - what most likely should have been a secret - they swiftly move on to the next question.

Chenle spoiling things even by accident, why am I not surprised?

But I am also super happy to know JiHo spent a lot of time with Dream during her hiatus ^^

[Mark’s post on Bubble]

“We’re finally back as 7DREAM! I definitely missed performing with the boys, but I’m sure that they wouldn’t have minded if JiHo took my place :( They are currently hanging out and if it weren’t for JiHo I’m sure they would’ve forgotten to invite me...”

[Haechan’s response on Bubble]

“Mark hyung is just jealous Czennie. Don’t worry, we love and missed Mark hyung a lot!”

[Chenle’s respone on Bubble]

“Don’t listen to Mark hyung, he’s now talking to JiHo in English so that only he can have her attention... Hyung is such a baby.”

This is so adorable~

[[MPD직캠] 엔시티 유 1위 앵콜 직캠 4K ' Make A Wish' (NCT U FanCam No.1 Encore) | @MCOUNTDOWN_2020.10.22]

During NCT U’s win for ‘Make A Wish’ JiHo wasn’t promoting at the time. Yet she came over to the shows once in a while to support the boys.

It’s the middle of the song when Taeyong and Jaemin turn to the side and motion someone to come over. They send the person in question a few persuasive looks before JiHo waddles onto stage and joins the boys, hiding behind Jaemin and Taeyong. She’s wearing a mask and a bucket hat that cover most of her face.

Jaemin flashes a big grin when he feels JiHo’s hands slitter around his waist while Taeyong coaxes her into singing with them by practically shoving the mic in her face. Jaemin wiggles around for a bit and when he gets released from JiHo’s grip he pulls her to his side and Taeyong hands her the mic to sing along with everyone for the drop of the song. Once the chorus starts again and Shotaro sings his part, everyone is jumping and dancing along.

JiHo has her arm around Jaemin’s waist while Jaemin has his arm around her shoulder while they happily sway from side to side.

Jaemin and JiHo are such an underrated ship! They’re so soft I love them <3

[[N’-153] We gon’ resonate🔥 | NCT 2020💚MAMA 안무연습 비하인드🌟]

“Do you see that?” JiHo frowns at the camera before moving her body slight revealing Doyoung and Haechan walking around with Doyoung’s arm around the younger boy’s shoulder. “Jungwoo and Mark stole Yuta away from me as well, so now I’m all alone.” She sighs deeply.

The two boys behind her catch her little monologue and turn to her in amusement. “What are you gonna do about it hmm?” Haechan says in a teasing tone and pulls Doyoung closer to him. “I’ll steal one of your best friends.” She then turns to Renjun and reaches out to him but he pulls his hand away causing JiHo’s jaw to drop in bewilderment and Doyoung and Haechan to start laughing. “Why?” “I’ll be with Jisung, bye bye!” Renjun waves at JiHo a smirk appearing on his lips.

“How did stealing one of my best friends turn out for you?” The teasing tone of Haechan’s voice causes JiHo to roll her eyes and she turns to the camera. “Czennie! Look at how I’m being treated by these guys. Unbelievable.” She scoffs and squints her eyes at Haechan before walking away.

A few moments later, JiHo is seen getting a piggyback ride from Jeno, while they are running away from Haechan of whom they just took some embarrassing pictures. “Delete them!” “Pay back! Loser!” JiHo yells and the other boys look at them, laughing as Haechan tries to reach the phone JiHo’s holding high in the air. Her being on Jeno’s back gave her enough extra inches so that Haechan couldn’t reach it without accidentally hurting someone.

“Be careful kids.” Taeyong warns between suppressed chuckles while Kun, Jaehyun, Jaemin, and Jisung look slightly worried that someone would potentially get hurt. 

I know I said JiHo and Jaemin are an underrated ship, but Jeno and JiHo are really something else. I hope we get to see more of their interactions, definitely after that one picture Jisung posted on Bubble where Jeno was pretty much suffocating her in a hug.

That was it for today! I’m sorry this is a shorter video, but hopefully we’ll get to see more JiHo and Dream interactions in the future so I can make more videos.

Thanks for watching and see you in the next video! Bye everyone <3

---

Side Note: There will definitely be some “lore” posts coming in the near future, pretty much explaining or at least giving a bit more backstory as to why JiHo was gone/what happened and what’ll be happening in the future. I’m just very busy/not feeling too well lately so I don’t have a lot of energy and time to spend on writing atm. Just updating you guys on the current “status” of this blog.

I hope you have a good day/evening/night! <3

[scfttwice]

running into you

> during the 2017 idol star athletics championships, jina unexpectedly makes a new friend in one of twice's competitors.

“come on, chaeng! you've got this!” jina cheered alongside the rest of twice as chaeyoung jogged over to the track's starting line, getting ready for the the third heat of the 60 meter women's race. the slightly younger of the two looked back at the slightly older one, the maknaes exchanging determined nods as chaeyoung arrived at her lane and proceeded to stretch out her legs in preparation. from the sidelines, jina watched as the other participants took their places in the other lanes.

when the race began, the members of twice cheered at the top of their lungs in support of their baby beast, giving chaeyoung the encouragement and motivation to keep running with all her might. she was doing incredibly well, running in second place just behind the representative of another girl group, gugudan.

the race ended with chaeyoung remaining in her second place position, losing to the gugudan member. the rest of twice stood from their sitting positions to run up to chaeyoung and praise her for her effort. “great job, chaeyoung!”, “you were so fast!”, and “maybe you should be a cheetah cub instead of a tiger cub,” were some of the comments from her members, which greatly lifted chaeyoung's spirits after she got disappointed by her own loss. “thanks guys. it's all good, right? i tried my best.”

“pfft! chaeyoung will always be number one to me,” jina chimed in, walking backwards to face her group members as twice were heading back to their spot on the floor. “that girl from gugudan has got nothing on our chaeng!” just as she had said it, jina felt herself bumping into someone behind her, nearly toppling over had both she and the other person not managed to quickly regain their balances. “ah, i'm so sorry!” jina exclaimed apologetically while turning around to come face-to-face with whoever it was she had collided with.

a look of shock adorned her facial expression when she realized that she had accidentally crashed into none other than the champion of the third heat of the race herself. “o-oh,” she stuttered out in embarrassment, added with a nervous chuckle at the end. “funny running into you here. we were just, uh, talking about you.”

the other girl couldn't help but laugh at jina's bashfulness. “talking about the race and not anything bad, i hope,” she teased. “jina, right? from twice?” jina nodded in response to her question. “and you're sejeong-unnie. from gugudan.”

“in the flesh!” jina noted that sejeong spoke with a confidence that didn't at all come close to making her come off as cocky, instead she radiated a friendly and cheerful aura, which amazed the younger. “you were really fast out there! congrats on winning.”

“it was nothing really, it's not the finals yet after all. but thank you. i actually didn't expect to win, your groupmate was pretty fast too,” sejeong said, chuckling softly. “you're very modest, aren't you unnie?” jina asked rhetorically. sejeong noticed the playfulness in her voice as she spoke, and decided to play along. “are you being sarcastic?” she deadpannned, but then an amused smile broke out when she saw a look of panic cross jina's face.

“oh, no no! i wasn't being sarcastic, i—” jina frantically began to explain herself, but sejeong's laughter cut her off before she could finish. “i know i know, i was just messing with you. no need to be so nervous around me, jina.”

jina's shoulders relaxed as she silently let out a breath of relief. when she saw sejeong looking so serious, for a moment jina really thought she had offended her and ruined her chances of making a new friend. “hey, i-i totally knew that. i was just joking around too,” she chuckled in embarrassment.

the rest of twice had long left jina to let her get to know her new friend, while they sat back down at their spot on the floor. “i think it's nice that jina is making new friends,” momo said after glancing at jina and sejeong. “she could've befriended someone other than the girl who had just beaten me though,” chaeyoung added in a lighthearted manner with a small pout on her lips, hugging her knees to her chest.

however, tzuyu wasn't so keen on watching the interaction between her member and sejeong continue any further, especially not when jina had practically turned into putty in the older girl's presence. “shouldn't we do something before she makes a fool out of herself though?” twice's youngest muttered half-jokingly. although the others didn't seem to, jihyo, who was sitting beside her, heard her loud and clearly. "jihyo to the rescue," she giggled as she stood up.

jihyo walked up to jina and sejeong, putting a hand on her member's shoulder. “sorry to interrupt, but we're gonna have to steal our maknae back,” jihyo told sejeong, amusement evident in the tone of her voice and the smile on her face. sejeong smiled back and nodded in understanding. “i guess i'll talk to you later, jina?”

the korean-japanese girl nodded in response, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. “congrats again, unnie!” she managed to congratulate sejeong one last time before she was pulled back to the rest of her group by jihyo. “looks like someone made a new friend,” nayeon remarked once jina and jihyo joined them, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “yeah! she's actually pretty cool,” jina admitted. “so much for her having nothing on chaeyoung. you were pretty much melting in front of her,” jeongyeon joked, earning herself a light slap on the thigh from jina.

as the 60 meter women's race resumed with the fourth heat, while cheering jeongyeon on, jina found herself stealing glances in the direction of where gugudan were sitting from time to time. and when sejeong met her gaze every single time, she couldn't help but smile.

[be11atrixthestrange]

According To The Stars

Be11a writes Jily Fluff! Read here or on AO3

*******

According To The Stars

While working on Divination homework, James learns something new about Lily. Good thing Divination is a load of rubbish... or is it?

*******

James wasn't sure if he believed in Divination, or if it was just a load of rubbish. Honestly, one of the only reasons he was still taking the subject was the company — it was on Lily Evans' sixth-year timetable, and therefore his.

His friends had dropped the subject, and they made sure to take the mickey out of him when he signed back up.

"Divination, really James?"

"Why take that when you could have a free period?"

"Is it the subject matter that fascinates you, or is it a certain redhead?"

The questions were rhetorical, and his friends knew that. They were perfectly aware of James' motivation for sticking around in Divination, and they knew that he preferred they weren't there. Not many students continued beyond their O.W.L. year in the subject, and James was happy that Lily was the only other student he knew well. He could assure they would always be partnered up for projects, and he didn't have to worry about anyone swooping in and stealing her attention from him. Not Remus, Sirius, Peter, or worst of all, Snivellus.

James was procrastinating on his Divination essay in the Gryffindor common room when Lily approached him.

"Have you started?" she asked.

"Not yet, I was waiting for you. I was hoping you could help."

"You're smart, you'll figure it out," she said as she took a seat at the table beside him. "It's just a birth chart, anyway."

Just a birth chart. The problem wasn't that James thought birth charts were difficult to understand; it was that he hated the idea of them. The fact that the date, location, and time of his birth supposedly determined his fate really bothered him.

Earlier in class, they had mapped out their star signs, and their homework was to analyze them. He had been feeling a pit of dread all day, simply because he'd have to dive into all of the details of his future. He truly didn't want to know what the stars had to say about his life. In James' opinion, there was no point in knowing how or when he might die, who his future wife would be, how many kids he would have, or what he would do for an occupation. It sucked all of the excitement right out of life and stripped him of his autonomy. He wanted to believe that his choices mattered.

He knew he should take it all with a grain of salt because humans could never fully understand the truth of the stars. Predictions were wrong all the time, and there were always going to be flaws in human methods of telling the future.

But the mere idea that James' future was set in stone made him deeply uncomfortable. Like his friends, he could simply choose not to believe in any of it, but the problem was that he sort of did.

He looked over to see that Lily had already started her essay and was scribbling furiously on her parchment. Reluctantly, he turned back to his own star chart and began writing too.

My name is James Potter, and I was born at 5:45 pm on Sunday, March 27th, 1960, in London, England.

This makes my Sun Sign Aries, my Moon Sign Aries, and my Ascendant Libra.

Sun Sign: Aries

The sun determines our ego, identity, and 'role' in life. It's the core of who we are. On my birthdate — Sunday, March 27th, 1960 — my Sun was in Aries.

I am fundamentally assertive, persistent, and courageous. Naturally competitive and fiercely independent, I push things forward with energy and enthusiasm. I am determined, and I persevere through anything.

James thought back to his time on the Quidditch Pitch, where he would do anything for a victory. He was a risk-taker with a deep desire to win, and that had landed him in the Hospital Wing more times than he'd care to admit. He was definitely independent — although he played Chaser on the Gryffindor team, he much preferred the solitary aspect of Seeker; when playing Chaser, his fellow teammates often badgered him for being a "Quaffle-Hog".

I need to learn to understand other people as complex wholes.

The analysis felt spot-on for James. People were like puzzles, and he enjoyed figuring them out. All-day, James had been riddled with curiosity about Lily's birth chart. He was planning to ask her about it tonight and was excited to get to know her on a deeper level.

I feel the need to distinguish myself from others.

James felt exposed by that one. He was a prankster; he enjoyed his popularity, and he often engaged in what others — mainly professors — would call "attention-seeking behavior." Touche, birth chart, he thought, as he carried on writing.

Moon Sign: Aries

The moon rules our emotions, moods, and feelings, reflecting our personalities when we're alone and comfortable. On my birthdate — Sunday, March 27th, 1960 — my Moon was in Aries.

My emotional self is independent, energetic, and enthusiastic. I have a tendency to feel inadequate and overcompensate just because failure is a possibility.

That one hurt a bit. James immediately felt defensive as he wrote it, but deep down, he knew it was true. As the only son of a well-known and successful family, failure was not an option. He was no stranger to pressure, and sometimes he overcompensated. He was a smart kid, but he often relied on his charm to build connections and network. He knew his smooth-talking could drive some people — mostly Lily — insane, but it was nothing more than a defense mechanism because he truly was terrified of failure.

I find security and safety through close relationships and long-term partnerships.

James held his friends close, and had no idea what he would do without them. He believed they would all be there for him for the rest of his life, and he couldn't entertain the idea that they might not. He would risk his life to protect his friends, and they'd do the same for him. According to his analysis, whether or not his overwhelming trust in others was a strength or a weakness was open to interpretation, and James chose to see it as a good thing. What was the point of life without friends, anyway? He smiled warmly at the thought and continued.

Ascendant: Libra

Our Ascendant is the "mask" we present to people. It can be seen in our personal style and our first impressions. Some say its relevance fades as we age. Our Ascendant is determined by our time of birth — I was born at 5:45 pm, meaning my Ascendant is Libra.

I come across as compromising, courteous, and impartial, though sometimes passive-aggressive.

For most people, he was a compromising and courteous individual, at least for people he liked. Unfortunately, passive-aggressive was a no-brainer as well. Some folks — particularly Snivellus — might say he was a bully. In detention, he'd received lectures about how pranking and cursing others was not the proper way to alleviate interpersonal issues. McGonagall never hesitated to tell him that a calm and rational discussion would be much more effective than a Levicorpus Charm. Admittedly, his methods could be considered passive-aggressive.

I am inclined towards balance.

James was a well-rounded fellow, that was for sure. He was an academic, an athlete, and he maintained a social life quite effortlessly. Balance truly was important to him. There was just one part missing from his ideal balance — a relationship. More specifically, a relationship with Lily.

In fact, that missing piece was one of the first things he looked for when he began his birth chart analysis. On a separate piece of parchment, he had scribbled down a few signs — Aquarius, Sagittarius, Leo, and Gemini. According to the stars, his ideal life partner's Sun, Moon, and Ascendant signs should fall into these categories. Part of him didn't want to know what Lily's chart said, and the rest of him needed to. It could all be rubbish, but maybe it wasn't.

"What are your signs, Lily?"

"Why do you want to know?" she asked.

"Research," he said.

"You want to know my fate?"

"You could say that," he responded. It was partially true — he wanted to know what the stars said about her life, but specifically her compatibility with him.

Lily sighed. "My Sun Sign is Aquarius."

James' stomach fluttered with excitement. Aquarius was one of his most compatible signs, so that was a good start. "And your Moon Sign?"

"Pisces."

He tried not to let the disappointment show on his face. Nowhere on his chart did it say he should look for someone with a Pisces Moon Sign. "What about your Ascendant?"

James froze in anticipation, hoping for Lily to say one of the four options. Two of three compatible signs would make them a decent match.

"Virgo."

His stomach sank. One out of three matching signs wasn't ideal. Sure, it could work, but it meant that Lily wouldn't be his perfect partner. If he were to believe the stars, there was someone else out there that was better suited to him, and he wasn't sure if he wanted that to be true.

"Are you okay?" asked Lily.

James tried his best to smile and mask his fallen expression. He was okay; he just really wished Lily's astrological signs were fully compatible with his, but he didn't feel like he could tell her that. At least not straight-up.

"Do you believe in all of this?" he asked instead.

"Divination?"

"Yeah, but more specifically, this birth chart stuff. Do you believe that this should determine your future? Your personality, your jobs, and who you should be with?"

"Who I should be with?" she asked, her eyes moving to his parchment. She was squinting, and James wondered if she was trying to read his chart. "What are your signs?"

He hesitated before answering. What if she really did believe in all of it, and learning how lukewarm their compatibility was just turned her away? He knew he couldn't get away without telling her, so he took a deep breath and responded. "Aries, Aries, Libra."

Lily didn't say anything at first, and the pit grew in James' stomach the longer she was quiet.

"Lily?" he asked after she'd been silent for a few seconds too long for comfort. "What do you believe?"

"Honestly?" she said. "I believe it's a load of rubbish. At least I hope it is. What about you?"

He felt a wave of relief at her words. "Good. I think it's rubbish too, and I hope we're right."

She smiled at him, and he grinned back, the heat rising to his cheeks. They turned to their essays and began writing again. There was a little bounce in their quills, a mark of the excitement between two teenagers who just — sort of — admitted something big.

James felt better knowing that whatever his birth chart said about his future, his choices did matter. Sure, the stars might have a plan for him, but if they didn't involve the cute Aquarius beside him, he'd happily choose not to believe any of it.

[angryinternetduck]

When All Feels Lost Chapter One: All Business A scheme, some terrible plays, an outburst in an elevator. Rom coms, late night talks, dreadful kale and carrot juice. Harry Styles is one arrogant son of a bitch. [producer!harry x actress!reader; enemies to lovers] Warnings: explicit language and alcohol consumption about 11,000 words series masterlist | general masterlist | ask

~*~ The interior of the staircase doesn’t match the exterior of the apartment building at all.

On the outside, the building is run down. The paint of the windowsills is chipped, dead flowers lay wilted in graying flower boxes. It’s not quite derelict enough to catch the eyes of passerby, though; in fact, it’s so unnoticeable that you almost walk right past it.

When you walk in, the door creaks loudly. A small bell tries and fails to mask the sound, ringing out a pleasant chime just barely noticeable over the whine of the door. The man behind the desk looks bored, but a slight bit of interest crosses his face when you ask for the producer you’re looking for: Harry Styles.

The man at the desk points you up the stairs, tells you where to go.

Apparently, Mr. Harry Styles has a level all to himself. The staircase up to his apartment is lined with awards, certificates, and framed newspaper clippings. Where there are shelves, more awards in the form of small trophies cover every surface.

Despite yourself, you’re a little in awe. You knew how famous he was, how good he was at his job, but you never really saw all his glory laid out before you like this. It’s really quite impressive.

When you arrive at the door, you take a second to pause before knocking. You take a breath, read the gold plaque on the door: Harry E. Styles. Executive Producer. You let the breath out, and then knock.

“Come in.”

You walk inside. It’s a big office. There’s a leather sofa on one wall, a desk in the back covered in papers. A coffee table sits in front of the couch, covered in even more papers. Stacked on top of and spilling out of filing cabinets are thin yellow books, bold black print on their covers.

And Harry Styles himself is sitting on the couch. He’s terribly handsome, you notice first, all tan skin and tattoos peeking out of sleeves and green eyes when he looks up at you. He smiles, and you see dimples.

He’s also a mess. His crisp white shirt is undone one too many buttons, his bow tie unknotted around his neck. The coat of his black suit is over the back of the large chair behind the desk.

It hits you, then, that this man isn’t a big time producer. He was a big time producer. You close your eyes for a split second, thinking back to the dates on the newspapers, all from years ago, back to the less-than luxurious building he’s residing in.

He produced countless hits on countless stages, but none in the last few years. Which is odd, seeing how he looks young - he can’t be more than twenty five, twenty six, but it somehow seems like eons ago when you last saw his name in the papers.

Well, it seems like eons since you’ve seen his name glorified in the papers and online. He’s been featured quite a few times with horrific reviews, critics ripping his pieces to shreds and complaining about the once-master reduced to nothing.

Really, that’s the only reason you’re here, the only reason you think you have a shot with him: he’s probably just as desperate as you are. He hasn’t produced a hit in ages. You haven’t starred in a hit in ages.

You’ve been to every other place imaginable, starting at the top and spiraling down, but you haven’t been able to find a job anywhere. You’re the picture of a starving artist. You’re an actress - a damn good one, too - but haven’t seen the stage in months.

“Are you lost?” Harry Styles asks after a moment, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You blink. “No.”

“Alright, then,” he sighs, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. A sliver of muscled stomach peeks out at you as his shirt lifts, and you frown, your gaze darting back to meet his eyes, which are staring at you almost challengingly.

“I need a job,” you say.

“There’s a McDonald’s down the street,” he replies flatly. “It’s hiring.”

“I’m an actress.”

He quirks an eyebrow and then turns around, walking over to his desk. “Then the reason you don’t have a job is because you’re stupid.” You frown more, following him further into the room. He collapses into the chair, which squeaks and bounces under him.

“I’m not stupid,” you tell him, a sliver of irritation flashing through you. “You were the best producer Broadway’s ever seen. I need a job.” He laughs wryly, shaking his head. “‘Were’ being the key word there.”

“You must have something.”

“Yeah, I have something,” he says. “I have a lot of somethings. But a play isn’t one of those somethings.” He stands up again, heaves a sigh. “Neither is patience. So I’m asking you to leave, please, and find some other poor bloke to torture.”

“I’m not torturing you,” you say, stepping forwards rather than back. “I’m asking you for a spot in one of your plays.” His face hardens, and he juts out a finger at you. “Listen to me,” he says lowly. “I’m not producing a play. I’m too fucking broke for that, and it’s not like there are people lined up outside to support me.”

You scoff. “So what the hell are you doing in here?”

He blinks, his hand lowering as his expression melts and his face softens. “Withering away,” he mutters under his breath. “Just leave,” he sighs. “There’s nothing for you here. You look like a good actress… or whatever. You’ll find something else.”

“No,” you snap. “No, I won’t. This is my only option. I’ll do anything.”

He sits down at his desk. “Moose Murders,” he says.

He’s joking. You know he is. Moose Murders is widely considered the worst play ever created. But you sit down across from him anyway, because this is a test, and goddammit you’re going to pass this test and get a job if it’s the last thing you do. “Sold,” you say. “Moose Murders. I’ll do it.”

For a moment, he studies you. You’re a bit intimidated, but you hold his gaze.

Finally, he leans forward. He folds his hands in front of him, on the desk on top of loose pieces of paper. “Would you like to know my secret?” he asks, and you pause. You wonder if it’s another test, but if it is, you have no idea what the right answer is.

A hesitant, “Okay,” is what you decide on.

He clears his throat. “I’m going to try and perform a heist.”

“You what?”

He smiles, almost sweetly, and says, “I’m planning a scheme to cheat rich investors out of thousands of dollars.” Your jaw drops, just slightly, and you have absolutely no idea what to say to that. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” Harry Styles mutters. He stands up, shoves his hands into his pockets, and starts pacing. You turn around and watch as he walks. “I peaked early,” he begins. A faraway look is in his eyes, and you’re a bit scared of what you just got yourself into.

“I was nineteen when I produced my first hit.” He pauses at the record player tucked in a corner, inspecting it. “I’m a genius, I’ll have you know. I’m the perfect producer. I churned them out, one hit after another. I was the best there ever was. And then…” He sighs heavily. “It took one mediocre play to topple me.” He looks at you, and you see anger in his eyes. “It wasn’t even that bad. It was okay. It just wasn’t a hit. And I had… I had no idea how to handle it.”

He turns back around, starts walking around the room, gaze drifting over the documents and posters lining the walls. “I was a flop after that, as you know. Still am. My reputation went down the drain, my investors lost their interest… And now every show’s a flop.” He laughs wryly, looking at you again, shaking his head. “You know that, too. They’re all flops. Failures. But I… I figured something out after my last fuck up.”

Your eyes trail him back to his desk, and he meets your gaze as he sits down.

“You can make more money with a flop,” he says, “than with a hit.”

At that, you frown. “No, you can’t.”

“You can,” Harry insists. “You sell shares before a play, right?” It’s rhetorical, but you nod anyway. “Right,” he says. “You get money, in exchange for a payment once your play is a hit. But if your play isn’t a hit, if it’s only on stage for one night, you can avoid payouts and then just…” He shrugs. “You can just run away with all the money.”

You blink at him.

“We can run away with all the money,” he amends. “If you… want to work with me.”

“You’re kidding,” you say flatly.

“No,” he insists. “I’m not kidding - I swear. It will work. Nobody will check the books of a play thought to have lost money! If I - we - wait for a while overseas until it’s all forgotten about, we can come back, go our separate ways, rich as can be, and…” He tosses his hands up. “And live happily ever after.”

For a second, all you can do is stare at him.

He shifts forward, focusing his gaze on you. “Listen,” he says. “I need somebody like you to convince my investors that something’s different. They’ll never believe something’s changed unless I can show them that I’m serious this time, and you’re the way to do that. An experienced actor, a beautiful actress to star in my next hit - it’s perfect.”

You bite your lip, stay quiet.

“And you…” He scoffs, throws his hands up at you. “You need this. What else are you going to do? Where else can you go? Nowhere. There’s nothing. Theater’s a dying business, darling. You said it yourself: this is your only option.”

You swallow thickly, feeling yourself start to consider his offer. It really might work, you realize, and that kind of scares you, because you really shouldn’t do this. “Well - well it’s not right to steal like that.”

“Oh, please,” Harry mutters. “First of all, we’re stealing from rich old bastards who have nothing else to do with their money but invest in plays. Secondly, we’re barely stealing anything! We’re not taking thousands from one single person, it’s - oh, it’s just a little bit from each person. Each person who has millions, probably.”

You cross your arms. “We could go to jail.”

He rolls his eyes at that and replies, “We absolutely will not. We won’t get caught. Who the hell will check the books?” He leans forward. “Nobody. Besides,” he goes on, spinning his chair around, “compared to my bleak bloody existence at the moment, I don’t think I’d mind jail all that much.” He sighs, staring out the window at the gray building front it looks out on. “At least I’d’ve gone out with a bang.”

You’re quiet for a moment.

He turns back around. “Well?” he asks. “Any more arguments?”

“I need money now,” you say. “My rent’s about to let up. It’s the end of the month, and I… I can’t cover it. I need a job, or - or something now.” Harry looks at you. “Move in with me,” he suggests.

You scoff a laugh, shaking your head. “Absolutely not!”

“Why not?”

“Because - because I can’t!”

“Fine,” Harry says, waving a hand in the air. “Consider it. Whatever. Just get back to me by… oh, by the end of the month.” He levels your gaze. “Before rent’s due.” Then he slides a card over to you and taps it twice. “There you are. Use it well.”

He opens a yellow booklet and spins around in his chair.

You can’t do this. It’s insane. It’s absolutely ridiculous. You could go to jail. And moving in with a complete stranger? Especially one malicious enough to scheme people out of - what did he say? Thousands of dollars?

You look at the business card.

Shit, you think. You need this.

“Fine,” you say. “When can I move in?”

***

The days are starting to blur together.

So are the words.

It’s been about a week since you moved in with Harry Styles, and your days have been nothing but reading lately. You’ve paged through what feels like hundreds of those thin yellow books you’d seen that first day, spilling out of cabinets and opened on tables. You’re looking for the perfect play, which really means the most awful play. It needs to be so indescribably bad that it closes within the first week of opening so that everything goes according to plan.

You never thought there could be so many plays. Most of them are pretty awful. There’s a pile on the coffee table in the main room of potential prospects, but nothing good enough - or bad enough, rather - to run with.

You’re sitting on the bed in your room, plays scattered around you. There’s an empty cup of coffee on the table next to the bed, and you look at it forlornly, willing it to fill up. It’s almost midnight, and you’d go to sleep if you had any sense.

But you don’t have any sense. So with a sigh, you roll off the bed and pad out of your room in your fuzzy socks. As you head to the kitchen, the front door opens up behind you. You glance around.

Harry meets your gaze.

You turn around and pour more coffee into your mug.

The first time he disappeared, you had been asleep and had only realized he’d left when you woke up to him opening the door. He looked a little less than disheveled and absolutely exhausted, and you could only presume he’d been out getting laid.

Well, you thought. Good for him.

Then it started happening more often. It was almost every night, which was fine, you supposed, but only if you didn’t have a play to find. He worked with you during the day and left at night, or left mid-afternoon and came back around midnight, like today.

He shuffles around behind you, and it’s a combination of laziness and stubbornness that keeps you from turning around and watching him or asking him where he’s been. When your mug’s full, you turn around and walk back into your room.

Hours later, on another coffee trip, he’s asleep on the couch with a script on his chest.

***

The first few times he offered you snacks, you refused. You wanted to spend as little time with him as possible, which was a bit difficult seeing as you lived with him. You couldn’t control bumping into him on your way to the bathroom in the morning, or eating breakfast at the table while he watched TV on the couch, but you could control where you read the pages and pages of scripts.

Sometimes he plays records out in the office. He must have quite the collection. You’ve heard a few things you recognize through the door of your bedroom - lots of Fleetwood Mac, some Joni Mitchell, the Eagles - and a lot that you’ve never heard before. It’s all good, and it’s a pleasant background noise to your tedious reading.

He never stopped offering snacks, though, and today, apparently, the last of your restraint has melted away. When he knocks on your door and says, “Popcorn if you want it,” you can’t refuse the delicious smell of buttery popcorn wafting under your door.

If he’s surprised when you come out of your room a few minutes later, he hides it well. He glances up at you, but then his eyes go right back to the script in front of him. The popcorn’s worth it, and when the bowl’s empty, Harry wordlessly goes and microwaves another bag without taking his eyes off the script he’s reading.

When he comes back from the kitchen, he slides down from the couch and sits on the floor, popping a kernel of popcorn into his mouth. From your spot on the opposite side of the sofa, you watch as he spills crumbs all over the script.

You wonder why he’s pulling this scheme, suddenly, wonder why he’s going through all this trouble when he’s really probably fine from what he’s made in his early productions. Scowling, you come to the conclusion that he’s just greedy, and take one more piece of popcorn before standing up and walking back to your room.

***

“Have you seen my, erm - my collection?” Harry asks.

You’re eating lunch at the kitchen table, some spaghetti dish that Harry had made the night before. He’s quite the chef, you’ve learned. “Nope,” you say. There’s sauce on the booklet you’re reading, and you frown as you try and thumb it off.

“You should.”

The sauce smears. You frown more.

“Do you like music?” Harry asks.

You stand up. Walk to the sink. “Of course I do,” you say, a bit sharply. “I’m an actress.”

Behind you, you hear him shuffling through his records. “I love music,” he says softly. “I wish I could… I dunno. Sing or something.” You bite your lip as you run water over your plate. There’s a beat of silence. It’s just the sound of water, the clinking of the dishes in the sink.

When you turn around, Harry’s staring at the empty record player thoughtfully. He looks up after another second and smiles, just slightly. “Any preferences?” he asks, running his hands over the vinyls.

You shrug. “I don’t care.”

Harry looks at you, then shrugs and starts looking through the collection. Finally, he chooses one. “I listened to this,” he begins, sliding a disk out of its sleeve and gently placing it onto the platter, “on the plane the first time I came to the States.” The gentle sounds of Frank Sinatra’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane” float from the turntable.

He begins mouthing the words, dancing slightly, smiling at you.

“We should find that play,” you say, and you walk back to your room.

***

A few days later, you gasp awake when you feel Harry’s hand on your cheek.

“Christ, what are you reading?” he asks. “That’s the third time I’ve woken you up.”

“You had to slap me to wake me up?” you scoff indignantly, sitting up on the couch.

Harry frowns as he takes the script out of your hands. “I did not slap you.”

It’s two pm. You’ve been chugging coffee all day - he’s right, you shouldn’t have fallen asleep at all, much less three times since you started that script. It really is very boring… Your eyes widen as you think back to the play, and you begin, “I think -”

“This is it,” Harry breathes.

“It’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever read!” you exclaim, sitting up.

“I can see that. This is it. It’s dumb as hell, and - and you’ve fallen asleep.”

“Three times!”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Harry says happily. “The ending doesn’t - it doesn’t…”

“It’s awful,” you agree with a grin.

“Margaret Fitcher,” Harry says, reading off the back of the script. “It’s - there’s an -” He grins, looking at you as he snaps the booklet shut. “She’s close,” he says excitedly. “Get your shit. We’re going.”

The car ride is quiet. You fidget. So does he. His leg moves a mile a minute, his finger fiddling with his lip. He’s going just a tad over the speed limit. When he pulls into a parking lot, you don’t even look at the building.

There’s a directory, and you find the name you’re looking for: Margaret Fitcher. 9C.

The elevator is shaky. It has an iron gate, blinking numbers. When the ninth floor button lights up and the elevator rattles to a stop, the gates clatter open and you follow him out into the hallway.

Harry knocks on the right door. “Ms. -”

“It’s open, sweetie! It’s open!”

You look at Harry. He shrugs. He looks excited.

He pushes the door open, and immediately, the smell of rotten fruit assaults your senses. You grimace, and you see Harry blink, nose wrinkling. “Come in, dearie,” a voice calls. You walk further inside. A cat comes and slides along your leg. You shift away, bumping into Harry, and he steadies you before he turns the corner and you see an old lady - Ms. Fitcher.

Her face is illuminated by the TV, on which an infomercial is playing. There are cats curled around her. You count. Six. Plus the one who’s decided to sit on your feet. Seven. You spot the source of the odor: a small bowl set in front of an easel, which carries a small, partially painted canvas. It’s supposed to be the bowl of fruit, you see. It’s not half bad.

“Sit down, sit down,” she says. Her voice is weak. She’s wearing glasses, on a chain, that are sliding down her nose. “Hello, Ms. Fitcher,” Harry says, speaking up above the TV. “We’re here to talk to you about your -”

“Eh?” she interrupts, squinting at him “You’ll have to speak up, dearie.”

Harry tries again, louder, “We’re here to talk to you about your -”

“What are you selling?”

This time, Harry shouts. “We’re here to talk to you about your play!”

“My play!” Ms. Fitcher laughs. She picks up a ball of yarn that had been sitting next to her. One of the cats fusses. “My play, my dear play…” She begins unwinding the yarn. “Who are you, again?”

Yelling, you introduce yourself, and then Harry does.

“Nice to meet you!” Ms. Fitcher croons. “Never see young ones around here anymore… What a shame…” She shakes her head, beginning to wrap the yarn around her frail hand again. “What a damn shame…”

You and Harry exchange a glance.

“Your play is wonderful, Mrs. Fitcher!” you shout.

She looks up. She seems almost coy. “Why, thank you.”

Harry clears his throat, begins to scream, “We wanted to -”

He’s cut off by somebody banging on the wall from the other side. “Oops,” you mutter, realizing neighbors can probably hear all the commotion through the thin walls. “Can we shut off the TV?” you shout, a bit afraid somebody’s gonna come over and rap on the door.

“Oh, the TV?” Ms. Fitcher says. “Whatever you want, dearie.” She hands you the remote, and you shut it off. The silence is glorious. “We want to buy your play,” Harry says, and Ms. Fitcher’s eyes grow wide. “To… to put it on the stage?” she asks, her voice soft.

“Yes,” you tell her. “We want the world to see your story, Ms. Fitcher.”

She pauses, inspecting the two of you. You feel slightly uncomfortable. “You’re not wearing wedding bands,” she says, looking suspicious, and a surprised laugh bursts out of you. “Oh! Oh, no, you - you mean - you think we’re -” You laugh, shake your head. “No, no, just - just business partners.”

“Business partners, roommates, that’s all,” Harry adds.

Her gaze narrows. “Roommates?” she echoes.

“Yup!” you chirp, hoping that’s not a problem.

She hums lowly in a way that makes you think it is a problem, but then asks, “Who will be playing the role of dear Rosalind?” You falter, then remember that’s the main character’s name. “Anybody you want, Ms. Fitcher,” you say.

“I can see auditions?”

“You can come to every rehearsal,” Harry reassures her. “It’ll be just as you like it.”

She stares at you over her spectacles. And then she says, “No.”

You blink. “What?”

“I don’t want you children ruining my masterpiece,” she sneers.

“We are not children,” Harry says irritatedly.

“Hmph.”

“You sent this play to me,” Harry says.

“That was ages ago,” Ms. Fitcher says wistfully. “When I was but a girl.”

Harry scoffs. “It was last year!”

She glares at him. “Get out.”

“No, no,” you try, “no, please, Ms. Fitcher, you’ll have total control, it’ll be you, all you and your -”

“Get out, you’re bothering my cats,” she snaps. “Get out!”

“Please, Ms. Fitcher,” you beg, “please. We’ll -”

She stands up, and now the cats really are bothered. “I’ll call the police!” she shrieks, and both you and Harry jump up, hurrying to the door, which she slams behind you. You look at it, at the sign with the apartment number engraved on it, at the fraying fuzz of the green carpet inside that had stuck to your shoes and was now on the floor of the hallway.

“I’m covered in cat hair,” Harry whispers.

You turn around first. He follows you to the elevator, which clanks as it stops and as its doors slide open. You step inside, lean against one wall. Harry leans against the other. You look down, not sure what to say. The adrenaline’s fading. You really thought that was the one.

And then -

The elevator bangs to a stop.

“What the fuck?” Harry whispers, looking up as you do.

Each floor’s light blinks, then shuts off, in rapid succession.

“Are we gonna die?” you ask.

“I - I don’t know.” He pokes a finger through the iron gates. “We’re in between floors.”

You blink, feel your brows furrow as you shake your head to clear your mind of the cloud of disappointment. “The - the building,” you say, pulling out your phone. “We can call the building.”

“What’s it called?” Harry asks.

You look up. “I have no idea.”

You stare at each other for a second, and then Harry’s face lights up. “I have it,” he says, fumbling in his bag for the paperwork. When he finally finds it, he flips it around so you can see the address. You type the name of the apartment complex into Google and call the first number that appears.

“Hi,” you say, trying to keep calm. “Hi, we’re, um - we’re stuck in one of your elevators?”

There’s a pause.

“Hello?” you say, impatient.

“Um… I don’t really know…”

“Who are -” You sigh, taking a step in the elevator, trying to pace, but you don’t have room. “Who am I speaking to?” A bit of static, and then, “I’m Mike,” the guy says dumbly. “I’m just the desk guy…”

“Do you have the elevator controls?” you ask, not really knowing what you’re asking but unsure of what else to say. “I mean - can you restart the elevators or, like - I don’t know, can you get them moving again? Do you see the - I don’t know, the controls?”

“Yeah, they’re… the box is right here,” Mike says.

“Great!” you exclaim. “Can you please start the elevators again?”

“Oh… I don’t know how to work them…”

You let out your breath, gritting your teeth. “Fantastic,” you mutter. “Um, well, can you call somebody who does?” Mike shuffles a bit. “Um… Yeah, I think so…” You laugh wryly. “Great, Mike, that would be great. Please do that.”

“Okay, I, um… Okay…”

“Keep me updated, okay?” you say tensely. “I’m counting on you, Mike.”

“Okay… bye…”

He hangs up.

“We’re gonna be trapped in here forever,” you moan, banging your head against the wall.

“What?” Harry asks. “What was that?

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “He said he’d call somebody.”

“You didn’t get a time estimate?”

“Jesus, Harry, no, I didn’t get a fucking time estimate.”

Harry frowns at you. “Maybe you should’ve.”

You glare at him.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you start your two-step pacing again. “This is ridiculous,” you mutter. Harry blows his breath out, sliding down one of the walls to sit on the floor. “Ridiculous indeed,” he says.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” You feel yourself getting riled up. “I can’t - fuck. I can’t fucking believe this is happening.” Harry stares at you from the floor. “I’m in an elevator… after getting shot down by a crazy old lady… with - with -” You glance at Harry. “With a fucking con artist.”

Harry frowns at that. “I’m not a -”

“Dammit, I should be on Broadway,” you interrupt. “I should be on Broadway. I did everything right, Styles.” Your breaths are coming faster. You lean back against the metal. “I - I went to fucking Julliard, Styles. I’m a pro. I trained, and I did all the little shows, and I - fuck.”

“It’s just a little pitstop,” Harry offers. “Before Broadway.”

“No!” you sob, and you clap your hand over your mouth. “No.” You step forward, turn around, two steps, you’re pacing around him in the teeny-tiny little box. “God, I’m a failure. I’m a - a failure. That’s why I’m here.” You glare at him through tear-clouded eyes. “With you. Jesus, how fucking evil do you have to be to steal money to get rich? You don’t even need it. You’re probably just fucking fine, probably have some rich daddy back in fucking - fucking England - and you just…”

Your voice is cracking, getting weaker, and you wipe away the tears on your face angrily. “I can’t believe this.” You sniffle, shaking your head. “God, Styles, everybody likes to talk about the new opportunities. Everybody likes to say, ‘Oh, when one door closes” - you jerk on the iron gates - “another opens!’ But dammit, Styles, it’s not open!” You shake your head, stumbling back onto the back wall of the elevator.

“Those goddamn doors must be locked,” you say softly, staring at the shut elevator doors in front of you. “They’re locked,” you repeat. “They’re locked. They slam shut - in my fucking face - and every other door is locked. They’re all locked…” You slide down the wall. “They’re all locked with a key I just - I don’t have.”

Your breath stutters. You look at Harry. “I just don’t have it, Harry,” you whisper.

He opens his mouth to reply, and then your phone rings.

“Hello?” you say. Your voice cracks.

“Hi, are you the lady stuck in the elevator?” It’s a different voice than before. Not Mike.

“Yes! Yes, yeah, I’m here with -” You clear your throat. “What’s happening?”

“We’re resetting the system,” the guy says. “Hopefully that’ll pull everything together. Can you stay on the line for me and tell me if it starts moving again?” You nod excitedly, stepping forward and scanning the buttons. “Yes, I can - what, um - what am I looking -”

A button lights up. There’s a loud clank, and the elevator starts moving.

“It’s moving!” you say happily.

“Great, great. Thanks for calling. Have a nice day.”

There’s a dial tone.

“Right, then,” Harry says as the doors open and you slide your phone into your purse.

You start walking to the car, and Harry follows you. You slow down a little so you’re walking side by side and look at him apologetically. “Um… I’m sorry,” you say quietly, wiping the last of the tears from your eyes. “I’m just… frustrated, I guess.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says.

The car ride back to the apartment is silent.

***

You’re back to reading in your room after seeing Ms. Fitcher.

What’s sort of annoying is that you’re not even partially ignoring him because you’re mad at him - you’re almost just embarrassed about your explosion. You don’t want to face him, don’t want to talk about it. You don’t even want to think about it.

He seems to understand. He cooks a lot. You told him your favorite food a few days ago, before Ms. Fitcher, and he’s made it quite a few times. That makes you even more embarrassed. You blew up at him, insulted him… and now he’s cooking for you.

Ridiculous.

He still disappears a lot. It’s for longer, now; sometimes he’ll leave at noon and not be back until around midnight. You only know because he keeps his bedroom door open and the apartment always has a different air about it when he’s not there.

He doesn’t usually tell you, but… today he is, apparently.

There’s a knock on your door, and you tell him to come in.

“Hi,” he says, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hi,” you say.

He looks down at his hands, and you follow his gaze. He’s holding a small black box, fidgeting with it. “I have to… go,” he says, quietly. “But I, erm…” He looks up, steps forward almost hesitantly.

You get up to meet him, and he holds the little black box out to you.

“I thought of you,” he murmurs. His ears are tinged red, and he won’t meet your gaze.

You take the box. It’s light. When you go to open it, his cheeks flush red to match his ears, and he presses his hand on top of yours. You blink, surprised, looking up. “Sorry,” he says quickly, pulling away. “I just… I, er -” He smiles, laughs a bit sheepishly. “Do you wanna open it when I leave?”

You smile slightly, a bit amused despite your confusion. “Sure,” you say.

Harry nods. “Okay,” he says. He clears his throat, not moving, and despite yourself, you’re not mad, because it’s nice to be in his presence, to hear his voice, because you haven’t heard his voice in a while, haven’t been near enough to -

“Okay,” Harry repeats.

He leaves, and you look at the door of your room for a second, hearing the door of the apartment shut before looking down at the little black box in your hands again. It’s a jewelry box. When you open it, a little slip of paper flutters out.

It has jagged edges like it was ripped from a larger piece of paper. You recognize the handwriting from the notes Harry writes in the scripts he reads, from the thoughts he writes in the margins of the books he’s lent you.

For when every door seems locked.

Inside the box is a necklace.

The chain is delicate. Simple.

Attached is a silver pendant, in the shape of a key.

***

The next day, after you said thank you to him, and after he smiled and said you’re welcome, you stayed in the main office with him to read. It’s quiet, but a comfortable quiet. You could stay in this quiet all day.

The day after that, he’s gone for most of the day.

When he comes back, your plan to silently scold him for leaving again by ignoring him for a while crumbles because he’s watching The Notebook while he works. It’s late. You were just getting coffee, planning to hide away in your room after acquiring your dose of caffeine.

Then he gives you a soft smile and nods towards the empty side of the couch.

Come on, he says silently. You know you want to.

So you do. You can’t help it. It’s The Notebook, of course, and you can kind of just tell it’s his favorite from his small smiles at certain parts, his whispered echoes of every other line. Also, he tells you, says, “This is the best movie ever created,” as he grins over at you from the opposite end of the couch where he’s wrapped in a soft blue blanket.

It continues the next day, when he flicks on a movie during dinner and doesn’t turn it off after all the food’s away and you’re just reading on the couch. It’s just something random, but you have to bite your lip to hide your amusement at Harry’s snarky comments under his breath.

A few days later, you shouldn’t feel as satisfied as you do when he comes in to find you already on the couch, your favorite movie onscreen. He smiles at you, takes some of the chips on the coffee table, and starts reading.

Progress goes a bit more slowly once the movie watching begins. You need it, though; it’s a welcome distraction and you’d definitely go crazy without it. Letters dance after a few hours of nothing but reading in silence.

The Potential Prospects Pile on the coffee table grows, but it’s kind of just for show. You both know you’ll know it once you see it. Your interest piques whenever you see him add a booklet to a pile, though, and you flip through each one that’s added like he does.

It’s a few weeks after that first time watching The Notebook, and to your slight reluctance, you’re watching it again. You’re sitting on the floor, coffee sitting next to you, a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table on top of the prospects. Harry’s on the couch, all six feet of him sprawled and taking up the entire thing.

It’s late, almost two am. You want to fall asleep - are falling asleep - but Harry only just arrived and you feel like you should stay up with him. He’d been out the entire day, doing God knows what.

“Sometimes I hate Allie,” Harry murmurs suddenly.

“Really,” you say, only half listening.

“She makes it so… unbalanced.” His voice is so low. He sounds exhausted. You look up, and you see that the play he’s reading isn’t even open - it’s closed in his hand, fingers marking his spot, hanging over the side of the couch. He’s on his side, head on his hand, eyes fluttering shut.

“What d’you mean?” you ask before you can think.

“He writes to her for a year,” he whispers. “A whole year. And she... She doesn’t.”

You shrug. “She didn’t know he was writing.”

“She should’ve written to him anyway. She said she loved him. She should’ve written, and told him again, or… or…” He fades off. “What, she should’ve run away back to him?” you ask, and Harry whispers, “Yeah.”

When you turn around again, he’s asleep. You bite your lip, and then look back at the TV.

On screen, Noah catches a glimpse Allie across the street, then sees her kiss someone else.

You open another script and take a sip of coffee.

***

Sleepless in Seattle is playing on the TV. Harry loves his romcoms.

It’s late again.

The days seem to pass so quickly, and the nights seem to drag on forever and ever. Maybe that’s because your sleep schedule is royally fucked up, but you’re mostly blaming that on Harry being out all day.

You’re sipping hazelnut coffee. It’s delicious. It’s not hot anymore, but it’s not quite cold enough to be given up on. The remainders of your midnight snack - tacos - lay on the coffee table, and there’s a smear of guacamole on one of the Potentials.

The movie’s wrapping up. The elevator doors are closing. The credits begin to roll.

Sighing, you stretch for a second before turning around and resting your chin on the coffee table so you can look at Harry. The key necklace swings forward. It hangs in the space between your chest and the table, and you can feel its weight on the back of your neck. It’s comforting.

Harry’s on the couch. He’s on his back, holding his arms straight up with his elbows locked so he can read his script. His brows are furrowed, and his lip is between his teeth. He looks uncomfortable.

“I don’t know anything about you,” you whisper.

Harry meets your gaze, dropping his arms. “You know my favorite movie.”

“But not your favorite book.” You wonder what the hell you’re doing.

Harry smiles slightly. “Or, apparently, how indecisive I am. I can’t decide.”

“Are you just trying to avoid other ‘what’s your favorite’ questions?” This is the longest exchange you’ve had in weeks. “No,” Harry says, “really. I can’t decide. I’d answer all the ‘what’s your favorite’ questions you have if I could.”

“Why?”

Harry sits up, looks at the script in his lap, and shrugs. “Seems like you hate me.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“No,” he says softly, looking at you.

His eyes are really green, you notice. Maybe it’s just the light. Or lack thereof. They sparkle in the darkness, and you kind of want to see him smile, want to make him smile, want to be the cause of those dimples so that you can see his green, green eyes light up for real.

You close your eyes and lean backwards. Now your back is on the ground, your arm over your eyes. “I think you should pay for a chiropractor for me,” you murmur. “My back’s killing me from sleeping out here all the time.”

“There’s a bed just in there,” Harry says.

“Too far away.”

“Then that back pain’s on you.”

“You’re why I’m out here in the first place.”

“No, you’re out here for the food.”

You feel yourself smile. “And the movies.”

“There you have it.”

“Still think you should pay,” you whisper.

“I pay for yours, you pay for mine.”

You close your eyes tight, bite your lip hard, because now you’re smiling even more.

“You have yourself a deal,” you say.

***

A few days, later, and you’re trying to hold your tongue again.

It’s been quiet for too long, and you’re getting uncomfortable. You’re not sure if that’s because you’re beginning to associate silence with the tremendously boring reading, or if it’s because you just don’t like silence.

Another possibility hovers in the back of your mind, one that implies that you really aren’t uncomfortable, you just want to talk with him, with Harry, the enigma sitting two feet away from you, but you don’t want to think about that, so you say something.

“You sound British,” is what comes out, even though he hasn’t spoken in hours.

It’s a few days later. Four in the morning. The TV’s quiet, no movie playing. There’s a bowl of M&Ms on the table - this guy has every snack imaginable in his little kitchen - but that’s the only distraction. You’re both on the floor this time, the coffee table pushed off to the side. He’s cross-legged, sipping tea, you’re on your stomach, eating more M&ms than probably healthy.

“Is that a compliment?” Harry asks, looking up from his script.

You eat another M&M. “Can be.”

“That’s ominous. I am. Born and raised.”

“Why’d you come here?”

“Broadway.”

You smile, turning onto your back to look at the ceiling. “How romantic.”

Harry frowns, asks, “Why?”

“Dunno,” you reply with a shrug. “There’s something sweet about that - a little boy, being absolutely entranced by plays he sees onstage… he’s enchanted, wants to be a part of it but isn’t nearly handsome enough to be an actor, so -”

“Hey!”

You look over at him. Grin. “What?”

“You don’t think I’m handsome?”

“I’ll only make that big head of yours bigger if I answer honestly.”

He smiles. Takes a sip of tea. “Nice to know.”

“Why not an actor, anyway?” you ask, looking back at the ceiling. You follow the fan with your eyes as Harry says, “Believe it or not, I prefer to be backstage.” He sighs, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him follow your gaze to the fan.

“I wanna see people’s reactions,” Harry says softly. “I like to see their faces light up at something funny… Or their tears at something sad…” He looks back down and takes an M&M out of the bowl. “The best is when somebody’s trying to hide it.” You see him smile at you, and you look at him. “When they think they’re so cool, so stoic and - and immune to the wonders of the stage…” He smiles more, fiddling with the M&M. “And then you see them break, see their reluctant laughter or their hands rush to hide their watering eyes…”

You steal the M&M he’d been playing with. “Wouldn’t you rather be the one making them feel those emotions?” He gets another M&M. “Nah. Too much work.” He eats it, finally, you watch him chew and swallow and then you look at the ceiling again.

“It’s not,” you whisper, closing your eyes.

“Maybe you’re just not doing it right.”

You open an eye to glare at him, and he smirks.

“I am,” you say. “You’ll have to see me some time.”

“Maybe after this mess I’ll produce a real play,” Harry murmurs. “You can star.”

You close your eyes again. “Not in one of your plays,” you hum. “Don’t want my first play back to be a flop.” You feel something against your arm, and you realize Harry had thrown an M&M at you.

You scoff. “I’m just being honest!”

“Sometimes a little white lie can be appreciated.”

“That’s not good for your ego.”

“What ego?”

“The one making you think you’re funny.”

“Oh, sod off,” Harry laughs.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you whisper, “What if we never find a play?”

Harry clears his throat. “We will,” he says. He stands up, dusts off his hands, and grabs a book. You watch as he sits down in a chair and puts his legs up onto the table. “Keep looking,” he tells you quietly.

So you do.

***

A few days later, a little after lunchtime, and it’s your turn to pick the movie. It’s one of your favorites, a comfort movie at this point. You mouth along the lines with the actors, grinning madly at the television screen because it’s so perfect and you love it so much.

Harry’s not really paying attention. He’s been quiet. Normally, he’s cracking jokes, murmuring sass at the stupid scenes and sighing heavily at the dramatic ones. If it were any other movie, you’d be curious, or anxious, but not this one.

You’re not even holding a script.

Harry is, though, and you look over at him curiously as the credits start to roll.

“You okay?” you ask.

He doesn’t reply.

“Hey,” you say, nudging him with your foot, “are you good?”

“I think… I think this is it,” he says quietly.

Yawning, you stretch towards the ceiling. You wonder what time it is. “What’s it?”

“This is it,” Harry says, sitting up but not taking his eyes off of the script. You frown, straightening. “It’s bad?” you ask, and Harry finally looks up. He’s practically glowing, he’s so excited, and a spark of excitement rushes through you.

“It’s so bad.”

“Lemme see,” you say, standing up, but Harry’s pacing.

“Retired FBI agent Leopold Gray is suddenly being hunted down by a small town dentist named Ernest D’Angelo who thinks Gray has killed his wife. As D’Angelo chases the elderly Gray around the globe, the two slowly start to lose patience; by the end, D’Angelo has given up, and Gray is retired - again - in Bismarck, North Dakota.”

He pauses, and you frown, waiting for him to continue.

Instead, he looks up, grinning. “That’s it!” he exclaims.

You blink. “You’re kidding.” He hands the script to you, and you read over the summary, scoffing in pleased disbelief as you get to the end and see that it’s just as unsatisfactory as Harry read it to be.

“God, it’s a - it’s an action and a musical!” you laugh.

“Come on,” Harry tells you, grabbing his coat. “Look at the address on the back, tell me where we’re going.” Following him out the door, you read off the street name and number. Harry plays music in the car, but you don’t hear it.

A sliver of doubt runs through you as you get closer and closer to the address, scared to be shot down again. You shove it aside, shifting from one foot to the other as you wait on the front porch.

This guy lives in a house. His name is Richard. The house is a small stand alone, with a little yard out front. It’s gated. The paint on the door and under the windows is chipping, and the flowers in the yard are drooping and wilted.

Harry knocks on the inner door. The screen door slams shut when he pulls away.

You wait a beat, another, you’re getting nervous, and then -

BANG.

You jump a foot in the air as the screen door slams again, this time against the rail behind it, and then fear courses through you, because the guy is holding a large cast iron pan, and you’re genuinely afraid for your life.

“Who are you,” the man - Richard? - hisses, glasses sliding down a crooked nose.

Harry coughs, backing up half a step. “I - I’m Harry Styles, this is -”

You tell him your name. His eyes are beady, and there’s a single strand of graying hair on his forehead, and his fingers are trembling, and Harry says, “Please, sir, we just want to talk to you about your - your, erm - your absolutely fantastic play -”

He freezes.

“Could you put away the, um - the pan?” you ask, and it slides out of his hand.

It thuds against the floor.

“My play, huh?” he says gruffly, wiping a hand under his nose.

“Yes,” you say. “It’s - it’s absolutely ingenious.”

He stares at you for a second, and then backs up. “Come in.”

Harry looks at you, and you shrug helplessly, opening up the screen door. Richard’s already halfway through the hallway, which is dim, and if you squint, you can see cobwebs in the ceiling. You follow Richard until he stops in a living room and sits in a creaky sitting chair.

Richard glares at you. “What about my play.”

“We want to put it on the stage,” Harry says.

“Why.”

You clear your throat. “Because it deserves to be seen.”

“I think so, too,” Richard says. His glasses are slipping down his nose.

Slowly, Harry pulls the documents out of his bag. “If you sign here,” he says, patiently, like he’s talking to a five-year-old, or perhaps a wild animal, or maybe a criminal about to kill somebody, “thousands of people will see your play.”

“Thousands,” Richard echos, his eyes widening.

“Thousands,” you confirm, lying. Harry gently slides the papers, along with a pen, towards Richard on the glass table between the easy chair where Richard’s sitting and the sofa where you and Harry are.

“You’ll be praised in every newspaper,” Harry says, also lying.

Richard picks up the pen. He looks down at the papers. The place where he’s to sign is highlighted in yellow. He’s looking down, and his glasses are at the very tip of his nose. You wonder what would happen if they slid off his face completely, or if he’d notice.

After an awkward moment as Richard just stares at the papers, he begins to sign.

“My mother will love me again,” he whispers.

You look at Harry.

Harry looks at you.

“Make me proud,” Richard says hoarsely, and you and Harry both look to Richard, who’s holding the papers out. You see a single tear roll down Richard’s cheek. “Thank you so much!” Harry exclaims, and then he grabs your hand and practically sprints out of the house and into the car.

“Floor it, floor it,” you rush, and Harry speeds away.

As soon as he turns a corner so Richard’s house is out of eyesight, he pulls the car over, parking for a second. “Okay,” he breathes, palms flat against the top of the steering wheel, “what the fuck was that?”

“I have no idea,” you reply, laughter bubbling out of you.

“Oh, my God,” Harry says incredulously, laughing too, and for a second, all you can do is laugh, because that was so surreal and you’re not quite sure how else to react. “I hope we never have to deal with that again,” you say as your laughter dies down.

“Christ, he’s fucking insane.”

“Harry, our cause of death could have been a frying pan.”

“No wonder his mum doesn’t love him!”

“Shit, this play better bomb,” you giggle, and Harry pulls onto the road again.

“We gotta do something,” he says. “To celebrate.”

You raise a brow. “Like what?”

Harry glances at you, and smiles. “I know just the place.”

***

You haven’t been out in forever.

Harry’s music is great - calming, quiet, mellow. The entire atmosphere of the apartment is like that. Everything’s quiet, with a layer of comfort over it. That’s not bad, of course, but it does mean that the club Harry’s just taken you to is a little more than a shock to your system.

This music pounds in your ears, thrumming in your chest and in your stomach, pulsing in your hand where it meets Harry’s. He’s leading you through the crowd, and when he turns around to grin at you, he’s glowing.

He says something, you can see his lips move, but you can’t hear him.

“What?” you shout, and he stops for a second, but you don’t, and you’re suddenly bumping into him, pushed flush against him by the moving crowd around you. Smoothly, his hand slides down to your waist, holding you tight, grounding you.

You can feel his breath on your skin, his fingers digging gently into your hips. He’s everywhere, flooding your senses. The fabric of his suit jacket is warm under your fingers, his cheek so near you’d be kissing him if you were any closer.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he says, right next to your ear.

You feel yourself shiver, and you nod because you don’t trust your voice.

Suddenly he’s moving again, and then you’re through the crowd and landing at the bar, and you’re breathless, and he’s flush-faced and happy and you feel yourself smiling because he’s smiling, and then he’s ordering something and you’re not sure what it is.

On three, you see him say when the shot glasses appear in front of you.

And on three, whatever it is slides down your throat, burning a trail to your stomach and lighting you up from the inside. The music is deafening. You love it. Harry’s beaming, and he clinks his next glass against yours before downing it as you do.

You’ve never felt more alive.

Harry leans forward, and you lean into him, and you’re smiling blissfully, you’d kiss him if he let you, and he says, right into your ear, “You alright?” You laugh and nod and tell him, “Never been better.”

Time begins to blur, and your head’s fuzzy as hell not just from the alcohol but from Harry’s intoxicating presence and the thud of the bass in the music. You find yourself in the bathroom, a while later, staring at your reflection in the mirror.

You look different. Good different. You giggle and lean forward, inspecting yourself, and then sigh and stumble backwards against a wall. It’s much quieter in here, and you can breathe for a second, and can kind of hear your thoughts through the muddle of your mind.

After a while, you wonder where Harry is, and walk out of the restroom to search for him. “Harry,” you sing out, your voice drowned by the music and people. “Harry, Harry, Harry,” you call, just for the fun of it.

“Harry, Harry, Har -”

You freeze.

You recognize his hair, and the jacket he was wearing, and the rings on his hand, which is holding someone else’s hand above their head, against a wall. He’s close to them, lips against their neck. It’s a girl. She’s grinning euphorically, eyes closed. You can see her laughing, chin tilting upwards as Harry whispers something into her ear.

“Oh,” you say, out loud, even though you can’t hear yourself.

You can’t move. Your brain’s stuck.

When he moves, his arm slides around her waist, and he’s leading her out of the building. He looks over his shoulder before they reach the door, and sees you. He falters, and a spark of hope flashes through you before he just grins and winks and keeps walking and your heart falls back down into your stomach.

You see his fingers linger against the door as he guides it shut from the outside.

Oh, you think, silently, blinking back something that feels suspiciously like tears even though… why? You rub at your eyes, frowning at yourself, walking away, because why on earth would your - friend? roommate? coworker? - why would Harry getting laid suddenly make you cry? That’s ridiculous.

You collapse at the bar.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Somebody’s smirking at you. They’re pretty good looking. You sniffle, then smile back.

There’s nothing more ridiculous than crying over Harry getting laid.

They start to come over, and hurriedly, you blink away the tears in your eyes.

He wouldn’t cry if you were getting some.

They’re smiling at you. You bite your lip, letting your eyes trail over their body.

Not if - he won’t cry when you get some.

You say yes when they ask to buy you a drink.

Yeah, no, he won’t cry when you get some. Tonight.

You lean into their kiss, open-eyed. They’ve got some pretty green eyes.

It’s not like you can go back to the apartment, anyway.

***

“Charles Cartwright,” Harry reads off the list in front of him.

“Double ‘c,’” you say.

“Hope his middle name is Carter.”

“Or Chris.”

“Cole?”

“Cooper…”

You watch as Harry sighs, setting the stack of papers down onto his desk again. He doesn’t sit there a lot, behind the huge mahogany desk at the back of the room with the giant leather spinny chair.

“We’re never gonna get anything done,” Harry says, looking down at the list.

You shrug. “We have tomorrow.”

“Said that yesterday.”

“All these people sound like bastards, anyway,” you mutter, spinning the paper around on the desk so you can look at the names. “Yeah, that’s why they’re wasting money investing on my plays,” Harry mutters back.

The list is very long, a whole stack of crisp white printer paper with a cover page and a shiny black binder clip holding it together. Enumerated neatly on the left side are what seems like thousands of names, all previous investors of Harry’s various plays. Phone numbers and addresses sit under the names, along with emails and other pertinent information.

“We’ll go for Mary Sanders first,” Harry says decisively after a second, clearing his throat. “She loves me.” You look up at him, an eyebrow raised, and he rolls his eyes. “I look exactly like her son,” he says, “who hates her. So she’ll do anything for me.”

“Fun,” you say.

“Very. Tanner Smith, however…” He points his name out at the bottom of the third page. “He’s just fucked up. Batshit crazy. He hates me, but liked my old, erm - the company manager, so he chipped in for something I did with - with her.”

“Great.”

“Excited to meet Mr. Smith?” Harry asks with a wry smile, sliding a manila folder over to you. “Can’t wait,” you say, flipping the folder open. There’s a picture of a scowling man in wireframe glasses. “Wow,” you add, shuffling through the ten or so pages in the folder. “This is… a lot.”

Harry shrugs. “Most of it’s just financial details, but there’s a” - he reaches forward, slides a single page out to the front - “page on personal stuff. Don’t mention his wife, but we’ll definitely mention hockey.”

“Hockey?”

“He sponsors his grandson’s minor league team,” Harry tells you, rolling his eyes. “It’s all these entitled little rich boys who flip him off behind his back. He thinks he’s doing God’s work.” You snicker, scanning the document.

“They have games every Saturday,” Harry says, and you look at your phone. It’s Wednesday. Harry goes on, “I usually ambush him there,” and then frowns. “It usually doesn’t work.” His frown turns into a smile as he looks at you. “But maybe this time it will.”

“Making me feel a little used here, Styles.”

“Well, you’re using me for money, too, so don’t get all high and mighty on me.”

You sigh. “Are you really gonna take me to a hockey game?”

“Consider it our first date,” Harry says, smirking.

“Better buy me flowers, then.”

Harry smiles. “A whole bouquet. That’s Saturday, though. We’ll go for Miss Mary today.”

“Have a file on her?”

In response, he slides another manila folder from a filing cabinet behind him. This one’s a lot thicker, double the size of the last. “I’m a little creeped out,” you say, hesitantly opening the folder and peeking inside.

“Don’t be,” Harry replies. “She’s, erm - quite the chatterbox. This was all given consensually, I promise…” There’s a picture of Miss Mary herself on top of the papers, and then a picture of a young man next to her.

The young man is very good looking. Dashing. Green eyes, dark hair, a charming smile.

You look up at Harry and then back down at the picture.

“Nicholas,” Harry says. “Her son.” He poses for you. “See the resemblance?”

“If I squint,” you say with a shrug.

“He’s a lawyer.”

“Good for him.”

“Married,” Harry sighs. “A kid on the way. He lives in San Francisco. Drinks kale juice.”

“Damn.”

“I know,” Harry says, almost wistfully. “Imagine that.”

You scoff a laugh, brows raised. “No, Styles, I’m surprised that you know all of that, not that it’s - unimaginable.” Harry frowns at you. “Like I said! Mary’s a chatterbox. Not my fault she calls me to give me an update on her perfect son every week.”

“Je-sus. Every week.”

“More or less,” Harry says. He stands up and stretches. “Study up, we’ll leave in ten.”

***

He’s a natural.

You can tell from the moment he walks into the little flower-covered house that he’s got her wrapped around his little finger. “Oh, Harry, darling,” Mary coos, patting his cheek and linking her arm with his. She doesn’t even notice you, just leads Harry into the house. “I have biscuits in the kitchen, dearie, come on, come on.”

Attempting to disentangle himself from her, Harry starts, “Mrs. Sanders -”

“Mary, dear, you know that,” Mary interrupts cheerfully, pausing for just a second in the hallway. You hover in the doorway, but Mary goes on, “Oh, and I have that dreadful kale and carrot juice you love, too!”

You make a face at Harry, and he rolls his eyes.

“That’s Nicholas, Mrs. Sanders,” Harry mutters.

“Oh, of course,” Mary says absently, and she rubs his arms before starting into the house again. Harry sighs, and you watch his jaw clench in frustration as he gently places a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Mary, I have a guest.”

“A guest!” Mary sputters, turning to look at you, still standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” you say.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Mary gasps to Harry, smacking him on the chest with the back of her hand. Harry winces. “He’s terribly impolite, isn’t he, sweetie,” Marry says disapprovingly. “What’s your name, then?”

You introduce yourself, Mary hugs you, and Harry shrugs at you over her shoulder.

“Come in, come in!” Mary exclaims when she finally pulls away. “I have biscuits and tea in the kitchen, you won’t have any of Harry dear’s terrible juice.” Behind her back, Harry throws his hands up exasperatedly.

“Okay, Mrs. Sanders,” you say, biting back a smile at Harry’s dramatics.

“It’s Mary, dear, please,” she tells you, leading you into the kitchen.

Harry closes the door behind her, then follows behind you.

“Sure, then, Mary,” you say with a smile, and she pinches your cheek. When you arrive in the kitchen, there is in fact a plate of cookies on the table and one teacup. Another cup, this one tall and clear, is set across the teacup, filled with a thick, scary looking green substance.

“Sit, sit,” Mary orders, pulling another teacup from a cabinet.

You do. Harry sits next to you, inspecting the juice with a disgusted look on his face.

“I do hope chamomile is alright,” Mary says, pouring some into the teacup that sits in front of you. “More than alright,” you say, closing your eyes as you breathe in the comforting steam happily. When you open your eyes, Harry is glaring at you over his kale juice.

You smile at him sweetly, then turn to Mary. “So, Mary,” you begin, “I’ve heard you’ve helped Harry here with his plays in the past.” Mary nods, hands wrapped around her own cup of tea. “Yes, I have. Quite the talented one, he is. He’ll be a force to be reckoned with once he finally decides what he wants to do with his life!”

“It’s this,” Harry says in a halfhearted way that makes you think they’ve gone through this many times before. “I’m a producer. That’s what I want to do with my life.” Mary chuckles, patting his cheek again. “Okay, dearie.”

You clear your throat. “Well, about this play…”

“Oh, yes, yes, what’s this one about?”

“It’s about an FBI agent,” Harry says. “It’s very adventurous.”

“Adventurous!” Mary echoes gleefully.

Harry smiles. “Yes. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Your eyes widen as Mary rifles around in her purse and then comes out with a checkbook. “I certainly will!” she says happily. Her handwriting is elegant, flowing from her black fountain pen and onto the check with graceful ease.

“I have an appointment at two, darlings, so you’ll have to excuse me,” Mary tells you, handing Harry the check. “But I do adore seeing you, love, so come back soon!” Harry slides the check into his pocket, and you stand up as he does, following him to kiss Mary on the cheek.

“Bye, now, Mary,” he says. “See you soon.”

“It was nice to meet you, Mary,” you say, and Mary smiles at you. “And you too, dearie. You better come back soon, too, promise me.” You nod, and she looks at Harry. “And pick up the phone, Harry.”

Harry opens his mouth to reply, but she goes on, “You’ve been dodging my calls, love, don’t bother denying it.” She glances at you and winks. “Maybe it’s because of this one. Try and take a break from each other every now and then, you hear me? Young love is important but so am I.”

Harry looks about as red as a tomato. “We’ll see you later, Mary,” he says hurriedly, and he grabs your hand to lead you out, which probably doesn’t help with Mary’s assumption. “Bye, Mary!” you call.

“Sorry about that,” Harry mutters once you’re outside, letting go of your hand.

“Seem a bit flustered,” you laugh.

Harry rolls his eyes as he opens the car and gets in. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t deny it, though.

“‘s not worth it,” Harry sighs as he starts the engine.

You reach over and pat his cheek like Mary, grinning. “Whatever you say, Styles.”

~*~

aaaaand that's chapter one! hope you liked it!!! if you did, a reblog and some feedback would be much appreciated <333

masterlist | ask | next chapter >>

[eskalations]

"I've always known that I was a big target for them - almost as big as Erwin himself - but I never thought they would go after my own daughter." Levi released a dark chuckle at this, closing his eyes in disbelief. 'I can't believe my stupidity. The Titans have cut down families before, I don't know what made me think that mine would be any different."

(Rivetra AU where Petra is a pediatric nurse and Levi is a single father)

Hello! Wow oh wow! I haven't written since August and this oneshot definitely made it more obvious. Originally it was only supposed to be about 5,000 words but it soon grew into the monster that it is now. Will it stay a oneshot forever? I don't know...but for now, it is what it is! Editing this was a nightmare, so I apologize for any missed mistakes, as well as my poor writing skills that have been underutilized for quite some time.

I hope regardless of that, you will still enjoy this! I just finished AOT and this couple's story absolutely gripped my heart. Here you go, Rivetra fandom!

As always, reviews are MUCH appreciated. So please be sure to tell me what you think!

-

Petra Ral was NOT having a good day.

While she had been a night nurse for several years now, her penchant for making rookie mistakes was almost as bad as it had been when she started. Upon crashing into bed at seven this morning, she had completely forgotten to set her alarm for later in the day. Hence, why she was running through the streets of Paradis like a madwoman.

Her co-workers were less than impressed with her dramatic entry onto the ward. Nanaba was glaring at her over the top of the counter, while Nifa bristled from beside the employee water tower.

"Really, Petra?" The spunky redhead commented in a low, disapproving tone - watching as the other ginger woman threw her bag down onto the floor beneath the desk and hurriedly began to punch in her time. "This oversleeping thing is getting pretty old, considering it's six in the afternoon, not six in the morning."

Petra held back a growl as she fumbled with her card, sticking it into the machine but not getting any response due to the shakiness of insertion. Finally, she heard a click and withdrew the parchment. With her heart still racing like mad after her dash up the stairs, she dropped in exhaustion into a vacant chair.

“You say that - “ Petra spoke for the first time since entering Paradis Hospital, her usual chipper voice hoarse from her ragged breathing. “ - but you’re not the one who worked a 12-hour shift yesterday. You were too busy working on that boyfriend of yours to even - "

“Shhhhhh!” Nifa’s face glowed scarlet as she shushed the young woman, her pale skin heating at the vulgar comment. Nanaba just laughed quietly at her friend’s embarrassment, turning her attention back to the file in front of her. All the nurses and doctors bustling about around the counter paid the girls no mind, used to the familiar banter between the three.

"Say what you want about Nifa's love life," Nanaba bristled, pulling out another form from the file in front of her for closer observation. The blonde's eyes cut towards Petra, disapproval evident in her tone. "But your the one who's late today. We had a pretty intense case come into the ward too from emergency."

“What?!” Petra yelped, her nurse’s instincts kicking in instantly at Nananba’s words. Despite her still heaving chest, the young woman sat up straighter to observe the report that was being handed over to her. “Is the child okay?”

"She's stable." Nanaba offered, turning back to the folder on her desk to grab a few more forms. "However, she's going to need to be watched closely throughout the night. The poor thing was stabbed and the blade had poison on it."

Petra wished she could act shocked, but she wasn’t. Paradis Hospital received several stab cases a day due to the gang violence in the area. The Titans certainly weren’t pulling any of their punches when it came to looting. Regardless of whether their victim was eight or eighty, they would steal from anyone with a bit of coin in their pocket.

Stabbings weren't super common on the pediatric ward, but common enough that all the staff who bustled about barely batted an eye at the thought of such an injury being treated on the floor.

"She's already been stitched up and the antidote for the poison has been administered - but, the emergency department sent her up here for monitoring, just in case she relapses," Nifa explained, now leaning over the counter to read the forms Nanaba still held in her hands. The blonde threw her an exasperated look.

“She’s not your patient, so stop being so damn nosy.”

"Well, I've never - " Nifa scoffed at the blonde's scathing tone, though Petra could hear the amusement behind it. "Sorry, for wanting to dedicate my life for the next 12-hours to a hot man with a nice - oh, I mean to a sweet little girl with a -"

"Nifa!" Petra exclaimed, catching on to what the young woman was implying. "Don't tell me you're trying to hit on a little girl's father while she's bedridden in the hospital! Have you no shame?"

“Not really!”

Even Nanaba laughed at Nifa's answer.

"Well, too bad for you, since you have a boyfriend." The blonde reminded her, to which the red-headed nurse simply stuck out her tongue. " - and  Petra has been assigned to be her nurse."

“Me?” Petra had the gall to act surprised, but her friends simply rolled their eyes at her modest response.

“Oh please!" Nifa sighed, crossing her arms over the counter to once again lean closer to the girls on the other side. One of the older doctors, a man with grey hair and spectacles, eyed her disapprovingly as he passed. Nifa didn't even spare him a glance. "While you may be a notorious flake when it comes to arriving on time, it's no secret that they entrust you with the higher priority cases on the ward."

Nifa was right - it wasn't a secret. Since graduating at the top of her class in nursing school, she had always been highly respected for not only her knowledge but bedside manner, as well. Just last year, she had received an award for having the highest satisfaction rate on her floor. Now, if only she could show up to work on time…

“- he’s really short, but his eyes - wow!" Petra was brought back from her thoughts by Nifa's words. Nanaba was shaking her head as she wrote a note down in one of her patient files, trying to tune out the girl's excessive praise. "He's got that rough around the edges look, yet is put together and clean and - "

"I hate to cut you off in the middle of your fantasy - " Petra commented before standing and collecting the patient papers from the desk. "- but I have patients to take care of."

Nifa's mouth popped open in shock, her expression quickly turning to one of disbelief at the sight of Petra's teasing look.

“Says the girl who was LATE!”

Petra chuckled, shrugging her shoulders as she rushed off to her first patient's room, ready to begin her shift with newfound energy. Despite her exhaustion from the night before and the soreness in her limbs, she couldn't approach the job she loved with anything less than excitement and positivity.

Maybe it would be a good day after all.

-

Upon entering Heidi Ackerman's room twenty minutes later though, Petra was once again lamenting the horrible luck that seemed to be plaguing her during the past twenty-four hours.

It wasn't the child who was causing her such discomfort, but her father.

After having checked on and familiarizing herself with the low-risk patients she had been assigned, Petra finally decided to introduce herself to the latest Titan's stab victim that was residing on her ward. Checking the young girl's forms before entering the room, the nurse noticed that the child was due for a round of medication soon anyways.

‘Perfect,' Petra thought to herself while turning the knob of the door. 'If I take care of her medications now, I won’t have to return for another hour and then I can go check on - ‘

Petra's thoughts were interrupted by the sight that met her upon entry to the room.

Nifa wasn’t kidding - the guy was short. Like, really short.

Petra rarely met a male anywhere close to her height - so, the short stature of the figure that stood by the lone window of the room, instantly caught her attention.

The second thing that caught her attention? His looks.

While the man was certainly not attractive by societal standards, his piercing gaze was enough to stop any woman in her path. His eyes were grey and heavily hooded by pale white lids and beneath his stare, lay two dark bags that spoke of a restless nature. Despite the blatant signs of exhaustion, his dark hair lay near perfect across his forehead, the shaved lower half of it buzzed in an undercut fashion.

He was captivating and terrifying all at once.

“Oi, are you just going to stand there?”

His gravelly, low voice broke her from her analysis, jolting her back to reality as he shifted his posture to a more casual stance. Whereas he once stood rigid, he now placed a hand on his hip and schooled his features to resemble something more akin to indifference.

Realizing she had never responded, Petra suddenly jumped into action.

"Oh!" She smiled awkwardly, not quite feeling like her usual self. Typically, talking to patients and their families wasn't so difficult for her, but this guy was unlike her usual clientele. He practically exuded indifference and didn't look very interested in receiving an answer to what she had to assume was a rhetorical question - but Petra did not care. "Hello, my name's Petra Ral, I'll be the night nurse for Miss Heidi."

As if saying her name had reminded her of exactly why she was standing there in the first place, Petra turned her smiling face towards the bed, trying not to show her concern as her gaze fell on the small child.

Heidi Ackerman at five years old had experienced more pain in the past several hours than some adults would face in their entire lifetime. While the child's sweet features could still be seen over the top of the crisp white blankets, the pained lines of her forehead spoke of a quiet distress that had taken a hold of her and refused to let go.

Petra ached to go towards her - however, a snide remark from the man on the other side of the room had her pausing.

“You’re going to attend my child looking like that?” Disgust was evident in the man’s tone as he gave her a once over from top to bottom. “Ever heard of an iron?”

The young woman could feel her face go red at his comment, her eyes glancing down at the outfit she typically wore during her shift - a white nurses uniform, tights, and white slip-ons. The front of her outfit was pristine white - however, the bottom of her skirt had a set of small wrinkles. Petra went redder as she realized that in her confusion to get dressed after having slept in, she had picked up her uniform from the previous night that had been lying atop of the hamper.

Most people wouldn't even have noticed her slightly used uniform, but somehow this man had called her out on it, despite it only having had a few wrinkles of use embedded in the fabric.

Petra was furious. Of course, she wasn't going to show it, since she was a professional - but she couldn’t help but bite back, even if it was just a little.

“Yeah - well you aren’t looking too good either, so I guess we're even.”

The man cocked an eyebrow at her comment, before looking down at himself to see what she was talking about.

In Petra's defense, she hadn't actually looked at the man's clothes. When she had entered the room, she had been so distracted by his face, that she hadn't even gotten the opportunity. But, as he looked down at himself in search of the reason for her comment, Petra was able to give him a once over too. After examining his outfit of choice, Petra had to bite back a groan from the error of her comment.

He was dressed immaculately, wearing a dark brown leather jacket with a white shirt underneath and a pair of slender black jeans on the bottom. On his feet, were a pair of shiny, black combat boots that looked as though they had been polished that very morning.

However, the state of his clothes was not the reason Petra wanted the Earth to swallow her whole. It was the substance on the front of his shirt.

Blood.

“Tch," The man clicked his tongue, having caught sight of the dried, red blood covering his otherwise pristine white shirt. "I guess my child's blood isn't the best accessory to wear, huh?"

Fully embarrassed by her comment, Petra immediately stuck out her hands in defense, forms and all.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I truly didn’t mean - “

“I’m sure.” The words were said with such a quiet finality, that the woman felt her tongue grow heavy in her mouth. Not knowing what else to say, the room fell into an awkward silence that even Petra’s vivacious personality couldn’t conquer.

Perhaps, she had officially met her match.

The man continued to stare at her with his slate-gray eyes as the silence drug on - however, they were both interrupted from their thoughts by a quiet cough coming from the bed.

‘That’s right!’ Petra thought, a newfound energy taking hold of her as she returned her attention to the small patient residing in the bed. ‘She’s the reason I’m here.’

"Sorry, Miss Heidi!" Petra adopted her usual, chipper tone as she approached the child, already glancing at the chart that had been left on the wall at her side. While the form should have match the one she had been given, she wasn't one to cut corners, so she began to read over it to check for any additional information that could have been missed. "Your father and I are rudely neglecting you. Are you in any pain at the moment?"

While most children instantly brightened at the ginger's easygoing bedside manner - Heidi, much like her father, was not acting like a typical patient. Instead of answering, the small, dark-haired girl remained silent, glancing over at the woman with the same hooded gray eyes as her father.

Petra found the whole thing incredibly unnerving. To keep herself busy, she began to check the young girl's vitals. As she glanced over the numbers, she snuck a peek at her charge who still lay silent in the hospital bed.

Despite her lack of response to Petra's earlier question, the woman could see from the lines of distress on the girl's forehead that something was bothering her. She knew from the child's file that she had been slashed with a knife across the stomach and had been on the receiving end of an incredibly deadly poison. There probably wasn't much on her body that didn't hurt at this point.

Although she knew that the young girl must be in pain, the silence continued to grow as the two females in the room kept their gazes locked on the other.

Finally, Heidi turned to her father, who had been watching the scene unfold from his designated spot by the window. The girl's eyes shone with nothing short of fear as she appeared to silently communicate with her father. While the look on the poor child's features caused Petra's heart to clench, the man by the window merely bristled at his daughter's behavior.

"Stop trying to be tough, brat." His voice was rough, the edge in his tone similar to what it had been a minute ago. However, Petra was relieved to note a slight gentleness to his words that hadn't been present in their earlier conversation. "There's no reason to hide your pain if you're feeling any."

While the young nurse imagined any normal child would flinch at such words being thrown at them after having experienced such trauma - Heidi just blinked at her father's comment, almost as if pondering the meaning behind it.

Petra was about to jump in, having seen quite enough of the man's crass attitude towards his daughter, when the little girl finally spoke. Feebly, but with conviction.

“My stomach burns.”

Unlike her father's voice, Heidi had a sweet, slightly high-pitched voice, that would have had Petra cooing, had it not been for the current predicament the child was in.

“That’s to be expected.” The ginger responded understandingly, wanting the girl to know that she was someone she could trust over the next twelve hours. “What if I told you that I have some medicine that could make it feel better? Would you like that, Miss Heidi?”

Heidi hesitated for a moment, pulling the crisp white blanket up to her chin, almost acting like she was ashamed for having to take medicine. However, only a few beats passed before she nodded in response to the young woman's question.

"Perfect!" Petra's smile grew, the genuine kindness that typically radiated from her, shining from the depths of her chestnut eyes. "You're going to need a drink to help you wash down your pills - and I know they may taste a little nasty - so, how about I get you a juice to make it just a little bit better?"

As though a switch had been flipped, Heidi’s pale hands dropped the sheet covering the lower half of her face, revealing a tiny, rosebud mouth opened in shock. The dull gray of her eyes that had been so flat just a few moments ago, sparkled at the prospect of such a treat.

It made Petra’s heart clench once again.

The nurse was about to ask what flavor the girl wanted when her attention was drawn back to the man standing on the other side of the room. He had made a disapproving noise with his tongue as his daughter's face lit up at the thought of the sweet drink.

"Now you've done it." The man chuckled, though there was no real humor behind it. "This girl's favorite thing in the world is sweets. Now she's going to say she's in pain, just so she can get some juice."

“Sir,” Petra responded firmly, her once shining brown eyes hardening at such a careless statement. “I’m sorry, but after what she’s been through today, I think the least we could do is allow her to have some juice.”

The man shrugged his shoulders, raising his brows as though to tell her ‘do what you want’.

Which she would - gladly, in fact.

Turning back towards Heidi, who was now watching her father with a concerned expression, Petra attempted to redirect the girl’s attention.

"What flavor do you want?" That got Heidi's head swiveling back towards her. "I have cherry, grape, apple, orange, or watermelon."

“Uhhhh - “ Heidi pondered over her choices, looking up at the ceiling as though the answer would be there. After a few moments of thinking it over, the girl finally glanced back at the nurse waiting anxiously by her bedside. “I guess...cherry?”

“Excellent choice!” Petra agreed, readying herself to leave the room, but stopping dead in her tracks when hearing Heidi’s little voice again.

“Is that okay, Daddy?”

Petra watched as the little girl turned to her father, gauging his reaction for some kind of approval. The nurse waited with bated breath as the man simply stared back at the child, giving no indication of his approval either way.

Just when he was opening his mouth to give Heidi an answer - Petra jumped in, tired of witnessing the power dynamic in front of her.

“Your Daddy’s not the one drinking the juice, Heidi - so, I’m sure your choice is of no real consequence to him. Isn’t that right, Mr. Ackerman?”

There was a challenge in her tone, the words laced with borderline rudeness as she stared down the man across the room from her. Never in her life had she been so sharp with a patient nor a patient's family - however, she guessed there was no day like today. If she was going to get fired due to bad conduct, at least let it be because she stood up for a child who seemed to be in want of an advocate.

What reaction she was expecting to get from the man, she did not know - but it certainly wasn't a smirk.

He was smirking at her.

The silence stretched on for a few more seconds, the man's thin lips holding that frustrating smirk in place. He watched her as though waiting for what she was going to do next, but instead of shrinking under his gaze, she simply crossed her arms over her chest, ready to stand her ground.

Once the older Ackerman noticed Heidi’s head swiveling from side to side, watching their reactions, he released another tired, breathy chuckle.

“That’s right, Miss Ral.”

Petra hated to admit it - but, even after exiting the room, her legs continued to shake as she made her way down the hall. The trembles soon transferred into her hands as she poured the little girl a glass of cherry juice.

Upon re-entering the room, the first thing Petra noticed was that Mr. Ackerman had moved from what she thought was going to be his permanent spot in the room. He now stood by his daughter where she lay in her hospital bed, speaking quietly to her about something that the nurse couldn’t hear.

The second he saw her walk through the door, he quickly quieted - his lips returning to the thin line of indifference that she had become acquainted with, not too long ago. Choosing to ignore the strange atmosphere that settled over the room at such a blatant display of secrecy, Petra smiled brightly towards the child lying in the bed.

She was her priority.

“Alright, Miss Heidi!” Petra chirped happily, trying her best to return to the usual persona that she emulated while within the walls of the hospital. “Time for your medicine! If you could just sit up for me - “

The girl began to shift higher up in the bed, struggling to prop herself up against the pillows that lay behind her. Petra rushed to find somewhere to set the glass of juice down so that she could help her patient - however, she was beaten to it.

The girl's father placed his hands underneath her armpits, slowly pulling her back towards the head of the bed. After she was situated a little bit higher, he released his grip on her before tugging at the pillows to arrange them in a fashion that was more comfortable for her. Though he moved with purpose, his actions held a tenderness that Petra was surprised to see. If this was an unusual occurrence for Heidi, she certainly didn't show it on her tired, yet grateful features.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

The man grunted in response, patting his hand on the pillow behind her head one more time before moving his hands back to his pockets.

Petra’s brow rose in response to the uncharacteristic helpfulness she had just witnessed, but she tried to school her features in a way that didn’t show her surprise.

“Well - “ The woman cleared her throat, before handing the glass of juice over to the girl, to give herself time to retrieve the pills she had placed in the pocket at the front of her dress. “Hopefully, your pain will lessen after you take these.”

Heidi gave a shy nod at the woman’s words, looking warily at the pills. Noticing the child’s hesitance, the older Ackerman reached for the cup of juice in her shaking hands. With the movement of his arm, Petra watched as the cuff of his jacket slid up and over the skin of his wrist.

She couldn’t hide her surprise at what she saw branded there.

It was a ‘Wings of Freedom’ tattoo.

This man was a part of the Survey Corps.

It wasn’t that Petra had never interacted with an SC member before, it was just that they normally didn’t frequent this side of the hospital. Most of them didn’t have children and, even if they did, most of them wouldn’t have the opportunity to care for them properly.

It was no secret that of all the cities in Marley, Paradis was the one that had the biggest gang violence problem. Paradis was deemed as the headquarters for the infamous Titans gang, a group of thugs who were well-versed in politics and typically well-educated. One could never know that someone was a Titan, since they blended in so well to society.

There were rumors floating around that several larger corporations had Titans at the helm, working their way through the ranks in an attempt to have a better chance at being elected into political office. Their end goal was unclear - however, their violent acts and shady business dealings had escalated over the recent years.

Suddenly, businessmen who were in perfectly good health one day were turning up dead in a river the next. The same went for major political figures. Several big-name military men had been cut down in the streets and in their homes, to the point where the implications couldn't be ignored.

This was an all-out war.

Though Petra had been busy in nursing school at the time, she still vividly remembered Commander Erwin Smith’s case - since it had eventually led to the creation of the Survey Corps.

Erwin Smith had walked into his home one day after a long day of work, only to be attacked by a group of four masked Titans brandishing knives. While the Commander had lost an arm as a result of the poison on the blades that had come in contact with his arm, he was able to fight off all four assailants and come through the accident with a clear vision of what needed to be done.

This incident prompted the formation of the Survey Corps.

The Survey Corps was a group of former criminals who would have otherwise faced jail time or execution if they chose not to serve their government. The Commander's idea was that when it came to the Titans - one had to fight fire with fire. For him, the Survey Corps was his fire.

The men would be given a meager compensation in exchange for their loyalty, as well as a full pardon for the crimes they had committed in the past. All they had to do was promise their hearts to the cause.

Petra had always thought the venture sounded like a risky one. How could someone trust a criminal? If someone was willing to commit a crime once, wouldn’t they be willing to do it again? From what she had seen of the SC members who had been wheeled into the Emergency Room over the past few years, they looked more like thugs than the actual Titans themselves.

However, it appeared that that was the whole point.

The Survey Corps were used to obtain information about the Titans from the inside. To learn about the Titans, it seemed you had to act like one. Once inside, their goal was to negotiate deals with the underlings, who would then pass on the information to the SC in exchange for compensation. No surprise, though - these exchanges could turn deadly pretty quickly.

The young nurse couldn’t imagine how anyone could trust a criminal to infiltrate the enemy without the fear of them turning themselves - but from what she had heard, Commander Erwin Smith was a very good leader who kept a tight hold on all the men who worked under him.

Petra guessed as much since a good majority of them had small government-issued tracking devices located somewhere on their person - somewhere that they were unaware of, of course.

The woman had only ever seen an actual 'Wings of Freedom' tattoo once, and it was on the wrist of a body that was being rolled to the morgue past her in the hallway one day. The symbol was a sign of rank. Much like how the military operated, the Survey Corps themselves had a set of ranks that signaled a separation of powers within the group.

Only captains and the Commander himself were given the ‘honor’ of bearing the SC tattoo. The placement was purposeful, too - right on the wrist, where an opponent’s eyes would be drawn as they wielded their signature blades.

Suddenly, the behavior of the man made a lot more sense. He was a former thug - now, turned Captain of the Survey Corps.

The nature of Heidi’s injury also made a lot more sense now. She wasn’t victim to a few Titan pick-pockets on the street of Paradis. She was a victim to her father’s line of work.

She had been caught up in the crossfire.

"Miss Ral?" At the sound of the man's deep, gravelly voice, Petra looked up only to be met by a steely gray gaze. He had noticed where her eyes had fallen and had also deduced where her train of thought was drifting. "Are you ready to hand over the medicine?"

His tone was polite enough, not to alert Heidi to the mounting tension that seemed to build with every interaction the two adults had - but there was certainly an edge to it. He was pretty much daring her to ask questions.

Petra certainly was not taking the bait.

“Yes,” The woman responded, slowly. The smile that had fallen from her face at the sight of the man’s tattoo, returned as she warmly regarded her waiting patient. “Let’s get this over with!”

Neither father nor daughter caught the double meaning behind her words.

This shift could not go by fast enough.

-

After what she could only describe as ‘the longest 12-hour shift ever,’ Petra was ready to hit the sack and enjoy the next two days off.

It seemed like fate, though - had other plans.

"What?" The woman groaned as she pulled her time card out of the slot, her whine catching the attention of a few doctors passing by. Petra couldn't care less what they thought of her right now, she was exhausted - and the news Nanaba had given her was definitely less than welcome "There expediting Krista's maternity leave? Isn't she still like - I don't know - four months away from giving birth?!"

Nifa shook her head from her usual spot by the water tower, looking just about ready to fall over herself.

“Two months,” She reminded the frazzled ginger, chuckling at the groan her answer received. “It was bound to happen sooner or later with how faint she’s been - it just so happens that they made the call during a hospital-wide nursing shortage.”

Petra didn’t want to seem inconsiderate, but this news had really put a wrench in her plans - plans which had included nothing but cleaning and sleeping - but plans nonetheless! There were about a million other things she'd rather do than continue to cross paths with her patient's reticent father.

She had really thought that as the hours passed, his mood would perhaps lift and become a bit more pleasant - but no, things had only seemed to get worse.

While Heidi had slept most of the night, it was almost as if the dark-haired man was reluctant to close his eyes. No matter how many times Petra had walked in there over the past twelve hours, he never moved from his spot near the window. Even when Petra offered to help move the chair over closer to the wall so that he could see, he had glared at her as though she had outright insulted him.

Never had Petra felt so uncomfortable while tending to a patient and she had been doing this for years!

The worst instance of this was when she had gone to change Heidi's bandages over where her injury was. While she had tended to many injured patients before, she could feel a cold sweat breaking out along her hairline as she gently removed the bandages from the young girl's pale skin.

Every movement she made was subject to his intimidating glare - almost as though he was waiting to snap at her the second she made a wrong move. Though he was trying to hide it behind a wall of indifference, Petra could tell that he was on edge as she began to work on Heidi’s wound.

If one thing could be said, it was that Petra had never met a five-year-old quite like Heidi before. Though she remained silent for most of the night, the young woman could tell that she was highly intelligent and aware. Never before had she had a patient who was able to grit their teeth and fight their pain so well. Not even when her bandage got stuck on a small area of irritated skin did Heidi release a whimper.

Petra knew the whole process must have caused her a great deal of pain - however, like her father said, she was hellbent on acting tough.

It wasn’t until she got to the part of the cut that appeared to be the most severe that the child even happened to make a sound.

“Is that tender?” She had asked, but it was more of a formality. The lines of distress on the girl’s forehead told her all she needed to know. “I’ll try to make it quick.”

Heidi said nothing in response, but at her obvious signs of discomfort, her father shifted forward - hands still in his pockets, but his rigid posture showing that he wasn't nearly as indifferent as he tried to act.

Petra was suddenly aware of the man's eyes following the movements of her hands and - though she had done this in front of an audience many times - his attention made her more nervous than she had ever been before. Not only were his eyes watching her like a hawk's - but his body was also tilting forward , closer to her, to see exactly what she was doing.

Under such pressure, she panicked - something that was highly unlike her on a normal day.

With the man's eyes boring holes into her hands, her sweaty palms lost their grip on the bandage she had been trying to pull gently from the skin.  Heidi's reaction was instantaneous.

While she had made little more than a whimper up to that point, when the bandage slipped from Petra's hand and the skin of her palm made contact with the stitches that lay over the girl's abdomen - a short, little whelp escaped from her lips at the pain.

If that didn’t have the nurse feeling bad enough, Heidi’s dad’s reaction almost had her crying.

While most parents would be understanding of such a small mistake - many not even realizing she had made one - because he had been watching her so closely, he had borne witness to her error. The shock on his face, expressed only by the raise of his brows and the slight opening of his mouth, soon morphed into something much more threatening - anger.

"Don't you know how to do your job?" The man seethed, glaring at her with the same eyes that had been watching her so closely moments before. While his voice was not loud, the quiet tone almost made it that much scarier. "Can't you see that your mistake has caused her pain?"

Petra didn’t know what else to do besides look at him like a gaping fish.

"Well - are you competent enough to continue your work, or should I request another nurse?"

“No sir,” The woman answered, quietly - in a sort of daze from the man’s unusual reaction. Though she thought he was going to argue some more with her - he instead leaned back against the wall next to Heidi’s bed and continued to watch her in silence, as though he hadn’t questioned her skill at all.

Petra rolled her shoulders back, steeling herself to do the same thing she had done a million times. She would not let this man get to her twice.

After apologizing to the small girl, who merely gave a meek nod in response, Petra finished removing the old bandage from her cut. Once the wound had been cleaned and rebandaged - the nurse hurriedly made herself scarce, barely giving the girl's father a second glance.

When she had left the room, her face had been flushed and she had felt as though she was going to cry - but after hearing the taunts from her friends at the desk, thinking she had had some kind of flirtation with her patient's father, she instead turned to the next room and prepared herself to tend to her other patients.

“Earth to Petra?” Nifa’s voice brought her back to the present, something she was grateful for. Though it had been a long shift, at least it was finally over. “So, are you going to cover Krista for the rest of the week?”

Petra groaned once again. She had forgotten why she had spaced out for so long in the first place - they wanted her to take on the night shift for an additional two days.

"Hey!" Nifa chirped, crossing the small distance that separated her from Petra, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. "The good thing is you'll get almost a full week off if you finish all your hours now!"

"Yeah - " Petra agreed reluctantly, though her voice held little excitement. "But what good are hours off if I'm too exhausted to enjoy them?"

"All you do is clean, you neat freak! Don't act like it's going to spoil a hot date or something!"

Nanaba chuckled at Nifa's words, also reaching to pick up her card and clock out. "You know, she's not wrong."

Petra blushed at their goading. “How would you know?”

Both girls looked at her dubiously,  their reaction causing Petra to blush an even deeper shade of red. Nifa shook her head, clucking her tongue in disappointment.

“I rest my case.”

“Oh, shove it!” Petra grabbed her bag from the floor, ready to leave the past 12-hour shift behind. “I’ll cover Krista’s damn shifts if it means I’ll get some time away from you weirdos next week.”

Nanaba rolled her eyes at Petra's dramatics, while Nifa simply laughed in response, also retrieving her bag from under the counter. Though both busied themselves by getting their stuff together to take home, neither missed the shameless smirk Petra sent over her shoulder.

“I guess this is the price one has to pay when they’ve been named the most satisfactory nurse on the ward.”

Now, this comment had both Nifa and Nanaba groaning, the girls rushing to catch up with Petra as she made her way to the stairwell.

-

The second day Petra was assigned to the Ackerman’s was just as strange as the first.

After getting a good 8-hour rest, the nurse entered the hospital with a renewed bounce in her step. The reason? She had pressed her uniform to perfection and had even pushed back her shoulder-length hair with a headband with not a hair out of place.

‘Let’s see what that man can find wrong with me now,’ Petra thought to herself as she clocked in for the day, only to be shocked by what she saw going on at Room 325 - Heidi Ackerman's room.

She could recognize the dark blue suits of the Military Police from a mile away.

Two men, one with long blonde hair and the other with a dark, crew cut, stood outside the girl's room, talking with Heidi's father. The men were speaking quietly to each other, the blonde one jotting down some notes onto a form he held in his hand.

It looked like a statement.

Not wanting to intrude, Petra double-checked Heidi's folder to make sure that she wasn't due for another dose of medication for another half an hour still. The day nurse had left several notes for the night nurse, describing the girl's progress. While she was still in a considerable amount of pain, her vitals had remained stable throughout the day. Now, the only thing they needed to worry about was the possibility of infection setting in at the sight of her would.

Petra made a mental note to remain extremely vigilant when it came to caring for the girl’s wound. The faster she healed, the faster she would be out of the ward.

'...and the faster her father could get the hell off of my floor.'  Petra thought to herself, jotting down a few quick notes of her own, before closing the file and picking up the next.

By the time Petra arrived at Heidi's room, the MP's were long gone and the girl was sleeping peacefully in bed.

Upon entering the room with a glass of cherry juice already in hand, Petra braced herself for a rude comment or a deadly stare - but was surprised when she found that she was not on the receiving end of one.

Mr. Ackerman was still dressed in the same clothes he had worn the day before, his hair styled still to perfection, yet a bit greasier from the lack of a good washing. While his gaze was cold as ever as it moved from his daughter's slumbering form to the nurse as she entered the room, it wasn't nearly as intimidating as it had been before.

The man just looked tired.

Still, he stood by the lone window in the room, leaning against the ledge as if it was the only thing keeping him on his feet. Petra spared a glance towards the only chair in the room by Heidi's bedside and noticed that the pillow and blanket that she had left for him last night were still neatly folded and waiting to be used.

He had never slept. He had never even sat.

Petra's mouth popped open in surprise as she stood in the doorway, glass in hand. She wanted to say something but found that every time she tried to get the words out, they got stuck in her throat.

"Don't wake her up." It was the first words she had heard out of his mouth since entering, his tone as deep as it had been the day before, but weaker from lack of rest. He almost didn't look so much annoyed, as he did exasperated. "She's had a long few hours and was just now able to fall asleep."

At his request, Petra felt conflicted.

"It's time for her medicine." The woman insisted, talking quietly as she approached the girl's bedside, placing the glass of cherry red liquid onto the side table. "I'm worried that if she doesn't take it soon, she may wake up in pain."

The man considered her words, staring at her for a few moments before letting his gaze drop to the sleeping five-year-old in the hospital bed. The fact that he was even chewing over her statement had Petra reeling. While the day before, he had been questioning her methods - now he was actually taking her seriously.

The man sighed, pushing himself off from the wall he was leaning against.

“Could you wait twenty minutes?”

The words were spoken quietly, yet for the first time, they held no underlying rudeness. He seemed genuine in his request, his gray eyes boring into her's as he waited for an answer.

Petra was beginning to feel as though she was experiencing whiplash on the receiving end of his mood swings.

It was only in that moment, when he was making such direct eye contact with her, that she began to notice the slight shake of his stature, almost as though a short burst of chills were beginning to overcome his body. The sight was so strange, that Petra felt herself nodding at the man's request before she had even had a chance to think it over.

"Uh - " The young woman stuttered, trying desperately to find her voice. "I guess that would be alright?"

The man gave her a short nod of appreciation, his lips pressed in a thin line as he seemed to consider whether to say something else. Instead of asking any more questions though, he breezed past the young nurse and began to make his way to the door - something that caught Petra's attention, considering he had not left his daughter's room the entire time during her shift before.

"Wait!" She called out in surprise, though the volume of her voice surprised her. The man gave her a sharp look as he glanced over at the still slumbering child. After watching the rise and fall of her chest for a few long moments - he switched his gaze back to her, annoyance evident in the twist of his features.

And just like that, the same man from the day before was back.

"What?" He asked, as though it wasn't unusual for him to leave his daughter's room. In most cases, it wouldn't be strange for her patient's parents to leave their child unattended while they went to find some food or refreshments in the hospital, but this man had never done that before.

‘Maybe that’s why he wants her to stay asleep…’ Petra thought to herself, as she tried to think of what else she could say without sounding too nosy.

“Where are you going?”

Nice one, Ral.

The man scoffed, as though he believed her question didn't deserve an answer. Without responding, he turned back to the door and placed his shaking hand on the knob.

But Petra was surprised when, before leaving the room, he quietly called back over his shoulder.

“Would you mind keeping an eye on her for me, real quick? There’s something I need to do.”

Not waiting for her answer, the man was out the door before Petra's brain could even catch up to what he had been asking. However, when she realized what he had done, she found herself seething.

What did she look like - a babysitter?! She had other patients to be taking care of!

Though she knew that she had no real obligation to stay in Heidi’s room, there was something that had her sitting in the chair beside the bed, scooting the pillow and blankets out of the way to make herself more comfortable. She didn’t know what it was that kept her rooted in that spot, but she truly felt like she couldn’t leave the little girl.

A vision of the MP's quickly flashed through her mind.

It was that feeling of guilt that had her planted in the chair for the next twenty minutes - even though she had other patients to check on.

‘Oh well,’ Petra picked a piece of lint off the top sheet of the bed, watching the steady rise and fall of Heidi’s small chest. ‘What are they gonna do? Fire me?’

Just as Petra was fantasizing about all the things she could do if her boss truly did fire her - Mr. Ackerman returned to the room.

The first thing the young ginger noticed about the man was that he held a large white bag in his hand - one that seemed to be from the hospital's gift shop. The second thing she noticed was that he held a mug of what looked like some kind of tea in his other hand.

The third thing she noticed was that he reeked of smoke. With this knowledge, Petra could feel her face heat up in annoyance.

Now the shaking of his body and hands made sense - he had been going through withdrawals.

“You left me in here to tend to your daughter while you went and had a smoke?” The nurse stood from her spot in the chair, quietly chastising the man as he walked through the door. “Don’t you know those things can kill you?”

After having gotten his fix of nicotine, the man was back to his usual pleasant self. Before Petra could even think of what else to say, his eyes flashed towards her in contempt.

"Don't you know how to mind your own business?"

At such a rude response, Petra threw caution to the wind, sick of the man's attitude. Not caring whether Heidi woke up at this point or not, she stormed over to the dark-haired man, pointing a single finger into his chest. At least the man had the nerve to look surprised.

“Listen here - “ Petra dug her finger further into his hard chest, the fabric of his white shirt wrinkling as she tapped him once more for good measure. “Your daughter is currently my patient, Mr. Ackerman. So yes, your health is a part of my business now. What I’d like to know is how you think you're going to take care of your child on nothing but cigarettes and tea? Did you even eat while you were gone?”

The man raised a brow at her tirade, still shocked at the fact that the small redhead had had the nerve to speak to him like that. He definitely wasn’t used to it.

"Well, did you?" She asked again, demanding an answer, sticking him in the chest with a finely manicured finger once more.

What the man did next, nearly floored the poor girl for what felt like the millionth time in the past twenty-four hours. He smirked.

That damn infuriating smirk again!

Before she could repeat her question, the Survey Corps member grabbed the finger that was currently poking his chest, pushing her hand down while the infuriating smirk on his face only grew bigger.

"No," He said simply, as though he had not a care in the world. Petra could tell by the challenge in his eyes that he was eagerly waiting to see how she would respond.

Almost as though it was a game to him. Well, Petra was perfectly ready to play.

Pulling her hand out of his hold, the woman crossed her arms over her chest, looking up at him as he continued to smirk down at her. While he had shaken her the day before, she had become familiar enough with him to know that he only seemed to respond positively to her when she was actively challenging him.

What was he - a masochist?

“Lucky for you I have a wide array of crackers to offer you.” Petra smiled sweetly, watching as the man’s brows rose at the sound of her tone. “What would your flavor of choice be - cheese or peanut butter?”

“Neither, I - ,”

“Oh!” She cut him off, tapping him once again on the chest, knowing that this seemed to annoy him greatly just a few moments ago. “I’m sorry but ‘neither’ doesn’t seem to be a flavor - try again!”

The man's brows rose even higher at her continued teasing. "What if I'm allergic to peanut butter and cheese?"

Petra was anticipating such an answer, her arms once again crossing over her chest as she puffed it out with pride, knowing that this was an argument she had already won. "Then I guess I get to pick your poison."

They stared at each other in silence, neither intending to back down. Finally, the older Ackerman broke.

The man chuckled. Not a pity chuckle, either - but a real, amused chuckle. Though it may have been quiet, Petra couldn't conceal the pride that swelled up in her chest at having broken through at least one of the man's self-made barriers.

They didn't call her the best nurse for nothing!

"Alright, alright…" He finally conceded, no longer chuckling - but still keeping that mysterious smirk on his face. "I'll eat something, but no crackers."

Petra’s brow rose at this. “Why not? Isn’t that the most universal snack there is?”

“They’re too messy.”

The woman had to stop herself from giggling at the look of annoyance that passed over the man’s face. It seemed they at least had one thing in common - Petra absolutely hated a mess.

“An apple?”

The man shrugged noncommittally. Petra took this as confirmation that the fruit would do.

“Daddy?”

The feeble call from the bed had both of the adults turning, their eyes falling on the once slumbering girl who still lay propped up against the pillows. Though she had only said one word, Petra could tell from the look on her face that she had been woken from her sleep by some kind of pain.

The girl’s father hummed in response, acknowledging that he had heard her. Not wasting a moment and with a new pep in his step from his smoke break, the Survey Corps member approached his daughter’s bedside, placing his tea down by the glass of juice that still lay on the bedside table.

It was when the girl glanced over at the juice and then at the door, that she noticed the short nurse who was also now standing in her room. Petra liked to imagine that the girl’s face had lit up a bit at the sight of her, but she wasn’t foolish enough to think that it was anything other than the prospect of juice that had her glowing.

Heidi, much like her father though, surprised her.

"Hi, Miss Petra," The girl said in that sweet tone of her, her words still shy, but definitely more confident than from the night before. "Is it time for my medicine?"

Petra smiled in encouragement, joining the girl’s father at the side of her bed. “Yes, it is. Are you in any pain?”

Once again, the child looked up at her father - but, instead of waiting for some kind of input from him, she turned back to the nurse and answered for herself.

“Just a little.”

While her answer was not nearly as descriptive as Petra would have liked, the woman knew that this was probably the best she was going to get out of the child. With a tough-as-nails father by her side, the little girl was never going to give a true indication of how she was truly feeling. To do so would be to admit defeat in her eyes.

It was sad to an extent, but having grown up with a single dad herself - something she was assuming based on the fact that Petra had yet to see a mother stop by for a visit to Heidi's room - she knew how important it was to show them that their little girls were strong enough to handle themselves.

Petra’s respect for the precocious five-year-old just continued to grow as she spent more time with her.

After the nurse had given the girl her pills and had made sure that they went down easily, she reviewed Heidi’s vitals one more time before promising to return in the next hour.

Before she could make it out the door though, she turned to face the girl’s father one last time.

“I’ll be bringing you an apple, Mr. Ackerman,” She called back to him, watching as his gaze drifted upwards to meet her’s. “- and I’ll be expecting you to eat it.”

“Levi.”

The response was so quick and unexpected that it had Petra quieting immediately. Seeing the look of confusion written across her face, one side of the man's mouth quirked up in a half-smile. He sighed, shaking his head before closing his eyes in exasperation.

When he opened them again, there was a softer look there than there had been before.

“My name’s Levi. Stop it with that Mr. Ackerman stuff.”

Even Heidi chuckled from her place in the bed at the sound of such a formal name for her father. Once Petra had collected her wits, she gave a short nod in response.

"Levi, then."

Without wasting another second, the woman turned from the room - shutting the door close with more force than what she had intended to.

Her face was burning as she walked away from the room - and for the first time since she had been assigned to the patient in Room 325 - it wasn't from shame.

-

It was nearly an hour and a half later that she was finally able to return to Heidi’s room to check on the girl. With an apple in hand, the woman pushed open the door quietly, just in case the little girl had happened to fall back asleep.

The scene that lay before her, had her pausing in the open doorway in wonder.

Levi Ackerman was sitting. Not only was he sitting, but he was reading - and from a children’s book, nonetheless!

The white bag from earlier lay at his feet, the contents of it having been removed. While it had been puffed up quite large only an hour before, it now sat deflated on the cold tile of the hospital floor. Petra couldn't imagine that a few children's books from the gift shop would make a bag look that full, and she was right to assume that.

The reason the bag had looked so full was currently resting in the happy little hands of one Miss Heidi Ackerman in the form of a very large, stuffed teddy bear.

"Then Mr. Owl asked Mr. Bear if he could borrow a few - ," Petra listened to the smooth voice of the man who had nearly made her cry the day before, no rudeness left in his tone as he read to a very captive audience.

"Daddy, why would he ask to borrow something that he could never give back?' Heidi asked from her hospital bed, fully engaged in the story. Whether it was consciously or not, she hugged her bear a little tighter to herself as she turned onto her side to regard her father.

The man gave her a small, patient smile. "It's an expression, Heidi. Mr. Owl is going to eat the carrots, of course - so I'm sure hoping he's not planning on regurgitating them and giving them back to Mr. Bear. Mr. Bear is letting Mr. Owl have something without the guarantee of ever receiving it back or something in return."

“Then it’s not borrowing.”

Her father shrugged, his eyes turning back to the page in front of him. "Not really, I guess."

Before the man could pick up where he'd left off - Heidi cut him off once more.

“Daddy, I don’t think owls actually eat carrots.”

“Are you going to let me finish the story, brat?” The man gazed at her over the top of the book, annoyance creeping into his tone after having been interrupted for the second time. “Or do I need to read from the dictionary in order to please you?”

While Petra had been shocked when he had referred to his daughter as "brat" the night before, she would have to be deaf to not hear the endearment that lay hidden in his tone. He said it so gently - as though it was meant as an affectionate tease more than an insult.

Heidi certainly wasn’t offended by it if her sweet little laugh was any indication of how she was feeling.

“Daddy!” She whined, hugging her bear even tighter. “No dictionary! I want animal stories!”

“Then sit back and enjoy the damn book, instead of overanalyzing everything.”

Heidi’s eyes widened in shock, her small mouth forming an ‘o’ at her father’s choice of words. “Daddy, you swore.”

The man twisted his lips, trying his best to hide his face behind the children's book that he held in his hands.

“I heard you! You’re going to have to put change in the swear jar at home!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Heidi smiled brightly at her father. "Nuh-uh, it's a deal! I'm going to be rich!"

“Heidi,” Levi raised one dark brow towards the girl, his tone darkening with warning as she continued to get louder. “You need to be quiet.”

At her father’s admonishment, the child’s face fell, her bright smile falling swiftly off her features. Petra made a movement to jump in - anything to bring that sweet expression back to the darling girl’s face - but was stopped by the man’s voice chiming in once again.

“ - and besides, you only have two dollars. That’s barely enough to call yourself rich.”

While most children would have balked at Levi's use of blunt humor, Heidi - who must have been used to it by now -  began to giggle once more, the bright smile from just moments before, returning to her face. Petra was even surprised to find that the man was wearing one of his own now.

"It's almost enough to buy a chocolate bar." Heidi insisted as if the candy was the most precious thing in the world.

Petra had to clamp her mouth shut to keep from laughing out loud. From her spot in the doorway, the nurse's shoulders trembled in quiet amusement. This little girl was something else - and, from what she had seen over the past few minutes, so was her father.

"Now you see, Miss Ral?" The question had her pausing mid-shake, her amusement slowly fading now that she had been caught. "I told you sweets would be her downfall."

Petra could feel her cheeks heating up. She had just been caught eavesdropping - how unprofessional could she be?

Opening the door all the way, the woman stepped fully into the room, apple still in hand. While Heidi certainly seemed to quiet as the woman entered the room, the smile on her face did not fade.

While she had thought the older Ackerman would look at her in contempt for having the gall to eavesdrop on him, during what she would call a very intimate family moment, he instead looked over at her with a slight quirk in his brow.

“ - and eavesdropping will be yours.”

Without saying another word, the man placed the children’s book on top of the bedside table, where Petra could now see an entire stack had been laid. Next to it, a small cat plush sat, almost as though watching over the mountain of books that now stood beside it. Before the nurse could make any comments in regards to his gift shop purchases, the man stuck out his hand.

Petra just stared at him in confusion.

Levi gave her a less than impressed look. “My apple, Miss Ral?”

If Petra had thought her face had been burning before, it was nothing compared to now.

-

A few hours passed uneventfully in the pediatric ward. That was one thing Petra had always enjoyed about the night shift - there was a certain calm in the air that seemed to hang over the 3rd floor of the hospital. A child would cry out in pain, only to be shushed a few moments later by comfort or medicine - or a buzzer would go off, signaling that someone needed assistance.

Other than that, the ward pretty much always stayed quiet in the late night to early morning hours of the day and Room 325 was no exception to this.

Heidi was snoozing peacefully as Petra made her rounds once again to check on the girl. After having received her last dose of medication until morning, the girl had lost her battle against sleep. She had fought valiantly - wanting to stay up and continue listening to the stories being told by her father - but after several hours and retellings of the same stories over and over, she was finally out for the night.

While Petra hated to disturb the girl's sleep, it was pertinent that she clean her wound every few hours to keep the infection from setting in. Though the girl was already taking oral antibiotics, the nurse knew that it was better to be safe than sorry when it came to wounds.

In an attempt to be as stealthy as possible, Petra quietly entered the dimly lit room of Heidi Ackerman, careful not to make any noise as she closed the door behind her.

Giving her eyes time to adjust to the lack of lighting in the room, Petra squinted while looking over at the chair.

There sat Levi, bloody clothes and all, by his daughter's bed and still wide awake despite his obvious exhaustion. Petra had given up hours ago on telling him to get some sleep, learning quickly that even without an injured child the man was a terrible insomniac.

However, she couldn't help but be concerned when it came to the man's state of mind. How on earth was he supposed to tend to his child when he wasn't willing to rest himself?

"Oi, stop lurking in the doorway." A ragged voice called from the chair, his eyes never drifting from Heidi's face. Even without looking, he seemed to just know she was there. it must have been a Survey Corps thing. “She’s out for the night, so there’s no need to sneak around as if the smallest noise is going to wake her up.”

Petra blushed at the call-out, stepping fully into the dim light of the room, her expression apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to change her bandages."

The man grunted in acknowledgment, shrugging his shoulders. "It can't be helped. Several more hours of reading from 'Mr. Owl's Adventures' sounds like a decent penance to me."

Though Petra found herself chuckling at the man's dry wit, she couldn't help but notice the strain in his voice that spoke of some underlying guilt she was not privy to. Trying to lighten the mood, she moved closer to Heidi's bedside, bandages already in hand and a soft smile on her features.

"Count yourself lucky," The woman bristled, reaching into her pocket for a disinfectant wipe. "You could be changing dirty bandages and bedpans for the rest of the night. I think I would choose Mr. Owl over that, any day."

While she hadn't expected the man to laugh at her remark, she wasn't expecting him to sober so quickly either.

He watched as she placed the packet of disinfectant wipes down on the table, her hands moving to the bandages to ready them for placement. The night before, she had found his gaze unnerving - now, however, he seemed to be pondering her actions more than looking for something that she was doing wrong.

“Could you show me how to change her bandages?”

Petra couldn't hide the shock that flooded her features at the quiet request. The words were spoken so softly that she questioned whether she had even heard them.

“Huh?” She heard herself ask, pausing mid-action.

Levi's face held its usual passive expression - but, when Petra looked closely, she could see the skin of his neck turning red underneath the hairs of his undercut.

The man was blushing.

Petra had little time to be amazed before he was speaking again.

"I tried watching you last night and when the nurse did it this morning," The man confessed, his voice tight as though he felt ashamed for admitting it. "But I want to make sure I know how to do it right since I'm the one who's going to be doing it at home."

Suddenly, his attentiveness to her actions during her prior shift made a lot more sense.

While she had thought he had been watching her closely to see if she made any mistakes while changing Heidi's bandages, he was really just trying to learn how to do it himself. So the reason he must have been so grouchy when she had made that one mistake, was because he was frustrated not only with her but with himself for having to seek out someone's help.

Man, she had misjudged him terribly in that moment.

Knowing that it was hard for the man to admit he needed guidance - Petra gave him a small but encouraging smile.

"I can show you," The woman gestured for him to come closer to the bed so that he could see better. "This is the perfect time, actually since I'm going to be doing it really slow, so that we don't wake her."

Petra tried to calm the furious beating of her heart as the man rose from his chair and made his way over to her side. This was the closest she had ever been to him, even closer than when she had gotten up in his face earlier. From this vantage point, she could see the dark stubble that now lined his cheeks and the puffy bags that seemed to permanently reside under his eyes.

The man was starting to look a bit ragged. However, no amount of exhaustion could dull the look of determination in his eyes.

Petra took her time, carefully peeling back the bandages that sat across Heidi's abdomen. Levi watched closely as she worked her finger under the sticky material at a particularly irritated patch of skin. While Heidi mumbled a few incoherent words in her sleep and turned her head to the side in agitation, she remained unconscious as Petra continued to work on her wound.

The nurse quietly explained proper wound care, as she cleaned around the stitches that lay on the girl's stomach. Levi nodded in acknowledgment to each of her points, his steely gaze never leaving her hands.

The whole process took about ten minutes, much longer than usual, but Petra felt like it had taken a hundred years.

The man was just so close and it was distracting.

Despite being flustered by his proximity and rapt attention, Petra was able to successfully clean and re-bandage the wound.

She ripped the end of the last piece of tape needed for the girl's skin, gently patting it down with soft pressing motions. "So, that's all there is to it."

Levi nodded, the wheels in his head turning as he tried to internalize everything he had just seen.

It struck Petra as odd that he needed such guidance from her when his line of work surely included some bumps and nicks over time. Almost as if he could guess her train of thought, the man answered her unspoken question.

"I've had to treat my own wounds before," He admitted quietly, eyes glued to the area of Heidi's stomach where her injury lay. " - but I've never had to treat a child's. I just want to make sure I do it right."

Petra gave him a sympathetic smile, placing the roll of tape back on the table. "It really isn't that much different from dressing your own wounds."

Levi's eyes darkened at her words, his tone shifting. "It is different."

The young woman watched as the man's eyes drifted back up to Heidi's peaceful face, her small pink lips opened in an 'o' as little breaths escaped between them. From a hardened gaze, the Survey Corps member's eyes softened at the sight of his slumbering daughter.

“What happened?”

Petra didn't know what had come over her, but at the man's words and expression, she couldn't help but speak out of curiosity. While the girl's file had said she had been cut by a blade that had been laced with poison, it hadn't said any more than that. She figured that Heidi had been caught up in a crossfire, but she couldn't be too sure.

She wanted to know what had caused her patient so much pain - and she also wanted to know what it was that was causing the girl's father so much guilt.

Petra had not expected much in ways of a response, figuring that the man would tell her to mind her own business. She was surprised when, instead of snapping at her in anger, Levi sighed and crossed his arms over his chest in defeat. She could see his reluctance to share in the rigid way he stood, but could also see in the way he rolled his lips inwards, that there was a part of him that wanted to tell someone what happened.

"They broke into my home when it wasn't there." The man admitted quietly, a quick rush of breath leaving him as he resigned himself to share with Petra the details behind the incident. "Heidi knows not to open the door to strangers, so when they came knocking, she hid - but they knew she was there. They had been watching."

"The Titans?" Petra asked in a whisper. Levi nodded.

"I've always known that I was a big target for them - almost as big as Erwin himself - but I never thought they would go after my own daughter." Levi released a dark chuckle at this, closing his eyes in disbelief. 'I can't believe my stupidity. The Titans have cut down families before, I don't know what made me think that mine would be any different."

The man sighed, his eyes cutting back to his daughter’s face. “One of my men had heard through our line of communication that The Titans were planning on laying siege to my house - however, it had been kept under wraps for as long as possible to keep the plan from getting back to me.”

Levi's face darkened, his thin lips pressing together as his eyes took on a faraway look - like he was being transported back in time.

"Unlucky for them," The man continued, his tone growing terser as time went on. "I found out and was able to intercept the attack."

Petra watched as the man’s focus drew back to the present, his steely gaze never leaving his daughter. “But not before Heidi could get hurt.”

Levi ran a single hand through his hair, the action causing the arm of his jacket to rise and the ‘Wings of Freedom’ tattoo to be exposed.

"There were six of them at the house," Levi admitted, not even pausing when this information called forth a gasp from Petra. "I cut down every single one of them."

At the dark look on his face, the nurse could feel herself gulp in fear. The same intimidating man whom she had encountered the night before during her first shift was suddenly making an appearance once again. His behavior - however, made more sense now. He had been reticent and ready to snap, not just because his daughter had been injured, but because he had just murdered six men.

Petra also realized that the blood that lay splattered across the man’s white shirt was, more than likely, not just Heidi's. While the news had Petra suppressing a shiver, she didn't interrupt him as he continued with his story.

"When I realized the blade had been laced with poison, I rushed Heidi here." He glanced over at her now, his gaze watching her carefully as he analyzed her reaction. "Then a few hours later, we met you."

Petra didn't know what to say - half of her had expected the story to be something like that, but also half of her wishing it hadn't. She was outright conflicted.

"She had been alone?" She heard herself ask through the whooshing in her ears. Her head was spinning from all the new information.

Levi nodded. "I can't afford to send her anywhere. She's always alone."

Though Petra tried to hide her surprise, she couldn't conceal it quick enough for his all-seeing eyes.

"She has no mother." Levi admitted though Petra had deduced as much. "The woman dropped her off on my doorstep years ago without so much as a word - so I'm all she has."

"That's horrible." While it was an understatement, to be sure, it was all Petra could think of in response. At least it was able to draw a dry chuckle from the man.

“I guess you could say that.”

Not knowing how to dispel the tension that currently lay in the air, Petra turned to continue cleaning up the used bandages from the side table, disposing of them in the trash while she continued to think of what to say.

Noticing her unease, Levi sighed. "I didn't tell you all of this to make you feel awkward. You did ask, you know?"

"I don't feel awkward!" Petra insisted although she knew it was a fib. She rolled up the gauze that she had neglected to use while trying to choose her words carefully. "I'm just not sure what to say."

"You don't have to say anything,"  The man said, walking back around to the other side of the bed. His eyes drifted to the children's books that lay stacked on the side of the bed. "It's the ways things are and the way they will always be. All I can do is ensure that none of my decisions from here on out will infringe on her safety.'

Petra nodded. “I guess you're right.”

The room was quiet as Petra continued to bustle about. She fluffed Heidi's pillows a few more times, before reviewing the young girl's vitals. She didn't know what it was, but despite the tense atmosphere that lay heavy over the room, she really didn't want to leave.

No matter what she wanted though, she knew she had other patients to see.

Before she left, a thought came to her as she reached for the handle on the door. She remembered at the start of her shift that Levi had only taken leave of his daughter's room when Petra was guaranteed to be there and keep watch. The circumstance had Petra pausing.

Was that why he hadn’t bothered to go home and change yet?

Petra could see that the man needed a good shower and a fresh pair of clothes - but, after hearing about what happened, she highly doubted he was willing to leave the hospital while his daughter was still in such a vulnerable state.

She didn’t know what came over her, but suddenly she was speaking.

“I get off in a few hours. Do you want me to sit with Heidi while you go home and change?”

Her offer caused the man to turn his head, his eyes gazing at her warily. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. I know you probably need your rest.”

Petra shook her head. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t willing.”

"I couldn't -,"

"No offense," Petra finally said, her arms crossing over her chest in an act of defiance. " - but you are starting to look rough.”

This caused one side of the man’s mouth to quirk up. “I’m just now starting to? I thought surely when I walked in covered in blood yesterday that I looked about as rough as I could.”

“Well, then I guess you’ve been proven wrong.”

Levi shook his head. “I’m not leaving. Besides, I have nowhere to go. My home is a crime scene, remember?”

"You can use my apartment." The words had left Petra's mouth before she even had time to think. At the suggestion, she could feel her face heating up, but she continued speaking anyway. "Go at least take a shower - please."

This had the man's brows raising to his hairline.

"You would let a man who just murdered six people take a shower in your home?"

Petra shrugged. “Yeah, I mean as long as you promise not to mess with anything.”

“You’re damned crazy.”

"Yeah, maybe," Petra conceded, but her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. "But it's better than being stinky. I'm going to get a shirt from the lost and found for you to take. My shift is over in three hours, so try to at least get some rest before it's my turn to watch Heidi."

Without waiting for a response, Petra exited the room in a flurry of white fabric and frazzled nerves, missing the smirk that followed her actions as she hurriedly exited through the door.

- True to her word, Petra had returned to Heidi's room after clocking out. The woman handed the older Ackerman a piece of paper with her address, a key, and a plain white t-shirt - before practically pushing him out of the room.

Not allowing any chance of negotiation, Petra slammed the door behind him, fighting the urge to actually lock it.

Now fully awake, Heidi giggled at the sight of the young woman bossing her otherwise intimidating father around. The sound had Petra smiling, too. Though she was tired, she was looking forward to spending a bit of downtime with the girl.

During the hour and a half that Levi was gone, Petra learned many things about Miss Heidi Ackerman.

She was born in late September and couldn't wait for the Summer to be over so that she could finally be six. Her favorite thing to learn about was animals - hence, why her father always bought her stories with animal characters rather than humans. She had named the big teddy bear her father had gotten her, Felix, after a cat character with the same name that existed in one of the storybooks her dad had once read to her.

While it wasn’t new information, Petra was struck once again by how intelligent the little girl was.

Heidi shared with her the process of her daily routine - how she woke up in the morning to find a bowl of cereal already sitting ready for her at the table. Though her father was usually gone by this time, he always left a note telling her what time he would be home and reminded her to never open the door to strangers. After reading the note, she would do a few chores around the house - she loved sweeping - and even had her own little broom that matched her father's so that on the weekends they could clean the floors together.

While Petra imagined such an existence would be a sad one - being all alone in a house all day, especially, at such a young age - Heidi didn't seem particularly bothered by it.

"When Daddy gets home in the afternoon, he always cooks me something yummy for dinner," Heidi's voice held all the wonderment of a child, who was properly spoiled by her father. "Uncle Erwin even sometimes comes over and eats with us. He can toss me up in the air really high! Higher than Daddy!"

Petra found herself chuckling at this. “Oh, really?”

Heidi nodded excitedly, her cheeks flushed from the conversation and probably what was still a bit of residual pain. Despite this, she continued chatting as though she couldn't be bothered.

Petra felt her heart warm as the girl slowly began to open up more and more to her - remembering how quiet she had been during the first time she had attended to her.

It was as though the child that sat before her now was a completely different person from the one before. While she could probably blame some of that on the young girl's injury - a bigger portion of it was just that it probably took the girl time to warm up to people.

‘Much like her father,’ Petra supposed.

By the time Levi returned, both his daughter and the nurse were sat up in the hospital bed, the scene causing him to pause in the doorway.

Petra had sat herself behind Heidi, allowing the girl to lean back on her legs and chest in a reclining position. The nurse’s hands were working through the girl’s hair, her deft fingers twirling the long dark strands into a simple braid.

“I’ve always wanted a braid!” Heidi shared, squeezing her bear close to her chest. “I’m so excited! I hope it looks pretty.”

“Oh, it looks very pretty," Petra insisted, her light, chestnut eyes finally drifting towards the man that stood in the door. Her lips quirked up in a small smirk. "Doesn't it, Mr. Levi?"

Fighting the urge to groan at the use of mister before his name, the man closed the door to the hallway behind him before stepping fully into the room. "Oh yes - very pretty."

At his insistence, Heidi giggled - her little cheeks flushed now from the compliments.

Once the girl was situated back on her pillows - chatting with her bear about all the hairstyles she'd like to try to learn to do in the future - Petra turned to Heidi's dad, giving him a smile of appreciation.

Instead of wearing the t-shirt she had retrieved from him, he was wearing a dark blue one with the hospital logo that they sold in the gift shop. The woman had to smirk when she saw that.

"What are you -  a germaphobe?" She couldn't help but ask, remembering the wary look he had had on his face when she had handed the used t-shirt over. Though she couldn't blame him, being very particular about things like that herself, she couldn't hold back a laugh.

Levi shrugged. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

They stood there for a few silent beats, the only sound between them being that of Heidi's quiet voice as she chatted to Felix, the teddy bear. Finally, Levi pulled his hand out of his pocket, her key shining in his hand.

Petra held out her hand to receive it.

"Thank you for your hospitality." The man drawled, placing the object in the middle of her palm, a smirk teasing the corner of his lips. "Your lodgings were adequate enough, I guess."

After having heard from Heidi herself in the past hour of how her dad was a self-proclaimed 'clean freak' - the woman was not surprised at such a comment. In fact, knowing what she did now, it made her quietly chuckle.

“I’m glad.”

Petra called over her shoulder to Heidi that she would be back on the night shift in just a few hours, the girl happily waved at her as the woman made her way to the door. Knowing that she only had one more 12-hour shift for the week, the young nurse moved with a slight bounce in her step.

The realization that she probably only had one more night to spend with Heidi and her father had her pausing though.

Shaking her head, she attempted to rid her mind of the thought. She wasn't one to get attached to her patients and she definitely wouldn't start now.

Still, there was something in her heart that tugged every time she thought of Heidi’s sweet little face. Not only that, but the tug worsened every time she thought of Levi’s.

‘I need some sleep,’ She lamented to herself as she continued her way down the stairs.

Yes, sleep was all she needed.

-

Upon arriving on the 3rd floor for her fourth shift of the week, but third with Heidi, Petra was surprised to see the one and only, Erwin Smith exiting the room of her favorite patient.

She guessed she shouldn't be surprised by the appearance of the blonde man - given how much Heidi talked about him - however, what did surprise her was the grave expression present on his features. While not one to fear the worst, the furrow between his brows and the thin line of his lips had her heart sinking, just a bit.

After confirming with the day nurse that nothing had changed in Heidi's condition, Petra was able to breathe easier. Apparently, in the last hour, Dr. Shadis had even cleared the girl to return home whenever she pleased - however, both the Commander and Levi had convinced the doctor to extend her hospital stay by one day.

The day nurse said she had no idea what the reasoning was behind it but Petra had a good idea.

‘My home is a crime scene.’ Levi had said earlier in response to her pressures for him to go home and shower. The truth of the matter was, Petra feared that neither Levi nor Heidi had anywhere to go.

With that in mind, she entered the girl's room for her first round of medication with a slight hesitance in her gait.

Whatever nerves she had been feeling though dissipated at the sight of Heidi's joyful face.

"Miss Petra!" The girl exclaimed from her place in bed, arms wrapped around her teddy bear and now a large monkey plushie too. "Look what Uncle Erwin brought me!"

The woman was about to respond when a sort of grumbling coming from the direction of the chair caught her attention. Levi had his chin in his hand, his eyes glaring at the plush kitty that still sat on the bedside table untouched. Petra could see a hint of jealousy in his actions.

Dare she call it - adorable?

Though his mutterings weren't all that caught the woman's attention. The man had a whole new change of clothes on, the hospital t-shirt now stuffed away in the white bag that lay by his feet.

The commander must have brought him an extra pair of clothes.

Realizing that she hadn't ever answered Heidi's cheer, Petra smiled at the child who lay in the hospital bed. "Well isn't that a lovely surprise?"

Heidi nodded excitedly, hugging her plushies closer to her. “I think I’m going to name him Beast.”

"That's a lovely name," The nurse agreed, laughing quietly as she watched the girl's father roll his eyes. Despite the current levity in the atmosphere, the woman knew she wasn't going to be able to keep her mouth shut much longer.

Placing the cup of juice she had brought with her down on the bedside table, she busied herself preparing Heidi’s medication as she thought of how to brooch the topic.

“So, I heard Heidi’s been cleared to return home?”

Levi was silent for a moment, but she soon heard a grunt behind her. “It would appear that way.”

“I heard Dr. Shadis approved her for one more night in our care?”

Levi hummed in response, not saying anything more as the woman continued to arrange the pills. Her hands paused as she got to Heidi’s sleep medication.

“Will you be staying with Commander Erwin?”

At her question, the man remained silent - watching as Petra assisted Heidi with taking her pills. Always a brave patient, the girl barely grimaced as the nasty medication tumbled down her throat. When it was all over, the five-year-old simply laid back on her pillows, picking up right where she left off with her two stuffed animals.

It took Levi so long to respond that Petra figured he wouldn't say anything more on the subject - however, his quiet answer came soon enough, a sort of bitterness in his tone.

"No, we can't," He spat out, a rare show of his old reticence shining through. Petra could tell that it wasn't directed at her, though - it was more so in response to the situation. "Erwin thinks it's a bad idea for us to stay with anyone who's a part of the Survey Corps. If they had my address, who's to say they don't have any others?"

Petra had guessed this was the case by the way Commander Erwin had looked upon leaving the room. It was the look of a man who was used to solving problems, who just couldn't seem to solve this one.

Levi continued, missing the pensive look that settled across Petra's features. "He's trying to find somewhere cheap that we could stay, but at the end of the day, the Corps don't receive much funding. I barely make enough to pay for the place we have now and I'm still going to have to pay for it until my lease is up."

“You don’t think you’ll be able to go back after everything is cleaned up?” Petra asked, the wheels still turning in her head. Levi released a dry chuckle at the suggestion.

"I'm not going to make the brat stay in a home where she was almost killed. I may be a monster, but even I have more compassion than that." He spoke quietly, aware that Heidi was still very much awake and able to hear their conversation.

"There's no one you could reach out to and stay with?"

Levi laughed bitterly, once again. "The only people I know are either a part of the Survey Corps or thugs themselves, my options are pretty slim."

Petra nodded, quietly mulling over his words.

After a few moments, she made the offer she had entered the room willing to make.

“Why don’t you stay with me?”

Levi's brows rose, a look of mild shock commanding his features. Feeling uneasy from his reaction, Petra began to ramble in order to fill the awkward silence.

“I mean -,” She cleared her throat, hating how the words had come out as a mere squeak. “You said my lodgings were adequate, right?”

"Well, yes. But -,"

"I certainly wouldn't mind it - and you wouldn't have to pay me rent or anything! All I would need is maybe a little bit of money for groceries since I barely have any - and - uh - and I'm barely home anyway since I work so much, so it would probably be just like living alone!" The words left Petra in a rush, her brain working faster than her mouth as she tried to convince him that this option wouldn't be so bad. "I'm a pretty clean person, so you wouldn't have to worry about -,"

“Could you shut your damn mouth for a second?!”

The low growl of his voice had Petra pausing mid-ramble, her mouth hanging open as the man in the chair cleared his throat, in an attempt to get emotions back under control.

When he spoke again, his tone was even, incredulity evident in his words. "You really expect me to accept such charity?"

Petra closed her mouth, shrugging meekly. “I mean, do you have any other options?”

"Yeah, the street." The nurse found herself rolling her eyes at his words.

"What happened to not allowing any danger to fall upon your daughter again?" Petra asked, remembering their conversation from before. While the man's eyes flashed in anger at her implication, the woman didn't stop there. "Do you really think the safest place for your daughter currently is on the streets?”

The man was silent again.

“I can’t pay you.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“I hate charity.”

"This isn't charity." Petra insisted, meeting his steely gaze with one of her own. "I'm honestly being selfish. I don't think I could sleep at night knowing that the two of you ended up on the streets when I could have helped.'

“Why would you do that for people you barely know?”

"I don't know," Petra answered, honestly - her eyes drifting to where Heidi lay still unaware of the serious conversation taking place next to her. "But something inside of me is telling me that it's the right thing to do."

Levi stared at her, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"So you would offer up your home to two strangers just because your heart is telling you to?”

While his comment was snide, Petra refused to back down. "And you would offer up your life to a cause that will most likely get you killed in the end? It seems like neither of us is very responsible when it comes to where our hearts lie."

The man couldn’t argue with that.

The room descended into a suffocating silence for a few moments, before Levi spoke again.

"What about Heidi?" He asked. "She stays home alone all day. Are you okay with a child residing by themselves in your apartment?"

"Not really," Petra admitted, though she had already thought about this. "But my friend who lives down the hall runs a daycare out of her home. I'm sure if I explained the circumstances, she would be willing to make an exception and let Heidi stay with her when you or I can't be at home."

Levi sighed, realizing she had thought this out a lot more than he had expected. “You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”

“Nope.” Petra smiled brightly, knowing that he was close to admitting defeat.

The man looked once more towards his daughter, who was now rubbing her tired eyes as she tried to win the battle against sleep.

“Fine.” He begrudgingly agreed, refusing to make eye contact with the now ecstatic ginger.

"Perfect!" The woman nearly exclaimed with glee - however, she kept her reaction quiet, aware of the presence of Heidi who was almost in the throes of sleep. "Leave all the planning to me. Heidi was cleared to stay one more night - so, once I finish my shift, I'll go home and get everything prepared for her discharge tomorrow afternoon."

Levi nodded, still not exactly happy about the situation.

"Don't think you're going to be able to stand around and mope, either," Petra warned, pulling the blanket up higher on Heidi's chest, the girl finally losing the battle against her eyelids. "I'm doing this because I want to, so I won't have you feeling guilty.

Levi shook his head, a smirk appearing on his features. "You're crazy."

"Maybe," Petra shrugged.

After picking up the empty glass of juice from the girl's bedside, Petra decided to take her leave, ready to attend to her other patients.

Before leaving the room, she turned back towards Levi, still sat in the chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

"We're going to figure this out," Petra assured him as she exited the room, smiling as he turned his face towards her - a look of apprehension on his features. "You, me, and Heidi - it'll work, I promise."

Though his answering smirk was tired, Petra could see that maybe - just maybe - he was starting to believe her.

[yandere-mha-blog]

Chapter 8: Handy

words: 2218

There was only one more thing hawks wanted to do at the moment, get your talon back, he was smart to keep one of his feathers on the guy he smacked against the door. Hearing the conversation on how he keeps his little “trophies” in front of the people he “interrogated”.

“I was so worried when I heard the news that Nighthawks somehow found a way to break in.” His wife said, “And to hear you were actually hurt.”

“I'm fine, nothing to worry about.” He said

“But dad, you have a large bump on your head.” His kid said

“Nothing time and some ice won’t heal.” he said “thanks for dinner honey.”

He gave his wife a quick kiss on the cheek before heading into his workroom and taking out your talon from a glass box before putting it back in and then going to the other trophies this man had collected, what a sicko. Three days had passed and it was about time Hawks got it back for you, then man was getting too comfy thinking that he was in the clear, sure Hawks moved quickly but he also knew when to wait for the right time to strike.

Hawks waited and waited till he saw all the lights go off in the house, all except for the office, Hawks feather finally floated out from under the guy's coat as he were none the wise and he didn’t even notice it undoing the window lock and slowly lifting it up, the man was so immersed in whatever he was writing down he didn't even notice hawks climbing in through the window with one of his primary feathers shaped out, hawks ave him a second and nope, man this guy instincts were awful, or Hawks was just that good at hiding his presents.

So it was really easy for hawks to over his mouth with his gloved hands and have his primary feather against the man throat only then did he notice

“Hi, guys.” Hawks said “How are you doing this fine night? Well, I guess you can't really talk, right now, now you are probably wondering why I am here, the answer is very very simple, even the score.”

Hawks had two of his feather an inch away from the guy's eyes

“Now look unless you want to go blind you will stay quiet and answer my questions okay.”

The guy just nodded and hawks uncovered his mouth

“Please, don't kill me, I was just doing my job.” He said

“Is that how you justify your actions, there is a lot to unpack there, now where did you put her talon?”

“On the second-highest shelf, third to the left.” He said as hawks used his feathers to lift it off and put it in his coat pocket “That's all you wanted right.”

“Hmm well, one more question, which hand did you hold to pilers to pull it out.” Hawks said, “And I don't know isn’t an answer.”

“I used, my left hand to hold them,” he said

“Good now place your left hand on your desk.” Hawks said

“Why are you planning to do it?”

“Just a taste of your own medicine.” Hawks said, “Look if you won’t put it down, maybe your wife would offer hers up.”

“What?” The man said

“Tell you what I'll let you decide, your wife's left hand, or yours.” Hawks said and the man was now sweating buckets

“I need my hands to provide for my family.” He said, “I can't lose them.”

“You know that was a rhetorical question, at least I don't feel as bad doing this.” Hawks said slicing the man's hand clean off, it took him a moment to process it seeing the numb he now had for a left hand and started screaming out in pain, Hawks saw him topple over to the floor before picking up the hand and leaving, he tossed it over his shoulder over who knows where, he sure was glad he locked the office door before he went, wouldn't want that kid of his seeing the blood sprayed all over the place.

Still, now he had one more place to go for the night, meeting up with his broker, someone who would do anything for you as long as you had the money w. Giran, the man who was not interested in anyone's plans, Hawks respected that part about him, not being tied down by just one person, the same man where he got his current gear. Hawks landed on the fire escape and walked down and into Girans' place.

“Well well if it isn't my favorite feathered friend.” He said taking in a long inhale of smoke “You got blood on your cheek.”

“Ah, it's not mine.” Hawks said, “Anyway I have a request for you.”

“Haha why else would you come and see me.” he said, taking out a pack of cigarettes “Want one.”

“I'm good.” Hawks said

“You're loose.” He said, “now you said you needed something different than usual, and I'm assuming it has to do with that woman you got from HPSC?”

“It does, they took out one of her talons, so I need a proteic so she will be able to wear it and use it again.” Hawks said removing the talon and placing it on the table

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Giran asked, “The root of the tail is intact so no way is she growing that back, also interesting this isn't regular Keratin.”

“I asked you to make it usable again, not analyze it.” Hawks said

“I know a guy, What will probably happen is he will put it in a fingerless glove that wraps around her wrist, a few never receptors and when she flexes her finger then this one will pop out.” Giran explained, “Still I'm surprised you went to him for help, whatever happened to you being a lone bird.”

“Can't just leave someone out to dry.” Hawks said taking out a wad of cash “And I only went to them on a one-time deal, they have their plan I have mine.”

“Hey, it lets me make money.” He said “Come back tomorrow ill have it ready for you. One more thing, they are planning something big tomorrow so watch the news.”

“I will.” Hawks said, “Oh one more thing, do you have any medical books laying around.”

“I'm sure I can come up with something, but why do you ask?”

“A housewarming gift.” Hawks said, “make sure they are interesting, none of that fluffy shit the gritter the better.”

“...noted,” Giran said, looking a bit perplexed at his request. With that said hawks left attaching his wings and head out back to his hideout to see you lunging in his twin-sized mattress reading a magazine he had laying around

“Hey I'm back.” he said as you put your hand up and waved at him “So, how are you doing?’

“Still healing, did you finish those errands?”

“Sure did.” Hawks said “I still need to grab some grub. Do you want anything?’

“Anything will do.” you said flipping the page “Also when I saw you had a magazine that said chick weekly I wasn't expecting it to have a bunch of baby bird photos.”

“Hey, we all have our hobbies.” Hawks said take the magazine out of your hand  "And be careful this is my only copy.”

“Why do they even make magazines like this?” you asked

“Same reason there are millions of magazines for heroes, money.” Hawks said

“Do you have some weird bird fetish?” you deadpanned

“NO!” HAwks said, “where would you even get that idea!”

“That was a joke.” you said “Got pretty defensive there.”

“Find something else to read here.” Hawks said tossing you a flyer about the HPSC “You are smart enough to know that having information on your enemy is key to defeating them.”

“I already read this.” you said,” Still the fact it says we strive for a healthy relationship between the public and heros' makes me wanna barf.”

“Tell me about it.” Hawks said scratching his head “You are only allowed to your quirk for good, and the only way to use your quirk to work under them in some way, so they must be good like they haven't been brainwashing kids.”

“My dad never let me watch those PSAs about them or any advertisements that had heroes,” you said

“Well, your dad is a smart man.” Hawks said, “I mean that as soon as a kid turns 15 they can go through life-threatening training so they can work under them, and that's what they expect of them.”

“Then there is the fact that your worth is based on how powerful your quirk is.” you said getting up and walking over “and if you don't have a strong quirk you are seen as worthless.”

“Haha, we could go all night saying how horrible they are.” HAwks said giving you two quick taps on the head before stepping out “I’ll be back with some grub.”

“Okay I'll stay here,” you said and waved him off, maybe there was a more personal reason why Hawks hated them, still if he wasn't going to tell you then that was his right, still you thought at least now you wouldn't be bored, but being cooped up in a small room, wasn't exactly who you thought life on the run with a dangerous villain would be.

When Hawks came back with the food you happily indulge in as he smacked the top of an old tv, to get a signal.

“There has been an attempted break-in at U.A, the alarm system went off but there no report of suspense activity-” The reporter was saying before a scruffy looking teacher pushed the camera out of the way

“Go home.”

“Hey you can't just touch property like that, hey what are-” and it was cut off

“Gross.” Hawks said, “You know I can’t Believe they have schools for this.”

“Seems a bit excessive.” you said “you know before heroes came into view it was just the cops, can you imagine if people viewed cops and law enforcement the way they view heroes now,” you said

“I can.” Hawks said spreading his wings out “I don't like them having kids fresh out of MIddle school do training.”

“Well technically they choose this school, but on the other hand it has been installed in them to be a hero from a young age, you have seen all the toys marketed towards them, HPSC is more like a moneymaker, is that why you hate them?”

“Part of the reason, yeah.” Hawks said stealing a bite from your plate “Another part is personal, and I'm assuming it's personal for you as well.”

You looked down at your thumb and sighed “It is now, however, there is another part but it's long been forgotten to me.”

“Aww come on you can tell me.” Hawks said

“Hmmm.” you tapped your chin “well I guess there is no harm in telling you, but my mother was actually a hero but died soon after I was born.”

“Huh like during birth?” Hawks asked, you shook your head

“No, you see she had been out of commission for a while, with the whole baby thing, they were against her having me in the first place, but my mom wanted a family, so they had me and they wanted my mom to make this big come back, but she was hasn't been active for so long she died in the long of duty.”

“I can't begin to imagine the pain of knowing that.” Hawks said

“Well I never knew her, and my dad did everything he could to make me happy growing up, he explained it to me in middle school.”

“Well, you know anything about her?” Hawks asked

“My dad showed me a photo and said I'm the spitting image of her, and i got her quirk but mixed with my dads,” you said

“What's your dads' quirk?”

“Oh he is able to eject a tungsten-like material from his wrist.” you said, “my moms' talons couldn't retreat back in like mine and could chip easier.”

“Wait a second...you are the daughter of the clawed hero?” Hawks said

“That was her code name, why do you ask?” you said

“Oh, I've done research on all the past heroes who died in the line of duty.” Hawks said, “Most of the time it's, they died for the greater good, or they gave their lives for others.”

“That's adding insult to injury to their families.” You said, “Hawks, have you ever killed a hero?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call them heroes, have I killed people who got their hero listens, yes.” Hawks said, “Caught them doing something illegal, when I brought it up they said I was the villain and they were going to capture me.”

“So what exactly is your end goal here?” you asked as you finished up your meal

“To end the HPSC and their crooked practices, like abducting people and ripping their nails off.” Hawks said, “They have a firm grip on the narrative of everything, I'll get it done.” “Well can't wait to see it, it should be interesting,” you said

[brywrites]

Partners in Crime

A/N: This is one of the earliest Reid x Reader stories I wrote and never published, and I figured, why not? Reid and the Reader often go undercover as a couple to bait an unsub, and this time things don’t quite go as planned.  CW: for non-consensual behavior, mild physical abuse, reference to rape

-

It’s always the two of them. She figures it’s because they’re so close in age, and such good friends. After months of working together, and plenty of free time spent hanging out, the chemistry comes naturally. Whenever there’s a case involving couples, and the profile alone isn’t enough, she and Reid end up masquerading as boyfriend and girlfriend, husband and wife, all varieties of people madly in love with each other. Sometimes it’s enough to just lure out an unsub, twice they’ve been kidnapped, but never for long. They do good work together. Garcia has even taking to calling them Partners in Crime, or The Dream Team.

Deep down she knows it’s not just her profiling abilities or friendship with Spencer that allows her to play the part so well. That chemistry has become absolutely natural, too much so. Long after the game is done, she finds herself stealing glances at him, staying up late at night wondering what it would be like to really be in love with him. It’s an impossible dream. Reid is brilliant, handsome, and her co-worker. Strictly off limits. And yet those fantasies continue with every smile he gives her, and a part of her hopes that maybe, maybe…

“Baltimore PD have requested our help with a serial killer,” Hotch announces in the conference room. “Over the last six months, six people have kidnapped and murdered. There’s evidence of torture and sexual sadism, though preliminary ME reports don’t indicate any sign of rape.”

“Why would they think it’s consensual?” JJ asks, skeptical. They’ve encountered incompetent medical examiners before.

“Because of the victims he chooses,” the unit chief says, nodding at Garcia to move to the next slide. Six photos pop up on screen, in groups of two. “Jeremy and Renee Lagher, Tyrone and Nina Davenport, and Louisa and Ryan Sheffield.”

From across the room, Y/N catches Reid’s eye, the two of them realizing where this is likely headed. “He’s using married couples,” Rossi observes. “Is there any indication to how he finds his victims?”

“Social networking,” Garcia chimes in. The internet has made it all too easy for predators to hunt. Oversharing can be fatal. “The couples all used Instagram, had no privacy settings, and shared photos that made it clear they were married. Their last posts were just before they went missing, and all of them used the location feature to check-in at a local restaurant.” The team throws out ideas and questions, possibilities about how he finds them and why he chooses them. It seems to be the general consensus that he must stake out the restaurant, and wait for the couple to leave after dinner.

Y/N is distracted through the discussion, unable to ignore the feeling that there’s something Hotch is keeping from them. Sure enough, the chief has one last thing to add before they get ready to head out. “Given the lack of evidence and how this unsub targets his victims, I’ve spoken with the Baltimore PD and we’ve come to the conclusion that the best way to find him is bait him. Reid, Y/L/N, are you up for this?”

The question is less of a request, more rhetorical in nature. What choice do they have? It’s their job to hunt down criminals, no matter what it takes to find them. And so they agree. On the plane, once the briefing is complete, the go about preparing for the undercover work. Garcia has worked some Photoshop magic, pulling stock photos and personal pictures alike to create two different accounts for Spencer and Y/N Fitzgerald. Over time they’ve gotten into the habit of choosing last names inspired by famous literary and scientific couples. Scrolling through the one created for her, she tries to memorize the details. They’ve been married for two years, they live just west of Baltimore in a studio apartment, they have a cat. She is a librarian, he’s a high school chemistry teacher.

Since no other couples have been reported missing, the police want them to get to work as soon as possible. That evening, she slips on a black dress and a pair of heels, her hair and makeup done much nicer than she would typically take the time for. If this is going to work, she needs to look the part. Reid is waiting for her in the lobby of their hotel, wearing a simple suit and a smile that widens at the sight of her. “You look beautiful,” he tells her.

“Thanks.” She can feel herself blushing, and reminds herself that this is all a part of the game, of the job. None of this is real. Still, when he holds out his hand for her to take, she can’t push back the happiness that bursts in her chest. They walk the few blocks to the restaurant that way, close enough that their shoulders touch. Once he’s put in a reservation, they stand in the dim light of the waiting area to take a photo. Reid wraps his arm around her, holding her close to his side. At the last second, he presses a kiss to her temple just as she snaps a photo on her phone.

“How was that?” he asks. Too good, she thinks. In the picture they look just like a couple, very much in love. It’s soon posted to Instagram, documented along with the rest of their fake relationship. She adds their location just as a waiter comes to whisk them away to a table. Dinner is wonderful, filled with long gazes and laughter and moments where his knee will bump hers, or her fingers will rest over his hand just a little too long. This is just a show, just in case the unsub is lying in wait somewhere inside. It’s a damn good performance, more convincing than it needs to be. Does she really need to look at him that way? Does he really need to give her that devastating grin? They steal all these small moments for themselves, lingering in a soft state of bliss.

It’s only temporary, and soon enough they’re on their way out the door once more. “I’m surprised you weren’t able to meet with your friend,” he says, trying to sound casual. Every so often his eyes dart along the sidewalk, trying to check their surroundings without making it obvious he’s looking.

“Me too, but I suppose plans can always change.”

Reid starts to respond, but the words never come. Instead, a hand clamps over her mouth, and something cold presses hard against her head. Metal, round. The barrel of a gun. “Do what I say,” a voice growls. “Or she dies.” Neither of them are armed, and he has no choice but to comply. A man in a ski mask leads them to a dark colored sedan, yanking open the door of the backseat. Before shoving them inside, he reaches into the pocket of Reid’s suit jacket to extract his cell phone. The device, along with her purse, is tossed onto the sidewalk, leaving them no way to contact the team as the car speeds away.

-

It’s hard to say for sure how much time has passed since they’ve arrived in the dingy cellar. Hours at least, though not a whole day. The room is dirty and cold, and Reid insists on giving her his jacket. He holds her hand still, and that small amount of physical contact is a silent promise between them that everything is going to be okay. They haven’t heard from their captor since the abduction. Does the team know they’re missing? Is Garcia trying to track them down? What’s going to happen to them?

The metal door swings open, and the man enters. His mask is gone, revealing a middle-aged white man. He is balding with a cruel sneer and empty eyes. One hand holds a gun, the other a bag surely full of the tools he tortures his victims with. Their profile was spot on. “Here’s how this is going to go,” he says. “I’m going to give you instructions. You will comply exactly. If you refuse, or mess up, I’ll kill you. If you try to escape, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?” They both nod. “Good. Kiss your husband, Mrs. Fitzgerald.”

“How do you know our name?” Reid demands, though they already know the answer. It’s like chess, all about making the right moves.

“No questions,” the man growls. “Do as I say.” Tentatively, Y/N stands on her toes to close the distance between them, kissing him gently. Chaste, soft, nothing that requires too much of either of them. But that isn’t good enough for their abductor. “Do it like you mean it.”

So she kisses him harder, deeper. If she closes her eyes, it’s easy to pretend that they aren’t here at gunpoint, that it’s just the two of them, that this kiss really does mean something. That this is the moment she’s been imagining a thousand times. He returns it, his hands settling on the small of her back in order to pull her closer. “Now, hit her.” At the sound of the bald man’s voice, Reid freezes, then pulls away. An apology is written on his face, and she braces herself for the slap that stings her cheek and sends her stumbling backwards a few steps. This isn’t going to be a romantic fantasy, apparently.

“Take off her dress, Mr. Fitzgerald.” On his tongue, their names are taunts and not identifiers.

Reid hesitates, but she gives him the slightest of nods. If they’re going to get out of this, they have to play along. It’s their only hope of staying alive long enough for the team to find them. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. His hands reach up her back, unzipping her dress in one fluid motion before easing it down her body. The black fabric falls in a pile at her feet, and she shivers. Standing in only her bra and underwear, the air is colder on her skin now, but it’s terribly unnerving for him to see her so exposed like this.

It isn’t supposed to be like this. This isn’t supposed to be the first time he kisses her or sees her undress. This isn’t the fantasy she replays on the jet each time they close a case and stop pretending to be a couple.

“Touch her,” the man commands, pointing at her chest. This is easily the most humiliating experience they’ve been put through since Hotch first started pairing them up for assignments like this, and it’s quickly devolving into the most humiliating thing they’ve been through, period. Any chance she has hoped for at some future relationship is dashed away. After something like this, how will they ever be able to look at each other the same way?

She sends a silent prayer to the team to find them soon, then meets Reid’s eyes. “It’s okay,” she says quietly. “Spencer, it’s okay.”

The pained look on his face cuts her deep. Is he repulsed by the situation? Or by her? She tries to keep as still as she can, tense under the scrutiny of the bald man. Reid’s hand covers her breast and she oscillates between trying to pretend she’s not in this body, and trying to pretend that she is but it’s just the two of them here. Every so often they are directed in new ways, as if this is just a play and they’ve become actors in some sort of twisted production. It’s quite possible this is reminiscent of an event that occurred in the unsub’s life at some point. Reid is instructed to nibble her ear, she to grope at his backside. Every so often an interruption demanding a hit or a punch. His commands become increasingly more rough, Y/N receiving most of the abuse while Reid tries to be as careful as he can with her, touching her gently, trying to make it look like a slap is harder than it is.

“Remove her bra, then take off your pants.” No no no no no. She knows where this is going. She knows how this scene is supposed to end. They both balk for a brief moment, until the click of the gun cocking jolts them back to their senses.

Reid is shaking his head, but she squeezes his hand. He can feel how badly she’s trembling. This isn’t pleasant for either of them, but her voice is firm. “Do what he says. Just do what he says Spencer. We’re going to get out of here.”

Just as he reaches towards her, there’s a loud bang from somewhere beyond the open door. “Ronald Horton, FBI!” Morgan’s voice echoes down to them. As the man – Horton – turns away to see what’s happening, Y/N bends down to pull her dress back on, Reid pulling his jacket back over her shoulders so she won’t have to waste time fiddling with the zipper. She’s grateful that he’s looking out for her, trying to save her any embarrassment. It’s hard to recall if she has ever been more relieved to see her team storming down a flight of stairs.

Hotch and Morgan drag Horton away in handcuffs, and Rossi turns to the couple who stand together, visibly shaken by the turn of events. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“It is now,” Y/N sighs.

-

Ronald Horton is violent sociopath whose marriage broke apart two months before the killings began. Oddly enough, his ex-wife was the more dominant one in the relationship. To keep up appearances, he relented to her physicality, though didn’t spare her the emotional abuse he was so apt at causing. The murders were a fantasy of his, using surrogates the enact the revenge he never had the chance to. He is booked downtown, and after a long day all of the agents are relieved when Hotch informs them they’ll be staying in Baltimore one more night to catch up on sleep.

She tosses and turns in her bed. Her mind races through everything that happened, and everything that could’ve. If the team hadn’t arrived then, what was he going to force them to do? How far would they have to go? She tries to untangle the violation, the awfulness of it, from the fact that the romantic actions were things she had wanted from Reid. But not like that. Never like that.

Her skin doesn’t feel like her own. She still feels exposed, wrapped under two blankets. She wants to forget it, but she doesn’t want to forget him.  

There is a knock on the door late that night. At this hotel, sets of two rooms are connected by a door in the wall, and she knows who is on the other side before she opens it. “Hi,” Reid says softly. “Did I wake you up?”

“Not at all,” she replies. “I couldn’t sleep.” She motions for him to come in, and he does so somewhat reluctantly.

“Um, listen, Y/L/N, I just wanted to apologize for everything that happened before. That must’ve been… uncomfortable for you, and I’m really sorry.” His pause makes it clear that uncomfortable is an understatement, but neither of them knows what word to place there.

She tries to brush it off. “It’s fine, Reid. Really, it is. This isn’t the first time we’ve done something like this.” It is however, the first time they’ve had to be quite so physical with each other. There’s no reason for him to come apologizing though, it wasn’t his fault. The blame belongs solely to Ronald Horton.

“It’s not fine, though. What happened wasn’t okay. And I am so sorry for hurting you.”

“I had to hurt you too,” she says. Not as much. But neither of them were able to consent to what was done to them.

“I just… I feel bad.” He sighs and looks down at the floor. Conversation between them has never felt so strained. “Doing this, it’s embarrassing,” Reid mumbles.

The awkwardness she feels turns to anger, to hurt. Perhaps it was her that he had a problem with before, not the situation itself. After months of friendship, the idea of being with her is somehow abhorrent to him, and when she likes him so much, that knowledge is like a punch to the face. “If you’re so embarrassed by me, maybe you should stop agreeing to go undercover with me,” she retorts, starting to storm away from him. She’s too tired to deal with this.

“Y/L/N!” he cries. When she doesn’t stop, a strong hand grabs her wrist, pulling her back. “Y/N. Please, wait. That’s not what I meant. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s me. You always have to pair up with me, and I don’t want to embarrass you. I’m sorry I-” He’s cut off by her mouth on his, kissing him hard. Like she means it. Because she does.

“That’s how you think I feel about you?” she gasps, when he pulls away. “Why do you think it’s so easy for me to pretend? Why do you think I never complain about the assignment? I like being with you. And I really like you.”

“You do?” Positively astonished, he is.

“Spencer, I love you. God, I love you so much. How can you not see that? If anything, you should be the one embarrassed by me.” He’s so smart, so good-looking.

“That would be impossible,” he says. Reid takes her hands in his, taking half a step towards her. He’s so tall, looming over practically, but his eyes are kind. Then he leans down to kiss her again. The depth of it surprises her, when he slips his tongue into her mouth. In response she bites his bottom lip gently, enticing a sigh from him.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

“I want to feel like I have a choice again in who touches me and how,” she answers. “And I want it to be you.”

It occurs to her they could be moving too fast, but when he moves his hands to her hips and she tangles her fingers in his hair, she decides she doesn’t care. After all, they’ve been dating for months. Fake-dating albeit, but every lie has a bit of the truth in it. And besides, it just feels too good to stop.

“I don’t think it’s quite fair,” she manages to find the air to say, “that you’ve seen me undress, but I haven’t seen you.” Her words give him pause, and Y/N reaches up to loosen his tie, pulling it away before starting on his shirt. The row of buttons is slowly undone, slower than is necessary. She wants to savor this, steadily revealing more of him as she goes. Reid shrugs out of his shirt, and she trails a hand down his torso, his skin warm beneath her fingertips. Feeling a little bolder, she places her lips on his neck, working her way down to his collarbone. Every soft moan spurs her on, until he captures her lips once more. It’s so good to finally touch him this way, to be touched by him. No instructions or unsubs or commands here. There’s only a warm room, dim light, and movements making up for lost time.

He’s pressed so close to her, close enough that she can feel him, hard against her. This has been so long in the making, she’s not surprised it doesn’t take long before he’s aroused. Especially not after all of the early physical stimulation between them. She’s feeling quite excited herself, the room too warm, her heart beating too fast, falling faster than she can keep up with. This man before her is like no one she’s ever met before, and she can’t remember loving someone as much as him. Needing someone as much as him. Reid’s hands slide up her sides until they find hold on the zipper of her dress. “Let’s get you out of that dress,” he murmurs.

This is how it was always supposed to be. Nothing about this is rough or difficult. In this hotel room, he is incredibly gentle with her, though his previous hesitation is gone. He knows what he wants now, they both do, and they’ve both given permission for it to happen. In a way, it’s like they are reclaiming every gesture they were forced to perform. These touches, theses feelings don’t belong to Ronald Horton. They belong to the two of them, tangled up together as they slowly explore the geography of the body. The fear is gone, wholly absent from their frantic exchanges. Love, desire, need, fills the place of that uncertainty and awkwardness.

He hurries to undo his belt, step out of his trousers. Taking full advantage of the opportunity, she teases the bulge in his boxers as he continues to find new places on her skin to place his lips, his tongue, his teeth. She tries to bite back a groan, knowing that walls are never quite as thick as they appear. Eventually she pulls him down the bed with her, and it takes only seconds before there’s no layers left between them. Just him, just her, just now.

It is even better than she’d imagined it would be. Spencer proves that he excels in every endeavor, this being no exception to the rule. It’s beautiful, the way he looks at her. How she wishes she had his eidetic memory, so as not to forget a single sensation. And when she calls out his name, when he answers with her own, nothing in the world has ever sounded so right. It seems over too soon, but they find themselves both breathless between the sheets, utterly delirious with joy. His hair is messier than usual, her face is flushed, but neither can stop staring at the other. Like stars in the night sky, it’s so hard to look away from something so wonderful.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he tells her. “I have been since the day it snowed in October, and you started a snowball fight with me on our way out of the office.”

“You lost horribly,” she says, laughing at the memory. Reid had been stunned by the unseasonably cold weather, and after hearing that he’d never had snow days growing up in Vegas, she promptly lobbed a snowball at his back. The ensuing war had been short, marked by short ceasefires so she could attempt to demonstrate proper snow packing techniques. As a term of surrender, he’d bought her hot chocolate, and the day was among her favorite memories of their friendship. This night would certainly have its own place in the rankings.

Spencer simply brushes her hair back, smiling at her. “I think I won, in the end.”

“Isn’t this technically against the rules?” she asks, thinking she should’ve read those fraternization policies a bit more closely.

“Mmm, probably. I suppose that makes us… what is it Garcia always calls us?”

“Partners in crime,” Y/N laughs. “I never thought that would be so true.” It’s absolutely worth it, she decides, because, “I love you, too.”

-

At breakfast the next day, Spencer seems visibly happier, and she can’t help but feel delighted at well. Once or twice she swears she catches Morgan looking at them funny, but she brushes it off. The older agent walks over to Reid and whispers something to him that makes their resident genius turn as pink as a pair of Garcia’s heels. Y/N is hoping things are still okay, until Morgan catches her on her way out the SUVs.

“Congratulations on finally breaking all that sexual tension. I thought you two were never going to get a clue. But hey, I guess life imitates art?” She’s tempted to slap the smirk off his face, but then Derek adds, “Thin walls, Y/L/N. But don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

[omegawizardposting]

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: our generations are terminally online, and it is absolutely, without a fucking shadow of a doubt, ruining them.

How do I know?

Because I’ve been terminally online for almost a decade.

There were good parts about getting involved in online communities, sure: I finally felt that I could be myself, without fear of transphobic violence or rejection; I learned a lot about my own people, and people from other walks of life; my world grew beyond the confines of my hometown.

I also, almost immediately, became an anti-SJW due to my conservative upbringing. I internalized a lot of transphobia, homophobia, and toxic behaviors. Being an anti-SJW very nearly turned me into my narcissistic mother, who has emotionally abused me my entire life, and I am still recovering from it.

It has taken me years to feel as comfortable with myself as I did in the first few months of coming out online, before The Discourse got to me.

The only problem is that now everybody else is terminally online too, and they have hurt me. They have put me down, harassed me, told me I deserved the sexual abuse I experienced, told me I should have experienced more, vilified my identity, destroyed my confidence, put so much anger and fear and grief into me that I cannot believe I’m still alive.

Some really fucked up shit has happened to me, but none of it over such a prolonged period of time, none of it so lasting, so permanent than what I’ve experienced on the Internet, at the hands of people who have replaced their empathy with lines of code.

It is so, so easy for young people to fall into some of the nastiest rabbit holes the Internet has to offer. I know; I was trapped in one for a long time, and I’ve been the repeated victim of those who are trapped in others.

Sex-negative, anti-kink, Puritan rhetoric rebranded for the modern teen; don’t show your ankles, someone might get off on that. Everything’s a sex act, and you must be punished. Your thoughts are crimes, and you must be punished. Your pain is not valid, and you must be punished.

You must be punished.

I’m twenty-eight. I’ll be getting a job soon. I’ll be out in the real world again for the first time in eight years. It’s terrifying. I’m exhausted, an anxious mess just thinking about it.

But the mere prospect of not having the time to give a fuck about whatever inane bullshit twitter is spouting today is such a good one. It’s freeing. It’s a relief.

I’m going to be talking to normal people, who don’t care about whether or not age gaps between fictional adults are problematic, who don’t care about someone’s SO liking feet, who, if I told them about the bone-stealing witch, would think I was crazy, because I am, I am, I’ve been crazy for so. fucking. long.

I don’t want anyone to ever feel like this ever again.

[frosteee]

Undertaker & Ciel’s Relationship (so far)

I’ve mentioned before in previous posts, and other people in the fandom have talked about it also (way before me, so I’m tagging on lol) that UT doesn’t see the Phantomhive twins as individuals, but simply members of the Phantomhive family. 

That got me thinking about how UT has treated O!Ciel so far, leaving R!Ciel to the side for now. 

Talking with @frederickabberline​ got me to realise that, aside from maybe one or two exceptions, UT refers to everybody by some title or other, usually their job (e.g.: ‘Mr Butler’ for Sebastian, ‘Earl’ for O!Ciel). And when he does refer to someone by name, which is exclusively or pretty much exclusively the Phantomhives, he always attaches that last name. 

For example, most recently, when addressing Frances, even though she married out of the Phantomhive family and became a Midford, UT still addresses her as ‘Lady Frances Phantomhive‘. It’s as if the man is incapable, or unwilling, to personally recognise anyone who is not a Phantomhive.

In our discussion, frederickabberline mentioned that this detachment could be a deliberate/subconscious act for UT to protect himself from further heartache. His glee at other’s expense, leading to very, very problematic comments, could also be an extension of this. Still not excusable, but it’s an explanation.

So, how has this mindset affected his relationship with O!Ciel so far?

The Phantomhives are interchangeable to him (AKA The Amorphous Blob of Phantomhives)

On the surface this can be seen as a good thing. After all, to favour one twin over the other for x reason, as Lizzie acknowledges to herself, is inherently selfish and unfair to the other person, no matter how much of an honest or natural feeling it is.

UT does not have such a preference. When he meets O!Ciel in the Chapter 131 flashback, he calls him ‘Little Phantomhive’ and cannot tell whether he is the younger or elder brother, before stating that he doesn’t care which, not because he likes them equally but because they are Phantomhives.

As far as he is concerned, the twins are mere parts in the amorphous, ever-growing Phantomhive blob. They have no identity outside of being Phantomhives, the same as Frances. He had no special bond with either twin because the only connection between them and himself that mattered was their family name.

If UT was interested in getting to know either twin as a person, like the opportunity he had in the Ch.131 flashback, he would have attempted to seriously differentiate the two. 

While he does ask which twin O!Ciel is, he does it as a rhetorical question, a joke, and then immediately follows it by dismissing the question altogether as he has already decided it doesn’t matter.

More unsettlingly, it appears UT is so disinterested in the development (physical and otherwise) of the individual Phantomhives, that to his eyes they are unchanging. Though UT does remark on O!Ciel’s small stature a few times, this is spoken like/treated as a joke more than an observation from interest.

[There are very rare exceptions to this, but I’ll get into those later.]

This is shown when he responds to Frances commenting on his lack of visible aging by stating that she still looks as if she was ‘born yesterday’.

Even Vincent, whose death UT has lamented the most openly, even shedding tears, is not exempt from this treatment at all. He is no less ‘a Phantomhive anyway’ than his children/relatives, I realised (thanks to frederickabberline again!). 

Yes, UT regrets his death, but whenever he has brought it up it is always in the context that he can no longer revive him because his bones were burned to ash. (x and x). He never says anything like ‘He was a dear friend, how could I have failed him’, ‘He was a good man, why was he given such a death?’, ‘We had such good times together,’ - something to indicate an attachment to Vincent as a person.

And then, immediately following his lament, UT once more depersonalises Vincent, just like he did the twins, by stating that at least “the ‘Earl of Phantomhive’ is still with us”. It always comes back to that, as if it’s the only thing keeping him from wallowing in grief for those individuals.

As long as one Phantomhive is alive, he can deal with/suppress/channel his grief of personal losses into a goal which will keep him from losing more, and dwelling on what he has already lost.

Even when he comments on how much he dislikes the Phantomhive Watchdog work, while he mentions O!Ciel he talks about the ‘karma’ or ‘fate’ than hangs over every Phantomhive, the things every Phantomhive Watchdog deals with. 

As we hear later, he is resentful of the path the Phantomhives walk, their inability to rid themselves of it (by listening to him/heeding his warnings), and the Watchdog life in general, so he doesn’t care about the effects on Ciel, but the effects the ‘chain of fate’ has on the Phantomhive family and their legacy.

This more recently extends to his statement of ‘I didn’t want to lose anymore Phantomhives’, which is as blatant an explanation as you like. It confirms where his mind has focused all this time.

UT regularly teases/dismisses Ciel regarding the trauma of his past.

@frederickabberline​ kindly shared with me the moment where UT describes the ‘proper’ method of killing that Jack the Ripper probably used, to O!Ciel, using O!Ciel as a prop - even though he had a human dummy to use for this purpose.

He may as well have whispered “I know what you did three years ago!”. He’s even gesturing to the boy’s abdomen/stomach area with his ring hand! With his phrasing, and the Japanese text confirms that he literally refers to “steal[ing] the precious thing”, he echoes R!Ciel’s ‘Who stole the candy from my tummy?’ message. 

Oh yeah, and he does this while knowingly allowing O!Ciel to sit on the coffin with his dead/bizarre doll twin inside!

Thankfully, O!Ciel doesn’t catch on, but Jesus Christ, UT!

If UT truly cared about O!Ciel’s emotional well-being, just cared about him as an individual, why would he reference one of the most painful moments of O!Ciel’s life in such a sneaky, tactless manner, even if he knew he could get away with it here?

He does it again in Ch. 24, where UT doesn’t even hide what he’s talking about under the context of a different subject, like he did in his first appearance. Here, after remarking that dead children are commonplace in the underworld, he directly tells O!Ciel “The Earl knows that very well, doesn’t he?”.

JESUS CHRIST, UT!

He doesn’t consider O!Ciel’s feelings at all. He cares about his own amusement at O!Ciel’s expense, which extends to basically anyone else. But O!Ciel is a Phantomhive, part of the family UT is so concerned with/attached to he is literally trying to overturn the law of death for them to continue living.

But as I outlined earlier, UT does not care about any of the Phantomhives, at least the ones currently living and the previous Earl beyond the fact that they are Phantomhives. 

Therefore, he does not consider O!Ciel’s trauma, or care to know about it. He didn’t care to know how he was different from his twin, they were all  the same to him, so why would he care now?

Even if we consider that this black/gallows humour is UT’s personal way of coping, anyone with an ounce of tact would still not do this in front of others who they know such humour will hurt. Maybe UT has too many screws loose to care, or he is so detached he simply does not have room for it in his head.

UT does advise O!Ciel to take care of his soul, as he only has one - which considering his history with R!Ciel (who is still chilling in the zero gravity float spa coffin in the room somewhere), makes sense. But he’s still speaking to O!Ciel as a Phantomhive.

While UT is very well aware of O!Ciel’s contract to Seb the demon, and aware of the danger O!Ciel has placed his soul in, he later contextualises this as the result of O!Ciel holding the same ‘great power’ as his ancestors, which leads to them forgetting the importance of their lives/their souls.

So again, it’s about the Phantomhives as a whole, and how O!Ciel is repeating the same mistakes as his ancestors. He isn’t concerned with O!Ciel’s feelings here, even though he is clearly re-living that traumatic event front the past.

The final, and most damning, is UT’s attitude towards O!Ciel when the existence of R!Ciel is revealed. He reacts to O!Ciel’s obvious disgust, grief and terror with a shrug and exasperated “What? How can you not like this? Does it really matter if he’s alive or dead?”

UT is so detached from O!Ciel as a person, and detached/disinterested in general from human feelings beyond his own - consciously or otherwise - that he cannot fathom how the twin of the zombie twin he brought back might have an issue with what UT did.

UT is projecting, I think, his own feelings/expectations onto O!Ciel in this scene. Easy to do, because he had detached himself from the boy personally. If UT were in O!Ciel’s shoes, he would be delighted, because at this point that it does not matter to UT in what form such and such returns, human or bizarre doll, just so long as they do, and that it will be as if they never died.

And this comes before the revelation that R!Ciel’s dead body was ‘watching’ him the whole time!

Again, it’s unclear whether UT is simply bonkers and doesn’t care anymore or if he’s genuinely unable to focus on anything other than his end goal to acknowledge how messed up it is and how it’s hurting O!Ciel.

Exceptions to the rule

So far, I can point to two incidents that deviate from the usual detached manner in which UT deals/relates to O!Ciel.

The first comes in the Campania arc when UT entrusts his treasured funeral lockets to O!Ciel. Ch.64.

The look UT gives O!Ciel is important, and it is the first of two key moments which could lead to their relationship changing perhaps for the better. He looks surprised, shocked, and the light/roundness/look in Ciel’s eyes give him a more innocent, childish look. 

The close up between them indicate that they are really looking at one another. Or, if this is purely UT’s POV, he is really looking at O!Ciel.

I couldn’t swear to it, but this could indicate that finally, UT is seeing O!Ciel as a little boy, not merely an extension to the Phantomhive legacy, and that this reassures him enough to entrust his most treasured possessions - the last remaining pieces of the people he cherished - to O!Ciel. 

This, and his expression as he tells O!Ciel that the item is his treasure, is the first time UT shares anything personal with O!Ciel, and they share a connection for a moment, after so many years - many more for UT - of being detached/distant from one another.

The second time comes exactly twenty chapters later (may not be relevant, but I just noticed that) in the Weston Arc, where UT remarks how O!Ciel is different from his ancestors for saving Harcourt in from the rampaging bizarre dolls instead of just himself, as his predecessors would have done.

This is the first time UT acknowledges something about O!Ciel’s personality that makes him himself, and not merely an extension of the Phantomhive family or another Phantomhive making the same old mistakes on the same old path. UT seems pleased to see this.

Of course, these incidents happen before the whole ‘Hihi, your dead brother’s corpse was by your side this whole time, Earl!/’Your dead brother is a zombie, why aren’t you happy?’ event, in which he describes the twins as ‘mirrors of each other’, which harkens back to his inability/disinterest to tell the twins apart and all the issues that come with it.

UT himself

It’s difficult to say at this point whether UT is aware that how he is acting/what he is doing is wrong. If he knows that how he is treating/has treated O!Ciel is not the way the child of the family he cares for so much should be treated, and whether he justifies this in his own head (’ends justify the means’ type thing) or whether he is too insane to care anymore.

He does not deny to Othello that he has a few screws loose, so there’s that at least as far as self-awareness goes. He has likely been severely traumatised by the losses he suffered in the past, and whatever else we can theorise about his reaper past, and has done all he can to prevent more - event to the point of alienating and depersonalising the members of the same family he once deeply loved.

Whatever the case, I think enough groundwork has been laid for there to be a conflict later down the road on this point, focusing squarely on how he has viewed the Phantomhive family members for some time, the twins included. 

Conclusion 

While he has remained largely detached from O!Ciel and only interacted insofar as it suits his goals and his obsession, there have been moments where UT and O!Ciel have shared a personal connection where UT was forced to see O!Ciel as an individual. An individual deserving of more attention and care - PROPER attention and care - than UT has been willing to give in a long time because he has been so focused on his own goals and his own wishes for the Phantomhives.

He may for the first time actually start to consider what is truly best for the twins, instead of simply what he wants.

How he responds to this conflict within him between a newfound personal care for O!Ciel and the goal he has been working so ruthlessly towards for years is definitely interesting to think about.

It could completely throw off-balance how he has thought/operated for so long, and bring back painful memories and force him to confront ugly things about himself that he has either been too blind/mad or single-minded to acknowledge. 

He might question a lot of things he’s done, his current plan even, and maybe consider working with O!Ciel and allies rather than separately from them, as he has always done. He might realise that his detachment, disinterest, and depersonalisation are flaws rather than self-protection, that do more harm than good, and realise he needs to change.

Funny, when he goes on so much about how little the Phantomhives change and how it always comes back to bite them - UT is guilty of the same, in his own way!

Anyway, I’m sure his and O!Ciel’s dynamic and relationship will change, possibly quite dramatically, soon! 

What do you guys think?