#windows 11 leak

[incorrectbatfam]

It's movie night but they can't use the home cinema, what do they do?

[week 1]

Bruce: Thanks for letting us use your place for movie night while we fix that leak at home.

Dick: No problem. Besides, I have plenty of snacks and the director's cut of Dumbo.

Everyone: *gathers around*

Dick: *puts on the movie*

~ 10 minutes in ~

*beep* *beep* *beep* *beep*

Tim: My crime alert's going off.

Harper: Mine too.

Duke: Must be big.

Bruce: Suit up and rendezvous in three.

Dick: *sighs and pauses the movie*

Dick: Can't get one night in this damn city.

———————

[week 2]

Tim: Steph, why are we at a karaoke lounge?

Steph: I know the owner's cousin's hairdresser's dog walker's sister's girlfriend and I convinced them to let us use the party room. Don't worry, it's just like a TV screen.

Steph: *puts on Pitch Perfect*

Steph: Ooh, I love this part.

Steph: *grabs a mic and starts singing*

Everyone:

Damian: *stuffs napkins in his ears*

———————

[week 3]

Jason: Since we decided on Pride and Prejudice, I thought I could play it at my safehouse.

Dick: Sweet, thanks!

Jason: *unlocks the door*

Dick: *tries to step in*

Jason: *stops him*

Jason: I said I could play it. I never said you could come in. I don't want your you-ness all over my new stuff.

Bruce: Jason, be reasonable.

Harper: Yeah, you got this junk off the side of the road.

Jason: My junk, my rules.

Tim: Then what are we supposed to do?

Jason: Fire escape's around the back. You'll get a decent glance.

~ 20 minutes later ~

Dick: *leans his head in to hear better*

Jason: My air, my rules.

Jason: *closes the window*

———————

[week 4]

Bruce: Cass, it's your turn. Got the movie?

Cass: *nods and plays Rambo on her computer*

Barbara: Uh, why isn't there any sound?

Cass: Volume button broke. Just read lips.

Jason: Kinda hard to do that with the brightness at zero. Did that stop working too?

Duke: Looks fine to me.

Jason: Shut up, Flashlight.

———————

[week 5]

Tim: I brought my entire Star Wars collection.

Bruce, dodging a space laser: Not the time.

Tim: Okay.

Bruce: *punches an alien robot*

Tim: How about now?

———————

[week 6]

Barbara: Sorry I got a cold, but at least we can still have movie night on Zoom. I torrented a copy of The Matrix.

Barbara: *shares her screen*

*movie plays*

Barbara: *leaves herself unmuted*

Barbara: *starts crinkling Sun Chips*

———————

[week 7]

Everyone: *crowd around Damian's phone watching My Neighbor Totoro*

Bette: Why is your phone so small?

Damian: I have tiny hands.

———————

[week 8]

Harper: Because we're watching Cars this week, I thought I could put together an all-immersive experience.

Bruce: BY LOCKING US IN A RUNAWAY SEMI-TRUCK?!?

———————

[week 9]

Duke: I called this company and since we're heroes, they're letting us use their electronic billboard for this week's movie at a huge discount. Kill Bill should be coming on right about...

*movie starts playing*

Jason: Not bad, Narrows.

*billboard switches to an ad*

———————

[week 10]

Carrie: Since Steamboat Willie is now public domain, I thought we could do something different tonight.

Carrie: *pulls out a flipbook*

———————

[week 11]

Everyone: *watching Love, Simon in a dark living room*

*lights flick on*

Apollo and Midnighter: *standing there in date night outfits*

Steph: Um, Cullen, who are these guys?

Cullen: *laughs nervously*

Cullen: Everyone, meet Apollo and Midnighter. They're kinda-sorta my gay uncles and we're kinda-sorta in their apartment and I kinda-sorta didn't expect them to come back early.

Midnighter: Remind me why we gave you a spare key?

———————

[week 12]

Kate: *sets up a projector and plays Glass Onion*

Bruce: Kate, this is a crime scene.

Kate: The fun part's already done, let Gordon do cleanup this time.

———————

[week 13]

Alfred: Back in my day, we did not rely on scrupulous use of technology. Which is why I propose watching a classic Sherlock Holmes tale on a classic instrument.

Alfred: *pulls out a zoetrope*

Steph: Anyone know what that is?

Dick: Not a clue.

———————

[week 14]

Luke: Nothing like a good ol' drive-in movie. Great idea, Helena.

Helena: I know, and the Godfather is perfect for this.

*Batmobile crashes through the screen*

Steph: Sorry we're late.

Duke: I'm still figuring out the PRINDL.

———————

[week 15]

*TV playing the Aristocats*

Bruce, trying to flirt: I like what you've done with the curtains.

Selina: Thanks, but it was Snowball's after-dinner surprise.

*TV blinks off*

Tim: Hey, what gives?

Selina: *takes a chewed-up cord out of a cat's mouth*

Selina, sighing: This is why I married rich.

———————

[week 16]

Luke: May I present the ultimate Snakes On A Plane drone show!

*phone rings*

Luke: Hello? ... Yes, this is he. ... Mhm. ... Yep. ... Okay.

Luke: Never mind, the FAA says I can't.

———————

[week 17]

Everyone: *watching Legally Blonde at Bette's place*

*dogs barking*

*sirens*

*loud music*

*car honk*

*neighbors shouting*

Bette: Sorry, we have thin walls.

Bruce, shrugging: Eh, still not as bad as HOA.

———————

[week 18]

Damian: Where is movie night this time, Father?

Barbara: My money's on another crime scene.

Bruce: Actually, I rented out the theater just for us and they're playing a special edition of The Mark of Zorro. Everyone got their snacks?

Duke: Popcorn, check.

Cass: Licorice, check.

Steph: M&Ms are obviously the right answer by the way.

Dick: I got a slushee.

Jason: I got the slushee machine.

Bruce: Alright then, take your seats. The movie's about to begin.

*movie plays*

*Rogues break in, make a mess, and leave*

Bruce:

Bruce:

Bruce: I miss my parents.

[fxrmuladaydreams]

Could you do 11,19,20 (from the smut list) for Logan weekend? Thanks (if not dw boo)

send me logan blurb requests (sfw & nsfw) for logan weekend

i only did 11 & 20, i hope that’s okay 🤍

warnings: !! CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI !! bondage, thigh riding, riding

11 : tying them down as a punishment

20 : riding them

You grip his wrist under the table tightly. It was a Williams team dinner. Everyone was dressed nice, and while you had started a conversation with Lily, Logan’s hand had found it’s way to your thigh. At first you were unfazed. He did this all the time, in the car, during meals, at his house, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence.

Then his fingers started to fidget. They creeped their way to the inside of your thigh, trailing higher and higher until you grabbed his wrist. You give him a stern look, to which he gives you a proud smile.

You endure the rest of your meal with Logan trying to get a reaction out of you before dragging him back to the car. You ignored any form of conversation he’d attempted with you while driving, instead silently staring out the window.

You got out of his car as soon as he’d pulled up to your apartment, leaving him to lock the car and follow after you. Your silence was starting to male him nervous. He followed you to your room, and sat on the bed, watching as you took your jewelry off.

“Babe, are you okay? I’m sorry if I made you mad…” He looks up at you, his green eyes glazed over.

You turn to stand in front of him. You pull on his tie, tugging it off his neck, then push his jacket off over his shoulders and unbutton his shirt.

“Lay back.” You tell him.

He knows it’s a command, not an ask. He gulps as he lays further back on the bed. He feels his pants tighten when you crawl up his body and take his hands in yours.

You lift them above his head, and use his tie to tie them to the bedposts.

“Are you okay?” You ask, brushing a hand over his cheek.

“I’m okay.” He nods.

You climb back off the bed and begin to undress yourself. Logan tugs at his restraints when you reveal the lacy lingerie set you were hiding under your dress.

“It’s pretty, huh?” You ask, fiddling with the pretty bow on the bra. “You could’ve enjoyed this if you weren’t such a brat tonight.”

You can hear him whimper as he shifts his hips around.

“Aww, uncomfortable?” You coo, reaching for his pants.

You unbuckle his belt, and pull it off, then drag his pants and boxers down his legs. His cock springs free, the pink tip already leaking with cum.

“Someone’s desperate.” You slowly stroke him up and down, brushing your thumb against his tip.

“Fuck me.” He moans, thrusting his hips up.

He strong, strong enough to throw you off balance for a moment. You let go of him and get back off the bed.

“You’re not being a very good boy.” You scold him. “I think I’ll just have to play with myself tonight, and keep you there to watch.”

“No! No! No! Please! I can be good!” He begs.

You make a show out of taking the lingerie off, then walk back over to him and straddle one of his thighs. You drag yourself back and forth against him, letting out breathy moans as you feel yourself getting wetter against him.

He tenses the muscles in his thigh, attempting to help you, really looking for any form of forgiveness at this point.

“See, I don’t even need you inside me.” You tell him.

“I can make you feel good, you’ll feel so good, I promise. I promise I’ll be good.” The words fall out of Logan’s mouth.

You lick a stripe down your hand, then wrap it around him, stroking it to the rhythm you’re rocking against him.

“You look so pretty all tied up for me.” You watch as his head tilts back, his eyes squeezed shut.

You lift yourself up from his thigh, causing him to whine. He looks up at you, but immediately throws his head back again as you sink down onto his cock.

He groans, his hands squirm, itching to touch you.

You lazily grind against him, getting used to feeling of him inside you and enjoying the wrecked look on his face.

“Are you going to let me use you to get off?” You ask, planting your hands against his chest.

He nods his head frantically.

“Good. Good boy.” You coo at him as you begin to bounce on his cock.

[lickthecowhappy]

I survived the 14th century

Below is a rant that nobody asked for or wants. Feel free to skip it.

I watched season 2 late. I watched it in between the last two episodes of OFMD airing, so I was already in an emotional place. I had extremely low expectations for it. How can you add anything to something that was already so perfect?

Well, if you follow me, you know that things didn't go as expected.

Here are my receipts from that day:

I have never been so affected by media in my life. I cried every day for 5 days, and then again on day 7. That has never happened to me, ever.

So I sat down at my desk this morning and thought to myself "wow this time last year I was crying over these two. Still not over it but it was a real nice fandom I was gifted for a while there. I'm glad I got to be a part of things during such a turbulent personal time."

Turned on my computer and was met with the official "90 minute episode" news. I looked out the window at the bricks in the building across the street, looked at the dry, slightly shriveled succulent that was dripping with rain the last time I was crying about this stupid show. I felt the lump in my throat but I was able to swallow it down, remain composed. And a friend of mine who has graciously, and very generously put up with all my fandom nonsense having not seen any of it sent me the article minutes later.

It's a mix of relief that we're getting anything at all and devastation that we're down to 90 minutes. of course, the news is still fresh but if I stop typing about my feelings they are going to catch up to me and I'm going to be a mess.

We've lost two thirds of our time with the story. We're essentially down to six 15 minute episodes. I am grasping right now at the knowledge that Steven Universe gave me so much in 11 minute episodes and trying desperately to ignore the twisting in my chest and welling of my eyes.

Two days ago I said "I would take 5 minutes and say thank you." but that doesn't mean I'm not praying for some angel to leak the original scripts. *coughMichaelSheencough*

[bearlytolerant]

Some Sensory Prompts

Sight

1. Firefly outside on a dark night.

2. Lighting flickering across the sky.

3. A thriving plant in a bare wasteland.

4. A clearing of wildflowers amidst a forest.

5. A frog jumping into the water.

6. Morning light leaking through a window.

7. The dimple in someone’s cheek accompanying a smile.

8. Multi-colored irises.

9. Scarred or stretch-marked skin.

10. Parted lips.

Sound

11. Rain against a tent.

12. An owl’s distant hoot.

13. Chimes in wind.

14. A quiet sigh.

15. Trickling water.

16. Clanking of silverware.

17. Music inside a tavern.

18. Pages turning.

19. Shattered glass.

20. Rustling leaves.

Smell

21. Freshly baked goods.

22. Something rotting.

23. Cinnamon and cloves.

24. An overgrown bog.

25. Handpicked flowers.

26. An abandoned home.

27. A worn leather saddle.

28. Minty tea.

29. Burnt parchment.

30. Morning coffee.

Taste

31. A kiss in the rain.

32. A swim in the sea.

33. Chocolate covered berries.

34. A shot of liquor.

35. Cool water on a hot day.

36. Bloodied lip.

37. Salt on the skin.

38. A warm savory meal.

39. Dirt in the mouth.

40. A lingering sour aftertaste.

Touch

41. Splintered skin.

42. Chilled metal.

43. A spiky thorn.

44. Soft fur throw.

45. Calloused fingers.

46. Cracked knuckles.

47. The curve of a jawline.

48. The bite of electricity.

49. Frostbite’s sting.

50. Sweat under unbearable heat.

[xreaderanonaccount]

The last Dance (Pantalone x AFAB!Reader)

It was late, and the masquerade party was almost over. But it doesn’t seem like you would be leaving any time soon. You stood next to Pantalone’s side as he chatted away with some random aristocrat. You were bored out of your mind, these types of parties are never fun. All you do is stand around as Pantalone’s trophy as people completely ignore your existence. Although Pantalone tells you that you are not his trophy it’s really hard to tell when you tried to join the conversation the aristocrats would give you disinterested looks before immediately changing the topic. Your mind wanders off looking around the big bright ball room. The architect was something to marvel at. But it was nothing like the small palace that you and Pantalone share. You internally sighed as you stare out the window, the big maze-like garden beckoning you to explore its beautiful floral. You glanced over at Pantalone who didn’t even glance at you, he just had his hand resting on your lower back. You internally sighed as you looked back out of the window. You notice the giant belltower towering over the maze garden, the time 11:03 p.m.57 more minutes till the masquerade is over.  A small walk outside wouldn’t be bad, would it? If you had your guards with you then surely Pantalone won’t mind. A small scheming smile formed on your face as you spotted your personal guard Afon who was idly watching the two of you. You start to wander off before you feel a sudden grip on your wrist. You look back to see Pantalone staring intently at you. 

“Where are you going my love?” His voice slightly above a whisper, clearly for a one on one conversation. But it was clearly not a one on one as all eyes of the aristocrats were on you. 

“I’m feeling a little stuffy, my dear. I was going to waltz around the maze. That’s all.” You smile as you gently pull your arm back. Pantalone stared at you for a moment, analyzing your face before looking at something behind you. 

“Alright my dear, just take Afon with you.” Pantalone gave a small chuckle before taking your hand again and planting a soft kiss on the back of your hand. You smile as you give a small bow to the rest of the aristocrats before heading over to Afon.

“Afon, may you walk with me through the garden maze?” You smile as you approach Afon who straightens up upon seeing you. 

“Of course madam.” He gave a polite smile as he let you lead the way to the maze. As you walked out to the maze you expected the bitter cold to bite your skin. But to your pleasant surprise instead of the bitter cold, you felt a nice warmth wrapping you up like a soft blanket.  

“I heard the master of this palace had the maze built inside a giant greenhouse,” Afon spoke up, staring up to the white metal cage, “so his wife can take a stroll outside without worrying about the bitter cold of Snezhnaya”. You gasp as you see some of the most beautiful flowers you have ever seen. The array of colors that litter the garden had you in awe. You walked around the garden with Afon close behind admiring each plant that caught your gaze. 

“Do you think if I ask Lord Regrator for something like this he would give it to me?” You smile as you look back at Afon who just laughs.

“Lord Regrator would buy you three Jade Chambers if you so ask.” You laugh along with Afon as you continue your stroll stopping in front of the beautiful fountain. A small sigh escaped your lips as you swayed your body to the soft melody that was leaking out of the open windows. You smile as you imagine you and Pantalone dancing in a beautiful garden. You did a small twirl but tripped on a small pebble, you felt yourself falling backwards, Afon calling your name. You brace yourself for the fall. Yet it never came. 

“My my my lily, you sure are clumsy.” Your eyes shot open, greeted with Pantalone who caught you in his arms. 

“P-Pantalone!” You exclaimed trying to get up trying to readjust your dress. Pantalone chuckled as he watched you fluster over yourself. After you deemed yourself presentable you awkwardly glance over at Pantalone who just gave you a small smile. You glance back at the palace, the soft music comes to its crescendo. Your eyes sparkle as you remember the fantasy you lived through. You hear a soft chuckle before you were swept away by Pantalone. You stare into Pantalone in shock as gave you one of his genuine smiles. He pulled you close to his chest as he led you through the music. Your dress sway through the night, the fabric shining in the moonlight. You close your eyes allowing Pantalone to lead you two through the music. His mossy wood cologne fills your senses, making you feel so safe in his arms. He pulls you away, giving you a little twirl before dipping you down. The music coming to its climatic end. You two stared into each other's eyes, the belltower rang through the cold night sky. Pantalone stares into yours for a moment before leaning down capturing your lips with his. The kiss was soft and tender as he held you tight. Pulling you away he helped you up from the dip, draping his overcoat over your shoulder.

“It’s getting late my dear, let us head back to the Palace. I have some paperwork to finish.” Pantalone whispers into your skin, his breath tickling your ears. 

“Finally, I’ve been bored out of my mind.” You sigh as you dramatically throw yourself onto him. Pantalone chuckled at your antics as he gestured towards Afon who was standing in the shadows. 

“Alright my love, let’s head home.” He smiles, guiding you out of the palace. 

A/N: divider credits: cafekitsune

[whumpily-ever-after]

Flex X Cop 재벌X형사 Whump List

Summary: Jin Isoo is the rich son of a conglomerate. When he is arrested for a crime he did not commit he damages his father’s public perception and threatens his run for mayor. To fix his family’s image he joins the police force and helps solve murders. As he works, secrets from his own life begin to unravel and Isoo will have to face his dark past.

Genre: Action, thriller, mystery, comedy

Country: South Korea

Year: 2024

Watch it on: Hulu

Warning: This show deals with themes of su*cide

Spoilers ahead...

Whumpee: Jin Isoo played by Ahn Bo Hyun

Episode 1: Kicked in the chest, falls to the ground, coughing, threatened with a knife, in a fight, hand cut, harshly pushed away, arm pulled behind his back, pushed to the ground, nose broken, arrested | slapped, disowned by his father

Episode 2:  Panic attack | thrown on the ground, in a fight, knocked to the ground, kicked repeatedly

Episode 3: None

Episode 4: Nightmare | hit over the head, blood on his head, unconscious

Episode 5: Knocked out on the floor, blood on his head | bandage on his head, scolded

Episode 6: None

Episode 7: Punched in the face, in a fight, pushed back into exercise equipment, grunting in pain, punched in the stomach, handcuffed to exercise equipment, jumps out a window, lands on a car, groaning in pain, told he is too reckless

Episode 8: Remembers how his mother actually died

Episode 9: Upset over the revelation about his mother

Episodes 10-11: None

Episode 12: In a fight, kicked back into shelves, punched in the face, hit several times, grabbed by the neck, thrown to the ground, knocked out, wakes up with his hands zip-tied behind his back, blood on his head, dropped into a pool of (waist-high) water, trapped, the room fills with water | nearly drowns, rescued, wound tended to, bandage on his head

Episode 13: News story leaked about the death of his mother

Episode 14: Discovers his mother did not kill herself, teary-eyed

Episode 15: Crying | learns his father died, tears | told he is responsible for his father’s death, crying | crying

Episode 16: Finds out who killed his mother, tears, punched in the face, in a fight, hit on the arm with a lamp, knocked to the floor, groaning in pain, punched in the face repeatedly, bloody lip, at gunpoint, tears | arm in a cast

[matan4il]

Amin al-Husseini docu: part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Last

A bit of background on Ezra Yachin, since the relevant parts of his life story are not really covered in the docu:

He was born on June 11, 1928 in Jaffa, in Israel, back when it was under the British Mandatory occupation. His father was an Israeli Jew, descendant of a family who returned to Israel from Syria, while Ezra's mother was an Egyptian Jew, who moved to Israel after her marriage to his dad.

Not long after the marriage, the family moved to Jerusalem, first to the Old City, and later to Yemin Moshe (the Old City of Jerusalem became far too crowded, and Jews, who were the biggest of the 3 religious groups there at the time, started building new neighborhoods outside the Old City walls, now considered historically significant. The first was Mishkenot Sha'ananim in 1860, and Yemin Moshe was the second, in 1891).

Ezra was 1.5 years old during the 1929 anti-Jewish Arab riots, his family was besieged by an Arab mob, and it hid in one room, but then baby Ezra started crying. The mob heard the baby's sobs, and started breaking in, but then one of the rioters threw a rock at the window, which missed its target and ended up bouncing back from the wall, injuring the man who threw it. The mob got scared, evacuated the injured rioter, and dispersed. Later, a mob gathered again outside the family home, but then an old Arab woman shouted that it was a waste of time going after the poor Jews of this neighborhood, and she led the mob away, to where she claimed she knew the rich Jews live.

At the age of 15, Ezra joined one of the 3 Jewish undergrounds, the Lehi, and his tasks were to glue the underground's posters to the walls of homes around Jerusalem, as well as to try and get intel about the British from his work at the postal office. His friend, 17 years old Alexander Rubowitz, was kidnapped by British police on May 6, 1947 when caught on his way to glue posters for the underground. He was taken by car to the Yehuda desert, and murdered there. His body was never found, but there is a confession from his murderer, Captain Roy Farran, which was ignored by British authorities. Ezra's testimony can be heard in a documentary about Alexander, A Mandate to Murder (currently only available online in Hebrew). This is an underground poster asking where is Alexander Haim Rubowitz:

Ezra fought in Israel's Independence War, including in the "Death Rooftop" battle for the Jewish Quarter, during which he sustained an injury to his right eye, and a shrapnel penetrated his skull. He was rushed into a surgery that lasted almost a full day, during which his cerebrospinal fluid continuously leaked out. He miraculously survived and made a full recovery, other than losing his eye.

He still lives in Jerusalem, and over the years has published 10 books, including Death in Chains, about the Jewish underground members who were killed by the British without a trial.

In Oct 2023, he volunteered to serve in the army again at the age of 95, becoming Israel's oldest reservist ever.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[underforeversgrace]

under the river

DannyMay 2023 Day 11: Underwater

title: under the river

words: 1181

Part 1 of 2

(Part 2: after the water)

Excerpt: Is this really a choice she was about to have to make? Dying together with her husband or leaving him to die on his own?

~~~~~~

Honestly, considering her husband’s driving, maybe Maddie should have expected this to eventually happen, she thought as the glass began to crack from the pressure.

“Jack!” She called again, uselessly trying to shake her husband.

He said nothing, red blood dribbling down his face from the injury to his forehead.

Maddie looked around, desperately trying to think of something, anything.

They were at the bottom of a river, the dark murky water rendering it impossible for them to see anything. If only they had been in the GAV, instead of borrowing Jazz’s car, it wouldn’t have mattered when Jack accidentally ran off the side of the cliff, through the guardrail and into the water below.

Stupid parking deck - at the stupid doctors office they were going to for their stupid annual checkup - not being big enough to accommodate the size of the GAV. 

Maddie was doing her best to not panic. She could get herself out easily, of course, just bust the window and swim, but she had no way of getting Jack out. Unconscious as he was, if she busted the window now and got out… he was done for. As it was, though, water was starting to leak in from under her feet, the spider web crack grew in the glass. 

Is this really a choice she was about to have to make? Dying together with her husband or leaving him to die on his own?

A mental image of Danny and Jazz came to her mind and tears began to flow. Jazz would be graduating high school in just a few months and, despite how much he’d pulled away from them, Danny still needed them.

At least… he needed one of them. Jazz would be fine on her own, but she couldn’t care for her brother and Maddie wouldn’t leave her in a position where she had to. Maddie blinked hard as tears began to pool in her eyes.

She had a choice here and she could not choose to leave her kids as orphans.

“I love you.” She whispered, pressing a kiss to Jack’s cheek, doing her best not to feel the gentle pulse under his skin, proof he was alive.

And then she turned her attention to the passenger window beside her and kicked, shattering the glass with the metal on the heel of her shoe. She refused to look behind her as she threw herself through the window frame and swimming for the surface.

Her head broke the surface and she began coughing, swimming to the opposite bank, where a small bit of land was.

“Maddie!” A voice called behind her, echo amplified in the slight valley they were in.

Seriously? Now? She couldn’t have five seconds to grieve the death of her husband or to figure out how to get out of this valley?

“Go away, Phantom!” She shouted, fists clenching angrily at her side. Her weapons were, unfortunately, not waterproof.

“Where’s Jack?” Phantom questioned, looking for him.

“Go away!” She simply shouted again.

Phantom scowled and dove down to her, grabbing her upper arms and gripping too tightly, anger and panic successfully mimicked on his face. “Where is he?” He shouted.

“I couldn’t get him out too!” She yelled back, finally sobbing, going slightly limp in the ghost’s hands as grief overwhelmed her.

“He’s down there?” Phantom said, eyes widening in shock. Why did he insist on pretending to be human? She was just so tired of it right now. He let go of her and she collapsed to her knees, sobbing as she wrapped her arms around herself, not even noticing as Phantom dove into the water.

The love of her life, gone. Because she left him behind.

Less than a minute passed before Phantom re-emerged, soaked with water, Jack in hand.

“Move!” He shouted at her, laying Jack down on the ground beside her. Maddie, shocked, did as she was told. “Fuck!” The ghost said, beginning chest compressions. “One, two, three, four…”

Maddie watched in amazement, her mind short circuited from grief and surprise. Phantom, the ghost they’d been trying to capture for nearly a year now… was correctly doing CPR on her husband, who’s body and chest were still. Why would he be trying so hard to save someone who wanted him dead? Why did he even know how to do CPR?

After the chest compressions - which he continued to do, even as he mumbled so lowly Maddie couldn’t hear him - he inhaled, pinched Jack’s nose, and pushed air into her husband’s mouth.

Phantom could breathe?

“Please,” he whispered when he pulled away, frantically beginning compressions again.

This had to be the most surreal sight Maddie had ever seen, a ghost trying to breathe life into her ghost hunting husband.

Wait… a ghost…

“Wait, Phantom!” She said, scrambling to her feet as her brain finished its restart.

“I’m trying to save him! Shoot me later!” He shouted at her as he moved to do mouth to mouth again, wet white hair plastered to his face.

“Intangibility! Get the water out that way!”

He groaned. “Dying really didn’t give me any more brain cells, did it?” He said, intangibility sweeping across Jack’s body, the water falling harmlessly from him.

As soon as that happened, Jack drew a heavy breath, trying to cough up water no longer in him as Phantom returned him to tangibility.

“Dad!” Phantom yelled, throwing his arms around Jack’s neck and burying his face into his chest.

Jack instinctively wrapped his arm around the ghost as he finished coughing.

Maddie, again, was stunned into silence as the ghost began to shake, audibly crying as he clung to her husband. The man he’d just called dad. Jack seemed likewise confused as he sat up, arms still wrapped around the crying ghost, looking to her in bewilderment.

“You’re okay!” Phantom said, clenching the fabric of Jack’s suit into his fists as he further burrowed into Jack.

“Uh, thanks, Phantom?” Jack said unsurely.

At Jack’s words, Phantom tensed and jumped away, hovering over the water. “Oh, haha, no problem, citizen!” He said, saluting at them.

“Phantom…” Jack started, standing and reaching for him.

“Oh, uh, would you two like a lift up?” Phantom asked, pulling nervously at his hands.

Maddie had always thought that gesture looked somewhat familiar and suddenly she could place why it was familiar.

“Danny?” She asked.

Phantom - Danny Phantom - went rigid. “Uh, haha, yeah, that’s my first name, everyone knows that.”

“Danno.” Jack said, holding his hand out towards the ghost.

Danny just eyed it warily and a knife twisted in her heart. He was afraid of them.

Danny’s accident had been worse than he’d told them, hadn’t it? He’d died long enough to make a ghost. She wondered how weird that must be, her son seeing his own ghost flying around town.

…seeing his ghost be shot by their parents.

Phantom floated a little closer, stopping just out of reach. His eyes flicked between the two of them and the next time he spoke, it was with fear and hope in his voice. “Mom? Dad?”

[square-enix]

i hate you windows 11 i hate you default microsoft teams on startup i hate you desktop window manager with a memory leak on intel systems for 2 years straight i hate you microsoft clipchamp i hate you copilot i hate you cortana i hate you bad accessibility options i hate you microsoft account i hate you bloatware i hate you bad UI

[five-rivers]

Dreadful Calm Chapter 1

Tags from AO3: Major character death, freezing solid, Vomiting, gagging, suffocation, Hypothermia, most of those things don't REALLY happen, but it's close enough those tags should do it, Body Horror, ectoberhaunt 2023 day 11: dread vs calm

(MCD not shown in this chapter.)

.

Danny was glad the 'Fenton Family Vacation-slash-Road-Trip-slash-Ghost-Hunting-Extravaganza' was over and they were finally on their way back to Amity Park.  The trip had been as long and tedious as its name, and Danny hadn’t wanted to go in the first place.  They’d be crossing the city limits soon, and it'd only take another fifteen minutes to get home.  

For Danny, it couldn’t come soon enough.  He loved his parents.  He really did.  But being around them constantly for days had been taxing, and would have been even if he hadn’t been a half-ghost who had to watch himself for ghostly slip ups.

That wasn’t even touching on the stress of being away from Amity Park, which was the source of most of said slip ups.  Heck, about halfway through the trip, he’d woken up from a nightmare in a panic, convinced something terrible had happened, and only calls from Sam and Tucker telling him that everything was fine had kept him from flying all the way back home to fight the perceived threat.

Although… Now that he thought about it, he wondered…  how did they know to call him in the first place?

The GAV ka-thumped over a pothole - not one Danny had made by being thrown into the asphalt at high speeds, incidentally, he remembered those - and the thought was thrown from his head in favor of grumbling.  Grumbling, and a faint sense of unease.  

He leaned to the side so he could look out the windshield at the skyline, and couldn’t help the thought that something was different, something was wrong.  Nothing he could see.  All the buildings seemed to be there, and he would know.  

The ‘Welcome to Amity Park’ sign flicked by the window, unreadable at the speeds Jack was driving at, and–

And Danny slammed his right hand over his mouth, unlatched his seatbelt with his left, and dove for the tiny bathroom in the back of the GAV.  He got the door closed and locked behind him, and immediately fell into the tiny cubicle shower, dropping to his hands and knees.  

His ghost sense dripped and oozed off the tip of his tongue and past his lips, heavy and almost liquid, despite still being insubstantial mist.  It fell in wispy curls and silky folds, dispersing along the floor and leaving behind feathery patterns of frost.  He retched, trying to clear his airway, and managed to draw in a single gasp of fresh air before his ghost sense reasserted dominance.  

Well.  Danny was assuming this was his ghost sense.  It lacked the usual sense of accompanying hostility, and while his ghost sense might make him gasp, it had never made him gag.  

“... motion sickness?” called Maddie from the front.

“Y-yeah!” rasped out Danny.  He winced at the sound of his voice, then shivered once, violently.  

“Don’t worry, son!  We’ll be home in no time!  And motionless!  With fudge!”

Bluish mist pooled in the bottom of the shower well, and spilled over the shallow plastic lip, into the rest of the bathroom.  Danny was glad that his mother had insisted on the bathroom door having a plastic seal and a separate ventilation system after one too many ���incidents,’ otherwise the mist would be leaking out into the main cabin of the GAV.

He shivered again, and a hum from his core turned into a croon in his throat.  To it, the cold felt like a comforting welcome, even though it was the one producing it.  

But what was making it produce cold like this?  Even Pariah Dark hadn’t felt like this.  Going into the Ghost Zone for the first time hadn’t felt like this.  Nothing felt like this, like being suddenly supercharged in the worst way, to the point of losing control, but also feeling paradoxically good, power dragging fingers up his spine, wrapping around him like a blanket.  

He got in another breath, then lost it, giggling as a delicious chill spread from his core all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes.  

What he should do, what he wanted to do was go ghost and fly away somewhere he could release all this energy safely.  But his parents had upgraded the GAV before they’d left on the trip, and had spent the last several days explaining all the new features in detail.  

There were a lot of weapons.  A lot of weapons.  

There were detectors, too, ones that would be able to see Danny if he was in ghost form.  

Possibly more importantly, the walls were painted with Fenton Paint, and Danny couldn’t phase past that.

Another wave of cold bloomed from his core, and he exhaled more frigid fog.  He could feel ice on his wrists and hands, and he snatched them up, off the floor, blinking tears out of his eyes.  Those tears fell to the floor with tiny clinks.  

Afraid of what he’d find, he pressed his tongue against the back of his lower lip.  His tongue was slow, heavy, it didn’t want to move.  Tiny spears of frost crunched against one another, then were bound together by another plume of mist.  He could feel more frost forming around his back teeth, locking his jaw open.  Danny crooned again, and the sound was oddly content for how terrified Danny was.  

Sudden, sharp pain radiating from around his core forced him to double over the rest of the way into a fetal position, trapping his arms between his legs and his chest.  There was ice forming around his core.  He knew this with a terrifying certainty.  There was ice forming around his core, in his chest, in his organs.  He could feel it creeping across the outsides of his lungs, freezing them in place even as he choked in a final breath past the mist still curling past his lips.  He could feel his heart slow then stop as his blood turns to slush, then freezes solid.  

Despite this, despite the pain, part of him still found this comfortable, pleasureable.  The cold was good.  The power was good.  Whatever was doing this, it felt like home and safety and welcome back.  He knew, he knew he could use this, once he got it under control, to help and protect people, his people, his city, his family, his friends, better than ever.  Ice clattered against ice as more tears fell from his eyes.  His core purred happily, and all the ice crystals around it reverberated with the tone.  

It hurt.  It hurt so much to have all those crystals inside him chime, vibrating enough to feel them inside his flesh, inside his bone, but it also soothed him in ways he couldn’t explain.  

He could still transform, could still go ghost.  But the GAV’s defenses were still there, still active.  He’d be trapped again, just in a different way, and for all he knew, this could get worse if he went ghost.  Right now, his out-of-control powers were only freezing him, but they could very easily freeze other people.  People who didn’t have built-in resistance to being frozen solid.  

(The humming purr of his core stuttered momentarily, as if that had finally gotten through to it, but the moment didn’t last.)

And either way… his parents would know.

No.  He wouldn’t transform.  

He blinked tears out of his eyes again, but this time he could not open them.  His eyelids had frozen shut.  He tried to shift, to bring up a hand to break away the ice, but the cold had made his joints and muscles stiff, immovable.  

He was stuck.  Trapped.  The only parts of him still mobile were the fog pouring out of his mouth and nose, the growing ice, and his core, humming away without a care in the world.  Everything else was frozen to stillness.

Trapped, and he wasn’t even trapped alone, somewhere he would have time to figure this out and get it under control.  Any moment, they would arrive home, and his parents would want to know why he wasn’t coming out, and when he didn’t answer, they’d barge in, because they’d worry, they would, and they’d see him like this, and know he couldn’t be anything but dead.  

Ice crept up and down his spine, filling in the gaps between his bones.  It touched the base of his skull, and spread slowly along his scalp, like a hand carding through his hair.  The feeling sank deeper, into his skin, his muscle, his bone.  Someone approved.  Someone was proud of him.  Someone cared.  Someone was thanking him.  Someone wanted him.  Someone loved him.  

Each and every part of him sang with the song of his core.  He was frozen solid, coated with ice inside and out.  

Danny stayed that way for what felt like hours, his feelings churning between the externally-induced happiness of his core and the very real dread of his parents finding him like this.  But for all that he was, nominally, in human form, the parts of him that were human were asleep in the ice.

The calm won out.  

The calm… Out the window, Amity Park had seemed remarkably calm.  

The thought slithered away from the numb, chilled fingers of Danny’s mind, and he let it.  He’d been distracted by a new sensation.  An unbearable lightness.  It filled him up as thoroughly as the ice, with his core as the kernel.  It felt like his soul was straining against the upper surfaces of his body.  It felt like he was having a fight with gravity that was far more personal than usual.  It felt like peace and contentment, just out of his reach.  

Below him, there was a resounding crack as he lifted up off the floor to float mid-air.  His core-song grew louder, without the damping effects of touching something that wasn’t in tune.  

He didn’t know how long he hung there, floating, in the air, his thoughts becoming progressively sleepier and more abstract, drawn out into slow, simple cycles by the lack of anything to think about.  His usual methods of time keeping were out of reach.  No light, not action, no breath or heartbeat, and for all that the ice and the song and the floating made him tired, they barely put a dent in his energy.

But then, past the layer of ice over his ears, he felt-heard the door open, and people came in.  He couldn’t see them, of course, but he felt their warmth/energy/emotion, and they looked on him kindly, lovingly, with gentle affection and concern.  They touched him with warm-cool hands, and he let them direct him, effortlessly, first out the bathroom door, then out the GAV, and from there into his home.  

Weightless cold pulsed through him again as they crossed that threshold, the power even greater here than outside.  The hands withdrew, then, for the first time since they’d found him, and his core-song turned plaintive, the notes making his notes ache bitterly.  But the hands returned, their journey not yet done.  

They continued, into the kitchen, through the lab door, down the stairs, and–

Danny couldn’t help it.  His song turned sad, mournful.  This was where he had died the first time, for all that it was also where the power coursing through him was the strongest.  Those with him wept as well, feeling the same, he could tell.  But they didn’t stop.  They pushed him steadily deeper into the lab, steadily further and further into power, into pain.  

Into the portal.  

He passed into the Ghost Zone, and whatever was feeding him power simply went away, as if it had never existed.  Danny’s ghost sense stopped streaming from his mouth.  The sublime weightlessness receded into the regular weightlessness enjoyed by most things in the Zone.  The things that were keeping Danny awake, stopped.  

He slept.  

[whumpetywhump]

Bad And Crazy (2021)

Ryu Su Yeol

01:

- Nightmare: Bleeding from multiple wounds on his face, chest and back during a fistfight, punched repeatedly in the face and gut, staggering, disorientated

- Tackled to the ground, winded, holding his back in pain

- Thrown into a wall, choked with a shower cord, sprayed with hot water, bruises on his face and back, punched in the face, knocked out, falls into a pool, unconscious underwater, later has a plaster on his nose

- Repeatedly headbutted until he passes out, wakes up with a headache

- Drunk, nauseous, vomiting

- Punched repeatedly in the face and gut, bloody lip, has his ankle stepped on, screaming in pain, blasted backwards by an explosion, punched in the gut, collapses to his knees

- Thrown into a burning building, jumps from a window to escape, lands on a car, winded

02:

- Wakes up in hospital after last episode, face cut and bruised

- Recurring migraines, wincing in pain

03:

- Restrained, forced to swallow a bottle of sleeping pills, choking, blurred vision, migraine, collapses and passes out

- Crushed under a shelf, briefly knocked out, face scratched

- Bleeding from a gash in his hand after his alter grabs a knife, has it bandaged for him

- Forced to kneel, grovel and drink excessive amounts of alcohol, later vomiting and sobbing

04:

- Hand still bandaged from last episode

- Punched in the gut, slammed through a table, winded, struggling to get up, beaten up in a fistfight, face bruised and bloody

- Punched in the face, nosebleed

- Sleep deprived, dizzy, stumbling, helped into a chair, wakes up after passing out with an IV

05:

- Punched in the face, bloody lip

- Trying to recover suppressed trauma during hypnosis, wakes with a start

- Stabbed in the neck with a syringe, drugged, staggering, collapses, kicked in the gut, passes out, wakes up bound to a chair, gagged, kicked in the chest and falls with the chair, gun held to his head, terrified

06:

- Nauseous, vomiting

- Repeatedly stabs himself in the arm with a needle to replicate track marks

- Hit over the head with a plank of wood, collapses, groaning in pain

- Beaten up, face bruised, bleeding from the forehead

- Locked in the back of a truck with a gas leak, weak and dizzy

07:

- Face still cut and bruised from last episode

- Shot in the chest while wearing Kevlar, knocked to the ground

- Pistol whipped, cuts his forehead, has the wound dressed for him

- Recovering suppressed memories of childhood abuse, dreams of being chased and of clutching his chest in pain

08:

- Still dreaming, curled up on the floor in terror, wakes in a panic

- Flashback to childhood abuse, migraine, doubled over in pain

09:

- Recovering suppressed trauma, migraine, clutching his head, staggering

- Held down in a bucket of water, struggling, gasping

- Stabbed in the gut, bleeding, collapses, left for dead

10:

- Still bleeding on the ground from last episode, wheezing, collapses and passes out, wakes up in hospital, wincing in pain

- Beaten up, face bloodied, suffering traumatic flashbacks

11:

- Strangled with a garotte, choking, gasping

- Tackled, pinned to the ground, choked

- Wrongfully accused, arrested, locked in a psychiatric ward for four months

12:

- Flashback: Admitted to the psych ward in a straight jacket, struggling, forced to swallow his medication, repeatedly attempts to escape, drugged via a syringe during one attempt, shot with a taser during another

- Transported in a straight jacket via ambulance, escapes

- Reunited with his demented mother, crying in her arms

- Migraine, traumatic flashbacks

- Stabbed in the neck with a syringe, drugged, dizzy, struggling to stay awake, stabbed in the gut, collapses, left to die in a burning building, escapes, immediately beaten up in a fistfight, bloody lip, cuts his forehead while headbutting his opponent, bleeding heavily, collapses

- Says goodbye to his alter, crying

- Wakes up in hospital, face bruised and bandaged

Oh Gyung Tae

01:

- Brutally beaten, face badly bruised

- Hit over the head with a lamp, thrown into a table, beaten until bloody, stabbed in the thigh with a nail, screaming in pain, splashed with gasoline and left to die in a fire, found unconscious, rescued

02:

- Comatose in hospital after last episode with a neck brace and his head bandaged, face still cut and bruised

03:

- Still comatose and bruised

04:

- Face still bruised, escapes from the hospital after an attempted poisoning, on the run

- Repeatedly beaten with a golf club, face bloodied, screaming in pain, wheezing, repeatedly punched in the face and kicked in the gut, barely conscious, recovering in hospital, wounds bandaged, arm in a sling

TW: Contains themes of child abuse and suicide

[scary-grace]

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 9) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Chapter 9

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it, and lately it feels like the thing that’s wrong with your house is you. You’re constantly uneasy, at work and at home, to the point where Phantom glues herself to your side and cries when you try to leave. Tomura hovers. You can tell he wants things from you – more touches, more kissing, more sex – but with half the neighborhood out hunting conjurers, the insect deliveries have mostly dried up. Most of the time, mustering up a voice and a set of hands is the most he can do.

The conjurer hunt is on. Keigo’s taking time off from work, and whatever Spinner and Jin usually do during the day, they’ve put it on hold. Every morning, you or Aizawa or Jin’s mom gives the three of them and Atsuhiro a ride to the train station, where they get on separate trains, each taking a different route to the same destination. They’re checking cities and towns off the list, one by one, starting close to home and working their way outwards. They get back later and later every day.

Jin’s mom doesn’t like it. Magne doesn’t like it. Dabi especially doesn’t like it, given the clouds of smoke that are constantly billowing from Keigo’s house, and eventually you and Hizashi are dispatched to deal with it. Hizashi’s there for the intimidation factor. You’re not sure why you’re involved. “You’re close with Keigo,” Hizashi says with a shrug, when you ask him. “Hard to tell, but Dabi’s not thrilled with how things have been going there lately. Knowing you and Keigo might talk about him might make him behave a little better.”

“Oh.”

“That’s the theory, anyway,” Hizashi says. He bangs on the door with a closed fist. “Open up, Toasty. We need to talk.”

“Fuck off.”

“No can do. You’re about to get the fire department called on you,” Hizashi says. “How are you going to explain that one to your human when he gets home?”

“Like I’d know. He’s never here.” Dabi’s face appears in the front window, and a moment later the door cracks open. “He saw his first chance to get away from me and bolted.”

You can’t stop the incredulous laugh that sneaks out of your mouth. “He’s out there hunting your conjurer. What about that says he’s trying to get away?”

“I didn’t ask him to do that.”

“No, he volunteered.” Hizashi leans hard against the door and shoves it open. “You’re acting even dumber than the guy across the street, and that’s really saying something.”

“Hey,” you say listlessly. “Don’t talk shit about my ghost. He came up with the plan.”

“The plan that might get my human killed,” Dabi says.

“The plan that might save your ass,” Hizashi corrects, flicking Dabi in the forehead and ignoring the smoke that starts to leak into the air. “Enough with this little fit you’re throwing. Things are this way with your human because you made them this way. Your human treats you different than she treats her ghost because of you. If you want any of that to change, you need to get it together.”

“I’m not embodying,” Dabi says. “You can’t make me.”

“You can do better even if you don’t embody yourself,” you say. Dabi makes a disparaging noise. “Not lighting the house on fire would be a good start.”

“Why do you do that, anyway?” Hizashi is fully inside Keigo’s house now, and even though you know it’s going to drive Tomura up the wall, you follow him in. “Oof, this place smells. Have you ever heard of air freshener?”

You survey the front room of Keigo’s house. It’s messy. There’s a basket of laundry sitting on the couch, unfolded but clean as evidenced by the used dryer sheet sticking out of a sock on top. While Hizashi continues to hold forth on the odor of the house, you investigate further, checking out the kitchen. It’s also messy. There are clean dishes in the dishwasher and dirty dishes in the sink, and based on the state of the stove, Keigo’s been living on instant noodles, frozen vegetables, and not much else. You think of the time you were sick, of Tomura’s clumsy but well-intentioned efforts to help, and feel an unexpected wave of sadness.

It crystallizes into resolve a moment later. You head back to the front room and target Dabi directly. “Get in here. You’re going to learn how to do the dishes.”

“What?”

Dabi sounds baffled, and Hizashi is hooting with laughter. You raise your voice to be heard over him. “You want things to be better with Keigo, you have to do stuff,” you say. “Just not burning down the house isn’t enough. You have to help out. Don’t just say you want things to change. Make them change.”

“Like a man,” Hizashi says, still cackling. “This is what real men do.”

Dabi looks skeptical. You weigh the risk of the statement you’re considering, then decide to hell with it. “Tomura knows how to do all this stuff already.”

It’s quiet for a second. “If your useless virgin of a ghost can do it, so can I,” Dabi states, which sets Hizashi off again. “Teach me how.”

You’re tempted to tell him that Tomura figured it out on his own, but you also don’t want Keigo to have to deal with some of the mistakes Tomura made. “Let’s start with the dishwasher.”

After the dishwasher, you go through proper dishwashing technique, stressing the importance of cleaning up whatever mess gets made in the process. “It’s not helping if there’s still a mess afterward,” Hizashi advices from the kitchen table, where he’s going through Keigo’s record collection. “Shou and me went through that with cleaning the litterbox. It was bad.”

Dabi bitches his way through the dishes, but you think he’s grasped the basics. After that, you move onto laundry – or rather, Hizashi moves on to laundry, because you get a brief flash of what Tomura will do when he finds out you’ve been touching Keigo’s and possibly Dabi’s underwear and decide you don’t want to deal with that. While they’re working on it, you head back across the street to retrieve a spare air freshener from your house. Tomura pounces on you the instant you step through the gate. “What are you doing over there?”

“Trying to teach Dabi some life skills so Keigo doesn’t have to live in a dungeon,” you say. Tomura’s more materialized than he’s been in a while, just slightly more than insubstantial as he tangles himself around you. “I should be done soon.”

“You’re not going back.”

“I’m going back,” you say.”

“No, you’re not!”

“I am, and here’s why. Keigo is my friend. He’s trying to help everybody. You don’t care about everybody, but I do, and I don’t think my friend should have to live in a house like that with a ghost that treats him that badly.” You dig up an air freshener, plus a scented candle, ignoring Tomura’s attempts to reel you back in. “The only reason Dabi’s going along with it is because I told him that you know how to do this stuff already.”

It’s quiet for a second. “He’s not better than me,” Tomura says.

“You’re better than him. Keigo and Hizashi didn’t have to come over here and teach you how to do the laundry.” You head for the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

Tomura entangles you again, because Tomura’s an asshole, but he lets you go before you reach the gate. When you get back to Keigo’s house, Dabi and Hizashi are there, with a pile of folded laundry between them and identical weird looks on their faces. “What did you say to him?” Dabi demands. “He’s so full of himself –”

“Yeah, I haven’t experienced this level of concentrated smugness in a while,” Hizashi notes. He gives his head a shake, then shrugs it off. “You got the goods?”

You hand off the air freshener and the candle. “Light this up and start praying. I’m not sure how much of a dent it will make, but it’s better than nothing.”

You’re not really sure how well your lessons and Hizashi’s have stuck, and you’re not sure how Keigo’s going to feel about the fact that you were both in his house, bullying his ghost. You don’t even have a chance to warn him, since you’re not the one picking he and the others up from the train station tonight, and you find yourself watching anxiously from your front window as Keigo trudges up the stairs and into his house. “What are you worried about?” Tomura asks. “You did him a favor. He should thank you.”

“I shouldn’t have gotten into their relationship like that.” The idea of someone trying something similar on you and Tomura makes you almost as uncomfortable as the idea of raising the topic of you and Tomura in a formal relationship. “He might be mad. I’d understand if he was mad.”

“He should be grateful,” Tomura says. Your phone buzzes in your pocket. “I’ll make him thank you if he doesn’t.”

It’s Keigo’s number. You gulp, unlock your phone, and start reading the texts.

Keigo: so uh

Keigo: hypothetically

Keigo: did you go to my house while I was gone and replace Dabi with Hizashi in disguise

Keigo: because like

Keigo: the laundry got folded

Keigo: the kitchen is clean

Keigo: when I got inside he stole all my clothes so he could put them in the washing machine

Keigo: nothing is on fire except a SCENTED CANDLE

Keigo: what did you DO

Tomura is reading over your shoulder, and as he reaches the end of the text string, he bursts out into raspy laughter. Something twists in your chest hard and painful enough to knock the air out of your lungs. You don’t think you’ve ever heard Tomura laugh before, and you’re almost angry with yourself for how much you like how it sounds. “What’s funny?”

“He stole his human’s clothes.” Tomura snickers. “If I tried that on you you’d leave and never come back.”

You’re temporarily frozen with horror at the thought, but you break out of it by force to text Keigo back. Sorry. Me and Hizashi went over there because the house was a little too on fire, and when we saw what a mess it was we decided to try to help out.

So you did it, Keigo texts back. He’s saying he did it.

We told him what to do, but he did most of it, you explain. Sorry.

Don’t be sorry. Just like – how? He never does this shit. I have to beg him not to cut my brake lines and burn down the house.

You’ve got theories, but nothing definitive, you glance at Tomura, wondering if he knows, but either he doesn’t or he’s not telling. I’m not sure, you text. He really stole your clothes?

Two seconds after I got inside. I barely shut the door in time. Keigo texts again while you’re trying not to have a thing over Tomura’s renewed laughter. I would have texted you about it sooner except I was naked and it would have been weird.

Now you’re laughing, but Tomura isn’t. “He owes you now. You should make him do something.”

“I’d say we’re even.” You laugh-react to Keigo’s text and put your phone away. “He and everybody else here helped me a lot when it came to you. I want to help them out, too.”

“Him telling you things isn’t the same as you dealing with his bastard scar wraith all day,” Tomura says. “You did more. He owes you.”

“That’s not how it works,” you say. “People help each other for a lot of reasons. It’s not usually just so the other person will owe them. Is that why you help me sometimes?”

You regret the question the instant you ask it – enough that you take it back, out loud. “Sorry. Don’t answer that.”

“I –”

“Don’t.” You know you’re not handling this well. You just don’t know what else to do.

Realizing that you’ve got feelings for Tomura has been a disaster on every possible level. You thought admitting it to yourself might make things easier, but instead it’s unlocked a whole new circle of hell – one where you want things from him that you’ve got no business wanting, things you know he can’t give you, things he wouldn’t give you in a million years. Not being able to touch him at all makes it worse. You’ve never thought of yourself as being touch-starved, but there’s not really another word for it. You miss the cold. You miss him. And it’s pathetic, so you do everything you can to not think about it. The last thing you want is for someone to ask.

But apparently you’re not hiding it as well as you think you are, because Mr. Yagi takes one look at you the next morning and motions you into his office. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” you say, but it comes out watery and awful. “I’m fine, sir. It’s just, uh –”

What should you say? That it’s the time of the month? If you say that, Mr. Yagi will run for the hills, and you shouldn’t lie to him. “It’s ghost stuff,” you say, and Mr. Yagi nods sagely. “Things in the neighborhood are – hard right now.”

“I have something that might help,” Mr. Yagi says encouragingly. “Izuku’s completed his review of the files you’ve collected, and he’s hoping to present his findings to you in person.”

“Oh,” you say. “Um, okay. I don’t know if the neighborhood –”

“You’ll come to our neighborhood,” Mr. Yagi says. You blink. “This evening, for dinner. Izuku will present his findings to you and you can eat a meal in a place that isn’t so obviously haunted. Inko tells me that constant observation wears on a person.”

You’re so used to it by this point that you barely notice. It’s the explanations that start to wear on you. Lately Tomura’s been interested in what you’re eating, and you’ve been stuck trying to describe taste to someone who can really only grasp texture. It would be nice to go one night without having to explain that lettuce tastes like green but salmon doesn’t taste like pink. Mr. Yagi raises his eyebrows. “Well?”

“Thank you, sir,” you say. “I’d like that.”

“Excellent!” Mr. Yagi beams at you. “You have my address from the office party two years ago, yes? We haven’t moved.”

“Um – you might need to send it again.” You have a bad habit of deleting your old texts.

Mr. Yagi sends you his address and you add it to his contact in your phone. And while you’re in your contacts, you realize that there’s a contact you’re missing – and a ghost who’s going to have questions when you don’t show up after work. You still haven’t gotten around to getting Tomura a phone, which means you’re going to need someone to go talk to him. Somebody he’s not going to try to kill. You’d send Spinner or Keigo, but they’re both on the mission, and introducing Hizashi into the equation is a recipe for disaster. If you ask Shinsou for help, Hizashi and Aizawa will murder you. That just leaves –

Wondering what in the hell you’re doing, you text Magne for the first time ever. Hi. Would you be okay letting Tomura borrow your phone for a second?

You’re not entirely sure what Magne does during the day. Whatever her job is, it’s remote work – but it must be a slow period, because she texts you back right away. What does he need it for?

I won’t be back until late and I need to let him know.

Magne sends you a truly bizarre collection of emojis. That’s so cute! What time should I bring it over?

Noon, you say. Thanks, Magne. I owe you one.

A little bird name Himiko tells me you have a Sephora credit card. I’ll be expecting a top-tier birthday gift.

The ghosts don’t have real birthdays, so they celebrate either the day they were summoned or the day they were embodied. You’re not sure which one Magne picked, but Spinner definitely knows. You’ll ask him. You got it.

Your lunch break starts at noon, and your phone rings from Magne’s number at approximately 12:02. “You’re on speaker,” Magne shouts at you. Then: “I’ve got your human on the phone! She wants to talk to you. Let me in the yard!”

“Just throw it,” Tomura shouts back.

“This is an iPhone! I’m not throwing it anywhere!”

“I don’t care what kind of phone it is. You’re not coming in my yard.”

“Tomura,” you call out, trying to simultaneously be loud and keep any of your coworkers from overhearing this nightmare, “go up to the fence and borrow the phone from Magne. And don’t run away with it. Otherwise I’m going to have to buy her the entire Sephora franchise for her birthday.”

Magne cackles at that, but when she speaks, she’s not talking to you. “There you are! It’s a shame you’ve been hiding in that house all this time. You’re much cuter when you’re – you know, all there.”

“I’m not cute,” Tomura says. You’re smiling to yourself for about three seconds before he speaks up again. “My human said I’m pretty.”

Based on the cacophony on the other end of the line, Magne’s phone mission picked up an audience. Or maybe she gave it an audience. You can hear Hizashi cackling like a goblin, Shinsou snorting with laughter, and some squeaky little Eri giggles, which would all be really funny if it was happening to anybody else. Tomura’s on the same page as you are about it. “Why are you laughing?”

“She’s not wrong,” Himiko says from somewhere in the offing. The whole neighborhood is there, apparently. “You’re really pretty, Tomura! It’s only funny because boys usually say that to girls, not the other way around.”

“Honestly, we should use it the other way around more often,” Hizashi says. He projects his voice at a volume that makes your ears start ringing through the phone. “I for one could stand to be called pretty at least four times a day.”

He’s speaking so loudly that Aizawa can probably hear him from their house at the top of the street. “Dad, that’s gross,” Shinsou complains.

“I think it’s nice,” Eri chimes in. “I like being pretty. My hair and my eyes look like Tomura’s, so Tomura must be pretty, too!”

“Okay,” you say loudly, trying to regain control of the situation, “my lunch break’s not forever, and I really do need to talk to Tomura, so –”

“Of course! Shoo, shoo!” Magne hopes into action. You’d better start saving for Magne’s birthday gift yesterday. “Here. The phone. I’ll be in my house. Just shout when you’re ready to give it back!”

“I’ll just throw it. That’s faster.”

“He won’t throw it,” you say. Magne makes some kind of agreeing sound and leaves. Tomura must have the phone now, but he’s not saying anything. “Are you there?”

“Am I supposed to say you’re pretty?”

You facepalm with the hand that’s not holding the phone. “No,” you say. “Not unless you think so. I said you were pretty because that’s what I think. And that’s not why I called you.”

“Why did you call me?”

You brace yourself. “I won’t be back until later tonight. Later than usual. I wanted to let you know.”

“Why?”

“I’m meeting someone who has information. About the second conjurer.”

“Who?” Tomura’s voice darkens so abruptly that a chill goes down your spine. “I don’t need you to tell me. I’ll find them. I’ll –”

“It’s my boss’s son. He’s fifteen. He’s been looking at the same documents I have, except he actually has time to read them.”

It’s quiet for a second. “You could have said it was a kid,” Tomura says reproachfully, and you almost laugh. “Your boss the ghost has a kid?”

“I don’t really know how that worked.” You don’t want to know, either, and you really don’t want Tomura asking questions about it, so you change the subject fast. “I’m going over there after work and I’ll be back when I can. Are you okay to feed Phantom, or should I ask someone to –”

“I’ll do it. She’s our dog.” Tomura cuts you off. “Don’t be stupid. And be careful.”

You’re tempted to point out that being careful is most likely rolled in with not being stupid, but you keep your mouth shut. A moment later Tomura speaks up again. “Come back fast. I miss you when you’re not here.”

“I will,” you say, trying not to implode. “I, um – I miss you too. Please don’t throw Magne’s phone.”

“Fine.” Tomura hangs up. You need to get Tomura a phone. You also need to teach Tomura phone etiquette, like not hanging up without saying goodbye. Except he said he missed you, which – what was that? Was it a guilt trip? Tomura’s never tried to guilt-trip you before, and he’s not subtle in general. If that’s what he was doing, you’d see it coming a mile away, which means that this wasn’t a guilt-trip. In fact, he took the news that you won’t be back until later fairly well. The weird feeling you’re getting is because it was a normal conversation. The kind of conversation you’d have with a boyfriend who wasn’t crazy. Most of your boyfriends have been crazy.

Tomura isn’t your boyfriend. You’re being weird. You text thank-you to Magne again, drop a line to Spinner to ask when Magne’s birthday is, and head back inside to grab your lunch. It’s a nice day. It might be nice to eat outside.

At least that’s what you think, until Nakayama drops down on the bench next to you. “Who was that on the phone?”

“None of your business.” You grit your teeth as Nakayama pops open a salad in an excruciatingly loud plastic clamshell package. “You were eavesdropping?”

“Nobody used to call you,” Nakayama says matter-of-factly. “Honestly, you seemed like the type who’d bang your boss.”

You almost choke on your sandwich. “But now Mr. Yagi seems kind of like your dad. Not in a daddy way, just a literal dad,” Nakayama continues. “So who was on the phone? Why do you miss them?”

“No one. Go away.”

“Is it your boyfriend?” Nakayama asks. “I’d say that to my boyfriend if he was clingy. Is your boyfriend clingy?”

“It’s not my boyfriend,” you say. You’re pretty sure your face is on fire. “Don’t you have anywhere else to be? I thought – uh, I thought you and Woods from the DA’s office were a thing.”

“We are. But he was being judgy about one of my cases, so I ditched him for today.” Nakayama crunches down on a bite of salad. “I’m surprised you knew that! You don’t usually care about office gossip.”

You don’t. But you’re desperate to get out of this conversation without having to think or talk any more about Tomura. “I pay attention, but I’m sort of behind, I think. Can you catch me up?”

Nakayama grins at you around a mouthful of lettuce. “I thought you’d never ask!”

Asking about gossip is going to be your new go-to for avoiding talking about your personal life with your coworkers. Nakayama talks straight through lunch, and afterwards you throw yourself into your work, doing everything you can to avoid thinking about Tomura and what Tomura said and what the actual hell is happening there. You end the day a half-day ahead of your inbox, and you duck out early, swinging by the store to pick up some flowers to bring as a gift for your hosts. And then you sneak into another store, to pick up something for someone else.

You’ve been to Mr. Yagi’s house before, but it was a while ago. The neighborhood you’re driving through feels mostly unfamiliar. The houses are medium-sized, but on big lots, and you know from your homebuying exploits that this much space costs a ridiculous amount of money. The land one of these houses is built on probably costs as much as your property and your house put together. The last time you were here, you remember thinking somewhat uncharitably that Mr. Yagi must have family money. You’re even more confused now that you know he’s a ghost.

Mr. Yagi’s house is yellow with green trim, bright and pretty. It feels friendly when you walk up the front steps, and the doorbell’s ring somehow sounds cheerful. Mr. Yagi opens the door, smiling. “Come in! What are these –”

“For you,” you say. Your parents might not have been very affectionate, but they made sure you had manners. Mr. Yagi accepts the flowers. “Thank you for hosting me.”

You take off your shoes and make your way into the house after Mr. Yagi. The rest of the house feels just as friendly as it looks. Whatever’s being cooked smells really good, and Mr. Yagi’s wife smiles at you though a cloud of steam when you approach to ask if you can help. “I have it under control. And I have my assistant,” she says, elbowing Mr. Yagi lightly. “Go out to the backyard, if you’d like. Izuku’s waiting.”

You make your way through the house and onto the back porch, which overlooks a garden about ten times as pretty as yours. You can’t help feeling a surge of envy, which is only partially helped by reminding yourself that this garden’s had a lot more time to grow than yours has, and that this family doesn’t have to worry about buying delicate or expensive plants for fear that a ghost will get impatient and kill them in order to materialize fully. The only shadow in the garden comes from a large, lush shrub with purple-green leaves that’s resisting every effort made by Mr. Yagi’s son to extract it from the ground.

You come closer. “Do you need help?”

“No,” Izuku says, out of breath. “I don’t want to chop it down, but it has to go. It’s invasive.”

“Oh,” you say. “Did you know that when you planted it?”

“We think it was mislabeled,” Izuku says. “Or I read the label wrong, or something. I don’t want to kill it, and I think I can get it out alive, but we can’t plant it anywhere else.”

Something occurs to you. “If I help you get it out alive, can I have it?”

“Dad said you have a garden, but why would you want – oh!” Izuku breaks off suddenly, grinning. “Based on the size of this bush and its relative age compared to the lifespan of similar plants, it contains about ten years of life energy! Ghosts usually burn through energy between forty-eight and fifty-five times faster than living things, depending on their power level, and Dad said your ghost is extremely strong, so if we assume a consumption rate of seventy times faster than a living thing and if you take this tree and he uses it, that should give him roughly two weeks of complete embodiment. Longer if he stays incorporeal sometimes.”

You can only stare at him. He keeps talking. “When Dad was still a ghost, he went through life-force really fast. Mom says he kept wanting to do things for her – like hold the door open, or pull out her chair so she could sit down, or carry her groceries. One time her car got stuck in the snow and he picked it up and carried it for her. Oh, I guess that’s another thing! If a ghost is exceeding the physical abilities of their embodied form, the consumption rate doubles. What kind of things does your ghost like to do?”

“I have a dog and they like to play together,” you say. There’s no way you’re bringing up the rest of it with a fifteen-year-old. “How did you find out about all this stuff? Is there an equation or something?”

“Sort of! I can show you if you want. Of course, it’ll be approximate, since there’s not a great way to measure power levels and you kind of just have to vibe it, but it should tell you about how much complete materialization time you’ll get. What kind of things does your ghost usually drain?”

“Small plants. Weeds or mushrooms, and sometimes blackberry bushes,” you say. “And the people in the neighborhood bring us bugs for him to use.”

“He must be conserving power really well if he can get complete materialization from insects,” Izuku says excitedly. “Do you think there’s any way I could meet him? I haven’t met a real ghost in ages, and one that powerful –”

“Izuku,” Mr. Yagi says warningly from the porch. “That ghost isn’t safe for most people to interact with. And his reaction to you would be difficult to predict.”

“He’d know I’m not a threat. He could read it off my aura,” Izuku says. He looks at you and explains before you can ask. “I’m half-ghost. Mom got pregnant with me before Dad embodied himself full-time.”

Your first thought, as incredibly stupid as it is, is that you might need your box of condoms after all. Your second thought is that you really didn’t need to know that much about your boss’s sex life. Then you remember that Mr. Yagi can see Tomura’s marks on you and decide that it’s even. “Um, what does that mean? Being half-ghost.”

“Like being an embodied ghost, but I didn’t have to drain anybody,” Izuku says. “I can see other ghosts, and feel what they feel. I need to blink, but my eyes still do the thing Dad’s eyes do, so I have to wear contacts. And sometimes when I dream I can see into the world between.”

You sit there with that for a moment. Izuku looks to Mr. Yagi. “Once I get the butterfly bush out, she’s going to take it home so her ghost can use it. Did you know he’s only been using bugs?”

“I didn’t,” Mr. Yagi says. He glances at you, and you will your face not to flush. “We’ll all work together to dig up the bush after dinner. It’s time to wash up.”

You follow Mr. Yagi and Izuku into the house, feeling like you handled things well. It’s not until you’re washing your hands that it occurs to you that Izuku, who’s half ghost, can almost certainly see Tomura’s goddamn handprints all over you. It takes you way too long to muster up the courage to do anything but bolt directly out the door and drive until you run out of gas. But you make it out to the table and sit down, avoiding everyone’s eyes. You’re sitting with two ghosts. They can see the handprints. They know. You’re screwed. There’s no way they’ll let you have the butterfly bush now.

Mr. Yagi’s wife reaches across the table and pats your arm. “It’s all right,” she says, and you look up to find her smiling. “I’ve got them, too.”

You can’t see handprints on her, but she must have them, if she was involved with Mr. Yagi before he was embodied. You’ve never met anybody other than Keigo who was involved with their ghost when it was still a ghost, and you feel yourself relax a bit, just like you do when you and Keigo hang out. You manage a smile in response, then pick up your utensils and start eating. The food tastes really good. And it’s nice to know that you’re not going to have to spend twenty minutes explaining why cheese comes in different shapes, colors, and sizes without becoming something other than cheese.

You have to explain other stuff, though. Izuku has questions. “How many ghosts are in your neighborhood? Are they all adults or are some of them kids? Was your house built before the rest of the neighborhood or is it just the only house with a ghost in it?” He uses the pause provided by your answers to inhale half the food on his plate, then jumps back into the breach with even more questions. “Dad said there was a scar wraith. Have you met him? Scar wraiths are technically half-embodied ghosts, right? How many of his powers does he still have? Which of the former ghosts on your street is the most powerful? Do you think my dad could beat Magne or Atsuhiro or Hizashi in a fight?”

Mr. Yagi chokes on a sip of water. “I won’t be fighting any ghosts in that neighborhood. My ghost-fighting days are long over.”

“You used to fight ghosts?” you ask.

“Yes,” Mr. Yagi says. “That’s what I was summoned for.”

You want to ask. You really, really want to ask, but you don’t want to pry. Mr. Yagi’s wife finally elbows him. “Just tell her, Toshi.”

Mr. Yagi sighs. “When we first spoke of this, I mentioned that some conjurers don’t bind ghosts. Rather, they form mutually beneficial alliances – sometime simply to extend their lives, sometimes in an effort to do good. The conjurer who summoned me was named Shimura Nana. She hoped to do good, and I wanted to help her. Together we pursued evil conjurers and unquiet ghosts, ending their reigns of terror wherever we could.”

He glances guiltily at you. “I believe we once crossed paths with Hizashi, from your neighborhood. My master judged there to be greater threats than him.”

Hizashi wouldn’t like hearing that. Maybe you’ll tell him the next time he tries to scare you for kicks. But there’s a different question you’re considering. “How do you kill a ghost?”

“We’ll get to that,” Mr. Yagi says. “In any case, as the years passed, my master and I came into contact with the same conjurer over and over again. He was interested not in short-term havoc, but in long-term destruction, and he chose his ghosts accordingly. Many of the worst ghosts my master and I faced had been captured by him – taken as children, isolated for decades, their power growing unchecked until it outgrew the haunt containing it.”

Unease twists in the pit of your stomach. You’ve heard a story like that before. The one you were told was about Eri, but when you consider the details – the length of time, the complete isolation – it sounds like someone else, too. “These ghosts had no chance to make a bargain with their conjurer,” Mr. Yagi continues. “It was likely never explained to them why they had been imprisoned in this world. Many ghosts are curious about the human world, initially, and form opinions once they’ve been allowed to explore and interact with it. By the time this conjurer’s ghosts are allowed to interact with the world, they’ve grown to despise it as a prison. They destroy everything in their path, until they’re stopped.”

“Dad stopped a lot of them,” Izuku says.

“His master called it merciful,” Mr. Yagi’s wife – she’s told you to call her Inko – says. She looks troubled. “I don’t know about that.”

“There aren’t any left in the country. My master and I made sure.” Mr. Yagi folds and unfolds his napkin. “Ghosts may not approach the world with the same view of mortality as humans do, but it still takes time to create such a violent, hateful ghost. We were certain we’d found them all. And then –”

Suddenly you’re certain you know what he’s going to say. “You found my house.”

“It has every hallmark of our enemy’s work,” Mr. Yagi says. “An immensely powerful ghost, firmly entrenched in a house that can barely contain it. How long has he inhabited that house?”

“A hundred and ten years.”

“That fits!” Izuku says excitedly. He gets up from the table and bolts down the hallway, coming back a moment later pushing a wheeled whiteboard that you’re pretty sure disappeared from the conference room at work. “So! Thanks to the map Mr. Aizawa made, and the list of identities you found, I’ve been able to track where this conjurer’s been over the last two hundred years. A lot of the haunts have been destroyed, but nothing gets built there again, so they’re easy to find. The conjurer starts out way to the north, two hundred years ago. He binds a ghost to an old temple, and sixty years later, the ghost breaks out. Did you get that one, Dad? Do you remember?”

Mr Yagi nods. “Okay,” Izuku says. “Seven years later, he’s right here. Just a little ways south. This time the ghost is in an abandoned palace. That one only lasts twenty years before the haunt gets destroyed, and Dad gets that one, too. Seven years after that, the conjurer goes big and summons a ghost to haunt this entire mountain range by binding different parts of it into different caves and cabins –”

It would take an idiot not to see the pattern that’s emerging. The conjurer moves steadily south, spending seven years in each location – no more, and no less. In each location he leaves behind a haunted house with a lonely ghost, a ticking time bomb that won’t go off until long after everyone’s forgotten it was there. When he reaches the border, he turns around and heads north again, still spending seven years in each location. “Why seven years?” you ask. “If he’s worried about being caught, shouldn’t he switch it up?”

“Summoning and binding ghosts take time,” Inko says. “If it’s not done well, the ghosts can get out. And this conjurer doesn’t want his ghosts to get out.”

Yeah, no kidding – if they can get out, they won’t go crazy like he wants them to. Izuku keeps going over the map, seven years and a few miles at a time. Then he stops. “Here there’s a big gap,” he says. “In distance and in time. He doesn’t show up again until fourteen years later, and he’s way too far north. Plus, his name is wrong. You were right about how he steals names from people he knew in his previous identity to build the new one, but his name in the new town isn’t related at all to the last one.”

“It’s an insult to my master,” Mr. Yagi says. The scowl on his face is way too scary for your liking. “Shimura Tenko.”

You remember that name from the files. “So what happened? Did he just take a break?”

“After ninety years of doing the same thing? No way,” Izuku says. He opens his mouth, closes it, and turns to Inko. “Mom spotted it. Mom should say.”

Inko smiles at him, then turns to face you. “Look at the space that’s missing,” she says quietly. “There should be a haunt somewhere here.”

You look at the spot she’s circling on the map and your heart sinks. “We’re not the only city around here,” you say hopelessly. “It could be any of those –”

“We checked. There isn’t.” Izuku is bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. “The guy my dad fought is the same guy who summoned your ghost. And it took him a while. Either your ghost really fought or really tried to escape, because the conjurer never spent more than seven years anywhere else. He spent fourteen years here.”

Your heart is racing. You look to Mr. Yagi. “How did you and your master not find him?”

“There was nothing to find,” Mr. Yagi says. “Every other haunt became a place of violence and terror, the instant the ghosts began to attain their full power. There were incidents, accidents, mysterious deaths – things that signal the presence of a ghost. There was no such thing in your house.”

No, there wasn’t. You checked. If there had been any sign of trouble, you wouldn’t have bought it. “What I don’t understand,” Inko says, “is why your ghost didn’t turn out like the others. From what Toshinori says, your ghost radiates malevolence to such a degree that no one’s stayed long inside the house. The isolation is what’s supposed to drive them crazy, and that would make him more isolated, not less.”

“That’s a weird move for a ghost with a lot of power,” Izuku agrees. “Especially given what all the other ones did. Obviously ghosts have different temperaments, like people do, but if all the others destroyed their haunts and he didn’t –”

He trails off, and Inko doesn’t try to fill the gap. They’re both looking at Mr. Yagi, so you look at him, too. It’s a while before he speaks, and when he does, he’s avoiding your eyes. “Initially, Tomura wouldn’t have had sufficient power to harm anyone. Once he did, it seems he made a conscious decision to use his powers to deepen his own isolation rather than wield them against others. He’s undeniably malevolent, but not particularly hostile. As far as any of us can tell, he’s never attempted to break out of his haunt, much less wreak the kind of destruction one might expect from a ghost in his position. In the eyes of his conjurer, he represents a failure.”

Even though failing at this is exactly what you should want for Tomura, you still don’t like hearing people talk about him that way. “What does that mean?”

“It means that Tomura’s conjurer is likely to return at some point,” Mr. Yagi says, “and attempt to turn Tomura into the symbol of terror he was meant to be. My understanding of Tomura is limited, but based on the available evidence –”

He gestures awkwardly at you. “The fastest way for his conjurer to do that would be to remove you from the picture.”

“Wouldn’t Tomura just kill him?” Izuku asks. “I mean – if someone hurt me or Mom, that’s what you’d do, right?”

“Yes,” Mr. Yagi says, “but this conjurer is too cunning to make it easy. He’d likely kill her far from the neighborhood, which would force Tomura to destroy his haunt to pursue him. Tomura would likely leave immense destruction in his wake as he chased the conjurer. Which is what the conjurer wanted him to do all along.”

You feel like you’re going to be sick. You imagine the house blowing apart from the inside, just like the fence did; or worse, you imagine it crumbling, falling apart in a wave of dust that billows out, consuming everything in its path. He already looks down on the neighborhood. If he found any way to blame them for your death, he’d wipe them off the map. And then he’d move on to everything else.

No. Tomura wouldn’t do something that crazy just for you. You’re out of your mind. “I’m not that important to him,” you say. “I’m not – he’d kill the conjurer to punish him, maybe. He wouldn’t go on a rampage. Why would you say that?”

Mr. Yagi doesn’t answer. He looks uncomfortable. “Even if he succeeded in killing the conjurer, it wouldn’t bring you back,” Inko says softly. “He’d still be loose in the world, still angry, still destructive, with no one to aim his anger towards. Haven’t you ever been so angry that you didn’t care who you hurt?”

You have. You don’t want to admit it, but you have. “So have I,” Inko says, which is hard to imagine. “But you and I are human, with societal expectations that make it unlikely that we’ll act on those feelings. Ghosts don’t have that. They follow their feelings. They don’t see consequences until it’s too late.”

“You’re wrong,” you say. Your jaw is clenched, your hands curled into fists out of sight. “I believe you about all of this – who his conjurer is, and why it happened, and all of that. But you’re wrong about what will happen if his conjurer kills me. He doesn’t care enough about me for the rest of it.”

You see Mr. Yagi and Inko trade a glance. Izuku is staring, too, waiting to be let in on the secret. “Perhaps we’re wrong,” Mr. Yagi says. “Even so, no one wants you to be hurt. With that in mind, we have a gift for you.”

“Toshinori’s master made these for me, back when Toshi was still a ghost,” Inko says. She pulls back her sleeves, revealing narrow bracelets on each wrist. “They hide the traces of ghostly power. When Toshi and I met, he and his master were still battling the conjurer. Wearing these kept me from being noticed and used against him.”

You hadn’t known that. Now you understand why Mr. Yagi is so certain about what Tomura will do if you’re killed – it’s what he would have done, or wanted to do, if he’d lost Inko. “My power’s faded enough that it’s almost undetectable,” Mr. Yagi says. “My master would be pleased if the bracelets went to someone who needed them.”

You argue. Of course you argue. A lot, in no small part because going to Mr. Yagi’s house for dinner and coming back with his wife’s jewelry on is going to convince everybody at the office that you’re sleeping with him. Once you lose that part of the argument, you switch tactics to arguing that something that fits Inko’s wrists is going to be too small for yours, only for Inko to tell you, completely straightfaced, that the bracelets are magic and can grow or shrink to fit whoever needs to wear them. You sit there with that for a moment, chagrined, before she bursts out laughing and tells you to try them on first. You do. They fit perfectly. Maybe they’re magic after all.

You help Inko with the dishes while Izuku piles up paper after paper after paper on the counter for you to take home and review, including a list of six possible names Tomura’s conjurer could be going by at this very moment. Then all of you head to the backyard to extract the butterfly bush. It’s a four-person job for sure. You have no idea how Izuku thought he was going to do it himself.

Inko insists you go home with leftovers, then sends you home with more food than you can carry. You thank her and Mr. Yagi and Izuku with a little more emotion than you usually display – for the food, and for their help. “I’ll bring this back to the neighborhood,” you say. “It’ll clear things up. Now we have a better idea of what to watch out for.”

“If you need assistance at any point, let me know,” Mr.  Yagi says. “I do have some experience in this regard.”

“I will,” you say. “I’ll see you at work, sir.”

You’re still feeling too many things as you drive home, the still-living butterfly bush taking up the entire backseat of your car and enough food for two nights of dinners in the passenger seat. It takes you a while to name the feeling as hurt – hurt for a lot of reasons that have nothing to do with the absurd kindness Mr. Yagi and his family showed to you. It’s an old hurt, one you’ve lived with for a long time; the feeling of observing a happy family and realizing all over again how empty your childhood was. But now there’s a new kind of hurt added to the pile. Not the hurt of wanting something you didn’t have, but wanting something you won’t get.

Inko was you, once upon a time. Human, in love with a ghost, in the line of fire. But it worked out for her. She’s happy. She has a son and a husband who loves her and a garden whose biggest problem is an invasive plant her son accidentally planted in it. That’s never going to be you.

Even if you wanted that, and you’re not at all sure you do, knowing you can’t have it makes you sad. You drive the rest of the way home with a weird lump in your throat, trying to clear it before you get home. You can’t explain this to Tomura. He won’t understand.

The mood sticks with you all the way home, but when you pull into your neighborhood, you feel it inexplicably lift. It’s just past sundown. Hizashi and Shinsou are in their garden, laughing about a misshapen eggplant they’ve been growing. Himiko is on the front porch of her house, painting Jin’s nails, while their siblings scribble profanity they probably learned from Spinner onto the sidewalk in chalk. Spinner and Keigo are hanging out in front of Spinner’s house, talking something over with Magne. And your front lawn might be dead as a doornail, but all the lights are on inside your house.

You park in the driveway and start ferrying things up to the house. The door swings open before you can even think of unlocking it, and Phantom races to greet you, barking and whining until you set the leftovers on the porch swing and crouch down to greet her. She licks your face, slurping the way she does when you’ve been sweating or crying. This time it was the latter.

When you turn to retrieve the leftovers, they’re gone. Inside the house, you hear the refrigerator open and shut. “I can carry that stuff,” you say to Tomura. “Don’t burn through too much energy.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Tomura’s down to a pair of hands as he drifts onto the porch, hands that seize your wrists and refuse to let go. “What are these?”

“I’ll explain,” you say. “I still have stuff to bring in.”

You bring in your purchase from the other store, knowing Tomura won’t look inside it unless you give him a reason to be suspicious, then devote your attention to wrestling the butterfly bush out of the backseat. Tomura eyes it suspiciously. “Where are you going to put that?”

You stop just before you remove it. You know from experience that once something leaves the car in the driveway, it’s fair game. “My boss and his family gave it to me,” you say. Tomura’s suspicious expression cranks up a notch. “It’s for you.”

Tomura blinks. “I’m going to bring it in. Don’t touch it yet,” you say. “I need to talk to you first.”

Tomura waits as you drag the butterfly bush in its pot into the yard, then up onto the porch, then through the door. He keeps quiet until after you’ve shut the door. “Can I have it now?”

“No,” you say. You’ve got a not-insignificant suspicion that Tomura is going to jump you the instant he’s fully materialized, and you don’t want to try to have this conversation while he’s trying to make out with you. But now he’s waiting, clearly impatient, and all at once you forget what you were planning to say. “Um –”

“Did they give you that tree just because they had it?”

“No,” you say, startled. “I asked if I could have it. I wanted to see you. My boss’s son, he said you could probably get two weeks of full materialization out of it, but I think there’s a good chance he underestimated your power level, and –”

The butterfly bush crumbles to ash so quickly it’s hard to imagine it was there in the first place. Tomura’s feet hit the floor, and a moment later, he jumps you. Literally jumps you – he’s taller than you are, but he tangles himself around you until both his feet are off the ground. He’s solid, and heavy, and you’re not at all prepared to take the weight of a fully embodied ghost. You collapse backwards, barely managing to tuck your chin and avoid smacking the back of your skull against the floor. Tomura takes the change from vertical to horizontal completely in stride. Whatever he’s planning, it’s not impeded by the fact that Phantom is racing in excited circles around the two of you.

You’re worried he’s going to kiss you, or go after your clothes the way Dabi’s apparently made a habit of doing to Keigo. Instead Tomura stretches out on top of you, apparently unconcerned with where his elbows and knees are going, and buries his head in your shoulder. Or your neck. He can’t seem to decide which one he prefers.

You put up with a few seconds of ghost cuddling before you ask. “Tomura, what are you doing?”

“Saw it in a movie.” A puff of cold air hits the side of your neck. “Wanted to try.”

“In this movie you saw, were they on the floor?” you ask, exasperated. “If we’re going to keep this up, we’re moving it to the couch.”

“I don’t want to move.”

“Tough luck. I don’t want to cuddle with you on the floor.” You roll him off of you, get to your feet, and book it to the living room, flopping down on the couch a split second before Tomura flops down on you. “Here’s fine, though.”

Tomura gets comfortable again, complaining under his breath, but once he’s settled, he goes quiet and still. “You’re like a weighted blanket,” you say nonsensically. “I didn’t think this was going to be the first thing you did.”

“I want that later. I want this now.” Tomura goes quiet again for a few moments. “Those things your boss gave you are strong. I didn’t see you until you were here. Why do you have them?”

It occurs to you why Tomura might be concerned. “They’re for hiding me when I’m out there. From other ghosts. Or conjurers.”

“You went there to find out about conjurers,” Tomura says. You’re surprised he remembered that. Or surprised he asked about it. Or both. “Did you?”

“About one of them,” you say. “The last name on Aizawa’s list. My boss thinks, um – he thinks that one might be yours.”

“Mine,” Tomura repeats. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” you say. You don’t want to get into the rest of it – the conjurer’s MO, whatever made Tomura different, what Mr. Yagi’s afraid will happen if – when – you die. Not when it’s calm like this. Not when you feel like you’re breathing for the first time in weeks, in spite of the fact that you’re currently being flattened by a ghost. “But my boss and his wife met when he was still a ghost. Someone made the bracelets so other ghosts and conjurers couldn’t find her.”

“Why would they care about someone else’s human?” Tomura sounds like the concept’s never occurred to him. “Just get your own.”

You knew you were right about this. You tell yourself that being right is a relief. “My boss loves his wife. He loved her even when he was a ghost. The best way for somebody to hurt him was to hurt her, and somebody really wanted to hurt him. So she wore these. To be safe. And now his powers have faded, so she gave them to me.”

It’s quiet again. “I don’t like that I can’t see you,” Tomura says.

“I’ll take them off once I’m in the neighborhood,” you say. “So you’ll know I’m there.”

Tomura makes an indistinct sound you can probably read as agreement and makes himself comfortable again. When it becomes clear that he’s not moving any time soon, you wrap your arms loosely around him. Tomura makes another indistinct sound. “What are you doing?”

“Holding you,” you say. “People do that.”

“Weird.” Tomura doesn’t stir. After a few minutes of lying there, one of your hands resting between his shoulder blades and one on the small of his back, you cautiously sneak one hand up to fiddle with the ends of his hair.

It’s tangled. There’s only so much you can do one-handed, but you get to work anyway, strangely comforted by the texture of it between your fingers. Tomura lifts his head slightly when you tug at one of the tougher knots. “Why are you doing that? It’s just going to get tangled again the next time I dematerialize.”

“I can fix it next time, too.” Maybe with a brush. “Do you care?”

“No.” Tomura answers fast. “It’s – nice. A lot of it is nice.”

You wonder what ‘it’ is in this case. Being corporeal? Being in physical contact with you? The physical contact you’re initiating? It doesn’t really matter. It’s all physical sensation to him, some good and some bad, and you’re the person who provides it. Tomura doesn’t care about you beyond that. It makes sense that he wouldn’t worry about you the way Mr. Yagi worries about Inko. The way any other ghost in the neighborhood worries about their human.

You’re not upset about it. You’ll take what you can get. And if what you can get is a few minutes cuddling on the couch before your ghost decides he’d rather make out, that’s still more than you expected when you came home tonight.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Ted Lasso / Rebecca Welton Masterlist

FULL MASTERLIST

Tumblr & AO3 links included throughout.

* = Complete

🔥 = Smutty

Media Relations*

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3

Rebecca has an interview with a high profile magazine, some comments she makes about Ted and the accompanying photoshoot go viral around Richmond AFC.

Ted Lasso/Rebecca Welton, fluff & humour, general rating (language)

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46196269/chapters/116299447

Home Time*

11 Hours on a bus home from Amsterdam gives Rebecca and Ted some time to catch up.

Ted Lasso/Rebecca Welton, fluff & humour, general rating (language)

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46653061/chapters/117492853

Coming Clean*

From a @lilacmermaid25 prompt.

Roy decides to have it out with Rebecca about Ted, just as she decides to go and yell at him about Keeley. They meet in the middle for a very public argument.

Ted Lasso/Rebecca Welton, romance, idiots in love, general rating (language)

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47382097

Run*

A kind of 3.12 fix it of sorts. The team decide they have to stop Ted from leaving.

Ted Lasso/Rebecca Welton, angsty humour, fluff, general rating (language)

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47397514

Enough*🔥

CH 1 | CH 2

Rebecca tries to get over Ted's departure but struggles.

Ted Lasso/Rebecca Welton, post 3.12 fix it, angst with a happy ending, MY FIRST SMUT! 🙌, mature rating (seeexy tiiiiimes!)

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47562343/chapters/119870686

Seeking Advice*

From a @lilacmermaid25 prompt.

5 times someone in Richmond needs Ted's advice, 1 time Ted needs some advice from Richmond.

Ted Lasso/Rebecca Welton, post 3.12 fix it, romantic fluff, general rating (language)

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47643454

We lie awake in love and fear*🔥

CH 1 | CH 2

From a lilacmermaid25 prompt.

Ted walks into Rebecca's kitchen after the gas leak. He sees more leg than expected and short circuits his brain.

Ted Lasso/Rebecca Welton, set during 3.12, no happy ending for this fic - he still gets on the plane! But there will be smut in chapter 2 and a sequel is already planned 😊. Romantic fluff and angst, general rating for chapter 1 only (language), mature rating for chapter 2

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47691727/chapters/120213994

My bad habits lead to you*🔥

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5 | CH 6

Sequel to We lie awake in love and fear.

Taken from a lilacmermaid25 prompt: 5 times Ted comes back for a wedding, one time he comes back just because.

Ted Lasso/Rebecca Welton, post 3.12, cheating, smut, one night stand. Mature reading (sexy times, language)

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47758657/chapters/120390469

The Syndicate*

Everyone in Richmond is shipping Ted and Rebecca long before there's anything to ship...

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48212014

Poker Face*🔥

Rebecca is in a terrible mood and only Ted knows why...

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48356254

Shaping Minds

CH 1 | CH 2 - coming soon!

TedBecca - obvs! Headmistress Rebecca Welton gets ready to welcome back her favourite year group for their last year of school, alongside new teacher, Ted Lasso.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48427027/chapters/122147269

Rebecca Welton's F*** You, Ted Tour*

Ted watches Rebecca try to move on with her life. Sort of.

Came outta nowhere, random funny & fluffy fluff.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48494932

Tedbecca Prompt Party 2023

Main link to the series on my AO3: HERE

Entry 1: Serenade - a karaoke night changes everything.

Entry 2: Making Prog-mess - Rebecca and Sassy talk about Sassy turning Ted down.

Entry 3: Not a Couple (no, really!) - 5 times someone mistakes Ted and Rebecca for a couple, and the one time someone didn’t believe that they actually are...

Entry 4: Matchy-Matchy - Henry needs to propose to Rebecca, she is going to be his stepmother after all!

Entry 5: Through the Window - Jamie accidently catches Ted and Rebecca in a retelling of the My Eyes scene from Friends

Entry 6: So Long... As You Love Me? - Rebecca tells Ted she loves him, but he doesn't want to ruin their friendship

Entry 7: Sing Your Own Kind of Song - Soulmate AU - you get stuck in your head the song your soulmate is singing. Who's singing what in Nelson Road?

Entry 8: The Name’s Welton, Rebecca Welton - Ted starts to think he might be seeing Rebecca everywhere - because he is!

Pt. 1 | Pt.2 - coming soon!

[andileighwrites]

A Weight

...

There is horror in a house Without any doors,

Or without windows to let Purpose inside,

There are No cracks to leak out of.

It is a box that is a weight— With little to show The neighbors—no visitors are Allowed.

There are no entrances, No exits,

But walls can always be Smashed in from either side.

...

Andi Leigh 11/18/2024

[whentherewerebicycles]

I am worried that this is going to sound judgemental / passive aggressive and I really really really do not mean it that way, I am just confused and curious - what is it that keeps parents of newborns so busy? I thought they didn't really... do much until they got more mobile? I know you have to change the diapers and clean the bottles etc but what actually takes up your time on a daily basis atm? needless to say I have zero experience with newborns lol

I also wondered this!! but it turns out it’s really more all the other Stuff that takes up so much time + the fact that you only have very short windows of time to do that stuff before the baby needs you again. like here is an average morning and early afternoon right now:

6:30-7 wake up, take dogs out, get pump parts out of sterilizer, grab breakfast to take upstairs if he’s not already screaming

7-7:35 feed baby (babies are such slow eaters I’m told they get faster but for the first three weeks it would often take him an hour to finish a bottle and you can’t do anything else while he’s doing it)

7:40-8:20 pump and hang out with baby (I have to pump for a long time bc my supply is so low)

8:20-8:30 put milk away, change him, get him dressed (a battle of wills but I’m bigger)

8:30-9:45ish he naps if I’m lucky! race around the house cleaning out all the bottles from overnight, mixing new formula for the day, emptying the dishwasher, doing any other house chores

9:45-10ish he’s awake again and HUNGRY!! try to distract him a bit to determine if he’s actually hungry or just cranky/gassy

10-10:35ish feed him again

10:35-11:45ish he’s awake and wants to be held and entertained so I hang out with him or try to do stuff one-handed while carrying him around the house. also often I have to change him again.

12-1ish longish crib nap if I’m lucky!! try to shower, take the dogs out again, maybe start laundry bc babies make SO much laundry, do anything else on my list. sometimes he skips the nap and just decides to spend that time screaming. sometimes he wants to nap but will only do it while being held in which case none of the above stuff can get done

1-2 feed him! but this time he’s gassy and grumpy and refusing the bottle or sleepy and refusing the bottle so it takes forever and I have to burp him a bunch or do stuff to wake him up more so he’ll eat

2-2:40 whoops I forgot to pump again and I’m leaking everywhere gotta do that while I hang out with him

2:45-3:45 try to walk the dogs with the baby while he naps in the stroller except I have to walk the dogs separately bc I can’t handle them both + the stroller so we do two 20-30 min walks with a cooldown break to change him at home & make sure he’s not too hot

3:45-4:15 whoops I forgot to eat lunch but now he’s screaming for no reason that I can discern so I gotta walk around bouncing him or do skin to skin time to help him calm down

4:30ish time to feed him again! I’ll never eat lunch but I have high hopes for dinner maybe like a poptart around 9pm!

etc etc

[memphisnovels]

Evermore

Chapter 11. Ultraviolence

Previous chapter

Masterlist

Hi there, sorry it took so long for this chapter to be ready, the last couple of weeks have been a little chaotic!

A little soft Nadia and Pietro in this one :)) Things are definitely shifting between these two <3

The shift is particularly evident in Chapter 12

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

warnings: Canon-typical violence, soft Pietro & Nadia, Nadia totally isn't in denial, PTSD and trauma, nightmares, emotional hurt/comfort.

I awoke to the sound of cries and frantic movement. My body moved faster than my mind, pulling the handgun from beneath my pillow and aiming it into the dark room, I surveyed my surroundings for any sign of danger to find nothing but the very same room I’d gone to sleep in. My eyes fell on Pietro, the moonlight streaming in from the window caused the sweat that beaded on his forehead to glimmer. He was tossing and turning, cries falling from his lips every so often. I lowered the gun immediately.

“Pietro?” I spoke softly into the room. He remained fast asleep.

He was speaking in Sokovian, fear potent in his words. I stood from the couch, saying his name again. He did not react but continued to twist and turn. I made it to the side of the bed when he began thrashing and his voice raised significantly. He sounded absolutely petrified. I pulled myself onto the bed, saying his name several time loudly in an attempt to wake him up but my efforts were fruitless. I watched him thrash for another moment, considering my options. It was when I saw the tears pouring from his shut eyes that I made my decision, laying one hand across his shoulder and the other over his upper arm. My flesh pressed directly onto his.

“Pietro. Wake up.” I brought my hand from his arm to his cheek and repeated my words. His eyelids fluttered and began to open, he lurched upward, terror in his bright blue eyes. I moved with him. My hand that was on his shoulder dropped to grasp his own. “It was just a dream, you’re okay, Pietro. I promise.” His gaze danced across my features frantically. Realizing it was just me as he woke up fully.

“Nadia?”

I nodded, not allowing my mind to wander to thoughts of my hands touching him. “It’s just me, everything’s okay, you just had a bad dream.” He swallowed heavily, looking around the room, there were still tears in his eyes and I could feel the tremble in his body. I took a deep breath, shifting slightly more onto the bed. “Listen to the sounds of the cars outside, do you hear it? It’s faint so you have to listen carefully.” He furrowed his eyebrows at me, but seemed to do as I said, glancing toward the window. “Listen to my voice talking to you. See the way the lights from the buildings leak in through the curtains, how they color the room and prevent it from ever being too dark.” Slowly, he began to lay back down again. I watched him trace a line of light across the ceiling.

“I can hear the cars.” He murmured gently.

“Are there a lot of them?”

“I think so.”

I offered him a warm smile, wiping the tears from his cheeks with the hand that had been resting there. “Where are you?”

“Moscow.” Our eyes remained locked as I sat there with him, hand still intertwined with his. I moved to stand and return to the couch, but his grip tightened, tugging me back toward the bed. “Stay with me… Please.” He dropped my hand, averting his gaze from me as he sunk into the bed, he seemed ashamed. I didn’t want him to feel that way. It was peculiar to me to care if he felt embarrassed, but my chest tightened as I watched him and despite myself, I slipped under the duvet and laid beside the silver-haired man. Shock was evident in his eyes as he looked at me. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

I laid down toward the edge of the bed so that there was a large expanse of space between us. When I looked over at him, I saw his hand resting in the center of the bed, slightly more to his side. I smoothed my hand over the sheets, stopping when my fingertips were so close to his hand that I could almost convince myself I felt the phantom of his touch.

“It’s okay,” I murmured. His face was illuminated by the pale light that streamed in from the windows. “Do you have nightmares a lot?” He ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the ceiling.

“Sometimes.” He breathed out. “I used to have them more when I was little, but they stopped for a while before we were taken in by Strucker. I think they were worse after.” His expression was sullen, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth turned downward. I was unused to seeing him so defeated. “When we were being experimented on there were a lot of chemically induced sleeps, for a long time I think there were no dreams at all. I’m not sure which is worse.”

I nodded gently. His words resonated with me more than any I’d ever heard. When I gazed at him then in the dimly lit room, silence bathing us, I was unable to convince myself that he was not devastatingly beautiful. “I don’t know either.”

“You said there was something worse…” I glanced up at him as he spoke. “Earlier, you said you did worse things. What did you mean?”

My eyes closed; my body felt like it was melting under the weight of the memories. I could see it clear as day in my mind. The tears in her eyes, the way she fell to her knees before me begging me for mercy, to let her live, for her family. She had a mother and a father, a man who loved her and she begged me to let her see them again.

“She has betrayed her country, Nadia, she has betrayed all of us.” I could hear his voice in my ear as he circled behind me like a vulture inspecting a corpse. “She is a traitor! This is your chance to prove yourself, show us how strong you’ve become, show us what happens when we live outside our means. Let her be an example. Kill her.”

She wouldn’t stop crying, hands clasped as though she were praying, as though I were some God or Deity that could grant her clemency. We were in the training room, not in our suits or ready for the field, she wasn’t even armed. “Nadia, please I beg of you, don’t do it.” I was 15 and she was 18; brought to the Red Room when she was 10 years old. Natasha was gone and outside of Yelena the girl before me was the only other person I’d ever trusted. I did not know what it was to have a mother, only what I’d heard people on the outside say or what I’d read in books. Yet, despite my limited understanding, she seemed comparable to it. There were girls gathered around us, watching in silence as I aimed the gun at her head. I wondered what they thought, what they saw. For me, everything was red. I’d killed people before, multiple. All I had to do was shoot her in the head, it was simple compared to other missions given to me. However, as she wept and begged for her life, her brown eyes melting into wide blobs filled with fear, my hand faltered. My throat felt tight, and my eyes were stinging. I felt my cheek become wet as a warm liquid streamed down it. I narrowed my eyes at the girl, tightening my grip on the gun and planting my feet. Others had begged for their lives, others had prayed for mercy this was not any different, so why did my body feel so heavy?

I felt Dreykov move one of my plaited piggy tails over my shoulder, pressing his finger to the bottom of my wrist, lifting the gun to aim at her head once more. “This is what you were born for, my Nadia, this is your purpose. To eliminate those who threaten the correct order of things. So, eliminate her.”

And I did.

Her cries were silenced by the loud pop. I did not flinch, only watched her body crumple to the floor lifelessly, blood pooling around her dark curls.

“Her name was Oksana. She was my friend.” I told Pietro. He’d been silent throughout my recount, continuing to stare up at the ceiling as I bared myself to him. Trembling, cold, monstrous as I was. “She had defected to the Americans and was giving them intel on the Red Room. She was trying to save us.”

“Did you know that, when you killed her?”

I realized then that the edge of the silky, white pillowcase had been grasped tightly in my hand the whole time I’d been speaking. “I knew she had defected, but not why. It doesn’t really matter though. Even if I knew, I still would have killed her. Because he told me to, and all I knew was to obey.”

“Exactly.” He turned to face me then, propping his head up on his arm. “It was all you knew. They forced you to do it. That is now who you are, and it is not your purpose.”

“Do not defend me, Pietro. I do not deserve it.”

He shook his head at me, sitting upright suddenly. “If that is who you are why did you defect? Why did you become an Avenger? Why do you torture yourself for it even now, all these years later?”

“I do not torture myself.” I retorted with a sigh.

He chuckled, his head falling backward exposing his throat. When he gazed lazily at me a smile spread across his lips. “Are you incapable of not arguing with me?”

His eyes sparkled in the pale moonlight. I attempted to fight the smile that threatened to spread across my lips, but my efforts were futile. “Only because you’re so annoying.”

“Is that what I do to you?” I raised an eyebrow at his tone. “Annoy you?”

I hummed. “Obviously.” His body heat radiated onto me. It occurred to me then just how close we were. In that moment we were practically breathing the same air. “Pietro…”

“Nadia…”

His eyes dipped dangerously, gazing over my lips. Before I even knew what I was doing my own eyes trailed over his stubbled cheek, landing on his plump lips. My eyes fluttered slightly, and I swallowed heavily. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” He murmured.

Like the thought of looking at anything else ever again was so immensely devastating he almost couldn’t bear it. What I couldn’t bear, was the fact that even when he was this close to me, bathing me in his heat and the smell of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him, I wanted him closer. This was not right, it did not make sense to me.

I blinked, breaking the trance forcefully. “We have a big day tomorrow; we should get some sleep.”

He was silent for a long moment before he nodded gently, settling back into the cushions. “Goodnight.” He murmured.

“Goodnight.” I turned away from him, laying on my side facing the window at the very edge of the bed.

The sunlight streamed into the room, painting intricate patterns of warmth on my skin. I stretched my muscles, eyes still closed. My hand danced across the surface it rested on, smooth, warm… flesh. I popped an eye open to see my hand laid over Pietro’s bare chest, his steady heartbeat thumping beneath it. My own heart rate spiked at the position, I pulled my hand back quickly, curling up into myself. “You can touch me you know?” His voice was deeper than normal, husky with sleep. I held my breath, waiting for him to continue. His eyes opened, dancing across my features. “If you want to. You can.”

His hand smoothed over the sheets between us, slowly drawing closer to me. I watched its path, seeing it stop before it actually reached me. My own hand twitched; I wondered if his hand was warm. It was when I held it last night. My fingers inched toward his for a moment, he watched every movement carefully. Just before my hand reached his I lurched out of the bed, turning my back to his and quickly beginning to dig through my suitcase.

“We need to get up, we’re going to the factory today and we need to go over our cover before we meet Vasiliev and Rostokov.”

He sighed deeply, running a hand over his face before watching me dash into the bathroom to change.

…

“We’re high school sweethearts,” Pietro spoke in his superb American accent. I nodded along, gazing at him with a moony-eyed expression. “Although Naomi had a massive crush on me before we got together.” Our eyes met and I hoped he could read the warning in mine. “Yeah, she just wouldn’t admit it to herself, so stubborn, but just as pretty.” He tapped my nose. I was sure he read me loud and clear now; later Pietro, later, you will regret that.

Rostokov and Vasiliev stood in front of us in the elevator. The former sent me a disquieting smile over his shoulder. They had finally brought us to the farm, though, it was really more a factory. A stone’s throw out of Moscow, fronting as a pharmaceutical manufacturer. The inside was sleek and mostly metallic, concrete floors that seems as though they’d been scrubbed clean recently.

We passed a series of rooms as Rostokov and Vasiliev lead us further into the compound. Many had windows tinted so dark it was practically impossible to see what went on inside, I shivered at the possibility. A door opened to my left catching my attention as a man in a black coat exited what appeared to be a laboratory.

I hummed in response. “Well, how could I not have a crush on this guy?” His grin doubled in size as he watched me, blue eyes sparkling with mirth. I refused to get lost in them as I wrapped my arm around him, pinching him sharply. He flinched when both men before us were turned away. His sharp glare melted into an adoring look when we entered a new room. It was an office, similar in style to the rest of the building, adorned in black, white, and silver. The sound of a phone buzzing loudly filled the room just as Vasiliev gestured for Pietro and I’d to take a seat. He glanced down at his phone before pressing it to his chest and giving me a sheepish look.

“It’s my business partner.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Well, I’m sure you can call him back later.”

He shook his head at me. “I’m sorry, you know how they are.”

I huffed in feigned dismay. “Really, James, can’t it wait?” Pietro shook his head again, his expression turning solemn. Both Vasiliev and Rostokov watched carefully from the sidelines. I lowered my voice as I spoke again, acting as though I was intending this to be a private moment. “We spoke about this; you said you were going to be ignoring work calls this weekend.”

“Naomi, really it’s just a call, I won’t be long.”

“It’s not the amount of time, James it’s the principle!” I whisper-shouted, hands on my hips. Pietro’s eyes roved over me for a moment. “This is important.”

He sighed exasperatedly. “I understand that honey and just as soon as this call is over, you’ll have my undivided attention again. I’m sure you can handle being on your own for a little while.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to my cheek. My heart rate picked up, no matter how much I cursed the damned muscle, deeming it traitorous and completely overdramatic. “One call and I’ll be back, be careful.” He whispered softly in my ear, to onlookers it would just look like a husband attempting to appease his wife, given that his words were too quiet for anyone but me to hear. “I apologize, gentlemen but I have to take this call, I’m just going to step outside, and I’ll be back the very moment it’s dealt with.”

It was all for show, Naomi and James Wharton were not a particularly happy couple, they were showy and liked to present a perfect image to the public. However, in reality, James is a workaholic who enjoys the company of any woman who isn’t his wife and Naomi is the puppeteer running the show. The one behind the business decisions and the one who crafts their public personas. Pietro was not taking a business call; he was going to send the location to the compound so they could forward it to authorities. I’d distract Rostokov and Vasiliev until he came back and then we would incapacitate them and steal a sample of the illicit substance for testing; simple.

“Well shall we begin, and you can catch James up when he returns?” Vasiliev asked, gesturing for me to sit in one of the armchairs in front of the large glass desk.

I nodded gratefully, taking a seat and facing him. Anatoly stood at his side, watching me intently. Tony and Nick Fury had briefed us on the business negotiations before we’d left New York. I’d even had a few days to study the real Naomi Wharton whilst she was in custody. The role was not particularly challenging, nor was the objective of the mission. However, as I sat there in that office, Vasiliev speaking about distribution and further sponsorship I felt as though I were missing something. A crucial piece of the puzzle that had yet to reveal itself to me. I listened carefully and avoided the gaze of the man beside him. When the man in the black coat from earlier entered the office and spoke in a hushed tone to Vasiliev from earlier that feeling of unease grew tenfold.

“My sincerest apologies for the interruption Mrs. Wharton, this shall only take a short while. With any luck by the time I return, Mr. Wharton will also be back, and we can move forward.” I smiled amenably and told him not to worry as he stepped out. Only Rostokov and I remained in the room and the moment I turned around he was before me, prowling like a predator stalking prey. Without betraying the discomfort that rattled through me I offered him a polite smile. The tall man took a seat in the chair beside mine, watching me but not uttering a single word. I stared back at him, studying, assessing, and waiting for his first move. He did not frighten me, but there was something deeply unsettling about him.

“I greatly admire you, Naomi.” His knee grazed my thigh as he spoke. “You strike me as someone with a business mindset. In my opinion, business should come above all else.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

He hummed, leering at my, the look had my skin crawling. “You see, in business partners, Mr. Vasiliev and I are looking for people who go the extra mile.” His hand was on my knee now and my body was tensed so completely that it almost hurt. Bile rose in my throat as the feeling of his sticky fingers pressing into the flesh around my joint. “People who would do anything for the business.” His hand rose on my leg, I tried not to glare at it. When he rose to his feet and his hand left me, I barely had time to feel relief before it was on me again. My shoulders this time, both his hands. Rage simmered low in my belly at his gall, for a moment I was in the Red Room again, Dreykov’s hands on me as he lifted my hand to aim the gun at Oksana’s head, his breath on my ear. I wanted to hurt him, more than anything I wanted to watch his face shrivel as the agony overtook them. Rostokov and Dreykov both. My fist clenched so tightly at my side I’d be surprised if I hadn’t drawn blood. With a shaky exhale I anchored myself, my anger. If I blew my cover the factory would go into lockdown. I didn’t know where Pietro was, but I knew he was still here, I wouldn’t risk him getting stuck here or shot because I could not control my temper. I closed my eyes momentarily, ignoring his hand sweeping around my collarbone. “Is that you, Naomi? Are you willing to go the extra mile?” When his fingers undid the button on my blouse and attempted to delve beneath, I lost the battle with my temper and snapped. Though, before I had the chance to get my hands on him, his touch was gone. I turned to see a familiar silver-haired man slamming Rostokov against the wall, before dragging him out to the ledge and dangling him over it.

“Don’t ever lay a fucking hand on her again.” The American accent was long gone and by the look in Rostokov’s eyes, our cover was more than blown. I muttered a curse under my breath as I looked around, within seconds a gun was cocking and Vasiliev appeared, aiming it at my head.

“If you’d be so kind as to put my business partner down.” He spoke glancing at Pietro momentarily. Rostokov was grasping at his arms frantically. “Who the fuck are you people?!”

I raised my hands in mock surrender. “We’re the Wharton’s silly.” I taunted, not bothering to continue the accent, our cover evidently blown already.

“Are you a spy?” Vasiliev asked, stepping closer to me.

“More of a freelancer these days.” I shrugged.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Tell your boyfriend to put my partner down or I’m going to put a bullet between your pretty eyes.” Pietro faltered at that, glancing back momentarily,

“No,” I spoke, nonchalant, keeping my eyes on Rostokov. “Don’t worry, he’s not going to shoot me, because he needs to know who we’ve told anyone about his little business endeavor and whether he has time to close shop before they arrive… and my ‘boyfriend’ is not going to say a word if there’s a bullet between my pretty eyes.”

I could see Vasiliev’s jaw clenching at that. “You little bitch, who have you told?” He took another step toward me, taking the safety off.

“Today?”

He sneered at me. “I am not fucking around! Did you tell someone about the farm?” I smiled at him, and he cocked the gun. “Stop wasting time and answer the fucking question!”

“Oh, I’m not wasting time, I’m just stalling so I can come up with a plan.” Before he could pull the trigger, I was on him, grabbing his wrist and pushing it upward causing him to fire straight into the air. Disarming him was my easiest task yet, and he was unconscious with a broken arm in likely dislocated shoulder in a matter of moments. I heard a commotion behind me and when I turned around Pietro was dragging an unconscious Rostokov by his feet. “Tie him up and find us a way out, I’ll get the sample,” I spoke quickly.

Pietro nodded. “Oh, and by the way, that whole thing was very cool.” A loud siren began to emit through the speakers in the factory. The sound of boots bounding toward the main room had me gritting my teeth and giving Pietro a firm look before turning toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. We needed to get the hell out of here, but I wasn’t leaving without that sample. I moved toward the lab quickly, silent on my feet as I avoided the sounds of voices.

There were two guards checking the corridor when I glanced around the corner. I pressed myself flat to the wall, listening as their footsteps grew closer. When they were about to enter my path I lunged, ducking quickly under the first one’s arm and hitting his arm, causing him to accidentally shoot the second guard. When one was down, I swept the first man’s feet from beneath him, slamming the base of his weapon into his head to render him unconscious. The lab was empty when I entered, crossing the space in a moment to secure the case. I did not need to turn to be aware that I was no longer alone in the room.

“Oh, for the love of God, will you just fuck off?” I swiveled to see Rostokov sneering at me from the doorway, blood trickling from his nose.

“You’re friend hits like a little bitch.” I raised an eyebrow at his words, assessing the severe damage on the man’s face, I liked to think I taught him that. Anatoly pulled a gun from beneath his jacket, aiming it at me.

I sighed exasperatedly. “What is it with the guns from a distance huh? What? Worried you can’t take a girl without a weapon?”

“I know you.” He spoke, the corners of his lips turning upwards, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Did you know that?”

“Is this a riddle or something?”

 He smiled at me. “You don’t remember me do you little bird?” I narrowed my eyes at him, confusion spreading through me as my wind whirred attempting to place his face. “Well, I suppose I cannot blame you; I looked a little different back then. So did you, but I’d know you anywhere.”

“This is getting awfully boring, are you going to tell me why you seem to believe we’re acquainted.” I didn’t let my voice betray how shaken I was by his words.

He laughed, it was loud and jarring, sharp teeth showing as his mouth opened. “Always so much bite for such a small thing.” It was then, right then when he spoke those words that I remembered him. Not his face, but his voice, his laugh, those words. The loud booming laugh was one of the sounds that haunted my dreams every night.

So much bite, for such a small thing.

I was 5 years old the first time they did it, they did it again a month later. I stood in a small dingy room, with blank slate-colored walls, a bed in the corner that matched. A man stood before me with a revolver pointed at my head, I cried, and I begged him to stop, to let me go. I begged him not to kill me, but none of my tearful pleas seemed to so much as move him. It was as though he couldn’t hear me, and then he pulled the trigger. I will never forget that loud click that bounced off the walls, an empty barrel, I was alive. I watched him put the bullet in every time, he’d take out the set, showing me the special one that he called his favorite, he’d put it into the magazine and point the gun at my head. He pulled the trigger again and again, month after month until I stopped flinching. Then, and only then, did it stop. I had not realized until I was well into my teenage years that he knew the bullet was never in the barrel, it was psychological torture to break us. To make us soldiers and nothing but.

“Obolensky.” I muttered.