#(aside from his girlfriend but i mean like blood related sorta)

[hypmicdaydreams]

May I request for tdd ichiro and samatoki finding out that their fem s/o is the adopted daughter of jakurai hc???

Yes, of course! This was cute to write, though I do hope that I was able to portray it well and accurately,,Thank you for the request though, and I hope you enjoy 💕

𝗧𝗗𝗗 𝗜𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗿𝗼 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗦𝗮𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗸𝗶 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝘀/𝗼 𝗶𝘀 𝗝𝗮𝗸𝘂𝗿𝗮𝗶'𝘀 𝗮𝗱𝗼𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗱𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗲𝗿

-pairings: ichiro yamada x f!reader, samatoki aohitsugi x f!reader

-genre: fluff

Ichiro

he certainly did pick up the semblance long before, though it was a bit more of intuition than anything, and ichiro never did take that thought of his too seriously

he couldn’t help but pick up on the small details, such as how you always seemed to talk highly of the doc and certainly were the closest with him when compared with the other members

but, again, ichiro didn’t think much of it. he simply thought that you and jakurai just got along well, more so than the others. perhaps the two of you even hung out often outside of the group. honestly, he was happy to see both his girlfriend and one of his close friends get along

so when it’s first brought up that jakurai had actually taken you in, presumably, after you’ve been orphaned, he’s initially quite surprised to see that you guys were actually related (well, not by blood)

ichiro actually finds out when he brings up meeting your family since you guys were together for a while by then. you had met his brothers (who loved you a lot and saw you as an older sister might i add) once the three of them had made amends, and he was excited at the prospect of meeting yours

draws a blank when you tell him that he already had given that he didn’t know or actively talk to many people. but when he says jakurai offhandedly, not really expecting it to be the answer, ichiro practically does a double-take when you nod

“seriously?! man, i never realized”

he may have had his suspicions that both you and him were closer than ichiro realized, but a parental relationship never was something that crossed his mind. now that it was mentioned, however, he was able to draw on the parallels, ones he had missed beforehand

at the same time, ichiro is definitely interested to learn more, specifically how jakurai had found you, when he did, etc. he thought it was all so compelling and listened to the story rather intently

(and, honestly, he felt relieved to know that you were in such good hands. ichiro trusted jakurai quite a lot after all)

despite that, ichiro also knew that you were your own person and weren’t tied to jakurai in any way, shape, or form; so it never was a fact he brought up often, though he certainly did think that it was neat

at times though, he seems to forget it, and each time it’s brought up such as when you were describing what jakurai had made for dinner last night, ichiro is always taken aback each time before remembering that the two of you had this conversation before

well, he was a bit forgetful back then i like to think, though in an endearing sense

Samatoki

the thought of both you and jakurai being related or even being friends, really anything that’d require you guys being close, never did cross his mind, not in the slightest

i mean, what reason did samatoki have to believe that his girlfriend and teammate were somehow related? there never was anything that would hint at that, at least, in his eyes

samatoki , admittedly, had missed all the little details, such as your high regards of jakurai or how he was the one you talked about the most when the dirty dawg was brought up. he didn’t think much of it, perhaps finding it a bit strange at times but never anything he pointed out

if anything, samatoki just thought that you were also a fan of his or were simply acquaintances, nothing really that big. you guys just so happened to get along really

so when he first learns of it, when you so casually mention that jakurai was your adopted father during a conversation about family, honestly, samatoki sorta just blanks and goes “huh??”

it was something that seemed so out of the blue, so random even, but that’s only because he never did connect two-and-two together. never in his wildest dreams did samatoki think that perhaps his girlfriend knew and was related to someone on his team, especially not when the two of you didn’t even meet through jakurai

but then he recalls back to all the moments where it should’ve been at least a little obvious. all the times he had caught you alongside jakurai, and how jakurai, in particular, seemed to be rather fond and soft towards you

man, he really was so blind to it, samatoki couldn’t help but think

but it was also something that, after the fact, he brushed aside, not really thinking much of it. sure, it was quite neat to know that you two were related in some way, and it did peak his curiosity so he may ask for the story, if you were fine with that; but overall, it’s not something he was entirely bothered by

lowkey feel like he’d try and reassure jakurai that, even if he was a member of the yakuza, he’d take good care of you even though jakurai had no doubts at all. samatoki could be somewhat old-fashioned at times just like that

samatoki is a huge family man, as we know, so i’m sure he’d be happy to also know that you had the doc as your dad since he wanted you to have nothing but support and love coming from your home life, especially considering your past and all (assuming that he took you up when you were orphaned)

honestly, he also loves teasing you about it at times, smirking and saying stuff like how he’ll snitch on you to your dad if you ever did anything that was dangerous or so inconsequential, such as forgetting to take out the trash, or even just to fluster you

samatoki loved to see how flustered you got, thinking that you looked rather adorable, though it was all in good humor

(don’t worry, you like to get him back by threatening to tattle on him to nemu as well, lol)

[thejudgingtrash]

Annabeth is a good person,but not a nice or pleasant one,IMO.

YES.

That’s it. That’s the post. Pack it up everybody, we just cracked the case and cleared up one of the most compelling fights in the PJO fandom since forever. Good job everybody, clap it out and there’s the door! Don’t forget ordering the drinks at Starbucks, Mitch! They’re on me!

Okay, but on a more serious note: YES. YES EXACTLY.

And before some of you roll your eyes or grab your pitchforks – put your biases aside and hear me out for once. I like Annabeth. She’s my in my top three characters only second to Percy himself. I love Percabeth. It’s my favorite ship in the entire series and to be frank, the only ship that I care about PJO wise. Hell, I spend my time creating my own headcanons or writing my own fanfics with Percabeth being the star in them.

But that is not to say that I’m unable to see how certain things have developed over the years or where they stand now in regard to Annabeth. I’m not here to ignore things that have been said and/or done due to or in the name of Annabeth and I’m not here to vilify anyone that doesn’t like her. And I’m here to admit that I’m guilty of some of the things that may be addressed in this meta essay that you will read in just a second. However, I try my best to assure you, that I’m for once able to recognize my own bias.

Warning: a monster essay lies right upon you.

This should count as a paper of its own.

Back to the statement on top: I would go out even further to reframe your claim, anon:

Annabeth Chase is a good character but not a nice or pleasant person.

Annabeth is a wonderful character but she isn’t a nice one. Or at least not nice to everyone. She is (construction wise if I dare say) the best character out of the series. She has her positive traits (she’s caring, she’s emotional, she’s encouraged and volunteers, she fights for what she believes in, she forgives (even if doing so begrudgingly)) but she also has her negative traits (she’s stubborn, she’s brash, changing her mind takes forever, she is prejudiced, she baits others). That balances things out. She is branded as the intelligent kid but does irrational things (like I’ve just said a) she’s a kid and b) she’s not a robot). She should probably know better, but we all make mistakes and hopefully grow and learn from them. The clouds in the sky do blur and cover our visions sometimes.

Annabeth had clashes with other characters or was about to have fights due to her stubbornness or jealousy (Rachel, Reyna, etc.) and has of course her problems with the mortal world and her family but she also found new friends, some things cleared up throughout the narration and she was/is quite popular in Camp Half-Blood.

The thing is: she doesn’t have to be nice or pleasant (as a character). Or at least not all the time. Her character is humanized. That is what or who she is. Human. She does stand out as a character, not just because she’s the (future) love interest. She feels like someone you could meet in real life and either adore from the top to the bottom or declare as your biggest enemy. And that’s totally okay if you lean either way – liking or disliking her. Or even feeling indifferent about her. Also great!

To say that she has been the best character that Riordan has crafted is easy to say, because she has been sculpted after Riordan’s wife. He had a model he could rub some of real-life events or traits on. That’s not the problem. The problem truly doesn’t lie on Riordan’s side for the most part for once.

The problem is inherently on the fandom’s side. What the fandom does, how it acts and how it treats Annabeth as a character is the problem. The problems vary but it’s mostly the mischaracterization of Annabeth, starting fights and fan/ship wars, internalized misogyny (in some cases) and how some of the Annabeth stans lash out (ha, got firsthand experience in that field among many of my friends and mutuals!). There is a reason why many people are wary of people that have Annabeth or Percabeth related URLs.

The fact that we see Annabeth mostly through Percy’s lens and (until the Heroes of Olympus saga hits) we never really see her in chill everyday situations is essentially Riordan leaving the back door of the house open, ready for all of you asshats to rob his mansion in Boston. Because a frame on a character means that we don’t get to see the character in its entirety (unlike we do with Percy in PJO for the most part). That means a bunch of stuff is left open for interpretation which is the reason why Annabeth gets so many polarized headcanon and opinions tossed around. I think that is one of the true appeals of Annabeth. You can add on stuff and it necessarily doesn’t have to contradict itself.

We have people calling her abusive due to a (n admittedly stupid and unnecessary) judo flip and we have people that act like she’s never done anything wrong. People sorta use this excuse to form and shape Annabeth however they want and distort her characterization.

People in the fandom act like Annabeth is some weird prized possession. We perceive Annabeth mostly through the eyes of others (Percy, Apollo, etc.) and when we had some sort of insight in her ways (MOA, HOH) it felt… weird? Somewhat? Like Riordan left two bullet points of her characterization and told the ghostwriter: aight, fuck it up, gringo, see you on Tuesday and greet Fred the next time you see him for me. 

There have been many posts lately (by Tharini, Simi, Sawasawako, Jewishpercy and Annie I believe?) that HOO Percabeth felt weird. That they felt weirdly constructed, that there was no conflict, no growth. It felt stagnating, like we’re turning back. We had five books prior where we had Annabeth and Percy slowly shifting from disliking to liking and crushing each other. True development. And when we finally got the cake it felt… dissatisfying. Like the cheap box stuff and not the delicious exquisite taste that we were promised.

I said it previously in my Percabeth ship roast, but let me repeat myself: many Percabeth related things are straight up fanon. Some of it is very old fanon so that’s been unable to distinguish unless you’ve read the books recently and subtract nearly 99,9% of things you see on Tumblr (and occasionally the other shitty parts of the fandom like Reddit, IG, Twitter. Although they mostly steal and recycle tumblr stuff oh well. But back to the topic).

The way people treat Annabeth is so strange. She’s either an innocent fluffy smush baby that’s never harmed a fly and all that she wants for Christmas is being Percy’s lapdog or she’s the devil incarnate, broke into your house, killed your parents Batman style, kicked your puppy and didn’t flush the toilet on the way out. I think this is what mostly makes people hate her or the ship Percabeth. And both extremes are wrong and right at the same time? She is multifaceted so both stereotypes are true and untrue and sorta cancel each other out in the same way.

The true reason why people dislike Annabeth is because the stans are doing the most. (The haters as well, don’t get me wrong, but oh boy. Piss of a stan and you’ll know what I mean). That isn’t inherently new. Are you guys old enough to remember the ship wars that have happened cross platform? Perachel vs. Percabeth? Oh boy, oh boy. I saw some kids on tumblr a few months ago trying to infiltrate both tags and start shit (and also fail). The fact that Rachel still gets used as the bitchy (ex) girlfriend in fanfics? It’s 2020 guys. I know this apocalyptic year is far from perfect and over but I think we can let this trope die, right? Right? I thought we’ve established that Rachel is a pretty chill charcter by now… right?

If you posted your stuff on FFN back in 2010-2013 and it wasn’t the typical cutesy Percabeth story (Goode High, the gods read TLT, punk/prep Percabeth, college AU, etc.) people would’ve come for your fucking throat. Not because the story or the narration was shit. But because the pairing wasn’t Annabeth and Percy (in the sense that Annabeth had to be paired with Percy. I mean Percy gets shipped with everyone and their mother but for Annabeth it was strictly Percy. As annoying as this whole Connabeth thing is – the people behind it actually had a point. She never had a different love interest unless it’s a Percy centered story and he goes off dating Athena, Artemis and Zoe at the same time for some odd reason. Yeah, FFN Percy ships are something). Or it wasn’t the action filled canon compliant story or it wasn’t an AU that was popular.

People were really stubborn, snobbish and wanted their stuff in the four five boxes that were the most popular ones and that’s it. People have been bullied off the site in many fandoms, so it’s not a PJO-only thing but it’s still sad that it happened. (Off-note: most of these FFN tropes are still alive and well and thriving on AO3. Don’t be so snobbish and pretend that every piece you’d find there is a holy grail. There’s a lot of trash you have to waddle through. Same with Wattpad, Tumblr or anywhere else where fanfics get posted. Also had this discussion with Annabeth stans. Sigh).

And Tumblr back then? Forget it, wasn’t much better.

That view has sorta changed (at least for people that have been in the fandom for several years or have managed to find a way to navigate through it) but some of the negative sentiment from back in the day has survived. Be it by new fans coming in or from old fans that never let their stance die. The aggression feels differently and somewhat not. (I don’t know if the anon function had been abused that much back in the day. I was an observer not a participant in the fandom).

Crack a joke at Annabeth’s expense (Kal’s famous “Annabeth is a Republican” post or Dee Dee’s and many others “Annabeth has the education of a second grader, chill with the college plans, girlie” stance) and you have people insulting you, making callout posts, unfollowing and blocking you (based on only that? Okay, honey), making aggressive counter-posts, etc. in a minute. If you respond with “It’s a joke, it’s not real” you have a 50/50 chance of either getting blown off or embarrassing them so that they apologize for once.

This isn’t just about jokes. You can make a headcanon that’s not the cozy cute convenient mainstream saga and people would react the same way. Or art piece (no, not including the whole Tannabeth Blackchase shtick done by Viria and others) or fanfics.

People project so much onto the unfinished canvas that is Annabeth Chase that any form of negative sentiment as little as someone not liking her to straight up criticism, regardless of how tiny it may be, seems like an affront. Like an invitation to a fight. Like an insult to them, their character, everything they believe in. Let me state something:

You are NOT Annabeth Chase. Annabeth Chase IS NOT you. Annabeth Chase is NOT real. Her feeling cannot be hurt. Someone criticizing, disliking, joking about her or even insulting her will not bother her. Someone making a statement about her is not an insult to YOU.

Let me repeat that:

Annabeth Chase isn’t real. Annabeth Chase isn’t you.

So think a little before you act? I get it when you’re a kid and new to fandoms or haven’t been up with fan cultures in the past and are back in the scene. But if you’re in your late teens or even older as an adult and you’re unable to understand that you aren’t what you like – you aren’t the extension of a fictional character – I feel incredibly sorry for you. Because that’s just incredibly sad. Someone disliking something you like isn’t an attack of your character. It shows you that you are you and the other person is a human just like you. That they just have different taste. Disliking something you like isn’t a crime, you know? But me feeling sorry for the way some of y’all act won’t mean that that’s even remotely okay. Especially if you’re no longer in the intended audience for PJO age wise and should know better.

This isn’t a “white stans” only thing. I’ve seen and witnessed firsthand how people of color, mainly women of color, act the same or not even worse when it comes to her character. People have projected their problems and real-life occurring events into her character (I’m sure that she isn’t the only character nor that this is the only fandom where this is happening) and in some cases like I’ve said cannot separate their own personality from the fictional world. Fights with woc happened because of Annabeth fucking Chase. So many things have happened in the fandom the past few months, mostly due to people being forced staying at home because of the quarantine but I’d say it’s 10% on quarantine and 90% on people for acting up like this.

So here’s a little story: There was the act of Riordan blowing the fandom up because of his own stupidity and being unable to apologize for his mischaracterization and lack of research (the whole Piper fiasco) back in June (?) and admits the upset fandom, people on Twitter, Tumblr and Discord legit thought that none of that mattered and that the outcry was destroying Annabeth Chase’s birthday. That’s right. People thought that Annabeth Chase’s non-existing birthday because she’s a fictional character had a higher priority than the rupture and prevalent racism in the fandom. Okay. This isn’t a great look, Annabeth stans. And this of course pissed a lot of people off. I made a post about it and someone not only berated three other people on said post but no, we had a mighty argument which had disrupted many friendships in our circle which haven’t recovered until this very day. We both had our parts in it and no one is innocent. But the cause of this still remains Annabeth Chase or how people prioritize her non-existing well-being. Anyway. I’m getting agitated just thinking about it.

Let’s go back to the characterization thing with Annabeth. Let me remind you:

Annabeth Chase is an asshole. There I’ve said it in a post ages ago (too lazy to look it up, sorry) and I’ll say it again. And that’s not me insulting her. That’s me actually loving that about her. Annabeth is one of the very few unapologetic female characters that really showed all young readers across the world that you can be a girl, a badass, smart, strong, standing up for yourself and what you believe in. You don’t have to be nice. You don’t have to hide your feelings. You don’t need a man in all cases but it’s also okay to accept help and defeat.

A large reason why I think she’s an incredibly important character in children’s literature/YA because many other novels (mostly (sadly)) have the “Oh, I’m a white skinny dark-haired girl that likes unconventional things like READING. I’m not like the other girls, that take care of themselves and pamper themselves by enjoying shopping and wearing make-up. No, I’d rather be one of the boys but a sweet cute little boy and not the jock fuck that drank vodka shots out of a filthy shoe once. Despite me calling myself hideous every man in a 10-kilometer radius falls in love with me and tells me I’m oh so sexy and by the way I’m only 16 years old” shit going on for no goddamn reason.

Yes, I do blame Twilight for this mostly in recent years, but this trope isn’t by any means knew. Pretty sure that you could even use classics as Pride and Prejudice and dissect them in the same manner (Bold statement: Lizzy Bennet is the OG Bella Swan. There. Go fight somewhere in the corner, people). The new wave of YA focuses on girls belittling themselves and only starting to believe in themselves because someone else (mostly the male love interest) tells them they’re worth it. And these books hit the mainstream because they’re incredibly bland and picture perfect white.

With Annabeth it’s different. She shows up for the job and is done with it. (Brie Larson would probably be the perfect in real life version of her. You either like or dislike her. Or you really don’t care). That is what is so refreshing about her. Her unapologetic nature. Can it be off-putting? Yes. Is it annoying? Yes! Hell, every time I read The Lightning Thief, I want to rip her goddamn head off. And it’s just so well written. Her shift from mistrusting Percy but secretly still believing in him to her opening up. Wow, Riordan did something right there.

Annabeth Chase isn’t a young character. She has existed along with PJO for 15 years. She’s on her way to the second decade. I’m pretty sure that with the success of Percy Jackson (and Harry Potter) many lives have been warped and shaped.

But when I say the problem lies mostly in the fandom, it doesn’t mean that Riordan’s completely innocent. The only problem that I have with Annabeth lies not truly with her but the fact that Riordan is only able to produce three variations of female characters:

The sweetheart (Hazel, Silena, Calypso, Hestia)

The strong feminist (Annabeth, Piper, Thalia, Reyna, Artemis)

The bitch (Drew, nearly every female goddess in the goddamn Riordanverse next to every female monster)

And these female characters only know three endings:

End up married with a mortgage, three kids, two dogs and a cat somewhere in Connecticut by the age of twelve

Get dumped into the hunt

Chill on Mount Olympus and only come down to be a nuisance and/or give a cryptic message before going back and doing a godly rave party or something

We know Annabeth as the badass strong female first (or the bitchy character we’re supposed to actually like. Choose your approach), the blueprint so to speak, so some of the other characters feel almost pale in comparison and almost not needed? Doesn’t mean that other characters can’t behave similarly, but it feels kind of redundant especially if their character arcs end in a rather anticlimactic way (Thalia, Reyna). The new additions are the much needed woc as the main story with PJO was inherently white (anyway stan black!Percy and Grover, folks). So it’s not to bash on the new characters, it’s more Riordan’s fault more than anything.

Since Riordan only knows three female character arcs it feels like he tried to copy the formula several ways with different nuances. Some more or less successful. This is where fandom actually comes in handy and helps create more distinguished and fleshed out characters in form of headcanons or fanfiction.

But even in these cases people still make it about Annabeth when it’s time for characters of colors to shine. Remember that whole spiel and discussion that broke out when people (Kal, diver-up, Caitlyn, Bee, reynaisalesbian, etc.) joked about or criticized that Annabeth thinks that she’s having it harder because she’s a blonde? In front of Hazel and Piper? If she would’ve been a real person that’s an invitation for getting decked. And then all hell broke loose because Annabeth stans couldn’t accept the fact that in the real world and/or in fictional worlds the woc/coc have it harder? That the white woman wasn’t the victim that needed the coddling? Yeah, that was mad pathetic.

I hope you people get my point?

Well fuck. I wrote so many things and have the feeling I’ve said nothing. Anyway, I hope I made sense. This is way too long.

TLDR: Chill about Annabeth please. She’s an important character but that doesn’t mean that everyone has to like her, regardless of being a character in the books or a reader/fan of PJO in real life. She isn’t nice or a sweetheart all the time. She also isn’t the monstrous asshole that some try to make out of her.

Peace out.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Hello! If you're taking prompts still, could you do a coldwave one? Where the mind eraser that mick used on Len didn't quite work, so he remembers but he only sees it in is dreams? So most- if not every- nights len wakes up screaming but Micks always there to comfort him which he doesn't understand cause he ~killed Mick~ and still doesn't understand it until Rip proposed them becoming legends and then it's so much clearer. (Which could lead to Len just refusing the legends idea completely?)

By overwhelming majority :D ficlet #1, featuring a brief Harley Quinn cameo

ao3 link

————————————

It’s dreams, at first.

Len’s never had recurring dreams before, though, so this is new. They’re so vivid, so clear – they’re not nearly as nonsensical as Len’s dreams usually are. They make linear sense, for one thing, instead of jumping around from one horror to another, or randomly introducing pineapples in the corner of every scene.

He wakes up shouting at himself to stop.

Stop fighting, stop hurting, stop killing Mick.

They’ve fought plenty of times, aimed their guns at each other, but they’d never pull the trigger the way he sees himself doing, his face frozen in anger and hurt and betrayal.

Never.

“You sure you’re okay?” Mick asks after the first few times.

Len shrugs it off.

“You’re not okay,” Mick says firmly after the tenth or twentieth time. Not even going up against the Flash with Lisa had helped, a casino break and a grandiose battle just like he’s always enjoyed, and usually there’s nothing like having both Mick and Lisa where Len can keep an eye on them – all his chicks in their nest, so to speak – to calm Len’s subconscious down. Didn’t work this time, though, and Mick knows it just as well as Len.

“I might have a problem,” Len confesses, and tells Mick the whole story. The weird dreams that started right after his first battle with the Flash - the linearity of them - the consistency of them - how much it felt like a memory, for all that he wakes up with Mick, alive and well, curled up by his side -

“Okay,” Mick says when Len’s done. “That makes �� exactly zero sense, but let’s get started working this out.”

“Working this out how?” Len asks doubtfully. “It’s just a dream. It’s not real.”

“And most of my memories from before the age of ten are non-existent because I have trauma-related amnesia,” Mick points out. “Don’t see them anywhere but my dreams.”

“You’re here, Mick,” Len points out in return. “I obviously didn’t kill you. Also, there were two of you. None of that makes any sense as anything other than a dream.”

“You say it’s still fuzzy,” Mick says. “Let’s start by clearing things up. My shrink can recommend someone.”

“You want me to see a shrink?”

“No,” Mick says patiently. “I want you to see a hypnotist.”

“Wow, that’s a terrible idea,” Len says. “We’re not doing that.”

He dreams again that night of killing Mick, sees the ice freeze his partner’s heart, sees the blood spill out, thick and red, and that scene just repeats on endless loop again and again and again –

“Mick,” Len says, shaking his partner awake at four in the morning.

“Wha…?”

“That hypnotist,” Len says. “Who’d you have in mind?”

“Well,” Mick says. “I kinda only really know one that deals with supervillains…”

“Wow,” Poison Ivy, Mick’s pen pal plant-buddy (weirdos, both of them), says about a week later, after Len’s told her and her girlfriend the whole story from the start. “This is a terrible idea.”

“I know, right?” Len says gloomily.

“I mean, I’m a shrink an’ Ivy’s good with hypnotism, so I guess we’re the best you’ve got?” Harley says, but she sounds very doubtful. “We ain’t that good, though. But, like, we don’t want you to fall into Hugo Strange’s lap either, so…”

“You guys helped me clear up some old suppressed memories that were causing me some trouble not four months ago, following the fire,” Mick argues. “You do it all the time for the local girls, I know you do.”

“Those are suppressed memories,” Ivy stresses. “Not dreams.”

“Same difference.”

Harley opens her mouth, then closes it with an effort of will. And then a second later bursts out with, “Do you even know how wrong that is -?!”

“Shhh, it’s okay, babe, relax,” Ivy says soothingly to Harley. “Mick, stop it before she starts ranting about the DSM, okay?”

“Just do it before I chicken out,” Len interjects quickly, because Mick’s looking mutinous and Harley’s looking murderous and no one wants to get in the middle of that. “And we all know how Ivy feels about chicken.”

“Don’t mock the vegetarian about to entrance you,” Ivy says, rolling her eyes. “Okay, let’s do this thing.”

Len goes under.

When he resurfaces, he has a brand new shiny clear set of dreams (memories?), and they still make zero sense. He tells them to everyone, and they puzzle over them together.

“Okay,” Harley says. “There’s one thing that might make this whole stupid sheebang make a lick of sense.”

“What’s that?”

“Bear with me - we start by assuming that time travel exists.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Why not?” she presses. “If Ivy can exist, if your Flash can exist, and all those metas – why not time travelers?”

“If there were time travelers, wouldn’t we have seen them?” Len points out. “They’d come back to famous events or something.”

“Well, maybe they can’t. Maybe there’s some sorta Time Police to keep ‘em from interfering…”

“Even if there is something like that, putting aside how distressing it is to imagine law enforcement getting its fingers into something as awesome as time travel, how’d Mick and I get caught up in it?” Len demands.

“Boss,” Mick says. “If anyone offered you a chance to go time traveling, you’d leap at it.”

“Only for a year,” Len says.

Mick frowns. “Why?”

“Because then it’d be a leap year. Get it?”

Harley hits him with a pillow, cackling madly in approval, as the other two groan and put their heads in their hands. Len hadn’t even seen any pillows – either Harley secretly has access to a pocket of space-time, or it’d been hidden in the plants somewhere. In which case Len really doesn’t know.

He’s pretty sure it’s the space-time pocket.

“So what do we do?” Mick finally asks.

“Don’t go time traveling,” Ivy says immediately.

“But what if the consequences of us not going are worse than the consequences of us going?” Len asks. “I assume our past selves had a good reason.”

“Let’s focus on getting back the rest of your - you know what, let’s just assume they’re memories,” Ivy says firmly. “Maybe that’ll explain.”

A few hours later, Harley has still not stopped saying “Damien Darhk? And Malcolm Merlyn? What is this, the League of Shadows rejects society?”

“I’d feel offended, but the League would never try to recruit me,” Len says thoughtfully. “Also, thanks for finally explaining what the League of Shadows is; I’d been wondering. How do you even know about foreign ninjas?”

“Eh, Bats is pretty thorough,” Harley says with a shrug. “They either all pass through here or at least we hear about ‘em.”

“That still doesn’t stop us from figuring out how to stop this,” Len says.

“According to your memories, they recruited your past self – who’s an idiot, by the way – by telling him, believably, that you die in the future,” Ivy says, tapping her lips. “I think we have to assume that you actually did die, but in a way that was necessary for some reason. That’s why Mick betrays you to his hero team -”

“I’m never joining a hero team,” Mick grumbles, not for the first time.

“- and why you’re so upset. You think he’s killing you, and you’re lashing out.”

“I still feel like it’s an overreaction,” Len objects. “We’d fight it out, not kill each other.”

“If it helps, I think that fuzzy bit of memory in the middle is Merlyn doing something to your brain,” Ivy offers.

“He’s called ‘the Magician’,” Harley agrees. “Excellent with hypnotism. He’d totally fuck with you, make you more on their side than you outta be.”

“The future is bright,” Len says with a sigh. “We’ve seriously got to figure out a way to avert it.”

“Wish we could just ask ‘em what the deal is,” Harley agrees, also heaving a sigh.

Len pauses.

“Boss?” Mick asks.

“I’ve got a really bad idea,” Len says.

The Waverider does, in fact, show up to stop them from burning down STAR Labs.

“I don’t know how it happens,” the woman in white – Sara? – is saying as she walks down the platform. “Mick, you’re involved – what’s going on?”

“I don’t know!” Mick’s voice rings out. He’s walking behind her - a few pounds heavier, a grumpy look on his face, but unmistakably Mick.

The present Mick, who’s hiding with Len behind a curve of the building, starts in shock. Seeing is believing, Len guesses.

“Well, figure out where those bombs are,” she says.

“Sure,” future Mick snaps, and marches away from her – right to where they’re hiding.

The two Micks stare at each other.

“This is weird,” present Mick says.

“No kidding,” future Mick grunts. “Listen, last time I crossed paths with my past double, things went to shit. What’s going on? This didn’t happen the first time around.”

“We know what happened the last time that happened,” Len says. Future Mick starts – in just the same way present Mick just did – and looks at him, then doesn’t look at him, then looks conflicted and lost and awful. Len can’t help but reach out a hand to wrap around his arm, a comforting motion, like he always does, but it backfires – future Mick looks like he’s about to cry or something. “We just need more intel on what happens to me. So we can stop it.”

“You die,” future Mick says. “At the Oculus. Some sort of magic timeline-controlling device that the Time Pigs got their hands on, use to manipulate time. We were gonna destroy it, but someone needed to stay behind. You – you take my place and get blown up.”

“Why would you be there?”

“Stupidity?” future Mick suggests. “I really don’t know, somedays, but it seemed worth it at the time. We saved the whole timeline from being fucked with by some pretty awful guys. They tortured me.”

“Are they dead now?” Len demands.

“Yeah, they all died in the explosion,” future Mick says. “Why are you…?”

“No, I have an idea,” Len says. “Now go disable those bombs while we make a getaway.”

“You’d better have an idea,” future Mick says. He looks desperate.

Present Mick doesn’t look much better.

“Leave it to me,” Len says.

Future Mick nods and goes to disable the bombs.

And then he goes back to the Waverider before Sara can get back.

“Gideon,” he says. “Is there a time anomaly remaining?”

“Yes, Mr. Rory,” Gideon says. “The burning of STAR Labs has been successfully averted, but another anomaly is forming, relating to one Leonard Snart and his –”

“Beta delta zed, baseline override,” Mick says. “Forget about the Snart anomaly. You don’t know about it, and if anyone asks, you deny it exists.”

“Understood, Mr. Rory,” Gideon says.

“Sorry, Gids.”

“I understand,” she says. “I don’t appreciate it, but I understand.”

A day passes, though, and Mick doesn’t feel any different. He vaguely remembers the incident in question, remembers Len being all reassuring and shit, but nothing ever really came of it, and eventually he largely forgot about it.

Another day.

A week.

The plan must not have worked.

And then they get called back to 2017, and there Len is, standing by the Flash’s side, and he’s smirking. “About time,” he drawls.

“You asshole,” Mick says, understanding. “You didn’t tell me the plan?”

“Didn’t want to cause paradox!”

“I’m going to punch you!”

“Wait,” Jax says. “Is that our Snart? Back? For real?”

“I’m the one that went boom,” Len confirms. “Also the one who killed animal girl here – I’d apologize if I really cared – but I got over that years ago, and you should too.”

“How?” Rip demands.

“I remembered what happened in the past, and used it to shape the future,” Len says with a shrug.

“The device should have worked – you shouldn’t have remembered it as anything other than a dream!”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Mick snaps. “Or I would’ve told you that wouldn’t have worked. Snart has nightmares or dreams about pineapples and that’s it. Of course we got suspicious when he started dreaming about evil dystopias and murder.”

“Pineapples?” Ray asks.

“Don’t ask,” Len says.

“But even if he did retain the dreams, the memories wouldn’t have been anywhere near clear enough –” Rip starts.

“Yeah, about that,” Len says. “I promised Harley and Ivy a ride in the Waverider as recompense. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course we mind!” Sara exclaims.

“Awwww, that’s no fun,” Ivy purrs, coming out of the door in her usual state of undress-masquerading-as-a-costume, Harley a few feet behind her in what appeared to be three pieces of black-and-red leather barely stitched together - Mick has really got to have a word with her about her costume choices. He and Len share a look of total agreement on the subject.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Sara says, staring. “We don’t mind. At all. Hiya, girls.”

Ivy blows her a kiss.

All the people even slightly attracted to women in the room that haven’t been inoculated – which is to say, everyone but Harley, Mick, and Len, because there’s straight and there’s gay and then there’s Ivy-resistant and just about no one is Ivy-resistant – promptly go all glazed-eyed.

Interestingly enough, this category includes both Amaya and Iris.

“Yeah,” Len says. “This is gonna be fine.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me the plan,” Mick grumbles.

“Oh, get over it,” Len says, sliding a hand around Mick’s waist. No one’s going to notice their public display of affection with Ivy and her pheromones in the room. “At least I’m alive, and no more nightmares of murdering you.”

“No?”

“Nope,” Len says. “I’m back to pineapples.”

“One day, you’re going to explain that,” Harley tells him.

“It’s going with me to my grave,” Len says.

“Not anytime soon, it’s not,” Mick says. “You’re staying right here where and when I can keep an eye on you, you hear me?!”

[stcrlitsky-blog]

tbh the only reason i don’t use the birb verse (the pre-human one) is bc idk what i would even do with it and i don’t have falcon icons and just. yeah. effort.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Countless Roads - Chapter 19

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 19 - Ao3

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, others

Summary: Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him.

Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

———————————————————————————

The corrupt policemen come up behind Len and grab his arms. Len could fight back, but he's tired, he's in pain, and he has no desire to see what happens when a man with glass in his skull acquaints himself with a police-issued taser.

He spends the next few hours tied to a chair inside that filthy bed and breakfast, waiting for Cabrera to sober up.

Len spends the time thinking.

Planning.

He's not about to go down without a fight.

He knows Barry isn't, either, nor Mick, nor his Junior Rogues. They'll track him down the same way they found him the first time around, track him even beyond his anti-ghost aura now that they know what it is, and they'll run right here, Barry with his super-speed, Jax and Wally, all of them. They'll bring some mechanism for stopping the bomb in Len's head – they got it out of Lisa, after all, somehow - and if no such mechanism exists, Cisco will invent one. Mick will find a ghost that can make it happen. Lisa will steal one. The junior Rogues will band together and figure something out.

Something will be done.

Len's sure of it.

Unfortunately, Lewis is pretty sure of it, too. Lewis has as many flaws as he has personality traits, but unfortunately he's not actually all that stupid, and he can put two and two together same as the next person, and he's already put his counter-move into action: bringing Santini thugs and hitters in by the dozen, promising to buy their drinks at the pathetic hotel bar downstairs as long as they stick around, and telling them to keep an eye out for the Flash.

Barry will need to get through them if he's going to get to Len.

If.

And that’s assuming he can get to Len in time, too. Lewis is pushing their timeline forward, as quick as he can, and Barry still needs to figure out where Len even is.

Len's faced worse odds in his lifetime, but he still doesn't like the way these ones look.

He can hear Lewis shouting instructions outside the door, hurrying people along, snapping at them. Cabrera looks hungover when he comes in, which probably accounts for the scowl on his face, and in his hands he's got a bucket of something slick and dark and red already starting to look kind of brown.

"Blood?" Len asks skeptically. "Really?"

Must Len's highly-probable death be quite this cliché?

"Pig's blood," Cabrera says, and a ghastly smile splits his face. "Human's better, but people can be so picky."

Len makes a face. Not even at the idea of using human blood – crazy people with crazy rituals, what can you expect? Not enough intelligence to go swipe a blood bank or a college blood drive van, that's for sure – but at the idea of pig's blood.

Len doesn't really keep kosher, except for sometimes in prison where the food tastes better that way, but his mom did and she wrinkled her nose at any suggestion of pig.

"It's no good for nothing," she told Len. "Got nothing in it, nothing good. Pig's too close to human, too smart. Keeps itself dirty in the muck like a human. Bad luck to kill one, worse to use it. No good. Never use it."

"Use it for what?" Len asked, disinterested child already mostly distracted.

"Anything! It’s bad luck."

And Len never has, not for anything - not for heists, not for eating, and certainly not for anything related to the dead. He's never needed to, for one thing; his power has nothing to do with blood or with sacrifices or with arcane symbols like Cabrera is painting on the floor. It's all willpower – no trappings required, not as anything more than a placebo focusing aid, and he hasn't needed anything like that in ages.

Ugh, mediums. Len's always heard they were crazy weird.

"What's that you're drawing?" he asks anyway, because more information is always better.

Cabrera snorts. "Your doomsday," he says, continuing to paint in the swiftly drying blood.

"Yeah, yeah, I got that. But what is it? The circle, I mean?"

"You don't know?"

"So sue me, I'm ignorant."

"What I would give to have your power," Cabrera says almost to himself, shaking his head. "I've got a fraction of it, that’s all, barely a thimbleful while you're just overflowing. Mine, I have to boost it whenever and however I can, using all the tricks I had to beg and kill for, and you've got it all just handed to you – and you're ignorant. Goddamn necromancers. Cheaters, the whole lot of you."

“I’m not a necromancer," Len says. He feels that's important to point out.

Cabrera snorts. “Yeah, sure you’re not. You do your thing based on nothing but innate talent, where the rest of us have to slave away learning our books – you’re a necromancer for sure.”

"So tell ignorant old me," Len says, letting it go even though he doesn't really want to. Not an argument to have right now, with his time slowly ticking away. "What's the circle do? Summon ghosts?"

He knows the circle doesn't do that, since he saw no such circle earlier when Cabrera summoned Tomio's ghost – through Len's anti-ghost aura, no less. But his father’s easily goaded to answer correctly if he’s provided with a patently wrong answer, and Len’s willing to bet Cabrera’s the same.

"Don't be ridiculous," Cabrera scoffs, proving Len’s point. "This is a blood circle."

"I'd never have guessed," Len says dryly.

"Cute," Cabrera says, baring his teeth in a hacking laugh. "Very cute. This circle is used for trading – blood for blood, life for life."

"Why not use that for Tomio, then?"

Cabrera snorts. "You can't resurrect someone with a trading circle. A ghost will burn through all the years you have in a matter of hours –" He looks almost gleeful at the thought. And possibly like he’s talking from experience. "- right up until there's nothing left worth keeping."

"That why you look like chewed-up crap?" Len asks, unable to hide his disgust at the concept. "Or that just how your face is normally?"

"I'm going to enjoy seeing you get ripped to shreds from the inside," Cabrera says, quite calmly.

Len sneers at him.

"Oh, you’re defiant now, little necromancer, but it’s true. Your father's going to give willing blood, your blood, and he's going to throw you open for possession by any ghost that'll have you." Cabrera's smile widens, ugly and mean. "Bet you're used to that sorta thing, though. Pretty face like yours in prison."

"Not sure how me getting possessed helps anyone," Len says. That sounds extremely unpleasant, he’s not going to lie, but losing his cool over it won't get Len out of here. "'specially if they just kill me doing it. Seems like it defeats the purpose."

"The period of possession prior to your gruesome death will be long enough," Cabrera replies. "Long enough to use your power of resurrection."

"Will whatever ghost grabs me know how?" Len drawls. "Y’know, I think you're making a lot of promises you can't deliver on here."

Cabrera laughs and puts aside his paintbrush, standing up and coming forward, shoving his filthy face with his disgusting breath right in Len's face. "You're trying to think if there's a way out of this for you," he guesses, not incorrectly. "Sorry to tell you, my powerful little friend, but there ain't nothing you can do to save yourself."

"What's in this for you?" Len asks instead. "You can't imagine Tomio will keep you around." He smirks. "Not if he can get me."

"He won't have you," Cabrera says. "I will."

"…what?"

Len doesn't like the sound of that. He really doesn't like the sound of that.

Cabrera laughs and reaches out, running his oily fingers down Len's face, his forehead, his cheek, his chin. Len turns his face as far away as he can in disgust.

"The ghosts are gonna ride you till you're all hollowed out inside," he says, sounding almost high with pleasure. "Won't be much of you left that's good for anything but saying 'yes' and 'how high' and maybe a 'please not again'; that's what Don Tomio's expecting, the foul bastard. But I ain't gonna leave him even that."

Len swallows.

"I'm gonna take you," Cabrera crows. "I'm gonna take all that power, all that strength, and I'm gonna drink it down myself, and leave you empty of everything. You wanna know what I'm getting out of this? I'm getting power. My sort of power. I’m gonna swallow you down till there’s nothing left."

“You can’t do that,” Len says – stupidly, he knows, but horror makes you say stupid things. It’s not power, it’s life; you can’t steal a person’s life, not like that. Mediums may be different than whatever the hell Len is, what his mother was, but it can’t be that different.

Can it?

“Oh, I can’t,” Cabrera agrees. “Only a ghost can steal like that, only a possession. But Don Tomio doesn’t want a piddly little possession. He wants to come back, however it is that you necromancers can manage the feat. So I’m going to use your dad to trade – your blood given as an offering to the ghosts for power. You get power, lots of power, the power of the damned, and it’s going to rip you apart. You’re not the only one with pet ghosts, you know – I’m gonna summon up one of my favorites, and he’s going to have his way with you, and when he’s done pulling Don Tomio out of his grave, he’s going to give me everything else he’s got from you, free and clear – and in return, I’ll let him and his precious girlfriend pass on at long last.”

“You know, I thought you couldn’t get more disgusting,” Len says. “But no, you’ve managed it. What sort of asshole keeps a ghost from passing on? That’s what a ghost is supposed to do.”

“Says that man carting around a ghost that’s nearly a century old,” Cabrera sniffs.

“Mick’s going to therapy for his deep-seated guilt issues,” Len says flatly. “It’s helping.”

“Make what excuses you want. You’d never let a powerhouse like that go free.”

“He’ll pass when I do,” Len says, because Mick has always promised as much, white flame burning in the back of his eyes every time he says it. “Without me, he’d fade away instead of passing on. We understand each other.” He sneers at Cabrera. “Even if you do pull away every last bit of life I have, Cabrera, it ain’t gonna help you. I might be ignorant, but you got no clue what you’re doing.”

Cabrera backhands him hard enough to knock the chair – and Len – to the ground.

“You miserable little piece of filth,” he hisses at Len, his eyes abruptly wide and furious, the white showing all around the pupil. “I’ll take everything you have, everything you could ever have, and we’ll see who knows what they’re doing then.”

A moment later and he’s calm, quiet, like he’d never been almost foaming at the mouth a second before. “But that won’t be an issue,” he says almost cheerfully. “We’re almost at the end, now. Your father’s consent is all I need.”

Len swallows. He misjudged, apparently. Cabrera’s not just power-hungry. He’s insane.

"We about ready to get started, Cabrera?" Lewis asks, coming inside, flanked by a handful of Santini thugs. A higher quality of thug than before – there's a few dozen downstairs drinking, but these guys, these guys are the enforcers. The wing-men, the ones that do far more than just put fist to face; these are the muscle-men of Don Tomio's Family. The ones who remain loyal to Don Tomio despite everything. Despite even death itself.

One crosses himself when he sees the blood circle.

Good Catholics come to watch a resurrection. They're uncomfortable, Len can tell, but not so much that they'll flee.

These are the men Tomio wants by his side when he moves to take over again.

Nicolas is notable primarily in his absence.

"Watch the goddamn merchandise," Lewis is bitching to Cabrera, who grins unrepentantly. "I know he can be mouthy, but he is the guy resurrecting the goddamn dead here, so I'd be a bit more respectful."

One of the thugs yanks Len and his chair off the floor, sets him upright. "We getting started?" he grunts.

"The circle's almost complete – " Cabrera starts.

"I don't want almost," one of the others says. "I want now. The Don’s return must not be delayed."

He's not the biggest guy there, but he's notable for not wearing any gaudy jewelry, and for how the others defer to him. No excess for him, no; this is a blood-bound Family man. A killer who lives for his master – and who now sees a chance to serve that master again.

A fanatic.

Len loves fanatics. They've got the easiest strings to pull.

"I'm finishing it," Cabrera snaps back. "Then all we have to do is the ritual, and you'll have Don Tomio back, safe and sound. Nothing to worry about."

"You need to fix me, first," Len points out. He's not doing shit for anyone with glass in his skull.

"No," Cabrera says, when Lewis glances at him for confirmation. "Not until the possession is done. I can do that no matter what state he's in."

Lewis smirks. "You get it out once the ritual is underway," he says. "Unless you've decided to do it willingly."

"Still no," Len says. He'd rather die, and he knows very well that they've long passed the point where Lewis would believe him, anyway. There's no playing Lewis now, so Len might as well die for what he believes in.

"Then let's get started."

Cabrera is finishing the circle.

"Pity," Len says. He can’t wait any longer to see what opportunities might come. He’ll have to gamble on the fanatic.

"What's a pity?" Lewis asks, frowning at him.

"Don Tomio, I mean. From what I get about this circle, I'm gonna get possessed by the first ghost that comes by, and then the way my ritual works is that I'll resurrect the first thing I see. No way to guarantee it's the Don – I mean, we could do a possession again afterwards, but –" Len shrugs. "Well, no dice. Guess we'll have to work on faith."

"We will not work on faith," the fanatic says. "Cabrera will summon the Don first, so that we may ensure his presence during the ritual."

Cabrera's head snaps up. "But – Mr. Alvarez – I need to perform the ritual!" he exclaims.

"Weren't you saying earlier that you could do both at once, if you wanted?" Lewis points out meanly. He doesn't like Cabrera. "With your eyes closed, I think you said?"

Cabrera hesitates. He clearly did say something like that - undoubtedly to earn a few more minutes to cradle his hangover.

"Then it is agreed. We will not risk it," Alvarez says. His eyes don't look quite right - one madman to another. "This is Don Tomio's grand return. It will be done, and done correctly."

"You don't understand –" Cabrera protests. "The strain of possession –"

"I don't care."

Everyone gets tense. Len doesn't see why at first, since Alvarez is behind him, but then he steps forward, and he has a knife out. A nasty one, too, a gut-splitter. You die filthy on that sort of blade.

Alvarez holds it like a man who knows how to use it, too.

"Fine," Cabrera says, what limited courage he has failing him, and he glares at Len. "It doesn't matter. I'll start the ritual, then summon Don Tomio as its finishing. And then the Don will live again."

"The Don first," Alvarez says, clearly pleased by the fear of those around me. "Or else you and me, we have a chat yes?"

"Don Tomio will need me – "

"Of course," Alvarez says. "But he will need you just as well with a few less fingers and toes."

Cabrera scowls, but nods his assent. “Fine,” he says bitterly. “I’ll summon Don Tomio and my personal ghost at the same time; one will possess me, the other him. And then we’ll finally get to it. Happy?”

Alvarez nods his consent.

Len doesn't say anything.

Cabrera grabs his cigar. It's how he controls the possession spell; that much is clear – Don Tomio is in control of the body while the cigar is lit and keeps it until the cigar goes out, then Cabrera resumes control. Len remembers how Don Tomio looked at the burning cigar when he was in control.

He didn’t want it to go out.

The plan clicks together.

Cabrera starts chanting.

Len licks his lips. It’s going to be close.

He sets his mental timer.

Lewis steps forward when Cabrera gestures, takes the knife and cuts himself, lets it drip onto the dried blood of the circle. "I give this blood willingly, for power," he recites, eyes sliding to Cabrera for confirmation. "Take the man within this circle, blood of my blood, for your use."

Sloppy. So sloppy.

"Now I see why the pigs' blood was appropriate," Len says, staring at his dad. "Once a pig, always a pig, huh?"

Lewis' face twists with rage and he steps forward – he's angry, he's going to come hurt Len for daring to speak to him like that – and then Cabrera shoves a hand in front of him. "Don't break the circle," he says. "That's his plan. He's desperate to get out of this. If you step into the circle, you are the man within the circle, and your blood is the same; you will be victim as well."

Lewis is torn for a moment, between his possessive rage and his self-preservation instincts. It's a struggle, but at last the latter wins and he defers to expertise, stepping backwards once more.

Len says nothing. Good thing that wasn't his plan.

Though it would've been nice to see Lewis get what was coming to him.

Cabrera returns to his ritual, but his rhythm is off, disrupted by Lewis. Len's said enough prayers to know that once they're engrained in your mind, it's instinct to start at the beginning, not the middle, and it's hard to pick up where you left off. Cabrera's spells seem to be working the same way, and he's stumbling just the slightest bit.

He’s lighting the stub of the cigar, just as before, leaving the majority of it on the floor next to him.

Cabrera's afraid, just as he always is, now that he's including himself as the host for Don Tomio. Len noticed it earlier – the slightest pause, the merest hesitation, before Cabrera says the name. He's afraid of Don Tomio, and even when he doesn't mean to, he pauses before committing himself to the summoning.

"And so to this place, to this time, I call upon you, restless spirits of the dead. I call upon you, the two spirits whom I name, you who wish to come to this place. I call upon thee by name -" Cabera is saying, as grandly as a miserable little man like him can manage. "I call upon thee –” And he pauses again, just that hairs-breath of hesitation that Len was counting on. “Thomas Antonio Salvatore Santini – "

As soon as Cabrera starts with the first name, Len speaks as well, matching his inflection.

"Michael," he says as quietly as he can manage. "Michael Christopher Sebastian Rory."

"— and also –" Cabrera begins, but it's too late.

Len might have glass in his head, unable to access his own power, but as he’s already seen, Cabrera’s summoning spells work just fine through Len’s ghost-repelling aura. Cabrera’s summoning ritual, modified by Alvarez’s insistence, called for two dead souls who wanted to come here, to this place.

Cabrera probably thought that that would safely limit it to the souls he had waiting, Don Tomio and his pet ghost, since who else would know to want to come here?

He would be right, too, if Mick didn't know where this place was. If Mick didn’t desperately, overwhelmingly, want to come to this place to rescue Len, stopped only by Len’s own repulsion of all ghosts from this place.

Cabrera might have been more specific if he'd known about the risk, but Lewis never told Cabrera that they'd been found. He wouldn't have, and Len knows it – Lewis never admits that his plans have gone wrong, even when it’s obvious that they have.

So Mick knows where they are – and he wants to come to Len’s side. He wants to be here.

And anti-ghost aura or no, Cabrera's summoning and possession spells work just fine.

The room fills with wind.

Cabrera's eyes go wide but it's too late – the blackness, the filth of Don Tomio Santini's soul, is running up his face, into his mouth, smothering the one person who realizes what Len's done.

Len braces himself for the crawling blackness himself, expects it, even, but –

Mick's soul isn't black.

All he's done as a ghost is not on his soul, but on his spirit; his soul's fate was written when he died at fifteen, victim to impulses he did not understand, an accident that gave him such guilt that he refused to pass on but for which he is not truly at fault.

Mick’s soul is a breeze, a rolling wave of lightness like the first day of spring.

Len is not smothered, forced down and silent. He is surrounded. He is loved.

Boss? Mick asks, voice ringing inside Len's head, clear as a bell. No offense but – what the hell?

Len has never been more relieved in his life.

I am so happy to see you, Len replies, finding himself incapable of using his lips. It would terrify him if it was anyone but Mick, anyone he trusted even a jot less.

But what’s happening?

You’re possessing me.

Uh. What? Can we do that?

Apparently, Len says. But that’s not important right now.

It’s not?

No. Right now, I need you to start a fire.

Shoulda known you wanted me for the arson...

Len tries and fails to roll his eyes.

Mick opens his – well, Len's – eyes, which Len at some point seems to have shut.

Tomio is looking out through Cabrera's eyes, smug and satisfied. "Now," he says. "About my resurrection –"

"Resurrection?" Mick asks through Len's mouth. "Are you fucking kidding me? He'd never resurrect you."

And you don't even know who he is, Len thinks happily.

I know you, boss, Mick retorts. It wouldn't matter if he was Santa Claus.

"Something's gone wrong," Alvarez says.

They're surrounded by Santini men – and Lewis – and they're commanded by Don Tomio. Everything is about to go very badly.

Mick? That fire?

Mick smiles.

The walls of the room goes up in a rush of flame.

Mick is a very powerful poltergeist to retain his powers through a possession.

But Len knew that already.

There’s screaming and shooting – because of course the thugs go for their guns, even though they don’t know who to shoot – and Mick gets Len’s body out of the ropes and the circle and goes straight for target number one.

Len didn’t even need to tell him it was Lewis.

“What –” Lewis chokes out just before Mick wraps his hands around his throat. He’s clutching at his shoulder; he’s been shot.

Len can hear shouting and shooting from downstairs, too, and explosions as well.

The Flash and his team are here, causing chaos.

Perfect.

“Fix him,” Mick snarls, his eyes – Len’s eyes – flaming white; Len can see it reflected in the window on the side of the room. The flames crackle around the edges of the room, already making it too hot; the doorway to downstairs is still open, but the flames are starting to crawl up the curtains and edge forward towards the center where everyone is standing. The escape route is closing. “Fix him now.”

“And then what?” Lewis sneers, even as his fingers fight to pull Len's own off of him. Possessed or not, Lewis will never see Len as a threat. “You’ll kill me, is that it?”

He’s reaching for his pocket.

Don’t let him get the detonator!

“If you fix him, I won’t kill you,” Mick says instead.

Lewis pauses. He's always been good at spotting opportunities to make a deal. “Oh, sure. But he will, I take it?” Also at spotting potential loopholes.

“No,” Mick says. “Neither he nor I will kill you. I swear it.”

Lewis’ eyes narrow.

“Last chance,” Mick says. “Or I’ll let the Santinis have you – and blame you for what’s gone wrong.”

“Fine,” Lewis snarls, and holds up a black brick – a magnet? – to the back of Len’s head.

Len howls in pain as the back of his head just rips open, the iron shards embedded in the glass ripping it out in a single horrifically painful motion, no finesse to it at all, the back of his head suddenly wet with blood that starts dripping down his neck.

And suddenly, through the pain, eclipsing it, his head is clear.

The room fills with ghosts almost immediately, all of the ones who have been held back streaming forward to fill the vacuum Len inadvertently created, and the room is full of them, flooding the room, filling it.

It’s loud. It’s so gloriously loud.

Len was so afraid that he’d never hear them ever again.

They’re back.

He’s back.

Lenny! Lenny, you okay?

I will be, Len tells him. He’s happy Mick doesn’t feel the pain as the back of Len’s head pours out blood – Lewis was clearly counting on the pain immobilizing Mick because he immediately starts struggling to get free, but Mick’s not having any of that – but still, that fucking hurt.

Do you want to deal with..?

Mick means Lewis.

He means -

Something has to be done. Lewis knows about Len's power, now. He can't be permitted out of here with that knowledge, promises or no promises.

And the only way to keep that knowledge secret is -

Len swallows. No, he says, hating himself just a little bit for not being able to do what he has to, but that little boy inside of him that so wanted his dad's approval won't stand for it even if Lewis deserves it a million times over. Len can't do it, not with his own hands. I can’t. You do it.

Fire?

No, Len says, the idea coming to him. You told him we wouldn’t kill him.

I was lying, boss.

I know. But do this instead…

Mick smiles with Len’s mouth and picks Lewis up. “Boss doesn’t want me to break my word,” he rumbles. “So I won’t. Doesn’t mean you ain’t gonna get exactly what you deserve, though, you prick.”

And he throws Lewis into the still-active blood circle.

And the ghosts – now that Len’s ability is returning, fast and loud and glorious – are streaming into the room, hundreds of them, friendlies and unquiet dead both, and they’re all as hungry for life as always.

And the blood circle promised them a man of that blood in exchange for power.

Lewis starts to scream, but it cuts off and he gags on it.

He dies on the floor, choking on the unquiet dead that rip his life away from him in greedy handfuls.

Just like Len’s mom.

Good riddance, Len says, but his chest feels weird. Like something’s gone wrong in there.

I’m gonna get out of here, Mick says.

Len exhales, and Mick is hovering in front of him. “Why the sudden rush?” Len asks.

Mick wraps a hand around Len’s arm. It’s the way he hugs Len in public, or when he thinks Len's about to have a panic attack.

It helps.

“Try breathing,” Mick suggests.

Len does.

That helps, too.

And then he turns to the rest of the room.

Don Tomio is still in Cabrera’s body, giving orders to his people, trying to reign in the chaos, put out the fire.

“Hey, Tomio!” Len calls.

The Don looks at him.

“You will never come back to life,” Len says. “I’ll pass on myself first.”

The Don’s face twists in terrible rage.

“I’ll give you one tip, though,” Len adds. “Cabrera used fire to control you, didn’t he? The cigar?”

“What about it?” Tomio snarls.

“The fire expanded before it was put out,” Len tells him. “Now it’s not just the cigar, it’s the whole room. As long as this fire keeps burning, he can’t cast you out – and I can’t touch you while you’re in there. Or won’t, which is the same thing in the end.”

Len watches as Tomio’s back goes straight. “Stop!” he roars. He doesn't want to go back to being a ghost; no ghost ever does. “Don’t put the fire out – corral it, but make sure it doesn’t go out! Someone get on the phone with whatever agents we have at the fire department! This fire needs to keep burning!”

Len glances at Mick and nods. Mick nods in return and wraps his arms around Len, barreling out the window and floating them down to the ground.

“What was that last bit about?” Mick asks as they land lightly. “Don Tomio – I remember him. He’s bad business. Why tip him off on how to stick around?”

“The medium he’s possessing – Cabrera – he’s worse,” Len tells him. “And every extra hour he spends in Cabrera’s body burns the years of Cabrera’s life away. Besides, Tomio will fade away anyway - he's lost his only reason for sticking around, the thought of finding some way of coming back. Now that he knows it's gone, there's nothing keeping him here.”

Mick nods.

Len can’t help but pull him close. He’d been so afraid.

It’d been so close.

“Mick,” he says, his voice cracking a little.

“I got you,” Mick says. “I’ve got you, now and forever.”

“You bet you do,” Len says.

“Hey, you guys! Rory, stop cuddling your boyfriend,” Barry says, coming to a stop in front of them. “We’ve got to put out this fire before it spreads.”

“Give it a little time,” Len says, not letting go of Mick. “I’m glad you found me. Were those explosions I heard just now?”

“That was 100% your Junior Rogues' doing,” Barry tells him. “Your responsibility. Also, do you have any other bad family members I should know about, just for safety’s sake? Evil uncles? Grand-aunts? Someone’s aunt’s second cousin’s former roommate? Something?”

“You’re less tactful than I am, and I’m dead,” Mick tells Barry.

“Oh, speaking of which,” Barry says. “Lisa said to tell you that the second you get back, she’s going to murder you both.”

Len starts laughing.