#I think there’s a decent chance the final part is facing the timeline ghosts more than the Meteor

[regallibellbright]

I know “FF 7 Rebirth trailer ends on a shot of Aerith at the altar” was a sucker bet, but. Called it, nonetheless.

More interestingly… Marlene. Marlene who either has some kind of foresight or some kind of awareness of the other timeline.

This is gonna be INTERESTING.

Oh, also Aerith’s taking a page out of Julia, Yuna (and Leblanc), and Lenne’s books, it seems. Well, I’m always down for a good songstress scene.

[ddarker-dreams]

Puppet Strings. Yan Ghost Josuke x Reader [COMM]

Warnings: Josuke’s temper flaring, typical yandere elements, brief alcohol mention. Word count: 3.1k

i.

You didn’t think much of it when you saw your window wide open. 

No, it wasn’t that particular moment that sent alarm bells ringing. It’s remarkable what the human mind is capable of scrounging up to justify an otherwise horrifying situation. Moving from one place to another is an exhausting effort -- you reasoned to yourself -- maybe you reopened it and forgot. That sounds perfectly plausible. Sleep came easily to you that night and all was forgotten the next morning. There were some other minor occurrences, cabinets being open, the television flickering. Nothing incriminating, nothing to worry about. 

For a time, this logic worked in your best interest. The last straw was when your personal belongings started going missing. Lip glosses, shirts, and even some sketchbooks. Contacting the police served to be no help. When they asked who could hold a vendetta against you, you had no solid leads. You’d only been in Morioh a little over a month. Earning an adversary in that short a time felt unlikely, if not impossible. Classmates were interviewed, their alibis clearing them of possible suspects, the investigation stagnant. Your neighbors hadn’t seen questionable figures lurking around your home. Days went by, and a few patrols later, the police claimed there wasn’t much else they could do. There were no signs of breaking and entering, no fingerprints, no leads. 

No peace of mind.

You’ve explored every logical avenue. Not knowing what to do next is the worst part, it’s what serves to frustrate you the most. Sighing, you dry your hands off, mulling over what to do next. Now that you’ve finished washing the dishes, there are no other chores to procrastinate with. Guess I better get started on that project, you think. God, but it’s so hard to focus anymore. 

Without noticing it, you felt drawn to the living room. Anyone would understand, that from the stress you’ve suffered, it’s fine to take a break. A distraction from reality sounds great right about now. Your PlayStation 2, which has been collecting dust, can finally get used. The multiplayer games are bugged -- a Player 2 shows up even when you play it with yourself -- so you haven’t used it in some time. Scanning over the various game choices, you never get a chance to pick one out. 

“Huh, so they released a sequel to that?” An unknown voice, masculine and lighthearted, chimes in behind you. Your immediate reaction is to whip your head back, searching for the source. Heart pounding, you realize this is exactly what you feared. That whoever was stalking you would eventually come to settle things for seeking help from law enforcement. You don’t see him, even though the voice had been close enough to assume he’s behind you. There’s no way you imagined it. Where is he? 

That’s when you see him. 

Whether or not it was intentional, he stands blocking your path to the kitchen, where your phone is. A young man of imposing size, easily dwarfing you. His style throws you off, it’s like he was ripped from another time. That hair… a pompadour? Narrowing your eyes, you stand from your kneeling position, preparing to hold your ground. He might be blocking your ability to call the police, but there’s still the option of running out the front door to alert your neighbors. It’ll be fine, you tell yourself, not entirely convinced. Just don’t panic. 

“Who are you?” Is the first question that slips past your lips. There’s unfiltered hostility in the words, despite your hesitation to aggravate him. Your eyebrows furrow when he puts his hands up in defense. It gives an impression of mockery in an otherwise grave scenario.

“Woah, calm down there,” he lets out a nervous chuckle that further irks you. “You can call me Higashikata Josuke.”

This person -- Josuke -- is acting too casual about this. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s the source of your torment these past few weeks. How else could he be standing in your home, acting in such a deplorable manner? For your own best interest, you bite your tongue, that’s dying to hurl numerous insults his way. In contrast to his polite speech, he’s dressed like a stereotypical delinquent. Who knows what Josuke would do should you provoke him. You’ve heard rumors of rambunctious youths in the area and don’t want to test the validity of those claims. 

“Alright, Higashikata-san, I’m going to ask you to leave. This is my house. If you just… leave me alone, I won’t contact the police. Alright?” You feel like your proposal is a considerate one, even if you don’t intend to follow through. Once you get to safety, like hell you’re going to let this punk get away with it, he just doesn’t need to know that yet. Josuke shifts weight from one leg to another, contemplating your words.

“I can’t do that. Besides, the same way you feel this is your house, I equally feel like it’s mine.” Josuke replies, scratching his cheek. His tone almost sounds… apologetic. As if it isn’t completely within his control to leave. You gulp when you realize your approach might not work. Maybe he’s not mentally sound? That’s the most plausible solution. Taking a deep breath, you shift to a less combative posture, still hoping to talk him down.

“Is there someone I could call? A guardian, a friend? Let’s figure this out.” You will yourself to keep each word steady to lure him in. The innocent inquiry doesn’t have the intended effect, Josuke frowning as soon as the word guardian left your lips. Shit. Was that a sensitive topic? The scowl is gone in a split second like it never existed. He takes a step closer to you and you take a step back.

“There’s not much to figure out. I’ll be honest then since I’m sure you’re freaking out right now. Which makes sense. I’d be freaking out too…” he trails off, going deep into thought. Finally, Josuke manages to choose the proper words. “How do I go about this? Alright, I’ll just come out and say it.” 

“Well, to put it in simple terms, I’m dead.” 

You blink. Tilting your head, you conclude that this Higashikata Josuke is not mentally well. Getting in contact with a professional is your new top priority. Josuke picks up on your hesitant body language and rushes to give credence to his claim.

“I know, crazy, isn’t it? I’m sorry about your stuff, by the way. Felt like the best way to understand my new housemate without sending you running right away. I’ll return it now,” Josuke’s demeanor doesn’t give you the impression of a liar. Still, a spirit? You don’t know what to think anymore. He sighs at the sour expression on your face. “How to prove this to you… ah, I know. Hey, check this out.” 

Josuke points to the controller sitting on your couch. Not a second later, it starts levitating in the air, your jaw-dropping at the unfeasible spectacle. Josuke lets out an airy chuckle at your bewilderment. “Sorry, that was pretty lame. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“There’s… really a spirit, in my house.” You struggle to say it aloud. The people living in Morioh could be superstitious, a view you attributed to living out in the country. This paranoia, or sometimes reverence, never fell in line with your beliefs. There was no solid proof that the supernatural existed. It made for riveting local stories, for youths to gossip and movies to adapt, but the line was drawn there. A timeline plays in your head of the past few weeks. It would explain how no one in this active community spotted an intruder, or how the police never found physical evidence. 

“Our house, actually.” He corrects with a beaming smile.

ii. 

Maybe it’s not so bad. 

Josuke, with whom you have an unusual relationship, makes for decent company in your otherwise uneventful life. You still can’t help but feel on guard around him for his earlier behavior. As he explained it, borrowing your belongings was just a way to get to know you. He apologized wholeheartedly for the stress he put on your life. It felt genuine, but an apology doesn’t make everything go away at once. Little by little, Josuke’s grown on you, worming his way into your heart. Memories and feelings fade, your first few weeks after the move are no different. 

“Have you seen my red scarf anywhere?” You call out, peeking underneath your pillow. Josuke appears from thin air -- an element that took some getting used to -- helping to look around your room. One of your conditions for remaining here was that he’d show up in your room only when invited, a condition Josuke was more than happy to agree to. You guess everyone is lonely in their own way.

“It’s not over here,” Josuke yells from beneath your desk. “What do you need it for, anyway? Can’t you just turn the heater on?” 

“Well, I could, but that wouldn’t do me much good. Some friends invited me to karaoke tonight, and the weather report said it’ll drop to four degrees celsius.” Feeling defeated, you plop onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. Josuke leans over, popping into your line of sight. He’s lacking the trademark smile you’ve grown used to seeing. For such a minor change, it packs a punch. Josuke sulks like a kicked puppy.

“Karaoke, huh?” He mutters, more to himself than you. “My old classmates used to do stuff like that. Sounds fun.” 

You sit up and cross your legs. Josuke’s tone is a longing one, wishing to fulfill a dream that can never be, visage painfully bleak. Guilt bubbles up in your stomach for the insensitive comment, not realizing he has a lot on his mind too. Josuke’s bubbly personality stood on a thin sheet of ice, ready to plunge into the depths at any moment. You wrack your mind to try and appease him. 

“It really isn’t anything that exciting. I was going to say no, but they insisted. Just imagine it as a bunch of tone-deaf people drunkards belting, that’s all it is.” You console. Josuke doesn’t light up at your joke, his eyes hollow. From what you know about spirits, if they linger in this realm instead of moving onto the next, that means an obligation is holding them here. You’ve never asked Josuke why he hasn’t passed on. That leaves room for speculation, numerous hours spent ruminating over theories. Maybe he’ll tell you one day, or maybe he won’t. Either way, it’s still tragic he never got to live his life.

“Mm… guess so, yeah.” He isn’t paying attention to your words. Guilt as sharp as knives slices through you at Josuke’s gloomy mood. For a split second, you consider canceling with your friends, to stay home and cheer him up. He always loves playing games with you or just speaking over trivial matters for hours. You push the idea away. Fraternizing with a spirit on the daily isn’t enough to supply your social needs, only friends of flesh and blood can fill that role. 

“Hey, I’m sorry for mentioning it. If you want to talk about--” 

“No,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “Go ahead. Go live life.” 

You don’t offer a rebuttal. Josuke probably needs time to think, you decide. We can talk about it later.

iii. 

“What’s up?” 

You lean against the wall, payphone pressed against one ear and your hand covering the other. Music blares in the background, terrible acoustics of the crowded bar making it difficult to hear the other line. One of the workers grabbed you, saying you had a call, your guesses of who it could be next to nonexistent. You scrunch your nose up when you hear Josuke’s distinct voice on the other side.

“It’s late,” you hear him say. His voice is muffled, but the exasperated tone is hard to miss. “Shouldn’t you be back by now?” 

Sighing, you struggle to rationalize why Josuke’s pestering you like this. You never gave a time when you’d be home, not thinking it was necessary. “I was going to leave soon. I don’t have class in the next few days, so it’s fine.” 

“It’s dangerous to be out on your own--” 

“Josuke,” you deadpan, rubbing your temples. “I appreciate the concern, really, I do. But I used to live in Tokyo, remember? If I could survive the city at night, I can survive here.” 

“That’s not the point here,” Josuke counters, voice dropping dangerously low. Your patience is wearing thin at his attempts to police your autonomy. It’s not his place to enforce a curfew on you. “You don’t know what kinds of danger lurks in Morioh.” 

Josuke’s statement is full of bone-chilling conviction. Almost like he was speaking from firsthand experience. You take a deep breath, remembering that you’re speaking to someone who likely died in a traumatizing manner here. Maybe extending a little grace wouldn’t hurt. It’s a shame to cut the night short, but it’s not that big a deal.  

“Okay, I get it. It’s about a fifteen-minute walk back home. I’ll see you soon, alright?” 

Softening your voice seems to have the effect you intended. Josuke takes a second to consider, the two of you waiting in tense silence. This is the first time you’ve gone out with friends, maybe he just wasn’t sure what to make of it. You hold no intention of bending to his every whim, but this one time, you’ll offer him peace of mind. There’ll be major boundaries set up in the future. 

He sighs begrudgingly. “... Right.” 

iv. 

This is getting ridiculous. 

Josuke’s behaving no better than an entitled child, your paper-thin patience starting to give way. The circumstances you’ve been placed into were unusual enough, to begin with, but they never felt malicious, not until Josuke’s personality seemed to switch in the blink of an eye. What you can only describe as sabotage has become a regular occurrence. It perfectly parallels the problems you had upon first moving into this house, only now you know the one responsible. He’ll act none the wiser, claiming innocence in what has to be his doing.

Cut phone lines, missing shoes, personal journals disappearing into thin air, nothing has been spared. Maybe you were foolish for trusting a spirit. You’d like to have thought you were on solid terms with Josuke, your mortal mind doing its best to wrap around the otherworldly events. You’re at your wit’s end, now fully prepared to confront him on this unacceptable display. It’s a shame it came to this, you think. Confrontation is the worst.

“Josuke.” 

“[First].” 

The two of you sit in the living room, on opposite sides of the couch. Ever since the karaoke disaster a few weeks ago, Josuke’s attitude has taken an undesirable turn, as evidenced by how he’s acting now. Never did you imagine he could be so petty. You straighten out your posture, squaring your shoulders, and placing your hands on your lap. He stares at you with faint interest, cerulean eyes shining at your attention. 

“I’ve tried my best to be understanding,” you wince at how dramatic your words are. It almost sounds like you’re breaking up with a partner. “If I did something that upset you, please just be honest about it.” 

Josuke gives a nonchalant wave. “Nah, it’s not that important anymore. I recently made up my mind, so I don’t feel too concerned about it.” 

There weren’t many expectations in place for this talk, but Josuke dismissing you this fast wasn’t an outcome you envisioned. It feels like a slap to the face after you spent days dreading this talk. What did “recently making up his mind” even mean? Irritation rises in your throat like bile, words snapping out before you can stop them.

“You don’t just get to be that dismissive,” you point out with a scowl. “I know what you’ve been doing. Taking my stuff again, right, Higashikata? I’m fed up with this shit. Maybe I should just move out--” 

Your sentence gets cut off by the coffee table’s glass shattering. The high pitched noise makes you jump, shards flying in multiple directions on the floor. Glancing from the mess back to Josuke, you find the sight of him as a stronger cause for worry. He looks thoroughly unimpressed with your emotional outburst. Thick eyebrows knit together, his face contorting from friendly to enraged. You gulp when a sudden chill in the air sending shivers down your spine. With how friendly your relationship with him had been up to this point, you forgot to watch your tongue, the initial reverence wearing off long ago. 

Josuke stands up, flaunting his towering build. Looking down at you through lidded eyes, he reaches down, and you catch a glimpse of light blue and pink. Huh? What was that? A trick of the lights, maybe? As fast as it was destroyed, you watch in awe as the pieces return to their original place. Broken glass, chips of wood, screws and all, become whole as if it was a movie playing in reverse. Is this something else a spirit can do? 

“Y’know, [First],” Josuke begins with a humorless laugh. “This is great. I wasn’t sure how to do this part. Now I don’t have to worry about that, so let me cut right to the chase.” 

You feel the blood draining from your face, goosebumps dotting your skin. This is wrong. Whatever he’s doing now, you can’t stand another second of it. “Josuke, you’re scaring me.” 

“That’s fine by me.” He smiles. There’s a palpable thickness in the air, tension elevating as each second crawls by. Your mind trips over itself in search of a solution to this, but deep down inside, you’re filled with dread. A dread that this damage is beyond repair and that you’ve made a fatal mistake. Would screaming even help you? Could you outrun a ghost? Your heart pounders against your ribcage and you pray it isn’t Josuke who’s trying to rip it out. 

“You saw that table,” Josuke points to the once destroyed furniture, now neatly put back together. He frowns at your lack of confirmation, pressing further, voice increasing in volume. “Right?” 

You somehow manage to nod. Your throat and tongue are too dry to use and the room feels like it’s spinning. 

“That makes this simple then,” Josuke sits back down to his spot from before and stretches his arms. “There’s a lot I’m capable of. Way more than I’ve shown you. Breaking things apart and fixing them is my specialty, but… that last part can easily be omitted.” 

Josuke turns to face you, eyes peering into the depths of your soul.

“Threaten to leave me again and I won’t even bother to put you back together.” 

[jaxl-road]

The League of Extraordinary Rockstars, ch.4

Summary: LA is a hub for music and mutants, making it the perfect place for Motley Crue, Guns N’ Roses, and countless other mutant musicians to call home. But it’s not all easy, especially when it comes to finding a decent place to live. So what better solution than moving in together in the mansion of an immortal? Love, drama, and super powers. If nothing else, it’ll be interesting.

Chapter Warnings: Language, genderswap!Steven

AN: This is a collaboration between myself and @the–blackdahlia​! It combines elements from her fic “It’s So Easy (And Other Lies)” (specifically her genderswapped!Steven) and my super powered GnR series. It is completely AU and ignores timelines like Woah, but hopefully you’ll have as much fun reading it as we’re having writing it! Let us know what you think!

~~~~~~~~~

Stevie had gotten so used to yelling waking her up, that when she woke up and the room was silent, she was a little confused. But a smile soon spread on her face as she stretched and rolled over on her mattress. She had so many plans for the room. Paint, rug, furniture, an actual bed, and more. And they were going to get a bunch of that today, plus groceries. A wholesale store had just opened up a month ago, and they actually had the money to buy a membership. They had a busy day today.

And it was cloudy outside.

But as she stood to get dressed, she didn’t think much of it. Stevie never stopped absorbing sunlight- she simply couldn’t shut her mutation off- and especially being in southern California, she usually had an excess of light in her. It was the reason she was always glowing at least a little. If it was overcast for more than a few days it was certainly not a fun time, but ever since she met Duff she was able to simply ask him for some clear skies if it had been too long and she’d be good to go.

Yesterday had been sunny though, so she figured she could let nature do its thing for now. No biggie. Throwing on some jeans and her least dirty shirt, she wandered out into the hallway of her new home. Axl and Sebastian’s door was shut, but Duff’s was open and empty. Continuing into the living room, she heard a frantic voice.

“Dude, I’m telling you, it was right there!”

Turning the corner, she found Tommy waving his arms dramatically in front of an unconvinced looking Duff.

“Well, if you’re so sure, why didn’t you chase after it?”

“I tried! But it was just gone! It probably burrowed under the floorboards or something!”

“What did?” Stevie piped up, getting their attention.

Duff rolled his eyes, “Tommy is still going on about that “raccoon” from yesterday,” he explained, disbelief heavy in his voice.

“It’s true though!” Tommy defended himself, “I saw it again this morning!”

“Are you sure you’re not just, like, super hungover?” Stevie tried to reason. So far, Tommy was the only one to have seen the supposed critter, so she tried to find another explanation, “I mean, I’ve had some mornings where I think the fucking walls are moving, y’know?”

“No! It’s real, I swear!”

Stevie and Duff exchanged looks, even as Tommy continued to ramble. They nodded along politely, wandering into the kitchen when the Motley Crue drummer finally gave up. Throwing open a cabinet, Stevie snatched a bag of chips for her breakfast. Along with their take out, they had grabbed some snacks the night before. The mansion didn’t have a fridge, only an old school ice box that was sorely lacking in ice. Oh well. They’d have that taken care of by the end of the day, Stevie thought happily.

“So, Kelly and I are going shopping today,” She told them as she shoved chips into her mouth. “I thought we could split and have half of you guys clean while half went shopping?”

“You know I hate shopping,” Duff groaned. “I guess I’ll stay here and clean.”

“T, I think you better come with me,” Stevie told the other drummer.

“What? Why?” Tommy asked.

“Well, if you made a flamethrower to melt roaches, imagine what you’ll do when you see your supposed raccoon.”

“Is he still going on about that?” Mick asked, shuffling down the stairs, “Why the fuck isn’t there a coffee maker? I need my caffeine.”

“We’ll get one,” Stevie told him, “Don’t worry. It’s on the list.”

“The delivery guys aren’t gonna be happy having to bring all the things you want to buy to the house,” Nikki pointed out as he appeared as well, leaning against the counter, “We give Kelly shit about the “commute”, but we actually are a decent ways away from the strip.”

“Why are we still complaining about the commute?” Baz inquired, wandering into the kitchen with a still mostly-asleep Axl draped across his back.

“Oh, you know,” Stevie sighed dramatically, “We were just talking about how much trouble getting all the new furniture and stuff here will be. If only there was a big, strong mutant who could get things home for us,” she batted her eyelashes at the tall singer.

“Aw, dude you know I’m your guy!” Baz laughed heartily, earning him a mumbled scolding from the redhead on his back that he was quick to ignore, “It’ll probably take me a few trips, I still have trouble jumping large shit so I might have to take things one at a time, but otherwise it’s no problem!”

“Baz, I love you,” Stevie kissed his cheek.

“Back off, he’s mine,” Axl grumbled from where his face was still pressed into his back. Stevie smiled and shook her head.

“He dyes his hair black and we might have to fight for him,” Stevie told Axl. At that moment, Izzy made his way in and Stevie’s smile got bigger. “Iz!”

“God, how are you so cheerful so early in the morning?” He asked, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m just excited!” She told him, “And you’re going shopping with me and Kelly!”

“What?” Izzy asked. “Who decided that?”

“I did,” Stevie said proudly, “We have a lot to do to get this house in livable shape!” There was a chorus of groans. “I don’t want to hear it. Or I’ll kick everyone except Kelly out.”

The grumbling continued, but none of them put up any real fight. They quickly got the groups sorted out. Stevie, Kelly, Izzy, Tommy, Nikki, and Sebastian would be hitting the stores for the various supplies and furniture the house needed to be livable. Meanwhile, Vince, Mick, Slash, Duff, and Axl would be staying to clean the place and make it less of a health hazard.

Baz dropped Axl unceremoniously onto the beat up couch in the living room. “He’ll wake up once he realizes everyone is doing their cleaning “wrong”,” he assured them.

“Excuse me for having fucking standards,” the redhead mumbled into the dusty cushions, receiving one last kiss on his cheek before the groups split up. The shopping team got ready, Kelly deciding that they should deposit the money instead of paying with cash, so they headed out to the bank.

“Okay, so let’s start with the floor?” Duff suggested. Axl, who’s head had been resting on the couch, popped up suddenly.

“I think the fuck not!”

****

They split the money and each put it in their separate accounts. After fixing overdraft and bank fees, they were all good to go. Stevie was smiling still as she settled in Kelly’s car. She stared out the window as he drove towards the various furniture and home decor stores. Stevie had plans, and one of those plans included a new bed without a spring poking her back.

“You okay over there Glowstick?” Kelly asked. “You’re kinda quiet.”

“I’m good,” She smiled at him, “Just must need some more sleep, y'know?”

Shrugging, Kelly accepted her answer. He hadn’t slept great either, being in a house as old as his meant a lot of weird noises, not to mention they all still had shitty mattresses, so he was sure the blonde drummer would be fine soon enough.

Pulling up to Sears, Stevie clapped her hands excitedly while the poor boys shoved in the back seat of Kelly’s car practically fell out.

“Fuck, Sebastian why do you have so much leg??” Nikki complained, stretching as he stood on the sidewalk, “I thought Tommy was long…”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Izzy practically screeched, having ghosted out of the car the second the wheels had stopped, “All three of you are over six feet of dumbass! I almost slipped out on the freeway just to end my misery!”

“Aw, poor little guy,” Kelly tried to ruffle Izzy’s hair, though he wasn’t surprised when his hand fell right through.

Izzy glared, “You’re like, an inch taller than me!”

“Okay guys, stop posturing,” Stevie rolled her eyes, “This is supposed to be the fun part! We can get some kickass stuff to make the house the most rockin place in Hollywood!”

They all headed inside. Stevie immediately headed towards the furniture, but Nikki spotted the power tools and looked at Tommy.

“We’ll need a drill and stuff right?” He asked. “And, like, a screwdriver?”

“Shiny torture devices,” Tommy laughed. “Let’s go look.”

“You know if you don’t go with Stevie, she’ll pick your furniture out for you, right?” Izzy told them. They just shrugged. Kelly and Baz were distracted by the video game display, so Izzy sighed, and then realized something. He would be alone with Stevie until they got bored with their toys.

This was his chance.

Following after Stevie, he found the drummer giggling as she hopped onto different mattresses, grinning at the feel of a bed that wasn’t dragged out of a dumpster.

“Having fun?” Izzy smirked.

“Oh, lots,” Stevie replied. Looking over at him, her brows furrowed, suddenly glancing around, “Hey, where’d the other guys go?”

Izzy shrugged, “Baz and Kelly were looking at some game or something, and the terror twins were playing with power tools.”

Stevie huffed, “I swear, I’m going to get those boys bunk beds.”

“Knowing them they’d be thrilled.”

“Come try this mattress out with me!” Stevie told Izzy. He sat on the edge and she pulled him back to lay on it.

“Oh, this is nice,” Izzy mumbled. “I could get used to this.”

“Let’s rebel and take a nap at Sears,” Stevie laughed. Right then, a salesperson came up.

“Do you and your boyfriend like it?” She asked with a giggle. Stevie smiled.

“It’s great but we have a few more to try out,” She told her. Izzy noticed that she didn’t say “he’s not my boyfriend”.

“Well, if you need anything, I’ll be over there,” She told them before walking away. Stevie rolled onto her side.

“Wanna go try out another one?” She asked. “Or should we just order however many in this style?”

Looking into her eyes, Izzy felt his mind racing. He wanted to say “let's try all of them” or maybe “let’s lay here forever” or maybe “oh my God do you have any idea how much I love you?”

But when he opened his mouth, all that came was a choked, “This one seems good.”

“Well, okay then,” Stevie smiled and got up. “I’m gonna go look at some bedding now. I think they have those sets that have everything all in one. Do you wanna come with me?” She bit her lip slightly. She wanted to take the reins and ask Izzy or Duff out, but most of the people she talked to said that they should make the first move. So Stevie was left waiting for someone, who wasn’t Kelly, to flirt with her orsomething.

“Yeah, as long as I can have something in black,” Izzy smirked. Stevie headed over to the bedding, writing on a little notebook what the furniture they needed would be. There were shelves upon shelves of bedding and Stevie just stared at them. Her head was starting to hurt and she felt really tired.

“So, uh, see anything you like?” Stevie asked, gravitating to a purple set. Izzy watched her for a moment before finding his own set in black

“Here,” He told her, “You feeling okay?”

“I’m great. Just tired,” She told him, grinning. “Why don’t we pick out for everyone else?”

“Yeah, sure,” Izzy replied. His eyes almost immediately fell on what had to be child’s bedding, green with bright, cartoonish flowers all over it. Grinning mischievously, he pointed at the garish pattern.

“Oh, we’re definitely getting that one for Vince.”

~~~~~~~

“No, no, no!” Axl yelled, “You’re doing it wrong!”

“I’m just bagging up the trash! How am I doing it wrong?” Vince asked, glaring at the redhead.

“Well, for starters, you’re not in the bag,” Axl shot back. Duff groaned.

“Can you two be civil for like five minutes?” Duff asked.

“He started it!” Both yelled at the same time. Mick pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Where the hell is Slash?” He asked, “Why isn’t he here trying to help us?”

“Because he’s probably sleeping,” Duff rolled his eyes, “Or trying to find more snakes around the garden.”

“I swear, we need to put a bell on him,” Axl muttered.

“Whatever, I’m sure I’ll fucking trip over him soon enough,” Duff grumbled bitterly, sweeping a pile of debris into a small pan.

Given how large the house was, they were making good progress. They’d gotten rid of the cobwebs and layers of dust, and the decades old trash and bottles were cleared away.

"I see we've made progress even with all the screeching," Vince muttered.

"I'll show you screeching," Axl growled, "Baz isn't here and he's like 85% of my self control."

"Chill out," Mick stood between the frontmen, "We're lucky we got this place. Don't fuck it up."

"Guys! There's more buildings out here!" Slash called from outside.

"That's great but you're supposed to be helping us clean this one!" Duff told him.

“But we’re barely even seen the whole place!” Slash whined.

“You know we gotta have this done before Stevie gets home and cuts off all of our balls,” Vince told him.

“Yeah, I saw the way you were looking at Kelly,” Mick told Vince, “You might need them.” Slash glared slightly at Vince under his hair before he huffed and went to get a mop. Axl was about to say something when there was a noise at the front door.

“Hey guys! Let me in!” Baz called. Axl went to the door to find Baz with a cart that had three mattresses on it.

“What’s this?” Axl asked.

“Beds babe!” Baz gave him a kiss, “Oh, the cart? I just thought it would be handy. And it was just sitting outside of Sears.”

“You just stole a cart from Sears?” Mick asked, arms crossed.

“Well yeah. They’re good for it. They’re loaded,” Baz smirked as he brought in the mattresses. “Here’s the first three. I gotta get the rest of them.”

As the teleporter popped away for the second haul, Slash merely shrugged, “Hey, we’ve stolen worse.” He and Duff got to work dragging the mattresses into various bedrooms as Sebastian brought the rest of their haul. By the time he had brought all the mattresses and bedding, the Skid Row singer was panting, collapsing face down onto the mattresses still on the cart.

“You alive, man?” Vince questioned, poking his shoulder only to have his hand slapped away by Axl.

“Yeah, yeah, no, I’m good,” Baz mumbled, “Just… Just need a minute.”

As they waited for Sebastian to recover so they could move the rest of the mattresses, Duff tilted his head and squinted at the singer, a thought from earlier returning to him.

“Slash,” he asked, voice serious, “should I dye my hair black?”

“I swear to god, I will never escape this bullshit,” Slash sighed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Duff asked.

“Nothing,” Slash grumbled, “God, I can’t wait to sleep on a brand new mattress.”

“Stevie’s getting bed frames delivered,” Baz mumbled, “Said it wouldn’t be fair for me to keep having to teleport everything.”

“Good call,” Axl nodded, draping himself casually across the other singer’s back, “This is a lot for one day.”

“She told me not to do all these but I was like, challenge accepted!” Baz laughed, “I’m starting to feel better. I wanna go to the grocery store. The one we’re going to is the one that gives out all the samples!”

“Man, he gets free samples while we’re stuck here cleaning?” Slash pouted.

“They’ll bring back food for all of us, you big baby,” Axl rolled his eyes, hopping to his feet as Sebastian stood, stretching his arms over his head.

“Alright, see you guys in a bit!” And with one last ‘pop’, he was gone again.

“God, he bounces back fast,” Vince announced. Axl smirked.

“You should see him at night,” Axl winked, “Now come on, let’s get these mattresses into the rooms and ready for the rest of the stuff!”

With only minimal complaining, the group got back to work setting up their new home.

~~~~~~~

Sebastian stumbled just slightly as he materialized in front of the wholesale store Kelly had said they’d be going to next. Sure enough, the group was out front waiting for him, having managed to beat him there while he was taking his break.

Grinning widely, he jogged over to the cluster of musicians, “Alright, everything’s back at the house! Now let’s get some grub, I’ve been looking forward to this part all day!”

“It’s just the grocery store,” Kelly shook his head. They headed inside, signing up for their membership cards, before starting to walk around the store. Stevie was doing fine, but by the third sample station, she stopped accepting it, and by the time they filled up the second cart with bulk goods, she was so tired she could’ve slept on one of the display models.

“Guys?” She asked, “Will someone walk out with me to the car please?”

“I got it! You guys keep going,” Tommy told them, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and heading back out through the store.

“What’s that about?” Kelly asked Nikki, who shrugged. Izzy came back from grabbing a big thing of paper towel, frowning when he saw Stevie gone.

“Where’d Stevie go?” he asked, throwing the paper towels into the cart.

“She went out to the car with Tommy,” Nikki explained.

“She’d been kind of off all day,” Kelly chimed in, “Maybe she’s sick or something.”

Izzy hummed, glancing towards the exit in concern, but following after the other two boys regardless. Maybe Stevie just needed to sit down.

Meanwhile, Stevie had thought the same thing, but sitting wasn’t helping at all. She felt drained, like she wanted to sleep for a week, and she had to lean heavily on Tommy, barely able to keep herself sitting upright.

“Hey, you okay?” Tommy asked as he held her up.

“Mmmm,” Was all Stevie answered. Tommy had climbed inside the back of the car with her in his arms. It was only in the shaded interior of the car that Tommy could see that she was glowing a pale green.

What the fuck?

“Stevie? What’s going on?” Tommy asked. He knew she would glow consistently, but it was usually more golden, or yellow, sometimes orange. But never green. She looked like a glow in the dark star that was fading out. But Stevie was already asleep, her head resting on his chest, and didn’t answer.

“Stevie?” He asked again, shaking her lightly. She murmured a little, but otherwise stayed quiet. Okay, Tommy was officially freaked out. His head darted around, as if he could find a solution within the beat up vehicle. He didn’t want to leave her, but he didn’t know how much longer the guys would be, and he was super fucking worried. Maneuvering himself slowly, he gently laid the other drummer down across the backseat, closing the door softly before sprinting back into the store in a gust of wind.

“I’m just saying, just cause we have money doesn’t mean everything needs to be name brand!” Kelly was arguing with Nikki, each holding a bag of chips that were nearly identical.

Izzy pinched the bridge of his nose, “I swear, if you two don’t get your shit together, I’m gonna-”

“Guyssomethingiswrongwithstevieshe’sgreenlikeliterallygreenIdon’tknowwhat’swrong!”

The three men were nearly blown back as Tommy skid to a stop in front of them, a frantic look on his face as he spit out what was probably supposed to be words, but instead just sounded like gibberish.

“Woah, babe, slow down,” Nikki frowned in concern, tossing the chips to the side as he put his hands on Tommy’s shoulders, “What’s wrong?”

“Stevie!” The speedster forced himself to speak at human speeds, “I don’t know what’s wrong, but she’s super out of it and she’s glowing, like, green!”

“Shit,” Izzy groaned, “Just hurry up and get some fucking chips!” Izzy hurried outside, leaving everyone confused. They hurried up their shopping as Izzy headed out to the car. Sure enough, she was laying in the backseat, glowing slightly green. Izzy opened the back door and gently pulled Stevie to him.

“I-Iz?” Stevie asked weakly before falling back asleep. Izzy held onto her. The one time he needed Duff and he wasn’t around. He glared at the overcast sky as if he could stare it into submission.

The driver’s door suddenly opened, Kelly sticking his head in and practically throwing bags of food into the front seat. He could hear the trunk opening as well.

“Alright dude,” Kelly asked seriously, “What’s going on?” He bit his lip anxiously as he saw the muted green glow of the Guns drummer.

“This happens when she doesn’t get enough sun,” Izzy explained, “It makes her really sick. It’s Hell for her,” he pet her hair softly as he spoke, “We need to get back to the house so Duff can clear the fucking clouds.”

“I’ll teleport and take some of this stuff with me,” Baz told them.

“I can run home,” Tommy shrugged.

“And leave me here? I’ll piggyback.” Nikki added.

“We’ll meet you there,” Kelly nodded and started the car, taking off. Baz grabbed the leftover things and teleported home while Nikki climbed on Tommy’s back.

“I deserve a backrub after this,” Tommy groaned.

“I’ll do that and more. Let’s just get home,” Nikki promised. Tommy smirked and took off.

In the backseat of the car, Izzy held onto Stevie, focusing on staying solid. This wasn’t the first time he had seen her sick like this, but it was still scary. There was always the “what if”. What if she didn’t stop glowing green? What if they’re someplace where they can’t get sun? What if…

Izzy shook his head and focused on Stevie.

There was no good in focusing on the what ifs- Stevie had always bounced back, and she would do so again this time. She was strong as Hell, and no weather would get her down for long. Without even thinking about it, he gave the drummer a soft kiss on her hair. She’d be fine.

In the front seat, Kelly furrowed his brow as he looked up at the long road leading up to their neighborhood before snorting loudly. Ahead of the car in the distance, he saw a few bolts of lightning before the clouds started retreating from the same spot, the sun slowly spreading as the sky cleared. Kelly shook his head.

“I swear, Duff should have been a theater kid.”

~~~~~~~~

"I'm back!" Baz announced as he teleported into the living room and dropped the bags, "Duff, man!"

"What?" Duff came down the stairs having dropped the last mattress off.

"We need you Mr. Wizard," Baz told him. "Our little Starshine is sun sick."

“What?!” Duff shrieked, a few flashes of lighting coming through the window, “How? It’s been sunny all week, this is the first overcast day in a fuckin while!” Even as he ranted though, his irises and pupils faded as his eyes slowly turned a clear, bright white, and the yard outside was soon bathed in sunshine, the clouds spiraling into a rapidly expanding circle of clear sky.

“I dunno man, that’s just what Izzy said,” Sebastian shrugged, glancing away. He always thought Duff’s eyes were kind of creepy when he did more intense weather manipulation, “She was like, this dull green color.”

Frowning, Duff hummed in concern, “Weird…” His white eyes narrowed slightly as he focused on clearing the clouds from as much of the city as he could. Just a few minutes later the car pulled up. Kelly started carrying food in as Izzy carried Stevie in.

"What happened?" Duff asked.

"Remember how excited she was yesterday and was glowing a shit ton?" Izzy pointed out, "This is the result."

“Fuck, I didn’t even think of that,” Duff looked at the sleeping blonde sadly, “Goddammit, girl, why you always gotta be so excited about everything.”

“Aw, poor Glowstick,” Vince cooed, “I feel bad for complaining about all the times she blinded me yesterday.”

“As you should,” Axl huffed, though he shared the worried gaze of the rest of the house.

“She’ll be fine, guys,” Slash reassured the non-Guns members, who had never witnessed this sort of malady with Stevie before, “She just needs to sleep it off and soak in some sun.”

"I'll take her to her room," Izzy told them, carrying her down the hall. When he looked behind him, the rest of the housemates were following. "Guys, she's fine. Chill out."

"I just, I've been around her a lot and never seen her like that…" Kelly admitted.

Izzy softened, nodding sympathetically, “Yeah, I know.” He let them continue to follow him without comment, the group crowded around the doorway as Izzy set Stevie down gently on the new mattress in the corner of her room. Sighing contentedly, the drummer murmured unintelligibly as she rolled over to spread out on the bed like a starfish, sleepily soaking in the sun shining through the large, numerous windows. It was hard to see in the bright room, but they liked to think she looked a little less green.

Tugging her boots off and tossing them aside, Izzy nodded at the crowd, shooing them away, “Alright guys, let’s go,” he said softly, “let’s let her rest.” Begrudgingly, they all shuffled back into the living room where piles of bedding and food still sat abandoned on the floor.

“Right, so,” Kelly shook his head to clear his thoughts, “The fridge is supposed to be delivered tomorrow, so we mostly got nonperishable shit.”

"Oh chips! Yes!" Vince called out, "You guys are the best."

"Who picked out the bedding?" Axl quizzed.

"Mainly Stevie but I helped," Izzy told them, "Why, got a problem with it?"

"I mean...there's pink stuff…" the frontman grumbled.

“Check it out, there’s also some black sheets too!” Sebastian pointed out.

“Hands off!” Izzy snapped, snatching the bundle of black fabric away, “That one’s mine!”

“Ooooh, so it’s a first come, first serve situation?” Sebastian questioned.

There were a few beats of silence as they all stared at the pile in front of them. Then, chaos erupted as they all leapt forward, elbowing, wrestling, and shouting as they all fought over the different patterns, designs, and colors.

Izzy shook his head in horror, clutching his plain bedding to his chest tighter as he backed away from the madness.

Eventually, two sets of sheets remained- a soft purple one (which Slash had reluctantly relinquished when Izzy told him it was Stevie’s), and a bright pink one with little stars printed across it.

"Look what the twins get," Kelly chuckled. Just then, Tommy walked in, dragging his feet in exhaustion, with Nikki beside him, "Oh, speak of the devils!"

"What's up?" Nikki asked.

"Here's your bedding!" Mick grinned.

"No. No way." Nikki shook his head, "No."

“Sorry, dudes,” Vince snickered, “You were just too slow.”

“I hate all of you,” Tommy whined, laying down directly on the floor, “You’re the worst roommates ever.”

“Suck it up, buttercup,” Mick smirked.

As Tommy and Nikki tried to bribe different people to switch sheets with them, Kelly finally got a chance to really look around him. The house still definitely needed work, what with all the loose floorboards and peeling wallpaper and such, but the lack of dust and grime actually did make a big difference.

“This place is sprucing up pretty nice,” Duff commented, clutching his polka dot bedding protectively as he stood next to Kelly, “Give it a couple weeks and the property value will probably skyrocket,” he grinned, elbowing the other bassist teasingly.

Kelly snorted, “Yeah, yeah. It’s definitely not as bad as I thought it’d be.”

“Wow, tone down the enthusiasm there, Nickels, you’re shining brighter than Stevie.”

“Shut up.”

Chuckling, Duff made his way back to his room to set up his things. While his stuff had been moved over the day before, he hadn’t taken the time to actually put the room together. He figured now was as good a time as any to put up some posters and get shit organized.

The hours passed steadily as the room came together. Books, records, and various pig themed knick knacks filled the tall bookcases lining the walls. His new bed was shoved into a corner by the lone window in the room and piled with both the new bed sheets as well as the blankets he had brought with him, and his bass was placed carefully on its stand. Before he knew it, the sun was setting and his stomach was growling angrily.

He reluctantly headed downstairs where everyone was digging through the food. Duff grabbed an apple and started to snack on it when he looked around.

“Stevie come out yet?” He asked.

“No. I think she’s still sleeping,” Slash told him. Duff nodded and grabbed some different foods and drinks and headed up towards Stevie’s bedroom. She was pretty much laying the same way she had been when Izzy dropped her off, although now she was cuddling a blanket someone had left for her. Duff couldn’t help but smile.

As much as he hated to wake her, food and water would help her feel better just as much as the rest would. Sitting next to the mattress, he shook her shoulder gently.

“Stevie,” he whispered, chuckling when her only response was a soft grumble as she buried her face into her pillow, “Stevie, come on, wake up. I brought you some food.” The grumbling continued, and Duff shook his head fondly. Grabbing a bag of Cheetos from the pile he had brought with him, he pulled the bag open and held it open by the drummer’s face.

“Come ooooon,” he said teasingly, “I got your favorite!”

As expected, the scent of the snack had Stevie blinking awake, turning towards Duff and blindly snatching the bag from him as he laughed.

“My favorite,” She mumbled, eating the Cheetos lazily.

“You’re going to turn into Chester if you keep eating those the way you are,” He chuckled. Stevie just shrugged.

“I’m not the super fast one in this house,” She told him. Duff laughed and went to stand up. “Where are you going?”

“Back downstairs so you can eat in peace?” He shrugged. “I got you a Sprite too, and some other snacks and-”

“Can...can you stay?” Stevie asked.

The request caught Duff off guard, and he felt his heart beat just a little faster. “Are you sure?” he asked, “I don’t want to disturb your rest.”

But Stevie shook her head, “No, I…” she trailed off, “I dunno. I’m feeling better but I just… don’t want to be alone right now.” She clutched the bag of Cheetos to her chest and burrowed down into her blankets, “Never mind, it’s stupid…”

“No, no, no!” Duff practically shouted, “You’re fine, Sunshine,” he carefully laid down next to her, self-consciousness causing him to leave a few inches of space between them.

But it only took a moment for Stevie to scoot over and press herself next to the bassist, resting her head on his shoulder, “Thanks, Duff.”

“Anytime,” he smiled, putting an arm around her to pull her just a little closer. Then, after a moment, he grinned, “You are going to have to share the snacks though.”

“Mmmmm, maybe,” She laughed. “I don’t know if I should though.”

“Why not?” Duff asked.

“Oh, I dunno,” She snuggled closer to him and his heart was racing as fast as Tommy running to the liquor store. God, he wanted to just kiss her so bad, he wanted to ask her out, he wanted to tell her how he had loved her for so long but he didn’t even know how to start. He ran his fingers through her hair, trying to talk himself into doing something. Anything. Was it punk rock for his hands to be this sweaty over a crush?

“Hey Duff,” Stevie bit her lip and looked up at him, “C-can I tell you something?”

“Of course!” Duff turned to look down at her, suddenly concerned, “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I, uh, I might kinda have a crush on someone. He’s tall, with blond hair, and he’s really sweet,” She looked down, suddenly shy.

Furrowing his brows, Duff mentally listed all of their friends, trying to think of who matched that description. It took him longer than he cared to admit to finally click on what she meant, his face flushing, “Wait… really?” He was afraid to get his hopes up. Maybe she was describing someone Duff just hadn’t met before. He was sure there were lots of tall blondes in LA. Oh God, what if she had run into his brother? He might die.

“Yeah,” She admitted, “I...Duff, I like you…” She smiled a little, waiting for rejection.

Duff didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t find the words to express how light he felt hearing her say that, the weight of all his stress and longing suddenly gone in a fraction of a second. He didn’t think any words existed to explain how happy and disbelieving and relieved and overjoyed he was. How could he possibly explain it?

So he settled for kissing her instead.

Stevie froze. Was she still asleep and dreaming? She felt Duff start to pull back, so she followed him, returning the kiss. Duff wrapped his arms around her and held her close as he kissed her. They both smiled into the kiss, eyes closed as they got lost in each other.

Meanwhile, Izzy decided to check on Stevie, having not seen her since carrying her to her room. Not wanting to wake her if she was still resting, he stuck his head through the door quietly to make sure she was alright.

But what he found was her and Duff in a liplock, and he felt his heart sink.

He pulled himself back into the hallway rapidly, staring at the door between him and the two blondes. It took him a minute to make his legs work, to carry him back to his room, ignoring any attempts made by his many roommates to talk to him along the way. When he was finally safely in the confines of his own room, he sat heavily on his bed.

He shouldn’t be upset, he thought to himself. Had he really thought he had a chance with her? He was the quiet, dark, brooding one, and she was sunshine and joy. Her and Duff made more sense.

It still hurt though. He laid back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, letting his eyes drift shut.

Downstairs, Duff and Stevie slowly separated, both with smiles on their faces. Duff cupped her cheek, but he noticed that her eyes were heavy.

“Why don’t we lay down?” He suggested.

“That sounds great,” She yawned. They moved the snacks off her bed and Duff grabbed the blanket to cover them up. He wrapped his arms around Stevie, placing one last kiss on the crown of her head before they both drifted off to sleep.

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 4)

Summary: Arthur falls off a cliff and lands in the past. Hellbent spoilers.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Part 5: here

The ghost doesn’t care for his struggles, holding him easily in one clenched fist. The area around him burns an angry purple, heavy and suffocating. There’s no doubt to what the ghost intends to do, and Arthur freezes up lest he hastens his demise with a misplaced kick. Below are rows of jagged stone, glowing lavender-grey. The scenery is painfully familiar. Visions of The Cave briefly pull him from one distressing state into another. For a moment the ghost disappears and is replaced with sickly green. Something is sliding into this mind, picking him apart. Couldn’t breathe. Green. Ahead of him Lewis walks, disappearing into churning shadows. He reaches out, but it’s too late. Lewis is gone.  

His left hand sparks, sending small shocks through his shoulder. He’s back with the ghost and the cliff, frozen against gravity. His arm is gone and its mechanical replacement is a mess. Still, the sparking pain gives him enough awareness to move it up to hopelessly cling to the ghost’s arm.

Their eyes meet, and even with blurry vision, he knows there is nothing but fury and rage.

A burst of angry purple.

“Lewis?”

The world is fuzzy and he’s falling. Lewis’s glare follows his decent, face unmoving in his hate. He slams onto the twisted spikes, chest breaking open.

And he’s…

He’s lying on his back, staring up at an off-white ceiling speckled with mildew. The fluorescent light flickers once, and he blinks spots from his vision. There’s a hurricane, whipping his memories around, making it hard to focus. Even lying against the cold ceramic tiles, he’s feeling hot and stuffy. Where’s Lewis? What happened to the cliff? For a second he is terrified and sick to the stomach. It tugs him down, threatening to swallow him up. He waits, focusing on the smell of damp towels and occasional water drips, and the moment passes. Carefully, he lifts his left hand and stares, wiggling his flesh fingers around. The bathroom, his bathroom at Lance’s place, is quiet.

Right…time travel…He’s two years in the past.

“Ha,” he exhales. What is his life?  

Arthur starts on his breathing: in on four, hold for seven, then eight out. Slowly, he feels out his natural rhythm, and everything around him begins to feel more real. So much for no more freak-outs. He pulls himself upright and explores along his head. No bumps or scrapes so he must have been able to control his decent or had sat down at some point. He doesn’t remember. The blurry vision is probably a side effect of shallow breathing. Not enough oxygen to the brain and stuff. It’s been a while since he’s had a full-on dissociative blackout violent enough that he’s been unable to manually pull himself free with controlled breathing and meditative exercises. A sign that the Lewis Situation has affected him more than he would have liked.

Usually, when he has these sort of troubles, he would talk to Vivi, and maybe Lance if he’s really desperate. Not exactly an option here. Not right now anyway. Arthur leans forward, rubbing his eyes with the base of his palm. He’s still shaky, head swimming, but the fear is tapering off, winding back to its more manageable cousin, anxiety.

Next, he stands, moving slowly to test his balance. Somewhat light-headed, he twists the sink’s tap, running water to splash on his face. As he does, he catches sight of his reflection for the first time since waking up. Their eyes connect, and it’s like meeting a weirdly identical doppelganger.  

Two years isn’t a long time. Not long enough to really make any significant changes to appearance. Not at his age. Yet, the person that watches him from the mirror is a world younger. People say that stress ages you, and -now examining his reflection- he’s inclined to believe them. There are no dark circles under this person’s eyes, his face is full, and he’s practically glowing. All indicative of a balanced diet and plenty of sleep. It's strangely unsettling, and he immediately hates it. Hates the younger him for having everything and still managing to be unhappy. For taking everything for granted.

What did younger Arthur have to be upset about? The minuscule chance that Vivi and Lewis would ditch him for some inane reason which had probably made sense at the time? A fear of becoming the ‘dreaded’ third wheel? Forget that noise. He’d settle for not being hated/maimed, watching his friends be happy together and not whatever broken things they’d turned into. Even if the watching occurred at a distance, he would be happy. ‘At a distance’ might even be optimal because the one thing he now knows for sure is this: He is NOT the younger Arthur.  He turns abruptly away and exits the bathroom, running a hand over his face as he goes.

And he almost slams into Vivi who’s standing right outside. It nearly sends him straight back into a panic.

“Arthur,” Vivi stumbles back, hand raised as if just about to knock, “Don’t open doors like that. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Hehe,” he breathes out, glancing around. Neither Mystery or Lewis are in the hallway. It’s just him and Vivi. Slowly, he relaxes enough and responds with relief boarding on amusement, “I scared you? You almost gave me a heart attack. Maybe next time don’t stand so close to doors you know might open at any second.”

Vivi snorts, then fixes him with a more concerned expression, “Well, you were in there for a while. I came to check up on you. Was kind of worried you’d drowned in the toilet or something.”

“Uh, thanks Viv, but, as you can see, I have not drowned,”

“So you say…” Vivi rubs her chin, taking in his damp face and hair.

Then one of Vivi’s hands is on his forehead and the other on her own, comparing their body temperatures. He tries to keep his breathing at a normal tempo. It’s still slightly faster than usual, not helped by Vivi’s jump scare.

“You feel a bit clammy, but not overly hot. So that’s good I guess.”  Vivi is now staring him right in the eye, face scrunched in consideration.

“I did splash water on my face…”

She leans in close, moving her hand from his forehead to pull at his cheek. So Vivi had noticed something was off. Lewis had probably picked up on his odd behaviour as well. Great. Vivi moves the second hand up to squeeze his cheeks together like she’s trying to reorganise his face. It’s kind of awkward.

“I’m fine,” he tries, batting her hands away, attempting to gauge just how worried Vivi is before saying anything too incriminating.

“You sure? You seem a bit… peaky,”

“Yeah, I mean,” he rubs the back of his head, “I woke up with a migraine this morning. It’s been kind-of distracting and causing a bit of nausea.”  Arthur snaps into ‘excuse mode’ with disgusting ease, quickly running through possible causes for his odd behaviour. He taps his head and put on the old ‘everything’s good smile.’

“It’s not bad enough to put off the painting though. You guys were looking forward to that,” It wouldn’t have fooled the other Vivi, future Vivi, who had developed an almost supernatural ‘Arthur bullshit detector,’ as she called it.

“Oh... Is that what’s wrong. You should have said something. It’s not like we’re on a strict timeline so we could have rescheduled,” this Vivi nods in acknowledgement, humming thoughtfully, “maybe you should stay away from the hard labour. Just for today, I mean. Me and Lewis can do the painting if you’re not feeling too good.”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” he relaxed back a bit, “I’ll just take it easy,” and maybe avoid Lewis for a little longer because he was so many levels away from ready that he might as well be floating in outer space.

“Actually, I have a new project I’m working on so I’ll probably be spending some time upstairs,” he adds to give himself another excuse.

“Owo, new project,” Vivi lights up, energy returning, “what’s this one about. Are you finally making that ghost detection devise? It is, isn’t it? Please tell me it’s the ghost detection device… Wait,” Vivi puts her hands on her hips, glaring, “is this why you have a headache, because you were up all night.”

His next smile is genuine because Vivi always makes him smile, even when he feels guilty for lying.

“Haha, yeah,” He runs his fingers through his hair, “you got me.”

“I knew it,” Vivi puffs, giving him a light punch in the shoulder. He manages to contain the automatic flinch.

“I told you, water and sleep. It’s the best way to keep headaches away especially in the summer. You have you been drinking water?” The last sentence is said in a way that is almost threatening.

Arthur actually laughs at that one, “Yes, I’ve been drinking water.”

Well, younger Arthur has been drinking water. Probably.

“Obviously, not enough if you're nauseous. Come on, I think I actually have peppermint tablets in my wallet that’ll help,”

He acquiesces to Vivi pulling him in the direction of the kitchen, grateful she’s not about to push him for details. Gone are the days when Vivi would pester him until she was 100% sure he was okay and not downplaying anything. They’re left behind in a never-to-be-lived future with his, most likely, dead body. If he had any say in it those days would never come again.

Right now he’s running on empty, but, as soon as he has space to plan, he would get all this sorted. Or as sorted as he could manage. The bar to success is pretty low, so his chances are good. He’s just been given the motherload of second chances, and he's not about to screw it up, anxiety, panic attacks, and dissociative amnesia notwithstanding. He’s going to protect Vivi and Lewis from that messed up future no matter what.

For now, he needs to focus on getting through the rest of the day.

...

Note: So part 4=Arthur deals with shit and has a small identity crisis. Also, Vivi trying to figure things out, having noticed something is off but unable to pinpoint what. I’m hoping to be able to write a part 5 in the next week.  

[sailor-cresselia]

Zi-O Episode 33: featuring the Power of Music

So, RiderTime Fansubs picked up Zi-O starting with the Agito arc. They’ve already got their release of ep 33 out, so I’m using their version this time around.

Now then! Onward!

Tekken 7 returns! And it’s being played by the latest Hibiki’s pupil! … Or, his FORMER pupil. Looks like he dropped out of Oni training. So, Heure ‘offers’ him the chance to A; help lure Hibiki out into the open, and B; become an Oni.

Of course, said method of becoming an Oni is a bit… unconventional.

Oh WOW, I really like Another Hibiki’s look. He gets to go all in on the traditional Oni theme!

((WHOOPS ALMOST FORGOT TO PUT THE READ MORE IN MY BAD))

Sightings of harness-less Geiz: Two? Two. He apparently takes it off to sleep, and to work out… in the middle of the shop. (Oh, sweetie…) Also, clearly under the harness, jacket, and poorly-fitting pants, Geiz is ripped.

See, this is why you don’t work out in the middle of the path. A distracted Woz will walk right into you! And incidentally make your lack of harness a REVEAL.

Also Geiz’s first reaction to being nearly stepped on is to assume there’s an Another Rider. I mean, there IS, but that’s not it.

WAIT NO DRAT he’s still wearing the stupid harness. Drat. It just blended in better than it usually does. ...My point about his choice of location still stands.

Woz. Woz? You okay there? Why do you not want to let Sougo remember it’s his birthday? Why are you so dead set on that, that you stop his uncle from saying it?

The boys have one brain cell, and it looks like it’s not Woz’s turn to have it today.

For SOME reason, Junichiro decided that he’s going to bring out Sougo’s elementary school yearbook. Since he has this one, I’d assume it’s from the 2009-2010 school year, so Sougo would have been 9. That would make it… 3rd grade, since he turned 9 that April. And looks like he had a classmate that even Sougo thinks was odd, but they still cheered each other on. But really, Sougo thought that Tsutomu was odder than him. That. That says something.

(As Junichiro goes to reheat breakfast, him and Woz share A Moment of ‘We’re Totally Not Conspiring Or Anything.’)

Also, Tsutomu said that ‘his master was Hibiki, a great Oni’. That’s actually really cute.

The thing is… Asumu was, like, 14 when he met Hibiki in 2005, and Hibiki was a bit reluctant to take HIM on. So… Tsutomu was WAY too young to be studying for that type of thing.

And the Zi-O trend of ‘finding the next Rider by Coincidence’ continues. Sougo and Geiz come to the same conclusion immediately – “Hey, maybe we can find Kamen Rider Hibiki and his Watch!”

Sougo knowing about Hibiki actually works, too, according to past events in Zi-O. Decade used Hibiki against him back during the first episode of the Ghost arc, so Sougo has, technically speaking, seen said rider before. And, as has been previously established by arcs such as Wizard, Tsukuyomi may have the tablet and the fact-finding, but Geiz knows what Riders ‘used to’ exist. Which is now clearly ‘which Riders came before them,’ as opposed to ‘which ones happened once upon a timeline.’

Woz. Woz, the camera’s over here. You’re going the wrong direction. … Oh, wait, no, he’s going upstairs… and immediately dashing all hopes of us seeing a set for even a hallway, as he warps straight into his Storytime Vault. And we’re not getting Hibiki Hibiki, of course. No, we’re getting Kyosuke Kiriya, who… I GUESS has taken over as Hibiki. Or is carrying his watch?

I haven’t watched Hibiki, I don’t really know how the mentor system there works, aside from the fact that it’s a thing.

No I totally didn’t start singing the theme song with my parents around. What are you talking about? That’d be silly.

… I totally sang along by instinct.

… I know they think I’m odd for this already. I don’t even know HOW to explain that I’m liveblogging a show. At least they’re used to my being a fan of kids shows at this point.

(Over Quartzer is TOO DAMN CATCHY)

Geiz: “So there’s no doubt that the next Rider we’re looking for is Hibiki?” And he’s immediately proven right by Another Hibiki taking a flying leap at them.

… Hang on, there was a sound effect right before Sougo and Geiz turned around. Did they hear that? Or something like it? Some sort of acquired ‘time has gone wrong’ sense?

Seriously, the choices for the Another Riders are usually really good. Ever since Another OOO, they’ve been incredible. ...Well, except for Another Quiz, but that’s my preferring to not have brain motifs in character designs.

(Yes, I’m calling out Brain himself with that comment, too. That’s the worst part of his new bike.)

Aw, Woz made Sougo a fruit tart! It’s not nearly large enough for the candles and decorations, but it’s a nice thought!

And he wants to make celebrating his Demon Kings birthday AS EXTRA AS POSSIBLE, to the point that it looks like he’s starting to Blue Screen at not being Extra enough.

His usual IWAEs will not suffice.

(Also I like how the cuckoo clock sound effect trails off despondently as the cake cover rolls on it’s axis.)

CIVILIAN FIGHTS!!! Sougo and Woz are actually doing pretty decently, too. Still not great, but again. Civilian fight against a monster, so it’s in no way a fight on equal grounds.

Geiz is right, that we’d need Zi-O II to beat Another Hibiki without the watch. However, as Sougo points out, Another Hibiki came after them, not the other way around, so they can’t defeat him quite yet. Geiz lands on the same page right after.

I’m so glad these boys are working together. They’re so much better off as a team. And even more so with team transformations!

Ooo, Another Hibiki had only been using hand-to-hand techniques while they were civilians, but once the armor goes on, the drumsticks come out, and Fire Powers are fair game.

“Alright, old power for old techniques!”

“What?! No! You’ve got to use magic against an oni!”

:GASP: SOUGO PULLED OUT THE KUUGA WATCH!

WE’RE GETTING TO SEE THE KUUGA ARMOR!

FINALLY!

ARMOR TIME! KUUGA~!

I like the touch of how Kuuga Armor doesn’t have a ‘catch phrase’ when it finishes going on – the newer riders do, like with Wizard’s “Please”. But Riders didn’t have belt and weapon sound effects until Ryuki, so Kuuga and Agito wouldn’t have anything to work with for their Ride Armors.

Yoooo Another Hibiki has more fire powers than just from his drumsticks! He can breath fire, too!

And here comes one of the Oni, keeping the peace from other Oni. With the kanji for thunder and a SWORD GUITAR.

… OH FOR FUCKS SAKE. IT’S AN ELECTRIC GUITAR.

After some blows are exchanged, Oni-who’s-name-I-don’t-know gets a fire blast tossed at him from yet another direction, knocking both him and Another Hibiki down, and after yelling at whoever just attacked them, he goes off in pursuit of the fleeing Another Hibiki.

Sougo and Geiz have absolutely no idea what’s going on at this point. This is even more confusing for them than how the Quiz Arc started off, isn’t it?

Haha, Tsukuyomi finally makes it down to the (now former) battle field, and all three of them assume that the Oni was Hibiki. Heure, clearly knowing that he wasn’t Hibiki, is about to sulk off...

But then here comes Kyosuke, being all “Nope, that’s Todoroki. I’m Hibiki.” (How dare he cop the salute!)

Ahaha, Sougo’s grin is about to split his face. That is the face of someone who knows that that coincidence and fate have shone upon him once again, and will continue to do so.

(I was talking with @miyukomatsuda recently, and we’ve agreed that if he were a DnD character, Sougo’s player would consistently get great rolls on Insight and Charisma… except where said checks relate to the character himself.)

Cut back to Woz, who is… keeping the main door to the dining room shut, holding the dish cover and cover cloth. Although, it’s nice to see that there IS, in fact, a second door to the area – I can see that the one Sougo usually comes through is shuttered.

...Actually, why does that dining room even have two entries, anyway? There’s only the small wall dividing the storefront from the stairs to the bedrooms, and literally nothing else separating the two, so why is the side door even necessary?

Correction, Woz is hiding in the dining room, attempting to hide the tart, while the Rider Debrief is going on at that small table in the shop.

Ah. Right. Even if we aren’t showing the ‘give a blank watch to the Rider when they’re active’ task anymore, that doesn’t necessarily mean they aren’t doing it. (I still need to watch Rider Time Ryuki.) But Kyosuke wasn’t Hibiki in 2005 – he was Hibiki’s pupil. The Zi-O team hasn’t had mentorships and titles being passed down before. It’s not usually a thing with Kamen Rider.

(Usually. I still haven’t seen Kiva or Den-O, either, and I think there was something similar in those? And also there’s how Ghost and Specter have several people using variants of the name, with Daigo having gone by “Zero Specter”, and Ayumu apparently taking up Takeru’s mantle as Ghost in the future. Please note that I’m still flat out ignoring the majority of the Ghost Novel, because of all the uncomfortable implications of several things in there. The STAGE SHOWS, however, are fair game so far.)

Okay, that digression aside.

Kyosuke isn’t wrong in asking them to prove themselves worthy of the Hibiki watch, even if he’s being a dick about it. That is a thing for Oni – they train to get where they are, and have to earn the powers and name.

Of course, his “we provide a blessing to the earth” line draws the attention of a very frazzled Woz, who is trying to figure out the best way to bless his overlords 19th birthday. He’s so desperate to make this the most extra birthday ever, that now he’s trying to call himself the “oni of blessings”. Kysouke is confused by this. Sougo and Geiz think it’s hilarious – Geiz is only making a token effort to hide his laughter, and Sougo isn’t even trying. (Is this what the harness is for? Hiding his emotions?) Tsukuyomi is so done with everything right now. She’s just gonna head out and look for Todoroki. Maybe she’ll find some sane people there. She’d like that, that’d be nice.

By the time they reach the Taiko drums, Woz has snapped, even knocking the other two boys out of the way to get to the center drum, because ‘this is perfect!’

Woz has lost visitation rights for the trinity’s brain cell this week.

Sougo’s worried about him. Geiz is just resigned. “He’ll stay out of our hair this way.”

!! Oh!! Kyosuke and Tsutomu trained together? Or… Hm, Hibiki took place in 2005, with the epilogue in 2006… so Kyosuke could have taken over as Hibiki by 2009/2010, and trained Tsutomu. But again, Tsutomu was, at most, 10.

… Trying to work out this particular timeline is confusing.

Meanwhile, with the one rational person on this team, Tsukuyomi only has to follow the sound of the Electric Guitar.

Oh! Todoroki knows full well that that’s Tsutomu under the Another Hibiki transformation! … I suppose, since Oni are technically alternate appearances… somehow… since they’re both using the Oni abilities, he could see right through it.

Also. Turns out? Kyosuke’s not Hibiki. Todoroki actually seems a bit insulted that he called himself that. (VALID)

So, Sougo might be made of iron defense-wise, but less so weight-lifting wise. Also of note: Geiz has taken off both his harness AND his jacket, leaving him bench pressing… a good amount of weight.

Heeeey, Sougo, did someone convince you to wear pants that fit? Who was it? Where can I find them to give them my gratitude? Your overshirt is still super baggy, but your regular shirt fits pretty normally.

And can whoever got you the fitting outfit go talk to Geiz about his pants?

Ohhh, Kyosuke, telling Sougo to ditch his dream has never once worked.

Wait, okay, it did work. ONCE. Literally one time. And it was technically him telling him that, but as a taunt/dare, so I don’t think it really counts.

Hmm.. But Kyosuke’s saying to stop going after an unobtainable dream, and that you’ll only be met with despair when you can’t achieve it.

He studied under Hibiki.

Todoroki, during their shows run, turned down his masters name – Zanki – instead preferring to use a name of his own choosing as an Oni.

Oni discard their human names upon becoming Oni.

Kyosuke introduced himself with his human name.

Sounds like somebody else flunked out, too.

Tsukuyomi tells the boys to head after Another Hibiki… and is going to have to drag Woz with her. He’s still drumming.

After Heure redirects Todoroki’s attack right back to him, Sougo and Geiz show up. Heure thinks that Hibiki ought to be with them. Pity Hibiki’s not here today, regardless.

GEIZ. Either tell us if using Revive is still dangerous, or stop using Revive. I have to wonder about Sougo’s choice of Ex-Aid, though. Hammers versus drumming, maybe?

Heure’s all but pouting that Hibiki’s not here as he takes his leave. Oh, kid, if you weren’t a bad guy, I’d be able to like you so much better. (get away from swartz)

I thought for a moment that was the original HIT! effect, but nope. It’s still Sougo’s version. To be fair to Sougo, though, I don’t think I’m quite as worried about what it might mean if he gets things right, anymore.

But only not quite as worried. I’m still a little worried.

Cut to Woz, still furiously drumming. Tsukuyomi has to throw a rock at him to get his attention… and he still won’t leave. “He’s got Geiz with him, right? They’re good at working together, they’ll be fine.”

I like that both Woz and Geiz have finally come around to this whole ‘working as a team’ thing. (insert growth.gif here)

Woz: “Anyway! I have to make this celebration perfect!”

Tsukuyomi: “You are literally the only person who likes your speeches. You have no idea how to celebrate people.”

This kills the Woz.

… Woz no. It’s definitely not that you’re not ‘rejoicing’ enough. It’s literally the opposite of that.

A nice Ex-aid armor / Revive Fury team fight… and to finish it, they swap into Zi-O II and Revive Typhoon. Well, Revive Gale, right now, since I’m using the Rider Time subs.

I love that the Zi-O II fight music is the instrumental version of King of Time, because it makes for such a dramatic backing track.

The drama is only intensified by Another Hibiki’s drumsticks growing spikes, lengthening to ABSURD lengths, and catching COMPLETELY on fire.

Ohhh that’s a NICE group finish!

Sougo, even 9 years later, can still recognize one of the only people who he was close to as a kid. (This lonely little dweeb keeps breaking my heart.) He wants to listen to Tsutomu, to see how he can help, to see what led to him becoming Another Hibiki.

Heure is having none of that, still wants actual Hibiki to show up, and re-monsterizes Tsutomu.

… You know, he might have gone after Sougo for a reason. He still recognizes him too, after all. The only problem with that is, Another Hibiki is more monstrous than most Another Riders are. He’s more on the ‘Another Build’ level of losing sight of himself. Worse, possibly, because at least Another Build still had language. But neither of them ever turn back on their own, and even the other…  ‘feral’ Another Riders could still do that, like Another Ryuga.

So, Another Hibiki goes after Geiz, Sougo’s down on the ground.

And Kyosuke comes up to stop them from attacking Tsutomu.

He pulls out a tuning fork, and transforms.

Into a white Oni.

One who’s decidedly not Hibiki, and Sougo can tell. See again, Tsukasa used Hibiki against him back during Ghost.

Here comes Todoroki, confirming for us.

Kysouke wasn’t able to become Hibiki, or an Oni of his own. He doesn’t even have a proper Oni name. He’s just an Oni.

Hibiki is a name to be earned.

And Kyosuke didn’t earn it.

Makes it all the harsher that he tried to get the boys to prove themselves to him, when he couldn’t prove himself.

Oh, what’s this? Heure thought that he was Hibiki, too? Interesting.

Even more interesting… Another Hibiki just attacked Oni!Kyosuke, with one of his more powerful attacks.

Preview time:

“I couldn’t be like my master Hibiki.” – That’s Kyosuke.

There’s a shot of Kyosuke and someone who is presumably a 10-year-old Tsutomu.

… Woz, I’m pretty sure even Kougami would think that cake is a bit… much. And he’s KOUGAMI.

Just who… who is Sougo talking to in that last line?

“You were Hibiki.”

Who? WHO was Hibiki?

So, I jumped back to the very beginning, after seeing that shot of Kyosuke and babby!Tsutomu. Heure says that he was “Hibiki’s pupil.”

But Tsutomu doesn’t use the name ‘Hibiki’ when he says that he’s ‘not his pupil anymore.’

Kyosuke. Did you tell Tsutomu you were Hibiki? That’s a dirty lie, bucko.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Countless Roads - Chapter 31

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 31 - 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.

A/N: Special treat extra update this week, since it's a holiday and I have time :)

———————————————————————————

"So, which one of us is it?" Len asks Sara as their driver transports them into the prison.

"What?" she asks.

"Which one of us is it?" he repeats, knowing as well as she does that she heard him the first time. "Stein, perhaps? Me?"

"Why would it be you?" Sara asks, surprised.

"So, Stein, then," Len says with disgust. He's not sure why Rip has gotten it fixed into his mind that Savage is after Firestorm, but he's been willing to operate on that basis – after all, while Len is fairly sure the trap is for him, he doesn't actually know that for certain and Rip's got more experience with all things Savage. And, sure, Len would be willing to sign up for the risk of a bullet to the head as a last ditch resort to preserve the world.

Somehow, though, he doesn't think last ditch is what Rip had in mind.

They haven't even tried a rescue yet, damnit!

Sara presses her lips together. She puts on a decent front, but her stress is showing. "Snart, I don't know what you're talking – "

"Cut the crap," Len says pleasantly. "I was under the impression you signed up to this gig to be a hero – not someone's pet killer."

"It's not like that!"

"No? If I had to guess, Rip's feeling a little antsy about our chances of success, and he'd like you to get rid of Stein to make sure no Firestorm is created. If you don't, the future is in danger, etc., etc., something like that?"

Sara is silent for a few moments, so Len knows he's right.

"You know, I'd criticize the man for using the same card over and over again, except it seems to keep working on you," Len says.

"It's not – "

Len holds up a finger. "Join my mission or the future is doomed." Another finger. "Stop this nuke sale or future is doomed." Another. "Rescue the ATOM suit piece or future is doomed."

"I get your point," Sara snaps. "It doesn't mean he isn't right, though."

"Sure, it does," Len drawls. "Future was gonna be doomed if we didn't get to that ATOM piece, right? But we did get to it, so the world didn't end up being doomed. Meaning, of course, that if we rescue Stein, the future won't be doomed, either."

"But – "

"Who's it gonna be next time?" Len asks her. He can't afford to be nice about this, not when Jax needs Stein to maintain the triad bond, not when this is the last step Sara needs to take before she lets go of what's left of her conscience. He's spoken with killers-to-be before, scared kids trapped in prison; he knows what they look like if they don't listen to him, after they've taken that final step that goes beyond what their souls can handle - uncaring, indifferent. Ultimately suicidal. He can only imagine how much worse it will be with someone who bound up their identity with heroism. Honestly, Rip should never have asked this of her; he should've known better. There are some things a person can't do and survive intact, and Len's guessing that this is one of them, for Sara. If there's anything Len can say to stop her from even trying to take the shot that she'll torture herself over for the rest of her life, he's going to say it. "Who's it gonna be? Me? Jax? Not Kendra, not until she does what Rip needs her to do. But once you have a killer card in your deck, it's so easy to keep playing it – it's just in case, you know, just so much easier to be sure – "

"It's not like that," Sara insists through gritted teeth. “You don't understand - Rip said –”

"Sure it is. It’s exactly like that," Len says brutally. "And then one day will come the day when he tells you, 'I'm so sorry, Miss Lance – no, Sara. You've come with me through so much. We've achieved so much. But there's a time aberration that you caused just by being here, where I brought you, a really bad one, so I'm going to need you to turn that shooting hand at yourself to preserve the timeline. Don't worry, I'll tell your family you died a hero –'" Len smiles bitterly. "'Right around the time I get around to burying Carter's body.'"

Sara flinches at that last part. "I'm no one's pet killer," she says, her voice low and furious - but better furious than numb and dead and preparing to do a terrible thing. "I make my own decisions, even if you disagree with them."

"Thought your decision was to become a hero," Len drawls. "Guess I was wrong."

"I have no choice, Snart," she says harshly. "I have to do this. Rip showed me – "

"A future that won't happen if you actually put some effort into trying to get Stein out of here instead of into a grave," Len says. "I don't think you get that I'm being nice here, Sara. Nice to you, nice to Rip, too, because he's gonna regret ordering you to do this later on, too; he's going to regret all of it once he's back with his family and trying to explain to them what steps he took to save them, when he's facing up to the fact that they would never be okay with what he's done - to other people. To you. See, I'm trying to talk your language, about heroes and morals and not going back to your little bloodlust addiction the first time someone says the word 'risk'."

She glares at him. "Oh, yeah?" she says challengingly. "And how's it sound in your language, thief? You're a killer yourself, aren't you?"

"Used to be," Len says mildly. "I've stopped doing that sort of thing, now; don't want to add to the number of ghosts in the world."

"Answer the damn question, Snart."

"Fine," Len says, crossing his arms and leaning his head back. She wants to play hardball? He'll play hardball. "Here's how it goes in my language: Stein's part of Team Flash and a member of my crew long before you were. You know what happens if you decide to follow Rip's orders to off him like the worthless assassin you apparently really are at heart once we scratch off that hero veneer?"

He watches her flinch at that one.

"Well, then, Sara, if you do that, you're not going to have to worry about the timeline," Len continues. "Because I'm gonna kill you myself, and after I do, I'll tell Barry Allen to pass on to the Arrow exactly how and why of it, and I'll tell him to spread the word to make absolutely certain that your family knows for a fact that you didn't die a hero. I'm gonna let ‘em know - let 'em all know - that you died gagging on the bloodlust you came back with, instead. I'm gonna make sure that’s the last memory they have of you – covered in blood and death, their little white canary gone wrong. Gonna let 'em know what whoever it was that brought you back that last time should have Stein's death on their conscience, make so they know it's all their fault, too. I'm gonna make this so goddamn clear for them that they'll regret that they didn't pray for you to die in that boat you got yourself lost in, ‘cause it would've been better than seeing what you turned into."

She turns to him, furious, her mouth opening and closing in horror and despair.

"Of course, you could kill me to stop that," Len says thoughtfully. "What's another teammate, after all, if you're committing to doing it already?"

"Don't you dare," she whispers. He sees her eyes: they're filled with tears. He's getting to her. "I'm not – I'm not like that. This – this is for the greater good, damnit. It's necessary. The risk to the future, to the world - it's too great. This is necessary. A necessary sacrifice."

She's trying to talk herself back into it - good. That means he's convinced her out of it, if only a little bit, and now he's got the momentum. He's going to save the goodness in her soul whether she likes it or not, and whether she hates him for doing it afterwards.

Time to play his trump card.

"So why not just kill Jax now and be done with it?" Len replies, arching his eyebrows at her. "Firestorm requires regular merging to survive, and we're pretty far away from Ronnie. We can kill Jax right now and Stein'll be dead in a few hours. No harm, no foul, no risk.”

He watches Sara’s jaw clench.

“No?” he asks sardonically. “But I thought this was about the greater good. And, hell, why not? I'm sure we can rationalize that killing a twenty year old with his whole life in front of him is, how you put it, for the greater good. Hell, maybe we should suggest it to Rip – spot of euthanasia back on the ship, and Stein'll start dying right away, no risk or infiltration needed. I’m sure he’d agree."

He wouldn't, of course. For all his faults, Rip's not a cold-blooded killer - even this play he's pulling now, with Sara, is more desperation than it is well-thought-out. But Sara needs to see where the road of ruthlessness ends, or else she'll keep walking it.

"Damn you," Sara whispers. "Damn you, Snart – "

"Just to remind you: I went with the hero argument first," Len says with a shrug as the truck pulls into the prison. He's done what he can. The rest of it is all up to Sara. "You can say that was what convinced you, if it makes you feel better."

He climbs out of the truck in his guard's uniform. His job, self-assigned, is to find and break the circuit holding the ghosts in. As far as Rip is concerned, Len's just going to go to the prison cells to pop Mick and Ray out the old-fashioned way, and that's how Len likes it. Normally he prefers to work with his crew rather than around them, but he doesn't want any interference.

Sara gets out, too, but she looks pretty shaken. There's a chance Len's words have had an impact.

If not –

Well, if not, Len had better get to that circuit before Sara gets to Stein, or else they'll have two dead teammates – since he was entirely serious about killing Sara in retribution – and Clarissa is going to yell at Stein's ghost forever, assuming he can get Stein’s ghost back on the ship through that ghost-repelling field. Not to mention the potential need for a mutiny to get the Waverider back to 2016 as soon as possible for Jax to merge with Ronnie quickly enough to save his life, in the event that Rip wouldn't agree...

Lots of unpleasant alternatives down that path. Best that Len focus on getting Mick out of this place fast enough to help Len stop Sara, if the need arises.

Yuri showed Len the electricity plans and, as he’d expected, there is a circuit running through the entire building. Len isn't sure when Savage figured out how to make a medium's circle work through electricity, which is a clever trick, but then again, he is immortal. Savage has had time to learn all sorts of medium's tricks and probably invent a whole new set of them.

And he has Mick.

Len grits his teeth and heads in.

There aren't any ghosts; that's the first thing he notes. There should be a lot – prisons are violent places, filled with death and despair, and Len can't imagine maximum security gulags are noticeably better. That means they're keeping the ghosts somewhere further inside.

Unfortunately, Yuri's information showed that the main control panel is further inside, too.

Len wheels in a fake hospital bed as his cover.

"What's wrong with him?" a guard grunts.

"Smallpox," Len replies.

"What?" the guard asks, frowning at him.

Len consults his mental watch and mentally curses. This is a great time for the babelfish's timer to run out – either Gideon or Rip ought've reminded him, but, of course, they didn't.

It’s fine, though; Len can speak a bit of Russian, albeit with his usual Central City accent making it very clear that he's American. Thank heaven for a well-rounded prison education. Old Vanya from Iron Heights is probably grinning at Len from wherever he'd long since passed on to, happy that his lessons are finally being used. He'd been alive when he'd taught Len, and had been almost entirely unsurprised about Len's abilities for the exceedingly brief period he'd been a ghost afterwards.

Ray expressed surprise at Len speaking more than one language, when they'd argued over whether or not Len needed the full-out babelfish verion, wondering at how Len had learned something like additional languages when he'd dropped out of school so early, but honestly Len is starting to get used to Ray's clueless knee-jerk classism by now.

"Smallpox," Len says, in Russian this time. He keeps his voice raspy to try to hide the American accent. "You stupid or something? You don't know what it's called in English? Everyone should know what it is in case they start dropping bombs with it. Isn't that why they want the body?"

The guard looks alarmed, but he lets Len pass through without paying too much attention, clearly far more intent on passing on gossip to his fellow guards about what the prison's mysterious facility is actually being used for.

Ah, prison gossip. Never changes, no matter what nation.

Len can hear the ghosts, now, as he gets closer. The background hum never faded away entirely, not like it had with the glass in his head, but it'd been quieter than he'd liked it to be. Either way, the quiet is gone: somewhere up ahead there are a lot of ghosts.

Len reflects momentarily on his mother's advice that he avoid large groups of ghosts and his apparent inability to do so, but puts that aside. He's got Mick to rescue; that trumps everything.

He makes the next turn.

"Snart?" a familiar voice asks, far too loudly. "Is that you?"

Ray.

Len risks a glance. No one else around.

He turns. Ray's in a cell, looking excited to see him, albeit still mostly reclining. He's fine but for a few bruises – a fairly standard welcome-to-the-yard beatdown, if Len knows his prison beatings (and he does), something more intended to humiliate than to seriously hurt. They must not have started in with the serious torture yet - that, or they decided that Ray wasn't necessary for it.

"It is you!" Ray exclaims, clearly delighted.

"Shut up," Len hisses. "Where's Mick? And Stein?"

"They took them to the main room," Ray says. "Stein because of Firestorm, and Mick – I don't know why. It was after they drew blood from us."

Len's never seen Mick's blood under a microscope, even though he knows Mick can summon up a blood splatter like a pro. Ghosts, especially powerful ones, can mimic blood anywhere they want – on walls, in mirrors, and, in Mick's case, to pretend they're human.

Still, there must have been some sign in the blood that identified him. Len will have to take care of that in the future when Mick is back by his side.

He refuses to think of that as an 'if'.

"Here," Len says, pulling Ray's shrunken armor from his pocket and tossing it over. "Put that on. I need you to go back to the ship and bring Jax and an EMP – it's my fall-back plan if I can't cut the lights."

"Got it," Ray says, nodding. "Uh – why are we cutting the lights?"

"We need to escape once we're all free," Len explains, glad he'd thought of a cover story that wouldn’t involve needless amounts of explanation. No way he's mentioning ghosts in the middle of a prison, with all of its superstious inmates potentially eavesdropping. He can explain the whole medium's circle thing when they're back on the ship. "Cutting the lights will cause chaos and help cover our tracks."

"Got it!"

"Oh, and once you've alerted the ship and gotten what we need –" Len already told Jax about the EMP, but Ray stands a better chance of convincing Rip about the necessity. "— you should go find Sara. She's in here, too, looking for Stein and Mick; she'll appreciate the back-up."

Be less likely to murder in front of an audience, Len means.

Ray nods seriously. "Good luck and be careful," he says. "One of the guys was talking about stringing us up and hitting us with bats until our ribs broke, earlier on, before Savage arrived and decided to do something different."

"Glad we made it here first," Len says, and continues on his way.

"Hey, you," a big guy from a few cells down – one of the few still alert at this hour. His accent is deep, but he's using English, just like Len and Ray had been. "Amerikanski. You letting your friend go? How about rest of us?"

Len looks at him. Big, alert, possibly smart, but there's no way to tell his position in the prison hierarchy at a glance. Still, worth a shot. "I'm going to cut the power," he says. "The doors are wired; they ought to open when that happens. If you could see about some people raiding the interior, where the scientists are – "

"They experiment on inmates," the guy says. "We will be happy to help."

"Make sure there aren't any circles painted anywhere," Len advises him. "It's their leader's symbol."

The guy growls. "We will destroy," he promises. "How did you come in?"

"Bratva. Yuri, third precinct."

"He is good man," the guy says. "What is your name?"

"Leonard Snart," Len says, figuring there's no harm in getting some points in while he's at it. "Not Lewis; he's my good-for-nothing brother and a rat. Central City, US. His kid's good, though; same name as me."

The guy nods. "We will owe you if you release us."

"I promise nothing," Len says. "But I'll aim to."

With that, he continues forward.

He's just ditched the cart and ducked into the electricity control room when he hears them.

"— certainly less useful than we might have hoped." It's Savage.

"You still should have told me!" Vostok exclaims. "You led me to believe that the man on fire was our target – all of my work has been focused on replicating his abilities –"

"Yes, it has," Savage says, indifferent to her annoyance. "And correctly so. I knew it would either be a scientific marvel or a unique expression of necromancy, and it would only be possible to recreate it even in part if it was the former. When I first saw him, for a brief moment I thought that the spirit of vengeance had crossed the barrier to take form once more – but no. Merely a man, albeit an unusually stubborn one."

She snorts. "Oh, indeed. And what of other one? There is something off about him, other than the fact that his blood type is chimerical."

Savage laughs. "Oh, yes. The other one. The other one you are to leave to me..."

There's a muffled sound.

Len's need to know overwhelms his good judgment and he sneaks out for a look.

There's another containment unit, this time even more filled with ghosts, whirling with rage so thick that Len can see nothing but white lightning inside the glass. The unit has no markings, Len notes distantly; the ghosts are being held in by the electric circuit, magically enhanced. He'd assumed as much, but this is far, far worse than he'd ever thought. Savage and Vostok are shoving them in without the slightest care for space.

He doesn't really pay much attention, though: his attention is capture by a second circle, drawn in paint on the floor.

Mick is there.

Mick is chained down in there, snarling viciously as he can through the gag they've put on him.

Savage reaches into the circle and strokes Mick's cheek. "Now, now," he croons. "My little savage one, don't tire yourself out so much – or I will press these accouterments onto your very soul, and you will bear them for the remainder of your miserable existence."

Len, safe above, shudders.

Mick, captured below, merely snarls.

"Once your will is broken, you will be a fine addition to my collection," Savage says thoughtfully. "I have never seen a spirit as strong as you – tell me, what special use does the necromancer get out of you, that he empowers you so?"

Mick manages to convey, through the gag, his opinion of Savage's lineage.

Savage laughs. "You think you will not break? Oh, but you will – and even in the unlikely event that you do not, I will merely devour you." Then he smiles. "But not before you have lured in my dear Chay-Ara – and your necromancer."

Len is not a necromancer, damnit.

Mick rolls his eyes and garbles something that sounds remarkably similar.

Vostok has been busy in the meantime with Stein, who is handcuffed to a chair. "This one still refuses to talk," she says, nodding at the barely conscious man. They haven't let him rest; that much is clear - he keeps blinking his eyes as though falling asleep. "But no matter – the results of my test of his blood have shown me much. I may have a workable prototype within the hour."

"Do not give me your scientists' estimate, Valentina," Savage replies. "I know they are padded. Do you have the serum ready?"

"Soon," she says, but she's not looking at Savage when she says it. She does have it ready, and she plans to use it soon, too. She was offended by the revelation that he kept information from her, and she's responding by keeping information from him - she intends for the new Soviet Firestorm to be her victory, not his.

Great. Now it's up to Len to fix the future.

Luckily, he has a plan.

Len creeps back to the electric controls. He'd been planning on a staggered breakout – Mick first, then ghosts, then the prisoners for an added bit of chaos – but Mick's circle is paint, not electricity. He'll have to go in personally to break that.

Great.

Len activates the comms. "Jax, you copy?" he asks.

"Loud and clear, boss. What do you want me to do?"

Len smirks, and tells him.

It takes him about ten minutes to get into the controls. During those ten minutes, Vostok goads Stein and Savage does something to Mick, something that makes Mick roar in pain – actual pain! for Mick! – but Len can't think of that now.

He stores it in the back of his mind for later, once they have a satisfactory plan to kill Savage and make him pay.

For now, he thanks his eclectic education for teaching him all about electric circuits in the 1980s – and about how fragile they could be if you treated them just right.

Len sets them to overload.

“I have the shot,” Sara says through the comms.

Len snarls and sets his comm to a wider frequency – one that includes more than just him, Rip and Sara. “Sorry, didn’t catch that,” he lies.

“I have the shot,” Sara repeats.

“Good,” Rip says. “Good luck, Miss Lance."

“Wait, what shot?” Kendra asks, just like Len’d hoped she would. “Who are we shooting? Savage? Does that make sense if I’m not the one doing the shooting?”

“Uh,” Sara says.

“Don’t do it, Sara,” Len says. “You’re not a killer, right? You’re a hero. Isn’t that right, Kendra?”

“Of course she is,” Kendra says, puzzled. “Sara’s a great hero – and I’ve met Barry and Oliver.”

“Shit,” Sara says. “I can’t do it.”

“Miss Lance!” Rip exclaims.

“No, Snart's right. That’s not who I am anymore,” Sara says. “Snart - Leonard. Tell me you have a plan.”

“Ray and Jax are enacting it now,” Len reports. “All I need is for you guys to cover our exit.”

“Miss Lance –”

“I’m on it. Shut up, Rip; I can always shoot ‘em later.”

“I think I missed something,” Kendra says.

“Don’t worry about it.” Len says soothingly. “Kendra, can you fly by the right side of the building, as close as you can to the wall?”

“Sure. Will do.”

As Len had hoped, Savage’s head jerks up when Kendra does her fly-by. “She’s near,” he says, “Chay-Ara, my love…”

“What are you talking about?” Vostok asks him, turning to face him.

Turning, just as Len had hoped, away from the stairs – and the increasingly urgent flashes on the computer screen indicating an imminent overload.

The first transistor blows – literally – as Len creeps down the stairs.

"What's going on?" Vostok demands, spinning around and rushing to the computers.

"This is a rescue attempt," Savage says with satisfaction. "Soon, our necromancer will come to us -"

There's a roar of noise that doesn't come from electricity, making Savage frown. "What's that?"

"The prisoners!" Vostok gasps, recognizing the sound of feet and fists and angry voices faster than Savage. "He's released the prisoners!"

"No matter – they will head outside and scatter –"

There's a banging on the door to the lab.

Savage frowns deeper. He wasn't expecting them to be angry enough to attack - clearly, he's been spending too much of his immortal time shadowing powerful men, and not enough time studying mobs. “How secure is that door?”

“It has an electric lock –” Vostok starts.

Len grins. “Now, Ray,” he mutters into his comm.

The skylight crashes as something is dropped from a height.

Savage and Vostok spin around to look, only to spin back around as the EMP blast from the falling bomb shorts out everything in the room, sending it black for a moment.

That's when Ray in his suit comes flying down through the crack in the skylight, Jax in his arms.

The lights, now powered exclusively from the back-up generators Yuri mentioned as being too deep down to be affected by an EMP, flicker back on when Ray’s already half-way down from the ceiling.

"Don’t let him get close to the professor!" Savage roars.

Vostok grabs a gun and shoots at Ray. Ray promptly drops Jax.

Gravity does what gravity does, and brings Jax down right where his partner is sitting.

They merge in mid-air, the show-offs.

"Get them!" Savage shouts.

"Screw you," Jax says, and throws a fireball at him.

"Get the door open," Len hisses in to the comms, slithering through the lab to get to Mick. "Ray!"

"On it!"

Ray blasts the now-unlocked door open, and suddenly there's a lot of prisoners. Very angry prisoners.

"No!" Vostok shrieks.

Len makes it to Mick. "Want a ride out?"

Mick's eyes flare white and the gag around his mouth dissolves in flame. He could have done it the whole time – damn overdramatic poltergeists. "You can't break the circle," he says. "It's designed to trap a ghost inside and to drain life from any living person who enters or tries to break it except Savage."

"Shit. How quick does it drain life?"

"What do you mean?"

Len looks over at the containment unit, where the ghosts are raging.

Mick follows his gaze. "Uh," he says, abruptly realizing what Len's thinking. "Yeah, that might work, what with them being unliving but on the outside of the circle and all."

"Good."

Len uses his cold gun on the door, then throws a nearby book at it, shattering it.

And then the ghosts are free – unbound by electricity, unbound by the unit, and backed by Len, who's handing out life left and right. They howl as they rip through the building.

"Holy crap!" Ray shouts as the whole structure of the prison starts to collapse around him.

"Evac time! Everyone!" Jax shouts.

The prisoners don't see the ghosts – Len hasn't given them enough to be visible, since he needs them to focus on ripping things to shreds – but they see the walls collapse. They just don't care, their angry hands grabbing at the guards, at the doctors, at Vostok, pulling them down into the mob.

"Some of you, come here, wreck this circle on the floor," Len commands, his back straightening, his shoulders loosening, his voice echoing with reverberations in the air. He's calm, now; he doesn't even know why he was so stressed and worried before. After all, the ghosts are with him, the armies of the dead – what has he to fear?

None can stand against him, with them on his side.

"Well done," a voice gurgles from behind Len, causing him to spin around, gun at ready.

It's Savage, his face half-burned from one of Firestorm's blasts.

Len hopes it hurts, even if though it might not kill him.

"You got through my traps," Savage continues, eyes fixed on Len. "You are more powerful than I believed."

"Smarter, too," Len drawls, taking a step forward. "Don't forget that. If you ever take any action against me and mine, you'll pay for it in pain."

"Brave words," Savage replies mockingly.

"Hardly brave," Len scoffs. "The armies of the dead stand with me. And I'll turn them against you, medium – "

Mick's hand closes over Len's ankle. He's saying something, but Len can't hear him, he's too busy staring at Savage. At the man who dared to take Mick from him, dared to trap Mick somewhere, when Mick should always fly free, free and at Len's side – oh no, whatever Mick might have to say about it, Len is going to hurt this man – he's going to make sure that no one ever thinks to do anything like that ever again -

"Oh, yes, hate me, loathe me," Savage crows. "Do your worst against me, and I will live on, unlike any of your precious dead – so just try it on me, necromancer – "

Len's lips pull back into a snarl and he reaches inside of him for life, for the power to –

Wait.

"For the last fucking time," Len snaps, his voice abruptly back to normal. "I am not a necromancer!"

"Oh, thank god, you're back," Mick says, audibly this time, and throws a crate at Savage, knocking the other man ass over elbows back into the mob as the building falls on them.

Len blinks, feeling strangely disoriented all of a sudden. "Mick," he starts. "What happened -"

"Not now," Mick says. "Ray! Get Len back to the ship! He hit his head!"

Len did not hit his head!

Ray swoops down and grabs Len into his arms, damsel-in-dress style, before Len can properly protest.

“I’ll meet you at the ship!” Mick shouts. “Go!”

“Wait, but –” Len starts

Ray goes, and Len unwillingly goes with him.

Len scowls.

He’s going to get Mick for this one.

[sorrelchestnut]

EVERYBODY’S PICKIN’ UP ON THAT FELINE BEAT, PART 33

Still not dead!  I’m just saying, this would have been a lot easier if I didn’t decide that this story suddenly needed to grow a plot.

Part 1.  Part 2.  Part 3.  Part 4.  Part 5.  Part 6.  Part 7.  Part 8.  Part 9.  Part 10.  Part 11. Part 12.  Part 13.  Part 14.  Part 15.  Part 16.  Part 17.  Part 18.  Part 19. Part 20.  Part 21.  Part 22. Part 23. Part 24. Part 25. Part 26.  Part 27. Part 28. Part 29. Part 30. Part 31. Part 32.

Title: everybody’s picking up on that feline beat Author: Sorrel Fandom: Fallout 4 Rating: Mature Warnings: None Relationships: Deacon/Female Sole Survivor Series: Part 3 of everybody wants to be a cat

  They creep into an abandoned building a few doors down from the Plaza and set up on the second floor, moving low and slow to avoid being spotted by either of the half-asleep guards patrolling slowly around the block.  Hancock’s better at keeping quiet than Deacon would have expected, considering the man’s run-and-gun style, but maybe he learned a thing or two when he was kicking around the Commonwealth with Whisper.  Even old dogs, etc.

  Once Whisper’s satisfied they’ve found the right spot, Hancock wanders off to explore, waving away Whisper’s hissed reminders to stay quiet.  Deacon raises his eyebrows at her, but she just tips him a shrug and kneels down to start unpacking her armor, so he decides to defer to her greater experience and does the same.

  They gear up with easy familiarity, Deacon tightening the straps on her chestpiece while she does up the buckles on her wristguards, and then Whisper turning around to return the favor, going to her knees and doing up the laces on his boots since he can’t bend over that far with the combat vest on.  Normally they don’t wear this much gear—Whisper prefers freedom of movement over being bulletproof, and since he has to keep up with her Deacon’s more or less come to see it her way—but normally they’re not going in this hot, either.  Whisper’s decked out heavier than he is, since she’ll be at the front drawing fire, but there’s going to be enough bullets flying around that neither of them are willing to take any chances.

  Once she’s kneeling in front of him, however, she doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to get back up.  By the time she’s finished ‘adjusting his ammo belt’ for the third time he’s half-hard and trying not to squirm, darting glances at the door to the hall where he can still faintly hear Hancock moving around.  Not that they haven’t fooled around with witnesses handy a truly inadvisable number of times, but this feels- different.  He still doesn’t know the lay of the land between her and Hancock, and this’d be a bad way for the ex to find out about the new guy, if that’s the way of it.

  “Quit it,” he finally hisses, and she laughs soundlessly at him and gives his thigh a final friendly pat before straightening creakily to her feet, moving awkwardly under the weight of unfamiliar gear.

  He picks up her weapon and shoves it into her hands before she can get any more clever ideas.  “You be careful with that,” he says, nodding to the fully-modded shotgun Hancock loaned her, since even Whisper had to admit that her rifle probably wasn’t going to cut it for this one.  “Bet that thing kicks like a mule.  You’ll be bruised to hell tomorrow if you don’t handle it right.”

  “Teach your gran to suck eggs,” she says, with a look that says she catches his metaphor loud and clear.  “I know how to handle a shotgun.”

  He slides his own rifle back into its holster and raises his hand defensively.  “Don’t get grumpy with me.  I just want to see you in one piece on the other side.”

  Her annoyed expression softens, and she darts a quick glance at the hallway to make sure the coast is still clear before she darts forward to press a kiss to his cheek.  “Right back atcha, partner,” she murmurs, then dances back before he can decide he doesn’t care about Hancock after all and reach for her.  “You ready to do this thing?”

  He grins down at her, the fading curl of lust mixing with the heat of adrenaline to leave him pleasantly flushed and on edge.  Is it wrong to love your work?  Definitely not, when it’s this much fun.  “Always,” he assures her.  “Don’t forget to make some noise.”

  She grins back up at him, mischief dancing in her hazel eyes.  “Oh, I think I can manage that.”

~*~

  When you get down to it, this op isn't all that different from ones they've run with Glory.  Which isn’t a surprise; on the rare occasions they’ve had the luxury of extra backup, Whisper tends to lean towards her little pincer maneuver, in one variation or another.  Mind you, she’s usually on the other side of the equation, but hey, Deacon’s flexible.  And in all fairness to their Angel of Destruction, it takes a lot of bullets to keep up with the kind of distraction Glory can dish out.  Hancock could probably use the help.

  “We’re in position,” Whispers murmurs in his earpiece, and Deacon’s sharp ears pick up the faintest scuff of a booted foot against the cobblestone.  It’s easy to picture Hancock, crouched just behind her, his own shotgun at the ready.  “How’s it looking on your end, Johnny?”

  He glances down at the pair of cooling bodies slumped at his feet, all that remains of the guards posted up at the back entrance.  “Rocking and rolling, Livvy-love,” he chirps, just to hear her snort of amusement.  “I’m ready when you are.”

  “Awesome.  Be ready to go on my signal.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Oh,” and he can hear the grin in her voice, “you’ll know.”

  For a moment, all goes quiet, and Deacon, who has a fine-tuned sense of self-preservation and a lot of experience with Whisper’s sense of humor, braces himself.  Then, through his earpiece, he hears the splintering crack of a door being kicked open, following in very short order by a shout of alarm, the blast of shotgun, and the much louder blast of a hand grenade going off in close quarters.

  Deacon grins to himself as he pulls out his rifle.  Time to earn his keep.

  It’s a hard fight, but not the worst he’s been in, by a long shot.  Things do get a little dicey when all the commotion turns out to be loud enough to draw the attention of the cohort on the upper levels before they’ve quite finished clearing the ground floor, but nobody gets shot, which is all that matters.

  Well.  Nobody on their side gets shot.

  Well, nowhere important, at least.

  “Four hundred years, this thing’s lasted,” Hancock’s saying in a mournful voice, as Deacon makes his way back down from a sweep of the upper levels.  “Seen me through more than my fair share of firefights, and that’s a fact.”

  Whisper makes an annoyed noise under her breath.  “What’s your point?”

  “Ten goddamn minutes with you and I’m catching a bullet where a patch ain’t gonna cut it, that’s my point.”

  “Right, what was I thinking.”  Deacon can picture her eye-roll as clear as if he was standing right next to her.  “You know that was just a replica, right?  It wasn’t actually worn by John Hancock, American revolutionary.”

  Hancock’s scowl is audible.  “How the hell would you know, anyway?”

  Deacon peers over the balcony railing, to see Whisper kneeling next to Hancock, wiping the last of the blood off her hands with a spare rag.  “You kids having fun down there?”

  “Hancock’s just bitching because he doesn’t know how to duck.”  Whisper closes the medkit up with an exasperated look at Hancock, who totally misses the entire byplay in favor of craning his head to peer at the bullet hole in his arm she just finished stitching.

  Deacon smothers a snort.  “Well, it’s all clear up here.  Looks like everyone who’s anyone came down earlier when the party got started.  Place is a ghost town.”

  Whisper’s grin is so satisfied it’s almost postcoital.  “Now that’s what I like to hear.  You mind getting our shit from the hidey-hole?  I want to check out the lay of the land, and this one needs to let the stimpak kick in.”  Hancock starts to sit up, an outraged expression on his face, only to get shoved back down by Whisper.  “Yes, you,” she tells him.  “Don’t be a hero.”

  Deacon bites back a smile and tips an imaginary hat with the backs of his knuckles.  He’s not used to seeing Whisper fussing.  It’s oddly sweet.

  “I’m on it, boss.”

~*~

  Hancock’s nowhere to be found when he gets back ten minutes later, but he finds Whisper setting up in one of the back rooms, the one with no exterior windows and the really niche torture dungeon aesthetic.  The bodies are gone, but the smell of death lingers like a really oppressive shroud.

  “Nice place you’ve got here.”

  Whisper twists around just enough to smirk at him.  “I thought the meat hooks in the corner made for a particularly gruesome touch.”

  “Yeah, really sets the scene.”  He drops their packs just outside of the doorway and steps inside, carefully avoiding the still-wet smear of blood from where she dragged the bodies out into the hall.  “Where’s Hancock?”

  “Going through the den upstairs for any interesting scav.  Figured one of us should make some caps off this shitshow, and we’re going to be too busy to haggle anytime soon.”

  “Hey, if you’re waiting for me to argue, you’re gonna wait a while.  The man got shot in the line of duty, the least we can do is see he gets a decent paycheck out of it.”  He leans against the doorway and folds his arms over his chest.  “How’s our timeline looking?”

  Whisper finishes shoving a chair into the corner and wipes her forehead off against her sleeve before rolling it up to check her Pip-boy.  “We’ve got about ten hours left,” she says.  “Figure, two or three to get there and get in position, want to be there about an hour early, give another hour of leeway just in case they make good time coming over the bridge, so…”

  “Five hours,” he finishes.  She nods.  “Huh.  Flip you for first watch?”

  “Fuck that, I already told Hancock he’s taking care of it.  We’ve got a hard day tomorrow.”  She crosses the room, looping her arms around his neck and grinning up at him.  “We need our rest.”

  “Rest doesn’t seem what you have in mind,” he murmurs back, but it’s hard to pretend like he minds when he’s already got a hand hooked around her hip, his thumb rubbing against the fraying fabric of her jeans.  “You got designs on my virtue, partner?”

  She laughs huskily into the crook of his neck.  “That a problem?”

  He must hesitate a second too long, because she leans back, blinking up at him in surprise.  “Is it a problem?”

  Well, nothing for it.  Might as well go all in.  “Depends.  Is it going to be a problem for Hancock?”

  He can see the exact moment she figures out what he’s asking, because her vaguely hazy look of confusion morphs into a snort of undignified laughter.  “Oh, god no,” she says, grinning a little loopily up at him.  “No problems on that front, trust me.  Worst that happens is he gets high and wanders in to workshop your technique.”

  He can’t quite hide his shudder.  “That’s not as reassuring as it probably sounded in your head, pal o’ mine.”

  Her grin picks up edges around the corners, and she leans up on her toes, presses her mouth to the hinge of his jaw.  A second later, he feels her teeth scrape delicately, crosswise against the stubble, and a shiver goes down his spine without any input whatsoever from his higher brain functions.

  “Guess we’ll have to lock the door,” she murmurs against his skin, and he grabs her by the hips and pulls her up to his mouth, drowning his worries in her familiar taste.

  For tonight, at least, he doesn’t have to think about anything else.