#SO NOW WE KNOW BOTH BEAVIS AND BUTTHEAD HAVE SAID FUCK

[ibangedyourmomdotcom]

so i just found out about an easter egg in b&bh virtual stupidity where butt-head goes "fuck you beavis" and shoots beavis. holy fucking shit.

i am trying this out when i get home.

[h0rr0rfever]

Sally face x reader (new boy in town)

Y/N pov:

Tw: cursing, drugs (weed)

I was sitting there on my bed, watching trippy videos as my high started to kick in. My mouth felt dry. I hated cotton mouth. 

Sadly, I had no water to cure my desert like cavern, even temporarily right now, and I was wayyy too lazy to get up and get water. 

I laid on my stomach staring at my screen intently as I watched all the stories and hidden meaning behind these videos. I felt so good. There was absolutely no worries that were engraved into me right now at this very moment as I was lost in lalaland.

Suddenly, my trance was uplifted when I noticed a text. I was still really fucking gone so when I tried to read the name I read it wrong.

“who the fuck is Leeri” I stated, thinking out loud before giggling to myself.

“Hehe. Leeri.” I said again with a chuckle.

I opened the text and saw something interesting. 

Larry: Yo, come downstairs to the basement.

Y/N: uhh, why? Lol.

Larry: Someone new just moved in, and they're really fucking rad dude.

Y/N: Okay den Leeri, I turst you :)) (spelt incorrectly on purpose cuz Y/N is still gone gone)

Larry: You’re high off your ass right now, aren’t you? Bring some of that dank over dude.

Y/N: Yuhh whatever you say bro.

I turned off my phone and grabbed my cart pen. Luckily I had just bought a new one so that I’d have enough to share. I grabbed the keycard Lisa had given me when I just moved into the Addison apartments and suggested that I’d go talk to her son Larry, and after that, the both of us we became the best of friends

I hid my dap pen in between my breasts just in case anyone walked by. It wasn’t exactly irregular for a teen to be doing this kinda stuff at this age, but it wasn’t exactly tolerated.

Once I finally went down the elevator and reached Larry and Lisa’s apartment, I opened their door and headed towards Larry’s room. I heard sanity falls blasting and turned the door knob until the door creaked open. There, I saw Larry and some other girl with pigtails and blue hair head banging. 

I snickered and stumbled a little bit. My legs were weak and everything was spinning. I was in cloud 9 right now. 

Suddenly, I heard the music stop. I looked up and saw the two looking at me.

“Hey butthead,”Larry said with a chuckle

“sup Beavis” I replied back cunningly with a smirk.

Larry chuckled and composed himself right after.

“Y/N, meet Sal, Sal, meet Y/N” Larry introduced the both of us.

she turned to me and went in for a handshake, but I just stared at her hand intently and went in for a hug. I embraced her and she seemed taken aback but nonetheless, she still hugged me back.

“welcome to the gay club, Sal.” I said whispered.

“thanks, I am quite delighted to be in such a suitable club for me.” Sal responded jokingly.

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.

“Sal, no offense but you have a really deep voice for a girl.” I said with chuckle at the end.

Larry snickered before he burst out laughing, and I looked at with confusion quite evident in my face.

“waaat?” I responded confused as fuck.

“Y/N, sally is da homie, he’s a guy dude.” Larry said while wiping a tear from his eye after laughing so hard.

‘huh- oh- OHHHHHHH” 

I was completely embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry for assuming Sal, you just looked so pretty.” I laughed out

“it’s fine, I know I’m glamerous” Sally said playfully whilst sashaying his blue pigtail.

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - You're Kidding Me

So we’ve finally come to the last of season two’s filler episodes. Let’s see if we can knock this one out real quick. 

Summary: The front door of the mysterious seashell estate vanishes, trapping the group. They try to find another way out but find a spinning top whose magic regresses Cassandra and Lance into toddlers and Shorty into a baby.  They’ve only have an hour to find the top and reverse the effects or the changes become permanent. Unfortunately neither of Rapunzel’s or Eugene’s parenting methods keep their now childish friends on task. 

So Why Did No One Stand Watch Last Night?

They were all sleeping right next to the entrance, and after the run in with the mirror monsters, you would think that they would have taken turns standing watch. 

But nope, the front door vanishes when no one was looking cause they don't have any foresight. 

A Low Budget Doesn’t Excuse Filler

Like most of season two, this is yet another episode that adds very little to the overall story. It’s slightly better than the Return of Quaid or Curses, but not by much. I put it on the same level as The Forest of No Return, as I do like the mains’ development, but there’s really no reason why such episodes exist to begin with. 

The meta reason for staying in certain places for three episodes, instead of only one or two, is because of budgetary reasons. The crew have to build new sets and models for every new location or person the cast comes across. This costs money to make, so the higher ups wanted to reuse assets. Which is understandable, but not an excuse for utilizing them poorly.  

If you need to stay in one area or have characters reappear, then you need to give story reasons for that. Ones that tie back to the overall narrative and/or the mains’ character arcs. 

The shell house and Matthews should be more important than what they are as they both have connections to the ultimate big bad of the series.Adria shouldn’t be wasted for a whole episode when she’s the only one driving the plot in season two and has limited appearances. Vardaros and its people shouldn’t be a one and done thing if you’re going to spend so much time setting them up. And there’s still one off episodes, locations, and characters who aren’t brought back and add nothing 

Not only does this make for a weaker story, it also undermines the cost saving measures that you tried to implement to begin with.  

This Isn’t Representation! 

Get it?! 

She’s a top! 

She’s totally gay, but like not really, cause this can also be interpreted as a dominatrix joke, and there’s no other real indication of her orientation outside her like smiling at her best friend/crush/sister sometimes and keeping that rose her creepy ex-boyfriend gave her. 

And don't give me any bullshit excuses about Disney not letting the crew make Cassandra canonly gay/bi. 

The Owl House aired just this year, the same year as Tangled’s final season. Also Globby and Carl from Big Hero Six were both confirmed to be a couple on screen a month after this episode came out. Both shows would have been in development at the same time as Tangled was. Both would have been subject to the same regulations and restrictions while writing their stories. 

It isn’t “Disney” that stopped the storyboard artists from having Cass be a confirmed lesbian, it’s Chris and Ben, the head writers themselves, who failed to write it into the story properly, if at all. 

Chris is the one who made Raps and Cass “sisters”. Chris is the one who wouldn’t tell the crew about his ‘twists’. Chris is the one who had Cass crush on Andrew, even after he tried to kill her. Chris is the one who made Cassandra ‘straight’ and has since used gay baiting to keep her fanbase in his pocket. 

Like I am really damn sick and tired of Casspunzel stans defending Chris on twitter, when he’s the very one who sunk thier ship to begin with. I’m also really fed up with certain fans trying to bully others for not accepting their “Cass is a lesbian” headcanons as fact because what the storyboarders say on twitter after the show is over with isn’t gospel and isn’t real rep. 

I don’t care if you ship Cass with Raps or headcanon her as being gay. Ships and headcanons are great and can be a lot of fun. But fuck you if you ever try to shame people for not sharing your ships/headcanons. Not only is it biophobic and acephobic to insist that there’s only ever a binary option when it comes to orientation and shipping, but it also reinforces harmful stereotypes and tropes about people in the queer community. 

Like, yes, I personally may be an introverted angry bitch who’s an LBGTQA member and activist, but that doesn’t mean that every introverted bitchy woman in media is a lesbian. What kind of message does that send people when that’s the only character archetype that’s given representation or is loudly proclaimed as ‘gay’ by the wider audience? Fuck that noise! 

I Know Humor is Subjective but...WHY?

Why did we give the baby a beard? How does that logically work? Did anyone outside of the crew actually find this funny? 

TTS has like this one out of touch dude throwing out jokes that don’t really land with the target audience. Fans have called it ‘boomer humor’ but it’s actually ‘Gen-X’ humor. Not only because Chris and Ben are Gen Xers but because this is the type of crap my older brother would find hilarious. 

Gen Xers are between Boomers and Millennials and so their humor is this weird blend of gross out shock humor, ironic nihilism, and out of date stereotypes that are only mildly better than those of the previous generation before them. They’re the generation who gave us Beavis and Butthead, South Park, and Clerks. 

That’s not a criticism of Gen X as a generation, but rather just an acknowledgment that they’re worlds away from the neo-dada absurdism, more socially conscious, and globalized humor of Gen Z.    

So Why Is the Bad Guy Telling the Heroes How to Foil His Plans? 

Like he not only tells them how to fix their problem and how long they got in order to do so, but he also informs them how it happened in the first place. This goes directly against his plans. Had he simply said nothing and stayed out sight, then Raps and Eugene would have been lost for the full hour and most likely not have saved everyone on time. 

I like to headcanon that Mathews is just “that asshole” that loves to taunt and tease but in a that manner that gives him plausible deniability. He also may just be bored, since he’s a ghost trapped in one place all the time. Yet that still doesn’t change the fact that he shot himself in the foot here. 

Raps and Young Cass’s Relationship Is the Same as Raps and Adult Cass’s, and That Is a Problem. 

Condescending, manipulative, hypocritical, and bossy is the way Rapunzel treats everyone. She doesn’t understand the actual difference between a child and an adult. She only understands who she who she can and can’t boss  around. And those people that she can’t place under her thumb are labeled antagonists by the show. 

Nor does she actually care about what either kid Lance or kid Cass has to say. She’s just being proformative, and young Cass can see through that BS, which why her methods do not work. It’s not because she’s not ‘strict’ enough; it’s because she’s not being honest. 

Meanwhile Child Cassandra is just as combative, rude, bullying, and entitled as Adult Cassandra. In season three she regresses even further and becomes more violent than before.

Unlike Rapunzel, Cassandra wasn’t trapped in a tower for 18 years with zero human contact outside of her abuser. She escaped that fate and was raised in a loving home. That doesn’t mean that there won't be scars, but I still expect her to be more mature than her seven year old self. Just because she’s whining about not being special enough at 24 instead of screaming about the floor being lava doesn’t mean that she’s still not throwing a temper tantrum.  

Like I should not be seeing a replay/foreshadowing of their main conflict here. They aren’t children. They’re dynamic isn’t that of a mother and child. It’s not even a big sister looking out for a little sister type relationship. Its two immature women dragging innocent victims into their bitchy cat fight for dominance over the other.  

If you want me to take their issues seriously then give them real stakes to disagree over, mature behavior that I can root for, and a resolvement that doesn’t reverse any potential development that they could have had.    

Matthews Plan Makes Zero Sense

For starters, half the group being kids isn’t enough of a reason for Rapunzel to stay at the shell house. Even if the effects of the time top became permanent, then Raps and Eugene could just leave and take the kids with them. Either to finish the road trip, or go straight back to Corona. Not that there’s any real reason to get the Dark Kingdom anyways, nor is there a ticking clock stopping Raps from trying again later if she chose to. 

Rapunzel also is not obligated to become anyone’s mother. If she took them back to Corona than Cap would undoubtedly raise Cassandra all over again, and Lance and Shorty could be adopted by someone else. Any of the pub thugs might take them or even perhaps the King and Queen since they missed out on raising their actual daughter. Though for my money I’d get Monty or Xavier to take them in. They seem the most mature and both are shown to be good with kids. 

Then again Rapunzel has been shown twice now to not give a damn about abandoning orphans, so even the ‘dump them at an orphanage’ or ‘leave them alone in the woods to fend for themselves’ isn’t entirely off the table either. I wish I was joking, but I’m not. Sadly, only Eugene’s love for Lance might be the one thing to stop her from doing just so, and even that’s iffy. 

As for the missing door from earlier, if that was all that was stopping them from leaving then the time top shenanigans were fully unnecessary altogether. 

I Actually Like Eugene and Rapunzel’s Conflict Here; I Just Wish It Was In a Better Episode. 

Each of their viewpoints stem from their upbringing. 

Rapunzel is unique in that she was simultaneously emotionally abused and neglected while being physically spoiled. Especially once she found out that she was princess, where she was then handed nearly anything and everything she wanted. She doesn’t recognize that getting your every possible whim come true can be damaging. Nor does she have any comprehension of what living in poverty is like and how this many toys is wasteful to someone like Eugene who had so very little and stole to survive. 

She does however associate limits, boundaries, and orders with abusive behavior because she’s been denied autonomy and respect her whole life. She’s never seen what healthy parenting looks like and how rules can be applied correctly.     

To Rapunzel no orders is ‘freeing’ and ‘validation’ is all that is needed to get a child to listen to you. Which doesn’t work for her because she doesn’t understand that real communication is more than just giving a compliment now and then. 

Meanwhile Eugene lacked any sort of anchor at all. He was left to his own devices at a young age and had no one to rely on for emotional needs and, after leaving the orphanage, no one to provide physical needs either. 

It’s telling that he and Lance latched onto Quaid as the only authority figure in their life, despite Quaid never out right adopting them. He was the only sense of stability that they had who they could trust wouldn’t hurt them, despite being strict with them. 

And now that Eugene has gotten older and is reformed, he can probably understand why Quaid was so harsh on him and Lance. Quaid probably did more to try and help them turn from a life crime than even Rapunzel did. Like meeting Rapunzel was the inciting incident that inspired Eugene to make that leap, but the groundwork was already laid out for him to do so elsewhere. Things like his good communication skills, respect and empathy of others, and understanding of boundaries had to be learned from somewhere, and if not from the Sheriff of Vardaros than who? 

What I’m getting at is that, while Rapunzel rejects her parents methods but then fails to break her learned habits from them anyways, Eugene is the reverse. He’s come to embrace his mentor’s teachings, but he fails to implement them correctly because he’s not Quaid. Being authoritative isn’t his strong suit. It goes against his usual nature as the easy going person that he is and so any attempts to come across as forceful fail as they’re hollow. 

Kids know authenticity and genuineness when they see it. The children reject Rapunzel because she’s not being real with them, yet they also reject Eugene cause he’s not being honest with himself. 

It’s a complex and mature conflict. Neither person is fully right nor wrong, and only by learning from each other and adopting both methods can they achieve their goal. 

TTS can be deep when it wants to be. There’s a good foundation here for mature themes and complex characterization. It’s just the series doesn’t ever commit to it. 

Whatever personal drama going on here about two young adults trying to cope with their past traumas and how that affects their current life and future goals is completely lost in the magical goofy antics and low stakes situation. Even the stuff about Eugene and his relationship with Quaid is reduced to nothing but a one off joke rather than being genuinely explored as a point of development.  

Imagine how much more powerful things would have been if Angry and Red were brought along on the trip. If this argument was over them and whether or not they should adopt the two girls themselves or consider other options. That would be something with real weight. Something with a choice that had actual consequences attached to it. Something that would permanently affect all involved parties. Something that wouldn’t make the two leads look like outright dicks for abandoning two children for a second damn time in a row.    

You Have 70 Feet of Magical, Indestructible Hair! Why Are You Afraid of a Bunch of Dogs!?

You’ve fought off giant monsters, killer robots, and supernatural beings with magical powers. What do you mean you can’t hold off a pack of guard dogs while busting down a stuck door? Why is Eugene the shield for everyone and not the actual unbreakable hair that you use as a shield all the damn time? And Why did we have to rely on Shorty again to be the deus ex machina of the episode? 

At this point the writers should have just made him Demantius instead of the monkey.   

What Happened To This New Dream? Where Did It Go In Season Three?

Most fans who do enjoy season two happen to be big New Dream fans as this is by far and away the best season for them. I’ll admit that the series, up to this point, had me actively liking them together, despite being originally lukewarm to the pairing in the movie. 

Their conflicts were for the the most part mature and real. They learned from one another equally and had open communication when it didn't involve ‘marriage is a trap’ BS. Things, like compromising on differentiating future goals, honesty and communication, and making time for one another and extending effort into a relationship while being true to yourself are all relatable issues. 

Even today's episode featured the topic of having kids and parenting. Which is a discussion you absolutely need to have with your prospective spouse before entering into any long term commitments and signing any legal contracts. For real, I’ve seen marriages fall apart because they didn’t agree on whether or not they wanted children. 

I don’t know what went down between writing season two and season three, but things quickly took a sharp turn away from this dynamic and nosedived into a pit of uncomfortable bullying and gross sexist implications here after. 

Matthews Plan Goes Against Zhan Tiri’s Plan 

Yeah so Matthews is one of Zhan Tiri’s disciples, but he apparently doesn’t know of her goals/plans, cause she needs Rapunzel and company to reach the moonstone, not stay stuck here. 

The meta reason for this that the Zhan Tiri’s story was altered at the last minute and the writers failed to make sure there was any sort of consistency between what they already set up and where they actually wound to actually taking the plot.  

The in universe reason is that Zhan Tiri is an impotent moron, but that’s not what the writers were going for so it’s a fail. 

Conclusion  

I like the New Dream stuff, and Matthews is at least entertaining despite being incompetent. Everything else about the episode is ‘meh’ tho. 

[myhockeyworld87]

Love Me Anyway - Tyler Seguin - Part 5

Word Count: 3371

POV:  Starts out in Reader and changes to Tyler

Warnings: Language, fluff 

Notes: Hope you guys enjoy this one. The next one won’t be up for 2 weeks. Happy Reading

READER’S POV

You fell asleep last night with a smile on your face. Your date with Tyler had been nothing short of amazing. He seemed to really love everything that you’d planned. You woke up in the morning giddy, and literally kicked your feet in the air shrieking. You always sang while you got ready in the morning but today you were just belting it out, as you got ready to meet Jenna for lunch.

Jenna had sent you a quick text telling you Mimi and Becca were tagging along. Which made total sense, since you four did practically everything together. You met your friends at a little restaurant you always dined at. You were the first one there so you grabbed a table for the four of you. You contemplated texting Tyler when Becca and Jenna walked in.

“Hi, ladies,” you said as they sat down.

“Hi yourself,” Jenna replied. “From the look on your face, it looks like your date went well.”

“I could say the same to you,” you quipped back at her.

Just then Mimi walked in. “Please tell me I didn’t miss any of the juicy details from either of these dates.”

“Nope, we just sat down,” Becca told her.

“Alright, you two then spill it,” Mimi said looking between you and Jenna.

“You first,” you said to Jenna. You knew she had a crush on Derek for a long time and you were happy to see things finally starting to work out between.

“It wasn’t really anything special,” Jenna stated. “He came over to my place and we ordered take out.”

Mimi stopped her. “What did you order?” You all looked at her, like does it really matter. “Guys, I’m a reporter. I need to know all the details, nothing is too small.”

“We just ordered some Chinese, from the restaurant around the corner. He brought over some wine so we had that as well.” She proceeded to tell you. “We didn’t talk about anything major. It was all really just things we talk about all the time. You know like how he likes to work out and golf. He says I should go with him sometime, but I haven’t played in years.”

“Oh my god, we can totally go out for a round sometime; if you need to practice.” Becca chimed in. She was in a golf league so probably the most qualified to help out. You remember Tyler talking about golf last night as well and thought you may be taking Becca up on that offer yourself, though you’d never actually played. Unless miniature golf counted? You rocked at that.

“I just may take you up on that,” Jenna continued, dragging you away from your thoughts about Tyler. “But then we just rented a movie.” That’s all Jenna said. You knew there was more to the story, but she wasn’t spilling the beans.

“Oh, come on there has to be more than that.” You inquired.

“Yeah, what did the two of you watch? Last time he was over at our place, he and Bryan were watching some stupid Beavis and Butthead reruns they found on Netflix. It was so annoying; I ended up going to bed early with the dog. Please tell me it was better than that.” Mimi added.

“Oh, we watched Top Gun. I’m a sucker for that movie and Derek had heard they were doing a sequel or something.”

“Oh, I love that movie,” Becca said. You all were nodding your heads in agreement. “I could probably quote most of it.”

“So, did he make any moves on you?” you had to know.

“How about you tell us what happened between you and Tyler.” Jenna deflected.

“Oh, I will but I need to hear all the juicy parts between you and Derek first.”

“Well….I mean you know how when Goose dies it’s all emotional and things. Well, he pulled me over closer to him then. Nothing happened right away, but….Then we just started making out. We never really saw the end of the movie.” Jenna giggled.

“OOOOO,” Mimi said. “Sounds like you two are going to be an item. Did it go any further?”

“Not much,” Jenna admitted. “You know it’s weird. We’ve been friends for so long, I just don’t want to ruin that.”

“Well, they always say you should marry your best friend,” Becca stated.

“If that’s the case we’d all be married to each other,” you chimed in, causing everyone to laugh. “But really, I think things between you and Derek would great. Just give it time. It will happen naturally.”

“Alright, Confucius. Enough words of wisdom from you. It’s your turn now.” Mimi chirped at you. “How was your date with Mr. Seguin?”

You blushed. You couldn’t help it. “Did you guys have sex?” Jenna asked seeing how red you were getting.

“God no. I mean not yet. You know I’m not looking for just a quick lay.” You answered her back. “He was actually really sweet and didn’t really press me for anything more than a kiss.”

“Really?” Mimi asked. “I mean with everything you hear about him; I just kind of expected he’d want more than just a peck on the lips.”

“I know, right.” You agreed. “I thought the same thing, but he keeps surprising me at every turn. We had great conversations all night, and he was such a gentleman, opening my car door and bringing me flowers.”

“So, did he like what you planned out for him,” Becca questioned.

“Oh yeah, he told me it was the best date he’d ever had.”

“Are you guys going out again,” this coming from Jenna.

“Yeah, I think so. I didn’t really know what my week looked like; so I told him to give me a call and we could figure something out.”

“Which explains why you keep looking at your phone,” Mimi pointed out.

“Sorry,” you apologized.

“Oh stop” she answered back. “It’s cute. I can remember when Bryan and I were like that. Now there are days he calls me entirely too much, but I guess that happens when you live together. It’s always, ‘Babe can you pick up some milk?’ or ‘Did you get the dog at the groomers or was I supposed to?”

“Oh my god stop!” you told her. “I’d kill for a relationship like you two have. You guys are so cute it gives me a toothache.”

“Yeah, we all want the kind of relationship.” Becca agreed.

“Awww thanks, guys,” Mimi replied. “I think you two,” pointing to you and Jenna. “Could be well on your way.” You both blushed. “We just gotta find the right guy for you Becca, he’s out there though.”

“What about Jamie? You two seemed chummy the other night at Tyler's,” Jenna inquired.

“He’s so hot.” Becca blushed. “I’d totally date him, but I don’t think a guy like him would be interested in me.”

“You never know Becca,” you said. “I thought the same thing about Tyler, and now here I am telling you about our date.” You girls continued to chat for another hour or so. Finally leaving, but agreeing that you’d text each other and keep up to date on your romances. You headed to the market to pick up a few groceries for the week. You were browsing the aisles when your phone rang. It was Tyler.

“Hey beautiful,” he greeted you.

“Hey yourself,” you answered back.

“What are you up to?”

“Just doing some grocery shopping.”

“Great, I need bread, peanut butter, milk, and dog food.” He teased you.

“I’ll get right on that,” you sarcastically said.

“So I was thinking if you’re not busy later, maybe you’d want to go to the dog park with me and the boys?”

You hesitated for a second. Was it really wise to see him again so soon? You wanted to see him, but you didn’t know if you were moving too fast or not. Oh hell, you were over-thinking things. It’s just walking the dogs. “Sure,” you told him.

“Great. The park isn’t far from my house. I can pick you up around 4 or so.”

“I’ll just drive over since it’s closer to your place. That way you’re not driving all the way over here and then back and then back again.” You were babbling. You were pretty sure that you didn’t have to say all that for him to get your meaning.

“Sounds good babe. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Bye”

“Bye,” he finally said hanging up the phone.

You quickly, went through the grocery store, grabbing a bag of dog treats for his boys. You hoped they liked this kind. On a whim, you decided to grab him a small jar of peanut butter, some bread, and some milk. You thought you’d be cute and take it to him. You checked out and headed home to get ready and meet Tyler. He was showing you everything that you wanted in a relationship at the moment and you hoped you weren’t setting yourself by falling to fast for him. You had to believe in your instincts though and maybe just believe in him a little as well.

TYLER’S POV

She was so soft and warm against your body. You could still feel the curve of (Y/N)’s ass in your hands. She was moaning softly against your mouth, begging you to give her more. You trailed your hand up her back removing the clasp of her bra as you went. You let your head dip down to her neck trailing kisses as you went. Her bra was sliding off her, you couldn’t believe that you two were taking things this far. She whispered in your ear how much she wanted you; her hand gliding down your stomach to your erection. She was just about to take you in her hand. When…..she licked you? What the fuck? Your eyes slowly opened as Cash licked your face again. Shit! It was just a dream, but damn what a dream that was. Maybe if you fell back asleep right now you could pick it up right where you left. Gerry came over then stepping on your leg as he made his way to your face, just missing the morning wood you were sporting. Yeah, that’s totally not happening you thought.

“Alright boys, come on I’ll take you out,” you said to the dogs as you struggled to get out of bed. You let them outside to do their business making yourself a cup of coffee while you waited. You heard your phone ding and your heart skipped a beat wondering if (Y/N) was texting you. You scrambled to it only to find it was a text from Jamie asking if you wanted to hit the gym together. Why not, you were going to be hitting anything else this morning; you chuckled to yourself. You shot him a quick text back, brought the dogs in and went to change for your work out.

Jamie was already in the weight room by the time you got there.

“Hey Chubbs, need a spot on that?”

“Sure” you spotted him while he benched pressed some weights. Then you started to warm up. “So, how’d the date go last night?” Jamie inquired. “I was half afraid to text you for fear I’d be interrupting you two.”

“Shut up man, it’s not like that.” You punched Jamie in the arm.

“Oh, so you don’t want to jump her bones then,” he teased.

“Of course, I want to jump her, or er um; well not jump her bones.” God, you were flustered and she wasn’t even around you. “It’s just, (Y/N) is different. There’s something about her, you know. I kind of feel like she could be ‘the one’. You know.”

“Woah, Segs! Don’t you feel like you’re moving a bit too fast?”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” you admitted. “All I know is that from the minute she walked in the door at the club, things changed. I can’t get her out of my mind. And yeah, I’d love to have her in my bed and fuck her brains out, but I want so much more. I want to know what her favorite color is? Or does she snore when she sleeps? Does she like chocolate or vanilla? You know all the stupid little things.”

Jamie just shook his head at you. “Well do you think she wants to know those things about you as well?”

“I mean I think so. Last night was perfect. Like beyond perfect. You know she planned the date?” Jamie shook his head no, so you continued. “Yeah, we went to K1 Speed go-carting and then to Dave and Buster's. Oh, and get this, she paid. I mean I didn’t want her to but we bet and she lost and well she insisted. No woman has ever done that for me man.”

“I gotta admit it sounds like a pretty cool date, and finding someone that didn’t expect you to pick up the tab well….” Jamie trailed off a bit. “Shit I don’t think that’s ever happened for me either.”

“She just shows me something. I mean something that I didn’t know that I was missing, something that I feel like I can’t live without. God, I sound like a damn Hallmark card or something.”

“Well, Segs I hope she feels the same. It’s amazing when you find that one person and I truly hope you did. Just don’t let her go.”

You knew Jamie was thinking back on his past relationship with Katie. Things had gone south with them last season. They were either completely full on or tearing each other apart. It wasn’t healthy for either of them. You knew Jamie had gone out on a few dates since and you were pretty sure he was over Katie. You’d heard she’d moved on with one of the guys from some music group she was promoting. “Look, man, you can’t keep looking at the past,” you told him.

“I’m not,” Jamie answered quickly.

“I just mean. She’s out there for you too. We’ll find her.”

“Well speaking of that…” Chubbs added. You looked at him quizzically. “You don’t happen to have the number of (Y/N)’s friend Becca? Do you?”

“That a boy Chubbs,” you said slapping him on the back. “I don’t but I’m pretty sure I can get it.”

You two finished your workout; then you headed home for a quick shower. You were going to take the dogs to the park later and you thought it’d be perfect if (Y/N) could come with you. So you called her up. She agreed to meet you at your place around four. Thankfully the cleaning lady had been by yesterday to clean up your place after the party. You still picked up a few odds and ends lying around and made sure all the dishes were in the dishwasher before she got there. Four o’clock rolled around and soon your doorbell was ringing; the dogs running over barking to greet (Y/N) with you.

You opened the door and there she stood. “Hey,” you said as Gerry started to jump up on (Y/N) excitedly. She went over and greeted him first.

“Hi Gerry, oh I’m happy to see you too.” She said in her cute puppy voice again. “Hi Marshall, Hi Cash,” she told your boys as she petted them. You definitely were feeling left out and sort of regretting your decision to have her come here. If you’d picked her up, you’d be the only one getting her attention. God, were you seriously jealous of your own dogs? You cleared your throat to steal her away from the pups. She looked up at you then, a little sheepishly.

“Hi Ty,” she finally acknowledged, making a move towards you. You thought she was going to give you a kiss, but instead, she went for a hug and you two ended up bonking heads, laughing as it happened. “Let’s try that again,” she said; this time reaching up and touching your face for a small peck on the lips. It wasn’t close to anything like the real kiss you wanted, but you were happy for it all the same. That kiss could come later on.

“Come on in,” you told her. “I haven’t mentioned that we’re going to the P-A-R-K” you spelled out the work park for her. “They’ll be way too excited when they find out.” It was then that you noticed she was carrying a couple bags. You narrowed your eyes at them, prompting her to tell you what she had.

“Oh, I thought you said you needed bread, milk and peanut butter.” She chuckled.

“I was teasing you babe; you didn’t really have to buy those.”

“I know you were, but I figured with a bachelor like you; I should probably bring some food over just in case. You can’t live on beer.” She mocked moving into your kitchen to put the food away.

“I have food,” granted there wasn’t much in there at the moment. “Plus, there’s always takeout.”

“You call this food.” She asked, opening the refrigerator and finding more takeout containers than actual food. “Do you even know how to cook?”

You knew she was teasing you. “Of course, I make one hell of a grilled cheese.”

She was shaking her head at you and smiling at the same time. “Grilled cheese? Ok, I’ll give you that.”

“Maybe you’ll have to cook for me?” You asked, remembering how she told you she enjoyed both cooking and baking.

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” she answered as you snaked your arms around her waist. You couldn’t help yourself, you just needed to touch her when she was around.

“You smell good,” you told her as you inhaled her lavender fragrance.

“So, do you,” she answered sliding her hand around your neck.

You bent your head down to touch her lips for the real kiss you wanted from her since the moment you opened the door. There was no hesitation this time as her lips parted for you. You could taste a faint hint of mint from her mouth as the kiss deepened. Kissing (Y/N) was like getting to taste a small piece of heaven until your little hell of a pup interrupted you two. Gerry had wormed his way in causing you two to separate. You and he were going to have a few words about him cockblocking you.

“Weren’t you getting any attention Gerry” (Y/N) stated, kneeling down to scratch Gerry’s head. “Oh, I almost forget.” She jumped up and grabbed one of the bags she brought. “I wasn’t sure what kind to buy, but I thought maybe they’d like a T-R-E-A-T.” Pulling out a bag of dog treats she had apparently got at the grocery store for your boys. God, she was amazing. First buying the treats for them and then spelling the word treat as to not get them excited. How did you get so lucky to find her, you wondered?

“That’s so sweet of you,” you told her. “I’m sure they’ll love them, after their W-A-L-K.”

“Well, are you ready to go then?”

Not really, you vaguely thought. Now that you had her in your house, you had no real inclination to have her leave; but the dogs did need to get a little exercise. “Sure, let’s go to the park.” Not spelling the word this time. The dogs were happily jumping around once they heard the word. Looking expectantly at the door to see when you were going. You grabbed their leashes for the short walk to the dog park and got them on them. You handed Marshall’s leash over to (Y/N), he was most tame and you knew wouldn’t give her any problems. You put Cash and Gerry’s leash in your one hand and grabbed (Y/N)’s free hand with yours. Out the door, you all went. Walking to the park everything just felt so right. You couldn’t remember ever feeling like this before. It’s like all the pieces of your life were finally starting to come together.

[gainerstories]

Formerly Fit

Trigger Warning:

Non-consensual sex is a key element of this story and may be triggering for those who have survived sexual abuse.

Kent Worthwood was the most popular guy in high school, a total bully, and secretly a fag. I had the great luck of not only being Kent’s favorite victim, but also the illustrious role as his cum dumpster. He was a junior when I was a freshman, and I was the perfect target for him to unleash a constant slew of attacks stemming from his own internalized homophobia. He made my life a living hell for the two years we were in school together. He immediately noticed I was gay and disseminated this information to our entire conservative high school. He would push me around in the hallways, vandalize my car, and made sure everyone else followed suit.

Things got worse one night at a Homecoming after party. Everyone was drunk on cheap beer and as I was about to call a taxi home, Kent locked me in the bathroom and forced me to give him a blow job. He was much stronger than me and I was afraid that if I didn’t comply he’d beat me up worse than ever. Despite feeling afraid and violated I was also kind of turned on. I constantly feel guilty for the fact that to this day I still jerk off thinking about that night. After the blow job he said no one would believe me about what happened and that if I tried to go to my parents or the cops he would ruin me. I had no other option but to stay silent. Unfortunately, this one-off incident became a regular activity. By the time Kent graduated we had a solid routine. He would text me that he needed my mouth, and I would go over to his house. Each time he would be spread legged on the couch in the same position, surrounded by a cloud of pot smoke. I’d pull his basketball shorts down from his toned varsity track star waist and suck his cock until he came. Then I would leave. And no one would know.

I felt mixed emotions once he graduated and left town. On one hand, I was relieved. On the other, I missed his smell, the taste of his thick uncut cock, and that hazy room stinking of marijuana. I knew I had succumbed to Stockholm syndrome and that I was better off with him out of my life. Still, memories of that time would occasionally sprout up and send me into a masturbatory spiral of self-loathing.

I moved to New York City after I graduated to study graphic design. I finally got to spread my wings and date a variety of men who treated me with dignity and respect. I had new sexual experiences that made the memories of those strange high school years begin to fade. However, once I traveled home for the holidays they all came flooding back. It was a surreal experience returning to my hometown after living on my own for a whole year, but I figured that was part of growing up.

I was out shopping with my mom when I received a text message from an unknown number. It read: “Hey, this is Kent Worthwood from high school. I’d like to see you again if you’re in town. I live in the same house as before.”

My head began to spin. There was no way this was happening. I wanted to resist his beckoning but I was also intensely curious. Why had he moved back to town? What did he look like now? Was he following his dream of running in the olympics? Why was he still interested in me? Would his cock taste as good as in my fantasies? I asked my mom if I could go out after dinner that evening and she agreed. I texted Kent back and he seemed pretty excited that I would be stopping by. His language was so kind that I became suspicious and was struck with the fear that I may be walking into a trap. I knew I had to be cautious, but my curiosity was piqued and there was no way I could pass up this opportunity.

After dinner I took a shower and drove over to Kent’s house. I always found it strange that his parents were never around when I was there. I found it even more bizarre that he had moved back. I parked in front of the house and took a deep breath. I was unsure of what I’d be walking into and had even brought a pocket knife just in case. From my car I texted Kent that I had arrived and he replied that the door was unlocked. I slowly walked up to the front door, took one last deep breath, and turned the knob.

It felt like I was stepping back in time as I walked inside. The living room was so clouded with marijuana smoke that I could barely see. I could discern that the TV was on and playing Beavis and Butthead and that all of the furniture looked the same as it always had. I could faintly discern a figure sitting on the couch, spread legged, and exhaling a puff of smoke from a bong. I stepped closer and was utterly confused.

“Kent?”

“Hey, cutie. It’s been awhile.”

I was completely floored. Kent was barely recognizable. He had to have gained over a hundred pounds since I saw him last. His track star physique was long gone. From what I could tell he was sitting at about three hundred and fifty pounds. A giant beer belly filled his lap and poured into the space between thighs that were thick as tree trunks. Buoyant manboobs rested atop the mountain of fat protruding from his torso. His once chiseled features and square jaw had softened underneath chubby cheeks, scruff, and a prodigious double chin. His hair had grown long and was tied up in a disheveled man bun. Unless I was mistaken, he was wearing a pair of old basketball shorts from when we were in high school. The cellulite on his thighs filled the legs of the shorts completely. His T-shirt was similarly tight and left nothing to the imagination. It was also covered with food stains that traced the curve of his mountainous gut. Overall, it looked like Kent Wentworth had become something of a fat slob— a far cry from his high school days.

“I… You… look so different.”

“I know. Thanks for not calling me fat. I injured my leg in college and discovered that you can’t eat the way I do unless you’re running several miles a day. Who knew!” He chuckled.

“Yeah, uh… who knew.”

I didn’t know how to behave. I was used to him slinging insults and homophobic remarks at me. The last thing I expected was small talk.

“Hey, you wanna hit the bong?”

“I think I’m okay.”

“I won’t pressure ya!”

I nodded awkwardly. What was I supposed to say?

“I wanna apologize,” he said. “I bullied you a lot for being gay and I really regret that. I was under a lot of pressure from my dad to do well in sports and I was having a hard time reckoning with my own feelings… gay feelings, ya know. Especially with you. I was so attracted to you man, I mean fuck… but I guess you knew that.”

I tried to hide my fiery indignation. No, I didn’t know he felt that way. I thought he hated me and thought I was garbage. I was nothing more than a warm mouth for his bitter come. Although brimming with outrage and insecurity, I was still speechless and incapable of forcing words from my mouth. I simply shrugged.

“Anyway,” Kent continued, ”I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, Javi. Those were some good times we had, and I was wondering if you might wanna do what we did back then?”

I was angry and wanted to spit in his face and tell him how miserable he made me. I wanted to shout that I still have trauma from what he did. But being in that room was fucking with my head. My dick was already starting to get hard and I think I was getting a contact high. I stepped closer and noticed that a pizza box sat next to him on the couch. All the slices were gone except for one that had a few bites taken out of it. I walked closer until I was inches from the couch. I gazed at the changes his body had taken on. It was unbelievable the weight he had gained. Part of me was repulsed but as I stepped closer I could smell his intoxicating B.O. Without second thought I dropped to my knees.

“Yeah, that’s right. You missed this huge cock, huh you little faggot?”

I nodded in agreeance and began to tug at his shorts. I had to slide my fingers in between the fabric and his hairy dimpled thighs and was surprised to discover how supple and cushioned his legs felt. I don’t think I had ever touched someone so fat until that moment. Without standing up he lifted his waist up off the couch to allow me to pull his shorts off. The maneuver forced his chin deeper into his neck fat, making his face look like modeled pastry dough. It also made his T-Shirt ride up and reveal a furry belly covered in blazing red stretch marks. I yanked the shorts from his body and he plopped back down, causing his belly to bounce like a water balloon and the couch to creak as though it were on the verge of collapse.

His cock was already hard, but appeared much smaller than it had four years ago due to all the chub surrounding it. When we were in high school his erection would slap against his toned abdomen and point straight towards his face. Now his gargantuan belly pushed it forward, causing it to point directly at me. I put it in my mouth but soon realized I couldn’t create much friction with all the fat in my way. I pushed my mouth as deep as it could go, allowing my face to be encompassed by his belly, thighs, and FUPA. The familiar smell of his body caused my erection to quiver. He definitely had become smellier with all the extra weight on his frame. It was the same smell he had before, only intensified.

I realized my old cock sucking method was no longer effective for an overweight guy. To remedy this I lifted his belly up with both my hands so that I could better wrap my mouth around his member. When I did this I discovered how truly large his FUPA was. It was so big that his overgrown bush looked quaint in comparison to the stretch marks laying underneath it. I began to get to work, bobbing my head up and down as I held up his belly. My arms were beginning to grow tired so I sat back for a break. I noticed that he was chewing on the remaining slice of pizza while I sucked and I was surprised at this blatant gluttony. He seemed unashamed. After swallowing the pizza down he let out a large belch that smelled like Mountain Dew and cheese.

“No one sucks my cock like you, man. Fuck. Play with my nipples too.”

He lifted his belly so that I could slurp on his boner with ease while also diddling his man tits. They were soft like a woman’s, but also covered in hair. He began to moan louder and louder and I could tell that he was close to orgasm. His body began to tremble, sending his fat into a jiggling frenzy. He dropped his belly on my face with an audible plop and brushed my hands from his tits so he could take over. He pushed my head down with one hand as he began to pump his jizz down my throat. I couldn’t see because my face was obscured by all of his extra weight, causing my other senses to heighten. I could smell the distinct odor of the unwashed crease between his FUPA and belly, feel his sticky unwashed skin stuck to my face while soft fat bounced around it, and feel the come coursing through his cock and exploding into the back of my throat.

I peeled my face away when he was finished and we made awkward eye contact. He never used to look me in the eyes.

“Hey, you wanna stick around for pizza and a movie? I’ll make it worth your while?”

I declined and drove home. The house was dark and my parents were in bed. I stripped off my clothes and laid down. My cock was still hard as a rock from what had just transpired. I opened up my laptop and googled: “chubby gay porn.”

[waywarddaughterwrites]

Weakness Ch.2

A/N: Here’s chapter 2! This one has more than Reader involved, but not in the ways you may expect. Just because we’re in the bunker...doesn’t always mean we’re home. I’ll post the third and final chapter tomorrow! Until then, much love and chocolates to you all <3

Read Me on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14536836/chapters/33616497

Part 1   Part 3

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Everything Tag List:

@kissofthebadwolf @eurusholmmes @ourloveisforthelovely

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I almost laughed in relief. I had no idea how the hell I’d gotten here, or where the hell I’d come from, but I was home, somehow. Were the boys here? I wanted to find out, but before I could go any further down the hallway, my knees gave out and I sank to the floor. The adrenaline that had been pumping through my veins for who knew how long was waning and I was crashing, hard. My breaths were coming in deep gasps and I put my hands on top of my head and tried to slow my breathing before I fell into a panic attack. A few hysterical tears escaped down my cheeks before I wiped them from my face and pulled myself up. I had a horrible thought and quickly turned back to the door I’d entered through. Preparing myself, I turned the handle and jerked the door open. It was a small supply cupboard full of dusty brooms, mops, buckets...it reminded me of a janitor’s closet in high school. I breathed a sigh of relief, I was half convinced that I’d open the door and find a double-barrel in my face. Closing the door, I didn’t bother to sneak forward down the hallway. Why should I? The bunker had been my home for almost a decade, now. I didn’t get very far before a door opened beside me. I barely had time to turn before a hand covered my mouth and another one pulled me forcefully into the room. The door closed the instant I was clear of it and in the three seconds between being outside of the door and suddenly inside, my wits had come back to me and I began to struggle against my captor. “Sssshhhh, Sugar. Calm down. It’s me.” The hands restraining me loosened their grip and I turned to face my captor. “Gabriel?” Gabriel looked me over, obviously inspecting my well-being. By his face, I could tell he was none-too-happy with my state. I hadn’t seen myself, but with my swollen ankle, cuts and scrapes from glass and tree branches, my fights with the benders, and everything in-between, I was sure I was quite the sight. I rubbed my wrist where the shackle had bruised it self-consciously. Gabriel placed one hand tenderly on my shoulder and lifted my chin with his other. I looked up at him. “Sweets, are you okay?” I opened my mouth to reply, but no sound came out. I closed it and shook my head. He pulled me to him in an embrace. I gripped him tightly and he stroked my hair comfortingly. “What was it?” “Benders.” I felt his grip around me tighten. I sunk into his chest and grounded myself against him. Too soon, he pulled himself away from me. Holding me by the shoulders, I felt his grace wash over me, healing my wounds. It was rejuvenating. I smiled at him and he kissed my forehead. Suddenly, his face grew serious. “Y/N, there’s something you need to know. All of what you went through just now with the benders, all of this, it isn’t real. I mean, it is. But it’s complicated. You have to understand, you’re—“ His words were cut short as an invisible force seemed to rip him away from me and teleported him elsewhere. “Gabriel!” “That was touching, but you know how I feel about chick-flick moments.” I whipped around and saw Dean and Sam standing in the doorway. Dean’s hand was bloody and pressed against a banishing sigil painted on the open doorway. “Dean, Sam, what the hell?!” I yelled. “Why did you banish Gabriel?” “Fucking angels,” Sam sneered. I looked to him in shock. Dean had pulled his hand away from the sigil and wiped the blood off on his shirt. I was so stunned by how they were acting it took me a second before I realized they both had guns drawn. At me. I looked from the guns to the men in front of me. “Guys...it’s me. What are you doing?” They started to approach me and I found myself backing away. I’d seen both men in action for years, now. They were well-oiled machines of death. Having their sights set on me was incredibly intimidating. “Dean...?” “Sam...?” I looked at each of them in turn, but got nothing in response but cold hatred in their eyes. “Guys! It’s me, come on! It’s Y/N!” “Oh, we know who you are,” Sam stated cooly. “And we told you what would happen if we saw your face again.” “Yeah,” Dean joined. “How we would separate it, along with your head, from the rest of your body. Showing back up here was a damn stupid move, Sweetheart.” The nickname stung when he spit it at me like that. I was dumbfounded. What the hell was going on? The Winchester’s were like my brothers! Why did they suddenly want to kill me? Unless... “You’re not Sam and Dean.” Dean chuckled. “Oh, I assure you. It’s us. If we had the time, I’d let you perform any test you wanted. But I’m a little too excited to see your head on a pike.” His finger twitched and I threw myself to the side as a bullet whizzed from the gun in his hand. It grazed my cheek, leaving an angry cut that I could feel blood instantly beginning to pour from. I didn’t have time to regroup before another bullet landed near me. I scrambled away, crawling around bookshelves and piles of boxes. I tried not to focus too much on who was shooting at me as I attempted to strategize my escape from the room. I needed to get past them out of the door. I leaned up against a bookshelf and had an idea. Turning and leaning my back against the shelf, I pushed until I felt it give way. It fell and knocked into another shelf, which gave away like dominos. I heard the gunshots stop and a yell as the boys dove out of the way of the falling shelves. I ran at the door and out into the hallway. For a split-second I considered running straight down the hallway. I knew my best shot was to hide in another room, though. I heard the boys scrambling to their feet behind me and I ran toward a door across the hall. Unknowing about what may be beyond the door, I threw it open and closed it back behind me as quickly as I could. I was in another hallway. Perfect! I ran down the hallway and opened one of the rooms on the end of the row. Closing the door behind me once more, I looked around at my new surroundings. I was in another library. A smaller one, more compact. There were bookshelves and cabinets lining the walls, rows of shelving with books and other items piled on top of them. “Y/N?” I spun around and threw myself at Gabriel, standing in front of the door. “Gabriel! How did you get back here so fast? The boys! They’re trying to kill me! What’s going on?” “Woah, woah, slow down,” he said, holding me strangely stiffly. “Where are Beavis and Butthead?” I pulled away from him, searching his face. “They’re not too far behind me, Gabe. I could really use some backup. And an explanation as to why my best friends want me dead?” Gabriel held me by the shoulders, his grip uncomfortably tight. “Well, darling,” he began, “I’d imagine they want you dead—“ In one fluid motion he released me and sucker-punched me across the jaw. “—for the same reasons I do.” I crumbled to the floor at the blow and began to crawl away from him, tears of pain and confusion and heartbreak welling in my eyes. This Gabriel was not my Gabriel. My mind knew that, but my heart was harder to convince and the pain of betrayal was somehow worse. I needed to focus. If I thought the Winchesters were dangerous, they were nothing compared to the might of an archangel out for blood. He snapped his fingers and I was picked up and thrown across the room, slamming into one of the bookshelves. I felt blood trickling down my head and I knew I’d cracked my skull when my head hit the shelf. The feeling was making me dizzy almost immediately. I didn’t have time to dwell on the feeling before an invisible hand began to choke me, lifting me off of my feet and pressing me harder against the bookshelf behind me. Just then the door burst open and the brothers entered the room, guns drawn, an unmasked bloodlust on their faces. Tears trickled down my cheeks. The three men I loved most in the world... Sam and Dean pointed their guns at me. “You see, Y/N,” Sam started, “your mistake was thinking we wanted you dead immediately.” He pulled his trigger and I felt jagged, white-got pain erupt from a spot on my shoulder. “We’re gonna do this nice and slow,” Dean finished his brother’s thought. He pulled his trigger and I felt the pain of a bullet wound in my thigh this time. The force gripping my neck wouldn’t allow me to scream at the pain. It was allowing me just enough oxygen to keep me conscious. Tears were pouring down my face, now. I wished they would aim for my heart. A bullet there would hurt less than this and would end the emotional torment of knowing who it was that put it there. “Get your slimy grace off of her,” a voice said. My vision was blurry and there was a thudding in my ears that made it difficult to tell who was speaking. I noticed, however, when the force choking me relented and I dropped to the floor, agonizing pain from the bullet wounds coursing through my body. I looked up as my vision cleared and saw a struggling Gabriel being held prone against the wall by another invisible force. Sam and Dean has been thrown at the wall and knocked unconscious. “Y/N!” I turned and blinked a couple of times to clear my vision. In front of me stood a second Gabriel, holding the first one at bay. “Y/N, I should have explained before and I don’t have much time to now, I can’t hold him back for very long! You’re in a dream! A nightmare! Created by a djinn!” Djinn. Djinn. Djinn! We were hunting a djinn! I must have been caught! “Y/N, you know what you have to do! Everything will be okay, I swear! I’ll meet you on the other side, come on, Sugar!” I looked around quickly before my hands landed on the small bit of a knife I’d salvaged from the equipment room at the Bender’s place. Locking eyes with the Gabriel in front of me, he gave me a small nod. I looked down at the knife. At best, It’ll be true and I’ll wake up in the warehouse with the boys and the djinn. At worst, it would simply kill me. I’d be away from this hell, though, so it seemed like a fair trade. I drew the bit of blade deep across my throat. The pain was excruciating. I felt the blood pouring down my front and I gurgled as I fell over. Through my blurred vision I could see the second Gabriel pop out of existence, releasing the first one from his hold. I saw him step toward me, malice in his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but I couldn’t hear what he said. Everything went black.

[qqueenofhades]

the tangled web of fate we weave: xvii

shh, i am hiding from my responsibilities and writing more garcy fic.

part xvi/AO3.

Flynn realizes that he’s about to go under in the instant before he does, and that split second gives him enough time to react. His training kicks in, and despite the horrible speed with which everything is unfolding, it turns almost slow. He can’t undo his seatbelt until he hits the water, because otherwise he’ll slam into the windshield, hurt himself, and lose precious moments of air and orientation. He has to open the window, because the electronics will short and if he can’t get the door open against the water pressure, he needs it as a backup. The car is going to fill up fast anyway. He has one breath, maybe two, and he needs to be prepared for the possibility that whoever just rammed him off the highway is standing up there with a gun and waiting for him to resurface. All of this has to be figured out in under a minute.

The next instant, the car plunges nose-first into the black water of the Bay, which – considering that he went off the road ten or fifteen feet above – hits like a brick wall. Seatbelt or no seatbelt, he’s slammed forward, wrenches his shoulder, bangs his head against the door, and gets half of the breath he does take knocked out of him. He rips off the seatbelt and twists around, shoving at the door and managing to get it cracked. The car is upside down, he has one more deep gulp of air before the water goes over his head, and it’s freezing, pitch-black, cold, and oily. He has to do this by touch, and remember which way the surface was.

Flynn shoves ferociously, jams the door open, and wriggles out, kicking off as the car continues its freefall into oblivion below him. Between this and Lucy’s old one, they have certainly paid their automobile tithe to the hungry gods of the Bay, he thinks absurdly. He still has his gun and his wallet, but everything else is sinking out of sight. Nothing totally irreplaceable; he’s gotten so used to living with barely any possessions that he still hasn’t gotten into the habit of owning things. Still, absurdly, it stabs at him.

No time for that. He strokes for the surface, lungs burning, and manages to break it as quietly as he can, staying out of sight beneath the bridge piling. Headlights still shine on the highway above. He can’t tell if it’s the car that hit him or an innocent observer who saw someone go over and pulled off to phone the emergency services. This is a nice bit of civic spirit on their part, but it’s also not certain that it won’t get them shot. Flynn is bleeding from the crack to his head, and he clings to the filthy, mossy piling, legs swaying in the current, listening with all his might. It could have been a drunk driver. It could have been a random hit-and-run. But really, on this night of all nights, what are the odds of that?

He doesn’t dare break from cover. He listens intently, then freezes as he hears a man’s voice. “He should have been up by now. If he was coming up.”

“Maybe he didn’t.” Another man’s voice. Slow pacing steps on the tarmac, directly over Flynn’s head. “We got him pretty good.”

“Look, the guys pumped two bullets into him at point-blank range a couple years ago, and there have been other attempts. He’s an ox. We can’t take any chances.”

“Whitmore said we weren’t killing him, though.” Rittengoon the First (as it has to be) sounds baffled. “Now orders come down that we’re just supposed to – ”

“Whitmore didn’t make the call. She did.”

There’s a long pause. Then the second Rittengoon says, “Well, that’s one way to get rid of the deadbeat boyfriend, huh?”

They both chuckle, even as Flynn’s blood turns to ice. Emma? Emma Whitmore? She wasn’t killing him – but why? There has to be an even deeper and more nefarious reason for that, if she’s willing to call off the dogs. But this means that there’s an even more senior female Rittenhouse member who went over Emma’s head, who ordered him to be run off the highway into the goddamn San Francisco Bay, and apparently has some kind of personal motive to do it. He feels a weird sucking sensation, and glances down to see that he’s bleeding fairly badly from the chest, must have cut it on some of the underwater junk as he was swimming up. He presses a hand to it. He has no idea how long they’re going to wait, and he’s trapped down here, injured and defenseless. If they come down for a closer look –

Another few minutes pass. The first Rittengoon makes an impatient noise. “C’mon. He’s gotta be dead. Unless he’s frigging Aquaman.”

“Get the flashlight. I’m not gonna be the one to go back there and tell her we screwed it up.”

Flynn presses himself against the piling as more footsteps crunch, then a small strobe light hits the water and sweeps back and forth. The tail end of it nearly catches him, and his grip almost slips as he tries to pull himself away. He manages it almost without a sound, but not quite, and the gravel skids out from under him, as he bangs into the concrete block and catches the edge of it in his wounded chest. He bites his tongue before he can swear, but the damage is done.

“Someone’s down there!” There’s the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking, and because Rittenhouse are exactly the kind of people who don’t give a shit if it’s just some innocent seal or pothead who somehow managed to fall in, there’s the muffled thump of a handgun with a silencer firing. There’s a whiz and a spit as the bullet hits the water, only a few feet from Flynn. He fumbles for his own gun one-handed – he’s not going to return fire unless he absolutely has to, since it will give away his position, he has no good sight lines, and he’s still at a horrendous disadvantage either way. He might, he might, be able to take out one before they notice, but odds are not good on two.

The Rittengoon fires again. It’s clear he doesn’t know where Flynn is, is just pumping rounds in there like an amateur, and Flynn thinks it’s a relief that they sent two total clowns to do this, rather than someone actually frightening. Then the second one says, “Jesus, hold it. If they find his body, bullet wounds are going to be harder to explain than drowning.”

“We care if they ask questions? Someone will just make sure it gets pinned on some local punk.” Clearly Rittengoon #1 has an itchy trigger finger. “And – ”

“She said it has to look like an accident, remember? It has to be totally aboveboard. He went off the road, he was angry and not paying attention or whatever. No way for it to be anything but a tragic mistake. He turns up in the morgue with some holes in him, she’s gonna be – ”

“Look, if she hates her daughter’s baby daddy this much, why not just kill him on her own? Whatever? Why bring us out here and – ”

The rest of the man’s words are drowned out by the roaring that fills Flynn’s ears. He can’t breathe for far more reasons than being slammed upside down in a sinking car and gashing himself on shore debris, or any of it. He wants to think he misheard – he hates the woman, yes, but he doesn’t want this to be the case. Even as he’s trying to reject it, he can feel it settling into his bones like cold lead. Yes. This would make sense, wouldn’t it? Why Rittenhouse isn’t terribly concerned about keeping Lucy on a tight leash, since they always have someone prepared to report on her life and whereabouts? Why Cahill knew about the baby, and whatever else? Why he has been so singularly unwelcome as a partner for Lucy, given his well-known status as a thorn in their foot, and why orders to keep him alive, for whatever reason, might be overridden to stage an unfortunate traffic accident, so there will be one logical place for a grieving, new-mother Lucy to look for help and support and –

Carol.

Carol Preston is Rittenhouse. Likely always has been, for years and years. It would make sense. As Flynn himself said to Lucy earlier, they’re obsessed with eugenics and superior bloodlines like any self-respecting cult, and Benjamin Cahill, as Flynn found out when he started his investigation, is Rittenhouse as far back as Rittenhouse goes. No way he’s expended this much time and effort to recruit the illegitimate daughter he had with some unsuspecting ordinary woman. Flynn has always thought that Carol is a manipulative harpy who’s tried to control every aspect of her daughters’ lives in the name of love, but there are plenty of shit parents who do that without being members of an evil secret society. And yet. This seems so goddamn obvious, now that he sees it, that he’s judging himself for not suspecting from the start. If he did, it was only in a passing, unformed way. But this –

Flynn doesn’t have time to do much more with the vindication that his mother-in-law is in fact evil, because there’s a noise that sounds like a grappling hook, and he realizes that one of the goons is coming down here. He can shoot him, but he doesn’t know how many more might be waiting in the car. If it’s not just Beavis and Butthead here, then it could get dicey. Or rather, dicier.

The dark shape of the goon rappels into sight, and Flynn figures he has fifteen seconds, if that. He lunges forward just as the goon sees him and opens his mouth to shout for his buddy. Grabs him, wet hands slipping, and concusses him with a piece of broken rebar, then stuffs a rock into his mouth as he tries to yell. Gets a better grip as they struggle, braces, and manages to snap his neck, but messily, in the cartilage and not the bone. The goon jerks underneath him, not quite dead, as Flynn throws him bodily back into the water, which he hits with a splash. Well then. So much for doing this secretly.

“Hey!” The second goon has realized that that was his buddy, and he’s definitely pissed. No time to fuck around with this one, noise or no noise. Flynn swings out from cover, sights down his gun, and pulls the trigger.

There’s a yell and a stumble – he winged the bastard, but didn’t hit him cleanly. He’s still on his feet, so he can’t be too badly hurt, and if he is able to call for backup – if this is all blown and it somehow bounces back on Lucy –

That, somehow, is what gives Flynn practically impossible strength to haul himself out of the water, jump for the edge of the road, and haul himself over, folding himself into a somersault and springing to his feet to materialize out of the night like a wrathful djinni. He ducks the man’s first punch, catches his next one with an arm, drives his fist into his stomach, and flips him over his shoulder and bone-crunchingly hard onto the concrete. They’re still on the highway – someone is going to see this, it’s not that late, they could –

Flynn stomps on the goon’s face as he makes to get up, then picks him up and throws him into the water below. He can’t really risk one more shot, but he does anyway, firing at the spreading splash. It’s hard to tell if there’s blood in the water; it’s too dark. Their car is parked on the shoulder, hood crumpled from where it hit his, tire marks skidded across the asphalt. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else in it, but he has to make sure.

He has just verified that they have in fact only sent two junior-level thugs to kill him (two? That’s almost insulting) when there’s another sweep of headlights. Some charitably minded and undeniably brave individual, seeing a wrecked car and a man covered in blood on the side of the highway, has done their Good Samaritan duty to stop. A window hums down. “Sir?” a voice calls. “Sir, are you all right?”

Flynn hesitates, stashes his gun back in his jacket, and makes a decision. He turns around, doing his best to look like a disoriented and confused victim of a car crash (well, that’s not entirely pretending) as he staggers closer. It’s a middle-aged guy who looks like a soccer dad, driving a minivan, a genuinely decent State Farm Good Neighbor type. Instinctively, Flynn doesn’t want to hurt him. He really hopes he cooperates.

“Hey,” he says, upon reaching the minivan window. “Hey, man. There’s been a crash. That’s my car, just there. There was a slick on the road, I lost control. It’s only me, though. No one else.”

“You need me to call the cops?” Mr. Johnson, as Flynn decides to call him, frowns. “Or an ambulance? Looks pretty bad.”

“No, no.” Flynn smiles entreatingly. “It’s bleeding a lot, but it’s not bad. Actually, can you give me a ride? To my mother-in-law’s. I’ll sort things out when I get there.”

Mr. Johnson frowns. It may be belatedly occurring to him that this is not necessarily an individual that he wants to be driving anywhere. “How about I just give her a call, then she can come here and – ”

Flynn grits his teeth. He didn’t want to do this, but it’s important. He reaches into his pocket and draws out his gun, just enough to let the other man see it. “I think you should take me to her house, my friend.”

Mr. Johnson makes a move as if to reach for his cell phone and call 911, and Flynn knocks it adroitly out of his hand. “Don’t make this difficult,” he advises. “It could get a lot more so.”

“Wh. . .” This man, this decent ordinary man who was just trying to help a brother out, stares at him. “What are you doing?”

“Right now?” Flynn pulls the gun out a little further. “I’m asking you to give me a ride to my mother-in-law’s house. Then go and get on with your night, just like you were planning. Is that really so hard?”

The guy stares at him, white-faced, as if briefly thinking about being a hero, then decides it’s not worth it. He stiffly jerks his head, beckoning Flynn to get into the car, which he does, and they pull away as Flynn informs him of Carol’s address and Mr. Johnson puts it into his GPS with slightly trembling fingers. He tries to say something once or twice, then stops. Finally he comes up with, “You know, I really was just trying to help.”

“I know.” Flynn stares straight ahead at the dark highway. “I suppose it’s a lesson about why you shouldn’t pick up strange men covered in blood late at night.”

His hostage almost laughs, but catches himself. Another few moments of silence pass. Then he says, “If you have a mother-in-law, you must have a wife. She know about this?”

“I’m doing it for her.” Flynn decides to forego explaining that they’re not technically married yet. In his mind, it doesn’t matter. “It’s all that matters.”

Another pause. “Kids?”

“One.” Flynn pauses. “In a few more weeks.”

He thinks the other man glances at him with something halfway to sympathy, still managing to feel bad for this crazy stranger holding him at gunpoint. Mr. Johnson says, “I have two. Boy and girl. I want to come home to them tonight.”

“I want that for you too.” Flynn almost asks him what his actual name is, but that’s more complication than he wants to deal with. “So just do as I say and no problems, huh?”

They drive for several more minutes, Flynn still dripping foul black water onto the seat. His shirt is really quite bloody, and at some point he should do something about that, but it’s lower on the priority list. He needs to figure out what the hell he’s doing when he gets to Carol’s. She might well be surprised to see him charge in, soaking wet and angry as hell and decidedly not dead, but then what? He can’t just shoot her. (Certainly not until he’s dragged her off and made her confess everything to Lucy.) Is her house just a Rittenhouse spy nest, tapped with bugs and cameras and whatever else, so all those private conversations Lucy thought she was having were going straight into their archives? Jesus. Jesus.

They turn into Carol’s street in about ten more minutes, pulling up by the curb. A light is on in the front window, and Flynn stares at it. Then he jerks his head in brusque thanks, opens the door, and gets out. Starts up the walk, intending to ring the bell – then stops. Carol just planned to have him killed, she’s probably not entirely ruling out the possibility that he got away, and she might even have guessed that he’d rage here to confront her. And he’s what – just going to stroll up here, a broad target? The goons said they didn’t want any holes in him at the morgue, and Carol surely would have a difficult time explaining how he accidentally got shot at her house, but if it comes down to it, she might not be picky.

Flynn reaches the door, then stares at it. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears. Fuck this up, and he might ruin a lot more than just Carol Preston’s carpets. God. Maybe she’s not home. He would almost prefer it if she was. He could still back out.

He raises his fist, and knocks.

For a long moment, there’s no answer. Then footsteps, the sound of a bolt chain being undone, and the door opens to reveal Carol in a fluffy pink bathroom, blonde hair down on her shoulders. “Yes, may I – oh.”

There’s a terrible, queasy silence as the two of them stare at each other. Carol’s expression flickers, as you obviously cannot want the father of your grandchild, who you hate and just tried to have murdered, turn up on your doorstep looking like the Devil Incarnate. She can’t quite hold his gaze, and in that, Flynn’s final shred of doubt vanishes. He takes a step, backing her into the hall. “How about you and I talk? Huh? Like family?”

“I don’t. . .” Carol’s chin quivers, but she steadies it. “I don’t know what you’re doing here.”

“Don’t you?” Flynn laughs, rough as rasping stone. “You don’t know how I survived having your boys run me off the road into the Bay, you mean? How could you do this to Lucy? How long have you been in Rittenhouse?”

Carol flinches. “I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

“Not going to deny it?” Flynn grins dangerously. “Smart. So, also not going to deny that you tried to have me killed?”

“I was trying to do what was right for my daughter.” Carol draws herself up, bristling. “Do you think I could really let her take up with Rittenhouse’s most notorious enemy? You’ve spent two years trying to ruin the finest organization the world has ever seen, that wants to do so much good and help so many people, and now – ” She breaks off. “I regret that there’s a child involved. I do. But whatever hold you have on Lucy, whatever you’ve done to her – once you’re gone, it’ll break. She’ll return to herself and live the life she was meant to have. I hope even you aren’t so selfish as to deny  her that.”

“Selfish?” Flynn almost chokes. “You’re standing here, saying that to me with a straight face? Have you looked in the mirror recently, or don’t you have a reflection? I don’t know if you’ve genuinely convinced yourself this is the best course of action, or you’re just a psychotic bitch, but I always knew that you – ”

“If you had the slightest concern for your own daughter, you wouldn’t – ”

“Don’t get to talk to me about – ”

They’re raising their voices louder and louder, until Flynn makes a move as if to go for her (he’s not, not really, but he’s infuriated and it’s a reflex) and Carol yanks open a drawer on the side table, pulling out a pistol and pointing it at him. “Don’t,” she says. “Don’t make me do it this way. It could have just been an accident, and – ”

Flynn comes to a smart halt. He’s already been considerably banged up from the evening’s events, and has no wish to add (another) gunshot wound to his extensive repertoire of scars. There’s an unbearably tense moment as they stare at each other. Her finger wobbles on the trigger. He could dare her to pull it, though that is something he would rather not do, even to win an argument. He stares at her instead, eyes snapping. She might waver, the smallest bit, but it’s impossible to tell.

Just then, sirens break the night, red and blue lights starting to flash up the street, and both of them turn with a start. It’s plain that someone heard the shouting, or saw the gun through the window, or Mr. Johnson stayed around too long and did the exact fucking thing Flynn told him not to. Called the cops, and if they catch him here, he has no doubt that Carol will spin a tale of how he burst into the house to ambush her and she was only acting in self-defense. He does not have time to bust his way out of jail and he still doesn’t know if Carol was the only mover in this plot. They look at each other for an instant more, and then he bolts.

He hurdles his way down the corridor to the back of the house, crashes (almost literally) through the sliding glass door, and bursts out onto the back lawn. Doesn’t slow as he vaults over the fence, the night lit up by the red and blue flashes from the front of the house. He’s had worse nights in his life, but not many that he can think of. Not for a while. Jesus, he can’t go back, he can’t go home. Not yet, not if he leads them all there, not if he gives them a perfect opportunity to force his hand. He doesn’t know where he’s going yet. Not here.

Garcia Flynn doesn’t look back. He can’t.

Instead, he runs.

For the first three hours, things aren’t that bad. Amy has come over, they’ve made popcorn and hot chocolate, and curled up on the couch to watch a bunch of the cheesy movies they liked as kids. They have bombed through 10 Things I Hate About You and several Sabrina the Teenage Witch episodes, as well as halfway through The Princess Bride, before Lucy starts glancing at the clock, once and then again. Casually. He did say morning, he didn’t say before, so she doesn’t have to start worrying yet. She can relax and enjoy this chance to catch up with Amy, who’s being a champ by babysitting her anxious, pregnant sister, keeping her mind off things until her idiot husband gets back. Mostly. Mostly.

Lucy can’t get her stress level down at all, however, and her heartbeat keeps feeling too fast, slamming against her chest and coursing through her body like the prelude to a panic attack. She hasn’t felt this out of control since – well, since the night of the accident, really, and it is definitely what she does not need. The baby is restless, turning little flips and flutters and somersaults under her breastbone that increase her sensation of being stuck on a live wire, and no matter how much she pokes, it won’t stop. None of it is stopping. She clenches her hands and unclenches them, sucking down a deep breath, which also doesn’t work. She’s lost track of the movie. Weren’t Westley and Vizzini having the battle of wits? No, they’re ahead of that, it’s Miracle Max. She can’t remember when they got there, is –

“Lucy?” Amy nudges her. “Lucy. Hey. Lucy?”

“I’m. . .” Lucy rubs her eyes, as some of the horrible, sickly static breaks. “I’m sorry. I just – I zoned out.”

Amy looks at her with concern, then reaches for the remote, pausing the movie. “How about we go up to bed?” she says. “That’s probably enough TV for tonight, right? Come on.”

Lucy can’t quite muster up enough volition to argue, heaves herself off the couch, and wraps the blanket around her shoulders as they head upstairs to the dark bedroom. She changes into her pajamas and washes her face, lumbers back out, and gets into bed. She can really only sleep on her side, and Amy crawls in next to her. “Man, we haven’t done this since I used to get those really bad nightmares, remember?”

“Mm-hm.” Lucy half-laughs, eyes closed. “You used that strawberry shampoo. Made me dream all night of milkshakes.”

“Milkshakes are good.” Amy wriggles out on her back, stretching luxuriously (they have a king-sized bed, since most mortal furniture does not have enough space for Flynn). “How about you try to get some sleep, Luce, huh?”

Lucy doesn’t really think she’ll sleep, but does her best to regulate her breathing nonetheless. A few minutes go by, then a few more. Then her phone buzzes on the bedside table.

Lucy sits up, pulse hammering, as she snatches at it. Mom, the glowing screen reads, and she swipes at it. “Hello? Mom? Are you – why are you calling so late?”

“Honey,” Carol says. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I need – I need to tell you something.”

“You’re sorry?” Lucy’s throat is dry, as is her mouth. Her heart is beating so hard it might explode. “Mom – what are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry,” Carol repeats again. “Lucy, you need to know something. There’s been an accident.”

In half a moment, Lucy is back in Puff the Tragic Wagon again, and it’s spinning off the road and plunging into the water, rising in her lungs and closing over her head. Her heart turns to ice. “What?” she manages to croak. “What accident?”

Carol starts saying something about getting a call earlier, one of her friends was out on the highway, something about a car, something about Flynn. Lucy can understand each of those words, knows that they’re English, but they’re not connecting into any kind of sense. All she can do is croak over and over, “What accident?” like some kind of automaton running out of its windings. She’s still falling. It’s not stopping.

Amy, hearing this, sits bolt upright, takes the phone from her, and demands a few more straight answers from Carol. It’s unclear whether she gets them, but her end of the conversation fades into white noise as Lucy sits stock still on the bed, staring at the wall. Finally, Amy hangs up, looking a little stunned herself. “Okay,” she says, clearly trying with all her might to break this news in the gentlest possible way. “From what Mom says, there was some kind of accident on the Bayshore Freeway. Flynn’s – Flynn’s missing, apparently. She’s calling the cops back and trying to confirm if it was him, she’ll be in touch when she knows anything for sure. She says that she knows they don’t really get along, but she wants to take care of it for your sake. Okay?”

Lucy tries to answer, but she can’t get any words out. Finally she says in a croak, “I told him not to go.”

Amy looks at her with an anguished expression. “I’m so sorry, Luce.”

“No. This – this just – ” Lucy starts to get to her feet, her usual impulse to do something, and staggers. “On the Bayshore Freeway?” That strikes her as significant, even if it might not be. Was it inevitable that Flynn had an accident there, after hers? Is there really some fate or curse or heavy hand of destiny lying on them, grabbing the threads and twisting, twisting? “We should go. We should go to the scene of the accident, we need to – ”

“Lucy, no.” Amy grabs her hand as she tries to stand up again. “The police are there, the cops are doing their job, you – look, you’re over eight months pregnant and you’ve just had some terribly shocking news and you’ve been at the brink of an anxiety attack all night. If we’re going anywhere, we’re going to the hospital.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I – ” For a third time, Lucy attempts to get to her feet, but her legs are rubber, and she sits heavily back on the bed. “Just give me a second, I’ll – ”

“You look horrible.” Amy puts a hand to her forehead, then to the side of her neck. “And your heart rate is through the roof. Yeah, okay. Put on your clothes, we’re going to the hospital.”

Lucy weakly tries to protest, but Amy is inexorable, getting her changed into a pair of sweatpants and one of Flynn’s T-shirts, then marching her downstairs to her car. Lucy gets into the passenger seat and stares blankly out the window as Amy drives, thinking that it would be her fucking luck if Noah is now working at the hospital in San Francisco. At least he’s not an obstetrician, or that would be too horrifying for words.

They get to the hospital, the nurses take one look at Lucy and wheel her off for an IV and bed rest, and manage to get her somewhat stabilized. Amy is too nice to give her I-told-you-so looks, especially considering the situation, but once they’re in a private room and Lucy’s hooked up to several monitors that she deeply dislikes, Amy raises an eyebrow. “Better?”

“Maybe.” Lucy grimaces and stares at the ceiling. “Has Mom called back yet?”

“No. I’ll go try her again.” Amy steps out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Lucy, not having much choice in the matter, stays where she is, feeling useless. She knows she’s not, she’s been working hard, she is very pregnant, her idiot husband just vanished off the face of the earth again (hopefully not by his own volition) and it’s all right to break down once in a while. But she’s a strong woman. Strong women, as the litany goes, are not weak or emotional or ever in need of help beyond what they can figure out for themselves. Lucy knows that’s essentially a lot of misogynistic bullshit, but parts of it have stuck. She feels almost embarrassed, like she’s let feminism down by ending up in the hospital tonight, even with every right to do so. God, this is stupid.

She shuts her eyes again and leans back on the uncomfortable hospital pillows, feeling like a beached whale and missing Flynn so sorely that she wants to scream. God, he has to be all right, he has to be. He is, obviously, a very capable person who can circumvent obstacles that would fell mere mortals, so she’s not going to think that whatever happened was enough to just knock him out of commission at a stroke. It’s nice that Carol’s helping, Lucy thinks dully. Maybe they’re actually going to get along.

She waits, eyes closed, until Amy returns. The look on her face makes Lucy startle upright, banging her elbow on the bedframe. “Amy?”

“Hey. So.” Amy sits down next to her. “The cops pulled a car out of the Bay. 2007 silver Volvo S40, smashed up on the driver’s side. Registered to a Garcia Flynn.”

Lucy feels physically winded. She finally manages, “And?”

“And.” Amy weighs her words. “A couple of dead guys. Looked like there had been a struggle. At least one of them had been shot. They’re going on the theory that that part was not an accident.”

“Neither of them – neither of them was – ?”

“No.” Amy shakes her head. “Neither of them was Flynn. But Lucy, this is – it doesn’t look good. Mom says they’re looking into stuff, they’re pulling up Flynn’s old… resume, and it looks a lot like he killed two guys and ran for it. Possibly even staged the car accident to cover his tracks, or…”

Lucy still can’t breathe. The world is starting to spin again, and there’s a weird ringing noise in her ears. “You don’t believe that,” she says. “You know Flynn. You like him.”

“I do,” Amy agrees. “But from what you’ve told me about his career, this isn’t exactly something out of his capabilities. There’s also another guy, some David Johnson, who filed a police report saying that Flynn turned up covered in blood, held a gun on him, and…”

“And?”

“Lucy, do you really think you need to hear this right now?”

“Amy! Now!”

Her sister flinches, just a bit. Finally she says, “All right. Mr. Johnson says that Flynn forced him to drive to Mountain View, after he stopped at the site of the accident and tried to see if he needed help. Drove him to Mom’s house. Mom says she wasn’t there, she was having dinner with some friends, but why the hell is Flynn running off to her house after this? Do you really know what he was doing tonight?”

Lucy doesn’t know what to say to that. She doesn’t want to start talking about Rittenhouse, about Cahill, about the way Flynn went directly off the handle, snapped immediately back into solo-vigilante mode and went charging out, frothing at the mouth, to hunt his enduring enemy. “Mom and Flynn don’t get along,” she says inanely. “That doesn’t mean that he’d ever try to – that she’d ever try to – ”

“Look.” Amy blows out a breath. “All I’m saying is, this wasn’t an ordinary car accident. We don’t know what happened, and until Flynn turns up again, we’re not likely to. But if he does, the cops want to talk to him about the death of those two guys, and – ”

Lucy stares down at her hands, resting on her belly. She knows Flynn too well to say that the only reason he would have killed the men was self-defense. But she also can’t shake the suspicion that in this case, at least, he was provoked. Or was he? He did go burning out in search of the nearest Rittenhouse spook. Did he decide it was them, was there some kind of struggle, a case of mistaken identity? Flynn in this mood is not a calm and rational creature who takes time to think through his best options and deal with them gently. Flynn in this mood is a killer. Lucy loves him, but she’s not under any illusions about that.

“We don’t know,” she says at last. She’s not about to malign Flynn in absentia, or come to one conclusion or another without hearing his side of the story. “We don’t know. He was… upset earlier, yes. Because Benjamin Cahill came to Stanford to see me.”

“Cahill?” Amy frowns. “As in your creepy biological-father Cahill?”

“Yes, that one. He was saying that he – that his organization had given us a fresh start, that it was for the sake of the – for this.” Lucy uses her chin to indicate her stomach. “I didn’t trust any of it. It sounded like he was saying there would be a price if we wanted to keep it that way, or we’d only had our good life because they’d let it be that way. I told Flynn when I got home, and we – we didn’t fight, exactly, but he went off the rails a little. He was angry. He…” Lucy trails off. “Honestly, no. I don’t know what he was doing tonight.”

Amy looks at her with pain and sympathy. She likes Flynn, but she also tends to think he’s an overdramatic trash disaster who goes from zero to one thousand in every situation (she’s not wrong about that) and as a loving sister, it is Amy’s right to judge him for rushing out the door and leaving Lucy behind in a vulnerable state. After a long pause, Amy says, “The hospital wants to keep you on bed rest for the rest of the night at least, and discharge you in the morning if you’re doing better. They also recommend that your leave starts right away, they don’t think you should be going back to work.”

“I still have things to do.” Lucy thinks of her half-full in-tray. “I can’t just vanish and let people down, I need to be responsible and – ”

“Lucy.” Amy grabs her hand and shakes it. “Lucy! You need to take a moment for yourself, do you hear me? And for your daughter. I’m sorry Flynn has blown it to hell, I really am. But either way, while he’s gone, while he’s doing – whatever, you have to do what’s best. Stanford will understand if you have to start leave a week early, or I’ll go over there and yell at them myself. I know you’re always in big-picture, suck-it-up mode, but listen. Listen.”

Lucy starts to answer, grunts as she gets kicked in the gut (isn’t that just a metaphor for the entire evening), and gathers her thoughts, or at least attempts to. Finally she says, “Fine, I’ll call Stanford in the morning. Okay?”

“Okay.” Amy sighs. “This is a horrible situation. I wish I could make it better. But I really just need to see you take care of yourself.”

“I’ll try.” Lucy manages a wan smile. She doesn’t feel like she’s taking care of anything. “Maybe you should go home? It’s super late.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Amy looks incredulous. “Like I’m going anywhere.”

Lucy bites her lip, tears brimming uncomfortably close to the surface, and manages a nod. A nurse comes in to check her again, but once she’s gone, Amy kicks off her shoes and climbs up on the hospital bed next to Lucy. There’s not nearly as much room as the king-size bed at home, but Lucy doesn’t care. She tries to close her eyes and not see images of Flynn behind them – fighting two men, killing them, whatever else. David Johnson said covered in blood. His own, or someone else’s? His car went into the Bay, but he wasn’t in it. Must have gotten out. Smashed on the driver’s side. Did someone hit him? Did someone hit him on purpose?

And then. That last part. Made Mr. Johnson drive him to Mom’s house. Why? What was he planning to do when he got there? Was it in fact a good thing that she wasn’t home? Why would Flynn rush to Carol after a near-fatal accident, especially given that their dislike of each other is not exactly a state secret? But didn’t find her there, so… went where? Decided not to come home if he might be popped for murder, or had more murdering to do?

Lucy can’t shut off the whirl of thoughts long enough to properly sleep, though she does doze unhappily, occasionally stirred by more jerks and jolts from within. This kid is definitely a Flynn if it can’t sit still and stay out of trouble for just five damn minutes. But she knocks it off at last around five AM, Lucy gets a few hours of semi-real sleep, and wakes up at eight. Amy’s gone, and the hospital room is full of cool grey light. She’s alone.

Lucy pushes herself upright, swears under her breath (she’s learned several more curse words in a variety of languages from her dearest mostly-spouse) and is greeted by a nurse coming in for the morning check. Lucy hopes that she’ll give her the all-clear, and Amy returns halfway through with an unappetizing hospital breakfast, but the nurse frowns. “Hmm. Your blood pressure is still pretty high.”

“Yeah,” Amy says. “No idea why that could be. Or rather, who.”

Lucy rolls her eyes at her sister a little over the nurse’s shoulder, even as she appreciates Amy’s protectiveness. The nurse performs her other checks, and decides that they’d really like to keep Lucy for at least a few more hours. Release this afternoon, maybe, if things quiet down and cooperate. (Hah. Wouldn’t that be nice.)

Lucy isn’t pleased, but since the other option is sitting at home and worrying there, maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world. Amy gets her phone for her, and she calls the history department, lets them know there’s been a slight medical emergency (she decides not to mention the familial one at all) and it’s the doctors’ recommendation that her leave starts immediately. She’s very sorry about the work she won’t be able to finish this week, and she’ll get her laptop and try to do it remotely if she can, but there you have it.

The dean is, of course, understanding and sympathetic, urges Lucy to take care of herself and the little one, and not to do anything she doesn’t feel up for. Once that’s done, Lucy should possibly feel better, but she doesn’t. She feels restless, wants to get up and walk, wants a shower, wants some clean clothes. She doesn’t have to let herself go totally to pot, now does she? There are standards, after all.

Amy leaves to get her computer, some clothes, and anything else Lucy might need, even as Lucy doesn’t want her to do that, as it seems to imply she’ll stay here for a while. The nurses don’t really want her out of bed either, but since they have taken the IV out, they technically can’t force her to stay there. Lucy swings her legs over the side, tests that they’ll take her weight, and walks carefully out of the room.

She wanders the corridors, trying to stay out of people’s way, even as the disheveled, pale-faced pregnant woman looking lost constantly makes them stop and ask if she needs any help. She assures them that she doesn’t, that she’s got this, but she does start feeling breathless and light-headed and tinny, has to steady herself on a wall that seems to somersault from underneath her hand, and there is an ache in her back (more than usual, at any rate) that won’t go away. Occasionally it squeezes, knocking the wind out of her. Maybe Amy’s right, she doesn’t need to be a hero right now. Or just go back and –

It’s about the third time this happens, more recently than the last, that it occurs to Lucy that it might not be just the usual cramps or aches. She stops dead in the corridor as scrub-wearing residents scuttle past her, one of them stops, and insists that he be allowed to take her back to her room immediately. For once, she doesn’t resist, and by the time they get there, Amy has returned and is somewhat pissed to see that she went gallivanting off for an adventure. “Lucy! What the hell? Why didn’t you just stay where you – Lucy?”

“It’s fine.” God, it keeps coming to her lips as automatically as when people asked her how things were with Noah. “I just – I might be having a little false labor.”

“False?” Amy eyes her worriedly. “Lucy, your sweatpants are soaking wet.”

Lucy looks down. Shit. She has somehow managed to not notice that, which says a lot about how preoccupied her head has been. “Wh – no. No, that’s – ”

The resident has already gone to get someone more qualified to handle this particular branch of things, and Amy wavers, then makes a decision. “I think I should call Mom.”

“I… no, I’m not – not now, not now. I can’t, not when Flynn – ”

Amy gives her a look as if to say that she considers this mess at least eighty percent Flynn’s fault, and that if he wanted to potentially miss the birth of his child, maybe he shouldn’t have stressed Lucy out so much and run off like a little bitch. “I’ll be right back.”

With that, she steps out, just as the midwife arrives. It isn’t the one Lucy has been seeing at this hospital, however, and she frowns. “Where’s Gina?”

“Gina’s not in today.” The woman smiles reassuringly. “Hi, Lucy, I’m Angela. I know your mother, actually. I can promise you will get the absolute best care we have to offer, so just relax and we’ll see how things are going, okay?”

Lucy stares at her. Obviously, having strangers poking around in your unmentionables is one of the unavoidable drawbacks of childbirth, but still. “Can you call Gina?”

“Lucy, please don’t worry. Your mother has arranged all of it, she just wants you not to have to fret over anything. So – ”

Lucy starts to speak and is cut off by a contraction that does not, unfortunately, feel fake at all. She’s just about to do as asked and get up on the bed when the door opens and Amy returns. “Hey, where’s Gina?”

“Not in, apparently.” Lucy is trying very hard to hold it together, since this is not the time to break down in ugly sobs. “She just – ”

“Call her,” Amy orders Angela. “Lucy’s her patient, it’s what she wants – what is this, you think you people can take advantage of a vulnerable woman in labor? Medical ethics, what are those, right? I have a podcast, I’ll absolutely do an episode on the suspect practices of this hospital in maternal healthcare if you don’t go and call Gina right now. Understand?”

Angela stares at her as if she has no idea where Amy gets off telling her off like this. “Miss Preston, I’m just here to – ”

“Go,” Amy repeats. “Go call Gina.”

After a long pause, Angela does as ordered, leaving the room with one more judgmental glance over her shoulder at both of them. Lucy lets out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“I don’t know why, I just – I don’t like her.” Amy scowls after the door. “I met her earlier when I was bringing in stuff for you, I didn’t realize she was a midwife. Just – something about her, I don’t know what. I wouldn’t want her up in my hoo-ha, in other words, so I don’t blame you for not wanting her up yours. Where did she come from, anyway?”

“I – ” Lucy pauses. “She said she knows Mom.”

“Wow.” Amy shakes her head. “That absolutely figures, doesn’t it? Mom tries to control what damn midwife delivers your kid, so she can have her clutches in another Preston daughter from the very start. If I’d known she did that, I would probably have a few more choice words for her on the phone. I’m tempted to call back and tell her not to come.”

“It is her granddaughter.” Lucy wants to be accommodating, wants to be reasonable, wants to make the family happy. “But – I don’t want to have this baby now, it’s still a little early, and besides, Flynn – ”

“You’re over eight months,” Amy says. “That isn’t too early, at least. And if this kid wants to be contrary and show up whenever it wants, well, you’re not going to have much say over that. Honestly, with its gene pool, that probably should not surprise you.”

Lucy snorts weakly despite herself, as if to admit that unfortunately, Amy has that right. The contractions aren’t particularly close together, but they also don’t seem to be stopping, and Lucy reassures herself that she has done her homework for this, like everything. She has read the books and watched the videos and prepared her plan and all that. Yes, there is one literally large part of it missing, but that will just have to be dealt with.

Some time goes by. The doctors arrive with the news that they still can’t get hold of Gina, but they’ve brought the backup, Rebecca, who Lucy at least knows a little. Given the circumstances, they are treating this as a high-risk delivery, and that means that plenty more important medical people arrive to circulate through the room and mouth various reassuring words to Lucy. Amy stays at her side, making sure it doesn’t get too crowded, as they determine that yes, she is in the early stages of labor and the baby does not appear to be in distress, but again, close eyes will be kept. They’ve just finished when a nurse sticks her head in and lets Lucy know that her mother is here. She can come in briefly, if Lucy wants.

At this point, Lucy is feeling like any scared young woman doing this for the first time would, which is that yes, she wants her mother there. The nurse disappears to relay this message, and Carol comes in to cluck over her, smooth her hair out of her forehead and hold her hand, as Lucy wonders if she should ask about the Angela thing but decides that it can wait. Carol was probably trying yet again to be helpful, in her sometimes unfortunate way.

Morning tips over into afternoon. Lucy recalls that it’s supposed to take a while with the first one, but she is in enough labor to not be very comfortable and the drugs are having only middling effect. Amy and Carol take turns walking her back and forth across the room; it’s the first time the three Preston women have been in the same place without an argument for a while, and it’s kind of sweet. Finally, as it’s been going on six hours and Lucy is digging ever more inventively into Flynn’s stock of swear words, they decide that the main event is about to happen, and transfer her into delivery. Amy and Carol scrub up and come with her.

Lucy doesn’t remember most of it. It’s all a blur, bright lights and doctors in green scrubs and a lot of sweat, blood, and tears, literally. She wrenches hold of Amy and Carol’s hands, doesn’t think she can do this, then decides that yes, she fucking can. She sets her teeth and bears down and goes to that part of her that, when pressed (or pushed, in this case) can do nearly anything. Her daughter is born fifteen minutes later.

As the baby is taken off, still wailing, to be cleaned and weighed and checked, Lucy collapses back into the bed and stares up at the ceiling. She’s relieved, she’s incredibly relieved, but she also feels sick and shaken and hollow in a way that’s not from the ordeal. Carol is fussing over her and Amy makes a few jokes about definitely never wanting kids of her own, and Lucy manages wan smiles for both of them, but it feels increasingly disconnected from herself, like she’s below the water of a lake (or a bay) and looking up at the receding surface. She supposes there’s a little of the I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar vindication of her strength, but her life has turned upside down in twenty-four hours. Yesterday, she had Flynn but no daughter. Today, she has no Flynn, but a daughter, and God knows what comes next. She still doesn’t know what to name her. They didn’t get around to settling a final choice.

The rest of the messy end of the business is dealt with, and Lucy is likewise cleaned up and tucked into bed before they bring the baby back. She’s a little small, not quite seven pounds, but otherwise healthy. There’s a cap of soft dark hair on her skull, and she seems generally unimpressed with the world thus far – which really, mood. Lucy cuddles her and can’t help a grin at her grumpy expression. Yep. Daddy’s girl, clearly.

That, however, sets off something like a bomb in her chest that she can’t control, and at last, after everything, she starts breaking down. Just a bit at first, then faster, as Carol takes her new granddaughter into the next room and Amy sits on the bed to comfort Lucy. Lucy good and cries for several minutes, as Amy rubs her back and nuzzles her hair and makes soothing noises. “There you go, okay,” she says. “There you go.”

Lucy hiccups, sniffles miserably, wipes her nose on the offered Kleenex, and gulps a deep, unsteady breath. “I really wish Garcia was here,” she says, in a low, miserable husk. “I just – I really wish he could have been here for it. And just. Here.”

“I know.” Amy rubs her shoulders. “I know, I know. But you did amazing, Lucy, you were such a rock star. Stone cold badass. Hey, should we name my niece Buttercup? No, right? Definitely a no?”

“Definitely a no.” Lucy manages a watery chuckle. She realizes that they will need to fill out a birth certificate eventually, and that she may or may not have the luxury of waiting for Flynn to do it, but she still can’t bring herself to it right away. “I’m – I’m okay now. You can go get her and Mom.”

Amy nods, kisses her nose, and goes out, leaving Lucy alone for the first time in hours. The silence practically thumps in her ears. She doesn’t feel any better after crying, but at least she doesn’t feel any worse, which she has to take as a win. As for anything else, she can’t be sure. It all feels like a bunch of dishes dumped off a high shelf onto the floor; it’s happened too fast, too fast, she has been ripped off her feet and drowned in the undertow. She wants to go to sleep for ten years. Maybe twenty.

In a few minutes, Amy and Carol return, and Carol hands the baby back to Lucy, who settles her down to eat. (This is not as intuitive as it looks, but they eventually figure it out.) Then Carol says, “So what are you going to name her, Lucy? I like Eleanor, or Hannah. Good strong names, don’t you think?”

“I have a friend named Eleanor, so no. Not really into Hannah.” Lucy tips her head back against the pillow. Stubbornly, she adds, “And I want to talk to Garcia about it.”

Carol’s lips press into a thin line. “Lucy, you do know – you do know that he seems to have killed two men and gone on the run, don’t you? Went back to his old habits at the first opportunity, and left you like this. If he comes back, which frankly I doubt, he’ll have a lot of questions to answer first. And when I saw him, I didn’t get the idea that he intended to – ”

Lucy almost misses this at first. Then it catches at her, even as Carol realizes her mistake an instant too late. Lucy’s insides shrivel into a small, cold fist. There is a horrible silence. Then Lucy says, “When did you see him, exactly?”

“I – ” Carol opens her mouth, then shuts it. “Lucy – ”

“That Mr. Johnson said that Flynn made him drive him to your house, but you said you weren’t there, you were having dinner with friends.” Lucy’s voice rises. “That’s what you said. Were you lying? Did you see him? Were you there when he got there?”

“Lucy – ”

“Did you see him?”

There is another, even more horrible silence. Things from earlier are starting to whirl through Lucy’s head, pieces that she was (understandably) too distracted to put together. Carol saying that some of her friends were out on the highway and, apparently, just happened to see Flynn’s car go into the Bay (with its driver’s side smashed up as if hit on purpose). The two dead men, looking like there had been a struggle. Flynn blazing off to confront Carol, and –

“Oh my God,” Lucy says. Her voice is somehow, impossibly, lethally calm. “You’re in Rittenhouse.”

[faegal04]

Property of Dean Winchester

SUMMARY: You and Jensen are best friends, you accompany him to Nashville for the convention and drunken hijinks ensue!

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x (bestfriend!)reader

Word Count: 1810

Warnings: Some swearing

A/N: So i have been struggling with writing and what not, and the other day this idea hits me. I am basing it off the information that I saw about NashCon and it just grew to this fic. This would be my first attempt at writing a possible more than friends type fic based on the actual actor. I mean no disrespect to Danneel, we will just consider her happy with someone else for the purpose of this fic. Also a huge shout out to Daddy B aka @bigdaddymongoose, she is my rock and helps me out sooo much with writing!

Tagging: @ellen-reincarnated1967 @demondean-for-kingofhell @winchesterprincessbride @jotink78 @iamdeanfknwinchester @skybinx-blog @16wiishes @s4m-w1nch3st3r5287 @chaoticevilanddowntofuck @pizzarollpatrol @14readwritedraw96 @anokhi07 @mrswhozeewhatsis

tagsheet: @theficlibrarium @manawhaat @growleytria @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki @fandommaniacx @meganwinchester1999 @samanddeanwinchester67 @strange-inhumanity-blog @fangirling-instead-of-working @aprofoundbondwithdean @eyes-of-a-disney-princess  @faith-in-dean @for-the-love-of-dean @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @curliesallovertheplace @thebunkerismyhome @feelmyroarrrr

@beachy2014 @fandom-book-nerd @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @sunriserose1023 @jelly-beans-and-gstrings @lucifer-in-leather @i-dont-know-how-to-write @everyday-supernatural-af  @notnaturalanahi @howmanytuesdaysdidyouhave @supernatural-jackles @babypieandwhiskey  @jpadjackles @pinknerdpanda “C’mon you two, let’s hit another bar!” Jared laughed, drunk off his ass already.

You giggled, watching your best friend trying to walk unaided. His bow legs making the staggering all the more comical. Finally, he made it to your side, he threw an arm around you, almost knocking the two of you to the ground.

“I think Jay here has had enough,” you snickered.

After the tour of the Jack Daniels Distillery and all the free shots, then the dart throwing game with Jason and the guys and more shots imbibed. Next, Creation Ent wanting to celebrate Jay’s birthday during the Saturday Night Special concert with you guessed it more alcohol involved. Let’s just say when Jay sang Tennessee Whiskey, he was almost three sheets to the wind then. If Jared got his way, this would be the third bar you all hit.

Jensen started shaking his head, “No, I-I think we need more bars,” he grinned. “Me likey, more acl-aco-alc-,” he furrowed his eyebrows like he was concentrating, “drinks.”

You laughed, “I think everybody is done for the night. You two have a panel in the morning, remember?” You smacked Jensen’s hand away from your face as he tried to “boop” your nose. “Stop that!”

Jared just gave you “Sam’s puppy eyes”, “Nope, Pada-gigantor, those will not work on me. I am impervious to “Mr. Awesome,” you jerked a thumb at Jensen, “you don’t stand a chance my tall friend.”

Some fans actually got the nerve to come over and talk to them both, asking for photos and autographs. You and Cliff helped them out, thankful that the brick wall was behind them so that they didn't topple over with the fangirls. After you had taken the last pictures, you collected a phone from Cliff and asked him to get a cab, while you kept the boys corralled. The fans thanked you and the boys and walked off. You blew out an exhausted sigh, you were only slightly buzzed at this point taking care of these two was hard work.

You glared at them when you noticed they were whispering with each other and pointing your way. They had better not be planning an escape or a prank on you or you would kill them.

“Hey! What are you two whispering about?”

Jared looked at Jensen, biting his bottom lip to avoid laughing he nodded, “We,” he gestured wildly between him and Jensen, “We were discussing terms for our surrender.”

You raised an eyebrow at both of them, “Terms for surrender, huh? This ought to be good. Lay ‘em on me fellas.”

Jensen nodded stoically at Jared, then at you he smirked, you groaned and braced yourself for whatever was coming.

Jared stumbled forward, “We agree to surrender if you say the magic word.”

You rolled your eyes, “Really just one condition? Fine, I'm guessing the magic word is “please?”

Jensen snickered, pursed his lips and started shaking his head. Jared just outright laughed so hard, he almost lost his balance.

“Jay so help me, if you don’t tell me what the hell you two are talking about, I will kill you where you stand,” you growled.

“I can’t, but I will give you a hint,” he smirked, “It is the word of the day, a most special word, a magic-” he broke off laughing.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you thought, when suddenly it hit you, “Seriously? Are you two fourteen?”

They were holding each other up, laughing their asses off at your expression. Your phone buzzed with a text, thankfully it was Cliff letting you know that the cab was pulling up.

You stared at Jensen and Jared, “You’re really going to make me say it aren't you?” At their excited nods, you chuckled, “Remember you guys are in your thirties. If you two don’t get your asses into that cab, I'm going to put my foot so far up your,” you paused, rolling your eyes, “bungholes, that you will taste leather.”

Both of them cheered loudly and started walking towards the cab, talking like Beavis and Butthead the whole way.

--

On the way back to the hotel, you had Cliff get ahold of security so that they could run interference for you to get the boys up to their rooms. With the late hour, you hoped that the paparazzi wouldn’t be hanging around to snap pics of the guys. It was hard enough being best friends with one of television’s hottest actors, but to be female to boot always had them salivating that this time they would catch you and Jensen in a compromising position.

Thankfully, the four of you made it through the lobby without issue. The first stop was Jared’s room, you propped Jensen against the wall and helped Cliff lay him down. You staggered back towards Jensen and muttered,”I swear that man is like a drunk octopus. Let’s go Jay, one drunk octopus down, one to go.”

Jensen giggled, honest to god giggled, “I'm no octopus, Y/N,” he paused and looked up and down the hallway,”shhhh,” you looked at him confused, “I has a secret. I'm Batman.”

You laughed at his serious expression, “More like Goofy, you big jerk.”

Cliff was shaking his head, you paused as his room was in between Jensen and Jared’s. “Cliff you go on ahead to bed, I've put this one to bed drunk so many times it’s second nature.”

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll have coffee for everybody in the morning,” he said with a tired smile.

“Okay, just a couple more steps Jay, then you can lay down and sleep,” you said softly. At this point he was walking behind you with one arm wrapped around your neck and holding on to a shoulder.

“Nope!” He said loudly, stopping suddenly almost clotheslining you.

“Dammit Jay! You promised to go to bed, if I said that word and I did and you’re going,” you spat.

“My mom would kick my ass, if I didn't walk you to your room,” he replied.

You growled at him, “My room is right next to yours, idiot!”

“I am a gentleman, I will walk you to your room and make sure there aren’t any monsters there,” he looked at you with a sweet expression.

Rolling your eyes, “What are you going to do breathe on them if there’s trouble? You smell like a brewery Jay!”

He spun you around to face him, putting his hands on your shoulders, he blew an exasperated sigh out that ended in a hiccup, “No, silly, I'm Dean fucking Winchester. It’s my job to keep hot girls safe.”

Your eyes widened at his statement, “Okay Casanova, let’s get this over with.” You couldn't stop thinking about what he said. Did he think you were hot?

Shaking your head, you got the door opened and laughed as Jensen walked around the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary. You sat down on the couch and slipped your heels off, thanking the gods that you could go to bed soon.

Sitting quietly for a few minutes, you cleared your thoughts, not wanting to think to much about what Jay had said outside your room. ‘What the hell is taking him so long?’ You thought.

“Jay?” You called out, not getting a reply you got up and walked towards the bedroom door. Pushing the door open, you sighed heavily, Fuck me! There lying sideways on the bed was your best friend, face down, passed out and snoring.

Fuck it, you thought. I'm not moving him and it's my bed, without another thought, you pulled your jeans off and fell face down as well and were asleep in moments.

--

Jensen groaned softly, his hand going up to his head. Shit, last night was a blur, he knew he should have laid off all those shots. He opened one eye and froze. He felt a puff of warm air on the back of his neck. What the hell had he done? He turned his quickly and was relieved to see your face, then he panicked.

He scrambled up off the bed fast, feeling relief that he still had his pants on, then shock registered on his face. He looked down at you, noticing that you were in a T-shirt and underwear. Underwear that had his full attention. When he had bought that gift as a gag for your birthday, he never thought to ever see you in them.

There against the black boy shorts, with red lettering across your rounded ass were the words that had him inhale sharply.

“Property of Dean Winchester.”

His first thought was laughing, he grabbed his phone and snapped a quick picture, thinking that he was never going to let you live this one down. The next thought to cross his mind was how turned on he was by those four words. Sure, he had thought of you in a less than friendly way from time to time, but he never once thought about acting on it. Now he was having second thoughts. Slowly he reached a hand out towards your ass, when someone was pounding on the door!

“Dammit!” He muttered, drawing his hand back, he stomped across the room and headed towards the small living room. He flung the door open and growled at Jared, “What?!”

“Dude, we’re going to be late! We’ve got 30 minutes till our panel,” Jared replied.

“Alright, alright let me wake Y/N, then I’ll go change,” Jensen said.

“Did you and Y/N hook up?” Jared grinned.

“NO! Go away!” Said Jensen. He closed the door and started walking slowly towards the bedroom, “Y/N! Sweetheart, come on, we need to get ready.”

You jumped up startled at the male voice in your suite, “Shit, Jay give a girl a heart attack!”

He smirked at you, “I'm going to go change, be right back.”

You nodded and looked down at yourself, oh holy shit, you were in your underwear! Underwear that he was never supposed to see you in. You blushed madly, grabbed your phone and headed in to brush your teeth. After you felt more human with minty fresh breath you jumped in the shower.

As you were towel drying, your phone started going buzzing with text messages. Most of them were from Gen, one from Jay and Jared, you ignored those two and read the first text from her.

Your mouth dropped open in surprise, then your brain started misfiring and freaking out as you scrolled to the app in question, and your heart stopped.

There was pounding coming from the door to the suite, as you threw the door open you looked at your best friend's pale face and wanted to die.

You took a deep breath, “Jay why the hell is there a picture of my ass on your Instagram?!”

[swimintothesound]

Artistic Integrity and Commercial Success | Part 4

This is the fourth, final, and most speculative in a series of four posts on the combative relationship between artistic pursuits and commercial achievements. View the first post here, the second one here, and the third here.

Features Aplenty, Featuring Apathy

Unlike Drake, Travis Scott has yet to release an album in 2017. As a result, the final entry in this four-part series will now shift from a post-mortem into (admittedly) premature evaluation. While Drake isn’t quite out of the woods yet, he’s it at least trending upwards artistically. Meanwhile, Travis Scott has been trending upwards in terms of sales and popularity, but I feel like I’ve seen the inverse in his music. And because he hasn’t released a full project yet, all we can do at this point is look at some of the features and individual songs that Travis has worked on since the release of Birds.

Most recently, Trav dropped a trio of loosies on his SoundCloud: “Butterfly Effect,” “A Man,” and “Green & Purple.” Truth be told, none of these songs did anything for me, and for the most part, they feel just as devoid of life as Birds. Reading shitty comments online is what originally prompted me to think about this intersection between artistic purity and commercial success, but this recent drop of songs really inspired me to start getting my thoughts out on paper. If these songs are indicative of what Trav has in store for us on his 2017 album, I’m genuinely concerned.

But the bigger topic here is “what comes first: art or success?” I think most people would say the first one, and then those creations go on to achieve success (however you define that). However, once you reach a certain point, I think you can start creating from the other end of the spectrum and just let the money be your guiding light for creation. That’s the battle.

But maybe this is all just Travis Scott Fatigue at this point, so let’s look beyond the man’s own tracks at some of his 2017 features. If there’s anything that sparks inspiration, it’s working with other artists and jumping into some more varied sounds, right?

Even without an album drop, 2017 has been a banner year for Trav. With guest appearances on everything from Major Lazer to SZA and everything in between, it seems you can’t officially be a part of the music scene in 2017 without a feature from Travis Scott. One of the weirder tracks is the collaborative effort “Go Off” from the Fate of the Furious Soundtrack. Sure, it’s generic as fuck, but it’s hard to judge anything based off a watered-down lowest-common-denominator platform like Fast and Furious.

Even still, the most offensive Travis Scott feature (and quite frankly my tipping point) was his appearance on Migo’s CULTURE at the beginning of the year… but before breaking that down, I’d like to give some additional context on ad libs.

Get Hyped or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Ad Lib

For those unfamiliar, ad libs in hip-hop are distinct phrases that rappers interject within individual lines of their own lyrics. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m an ad lib-loving hypebeast (you have to be to start a Desiigner subreddit.) It’s nearly a facet of my personality at this point. Ad libs just get me fired up, and I love how much rappers have been utilizing them lately.

Adlibs are typically used to emphasize a point, excite the audience, or flex after a particularly impressive rhyme. Some artists like Migos use adlibs after nearly every line just to add context and extra texture to their bars. Meanwhile, other people like Chance The Rapper have developed their own repertoire of noises that act as a calling card.

As explained by Pigeons and Planes, ad libs at worst represent “a space-filler, a moment that allows for a word to be repeated, emphasized, or followed by an "uh-huh" or some other bland affirmation.” and at best act as “an opportunity for unique self-expression, a brief moment outside of the lyrics themselves to show character, expand the meaning of the song.”

One of my favorite examples of ad-libbing is Young Thug’s “Halftime” in which he drops a lung-collapsing 12-second “SKRR” forty-four seconds into the track. The prolonged cry lies relatively quietly beneath Thug’s yelped rhymes and just above Kip Hilson’s booming bass-drenched beat. After that, Thug goes on to discuss his eccentric fashion choices and throws off his own rhyming couplet by dragging out the syllables of “recycles” to which he laughs. He’s keeping the listener on their toes. Immediately after that subversion, Thug “winds up” into an increasingly-speedier set of overtly-sexual bars, each of which is punctuated by a series of escalating ad-libbed interjections which Thug himself then interrupts with a reserved “no” right at the rhyme’s climax. The fact that this is all happening in between rapped lines makes the track a treat to listen to and rewards repeated listens. Thug is literally his own backing track. On top of that, this barrage of ad-libs is surrounded by hilariously over-the-top lyrics like “suck my dick like Beavis no, Butthead” and “I just want that neck like a giraffe.” It’s an intoxicating display and one that all happens within the space of a minute on a single verse. Blink and you’ll miss it, but “Halftime” is an absolutely flawless example of ad libs flirting with (and improving) a song as a whole.

I’ve always been a fan of Travis Scott’s adlibs. From the hype-building Straight Up! and It’s Lit! to his trademarked La Flame! He’s made a career (and a name for himself) out of expertly-deployed soundbites. So imagine my surprise when I found myself listening to Migo’s world-conquering CULTURE at the beginning of the year and made it all the way to the album’s penultimate track “Kelly Price” which featured Travis Scott.

I entered hesitantly, given how fresh in my mind Birds was, but I remained optimistic since Travis and Quavo have had a near-impeccable track record up until that point. The song starts with a haunting beat and a hook that finds Quavo running down the typical Migos list of favorite things: Cars. Money. Drugs. Women. Pretty standard stuff so far. Then Travis Scott comes in.

He lazily floats the track by sputtering two words: Flash. Dash. and then drops a “straight-up” adlib. I couldn’t believe it. Maybe I shouldn’t be as offended at this as I am, but I was amazed that this dude just hopped on a track, said two words that barely rhymed and then dropped an ad lib as if he’d just spit some world-shattering bars. It called to mind “Biebs in the Trap” off of Birds in the Trap where Trav opened a verse in an almost identical, but even lazier way. The verse in question reads more like an unrelated grocery list of things that kind of rhyme but just sound cool when thrown together over a particular beat.

As mentioned before, I don’t go to Travis Scott for lyrical bars. So it feels weird to criticize him for verses like the two above… but at the same time, they’re just so far below his already-low bar for lyricism. I’m mainly surprised that he seems to be regressing towards such a simplistic style. One in which he relies almost entirely on production and v i b e s to carry him and his lack of personality or technical skill.

It’s also disappointing because I loved Days Before Rodeo and Rodeo so indescribably, yet I haven’t fully enjoyed anything that he’s put out since 2015. This all ties back to the first post in the series, because right now I’m just bitching that I don’t like the direction an artist is taking.

I Guess That’s It

I guess if there's any theme to this series, it's been about expectations, disappointments, and hope. I was expecting a lot from both Drake and Trav in 2016, and they both let me down in different ways. Since then Drake has really bounced back in my eyes, but Travis seems to be continuing down a different path. I know I started this series complaining about people online wanting to dictate artists art… so I won't do that. All I can do is hope. Hope that he has something grander and more experimental in stock for us.

I believe that Travis has it in him to create more albums on par (and better than) Rodeo, but he could also continue down the “easier” path that’s already laid before him. And I realize it’s a shitty thing for a fan to just say “their old stuff was better.” You can’t expect an artist to just keep remaking an album forever. To do so is to wish stasis and artistic malaise on someone that you’re supposedly a fan of. It's also hard when Rodeo and DBR are tied to such positive memories in my past, and Birds has no comparable equivalent, but it’s unfair of me to judge an album based on something external to itself.

Earlier this year I actually saw Travis Scott live at Portland’s Moda Center. It was a pretty great show (even if I wasn’t able to snag floor tickets) and oddly relevant to this topic since Drake made a surprise appearance at that show. It was a wild show, but the difference between Travis’ old and new material was night and day. It’s odd because he wanted Birds to get “straight to the meat.” The album was created with stadium tours in mind. According to Scott he quickly learned what songs from Rodeo did and didn’t work live, and that influenced his creative process while making Birds. Maybe I just like the more “intimate” feeling of Rodeo as opposed to the “broad” nature of Birds in the Trap.

Never Taking a Break

Even more recently, Travis Scott did an interview with SHOWstudio. HotNewHipHop had an interesting take on the interview, positing that he would “take a break” from music after the release of his upcoming third album. Travis Scott personally replied to the speculation on Twitter claiming “Nigga I'm never taking a break.”

Reading this exchange filled me with different emotions. First, honestly, a pang of sadness. Despite the recent perceived decline in quality, I would have been extraordinarily sad to see Travis take a break from touring or new material. At the same time, the more I thought about it, maybe a break is just what he needs. I mean, he’s released an album every year since 2013 with one (technically) scheduled for 2017 as well. On top of persistent touring and features, that output has to take a toll on even the most prolific of artists.

Working so tirelessly can be draining. I’ll be a fan of Travis till the end. The man can put on a hell of a show, and he’s released two albums that are absolute classics in my eyes. A true fan is along for the ride no matter what. The albums may vary in wildly in quality, but sometimes you have to take the good with the bad. Even Weezer still has fans, and in 2016 they released their best album since Pinkerton. I’m not saying Travis is scheduled for a 20-year stretch of disappointment, but I’m just hoping he carves out a niche that inspires.

And when I say “inspires” I’m talking about both himself and fans.

I could just be “aging out” of his music, but I hope not because even through the darkness and malaise of Birds he still dropped “Pick up the Phone” and “Goosebumps” which were some of my favorite tracks of the past year and ones I still spin on a near-daily basis.

I’m a fan. I want the best for Travis. Both commercially and artistically. The hard part is maintaining both without losing yourself.

[mayorgalvan]

Pat Benatar - Love Is A Battlefield

<iframe width="490" height="370" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/74pxKzFRMFU" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" data-link="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=74pxKzFRMFU"></iframe> Palestinian national anthem "Fida'i" Defonseca Defonseca Subscribe1,507 Add to  Share  More 148,586 views 1,215  173 ShareEmbedEmail

https://youtu.be/74pxKzFRMFU  Start at:   0:46

Uploaded on Sep 18, 2011 Palestinian national anthem Lyrics: Said Al Muzayin Music: Ali Ismael

***ENG***

Music never stops. Get the Vevo app! bnc.lt/WmIe/wyGsM8ETvq

Music never stops. Get the Vevo app! bnc.lt/WmIe/wyGsM8ETvq

2:20 / 5:17 Pat Benatar - Love Is A Battlefield PatBenatarVEVO PatBenatarVEVO Subscribe Add to  Share  More 21,017,443 views 127,617  3,097 ShareEmbedEmail

https://youtu.be/IGVZOLV9SPo  Start at:   2:43

Uploaded on Mar 11, 2009 Music video by Pat Benatar performing Love Is A Battlefield. SHOW MORE COMMENTS • 6,539 Default profile photo Add a public comment... Top comments Jay-Mo Productions Jay-Mo Productions1 year ago (edited) 13 going on 30 Reply 403     View all 22 replies kalese turknett kalese turknett1 year ago (edited) yup , i remember watching that movie over & over. i just all of a sudden remembered this song tho. Reply 8     Carlos Campos Carlos Campos7 months ago (edited) Why cant real life have dance sequences :) Reply 337     View all 14 replies THEPLANETEARTH THEPLANETEARTH6 months ago (edited) i grew up in the wrong generation -_- Reply 328     View all 58 replies Leanna Leon Leanna Leon1 month ago (edited) THEPLANETEARTH Reply 1     Sienna Solis Sienna Solis1 month ago (edited) yep me to BUT I LOVE IT!!!!! Reply     Roxy Jones Roxy Jones1 month ago 13 Going On to 30 anyone??? Reply 332     View all 19 replies mike bethune mike bethune3 days ago no 53 going on 18 Reply 3     tobagotb10 tobagotb102 days ago +mike bethune Me too. Anyone born in 1963 have seen some wonderful times, as in ever! Reply     Webbie Webbie7 months ago (edited) sucks when your 40 years old and your parents kick you out Reply 302     View all 37 replies jen d jen d1 month ago (edited) Give it 30-odd years, you'll look back on the new photo you show and your kids will think she looks odd and grandmotherly as well. Say she's 18, she'll be 48. Times move fast. Reply 1     Ken Pudsey Ken Pudsey1 month ago (edited) jen d -yeah,they move to fast jen-way to fast! Reply     dakota hunter dakota hunter6 months ago (edited) who here from the movie 13 going on 30 Reply 189     View all 6 replies A person A person3 months ago (edited) dakota hunter 100th to like it Reply 4     Roger Longsword Roger Longsword3 months ago (edited) "Look, shes running away from home and shes only thirty"  Beavis and Butthead Reply 156     View all 8 replies Gabriele Angel King Gabriele Angel King1 month ago (edited) she is the arm of God maggot she can burn you and break you with a wink who the fuck are you maggots faggots why you a suck; a fucking dink go fuck yourself piece of shit I only lighten up what ya cant get, faggots Read more Reply     Gabriele Angel King Gabriele Angel King1 month ago (edited) Turd hoe the Perrier faggot once famously said the government has no business in my bed. now, they have laws and do not keep them they have doc trains but do not practice them they have law and order, but murder and deceit are them. they make statements with double speak, 1984 baby, they are weak. maggots and faggots Know this, it is who I am, I dont know them why do they want to know me. I have no desire to be king over them nor do they get to over rule me I have done nothing but the right to defend my family in this sacred fight I have done nothing they did not build so they delight in their death, then grind me at their mill. fuck them, fuck their laws, fuck you, divergent are the draws everywhere i go, i see through the shadows, I see you reel inwardly people still have a innate law, and they have the deals they will fight back and hang a murdering priest, got the wheels. who is Jesus, ask me if i fucking care preacher wolf over there what the fuck you doing raping children in your lair? who the fuck are these no minded bots? who are these half breed maggots with no original thoughts? Ask me if i wanna be your king and I will say, put their heads in a sling and throw them over the ole boys wall watch the maggots as they crawl

I dont wanna be king over some fucking losers and war bruisers I wanna be the King of angels, and humanity is a bunch of losers and I hate these maggots cause their soul has died you been judged maggots, deep greene fried. Read more Reply     susub75 susub757 months ago (edited) No wonder her father kicked her out, she was 30 when this single was released! Time to stand on your own feet! Reply 127     View all 12 replies Salvador Elias Salvador Elias2 months ago (edited) susub75 you made me laugh so hard Reply 2     Jeffrey Hinkle Jeffrey Hinkle2 months ago (edited) Goddam it!  She's out there SOMEwhere!  Somethin' LEEEADS to HER! Reply     MrPeterpiper1969 MrPeterpiper19694 months ago (edited) What a talent. What a song. And what a drop dead gorgeous singer. Pat Benatar rocks in every way. Reply 115     View all 4 replies Jennifer Fields Jennifer Fields2 months ago (edited) +Charles Toporzycki  wth that mean Reply 1     Mc Shaggy TEORIAS DE DRAGON BALL Mc Shaggy TEORIAS DE DRAGON BALL1 month ago (edited) Yeah fuck JB , OD and those fags Reply 3     Rusty Shackleford Rusty Shackleford1 year ago (edited) A lovely song about a girl who leaves home to become the head hooker. Only to find herself oppressed in a brothel she calls a love battlefield. She will now have to do the impossible and lead her comrades on a dance off to freedom. Will she succeed? Only her pimp can tell... Reply 305     View all 37 replies 3prettyvacant 3prettyvacant11 months ago (edited) Scary what can happen on here........ Reply     James Smith James Smith1 month ago (edited) left the IC behind to comment on pat benatar videos on youtube? Reply     Jamal Rana Jamal Rana6 months ago (edited) Who came here after the X factor uk tonight Reply 100     View all 11 replies XGemskiX XGemskiX5 months ago (edited) I equally love both versions (: Reply 6     Rian Sama Rian Sama3 months ago (edited) kiddo and I are cooking fine with no mom... and better cooks for it. :( still i feel so alone.... 30 years ago... i missed the boat... Reply 3     Steve T Steve T6 months ago (edited) sada vadooooooo Reply 90     View all 10 replies charley schoute charley schoute4 months ago (edited) Stairs and flowers skinny puppy Reply     teichiq teichiq2 months ago (edited) acdc Reply     mark grierson mark grierson1 month ago how 80s !! loved that decade Reply 107     View all 8 replies Device Factor Device Factor1 week ago Jane G Seda me to. I'm 32 I make music in the style of the decade, but wish I could've been born earlier.. Reply 2     Device Factor Device Factor1 week ago it's as if we've become boring and flat.. compared to then Reply 5     Lyn Croughan Lyn Croughan6 months ago (edited) My dad was just like her dad , i moved out at 17 , but i didnt end up singing a cool song and dancing ,  god my life sucks :P Reply 72     View all 31 replies Rab Fox Rab Fox1 month ago Lyn Croughan but have you tried throwing a glass of water over a Latino barfly? Reply 1     Lyn Croughan Lyn Croughan1 month ago (edited) @Rab Fox lmao not yet , but maybe i should 😂👍😛 Reply     Philip Drake Philip Drake7 months ago (edited) Amazing song, they had some good music back in the day! Reply 67     View all 11 replies edgar martinez edgar martinez2 months ago (edited) Penelope Katz i guess he meant that we had giants in the music industry during the 80s meaning legends. The fact that most people have not heard of sea wolf proves there not at the same level Fyi the red hot chill peppers are from the 90s Reply     BOH10666 BOH106662 months ago (edited) as someone who has followed the chili peppers from day 1, they are nowhere near as phenomenonal as they once were. thesebdays, i'd say they were mediocre. that's understandable, given how long they have been rapid but their heyday has come and gpne. Reply     ari ramsi ari ramsi4 months ago (edited) theres so many young teenager got kicked by their parent in 80s Reply 59     View all 10 replies Jennifer Carter Jennifer Carter1 month ago (edited) esrapk I'm sorry about your cousin did hear that it does break my heart it's sad that people treat young teens like that they are so misunderstood people forget what it's like to be a teenager Reply 1     chezzeeX chezzeeX1 month ago (edited) My friend got kicked out in the 80's.I remember it like it was yesterday. Reply     Anazman Anazman7 months ago (edited) I don't care about any haters or dislikes! I am Proud as f--k to be part of the 80's generation! Cool music, cool people, cool times!  And Pat was/is awesome! Reply 52     View all 5 replies Dusk Legend Dusk Legend5 months ago (edited) You know you can say "fuck" right? Reply 9     Deena Wolf Deena Wolf2 months ago (edited) the 80s were the best!! Reply 2     Dogan Kaytan Dogan Kaytan6 months ago (edited) Came here from X Factor. = ) Reply 47     View all 8 replies jose713ful jose713ful3 months ago (edited) ain't that a wrestling move Reply 3     Elijah Shane Elijah Shane2 months ago (edited) Yes, it is. I used to watch that garbage show. No talent. Just people singing. Reply 2     Maggie Sterling Maggie Sterling2 months ago (edited) I'm 11 and I know most 80s music than people who were born in the 80s I love pat benatar Michael Jackson cyndi lauher Bon Jovi  the eurphymics kiss Reply 46     View all 27 replies Maggie Sterling Maggie Sterling1 month ago (edited) R M then I really like linken park Reply     Maggie Sterling Maggie Sterling1 month ago (edited) R M plus green day is going on tour Reply     rif42 rif421 month ago (edited) In the video 30 year old Pat Benetar plays a girl half her age. Her father (Trey Wilson) is actually only 5 years older than her. ;-) Great 80's song. Reply 55     View all 7 replies tillallareoneluv tillallareoneluv5 days ago come on, she don't look like a teenager here.  It's ridiculous. Let be honest.  27 maybe in the real world 24-25 "actor" age.. Reply 3     Justinadude Rogers Justinadude Rogers5 days ago Surah Online I'm 39 an looks younger than her Reply 1     Show more

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My country, my country My country, my land, land of my ancestors Revolutionary, revolutionary Revolutionary, my people, people of perpetuity With my determination, my fire and the volcano of my revenge With the longing in my blood for my land and my home I have climbed the mountains and fought the wars I have conquered the impossible, and crossed the frontiers With the resolve of the winds and the fire of the guns And the determination of my nation in the land of struggle Palestine is my home, Palestine is my fire,