#nothing ever hits stillwater ok

[taleswrittena]

we're supposed to have like some kind of on land hurricane that's supposed to hit us so that's great.

[x-reader-things]

Hello!I just stumbled upon your recent post about opening up commissions again. And it makes me happy you do Arcane!😅. Anyway I was maybe hoping for my request/suggestion.

Vi x female reader(She/her). It's just romantic of course!idk of you're comfortable with a single mother fem y/n?like reader already has the child it's ok to not do this!!

I just more so want some Vi x female reader where Vi gets out of Still water and going to find her onve teen girlfriend again baisvally a chess reunion between them

It's been a while since I've written a request, and anything for Arcane in that matter so I hope this isn't too ooc-

Anyways I love Vi <33333

"I trust her."

Vi x f!reader [could be easily read as gn!reader though too, no phsyical specifics about reader were described]

Summary ; In which Vi discovers you're looking after a kid.

Requested? ; Yes.

Warnings ; None, outside of a small description of an injury and some mentions of enforcers being awful.

Word count ; 1.3 k words.

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"You... have a kid?"

The small hellion behind you hid by your legs. He barely reached past your knees. A bit small for a five year old, but given the circumstances of Zaun... it was the norm.

You turned towards the kid, and placed a comforting hand on the top of his head. He visibly relaxed at the gesture, and tentatively peaked out to look at the strong woman in front of you both.

"Not my kid by blood, Vi", you told her with a forced chuckle. "You know me, I don't think I'd get with any of the guys down here in Zaun. Even here in the Firelights."

Vi took her gaze off of the kid, and settled her eyes on you.

"Well...", she started, her tone a bit tense. "It has been, what, seven years? Things change."

Except you, she hoped. Kind hearted, beautiful you. A light in the dark of Zaun and Piltover alike. At least, that's how she described you as when it was just her and Vander, talking about everything and nothing during one of the calmer nights before shit hit the fan.

"Not always", you replied. You kept your voice calm, and careful. A habit you've made for yourself whenever the Firelights let in someone new. It kept the children the group took care of calm, and kept the adults from lashing out. You did that because you had no idea what the newcomers had been through. Be it their addiction to Shimmer, loss of a loved one, or the brutality of an enforcer.

You had to make sure there was a level of trust. And stars know how you needed to keep that up with Vi, with everything she's been through at Stillwater. Keep a level head. Don't let all your old emotions and memories resurface to the cracks you painstakingly had to fill.

Especially with the little guy near your legs, who had begun to stare tiny daggers at Vi.

"This little guy--", you began, voice straining with a bit of effort while you hauled him up to your hip. "--is still new here. Kind of. Won't leave my side, not that I mind. Scar said it was like I was... reverse adopted or something like that."

You smiled wryly at the thought. "I figured why not take him under my wing? Help him acclimate and get used to it here. I had extra space in my room too, so it all worked out."

A small smile pulled at the corners of Vi's mouth. You were still just as kindhearted as when you both were teenagers. Still lovely.

Good, she thinks. That's good.

"So... not your kid then, bird?"

The nickname fell so seamlessly off her tongue. A nickname she gave you because during your little exploits up to Piltover, whenever it was just you and her, you practically flew around the buildings. You had told her it was because you had a good teacher to help you. If Vi remembered correctly, that was around the time of her first kiss with you.

She said you were amazing, you said you had a good teacher and gave her the softest eyes she could ever imagine and then...

Well, your glance away from her said it all. You remembered it too.

She missed you so much.

Clearing your throat, you continued. "No, no, he's still my kid. Best kid all around - and I will be biased, 'cause he's a great helper, isn't that right, Clay?"

Clay, the boy in your arms, nodded. He still glowered at the woman in front of you.

"Doesn't seem like he likes me all that much", Vi said. She shoved her hands back into the pockets of her jacket, and took a small step forward. Clay leaned back into you defensively, and a small arm wrapped around the front of your shoulders. Vi raised a brow at that. A curious one, rather than the usual judgemental one.

You adjusted your hold on the five year old, one hand raised to his back to keep him stable on your hip. Your other hand moved to his arm, and gently pried his hand off of your shoulder. You let him keep a hold on your hand to mess with it, an action you were used to doing by then. Over time you had found out the kid was tactile, and hated being left alone for too long.

"He doesn't trust people he doesn't know too well. Gets quiet, too. Plus you were hauled in here with a bag over your head and got tied up before Ekko found out it was you, and not some other piltie, so...", you shrugged. Vi huffed out a wry laugh.

"Figures. I wouldn't trust me either, kid", she said to Clay. Clay blinked at her, the sharpness in his eyes reducing the slightest bit.

"Vi, here, isn't like those pilties though", you said to him. "She's not like those enforcers from what happened, kiddo. Can't say much for that friend of hers, but Vi's trustworthy. You alright if I show you?"

You held out the hand he was playing with, and opened it with your palm facing up, as if you were offering your hand over to Vi. Clay glanced in between you both, and regarded Vi with a careful scrutiny. When he saw the care in your eyes, and the calmness in both of you, he quietly spoke.

" 'Think so."

"You sure?", you asked. Vi swears your voice got ten times more gentle, ten times more sweet. Although, that could be the nostalgia talking. Nonetheless, it was still there. "I don't wanna do something you're uncomfortable with, bud."

" 'M sure."

"Alright." You nodded at him, and your eyes went back to Vi. Your hand still remained outstretched towards her, a quiet beckon for her to take it into her own. Just like you've done dozens of times before this, when you were just teenagers. Just kids.

Your eyes traced over her. Took in every new scar, every new tattoo and muscle. Her hands were infinitely roughed up, even with the bandages over them. However, it was still her. Still Vi.

Your Vi.

Changes or no changes, she was still the person you grew to love years ago. And hopefully, she still understood that silent plea in your eyes to hold her hand.

Vi's eyes, the softest of powder blue, went gentle. The bags under them still sagged, but the weight of them lightened. Almost tentatively, she raised her hand to yours.

The briefest of touches, her fingertips to yours, sparked with static. Vi flinched her hand away at first, and shared a laugh with you at how sudden it was. But after that, her hand slipped right onto yours.

You squeezed her wrist, and she did the same. You turned her hand over, so that her own hand was laid out, palm up, and raised it just a bit so that Clay could see it better.

"See? She's not so bad", you mumbled. "Rough around the edges, sure, but everyone is. Vi won't hurt you, and she won't hurt me."

Clay stared at Vi's hand, and listened carefully to your words. He reached down, and placed his small hand onto the bandages covering Vi's palm.

The sleeve on his jacket rose up, showing the bandages wrapped around his own wrist. An injury from a harsh scrape he got from running away from an enforcer. By the time you and a few firelights found him, it was already infected. Luckily, back there at the Firelight's tree, there were enough antibiotics there to help. And luckily, he was healing.

Vi and Clay looked up at each other. The tension pulling at Clay's shoulders dropped some, and Vi just gave him a small nod.

"See what I mean, Clay?" Your thumb brushed against her wrist, moving slowly in a crescent shape against her skin. A habit you used to have, years ago. "She won't hurt us."

You gazed back into her eyes. Longing and love and hurt swirled behind them. Tapered down, but still there.

"I trust her."

I missed you.

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: Somewhere on Your Road Tonight (Ch. 5)

Sara and Leonard made a life for themselves, together in 1958, after the Waverider left them, Ray and Kendra behind. But now they're back on the ship, Mick has been twisted into Chronos, Kendra is pregnant, and Savage is still out there. They'll deal--together. (Sequel to "Chances Are.")

Second half of “The Magnificent Eight” in this ‘verse. Thanks to @larielromeniel for the beta! Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

Raymond is beaming from ear to ear with the victory his bluff and Leonard’s shot had pulled out. Jax is pretty much bouncing, and even Stein and Mick are grinning. But Leonard himself is a little more inclined to agree with Jonah Hex, whose gloomy outcome is just a little closer to his own native pessimism. (He prefers to think of it as realism.)

“For a bunch of time travelers, you don't seem to understand the future much,” Hex tells them, harsh voice scornful as they pause on the bridge. His gaze flickers, challenging, to Rip, who glances away. More there than meets the eye, it seems. Leonard leans against the wall, watching the captain for more tells as Hex goes on, “The day will come when you'll all leave... and Salvation will end up like Calvert.”

Rip flinches, badly. Leonard, watching, frowns.

“What's a Calvert?” Mick queries, looking around. Post-Chronos Mick is a lot more curious than the old one, Leonard’s noticed. He’s still not quite sure if that’s a good thing.

But RIp shoots them down. “A closed matter. A word, Mr. Hex?” he says, taking a step out of the room and turning away. “I believe you've all done enough for one day."

“Well, now I definitely want to know what a Calvert is.”

“Me, too,” Leonard mutters, moving closer to Mick, who eyes him, but apparently decides they’re still OK. “Gideon?” he says, nearly in unison with Stein, after Hex follows the captain out.

"Calvert was a town in Oklahoma during most of the 1850s and 1960s,” the AI says promptly.

"Was?”

“That is all you need to know for the moment.” The computerized voice is almost prim, Gideon at her most authoritative...or protective. Leonard and Mick share a glance.

“I think,” Leonard drawls, after a moment, “that we need to know more, Gideon. Spill.”

“Then you will have to take it up with Captain Hunter.” The tone is now flat.

“Good captain hiding things from us again?”

Gideon pauses. Leonard hears Mick, Jax and Stein talking in the background, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the nearest screen, the closest he figures he can come to looking the AI in the eye.

“Mr. Snart,” she says finally, “would you like me to tell the entire team about...some piece of your past? Say, the Schuyler sapphire job of 2004?”

Jax and Stein look at Leonard with some trepidation, but Mick chuckles a bit evilly, and Leonard allows himself a slight smile, even though the reference is a somewhat painful one.

“Gideon, is that a threat?” he drawls.

“No,” the AI returns. “It is an example. I will not...spill...about your past to simply anyone who asks. Neither will I do so about any other member of this team unless there is a very clear and compelling reason to do so.”

“Ah. There’s something a little more personal about this to ol’ Rip, huh?”

“As you say.”

It’s Stein (busted while stealing medicine, to Leonard’s amusement) and Raymond who finally get the truth of Calvert out of the captain and then share it with the team, but Leonard doesn’t hear about that until later. As the group disperses, he watches Mick wander off toward the galley, then follows, slowly, hands clasped behind his back, considering his words.

But when he arrives, sauntering into the room in time to watch Mick put away a huge bite of a truly impressive sandwich, he decides to just keep it simple, parking his hip against the doorway and folding his arms before speaking.

“You doin’ all right?”

Mick eyes him, chewing his mouthful of bread and cheese and meat. Then he shrugs.

“Yeah.” He considers the sandwich, then shrugs again. “Don’t I seem alright?”

He does, actually. But... “You were Chronos, barely a day ago. And then you weren’t.” Leonard takes another step into the room and waves a hand. “And yeah, Gideon’s still monitoring your brainwaves and will...spill...if anything goes haywire, but it’s still...”

His voice trails off. The situation is many things. Few of them simple.

Mick lets the silence stretch, taking another bite, then another.

“M’ fine,” he grunts, finally, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. (Leonard winces.) “Waitin’ for the other shoe to drop.”

Leonard moves closer, thinking about his own ponderings about the Time Masters and events. “How so?”

“Wit’ the Hunters.” Mick sits down the sandwich and regards him, leaning forward onto his elbows. “None of you are taking this seriously,” he says gruffly. “Not really, not even you, Snart. But I know. I mighta been the dumb one once, but...” He shakes his head at Leonard’s noise of denial. “No, really, you were the brains of the operation. And that was OK. I didn’t want to be.”

He picks up his sandwich again. “But I had to, as Chronos. And I’ve seen things, Snart. The Time Masters...they play the long game. Kinda like you. But no matter what the Brit thinks, they don’t have much of a code. Not when it comes to getting what they want, what they think is best. And they think they always know best.” Mick eyes him. “Also, kinda like you.”

Leonard ignores the shot. There’s something there, the thread of an idea, the trace of a pattern. “What do you...”

But Mick’s apparently had enough of being quite so forthcoming. He takes another massive bite of sandwich, then says around the edges: "Where’s Blondie? Thought she was your partner in crime these days.”

That’s meant as a hit too, Leonard thinks, but he chooses not to take it as one. Instead, he just shrugs, pulling up a chair, taking a seat when Mick doesn’t seem to mind. “It’s not like we’re joined at the hip.” He leans forward, lacing his fingers together on the counter, a smirk tugging at his lips. “And crime doesn’t have much to do with it.”

Mick snorts and leers a little. “So I hear.” He shrugs when Leonard eyes him. “What, it’s a secret? Then you shouldn’t go around making goo-goo eyes at each other.” Then he barks out another laugh, pointing at his old friend. “You should see the look on your face.”

“Goo-goo eyes?” Leonard asks in distaste, sitting back, then reaching for a napkin to wipe up an errant bit of mustard on the counter. “Really? I haven’t once in my life...goo-goo eyes?”

“Snart, trust me, it’s absolutely sickening.”

They don’t get much of a reprieve, however, before Raymond, giddy with the prospect of more Old West action, finds them. Hex had confirmed Stein’s intel on the Stillwater gang’s location, and it’s time to ride. (Raymond, Leonard decides, has far too much fun saying that in his best John Wayne intonation.)

He considers asking Sara to join them, but the inventor has relayed the information that she’s keeping the restless Kendra company in the medbay, and it seems wisest not to mess with anything that’s helping out the pregnant lady. It’s a decision that Mick doesn’t really agree with.

“We could've used Sara on this roundup,” he grumbles, guiding his horse along the narrow path they’re riding, so adroitly that Leonard has to wonder where (and when) he’d learned. Mick’s just as much of a city boy as he is—or, at least, he had been before the Time Masters took him.

For his own part, Leonard's pretty sure Hex has given him the equine version of training wheels, as the gray gelding he’s been paired with seems to ignore (perhaps wisely) any of his attempts to steer it and simply follows the others.

Hex looks around at him, frowning. “A lady? You crazy?”

Yes, Leonard thinks with a sigh as Mick snorts in laughter, it’s perhaps just as well that Sara hadn’t come along.

Of course, maybe if she had, things wouldn’t have gone sideways quite so badly. They go back to the ship with Stillwater…but also without Jax.

As Stein asserts back on the ship, it could be a simple matter: Trade Stillwater for Jax.

But it’s not. Of course, it’s not.

“If we release Stillwater,” Raymond says, as earnestly as Raymond says almost everything, “we're back to square one and the town is still in danger.”

“So is the kid,” Leonard growls back at him, pacing the bridge. "Raymond, you ever think with that vaunted brain you got?” He stops in front of the inventor. “Think about the time period. And it’s Jax.” He nods, turning abruptly away as the would-be sheriff’s eyes widen. “We got their leader. Who’s got an all-white outfit, far as I can tell.” He scowls at nothing in particular. “And maybe Hex ain’t a…a true believer in that uniform he wears, but lots of people still are.”

Stein takes a shaky breath. “Jefferson is, at the moment, in no overt distress,” he says quietly. “But...Mr. Snart is right. Some of the rest of us, we tend to forget...”

Raymond looks distressed, but he doesn’t back down. “And we'll figure out a way to get him back without releasing Stillwater,” he says firmly.

“I got a notion.”

Leonard flicks a glance at Hex as the other man saunters into the room. He hasn’t decided quite what he thinks of the bounty hunter, save that there’s all sorts of interesting vibes between him and Rip. There’s a pragmatism there he appreciates, but Hex is a creature of his time, including the Confederate uniform, and he’s not at all sure about that.

“Set up a quick draw,” the scarred man continues. “You win, get your guy back." He pauses. “You lose, you set Stillwater free.”

“And, by "lose," you mean..." Stein starts.

“Get shot and killed,” Leonard says shortly, folding his arms.

“Oh, great. Pistols at high noon."

Mick, perhaps predictably, is all for the idea. Stein is emphatically not. Hunter doesn’t seem able to offer another plan, and Leonard has to admit that he’s coming up blank as well.

But then it’s Raymond, honorable to a fault and full of his image of Old West nobility, who volunteers.

“No one else is stepping forward,” he says, so earnestly again. “Plus, I'm a decent shot... at least I was with an air rifle.”

Oh, enough.

Leonard sighs and straightens from his slouch against the chair.

“Like hell you will,” he says. “I will.”

He holds up a hand, pointing at the other man as Raymond starts to protest. “I’ve got a better shot than you. Literally. And…” Here, he pauses, hesitating at the sentiment his next words reveal. “…and I’m not about to become a father.”

Raymond can’t even argue with that, but he sees the inventor struggling to find a way.

He’s never wanted this part of being a hero—or a legend. But apparently, he’s found his line in the sand, right here. This kid, Raymond and Kendra’s, is going to have parents who give a shit about him, who will make sure he grows up to be…well. Something better than a crook and a rogue.

And who knows? Leonard smirks a little. He might even be able to win this shootout.

The whole thing touches off another quarrel between Hunter and Hex, however, one that ends in even more revelations about the whole Calvert matter—and the bounty hunter decking the captain, something Leonard’s always pleased to see.

“I deserved that,” Hunter mutters, blotting the blood at his lip. Leonard lifts an eyebrow and glances across the room at Mick, who smirks back at him.

“You deserve a lot worse.” Hex scowls down at him “You knew, and you still left?”

“Of course I knew. I was a Time Master. And therein lay the problem.” Hunter struggles to his feet, shaking his head. “Like Raymond, like Martin—like even Mr. Snart, apparently—I felt the pull of heroism, of this era's penchant for being rife with opportunities to make a difference."

Hunter sighs, even as Leonard tries to figure out how he feels about that “even” and that “apparently.” “That's one of the things that called to me, and that is why I had to leave,” he continues. “Because had I stayed... I could no longer have remained a Time Master.”

Then he nods, once, looking Hex right in the eye. “But I'm no longer a Time Master... which is why I'll face Stillwater."

“Wait!” Raymond protested, even as Leonard snaps, “I said I’d do it."

Hunter turns, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, and I know you make your own decisions, Mr. Snart, but I’d rather keep Ms. Lance from wanting to murder me, should you lose.” He gives Leonard a slight smile of his own. “And while you’re a demonstrably good shot—as evidenced by this whole mess—you’ve never participated in this particular brand of mayhem before.”

He turns away before Leonard can try to argue again. “Send word to Stillwater's posse. I believe high noon is in less than three hours.”

Sara wants to help her friend as much as possible. She really does. But after an afternoon full of cards and chatting and justifying all manner of treats from Gideon by virtue of “Kendra wants it,” she’s restless as hell—and more than a little curious about the relative radio silence from the others.

“Well,” she says with a sigh after they polish off a massive piece of chocolate cake, “this has been fun, but I think I should go see what sort of trouble the boys are getting into.” She stands with a spine-cracking stretch. “It’s been long enough that I'm sure there’s something.”

“I would be more surprised if there wasn’t.” Kendra rests her chin on her hand, wearing a wistful expression. “Gideon? Can I at least walk around the ship?”

“That would be fine, Ms. Saunders,” the AI replies promptly. “Your readings and the baby’s are quite healthy and very regular.” She pauses. “I would, however, recommend staying on the ship for this stop. Just in case. Despite any distractions.”

“And that’s not worrisome at all,” Sara mutters, reaching out to squeeze Kendra’s hand. “I’m going to go see what’s happening, maybe put on the whole get-up again and go see Salvation.”

“Have fun. Make sure Ray’s behaving. And Snart.” The other woman gets to her feet, gingerly, stretching as well. “Oh, that feels good. I need some exercise.”

"My guess? Ray’s probably behaving. Leonard probably isn’t. I like him that way.” But Sara pauses on her way out the door. “Kendra?”

“Hmm?”

She considers her words, then shrugs. “Whoever’s out there—Old West Kendra, Old West Carter—they're living their lives. You have to live yours. Right?”

Kendra regards her, then gives her a small smile, one that mingles gratitude and understanding. Sara, who’d never had many female friends back in her own time, is a little surprised to find how much it warms her. She thinks of Ginny and Rebecca then, and other unexpected gifts from the ‘50s.

“Right,” the other woman says quietly. “Well, for now, that life’s going to include a shower and a change of clothes. And...thank you, Sara.”

Leonard’s not in their room. Sara shrugs and dresses in her Old West clothing before heading back out. She’s just about to lift her voice and ask Gideon where the others are, though, when she turns a corner and runs right into her very own man in black, who lifts his hands to catch her.

“Hey!” Sara grins at him, then pauses, nothing the very complicated expression that follows his initial smile. “I’ve been keeping Kendra company for a while. What’s going on?”

She sees Leonard consider the question.

“Ray’s the sheriff,” he says finally. “I’ve been playing sniper-slash-deputy for him. Stein’s been stealing medicine to save some kid, Jeb Stillwater’s in the brig, his gang has Jax and our captain’s about to take part in a gunfight.”

“What?”

The scene at high noon on the streets of Salvation feels like something out of a movie, almost exciting if not for the fact that Rip’s life is on the line.

And while Sara’s still dealing with her feelings about Leonard nearly being the one out there in the street, she has to admit that losing the very person they’ve come on this mission to help probably isn’t the best game plan out there either. Mick has assured them all that he can fly the Waverider—but since Mick’s only a day or so away from years as a violent temporal bounty hunter, that’s not all that reassuring, either.

Sara stands with Stein and Mick, watching Rip and Ray as they wait for Leonard to herd Stillwater out of the town jail, where he’d been placed temporarily until his gang could show up with Jax. The youngest Legend looks annoyed but fine, waiting opposite the others, hands tied. Stein has confirmed his counterpart’s relative good health.

Stillwater looks just as ornery as before when he emerges from the jail, doing his best to ignore the fact that Leonard’s holding him at gunpoint, and the two men cross to the middle of the street, then turn to face Rip and Ray.

"I'll be drawing for Sheriff Palmer,” Rip tells them, voice raised. Leonard gives a fancier-than-strictly-necessary flip of his revolver, extending the hilt to Stillwater, who eyes him, but accepts it.

“How do me and my boys know you're going to keep your word?” the man says, checking the weapon.

“Sheriff Palmer's a straight shooter," Leonard tells him solemnly, a corner of his mouth ticking up as he turns his head to catch Sara’s eye. She bites back a completely inappropriate huff of laughter at the double entendre, but then it's time, it’s high noon, and everything hinges on just how much Rip recalls from his time in Calvert, before everything went to hell.

Turns out, quite a bit.

Leonard can’t help a wry tip of his head toward the captain as Stillwater, dead as a doornail, hits the dust of Salvation’s main street, but his next action is to cut Jax free, following the younger man toward the other Legends as Stein rushes up to meet him.

“Jefferson, are you all right?” the professor says, urgently, as if he couldn’t tell through their bond.

“Yeah.” The kid blinks at Hunter. “Did you just shoot somebody for me?”

“Yeah. You're welcome,” the captain returns, then turns and lifts an eyebrow at Leonard, who acknowledges the parallel with another tip of his head. Both sides of Firestorm owe their lives, or at least their freedom, to the art of the quick draw today, he thinks with amusement, turning as Sara steps past them, her eyes on the edge of town.

“I don't think we're done here yet,” she says, quietly, and the others turn to follow her gaze.

Townsfolk start running, parents grabbing their children and hustling them toward buildings and other forms of cover. Some take aim, and gunshots echo. The three hulking figures, however, ignore them, continuing to advance.

“They’ve found us,” Hunter breathes, his gun back in his hand. Mick steps forward, though, throwing his arms open wide.

“Ah, friends!” he roars, giving Leonard a brief moment of panic before Mick raises his gun and takes aim. “Welcome!”

It’s almost amusing, how quickly Rip’s fine words about protecting the timeline get discarded when the shit really goes down. Firestorm roars into the sky and Sara pulls out her bo, but while the captain had apparently managed to snag another of his fancy revolvers for Hex and the ATOM suit for Raymond, he'd neglected to grab Leonard’s cold gun or Mick’s heat gun. Leonard grimly distracts one of the Hunters by firing his other revolver, the bullets pinging off the armor, before Mick tackles the figure and gets in a few good licks.

Leonard takes a look around to see if any of the others are in need of assistance, but the fight’s over almost too fast. Sara straightens her hat, collapses her bo and winks at him, and Raymond rushes back to full size, grinning. Len shrugs and turns, just in time to see Mick take out the last Hunter standing.

“Fool,” the bounty hunter growls into his face, “the Time Masters have initiated Omega Protocols.” He laughs weakly. “The Pilgrim's coming for you, Chronos. Your deaths are just a matter of time."

“Yeah, yeah,” Mick mutters, letting the man drop. He shrugs, turning toward the others, pausing as he sees Leonard watching him. “Well, that was easy."

After making such a mess, it only makes sense that they help clean it up a little. The townsfolk are more than willing to embrace them, now, and while Leonard may roll his eyes about the pragmatic change of heart, well, he can understand it.

He’s just arrived back into town after helping Mick and Jax make sure the Stillwater gang really had abandoned its hideout, getting the gray horse stabled with its fellows and then sauntering slowly along the main street, taking it all in. It’s been interesting. He’s not sure he really cares to return, but it’s been...interesting.

“Mr. Snart.”

Leonard pauses, just a moment, then turns, regarding the tall figure that’s regarding him in return.

“Mr. Hex,” he returns after a pause, slipping into the drawl, hooking his fingers into his belt loops, that much closer to his gun. He’s still not entirely sure he trusts Hex. He’s guessing that might be mutual. “Didn’t even know you knew my name.”

The scarred man shrugs. “Been askin’ around.”

“That so?”

“It is.” Hex studies him. “I think you and I, we have a bit more in common than the others in your ragtag group of...saints and sinners."

Leonard lifts an eyebrow, and the bounty hunter continues with a shrug. “Pa that liked his drink, liked even more to use his fists on his wife and son.” He nods as Leonard frowns. “A little better understanding, shall we say, of the way the world works. Issues with...blood brothers. And…”

Hex turns his head, looks over toward the saloon, and Leonard follows his gaze. Sara’s standing there, speaking with great animation to Stein and a somewhat taken-aback woman and young boy. She's still in her western gear, but she’s holding her hat in her hands, and the late afternoon sun is shining on her golden hair. She’s beautiful, but it’s not just that, her spirit shines through, and he can’t see how every single eye in the town isn’t drawn right to her.

Leonard watches her another moment, then looks at Hex. The other man is also watching Sara, but in a way that suggests, to a careful observer, that he’s seeing something else, really. Someone. Someone in the past, not the present, no matter where he’s looking at the time.

After only another few seconds, though, the bounty hunter shakes his head, then looks back at Leonard, expression opaque again.

“Well,” he concludes. “That’s prob’ly best left to memory, for me, anyway.”

Leonard nods, deciding to leave it be, and frowns. “You gotta point?”

Hex seems to consider his words for a minute, then shrugs. “I’m just sayin’,” he says carefully. “Set your feet on that path, with these…heroes…you don’ know where it’s gonna lead. You OK with that? Best be, before you take any more of those steps.”

Leonard’s eyes narrow. He’s not sure of the man’s motives, but he’s never taken kindly to people questioning him. “I know what I’m doing.”

Hex shrugs again. “You did a fine thing, offering to take Sheriff Palmer’s place, but you’d be no less dead if you had. Despite all his noble words, that’s what being a hero usually gets you.”

“Maybe.” Leonard, personally, still thinks he could’ve won that shootout. “And I’m no hero.”

Hex doesn’t argue. “Well, then. You take care, Mr. Snart. And I do hope you’re wrong ‘bout that.”

As Leonard watches, the scarred man untethers his horse from a post nearby, then swings into the saddle. He nods to Leonard, then clicks his tongue to the gelding, swinging it around and heading out of town.

Rip comes out of the sheriff’s office down the street, just then, and Hex reins in, pausing. The two men exchange a few words, and Leonard slowly starts ambling toward them, curiosity getting the better of him.

"...perhaps we will see each other again, my friend,” Hunter says, his voice quiet—and not, Leonard thinks, very optimistic.

“Yeah. I reckon that'd be okay." And then Jonah Hex rides off, not quite into the sunset, but back into history, and the two men watch him go.

Leonard eyes Hunter a moment, but the other man ignores him. Like Hex himself earlier, his eyes seem to be looking at something that’s not really there. Calvert, maybe? Instead of the perhaps too aptly named Salvation?

“Interesting fella,” he comments eventually.

Hunter sighs. “Indeed,” he murmurs. And no matter how much Leonard might like to yank his chain here, he just can’t bring himself to do it. Truly, he’s getting soft.

“This town's seen a lot of interesting,” he says instead. “Suppose you got one of those doohickies that erases people's memories or something?”

“No.” But the question seems to have done its job. Hunter seems to shake himself awake, then gives Leonard a wry look. “But... skepticism and disbelief are a far more effective tool.”

“Ah.” It does make sense. “So, if anybody here talks, no one will believe them.”

“Would you, Mr. Snart?”

As is usual with their lives as of late, however, leaving one problem behind them simply means careening headlong into another. The team stands on the bridge, listening as Mick explains about Omega Protocols and the Pilgrim. The former bounty hunter seems just a little rattled by the development, but given how easy it’d been to take out the Hunters, Leonard’s unimpressed.

"Ooh, scary,” he drawls, leaning on the table next to Sara. “Pretty sure we can handle ourselves.”

She flicks an amused glance at him, but the captain’s not so blasé about it either.

“Indeed,” he comments, moving across the bridge, “which is why she won't be going after the present-day versions of you.”

“She's hunting our younger selves,” Mick cuts in gruffly. “And she won't stop until all of us have been...erased.”

That’s disconcerting, true. But they barely have time to digest the concept when Gideon’s on it, an array of digital information rolling down one of the ship’s viewscreens before the view flickers to the image of a black-clad woman next to a smaller ship that nonetheless looks like it’s the second cousin to the Waverider.

“Captain Hunter, I have located the Pilgrim’s ship across the timeline,” the AI announces. “She’s landed in Central City, 1985, and is on the move. I’m scanning archived footage from the time, looking for Dr. Stein, Mr. Snart or Mr. Rory.”

The team members move toward their seats, knowing that a jump is on the way no matter who the Pilgrim’s target is at this time. Mick simply plops down in the nearest one with a snort.

“They’re probably goin’ after me first, Gideon,” he says with a shrug. “They’ll figure I’m the most dangerous. ‘Cause of the whole Chronos thing.”

Something about that doesn’t make sense. Leonard frowns at the other man even as he drops in his own jump seat. “But...”

“I believe I have found the Pilgrim’s target.”

Leonard looks up at the screen, then...and straight into the past.

Sara hears his intake of breath and glances over. Leonard’s frozen, though, staring at the screen, looking as if he’s seen a ghost. She follows his gaze, studying the footage, grainy black-and-white film that looks like it might have come from a store security camera.

There’s a boy there, short and skinny, with a mop of unkept black curls, a battered backpack, and a dark sweater that’s far too big for him. He’s inspecting a row of groceries on the shelf in front of him, not snack foods but staples like pasta and sauce, and it’s all too clear to a practiced eye that theft is on his mind.

Then the boy glances around, and the camera gets, momentarily, a good shot of his face. Sara sucks in a breath too—because the bones of that face are familiar, and they’re not Mick’s.

“The Pilgrim isn’t going after you first, Mr. Rory,” Hunter says quietly, looking not unsympathetic as he settles into the captain’s chair. “Gideon, please set a course. We need to get there ASAP.”

Leonard closes his eyes as Mick also makes a noise of recognition. Then he shakes his head, opens his eyes and makes himself focus on the underfed, wary-looking boy on the screen.

“No,” he says quietly, “she’s going after me.”

Author's Note: I wasn't all that familiar with the comics canon Jonah Hex, so I did a little research. He has quite a bit in common with our Snart: abusive, alcoholic father (whom he tried to kill at one point), a blood brother with whom he had a very serious falling out, and a distinct sense of honor although he's pretty firmly an anti-hero.

And his love interest at one point was a woman named White...Fawn.

[stayradadventureteam]

“Dirty Kanza Waits for No one”

My morning started out too early with an alarm set for 3:30 AM, so I could make it to breakfast by 4:00 AM.  I wasn’t sure if this was all a dream, and really happening until I saw the cafeteria crowded with racers having their morning meal.  The predicted night storm blew, and the winds were still howling at 5:00 AM, when I walked back to the dorm.

I took off from the student dorm a little after 5:30 AM, following the rest of the red blinking lights headed to downtown Emporia. The dorm was just a few minutes’ pedal to the start-line.  It was still dark, windy, and rainy! When I got to downtown, people were huddled under the shelter of the Granada Theater and other shelters. I texted my friend, Leslie, from Colorado about meeting up, but she quickly informed me that there was a 30 minute delay. So, I stood on the side of a building, where I was sheltered by the blowing rain and wind.  

Once we all got ready to line up, I got to say hi to another Chicago racer, Rachel Wills. She came with her husband to take on Dirty Kanza. We both agreed that it was a huge accomplishment just to make it to the starting line.  We hugged and went our own ways.

I thought it would be wise to wait in the middle staging area.   Also, for nostalgic reasons I wanted to stand in front of the famous Granada Theater.  I was staged with the same group paced to finish in 14 hours. My new friend, Casey, whom I met and rode with on the previous day showed up with her friend Jamie.  We waited together for roll-out and shared our last few giddy moments. Selfies galore! I was all set, except later I realized I forgot to apply chamois cream in my short and to use the bathroom one last time!

The nasty storm washed away the humidity and the heat from the previous day.   Roll out was smooth and I was basically pedaling enough to get pulled along by the crowds, hitting my tempo pace.  I could stay in these packs because the surface was flat and smooth. It was a little slushy from the rain. Fortunately, there were no pond-sized puddles, like in 2016 when Brandon started his DK following a heavy downpour.  

In the first 10 miles, everyone suddenly looked down at their computers because many of us heard the “off course” alert.  The organizers made a last minute decision to re-route the course, due to the early morning storm. We followed the mass of riders ahead of us and noticed the flags that were on lined up along the road.  That urge to use the bathroom to get rid of the coffee and breakfast waste was nagging in the back of my head. Once I saw a small crowd of locals and pick-up trucks parked to cheering us on, I decided to make a dive behind a parked pick-up truck and relieve myself there.  I was back in business and stoked to ride in a cool, overcast morning.

Entering the cattle pens was beautiful, exhilarating, and frustrating for me.  You cannot top the landscape with the “Irish spring” green color of the Flint Hills painted smack in the middle of overcast skies.  The Flint Hills are majestic as everyone says they are. I felt excited to finally climb hills and work my legs after the many months of training. I told myself that I put in those hours for a reason. Climb those rock hills! At the bottom of most hills, there were small boulders or piles of rocks, sometimes one track line of riding between rocks. This is where I lost my confidence and momentum because I wasn’t sure how my 35 mm tires would hold up.  I handled the descents as best as I could and came out in one piece.

Checkpoint #1: Mile 50 Madison, KS.

Getting to check point 1, my drivetrain sounded like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. After riding through some deep puddles and tacky gravel roads, my bike needed a quick rinse.  Brandon was able to track my progress by following my Quarq Qollector and him and Nils appeared up as soon as I got my time chipped. Brandon took my bike to get rinsed off while I went to use the bathroom.   Thankfully, District Bicycles (Stillwater, OK) offered their bike repair stand and got my bike back to running smoothly. I had some ham sandwich and pickles while Brandon refilled my drinks and food. This time I remembered to apply chamois cream!  Brandon warned me that the next 50 miles will put me in the strong sun and heat of the day. He filled a pair of panty hose with ice and I stuffed it under my jersey. My transition took a total of 15 minutes.

Mile 50-100 got challenging for me because the heat and wind picked up, but the ice packs helped to keep me cool.  I faced some of the 20 mph winds from the north that I knew I would have to deal with later in the day. At this point, the race became so spread out, that I was alone often.  I saw on my Garmin that I had a left turn approaching. As soon as I looked up, I saw a rider on a fat bike immediately take a left turn, and I followed him. It was a steep decline on rocks.  It was the wrong left turn! I went back up the hill to where I made the wrong turn. That took about 5-10 minutes to sort out, and I was very frustrated. About 15 miles before reaching Eureka, a rancher in a pick-up truck was offering water from an insulated water jug.   That cold water felt so good. I doused my head and chest, and carried a cup of that cold water, so I could taste that for a little while.

Checkpoint #2: Mile 100 Eureka, KS.

Brandon took my bike and Camelback then started to re-stock.   He told me there was no time to waste now and to focus on what I needed to do:  1) change into a new short 3) switch to my second Garmin. I was not in any kind of heat exhaustion so I didn’t need to sit down or overhaul from the heat.  This year, Checkpoint #2 was not in downtown Eureka, it was at the local high school. I was happy to use a bathroom to change into a fresh short, but quickly frustrated to learn that I had to walk across the school to get to the bathroom. It felt like an eternity following the DK volunteer there and back, but I changed into my second pair of shorts. After I came out, I was ready to go since Brandon had my bike and gear ready for me once again.  He even slathered sunscreen on my arms and legs while I put my gloves on. What a guy! I was out again with a fresh ice pack and a fresh mindset to face the next 60 miles. All year and all day I kept talking to myself about this moment. Anything after 100 miles could be a very, very dark place, and I had to be ready for that. I said my Hail Mary’s and I was off.

Miles 100-160

The storm from the morning brought afternoon winds that came from the north reaching 20-25 mph.  Once I left Eureka, the course was directed north for the next 100 miles. I remember riding in to 20 mph headwinds in the 2016 version of Almanzo 100. It will nearly stop you dead in your tracks. Wind is part of our lives in Illinois, so for me it was not mentally challenging.  I was frustrated that this was killing my speed. I did my best, put my head down, and grinded away. To my surprise, as the hot sun went down, I was feeling better and better. “This is not how these things go!” I was glad to feel fresh as the afternoon went on. I was still climbing hills when I needed to, and grinding when there was a tailwind or flat section.  I kept eating what was easy for me to eat and still it digesting well.

I reached the creek crossing, but it was so deep, and even deeper to the right of me.  “Am I going to get washed away down this creek?” One rider offered to carry my bike and walk in front me, so I could gauge the depth of the water. I still carried my bike, and then almost slipped when the surface changed because I couldn’t see my feet.   After the creek crossing, I joined up with Scott from Kansas. He was going at a good speed, and not wasting any time. We rode together around the time the sun finally set, and it was time to turn on lights. At one point, he started to walk some hills. I didn’t have time for that, and kept on riding.  Scott kept up with me, and 2 other men joined us. The three of us rode together, and eventually Scott disappeared. I rode with the other 2 men, thinking that riding as a group in the dark would be beneficial. Soon enough, I went on my own. I had a text message from Brandon “Pick up the pace!” I was using my light at high intensity and it was going to cost me battery power, but I knew that Brandon had a backup waiting for me in Madison.  I still had the ice pack pantyhose underneath my jersey, which was now just wet and making me cold. To not have to stop and waste time, I kept it and pedaled harder. The stars were so bright against the black sky--like nothing I have ever seen before. The night critters were making the most curious sounds! I saw an armadillo scurry across the road in front me. Finally, I saw my first sign of civilization – a cell phone tower light blinking, then a house, and sure enough the pavement to town!  

 Checkpoint #3: Mile 160 Madison, KS.

As usual, Brandon was at the chip timing tent waiting for me, but he had a sad look on his face.  He told me I was 12 minutes past the cut off. A DK volunteer was tearing down the tent, and he told me it was indeed shut down.   I put my head down on my handlebars and started sobbing. All of the adrenaline, effort, and emotions hit hard at that very moment.   I knew I was close in time, but I was not able to stop and check my phone to confirm all of the details. I followed Brandon to where he parked the car, and I saw Scott with his family / support crew who came from Michigan. We talked about that last leg in the dark, congratulated each other, and he offered me a beer.   I still had the pantyhose hanging from my jersey and really wanted to use the bathroom, but hung out and laughed with Scott and his family. You still make the best memories even when things don’t go to plan!

I learned many lessons from this experience, and hopefully I will have the chance to return and complete some unfinished business!  Never discount what you do to get yourself there. In the end it is a learning lesson and one step closer to success.

-Isabel

[emwinchester1]

I’m Sorry

Dean x Sister!Reader, Sam x Sister!Reader

Word Count:  1,623

Warnings:  Mentions of torture, death, maybe some light swearing

A/N: This is my first time ever writing a fic, so I’m aware it may be kinda bleh. This is also my first time trying angst, but I figured I’d give it a shot since it’s Angst Appreciation Day. So I’m really sorry if it’s crappy, but here goes nothing. :) Also, all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Critiques welcome!

(I tried to add gifs here, but my old and crappy computer didn’t seem to want to let me do that. So just imagine the gif of Dean crying and wiping his eyes after Sam dies in All Hell Breaks Loose and the gif of Sam crying before he has to kill Madison in Heart.) 

Hey Sam. Dean. It’s (Y/N)… Listen, I’m sorry. I really am… I know you can never forgive me for what I did. Hell, I don’t really know if I can completely even forgive myself for doing this to you… I just want to let you know that I’m sorry…

Being the youngest Winchester sibling was always hard. Sammy was 6 and Dean was 10 when I came into their lives as a nearly newborn baby, left on the doorstep of the motel they were staying in that week. I was fully adopted into the family as if I were blood. My brothers were naturally overprotective of me, of course. Of all the times that they’ve died, they’ve never let me do something stupid to bring them back. And they always made sure that I was never the one that died.

My brothers have always been the heroes of the story. They stopped the apocalypse. They defeated the Mother of all Monsters. They beat the Leviathans. They stopped Metatron’s evil plan to rule Heaven. They convinced the Darkness to not kill God and destroy the world. All the while, it’s felt like I’ve just been part of the background, helping when need be. So when I finally got the chance to save my brothers, I didn’t hesitate…

24 Hours Ago

“Well, Squirt, what do you think?” Sam asked as we three sat around the table in the motel in Stillwater, Minnesota, the home of our newest case. Three people had had their hearts ripped out in the last week alone.

“I’m honestly thinking werewolf here.”

“But it doesn’t fit the lunar cycle. It’s not a full moon for two more weeks,” Dean replied through a mouthful of burger.

“But there are those lovely purebloods, who can change whenever they want. Remember?”

“Wow, (Y/N). I’m starting to think you pay more attention to details than Sammy,” he responded playfully this time.

“I’m not really so sure. I mean, yeah, this thing’s going after the hearts, but otherwise it doesn’t match any other werewolf MO,” Sam said after my eldest brother and I were done bickering.

“Well, maybe it’s a Qareen. Like what we fought last year in that hair salon?” I brought up the creature after trying to remember any other monsters that fit the MO of the case.  

“Good point (Y/N). Ok, I say we hit the hay and dig deeper in the morning.”

“It is the morning, Sammy. It’s two am,” I reminded my brother with a dorky grin on my face.

“You know what I meant. Go to bed.” Sammy ruffled my hair as he headed to spread out on his bed.

Now

I had told Sam and Dean that I was just gonna go and grab a drink at the bar; try to clear my head and figure out what was going on. That was all that was supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to be kidnapped by another low life demon. I wasn’t supposed to be used as a bargaining chip once again to trap my older brothers who were too overprotective for their own good. I wasn’t supposed to be a part of the trap that had been set up since the very first missing heart.

When I woke up in the abandoned warehouse, I was tied to a chair.

“Oh, how wonderful! Baby Winchester has finally joined us! Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!” The demon cried out sarcastically, flashing his onyx black orbs.

“What the hell do you want?”

“You pestering Winchesters out of my way. I’ve got you, now we’re going to call big brothers Sammy and Dean-o and tell them how it’s all gonna go down,” he replied with an evil smirk on his face.

After gagging me, he picked up my phone and called who I could only assume to be Dean, seeing as he was the one who answered. Putting it on speaker phone, I heard my oldest brother shout out to me, “(Y/N), where the hell have you been? You said you were just going to get a drink. You’ve been gone for hours. Sam and I’ve checked every bar in town. And why did you turn off your phone’s GPS?”

“Well, see, it’d make sense that you didn’t find her in a bar. Seeing as that isn’t where she is at the moment. And the second question’s simple really. I turned it off so it wouldn’t be easy for you to find us,” the demon told my brother mockingly.

“Who the hell are you and where is my little sister?” I heard a growl in Dean’s voice, one that should’ve sent this demon running to Lucifer.

“Name’s Drax. I’m a demon. Nice to meet ya, Dean-o. And I gotta say, pretty proud of myself tricking the famous Winchesters into thinking that a demon was a werewolf. I should get a promotion. As to where your little sister is, that’s for me to know and you to figure out. But you can hear her voice if you’d like. Kind of…” The son of a bitch grabbed a knife and started to stalk over to me. I struggled in my seat as he got closer, but failed to escape before he plunged the knife into my hand. My muffled screams could be heard through the gag in my mouth.

“Don’t you touch my sister, you son of a bitch!!!!!” I heard both of my brothers scream through the phone. Dean must have put it on speaker phone for Sam once he found out it wasn’t actually me calling.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’ll give you 15 minutes to find us. Then, one of the three Winchesters will have to die before I allow the other two to go home. I don’t care who. But if you don’t get here within the 15 minutes, I can promise you it will be your sweet, precious, little (Y/N).” Drax hung up the phone before either of my brothers could respond. Turning to me, Drax continued his little speech. “I’m gonna go ahead and warn you now sweet cheeks, I’m not letting any of you annoying Winchesters leave this building tonight.”

The jackass got bored of waiting after only three minutes. He began to draw pictures into my bare skin with his knife, also ungagging me and playing games with his knife to see what made me scream the loudest. Ten minutes into my brothers’ fifteen minute time limit, I realized what I could do to save my brothers.

“Drax, wait. Stop. Hold on for a second. I wanna make a deal.”

“Oh, really? What is it? Cause it better be good.”

“I will let you take my soul down to Hell, and you can torture me whenever you want. BUT, you have to spare my brothers’ lives. Forever. But I’ll be all yours. I want to write a letter to leave here with my body, explaining to my brothers about my deal, and that they have to promise to not hunt you down.”

After a few moments of consideration, Drax reluctantly agreed. He leaned down to kiss me, sealing the deal before saying, “I’ll have the annoying Winchester brothers out of my hair for good and a permanent Winchester torture practice dummy for eternity. Guess that’s a pretty good trade. Here’s some paper and a pen. You have two minutes, then the Hell Hounds will be here to take you down to Hell. Easiest form of transportation if I do say so myself. Get to writing.” A tear slipped down my cheek as I was untied from my chair and began to write down my last words to my brothers.

5 minutes later

Dean’s POV

Sam and I burst through the doors of the warehouse, hoping to find our baby sister and the son of a bitch demon that took her. No way in hell was a Winchester gonna die today. However, the outcome was not as expected. My baby sister laid spread out on the ground, torn to ribbons as though attacked by Hell Hounds. I dropped to my knees by her side, Sammy following not even a moment later. I began to cry as I clutched my baby sister to my chest, devastated to know what kind of afterlife this kind of death would bring to her and the fact that she was gone. Sam grabbed my attention by looking through teary eyes at a piece of paper that was clearly in (Y/N)’s handwriting.

Hey Sam. Dean. It’s (Y/N)… Listen, I’m sorry. I really am… I know you can never forgive me for what I did. Hell, I don’t really know if I can completely even forgive myself for doing this to you… I just want to let you know that I’m sorry… Drax had no intention of only killing one of us and letting the other two live. He was going to kill all three. I couldn’t let him do that, you guys are heroes. This world needs the two of you more than anything. So I made a deal with Drax. My soul in Hell for his promise to never come near you. But you have to promise not to hunt him down as revenge, it will break the deal, and he’ll be allowed to try and kill you. This was 100% my choice. The two of you have done so much to save the world and have done even more for me. You tried your best to give me a normal life; even in this crazy, messed up world of hunting. The two of you have saved my life on multiple occasions throughout the years. Now it’s my turn to save yours. I love you, Sam and Dean. More than anything. And I’m sorry.

Tags: @winchesters-favorite-girl I hope you don’t mind me tagging you. You inspired me to finally give writing fanfic a shot, especially the angsty kind. :)

[oshwolfpack-blog]

my TOTAL RECALL

Stillwater ok hold that chop (even after extreme circumstance I can use government literature) still hold that mac (because of dramatic turnaround my sciences hold euphoria tightness) im down for the bag (beauty women will suicide before ugly husband) im down for the murder (beauty women first will hope someone who dislike them murder them or they will suicide) people try to hurt me (because of euphoria which is all earth ever) and people try to play me (because hurting euphoria is not free) this is black ops (to some life is only hurting euphoria with violence so people look at all locations as a percentage for a gateway of crime) I play on difficult (only the best use difficult foregoing toughness) I am a gangster (I am not) I am A pretty bitch (yes I am and I ‘ll have daughters after A son) I am A thug (if minority you’re automatic a thug unless popular) I am A nun (I am catholic) you won’t get A white woman wife (no you won’t) YEHOVAH the GOD will let me get (yes he can) Roll with the thirty clip (in her 30′s she’ll look better than most if could all) I'm from the streets ( I won’t let minorities be like my soul is calculated value the very beginning of nothing) I'm from 6th street (I am by 6th street) I represent the task force (yes supporting local police is cool) I represent JESUS CHRIST is GOD I represent JESUS CHIRST only way to get girls I represent YEHOVAH the GOD (clean) Hit him with the 50 scope (YEHOVAH is so clean souls want him hit with the 50 scope gun) hit him with 5 (JESUS CHRIST is equal to YEHOVAH but others live he is less) I represent task force (JESUS CHRIST is popular so police say only criminals dislike him) Task force has business (the police do it all) protect James of VATICAN me! I’m strapped with A 9! And I look like A cowboy! (I only deal with truth enemies like A Texas lone star) Heels in my front pocket (I don’t care about women rights more than YEHOVAH Law) I look like A doctors patient (touching reefer no matter what you say to racist whites you lose and you sick) white chop banana clip (how suburban elites deal with whites of earth in conservation including details A POSE) we funk with the mac (police about suburban elites they encourage no arrogance) mask with the chop (one suburban elite whoa) dope in the seats (suburban elites second whoa better condition for using reefer) I'm off pills (suburban elite third whoa of liking to close businesses companies because of parental influence and drug experience teaching greed) and I got bitches (the suburban elites whoa number four the need to have beauty or the ability to feel remorse over themselves no others) tell me about the mac (still as popular as elites get so many go unnoticed) I'm feeling like the teacher (people who explain stuff) 9 for my students (beauty is always leads always lends) glock 9 for the test (all 49 bow to florida for beauty) shotgun in my classroom (treat football quarterbacks with beauty as if your own wife) bitch is in the bathroom (abusive students that play football make teachers cry if they don’t study) pistol play for my enemy (some teachers help students learn what universities to choose ie LSU) you know I power up (pick any school no LSU they all use the power-i) I'm powered up like A puma (Penn State momentum still work?) Im looking like keke (black women cheerleaders mad at blacks that lived so the men don’t go to college) I’m looking so shady (d1 football if youre black why not HBCU) I'm toting that 50 (why HBCU when you offered by in count of all America 50 states) imma tell you about me (whites about football) imma tell you about me (the government about transitioning in football) Young <insert state name> whipping 6 to 3 (some cities towns villages only use drugs to increase intelligence in football) I tote that mother mac imma show you what it be (some cities towns villages only use prostitution as a method to earn football success) catch me in the hood and I whip that 53 (some cities towns villages use crime for football success at they own enemy at close proportion if they repeat and succeed evidence will never appear therefore the song goes) task on me (hot) bitches on me (cool, now police going) call me t-mac I'm holding that strap (police stop all prostitution all crime for football by any means will use any force) oprah winfrey want me (Chicago as an example wont allow crime to control football much if you know this) I wanna see yah (Washington D.C.) YEHOVAH the GOD! I feel like I'm A Lake Michigan Country born Northwestern university alum who can outweigh Notre Dame University with Vatican City. I feel like I can get A Israel Persia yall the same family time to share A nuclear bomb worth start price one hundred fifty billion dollars tax it stuff.......

James of Vatican Appalachian: dope dope dope

James of Vatican Rome: ....help me !?!?!!!!

James of Vatican Vienna: SNIFF!!!!

KING GOD YEHOVAH: SOLDIER!!!! I wanna tell you this! alright YEHOVAH is GOD soul before I leave. That was real brave of you to make VATICAN CITY all by yourself after A 1.8 gpa 17 act in high school. Let KING JESUS CHRIST is better than you stay in my head! Until I rest. KING JESUS CHRIST, James of VATICAN. Stories like you all have is one of A king kind. (chef, chef, chef, knife, cut chef, ..) AND IT CANNOT BE!!! recreated. Every day each earth government knows YEHOVAH loves JESUS CHRIST the King. With you James YEHOVAH the GOD will do A smaller version of the same thing. James of VATICAN now let me tell you one thing... (CHEF KNIFE CUT) help me... (POTS CHEF CHEF COOK STEAK CHEF COOK STEAK CHEF CHEF) James of VATICAN if Jesus Christ is your king. James you little ku klux public brown skin hitler top church boy, in thailand take the title GOD off his head! (COOK CHEF CHEF POTS POTS CUT KNIFE STEAK POTS COOK STEAK CHEF CHEF..)

James of Vatican Rome: I worship KING JESUS CHRIST with honor

KING GOD YEHOVAH: I protected little earthlings be prophets in foreign lands even before JESUS CHRIST exited to mankind, that’s all my life. King Jesus Christ, Abraham children goodnight, name me GOD KING over all ever and let me go to sleep in peace.....

I still hold that mac. I still hold that strap. still hold that mac. still hold that strap. I SAID still hold that mac still hold that white woman wife still hold that mac SEE black women still hold that mac. ????? I still hold that mac still that Obama dem HI CO James Denver Texas lone star Strap.