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franklyshipping · 5 years

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Day 8 ~ Christmas 2019 Ego Fanfics

Day 8 here we are holy moly! Now, festive times can bring along unwanted stress, so let's get rid of some of that today! LET'S DO IT!

TAGGING: @googlee-oliver

There are so many ways to give someone that you love a gift, and I personally am always honoured at the thought of someone even thinking about wanting to get me something. Something that’s always particularly special though, it’s when someone decides to hand-make a gift for one of their loved ones, I just find it so precious. Especially since making a gift for someone can be so difficult, certainly more difficult that regular crafting. You always want it to be completely utterly perfect, and you get paranoid and scared if you don’t get something exactly right and it takes at least 10 attempts to make something you think is even half decent.

Of course, sometimes this can be quite stressful….and sometimes, getting a little help can make things all the better. I regret to say that someone was experiencing sad stress right now, but you need not fear, because a certain little green glob was on a mission to find someone who could ease the stress and frustration….of Goopiplier. Gooper was speeding down corridor after corridor, just looking for somebody, anybody, who could help the poor guy….and Gooper ended up bumping into the ankle of the perfect person.

‘Wohoah! Whehere are you off toho in such a hurry?’

Oliver, the yellow Google facet, giggled as he looked down at Gooper, before crouching down so he could pet his back softly. Gooper relished in the affection for a few moments, before remembering his purpose. He bounced and gurgled intently to the android, who immediately furrowed his brows in concern.

‘Goop is upset and he needs someone’s help?! Where is he? Can you take me to him?’

Gooper eagerly yipped, before hurrying back the way he came with Oliver following quickly behind, his mind racing with worry as he hoped that Goop wasn’t panicking too much. Either way though, Oliver was resolute on helping, whatever the problem was. Gooper halted at Goop’s bedroom door, motioning to it…and Oliver could feel his own emotions building when he heard wet, muffled sobs coming from inside the room. Oliver smiled gently down at Gooper.

‘It’s okay bud, I’ll take it from here.’

Gooper mewled and nuzzled Oliver’s ankle as a thank you, before vacating. Oliver then turned his attention to the door, which was slightly ajar, before deciding to carefully push it open.

‘Goop?’

Oliver spoke softly so the man wouldn’t be startled, and thankfully he wasn’t. Oliver caught a quick glimpse of the man’s face before he tried to hide it, he had a slime-esque beard as always, but his eyes were puffy and there were tears and snot on his face from all the crying he’d clearly been doing. Goop gulped before trying to speak in a stammer free voice….which unfortunately he didn’t quite manage.

‘Hey Oli uh…l-look I’m uh…d-doing a Christmas g-g-…g-gift thing so uhm…c-c-…u-uhm…’

Oliver’s android heart broke at hearing Goop whimper and seeing him tremble from how upset he was, and he immediately came up to him and placed a gentle hand on his arm.

‘Oh Goop, what happened? You can tell me, it’s just you and me here, and I won’t tell anyone else if you don’t want me to….’

Oliver spoke in a gentle, reassuring voice…and it was that kindness that caused the last dam to break in Goop’s mind. His words were rambles as he turned to the sweet android, and his emotions just ran from his lips like a raging river.

‘I-I-I t-tried t-to make W-Wilford a p-pretty p-p-present b-but i-it’s useless a-a-and stupid and I-I kn-know he’s gonna hate it a-a-and think i-it’s worthless a-a-and h-he’ll h-hate me!’

Goop sobbed into his hands, sniffling as his whole body seemed to shake with his panicked upset; needless to say, Oliver was quick to act. Different people are cheered up by different things, sometimes it’s a light-hearted joke that shines through the dark crap, sometimes it’s soothing words, sometimes it’s the opportunity to vent, and sometimes it’s physical contact. Oliver had made it a secret project and find out and file away exactly what soothed each and every one of the egos, and thankfully he knew what Goop needed. A damn tight hug and the opportunity to just cry it all out.

‘Hey…hey it’s okay, I’ve got you. Just let it out Goop, just let it all out…’

Oliver wrapped his arms around the weeping man, holding him close to his chest with one hand rubbing his back and another hand buried gently in his hair. At first, Goop was inclined to protest, but as soon as he felt Oli’s warmth he just couldn’t pull away. He sobbed into Oli’s chest for a while, he was just so stressed and nervous that it just became too much for him. He’d never been a part of a family like this wherein he could give anyone any gifts, so this was a seriously big deal for him. Also, Wilford was like his idol; he was charismatic, talented, and didn’t care if he was seen as weird by others, he just owned it. That’s why it was so important for Goop to get this gift right.

‘I-I j-just….I-I-I wanna m-make this p-perfect….’

He stuttered still, but his sobs had died down thanks to Oliver’s affection and patience. The android smiled softly into Goop’s shoulder, rubbing his back as he replied in a soft voice.

‘I get, I really do. Sometimes with these things you just work on them so much that it makes it hard to see just how good they are, sometimes you need another pair of eyes to see the perfection…’

They slowly parted from the embrace, and Oliver smiled up at Goop now as he continued.

‘I could be that other pair of eyes, if you like?’

Goop nibbled his bottom lip nervously…he was still so scared of what he made being terrible, but on the other hand he really trusted Oliver, he was one of the kindest and most honest people ever; Goop knew that if anyone was going to make him feel better about this whole debacle, it would be the android of sunshine.

‘….o-okay….okay I’ll show you….’

Oliver’s smile widened, he couldn’t deny that he was excited to see what Goop had been working on for Wilford; Oliver knew that Goop had a talent for crafting, so the android had a really good feeling about this in his core. Goop led him over to a little work bench he had in his room, and moved a metal bucket aside….and Oliver’s eyes widened. Goop had, somehow….made a lava lamp from scratch.

‘Is….did you MAKE a lava lamp?’

Oliver’s mouth and eyes were wide as he took a closer look, whilst Goop fiddled with his fingers nervously.

‘U-Uh…yeah uhm, well, I-I’ve tried to….’

It was the most beautiful thing that Oliver had ever seen in his entire life. The lava lamp was a good thirty centimetres high and about fifteen centimetres in diameter, it had been crafted absolutely gorgeously. The lighting sequence transitioned through a sequence of pinks into purples, with a hint of magenta at points too, and the movement of the lava-slime substance was beautifully slow and hypnotic. What’s more, the heat it radiated was nothing short of comforting, it wasn’t too overwhelmingly hot, just a soothing, radiant warmth; oh also, the lava-slime clumps were embedded with silvery glitter. Oliver let out a soft gasp as he looked back to Goop finally.

‘This is so…just….I-I don’t know how to describe it! Beautiful isn’t a good enough word for it! The substance moves so smoothly up and down, the colours of light are so soothing and fit so perfect with Wilford! Plus, he’ll adore the fact that it’s, y’know, a lava lamp! I know he’s going to adore it!’

Goop blinked a few times in shock, having to take a minute or so to process all the praise he was being given. Oliver….thought it was better than good. Goop developed a wobbly, happy smile, letting out a light residual sniffle as he mumbled.

‘Y-You really think that?’

Oliver grinned as he nodded eagerly.

‘Heck yeah! It’s so cool, I really mean it!’

Goop’s smile widened, before he looked down to the floor, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck.

‘Ahaww shucks….’

Oliver let out a fond giggle.

‘Don’t you start crying again on me mister!’

Goop blushed at that.

‘I-I won’t I won’t-‘

‘Oh! Speaking of which, what kind of friend am I if I don’t clean you up?’

Goop blinked a few times, before his blush darkened as Oliver tilted his head up and started wiping and dabbing softly at his eyes and cheeks with a handkerchief.

‘Y-You don’t have to-‘

‘Nonsense, I want to! Plus, those tears might ruin your slime beard and we CANNOT have that!’

Goop let out a giggle, which warmed Oliver’s core so much, Oliver was much happier seeing Goop smiling instead of being so morose and disheartened. Oliver took his time drying away Goop’s tears and softly dabbing against his puffy skin, being careful to make his fingers a tad cooler so that the skin would feel soothed. However, that little giggle that Goop had let out was somewhat stuck in Oliver’s mind…and Oliver came to the logical conclusion that in order to help maintain Goop’s cheered up state, a state of mirth should also be involved. Oliver’s eyes gleamed for a moment, before he casually spoke.

‘Oh my! How did you get tears behind your ears?’

Goop furrowed his brows…what? For a moment he was seriously worried that Oliver was shorting out or low on charge, but he soon realised what Oliver was doing….when his nimble fingers skittered behind both his ears. He let out a wide eyed squeal and jumped away from the android, blushing rather red already as he stuttered in a very cute manner.

‘D-Dohon’t even think about it!’

Oliver giggled, and tucked his handkerchief away as he softly stepped towards Goop with a playful grin in place.

‘I just wanna make sure you’re all cheered up-‘

‘Y-You don’t need to tickle m-me to do that!’

‘Ohhh but I think I DO!’

Goop squealed and gasped when he was suddenly tackled to the floor by the, ultimately far stronger, android who wasted no time in straddling his hips and pinning his arms under his knees. Oliver let out a content sigh, before cooing.

‘Now, where was I?’

Oliver didn’t wait for an answer before he went back to skittering behind Goop’s, very adorable, ears which made Goop burst into spluttery giggles and snorts.

‘Pfthfttth-hehehey! Stahahappit yohohou ahass stahahappit!’

Oliver giggled, internally squealing at how adorable Goop looked as he tossed his head from side to side, he was so precious. Oliver’s nails were very precise as they stroked right in the crooks behind Goop’s lobes, all the while Oliver grinned and crooned.

‘Awww you look so much happier already, how could I possibly stop?!’

Goop squealed and kicked out reflexively, biting his bottom lip as he tossed his head about as much as he could, but Oliver was just too damn good at this. Usually if Goop got tickled, people never went for his ears because most people didn’t want to get part of his gooey beard on themselves, so that tickle spot always remained safe…until now of course.

‘Ihihihit tihihickles soho bahahad!’

Oliver fondly rolled his eyes.

‘Nooo! Really?! Well now that IS a revelation!’

Goop snorted, attempting to glare up at Oli through his flustered grin.

‘Shuhuhut uhuhup!’

Oliver grinned, his tongue poking out through his teeth cutely as he let his fingers traipse down away from Goop’s ears, now occupying themselves with softly trailing up and down his arms. Oliver smiled softly as he looked down at Goop.

‘You know, I don’t think I will. I’m really enjoying tickling you y’know, and that just makes me wanna talk even more! I wanna talk about how pretty your grin is, how sweet your giggles are, how cute your blush is! And ESPECIALLY how adorable it is when your goopy beard wobbles when you laugh!’

Goop’s eyes widened with embarrassment as he spluttered, caught between shaky giggles and utter speechlessness as all the teasing compliments built up in his brain. He’d never been complimented this much in his life, nor had he ever been teased this much in his life, and the intense combination of the two was just making him crumble into a flustered mess.

‘Ohogod-p-plehease just sh-shush! I-I c-can’t…’

He trailed off with a soft whine as he flicked his gaze away from the android, and Oliver felt like he was going to melt right there and then at how his teasy kindnesses affected the guy.

'Awwww, can the wittle goopy baby not handle the teasies?’

Oliver cooed with a giggle, now deciding to sneak a finger into each of Goop’s closed armpits, which caught the poor guy very off guard as he tried to retort.

‘I-I’m not a g-goopy ba-EEE OHMYGOD GEHET OHOUT OF THEHERE!’

Oliver grinned with evil delight at how Goop squealed and threw his head back, letting out a string out deep cackles that sounded like they came from the very depths of his sensitive soul. Oliver kept his fingers wiggling as he teased.

‘Oh…but…oh dear, it seems now I’ve put them in, I can’t get them out! Oh jeez, maybe if I wiggle them more then that’ll help get them out…’

Goop’s cackles got louder as Oliver sped up the tickling wiggling, making Goop thrash and cry out in growing flustered desperation.

‘NAHAHA THAHAT’S NAHAHAT HEHEHELPIHING!’

Despite Goop’s words, Oli maintained a concerned demeanour, letting out little gasps and grunts as he wiggled and twisted his fingers about constantly.

‘I am trying, but goodness me your thrashing is not helping! It’s only a little finger in each little armpit…’

Goop merely wailed, arching his back as his feet hit the floor wildly with his struggles and reactions.

‘C’MAHAHAHAN!! PLEHEHEHEEEASE!!’

Oliver giggled, and let his façade drop as he removed his fingers from Goop’s sensitive hollows. Goop was gasping, and his voice was caught in a much higher octave as he looked up at Oliver with flustered shock; he hadn’t ever fathomed sweet little Oliver being so damn evil!

‘Thahat w-was soho e-evihil! L-Like, s-seriously e-e-ehevil!’

Oliver giggled, raising a playful eyebrow down at Goop as he booped the guy’s nose.

‘I barely even did anything, it’s not my fault you’re a ticklish goopy baby!’

….I swear to god, Goop’s face was almost a fricking magenta colour after Oliver said those words. His voice somehow managed to go even higher too as he stammered.

‘I-I-I a-am n-not!’

Oliver giggled with an excited gasp, noting how that particular little nickname affected the sweet, ticklish man. Oliver teasingly ran his fingers over Goop’s torso now, focusing on his tummy as he raised an eyebrow down at him playfully.

‘Ohh? Does a certain ticklish goopy baby like that nickname?’

Goop pursed his lips and looked away from Oliver, fighting giggles as his lips and belly both trembled. Honestly, he did rather like that nickname, and frankly he was enjoying all of this too….but what he enjoyed the most was Oliver’s teasing. Oliver’s teasing gave him chills and goose-bumps and made him blush so hard he was hotter than the lava lamp he’d made for Wilford; disagreeing with Oliver was like a game, and it was a game that Goop wanted to play.

‘N-Noho…’

Oliver cocked his head down at Goop fondly. He could see that Goop adored it, he couldn’t hide the joy gleaming in his hazel eyes. Oliver understood why he disagreed though, it was simply Goop’s way of asking for even more teasing, and Oliver was more than happy to oblige.

‘Hmmm….that’s interesting…’

Goop let out a flustered whine as he felt Oliver’s fingertips splay over his sensitive tummy, before the android continued to speak in a low, teasing purr.

‘…because it seems to me, that the nickname suits you perfectly. You can’t deny that you’re oh so beautifully ticklish, you know you can’t hide it. Plus, you’re certainly goopy with that beard of yours jiggling away as you laugh so sweetly…’

Goop had his eyes squeezed shut out of flustered frustration as giggles built up in his belly and chest, feeling Oliver’s fingers curl and uncurl as his teases flowed so effortlessly was making it so damn hard to hold everything in….and ultimately, it was his final words that did it.

‘And frankly, you have the sweetness, softness, and cuteness of the most precious baby boy….ever!’

Oliver finished his tease by turning his tickling from anticipatory lightness, to devilish scratchiness. Goop let out a cry as he sharply arched his back, before he became a mess of giddy laughter and writhing beneath Oliver; his tummy was so damn ticklish, as I think we can concur.

‘NOHOHAHAHA NAHAT THE TUHUHUMMY OHOHO GAHAD NAHAT THEHERE! OHOHOLIIII!!!'

Oliver grinned with delight at his reaction, he ADORED playing with people’s hyper ticklish spots; people always got to the ultimate peak of cuteness once they were just consumed by mirth and nothing else. He kept on scratching as he cooed in the teasiest tone he could possibly muster.

‘Awww kitchy kitchy coo! Awww lookit the ticklish goopy baaaby! Does he like the tummy tickles, I think he liiiikes theeem!’

Goop was shaking his head frantically as his eyes started to water, the teasing was just absolutely breaking him.

‘NUHUHUHUH! NAHAHAT TRUHUHUUUE!!!’

Oliver giggled and cooed right in his face happily.

‘Is too truuuue!’

Oliver even went as far as too kiss Goop’s nose, making the mirthful man squeak and scrunch up his face; it was true tickle torment, there was no escape from the tickling or the teasing.

‘OHOHOHOLIIII!!!’

‘Yeeees Goopy?’

Goop was reaching the end of his resolve….but he was feeling much better as a result.

‘MEHEHEHERCYYY!!!’

Oliver giggled fondly, and had mercy, since he could see that he’d almost reached his limit. The android released Goop’s arms from beneath his knees, but flopped on top of him for a cuddle as he nestled into the man’s chest affectionately.

‘Do you feel a bit better?’

At Oliver’s soft question, Goop grinned his widest grin yet as he looked down at the warm, selfless sunflower android snuggled into him.

‘Yeah….yeah I do….’

Goop’s grin then morphed into a smirk, and he wrapped his arms around Oliver tightly as he growled.

‘Let me show you how grateful I am.’

Oliver spent the rest of the day basically being tortured….with love. He was accosted with gooey kisses and nuzzles and nibbles, which made him squeal and wriggle about like the cutest being ever; but let’s be real, no matter how messy it gets, love is the best thing around.

WOOO HOPE YOU LIKE THIS NEXT FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DO WOOOO LUV YOUS XX

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firefandoming · 5 years

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Finding Sunshine

Summary: 70′s au, unrelated wincest, age gap. Dean is a no drugs no-nonsense man and who moves in carefree young Sammy. Word count:2000 Rating:M TW: Homophobia,drugs. Also some mildly cringey 70′s lingo. Also author was no alive during the time the story takes place.

Dean Smith is a no-nonsense man. He doesn't protest or do drugs he doesn't have the time for it. He works that's all he does. However, when he finds a well-paying gig worth moving out to California he goes for it. The land of pansies and potheads the last place he wants to be but the bread is worth it! $10,000 a yeah it's gonna be good. He can put up with bullshit for that. The only problem is his new office won't pay him for two weeks. Dean has to find a roommate there's not enough in his bank account to avoid this. He's not jiving the idea of shacking up with some putz pothead he has no time for.

Nevertheless, Dean ends up finding an ad in the local paper:

"Room for rent. Seeking a single man. No jelly brains, no mary jane, no pets. 30$ a month."

It's the first ad he's seen that doesn't want doped up airheads. It must be an old man! Or at least a dude pushing 40 like himself.

So he shows up at the apartment and knocks on the door. Much to his surprise, a youngblood barely out of school answers the door. "I'm here about ad in the paper. The room for rent" Dean explains on edge

The boy's face lights up as he opens the door letting Dean in they shake hands, "I'm Sam Winchester, you seem like really chill. You aren't a pig are you?"

Dean can't help but chuckle at that. Weird getting but okay he can dig it. "No I'm most certainly not and I'm not some Jesus freak so don't. I'm an accountant. My name is Dean Smith," He replies with a smile.

Sam looks so carefree and gleeful. "I'm Sam Winchester. I'm like an artist but nobody wants to handover mulah for my art. So I compete at skating rinks to pay rent and keep my lights on you know like just trying whatever gig. The part in the ad about no drugs was bogus I just don't want pigs coming in a trashing my crib. You seem, like an awesome dude Dean, if you take the room we can totally jell out sometimes. I hope you can understand that" The boy confesses with a proud smile. The older of the two feels his stomach twist. This is exactly what he was trying to avoid! It's too late to find another pad to sleep at now.

"Oh, that stuff isn't really my jive. I need a clear mind for work" Dean states through gritted teeth. Gee great! This will be fun! Has no time for crap like that. It turns your mind to mash.

Sam just shrugs, "All right! Like As long as you don't narc on me we're good you know" god this kid is a complete ray of sunshine... it's not a surprise he smokes... or maybe more than that.

The pair sit on the couch Dean produces the envelope with his rent money. Sam counts it all smiling and humming to himself the whole time. Here comes the sun. It's so suited for the ball of joy in a bright hooded sweatshirt. Dean looks around the living room. Harvest gold, burnt orange, and sunflowers everywhere, polaroids on the wall. At least five lava lamps...yeah the boy's a pothead alright. "How old are you even?" Dean asks he should just mind his potatoes but he can't help prying.

"Like 18 and a half" Sam replies. "Hey are you hungry or thirsty. I have some like tv dinners, cola and beer" The boy offers. Only TV dinners? Yeah broke from being a ridiculous artist that spends all his money on mary can't...okay. Just stay until you can find a better place Dean tells himself.

"Water will do just fine" Dean answers sternly. The kid better not spike his drink…

Sam leaves for the kitchenette coming back with an open beer and a glass of water. The teen sprawls out on the couch with his feet on Dean's lap. So either the boy is stoned to all hell...a queer or both. The elder of the pair sips at his water begrudgingly. It's just till your check comes in it's okay. "How come you don't like wear jeans? You got like old man threads" Sam comments bluntly after taking a swig of his beer.

"Because bell bottoms aren't professional, " Dean replies. "...And I am an old man I'm 38" he ands on drinking from his glass.

"Damn you could be my dad... " Sam mumbles.

"Yep," Dean replies. Maybe he'll actually show the man respect…

That doesn't happen. In the next days, Dean does his best to just stay in his room quickly listening to rock music with his record player on low. Doing paperwork. He throws himself into his office gig completely. He even eats in his room. He buys his own food he's not living off cans and metal trays of God know what. The living room always smells like pot and or paint. It's nasty.

Things change one day when Sammy(as Dean's calling him) is still in the apartment when the older man is getting ready to leave. He's tying his tie when he sees Sam on the floor of the living room. He's got no pants on just a shirt and is just getting down to the music on his radio without and in the world...and very little left to the imagination. Dean can't help staring. He's not homosexual he's dated chicks and loved their bodies...but seeing this boy like this rising something in him. When Sam jumps the shirt he's wearing lifts up and Dean sees he's wearing a woman's underwear. Lacey orange panties. Dean just gasps into his hand feeling blush surge across his face and his slacks tighten around his crotch. He wants to jump this boy's bones so hard…it's not right. He looks away composing himself then clears his throat loudly.

"Oh shit! I thought you left already!" The boy snaps. He turns his radio off.

"It's cool, " Dean replies...he did kind of enjoy seeing it. But it not moral at all. "Sammy are you a…" he trails off he can't even say it out loud.

"A queer? A fag? A fairy? Yeah and if you like got a problem with you can just buzz off and leave I'll give your bread back" Sammy is more on edge then he's ever been.

"Hey Woah no I don't give a shit. It's your apartment it's not like you're doing this shit public, " Dean announces. "I should get going" add ons he wants to book it before Sammy notices he's hard.

That morning he shamefully jerks off in his car before going into work. Dean thinks about Sammy the whole time. Having to wipe gobs of cum off the steering wheel. "I'm sorry baby" he mutters to the vehicle wiping it down. He's only had his impala for two years he should take better care of her…

When the weekend comes around Dean has a harder time justifying staying in his room. He ends up in the living room more. Watching the black and white boob tube Sammy has. He wants to make it clear doesn't give a shit about Sammy and his sexual interests. It takes a bit of time but after the boy realizes his roommate truly doesn't care. His shell opens. He's painting canvases and getting jiggy and singing along to the music.

Dean even rolls up his sleeves starts helping Sammy paint. He lets himself chill for the first time in years. Sammy swears paint off his face and giggles about it. Dean just shakes his "Oh I'll call you out now Winchester!" He shouts but there's no weight to it. He just squirts a tube of paint in on the teen's face. Without knowing it Dean used the white paint...his mind can't help but imagine it being something else.

He's pulled from his thoughts when Sammy wipes the paint off his face and smears it on Dean. This and laughter keeps up until they are both covered in paint. The pair end in the laundry room in nothing but underwear. Playing cards on the floor. "I thought you'd like a complete stick I mud you know? But you're not you're like totally cool as fuck Dean!" Sammy exclaims.

"I'm only cool cause I've got you as a roommate" Dean replies laying down another card.

"I bet you're like still a lightweight though" Sammy replies with a grin.

"I don't care to find out if I'm honest. Not my jive told you that from the get-go" Dean states. Sammy gives him a disappointed shrug. Dean looks over the boy's body he picks his lips. No bad! You like chicks! You score with chicks Smith! Remember that!

The following day Dean goes to watch Sammy skate. He's really good and flexible. His partner a chick named Charlie of all things is good too. She's the wholesome little girl type not what Dean likes. But Sammy something about him...seeing him move like that. Of course, they come in the first place.

"Let's go out for dinner! Try that new burger joint up the street!" Charlie insists. Dean tags along...he feels like a father chaperoning his daughter's first date. But quickly finds that Charlie is just as gay as Sammy. Guess flocks of a feather do stick together huh? Go figure.

Most of the dinner is filled with "Thats like totally awesome" or "Thats like such bogus shit you know" from both youngbloods. The only thing that makes babble bearable is staring at Sammy. Something in Dean makes him want to give a good impression. Like he wants Charlie’s blessing almost

"So are you two like fucking?" Charlie asks at one point making both men spit out their drinks.

"What no?! Dean is fab as hell but he's just my friend I can like friends with dudes and not jump their bones! We're just chill with each other. He doesn't care who I'm into " Sam retorts defensively.

"And anyone that would care about that is rather into dudes too, a jesus freak or some jive turkey not worth his time. And if anyone tries shit with cause they ain't okay with it will be on the wrong end of my fist" Dean declares biting into his burger. He catches Sammy blushing when he says that.

Later that night Dean is going for water he sees Sam smoking on the couch. He walks over a sits "Pass the J" he asserts. He's become, chill dude. It's Saturday he can relax.

"Are sure you're like hardcore enough?" Sammy responds with a half-cocked grin his eyes having a res tint

"Just pass it" Dean repeats and Sammy. It doesn't take much for Dean to be stoned out of his mind.

"I knew you were totally a lightweight"

Is the last thing Dean hears before passing out.

He's so surprised he doesn't have a headache too bad when he wakes. He still proclaims he won't ever get stoned again and decides to spend most of the day in his room. Later the evening Dean is nervous to leave his room. The tone of the music has changed to a sexual type. Slow stuff. The last thing wants is to walk in on sex between men. Not really because he'd be disturbed but because he'd probably brawl with the dude fucking Sammy out of jealously.

When the music stops Dean leaves his room. He needs to piss and needs something to eat. After using the bathroom he goes out into the living room expecting Sammy to be passed or not home. Instead of the boy sitting on the couch eating a plate of home-cooked food. Dean is confused "Did you have a date over?" He asks.

"No just cooking...thats my cooking music" the teen explains.

"Ah, " Dean replies. Who listens to porn music while making lunch? Sammy is strange but he likes it. He doesn't care what anybody thinks. Dean wants to be like him.

"There's extra on the counter if you want some" Sammy declares.

Dean sits on the couch and enjoys potato salad with Sammy, "I'm gonna be honest. I'd be pissed off if you were fucking someone.." The boy looks at him mouth hanging open. "Because I'd want it to be me.." He confesses on edge.

Sammy states blushing. "Oh," he replies eating a bit of his potato salad. "Awesome...I like you too… like a lot"

Potato salad is shoved to the coffee table as the pair begin making out. Petite little Sammy fits so nicely in Dean's lap! The little yellow ray of sunshine has lightened Dean's life! He can't imagine living without him.

#ficlet wincest #wincest

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squirenonny · 7 years

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Hi there!! Wrt you mentioning about team stimming parties, I was wondering, what types of stimming (toys, materials, their own body etc) do you think the paladins enjoy the most, or get the most benefit from. It's really enjoyable image ; w ; but I know some stims can conflict with other peoples needs, so what might be someones fave might annoy someone else. So I wonder what either makes them most happy, or helps them best when needed! (QwQ Those are intense circumstances they all live in.)

I got carried away,,

Keith: Mainly tactile stims, a few visual stims

Textures: there are Good textures, and there are Bad textures, which is why he always wears his same jacket (good texture) and gloves (first line of defense against bad textures–see also my post about Keith’s gloves). In general, wet and cold is definitely Bad, smooth is usually bad. His favorite textures are (a) layered (running his finger over the wrap on his knife and plucking at the edge of a layer) or (b) ribbed (things like corduroy, or the seams on jeans and jackets that have that edge he can catch his fingernail on.)

Repetitive motions: that classic thumb rubbing that we saw in his vlog. These are typically very tiny movements that he tries to hide–he’ll rub his toes together inside his shoe or tap the toe of his boot against the floor.

Deep pressure & buoyancy: Keith is pretty touch averse, so he doesn’t seek out deep pressure often, but if he’s in the right mood a Shiro (or Hunk) Hug is A++. He also needs a blanket to sleep, preferably two or three. Yes, even in the hottest part of summer. Tight pants/shirt are soothing, and ngl he likes his Blade uniform because it’s a more even pressure than the paladin armor, which is too heavy on his shoulders and too thin/flexible where there isn’t the outer layer of armor. On the flip side, he also likes swimming because of the bouyancy. (Interestingly, he hates the feel of rain/shower water falling on him. It’s just too overwhelming. But being in the water and just floating there is v relaxing.)

Visual stims: mostly the way light reflects off his blade when he twists it back and forth and similar reflection/refraction things (light reflecting off water, mirages, the abundance of glowy things in space… he’ll sometimes stare at the crystal on the bridge for the entire briefing–completely engaged with what people are saying, just. Staring at the ceiling. It’s mesmerizing, okay?)

Chewing: rare, but more common as he gets more comfortable around the other paladins. He used to chew on his pens at the Garrison all the time, and one of the reasons he keeps his hair long (aside from not having the spoons to cut it/get it cut and not liking change in the first place) is so that he can suck/chew on his hair. He had to cut it when he first entered the Garrison, and it’s just finally getting long enough to do it again.

The thing about Keith’s stims is that they’re all very lowkey things he an do to calm himself down without drawing anyone’s attention. Probably he had bad experiences at school or in a foster home with kids making fun of his stims or his foster parents/teachers hammering “sit still” and “quiet hands” into him until he completely stopped doing anything immediately noticeable. He used to flap and run around when he was happy, but he doesn’t do that so much anymore. (It’s coming back, though, especially with Pidge and Lance being such big stimmers.)

As a result, his stims don’t really bother the others too much. Lance has a moral objection to Keith chewing on his hair in particular, and if he’s using a chewer, the sound of it sometimes gets to Pidge, but that’s it.

Pidge: visual, vestibular, and auditory stims

Spinning, flapping, bouncing: A lot of Pidge’s stims involve moving around (see the entire time Beezer was onscreen.) There’s a spinny chair in Green’s lab for the express purpose of happy spins, and the team knows to be ready for excited flapping when something Pidge is working on comes out right. (Lance has been hit in the face on more than one occasion because he likes to drape himself over Pidge’s shoulder.) Bounces in place when bored, runs around the castle at odd hours, climbs the other paladins. Very much a “I have too much energy in me and need to expend it somehow” stimmer.

Music: Pidge usually has music playing in Green’s lab–invariably at deafening levels (the bass pulse in your chest is just as important as the music itself). Upbeat songs are best, but any kind of background noise will do. Has started a collection of alien music since this laptop only has a small portion of Pidge’s library (most of the hard drive was dedicated to Kerberos research/snooping on the Garrison.)

Echolalia: Pidge is big into echolalia. (Pidge isn’t the only one who’s big into echolalia. Lance is also a fan, and Hunk usually joins in when they start an echolalia party.) In particular, Pidge will quote movies/TV shows, echo robot noises back at whatever robot happens to be nearby, and make quiet trilling sounds while working on code

Misc visual stims: There isn’t any one thing Pidge goes to for visual stims, but gradual changes (a la screensavers, lava lamps, auroras, glitter jars) have a tendency to turn into time sinks. Pidge has absolutely spent an hour staring at a screen saver without realizing it while idly musing about programming problems.

Repetitive noises: Can be either good or bad. Mechanical sounds, electronic whirring, and other white noise are great. Sudden, jarring, or grating noises are huge Nos. (See Keith’s chewing and some of Lance’s echolalia.)

Pidge’s flapping and running has a tendency to make Shiro tense up, especially if he’s not in a good place to begin with, so Pidge sometimes has to remember to stay chill or just go somewhere else until the energy is gone. Keith doesn’t like how loud Pidge plays music (it hurts his ears), but he respects personal boundaries and won’t turn it down. He’ll leave if he can, and if he has to stay, he’ll get irritated and snappish until Pidge makes the connection and turns down the volume. It’s the only real sticking point between them when it comes to stims, and they’re working on better communication to make sure it isn’t an issue in the future.)

Lance: Primarily vestibular and auditory stims, plus deep pressure

Spinning, dancing, flying: Lance loves to move. He loves spinning and dancing and big motions and G-forces. (He’s a huge fan of roller coasters and other amusement park rides.) Flying is such a stim for him, holy crap. So much so that it can become a problem. Loops, barrel rolls, sharp turns, hard acceleration–he loves the way it all pushes on his body (see also: deep pressure) and the way it makes him hyper aware of the physical sense of motion. Sometimes he pays so much attention to the sensations that he momentarily loses track of where he’s going–which is why he still sometimes crashes/sideswipes the other lions.

Deep pressure: Lance is a very touchy person in general, but in particular he loves hugs and cuddle piles. His favorite thing is to have Pidge sprawled across his lap, or when he and Hunk are sprawled on the couch in a tangle of limbs, or group hugs, or–Yeah. all of the above. Deep pressure feels like home.

Aerial dance: A combination of vestibular and deep pressure stims. Loves the muscle control it requires for the same reason he loves G-forces while flying. It grounds him, makes him aware of the space he occupies. Add to that the pressure of the silks wrapped around his body and the spinning and negative Gs as he drops, and it’s just the best.

Echolalia: Lance and Pidge can have entire conversations in quotes. Lance also makes sound effects for anything and everything (in training, while flying/fighting in his lion, while cleaning, while dancing through the halls.) He sings nonsense tunes a lot and hums both for the sound and the feel of it.

Voices: Conversation itself can be a stim for Lance, regardless of whether or not he’s a participant. The fastest way for him to fall asleep is by having the people he cares about around talking (e.g. his parents laughing and joking as they clean up in the other room, Hunk and Lance talking less and less coherently as they fall asleep in their room at the Garrison, Pidge and Keith up late during a sleepover in the rec room talking in low voices.) Lance doesn’t even need to hear the words; there’s something soothing about the cadence of it. He’ll use TV or music as a substitute if he has to, and he finds it very hard to fall asleep in total silence.

Lance is a dramatic stimmer, so it totally depends on the rest of the team’s energy levels as to whether or not they’re bothered by it. Most of the time, Hunk and Pidge will join in, and the rest of the team at least doesn’t mind. If they’re tired, though, Lance’s raw energy can be Too Much. There were some clashes early on with Pidge until they worked out a system where Lance’s cuddles didn’t get in the way of Pidge’s hyperfocus on a project. Hunk’s cool with all of Lance’s stims except when he’s in the lion/ship Lance is piloting, because Lance’s stimmy rides make Hunk nauseous.

Mostly, though, if there’s a problem, it’s with Keith or Shiro–and even those are pretty rare. Keith is mostly just confused by Lance’s stims, and isn’t bothered by them unless he’s already in a bad mood and wants to be left alone. Then Lance’s big presence can be too much. And Shiro can be set on edge by Lance’s stims for the same reason Pidge’s can get to him: Shiro’s idea of soothing is calm and quiet, and both Lance and Pidge are… the opposite of that when they’re happy and relaxed. Lance picks up on this quick and usually is able to dial it back right away.

Hunk: Taste, smell, and tactile stims

Taste: Hunk must put All the things in his mouth. Tasting alien foods/spices, yes, but also anything. Flowers. Glittery pink snow-stuff. Purple water. He did this with the Olkari headsets, so I mean. It’s canon. Sorry, I don’t make the rules. This bleeds over into tactile stimming, honestly (see: Olkari headset making his tongue itchy. He sounds so pleased by that I just can’t. I love him.) It also has the unfortunate side effect of having put him in a pod more than once because he accidentally poisoned himself. Worth it, though.

Smell: Hunk cooks to calm down for two reasons. One, it breaks him out of his cyclical thoughts and other anxious habits, giving him something else to focus on that’s familiar and controllable. Two, the smells. Some people have scented candles. Hunk has a rack of extracts. Also, like? Flour has a really bland but comforting smell? And let’s not even get into the smell of a finished dish. Cookies? Pies? Bread?? The kitchen is paradise for many reasons, and olfactory stims are one.

Deep pressure: This team is united in their love of deep pressure, tbh. Group hugs are great all around, and Hunk’s only too happy to dish them out. Always glad to be a pillow for one of the other paladins. Wears a thick vest for that extra little bit of pressure around his chest.

Tinkering: There’s something really satisfying about feeling machine parts click into place under his hands–and the oil is only a bonus, as far as Hunk’s concerned. He’ll take things apart and put them back together on an endless repeat just to feel the weight/texture/shape of the pieces. Also great for repetitive motions. See: stimming with the wires and making the sentry bot hit itself while the younger paladins were waiting in the control room in season 1.

Misc tactile stims: Hunk just likes touching things/holding things/fiddling with things. He likes to have something to do with his hands, so even if he doesn’t mean to, he’ll usually find something to play with when he’s bored or trying to focus on something Shiro or Allura is saying.

Hunk, like Keith, has a lot of less obvious stims–though in Hunk’s case it’s less because he’s trying to suppress it and more because his favorite stims are typically ambient things. Put him in a happy environment and he’ll be happy. He’s grossed out almost everyone on the team by the kinds of things he licks/bites, and Pidge gets annoyed when his tinkering turns into fiddling with Pidge’s stuff. Otherwise, he’s pretty chill.

Shiro: Auditory, tactile, and a few vestibular stims

Shiro has two modes: lowkey and highkey

Lowkey Shiro likes things to be calm and quiet. Ambient noises (air in vents, breathing, his own heartbeat) can be stims, but anything that interrupts the (near) silence is a major Sensory Bad. Deep pressure is good when he’s in this state, as is the texture of whatever chair/couch/bed he’s resting on. He’ll be hyperaware of his body, especially its weight, and he’ll run through relaxation exercises or meditation techniques to chase that peculiar calmness that comes when he’s intimately aware of himself and his immediate environment but his mind is completely quiet.

Highkey Shiro, like Pidge, has too much energy and needs to burn it off. He’ll pace or go for a run, or spar, the pounding of his footsteps/clash of his arm on the gladiator’s weapon serving as a grounding force in addition to the release of restless energy. When he can’t leave to burn off energy, he’ll clench and unclench his prosthetic hand, squeeze his arms, and grind his teeth. The repetitive motion and the tug/pressure/pull of it is soothing and helps to take the edge off the frustration/anxiety/overstimulation he’s dealing with.

The most notable thing about Shiro is that almost all of his stims are unconscious–meditation/relaxation techniques being the main exception. He didn’t stim a whole lot before Kerberos, but he does it a lot more frequently after his capture.

As he gets to know the other paladins and becomes more familiar with their stims, he starts to be more deliberate about it–he wears a weighted vest like Hunk’s a lot of the time and usually has a fidget toy with him to stim with during long meetings. Lance also entices him out for relaxing flights in the lions, because as it turns out the sensations of piloting are good for Shiro the same way they are for Lance.

Shiro’s stims don’t bother anyone–in fact, for a long time, no one even realized Shiro was stimming–but he’s by far the most likely to be bothered by the other paladins’ stims. He needs to be in control of his environment, and unexpected/uncontrollable stimuli tend to set him on edge.

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not-a-space-alien · 8 years

Text

To Ineffability and Beyond!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

On LJ

On AO3

Crowley and Aziraphale eventually learned that they were in the tail-end of passengers boarding the ship. They were scheduled to depart one week after the angel and demon’s arrival, but they had to wait until everyone was on board first.

A week came and went. No word of departure. A second week. They eventually learned that the delay was the result of waiting for one single passenger.

“Three guesses as to who that is,” said Crowley. “Maybe if we can convince the crew to take off without her, we’ll avoid the situation altogether.”

“They calculated everything precisely, Crowley,” said Aziraphale. “Maybe they don’t want to throw everything off this early?”

“They’ve already thrown it off by moving the takeoff date! I’ve had enough of this. I’m going to snoop around.”

With those words, Crowley left the room. Aziraphale listened to his shoes clacking on the metal grate for a few moments before huffing and picking himself up to follow.

The infinite hallway was just barely big enough for the two of them to walk side-by-side. “And what exactly do you propose to do?” Aziraphale whispered to him harshly.

“Well, we’re already in the third circle,” said Crowley. “All we need to do is figure out how to go one up and we’ll be in the restricted sections. That’s where all the fun is bound to be.”

The two of them had been doing nothing but watching movies on the vidscreen in their room, reading, and walking back and forth to the third circle’s cafeteria for the past two weeks, and Aziraphale suspected that Crowley just wanted an excuse to goof off exploring the ship. “We’re not allowed.”

“You’re not allowed. I’m a demon, so I’m supposed to do things that aren’t allowed. If you don’t want to, you can go back to the cabin.”

“If I let you run around unsupervised, I’m sure you’ll get into dreadful trouble.”

“That’s the point.” Crowley stopped, looking up. “There, you see? A maintenance tunnel.”

Aziraphale followed his upturned gaze to a hatch, barely visible as it was pressed into the ceiling. “It’s locked.”

Crowley twisted his hand, and four bolts fell out. “No it isn’t.”

“Crowley, this isn’t a good idea.”

“Nonsense! This is a great idea. Give me a boost.”

Aziraphale eventually let himself be talked into letting Crowley sit on his shoulders so he could shift the metal pane aside and haul himself up into the ceiling. The demon turned around in the narrow space and held his hand out.

“I’m not going up there,” sniffed Aziraphale. “I’m sure something awful will happen.”

“Suit yourself,” said Crowley, shrugging. “I guess I’ll just go off by myself then.”

“Oh no you don’t. Help me up.”

The space in the ceiling was just big enough for one person to crawl through, and it was filled with pipes and storage tanks and electronic equipment. Aziraphale had a good view of Crowley’s posterior as he crawled ahead.

“How did it manage to get dusty up here already?” said Crowley. “The bloody ship isn’t that old.”

He crawled until he reached a solid wall of computers, at which point he felt around until he found a gap to climb over them.

“There’s a ladder back here,” he said. “Come up, this must go up to the next layer.”

It was almost too dark to see; Crowley was a dim shape moving above him. They demon must have been able to see, though, with those reflective eyes of his. Aziraphale mostly went by the feel of the metal rungs in his hands, grateful that he was not the one leading. He sighed with exasperation when the ladder ended and Crowley started into another crawlspace, sure that they would get lost at this rate.

Light began to filter down through a grate above them. Crowley flipped over on his back and pushed the grate out with all four limbs.

“Crowley!”

The demon disappeared into the brightness above them. Aziraphale dragged himself up and out to follow, only to find himself in a hallway that looked identical to the one on their floor.

“Hah,” said Crowley quietly as Aziraphale slid the grate back into place. “They make the crew live separately from the other passengers at an even lower gravity level.”

“Crowley, we’re going to get caught if we stay here,” Aziraphale whispered.

“S’pose you’re right,” said Crowley. “I’d hate to see what Maria will throw out the airlock next. Come on.”

He strolled over and found another panel in the ceiling, which he promptly miracled open. He did not need a boost this time; a single jump carried him far enough up to get his upper body into the roof.

Aziraphale finally gave into the temptation from seeing Crowley’s posterior in front of him this whole time and slapped his arse before the demon could get it up out of reach. Crowley suppressed a squeal of surprise and made room for Aziraphale. The angel likewise leapt and took Crowley’s hand to pull him up.

“You’re getting awfully handsy, aren’t you?” said Crowley as Aziraphale replaced the panel beneath them. Aziraphale looked into his eyes, glowing in the semidarkness, and shrugged innocently.

“Me? I’m just an angel, my dear. No impure thoughts here.”

“…I’m sure.”

They crawled forwards again, through the same layout of pipes and tanks and electronics, except feeling lighter this time. They came to a similar ladder and climbed up again in near darkness.

Crowley stopped. “What is it?” said Aziraphale.

“I see something.”

“Me too,” said Aziraphale, reaching up and pinching Crowley’s bottom.

“This is harassment,” said Crowley.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. If you’re not careful I might have to start fighting back.”

“Mm, I’m sure you would.”

“I really do see something, though.” Crowley twisted and leapt off the ladder, the reduced gravity making him soar through the air off into the distance. Aziraphale hesitantly followed, not having quite as much faith in his leaping abilities.

When he landed next to Crowley, the demon had already taken his screen out of his pocket, collapsed it into its cylindrical shape, and activated its flashlight function. He shined it around, the light illuminating dust motes on its way to hulking, looming shapes in the darkness, behemoths of glass and metal and plastic.

Crowley whistled. “What’s all this?”

“The robotics, I’d imagine,” said Aziraphale. “The colony is mostly going to be built with machines.”

Crowley started walking among the machines. The stillness of the air combined with the way the robots looked like animals crouching to pounce made a spooky atmosphere. He looked up at the tallest one, a drill, the tip soaring off so high his light dissipated into darkness before it could reach the top.

“Humans sure are amazing,” he said.

Crowley saw the hand coming before it could grope him, and he kept one hand on his flashlight and clamped the other on Aziraphale’s arm before it made contact.

“You think you’re naughty, huh?”

“Maybe a little,” said the angel, feeling silly.

Crowley smiled, leaning in towards him, brushing his nose against the angel’s cheek, as though for a kiss…

The sound of his hand smacking Aziraphale’s arse, and the subsequent yelp of surprise, resonated loudly in the empty space.

“Come on,” said Crowley.

They left the mechanical menagerie behind and found a door. It was extremely thick and sturdy and locked, but it was summarily unlocked especially for them. They found yet another ladder and climbed up in near darkness.

A faint light began to appear in their vision as they neared the top. Crowley reached the end of the rungs and disappeared up over the lip of some faintly-lit ridge.

“Crowley?” said Aziraphale. He pulled himself up to follow.

Crowley was there, waiting with his face exactly where he knew Aziraphale’s would appear, planting a kiss on him. Aziraphale nearly fell off the ladder in surprise, but managed to hold on.

Crowley broke the kiss and pulled away, smiling. “Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.”

The demon turned and sat cross-legged on the floor; Aziraphale slid up next to him and followed his gaze.

A huge open space soared in front of them, a hollow cylinder filled with bundles of very thick cables, and Aziraphale realized they must be looking at the inside of one of the spokes radiating from the center of the wheel of the ship. A blue glow radiated from the top, shifting about vaguely like a lava lamp.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” said Crowley.

Aziraphale reached one arm out and leaned Crowley onto his shoulder. “I think so.”

Aziraphale’s hand rubbed his back, then sunk lower.

“Hey!” Crowley laughed. “You—!”

“Me what?”

“You!” Crowley pushed him away, walking over to the chasm.

“Crowley, why don’t we go back to our room? We could…hm?”

Crowley was examining the cords stretching off into infinity in either direction; they were moving so fast and so quietly that the movement was almost imperceptible.

“Crowley, don’t.”

“We must be down to less than half a G, don’t you think, angel? This feels about the same as it was on Mars. We must be getting closer to the center of the ship.”

“Crowley, whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t—”

But it was too late; Crowley had already given one amplified leap off the precipice. He caught onto the cords, and with a flash his body disappeared out of sight almost immediately.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale rushed over the edge and looked down, then up. He could see Crowley zooming upwards at an alarming speed. “Ooh, that insufferable demon.” The angel looked at the cords, trying to decide how he could go about it without hurting his hands, then deciding he’d have to live with it and heal himself afterwards. He threw himself off and grabbed a cord.

He had to cheat a little to let himself hold on; the wall panels were a blur of motion in his peripheral vision. The blue light was growing closer and more intense, casting strange, angular shadows. The air grew colder.

The place where the cord met some junction of machinery was coming up, and Aziraphale threw himself off, heedless of direction, to avoid smashing into it. Disoriented, he found that his body did not go back down as predicted, but instead continued in a straight line, spinning over and over. “Ah!”

A hand caught his foot and wrenched him, changing his course sharply. He found himself in Crowley’s arms, who was also likewise floating in midair. His cheeks were flushed red with cold, and his laughing made billows in the air. “You know, for someone who’s actually flown under his own power before, you’re not very graceful in the air.”

Crowley must have cheated to dispel some of their momentum; they slowed and stabilized in the air. Aziraphale looked up at the source of the blue light; a great metal box hung suspended above them, and whatever was inside was throwing out unstable light through the slats in the box.

“Is that the engine?” Aziraphale gasped. “Crowley, we shouldn’t be so close to it.”

“Don’t worry, angel, they’ve got in a cage, see? It can’t get to us.”

Aziraphale gave him an unamused look.

“Seriously, though, there’s a barrier between us and it. A clear one, I mean. It’s rock solid. I felt it when I smashed into it. Nothing getting into that thing.”

The two just floated there in each other’s arms. The blue light lit Crowley’s face and highlighted his cheekbones, his animalistic eyes flashing in the electric illumination. The demon leaned in and kissed Aziraphale, hands caressing the angel’s face.

“I’m so glad we’re here together,” said Crowley.

“Likewise,” said Aziraphale, encircling Crowley’s waist with his arms.

The stillness was underscored by the low resonance of the static of the powerful machine in the room, the two supernatural beings drifting in the air, free of prying eyes, Heaven and Hell and Earth, free of even gravity, lost in each other in the darkness and quiet only broken by the electronic light and hum, their only company the pulsing, writhing luminescence.

Crowley lowered himself down, keeping his arms around Aziraphale’s thighs, and undid the angel’s zipper with a thought.

Aziraphale gave an unhinged moan and tangled his fingers in Crowley’s hair. “Oooh… You weren’t lying about….not being able to wait, were you?”

Crowley made the small, wheedling sounds that he always did during this activity, devouring with fervor, his hands raking down Aziraphale. The angel’s legs wrapped around him.

Floodlights suddenly illuminated them from below, and Crowley broke off, his pupils contracting in the sudden light.

A woman in a blue vest with salt-and-pepper hair scowled at them from the floor, floating with one hand on a handle by the door. Aziraphale hastily re-did his pants.

“Come down from there!” said the newcomer, with an angry gesture at the door behind her.

“Er…” Aziraphale looked around, Crowley still locked between his legs, and realized there weren’t any handholds nearby. “We’re sort of stuck!”

The woman gave a disgusted sigh and threw out a rope with a weight attached on the end, which soared in a straight line right at them. The small sphere hit Crowley in the back of the head, which seemed to have been the intended target. The two of them used it to shimmy down, growing redder and more shamefaced as they got nearer to the woman.

Aziraphale steadied himself on the handhold on the opposite side of the door, and Crowley steadied himself on Aziraphale. The woman was flushed with anger and struggled to find words as they waited for whatever was surely coming.

“You know,” she finally said. “At first I thought you two were saboteurs of some kind and then I come down and find this?”

“Er…” said Aziraphale. “Sorry.”

“You would have been sorry if you two dumbasses had messed something up and killed us all. These areas are off-limit for a reason. What do you have to say for yourselves?”

“Er…please don’t tell the higher-ups?” Crowley tried.

The woman snorted. “Hard to get higher than the captain, mate.”

“You’re the captain?”

“Who did you expect? Captain Kirk?”

“Ah.”

“Luckily for the two of you, we’ve already left earth’s orbit and there’s no way to disembark now. You’re stuck onboard, or I’d have you sent back. I ought to throw both of you out the airlock.”

“We’ve left Earth? But I thought we were waiting for our last passenger.”

“Who just got on this morning. We set off the second she was on board.” The captain scrutinized them. “How exactly did the two of you make it this far? There were several layers of locked doors between here and the third circle.”

“Ah.” They both fidgeted. “We ah…one of the staff left their key lying around.”

She extended her hand. “Give it to me.”

They looked around the room, anywhere but her eyes.

“Give it to me.”

Aziraphale reached into his pocket and pulled out a card that had not previously been there. He sincerely hoped it was what the staff keycards looked like, because he couldn’t remember exactly.

Fortunately the captain put the card in her pocket without much scrutiny. “All right. Now let’s go. You’re going back to your suite. And you’re going to stay there. Right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they both muttered.

“Good.” She went hand-over-hand into the door behind her, where a rung of handholds on the wall ran off into the distance. She used them to propel herself down the hallway, easily rocketing through the shaft with just her arms. The angel and demon followed, shamed into silence.

They followed the hallway until they reached an elevator, which dinged open at their approach. An empty wheelchair hovered in the enclosed space, and the captain, still huffing with indignation, strapped her legs into it. She pounded the controls as soon as Aziraphale and Crowley were inside and the door slid shut.

“Honestly,” she said. “Honestly. You’re both adults. I would have expected this from horny teenagers, not scientists and engineers.”

They both shuffled their feet, which did not have quite the same effect when they were not on the floor.

Gravity began to pull harder on them as the cart moved further and further down. “Did you not think we would see you? We have cameras everywhere.”

Crowley rubbed the back of his head. “Eheh…It was my idea…Sorry about that…”

The wheelchair finally touched the floor with a clatter. The captain glared at him and knocked on the control panel. The doors opened, revealing the walkway to the third circle. She jerked her head, and they scuttled out of the elevator.

She accompanied them all the way to their room, still muttering.

“Well, it was nice meeting you!” said Aziraphale, swiping to open their door.

“Don’t,” said the captain, wheeling herself away.

The mechanical whirr of the wheels on her chair faded into the distance. They both exhaled, came into the room, shut the door, and burst into embarrassed laughter. They collapsed onto the bed together.

“Oh, somebody,” said Crowley. “I thought we were goners.”

“I told you something was going to happen,” said Aziraphale, tweaking the demon’s nose.

Crowley crawled over and buried his face in Aziraphale’s stomach, still laughing. “I didn’t think it would be that, thought.”

“Yes….But what she told us.”

Crowley looked up. “The other demon. She’s onboard.”

Aziraphale looked troubled. “Yes, I suppose she is.”

Crowley rolled over. “Okay, cool. Just the two of us, another demon, and a metal donut full of humans hurdling off into deep space. When I met Adam in the Garden, somehow I never pictured this being a likely scenario for the future.”

“The universe certainly is full of surprises.”

“Attention on all decks. This is your captain speaking. I am pleased to announce that as of this morning, the Aphelion is fully boarded, staffed, and ready for its interstellar journey. We will be following the trajectory of the New Frontiers space probe to reach Kepler-442 in approximately 523 years from today. The ship has already left Earth’s orbit and is currently passing Mars and building speed. When the time comes, please follow all directions your VA gives you regarding entering cryosleep. And this is an additional reminder that all decks above the third circle are strictly off-limits to all passengers except those authorized by the Aphelion crew to work in lower than 0.9G. I would like to reiterate that the upper decks contain sensitive equipment that may be damaged if not handled properly and are off-limits. Thank you, and welcome aboard, space explorers.”

Aziraphale and Crowley adopted a routine of sorts. Crowley eventually gave in and went to the greenhouse, coming back with another spider plant in a pot, upon which he scrawled “Nick Jr.” with a black marker. Watering and talking to Nick Jr. was the first item of business of the day, followed by breakfast, brooding, lunch, and more brooding. Dinner was served at 6:30pm, and usually they had enough time left for one last brooding session before bed.

Crowley sat with his arms crossed, staring angrily at his screen, as though if he let it know he was angry enough with it, it would give him answers.

“There’s thousands of people on this ship. There’s no way we can count on running into her on accident.”

“Mm-hmm,” said Aziraphale, sitting on the bed reading a selection from his library of books, and who had not done his fair share of the brooding that day.

Crowley pulled his screen out so that it was fully extended and tapped on it rapidly. “I’ve tried every angle of attack I can think of to hack into the database where everyone’s personal information is stored. But I was never very good at hacking.”

He sounded very sad about it. Perhaps he was thinking of the forty-second James Bond movie, which had taken place entirely inside a computer frame and had also not been scientifically accurate. Trying to miracle the database earlier had not worked and had produced some strange results.

“Yes, dear,” said Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale, this is serious! We might be in real danger if we can’t locate this other demon before we go under.”

“Of course,” said Aziraphale, not looking up.

“You’re not even listening!” Crowley huffed. “You’re useless, as always.”

“Whatever you say, dear.”

The day for cryosleep drew nearer and nearer. One day the captain came over the intercom and announced that they had reached light speed.

“That was when we were going to sleep, wasn’t it?” said Crowley frantically. “When we reached light speed? It’s going to be any day now.”

“Crowley, she hasn’t shown any signs of aggression at all,” said Aziraphale. “Maybe we needn’t worry about her. Maybe she doesn’t even know we’re on board.”

Crowley did not seem convinced and remained glued to his screen even up to the very hour when they heard the first circle had started the process to enter cryosleep.

“Oh,” he said.

Aziraphale had been staring into the cryopods, which had been revealed when a panel in the floor had slid back and were currently filling with a blue liquid of some sort, but now he looked up. “What is it?”

“They’ve...This is different now. They must have shuffled things in the system around in preparation for cryosleep. I can access the personnel files now.”

“What!” said Aziraphale, coming over to lean over his shoulder. “Really? You are good at hacking after all!”

Crowley tapped his screen rapidly. “And….there’s the boarding log…if I can access it… Yes! Now let’s see who was the last person to board.”

“She’s in the first circle,” said Aziraphale, pointing. “Room 467.”

“Let’s go,” said Crowley, folding his screen up.

They both cautiously peeked their heads out the door. A woman in a blue vest was hovering near the door and came over as soon as she saw them.

Crowley groaned. “Hello, Maria.”

“Hello, boys,” she said. “Did you need something? We’re still on schedule for going into cryosleep, so you should stay in your room unless it’s something urgent.”

“Okay, you know what, Maria?” He snapped his fingers. Her face went blank, eyes unfocused.

“Crowley,” whispered Aziraphale harshly.

Crowley brushed by her, storming down the hallway. “I’m a demon, Aziraphale, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some human push me around. The hypnosis will wear off in a minute and she’ll forget she ever saw us leave.”

Aziraphale stared awkwardly at Maria for a moment, then patted her shoulder and said, “Ah, you’re doing a very good job,” before hurrying to follow Crowley.

They found the staircase and passed the second layer, then continued down to the first.

A sign on the door said NO ENTRY. But the door opened with some gentle persuasion.

Another cheerful helper in a blue vest descended upon them as soon as they came in. “This section has already completed the transition to cryosleep, gentlemen, and we’re in the process of locking it down, so if you could just—”

He was taken care of with another snap of the fingers. “Um, you’re doing a good job, too,” Aziraphale said as he passed him.

“Room 467,” he said. “Here it is.”

They took up positions on opposite sides of the door. “Are you ready, angel?”

He wished he still had his flaming sword, but it was far too late to think about that now. “I’m ready.”

With a thought, the door lock disengaged, and Crowley kicked the door open dramatically.

The room was empty and quiet, except for the steady beeping of a pulse.

They drew into the room cautiously, then looked down into the cryopod half-sticking up out of the ground. There was somebody inside it, fully submerged, eyes closed. Her canine teeth were just a little too long and stuck out even with her mouth closed.

“Oh,” said Crowley.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale.

“I…I guess we needn’t have worried after all.”

“There’s no way she can…I don’t know…wake herself up halfway through, can she?”

Crowley palmed the glass of the chamber. “I…I don’t know. I mean, I guess not. I wouldn’t know how to do that.”

“Oh.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“We could…” Aziraphale grimaced.

“What?”

“We…well, it’s just going to be the two of us and her for the rest of eternity on Kepler-442b…if we felt inclined, we have the opportunity to make the rest of our lives a lot easier right now.”

“We…You’re suggesting we should…”

“I wouldn’t know how to move the cryopod, but we could figure it out. We could do what Maria did to Nick.”

The suggestion hung in the air. Crowley’s face pinched. “I mean…she might be decent.”

“I suppose?”

“Doesn’t seem very sporting.”

“Demons usually aren’t sporting.”

“So you’re a demon now?”

“You know what I meant.”

Crowley tapped the glass. “I…”

They both stared at her.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Come on, angel,” said Crowley, withdrawing. “We both know we’re not going to do it. Let’s get back up to our own room. I’m about ready for that 500-year nap right about now.”

Aziraphale took his hand as they exited. “Likewise.”

#my writing #my good omens fanfic #good omens #to ineffability and beyond

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thisdudewalksintoabar · 8 years

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Euless Yacht Club

The previous column was my return to writing Last Call after giving it up for four months to be the Dallas editor of thrillist.com. I was bad at that job for various reasons, some of which were not my own fault, and I was happy when they finally fired me. Re-reading these columns from the spring and summer of 2011 are kind of enjoyable; in the fall, things felt kinda bleak for me, but the spring was fun at least.

https://www.fwweekly.com/2011/04/13/onboard-to-euless-yacht-club/

One hallmark of semi-employment is the way your weekends change shape. Leisure time stretches from day to day like wax in a lava lamp, occasionally separated into individual blobs by interstitial fluid backlit by work and colored with the blues of errands and bills. In other words, I’ve taken to starting the weekend on Wednesdays.

Well, most weeks, anyway. I spent last Wednesday totally hungover, so I didn’t get out until Thursday night, when I cruised the suburban wastes of H-E-B in search of the Euless Yacht Club. Of course, we all know there aren’t any lakes in Euless, and, according to some reviews I’d read on Yelp, giving a bar a name that contradicts its geographic surroundings is an unpardonable, 1½-starrable offense. In addition to a nonsensical name, the Euless Yacht Club is also guilty of the heinous crimes of being old and out of touch –– at least according to Mid-Cities nightlife expert Doug H. “This place has been around SEEMINGLY since the 1970’s [sic], and it would also seem the décor has not been updated since its inception. This is a hole in the wall bar, end of story.”

Get to the bad part! In truth, the bar dates back at least to the ’60s and the décor back to 1982. Doug H. would’ve known all this had he simply stepped down off his Affliction-clad, Axe-body-sprayed high horse and asked someone who works there, because I asked and learned that ’82 was indeed when the owner replaced whatever had been covering the walls before with a bunch of nautical junk. The room is festooned with mermaid figureheads, steering helms, model ships, and a bunch of wooden parrots. Sure, the parrots kinda stand out, but there’s a unified theme at work here, one that definitely goes with the word “yacht.” Missing that is like drinking at the Library Bar, ignoring the books on the walls, and complaining that the place isn’t quiet enough to be called a library.

I argue that the Yacht Club’s name is actually pretty great. And the place itself isn’t bad, either. Euless Yacht Club is a friendly neighborhood dive populated by middle-aged regulars who like drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and rocking Bob Seger on the juke. The wood on the walls is totally unfinished. There’s shuffleboard in the front room, and there are pool tables in the back. The bartender remembered my drink for the second round and asked me to come back soon. The place ain’t fancy, and it’s certainly not yacht club fancy, but I think that’s the point. If affordable drinks served in a timely fashion by nice people in a not-too-serious environment aren’t enough for the Doug H.s of the world, well, then, they can sail somewhere else. –– Steve Steward

The Road Less Traveled

I meant to go to Dallas on Friday night, but my plans fell through, and by that I mean I drank two more beers than I should’ve in order to safely cross the county line. After marinating at The Moon for a bit, I headed to Camp Bowie Boulevard to check out Iguana’s. Last year I wrote about the place when it was called All Star Sports Bar. Iguana’s is kind of the same thing now, though the atmosphere is a lot darker — the walls are charcoal-colored (except for the large mural in the middle bar of a garish neon iguana accented by black lights), and the staffers all wear black button-ups. And while all that black lends a bar a little sophistication, what made everything really dark was the bartender who dramatically quit mid-shift, causing the owner to sweep in and command a befuddled bar-back to start making drinks. I didn’t stay to see how the rest of the night went, but I bet the kid figured it out –– hopefully, before it got busy.

After Iguana’s, I continued west, intending to check out the metal club The Rail, but going the wrong way on Alta Mere Drive, made obvious when I noticed I’d just passed Maxine’s, I thought, “Well, wherever the road takes me, I guess.” And right then, I saw it: Showgirl Cabaret.

I flipped a U-turn and parked behind the building. If you’ve ever been out this way, you know where I’m talking about: The strip club’s in a dumpy yellow building heralded by a big sign that’s perpetually dimming. Not in the least bit sketchy, right? The reasonable part of my brain pointed out that these are the types of low-rent naked-lady bars where people get stabbed in the parking lot, but the normal part told the reasonable part to shut the fuck up and make the best of it, and not only because my fingers were already punching buttons on a nearby ATM. I noticed a Cadillac 300 limo stretched halfway across Showgirl’s parking lot, and I started imagining the sort of person who rents a limo and then goes to Showgirl Cabaret. No, this wouldn’t be sketchy at all.

And, really, it wasn’t. Showgirl doesn’t have much flash — you could probably set up something similar in your garage if you had some green light bulbs and a Limp Bizkit album — but whatever. It’s a one-room affair anchored by a big square bar flanked at the corners by two small stages, both of which are graced by silver poles. One side had some leather couches. The other had two pool tables. Both had strippers, some of whom looked like they’d been at it a while. The limo crew had sort of cordoned off an ad hoc VIP area –– they were a bunch of old fat guys in cowboy hats with an endless supply of singles at the ready, and when the boys lured away the stripper who had asked me if I was sticking around, I drank a beer and hit the road, heading someplace where the women shine you on for free. –– S.S.

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