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tparker48 · 3 years

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"Your task is simple noobie, sneak into our opponent's team and get intel on who to look out for. And do not get caught, we won't be able to reach you in there" his captain said.

"Understood, I'll be in and out before you know it" the tiny would crawl underneath the gap of locker room doors as he walking into the area. The tiles slightly pale as the air smelled of old sweat. Carefully, he made his way toward one of the lockers as he climbed the hole along the panel to the top. Thankfully he picked one that wasn't too noisy as his shoes hit latched on the ends.

He climbed all the way to the top as he perched himself upon an edge as he heard the doors begin to open. Each of the players would shift themselves into the area the sound of cleats and banging shoulder pads came closer. As they came into view, the little would duck a little as he readied his camera.

"Man was that an interesting skrim match. I swear that shoulder nearly knock me off my feet"

"Heh, you that heavy dude. You're almost light as a feather. But speaking of feet, mine are nearly killing me with that running we've been doing"

"Man, they must be really packin this year" the little guy said holding his camera. listening amongst the crowd of players as each conversed with one another. At the same time, he would begin to take pictures from his phone as he scanned and snapped each number and player they see. But there was a particularly bunch that caught his attention the sound of ruckus echoed through the lockers. A hoard of players would begin to swarm the locker doors as each got ready to change from there gear.

"Good work boys, freshen up and get ready for the game tomorrow. And sure to plenty of rest" the coach said among them. The little guy tried to take a picture of him, but sea of players would keep him out of frame before losing him. But a sudden ruckus would soon to turn up below him as the two players were caught in an argument.

"Next time you decide to catch the ball 27, make sure you can actually catch" he heard from below. He held his camera over the edge as he took pictures at the two.

"Get off my case 60! You're the one who threw it too far"

"Not my fault you can't catch think faster than you. Psh, might as well stick to line"

"Ooo note, players 27 and 60 have no coordination. This'll be usueful for tomorrow" the little guy said.

"I'll show you who should stick to line back" one of the players would tackle into the other as they were sent into the locker. Its startled the little guy at first as he continued taking pictures. At that point, the commotion would be to get attraction as the other players would start to gather around.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" They echoed through the locker room.

"Ooo ho ho, now this this is some useful info. Just let them go at take picture and numbers. Simpl-"

"Hey 26! Brace yourself!" Number 60 would go in for a tackle as the both the players crashed into the locker. The force behind it would shake the frame as it distorted the little guy's balance. Before he could get his footing back, he fell of the lockers as he tumbled to the ground

"Please land somewhere soft! Please land somewhere soft!" The little yelled as he fell to the ground. His vision constantly turning before becoming dark with a white surface in front of him. He blinked his eyes for a moment as he slowly got up and looked at the surface. A cushioned pad would be underneath him as he gave a deep sigh of relief. He soon began to stand back to his feet as the as it went to get off and pat himself down. "Oh Thank goodness,for a second there i thought i was gonna land somewhere wor-..." standing on the bench, the little guy started to look up as pillars of players towered around the table. Each of them peering down at the little guy standing in the center of the table.

"What's a little guy doing in here?"

"I don't know, but he picked the place to snoop around. Probably stealing something".

"Let me at em, i'll show him something he can snoop into"

"Eheh, now now guys. Let's not be too hasty. I um...i can explain" the little guy says backing into the pad. The players getting even more closer to the table.

"Now now boys, that's no way to treat a little. Allow me.." The team captain would push a few players aside as the he stood at the front of the table. Moving himself a little closer as his hair blocked the light overhead. "Apologies for them, they tend to get a little roudy when they see someone smaller than them. What's brings you here little one? Never seen someone the of football around here"

"I-I....**ahem** im simply passing through. Heard some commmotion and...decided to look into it. Didn't want to cause any attention"

"Cause the attention huh? Well you certainly are beyond that point" the team captain soon saw a glare from his vision as he looked to the little camera in the pile. The little guy froze for a bit as two finger rose over head a picked it up. "Hmph! Passing through huh? Looks to me like you were taking pictures" he eyed the camera for a bit before seeing a symbol from another university. "Ah i see, so the they're snooping on us huh? We got ourselves a spy boys!" The team captain held up the camera into the air as many squinted at it, but their gaze soon turned downward as the furrowed their look down at the little guy.

"W-what no! I wasn't spying at all. Just hear me out-"

"Sorry little one, evidence spells clear as day. So the other team wasn't to know more about us huh? Heh, well then lets give them what they ask for. Boys? Form a line" with an echoed chuckle, the would line themselves, behind the captain as he stood in front of the table.

"Gah!" The little guy would try and hop off the table, but a thumb would rest on his legs.

"Ah ah ah, can't have you running off just yet. And to make sure you don't" the captain would pull out a patch of tape as he laid it across the little guy's legs.

"Hey! Wha-what are you doing!"

Giving you the info you wanted" the captain would turn his back towards the little guy on table as he unfastened his pants. Pulling them down, his round glutes would stick out partially as he hover the crack over.

"Th-this is insane, what if your coach comes back and sees you doing this?" The little would pry at the tape, but he wasn't able to get a good hold.

"The coach's gone for today, which means its just you and us. And we hehe, have a very special gift for your data" the captain would soon drop to the table as his ass planted ontop of the little guy. He felt his cheeks spread a little as the sound of little muffles echoed from underneath.

The little guy's world would be dark, but the warm smell still remained as he pushed his hands between the ass crack. With each push, he could feel the hairs along the cracks length and in between it, the hole clenching at him as he bucked against it. "Hey! This isn't funny, get...off of me!".

"Sure thing. But first, your gift" as the captain sat down firmly onto the table, he would soon begin to spread his left cheek away from the other as the wall of ass planted ontop of the little guy. The sound of churning echoed above him before the hole he pushed against began to open up, before the little knew it, a warm scent escaped from inside as his nose scrunched at the smell of it.

"There go, fresh data just for you. I hope you like it"

"Augh! Come on, seriously. Get off me alrea-" before the little could finish, a rush of hot air burst into him as the smell followed behind it. The captain would feel the seat begin to warm as he chuckled to himself. Feeling the little hands underneath pounding against his. Ass as released another one. At that point, the little guy's eyes would begin to water as a second rush of air blew into him.

About a few more seconds passed before the captain began to stand back up. But not before rubbing his ass in place as the sound of grunts sounded underneath. "Aah, now i feel much better. Been holding that in since practice".

"You...are a bastard you know!" The little guy coughed.

"Heh, such harsh little words for a squirt. I do hope a little gas didn't get the better of you"

"Peh, hardly"

"Good, cause the rest of the of the team want to give you some data too" the two of them looked to the other players as they looked at the little guy with eager anticipation. "He's all yours boys. Oh and, do be sure to drop him off at the other team's place".

"With pleasure" one of the players behind him said as he stood forward. Peering down at the little as the captain went out. His shadow casted over the little guy as a little smirk came across his face.

"Ehehe..please rethink about this" the little said sweating.

"Oh i've thought of it alright" the player would seperate his legs apart as he moved them along the length of the table until his ass hovered over the little guy's head. Pulling his pants down, he spread both cheeks apart as he as aligned it with his face. "I'd hold your breath if I were you" as the player said that, his ass would move closer as the area darkened. As it sat to the table, it would plant down on his shoulders. Leaving his face to be in the center as his hole winked against his cheeks. "Unlike the captain, i like to have things much close and personal against my hole"

The little guy would feel the force of his hole mush into him as its wrinkled skin still had a little sweat in between. He tried kicking his legs from behind to get his attention, but he only received a firm press from the hole above as it slowly moved in place. As it did, the hole would begin to open up as the as a fart came out in firm bursts. The hole clamping back onto to his face each time as the farts ringed through his ears.

"Grgh! Stop it already!"

"Sorry squirt, i ain't stoppin til every bubble inside me is out and blown into you" the player sat down a little more as the hole covered over the side of the little guy's face "so sit tight". Mire churns would echo from inside him as the table once again started to feel warm. The warm smell following behind as it resonated strongly underneath him.

Another few seconds passed as the players farts soon stopped. As it started to get up, he poked a finger against the back of the little guy's head as he felt him slide off against it. "Thanks for the release squirt".

"Hah....hah...please, no more farts for lord sakes"

"Quit your whining but mat, you got the rest of us to tend to" a bigger players would step into the light as the towered over head. He also spread his ass apart as he hovered overhead. "Now just keep your head juust like that for.." As the the big player casted overhead, the little guys vision would soon go dark.

An hour later:

The other team would just now be finishing up practice as each went to change there gear. Some of them talking amongst each other while others went and trained a bit more. Suddenly, they heard a flurry of knocks on the enterance of the locker as a shadow showed up before disappearing.

"Hmm, wonder who that could be" one the players went to go open the open, but found no one outside. The only thing standing there was as small twisting jar. "Hmm, there's a note" bringing it inside, he read it to the other players as the sound stared puzzled at it. "Here is your data. Be sure to get it cleaned up. Winky face? The hell does that mean?" As the player said, they soon heard loud bangs coming from the jar as the one them slowly went to open it. Untwisting the lid, they were all met with a foul smell as a jock would stored inside. Along with the little guy as he popped out of it gasping for fresh air.

"Holy crap! What the hell happened?"

"The smells, so..so many smells. Who'd think that many players could smell that bad" the little said climbing out.

"They, what do you mean?"

"I'll tell you later. For now im just gonna...lay here for a while" the little guy would sprawl onto the table as he shut his eyes in defeat. Leaving the other players confused as they looked back at the tired tiny.

"Dang, they must've really did a number on you" his captain said.

"Ugh, you have no idea"

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enochianribs · 3 years

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Chapter 2 of the Cabin AU is up now!

Read on Ao3 here, or under the cut.

(Reblogs appreciated!)

The roof had a leak. Dean woke up to a growing wet spot on the pillow next to his. He laid still, eyes crossing as he stared at the ceiling, watching the bead of water run across one of the unfinished boards, suspending itself for an entire minute until it plopped right next to his head. Slowly, his mind pulled itself out of his dream, though the haze lingered. The roof had a leak. Dean woke up to a growing wet spot on the pillow next to his. He laid still, eyes crossing as he stared at the ceiling, watching the bead of water run across one of the unfinished boards, suspending itself for an entire minute until it plopped right next to his head. Slowly, his mind pulled itself out of his dream, though the haze lingered.

“Mmm...great.” Another item on his to-do list.

Dean was willing to bet there were more leaks in the living room.

For a moment he debated allowing himself to be lulled back to sleep. It was all too easy to slip back to that dream again: blurry hands, soft mouths, quiet murmurs, everything he missed and everything he’d never had. Not really.

Rain gently pattered against the outside of the cabin, the storm grinding in from the East and then settling its haunches right over the hills to stay for the night. The sun was rising, and the pink sky cast shadows from the drops on the window pane, little spots phantom dripping down his sheets.

It was the first morning since he’d gotten to the cabin that he’d slept in past sunrise. Sluggishly, he sat up, diggin the heel of his hand into his eyes as a yawn fought its way out of his chest. He turned his head, and reached out with a hand to wake his companion, before reality caught up with him and his hand fell to the mattress, going through the ghost.

That’s right , he thought. His mouth tasted like ash.

If he laid there any longer his chest would become heavy, and his breaths ragged, so he tossed the covers off, and trudged over to the shower. The cold water bit through the fog better than anything else could, and he leaned his temple against the glass door waiting for it to heat up and fill the room with steam.

Normally, he’d air dry, but it was chilly and an urgency hung around him. He grabbed the bleach-spotted towel hanging sadly by the door towelled off quickly.

He wandered idly, picking his daily morning tasks up and dropping them before he’d complete them. Something pulled him around the house. He was forgetting something.

Dean was midway through folding the quilt and draping it on the sofa arm when they caught his eye.

Two large feathers sat in the middle of the massive dining table (he still wondered who had built and what they’d been thinking— the thing could seat the knights of the round table if necessary). Tugging the fridge door with one hand he reached blindly for the pot of coffee he kept iced, and nudged it closed with his knee, never taking his eyes off them.

They were captivating. He continued to stare as he poured himself a cup, spilling some of the coffee onto the counter. He’d forget to clean it up, and it would stain, but that was okay. If they asked, he was experimenting with wood staining.

Dean could examine them once he made himself some kind of breakfast. Those were the rules: remember to feed yourself, and then you can do whatever you want to with your day. Breakfast ended up being toast and jam, and he plopped it down at the end seat of the table, and reached for the feathers before he took a bite.

The color on the first one was so dark it looked heavy, but it was as light in his hand as any feather should be. He held it up and squinted, twisting his wrist back and forth. It caught the light and reflected a shimmering oil slick back at him. The colors shifted, hues iridescent.

At first glance it could be a raven’s, but it was at least four times bigger than that.

The second one was more muted, the black towards the base of it dappled into a brown and white, and it was downy soft where the other was sharp and precise. Yesterday he’d thought it was grey but better light proved that it was a grey-brown.

He’d assumed that it was from the same bird— creature , but now he wasn’t so sure. Dean didn’t know the first thing about birds. However, he knew several people who did.

▵▿▵

“Hey, Bobby. Can I talk to Rufus?”

“He’s kinda in the middle of some’in’, Dean.” The roll of his eyes was audible, as someone yelped in the muffled background. “Can I call you back?”

“Please?” Dean asked, grinning cheekily even though he wasn’t there to warm Bobby over in person.

Bobby made a disgruntled noise and paused, before sighing. “You’re doing the face aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Fine. You never want to talk to me .”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Hm.” Bobby replied. Out of spite, he kept the phone next to his face as he shouted for his attention. “Rufus! It’s Dean.”

Ouch , Dean mouthed wincing at the volume, as he listened to the sound of two old men grumbling at each other before fabric shifted, and Rufus picked up the phone.

“He lives.”

A smile burst its way through Dean’s concentration. “Hey Ruf, gotta question for you.”

“Coulda called us sooner. We were beginning to wonder if you’d sold the cabin and moved somewhere warmer with pink flamingos.”

The image made Dean snort. Him at the beach? Unlikely.

“Nope.” Dean quipped. “Still here and freezing my ass off. You guys ever think about installing a damn heater?”

“And pay that bill? Hell no. We added a fireplace, what more do you want from us.”

Good ol’ crabby Rufus. “What do you know about birds?”

“A lot.” As per usual, he was being obtuse.

“Know of any big enough to leave behind two foot feathers?”

Rufus whistled. “Not in North America, unless you’ve got ostriches running around.”

“That’d be a negatory. So there’s nothing you can think of?”

“Nope. Did you find something, kid?”

“Holding one right now.”

“No shit.” He could hear the bewildered tone of his voice over the shitty connection. “Well, I guess keep an eye out. It’d be real hard for something that big to hide, and even harder for it to sit comfortable in those pine trees with the branches so dense. I’d say you’re about to make the biggest zoological discovery in North America in the past century. Keep us posted?”

“Will do.” Dean said, and he heard Rufus handing the phone back over to Bobby.

“Hope everything’s okay up there, Dean.”

“Everything’s peachy, honestly. Anyways—” He checked the clock on the stove. 8:30. The hardware store would be open in a half hour. “I’ve got some errands to run, so I’ll leave you to whatever it is a couple of old farts do in retirement.”

“Hey—”

Dean grinned to himself. “See ya, Bobby.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

The line went silent, and Dean shoved his phone back into his pocket, bobbing his head to the side in thought. Though he didn’t get a definitive answer, at least the call had eliminated the options of native fauna.

▵▿▵

At nine in the morning, Dean was usually one of a small line of people waiting outside Lafitte’s Goods to needle Benny’s brain for fixes and tools of the trade. Pamela was waiting against the brick wall, hand shielding the summer morning sun from her eyes, reading a 99 cent paper back with interest.

“Hey, Pamela.”

“Dean-o. Call me Pammy.”

“Really?”

“No, of course not. But Pam works. I’m not your mother.”

“You call your mom by her first name?”

“Fair point. What’re you here for?” She nodded her head and bounced off the wall, as Benny unlocked the doors. A couple of grizzled old men shuffled in ahead of them, beelining it for the plywood.

Porch season.

“Roof’s got a leak.”

“Leak season.”

“Apparently. This is the third one since I got here.”

She squinted at him, like he was omitting something important, and popped the bubble of gum in her mouth. Dean started to itch under her scrutiny. He hated being studied like a lab rat.

What was the woman? A witch? Why was she peeling back layers of his get-up without warning.

Dean coughed, and used Benny’s presence as an excuse to wiggle out from under her gaze. “Gotta— yeah, see you.” Turning on his heel he fled towards the adhesives, face contorting with embarrassment.

Holy fuck, somehow he’d gotten even more awkward.

Dear god, help me.

Benny never pried unless Dean seemed interested in offering up information, and for that Dean was actually incredibly grateful. Most days he didn’t want to talk about anything, certainly not his past, but Benny and his bushy beard and warm eyes had managed to wiggle through his walls, just a little.

“Benny.”

Benny stared at him from behind the register, inquisitive expression considerably easier to cope with than Barnes' hungry expression. A friendly smile danced across his face as he assessed Dean’s no-doubt rosey cheeks.

“She’s got her claws in you, huh.”

Dean ducked his head, glancing sideways at the brunette woman still looking at the different kinds of rope. A tramp stamp peeked out from under the bottom edge of her tank top. Dean tapped his fingers on the pock-marked wood counter and turned his attention back to his friend. “Is she always like that?”

“Sure is,” Benny drawled, ringing up everything Dean had haphazardly shoved onto the counter in his escape. “You just happen to be the newest, prettiest , plaything in Pringle.” The burly man winked.

Pink crawled up Dean’s neck from his collarbones and spread into his cheeks once again. Christ, there was no escape from these people. Still stammering, Dean practically ran back to the Impala.

▵▿▵

The phone vibrated in his back pocket. By the third ring, Dean had parked Baby in her usual spot, and he struggled to tug it out of his pocket, checking the Caller ID.

California.

He pumped the window down, the air getting warm inside the car, and he flipped the phone open, inhaling sharply. He should have called before now. Shouldn’t have let so much time pass. In the fall, he’d be too busy to take any of Dean’s calls anyways.

“Hello?”

“Dean?”

“Sammy.”

Several seconds of too-long silence passed between them.

“Where have you been?”

Dean swallowed, thick, guilt permeating the small space.

“Sorry, I just—” He didn’t have an excuse. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“You still could’ve picked up the phone. I tried to call you about six times. You don’t always need to have something to say, y’know… It just would’ve been nice to know you’re still breathing.” His brother’s voice was basically a whisper at the end.

“I know.” Dean closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing shakily. “I know.”

“I had to hear it from Bobby. Dean—” Sam’s voice pitched up to that octave it always did when he was upset. “Dad’s gone again.”

Fuck.

“And that’s fine. It’s not like I’m ten and incapable of caring for myself but I thought— I thought he’d be back by now. It’s been a couple of weeks.”

“Shit, Sammy.”

“I think he’s fine. He sent a vague text a couple of days ago, it’s just with school starting in two months I get worried. Not even for him, just for us. I can’t pay for school myself, and I can’t afford to miss anything because of Dad. If my grades drop, I’m out.”

“I know.” God, Dean knew.

Sam was a late bloomer for college. The kid was brilliant, but he’d been dealt a bad hand, and it was a miracle Rufus and Bobby had invested in a saving fund for the two of them decades ago. At twenty-two, Dean knew that he’d already had trouble securing the scholarships. Stanford wanted the best and brightest, not the kid with seven schools on his high school transcript and an overabundance of unexcused absences.

The guilt piled up and perched itself on his shoulders until he sagged into his seat under the heaviness. It was his job to keep John out of trouble, not Sammy’s. And instead he’d run away from that responsibility.

The repair materials sat in the backseat, and his heart twisted in his chest. The meadow sat peacefully in the late afternoon sun, just across the short distance of woods, and it still kept its secret. He didn’t want to go back. Not yet. Not until he’d had his fill of independence.

“Look,” He could kick himself for how his voice cracked. “If John doesn’t turn up by the end of the week, I’ll come back. I’ll help. Promise.”

For what it was worth, a facet of his brother’s relieved sigh sounded apologetic.“Thank you, Dean. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

“Okay then.”

“Bye.”

“Talk to you soon, Sammy.” Dean’s jaw clenched involuntarily, as he flipped the phone closed and tossed it against the passenger door. His frustrated shout echoed between him and the trees, but he didn’t feel better.

Always this .

Historically, John would do something stupid and irresponsible and Dean would drop everythign to clean up the mess and no one would thank him. Not really. That was fine.

Family was supposed to break your heart.

▵▿▵

The leak proved to be an easy fix.

Dean fought the attic door that led to the roof, following the small staircase up until he was on the balls of his feet, head sticking out as he pulled himself onto it. The shingles were rough, cracked and damaged from the winters, and he scrapped the length of his arm against it.

The source of the leak took only a minute to find. Five or so shingles were missing, leaving nothing but the wood underneath, which did nothing but absorb any and all precipitation. The rubber sealant smelled terrible, and he gagged dramatically, almost dropping the metal can in the process. Done applying, he plopped his ass down, determined to see it dry properly before he went back inside.

Half assing things had always resulted in a stern talking to in the least, and it had been something he’d struggled with growing up, his mind yanking him a thousand directions until his head was spinning and John was disappointed.

Dean grit his teeth, purposefully dragging the raw scrape against the rough roofing, the burn biting through the thought, bringing him back down from that far off place he so frequently wandered to. He didn’t even know how he got there, but he found himself lost, shrunk down, smaller than the hand-me-down leather jacket he tried to fill.

From the roof he could see almost everything. It turned out that Rufus and Bobby’s cabin foundation was built onto a gentle slope.

The rain clouds had dissipated, migrating to the flat plains further south, and it left a crisp atmosphere behind. The sun poked through the remaining gargantuan cumulonimbus clouds, sunbeams gently caressing the grass. Grey mist rose from where the creek beds greedily absorbed the heat. It reminded him of the paintings of cowboys, sitting on a stallion, bathed in golden light, their backs to the audience, all the edges illuminated and throwing everything else into stark purple shadows.

The burn of the scrape subsided as a sense of peace settled Dean, his body melting into the shingles. An hour passed before his stomach growled, and he climbed back down for lunch.

▵▿▵

Tapping.

Tapping at the window pane only inches from his face.

Groggy and only slightly encrusted (gross) Dean opened his eyes and was met by dark blue ones, a tawny human hand pressed up against the glass.

Dean’s soul evaporated out of his body, back pressed to the headboard as he scrabbled for the small knife he kept under his pillow. Before he could look again, it was gone.He launched himself out of bed, so very entirely grateful that he’d had enough sense to go to sleep in his boxers and his worn-out threadbare Kansas shirt.

Holy hell.

Fingers trembling, he opened the window, leaning almost all the way out, hovering a few feet above the ground.A single feather slowly came to rest soundlessly on the pine-needle carpet. The view from the window remained unyieldingly motionless.

Black-eyed susans had begun to sprout in the shade, despite themselves, and now they quivered where they grew between the pine-roots even though the morning wind had not pierced through the woods yet.

Craning his neck, he glanced up, half expecting the last thing he’d ever see to be a terrifying bird man staring down at him like he was lunch. Nothing.

Dean practically fell out of his room, chanting under his breath in a poor attempt to calm himself down as he stumbled down the short hall to the living room.

It’s human.

“No,” Dean spoke to the picture frames on the walls. He had no idea what he was denying, but the situation begged to be denied. He paced back and forth in the living room, no doubt wearing the floor down despite the fact that he was wearing socks— the ones with the holes in the heel. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Oh my God, it was so very not okay.

Suddenly, the couch seemed like the perfect place to suffocate himself to unconsciousness. Someone else could deal with this.

No , he thought. You wanted this to happen, you dirty liar. Stop panicking and deal with it.

Wings was human- or at least partially human. He looked like a man. Dean’s thin eyelids fluttered closed, and the image was painted on the backside of them with crystal clarity. Square jawline, arrow-straight nose, curiously arched eyebrows… and the eyes . They were so blue. And they had been looking right at him. Watching him.

It was entirely ridiculous that his eyes overshadowed the massive lurking darkness behind him, of what had to have been his wings.

A human with wings.

This was crazy. Everything was crazy.

The way he saw it, there were two directions this could go: he could pretend he hadn’t seen anything, and this would be tucked away into the delusion box that he kept under lock and key at the back of his mind and he could grow old being none the wiser of whatever breach of reality this was, or he could go find it.

The first option was sounding real nice. Normal. Well adjusted.

He was well adjusted.

Besides, Dean wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t a dream. this entire thing was a fever dream and he was in some hospital bed back in Lawrence, stuck in a coma. Dean pinched himself, viciously and stared at the white marks left on his forearm, helpless.

Nope.

“Okay.” He barked out a laugh.

He should call Jo.

After a few more minutes of pacing and hyperventilating, he decided against it. He would tell her— of course he would! —but when it came up.

The Harvelle’s were good people and they’d shown him nothing but kindness.

The situation had to be broached with care, or the small home he’d built in the life he wanted to live would topple in on itself, and the rubble and dust would drown him.

Trust issues were a problem of his, and he’d been aware of them since high school, when he’d had too many secrets to keep and any semblance of a support system was states away.

God, he knew the way he clammed up was obvious, but sometimes he surprised even himself. If he was being honest, there was a lot more to it than a strong need for privacy. Didn’t matter though. In the end, after all the nit-picking and self beratement, it boiled down to fear.

Jo could keep her mouth closed, but there was always a chance she’d accidentally tell someone, and there was a high chance it would be the wrong person. If he let it slip that this thing existed, who knew what would come packing. And he knew sooner or later, someone would bring the heat. Words got around easily in a small town like Pringle and he knew everyone would be at his door, wanting a chance to see the freak of the week.

Which… was a thing that existed. A human with wings, that called the small clearing his home.

His heart skipped a beat at the thought. He felt protective over the man, almost ferociously so.

The day’s hunting trip wasn’t happening— now Dean was paranoid.

What if he accidently shot him? Or scared him off permanently?

His stomach churned, acid and bile climbing their way up his throat. The burn was familiar. Half his childhood had been spent subsiding panic attacks and anxiety, calming down Dad or Sam or both at the same time.

▵▿▵

The tin echo of a gunshot managed to penetrate through the thick log walls of the cabin.In a heartbeat, he was scrambling for the ancient shotgun. The front door swung open, the little voice in his head told him to close it behind him, but his feet carried him quicker than his mind and so he left it swinging on its hinges at his back.

An anguished scream gargled its way from somewhere deeper into the woods, due south of the cabin. Rocks dashed the soles of Dean’s feat and he swore out loud, having forgotten his boots at the door.

Shit shit shit.

Someone was nearby, and they were ballsy enough to fire a weapon despite the illegality of hunting on private property. His mind raced at the same speed he ran towards it, a limp skewing his gate every few steps. Stray branches caught the sleeves of his shirt, tearing through the fabric as he refused to slow down.

It’s just a deer.

He knew better.

They’re just after a deer, or a bison that wandered away from the heard or an elk or something—

Another blood curdling scream erupted from amongst the pine, this one loud enough to rattle the crows out of their nests. They cawed, the sound of dozens of pairs of wings taking flight muting the pained groans.

He knew better.

Please— please. Not Wings.

He faltered over a boulder, panic overtaking muscle memory and skidded to a halt at the crest of a ledge. The scene below knocked the breath out of his chest, leaving a vacuum in its wake.

Campbell, one of the more elderly hunters of the area was standing over another tawny body. Giant black wings sprawled out, twisting and twitching in the dirt and mud, feathers slightly splayed underneath his back.

Campbell’s face distorted in pain, a tense moment passing before his wild eyes landed on Dean, the whites of his too visible, even from ten yards away. Blood pumped out from a wound on his neck, and he had a hand clamped down onto it, slick with red, he held a shotgun limply in his left hand, the butt of it dropped heavily to the ground.

Semi-satisfied that Campbell didn’t seem interested in shooting again, Dean fixated every ounce of attention on Wings and his breath hitched. Smeared across his mouth and chin was a copious amount of blood. He’d bitten Campbell. Dean’s heart swelled with pride.

Good .

His short encounter with Campbell prior had proved that the man was a bag of dicks, cocky and far too keen on the killing aspect of hunting. It skeeved Dean out then, and it certainly did now. Campbell was still looking at Wings like he was prey. Though no component of the scene begged to differ: the man was naked, teeth bared, but he was incapable of escaping, the gunshot wound in his abdomen bleeding him dry.

Dean leveled the end of his shotgun at Campbell’s head. “Get the fuck away from him.”

Campbell backed away from Wings, the muscles in his right arm tensed, like he wanted to put it up defensively, but it was necessary he kept pressure on the wound. It looked like Wings had gone for the jugular. “It attacked me, Winchester.”

“And?”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

Dean would put money on the fact that he looked the part, he could feel his chest heaving, something akin to dull rage pumping through his veins. He prayed the tremor in his hand didn’t betray his hesitation. “I said move .”

Obeying his orders, Campbell stepped back, never taking his eyes off of the strange man. Agony flashed across his face where he laid in the dirt.In his hands, he held a silver blade. Wings looked from Campbell to Dean, expression visibly softening.

“Give me your coat.” Dean didn’t have much time, glancing at Wings, he saw that a red gleam of blood was starting to trickle from the corner of his mouth and his eyes moved frantically. He slid down the slope and went to take off his jacket and remembered his was only in his boxers. “ NOW .”

Campbell shirked it off and threw it at Dean, staying exactly where he was. Moving quickly, Dean pressed the thick fabric to the wound, moving his other hand to the back side to see where the bullet went. There was no opening there, and he was thankful that Wings was naked. He could skip the sometimes detrimental process of removing his clothes to assess the wound better.

He tied the jacket around him and slid one arm under his legs and the other across his shoulder blades, lifting him up carefully. Dean had to get him back to his house immediately, before Wings lost too much blood.

One last time, he regarded Campbell. He felt the sneer tug his lip up, his voice like acid trying to eat through the other man’s bones until he was nothing. “Get the fuck off my property. And don’t tell anyone about this. He’ll be fine, not that you care. But you won’t be if I see you here again, or if I hear about this from anyone. Do I make myself clear?”

Samuel’s eyes darkened clearly at war with Dean’s threat, but his skin was taking on a pallor akin to lethal blood loss. He nodded curtly, acknowledging the agreement, at least for the moment.

Reasonably satisfied that Campbell wouldn’t shoot them in the back, Dean turned and left, the body draped over his shoulder too warm.Dean’s hand wrapped around, hand feathering over his taut side, avoiding the wound. He could feel his fingers wet with blood.

Wings was whispering something feverishly, though Dean couldn’t catch a word of it, his eyes glazed over with pain, searching the sky for something with a fervor of a religious man with hell hounds on his heels.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Dean murmured, straining to carry the both of them the distance to the cabin. “I’ve got you.”

Wing’s head lolled to the side, and his body went slack. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but Dean couldn’t afford to cry now. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to get them inside safely. He swallowed the terror. He ducked and wove through the undergrowth, fearing that the drooping wings would catch on a branch or boulder.

The time it took until he could lay Wings down on his dining room table felt like hell had manifested on Earth, keenly able to feel life slipping away in his arms.

Once Dean managed to put Wings on the table without his head smacking the wood, he tore the kitchen apart for salt and a bowl of water and some clean washcloths, and sprinted to the bathroom, yanking the drawers out and emptying their contents onto the counter and sink until his eyes landed on the tweezers and isopropyl alcohol.

It wasn’t a perfect med kit, but there was no other choice. It had to do.

Dean approached the table cautiously, worried that too much movement would set him off. The dark wingspan spread out almost three feet on either side of the table and Dean swallowed a stone.

He had no idea what to do next, not really. The closest experience he’d had to being a doctor had been treating John’s stab wound when he was thirteen and John had come home more beaten than usual.

He stared helplessly down at Wings.

“He...help.” Wings voice was like a ghost’s, he barely heard it, and he was standing right next to him. He looked up at the cobwebbed chandelier lighting like it was something holy and mesmerizing and Dean realized he was losing him.

“Shhh… it’s okay.” His forehead was sticky with sweat and drying blood, and Dean pushed some of the unruly black wisps from his eyes, humming low. “I’m gonna help you.”

Wings hand shook, following the edge of the table, feverishly searching for something to hold onto. Tentatively, Dean slid his fingers between his, feeling his calloused palm against his own. “Wings. Wings, you gotta listen to me. Wings, please . You have to lay still.”

He had no idea if the man understood a single word he was saying, but it seemed to do the trick. Over the span of a terrible minute, his breathing slowed down, and his grip on Dean’s hand went from frail to almost bone crushingly alive.

Wings’ blue eyes were on him, flickering a little in the low light. Dean waited, untrained, unable and unwilling to play operation on him while he was still conscious, eyes desperate to look at anything but the daunting task before him.

Eventually, he passed out, his painful grimace replaced by a soft one, and Dean began to remove the shrapnel bullet, praying to anyone who was listening that it had not shredded his insides beyond repair.

▵▿▵

At some point in the night, Dean had gotten up to draw the curtains and lock the door, willing to sacrifice only a moment to seal them away from the rest of the world.

Now, sunlight pierced through the cracks, illuminating them both in thin lines of white light. He watched Wings toss and turn, his face gnarling into pain each time he moved.

What if Dean had fucked it up? What if the next breath he drew was his last? His mind raced, punishing him for every moment’s hesitation that could very well lead to his death.

Dean caught himself following Wings jawline, examining the stark contours of his face like he would never see them again. Please, just please make it out alive.

“Don’t die on me, Wings.” The words slipped out subconsciously. “Please, God, don’t die on me.”

Dean had the decency to cover him up with the quilt. The two’s hands were still tightly entwined long after the heartbeat in Wing’s wrist lulled Dean into sleep, tumbling heart over head.

#honestly i think i'm gonna reverse the title #I HATE TITLES what kinda corny ass things i come up with lmao #but for now.#that's what its called #cabin au #*#mine

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 4 years

Text

Goodnight, Aaron (Aaron Hotchner x Reader) Chapter 3

Summary: Day 2 of the trial, a Sunday where Jack is allowed to choose his own adventure with Sebastian along for the ride.

AN: I hope you are all taking care of yourselves <3 and that tomorrow is kind to you.

Tagging: @sunlight-moonrise, @clean-bands-dirty-stories, @genevievedarcygranger, and @davidrossi-ismydad

Chapter 2 // Masterlist // AO3 Link // Chapter 4

“Morning, Jack,” Sebastian greeted the soporific Jack Hotchner as he entered the kitchen. Jack mumbled back and climbed into his place at the table. Sebastian set the place, poured his cereal, got his juice out as well, before joining him in breakfast.

They ate in quietude, that is until Sebastian’s phone buzzed with a text.

Once he’d read it, he held the phone out to Jack across the table, “Hey, do you wanna talk to your Dad? He’s free to call you quick if you want.”

A bolt of energy shot through Jack and he clutched the phone tightly.

There was Sebastian’s watchful eye remaining on Jack while he was clearing up the dirty dishes. Jack knuckled one of his eyes every now and again, but there was no doubt that he was beyond excited to speak to Hotch. His legs swung under the table.

“I love you, Daddy,” Jack said before he passed the phone back over, but Hotch had already hung up. Pocketing it, Sebastian finished up his breakfast with Jack officially cheered up – for now at least.

“I was thinking we could go out somewhere, treat ourselves.”

“The zoo!” Jack crowed immediately

“The zoo?”

“I haven’t been for ages and ages!”

“Well, I shall see if that’s possible while you go brush your teeth.”

Completely unplanned, Jack was dressed in a green polo that matched Sebastian’s shirt. Not the pattern but they were the exact same shade.

“My mum used to dress me and my sister up in similar outfits when we were kids,” Sebastian said as he was tying up his laces.

“Sometimes, Henry and me wear the same things,” Jack replied, double knotting his shoes up. A wise move.

“Who’s Henry?”

“My friend, his Mommy works with Daddy.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

The drive over had a much more confident sing-a-long. Sebastian played the same CD (but just the songs that Jack liked) and Jack was starting to pick up on some of the lyrics. Or at least what they sounded like. He was currently favouring that of Sara Bareilles. So much so that, after they circled the car park of the zoo and found a space, they finished the song before turning the engine off

As they were lining up to buy the tickets, Sebastian bent over and whispered to Jack, “I know you’d much rather have your dad here instead of me.”

“I don’t mind you,” was the reply, and a shrug to boot.

“I don’t mind you either, kid.”

And the second they entered the park, map in hand, Jack was grabbing at Sebastian, pulling him along, “Come on, I wanna see the elephants!”

The pair did pause to glance in the direction of the other animals, give them their moment of glory. But their focus and their hearts were set on finding the biggest land mammal, past the bug house and the birds, along to where the wider paddocks were situated.

Across a wooden bridge, they finally landed at the edge of a wooden barrier, about five feet from a ha-ha wall that wrapped around the elephants’ land. Jack stood on his tiptoes, his chin on the wooden slat.

Already knowing the answer to his questions, Sebastian said, “Can you see alright? Or do you wanna go on my shoulders?”

Jack fidgeted, scuffing his shoes on the dirt path, “Yes please.”

And he raised his arms over his head. Sebastian ducked down and lifted Jack over his head with some difficulty. He didn’t tell Jack that though.

“Now, don’t go farting on me, young man,” He patted Jack’s leg.

“Thank you, Seb.”

From his elevated position, Jack cheered up. He made sure not to hit Sebastian when his legs stretched out in excitement at the baby elephant trotting about the enclosure. He waved to the baby elephant who waved their trunk clumsily back at the crowds, eliciting a series of “awws”.

“Baby elephants stay with their mothers for their whole life,” Sebastian read off the plaque, “And these ones are from India. That’s where my mum’s from!”

“Is that why you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“All funny,” and Jack flapped his hand about.

“Nah, that’s my dad’s fault. From the exotic land of Bolton.”

“Is there any animals from there here?”

“Probably not, bud.”

“That one’s the Mommy,” Jack pointed out the elephant the wee baby was now showing off to. He laughed loudly when another baby elephant submerged its whole head into the artificial watering hole for a drink, “It’s still learning!”

A gentle meander took them all the way back to the café, once again ignoring the other animals. They were thinking with their stomach.

Upon arriving at their destination, Jack went for the classic fish, chips, and peas. Sebastian had made a New Year’s resolution to not order something just to get the chips on the side, so he went for the lasagne and broccoli.

“I used to call them ‘baby trees’, made me feel like a giant.”

“What about peas?” Jack scooped several of the vegetable up onto his fork.

“They’re boulders, the kind that roll all the way down mashed potato mountains.”

“I don’t have any mashed potatoes though.”

“Maybe next time. Eat your boulders.”

Third time lucky, the other animals were given Jack’s attention. His second favourite after the elephants? The meerkats. There was a bubble at the centre with a tunnel underneath the desert-like paddock that he could go into and poke his head up. He waved and shouted (albeit muffled by the thick glass) at Sebastian, who waved back and took some photos. Back around by Sebastian’s side of the wall, Jack would hold the meerkats’ attention with a clementine segment pinched in his finger and lure them around the wall’s edge. Then he would eat the fruit.

Sebastian preferred the otters, slipping and sliding down the stream. His laugh trilled with the kids that watched the otters cawing at each other. Chattering between their little whines, they wriggled around in the pool.

Just as Jack was adding to his birthday list every other item in the gift shop. Sebastian’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

About to fly back to Virginia, will be in around nine.

All good our end, hope it’s good with yours too

And Sebastian sent his reply with the photo of Jack hypnotising the meerkats with the promise of citrus fruit.

Jack was very clearly worn out from the day but still had enough energy to tap his toes along during the drive back. The news that Hotch would be home that evening was what got Jack through until dinner time. Sat on the countertop, he watched TV placidly, while Sebastian got on with the tuna pasta. He did get to pour the sweetcorn in, a proper little chef.

“Thoughts?” Sebastian asked when Jack chewed through half his plate, apparently without breathing.

“It’s nice,” Jack said, his mouth half full, “I like the chips.”

The crushed salted crisps sprinkled on top were just a bonus that Sebastian’s dad had introduced to the world. His best invention by far, besides his two kids of course. And Jack ate it all up with gusto.

As the dishwasher was being loaded, out of nowhere, the front door unlocked and not even halfway open before Jack was up on his feet and shouting, “Daddy!”

He sprinted full force and was caught in his father’s arms just as Hotch stepped into the flat. Hotch, despite seeming very worn out, cradled his son like he was a newborn.

“Hey buddy,” He whispered into Jack’s hair, “How have you been?”

Jack’s reply was muffled in his suit jacket, “Good!”

“How was your time with Sebastian?”

“We went to the zoo!”

Sebastian caught Hotch’s gaze over Jack’s shoulder, and immediately Sebastian busied himself with clearing the table, “Lucky you caught him on his way to bed.”

“Come on,” Hotch patted Jack’s back, “Let’s get you off to sleep.”

He carried Jack off to his bedroom, leaving his briefcase at the door. Sebastian watched them go with a half-smile. One that disappeared when it turned to the chores at hand.

First things first, he placed Hotch’s dinner onto a plate and placed it in the oven, still warm from the initial cooking. Of course, he didn’t put the salad in the oven. He wasn’t an idiot. Then it was putting the leftovers in the fridge, scrubbing at the dishes and cutlery, cleaning down the table, sweeping up the stuff. Somehow he was always more productive when the repercussions were next to instantaneous.

“Did Jack go down OK?” Sebastian asked once Hotch had returned to the kitchen.

“Yes, he’s quite worn out from your trip.”

“How was the case?”

The question was offered with a levity that Hotch understood as merely checking in, not an attempt to mine the grisly details from his mind. That much was clear when Hotch set his gun down on the table and Sebastian tensed before moving around and away from it. Hotch then picked it back up and deposited it in a drawer.

“It was fine, glad it was over quick. Is that my dinner?” Hotch opened the oven, standing clear of the hot air that escaped from it.

Nodding, Sebastian passed the dying up cloth between his two hands, “Yeah, plus salad, crisps – sorry, ‘chips’ - for the top.” He corrected himself only because Hotch’s eyebrows knitted at his choice of words.

“You put chips on top of your pasta?” He said slowly.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

Looking unconvinced, Hotch closed the oven again, “How did you find your time with Jack?”

“He’s a good kid, we had fun today. Plus, he didn’t kick up a fuss eating his five-a-day which is a bonus,” Sebastian twisted the dish cloth around, “You’ve done a good job raising him.”

Hotch nodded with what Sebastian was saying, and while his face stayed neutral, his eyes held a glint.

“Then you wouldn’t have any objections to becoming his nanny full time, would you?”

Offer sank in and Sebastian’s face broke out into a toothy grin, “Yeah? Even with the crisp-chips?”

Hotch’s shoulders dropped about half an inch of tension, “Do you have your documents with you? We can get the paperwork done tonight.”

A little undainty on his feet, Sebastian went to his room and grabbed his folder of his important paperwork that was still in his unpacked suitcase. He tried to keep his clothes neat now that they were out on the carpet.

“Can I get you a drink?” Hotch asked, already pouring himself a scotch. He had served his dinner while Sebastian was out of the room. He’d even sprinkled a few chips on top like Sebastian had suggested.

“I’m good with water, thanks,” and Sebastian sat opposite Hotch’s place at the table.

“You don’t mind if I eat while we do this? I haven’t since lunch time.”

“Go ahead.”

Sebastian waited until he was a few forkfuls into his meal before speaking again, “Thoughts on the chips?”

He had to severely mute his reaction as he watched the corner of Hotch’s mouth quirk up and stay there, “Surprisingly good.”

With glee, Sebastian snapped his fingers, “Success!”

Once settled, Hotch and Sebastian discussed fees, records, emergency contacts. A copy of the background check Hotch had already completed sat atop the contract. Hotch let Sebastian read through to his leisure while he polished off his dinner. By the time his plate was cleared, Sebastian’s signature had been scribbled alongside Hotch’s on the few dotted lines that concluded the sheets of paper.

“You’re officially hired,” Hotch slid a pair of newly cut keys across the table. When Sebastian pocketed them, he held up his tumbler.

“To having a job,” Sebastian clinked his glass against Hotch’s and took a sip, “Thank you. Forgot to send you this yesterday by the way.”

And he sent the photos off to Hotch’s number. Not a moment later, Hotch’s phone beeped and he picked it up, his thumb swiping over the photos. To fill the quiet, Sebastian asked, “Do you have a preference on what I can send you and when while you’re away? I don’t wanna bother you too much while you’re working.” His rambling faded as he watched Hotch’s face soften.

“Send me photos whenever you can.” Hotch’s voice had melted too, warming Sebastian’s already soporific heart.

Sebastian stifled a yawn before swallowing, “And I think that’s the end of my day approaching. Goodnight, Aaron.”

“One more thing,” Hotch slipped his phone into his breast pocket, “Why did you move over here, Sebastian?”

“I had a pen pal over here, we met on holiday when we were kids, and I wanted to move away from home. So I got a Visa and moved in with her.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Satisfied, Hotch began to clear up his plate, “Goodnight, Sebastian.”

Sebastian went to say goodnight but, remembering he’d already said that, he just left for his bedroom.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x oc #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #my writing #wc: 2k+#r: male #series #goodnight aaron

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

Stinky Stake Out

06/12/2019

for @zoayyy

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Word Count: 2,936

1K Celebration Masterpost Warnings: Language, violence, farts

A/N: So this is another drabble submission from back when I did my 1K celebration. I am SO sorry that it is taking me so long to get these out. I am shit at doing requests which is why they are closed!! I have now hit 3K followers and all of you are so amazing and wonderful and I hope you enjoy this and I’m so sorry that I’m not a fun blog doing events and challenges and all that good stuff. I had fun writing this new, real, and cute side to Bucky and the reader. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work. xoxo

Another mission. Another night with the idiot. Another string of hours in an enclosed space. A car.

Shiny where the paint isn’t peeling. Inconspicuous black. The floor littered with used coffee cups and burrito wrappers that crackle beneath your feet as you lift your right one up to rest on the seat.

Your knee is starting to ache after sitting for so many hours.

The air is stale in the old unmarked POS that Tony had found for you and your partner.

It wreaks of sharp new leather and sweat, with the faintest tang of ozone. It’s bitter but you’re used to it after two days spent sitting outside the supposed arms smuggler's dilapidated pawn shop. A front to throw the casual passerby off.

Your partner moves beside you, leaning towards you. He stares at you with steel blue eyes, the sparkle of amusement filling them with bright blue icicles.

It’s pretty…but you know that look and it doesn’t bode well.

He smirks at you, the dark curtain of his long roasted chestnut hair framed around his unshaven face.

“What?” You ask, suspicious and leaning back and away from him.

He smiles wider, exposing beautiful pearly whites.

Then it hits you. More ozone. Slightly bitter. Heady and penetrating.

“Awe, Bucky!” You reach over and shove him away hard then lift your foot and press it into his black t-shirt covered chest to push him flat against the rusted metal door.

He laughs, easy, chuckling as the smell permeates the small space. His laugh makes your chest warm, but you ignore that as best you can.

As you hold him away from you, you lower your window and gasp in the slightly marginally fresher air.

It’s sour with the stink of garbage from the nearby dumpster but for right now, it’s better than the smell of Bucky’s fart.

He’s still laughing, his metal hand wrapped around the top of your bare foot.

What?! Two days in a car getting all hot and sweaty with a huge super soldier who could really use a bath? You’re not going to wear your shoes the entire time.

Also, not as fun as it sounds.

“Oh, come on.” Bucky teases. “Your farts stink way more than mine do.”

“They do not!” You protest, leaning back into the car while you shut the window.

“They so do.” He chuckles.

“No, they don’t, Bucky!” You kick his chest and he laughs harder.

“It’s a proven fact. Women’s farts are much stinkier than men’s.” He throws out.

“Shut up. You just made that up.” You laugh, taking your leg back.

You’re highly aware of the way Bucky’s fingers linger against your skin as you pull your foot back and begin to pull your shoes back on, kicking cups and bags out of your way.

“I didn’t. It’s science.” Bucky fights.

He reaches over and pokes your side, lightly pinching the skin of your underarm playfully.

“Come on. Let one rip. We’ll do a smell test.” He urges.

You laugh again, louder and reach over to smack his stomach as he adjusts in his seat to sit facing forward while he continues to poke your side.

“Oh, my God, stop it. I’m not going to fart.” You struggle to keep the laughter buried and it bubbles up in half serious, half amused chuckles.

“What? Come on! Just give me one toot. Your farts are cute anyway.” He teases, laughing as he reaches out to poke your stomach again.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bucky. No!” You laugh, throwing your head back as you chortle and smack his hand away.

He shrinks away from you, skillfully avoiding your hit.

“I’ll just ask Bruce to prove it once we get back to the compound.”

“You are not going to talk to Bruce about my farts. I’ll kill you.” You warn.

“Empty threat.” He brags. “You’ll see. I just gotta go get you some more of these burritos.”

He picks up an empty bag from the floor and holds it up. The movement draws your eye upwards and are distracted by the sturdy form of a man in a not so subtle red bomber, hands shoved into deep gray track pants and what looks like bright yellow running shoes.

“What the hell? I think we’ve got our first hit, Buck.” You shift forward, reaching onto the dash to the small hidden glass panel and press your finger to the display. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. pull up the profiles on known associates of the Green Murder.”

“There are twenty-seven high profile criminals associated with the Green Murder criminal organization.” The accented voice says.

The come up as small cards on the display and you begin to quickly cycle through them, looking for the man currently walking down the sidewalk towards your car and the launderette.

Beside you, Bucky has also shifted forward, his eyes narrowed as he stares at the stranger.

“No one’s been down this way in almost two days. This isn’t a coincidence.” Bucky whispers.

“He can’t hear us, Buck. Soundproof, remember?” You hit the glass of the windshield and it thuds at you dully as the sound is absorbed.

“Anything?” Bucky asks, looking around the launderette and its surrounding buildings. Old restaurants and apartment buildings, falling apart from neglect.

“No.” You sigh. “Maybe he’s just a-wait, here. Nolan Burke. Goes by Boomer. Irish immigrant. First generation. Seems he popped up when the arms game started up in this part of the city again. That’s a weird nickname.”

“Burke?” Bucky repeats, furrowed brow. “Doesn’t ring a bell. How high up on the totem pole is he?”

“Woah, that’s the Crow King’s lieutenant. We get him, we get our foot in the door.” You look over at Bucky who’s watching as Nolan Burke moves to the launderette and knocks four times, slightly patterned in a quick tap-tap, tap, tap.

Your gaze follows his and you both watch as he disappears into the arms den.

“What now? We could wait it out. Catch him when he gets out but then we’d have nothing to hold him on.”

“We need to catch him. They’re pulling a Toomes and we can’t let this go on much longer. Those weapons are starting to hit close to home.” Bucky nods, the clear indication of an idea forming in his head.

“Well?” You probe.

“I’m just gonna go knock on the door. Get inside. I’ll figure it out from there.” He explains. The revelation of his brilliant plan falls flat, and he looks over to meet your unimpressed gaze.

“That is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever fucking heard…” You continue to stare at him as his lips curve upwards into a small, knowing smile. “…do it.”

He huffs a laugh and shoves his door open. You hurry out too, moving around the car to stop beside him.

Both of you stretch, twisting your back and cracking knuckles and necks, grateful to be out of the car. He’s already pulling on his tac vest and sheathing a knife on his hip.

“I’ll head on around the back and meet you inside.” You twist your neck one final time then reach out to grab hold of the front shoulder straps of his armor. “Don’t do anything stupid, Bucky.”

“You mean more than usual?” He smirks at you, insulting himself for you.

You grin, give him a shake, then let him go before moving to the trunk. “Yeah, more than usual.”

He begins to back away from you as you pop the trunk and attach the extra holsters you’d brought before transferring your guns into their spots. He holds his arms out, gesturing at his large rock-like body.

“Can’t make any promises.” He whisper-shouts at you.

You shut the trunk and then duck as you watch him knock on the wooden door, hand shoved in between the rusting black security bars.

Pulling your gun, you cock it, then hold it ready should the need to fire come immediately.

“Yeah?” Says a gruff voice, which you pick up through Bucky’s earpiece in your own.

“Boomer’s expecting me.” Bucky says with steel confidence that even you believe him.

There’s a sound of shifting wood and Bucky turns towards you to give you a stupid goofy grin before he straightens his face, just in time as the security door is opened for him and he walks in out of sight.

Your heart gives a painful lurch. Worry takes over for one terrifying second as you imagine that Bucky might never walk out that door again.

The intensity of the grievance startles you. You reach up with your left hand to massage the spot at the center of your chest and once you hear the security door groan closed you shove that fear aside and make your way into the alley beside the building.

“Bucky, what do you see?” You whisper, moving along the grimy mud brown brick of the alley.

No response.

“Bucky?” You repeat, that same weight of worry falling on you again.

“Bucky can you hear me?”

Still nothing.

“Fuck.” You sigh and sidle up to the heavy white door.

It takes you only a few seconds to pick the lock and you slide in, soundless. The back rooms are empty, dark, and rank with the smell of mold.

This place must have actually been a laundromat at some point because it smells like one, if it had been left to rot.

You allow your feet to carry you through quickly, shifting between old shelving and from one door through to another and another until you see the faint outline of a lit-up doorway.

The light is white-blue, fluorescent and sharp, reflecting up from a dingy white, green, and blue tiled floor.

The closer you get to this swinging doorway through which light is seeping through, the more you can hear a faint grunting and shuffling as if someone were struggling.

With your gun held ready, hands gripped tight and secure, trained in accurate rapid-fire, you peek through the dirty circular window in the old heavy plastic swinging door.

You’re not sure what you’re seeing at first but then as he turns towards you, hand shoved down the front of his pants, you can clearly see Bucky frantically pulling and tugging. His grunting and groaning makes your mind reel and though you know he can’t possibly be doing what it looks like he’s doing, it’s still what your mind shoots to.

You shove the door open and move to stop it as it swings back towards you. Bucky stops jumping around but stares at you with wide eyes.

“Is right now really the best time to be touching yourself?!” You gasp, astounded but there must be more to what is happening than what you’re seeing.

“I know why they call him Boomer.” Bucky explains, loud, not worried about being silent as he fiddles with his pants some more.

“What the hell are you doing?” You demand, moving towards him.

“No!” He shouts at you and shifts away from you. “Stay away from me. The bastard tied a grenade to front of my pants, on the inside. It’s stuck against my zipper and I can’t get it out.”

“Is the pin still in?” You ask, moving towards him again.

“Yes, stay back! If I accidentally pull it, I don’t want you anywhere near me.” He orders.

“Will you stop shouting?” You gasp, looking around frantically for a threat.

“They’re gone. They left me with their parting gift and took off out the front. You don’t have to worry about being overheard.” He’s so focused on his pants that he doesn’t notice how much closer you’ve gotten.

Watching him struggle is exasperating. If they really already got away, then there’s no sense in sticking around.

“Hurry up, Buck.” You sigh.

“I’m trying.” He argues, giving you a pleading look. “It’s stuck.”

“Ugh, move.” You grunt and pull his hand out of his pants then plunge your own in.

“Woah, uh…” He clears his throat and walks back until he hits an old broken washer. His hands grip the edge and he tries to lean away from you as you delve in the front of his pants.

You try not to think about what you feel. He’s wearing underwear so that’s good, but underwear can only do so much. You feel soft bits, hot through the cloth of his briefs, a small twitch.

You smirk, maybe it’s time for some payback for all that fart teasing?

“Is that a grenade in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” You ask him, and he laughs but you also feel him stiffen and force yourself to concentrate on anything but what’s in his pants. “Ooh, okay. I feel it.”

“What?!” He asks, voice cracking as it rises in pitch.

“The grenade, soldier. Calm down.” You chuckle.

“Can you get it out?” He asks.

“How the hell did he tie this on your zipper?” You ask, confused by the idea.

You give him an apologetic smile before holstering your gun and plunging your other hand in. “Sorry, Buck. I need both hands.”

He gasps and nearly pulls away from you but then stops, probably thinking about the grenade exploding if you accidentally pull the pin.

You look down into his pants, trying hard to get a look at the zipper and what you feel is the grenade pin itself. The attempt makes you shove the top of your head against the hard muscles of Bucky’s stomach. He curls around you, trying to make room for you to see.

“Would you stop blocking the light?” You demand.

“I’m sorry, this is a weird angle to be in.” He argues.

“This isn’t working. Take your pants off.”

“I am not taking my pants off.” Bucky fights.

“Bucky, I’ve seen you in your underwear before. Just take them off. I can’t get the pin loose with you wearing them.” You stand up straight, hands still buried in the front of his pants, and beg him with your eyes to be reasonable.

“Have you looked around?” He demands. “I could get tetanus in here.”

“You’re a Super Soldier, dumbass! Your system won’t let you get sick like that.”

“No.” He frowns.

“Ugh, fine but the only other option is to pull the grenade away from the pin.” You explain.

“You can’t do that. What’ll you do with it once you pull it off?” He worries.

“Throw it.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know, Bucky but we can’t leave it here, in your pants. If we don’t do this soon, it increases the chances of you accidentally pulling it.” You sigh.

“No.” He says, with stern finality, which only eggs you on harder.

“Fine.” You growl then pull it anyway.

“No!” Bucky shouts, but it’s already out of his pants.

You race towards the swinging doorway and push it open and fling the grenade into the back rooms.

You hear the heavy thud as it falls and rolls along the tiled floor. You turn, meaning to run and tackle Bucky to the ground as the rolling sound moves closer and closer back towards the swinging door but bump hard into Bucky’s chest.

You wrap your arms around him, protecting him your only priority as you ready for the blast.

Strong arms, cold and hot, embrace you and he falls back immediately as the explosion on the other side of the door shakes the building. Dust falls around you, the tile floor cracks beneath you.

“You okay?” Bucky asks, pushing you up so that you sit back onto the cracked tile floor.

“Yeah.” You reply, shouting because your ears are slightly ringing from the boom. You reach up to press your palms to your ears, mouth opened wide as you attempt to make them pop. “You?”

“I’m fine.” He says, voice thick, as if spoken through a wall even though he too is shouting.

“See? It’s always best if you just do what I ask.” Smiling, you look up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, yeah. You got anymore bright ideas, sugar? Or can we get back to the compound and get Bruce started on that farting research?”

You’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline of almost having blown off Bucky’s dick, or nearly collapsing a building around you, or maybe it’s just time, but you use the momentum of the conversation and let it out.

“Every time you speak I either wanna kiss you or throttle you.” Your hands are numb.

It feels like you’ve missed a step on a staircase and your stomach has suddenly bottomed out. Your heart is pounding and as Bucky continues to stare at you, saying nothing, those big blue eyes unblinking, you feel the adrenaline falter and your confidence wane.

Shit. Why had you gone and said it? Maybe you can still take it back?

“I mean…that’s not what I meant.” You’re still shouting, your ears thick, like fog. You can’t hear. “I mean-I…You drive me nuts. I just meant that-”

He scoots closer, then reaches up to hook his metal hand behind your neck and pull you towards him until his lips are on yours.

It’s a slow, smooth motion, as his lips open around yours and the soft gentle tip of his tongue searches for purchase.

You give him what he wants because it’s what you want too, and you let him in. He leads your head to tilt, moving his in the opposite direction, and you let him deepen the kiss. Eyes shut and ears plugged, you kiss Bucky for the first time in a crumbling laundromat, as the dust from his crotch grenade settles.

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agentwallflower · 4 years

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Supernova, Chapter 1

Hey, here we are again!

I have a headache and I got rejected from UFO, so... good thing I had a backlog because I had zero energy to write this week! Yay! Remember to stay inside, folks! Essential workers like me don’t wanna see you.

Next chapter goes up May 2nd. I’m gonna go work on my nano now and continue to drown my sorrows in coke zero.

Also if you enjoyed the chapter and want to contribute to my coke zero addiction, my Ko-Fi is here! Thanks, and I’ll see you guys in two weeks.

Nothing like waking up face first on the ground to make you appreciate not having your face shoved into the ground.

“Andy, you better be out of bed!”

Technically, Andromeda Noble was... half? Out of bed. It was hard to figure out fractions when her face was down and her ass was in the air like that. It took her a few moments to have enough consciousness to right herself, but once she did, half was a pretty decent estimate of how she had come to that morning.

What the hell she had been doing to wind up that way, however, was beyond her.

“I'm up, Mom!” Her deep voice boomed through the floor as she stood and glanced around the room she called her own. It had at one point been attic storage for her family. In some cases, it still was – only the thing it happened to be storing was her and what her mother considered a more than healthy dose of teenage angst. The joke was on her, of course – she was 20. No more teens years left there.

Her mother's annoyed tone also carried through the wood like tar bubbling through the cracks. “Less attitude, more getting dressed! If you make your sister late-”

Andy tuned the rest out in favor of scrounging around her bedroom floor for mostly clean clothes. Sure, she heard the increasingly annoyed comments coming from the floor below, but they were meaningless sounds to her. It was a talent she had honed over the years: the sacred art of in one ear and out the other when it came to the woman.

While sun streamed through the attic window, she held up a pair of suspicious jeans and gave them the once over. Neither of her sisters would have been OK with it, but they weren't the ones wearing them. Soon she was, and after finding a shirt to match it was a matter of grabbing her bag to head down the stairs.

“Hope you're doing alright today, old man.” She patted a bear on her desk as she reached for a necklace hanging from its outstretched palm. In places, it was tattered, and its soft fur was more than a little threadbare at this point where someone had torn it and made a clumsy repair. It still held its plush shield just fine, which was good enough for her. With that little ritual, down the stairs she went with heavy footsteps.

The bathroom mirror showed a blank expression and eyes that tried to stare straight through the glass. The few people Andy interacted with sometimes called her gaze intimidating. Of course, that was when they were being nice. Mostly, it was creepy. Of course, that was her face so there wasn't much she could do about it.

“Well, here goes.” Andy threw the necklace over her head and settled it into place. After a quick check of her teeth, everything looked to be as it should. “Alright. Looks like I'm good to go then.”

With that, she swung the door open and exited the bathroom. As she did, she caught faint, subtle strains of conversation coming down from the living room. From the sounds of things, her mother and older sister were having a conversation.

That hadn't taken long.

“I already told you, I have something to do! You take her!”

“We've been over this, I'm already late to work!”

Ah, the usual debate. Andy leaned on the handrail as she leaned over to listen. From where she was standing, she could see the rest of her family arguing at the front door over who got custody of her for the day. From the sound of things, her mother was winning.

Her mother always did – she could scream louder.

She could practically picture her sister rolling her eyes as she grabbed for her keys. “Whatever, next time you take her.”

“Watch the attitude, I let you live here for free.” Andy had to duck behind the wall as her mother turned on her heel. “Andy, you better be down in two minutes or else! Don't make me come up there!”

And do what, try to drag her down the stairs? Now that would be a sight to see. However, Andy wasn't in the mood to make her mother angrier than she was. After all, their youngest sister had the right to a decent day. So she started down the stairs after a delay. It was easier to act.

“I'm ready, Mom.”

“Next time get up when I call you.” Amanda Nobel, mother, lawyer, and major source of stress, was already out the door. “Sara, we'll talk about this when I get home tonight.”

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving the siblings alone. The room's temperature dropped five degrees as her older sister rounded on her. At least some of her annoyance was gone. Their mother leaving helped with that.

That probably wasn't a good sign, but what did she know?

“Took you long enough.” Sara was a med student, and kind of a pain in her nonexistent ass, but that was what family did. “Shouldn't it take you like two seconds to get ready?”

Andy rolled her eyes as she walked past her sister. “Wanted to look nice for you and the eggheads at the lab I guess. You don't have your study group today anyway.”

Her sister was soon on her heels, and Andy could almost feel the heat radiating off her face as they headed towards the way out. “I have... something to do today.”

Judging from that tone of voice, that something was more of a someone. Well, she wasn't about to spill those beans, not to her mother. Still, it was good dirt that she was more than happy to save away for the moment. Later, she would share it with their youngest sibling. After all, both of them deserved to benefit from the juicy details.

Sara stopped to grab her lunch and toss Andy hers with a practiced throw. “A thank you would be nice, you know..I don't have to take you to the lab every day. ”

Her younger sibling shrugged her shoulders – or at least tried to as she tucked her lunch in her bag. “You kind of do if mom can't take me. Not like I'm allowed to leave the house without someone watching me.”

It wasn't like she particularly liked being under constant watch, but it was just part of her life. Over the years, she had hoped for it to lessen, but it had only gotten worse the older she got. Now it was just an unpleasant reality she dealt with by employing a healthy dose of sarcasm whenever someone asked her about it.

Of course, since she really only talked to scientists and her family on the regular, most of them were immune to it by now. Oh well, the new techs were always fun to sass when they were getting their lab legs. It was her one pleasure in life.

“Ugh, whatever.” A clear sign she had won that one. “Come on, we need to leave so we can beat the traffic to the lab. Try not to put a dent in the roof of the car this time, will you?”

“I make no promises.”

Andy was soon out the door, into a bright day with clear blue skies and a warm breeze that blew as she walked. Her flight of freedom was just a short walk to her sister's car – before she knew it, she was sliding in. At least she hadn't dented the hood this time.

In her defense... she put it back the last time just fine?

Sara slid into the driver's seat in order to get things going. Both of them caught sight of their mother's car as she disappeared down the road, going slightly above the speed limit. If that wasn't a sign she was going to be a real delight when she got home that night, Andy didn't know what would be. Maybe she should stay up in the attic when she got home...

Andy shot her sister a look. ”She seems cheerful this morning.”

The ghost of a smile flitted across Sara's lips as she started the car. “'I'll tell you when I can't see her anymore, you know she can hear a mouse fart.”

Andy's body shook as they pulled away from the curb and started down the road that would take them to the city. If she had been anyone else, that would have been an all out doubled over laughing fit. However, she couldn't, so it wasn't. The shaking was good enough for her anyway.

Her sister cast a glance at her when they stopped at a red light a few minutes down the road. “You know Jen's recital is coming up, right?”

“Shit, really?” Andy glanced out the window, at the cars around them. Better than to see the frustration in her sister's eyes. “Are you going to be able to make it?”

Sara sighed and shook her head in response. “I don't think so, I have work and I can't get anyone to cover my shift.”

Andy's shoulders drooped as she leaned back in the seat. “And I'm not allowed to go out without someone keeping an eye on me. If Mom can't go, and Aunt Miri has temple...”

A cold sensation dropped to the pit of her stomach. Their youngest sister, the one she was probably the most fond of honestly, was one of the best dancers she had ever seen. Of course, she was probably the only dancer she had ever seen through a shaky phone screen, but that didn't matter. Jen was good, and she deserved to have someone there to watch her.

Damn it all... she wanted to go.

“Welcome to what what me and mom had an argument over last night if you didn't hear us through the floor.” Sara adjusted the mirror as traffic picked up. There were more cars now as they were drawing closer to the exit for the city. “I mean, you're 20. You should be able to go places on your own.”

Her older sister was starting to pick at a wound that never got the chance to scab over at that point. Andy could hear their mother's arguments ringing through her head as she leaned her head against the glass. Something about the vibrations from the car helped settle the cold feeling, but it never really left her. By now she figured it was her version of being depressed.

“I know.”

This was probably where she would have sighed, but... it was complicated. Instead, she shrugged her shoulders once more. “But we all had the damn rules drilled into our heads about what I can and can't do.”

She could recite them by heart – no going out unless it was with someone on a very small approved list. No internet use unless it was monitored. And most of all, don't do anything stupid. That last one was a bit vague, but it was the one her mother harped on the most for some reason.

Like she even had the chance to be stupid...

“Hey, you OK? Feels like it dropped five degrees in here.”

Andy picked up her head to see Sara was looking over at her. Normally that would have been dangerous, but the car was stopped in the midst of a lovely traffic jam. Now while she didn't have her license – another point on the cannot do list – she was pretty sure that was safe.

Mostly. It was hard to tell some times with how her mother drove. The woman had never seen a speed limit she didn't break.

“Huh?” She shrugged. “I mean... not really. It's kind of annoying being taken everywhere like I'm 5. I know you guys hate doing it, and it's not like I enjoy having to stay home while kids half my age can go outside and do shit.”

Sara frowned at her reaction. “I don't mi-”

Andy's shoulders shook with her version of a bitter laugh. “Yes you do, everyone does. I'm not dumb like Mom thinks I am.”

Her older sister flinched, but she didn't pull away. “I mean... well yeah, it's kind of weird you can't go out and all.”

Weird was putting it mildly.

At least Sara had the good grace to keep her eyes on the road ahead of them at that point. Andy was glad for that as she rested her head back against the glass. Traffic was going even slower now – close to a complete stop. On such a busy road it wasn't unusual, but something about it felt... off.

Maybe that was why the med student fished her phone out of her pocket and handed it over to Andy. “I'm watching what you do. Can you check to see if there's an alert?”

Andy's fingers were a blur as she unlocked the phone.. Almost immediately, a warning sound echoed from the phone's speakers. Text flickered across the screen, scrolling in red and white. Until she turned the device upside-down, it meant nothing to her. Once it was properly aligned...

“Ah, shit.”

Sara winced as she placed a hand over her forehead. “Don't tell me...”

“Downtown's all tied up because Cryojolt turned the roads into a skating rink. Citizens are advised to stay in their houses and not cause trouble.” Andy held up the phone to where a live news broadcast was starting to play.

Some brave cameraman had gotten close enough to the action to show their loyal viewers that half the shopping district was covered in a thick layer of ice that wasn't even close to melting despite the heat. A few cars were frozen feet in the air, as if blown up by water that quickly turned to ice. It looked beautiful, but in reality it was a nightmare for everyone involved.

“Great.” Sara groaned and laid her head on the steering wheel. “We're going to be stuck here forever.”

Andy handed her phone back without prompting. “At least now you can tell me about that guy you're hiding from Mom.”

After all, they were about to be stuck in a car with each other for quite a long time. Might as well make things interesting.

#Supernova Collision Trilogy

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megafarter · 6 years

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Sal’s Dangerous Gas, pt. 6

As I dove my head under the covers, it took me only 2-3 seconds to realize I couldn’t do this. The smell was actually that powerful that I needed to lift up the blanket and air it out in order to blow him. I lifted up the blanket and began to smell thick manly eggy protein gas fill the room. I saw his giant 9 inch cock and huge Italian balls laying there tempting to me. Oh man.

Sal didn’t wake up, so After 20 seconds, my lust kicked in. I pulled the cover over top my head and immediately began to suck on his soft cock, feeling it grow from flaccid to hard in my mouth. Sal was dead asleep but began to stir. I was sucking him off making him think he was having a wet dream. Sal started to slightly moan and his cock grew fully erect. He began to hump my throat. Shit this Italian was horny.

Just when I thought he was about to come I felt him stop and his buddy tensed up. He held his breath. Oh Shit.

BRRRRPPPTTTTT

It was loud and it was powerful. It started out squeaky but immediately developed base and girth. Luckily he was lying on his back or it would have hit me right face, and judging by the sound the fart made blasting into the mattress, it could have knocked me over.

Before I had time to think, my mouth still on his cock, then again, his body tensed up, he leaned to one side and he let go a long airy fog horn blast.

Bbbbbbrrrrrrrpppppppptttttttttttt

How much heat the farts generated hit me first and I immediately felt hot under my thick winter blanket. Then the smell hit me. Oh man, I lifted my mouth off his cock and felt nauseous. I couldn’t breath under there. It was overpowering me being trapped under that blanket with those two blasts. I lifted my head up to grab fresh air, but and leaned away from his body but it was too late

I threw up. Yes his gas was that powerful that it made me projectile vomit. Not on him luckily, on the floor. I could have cried I was so embarrassed.

Sal immediately woke up and looked at me “What the…. Jesus Christ Kevin were you under the blanket when I ripped? What did I tell you?” He was genuinely angry, and looked genuinely concerned.

I felt ashamed, but more embarrassed. I wanted to cry. I walked into the bathroom to wash off. I didn’t know what to say. Luckily I didn’t throw up on myself, just on the floor, but I still felt gross. I rinsed my mouth out and turned the shower on. It wasn’t until then, that I thought about how insane it was that his gas made me throw up. Yes it was painfully gross, but shit, talk about powerful. Manly. T-rex. I got horny again. Then I remembered how embarrassed I was and stopped being horny.

Sal opened the door without even knocking. “I cleaned it all up… Are you mad at me?” First of all, how sweet of him to clean up my gross vomit. Second of all, mad at him?

“What why Sal?”

“Well I made you throw up. Do you want me to leave?” It was like he was ashamed of his power. Or maybe he didn’t know how to control them. Either way, now that my mouth was rinsed and all the throw up and grossness was cleaned up, I felt horny again.

Rather than address the awkwardness I responded. “No Sal, I don’t want you to leave. I’m going to shower and then I’ll come back to bed.”

I dropped my drawers and got in the shower and to my surprise Sal got in with me. I had a glass stall shower that was pretty big for Manhattan. But with this behemoth man in side, I barely had space to move. Well I soaped him up and needless to say, I got that third load out of him that I wanted. However, he noticed I was more hesitant. Every time his body tensed up I sort of backed away from him. As a result he broke the ice. “Kevin, I’m sorry. You have to avoid enclosed spaces with my gas. You don’t have a tolerance built up to it yet.”

“Sal it’s fine.” I’m sure it was just a one-time fluke resulting from everything he ate. “I don’t expect something like that’ll happen again.”

“It will if you aren’t careful. You don’t know what I’m capable of” He suddenly sounded cocky which challenged my ego. Did he think he could his gas was that powerful to make me throw up all the time?

“Sal, c’mon I ate all that Wendy’s. We drank a lot. I was deep throating you. You ate all that Wendy’s too and had two tubs of ice cream… it was a perfect storm for me to throw up under the blanket.”

He looked at me now, condescendingly. “No Kevin you don’t understand, you should never be under a blanket with my ass. Or in a tight space. Kevin you don’t know what I’m capable of.”

I couldn’t take him seriously. Despite having powerful gas, this guy was being too cocky and it was pissing me off. “Sal, you don’t have the power to make me throw up from your gas alone.”

Now he looked at me flustered. “Oh yeah?” He shut one of his eyes, pressed his lips together and strained. Then I saw him slightly lift one leg. Holy hell….

BBBBBRRRRRRPPPPPPPPTTTTTTTTT

This was loud and strong and powerful. I swear the glass shower door actually shook behind his ass at its strength. The fart boomed out of his ass and then ended with a few loud bubbling pops that lasted for 6 seconds.

I looked at him amazed at the fart’s strength and then up into his eyes. He was smirking at me. Why? Then I realized why. The smell hit me like a ton of bricks. Actually, somehow, impossibly worse than the gas under the covers. I then realized being in my stall glass shower, we were again in an enclosed space. Shit. Rotten eggs filled my lungs fast. Sal kept smirking at me. I felt nauseous again. OMG he was right. I tried to hold my breath. He saw me struggle and laughed. It was too late. I bent down and vomited again.

Sal backed away from me, opened the shower door and walked out to dry himself off. “Have something to say to me?”

He was right. I have no idea how the hell he just did that, but he was right.

No he couldn’t be. It’s a fluke thing. I must have a stomach virus or something. No one has that powerful of gas to make someone throw up on command. The shower was running and I had very little left in my stomach to throw up so luckily I didn’t have that much of a mess up to clean up.

“What are you still doubting me” He wrapped a towel around his waste and looked sexy as all hell in all his beefy manliness. He had just made me vomit twice, but god I found him attractive. I was looking at him through my glass shower. He opened my bathroom and I felt cold air rush in. He started to walk out when he stopped and with his back facing me, turned his head around, so he was looking over his shoulder. He was peering at me with a cocky grin. “Do you believe yet in the power of my gas?”

It wasn’t humanely possible. I couldn’t explain it. And he was being so cocky. I couldn’t agree with him. “Sal, it’s a fluke no one has gas this powerful.”

He turned his head forward and took a step backward, back into the bathroom. His massive back and triceps looked amazing, as did his broad shoulders. His gigantic meaty bubble ass was beautifully visible on top of his thick huge legs. The towel wrapped around his waste loosely. I didn’t realize how loosely until…

BRRRRPPPPPPPPTTTTTTTT

His ass was wet so it quacked like a duck. It loud and powerful and basey, and funny sounding. It popped and bubbled for a good 5 seconds before Sal started to laugh. I actually saw the fart blowing the towel, making it flutter. The fart kept going on past 10 seconds of a quacky ripper. Finally after 12 seconds, the longest I’d heard from him so far, it stopped. Sal looked back winked at me and closed the door.

He was trapping me in the bathroom with his gas. The steam from the shower wouldn’t help, so I shut it off. But I had a large bathroom. I could understand by “tight spaces” in the shower stall or under the covers, I’d get nauseous. But my bathroom was spacious.

Not spacious enough. That familiar rotten eggy protein sent filled the bathroom quick. I smelled it immediately and instinctively held my breath. But it was only getting stronger. Sal heard me take a deep breath in and called from outside the bathroom. “How you doin’ in there?” He chuckled. I couldn’t answer him even if I wanted to. After 30 seconds I let my breath go. I had to.

But doing so forced me to breathe in Sal’s fumes, which had completely overtaken the bathroom. I felt lightheaded and nauseous. No way. There’s no way I was going to throw up a third time. How could one man’s gas be so strong. As if Sal had been through this routine before I heard him call out “you should run to the toilet Kevin, quick” – But I couldn’t make it there in time. I spit up the little left in me on the bathroom floor. Then I continued to dry heave as the gas around me took over. I actually felt like I was choking.

Sal cracked open the bathroom door, and I fear what would have happened if he hadn’t. He was laughing his ass off at me. I felt so pathetic, but still so confused. He looked down on me. “you’re a proud person so I won’t make you say it, but now you know, I’m the King of Gas.”

“You’re the King of Gas” – he’s right I was a proud person but that power and talent he demonstrated made me acknowledge it.

It was 5am at this point. “Cmon, get showered again, let’s go get breakfast.”

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theaudioglow · 4 years

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Queen at Live Aid: Breaking Down The Posture, Moves, and Stage Charisma of The Great Freddie Mercury

Reading Time: One Freddie Mercury Piano Beer

Yeah, I know the Queen Live Aid show has been covered more than a discarded watermelon rind dropped into a dirt mount full of ants on cocaine. I know – but I dare you to complain about it. Can you name a six-song set with better lighting, song sequence, execution, Freddie Mercuryness, or dare I say…atmosphere?

I don’t care if it has 46 million views on Youtube – I treat it like an obscure gemstone found deep in the Amazon every time I put it on. I even put on a little Percival Fawcett 1920s explorer cap and British knee high beige socks from the 1880s and thrash about the room to “Radio Ga Ga” with an antique machete and…no, no, I don’t do any of that.

But it is must-see musical theatre for all (see how I spelled ‘theatre’ the fancy way). I haven’t yet figured out the coding to embed a Youtube video in the same window as you read (I’m a voice of my generation, not a hacker for Anonymous) So I’ll post the video up top, which you should watch, and thanks to a glorious user on Soundcloud, we’ll do a song-by-song remembrance of the mythical performance, in honor of the 35 year and two day anniversary.

Sound good?

Headphones in. Volume UP. Enjoy.

Song One – Bohemian Rhapsody

I actually feel both elated and spiteful of all the children who did not learn about Queen until the biopic, “Bohemian Rhapsody” came out. Elated because, discovering great music you haven’t heard is akin to riding a stampeding, trumpeting elephant for the first time – nothing beats it. That’s like, 32 percent of the reason I write this blog, to show the Gen Z crowd all the music they missed from 2007. Spiteful because, Freddie operated from titan heights, and the movie couldn’t reach up to his knees.

Rami Malek was adequate, sure. He tried – I get it. But Freddie Mercury was a sassy animal, a sarcastic, cigarette-ash-tapping, droll, flamboyant, wiry cord of sexual electricity and brooding magnetism at once. He overcame pronounced buckteeth to be possibly the greatest breather of vocalist dragon fire of all time. He was…you can watch for yourself in the video. Peak Freddie charisma.

Song Two – Radio Ga Ga

Look at that power stance. This is a textbook, educational video for 13-year-olds aspiring to be Rock Frontmen. Notice the posture, the facial expression, the confident determination.

Yes, that’s right, get your notebook out.

Watch the power strut with the mic – write down “using a prop”. You’ll need to practice at least 37 minutes a day by breaking your mom’s broom in half, down to Freddie microphone size. Then, what does he do? He waves at the crowd and holds tens of thousands of individuals in the palm of his hand. Should you jet off on a cross-country bus to a leather basement club in Greenwich Village to fully put yourself in Freddie’s shoes? Couldn’t hurt.

The lighting is at its best right here. Dusk is just settling over the stage. The lights are changing over, and the smooth delivery of “Radio Ga Ga” encapsulates the next three minutes in an amber bubble of memory sap, to be mined for a musical Jurassic Park 15 million years from now.

Interlude – Ay-oh!

Honestly, could you imagine if you went out in the wild and there was an animal that orchestrated that glorious array of notes like a barnyard noise?

You walk out to feed Clementine Donkey and instead of “hee-haw”, you just hear “Ay-oh” for 50 seconds. Go to feed the chickens – instead of clucks – it’s “Ay-oh”. Give the cows some hay food, their response is “Ay-oh”. You walk away from the barn and just hear the goat: “Hey hey hey hey, how ‘bout a song!”

Okay, I’m buying a farm now.

Song Three – Hammer To Fall

Again, see the masterful air guitar play of Mercury, as he nails every fake chord. See the real guitar play of Brian May, fluid and steady. See the beautiful camera work of the men dressed in all white, like a group of generic psych ward attendants who moonlight as Live Aid filmmakers in nurse costumes.

Song Four – Crazy Little Thing Called Love

The best line of this song is the first.

“This next song is dedicated to only beautiful people here tonight…that means all of you.”

Freddie goes for what we Frontmen scholars call the “soft power stance” in this one. Left leg direct, right leg keeps the beat. Microphone positioned just off-center for a relaxed yet authority-driven performance posture.

Song Five – We Will Rock You

Another soft layer of dusk has gently laid itself upon the arena. Today, Queen would have let A24 or some other prestigious indie production studio walk in and film the show documentary-style, and they would then walk out with an Oscar for the newly created category of “Best Live Show Cinematography”.

Song Six – We Are The Champions

I want to know what Pepsi’s sales looked like after this performance, with all those quaint 1985 Pepsi cups littering Freddie Mercury’s piano.

At this point the crowd just looks like a wave in unison, 100,000 people in Queen hypnosis. Or maybe they’re just in normal tired festival mode – they’re super dirty, there’s one guy who smells like farts and B.O., everyone’s exhausted from taking biker Speed during George Thorogood.

There you have it – 22 minutes end just as nightfall drops a curtain across their final bow.

“So long, goodbye!” yells Freddie Mercury.

The crowd screams and a six-song set that started at 6:44 in the evening is immortalized in memory by a singer who still holds us in the palm of his hand.

***

Artist Links:

Queen Insta (So weird that Queen has Instagram) Queen website

Songs by Queen to get you bothered:

Brighton Rock Love of my Life And of course, Queen in D2: The Mighty Ducks

Enjoy the buzz? Tip your literary bartender. Share it with a friend.

#Freddie Mercury #Live Aid #Queen #Bohemian Rhapsody #Rock Frontmen #Greatest Live Performances #Rock Music #Classic Rock Music #Charisma #1985 #Wembley Stadium

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profoutofoffice · 5 years

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Hurtigruten cruise: Kirkenes to Bergen, Norway: 26 May -1 June 2019

Half-term treat?

A spot of invigorating midnight sun and a birthday celebration. Hurtigruten (the fast route) is a Norwegian institution: ‘the original Norwegian coastal voyage since 1893’. Necessity meets clever marketing - the ship calls at 33 Nordic ports on its way south from Kirkenes to Bergen, whilst at the same time catering for tourists with fresh local food, coastal encounters and lots of fresh air. “From Arctic wilderness and UNESCO heritage to idyllic fjords: perfect for nature and landscape lovers who are short on time”. Sounds like us. Marvelous.

Our journey started with flying over snow capped mountains and frozen lakes headed north from Oslo to Kirkenes, high above the Arctic Circle. This is a place where the Norwegian, Russian and Finnish borders come together. Transferring from the airport to the ship it seemed we had forsaken gorgeous English Spring for a coach load of old fogeys, scrubby birch trees and an all-pervading dampness. Humps of bare rock crouched sullenly, smoothed by glaciers like they had been given a giant sandpapering. Everything was in black and white. But excitement built as we clutched our cases and boarded the ship.

Everyday a Hurtigruten ship leaves Bergen, ours the MS Nordnorge caters for around 400 passengers. Emphasis is placed on sustainable practices. Like us the other passengers all looked like they had been on a fast spin wash - very creased and 50 shades of grey. As soon as we were on board it was time for our first lunch with the hearing aid brigade. Then we were off! Skating over metallic black water out into a Barents Sea swell. Our safety briefing carefully kept us apart from the German speaking types. Cunning. We were told to connect with our inner explorer but also advised that some of the stops in small remote ports are only 15 minutes – so called ‘touch and go’ ports. The Barents Sea gave us a rude introduction to open stretches of sea during the journey. All too much for Belinda chunder monkey. Mid-afternoon saw us approaching Vardo, Norway’s easternmost port. For a brief moment the sea was alive with puffins and eider ducks. Fishing boats huddled in the harbour – a grey shoreline, grey buildings, grey water. Off again along the dramatic coast of Finnmark stopping at Batsfjord, a first taste of the mini frenzies of activity on the docks whenever we stop. Ropes thrown, fork lifts whizzing about, goods exchanged and off we go again, arriving at Berlevag just before 10pm. Each time we pass another Hurtigruten coastal express, 3 blasts are exchanged with occasional flag waving. Sauna and supper.

Day 2: Up early to see Havoysund – our first port of call at the centre of a huge island kingdom and near the northern shipping lanes. This is North Cape country. On deck it is freezing! Rugged dramatic scenery. Smoothed mountains, snow patches, forlorn isolated dwellings. All wrapped up, the ship took us calmly up Tufjord. Clear Arctic light meant a constant vigil with cameras.

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Ice tipped mountain peaks. Energy coffee. Mid-morning and we dock at Hammerfest, a base for polar explorers and hunting expeditions in the High Arctic. A glimpse of Hvaldimir the beluga spy whale. Periods of inactivity. lounging on deck taking in the sunshine. More coffee. More pictures. Headed south to Oksfjord. A cheeky dip in the jacuzzi going through Bergsfjord and an evening stop at Skjervoy. Here the fjords were dusted with silver glitter, hemmed in by very solid looking snow capped mountains. Our day finished with a sedate passage along the dramatic 82km long Lyngenfjord, framed by the ‘Lyngen Alps’, a chance to quaff Lyngen shrimps before supper and early to bed. Bliss.

Day 3: Up at sparrow’s fart and we arrive in Harstad. The morning is a chance to experience the Vesteralen archipelago, farmland and reflections. Then the ship gently eases its way up the 7m deep Risoyrenna canal, clear green water and sandbanks. Now we are back into the world of trees and ‘springtime reawakening’ but along the way someone stole some of the magical sunshine of yesterday. We press on to Sortland and Stokmarknes, escaping quickly over a bridge to look back on the ship and the Hurtigruten museum. The sun returns briefly just in time to show off the Lofoten Islands: small villages and dramatic magical scenery; waterfalls cascading off steep mountains that plunge into the ocean. Trollfjord is 2km long and 100m wide, it is a bit gloomy as the clouds return but the ship turns around in the narrowest of spaces and we catch sight of white-tailed sea eagles. In the evening we reach Solvaer – fish racks patrol the harbour entrance (the world’s largest hauls of cod are made here) – just time for a short stroll.

Day 4: From Ornes we head into a cold vicious headwind on our way to Nesna, an old trading post . Sunshine streaks through the clouds. Crossing the Arctic Circle, past the small island of Vikingen with its globe, its time for the cod liver oil ceremony. Nesna is sheltered and has a wonderful mountain backdrop – boats and car ferry. I love this Helgeland coast, with its fantastic islets and steep granite outcrops. At Bronnoysund we save money by taking a self-guided walk around a lake called Frokenosen. As we depart the reflections are great, we meet a tiny fishing boat and glimpse Torghatten – the mountain with a hole. After supper we wait for an elusive Flatanger sunset as we head to Rorvik.

Day 5: Trondheim. Wet and horrible. Time to release the Turpitz back into Trondheim Fjord. “Goodbye”. Fugro sensors huddle on the dockside. We escape the rain to buy coffee and get a glimpse of wooden buildings on stilts. A 10-minute visit to Nidaros Domkirkes cathedral. Kerching. Back on board, slowmo progress to commercial Kristiansund: strong breeze, near gale. Brief evening sunshine crossing the open sea (ahh the gentle sway of the waves). Passing Lofoten the ‘old lady’ of the fleet to arrive at Molde.

Day 6: The day starts docking at Floro. Then a morning of spotting lighthouses and other vessels - a fishing boat goes by towing three others like ducklings. A lovely calm stretch of the voyage, observing life, fish farms, squeezing through a narrow channel, making careful progress, enjoying calm water, passing small navigation lights and up close to vegetation in rocky fissures. This is a milder fjord climate, farmland and fishing villages of Ytre Sula at the mouth of Sognefjord past Byrknes. More and more houses line the waters edge. Lunch. Bergen. Fly home. Job done.

Highlights?

Living in a clean, fresh, cold Arctic bubble; Helgeland – its myriad of islets; our tip top table mates; being at sea with multiple variations of light; Norway’s coastal kitchen – bountiful breakfasts, fish, reindeer, cloudberries and soups. And more fish. Did I mention fish?

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