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babbushka · 4 years

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The Shape of You (1/12)

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren x Reader

You do a good job of it, staying out of the way. You’re quiet, you’re unsuspecting, you’re practically invisible; just the way you like it. Until one sunny summer day in 1962, the government base where you work acquires an unusual asset, and everything you know is about to change. In the race to save this lonely, desperate, beautiful man, loyalties are shaken on all sides – and the bonds of true love are tested.

11.4k, Warnings: Mentions of blood/injury

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It’s warm, in the dream. Warm and black, in an all-consuming kind of way. You’ve had this dream before; it’s a comforting one, a familiar one. In it, you are surrounded by inky darkness, smooth and silky as it wraps around you. In it, you are walking through a grand expanse towards a light, red and glowing.

If you had not had this dream before you think you’d be terrified, think it an omen of some ominous kind. But the darkness is not something to be afraid of, you’ve come to learn. And when the red light beckons you, there is not a promise of evil on the other side, but rather one of liberating freedom.

You reach out to it, walks towards it. You’re in no hurry, in the dream, in no hurry at all. It’s patient, you find with relief as it seemingly takes eons and eons to navigate the soft velvet of wherever this place may be. As you get closer, little pricks of light begin to emerge, stars from a galaxy far far away. They twinkle as if they’re smiling down at you, and you smile back, unafraid.

You know how the dream ends; it ends the same every time. The jolt of your alarm clock bringing you back to consciousness, pulling you awake. You never seem to be able to reach the red light, but you aren’t discouraged by that – how could you be, when every time you have this dream you get closer and closer? When every time your hand seems to reach out a little farther?

It’s going to end soon, you think in the safety of your mind, in this little bubble you’ve built for yourself. The dream is going to end, and you’ll have to face the day, another day of being you, of being (Y/N). Soon enough you’ll get dressed and have breakfast with Armitage, your friend who lives next door, and he’ll complain about his students and you’ll complain about work only for a short while before you’ll need to go get ready to spend the next ten hours at the place.

It’s going to end soon, but that’s alright, because you know after those ten hours are up you’ll get to come home and hopefully, hopefully, have the dream again.

When you walk through the rich blackness of the void, when you approach the red light, this time you’ve gotten a step farther. This time you’ve reached your hand out nearly to the edge, nearly to the very edge of the red. It curls and winds around your hands like smoke, if smoke could be hot. It tugs at the tips of your fingers, wanting you to come closer closer closer, and you chuckle at its eagerness.

“One day.” You say sadly, in the dream. Or maybe you say it out loud, out in the real world too. You don’t know.

You live alone, so there’s no one to ask, no one to laugh at the way you talk in your sleep, if you do at all.

The red tugs on your hand again, insistent, but you shake your head with a sigh, you reclaim it because you have to, you have to or you’ll never wake up and then you’ll be late for work, and if you’re fired from this job then there will be astronomical consequences, consequences that you simply can’t risk.

The red seems to know this, and it’s almost as though you can feel it sighing too. It reaches out to caress your face, warmth seeping into your bloodstream through the gentle press of an invisible force against your cheek. You let your eyes begin to close slowly, savoring the feeling of the love of the universe, because that must be what this is, that’s why you’re not afraid.

As your eyes close, as the red begins to slip away, you think you see the silhouette of something – of someone, standing just on the other side of the light.

You snap your eyes open to try and get a better glimpse, because you’ve never seen that before in the dream, you’ve never ever seen a person standing on the other side, you’ve never seen anything solid and corporeal and real and –

You bolt upright in your bed, the radio crackling to life from across the room, its bright cheerful jingle alerting your brain to get the fuck out of bed and go turn it off.

“The only station for when you’re on the go, tune in to AM W-6-Z-O!” The swing singers coming through the speakers are loud enough to earn you a pounding on the wall, courtesy of your neighbor and one of only two friends you had, Armitage Hux.

“Christ (Y/N)!” Your friend says loud enough that you can hear him through the wallpaper, “It’s my day off can’t a man get some sleep?”

Your feet slide into slippers on the side of your bed, and you pad across the room naked to shut the radio off. You’re not really one for listening to all the commercials and commentary, preferring your vinyl collection much more than whatever taste some disc jockey thinks he has.

“Sorry Professor,” You roll your eyes sarcastically, “But if I have to be awake at this hour then so do you.”

It was the routine, day off or no, that you spend every morning together. Neither of you had anyone, no one to really call your own, and so you spend it with one another. It helps fight the loneliness that creeps into your soul sometimes, and even though he’s aggravated at waking up on a weekend, he still does with a hopeful, “Coffee?”

Smiling to yourself, you grab your robe and tie it tightly around your body.

“I’ll be over in five.” You check the time, before leaving your bedroom to brew up a big pot of Lyons standard roast.

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Once the coffee has brewed and you’ve brushed your hair enough to look presentable for your friend, you make the short trip next door with hot percolator in hand, and a smile. A smile which, upon the opening of his front door, is not returned to you by Armitage, who instead looks like he may crave death or violence.

“Remind me again why we wake up at two o’clock in the morning?” He grumbles, his Irish accent thick from sleep as he abandons the door, leaving you to close and lock it behind you.

You follow him further into his apartment, a chic, mid-century modern space that looks very curated, very well thought out, very Armitage. He’s changed his design taste more times than you can count really, but for the past year it’s been the same; dark teal paint on the walls and ceiling, with matching teal-stained wood on the floors. His furniture and décor are all varying shades of rich orange to provide an interesting contrast that only gives you a headache sometimes.

“Because my shift begins at five, and it’s a two-hour ride to work.” You reply, fishing out two mugs from his cabinet in the kitchen and get to pouring you both a generous helping of coffee.

“I didn’t ask why you had to be up at two, I asked why we had to be up at two.” He huffs, gratefully accepting the mug with his cold hands, humming around a healthy sip of the brew.

“Because you love me.” You wink, setting down the coffee pot in favor for rummaging through his pantry, pulling out flour and sugar, “And you love the pancakes I make you.”

Armitage sets the table with plates and silverware while you begin to measure out ingredients and raid his fridge. It was a good setup you thought, you cooked breakfast and then abandoned him with all the dishes and cleaning up. You spent enough time cleaning, you always say.

“You do make damn good pancakes.” He complimented you as you stuck some butter in the pan to melt and sizzle.

“Any plans today Armie?” You smile at the immediate groan that escapes from between your friend’s teeth as you mix pancake batter into the perfect consistency to be poured.

“Yes, regret ever telling you about that nickname.” You can tell he’s scrubbing a hand over his face, the way he tends to do when he’s annoyed.

“Drink your coffee.” You tease, using a ladle to start breakfast properly. “I was thinking, when I get back from work maybe we can go downstairs and see the new film that Boris got, it’s a Fred and Ginger musical.”

Your apartment building wasn’t really an apartment building at all – or at least, it didn’t used to be. What were once storage rooms for the cinema downstairs had become single bedroom apartments nearly ten years ago, according to Boris, the friendly Bulgarian proprietor. When the cinema began to fail due to the rise of television, he sought out extra income and became a landlord.

This was perfect for Armitage, who, as a professor for film history at the university, had an immense love for the classic older films which were only ever screened on special occasions, or at special theaters. Boris knew this, and he acquired many old film reels from the 1930s and 1940s, which he played during the week as a way to generate interest on otherwise slow days.

You paid your rent early, which had the added bonus of being on Boris’ good side, which in turn meant you got to see the movies for free whenever you wanted.

“Which musical, Top Hat or Swing Time?” He eagerly accepts the pancakes you flip onto a plate for him, before drowning it all in syrup and powdered sugar.

“The Gay Divorcee.” You tease with a grin, “Right up your alley.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Armitage rolls his eyes once again, although now he’s much less aggravated with coffee in his system and food in front of his face.

“Will you see it with me?” You put a hand on your hip, and he smile.

“Of course I will. It’ll give me a good excuse to finish grading these essays, maybe I’ll tell my students they can write something about the musical for extra credit – god knows some of these kids will need it.” He gestures to the pile of marked and unmarked papers on the other end of the kitchen table.

The stack that still needs to be graded is far taller than the stack of finished essays, and you wince when you read that the one on top of the stack has been given a D-.

“Which paper is this one?” You plate yourself some pancakes and sit at the table, making sure the stove is off and the plastic spatula isn’t anywhere near the heat where it could be left to melt.

“The midterm; an analysis and comparison of German Expressionism in cinema before and after the second world war.” Armitage sighs around a bite of the delicious breakfast.

You can’t help but shake your head fondly at your friend, that topic being so on brand for him. His father was a Navy General, and he had been even more patriotic than most. But while his father had big dreams for Armitage to follow in his footsteps, instead he became a professor, much more interested in researching and educating the new generation.

Still, he found ways to incorporate his love for the military into his love for cinema. It’s all propaganda anyway, as he likes to say.

“Show me the awful papers when I get back, we can laugh about it over lunch.” You smile as you dig in to the breakfast you’ve made, but he scoffs.

“Oh please! I’ll be crying.” He replies, a funny blend of deadpan and melodramatic.

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Once breakfast was over, you kiss Armitage on the cheek and wish him a good day, before taking the warmed coffee pot back to your own apartment next door. Filling up two thermoses, you set them near your purse right by the door so you can easily grab them on your way out.

After breakfast you typically only have fifteen minutes to get properly ready for the day, but that was alright. Dressing never took very long, not when you were provided with a uniform. Sometimes Armitage exhausted you with his fashion shows; trying on every possible combination of sweater vest and tie he owned, asking for your opinion on new trousers. You loved having one less decision to make, especially this early in the morning.

The uniform was a simple dress made of a dark grey linen. It had accented cuffs on the rounded collar, short sleeves and hem in a darker grey, and two large pockets on either side which proved themselves immensely helpful. While not required, it was often encouraged to wear the provided apron, a white thing that’s gotten so soft and worn over the years from all the bleach baths you’ve had to give it.

And though the uniform may seem drab and boring to some, you adored the anonymity of it. You liked being able to blend into a crowd, to move unnoticed. It was imperative that as a cleaning woman you were out of everyone’s way, and any flashy attire would have certainly drawn unwanted attention. That’s not to say that many of the other cleaning women didn’t enjoy the attention – your own dear friend Gwendoline among them.

With the red scare, your boss had made a push to encourage individualism within his employees – he felt that everyone looking exactly the same and wearing the same was far too much like communism, and he’d be damned if he were anything like the Soviets. So things like scarves to tie back hair, pins or broaches, nail polish colors, and shoes were encouraged to be something you made your own.

The only one of these little pleasures you indulged in were your shoes, and your daily dilemma often consisted of which pair of short reliable heels you would be slipping your now stocking-clad feet into.

You were having one such dilemma now, looking at your wall of heels. Another perk of living alone, you think to yourself, no one there to tell you to get this obsession under control.

In honor of the dream you were once again so lucky to enjoy, you picked a pair of red kitten heels off the top shelf and put them on as you hopped across the living room, grabbing your dashing out the door.

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The world is so quiet, this early. Not completely silent, as it were, because there were always people like you, always people having places to go and friends to meet. Living so close to the Vegas Strip was interesting, and you saw all sorts of people on the sidewalks and in convertibles, driving around in the dark with their sunglasses on because they think it makes them look cool.

As you descend the steps which lead out of the apartment, you are stopped by the familiar sight of your landlord up on a ladder, arranging letters on the bright marquee sign surrounded by golden lightbulbs.

“(Y/N)!” He calls to you with a hand up waving, “Good morning dear!”

“Good morning Boris, you’re up early.” You call back, making sure to be loud enough that he can hear you with his old ears. His hearing has been failing him lately, and you do your best to help him when you can.

“Early or late, eh? Will you come to the screening tonight?” He laughs heartily as he gestures to the big black letters which read the name of the musical.

“Of course I will, I’m bringing Professor Hux along – he’s going to encourage his students to come this week.” You tell him, and he gasps.

“Students! He has big class, yes?” Boris’s excitement is contagious, and you find yourself grinning.

“Yes, nearly one hundred and fifty eager filmmakers.” You inform him, and the news shocks him so much that he nearly falls off the ladder.

Thankfully he has one of his sons, a nice young man named James, holding the ladder steady. You always wonder why James isn’t the one up on the ladder, since he’s clearly in better shape, but then you remember this is Boris you’re thinking of – he’s the kind of man who doesn’t trust anyone to do anything the right way.

“One hundred fifty! When you come tonight, you get free popcorn, okay?” He is giddy, and you feel good to have made his day a happy one.

“Okay Boris, I really must go now.” You see the familiar headlights of the city bus turning the corner, so you give him another wave, “I’ll see you this evening.”

“One hundred fifty…did you hear that?” Boris is in awe, not having had so many customers in a long time.

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It takes three buses to get to work. When they had been looking for a place for you to live, you had insisted that there be a bus station as close as possible because if you were going to be spending ten hours on your feet, you wanted as short of a distance from the stop to your front door as possible. You don’t mind the two hours each way, you don’t mind the long grueling hours – but you sure as shit were not going to take any extra steps in your heels if you didn’t have to.

The bus comes at exactly three every morning, and it’s the same bus driver every time.

“Good morning Miss (Y/N).” He greets you, a kind older gentleman who probably needs his sleep more than even Armitage did.

“Good morning Mr. Henry,” You reply, taking a seat up front so you might talk to him and keep him company on the drive to the main bus exchange station. “Did you have a good evening?”

“I surely did, there’s nothing better than getting to go home to the Missus.” He gives you a dreamy-eyed smile through the rear-view mirror. “It was her birthday last night, I took her out to dinner and a show.”

“Mr. Henry you are such a romantic.” You lean your head against the window, using your small hat as a pillow to shield yourself from the cold rattling glass. “Where did you take her?”

“Circus Maximus in Caesars Palace! Damn what an evening. We only just got back home an hour or so ago, and I wanted to take off the morning to get some rest into these bones, but my boss didn’t take to the idea too kindly.” Henry shrugged, making you frown.

You wish you could encourage him to stand up to his boss, but with racial tensions as high as they were, you didn’t want to see your friend get hurt, or lose his job. Henry had been driving this route ever since you began working out in the desert, and you thought of him as a highlight of your day, a friend even if you only saw one another for the short time you did.

“I hope you have a fast shift today and that no one gives you any trouble.” You tell him honestly, only ever wanting the best for Henry. You’d offer him some of your coffee, but he’s got a thermos of his very own up at the front of the bus.

“Seeing your smiling face certainly does help, Miss (Y/N).” His eyes glimmer when he asks, “Now tell me, anything interesting going on where you work?”

You chuckle and shake your head, staring out the window as the streetlamps blur together, cutting through the dark.

“I’m afraid not, or if there were, I wouldn’t know anything about it, I just clean.” You say.

“Don’t be so down on yourself, we’re the ones they don’t ever suspect, isn’t that right?” Henry asks, and when you look back at him, he’s got a smile and that mischievous look in his eye again.

“Yes, it is.” You reply with a smile of your own.

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More and more people get on the bus as it visits the various stops, until it’s almost packed. You used to be so surprised by that, by the way so many people seemed to wake up before the world was ready, before the sun had even begun to stretch and blink away the night. But that was Las Vegas, you supposed, almost like New York City in a way, with all the casinos and hotels and shows. Sometimes it felt very much like you lived in a parallel universe, where day and night were reversed.

You thank Mr. Henry and give him a warm parting smile when the bus finally arrives at the transfer station. Everyone follows suit as they exit, and it makes you feel a little brighter to know that people are willing to be polite if only someone would set the precedent. You’re more than happy to set that particular precedent, every time.

From Mr. Henry’s bus to the next takes nearly five entire minutes, between the length of the bus station and the busyness of the crowd. You always come close to missing it, and you’re always out of breath from running. Thankfully though, you have Gwendoline to look forward to every morning, your friend who always saves you a seat on an otherwise crowded bus, always looks out for you otherwise you’d have to stand for the next hour, holding on to overhead bars that you can’t quite reach.

“Hey! Come on, what do you think you’re doing?” One of the other passengers complains when Gwen spots you and offers you the seat next to her at the back of the bus.

You both always took the very last row, because you were the very last stop on this particular route before it swung back around to the transfer station.

“You’re getting off in ten minutes you can deal.” Gwendoline snaps back, and the woman rolls her eyes, adjusts her grip on the handrail.

“Thank you.” You snuggle up against your friend on the crowded bus, your laps now filled with your cardigans and purses.

You met Gwendoline on your very first day at work, completely by accident. You were in the wrong place, lost and confused, and had stumbled across this gorgeous blonde woman who wore bright red lipstick that smeared around a sneaky cigarette. She had helped you, and you’d been inseparable at work ever since.

She isn’t very much older than you, but she has that worldly quality that makes her feel wise beyond her years, and gives her an authority over people – even strangers – that you find endlessly amusing.

“Henry was cutting it close today.” She comments, looking at her watch.

This bus departs the transfer station on the half-hour, and does not come back until the next half-hour. You’ve never once missed it, but you certainly have chased it down to get it to stop and pick you up.

“No, it’s not his fault, I think one of the other routes is down so people were confused and no one knew where they were going.” You point out the bus window to the people nearly swarming like bees around the poor people in the ticket kiosk.

“Fuck, really? It’s too early for that.” She looks nearly offended, as if to say, how dare the world be so difficult.

“I agree.” You reply to both her words and her look, and take one of the thermoses out of your purse, offering her, “Coffee?”

She plants a big kiss to your cheek and warms her hands on the thermos before bringing the thing up to her lips for a long deep gulp. You hope that the thermos has done a good job keeping the coffee hot, because you know how much of a bummer warm coffee can be for some people, but your worries disappear when she happily sinks into her seat on the bus and smiles, content.

“You’re a saint, (Y/N), you know that?” She clutches the thermos to her chest, and you grin.

“It’s the least I can do.” You reply, because it’s true – with all she does for you, you’re more than happy to return the favor for your friend.

“Cards?” Gwen pulls out a deck from her pocket, and you light up at the sight of the bent and beat up deck.

“Cards.” You agree, the two of you twisting towards one another, shuffling and re-shuffling the pack before dealing them out onto your laps.

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When the last of the passengers have gotten off the bus, the driver pulls over onto the side of the road, letting cars whizz past on the interstate to your left. The sun still hasn’t made her debut yet, and the driver has turned the lights off, so that the bus might blend in to the darkness a little better.

“Identification?” He asks, like he does every morning.

There is a reason you and Gwen are the last two passengers every morning, a reason why this is such an important bus to catch.

You and Gwen don’t bother getting up from the back of the bus, not feeling in the mood to walk all the way up front to only go right back, so you fish out your ID cards and flash them long enough that the bus driver can see them in the rear-view mirror.

“Thank you ladies.” He says, much less like a robot this time. “I know you’re you, it’s just protocol.”

“You ever wish you could say ‘fuck protocol’?” You ask, and he regards you, not-unkindly when he replies,

“All the time.”

The bus roars to life once again, now that your clearance has been checked for the first time of the day. It’s a much more scrutinous process at the next bus stop, one you’re always a little paranoid over but prepared for. Bag searches, identification card and number, finger scans, the whole works. Four-thirty always seems too early for that sort of thing, and sometimes you wonder if you’ve accidentally brought something in that could be deemed dangerous, that they’ll randomly find some reason to haul you away.

The desert is dark and stretches on for miles and miles with nothing to see, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, should one need to. You hope you never need to.

Gwendoline always makes fun of you for it, but it’s all in jest. She tends to give attitude to the security guards at the bus station, but she gets away with it because she’s a bombshell. She may be just a maid, just a cleaning woman like you, but damn does she fill out her dress nicely.

“Have a great day ladies.” The bus driver says once the hour has passed, and you and Gwen have gone through ten rounds of card games, leaving you the winner this time.

“See you tomorrow.” You reply in unison, making one another laugh at your timeliness, jinxing and double jinxing one another, demanding bottles of Coca-Cola as payment.

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This bus station, much like your work and your job, doesn’t…technically…exist.

It’s a small little depot in the middle of the desert, armed guards at every door and gate. You join the pool of other employees, when you get off the bus and pass through the first gate. No one is allowed to drive their cars onto the main site, everyone – no matter rank or position – has to shuttle in from this station.

It’s always so interesting seeing everyone here, milling together and scanning their badges. You’re sure it must be a humbling experience for some of the managers and heads of department, being treated the same as the sanitation workers, but if they’re upset about it they don’t show it.

You get your pat down and walk through the metal detector while security inspects your lunch.

“Don’t you ever get tired of eating the same thing?” One of them, a young guy who is usually in good spirits, asks.

“If you want to come over and pack my lunch for me, I’d be happy for the variety.” You joke, giving him a playful wink that makes all the other security guards whistle, as you clear the metal detector with a green light.

“Don’t go giving him any ideas, (Y/N),” Gwendoline harmlessly flirts with the guy, “I might want him to toss my salad instead.”

This makes them all whistle and jeer, hoot and holler and laugh and Gwen laughs back, snatching your purse and hers back from the metal table. Some of the other employees catch ear of the conversation and they shake their heads with incredulous smiles of their own, but neither you nor Gwen really care – what’s the point of working if you can’t have a little fun every now and again?

There’s no room for playing cards on the shuttle, not this time. The small bus isn’t jam packed like a tin of sardines the way the public city buses are, but still there isn’t an empty seat, no real luxury for spreading out. That’s fine though, you think, as you shift into your professional attitude, start thinking of all the things you’ll have to do today.

It’s Sunday, and that’s a good day, a strong day, you think. It’s usually barebones crew, only the most basic staff that needs to be there. In fact, it’s usually mostly cleaning people like yourself and Gwen, getting the place ready for full operations to commence Monday morning. Of course there are still all sorts of scientists checking on their experiments and engineers testing their inventions and the like, but on the whole, Sundays are easy days.

They wax the floors on Sundays, so you know you’ll be doing quite a bit of sweeping scrubbing mopping for most of the shift. The building is huge, but more than that it’s sprawling, like a maze almost in the way that it’s constructed. That’s purposeful, you know, but in the beginning it seemed almost impossible to clean because everywhere you looked there was another hallway leading to another set of doors that all had tile and shelves and counters that needed to be taken care of.

Now though, now you were an expert at it, able to clean up even the stickiest messiest stains in twenty minutes or less. You prided yourself on your work, and always wanted to leave everywhere you went better off than it was when you got there. This job was important to you, vital, one might say.

The shuttle crosses through the gate in the desert, the gate which feels as though it has no ending, chain link splitting through the sand. The large sign boasting RESTRICTED AREA NO TRESSPASSING nearly disappears into the purple of night, and you check your watch to make sure you and Gwen will be able to punch in on time.

“We’ll be fine, we always are.” Gwen sees you checking, and you roll your eyes.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes, it takes nearly ten to get all the way to the lobby.” You show her your wrist, but she only pushes it away, not bothering to look.

“Then that leaves us with five minutes for a cigarette.” She whispers covertly, and the two of you snicker together at her secret smoking habit.

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The base never looks more imposing than it does like this, too early in the morning before the sun has come up, when there’s nothing but harsh fluorescent lighting flooding the desert. The buildings are brutal, grey cubes that jut angrily out of the earth, rock and sand cleared away for the lines of sidewalk that connect each area in Area 51 like a spider’s web of concrete.

Inside the lobby, people are busy busy busy, walking back and forth in all capacities. Some are wearing white lab coats, others are in suits, and others still are clicking their heels off to go do some typing behind their desks. Friends recognize and greet one another, strangers excuse each other they pass, and along the wall you and Gwen wait your turn to clock into work. The little hand proudly proclaims that you do have five minutes before you technically have to start, and Gwen gives you a devious little smile as you both walk arm in arm down to the ladies’ locker room.

You think it’s kind of funny, that all locker rooms look the same. Rows and rows of standard sized lockers stick out from the walls, creating little aisles almost. Gwen follows you to your lockers, which naturally are side by side, near the middle of the room. It’s perfect because it’s right near a window, and Gwen always cracks it just slightly so she can light up a skinny Virginia Slim and not stink up the place.

She’s not the only one who does it, but no one wants to get caught.

While she smokes, you stash your purse and lunch into the locker, grabbing your cardigan that you keep there at work and sliding your arms into it. It might be one hundred-degrees in the desert when the sun is up for the day, but inside the buildings they keep it at a chilly sixty degrees, and with all the water you deal with, the last thing you need is to be even colder.

“You got any plans tonight (Y/N)?” Gwen asks as she flicks her ash outside through the window, “I was thinking about going out to get my nails done when we finish up our shift.”

She glances at her cuticles, noticing the growth from the way the polish has begun to move away from her nailbed. You take a glance at your own nails, and while the invitation does sound enticing, you do indeed have plans.

“The Professor and I are going out to a movie, you should come with us! It’s not until the late evening, you’d have more than enough time to get a manicure beforehand.” You offer, making Gwen laugh fondly.

“You two and your movies, I swear. I don’t know anyone who loves them more than the pair of you. Why, I feel like you could both quote just about any musical from beginning to end.” She teases.

“Depending on the musical, we probably could.” You tease back, before you stand up and stretch the very last bits of sleep and laziness from your limbs. “I mean it though, you’re more than welcome to come with us.”

“I’ll pass this time honey, but count me in for the next one.” She promises, and you nod. “You want a puff?”

She offers you the cigarette but you nudge her hand away.

“No thank you, you know me, gotta keep these lungs clear so I can recite scripts on command.” You grin, and she only stubs out the butt of it onto the concrete wall, before tucking the thing in her pocket so no one could find it in the trash and get her in trouble.

“And they say I’m sarcastic.” She huffs, tying her apron around her waist.

Mrs. Parker, a strict not but necessarily unkind woman, enters the locker room at five o’clock on the dot. Everyone stands at attention for her at the end of the aisles created by the rows of lockers, and she has one of her assistants pass out clipboards to each of the women in the room.

“Alright ladies, time to start the day.” Mrs. Parker takes her job very seriously, as she should. It was not common for a woman to hold a management position the way she does, and you’re proud to be under her instruction. “Boss says since it’s a holiday tomorrow if you get everything on your checklist done and signed, you can clock out early.”

“What’s the holiday?” One of the other girls asks, as a slight murmur breaks out among them.

“Presidents Day.” Mrs. Parker replies. “So thank JFK for a nice end to the day – if you get everything finished that is.”

With that, she and her assistants leave the locker room. Once the door has closed, the women all talk among themselves, eager for the prospect of getting to go home sooner than anticipated. For many of them, their weekend is just beginning, and the thought of having more time to catch up on sleep or whatever else they want, is exciting.

Neither you nor Gwen have your weekends yet, and though the holidays may apply to everyone else, the two of you will still be expected to come into work the next day. There are different levels of clearance even within maids, you’ve found, and yours are some of the highest, which means you get to clean some of the most sensitive parts of the base.

For now though, Gwen reviews your clipboards. They’re always the same, because Mrs. Parker isn’t stupid and knows that you’re more productive together than you are apart. But still, she checks to make sure.

“I’m guessing we’ve just got floors to do today.” You say, adjusting your hair in the mirror.

“You guessed right.” Gwen nods, flipping through the pages. “Where should we start, the display room, communications, or the lab?”

“Makes the most sense to do it in that order, actually. I don’t feel like back-tracking.” You say, and she’s inclined to agree.

------------------

It’s not really called the display room. It’s got a proper name like everything else, D-3449 Exhibition Hall. This is one of the rooms that they bring all the important people to, it’s like a museum of sorts with pieces of new technology sitting on pillars and pedestals, large air craft suspended from the ceiling.

It’s more of a hangar than an exhibition hall, especially with how empty it is. The only people inside are the armed security that stand by the door, but they don’t speak. They’re instructed only to watch over the technology and that’s it.

“You would not believe the time I had trying to get new hubcaps for my car,” Gwen says as she slaps her wet mop against the marble tile, pushing suds around and scrubbing at the floor, “Remember how that piece of shit swiped my side and scuffed them something fierce? Well I figured I’d drive myself down to the dealership and ask their auto shop to replace it, and I inquired about any new designs. You know how they’re always coming out with new designs.”

“Did you ask for chrome?” You’re on your hands and knees with a little scraper, someone had tracked gum into the hanger and not bothered to wipe it up. It had hardened and now practically needed to be chiseled off the damn tile.

“Of course I asked for chrome, and do you know what the sleezy man at the dealer told me?” Gwen puts her hand on her hip, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

“What?” You look up from the gum.

“He said men love women with chrome hubcaps, because they can see up her skirt through the reflection!” She scoffs.

“No way, that’s not real.” You go back to scraping, managing to get it all the way off in one blue sticky chunk that you dump into the trash at the end of your janitorial cart.

“Whether it’s real or not I wasn’t going to let it stop me, so I bought four new ones and had them put on.” Gwen says anyway, making you laugh.

“Gwen! You’re too much sometimes I tell you.” You shake your head, grabbing your mop and walking across the great big hangar to the other side so that you can mop that half. Though you are far apart, being the only ones in the room had its perks, and your voice carries when you joke, “This is why I don’t have a car.”

“Oh but you should get one, they’ve got all different colors and you can get ones with the tops that fold down so you can feel the sun on your face and – ” Gwen starts, unaware that you’re teasing.

“We live in the desert, the sun is always on our face.” You say as you’re careful to not box yourself in with the wet tile. “Besides, you only ever talk about how expensive your car is to fix, and how you have to fix it often. I’d much rather spend my money on other things.”

“Yeah like your shoes.” Gwen points to your feet, “Are those new?”

At the mention of your new heels, you strike a dramatic model pose.

“Do you like them? I saw them in the window and had to get them.” You beamed, showing the bottoms still mostly un-scuffed.

“Don’t tell me you’re breaking them in at work, your feet are going to fucking hate you for that.” Gwen whistles low, already feeling sorry for your ankles.

“My feet are going to hate me either way, might as well look nice.” You point out, and this at least Gwen understands.

From the hangar you move on to the communications room, which is exactly as it sounds. It’s an open office floor plan, with desks in neat lines. Two men in headphones sit at each desk, fiddling with nearly a hundred different buttons and looking at many small screens. No one pays you or Gwen any mind as you go about sweeping the floor, collecting any dust or specs of dirt that had accumulated since you’d been there yesterday.

In fact, everyone is so engrossed in their work that you’re not so sure they’d notice if you started screaming and jumping up and down. They’re monitoring the soundwaves and frequencies across the planet, right there in this room. There are enormous satellites pointed towards the sky nearly a mile away, four different ones pointing in each direction, and the communications personnel listens in on what the satellites send to their headphones.

You have your big dust broom and are walking in one direction between an aisle of desks, and Gwen is walking the opposite way on the other side.

“Sometimes I wonder what in God’s name goes on in this place, but then I think, if I want to sleep at night, it’s better to not know.” Gwen whispers, voice kept quiet so that she can’t be heard over the noise of whatever the personnel are listening to.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You whisper back, “They’re keeping aliens down in the basement labs.”

“Oh not this again.” Gwen groans, before lowering her voice again and hissing, “There is no such thing as aliens.”

“You can keep telling yourself that, Gwen, keep telling yourself that.” You grin, entirely too cheeky to be serious. “Look all I’m saying is why do we have big satellites pointing to the night sky and people listening in every second of every day?”

“To intercept the Russians, hello!” Gwen says as though it’s fairly obvious, and you grin as you sweep because now she’s really going on a tangent. “This is the United States government we’re talking about, they’re not going to waste their time on fairy-tales and conspiracies from lunatics on the street.”

“Then how do you explain the UFOs that people keep spotting?” You ask, waggling an eyebrow.

“Just because some people don’t know what a damn airplane looks like, doesn’t mean it’s something from outer space.” She says, and you put your hands up in mock-defeat.

“You’ve got to admit it is a pretty good conspiracy though,” You continue to be playful and difficult, not because you believe in any of this bullshit, not for real. But because it’s so easy to rile Gwen up with this sort of stuff, so you make a face and say, “Little green men with big black eyes and three fingers on each hand, like in those low-budget horror movies.”

“If that’s what aliens are supposed to look like, then I definitely don’t want them to be real.” She rolls her eyes and finishes sweeping the floor.

Your last stop of the day is the laboratory. It is deep underground, and requires two elevators to get to, so generally no one ever wants to visit, and no one ever wants to clean it. It’s not the most pleasant atmosphere to be, as there are no windows and nothing but steel doors as far as the eye can see.

You and Gwen have to scan into the lab using your ID cards, as the doors are bulletproof and heavy, a double sliding mechanism that moves slowly because of the weight of it. When they finally open, you’re confronted with a flurry of activity.

The normally peaceful lab is filled with people, mostly installation workers who are hooking up wires and pumps to a big fish tank that takes up most of the room. Your eyes widen in awe, the thing is massive and hadn’t been there yesterday, meaning the install workers had been there through the night putting it together.

They must have been working so hard that they had no qualms throwing all the packing materials for the hoses and wires and whatever else, right onto the floor.

“What the hell is this mess!” Gwendoline snaps as she pushes her cart through the open doors, you trailing behind. “Are you fucking kidding me, the trash can is right there!”

The men stop at the sound of her, and quickly scramble to start picking stuff up. They look like chastised young kids, being scolded by their mother, and that’s fitting considering how some of them barely look like they’re out of college.

“Sorry Gwen, we didn’t – ” One of them starts, but she gives him a glare that would have turned him to stone if he had looked any longer.

“No, I know you didn’t you never do.” She sighs, using her broom to sweep everything up, pushing it to one side so at least the majority of the floor is clear.

You assist her, throwing away all the plastic wrappers and sheets of card stock, breaking down boxes and sweeping up package insulation.

“What’s all this shit for anyway?” You wrestle a piece of foam board into the trash can on your cart.

“Yeah really, as if we don’t have a big enough fucking mess to deal with as it is – ” Gwen shoots the boys another glare and they all duck, embarrassed.

“Watch your profanity, Miss Gwendoline, and goodness lower your voice.” Your boss, Mr. Robert appears through the double doors just then. He’s one of those overly polite fellows, one of those people who says goodness gosh golly gee whizz. You can’t ever really take him seriously, but he’s in charge, so you do as he says, and so does Gwen.

“Sorry sir.” She casts her eyes down and returns to her sweeping, and you do the same.

“It’s alright, today is just a very important day.” Mr. Robert smooths his shirt down with his palms, before clapping his hands to draw everyone’s attention. “In a few moments, we will be welcoming a new team to our base. Accompanying this team is the most highly classified asset that we have ever obtained.”

Almost as if by magic, the thick steel walls slide open, revealing in a most dramatic fashion, a tall and thin Colonel, the only indication of his rank being a pin on his suit lapel. The man looks like a skeleton, with his high cheekbones and sunken in eyes, and his lips are stiffly frowning, so much so that you wonder whether his face would crack, if he were to smile. His hair is greying, but in a dignified manner, and it is well-kept, just as the rest of him seems to be.

Everyone in the room falls silent when his polished dress shoes click across the freshly swept floor, standing with their shoulders and chin squared, you and Gwen included.

“May I present Mr. Tarkin. He is the acting head of security regarding the Asset. His office will be next to mine in the administrative wing, should you have any concerns or are called for assistance. Mr. Tarkin?”

“Thank you Robert, your introduction is most welcome.” The colonel’s voice is exactly as you’d expect it, deep and gravely and more than a little sinister, although he gives a chilling smile when he says, “I have nothing more to add, other than the fact that anything you see here, anything at all, does not and never will exist. If you think you see something, hear or even smell something – you didn’t.”

“Is that understood?” Mr. Robert asks everyone in the lab, and you all nod.

“Yes sir.” You say in unison, cogs in the machine.

Suddenly, there is a commotion at the doors, as a team of armed security guards wheel in a massive steel tank. It looks like an iron lung, only bigger, far bigger. Everyone in the room is interested in it, but no one dare steps in the way of the security. It takes ten men on either side of the tank to move it into the lab, and though they certainly aren’t weak, they are visibly struggling with the Force of it.

It doesn’t help that whatever is inside the tank, isn’t happy. There is a harsh loud banging coming from within the steel, that low hollow echo as something pounds against it, bangs against it. You’re curious, so incredibly curious – you want to peer inside it, you want to know what it is. You’ve never seen anything like this before, never seen anything alive before. So far you’ve only come across planes and engines, never ever anything like this.

They’ve wheeled it in front of Mr. Tarkin, who regards it with pride. You wonder if he’s the one who found whatever is inside, or if he’s just in charge of it. Either way, whatever it is must be some raging feral animal, to make the kind of banging slamming pounding noise it’s making.

There’s a pain in your chest for it, for the creature, because certainly something that upset must be wounded, or frightened, or both. The security team steps away from the tank once it is securely in the lab, and they leave, filing out in two straight lines. The thick steel doors open, and before they close, Robert gives you and Gwendoline the cue to leave.

You nod, knowing when you’re officially just no longer allowed to be somewhere. You both gather up your carts and silently make your way out of the lab, passing the tank as you go.

Your intrigue gets the better of you though, and as you pass the tank, you stop briefly. There’s a window made of bulletproof glass, spanning nearly the entire side of the thing. Glancing into it, all there is to see is a bright blue liquid. You can’t really tell if the liquid is illuminated, or if it’s glowing on its own with some sort of bioluminescent quality, but either way, the blue liquid is too thick to see through.

You place a hand on the glass, using that as leverage to peer in closer without falling forward, when a hand pushes through the blue liquid and slams forcefully against the glass, jolting you back.

A flash of red fills the room. You blink and you are surrounded by the soft smooth endless velvet of blackness, the very same which populates your dreams. You’re close, so close, far closer to the red veil than you’ve ever been before, a hand outstretched, a hand reaching for you, before it –

As soon as it comes, the memory of your dream is gone, and you are being held tightly in Gwendoline’s arms.

“They need to leave, now!” Mr. Tarkin barks orders at your boss, but you’re already nodding, already racing to get your shit and get out.

You wonder if you’re ill – if you’ve had a stroke, if you’ve accidentally ingested some cleaning fluid. Nothing like that has ever happened to you before, and you can’t fight the shudders that wrack through your body, nor can you ignore the sweat that freezes across your neck.

“Yes of course sir,” Gwendoline says as she leads you and the carts out of the lab, pushing you bodily with concerned panic on her face, “We’re sorry, sir.”

You keep your eyes trained on the tank, as you leave. Your heart is beating faster than it ever has, and even as Gwen nearly shoves you into the hallway, still you crane your neck to look at the tank, still your eyes widen as you desperately try to catch a glimpse of something, of whatever that thing was.

Before the doors close fully, you see a shadow of something...the shadow...of a man.

Gwendoline races you to the nearest bathroom, and you feel as though you’re going to be sick. Had it been a hand? A human hand? Or were you officially just losing your fucking mind?

Was that really a person in the tank? Why would they keep a human being in a tank like he were some new fish at an aquarium? It must have been so scared, pounding on the tank like that, over and over and over and over – and you do get sick then, just because you still have no idea why you hallucinated in the way that you did.

“(Y/N)!” Gwendoline has a soothing hand on your back as you’re hunched over one of the toilets, all remnants of your lunch burning your throat as it comes back up in your panic, “(Y/N) talk to me what the fuck happened in there?”

“I don’t – I’ve never – ” You choke out, coughing with your face against the porcelain.

Gwen leaves for a moment, only a moment, returning with a paper cup and fresh water from the tap.

“Deep breaths, here, drink this.” She offers it to you, and you eagerly take it, gulp it down as you grab a fistful of toilet paper to wipe your face. She is so concerned, you can read it on her face, and she takes the paper from your hand to get the rest of your own sick off where you can’t see it. “Are you okay? Do I need to call the hospital?”

“Gwen it,” You’re out of breath, heart still beating so quick that you’re lightheaded. “I don’t know what happened I, I think I blacked out.”

“You scared the shit out of me, one second you’re touching the glass, the next second you’re almost falling to the ground. Would have hit your head on the concrete if I wasn’t there to catch you, but your eyes were wide open.” She says, and you frown.

“They were?” You don’t know how that could be, because you were dreaming, and you can only dream when you’re asleep, right?

“Yes, wide open but blank, kind of like those sharks, it was like you weren’t looking at anything in particular.” Gwen shakes her head and there are scared tears in her eyes, “I’m going to call the hospital – ”

“No,” You stop her, not wanting to have to deal with doctors and nurses for this, not when you don’t even know how you’d explain it. “No it’s okay. I feel better now, the water helped. I think I was just startled.”

“I’ve never seen you like that.” She whispers, “And I don’t want to again. If it happens a second time, I’m taking you and that’s not negotiable.”

You agree, and after you take a deep breath, you gesture to the bathroom around you.

“Since we’re here, we might as well clean.” You say. Clearly whoever was scheduled for this section of the hallway hadn’t gotten to it yet, and you didn’t want to face the world just yet.

“I’ll clean, you sit on the counter and just relax for a minute.” Gwen instructs, and you do as she says, hopping up onto the counter.

Gwen grabs a rag and a spray bottle and begins to wipe down the stalls, where she makes the mistake of looking up at the ceiling and groaning.

“Look at this, would you look at this?” She asks, pointing up. You squint but you can see the splatters on the cork ceiling tiles. “What were they doing, having a pissing contest up here? Isn’t this supposed to be the home of highly classified information and technology? Aren’t we supposed to have the best scientists and engineers?”

The door opens just then, and you immediately slide off the counter and adjust your dress, making way to grab your cart and leave. Gwendoline does the same upon the entrance of a man, as this is the men’s room, and though it’s your job to clean it, you are expected to give them privacy when someone is using the facility.

Especially when that someone is the Colonel, the new head of security regarding the new highly classified and top secret asset.

“No,” Mr. Tarkin says, as he approaches the counter, “No that’s alright, you don’t have to leave.”

He’s carrying something, a long baton made of black metal. He rests it on the counter and sets to washing his hands, using exactly six pumps of soap from the dispenser near the sink.

“Are you certain, sir?” You say, avoiding eye contact. “Our work can wait.”

“I’m certain. Don’t mind me, I won’t take but a moment. Please, carry on with your conversation, I don’t want to interrupt.” He waves it off, fastidiously scrubbing at his palms.

Once his hands are clean, he steps to the side and unzips his pants. Both you and Gwen quickly look away, embarrassed and in absolutely no mood to catch a flash of this guy’s dick. Instead, your gaze turns towards the baton, which seems to almost be humming there on the counter.

“Nifty little toy, isn’t it?” Mr. Tarkin catches you regarding it, and he smiles down at the baton like it were his newborn baby, fondness in his eyes that is incongruent with what it is when he tells you, “State of the art, high-voltage electric shock cattle-prod. But don’t tell anyone I told you.”

You and Gwendoline exchange a glance, what the fuck were they using electric shock on?

“I saw you both in T-4, didn’t I?” Mr. Tarkin hums, as he puts his hands on his hips and pisses right in front of you, “You’re the one who touched the tank.”

“Yes sir, I apologize, I don’t know what came over me.” You reply, trying your absolute best to not die of embarrassment and disgust.

“Humans are naturally curious, don’t worry. I’m just glad you’re alright.” He says, strangely sympathetic before asking, “Doesn’t it get lonely? The graveyard shift, I mean.”

“It gets quiet.” Gwendoline answers, strangely serious in her own way. She doesn’t like this man, you can tell.

Neither do you.

He hits the button on top of the urinal to flush and zips up his pants, making his way back to the sink.

“Well, hopefully things stay quiet – if you catch my meaning.” He winks.

“Yes sir, here.” Gwendoline offers him a hot towel for him to use when he’s finished washing his hands, but he doesn’t take it.

“Oh no thank you, a man washes his hands before or after tending to his needs. You can find out a lot about a man by the way he does it, what’s important to him. If he does it both times, it only points to a flaw in character, a weakness.” He explains with logic that makes no sense. “I think you’ll find I’m not a weak man.”

You find him a self-absorbed idiot, but you’d never say that out loud.

He picks up the baton, the cattle-prod, and exits the bathroom, catching the door with his hand before it closes fully and giving another one of those chilling smiles when he says, “It was very pleasant talking with you ladies.”

The second the door is closed, Gwen has her spray bottle and rag turned onto the door, scrubbing away where the man’s dirty hands have touched the steel.

“What a creep.” She mutters under her breath, and you hum out an agreement before gasping.

“Gwen, look.” You’ve caught sight of smeared blood, blood that had come from the baton itself. It was bad enough that they were electrocuting the creature, but now they were making it bleed too?

You and Gwen look at one another, and she just shrugs and hands you a rag too.

------------------

Some time later, you’re walking down the hall pushing your carts, reviewing the clipboard. Each and every task has been crossed off, and it was nearly only lunch time. Well, maybe it wasn’t exactly lunch time for the rest of the world, ten o’clock in the morning and all. But you were feeling good about it, thinking to yourself that if you can just hold on a little longer, you’ll be able to go out to lunch with Armitage when you get off the buses that will bring you back home.

Gwen is in an equally good mood, no doubt wishing that she could clock out early more often.

“I can see my own smile in these floors, we do such a damn good job, don’t we? Do you think Mrs. Parker will sign off on our forms so we can go?” She has a spring in her step as you both round the corner – right into Mr. Robert.

“(Y/N)! Gwendoline!” He looks frantic, looks terrified, is holding a napkin up to his face, mopping up the profuse amount of swear on his brow, “You need to come with me, now.”

“Sir, we were just about to pack up and leave actually – ” Gwendoline says, but your boss doesn’t care.

“Now!” He insists, and you have no choice but to follow suit.

Soon enough, it’s clear as to why.

Down the dark windowless halls and through the elevators you find yourselves in front of the lab once again, where there is a mess of blood all across the tile. So much blood in fact, that you’re nearly positive whatever has happened here has been fatal, because there’s just no way someone survived from this much loss.

Mr. Roberts scans in and the doors open, revealing an even bigger mess on the inside.

“You have exactly twenty minutes to get this lab spotless, do you understand me? Twenty minutes.” Mr. Roberts looks at you, and you nod, because you know you can get it done.

He leaves without another word, and the moment the doors close, Gwen groans.

“This is a lot of blood.” She states the obvious, grabbing buckets and filling them with water from one of the lab sinks. “You know, I can handle a lot of things. I can handle piss, throw up, hell, even shit. I can handle shit. But something about blood sets me off.” She shudders.

“Give me a bucket, the sooner we get this place mopped up the sooner we can leave.” You reach for one and she gives it to you.

You dump the entire bucket on the floor, and in the shallow wake of the murky water, a pair of fingers rolls out from underneath a large storage cabinet.

“No fucking way,” You gasp, bending down to pick the appendages up, “Fingers.”

“Fingers!?” Gwen covers her mouth, fully disgusted. “Okay, you stay here, I’m going to get Robert.”

The moment the steel doors close behind her, you sigh. What could have gone on here, you wonder, to have Robert in such a state? And the fingers, well clearly they had to belong to someone, which meant the blood had to as well. But there had been blood on Mr. Tarkin’s baton, the cattle-prod whatever he wanted to call it, hadn’t there?

Your stomach sinks at the thought that whatever the creature Mr. Tarkin has captured, bleeds just like all of you.

A low dull thunk comes from the tank, and you turn around slowly to face it.

Against all your better instincts, you turn to face it.

Where the tank was once empty, now there is something pushing through the fluorescent blue, something making its way closer to the glass. It is not screaming this time, nor is it banging its fists on the walls of the tank, and you drop the fingers, one hand outstretched.

You approach the glass, heart pounding pounding pounding, blood rushing in your ears, because it is a man, from what you can tell.

It’s not clear, not perfectly clear inside the tank, but you see a head and a wide torso, long thick legs and strong arms. He’s wearing some sort of breathing mask which obscures his face almost entirely, an apparatus that reminds you very much of the kinds that scuba divers wear, and he’s got a heavy looking metal collar clasped tightly around his throat.

It looks like a shock collar, but you’re not sure, you’re not sure of anything.

Though it is hard to see, there are definite wounds marking his body, fresh ones that speak to the blood all over the floor. You suck in a breath and just as you had done earlier, you place a hand against the glass of the tank.

This time when he – because it is a he and not an it – puts his palm against the glass from his own side, you don’t black out. You sigh with relief, and take another step closer to the glass, trying to get a better look at him when –

“Right this way Mr. Robert, yes two fingers.” Gwen’s voice carries into the room as the doors open for her and your boss.

You quickly yank your hand away from the tank and turn towards them, about to beckon her forward to show her the man in the tank, but when you look back through the glass, it’s empty. Nothing but the blue liquid as far as you can see.

In your pocket is a brown paper bag and you stuff the fingers inside it, folding the top down like a lunch parcel.

“Where are the body parts?” Mr. Roberts sweats, nervous nervous nervous.

“Here sir,” You give them over, explaining when he looks confused, “I’ve wrapped them for you.”

“You both can clock out and go home, I’ll sign your lists personally.” Mr. Roberts accepts the paper bag, and walks over to your carts where the clipboards rest nestled in amongst the bottles of cleaners and wipes. “And don’t worry about coming in tomorrow, the holiday applies to you as well. Go get some sleep.”

“Thank you sir! We very much appreciate that.” Gwendoline can barely contain her excitement at that.

“Well I appreciate you.” He stammers, genuinely grateful. “I don’t know anyone who can clean as well as quickly as you.”

He gives you a smile, and then rushes out of the lab with the paper bag, no doubt to the hospital.

------------------

Hours later, after you and Armitage have shared some lunch and you’ve bathed in the Nevada summer sun on your balcony, after the home cooked dinner he makes you and the movie you watch together downstairs at the cinema, when it’s officially late once again and Armitage is asleep in his bed, you slip into the hallway.

Careful to close your front door quietly, you tip-toe down the stairs at the end of the hall, the only real sound are the dimes jingling in your pocket.

There is a phone booth right on the corner, and no one pays you any mind as you step inside it, closing the glass door behind you. You drop the dime into the payphone, and when the operator tone buzzes, you dial the number on the rotary, memorized but never written down.

The line rings once, twice, three times, before someone on the other end of the line picks it up.

“She speaks to the earth with a loud voice.” You say evenly and clearly.

You look around, check over your shoulder, make sure that no one is watching or listening in on you, making sure no one is trailing you. When you find no such person, you relax a little.

“And the earth shouts back.” The man on the other end of the line finishes the code, before switching to his mother tongue and saying, “Go ahead.”

“They’ve got a hold of something,” You cannot refrain from letting some of the awe pollute your news, even in this language which feels thick in your mouth, your Russian sticking in your throat, emotional as you whisper, “Something incredible.”

------------------

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architectnews · 3 years

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"Taking credit for trees planted elsewhere is a whole lot of embodied irony"

Architecture firm Perkins&Will has gone too far with claims that a luxury timber home on a Canadian mountain removes more atmospheric carbon than it emits, argues Fred A Bernstein.

For much of last winter, Perkins&Will, an architecture firm with 25 offices from San Francisco to Singapore to Sao Paulo, used a photo of a wooden house in British Columbia as one of the "hero images" on its website.

The house, which sits alone on a mountaintop overlooking the Soo Valley 90 miles north of Vancouver, is certainly beautiful, but the firm had other reasons for splashing it across its homepage. The 321-square-metre dwelling, known as the SoLo House, is meant to be a model of sustainability.

Entirely off the grid, it is designed to operate with power from 103 solar panels on its south facade, a 96-kilowatt-hour battery pack to store electricity for nights and cloudy days (both of which are frequent in British Columbia), and a hydrogen fuel cell for winter.

With all that equipment, the house may well be able to function without utility hook-ups. But Perkins&Will has made a far more surprising and audacious claim: that the building's structure is "beyond carbon neutral," meaning that it will remove more carbon from the atmosphere than it emitted in the first place.

It seemed to be giving its clients permission to build willy-nilly at a time of climate crisis

In a slickly produced video on the firm's website, Perkins&Will architect Alysia Baldwin says the house "proves that buildings can counteract their negative consequences and act as a source of repair."

People listen to Perkins&Will, a firm that has positioned itself as a leader in green building. "For nearly a quarter of a century, we've been at the vanguard of the sustainability movement," its website declares. Journalists have tended to repeat its claims.

But this time it had gone too far. By constructing a showplace of a house on an otherwise pristine mountaintop, and claiming it had helped the environment by doing so, it seemed to be giving its clients permission to build willy-nilly at a time of climate crisis.

Looking at SoLo House, with its cathedral ceilings, its comfortable sectional sofas and its giant picture windows, then listening to Perkins&Will claim that its structure reduces atmospheric carbon, I'm reminded of the old punchline: "Who are you going to believe – me, or your lying eyes?"

Reducing a building's contribution to atmospheric carbon means making it small, keeping it simple, building it near existing infrastructure, avoiding the need for heavy equipment such as batteries and fuel cells and using the lowest-embodied-energy building materials.

Reducing a building's contribution to atmospheric carbon means making it small

Perkins&Will, normally an excellent firm, has done those things on other projects. But with SoLo House, it seems not to have even tried.

According to experts, 40 per cent of atmospheric greenhouse gases come from buildings. Some emissions are attributable to running appliances and systems – so-called operational energy. The rest comes from the power needed to produce the building in the first place, known as embodied energy.

Incredibly, Perkins&Will is claiming there is "no embodied energy" in the house's structure (by which it means the elements that keep the building standing). To its credit, the firm answered requests for information promptly, providing facts, figures and charts prepared by Baldwin and her colleague Cillian Collins, a senior architect.

Here's how Baldwin and Collins arrived at their no-embodied-energy claim: First they estimated the amount of structural wood, steel and concrete in SoLo House. And then they turned to Athena Impact Estimator for Buildings, an app that approximates the amount of energy needed to produce given amounts of each building material and the amount of carbon released into the atmosphere as a result of that energy use.

Athena told them that producing the steel and concrete, harvesting the wood and so on in SoLo House released 122 tonnes of CO2 (sometimes called CO2e, for CO2 and its equivalents) into the atmosphere.

That should have been the beginning – not the end – of the process of calculating the building's embodied energy. There are hundreds of other items that needed to be counted. Start with the roof. The walls. The windows (a massive item, given the need for triple glazing). The solar panels, the batteries, the hydrogen fuel cells. The furniture. The appliances. The plumbing. The heating and cooling systems. Lots and lots of insulation.

The list goes on. Each of those items has significant embodied energy. Transporting all of those materials to a remote mountaintop site adds more.

Perkins&Will failed to account for those sources of embodied energy. Baldwin was clear, in a letter to me, that the calculations were limited to the structure. But why would anyone stop there? According to Baldwin, it's because structure "represents the largest contribution to a typical building's embodied carbon impacts."

It may also be because Athena only applies to structure. (Athena is meant primarily for comparing how the choice of a structural material affects a building's embodied energy. An architect might enter plans for the same building, once with a concrete frame and once with a steel frame, and see how the embodied carbon figures differ.)

Of course, there are other ways to estimate the house's total embodied energy; one method is to use an online tool called Tally, which provides information on the embodied energy of numerous building components. Counting everything isn't easy, but other firms have done it.

Perkins&Will had a way of making it vanish, if not from the atmosphere then from the balance sheet

Even so, according to Athena, the house emitted 122 tonnes of carbon into the atmosphere. That sounds like a lot of carbon, but Perkins&Will had a way of making it vanish, if not from the atmosphere then from the balance sheet.

Much of SoLo House is made of wood. Wood, like all plants, is produced by photosynthesis from ingredients that include carbon dioxide. Thus trees are said to store (or sequester) carbon. They do, but probably not as much as people think, as I learned by studying the question at length.

Here's Perkins&Will's theory: If you cut down a tree and use the wood as a building material, that carbon sequestered in that tree becomes part of the building. Then, if you plant a new tree in place of the one you cut down, the new tree will sequester additional carbon as it grows. Thus the process (cutting down one tree, planting another) results, net-net, in carbon being removed from the atmosphere.

There are so many problems with that theory it's hard to know where to begin. To name a few:

1) You have to be sure a new tree will be planted in place of the one you cut down; will get to be as big as the one you cut down; and will live a long, healthy life. (If a tree burns, or decomposes, as billions of trees do every year, its embodied carbon is released right into the atmosphere.)

2) You can't waste any of the wood. That's a problem because converting a tree into lumber usually turns half the wood into sawdust or chips, which could end up being burnt or allowed to decompose. This problem alone suggests carbon sequestration figures should be cut in half.

3) The wood has to stay in or on the building for a very long time. If the building needs repairs, and lumber is removed, it may be recycled, but it may also be burnt or allowed to decompose. And who'll be watching in 20 or 50 years?

4) Let's be honest: You could have planted the new tree somewhere else, and not cut down the first tree to begin with. For that reason, no number of trees excuses a wasteful building.

5) Even if the new trees do sequester carbon, the process will take decades. Scientists who study global warming warn of tipping points and thresholds, some of which could be reached within the next ten years. If new buildings help push atmospheric carbon levels to a point of no return, the sequestration accomplished by newly planted trees will be too little, too late.

6) It's a logical impossibility. If you really believe SoLo House repairs the atmosphere, all you have to do is build enough SoLo Houses and climate change will go away. Now for our next trick ...

No number of trees excuses a wasteful building

No wonder the theory is highly controversial. A whole lot of things have to happen just right for it to become a reality. As Baldwin wrote in an email: "We acknowledge that not all timber sources perform equally in the realm of embodied carbon reduction."

"Much of the embodied carbon reduction achieved by timber is directly attributed to sustainable forestry management practices that ensure forestry operations are carried out in a way that allows forests to remain healthy and viable for future generations," she added. "These practices include conservation and protection, land use planning, regulation of timber harvesting, establishing practices to ensure forest regrow, and continuous monitoring and reporting to government."

She went on to admit that the tool used to determine the building's sequestered carbon, WoodWorks Carbon Calculator, a product of the Washington-based Wood Products Council, considers "much of this storage to be temporary and therefore [does] not give the building a carbon credit for the carbon dioxide that will eventually be released from this wood some time down the road, through decay or incineration."

But that didn't stop the firm from banking on the theory when it performed its embodied energy calculation. Using the Carbon Calculator, it determined that the amount of lumber in the building would result in the removal – through the planting of new trees – of 145 tonnes of carbon from the atmosphere. That's a bit more than the 122 tonnes the firm says the building's timber, concrete, and steel released into the atmosphere.

Converting a tree into lumber usually turns half the wood into sawdust or chips

So in this case, reducing E (embodied carbon) by S (sequestered carbon) produces a negative number – minus 22 tonnes, meaning that building the house decreased the amount of carbon in the atmosphere. (Indeed, the house's owner, Delta Land Development, refers to it as "climate positive.")

Perkins & Will firm produced a chart to make this clear:

As Baldwin puts it, SoLo House "is able to store more carbon in its structure than was released during the production, manufacturing, and construction of the project."

That's a highly suspect statement. Based on everything I've learned, E (embodied energy) may be much greater than Perkins&Will says it is, and S (sequestered carbon) much lower.

In a letter responding to points in this article prior to publication, Perkins&Will wrote the following (the client, Delta Land Development, did not respond to requests for comment):

"Through careful selection of low embodied carbon and locally sourced materials, the project prioritized a mass timber structure. The design team used industry-accepted LCA [life cycle assessment] tools to quantify the carbon sequestration potential of the structure, and the timber structure is modelled to sequester 145 tonnes of CO2e as biogenic carbon."

Reusing/recycling is always the greenest strategy

"Structural elements typically represent the largest embodied carbon profile of [a] project, and as such, the structure was prioritized from an embodied carbon perspective."

"As designers, we rely on reputable industry tools to estimate the impact of projects. We used the Athena Impact Estimator for Buildings to complete this assessment. Athena uses ongoing research by the Athena Institute and complies with ISO 14040 (environmental management, life cycle assessment, and principles and framework) and ISO 14044 (environmental management, life cycle assessment, and requirements and guidelines)."

"Per our previous correspondence, we shared the Athena Institute's definition of biogenic sequestered carbon, which considers the whole life cycle of the material, including extraction, manufacturing, forms of transportation, installation, repair and maintenance, and end of life (assuming reuse of the wood)."

However, if Perkins and Will had really wanted to reduce embodied carbon, it would have thought about some of these strategies:

1) Putting the house in an easily accessible location, thus cutting out hundreds or thousands of trips by delivery people and construction workers. (Perkins&Will points out "that the wood was sourced from within British Columbia, and the building panels were manufactured in Pemberton, BC, which is located 30 minutes from the site.")

2) Renovating an existing house. Reusing/recycling is always the greenest strategy. Renovation typically generates 50 to 75 per cent less atmospheric carbon than new construction.

3) Choosing a site where there are no trees to cut down. According to Perkins&Will, "A clearing was required for a driveway, solar access, and fire protection. It required harvesting 180m³ of second-growth hemlock timber. This wood was put into the BC forestry chain, becoming useful lumber." Taking credit for sequestration by trees that may have been planted elsewhere, while cutting down enough trees on site to fill a five-meter by six-meter by six-meter container, is a whole lot of embodied irony.

4) Making the house a lot smaller. When it comes to saving energy, less is definitely more.

5) Choosing versions of steel and concrete with the lowest embodied energy (a lot of research is being done on ways of making those materials less "carbon-intensive").

Perkins&Will appears not to have done these things — the actual work required to reduce carbon emissions. The danger is that people will believe its claims.

Fred A Bernstein studied architecture at Princeton and law at NYU and writes about both subjects. He has published articles about embodied energy – a significant component of the climate crisis – in Oculus (a primer), in Architect Magazine (an admonition to architecture critics) and in the Architect's Newspaper (a warning that efforts to make buildings resilient are often detrimental from an embodied energy standpoint).

Carbon revolution

This article is part of Dezeen's carbon revolution series, which explores how this miracle material could be removed from the atmosphere and put to use on earth. Read all the content at: www.dezeen.com/carbon.

The sky photograph used in the carbon revolution graphic is by Taylor van Riper via Unsplash.

The post "Taking credit for trees planted elsewhere is a whole lot of embodied irony" appeared first on Dezeen.

#Architecture – Dezeen

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thecrystalquill · 5 years

Text

The Wizard and the No-Mag

A/N: Hey hey!! So I know this is way overdue but thank you so much for waiting. I hope you don't mind but I made (Y/N) and engineering student at University because I thought it would make it easier for her to explain technology to Fred since she'd probably then have more of an idea about how that stuff works (also I have no idea what the course entails so if I've made any mistakes on the subject please forgive me). Again, I'm so sorry it's taken this long but thank you so much for your patience @kpopgirlbtssvt Anyway please enjoy :) [[bonus points to anyone who picks up the quote I twisted from one of my favourite movies]]

Chapter 1

Masterlist Series Masterlist

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

(Y/N) was walking through London, looking a little lost. Scratch that - she was lost. She had only been in England for a day and decided to go exploring (what a great idea that was), only she didn't have a map and she had no internet or data on her phone to find out where she was, which resulted in having to ask for directions. However, it would be more helpful if she knew where exactly she wanted to go. She rounded the corner of a building and found herself colliding with a slim get surprisingly muscular body.

"Oh-crap-I'm-so-sorry-I-wasn't-looking-where-I-was-going--" Said the person, holding her shoulders to steady her.

--"No no, it's fine, I really should've been paying attention." She replied, looking up to the stranger. He had a head of messy ginger hair sticking out in every direction, freckles dotted over his nose and cheeks and decorated his face, but his best feature was by far his honey-brown eyes. (Y/N) just couldn’t help but stare at the intricate patterns around his pupils that looked so bright up close.

Up close?!

Only now did she realise the very little distance between them. Taking a step back to compose herself, (Y/N) straightened herself out and cleared her throat. She looked back up to him to see he was already staring at her – with wide, unblinking eyes, and shallow, barely noticeable breaths.

Oh god – she broke him.

“Um… are you okay?” she asked warily; she didn’t know what too do in this sort of situation (it's not like she had a British hand-book if awkward moments).

He seemed to snap out of whatever kind of trance he was in, “O-oh! Yeah yeah I’m fine. I’m okay – I’m fine… er… ar-are you… uh… are you okay?”

She smiled at his stuttering; it was actually quite cute. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little lost.”

There was a silence between them, as if neither one really wanted to leave but didn’t know what to say, people who passed by them gave rude or enstranged looks – but they simply ignored it.

The man fixed his posture and carefully put out his hand. “I’m – er – Fred Weasley, by the way.” He introduced with a shy smile.

‘What a strange name’, she thought. She took his hand in hers and returned the action, “(Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N),” he repeated, trying out how her name felt on his lips, “well, (Y/N), since your lost and all, do you – er – would you want me to help you with getting… um… un-lost?”

“Well,” she laughed, “I’m not really sure where I wanna go.”

“Perfect! Does that mean I get to show you around? I’m a great tour guide, y’know?” fred beamed at her answer, clearly seeing his opportunity.

“Really? Are you sure? I wouldn’t wanna bother you.”

“It’s no bother,” Fred insisted politely, “really, it’d be my pleasure.”

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

Fred showed her around London a bit, obviously he didn’t show her everywhere – London is a pretty big city after all.

He took her to a nearby park after a couple of hours of touring around. It was a surprisingly nice day out – when (Y/N) was back home, she’d heard that England was always cold and rainy (which, according to Fred, wasn’t too far from the truth) – so they strolled around and got to know each other a little.

“So, where exactly are you from?” Fred questioned; it was pretty obvious from her accent that she wasn’t Brittish.

“(Y/S) [Your State], America.”

“Right,” he nodded, “yeah, I thought that but usually when I think someone’s American they end up being Canadian.”

“Well, people do sometimes end up being Canadian.” (Y/N) joked.

“So how come you’re in England?”

“Well, I’m starting a three-year engineering course at a University here. I could’ve stayed at home, but I wanted a change of scenery; do something new and out of my comfort zone, y’know?”

Fred nodded, “Oh cool, so I guess you’re gonna be stuck here for a while then.”

“I guess so.”

They roamed around for a little longer; the sky had turned a colourful mixture of vibrant orange and red, and the street lights had started to turn on.

“It’s getting a little late, should I – uh… walk you home?” Fred inquired, honestly though, he wouldn’t want her to walk home alone at night. Especially in mid-London; it just wouldn’t be safe for her.

(Y/N) nodded, “Yeah, okay. If we can find it that is.” She told him the address and followed him. She was a little surprised at how well he knew his way around; he explained that he likes to explore whenever he’s free.

They stopped at a tall building near a main road; the traffic wasn’t as bad as it was in the day, but Fred still took her hand and ran across with her.

Obviously, (Y/N) invited him inside – it might not really be a great idea to invite a stranger inside your apartment, but she felt they had gotten to know each other pretty well, besides, it was the least she could do for him after today. The walk up to her door was silent, but not uncomfortable. The elevator wasn’t working, so they had to climb five flights of stairs, and by the time they’d reached her apartment they had to stop for a moment to catch their breaths.

Unlocking her door, (Y/N) stepped aside and let Fred in. the door lead to a kitchen space with a small island table, to the left was a small living-room with a window looking out to the streets bellow, and to the right were three open doors: a bedroom, a bathroom, and a small storage closet. The rooms were quite plain: there were no blinds or drapes, the kitchen cupboards were empty, and the walls were bare. Different sizes of boxes were stacked up everywhere; lining the walls, taking up space and chairs – all labelled for different things.

(Y/N) closed the door and rushed to make some room and move some boxes. “Sorry about the mess,” she said, “I’ve just moved in today so I haven’t had a chance to put anything away yet.” She explained while lifting a large cardboard box labelled ‘Kitchen ‘ in black marker.

Fred laughed and shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “No need to worry, my place isn’t much better and I’ve been living there for years.” (Y/N) giggled at his response – which was a wonderful sound, in Fred’s opinion.

She opened the box and pulled out two mismatched mugs, putting them on the table.” I don’t have a lot in right now, but I did pick up some coffee and stuff – oh, and some ‘real Brittish tea’, apparently it’s different to how it is in the U.S. You want anything?” she asked, filling up the kettle.

Fred took a seat at the island, staring intently at the kettle and the wires coming from it. “Oh… y-yeah. I’ll have some tea if you’re making it.”

(Y/N) nodded and put the bags of tea in the mugs as the kettle clicks, and filled the cups with boiling hot water. She of course added sugar after Fred told her how many, and the milk, then handed them over – taking a seat next to him.

It was quiet for a moment, before Fred spoke up. “So… um… h-how does the kettle work… exactly?” He wasn’t sure if he should know this or not (she, of couse, thinks he’s a muggle like her).

(Y/N) paused for a moment and looked towards the kettle. “Er… well, the plug in the wall transfers electricity through the wire, then that heats up some metal in the plate thing under the kettle. Then that heats up the water, and when it starts boiling the switch flicks up and it stops the electricity. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s how it works.” She looked back at Fred to see him staring at the kettle, a mixed look of fascination and confusion crossing his face – she laughed at it; he looked so adorable in his child-like wonder. “Don’t you have a kettle at home?”

Taking a big gulp of tea – probably downing about half of the cup – Fred turned back to her, racking his brain for a believable excuse. “Well—er—yeah but… y’see, um—my parents’ house is really old-fashioned and they don’t have electricity – it’s a family house y’see. And… when I moved out, I got an old place too – so I don’t really know how this stuff works.” It wasn’t a complete lie, he just left out all the magic and wizards and stuff. "We heat ours over the fireplace."

“Oh?” (Y/N) was honestly quite shocked by this: now-a-days everyone has all kinds of technology, and Fred didn’t even know about the modern kettle! “Well that’s… unusual. But in a good way! It’s actually kinda… refreshing, I guess.”

They finished their drinks, enjoying more small-talk in the mean time, discussing everything amd anything that came to mind.

Eventually, they noticed the time was getting on for eleven, and Fred put down his empty mug and sighed. “I really should, I’ve got work in the morning and my brother won’t be too pleased if I’m half-asleep the whole time.” He looked at (Y/N) with disappointment; he seemed reluctant to go, but stood up anyway.

(Y/N) nodded and took the cups over to the sink, then faced him again. “Yeah, yeah of course. I should probably get to bed too… if I can find which box it’s in, that is.” She laughed awkwardly.

“Well… I-I’d… uh… I’d like to see you again though… sometime. Maybe I can… y’know, show you some more of the city tomorrow? Say… er... five-ish?” He stuttered as he nervously fidgeted with his fingers.

Smiling, (Y/N) nodded her response a little too eagerly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Fred beamed at her and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Right, yeah – cool. O-okay. I’ll meet you here then.”

“Okay. I’ll see ya later then.”

“Yeah, o-okay. Um… bye…”

“Bye.”

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

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wingcharm · 5 years

Text

Never-Never Land, Part 1/3

Ao3

“I’m not doing that. No way.”

“Kid, I can’t believe you have so little faith in me.”

Peter is sat flat on the living room floor, directly across from Tony. He casts a dubious look at the knife in Tony’s hand. “Didn’t Pepper put child locks on all the kitchen drawers? How did you even get that, Mr. Stark?”

“Daddy knows how to open them! He showed me how!” Morgan chimes in from her place at Peter’s hip.

Peter’s jaw drops. Tony has the good grace to look a little ashamed of himself.

“Okay, not my best parenting moment. But hey, Mo and I already played this game and look!” Tony extends both hands for Peter’s examination, “Not a mark in sight.”

“Tony, I’m not going to stab your hands!”

“You’re right! You won’t. Because I’ll be much —” Tony empties an entire pint of motor oil all over the hardwood floor between them “—much too fast for you.”

Peter gapes, momentarily horror-struck at the prospect of Pepper arriving home to find motor oil all over her floor. At his side, Morgan giggles into her hands.

“Mr. Stark! I’m not—!”

Tony presses the knife into Peter’s grip, still grinning. He knows he must look as though he’s having the time of his life. Peter looks as though he thinks he’s in the throes of some sort of mid-life mental crisis. “C’mon, Underoos, it’ll be fun! Toss me that towel, Mighty Mouse.”

Morgan does, producing a dish towel from behind her back like a kind of pint-sized magician. Peter shoots her a look of betrayal which sends her skittering out of the way, still giggling.

“Now get your head in the game, kid! We gotta get this up before it stains. On the count of three, I wipe up the spill, and you have to stab me in the hands before I can finish. Are you ready?”

Peter stares, dumbstruck, at the knife in his hand. “Wha—no! No way!”

“One—” Tony leans forward.

”Mr. Stark!”

“Two—” Tony raises his hands, the towel outstretched.

“Nope. Not happening—”

“Three!” The towel is thrown straight into Peter’s face. He sputters around a mouthful of Egyptian cotton even as Tony seizes hold of his ankles and drags him feet-first through the spilled motor oil, cackling like a madman.

It seems to take a moment for Peter’s brain to catch up with the prank. He drops the butter knife to the floor and removes the towel from his face to catch sight of Morgan, bouncing up and down on the couch and squealing with laughter. “Daddy got you! Petey’s got wet pants!”

Tony is bent double with laughter, savoring the expression of mingled shock and feigned outrage on the kid’s face as he catches on. He does his best to hide the smile that threatens, and Tony knows it’s purely for Morgan’s benefit; nothing delights his daughter more than seeing her two heroes go head-to-head.

Peter must know it too, because with an exaggerated roar which he knows will thrill Morgan to death, the kid scrambles to his feet, dripping oil everywhere as he makes a wild lunge for Tony, who can hardly move for laughing. Tony lets himself be tackled, feels the kids arms wrap around his shoulders as they collide and the pair of them topple over the back of the loveseat.

Peter does his best to smother Tony’s laughter in the plush cushions, hiding his grin in the man’s shoulder. “Who’s Earth’s Mightiest Defender now?”

“Think you can take on your old man, Spidey?” Tony frees an arm and fixes Peter in a headlock. “Getting a little big for your britches—oh, shit!” Peter flips them over a hair too far and they crash off the loveseat and onto the floor, knocking over the endtable along the way. A decorative lamp smashes against the hardwood.

“Dad, you’re wrecking the house!” Morgan wails.

“Yeah, Dad, you’re wrecking the house!” Peter laughs, doing his best to pin his mentor to the floor and reaching one-handed for the half-empty container of motor oil. “All that gray in your hair, Mr. Stark, it needs a little product. Have you tried —” but he shrieks as Tony drills his fingers into his ribs and regains the upperhand.

“Morgan, go get Daddy his suit. It’s time to whoop some ass.”

The playful wrestling match goes on until there is far more oil outside the container than in it, and Peter is red-faced and breathless with laughter. His plea for a ceasefire is granted, and he stretches out on the now slick floor and struggles to catch his breath. A still grinning and panting Tony drops down beside him.

“Pepper’s gonna kill us,” Tony chuckles, lifting one arm to tuck the kid under it.

“You started it.” Peter wriggles until he can prop his head on Tony’s bicep, turning to muffle a yawn in the man’s shirtsleeve. “My last day here, Mr. Stark, and this is how I’m treated.”

He knows the kid must have meant it as a joke, but the reminder that his break from reality is quickly drawing to a close is sobering all the same. It seems to have a similar effect on Peter, who looks as though he wishes he could take it back.

“I mean — I’m kidding. It’s been amazing, being here. You’ve been great, it’s been so great. I just, I’ll miss this, you know? I’ll really — sorry. Sorry, I’m ruining the moment.”

Tony puffs out a sigh, leaning over to gently knock his head against Peter’s. He tries to sound more sure of himself than he feels. “It’ll be fine, kid. You and Fred will be so busy finding dates and building your Lego Doomstars that I’ll have to drag you back for a visit.”

“Yeah. I’ll be — it’ll be fine.” Peter sits up, no longer meeting Tony’s eyes. His arms have folded around himself so tightly that Tony swears he can hear the kid’s ribs creak in protest. He looks lost, and it pulls at Tony in a such a visceral way that he reaches for Peter without conscious thought. “Hey. C’mere, kid.”

Peter goes willingly, releasing the death-grip he had himself in and wrapping his arms around his mentor instead. His fists close convulsively around the fabric of Tony’s jacket. “M’fine,” he breathes into Tony’s collarbone.

“I know,” Tony murmurs back, pressing his cheek into the kid’s hair. “I’m not worried. I just really like hugs now, it’s a whole thing. I had to make a choice between you or Morgan, and she knows where we keep the knives. It was a tough call. Don’t make me regret it.”

And just as he’d hoped, Peter’s hitched breaths are replaced by a genuine, honest-to-God laugh, and they’re okay again.

——-

The parting was every bit as difficult as Tony expected; it wasn’t as though it could ever be easy, but it feels as though he’s only just gotten Peter back. He’d spent five years without him, and the prospect of separation, of any distance or length of time, feels oddly foreboding.

Happy had volunteered to set-up the Parkers’ new residence ahead of time. Real-estate in the city was in unsurprisingly high demand with the return of half the planet, but Tony had secured them a new, furnished unit in Queens in record time. With the move-in of their old things from the storage facility Happy had originally placed them in after the Snap, all that was needed to complete the home was the Parkers themselves.

It was necessary, Tony knew. They had to get back to living. The kid had to move on with his life, now that he had it back. It was just — there was something in the way Peter watched him out the window as the Audi faded from view. Something like rejection.

But it was nothing. It wasn’t anything. Peter had to go back to school, he had to be a kid again. Much as he wanted to, Tony couldn’t keep him holed away in the lake house for the rest of his days.

Pepper’s advice was to let the kid get settled in, and so Tony forces himself not to call the moment he’s sure they must have arrived in the city. He kisses Morgan goodnight and watches Pepper read, and finally retreats to the porch where he can have what feels to be a rapidly approaching meltdown in relative privacy.

Just as he’s settled himself on the porch swing, his phone lights up with a video call request.

Tony’s heart leaps. Overwhelming relief makes him clumsy, and his fingers fumble over the screen until Peter’s face appears, his hair wet and curling as though he’s just stepped out of the shower. He looks surprised to see Tony’s face staring back at him. “Hey, Mr. Stark! Oh man, I didn’t think you’d answer!”

It hurts a little to hear his doubt. But Tony knows the memory of straight-to-voicemail calls and empty suits are fresher in Peter’s mind than his.

“’Course I answered. What’ve you been doing, drowning in tears since you left me? You’re soaked. Dry your hair, you little miscreant. You’ll make yourself sick.”

Peter scoffs, flopping back onto his pillows. “You bought us Turkish bath towels, Mr. Stark. Those are like — crazy expensive. I looked ‘em up. They feel like angel wings, I can’t ruin those. I’ll just air dry.”

“I built you a multi-million dollar suit and you spilled pizza sauce on it. Twice.” Tony knows he’s smiling ridiculously, sounds way too fond.

“That’s different,” Peter yawns. “Anyway, I just wanted to, you know. Check-in. The new place looks great, really, May is just blown away. She says it’s the first time she’s owned a dishwasher that doesn’t smell like melted tires when you turn it on.”

Tony snorts, not bothering to hide a smile. “Glad you like it, kid. Get some sleep before tomorrow. Big day. School, friends, Spidey — I know you’ll be back webbing up bad guys the first chance you get.”

He sees it only for a split second: a shadow of doubt that falls over Peter’s face and vanishes just as quickly. But it’s there, he knows it is. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll — I’ll be back at it in no time.”

“Hey,” Tony pulls his focus back, giving the camera a little shake for good measure. “I believe in you, Pete. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay,” Peter manages a smile. He looks as though he’s struggling with his next words; his mouth opens and closes a few times before he settles on, “Thanks again, Tony. ‘Night.”

“’Night, Underoos.” The call ends, and Tony wonders if this is how other parents feel when their kids leave home: restless and somehow bereft. He shakes his head to dispel the feeling, rising from his seat on the porch to seek out Pepper in the cabin. Before he can make it all the way in, his phone lights up with a text, and the words Peter had been unable to say face-to-face now light up the screen:

Love you.

He’s never typed so fast in his life.

Love you tons, kid. Get some rest.

——-

For the next week, it carries on like that; Tony and Peter keep in contact throughout the day via text or video chat, and Peter tells Tony all about his life at a school where half the students and faculty are entirely new to him.

“But the cafeteria ladies, Mr. Stark, they’re all still here. Isn’t that crazy? They look exactly the same.”

“That’s wild, kid.”

“Yeah, I know! And Ned and I have the same teacher for AP History as we would’ve had, except now she looks super old. Our Physics teacher is new, though, and he knows his stuff, but last year — I mean, five years ago, I guess — the Physics teacher was this super hot Brazilian lady. I wonder what happened to her? Ow!” There’s a scuffling sound at the other end of the line. Tony sighs.

“I’m not gonna lie, Pete, I feel a little uncomfortable having this conversation with you while you’re struggling with an armed criminal.”

“I think you’re being a little dramatic, Mr. Stark. He’s armed with a taser. Who even commits crimes with a taser? Like, get a life. Pick something less stupid.” This, apparently, to the baddie grunting beneath what Tony assumes is a net of webbing.

Tony casts a quick glance at the read-out from Peter’s suit, which FRIDAY has thoughtfully projected into view: the kid’s vitals are all within normal limits. “I’m gonna let you go so you can focus on getting home without giving me a heart attack, Spider-Kid. Think you can manage that?”

“Oh, definitely. Don’t worry about me, Mr. Stark, I’m doing great. The suit improvements are really — aw, come on, man, spitting? Not cool!” The call clicks off

——-

When the weekend arrives, Happy drives down to the city to pick up the kid for a visit. The Audi hasn’t yet rolled to a stop on the gravel drive before Peter is flinging open the door and barreling at Tony with such obvious excitement that he can’t help but jog out to meet him halfway, opening his arms just so Peter can crash right into them. The force of the hug knocks Tony back into the grass, a laughing Peter pulled along with him.

“Sorry — shit, sorry, that was really dumb.” Peter giggles a little nervously, but his grip on Tony never slackens. Tony pats his back consolingly, watching from the corner of his eye as Happy exits the Audi, exclaiming loudly about the need for child-locks.

“Good to see you too, Beetleborg. Come on, Pepper’s got grub on already.”

They make their way into the cabin, where a squealing Morgan launches herself at Peter’s midsection, clearly trusting him to catch her. He does, seizing her under the arms and letting her cling to him like a limpet, beaming all the while. “Hi, Mo! How’s the world’s smartest Stark doing?”

“Good!” Morgan tilts back her head and fixes him with her most adoring smile. “Hungry! Can you get me a—”

“Nope,” Tony cuts in, trying to keep up a stern facade. He knows a smile will only encourage her, but her powers of manipulation are something to behold. “You can’t con Peter into spoiling your appetite. No juice pops before lunch.”

“Maybe just one?” Peter hedges, swayed by the way her little eyes go round with sorrow as though she hasn’t spent the morning eating half a bag of stolen marshmallows, and Tony knows the battle is lost.

Over lunch, Peter fills them in on life in the city.

“Ned’s got no chill, Mr. Stark, honestly. He told his new girlfriend about how he works with Spider-Man right in the middle of class,” the kid rolls his eyes as he reaches for the mustard bottle.

“Did she believe him?” Pepper’s brow furrows with concern as she leans over to cut up Morgan’s hot dog into little round pieces.

“Well, yeah. But she also believes he owned a Mercedes before the blip, so that doesn’t mean much. Nobody else believed him, though. Flash was ripping on him until the teacher told him to simmer down. But…” he trails off, staring contemplatively at his glass of orange juice.

“But?” Tony prompts.

Peter flushes red. “Oh, nothing, sorry. It’s just, um. There’s this girl.”

Something mischievous must show on Tony’s face, because Pepper points a threatening finger in his direction. “Stop. No. We’re not having girl advice at my table.”

“What’s girl advice?” Morgan chimes in around a mouthful of hotdog.

Tony opens his mouth to speak again, and Pepper slaps a hand over his lips. “It’s something no one should ever get from Daddy.”

Peter chokes on his mouthful of potato salad and Happy slaps him dutifully on the back. He swallows thickly. “Thanks. Anyway, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant…sometimes she looks at me like — Mr. Stark, stop making that face! — she looks at me like she, um, suspects something.”

“Something like Spider-Man?” Pepper frowns.

Peter shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe?”

Tony shakes off a prickle of unease and reaches over to squeeze the kid’s shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Pete. It’s like you said, no one believed Fred. Your Spidey identity is safe. Look at all the people sitting at this table. Can you really picture one of us letting a major secret get out?”

Happy casts Tony a dubious stare. “Well.”

Peter’s gaze cuts sideways to the refrigerator, where one of Morgan’s more colorful drawings is pinned up: it bears a labeled family portrait, containing meticulously drawn versions of Iron Man, Rescue, and Spider-Man. A thick crayon arrow points at each figure, above which Morgan’s childish handwriting proclaims them to be: Daddy, Mommy, Peter.

Across the table, Pepper lets out a sigh and massages her temples.

“Okay,” Tony cuts in, “can we just — let’s all relax. I won’t let anything bad happen to you, Underoos, okay? And now I’m going to change the subject. You won’t even notice it happening. This lunch is great, honey.”

——-

When Sunday evening rolls around, Tony loads Peter back into the Audi with a little less trepidation than the first time he left. Peter, too, seems more at ease with the parting; he rolls his eyes fondly when Tony makes a show of kissing both his cheeks like an Italian mother, but hugs him just as tightly as he always has.

Tony strolls back into the cabin and cozies in beside Pepper on the loveseat, dropping his head into her lap and closing his eyes as her fingers comb a familiar path through his hair.

“You’re doing well, you know. You’ve got this parenting thing down to a science now.”

He opens his eyes. She’s staring down at him with a smile that warms him from the inside out, the smile that has saved his life more times than he can count — that is still saving him. It remains the only thing that can render him speechless. He reaches for her free hand and presses a reverent kiss into the back of it.

He doesn’t know how long he lays there, basking in the warmth of her company. He only knows that some time later, she is stroking his cheek to wake him, her voice a hushed whisper in the dark. “It’s late, hon. Let’s go to bed.”

He lets her lead him down the hall to their bedroom, slips into the ensuite, and it hits him with a sudden chill: his phone is silent.

He reaches for it to check, sure Pepper would not have let him sleep through a call from the kid — sure enough, there are no missed calls or texts. No notifications. He isn’t sure whether to feel relieved or…

But after all, he’d dozed off himself. What was to say the kid hadn’t done the same? Happy would have called by now if he’d run into trouble getting the kid home, and the fact that Peter hadn’t reached out mere hours after having seen Tony didn’t mean anything except that he was a teenager. It was healthy, probably.

So it’s fine. They’re fine. He should let the kid sleep. There’s a fine line to walk here; too much contact and he’s hovering, too little contact and he’s Howard.

He sends the text anyway.

Love you, Pete.

He slides under the covers beside Pepper, and falls back to sleep waiting for a reply.

——-

When the morning dawns, he wakes to find no missed calls or texts. But it’s early yet, and the kid is a late riser, and he knows for a fact that Midtown School is closed for some obscure bank holiday — he’s probably sleeping in. They’d spoken over the weekend about Tony, Pepper and Morgan heading in to the city for a visit mid-week to the Parkers’ new home, and Tony decides it’s as good an excuse as any to check-in. He fires off a text at the dining room table as Morgan stares balefully at her breakfast.

Wanna hit the zoo later this week? The Mouse has been dying to see that new baby spider-monkey. He includes a string of nonsense emojis he knows will get a reaction out of Peter, who can sculpt entire paragraphs out of the things.

By the time Morgan has finished her oatmeal and Pepper has left for work only after replacing Tony’s coffee with de-caf, the kid still hasn’t responded.

And that’s…unusual, Tony thinks. Two texts unanswered. And Peter isn’t the leave-you-on-read kind of kid, particularly where Tony is concerned. His hand reaches for his phone. He hesitates.

Morgan grips hold of the table cloth as she slides out of her booster chair and onto the floor. The table cloth and its contents slide with her, apple juice and dirty plates and all. He counts to ten in his head before he reacts, praying for patience. It’s a distraction. He’d wanted a distraction.

So maybe he’ll give it a little longer.

——-

He makes it until almost Noon, and then he calls Happy.

“Hey, Boss.” Happy’s voice is a little too high, and his face is both entirely too close to the camera and a little too pink. He looks almost shifty, and Tony is temporarily distracted from his panic by the sight of it.

“Hey yourself,” he narrows his eyes, “Why am I staring up your left nostril? Hold the camera away from your face.”

Happy adjusts until his entire head fits in the frame. “Ha, sorry. I was just — what’s up?”

“You look like you’re up to something. Are you up to something? Did you forget to take your baby aspirin today? Nevermind. Listen, have you heard from the kid?”

Happy frowns, suddenly serious. “Which kid? The kid kid? Peter? Not since I dropped him off last night. Why? What’s—”

“What about Peter?” cuts in another voice entirely, and for the second time in as many minutes, Tony’s train of thought his completely derailed.

“Is that — is that Aunt May?” Tony is aghast as Happy gives up the game and holds his phone at a more reasonable distance so that May Parker, still dressed in her work scrubs, is visible beside him.

“Can we not do this right now?” Happy pleas, now definitely red in the cheeks. “We’ll do it later, I promise. But what about Peter? What’s going on?”

“Um,” Tony fumbles, struggling to dispel the barrage of mental images that have suddenly been conjured up and focus on the kid, “Yeah, the kid. It might be nothing, it’s just — he hasn’t texted me back since last night.”

“That’s not nothing,” May frowns, “not by a long shot. Peter always texts back. Peter would text back Hitler.”

“Jesus, thanks,” Tony scowls. May rolls her eyes.

“And he adores you, Tony, he wouldn’t leave you hanging. Could he be out doing…you know,” she raises her eyebrows meaningfully and mimes shooting a web, “his internship?”

“FRIDAY, pull up the feed from the Spider—” he begins, but Happy lets out a shout of alarm and drops his phone. For a moment, Tony can see nothing but blue skies and the pointy ends of Manhattan’s skyscrapers, but then, just for a moment, a flash of red and blue.

“Happy!” he barks, feeling suddenly panicked.

“Sorry! Sorry,” Happy’s face swims back into view, but he isn’t looking at Tony; he’s watching something Tony can’t see, and his face goes oddly slack. “That’s — is that —?”

Tony can’t understand what has the head of security so puzzled until he turns the phone the other way round, so that Tony can see it, too, and it’s Spider-Man. It’s definitely Spider-Man. That’s the suit, he’d know it anywhere, he built it, but—

“Something’s wrong,” May’s voice is tight with fear, and Tony can see why, because something is wrong. Spider-Man is careening between buildings in slow, graceless arcs, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated and somehow off.

“Is he drunk?” Happy wonders aloud, and receives a slap on the arm from May. “Okay, sorry, I know he doesn’t drink! It’s just, he looks—”

Tony regains his senses in time to finish his earlier command. “FRI, pull up Peter Parker’s vitals.”

The holographic projection appears, but its glowing red heart is motionless; its usually diverse set of numbers a solid line of zero, zero, zero. Tony’s heart seems to stop along with it. “FRIDAY, what—?”

“Peter Parker is not wearing his tracker band, boss.” FRIDAY explains, and Tony’s instant relief that the kid isn’t dead is short-lived, because Peter didn’t take it off. Peter would never take it off without warning, he wouldn’t do that to Tony.

“Give me — gimme Spider-Man’s visual and audio feed. Track the suit. Do it now.”

“Tracking now,” FRIDAY’s cool voice does little to calm the racing of his heart, which only increases when, after a pause— “Unable. I’m sorry, boss. There seems to be interference blocking the signal.”

But that isn’t possible. It isn’t. He’d taken extra precautions after the kid’s friend had hacked through the Training Wheels Protocol. “Patch Karen through. Have her run diagnostics.”

“Unable,” FRIDAY sounds almost apologetic.

Tony feels his fingers go numb. He ignores the frantic yelling from the phone, heading for the door even as he tries to stave down the panic burgeoning in his chest. “Fine. Just — suit. Get a suit ready, I’ll have to —”

“Boss, suit deployment requires secondary authorization.”

Pepper. God, he’ll have to tell Pepper. It’s a protocol he’d set for himself after Thanos, an incentive to stick to his retirement. There is no getting around it — as long as Pepper is alive and safe, there is no bypassing the restriction. But she’ll understand — of course she will, she loves Peter. She’ll let him go, she’d never stop him —

The floor seems to drop from beneath him when the realization hits: Pepper is at work. Pepper is at work and Tony is home with Morgan, and she’s watching cartoons on the sofa and still wearing her unicorn pajamas and he can’t leave her alone. He can’t. She needs him. She’s—

She’s screaming.

“Daddy, Daddy, DADDY! LOOK!” Morgan’s voice is shrill with terror in a way that makes his blood run cold. He doubles back to the living room, his arm outstretched instinctively to summon a suit that won’t come, it won’t come—

Down the hall, into the room where Morgan is inches from the TV, her tiny hands over her mouth, and he looks at the screen—

“—watching the scene again, Susan, as SPIDER-MAN, the masked menace, the famed protege of Iron Man Tony Stark, destroys the Brooklyn Bridge in an act of terrorism—” the red-faced man on the screen looks positively gleeful, gesticulating wildly at the evidence on display: helicopter footage zooms in as Spider-Man hangs from a support beam, firing grenade webs indiscriminately. Explosions rock the bridge, and cars screech to a halt as their occupants flee in terror, some of them wounded, smoke obscuring the scene.

Another grenade web meets its mark a little too close to his perch, and Spider-Man sways precariously from his web, clutching it clumsily for support. And Tony can see now what the others can’t — he can see the way the suit stretches too tightly over the man’s shoulders, the way the bottom of the mask doesn’t quite cover the pale line of skin at the neck, the way its wearer’s aim is thrown off when his wrists flex too far inward as he stretches his finger for the palm trigger—

“It isn’t Peter. That’s not him. That’s—” His words choke off as the full weight of what he’s seeing — what it means — strikes him dumb.

It isn’t Peter in the suit. It’s someone else.

Peter would never, ever, let his suit be taken unless he—unless—

Pain lances up his left arm and he can’t breathe. His daughter rushes to him, but he can’t see her, he can’t see anything past the carnage on the screen.

His phone falls from his hand, he can hear screaming at the other end of it, muffled explosions as Happy and May try their best to get through to him.

It’s like he’s there on the bridge, scorched skin and choking breaths and smoke in his eyes. Distantly, he feels Morgan’s little hands on his cheeks. Her face swims back into view, all big eyes and panicked baby tears and he can’t do this now, he can’t, his kids need him. His kids need him.

“Tony! Tony, snap out of it! We have to get to him, I have to —”

“I’m getting May out of here, Tony, it’s too dangerous—”

“Peter! PETER!!”

“I’m coming,” Tony says, and he ends the call.

#i have no idea how to post a fic on tumblr #but here i am #doing it anyway #like a pro #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #morgan stark

84 notes · View notes

omilove · 5 years

Text

Stud-Ch.6

Well guys, here it is, the angst I’ve been eluding to...

Warnings: Light bondage, dirty talk, begging, angst, extreme violence, blood and semi gore

Co author: @livingtheoklife

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Brian…

The sun was starting to set on this crap day. The rain had cleared and the sun was shining partly through the clouds but yet his best friend was still laying in a hospital bed. Freddie, had barely moved from his spot all day but Brian could not blame him. His lover was beaten and bruised but he remained strong. As of now, Brian and Roger were locked in a deadly scrabble match while Fred was curled up in the hospital chair sketching. Brian smirked after finishing his word and he watched as Roger frowned his defeat drawing closer.

“Give up, love?” Brian smirked, leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“No!” Brian laughed as his lover looked down at his options but he knew he had been defeated, he slumped back into his chair and glared at Brian, ”Yes…”

Brian couldn’t help but giggle at the sulking blonde, “You tried your best love.” Brian said while putting away the game.

“Yeah, well, if it was strip Scrabble I would’ve won.” Roger said under his breath.

“What did you say?” Brian asked innocently despite knowing what Roger had said.

“You heard me love.” Roger said sticking his tongue out a Brian.

Brian laughed before turning in the direction of the clock.

“Damn, three in the morning.” Brian stated while stretching out his limbs while turning to look at Freddie and Deaky. John had only stirred a couple of times during the day leaving the boys anxious for him to wake up.

“Fred, do you want us to stay or are you going to be okay?” Roger asked Freddie who was still drawing away.

“I don’t really care, I’ll be fine either way.” Freddie responded his attitude sour but Brian couldn’t snap on him for it. Brian turned to look at Roger, “Your call love.”

He knew the choice was difficult but they both knew Freddie needed his space. So both Roger and Brian stood.

“I think we should get going, Freddie if you need anything call please.” Roger walked over to hug Freddie while Brian gathered their belongings.

“Call us if he wakes up Fred.” Freddie just nodded before continuing his drawing. Brian walked over taking Roger’s hand before walking out of the hospital together.

Once they were in Roger’s car, Brian leaned back into his seat sighing.

“I can’t imagine what he’s going through.” Brian whispered.

“Me neither.” Roger responded, it was quiet before Roger grasped the steering wheel, “God, if it’s Mick…”

“Calm down love, we don’t know that, don’t get upset.” Brian said, rubbing his lovers shoulder. Roger smiled before starting the car. The whole drive back to flat was silent with only the radio buzzing in the background. When Roger parked in front of the flat Brian moved to get out but was pulled into a surprise kiss by Roger. Brian pushed up into the kiss while pulling Roger’s hand off his shirt.

“Let’s get inside first and then you can snog me.” Brian said as he broke the kiss to breathe. Roger nodded, they both exited the car and walked up to the flat together. Once inside they set their belongings down. Brian went to walk to the kitchen but was stopped as a pair of arms snaked around his waist. Roger had buried his face into Brian’s back making him smile.

“I love you.” Brian turned around to lift the younger man off the ground.

“I love you too babe.” He walked over to the couch, sitting down with his lover still hanging on to him, “I’ll love you no matter what.”

“No matter what.” The blonde said, kissing the tip of Brian’s nose. Brian swooped up to kiss his lover and pulled him closer into his lap. He grabbed the back of Roger’s head pulling on his hair before breaking the kiss for second time that night. Roger moaned, his cheeks heating up from Brian’s actions.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who likes their hair being pulled hmm.” Brian was smirking and forcing a giggle back that was building up. He was trying to stay cool and sexy but it wasn’t working out in his favor. Roger giggled at Brian’s failure and kissed his cheek before nibbling his ear teasingly. Brian’s hands shot toward Roger’s hips as he groaned in pleasure.

“Naughty boy.” He whispered just loud enough for Roger to hear and make him whine.

“So naughty, might as well tie me down.”

Brian couldn’t help but to blush at the idea, it’s been a fantasy of his before he came out of the closet. He groaned softly and bucked up into Roger.

“Maybe I will.” Roger kissed Brian’s neck and pulled away to look at him. Roger’s baby blue eyes were now dark and flooded with lust.

“I want that so bad.”

Brian kissed a line from his cheek to his ear, “Go to the bedroom love.” Brian couldn’t help but to laugh as Roger sprinted toward the bedroom. Brian stood from the couch and double checked all the doors to see if they were locked. Once satisfied with their security he went to the flats storage closet to grab a small roll of silk that Freddie would occasionally use for his fashion workshop. Brian made his way to his lover who was already naked and waiting on the bed for him.

“You couldn’t wait for me.” Brian chuckled.

“Thought we could skip right to the fun.”

“Lay back down love and then give me your hands.” Brian said seductively pushing Roger back toward the bed. Roger laid back for Brian and raised his wrists up. Brian placed Roger’s wrists together before grabbing the silky ribbon and making one wrap around Roger’s wrist.

“You tell me if it is too loose or too tight, okay love?” Roger nodded giving Brian the okay to continue to wrap the ribbon around his wrist before securing out end of the ribbon with a bandage clip.

“Feel okay baby boy?” Brian asked.

“Yes daddy.” Roger giggled but it only made Brian growl as he quickly clipped the ribbon and pinned Roger’s arms above his head.

“You keep your hands there or I’ll spank you.” He threatened.

“Oh, no, I would want that.” A smug grin rested on his face. Brian leaned down to Roger’s ear.

“How about you won’t get to cum instead,” Brian nibbled on his ear and brushed his fingers over Rogers nipples, “and if you cum without my permission I’ll make sure you cum over and over again until you are dry.”

From underneath Brian, Roger starting moaning and whining. Brian smirked and kissed down his chest to lick and suck on a nipple while the pulled and twisted the other.

“You make the sexiest noises baby.” Brian said when he came up for air.

“Mmm...I love your dirty talk stud.” Roger moaned.

“Oh I know you do baby,” Brian sat up, “Look at yourself you’re already so hard and leaking.” Brian took Roger’s cock in hand and started to rub the underside of it with the tips of his fingers. Roger arched his back into the air his hand moving to grip anything. Brian used his now free hand to tip Roger’s chin forward.

“Look at yourself baby boy, see how hard you are for me,” Brian smirked, his own erection pressing against his pants.

“O-only for you daddy~”

“Only for me.” Brian reassured as he leaned down to take his lovers cock into his mouth. He bobbed his head and set a rhythm, sucking only on the up strokes to tease him. Roger bucked up into his mouth making Brian moan around his length.

“Oh! Brian!” Roger shouted.

Brian forced his hips down and continued at his rhythm. He ran his hand up Roger’s inner thigh before barely brushing past the younger mans balls.

“Fuck!” Roger whined.

Brian sat up and chuckled. He had a nasty idea running through his head.

“How badly do you need to cum baby boy?” He said as he ran his hands up and down Roger’s thighs.

“S-so bad!” Roger cried out.

“Your cock is so red and swollen baby,” Brian ran a finger over the tip, “I could suck it all day and make you beg for more.”

Roger moaned and whimpered, arching his back to meet Brian’s touch. Brian groaned at his lovers reaction. Brian slide his hand from the tip of his cock down to the base. He moved his hand only half way up before going back down.

“I’d tie your hands to the headboard and spread your legs as far as they would go and enjoy every inch of your body.” His movement started going faster.

“Oh! Brian, p-please!” Roger screamed.

“Do you want to cum baby,” He asked fully stroking Rogers cock at a rapid rate, “Cum for daddy, baby boy.” Roger screamed as he bucked up into Brian’s hand. Brian watched as he orgasmed, letting out strings of moans. He continued to rub Roger through his orgasm waiting until he was completely finished. By then Roger was panting with his eyes glassy. Brian was on his feet to grab a warm and wet cloth before hurrying back to his lover to clean him off.

Brian was gentle, making sure to avoid any highly sensitive areas. He moved his sweaty locks away from his eyes to kiss him sweetly on the forehead.

“You are amazing Roger.” He whispered to his lover.ver.

“God, I love you.” Roger responded, smiling ear to ear. Brian tossed the cloth onto his nightstand as Roger sat up and scooted closer.

”Untie me so I can return your favor.” The blonde said, sticking his wrists out in front of him. Brian was quick to take the bandage clip off and unravel the silk ribbon.

“You don’t have to return any favor love.” Brian said as he tossed the ribbon on the bed. Roger scooted even closer while looking up at Brian with his big baby blue eyes. He felt Roger’s hand rest on his knee.

“Are you sure love?” Brian hummed while inhaling and exhaling, shuddering on the exhale. He didn’t want to push Roger but god was he irresistible. His face heated up and he became aware of how painfully hard he was in his pants.

“I’m not so sure…” He said breathlessly. Roger’s hand trailed from his knee to his clothed erection his soft lips landing on Brian’s.

“Maybe I could make up your mind.” Brian gasped as Roger started to rub him through his pants and kissing his neck.

“Please.” Brian whined at the pleasure. Roger wasted no time as he pulled Brian down onto the mattress. As soon as Brian’s head hit the pillows Roger moved to unzip Brian’s pants moving them down at a snail pace. Brian whined in frustration but was relieved once he discarded his pants but only repeating the process with his boxers. Brian gripped onto the bed sheets as Roger licked his tip making his cock twitch.

Brian let out a breathy whine, “Please Roger, don’t tease me.”

Roger looked up at Brian an innocent glare in his eyes. In one quick movement Roger took all of Brian’s length into mouth and started to bob his head. He tried to keep his eyes on Roger’s innocent stare but it was too much. Brian tossed his head back, moaning. One of Brian’s hand shot down to Roger’s golden hair. He gripped onto his hair as he continued to bob his head. Roger let go of his cock only to lick his full length before taking him all in again.

“R-Roger!” Brian shouted in pleasure, he lifted his hips. He wanted more friction, he knows Roger is getting his “revenge” but it was Brian who was supposed to do the sexual teasing not Roger. Brian moaned as Roger sucked harshly before releasing him once again.

“I love pleasuring you daddy.” Roger said before kissing up his length. Brian whimpered at every individual kiss. His lover grasped his erection before flicking his thumb over Brian’s tip. He kept his eyes on Roger as he licked Brian’s precum off his fingers. Brian growled at the sight, “Such a dirty boy.”

“You taste so good.” Roger moaned before taking Brian’s cock back into his mouth. Brian couldn’t help but to thrust up into his lovers mouth. The familiar heat pooled in his stomach making him whine.

“Baby~” Brian whimpered while Roger continued with his rhythm.

“Rog, gonna..” Brian choked out before spilling into his lovers mouth. Brian slumped back against the pillows while Roger cleaned him. His eyes fluttered shut as he came down from his high. He heard Roger shuffle up toward him before his soft lips rested on his cheek. Brian sighed in delight as he peaked his eyes open to see his lover.

“I love you, Roger.”

“I love you too, Brian.”

Brian wrapped his arms around Roger before pulling him on top of him.

“You are so perfect. Everything you do screams perfection.” Brian whispered while rubbing his lovers back.

“Brian...I want to be with you forever, I want to be yours and no one else's.” Roger whispered back while making circles on Brian’s stomach.

“You already have me love, forever.” Brian kissed his temples.

“Good,” Roger’s eyes slipped shut both Brian and his lover inhaling deeply.

“Would you ever want kids babe?” Roger shot up to look at Brian. His face contorted with confusion but he softened his expression with a smile.

“I would love to.”

“Brian and Roger May,” He hummed in delight at the thought, “with our daughter Daisy May. How does that sound?” Brian sat up and leaned against the headboard.

“That sounds lovely, I always liked the name Rufus for a boy.”

“That is a great name Rog,” Brian couldn’t help but to smile at all the wonderful ideas drifting through his head. A future with his lover, children, marriage.

“Would you want a big wedding? Honeymoon? I’d do anything for you.” Brian stated. He wanted to plan their future together now, while they lay together in a peaceful state.

“A big wedding doesn't matter to me, but I would love to go on a honeymoon!”

Brian leaned up to kiss Roger quickly, “We can go anywhere you want for the honeymoon. I just want to be with you.”

“Paris?”

“Of course babe. Give me your dreams for the future and I will make them come true.” Roger pulled Brian into a quick kiss before responding.

“I can’t wait to start a family with you Brian,” He placed his hands around Roger’s waist, ”In our own house, with Daisy and Rufus…”

“A house somewhere in the countryside so the kids can run around and explore.” Brian added.

“That sounds wonderful.” Roger said as he laid his head on Brian’s chest.

“Fred and Deaky would have to come watch the kids so I could get alone time with you.” Brian smirked.

“Oh definitely,” Roger paused, “Or us dropping them off so we can have the whole house to ourselves.”

“Naughty boy, you would let me fuck you in every single room.”

“Yep, especially the kitchen counter.”

“I think the shower after you’ve cummed so many times that you are sensitive to the touch.” Brian said as his hand gripped the back of Roger’s head pulling on his hair.

“Mmm, I would love that daddy.” Roger moaned softly.

“I would make sure you kept making all those beautiful sounds of yours.” Brian groaned into Roger’s ear.

“God, that sounds like heaven.”

“I’ll tease your prostate everytime over and over again until you beg me to fuck you.” Brian pulled Roger’s hair back hard enough to look at his face. Brian watched as Roger’s fluttered shut as he whimpered.

“Look at me, sexy.” Brian demanded. Roger’s eyes slipped open making Brian smile. He could feel his lovers cock twitch against his hip.

“Is there something you’d like baby?”

“Continue talking dirty to me..”

“I think I’d like to tie you up and blindfold you,” Brian nipped at Roger’s neck before adding, “And then I would rim you and taste you.”

Brian went back to attacking Roger’s neck, nipping and sucking on all of his favorite spots.

“Fuck! Brian..please!” Brian flipped Roger onto his back taking the blonde’s erection in hand stroking him slowly.

“Tell me what you’d want babe. Talk to me.”

“I want you to ah- to taste me.” Roger moaned. Brian kissed down his chest, kissing around Rogers hips before placing a teasing kiss on the man’s cock.

“Keep talking to me baby.” He said as he continued to tease the man’s cock.

“Oh...mmm, I-i want you to rim and edge me till I'm begging you to fuck m-me.” Brian slipped both of his hands under Roger’s thighs moving them on top of his shoulders.

“I want to taste you.” Brian muttered as he ran a finger of Rogers entrance. Roger shivered against Brian’s finger, moaning and whining. Brian leaned down barely licking Rogers entrance.

“Talk to me baby, don’t hold back from me.” Brian said fully licking Roger.

“Fuck! You're d-driving me crazy stud!”

Brian continued to lick at his entrance before pushing his tongue against his entrance. He gripped Roger’s hips with one hand and teased the tip of his cock with the other. Brian backed off as Roger groaned.

“Hands above you Rog.” Brian demanded, continuing to tease his cock. Roger whined and huffed before listening and raising his arms above his head.

“Such a good and sexy boy.” He kissed down Roger’s thigh before letting his tongue intrude his lovers entrance.

“Mmm..feels...so good.” He heard his lover moan.

Brian continued to let his tongue travel in and out of his lover. He started to stroke Roger’s cock in a slow to fast rhythm. Brian sat up knowing that Roger was close. He gripped the head of Roger’s cock stalling him from coming too quickly.

“You know what to do sexy. Beg for it.”

“B-brian! Please, daddy please…” Roger whined, bucking his hips up into Brian’s hand. Brian lined himself up to Roger’s entrance. He pushed past the first ring of muscles slowly before pulling out again.

“I know you can do better than that baby boy.”

Pre-cum dripped from Roger’s cock making Brian smirk.

“Daddy p-please fuck me!”

He teased his lover again letting himself sink deeper before pulling out. Brian kissed around his lovers hips leaving hickies and lovebites in his trail.

“B-Brian…” Roger arched into Brian.

“Yes baby boy.” He said, looking into Roger’s eyes.

“I want you s-so bad!”

Brian inched slowly into Roger groaning in pleasure.

“God, you’re so tight and warm around me baby.”

“F-feels so good.” Roger moaned out. Brian couldn’t keep up his act, the stimulation and pleasure growing.

“I love you so much.” Brian whispered, kissing his lover passionately on his soft and salty lips. Roger moaned into Brian’s kiss.

“Oh, God, I love you.” Brian picked up his rhythm, angling his hips to hit Roger’s prostate. Roger bit down on Brian’s neck making him groan as he continued to relentlessly thrust into his lover. His hips stuttered as he spilled into Roger, moaning at the pleasure. His eyes snapped closed as he Roger tightened around him. When they both had relaxed and managed to catch their breath, Brian watched as Roger leaned up to kiss him. The kiss was tender making Brian smile.

“You, my love, my boyfriend, my future husband, are a gift from Heaven.” Brian panted against Roger’s lips.

“You’re my everything Brian, my world.”

Brian pulled out of Roger, grabbing another clean rag to clean his lover.

“Everything we talked about I want to make come true, our own fairytale.”

“Me too, God, I would love that…” He watched as Roger’s blue eyes flickered away from him to look out the window before the met his again.

“Maybe we should take a shower and go check on Fred and Deaky?” Brian questioned, sitting up and throwing his legs over his bed.

“Sounds good to me love.”

After they both had made out in the shower and then finally cleaned up themselves and the bedroom they drove the hospital. Once they were inside and walking toward Deaky’s room is when they both heard Freddie yelling at one of the nurses.

“It’s just a bloody pillow!” Freddie screamed at the nurse.

“Sir, you’ll have to wait until the cleaning ladies come to this floor.” The nurses voice was full of irritation, a clue to Brian that they had been arguing for a while.

“Fred, what is going on?” Brian asked.

“Deaky wants another pillow but she won’t get him another one!”

“Freddie, relax dear.”

Brian turned to talk to the nurse but a distant voice behind Brian made him pause.

“I don’t need another pillow darling,” Deaky said. He was awake, standing, and talking, “Oh, hello.” Deaky said to Brian and Roger.

“Deaky! How are you love?” His boyfriend said, walking over to Deaky. Brian gave the nurse a sympathetic grin before pulled Freddie away to Roger and Deaky.

“A bit sore but nothing that ice can’t solve.” Deaky was smiling and not laying motionless on a bed. It was good to know his best friend was getting back to normal.

“I’m glad Deak.”

“Love, maybe you should lay back down. Drink something, please.” Freddie said as he ushered Deaky back to the hospital bed. Brian took Roger’s hand as they walked into the room together. Brian took a seat next Deaky’s bed and Roger sat on Brian’s lap.

“I don’t want to push it Deaky, but what happened.” Brian asked, his tone was hushed as he didn’t want to pressure the man. Roger tensed above Brian, Who was quick to rub his back soothingly.

“Well… Fred and I were walking home from the club. We didn’t have any cash on us so we couldn’t take a cab…” Deaky inhaled sharply before continuing, “and as we turned the street corner someone grabbed me from behind and tackled me to the ground.”

“Did you get a good look at his face?” Brian pushed, he wanted to get the answer out of Deaky.

“It was Mick…” Deaky whispered, “He probably came after me after I reported him to the cops. He got his good hits in before taking off.”

Brian unconsciously wrapped his arm around Roger’s waist, rubbing his thumb against his stomach.

“The police already took a statement so we shouldn’t have to worry!” Deaky sounded enthusiastic but his face collapsed into a worried look. Roger slumped against Brian’s chest.

“It’s alright Deaky, you just need to recover. When do you get to go home?”

“Tonight, hopefully.” Deaky have Brian a half-hearted smile before turning to speak to his boyfriend.

“It’s okay, babe. Calm down.” Brian whispered into Roger’s ear. Roger just leaned back to kiss Brian on the cheek but it wasn’t enough. Brian turned Roger to face him and pulled him against his chest.

“It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

“I know…”

When the sun was starting to set in the horizon, Deaky was finally able to sign his discharge papers and go home. Freddie was latched onto Deaky who will probably be cuddle until Freddie says so. They piled into Roger’s car, talking about dinner plans and week plans with the occasional sexual comment in between their conversation. When they parked outside they are piled out of the car and into the shared flat. Brian unlocked the door, opening it for the three others until he noticed the dark red writing on their walls.

“You'll always and forever be mine.”

Fred was the first to start scrambling around the flat looking for any proof of Mick, Deaky jumped to the phone, but Brian was running after Roger who had already stormed off down the hallway. He was screaming his name as he ran down the hallway to Roger. He grabbed Roger’s arm before he could get out of the building.

“Roger, wait! This isn’t safe!” Brian shouted at him. Roger’s head snapped toward him, pure anger on his face.

“You know what isn’t safe?” Roger stepped forward putting a hand on Brian’s chest and pushing him back with every step, “The fact that stalker, that criminal is still out there! And god dammit Brian, if he fucking hurts you I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself, Deaky had already been hospitalized by him, I don’t want you to end up like me or John!” And like that his boyfriend stormed out the door. Brian wanted to go after him but he wasn’t quick enough his car pulling away from the street before taking off. Brian darted back up to the flat, Freddie was pacing the floor while Deaky rested on the couch.

“Roger took off, I couldn’t catch up to him… he’s gone. I don’t know where.” Brian was on the verge of crying.

“Calm down Brian. The police are on the way to here and Mick’s apartment.” Deaky reassured.

“He’s smart, Brian. He just needs time to cool off darling.” Freddie said to him. Brian nodded his head, sitting on the couch waiting for the police to arrive.

With an half an hour passed Brian was getting worried about Roger. Deaky and Fred were speaking to the police that were currently in their flat. Brian’s eyes were latched onto the door, he wanted his boyfriend to come walking through the door. But with minutes clicking by there was no sign of him. The two police officers were wrapping up their investigation of the flat and Freddie and Deaky’s room when they heard the front door open and loud thump against the floor. The two officers sped down the hallway, Brian on their tail. Brian collapsed to the floor next to his lover. His vision blurry with tears. There laid his Roger, covered in fresh blood. There against the carpet his Roger was passed out, covered in blood. There against the carpet, covered in blood, passed out, fighting, was his Roger.

Roger…

Roger, Brian, and Freddie stayed at the hospital almost all day, only leaving to get a few things to keep them occupied. Deaky was still very sore, he stirred and groaned but never fully came around yet. Roger was now sitting in a corner with Brian, playing an intense game of scrabble as Freddie sketched in a notebook. The sun had finally set on that gloomy autumn day, the stereo Freddie brought made a peaceful ambience to the stress that surrounded the three men who were waiting for Deaky to finally come around. Roger concentrated hard on his next move as Brian sat back looking smug at his word choice. The blonde glanced down at his letter and frowned, he didn’t even have a vowel left.

“Give up, love?” Brian sat back in his seat, the smirk spread even more across his face. Roger competitiveness made his eye twitch.

“No!” Roger shushed Brian, before looking down at his words with white hot rage. Roger groaned before slumping back in his chair, folding his arms and scowling,”Yes…”

Brian giggled making Roger sulk even more,“You tried your best love.” Brian said while cleaning up the game.

“Yeah, well, if it was strip Scrabble I would’ve won.” Roger mumbled.

“What did you say?” Roger scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“You heard me love.” Roger stuck out his tongue at the older man before smirking. Roger watched at Brian turned away and huffed.

“Damn, three in the morning.” Roger’s eyes snapped up to the clock, he was utterly taken aback for a second, it didn’t feel that late and he swore the clock read eleven when they first took out the Scrabble board. Roger turned to Freddie who was still sitting over by his boyfriend.

“Fred, do you want us to stay or are you going to be okay?” Roger asked in a soft tone.

“I don’t really care, I’ll be fine either way.” Freddie attitude seeped out through his speech, Roger couldn’t get angry though, he knew Freddie was overwhelmed with worry. Roger turned to Brian who was already looking at him, “Your call love.”

Roger felt bad to leave Fred, but he knew that Freddie needed to be alone with Deaky maybe even coax out of it. Roger’s eyes showed how conflicted he was, his baby blues danced from Brian to Freddie before sighing.

“I think we should get going, Freddie if you need anything call please.” Roger walked over to Freddie, giving him a hug.

“Call us if he wakes up Fred.” Brian walked over to Roger, taking his hand and leading him out of the hospital. They were now sitting in Roger’s car, Roger looked over at Brian.

“I can’t imagine what he’s going through.” Brian whispered, that sent a wave a guilt to wash of Roger. Roger frowned, looking away from Brian. Roger could only imagine if it were Brian, Roger just felt so bad for Freddie.

“Me neither.” Roger kept his gaze straight ahead,”God, if it’s Mick…” Roger clenched his fist against the steering wheel, his face contorting in sudden anger.

“Calm down love, we don’t know that, don’t get upset.” Brian’s hand found Roger’s shoulder in started rubbing it. Roger smiled slightly at Brian’s touch. Roger then started the car and pulled out of the parking lot to make their way back to the flat. Roger was silent the whole ride home though, he couldn’t get the image of Deaky laying there in the hospital bed, practically beaten to a bloody pulp. Roger parked, turning to Brian, his hand found its way to Brian’s shirt. He pulled Brian into a loving kiss. Brian pushed up into the kiss, pulling Roger’s hand off his shirt.

“Let’s get inside first and then you can snog me.” Brian broke the kiss, Roger nodded and got out of the car. They walked to Brian’s flat and Brian opened the door. They went inside, setting their stuff down. Roger then walked up to Brian, who had his back turned to the blonde, and hugged him from behind, burying his face into Brian’s back.

“I love you.” Roger kissed Brian back. Brian turned around quickly, scooping up Roger, Roger’s legs instinctively wrapped around the older man,“I love you too babe.”

Brian walked over to the couch, placing Roger down, but his arms still remained wrapped around Roger.

“I’ll love you no matter what.” Roger blushed, putting a hand on Brian’s cheek while his heart swelled with love.

“No matter what.” Roger repeated sincerely, placing a kiss on Brian’s nose. Brian’s lips crashed against Roger’s, he felt himself getting pulled into Brian’s lap. Brian tugged on Roger’s hair pulling away from the kiss making Roger moan softly, he could feel his cheeks getting redder.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who likes their hair being pulled hmm.” Brian smirked and tried to keep a smoldering poker face but it wasn’t working. Roger giggled at his lover and kissed Brian’s cheek before nipping at Brian’s ear.

“Naughty boy.” Brian whispered as his hand gripped Roger’s hips. Roger let out a small whine from Brian’s sultry words.

“So naughty, might as well tie me down.” Roger whispered back, giggling once more. Brian groaned and grinded his hips up against Roger. Roger had to choke back a moan that was bubbling in his throat.

“Maybe I will.” Roger eyes were now brimming with lust at the idea, he had wanted Brian to do that ever since the dressing room. Roger started to sloppily kiss Brian's neck, before pulling away staring into Brian's eyes hungrilyrily.

“I want that so bad.” Brian leaned in a kissed Roger’s cheek up to his ear, Roger feel his whole body get hot.

“Go to the bedroom love.” Roger got up without a word and scrambled to the bedroom, he took off his shirt and threw it to the floor, he did the same with his trousers and then his boxers. Roger bit his lip waiting for Brian.

“You couldn’t wait for me.” Brian chuckled in the doorway, Roger smirked and got up to walk over to Brian, putting his hands tenderly on Brian’s shoulders.

“Thought we could skip right to the fun.”

“Lay back down love and then give me your hands.” Brian pushed Roger back towards the bed, Roger without hesitation obeyed, laying down on the bed and raising up his hands for Brian. Brian placed Roger’s wrist together and went on to wrap the silk around them once.

“You tell me if it is too loose or too tight, okay love?” Roger nodded, looking up at Brian innocently. Brian continued to wrap the silk around until it was fully secured.

“Feel okay baby boy?”

“Yes daddy.” Roger giggled. Brian growler before pinning Roger's bond hands above his head.

“You keep your hands there or I’ll spank you.” Brian threatened making Roger’s lip tug into a smug grin.

“Oh, no, I would want that.” Roger teased.

“How about you won’t get to cum instead,” Brian whispered sensually in Roger's ear, Roger's eyes widened as Brian nibbled at his ear and traced his nipples, “and if you cum without my permission I’ll make sure you cum over and over again until you are dry.” Roger moaned and whined at Brian's words the sudden dirty talk made Roger extremely aroused. Brian kissed down Roger neck, making him tense up. The older man start to suck at one nip while fondling the other,Roger breathed out small groans.

“You make the sexiest noises baby.”

“Mmm...I love your dirty talk stud.” Roger moaned out.

“Oh I know you do baby,” Brian sat up, “Look at yourself you’re already so hard and leaking.” Roger couldn't contain himself anymore as Brian began to stroke his cock. Roger’s back arched up as his bond wrist wriggled, he wanted to grasp onto something, anything, he whined in his frustrations. Brian moved Roger's chin down to look at himself.

“Look at yourself baby boy, see how hard you are for me,” Brian smirked and Roger let out another moan.

“O-only for you daddy~” Roger panted out.

“Only for me.” Brian mumbled before taking Roger's length into his mouth, teasing his cock. Roger bucked his hips up.

“Oh! Brian!” Roger gasped, his length was so red and sensitive. His lover's mouth felt like heaven. Roger whimpered as Brian forced his hips down before Brian continued sucking. Roger felt Brian's hand travel up, grazing past his balls, and Roger let out a huge whine.

“Fuck!” Brian sat up and chuckled.

“How badly do you need to cum baby boy?” Roger shuddered at Brian's touch.

“S-so bad!” Roger panted.

“Your cock is so red and swollen baby,” Roger choked back a cry as Brian started to touch his sensitive tip, “I could suck it all day and make you beg for more.” Roger stuttered but couldn’t make out any words the blonde could only moan and whimper. He arched his back up into Brian's touch. Roger eyes rolled back into his head as Brian teased his cock once more.

“I’d tie your hands to the headboard and spread your legs as far as they would go and enjoy every inch of your body.” Roger moaned louder not only at Brian's touch, but his words.

“Oh! Brian, p-please!”

“Do you want to cum baby,” Brian asked as he rapid increased his speed,“Cum for daddy, baby boy.” Roger screamed, bucking up into Brian's hand. His vision became blurry, short spastic moans escaped his mouth as he orgasmed. Roger withered and panted deeply. Brian hurried to get a washcloth for Roger, but Roger started up at the ceiling, his head was full of static from his amazing orgasm. Brian was back with a minute and was cleaning Roger off, the blonde snapped out of his daze to smile. Brian's aftercare was always the best.

“You are amazing Roger.” Brian whispered.

“God, I love you.” Roger mumbled back, lifting himself up, his wrist still tied, he scooted close to Brian, kissing him on his soft lips,”Untie me so I can return your favor.” Brian was quick to unravel the ribbon, tossing it to the side.

“You don’t have to return any favor love.” Roger moved closer to him, his big round eyes stared into Brian's, he placed a soft hand on Brian's knee.

“Are you sure love?” Roger smirked at Brian's shaky breaths, he knew the older man couldn't resist him even if he wanted to.

“I’m not so sure…” Roger's hand traced up Brian's erection, kissing him sloppily.

“Maybe I could make up your mind.” Roger kissed down to Brian's neck, his hand still rubbing Brian through his pants.

“Please.” Brian whined, Roger pushed him down onto the bed so that his was laying on one of the pillows. Roger moved slowly, unzipping Brian's pants and pulled them down agonizingly slow. Roger discarded of the pants before doing the same with Brian's boxers, his cock sprang free and Roger looked down at it, hunger in his eyes. Roger slowly licked Brian's tips, gripping the older man's bare thighs as he did so.

“Please Roger, don’t tease me.” Roger looked up into Brian's hazel eyes, an innocent look on his face, before completely taking in Brian's length. Roger began to bob his head, eyes to locked to Brian's, the innocent look still plastered on his face. Brian's let his head go back, moaning. Roger let out a soft groan when Brian gripped his hair. Roger stopped sucking to lick Brian's length and head before taking him in again.

“R-Roger!” Brian yelled, bucking his hips open into Roger's mouth. Roger continued to suck hard and slowly, he released Brian again.

“I love pleasuring you daddy.” Roger rasped, before kissing up Brian length. Roger than grasped Brian, rubbing Brian's tip with his thumb, collecting the older man's precum and licking it off his finger.

“Such a dirty boy.” Brian growled, Roger let out a small moan.

“You taste so good.” Roger ducked down again to continue do suck, bobbing his head up and down. Roger couldn't help but moan around Brian's cock as he trusted up into his mouth.

“Baby~” Brian whimpered as Roger continued his rhythm.

“Rog, gonna..” Brian choked up before spilling into Roger mouth, Roger pulled away and swallowing hard. Roger hurried to clean off Brian tenderly before climbing up next to his lover, kissing him softly on the check. Roger glanced outside to see that the sky was a paler grey, it was almost morning, he yawned, stretched and curled up.

“I love you, Roger.” Roger looked up into Brian's eyes and smiled great big.

“I love you too, Brian.” Brian pulled Roger on top of him, he was so warm. Roger couldn't recall a time where he felt an intense love for someone as much as he did with Brian.

“You are so perfect. Everything you do screams perfection.” Brian whispered in Roger's ear, the blonde's checks became bright red.

“Brian...I want to be with you forever, I want to be yours and no one else's.” Roger traced a circle on Brian's stomach.

“You already have me love, forever.” Roger giggled when his lover kissed his temples.

“Good,” Roger closed his eyes and he breathed in deeply. Roger could stay like that for an eternity.

“Would you ever want kids babe?” Roger's eyes snapped open and he looked up at Brian. He was taken aback by the question, but Roger softened his expression, he never thought about kids before, but the idea of having a family melted his heart.

“I would love to.”

“Brian and Roger May,” Brian hummed and Roger couldn't help but smile, “with our daughter Daisy May. How does that sound?”

“That sounds lovely, I always liked the name Rufus for a boy.”

“That is a great name Rog,” Roger saw Brian smile, “Would you want a big wedding? Honeymoon? I’d do anything for you.” Roger adored Brian's eagerness for the future, Roger kissed Brian's chest and plays with his hair before speaking.

“A big wedding doesn't matter to me, but I would love to go on a honeymoon!” Roger didn't care where they went or what they did when they did go on their honeymoon because he would follow Brian to the ends of the earth. Brian placed a tender kiss on Roger’s lips.

“We can go anywhere you want for the honeymoon. I just want to be with you.”

“Paris?” Roger had always wanted to go there and the thought of being freshly married to the love of his life, standing beneath the Eiffel Tower was more than a dream to him.

“Of course babe. Give me your dreams for the future and I will make them come true.” Roger grabbed Brian’s face to pull him into another loving kiss, then Roger pulled away.

“I can’t wait to start a family with you Brian,” Roger sighed happily, thinking,”In our own house, with Daisy and Rufus…”

“A house somewhere in the countryside so the kids can run around and explore.” Roger put his head on Brian’s chest.

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Fred and Deaky would have to come watch the kids so I could get alone time with you.” Roger giggled at the thought.

“Oh definitely,” Roger smirked, “Or us dropping them off so we can have the whole house to ourselves.”

“Naughty boy, you would let me fuck you in every single room.”

“Yep, especially the kitchen counter.”

“I think the shower after you’ve cummed so many times that you are sensitive to the touch.” Roger let out a soft moan as Brian pulled on his hair.

“Mmm, I would love that daddy.”

“I would make sure you kept making all those beautiful sounds of yours.” Roger would be in the mood for a round two if Brian kept this up, Roger could only blush when Brian groaned into his ear.

“God, that sounds like heaven.” Roger whispered.

“I’ll tease your prostate everytime over and over again until you beg me to fuck you.” Brian pulled Roger’s hair up so they were looking at each other, Roger’s eyes fluttered shut and he whimpered in pleasure.

“Look at me, sexy.” Roger let out another soft noise before opening his eyes to stare at Brian’s, he could already feel himself getting aroused again.

“Is there something you’d like baby?” Brian smiled, Roger let out another whimper.

“Continue talking dirty to me..” Roger’s cheeks were completely red, his eyes were lustful.

“I think I’d like to tie you up and blindfold you,” Roger choked back a moan as Brian nipped at his neck,“And then I would rim you and taste you.” Roger moaned while Brian attacked his neck, he pressed his erection up against Brian's thigh.

“Fuck! Brian..please!”

“Tell me what you’d want babe. Talk to me.” Roget moaned when Brian's hand started to stroke his erection, buck up into Brian's touch.

“I want you to ah- to taste me.” Roger whined and huffed. Roger gasped as Brian teased his cock with a kiss.

“Keep talking to me baby.” Roger whimpered at Brian continued teasing.

“Oh...mmm, I-i want you to rim and edge me till I'm begging you to fuck m-me.” Roger arched his back, wanting more from Brian's lips. Brian grabbed Roger by the thighs and positioned him so they were laying on the older man's shoulders.

“I want to taste you.” Brian ran a finger across Roger entrance making him whither, he whined again, he felt so needy and Brian had just began teasing him. Roger arched his upper back as Brian softly licked his entrance, moaning loudly. Brian was driving him absolutely crazy, Roger was so turned on that it physically hurt.

“Talk to me baby, don’t hold back from me.” Brian fully dragged his tongue across Roger's entrance making him scream.

“Fuck! You're d-driving me crazy stud!” Roger let out another loud moan and Brian push his tongue to his entrance. Roger practically screamed when Brian started to touch the tip of his cock again. Roger gripped the bed sheets and groaned.

“Hands above you Rog.” Brian demanded, continuing to tease him. Roger whined in defiance before huffing, raising him arms up about his head.

“Such a good and sexy boy.” Roger groaned again when Brian pushed in his tongue. It felt so good inside Roger that he could resist crying out.

“Mmm..feels...so good.” Roger choked out. Roger's eyes rolled back in pleasure as Brian started to stroke his cock while continuing to rim him. Roger could feel himself get closer to his orgasm, the pooling hot sensation in his stomach made him whimper. Brian hauled his movement, Roger whined loudly at the loss of friction. Roger huffed when Brian gripped his cock.

“You know what to do sexy. Beg for it.”

“B-brian! Please, daddy please…” Roger bucked up into Brian's touch, hungry for any friction. Roger moaned when Brian teased his entrance with his cock, Roger wanted it so bad.

“I know you can do better than that baby boy.” Roger could feel the precum drip down his own length, he wanted Brian inside him, he would do anything for it.

“Daddy p-please fuck me!” Roger whined. Roger was a whimpering mess, Brian kept teasing him and attacking his hips. Roger groans.

“B-Brian…” Roger moaned again arching his back, he was desperate for his lover's cock.

“Yes baby boy.” Roger's eyes met Brian, his baby blue eyes were a beg in themselves.

“I want you s-so bad!” Brian inched his cock slowly in to Roger, the blonde's mouth hung open and his eyes were squeezed shut in a silent scream of pleasure.

God, you’re so tight and warm around me baby.” Roger panted, Brian's length filled him up perfectly and he could feel sweat drip from his forehead.

“F-feels so good.” Roger gasped breathlessly.

“I love you so much.” Roger kissed Brian back passionately, moaning into his mouth. Roger reached up and pulled Brian on top of him, he wanted to be fully dominated by his lover.

“Oh, God, I love you.” Roger screamed out in pleasure when Brian hit his prostate. He was so sensitive now, his cock was red and twitching, long overdue for his orgasm. Roger bit the older man's neck, scratching down Brian's back. Roger felt warmth spread inside him and he could feel himself slipping into his orgasm, his vision went black and he arched his back and with a final moan he released. Roger panted breathlessly, he stared up at the ceiling. Then he leaned up to kiss Brian softly.

“You, my love, my boyfriend, my future husband, are a gift from Heaven.” Roger smiled, pulling away from Brian, placing both his hands on Brian’s flushed face.

“You’re my everything Brian, my world.” Roger placed a kiss on Brian’s sweaty forehead, a hand traveling to play with Brian’s dark locks. Brian reached over to grab the rag on the end table, Roger hummed when his lover started to gently clean him off.

“Everything we talked about I want to make come true, our own fairytale.”

“Me too, God, I would love that…” Roger sighed and looked out the window, the sun was high in the sky now, it turned out to be a beautiful day, Roger’s gaze flickered back to his more beautiful Brian.

“Maybe we should take a shower and go check on Fred and Deaky?” Roger stretched and lifted himself of the bed.

“Sounds good to me love.”

They had their make out session in the shower before they piled into the car and made their way towards the hospital. Once they got there, it was hard to miss Freddie’s yelling from Deaky’s hospital room.

“It’s just a bloody pillow!”

“Sir, you’ll have to wait until the cleaning ladies come to this floor.” Roger shook his head, Freddie was always looking for someway to throw a fit, but he knew that he was probably stressed so Roger held his tongue.

“Fred, what is going on?”

“Deaky wants another pillow but she won’t get him another one!” Freddie scowled, Roger placed a hand on Freddie’s shoulder to at least calm him down.

“Freddie, relax dear.” Roger’s eyes were glued to Brian as he turned to go to the nurse, but a soft voice that escaped for the room made there eyes both fall upon a conscious Deaky.

“I don’t need another pillow darling,” Deaky voiced before he looked at Brian and Roger, “Oh, hello.”

“Deaky! How are you love?” Roger crossed from Freddie over to John.

“A bit sore but nothing that ice can’t solve.” Roger smiled, he was glad you see Deaky well.

“I’m glad Deak.” Roger placed a hand softly on Deaky’s shoulder.

“Love, maybe you should lay back down. Drink something, please.” Roger watched as Freddie grabbed John and pulled him towards the bed, he felt soft fingers intertwine with his, he looked up at his boyfriend as they walked into the room. Roger watched Brian sit down and he promptly took the opportunity to sit on his lover’s lap.

“I don’t want to push it Deaky, but what happened.” Roger almost forgot about his anxiety about the whole Deaky situation, it all flooded back in one wave. Roger sucked in a huge breath of air, the fear that was rapidly speeding to the front of his mind was extremely overwhelming.

“It was Mick…” Roger looked down, he knew it,“He probably came after me after I reported him to the cops. He got his good hits in before taking off.” Roger felt like he was going to be sick, he felt Brian's arms snake around him. He leaned back against Brian, he felt so angry and upset. The next time Mick messed with him, it was going to be nasty.

“The police already took a statement so we shouldn’t have to worry!” Deaky wasn't convincing at all, Roger let out an inaudible sigh.

“It’s alright Deaky, you just need to recover. When do you get to go home?”

“Tonight, hopefully.” Deaky turned to talk to Freddie, Roger frowned, his eyebrows furrowed and he was just so upset.

“It’s okay, babe. Calm down.” Brian whispered Roger's face softened. He turned his head, kissing Brian on the cheek. Roger still wasn't calm though, he was still extremely upset. He didn't want to show Brian that though.

“It’s gonna be okay, I promise.” Roger was spun around to face Brian, Brian pulled him close. Roger hugged him tight there was a dull thud of anxiety still within him.

“I know…”

They were finally able to leave and Deaky was discharged, the sun was setting as they piled into Roger's car. They bantered and had a cheeky laugh on the ride home. They pulled up and walked towards the apartment. Brian opened the door, everything felt great, until Roger walked into the flat and saw the dark red ink on the wall. Scrawled in big large letters was the phrase that made Roger shiver:

“You'll always and forever be mine.”

Roger stared at it, his face twisted into disgusted and then anger, he looked like a feral cat about to strike. Roger clenched his first, the rage bubbled in his chest. He was going to find Mick and put an end to this once and for all. Roger turned on his heels and started to storm off. Roger could here Brian screaming for him, but he kept going until he felt a hand tug him back.

“Roger, wait! This isn’t safe!” Roger ripped his arms away, whipping around to see Brian. Roger’s eyes were like blue hellfire.

“You know what isn’t safe?” Roger started, darkly, he had a hand on Brian’s chest and was slowly making the taller man back up, “The fact that stalker, that criminal is still out there! And god dammit Brian, if he fucking hurts you I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself, Deaky had already been hospitalized by him, I don’t want you to end up like me or John!” Roger speech was tough and scary in the beginning, but he melted into sadness. Roger quickly snapped out of it, turning around and slamming the flat buildings door. He was running towards his car and was gone in a blink of an eye.

Roger sped down the deeper streets of London, pulling up to the rundown looking flat that he knew all too well. Roger got out of his car, busting through the door, and climbing the many stairs to the very top floor. He hurried to the black door at the end of the hallway and pounded on it. The door swung open, Mick stood there, a smile plastered on his devious face. Roger’s lips pulled back into a sneer.

“Leave me and my family alone!” Roger screamed at the top of his lungs.

“Rude of you Roger to come here so late, but you can come in if you would like.” Roger growled.

“No, no...I came here to ask you to stop.” Mick shook his head, walking out, placing a hand on Roger’s shoulder. He jerked away.

“Roger, I know you’re stupid, but I know you’re not that stupid love, I not going to stop until you come back to me.” Roger could see the lust flick on in Mick's dead blue eyes. Mick grabbed Roger, pulling him into a hungry kiss. Roger pushed him away, making Mick stumbled backwards into his flat, Roger stormed up to him and swung his fist at Mick, striking Mick square in the face. Roger soon realised that was a big mistake, Mick slowly walked up to Roger, his mouth in a wide, crazed smile, blood dripping from his nose. Roger knew what that smile entailed, he had seen to so many times before. Mick grabbed Roger and slammed him up against the wall. Roger’s vision went blurry for a second, but the second was over with when Mick pulled a shining blade out of his pocket, plunging it into Roger’s side. Roger slid to the floor, grasping his abdomen.

“You think you’re tough now that you have that little pet of yours?” Roger withered on the floor and Mick grabbed Roger up by the hair, tossing the knife aside, “You’ll always be weak.” Roger felt a surge of anger flow back into him, it gave him the energy to slam his head into Mick’s. Mick stumbled backwards once again, clutching his face, but Mick was fast to recover, grabbing Roger throwing him to the floor. Mick kicked the smaller blonde in the stomach, each time Roger could feel his ribs cracking more and more. Roger laid there, taking every hit, he looked up at the ceiling, accepting his fate for a moment. An ache of sadness washed over Roger as flashes of Brian swam through his head.

“You, my love, my boyfriend, my future husband, are a gift from Heaven.” Roger could hear Brian’s voice as if he were standing right next to him. Another blow to the stomach.

“Everything we talked about I want to make come true, our own fairytale.” Everything flooded away for a second, the visions of Brian became so clear, that Roger moved his arm to reach out to the love of his life.

“B-Brian…” Roger choked out an inaudible whisper, that almost sound like his breath hitching in his throat. But as soon as the vivid vision came, it evaporated. Tears streamed down Roger’s face, he felt a taste of metal rush into his mouth. Mick seemed to have enough, he turned his back to Roger as the younger man lay motionless on the floor. He wished he was dead, the pain in his abdomen was bad enough. Roger’s head turned slowly to his right, a chair was just in reaching distance. Roger, reached up, sneakily grabbing it, an quietly, yet surprisingly quickly stood up. The blonde felt a sudden rush of energy. Roger hit Mick over the head with it, Mick let out a scream before collapsing onto the ground. Roger leaped onto him, adrenaline rushing through his veins. Roger turned Mick around before punching the son of a bitch over and over. Roger was sick of being beaten down by Mick, this time, even if it was his only chance to, he was going to fight back. For himself. For Brian. For his family. Mick was screaming and wailing as Roger smashed his fits into his face to the point the blonde couldn’t feel his knuckles. Roger grabbed Mick by the shirt, which was now covered in blood, whose blood? Roger didn't know. But yet he leaned in close, a dark smile spread across his face.

“You’re the one who’s weak.” Roger slammed Mick back into the ground, before stumbling up, limping down the stairs. Roger got into his car and drove painstakingly back to the Brian’s flat. Roger got out, limping, he could feel the blood gushing from his mouth, his nose, and the stab wound. His hair was caked in it. Roger reached the flat, his head swam and there was so much blood that he left footprints leading up to the door. Roger put a hand on the door, turning the door knob, before collapsing on the ground. Everything went dark.

-------

Tags: @mayjohnson @discodeacygotmorerhythm @iminlovewith-rogers-car @rogerinasthong

#rogertaylor #brian may #brian may x roger taylor #maylor #maylor fic #maylor smut #stud #lemon #smut

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thatfairyfangirl · 5 years

Text

True Colors Chapter 11

You could hear the whispers of the locals as you paced through the lot of trees, taking in the smell of the sap and needles, your hand cradled snuggly in his just incase you ran into any of the neighbors...they all loved to gossip. All the while you pushed the thought of how well your fingers fit together into the furthest corner of your mind. Bucky, however was watching you more than the trees you were supposed to be picking one from, he loved how your eyes lit up at the ones you found promising.

“Thanks for this Buck. I don’t think we had a real tree in that house since I was maybe five..” As you spoke his fingers slipped from yours, the arm finding its way around your shoulder to keep you warm against his body.

“If it keeps you happy Doll.” He remarked with a smile, giving your chin a small pinch with his metalic hand. The brisk feel of the metal sent chills down your spine, fogging your brain with...feelings? Nah, it’s just Bucky, can’t be. “So do you see one you like?”

“That one.” You proclaimed pointing to the best one in proximity, trying your best to ignore the sensations being so close to him gave you, sure they will pass.

~ ~ ~ ~

Once the tree was home and up you lead him up to the attic. Remnants of your old studio could be seen in the dust riddled room that had long ago been dominated for storage use in your absence. You didn’t really mind though, you had much better back in New York now. Off in the corner was a big box labeled X-mas, torn and tattered tape barely keeping the box together.

“Mom, I know...but that’s how the kids wear their hair now.” You heard echoing from the lower floors of the home as you brought the decorations down, an old santa cap inside the box caught your eye. Bucky followed with one of his own, watching the once vibrant shades in your hair become muted and dull as you stopped in the middle of the stairs, biting your lower lip hearing your mother’s voice.

“And all that metal in her face…” Your nana’s old voice wabbled up the stairs prompting you to play with the ball of your piercing down there. “She’ll never amount to anything as long a-” You spun around reaching into the box to pull out the hat, slipping it over his head, the white puffball dangling in his face. Red was definitely his color. You both took a moment to smile before noticing the plastic sprig of mistletoe clinging to the fluff of the pompom. With a soft chortle you lifted yourself up on your toes. Bucky’s heart raced as he watched you inch closer and closer until your hand came to his face. As his arm reached out to pull you in he felt the slight tug of you removing the decoration.

“There, that’s better.” You smiled before taking his hand to lead him into the livingroom to attempt to tolerate your family.

~ ~ ~ ~

On the stove sat a kettle of homemade hot chocolate, filling the house with the heavenly smell. “You know Darling, your mother just doesn’t understand.” Nana explained as she showed you once again how to make the family cookie recipe. Showing you how to make them had become just as much of a tradition as eating them. “And to be honest I don’t understand either. After your father-” She waved her hand not wanting to talk about his death. “You just color your hair like a parrot and run off to New York...barely in your teens...You hurt her (Y/N).”

You rolled your eyes at the old woman’s ignorance, trying to be fair, knowing that her generation probably never heard of mutants…the times they are a-changin’. “Nana, you know that’s not true. I would have stayed if it was safe.” You sighed looking up to see Bucky through the door building a fire in the livingroom, forgoing the usual tools, just using his hand to turn the wood, not like it would hurt the metal.... “And I always come back, just like I promised.”

“Well why don’t you get yourself a real job instead of playing around with that noise you call music? Then you can come see us on actual holidays.” The backhanded jab at your profession choice stung as you bit your lower lip, trying so hard to keep everything inside. “If you would just get rid of all that color,” she waved her hand around your head to indicate your hair, “you could get a real job.” And now it really felt like the holidays for you.

“Okay Nana, as much as I’ve enjoyed this talk,” the clock on the wall chimed, “ABC is showing the Christmas Classics today and Bucky’s never seen them.” You dusted off your hands, grabbed 2 mugs and helped yourself before going to collect your soldier. “Come on Buck, time to learn about Christmas!”

Bucky looked up to you with a warm smile and just like that all the aggravation and headache your family caused you just melted right away as he stood. His strong fingers brushed against yours as he took the mug sending that chill down your spine again. “Doll you know I've had Christmas before. I happen to actually like Christmas. Spending time with those you lo-really care a lot about… you know we had Christmas back in the 40s right?”

You just stood there watching him for a moment in the sparkling light of the falling snow and the fire. The afternoon sun through the window causing the blue of his eyes to shine like you never could see in the city as he took his first sip of one of the only family recipes you were ever able to recreate. Shaking your head you perked yourself right back into your usual hyperactive self. “DID IT INCLUDE THE GRINCH? SNOOPY? I THINK NOT. Now hurry up! Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town is on first and I don’t want you to miss it!.”

Nana watched from the kitchen, shaking her head disapprovingly at the bionic arm. “You know mom, I’d be willing to bet that arm is the only reason she’s even interested in a monster like that.” Your mom muttered as she sat down, taking your place at the kitchen table to finish up the deserts you abandoned. Bucky paused for a moment at the stairs by the kitchen, the gears of his left arm whirring as his fist clenched, trying his best to push the comments out of his mind before heading down into the den. “Why couldn’t she have brought home Tony?” Yep. he definitely didn’t like that woman.

“I’m sorry Buck. I should have thought about how they would have reacted. Hell, it might have been easier if I just told her that there isn't a boyfriend because the last guy turned her daughter off of the whole idea of dating.” You sighed as you turned on the TV, snuggling into his chest on the couch just incase either of the two decided to come down and apologize to him...now that would be a christmas miracle. “I don’t know why I thought this year would be any different.” Bucky’s bionic arm wrapped around your waist as he pulled an afghan over the two of you. “You are seriously my new best friend for putting up with this shit.”

“Hey, it’s alright Doll.” His lips came down to your forehead as his arms wrapped tightly around you. “You think I’m not used to comments like that by now? Besides, at least now you have some moral support to get you through the trip.” With a half smile you let the words comfort you, melting into into the warmth of his body as Bucky recognized the voice of the narrator as Fred Astaire, bringing a nostalgic smile to his lips, seeing why you didn’t want him to miss it. He knew this was why he was tagging along, he knew you would have needed him. He just hoped that his plan of shut the hell up and take it was the right one. As you sat there silently watching the parts of your childhood that Bucky missed out on he became well aware of how close you two were, the feel of each breath you took against his chest as his fingers absentmindedly trailed against the curve of your waist, back and forth as you listened to his heart beat faster and faster. Though he tried to keep his mind on the movies all he could think about was how good you smelled. And as Rudolph sang about how much of a misfit he was Bucky’s mind began to race, questioning this friendship and if it should go further? If it ever even could? It would seem, as many times before, Tony had succeeded in getting under Bucky’s skin.

Tag List:

@sillydecoy

Announcement from the writer:

I am also on Patreon! You can find me on Patreon HERE. I know, I know, it sounds like I am expecting you to pay for my writing but fear not! I will only be charging $1 a month, and even that is voluntary. The majority of my fics will be available for free. The $1 subscription will be for access to the really adult content stuff I have been sitting on such as what I have been calling “Blind Date’s Deleted Scene” and access to my discord AND early access to fics! As a bonus for you guys since you have been with me since the beginning of Blind Date I will grant you free access to the discord if you shoot me a message here on tumblr and ask.

I will still post fics on Tumblr up until they are no longer welcomed by the staff, but patrons will be able to view them early.

For those who have trouble with hyperlinks on their device or find it hard to click a small word vs an actual link here is the full link to my new Patreon https://www.patreon.com/fairyfangirl

#marvel #marvel x reader #mutant!reader #avengers #avengers x reader #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader

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ayellowbirds · 6 years

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Keshet Rewatches All of Scooby-Doo, Pt. 6: "What The Hex Is Going On?"

("Scooby-Doo, Where Are You", Season 1 Episode 6)

AKA "The Gang Is Totally Cool With Dead Bodies"

As the episode opens, a voice repeatedly intones, "come... come!!!", and the view moves from an old mansion, to a nearby graveyard. A bat flies past a mausoleum, and can be heard as an aged man walks through the night, arms outstretched.

The thing is, the guy is drawn with his mouth open in such a way that i thought at first that he was the one chanting the eerie command. And then, without the bat on screen any more, it seems like he’s the one screeching.

Meanwhile, the gang come to visit their friend Sharon Wetherby, who has invited them up to her family estate for the weekend. On their drive up, they catch sight of the old man, and wonder about what he’s up to... but continue on their way.

Now that’s some good Southern New England Wherever-The-Fuck Gothic. Look at that decayed gateway sign with the family name obscured by hanging moss. On their arrival, Sharon and her father mention that “Uncle Stuart” has gone missing, and when they go to investigate the old “Kingston Mansion” where the gang saw him, they find him hidden in the shadows near the entrance, aged at least twenty years.

Stu recalls a “ghostly voice” calling him out in a trance to enter the mansion, where he encounters...

THE GHOST OF ELIAS KINGSTON!

Elias always seemed one of the most iconic Scooby villain designs to me. As he delivers a warning demanding the Wetherby fortune as his right, he transforms Stuart with a mere gesture.

I say “mere”, but it’s one of the most character-laden and dramatic movements in the entire run of Scooby-Doo, Where Are You—completely unlike the fading transition used to age Stuart immediately after it. I think the episode’s entire animation budget went into Elias posing dramatically.

This haint has style. Look at that oilcloth duster, the inhuman blue tones and yellow eyes. The gesturing.

Mr. Wetherby tries to call the sheriff, but finds the phone line dead. The gang suggest he drive out to get the sheriff in-person while they take turns standing guard, boasting Scooby’s “keen sense of hearing”. Scooby’s having none of it, and pretends to need an ear trumpet.

Zoinks, don’t put that in your ear, Scoob! You don’t know where it’s been!

As the gang slack off on guarding Uncle Stuart, the voice of Elias Kingston calls to him again. Scooby awakens from a nap to alert the others, and they realize that both Stuart and Sharon are missing.

In a bit of cowardly foresight that also saves a little on the animation budget lovingly devoted to Elias, Shaggy joins the others not in walking through the abandoned Kingston mansion, but rolling on skates. It proves his undoing when Elias sneaks up on him and sends him careening into a bathroom, resulting in another iconic scene:

This isn’t about scaring anyone, Elias just can’t stand filthy hippies and thought Shaggy needed a shower.

Meanwhile, Scooby tries to raid the kitchen, where he encounters an angry bulldog that seems to follow Elias’s directions.

The gang identify this as their first clue, reasoning that a ghost wouldn’t need a watchdog. But really, don’t even the dead deserve canine companionship? Of course, like last episode’s infatuated stray, this dog is never seen again in the episode after the sequence in which he first appears. The gang return to the mansion later on, and there’s no sign of him.

All the same, they reckon it’s a good clue, but it doesn’t tell them where Uncle Stuart got to... until Shaggy notices someone dressed like him. A significantly older someone.

Those of you who are coming here after watching the Scoobynatural crossover may recall it being made into a gag that the gang kind of just... shrug off the presence of dead bodies.

It’s not the first time they’ve done that.

Scooby even laughs at Velma’s line in the screencap above, though Elias arrives to issue a warning that he’ll do the same to everyone else in the Wetherby household and properly scares him.

The gang sneak about and catch sight of the “ghost” making his way into the Kingston mausoleum, wondering what he’s doing there. Gee, i dunno. What would a dead person be doing in their own family’s mausoleum? In any case, the gang dust the door for prints, and find them. They figure a real ghost wouldn’t leave fingerprints, and Fred tries to bribe Scooby to investigate further with an offer of a Scooby Snack.

It won’t do the trick, and as Fred ups the ante from one, to two, three, and finally four, there’s a cute little bit of animation cost-cutting where he uses sleight of hand to produce the Snacks... instead of being animated pulling them from a box or pocket.

Sleight of hand, trap-making skills, and a van full of tools for breaking and entering... where exactly did Freddie pick up this skill set? If this was a Dungeons and Dragons party, he’d have levels in Rogue.

While Scooby is willing at this point, Shaggy snatches up the snacks once again, happily gobbling down literal dog food and volunteering himself in Scooby’s place, even uttering a “Scooby-Dooby-Doo!” of his own.

Roo rastard, Scooby seems to think. I rusted roo rike a rother.

Alone in the mausoleum, Shaggy confesses to himself, “there’s times I’ll do anything for a Scooby Snack.” This episode is dark.

Inside the crypt, the gang discovers a book on Crystalomancy, which fantasy nerds might guess is the art of divination by means of—

Wait, no. It’s Crystalomacy, no N. The gang clearly read it as such, and Shaggy mistakes it for a name, “Crystal O’Macy”. The joke only works with the typo, and since Velma identifies it as the use of crystal balls, someone must have looked it up and either drawn on a source full of typos, or else deliberately misspelled these spells.

The crypt door slams shut, and the gang, having recently left a corpse behind without a care, are locked in a dusty old mausoleum. Like i said, this episode is dark. But Fred Jones is not to be thrown by things such as this, and suggests they start tapping on the walls to see if they can find a secret exit.

Sure enough, they find one, and a few seconds of revolving door gags later, they’re free. The scene transitions to them speeding down the street in the Mystery Machine, apparently having forgotten that they were seeking their kidnapped friend Sharon or that Sharon’s dad was on his way back with the police, having entrusted the care of his relatives to them.

Instead, Fred leads the gang to seek an answer at a “Swami place” mentioned on discovery of the book of Crystalospellingerror. Apparently this is a 1960s take on a fortune-teller’s place of operations and a brief glimpse even reveals a lampshade decorated with a zodiac motif.

The place is empty except for the contents of a storage closet that “danger-prone” Daphne spills onto Scooby and Shaggy, when the dog fails to hide properly as a customer enters, the gang decide to have Scooby let on the role of the “swami” as she mistakes the turban and robe that fell onto him for genuine mystical garb.

I will take a moment to point out that this scene involves nothing whatsoever related to the actual meaning of the title Swami, and instead seems to be some more of that old-fashioned racism from last episode. This time, it’s south Asian culture (or more broadly, the exotified whole of Asia) being treated as a place from which strange mysteries of the occult originate.

We’re treated once again to Shaggy’s voice-throwing ventriloquism, and some punnery when the customer demands her “palm read”. Scooby pulls out a bucket of paint to make her “palm red”.

Why was there a bucket of red paint sitting there? Is the “real” swami (implied to be Elias, or whomever is disguised as him) just as big a lover of wordplay, or is Scooby simply showing more of his strange reality-warping powers by conjuring a can of paint and a brush? In any case, the customer is scared out, and the ghost of Elias Kingston appears in the crystal ball to menace the gang once more by causing the table to fly about the building, chasing them...

...until it hits Scooby, and he manages to crash it into the ground, revealing what was making it fly.

An eight-inch-wide fan powered by two D-cells. I’m increasingly convinced gravity works differently in the Scoobyverse.

Along with this, the gang discover several other clues: a professional makeup kit, and a portable camera for television... that somehow connects wirelessly to a TV monitor inside the crystal ball.

This is not technology that was available at the time, but instead of marveling at these wonders of media, the gang hatch a plan to trick the “ghost”.

The ghost of Elias does love him some wordplay, and i actually feel kind of sorry for him as the gang turn the tables on him with his own camera and projector gimmicks to make him think the mansion is really haunted.

Immediately after this scene, Sharon Wetherby appears in frame with the gang. where Daphne been standing in the shot just before it. This doesn’t seem to be an error per se, as Fred addresses her by name, and Sharon mentions the hidden room where Elias had her tied up all this time. Exactly how or when she escaped is left for the viewer to guess at, but the gang apparently had the time to put the skeletal remains of “Uncle Stuart” in the room, spooking the unliving daylights out of Elias. As he flees, the gang—with Daphne back in her place where Sharon had been—drop a net on him from the balcony, and that’s that.

It’s revealed that “Elias” was Uncle Stuart all along, having used his skill in makeup and recordings of ghostly chanting to fool the others. Sharon explains that she was nabbed because she saw his bald-wig “blow off”, forcing him to capture her. The “swami” is explained as the best way “for a swindler to disappear”, but Stuart’s keeping quiet, and when Sharon wonders why he did it, her father simply says it can wait for the sheriff’s arrival.

The sheriff.

Who Mr. Wetherby was supposed to be bringing back with him, all this time.

...and for that matter, isn’t it kind of obvious why Stuart did it? I mean, the money, right?

But that doesn’t matter to the plot, because Mr. Wetherby says it’s time to eat.

Too bad Scooby has already consumed the entire turkey dinner intended for no less than seven people, by himself.

I guess conjuring cans of paint burns a lot of calories?

(like what i’m doing here? It’s not what pays the bills, so i’d really appreciate it if you could send me a bit at my paypal.me or via my ko-fi. Click here to see more entries in this series of posts, or here to go in chronological order)

#scooby doo #KRAOSD

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the-firebird69 · 3 years

Text

Your motorcycle idea is the best thing we've ever had and we provide them for all of our teams that are safe and behind the wall and there are tons of them by the way they have huge armies of people that's how they get around for the most part it's really easy and you have to go short distance and get on to get off and get on to get off it's very easy and something like four wheelers but it's okay we have tons of those lots of them like the new VW Lunatic and we have just a huge boatload of those and they don't require a fuel so it saves us fuel for weaponry and ships and so brilliant way to get things done and if you have to charge up which we told them how and we trained you can it's an amazing system it's not recommended though but they had to.

We are introducing it now and a lot of places entertainment areas of satanists like their roller coasters and amusement parks theme parks carnivals and circuses and where giving away them free as a contest and we're circulating marketing material as a result of the entries and we're doing it at practically every mall on Earth we have the whole family there and then we have some big honking cruisers and hot rods or really he calls them choppers and we have the light cycles and we put them in a bunch of malls too and put them there high tech areas and tons of people buy them and we're infiltrating using them so we need people to sign on for these duties

Hera Zues

I'm providing a way in for hours in here we're putting in shops and lots of little ones and they're selling our products in each product has a shop and we're going to put in your mega vape store it's huge you just gigantic and has every brand and make that they that they make and we're taking them over too and we're putting in these Mega stores everywhere and taking over all the vape stores as we do it and here in town we're taking over a whole bunch of little shops they're just sitting there and nobody's really there actually some of them people aren't even going to them anymore or they're not even around so we're taking over the ones that they're not around at and we're finally papers and we're owning them and we're pulling their card on it too and if you're not there and you're not running it and it's vacant it's abandoned and we've been doing it for months and their security tons of them today and we're moving in condo complexes and housing complexes and tons of trailer parks or hours with trailers that actually would make it through a storm and their stormworthy and we're moving them out and tons and tons of that stuff's going in also moving on Walmart and we're going to start doing it here cuz we can't stand you people at all it's so arrogant you're losing and take over your towers on the Earth and use some scrap for shoring for mining so we need them.

Nearby we have a hard knock facility going in that leads to the trail that goes to the trail station trail center out there it's been there for years here and put to go to and we're putting in that parking lot half of it's going in today the other half will be a huge storage facility a giant Warehouse about 2 million or 3 million square feet and we're going to try and go down one story at least one story and we might go two or three and put in huge diapers and bladders and pumps because we want to fill it up everyday and there's tons of people who are at it saying no it's going to be an eyesore so we're planning to put up pines in those tall pines we'll cover the whole building they do it all over Southern Florida by the way you can't tell what's around here and they say no and we say yes and it's in planning and we're going to have to go in there and ask them if the town needs anything or townspeople like a few cases of whiskey and had a party that they want actually put on a party tonight out there and we're going to have all sorts of hard knock bikes and memorabilia and contests and giveaways in the parking lot and we're going to cure it I'm going to start now so why don't you pave that things we can have a party and pay off all these people so he goes okay I will get to put it down all of a sudden he said okay so we're going to go ahead and do that he said you should probably bring some of your fantastic trucks and have all the same stuff on them so he's doing that it's like a little kid and he's going crazy with it telling people to get everything out of the way he's a scooter his bike is killing him it's a pain in the balls

Hera Zues

I have a location for a store Ken says it's for your version not Sebastian cuz you won't give me a job at all not even cleaning up it's such a pill he's kind of a b**** and he doesn't really hire anyone he doesn't have anyone it's kind of a lunatic I was thinking more of a hard knocks door but that's fine since we need someone for the lunatics store and you have costumes today I can't figure out it's you anyways we go right up to you no it's funny so don't take over my conversation too it's funny cuz we let him that you're just aware now we want to see what you're saying now Thor is.

I was thinking I could run that hard knock accessory store in the mall and open several a lot of people do that with accessories for their bikes and stuff and it would be interesting and something to do and I'm wondering about it and start thinking it's 5150 stuff my life would be an instant hell so I think I might ask about that Segway store and you have all these Segway type things skateboards segways gear and helmets and shirts and it's like that skateboard place maybe competing and their place sucks it just sells one version of skateboard and a bunch of shirts it's nothing to it it's competition probably knocked him out for someone else they say I'm hired and they're going to send paperwork and in the Fitty the new one to test it out and show people you driving around on it and to see what they say cuz they probably closing on you and stuff and threaten for a Segway and Sim Segway okay just to buy one and that's enough for me

Ken says. We send the paperwork and we're going to get down to you and it's me still and couldn't remember who's doing it cuz he started doing stuff and it's going to be awful because he's always like this and people think he's just out at the lunch but it's really the part of being a leader but here it's terrible that's the weirdos do it sometimes stuff sometimes it's not to have to keep checking so we're going to ap prove it and kennel trying to get the tech and we're going to monitor and he's going to be selling our stuff and it'll sell pretty good and come to think of it there's something about Sears it's attractive to us because it's a department store I can put a store in there and not call it Sim. It's kind of a department store but it's more like Sears where we have machines and lawn mowers and zero turn radius lawn mowers that can beat yours in a race and we've been having these zero turn radius lawn mower races and yours get beat by us every time so they're asking for it to put it in there they might put in the lawn mowers today and see how it goes and the manager saying yes I'm putting in a very large variety of them it says yes to that and Big Time she might put something outside or even help out with the landscaping we have a licensed company and we can use all Sim products and put them inside and say we're doing work outside and do it for free and leave the trees you want so bringing new ones those things are kind of tall he says nothing radical but yes so we're going to do that for a section of Mall and we're going to bring in all our small equipment and show what it can do I'm going to set it up and we're going to renovate part of Sears if we can I'm just trying to get approved and use tools and equipment that we sell and show it on display in front of it and around it it says around it like you coordinate off and you put plastic up if it's dirty but really Accord it all off and you show them using it and you just play it and you have someone explain it with a microphone while they're doing it that's kind of the coolest thing I've ever seen and you can do the whole Sears if we can take it over and he says yes so do it piece mail while we're selling stuff he makes us look like we're not humongous

Hera Zues

We have approval and we're going to send the guy a house a nice one and he's going to have to pick where though that's kind of the problem and he says okay that's fine and it was not by his prodding it's something that Zeus said to do and I agree with it instead of life Thor Fred says we do agree it's a fantastic marketing system and we can have some robots sent over the vacuuming and cleaning and things like that our cooking system is not a full-blown robot so that's fine and you put in one of his pools it was redesigned and he likes it and it says we could actually do a pool company and he says yeah I can have robots do it no no we want to do it ourselves so we're going to put in his brand of pool and say it's his company and people try and find him with the money also to get the idea you're going to try and get it cleared and going to go to Olympus with a full package and then I'm going to be on the crew probably torturing him no I have just a couple ladies mom and daughter

Hera Zues

Manager of town cntr mall

I'd like to be involved in this because it sounds like a lot of fun and I think we should and we have the town management and we have the AVP I need to be getting supplies there most likely and supposedly the sun ripped it off so people will be trying to pull tons of stuff on them and we think it would be a lot of fun this is a huge number of pool people that would be opposed to it supposed to be the idiots ordering the pools

Mac daddy

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sidewalkstamps · 4 years

Photo

Baker & Vigus Contractor 1927 (Photo taken by Will Taggart near Pico & La Cienega, Los Angeles, CA)

Baker & Vigus Inc. was incorporated in 1927 with the directors T. Vigus, C. T. Vigus, Patterson in the Contracting/construction field, according to a finding aid to the Los Angeles County Incorporation Records (Second Series) at the Seaver Center for Western History Research, Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County. Bizarre that there doesn’t seem to be a Baker in Baker & Vigus! It looks like T. Vigus was also a director of West Coast Paving Co., which was incorporated in 1928.

Baker & Vigus were located at 611 H. W. Hellman Bldg. since 1927, according to the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce Alphabetical and Classified Directory of Members (1929), and were listed in both the Cement and Concrete Contractors and Paving & Highway Contractors categories. The Hellman Building is a historic building still standing on the corner of 4th and Spring Streets in the Old Bank District of downtown Los Angeles and was named for Herman W. Hellman when it was built in 1903 - when it was erected, it was the largest steel frame building in the city. It now holds one of my favorite restaurants, Kazunori!

Another great resource for this post is the United States Department of the Interior National Park Service National Register of Historic Places Registration Form, which is the paperwork used to nominate individual properties and districts for addition to the Register. One was submitted in 2003 for North University Park Historic District, roughly bounded by Hoover St., Adams Blvd., 28th St., and Magnolia Avenue in Los Angeles, CA. From this we learn that T. Vigus was most likely Thomas Vigus (or this would be an entirely different person). Thomas constructed five residences within the District and was, at the time, vice-president of the Los Angeles Lumber Company (I can’t find much as the name is so generic). More from the form: “Vigus built a large number of residences in Los Angeles. These five were built as speculative investments and are excellent examples of middle class, turn of the century houses in Los Angeles. ... Vigus...independently constructed [speculative] houses throughout Los Angeles.” All of the ones he built in the historic district between 1901 and 1902, described as “an impressive group of American Foursquare houses,” sold immediately.

Thomas Vigus was also part of Tronico Tile Co., which I initially found absolutely nothing about, except that he represented the tile company at “a barbecue at Valle Vista” hosted by Octavius Morgan, “senior member of the architectural firm of Morgan, Walls & Morgan,” and attended by “capitalists, some of them millionaires, for whom Mr. Morgan’s firm has reared stately buildings; members of the American Institute of Architects in which organization Mr. Morgan holds the honored position of ‘fellow’; contractors and representatives of the trades and crafts allied with architecture.” Plus, he was “the president and general manager of the LA Storage Com & Lumber Company, general manager of the American-Pacific Construction Company [located in San Francisco], the secretary for the Los Alamos Petroleum Company [located at 600 Kerckhoff Building and dissolved December 31, 1921 (I believe this is now known as the Santa Fe Building at 560 S. Main St. in downtown Los Angeles and was designed by an iteration of the aforementioned firm of Morgan and Walls, Architects)], secretary for the Pacific Tile & Terre (sic) Cotta Company, and was heavily involved in real estate” [bracketed additions mine]. Phew!

Thomas was described as “practical and experienced in the clay business” and attaining success because of his “energy and grit.”

I later learned that Pacific Tile & Terra Cotta Co. manufactured Tropico Products, so I now think that Tronico was either a typo or a resolution issue where I just couldn’t read what was actually written. Pacific Tile & Terra Cotta Co.’s manufacturing plant was also located in Tropico/the Tropico neighborhood of Glendale (depending on what year it was--Tropico, the city, ceased to exist on January 9, 1918 when it joined Glendale) on W. Tropico Avenue. Their office was located at 720 S. Olive Street in downtown Los Angeles.

Pacific Tile & Terra Cotta Co. were also part of the initial forming of “the Clay Products Bureau, a central organization, which will be devoted to the general promotion of the vitrified products trade”. This information comes from The Clay-Worker, which had volumes compiled with this unbelievable cover:

Thomas & Annie N Vigus owned the JB Marshall & Fred H Kline Residence at 2037 S. Harvard Blvd. (built in 1903) in 1910 (and, I imagine, lived there, too). The house is Los Angeles Historic-Cultural Monument number 961. The house, a combo of Prairie and Florentine styles, was designed by architects Oliver Dennis & Lyman Farwell.

Additional Sources:

Brick and Clay Record: A Semi-monthly Record of the World’s Progress in Clayworking..., Volume 38. Windsor and Kenfield. 1911.

“California Clay Products Companies Organize.” Clay-worker, The, Volumes 67-68. T. A. Randall & Company. Indianapolis, USA. 1917.

Glendale City Directory 1917. Glendale Evening News. 1917.

Glendale Evening News, The. August 10, 1920, p. 4.

Sebastian Kansas. “32a - Marshall-Kline Residence - 2037 S Harvard Blvd - HCM-961″. Flickr.com.

Southwest Builder and Contractor. F.W. Dodge Company, 1920.

Southwest Contractor and Manufacturer, Volume 10. 1912.

Summary of Operations; Annual Report of the State Oil and Gas Supervisor, Volume 7. California Division of Oil and Gas. 1921.

Summary of Operations, California Oil Fields, Volume 10. California Division of Oil and Gas. 1924.