bureauveil

[bureauveil]

★ cape-adjacent, scandal-accurate.

independent & headcanon based cat grant of detective comics fame reimagined by molly. multi-verse, multi-fandom, response driven, oc friendly! 21+ only. read rules before following.

[bureauveil]

Unless you hit me in the face with a brick that says “I’m flirting with you,” I’m most likely just gonna think you’re being nice.

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maggie leaned her forearms against the counter,  shoulders loose under the worn denim of her jacket,  the smell of vinegar,  grease,   &  hot peppers already pulling at something old  &  half-comforting in her chest.  she didn’t flinch at the shouting ricocheting through the shop — if anything,  it settled her.  this place always sounded like a storm was breaking somewhere in the back,  pots clanging,  voices raised in profanity-laced threats that didn’t mean a damn thing.  it was honest.  it was loud.   &  it was home in the way a place could be when it never asked you to smile.  or at least,  what maggie always imagined was home. 

❝that’s real generous of you, ❞ she said,  voice low  &  amused,  her eyes narrowing just slightly at richie like she was testing him.  ❝if you’re lyin’ to me  &  that’s leftover end-cut bullshit,  i’ll know.  you know i’ll know. ❞ her index finger tapped the counter once,  sharp  &  knowing,  but there was no real heat behind it.  just the rhythm of something practiced — two people who’d been doing this dance for long enough to know the steps. 

she glanced toward the back,  where someone was yelling over a clatter of trays,  then looked back with that same dry tilt to her mouth.  ❝you holding up alright in here?❞ she asked,  like she already knew the answer.  ❝place looks like it’s been through a war.  though,  to be fair,  it always does. ❞

@bureauveil

               it   was   the   regulars   that   made   the   beef   a   special   place.      familiar   faces   with   their   standard   orders,   people   that   they’ve   built   a   connection   with   over   the   years.      his   smile   is   wide   and   friendly   as   it   always   is,   and   eyes   lock   on   the   brunette   as   she   approaches   the   counter   and   makes   herself   at   home.      richie   has   to   laugh   at   her   no   nonsense   tone,   and   he   gives   a   small   nod.      ❝   don’t   you   worry   sweetheart,   i   saved   enough   just   for   you.   ❞      he   hadn’t   actually,   but   she   doesn’t   know   that.      ❝   and   i   wouldn’t   dream   of   cheapin’   out   on   you.      i   will   personally   see   to   it   that   you   get   extra   meat   with   no   charge.      hows   that   sound?   ❞      it’s   all   about   keeping   the   customer   happy,   right?      turning   away   from   her,   he   raises   his   voice   to   be   heard   above   the   noise   of   the   bustling   sandwich   shop.      ❝   get   me   that   sandwich   pronto,   and   extra   meat!      if   i   see   you   jagoffs   skimped   this   precious   gal   on   meat   portions   i’ll   come   back   and   kick   your   asses!   ❞      that   was   the   beauty   of   the   beef,   it   was   complete   and   utter   chaos.      they   were   loud,   they   cursed   each   other   out   in   front   of   customers,   but   the   people   didn’t   give   a   shit.      ❝   i   am   doin’   a-okay   sweetheart,   thank   you   for   askin’.      how   about   you?   ❞

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maggie paused mid-step,  one bare foot crossing the tile,  her head tilting just enough to catch him in her periphery.  the corners of her mouth lifted — not quite a smile,  more the suggestion of one,  like she was toying with the idea just to see if he’d earn it.  ❝cute, ❞ she said,  voice dry,  the word cracking like a match against stone.  ❝but you’re not the first surgeon i’ve walked out on. ❞ she didn’t flinch when he called her out — about the shirt,  the lack of pants,  the casual way she stood there like she wasn’t in any kind of rush.  her thumb hooked around the neck of the water bottle,  his shirt falling soft  &  loose against her frame like it belonged to her now.  maybe it did. 

her gaze flicked to the stove,  then back to him,  measuring.  ❝besides, ❞ she murmured,  ❝you don’t strike me as the kind of guy who makes breakfast. ❞ still,  something in her tone shifted — just a little.  the rough edge of sleep or sex or something deeper gave way to something warmer,  reluctant maybe,  but not closed.  ❝name’s maggie, ❞ she said finally,  like she was offering him a secret he hadn’t earned but she was giving anyway.  ❝ &  i take my eggs scrambled.  messy.  like most things in life. ❞

mark sloan wasn't a stranger to one night stands ... but he was a stranger to - what was her name again? names hadn't really been first priority when they'd stumbled into his apartment last night. but he woke up to an empty bed - and his shirt missing. so he walked into his spacious kitchen, looking around and yes - jackpot! there she was. he tilts his head, just observing her for a while.

"i'm a surgeon - we don't sleep much." a small shrug of his shoulders, she says she was just leaving - but she doesn't look like someone who's half out the door. "in my shirt? without pants?" then he cocks a grin. "come on, i'll make you breakfast. then you can ... tell me how you take your eggs, and maybe your name?"

[bureauveil]

@murkyhazed for michael or richie (whoever ur feelin when you reply to this)

the bell above the door gave its usual half-hearted jingle as maggie stepped inside,  the blast of vinegar  &  spice hitting her like a second skin.  she didn’t need to look — she knew the counter,  the chipped tile,  the little burn mark on the corner booth where someone’d dropped a cigarette god knows how long ago.  she shrugged off the weight of the afternoon,  set it down with her hands in her coat pockets,   &  gave the man behind the counter a dry little smile.  ❝don’t tell me you’re outta hot giardiniera, ❞ she said,  not really asking.  ❝give me the usual,   &  don’t skimp on the beef this time.  you did me dirty last week. ❞ there was a glint in her eye,  something like teasing,  but it didn’t rise too far.  just enough.  ❝you good today? place smells right. ❞

[bureauveil]

@murkyhazed / athena grant

maggie stood off to the side,  arms crossed as she watched the room cycle through another shift change,  everything moving like clockwork even when it shouldn’t.  ❝funny how people only ever listen to the loud ones, ❞ she said,  eyes tracking a young officer trying too hard to look like he wasn’t overwhelmed.  ❝you keep your head down,  do the job right,  stay calm,   &  half the room thinks you’re made of concrete.  the other half forgets you’re even there. ❞ she glanced over at athena,  not quite smiling.  ❝i guess that’s one way to stay out of the mess.  let ‘em underestimate you.  makes it easier to move when it counts. ❞

[bureauveil]

MONICA BARBARO as EMMA BRUNNER Fubar 2.03

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maggie didn’t speak at first.  just watched nadia close the notebook like she was putting something away that still burned to the touch.  she knew what it meant to carry a name like that — yates — in your margins,  in your chest,  like a splinter that wouldn’t work its way out.  knew what it meant to still be standing afterward,  even if the ground never quite stopped shaking.  she gave a small nod.  not pity.  not concern.  just recognition.  ❝good, ❞ she said finally,  her voice low.  ❝that you’ve got someone to talk to.   &  that you’re not pretending it didn’t happen. ❞

she let out a breath through her nose  &  looked down at the space between her boots.  ❝my thing?❞ she repeated,  like the question tasted strange in her mouth.  a bitter little smile tugged at the corner of it.  ❝not sure i’ve earned one. ❞

leaning back slightly,  she braced her hands on the bench behind her,  gaze going distant.  ❝sometimes i think it’s the job.  but the job doesn’t show up when it’s dark.  the job doesn’t ask if you’re sleeping,  or if you ate,  or if you’re about to break apart in a stairwell. ❞ she glanced sideways at nadia.  ❝the job just asks for more. ❞

there was a beat of silence before she added,  quieter this time,  ❝i’ve got three dogs at home.  rescue pits.  big,  loud,  needy.  they don’t care who i am at work.  or what i’ve seen.  they just want me to throw the damn tennis ball. ❞ she gave a faint shrug.  ❝maybe that’s something.  maybe it’s enough. ❞ when she looked at nadia again,  her eyes were steady,  clear in a way that wasn’t often easy for her.  ❝you’ve already done the hardest part.  you stayed.  now just don’t forget — you get to decide what comes next.  not him. ❞

there's a frown on nadia's face. she knew all about keep moving - it was a tactic that didn't work for her. she had to feel it, all of it. had to work through it - or it ate at her. came for her in her sleep like hungry wolves watching her like she was nothing but a fresh lamb on shaky legs. shaking her head with a small smile. "thanks - i'm writing it down for my um. for my therapist. appointed by the district. platt's great like that," she doesn't go on about her addiction struggles. or the time gregory yates almost got away with her life. it was well known everywhere - but those facts didn't make up nadia. she was a person, a person with a future, not someone who was weighed down ( too much ) by her past.

but she did have someone who kept her steady - she did have a person. a home with a heartbeat. she had an erin. who was kind of like the family she'd always needed, like a sister who always showed up for you - but never coddled. never once had she looked at nadia like she was something to fix. like she was a cracked porcelain doll. "what's your thing?" tilting her head as she closes the notebook with scribbles in it. notes that had a terrible amount of 'yates' written in it. the monster who would always come for her when she closed her eyes. blinking him away from her mental images. she wouldn't let him win. not today - not ever. this was her life, and he didn't take it.

[bureauveil]

ooooh you want a maggie starter so bad ... like me for a maggie starter ...

[bureauveil]

⸻ 𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙤𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙞𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙨.

[bureauveil]

it's so funny because i always have this blog open

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maggie reynolds' NPCs

 family 

 mason reynolds   (twin brother - deceased) 

  › former military,  later joined the fbi  &  convinced maggie to join too.   ›  killed during an undercover mission infiltrating  the covenant order,  a white natio.nalist domestic t.error group.   ›  his death shattered maggie — spiraled her into alcohol  &  opioid abuse.   ›  she still wears his old leather jacket  &  carries his memory like a ghost on her back.   ›  he is the moral center she returns to,  often imagining what he would say or do.

 charlie reynolds   (uncle) 

  ›  retired police officer,  based in new jersey.   ›  took maggie & mason in when they were teenagers.   ›  steady,  paternal figure who stepped in emotionally after mason’s death.   ›  checks in on her regularly,  worries about her but doesn’t push.   ›  one of the few people who can talk her down when she’s spiraling.

 layla reynolds   (cousin — charlie’s daughter) 

  ›  younger,  mid-to-late 20s.   ›  a reminder of what maggie has protected but never quite had herself.   ›  calls maggie out when needed,  but with love. maggie is fiercely protective of her.

 maggie’s mother   (estranged) 

  ›  not named;  maggie refuses to speak about or to her.   ›  there’s deep resentment there — likely related to trauma or abandonment.   ›  no contact. maggie won’t even acknowledge her existence.

pets 

 levi,  auggie,   &  dylan   (rescue dogs) 

  ›  all are pit bulls or staffy mixes.   ›  maggie’s emotional anchors — the only “creatures” she trusts completely.   ›  each dog has their own personality (you can flesh this out further if needed).   ›  when she’s home,  it’s them  &  silence — her sanctuary.

 fbi / professional life 

jon verico   (partner  &  platonic ride-or-die)    ›  level-headed,  fiercely loyal,  understands her silences.   ›  their bond is solid  &  emotionally intimate,  but strictly platonic.   ›  he doesn’t coddle her,  doesn’t tell her she’s “not broken.” he just shows up.   ›  she trusts him more than anyone still alive.

 nick (mason’s best friend – complicated history) 

   ›  former military alongside mason,  potentially also fbi or local law enforcement.    ›  the chemistry between nick  &  maggie is palpable,  long unresolved.    ›  they shared a single romantic night after mason's death — never repeated.    ›  maggie pulls away from him out of guilt,  grief,  fear — maybe all three.    ›  she still cares. she tries not to let that show.

victims,  cases,  & hauntings 

 sarna ashford   (former trafficking victim – deceased) 

  ›  maggie tried to help her through a case early in her trafficking work.   ›  sarna trusted her. for a while,  it seemed like she might make it.   ›  her death gutted maggie.   ›  it changed how she approaches victims — made her harder,  more guarded.   ›  she sometimes imagines sarna as the voice asking her if she’s done enough.

[bureauveil]

i love when my baddies are whiny little b*tches

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thank you for changing her fc lmao / @respondsfirst for nadia !

maggie sat on the edge of the bench beside nadia,  their shoulders not quite touching.  nadia looked like she hadn’t blinked in ten minutes,  jaw tight,  notebook full of scribbles maggie suspected were more punishment than prep.  there was a kind of hunger in her — sharp-edged,  desperate to prove something,  maybe to herself more than anyone else.  maggie remembered that feeling too well.  it came back to her in flashes: late nights at quantico,  the weight of mason’s dog tags in her pocket,  fists clenched behind her back any time someone called her too soft or too stubborn. 

❝you don’t have to burn yourself down to be good at this, ❞ maggie said,  voice rough around the edges.  ❝but you probably will. ❞ she glanced at nadia,  not expecting her to understand it yet — maybe hoping she wouldn’t.  ❝you keep your head down,  you keep moving.  it’s easier than stopping long enough to feel what’s catching up to you. ❞ she rubbed a hand over her face,  let out a breath.  ❝just … pick the thing that keeps you steady.  whatever it is.  a person,  a place,  a routine.  something that doesn’t give a damn whether you’re wearing a badge or not. ❞ she didn’t say i haven’t figured mine out yet,  but it was there,  tucked quiet between the words. 

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platonic love is so important to me / @oncalls for antonio !

maggie didn’t look at him when she started talking.  she was leaned forward,  elbows on her knees,  fingers locked tight like she was trying to keep something in.  her voice was low,  steady,  but frayed around the edges.  ❝you ever think we’re just … patching up holes faster than they can break open again?❞ she let the question hang,  not really waiting for an answer.  antonio knew her rhythms by now — when to speak,  when to stay quiet.  she trusted him with the silence,  which was more than she gave most people.  ❝i went home last night  &  just … sat there.  stared at that bottle like it was gonna say something first. ❞she let out a breath through her nose,  something between a laugh  &  a sigh.  ❝ &  then dylan climbed up  &  fell asleep right on top of me,  like he knew.   &  i just stayed there,  didn’t move.  like if i did,  the whole damn house would cave in. ❞

she rubbed at her jaw,  finally glancing over at him — not for comfort,  just to make sure he was still there,  still real.  ❝i’m tired,  antonio.  not just work tired.  the kind of tired that makes you forget who you are if you’re not careful. ❞ her voice went even quieter,  like she wasn’t sure she wanted to say the next part,  but trusted him enough to let it out anyway.  ❝i’m still in it.  i haven’t quit.  i just … needed to say it out loud before i forgot that’s true. ❞ her fingers brushed the edge of mason’s jacket where it hung nearby,  grounding herself.  ❝i just needed someone who knows me to hear it. ❞ she didn’t need reassurances.  didn’t need a fix.  just this — just him,  sitting in the quiet with her,  holding the space so she didn’t have to hold it alone. 

[bureauveil]

⸻ 𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙤𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙞𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙨.