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silence-burns · 3 years

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Please Hate Me //part 52

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter, smut

"We fucked up."

"No, we didn't."

"We had Peter. Now we don't have Peter."

Loki's eyes were completely dark from a spell letting him see through Barbara's, but still he waved toward the completely-not-suspicious building complex in front of you. "But we found him again. That surely counts toward something, right?"

"We lost the alien pin too."

"Which we also found, if memory serves," Loki shrugged, as if the search hadn't taken the two of you the better part of an evening. Who knew searching through half of New York and visiting places it might've been dropped could be so time-consuming?

The weather was pleasant, the air growing warmer as the seasons continued to change. It was one of those days where everything felt brighter, despite how disappointing the reality might be.

"I'm still voting for arson," Loki said, assessing the tall fence surrounding the area. An area which crawled with people trying their hardest not to look like agents of some super-secret government facility, and failing rather miserably.

"You might not have noticed, but buildings nowadays have systems preventing fire from spreading."

"Do these systems work against magic fire too?"

"How am I supposed to know? Do I look like I spit magic fire on a whim?"

"You did last week," Loki muttered. The memory was still fresh.

"Wow, so now I'm the bad guy, and not the sneaky little bastard that ate all the cupcakes I left for-"

Barbara came back, flying on quiet, if a little filthy and decomposed, wings. Loki blinked twice, shedding the spell connecting him to the bird. As much as he didn't mind the heights, Loki had to admit he wasn't a fan of the sharp turns and rather random drops Barbara's flying pattern involved.

Loki pointed to one of the buildings further inside the complex. The red, evening sun hit the countless windows with blinding intensity. "The bird thinks the boy might be there."

You looked at the long stretch of road leading to the complex, like a carpet laid out specifically for you, but the crowds of agents working in the area leading to it made you cringe.

"I still vote arson."

"Why don't we just walk in, though? I mean, it was SHIELD themselves that contacted us, right? It should be okay to just… pay them a visit without sneaking around like… well, like villains. No offense."

Loki frowned. He didn't look convinced. "I like sneaking around, though. It keeps me away from trouble."

"If that’s true, how did you get banned from the Moon twice?"

"Touché. Lead the way then, love."

The way took you down the asphalt road, busy with cars rushing both ways. Despite their past issues, Loki couldn't help feeling a little bad for the agents. For all the grandeur and importance they always described their life to hold, Loki's imagination kept on showing him pictures of ants in their little nests, crawling in their endless, pointless patterns.

The ants seemed to fall into a state of shock rather abruptly after laying their eyes on the two visitors to their nest. Some of them just stood there, looking after the figures marching right to the gates, while others ran in a seemingly random direction.

"That worked out better than I thought," Loki admitted when all the space around you cleared.

Barbara perched on top of the gates, screaming on top of her rotten lungs. The security guards looked at one another and then at the approaching god. Their hands went to their guns. Loki took that as a compliment.

"I know this might surprise you," Loki said, "but we are here to talk. Fetch us your Agent Cauldron, and be quick about it."

"Coulson," you whispered.

"Whatever."

"No matter how many times you ask me, the answer will stay the same - I don't know," Peter groaned.

His back hurt from sitting on the same, incredibly uncomfortable metal chair for hours, and the lights of the small and a little outdated office were starting to make his head throb with an upcoming headache. Or maybe the reason behind it were the endless questions to which he wished he know the answer.

Agent Coulson looked at the photos on the desk between him and the boy. These were nice pictures. If he were more sentimental, he might've put them on a fridge or maybe to the clipboard on the wall to his left. They were definitely worth taking a look at least once a day - it wasn't often one had a chance to look at a god and an ex-assassin, completely drunk, being led by a teenage boy on a spider-thread.

Peter glanced down at them too, and scowled.

"Yeah, well, we've met and hung out together, but I don't know where they are now. Sir, if I knew, do you really think I'd willingly stay behind?"

The agent didn't answer. He moved very little, in fact. Peter was unsure whether it was a part of some special, super-secret interrogation technique, but it was working. To make things even worse, the metal chair he had been given was making sitting still a nightmare.

"That's a fair point, Peter," Coulson nodded, "but do you think I would be pressing you so much if two of the most dangerous people on this planet weren't currently on the run with an alien artifact of unknown origin that might've been recently used to damage our Moon?"

That was a fair point too, Peter had to admit. He might've even grown a little worried after hearing such news, if only it all didn't sound so exciting.

"So you DO know what happened to it, right?" the boy leaned forward, with eyes shining with excitement.

Agent Coulson sighed.

It was a small, almost invisible display of all the emotions boiling inside of him that he'd never show. He knew better, and had far too many years of experience to allow that. Still, the situation was beginning to wear on him, especially if he spared a thought or two to consider what the two people that should absolutely never go off radar, could be up to at this very moment.

Last time Loki visited Earth, he led an alien invasion. Last time Coulson met you before you hesitantly joined forces with the Avengers, you'd already put two bullets in Tony Stark and were on the way to making it three.

Coulson allowed himself a moment to thank his hair for already thinning out or he'd be losing it in a handfuls.

And the worst part was, he actually believed the boy.

He had clearly helped with sneaking you through half the city and into his apartment, but there was no evidence of him helping you out too. Wherever Loki and you were, Coulson was sure he'd hear about it soon enough. He might even let the boy go, and monitor him long enough to see if you'd show up.

The decision wasn't an easy one, but the agent was left with very limited choices. After all, how likely was it that the two of you would just show up?

The phone vibrated on the desk in front of agent Coulson. He picked it up.

He blinked. And simply said, "Yes."

Peter did not like the absent look on the agent's face. He'd seen far too many movies not to recognize the moment the power shifted in the room. Just in time for something bad to happen. It wouldn't be a problem if it stayed on the screen - Ned and him would freeze with the popcorn halfway to their mouths in anticipation of what was to come. But here, in reality, far from the safe spot on a couch, Peter was painfully aware of how much he didn't want to know what was about to happen next.

Unfortunately, whatever powers weaved through the lives of people, deciding their fate and luck, rarely listened to young boys in their judgement. In fact, they listened to old agents even less, but that was something Peter was unlikely to ever find out.

Peter twisted on the chair biting into his backside, and looked back to the thick, metal door. He hadn't realized it when he had been brought inside, but the door looked like it could take a few shots from a gun and remain unscathed.

Peter was not sure what to do with that information.

The door in question decided to finally open and reveal the reason for the sudden tension. It didn't even creak, so the god walked in in complete silence. You followed him, not as quiet, but just as unexpected.

Your face lit up when you noticed the boy. "There you are!"

Peter looked at the agent. The agent looked at Peter.

"I know you're probably not going to believe me, sir, but I swear I had nothing to do with this."

The agent had no doubt that the boy was the least likely person to ever manipulate the god of trickery and lies, or the almost-ex-assasin into anything, but he didn't say a word. He only raised an eyebrow and asked, "To what do we owe the pleasure?", as if there was anything pleasant to be found in the room. But lying was not solely a domain of gods, as all the agents in the world would probably agree.

And Coulson was a very good agent.

"We recently lost a boy, but it looks like he's just been found. Thank you for taking care of him."

"It was a pleasure," the agent smiled. "Although I can't help but worry if you have lost the pin too?"

"We wouldn't dare," Loki lied smoothly with an even more charming smile.

The god of trickery waved his hand and produced a pin seemingly out of thin air. Whether it was only a clever trick or an actual spell was something agent Coulson would never know, but for once he didn't mind. The pin felt heavy and looked just as the files described, but whether it was the real thing would only be revealed once a detailed analysis was completed.

Still, it somehow looked like the deal was fulfilled. Coulson would be lying if he said he'd placed a bet on that outcome.

Peter sprung out of the chair the moment you waved at him to go. The agents and armed officers waiting behind Loki and you on the corridor shifted with unease, their fingers laying on triggers. A small crowd eyed every move made in Coulson's office, which was to be expected - it was not every day a facility such as this one was visited by a god.

Especially one with a rather problematic history of attempted world domination.

"If we may, we'll take our leave now." Loki bowed stiffly.

"And what about the 'favor' you insisted on as payment?"

Something cold and ancient flashed in the god's eyes. "All in due time."

#please hate me #loki x reader #loki x you #loki imagine #loki #loki series #loki marvel #loki laufeyson #loki mcu #marvel loki #loki fanfiction #I Love Loki #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)

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gentlemen-of-lies · 3 years

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Gentlemen of Lies, chapter 3

Making friends with a bald man on a bicycle

(Next chapter) (Chapter 2)

————

Curt had heard about Bletchley Park, not much to spark any sort of special interest, but he knew it held a significant role in the war, breaking German codes, and even developing brand new technology. So he was quite excited to see it in action.

Unfortunately, his expectations were dashed almost as soon as they arrived. According to Owen, while Bletchley was still part of the British Intelligence, it stopped its code breaking in 1946, after the war had ended. And was really only used now for training certain workers, such as teachers, or air traffic controllers. Andrew Hayes was one of the trainers, not a very a cool role in Curt’s opinion. Was he even part of MI6? Apparently he had used to be. Not a Bletchley worker, although his girlfriend had been, but a spy during the war, his German coming in handy. Now his German only came in handy if he so happened to train a German to be a teacher, which he never did. And Curt was now realising why Hayes was a suspect in the first place. MI6 had essentially dropped him as soon as the war had ended, keeping him on only while it was convenient for them.

They didn’t even enter the building, Owen said there was no need for Hayes to accidentally spot them, as it may blow their case. He said it was better to wait until they saw him leave and then keep an eye on him. Their viewing spot was on another bench, round the corner from the building’s main exit and entrance, a good area to observe the entire front driveway, but still keeping out of sight from those leaving and entering. Curt shuffled around in his seat.

“Stop fidgeting,” reprimanded Owen. Curt glared at him.

“I can’t help it, those clothes you gave me are too tight.” Curt had opened up the duffel back once he’d returned to his hostel last night, and had found a white collared shirt, and a brown jacket, much neater and cleaner than his own clothes.

“They look fine.”

“Doesn’t matter how they look, they feel like plastic.”

“When you’re undercover, it does matter how it looks, and your comfort means nothing. Get a hold of yourself, Mega. You’re the one who has to follow Hayes. If he catches me, he’ll know what’s happening immediately.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To make sure you’re following the right person.” Curt raised an eyebrow, annoyed at Owen’s clear conviction that Curt was useless as a spy. Well, he’d sure show Owen. He was determined to solve this case himself, and rub it in both Owen and Cynthia’s faces.

While they waited, Curt observed his immediate surroundings, seeing the green spaces and the gated entrances. He wasn’t one to ponder the past, or be sentimental in any way, but he couldn’t help but think about all that was achieved here during the war, and seeing how soon it had come crashing down. It went from breaking top secret codes, to teaching middle aged men how to land a plane. From the best mathematicians in the world, to people who simply needed a pay check. It certainly made him think about the unpredictability of his own job, how soon things change, how different one day is from the other. It wasn’t a thought he was particularly keen on entertaining, so he brushed it aside.

Besides, he had spotted a suspect. Not Hayes, but Lawson. Lawson was exiting the building from a different direction, out of sight from Owen. Curt followed the man with his eyes. What he really wanted to do was follow him properly, but Owen would never let him. So he tried to keep him in sight as long as possible, maybe work out where he was heading. It was impossible of course; he could have been heading anywhere. All he managed to mentally note down was that Lawson was cycling down a road joining from the other side of Bletchley.

“There’s Hayes,” alerted Owen. Curt pulled his eyes away from where Lawson had rounded a corner, and fixated them on their new target: Andrew Hayes. He was a rather short man, bespectacled, slightly balding. Didn’t look like much of a threat, if Curt was being honest, but then... those who didn’t look like a threat were usually the opposite. Or at least, they were in his experience.

Hayes placed a black briefcase into the front basket on his bicycle, and began to ride away. Owen nudged Curt to stand up.

“Quick, follow him. But don’t be too obvious.” Curt gave him a disbelieving look, about to say something, but Owen pointed firmly at the receding figure, and Curt had no choice but to jog to catch up with the man, slowing down as soon as he could in case he was spotted. How was he supposed to follow a man on a bike without running? Or at least speed walking, both of which would arouse suspicion. But luckily for him, Hayes seemed to be taking it easy, just a nice afternoon bike ride on the rare days of sunshine, so it wasn’t long before Curt could comfortably walk behind him, at a safe distant, and not lose sight of the man.

Curt was expecting Hayes to go straight home, so he wasn’t sure what his plan of action would be afterwards. He couldn’t exactly spy on him in his own home. Maybe with a bit more experience he could, but at the moment, he didn’t want to risk screwing anything up.

But thankfully, the man stopped at a café, parking his bicycle outside and as Curt watched, he went to the counter to order something, and sat down at one of the neighbouring tables. Even better, the café was practically full. Curt had a plan of action.

He waited a few minutes before entering the café himself, ordered a coffee from the girl behind the counter and went over to Hayes.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked, pointing to the chair opposite from where Hayes was sitting. Hayes looked a little bewildered at the imposition, but he gestured at the chair, signalling that it was free. Curt sat down.

“You’re an American?” Hayes asked.

“Yeah. Just arrived here a few days ago.”

“How are you liking it?”

“Weather’s not great, but the people are swell.” Actually the people either ignored him or “took the piss out of him”, a phrase he’d picked up from Bill the receptionist. But he certainly didn’t want to insult the country of the guy he was supposed to making friends with.

“That’s good to hear.” The waiter came over with Hayes’s coffee, along with a jam tart he’d also ordered. Hayes thanked the waiter, and turned back to Curt. “So how come you’re here anyway?” Curt couldn’t believe his luck: Hayes was a talker. Usually he had to work to get any information out of someone, especially a stranger.

“Visiting family. My mom’s side is British.” Wasn’t true of course. His mom’s side had never even left the state, let alone the country. “This is the first time I’ve been though, my job got me travelling...” Curt hoped Hayes would take the bait.

“What’s your job?” Bingo.

“Before the war I worked as a travel writer for a newspaper. I’m finally able to get back to it.”

“You’re lucky you got your job back. I lost mine, work as a teacher now.”

“What was your job before?”

“Oh, just a government position. Nothing too important.” Curt’s coffee finally arrived, and he took a sip of it before continuing. He had to keep Hayes talking, long enough for them to strike up a proper rapport.

“How come you lost it then?” Hayes didn’t respond right away. He took a bite out of his tart.

“Not sure, if I’m honest. The war turned everything on its head.”

“Did you fight in it?”

“No, I still kept my position. Helped the effort of course, but I wasn’t a soldier. What about you?”

“Sure, I fought in it.” Curt hadn’t stepped foot on the battlefield, but Hayes didn’t need to know that. Frankly, it was a good opportunity to make himself look cool. An opportunity he had no intention of letting go. “Of course, our soldiers did a lot of the clean up, but I fought in a few battles.”

“Well, that’s awfully brave of you.”

“Why thank you, sir.” Curt noticed his American accent becoming... extra American. It was a tip he’d soon picked up for himself. The more American you sounded, the more people were intrigued. Especially the ladies.

Curt was about to continue, but all of a sudden, he spotted someone outside. By some pure trick of fate, Lawson was wandering down the street, wheeling his bike beside him. The bike seemed to have a puncture, an observation confirmed by Lawson heading into a bike shop that stood just across from the café. This was Curt’s chance.

He thought of Owen. Owen would be pissed. But what did he care? He didn’t even like Owen. And besides, he was starting to get suspicious- not just of Lawson- but from Owen himself. Why was Owen so adamant that Lawson wasn’t a suspect? What sort of spy ruled out anyone just because of a gut feeling? Curt had a duty to follow Lawson. Owen couldn’t get pissed at him for doing his duty.

“I’m going to have to say good day to you, sir,” Curt said to Hayes, tipping an imaginary hat for added effect. “’Fraid I must get going, gotta deadline to meet. But it was nice meeting you.”

“It was nice meeting you too.”

“You here often? I wouldn’t mind catching up now and again before I head back to the States.” Curt thought he might as well do something he was ordered to do. No point in losing a connection to one of the suspects.

“Um, yes, I come here after work every day.”

“Well then, I hope to see you again.”

“And you. You can tell me all about America. Fascinating place, I’ve heard.”

“It sure is, and I’d be happy to talk to you about it.” He tried to wrap the conversation up as soon as he could, not wanting to lose sight of Lawson. He didn’t know how long he’d be in that shop for. Should he enter the shop? Or simply hang back, follow him when he had exited onto the street?

“Are you alright?” Asked Hayes, suddenly. Shit. Curt’s mind had wandered off and he’d forgotten to continue speaking.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I’ll be going then.” Hayes nodded in acknowledgement, probably getting sick of him by now, which wasn’t what he had intended. Curt turned around, handed a five pound note to the lady at the counter, tipped the waiter, and left the shop. The little bell by the door tinkling as he did so.

He didn’t want Hayes to spot him hanging around, so he ducked into the nearest alleyway, still on the same side of the street as the café, waiting for Lawson to come out. He had to wait some time, checking his watch every so often, tapping his feet impatiently. When Lawson did make an appearance, what was he going to do about it? Strike up a conversation? Follow him home. Perhaps he hadn’t thought this through so well.

But he didn’t have time for a self-evaluation, as at that moment, the door of the bike shop opened and Lawson stepped out onto the pavement. This was it.

There was no opportunity to bump into him, start up a friendly interaction. Curt had no choice but to simply stray behind him, his head bent low, walking on the opposite side of the street. Lawson didn’t have his bike with him, so it was a little harder to stay out of sight. He wanted to at least find out where Lawson lived. Even if he didn’t yet make any sort of move, he could always return at a later date with a proper plan in mind, and perhaps even convince Owen to let him trail the guy.

The walk wasn’t too long. Lawson lived down a road lined with flats, his flat being in one of the first buildings coming into the street. Curt couldn’t do much else except note down the street name and the building number, but after a few minutes, when Lawson was safely inside, Curt walked up the front steps, hoping to find one of those signs, markers, whatever they were called, that had the surnames and flat number of each resident.

Indeed, the building did have said sign. But weirdly- suspiciously- Lawson wasn’t listed. Only by process of elimination could Curt work out that Lawson lived in flat 2B. It was the only flat not listed. Good piece of information, Mega. You’re doing well.

He could easily trail Hayes and Lawson without Owen finding out about the latter.

Curt smiled to himself. He’d solve this case, no doubt about it.

#spies are forever #spies are forever prequel #spies are forever fanfiction #curt mega x owen carvour #tin can bros #gentlemen of lies #agent curt mega #owen carvour #starkid

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ellana-ravenwood · 5 years

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An AU in which Bruce Wayne raises Damian since birth - Ficlets

I wrote a small post about this not long ago (click here to take a look at it), and it made me wanna write more about this alternate universe...So here we are. It’s not a very original AU, but eh, there’s a reason people wanna write about it because damn <3. This is more like, a collection of little scenes and moments than a real story, but ya know. I just wanted to expand. I hope you will like it :

PART 2

My master list : @ella-ravenwood-archives

_________________________________________________

******

The Beginning.

Bruce was most certainly not ready to have a child.

He wasn’t even sure he ever wanted one, given the path he decided to follow.

But the decision was taken out of his hand the day Talia decided to do what she did.

Bruce was most certainly not ready to have a child.

But he would never leave a kid in the hands of the Al’Ghuls. The gods only knew what they would do to him. What they could turn him into !

What if the kid grew up, and came to Gotham to defy his father ? Would Bruce be ready to fight his own child ?

If he had to, he told himself.

And maybe that’s what would’ve happened if he never heard of it. If he never knew...

But he knew. He knew that what Talia mentioned to him once, she actually did.

And there was no way he would ever let that boy be raised by the Al’Ghuls, now that he knew he existed. Wether he was ready to have a child or not.

Never, never, armed with the knowledge she did go ahead and made that baby, would he not do anything. It wasn’t like him, to leave untied knots. Or to leave someone he knew was in need...

There was no way that boy would have a good childhood, with the Al Ghuls. Particularly with Ras’ around. Not that Bruce was sure the child could have a good life with him...But between the pest and cholera ?

It if was only Talia. If it was just her love. If she hadn’t told him why she wanted a child with him...Maybe he would’ve left the boy behind.

But his informant was adamant. The talks going on amongst the League were all the same.

Ras Al’Ghul’s heir was brought to this world only for one purpose.

And maybe what Talia felt for Bruce was genuine love. Maybe what he felt for her at the time was too. But she told him the real reason why she chose him, and why she wanted his child.

“He’ll be a new Alexander.”

She said...And although Bruce was most definitely not ready to have a kid, he would never let that happen. He would never let his own child grow up in such an environment.

Maybe if he never knew...Maybe if he never knew things would’ve been completely different. Maybe it’d avoid him a lot of trouble, too.

But he knew. And he wasn’t about to let that kid...His kid, suffer a childhood he knew was not going to be happy. After all, Talia told him what Ras used to force her to do when she was younger...

************

Sneaking into the Shadow League’s headquarter was ridiculously easy. Which made him suspicious. Maybe they were expecting him ?

Oh but they couldn’t...They couldn’t know he knew. They couldn’t know he left behind a friend, the only one he made in the league of assassin. A fellow apprentice. A friend who spied on the Al Ghuls unbeknownst to them (or he would be dead since a long time).

Bruce silently entered what he knew to be the baby’s room, and looked around. He was right, his informant was right. The crib was in the middle of the richly decorated room. Bruce, with light steps, walked towards it.

And...

It was like being faced with a portrait of himself at that age. Except the boy’s skin was darker, his eyes shaped more like almonds, and Bruce could guess that if he just opened said eyes...they would be olive green like his mother’s.

And he was right.

The soft rustling sound Bruce made as he bended over the crib to pick the little one up woke him. And he opened his eyes wide immediately.

He did not cry, instead, he looked up at this stranger that was picking him up with curiosity, and Bruce felt his heart...Do something.

He couldn’t quite describe it, the feeling. His heart skipped multiple beats, while going faster at the same time. And he wanted to smile.

It was an urge too hard to resist, something he couldn’t control while he learned to control his own emotions, and he smiled at the little one in his arms, taking a gloved fingers to his cheek to caress it lightly, as if it was natural.

The baby...he...he...

He smiled in return. A cute, unsure and untrained smile, as if it was his-

“That is his first smile.”

Talia. She was there, at the entrance of the room, casually walking in in as if nothing was happening.

“Hello, detective.”

She took Bruce by surprise, and he turned around quickly, taking a fighting stance while holding his son against his chest protectively. His hands naturally held him, one supporting his back, the other his head, even as his legs spread apart, ready to fight.

Bruce had fought only with lower body before. He trained to be able to do so. He knew he could have a chance against Talia. That he had no chance of taking her down, but could at least escape her. Fight if need be. But he’d rather avoid it...Not in front of their child.

Wasn’t Bruce here to take the boy away from violence and pain ? He couldn’t fight his own mother in front of him, even if of course, the baby would most likely not remember.

Maybe he was an unwanted child on Bruce’s end, and one Talia created only for a specific purpose...but he was still a child.

His child.

“I will not let you raise him, Talia. And if you want to stop me I will have to-”

“I don’t.”

There was something odd, in Talia’s eyes, that Bruce had a hard time to discern in the dark room, only lit by the moon.

Was it...Sadness ? Regrets, perhaps ?

“His name is Damian. From the Greek word Damianos, which means “to tame.” He is upposed to be the tamer of the World. At least, that’s what my father wants.”

“I won’t let you-”

“Redundant, detective. Even more so since I told you I will not stop you. I think the fact I let your little friend, the one who told you about Damian’s existence, live, should be proof enough. I let him go, if you’re wondering where he is. I told him to disappear, and if he’s smart enough, he will. I knew since the beginning, he was your friend. Even as he acted like he tried to kill you during your escape. I knew because I know you. I watched you close enough...”

There was a small silence, during which neither of them moved. Damian, still in his father’s arms, cooed happily as he was trying to grab at the Batman’s armor.

Finally, Bruce spoke :

“...Why ?”

Another silence. Talia did not look at Bruce, but at the tiny being slowly moving in his arms. After what seemed an eternity, punctuated by Damian’s little happy and unaware sounds, she said :

“Because I do not wish for him to become me. Or my father.”

“But, that is why you created him ?”

“That is why I-...When it happened, I imagined you would be around, detective.”

“You couldn’t seriously think I would stay after knowing what you and your father were up to ? You know me better than that, no ?”

“I do. I guess it was all wishful thinking.”

Another silence. Heavy.

“When you left I was angry. And lonely. So...I made him. Our plan was to raise him to become even better than us, and then send him to you. Because if he destroyed you, then he could destroy everything - bitter laugh - I say “our”, but I truly mean my father’s plan. Twisted and nonsensical, I see it now.”

Bruce felt uneasy, and nostalgic. The boy was getting used to being held by this odd man, and now was sucking at his foot thoughtfully (as thoughtfully as a 3 months old baby can).

“I did love you, Detective. And I would’ve gladly govern the world with you, and our son. But you leaving, you telling me all those things...It made me realize. I have never truly been loved before. This is why I was so angry when you left. No one, no one loved me before you. My father...I serve a purpose to him. When I was with you, I felt love, and loved. But before...Before I was just another instrument in my father’s grand schemes of things. Has he ever loved my mother ? He said he did. Maybe he did. But he did not keep her with him. And I became what I am today. Now, I am no fool, detective. I unfortunately know I cannot change. But Damian...Damian has a chance, with you.”

Bruce didn’t know what to say. His heart and throat felt tight, and his hold on the boy became stronger and surer.

“Please, let me say goodbye ?”

Of course, Bruce agreed.

He watched Talia slowly walking to him, and looking at the boy.

Her boy.

The boy she knew she had to let go, because she loved him enough to want him to not become her. Or his grandfather.

Talia never loved anyone before. Except for her “detective”, and for her son...

“One day, my heart. One day, I hope we can meet again. Goodbye, Damian.”

She told the little one, and the baby looked at her, smiling widely as he recognized the voice of his mother. She laid a kiss on his forehead, took a last glance at him, and left the room without turning back.

Bruce left the headquarter with his crying son in his arm, sure now, that if it had been that easy to get into it...it was because Talia herself, lowered the security.

************

Damian Wayne, son of Batman. Occupation : Baby.

Bruce was right. He was NOT ready to be a father. He never even held a baby, in his short twenty three years of life ! Why would he anyway ?!

Thanks god for a certain man called Alfred Pennyworth.

The butler, whom Bruce considered a second father know, slowly showed him the ropes and tricks to take care of a baby, trying to involve his young master in everything as much as he could because...What was the point in saving that little boy from a world of pain and violence, if it was to not take care of him ?

And so there were times Alfred told him to take care of things on his own. Which Bruce wasn’t sure he liked, so far...

But he was trying. He was really trying.

The arrival of Damian in his life put so many plans he had in shamble, but Bruce learned how to adapt fast.

Of course, the news of Bruce Wayne having a “secret son” spread like a wild fire all across Gotham. And he knew there was no hiding such a thing. What was the point of hiding the boy anyway, he couldn’t raise him and keep him shut in the Manor all his life !!

The public was quick to believe the story he told. Of course, no one had trouble to picture playboy Bruce Wayne who was known to sleep around, having a “secret” son. In fact, many talked about bets going all around the city as to when a scandal of the sort would happen.

Bruce had been back home for about a year, and in that short year, he made sure to assure his “Brucie Wayne” persona, that he knew would help him keep Batman a secret.

He most definitely did not expect Damian, but was quick to find a plan. His explanation about him satisfied everyone. A story about how Damian’s mother could not take care of him, and he wanted to take his responsibilities...

Which technically wasn’t a lie.

The story stayed at the front of every newspapers for a long time, and Bruce decided to play on it and, although he felt a little ashamed, use his son for a publicity stunt, and therefor have even more cover for his Batman activity.

He was often shown in public, with a baby carrier, or exiting an important meeting early to go see his boy. Which he did. And he couldn’t help but have a feeling that this little boy, his little boy...sort of saved him.

Bruce felt that without Damian, he would’ve jump heart and soul into this Batman thing. And he did, he promised his parents he would...So of course, he did. But there was always this little piece of reality holding him back.

His little boy cooing at him, and smiling at him, and laughing and having this second chance at life. Which gave him, too, a second chance at life.

Of course, Bruce could not forget the years of pain he dragged behind, the trauma of losing his parents. But he felt that Damian, and his presence so early on in his life ? Most definitely changed him.

For the better.

************

The first dirty diaper.

“Alfred ? ALFRED ? Alllllfreeeeeeeeeed ?!”

Bruce screamed, while running around the manor, panicked, holding baby Damian against him. The boy was giggling happily, liking how his father’s running steps made him rock as he held him against his chest, a terrible smell following them around…

Bruce took a break from work today, giving his favorite excuse : “He had to take care of his son.”, but of course, babies being babies...Bruce really thought his boy was focusing on the pictures he was showing him, certain his son was a genius, up until the odor coming from the kid’s diaper informed him that no; Damian was not focusing on the pictures his father was showing him.

When Bruce entered the kitchen, in which Alfred was preparing dinner, the foul smell told the butler instantly what the problem was. Turning around to face Bruce, he says, with his infamous English phlegm :

“I think it’s time for you to learn how to change a diaper, Master Bruce. I have done it for the first few weeks, because you had very few sleep, but you cannot escape this anymore. Come on, master Bruce, I will show you.”

Bruce’s face fell, and Alfred gave him a rather sneaky smile. Well. It really was time his master learned how to change a diaper. After all, Bruce did say he would take care of this child so he could have a good life...

************

The hair incident.

The first time Bruce tried to put clothes on his son all alone, without the help of Alfred, it ended in a disaster.

The fearless Batman was most definitely not prepared for how squirmy babies really are. He had been fighting for a good ten minutes with his son’s legs before he started to mutter :

“I’d rather be fighting every single goons in Gotham right now, ah Damian please just -Damian kicked one of his leg up while the other one went down- no wait -The boy did the same thing, but changing leg this time- just stay still a second -this time, he put both his legs up, trying to grab one of his foot to put it in his mouth - oh my god..”

As soon as he was able to slide one of the baby’s leg into his pants, and trying to put the other on...Damian would squirm his little legs around and undo everything. Cooing at his father continuously, as if talking to him. Taunting him that he was doing it wrong !

He decided to try another approach, and moved on the side of the kid, holding his legs down and bending above him to try to block the boy’s legs long enough, without hurting him, to...Oh, but he bended forward a little too much and...The kid got a hand on his hair.

Unhappy of the sudden restraint, Damian let a loud “HA !” out, but before starting to cry got distracted by his father’s head being close and...Right there, in reach. What were those funny wiggly thing on his head ?

“ALFREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The butler rushed in, afraid something bad happened to the baby...Only to find his young master Bruce, his body bend in an awkward position as he tried as gently as possible to untie his son’s hands from his hair...not succeeding very much.

After this, Bruce started to wear his hair shorter, and neatly brushed back, and left behind any stylish haircut he thought would be good for his public persona.

************

Damian Wayne, Son of Batman AND little brother to Robin. Occupation : Baby AND little brother.

Damian was home with Alfred, when Bruce first met Dick. (IMPORTANT AUTHOR’S NOTE : I took an age “canon” diverging from my personal preference so it would fit the story. I usually like the pre-crisis version the best, where Dick is 8 years old when Bruce takes him as his ward, because it calls back to Bruce’s own age when he lost his parents...But for the sake of this story, and to fit closer the “actual” ages of the boys even if it won’t be perfect (then again AU), I’ll go with post-crisis “official” age which is around 12 years old. Not 15 though, like in the New 52, that’s too old...anyway it seems like Rebirth went back to around 9/10 when Bruce takes him in but yeah, ya know...12, so it fits better. But my personal preference is little baby 8 years old Dick coming in. Haha thought it was worthy of mentioning, and also anticipating any age question :), more explanation about ages in my AN at the end of this fic).

It was about three months in since Bruce brought Damian back with him, it seemed like...A good idea ? To adopt a twelve years old child who just went through the same trauma he did, while being a 23 years old still struggling to know how to be a father.

But a twelve years old would be easier to handle than a baby, right ?

Wrong.

Dick had some hard days, at the beginning, in Wayne Manor. The media had put in his head that he was a publicity stunt, that Bruce didn’t really care, and he would suddenly lash out at times, the pain too grand.

Bruce understood more than anyone else.

He too, lashed out at Alfred a lot when he was younger. It is normal, when you’re so young and already felt so much pain...

Oddly enough, it’s Damian, that ended up calming Dick.

The baby, now about six months old, was starting to crawl all around, and took a grand interest in that newcomer.

Dick would try to isolate himself somewhere at times, playing his game boy in a corner of the main living room...Only for a little six months old to laboriously crawl to him and try to climb on him.

Thanks to Damian’s presence, Dick opened up surprisingly fast. Bruce suspected the boy’s personality was already quite cheery, but he also clearly had a little dark side to him...However, only because the media were spreading lies about Bruce. And his reasons to take the boy in.

As Dick saw how Bruce took care of his baby son, he slowly opened up and trusted that the man truly wanted to give him a home.

Of course, Bruce would never replace his parents...But he still could be his new dad. The two weren’t inclusive. Dick would never forget his beloved parents, but was lucky to still have people who loved him around.

And that baby ? He was clearly very much set on bonding with him anyway. Wherever Dick seemed to go, the little cooing noises Damian did and the sound of him crawling on the floor would follow.

And it warmed Dick’s heart. He’d let the baby fall asleep in his arms, or come and sit next to him, watching what he was doing with great curiosity.

Damian even took the bad habit of crying, just so that Dick would come and take care of him (he also did that to his father and Alfred, to be fair). And it worked every time. As soon as Damian would make a sound, Dick would be here.

The rare times Bruce scolded Dick for something bad he did, Damian would become mad and scream at his father. In fact, his very first words, right after his first birthday, was “no dada”, as he scolded his father for telling Dick he needed to focus more in school.

The little twelve months old would hug his older brother tight against his heart, and tell his father off.

“No dada no !”

Sometimes, it would make Bruce laugh. Sometimes, it would infuriate him...How dare, his authority, undermined by a one year old ! Then again, he never really minded. All he ever wanted, was for his sons to be happy.

And to be fair, ever since Dick truly decided to settle for this new life, he rarely made mistakes worthy of scolding. Dick was a really sweet boy. And Bruce didn’t believe in being angry at his children anyway, he understood very fast that this was doing the opposite of what he wished it’d do.

It didn’t take long enough to Bruce to realize that giving love to his children meant receiving it back. Being angry with them without explaining anything meant frustration on all side. So of course, he wouldn’t let them do bad things. But Bruce found that they’d actually rarely act out, when he was trying to be understanding and make them see what they did wrong...

Bonding with Damian, and becoming real brothers. Becoming very close, is what gave Dick a new hope. Of course, Bruce’s unconditional love and care did too, but the first thing that made him open up, the first thing that made him want to have a new family...It was this little baby, who decided himself that he was his big brother now.

************

The Solid Food incident.

Damian was starting to eat solid food.

Well. Solid food. More like mushed food, but still a step forward from the formula milk and baby bottle.

But right now, Damian was having a fit.

He absolutely refused to eat his mushed pees and chicken that Alfred made in the “baby cook”. And it was getting late. Bruce was about to leave for the Batcave, and it was getting close to Damian’s bed time.

But the boy wasn’t having it. Any of the techniques Bruce used failed, including the infamous “the airplane is coming”.

“I don’t think he likes it, B.”

Dick said, smiling a little too widely as he looked at Bruce struggling with his boy. Which gave a sudden idea to the man. His last idea, really.

What monkey sees, monkey does, right ?

“Look Damian, look here. Daddy loooooves the food, see.”

And he gulped down the spoon of mushed food. And oh god, it was probably the most disgusting thing Bruce ever ate in his life. What was this ? Why would anyone expect someone to eat this monstrosity ?! Was this really baby food ?

The face Bruce made didn’t fool Dick, nor did it Damian. The little toddler gave a look to his father that clearly meant, “see ?!”, and Dick bursted out laughing and almost choked on his own dinner.

That night, Bruce relented and just gave Damian his favorite food : apple sauce. As much as he wanted. Telling both his boys to “not tell Alfred about this”.

************

The day Superman changed his opinion on Batman... But he didn’t know it was Batman.

At the time, Clark still had a rather poor opinion of Bruce Wayne, whom he didn’t know yet was Batman.

And it was totally not because he shortly dated Lois Lane ! Nope, not at all ! He just couldn’t stand Bruce’s guts and smug face.

But he had to admit his actions were praiseworthy. In fact, today, he came from Metropolis to this godforsaken city that Gotham was, for an interview about a recent charity Bruce started. A charity that did some good all across the USA, and was worthy of reporting in the Daily Planet.

The journalist was ready to act fake and smile a lot, while really wanting to punch the billionaire in the face. He really didn't like how this Bruce Wayne acted always so sure of himself and...grr...If only he knew he was Superman ! He wouldn’t act the same, for sure.

So it’s with a huge surprise, that he came into the man’s office, and surprised him as he was playing with his young son.

Right there, on the floor, he saw THE Bruce Wayne, a grown ass man, acting absolutely silly to make his baby laugh.

The little boy was giggling loudly as his father was making funny faces at him, and Bruce wasn’t noticing the newcomers at all, as he kept going, too enthralled in the moment, too focused on playing with his boy. After all, he had a rather busy week and barely any time to spend quality time with his children, lately, so this was the perfect occasion for him...

If only he didn’t forget about Clark Kent’s interview.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Wayne, I thought you weren’t busy !”

Bruce jumps a little, out of surprise, and turns around, his face livid as he realizes what just happened. He stands up straight quickly, and turns toward Clark and his secretary.

But the little boy on the floor whines a little and make grabby hands at him, giving him the most adorable puppy eyes Clark ever saw. The man relent, and picks his son up, turning to Clark and the secretary again.

She is visibly very embarrassed, but “Mr. Wayne” just smiles charmingly at her (why was this guy so cool ?!) and says :

“No worries Charlotte. Mistakes happen. You can go back to your office. And apologies, Mr. Kent, I did not know you were already here. Clearly.”

In a few seconds, Bruce had turned around an embarrassing situation for him and was acting all smug and arrogant again. But this time, Clark felt that there were much more to Bruce Wayne that the public image he was showing.

Flashforward to a few years later, Clark finally discovers Batman is Bruce Wayne, and he is utterly SHOOK.

************

The Family Portrait debacle.

One day, about a year after bringing Damian back, Bruce decided to have a family portrait made. Of both his sons.

He bought very fancy and cute clothes for his boys, and tried as best as he could to make Dick and Damian presentable.

Dick’s hair were unruly and there was always a little cow lick that refused to go in rank with the other hair, but it was still fine.

Damian was really unhappy to have his first haircut ever, and it had been a nightmare to try and get him into his fancy clothes.

It wasn't helping, that Dick was clearly agreeing, and talking about how itchy the clothes were. But Bruce seemed excited about this, and so he did it.

But Damian ? Oh the little boy still didn’t understand this sort of things, and as everyone already could figure out, he seemed very independent and hated to do things he didn’t wanna do.

And so, even for the Batman himself, getting his one year old son to stay still for a family picture was no easy task. Dick almost dropped his little brother many times, and they decided to sit the boys on the floor instead of a high armchair like their original ideas.

Damian wouldn’t stop squirming, and the picture ended up being a rather hilarious image on which it was very obvious Dick was struggling to keep his brother in place, and Damian was half-crying half-mad.

Later in the day however, both in cute little pajamas, the two boys fell asleep together as Dick, as he took the habit of doing, read his little brother a bed time stories and fell asleep while doing so.

Those two pictures, the “ugly” yet very funny one, and the absolutely cutest one, have a prized place on the “Wayne family” picture wall.

************

The day Dick joined the Teen Titans.

Bruce encouraged him to do so, if he truly wanted to.

Dick was sixteen now, and Bruce could see he was looking for more meaning, for more than just being his shadow.

Bruce could see the boy he came to see as his own son, as much as he saw Damian as his, needed to find more sense to it all. Needed to help more than just Gotham and its people, at least for now.

Joining and creating his own team ? With friends that had similar backgrounds to him, that felt out of place too ? Figuring things out on his own for a while ? The Batman was convinced it could only do him good.

Now many would’ve called him a bad father for letting his 16 years old son go off on his own...But many did not understand what Dick went through. Bruce did. And it would be highly hypocritical to not let Dick go for a while, when Bruce himself left Gotham around the age of 17 to go travel the world ? To train, and find meaning in it all ?

Plus, who said he wouldn’t keep an eye on his boy ? As if he was gonna let his son completely on his own. Of course, Dick didn’t need to know Bruce was totally spying on him, but...Well, Bruce couldn’t completely let go.

So yes. Bruce was behind Dick as his teen of a son had a harsh decision to make. Because it wasn't just about finding himself...There was also Damian.

Could he leave his baby brother behind ? Would the little boy understand ?

Would Dick be strong enough to go away from his family, even if he knew he needed it and it wasn’t permanent ?

Bruce knew Dick needed to go. Needed time to find himself, understand who he truly was, and move on. But Bruce also knew that he was held back by the love he had for his brother, adopted father, and adopted grandfather...

He also knew that it became vital for his boy, as he saw him more and more get lost in thoughts. Just like it was vital for him, as a seventeen years old boy, to leave Gotham to train.

And so he sat with Dick, and talked about it, keeping Damian away for a little while so that cute little toddler wouldn’t change Dick’s decision.

They wrote a pros and cons list, and the pros outweighs the cons by a little. Bruce tells his son that he has to take care of himself first, especially in regards of his mental health...

It was just for a little while anyway, and he could come back if he felt too homesick, right ? The Wayne fortune came in handy, for that. There was also the possibility of video conferences.

And so Dick joined the Teen Titans, with a heavy heart, but knowing it was for the best at that time for him.

Damian seemed quite sad at first, since he was so used to have his brother around at all time ! But as every kid, he adapted rather fast and although he asked often about “Dick”, a video conference with him was enough, as the little boy knew his brother would never abandon him and surely come back.

(---> In many stories but not in all of them (canon man...What a mess), Dick and Bruce do not see eye to eye as to which methods they should use while out there in the street, Dick thinking Bruce is much too violent etc etc...It’s sort of unclear wether Dick left or Bruce “fired” him really, but they have a pretty bad fall out and Dick leaves, leaving a Bruce that finds himself in a very dark lonely place, up until Jason comes in his life...but in this version, raising a baby and finding the light earlier in his life, I think Bruce wouldn’t be as violent, and share Dick’s views as to how they should proceed as Batman and Robin. Of course, they still beat villains’ asses. That their schtick, HOWEVER, they don’t beat them near to death ? They incapacitate them in many ways. I think if Baby Damian had been in Bruce’s life since the beginning, his Batman would’ve been much different...I mean, it’s Dick’s departure that made him change his method slightly and be less violent ? That made him question himself and reconsider ? So if he already had a child in his life before that ? One that came from his union with a certain Talia Al’Ghul ? If the all point is to save him from violence and such ? Then I think Bruce’s Batman would be different...If any of this makes sense ? Just explaining this scene for those who know the comics and are like : “wtf Ella that’s not how it went ?!” haha, AU).

************

The boy who stole the Batmobile’s tyres.

Jason was barely even twelve, when Bruce brought him back with him to the bat cave. He was a frail and wary little boy, and Bruce could only imagine what he went through...

No one just dares to steal from the Batman’s himself without a reason. And in Jason’s case, that reason was clearly survival.

He had a few scratches on his face, and bruises on his arms. Bruce didn’t want to re-open whatever trauma he went through, or ask too many questions that would make the boy uncomfortable...So he simply offered help.

A warm meal, and a place to sleep for the night. Little did he know at the time, that the boy would stay much longer than the night...

And oddly enough, the boy instantly accepted. Because someone being nice to him while he caught him stealing from him must be nice right ? Also, he heard of the Batman. He knew the good he did.

And so it all started. A simple night and a warm meal turned into official adoption papers, and the rest is history...

************

The more the merrier.

Bruce wasn't sure how Damian would take the fact that Jason was staying for good. After all, he was so close from Dick...Was Jason going to be able to find his place in his new family ?

When Bruce introduced Jason officially to Damian, the boy didn’t really react, just thinking he wouldn’t say. They played together, but Bruce wasn’t sure it stuck in his little four years old that Jason was here to stay.

So he officially stated it. Jason was adopted now, for good and...his worst fear happened. Damian took a good look at Jay, up and down, then turned around and ran away.

The poor little boy (Jason) looked absolutely crushed. He really was excited to finally have a home, his time at the Manor was the best he ever had ! And he really liked little Damian, but if he didn’t like him in return and didn’t want him in the family ? It was painful.

But then a few minutes later Damian came back, holding his two favorite toys ever, and walked straight to Jason, in a determined way, gave him the toys and said :

“Fo’ you. Zayson.”

And Jason Todd, barely twelve years old, almost cried as this little boy who was facing him did that small act of kindness. Did something that no one ever really did for him before.

Jason Todd had a new bother. And so did Damian.

************

A new brother.

Damian and Jason bonded even further once the official adoption papers went through. This made Bruce realize how strong his little boy was because... Damian clearly missed having an older brother.

He wasn’t quite acting with Jason how he acted with Dick, however. With Dick, Damian would shadow him all around, and just sit in his lap, looking at what he did.

Sometimes Dick needed to be on his own, and Damian would just wait for him, not seeking him too much, understanding ? Dick and Damian had quite a lot of years of difference.

When Dick was 12, Damian was a baby.

Jason and Damian still had quite a bit of difference, but now, Damian was four. He could play, and talk, and invent new games.

That boy was very imaginative.

And Jason ? His dream had always been to have a little brother, so he played along with everything. Where Dick enjoyed being a mature older brother who would console Damian and be there when he needed...Jason was an active older brother, who loved to play and have fun.

His childhood was clearly stunted by drama that happened in his early life, and with Damian, it was like he could live some of the years he lost again.

Not that he was acting childish, oh no, on the contrary. But he would just play along, something that Dick rarely did. Dick had other game and interest, Jason was very happy to play pretend.

Dick was the comforting, reassuring older brother.

Jason was the fun one that you could always count on and that had the best game ideas.

Maybe the fact Jason and Damian were a little closer in age played for a lot ? Probably. Or maybe Jason, who always dreamt of a brother, would just do anything to be liked by Damian.

Not that he had to try hard. Damian adored both his older brothers equally. For different reasons. Yet the love was there all the same.

More often than not, Damian would escape his bed and room, to go sneak into Jason’s bed at night, and wait for his brother to come home from patrol.

Both Jason and Bruce let him, of course, it was very cute. And Jason felt oddly safe, there, with his little brother curled up beside him ?

It was like little Damian, his precious little brother, meant home.

Bruce did too, for sure. Jason never had a dad, and he was so happy to have one that was as cool as Bruce ! But his little brother represented something he never thought he could have.

In which world would Jason Todd, little orphan living in the streets, ever have such a great little brother ? Or a chance to have a family ?

************

The good years.

Dick would often come by, while still being with the Titans. It was his eighteen birthday soon, and he wanted to show everyone his new costume...After all, he couldn’t be Robin anymore !

Jason got along really well with his older brother, and found a place in this world he never thought he would.

Bruce...Well his children eased the pain in his heart. The pain his parents’ death left behind, and that he thought would never go away. Was it bad, that every year it hurt a little less ? But seeing his children grow...

Damian was almost six now, and growing into such an intelligent little boy. Bruce couldn’t even imagine, what he would’ve gone through, if he had stayed with the Al’Ghuls.

What kind of little six years old he would be, if it happened that way...

************

Where did Jason go ?

Yes. Jason and Damian were very close. Jason instantly discovered his big brother instincts, and Damian just liked being around him. Because Jay ? He was so funny ! And always willing to play with him !! Even if know he was a big person, fifteen years old, an old man !!

And so one morning, when Damian woke up and as usual, ran from his room to Jason’s to wake him up by jumping on him...The boy found an empty room, and a bed still made.

Did Jason not come home tonight ? Odd. The first thought that crossed Damian’s mind was to then go find his dad, who would surely know where Jason was !

“Daddy ! Daddy !!”

Bruce wasn’t in bed either, which was odd but also reassuring ? It meant they probably were both downstairs, having breakfast.

But when Damian went downstairs, going down the stairs as fast as his little legs could without falling, he only found Alfred, sitting behind the kitchen counter, holding his head in his hands.

“Fafred ?”

Damian asked. He never could quite pronounce “Alfred” properly, and everyone just went along with “Fafred”, and it stuck...It was cute.

The butler jumped up in surprise, and looked at the boy sadly. Why were his eyes wet ?

“You’re hurt Fafred ?”

Damian asked, clearly very concerned. Oh. Oh sweet little boy. Alfred wasn’t sure he could handle it. Not right now. He picked the little one up, and sat him in front of him, on the counter.

Five years old little Damian, almost six ! ; Put his palm on Alfred’s forehead, and said :

“You’re not hot Fafred, what is it ? Did you fall ? Where does it hurt ? Do you want a magic kiss ? Do you need the hospital ?”

It was adorable, how worried the little one was. It was also unbearable, in this instant. How was he supposed to...What was he supposed to...??

“No, Master Damian, I did not fell.”

“You okay ? What happened ?”

“Yes, I am okay.”

“You don’t look okay. What happened ?”

“Old people problems, you know.”

Alfred couldn’t. He couldn’t say anything.

Damian looked around, and realized the kitchen was empty. No cereal bowls out, nothing. Which was odd. If Bruce and Jason weren’t in their bed, then they should be down here having breakfast ! That’s how it always was !

“Fafred, where is daddy ?”

Please Master Damian, please do not ask him this question, do not...

“Where is Zayson ?”

************

WHERE DID JASON GO ??????

Damian didn’t understand where his big brother Jason went, and why his daddy was so sad all the time now. Of course, he was happy his big brother Dick came back and seem to want to stay for good, but him too, seemed sad whenever he looked at him.

Why ? Why was Dick always on the verge of crying when his eyes fell on his little brother ? Was it...because he reminded him of Jason’s absence ?

Damian didn’t understand why everyone was sad, but it was starting to make him very sad too. His little five years old self didn’t understand why was this happening ?

He wanted Jason.

Jason always knew for sure how to make him laugh.

But nobody would tell him where Jason went, and Damian had no idea where to look first !! Maybe in the garden ? No, he went there already, and he didn’t find Jason in their tree house. Neither did he find him at their secret spot, or near the sandbox. Jason would never go near the pond, he knew it was dangerous because he always told Damian not to go.

Maybe he was in school ? Very busy so he didn’t came back yet ? Oh that was an idea ! Damian suddenly felt excited. Yes. That’s it. Jason must be still at school ! And if Damian went to wait for him at the bus stop, then he would surely appear, right ?!

Enthusiastically, Damian ran at the front door. Everyone around was too out of it to even notice what he was doing. The boy put his shoes on (on the right feet this time), and went to take the chair in the corner of the corridor, dragging it as best he could to the front door so he could hop on it and turn the knob.

He finally managed it, got down from the chair and opened the door to find...A boy about to ring the doorbell ?

“Hi there ! I’m Tim ! Is your daddy around ?”

To be continued... ---> Part 2 :) clickclickclick

__________________________________________________

Here we go. This is part 1/2, I hope you liked it and will want more...Next part will contain more about what changed in Bruce compared to the canon timeline(s) like in more details (sorry I’m writing this very tired and slightly drunk) and more baby Damian, and the arrival, of course, of Tim, Cass, Steph, Duke etc etc...Everyone who has not appeared yet, basically :). I really hope you liked this haha, I’m so nervous...I didn’t talk about the actual BATMAN things yet because this all comes from the view of a kid who is still just 5 so far so ya know :) As usual, feedbacks and reblogs are always much appreciated!

AGES IN THIS TIMELINE (in case you are wondering) : We all know that ages in comics are a mess, especially when it comes to the Batfam. Most canon aging actually make little sense when you try to make up an ACTUAL timeline. So I guess we all have our own preferences and headcanons, which is fine again, given the state of “canon” hints and downright claims (which often contradicts each others btw). I mentioned during the story that I used a post-crisis canon for Dick that puts him around the age of 12 when he’s taken in by Bruce (but again, personal preference = 8). Which means he’s about 12 years older than Damian. He leaves for the Titans age 15/16. So it would make the age difference between him and Jay about 4 years (which is almost canon by a year less), Jay and Damian would then be 8 years apart (same, pretty close but not quite, by two years really :/ then again it depends the canon), Jay and Tim about 3 years apart (pretty much canon), so Damian and Tim about 5 years (again a little less than canon...but then you see what I mean when I say it makes little sense at times ? Hehe). Cass and Damian would be 4 years apart, Duke and Damian 2 years apart (Duke = older), Steph and Damian about 4/3 years like between Tim and Cass I guess, and well Babs is supposedly a little older than Dick so let’s say 13/14 years. Here. Hope that cleared up their age in this ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. No need to tell me what the canon age are are, we actually aren’t really sure because it changes CONSTANTLY (Damian seems to be the only one that grow up haha and only so he could join the TEEN Titans...But then he’s somehow thrown back in his age so he becomes much younger than aged 17 years old Jon ?! Really, canon age makes no sense and in the end don’t really exist hahahahahahahaha), every head canon is open :). Especially in an AU.

Also : Let’s give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s ! Thanks to @arianatheangelworld, for the many baby!Damian “imagine” asks you send that fueled my inspiration ! ^^.

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ot7always · 4 years

Text

Fractured (part 1)

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Word Count: 2.8k

Pairing: OT7 x Reader (platonic); future Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Mafia AU, angst, fluff, (future) smut

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of violence including murder (non-explicit). Mentions of sex (non-explicit). Mentions of drugs, guns, neglect, physical abuse, parental death. Toxic household, implicit mentions of mental illness (depression).

Rating: 18+

Summary: You’d always known something was strange and different about your “family,” but it wasn’t as though your environment encouraged curiosity from you. You thought you wanted to know all the answers, but nobody ever told you that the more you learned the more pieces of yourself you would leave behind.

A/N: This is my first story in this fandom, and I haven’t written anything for any fandom in years. This plot came to me all of a sudden last night and I decided I needed to write it. Please let me know what you think!

Masterlist

You used to be naive.

You were 11 when you first held a gun.

12 when you first made every shot through the centre of the target.

13 when you first noticed the fathers’ proud eyes rather than empty ones.

14 when you first defeated one of the boys in a spar.

15 when you first learned the details of why this was all necessary.

16 when the boys last saw you smile for real.

17 when you first participated in a mission, knuckles bloody for the first time.

18 when you first gave yourself to a man, only to later drug him and strangle him in his sleep.

They say ignorance is bliss, and you can’t help but to agree. Knowledge is not always power – you understand that better than anyone. Because the day you sought more knowledge was the last day you might have considered yourself truly happy.

“I said no. You’re not going anywhere.” The man looked at you, stone-faced in the doorway to his office. You had sought him out for permission to attend a classmate’s birthday party, but already regretted trying. It wasn’t as if you were ever allowed to go anywhere but school and back, escorted by the man’s driver.

Your neck had to crane upward to give him the pleading looks that often worked on his wife, but to no avail. With your head barely reaching the man’s waist, his cold stare had your six-year-old heart pounding, tears filling your eyes.

“But-“ you started, however it appeared there was no room for negotiation. The door was slammed in your face, door rattling in the frame. The noise was enough to make you jump, hands rising to wipe away the wetness that you could no longer hold back after being denied again.

Wanting to hide under your covers for the rest of the night lest you run into the man again, you turned around but instantly collided with another body. Gasping, your eyes immediately fell to the floor, hands falling to your sides.

“I’m sorry,” you uttered with as clear of a voice as you could manage, unwilling to invite the anger of another in the household, especially not the other adults. But the response was not one you expected.

“Y/N?” a soft voice questioned, reaching for your trembling hands. Your eyes rose to meet those of Namjoon’s, who only looked at you with more concern once he properly saw your state. His eyes swept over you quickly, assuring himself you weren’t hurt. He was only a few years older than you, but he worried for you greatly. “What happened?”

Hearing a kind voice after such an icy rejection only caused you to cry harder, stepping forward to wrap your arms around Namjoon’s waist, head buried in his chest. He accepted you without hesitation – it isn’t as though this is the first time this has happened. His hand rose to rub at your back, his warm touch calming you down some. But still, you did not offer an explanation. You knew the rules in this house, and it was your own fault for wanting more, after all. As you begun to pull away, still seeking the safety of your bed to avoid the rest of the world, Namjoon’s hands remained on your shoulders.

“Did my father say something to you again?” he questioned, sympathy in his gaze. You breaking eye contact was answer enough for him. And while he wished he could do something more for you, approaching his father about this would only invite him to unleash his anger on both of you.

Instead, he grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers with your own. When you peered at him inquisitively, he was glad to see that while your eyes were shiny and nose runny, you were no longer crying. Unwilling to let you mope for the rest of the day, he begun leading you away.

“I’ll make you some pasta, okay? I’m sure you haven’t eaten dinner yet,” he said, continuing the long trek from the upstairs rooms down to the kitchen.

While no, you hadn’t eaten, the last time you ate Namjoon’s pasta you ended up throwing up into the toilet hours later. But unwilling to reject his kindness, you allowed him to seat you at the dining table as he looked for ingredients in the fridge. You had planned to sit and watch him quietly, until you felt somebody collide with you from behind, arms wrapping around your neck.

“Y/N! We need one more person for Mario Party!” an excited voice yelled right by your ear, making you wince. After giving you the appropriate 0.3 seconds to formulate a proper response, hands begun shaking you at the shoulders hard enough to whip your head forward and back.

“Taehyungie…” you started, ready to deny him, unsure if you could handle the raucous of three young boys yelling at each other for stealing stars.

“Pleeeeeease! Please please please pleaseplease,” he begged, rocking your smaller body back and forth in the chair. His enthusiasm had you cracking your first smile since returning home from school.

“Y/N! We’re waiting for you!” a softer voice called from the living room. While you had been thinking about denying Taehyung, you never would’ve been able to deny Jimin. While mischievous, he had never been anything but kind to you growing up, leaving a huge soft spot in your heart for him.

Namjoon let out a small laugh from the stove, where he was stirring a pot that seemed to be letting out a suspicious amount of smoke for what he claimed to be pasta.

“You’d better join them or you’ll never hear the end of it,” he chuckled, giving you a wide grin when he saw you looking significantly happier than before. He was thankful that even if each of their parents might give you a hard time, at least you had seven brothers who only wanted to make you happy.

By the time you were ten years old, you had grown to accept that your life would not be like the lives of your classmates. You would not bake cookies at other girls’ houses, you would not join the after-school volleyball team, and you would not walk with friends to the ice cream shop down the street from school. That isn’t to say you hadn’t been invited. You had, years ago, but a child can only be told no so many times before they stop trying. After all, who wants to ask a question knowing the answer will always be rejection?

You were friendly with your classmates, but they knew you were some type of untouchable. You heard the whispers. She says she likes us, but why won’t she hang out? Why does the same car with tinted windows pick you up everyday? Why were you always alone on Parents’ Day?

While others had always wondered about your life, nobody dared to ask you. Whenever anyone mentioned family, the friendliness stopped. “It’s none of your business,” you would always answer, ending the conversation then and there. If your teachers ever tried to get information out of you, you would tell them not to worry. You always had an excuse for your parents not being there.

“They’re away on a trip.”

“My mother is ill.”

“They need to work during the day.”

The staff at school thought your parents were government officials, and you had likely been instructed not to talk about it. They were half right – your entire living memory you have been instructed not to talk about your family or your living situation no matter what.

It was easy to lie about why your parents weren’t there when your parents were dead. After all, who was there to refute your claims when the only family you had to speak of wasn’t even related to you by blood? The seven young boys – teenagers now, you supposed – had always been close to you, but you weren’t family.

No, you had been told that your parents were business associates of the seven families, but they had unfortunately died in an accident shortly after your birth. Unwilling to send their friends’ newborn to an orphanage, they instead took you in and allowed you to live with their families, where they raised you.

If raising you was the right term. In fact, many of the boys’ fathers ignored your existence. Namjoon’s father seemed to loathe you, though you didn’t think you did anything to cause such hate. However, you supposed that since he was not a kind man to his own son either, you could not complain. He was the head of the household, after all. You didn’t dare anger him, preferring to keep out of his way than to risk his booming voice and hard gaze.

It was not an ideal life. This much you understood, after seeing your classmates boast of their grades to their parents, happily shoving their report cards in their faces. When you see fathers raise their sons above their head, making obnoxious noises and pretending they’re an airplane, something deep inside you mourns something you’ve never had. You’ve never laughed at your father’s jokes, nor picked out an outfit with your mother.

It was not an ideal life, but at the very least you had the boys. They were perhaps the only people you could ever call a friend. They were loud and annoying, but also the only people who made you feel that you had a home.

By the time you were eleven, you had become curious. After all, every television show you’ve seen only had one family in one house, sometimes two. Seven was unheard of as far as you knew, and your adolescent brain with a newfound passion for science and mystery novels needed to know why this was. Of course, nobody could know about his goal of yours. This was top secret.

It started with casual eavesdropping. Before, you had tried to avoid the men in the house at all costs. Their serious looks scared you, and though the majority never specifically targeted you with their anger, you dared not risk it. However, you knew the men of the house frequently gathered behind closed doors, sometimes their wives too. It almost seemed like a business meeting, based on the dramas you’ve seen Seokjin watching in his spare time.

It was surprisingly easy to sneak around in the house, considering your presence was ignored by most. Even the maids didn’t look twice at your antics, knowing how teenagers always seemed to play weird games.

It was difficult to listen well, and you didn’t want to risk getting caught. You’ve only heard snippets of conversation, but it was enough to raise suspicion. The words you’ve been able to catch recently – “mission,” “warehouse,” “armed,” had you furrowing your brows, but what confused you most was “Bangtan,” or what you thought was Bangtan. You didn’t know what that meant. But what surprised you most was how often the others boys’ names seemed to come up, particularly Seokjin and Yoongi, the two eldest.

Your sleuthing continued through the weeks, but the words were hard to hear and you didn’t gain much from it. In fact, you considered giving up and trying to figure things out based on what you already had, but you figured one more try couldn’t hurt.

Perhaps you should have stayed in your room. Not that you knew now whether that could have helped you or not.

On one Wednesday after school, you returned home quicker than normal, traffic having been light for some reason. You figured you may as well use the opportunity to listen to any conversations that might be going on. After all, you made it home earlier than expected, so perhaps nobody would think you to be there to hear anything at all. Not that anyone paid attention to your schedule at all.

So there you sat – squatted, more accurately – outside Namjoon’s father’s office. You heard two muffled voices inside, but could not place who the other belonged to. What you did not expect, however, was to hear your own name coming from their lips.

“We’ve waited long enough. Y/N is useless right now, a liability more than anything,” a gruff voice said. The domineering tone itself told you it was Namjoon’s father, even if you couldn’t see anything at all.

“She’s still young-”

“And your son was years younger than her when he learned of everything. Stop babying her.”

Hearing a conversation centered around you was definitely not the norm. You leaned closer, hoping to hear better, but that was your downfall. Your shoulder brushed against the door – barely a touch at all, but enough to shake the door, and clearly noticeable to the men inside. Before you could even think to stand up, the door swung open, your eyes meeting those of Taehyung’s father like a deer in the headlights.

You felt as though your chest was going to explode, bracing yourself for the worst berating of your life. Would they kick you out? Would they hit you?

“I-I’m sorry,” your voice trembled along with the rest of you, “I thought I heard my name and I was curious, I promise I didn’t mean to,” you let out all in one breath, flinching and preparing yourself for the yelling, the fists, for anything.

What you didn’t expect was laughter. Namjoon’s father’s laughter, to be exact.

“The choice has been made for us,” he declared, directed toward Taehyung’s father.

“Sit.” he instructed you harshly, gesturing toward a chair across from his desk. There was just enough distance between you and him to feel that you were miles away. It made the man seem even more powerful than before.

“Do you remember what we told you about your parents?” he said as he fixed his stare on your wide eyes, more a demand than a question. You nodded, afraid a verbal answer would only get caught in your throat.

“Then you know we were in the same business,” he continued. You nodded again. This is the nicest he’s ever been speaking to you, and that had you relaxing some.

“You see, the boys here are all involved in this business as well. That is their responsibility to their family. Their duty. And it is time for you to fulfill your duty as well. This is what your parents would have wanted, and it is what we need from you in return for sheltering you all these years,” he went on, taking in your expression. The confusion and wariness must have been apparent on your face, because he kept on without waiting for a reply.

“You will train. After school for four hours everyday. You will become part of this business. The boys will help you,” he stated firmly, and you clearly knew these were not requests. These were commands, and you had no place to deny them, despite the questions you wanted to ask. You turned your head to look at Taehyung’s father, who had been one of the only people in the house who treated you as human. He nodded at you reassuringly, hiding his own hesitation well.

“Yes, sir,” you managed to get out, the first words you’d spoken since you entered the room. Even those were a struggle considering your shock.

“Good. You start tomorrow. Now leave.”

And train you did.

You were 11 when you first held a gun.

12 when you first made every shot through the centre of the target.

13 when you first noticed the fathers’ proud eyes rather than empty ones.

14 when you first defeated one of the boys in a spar.

15 when you first learned the details of why this was all necessary.

16 when the boys last saw you smile for real.

17 when you first participated in a mission, knuckles bloody for the first time.

18 when you first gave yourself to a man, only to later drug him and strangle him in his sleep. That was the first night you’d made yourself vulnerable in years, sobbing into Hoseok’s arms lamenting what you had done.

19 when you finally seemed to earn the respect of Namjoon’s father.

19 when you finally seemed to realize you would never be happy, never hold a real job, never get a real education.

You were no longer just part of the house, invisible to the powerful men and their wives who lived there. You had skill, talent.

No, you were no longer just a thing. You were a weapon, an asset. A tool to be used.

But a tool can only be used for so long before its shine fades.

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#bts fanfic #bts series #bts x reader #bts mafia au #ot7 x reader #yoongi x reader #bts angst #bts fluff #bts fic

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supremeuppityone · 4 years

Photo

This was created for the Klaroline Fall Bingo Event @klarolinefallbingo.

Prompt: “Vampires do NOT sparkle.”

Warning: Some angst.

Please review here.

The sequel is here.

______________________________

He’d lived countless lives, and the face Klaus showed the world rarely was his own. And yet, pretending to be ‘Nick’, the charming college preparatory tutor, left him...unsettled.

Caroline smiled triumphantly from across her kitchen table as she dutifully recited, “And that’s how Margery Russell successfully negotiated with the English government and gained ownership of two Spanish ships. The letters of marque she demanded against Spain was a standard practice for merchants as their cargo often was targeted by pirates.”

Klaus couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in his enterprising pupil. Initial surveillance of the doppelganger indicated that she’d surrounded herself with similarly vapid teenagers and the hilariously incompetent Salvatores. When he learned that the young vampire intended to seek out a tutor from the local college, he saw an easy opportunity.

But Caroline had become more.

“That wasn’t in the reading I gave you.”

“I read ahead for extra credit,” she replied with an impish wink. Her tone grew more serious as she reminded him, “Besides, you know how important this placement test is. If I can pass it, that’s six credit hours of humanities I won’t have to spend time taking at college next year.”

Amused, he watched her shuffle the notecards, recognizing the meticulous, color-coded highlighting that he’d quietly started using as he mapped out his darker schemes. In the other life. The one he no longer took pleasure in planning. “As a vampire, the one thing you have in abundance is time, sweetheart.” He frowned at the stack of course books from Whitmore, asking curiously, “Why are you bothering with a lowly state school? You’re certainly clever enough for something much more grand. And even if you weren’t, there’s always compulsion.”

Caroline kept her gaze on the notecards, and Klaus realized he’d inadvertently embarrassed her. “My mom’s drowning in debt and I’m nervous about taking on a bunch of student loans. As long as I can start college with enough credit hours to be considered a sophomore, the tuition at a place like Whitmore is more manageable. And I don’t use compulsion unless it’s an emergency.”

He didn’t miss the flash of fear in Caroline’s gaze. Someone had hurt her. He clenched his fists under the table, breathing deeply to get his temper under control. He vowed to address the issue with his henchmen that evening. Perhaps a bit of downsizing would inspire the rest not to leave out crucial surveillance information. Seeing Caroline’s discomfort, he quickly asked, “What’s your dream school then? A clever creature like you surely plans to attend university multiple times?”

“Berkeley,” she said without hesitation, “Someday I’d like to go there to study global peace and conflict issues. A lot of global social programs are failing because they don’t have enough volunteers to go where help is needed the most.” Shrugging, she added, “As a vampire, safety is less of a concern, so I’d like to do something to help.”

Klaus couldn’t stop the warm smile that crossed his face. Caroline’s earnestness was refreshing — and unique. Usually, new vampires became lost to the bloodlust, eager to act on long-hidden, dark impulses. But not her. Instead, she was spending her immortality aspiring to a grander calling — when she wasn’t foolishly sacrificing herself for the idiotic schemes of the Mystic Falls group.

“Have you ever been there,” she asked shyly. “I know you have a couple of centuries on me, so you’ve probably been all over.”

Right —just two centuries. Because he told her he’d been turned in the 1800s to avoid arousing her suspicion that ‘Nick’ had anything in common with ‘Klaus’. As she’d started to open up to him these past few weeks, her horror stories about Katerina and his other henchmen who were preparing for his arrival left him...disquieted. The terror Caroline felt was real. He was starting to despise ‘Klaus’. He finally answered her with, “I was in the San Francisco area a while ago, but that’s the closest I’ve been.”

“That sounds exciting! What did you do there?”

Tortured witches into giving up the moonstone’s last known location. “I took a few walking tours. The eclectic mixture of Victorian and modern architecture was...illuminating.”

Caroline rolled her highlighter back and forth across the table’s surface, her voice wistful as she said, “I’m excited about having all this time to travel and really experience the world. Once I got over being turned, I realized that was a bonus.”

“The superior strength wasn’t a positive?”

“Well, yeah, but I just thought there would be other stuff, you know...” she trailed off, a faint blush staining her cheeks.

Klaus chuckled at her adorable pout. “For the last time, Caroline, “vampires do NOT sparkle.”

“Maybe we sparkle on the inside.”

There was something in that statement that was just so light and happy and Caroline that he was kissing her before his brain registered what he’d done. She pulled back, wide-eyed and panting as a thousand thoughts seem to race through her mind. Perhaps she saw it as a conflict because he was her tutor? Or, was she still pining over the useless quarterback?

Muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “Fuck it,” she surged forward, surprising him with her enthusiasm as she vigorously returned his kisses, pushing him onto the table.

Klaus loved the feel of her in his arms; the easy flow of energy they passed back and forth electrified his blood and made him shudder. He was an Original, about to unlock his wolf to become the most powerful creature in the world, and little Caroline Forbes from nowhere, U.S., made him weak. And he loved it.

With a seductive smile, Caroline ripped away his henley, running her palms along his abs all the way to his chest. Suddenly, she froze, a look of horror on her face. She leapt away, racing to the bathroom before he could ask what was wrong. The noise, though, was unmistakable — she was vomiting.

Vampires did not vomit. Apparently, Caroline was proving once more that she was a unique creature. When she came back out, he raised an eyebrow, telling her wryly, “I’ve witnessed a variety of reactions to intimacy with me, but yours is certainly the most...visceral.” He realized she was staring fixedly at him with dawning recognition. With a sigh of regret, Klaus said, “You know who I am. How?”

“Alaric drew your tattoo. You may have compelled him to forget your face after you stole his body, but you never told him to forget those birds and feather on your chest,” she said angrily, regarding him with a look of deepest loathing.

And the evening had been going so well.

#klarolinefallbingo #uppity bitch fanfic #klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline fanfic #klaroline aesthetic #aesthetic #canon-ish #clever caroline and a completely enamored klaus

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writersrealmbts · 4 years

Text

Closed Quarters: Part 1

Description: Mistakes were definitely made. When the boys get a commission to kidnap a secret government official, something a little different from their usual work as thieves, they end up in deeper waters than they expected--locked in a bunker for fifteen years with you, while outside the bunker, the world faces an unseen threat. And maybe, just maybe, you find Jungkook a little too attractive.

Warnings: I don’t know? I can’t think of any.

Posted: 08/22/2020

Tags: Jungkook x reader, 2seok, theives!au, secret government worker!y/n

Angst. Just angst: 8,314 words

A/N: I have a lot of time this weekend, and I was going to cut this into smaller parts, but I decided not to. So, here, have a huge installment in this series.

Banner by @chillingtae (Thank you again!!)

“No way! Kidnapping is way different than stealing, and twice as dangerous,” Jin stabbed the table with his finger to make his point. “We’re risking enough as it is without trying to kidnap some woman.”

“I understand that you’re concerned—“

“This isn’t concern!” Jin snapped, cutting Namjoon off. “It’s common sense. We aren’t risking the kids, and that’s final.”

“We’re not kids, hyung,” Jungkook argued. “And we aren’t really at risk. No one suspects us, not even the law.”

“Exactly! That’s why we can risk kidnapping her,” Namjoon quickly jumped in, then held up the picture of the target. “Do you see this face hyung? This is the face of the biggest payout we’ve ever seen!”

Jin shook his head, staring at the photo of the woman before glaring at Namjoon. “You brought me in as the voice of reason. To make sure you guys don’t go overboard. I’m telling you that this is too risky. Whether you listen to me or not is up to you, but I want no part in it. Hoseok, tell me you aren’t buying this. Yoongi?”

Hoseok looked uncertainly at his hyung, then around the room.

Yoongi nodded. “I’m in.”

Taehyung and Jimin exchanged looks, but ultimately declared they were in as well.

Hoseok hesitated, but he reached over and squeezed Jin’s shoulder. “I’ll watch out for the kids.”

Jin could feel his heart shattering. He hung his head as he got up. “I won’t follow you into this death-trap. If any of you get hurt, it’s your own fault and don’t expect me to show any sympathy.”

“Hyung…” Taehyung reached out.

Jin jerked out of reach. “No. Just…no.”

They all watched helplessly as Jin walked out.

Hoseok determined right then to make sure the three youngest didn’t get a single scratch. “Without Jin we need to plan very carefully.”

“We don’t rely on him that much,” Yoongi snorted.

Hoseok stared at him, as hurt as if Yoongi had said it about him.

“Do we?” Jimin asked quietly.

Namjoon looked shaken. “I’ve never run a heist without him. He’s the best grifter I know.”

“Tae, the pressure will be on you to perform flawlessly. Jimin, you’ll have to be the canary. Namjoon, lookout. Yoongi and I will grab her. Jungkook, you’ll be the driver. Now, the best place to get her would be her house. Daylight is too risky.” Hoseok focused on the schematics Namjoon had brought with him.

“She’s far enough away from anyone that we could pull the charger con.” Yoongi sat down, but continued glancing toward Hoseok.

Hoseok wasn’t going to let him off easy for being so disrespectful of their eldest. Jin saved them just about every heist. Without him there to watch their backs, the job became twice as dangerous.

“The gps data from her car says that she goes out to the middle of nowhere every Tuesday and Thursday. From early morning to late evening. We could grab her there,” Jimin suggested, tapping the map on the screen after typing in the coordinates.

“There’s nothing around there,” Namjoon frowned, looking over the different maps. “It’s undeveloped.”

Hoseok studied things as well before noticing the map that Jin had in front of him before. He slid it in front of himself and looked it over. “Wait…that forest used to be a huge quarry. But now it looks like…a hill?”

“We’ll need to do some reconnaissance. Hoseok, you Ji—” Namjoon stopped himself and cleared his throat, “Jungkook. You and Jungkook go check out the area. We’ll make a plan and keep an eye on her movement.”

Hoseok nodded, getting up to go get his gear.

Jungkook caught up to Hoseok. “Hyung, we’re going to tell Jin-hyung, right?”

Hoseok nodded. “Despite what he says, I know he’ll be keeping an eye on us. He might have already figured out the quarry lead.”

“But he said—”

“Rule one, Jin-hyung could never not care about us.”

Jungkook bit his lip, still worried. He’d never seen Jin get so riled up about a job, and he had never seen Jin so…hurt. “Where do you think he went?”

“The car. I think he’s waiting for us in the car. I wasn’t expecting Namjoon to pair you with me. I thought he might do Jimin.”

Jungkook was confused. “Why would he be in the car?”

“Because, he wants to protect us without Yoongi, or Namjoon, knowing it. Because as angry as he is, he could never turn his back on us.”

“What if he isn’t in the car?”

Hoseok swallowed. “Then he’s going to the quarry and we all will need to follow him.”

“But why would he?” Jungkook asked, worried for his eldest hyung.

“To prove his point.” Hoseok opened the door to the garage.

Jin was sitting in the driver's seat.

Hoseok breathed a sigh of relief and hopped into the passenger seat, forcing Jungkook into the back. “Hyung. You knew about the quarry.”

Jin nodded solemnly, starting the vehicle and pulling out of the garage.

“What do you think is there?” Jungkook asked eagerly.

“Trouble. I think trouble resides there. Namjoon hasn’t looked at all the facts about her yet.”

“Why are you helping us, hyung? You said you wanted no part of this,” Jungkook asked.

Jin looked at Jungkook in the mirror. “I’m not helping you. I’m saving you. I’m helping her.”

Jungkook froze. “What?”

Hoseok stared.

Jin focused on the road. “Jungkook, she’s a government employee, yet she never enters a government building? But twice a week, and every other weekend, she goes out to the location of an old quarry that has been covered up and turned into another forested hill?”

Hearing it like that did sound more suspicious, Jungkook admitted to himself.

Hoseok felt sick. “It’s a trap?”

“Worse. It’s a government facility that’s likely armed to the teeth. But what’s more concerning is that someone gave this information to us. Why? Who benefits from kidnapping a girl who works in the shadows?”

Jungkook stared at Jin's grim expression, then at Hoseok’s nauseous one. “Her…family would pay for her?”

“Jungkook, think about the information we were given. They said she was a high-ranking government employee, extremely valuable. And someone wants her kidnapped.”

“They want us to be a distraction while either they kidnap her or they infiltrate her position.” Hoseok dropped his head between his knees.

Jungkook drew in a shaky breath. “So…we’re warning her.”

Jin nodded, gripping the wheel a little tighter.

They didn’t speak again until they had arrived at the site.

“Her vehicle is here,” Hoseok hissed.

“I should scout around first. You two should stay here until I report back.”

“No, we go together,” Jungkook said. “We find her together. If we’re warning her, then...it shouldn’t be as dangerous and we shouldn’t be skulking.”

Jin winced but pulled up behind it anyway. “Ok, let me do the talking.”

They all got out, checking out the vehicle before heading toward the small path that appeared as a wildlife path, but they figured it was actually a human path.

Jungkook was wary, and glad that he was armed. He didn’t want to use it, but if it was a choice between using his weapon or losing one of his hyungs…it wasn’t a choice. He knew that Jin was armed as well, but he also knew that it would only be drawn if Jungkook or Hoseok were in danger.

Jin froze, stumbling when Hoseok ran into him, but holding them both upright.

“Hyung?”

Jin nodded again of them. “Found the bunker.”

Hoseok and Jungkook exchanged a glance, Hoseok terrified and Jungkook a little sick to his stomach.

It was well-armed, yet it all appeared disarmed--the door sitting wide open as though welcoming them in.

Jungkook breathed in sharply as something cold pressed against his neck.

“I would comply now, gentlemen,” A soft voice said, somewhere behind him and to his left. “You’re going into the holding cells. I’d hate to cut his throat. So messy and the nightmares aren’t fun either.”

“Then let him go,” Hoseok said, nervous, desperate, reaching out toward Jungkook as if that would save him.

“Not until you’re all in the holding cells. This is a matter of national security. I don’t play around when it comes to national security. It’s my job not to,” She answered. “Now, you can comply, or I can kill all of you before you can draw your weapons. I may not like it, but I can do it all the same.”

Jin grabbed Hoseok’s arm. “Do as she says.”

“Hyung!”

“Just. Walk,” Jin said sternly, eyes never leaving Jungkook’s neck. “Her blade is poisoned.”

Jungkook felt his eyes grow wider.

They all entered the bunker, the area they walked into looking a little bit like a garage or air-hanger, with lots of computers at the far end and doors and doorways leading who-knows where.

“Third door to the left,” She instructed. “Then turn right until you reach the last door and go in. Head to the back wall and wait.”

Jin led them the way she instructed, never looking back.

Hoseok was practically walking backwards to make sure Jungkook was still unharmed.

Once Jin and Hoseok were against the back wall, the blade came away from Jungkook’s throat and he was shoved toward them.

When he looked back, a strange barrier blocked them from reaching her. Wavery light, like water, yet also very electric looking.

The girl looked prettier than her picture, just something about her general demeanor that made her seem...more. Something about her eyes that seemed to be engaging, something about how she was dressed

She typed something in on the wall. “Wait there. I’m expecting more guests.”

“Who?” Jungkook asked, desperate. He knew who the next guests would be, but how could she know?

She met his gaze, solemn. “Your friends. I know there are seven of you. I’ve read the secret intelligence reports on all of you. You weren’t flagged as a high-level threat, though, not by everyone else.”

“Why did you threaten me?” Jungkook asked desperately.

“My job is to defend the secrets of my country. Your discovery of this place threatens that secret. I’ll be back to find out who gave you the information required to find me. But first I have to go move my car and greet your friends.”

Jungkook frowned. “So...you weren’t the one who tipped us off?”

“Why would I? This is my life’s work, this place is my life. My grandfather’s legacy.” She gestured around generally.

“What is this place?”

“It’s a bunker, one of ten around and throughout the city. This bunker alone can hold and provide for 250 people for twenty years, and it’s the smallest one. It is safe from nuclear explosions, atomic bombs, and 120 other types of destructive weapons. It’s entirely self-sustaining, and holds the backup information for our government, direct access to military computers for remote communication, and entire directory of our country’s history: military, arts, literature, music, theatre, medicine--everything.” She folded her arms, studying them. “All of which I probably shouldn’t have told common thieves.”

“We’re not common thieves!” Jungkook snapped.

She met his gaze, unchallenging and seemingly sympathetic. “You’re not. But that’s what you will be charged as before being put into the highest-security prisons in solitary confinement.”

Hoseok gently pulled Jungkook away from the barrier. “Solitary confinement?”

She nodded. “So that you can’t tell anyone about what you have seen, heard, or learned. I am sorry, but that’s what it has to be.”

“Y/n,” Jin said quietly. “We did come to warn you about us getting this information.”

She looked away from them. “And I’ll be back to get that information.”

Jungkook watched her leave, mouth gaping.

“I...I can’t do solitary confinement....Jiminie and Tae can’t either….” Hoseok was starting to hyperventilate.

Jin wrapped around Hoseok, holding him tightly. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

“How can you promise, hyung? It’s your fault we’re in this mess in the first place!” Jungkook snapped, pushing Jin away from Hoseok. “If you hadn’t walked out on everyone and told them--”

“Did it seem like I would have been listened to, Jungkook?” Jin asked at an equal volume. “Did it seem like they were listening? You didn’t. Hoseok didn’t either. I basically hijacked your mission. Imagine if you had come tramping in here for recon!”

“Please don’t fight,” Hoseok said quietly, voice shaking. “Don’t fight.”

Jin wrapped him in a tight hug again, giving Jungkook a soft glare. “I did the best I could.”

Jungkook deflated a bit, turning away.

They stood around, waiting.

Hoseok just shifted back and forth between them, hugging them both as they awaited her return. Tried to pull the two together, but Jungkook wouldn’t go any closer than five feet.

Then the lights turned red and a piercing alarm started blaring.

All three of them covered their ears, wincing.

“Lockdown Initiated. Lockdown Initiated.”

The barrier came down.

Jungkook hurried back the way they came, running into Jimin. “What’s going on?”

“We were just trying to find you and--”

The doors slammed shut as Y/n came racing through toward the computer beside it, where Namjoon and Yoongi were messing around frantically.

She shoved them away, then messed around at the computer.

The alarms went away, but in its place was the sound of the door sealing shut.

“Lockdown complete.”

Jungkook slowly moved toward where she was hunched over the console, no longer moving.

Finally she turned toward all of them, looking like she’d just lost ten years off of her life.

Jungkook swallowed.

“Great job, morons. Now we’re all trapped in here. For fifteen years.”

----------

You stared at the screen in disbelief, the flashing coded protocol searing itself into the back of your eyelids.

You felt like you couldn’t breath.

Not only were you trapped in there, you were trapped in there with criminals. You were trapped in there with some criminals who wanted to kidnap you. You were trapped in there with some criminals who wanted to kidnap you and another whose life you threatened for the sake of your country and its people. You were trapped in there with some criminals who wanted to kidnap you, another whose life you threatened, and another who was actually your cousin.

For fifteen years.

Fifteen. Years.

But you had the upper hand. Sort of. You knew the place better than they did, and you had the only keycard and code to get into over half of it thanks to the way they initiated the protocols.

You turned toward them, noting that the three you had imprisoned were out now, staring at you in apprehension. The other four looked slightly panicked.

“Great job, morons. Now we’re all trapped in here. For fifteen years,” You said, glaring at the two who had been at the computer.

“What?!”

All of them were closing in, all in a hurry to see that it isn’t so.

You reached back and quickly turned that console off so that they couldn’t do any more damage to the system. “You initiated the fallout protocol: PP136137. It locks the bunker down for fifteen years in the case of some sort of disaster.”

“Can we reverse it?” Jin asked, holding the two he had arrived with back from crowding you.

“Maybe, but the whole point of it is to protect the people inside from outside attackers, people trying to get in. And I haven’t finished updating the systems, so we’re working with some old computers. If I work non-stop, I might be able to finish going through everything in...five years?”

“Five…” One of them breathed, then turned toward the others. “My parents...my siblings….”

Jin quickly reached out and pulled him into a hug, still holding the one that had come with him, but also keeping a firm hold on the third one’s sleeve--the cute one who’s life you threatened. “It’ll be alright, Tae.”

You huffed and moved toward the computers in the back. “Guess you won’t need to go to prison this way.”

“This is preferable,” One of them muttered.

You pushed back the urge to smile at that, instead going to see what you could do at the computers. You thought, maybe, if you could reroute through the military line you could access a regular email account so that you could notify people of an issue with the protocol, and then contact their families so they knew they didn’t just...disappear. That would be terrible.

“What is PP136137?” The one you threatened asked, coming up to stand behind your chair as you sat at the computers.

“I told you, fifteen years in the case of some disaster. A country recovery plan.”

“But what does it stand for?” One of the annoying ones who had trapped you in there asked.

You sighed and leaned back. “Princess Protocol. In the case of takeover, the information in this bunker is retained so that no information will be lost, no history, no art...no way for an entire civilization to be wiped out without remnant. The public are to be directed to bunkers if threats to civilization are so severe….”

“That being locked into a bunker is preferable?” One of them said, sounding both skeptical and alarmed.

The computers were still locked down, part of the 12 hour lockdown section of the protocol.

“As I told your friends before you arrived, this bunker can support 200 people for twenty years.”

“Why call it the Princess Protocol?” The one Jin called Tae asked, crouching beside you to look at the screen you were trying to work from.

“There were multiple reasons, but it was proposed that...all throughout history, you will see princesses surviving where the rest of their family did not--whether it be because of political marriage or whatever other reason. Those princesses carry their culture, language, and history with them. Princesses would learn things about their own country that may not be known to the general public, secrets.” You huffed in frustration as it denied you access again. “I can’t do anything for twelve hours.”

“Your position is that of the princess named in the protocol,” the death-threatened cutie said, looking a little...stunned? Shook?

“Not the official title, but if that makes sense to you, sure.” You spun in your chair to face them. “Now, I thank you kindly for not touching any of the system computers. Come on. There are beds and clothing this way.”

They followed you, quiet and surprisingly complacent.

You showed them where the spare clothes you stocked the bunker with were located so they could grab a change of clothes, then led the way to the elevator. “We’ll be on the eighth floor. I was heading up the refurbishing of this place so it’s not completely finished, but there’s enough done for us to live comfortably since we’re stuck here now. And I kindly request that you remain on the eighth and the ninth floors. Everywhere else there are things that are potentially hazardous and unless I request your assistance, you’ll probably muck something up if you go there on your own.”

“What’s on the ninth level?” The quietest one asked, his voice soft and almost delicate.

“The gardens. That...that didn’t need any work.” You smiled thinking about it. At least there was the garden. It was almost exactly like a park. There were even birds, frogs, turtles, butterflies, and fish in one section of it (carefully sealed with a double air-lock you’d have to train them to use before giving them authorization to go in). On the third floor was where most of the food production took place, but there was also some food production on the ninth-floor. Also, there were paths you could ride a bike on through the ninth floor, even if it was only a short trip around on a bike. It was sort of freeing to be able to ride it. Not that you didn’t use your bike in other sections of the bunker, because you totally did. There were some long hallways on the 2nd, 3rd, 6th, 10th, 11th, and 23rd floors.

The elevator opened up to a fairly blank room, and you led them to the left, through a large dining hall, into and out of a large kitchen, past the closed doors of five private bathrooms, and the open entry to a community laundry room, and then to the large living and office space.

“That hall leads to ten different bedrooms. I have the one farthest down the hall on the left. You may choose any of the others, just stay out of my room.”

“You already have a room?”

“I live here part time,” You answered, shrugging. “Sometimes it’s easier to just stay the night instead of driving home.” Not to mention you knew it was the only one of two bedrooms with a private bathroom.

They slowly made their way down the hall, checking out each room and talking.

But Jin stayed behind. “Would you really have thrown us in jail?”

“It’s not like I would have had much choice. I probably would have helped you escape somehow, but you would have had to leave the country. Now I suppose you can serve your sentence out here.”

“I’m really sorry about this.”

“Jin, who gave them the information about me?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Find out. Because I’m not supposed to exist as far as our government is concerned, so whoever this is….”

“It could be a matter of national security?” He guessed, looking worriedly after his friends. “Jungkook was right to blame me for this.”

“He the one I threatened?”

He nodded.

“You know the blade wasn’t actually poisoned, right?”

He nodded again. “But we needed to talk. I just...I didn’t know those four would be stupid enough to do this.”

“We’re going to have to explain to them that we know each other.”

“I’ll say you will,” The other one from the original three said, frowning at both of you.

Jin held up his hands. “Hoseok, please--”

“I get it. Not now,” Hoseok said quietly, glancing back. “But could I get the short version.”

“This is my cousin who died but not actually,” Jin replied in an almost-whisper.

Hoseok’s eyes widened. “Wait, but then...you knew?!”

“Of course, but I didn’t know those four would come charging in and trip up some sort of protocol! Also, I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone that she was alive. I’m not even supposed to know! She told me when...remember when I was in that bad place?”

Hoseok became solemn at the mention of it, nodding. “We thought we lost you.”

“She came to see me. Make sure I knew I wasn’t allowed to die in case you guys hadn’t beat it into my head enough.”

“But...your family never talks about her either?” Hoseok said, frowning.

“That’s a longer story. Suffice to say, you all were going to make a very clever escape thanks to Jin after I got all the information I needed from you about who told you to kidnap me. But now….”

“Now we’re stuck,” Hoseok added, nodding. “Okay. Well…we’ll figure it out. Right, hyung?”

Jin nodded, attempting a smile, but still looking pained.

“Come on, I claimed the other room with a queen-sized bed. The kids are pitching a fit.” Hoseok took Jin’s arm and pulled him down the hall.

You followed after, noticing that Jin was careful to say all of their names at some point, silently teaching you who was who.

Jungkook was your death-threatened cutie. If the situation had been different, and you hadn’t technically been dead, you totally would have flirted with him. Tested the waters.

No way you were doing that while trapped in a bunker.

Namjoon, one of your troublemakers, cautiously approached you. “I heard you threatened them.”

You rolled your eyes. “Look, I’m not the one that sent them to their doom. I did them a favor by taking them alive and not having the outside of the bunker armed.”

“You still threatened their lives,” He said insistently. “And I didn’t send them to their doom--”

“What would you call sending them running headfirst toward a secret government property without all of the information and then racing after them headfirst and locking them up in a bunker for fifteen years?” You asked in a sweet tone. “You’re their leader, this is your responsibility.”

He stood there, dumbstruck as you pushed past him and toward your room.

Jungkook caught you before you could go in. “You can’t talk to him like that.”

“I can talk to anyone I want, any way I want, without answering to you or anyone else,” You answered. “Not because of my job, or who I am, but because I am.”

“He didn’t send us to our doom, Jin-hyung did.”

You shook your head. “No. He tried to save you all from it.” You jerked your arm away from him and entered your room, locking it behind you when you heard him objecting.

Someone either figured out about this program and you, or they already knew about it and were planning some sort of coup d’etat. Either way, the implications of someone targeting you meant that there was a high risk of some sort of attack. You would rest until the computers were unlocked, then you would do everything you could to let your higher-ups know that you and the bunker had been compromised.

Then you would have to check and see if there was any sort of intelligence that suggested hostile takeover or attack, then follow that up by making sure you had the emergency line that would allow you to initiate the emergency protocols needed if anything were to happen to the others outside of the bunker that would need to enter the codes required to open all of the bunkers and send out the information to the citizens of your country on where the nearest bunker was.

You weren’t surprised when, about an hour after you had flopped onto the bed, the door opened and Jin squeaked in with Hoseok just behind him.

“You okay?” Jin asked, sounding concerned at seeing you flopped the way you were.

You let your head roll toward him. “Been better. Your team...they’re a piece of work.”

He shrugged, sitting on the bed as you sat up.

Hoseok followed suit.

“What do we do, y/n?” Jin asked quietly. “How can we help?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t figured out what to do. I have a few things I know I have to do, but...after that...if there isn’t a threat, then all I can do is monitor the situation while I try to get the rest of this place up and running so that I can get us out.”

Hoseok leaned against Jin after fidgeting a lot. “And you really think it will take at least five years?”

“There are a lot of safeguards, some of which I’m still learning. I just took over this two years ago, and one year of that was spent updating the majority of the place. There are thirty floors.” You shook your head. “Five years is optimistic, fifteen years is pessimistic, and realistic is somewhere in between.”

“Isn’t there an emergency exit or anything?” Jin asked.

You nodded slowly. “But these protocols...and that section hasn’t been updated yet. I might be able to short it out for a few seconds, but...I don't know that it would be enough for anyone to get out.”

Jin nodded, looking down at the blanket.

“It’s not your fault,” You told him gently.

Hoseok nodded his agreement, hugging Jin’s waist.

Jin sighed. “Tell that to the kids. They’re never going to trust me again.”

“Yes they will, hyung,” Hoseok said firmly, finally seeming to have gathered some resolve. “They’ll come around. Especially if we could get notification to their families…?”

You nodded. “I was trying to do that tonight, but it’s locked down for twelve hours. I should be able to figure it out in the morning.”

“There. See, it’ll be okay.”

Jin just nodded, not looking nearly as hopeful as he stared blankly at your door.

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

“Would you shut up?!” You snapped, turning to the bickering men. “By the almighties, I don’t know how you get anything done! There hasn’t been a moment’s peace since you arrived and I am trying to do something that requires focus. But I can’t focus with you all screaming in my ears! I will remind you that you all are the reason we’re locked in here, not me.”

Finally, silence.

Jungkook, of course, was the one to break it. “But you haven’t even told us what it is you’re trying to do.”

“I am trying to establish the secure lines to the military so that maybe, I can jump into the regular network and try to inform my superiors about how vulnerable our country is at the moment. Then I was going to try and see if we could inform your families of your whereabouts and make arrangements for your things so that you wouldn’t have to worry about that,” You told him in a falsely cheerful voice.

“Told you we should leave her alone,” Hoseok muttered, folding his arms.

Taehyung’s eyes were big, and he quickly crouched beside you to look at the screen. “Do you think it will work?”

You nodded. “If I can focus.”

He stared at the screen for a while longer, then looked up at you, almost looking like he wanted to cry. “My parents are probably already worried about me. I always call them on Thursdays.”

You nodded. “I’ll try to get this up and running as quickly as I can.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Hoseok asked.

“If one of you could bring me lunch later, I’d be grateful. Otherwise, leave me alone and let me work. Write down the messages you want sent to your families, and the best messaging method to contact them, otherwise I’ll use my government email to tell them that each of you was recruited for a secret government mission and that your ability to communicate with them will be sporadic. I’ll make it sound official, they’ll be able to confirm it. But it will also urge them to remain quiet about your whereabouts.”

“How can you do that? I mean, legally,” Jungkook asked, leaning against the edge of the desk.

“It’s within my abilities in my appointed position within the government.” You typed in another password and then started coding the next process. Then the next. Then the next.

A plate blocked your view of the screen.

You flinched back, turning to see Jungkook.

He met your gaze blankly. “You said to make sure you had lunch. You’re lucky, Namjoon-hyung and Taehyungie-hyung almost made you lunch together.”

“That bad?”

He nodded, setting the plate down on your notebook. “How’s that going?”

“Well, at the rate I’m working, I might be patched through by tomorrow morning. If I don’t sleep. There are a lot of protocols to work around, and I need to be careful with a lot of this because one wrong move and I get locked out and I have to start all over again. Thankfully, there are stopping points where I can work without worrying about timing out. So if I do need to leave for a while I can.” You sighed, and leaned back as you stretched. You hadn’t even noticed them leave you.

Jungkook pulled up a chair and sat down, studying you.

You cracked your neck then met his gaze. “Yes?”

He looked down, then back, taking a deep breath. “It’s Jin-hyung’s fault.”

You groaned and dropped your head into your hands. “Gods almighty and merciless, couldn’t you have just struck me down where I sit instead of making me deal with these idiots!”

“It is his fault!”

“No!” You objected, meeting his gaze again. “Because if you all had listened to him, then you all would have stayed away from here, and he would have come to talk to me alone. Then I could have made sure our country was safe from attack while not being locked in this bunker and you all wouldn’t have had to serve time in jail or leave the country or be locked in here!”

He scowled. “How do you know--”

“He’s my cousin!” You snapped. “He knew the moment he saw my picture that this wasn’t a good idea, didn’t he?”

The scowl melted into alarm, shock, and disbelief, before settling into shock and horror.

“He said from the moment that he saw my picture that you guys shouldn’t take the job. That it was suicide. That it was too dangerous. Who listened to him, Jungkook?” You asked, getting up and pacing. “None of you, because otherwise this wouldn’t be happening. We wouldn’t be talking. I’d be finding the person who somehow found my picture and my identity when I was wiped from all of the systems and declared dead to the world.”

“What do you mean...he’s your cousin?” Jungkook asked, sounding faint.

You dropped into the chair again, glaring at him a little. “Our parents are related, this makes us cousins.”

“But why wouldn’t he say anything!”

“Because he’s not supposed to know that I’m alive! No one is. My parents died years ago, I was raised mostly with my father’s side of the family, but Seokjin and I knew each other well enough because we spent a couple years as neighbors when I was just entering college. He looked out for me. I knew about him being a thief. I took my grandfather’s job, because it's family work. This place. Jin only knows because I heard about him being in the hospital a couple years ago and went to make sure he knew he wasn’t allowed to die.”

Jungkook frowned at the floor. “He could have told us.”

“Really? You think so? You don’t think that he would be questioned to death and then the suggestion of still taking me as a sort of willing hostage to get the payout wouldn’t have come up?” You folded your arms.

He took a deep breath, then sighed. “It would have.”

“Your problem is with Jin. Talk to him. No. Listen to him.” You turned back to the computer and started typing entering code again. “Thanks for the food.”

He was quiet for a while, then he silently got up and left.

You waited until you heard the elevator doors close before you looked after him. He probably didn’t deserve your anger, but you were so frustrated and he presented himself as a target.

And he was just so frustrating.

But a decent cook.

And he returned at dinner time, this time blocking your view with a bottle of water.

“I did hear you walking over. This time,” You murmured, pushing it away to finish the section you were on and get to a safe place to pause.

“We made dinner. Hoseok-hyung sent me to get you. Said you should take a break.”

“So they sent you? Or you volunteered?”

He was quiet, then he grabbed the empty plate that had been set aside a long time ago. “Maybe both.”

You glanced at him.

He shrugged in your peripherals. “I talked to Hoseok-hyung. He explained a little more. It doesn’t mean that Jin-hyung doesn’t have a lot to answer for, but I understand a little more why he didn’t just tell us. How Hoseokie-hyung found out, I don’t know.”

“Oh, they’re totally sleeping together.”

“Well, they’re sharing a room and a bed.”

“No, Jungkook. They’re sleeping together,” You said again, stressing the word ‘sleeping’.

He frowned. “Hoseok-hyung and Jin-hyung?”

You nodded. “Why else would they decide to share a room when there are more than enough rooms for them to have their own?”

“I thought they just agreed on it because Hoseok was trying to support Jin since I was mad at him and because then they’d have a private bathroom.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yep. That played into it. But, uh, mostly the bed sharing.”

He looked shocked.

“You okay there?” You asked, waiting for him to respond.

He blinked a few times, then met your gaze, slowly nodding. “So...Hobi-hyung wasn’t flirting with you.”

You frowned. “When?”

He shook his head suddenly and quickly walked toward the elevator. “Nevermind. Come on. I don’t want to eat cold food.”

You double-checked your progress, then followed after him, enduring the awkward elevator ride and leaving it before him to follow your nose to something that smelled good. If it smelled good, it had a good chance of tasting good as well.

Jungkook stayed surprisingly close as you followed your nose into the kitchen.

The other boys were pretty quiet, unusually quiet from your limited experience and how tense Jin seemed to be.

Jungkook went straight up to Hoseok, latching onto him in a back-hug but seeming troubled, not responding when Hoseok asked him something in a silly tone.

Namjoon carefully carried a platter over to the table, and the others pulled platters and pots to the table surface as well.

You felt out of place, like you shouldn’t exist, which was something you hadn’t felt in years. This was your home, more so than the house you lived in during the week. More than your family home, where your grandparents had raised you--which stopped being your home when they passed.

Jin met your gaze, smiling softly. “Come sit with us.”

Taehyung noticed you then and grinned as well, gesturing to the table. “We cooked!”

You smiled and went over, letting Taehyung present everything they had cooked, but somehow you met Jungkook’s gaze.

He had some sort of determined glint in his eye that scared you.

Because the moment everyone was sitting, and had food, he met your gaze again, then looked at Seokjin.

“So, were you planning on telling us that you were related to her? Or were we just supposed to figure that out on our own?”

Silence.

Jin was frozen, food halfway to his mouth.

Hoseok was staring at Jungkook in disbelief. “I told you not to say anything.”

Jungkook just shrugged, still staring at Jin.

Taehyung coughed a bit, looking decently shocked.

Yoongi’s eyes were closed.

“Well, hyung? Were you just going to live in these lies? Leave us in the dark? Lie to us, your supposed family? Or did you lie about us being family too?”

“Don’t you ever suggest that I lied about us being a family,” Seokjin said darkly, glaring at Jungkook. “Ever.”

“He’s right. That was out of line, Jungkook. Jin-hyung loves us more than anyone,” Namjoon said, but his voice was quiet and he sounded a little lost.

Jungkook opened his mouth to reply, but you cut him off.

After the spoon clattered to the table, you got up and went over, leaning on the table to get in his face. “I’m going to say this one. Last. time. Fail to listen this time, and there will be one less mouth to feed in this bunker. As a matter of national security, no one was to know that I was alive or even that I existed--including Seokjin. I broke those rules, and I had to work for six months afterward to convince the government not to have him brought in or dealt with in some other nasty fashion. And by the way, you were also on that list of people they believed they would need to kill to keep me secret. Your whole team was. And if your team had acted like one, and listened to Jin, then he would have come here on his own while you all were busy and warned me and then none of this would have happened. As it was, you all were going to make a clever escape and quite possibly flee the country. Now, I am sick and tired of you acting like a baby and digging up things you already knew about. The world does not revolve around you. Grow up.”

Large hands gently rested on your shoulder and opposite arm, then gently pulled you away. “Y/n. Come on.”

You pushed off the table and followed Seokjin out of the dining area, still fuming.

The door closed behind you two, and he stopped in the kitchen, messing around with some of the dishes. “Jungkook doesn’t mean any harm, not really. He’s not normally like this.”

You just scoffed.

But you both could hear the conversation in the next room.

“What the hell was that, Jungkook?” Namjoon asked. “Why would you do that to Jin-hyung?”

“I told you...she told you...why...what….” Hoseok sounded dazed.

“You’re hurting him, Jungkook,” Taehyung added. “She’s right, it’s our fault the doors closed. And maybe he could have tried harder to convince us….”

“But we weren’t listening. We all dismissed what he said. It was only later that you and Hobi became aware of the dangers of this mission, and Jin-hyung was the one who told you that it was dangerous. Hobi-hyung even said that Jin-hyung tried to get you two to let him scout the place out alone.” Jimin’s voice was soft, considerate.

You met Jin’s gaze.

Jin closed his eyes and looked down at the dishes he’d gathered up for washing, just listening.

“Right, because Hoseok-hyung isn’t biased anyway,” Jungkook snorted.

Your head snapped up, and you felt your heart start to race.

But it was quiet.

No one seemed to respond or react.

“Jungkook. This is my fault. Not hyung’s,” Namjoon finally said in a firm voice. One that brooked no argument. “I was the one who received the job. I was the one who talked everyone into accepting it when we have an all-or-none system. I was the one who dismissed Jin-hyung’s concerns. And I was the one that activated the protocol that locked us in here. We’re going to talk in private after we finish eating. Jimin, could you take them their plates? Maybe eat with them? I don’t want them to feel like we’re all against them.”

You and Jin exchanged panicked looks and hurried away before hearing the response, setting into one of the couches, angled toward each other.

Jin took your hand. “Y/n, please, don’t take Jungkook’s actions toward me into account when you’re forming your opinions. He’s always rebelled against me. He knows I can take it.”

“Can you?”

He nodded. “The only thing I can’t take is him saying I don’t love them. I don’t...I guess I haven’t been as forthright as I thought if he doubts that.”

You leaned back against the cushion, debating within yourself. “I’m going to have to see a difference before I believe that there is one. I thought...maybe, after our earlier conversation that things would have settled. I’m sorry I even told him those things, though. I didn’t mean to.”

“He would have been upset no matter who told him.” Jin shrugged.

A couple seconds later, Jimin came in with all three plates, looking pretty pleased with himself over his balancing skills.

You helped him. “Thanks.”

He nodded, sitting next to Jin. “I’ve never seen Jungkook this worked up about something. Normally he just broods and sort of puzzles it out on his own.”

Jin shrugged. “We’re all stressed and in a situation that’s not like any we’ve ever experienced before. I’d rather he take it out on me. I can handle it. I did what I could.”

Jimin hugged him, then went back to eating, partially getting Jin to feed him like a baby bird. He made light conversation the rest of the time, both of them telling you stories of their heists (after Jin confirmed that it couldn’t do them any harm).

Jungkook passed through, catching your gaze and holding it for a second before he went toward the hallway, to his room.

And you would never be able to put it into words what it was you saw in his face, but it made you set down your plate and follow him.

“Y/n?” Jin called after you.

You looked back and shook your head, then continued to the doorway of the room Jungkook had gone into.

He’d left it open, and was sitting on the bed, elbows on his knees, obviously waiting for you. He sat up straight as you walked in and sat on the bunk across from him.

“Well?” You asked quietly.

“I need to explain.”

You took a deep breath and grabbed the pillow, hugging it.

“Ever...ever since I was young...it’s just been hyungs and me. But the moment we were here...hyung was different. He was so...small.”

“Fear does that. Fear can make an idiot out of anyone.”

The corner of his mouth curved up. “Thanks for calling me an idiot.”

You shrugged. “Seems appropriate. Anyway, you were saying that you’ve been picking fights with Jin to try and get him back to normal.”

“You...wow.” He looked a little surprised. “You’re smart.”

“I have a couple degrees and certificates. It’s part of my job. I have to study the human psyche so that I know how to decorate this place and what might be needed to prevent people from mentally breaking down.” You shrugged, then hugged the pillow tighter. “I was trained to be alone. You all weren’t. But you were saying.”

“Oh. Right. Um...I just...I want him to be who he always is with us, but he just seems different and normally he would be goofing around with us and playfully bickering. He wouldn’t be this serious or worried.” He was twisting a ring on his hand, drawing your attention to his tattoos. “We’ve always relied upon him, and if we weren’t so freaked out...any other time it would be okay. He should be able to freak out. But Taehyungie-hyung and Jiminie-hyung were crying last night. And Yoongi-hyung, he pretends it doesn’t get to him, but it does. And Namjoonie-hyung...he’s our leader, but he’s always had hyung to...support him and hold him up--even if they aren’t in agreement over whatever decision Namjoonie-hyung has made and Jin-hyung has reluctantly agreed to.”

“So you thought poking and prodding at him might make him go back to normal. But you forgot to factor in what it was you normally bickered about. Plain, everyday things, not things like family, and not in situations like this.”

He nodded. “Kind of figured that out when you hit me in the head with a spoon.”

“You’re lucky that’s what I was holding at the time,” You muttered, laying back.

“I know, Hoseok hyung just about had a panic attack when he saw the knife that was sitting at your place, right beside where the spoon had been.”

You sat up again. “So, we’re good?”

“What?”

“You’re done with this nonsense and you’re going to talk to Jin like an adult?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He looked uncomfortable. “I guess. If I have to.”

You rolled your eyes.

He smirked slightly, looking at his hands again.

“What?”

“Is one of the things you learned how to make people comfortable around you and how to be comfortable around people?”

“Mmm, I wish there were classes, then I could pretend I have some idea of what I’m doing more often.”

“Then how come you can talk to me and I can talk to you like we’ve known each other for years?” He asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, gazing into your eyes with a strange sort of boldness that seemed both taunting, alluring, but also fleeting--as though any moment he might lose that bit of courage that made him ask, and retreat even though this was the room he was sleeping in.

You gaped for a second, but you couldn’t figure out a good response. Because it was unusual. You would never act like this, not even with those people you once considered your friends. Maybe with your family, but not strangers.

Not Jungkook.

And yet, Jungkook.

“I...don’t know. Maybe you remind me of someone...or something...or maybe you’ve pushed me just a little too far.” You set the pillow aside, feigning a little confidence.

Suddenly he moved to sit next to you, facing you and in your space. “Or maybe it’s something else.”

And you know, it’s been forever since you were this close to an attractive man. Or talked to an attractive man.

So you froze, panicking, and then made a strangled noise and you were leaving the room before you knew what you were doing and scoffing. “No, I think you just got on my nerves.”

“Hey,” He said, quickly catching you, licking his lips and then chewing them as if suddenly nervous. “I...I was wondering...is there any way you could give us something to do? And maybe...take a break to show us where things are? We were all going a little crazy today.”

You nodded, a little surprised by the warmth of his large hand on your shoulder and his returned proximity. “Yeah, I’ll...make a list of things that need to be done that others can do, and then we can all discuss what you’re able to do. And we can do a quick tour in the morning.”

He smiled a little hesitantly.

You smiled back, then continued out of the room, back to the living space, but your heart was still racing from that little smile. And his hand. Dear mercy, that was a nice hand. Big and warm and strong….

No. Nope, you couldn’t fantasize about him. You were trapped with him. Fifteen years was a long time if things didn’t go well between the two of you.

Fifteen years with that incubus.

Just rocket science. No big deal.

Masterlist ~ Jungkook Masterpost

Tagging: @missmoxxiesworld @bryvada @i-dont-even-know-fck @knjhe @alex--awesome--22

#Jungkook #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #Reader x Jungkook #jeon jungkook #theives!au #bts #bts fic #2seok #seokjin #hoseok #namjoon #yoongi #jimin #taehyung

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readingbatfamficsat3am · 3 years

Text

Universe Jumping

Rose stood outside the building. The black pant suit she wore was uncomfortable over her body armor and hidden weapons - knives, shuriken, her twin blades and even a small hand gun strapped to the inside of her thigh. Rachel was waiting on a rooftop nearby, they had agreed that her magic wasn’t necessary for this mission. It was a simple infiltrate and rescue type thing and S.H.I.E.L.D, for all their bedazzle and secrecy, weren’t anything Rose couldn’t deal with by herself.

Rachel had stolen a security card for her the previous day, while Rose had been in the abandoned building across the street, trying to figure out the layout of the S.H.I.E.L.D base. Rachel was lucky that her magic allowed her to shape shift, it would have been very difficult to go unnoticed with her dark purple hair, grey skin and red headstone that glowed every once in a while. She had taken the liberty of turning Rose’s silver hair brown and temporarily healing her eye, which was very much appreciated.

Rose thought back to the conversation she’d had with the demon not ten minutes ago and smiled softly to herself.

“Be careful in there.” Rachel had said, “I know you are very much capable of defending yourself but I worry sometimes. Just go in, get Jason, try to avoid people like Romanoff the best you can and I’ll see you out here in half an hour.”

Rose remembered smiling then too, “I love that you worry about me, even though it’s rather unnecessary. It’s cute,” she had tapped Rachel’s nose and leaned in to give her a kiss, “I swear on Gar’s love for stupid video games that I will get in and out with minimal trouble but I can’t promise that I won’t accidentally kill someone on the way.”

Rachel had shrugged and grinned, “Good enough for me, now go and rescue that idiot before he makes an even bigger problem than jumping across multiverses. Does he know how exhausting it is to open portals across multiverses, if he’s not dead already I’ll probably kill him myself.”

“I better go. I’ll let you know if I run into any trouble and need some help.” She had said, though she highly doubted that even if she did run into Romanoff she would have a problem.

Now, Rose glanced once up at Rachel before walking down the busy shop street in her impractical yet doable 3 inch heels towards the S.H.I.E.L.D building that despite appearing to be just another corporate company, it screamed shady government division to Rose. It just had that look about it.

Without her eye-patch -- which she strangely missed -- people barely gave her a second glance. Most of the agents around her were also in black suits, some even had shades which in her opinion was way too on the nose. Trust Jason to end up in a place like this.

She hadn’t seen him in over five years, not since before he died. Rose had broken up with him about two months before his death, and had been devastated to hear what had happened to him. Now she had heard that he had come back to life eight months later and had told no one, but reappeared five years later with a vengeance and a smoking addiction that were both likely to kill him.

He’d even developed a habit for murder, even worse than Rose’s -- which was hard to do if she was being honest.

She reached the check-in point at the end of the room and gave the woman sitting behind the desk an easy smile. Rose’s father had drilled that smile into her, make people feel at ease, make them trust you with a few nice words and stab them through the back afterwards.

The woman took the security card from her and scanned it through the system -- Samantha Marshall, 24 years old, Clearance Level 5, whatever that meant. Rose was going to break into anything, as long as she got what she wanted. There were no problems and Rose quickly took the card back before moving through the turnstile and heading towards the elevator.

“Any problems?” Rachel asked, with what seemed like boredom laced through her tone. Despite her worry earlier on she trusted Rose to be able to take care of herself on missions like these.

She tapped at the earpiece before replying, “Nope, for top secret security logistics division it’s surprisingly lax on security. We should probably stay off comms though, it might look suspicious if I look like I'm talking to myself. Thanks for checking in.”

Rachel gave her a quick, “No problem” before turning off the comms. Just then, the elevator opened and three agents stepped out and Rose stepped in. She didn’t actually know where in the building Jason was, she was actually planning on torturing the information out of someone in the back of a supply closet. It wasn’t one of her greatest plans but it was far from being one of her worst. At least if anything went wrong, there was a demon sorceress capable of destroying the universe outside.

Just as the doors were about to close, another woman stepped inside. They gave each other a quick nod before they both turned to face the closed doors. Rose recognised the woman as Melinda May from her brief hacking trip through S.H.I.E.L.D’s systems. May was almost as skilled as Natasha Romanoff and had developed a nickname in The Cavalry. She smiled to herself, and decided to have a little fun and take advantage of being in a universe where no one had ever heard of her.

“I hear they call you The Cavalry around here.” She got barely a nod in response, but she could tell by May’s subtle change in body language that Rose was irritating her. “I’d say i’m a fan of your work but I didn’t know you existed until two days ago. Besides there are cooler nicknames to have.”

She could hear May’s slight intake of breath and almost grinned. Rose liked fucking with people like May, they had a tough exterior that’s usually enough to get people running in fear, but had certain topics or issues that caused that exterior to crack when poked at.

“Do you have any suggestions for a ‘cooler’ nickname then?” May’s tone was flawless, no trace of any annoyance or irritation to be found.

“A few, none that you’d be interested in.” Rose turned to grin at her. Finally the doors opened allowing Rose to step onto the floor and to say without turning back, “It was nice meeting you May.”

As she made her way through the building she glanced at the various agents passing by her in the halls, trying to find one likely to give her the information she needed. Rose found them in Jonathan Clarke. Dabbing a bit of chloroform onto a handkerchief she pulled her pocket, she waited in a corner for Mr Clarke to walk by. She didn’t have to wait long, he only managed to struggle for a few seconds before the knock out drug took affect. The hardest part of the whole thing was dragging him into a nearby closet without making a mess.

“Hey, Rae. I was wondering if you could let up on the magic? I was hoping to do the rest of this as myself.”

She didn’t get a reply but a quick glance at her shoulder saw that her hair had returned to its silver and Rose assumed that her eye-patch had returned. She ripped off the pant suit, her ‘Ravager’ outfit underneath. The guy was starting to wake up so she pulled out a few of her knives and got to work.

*********

He lasted longer than she’d expected but not long enough that it was difficult -- or fun. Rose left him in supply closet to bleed out but left the door open so that if he was lucky someone found him before he died. She ignored the fact that there were security cameras at every turn. No one here could stop her unless they had a rocket launcher on hand.

There was already blood on her face when the first agent tried to take her down. There was some in her hair by the time she was finished with him. Five more came running at her. A flick of Rose’s wrist brought three of them down with knives in their chests. Whipping out a blade she blocked a bullet to her left and slit a throat on her right before stabbing the agent who had dared to try shoot her.

Alarms blared around her and lights flared, illuminating the rooms and halls in a red hue. It seemed fitting for the state of affairs Rose was currently dealing with. She reached the stairwell and began climbing. The agent had told her Jason was on the 7th floor so Rose cut her way through S.H.I.E.L.D agents until she reached that floor.

There was a small army of agents waiting when she finally opened the door to the 7th floor. Rose just managed to duck behind a desk before they opened fire. She took a deep breath. She really hated doing this, even though the bullets wouldn’t kill her they still hurt like a bitch. She grit her teeth and jumped back out into the fray. Two bullets pierced her shoulder and Rose let out one quiet cry of pain before whipping out five shuriken, each one finding their targets in five agents. Her twin blades cut through the remaining agents easily. Her clothes, hair and armor was soaked with blood, some of it was her own.

Two more agents shot at her from behind and her back arched in pain before she turned to face them and got three more bullets in the chest. Rose let out a cry of anger and ran at them. Sliding onto the floor, Rose kicked at Agent 1’s leg, hard enough to break bone. In the same moment, she swept Agent 2 off their feet and brought a sword straight through his chest until it hit the floor boards underneath.

She quickly jumped to her feet, glanced around at the blood covered room and grinned. Agent 2 let out a scream when she pulled her sword from his chest and Agent 1 -- who was the agent with the best chance of living as he only had a broken leg -- practically pissed his pants when she licked one of her knives clean.

Five minutes later -- god this building was huge -- she was striding down the final hallway towards her friend. Rose kicked in the door, and found Jason sitting in a chair across from Phil Coulson, Clint Barton and Natasha fucking Romanoff. He was in a complete state of calm, at least until she came charging through the door, then he had turned pale.

Romanoff had pulled out a gun and was about to pull the trigger when Jason stood up, “Stop, stop! She’s a friend. Besides, bullets would do nothing.” The assassin turned S.H.I.E.L.D agent gave both of them a strange look before standing down. Coulson and Barton had stood up by then, but Rose didn’t care. She only saw Jason.

“Is it really you?” She whispered, tears in her eyes. Jason only nodded. Then he pulled her into a hug, ignoring her blood stained attire. Rose allowed herself one moment to appreciate that he was here before she pulled back and punched him across the face. She was pretty sure she heard a crack. Romanoff had her gun up again and Barton leaped across the desk to tackle her. Rose quickly put him in a headlock and faced Romanoff to tell her to put the gun down when Jason stood up again and stood between them.

“Rose, Natasha stop please.”

Rose growled at him before releasing Barton. “You’re such a piece of shit Jason. We mourned for you. Dick had a mental fucking breakdown. And you were alive the last five years?” She was yelling now, poking at his chest, getting blood all over his $5000 suit. “I get the whole revenge crusade. Trust me I get it but the Titans were your family. I was your family in a way and you not only died, but you came back to life and decided not to tell anyone for five motherfucking years. Then when we finally realize it’s you, you decide to start universe jumping?” Coulson, Barton and Romanoff all looked utterly confused by Rose’s speech but said nothing. “Oh, by the way there are about fifty agents outside dying. You might want to take care of that.”

Jason looked horrified at that, “You killed the agents outside?” She rolled her eyes, “It’s not any worse than anything you’ve ever done, so cut the hypocritical bullshit. Besides I thought you were being held hostage.”

Coulson pulled out his phone and Rose assumed he was getting medics to the agents outside but he didn’t leave the room. Instead he turned to Jason, “Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on.”

Jason let out a sigh, “Coulson, Clint, Natasha meet Rose. She’s an...old friend.”

Rose scoffed, “Old friend doesn’t even begin to cover it.” She turned to face them. “Jason and I are from another universe, another multiverse, where I am the daughter of one of the world’s most dangerous assassins and Jason is the adopted son of Batman, the one who died five years ago but came back to life God knows how and became a crime lord and a serial killer. No judgement on the serial killer thing, I’m not much better.”

No one said anything so Rose continued on, turning back to Jason, “By the way Rachel is waiting outside and preparing to skin you alive. Do you have any idea how much it drains her to open portals across multiverses?”

Jason had the sense to look guilty, “Shit, on a scale of 1-10 how mad is she? Like will she do that creepy thing with her eyes or will she summon a demon monster to torture me.”

Barton interrupted Rose before she got a chance to answer, “What the fuck is going on? Coulson why haven’t we taken her into custody? She just killed thirty people and…”

“Shit. Thirty died. I am so sorry about that,” Rose interrupted. “Just give me a sec and I’ll fix all this.” Natasha -- who haden’t spoken up until then -- said, “How are you going to fix the murders of thirty people?”

Rose ignored her and turned her comms back on, “Hey babe.” Jason looked at her then, she waved him off. “Yeah im fine. Guess what, Jason actually isn’t being held hostage and I just killed thirty of his friends so I was wondering of you could do some of your wiggly woos with your fingers?” She didn’t get a reply but a large purple circle suddenly appeared at the wall and Rachel stepped through it, still in her casual wear of a crop top with jeans and sunglasses.

Romanoff must have an itchy trigger finger because the second Rachel stepped into the room shots were fired, which she stopped with a lazy hand raised. Rose however pulled out her sword and glared at the assassin, “Don’t you dare shoot at my girlfriend again.”

Rachel put a hand on her shoulder, whispering that she was fine. Jason was trying not to stare them. He was clearly startled at their whole relationship and he was probably scared of getting flayed by Rachel in the middle of Phil Coulson’s office

#marvel #dc #ravager #raven teen titans #rachel roth #phil coulson #natasha romanoff #black widow #clint barton #hawkeye #jason todd #red hood #fanfic #crossover

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olivieblake · 4 years

Note

Sorry I haven't detailed my Friendship breakup ask earlier, managing life is taking too much time these days!

It's a bit hard to summarise but I have been soulmate-type friends with this girl, K, for three and a half years and really good friend with this guy, R, for two and a half. We all work together and our triangle friendship worked well. K and R fooled around a few times after parties, K developed feelings, R didn't and thought it was a friends with benefits thing while K hoped it would become more but it never did. Big problem was the lack of communication between them, both thought the other knew what they wanted but we know that things don't work this way.

I've been there for all of it, particularly for K who had been hurt by the lack of emotional intelligence R indeed displayed along the way. But I also felt, and I think R knew it herself, that she had been getting her hopes up almost all along and was setting herself for heartbreak, but life needs to be lived and sometimes we make mistakes just so that we can learn from them and K and I talked a lot about that, as I was myself getting entangled with another colleague.

Fast forward to last November, where, after months of horrible things piling up 2020 style, R and I spent an evening together watching movies, eating pizzas, drinking English cider and talking about how fucking sad we all were and fuck 2020 and family members dying of cancer way too fast, both in his and my family, and work being hell because the government is doing shit for making schools safe and everything going wrong all the time. At some point during the night there was a moment when I felt that R was offering more than just sleeping together in the same bed and I had a moment of hesitation but decided to not give in to it and to the the confort it might bring us both, mainly because I was sure it would hurt K if she ever heard about it. So we just slept, read books in the morning while drinking tea and there was no awkwardness because we both knew that it came from the fact that we trust each other enough to ask for comfort and even if it would have been a possibly stupid way to get it, it might have made us feel better in the moment. (even though we both think we'd have burst into tears 30 seconds in and not done it in the end)

I wondered whether I should tell K or not and decided to do it because nothing had happened, really, and if I didn't tell her when we told each other most things, that's when it'd have become suspicious and dishonest. So I told her that there had been a weird moment between R and I, that nothing had happened in the end, not in the best way in retrospect because it felt too casual to her, confirmed that had it happened it would have been weird for her and thought that was that since the next few days went fine. But at the end of that week she sent me an audio, saying that if I had feelings for R, I had a lot of time to tell her, that she needed people she could trust and who respected her in her life and that we weren't friends anymore. And that was it. Since then, she has refused to have a conversation to clear things up and has avoided me several weeks but has kept talking to R as usual.

I should have told her in a different way and I understand why she felt hurt imagining that R and I had spent a night of passion together but I told her, and then explained more clearly, that nothing had actually happened, that I wasn't into R and he wasn't into me, we were just both very sad and a bit too drunk.

The thing is, he's not hers, they haven't been in a relationship, he's not her ex either. Even if we had slept together, it wouldn't have had anything to do with her; people don't belong to people. But what's really hard is that we've been really good friends for several years and she was so quick to assume I would be cruel to her on purpose and that her feelings didn't matter to me when we've been there for each other a lot. And that putting an end to our friendship via WhatsApp was apparently so easy to do. (I don't really think it was, but it sure feels like it.)

And I've been asking other friends' opinions to see how in the wrong I was really, since maybe I couldn't see the situation clearly enough from my position, and the general consensus is that since I didn't do anything with him and was honest with her right after the nothing happened, she's being a bit extreme when the only actual thing she could reasonably resent me for is the way I told her. We're adults, we should be able to at least talk about it but I've offered several times and she says she doesn't need to or want to. But we're in the same friend group, we're supposed to spend time all together at some point and us not talking has an effect on the whole group dynamics, not just on us, and my awful need to make sure everything is balanced for everyone is going crazy.

It's been a long few months and my already sad and stressed out brain is having a hard time dealing with it and I hate that we're in this situation for something as futile as boy problems. I think there are issues of jealousy and self-confidence that stem from something else and that she's projecting it all onto this but it still sucks a lot, especially since she's refusing to talk about anything, even if we're at least back to saying hello and she has stopped fleeing every room I am in.

Anyways, friendship breakups suck, they can be as stupid as romantic breakups, and 2021 has better be nicer too everyone than 2020! Sorry for the novel-lenghth ask/story, my life is a succession of ridiculous plot points.

I hope you and Baby and Mr. Blake are doing well in these weird, weird times and I've started your book and I have loved your last video, especially the part on jealousy/possesiveness which was really well-put, as usual! Oh and thank you so, so much for your book recs on my last ask, I've added them to my To read-list <3

Okay, Love you, bye!

I feel like my last ask was a little bit too detailed to give a general answer/launch a large topic so I'm guessing it's mainly about how to deal with a lack of closure when people end things without the possibility to talk and get/give explanations. And I guess it goes for romantic relationships as well as friendships.

Love your big sistering, love you !

WELL I actually did not get this ask until a few hours after I had filmed this week’s video so not to worry lol I wasn’t able to address this specifically. but I think that’s the thing about the generality of grief over losing a friend—we don’t necessarily have to know the specifics of your story to understand it’s something we probably all relate to. and in this case I most certainly relate! I think this is one of those things where your friend had some personal things to work on and it put you in a difficult position, wherein you made the most logical choice. that’s the problem: you are looking logically at what is for her an emotionally fraught situation about her self-worth and your loyalty, which is why the math on your end isn’t adding up. (for the record I am much more likely to be in your position than hers; she sounds like a water sign but WHO’S TO SAy)

anyway, I don’t think you’re in this position over boy problems. a boy appears to be the subject yes but in fact he is the object; the subject is your friend’s feelings about herself and your—forgive me, but your compulsion to force her to get over it. I may not be completely right about that, but it does appear to me that you could have said nothing about the “nothing” that happened but chose not to because, ultimately, part of you wanted her to know. I don’t think this is sinister of you; I have a lot of friends who really need to just get over it as a general rule and sometimes it does feel like shocking them into it with new information might do the trick. but I think most likely she feels or intuits that in some way, and I suspect the root of her anger isn’t really about him but the “betrayal” she feels from you: that in that moment, you weren’t thinking about her* despite the fact that you would probably have known she would hurt if you had been (I’m sure you did know this to be true, and in my opinion are rationalizing your part in it; which is fine because you’re the main character in your life and not hers, but it is what it is) and of course she’s thinking about her, so what seems like a lot of pain on her end that she has no healthy method of dealing with is straining your relationship. I hope she can bring herself to deal with it, but she has a lot of work to do on herself before she can reach the pinnacle of what’s really bothering her. until then, it’s easier to blame you.

* edited to add: I know you said that you decided not to move forward sexually because of her, but I think what actually hurts her is not the possibility of sex, but the intimacy you had with him in that moment, which even you know is something she craved; perhaps delusionally. you don’t have to acknowledge whether this is a reasonable thing to be upset by, but I think the entirety of the situation is probably hitting her much differently than it hits you.

anyway my answer was not about this situation specifically but about why friendship breakups hurt so much, and I don’t think knowing the situation changes my answer. I hope it does help, because I think there is some part of this that is always true: one person needs to do something on their own before the friendship can be repaired, and it may not have been a problem at all if not for an issue of very specific timing. but trust me, whether this specific thing had happened or not this would still be true about the two of you, and about the ways your personal dogmas differ, and perhaps it’s better to see if she can take this leap now. maybe she will grow from it; maybe she won’t. either way, this is the part-grief, part-guilt formula I’m talking about, where sometimes you have to admit the breaking point happened, whether it could have gone differently or not, and now it’s out of your control

but I hope it helps to talk about!

#big sistering #olivie blake is not writing #persecate

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365days365movies · 4 years

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January 2, 2021: Mission: Impossible (Part 1)

My mission, should I choose to accept it...

YEAH I KNOW IT’S A CLICHÉ. I just wanted to say it once.

So, previously on this blog, I watched the film Top Gun. Also previously, I didn’t like the film Top Gun that much, especially not its main character, Maverick, played by one illustrious Tom Cruise. Goodbye, Maverick. I banish ye from this sacred place, for this is a place where your toxic, arrogant, douchebaggery will NOT stand.

Instead, we’re gonna jump into a separate Tom Cruise vehicle, one so iconic that he launched a multi-million dollar, 6-movie franchise, and made himself known as an actor who (obsessively) does his own stunts. Which, of course, he likes to let people know, and ramps up with every successive movie. Y’hear that he’s going to space next? Like, real actual space? Don’t know what action’s going to happen there, but call me cautiously intrigued. And by the way, I know that Top Gun: Maverick is coming out this year, and that it’s technically a continuation of the original Top Gun franchise, but as I said...Maverick is no longer allowed here. It’s all Ethan Hunt now.

A few things before I start the recap. First off: did I like this movie? And the answer is...I mean, yeah? I’d like to see more Mission: Impossible movies after this, if I’m honest. I’ve heard that Henry Cavill’s lip is amazing in the most recent one, so call me interested in getting to that point. I mean, that’s 5 movies, and I’m not doing that this month, I tell you what. Still, consider them on my list! As for this movie, let’s get into it. Might help me dissect my feelings a little better.

Second, I should say that Mission: Impossible (the whole series, but especially this film), is loosely based upon the original television series from the 1960s, starring Leonard Nimoy, Peter Graves, Martin Landau, Lesley Ann Warren, and more. It was a spy-series starring members of the Impossible Missions Force, or IMF. Ran for 7 seasons starting in 1966, then was revived in the ‘80s with Peter Graves returning. And, interestingly enough, I’ll have more to say on that later.

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Third and finally, I should say my relationship with spy movies. Can’t say I’ve seen a lot of them, in truth, but I have seen the original Sean Connery (RIP) James Bond films, with the exception of Never Say Never Again. Haven’t seen any other Bond films, and any other spy movies that I’ve seen aren’t super notable, in truth. And yeah, I’ve seen the Austin Powers films, but that’s a conversation for a different month.

OK, enough background folderol, let’s get to that impossible mission, shall we? And SPOILERS, by the way.

Recap

OK, so we start with our intrepid spy group mid-mission, interrogating a guy using a fake dead-prostitute, a fake hotel, and a fake face, as seen by Tom Cruise taking off one of the iconic masks from the original show. And while this is clearly enhanced special effects, the original series used real latex rubber masks to accomplish the effect of taking the mask off. I dunno, that seems more charming to me than this:

But call that personal opinion, I guess. Anyway, we cut to Jon Voight...he’s the villain, isn’t he?

I mean, come on, he’s gotta be the villain, it’s Jon Voight in a ‘90s movie, where there are very few big names outside of himself and Cruise. But, I might be wrong about that, as Voight is playing Jim Phelps in this movie, and they wouldn’t turn Jim Phelps, of all characters, into a villain. He’s one of the main characters from the original series, played by Peter Graves. Dude even made it into the sequel series in the ‘80s as the head of IMF, a role which he appears to have taken up here as well. So, OK, I must be mistaken, he’s not gonna be the villain.

Right?

Anyway, after Jim Phelps chooses to accept the mission, the tape self-destructs, and our guys are going to Prague for find proof that some dude is stealing government secrets. We also find out that Phelps (Voight, remember) is married to Claire, played by Emmanuelle Beart, a woman 25 years younger than Voight. Well...sure? Anyway, we set up some nifty gadgets and planned disguises, and we make our way to the mission. And once there, the plan goes off without a hitch. I mean, mostly, anyway. No plan is foolproof after all! So, anyway, everybody’s dead.

Yeah. Wow. Everybody just got MERCED. Emilio Estevez gets crushed by an elevator, Kristin Scott Thomas gets stabbed alongside the suspect (somehow; I don’t understand how and why she doesn’t just walk away when she sees the dude clearly getting stabbed). Ingeborga Dapkunaite gets blown up, Emmanuelle Béart does to, but...off-screen. Hmm. And Voight gets shot...on camera...so that Hunt can see it happen...

It’s them, right? It’s Jim and Claire, the married couple, right? Like...they’re totally the villains of the movie, yeah? Because, like, we don’t see Claire get killed, and Phelps literally gets killed on camera. And the way the gun is pointed at him, CLEARLY looks like he’s shooting himself. It’s even the same suit that he’s wearing, you can see the sleeve! Come ON, man!

But, no, it can’t be that easy, right? This is a spy movie, after all, one of the best! Plus, I’m only, 20 minutes in? It CAN’T BE THAT EASY! And again, they wouldn’t do that to Jim Phelps, arguably the most well-known character from the original series! Right? RIGHT?

I’m just gonna say right now, I’m gonna be so upset if I’m right about this. Anyway...

Well, looks like Ethan’s being framed for the death of his team. Ah. So, it’s this story, huh? The mission was an attempt to root out a mole, and was apparently successful, according to Agent Kittedge (Henry Czerny at his most slimily dickish). Hunt is (very badly) interrogated by Kittredge, who literally only exacerbated the situation with his dumb, dumb interrogation tactics. Yeah, it’s gonna be one of those movies. Anyway, Ethan uses explosive chewing gum to escape, blows up a tank, and kills, just, SO many fish. Aquarists everywhere shivered as it happened, I’m sure.

Hunt goes...back to the safe house? Would...would the IMF not know where their agents are stationed? And you just went...back? Couple that with the fact that Hunt figures out how to contact the mysterious dealer “Max” within about 10 minutes, and IMF officials couldn’t figure that out for 2 YEARS at this point, and...these guys aren’t great spies, are they? So much slipping under their nose, geez. And if Jim actually is the mole, then WOW, these guys are incompetent. Still, outside of suspicion, there isn’t much proof of that yet...

Oh, look. Claire’s alive. Yeah...yeah, I’m calling my shot, it’s Jim and Claire. I don’t care if I’m wrong. In fact, I sincerely hope I am, for multiple reasons. But, yeah, I’m calling it officially now. And yeah, I’m not happy about it.

Anyway, Hunt, being not nearly suspicious enough of Claire’s survival, has indeed cracked the code that the entire IMF couldn’t crack in, again, 2 YEARS up to this point. Max has contacted him through the AIM server boards (Usenet, I know, but it’s the ‘90s; couldn’t resist). Max, played by Vanessa Redgrave in a pleasant surprise, makes a deal with Ethan to get the real list of agents, rather than the decoy that she’s been given. She accepts, as they narrowly escape capture by the IMF, and Ethan agrees to give her the full list for $10 million. And for the record, that set of demands is...VERY specific, on Ethan’s end. Thought about this before, huh, buddy-boy?

Anyway, Claire (who’s definitely guilty) and Ethan recruit two disavowed agents to help them. One is Franz Kreiger, a knife-loving sociopath played by the amazing Jean Reno. The other is Luther Stickell, a slickly-dressed computer hacker charmingly played by Ving Rhames. And I gotta say...I’m into it. Like, these two are both awesome characters, and I’m all for it. Rhames, while visually not looking like you’d expect an IT guy to look, pulls it off really well. He’s potentially my favorite character in the film, behind Max and Kreiger. Because, Kreiger...

So, Leon: The Professional is on my list for this month, and having seen Reno in this movie, I am EXCITED to see a movie in which he’s the star. I’ve only really seen him in this and Godzilla and heard him in Flushed Away, and he’s always my favorite character in those films. Not sure if it’s his characters, or his rakish charm, or his ABSOLUTELY AWESOME voice, but I’m a sucker for some Jean Reno, lemme tell you.

Allllllll right, time for some spy action! Looks like we’re going into Langley to get some information. Not an easy mission, that’s for sure. In fact, some might even say it’s a-

...Yeah, OK. Anyway, the mission proceeds in what may be, and I’m gonna be honest...one of the most heart-poundingly tense and enjoyable sequences I’ve seen in a spy movie. Cruise dangling by a wire over a supposedly break-in-proof room that sets off alarms at even the slightest trigger? Yeah...yeah, that shit was cool, I’m not gonna lie. Kreiger struggling to hold Cruise up, Luther coaching from the comms while awaiting the NOC list on his computers; it’s pretty awesome. No complaints there, 10/10.

OK, let’s break it up into two halves again, yeah? Part 2!

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deity-of-calamity · 3 years

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Rules

(Posting this for mobile users)

Mun is 33

Muse is Demisexual and Bi romantic (leans towards men)

Muse Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

NO INCEST (By this I mean don’t bring it into rps with me. As I will not rp it. Selfcest is fine however.)

NO POLITICS (I never have, nor ever will, care for political bullshit. So I’d appreciate it if you kept that away from me while we rp. I come on here to get AWAY from real life stress. It’s not easy since I’m American and I have to hear about this regardless of how hard I try not to. But I’d really like it if you could keep it away from rping. Thanks.)

DON’T CONTROL MY MUSE (unless we plot it for an rp)

DON’T GIVE MY MUSE HEADCANONS (Ex: How they like the temperature, what kind of food they like, etc. I’m the one who ultimately decides what they want. Discussing it is fine but don’t automatically give them something I haven’t agreed to.)

NO SMUT WITH MINORS ( I MEAN IT. You’ll be blocked if you lie about your age)

I will rp NSFW (Mostly violence. Smut isn’t common but will be tagged/put under a read more if it happens. And even if it does, I prefer it to be with muns I trust and for it be as clean as possible.)

I’m okay with romantic relationships (but there needs to be chemistry. Bill is not an easy person to love)

Reply length: I am not very good with writing long replies. Let alone super long like paragraphs. However sometimes I can write long ones if I’m in the mood and can actually think of a lot to write. Typically I just try to have more than one sentence written out. But when it comes to an ask, those tend to be short because I have no idea if anyone wants to turn that into an rp. So if you do, either tell me or move it to a separate text post.

I’m mostly a just wing it rper and I don’t always make starters. But feel free to message me if you’d like to plot. I also rp based on my mood. Some days I may not be feeling certain muses and I’m sorry. Also real life stuff can be stressful at times and I tend to play games or listen to music to relax. I’m also an artist so I may draw too.

Please don’t pressure me about replies. I am trying to get to them as best I can.

Sometimes I’ll drop threads without warning. However it’s not usually on purpose as most of the time I’m trying to come up with a good response. Not everything is going to be an instant reply. I like to think of something if it’s a more thought provoking thread. Sometimes the reply might be long. Sometimes not.

I enjoy Hazbin Hotel content. I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable but please don’t harass me about it. Just because I enjoy the characters and story, it does not make me a bad person and I am not going to waste my breath on people who only want to be jerks over it.

The way I portray Bill is a bit kinder than what most people may be used to. I am often anxious about how others will react to this but I felt the need to point out that mine is more of an angsty mess than just flat out heartless. He’ll also make a mention of Will here and there. This is mostly due to the close connection my Bill had with another person’s Will but I love the idea of the two being close. (Be it like brothers or even romantic)

This is just more of something I want to point out. I tend to rp Bill in a humanoid form, even if he’s in the mindscape and it’s more of a dream body. As I have no idea how to rp a triangle and I’ve been doing this type of form for a few years now.

Because I feel like it may not be very clear and I’m never sure of what to tag. The fact of the matter is, Bill is a dark character. So dark themes will be present. Especially psychological ones. I’ll still tag things like suicidal stuff and if it happens, smut, (though that’s not very likely unless I trust the mun and even then it’s got to be clean enough)

This one kind of falls in with the above. Bill is a villain and has abusive tendencies. Even if he forms a close relationship. He will try to restrain himself for a loved one but some aggression is to be expected. I guess a way to look at it is that Bill has Yandere habits with those he cares for. My version of Bill can be gentle but he has limits.

Shipping: I love ships. Can be platonic, romantic, etc.

UPDATE:

One: I have thought this over in the past. But now more than ever I’ve decided to add this into my rules.

I AM NOT A MEME RESOURCE. Please reblog memes/sentence starters from the original source. The only exception is if the source is deleted or can’t be found. If you reblog from me but don’t send me at least one thing in return, then don’t bother. The second exception is my friends. I don’t mind if they reblog from me. The third exception being that if you’re on mobile a lot or mobile only. I know it can be hard to find sources sometimes because of that. But I would PREFER if you sent me at least one thing instead of reblogging memes or sentence starters all the time.

Two: I am fine with Bill x older Dipper and Bill x older Mabel. But they MUST be 21 or older. I would say 18 like I have in the past but a lot of people seem to have issues with that as it’s still in the teens. Besides it makes rping drinking and possibly drug use (if your muse does either) easier to do since they’d be fully grown adults.

Three: This is more of just me wanting to speak on it. But I feel it needs to be said. Please don’t make your muse already know that Bill is bad or that he’s no good without much interaction. A bad feeling is fine but Bill is a master manipulator and I’d really like for people to remember that. Your muse can get bad feelings and feel suspicious but unless it’s someone from canon or a muse he’s been around for long enough, it’s not fair to throw him under the bus when they don’t actually know anything. The exceptions can be if your muse meets a Ford or one of the Pines and they talk about Bill. Or if they speak with some of the denizens from Gravity Falls. Other than that, they would only have information gathered from rumors.

Anything that would actually be on file would either be the Time Police or people from worlds affected by Bill. The most accurate stuff would be the Time Police though. And even then, top secret. So don’t just say your muse has something unless they have good connections. Even that has it’s limits but I also don’t want to just say the muses can’t have anything at all. Especially if they work for a government of some kind. That would be about the only way they could get something solid. Especially since Bill these days is presumed dead and gone.

Four: I work 5 days a week and even though it’s part time, sometimes I’m just too tired/sore to get to much during the week. I’ll try to get replies and stuff done but big stuff is usually best saved for the weekends. And Friday if I can manage that.

I understand if people have anxiety issues. So you can send me Just Gold or tell me you’ve read my rules. I’ll usually assume people who interact with me have but I like to be sure.

#re posting and re pinning my rules since I've updated them #outofcontracts

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mrs-denton · 4 years

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Sappy Paul Denton x OC Fanfic [Part 2]

The Start of the Collapse

After Paul’s departure, Bebe’s eyes struggled to shut. She laid in bed and kept glancing over at her phone occasionally, half-expecting something from Paul to come up. When she realized worrying was futile, she put the phone down and laid it down on its charging pad. She was worried, but she tried equilibrating those thoughts with reasonable positive ones because she was pregnant. She had to avoid as much stress as possible.

Staying up to write, as she did on sleepless nights like these, she scribbled her thoughts into her diary until she crashed. In the morning when she awoke, the unwelcome feeling of first trimester morning sickness sharply seized her from her slumber. She went to the bathroom to alleviate herself from the nausea.

Treating patients at the hospital she worked at, including those with the Grey Death, was dreary. Their spirits were broken and some of them got desperate. She wished she could divulge the truth behind the virus, or at least what she knew, but it would likely get her fired. She made sure to wear the most protective gear—respirator, face shield, gloves, a gown, and foot covers. Her health was going to have to become her top priority if she wanted a healthy baby.

Hours ebbed and flowed with moments of hectic excitement during rushes of patients and emergencies, but inched like slugs when things were slow and she caught herself worrying about Paul. She wondered what time it was in Hong Kong—surely, at least half a day ahead—and if he was alive. She thought about JC as well and didn’t want any harm to come to the Dentons, namely because JC was a cool person, but especially because she knew Paul would be devastated if his younger brother should fall. She scrubbed the pressing thoughts away from the walls of her mind—months of meditation had helped—and she continued to show up at work.

She checked her work emails to see if by some crazy chance, Paul had been daring enough to send her a message there. But of course not—he would never do something to endanger them, especially with the Aquinas net. After what felt like a 12-hour shift, Bebe returned home with takeout and quickly checked her computer. There, an email from Paul—or rather, his alias—was sent hours ago while she was still at work.

“Hey babe. I made it safely to Hong Kong, thank god. Good news—everything’s taken care of. My brother and I are gonna be fine. The bad news is that I’ll have to be living here for a few months as I recuperate, as I predicted. I was in pretty bad shape when I arrived, which is why it’s going to take longer for me to recover. Tong wants to keep me under supervision for a while. But I’m already feeling better.

Things are pretty tight in HK. I’m a wanted man here as well. I don’t think making a move right now is wise, but I can’t wait to see you again. I’ll keep you updated whenever I can. Try to take it easy and don’t worry about a thing—I’ll take care of it. I love you, and I’m always thinking about you. - P”

Bebe typed a reply.

“My darling, I’m glad you’re alright. I was worried about you, but I also knew you’d make it through this. Give the doctor my sincerest gratitude—he saved the man I love. I’m also happy J is fine. I completely understand if you need to stay there—in situations like this, a doctor’s supervision is necessary even after the treatment.

Let me know how things go. I want to be with you but things have to be just right. I love you, P. I hope you get better soon. I already miss you. Hugs and kisses. Yours,

- B”

Within the following day, Bebe received another email.

“Bebe—so much is happening right now. I don’t have much time, and neither does the world. Just bear with me. I’m going to be fine, I think, but my brother keeps unearthing more of this conspiracy. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know something will, and if it does, it’s going to be big. I can’t explain everything over the net, but I promise I will when I see you. I don’t know how much time there is and I know this sounds crazy but you’ll just have to trust me. Withdraw your savings now. There’s a high chance the net might crash and everything will be lost. Savings, records, and all sorts of info. Make sure you have plenty of food and supplies as well.

No matter what happens, I will find you! And that’s a promise. Just stay where you are. I love you so much more than you could ever imagine. - P”

Something inside Bebe told her Paul wasn’t lying. Everything Paul told her before and everything they had researched and pieced together made sense. She knew there could only be so much more to this story than most people knew and few had theorized about. After typing her obedient reply, Bebe set off for the bank and asked to withdraw the entirety of her account. Her salary provided her with decent savings she had accumulated over a few years.

But she wondered if the funny look the bank teller gave her was indicative of ignited suspicion. She knew it was. She smiled as the bank teller discussed the request with the manager, who gave her a poorly-disguised look of surprise. Who else but a shady person would just want to remove all their chits from the bank? Only somebody that knew something that most people didn’t know would act this way . . . She would just have to lie and say it was for a potential family emergency. Or that she’s just paranoid and that there are rumors the banks will fail soon. Hearsay type of stuff. But no, the latter would be too suspicious. Just go with the family emergency, she thought.

Signing some papers that would let the federal revenue office know the reason for her massive withdrawal, she questioned just what the hell she was doing. She stopped for a while and glanced up at the bank teller, who was too busy counting chits to notice her. Bebe questioned herself for a bit--she was blindly obeying Paul’s orders, which wasn’t really a problem in and of itself, but how could she really know what was going on? Paul wouldn’t lie to her though. She knew that man for three years and he never lied. She just had to trust him. Worst case scenario, she’d be tracked down. But if nothing were to happen, she could just say she got worried sick for an ailing family member and took the money out to help with treatments.

“Forty-six-thousand, two-hundred and fifty-nine chits, ma’am,” the bank teller said, fat stacks of the electric green notes neatly sitting on the counter.

“Thank you so much,” she said, handing them the signed papers. “Here you go.”

She opened up her purse and filled it with the money, trying to act naturally. The teller and his manager looked at her strangely, as well as the clients behind her. She felt herself tense up.

“Thank you so much,” she said again. “Have a nice day.” She had a habit of being overly-polite sometimes.

And with that, she carried her loaded purse all the way to her car and drove home, the tunes blaring and the pedal to the metal. Suddenly, the music stopped. Could this be it?

She checked her phone and noticed there was no signal anywhere. The music stream was buffering continuously until it lost connectivity for good. Moving to the network settings, she confirmed there really was no net anymore. She couldn’t believe it at first, and then, she did.

Parking her car, she rushed inside the lobby of her apartment building. There were people standing outside with their cellphones in the air, trying to obtain signal, their faces scrunched in bewilderment. Glancing at the far end of two blocks over where one of the P-Mobile buildings was, people swarmed into the store to complain about their phone services.

“Miss, have you heard? The net’s gone black—disappeared,” the alarmed security guard at the reception said. “Everyone’s internet just shut off. Even the phones, TV, everything. We don’t know what’s going on.”

“Oh my god,” she said. “I’ll have to check mine out. Thank you.”

She went upstairs and rapidly scanned her nanokey to her door, eager to get inside. What would she do now?

She checked her computer. The internet was gone. No new emails from Paul, just the cached one from before. As she sat in her apartment, she heard her neighbors arguing loudly in desperation. Turning on the TV, she checked every channel, finding nothing but static—ultimately confirming everything Paul told her. Glancing outside her window and down at the congested streets, violence intensified.

After a few days to a week of the world descending into darkness, reports of the global net crashing and burning appeared on every newspaper. A national emergency was declared, and speculating specialists wondered who was responsible, pointing fingers at foreign governments and even “traitors” within the United States. The zealously religious stood outside every corner, wailing that it was the beginning of the Apocalypse, and the conspiracy theorists held meetings in their garages, claiming it was aliens. But soon enough, the Dentons were named. Bebe paid close attention.

“It is suspected that terrorist JC Denton and his brother, Paul Denton, are behind this massive communications collapse worldwide. We are slowly but surely receiving letters that confirm the internet shutdowns in every nation. Agencies are investigating the matter as best as they can.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. She just hoped the bank tellers didn’t put two and two together and decided to send somebody after her. After all, there was nothing suspicious about a woman withdrawing all her savings a few minutes before the world collapsed. But she sighed in relief when she knew that they wouldn’t have been able to pull up her personal information without the internet.

She thought about her family. Her dad had left them before she was even born, and her mother died of the Grey Death before Ambrosia was released. Her cousins were all living their lives as married people with children, and her only living aunt was old now. What would they think, though? What would they think if she were to run off with a “criminal”, a “terrorist”, a wanted man? Crises were meant to be times where family stuck together more, but with Bebe leaving . . . would they label her as selfish? Crazy? Bad? She only hoped that one day they would understand that Paul was not the person the media and the government was portraying him to be.

They didn’t even know she was pregnant. Engaged? Yes. They knew Paul and they liked him. But the media was a powerful weapon, especially now that the people’s only source of outside knowledge was funneled via the last remaining newspapers. They could twist and besmirch the Dentons as they wished, and people would buy it. Not everybody, though, as there were people who had been following the Juggernaut Collective—until it disbanded—and a few other rebel news disguised as tabloids and conspiracies. But alas, the perceptions of Bebe’s friends and family could definitely be warped against Paul. She had to be careful.

But most importantly, she had to figure out what the next steps in her life would be. If only she could talk to Paul. She wondered if she should keep going to work—part of her would think it better to disappear from society at once and wait until Paul came back, but the other part of her couldn’t just leave all those poor patients behind. She knew there were other doctors and nurses who would do a fine job—but could she really just disappear now? Did she still have to keep up her façade of normalcy? As if she weren’t the woman of the second-most-wanted man in the world right now?

She got up and started packing, hoping that at least sorting this out would bring her more clarity. What were her favorite clothes? What could she stand to leave behind? What would be useful? She took her favorite shoes as well as personal keepsakes and important documents, neatly enclosed in file folders and manilla envelopes, and put them in a suitcase. Most of the money was also stored there. Then, glancing at her desk, she took note of her journal.

How could she leave this behind? She had to take it. Unless, of course, she wanted to be that mysterious woman who left her revealing memoirs in a secret diary. She considered the thought briefly and then took the journal, the pages automatically splitting upon a section with a dried red rose that had been stamped between the weight of the pages. It was the first flower Paul ever gave her. She instantly smiled as she felt the crispy, dark garnet petals on her fingertips, her mind going back to when the petals were bright as fresh blood and smooth like velvet.

#deus ex #fanfiction #paul denton #oc #paul denton x oc #the collapse

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zrtranscripts · 3 years

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Radio Abel, Season Eight

Part 4 of 5

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hello ci-ti-zens! Welcome back to Radio New Hope.

ZOE CRICK: This is a very special edition of our show, listeners.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That's right, Zoe! [laughs] It's our first broadcast since Fort Canton became the seat of the UK government. We’re only a few feet away from the office of the prime minister, Amelia Spens. [sighs] Prime Minister Amelia Spens. [laughs] How did this happen again?

ZOE CRICK: There's never any one factor that determines who rises to power, Phil.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, for the benefit of any listeners not up to date with current affairs, uh, can we list the -

ZOE CRICK: An understandable predicament, given the post-apocalyptic demise of the 24-hour news cycle.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - can we list the factors that led to Amelia's appointment?

ZOE CRICK: Opportunism...

PHIL CHEESEMAN: ... And?

ZOE CRICK: I'm thinking.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I thought you said there was never any one factor.

ZOE CRICK: You know, I think Amelia's a special case. Most world leaders aspire to the job, for better or worse, but Amelia only ever wants what's best for Amelia, whether that's nabbing the last reservation for an exclusive spa treatment -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - or seizing control of a country.

ZOE CRICK: Exactly.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] Listeners, I realize that the phrase “seizing control” had some negative connotations, and I'd just like to explain what I meant when I said that's what the prime minister did to the UK. There was a power vacuum and no one else was up to the task, so Amelia stepped in.

ZOE CRICK: I'd also like to clarify what I said. Amelia does only want what's best for Amelia, but right now, that's what's best for the country, too.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We hope.

ZOE CRICK: Amelia wants to live in a UK with hot running water, a plentiful supply of luxury goods, and no V-types. If she's the best person to make that happen, then her being in power is a good thing for all of us.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And on that note, here's a song that always puts me in an optimistic mood.

ZOE CRICK: Radio New Hope is still fully independent and completely unbiased.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I wouldn't call your veto of progressive art rock unbiased.

ZOE CRICK: Phil, many of our listeners are out scavenging for supplies and running away from zombies. We don't need to make their lives any harder. My point is that our proximity to the prime minister has no bearing on our editorial stance.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, definitely. The fact that Amelia's just down the hall and controls the penal system doesn't affect what we say in the slightest. I hardly ever think about how easy it would be for her to kick me out of Fort Canton and leave me to the V-types.

ZOE CRICK: The only person who'll do that is me the next time you try to put on some King Crimson when I'm not looking. Amelia said a strong government has nothing to fear from a free press.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Might have been a test.

ZOE CRICK: She knows if we suddenly started spouting propaganda, our listeners would get suspicious. As long as she lets us carry on as normal, she looks confident, like she's got nothing to hide.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Which she hasn't. Probably.

ZOE CRICK: Do you really think that's necessary, Phil?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It's journalistic ethics, Zoe. We've got to disclose it.

ZOE CRICK: [sighs] Go on, then.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Listeners, one of Amelia's first acts as prime minister was to give us a new studio.

ZOE CRICK: It's hardly new.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It's a lot nicer than what we were in before. Less sticky.

ZOE CRICK: To explain, listeners, Amelia is building a scale replica of the House of Commons at Fort Canton. Just like the original, it's furnished with green leather seats. Although most of the leftover building materials went to settlements more in need of refurbishment than Fort Canton, no one else wanted the green leather, so we've got it. All of it. Everything in this room is green.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It's... a very relaxing color?

ZOE CRICK: In moderation. [sighs] I feel like I'm broadcasting from the depths of the swamp.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: The important thing is that our new upholstery wasn't payment.

ZOE CRICK: Are you satisfied?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think so. We can't be too careful about this. Transparency's critical.

ZOE CRICK: Oh, perhaps, but it's hardly the most exciting way to fill the airwaves. Here's some music to lighten the mood.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We hope that's made it clear, listeners. Radio New Hope has no official affiliation with the prime minister, so you can stop filling ROFFLEnet with requests for new laws. We can't help you with them.

ZOE CRICK: And in many cases, we wouldn't want to.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah. To whoever wrote to us under the username Undying_Love, no, I don't think human/zombie marriage is going to be legally recognized anytime soon.

ZOE CRICK: I also think it's also safe to say that if and when the DVLA is back up and running, zombies probably won't be eligible for driving licenses.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: To be fair, we have received some reasonable requests, uh, it's just that we can't do anything about them. We're just broadcasters.

ZOE CRICK: That's right. While it's wonderful that so many of you are politically engaged, you need to direct your efforts towards the right people. If there's something you want discussed in parliament, contact the leader of your settlement.

ZOE CRICK: I'm glad that's cleared up. I must say, it's a relief not to be talking about politics for once.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Not that politics isn't important, listeners, it's just that Zoe and I haven't really had a break from it since Amelia became prime minister.

ZOE CRICK: If we're not bumping into settlement leaders in the canteen, we're tripping over King Jamie's retinue when he drops in for his weekly conference with Amelia.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We can't even get a cup of tea without getting caught up in an argument about V-type policy.

ZOE CRICK: Oh, it's exhausting.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So allow Radio New Hope to be your refuge from current affairs.

ZOE CRICK: Here's a song with absolutely no political message at all.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Since we're not talking about politics, let's catch up. Uh, Zoe, what have you been doing recently?

ZOE CRICK: Well, last night I went to see Amelia to -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No need to go into too much detail.

ZOE CRICK: - borrow a David Attenborough DVD.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh.

ZOE CRICK: She says they keep her children entertained, but I'm not sure they fully appreciate the lion cubs of the Serengeti. Anyway, I never even got to ask her for it because she was too busy arguing with the representative from the Psychoanalysts Enclave. The UK Alliance hasn't really figured out taxes yet, but Amelia's interpreting the concept loosely. In exchange for services, she wants control of all the dirt the Enclave acquired prior to the apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Purely to keep it confidential?

ZOE CRICK: Of course.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, that's sort of like... It's politics, really, isn't it?

ZOE CRICK: All right then, Phil, what non-political activities have you been engaging in?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I've been researching Alan Parsons.

ZOE CRICK: Don't you know everything about him already?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I'm putting together a biography. It's important that the history of significant cultural figures isn't lost. To make sure my information’s correct, I’ve been cross-referencing my sources with the fan community on ROFFLEnet. It's just that there aren't that many Alan Parsons fans -

ZOE CRICK: Who’d have thought?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - because many of them died in the apocalypse.

ZOE CRICK: I'm sorry.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: The point is that because there are only a few people left with expertise in classic progressive rock, everyone else on the message board figured out who I am and that I work near Amelia.

ZOE CRICK: So you can't even escape politics on the Alan Parsons forum?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Exactly. I've been bombarded with questions for her, things she hasn't addressed in her own broadcasts. I printed them out, actually. [paper rustles] Here, you can take a look.

ZOE CRICK: You know, some of these aren't bad. I wonder if Amelia would come on the show and answer them.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I always secretly wanted to host Question Time.

ZOE CRICK: Listeners, I'm very happy to announce that the prime minister Amelia Spens has agreed to appear on Radio New Hope and answer some of your questions.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I won't ask how you convinced her.

ZOE CRICK: I didn't have to. She said it would be good for her image.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Really?

ZOE CRICK: Yes. She says the population sees her as intelligent, refined, and sophisticated, but that those qualities make her hard to relate to. According to her, appearing on Radio New Hope will increase her appeal to people who don't care about personal grooming and who haven't read a book since the apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Is that what she thinks of our listeners?

ZOE CRICK: To be fair, reading materials and cosmetics are in short supply.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yes, and people's priorities have changed. Some of us are more concerned with staying alive than getting our well-manicured hands on the last remaining issues of the Times Literary Supplement.

ZOE CRICK: A fair point. Listeners, to find out what our prime minister's priorities are, send your questions to us over ROFFLEnet.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Zoe, since this is our first prime ministerial interview, do you think we should have picked a more appropriate song than that?

ZOE CRICK: It's too late now.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: People of the UK, we'd like to introduce a very special guest to Radio New Hope. Please welcome our prime minister, Amelia Spens.

AMELIA SPENS: Hello, Phil and Zoe. I must say, I'm glad this is a radio broadcast. This studio looks frightful.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] Now hang on. It's decorated with offcuts you gave us.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, is this where they ended up? I thought we were going to burn them.

ZOE CRICK: We're off to a good start, listeners. Let's have some serious music before we get into the questions.

ZOE CRICK: Our first question is from Concerned of Dorchester. “Prime Minister, when democracy is reinstated, will zombies get the vote?”

AMELIA SPENS: “When democracy is reinstated.” [laughs] Phil and Zoe, I hope these aren't all going to be comedy questions.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think just focus on the zombie part for now.

AMELIA SPENS: I think we can all agree that one of the few silver linings of the apocalypse is the way outdated prejudices and social orders have been rejected.

ZOE CRICK: Just to be clear, you're not ruling out zombies having the vote?

AMELIA SPENS: Not until I know who they'd vote for. V-types are very intelligent in large groups.

ZOE CRICK: This next question is from Sir Augustus Headley Coombs. “Prime Minister, do your duties as a mother hinder your ability to run the country?”

AMELIA SPENS: Quite honestly, if anything, they help -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I'm sorry, Prime Minister, you don't have to answer that. I apologize on behalf of Radio New Hope to you and to all other mothers listening for airing a question that implies that motherhood might compromise a woman's abilities to do her job.

ZOE CRICK: Quite. We all know that if Amelia's abilities are compromised, it's by her refusal to do anything that might damage her manicure.

AMELIA SPENS: Are you still annoyed about that, Zoe?

ZOE CRICK: Now isn't the time.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: There's really no need to acknowledge this question, Prime Minister. Let's move on.

AMELIA SPENS: It's a reasonable question, and the answer is that dealing with a clutch of screaming children with no control over their emotions is the best training a prime minister could have.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I've got a question from, uh... this person's username is just a string of cat emojis. They say, “Prime Minister, doctors and scientists are increasingly aware of the therapeutic benefits of caring for animals. Simply stroking a cat has been proven to lower blood pressure. Why, even when there's so much evidence that animals make it easier to cope with mental health difficulties, are kitten pens still not compulsory in all settlements?”

AMELIA SPENS: Zoe, did you write this? I told you, if you ever need a way to relieve stress, just come to my quarters and I’ll -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So that's a no on the kitten pens for now, listeners. Here's a nice loud song to block out the sound of your own imagination.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: This question comes from BV, but I'm not sure we should ask it. Zoe, take a look.

[paper rustles]

ZOE CRICK: Hmm, I see what you mean. But if this is a true public forum, nothing should be off limits. Besides, I think the time for editorial qualms would have been before you printed out the entire message board.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Perhaps it wasn't the best use of our paper allowance.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, just ask it. I've scheduled a hot stone massage after this and if I have to cancel, running out of paper will be the least of your problems.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Um... “Prime Minister, how does it feel to be the most attractive world leader of all time?”

AMELIA SPENS: It's a meaningless accolade.

ZOE CRICK: Of course. We shouldn't judge politicians on their appearance.

AMELIA SPENS: No, I mean there's no competition.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, the next question's also from BV. Uh, this one's a bit more sensible, though. It's about health policy. “Prime Minister, I am the CEO of a corporation with an extensive pharmaceutical arm. I'd be happy to discuss supplies for ministry hospitals. Perhaps over a bottle of Cheval Blanc 1947 Saint-Emilion, and some caviar.”

ZOE CRICK: Wait, pharmaceutical corporation? BV? Is this Valmont? Prime Minister, I don't think this is a genuine request.

AMELIA SPENS: I'm terribly sorry, BV, but a meeting won't be possible right now. I have to be very careful about the relationship between business and government. You understand. More importantly, red wine and caviar is a dreadful pairing. Let me know when you've got some Dom Perignon and then we'll talk.

AMELIA SPENS: Zoe, I know that was a dreadful song, but could you at least -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hey!

AMELIA SPENS: - but you could at least stay awake for the duration. The rest of us had to.

ZOE CRICK: I was awake. I just like to close my eyes sometimes, or the green gets too much. Anyway, what's the next question, Phil?

[paper rustles]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Ah, I don't think we need to ask that one.

AMELIA SPENS: Nothing is off limits. Please go ahead.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Um, Outraged of Essex asks, “Prime Minister, does your involvement with Zoe Crick create a conflict of interest regarding your appearance on this program?”

AMELIA SPENS: I don't know, Outraged, do your hobbies create a conflict of interest with your job?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I've got a question from [clears throat] Nice Try, But If You Think I'm Writing My Name In That Box, You've Got Another Thing Coming.

ZOE CRICK: I didn't know ROFFLEnet usernames could be that long.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: “Prime Minister, is it true that you're demanding the Psychoanalysts Enclave give you all their information? Would the details go public? Asking for a friend.”

AMELIA SPENS: Firstly, the UK Alliance doesn't demand anything, it's a negotiation. As for the information, it sounds like its secrecy is valuable to you. Interesting. Write to my office and we'll talk.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Happy and Glorious asks, “Will the king attend the State Opening of Parliament?”

AMELIA SPENS: The State Opening of Parliament took place in the House of Lords, not the House of Commons. Since we haven't built a House of Lords, it just wouldn't be right to reenact such a historically significant ceremony. A shame, as I'm sure King Jamie's speech about self-sacrifice and duty would have been a hoot.

ZOE CRICK: Couldn't you adapt the ceremony for post-apocalyptic times?

AMELIA SPENS: What do you mean?

ZOE CRICK: Before Z-Day, the State Opening of Parliament consisted of several commemorative rituals. For example, the Palace of Westminster cellars would be searched for explosives in remembrance of the Gunpowder Plot.

AMELIA SPENS: And you're suggesting we open Parliament with zombie-themed rituals, is that it? [laughs] Amused as I am by the thought of King Jamie being chased through Fort Canton by a horde of V-types, there are several recent events that it would be best the population stop associating with the office of minister.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You mean all that stuff with Sigrid?

AMELIA SPENS: It's easier for people to forget if they're not being constantly reminded, Phil.

ZOE CRICK: Lance Corporal Kapoor asks, “Is there any truth to the rumor that defense resources are being spent retrieving high heels from the last remaining Christian Louboutin shop in Mayfair?”

AMELIA SPENS: Yes. Politics is all about image, and I need to look stylish yet powerful to intimidate our enemies.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: But aren't zombies our biggest enemies? Do they notice shoes?

AMELIA SPENS: There's a lot we don't know yet about zombies.

ZOE CRICK: On that note, here's a song that'll make us all feel powerful.

AMELIA SPENS: Are we nearly finished? All this green is giving me a headache.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Almost. The Truth Is Out There asks, “Is the UK Alliance withholding information about UFOs?”

AMELIA SPENS: UFOs?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Unidentified flying -

AMELIA SPENS: I know what they are, Phil. Listener, was the zombie apocalypse not enough? Haven't you had your fill of government conspiracies? Don't you think if - actually, no, I'm not going to dignify this stupid question with an answer. That's it, I'm afraid, Phil and Zoe. It's time for my massage.

[chair legs scrape across floor]

ZOE CRICK: Wait, there's one more.

AMELIA SPENS: No.

ZOE CRICK: Where is Janine De Luca?

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, Janine. I'm amazed anyone noticed she was gone. Don't worry, listeners. Colonel De Luca is on a secret mission and it's all under control. She and her appallingly drab outfits will be back at Abel in no time. And with that, I'm off.

[door opens]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think it's probably time for some music.

ZOE CRICK: I think that went... about as well as could be expected.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, considering it was our first prime ministerial interview, we didn't read the questions before going live, and we're broadcasting from what looks like the inside of a spinach tin.

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] I thought you liked the decor.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] Just didn't want to complain. Fort Canton's been a stressful place to work since Amelia became prime minister, but I try to remember that we're all on the same team. Everyone wants to get rid of the V-types and we need to work together, focus on the big things, and not sweat the small stuff.

ZOE CRICK: Hmm. Like how our studio looks like Kermit the Frog's fever dream?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Exactly.

[magazine pages rustle]

ZOE CRICK: Phil? Phil, we're live.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, sorry. Uh... [clears throat] Hello, ci-ti-zens! Welcome back to Radio New Hope, where your entertainment is our priority.

ZOE CRICK: Except when we're reading... [magazine rustles] Vogue? Phil, don't take this the wrong way, but I never thought of you as being particularly interested in fashion.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I never was, Zoe, before the apocalypse. But one of our runners picked this up from a dentist's waiting room during a meds run and I was curious. So fascinating, really, that there used to be this whole industry dedicated to the way we looked.

ZOE CRICK: The people in these pictures had no idea what was coming.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: If they had, maybe they'd have worn more practical shoes.

ZOE CRICK: Yes. [laughs] Good luck running from a zom in those. They're quite fun, actually.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, they're pretty good, but I prefer these.

ZOE CRICK: Wow! [laughs] Those are quite something. You couldn't wear them to work, though.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Not unless you were this next musical artiste!

ZOE CRICK: Welcome back, listeners. Today we're reading Vogue, which is like gazing through a portal into another dimension.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: A dimension where people thought it was sensible to make dresses out of tin foil and feathers.

ZOE CRICK: Mm, I'm not sure sense had anything to do with it. These clothes are about fantasy. They're works of art.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, those ones are, but look at this other fashion mag I picked up. [magazine page rustles] This article is called “Summer Must-haves.” It's telling me I must spend 700 pounds on these trousers. And it's next to an advert for some magic cream to make me look young. Now remember, before the apocalypse, a lot of people worried about not wearing the right clothes or that it was a bad thing to look their age.

ZOE CRICK: Hmm, that's a good point. Nowadays, if you see someone older, you know they've probably got some wisdom to share. Always handy in the post-apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Exactly! Just yesterday, a teenager asked me where the toilets are.

ZOE CRICK: Hmm, impressive! [laughs] Here's a song by someone even older and wiser than Phil.

ZOE CRICK: You know, Phil, how we look hasn't become totally irrelevant since the apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well... yeah. Uh, it's-it's important to look basically alive so that no one mistakes you for a zombie and tries to knock your head off with a baseball bat.

ZOE CRICK: True, but I was thinking more about the way we express ourselves. For example, isn't that a Dream Theater T-shirt you're wearing?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yes. You know, it does cheer me up to wear a T-shirt featuring a band I like, even if they are all dead.

ZOE CRICK: And I'm wearing socks with cats on them. Every now and again, someone will stop me in the corridor and compliment me because they like cats, too. Then we'll have a conversation about cats and the whole day gets a little brighter.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: They are pretty nice socks.

ZOE CRICK: Thank you, Phil. [giggles] Since we're on the topic, why don't you put on a song for our listeners and I tell you about the morning I spent in the kitten pen?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, do I get a choice?

ZOE CRICK: Nope.

#zombies run #zrs8 #s8 radio #s8 radio part 4 #zr transcript

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gentlemen-of-lies · 3 years

Text

Gentlemen of Lies, chapter 5

Shit, it’s Gerald

(Beginning)

(Previous chapter)

(Next chapter)

————

Curt rang the bell of Gerald’s flat- Gerald Smith, Flat 2A. Curt had to wait far longer than before, the door remaining closed for a good five minutes, and Curt had to ring the doorbell another two times. He was almost about to give up, but finally, the door was opened a crack, and a rather old man with a bushy grey beard looked at Curt with clear irritation in his grey eyes.

“What?” He demanded, his voice much harsher than that of Mrs Davidson.

“Hello, sir. I’m a police officer investigating a case nearby, and I’m asking around for any witnesses.”

“Haven’t seen anything. Ask someone else.”

“I already asked the Davidsons. And I can’t get a hold of the man in flat 2B.” Curt suspected that he wasn’t about to be let into the building again, least of all for a friendly chat and a cup of tea.

“You won’t get hold of him. Stays away most of the time. Odd fellow.” The man’s voice was slightly less harsh, as if he wanted to speak about Lawson, which in itself may have been a clue. That being said, having the conversation out on the front porch, with the weather threatening rain and Curt at risk of soon becoming recognisable to the locals- wasn’t ideal.

“Well, do you think he would know anything?” Curt was trying to avoid giving a specific date, like he did with Mrs Davidson, so he could get more of an overview. Otherwise Gerald would just tell him that both he and Lawson were out. And he couldn’t change the date now.

“If he was here, wouldn’t be surprised. Pretty sure he used to work for the government. Maybe he still does. He probably knows everything that goes on here, without letting it on...” Curt raised his eyebrows. To anyone else this man would most likely be seen as paranoid, but to Curt this was simply more evidence that his hunch had been correct all along.

“What makes you think that?”

“Well when he is in the flat, I know he’s a right curtain twitcher. Seen him. Was out one night, looked up at his window and he was there staring at me. Backed away as soon as I glanced up, but I caught him.”

“Hm.”

“But this hasn’t got anything to do with what you’re on about. Even he does know anything, good luck contacting him. You can knock on the door, but it probably won’t open.”

“Well, thank you anyway.” The man barely acknowledged him, simply waved him away and began to shut the door. Curt let him. He didn’t think he’d be able to get anything else out of the man, at least nothing that wouldn’t make himself suspicious.

He hadn’t obtained any useful information, no clues, just a few red flags. But red flags were enough to give him the right to continue his search. He didn’t hang around the front of the building, but he went back down the alleyway which adjoined the building itself, working out the layout of the back.

There appeared to be a private garden for the ground floor, probably shared between all the flats. It wasn’t very big, but it was fenced in. A fence- Curt noted- that seemed easy enough to climb over. Behind the fence, joined to the building was a thin metal staircase, an emergency exit coming down from the roof. It went near to the windows on the left, but Curt didn’t know if one of those windows belonged to Lawson. He’d have to figure it out, but not yet. It was too light outside still, too many people wandering around. He’d have to come back later.

Curt returned to his hostel, just as it started to pour down with rain, so he entered the lobby- if it could even be called that; it contained nothing but a desk and filthy couch that Curt wouldn’t dream of sitting on- soaking wet, and his coat temporarily ruined.

He’d be meeting up with Owen tomorrow. If he had no information to give about Hayes, Owen was going to make him trail another suspect, which wasn’t a disaster as such, but Curt knew he wouldn’t be able to focus. He was sure Cynthia would accuse him of being too fixated on one thing, stopping him from investigating the whole case. A detriment. A flaw. But in Curt’s eyes it showed his determination, surely? What was a good spy if not one who wasn’t thorough? And when it came to Lawson, no one could deny that Curt was being thorough.

What Curt really wanted to do, and as a secret agent, he was entitled to at least think of the possibility- was to investigate the inside of Lawson’s flat. But Curt didn’t have the right “experience” or the right “equipment” yet. No doubt Owen had the experience and the equipment, while Curt had stay on the sidelines and watch, despite the fact that only one of them seemingly wanted to do their job properly. And it wasn’t Owen.

But how hard was it to break into someone’s house anyway? Curt went through every aspect of his spy training trying to figure out a- possible- plan to get inside Lawson’s flat. Preferably when Lawson was out, which meant that pretending to be anyone official was out of the question. Although, if all else failed him, he supposed it could be his backup plan.

Maybe he could accuse Lawson of being a suspect in the made up burglary, giving him the right to search his house. But the burglary claim was really wearing thin, he didn’t think he could risk taking it any further before someone found out that there never was a burglary in the first place, which was still already a big risk. All the more reason why he needed to solve this case as soon as possible.

The only other option, was simply to break in. Lawson’s neighbours said that he was out most of the time. Curt had already investigated the back of the building, with the alleyway, the fenced in garden and the emergency exit staircase. He was a spy, so he knew how to pick locks at the very least. All he had to do was work out which window belonged to Lawson, and hope that one of them lined up with the staircase.

Curt lifted himself into a sitting position on his bed. He was back in his room now, his clothes attempting to dry after being hung up on the curtain rod, but failing miserably as the damp room grew even damper from the rain. He rested against the creaky bedpost and thought through this idea of breaking into someone’s house. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have to worry so much. If he had been ordered to break into someone’s house by a superior, he’d do it without any concern for legalities. But the point was he hadn’t been ordered.

But the bigger point was he should have been ordered, if Owen wasn’t being so weird about Lawson. If anything, Curt should really be trailing Owen... perhaps when he finished with Lawson he would. Forget about the other suspects. He’d read through the files again and he couldn’t find any evidence on them. The only thing they had in common was that they used to work for MI5 or MI6, and while they still had ties to it, they had been transferred to much lower positions. Therefore giving them all the motive to go against the secret intelligence. Other than that, it was only Lawson who stood out, not only due to his work with explosives pre- World War Two, which was only suspicious in Curt’s mind, who had a rather black and white view of the world. A fixed sense of right and wrong. So therefore, a history of explosives instantly made one a suspect to Curt. But other than that, Curt had also found out that Lawson was part of the ‘double-cross’ system run by MI5 to feed misleading intelligence to the Germans. So Lawson already had experience working as a mole. Who was to say he hadn’t crossed from pretence into reality?

With all that evidence, it made Owen’s lack of response to Lawson even more suspicious. And in fact, Curt didn’t have to be at Lawson’s apartment until very late at night. He had the whole day to trail someone else, and while he was supposed to follow a different suspect listed on the files, Owen had so far given him enough red flags not to care about the others.

It was Owen, Lawson, or both. Curt was sure of it.

#spies are forever #spies are forever prequel #spies are forever fanfiction #curt mega x owen carvour #tin can bros #gentlemen of lies #agent curt mega #owen carvour #starkid

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potatocrab · 4 years

Text

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (13/18)

Chapter 13: An Abominable Man

At the Valentine Detective Agency, the group reconvenes to discuss MIT’s revelations to the public. With more questions than answers, it’s up to Piper to follow the trail while Nick continues the cold case investigation. After reliving a past trauma, Madelyn takes comfort in the distractions Deacon provides. Later, Nick and Madelyn follow a clue straight to the man they’ve been hunting for.

“He was an abominable man. Why do women marry abominable men?” - Charlotte Inwood as played by Marlene Dietrich (Stage Fright, 1950)

[read on Ao3] x [chapter masterpost]

May 16th, 1958

Man or Machine? –The Synthetic Truth Behind MIT

The newest copy Publick Occurrences was waiting on Ellie’s desk when Madelyn arrived at the agency early that Friday morning, the stack of newspapers fresh off the presses and ready for circulation. Piper certainly didn’t dawdle after attending the MIT demonstration—she knew how to strike when the iron was hot and get a story out in record time. But Piper was never one to procrastinate—if you gave her and inch, she’d run a mile. Madelyn was interested to see what kind of marathon the reporter would run this time.

“What do we really know about MIT?”

Piper’s question hung in the air of Nick’s office as she paced before his desk, arms crossed with a steely expression. The detective himself was still reading over that morning’s edition, already on his second smoke of the day—nobody dared to reprimand him for getting such an early start, not when he was still within his grieving period. Madelyn watched the newshound’s movements from her usual spot in the armchair to the left, wondering if Piper’s eyebrows furrowed any further they might mold together into one, brown, bushy line. She hid her amusement behind her hand, glancing back to where Deacon was leaning against the back wall, holding a relaxed smirk as he silently observed the room’s occupants from behind his tinted shades. Even though the chair next to her was empty, she knew he was more comfortable where he stood, still cautious about being invited back into the fray of agency life.

“You’re worried about…” Nick looked up from reading the Publick Occurrences article. “A robot?”

Piper balked in offence, abruptly stopping in her strides to face him. “Jesus, Nick, did you lose track of your reading comprehension skills or something?”

“Not a robot,” she corrected, waving her hands in dramatic fashion as Nick frowned at her intended insult. “An android. A synth. MIT have essentially built themselves an infiltration unit—”

“We don’t know that,” Nick interrupted with a grumble.

“They installed it with a distinct personality,” Piper explained, gesturing to the black and white photo of the mechanical man that had been presented the previous day. “The Doctor said it himself. Makes it so they are indistinguishable from you or I.”

Nick rubbed at his chin as he studied the snapshot before pulling away to stare at his prosthetic hand—built by the very scientists Piper was questioning. He clenched his fingers into a fist and sighed. “I’d like to think I’d be able to tell that thing from a human,” he muttered, extinguishing his cigarette. He refrained from igniting a third from his nearby pack. “Looks fairly metal to me.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Piper argued. She pivoted, gesturing towards Madelyn and Deacon. “You were there! You saw how it moved.”

“Yes,” Madelyn agreed with a short nod, though she had her own hesitations. Despite the suspicion raised at the demonstration, she wasn’t one to jump to conclusions without solid proof in hand. “Doctor Ayo suggested it would be years before the synth could actually look anything like a human.”

“Can we actually trust the scientists and researchers at MIT?” Piper countered.

This wasn’t her usual wild goose-chase or paranoia fueling her, but genuine fear and concern. A kind of worry that Madelyn hadn’t seen in her friend since they started investigating Eddie Winter’s rise as family crime boss and his rampant spree through Boston. But this wasn’t some mobster they were after, this was the Massachusetts Institute of Technology—a revered university that had always played a pivotal role in the city’s development of modern science. Without the Institute—as some affectionately called the college—Boston would still be in the dark ages. Like any industry giant, however, so much of what the Institute accomplished was shrouded in mystery. From their elusive board of directors, to their once-in-a-blue-moon presentations—it was any wonder Piper was suspicious.

“The way that doctor spoke,” Piper continued, a little calmer than before. “There’s the implication they’ve built more than one, and they’re just itching to put them to use. If they haven’t already.”

She picked up a spare copy of Publick Occurrences from Nick’s desk and stared at her own headline. “It bears repeating. What do we really know about the Institute?”

Silence settled within the room as the group contemplated what Piper said.

“She’s right.”

Madelyn peered over at Deacon, who barely moved from his spot against the wall. He offered a small shrug as he repeated his words. “She’s right,” he spoke, much to Piper’s surprise. “What do we know?”

“You’ve covered them before, right?” he asked, continuing his train of thought. “Something about the mayor’s campaign funds?”

The journalist raised a curious eyebrow in his direction. “Didn’t realize you were such an avid reader of my publication.”

“I like to stay informed,” Deacon replied, cheekily. “Freedom of the press, and all that.”

“They’ve shown up in Railroad reports as well,” Madelyn added, keeping the conversation on point. It certainly caught Piper and Nick’s attention. Deacon, however, seemed less than enthused about her sharing insider knowledge. But the information was out in the open now, ripe for dissection.

“Seems suspicious—promising,” Piper said with a curious smile. She glanced to Deacon. “For an undercover organization, can’t you find out more? Send one of your agents to snoop around the university for secrets? Sneak around yourself, Mr. Spy?”

“You make it sound so easy,” he responded with a smirk, though Madelyn could tell Piper’s tone was getting on his nerves. “Why don’t you go stalk the boogeyman, Miss Wright?”

“Maybe I will!”

“For once I’d like to have a civil conversation in my office,” Nick interrupted, already striking a new match to light another cigarette.

Madelyn could only imagine the amount of stress he was experiencing, and their presence wasn’t helping. She glanced at the others. “We might as well start from the beginning. What else do we know about the university? Media reports, rumors…anything?”

“There was an attack in 1955 at University Point,” Deacon recalled. “A fight broke out between some Mass Bay and MIT students over some supposedly stolen tech. One of the MIT kids lost control and beat a Mass Bay freshman to a bloody pulp.”

“I wrote about that too,” Piper remarked. “The student died. Didn’t think it was anything but a student brawl gone bad. Seen plenty of those covering the Fens district. What does that have to with what they’re doing now?”

“You’re the one who’s suggesting they’ve been using synths longer than they claim,” Deacon explained. “I’m just trying to offer evidence that supports your theory, is all.”

“That would mean…” Madelyn trailed, alarmed by the connotation. She furrowed her brows, unable to wrap her head around what was being suggested. She wasn’t about to trust what the Institute scientists had claimed at the demonstration—that they were years away from life-like synths— but she needed more proof than one incident that sounded more like a disagreement gone awry. “Is there anything else?”

“1949,” Nick spoke, gaining everyone’s interest. “I had just set up the agency here. Vadim told me about an Italian restaurant across the way from the stadium, praised their homemade pasta,” he leaned back in his chair, clearly reminiscing on nearly a decade’s old memory. “Before I could make a visit, the place was shut down. Turns out a professor, Mr. Carter, from MIT decided it was the perfect place to commit mass murder.”

“I remember that restaurant, but I’ve never heard about that!” Piper seemed genuinely shocked, especially as someone who had lived in the Boston area all her life. “What happened?”

“Seemed like any other patron at first, according to witnesses. Sat at the bar and told war stories, spoke about a big government grant his department had just been given. Then suddenly—” Nick snapped his fingers, his expression solemn as he explained. “Pulled out a revolver and started shooting. After an hour-long stand-off, Boston P.D. opened fire and put him down. When the dust settled, eight people were dead, including the professor.”

Madelyn pointed out what she hoped would be obvious. “If Mr. Carter were a synth, you’d think they’d be able to determine that after his death.”

“Assuming there wasn’t a cover-up,” Nick offered with a shake of his head. “The event itself was conveniently swept away in the news-cycles. Between the Red Scare in Hollywood and some ape dying in space—”

“Poor Albert,” Deacon quipped. Madelyn resisted the urge to laugh amidst their serious discussion and looked his way. He only smiled.

Nick cleared his throat, pulling their attention back. “As I was saying,” he tapped his fingers against the newspaper spread across his desk. “That’s two instances of MIT personnel losing themselves to madness. Piper, you’re the one who is worried about synths going unchecked. Malfunctioning and attacking without provocation. I’m all for throwing accusations against a reputable establishment when something smells rotten, but you need to be sure before going after something, or someone as big as the Institute.”

He was right, even as he inferred he believed Piper’s theories. Madelyn thought about what the group had discussed, and what she’d seen at the MIT conference the previous day. To think that the university had lied and had secretly placed realistic synths—indistinguishable from real humans—in the Boston populace. Worse yet, they had been doing so for years. Confusion settled in her mind—why? Why come forward now with the revelation of a new prototype if they’d been infiltrating the city all this time? It wouldn’t be the first time she dealt with a corruption scandal. What did the university have to gain from planting sleeper agents—synths—throughout Boston in the first place? She only ended up with more questions than answers.

Piper seemed to share a similar sentiment, a worrisome frown etched into her features. “I’ll hit the streets, connect with some sources,” she paused, giving Nick a cautious glance. “I know you still don’t trust him, but ol’ Danny Sullivan might be my best shot at getting any information from old police files,” she rolled her eyes when he groaned. “Or would you rather I break into precincts, for old time sakes?”

“Do what you will,” Nick sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Just leave us out of it for the time being,” he motioned towards Madelyn. “We’ve got enough on our hands with this cold case.”

Not that Piper needed his permission to follow her own leads for a story, but it was nice to have the support of a friend—the three had been working together for a few years now, and despite her reputation, she wasn’t one to run off and go rogue. Especially when it could put herself, or others, in danger. Considering they’d just come off from putting an end to Eddie Winter and his wide-spread corruption, she needed to tread lightly—well, as lightly as Piper was capable of. With a shrug, she moved to occupy the opposite armchair, sinking back into the cushions.

“Do you think any of this is connected to the Shaun Perlman case at all?” Madelyn decided to ask, gauging Nick’s reaction.

“I’d rather not cross that bridge right now,” he mumbled, dragging his palm across his face in exasperation. He shot a warning glance to Piper before she could get started. “Better we focus on the best lead we have—the kidnapper, and the fact he very well may be the same man who killed Madelyn’s husband.”

It felt like the air was sucked out of the room as she sensed all eyes focus on where she was sitting. She hadn’t expected Nick to be so upfront about sharing the information, but they were amongst trusted colleagues—anyone else and she likely would’ve had a more hostile reaction. That being said, she hadn’t divulged any case details to Deacon, and she his subtle reaction to the news didn’t go unnoticed out of the corner of her eye. Her secrecy wasn’t to be deceptive, but rather to protect her emotions. Madelyn was still struggling with the reality of the situation, and it took all the mental fortitude she had left to focus on helping to solve the case.

“What are you talking about?” Piper asked, looking between her and Nick.

“Preston, our witness from Concord. His description of the kidnapper…” he trailed.

“That wasn’t all,” Madelyn reluctantly added. “The way the wife, Nora…the way she described the kidnapping. It was all too familiar,” she swallowed down the nervous flutter rising in her throat and steadied her breathing the best she could. “From being ambushed in a public setting, to the way he made them—us—beg for our lives.”

“You don’t have to—” Nick tried to interrupt but she hushed him with one steely look.

“He was wearing a military fatigue and a leather jacket. His head was shaved, and there was a long scar that crossed over his left eye—just as Preston described,” Madelyn continued. “His gun wasn’t military issue, that much I know. Had to be modified, on account of the—” she broke off as the tears prickled her vision. Deacon shifted from his spot against the back wall, but she shook her head, silently rooting him to the spot.

“The coroner pulled a .44 hollow point from Nate’s chest,” she stated, biting back the overwhelming desire to cry. She lowered her gaze, focusing on the wedding ring she’d moved to her right hand. “Same kind they pulled from…” she found herself unable to say the husband’s name.

Nick took note of her struggle and interjected. “Mr. Perlman’s arm.”

Piper loudly clapped her hands together, causing Madelyn to flinch at the sound. She didn’t pause to apologize before she was bent forward and speeding through another tangent. “That weapon! A .44 caliber with hollow point bullets? I’ve read about several unsolved murders up and down the Eastern coastline with that modus operandi.”

“We can’t say that every shooting with a magnum was him, can we?” Madelyn asked, focusing her attention on Nick. He was smoking again, but she’d lost track of what number he was on.

“No,” he mumbled, the cigarette bobbing between his lips as he maneuvered the paperwork strewn about his desk, pulling out a tattered notebook. She wasn’t sure what he was looking at when he started reading. “1950—robbery outside the Boylston Club. Two injured, one dead, with—wouldn’t you know—a .44 hollow point bullet to the head.”

Madelyn grimaced, trying not to imagine what that would’ve looked like for the victim—perhaps Nate had it easier, even if he had a slow, and painful death.

“There was a suspect,” Nick read on, flipping though an old casefile. “Released on a technicality, but we all know by now that is code for corruption. Disappeared after that. No trace.”

“How much do you want to bet it’s our guy?” Piper asked to nobody in particular.

“Five bucks says it was Kellogg!”

Everybody in the room turned towards the new presence in the doorway—MacCready, who stared back with equal surprise. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop or nothin’ but…” he jutted his thumb over his shoulder towards the lobby. “That blonde chick wasn’t around to shoo me away, so I thought I’d—”

“Who the hell is Kellogg?” Nick stopped him from rambling.

“Oh, yeah. Right,” MacCready stepped into the office and shrugged. “Way you described him and that gun, only one person I know that fits the bill,” he said. “Conrad Kellogg.”

“Who is he?” Piper asked this time, turning in her seat so she could look at the former mercenary properly.

“Used to run with the Gunners, still might for all I know, but was high up in the ranks way before I came to Boston,” MacCready explained, leaning over the back of the armchair where Piper sat. “Rumor has it he killed some gang leader out in California before heading East. Never met him, but he’s got one hell of a reputation. Can’t believe that fu—” he hesitated, awkwardly clearing his throat. “Guy is still alive.”

“We don’t know that,” Nick said for the second time that morning. “Hasn’t been any reports of similar cases since—”

“Since Nate,” Madelyn finished, gulping down the ache that had formed in her chest.

“At least now you have a name,” Piper remarked, but it was hardly any consolation. “A lead. Better than nothing.”

“Sure, sure,” Nick agreed, though he didn’t lift his gaze from Madelyn, the two sharing a silent exchange. “MacCready, you know anybody in Quincy who’d be willing to talk?”

Their mercenary-turned-informant looked stunned, jolting upright as he anxiously rubbed at his neck. Getting dragged into another investigation was probably not why he had chosen to visit the agency that morning. Whatever the reason, it would have to wait. “Well, sure,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, I guess.”

Nick pushed back his chair to stand, moving towards the nearby coatrack to tug on his patched trench-coat and fedora. He pointed to the younger man. “Alright. You’re with me.”

When the detective noticed the confusion on Madelyn’s face, his expression settled. “I’m officially assigning you R&R.”

She couldn’t help but smile a little. “You don’t have the authority to assign me.”

Nick rolled his eyes, mumbling something about how stubborn women would be the death of him before nodding towards Deacon. Her Railroad partner understood the gesture and moved away from his spot to stand next to her. She didn’t need watching over, or protection, but she’d gladly take a reprieve if it meant spending time with him. Madelyn glanced up to find him with a tiny smile of his own, and he reached out to give her shoulder a comforting squeeze before retreating his hand back to his side before anyone could notice.

“Piper,” Nick gave the reporter a pointed stare before exhaling as he shook his head. “Whatever you do, just—be careful.”

She stood, playfully mocking him with a salute. “Aye, aye, detective.”

“You lied.”

“Of course I lied,” Deacon responded without missing a beat. “Which lie are we talking about?”

Madelyn softly laughed from her spot across the circular dining table, watching as he poured her another glass of wine. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been out to dinner—to an actual restaurant that wasn’t a 24-hour café—and was suddenly grateful for Nick’s subtle push. On Deacon’s suggestion they traveled uptown and found themselves a hidden gem of an Italian bistro in the process. More than one macabre joke about running into an Institute spy was made, wondering if Nick’s earlier mention of pasta had indoctrinated them, if only a little.

“When Piper asked about sending an undercover Railroad agent to MIT,” she clarified, bringing her refilled glass to her lips. “You lied.”

A sideways smirk. “I didn’t lie, I just omitted the truth.”

Madelyn chuckled, nearly choking on her drink. “That’s—that’s the same thing!”

“Hardly,” he countered with a wave of his hand. “Do you honestly think I’d talk about Railroad business in front of Piper?” It was a rhetorical question, followed up with words Madelyn had heard him speak time and time again, “you can’t trust everyone.”

She sighed, and couldn’t help it as her demeanor fell, ever so slightly. “Even me?”

Deacon’s expression was hard to read—it always was when he shielded his eyes with those sunglasses—but she figured he was studying her carefully. After all the emotional breakthroughs they’d shared, she didn’t want to think for a second he didn’t trust her—not when he was one of the very few she found faith in. She wondered if it had anything to do with her holding back information on the Shaun Perlman case, and even more doubt filled her mind. Before he could say anything, she had to speak—

“Sorry,” she set her wine glass down and fidgeted with the linen tablecloth. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about what Nick and I discovered while investigating. I should’ve said something sooner and—”

“Charmer,” Deacon stopped her short, reaching over the small table to cover her hand with his own, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. “That doesn’t bother me. If it wasn’t you, I would’ve snooped around and found out already. But that’s not my place in this partnership, not anymore. I trust you to tell me whatever’s important, on your own terms.”

Trust—there it was.

Madelyn gradually allowed the smile to return and flicked her gaze across his face. “Does that mean I’m allowed to have secrets?”

“A few,” he caught on to her tease. “You still haven’t told me who really taught you how to pick locks.”

Her chest tightened as she thought about her departed husband, simultaneously reminiscing about her and Deacon’s first jaunt together through the underground Switchboard tunnels. Her fingers twitched beneath his grasp. “Who says anybody taught me?” she joked, recovering as best she could.

He nodded, flashing that secret smile that told her he knew she was bluffing—but he was never one to rat her out. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, slowly withdrawing his hand from hers.

“Dez is the only one that knows,” he started. “We’ve had an inside man—hell, it might be a woman—nobody has met with the agent face to face,” Deacon’s lips skewed to the side in thought. “They aren’t an official Railroad operative. But they’re the ones that started feeding us information while we were still operating at the Switchboard.”

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Madelyn asked, trying not to sound accusatory.

“Back then, Dez and I weren’t sure of what we were dealing with,” he explained. “It was all coded. Most of it still is. We only knew the source was coming from what we believed to be an ally, working on the inside.”

“How can you be so sure?” She was rightfully skeptical. “You never found out who was responsible for attacking the Switchboard.”

“Fair point,” Deacon replied with a shrug. “We never stopped receiving correspondence either. Even after moving to the church. Dead drops with encrypted MIT data from Doctor Rendezvous themselves.”

She tried not to laugh. “Is that what you call them? Of all the codenames…”

“No,” he shook his head. “Dez and I call them Patriot.”

At least that explained all the reports Tinker Tom and Glory had been sifting through for the last several weeks. She wondered if any of it would prove fruitful, and if something of value would materialize sooner rather than later. You can’t trust everyone—and yet, the Railroad leaders seemed to be playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse with an unknown. She hoped they knew what they were doing.

“Enough work chat,” Deacon mused, plucking the napkin from his lap and placing it across the table. “What would you say to some blueberry pie?”

Madelyn grinned, pulled from her doom and gloom thoughts. “Yes.”

-x-

It was a short, hand-in-hand stroll through the uptown district to the Olympia Theatre, where she fixated on the matinee signs advertising Gigi—she hadn’t seen a film in years. If it wasn’t a late night rerun on CBS, she was completely out of the loop on modern day culture. She’d seen Leslie Caron in An American in Paris—a movie date with Nate so many years ago—seeing her picturesque face on the advertisement now brought back bittersweet memories.

“Pie and dancing tonight,” Deacon’s voice was suddenly in her ear as he leaned close. “Lerner and Loewe tomorrow.”

The promise alone caused excitement to bloom in her heart, even if a trickle of guilt remained. He gently tugged on her hand, and she followed him down the cobblestone alleyway to the familiar red door and golden placard, leaving the theatre behind.

The Memory Den was expectedly crowded for a Friday evening, but as soon as Irma caught sight of the two, she quickly ushered them to a private corner of the bar. Madelyn recognized it as Deacon’s corner—if he had such a claim to the place. Given Irma was an unspoken Railroad informant, Madelyn was sure he could very well have run of the place—especially now that Eddie Winter was out of the picture. It was hardly quiet were they perched themselves on two barstools as the house band played an upbeat song, but Irma’s cheery voice was loud as ever.

“We have a live singer tonight,” she boasted, standing between them with her hands on her hips.

Madelyn chuckled as she glanced towards the stage. “As long as it isn’t Bobby Darin.”

“Oh—” Irma faltered, unsure of her joke. “Uh, no. You’ll see! They came all the way from New York!” she beamed. “Now, I’ve seen the way you two can move, so why are you sittin’ around?”

Deacon arched an eyebrow and leaned against the bar-top. “We can’t dance on an empty stomach.”

Ironic, considering their stomachs were full of pasta, bread and wine. Madelyn only smiled at Irma when she glanced between them with curiosity. The other woman sighed before moving around the bar, walking down to the far end of the counter where a glass display showcased a variety of deserts. After a few minutes, she returned with a plate and two forks.

“Lucky you,” Irma remarked. “Last slice of the night.”

Deacon deferred to Madelyn, allowing her the first bite—it was just as delicious as she remembered, when he brought her an entire blueberry pie from Irma on Valentine’s Day. She held her palm beneath her chin on the second bite, trying not to disperse crumbs or berries all over her satin dress. She didn’t realize Deacon was watching her movements until she went for a third forkful, noticing he hadn’t taken his first. Very suddenly, a blush crept up her cheeks and he smirked.

Irma baked away with a bright grin. “You’re welcome!”

Deacon finally took a bite, followed up with a second so they were even. They sat and ate in silence, smiling and laughing at each other over nothing and everything as the atmosphere around them intensified. Madelyn blamed it on being tipsy from her dinner wine, but a lingering thought in the back of her mind echoed it was more than that. It was always more with Deacon.

“You said there’d be dancing,” Madelyn noted, eying the crowd of dancers when their desert was finished. The singer Irma mentioned had taken the stage and had already played through a melody of fast-paced swing ensembles to warm up the audience and the band.

He nodded, taking her hand in his as he slid off the barstool to stand. As soon as they navigated through the throng of people, the lights dimmed into a bluish-purple hue, and the band’s music slowed. It didn’t deter them—they’d slow danced before, but that was undercover and what felt like a lifetime ago. This was something entirely different. Deacon’s arms encircled her waist, one hand on her lower back and the other planted firmly between her shoulders. Madelyn loosely wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned back far enough so she could study his face in the dark lighting.

“Last time we were here, you tried to slice my throat in the hallway,” he smiled at the memory, and so did she. Thinking back, it was any wonder he hadn’t turned the tables and pinned her to the wall—he certainly possessed the strength to do so. Madelyn didn’t let the thought get carried away in her mind, as much as it thrilled her.

“You weren’t so keen on dancing with me,” he remarked, tilting his head to the side.

“But I did,” she countered, inching herself closer. “You were a stranger. I should’ve known better, but I still danced with you.”

Deacon shrugged. “I still might be a stranger, you never know.”

“Bullshit.”

“Adorable,” he retorted, right on cue. “You still want to dance with me, after everything you know?”

Madelyn suddenly wondered if they were speaking in code—Deacon wasn’t really talking about dancing, was he? She desperately wished she could see beyond the tinted shades he was wearing, knowing if she caught a glimpse of those baby blues, she’d have her answer within a heartbeat. Regardless of the inuendo, she knew what to say.

“Why not?” she offered in a soft voice. “You make one hell of a partner.”

He smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself, Charmer.”

As the song continued, she steadily drew herself closer until she was resting her head against his shoulder, swaying slowly in his arm as the soothing beat echoed around them.

“You’ll see me home tonight?” she asked, closing her eyes to the world around her. She felt his lips brush against her temple near her ear as he whispered so only she could hear.

“Yes.”

-x-

Madelyn had never traversed the stairwell of her apartment so slowly. With Deacon at her side, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to reach the seventh floor, knowing that when they reached her door he would have to depart. That wasn’t necessarily true, but after the evening’s events, she wasn’t entirely sure if inviting him in for their usual nightcap would constitute crossing some kind of unspoken line. But what had started as a distraction had turned into what felt like a date. She was faced with an increasing dilemma with every step, one she’d been suppressing for weeks.

Their relationship—whatever it was—wasn’t a topic of discussion. Even after so many near misses, and what might as well have been a confession in a church—of all places—Madelyn couldn’t pinpoint where they stood. Partners? Friends? Something more? Or something in-between? Mitigating circumstances forced them to pump the brakes before discovering if what they had was meant to be. But now, Madelyn was tired of waiting, tired of hiding her emotions to the world. All she wanted to do was drive off the cliff with a lead foot and find out.

“Charmer,” he said her name—her codename—in that sly way of his as he leaned against the doorway outside her apartment, glancing up at the shiny lettering D. Madelyn took it as some kind of sign. “Here we are.”

She nodded but didn’t move to rummage through her purse for her keys. “Here we are,” she repeated. Her eyes danced across the hall. “Do you think Drummer Boy is listening to us right now?”

“Without a doubt,” he responded with a soft laugh. “He needs all the gossip he can get.”

There was somebody else that was listening too, judging by the robotic voice that echoed out from beyond her door. “Miss Madelyn, is that you? Oh, it’s such a late hour!”

She groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead in a vain attempt to hide her embarrassment. What was worse than having a Mister Handy that acted like her parental guardian, reprimanding her if she came home past midnight?

“Your metal hubby is calling for you,” Deacon joked. His next action surprised her as he reached up to remove his sunglasses, tucking them away in his coat pocket. Even in the faint lighting of her hallway, his eyes gleamed with a certain kind of magic. “Shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

“Let him wait,” she hushed.

It was the cue she needed, taking a hesitant step forward, closer to where he was. She reached out, one hand gripping the fabric of his tie while the other sought out the side of his face, tugging gently to bring him closer. Madelyn thought about all the times she’d wanted to kiss him but didn’t, all the times they’d almost kissed but hadn’t, every time he had slipped through her fingertips. Standing there, in front of her apartment door, it seemed to mirror previous occasions—they were so close, Deacon’s breath ghosting over her mouth as their hooded eyes locked under the intensity. She hesitated, waiting for the other foot to drop, for some kind of interruption—except, it never came. Instead, his hand at her waist tugged her just close enough as he tilted his chin and—bliss—as their lips softly met.

For a long moment, the kiss was nothing but chaste, sweet. But there was a certain kind of desperation behind the contact—understandable considering how long it had been for her since her last kiss. She wasn’t sure how long it had been for him, but if she believed what he’d said about his wife—which she did—it had to be a significant time. Madelyn increased the pressure first, Deacon taking the cue to slide his tongue past her lips. His fingers gripped her side as they continued, the two content with the measured pace being set. Even though they both had done their fair share of waiting—there was no need to rush.

With a soft breath, she reluctantly pulled away, a delightful heat encompassing her entire body. She relished in being able to witness the sparkle of Deacon’s eyes, his blown pupils as they darted across her face and body before snapping back up to meet her gaze.

“Shouldn’t keep him waiting,” he repeated, voice raspy. As far as goodbyes and goodnights went, it was fitting for the Railroad spy. He smirked, replacing his sunglasses where they belonged before slowly backing away towards the stairwell. “Charmer.”

Madelyn didn’t enter her apartment until she was sure Deacon had descended at least a few flights of stairs, leaning against the door as she closed it behind her. Her heart was racing, the speed of which made it feel like it was lodged in her throat. She raised her fingers to trace over her lips where his mouth had just been and felt a warmth she had been chasing for months—years—a sprinkle of goosebumps appeared across her skin. She felt foolish, like a schoolgirl with a crush all over again—except, this was much more than a crush. She felt a rush. She felt alive. She felt—

“Mum?” Codsworth’s voice made her realize he’d been hovering in front of her frozen state, robotic eyes zooming in on her body with curiosity. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she answered, without hesitation. “Never better.”

May 18th, 1958

“You’re smiling.”

Madelyn tried her best to suppress the grin she knew was pulling at her lips but failed. “Am I?”

She glanced over to Nick as they walked, noting that for some inexplicable reason he was in a better mood than usual. It likely had something to do with their case, and how after a decade of little to no progress, things had heated up in a matter of days. After leaving her alone for most of the weekend, he’d finally called her early that Sunday morning with an update from his own investigating. He had a lead promising enough that it demanded swift action, though Madelyn was glad to be back on the streets and investigating with the detective—just like old times.

“Yeah,” he nodded, raising a quizzical brow in her direction. “Something I should know?”

Madelyn played coy, moving closer to link her arm in his as they continued their stroll down the Fenway district sidewalks. She patted his coat affectionately. “Mr. Valentine, don’t you know a lady shouldn’t kiss and tell?”

The surprise in his expression was short-lived as he caught on to her insinuation, and after a small stretch of silence, a low smirk settled on his face. “It’s a good look, doll.”

“Where are we headed?” Madelyn asked before he could start a line of questioning—not that she expected it, but she wanted to avoid any unnecessary pestering. “You never told me how your little date in Quincy faired.”

“I’ll tell you about my date when you tell me about yours,” he countered, with expert precision. Instead of taking offense, Madelyn laughed. They hadn’t bantered in so long and it felt refreshing. “MacCready can be a hard-ass, when you need him to be.”

“Good cop, bad cop?”

“Detectives,” Nick corrected. If there was one thing he hated, it was being mistaken for any member of the Boston police force—even if the two had snuffed out Eddie Winter’s corruption. It was one of the reasons they were heading this investigation on their own, and without assistance from the inside. As far as they knew, the only people worth trusting were themselves. “We got what we needed. Last known address for a one Conrad Kellogg.”

The pair continued walking past the large green walls of the Fenway stadium until they reached they grouping of apartments situated on the western side of the district. Almost immediately, the memory of when they’d last visited the Parkview Apartments came flooding back and she stared up at the tall buildings.

“Earl Sterling,” she muttered under her breath before looking to Nick. “Is it coincidence that Boston serial killers like to congregate in one area?”

“Cheap place to live, in a nondescript area of the city,” Nick frowned. “Hiding in plain sight. Coincidence? Maybe. Or maybe they don’t realize they all eventually follow the same patterns eventually.”

The two didn’t delay for much longer in the courtyard, entering the building and ascending the stairs after finding initials C.K. on one of the lobby’s mailboxes. On the fourth floor, they made their way towards a faded green door, Nick double checking the number scrawled on a lose piece of paper before shoving it back into his pocket.

“This is the place,” he assured.

“Looking for someone?”

Nick and Madelyn turned to find not exactly who they expected—a well dressed man in a tan colored suit, a freshly picked flower pinned to his lapel. He regarded them with a polite smile, but there was something unsettling about the way he stared ahead that had Madelyn’s skin crawling. Be it the location they were in, or the assumption of the people who lived there, she didn’t want to make any sudden movements.

“Do you know anything about the person who lives here?” Madelyn asked.

The suited man shook his head. “Lived. Haven’t seen his handsome face in quite a while.”

“Did he die?” she continued her line of questioning, careful not to reveal too much about the circumstances of why they were there. “We’re…old college classmates of his. In town and thought to surprise him.”

“Oh, I do love surprises,” the man replied with the same, measured smile as before. “He isn’t dead. Just gone. Just like that child that came to visit every now and again. What an adorable young man.”

“A child?” Nick questioned, on high alert.

“Around ten years old, I should say,” the man answered, raising his hand to gesture height. “Hm. But what do I know? He always did say I was…too nosy.”

“Thank you,” Madelyn hesitantly nodded. “For letting us know.”

He made to move past them down the hallway in the opposite direction but stopped at the last moment. “The next time you’re in the neighborhood, please, stop by my gallery,” his recommendation came in a soft, eerie tone. “I have a feeling you’d be an admirer.”

Madelyn’s grip on Nick’s arm didn’t loosen until the mystery man was out of sight and even he didn’t seem to relax until all was quiet around them.

“Jesus,” he muttered, swiftly turning towards the apartment door and shuffling through his coat pockets, pulling out a lockpick. He made quick work of the deadbolt, catching the doorknob in his hand so it wouldn’t swing open. “Come on.”

Nick took the lead, his gun unholstered and at his side as he took measured steps through the small space. Madelyn followed, closing the door behind her and securing the lock—the last thing they needed was a visitor while they were sneaking around. The apartment itself was sparse, barely filled with any furniture or proof that anyone had lived there before or had been there recently. As she loitered near the kitchen nook, glancing over a pile of forgotten comic books and a case of cigars, she heard Nick call from the back bedroom.

“All clear!” he announced. “What do you make of this?”

The bedroom was just as empty as the entranceway, a double bed and desk occupying the space. Madelyn found Nick studying a pile of documents, shifting them about with a mix of confusion and concern. She plucked a dusty file from the stack and was alarmed to see a familiar set of emblems and insignia.

“These are military documents,” she confirmed what he already knew, being a former airman himself. “What are they doing here?”

Nick shook his head, unsure. “Kellogg was described as a military man in suspect reports. What if that description is accurate and he really is an enlisted officer?”

“A killer in the ranks?” Madelyn didn’t want to believe it.

Nick didn’t respond, his eyes shifting rapidly as he read over more and more of the scattered reports, even if they were mostly redacted. Madelyn couldn’t make heads or tails of them—she never could, even when she would try to sneak a peak at the files Nate would bring home. Whatever Kellogg was researching, it involved a scientific endeavor—backed by the government and heavily funded—that required top level security clearance.

“There’s only one military base in town that would be responsible for such a project,” Nick explained. Madelyn knew. The only question would be how to get inside.

He tapped the document. “Fort Hagen.”

#fallout 4 #noir au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #madelyn hardy #deacon #nick valentine #piper wright #robert joseph maccready #and other spoiler characters...#more easter eggs than your body can handle!#something happens in the chapter that you've all been waiting for #👀👀👀

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