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biscuit-buddy · 4 years ago

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kuzumochi. (18+)

Endeavor x Reader (Smut, Birthday Fic, 3.1k)

A/N: holy shit guys this got so much longer than expected i’m sorry if it drags at all i just had so much i wanted to get out! Also its 11:22pm so its technically still his birthday. ha.

What do you get for the man who could already have whatever he wanted at the snap of his fingers? Being the number one pro hero meant that Enji already received truckloads of expensive things, tickets to exclusive events, and the newest technologies simply because of his status. You knew this because everything he received went through you after being thoroughly checked at security. Eight months as his personal secretary offered you a glimpse into his extravagant world and honestly left you with a small bite of bitter jealousy. Some of the things that passed over your desk could pay the rent in your measly apartment for the next year, and you were sure he never gave most of it more than a second glance.

Your pen tapped lightly against your bottom lip as you stared at the pad of sticky notes on your desk, nothing more than illegible lines, dots, and scribbles covered the top one. With a sigh of frustration, you detach it from the stack, crumple it and toss it in the trash. Today was the first day of August, and the mental countdown to your boss’ birthday plagued your thoughts. While your job was comfortable as is, the cold treatment from the man you worked for grated on your every nerve. You’d think after nearly a year in his employment he’d begin to warm up to you, maybe even bother to remember your name. This was your chance to finally stand out to him if only you could think of something that the hero could possibly want for his birthday.

As much as he’d probably like a break or a vacation, you were in no position to provide that for him. He obviously didn’t want for anything material either. Does he even have a sweet tooth? You wondered silently as the tapping of your pen resumed against your face. I can’t even imagine a guy like him eating a cupcake. You know what? Actually I can and it’s hilarious. I bet his mustache would burn the frosting and-

“Ahem” Well, speak - or think- of the devil and he shall appear. Endeavor himself stood at your desk with an impatient look on his stern face. The goofy smile you’d been developing at the thought of the massive man eating sweets was quickly wiped off and your back straightened at an uncomfortable pace.

“Daydreaming on the job?” he asked, but you got the feeling he didn’t really want an answer, so you just bow your head in apology. In an embarrassed mumble, you replied, “Sorry sir, won’t happen again” and he gave a huff in response, not unlike that of a great dragon. You held back another smile at the fleeting thought of smoke puffing out of his nose in discontent, as he handed you a manila envelope stuffed to the brim with some kind of paperwork.

“I need this hand-delivered to the Hawks Hero Office immediately. This is sensitive information I’m trusting you with.” You gingerly accepted the packet, but couldn’t avoid the brief touch of his massive hand sliding past yours. You noted briefly just how warm they were, though you shouldn’t really be surprised. Courier work isn’t exactly in your job description but lately, you’ve been desperate to suck up anyways, plus some fresh air couldn’t hurt. You stood and gave one more quick bow, “of course sir, I’d be happy to deliver it” He seemed content with your answer and turned to walk through the frosted glass double doors that led into his office without so much as another word.

Honestly, that had gone better than most of your interactions in the past. Pleased with the slight development in your relationship you gatherers your purse and the envelope and headed for the elevator. Floors passed monotonously as you continued to float gift ideas around in your head, this was looking to be harder than you initially thought.

Once the lift reached the lobby you made your exit, pushing past a crowd of workers who seemed to just be returning from lunch. They laughed boisterously and made no notice of you squeezing around them. Finally, you made it to the front door of the Endeavor Agency and swiped your employee ID badge on the terminal next to the front door alerting the system that you had left the building. Fresh warm air tickled your skin as you made your way onto the sidewalk and began the trek to Hawks’ Agency. It wasn’t particularly far, only a few blocks away and the route was dotted with storefronts boasting all kinds of wares from cake to clothes to flowers.

In theory, one of the displays you passed should have given you an idea but once more you found yourself coming up blank as you approached your destination. The young man at the front desk smiled politely when you entered “Hi there, do you have an appointment?” his eyes flickered between you and the computer screen in front of him.

“Actually I’m here on delivery for Endeavor” you waved the yellow folder a bit to accentuate your statement “something about sensitive information?” This really wasn’t part of the job you signed up for. Face to face interactions with strangers is so damn awkward. Luckily the receptionist probably dealt with people like you all day and didn’t bat an eye before saying

“Of course, his office is on floor 22 but if he’s not in there, try the roof. I’ll let security know you’re heading up” and he began tapping at the keyboard with one hand while making a ‘go on’ gesture toward the elevator with the other. You thought about boarding but instead made your way to the staircase. I already walked this far, might as well make it a cardio day, and give myself a good excuse to order takeout for dinner. You were truly a genius, maybe it was time to apply at NASA instead of working your ass off for Mr. Hothead.

Twenty-two floors was a bit more of a workout than you thought it would be, and when you finally arrived at the top you were mildly sweaty cheeks ruddy and more out of breath than you’d like to admit so you take a moment to calm down before opening the doors and walking past the security guard. He gave you a sideways glance but kept his mouth shut as you knocked twice on the office doors.

The lack of a verbal response clued you into the fact that he was likely on the roof just as the receptionist had said, so you hung a left and let yourself sprint up one more flight of stairs. Once you made it through the door marked ‘rooftop’ you spotted the winged hero perched near the railing. You announced yourself so as not to startle him,

“Excuse me, Mr. Hawks? I’m here on behalf of Endeavor, he asked me to deliver this to you as soon as possible”

He wheeled around at the sound of your voice, and his eyes lit up with amusement at your disheveled appearance. “Hey, thanks! I was kind of expecting the big man himself but you’re certainly a nice surprise” he winked and took the folder from your hands “Nobody told me Endeavor hired such a cutie to be his secretary, ya think I have any chance of poaching you from him?” Despite your earlier thoughts about NASA, you had no intention of leaving your current position so you just laughed.

“I’m flattered but unfortunately I’ve got some oddly placed sense of loyalty for him”

“Oh I get it” he cocked an eyebrow “I would too if I was you, the guy’s a size queen’s dream after all. Gotta love the whole naughty secretary dynamic too”

You sputtered at his bluntness “Oh god no nothing like that I-”

“Aw, I’m just teasing kid, how couldn’t I when you come up here looking like that” He gestured to your flustered appearance and you immediately regretting taking the stairs moments ago “Besides, I’d be surprised if you got him to warm up to you enough to remember your name let alone bend you over his desk” He was spot on, you had to sigh at that.

“You’re right there, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t even notice if there was an entirely different person sitting at my desk tomorrow”

“Heh, yeah, sounds like him. But you know, his birthday is coming up maybe a gift will put you in his good graces” another effortless wink was shot your way and despite him being the one with wings, the attention really ruffled your feathers. It’s like he had a secret mind-reading quirk or something.

“I thought of that, but I have no clue what a guy like him would even want. It’s not like shopping for your mom, where you can just give her a picture frame that says ‘Live Laugh Love’ and she cherishes it forever ya know?” Hawks snorts in amusement at your comparison. You’re right and you’ll defend that if he asks, but he doesn’t.

“In that case, I’d be willing to let you in on a little secret, some little known Endeavor lore, a true exclusive if you ask me”

“I’m not a tabloid Hawks, just tell me already” this guy messes around a lot for being the number two hero, its an incredibly stark contrast from his only superior.

“Okay, okay, you gotta lean in though, he’d kill me if I leaked something so personal” you lean in closer as instructed and he whispers into your ear, “his favorite food... is kuzumochi” You pull back in visible disappointment.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, he goes crazy for the stuff. Honest to god I’ve seen him inhale an entire batch in like five minutes. You want him to notice you? Then this is the best possible way, trust me.” and for some crazy reason you do. This could actually work, if it’s really as much of a secret as the blonde claims, you’d certainly stand out among the other gifts he’s sure to get.

You thank Hawks and turn to leave with a newfound confidence in this new plan, but not before he makes you promise to tell him how it goes after the big day. As you exit the winged hero’s agency building the work phone you were assigned chimes with a new email letting you know that you can go straight home after the drop-off, and your grin widens. Even better, now you have time to stop at the grocery store on the way home, the decision already made to go big or go home. You were bound and determined to make the kuzumochi from scratch, and it was gonna be the best damn thing your boss had ever tasted.

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

The rest of the week dragged on in a painfully average way, the only thing keeping your mood afloat was the surprise dish you had been working on every night. You’d gone through multiple test batches, determined to get the flavor and consistency just right. The work paid off on the night of the 7th, just in time when you completed your best batch yet. With a content sigh, you washed your hands and packaged up the kuzumochi like a damn professional. Finally, you were able to take a long hot shower and climb into bed early with the anticipation of tomorrow bubbling in your chest.

Morning came quickly and your daily routine was done with care, then you grabbed the gift and began the short commute to work. Brain on autopilot, it seemed like no time at all until you were seated at your desk and logging in to the company’s computer system. The pristinely packaged gift was nestled into the corner of your desk, waiting for the perfect moment.

This moment came just before lunch when a mildly scuffed up Endeavor breezed past you in a huff and headed straight into his office. This is it you thought Sure, he’s a little pissy at the moment but this’ll cheer him right up. And with that, you knocked once on the office door and peeked in. The sight of him slumped in the leather office chair in front of the massive floor to ceiling window, eyebrow cocked at your intrusion made your heart jump just a little. How can one man be so damn intimidating? You cleared your throat and began to speak with entirely false confidence.

“Sorry for barging in sir, I just wanted to give you a birthday gift. It’s not much, but I hope you’ll accept it” the whole situation reminded you of confessing to your crush with a box of chocolates in middle school, and it’s funny how some things never truly change. You presented the box to him and to your surprise he actually reached out to take it.

His scrutinizing glare never let up as he untied the silky ribbon and lifted the lid, but once he recognized the contents his expression shifted quickly to one of surprise.

“Is this... kuzumochi?” His gaze fell on you and it had nearly physical weight.

“Yes sir, I have it on uhm, good authority that it’s one of your favorites” should you admit that Hawks told you this bit of information?

“Why?”

“I’m sorry? Its… well, it’s your birthday, right? I wanted to get you something that would stand out.” It felt silly to admit to his face.

“And why would you need to stand out, Y/N?” You had to keep your jaw from hitting the floor when he so casually dropped your name, the name you were sure he hadn’t even known. He decided to let you mull over the question as he took a bite of your carefully crafted treat, you could hear a small satisfied hum in his throat and it gave you chills. He beckoned you closer, “it’s delicious, would you like a taste?” when you hesitated he added, “it would be awfully rude to refuse your boss on his birthday, especially after all the trouble you’ve gone to making these”

A heavy step carries you over to his desk, like lead weights attached to your ankles. As you approach he rises out of the chair, a new unreadable look replaced the one of irritation you had been so used to all these months. “Come closer,” he said when you stopped just short of the desk. He’d never spoken to you like this before, and it sent chills down your spine. A few more steps took you around the desk to where he stood, and you barely flinched when he placed a large palm on the side of your jaw, the other held a piece of kuzumochi near your mouth. His intent was clear, he was going to feed it to you by hand. “Open” he commanded softly and you couldn’t deny him if you wanted to, so you complied.

The sweetness melted over your tongue, you truly had outdone yourself here. And once the piece was securely in your mouth, a warm thumb brushed over your bottom lip where his eyes also happened to be resting, completely content in watching you chew and swallow. The intimacy of the situation wasn’t lost on you. You recalled something that Hawks had said about a ‘sexy secretary dynamic’ and once again he was right. When the taste had completely faded from your senses, you looked up to finally meet your boss’ eye. The intensity in them shook you to your very core.

“I’ll ask you again, why do you think you need to stand out?” at this, his hand dropped from your lip down to your waist “Were you hoping for some kind of special attention?” the depth of his voice made your thighs clench, knowing full well where this conversation was heading. He noticed the action and quirked his lips into the faintest smile, one full of mischievous intent. One large step forward for him pushed you back onto the sturdy wooden desk. “I can’t possibly disappoint my favorite little employee then, can I?”

You barely had time to brace your arms behind you before his hand moved over again to res on the top of your thigh, and the one that remained on your jaw guided you into a kiss. It began soft, Endeavor was no fool. He tested the waters, your willingness, before jumping right in. The second you started to kiss back it was full speed ahead. The man was experienced for sure, he knew exactly how to coax your mouth into a dance with his own. Once his tongue pushed into your mouth it was all over for you, you’ve become a slave to the feeling.

All too quickly he broke the kiss, and you had half a mind to whine at the loss of contact. When you opened your eyes you noticed he was leaned over towards the box of kuzumochi that started everything. Odd time for a snack but okay. And when he returned to face you he did have another piece in his mouth, as well as the red ribbon you used to tie it in his hands. Your mouths met once again, this time he pushed the food into yours with his tongue. While you’re distracted with the odd sensation of kissing and eating at the same time you hardly notice the way he pushed both your arms up above your head and deftly tied your wrists together with the ribbon. When he was sure they were secure he let them drop and find a home around the back of his neck.

You swallow the kuzumochi just as he turns up the intensity, completely claiming your mouth with his own. This time, he pushes you even further back until you’re laid completely flat on the desk. His fingers rake up and down your sides while his hips press against yours. You can feel his growing excitement pushed up against you and the feeling has you nearly moaning. Nearly isn’t good enough got the number one though, and he starts trailing kisses down your jaw and further until he reaches the junction of your neck where he bites and sucks like his life depends on it. This finally brings forth the noise he was chasing, and when you go to cover your mouth from embarrassment is when you finally realize that your wrists are bound.

Your boss’ attention is directed elsewhere though, as he reaches a hand under your skirt, past you panties, and begins to stroke your folds. You both realized how wet you’ve become at the same time, and now it’s his turn to moan. One large digit enters you as his mouth travels further south, now nipping at your collarbones and chest. Your wrists slip from around his neck and his free hand strokes upwards from your side to push your arms up over your head. Completely exposed to him he continues to ravish your skin and curl his finger in and out of your cunt. Quickly you come undone around his finger and he removes his mouth from you long enough to drag the digit along his own tongue.

“You’re even sweeter than the kuzumochi, here” he pushes the finger into your mouth and you diligently suck the rest of your juices from it. “Good girl.” The praise itself makes you moan once again. When he’s satisfied with your work he begins to remove his pants and you finally get a glimpse of what you’re working with. You nearly get up and walk out right then, because the man is massive.

“Just relax, I’ll start slow” he reassures and stays true to his word. After a long moment of adjusting he’s fully sheathed inside you and you swear this is what heaven feels like. The moment he begins to move you know you were wrong. If that was heaven you must have finally ascended even further, to wherever gods go when they die. Endeavor fucks you hard and slow against his desk until your eyes are rolling back in your head and you can see every constellation on your eyelids. And when it’s over, you’re shaking like a leaf.

He pulls out, not giving a second glance to the fluids leaking out of you and onto the floor, and begins to untie your wrists. Both of them are red and raw from the friction of the ribbon, and he places a tender kiss on each of the marks. One more kiss on the bruised patch he left on your neck, then he’s hoisting you upwards in a sitting position. Still unsteady but slowly coming back down to earth, you feel a soft tissue wipe at the mess between your legs while a strong hand continues to keep you upright rests at your side.

When you look up to meet his gaze, your confidence is no longer an act. “Happy birthday,” you say and for once he breaks out a genuine smile that makes him look ten years younger.

As he rests his forehead against yours he replies, “It’s not over yet” but before you can question his meaning the intercom system next to his computer rings and a voice announces “Mr. Hawks is on his way up, sir” and you choke. You did promise you’d tell him how things went.

#endeavor x reader #endeavor #enji x reader #enji todoroki #bnha #mha #happy birthday endeavor

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vasantcouriers · 20 days ago

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sleepysailorghost · 4 years ago

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Arcade wasn't sure what he expected when the Courier asked him to accompany them. They hadn't given a name, only said they were a Courier. It wasn't much to go on, but the Courier had looked up at him with big eyes. And for some reason, it didn't sound all that crazy to venture beyond the fort with them, a natural stanger.

They had listened so reverently when Julie spoke. They had fulfilled any job asked of them by the Followers. Certainly, if they harbored ill will towards the Followers, they would have gotten to their revenge before now.

He had asked for their name, if only to be polite.

"I don't have one. Courier or Six is fine, if you'd like."

"You don't have a name?"

"I guess I probably did once, but I don't remember any more. I just remember the man in the checkered coat- an 18-carat run of bad luck-and then waking up in Doc Mitchell's house. Maybe that man knows who I was. I don't know."

"That doesn't bother you, not having a past?"

"No, not really." The Courier leaned back. "I'm just me. Sure, I can't look back on the road behind me, but I can look forward."

"Interesting. Are you going to look for the man in the checkered coat?"

"I don't know. I guess I could. I'm supposed to, because he stole something from me and shot me in the head."

"Wait, he shot you in the head?"

"Yeah, that's why I don't remember much. It messed with my head too."

"Well, yeah. Getting shot in the head would do that."

"Oh, wait, I do have one hint to who I might have been." The courier starts to undo the many closures of their armor, like a fire's been lit under them. "What do you make of this?"

The Courier drops their armor clumsily on the floor, and then goofily flexes. He doesn't really know what they're refering to, but then he sees the poorly-done tattoo on their upper arm. It's a ring of roses and thorns that raps under their bicep. Despite being very mediocre, it is legible and in color.

"Huh." Tattoos aren't really unique, but it is something. "Maybe your name is Rose?"

"Maybe. It doesn't sound right."

"Maybe you just need to try it out for a while, wear it in." He's trying to help, but the Courier is a near stranger to him. "Or, if you'd like, I could arrange for you to see Dr. Usa-"

"No thanks. Don't want to take up her time." The refusal was off faster than a bullet from a sixgun. "If you're ready to go, so am I."

"Sure." He agreed. It wasn't really healthy of the Courier to act out against the idea of visiting the clinic, but it wasn't something he could force them into. At least, not as a near stranger.

This turned out to be one of the few times the Courier's former-NCR sniper friend wasn't travelling with them. He probably wouldn't have decided to go with the Courier if he had known they had company. Still, it isn't all that bad, even if he feels a little crowded with the Courier, their robot pet ED-E (he hates that thing), the King's robot-dog, the sniper, and the Remnant medical researcher. One more person, and the Courier will have a small army.

Not that the Courier normally has all of them traveling together at once. It's too noticeable, draws too much attention. It might even sound like a joke: an Enclave eyebot, a police cyber dog, an amnesiac Courier, a grouchy NCR sniper, and a medical researcher walk in to a bar...

It makes the Courier happy to travel with him, so he does it on occasion. Those occassions become a lot more frequent after they return from a place they call the "Big Empty".

That had been months ago. Now, he felt like he knew the Courier. Not that he wasn't surprised by the Courier-he certainly was. But he was familiar with the Courier now.

It was a dangerous sort of thing, that familiarity. He was even starting to think that perhaps it would be a good idea to let them in on his own origins.

And he knew how the Courier felt about him.

Leaning against his side while they sat at a fire, the Courier's hands stripping a defeated foe's weapon, they had muttered something.

"Sorry, say again?" Arcade responded. Most of the time, it was just complaints about bent springs or whatever, more to themselves than to him.

The Courier's hands stopped, laying the weapon on the ground.

"You're my brother, Arcade." The Courier says, and then continues before Arcade could interrupt. "Not by blood. Or hell, maybe you are. It's not like I'd remember. Course you are a heck of a lot taller than I am...maybe the tall gene skipped me."

Arcade doesn't say anything, attempting to process what the Courier was trying to tell him.

"No, we're not related by blood." He agrees, although he has no real way to confirm it without knowing the Courier's identity.

"I know." The Courier put their hand up to their chest. "I just...well, I know you're my brother. I, uhh, care about you."

Arcade didn't know what to say about that. It really did feel like it had come out of nowhere to him. A few weeks later, the Courier had gone running off to a place that might have been their home.

Antietam is walking by his side now, but their gaze is drawn over to an old poster. The pre-war store was filled with advertisements for many different products, from Sugar-Bombs to the newest products from Rob-Co.

Shelves, long ransacked and destroyed, have created something of a maze. The laminate tiling on the floor has become loose after centuries of neglect. Decorations littering the area would mark this location as a raider base at some point.

His friend doesn't seem to notice any of that, moving closer to a central display that might have been made of stacked shoeboxes once. Now, the boxes lay in a crumpled heap.

"Antietam, wait-" He says, and the courier stops.

"Yeah? Do you need something?"

"You need to be more careful! This could be a trap."

"I don't think it is. I'm pretty good at finding traps and I don't see any tripwires or bear traps. I've stepped in enough of those."

"Of course you wouldn't see them! It's a mess in here."

"I'm not going far. I just wanna see if I can find some of those."The Courier pointed at an advertisement. It was of a girl with little wheels on her shoes, looking over her shoulder as she spun away. Under the picture, it read "Roll with the punches with Roller-Ray skates!".

"Do you..need those?"

"Well, no. I just think they would be cool. Just rollin around town."

"I'll go with them." Boone added, if only so he could keep an eye on them.

"Yeah, plus ED-E's sensors haven't picked up on anything. I can handle myself while looking for skates, Arcade."

On that note, the Courier and Boone go to pick through the rubble. When they returned, Antietam raised their arm triumphantly.

"We found them! A little dinged up, but I can fix that. C'mon, lets go outside to try them!" With the hand not holding their skates, Antietam grabbed at Arcade's sleeve.

"Okay, okay." He said, because Antietam's enthusiasm for things was infectious sometimes. They exited the store, entering that had once been a parking lot. Rusted-through cars sat abandoned and the sun hung low in the sky.

Antietam dropped to the floor, strapping on their skates. They were metal and fit awkwardly with their combat boots and spurs. Awkwardly, like a baby radstag on ice, the Courier stood up.

"Okay,so I just." The Courier lifted one leg as if to take a step. Their balance was offset by the movement. Next to him, Arcade saw Boone move to catch the Courier if they fell, but the Courier braced themselves on a car instead.

They took a few more awkward steps.

"Yeah, I think I'm getting the hang of this." Their movements were jerky, but in time, perhaps they'd be alright at it.

Then they hit a skid in the destroyed asphalt and took a spill. Their left side collided hard with a rusted shell.

"Ouch." they groaned, and then collapsed onto the parking lot. "I'm just gonna rest here for a second."

Arcade laughed a little, and then helpfully whined about the sun.

"Alright, alright. Okay, getting up." The Courier pushed up from the asphalt with both hands, rising from their crumpled mass.

"Nothing broken?" Arcade asked, seeing Antietam avoid putting too much weight on their left side.

"No, probably just bruised." They replied, but that was what Arcade had expected. They were still extremely hesitant to be medically examined, even if it meant concealing and ignoring injuries. It stung Arcade-someone who the Courier allegedly loved like a brother-to be held at arms' length. That being said, he couldn't be upset with them either. The Courier had suffered greatly and been stripped of agency by doctors. It was a mark of pride that Antietam trusted him.

Actually, he could still be angry with them for concealing injuries.

The sun was beating down as steadily as it always did in the Mojave. A bead of sweat formed on Arcade's neck.

"Oh shoot." The Courier murmured, looking over their hands. They wore fingerless gloves, and a pip-boy on one arm. Arcade examined the injury. It would be a lot of work if the Courier came down with tetnus. "It's just a scrape, Arcade."

"It's not just a scrape. It's dirty and could get infected."

"Hottest part of the days coming up. We should wait it out in the store." Boone added, helpfully.

"C'mon, listen to your big brother, ok?" Arcade tried with a smile. The Courier looked up at him with their wide brown eyes.

Arcade was not above emotional manipulation.

Half a year ago, if someone told him that he was going to play big brother to a Courier who knew nothing about their past and hated doctors, he'd have likely sent them to see Dr. Usanagi.

The Courier ran their gloved hand through their short white hair. It fluffed up their bangs (despite the pin staying in place) and revealed the twin scars on their forehead and the surgical scar that ran around their skull.

"Okay." The Courier responded, sticking their wrist out to him for treatment.

"Oh, that's a nasty cut." he said, "Let's head inside so we can get this treated.:

In the end, even if the Courier was a hassle sometimes, he was glad to be their brother. He was turning into such a sap.

#arcade gannon #courier antietam #fallout new vegas #fnv #ED-E #craig boone #roller skates

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bikecourierservicebangaloren · 1 year ago

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comparativetarot · 4 years ago

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Nine of Wands. Art by Robin Scott, from The Urban Tarot.

Fortitude

The Nine of Wands represents strength in adversity; the will to continue onward in an utterly thankless task when there may be no end in sight. It is determination, and devotion to duty though sheer force of will. It is a single fire that burns stubbornly despite the dark and the cold.

The building depicted here is the main USPS building on 8th Avenue, known as the James Farley Post Office. There is a well known inscription on this building, adapted by the building’s architects from an ancient Greek quotation. You have heard it before, and probably thought that it was the Postal Service’s motto. You would be wrong, technically; it has never actually been adopted officially. The inscription, running across the illuminated bar above the colonnade, reads:

Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.

There is a certain sad angle to this, when you think of how the Post Office is in such decline over the past few years. Email has made them increasingly irrelevant, and lower circulation rates have led to dwindling funds. As an agency that traces its roots back to 1775, it’s entirely possible that the USPS will be completely phased out in the near future. The James Farley building itself is currently being renovated, and will be largely repurposed as a new train station in years to come.

It hadn’t occurred to me before planning out this piece that those mail push carts, which are so familiar to me, are a sight mostly unique to New York. In most other places in America, it’s far more convenient to simply have a mail truck drive from place to place. With everything so dense, and the streets so full, New Yorkers do a lot of walking.

Completed in August 2012

#Robin Scott #The Urban Tarot #Nine of Wands #Nine #Wands #Minor Arcana #Tarot #New York City

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wearetakingthehobbitstogallifrey · 5 years ago

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Kdrama recs Part 1

Hullo and welcome to the kdrama life @camsthisky! The following list is not in any particular order, other than the fact that I start with a more rom/com vibe and head toward more romantic/action or action. All the following kdramas are set in the modern day, and part 2 of my recs for you will be either darker kdramas set in present day or historical dramas.

Let the list begin!

1. Strong Woman Do Bong Soon:

Do Bong Soon is a v smol woman who has super strength and who wants 1. To create her own video game 2. Get her police officer crush to return her affections. Which like, police officer is kinda cute but he ain’t that special. Bong Soon winds up becoming a bodyguard to Ahn Min Hyuk, the extremely rich, kinda spoiled, ridiculously extra CEO of a gaming company who does not like the police for secret reasons, and sadly does not have a good relationship with his family. (He a lonely boy underneath everything.) Min Hyuk finds out about Bong Soon’s powers, is in TOTAL awe of her, offers to train her in fighting, and literally falls head over heels for her.

The caveat with this show is there is a subplot or two that annoy me, BUT I just use the 10 second skip button and it is totally worth it because the romance is super cute—SUPER CUTE (also I have a list of favorite actors and Park Hyung Sik is def on it—one minute he is an adorkable, blushing bby the next he can be intense and sad)

He cute

2. Her Private Life:

Hello fake-dating!! Ryan Gold (an adoptee who didn’t live in Korea for a while) is a former artist who stopped painting because he couldn’t deal with his Stendhol (?) syndrome (among other traumas). Deok Mi is the classy art curator of a famous museum who definitely does not have any secrets she wants to keep from the world—well, other than the fact that she is the number one fangirl of kpop idol, Cha Shi-an (who also appreciates art) and has a major crush on him. Ryan becomes director of the art museum and there is a whole thing with getting Shi-an involved in an art show.

Following this and a series of unfortunate events a false rumor starts that Deok Mi and and Shi-an ARE dating. It’s a little complicated to summarize, but basically what you need to know is that Ryan and Deok Mi become a fake couple so there won’t be a scandal for Shi-an or violence done to Deok Mi by rabid fangirls. I enjoy the fake-dating trope a lot, and how it becomes real for both of them! The leads are played by Kim Jae Wook and Park Min Young, who both have incredible range. Lots of soft moments in this one! Good kisses, a scene where the faves bake together, and also Ryan wears a lot of deep v-neck shirts and jackets which is an attack on me personally.

The show also contains a bit of angst, which I LOVE. Hand-holding becomes an important theme 😊

RYAN NO

3. Crash Landing on You: Rich South Korean heiress/fashion designer Se-ri accidentally winds up in a North Korean village, and really REALLY wants to go home. Mostly because there are no scented candles or spa-like bathtubs in the vicinity, but also because she could easily disappear into a NK jail and never return. A North Korean captain named Ri Jeong Hyeok finds her and decides not to turn her because, one, he’s a good guy who doesn’t want to turn an innocent person over to what might be her death, and two, turning her over might get his four underlings in trouble for reasons. Said underlings are his family, basically, and they are a deLIGHT. One is an argumentative proud sort who likes to drink and to feel important and who tries to provoke (and gets provoked by) Se-ri at every opportunity, one is a lover of banned South Korean dramas, one is a 17 year old bby who misses his mom, and one is the silent but most loyal follower of the captain.

Besides all these people, there are two other characters (including a surprisingly wise conman) who become faves and major players in the plot.

There is a great mix of humor, romance, found family, and angst, and I love it very much. A few things don’t go the way I want them to near the end, but a bit of imagination and fanfic can fix anything

ALSO I FORGOT THE CAPTAIN GETS SUPER SULKY FROM TIME TO TIME AND IT IS HILARIOUS

Show of hands, who thinks they will meet again

4. Are You Human Too: A FAVORITE SHOW OF ALL! TIME!

What do you do when your husband dies and your evil mega-rich father-in-law takes your son away from you and keeps you from seeing him ever? Well, if you are scientist with more genius than positive coping methods, you build yourself a robot son who looks exactly like your real son. Great solution, am I right?

Nam Shin III is the name of my favorite robot son, played by the inestimable Seo Kang Joon. He is the purest bby you will ever meet, being designed so that he never lies and so that he will immediately go to hug anyone who cries. He seems quite a contrast to the bitter human Nam Shin, who hates his gilded prison life, hates his Grandpa, and tries to sneak away from his right hand man, Secretary Ji Young Hoon, his only friend in the world. The girl in the show is Kang So Bong, an ex-UFC fighter who was so badly injured she had to quit. She is at first a bit jaded and mercenary because of her past, but she has a golden heart that just needs to be reminded of its existence.

Not going into details to avoid spoilers, but everything upends when the robot Nam Shin has to take the place of the human Nam Shin. The show is a soft, funny, angsty exploration of what it means to be human, with some good found family throughout. The character development is phenomenal, and the connection between So Bong and Nam Shin III is *chef’s kiss*. I just want to give a shout out to Seo Kang Joon who plays a duel role like you wouldn’t believe, to SKJ’s smile, to the soundtrack, and to the character of Young Hoon, a loyal, steady, and self-sacrificing secretary that we do not deserve (gosh tho he looks good in blue!)

Look at my robot son getting a long-looked for affirmation! (his lil smile!!!

5. W: Two Worlds:

This show unique because it meta as HELL! Oh Yeon Joo is a junior doctor and the daughter of a webtoon artist whose big hit, W, is coming to a close. Much to her surprise, she gets pulled into the world of the comic where she encounters and saves the main character, Kang Chul, a former Olympic shooting champion who was blamed for the murder of his entire family, and whose sole desire is to find the real killer. It’s a good romance between them, and I also love Kang Chul’s relationship with his hyung, which, tho it is not always a main focus, is present and wonderful. Kang Chul himself is both intelligent and adorably bratty, charismatic and angsty, soft and fierce, and he is one of my favorite kdrama characters for sure.

As for the meta, the show does a fantastic job exploring the rules of the comic world, of how one can enter and leave, the importance and power of main characters and supporting characters, and the purpose of an author. There is always another twist coming, and it is just so much fun!

UM SIR PLS POINT THAT ELSEWHERE

6. Healer:

I watched half this show and never realized that the female lead is played by Park Min Young, same actress as in Her Private Life. Someone had to tell me lol! She’s just so good at playing different people. In this show, she is Chae Young Shin, a reporter for a celebrity tabloid who has big dreams of becoming a famous reporter who investigates stories that actually mean something. She is a bit quirky, very cute, very brave, and probably one of my favorite female leads. She lives with her dad above his coffee/teashop bakery and is friends with all the ex-cons he has defended while doing his other job of lawyering.

Anyway this show is more of a romantic/action drama. To get an idea of the titular Healer, picture what you would get if you took some of Batman and Nightwing’s aesthetics (wearing black, hanging out on rooftops, punching people, flipping around, etc) and put them into a night courier who likes to watch National Geographic and dream about one day going off to an island where he can live all by himself for the rest of his days because oh yeah he is a loner whose only friend is an older woman who sets up his jobs and whom he has never actually met.

There is also an older reporter that Young Shin looks up to, the fun tabloid office where she works, a heck lot of mystery surrounding some tragedy involving a group of reporter best friends/found family back in the 80’s/90’s, and of course both members of the OTP have childhood trauma that has made them who they are today. One of my favorite things that happens in the show is that Healer has to go undercover for a while, Clark Kenting it up in Young Shin’s tabloid office, which overnight becomes a real news agency for reasons.

The action is LOTS of fun, and the romance is really soft and cute, and better still, when there is a misunderstanding or something that gets in their way, they almost immediately talk about it and resolve issues. They TRUST each other and give the benefit of the doubt where many tv couples would break up or get in big fights. I find it (plus the character development) very refreshing.

I couldn’t find a gif of my favorite fight sadly. This will have to do

7. Lawless Lawyer: This has Lee Joon Gi. Watch it.

Just kidding, there are many other reasons to watch the show, but it is true that Lee Joon Gi is one of my favorite actors. The man has phoenix eyes, a jawline that could cut silk, diamonds, you name it, and such a deep well of emotional acting that it literally kills me when his characters rage/weep/love/etc.

Anyway, in this legal thriller/romance/action drama, LJG’s character Bong Sang Pil is a beautiful, very extra ex-gangster/now lawyer who opens his own office, ready to fight villainy and avenge his mom with the law or with his fists, whichever is more useful at the time. He has a right hand man named Manager Tae and recruits a bunch of thugs as his minions, and they all become a weird sort of family as the show goes on.

Ha Jae Yi is a quiet badass lawyer who has no time for sexist idiots and gets her license suspended for smacking one of said fools. She gets recruited to assist Sang Pil, and they find their goals align as both their mothers were destroyed by the villains.

Speaking of the villains? EXCELLENT acting by them all, like they need to go down obviously, but you can’t help but be in awe of a few of them or even get attached to one or two in a weird way. Props to the show for having one of the best female villains I have ever seen

What an icon

Here you get two gifs of him

Sorry I needed to make it a magical three lol

Tune in next time for historical dramas and modern dramas that are a bit darker!

#kdrama recommendations #lawless lawyer #healer #w two worlds #are you human too #her private life #strong woman do bong soon #crash landing on you #kdrama recs for cam #my kdrama recs

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josefavomjaaga · 4 years ago

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Helfert, Joachim Murat, Chapter 2, Part 3

So, the Congress of Vienna is about to be officially opened, and the mood particularly among British diplomats has turned somewhat hostile towards a King Joachim Murat on the throne of Naples. Murat does not attend the congress in person (apparently, Eugène Beauharnais was the only member of the family who did) but has sent representatives there. Meanwhile, back in Naples:

What impression those news from the Congress of Vienna had on the Court of Naples the interested reader can imagine. The hot-tempered king went from one excitement to another, while Caroline, faithful to the role she had taken upon herself, maintained her prudent attitude and, supported by Count Mier, did not miss any opportunity to repeat to her husband the advice that Castlereagh had given him through the Duke of Campochiaro. But who can account for his disposition? Every ray of hope set him aglow, every piece of unfavourable news threw him into a state of despair, in which he returned to all the great plans which they had so often tried to put out of his mind.

A peculiar impression was made on Joachim by the arrival of French General Boulnois, who, coming from the Jonian Islands, which he had handed over to the Allies in the name of his king, arrived in Naples in the night of 12 to 13 October and requested an audience with the king the very next day, which the king granted him. Boulnois made all sorts of captivating statements, spoke of the admiration that King Louis had for Joachim's military qualities and merits, of the European situation, of the possibility of a renewed outbreak of hostilities, of the great role that Joachim would then be called upon to play in Italy, and the like, so that the king finally asked him in amazement whether he had the authority to enter into any negotiations with him. Boulnois then suddenly gave the conversation a different turn, spoke about the conditions in France, about the discontent that prevailed in the army against Louis XVIII, about the confidence that King Joachim enjoyed in the same circles as in a large part of the French nation, until finally the King took leave of him, not without letting him know that he was not at all willing to fall into the trap that was being set for him from a certain side.

On October 22nd, Roccaromana returned from Vienna, where he had found the most friendly reception at Court, which made the King quite happy for a moment; he was only worried again that Emperor Franz had not answered him in writing. The Duke had less favourable news to report about the rest of the society, whose views and aims were not at all in harmony with the King's interests. A confirmation of this seemed to come on November 4, when a courier arrived from the Russian envoy to the Congress, Nesselrode, summoning General Tuyll to Vienna. Although assurances were enclosed that this step had no political motives whatsoever and that the baron would return to his post as soon as possible, it could not fail that at court and in government circles people put their heads together and suspected all sorts of things. Joachim himself fell into gloomy contemplation, did not want to believe that the matter was as it was presented, and saw himself sacrificed by Russia. When a few days later, on 12 November, Major Prince Alliano brought bad news from Vienna - the congress had been formally opened on 1 November without the two Neapolitan plenipotentiaries being recognised and admitted as participants - the King at first felt as if he had been crushed, and in the second dreamed of nothing but war, defence to the knife.

The time was high for the arrival of a friendlier messenger: General Filangieri, who on the 17th delivered a handwritten letter from Emperor Franz to his monarch. The next day, when our envoy appeared before the King, he found him in a mood of true exuberance. "I am imbued with the goodness of your Emperor," he exclaimed: "It is he, his mighty protection, to whom I shall owe my crown. I shall make it my duty to repeat this often to my children, in order to instil in them, for his illustrious house, the same sentiments of recognition and attachment which have inspired me. My person, my army, everything I possess, I place at his disposal. May he have the goodness to tell me what I should do in order to be of service to him. I want to fight for him with my troops, not only in Italy, no, everywhere where his interests make it desirable. Let him but procure for me the recognition of England, and then I shall fear neither France nor Spain. These two powers cannot disembark 20,000 men; but there shall be 40,000 of them, and I shall know how to resist them!"

What Joachim had tossed around in his conversation with Mier concerning France and Spain related to all sorts of rumours that kept cropping up, sometimes in this form, sometimes in another. Now it was said that in Sicily people were busily equipping all the warships and transport ships, increasing the land troops and making preparations to receive a Spanish army corps. Then again Gallo received news from Rome: the French minister there had spoken loudly about a family agreement between the courts of Paris and Madrid in favour of Ferdinand IV, and the Pope had also promised to support it. Since Maria Carolina was known to be dead, it was her two sons in whose hands the threads of all these various activities were brought together. The hereditary Prince Franz, it was said in Naples, had promoted himself to the position of head of the Carbonari, maintained the connection between those of Calabria and those in Sicily; the younger Prince formed the centre of all the common arrangements of the three Bourbon courts in Vienna. Since Leopold had a brother of Murat's lieutenant-general d'Ambrosio in his entourage, the latter was sent to Vienna at the turn of the year 1814/15 to find out what was going on and to take care of other matters there…

General Filangieri also delivered a letter from Prince Metternich to Mier, who was instructed to appease the king. " It is not seldom one creates embarrassments for oneself," wrote the wise Chancellor of State, "if one tries to meet them by too impatient haste. The king's attitude, the only one that corresponds to his true interests, must be that of calm. He is in his own country, he has a fine army, between him and France he has the armed forces of Austria; he must come to an understanding with the only immediate border neighbour he has, and he must place himself in the position of a power which seeks no quarrel with any other, but which would reject any attack". The immediate border neighbour of Joachim, as hardly needs to be said, meant none other than the Pope, and Count Mier was confident that he could take advantage of the happy mood in which our Emperor's letter had put the king to persuade him to give up his seemingly hostile position in the Marches. But on this point he found Joachim unbending. He showed himself willing in secondary matters; he promised to instruct Prince Carascosa to comply in all respects with the wishes of the FM Bellegarde; he also declared himself willing, if desired in Vienna, to replace this general, a hothead and full of mistrust, by another. In essence, however, the king not only maintained his old position, but gave the matter a twist, as if it were Naples which had to be concerned about Rome. In the Marches, he claimed, there were no more than 16,000 men and they were spread out from Ascoli to Fano, which was indispensable for the maintenance of peace in these regions; only recently an uprising had broken out at Osimo near Ancona, and mobile columns had had to be sent out to quell it. Of course, his own speeches revealed that the discontent of the population in the Marches was in fact only due to the oppressive presence of his troops, and the papal government actually accused his agencies of deliberately sowing discord and discontent in order to provide him with a pretext for interference. Cardinal Bacca, by direct order of the Pope, sent a very serious, even impolite letter to the Neapolitan Consul Zuccari in Rome, openly denouncing his activities, the scouts and agitators he had in his guard, the secret meetings he was organising and the like, and threatening to use police force. In this way, the tension between the two neighbouring governments grew and was about to erupt into open hostility.

I guess, talking about wanting to fight for whoever and for whatever reason really was the worst thing Murat could do at that moment. And I wonder if, by attending the congress in person, Murat might to some degree have been able to force the other governments' hand. If this would not have been a perfect moment for some Gascon impudence - just mingle and be a pain everybody's ass, remind them that you're there and will not go away. It's much harder to ignore somebody if he's standing right beside you.

But then again, they probably would have managed to do that, too, if they deemed it necessary.

#joachim murat #vienna congress #metternich #helfert murat

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thethistlegirlwrites · 4 years ago

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Whumptober day 30 (Now where did that come from?)

Okay so it’s not all that whumpy but I have been having SO MANY feels about John’s parents the past few days so I ended up writing their first meeting!

Amarillo TX, 1963

Stephen Stoker is supposed to be somewhere else right now.

Technically, he's supposed to be meeting his host family. The Morgans, descendants of the founder of the Amarillo agency, and related to one of the hunters his grandfather immortalized by a different name in his most famous novel, are probably wondering what happened to their wayward houseguest. He's supposed to be here to teach PR strategies. His height isn't the only thing he inherited from Grandpa Bram, he's also an expert at weaving stories that conceal truths hiding in plain sight.

But he can't ignore his instincts, and those instincts have him on the track of what he can only assume is a powerful vampire. He knows he really ought to leave this to the local teams, but the guy got off HIS plane. Slept the whole flight over, aisle seat, grumbled about the windows when he got on, and pulled a fedora down over his whole face. A battered fedora that's seen better days, and had some suspicious stains on the brim. And most damningly, he tucked his carry-on bag under the seat when he sat down. And when he pulled it out, there was a smear of dirt left on the blue carpet.

Air travel has changed the way vampires make their way to new shores. The speed of travel means there's no time for raising suspicion, not even a need to feed on the journey. Vampires have the capacity to spread further and faster than ever. The only issue is the lethargy caused by sunlight, but choosing a flight that arrives in the night avoids that problem entirely.

Still, vampires don't leave home without a purpose. Transporting home earth in small quantities is risky, much riskier than shipping whole boxes. This vampire is here for a meeting of some sort.

And calling for backup could mean letting him get away. Not for the first time, Stephen wishes there was a portable means of communication easily available to hunters. He doesn't have time to stop at a pay phone.

The vampire stops outside a disreputable-looking club on a corner. He says something to the man standing on the corner, a hat pulled low over his face, and the man watching the door nods, letting the vampire pass. Fangs gleam under the streetlights when the man turns back to his vigil, tilting his hat slightly to get a better view of the street.

Stephen ducks into the shadows and considers his next move. He's not sure if he'll even be allowed inside that place. Vampires often like to keep to themselves.

He jumps at the sound of something moving in the alley, before he realizes it's just a cat scavenging. Tough luck for that stray, vampire clubs don't serve real food, just various types of alcohol and lots of blood.

The thought gives him an idea, and he slips back along the alley to where there's a door that most likely was used by the kitchen staff when this place was frequented by humans. Vampires like taking over existing locations. He picks the lock, much harder given that the style is different from the British type he's used to working, and steps into a dark, dusty kitchen.

So far, so good. No one thought to post a guard at the alley door, but there will be one at the door to the main room of the club, he's sure. He peeks through the dusty glass, watching the vampire leaning against the wall on the other side. He isn't sure what he plans to do, exactly. He's carrying only his travel pouch with its shorter stakes and a small amount of powdered garlic in a bag. Hardly enough to make a raid on a whole club. And yet...whatever that vampire came to do, he came a long way. There are plenty of things that shouldn't be changing hands, especially across the ocean.

Stephen is still biding his time when the room outside seems to become slightly brighter. He realizes stage lights have been turned on, and almost as one, every vampire in the room turns, heads fixed on what's now visible even to Stephen's human vision. Taking advantage of the distraction, Stephen pushes the door forward just enough to slip out, grateful that with his height came an awkward lankiness he has yet to grow out of.

Now that he's inside the club, he can see what's attracted the attention of all the vampires. Hosts. Stephen surveys the group of young women, in fashionable dresses with their necks adorned with velvet bands. Most of them look pale, a few have clearly done this before, drawn back most likely by addictions to the vampire bite. Others look fresher, less washed out. Literal new blood.

One by one, they walk to the edge of the stage and down the steps, mingling with the crowd, singling out admirers or being chosen, led away to dark corners or the curtained alcoves designed for the purpose of giving some privacy to a feeding. Stephen makes his way slowly through the crowd. At least the scent of human sweat won't be an immediate reason for every vampire here to turn on him. Even at night, the heat of the Texas desert seems to cling to everything.

Just as he catches sight of the vampire he was following, one hand resting on a leather briefcase set on a table, Stephen stops short. One of the hosts, a short, full-figured young woman with brightly tinted lips, wanders up to the vampire, trailing her brown fingers up his arm. She flips wild dark curls over her shoulder and laughs inanely. Her red dress makes her copper skin seem to glow in the dark club, and Stephen thinks she must be new. Hosts who've been fed on couldn't look that alive.

The vampire looks at the watch on his wrist, then stands up, grabbing his briefcase, looping his free arm around the woman's waist and leading her toward one of the curtained alcoves along the wall. Stephen's seen the same thing many times before; he's a field hunter as well as a PR expert, but something about this situation is different enough to attract his attention.

There's something about the way that host walks. And when he realizes what it is, his own blood seems to freeze. She's wearing flats, not heels, and the rolling, balanced movement of her stride is the kind of walk that every hunter knows.

He follows at a distance. He doesn't want to interfere in her hunt, she's most likely planned this carefully, and any change in her plans could get her killed. He waits as casually as he can beside the alcove where she's disappeared, pretending he's just another vampire waiting for a turn.

There's a sudden snarling scuffle from the area near the stage, probably a couple of vampires fighting over a host. At the sound, the curtain parts slightly and the young woman peeks out, only inches from Stephen's shoulder.

She jumps and looks up, her hand coming up with a silver knife in it, the blade smeared with a hint of blood in the groove. Stephen raises his hands. "Not a vamp." He smiles enough to show his teeth. She relaxes, lowering the knife. When she steps out, there's a handful of folded papers, stained with red, in her other hand. Stephen is sure that's what was in the briefcase.

Her velvet choker is gone, but there's a thin silver chain that must have been tucked up underneath it, and a medal that Stephen recognizes from some of the Catholic hunters at his home agency. The incredibly obscure St. Marcellus, patron saint of vampire hunters. He wonders if she was wearing it under the choker. That would be one hell of a dramatic reveal.

She takes a step toward the kitchen door, and Stephen follows. She must have planned to use his entrance as her exit strategy. It's as good as any. She frowns at him, but waits until they've both slipped through the door to the alley to say anything.

"What are you doing following me?" She whispers, her knife held with a dangerous casualness that Stephen knows could have it at his throat in a breath. "I don't have a shadowing student right now. So talk fast, or I'll throw you back to those vamps inside."

"I'm not here for you. I'm..." He frowns, running a hand through his red curls. It's hard to explain. "I came here to teach a class at the Academy, but there was a vampire on my flight. The one you just killed. I was following him to find out what he was doing coming all the way from London."

The woman raises an eyebrow. "One of my informants told me a courier with letters from Grigoras himself was coming into town." She tucks the papers into her dress. "We've intercepted the recipient already."

Stephen feels a chill slip down his spine. Grigoras. One of the First Circle, who is rumored to have followed Dracula to England but has never been seen in person there. He can only imagine what dangerous secrets those letters might hold.

"You say you're here to teach at the Academy? I can give you a ride back." The woman slips the knife back into a sheath concealed in her wide belt, then holds out her hand. "Sonora Morgan."

It looks like he's met his host family after all.

"Stephen Stoker." She blinks, probably in recognition of the name, and maybe also realizing that he's the instructor her family agreed to board.

There's a sound from inside the club, and Sonora tenses. "We should go." Someone's probably found the body. She leads him down the alley, cutting through a side street to a dimly-lit road with a few vehicles parked along it, and even fewer lights in the houses.

She slides into a heavily modified '36 Ford coupe whose dark-blue paint blends into the shadows, turning it over and pulling away from the curb with a screech of tires almost before Stephen's closed his door (he temporarily forgot that the drivers here sit on the left side of the car and was very confused). The engine roars, clearly a high-performance upgrade from the original model. He's heard that American hunters have a flair for creating their own specially modified vehicles.

"Sorry I walked into your hunt," He apologizes as the car speeds along toward the edge of the city.

"Sorry I threatened to let those vamps drain you," she replies with a genuine smile, effortlessly whipping the car around a turn seconds before the light changes. "Not the best first impression of someone you're about to spend two months in the same house with."

He grins, feeling the wind whipping through the open windows of the car turning his hair into a hopeless mess. "On the contrary. You're everything I would have expected from a Morgan." He's always loved the stories Grandpa Bram told about the daring, chivalrous Texan, and now he's met a relative of that man in the flesh.

"Oh really?" Her smile is the kind that says she takes that as a challenge. "Well, we'll see about that."

Taglist: @nade2308 @cmvorra @bands-space-and-monsters-oh-my @catwingsathena @asloudasalone @anguishmacgyver @flowing-river24 @myhusbandsasemni @floh673 @teddythecat1234 @bkworm4life4 @viawrites-andacts

#whumptober 2020 #now where did that come from #magic & silver #stephen stoker #sonora morgan #day 30 actually #I'm not tracking this week

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potatocrab · 4 years ago

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Salvation is a Last Minute Business (17/18)

Chapter 17: Lose More Slowly

The wide network of Valentine Detective Agency’s allies meet to perfect the plan to infiltrate MIT. On the eve of ‘battle’, Madelyn is apprehensive about one last confession from Deacon. With no time to waste, the fight is taken to Cambridge where the Institute can be exposed once and for all.

“That’s not the way to win.”—Jeff, as played by Robert Mitchum

“Is there a way to win?”—Kathie, as played by Jane Greer

“There’s a way to lose more slowly.” (Out of the Past, 1947)

[read on Ao3] | [chapter masterpost]

June 16th, 1958

It took just over two weeks to solidify the plan to infiltrate the Institute. It hardly mattered that Madelyn and Nick—with Deacon and the Railroad’s help—had previously breached Fort Hagen. This operation was an entirely different beast, that required an entirely different set of skills and resources. There would be no undercover sneaking, or witty aliases this time—just a dangerous game of cat and mouse—a game they all hoped to survive.

After weeks of organizing, Nick decided there was no point in waiting any longer and called a meeting at the agency to be held the evening before their planned attack. The usual group had increased exponentially, with the allies they had gained in the last several months joining them, each with their own part to play. It was remarkable to see everyone in one place, spread out in the lobby (because there was no logistical way to fit so many people in Nick’s tiny office), and it made Madelyn think that maybe—just maybe—they had a shot at finding out the truth behind the Institute’s schemes.

She sat, perched on the edge of Ellie’s receptionist desk so that she could have a clear view of the room, scribbling down the summarized events of what was to occur the following morning. The plan was carefully detailed and outlined in a series of reports and dictated memos, but there was no harm in writing it out one last time. The secretary was working overtime—literally—bouncing from one cluster of people to the next, offering refills of strong coffee or spirits. But nearly everyone was focused on Nick and his giant, wheeled chalkboard of information, and the way it outlined the case’s timeline, all the way back to 1947. The detective was in rare form—sharp, focused, and with a fiery determination Madelyn hadn’t seen in months, or maybe years. Coat discarded and sleeves rolled up, he talked through the details, and didn’t stop for a drink or cigarette.

“…which brings us to the incident at city hall,” Nick gestured to the Publick Occurrences newspaper clipping before stepping away to finally grab a quick sip of his whiskey that sat next to Madelyn. “Did you ever find out why the Boston P.D. were a no-show?”

Sergeant Danny Sullivan, fresh out from the hospital after recovering from his injuries sustained at said incident, sat in a nearby chair. He nodded, looking displeased with the information he was about to share. “It was all Mayor McDonough’s fault, buying off officers. Which means, by proxy, they were paid off by MIT, if we’re still in agreement about who was—is—pulling the strings.”

“Not for very much longer,” Nick replied.

“I’ve had to spend the last two weeks cooped up at New England sending a courier back and forth to the courthouse to perform background checks on my entire squad to make sure none of them have connections to the university,” Sullivan described, shaking his head with a deep scowl.

“Cheer up, Danny Boy,” Hancock quipped, leaned back in the chair at the Sergeant’s side. “At least there’s some good news.”

“Please John,” Nick groused, maybe wishing the younger McDonough brother was still recuperating from his own gunshot wound. “Enlighten us.”

“Made a house call with Bobby to the deputy district attorney last night,” Hancock explained, motioning over to where the former mercenary was fixing his own cup of coffee at the kitchenette. “Did you know that his kid and little Duncan go to preschool together?”

Nick wasn’t amused, and his patience was wearing thin. Though, it always did with the would-be politician. “How cute.”

“Right? And there I was, thinking I’d have to resort to blackmail,” the other man replied.

MacCready laughed as he leaned against the galley, taking a sip from his cup before wincing at whatever he’d poured into the porcelain. “You still blackmailed him.”

“Mild blackmail,” Hancock contended with a shrug, ignoring the way Nick and Madelyn shot him double looks of disappointment and concern. “Agree to disagree. The good news is we sweet talked that stiff into signing a genuine warrant. With somethin’ like that, we’re made in the shade.”

He handed the folded document from his jacket pocket to Sergeant Sullivan, who took his time in reading it over. Nick was still skeptical, leaning against the desk near Madelyn while he slowly nursed his drink.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the detective urged. “Does it look legitimate?”

“As far as I can tell,” Sullivan affirmed, passing the warrant to Nick to read.

Madelyn glanced over his shoulder, glossing over the familiar legal jargon before focusing on the signature at the bottom—it surely looked like the deputy district attorney’s scrawl. She didn’t think either Hancock or MacCready would jeopardize the case with a little bit of forgery. Not that blackmail was any better, but she could sooth it over with the man who was technically her boss later.

“Well, at least now we have a valid reason to get into the building,” Nick spoke, handing the document back to the Sergeant for safekeeping. “Wouldn’t hurt to have backup on standby, just in case.”

The focus shifted to Preston Garvey who was smiling his thanks as Ellie poured him a new cup of coffee. Standing next to him was Lieutenant Danse—ever the reluctant participant—who had refused a seat and a drink. The only reason why he agreed to assist was for ‘the greater good’. The Institute and their experiments had no place in the United States military, and he was determined to see them exposed for what they truly were.

“The Minutemen are already in position throughout Cambridge,” Preston explained. “Just give me the word, and they can be ready in a minute’s notice.”

The Lieutenant sneered. “We’ll root out those Institute bastards, one way or another.”

“That’s the spirit,” Piper remarked from her spot near the front door. “I’ve done my own reconnaissance around Cambridge and the campus with Mister Neurotic here.”

Tinker Tom sat in a nearby seat, spinning his body in increasingly faster circles until the reporter reached out to stop him. He gazed up at her with wide eyes. “Is that me?”

Piper looked as though she could snap his neck but relaxed with a deep sigh. “Based on his readouts, and those blueprints, we were able to find an unmarked sewer entrance near the eastern banks of the Charles River.”

“Why does it always have to be a sewer?” Madelyn mumbled under her breath, causing Nick to smirk.

“Good work, Piper,” he remarked, the closest he’d gotten to happy all evening. “This means we can go ahead with splitting up into smaller teams.”

“Better if you and Blue take the sneaky route while the rest of us cover your tails,” she gestured to the circle of people, her eyes lingering on the figure leaning against the far corner of the room. “That is, if we can trust these blueprints in the first place, and we aren’t about to send you into a trap.”

Madelyn frowned at Piper, wishing that after all this time her friend could be less cynical about the Railroad and their resources. Sure, their actions were still largely shrouded in mystery, but that didn’t equate to nefariousness. It was important to remember who the real enemy was. She let her eyes drift to where Deacon was standing near the doorway to her office—where he’d been standing all night, just silently listening and watching from behind his darkened shades. A slight shiver ran up her spine and intuition told her his attention was focused on her rather than the other occupants of the room.

“You can trust me,” he finally said, the weight of his words lost on everyone except her. Piper shrugged but didn’t make to argue any further. Madelyn smiled to herself as she broke her gaze away from his face, looking down at the writing on her notepad instead.

Nick stood, bringing the attention back to the timeline. “Let’s not get blind-sighted by the Institute.”

“We have a man to find. Kellogg,” he reminded the group, tapping the chalkboard where the scarred man’s picture hung. “More than that, we have a child to bring home to his parents. Shaun Perlman. I’d like to solve this, once and for all.”

Silent understanding fell over the room, but it didn’t last.

“A toast,” Hancock suddenly declared, raising his glass. “To the best damn detective this city’s ever seen,” he nodded towards Madelyn, grinning like he’d gone mad—maybe he had. “And behind every great man, is an even greater woman. To Valentine and Hardy!”

As it grew closer to midnight, the plans for the following day were solidified and the agency gradually emptied out. The participants would need a good night’s rest—if it were even possible—before they infiltrated the Institute in the morning. Nick and Madelyn saw their guests out, though the detective left her to walk with Deacon outside so they might have some privacy. Even then, she noted Drummer Boy waiting by a parked car with Tinker Tom inside, the two doing everything they could to pretend they weren’t watching the two.

“We’re heading back to the church for a rendezvous,” he explained, positioning himself so the others couldn’t necessarily see their exchange. “Somebody has to fill Desdemona and Glory in on all the nitty-gritty.”

“Is it safe for you all to travel in the same car?” she asked, peering over his shoulder. Call it paranoia, but she’d had enough close calls in the last six months to last a lifetime.

Deacon softly chuckled, reaching out to gently wrap his fingers through the curls along the side of her face. “You’ve been spending too much time reading those detective novels, Charmer.”

“Or living in one.”

He looked at her, and there was the unspoken question—will I see you tonight? She frowned a little and sensed his disappointment, even behind his shades. She grasped the hand at his side and brushed her thumbs across his knuckles in affectionate sweeps.

“I’m staying with Nick tonight,” Madelyn said, trying not to sound too sad about it. She mimicked his speech pattern. “Somebody has to make sure he actually sleeps tonight.”

Deacon offered a barely-there smile, which sent her thoughts into a tailspin. He moved his hand so he was softly cupping her cheek, the pad of his thumb ghosting down towards her lips. “What if I said that I had a secret to tell you?”

“What kind of secret?” Madelyn asked in response, her heartrate suddenly increasing at the possibilities. Slowly, the world around her started to fade away, and the only thing keeping her grounded was his touch.

“An important secret,” he answered, breath hot against her mouth.

It was very likely that he was playing some kind of game, all part of an elaborate ruse to get her to come home with him. What could possibly be more important than what she’d already learned about him—his appearance, his home, his name. Unless it was all a lie. Madelyn doubted that, even as a momentary pang shot through her heart. Deacon must’ve noticed the subtle change in her expression because he pulled away just enough, and quickly pushed up his glasses so that she could see his eyes. Their stormy grey-blue color were vibrant with emotion, so striking and intense that she felt overwhelmed. Secret immediately translated in her mind to confession.

Deacon drew her closer again, hand cradling the side of her face. “Madelyn, I—”

Her heart nearly stopped at the sound of her name—her real name—and she had to fight to stay standing as her knees wobbled. Then, she kissed him, if only to stop him from saying anything. Call it fear, call her a coward—she just couldn’t bear to hear the rest of that sentence, even if she was dying to scream it from the rooftops herself. He was surprised for a half-second before returning the kiss, angling them even more out of eyeshot from the loitering Railroad agents. Couldn’t see the boss-man (because face it, she knew the truth about that too) sharing a tender moment with his lady.

Madelyn pulled away just a fraction before they could get carried away in such a public setting and gripped his hand tight. “Cliché confessions spoken in the calm before the storm are a bad omen, don’t you think?”

Deacon blinked, temporarily stunned, but recovered well enough to flash a sideways smirk, one she couldn’t tell was forced or not. The last thing she wanted was to cause a rift between them when they needed each other’s support the most.

“You’re right,” he sighed wistfully, bordering on playing his emotions too thick. He readjusted his shades so they were where they belonged—at least for him. “Wouldn’t want to jinx it.”

The car horn behind them blared into the night and he turned, hand still clasped in hers to see Drummer Boy leaning into the driver’s car window with his arm poised to repeat the action. Tinker Tom was snickering, daring him to do it again. Despite her unease, Madelyn smiled. “Shouldn’t keep the boys waiting.”

He shook his head and brought her hand up so he could press a soft kiss to her knuckles. “Je t’adore.”

Madelyn knew that wasn’t what he really wanted to say, but it would have to do, for now. She kept her eyes on him the entire time as he walked away, shooing Drummer Boy away from the driver’s side door of their vehicle before getting in. Deacon regarded her for one last lingering moment as he started the car before slowly driving away. Within moments, Nick rejoined her on the sidewalk, following her line of sight down the stretch of road.

“Ready to go?”

She turned to face him as a wash of remorse came over her heart. Had she done the right thing? Madelyn studied her partner’s face and his bemused expression, eyebrow raised as he looked back at her with mild concern.

“Nick, have I ever told you that I love you?” she asked, just to see if she could say the words. Easy enough—now why couldn’t she say them to Deacon? Or have them spoken to her?

“Sure you’re saying that to the right fella?” Nick’s laughter died as soon as he noticed her melancholy state and drew closer to her, wrapping her up in a loose hug. He held her long enough, uncaring that they had somewhere to be. When he pulled away, he tilted her chin up with a few fingers and offered a fleeting smile. “Love you too, doll.”

June 17th, 1958

“Have I ever mentioned how much I love wet socks?”

Deacon’s hushed voice echoed through the underground tunnel, barely audible over the rushing sound of water that flowed around them and beneath their feet. He was walking a few paces behind Madelyn while Nick advanced ahead, trying his best to ignore the spy’s outburst as he focused on following the makeshift map in his hand.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, narrowing her eyes at the shine from the flashlight he carried. “Once or twice, yes.”

“Wish I had the same idea as you, Charmer,” he sneered, flicking the light across her outfit. She had the foresight to wear the shoes that had already been damaged the last time she went walking through a sewer, and one of her older dresses that despite Codsworth’s cleanings, was still stained with questionable material. “Or is that some kind of bad omen?”

She instantly whipped back around so he wouldn’t see her disappointed frown, though judging by his silence, he knew he’d crossed a line by using those words. Madelyn knew she’d come to regret not letting him say what he wanted to—needed to—but did he have to be so cruel? At first, she was grateful for him to be at her side in this so-called final fight, relying on him for that extra bit of emotional strength and comfort he could provide so well. But now, she almost wished he had stayed topside with Piper and the others or gone with Sergeant Sullivan through the main entrance. His presence was only causing her emotional turmoil, and she couldn’t afford to be distracted.

This time, Nick was the one to turn back to look at her, his scowl indicating that he’d heard their conversation. Madelyn knew he likely had a litany of strongly worded advice for the other man, but she shook her head, silencing him before he could even start. This was neither the time or place—not when they were quite literally in the belly of the beast.

“Should be a latch up ahead,” he said instead, turning back to lead the two down the dark passageway. It took a few more yards before they reached a ladder that led to a metal door, and if the map layouts were accurate as they had been so far, it would take them to a larger, less water-logged room. “Into the unknown.”

Nick didn’t wait for anyone to volunteer before climbing the metal rungs first, pausing at the latch to fiddle with the lock. “Watch your heads!”

Madelyn and Deacon sidestepped the padlock as it crashed into the shallow water at their feet, craning their heads upwards to watch as the detective disappeared through the newly opened hole. She anxiously looked to her Railroad partner, motioning for him to climb first, and he hesitated, passing her the flashlight before finally moving. There was some disappointment as she watched him ascend, secretly hoping there would be some teasing remark about insisting she go first so that he might sneak a peak up her skirt. Instead, the persistent silence between them started to break her heart. Madelyn thought about blurting out how she felt, but it hardly felt romantic. Rather, it felt stupid. Maybe she’d missed her chance. After how many missed opportunities over the last several weeks to tell him, now was when she desperately wanted to say those three little words.

I love you.

Okay, not so little. Talk about timing.

Nick’s face peered over the ledge and only then did she realize she’d been standing frozen, stuck in her thoughts. “What did I say about standing pretty?”

She forced a laugh and climbed up to meet them, allowing Deacon to hoist her up the rest of the way despite the fact his touch was like fire against her skin. His hand squeezed against her arm, thumb brushing along the soft underside of her wrist as he stared at her. It was delicate, as if she’d shatter if he pressed too hard. Madelyn lingered until she was sure he could feel the rapid beat of her pulse and slowly pulled away.

Nick pretended to have not seen the exchange, focused on the set of locked doors that led to various parts of the underground system. At the back of the storage room was a freight elevator—where it led was anybody’s guess. The detective consulted the folded-up blueprints again, twisting them around in his hands and tapping the sheet to signify where they were.

“If we take...this door,” he pointed west. “We’ll head further down into some kind of storage complex, and…”

“And what?” Madelyn asked, stepping further away from Deacon so she could peer at the carefully drawn diagrams on the paper.

Nick shrugged, clearly puzzled. “Not sure. Just looks like one big empty room according to this.”

She looked back to Deacon to see if he had anything to add, but he remained silent, doing nothing to help her nerves. She sighed. “I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”

The hallway beyond the western door smelt sterile, reminiscent of a hospital, the lingering scent of alcohol threatening to burn her nostrils if she breathed in too deep. As they descended a narrow staircase, the stench intensified as their surroundings shifted from the drab to the pristine. For being underground, it felt like walking into a museum. It felt otherworldly, untouched by time.

“Damn,” Deacon finally spoke—breathed—as they stepped out onto the landing, which overlooked a seemingly never-ending room of storage containers, computers and other technology.

There were metal platforms connected to more observation stations, with staircases that led further into the depths of the underground bunker. The possibilities of what they might find were endless. Near the back, shadowed in darkness, was the faint glow of a reactor core—no wonder the Institute had been become so powerful, so quickly, all while boasting the use of clean energy.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Madelyn asked, perturbed by the slight humming that echoed through the large room.

“Do you have a Geiger counter?” Deacon asked, and she glanced at him, unsure if he was joking or not. He frowned. “Won’t be able to tell until we take a closer look.”

“Of course,” Nick grumbled. “Let’s split up, see what we can find in those rooms on the way over.”

Madelyn’s only comfort was that they could easily see each other as they walked along the platforms, but was still apprehensive, especially when both men removed their holstered weapons. It was more alarming to see Deacon armed, the pistol an unusual sight. Even in their most dangerous of operations, he’d relied on wits rather than steel. She had her own revolver, and quickly pulled it from underneath her skirts with a small flourish. With a silent nod, they each took a different path.

Madelyn reached a small alcove before the others, the tiny windowed room filled with filing cabinets and scattered paperwork across two desks. There was a stack of files that she idly flipped through, the words on the page confirming that the Institute had been performing or had been attempting to perform brain augmentations for years. As far as she could discern, the files contained information on potential targets—if the college had been successful in capturing them, or if something else had occurred. Many had been ultimately passed over for frivolous reasons, and the reports read like rejected job applicants rather than candidates for brainwashing. Her absentminded browsing stopped dead-cold when she came across an all too familiar name.

Madelyn nearly fainted at the picture pinned to the inside of the file. “Nate?”

“Now, isn’t this precious?”

She knew that voice without needing to turn around. It had been nearly two years, but she was instantly transported to Christmas Eve, 1946 and that dark, snowy, Boston Common alley where her husband was murdered. That same electric chill ran through her body—head to toe—rooting her to the spot. No amount of fear she’d experienced in the last six months could compare to the sensation crawling across her skin, threatening to close off her windpipe without so much as a gasp.

His footsteps slowly echoed against the metal flooring, drawing closer until she could feel his body heat radiating, circling around her form until he was in perfect view.

“Kellogg,” she forced herself to say, gripping the gun at her side.

He grinned in that hauntingly familiar, devilish way, not surprised that she knew his name. “In the flesh.”

There were a thousand questions she wanted to ask—about Nate’s murder, about Shaun Perlman’s kidnapping, about all the other unsolved cases he was supposedly linked to. Was he really an Institute experiment gone wrong, or some kind of pawn? His very presence seemed to answer that last one loud and clear. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was reprimanding herself for not shooting first, and asking questions later. She’d made that mistake before and it nearly cost Nick his life—and had ended Jenny’s. That couldn’t happen now. Just as her hand twitched and she made to raise her revolver, he advanced towards her, pinning her against the glass window. The sound was loud enough to alert her partners where they stood yards away on sperate platforms.

“Charmer!”

“Madelyn!”

“How cute,” Kellogg taunted, the phrase familiar and gut wrenching all the same. “Who should I kill this time?”

He roughly pushed her aside so that she collapsed against one of the desks. As he left, he tossed a device over his shoulder that immediately filled the room with smoke, grey plumes billowing out into the main area. Madelyn clamped her eyes shut as she spluttered and coughed, struggling to pull herself to stand after smacking her head against the edge of the desk. She blindly reached for her gun and resigned herself to crawl to the doorway before using the railings to drag her body upright. To the left, she could see the faint outline of Nick’s trench coat but to the right, she could see two bodies—Kellogg and Deacon—scuffling along the walkway.

Without a second thought she forced herself to go—to run—back the way she came and to where they were. The smoke made it difficult to see clearly, but Deacon’s gun was gone—they were now fighting for Kellogg’s, swapping positions when one would gain the upper hand to pin the other to the guard railing. In the time it took Madelyn to rush over, Deacon found enough leverage to push the other man over the ledge, but Kellogg wouldn’t give up so easily. He held onto the railing with one hand and swung his other arm up to shoot. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, giving Madelyn little time to act.

“Deacon!” she shouted for him to move out of the way, raising her pistol so her sights were aimed directly on Kellogg’s scar. When he didn’t move, her mind went blank save for one thing. “Johnathan!”

He immediately turned to her, the momentary shock fading away as he finally dove for cover. Kellogg could only laugh, and even Madelyn wondered why he hadn’t taken the opportunity to shoot Deacon—or them both—dead. His grip on the railing tightened as he attempted to pull himself up, to no avail.

“You aren’t going to shoot me,” he spat. “You won’t kill me.”

Eddie Winter had said the same thing, before running away. From where she stood, there wasn’t anywhere for Kellogg to run. Madelyn didn’t feel like hesitating anymore, not after what he’d taken from her. The smug smile slowly returned to his face as he trained the same gun he’d used all those years ago at her—but she was faster—pulling the trigger just once.

Bullseye.

The sound was deafening and shook her to the core. She watched, shaking as Kellogg’s death-grip slowly loosened until he finally slipped from the ledge and down to the chasm below, the thump of his body against the floor a chilling indication that part of their mission was over. Tears instantly clouded her vision, and she sucked in as much air as she could, blindly reaching out for the nearest railing with her free hand as her knees gave out. Deacon was at her side in an instant, scrambling to collect her in his arms as he took the gun from her trembling hand before wrapping her in a tight embrace.

“Shh,” he hushed, pressing soft but urgent kisses against her temple as he combed his fingers through her hair. “I’m here, I’m here.”

Madelyn wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, Deacon whispering incoherent, comforting words into the shell of her, but it was what she desperately needed as her heart threatened to burst from her chest. They both whipped around at the sudden sound of rushing footsteps against the walkway, breathing a sigh of relief when they saw it was only Nick, looking just as disheveled as they did.

“Whoa, whoa,” he raised his hands in defense, carefully observing the scene before him. “It’s just me. Had to take care of two crazed androids. Makes sense now that I see who they showed up with.”

“Yeah,” Madelyn answered, still clutching Deacon’s arm in the fear she might topple over out of shock. Nick didn’t bother asking her if she was—or would be—alright as he silently peered over the ledge with a grim expression. He’d been in her shoes—revenge wasn’t as sweet as people claimed it to be. She pinched the bridge of her nose and found her voice.

“They—they were looking for candidates,” she began, pointing back to the room where she’d found the files before she’d been rudely interrupted. “For brain augmentation, for—” she broke off, unable to stand the thought. “Nick, they had a file on Nate.”

His eyebrows jumped up in surprise before furrowing in anger, but to her surprise, his fury was calmer than hers. He gestured to a databank further back. “Come on, let’s find out what these bastards are hiding.”

The computer was surrounded by towering processors—technology that Madelyn had never seen, even when she’d been to the Switchboard. Nick didn’t seem daunted, at least by the screen and output, immediately leaning over to type commands like it was his job. Deacon only slipped away when she assured him she would be okay, and she watched as he carefully approached the reactor they’d seen before.

“We weren’t wrong,” Nick muttered, sounding not entirely confident. Madelyn studied his profile, attempting to decipher the information flashing before her eyes on the tiny screen. “But we were wrong about a lot of things, too.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

Nick pressed his fingers against a few more keys. “It’s not just brain surgery, or brainwashing we’re looking at, here.”

“Those candidates you were looking at?” he tapped his prosthetic fingers against his screen, creating an eerie kind of sound. “If they didn’t work out for procedure one, they were used for procedure two.”

“Being?”

“DNA harvesting,” Nick said bleakly. “To be used in the production of new androids. To make them...as close to human as possible.”

Madelyn was already connecting the dots in her mind, her chest tightening in dread. “Nate?”

Nick didn’t say anything at first, nervous as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Close. You.”

“Hair sample, 1956,” he continued, explaining before she had a chance to react. Still, she nearly collapsed in disbelief. He looked at her face-on, his sympathetic expression not doing much to quell her fears. “How’d—”

“He—that bastard,” she answered, refusing to use Kellogg’s name. “He tore some from my scalp.”

I prefer brunettes—his voice still echoed in her mind, causing a chill to run through her.

“Always thought it was as a trophy. Never thought it would be for some sick experiment.”

Her partner studied the screen, clicking through more pages. “I don’t think they were successful with sequencing anything, if that gives you any piece of mind.”

“Hardly,” she mumbled, wondering if there was still the slim possibility that somewhere in the facility—or even out on the streets of Boston—there was a rogue synth with her DNA. It was petrifying to even consider.

“God damn,” Nick suddenly cursed, his hands shaking. “They have Shaun Pearlman’s DNA!”

Madelyn wasn’t surprised by that. “That makes sense, doesn’t it? He was essentially kidnapped by the Institute.”

The detective shook his head, and dared to smile, even if it quickly disappeared from his face. “It says here he’s alive. Just as it says you are.”

Now she was as alarmed as he was. “What else does it say?”

“It has a location and—” he frantically patted at his coat pockets for a notepad and pen, passing off to Madelyn so she could scribble down the information. “He’s been right under our noses this entire time!”

“So,” Deacon’s voice interrupted their shared excitement. “Remember when you asked if we’d have a problem?”

Madelyn looked over to where the Railroad spy was bent over, inspecting an exposed panel of wiring in front of the reactor. Her enthusiasm started to fade. “Vaguely.”

“Do you also remember somebody mentioning that the Institute might be hiding a bomb?”

“I distinctly remember that somebody being you, Deacon,” she answered, struggling to swallow down her growing anxiety.

He nervously chuckled. “Just had to go and jinx us, didn’t I?”

“Why the hell does the Institute have a bomb?” Nick asked, more angry than anything. He pointed an accusatory finger at Deacon. “I know about you and your Railroad mole. Whose to say they didn’t plant it there just to screw with us?”

Deacon didn’t seem surprised that Madelyn had let that information slip to the detective and didn’t seem upset by the accusations either. That, or he was a little preoccupied with not blowing up. “What, ol’ Doc Rendezvous? Never.”

“More plausible that Scarface down there,” he pointed to where Kellogg had met his demise. “Had this as a backup plan. Last minute gambit to get his way. Nasty, but effective. Take down everybody in…I’d say a half-mile radius with him.”

Madelyn finally asked the obvious. “How long do we have?”

Deacon wasn’t the one to answer.

“I’d say approximately twenty minutes.”

The man had appeared on the platform behind them as if he had materialized from thin air. Madelyn recognized him instantly as the Institute’s Director—the same nameless, silver haired man who had appeared at the university’s demonstration in early May. The man who had calmed Mayor McDonough and the crowd with five easy words—everything will be alright. He didn’t make an appearance unless it was absolutely necessary.

“What are you doing here?” she questioned.

“I’ve come to stop you, of course,” he answered, folding his hands together. “I am aware of your investigation, and that you know who I am—who we are.”

Instead of getting angry, like she knew she was capable of becoming, and how she knew Nick wanted to react, Madelyn tried a little civility. She wanted desperately to understand. “Why are you doing this?”

The Director appeared pleased for the time being and stepped closer. “To advance the Commonwealth into a new age, of course. Here at the Institute, we aren’t simply trying to better life, we are trying to create it.”

“Nobody should be able to play God,” Nick argued.

“No, no,” he shook his head in disagreement. “Think of me instead as…a father.”

Madelyn didn’t know which was worse. Her skin crawled and in such a short timespan she decided that this man didn’t deserve her respect. “One of your experiments killed my husband. Kidnapped an innocent baby boy. Murdered countless others. How can you explain that?”

“It is unfortunate that Mister Kellogg turned out the way he did,” the Director said, showing little signs of remorse. “As with the others like him. Rest assured, we have rectified that issue.”

“Oh no,” Nick waved his hands, disgusted by the very thought. “You aren’t going to be sending any synths to infiltrate Boston, or anywhere else. The jig is up, and we’re here to expose your little party for all it’s worth.”

The other man was not phased. “Is that so?”

“The Institute’s days of experimenting is over,” Madelyn clarified. “And you can kiss your military contracts goodbye too. While you’re down here, buttering us up with false bravado, the campus is crawling with our good men, Boston P.D. that haven’t been swayed by your dirty money.”

“Between the evidence collected here and what we have stored away at the agency? Once it’s all been handed over to the Feds, I wouldn’t be surprised if they cooked you alive on the grounds for treason,” she elaborated.

A heavy pause filled the space between them.

“Not if that bomb destroys us all,” the Director countered in a calm voice. It seemed it would take a lot more to crack his thick veneer. “There’d be no evidence left. Just dust and rumors.”

Deacon was suddenly skeptical. “Now that you mention it Nick, do you mind if I ask you who rigged this thing, oh mighty father?”

The Director shifted uncomfortably before answering. “A freshman student by the name of—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Deacon stopped him with a wave of his hand. “That won’t be necessary. Did they happen to use special blueprints? Maybe got some advice from an old friend at the ‘mechanic’s shop’?”

Madelyn snapped her hand to her mouth so she wouldn’t laugh at his exaggerated use of air quotes. Still, the Director seemed baffled, and ultimately nodded. “I—he, yes. Yes, he did.”

“Ha!” Deacon clapped his hands together and kicked his foot against the exposed wiring, which caused everyone else to flinch backward in distress. “This thing is a dud! It might destroy the bunker, sure, but all of Cambridge? You’re out of your damn mind.”

Nick was amused, and this time the grin stuck to his face. “Maybe it’s you who needs the brain augmentation.”

The Director floundered, unexpecting to be outwitted in his own home, in his own Institute. He looked about ready to rant and rave until he was red in the face, pausing only when there was a commotion at the front of the large corridor. The calvary had arrived—just in time.

“Valentine! Hardy!” Sergeant Sullivan rushed across the metal walkway, a few of his officers and Preston Garvey following closely behind. He slowed upon approach, nervously eyeing the stand-off before him with his weapon half-raised. “The situation upstairs is contained. The department heads started singing like canaries the moment we floated treason as a possible charge.”

“What?” The Director huffed, eyes wide in disbelief. “That’s impossible!”

“What did she tell ya’?” Nick sneered at the man, tilting his head at Madelyn.

A piecing sound rang through the large room that continued on every beat of a second, the confusion falling away from everyone’s faces as they all looked to the bomb and its timer. Deacon took three measured steps away from the platform before scurrying away, practically wrapping his arms around Madelyn in and effort to get her to move with him as quickly as they could to safety.

“Is that—”

“Yes,” Nick answered, interrupting Preston’s question. “A bomb. And we’ve got less than five minutes to get back to the surface. So let’s cut the chatter and get moving!”

The Sergeant made to grab the Director so that he could handcuff the man first, even if it would make escorting him topside a difficult task.

“You’ll never take me alive!” he shouted, rushing away from the group and towards the bomb as it continued beeping.

Sullivan shook his head, withdrawing immediately with his arms raised in defeat. “Suit yourself.”

Madelyn almost suggested that Deacon toss her over his shoulder the way he sprinted along the walkway with her at his side, causing her to almost trip on the stairs. She took one last glance at the underground bunker and the lone Director before they made their ascent up the narrow staircase. With less than five minutes to navigate the tunnels back to the surface, there wasn’t time to talk, or hesitate, so she focused on nothing but the next step forward, barely remembering to breathe until her lungs screamed for air.

It wasn’t until somebody—Lieutenant Danse—was helping her from the manhole that she realized she’d blocked out their escape, stumbling off in a daze and pressing a hand to her head—did she have a concussion? Was she going into shock?

“We’re evacuating the building,” a deep voice, maybe it belonged to the soldier, or one of Sullivan’s men, she couldn’t tell. “Get her out of here!”

Familiar arms encircled her. “Madelyn? Charmer?”

She blinked, focusing on Deacon’s worried expression, even though she couldn’t see most of his face. “You said…my name.”

He smiled. “Well that’s what it is, isn’t it?”

She smiled too.

“Come on,” grabbed her hand, leading her into a light jog towards a small gathering of people on the banks of the Charles River. Piper and some of Preston’s Minutemen were standing with evacuees from the campus, looking on as more people rushed out to look on.

While their backs were still turned to the building, there was a rumbling, not unlike an earthquake, followed by what Madelyn knew to be a series of explosions, people tumbling to the ground as the world around them shook. Despite the bomb setting off underground, the destruction was still felt and seen above ground. When the dust settled, a deep crevice appeared in the center of the campus courtyard, a few stone columns were toppled over, and a fire had broken out in the inside rotunda. So much for a dud.

Deacon wrapped his arm around Madelyn’s shoulder, tucking her close as smoke billowed to the sky, the haunting sign that the Institute’s hold on Boston was no more.

It was all over.

#fallout 4 #noir au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #deacon #madelyn hardy #nick valentine #+the entire GD cast okay #spoiler characters too #the grand finale is here folks with just the epilogue to follow #;____;#fallout fanfic

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