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n00dl3gal · 3 years ago

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Clarence (Father-Son Bonding AU)

While @thetriggeredhappy and I were streaming, we discussed the “Bidwell and Scout being brothers” headcanon, and they mentioned it in the AU, and well... I wrote more for this in the following two days than I had the whole month prior. Also a lot of credit to @birbwell for giving Bidwell the name Clarence.

It was a long shot, Clarence knew.

Mom hadn’t been willing to disclose much about his stepfather, for understandable reasons. She was even less willing to talk about Jeremy. But Clarence, as the middle child- fourth out of eight- he remembered Jeremy. He remembered holding the baby in his arms, shortly after Mom returned from the hospital. He remembered his stepfather singing to Jeremy in French. He remembers waking up one morning with both of them gone, dead to the rest of the world.

But they weren’t dead. Mom was still getting unmarked letters. Phone calls, even. He thinks he’s even heard Jeremy’s voice.

So, yes, a long shot. But the Bidwells were kind of infamous throughout south Boston for taking long shots and sticking the landing.

Hence the application to Mann Co.

He had less personal reasons for applying, of course. As one of the largest corporations in the world, Mann Co. carried a lot of prestige with its name. The payout was excellent and would ensure his mother’s comfort. Lots of travel, too. Clarence always wanted to reenact Around The World in 40 Days. Ricky would’ve called him a nerd over that.

(God, he missed Ricky. All the more reason to make sure the baby of the bunch was safe.)

He landed the job, of course. He never really doubted it. He had the grades, the degree, the reputation that Mann Co. expected of its employees. And the desk work is easy and innocuous enough. His office is in Mannhattan, too, so he’s not terribly far from the rest of the family. Yes, he goes abroad frequently, but having a home base on the East Coast is fantastic.

The promotions come steadily through the years. More weaponry deals, more top-secret files, more codenames. Eventually, he finds himself in the highest position of power a business major like him could ever hope to be in: Saxton Hale’s personal assistant. Which does involve scheduling, phone calls, and writing memos- all things he excels at. It also requires him to serve breakfast steaks, skydive to wrestle alligators, and reverse-engineer weapons from rival manufacturers.

Clarence knew Saxton had a comic book, but he had always assumed the exploits to be fictional. Silly him.

But it’s not all bad. Turns out Clarence has a knack for customer service. He often acted as the mediator between his brothers- middle child syndrome at its finest- and was able to play a variety of roles, depending on the buyer. Perhaps he got that from his stepfather.

He never forgot his true goal. He never directly told Mom why he joined Mann Co., but Clarence was certain she knew. She was smart like that, able to discern all the things people didn’t tell you. Clarence, in turn, learned the same.

Currently, Clarence was on a plane. He had managed to convince Saxton to take a normal landing for once, citing the number of explosives being carried in the cargo bay. Reddy had already called to inform him of the latest budget changes; currently, Saxton’s meat funds would be slightly slashed to afford more shorts after a particularly ugly board meeting. Clarence shuddered at the memory. There was only one more call to expect.

“Bidwell? It’s Pauling. How are you doing?”

Right on cue.

Clarence smiled at the video call, taking in Miss Pauling’s black-and-white visage. “Just fine. You and the Administrator?”

“Doing good. She got your message, and I think she agrees- we’re going through shovels at an alarming rate. It’ll be beneficial in the long run to invest in these high-duty models,” she said.

“Fantastic. And just to clarify, these are for your, ahem, ‘personal’ use and not to be given to the Soldier?”

Miss Pauling laughed. “For how much we’re paying for them? Solly better not touch them.” Bidwell chuckled, too. He didn’t know the mercenaries well, but he heard enough from Pauling to know of their antics. “Where are you and Saxton headed to next?” “We’re about to land back in Mannhattan, why?”

Miss Pauling’s smile upturned just a fraction. “The boys are currently stationed at Doublecross, not far from you. And we recently filled the vacancies on the RED team. Maybe you could convince Saxton to come over and give them a look.” Clarence thought, stroking his chin. “If you can rile them up enough for a fight, that should be enough to entice him. Won’t arrive until late, though. We’re supposed to have a meeting when we land.” “Supposed to” were always the operative words with Saxton.

“Just call me if you plan to swing by. Anything else?”

“Ah, yes!” Clarence fished two pieces of paper out of his jacket pocket. “I managed to convince Saxton to write off this year’s Assistant’s Conference as a work expense. For both of us.”

“No WAY! How’d you manage that?” Miss Pauling’s jaw had dropped so far, Clarence was almost certain the bone had cracked.

Clarence shrugged. “Told him this year’s clipboards might be yeti-proof.”

“I owe you one, big time. Seriously. All right, I need to go. I have a few, uh, garbage bags to drive to the dump. Take care, Bidwell.” The screen went blank.

Two new mercenaries on RED, then? Clarence racked his brain, trying to remember what positions were empty. The Scout and…

The Spy.

The odds, if he was being honest, were minuscule. Less than… 2.33% repeating, if his math was correct. But it was something. He sucked in a breath between his teeth, straightened his tie, and stood. “Mr. Hale?”

. . .

“Still think that Sniper’s lying,” Saxton said, watching the brawl being broadcasted. “No self-respecting Australian would be that far from a fight! He’d be in the thick of it, cracking skulls over his knees!”

“We’ve run tests, and there’s no other ethnicity he could be,” Miss Pauling reminded him.

For the most part, Clarence tuned them out. He was laser-focused on the new recruits. Both the Spy and the Scout were slippery, though. Hard to track. He understood that for the Spy, certainly, that was part of the job description. He might’ve caught a few words in French, but in all honesty, most romance languages sounded the same to him. The Scout, though… what few glimpses Clarence got of him, he was ruthless. Systematic.

And had a grin so, so similar to Mom’s.

He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until Miss Pauling tapped his shoulder. “Are you alright, Bidwell?”

“Ah, yes, although,” he said quickly. “May I speak with the new team members? I realize that they don’t see me nearly as frequently, but I think it would be beneficial to introduce myself.” He swallowed what tasted suspiciously like bile and anxiety.

If miss Pauling was suspicious, she didn’t say anything. “I’ll let them know. Keep the cameras off, too.”

He let out the exhale he was still subconsciously holding. “That would be appreciated. Consider us even for the Conference, then.” She grinned at him, and for the first time since getting the job with Mann Co., Clarence dared to hope.

. . .

Clarence straightened his tie, glancing through the small window in the door. The Scout and Spy stood on the other side. The Scout was bouncing his leg while the Spy smoked. Very little there to work off of, but Clarence had done more with less. And he had been waiting for so long, why was he putting it off any longer?

He opened the door.

Immediately, the two men turned to look at him. The Spy’s face was mostly covered, as part of his uniform, but there was a distinct furrow in his brow as he observed Clarence. As if trying to piece a memory back together. The Scout, meanwhile- shit, those were Martin’s ears, and Henry’s freckles. Frank’s eyes. He never thought he’d see those again.

“Uh, e-excuse me,” he choked out. “I’m Mr. Hale’s personal assistant. My name is Bidwell.”

As soon as the name left his lips, the Spy straightened. “Then- Clarence?” he asked, voice quivering.

Clarence nodded, finally allowing the first few tears to fall. “Who’re you expectin’, Dad, Frank?” he joked, letting his native Boston accent slip back in. It was probably in poor taste, but Clarence can’t bring himself to care.

He finally found them.

“Whoa, whoa, what the fuck are you talkin’ about? Spy, you know this-”

The Scout sounded just as he remembered, from the meager few words he heard through Mom’s call. “Oh my God, Jeremy, it really is you-” Clarence found himself moving before he even registered it, anxious to pull his baby brother into a hug. They were only inches apart, when- “OOF!”

Within seconds, Jeremy had him pinned down on the ground, cleat securely on Clarence’s throat. His standard-issue Mann Co. pistol was pointed directly at his face. Clarence knew that they weren’t particularly damaging, but at this close range, it would be lethal. And he, unlike the mercenaries, did not have Respawn. He struggled to breathe.

“Jeremy, arrête ça! Il dit la vérité, c'est ton frère. Laisse le partir,” Marcel said, placing a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “Please.”

Jeremy glanced between Clarence and Marcel, before removing his foot. Clarence took a few deep breaths before standing again. The pistol was no longer pointed in his face, but Jeremy still stood a distance away. His face was… conflicted. Angry, but uncertain. “Is he tellin’ the truth, man? That you’re my-”

Clarence nodded, rubbing his throat. “I-I think? I don’t speak French, but if he was saying we’re brothers, then yes.” He sighed. “Well. Half-brothers, at any rate. You’re-” an ugly sob crashed through Clarence’s body- “you’re my baby brother, Jeremy.” He smiled at Marcel, looking positively relieved. “You kept him safe.”

“I told Fiona I would. Oh, Clarence,” Marcel whispered, taking Clarence’s face in his hands. “I missed all of you, but you didn’t have to do this.”

“Y-you didn’t know what it was like, Marcel,” he whimpered, looking at his shoes. His crying reflection looked back at him in the shine. “Once you and Jeremy left, she never talked about you, because- because if the younger kids knew about you two, word would get out. You’d be in danger, and she knew that. So she had to act like you were dead, and like Jeremy never existed. You know what that felt like?” he yelled, daring to meet Marcel’s eyes. “To remember your youngest brother, but have to pretend it was all made up? It ate her alive, it was killin’ Frank and Thomas and Henry and me, but we had to.”

Marcel sighed, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. “Clarence…” He handed the handkerchief to Clarence, who took it wordlessly. “That’s a terrible burden for anybody to take. You didn’t have to.”

“But I had to,” he said, dabbing at his face fruitlessly. “I remembered you, Jeremy. I was only seven when you were born, but I held you in my arms. You threw up on me one time and ruined my favorite shirt,” he sobbed, staring at his brother’s face. “And after Frank, and then Ricky- I don’t think Mom’s poor heart would let her handle losing her baby, too. So-so I decided to find you. Make sure you were okay.” He exhaled sharply, cracking a feeble smile. “And you are.”

Jeremy shuffled his feet, suddenly looking very sheepish. “Um, well, that’s super touchin’ and everythin’, but… I dunno what you’re expectin’ here, man. I don’t remember you or Ma or any other brothers. ‘Course I don’t, I was a baby. As far as I’m concerned, it’s always just been me an’ Dad.” He at least has the decency to appear apologetic. “I’m sorry, I really am, but… this whole havin’ brothers thing is. Completely new to me.”

Clarence had expected it. He had anticipated it. He had prepared himself for it. But not enough, evidently, because each word is like a dagger into another part of his body. It was less Jeremy didn’t remember them and more Marcel never even bothered to bring up Jeremy’s family. At no point did he think it would be important to tell Jeremy what he had left behind, albeit involuntarily. Even when he did finally crack and introduced Jeremy to Mom, he hadn’t felt the need to bring any siblings into the mix. Did Marcel even know what happened to Frank? What happened to Ricky? How responsible Clarence was for that?

Did he give a shit about his stepsons at all?

Jeremy leaned against the wall, pulling off his hat to run a hand through his hair. The hair was closer in color to Marcel’s than any of his siblings. “Still, gotta admit, having brothers would be kinda cool. Would’ve made those long car trips with Dad busy more entertainin’, at least.”

“I gave you plenty of homework to keep you occupied, Jeremy.”

“Dad, no nine-year-old wants to do homework while on the run.” He punched Marcel on the shoulder. “Hey, but now I know my last name!”

“You know your mother’s married name, from her first husband. Her maiden name was Mulligan.”

Jeremy burst out laughing. “Fiona Mulligan? From Boston? I swear to God if she had red hair too-”

Clarence’s eyes watered again. The rapport between Jeremy and Marcel was so natural, so familiar. His own father passed away in a car crash when he was two, a mere three months after Daniel’s birth. She never remarried. The only father he ever had was Marcel, and those visits were infrequent… until they stopped altogether.

“Um. Clarence, right?” Jeremy called. Clarence quickly blinked away any tears; at some point, their speech transformed into white noise. “So, you an’ Ma an’ my other brothers- that’s gonna take some gettin’ used to- do you guys have a house?”

“Yes?” he answered, somewhat dazedly. “In Boston. There, um, there were a few winters where we didn’t have heat, and we were nearly evicted once, and we had to share three bedrooms between all of us-”

Jeremy looked at him pointedly. “But you had a house. A home.” He wrapped his arms around his stomach. “Somewhere that, no matter what happened, you could return to.” Clarence nodded, not entirely sure how to respond. Jeremy laughed ruefully. “Shit, that musta been nice.”

Oh.

Suddenly, Marcel’s actions made sense. He was a spy. A man constantly switching identities, finding new places to hide. And he had a baby with him. A child with no concept of secrecy, of behavior, of morality. Marcel had to balance his job and his offspring in equal measure. The best way to do that would be to essentially erase Jeremy’s history. Delete any ties he might have beyond his father. Thus, Jeremy would grow constantly on the move, without any bonds to tie him down. The two of them would be alone.

Clarence couldn't imagine growing up without his brothers.

“That must’ve sucked,” he said out loud, not entirely aware he was doing so.

Jeremy nodded, looking a bit less spiteful. “I bet ya had friends, too, and went to birthday parties and had holidays together and- shit, I’m jealous you went to school.”

“Don’t be. Trust me, school was the worst. Especially if you had Mrs. Carmichael in seventh grade, which all of us did.” Jeremy laughed, Marcel smiled, and Clarence felt his own lips turn up. His shoulders unhunched.

It wasn’t exactly what he was expecting, but at least his family was safe.

#Au of an au... au-ception *bwommm*#father-son bonding au #team fortress 2 #tf2 #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 bidwell #dad spy #dadspy #team fortress 2 au #tf2 scout's brothers #spy x scout's ma #noodle writes #thetriggeredhappy #birbwell

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ao3feed-tf2ships · 2 years ago

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Out of Order

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/41309190

by sonnenkern

At the annual RED conference (which is more like a big party for the shareholders of Mann Co), Bidwell drinks a little too much and ends up kissing his boss. After a long sleepless night, he fears he is going to lose his job once and for all. But Saxton Hale has other plans and doesn’t even seem to mind. Quite the opposite to his wife Maggie.

Words: 1871, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Team Fortress 2

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi

Characters: Saxton Hale, Mr. Bidwell (Team Fortress 2), Mr. Reddy (Team Fortress 2), Mags (Team Fortress 2), Miss Pauling (Team Fortress 2)

Relationships: Saxton Hale/Mags, Mr. Bidwell/Saxton Hale, Administrator/Miss Pauling (Team Fortress 2)

Additional Tags: saxwell, Bidwell and Pauling are best friends, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, kiss, Drunken Kissing, Secret Crush, going full business man fantasy, A little bit of Drama, Silly, over dramatic, maggie filed for divorce, Divorce, Getting Ready, bidwell has his life together, but not as much as he thinks, fear of losing job, bidwell has a crush on saxton, Maggie breaks up with saxton, reddy is just Vibing honestly, unbothered mr reddy, hinted at Pauling and helen, drunk at a party, One Shot, this ship needs attention, I Will Go Down With This Ship, bidwell is scouts brother btw, Headcanon, saxton is actually a softie, You can't convince me otherwise, No Smut

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/41309190

#TF2 Mags #Saxton Hale #HaleMags

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tf2-hellhole · 4 years ago

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TF2 Shattered AU

wow look another au nobody asked for

PREMISE —————

Reyes knew from the moment she started working for the Administrator that the woman was hiding a whole lot from her. The Administrator was incredibly secretive and defensive about anything Reyes asked her, and even her co-worker, Miss Pauling, seemed nervous when she asked about her role. She knew it was dangerous work. Illegal work. But for her friends’ and parents’ safety, she kept her mouth shut.

But one day, she was assigned to work with some files. Someway, somehow, Miss Pauling or one of the other assistants had misplaced a very, very important paper. It ended up in Reyes’ stack of work for the day.

When she found the paper, she was horrified by what was inside. The paper was was full of detailed information about the loved ones and families of every Mann Co. mercenary, as well as where they lived and how to capture them. Administrator was planning to take and use these people as bargaining chips against the mercenaries to make them do work that would endanger themselves and thousands of civilians.

The very first thing she did was bring the papers to the mercenaries and explain what it meant. Of course, everyone was horrified and knew they had to stop the Administrator. But in their horror and confusion, they forgot that the woman had eyes and ears everywhere.

A few days later, Scout frantically called everyone to the common room, saying that they were talking about them on TV. The reporter on the screen explained that the Mann Co. mercenaries had been proven to be responsible for a large string of brutal civilian murders and domestic terrorist attacks. So now, the American government had just began to track all of the mercenaries down.

For a moment, the room was only silent. Maybe the mercenaries had committed many crimes, but they had never done the horrible things the reporter described. And despite knowing that the team was made of the best of the best, they knew they were no match for the government.

All of a sudden, a voice came over the intercom. The Administrator’s. She explained that she had discovered what the mercenaries were planning. So, to get rid of the threat the mercenaries posed against her, she framed them for many crimes she and her employees had committed. And now, with the American government on her side, she could have each of the mercenaries killed and out of her hair forever. She warned them so they could have the chance to run and get some amusement out of watching them try to escape from her. You could put it that she was playing with her food.

After hours of debate, the mercenaries decided that the best choice was to go their separate ways and try to get away. And so, that night, the team packed their things and said their goodbyes. There was little time for tears and hugs.

Reyes cried for hours and hours once the base emptied. What was she going to do? Where was she going to go? She couldn’t leave, her parents needed her because they couldn’t speak English. She didn’t know what to do.

Soon, Miss Pauling appeared at the door. Reyes got up and approached her, desperately asking for help. The other woman only sighed, apologized, and pulled a gun.

What followed was a short shootout between the two, as Reyes always kept a gun on her too. She was lucky enough to escape quickly, driving home as fast as she could. She called her parents, quickly saying goodbye to them and telling them to go back to Mexico if they can, gathered her things, and fled.

She was able to buy a ticket and get to Europe, where she’s been hiding out for the last decade from the Administrator, praying to God that her friends and family are alright.

If I were to write the story, it would follow parts of the team reuniting and killing the Administrator.

CHARACTER STATUSES —————

Scout: Alive; Gravely injured after a confrontation with police in Boston, but is rescued by Korri. Due to his injuries, his legs are paralyzed and he is stuck in a wheelchair. His mother and brothers mysteriously disappear soon after.

Soldier: Dead; attempted to confront the Administrator himself. He put up a good fight, but ultimately, he was no match for the people she’d employed to protect her.

Pyro: Alive; they luckily escaped and is running around the New Mexican badlands somewhere like some kind of cryptic.

Demo: Dead; poisoned by one of the Administrator’s goons in a bar in Scotland.

Heavy: Unknown; he and his family disappeared very quickly after the team separated. It’s unknown if they were caught, killed, returned to Russia, or something else. (He is actually dead.)

Engineer: Alive; the Administrator knew that if Doctor Dell Conagher, owner of Conagher Tech and one of the US’ leading military inventors, went missing while employed at Mann Co, the government would be on her in an instant. She made him swear not to speak about what happened by threatening to destroy his life’s work and kill his parents.

Medic: Alive; he was successfully captured, but when they attempted to kill him, he was kept alive by his deal with Satan to keep him alive for another fifty years. He was soon rescued by Spy, but not before the Administrator had his eyes removed so he could no longer be any threat to her if he did escape.

Sniper: Alive; ironically, he was shot by an amateur sniper while hiding out in the outback. He survived due to their poor aim, but gained amnesia. The Admin has him brought back to her, and he is tricked into believing the mercs are a threat and used against them.

Spy: Alive; he escaped easily, but he is not the same. His son is dead. His family is dead. His love is dead. He has nothing left. He has this dead, hopeless look in his eyes; they tell you that even though Spy still walks and talks, The Spy is truly dead after losing everything he loved.

Reyes: Alive; she is currently hiding in Europe, as I said. At some point in those ten years, she was attacked by an assassin and was left with significant scarring on her left ribs down to her thighs and has a small limp.

Korri (owned by @gurt-the-great : Alive; is living in New York with her brother. She’s been mentally broken by losing her partner, her friends, and her arm (and therefore, her ability to draw).

The Ammos (owned by @sary-nator-art): All alive; captured by the Administrator because they knew too much about her and her work.

Scrap (owned by @analyticalinsomniac): Alive; she is now working as a assassin-for-hire.

Heikama (owned by LeFuzzbol): Alive; flees to Japan or possibly Thaiwan, Admin can’t find him due to him getting help from a few organizations. He is trying to recover from the mental trauma of it, plotting revenge, and working alongside a Yakuza family for a job until then.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 au #tf2 shattered au

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fruit-teeth · 3 years ago

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Matters of Time and Fate (chapter 23)

The atmosphere had a palpable tension.

All was quiet as the mercenaries waited for Helen to speak. Olivia stood outside the conference room doorway, clutching her plush cat in her hands. The beady, glass eyes of the cat stared back up at her, and in them, she saw her reflection. She didn’t know what she felt now, or what she wanted. Perhaps she needed answers, she thought. All the more reason to eavesdrop on the grownups.

Helen finally broke the silence as she stood at the front of the room, staring out at the people who worked for her. “The attack today was…unanticipated. But all of you handled it well, and for that, I commend you.”

Murmurs of agreement rumbled through the mercenaries. There was never any doubt that they were good at what they did, and it was always gratifying to be recognized for it.

Spy, however, only glared at Helen from where he sat. He was quite aware that she had noticed him glaring, as she was averting his gaze. She focused on her nails for a moment before looking back up at the men.

“Yet, this is far from over,” Helen went on. “Sage will only take a moment to lick his wounds, and once he does, he will be after us again. Our goal now is to stop that before it starts…” she cleared her throat, opening up a file on the desk. “I have here a floorplan of Sage’s residence, and with it—”

“Whoa, hold on!” Scout cut in. “You tellin’ us we have to break in there? Why? For that damn Australium?”

“Do not interrupt me!” Helen snapped at him, less restrained than usual.

“No, answer me!” Scout argued, standing up in a rage. “Maybe you should get that stuff yourself!”

Engineer grabbed Scout by the clothes, yanking him back down into the chair. “Sit down and watch your mouth!”

Helen’s eye twitched as she glared daggers at Scout. After a moment, she answered in a forceful tone, “I’m not doing it myself because that’s not my job. You are a mercenary, and that is your position here.”

“You are not doing your job very well, are you?” Spy spoke up suddenly.

The whole room froze.

Helen finally turned to face Spy, her jaw noticeably clenched. “What did you just say to me?” she managed after a few seconds, her voice rougher than usual.

Spy would be lying if he didn’t say that he look Helen gave him sent chills down his spine, but he refused to back down. “You heard me.” He got to his feet and looked her in the eyes. “If you were doing your job correctly, you would have resolved this dispute with Sage long ago—”

“Oh, please!” Helen scoffed. “You have no idea what the full scope of this situation, you don’t—”

“Let me finish!” Spy barked, louder than he’d intended to. He knew he was only making Helen angrier, but he wasn’t going to quit. “Not only that, but you would have noticed that you were not the target of that attack!”

“I never said I was the target,” Helen defended.

“But you thought you were, which is why you did not show up during the fight until we had gotten the upper hand.” Spy pointed out. “You were willing to risk us before you risked yourself!”

The mercenaries began to mumble louder as it gradually dawned on them that this was true. Helen noticed, but she hardly reacted. She took a few steps closer to Spy, pausing only a few feet in front of him.

“Like I said,” she began. “That is your job. I don’t see what’s so hard to understand about this.”

“It’s not me I’m concerned for,” Spy countered. “Or any of us, for that matter. We don’t need your help – in fact, we would have won regardless of whether or not you appeared at the last moment. My concern lies with Olivia…” he paused, watching Helen’s reaction. “She was the target, Helen. Not you.”

Helen’s face dropped. The other mercenaries sat in silence for a moment, processing this information.

“How do you know!?” Demoman demanded to know, his tone of voice a cross between fury and concern.

“Because the head of those bounty hunters went after her intentionally.” Spy explained. “I have a history working with bounty hunters, assassins, and other types – they tend not to go after children unless someone has specifically told them to, or if they believe the child might be a witness. In any other scenario, they would have ignored her and proceeded with their job, unless she had gotten in the way,” he said, clearing his throat and returning his gaze to Helen. “And she was not in the way, she was shut up in the shed outside.”

Olivia felt numb as she listened from outside the door. She really had been in danger…

She leaned herself as near to the wall as she could without being seen, waiting for Helen's response.

Helen took a moment to collect herself, before looking back up at Spy. “Well…what would they want with Olivia, anyhow? She doesn’t have any rights to Mann Co., they can’t make her sign those away.”

Spy sighed. “Oh, I don’t know…perhaps…there was some kind of information they knew about Olivia that they knew they could use to exploit you.”

Miss Pauling, standing towards the back of the room, tensed up when she heard Spy utter those words. She grit her teeth, muttering out, “Spy, don’t you dare…”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Helen hissed at Spy, jabbing a finger into his shoulder. “Sit down and speak to me in a civil tone!”

Spy didn’t even flinch when she touched him. “I will once you stop denying the truth.”

“Spy, what are you talking about?” Sniper piped up, his concern visible.

Helen and Spy’s eyes met. It fully sank in, then and there: Spy definitely knew her secret. Which meant…

“YOU!” Helen focused her vitriol at Miss Pauling, stalking towards her. “You told him, didn’t you!? Why would you tell him!? I trusted you!” her voice cracked, and she sounded as though she’d truly been betrayed.

“I’m sorry!” Miss Pauling defended herself, though the guilt began pouring out of her. “Please, Helen, I’m so sorry, I-I told him not to repeat it! I—”

Spy stood in front of Pauling, protecting her, although he knew Helen would never try and hurt her. “I gave her no choice, Helen,” he explained. “Do not blame her.”

Helen was beginning to crack: she’d begun panting, her hands were shaking, and her eyes were open so wide that it looked almost unnatural on her face. The mercenaries all watched silently, hoping for some sort of answer as to what was happening.

“Everything I have done,” she spoke in a shaky voice. “Has been to protect Olivia.”

“Everything?” Spy glared back at her. “Even putting her in danger? Even allowing her to continue living with Gray Mann after you learned the truth? Even abandoning her when—”

Helen struck Spy across the face with her palm, shrieking, “You wouldn’t understand! You aren’t her mother!”

Spy staggered backwards and collided with Miss Pauling, but she grasped his shoulders and helped him to his feet. She looked to Helen pleadingly. “Helen, stop this!”

“Wait!” Scout exclaimed, realizing. “You’re Olivia’s mom!?”

“Oh, I see it now!” Medic gasped, studying Helen’s face. “The hairline, it’s definitely the hairline…I see it!”

Heavy just sat there, dumbfounded. “This whole time…Olivia had mother, but it was you. And you said nothing…”

Spy composed himself, straightening back up. “It’s not wise to keep these things a secret, Helen.”

“The pot’s calling the kettle black, isn’t it!?” Helen’s voice didn’t even sound like her anymore, she sounded unstable and brutal. “You have no right to criticize me for the choices I made when you—” She took a breath, looked at Scout, and then pointed a finger at Spy. “That’s your father!”

“Helen!” Spy shouted, reaching for her to try and shut her up, but it was no use.

Helen smacked both of his hands away in a fury. “Do not touch me!”

Scout laughed from where he sat, although it was the most forced laugh he could muster. “Ha! Funny joke, but he ain’t my dad! Right?” when the only answer he got was awkward silence, the color drained from his face. He slowly looked to Spy. “…right?”

“Um…” Spy shifted, starting to back away. “I don’t…”

When the silence continued, Scout whirled around to the other mercenaries. “All of you knew!? All of you knew, and you didn’t say shit!?”

Sniper groaned. “Mate, we tried to spell it out for you, many times!”

“You did what!?” Spy clenched his fist at his side. “Oh, why did I ever think to tell you!?”

“You aren’t as subtle as you think,” Engineer pointed out.

Heavy had enough, and he stood up. “Everyone, quiet!” he boomed. “You are all fighting like children! Like little babies at playground, you never stop!”

“She started it!” Spy defended, pointing at Helen.

Heavy left his seat, putting his hands between Helen and Spy and separating them. “I am disappoint.” He clicked his tongue. “Is not good…” he then turned around, and upon seeing Scout, he reached over and patted his shoulder. “How you feeling, little man?”

“I dunno…” Scout confessed, blinking slowly.

The floorboards by the door creaked. Heavy glanced up, and he took a breath. “Oh…”

Olivia stood in the doorway, the stuffed cat hanging at her side. She stared at Helen with wide eyes, the information she’d learned turning over and over in her mind.

Helen spotted her, but swiftly avoided her gaze, unwilling to confront Olivia's awareness of the truth.

“Is that true?” Olivia asked, her voice timid. She walked across the room, stopping just a few feet away from Helen. “You’re my mommy?”

Gray had always told Olivia that her mother hadn’t wanted her. He'd never said anything else, and Olivia had never inquired, as this subject had only come up when Olivia questioned why the children on TV had moms but she didn't. That fact had broken her heart and made her question why she couldn't possibly have been wanted, but she had assumed it didn't matter.

Now she was here, peering up at the mother who hadn't wanted her, the same woman who had ripped her from her home and company and brought her here. Olivia found herself grabbing part of Helen’s skirt, tugging on it to try and get her to look at her. “You didn’t want me?”

Helen looked back at Olivia – her daughter, her child…the same child she’d given birth to on the floor of her bathroom, all alone. The same child who existed because Australium did not come with a warning label about a side effect being extreme fertility in older women. The same child who represented a part of Helen that she wanted to keep hidden, the part of her that let her guard down with a man she considered an enemy…she could almost hear Gray laughing at her, mocking her. She saw him in Olivia’s eyes, no matter how much she did not want to.

She could feel everyone staring at her, and her body seemed to close in on herself as her mind reeled. Instinct told her to pick up Olivia, to cradle her in her arms like any loving mother would do, yet that wasn’t what she did.

She ran away.

“Helen? Helen!” Miss Pauling's voice broke as she watched Helen flee out the door, and she chased after her. “Hey, hey, where are you going!?”

Helen did not answer, and she did not look back. She headed up to her room, grabbing a suitcase out of the closet and walking back downstairs. Miss Pauling pleaded with her, begged her not to go, to think about things, but Helen shut it all out.

She did not allow herself to feel anything at all when she stalked out the door with the suitcase at her side. She needed to be away, away from it all.

Miss Pauling watched her car disappear down the road, and the despair filled her veins. She sat down on the doorstep and began to sob, covering her face with her hands.

The door opened again, and Zhanna stepped out, taking a seat beside Pauling on the step. She put her arm around her, saying nothing as she held her and let her cry. Pauling only whimpered and sobbed, her shoulders quivering as she pressed her face into Zhanna's shoulder and wept.

At the same time, Olivia stood in the middle of the meeting room, her mind a confused mess of emotions. She’d finally met her mother, but her mother ran away again…

Heavy knelt beside her and softly stroked her shoulder. “Little Olivia?” he asked in a soft voice. “You all right?”

“I…” Olivia glanced towards the door, and then back at Heavy. “She left me…”

“I know,” Heavy stroked her hair with his broad palm. “But you have us.”

Scout sat on the floor alongside Olivia, equally numb. “Screw her, who needs her?” he grunted, bitter. “Screw parents who can’t be bothered to show up for their freakin’ kids.”

Spy listened from across the room, trying not to let his hand quiver as he lit a cigarette.

“Yeah…” Olivia leaned her cheek against his arm, staring at the wood paneling on the floor. “She just left me…”

“We ain’t garbage, y’know,” Scout pointed out. “We’re people, too!”

Olivia raised her head, her face flushed with rage. “Yeah!” she agreed, though her voice cracked. “She’s dumb! She’s dumb, because I’m smart like my daddy said, and I’m strong, and…and…and…” the anger melted away, and before she knew it, she had burst into sobs, her whole body shaking. “Mommy doesn’t want me…”

At the sight of her tears, Scout scooped her up and pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. She hadn’t expected the hug, but she welcomed it as she let all of her emotions out in loud cries. Scout’s lower lip trembled as he held her, but he fought it, feeling as though he had to keep himself strong for her.

Then, somewhat out of the blue, Sniper stepped forward. He knelt beside Scout and Olivia, and he embraced both of them, saying nothing but pouring as much care into the action as he could. Scout just sniffled, lifting one hand to squeeze Sniper’s while using the other to hold Olivia.

Staring from a distance, Spy wished he could join them, but he knew he could not. Not at this moment. He turned away, the smoke from his cigarette dissipating into the air.

Olivia felt a heartache she'd never known before, as if there was something seriously wrong with her if she'd been so easily abandoned. Yet here, wrapped in the arms of two men who weren’t even related to her, she realized she was loved and wanted. The others were standing around, watching her, but she felt that they cared for her too.

Even in the midst of her sadness, the sensation of being wanted was one she wouldn't sacrifice for anything.

#oof this was a sad one to write #next couple chapters are gonna be much better tho i promise #my writing #writing #tf2 #tf2 fanfic #tf2 olivia mann #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #tf2 medic #tf2 heavy #tf2 demoman #tf2 zhanna #tf2 miss pauling #tf2 sniper #tf2 administrator

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davidduchovnydefensesquad · 3 years ago

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Brad is the cook, the cleaner, the washer, the chauffeur, the manager, the social media guy, the adviser, the organizer, the shopper, the booker, the dog walker, the lawyer, the physiotherapist, the producer, the personal accountant, the travel specialist and the social media guy. He has had so much education and experience, right? So amazing! (No.) How does he ever sleep? How could NY state even function without him? He's got about 34 "jobs" that were assigned to him by the fandom and they actually think they're right and that he really does all them. Oh Greek Gods of Mythology give me a break.

“Oh Greek Gods of the Mythology” 🤣🤣🤣 Thanks for the laugh this morning.

You’re seriously understating his duties though. He’s also Gillian’s manny, secret co-creator of The X Files, Mark Mann’s assistant, Gillian’s back-up social media person, VP to the VP of the United States, the next person in line to go into space...

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energonalucard · 5 years ago

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Heterogeneous (pt. 1)

A story made after the discovery of the Dynamite Abs by @medics-secret-shipfic-folder and me wanting Demo and Medic flexing on some foes in matching cosmetics... And then I added plot and relationships (later).

Rating: T (violence, but more so next chapter)

Pairing: Demoman/Medic/Sniper/Spy (Poly), hinted Heavy/Medic

Characters: A lot, but all classes are here so... we can check off those boxes.

¸.•*¨*•.¸♡.•*¨*•.¸♡.•*¨*•.¸ ¸.•*¨*•.¸♡.•*¨*•.¸♡.•*¨*•.¸ ¸.•*¨*•.¸♡.•*¨*•.¸♡.•*¨

The room where they all sat held a lot of commotion, the dining area loud with chatter and mutters as conversations about strategies and pulling their weight today filled the walking masses as they exited to file in for the war games they had planned for today. As the long-standing defenses for this location, the RED team hoped to come out victors today in light of some of the BLU's being shipped out after their last failure.

Truth be told, the site dubbed "Sawmill" could be infuriating and tiresome to deal with when the defenses that RED had figured worked long ago where airtight in synergy. Long standing allies or simply bitter alliance set aside for the RED team, they worked together as best they can.

The only RED Spy huffed, flipping his zippo out to light his newly rolled clove as he followed his team to the teleporters to the battlefield. The duo Scout's in front of him shoving and leaning on each other as one pulled down his Flipped Trilby where his friend had tried to flick it off. The Spy tried to make his way past them without gaining attention, but his cloves and mightier stature gained the attention of the two Scout's.

"Nice hustle yesterday suit-n-tie, gave the Engie's hell." The obnoxious friend wearing to much said, but notably he was wearing the Flapjack. Its undershirt colored Zephaniah's Greed, much to the Spy's jargon. "Hopefully you scared all those Engie's away last night onto that train that came. It'll be Scout's outta hell then!"

Gods, he was obnoxious. Even with his friend being a bit on the tame side, Flapjack himself was enough to make Spy's mood plummet. So he kept walking for the teleporters and tucked away his zippo in hope for some peace. Well, you can never have peace with twelve men, but at least it wasn't a Scout he'd be listening to.

His shoes made hollow but prominent taps across the wooden floor as he entered the empty room with four teleporters lining the wall with pipes and rods sticking out into the wall. The Heavy wearing a Sinner's Shade was laughing at his Medic wearing his Grimm Hatte and Medi-Mask. The Doctor's eyes, before disappearing, were jovial and squinted in his hidden grin at his partner. The team's single Engineer also disappeared before Spy could get a good look at him but their Demoman took his place and went on the respective teleporter next, not as intoxicated as usual with his eyes darting about like they always did when not under the influence. Anxious fool. But he was a top of the line Demolitions Expert, so they take what they can get. From the last teleporter, their only Sniper was standing in his full on water work clothing line, wearing Wet Works and Cammie Jammies.

Spy hated he could remember their names at all. But he was the one who intercepts packages for the team to make sure they are getting and receiving normal mail; not sending private information for Mann Co. and all.

The Sniper disappeared and before the two Soldier's could get up from sitting on the floor, Spy breezed past them to get there first. The oldest Soldier, here before even Spy himself, just flopped back down and sighed. The other, not as courteous as his friend and not as smart as to not pick fights, got up and pointed at Spy as he stood on the teleporter with his teeth bared.

"Very gentlemanly, Frenchie. Very classy!" He said as condescending as he could, trying to provoke his teammates ire or a negative response.

Ever the gentleman himself, it seems. Spy sighed and drew his hand up to try to pluck his clove from his mouth, but stopped as he looked at his allies. This Soldier wasn't a helmet wearing type, it was common knowledge after the man had gotten a crate and traded away any helmet type cosmetics. (They long found out Soldier's helmet WAS a cosmetic, not an actual piece of army wear. Sniper's headshots proved it by tearing through them.) He'd mostly wore the Skullcap or Hat With No Name. But today, he had a simple bandana and his usual Mistaken Movember-esk beard was shaved to a single stripe down his chin. He looked like a thug and Spy had no idea what he was doing with it anyways. Had he missed a check stub going to Mann Co. for hats? Had he missed the Soldier raving about a case?

He had little time to ponder it as he was teleported through and awaiting the respawn system to arrange them all in order for the fighting to begin.

▄ ▄ ▄ ▄ ▄ ▄ ▄ ▄

After about thirty minutes of waiting, the RED team was quickly popped into their places inside the spawn of Sawmill, all twelve members standing in rows where they were dropped. Some continued the conversations in which they had started while waiting in the war room; guilty as charged belonging to the Medic and Heavy and the two Scout's swiftly switching between their primaries and secondaries in anticipation for action. Spy reloaded his revolver to pass a few seconds as they awaited the door to open and their feet to march.

Today was King of the Hill, so hopefully the Sniper had fun.

In his daze of reloading to skip the taunts around him, he missed the last few numbers in the Administrator's countdown and missed the front wave running past him. The Engineer pulling out his PDA and flicking the side past him before he ran forward and cloaked out the door. Sniper jumped off the team's spawn battlements and followed in after their Demoman and bandana Soldier. The Spy ran across the small banister and onto the rooftops on the tail of his teammate Scouts. One split off for the center point in the barn while the other continued to run the rooftops, probably hoping to jump a Sniper or Soldier with his Force-a-Nature.

Spy followed neither of them and fell from the rooftops onto the muddy ground, marching his way across the small makeshift bridge across the small pond breaking the bases apart. This is where he cloaked, his Cloak and Dagger draining as he ran into a more enemies infested territory and spotting a small group around a BLU Medic.

The sounds of gunfire and explosions suddenly started outside of his range of sight, making the ambience of the alpine mountain mill almost flush away with the sudden pops in his ears. The roaring of the BLU Pyro's casually flame spurting Phlog didn't help as he ran forward with an ally BLU Engineer.

So, the Scout's weren't going to reign supreme this match, oh well. They'll just have to be smarter today.

The group surrounding the Medic consisted of a Heavy, Soldier, and a Sniper all making their way to the front lines from probably building a Uber off of the Soldier rocket jumping in place by their own spawn. The Medic, notably, was handling a stock Uber handle with presumably enough charge to hit an Uber after some damage was taken by peaking RED Team on point.

But it was too risky to stop this push. Yes, team's usually celebrated when Spy's risk their life for taking out a Uber push. Sure, no thanks were ever given but that was a given itself. He was no Engineer nor a Medic, so that was that. And Spy couldn't deal with that today, he just hoped his own team's Pyro was smart enough not to die before the enemy push.

Spy just kept walking, no sign of his own counterpart and the only Sniper he had seen was with the Uber Medic's posse. He hoped not, it'd be nice to not have to be the action Spy who dropped from the top of stairs and roofs on unsuspecting power classes to get kills.

He really hoped he didn't have to resort to camping ammo and health packs for kills either. There was only so far he'd fall.

That shipment of new BLU's better have something for him or he'd be very disappointed and move onto the Diamondback and Dead Ringer for active participation.

Soon enough, he ran the length behind the enemy lines and found little of anyone to pick off by standing near the ammo and health pack near the spawn. The gun fire and sizzling fire only interrupted by bombs going off and the occasional boom of a Sniper rifle piercing the air with a heavy bass.

The Spy sunk his kunai into the back of a Soldier running from BLU spawn swinging his Disciplinary Action like anyone was around, the Soldier's weight falling forward fast from his long strides and splatting in the mud and water from the recent rains. Spy stepped back from the body to retreat and actually make plays on point now he had enough health to withstand a bit of enemy fire (for when the Pyro came around or a sentry locked onto him before he could pop away from sight). He heard duel footsteps too heavy to be his clapping across the wooden battlements above and behind him.

He cloaked as fast as he could and ran forward until he knew he was fully under cloak and back pedaled as fast as he could against the wall of the barn outside of BLU. A Demoman came charging with an Eyelander, swinging as fast and hard as he could to look for the Spy. A Medic, Quick Fix equipped, kept pace with his patient and upon arriving to the Spy's old position whipped out his Ubersaw to start slashing around the pack.

When Spy got far enough back to consider himself safe from just random Spy checking, he took a look at the Demo and Medic pair and he almost had to spit out his clove from… whatever he almost let spill out of his vocal cords.

The BLU Medic's headgear wasn't anything new like the RED Soldier's bandana, his head was clean of any hats and he simply had a Mutton Man style sideburns. He was starting to grow other facial hair too with a dark shadow on his jaw. And the Medic wore the Burly Beast, and the soft rain and wind were not helping draw away any attention as the man violently swung around his saw. The Burly Beast was not new, a cosmetic specifically tied open and manufactured to show off a Medic's assets by the big Australian man upstairs. The only class cosmetic to show anything overly masculine about the features of the equipped area, specifically to be provocative.

Until today it seemed. The Demoman was also in his… own version of the Burly Beast. The entire middle part made in the Demoman's classic jumper, but ripped in half and fake shredded across the ripped sides to make the impression of tearing look real. His shoulder length sleeves were also "ripped" as well, but cut off at the shoulders with tears and ended at his elbow where a bit of remains were left dangling. Worst of all, he was wearing the Cool Breeze below his top cosmetic, adding to the vulnerability of his skin.

Spy had been shocked so much he hit his back on the BLU team's barn, almost slipping in mud as the clove from his mouth finally couldn't stay in and hit the grass under him. He panicked and took off to the right, away from their spawn and he heard the sound of a distance Soldier spawning from the window. But the clattering of his weight hitting the barn did not go without the Demo and Medic hearing him, as they had already toned out all the war ahead of them and simply focused on him. A BLU Scout spawned shortly into their endeavors as they called out Spy to alert him, and the boy took a few pop shots around the corners before running off past them.

Spy, when he dropped his clove and basically gave away his place, had found his way out immediately and took it. Well, he took himself as far as he could. The more distance he traveled, the less cloak he had and he didn't dare sit on top of the ammo kits for any help with those two watching for him. He stood on the trunks in the corners of the map behind the planks of wood, watching them from thirty feet away as they slowly gave up their chase. And once the Medic trained back on his pocket with his QuickFix, Demoman soon gave up as well. Putting his sword away for his grenade launcher.

As he started to load it, he looked at the ground and started to stomp on something. The Demo took his boot, and shoved it three times next to the barn before smothering whatever it was under his foot. The Medic ushered him forward and the Demo ran after him, being slower by nature.

Spy stood there, waiting for his cloak to regenerate. But really, his heart was pounding and his legs felt not under his control. He stayed there and just waited until an unlucky Engineer came over for metal away from his nest (if he even had one). The swiftness his legs suddenly gave him to make his way behind the lonely Engineer to stab and gained back his advantage knocked his senses back into place.

His job! His team! He had something better to do then think of the obscene amount of hair he just saw.

#Team Fortress 2 #TF2 #My Works #RED Team #BLU Team #Demo/Medic/Sniper/Spy #Poly #Scout #Soldier #Pyro #Demoman #Heavy #Engineer #Sniper #Medic #Spy #:000

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blueberrystudios · 2 months ago

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...be careful what you truly desire...it might just be karma...

#mann co secret files #welcome home alagadda au #tf2 au #scp au #coming soon

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blueberrystudios · 2 months ago

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(sneak peak of Mann co secret files 🙂)

"yes please, I must hurry before the king gets crossed" she spoke frantically her voice was quiet and soft spoken...but ...who does it belong to?.... She's familiar...but ..from where...?

Find out in the sequel of the Welcome Home Alagadda au 'Mann co secret files'

Pov: you are a mercenary who works at Mann co, you're the assistant to the German Field medic, Dr.Ludwig. You have been assigned to a mission alone to find out about the case that happened at the SCP Foundation. 4 suspects have passed 7 years ago; no one knows what happens except you.

You soon find a hidden doorway that leads to the unknown, as you step inside you step into the world of Alagadda, the carnival of Venice. The Sky yellow with black sun and stars, geometrical buildings, grass red...and clothing that doesn't belong to you and a mask that's on your face that cannot be removed.

As you walk in the streets you bump into someone

Who do you bump into?

I'mma go with B because I don't know if it's gonna be bad or good but I'mma still choose it

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textingtroublesanswers · 3 months ago

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*They look back at the weight, clearly a bit confused though following instruction regardless as they step on the weight. They caluculate their birth year in their head, using their fingers for support*

Uuuh...19...53, yeah, 1953. At least I hope so.

*They look down at the weight, which stopped at 125 lbs*

Hey Fee? This isn't like, a secret check-up you're doing, is it?

-🐈anon

Fritz writes it down, then uses the sliding scale to measure Katze's height, "This is far from secret. I'm just making a note for Miss Pauling, for her files. You know, so that you're no longer seen as a civillian to Mann Co. & come come with us when we switch bases & all."

#Texting Guests #tf2 #tf2 ask blog #tf2 blu medic #🐈anon

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vandalamagazine · 6 years ago

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Article and Photos by L. Paul Mann

The legendary Roxy theater on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood has been a showcase venue for some of the biggest names in rock music for over 45 years. The tradition continued on March 12th when 90’s Alt rock powerhouse bands Bush and Live played a secret show sponsored by local radio station KROQ. The theater was packed to the 500 person capacity, but the time the first band took the stage with a crowd made up of radio contest winners, music executives, and friends of the group.

The show was organized to announce the ALT-IMATE Tour. The national tour starts on June 6 and wraps up on September 8th traveling through 33 cities. Both 90’s Alt-rock bands will be commemorating the 25th anniversary of their hit albums, Sixteen Stone and Throwing Copper. The tour also features the Canadian group Our Lady Peace as the opening act.

There was great anticipation in the air as the crowd packed tightly about the stage in the Roxy awaiting the show. Elated music fans could be heard exchanging their favorite concert memories of the two beloved bands. Live exploded onstage first amidst an explosion of light and sound. The ear-splitting sound system filled the small club with booming music. Fronted by intense singer Ed Kowalczyk the founding member of Live, the band tore through a 45 minute full of the bands most well-known songs. The band also features original members Chad Taylor on lead guitar and backing vocals, Patrick Dahlheimer on bass, and Chad Gracey on drums. Rhythm guitarist Zak Loy joins the band on tour as well as additional drummer Robin Diaz. Live’s set included songs from Throwing Copper, Mental Jewelry, Distance To Here and Secret Samadhi. The crowd reacted euphorically even singing the chorus lines of some of the bands most well-known tunes like “All Over You,” Selling The Drama,” “I Alone,” Lighting Crashes” and “Pain Lies.” As the band played their final tune, Dennis Rodman appeared in the crowd with his trademark cigar and for some inexplicable reason decided to take the stage. He rambled about pointing to the various band members and sang into the mics on occasion. Obviously, a friend of the band he hugged the lead singer tightly at the end of the set.

Co-headliners Bush took the stage next led by the charismatic singer-guitarist Gavin Rossdale and stepped up to the challenge of following the intense performance by Live. Rossdale looked every bit the rock icon wearing a sleeveless shirt revealing a sinewed body that looked more like an animated superhero than a real human. The English rockers blasted through an hour-long supercharged set filled mostly with the bands biggest hits like “Machinehead, “Everything Zen,” “This Is War,” and “Testosterone.” The current group features Rossdale on passionate growling vocals and wailing guitar, Chris Traynor on intense lead guitar, Corey Britz on bass and backing vocals and Robin Goodridge on thundering drums. The veteran band is one of the most intense live bands keeping the Grunge sound fresh and viable. It was another special night in a long history of unique rock moments at the Roxy theater for a lucky few rock fans.

https://bushofficial.com/ http://freaks4live.com/

Bush and Live Play “Secret” Concert at the Roxy to Announce National Summer Tour Article and Photos by L. Paul Mann The legendary Roxy theater on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood has been a showcase venue for some of the biggest names in rock music for over 45 years.

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thewebofslime · 5 years ago

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Kenyon Gibson is the author of Awkar al-sharr (Nest of Evil), which is an Arabic translation of his book Common Sense: A Study of the Bushes, the CIA, and the Suspicions Regarding 9/11. He is also coauthor of Hemp for Victory. [Woody Harrelson is a co-author]. Gibson has worked undercover for years, as an investigative reporter and in intelligence for the US Navy. By Ken Gibson The phone rang and I knew who it was even before I looked at the screen, which flashed the words IZMO MARINE; Mark Epstein’s former company. Earlier in the day, he had lost his only brother: Jeffrey. For weeks, I had been predicting Jeffrey’s demise. Mark, I reasoned, would be safe as long as Jeffrey lived. Certain people wanted Jeffrey cold in earth, and they wanted this done quietly. Getting rid of Mark would only make noise, making it harder to eliminate their main target: prisoner #76318-054 in the Manhattan Correctional Center. Mark Epstein is said to be concerned he might wind up dead like his brother, Jeffrey. According to Ken Gibson, Mark does not think his brother committed suicide but believes his brother is definitely deceased. [Photo Jan Benda.] Once that was accomplished, the secrets that Jeffrey had expressed a willingness to divulge in return for leniency, would be left to very few. His younger sibling, for instance. Those who secured Jeffrey’s omerta would have no qualms about ensuring their own liberty while creating a little business for undertakers. Mark claims to be an honest businessman; on the phone, he insisted that he had not spoken to his brother in 10 years. Mark Epstein claimed he had not spoken to brother Jeffrey in 10 years. Not only are there questions about that statement, but also questions about Mark’s financial empire. Questions which could lead Mark to occupy the same facility his brother did. He, too, could be faced with decisions about turning state’s evidence. These questions had been in my mind since the Spring of 2012. That was when we met, and at first, it looked like the beginning of a beautiful friendship. He would listen to my stories of infiltrating neo-Nazis in London and New York, allowing me into his Vandam Street apartment. For years I kept a file on him, updating it on occasion, as when he hosted a teacher from Horace Mann school who had sexually abused his students. This he did at an event at Cooper Union, his Alma-mater. Cooper Union is a school in lower Manhattan, known for its free tuition. Both brothers attended, benefiting from this policy, which Mark, as a director, tried to do away with. The students saw fit to do away with him; he is no longer a director. Tuition remains free. While Mark did not pay for his education, he thought it right that others pay for theirs. The same might be said of his housing. In 1992, he acquired, from Leslie Wexner, a close associate of Jeffrey’s, a large residential building at 301 East 66th Street. While some of the 220 apartments are privately owned, the majority are his. Documents relating to the transfer of the property show the amount paid: $0.00. Somehow Mark Epstein acquired property from Leslie Wexner – just like his brother Jeffrey did. What is the connection between Wexner and Mark Epstein? Mark Epstein owns most of the apartments at 301 East 66th Street It is not the only building he owns. 515 Greenwich Street belongs to him, where I rented an art studio he had listed in the Village Voice. As payment, he wanted the sum of $666 a month, which I amended to $667 – for obvious reasons. I stayed but seven weeks, as that is how long it took for me to make the mistake of letting him know that, in addition to investigating racist groups, I also worked on cases involving politicians and child sex abusers. The moment I did, I sensed a strange look on his face and a lull in the conversation. I tried not to let him see me looking at the playpens in his apartment, which had always seemed a bit out of place with the grand pianos in the home of a bachelor. That night, I heard a loud bang on the door. Mark was on the other side, yelling at me that I had to leave at that moment. He is not above performing an illegal eviction, for which a previous tenant challenged him in court and won substantial damages. Not wishing to spend long hours in a courtroom, I agreed to leave in a fortnight. We parted company at the end of April 2012. Until the day of Jeffrey’s death, I had not spoken to Mark. I resolved, however, to know just what Mark was up to, as I was not quite sure that his wealth was really generated from the silkscreen business. I took that story to be a smokescreen. It is oft-repeated on the internet, the name Izmo appearing in articles about him, but I have yet to see any credible record of it generating serious revenues. Did Mark Epstein really amass a fortune from the silkscreen business? Press Has Tread Lightly on Mark Epstein – Maybe That Will Change The press has been kind to Mark over the years; few questions of his source of income ever get into print. I contacted people at the New York Times whom I knew, having been a source of information to the Gray Lady for over a decade, but to no avail. James Stewart, its head financial reporter, heard me out but did nothing with the information I provided. Stewart had been privy to Jeffrey’s lifestyle, going so far as to visit him at his East 71st Street townhouse. Another of the NYT’s financial reporters, Landon Thomas Jr., had actually taken a $30,000 donation from Jeffrey. Then there is the inconvenient fact that the president of the NYT, Stephen Dunbar-Johnson, is in Jeffrey’s ‘black book’, the list of contacts that ended up published on the internet. And yet another, perhaps more inconvenient fact, is that Joicho Ito, who sat on the board at the Gray Lady, accepted $1.7 million from the felon. Joicho Ito is a Japanese activist, entrepreneur and venture capitalist. He is the former director of the MIT Media Lab, and a former professor of the practice of media arts and sciences at MIT. Ito has received recognition for his role as an entrepreneur focused on Internet and technology companies and has founded PSINet Japan, Digital Garage and Infoseek Japan. Ito is a strategic advisor to Sony Corporation and general partner of Neoteny Labs. Ito resigned from his roles at MIT, Harvard, the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation, the Knight Foundation, PureTech Health and The New York Times Company on September 7, 2019, following allegations of financial ties to sex offender and financier Jeffrey Epstein. My hopes of getting the press to take the story on Mark Epstein were slim. The Wall Street Journal seemed rabidly enthusiastic, calling me from their London offices and begging for an exclusive. Which I tried to grant, but on the condition that freelance writer Davis Richardson be involved. My contact at the WSJ sent me long texts and emails disapproving of his involvement. When they did do a story on him, I was not impressed. Freelance journalist Davis Richardson has written for the Observer, Vice, The Daily Beast, The Daily Caller and Wired. Gibson wanted him to help with the Mark Epstein story. But I was impressed with Richardson, a young journalist up from the Beltway area, who was then working for the Observer and contributing to both Daily Beast and Daily Caller. I took him with me to talk to people who knew the Epsteins, including Stuart Pivar, a founder of the New York Academy of Art. He, along with Andy Warhol, started that in 1982. Pivar talked at length about them to Richardson and me, stating: “I’ve seen Jeffrey do lots of bad things to lots of people.” I told Pivar that Jeffrey was not long for this world and that Mark would be a target as well. Pivar took it in stride, while his entourage looked happy to end the conversation. Richardson and I went to Mark’s downtown buildings and took notes, finding Mark’s car with Pennsylvania plates. A week later, Richardson called me, telling me to show up at the East 66th Street location [Epstein’s building], to which he was being granted inside access. We came, we saw, and we were overwhelmed. Mark Epstein’s apartments were fit for kings, with a doorman and a spacious entrance hall adorned with murals. From the roof, a view of the East Side commanded respect and demanded we take pictures. The residences were well worth the king’s ransom that neither of us could afford. Richardson continued to dig. In early August, he called me to ask me what I knew about the Humpty Dumpty Institute. “The what”?, I replied. The Humpty Dumpty Institute [HDI], with offices located on West 46th Street, was founded in 1988 by Constance Milstein, heiress to the Emigrant Savings Bank fortune and a major Clinton donor. On their website, Mark is listed as a director. The HDI Congressional Advisory Board lists some 30 or more Congress members. Affiliates had ties to Ghislaine Maxwell, Jeffrey’s partner-in-deeds, and to her now-defunct charity, Terra Mar. On 5 August, I started to call some of the congressmen named on the ‘Humpty Dumpty’ list, telling their aides that I would like to pose some questions. Each time, I was given an email to follow up with, and I did so. I resumed this task on 9 August, but found that I was getting hostile receptions, and having to answer lots of questions from the aides about why I was asking questions. They seemed very sensitive to questions. I told them I was preparing a report for the Senate, which they did not like to hear. US Rep. Barbara Lee’s aide refused to give her name or that of anyone in Lee’s office. US Rep. Gregory Meeks’ staff asked lots of questions but gave no answers. Unbeknownst to me, Davis Richardson had published an article about the Humpty Dumpty Institute on the Daily Caller site. It went up on 7 August, and I was getting the fallout. To make matters worse, Alexandria Ocasio Cortez was calling for an investigation about Mark. However, when I called her office and left my contact details, I got no response. I did get excellent response from both her challenger, Miguel Hernandez in New York’s 14th congressional district, and a candidate in the 13th, Henry Grullon. Their support lifted my spirits, made low after hours of performing this unpleasant task with dozens of lawmakers’ staff. I expected that at least a few would answer the three simple questions: When did they join Humpty Dumpty’s advisory board, who introduced them, and how well did they know Mark Epstein? None did answer any of the questions. But the press seemed to be waking up. From England, I got a call from Tony Gosling, a controversial journalist with a weekly radio show. When he asked about what ‘Humpty Dumpty’ might be up to, I bluntly replied that it might be a front for child rapists going to Third World countries to find victims. Gosling touched on the suspicions that Jeffrey might have been an intel agent, possibly for Mossad, and I gave a dissenting opinion, pointing out that while the logic of associating a Jew with the Mossad was to a degree logical, it was illogical to conclude that he was an Israeli spy when it was found that most of the people he would be presumed to have spied on were Jews and Israelis. I did bring up a new angle to it all when I mentioned that I had information that China might be behind it. Could China Be Involved? Years ago, shortly before I met Mark, I had been introduced to a Chinese agent – or former agent, as he had fallen out with his handlers in Beijing over his relationship with an Uyghur woman. He had told me many things that I did not understand at the time about Chinese involvement in US politics, and their ability to use patsies to carry out their projects, thus hiding their hand. Spy uses spy. The great game can be quite deceptive. And it can be dangerous. In fact, I had been stabbed while arresting a drug dealer in 1994. I too could have been cold in earth, and this reality was not lost on me. Quite recently, a contact at the Department of Homeland Security reminded me to watch my back. The former Marine with this concern for my safety was also my confidante, privy to my infiltration of neo-Nazis for over a decade. While most in this neo-Nazi crowd do not have a lot going for them, some do, including a character recently named in the press as ‘X’. Based in London, ‘X’ had recently gotten in contact with Jason Jorjani, an Iranian dissident based in New York. Jorjani was told that he would be assisted in making changes in Iran if he joined forces with Michael Bagley, then head of Jellyfish. The two met a number of times, and Jorjani was told that Bagley had presented Donald Trump with a plan to make a revolution in Iran. Not only was Trump supposed to be involved, but so was Michael Flynn. Jorjani may have doubted the veracity of all this or realized that he was in over his head. He went to the press with his stories of Bagley, Flynn, and ‘X’, saying that there may have also been a ‘Y’ and a ‘Z’. It is possible that he was alluding to me in the latter references, as Jorjani had been put in touch with me by ‘X’, who wanted me to get Richard Spencer a place in the Trump victory party. Richard Bertrand Spencer is an American neo-Nazi and white supremacist. He is president of the National Policy Institute, a white supremacist think tank, as well as Washington Summit Publishers. Gibson went undercover to investigate and report on neo-Nazis. The Trump people wanted nothing to do with Spencer, and neither did I in reality. Far from being the right-wing, quasi-criminal that they took me for, I was feeding information on all of them to the press and to government agencies. And I did the latter as a precaution so that any misunderstandings that could result from my interactions with foreign governments and the flow of classified information that found its way into my hands might be quickly resolved with a phone call to people with top security clearances who knew what I was up to. ‘X’ had introduced me to a lot of people over the years – Rui Gabirro, Gary Krupp, and a former US Navy nuke with top security clearance who was working on a classified deal to give Egypt nuclear power: Robert Abtey. I was getting involved with government actors, and there were sometimes questions as to which government they might be acting for. People are not always who they say they are. Which could be the case in the press, where I met with strange resistance. One NYT reporter was initially enthusiastic about all the emails I had from Operations Intelligence and Jellyfish regarding Bagley, but then suddenly backed off. It was left to UK radio host Gosling to out some of my secret information, which he did a few days before the 2016 US election, hosting me on the air in the United Kingdom. I made public information about ‘X’ – aka Jonothon Boulter – and Bagley. At that time, Bagley was involved in Syria, having been granted secret US State Department waivers (which he showed to me a year earlier) to arm rebels and set up refugee camps, that he said would be used as cover. Enter Hillary Clinton The Hillary Clinton State Department had no objections. No surprise, I was also able to tell the listener, as she was well liked by the Iranians, whose agents I had access to in London. I got close to enough to them to be on Iran TV and Press TV with Yvonne Ridley, before the powers that be shut down their operations. Hillary was their woman in the US in 2012, backed by agents from Tehran, who hoped she would win the party nomination for president. Obama took that hope away from them, but she ended up as Secretary of State, and they were happy. With her there, and later with Kerry in as her replacement, Bagley’s escapades were kept under the radar. Boulter developed a plan to make more money from the camps, for which he expected to have UN backing. Hillary Clinton seems to have been favored by certain parties in Iran. Wars are good business, and Bagley went on tour with his ideas, going on the radio in NYC at one point. Bagley, rather than come off as a spook, looked more like a Wall Street executive and Jellyfish was presented more as a PR firm than an outfit with black ops in the Congo and Mexico. What I did not understand were the ties to Clinton and her democrats. I assumed, given the fact that Boulter worked with the New Right (aka the London Forum), that they would support the right-wing, and Trump along with it. Had I known more about Bagley’s background as an aide to senator Patty Murray, I would have known better. Not until Boulter told me that he was not concerned about Trump, and that he had Clinton support for his deals, did I revise my perception. Bagley, after my tip to the officer at the DHS, came under investigation. Shortly before Jeffrey Epstein’s arrest, Bagley was taken in by undercover FBI men for money laundering. Caught red-handed with the greenbacks, he was deemed a flight risk by prosecutors. Of concern to them was the allegation that he had told undercover agents: “I wanna let you know that I’m also moving for [Ismael “El Mayo” Zambada] in Mexico City as well, with his number one guy.” El Mayo is El Chapo’s replacement. It is not the first time that Bagley did not know who he was really talking to. He may have learned by now that people are not always who they say they are. Which brings me to some people who have been mentioned a number of times: The Clintons. Who are they really? Lawyers, governor and first lady, president and first lady… or spies? Drug dealers? Sexual predators? Murderers? I would say yes to all four and more. Not only would I suspect that Bill’s act of giving American technology to China in his White House days was espionage, or that he was a drug dealer in Arkansas or a sexual predator with many more flights on the Lolita Express than he or the Clinton friendly press want to admit, but that he personally gave the order to murder Jeffrey. Somehow, I doubt that Mrs. Clinton is unaware of his activities, making her in my mind an accomplice. Ghislaine Maxwell attends the wedding of Chelsea Clinton. Several weeks ago, Mr. Clinton had lunch at Nello’s on Madison Avenue. Joining him at this uptown eatery was one of the guests at his daughter’s wedding – Ghislaine Maxwell. Not with them was their mutual friend, Jeffrey. He was dining that day downtown, at the MCC. So just what did Clinton and Maxwell discuss? That was the last record of a sighting of Maxwell in the Big Apple, and quite possibly the last sighting of her in public since. Reports of her in Paris, London, Tribeca and Los Angeles all seem to be deliberately planted red herrings, the latter of which was debunked by the Frank Report and the Daily Mail. Both publications tied the Los Angeles pictures to Maxwell’s friend Leah Saffian, an American born lawyer who plies her trade in England, Wales and California. Frank Report broke the story that Leah Saffian may have been responsible for leaking the photoshopped pictures of Ghislaine Maxwell at the In-N-Out fast food restaurant in Los Angeles in August Saffian’s association with Maxwell may have begun in England, when working for the law firm Peters & Peters, which represented one of Maxwell’s brothers in a serious fraud case relating to the embezzlement of the pension funds that occurred when their father, Robert owned the Daily Mirror. Robert was never brought to trial, as he was found dead in the water before the crown prosecution services could make their case. His daughter might be on the run from process servers; one female plaintiff alleges that she acted like a ‘Nazi guard’ in her zeal to serve Jeffrey, and the entire #MeToo movement is on the lookout for her. But despite her zeal in her service to Jeffrey, her loyalty may well be more with Clinton, especially after it was reported that Jeffrey, in a bid to make a deal, was willing to name names. She also might not want her next meal to be in prison, where bad things happen to lots of people. Was Jeffrey Epstein really suicidal? Or was he looking to make a deal that would limit his prison time in return for a candid and robust disclosure of his co-conspirators? So, just who made a bad thing happen to her man? In naming a suspect, motive and opportunity must be examined. Motive here is strong. Suffice it to say that William and Hillary would rather lunch at Nello’s than lunch in the Big House. But the Clintons are not alone as suspects. An examination of opportunity narrows it down to a much shorter list, which still does not exclude a number of other parties, but does place them at the top. Robert Maxwell had an untimely death. Opportunity would only present itself to someone with friends in low places. The New York City prison and justice systems could well be described as low places, and one might say that they are not without people friendly to the Clintons. Given the history of corruption in New York, both city and state, it is not surprising that a prisoner might not make it to the courtroom. Curious Justice System in New York On top of which are the circumstances that surround Jeffrey’s demise; which, being so well known, are not necessary to repeat in this discourse. It might be more of interest to look at the wickedness in high places that supports the thesis that a Clinton might be able to get certain dirty jobs done, perhaps at a dirt-cheap rate. Starting at the top, the governor of New York, Andrew Cuomo, was himself recently under investigation, which led to the arrest and conviction of eight of his friends; and then stopped short. Andrew Cuomo, New York governor. This governor had nine lives – and eight of them were used up by the arrest of his eight top cronies. Somehow, the investigation stopped short of him. A previous governor, Elliot Spitzer, who was once Attorney General, had to resign in disgrace over his proclivities with prostitutes. Some say he liked to wear a dog collar, crawl on all fours and be whipped by his charges. The Manhattan District Attorney’s office might be expected to be stand above that, were it not for the ties between Cyrus Vance Jr., the DA, and one of Jeffrey’s business associates: Harvey Weinstein, whose prosecution seems to lag. Could it have something to do with the fact that one of the prosecutors on the case, Jennifer Gaffney, resigned her post from the sexual crimes division, taking a job in the private sector, as the Weinstein case made its way to her office? Taken by itself, this is not so suspicious; but taken along with the fact that Gaffney also consented, in 2016, to convicted sex offender Robert Hadden registering as a level 1 sex offender without having to serve any jail time; and that in 2011, she was willing to have another sex offender reduce his offender level from a level 3, the highest, to a level 1, the lowest. Who just happened to be Jeffrey. At the time, the judge, Justice Ruth Pickholz, denied Gaffney’s request and expressed bewilderment at such a motion. Jeffrey, although registered as a top-level sex offender under obligation to check in with the police regularly, never did so, and the DA’s office did not enforce the stipulations even when reminded of them by the police. The justice system here may be full of play-for-pay con artists posing as public servants, waiting to get kickbacks, either in the form of donations or as jobs in the private sector. Viewed from that perspective, it is not hard to see how a rich and powerful person could get a man dead. A counter-argument to that might be that the facility in which Jeffrey was held is under federal jurisdiction; the Justice Department. But that argument holds little weight, and, in fact, could add to the perception that the Clintons could have meddled in the case. It does not in the least ease suspicion, but rather exacerbates it, when it is remembered that the Justice Department once granted a sweetheart deal for a felon with the largest stash of child pornography and bestiality in American history which allowed him to stay out of jail. The prosecutors in New York are not the only ones with a soft spot for serious sex offenders. The one involving child pornography, which occurred in Los Angeles in 1998, was signed off on by Robert Mueller. For unknown reasons, Robert Mueller helped arrange the sweetest plea deal imaginable for David Asimov – son of the late author Isaac Asimov. David Asimov was the lucky perpetrator. But no surprise, as this same Justice Department kept four innocent men in jail for decades for crimes that Whitey Bulger was responsible for. One of these innocents was a WWII hero. Did Bill Clinton Order the Murder of Jeffrey Epstein? Having named the Clintons as suspects, the next step is to apply pressure, or, to use a better word, tension, to get this case cracked. This is not so easy to do with a slack press. But maybe I ought not to expect any support, given the historical record. Did the NYT put any pressure on Hitler back in the day when presented with reports of concentration camps? Did it put any on Stalin when reports of Ukrainians being starved emerged? Did it put any on the State Department when I gave them the inside scoop on Bagley? No, no, and no. In fact, the reporter that denied the Ukrainian starvation reports got a Pulitzer Prize. More recently, the Ed Buck case, which finally made it to the front page – was ignored for years as this wealthy donor to the Democrats was allowed to party on as young black men ended up dead at his house. Edward Bernard Peter Buck is an American businessman, LGBTQ political activist, and Democratic political fundraiser. Two African American men have been discovered dead in Buck’s West Hollywood home since 2017 due to drug overdoses. On September 17, 2019, Buck was arrested and charged with three counts of battery causing serious injury, administering methamphetamine and maintaining a drug house. Buck is awaiting trial. Outraged, one young man’s mother publicly lobbied the Democrat Los Angeles DA to have him arrested but was rudely ignored. A similar case in the 1980s is even more harrowing: that of John Wayne Gacy. Then the parents of a victim made 100 attempts to get the police to investigate. They did so only when the stench of his victims seeped out from under the floorboards, by which time, he had tortured dozens to death. He laughed about it, wearing a clown costume that he used for fundraising. He, too, was a donor to the Democrat party, a candidate for the same, and a ward leader in Illinois. By saying all this, and naming the Clintons as suspects in Jeffrey’s death, it might seem that I am taking aim at that party. I am not, I am in no political party, and am not paid by any party. I would hope that Democrats join me, though I am sure that party loyalists will refuse, just as they did with Buck and Gacy. I would hope that ALL Americans would join me. I would hope that ALL Democrats see through Clinton and his allies, and investigate the Humpty Dumpty congressmen. It is not that I have concern for either of the Epsteins, but that what is going on is of national concern. Everyone needs not just to take a look at it, but to apply real pressure – again – tension is a better word. That word was once used as the title of a film made in 1949, in which Barry Sullivan played Police Lieutenant Collier Bonnabel, who explains that he only knows one way to solve a case: by applying pressure to all the suspects, playing on their strengths and weaknesses, until one of them snaps under the tension. Quite recently, this tactic was proven a success when Frank Parlato exposed Keith Raniere and his NXIVM sex cult. Not surprisingly, its members were donors to Hillary Clinton. It was not easy to get the investigation to go forward. Parlato ended up writing thousands of articles and contacting both major press and government agencies. Tension worked, and now Raniere is in prison and Allison Mack and others are headed there soon. And soon to join them, I hope, will be the Clintons, Mark Epstein, and the Humpty Dumpty congress members.

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