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lunaserenade · 4 years ago

Text

Entangled

Gif by @dornish-queen

Masterlist

Part Eleven of the Meet Me at Sunrise Series

Previous Chapter: Haunted

Next Chapter: Exposed

Author’s Note: Thank you to @icanbeyourjedi , @reddead-trash and @sugarontherims for tolerating me while I overthought everything I wrote for this chapter.

Beta reading dream team: @violentcosmicsymphony and @briefgalaxycat <3

Paring: Marcus Pike x FBI Agent!Reader

Words: 2k

Warnings: Swearing, violence, mentions of blood.

Summary: The team rallies together after a traumatic incident.

“I have an officer down, I need paramedics immediately.” Your voice shook as you rattled off your address to the 911 operator. Snatching a blanket from the couch you reapplied pressure to Marcus' wound, the pain bringing him back to consciousness with a yelp. You gave him a weak smile “Marcus I need you to stay awake. Paramedics are on the way. I-... I'm sorry, I should have disarmed him, I thought I had and I-”

“Baby, I'm okay.” Marcus let out a whine as he tried to sit up and gingerly reached to touch the back of his head, a faint smear of blood from when Pearce slammed him onto the floor. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Says the man bleeding in our living room.” You let out a slightly hysteric laugh at his lack of concern to his own wellbeing. The seven minutes it took for the paramedics to arrive were easily the longest minutes of your life, and you clung to Marcus' hand as they went to work. Once he was loaded on the stretcher, and you had waved off the medics who were trying to tend to your cut cheek, you followed them downstairs and into the ambulance.

“See honey? I'm going to be fine.” Marcus gave you a weak smile. “It was only a light stabbing.”

“... I'm going to let that slide on account of the blood loss.” You gave his hand a squeeze and pressed your lips to his knuckles, the sound of the ambulance siren ringing in your ears as it raced toward the hospital.

-------

Standing in the ER waiting room you knew you must look like something out of a horror film: hair wild, a shallow cut across your cheekbone, and your hands still covered in Marcus' blood. You could feel yourself trembling as you awaited Regina and Maddox's arrival, they had been your first call after Marcus' father. You had promised to keep him updated but it did look like Marcus would be fine as he had insisted the entire ride to the hospital. You heard your name, turning to see Regina, her wife Amber, and Maddox at the Emergency Room entrance. Regina was at your side in an instant, it wasn't until she wrapped her arms around you that the true gravity of the evening hit you, your chest heaving with sobs. You barely registered Amber attempting to clean the blood off your hands with wet wipes from her purse as Regina whispered soft reassurances into your hair.

“Mads, go see about getting us back there to see Pike. Flash your badge if you have to.” Regina said to the younger agent as she surveyed your face, the cut across your cheek had finally stopped bleeding. “Hon, what happened?”

“Ioan Pearce. He was waiting in our apartment when we got home. He must have been following us this week... I should've known... This is my fault, I brought Marcus undercover with me. If it wasn't fo-” You felt yourself spiraling quickly.

“No. You need to stop. This is Laurent and Pearce's fault, no one else's. Tonight, we make sure Marcus is alright. Tomorrow we tie up these loose ends and get Pearce in cuffs.” Regina reassured you.

“Cuffs... body bag, same difference.” You muttered.

“And that's why you probably shouldn't be joining us.” Regina laughed as a nurse came out calling for the group of you, you could finally see Marcus.

“I'd love to see you try and stop me.” You said with a smile, although your words were deadly serious.

-----

Marcus was sitting up on the edge of the bed in the ER, freshly stitched up, and he looked instantly relieved when his eyes met yours. You immediately rushed into his arms, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as you saw the bandage on his abdomen and buried your face in his shoulder.

“-‘s my fault. It’s my fault you’re hurt. I can’t live without you.” You whispered against his neck and felt him shake his head.

“Sweetheart, I’m alright. They’re even going to discharge me soon.” Marcus looked up, noticing the rest of the crew for the first time and gave them a smile. “Ten stitches, nothing vital hit, and a bump on the head. All I really need is a change of clothes and sleep.”

Needing to see for yourself you peaked at his torso, your fingers ghosting over the dressing covering his stitches. Marcus pressed a reassuring kiss to your forehead, his hands drifting to your waist.

“We’re glad you’re alright, boss. We’ll catch this psychopath.” Maddox said from beside Amber and Regina, handing Marcus a fresh shirt to change into.

“I reached out to the office, let them know what happened. They posted officers outside your apartment, I told them they’d have to wait until tomorrow for a full statement. Tonight, the two of you need to rest.” Regina said, squeezing her wife’s hand, relieved to see Marcus relatively unharmed.

“Gina, thank you. For everything.” Marcus said sincerely.

“We’re family, we always take care of our own.” She said with a fond smile.

-----

The search for Ioan Pearce was on, and undeterred by push back from the higher ups you and Marcus insisted on being involved. Pouring over CCTV footage and any new leads on Pearce’s whereabouts. It'd been a week since the break in and though he wasn't fully healed yet Marcus was relentless in his pursuit, but they were getting close. Maddox and Regina had been staking out a location that was a possible safe house for Pearce and his associates, they were sure he would surface any day now. You were camped out on Marcus' office couch with Regina, Maddox was dozing off at his desk but none of you had the heart to wake him. The effort he was putting in tailing Pearce's associates was admirable, and he seemed to have a natural knack for going unnoticed while trailing a suspect.

“I think he'll finally give in and end up at that safe house any time now. He's assuming we've lost any trace of him and he's starting to get cocky. He'll let his guard down and that's when we'll strike. I've got people watching the safe house twenty-four hours a day now, so I think we should all be prepared to move as soon as he's spotted.” Marcus said from his desk, giving a small stretch and wincing lightly as it tugged at his stitches.

“I agree, I think Pearce is getting impatient. That’ll be his downfall.” Regina said, buried in Ioan Pearce’s file trying to see if there was anything she missed that could finally end this.

“I'm just ready to put this bastard behind bars like Laurent.” You said with a small huff as a half-asleep Maddox poked his head into the office.

“My CI just called. Pearce should be going to the safe house in the morning.” Maddox said as he rubbed at his eyes.

“Fantastic! Then I want everyone to head home and get some rest. We take this guy in, come morning.” Marcus said with a smile.

As everyone packed up and headed out for the night Marcus wrapped his arm around your waist. You stood on your tip toes to press a few soft kisses to his jaw. Finally, this nightmare was almost over.

—-

The early morning sun was beginning to creep across the sky as you prepared for the raid on Ioan Pearce’s safe house. Considering how deeply personal this mission had gotten for you and Marcus you both agreed to take a back seat and cover the back door. Regina, Maddox, and a small team would breach the front door to apprehend Pearce; You and Marcus would cover the back door in case he tried to make a break for it.

“I won’t lie, I’m a little disappointed I won’t get to lay hands on this creep.” You gave Marcus a small smile as you adjusted your earpiece.

“As long as we finally get this guy in cuffs, I'm happy.” Marcus said as he adjusted the Velcro straps of your bulletproof vest.

“Breaching door in 10 – 9 – 8” Regina counted down over the earpiece as she prepared to break into the front of the house. You planted your feet and held your gun loosely in your hand, Marcus at your side as you covered the rear entrance. The shouts and sound of the front door breaking echoed loudly in the otherwise silent neighborhood. You could hear scuffles coming from inside the house when suddenly Maddox's voice came through your earpiece.

“He's heading for the back! He's running!” Maddox shouted.

Ioan Pearce burst through the back door and putting your full body weight behind your shoulder you slammed into him, knocking him off balance and to the ground roughly. In an instant Marcus had him flipped onto his front, handcuffing him while reading him his rights. Marcus looked up at you and smiled. It was done, this insane case was conclusively solved and everyone involved in custody. Maybe now the two of you could finally relax.

------

That evening after an early celebratory dinner and drinks with the rest of the team you walked hand in hand with Marcus down the path alongside the Reflecting Pool on the National Mall. The stress of the last few months with this case hanging over both your heads was settled and maybe the two of you could relax, if only for a little while. You would have never thought you would be where you were today when Marcus had finally asked you out nine months ago, in this very spot no less. He was particularly contemplative tonight, but it was a comfortable kind of silence. Just happy to be in each other's company as the pair of you strolled quietly, the purples and pinks of the sunset streaked across the sky behind the Washington Monument as you reached the end of the Reflecting Pool. Tugging Marcus close, you snaked your arms around him and tucked your head against his chest. Marcus smiled down at you and pressed his lips to your hair, but his nerves were starting to get the better of him.

“Mmm I can't wait to get home. We can curl up on the couch with a movie.” You pulled back to look up at him and smile. “Maybe have a glass of wine and an early night.” Giving him a suggestive eyebrow wiggle you captured his lips in a lingering kiss.

“That sounds like a perfect night in.” Marcus said and paused for a second. “Before we head home, there is something I need to ask you.”

“Of course honey, anything.” You replied with an adoring smile.

“I know we haven't been together for a long time, but I do know that my life is better with you in it. I love you and I can't see a future without you next to me.” Marcus took a deep breath, reached into his pocket, and dropped to one knee. “Sweetheart, mi corazón, will you marry me?” He gently took your left hand and held out a simple but beautiful cushion cut engagement ring with a thin platinum band. Your heart was pounding, eyes welling up as you grinned down at Marcus. It was never a question; your heart truly was his and had been from the moment the pair of you had sat here that early morning watching the sunrise.

“Oh Marcus, yes! I can't think of anything I want more than to spend the rest of my life with you.” Your hand trembled slightly from excitement as he slid the ring onto your finger. Marcus stood up quickly and kissed you deeply, holding you tight to his chest.

“I love you. I love you so much.” He said reverently between kisses, you could feel his smile against your lips. You had both been through so much recently and now? Now a new and amazing chapter of your lives was about to begin, and you couldn't wait to see where it would take you.

tagged: @diva-1992, @yespolkadotkitty, @sarahjkl82-blog, @seasonschange-butpeopledont, @mrsparknuts, @disgruntledspacedad, @mrschiltoncat, @giselatropicana, @sugarontherims, @cynic-spirit, @supernaturalgirl, @farfromjustordinary , @keeper0fthestars

Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tags.

#marcus pike #Meet Me at Sunrise #Pedro pascal #pedro pascal fluff #the mentalist #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x ofc #fic #narcos #the mandalorian #Din Djarin #fluff #fanfic #writing

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captain-cerrillo · 3 years ago

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Concurrent to x and x

Reuchevek was a grizzled old soldier, a twenty-year veteran of the Systems Alliance Military Police where he’d served most of it as an investigator, and a personal friend of the captain. His short grey hair framed his scarred face as he frowned at his screen. “Typical protocol?”

“More or less.” Isaac glanced around the CIC, careful to keep his voice low. “Wouldn’t hate a little wiggle room on this one.”

“Alright.” His voice sounded as rough as he looked. “What’s convenient?”

“I’ll have to get back to you. It’s all just come down. We’ll hold him until I can work out transport but, Reuchevek-” The men both paused, sharing a silent understanding.

“What the hell did he do?”

“I’ll file the report tonight. You’ll be sure it gets to the right places?”

“Aye. S’good to see you, Bul.”

“Thanks, man. You too. I’ll have more for you soon. Stay safe.”

Isaac could count the number of times he’d used his override authorization to access a locked bunk on one hand. He waited for the phoenix to leave before tapping at his omnitool. The door slid open.

His eyes found Yamamotto first. The coward sat, hunched over one corner of a bottom bunk while a roommate tended an impressive gash across his cheek bone. The two of them and the one other solider unlucky enough to share the sleeping space froze at his entrance.

“Get out.”

They didn’t turn around to look at Yamamotto before they left. The door slid shut and locked itself behind them.

“Capt-”

“Not a word.” There wasn’t any gentle left in Isaac’s voice and his eyes were cold. He took a couple steps closer but left a few feet between them. “First, I want you to know that there’s footage so lying will not help you.”

His hard eyes were heavy on the officer and the man squirmed under his gaze.

“Second, I want you to know that you are done. You’re a danger to the health and safety of this crew and I won’t have it.”

“But he-”

Isaac was on top of him before he knew it and he scrambled back against where the bed met the wall behind him. “Assaulting a soldier can get you expelled from the Systems Alliance. It’s the only reason I haven’t already beat you bloody.” He growled, more comfortable with the rage in his bones than anyone would have expected. “Sexually assaulting a soldier, or even attempting to, will get you decades in a military prison and believe me I will be sure of it.”

“I wasn-”

Isaac caught the soldier by his throat, lifting him out of his self-pitying slump and pinning his head against the bunk’s metal wall without even being bothered by all the different ways his mind screamed about appropriate commanderly boundaries.

“It’s not any fun to be scared, is it?” Yamamotto’s shaky breaths were hot on Isaac’s face and somehow that made him angrier. “Well buckle up buttercup,” he laughed but there was no humor in the hollow sound. “Because you don’t even know what terrified means yet.” He pulled the man to his feet and shoved him toward the door, settling at his back with a hard voice. “You’re going to walk yourself to the brig without incident. You won’t stop. You won’t talk. You won’t even look anyone in the eye, do you understand me.”

Yamamotto nodded, swallowing hard as Isaac pushed him forward at his back.

“What was that you said about two birds, one stone?”

Maddox scoffed and Isaac smiled, but it didn’t reach his tired eyes.

“I hear more than I want to. And that more than I want to says there are other places you’d like to be. So maybe we can help each other.” Isaac shrugged, unbothered. “I have an assignment – an errand really – if you want it.”

Maddox’s posture shifted into something a little more concerning with a twinkle in his eyes. “Have you talked to Marie?”

“This doesn’t require the Commander’s approval. In fact, I’d prefer if you kept her out of it entirely.”

“Well, well,” Maddox sung. He deflated, just a little, when the captain wasn’t baited. “You really don’t feel bad about this?”

“For taking out the trash?” This time his smile was twisted and Maddox was surprised to see that the stoic captain had so many layers.

#isaac cerrillo #maddox gibbons #im not tagging yama that dick #also oof dont look at me #i wasn't sure what he was going to do and i don't know how i feel about it #just like trying to lie about it set him off idk its v bad i just... type it #yeesh cap #not good leadership LOL

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jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets · 3 years ago

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I Loved Him... Once - CH 6

Title: I Loved Him… Once

Author: jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Heid (Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid)

Rating: This ones General but eventually as the series goes it will be Explicit

Tags: canon typical violence and gore, eventual smut as the series goes, angst, fluff, pining., its gunna be a slow burn guys.

Summary: A series following the team as they solve crimes and take down the bad guys.

In Part one of this series, we follow the team as they take down a serial killer that has taken a piece of one of their own. And through it all, Spencer and Hotch come to a few conclusions and realizations of their own.

AO3

Masterlist

*** My works are not to be posted on any sites without my permission! But comments and reblogs are love! <3 Please and thanks!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter six

Spencer slowly walked into Eric's house. He had been here so many times in the past. Back when they were in university together they spent most of their time here, rather than studying in the overcrowded campus library, or Spencer's way too small single dorm room. But all the times he'd been here, he never once in his life thought he would ever be here as a profiler instead of a friend.

Being here again, it was strange, almost like he was in a dream. Like he was floating and couldn't get his feet back on the ground. As he slowly wandered through the small bungalow there were constant reminders of the fact that he and Eric had been as close as they were. Pictures on the walls of the two of them graduating, the entire collectors edition of the Sherlock series by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle that he'd bought him for his twenty eighth birthday, the awful matching ugly christmas sweater they had bought for one of the few parties they had been invited too, Spencer still had his and wore it every christmas. Everywhere he looked it seemed Eric had tried to keep him close even when they were far apart. It made him hurt even more that he hadn't seen Eric in over a year, that every time he tried to make plans with Spencer for a visit he had to call it off, most of the time because of work. He always thought there would be more time, now he knew he should have never taken any of it for granted.

As he continued to wander through, he searched for something, anything, that might help them understand exactly what was going on here, or at the very least lead them to the killer. But there was nothing. The place was as pristine as it always was, Eric was always as much of a neat freak as Spencer was, and not a single thing was out of place. There had been no struggle here, so Eric had been taken and killed somewhere else, and Spencer didn't think they would be finding anything helpful in his house. Which made him all the more frustrated.

"Hey, kid, come here!"

Spencer followed Derek's voice from Eric's bedroom to the pantry in the kitchen. Derek was in the far back corner of the pantry, standing on a small step ladder digging around on the top shelf. "Did you find something?"

"Yeah," he grunted, passing a few boxes down to Spencer and making more space on the top shelf, then Spencer saw it.

"How did you even find that? Who thinks to look for a safe in the pantry?"

"I wasn't really looking for anything up here," he explained, passing him more boxes of food, "but when I came in just to check it out, I noticed that most of the stuff in here hasn't even been touched. There's dust on most of the boxes of food, except right here the dust had been disturbed. So I looked and found the safe. Now, we can either wait for someone to come and break this open, or we can try to figure out the code on our own. Six digits, kid, what do you got?"

Spencer thought for a moment, then said, "Try his birthday, November second, seventy-eight."

"Nothing," Derek shook his head, "got another?"

"May fourteenth, eighty-four, the day his parents were killed."

He shook his head again, "Still nothing."

"Okay," Spencer searched his memory again for another important date in Eric's life, "maybe November tenth, ninety-six, that's the day he was released from foster care."

"Nope."

"September seventh, ninety-seven, his first day at Caltech."

"Not that either, kid," Derek sighed and turned away from the safe towards Spencer, "anything else?"

"Maybe, one second," he quickly dug out his phone, dialing a number and putting it on speaker.

"Office of the all and powerful Oz, speak your wish and it shall be granted."

"Garcia, we need your help," he moved closer to Derek on the ladder, lifting the phone more towards him, "we're trying to crack a safe in Eric's house, six digits, can you tell us what his real birth date was."

"Sure, sure, honey… that would be June twenty-first, seventy-three."

"... He was eight years older than me…" Spencer whispered to himself as Derek tried the new date and…

"Not that either. Any other important dates in Mason Maddox's life, baby girl?"

She typed for a few seconds before answering, "Maybe January eighteenth, ninety-seven? That's the day he made his new identity as Eric Watts."

"Nope," he sighed then turned to Spencer again, who was now just aimlessly staring at the floor, "maybe we should just wait for someone to come bust it open. Reid? Hey, kid, you still with me?"

Spencer closed his eyes as his heart sank to his stomach. It was obvious. "Try October twelfth, eighty-one."

There was a minute of tense silence, no one really wanting to breach this wall, but Derek said anyways, "That's your birthday."

"Yeah," he breathed, still not looking up from the floor, "try it."

Derek turned back to the safe, slowly inputting the six digits of Spencer's birthday, and turned the dial one last time. Spencer shut his eyes tight at the click that signaled they had cracked the code, and tried not to let the stinging in his eyes spill over into the sobs he could feel sneaking up on him.

"Why your-"

"He never missed a single one," he said, a little distantly, "called me every year we weren't together."

Derek just turned his head away again, not sure what he could say to help, and started digging through the safe.

"What's inside?"

"Woah…" Spencer finally looked up at that, a mixture of curious and worried crossing him.

"What?"

"Kid, I dunno if-"

"Just tell me what it is, Morgan!" He was getting a little short, he wanted everyone to stop treating him like he was fragile and just let him work the case.

"Alright," Derek sighed, but handed Spencer the file he had just been looking at, "but I don't know if it's a good idea." Spencer looked down at the file in his hands, hesitating. "Reid, it's still closed, so if you don't want to open it you don't have to. You can just hand it back to me."

He took a deep breath, contemplated what he really wanted to do and weighed all the outcomes in his mind, before looking up at Derek with a slight nod and opened the file. He instantly felt sick, betrayed, angry, he wanted to lash out but he kept flipping through. Inside were pictures upon pictures of brutal murders. Full eight by eleven sized photos of multiple different women being tortured, stabbed, bleeding. Pictures of the dump sites, pictures of these women before they were taken and after they were killed.

He could not believe what he was looking at, he didn't know why Eric would have these things locked up in a secret safe. Well, he did, but it was something he didn't want to have to admit, something he didn't want to have to accept.

He looked up at Derek once more, not able to say anything, then dropped the phone and file in his hand and ran out of the house. Derek didn't even have a chance to say anything or try to stop him before he was out of the pantry and gone.

He sighed, got down from the ladder, and grabbed up the file and phone Reid had dropped. Penelope was still on the line. "What happened?! Is our boy okay? What's in the file?! Oh god, Derek, tell me what's in the file."

"Our boy's not doing too well, baby girl," he started, gathering the photos and closed the file, "and according to the pictures we found in the file, it looks like Eric was a part of some very brutal murders."

"Oh… oh my god, poor Reid, oh…"

"Yeah, and I don't think there's much more we can do aside from just letting him work through it, and being here when he needs us. And breaking this case I'm sure will help too." He reached up inside the safe and pulled out something else. "Speaking of which, there's a laptop in here, baby girl. If I start it up do you think you can connect and unlock it? Start digging through his files?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"Alright," he stepped out of the pantry and into the kitchen, "you get that started and I've gotta make another call."

"I will call you back when I'm in."

Once she hung up, Derek dialed another number, not sure if he'd get an answer, but the call was answered immediately. "Reid?!"

"It's Morgan. You guys finished at Tyler Prince's place?"

"Yeah, he's not here. We're getting officers to go through the apartment now to try and figure out where he could be. How are things at Eric's place? Did you find anything?"

"Yeah, that's the reason why I'm calling," he hesitated a second, thinking back on what Rossi had said earlier, then said, "I think… I think I need you down here."

"Why? Is everything alright?"

Derek turned and looked to where Spencer had run out the back door. Hopefully David was right and this wasn't what he was worried it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"He's not here." Hotch holstered his gun and turned to David who was doing the same. "If he is finished with his revenge list, he could be anywhere by now."

David nodded his agreement, "Let's get the officers and rip this place apart. Maybe we can find some hint as to where he may have gone."

They started heading outside to retrieve more officers when Aaron's phone started ringing in his pocket. He dug it out and upon seeing the caller ID answered immediately. "Reid?!"

"It's Morgan. You guys finished at Tyler Prince's place?"

"Yeah, he's not here. We're getting officers to go through the apartment now to try and figure out where he could be. How are things at Eric's place? Did you find anything?"

"Yeah, that's the reason I'm calling." Then Derek hesitated and Aaron's stomach dropped to the floor. He had been worried the moment Spencer's name flashed on his phone, he had told him to call if he needed anything, and then even more worried when it was Derek's voice he was met with instead of Spencer's. And now, he was sure there was something wrong. "I think… I think I need you down here."

"Why?" He was sure the panic in his voice was evident to a profiler like Derek, but he couldn't care to mask it right now, "Is everything alright?"

"It's Reid-"

"I'm on my way."

He slammed his phone shut, and without even a single word between them, both Aaron and David ran for the car.

With the sirens blasting, the lights on, and Aaron driving with the gas pedal practically floored, they made it to Eric's house in less than ten minutes. Aaron parked and jumped out of the car as fast as he could, taking the porch steps in two bounds, and was skidding to a halt in the kitchen when he saw Derek.

He looked up from where he was sitting at the laptop at the kitchen counter and said, "He's out back," and Aaron was gone before he could say much more.

David strolled in soon after, joining Derek in the empty bar stool at the counter, and Derek turned to him with a still skeptical look.

"It's all good, Morgan, just let Aaron handle this." Derek just turned back to the laptop, still not satisfied with the lack of information he was getting. "What did you find that freaked the kid out so much?'

He slid the file across the counter to him, not taking his eyes off the screen, "We found a safe hidden in the pantry and broke in. The first thing that kind of freaked him out was that the code for the safe was his birthday. Then I found that and this laptop inside. I told him he didn't have to look, but he did."

"He wants to see this through," David nodded to himself, knowing he would probably do the same as Spencer in his case, then flipped open the file. He instantly recoiled at the sight of some of the pictures in the file as he filtered through, then sighed and closed it. "I can see why this freaked him out. It looks like Eric, or rather Mason Maddox, was involved in some very dark murders."

Derek nodded, running a hand down his face and turning to David, "I feel bad for him. He thought he knew this guy, obviously felt a little something for him, and all those years he's been murdering people behind Spencer's back. I can't even imagine being in that position, especially as a profiler. The kid's probably beating himself up over this."

"You're probably right, though none of that is his fault. From the outside Eric seemed like a completely normal man." He then turned his attention to the laptop in front of Derek. "And what about this?"

"Nothing yet, but Garcia's working on it. Hopefully she can get it unlocked, there might be something on it to help us find Prince."

David sighed, looking out the back door where the two agents had disappeared, "I hope you're right, for the kids sake, he at least deserves the closure."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Aaron ran out the back door as fast as he could looking for Spencer, but he was not in eyesight, so he bounded down the porch steps and into the backyard. Halfway across the lawn he heard the undeniable sounds of retching coming from behind the shed and ran to it.

Spencer was there, hunched over the bushes, heaving. Aaron hurried to him, wrapping one arm around his stomach while the other alternated between running fingers through his hair and rubbing his back. He helped him through it waiting until the heaving stopped and his legs gave out, and he let Spencer lean back against him as he softly lowered them to the ground.

Aaron leaned them against the shed, holding Spencer against his side while he clung to him and sobbed. But he didn't say anything, didn't ask what they had found that had upset him, he just waited. He let Spencer cry as long as he needed to, with his face buried deep in Aaron's shoulder, and held him tightly until he felt he was ready to talk.

"He killed people," he whispered, so quiet Aaron almost didn't catch it, before he lifted his head slightly, "Morgan found a safe and… there were pictures inside."

"Pictures of what?"

"Women, so many women," he sucked in a shuddering breath, "he tortured and killed them, and I never knew."

Aaron pulled Spencer close again, tucking him back into his neck, and running his fingers through his hair again. "You couldn't have known. Some of these people fit so well into society outside of their crimes, we would never know."

"I could have stopped him."

"It's not your fault," he turned his face to nose at the top of Spencer's head, "there was nothing you could have done."

He was quiet for another moment before whispering into his neck, "I feel so betrayed," and his sobs wracked up again.

"Hey," Aaron soothed, turning to wrap his other arm around him, "I know this is hard, and it's going to be for a while, but know that I am always here for you, and I will never betray you. No matter what, you will always have me."

He didn't say anything, just dug himself impossibly deeper into Aaron, and they stayed like that until then sun was starting to set and Spencer's sobs had finally died down.

Aaron was eventually able to get Spencer off the ground and guide him towards the house. Once inside, he asked Derek to take Spencer out to the cars and wait for them there. And without a word of argument after seeing the state of his friend, he grabbed up the laptop and left with Spencer under his arm.

Aaron watched them until they were out the front door then turned to David. "They found proof that Eric was killing people?"

He handed the file to Aaron who quickly looked through it, then closed it with a sigh. His heart bled for Spencer and ached to hold him again, tell him it was going to be okay, so he decided to hurry this along so he could try and do just that. "And the laptop Morgan took?"

"He found it in a safe along with that file. He's hoping Garcia can unlock it."

He nodded, then motioned for David to follow him out, "Let's all head back to the hotel for the night. I'm sure Prentis and JJ will have information to share with us as well, but we'll deal with all that back at the station tomorrow. Call them from the car?"

"Can do," David said, walking out with him, "and what about the kid? How's he doing?"

Aaron shook his head, "Not well, but can you blame him?"

"Not at all. He's actually held it together longer than most people would have," he turned to Aaron then, "you need to stick close to him, he's going to need you more now then before."

They were at the cars then, Aaron not even giving Derek the chance to argue, led Spencer to the passenger seat of his car then hopped in the drivers side. David guided a quite irate looking Derek to the other car, then both cars left the driveway heading for the hotel. Spencer didn't do much more the whole ride then look out the window, but Aaron held his hand the entire ride back. He needed Spencer to know that no matter what happened with this case, or how much worse it may get, he was not alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~

They arrived at the hotel and went straight to their rooms. They didn't even bother stopping to see if Emily and JJ had arrived yet, Aaron had already decided whatever they had found could wait for tomorrow. His main concern right now was making sure Spencer was okay.

When they reached the hallway where their two rooms were side by side, Derek wasted no time in wrapping a protective arm around Spencer and sharply turning him towards their room. His key card was out before he even reached the door, and without a step of hesitation, the door was open and he was ushering Spencer inside.

Aaron stepped towards the door but Derek had placed himself firmly between him and Spencer, holding the door. "I'll make sure he gets some sleep, good night guys."

And with that firm dismissal, Derek closed the door. Despite the fact that Spencer's eyes never left Aaron's the whole time, and the fact that Aaron so desperately wanted to break the door down and take Spencer back, he couldn't. He didn't want to arouse any suspicion that there might possibly be something there, something between them, especially when they hadn't even had the chance to figure it out on their own yet. Not to mention that he didn't want to put any more stress on Spencer than he already had with this case, so he just resolved himself to turn around and head for his own room.

He all but stormed inside and then just stood, stock still, in the middle of the room with one hand over his face. All he wanted to do was get to Spencer, make sure he was okay and that he had the comfort he needed, but he couldn't do that with Derek as protective as he was. So all he could really do right now was sit in his room and stew.

David on the other hand, had plans of his own. He marched in after Aaron, going straight to his own bed and grabbing his go bag. He quickly packed his few belongings he had spread throughout the room, and walked past Aaron to the door.

"Where are you going?" Aaron asked as he turned back to face him.

"You two are killing me," he shook his head with the smallest hint of a grin, "so trust me on this one. You'll both thank me later."

Without any more explanation than that, he opened the door. And as he was halfway out he stopped, turned back, and said, "Also, I fully and wholeheartedly expect to be the first person invited to this wedding."

Aaron couldn't help but smile and even blush a little as David left. And if he let himself indulge in the thought of that while he stood there and waited, then that would be his own little secret.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Derek was sitting on the edge of his bed, watching with horror as the young genius paced the room with an almost frantic sense. His movements were jolted and his fingers were taping wildly on the sides of his arms as he moved. And Derek, for all that he knew about Spencer, had no idea how to help him right now.

A sudden knock on the door had Derek up and moving, cautious as to not touch or disturb whatever trance Spencer was in, and he opened the door to find David. "Hey, Rossi," he looked down, eyeing the go bag in David's hand then back up with a raised brow, "Something happen? We going somewhere?"

"Not we, just the kid." He walked in past a still very confused Derek and grabbed Spencer's go bag from under his bed, handing it to him. "Up and attem, kid, let's go. The boss is waiting for you."

He had finally stopped his manic pacing and was now racing through the room to gather his things, not even giving a second thought to Derek as he tried several times to stop him. So instead, Derek turned on David, "What exactly is going on here?!"

"We're switching rooms," he shrugged as if it were obvious.

Derek huffed, shoulders tense, "I can see that, Rossi, but why? What's wrong with this one? Why can't he stay with me?"

"Aaron just wants to keep an eye on him, that's all," he tried to ease Derek's mind, but it didn't work.

So as Spencer came out of the bathroom, his now full go bag in hand and heading for the door, he stopped him and said, "Reid, are you sure Hotch isn't giving you a hard time?"

"I'm fine, Morgan, I promise." And he was out of his grasp and heading for the door.

"Kid, you're good with this?! You can stay here you know, I can keep an eye on you too without-" But he was gone, the door closing behind him as he practically ran down the hall. Derek just shook his head and turned back to David. "He really doesn't need to babysit him like this. Reid is fine, he'll be okay. I know this is a rough case for him, it would be for anyone in his situation, but he's got all of us to help him through this. Hotch does not need to keep him on a tight leash and make him feel like he's incapable. And I can make sure Reid's okay just as well as Hotch can."

"I know, Derek, I know you can, but it's not about that. Any of it," he tried to answer as calmly as he could in an attempt to being down Derek's anger, raising both hands to his shoulders, "just let it be, alright, it's not what you think."

"Rossi-"

"Let it go, Derek," he smiled and gave Derek's shoulders a squeeze, "it's nothing bad, Hotch is not giving Spencer a hard time, and he does not think Spencer is incapable of doing his job. The kid's fine, just let him be with Aaron right now."

"Not like I have much say anyways. The kid's already gone," he said, nodding towards the door, "is it me?"

Dave couldn't help but laugh a bit at that, patting Derek's cheek lightly as he replied, "It most definitely is not you."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Since Dave had left, Aaron had also picked up a frantic pacing of his room. And when finally a knock came at the door, he rushed over to open it and let Spencer in.

He was standing in the doorway, go bag in his arms and looking anxious, worried, maybe even a little scared. All of which had Aaron concerned. He wanted to ease Spencer, not make it worse.

"I…" He started, looking down at his shuffling feet as he spoke, "Are you okay with this? Cuz if not I can-"

"I would prefer it this way, actually."

"Good," that brought a small smile to Spencer's lips, the first one Aaron had seen since the start of this case, "me too."

He walked past Aaron and inside the room, taking up the bed that was still made on the left. He quickly grabbed his pjs from his bag along with his toiletries, and excused himself to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Aaron followed suit after Spencer was finished, and when he came out, he hesitated at the edge of his bed for a moment.

He stood and stared at Spencer, Spencer staring right back. It was clear they both had something to say, but neither was sure if it would be okay to say it, worried the other would react in a way that might make things worse. So Aaron just turned away and broke the gaze, getting into bed.

They both said goodnight and Aaron reached between them to turn off the bedside lamp. He turned over, making every effort to try and sleep, but every thought on his mind went to Spencer, every part of his body itched to touch him and hold him like he had earlier. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair and comfort him, make sure Spencer knew that no matter what Aaron was here and he was not going anywhere. And what the hell, maybe David was right, he wouldn't know anything unless he asked.

"Hey, Reid," he turned back over and sat up, seeing Spencer was already in the same position as him, "I know today's been hard for you, so… so if you-" And before he could even finish his sentence, Spencer was up and out of his bed.

Aaron moved back and held the blankets up for Spencer to shuffle under beside him. Spencer had planned on leaving some space between them, not wanting to just barge into Aaron's personal space, and just happy to be in the same bed as him, but Aaron reached over and pulled him against his chest before he could. And Spencer wasn't going to complain or protest.

Aaron laid on his back, tucking Spencer tight against him, his head under his chin and Aaron's arms wrapped tightly around him. Spencer sunk into the warmth and comfort of Aaron's body, digging his nose into his neck and breathing in the smell that was only Aaron, that smell that Spencer found the most comforting thing in the world, and he finally felt himself relaxing for the first time since they landed in California.

They laid like that for some time, just content being together. Aaron ran his fingers through Spencer's hair, whispering to him over and over again the same thing, until he finally heard Spencer's breathing even out and he knew he was asleep. And once more, before he fell asleep himself, he whispered right against Spencer's ear, "I've got you, and I promise I will never let you go."

~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Lots of Hotch and Reid together in this chapter! Let me know what you think <3

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nightcityhqs · 4 years ago

Photo

case file ; Maddox Kingsley

nicknames ; None.

associations ; The Entertainers

occupation ; Host of the Sunset Frequency, Owner of Persephone's Den.

birthdate ; November 22th, 1980

hometown ; London, England

current location ; Downtown

pronouns ; She/Her

mirror image ; Charlize Theron

IN CHARACTER INTERVIEW

the record stops, the player tape states, and the radio static is replaced with voices;

— And our dear listeners are eager to know, how long have you been in Sunset Port? — Most importantly, why do you stay?

"You know, I'm normally the one doing the questions," Maddox says, accent heavy on her tongue, blowing the smoke from her cigarette away as she watches her assistant tug on the collar of his shirt, visibly uncomfortable. She sighs, "I've been in Sunset Port for twelve years. Stuck in this studio for what? Eight years?" her accent is thick, and Maddox shifts on her seat, clearing her throat. "Why don't I leave? I think about doing it, often. But I made a home for myself here, despite how dull the city can be. And if I leave, who will be the joyful company for our dear listeners every night?"

Of course! We can all identify with the sentiment. Well, at least some of us. [LAUGHTER] What do you do in Sunset Port?

A brow is raised, and Maddox groans, half annoyed and half offended. "Is that how I sound when reading those questions? This script is badly made, you know! Who is responsible for this? They should — What? I wrote it?" There's silence, before a tongue is clicking against the roof of her mouth. "Ah. Well, I should rewrite it, then. Well — Isn't it quite obvious?" She leans forward, mouth close to the microphone and voice low and dark, full of mysteries as she repeats the well known quote, "Good evening, Sunset Port. You've tuned in the Sunset Frequency, 66.6. And I will be your company for the night. Here all night, every night."

Admirable! Now, I’d have left this question last to finish with a bang, but our listener is impatient, oh my! Have you heard of our little organization?

Nothing but silence can be heard through the radio, long and uncomfortable. The cigarette burns as the fingers holding it tremble slightly, and Maddox sighs after some time, clearing her throat once more and taking a long drag of her cigarette. "Who hasn't?" The question escapes her lips with no emotion, no surprise. It's cold, and sharp as knives. "Why is that an important question?"

Oh my! — And if Isabella Castello came knocking at your door, what would you do?

Maddox chuckles, the absurdity of the questions finally catching up to her. "Well, darling, I would tell her to go fuck herself." Her assistant goes pale as a ghost, his next words barely leaving his lips.

Interesting. Well, I think I’ve kept you here long enough! Thank you for speaking with our public! Which song would you like me to play for you, now?

"Let’s put something inspiring for our dear listeners, huh? How about The Other Side, by Woodkid."

BIOGRAPHY

Trigger Warnings; Violence, Murder, Guns, Drugs, Serial Killers Mention

Maddox Kingsley understands enough of human nature to perceive her morals; nor black nor white, but shades of grey. Most are darker than others, more prominent. Some are hardly noticeable, but the danger is still unmistakable. In hindsight, it should be said her morals are questionable, simply put. There is no wrong or right, for Maddox. Sides are of little importance, as the only side she cares for is her own. A selfish little thing, with only her well-being in mind; she doesn't partake in any activities if she is not gaining something out of it. Maddox is easily buyable, and that's where the trouble resides; her loyalty is not worth a penny, at the end of the day — Not if someone pays better for it. Betrayal is part of Maddox's nature; it's in her blood, her instinct. Not born with her, but shoved in her bones, carved into the space where her heart should've been. Survival had been the first thing Maddox Kingsley learned, forced into her veins by unpredictable events and painfully drastic circumstances —

You see, Maddox Kingsley had not been planned by loving parents intending to start a family. She had not been imagined, had no one who had longed for her — who had dreamed of her. No. Maddox is the outcome of a series of unpredictable events and terribly, comical if not painfully drastic, exaggerated misunderstandings. A tale so entangled in lies and achingly raw sorrow it is hardly possible to determine the truth. Few things were undoubtedly accurate, facts people embraced without question or suspicion. But the truth, not in its entirety for many pieces of the puzzle were in possession of wrathful and indignant people who would not abide Maddox's questioning, laid dormant and guarded within the confines of her mother's broken heart, hidden from those who found fondness in rumors. Her mother bore the harshness of words in a selfishly selfless act to shield her daughter, and herself. A deed meant to reassure Maddox of her devotion, and thus devotion would be given in return.

So Maddox knew she was not unloved, her mother’s love had been her only certainty amidst the turmoil, but she wasn't awaited.

At eighteen, Lucrecia Kingsley found herself aggravating her family's situation — once prominent but now sunk in a sea of disrepute and misery. Pregnant. Surprisingly, unseemly and in her father's perspective, undesired. To further his despair, orchestrating a marriage with the father would be improbable, as the man was to be engaged. Not to his daughter, thus saving the family from bankruptcy, but to a society lady. Maddox's mother was adamant about keeping her child, despite that her father threatened to disown her. Thankfully, the man she had slept with during a moment of intoxication and hurt provided accommodations, given she allowed him to share the child with her, and she willingly accepted in a moment of desperation.

The first few years weren't cruel to Maddox. They were not particularly kind, by any means, but the child was shielded from harshness and ruthlessness during most of her first years. Her mother was young, inexperienced, fighting to overcome an essentially empty bank account — but the woman was loving, in a way her own mother had never been before. Maddox was attached to her, clinging to her mother's dresses whenever the woman had to leave for work or when Maddox's father arrived to pick her up for weekends each Friday night. Maddox's mother gave her as much care and comfort as she could, but the woman couldn't preserve her from the distant home her father dared take Maddox to every weekend.

A psychiatry student, Bertrand was a man none dared challenge in fear of his influence and authority. Rumors of Bertrand fabled cruelty were shared in hushed whispers by those brave enough to speak words considered blasphemy, but no eyes had ever witnessed such evil coming from the man's hand. Cold, yes, but not brutal. The man adored Maddox, pampering, and doting on her whenever they spent weekends together, but his family did not share the sentiment. Maddox never met her paternal grandparents, before.

She was young, barely 5, but her first memory is of that night.

Sat in the back of an ambulance, the police lights bright and vibrant amidst the darkness, Maddox hardly paid mind to the yells of an elder woman she had never met before, who was daring to disturb the ghostly silence plaguing the night. Her attention was solely on her father, his calm eyes staring at her through the car window. To this day, Maddox remembers the strangest feeling creating roots in her lungs at the sight of her father in the back of a police car, officers and agents crowding their house and invading their space.

Your father killed a bunch of people, the agent with kind eyes had informed her, and Maddox remembers how she struggled to speak the words - had to force each syllable and consonant out, her brain surely wondering how to best tell a young girl her beloved father was a killer — and that her mother would not be returning. Her blood continued to stain the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and her father’s eyes never showed any sign of emotions — Maddox knows, now, if she was in the agent's shoes, she would’ve been struggling too.

When Maddox had been discharged from the hospital — an extraordinary child having survived the impossible — it was to the stern hands of nuns with kindness in their eyes, faintly. Taken to a countryside orphanage, Maddox Kingsley turned out to be a difficult case for the nuns and caretakers to restrain. It was to be expected, of course, with her father in jail and her mother murdered. But Maddox's refusal of cooperating, accepting the affections of candidate parents, and simply not speaking whatsoever — proved to be rather complicated. She went and came, a family never settling with her or accepting her into their folds, wishing for an easier child to love and support instead, and returning Maddox to the hands of desperate nuns had been Maddox growing years. Coupled with fights she would often get into with the other children, well — They couldn't do much for her.

It wasn't until Maddox turned twelve that a man with a prominent glare on his face and few words on his lip finally sealed the deal, taking Maddox in and signing the adoption papers when they were ready. Unusually quickly, but the orphanage was thankful for the money the man provided and to see Maddox finally with a 'family'. Little did they know the man was nothing of a father, but a mentor of sorts; an assassin, one with quick hands and light feet. Maddox kicked and screamed, but soon she fell into her new routine. The man did not care about the fights she picked in school, as long as she kept her head down and the attention on her to a minimum — and every day they trained. Trained until Maddox bones were sore and heavy, until her lungs ached in her ribcage, her ears ringing from the gunshot noises, and her arms burned from the weight of guns.

Maddox and the men held no affection for each other, traded few words, but he shaped her to be a merciless killer, one who could survive the dangers of this world and would not be bound to the grieves and disturbances a heart might cause. By then, she did not remember her mother by face, and tried not to think of the woman — choosing to guard the good memories in a dark place of her heart, a place where the sun doesn't shine and her blood-stained hands couldn't cause such joyful things to root. Maddox and the man held no affection for each other, traded few words, but he shaped her to be a merciless killer, one who could survive the dangers of this world and would not be bound to the grieves and disturbances a heart might cause. By then, she did not remember her mother by face, and tried not to think of the woman — choosing to guard the good memories in a dark place of her heart, a place where the sun doesn't shine and her blood-stained hands couldn't cause such joyful things to root. By eighteen, Maddox started taking her own jobs, and proved to be quite adept at it. She was never caught, and never left witness behind. Fighting came as easy to her as breathing, and Maddox paid no heed to pain. She was a machine, good as they come. By twenty-five, she was running in with a partner, a man she met during a job who was paid to kill another target in the same party she had a target. It wasn't a life she was proud of; running credit card scams, killing for money, and never settling down in one place — but it was the life she knew. The only thing she had been good at. Perhaps it is genetics. Perhaps she is as rotten as her father. Thoughts that kept her awake at night, knowing them to be true. Everything she touched died, just like him.

With her story and her past, it didn't take long for the Organization to contact her. They promised her the world for her skills, but it came with a price. She had to leave her partner behind, and kill a target that had been escaping the Organization grasps for some time. Maddox faked her own death, leaving London, and following the trail, she was given up to Bulgaria, where she found herself face to face with the man that had raised her, taught her. It wasn't an easy fight. But she came out victorious, and at first thing in the morning, was leaving on a plane to Sunset Port.

After that, guilt began to settle in her bones. She continued to do her job, but the taste of blood now left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, and when she turned 32, Maddox decided to leave this life behind. She couldn't, not fully, of course — one does not simply leave the Organization. But they offered her a retirement plan; take charge of the radio station, and be free to do as she wishes in her free time. She accepted it with no questions asked, and has been the radio host for the Sunset Frequency since then.

#nightcityhqs.characters #nightcityhqs.entertainers

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blog-sliverofjade · 4 years ago

Text

7: Tête Dure Minous

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary: Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas.

Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female Changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself.

While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.

Word count: 2018

Content warning: Racist cop

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the wonderful pandabearer

Lorel bared her teeth at him when a wave of power washed into the shop; it tasted wild, male, and lethal. She tore her attention away from the cop in time to see Remi stalking through the open door. Her cat went from snarling and ready to pounce to wary watchfulness in the presence of a bigger predator. She hated that some of her anxiety eased the moment she caught his scent, but at least her cat’s homicidal urges went from screaming to a dull roar.

And damned if she wasn’t relieved to see Denier, like he was some sort of knight in shining armour. Or, rather, a knight in jeans and a t-shirt. Said jeans hung low on his hips, emphasizing his narrow waist in contrast to the breadth of his chest. The black t-shirt clung to the ridges and hollows of his densely muscled chest and wide shoulders.

“Mr. Denier, she here one of your’n?” Shank turned square to him and jerked his head in Lorelei’s direction.

“All changelings in Swain County are mine.”

She opened her mouth to protest the hard, possessive statement, but Remi cut her off with a look, the cat rising in his eyes. Although they never changed colour, her own cat recognized his and urged her to back down. The animal usually urged the opposite; the sudden shift in temperament had her scrabbling to regain her equilibrium after she’d prepared to fight for control.

Even though the sheriff was human, some latent instincts must have sensed something because he dropped his folded arms to hook his thumbs behind his belt. Remi’s gaze didn’t stray from Shaw’s, but she had no doubt that he was keeping careful track of the cop’s hands in relation to his weapons.

“Ya need to get your girl in line. Had a call she was intimidatin’ folk.” Shank levelled him with a hard look below thick, dark brows.

The thought that either of them believed she was under his protection soothed something within that she hadn’t even known had been stretched taut. The relief was like setting down a burden she’d been carrying for so long she only recognized the strain once it was gone. And that set her teeth on edge.

“The CCTV footage doesn’t corroborate the allegation.” There was a drawl to his voice, but it lacked the thickness of the bayou it’d had when they first met.

“Yer a big guy, what a young girl’d find intimidatin’ you’d hardly sneeze at,” he shrugged.

“Are charges being pressed?” Remi merely tilted his head and, somehow, she knew that his leopard was close to the surface even though his eyes continued to remain completely human.

Some long-buried instinct in Shaw must have recognized it, too, because the hand closest to his stunner twitched. Claws burst from Lorel’s fingertips. For once, she didn’t try to force them back in. Remi, however, kept his hands in his pockets. Only a fool would miss the lethal threat hidden beneath the lazy demeanour. How on earth he managed to hold the alpha’s stare, full of barely restrained savagery, she had no idea.

“Naw, I think we’ll let this’un go with a warnin’.” Shaw shrugged and resettled his hat. “But you best show your girl how things are ‘round here.”

Shocked speechless by the blatant paternalism, she could only gape at him.

“Oh? And just how are ‘things ‘round here’?” Remi’s tone was deceptively calm, but whatever the other man saw on his face had drained the blood from his own.

“Well, that… you see…” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped. “You can’t just go ‘round intimidating people you don’t like!”

“I think you should take your own advice, officer.” The predator was present in his voice. “Cher, why don’t you make a copy of that video for Sheriff Shaw here?” He never looked away from the cop so the silent snarl she threw his way went unnoticed.

“Testosterone’s getting thick in here anyway,” she muttered in a volume pitched for his ears alone.

Once Lorelei was out of the room, the red haze fogging his mind cleared a little and he could think clearly again. Shaw, on the other hand, realized he was alone in a room with a leopard in human skin, which meant he was less likely to do something stupid to prove his masculinity in front of a third, feminine party. Men could usually be counted on to pull supremely senseless stunts when it came to pretty women. Such as issuing premature ultimatums instead of merely taking the measure of a prospective packmate.

“Now look here…” the sheriff licked his lips.

“I assume the human will be charged with filing a false report?” He leaned against the cash counter, bracing his hands against the edge, palms down. The relaxed stance fooled Shaw into downgrading his threat level and puffed up accordingly, crowding the alpha’s space. Remi barely avoided rolling his eyes. His leopard didn’t take it as a challenge, merely huffed and sat down to scratch behind an ear.

“We have to dispatch a car ‘cause if something happens, we could be held liable if we don’t. We don’t want people to avoid callin’ if they see something suspicious.” Remi wondered if the sheriff realized just how much of a stereotype of the rural hick cop he was, despite his law degree. When he’d decided to found RainFire, he’d compiled dossiers on the local Enforcement brass and he knew that Shaw was well-educated. Was it a deliberate good ole’ boy ruse to put the humans at ease?

Lorelei returned with the data chip and his leopard snapped to attention, snarling a warning at the male in the room. Neither half of him wanted the cop anywhere near the curvy redhead. Remi caught the eye of Sugiyama through the door, which was still propped open, and waved him over. The lieutenant accepted the chip and promised it would be entered into the incident report, ignoring his superior who clearly smelled displeased. Scenting no lie from the officer, his leopard settled somewhat.

“Now I assume that Ms. Maddox is free to resume business unless ya’ll have any further questions.” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a threat.

Though Shaw was pissed at the brusque dismissal, he strode out of the bakery. Sugiyama lingered to thank Lorelei for her hospitality and cooperation. Remi crushed the urge to throw the officer bodily out of the shop. He could probably hit Shaw like a bowling pin with the lieutenant as the ball.

“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Denier,” she said stiffly and smoothed her apron. Today, it was patterned with autumn leaves and edged in yellow worn over a russet dress. He wondered what he would find if he tugged on the satin tie and parted that modest Peter Pan collar to lick at the freckles that peppered her neck. Were there more scattered across her creamy breasts? Did they trail across her soft stomach to…

“Mr. Denier, was there something I can help you with?” By the sharp arch of her brow, she was repeating the question. Unlike Shaw, she wasn’t afraid of being alone with him although she was at the other end of the hierarchy. Even with all the training in the world, a submissive could never hope to win against an alpha leopard in a physical battle. And yet still she defied him while maintaining all outward propriety that could never be mistaken for an actual challenge.

“There’s no need to be so formal, please, call me Remi.” It was an obvious ploy to keep him at arm’s length. If she thought that would work, well, she had another thing coming. He intended to solve the mystery of this woman who played at being human, needed to figure out why his cat wanted to hunt her in the most sensual way.

“Was there anything you require?” Icy haughtiness that would have done those few who still clung to Silence proud. Coaxing her out of her shell was going to be fun.

“A ‘thank you’ would be nice.” A slow, feline smile curved his lips.

“For what? Barging in here and claiming responsibility for me like I’m a child?” That was interesting. Most submissives liked feeling safe and protected, that she found it upsetting was another facet to the puzzle of Lorelei Caine/Maddox.

“Keeping you from assaulting a law Enforcement officer.” It had been obvious that she wanted to go for Shaw’s throat the second he walked in.

“Thank you, Mr. Denier, for sweeping in here uninvited and undermining my authority in my own business. I am ever so grateful you patted me on the head and shooed me away while you menfolk postured at each other.” Her tone was sweet enough to drizzle over one of her confections and the drama was so over the top it would have done Scarlett O’Hara proud. Any minute now he expected her to start soliloquizing about root vegetables. “Since you’re marking your territory and all, I think the sheriff peed on that tree over there in case you feel the need to over-mark.”

“Il y a pas de quoi. Next time Shaw wants to cause a fuss, he’ll have to notify RainFire.” She blinked, considering the ramifications of having a pack of predatory changelings on her side when it came to dealing with the bigoted sheriff. “One of the benefits of pack is protection.” It was not just a case of safety in numbers. Dominants lived to defend their pack, the need to protect ingrained into the core of who they were.

“It was one person. Besides, you can’t be there 24/7,” she said dismissively.

The cat didn’t like the insinuation that he couldn’t protect this stubborn woman who regarded him with eyes of cool slate ringed with Prussian blue.

“No one messes with RainFire.” Any and all challenges were met with swift and brutal force. Yet the challenge of Lorelei was one that couldn’t be resolved with violence. Not as the initial offensive, anyway.

“You make it sound like you’re running a protection racket. Should I pay protection money in cookies? Are you going to shake down the grocery store for milk, too?” Cocking a hip, she braced a fist on it and gestured in the direction of the grocer with her other hand.

“What if next time it’s someone with a gun?” The blood drained away from her face and he bristled at the spike of doubt in her luscious sugar and spice scent. At their first meeting, he’d thought that the smell was from her array of goods; now he knew that it was part of her. When he’d walked in, the sweetness had been tainted with a hint of something foul that nearly left an aftertaste. That note quickly faded while he dealt with Shaw and he wasn’t yet certain whence it came.

“Then it’s a good thing I keep a hot pot of tea going.” She glanced at the faintly steaming kettle within arm’s reach. As a makeshift defensive strategy, he had to admit it wasn’t half bad. A faceful of scalding liquid would give even him pause.

“A clever answer,” he mused. “Do you have one for me?”

A faint vertical line formed on her brow. Normally she took care to avoid meeting his gaze in case his leopard took it as a provocation, she did so now with remote appraisal.

“Are you going to kill me if I decline your offer?”

“Only if it’s necessary. Why? Do you plan on hurting my people, t-minou? You’ll find we’re not easy prey.” He knew his eyes flashed cat bright as he stalked closer to her. Wide-eyed, she mirrored his movements until she bumped up against the counter. Bones pushed up against her skin from the grip she had on the white ashwood. The pulse of her heart was a fluttering butterfly under the thin skin of her throat, the sound of it like the hoofbeats of a racehorse.

“If you’re calling my bluff, cher, this is a game you won’t win.”

Tête Dure - Hardheaded

Minou(s) - Cat(s)

T - Small, shortened form of petite

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serenzippity · 5 years ago

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The Scales

Words: 3658 Member/Pairing: Monsta X, Got7, Exo Genre: Alternative Universe, inspired by 6 Underground Warning(s): Language, mentions of drug use, mentions of human trafficking, mentions of death/killing, mentions of violence, implied smut

Chapter One - Sunrise

Specter Underground

Seoul, South Korea May 19th, 2019

Jae’s POV

“Are you ready Jae-baby?”

It was hard to not roll my eyes at the annoying nickname, but I kept my feelings in for the sake of our audience. One and I stood before the semi-circle of chairs, but this time I.M was anxiously perched in my former seat. The younger boy stared at the projector screen behind us in earnest, the disturbed look on his face permanently etched on his features from when we showed him our targets. The opposite wall in the expansive room seemed to put him on edge, but that was part of the job. He seemed to take the declarations from Lux and I a lot better than we were expecting.

“There will be four missions in total,” I said, ignoring One and beginning the briefing. “They will require all our strengths, meaning Seven you’ll often be on lookout and Lux you’ll be on medical standby.” The two of them nodded in agreement, Seven giving me a subtle wink before I turned to the man next to me. “One, would you like to start with the first mission?”

It was rare when One got truly serious, but he was all proud shoulders and authority as he addressed the room. “Mission Alpha will be a ground game. Lux, Jae, and Seven will remain here on coms. I.M, Kai, Wonho, and I will all infiltrate JYP Enterprise for an intel extraction.” I.M looked wide-eyed and scared when One said his name, but he didn’t say anything about his obvious internal fear. “We will be utilizing disguises and trackers, so make sure you get those worked out with Lux before we ship out.”

“Sweet,” Kai whispered to Seven, fist-bumping the sniper with an excited smirk on his face.

“I.M and I will go in as cleaning crew where we will be stationed on the lower, underground levels.” Clicking the remote, the screen lit up with an outline of the overall layout of the building. Special emphasis was placed on the hidden underground floors where I knew the JYPE secrets were kept. “He and I will extract the data we need from their mainframe on the fourth level. I’ve already begun working on the bug that will transmit all the JYPE data to our handy-dandy computer here.” One was pleased as he explained the mission, acting like a professional but the light behind his eyes reminded me of a kid in a candy store as he pointed to the fourth-floor diagram.

“Kai and Wonho will go in as security guards. Kai will act as a lookout in the lobby of the building while Wonho will remain in the security room. You,” One said gesturing to the man-made out of pure muscle, “will give coms full access to their camera system. We need to remain invisible for this to work.” Wonho nodded, not saying anything but he also began to shift with excitement. “Once we have access to their mainframe Jae-baby, Wonho, Seven and I will sort through the files to find what we need.”

“And what exactly will you be looking for?” Lux asked watching the screen behind us intently. One looked at me with a raised brow and gestured for me to answer with an unnecessary flourish of his hands.

Rolling my eyes, I clicked my respective remote to change the screen to a map of three different docks. “JYPE owns docks in three different ports; one in Busan, one in Pyeongtaek, and two in Icheon. We are looking for shipping information for all three docks, particularly dates where there is a blackout on the dock manifests.” Clicking the remote again, a close up shot of the Icheon dock took over the screen. “The Boss uses JYPE docks to bring in his shipments, so he will more than likely use the ones in Icheon to smuggle in his goods.”

“The Boss,” One said, turning his attention to I.M when the younger man began to raise his hand in question, “also known as Suho, is the leader of a Korean mafia syndicate known as Exo. He is financed by a scary, shadowy power figure.” He clicked his remote and a grainy, unclear image of the man in question popped up. “He is elusive, usually surrounded by bodyguards and his gang members. He is the worst of the worst and he trafficks anything under the sun, including little cuties like you.” I.M’s eyes went wide as Jackson stared him down.

“He murders, steals, and is one of our primary targets,” I said nonchalantly, continuing on as if I was telling the team what time it was. “It is likely that Suho will use the docks in Icheon to bring in his shipments. So, once we extract the data from JYPE we will look for any indication of when and where they will come in, as well as what they are so we have the necessary precautions on stand by.”

“Mission Alpha is a get in and get out type of plan,” One said, addressing the three men who will be joining him. “We get in, plant the bug, and get the hell out of dodge. All we need is information, no injuries or casualties.” I.M got paler at the mention of casualties.

“Standard rules apply?” Kai asked.

One nodded his head and began to click away to begin the brief on the next mission, but before he could begin speaking I.M’s small voice broke the silence. “What are the standard rules?”

Lux, in all her motherly glory, shifted in her seat and turned to him. She gave him a sad smile that looked out of place her pretty face, as a gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder. She opened her mouth to begin speaking but was swiftly cut off by Kai.

“The rules are that if you get left behind, you stay behind.” He fixed the younger man with a hard gaze, but it fell immediately when Lux sharply turned around to give him a dark glare. Her hand never left I.M’s shoulder, but her body was radiating anger that was fixated on Kai. It was amusing to watch the usually fearless spy cower especially considering Lux wasn’t very imposing.

I.M started to visibly shake at that point, all of the color that was left in his cheeks was now fully drained. One, in all his child-like wonder, began to speak again, ignoring the frightened young man sitting in front of him.

“Once we have all the information we need, we will be quietly taking out the recruiters.” He clicked his remote to flip through the slides, coming to rest upon two pictures of very attractive models. “Jae-baby this is your mission so I’ll let you take the reins.”

I snapped my fingers in Kai’s general direction to pull him out from under Lux’s angry stare. The spy came to quickly, but his eyes still kept darting to the woman next to him. “Mission Beta is a standard infiltrate to remove targets.” The lingo went over almost everyone’s head except for Kai. He understood immediately what I said, nodding in understanding—it was a ‘get in, kill them, and get out undetected’ kind of mission.

“Our targets are Chae Hyungwon and Jacqueline Mendoza, also known as Jace Maddox,” I said gesturing to the beautiful people on the screen. Hyungwon was a model with ethereal features that were framed by luscious silver hair. Jace was a beautiful Hispanic woman with glowing skin and dark eyes that could pierce a soul. The glamour shots on the screen hid their dark-sides well. “They are both the primary recruiters for The Boss’s human trafficking business. They bring in the girls and get a cut when Suho sells them.” Flipping to the next slide there were two more pictures of the targets, but these showed paparazzi photos of them out on the town, both looking carefree. “Suho doesn’t protect them as heavily as his other lackeys, possibly because he sees them as disposable. They are rarely seen with any member of the syndicate and show no direct contacts besides their meetings with The Smuggler.”

“So, this should be easy?” Kai asked, leaning forward and staring at the pictures attentively. I could see his brain working at a million miles a minute, already forming a plan. His fast mind was what made him one of the best spies in the game.

“More or less,” I confirmed, giving him a smirk that spoke miles to anyone used to this lifestyle, “This should be like any other mission for us.”

“What is the color?” He asked, gnawing on his lip and suddenly looking slightly tense.

This spy lingo also seemed to go over everyone’s heads except for Seven who leaned forwards to mirror Kai. However, instead of looking at the images he was looking at me with a question behind his normally stoic façade. I made quick eye contact before turning to look at the two blown-up images of Hyungwon and Jace. “Red,” I breathed out, making sure I didn’t look at Seven as I said it.

In our world—the world of lies and deceit—Kai and I lived by a color-code. Our missions were defined by them. The colors indicated how far we were to go to complete the task. Green usually meant that there were tamer ways to get what we wanted. These missions usually were easier and required us to be inconspicuous. Yellow was where we had to infiltrate and if there were roadblocks in our way, we could use more unconventional means. These were a large portion of our prior work. However, red missions required us to complete the mission by any means necessary. This meant we could kill, cheat, and fuck until we are called back with success. Knowing the reputation of our two targets we would have to resort to our special training. It wasn’t something I was fond of, but it came with the territory.

I kept my eyes trained on the two pictures of the target because I didn’t want to see Kai or Seven’s reactions, but I could feel the eyes of the sniper burning a hole at the base of my neck. For a second I almost felt guilty. Since coming to Specter my humanity began to resurface, and it was a bitch to deal with at times.

“Moving on,” I hissed, pulling myself out of that headspace and clicking my remote to show a scan of an invitation. “Kai, Wonho, and I will be attending the annual Humanité Gala. Hyungwon and Jace are already on the guest list.”

“The irony,” One giggled.

“Kai and I will be going as dates. You will be posing as an up-and-coming businessman, while I will be his flavor of the month.” One and Wonho snickered at this but were shut up by Lux’s quick and harsh shush. “Wonho you will be our bodyguard and eyes on the ground.”

“Typical,” the muscular man murmured, which cracked a small smile on I.M’s face.

“Seven, you will be our eye in the sky during the Gala up behind the stage in the rafters,” I said, finally looking to the man on the edge of the semi-circle. He didn’t say anything but gave me a quick nod in acknowledgment. “Lux and One will be on coms while I.M will be our chauffeur to and from the venue.”

I.M perked up at his name, and One gave him a wink at his overt interest. “Don’t worry kid, I’ll let you choose which car you get to drive.” This seemed to excite the young daredevil and I couldn’t help my small smile.

“Kai and I will take out our targets in the venue by taking them back to their hotel rooms. After they are disposed, Kai and I will scale up to the roof where Seven and Wonho will rendezvous with us.” I clicked through to show various diagrams of the building, including where we would meet with the aforementioned sniper and jarhead. “From there we will make our way to the adjacent building, down their service entrance, and meet I.M on the ground. From that point on its extraction until we meet back here at headquarters.”

“A-and what happens in the hotel rooms?” Lux asked quietly, looking uncomfortable and anxious as she curled up in her seat.

I had to stop and clear my mind to answer her. I was planning on discussing that with Kai privately, but now that the question was out in the open I didn’t feel like I could deflect especially with Wonho, I.M, and One looking at me intently. Coughing awkwardly I looked at Lux and Kai, once more refusing to look at the sniper to my left. “I will take Hyungwon and Kai will take Jace. We will both work the targets to ensure they take us to their respective hotel rooms. From there..” I had to stop for a moment and push myself back into my deadly-spy persona. That version of me wouldn’t feel embarrassed talking about this. “Kai and I will subdue them. Hyungwon is notorious for what he puts up his nose, so I will make it look like they overdosed.”

Everyone kept staring at me with some semblance of shocked expressions. One’s eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline. He had no input on the details of this mission, so this was his first time hearing my plan. Wonho looked impressed, I.M looked almost nauseous, Lux looked angry, and Kai looked pained. I still couldn’t make myself look at Seven.

Clearing my throat and tossing my hair over my shoulder, I clicked the remote to the next slide. “Moving on,” I said, quickly ending the tension building. “Operation Gamma is the next phase of all this.”

One stayed silent during my whole spiel, but I let him take over this one because this was his brain-child and the culmination of everything we had been working towards. “This is the mission that requires all of us. It’s what we are here to do,” he said, clicking to another diagram of the JYPE ports. “This is the mission where we intercept the shipment and take out Suho’s Smuggler.”

One clicked to show a grainy picture of a young man with black hair. He looked like he had multiple piercings on his face and ears, but the quality was poor. However, his creepy smile still showed free and clear through the noise. “This is Byun Baekhyun and he is Suho’s right hand. Killing him will draw Suho out and will give us an opportunity to strike. With Baekhyun dead, Suho will retreat to his generals and call a meeting at his home in Busan.” One showed an aerial image of a compound, but before any of us could question it he continued on. “Jae, Kai, Wonho, and I will all be on the ground, hidden and ready to strike should we need to. I.M and Lux will be on coms and Seven will be our eye in the sky. Should you see an opportunity to take a shot, take it. I don’t care where the bullet comes from as long as he drops dead.”

“Standard rules?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” One nodded. “From there we will rendezvous back here, but we can’t create finite plans until we complete Mission Alpha.”

“That’s very vague and not stressful at all,” Seven growled, looking at his brother with clear annoyance.

One simply shrugged and pouted at his elder, “What can you do?”

“After we complete Gamma it’s a free-for-all,” I said, interrupting the two siblings. “Mission Spring Cleaning is where we separate to take out the rest of the syndicate.” Clicking over, I stopped at a page that had four images on it, with Suho sitting in the upper corner. Two of the images had grainy pictures of other targets, but one of them was simply a black and white silhouette. “One will undergo a solo mission to find and take out Suho. Don’t ask him about his plans he won’t tell,” I told them exasperatedly, looking at One’s gleeful face with an eye roll.

“Yup,” One chirped with a pleased smile. “Jae-baby here will be going after Suho’s financier, who shall be kept anonymous until her mission is done.” Everyone looked confused at this, but One continued before any questions could be asked. He exceptionally was good at cutting people off. “Wonho will be taking out Suho’s rabid-dog, affectionately name Psychopath,” he said pointing to an image of a blonde-haired man. “And the final target, Suho’s mad-doctor Yara Valaskova, is up for grabs for whoever wants to blow her brains out.” One said it so casually, and I thought I.M was about to throw up. “But we can cross that bridge when it comes to it.”

“Any questions,” I asked, facing the room and opening up the floor. No one moved, which wasn’t a shock considering how desensitized all of us, except for I.M, were to death and killing at this point. The young man in question still looked off-put, but he slowly raised a shaky hand into the hair. “I.M?” I said in acknowledgment.

“When do we start?” His question came out softly and it was definitely not what I was expecting. Based on the look on his face I was expecting a more fearful plead, but he surprised me and I couldn’t help the wide smile that broke over my face.

I liked this kid.

One just giggled at his question and began to rock back and forth like an idiot. He looked like a child who got a cookie out of the cookie jar after being told no—so mischievous and mocking all at once. His smile was so big that it touched his eyes, and I could immediately tell that we were in for some of his obnoxious theatrics.

“We start when you die my little spider monkey,” One giggled, causing I.M to almost fall out of his chair in fear.

Rolling my eyes, I took this as my cue to leave and end the meeting. “Go get some sleep everyone,” I sighed, stepping away from the projector screen and away from One and Wonho as they hauled I.M to his feet and dragged him to One’s office. Lux quickly stood up and left, no doubt going to her lab. Kai watched her go with a sad look in his eyes but remained seated. When she was gone he stared at the ground like it was the most interesting thing in the world. I observed him with pity from beyond the semi-circle, but I was quickly distracted by the feeling of two large hands on my hips.

“Red huh?” the dark voice whispered in my ear, sending goosebumps up and down my spine at the deep tone that was laced with lust. Teeth latched onto the sensitive skin where my neck met my jaw and I could feel myself melt into the familiar body behind me.

“You promised you would stop getting jealous,” I said, muffling a whine as Seven grazed my throat with sharp nips and wet kisses.

He placed a particularly hard bite on the juncture of my throat which had me grasping the hands on my hips like an anchor. He brought me flush against him and I could feel his growing hardness behind me as he took control and ground my hips into his. “You like me jealous,” He whispered harshly into my ear before dragging me away from the common room and the sad male spy.

At first it was awkward moaning out a number as I came over and over again against Seven’s tongue, fingers, and dick. I didn’t know the real name of my lover and that kept me at bay for a little while. However, in the year since I joined Specter, he became my favorite pastime. Soon, knowing his real name became insignificant so long as I could walk away from his bed deliciously sore and spent.

Seven is a killer and he’s one of the best. He did two tours with the Marines and he came back with a Iot of cash, a name for himself, and a lot of medals. But somewhere in those deserts he lost his soul. He’s always trying to fuck the war out of himself while fucking me.

I have orgasms and he has war-gasms.

It works out for us both in the end. When I am shaking I forget about dark, brown eyes and my urge to take revenge. I forget about stuffing white powder up my nose or plunging a knife into tender flesh. I forget about the screams of help that I ignored for a warm body and beautiful lies.

He pulled me down a dark hallway and into one of the various bedrooms in the compound. This one was unoccupied, but for the night it would be our escape. We were a mess of tongues, limbs, and moans as we fell on the bed together. In the darkness I couldn’t see a damn thing, but Seven was as clear as a sunny day. Clothes were ripped off and hands were wandering and grabbing at heated skin. My pants were lost somewhere in the room and I was pushed onto my back with the tattered remains of my t-shirt lying around me. Seven was as equally torn to shreds as we became one with choked gasps. I could feel the energy vibrating off of him—waves of lust, jealousy, and anger wrapped me around him as I saw stars behind my eyes.

At this very moment I wanted to forget everything that wasn’t Seven and the way he danced across my flesh. Everything, except for him, was insignificant for a few hours. Once the sun rose we would go back to our anointed roles and personas, but for tonight we were just two lost souls who needed something to keep us from floating away.

Song: Revolution - The Score

It’s been a minute y’all. On that note, I have a lot of time to read and write at the moment, so I finally finished this chapter. I hope you all enjoy it, especially considering it’s been a while since I posted anything.

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scullydubois · 5 years ago

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thoughts on Kill Switch (5x11)

Written by William Gibson and Tom Maddox Directed by Rob Bowman

It’s almost 1am, I’m tired and should just go to sleep, but I gotta get my daily episode in! And let’s be honest, it’ll be more fun if I’m delirious

What kind of black market activity

14th and Arlington

I just zoned out...no clue what’s happening, but access granted

What the hell was that CD about to do

Mulder and Scully? I love them

Big fancy Silicon Valley guy

“Mulder, that’s evidence.” “Yeah, so?” Stellar FBI skills at work here

Twilight Time and flashing car lights? It’s called romance!

The Lone Gunmen are the shit

Absolutely iconic email server

Dana Scully literally caught up to the girl and tackled her...amazing work

Mulder sarcastically says home sweet home as if his own apartment doesn’t look just like that

Invisigoth? I’m here for her

I want to live in a storage unit

Scully, do you want to freaking die?

I mean...is it that serious

This episode is pretty

Also, Scully pulling over and getting out of the car to talk is such a power move

They all look so good in this episode

Twilight Time is the kill switch

Damn Gillian, I saw that

Can Invisigoth marry one of the Lone Gunmen please

Mulder WTF...climbing power lines again???

Invisigoth, I liked you, can you not point a gun at Miss Scully

“You are correct, sir” her saying it like that is sending me

Aww Invisigoth, don’t cry

What kind of trailer home

Oh what the fuckkk Invisigoth’s AI speech is really romantic and my delirious brain is losing it

I feel like I’m really overreacting to this episode and it’s probably not as good as I think it is, but I like it a lot so far

Ew RIP guy in trailer

Yeah, Mulder should not be alive

Oh fuck we’re actually doing the ambulance thing

Bitch I cannot take any more trauma from this show right now

“If we’re gonna save him” save him??? Save him?? Bitch?? That implies that he’s dying and uhh

“My arms hurt” this isn’t funny but at 1am yes it is

Is this a dream or some shit

He said call Doctor Scully!!

What kind of wacky ass hospital

So he only has one arm now?? The wackiness of this is sending me

On second glance, why is his nipple so high up??

The nurse smothered him with pillows...

Scully and Invisigoth are everything TBH

I can’t imagine this is a critically acclaimed episode but I’m finding it extremely entertaining

BITCH she’s doing Kung fu

It got better

I AM losing it, thanks for asking

I am so fucking happy I watched this episode, it fits perfectly with my current level of delirium

Hot

AI Fox Mulder be wildin!

Scully said no mercy

He can’t hear you, he has AirPods in

This is an extremely aesthetically pleasing episode

Gillian said I AM earning my 2nd Emmy and I am earning it RIGHT NOW

Oh fuck this is interesting

Invisigoth what are you about to do that’s going to make me hate you

I’m literally on the edge of my seat

Also, them putting Twilight Time over this scene after I noted how romantic is was earlier...god tier

So Ester and the other guy...ended up in AI world together

FUCK they nailed the ending

And the boys in the trailer park, with a trailer watching them..hmm

Whoever wrote this episode is so tonally on par with how I like my X-Files episodes, thank you William Gibson and Tom Maddox (apparently they’re sci-fi authors...makes sense)

Consensus: I really really enjoyed this.

5 out of 5 stars

#the x files #txf #season 5 #5x11 #kill switch #william gibson #tom maddox #rob bowman #5 stars #gillian anderson #dana scully #fox mulder #david duchovny #thoughts on

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sonofwalt · 6 years ago

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Tuesday Review: Marjorie Maddox's Wives' Tales

Tuesday Review: Marjorie Maddox’s Wives’ Tales

In an effort to keep me on track with some promises and with my desire to read and review more poetry, here’s a new feature for you, Tuesday Reviews. There will be at least two kinds—the regular review, hopefully with a link to the full review published elsewhere, and the ones that I should have written agesago. We’ll call that second sort “Overdue Reviews” (playing a bit off that librarian thing…

View On WordPress

#audio #Fairy Tales #Marjorie Maddox #Windhover #Wives

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rjdavies · 2 years ago

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Celebrating Black History Month: Mary Jackson

On a mission … celebrating Black History Month with amazing and inspirational Black Women for the rest of the month and continuing into March to celebrate not only inspirational Black Women but International Woman’s Day

Born April 9, 1921 in Hampton, Virginia and died February 11, 2005 (at age 83). In 1958, she was the first African American female engineer to work at NASA, she was a mathematician and aerospace engineer.

She was known as a “Human Computer” at NACA with her math and science skills. She served a vital role in the development of the space programs as well as helped other women and minorities advance their careers.

Mary Jackson also served for more than 30 years as a Girl Scout leader, in the 1970s she helped African American children in her community and created a miniature wind tunnel for testing airplanes. She worked as an aerospace engineer for 20+ year, much of her work centered on the airflow around aircraft. She was denied management level positions and in 1979 she left engineering and took a demotion to become a manager of the women’s program at NASA where she sought to improve the opportunities for all women in the organization.

R. J. Davies

A Riveting Jacked-In Dreamy Mind-Bender

RJ Davies - Science Fiction Author, Maddox Files, Novels

#R. J. Davies #R. J. Davies author #Rhonda Davies #Rhonda Davies author #Rhonda Joan Davies #mystery author #science fiction author #author of Maddox Files #Celebrating Black History Month #BHM2023 #Mary Jackson #International Women's Day 2023 #Celebrating International Women's Day

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billyagogo · 4 years ago

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Angelina Jolie's Domestic Violence Claims Have 'Taken a Toll' on Brad Pitt

New Post has been published on https://newsprofixpro.com/moxie/2021/03/19/angelina-jolies-domestic-violence-claims-have-taken-a-toll-on-brad-pitt/

Angelina Jolie's Domestic Violence Claims Have 'Taken a Toll' on Brad Pitt

Brad Pitt is struggling in the wake of a new legal filing from ex-wife Angelina Jolie, which details alleged domestic violence, an insider tells Us Weekly exclusively.

According to the source, the Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood actor, 57, believes Jolie’s latest filing is an attempt at “weaponizing their children in a last-ditch effort to gain a favorable outcome that will allow her to move the kids out of Los Angeles at her whim, without Brad’s approval or knowledge.”

Still, the insider says, “This process had taken a toll on Brad, and he has taken accountability for his role in the breakdown of the marriage.”

Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt Shutterstock (2)

The source assures Us that Pitt “never” laid a hand on any of the children he and Jolie, 45, share, or her. The Oklahoma native fears this filing will weigh heavy on his children.

“The kids have had endured so much trauma and this is just piling it on, but it’s out of Brad’s control,” the insider says. “The time for compromise is over. He is done and won’t be manipulated by her ever again.”

On Friday, March 12, Jolie filed court documents stating that she and children Maddox, 19, Pax, 17, Zahara, 16, Shiloh, 14, and twins Knox and Vivienne, 12, were prepared to offer “proof and authority in support” of their claims against Pitt. Jolie agreed to provide her own testimony, along with the “testimony of minor children,” according to the documents obtained by Us.

A source close to Pitt told Us at the time the filing was little more than an attempt to “hurt” the actor, saying, “the children have been used by Angelina to hurt Brad before and this is more of that behavior. This leaking of documents by her fourth or fifth set of lawyers has been done to hurt Brad.”

Jolie and Pitt started dating after meeting on the set of Mr. and Mrs. Smith in 2004. They separated in September 2016 after two years of marriage and were both declared legally single in April 2019. Their divorce has not yet been finalized, however.

The California native and Academy Award winner are still working on a custody agreement in regard to their brood. A source told Us in September 2020 that Pitt was seeking “50/50 physical and legal custody of the kids.”

He was able to spend Christmas Day 2020 with Shiloh, Knox and Vivienne after they spent “the night with him on Christmas Eve,” a source said in December. The entire family was supposed to spend the holiday together, however, a source said, “egos have once again derailed the original idea.”

With reporting by Jennifer Heger

Listen to Us Weekly’s Hot Hollywood as each week the editors of Us break down the hottest entertainment news stories!

For access to all our exclusive celebrity videos and interviews – Subscribe on YouTube!

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thefaeriereview · 4 years ago

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BloodLaw by Blaise Ramsay

Urban Noir Fantasy

Former ADA Alastair Maddox pursues Prohibition Chicago’s most dangerous monsters after witnessing the deaths of his parents and grandparents as a boy. When a former colleague in Chicago PD comes to ask Alastair for help, he comes face to face with the mysterious Alexandra DeLane. But something’s off. DeLane is way too calm and her eyes are the color of blood. After she escapes, Alastair goes on the hunt only to find himself the prey of an ambitious and mysterious mob boss who plots to have him murdered. The problem? Alastair doesn’t stay dead and comes back as something else. Something more dangerous and straight out of a horror novel.

4 out of 5 fairies

BloodLaw is pulp meets vampires. I love the old pulp fictions - detectives, PIs, mobsters. I quickly lost myself in the pages, following Alistair on his quest for answers and justice. The book starts a little slow but don't let that deter you - the pace does pick up as you get into the meat of the story. A great twist on the gritty detective novel and I can't wait for book two!

Where to buy:

Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Kobo

BookBub | Smashwords | iBooks

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About the Author: Blaise started her journey in writing at the age of the fifteen with her first unfinished urban fantasy novel based on a popular video game series known as .Hack. From there she moved her journey into designing characters and doing concept art for various paying clients. In her older career, Blaise moved into working for the Indie Gaming industry where she did concept art for the company HollowRobot and their debut game, Johnny Reboot and various other clients. Sadly, the game didn’t go anywhere and Blaise found herself losing interest in what she had done for fifteen years.

In 2017, Blaise embarked on her first ever NaNoWriMo challenge where she finished the Paranormal Shifter Romance, Blessing of Luna which she indie published. It has then produced a second installation into the Wolfgods series titled Bane of Tenebris. Both have recently been picked up by BlackRose Writing.

Both of these books gave birth to the first of Blaise’s three businesses. The first, FyreSyde Publishing, a small press, has recently opened its doors to authors and works alongside them in the ever difficult challenge of book marketing. A running joke is Blaise considers herself an “odd duck” in the sense that she loves the marketing phase more than the writing phase of production. Her other two businesses include full-time freelance ghostwriting and the independent bookstore, GreenWood Grove Booksellers.

After falling in love with the Dresden files by Jim Butcher and later Saints & Shadows by Christopher Golden, Blaise found a new love for Urban Fantasy. Reading the beloved Vampire Files by PN Elrod prompted Blaise to initiate her next phase and begin producing paranormal detective and noir novels. Now she combines the two and loves every minute of it.

She currently lives in the hometown of Bonnie & Clyde with her husband, two adorable kids, two cats and a dog.

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not-museing-around · 4 years ago

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long-gone-dream:

The absence of the other man quickly drew Max into a much more comfortable state, back to just the two of them again. He didn’t have to stay safely away, and could show her his appreciation for the actions of earlier. He leaned against the counter, trying his best not to get into her way, and flashed a charming smile. “Of course, I’m happy to help Lee.” Did he want to ask to be around more often? His instincts told him yes, but he thought perhaps she wouldn’t want him as a distraction that often. However, as she offered the back up to him it seemed as though she was reading his thoughts and throwing his worries out the figurative window. Maddox couldn’t help but to show his satisfaction through a grin and reached a hand out to brush his thumb across her lower lip as she quieted. “If you’re certain you want me around then I’d be happy to set something up in the back. I don’t want to take up all your space though, and I don’t want to impose on your work.”

Max rounded the counter and pressed in close to her from behind, his hands on her hips and lips against the shell of her ear. “It would be my pleasure to help you all the time, whenever I can. You know that.” His eyes peeked over her shoulder at the books she was sorting, trying to distract himself from the urge to kiss her so that she could continue. “Show me how you do this? I want to learn how you run a bookstore, to better help of course. Its gotta be more interesting than running a boring company.” If anything, he wouldn’t have to show up to work much at all if he could work out of the back of her store. Maybe twice a week, for a short period of time, just to keep up appearances and make sure everything was running smoothly.

The pad of his thumb seemingly stole the air from her lungs as it grazed the pink petal of flesh. Under the phalange a smile formed with no resistance. "I love sharing my space with you, Madsy. The room is yours if you want to work from here." Leah placed a tender kiss to the tip of his finger while her warm emerald eyes held his ocean hues. It would be a good use of the space. Leah only ever used it for minor overstock and the small filing cabinet in the corner that kept all of her records and the tax information she needed. Even the desk was rather empty, begging to be used by someone who needed it. Maybe that was Max. Was it weird to offer him a space in her life like that? Maybe. But it hurt felt right having him around, having her close, feeling his kisses in passing and stealing smiles from across the room. Especially with the added knowledge that he'd probably end up pushing her against more than just the counter to have his way. "Even if you get jealous of my delivery boy," she added with a flash of a knowing smile up at him that returned to her books after a second.

As he rounded the counter, Leah input another book into her inventory system. Very quickly though she found herself melting into the warmth of his chest behind her. The lips so close to her ear sent a chill through her as they threatened such sensitive skin with their whispered words. "I wish I could say it's more interesting," she admitted through a giggle. "You just scan the code with this thing," Leah gestured vaguely with the scanner in her hand, just a little more than a white handle that she pushed a button on to flash the little red light. "and you scan the barcode. And then on the tablet it pulls up some information on the book. I add how many we got in and then all we have to do is put it away. I went to school to be a librarian so I have my shelves organized by genre and then by authors last name. But like I said, pretty easy, nothing exciting." Leah shrugged and looked up and back at Max to see if he was as bored as she assumed he would be. He was by far the most exciting thing to ever happen to this little book nook.

#long-gone-dream

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celestialmazer · 7 years ago

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The Everglades, White Sands, and Carlsbad Caverns. PHOTOGRAPHS BY RYAN MCGINLEY Brad Pitt Talks Divorce, Quitting Drinking, and Becoming a Better Man by Michael Paterniti VIDEO

“Summer is coming and, in America, that means it’s time to hit the national parks. So we took Brad Pitt and photographer Ryan McGinley tumbling across three of them: The Everglades, White Sands, and Carlsbad Caverns. Then we sat down with Pitt at home in L.A. for a raw conversation about how to move forward after things fall apart.

Brad Pitt is making matcha green tea on a cool morning in his old Craftsman in the Hollywood Hills, where he's lived since 1994. There have been other properties in other places—including a château in France and homes in New Orleans and New York City—but this has always been his kids' “childhood home,” he says. And even though they're not here now, he's decided it's important that he is. Today the place is deeply silent, except for the snoring of his bulldog, Jacques.

Pitt wears a flannel shirt and skinny jeans that hang loose on his frame. Invisible to the eye is that sculpted bulk we've seen on film for a quarter-century. He looks like an L.A. dad on a juice cleanse, gearing up to do house projects. On the counter sit some plated goodies from Starbucks, which he doesn't touch, and some coffee, which he does. Pitt, who exudes likability, general decency, and a sense of humor (dark and a little cockeyed), says he's really gotten into making matcha lately, something a friend introduced him to. He loves the whole ritual of it. He deliberately sprinkles some green powder in a cup with a sifter, then pours in the boiling water, whisking with a bamboo brush, until the liquid is a harlequin froth. “You're gonna love this,” he says, handing me the cup.

Serenity, balance, order: That's the vibe, at least. That's what you think you're feeling in the kitchen of Brad Pitt's perfectly constructed, awesomely decorated abode. Outside, children's bikes are lined up in the rack; a blown-up dragon floatie bobs on the pool through the window. From the sideboard, with its exquisite inlay, to the vase on the mantel, the house exudes care and intention. And it carries its own stories, not just about when the Jolie-Pitts were a happy family, but also from back in the day, when Jimi Hendrix crashed here. It's said he wrote “May This Be Love” out in the grotto, with its waterfall (Waterfall / Nothing can harm me at all…). “I don't know if it's true,” says Pitt, “but a hippie came by and said he used to drop acid with Jim back there, so I run with the story.”

And yet Pitt is the first one to acknowledge that it's been chaos these past six months, during what he calls a “weird” time. In conversation, he seems absolutely locked in one moment and a little twitchy and forlorn in the next, having been put on a journey he didn't intend to make but admits was “self-inflicted.” The unfortunate worst of it surfaced in public this past September. When he was on a flight to Los Angeles aboard a private plane, there was a reported altercation between Pitt and one of his six children, 15-year-old Maddox. An anonymous phone call was made to the authorities, which triggered an FBI investigation (ultimately closed with no charges). Five days later, his wife, Angelina Jolie, filed for divorce. By then, everything in Pitt's world was in free fall. It wasn't just a public-relations crisis—there was a father suddenly deprived of his kids, a husband without wife. And here he is, alone, a 53-year-old human father/former husband smack in the middle of an unraveled life, figuring out how to mend it back together.

And yet the enterprise known as Brad Pitt inexorably carries on. In November, the movie Allied came out, starring Pitt and Marion Cotillard. At the premiere he was described as “gaunt,” and rumors of an affair with Cotillard, and an on-set encounter between her and Jolie, had been so virulent that Cotillard took to social media to deny them, underscoring her love for her own partner, with whom she was pregnant with their second child. Meanwhile, Pitt's production company, Plan B Entertainment, found itself winning an astonishing third Oscar for Best Picture, with Moonlight. (Pitt spent the Oscars ceremony at a friend's house.) This month Netflix will release Pitt's War Machine, a satire based on the incidents surrounding the firing of General Stanley McChrystal. In the film, he plays a gruff, ascetic stand-in for McChrystal, General Glen McMahon, with both big-gestured comic panache and an oblivious unknowingness that seems to be a metaphor for the entire American war effort.

But on this overcast spring morning, catching Pitt at this flexion point, I would say he seems more like one of those stripped-down Samuel Beckett characters, in a blank landscape, asking big questions of a futile world. Even the generalities he employs for protection seem metaphoric. (He mentioned his estranged wife's name only once, when referencing her Cambodia movie, First They Killed My Father, telling me, “You should see Angie's film.”) The loneliness of this new life, he said, is mitigated by Jacques, who spent most of the interview beached in a narcoleptic reverie at my feet, snoring and farting. (“Did you ever have the uncle that came over with emphysema, and had to sleep in your room when you were 6?” he says. “That's Jacques.” And then: “Come here, boy. Friends for life!”)

When I ask Pitt what gives him the most comfort these days, he says, “I get up every morning and I make a fire. When I go to bed, I make a fire, just because—it makes me feel life. I just feel life in this house.”

GQ Style: Let's go back to the start. What was it like growing up where you grew up? Brad Pitt: Well, it was Springfield, Missouri, which is a big place now, but we grew up surrounded by cornfields—which is weird because we always had canned vegetables. I never could figure that one out! Anyway, ten minutes outside of town, you start getting into forests and rivers and the Ozark Mountains. Stunning country.

Did you have a Huck Finn boyhood? Half the time. Half the time, yeah.

How so? I grew up in caves. We had a lot of caves, fantastic caverns. And we grew up First Baptist, which is the cleaner, stricter, by-the-book Christianity. Then, when I was in high school, my folks jumped to a more charismatic movement, which got into speaking in tongues and raising your hands and some goofy-ass shit.

So were you there for speaking in tongues? Yeah, come on. I'm not even an actor yet, but I know… I mean the people, I know they believe it. I know they're releasing something. God, we're complicated. We're complicated creatures.

So acting came out of what you saw in these revival meetings? Well, people act out. But as a kid, I was certainly drawn to stories—beyond the stories that we were living and knew, stories with different points of view. And I found those stories in film, especially. Different cultures and lives so foreign to mine. I think that was one of the draws that propelled me into film. I didn't know how to articulate stories. I'm certainly not a good orator, sitting here telling a story, but I could foster them in film.

I remember going to a few concerts, even though we were told rock shows are the Devil, basically. Our parents let us go, they weren't neo about it. But I realized that the reverie and the joy and exuberance, even the aggression, I was feeling at the rock show was the same thing at the revival. One is Jimmy Swaggart and one is Jerry Lee Lewis, you know? One's God and one's Devil. But it's the same thing. It felt like we were being manipulated. What was clear to me was “You don't know what you're talking about—”

And it didn't fuck you up? No, it didn't fuck me up—it just led to some eating questions at a young age.

The best actors blur into their characters, but given how well the world knows you, it seems you have a much harder time blurring these days? I have so much attached to this facade. [gestures]

But then, in War Machine, you find the little gesture that makes the Glen McMahon character ours. Like the way he runs, which is hilarious. The run to me was important because it was about the delusion of your own grandeur, not knowing what you really look like. All pencil legs, you know. Not being able to connect reality to this facade of grandeur.

The other equally distinctive characteristic is Glen's voice. Where did it come from? You know, it's a little bit of a cliché, but I just enjoyed it too much: There's, you know, of course, Patton in it. But I could not get Sterling Hayden out of my mind. I'm just fascinated with Sterling Hayden, off-camera, between films, and I couldn't escape that. There's even a little bit of Chris Farley in mannerisms. And then Kiefer Sutherland in Monsters vs. Aliens, you know, doing the cartoon voice. It just wouldn't go anywhere else; it kept coming back there.

Have you ever felt the need to be more political? I can help in other ways. I can help by getting movies out with certain messages. I've got to be moved by something—I can't fake it. I grew up with that Ozarkian mistrust of politics to begin with, so I just do better building a house for someone in New Orleans or getting certain movies to the screen that might not get made otherwise.

You're good at playing that kind of character, the one that doesn't have a truly accurate vision of himself. It makes me laugh. Any of my foibles are born from my own hubris. Always, always. Anytime. I famously step in shit—at least for me it seems pretty epic. I often wind up with a smelly foot in my mouth. I often say the wrong thing, often in the wrong place and time. Often. In my own private Idaho, it's funny as shit. I don't have that gift. I'm better speaking in some other art form. I'm trying to get better. I'm really trying to get better.

And the movie really pokes at this, too, right—America's hubris? When I get in trouble it's because of my hubris. When America gets in trouble it's because of our hubris. We think we know better, and this idea of American exceptionalism—I think we're exceptional in many ways, I do, but we can't force it on others. We shouldn't think we can. How do we show American exceptionalism? By example. It's the same as being a good father. By exemplifying our tenets and our beliefs, freedom and choice and not closing borders and being protectionists. But that's another issue. You want me to tell you something really sad? I thought this was so sad. We were looking at—let me say, a certain war film that was looking to promote itself. The European posters had the American flag in the background, and it came back from the marketing department: “Remove the flag. It's not a good sell here.” I was, like, Man, that's America. That's what we've done to our brand.

You've played characters in pain. What is pain, emotional and physical? Yeah, I'm kind of done playing those. I think it was more pain tourism. It was still an avoidance in some way. I've never heard anyone laugh bigger than an African mother who's lost nine family members. What is that? I just got R&B for the first time. R&B comes from great pain, but it's a celebration. To me, it's embracing what's left. It's that African woman being able to laugh much more boisterously than I've ever been able to.

“For me this period has been about looking at my weaknesses and failures and owning my side of the street.”

When did you have that revelation? What have you been listening to? I've been listening to a lot of Frank Ocean. I find this young man so special. Talk about getting to the raw truth. He's painfully honest. He's very, very special. I can't find a bad one.

And of great irony to me: Marvin Gaye's Here, My Dear [Gaye's touchstone album about divorce]. And that kind of sent me down a road.

Intense. But beautiful—and quite honest.... You know, I just started therapy. I love it, I love it. I went through two therapists to get to the right one.

About These Parks: To choose the locations for this summertime celebration of America’s national parks, Brad Pitt, Ryan McGinley, and GQ Style all collaborated on potential destinations. Pitt requested the lunar dunes of White Sands National Monument. Ryan McGinley had previous experience shooting in the underground labyrinths of Carlsbad Caverns National Park. And we nominated the swamps of Everglades National Park. Then we came together and covered all three over a stretch of eight days in March.

Do you think if the past six months hadn't happened you'd be in this place eventually? That it would have caught up with you? I think it would have come knocking, no matter what.

People call it a midlife crisis, but this isn't the same— No, this isn't that. I interpret a midlife crisis as a fear of growing old and fear of dying, you know, going out and buying a Lamborghini. [pause] Actually—they've been looking pretty good to me lately! [laughs]

There might be a few Lamborghinis in your future! “I do have a Ford GT,” he says quietly. [laughs] I do remember a few spots along the road where I've become absolutely tired of myself. And this is a big one. These moments have always been a huge generator for change. And I'm quite grateful for it. But me, personally, I can't remember a day since I got out of college when I wasn't boozing or had a spliff, or something. Something. And you realize that a lot of it is, um—cigarettes, you know, pacifiers. And I'm running from feelings. I'm really, really happy to be done with all of that. I mean I stopped everything except boozing when I started my family. But even this last year, you know—things I wasn't dealing with. I was boozing too much. It's just become a problem. And I'm really happy it's been half a year now, which is bittersweet, but I've got my feelings in my fingertips again. I think that's part of the human challenge: You either deny them all of your life or you answer them and evolve.

Was it hard to stop smoking pot? No. Back in my stoner days, I wanted to smoke a joint with Jack and Snoop and Willie. You know, when you're a stoner, you get these really stupid ideas. Well, I don't want to indict the others, but I haven't made it to Willie yet.

I'm sure he's out there on a bus somewhere waiting for you. How about alcohol—you don't miss it? I mean, we have a winery. I enjoy wine very, very much, but I just ran it to the ground. I had to step away for a minute. And truthfully I could drink a Russian under the table with his own vodka. I was a professional. I was good.

So how do you just drop it like that? Don't want to live that way anymore.

What do you replace it with? Cranberry juice and fizzy water. I've got the cleanest urinary tract in all of L.A., I guarantee you! But the terrible thing is I tend to run things into the ground. That's why I've got to make something so calamitous. I've got to run it off a cliff.

Do you think that's a thing? I do it with everything, yeah. I exhaust it, and then I walk away. I've always looked at things in seasons, compartmentalized them, I guess, seasons or semesters or tenures or…

Really? So, this is the season of me getting my drink on.… [laughs] Yeah, it's that stupid. “This is my Sid and Nancy season.” I remember that one when I first got out to L.A. It got titled afterwards.

So then, you stop yourself, but how do you—I don't know why this comes to mind but I think of a house—how do you renovate yourself? Yeah, you start by removing all the decor and decorations, I think. You get down to the structure. Wow, we are in some big metaphor here now.… [laughs]

Inside Brad Pitt’s GQ Style Cover Shoot

Metaphors are my life. You strip down to the foundation and break out the mortar. I don't know. For me this period has really been about looking at my weaknesses and failures and owning my side of the street. I'm an asshole when it comes to this need for justice. I don't know where it comes from, this hollow quest for justice for some perceived slight. I can drill on that for days and years. It's done me no good whatsoever. It's such a silly idea, the idea that the world is fair. And this is coming from a guy who hit the lottery, I'm well aware of that. I hit the lottery, and I still would waste my time on those hollow pursuits.

That's the thing about becoming un-numb. You have to stare down everything that matters to you. That's it! Sitting with those horrible feelings, and needing to understand them, and putting them into place. In the end, you find: I am those things I don't like. That is a part of me. I can't deny that. I have to accept that. And in fact, I have to embrace that. I need to face that and take care of that. Because by denying it, I deny myself. I am those mistakes. For me every misstep has been a step toward epiphany, understanding, some kind of joy. Yeah, the avoidance of pain is a real mistake. It's the real missing out on life. It's those very things that shape us, those very things that offer growth, that make the world a better place, oddly enough, ironically. That make us better.

Would there be art without it? Would there be any of this immense beauty that surrounds us? Yeah—immense beauty, immense beauty. And by the way: There's no love without loss. It's a package deal.

Can you describe where you've been living—like, have you been in this house since September? It was too sad to be here at first, so I went and stayed on a friend's floor, a little bungalow in Santa Monica. I crashed over here a little bit, my friend [David] Fincher lives right here. He's always going to have an open door for me, and I was doing a lot of stuff on the Westside, so I stayed at my friend's house on the floor for a month and a half—until I was out there one morning, 5:30, and this surveillance van pulls up. They don't know that I'm up behind a wall, and they pull up—and it's a long story—but it was something more than TMZ, because they got into my friend's computer. The stuff they can do these days.... So I got a little paranoid being there. I decided I had to pick up and come here.

“If I'm not creating something, putting it out there, then I'll just be creating scenarios of fiery demise in my mind.”

How are your days different now? This house was always chaotic and crazy, voices and bangs coming from everywhere, and then, as you see, there are days like this: very…very solemn. I don't know. I think everyone's creative in some way. If I'm not creating something, doing something, putting it out there, then I'll just be creating scenarios of fiery demise in my mind. You know, a horrible end. And so I've been going to a friend's sculpting studio, spending a lot of time over there. My friend [Thomas Houseago] is a serious sculptor. They've been kind. I've literally been squatting in there for a month now. I'm taking a shit on their sanctity.

So you're making stuff? Yeah, I'm making stuff. It's something I've wanted to do for ten years.

Like what? What are you working with? I'm making everything. I'm working with clay, plaster, rebar, wood. Just trying to learn the materials. You know, I surprise myself. But it's a very, very lonely occupation. There's a lot of manual labor, which is good for me right now. A lot of lugging clay around, chopping and moving and cleaning up after yourself. But I surprise myself. Yesterday I wasn't settled. I had a lotta chaotic thoughts—trying to make sense of where we are at this time—and the thing I was doing wasn't controlled and balanced and perfect. It came out chaotic. I find vernacular in what you can make, rather than giving a speech. I find voice there, that I need.

All the bad stuff: Do you use it to tell your story? It just keeps knocking. I'm 53 and I'm just getting into it. These are things I thought I was managing very well. I remember literally having this thought a year, a year and a half ago, someone was going through some scandal. Something crossed my path that was a big scandal—and I went, “Thank God I'm never going to have to be a part of one of those again.” I live my life, I have my family, I do my thing, I don't do anything illegal, I don't cross anyone's path. What's the David Foster Wallace quote? Truth will set you free, but not until it's done with you first.

Is the sculpting a Sisyphean thing: rolling the rock up the hill, action obliterating all thoughts? [Jacques interrupts, nuzzling] I know you've been lonely. I know you've been lonely....

I find it the opposite. Well, I guess so, in that there's a task at hand. You have to wrap your stuff up at night and bring order back to your chaos for the next day. I find it a great opportunity for the introspection. Now you have to be real careful not to go too far that way and get cut off in that way. I'm really good at cutting myself off, and it's been a problem. I need to be more accessible, especially to the ones I love.

When you go dark, do you retreat, disconnect? I don't know how to answer that. I certainly shield. Shield, shield, shield. Mask, escape. Now I think: That's just me.

You were talking about the Glen character in War Machine and the idea of delusion, that we have to create our own mythologies, our own stories, to explain the things we're not proud of. At a real cost to ourselves.

How do you not delude yourself? I worry about that— You don't have to worry about it. [laughs] Delusion is not going to let you go. You're going to get smacked in the face. We, as humans, construct such mousetrap mind games to get away from it all. You know, we're almost too smart for ourselves.

Okay. But if you had a slideshow of all your worst moments as a human, you wouldn't want anyone to see that slideshow. The way you've had to live for years, that slideshow has been public. But so little of it is accurate, and I avoid so much of it. I just let it go. It's always been a long-run game for me. As far as out there, I hope my intentions and work will speak for themselves. But, yes, at the same time, it is a drag to have certain things drug out in public and misconstrued. I worry about it more for my kids, being subjected to it, and their friends getting ideas from it. And of course it's not done with any kind of delicacy or insight—it's done to sell. And so you know the most sensational sells, and that's what they'll be subjected to, and that pains me. I worry more in my current situation about the slideshow my kids have. I want to make sure it's well-balanced.

“People on their deathbeds don't talk about what they obtained. They talk about their loved ones or their regrets—that seems to be the menu.”

How do you make sense of the past six months and keep going? Family first. People on their deathbeds don't talk about what they obtained or were awarded. They talk about their loved ones or their regrets—that seems to be the menu. I say that as someone who's let the work take me away. Kids are so delicate. They absorb everything. They need to have their hand held and things explained. They need to be listened to. When I get in that busy work mode, I'm not hearing. I want to be better at that.

When you begin making a family, I think you hope to create another family that is some ideal mix of the best of what you had and what you feel you didn't have— I try to put these things in front of them, hoping they'll absorb it and that it will mean something to them later. Even in this place, they won't give a shit about that little bust over there or that light. They won't give a shit about that inlay, but somewhere down the road it will mean something—I hope that it will soak in.

It's a different world, too. We know more, we're more focused on psychology. I come from a place where, you know, it's strength if we get a bruise or cut or ailment we don't discuss it, we just deal with it. We just go on. The downside of that is it's the same with our emotion. I'm personally very retarded when it comes to taking inventory of my emotions. I'm much better at covering up. I grew up with a Father-knows-best/war mentality—the father is all-powerful, super strong—instead of really knowing the man and his own self-doubt and struggles. And it's hit me smack in the face with our divorce: I gotta be more. I gotta be more for them. I have to show them. And I haven't been great at it.

Do you know, specifically, logistically when you have the kids? Yeah. We're working at that now.

It must be much harder when visitation is uncertain— It was all that for a while. I was really on my back and chained to a system when Child Services was called. And you know, after that, we've been able to work together to sort this out. We're both doing our best. I heard one lawyer say, “No one wins in court—it's just a matter of who gets hurt worse.” And it seems to be true, you spend a year just focused on building a case to prove your point and why you're right and why they're wrong, and it's just an investment in vitriolic hatred. I just refuse. And fortunately my partner in this agrees. It's just very, very jarring for the kids, to suddenly have their family ripped apart.

That's what I was going to ask— If anyone can make sense of it, we have to with great care and delicacy, building everything around that.

How do you tell your kids? Well, there's a lot to tell them because there's understanding the future, there's understanding the immediate moment and why we're at this point, and then it brings up a lot of issues from the past that we haven't talked about. So our focus is that everyone comes out stronger and better people—there is no other outcome.

“I know I'm just in the middle of this thing now—not at the beginning or at the end, just smack-dab in the middle. And I don't want to dodge any of it.”

And the fact that you guys are pointing toward that—that clearly doesn't always happen. If you ended up in court, it would be a spectacular nightmare. Spectacular. I see it everywhere. Such animosity and bitterly dedicating years to destroying each other. You'll be in court and it'll be all about affairs and it'll be everything that doesn't matter. It's just awful, it looks awful. One of my favorite movies when it came out was There Will Be Blood, and I couldn't figure out why I loved this movie, I just loved this movie, besides the obvious talent of Paul T. and, you know, Daniel Day. But the next morning I woke up, and I went, Oh, my God, this whole movie is dedicated to this man and his hatred. It's so audacious to make a movie about it, and in life I find it just so sickening. I see it happen to friends—I see where the one spouse literally can't tell their own part in it, and is still competing with the other in some way and wants to destroy them and needs vindication by destruction, and just wasting years on that hatred. I don't want to live that way.

What in the past week has given you immense joy? Can you feel that right now? It's an elusive thing. It's been a more painful week than normal—just certain things have come up—but I see joy out the window, and I can see the silhouette of palms and an expression on one of my kids' faces, a parting smile, or finding some, you know, moment of bliss with the clay. You know, it's everywhere, it's got to be found. It's the laughter of the African mother in my experience—it's got to come from the blues, to get R&B. That'll be in my book.

Are you going to write a book? No! I find writing too arduous.

But do you worry about the narrative others have written for you? What did Churchill say? History will be kind to me: I know because I'll write it myself. I don't really care about protecting the narrative. That's when I get a bit pessimistic, I get in my oh-it-all-goes-away-anyway kind of thinking. But I know the people who love me know me. And that's enough for me.

Do you remember your dreams? Yeah. A few months ago I was having frightening dreams and I'd consciously lie awake trying to ask, What can I get out of this? What can I learn from this? Those ceased. And now I have been having moments of joy, and you wake and realize it's just a dream, and I get a bit depressed for the moment. Just the moment, just glimpse moments of joy because I know I'm just in the middle of this thing now and I'm not at the beginning of it or at the end of it, just where this chapter is right now, just smack-dab in the middle. It's fucking in the middle of it and, you know, I just don't want to dodge any of it. I just want to stand there, shirt open, and take my hits and see, and see.

There's obviously incredible grief. This is like a death— Yeah.

There's a process— Yeah, I think for everyone, for the kids, for me, absolutely.

So is there an urge to try to— The first urge is to cling on.

Then? And then you've got a cliché: “If you love someone, set them free.” Now I know what it means, by feeling it. It means to love without ownership. It means expecting nothing in return. But it sounds good written. It sounds good when Sting sings it. It doesn't mean fuck-all to me until, you know—

Until you can embody it. Until you live it. That's why I never understood growing up with Christianity—don't do this, don't do that—it's all about don'ts, and I was like how the fuck do you know who you are and what works for you if you don't find out where the edge is, where's your line? You've got to step over it to know where it is.

For the photo shoot you went to three national parks in a week. It sounds like a boondoggle. What's the definition of a boondoggle?

I think of it as a sort of ridiculous adventure— Sounds very Ozarkian. Like something I should know but I don't. Yeah, it was great. Ryan [McGinley, the photographer] had us jumping in the Everglades, you know, like gators. I figured, Well, if they do it on Naked and Afraid, I can do it. But they had the old wrangler, he's got his snake pole and it's got this grabber, like something Grandma would use to pick something off the top shelf, but fine. He took a little walk-through, and if he didn't get eaten, then reportedly I wouldn't get eaten. At least that was the logic behind it all, but he said to me, “When you get to be my age, never pass up a bathroom. Never trust a fart. And never waste a boner.”

Whoa. Then White Sands? I've never seen anything like it. I mean the dunes are so sculptural and modern and simple and vast and just incredible shapes. To see them white and reflecting white—the sky's actually darker than that ground. It's an odd, beautiful place.

And then the third? We did Carlsbad Caverns. If we're going to do a celebrity shoot, let's make something, work with an artist, see what we come up with. It's always more interesting.

After all this, do you feel constrained as an actor in some ways? No, I don't really think of myself much as an actor anymore. It takes up so little of my year and my focus. Film feels like a cheap pass for me, as a way to get at those hard feelings. It doesn't work anymore, especially being a dad.

On the pie chart, what is acting? Acting would be very small slice.

Do you see yourself as having been successful? I wish I could just change my name.

Come out as a new person? Like P. Diddy. I can be Puffy now or—what is Snoop? Lion? I just felt like Brad was a misnomer, and now I just feel like fucking Brad.

What other name would you have put on yourself? Nothing. When outside success comes, the thing I've enjoyed the most is when there's a personal discovery in it. But when I find it repetitious or painfully boring, it's absolute death to me.

When you're talking, you kinda rub your thumb against your fingers a lot—it's just an observation. I don't know. I'm tactile—I'm a tactile individual. “I like to feel things up,” he said. [laughs]

Yeah, in high school he was the boy voted most likely to— To feel you up. [laughs] I don't know, I guess it's back to feeling. I think I spent a lot of time avoiding feelings and building structures, you know, around feelings. And now I have no time left for that.

When is the acting still exciting? I would say more in comedic stuff, where you're taking gambles. I can turn out the hits over and over and I just—my favorite movie is the worst-performing film of anything I've done, The Assassination of Jesse James. If I believe something is worthy, then I know it will be worthy in time to come. And there are times I get really cynical, you know. I spend a lot of time on design and even this sculpture folly I'm on, I have days when—it all ends up in the dirt anyways: What's the point? So I go through that cycle, too, you know? What's the point?

Oh man, that's a big question. I know what the point is—it's communicating, it's connecting. I believe we're all cells in one body; we're all part of the same construct. Although a few of us are cancerous. It's helping others. Yeah, we help each other, that's it.

So what's on the agenda later? I'm anxious to get to the studio. I think it was Picasso who talked about the moment of looking at the subject, and paint hitting canvas, and that is where art happens. For me I'm having a moment of getting to feel emotion at my fingertips. But to get that emotion to clay—I just haven't cracked the surface. And I don't know what's coming. Right now I know the manual labor is good for me, getting to know the expansiveness and limitations of the materials. I've got to start from the bottom, I've got to sweep my floor, I've got to wrap up my shit at night, you know?

A metaphor again. But it works. Right now I've got to hammer my own nails.

Michael Paterniti is a GQ correspondent. This is his first piece for GQ Style.

This story appears in the Summer 2017 issue of GQ Style with the title “Monumental.””

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