#holyrots: marco.

[guttersniper]

@holyrots as marco said: "what happened to your head?"

the passion.

the contusion marring the side of his face, from left cheek to temple, is evidence of a struggle. earlier, before he'd cleaned it with some rusty water from a shitty public restroom's neglected faucet, it had been dappled with small red dots, blood pushing through the broken skin like a rash.

" brick, " he answers plain, as if he were lamely answering good to someone inquiring how his day had been.

[choicescreen]

@holyrots

she nudges his shoulder. in-between her index and middle finger, a seldom-shared recipe for chocolate babka on a piece of scrap paper – the exchange reminds her of high school.

[vitalphenomena]

@holyrots // asked for: 🎁

"I'm sorry you can't stay."

[tellwolves]

@holyrots

she knocks three times -- something she's subconsciously done since she was little, when she used to sing the appropriately titled tony orlando and dawn song with her sister and uncle.

she softly sings a snatch under her breath, " oh, my sweetness (thump, thump, thump!), means you'll meet me in the hallway, " and she jumps out of her skin when the door opens.

" oh. sorry. victoria, right? your husband -- marco, he invited me. to dinner. it's june. i'm probably too early. "

[10ccs]

@holyrots​ said: “hi kiddo.” 

it’s been a couple weeks since he’s seen marco. sam does this often—retreating into himself, into the dark, solitary place that heroin coaxes you into. sometimes he doesn’t realize how much time has passed until someone asks him where he’s been. 

today, though, he’s actually outdoors. he figures a little vitamin d might do him some good. 

he looks up at marco, squinting at the sun until he pulls his sunglasses down. that’s better. 

“hey, old man.” 

[poetfilm]

handwriting meme.

choose a font from here which closest resembles your character's handwriting and write their name.

alice harmon. i have thought very deeply about how she writes. i think it might actually be a bit messier and far less legible, so this is just what it looks like with effort. but it would always be swooshy with elongated capital letters.

tagged by: @sopineun, thank youuuuuu!

tagging: um anyone who hasn't already done this. idk who has done this yet. but let's go with @eueclid (for conor uwu), @strangewonderful (for andiebug), @entriprises (for spock), @holyrots (for marco + a little bonus if you want to assign whatever emojis xeno would use to sign stuff), @b1uedcollar (for cody).

some bonus ones under the cut .... because i do think about this way more than i need to.

jack rabbit. yeah i actually do think he writes like this. there's no real explanation for that.

noley i mean mr movie star himself. he did practice this for many years.

lozzie i mean lizzie i mean lizard. probably spent some time with noah when they were kids just practicing their fancy signatures. hers is also way messier than this.

nepo boyfriend i mean roswell. this one is not officially a "font" but something my best friend wrote because he has good penmanship and we had a vision.

honourable mentions:

i think ellie's writing is completely unreadable to the human eye. the only person who knows how to read it is jamie, but he struggles too.

jamie writes like a 12 year old boy because i think that's the age he stopped putting effort in.

iris might not even have a signature. i'm sure they know how to write and would if they cared to, but they don't. fabian writes everything for them.

janey has a normal-ish signature that gets progressively more threatening and less readable as time goes by.

jodie adds little stars to everything they write. sometimes it's more prominent than the actual words.

[nitebit]

@holyrots​

“ I’m better. I promise. ”   And she does look better, at least.  Bunny always looks her best when she starts to use again. Those first days are like bliss,  but Marco doesn’t need to know that. He just needs to know she’s better,  because she is. 

[redrighthanded-blog1]

iiiiiin other news, in addition to finally having put levi’s current arc to writing, i’ve also started working on a more detailed list of his relationships.

though there are other roles i’d love to see filled in his life that have yet been put onto the list (contacts and colleagues both from marco’s own firm and other crime families/gangs, contacts within law enforcement agencies or other government organizations, rivals both on the criminal side of things and on law enforcement's side, people to question his authority, people to support his authority, romantic/sexual interest, childhood friends and, possibly, more -- i’ll make a proper list of things eventually), if anyone is ever interested in taking over any of the characters listed as npcs (do take note that some of the characters on that list are already been portrayed by the lovely @holyrots) or, alternatively, work something out in regards to their characters’ relationship with levi as to be put onto his relationships page, i would very much appreciate it and be open to discussing both short and long term plots!!

[guttersniper]

@holyrots as marco said: “in many ways, i feel as though you were my own son.”

the graduate.

mutt feels his swallow stick so sharply he can hear it. a concentrated effort occurs behind his walls to look nothing out of the ordinary. he doesn't rise to follow through on whatever defensive impulse strikes.

"and you're fine with me not calling you my dad." it isn't a question. he has to be, or. or.

[guttersniper]

@holyrots as marco said: a ‘ just to say i love you ’ hug third time lucky… this is simple it’s just marco… maybe after harry makes the (fake) legal adoption papers and marco shows them to mutt for the first time??

hug prompts.

marco's right hand comes to take his small shoulder – though wiry with accumulated sinew, strengthed further still by steady diet – and begins to knead soft at the tendon. he asks him a question, mutt can tell by the intonation, but he can't make out the words. in response, he hums a half-committed noise of agreement.

he takes in the papers one, two, three times. they're not real, he reminds himself. but they are, somehow. he has been many things to many different people. all those identities. those had all been real, even if he changed so many things about himself in order to craft something believeable. they were still nestled within him, and always would be. the good. the bad.

daniel valdez is just another one of these. to an untrained ear, it sounds harsh. appears like he isn't handling this with the depth it needs, that it makes him feel, seeing it in official print. in his heart, he'd always be mutt. he’d always want to be called as such. he'd said so to marco.

marco pulls him closer, holding him at his side as if there was velcro there. he gives him a gentle shake, then rubs his hand up and down his shoulder. mutt doesn't move to wrap his arms around him, nor does he move away. baby steps, so they say.

[guttersniper]

@holyrots as marco said: "you're a good boy."

the night ship.

he's watching the coffee drip into the pot from its place on the counter, head cushioned by his linked arms on the tabletop. sometimes, he straightens, leans just enough to peek into the living room, and makes sure xeno is okay. when he's seen that he is, he goes back to how he was before.

marco's comment manages to catch him off guard. a warm flush diffuses from the tips of mutt's ears to the sharp cuts of his cheekbones. his teeth worry at his lower lip, though he's careful not to press too hard, feeling the raw place of the half-healed split.

" you think -- when he wakes up, d'you think he'll be pissed at me? " 

[choicescreen]

@holyrots as marco said: "would you come to my house and have dinner with me and my family?"

mississippi masala.

-- the creamer's exchange from the freezer to her small cart is slowed. it quietly clatters against the steel, finally.

just like that? she's always envied extroverts for the ease they propose these sort of things. happen to be grocery shopping at the same time as someone you know? invite them to dinner, on a whim! she has to keep from looking over her shoulder in some mild deer-in-headlights not-quite-panic.

" got nothing else to do. "

[guttersniper]

@holyrots as marco said: ‘hey, look who’s up.’

the old guard.

mutt stops, breath congealing in his nose, like something wild and untamed hearing a noise that is not their own. he's got a cottonmouth, and his eyes are still adjusting. they feel heavy and tight in a way he's decided he doesn't like.

he exhales, releasing the captive breath. he turns his wrist, squinting slightly at his watch's display. good, he thinks, not so late. it should be of some note that the apartment is half-grey in the way an interior only can be in the earliest stage of sunrise. the other bedroom doors had still been shut.

he swallows, gazing up at marco with a scarce-blinking look. he's chosen to read it as a warning. " i'll get up earlier. "

[guttersniper]

@holyrots as marco said: “you're a good boy.”

the night ship.

" stop. " the sharp retort is near to reflexive in bite. it's not the stop that comes from being pleasantly caught off guard by kind words.

his shoulders narrow defensively toward his chest, as though he's fighting to keep something his and his alone. from his side profile, his jaw bunches and tightens, and he avoids looking at marco.

[guttersniper]

@inrovina + @holyrots said: marco and victoria have prepared a stocking for mutt — knitted by victoria — to open in the morning. it is filled with an assortment of wrapped gifts within, including candy, a new paperback, a hat and a deck of playing cards. that isn’t all. later, after a hearty meal with the whole family, marco presents mutt with another gift — a new pair of sturdy boots, custom made to fit the kid like a glove. “look here,” he says, pointing to the opening of the boot. on the inside, a name is already sewn: mutt. “they’re all yours.” victoria smiles at them both before handing mutt the next wrapped gift — a warm winter coat with fleece lining. “and this is to match, to keep you nice and cosy while the snow’s falling outside. we were hoping you could wear it later, if you’d like to join us for a walk in the park.” an annual tradition, back when it was just the two of them. they’d like mutt there with them too, now.

xeno makes a beeline for mutt the second he bursts into marco and victoria’s apartment. “mutt!” there is a big wrapped gift in his arms, an all-too-obvious shape. “please, please you gotta open this now — you have no idea how hard it is to keep secrets from you — i mean, shit—“ he sets the large present down (it is clearly a big canvas, but in all actuality contains a set of multiple canvases in varying sizes) and pulls the next present out of his backpack. “these, as well.” inside the snowman wrapping paper is a set of acrylic paints. “ta-da! and there’s me. well, i just mean—if you want lessons. or. anything. like, we can do art workshops. together. or not. hey, do you like them? is this okay? did i get it right?”

wesley makes a quieter entrance into the apartment, closing the front door with stitch at his heel. he waits to approach until xeno has chilled out and finished with his energetic gift giving session, scurrying off into the kitchen to say hi to marco and victoria. wesley comes over to mutt with a tentative smile on his face, careful to not overwhelm. “hi, mutt. i’ve got something for you, too. one of them was impossible to wrap. the other you can open later, if you want.” he offers up the first present — a small potted houseplant. “for your room here, i thought. it's propagated from one of mine.” the second present, the one successfully wrapped, contains a framed photo: it’s a photograph wesley took, of mutt with xeno, marco and victoria, none of the subjects aware of the picture being taken. it’s a family portrait.

give mutt gifts!

to say that this is a new experience for mutt would be an overwhelming understatement. his thanks are simple, bewildered by the length of the gift-giving session. one thing after another. when he thought it was over, another came his way. it makes his own gifts to them feel small and paltry by comparison.

having a room that belongs to him, that is the oddest of all. he still has trouble referring to it as that. as he held up the coat against his body in the privacy of his room, testing to see how it would hang on his body for the second, third, maybe fourth, time, he wondered how he was going to tell them, in an understandable way, that he can't just get rid of his old coat and boots like that.

it isn't that easy. there's still some use in them. he'll use them until he absolutely can't any more. it is nice, though, and just as new, that he's got these replacements. doesn't have to worry about going out and finding them. he'll take good care of them until then, but he'll wear the coat out, today, so that they can see him in it. not for his ego, a word that doesn't even sound right when associated with him, but for their sake.

he promised xeno they'd paint together sometime. mutt likes that, the idea of doing something alongside a friend. not being pressured to talk or feel like they should do the same thing. just existing beside each other, doing their own things. knowing that the other person is there. maybe even enjoying his company, if such a thing could be true.

he's already started the book -- mass-market, small but thick, regarded as classic historical fiction -- when wesley approaches him. his skinny scarred-bruised legs are under him, socked heels pressing into the sinew of his thighs at the back. the house is quieter, though a soulful christmas tune spins around on the record player, and he can faintly hear someone rummaging around in the kitchen. the book folds over his thumb, then he decides he needs to set it aside. he tucks the scrap piece of paper he's using as a bookmark inside.

his voice comes out low and faintly hoarse as always. he smiles in his toothless way, hesitant but genuine. " thank you. " the wrapped gift will be opened later, again when he's left alone. the pot is placed on the empty windowsill, angled just so to get proper sunlight.

marco calls for them. stitch runs to gather them, panting excitedly. mutt stands after putting his old boots back on. pulling on his new coat, he can't remember the last time he had something that fit so well. " c'mon. "

[redrighthanded-blog1]

MAYBE THINGS WILL BE BETTER IN CHICAGO FIRST ARC / JANUARY 2019 - CURRENT

The time is February 2019 and though as prosperous as ever, the Bianchi crime family of west Chicago finds itself, for the first time in the past five years, in serious trouble. Juggling their roles as mediators and peacekeepers among themselves and other Chicago-based criminal enterprises[1], rulers of the west-side night life[2], arms dealers, hard-drug-boycotters and many individuals’ indirect line of communication with city officials[3] -- it would appear, at least to some, that the family has bitten off more than it can chew or that they are, at least, growing too powerful for comfort. Between your run-of-the-mill protection racket, the profits they make off the sales of illegal firearms (which are occasionally imported through New York), the respectable percentage they take off of any payment made to one of their contacts within the municipality and the less-impressive-but-still-significant profit stemming from the clubs (namely used for money laundering), combined with their self-proclaimed role as peacekeepers and the persistent insistence (and strict enforcement thereof) that hard drugs be kept off their streets -- someone out there, an unnamed-as-of-yet rival, has decided the Bianchi family and Marco, in particular, must be put in their place.

On the morning of January 28th, 2019, Antonio Bianchi, New York resident and long-time employee of the New York Port Authority, at the tender young age of thirty, was found dead at the Red Hook Terminal, one bullet in his throat and another in his head. Tony, the only son of Marco’s deceased older brother, was both raised and treated to the day of his death as though he were a son of Marco’s.

As of mid-February, the assailant’s identity remains a mystery and, with every day that they remain at large, the family’s authority and sense of power are being increasingly questioned and put to the test. Apart of Marco’s own, personal loss: Tony’s work with the Port Authority played a big role in what allowed the family to import firearms from Russia and the Middle East via New York; his death, both as a Bianchi and as a corrupt contact of the family’s, sends a clear message: not only are the Bianchis themselves being targeted, but their business enterprises are as well. With Tony out of the picture, arms dealing has come to a near-complete-halt, the family bleeding money in an attempt to keep their customers both happy and loyal with either finding new sources from which to purchase their firearms or by paying compensations to customers left unsatisfied and unserved. Their reluctant allies within other crime families who have, up until recent, trusted the Bianchis with maintaining the underworld’s fragile status-quo, are beginning to question the family’s ability to do so; businesses under their protection are beginning to question their ability to do so.

With Marco caught between business and family, between his own personal grief at Tony’s loss, his newfound and immediate need to keep his two children[4] safe and, naturally, trying to maintain an air of calm and control among both his own men and those of his allies -- his right-hand man, Levi, finds himself sucked into a whirlwind of attempting to assure customers, contacts within the municipality and neighboring crime families alike that everything remains as-is; that the Bianchi family is still very much in-charge and capable of conducting its business as usual, while simultaneously working to identify and apprehend Tony’s killer. Having been at Marco’s side every waking moment for the past five years, he is respected and recognized by most as the boss-man’s emissary, his words taken as though they were Marco’s own; though some, even if not many, still question his authority.

[1] the Romano family, the Wu family, the Spanish Cobras and the Gangster Disciples. [2] Marco Bianchi himself is the owner of the Tunnel, Circle Eight and the Green Door -- all prominent clubs within the Chicago nightlife scene, all located in western Chicago. De-facto, they are all managed by his firstborn son, Luca. [3] the Bianchis have paid contacts within the city’s Public Building Commission, the Civilian Office of Police Accountability, the CPD within itself, the Planning & Development Department, the Inspector General’s office and, until recent, the New York Port Authority (see main post for more on the latter). [4] soon to be available on/portrayed by the incredibly talented @holyrots!