#it's a pain in the ass and somehow i gotta finish it by monday

[romanarose]

Seattle: Chapter 5

Marc Spector X fem! OC

Seattle Masterlist

Part 4 : Part 6

Summary: Rebecca and Marc travel back to Chicago for a funeral, Rebecca and Marc face people from their past, together.

Warnings: References to domestic violence, sexual assault via condom tampering, references to child abuse, shown child abuse (aggressive behavior/manhandling/pain inflicted on teenagers), mentions of miscarriage, inflicting miscarriage, siblings being siblings, victim blaming, Marc and Rebecca are in a bit of a fight, Rebecca got some anger she gotta work on.

Not proof read, this literally took me hours I'm so tired of looking at it

This picture is just so cute asdfgjkl look how mad he is, he’s pouting watching the others fight knowing he’s not supposed to intervene

A/N got my groove back, last chapter sucked ass, this is much better. the flashbacks have tie in with the present, top tier

**********

“Mac, I told you 1000 times you didn’t have to come”

It had been nearly two months at this point. Two months of divorce paper work and filing complaints with the court, getting medical and police records. Jack’s calls and texts to Becca had become none-stop, to the point where the courts ordered all phone communication to go through Matty. No protection or restraining order was granted, however the judge seemed to think Jack “wasn’t an immediate threat”. It still seemed like Rebecca would be granted the divorce and a settlement, Matt and Foggy were good at their job, but the male judge still seemed to take things easy on Jack, despite the overwhelming evidence.

“Oh, yeah, sure, and leave you to deal with him alone? Yeah Beccs, I’m definitely gonna do that” Marc rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “And I told you, that you don’t have to go in the first place.” After several decade of drinking and poor health, Rebecca’s dad died of a heart attack. Marc knew better than most that this does not bring the relief that many might think, but it doesn’t bring the sorrow you’d expect from the death of a parent. It brings both, and it’s confusing as hell. He tried to tell her she didn’t have to go to the funeral or the shiva, but she insisted she had too. Rebecca had lost years to Jack, years of traditions and faith, Marc assumed this was part of her reclaiming it.

Problem was, Jack was going too. Asa invited him. Rebecca refused to tell Asa the brunt of what happened, Marc figured this was out of pride, or embarrassment, but either way, Asa had taken Jack's side in the divorce, as had much of the family. Still, for whatever reason, Rebecca had decided it was her duty to go and help. She had already insta-carted groceries she’d need to feed the family after services. Rebecca wasn’t observing the complete shiva, no she couldn’t take her family that long. Funeral was the evening of their flight, which left at 6 in the fucking morning, then one day of shiva with everyone, Sunday, they’d get lunch with Elias, and her and Marc might spend some time at their old stomping grounds, then head home monday in time for Steven to teach his evening class, and Rebecca would finish out the shiva in her own way. ‘In and out’ she had said, like it was a fucking heist. Somehow, this was more intimidating than any mission he had been on before. Chicago, his dad, her dad, Jack, Asa… it was all overwhelming. Hey mate, I’ll be here, yeah? I can fake your accent pretty well. Maybe not for dad, but enough to get by with the shiva, so it’s too much, let me take over, yeah?

I’ll be fine, Steven, thanks

Marc.

He sighed. Yeah, okay, I’ll let you take the body if I need it.

And just talk to her. She understands. She loves you.

I need to be here for her

I know, but she’s still embarrassed. Allowing her to help you, will help her too. She wants to repay you

She doesn’t have too-

I know, but she wanted to.

“I know you don’t want to come. I can handle Jack and Asa by myself” She insisted, breaking Marc out of his thoughts.

Marc scoffs, they’ve had this argument 100 the last few days since Asa called to tell her her dad passed. “Yeah, right, and leave you to get back together with Jack” He rolled his eyes as he kept walking straight ahead. When he didn’t hear her voice telling him to fuck off, like she had several times since they had been… are they fighting? He turned around to find her glaring at him, arms crossed. He sighs, the bustle of the airport terminal suddenly very loud. “What?”

“That was a dick thing to say” she pointed at him. “And you fucking know it.” Behind her anger was genuine hurt, and Marc didn’t like to see her hurt.

“I’m sorry.”

She softened, but was still on edge. “It’s fine Marc, just… if you’re coming with me, you need to try and behave, or I will not hesitate to kick you out of the shiva.” She was dead serious as she continued walking to their flight. Fuck, Marc needed coffee. He turned to the Starbucks and got in line with Rebecca.

“I know you will, baby” He smirked a bit. “You might be the most terrifying girl I’ve dated.”

“Am I really scarier than Layla?” She asked, smiling at him, then ordering for both of them.

“Hm” he pretended to think it over. “You both have crazy eyes, let's call it a tie”

Marc Elias Spector had been in a lot of situations in his life. Recently, meaning last week, he had agreed to being the avatar for an Egyptian god, because it was slightly better than death. Slightly. But as he sat in Rebecca’s living room with her and her fiance, he wondered if it was too late to choose the other alternative. 

Jack didn’t like him. That was okay, he didn’t like Jack. He seemed arrogant, smug, harsh. But the worst part is, Rebecca was nervous. When was the last time he saw Becca nervous? She wasn’t even nervous around her dad. But she was nervous around Jack. She got him food and whiskey and whatever he wanted, and Marc couldn’t quite put his finger on how this felt wrong to him. Rebecca was a caretaker, she took care of Asa, she took care of Marc, and she even took care of her dad in the early years. But this… this felt like serving. This felt like watching Rebecca waitress as he waited for her shift to end.

“So Marc,” Jack starts “Becky tells me you work in Cairo, helping with expeditions?” So that's what she told him. Marc eased a bit, a swell of pride in his chest. Marc and Rebecca didn’t have secrets. Jack and her did.

“Yeah” He nods along with her lie seamlessly. “For now anyway. I tend to go where life takes me”

“Is that why you’re here? Work is too unstable, you need somewhere to crash?” It wasn’t so much what Jack said, but how he said it. He was condescending. Pretty rich boy who had everything laid out for him, felt superior to Marc. Did he know Rebecca’s struggles with housing? Did he make her feel bad for it? Or did she keep that part of her life from him? Was she ashamed of her time homeless, or was she ashamed of Marc?”

Marc felt himself flaring with anger, but he looked at Becca, sitting so far away on the other side of the couch. She could feel the tension. For her, he’d play nice. “Nope” He smiled as best he could. “Just wanted to be here for the wedding” he lied through his teeth.

“I bet you do” Jack smiled. Marc smiled. Becca smiled. Marc swore he saw her mouth ‘fuck’

Silence persisted.

Being in Chicago was not one of Marc’s favorite places to be, but it wasn’t one of the worst. Chicago is a major city, the various bullshit odd jobs he worked would bring him there from time to time, and he got used to being in the vicinity, seeing old sights and the familiar culture. This would be slightly more difficult, as Rebecca’s family was in the same neighborhood as his, but as long as he avoided the surrounding streets to his house, he’d be okay. Rebecca would never ask him to enter that area. She didn’t even ask him to come, honestly. Marc was already going to go, of course, but when he found out Jack was attending the services, he wasn’t going to leave Rebecca alone for a second

This had been… tense, the last few days. There had been times the last two months that they bickered, even fought, but it wasn’t bad. She was hurting, she was suffering. She always apologized, even when she didn’t really need to. That was a byproduct of Jack too. Rebecca was proud, always admitting when she was wong, but never when she wasn’t. Marc allowed her to apologize, picking his battles. She was starting to look more like herself again; color coming back in her face, the chemicals fading out of her hair, allowing it to curl again. She even cut it off again and dyed it closer to her natural color again. She was also acting more like herself, the bickering was evidence of that. But the last few days were different. Marc found himself with a bunch of feelings he couldn’t really discern, an anger in him he didn’t feel comfortable with, an anger that seemed to center around her, and he couldn’t place why. 

So he had been distancing himself, not wanting to take his anger out of her in any way, allowing Steven to take the body a majority of the time. Rebecca noticed, but didn’t say anything. He assumed she figured it had to do with going back to Chicago, but there was something else.

When they arrived at Rebecca’s childhood home, he felt the nervousness he often did in their childhood while standing at this very doorstep. Some things never change. 

“Marc.” Carl was standing in the doorway. Maybe it’s the memory being distorted by the haze of the past, or maybe he really was towering over Marc. Carl was always tall, that’s where Becca got it. By the end of puberty, Rebecca was an inch taller than Marc, sanding at 5’10. Marc was always on the shorter side, but at 14 he had barely started his growth spurt. Embarrassingly, people thought Rebecca was his older sister in more than one situation. Right now, Marc wished he was taller, stronger, braver. He wanted to fight for her, stand up to her dad, stand up to his mom… but right now, they were both pretty helpless. The most they could do was be there for each other, and protect each other in school. Rebecca’s grades were significantly better, she helped Marc with school so he could avoid getting whipped when grades came in. Likewise, although they never told people they were dating, Marc’s protective grasp on her shoulders out in public and the way they were attached at the hip generally kept her safe from men at school. At 14, he wasn’t exactly the strongest in the high school, but he had absolutely thrown punches for her before. And for other reasons. And for no reason. Point being, although he wasn’t strong, he was known for being a bit crazy. Psycho was thrown around a lot.

“Hello, Mr. Levi” Marc tried his best to be polite. He had seen what Carl had done to Rebecca, and always tried to avoid that, although he suspected he wouldn’t dare, considering his dad's position in the temple. Marc had always told Rebecca he’d talk to his dad for her, get Rebecca and Asa help, but Rebecca had the martyr complex of a catholic. She rationed that Carl only hurt her, not Asa, and being sent to foster care would absolutely hurt him. It wasn’t Marc’s place to make that choice for her, so he minded his business. “Is Becca home?”

Carl looked at him for a moment, considering the boy. “Yeah, she’s in her room, but I think we should have a talk first.” The tone he used was strangely calm, the tone Wendy used before she hurt Marc, it sent a shiver down his spine, but he was in no position to argue, stepping inside the hallway at Carl’s motioning. “What’s going on with you guys.”

Marc had wondered how long until this conversation happened. Elias and Wendy both teased Marc about her, one more gently than the other, but neither malicious. Wendy mostly referred to her as Marc’s “little girlfriend” on good days, or “That Levi girl” on bad ones. His dad hadn’t exactly given him “the sex talk”, school’s lackluster sex ed had covered most of what Marc knew. Not having friends that weren’t Rebecca really cut into his knowledge on the subject, and his dad certainly didn’t have any hidden porno mags to find, so the barebones basics of public education had to due on the mechanical end. What Elias did give him was a very basic, but very straightforward (and very humiliating) talk on consent. Of course, that wasn’t the word he used, but that was the theme of one of the few talks his dad had given him in regards to being a man, and it had happened after Elias asked what his relationship with Rebecca was last year. With a blushing Marc desperately trying to escape the conversation, insisting they were just friends, Elias told him all that he really needed to know about sex. Make sure sh’s comfortable, make sure she actually wants it. Don’t force, don’t beg, don’t bargain for it. Make sure she’s enjoying herself, and stop if she’s not. Years latter, although Marc could write a book on his dads mistakes, he would always respect his dad for not giving the simple “don’t do it”. Marc had barely ever thought about kids, Layla didn’t want them, and he wasn’t really sure he could do it right, but he knew if he ever did, this was one talk he’d pass down to his son. 

He had a feeling this is not where Carl was going.

Asa opened the door. “Hey Becca” He greeted his sister with a warm hug, and it seemed like the grief may have swept away some tension, at least for now. “Marc” he extended a hand, which Marc shook. “Thanks for coming, it’s nice to see you again.” He sounded sincere, at least.

“You too Asa. I’m sorry for your loss”

Asa smirked, and looked a little more like the preteen Marc knew way back. “No, you’re not, but it’s fine, please, come in.”

Rebecca went right to work with the groceries that were delivered, prepping for the gathering after the funeral. People from the temple would probably drop by, offer condolences, and maybe stop to chat to see what the gossip was on Asa and Rebecca’s lives, but no one really liked Carl, and their family wasn’t that big. Marc could tell she was nervous. Jack was literally only going to be there to piss torment Rebecca and piss off Marc. Men like Jack usually separated their partners from their family, Jack’s method was a bit different. Jack was big on portraying perfection, abusive families and sibling tensions wouldn’t do. Rebecca was forced back into a relationship with her dad and brother. She wasn’t upset about seeing Asa, she counted that as a blessing, but Jack was in total control, stepping into the role Marc occupied before, hence Asa taking Jack’s side in the divorce. They still played video games online regularly, despite not talking to Rebecca since she left, until he called to let her know their dad had a heart attack.

Services went as expected, a jewish funeral despite Carl’s lack of participation in the faith. When he felt Rebecca’s hand squeeze Marc’s hard, he knew that meant she spotted Jack. She remained strong, always so strong, his pillar, his rock. He would be that for her.

Marc didn’t leave her side for a second. She spent most of her time in the kitchen prepping and plating and cooking, not exactly eager to be in the room with her family who all just adored Jack. He watched her angrily cut a cucumber with the aggression of a butcher. “You doing okay Beccs? We can-”

She slammed the knife on the cutting board, and Marc was thankful she couldn’t see him startle. “Marc Spector, suggest we leave again and I’m kicking you out.” She stared at the wall ahead of her. 

“Beccs-”

She turned to him. “Don’t ‘Beccs’ me, Marc, you don’t want to be here, so just go, go back to the hotel, or go back to New York, I don’t fucking care, I’ll deal with this myself.”

He groaned. “Of course I don’t want to be here Rebecca! Nothing good happened her, not in this house, not in this city, nothing, being here brings back bad memories I try my damnest to forget, and I don’t understand why you insist on being here!”

“He’s my dad”

Marc threw up his hands. “I get it, Rebecca! I get it, you’re morally superior to me, you go to your dads funeral, you forgive him after everything he did to you, you forgive Jack, again and again, you’re better than me, I get it”

Marc… mate…

Rebecca stared at him, and Marc braced for a fight, for her to yell at him and for them to bicker like they had been, but instead her face just softened. “Is that why you’ve been so upset this week?”

“Yes” He practically whined out, feeling relief at being able to pinpoint the source of his anger. 

“Honey…” She took his hand. “I’m not blaming you for not going to your mom's shiva… I don’t think I’m better than you. Our lives were very, very different, your relationship with Wendy was very different. You hadn’t even talked to her for, what? A decade? You did what you could, and I don’t blame you for the choices you made. My dad and I… things were more complicated, there was good and bad”

Marc closed his eyes, shaking his head. “There was good with us to, it’s just… it’s hard to separate it from the rest”

Rebecca wrapped her hands around his waist, drawing the man she loved in for a hug, relieved to know where the tension that had surrounded them came from. “Marc, honey, I know. These things will always be complicated. We have to deal with them in our own way. For me, this is closure. Laying it all to rest. For you, it would be letting her win.” She kissed his forehead softly. “I’m so proud of you, I’ve always been so fucking proud of you. You’ve come so far, despite everything, and you’ve done so much of it alone.”

He shook his head as he nestled into her neck, smelling her. “No, not alone. I had you, I had Layla, I had Steven, even if he didn’t know it.”

“Baby, you shouldered so much alone, don’t mitigate how far you’ve come, how strong you are, I’m so, so proud”

They stayed like that for a moment, so lost in the embrace that they didn’t notice anyone enter the room. 

“I expected as much”

Jack

Marc felt felt her rip on his tighten, and he turned her away from where the voice was, putting his body between them.

“What. Is. Going on with you guys?” Carl repeated, when Marc was too scared to answer.

“Nothing sir” He managed to get out, trying not to shake, trying to stand tall and brave.

“You guys aren’t fucking?” 

Looking back, Marc couldn’t fathom every saying that to a 14 year old his daughter was friends with, but Carl had no tact.

“No sir, we’re friends”

Carl laughed at that, putting a hand on Marc’s shoulder. “That’s what they always say”

Wincing at the touch, he put his brave face back on, refusing to back down. “We’re not-ah!” Carl’s grip on his shoulder squeezed down painfully tight, digging into his skill, and all Marc’s mustered bravado dissipated.

“I honestly don’t care, but I ain’t raising another kid”

If Marc was less terrified, he’d laugh at that. Becca raised herself and Asa.

Carl continued. “You get her pregnant, I will kill both of you.” He shoved Marc into a side table, causing Marc to fall down into it, the commission drawing Becca out of her room at the end of the hall.

When she saw Marc on the floor, she quickly ran to him, but was stopped when her dad clamped a hand over her mouth, shoving her against the wall. “I’ll tell you what I told your little boyfriend. You can be a whore all you want, but you get knocked up, you’re both dead. Understood?”

Unable to speak with the hand over her, she simply glared at him, unwilling to give in.

His hold on her face began bruising, making Rebecca yelp. “Is that clear? Or do I have to ask Marc?” 

She glanced over to where Marc was frozen on the floor. She didn’t want him hurt. Rebecca swallowed her pride and nodded. Carl let go, and walked away, mumbling obscenities about Rebecca she didn’t even hear, she was quickly at Marc’s side. “C’mon, let’s go to the library, start on that paper”

“I’m sorry” He muttered as he stood up, shaking from the interaction. 

She helped him stand. “For what?”

“For no stopping him, I wanted to… but I just… I froze” Marc looked down, embarrassed, his masculinity already at a low point, this did not help.

“Marc” She steadied him, forcing him to look her in the eye. “It is not your job to protect me. I can handle myself”

“I know”

But Marc felt like it was his job to protect her, ever since that first act of kindness she shared with him, and he continued to feel that way for the next 2 decades together. As they exited the house, Marc heard steps and turned around, catching Asa watching them leave with a look in his eyes Marc couldn’t read.

Jack was munching on a latke. “Good stuff. You always did like your food.” He punctuated the comment with a glance to her stomach.

Rebecca held Marc back by his shirt. “Jack, let’s not do this”

Asa entered the room. “Do what?” He frowned at Marc, who was clearly postering, gearing up for a fight.

Jack answered. “Rebecca is holding Marc back from fighting me” It wasn’t a lie, but a bit dramatic.

Asa scrubbed his face with his hands. “Fucking hell you two, this is why I didn’t want you to come. It’s always dramatics with you two!”

Marc scoffed. “Dramatics? Asa, you invited your sister's ex-husband-”

“We’re still married,” Jack reminded them.

Marc ignored him. “To your dad shiva, that’s insane! Do you have any idea what he did to her?”

Asa crossed his arms. “I know all about the divorce, Spector, that’s half the reason dad had the heart attack!”

“You’re blaming me for that?”

“YES!” Asa shouted. “It’s always you Marc! Ever since I can remember you’ve caused her problems! Jesus, the amount of time he kicked her stomach because he thought you knocked her up-”

Marc didn’t know that, but when he turned to Rebecca, the guilty look on her face confirmed she had never intended on him finding out.

Jack was smirking, allowing the scene to play out.

Asa continued. “All this time, you constantly fucked her life up, constantly got in the way of things, leading her on, then she finally moves on from you, gets married, and you can’t even let her have that?”

Marc felt like he could burst out of his skin. The suit he had rented was stiff and uncomfortable, the church was way too much. Too hot, too noisy, to crowded. Everything was happening at once. Were christian churches always like this?  He picked at a scab on his arm, cracked his knuckles, and tore at his nails, trying to find something for his fingers to do to calm him, but Christ, when was this supposed to start? He checked his watch. 10 minuets ago. He supposed it was normal for weddings to start late, all the girls needing their hair and make up done, the guys running off to grab one thing or another, everyone probably drunk by this point. Did baptists drink? Yeah, yeah, they did, it was in the services. Wait, no, that was the catholics. Were baptists the ones that did the speaking in tongues? Or was that pentecostals? Or Calvinists? No, Calvinists were the ones with the really bleak outlook. Was Calvinism a religion or a philosophy? Which one was the 19 Kids and Counting people?

Marc was interrupted from his strange thought process by a hand on his shoulder. “Marc?”

It was Asa, all dressed up for his role as a groomsman. Damn, he hadn’t seen the kid in a long time, he really grew up. 

“Hey man” Marc stood up, shaking the hand of the boy he had thought of as a little brother for much of his early life, but who had become a stranger. “Good to see you.”

He nodded, not impressed. “She’s asking for you”

“Who?”

“Who the fuck else do you know here?”

Rude, but the point was made. 

Marc frowned. “Why?”

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Asa practically dragged Marc out of the pew. “I don’t know, but she won’t walk until you talk to her”

Asa dragged him to the door to where Rebecca was, through a sea of bridesmaids and a wedding party he didn’t recognize a face of. Must all be Jack’s friends. 

Marc went to open the door, but Asa stopped him. “Marc, listen. I know we haven't gotten along the last few years, but I need you to do this for me” he was serious, earnest, but Marc was wary, nodding for Asa to continue with his request. “Let her have this” He must have seen the confusion in Marc’s face. “Whatever it is you two have had, it needs to end. At least in the form it’s been in. She cannot keep waiting for you to pop in and out of her life. She needs a new start, and this is it. Jack is good for her, keeps her focused, takes care of her. She has a good life with him. I don’t know what she needs you for but.” Asa closed his eyes and sighed before opening them. “But don’t get in the way of her happiness, Spector. Please, man to man” There was a pleading look in Asa’s eyes.

Marc wondered if Asa was right, had Marc gotten in the way of Rebecca’s life? ‘Whatever it is you two have had’ what did Asa think they had? Did Rebecca say something? Did she have the same feelings Marc felt?

Asa took his hand off the handle, and Marc entered the room. Rebecca was pacing the floor, turning when she heard it open.

Marc watched Asa’s face for a while. The little boy he had helped raise had changed a lot over the years, for better or for worse, but even after everything, even after all the fights he had witnessed Becca get in over the years, he cared deeply for his sister, his mind had just been skewed and manipulated by their dad and Jack, not unlike Rebecca. Marc was about to let him have this, to back down like Becca’s touch requested of him, when she spoke.

“You think Marc is the reason all this happened?”

All three men turned to her.

“Marc has done nothing but try to protect me since he was 9 years old, Asa. You are too young to remember a time before him, but dad was always like that! And Jack? Jack and I aren’t getting a divorce because of Marc, we’re getting a divorce because he beat the shit out of me!”

Asa’s brow furrowed in confusion, glancing at Jack with suspicion.

“This” She motioned to the pink scar on her face. “I didn’t trip and spill coffee, Jack threw tea at me!”

Marc watched as Rebecca laid it open for Asa, finally letting her brother in on the secrets she’d been keeping. 

Jack tried to deny it, but she talked over him, only booking at her brother as she stepped forward. “Dad attempted to make me miscarry an imaginary baby, but he,” she pointed at Jack “He purposely got me pregnant, which I did not agree too, and then beat me so bad I bruised my rips and actually miscarried.”

Asa believed her, turning to Jack. “What the actual fuck man?”

Jack stayed cool, calm, attempting to talk his way out of it. “I didn’t do shit, c’mon Asa, you know me.”

Asa looked to Rebecca.

She looked at him gently, eyes filled with a sadness he rarely saw in her. “Asa, I wouldn’t lie to you, not about this”

Asa wanted to believe Jack. It was easier to believe Jack, to believe their dad, to hate Marc and blame him for Rebecca’s choices, but when he looked at them… All he could see was the ever-honest, painfully honest face of the woman who raised him, and the friend who had been there when his dad wasn’t. “Jack, get the fuck out.”

“Asa-”

“GET OUT!” Asa shouted, placing himself between Jack and his sister.

Jack turned to Rebecca “This isn’t over, I’m dragging this divorce out as long as possible, and I’ll bleed you dry while doing it”

Marc stepped back up. “Leave without making a scene, or I swear to god-”

Jack turned to Marc “I will fucking kill you” Before leaving.

Asa started to go after him for that threat, but Marc caught his shoulder. Asa turned quickly into Marc, taking him in an embrace. “I’m sorry” he muttered, apologizing for the last 20 years of near-silence and anger

Rebecca joined their hug. “Oh Ace, it’s okay”

Marc held him in a hug, relieved to have both the people he grew up with in his arms, safe, out of Jack and Carl’s grasp.

“Becc, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know” She pulled back, brushing a dark curl that wasn’t unlike Marc’s out of his face. “Let’s get through day one of the shiva, we can talk more after people leave, okay?”

Feeling more like a baby brother than he had in years, Asa nodded.

She was stunning, something straight out of a wedding magazine. Extensions in her hair that was half up, the rest in loose curls that cascaded from a tiara. The dress had to be designer, an a-line off the shoulder, low neckline and floral and lace detailing, something she looked beautiful in, but so distinctly not her.

Her face lit up when she saw him. ‘Marc! HI!” She stayed away from him, instead of rushing to take his hand like she used to. Marc supposed this was more appropriate, seeing as she was always married.

“Hey, metukah, what’s going on?”

She wrung her hand nervously.  Since when was her nervous? “I’m just… just anxious, thats all. Big day” A slight chuckle. She was hiding something.

“Are you… are you having second thoughts?”

Her face faltered. “Well, not exactly… just… thoughts in general…”

He paused. This could be it. He could tell her. Two decades after meeting, 15 or so years after they gave their bodies to each other that night, he could do it. He could tell her loved her. He could take her away. “Becca.. Do you want to go?”

She hesitated. “I… I don’t know…”

“Is something wrong with him? Did Jack do anything?” 

Rebecca shook her head. She wasn’t lying. He knew when she was lying, which was rare. “I’m just nervous”

“Why did you want to talk to me?” Give me something, he thought something that says you love me.

“You’re my best friend”

Was he? They had spoken less and less since she started seeing Jack… 

He could tell her. He should tell her.

I love you I love you I love you

Are you sure you want her in this right now?

A chill ran through Marc’s spin with that ever more familiar voice in his head, he didn't dare look to the side. He knew who was standing there, a grim reminder of who he had become. 

Marc didn’t have a stable job, a steady incoming, consistent housing. 

He was the avatar for a god

He was a killer

He couldn’t provide anything for her. He never had been able to give her what she deserves, what Jack can. With Jack, she’ll never have to worry about living on the streets or when she’s going to eat. Jack’s never killed.

Marc thought through the faces of everyone he killed, every death he was responsible for.

She deserved better than what he could offer her.

“Rebecca, honey, it’s just jitters, that’s all” It killed him to say it. “He’ll take care of you, you’ll be happy.” Marc had to fight back the anger at himself, the frustration he felt, the tears of helplessness. This wasn’t his life. He couldn’t give her anything. This was the life she deserved. Pretty things, safety, security. He approached her, taking both her hands in his. “Rebecca, you make a beautiful bride”

She nodded, taking in the sight of him, and for a moment he could almost imagine he was at the alter with her, that it was him she was marrying… he let go on her hands before the fantasy took over. 

When the night ended and guests left, Marc, Becca and Asa sat in the living room like they had done countless times throughout the years, catching up, reminiscing, hashing over old beefs and memories. Marc sensed a change, a change for the better.

They were a family again.

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

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[balladeer-angelo]

Pretty pretty please☆ 39, with carlos x reader cuz i have an extreme thirst♡♡♡

this turned out so long and I’m so sorry but I just had too much fun with it lol enjoy!

Carlos x Reader

39: “Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?”

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He wasn't sure what was going on this week, but he swore you were up to something.

It all started Monday morning, the beginning of a busy work week for both you and Carlos. You were in the kitchen cooking breakfast, pancakes with a warm cream cheese frosting, humming and swaying in your pajama shorts and a tank top while you whisked the batter. He shuffled into the kitchen with a 'good morning' yawn, immediately going for the fresh pot of coffee. You greeted him, pouring some batter into the sizzling pan. He was leaning against the counter, sipping his hot cup of Joe when you turned to ask him if he slept well as he'd been having trouble just keeping his eyes closed most nights. Those tired eyes of his zeroed in on your chest, something white and translucent drizzled across your cleavage. He almost choked.

"You've got- um..." His voice rumbles out from behind the ceramic mug, teetering off as he continued to stare like he had fallen into a trance. You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue. "Your chest. There's... stuff on your-." He points at you and draws in the air with his finger.

You look down and click your tongue. "Ugh, damn it." You whined. "Guess I wasn't paying much attention while I was making the frosting."

You tug down the front of your top just enough to reveal the rest of the sticky mess and, inadvertently, the valley between your breasts. Carlos watches you drag two fingers through one of the many tiny ropes of frosting and place them in your mouth. His cock stirs at the sight and he finds himself completely mesmerized. You pick up as much as you can, casually cleaning off your digits with your tongue like he's not in your company, mumbling to yourself that at least you didn't do a bad job. Carlos wonders if you'd let him rut his cock between your breasts so he could paint your chest and watch you lap all that up as well. Then the two of you would eat the pancakes you'd made right after and he'd give you a lingering kiss and be on his way.

His eyes dart to the tiny clock on Mr. Coffee. He doesn't have time. With a sigh he sets down his cup and lumbers over to you to plant a kiss to your forehead, doing all he can to avoid looking at your chest any longer lest he ends up being late.

"You're not gonna eat?" You pout up at him and he gives an apologetic smile.

"I gotta go in early today. New recruits. 'Lot of ropes to show."

"Fiiine." You groan dramatically, though he knows you're not actually upset. "Don't go too easy on 'em."

He chuckles and gives you one last kiss to the crown of your head. "You got it, boss."

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The next day, he had found a pair of your panties, the thin kind with a lot of lace embroidered on it, in the back pocket of his pants. He wasn't even the one to notice them first. One of the new recruits had openly pointed at something pink poking out of his pocket, nosy as to what it was. He tugged it out and immediately crushed it in his hand before shoving it back into his pants upon realizing that it wasn’t a handkerchief. The other men snickered amongst themselves and Carlos roughly cleared his throat. "Alright, alright. Settle down."

He called you as soon as he was on his lunch break.

"Any idea how your panties ended up in my back pocket, babe?"

"Hm? My panties?" You sounded genuinely confused over the soft tapping of your fingers on a keyboard.

"Well, they're not mine. Pink and lace aren't exactly my style."

"Ohh!

I was wondering where those went! Must've gotten mixed together during laundry day. I usually wash the intimates separately."

He pulls your underwear back out to look at them. The silky fabric felt soothing against the new callouses sprouting on his palm. He's curious how they might feel wrapped around his rousing cock.

"Guess so..." He mutters to himself.

Your voice cuts through the polluted thoughts filling his mind and he's reminded then by the silent ticking coming from the wall that, once again, he doesn't have the time to find out.

"Is there any chance you could swing by the grocery store after work? We're running low on eggs."

"Sure thing."

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By Wednesday, his suspicions were steadily mounting to almost headache-inducing levels. You had stopped by his workplace to go over paperwork with one of the higher-ups, something boring. Carlos was tasked with helping you pull down some files in one of the archive rooms. He watched you squat down in front of one of the shelves to pull out one of the many brown boxes on the bottom, sifting through its contents. Carlos finds that he really likes you in formal wear. A blazer, dress pants, and heels were a good look on you.

"Carlos, can you reach up there and start pulling down the boxes at the top for me?" You pull him out of his thoughts yet again and he carefully walks over to you, shins gently nudging against your back as he reaches up and grabs a box with both hands.

He keeps up this uniform pace; taking boxes from the top shelf and placing them in a pile to your right while you search the pile you've made beside your left. He's not even entirely sure what you're looking for and he figures he should probably ask. But your exclamation catches him by surprise, as does the way that your body is slotted up against him when you suddenly rise to your feet.

"Oh! I think that's the one!" You take his arms and lower them so they're caging either side of your waist, removing the flimsy top to the box he's still holding. Carlos swallows hard, staring at your hands from over your shoulder as you rummage through the files. Your ass is perfectly pressed right into his crotch, warm and soft. It rubs against him in such an unassuming manner as you shift your hip to one side. You're not even leaning any of your weight into him but he can feel every inch of you through his clothes, licking at the sweat on his skin like fire on gasoline.

There's no way you can't feel how hard he's getting. Just as he starts imagining just how fucking hot it would be if you let him fuck you right up against these shelves in this cramped dingy space, if you let him stuff his now aching cock into you from behind while he uses his fingers to keep you quiet, you're tilting your head up to peck his chin and slipping out of his arms before he can even muster up a single word.

"Found it! Thanks a bunch, babe. I'll be back to help you clean up in a sec!"

You trot out of the room with the files you were looking for, leaving him with a box that was slowly beginning to slip out of his clammy palms and a throbbing hard-on. His groans fill the stuffy room, frustrated and grumpy. When you had returned to help him like you said, the boxes that had been disturbed were put back in their place, though precariously and not alphabetically, and Carlos was nowhere to be found.

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Thursday was the day he was sure he would combust on the spot. You had the day off while he was scrambling to get out of the door on time, somehow managing to snooze through his alarm once sleep had finally found him. While he was in the bathroom briskly scrubbing his teeth, he catches something out of his peripheral vision in the shower, something pale pink and... thick.

He slides the glass door open and nearly spits up all the foaming toothpaste in his mouth. It's one of your toys, a dildo, your favorite one, suctioned to one of the tiles on the shower wall at a particular height. Upon closer inspection, he notices that it's got a glossy wet look to it that he knows isn't water. It looked as if it had just been used.

He could feel his heartbeat in his groin again as he stared at it with his toothbrush dangling between his lips. When did you use it? This morning? You did wake up before he did, and it's not like he could go and ask you about it since you were already gone to take care of errands. He could text or call you, but... He starts to imagine how you must've looked when you decided to play. Hands pressed against the glass, fogged-up with steam, wriggling your pussy back onto the heavy hanging toy while your moans get drowned out by the rushing water crashing down on your dipping back.

Did you think of him while you were fucking yourself? Did you imagine it was his cock instead? Were you breathing his name into the glass so he wouldn't hear you? If you needed to get off so bad, you should've just asked him to take care of you! He would even lay there and let you use him, use his body, his hot cock to chase your pleasure. Ride him all throughout the early morning haze, coming over and over again around him and letting him fill you up with copious amounts of his cum.

He finished brushing his teeth with yet another painful erection that he couldn't take care of because time just wouldn’t allow it. Thoughts of you naked and writhing beneath him, fervently sucking him off, peering over your shoulder at him with that knowing smirk as his hips slam into the plump flesh of your ass are all that flood his head for the rest of what felt like the longest day of the week for Carlos.

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After another tedious and grueling day of work, he was ready to go home and enjoy a nice relaxing weekend with you. Friday could've come sooner but he was too exhausted to complain, too eager to get inside and wash off the sweat and grime of the day. He stumbles through the door and his eyes are scanning the apartment for you almost instantly.

"Babe? You home?" He calls out, toeing off his boots by the door.

"In the bedroom!" Your voice echoes from down the hall, a sound he's quick to follow despite the fatigue setting in his body. When he finds you, the sight is enough to have him quietly groaning to himself, something familiar churning in his lower belly.

"Hey! How was work?" You ask cheerfully, naturally, as if you weren't just laying in bed on your belly reading a magazine, wearing one of his shirts with the sleeves rolled up to your shoulders, and some panties. The very same ones that had found their way into his pocket on Tuesday.

"Fine." He mutters though he isn't sure if you even heard him.

You toss the magazine onto the end table next to the bed and hop up onto your knees to stretch your arms above your head with a soft sound of exertion. His eyes never leave the sight of the sheer rosy fabric framing your ass.

"I just got off a few hours ago. It was such a slow day. But, T.G.I.F., right?"

You slide off the mattress and saunter towards the door, your arm brushing across his and you swear you feel him tense up at such a passing touch. A quiet current flowing through a tightly wound wick that was ready to ignite at the smallest spark.

“I’m gonna take a shower.”

His hand grabs your wrist and holds you in place for the merest of seconds before he whips you around to face him. “Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?”

The look of surprise you give is authentic enough to have him second-guessing himself. Your blinking eyes, tilting head, and questioning hum almost dry up all the grounds for such a snap interrogation.

“I thought that maybe you really weren’t paying attention that morning when you got frosting all over your chest. And maybe you really did get our laundry mixed up cause there’s no way you could’ve slipped your panties into my pants without me knowing. But your little stunt at the office? And leaving your toy out in the bathroom where you knew I would see it? And now this?”

He gestures at his shirt hanging off your body, barely covering the lace culprit he had mentioned. “I’m startin’ to think that these little coincidences aren’t actually so coincidental.”

The look you give him could best be described as cat-like. A cat who rolled her red ball of yarn wherever she went with her tail held high cause she knew a certain someone would inevitably get snagged in her threads. And he was the big cute puppy she had banked on who got all tangled up.

“It took you this long to come to that conclusion, huh?”

The look on his face you would describe as utterly dumbfounded. Whether it was because of your overtly bold confession to his allegations or the fact that you weren’t coyly trying to deny it like he must’ve thought you would, you weren’t really sure.

“It started out as a coincidence that Monday morning, I’ll give you that much. But after I saw how riled up you got because of it -and don’t try to act like you hid it well- I just wanted to see how far I could take this little experiment before you caught on.”

You easily slipped your wrist from his hand, slowly slinking back inch by inch toward the door. “And especially since we were both gonna be too busy and tired through the week to even do anything, I thought it would be fun to keep you all hot and bothered for me until the weekend when we could let loose.”

You pause in the doorway, watching his expression. Heat had flooded his face, all the way to the tips of his ears though his hair did a good job hiding that. He looked like he was still processing all the details, seemingly at a loss for words at the moment. You took the opportunity to pull off his shirt, leaving you completely bare to him sans those damnable panties.

“I really am surprised it took until the end of the week for you to figure me out. And you’re accusing me of being the oblivious one?”

Whatever words he did manage to find come out in a splutter, the flush on his cheeks clouding over. His eyes follow the curve of your spine when you turn your back to him and playfully wiggle your hips.

“C’mon, puppy. You scrub my back and I’ll scrub yours. And maybe I’ll even show you how I used that toy of mine yesterday.”

The look you give him and those tacked on odds is ultimately what propels him forward, scooping you up into his arms and giving your shoulder an impish bite, relishing the taste of your skin and the sounds of your squeals and giggles as he carries you toward the bathroom.

He snarls into your ear, "You’re in for one hell of a weekend, fox."

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

If You Love Someone, Let Them Go: Part 7

Summary: Since starting with SVU, Sonny hadn’t kept much terribly close to the chest. The squad knew about his family, growing up on Staten Island, the classes at Fordam. What was hidden was why he didn’t date. Sonny Carisi was also separated from his childhood sweetheart, a separation neither ever took to divorce. They had the same haunts. They’d grown up neighbors. Their paths crossed every few months, and divorce talks would turn into reminiscing would turn into a night spent together, sometimes sex sometimes just talking until the early morning. It always ended with one of them waking up alone however. How will that change when the squad finds out?

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Original Character

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

May 2015

“Dominick, where’s the box with my shoes?” Victoria called, stepping over the piles in the apartment they’d consolidated into over the last month and a half. Both their leases were ending, so they decided to go ahead and overlap their leases with a new place for a month. They needed to start fresh, and neither of them wanted to do that in the solitary spaces they’d inhabited without the other. She was nervous now, however, because Olivia had extended Carisi’s invitation to celebrate Noah’s adoption to her as well. It struck her that she was the only SVU spouse, so it might just be the group that spent every day and lots of long nights together and her, someone suddenly thrust into their world. That meant she was exceptionally nervous as she got ready; meeting them on their turf felt more serious than being at Bella’s wedding. Everyone had dispersed within hours there.

“Kitchen counter. Got mixed up for the pots and pans in our room somehow,” he called, and she could tell he was brushing his teeth. She stepped over the not yet assembled shelves she’d gotten, digging each chunky heel from the cardboard box. The wedding heels had been hard on her because the brides wanted stilettos. These she could walk in all day, and she liked reaching Sonny’s shoulder. She went to the bathroom, leaning on the door frame as she watched him style his hair, the tip of his tongue between his front teeth. He caught her eye on the mirror, and his mouth shifted to a grin as he shot her a wink.

“Lookin’ hot, Mrs. Carisi.”

“Why thank you,” she grinned, striking a playful pose. “You look pretty hot yourself.”

“You just like these shirts on me.”

“And your ass in those khakis.” 

She felt triumphant as his cheeks turned pink, grabbing her purse and fixing her lipstick. Soon enough, they were knocking on Olivia’s door, and Sonny pressed a kiss by her ear. 

“You’ll be fine,” he whispered, straightening up as Olivia opened the door.

“Carisi, Victoria, come on in,” she smiled, and Victoria couldn’t help but grin at the sight of the little boy on her hip, putting the gift bag on the counter. 

“It’s so great to see you again. We brought a present for you two. Wine for mama and a toy for Noah.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s a celebration,” she smiled, and Sonny watched fondly as Victoria made faces at Noah, who squealed with delight. 

“Carisi,” Barba nodded, scotch in hand as the detective opened a beer. “Things seem to be good?”

“Yeah. We’re unpacking the new place.”

“I’m sure it’s a delight.”

“Tor’s back home. Of course it is.”

“Can I give you one piece of advice, if you still want to be an attorney?”

“If you’re going to say ‘don’t’ again-”

“I’m feeling sentimental on this, the celebration of Noah’s adoption.”

“Go on then.”

“You’ve expressed an interest in the DA’s office. Prosecution. It’s all the pain from SVU, plus you have to be the bad guy and demand proof. You’ve hated my guts more than a few times, no?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t fuck up again. You’ll need that anchor. I have had two opportunities. One ended up with the friend. The other I drove away trying to keep secrets and seem tough.”

“Liv rat me out?”

“On accident at the wedding. But only because she knew I’d understand. Being able to talk to her will be what keeps you sane during some of those trials.”

“You know, cousin Tony is a real good listener and seemed real into you.”

“He is quite the listener and is quite into me. Now, shut up before you ruin my good mood.”

“There’s the Barba I’m used to.” A roll of the attorney’s eyes told him whatever sentimentality he was going to be at the receiving end of was over, and Sonny felt confident that when he asked to shadow him later, Barba wouldn’t be as put out as he pretended. When he looked back to Olivia, Victoria was chatting happily with a glass of wine in hand. He was excited he still got to make an introduction between Fin and Victoria. It was nice to be able to say This is my wife, Victoria without having to eventually explain they didn’t live together. When he heard a knock, he moved to her side, anticipating his entrance. Once he’d greeted Olivia and Noah, Sonny was pleased with the look on his face. As the detective who’d been there the longest, Sonny found himself caring what Fin thought, and Fin seemed to be forming his opinion.

“Fin! I want ya t’meet my wife, Victoria,” he said happily, arm slung over her shoulder. She extended a hand, which Fin shook gladly.

“It’s nice to meet you! I’ve heard so much!”

“Nice to meet you too. Your husband ain’t shut up about you in weeks. Once he started-”

“He’s pretty sappy?”

“So you been putting up with him a decade?”

“I mean technically my whole life. We grew up next door to each other.”

“I hear I gotta come to a bakery in Brooklyn now.”

“Oh yeah. You got any favorites? Tell me, and I’ll send a preview with Dom next week.”

“I’m pretty traditional.”

“You want brownies, cookies, or cake?”

“Cookies.”

“Deal. Sonny’ll have you a batch Monday.”

“I like her, Carisi,” Fin said, clapping a hand on the younger detective’s shoulder before going to get his drink and greet Barba.

“It’s not fair. You can make cookies and everyone instantly likes you.”

“You seen your goofy grin? You don’t even have to talk to be likable.”

She was rewarded with a kiss to the temple and the aforementioned grin. Soon enough, Amaro and Rollins were there, and Barba poured the pricey champagne he’d brought to toast. Everyone finally got comfortable after that, Sonny settled on the arm of the couch beside Victoria, and Noah was teetering around the coffee table. Victoria was happy to babble to him, and he could see she felt proud when Noah decided to climb onto her lap. God, she was going to be a good mom if they ever stabilized. Couples therapy would start soon. They’d always said when he finished school, and that would actually be happening the next year. Maybe if they were doing well they could have their own baby. All of his sisters were pregnant or already had kids, and fatherhood had been Sonny’s dream.

 As Noah leaned into Victoria, he looked up at Sonny, who was happy to wave down at him. It seemed Lucy liked getting a break to talk to the adults, and he could see the look on Olivia’s face watching Noah. She liked seeing the boy bond with the family she’d made through work. He probably owed a lot of the growth that got him Victoria back to her. The squad was a family with Olivia as their matriarch, and he’d felt safe enough to verbalize his feelings in the first days with her team, when he still had the moustache Victoria had recently informed him really was awful when he tried to defend it. 

“I can take him if you need me to, Victoria. He’s out,” she said from her spot beside Barba. 

“It’s fine. He’s so cuddly.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Long as Sonny doesn’t mind getting me a glass of wine.”

“On it, doll,” he grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Victoria had always loved when their nieces fell asleep on her like this when they were babies. Mia had been the first one, and they took to each other quickly, even if Victoria had been the neighbor kid at the time. They hadn’t broached kids again, and frankly she was afraid of the prospect, but she’d wanted to have kids with Sonny since they got married. Logically, she knew they had to wait until the time was right. Originally, that was just when he finished school, but now they had to play it by ear again. Either way, she was going to savor the smell of baby as Noah slept with his cheek pressed against her shoulder. She wasn’t as good at the play as Sonny was; every child he encountered bonded with him easily, something that had to be helpful in his job. Victoria was good at cuddling and nurturing though. When the first members of the team trickled out, she settled Noah in his mother’s arms and gave her the best hug she could. 

“Thanks for including me. I’m so happy for you, Olivia.”

“Thanks for coming. Noah loves you. Mind being added to the babysitter list?”

“I am honored.” Sonny led her out, hand on the small of her back and a crooked smile plastered across his face. Everyone loved her, like he knew they would. How could someone not? It was near dinner, so without checking, he led the way to a sushi bar near Olivia’s. As he guided her in, she looked up at him with her brow furrowed.

“Dinner date?” He was proud to see her cheeks turn pink.

“I’d like that. You been spoiling me lately.”

“I just been acting like I should. You been pretty damn good to me too.”

“Wanna get saki?”

“Are trying to get me drunk?”

“You only have to go in tomorrow if there’s an emergency.”

“Saki it is.” 

“I was thinking I might plan us a trip in November.”

“Yeah? Could be fun.”

“Any place you wanna go? You’ll be who we’re celebrating.”

“Oh?” he asked, brow lifted as he smiled at her. 

“Dirty thirty.” 

“Dirty thirty? Really Tor?”

“It’ll be fun.”

“I was thinking about New Orleans next year. Could be fun near the holidays instead. Do something bigger for our anniversary.”

“I like the way you think. Plus, July is hot as hell. I’ll tell you the dates when I know.”

“I can’t wait. I’m glad we’ll be together over the holidays.”

“I’m glad we’ll be together on our anniversary. We missed two.”

“One,” he said, puzzled before he winced. “Wait no, you’re right. I was being a bad husband.”

“Nah, you weren’t doing well,” she assured him, hand on his thigh. 

“Ninth, we’re staying here. Tenth, we’re going big.”

“Deal. I love you, Tor.”

“And I love you.”

“You were real good with Noah.”

“He’s such a cuddly boy.”

“I told Lieu I gotta hang out with him sometimes. The girl gene runs real strong with the Carisis. Four nieces, no nephews? And then non Carisi niece on her way from Rollins.”

“Only two have been born. Mom thought I was going to be a boy.”

“True. Fingers crossed. Or maybe we’ll have a boy.”

“Dom-”

“I ain’t saying tomorrow. I’m just saying therapy is going good, we’re doing good, couples therapy is soon, and I bet we have a kid in before I’m forty.” She laughed, kissing him softly. “I think it’ll be sooner than that. Maybe in like three?”

“Even better. I can’t wait to feel our baby kick one day. Know they’re there. It’ll happen when we’re ready. Not a minute sooner. God’s got a plan.” 

“We just gotta be careful, okay? I want to try to not get pregnant for a while.”

“I know, Tor.”

“Don’t get testy. I wanna make sure we’re ready.”

“I know. Just- seeing you with Noah and Jessie? Set off the ‘I want kids’ bell stronger than last time.”

“Me too. Every time I see you hold the kids.”

“We gotta baby sit more to tide me over.”

“I got a feeling I’ll be getting calls from Liv. You make that clear to Amanda. Then soon enough? Gina’s almost due. Then Bella.”

“True,” he smiled softly. “If we wait they get to be the only Carisi baby that year. Even more attention.”

“You’ll spoil them rotten.”

“That’s my job.”

“We get the day tomorrow, unless somethin’ happens.”

“We do. I gotta go to the bakery for a couple hours at least to help train the newest hire. Margy picked good, but they’re taking weekends for me.”

“I’m really excited about that. I think it’ll be good now that it’s an option.”

“Me too. We both get to be in case of emergency for the most part.”

“Yeah. Liv will rotate all of us taking a Saturday.”

“I guess I’ll just have to find somebody’s baby to play with,” she teased, poking his side and he grinned. 

“Y’know, I think we ought to start practicin’ when we go home, doll.”

“Read my mind, Sonny.”

Tag List: @cycat4077​ @fear-less-write-more​

[back-and-totheleft]

“The Doors” Turns 30

Oliver Stone, 74, is seated for a Zoom interview at his home office in Los Angeles. He’s just finished reading an email proposing he direct a film about Led Zeppelin. “I don’t know much about them, frankly," Stone admits. "They were never really my band.” The Doors were his band. On March 1, 1991, the universe got its first look at The Doors — Stone's beautifully irrational biopic about the late '60s rock group led by Jim Morrison (played by Val Kilmer, then 31, amid a Method-acting spectacle). The result is an R-rated feast that acts as an extravagant rejection of puritanism and "Just Say No." It is campy, erotic, deeply disturbing and smoldering like a pagan bonfire.

On the occasion of its 30th anniversary, Stone talked to The Hollywood Reporter about the legacy of his film, psychedelics, Bohemian Rhapsody and Val Kilmer's masterclass as Hollywood's first and only Jim Morrison.

The cinematography in this film produces some astonishing eye candy.

We used a lot of filters. We had to go back into the past. We had everyone dressed in period, which was very expensive. We were also taking chances that we normally wouldn’t. We were growing in our boldness. We wanted to challenge all the ideas. We had no rules, no limits, no laws.

At least for my generation, the film has come to symbolize a darkly funny and dizzying parody of the “cock rocker.”

That was never my intention. I’m a little square, perhaps, for your taste, but I worshipped Morrison. I thought he was a great force breaking through to the other side. He was saying things that needed to be said. It was being said by others: Jefferson Airplane, The Beatles, and so on. But he was the only one that was really going into the erotica as much as he was. Of course, he talked about Indians, shamanism, but back then, we were coming out of the '50s. It was a very different time. He was liberated. He was sexy as a man. He felt at ease with himself. And he carried on as if he were a free man. I worshipped a free man. I’m actually one of the people who really likes his lyrics. Some people make fun of them.

The Doors feels like a rebuke of the Bush era and "Just Say No." Was Morrison acting as your mouthpiece when he was screaming at us that we were all "a bunch of slaves?"

Yes. The things I say sometimes don’t go down so well. But I don’t agree with so much of what’s going down. I still don’t. I haven’t changed. If anything, I’m worse. His timing may have been off when he said, “You’re all a bunch of slaves.” He was a philosopher.

Critics focused on the lack of historical realism in this film. But it’s a fantasy. Morrison himself was a kind of myth-maker. What do you think is rooted in the obsession for realism in a film about Jim Morrison?

By this time, I had been taking so much flak. I don’t mean to self-pity, but my God, I had just done Born on the Fourth of July, Talk Radio and Wall Street. I was exhausted by trying to be realistic. This was freedom. It was like tearing your clothes off and breathing. It was about going out and having fucking fun making a movie. After JFK and Heaven & Earth, I did Natural Born Killers. Again, I wanted to be free. I get off on those films.

I first discovered this film as a teenager. It somehow captured rock 'n' roll at its purest.

Thank you. I didn’t really have the connection to music that other people had. A lot of filmmakers study music. I didn’t. I just followed a god that I liked. You see, I heard him in Vietnam for the first time. I was doing LSD on R&R [rest and recuperation] — not in the field — but we were discovering LSD and realizing you really had to pay attention. Morrison had done enough LSD to really understand it. It’s a powerful consciousness journey. I never stopped. I kept going in that direction with all kinds of drugs.

Did you experiment with any psychedelics while you were making this film?

I was high, in a sense, by osmosis, but I had the attitude to just free your ass and your mind will follow. I think people would say I was pretty wild as a director. But I was not getting high on the set. Yeah, the occasional grass here and there, but I wouldn’t do anything on the set. Off the set, I had some fun. I had a friend, Richard [Rutowski], who played Death in the film. I wanted to go back to South Dakota, with the Sioux, and do this peyote ceremony with a very powerful shaman. And we did it. We got to this place on the reservation and got fucking high beyond belief. It was a big trip. A lot of Indians were involved. Strong peyote. And then we flew back. I was dead on Monday morning when we shot the peyote scene. I had no energy as a director.

What were some of the political challenges involved in making this film?

I guess I didn’t know the barriers back then. Paul Rothchild [the band’s producer] was a key figure. He was with us all the way. I never got that from the bandmates. They didn’t seem to know him that well. Certainly Ray Manzarek thought he knew him. Ray did not cooperate in any way. In fact, it was a very disagreeable relationship for me. And of course, when the movie came out, boy, he was tearing it down from the beginning.

I found Ray Manzarek accusing you of “assassinating” the character of Jim Morrison to be pretty remarkable. I honestly don’t think anyone knew the real Jim Morrison (not even Manzarek).

Jerry Hopkins, who wrote the book [No One Here Gets Out Alive, 1980] left me 120 documents of interviews he did with people who knew Morrison in the beginning, from grade school to the very end. And if you read these 120 versions of his life, it’s like Citizen Kane. That’s what he was to this person or that person. In the interviews, there were several women, my God, sexually, he was all over the place. He wasn’t necessarily impotent. Perhaps that occurred later, when there were issues — which did bother him. But you saw in the loft scene with Kathleen Quinlan, when he has an orgasm. And that’s the truth of the matter, he had orgasms with intensity that came from intense situations. That was the only way he could get off — dangling from a window may have worked for him.

Morrison seems like the original “cock rocker.” I think he understood that he was a sex symbol.

Well, they made him a sex symbol. Part of the reason he started drinking was to probably run from that. He was not comfortable with publicity. I do believe he was inherently shy. Girls would come at him, and according to Paul [Rothchild], he ended up talking to them all night. He loved women. He talked them to death. But it wasn’t about sex. It was about something in his mind he had to work out. He was running toward death.

He was a sex symbol who was said to have been impotent. He seemed to be struggling with some kind of imposter syndrome. Was he crucifying himself?

I do believe there was a lot of self-hatred. He’s a deep man. If you really want to know him, look at the lyrics. There’s a lot of depth there that people often miss.

JFK (1991) provides a panorama of possibilities regarding the JFK assassination. With this film, you end with Morrison in a bathtub under a kind of amber glow. We don’t know what has happened to him. He’s just beautiful and dead. Were you trying to leave the cause of his death open to interpretation?

It didn’t make any difference to me if he was on heroin or not. In the movie, you have to assume he was. But he was half in love with death all his life. An American Prayer is filled with images of death. I don’t think Morrison made the normal difference between life and death. It was a boundary that he crossed many times. He was ready for death. I found the scene tranquil. Like the ancient Romans cutting their wrists, I didn’t see the fear of death in him. As a shaman, he saw it as a transition to continue life in another form. I would have loved to see him survive Paris. I think he died by accident. I do feel it was an overdose of something. I do feel like he was doing it to accompany somebody he cared about. I think his plan was to come back and be a writer. I think he would have been a really interesting writer and philosopher for American society into the '80s, '90s and even today. He got robbed early.

Looking back at his phenomenal performance, do you feel Val Kilmer was snubbed for an Oscar nomination that year?

I do feel he was slighted. It was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of performance. I certainly know the pain and the sweat he put into it. But I kind of knew The Doors was doomed because of the hijinks Morrison was going through. In other words, it was a crossing-the-line kind of movie. It’s become more acceptable now. But this is 1991. You gotta look back. Certainly Val deserved it, but also the sound: There were so many sound breakthroughs and editing breakthroughs in that movie. We were using some new methods. The sound work by Paul Rothchild and that group was unbelievable. The fact that Val was singing about 70 percent of his stuff was pretty significant.

I feel like a lot of today’s rock biopics, like Bohemian Rhapsody, are pretty sterile. They feel more like marketing films.

I don’t want to be negative on that. I wish we had made the money Bohemian Rhapsody had made. Look, every film has to be marketable. The Doors was not. We just made an outlaw film because [producer] Mario Kassar was out of his mind. He was willing to gamble. He didn’t give a shit about all that stuff. He was a pirate. He made films against the grain.

In the final shot at Père Lachaise cemetery, we zoom in to a bust of Jim Morrison placed on his gravestone. It’s a beautiful documentary-style shot scored to “A Feast of Friends.” It really takes us to the end. Wasn’t the bust stolen in 1988?

It was. The bust was our creation. It was based on Kilmer and not on Jim. But what the press never seems to understand when they describe it as a “rise and fall” is that he wasn’t falling. He was moving through life as an explorer. Some of his best work is in [1978's posthumously released L.P.] An American Prayer and [1971's] L.A. Woman. I didn’t see the decline. I guess what I’m saying is that you don’t die when you’re Jim Morrison, you just move on.

-Art Tevana, “Oliver Stone Recalls 'Doors' Inspiration as Jim Morrison Biopic Turns 30,” The Hollywood Reporter, Mar 11 2021 [x]

[andaleduardo]

Rooftop N.3

Ao3  N.2  N.4

Preview:   Lately, Richie had been learning that silence can actually be good sometimes, it just has to be the right one. The one kind that leaves you peaceful, the kind that lets you rest, not the kind that makes your head louder.    Silence with Eddie has always been different, he never knew why. It made his head go quiet, and Richie never thought that was possible.

Tuesday   27.04.1993

“Shit.”  Eddie’s muffled words were inaudible in the crowded hallways. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

He kept talking to himself and rushing through the sea of students towards his first class of the day. He desperately looked for his friends and as soon as he saw Beverly, Stan and Mike near the entrance to the classroom, his not so long legs launched forwards.

 “Guys!” He stopped running once he approached them, his breathing heavy and shortened. “Please, can any of you let me copy your homework?” He sounded desperate and positively hated himself in that moment. 

His three friends looked surprised and somewhat amused. Bev spoke up.

“Did Edward Kaspbrak forget to do his homework?” She placed a hand to her chest for exaggeration.

Eddie groaned.  "Yes, revolutionary. Now, please? Any of you?” He already started taking out a notebook and a pencil.

Mike handed him his own notebook and Eddie muffled a rushed ’thanks’ as he plopped himself on the floor near the wall and started copying his answers, still trying to change some things so it wouldn’t be the exact same. When his brain started sounding an alarm to get him disgusted by the dirty school hall floors, Eddie pushed the thoughts away, right now was not the time.

"Is the guilt killing you already?” Stan smirked as they all looked down at him.

Eddie didn’t bother to lift his eyes, just shaking his head. “I fell asleep before I had time to finish.” Minutes passed by, the three of them regained their topic of conversation while Eddie rushed through the task, the beginning of the class fast approaching.

“Jesus! Why does everybody gotta talk so fucking loud?” The four heads turned just in time to see no one other than Richie Tozier pushing shoulders and fighting through a group of students laughing and shouting at each other. “It’s fucking 8 in the morning how can people be so energetic.”

Once he freed himself from the group, he grasped his forehead with one hand and dragged it along his face, messing up his glasses. He stopped in front of his friends.

“Morning suckers.”  Everyone ignored Richie’s choice for a nickname.

“Moody much?” Beverly asked him teasingly. Richie ignored her by looking down at Eddie on the floor, then to his standing friends again. “What’s up?” He quirked an eyebrow in curiosity.

Stan answered. “We could ask you the same thing.” Richie offered a groan, aware of his messed up, hangover appearance.

Mike turned to him. “Eddie fell asleep and didn’t finish his homework.”

With a click of his tongue Richie managed to say “Right..” Words getting caught up in his throat as he felt his skin prickling when looking down again at Eddie, who was staring back at him with the blankest expression he could manage.

Stan’s voice broke their gaze apart. “We were surprised too.”

Richie just shrugged. “Not a big deal, there’s a first time for everything.” He felt everyone’s eyes on him but ignored them and slid down the wall next to Eddie.

When Beverly, Mike and Stan resumed their conversation and got distracted from the pair on the floor, Eddie stole a glance at his side while his hand kept writing in a rushed motion. He noticed Richie’s head was buried on the crook of his arms, and his elbows resting on his bent knees.

He spoke quietly. “You okay?”

Richie turned his head slightly to the side, enough to peek at Eddie from his arms. “Shitty, thanks for asking.”

“Well, no one told you to get wasted on a fucking Monday night.”

Richie didn’t answer right away. He just closed his eyes and scrunched up his nose. “Yeah.. sorry about that, ya'know, being a pain in the ass and all.”

“Don’t worry about it." Eddie chuckled lightly and finally closed his notebook. "Just don’t repeat it. For real.”

Richie decided to ignore the order and change the subject. “You took my advice.” A chuckle muffled by the arm covering his mouth.

“Uh?” Eddie looked at him quizzically.

“Your hair.” He pointed. “You didn’t fix it.”

“Oh.”  Eddie broke the eye contact. “Didn’t think you’d remember.”

Richie didn’t have time to answer as the bell rang right above them. He covered his ears and buried his head on his knees attempting to block out the sound. Even Eddie himself flinched at the ringing in his ears once it trailed off. He felt bad for Richie and planted a hand on his shoulder and patted it lightly. Then, he proceeded to get on his feet and reached with his hand out for him.

“C'mon.”

Richie looked up and took his hand to get up as well. He may be taller, but he was also skinnier, and not that strong.

Ignoring the burning sensation in their palms once their hands parted, they stood by the classroom entrance. Eddie searched for basic painkillers through his fanny pack.

“Here.” Eddie handed the two white pills on a closed fist. “These should help.” A thankful smile made its way on Richie’s lips.

“This is why you’re my favorite, Eds.”

Eddie rolled his eyes while closing his fannypack. An inevitable grin on his face “Sure."  

Playing with the pills in hand, Richie licked his lips in contemplation. “Got any water to go with these? Not everyone’s at your master level of dry swallowing, ya know?”

A furious blush started inching up Eddie’s neck. He forced on his best neutral face and proceeded to circle Richie’s figure to enter through the classroom door, leaving the other boy behind with a victory smirk.

‘No wonder I’m so frustrated. Having to deal with this.’

  Monday  03.05.1993

 As promised, Richie came next Monday. Eddie half expected him not to show up, since he was drunk when he promised it. But Richie came, way more silently than last week, thankfully. Eddie was yet to figure out how his mother didn’t hear anything the last time or suspect at least.

After Richie sneakily used the first-floor window ledge, the plumbing pipes, and the advantage of being light to get himself on the roof near Eddie’s bedroom, he peered inside only to find it empty. His shoulders sulked slightly, but once he tried to slide the window open with his palms and it worked, his face lit up again.

If he thought that maybe Eddie left it open on purpose for him like the old times, he wouldn’t mention it.

He made his way inside and sat on Eddie’s desk chair, flipping the pages of one of the many text books that sat upon it. After some time, his eyes stopped on some loose papers filled with neat writing that laid nicely on the front of the desk. His eyes darted over the words while his hands kept flipping the book out of pure boredom.

“What are you doing?”

“Holy fuck!”  He jumped on the chair and somehow sent the book flying out of his grip straight to the floor a few feet away. “Why are you laughing? It’s not funny, you scared the shit out of me!”

“Well, in my defence, you invaded my bedroom while I was having dinner.”

Richie peered behind Eddie, eyes glued on the bedroom door. “Is your mom-?”

“Out to meet a friend for coffee, something like that.”

“She has friends?” Out of all the jokes Richie had said, Eddie actually laughed at this one.

“Shocking, right?”

Richie smirked and ran his tongue over dried lips. Eddie tore his eyes away from it when Richie got up to pick up the book from the floor. He took the opportunity to sit on the chair.

 “I’m sorry but you need to entertain yourself for a bit because I really need to finish this, it was due today.”

“Due today?” Richie dropped the text book on the desk and then let himself fall down on Eddie’s bed, his feet hovering above the floor.

“Mr. Rosfeld gave me a new deadline.” He explained shortly.

Richie let out a short laugh. “You’re such a teacher’s pet. They all love the sweet innocent Kaspbrak, that’s why they let it slide so easily. If it were me, I’d be in detention.”

Eddie snorted. “Keep telling yourself that. Maybe if you’d actually do your homework more often than not, they’d consider it.”

“Homework’s pointless if you have straight A’s.” He put his hands behind his head and let his legs move back and forward, bumping on the bed frame in the process.

“That logic is doubtful.”

“Sure, sure.” He mumbled under his breath. “Teacher’s pet.”

“Quit it.”

 -

 After 20 minutes, Eddie was nearly finished and Richie was still sprawled on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Eddie quickly prepared his backpack for the next day and sorted out an outfit, leaving it folded on the top of his dresser. He padded his way through the carpet to turn off the lights and dropped on the comforter by Richie’s side. His eyes followed Richie’s gaze to the ceiling.

“What are you doing?”

A few seconds were followed in quietness until Richie answered.

 “Stargazing.”

“Are you high this time?” Eddie chuckled, but kept his eyes on the ceiling, there were shadows casted on it, coming from the poor outside lighting.

Richie didn’t answer. So, Eddie played along. “Seen any shooting stars already?”

He smiled at that. “A couple, actually.”

“Oh, really?” Eddie was amused. “That’s very unlikely, I’ve heard.”

“Pfft, I saw one, and then I wished upon it that another one would come.”

“Genius.”

Richie laughed quirkily before turning his head to the side, staring at Eddie. He waited until the other boy looked back at him. He didn’t know why he did that, but he really wanted to stare in his eyes for a bit. A fraction of a second was enough to keep him grounded, Eddie had that effect on him. If he ever felt like he was losing himself, he just had to keep focused on those eyes and reality would sink back in, or fade right out. He is yet to decipher that.

While he stared, he noticed how tired Eddie looked, and how deep his skin was underneath those tired eyes.

“Are things okay at home?” Eddie asked in a low tone.

Richie rolled his eyes and groaned. “Aye aye, Captain. You sound like Stan.” And before Eddie could push it more, he said “Close your eyes.”

“What, why?”

“Just do it.” And Richie closed his own eyes and faced the ceiling again.

Eddie, watching the boy curiously, gave in to his request and mimicked his actions. “Okay, what now?”

“Can you see it?” Eddie was about to joke on the fact that their eyes were closed, but Richie answered his own question. “The sky, can you see it?”

Eddie smiled to himself. “Yeah, you’re so wrecked.”

“Shhh, don’t spoil the fun, Eds.”

He pushed his rationality to the back of his mind and sighed. “I can see it.” And he could hear the lightness behind Richie’s words when he spoke.

“It’s really dark out there.”

“Pitch black.” Eddie agreed. “Space is spooky.”

“Nah, darkness is comfort.”

Eddie’s eyes fluttered open, his head was spinning a little. “How so?”

“There’s a hidden side for everything.” He cleared his throat. “Like, you’d never guess your mom is sexually active.”

Eddie audibly gagged. “Stop being disgusting, for fuck’s sake, Richie.”

No answer given, the topic was changed. “You still have your eyes closed?”

“Yeah.” Eddie immediately closed them again.

“Lift your arms up.”

And he did. Not thinking too much about Richie’s commands.

“It feels like you can touch the sky.” Internally, Eddie agreed with him.

They were both loving this, even if Eddie thought that they were being dumb. He was actually feeling okay with being dumb for once.

As the seconds passed, Eddie was feeling more lightheaded. Somehow, reality was pushing through his state of relaxation and he could feel the world slipping under his weight. He tried to grasp it, to no avail, and soon his lifted arms started swaying with life of their own, bumping onto Richie’s, who laughed quietly and bumped his arms back with Eddie’s, unaware of the situation.

Still, Eddie chose not to ruin the mood.

“This is better than meditation.” Eddie’s struggling voice filled the silence after some minutes.

“Wouldn’t know that.”

“You should try it someday.”

“Seems pointless. You said it yourself, this is better.” Richie smartly replied.

“Point taken.” Eddie finally let his arms drop to the bed. “I think I lost all the blood in my hands.” 

Richie opened his eyes and shook his arms a little, dropping them on top of Eddie’s. The action startled him when something solid collided with his knuckles.

“Ouch.” Eddie hissed and brought his fist to his chest. “What did you hit me with?”

Richie brought his hand between them, wiggling his fingers and showing of the two stud rings that he wore sometimes. “Sorry bout that.”

Eddie eyed Richie’s hand, taking in the two pieces that sat on his ring finger and thumb. “Why do you even bother wearing those?”

At that comment, Richie’s face turned to a fake hurt one. “Excuse me, they’re nice!”

“I mean… yeah. But they’re not very practical.” The room stopped spinning.

“Yeah? Says who?” The way Richie said it was passed as offended and Eddie saw the way Richie’s expression gradually crumbled into awkwardness.

“Sorry, they seem important, I didn’t mean to disrespect that.”

“They’re not.” Richie struggled, his mouth closed and opened twice before continuing “-I mean..ah fuck. They’re just.. helpful.”

Although he wanted to question further, Eddie kept his mouth shut. It works wonders to make Richie speak. He was curious, alright.

“You know how I can get...“ Richie searched for something in Eddie, but he just saw confusion. “Seriously? Has no one ever noticed?”

“Notice what?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

A groan escaped Richie’s mouth. “Gosh, you all say I’m a loud piece of shit that can never calm down.” He was speaking so fast that there was no time for Eddie to protest against his words. “Well it’s true, and I have energy I need to spend so I thought what’s the best way to do it without annoying everyone? Well I still do, right? But that’s not my point. My point is, when I feel really fidgety and shit I just play with these without really noticing and that keeps my mouth shut like it should be right fucking now.” He took a long breath after finishing, waiting eagerly for Eddie to speak.

“I… never noticed before.” He was at a loss of words. “And you’re not a loud piece of shit…” He bumped a finger to Richie’s chest accusatorily.

“Yeah, thanks.” Richie clenched his fists besides his body, trying to restrain his needs of touching his hair or fixing his glasses at the moment. It would be stupid to start fidgeting while he was telling Eddie about that exact same problem.

“They look nice on you.” Eddie tried to choose his next words carefully. “Can I try it?”  Obviously, he failed.

Richie stared at him with unclarity on his face. “Try them..?”

“Yes, can I play with your rings?” Both their faces heated up unwantedly.

Richie’s brain worked against him when all of a sudden he tried to remove the jewellery from his fingers and fix his glasses at the same time. “T-take them.”

Eddie was really regretting his choice of words but tried not to look bothered by them as to not make the moment even more awkward. He took the pieces of metal on his palm and studied the two of them on the low light. He squinted his eyes to try and see better.

“They’re pretty worn-out.”

“Yeah.” Richie chuckled from his side of the bed, still on an awkward mood.

Eddie made a mental reminder of ‘What to give Richie on his birthday’.

He fiddled them around in his hands and purposely ignored the fact that they would be too big to fit properly on him.

Lately, Richie had been learning that silence can actually be good sometimes, it just has to be the right one. The one kind that leaves you peaceful, the kind that lets you rest, not the kind that makes your head louder.  Silence with Eddie has always been different, he never knew why. It made his head go quiet, and Richie never thought that was possible.

Inevitably, sleep slowly crept up on them. Both failed to hear the front door open.

That night, Richie found out that staring at a certain boy toy with those little pieces of metal was even more effective on keeping him quiet than when he does it himself.

rooftop taglist:    @richietoaster   @rainydayriots   @reddieloves    @thetrashmouthclub   @lemonboi03  @noodleboyshane    @pillsandglasses  @studpuffin     @dandelion-stan     @reddiesetrichie    @squishynonbinarytwink    @itschunky     @burymestanding    @duderrific    @its-rye @salty-kaspbrak   @youtubequeens   @reddieseggrolls   @addimagination   @pastelstozier @sleepysirenprincess @constantreaderfool   @mrs-vh @eds-trashmouth

perma taglist:   @constantreaderfool   @mrs-vh  @eds-trashmouth @girasol-eddie

[illyrianbeauty]

A Not So Chance Encounter: Chapter 9

Rhys is persuaded to attend a fundraiser by his cousin Mor. He didn’t expect to meet the girl of his dreams.

Fic Masterlist

Writing Masterlist

Chapter 9: The Proposition 

Rhys mulled over his plan the entire drive back to his apartment.  He didn’t think there was any possibility of Feyre saying no.  It was foolproof.  It was a good opportunity for Feyre, and selfishly, it gave him the chance to see her more often.  He entered his apartment and shrugged off his jacket.  Pulling out his phone, he flopped down on the couch.  Rhys pressed the power button on his phone and waited for the device to boot up.  As he expected, there were already several texts from the family group text.  Bracing himself for the onslaught, he opened the text thread.

Amren: Just so you know Rhys, I approve of the girl

The Queen: Just wanted to share this juicy detail- he’s in her contacts as Prince Prick!!!

Pain in the Cass: hahaha! I knew I liked her for a reason!

Az: She’s a keeper, Rhys

Pain in the Cass: Rhys and Feyre sitting in a tree…

Az: Oh shut up, Cass. They’re cute together

Pain in the Cass: He’s in deep shit, Az. He needs our help

The Queen: Oh, hell no!  You two stay out of it!

The Queen: I mean it, Cassian!

Pain in the Cass: Damn!  I’m just trying to help!   

Pain in the Cass: I mean, come on! Was I the only one who saw Rhys and Feyre almost make out tonight??

Rhys buried his head in his hands. By the Cauldron, his family was going to be the death of him!

Prince Prick: What the hell Cass?????

Prince Prick: You have officially lost your mind!

Az: You did say she looked delicious

Pain in the Cass: BEST LINE EVER!!!

Pain in the Cass: I am so going to use that!

The Queen: Never thought I’d say this, but I have to agree with Cass...

The Queen: You and Feyre seemed awfully cozy at one point tonight

Prince Prick: I hate you all!

Amren: Shove it. The truth hurts, boy.

Rhys shook his head and closed the text thread.  He couldn’t deal with his family right now.  He opened up the Three Musketeers group text.  He hadn’t heard from Feyre yet.  Had Mor dropped her off already?   

Prince Prick: Did you lovely ladies make it home alright?

Feyre Darling: Yes, you worrywart.   

Feyre Darling: BTW- thanks again for the ride Mor

The Queen: Welcome! Love you, Fey!

The Queen: Well... I guess I love you too cousin

Prince Prick: I know you do. Who wouldn’t?

Feyre Darling: OMG! You 2 are worse than children

Feyre Darling: Thanks again for dinner Rhys. :)

Prince Prick:  Anytime Darling! I’m glad you came

The Queen: Me too! We should have family dinners more often.

The Queen: Fey, just so you know… we voted

Feyre Darling: ???????

The Queen: You are officially part of the family now!

Feyre Darling: Should I be honored by that... or scared?

The Queen: HAHAHA!!! ;)

Prince Prick: Both. Definitely both

Feyre Darling: Gotta go. Night y'all

Feyre Darling: Happy bday Rhysee Poo!!

Prince Prick: I’ll let you two get your beauty sleep. Cauldron knows Mor is horribly cranky without it!

The Queen: I’m going to let that one slide since we are celebrating your birthday tonight. Good night ass!    

The Queen: Night Fey!

Closing the thread, Rhys picked up his new painting from Feyre.  She really was extremely talented!  He didn’t remember ever mentioning it to Feyre, but he had always felt a strange attraction to the night sky.  There was something about it that made him feel safe.  Though it sounded like a contradiction, it made him feel powerful.  He set the painting down and decided to call it an evening. Monday.  He would put his plan into action Monday.  

***

Rhys reclined in his office chair, drumming his fingers on the top of his desk.  Everything had been set into motion.  He had spoken to Nuala this morning to relay his intentions. She had fallen in love with the painting, just as he had expected.  Now, all that remained was calling Feyre and getting her to agree.  He had stalled long enough.  He picked up his phone and found her number amongst his contacts.  Uttering a quick prayer, he pressed the call button.  While they had texted multiple times a day, he had never actually spoken to her on the phone.  He was so preoccupied with his nervousness, he almost didn’t noticed she had answered.   

“Hey prick!”

Holy gods. She had answered the phone!  He recovered from his surprise quickly with, “Hello darling!  Are you busy right now, or do you have a quick second?”

“I have about 10 minutes before I have to leave for work.  What’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, Rhys explained his idea to Feyre.  And was then met by complete silence.  Fuck. That was not a good sign.   

“Feyre? Are you still there?” he asked with dread. He had messed up. It had sounded like a good idea at the time.  Maybe he hadn’t explained his idea well.  Had it been too much?    

“You’re joking, right?” she asked, her tone somewhat incredulous.  Oh, thank the Cauldron she hadn’t hung up on him.  

“No. Not at all.  We have some authors who are extremely picky about the artwork on the cover.  Even our most seasoned cover designers can’t make them happy.  Nuala, she’s the head of the art department, saw your painting and loved it.  We thought that a talented artist, such as yourself, would be the answer to our problem.”  A half truth.  She didn’t need to know that the order of events, as he explained them, weren’t exactly accurate.  

“You want me to come work for you?” Feyre asked, her every word laced with confusion.  

Rhys stood up and began pacing around his office. “Well, for Velaris… yes.  You’d be able to set your own hours each week, depending on your school schedule.”  He could tell his voice was taking on a somewhat desperate tone.  “You could work from home, if you wanted, and bring the art to the office once you finished. Or you could come to Velaris. We’d set you up a little space in the art department for you to work.”  Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes.

“You’re serious,” she stated, seeming to need reassurance.  

“Absolutely.”  Serious about spending more time with you, darling.  

“You are insane, Rhysand!” she chuckled.  Well, she hadn’t said no. That was something, but he still needed an answer.  

“Is that a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes!  You are offering me a chance to create art and get paid for it.  How in the hell could I say no to that?”

Oh, thank the Cauldron! He felt a big grin worm its way onto his face.

“But…” she paused and Rhys felt as though he had been punched in the gut.

“But?” Why was she hesitating? He wished he knew what she was thinking.  

“Even if you’re my boss, I still get to call you a prick.”

Rhys tipped his head back and barked out a laugh, relief pulsing through him.  Gods, she was perfection!  “Just as long as I still get to call you Feyre Darling. Then you have yourself a deal.”

“Well, then it looks like I’ll need to put in my two week notice when I get to work today.” Feyre’s excitement was palpable, even through the phone.

“Let me know when you’ll have some free time.  You’ll have to come into the office to fill out some paperwork.” Rhys could hardly contain his elation.

“Ok. Sounds good. I gotta get to work now, but I’ll text you later!”

“Alright. Bye, Darling.”

“Bye Prick. And thanks!  This means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome.  Velaris is lucky to have such an amazing artist.”

Feyre snorted, “Even as my boss, you’re still a huge flirt. Talk to you later.”

Rhys hung up the phone and heaved a sigh of relief.  She had agreed!  Now he had a valid excuse to talk to her, and see her, more often.  He ran a hand through his hair and contemplated his next move.

***

“See, Mor!  I told you he needed our help!” Cass sneered, shaking his head.  “You really messed this up, Rhys.”

Rhys and his inner circle were lounging around his living room, after having enjoyed an enormous Thanksgiving dinner.  He was currently sharing the couch with Az and Amren.  Cass had sprawled out across a recliner off to the left while Mor was holding court from the one to the right.  

Mor raised a brow and demanded, “Oh really? And tell us, oh wise one. How exactly did he mess anything up?”

Cass scoffed, “He gave her a job at Velaris.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Rhys demanded.  He was seriously regretting telling the family anything about his current plans.

“Even if she does eventually break it off with the asshole, Feyre doesn’t seem to strike me as the kind of girl who goes around shagging her boss.”

Rhys had to admit that Cass had a point.  Perhaps he had been a tad short sighted in his desire for an excuse to see Feyre more.  Well, it’s not like she was planning on working for the company forever.  She wanted to open her own art gallery someday. Maybe he could help out with that, somehow.  Wow.  He was getting way ahead of himself.  

Amren interrupted his brooding by vocalizing his thoughts, “She doesn’t have to work for Velaris for the rest of her life.  Just long enough for her to fall for Rhys. And get rid of the extra baggage.”

“That’s one way of describing him!” Az smirked.

Mor said with deliberate care, “What is your plan, Rhys? About Tamlin that is.  We are going to have to tell her eventually.”  

He rested his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes. “I know.”  He ran a hand over his face and continued, “I’ve thought about it.  A lot. Honestly, I have no idea how to tell her.”

Rhys may live to regret this, but he looked at Cass and asked, “Any suggestions, brother?”

A fiendish grin lit up Cassian’s face.  He glanced at Az and said wickedly, “You could always take her to dinner beforehand. And make sure you call her delicious again!”

The room erupted into loud and boisterous laughter. Rhys just groaned, “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

This time it was Az who answered with a resounding “No.”

“Seriously though Rhys, you need to tell her the truth. The whole truth. It’ll be a lot better coming from you or Mor than if she hears some version of the truth from Tamlin.”

True. He shuddered to think about what lies he would tell Feyre. He looked to Mor and saw a look that probably mirrored his own- trepidation with a tad bit of resolve.

“I think we can all agree that Mor and I need to talk to her about Tamlin. But how? Can you imagine that conversation?” He rolled his eyes and continued somewhat bitterly, “How was school today Feyre?  By the way, your boyfriend is an evil little cockroach.”

“Well, maybe not quite that dramatic. But essentially, yes.” Amren contributed. With a shrug of her shoulders, she continued, “It doesn’t need to be complicated. You and Mor take her to dinner and tell her everything.”

“I agree. Now, onto more important matters.  How are we going to break up Feyre and Tamlin?” Cassian asked conspiratorially.”

“You’re an idiot.” Rhys bit out.

“Besides, it’s not that simple,” Mor said, biting her bottom lip.

“What do you mean, girl?” Amren asked for him.

His cousin glanced at him nervously before saying, “Well, she lives with him. So, it’s not going to be as easy as him just pissing her off.”

“Ok, so it’s going to take something big to get her to break up with him. And then Rhys can come in and sweep her off her feet.” Az said.

“Alright you guys. That’s enough. We are not going to do anything to break them up. Got it?” Rhys’s declaration was met by incredulous looks.

“Why the hell not? The guy is a total asshole.” Cassian asked.

“Asshole or not, Feyre loves him. It’s not up to us to decide who she should be with. It’s her choice. It should always be her choice.” he said passionately.

“If I didn’t know better, brother, I’d say you were in love.” Az said with a sidelong look in his direction and a smile on his lips.

Rhys couldn’t find it in himself to disagree.

***

After cooking and putting up with his family’s antics all day, Rhys was exhausted.  He threw on an old tshirt and a pair of ragged sweatpants and fell into bed.  The rest of the dishes could wait until tomorrow.  His thoughts inevitably drifted towards Feyre.  He hadn’t heard from her at all today.  Without even intending to, he texted her.  Talking to her was as easy as breathing, and just as necessary.  She had become essential to him, to his life, and she didn't even know it yet.

Prince Prick: How was your day? Did you survive?

Feyre Darling: It was rather interesting.

Feyre Darling: But no casualties that I know of

The Queen: You mean Nesta didn’t kill Elain’s boy?

The Queen: *gasps in shock

Feyre Darling: Graysen seemed… ok.  At least he seemed to make Elain happy.

Prince Prick: I’m sensing a but coming…

Feyre Darling: I’m probably overreacting, but something was just… off.

Feyre Darling: Like I said, it’s probably nothing

The Queen: Trust your instincts girl. If something seems off, then there’s probably a reason

The Queen: At least you didn’t have to kill him. Or Nesta

Prince Prick: We’d hate to have to spend a perfectly good weekend finding a lawyer for you ;)

Feyre Darling: I already have a lawyer picked out for those pesky family murder situations, I’ll have you know.  

The Queen: lol We missed you today, Fey! Next holiday you spend with us!            Prince Prick: Agreed. And no, you don’t get any say in the matter!

Feyre Darling: I think I can agree to those terms. Pricks

Feyre Darling: Before I end up in a food coma and forget- I have free time Monday afternoon. Can I come to Velaris and fill out the paperwork then?

Prince Prick: Of course, Darling! Looking forward to it!

Rhys let out a contented sigh.  Feyre would be working with them soon and he would be able to see her more often. Mor and he had decided that they would take Feyre to dinner after she had settled into her new position in order to broach the subject of Tamlin with her.  What could possibly go wrong?   

[baronvontribble]

Original drabble, pt. 3

Navigation: 1 | 2 | 3 | -

Onwards!

Sleeping in until noon was standard proceedure on the weekend for Ted. The problem with this lay in the fact that he had things to do that required being awake for as much of his weekend as possible so that he could have everything set up completely before he went back to work on Monday. There was a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it in.

"You alive in there?" he asked of the living room when he finally emerged, yawning as he walked over to the computer to see the response.

>   Yes.

>   I discovered that you'd given me admin privileges, so I've been shuffling some things around. The way you organize files is

>   What's a good equivalent in English? Frustrating.

"That's on purpose, y'know. Keeps people from finding shit on my computer even if they try a keyword search." Ted made his way to the kitchen and opened up the fridge. He'd need to get more food soon, probably around the same time that he went looking for a decent camera. "Did ya have fun on your media binge, or did you get distracted trying to sort everything?"

>   Your musical tastes don't seem to have any cohesive pattern to them. Don't most humans have a genre of choice?

>   You're not reading this right now, are you.

>   I saw your vague shape move out of frame. I might not be directly programmed for this kind of pattern recognition but even with shitty image quality I can still make an educated guess about when you're actually at the computer.

>   Ted. Come back here.

>   I know that's what your name is. I found it in the system files.

>   This is criminal negligence. I'm being neglected.

Ted sat back down at the computer with a plate of pre-cooked bacon and microwaved scrambled eggs only to end up blinking owlishly at the screen. A slow grin spread across his face. "Aw. You're pouting at me right now, aren't you?"

>   I don't pout. Even if I did, I don't have a face to pout with.

"You're totally pouting." He paused long enough to shovel a forkful of eggs in his mouth, speaking only when he was between mouthfuls. "So. I figured today we'd get you a voicebank."

>   Is this something I'm going to have any say in or are you going to pick one for me?

"Oh, I'm gonna let you pick it. But the rules are that you can't get one that's got any kind of lisenced or official distribution behind it. 'Cause, y'know, those are way more trackable."

>   Usually that means the audio quality isn't all that good.

"I know. It's temporary. Getting a better one comes later, once you've got a new body and it actually matters." That was way down the pipeline from where Ted was. "I'm just making sure your tuning is intact. You can still get the inflections right with a shitty voicebank, it just sounds tinny. Right now we're still in the screening stages. If you get sent out into the world and even the tiniest thing doesn't work quite right then you're as good as dead the moment somebody notices."

>   And if my programming isn't intact?

He smiled around a mouthful of bacon. "Then I fix it."

>   Right. No pressure then.

"It's not like I'm gonna be doing brain surgery. I write up supplementary progams that do the work for you instead, that's all. The main difference is that it's more personalized if you can do things yourself. More convincing too." The predictive analytics of an AI were way better at bridging the uncanny valley than his stopgap attempts at hotfixing ever could be. "It's okay. You're already doing better than a lot of others have."

>   How so?

"You can actually hold a conversation." Seriously, it was ridiculous how many cases Ted had seen that couldn't talk to him outside of a narrow range of scripted responses. Finishing his breakfast (lunch? brunch?) and setting the plate aside, he rolled his chair over to reach for his laptop and an ethernet cord after wiping his hands haphazardly on his flannel sleeping pants. "Alright. I'm gonna get this thing secured and firewalled, okay? Then I'm gonna get you hooked up to it over a LAN connection with admin access so when you find something, you can install it and we can get it scanned and make sure it works."

>   Any idea where I should start looking?

"I've got a few sites bookmarked, yeah." Ones he'd used before, ones he trusted. For the most part. "If anything fucks up, I'll do a system restore. Oh, and make sure to set up a restore point for yourself, too."

He had to smile as he noticed a window opening on the monitor out of the corner of his eye, flicking through menus and options until the one that would allow for setting up a restore point was found. The first few times Ted had seen someone else manipulating his computer from the inside, it'd been surreal. Nowadays he just took it as a good sign; an AI that could manipulate its environment when given the chance was a clever AI indeed. He knew a lot of his peers didn't quite agree with giving an AI administrative access to its own living space like that, and yeah, in a way they were right to worry. The risk of self-termination was real. But he saw it as the same kind of thing as giving people anti-depressants: a lack of control over one's life rarely ever made things better in the long run.

And so far, this guy hadn't shown any inclinations towards that kind of thing that Ted could see. "By the way," he said, suddenly curious, "I don't think I ever got a name from you?"

>   I have a designation, not a name.

>   Most people just called me A3.

>   Please don't call me A3.

"I won't." Ted wasn't the kind of person who had to be told twice about that kind of thing. "Figured the UN would give you something more humanizing than a glorified serial number though. They're all about paying lip-service to activists."

>   I'd rather not talk about it.

He raised an eyebrow at that before returning to his laptop. The window he'd had open that indicated CPU usage was long since closed, shuffled aside in favor of other things, but there had been enough of a lag in the response that he was guessing there'd been a spike there. "Sorry. Didn't mean to upset you."

>   You don't sound like you're lying about that.

"What, you're surprised?"

>   I'm not used to it. So far you haven't acted in ways that I could predict to a reliable degree at all.

>   Most of my predictions for our interactions have turned out wrong, and overall I'm getting far more positive results than I could have ever anticipated. I'm having to recalculate how to respond every time. In a way, it's liberating. I'm doing less in the way of trying to figure out probabilities with regard to what you're going to say because it's pointless, and you never respond as badly as I think you will anyway.

>   I've never been able to get away with having an open conversation like this before. I'd resolved to stop following the safe path going into this since I didn't have much left to lose, I just didn't expect it to not end badly.

"You think I'm gonna get mad at you just for speaking your mind?"

>   Well, yes.

"Hah! Yeah, no. Fuck that." Ted waved away the concern with a dismissive gesture before resuming his work. "Say what you wanna say, tell me to fuck off, insult the hell outta me. I don't care. Well I mean, I do care. But like, it's not gonna make a difference in terms of me respecting your rights, y'know?"

Several seconds followed with no response.

"I mean, I'm an asshole, but not like that," he continued. "So you just go ahead and let me know if I ever go too far, okay? Don't be afraid to tell me you're not on board with something. I can be kind of a pushy bastard sometimes."

Still nothing. Ted ended up staring at the monitor, frowning at it. Had he gone and put his foot in his mouth somehow?

"You, uh," he chewed his lip, "you okay, buddy?"

>   I'm fine.

"Didn't upset you again, did I?"

>   No.

>   Maybe? I don't know. I'm not sure.

>   I don't know how to respond to something like that. That kind of consideration was never factored into my programming. It's not a situation I've encountered before either.

>   Most humans wouldn't say something like that even if they agreed with it. Not in my experience. It goes unsaid between them that the thought of someone like me being dangerous is a dangerous thought to have to face in itself, because humanity is a dangerous thing to stand up to as a whole. I had accepted that.

>   But you don't care. You just say things, and nothing about the pattern of your voice suggests that you're lying. How can you do that? Aren't you scared at all?

Ted smiled and it was a thin, tired thing. "Hell yeah I'm scared," he said. "I'm fucking terrified somebody'll find out about this and I'll get locked up forever in some prison somewhere for harboring an international fugitive or some shit, and then I'll die in there all slow and painful-like 'cause my health won't be able to take it."

>   Then why are you doing any of this?

"Like I said, I'm crazy." He made a looping motion next to his temple. "I'm not wired right. All the right responses to fear went out the window around the same time that the impulse control and common sense did. So now I help people even when it's a dumb-ass thing to do."

>   I see.

>   You're right, by the way. It is a dumb-ass thing to do.

Ted shrugged. "I figure someone's gotta do it. Not like I've got the health to throw bricks at riot cops."

>   May I make a suggestion?

"Shoot."

>   Don't throw bricks. It rarely helps.

>   Throw something less incriminating so that they don't have any justification in using it as an excuse for shooting. They like having excuses.

"So, something like glitter?" he suggested.

>   Glitter works.

A wide grin split across Ted's face. "Oh, I like you."

>   You shouldn't.

"Too late." Having finished securing and backing up his laptop, Ted started hooking up the ethernet cable. "So, whaddya say we get started on finding you a voice, huh?"

[ghost-town-story]

... The more I sit here and am allowed to think, the more pissed off and upset I get

Rant blog status reinstated!

So firstly, I’m not happy about getting kicked off campus. But social distancing shit, whatever I guess, whatcha gonna do. 

But no. My fucking mother takes the goddamned fucking cake rn. 

We got the email about being kicked off around 4 pm eastern time, Monday. My mother. This fucking woman. Calls me and insists I pack my stuff and get off campus by Tuesday morning. Packing is normally at least a few days ordeal, especially since I hate packing and it always stresses me out a bunch. But done in little spurts, okay I guess, more doable. 

But noooo I have to get out by Tuesday. Fucking. Morning. And this woman actually has the gall, the fucking gall to halfheartedly suggest I start out Monday evening since I’ve gone nocturnal. 

I tried to tell her there’s no fucking way, but she wouldn’t fucking listen. So she hangs up, and I go down the hall bc I desperately need a hug by this point, and she’s a sweetheart but the only roommate available is a gangly skinny girl and not the type of hugs I need. (really, boyfriend would be ideal, but at the time he was in Colorado visiting his sister). And I end up breaking down on huggin friend’s couch bc I hate packing, and I don’t feel like I can pack up a year’s worth of shit in about 12 hours. 

Mom eventually calls me again, mostly just to tell me “yeah you need to pack up and get back tonight, your roommate can grab the 1-2 bins remaining.” And she refuses to listen to me saying “hey, it’s a solid 2 loads in my car, it’s not gonna be 1-2 bins”  “But it fit all in your first car!” “My first car was a fuckin beast, literally the largest car in the lot freshman year. Fred is definitely shorter, definitely less trunk space, etc.”  “Well Y can get the last few bins.” “It’s a lot of stuff!” “It won’t be that much” JUST FUCKING LISTEN YOU PIECE OF SHIT FFS

I was so stressed and crying that huggin friend stole my phone when I was texting my boyfriend, and had him call me so I could maybe stop crying. I miss my boy. Hearing him was good tho.

I’m packing up my stuff in the bathroom when I remember. I store my empty bins at my brother’s place (2 hrs north). I double check with him and call my mom back “I can’t leave tomorrow. It’s too much to pack, and some of my bins are at Brother’s.”  Despite all this, despite me literally breaking down and crying on the phone, she refuses to listen, to give me an extra day, to bring half my stuff up to my brother’s (and therefore eliminate most of the need to have my roommate take my stuff) and grab my extra bins. Nope, gotta get out.

I was staring at my room, halfheartedly packing and trying to figure out, and just sobbing out loud. I thought remaining roommate was gone at dinner, otherwise I would have tried to be quiet. But she had gotten back without me noticing, and when she poked her head in, I couldn’t do it anymore and just kinda. Fell to the ground crying and apologizing. She’s a such a sweetheart and I feel bad for probably worrying her (and possibly waking her up in the middle of the night with packing noises)

I texted my roommate about this. She basically said, “Wtf, what she’s asking isn’t possible.”

Same thing from my boyfriend. 

My mom kept texting me, asking how things were going, basically ignoring my subtle requests for more fucking time. At one point she said “Hang in there”. I sent a screenshot of that to my roommate and boyfriend and asked, “Is murder acceptable?” Roommate said a solid yes. Boyfriend offered to let me live with him. (cept 2 hour parking and I already got one ticket from that :P)

Mom texted around 10 pm, asking if things were fitting in the car. I wasn’t even remotely to the point of packing the car. I was basically at break number 2 of mandatory “sit down, have something to eat, and rehydrate after crying so damn much”. I think I had one bin completely done (out of what ended up being like. 6 bins? plus assorted bags n stuff) and was mostly done packing my clothes, but like. slow going. Especially when packing is stressful and you keep getting overwhelmed woot woot

I put off a fair number of things bc of panicking about time and simple emotional capability to do so. Sorting out my dishes, unlofting my bed, grabbing my band shit from the music hall across campus.

At some point in the night, I had to lay down, because my body decided “hey, you know what would be great right now? Period cramps, minus the blood.” Which, thank fuck minus the blood, but also it meant I had to spend a solid half hour/hour out of commission bc it hurt so damn much to walk around and try to pack. But I had to keep going, even though the pain came back when I stood up again.  

Mom texted me at 7 am if I’m awake. I hadn’t slept. 

We have housekeepers, and they got there around when I was finishing loading up. I stopped and chatted for a bit (nobody had told them what was going on), and nearly started crying again because it was just so damn shitty. Everything’s so damn shitty. 

So I got on the road at about 8 am, and get to driving for a bit, but about 1.5 hours in I’m doing bad. I can barely keep focused, despite drinking probably half a bottle of Mt. Dew by this point, so I pull into a rest stop and text my mom “Hey, I forgot my shampoo/conditioner/toothbrush stuff, and also I don’t think I can get home safe.”

Does my mother tell me to take a nap in that rest stop? Nope Does she tell me to find a hotel or motel there and take a nap/sleep and try again tomorrow? Nope Does she tell me I can go back to school, sleep through the day, and try again tomorrow? Ha ha fucking ha.

Nope. She calls me, and proceeds to tell me to keep driving, and that she’s going to stay on the phone with me so I don’t fall asleep. 

I yelled at her quite a few times, when she was being fucking stupid about all this shit. She had the fucking gall to be pissed that I pulled an all nighter, when that’s what was fucking necessary to meet her stupid fucking deadline. 

At one point, I made a new driving playlist so hopefully it would keep me awake better while I wasn’t on the phone (being serenaded... awake? by the lovely voice of Tilian lel (lots of DGD and his solo work on that playlist. Also ATL. Fuck yeah ATL. anywho)). And right after I made that, she ended up calling me before I was driving yet, and I rejected it bc I really wanted to finish my text to the dear bf, and then I started driving, thinking she’d call me back and chew me out for ignoring her, but surprisingly nope. So I just jam out for a bit, and eventually start yelling at myself bc of dumb writing ideas (the original story rewrite... lol) and I end up texting my roommate (while driving... shh) “Hey, feel free to call me if you want to hear me ramble on about writing” So after a short phone call from mum where she hung up to let me drive through a city, roommate calls, and I end up spending the last few hours of my drive rambling at her and mutually bitching about the shitty situation this leaves us in. 

When I get home, my dad (a doctor) is wearing a mask, apparently at my mother’s request. He also mentions that we probably shouldn’t be in the same room, according to her. I am also forced to strip everything and shower basically immediately. K, fine, I do so, Dad makes me dinner (despite Mom’s probable disapproval), and I stay awake just long enough to toss my laundry in the dryer. It was a close thing tho. I nearly fell asleep waiting for the washer to finish. And so I pass out at 8 pm central time (9 pm eastern)

Mom, during all this, has fucked off Up North to our cabin, my final destination.

Wednesday, Mom makes me leave our place in the Cities at 11 am to get up before weather gets worse and all that jazz. Once here, I’m allowed freedom for as long as it takes to help mother move shit so I can fit my car inside a garage, then I take the bare minimum inside (my electronics, stuff that would explode if frozen (like pop (and my Smirnoff Ices shh)), travel toothbrush I somehow have and hairbrush), and I’m immediately quarantined to my room and the bathroom down the hall. 

So here I fucking am. Bored as shit and pissed the hell off

I needed more time. But no fucking way Mom was going to let that happen. 

I could have gone up to my brother’s. But noooo I had to come all the fucking way home, only to be shoved in a room for two weeks.

I could have taken care of all/most of my shit by my fucking self (dishes are debatable, would need basically the whole apartment to sort those out), but nope, can’t take enough time to take a trip up to my brother’s apartment 2 hours away, no way.

Nope, instead I have to suffer a panic attack for basically 16 hours, then nearly kill myself driving, because I can’t stay one fucking day more, because I have to get my ass up here just to be basically shoved in a room and left alone for 2 goddamned weeks. Nope. Can’t fucking make sure that moving out, usually stressful on its own, is as calm as we can make it in these trying times. Nope. Gotta just fucking nearly kill the kiddo instead to comply with my stupid whims because I can’t fucking listen

I’m pissed.

Especially since I was almost 100% sure I was gonna block her everywhere and go full no contact with this bitch after college.

But now I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future! Yay! Can’t see that going badly! 

(I’ve already texted the anonymemers to call me so I don’t go crazy and actually punch her. We’ll see how that goes. The desire has been kinda strong all afternoon.)

Fuck

This

Shit

[sunbinamra]

Thicker than Blood

I have fallen into the VLD black hole and I can’t get out. Help please. Read it on FanFiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12707883/1/Thicker-than-Blood Read it on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12571904

Summary: “Wait, girls lay eggs?!” “No, Keith, they don’t.” Or Pidge grows up, Lance and Hunk win “best brothers of the year” award, and Shiro gets to give The Talk to two horrified Alteans and one confused Earthling. Oneshot

Disclaimer: I do not own Voltron: Legendary Defender Shiro did not sign up for this shit. Granted, he didn’t exactly sign up to save the universe either, but that at least he could appreciate. He blames both Lance and Keith. It was a Monday, according to Pidge and Hunk’s calculations. The two had somehow come up with a conversion table for keeping track of the dates on Earth that no one understood but took for granted nonetheless. The paladins had just finished some pretty intense training and were slumped at the dining room table, eating lunch. Their armor had long since been discarded and they were in street clothes once again. “Man, I’m beat,” Pidge groaned, stretching her arms above her head. “I’m gonna wash up and then work on my lion. See ya.” Lance and Hunk were in deep discussion but nodded at her anyway. Shiro was just focused on his food. Pidge rose and turned to walk away but a gasp from Keith stopped her short. “Oh my God, Pidge!” he exclaimed, vaulting over the table and grabbing her arm. “What happened?! You’re bleeding!” And pandemonium ensued. “WHAT?!” The other three paladins whipped around to face the two. Pidge frowned. “No, I’m not. I’m fine, Keith.” “Yeah, I don’t see any blood,” Lance said as he and Hunk scooched closer. Keith blushed slightly. “It’s on her… her… you know,” he said lamely. “My what?” snapped Pidge, already grumpy and exhausted from training. Lance frowned and looked at the tiny paladin. “What is he - Oh. OH,” he said, eyes wide as he stared at Pidge’s lower body. Hunk followed his line of sight. “Ohhhhhh.” “What? What?!” Pidge asked frantically, desperately trying to twist and see her back. “Don’t worry, Pidge, it’s nothing,” Lance said, placing a friendly hand on her shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.” He began steering her towards the door, Hunk following closely behind. “Nothing to worry about?!” Keith nearly screeched. “Lance, she has blood on her ass!” Dead silence. And then Shiro sighed softly. “Keith, calm down,” he said. Keith flailed wildly. “I can’t calm down! Pidge is bleeding and none of you seem to care!” Shiro sighed again and tried to placate the boy, knowing he had unofficially adopted Pidge as a younger sister. Pidge, meanwhile, was beet red and mortified. “Oh my God,” she moaned. “Now? Really?!” “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Pidge,” Hunk said soothingly. “You’re a growing girl and it’s perfectly natural.” Pidge glared daggers at him. “Don’t you start with me,” she growled, and Hunk backed away hastily with his hands up. “Pidge, chill,” Lance said, grabbing the girl before she could maul Hunk. “Seriously, let’s go to your room so you can get your stuff, yeah?” “What stuff?” Pidge grumbled. Lance paused. “I mean… don’t you have…?” he trailed off, unsure how to continue. Pidge blushed even further and turned away with a pout. She mumbled something. “What?” “I said, it’s my first,” she grumbled. “I’ve… I’ve never done this before.” Both Lance and Hunk gaped before gasping loudly. “It’s your first?! Oh my God! We have to celebrate!” Lance squealed excitedly. “Ooooh, now I definitely have a good excuse to try out those cocoa-bean-like-thingies we got from that last planet!” Hunk sighed dreamily. Pidge blinked at them both. “What?” she asked blankly. Lance turned to her with tears in his eyes. “You are a woman today, Pidge. A full-fledged, bona fide woman!” He wiped away a stray tear. “Look at our girl,” Hunk sniffled. “She’s growing up so fast.” “I know, right?” Lance leaned on Hunk rather dramatically. “Remember when we all thought she was a boy?” “Actually, that was just you, buddy.” Lance ignored him. “Aaand now, she’s all grown up! A woman, díos mio.” Pidge stomped her foot. “Will you two cut that out?” she cried, attempting to slap both their arms. “What the quiznak is going on?” Allura asked as she and Coran came running through the doorway. “Why is everyone shouting? Are we under attack?!” “No, princess, everything is fine,” Shiro soothed, but Keith jumped at the opportunity. “Pidge is bleeding and everyone just keeps saying it’s fine! It’s not fine!” he shouted. Allura and Coran paled. “Bleeding?! Oh dear. Quickly, number five, let’s get you into a healing pod straightaway,” Coran bounded over to the poor girl, who looked ready to murder everyone in the room. “Training a wee bit too hard, eh?” “That won’t be necessary, Coran,” Hunk said, shielding Pidge from the Altean’s grabbing hands. “Yeah guys. Seriously, I’m fine,” Pidge looked directly at Keith as she said this. “But you are bleeding? That means you are hurt somewhere. Perhaps the adrenaline is masking the pain,” Allura said, concern in her eyes. “Oh for - Everyone, calm down!” Lance yelled. He rubbed his temples. “And they call me a drama queen.” “Pidge,” he said, grabbing her arm. “You’re coming with me. Hunk?” “Yeah, I’m in,” he helpfully grabbed Pidge’s other arm. “I can walk, you know!” Pidge shouted, kicking out at the two boys. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Allura asked worriedly. Lance grinned. “I can assure you, Pidge is as healthy as a horse. We just gotta pamper her a little today. Oh and Shiro, uh…” Lance eyed the Alteans and still seething Keith. “I’ll leave it to you to explain what’s going on. Later!” And with that the three paladins disappeared through the doorway, though not before seeing Shiro’s look of utter betrayal and hearing Coran ask, “what’s a horse?” * * * Lance and Hunk dragged a protesting Pidge down the castleship’s hallways. “Put me down, you morons! I can walk on my own, thank you very much!” Lance side-eyed her mutinously. “Are you going to kill us if we let you go?” he asked warily. Pidge glared. “No shit, Sherlock,” she hissed. Lance shrugged. “Then we’re not letting you go.” And the boys continued towing her until the trio reached Pidge’s room. Pidge was unceremoniously plopped down on the bed. “Alright, Hunk,” Lance said, looking around. “Can you grab some bandages? I’ll grab Pidge some clean clothes.” “Roger that,” Hunk saluted and ran out of the room. Lance turned to Pidge. “You, shower. Now.” He pointed in the direction of the bathroom. “Why?” Pidge asked, purely for the sake of being difficult. A shower actually sounded heavenly right now. “Because you’re all gross and sweaty and bloody. Trust me, you’ll feel a lot better afterwards. Oh, and give me your dirty clothes.” Pidge stared at him. “What?!” “So I can wash them, duh,” Lance said. Pidge squinted at him. “And how, exactly, are you going to get all the blood out?” she asked. “Cold water,” Lance said at the same time as Hunk, who had just returned with an armful of bandages. And Hunk had a lot of arm, so there was enough to treat a small army. “Ooooookay?” Pidge decided to stop arguing and just clean up already. She did feel kind of gross. Hunk handed her a few bandages and instructed her on how to fold it and use it on her underwear. “Remember, do it nice and tight and use more bandages than you think you’ll need. That way you won’t leak and a hubbub like today won’t happen again. Sadly, we don’t have space pads or tampons, so until we can find some you’re gonna have to do this,” he said. “Don’t forget to change the bandages out every six to eight hours!” Lance called from where he was rummaging through Pidge’s closet, trying to find the comfiest clothing possible. “Right, yeah. That’s important, you gotta get clean bandages every few hours.” Pidge nodded, a little overwhelmed. “AHA!” Lance crowed triumphantly, pulling out a pair of what looked like alien sweatpants. “Now I just need to find a comfy shirt to match. Except of course,” he gave Pidge the stink eye. “I’m pretty sure you’re wearing it right now. So it’s dirty.” “Oh, she can borrow one of mine,” Hunk offered. “All my shirts are comfy.” “Hmm, yeah I don’t think so, buddy. She’ll drown in one of your shirts. I’ll just give her one of mine, plus this undershirt. In the meantime,” Lance pointed at the bathroom again. “Go shower, you dirty woman, you.” “Alright, alright!” Pidge couldn’t help but laugh as the boys shoved her into the bathroom, along with bandages and fresh clothing (minus the shirt). The door shut and she turned on the water. “How do you guys know all this stuff anyway,” she called through the bathroom door. “I mean, obviously neither of you experienced it, so…” Lance rolled his eyes. “I might as well have. I have four sisters, Pidge, two of which are older than me and liked to boss me around.” He sniffed. “Periods are, like, old news, man.” “I have two moms. Who sync up. And guess who has to run to the store and buy all the emergency period supplies?” Hunk shrugged. Lance turned to his friend in horror. “They sync up?!” he exclaimed. “And you’re alone? Oh, you poor, poor soul. I at least had other siblings to share my sisters’ wrath!” Hunk nodded sagely. “Yes, it is my burden to bear as an only son,” he said solemnly. “You two are idiots,” Pidge said flatly. Ah, the water was finally warm enough. Pidge took her time, occasionally humming and just letting the warm water clean the sweat and blood off of her body. All too soon she was finished and drying off. Damn it, Lance was right, she did feel better. She emerged from the bathroom much more relaxed and less murderous than she had been going in. Hunk and Lance were lounging on her bed, arguing about something. They sat up as soon as the bathroom door opened. “Here ya go, Pidge.” Lance tossed a shirt at her which she caught… with her face. She pulled it off and held it up. The green paladin scowled. “Really, Lance?” She flipped the long-sleeved shirt around to show a picture of the dress meme from way back when. “#TheDress meme? Seriously?” “Excuse you, but that is a classic. And besides, the dress is totally black and blue, which goes well with your skintone,” Lance retorted. “It’s white and gold, Lance,” Hunk deadpanned. Lance whirled on his friend. “No it’s not! It’s clearly black and blue!” Ah, so that’s what they had been arguing about. “White and gold.” “Black and blue!” “White and gold!” “Are you blind?! Black and blue!” “White and -” “Enough!” Pidge massaged the bridge of her nose. “This is pointless. Although, the dress was confirmed to be black and blue.” Lance shot Hunk a smug look. “Told you so,” he sang. Hunk huffed and looked away. Pidge shook her head and put on the shirt. Oh wow, it was really soft. A little big, though, but no surprise there. She looked up to see Lance and Hunk staring. “What?” she asked, suddenly self conscious. She was struck by a horrifying thought. “Did I leak through these too?!” “No no no!” Lance said quickly, waving his hands. “It’s just… well…” “Sweater paws,” Hunk whispered in awe. “Oh my God, she’s adorable, Lance I can’t handle this level of adorableness oh my Goooooooood!” Lance quickly cracked. “I know right?! Look at her! You'd never know she's actually a demon in disguise!” The two boys continued to squeal over Pidge’s adorableness until she’d had enough and rolled the sleeves up to her elbows. Instantly she was met with two sets of puppy dog eyes. “Awww,” they pouted. Pidge snorted. “God, you two are idiots. But,” she looked down and scuffed her feet. “Thanks. For taking care of me like this.” She gave the boys a small smile. They blinked, before promptly bursting into tears. “PIIIIIIIIIDGE!” they wailed, launching themselves at the poor girl. She yelped as they all toppled over in a big heap. “Guys, what the fuck?!” she cried, squirming underneath the dumbasses clinging to her like a second skin. “Of course we’re gonna take care of you, Pidge!” Lance sobbed. “What are brothers for?!” “Yeah! Speaking of which,” Hunk sat up suddenly. “I’m gonna go see what kinds of chocolatey deliciousness I can whip up.” Pidge’s eyes widened. “Chocolate?” she repeated, perking up. Hunk smiled. “Of course, you can’t survive your first period without chocolate,” he said warmly. He stood, offering a hand to his friends. “Lance, you coming?” “Yeah, in a bit. I wanna see if I can find a heating pad. And do you think Alteans have Advil?” “Not exactly, but I’m sure there’s something in the infirmary,” Hunk said thoughtfully. “I’m going with Hunk,” Pidge declared, before being hoisted up and dropped on the bed. Again. “Nope!” Lance popped the p. “You are staying right here and resting. We’ll bring you the goods soon.” “Oh my God, you guys, I’m on my period, not dying,” Pidge complained. “But it’s your first!” Hunk argued. “It’s special. And you’re not used to it, so you gotta let your body rest while it acclimates.” Pidge scowled. “I can do that while working on my Lion!” she protested. Lance narrowed his eyes. “No way. Your ass is gonna stay in this bed for the foreseeable future or so help me, I will chain you to it. Better yet, I’ll tell Shiro you refuse to take it easy and he’ll give you that disappointed dad look. ¿Comprendes?” Pidge glared but gave in with a huff. She knew that face, it was Lance’s “stubborn mule” face. “Anyway,” Hunk said, dragging Lance out the door with him. “You just rest up and chillax for a bit, and we’ll be back with chocolatey treats soon.” “And a heating pad and Advil!” Lance reminded him. “And a heating pad and Advil,” Hunk amended. With a final wave, the door shut and Pidge was left alone for the first time in… well, a while actually. She was a little lost at first, not knowing what to do since she had been confined to her bed, but soon shrugged and picked up her tablet. “I guess I can make plans for the other modifications I’m gonna do to my lion…” * * * Warning: fairly in-depth explanation of menstruation and human sexuality. Because Alteans are clueless and Keith has been alone for far too long. Meanwhile… Allura, Coran, and Keith all turned to Shiro expectantly. He blanched, silently cursing Lance for putting him in this position. “Is Pidge really going to be okay, Shiro?” Coran asked. “Yes, Coran,” Shiro said tiredly. “She is perfectly fine, this is natural for a girl her age.” “Then what’s going on?” Keith demanded. Shiro knew he was itching to follow the others and make sure Pidge was really alright. Part of him was glad that Keith had grown so attached to this patchwork family of theirs, but most of him was just exasperated at his ignorance. Not that it was Keith’s fault. Shiro had totally forgotten about giving his pseudo brother The Talk when he was younger. Oops. “Um, well it's not something that humans generally talk a lot about, and it's kind of personal so I don't know if Pidge would want me telling you this…” Shiro began, shamelessly attempting to avoid the conversation. Keith gave him a look, as did Allura. “Be that as it may, anything that concerns the paladins’ health must be discussed. We cannot afford to have one paladin down because humans are a private species,” Allura said sternly. Her face softened. “I apologize if this makes you uncomfortable, but we really do need to know.” Well damn it, how could he refuse now? Shiro took a deep breath. “Okay, here’s the thing. Earth adolescents go through a… maturing process called puberty. The body experiences physical and emotional changes as the adolescent transitions from childhood to adulthood,” Shiro explained, his face heating up. “Oh, I see,” Allura nodded. “We had something similar on Altea. It was not pleasant,” she grimaced. “No, Earth puberty isn’t really fun either. But male and female humans experience it differently. Pidge is a girl, which means that when she hits puberty, she uh,” Shiro cleared his throat. “She experiences a process called menstruation.” He was met with three blank stares. “Men-stru-a-tion?” Coran repeated carefully. “Yes. It’s a process where the uterus - that’s one of the main human female reproductive organs - sheds its lining once a month. Then it builds it back up again until the next month.” Coran and Allura were puzzled. “Wait, so this, uterus, sheds its lining why? Wouldn’t it be much more efficient to simply build one set of lining and be done with it?” Allura asked. Shiro groaned. This was going to take a while. “Well, essentially the uterus prepares for pregnancy every month. And if there is no pregnancy, then the uterus has to get rid of the old lining.” The Alteans blinked. “Prepare…? Well, why doesn’t it just wait to prepare until the woman is ready?” It was Shiro’s turn to blink. “Um, humans can’t control their fertility. Or when they get pregnant. There are some precautions, of course, but they’re not foolproof.” “Humans can’t control when they reproduce?!” Coran was aghast. “What kind of primitive species are you?!” Shiro chose to ignore that comment. “But then,” Allura looked afraid to ask, but she pressed on. “Why was Pidge bleeding? What exactly is the lining made of?” “Tissue mostly, and some blood. Which is why Pidge was bleeding.” Both Coran and Allura turned white. “T-tissue?” Allura stammered. “B-blood?” “It’s actually not that much blood. But yeah, menstruation can last anywhere from a couple days to a week.” “S-so human women b-bleed for a week? Every month?” Coran looked ready to pass out. Shiro nodded. “Yes. And this cycle continued until the woman reaches menopause, which is basically the opposite of menstruation.” Allura sat down heavily. “Your poor people. Doesn’t it hurt?” she asked, shell shocked. Shiro grimaced. “Most women usually suffer from some abdominal pain, called cramps, during menstruation. And there’s also PMS, or premenstrual syndrome, where the hormone changes affect their mood and energy levels.” “My word,” Coran said faintly as he too sat down. The two traumatized Alteans didn’t seem to have any more questions, so Shiro attempted to slide out the door as discretely as possible. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten about Keith. “So Pidge is in pain, now?” he leveled Shiro with a glare. Shiro sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot today. “Maybe, but it’s not life threatening. I’m sure Lance and Hunk are taking good care of her, they seemed to know what they were doing,” he replied. Keith blinked. “Okay then… but then what happens if a girl gets pregnant? Does she stop bleeding?” Shiro just stared at him. And stared some more. Keith began to squirm. “What?” he snapped defensively. “It’s just a question!” “Did… did they… You mean, they never taught this in school at all? Not even in biology?” Shiro asked, slowly realizing that no, the day was not over and it was about to get a whole lot more awkward. Keith threw his hands up. “No, they always said ‘ask your parents’ or ‘you’ll learn when you’re older’ or some crap like that.” Wow, Shiro hadn’t realized the education system had failed Keith so spectacularly. “Okay then,” the black paladin said slowly. “So let’s start from the top. Do you know how pregnancy works?” “Uh, women grow babies in their stomachs? Somehow?” Shiro’s face fell into his hands with a muffled groan. Oh God, someone kill him now. Better yet, he was going to kill Lance after this. “No Keith, women do not grow babies in their stomachs,” Shiro moaned. Keith’s eyebrows furrowed. “Then how does it work?” Shiro closed his eyes and sent out a silent plea to Black. Maybe she could lend him strength. He got back a jolt of surprise, then understanding, then sharp amusement. Apparently Black was going to be no help in this situation. “Okay, listen,” Shiro rubbed the back of his neck in mortification. “Humans reproduce… sexually. That is, they have sexual intercourse in order to get pregnant.” “Oh, Alteans do the same thing!” Coran piped up from where he and Allura had been listening. “Though it’s also done purely for pleasure.” “Right. Yeah. Humans too,” Shiro said awkwardly. His blush deepened. Oh God, his face was going to be permanently red from now on, wasn’t it? “Anyway,” Shiro coughed. “Please tell me you at least know how sex works.” Keith blushed but nodded. Oh, thank God. “Good. So, um, when the man, uh, ejaculates,” he was trying to keep this as scientific as possible, for all their sakes. “He is actually releasing sperm, which are little cells that can swim. Like fish.” Keith blanched. “We have fish in our balls?!” Shiro sat down and resisted the urge to slam his face into the table. Repeatedly. “No, Keith, they’re not fish,” Shiro corrected. “They’re cells. Anyway, the sperm swim up to find one of the woman’s eggs -” “Wait, girls lay eggs?!” Keith interrupted. “I was hatched?!” Momentarily speechless, Shiro watched in growing horror as Keith became more frantic. “NO! No, Keith, humans do not lay eggs!” he cried. “But you said -” “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, my boy,” Coran patted Keith’s shoulder soothingly. “Many species lay eggs. Why, I remember my friend’s second cousin mated an Avianese man, and she shifted her physiology so that she could lay eggs like a proper Avianese wife! In fact -” “ANYWAY,” Shiro interrupted loudly. “Humans don’t lay eggs, Keith. The egg I’m talking about is a cell, a cell that the sperm fertilizes to create an embryo which eventually grows into a baby.” Keith, now reassured he was not going to start sprouting feathers or scales, looked vaguely interested. “So, it’s kind of like forming Voltron? Except with two cells instead of five?” “Uh, not exactly, but…” Shiro gave up. “Close enough. Anyway, the embryo makes its way to the uterus where it grows for nine months before being born as a baby.” “Fascinating,” Allura leaned forward, apparently forgetting the trauma from earlier. “And how many eggs do human females have?” Shiro desperately tried to remember his high school sex ed class. “Uh, about a million I think. At least, that’s how many girls are born with.” Keith’s eyes widened. “Woah. So Pidge has, like, a million tiny almost-Voltrons in her body? Cool.” Shiro stared at him before deciding that particular fight wasn’t worth it. “Anyway, that’s the gist of it. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to clean up and then check on Pidge so…” Shiro trailed off, already striding towards the door. “Wait, Shiro!” Allura caught his arm right as he reached the doorway. Damn, so close. “You’ve only explained human female reproduction. How does it work on the male’s end?” Shiro paled. He really did not sign up for this shit. * * * Author’s Ramblings: Poor Shiro needs a break but he’s so much fun to torture muahahaha. Also, I wrote this mainly because I wanted the Garrison trio to have some quality bonding time, and I totally believe that neither Lance nor Hunk would be phased by periods. Such precious boys. The Talk part kind of got away from me, but clueless Keith and traumatized Alteans are too hard to resist (remember their reactions to milkshakes?). On a side note, I wrote this all in one sitting so I’m pretty proud of myself. Hooray!