#some of these are old art but I just love her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovrre · 1 day

Text

Agreement prt1

Art Donaldson x Fem black reader

Warnings: cursing, infidelity(kinda), slight smut (fingering) sub ish Art. Slight he loves her more trope, needy Art and probably some other stuff

Word count: 2k

Summary: Despite being engaged to one of the top and richest tennis players in the US, you feel unfulfilled. But everything changes when you transfer schools and meet Art Donaldson, who just can’t quit you.

Author note: GUYS GUYS, PLEASE DON’T KILL ME. MY WRITERS BLOCK HAS BEEN SO BAD YOU DONT UNDERSTANDDD, But I’m finishing all my requests and unfinished fics soon so stay tuned. 😚

Sitting on the bed in your brand new silk pajamas, you found yourself distracted, just like you had been the day before and the day before that. You played with The edge of the book you were attempting to read,mindlessly repeated the last sentence over and over in your head trying to retain anything. The loud television and the whirring of the ceiling fan only added to the chaos. Plus the freezing cold air conditioning of the hotel room made it impossible to concentrate.

In a desperate attempt to regain some semblance of focus, you clumsily reached for the remote, hoping to silence at least one of the distractions. your eyes falling on your fiancé who was sleeping peacefully, his dark hair all messy, in his crisp white t-shirt that matched perfectly to the expensive hotel sheets, he looked so sweet,so innocent. You thought if he slept more, maybe everything could work out

Mike slept while snuggled into your side. Like he often did when you two shared a bed, You had attempted to remove him several times but every time he ended right back at your side so you gave up, In any other scenario his action would seem romantic but they only made you feel worse than you were already feeling. In an effort to relieve some guilt you liked to reminded yourself your engagement was never out of love but business. But then again the line did blur in the beginning of your relationship. Before you left for Stanford, you and Mike got caught up in the act of pretending be in love.

After that you could never really tell real from fake with him, he didn’t like you talking to other men. He’d shower you with really expensives grift but then leave town and not answer your calls or text for days. But when no one was watching he’d try to hug and kiss you. The whole thing was confusing, You had known idea how he persived your relationship but you knew You Felt guilty, without all the technicallys, you knew that you still lied,

The people ate up the role you and Mike played. occasionally you’d have to leave campus and go out in public holding hands or sharing kisses in the rain. But it was all for show, at least on your end. Your Dad made sure to reminded you That, it was the love sick tennis player in love with his coaches daughter that sold tickets. kept the stands full of women hoping to catch the world win romances in action. Also Brought in a large number of his clientele. He promised It wouldn’t be forever unless you wanted to be. And Really how could you complain? 20 years old engaged to One of the wealthiest and most talented tennis players in the world and he wasn't bad looking either. Before all this, you weren't too keen on love anyway, so what were you really missing out on?

~~~

Ten months before

Patrick serves but Art's attention is elsewhere. The ball zooms past Art for the second time, prompting Patrick to turn around and finally see who's behind him. His gaze lands on you, playing tennis alone on a smaller court. The sun shining off your smooth, glistening skin, and your pink tennis dress gracefully flowing with each jump and run.

"Oh, I get it," Patrick chuckles, glancing back at Art. "She's hot. You should talk to her, maybe offer her a lesson. She could use it," Patrick suggests, looking back at you as you let another tennis ball from the machine fly past you . "I think I've seen her somewhere before," Patrick mutters, tapping his racket against his leg.

Still in a daze, Art jogged over to your court. "Oh, you're serious," Patrick murmured watching as he went over to you following closely behind him. "Hi," Art greets, slightly out of breath walking up to the net. "Hi?" you respond, slightly confused, giving him a small wave.

"Are you new here?"

"To the school or the court?" You ask

"Both."

"I'm new to both” you say a little breathless wiping sweat from your forehead.

“I just transferred," you explain.

"Where did you go before?"

"A small community college in Virginia."

"What about tennis?"

"You have a lot of questions," you laugh, tapping your tennis racket against your leg.

"Im just curious “Art jokes.

"I'm just doing this because my fiancé is a tennis player. I thought I'd try to learn," you reveal.

“Finance?” Art questions.

“Yep”

“ how old are you like 20?”

“ actually 19, I turn twenty in a couple months”

“And you're getting married?” Art asked clearly dumbfounded

“Yes” you laugh at his forwardness

", is he a pro or college?", Art asked, assuming the answer would be college.

“Pro," you replied, letting your curls fall freely from your hair tie. Art couldn't help but admire how beautiful you were,too young to be tied down

"Anyone we would know?" Art asks following you as you walk over to the bench with your tennis bag. "Hmm, maybe," you hum, sitting down to tie your shoe. "Mike Fitts."

"Your fiancé is Mike Fitts!" Patrick exclaims a little too loudly. "Mhmm," you confirm, starting to tie your other shoe. "If Mike Fitts is your fiancé, why are you here?"

"Are you referring to the court or the school?" you ask, looking up at both Art and Patrick.

"Both," Art and Patrick respond in unison.

You chuckled as you stuffed your tennis racket into your bag. "Well, whether I'm engaged or not, I always planned to graduate college. And Mike is too busy right now to teach me, so I'm trying to teach myself."

The two of them nod in understanding as you stand up. "It was really nice meeting both of you, but I have class," you announce, throwing your tennis bag over your shoulder. "By the way, it would be great if you guys could keep the whole fiancé thing on the down low. I'm trying to keep it as quiet as possible for now."

"Yeah, no problem," one of them replies.

"Of course," the other adds.

"Thanks, I really appreciate it," you say giving them a small smile before turning around to leave the court.

just as you're about to walk away, Art calls out after you, "Wait! You said you're trying to learn, right? we could coach you if you want” Patrick gives him a look and Art ignores it waiting for your response.

You pause, considering the offer.

”the both of you?” you asked gesturing between them. Art gives you a nod. at that moment The risk didn't seem too big so you said

. "Sure," with small shrug

"How about tomorrow at 12:30?" you suggest, checking the pink Bvlgari watch Mike got you.

"Perfect," Art responds with a shit eating smile

“Ok see you guys ” you laugh walking out the court

~~~~~~

“Yeah see” Patrick says reading a newspaper. “Olympic coach, Dylan yLn, Daughter engaged to Olympics gold medalist Mike fitts” Patrick reads next to a photo of you and Mike smiling as you showed off your huge

engagement ring. “She wasn’t bull shitting”

“Let me see” Art says grabbing the newspaper. “She didn't have on her engagement ring when we saw her...” Art trails off

“You can't be serious” Patrick laughs

“What?”

“She’s engaged Art, not to anyone either,” Patrick leaned in on the table so only he could hear. “she’s engaged Mike Fitts!”

“I didn't say anything,” Art defends

“ you don't have to” Patrick says stealing a fry off Arts plate plopping it in him mouth.

”I know you,”

~~~~~

After that day, everything seemed to blend together. Art and Patrick dedicated themselves to training you throughout the weekdays for three entire months until you got tired of it and decided on once a week. You told Mike you found a coach but never told him who. Since they were kinda the only people you knew in the entire school, the three of you grew close fast. You started going out to bars and parties together. you had your most memorable college moments with the two of them. And then, your birthday arrived. Patrick had left for some torment and it was just you and Art.

You two were just having so much fun that night. On thing led to another And before you realized it, the two of you were constantly having “fun together”. It didn't matter where - in the dorm, in the shower, or even on the floor. It was bad, but you two couldn't stop

Trying to clear your mind you Let out a sigh. you carefully remove Mike from your side sitting up to taking a sip of you're water on the nightstand. Trying to ignore the ache of your core. This is how you spent every night away from him, needy, uncomfortable. You heard a knock at the door which almost caused you to spill water on yourself. You Quickly put your drink down and run to answer it before the person could knock again careful to be quiet not to wake up Mike.

You swung the door open to find Art standing there, hair slightly damp, with huge smile on his face. "Are you out of your mind?" you whisper, stepping out of the room and shutting the door quietly behind you. You can't help but notice his thin athletic hoodie and gym shorts. Slightly wet clinging to his skin as if he just stepped out of the shower.

"It's past one ,"Art huffed out , his voice filled with urgency and desire as he leaned in for a kiss. his hand gently cradling the side of your face in the process.

When the realization of what was happening washed over you, you pulled away, but still stayed close enough to feel his breath against your skin. "Art," you breathed out, eyes darting down the hall to check if anyone saw. Your hand instinctively found its place on his strong chest, you savored the feeling and the look of your manicured nails there, not knowing when you be able to do it again.

"I like these," Art hummed, playing with the hem of your pajama shorts. He rolled the fabric between his fingers, his big hand gracing you thighs in the process. The little touch sent shivers down your spine. You somehow composed yourself pushing him away gently with your index finger, creating some distance between you two.

He looked at you with sad eyes like a rejected puppy. "Mike’s sleeping inside," you whisper, worried someone could hear. "What does that mean?"

There was a long pause as you carefully choose your next words. Art stared at you intently, trying to decipher your expression. "You slept with him?” Art asks, as if he already knew the answer.

"No, I didn't sleep with him!” You whisper yelled, “He just showered and fell asleep," you explained,

"What's bothering you then?"

"I feel guilty."

"You didn't feel guilty at Stanford."

"Mike wasn't at Stanford."

“You care about Mike's feelings now ?" Art's asks furrows his brow, his voice filled with a mix of confusion and hurt.

" I don’t know… he’s been nicer lately and were supposed to be married in three days”

“You’re actually thinking about going through with it?” Art asked the hurt now evident in his voice.

“There’s nothing I can do now, I signed contracts, this isn’t just about us anymore I’ve told you this”

“What about the private investors?”

"That's just a 'what if,' a perfect 'what if,' but we don't even know if he's seeing someone."

“ If I win tomorrow?”

“Art If you win are lose tomorrow it doesn’t change anything, my Dad expects me at the alter on Sunday regardless, nothings gonna change that”

“But you don’t love him ”

“ I could” your words come out more a question, maybe a hope. “I loved you?”

“You love me” Art corrects

"There's too much at stake now, Art. This is my father's career. We don't come from money, this is all he has."

“You honestly believe this will ruin his career?”

“It could” you reply with a small shrug your voice cracking slightly.

“It won’t” Art response

“You don’t know that”

“ Don’t do this ” Art whispered closing the small space between you. He sounded so tortured, like he was pleading with you.

you hadn't realize it but tears welled in your eyes Threatening to spill any moment. When You blinked an a tear fell down your cheek. Art tenderly brushed it away with his thumb. The stress of the last two weeks had finally caught up to you. “it wasn’t supposed to be this hard” you murmured, your voice barely audible, tears streaming down your face as Art wiped them away.

“Do you love me?” his questions sounded genuine but you knew, he already knew the answer. ”more than i’d too” you joke, using the back of your hand to dry your eyes.

“Then let me make you feel better,” Art whispered leaning down so he was directly above your ear.

“You’re right about what you said earlier, Mike wasn’t there at Stanford”. He paused for a second moving a piece of your hair out the way, “I was,” he hummed brushing his face against yours “just me and you” he whispered leaving a trail of kisses on the outside of your earlobe down your neck. Causing Your breath catch in your throat .“We had fun right?” Art question, his voice deep and breathy causing you to instinctively press your legs together as you leaned back against the door. “Art” you mumble trying to shake the sexual haze that was swirling inside you.

“I missed you” he whispered his free hand slinking up the side of you short griping your thigh, hiking your leg up slightly. “So bad…All day”

“we can't” you manage to breathe out unconvisingly.

“I’ll beg,”

“Art” you warned

“I’ll do anything baby” he mumbles leaving slowly kisses on your neck. “Anything you want me to” he says kissing under your chin. “ I need you” he hums kissing down your neck, ”don’t you need me?” Art asked kissing below your ear. You don't respond giving small nodd biting the inside of your lip. “Can I hear it?” Art asked, the way his voice sounded so desperate, Damn near whiney had you looking for friction. ”I need you so fucking bad” you basically moan pushing your body against his.

“I love you so much you don't understand” Art said smiling against you cheek. sliding his free hand down the front of your shorts. He rubs his fingers through your folds collecting your wetness on his fingers. You throw your head back with a quiet moan, quickly biting your lip to silence yourself. “Fuck your so wet” Art groans before pulling his hand from your shorts, sucking his fingers clean like it was second nature. You clenched around nothing at the sight.

“I missed that taste” he groans returning his hand to your heat. “Can I make you cum right here” Art huffed out peeping down the hall.

"Yea,” you breathed out, nodding your head feverishly. He could have asked you to drive to the moon in that moment, and you would have said yes. Art slowly pushed two fingers inside of you creating a medium pace before bringing his thumb to rub your clit, you moan lifting your hips to meet his fingers. “Fuck I could eat you out right here” Art groaned watching you Practically fuck yourself on his fingers. “Promise me you won't ever let him see you like this” Art goans leaving kisses on your collar done. “this is mine”

”You can bearly hear a word he's saying the feeling of his thumb on your clit and finger damn near touching you cervix was too much to bear. “I’m gonna cum” you moaned out grabbing Arts shoulder hard in an effort to ground yourself. “I can feel it,” Art breathed pressing his forehead against yours. He presses down harder on your clit causing you to buck into his fingers, letting out a loud moan You cum. his movement don't falter, he continues to pump them in and out while still rubbing your clit until he feels like you've finally had enough.

he removes his fingers from your pussy returning them to his mouth. “I’ll never get tired of that” Art laughs leaning in for a kiss, you return it, taste yourself on his lips. He gently places you leg back on the floor and you stumbled slightly grading his shoulder for balance. He instantly goes to your waist holding you steady. “You ok?” Art ask slight consern on his face. You don't respond afraid of what your voice would sound like after an orgasm like that.

You nod with a smile and Art led you to the hotel room directly next to yours, pulling out a key card from his pocket with a grin.

“You didn't,” you exclaimed as he opened the door.

“I did,” he replied, motioning for you to enter.

“How did you even know our room number?” you ask, stepping inside.

“I have my ways,” he answered, closing the door behind you.

“How did you afford this?” you asked, looking around.

“Are you going to keep ask questioning or are you going to take of your clothes” Art laughs , watching as you sit on the bed.

“You first,” you countered, settling back .

“Yes ma’am,” Art chuckled, starting to undress.

~~~~

Morning arrives and you found yourself back in your original room. Mike was in the bathroom getting ready while you fix your dress in the mirror of the bedroom. As you adjust the straps, you notice a hickey you hadn't seen before, one you forgot to cover up after coming back last night. You laid your hair over it and walk towards the bathroom to retrieve your makeup bag, slightly tripping as your sore legs gave out on you. "You good?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, I think I'm just sore from tennis practice," you say, reaching past him to get your makeup bag.

"You know no one expects you to play," Mike laughs while drying his hair with a towel. "I'm not doing it for anyone, I want to learn," your words come out more offended than you intended. "I just mean you could spend your time doing something else."

"Like what?" You respond plainly, walking out of the bathroom back to the mirror. "Like calling your dad and asking him what time he'll be here," Mike says from the now open bathroom. "Is your phone not working?" You asked rhetorically, pulling out your concealer . "I don't want to fight today, okay," Mike Replies sternly, looking at you through the reflection of the mirror. "This is a big match," he mumbles while running his toothbrush under the water.

"I thought you said it was going to be 'nothing,'" you chuckle dryly, applying the concealer as his face was turned. "It is, but from what your Dad's been saying, he's been getting good. So I'd like to be on my A-game and not have you trying to start shit."

"Whatever you want honey" you respond, quietly laughing in disbelief. He had resorted right back to his old ways,How could you ever agree to marry someone like him, someone so vastly different from the man you spent the night with.

~~~~

soon as you and Mike were finished getting ready, your father called you to come downstairs to join him for breakfast. You and Mike both stood in line, slightly overdressed, picking out your favorite breakfast items. Mike only getting avocado and toast due to his strict diet. Suddenly, you heard a familiar laughter and turned around to see Art chatting with your father near the entrance. Your heart sank as your father motioned for you both to come over. After dropping off your plates, you and Mike walked towards them, feeling Mike's hand slip around your waist.

"I'd like you to meet someone," your father announced with a smile, putting his arm around Art's shoulder. "This is Art Donaldson," he introduced, "the man I'm competing against today." Mike stated extending his hand for a handshake, and Art reciprocated. Your stomach churned at the sight. "This is Mike, you know him, he's also my daughter's fiancé." Your father says with a smile.

"Stressful, huh?" Art jokes. "Oh, you have no idea," your Dad replies, laughing. "You're both at the same college, right? Stanford?" your Dad asked, nodding towards you. “maybe you could try your luck at training her because I just can't get through," your dad jokes. Art's eyes rake over you, as if looking at you for the first time. "It be my pleasure" Art smiles, looking directly at you. You to discreetly warn him with your eyes but You notice Mike's grip on your waist tighten, clearly not pleased. "Actually, I've been training y/n already, she's improving every day," Mike says, planting a quick kiss on your head.

"Really?" Art inquires, trying to keep up the act to the best of his abilities. "Monday through Friday," Mike replies with a smug grin. “How do you manage with your Busy schedule?” Art asks tilting his head to the side slightly in the process.

“You find time for the people you love,” Mike says with a fake smile. You had to physically hold back your laugh. But you played it off as wiping your face. He had taken a line straight from media training. Silence filled the air as the two have a silent conversation with their eyes.

“Well I wanted to introduce all of you, as I will officially be coaching Art starting next fall,"

Your Dad says in an attempt to break the tension. But it only makes it worse, Somehow Mike's grip on you tightened even more, now you were concerned he’d leave a bruise . "When did you make this decision?" Mike asked, his face showing no emotion but you could tell he was angry. "two weeks ago, and I've been waiting for the right moment to properly introduce you two. I know the timing is awkward with the match, but it's better to do it now than later."

Mike doesn’t say anything giving an expressionless nod. There was another awkward pause before you decided to speak up. "It was nice meeting you…Art?" you trail off , purposely sounding unsure. He nodded with a knowing smile. "But our food is getting cold," you joked, trying to escape the suffocating tension. "I wouldn't want to keep the couple from their food," Art said, while a smiling again only looking directly at you. You wanted to scream, he was being so obvious and the way Mike was already acting, you knew you wouldn’t hear the end of it. "You two eat, I have to go handle some things, I won’t be long" your father said, gesturing for you and Mike to sit at the table before walking off with Art.

Once the two of you sit back at the table you feel caught. "I don't want you near that guy," Mike says, taking a sip of his coffee. You roll your eyes and stab at your scrambled eggs. “He was basically eye fucking you the whole time, and it doesn’t help that your dress is so tight”

“I think you forget sometimes this isn’t real,” you reply, taking a bite.

"Lower your voice," Mike warns, glancing around to see if anyone heard.

"You didn't care about it being real when you accepted the gifts," he scoffs, "or in Virginia."

"It was once, Mike. And every day, you make me regret it."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. You don't get to control me just because you buy me shit. Anyone can buy me shit."

“I told you i’m not doing this with you today” Mike laughs dryly standing up from the table. "I'll see you later, okay babe?" he says a bit louder, forcing a fake smile as he plants a kiss on your head before walking away. You try your best not to flinch when he touches you. Once he's gone, your phone buzzes, and you glance down to see an unsaved number. It's a text from Art.

“meet me at the restaurant next door in 20, alone.”

Author note : GUYS FEEL FREE TO COMMENT I LOVE READING COMMENTS

#black reader #art donaldson #art donaldson smut #challengers #challengers fanfic #art donaldson x reader #Art Donaldson x black reader #Art Donaldson x black female #art donaldson x female reader

162 notes · View notes

sir-adamus · 2 days

Text

i've got the blu ray for volume 1 playing and i'm watching the behind the scenes video and Monty explicitly spells out how important collaboration with other creatives was in building RWBY, saying how he wanted to work with Kerry and Miles on it in creating the world and how he mostly gave them broad strokes. and it's mentioned how they all put the show bible together - i'm gonna put the whole transcript for the video under the cut (which i'm having to do myself because no one has uploaded this video anywhere as far as i can tell and there's no fucking subtitles)

Monty Oum [Creator and Director]: It’s the stories I’ve always wanted to tell versus the idea I came up with about, a little over a year ago. And we were talking about doing another show, and I just kind of half-asleep came up with the idea of a color rule for a bunch of characters. The red, white, black and yellow color scheme was something that was very prominent even in my previous work, so I started matching names up, matching ideas up. Also thinking about like, some of the ideas I’d stored up over the years. At some point or another the word ‘RWBY’ came to me.

Monty: Starting the show out originally, I designed the original character, Ruby, as well as going into the other characters. So once I had the first trailer done, and thinking about the rest of the characters for the show, I started bringing in other artists who I had watched for years. People I’d always said “someday I’ll work with them, someday I’ll have them design for me.” And when I was certain about having certain characters, I first contacted an artist I admired and found over DeviantArt. Her name was Ein Lee, she’s actually from Taiwan, and I found her art probably well over five years ago, and just loved her art style, and therefore wanted to incorporate it into my characters. So, I would do rough designs for team RWBY as well as designs for team JNPR, and she would flesh that out to be even further. To the point where eventually I didn’t need to design characters anymore, she started designing a bunch of the rest of the characters down the line.

Monty: The second person I brought on to RWBY was Kerry, because we had just been having conversations about the kind of show we could make. I’d been working with Miles on Season 10. He was writing scenes while I was making scenes, and so the three of us would have a lot of meetings and collaborate on the show to the point where I just started coming up with the broad strokes eventually and they had pretty much written the bulk of the show. Collaboration’s a big deal here, and I tried to include as many people as I can.

Kerry Shawcross [Co-writer]: Right after RvB ended, we wanted to just go straight into RWBY, but that was like right when we were going into commercial season. So we would work our normal hours here. Like 10 to 7-ish, then we would go back to one of our apartments and just start writing.

Miles Luna [Co-writer]: Monty really was enthusiastic about having these characters that may appear really one-dimensional for like the first few scenes that you see them, but the longer you get to know them, you realise “Oh, Yang isn’t just a dumb blonde party girl. She��s a very caring and nurturing girl, that has had to essentially be there for Ruby when she was young.”

Kathleen Zuelch [Producer]: When Monty and Miles and Kerry came to me, and really took me through the story. I started becoming a huge believer, because I’m a big fan of old school, traditional fairy tales, I love the Brothers Grimm, I love all the Snow White, and I love Little Red Riding Hood. I grew up with all of those stories, and the way that they were very clever in creating this whole world that’s kind of making homage to all of these amazing stories really inspired me to get more on board with what they wanted to do with this whole anime show.

Taylor McNee (née Pelto) [Art Director]: The world of RWBY, it looks very familiar. We wanted a blend of very classic looking architecture and clothing and cars, but we’re also mixing in this really kind of futuristic feel, like these little touches of some really futuristic stuff like holograms and things that you wouldn’t find in a classic [inaudible]. And that’s how we’re making this world unique. Our assets have to go through this pipeline of concept, modelling, texturing, and then finally being able to be put into the 3D program. So we start out with the concept and we usually bring that image into Maya, which is the main 3D software that we use. We have to make a 3D model that looks exactly like the concept that we were given, and it’s quite a process. Basically, we’re pushing polys and extruding stuff until we make the perfect shape, then afterwards we have to UV unwrap it, and then lay everything out on a texture sheet and then paint it, and that will put the image on the model. After that we’re basically done with the model and texture, and then we have to give it to the animators. So then we will set it up in Poser so the animators can grab it and use it for their characters.

Gray Haddock [Lead Editor]: There’s a lot of people working on this show, and there’s a lot of different elements in the pipeline. Editorial kinda serves as a hub between all the different departments, so we help all the communication and coordination between all the different pieces of the show, depending on what part of development that they’re in. Editorial’s getting involved way early in the process, we work alongside the director and the writers and the storyboard artists, and we use the scripts to help develop the storyboards and the camera angles for all those boards. So editorial is responsible for building up the moments of any given scene in terms of the timing and what you wanna look at, at any given moment. So we take the script and we help develop the camera angles and how long you wanna linger in a particular camera angle, look at one character or another or the scene as a whole, and the rhythm of the scene in terms of how long is it gonna take to spend on a particular line or when you want the music to come in, things like that. So we build up a set of animatics with the storyboards, and the first pass of all the audio. This is what then is handed off to the animators, so they can know exactly what is in what shot and how long do they have to animate it in a given shot. And once they’re done animating and their shot’s been approved, then their shot goes to the render farm, we get the rendered shot back and we drop it into the timeline for our episode and finesse the cut a little bit if we have to. But for the most part, we’ve done our job right and everything should pretty much be locked in for the most part by the time we’re getting animation.

Kerry: What’s kinda interesting as we’re creating the characters is, we kinda knew what kind of character they’d be. We knew Ruby would act a certain way, we knew Weiss would act a certain way, but we didn’t really know much about them. So we would get to the point where we’d be figuring out plotlines or figuring out dialogue and we’d be like “What would Weiss say here? What would Nora say here?” And then it turned into “Oh well now we know.”

Miles: Obviously we put a lot of thought into Ruby, Weiss, Blake and Yang before we started writing the dialogue. I remember sitting upstairs and we made a show bible, and we’re starting- we talked about likes, dislikes, personality traits. One of the first things I remember making was “Weiss drinks coffee. Blake drinks tea.”

Kerry: It’s important. It sounds not important at all, but it’s very important. It says so much about them

Miles: But it’s so important. So much about them, also it says nothing about them. It was just like- that’s just what it is.

Monty: I want the show to have resonance with people who are growing up. Cos everyone’s story is the story of kind of becoming who they are. Especially these days when the path of becoming who you are tends to be marginalised with reality. Having done what I’ve done, where I’ve essentially dropped out of high school, started learning this stuff on my own, and therefore land in a position where I get to take the things I was dreaming about when I was growing up and make it real. I tend to get a lot of response from people who are also not sure what they’re meant to become, a lot of them also have the same bright imaginations and with the way the world is, the hardships of what it means to grow up tends to marginalise who you are, and I would hate that to happen to anyone because the future is in creativity and that’s not something you can just manufacture. I actually would like this show to grow up with the people, so unlike most shows where they tend to be ageless or age very slowly, I’d like our fifteen-year-old fans watching fifteen-year-old Ruby, when they’re twenty-five, to be watching twenty-five-year-old Ruby, and to actually have some resonance with the character. Probably one of my favourite types of feedback is to say “I know this person” or “this person is just like me,” and that’s probably one of the best things about coming up with these characters.

#RWBY

107 notes · View notes

crimson-chains · 3 days

Note

Hi!

Sorry to interrupt you. It's been a while since I check your art. It's always amazing, I sorry I cannot support you more <3 But just a moment ago, I was looking at my old drafts and I remembered the masquerade that took place in 2022. I was thrilled by this event.

At this time, one of my OC was really excited to participate. I indulge her and draw her. She was ready. She wanted to participate. She wanted to admire the castle, be part of this feast. But, I don't know really why, I was not ready to share her. I'm not sure I'm ready today but since this event, she's a little ressentful I didn't let her go that day.

Anyway. I find her draft some moment ago and I want to share it with you now. Because your art was really important for me at this time. I just want to thank you about this. So, thank you ! Thank you so much <3

I hope you have a lovely day !

OH WOW! So cute :D I love the mask and dress, it's so elegant :3 Thanks so much for showing me!! She looks lovely~

#asks

61 notes · View notes

disintegratedfingers · 3 days

Text

Todoroki Headcanons

pretty boi :3

• Tilts his head a lot (I use this in my writing) when someone is talking to him or just randomly.

• Fair skin, but doesn't get burned easily by his fire.

• Has gotten used to hair blocking his vision for the sake of keeping his scar covered.

• Good memory- remembers stuff best from physical experience.

• Values each of his friends as worthy allies and opponents. (Doesn't really know how friends work.)

• Admires his older sister and feels bad for her.

• Love language: Verbal affirmation- he is an honest guy.

• Treats kids like he would a person as old as himself. (In conclusion, doesn't know how to treat kids).

• Has attempted some form of art before.

• Skinny (respectfully).

• Hates being unclean- after a battle, he yearns to take a shower and find inner peace once more.

#bnha #mha #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction #bnha fic #mha fanfic #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #fanfiction #my hero academia #Todoroki #Shoto #Shoto todoroki #boku no hero academia

45 notes · View notes

alexthefly · 3 days

Text

Did I miss the relevant prompt earlier in the week? Maybe. Shhhh...

In honour of FishTank Week, and particularly the prompt 💛"We're a team, always"💚 please enjoy this reblog.

*******

Green Wool and Sunshine

What is that?!”

“What is what?” asked Virgil through a mouthful of cinnamon roll.

“That! That…thing you’re wearing!”

Gordon sat up slowly from the sofa, his face fixed in equal parts grin and grimace as he pointed with his good hand.

Virgil looked down at himself and surreptitiously brushed a few crumbs off his sweater. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked.

“Dude, it’s hideous,” said Gordon, eyeing the offending garment critically.

Virgil looked again. True, it wasn't in the best shape. Pale green wool, striped with white and yellow, and all of it faded and bobbled to within an inch of its life. One shoulder had a loose seam so that it looked almost as if the wool were melting. And at the centre of it all, the distinctive shape of Thunderbird Two rendered clumsily in darker green.

"Where did you get it?”

“Grandma made it for me one Christmas. You remember that vintage knitting machine Dad got her that one year?”

God, it had made a racket, like someone flicking a giant comb over and over again. Thank goodness she’d finally lost interest in that particular hobby, although in hindsight Virgil wondered if her subsequent rediscovery of her old cooking books might have been too high a price to pay.

“Anyway, I just found it the other day in the back of the closet.”

Gordon’s mouth twisted to one side. “...Any chance you could lose it back there again?”

A deep grumble. Okay, so she might not be the best at the domestic arts, but she was still their grandma and he loved that she tried. Virgil had actually thought the sweater was pretty good, in a homespun, one-sleeve-slightly-longer-than-the-other sort of way; his girl’s big, friendly turtle-face was unmistakable, and Grandma had even included a little dark-haired figure in blue and green waving out of one of her windows.

“Lay off. It’s comfortable. Anyway, I didn’t see you criticising when she made you that yellow submarine one you wore down to scraps.”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “First of all, I was a lot younger then and not so refined.”

Virgil snorted.

“Secondly, yellow is infinitely better than green. And thirdly, I can carry that sort of thing off. You…” - he wafted his hand up and down at his brother in the manner of a bitchy ballroom dancing judge - “...unfortunately, cannot.”

Virgil grunted and took another bite of his roll.

“Really? Mr ‘Hawaiian Shirts and Sandals Go With Everything’ is criticising my fashion choices?”

“They totally do go with everything! They’re a completely universal outfit; the quintessential capsule wardrobe.”

He puffed out his chest to show off today’s offering, complete with large ketchup stain down the front.

“Anyway, why are you even wearing a sweater when it’s 80 degrees outside? I know you tend towards layers, tropical climate be damned, but this is a bit much even for you.”

“I was down in the hangars,” Virgil shrugged. “It was cold.”

“You doing some maintenance?” His little brother’s face lit up.

“Two’s left air intake’s doing that rattling thing again; I thought I’d give her an overhaul,” he said, brain shifting seamlessly into engineer mode, “And her injectors need a spruce up. Thought perhaps I’d have a play with that new neo-PEM cell Brains has been going on about.”

“D’you want some help?”

The enthusiasm in his voice was unmistakable, and cut deep.

Virgil bit his lip. “Aww, I don’t think so, Fish. You need to rest.”

“I could rest down there? I promise, I’ll just sit and watch you."

The desperation in his brother’s puppy dog eyes felt like knives in Virgil’s chest.These last few weeks since the Marindata Ventfields had been hard on them all. Even now, with Gordy finally home from the hospital, Virgil still woke almost nightly with the sound of that emergency signal echoing in his ears, the silence of his brother’s comms stretching out in his mind until…

No, don’t think about that. He’s home. He’s safe.

But obviously Gordon had been hit the hardest. His ‘bird was a total loss, his body not much better, and he still had months of rehab ahead, bringing with it all the oh-so-unwelcome memories he’d worked so hard to bury. Regular visits from Penny had helped, and their sunshine boy was trying hard, but it was like the clouds had gathered, dimming that indefinable brightness that made him…him.

Virgil wished beyond wish that he could indulge his little brother if it would make him happy. But…

“I’m sorry Squid, Grandma’s orders. There’s just too many hazards down there. Fumes and stairs and things to trip over… I wouldn’t be able to watch out for you properly.”

Gordon sagged, and Virgil felt his heart clench painfully.

“But hey, how about I leave the maintenance and come sit up here with you instead? We could watch an episode of Buddy and Ellie?”

Anything to bring back the sun.

A shake of the head, eyes fixed downwards. “Nah, seen ‘em all.” Gordon looked up and smiled again; this time it didn’t reach his eyes. “Anyway, you don’t want to be stuck up here. Not when there’s oil and grime to play about in. Better watch you don’t get that sweater dirty though, or Grandma might knit you another one.”

Virgil opened his mouth to speak, but his little brother cut him off.

“Stop worrying Virg. S’no biggie. I’m fine, see?” He shrugged. “I’ll just see you when you’re done.”

He lay back down on the sofa carefully, looking so much smaller than he had a moment ago.

“Actually, I’m getting a little tired now. You just go do what you gotta do - I’m gonna take a nap right here.”

And with that he closed his eyes; conversation over.

Virgil lingered for a moment, scouring his brain for something to say but coming up blank. Inside his heart burned with guilt and impotence: his little brother was hurting, and he couldn’t do anything to fix it. All he’d done was make things worse.

Perhaps he should go.

“Okay then. Take it easy, alright?”

“Yup."

“There’s cinnamon rolls in the kitchen if you get hungry.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Thus dismissed, he turned and made his way towards the elevator, mind no longer on his ‘bird but instead on her grounded, miserable co-pilot.

Oh Gordy. It will get better; I promise.

………..

As the sound of the elevator faded away Gordon opened one eye a crack to check the coast was clear. Then he slowly, painfully hauled himself up, intent on getting to the residential levels. No doubt his big marshmallow of a brother would be on the comms right now, asking someone - probably Scott - to come down and check on him, and there was no way he was hanging around for that.

Even if his body hated him for moving.

The journey from the sofa to his room used to take less than two minutes. Today it took him seven minutes twenty. What was worse was that objectively he should be pleased. Sub-eight minutes was actually an improvement on a week ago.

Goddammit.

Finally, he was able to close the bedroom door behind him and collapse onto his bed, aching and miserable.

This sucked.

He was lucky to be alive; he knew that. A few weeks ago he’d been lying at the bottom of the ocean with half a volcano on top of him. Now, because of his brothers, Penny and Parker, he was back in the bosom of his family, healing, getting stronger, gradually shaving the seconds off his bedroom run.

He should be grateful. He’d been through far worse, for God’s sake.

So why?

Why wasn’t he able to shake this off?

Why was it that whenever he tried to see the positive, all he could see was just how freakin’ useless he was?

He didn’t dare say that out loud, of course. His family would absolutely kick his ass if they heard him say something like that. Penny too. (Boy, would she!) He could hear them now, telling him to give himself a chance, these things take time, blah blah blah… Hell, he even tried saying that stuff to himself sometimes, like he would if it were one of his brothers in this position instead of him.

If only any of it actually worked.

Because no matter how much he tried to reason his way out of this funk he was in, it didn’t help, because this feeling wasn’t logical. It couldn’t be reasoned with.

It whispered to him in the dark.

You’ve let them all down.

Look at the slack they’re having to pick up.

Look how much they’re worrying.

Worse.

They don’t need you back.

They’re fine without you.

Every time his brothers went off on a mission without him, it hurt. Whenever someone else took his place co-piloting for Virgil - even Penny, who was only doing it for his sake - he felt cold inside. And when Scott had been the one to take his new Thunderbird Four out for her maiden voyage? The mission to recover the Zero X capsule, no less; the thing that had kicked off Operation Bring Dad Home? Well, he’d just wanted to curl up right there on that sofa and never move again.

The unfairness.

The guilt.

The fear.

He would never wish what had happened on any of his family in a million years. But at the same time, why was it always him that got hurt?

Perhaps he really was just useless.

Sad, exhausted, hurting in more ways than he knew how to handle, he turned his face to the pillow and let the tears come.

…………

The thing about uber-strength pain meds is that they can make a guy fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon and not wake up until the early hours.

He registered the dim not-quite dark as the world slowly came back to him.

Someone had drawn the covers over him at some point during the night, tucking them around him like he was a child, and didn’t that just sum up everything? Take a nap, take your meds, and maybe if you’re a good boy you’ll get a lollipop(!)

He shifted slightly and his hip complained. Gingerly he rolled over, tackling the manoeuvre in sections, trying to get comfortable. He was just settling again when something caught his eye on the chair by his bed.

A large package wrapped neatly in yellow paper.

Twisting carefully he reached out with his good arm and pulled the chair towards him. In the soft glow of pre-dawn, he recognised the paper as the same kind he’d had for his last birthday: bright yellow with blue seahorses and glittery bubbles. Scott had complained about the glitter getting all over his shirt, and they’d all spent the next hour randomly shaking the paper over each other’s heads until they’d sparkled like they were in a Las Vegas show.

He smiled at the memory and gradually pulled himself up until he was sitting, blanket wrapped around him in the cool, almost-morning air.

Holding the package on his lap, he delicately pulled it open at the seams, revealing unmistakable green wool underneath.

What the-?

In with the sweater there was a card written in Virgil’s big, swooping hand:

Seeing as you’re the only one who could pull it off anyway, you should have this, at least until you can make it back aboard the real thing.

She isn’t the same without you. V.

He read the card two more times, breath hitching on the last sentence each time, then he gently unfurled the sweater out in front of him to take a closer look at the design, now that it was technically his.

It took a few moments for him to notice it.

Something was different.

He squinted.

There, in the window of Thunderbird Two’s cockpit, carefully embroidered next to the tiny waving figure of Virgil, a second, blond-haired figure waved out at him in shades of blue and yellow wool.

How...?

...Virgil.

For a moment, he swore he could see the little co-pilot grinning. Or was that just his suddenly-blurred vision playing tricks?

He wiped his eyes and, discarding his blanket, pulled the sweater over his head. He couldn’t get his bad arm through the sleeve, so instead opted to keep it against his chest, nestled between the soft wool and his own thrumming heart.

Despite the way it looked, Virg had been right: the sweater was comfortable. So comfortable. Softened by repeated washing, with a clean smell of detergent and just a hint of Virgil’s cologne - sandalwood and bergamot, mellow and comforting - wearing it was like wearing a hug; warm and reassuring and just so snuggly.

Full of love.

Wrapping his good arm around himself and breathing in the calming, cozy scent, he picked his way carefully over to the window and opened the blinds. Dawn was just beginning to break over the horizon, painting the sky a hundred different shades of pink and purple and orange. As he watched, the sun slowly poked its head out over the gentle waves of his beloved ocean, bathing him in the warmth of its early morning glow.

It was going to be a beautiful day.

#fishtankweek2024 #fishtank #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #alexthefly reblog #fluffy hurt/comfort #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #thunderbirds

35 notes · View notes

carmenized-onions · 6 hours

Text

Doing Too Much. | House Call

logline; Appliances can reach their breaking point, when you push them too far. Same goes for people.

[!!!] series history, this is the sixth; First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth

[New Thing!!] Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin' added to.

portion; 4.8k

possible allergies; eatin' meat, besides that, we're pretty good actually. did somebody say calm before the storm....?

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (no pronouns, but girl is said a couple times, i believe.)

After this chapter, I'm entering my era of couch hopping as I move to a new city n start a new job. I'm really excited for the chapter after this one, so hopefully I actually get time to write it-- But that's just my lil warning if you're left rereading for like two weeks </3 But I'll def be stalking my activity/inbox so please do yap to me

Monday morning. The next morning after everything. Well, closer to noon than morning, at this point. You’re supposed to have, what, a work ethic this week? After the most insane weekend of your life? No. You’re lazing around and doing fuck all. No matter who calls. Well… Not completely no matter, but like, most people.

When you check your phone, you’ve gotten a text at 6:43 A.M. Unknown number. Ah. Carmen. You put him in as Carmy, and put his nickname as ‘Mister New York’. Listen, old nicknames Mikey ingrained in your brain die hard.

It’s a simple text, deeply un-romantic.

‘Connections Puzzle #342’

Then, four lines of four perfect categories. Flawless. Purple first, even. The hardest category. And then,

‘Morning’

Stupid. Incredibly stupid, to be enamoured, by this. You reply,

‘Good morning!’

‘Connections Puzzle #342’

And then a failed jumble of coloured squares, you get one out of four categories. What the fuck is 'dogleg' and since when has it meant taking a sharp turn? You follow that up with,

‘Fuck you.’

Aside from Carmen, you’ve actually gotten texts from a couple people. Your boss at Eden’s asking if you’re alright. What the fuck did Cicero say? Oh well. You tell him you’ve ‘been better, been worse. Will be okay by next week.’ Perfectly vague, and you still get wired your cheque and tip out. Alright, maybe Uncle J does deserve your free labour.

Speaking of, the next text on your itinerary is from Uncle J, just info for the winter nuptials of Vinnie and Mira. Oh yeah. Three-hundred guests, you remember that part. You also remember him saying it’d be an ‘easy gig’… He did not mention you’d be the only bartender. This is going to be a nightmare. Oh well. You text back that despite it being an open bar you get to put out a tip jar. He just reacts to it, ‘haha’. That sounds like a yes to you.

And then, adorably, a selfie from Syd, wearing the collar and pins you’ve gifted her, under a green sweater. Cutie. You hype her up accordingly.

Besides some texting though, Monday is relatively unbusy. No calls. No emergencies. No businesses knocking down your door for your services. You’re thankful for a break, letting the inertia set in, finally being able to relax after fix after fix after—

Tuesday comes, you get sent another perfect round of New York Time’s Connections around half past six in the morning, along with a good morning text. And again, you fuck it up. You send him your Wordle results this time, as an act of rebellion. You then ask,

‘How’s reworking the menu going?’

‘Hard to say’

‘Ask me tomorrow’

God he’s an awful texter. Horrifically dry. You know you’re down bad beyond a belief when you find that endearing. You spend Tuesday drowning and pruning your plants after depriving them for so long.

Plus working on your art piece for Carmy. You’re pulling out old film photos, a canvas, and a load of bleach—It’s like high school art class all over again— Surprise surprise, the handyman who loves to up-cycle is a mixed media artist. Who could’ve guessed?

While trimming a photo, an exterior of The Beef, a picture frame on your wall falls down behind you, you tut, turning your head to it, chastising the air. “Mikey! It’s a copy, relax! I’ve still got the original print…”

There’s every chance you’re insane— No, you’re definitely insane. But you’re allowed to be, your best friend died, you’re allowed to talk to the air as if he’s still around. Sometimes the timing of doors swinging open for you and things falling down are just too uncanny to not be a ghost.

Wednesday arrives, and again, just after 6:40, Connections results. And the Wordle, this time; plus a ‘Good Morning’. It looks like this is simply just your thing, now. Every morning, the second both of you get up, you send each other puzzles and wish a good morning. You don’t mind that. It’s nice to have a ‘thing’, with someone. With Carmen.

Part way through the day, around two o’clock, you get another text. Two, actually. From Carmen, in quick succession.

‘Are you busy?’

‘Don’t worry if you’re busy. Can call Fak’

You’re quick to reply, frankly deeply offended.

‘Are you fucking firing me????’

‘I’m gonna get ready. Text me details’

While getting dressed, you watch three dots bubble, bubble, bubble… He’s taking forever, just don’t look at it, you’ll get anxious for no reason. No jumpsuit today, you’ve got to switch it up every now and again. Navy cargo pants with the perfect number of pockets and zippers, and an orange Chicago’s Kindest shirt, tucked in. Hm. Looking in the mirror, hickey is still there. Lighter, but there. Foundation? No. You’ll sweat it off and that’ll just bring up more questions. If Syd asks you’ll just tell her you fell down the stairs… On your neck. She's not the type to confront anything remotely sexual anyways.

Speaking of Syd, before Carmen can text you back, she calls you, which is fair— Don’t leave a Carmen to communicate. You stick your phone in the crux of your neck and answer while you pack your utility belt. This feels nearly nostalgic. “What’s fucked?”

Carmen is in the background; you can hear the tail end of a sentence, grumbling. “—Don’t call—”

“My life.” She responds without missing a beat. “And also, Carmy’s stove and oven.”

“Oh.” You squint. “What the fuck happened?”

“Overuse? I actually don’t fucking know, it just stopped working. We plugged it in and out— He even reset his apartment’s breakers. I dunno what’s wrong with it. It’s probably got something to do with him putting his fuckin’ jeans in there.”

“…He what?”

You can hear him in the background, again, clearer this time, grimacing, “What are you doing to me?”

Syd does not mind him at all, continuing, “I know! He’s fucking weird!”

“He’s extremely weird.” You like him a lot. “I’ll be over soon, were you guys like, mid-cooking?”

“Yessir.”

“Christ, alright… I think I have a dual burner hot plate laying around somewhere, you want me to bring it—”

They both speak clearly this time, together, “Please.”

You’ve got a pile of things to give to them anyways, and maybe you miss Carmy’s face. Just a little.

Instead of just buzzing you in, Carmy comes down for you. When he sees you through the door window, carrying a cardboard box, he almost breaks into a full run. He’s somehow opening the door, grabbing the box from your hands, and chastising you all at the same time. “You should’ve left it in the car, I would’ve—”

You step in through the entryway and kiss his cheek, cutting him short. You can’t help yourself, it’s the first time you’ve seen him since and you feel like a giddy teen. The teenage girl in your head is no longer just in your head, she’s fully manning the station. “You’re very sweet. But it’s also not heavy.”

When he continues to be frozen, the regret starts to mount, “Is—Sorry, is that okay to do—?”

“It’s very okay to do.” He manages to reply, with haste. Nodding to himself. “It’s good.” He nods again, then marches off, expecting you to follow to the elevator. You do.

“What floor?”

“Eighth.” He sniffs; you press the button. He stands next to you, looking you up and down. He astutely observes. “Orange.”

“Yeah.” You smirk, looking back at him, “Turns out, businesses can have two colours in their designs.”

What’s a little roasting of fellow small businesses between two not just friends?

“Oh yeah?” Coy, smirking. Oh no. You’ve gotta get the teen off the controls. He tilts his vision to stare at your jacket. Ah. You opted to wear your Carhartt instead of his jean jacket.

“Didn’t wanna give Syd more questions.” She already guessed you’re a sugar baby, you don’t want to wrap Carmen in on that too. Especially since ideally in a month or two he’ll be your boss. Hm. The Bear is going to need an HR.

He hums, nodding. “We’re not telling Syd?”

“What’s there to tell?” You grin, crossing your arms. “You suddenly have free time, Bear?”

He takes a beat, thinking, then just takes a deep frustrated yet amused exhale. “I’m gonna fuckin’…” He can’t think of a threat. “…Get you.”

You snort, “You’re gonna get me?”

“Fuck you—!” “You’re gonna fuckin’ get me, Bear?”

“I—” He tries to hold a straight face, it doesn’t work. “Yeah, I am.”

“Can’t wait.” You nod, grinning, turning back to the doors. “You told me to ask how menu’s going tomorrow.”

“I did.”

“It’s tomorrow.” The door dings, opening on the eighth floor; you step out together. He switches his grip to hold the box in one arm. Alright Biceps, we don’t need to brag here...

“It’s… We’re getting there.” He grimaces. “Syd’s recipes are always… Almost perfect.”

“Ah.” You nod, you know your friend well enough to know where this is going. “And she fucks up one thing hard?”

“Mhm.”

“And when you tell her it’s okay and give her a hand she just feels worse?”

He nods. A touch surprised you’re right on the dot so quickly. “Everything ends up perfect, but I think she’s finding the edits…”

“Demoralizing.” You walk down the hall together, he nods. “I know what she needs, I’ll find an in.”

“You always do.” He hums, you walk just a touch ahead of him, unknowingly walking past his door. He pulls you back by the back of your jacket, making you stumble back into him. This seems to be this villain’s intention; as when you turn around, he’s quick to grab your chin and kiss you.

“It’s very good.” He emphasizes, again, before opening his door and acting like everything’s totally normal and fine. Since when did he turn the tables and make you the desperate one? Son of a bitch.

Ah. Actually, subtract any attraction you had in this moment— He lives like this? Books on the floor, by the window. Jeans on the dinner table, because they were in the oven. The kitchen actually looks alright— You’re almost certain that’s purely for utilitarian purposes while they’re working on the menu. This motherfucker better have a bed frame or him asking you to sleep over would be downright offensive. God, he’s wonderful. God, you’re an idiot.

You find Syd at the table, moping, head in hands. Carmen sets the box down, sitting beside her. You pat the top of her head. She silently moves one of her hands to go over yours. You nod. The silent exchange of girls who know.

“Yeah?”

She nods, grumbling. “Yeah.”

Carmen has no fucking idea what’s happening and he’s never been more intrigued by a near wordless social interaction in his entire life. What? You’re not even making eye-contact. What the fuck is happening?

You fish through the box with your free hand, grabbing a pot. You place it in front of Syd. “Look.”

She peeks through her fingers. A tiny but flourishing nursery pot of basil sits before her. You speak. “You’re gonna hyper-fixate on this basil I’m gifting you, and then you’re gonna crack back into it with the dual burner until I’m done fixing the oven.”

She nods, putting her hands in her lap, “Yes, Chef.”

You pull out a second nursery pot, setting it down for Carmen. “For you.”

“What for?”

“Basil grows like a motherfucker and it’s getting unhinged. I need to start pawning off to people that’ll make good use of it. A-K-A, chefs.” You look at Syd, pointedly, “Talented chefs.”

You hand off the heating pad— Wrapped in brown paper with a card tied to it, to Carmen. “For Nat.” You add, when he looks confused, “Can’t imagine I’ll see her sooner than you will.”

He looks even more confused, when you hand him a spray bottle full of reddish water. It’s one of the good spray bottles, too. Continuous. Carmen wouldn’t know the difference, but you do. “Rosemary. —Water, that is.”

He squints; you clarify, gesturing to your own hair. “You mentioned, losing hair, so— Thought I’d make some, with the trimmings of rosemary I had. Got ginger and cloves in it, too.”

Why have you trapped him in hell? You’ve remembered such a specific off hand from days ago and acted on it? And he can’t express the grandiose level of affection he feels right now? Are you serious? You’re the devil. You’re absolutely the devil. He just coughs out a ‘thanks’.

“And, the pièce de résistance,” You pull out the old ass, boxed up double burner countertop stove. “A stovetop that ideally fuckin’ works. It was my single claim to fame in my college dormitory.”

Carmen’s already opening the box. Sydney smirks, curiosity peaked. “Was that legal?”

“You a fuckin’ RA?” You grin, poking her forehead. “It was not. And that’s exactly why everyone loved me— Didn’t serve them fuckin’ hot pockets.”

The configurations of Carmen’s apartment would be great for literally any occasion besides the current one. The kitchen is narrow, and so, when you pull out the stove to check the back, there’s an estimated no fucking room left for Carm and Syd, so they sit at the dinner table with your stove top. You’d think they’d look like they’re doing a cute hot pot. No. They look like two conflicted and confused twelve-year-olds working on a science project.

So do you, honestly. Wiring is definitely more your speed than plumbing, but if you’re being honest, this is the first oven you’ve worked on without your dad, and you’re having a hard time remembering everything. There’s a lot of embarrassed Googling on your phone, when you're sure they’re not looking. They can’t know you’re even slightly incompetent!

You’re pretty sure it’s just a couple damaged wires, fried from overwork— Easy fix, if you had wire. You don’t. Slightly harder fix. But soldering is your bitch really, you’re in your bag. You look stupid, wearing chunky goggles and a respirator, but you’re in your bag, baby! What’s that one saying? Skills make you hot? That’s not a saying.

But it is true. When Carmen’s able to peer into the kitchen, quickly looking over his shoulder when Syd takes a moment to write a measurement or direction down, you look stunning. Respirator and all. You just look correct there, in the kitchen. His kitchen. So stunning he feels guilty. Do you find it annoying? Constantly fixing errors behind him? Probably. You say it’s not a lot of work, but that can’t be true.

“How’s The Bear, ‘sides menu rework?” You ask, raising your voice in the kitchen.

“S’good.” Carmen. “I’m in hell.” Syd. Not hard to tell which statue is lying, here.

Syd stutters on, “Nat’s takin’ care of baby Michaela— Which is very good and—and cool, actually.”

“But?”

“But we’re back to handling the business side entirely ourselves, for like— The next month. Maybe two? Fuck, are we doing the wedding without her?” Sydney almost burns her sauce, Carmen’s quick to move it off the burner.

He mutters, “Don’t even start to think about it. It’s gonna be fine. We’re gonna figure it out.”

“Oh yeah, wedding— Have you gotten your menu yet?” You call from the kitchen, muffled by your respirator.

“Oh my god!” Sydney exclaims, and Carmen is wincing. She can’t tell you things are going wrong; doesn’t she know that? You’ll fix it, if things are wrong. You always fix it. Fix him. You’re gonna put him in your phone as Carmy Bad News. If you haven’t already. Start a support group with Tif.

Syd continues, “They’re so fucking particular and somehow also vague—Like, ‘we want salmon and chicken’ for main course— What kind of preparation? ‘Surprise us!’ Okay, how about roasted chicken—? ‘Mmmm, no, not that’. I’ve been told ‘non quello’ at least ten times in the last four days.”

No, you’re witty. Bad News Bear. Fuck, that’s definitely his name in your phone, isn’t it?

“Fuckin’ nightmare. Y’know, I’m the only fucking bartender? For like three hundred guests? Thank God they’re not asking for a custom cocktail or anything, I’d lose my shit.”

Sydney laughs, and she steps back into her flow easily, reducing the sauce without burning it, now. She looks more serene than she has in days. What? How are you doing that? What are you doing? Are you casting a spell?

“Can you even fucking imagine what their couples’ cocktail would be?”

You groan from the kitchen, laughing in return, “Not you too, Syd! Must you make me work!?”

“C’mon maestro, make a cocktail!”

“Bleh. Uh… They give long island iced tea energy, but it’s a wedding so— Like a boozier negroni?”

“That sounds fucking disgusting.”

“I didn’t say it’d be good, I said it’d be their couples’ cocktail.” You’re both giggling, like school girls. It’s like you said— You become teens, together.

Despite the fact that Syd is making an incredibly complex dish, and you’re fixing an oven—His oven— Ridiculing the other impossible tasks set out for the both of you… Despite all of that, you’re laughing.

Carmen is, what, nearly thirty? A restaurant owner, with a full crew, who attends Al-Anon, and is only now truly registering the power of an unsolvable burden being shared. Not fixed, shared. Talking. Laughing. God, this all comes so easy to you, doesn’t it?

You finish soldering, test each burner, and the oven— All working, thank God. You quietly cheer in the kitchen, removing your respirator and goggles. “We’re good here! Fixed!”

“C’mere!” Syd calls out to you, and so you do. Eagerly. She hands you a fork. Unprompted, she does the thing. You’d missed the OG, really.

“Beef Oxtail, pressed in a Foie Gras casing, seared. Basted in a King Oyster mushroom sauce. Pureed greens on the side.”

“I never know what the fuck you’re saying.”

She pushes the side of your face with the palm of her hand. “Put it in your mouth and chew.”

You want to make some sort of kink joke, but you respect the already struggling man in the room and take a bite. Hm. Hm. You put a finger over your mouth, swallowing. “...Now it might just be my unrefined palate.”

“That’s why we have you try it.” Carmen pipes in. Syd nods, following. “It’s important to know the baseline.”

“…It’s got like,” You hand the fork to Syd so she can try it, while you think. “A bit of a bitter aftertaste? Which might be the… goal?”

Syd spits it out the second it touches her mouth, she shouts your name, your actual name— A rarity. She’s so terrified that she forgets the Walk-In bit she’s been in on all week. “I just fuckin’ poisoned you— Oh my god?! Are you good? That was— Fuck! You swallowed that?!”

She grabs your face like a concerned mother, also maybe to check if you have superpowers, you’re not sure. All you know is there’s a golden opportunity to make another sex joke and you have to hold back. Life is so unfair.

Carmen takes a quick taste, also spitting it out. “I’ve got it, Chef, don’t sweat.” Immediately looking to the drafted recipe card to see where they went wrong.

Syd almost squeezes your cheeks like a stress ball but thinks better of it, letting go, groaning, beyond frustrated at this point. “You shouldn’t have to fix it— I should fuckin’ have it, at this point.”

Carmen's trying to ignore how much he relates to the sentiment. He's not the focus, right now.

“We make mistakes, Chef—” “Syd.” You snap your fingers, pointing to her, interrupting Carmen. “Can you help me grab something, from my car? It’s kinda big.”

Carmen’s quick to chime in, already going to untie his apron, “I can—”

“No!” You look at him pointedly, trying to communicate through look alone. He kind of gets it? “It’s… Girl stuff.”

Syd squints. “You need me to help you carry a big girl thing?”

“…Are you fuckin’ helping or are you gonna poke holes?”

“What are you actually dragging me out for?”

“Technically I do actually need your help grabbing something, it’s just not a girl thing. And it's also not from my car.”

“Oh?”

You walk out of Carmen’s building with his keys, and gesture out to every apartment buildings treasure trove— The spot everyone throws their furniture when they move out and don’t know what else to do with it.

“Bookshelf!” There is actually one pristine looking bookshelf, a cheap one, definitely just something from IKEA. But it’s better than the fucking floor. “I spotted it on my way in, we’re gonna bring it up for Carm.”

She groans, hating the concept of manual labour, but still walks with you and grabs one end anyways. “Why didn’t you make Carmen carry his own bookshelf?”

“Because you need a fuckin’ pep-talk.” You pick the other end of the bookshelf up. It’s thankfully not that heavy. You walk backwards so you can keep facing Syd.

“…I don’t—” “Yes the fuck you do.”

She kisses her teeth, you frown. “What’s up, Adamu?”

“It’s just fucking annoying— I keep, I keep fucking it up. I keep—Keep—”

“Doing too much.”

She gives you a look, ‘are you serious?’, type look. You continue. “You’re doing too much. You’re not cooking like you.”

“I can cook like Michelin—”

“I never said you couldn’t. Watch your step.” You interrupt, walking over a bump in the sidewalk. “You can do star level shit, Syd. But that’s a grade, not a type.”

She kind of reels, at that. You continue, “You cook great complex dishes, you always have, I’ve tried them. But now, you’re all caught up trying to prove some shit, to Carmen, to—to— Who gives stars? The tires guy?”

She laughs, almost dropping the bookshelf. “Yeah, I’m trying to impress the tires guy.”

“Fuck you.” You snort, stepping up the stairs. “What I’m trying to say is, you should make what you want to eat, not what you think you should eat.”

She nods, you stop on top of the stairs, both taking a second to breathe. “…Thanks.”

You nod back, hands on your knees for a second before standing back up, opening the lobby door. “I’ll always be your cheerleader, Syd.”

“More like coach.”

“Can you let me have one hot girl career, please?”

When you get back up to Carmen’s, he’s already grimacing. You and Syd are split apart by the bookshelf standing between you in the hall. “Fuck is this?”

“It was free and I’ll clean it!” You press your hands together pleading. “C’mon, you can even put your jeans in it!”

“Jeans on a bookshelf?”

You turn to Syd. “Better than the oven.”

“I think he’s doing that to dry them.”

“I think it’s ‘cause he doesn’t own a dresser.”

“It’s both.” Carmen clicks his tongue, single-handedly picking up the bookshelf and carrying inside. Alright, does he need to show off this much? Whatever. It’s definitely not making you feel any type of way at all.

You squint, watching him walk further in his apartment, and then to Syd. You speak at the same time. “He stays doing too much.”

As promised, you wipe down the bookshelf, making sure it’s free of grime and roadside pests. Syd and Carmy work together in the kitchen, with a now functioning oven. You load the shelf up with the books on the floor— Thankfully they’re piled into categories already, so you don’t have to bother him about that.

You’re tempted to clean his living room, but that would probably be rude, right? Don’t want him to take it as you saying he’s a slob. But they are taking a while… Alright, you’ll just throw out trash. You won’t fold blankets or pick up dishes or anything. Just trash! No big! He can’t be mad at you for that.

You pile together the garbage, then sneakily throw it out in the kitchen trash can as fast as you can, before he looks. He’ll think he’s just sleep cleaning, or something. “How’s it goin’ in here?’

Carmen pipes up, eyes focused on the dish as Syd plates it. “Good.” Syd holds the plate in one hand, and silently corrals you with the other to sit at the table. You do. She sets it down the plate before you, handing you a fork and knife.

You look up at her expectantly. She shakes her head. “Eat first, this time.”

She looks serious, so you nod, cutting into the dish. It’s different from the last one. Instead of oxtail, it’s pastry. Or at least, a puff pastry exterior. You’re pretty sure it’s Pillsbury, you remember Carmen buying that, the other day, on your excursion.

Inside it, you believe is the beef oxtail, there’s other things, too. Some sort of sauce, some greens— Oh well, no time to bask in the cross section because Syd looks like she’s about to explode. You take a bite. You nod, chewing.

Syd starts, “Searing the duck caused the bitter taste— So instead of- Of searing the outside, I coated it in the mushroom sauce, the greens— Not pureed, this time, for texture. Your basil, too. There’s a crumble of feta, for a subtle tang. And then wrapped it all together in puff pastry, and baked. It’s sort of like, a varied take on a beef welling—”

“You made a fucking gourmet hot pocket?” You swallow, wheezing. The second you say this, Sydney’s focused face beams, laughing, like she’s just pulled off the most perfect prank of all time.

Carmen was so intrigued and focused on Sydney’s explanation, that you watering it down to hot pocket and being right makes his entire system reboot. He cannot stop smiling, aghast. He's been helping Syd make a hot pocket for the past hour?

“I told you to make what you want and—” wheeze “—you make a fucking hot pocket?!” You double down, laughing with her, she’s trying to defend herself but she can’t stop wheezing in tandem.

“I— I can’t fuckin’ stand you!” You snort, covering your face with your arm. “I hate your ass, oh my God, Syd.”

“Did—” snort “What did you think?” She recovers, slowly but surely.

You shake your head, handing her the fork. “It’s sick, Syd, obviously, it’s fucking perfect… Chef.” You tack on at the end, almost forgetting. “I’m not gonna be able to have an actual hot pocket, ever again. You’ve ruined my life.”

She takes a bite for herself, nodding. She does a small cheer, pumping her fist. “Let’s fucking go.” She points her fork at you— Purely on muscle memory, and you both instantly remember the days of her testing out recipes and you pairing them on first taste. She’d point her fork to you like a microphone. It was a fun game between two nerds.

It’s a reflex response for you, even now. “Barolo. Savory, dry, red. A young one, though. Light body. Could also do an Amarone, if you’re not buried in money.”

She hands the fork off to Carmy to try it, then writes the pairings down, mumbling, amusement still in her voice. “How the fuck do you do that?”

“I honestly don’t know. I think I have some wires crossed.”

“Fire, Chef.” Carmen swallows his bite. “We cannot call it a hot pocket on the menu.”

“Then what’s the point!?”

Leaving Carmen’s place is objectively the most awkward experience— But also the funniest. You offer to wait for Syd and drive her home— You’ll need a second to pack anyways while they make their business plans.

When you do offer, of course, Carmen stutters short, almost asking you again to sleep over or at the very least stay late, but saves it, realizing himself.

Syd accepts the ride offer. You pack up and wait for her to be done. When she is, Carmen offers to carry your things down with you both, in which Syd accuses him of thinking you’re both weaklings— He does not have a defense case for this, he has to let you go. You can tell he wants to kiss you at the door, and you do too. Sadly, you’re equally down bad, but he can’t know that…

You say your goodbyes, Syd helps you load your tools and hotplate in the trunk of your car. Your phone vibrates. Text from Mister New York.

‘Look up I’m on the balcony. 8 floors.’

You look up, sure as shit, he’s out there, cigarette in mouth. Unlit. He waves, you wave back. He texts again, in rapid succession.

‘Thank you’

‘For helping Syd’

‘And the oven and the hot plate and the bookshelf (not necessary)’

‘nbd + I think it’s v necessary’ Does Carmen understand acronyms? You’re risking it, here.

‘and cleaning my trash’ Sonofabitch.

‘ah fuck. I don’t think you’re messy!!! I just wanted to help!!!’

‘I know. You’re you. Be safe.’

Oh goddammit, stupid dry texter, saying something so gah. You jump as Syd taps the roof of your car behind you, getting your attention. Watching from a far distance, Carmen laughs, though you don’t notice it.

“Are we going?”

“Yes! Sorry!” You hurriedly pocket your phone, waving one last time as you get in your car. Syd sits beside you in shotgun, her pot of basil sat safely in her lap. You drive off.

You’re half way down the road, when Syd pipes up again. “So y’all are fucking, correct?”

You almost brake check the guy behind you.

“How do you fuckin’ do that!?”

the opening is dedicated to my dear friend and i who have sent our wordle results to each other everyday for the past like year and a half.

Things of note, one - people usually skip the shit up top-- I made a spotify playlist! Listen if you like, I'm not your dad.

Two, I know this is a self insert right, i know what I set myself up for-- Do you know the hell i am in as a syd x carmy girl writing scenes with both of them and it NOT being them? What have I done, to myself? The only coping mechanism I have is imagining in this universe Syd is a lesbian. And that is helping.

The hot pocket recipe-- Who fucking knows, if that would taste good? I think it would? In theory? I fucked with a dish from Daniel NYC, to make it into a bit. Would it work? ....Beef wellingtons do, I can't see why this can't???? Idk man.

Rosemary water w cloves and ginger does fucking work btw. I am part of the so stressed out i lost my hair brigade. Also basil does grow like a motherfucker.

We're seein' a little bit of that tenseness that comes with being in an 'almost relationship' both of them feel like they've got something they can fuck up now. Poor birds. They'll be okay. Probably.

I'm really excited for the next chapter, I don't wanna give shit away, but it's gonna be,,,,,, different. I haven't seen anyone try this kinda formatting on tumblr before, and I'm excited to see what you think. Between my moving and how complex the choreography of it is gonna be, it's gonna be a much longer minute between this chapter and the next, I fear. But listen, you already knew your ass was gettin' spoiled with a chapter every two days. Hehe.

As always, please come yap to me in the replies/inbox/dms/reblogs. I love to hear thoughts!! It sustains me, baby!!

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear #the bear fx #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto x female reader

46 notes · View notes

pterygoidwalk · 17 hours

Text

DE2 VR

I've been playing with an idea for a DE sequel for a while I've been calling Video Revachol. just for fun, don't jump up my ass about any of this.

Disco = to learn and Disco Elysium = To Learn Elysium. Video = to see, so Video Revachol = To See Revachol; the story would involve tracking down Harry all over Revachol, starting at the Video Revachol rental store he kept having nightmares about.

here's more

A week after the Hanged Man case, Harry goes missing. You play as Kim, and the game kicks off with Jean visiting P57 to ask if you have any idea where Harry could have gone since you were the last person to spend any significant time with him in his new post-amnesia state.

This solves an issue I've had with the idea of a Harry POV DE sequel, that would have to pick a "canon" ending from DE to spring off of. Jean will interview Kim for details on how Harry was acting and you can describe any kind of Harry you played (or make one up wholesale), explaining to Jean what he was worked up about politically, whether he was sober or not, how well he did his job etc etc. Basically a more detailed version of Kim's assessment at the end of DE but the player is the one dictating it. This impacts what Harry is doing while MIA.

Regardless of the Harry you describe, Jean recruits Kim to help him search for him because a missing police officer is a huge deal, esp one as unstable and erratic as du Bois. Just like Kim does in DE, Jean can suggest where to go next and discuss the case with you as your partner. He obviously has a lot of insight into how Harry thinks, but you aren't dealing with quite the same Harry he's used to.

See this post for an explanation on the modified clothing mechanics Kim and Jean have. They don't steal clothes like Harry does, so you're limited to clothes they already have or can get thru legitimate means. Kim can mod some clothes he finds if they aren't too dirty or stupid looking.

The plot follows a search that goes all over Revachol, starting at Video Revachol and Harry's nearby apartment and then going from there.

Kim has his own set of skills and thought projects, but you aren't starting with a clean slate like Harry. Instead of amnesia, Kim's got a lot of repression and mental blocks compartmentalizing things that will take time to open up. One of the big ones is what happened to his old partner, Eyes.

Dominic "Eyes" Aguilar was Kim's satellite officer. The two of them were close, and it is very vague initially what happened to him. Kim *refuses* to dwell on it, and you'll need to complete a few mental exercises to even let him meditate on the subject. There are hints that Eyes might have been killed, others that he died of an overdose, or that he just quit or was fired. This is a parallel to Harry and Dora, but different because whatever happened to Dom happened very recently. Kim has not been dealing with it in a healthy way. Lots of phantom Doms crop up visually and as auditory hallucinations; his absence is fresh and Kim hasn't adjusted to it.

This affects his dynamic with Jean, a recently orphaned satellite officer. Kim tries to keep him at arm's length emotionally and you can do that successfully, or you can let Kim open up to him. I like the idea of it mirroring the "gruff older man adopts a lost child" trope that was popular in the 2010s, but the lost child is a 34 yr old cop with depression and anger issues.

Other story beats I keep thinking about:

At some point the Kineema is taken out of commission (either damaged or Kim's captain rescinds authorization to use it for some reason), so they take Harry's old motorcycle with a sidecar, inspired by this one sketch by DE's art director. Kim is a huge fan, and Jean... isn't.

When unable to tag along with Kim, Jean has a cop horse he rides around. This way he can leave the scene for various reasons without taking Kim's transport option away. Her name is something stupid like Pookie or Cookie and Jean loves her even tho she's mean. Kim does not like horses and will not attempt to ride her even if prompted.

What happened to Harry is determined by the description you give of him in the beginning. It all has something to do with the Shivers visions telling him about the very terrible thing that's going to happen to Revachol if he doesn't stop it (or, if you described a particular type of Harry, he might be trying to expedite it in a way where he'll come out with some power over what's left)

Kim has a decomptage but it's in disarray after losing Eyes. His team is also majority young women, which gets him some comments. If you eavesdrop/EDC some of his team you find out there's a whisper network among women in the RCM, and Kim's considered a good guy to work for because, quote, "He won't call you with a love confession at 3 am like the other bellends here". This can cause some conflict for Kim because obviously he wants to be a safe mentor for these officers, but female officers trying to join his team has caused some unneeded scrutiny towards him from the other men at P57. You gonna keep up the feminist thing even if it alienates you from 80% of your blue brothers? huh??

Kim's entire relationship with the RCM is framed like an abusive one. The more Kim leans into the cop identity, the more power he feels but the more paranoid and jumpy he gets. A LOT of his fellow officers treat him like shit and you can even get Kim fixated on the idea that some of his team want him dead and out of the way.

like. fucking obviously i want kim and jean to flirt. It becomes very clear that Jean's lonely and misses Harry, so he tries to get Kim to bond with him. You can shut him down or open up-- this is tied to progress on any of the thought projects/compartmentalization deconstruction relating to Eyes. Kim won't let himself get close to Jean without processing some of that grief.

#video revachol au #idk what im doing with this but it's fun to think about

24 notes · View notes

nights-flying-fox · 2 days

Text

[Art by @little-banjo-frog ; Twin-Sync (More Than You Think) by @little-banjo-frog , Sub-Zero by @noxvee6 , Captainx2 @veearrifarrariboom] [@tmntstorycomp]

[Callisto is Twin-Sync Leo, Ganymede is T-S Donnie, Hop is Dimension Hopper Leo, and Null is Sub-Zero Leo]

The portal family had just found each other in the fun chaos that was a competition. They were in a library where the the Twin-Sync twins had ended up imprisoned and eventually broke free with the help of Captains, and where Hop had accidentally opened two portals for different reasons. The first one had ended up flooding the place with comic books. The second one luckily didn’t drop any random items, and yet, he couldn’t understand why they didn’t work properly. There was something weird going on…

Now Hop had found Callisto and Ganymede, and he saw Null around, so he must be somewhere around here. They were looking for him but luckily before they did find him, he did.

“Null!” Hop greeted happily.

“Monkey.” Null greeted back, approaching them. “Callisto, Ganymede.”

“Hey old man.” Callisto waved.

“I found the twins, and they are the reason the alarms are wild.” Hop grinned as he leaned on Null’s arm.

The oldest slider looked at the twins. “Not surprised.”

“Still salty about the bomb situation?” Callisto asked, not bothering to hide his smirk.

“Please for Galileo's sake don’t make this a ‘he threw me off a roof’ situation.” Ganymede groaned.

“But he did.” Hop pointed out.

“And we have every right to be salty about that.” Callisto added.

Null simply nodded.

Ganymede rolled his eyes. “Leos…” Then he noticed something. A colorful blur jumped out of the portal Hop had made near a window. “What the–”

The Leos turned to look at where he was looking. Callisto gasped and Hop’s eyes widened, “Oh!”

Null, however, seemed to simply be confused. He silently watched as the calico cat walked towards him, despite her small steps arriving in no time. She purred loudly, rubbing her head on his leg. Now the big slider was even more confused, “What?” he said out loud. Hop could bet he saw question marks fly around him. Then the kitty made the biggest, cutest kitten eyes.

Hop cooed, clasping his hands together. “Aww!!! Look Null! She chose you!”

Null gently took the cat in his palm. She was so small, tiny enough to fit a hand of his. She looked happy to be held, purring softly. Null looked at her, and then at the others. He looked puzzled.

“Null, the cat chose you. You gotta take care of her now.” Callisto announced.

Hop joined with a big grin. “You have no choice.”

“But– where did she even come from?” Null questioned. This didn’t make any sense. Wasn’t it bad for her to be away from her timeline or universe?

“She jumped out from that portal.” Ganymede pointed. “Do you know where that portal leads, Hop?”

He shook his head, “Nope. All I know is it failed to lead to the right place and won’t close for some reason.” He huffed. “None do!”

Callisto gasped. “Portal cat!”

Hop’s eyes brightened with excitement, “Portal cat!”

The two started cheering, “Portal cat! Portal cat!”

Ganymede sighed, “I’ll check the portal to see where she came from.”

“Wait! We need to name her first.” Callisto exclaimed, Hop nodded beside him.

“Name her?” Null turned to them, he was cautiously petting the lil kitty.

“We can’t adopt her.” Ganymede said, “As much as I hate to say it, she is from who knows where. It might have side effects for her.”

“Or not.” Callisto responded. “Maybe this is her first time and she will be fine because when we hop we hop cautiously.” He booped the cat’s nose.

Ganymede sighed, he joined in petting the cat too. “Fine.”

Hop scratched her chin, “So what we’re gonna name the lil gal?”

“Oh I know!” Callisto grinned, “How about Blueberry?”

“Blue because her eyes are blue or blue because you all are blue?” Ganymede’s voice was flat, but it was clearly visible he was teasing by the smirk on his face.

“Yes.” Callisto answered.

“I love it!” Hop exclaimed. “Fits her.”

“It’s good.” Null said.

“Then it is set.” Callisto smiled. “Blueberry the portal cat!”

“Can I check the portal now?” Ganymede asked, but he was interrupted.

“The second bracket theme is going to be… the Woods!” They heard Massy’s voice.

“Ah. So much for knowing where she came from…” Ganymede gave up as the library changed.

#rottmnt #twin-sync (more than you think)#rottmnt sub-zero au #captain2x #<- just mentioned but still counts ig #dimension hopper leo au #nighty writey #banjo's artbook #hop in the comp!! 2: electric boongaloo #blueberry the portal cat #tmntstorycomp #EVERYONE SHOW LOVE TO BANJO'S ART LOOK AT HOW CUTE SHE DREW EVERYONE #PORTAL CAT #portal fam

28 notes · View notes

rainbow-neko-artblog · 20 hours

Note

Question about your Polyverse AU: I’m a bit new to your AU, I saw the siblings post, but I wanna know…where are the mom and dad?

(Basically I wanna see art of what happened to the mom and dad, but you don’t have to draw the art if you don’t want to it’s your choice this is just a request)

Uhm so- You said you're new so you might have missed it but I explained the Poly sibs parental situation in the plot summary i made >>> HERE <<< a couple days ago. but i guess i did kinda gloss over it so i'll be more specific- and ill try to include some doodles!!!

The polysibs (excluding Sillybilly/Yourself, he's very new, and adopted so, ignore him.) have no parents- instead they have this giant eldritch angelic abomination known as The Collective

The Collective is a GIANT MASS of angels that gave up their physical form to SMUSH themselves all together to gain enough power to change the code of the fucking universe like a god. Why did they do that? you might ask?

Oh ya know. To try and make a genocidal angelic bio weapon that would kill all the "flawed" people and demons on earth and destroy hell by committing angel mitosis and code manipulation. They failed the first three times (2D, BB, Sally) and made Miku and Keith together. Keith was their golden child, the hero they were looking for, the bitch with the plot armor and the voice that warps reality- and they basically put Miku in a robot body to control her into being Keith's body guard.

Safe to say- this plan didn't work when Keith fell in love with a "flawed" mercenary, hot demon babe, and "flawed" demon ghost hybrid.

They brought him up to heaven when he was old enough and showed him all his partners wrong doings and everything and mans was unphased. he said fuck yo shit I'm in love with them.

and The Collective got pissy- but turns out being mushed together for that long is uh??? not good for you- so while BF and co. are fleeing the shit outta heaven, goopy toothpaste mcgee falls off the edge of heaven LITERALLY cause its a giant sky palace- and its so fucking corrupted it can't co-ordinate with all of itself to fly and not get itself thrown into the code.

In the code- the ACTUAL gods of Polyverse, Chaos and Order, are like 'ur a fucking dumbass' and pull the collective apart LITERALLY limb from limb in what quite possibly might be my favorite interaction of the whole RP to the point where summarizing it does no justice you can read it here if you want. (Mild Gore TW)

SO IN CONCLUSION:

Bf and his siblings have no parent anymore. They all practically disowned them for trying to control their lives in a very fucked up way, and then the gods of the universe DESTROYED them so like. YIKES LOL.

#rnanimations #asks and replies #digital art #fan art #art #my art #fanart #friday night funkin #fnf #fnf polyverse au

27 notes · View notes

deathbecomesthem · 1 day

Text

Exile in Guyville 1 - Mesmerizing

Moodboard by @onegirlmanytales

Record shop Eddie Munson x AFAB Reader

*Disclaimer* This story is written in second-person POV for reader immersion. I am labeling it an Eddie Munson x Reader fic. Reader is a unique character. They have a shaved head, are physically disabled - sometimes walking with a limp -, tattoos, and piercings. They have a backstory. If you are not interested in a fic written in that way, simply do not read it. Both Eddie and reader are bisexual. Reader is physically disabled and has PTSD. Eddie is bisexual, has PTSD, and chronic pain.

Series Summary: It's 1995 and Eddie is still looking for a home. His nomadic lifestyle as a studio musician for hire has become lonely as he watches his friends move on and start families of their own. The loss of Wayne, and the relationship he forms with an old rocker brings him to a college town where he meets you. Is there room in your life for him?

Chapter Summary: It's tattoo day.

Self Insert Fan art by @dr-aculaaa

It’s quiet, and it’ll be quiet for months. A respite from the nonstop energy that the college kids provide. It’s the first week of summer break, and all of the outsiders have been shipped back home to mom and dad for the hottest days. Even your own house, normally buzzing with activity, is empty with the exception of your ghost roaming the halls in the early mornings and late at night.

8 bedrooms, 7 roommates, 2 bathrooms. Summer means it’s just you and Mo. Mo’s mom lives in town, so she doesn’t have to stay in the big house with you. She can sleep in her childhood bed, eat dinners made by her mom, and take real baths in a shiny bathtub instead of standing in a shower with mold growing in the corner. It’s one of the many problems on the list for your landlord, never to be addressed. Despite the mold, the cracked tile in the kitchen, the lock that sometimes doesn’t work on the back door, and the complete lack of insulation in the walls – every single one of your roommates signed a new lease. It’s hard to beat $120 a month.

You love the empty streets, the quiet, the way the heat of the sun brings out the details on the otherwise drab streets. Every face you come across you know. This is a small town, really, when the kids are gone. Maybe you’re a kid, too, but you belong to this town, so you’re welcome. Mostly.

Right now your jeans are hanging low on your hips, the ends dragging under the bottom of your boots forever a murky brown color from wear and tear. You’ve had them for years, and you’ll have them until the holes are too big to be patched. You decided to forgo the bra for your appointment. One less thing to worry about while Danny did his thing. You threw a flannel over your black t shirt for modesty’s sake, and so no creepy douchebags decided to take no bra as some kind of invitation. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The nose piercing you got at the shop last week was healing slowly. Slower than it should, it was painful and red for three full days before the inflammation finally calmed. The piercing, a hack job performed by a tattoo apprentice, was a bloody experience that left your roommate sitting on the ground after nearly passing out at the sight of your face. She had her head between her knees while James, the dickhead, was sweating so much while he had his head hovering over your face you could feel it drip onto your own neck. That day you left swollen, sore, and with an important life lesson tucked away in your mind – never trust a piercer with no piercings.

When you reach the shop, it’s dead. You decide to wake it up, throwing the door open – hard – letting the little bell jangle loudly to announce your arrival. The front windows are street level, making it easy for passersby to sneak a peak into the shop as they wander the streets. You know that’s where you’ll be today. Danny will prop you up in the chair that sits in front of those windows, a stage where he can perform his great trick and draw in new customers. That was fine by you, but you always thought it should earn you some kind of discount to be his model for a few hours. Someone always came in when you were in the chair.

“Who’s there?” The question comes from the back room, along with disgruntled muttering about someone breaking the goddamn door. James, Danny’s apprentice, is sat behind the counter scratching at his sketch pad. When his eyes find the answer to Danny’s question, he rolls them, and drops his head back to his drawing.

“It’s your little pet, the Queen Bitch.” James’ usual greeting rubs a little more than it should today. You’re on edge, more than usual, and you have no patience for his bullshit. You show him your middle finger, too annoyed to spare the words, and stand in front of the counter with your arms crossed and eyes glaring. James only cares about the college girls that come through that door, the ones that he thinks might suck his dick if he gives them a free tattoo. The last time you were here you heard the work “dyke” muttered between him and one of his buddies, and you assume that’s why he hates you. Why waste the time? No time for a “carpet muncher,” as he affectionately calls you occasionally. To your face.

“I can head down to Sparky if you guys are too busy for me,” you make sure to call out loud enough for Danny to hear you from the back of the shop. You need him front and center, get some space between you and his minion. Plus, you made a fucking appointment, didn’t you?

There’s a small crash, and Danny’s rounding the corner and buckling his belt. You don’t want to know what he was doing back there, but you hope he was only taking a piss. “Sparky is a fat slob. What do you, fucking hepatitis?” He grumbles as he pushes past you and into the open shop.

“Please tell me you’re about to wash those hands.” Your wrinkled nose and mouth turned down with a sour expression are turned on the old man jerked his way across the room beyond you.

“Don’t start shit, you already know that’s what I’m doing,” and he is, hands running under the little sink sat near the tattoo stations, “I want you in the front today. You ok with an audience, my delicate little flower?”

You give a small involuntary head shake at his sarcasm before a nod in affirmation. You head to the chair, one you’ve been in half a dozen times already, and straddle it to fully expose your back to the empty room waiting for Danny to make his way over to you.

“So, I had to make an adjustment to your design. No complaining. It was too small, and you don’t want the lines fucked to hell.” He hands you the design to check out before he puts the stencil to your back. It’s bigger – by a lot, but you didn’t mind. You don’t tell him that though, you need haggling room. That’s the fun part. You have to put up at least a little bit of a fight.

“Come on, Dan. How much more is this gonna cost me?” You wave the paper in his face for a second, and he’s snatching it out of your hand with a grumble.

“We agreed on $80 initially, I’ll do the revised design for $125.” It’s your turn to grumble.

“Sparky would do it for $100.” Your sing song voice is laced with venom.

“Yeah, and you’d come out with an infection. $115, final offer.”

You pretend to make serious consideration of his final offer, but you both know you’re gonna take it. It’s fair, and it’s still less than you should be paying. You’ve never understood why, but Dan has a soft spot for you, and he always shoots low on the price.

On your first visit to the shop to get a tattoo you pointed to a design from the wall. It didn’t matter to you, it could have been anything. It was a tattoo, anything to mark your skin, to distance yourself. That day your hair still hung low, and you were in the pretty clothes your mom picked out for you. Danny had laughed at you, actually laughed.

“Baby girl, tattoos hurt. Maybe you should go get your nails done and sit in the tanning bed instead.” The smile he wore that day cut deep, and only added to your determination.

You had shocked the absolute shit out of him by falling asleep while he gave you the purple butterfly tattoo on your left hip. That day it was impossible to hide the scars. Danny saw them, you wanted him to see them. He knew from that moment on, pain wasn’t an issue for you.

Today, you look forward to the pain. The feeling of the needle penetrating your skin. Your mind has been loose and chaotic. Being in the chair always helped to bring your focus back. A meditation of ink and blood. Even James keeps his mouth shut while Dan’s working unless he’s directly addressed by his mentor. If you had the cash, you’d come every week, a tithe to your chosen church.

The next hour is a practice of meditation, transcending the scratching pain at your skin. You relax and let Danny work, you’ve learned to trust his arthritic hands. They steady as soon as the gun is turned on and his gloved hand rests on you. You listen to the rhythmic sounds of the gun and James’ scribbling at his sketch book. It’s not until the jingle of the bell at the front door that you’re roused from your sleepy state.

You listen. You’re on high alert always, more so when your back is exposed, and you can’t see behind you. You don’t need a problem, but sometimes one finds you at the worst time. What you hear is the sound of boots scuffing the tile floor, slowing at your chair before making their way to the front counter. Not a word exchanged with you or Dan, but you felt the eyes on your skin, watching the ink mark you.

“Hey man, what’s good?” You let out a little snort, you’re sure Dan can hear. The greeting is overly friendly, something you never hear from James. You can hear hands meeting hands behind your back. James sounds like a little kid, he’s kissing the ass of this new visitor. Not a girl, you know by the person’s gait. They’re sure footed and you can hear the jangling of metal. A wallet chain, you assume.

Danny pauses the tattoo gun to make his own greeting. He rarely tries to hold a conversation with anyone when you’re in the chair, which is appreciated. You want his focus on your body while he permanently marks your skin.

“Eddie, man! I was gonna stop by and see how the shop’s comin’ along once I was done with Ms. Congeniality here.” You bring your arm out to show Dan your middle finger, again thankful for a way to communicate your feelings without having to open your mouth.

A loud laugh, uninhibited, echoes through the small shop. Not Dan or James, they never laugh at you anymore, it’s the stranger, Eddie. You hear the boots click against the tile floor again as Eddie makes his way back to see the progress Danny’s made on your shoulder piece. You can feel him close, this new guy, but you keep your face pressed to the black vinyl of the chair. Anyone that friendly with James cannot be a friend to you.

“You really know how to charm your customers.” The voice is speaking over your back now. It’s deep and coated with honey. You’re very thankful to have your face in the opposite direction of them, because the sound of that voice caused your eyes to pop open unexpectedly. A tingle runs through your body knowing how close that the owner of that voice is to you right now, looking at your exposed skin and appraising it. After another beat, he must have really been inspecting Dan’s work, you hear his footfalls move back to the counter and away from you.

“Store is coming along. I’m getting more product tomorrow. You boys know anyone looking for some part time work? It’s a fucking ghost town around here right now?” Dan and James both let out little noises of ascent. Yeah, it’s summer in a college town and the locals aren’t lining up for part time gigs. A lot of the local shops end up keeping short hours or shutting down all together for a while.

“I’ll keep my ears peeled, brother.” You can’t help but laugh a little at James’ eagerness with Eddie. Brother, what a douchebag. James pretends he didn’t hear you, and continues talking, although a little less enthusiastically, “Ed, take a look at this, I’ve been working on your piece. Tell me what you think.”

The two men at the counter go back in forth in a conversation that doesn’t interest you. You’re letting yourself get loose, lighten and drift. Danny’s steady hand and the gun lull you back into that calm space that only exists in this chair in this tattoo shop. It’s another 20 minutes until the pressure on your skin disappears, and the sound of the gun stops. Dan groans a little as he moves off the stool, “Alright, Trouble, you’re all done.”

You stand, your arm still pushed through the neck of your t shirt, and head to the full-length mirror to take a look. It’s a damn good job, exactly what you asked for, even if it is a little bigger than you initially wanted. It’s better than you thought it would be. Again, though, you play your hand close to your chest. “Hmm, not bad, Dan. Some of those lines, though. Hmm, did you forget your coffee this morning?”

Eddie’s loud laughter, you know now it’s probably something he gives freely, finally brings your gaze to him for the first time. Your eyes’ progression is slow, moving from the black leather boots, up the tight black jeans to find a black leather jacket. Loose curls hang around to frame his face, the rest of his hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail at the base of his neck. Despite the out-of-date look, he’s gorgeous, and you hope he doesn’t realize it’s taking you far too long to peel your eyes away from him.

“You boys have a livewire here.” His smile is big and the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes tell you he’s probably a little older than you initially thought. You narrow your own eyes at Eddie while you feel Danny cleaning and wrapping your new tattoo. You’re trying to get a fix on this guy. Trying to understand why he’s even looking at you and trying to be friendly with you.

“Let’s settle up, boys. I’ve spent enough time in this hell hole.” You move past Eddie to the counter where James is waiting with you. You pull your arm back through the neck of your shirt and wrap your flannel over your chest, suddenly feeling very exposed. You place a stack of bills on the counter, there goes your hope of anything other than ramen and peanut butter sandwiches until pay day. “I still think I should get a discount after you fucked up my face last week,” you mutter out, sadly watching James palm the cash that belonged to you only moments ago.

“Your face was fucked up before you even stepped foot in the door.” James’ jab misses its mark completely because Eddie’s eyes are still on you, and you can’t hear the process the insult.

You slip a couple of 20s in Danny’s hand and head towards the door. Before you step out, you turn back to address the metalhead leaning at the counter. His hip’s jutted out and the light is hitting him like he was some sort of Heavenly creature sent down to provide you with extra grocery money during the off season.

“Oh, hey, Eddie, right? I work at the coffee shop across the street, but I could use another part time gig,” your voice is casual, but you are actually desperate. James opens his mouth to say something, you can hear his breath dragging through his crooked teeth, but Eddie puts a hand up to stop whatever insult he has in mind.

“The Record Exchange on Water. I just opened last week. Come down and we’ll work something out.” Eddie’s hand is open to you, palm up. An invitation.

You nod and duck out. You should have known. The hot metalhead owns the new record shop.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x afab!reader #stranger things au #tw stalking #eig

24 notes · View notes

bruhstation · 2 days

Note

I know you must be inundated with anons but I also like TTTE as an adult but like a “watches the old show on YT and has some trains on shelves” amount not a “engages with fandom online” amount and I was SHOCKED and wracking my brain trying to figure out what event that Gordon and skeleton Henry could be fanart of 😭 so in a sense I am relieved it’s an au thing. I do not have to return my shining time station fan club badge my honor lives another day

YEAH LOL the angst stuff I conjure up is part of my AU called casa tidmouth... basically take ttte and make the engines human and add psychological dramedy stuff with resurrections and gold dust and stuff going on underneath the surface.

if you want an explanation for that art: in casa tidmouth, henry died during the flying kipper crash, got transported to the shining time world, met lady, was resurrected by her using the gold dust after he's in a coma for 3 days in the real world, then everything goes fine. maybe. because gordon is so insanely paranoid (he has way too much issues I don't know where to start) and due to many events throughout his life he's immediately upset whenever things don't go the way they're supposed to go. this paranoia made him believe there's something wrong with henry (many characters in cstm have some kind of psychosis UHHHH DON'T MIND ME) but really henry is... henry. he just has golden eyes now. which ALSO upsets henry because gordon is acting apprehensive all of a sudden. "why are you making MY accident all about YOU" this all happened before the events of the main story so by the time casa tidmouth has started, gordon and henry's relationship is strained. but they depend on and love each other so badly but they'd rather eat their own fingers rather than talk it out properly (they do later in the story tho). hope you enjoy

#asks #anonymous #casa tidmouth #also like. gordon and henry have this long history between them to like they started off as ''rivals'' then immediately best friends #then their relationship slowly deteriorates because they both changed and let their selfishness get to them #sounds crazy? good. because that's my aim for this AU #I could say more BUT I dont want to make things too complicated for ya anon #btw I'm not annoyed at all. keep em coming. I love writing #ttte gordon #ttte henry #3x4 #<-- tags needed

27 notes · View notes

trenchcoathunnybee08 · 2 days

Text

I’m a make my hot take. I freaking love when characters die but specifically Marvel characters. I’ve recently been re-reading Death of the Wolverine and when I tell you it’s genuinely one of my favorite comics. I haven’t read a tun but not only is the art style beautiful but the ending of him looking out at the sunset before he goes is just so satisfying. I’d read Old man Logan a while before so getting to see where the statue from issues #1 had come from was so cool. I felt like some conspiracy theorist when i realized I’d seen it before.

Equally the Loki series and Logan (2017) have got to be two of my favorite marvel projects.

There’s something so beautiful in seeing a character reach the end of their ark. In seeing those final moments where everything they’ve ever been and everything they’ve ever done comes to a head. Where you truly get a chance to see how far they’ve come. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking and I love it.

Outside of Marvel for as horrible as it was seeing Castiel die for Dean in s15 after giving his confession was beautiful. Like some Greek tragedy his dying wish was just to tell Dean how he felt. That alone was enough.

(Had they actually gotten a chance to be together would have made it better but the stand alone moment is so tragic to me and I think about it constantly.)

We see it in Hannibal even if they’re not actually “dead”. You again see that culmination of who they were to who they have become. Again you see those final moments where they accept what they mean to each other and what has to be done.

John and Martin in the Magnus Archives. Their death isn’t just making peace with what they have become but with what they mean to each other. That they would rather died than continue in a world without the other. Daisy and the Hunt too. Her death was so powerful. Don’t even get me started on Tim and Sasha as a whole.

Character death can be done badly such as Dean and 15x20 or it can be done so perfectly it couldn’t have happened any other way. (Loki)

Yes a lot of these they don’t actually die but they are all making the deaths of people they used to be. To see that culmination of a character if so fucking amazing. I feel like I’m on drugs. There’s something so beautiful about a well planned character death and I could do a whole essay on it.

#supernatural #marvel #hannigram #destiel #misha collins #castiel #15x18 despair #spn 15x20 #logan wolverine #death of the Wolverine #old man logan #logan 2017 #nbc hannigram

20 notes · View notes

doggirling · 2 days

Text

HAPPY 5TH BIRTHDAY, RICKY!!!!!! 💚🦇🎉

it has officially been HALF A DECADE since a depressed little 14-year-old me decided to try designing a random fruit bat librarian character in krbay's art style, entirely clueless to the fact a whole story would branch out from him and that she'd be changing the trajectory of her own life forever!!! happy 5 years of ricky, 5 years of starstruck, and 5 years of a somewhat worrying level of kirby oc hyperfixation!!!

(and he also did get that KitchenAid KSM90PS 300-Watt Ultra Power 4-1/ 2-Quart Empire Green Stand Mixer.)

read below for a very rambly note, and more 💚⬇

i initially had written and drafted a very long, very heartfelt note about ricky and how much he's helped me, but i felt it was a bit too intimate to publicly post online, so a majority of it has been put away. here is a snippet.

this fruit bat has been with me through (DEEP BREATH) severe depression, missing my last months of middle school due to it, extreme childhood suicidal ideation, starting high school all alone with none of my friends, therapy, meeting some of my best friends ever, the pandemic, the lockdown, contracting a certain illness twice (hint hint), the terror of online school, more therapy (cbt edition), finding a psychiatrist, receiving my official diagnoses, getting properly medicated, getting better, losing all my childhood pets, finally getting to a point where i overcame depression, graduating high school, and my gap year! ricky has been here for some of the biggest milestones in my life, and he's helped me reach each one. i can say for certain i would not be at the point i am now (or would maybe even still be alive at all) if it weren't for ricky. via the struggles he faced in his story as i developed him + starstruck over time, younger me had him as a coping mechanism throughout the hardest time of my life, where his continued survival and perseverance despite everything was something i decided to replicate (if ricky dahlia can survive all that, so can i!) i continued to live as a way to thank him and the cast for what they've gone through and how they helped me, and i will give him the happy ending he deserves because he's why i reached mine in the first place! whether i remain fixated on starstruck/kirby or not (which i probably will, considering this is also technically the 5-year anniversary post for starstruck itself and the hyperfixation has not wavered once), it will never ever change the fact that ricky is the most beloved, important character i ever created. may he and i see many more years together. ❤❤❤

NOW. here's a collection of all the ricky bday art from over the years put together! its very nice seeing how both my art improved and also how ricky's design has somewhat changed over the years. would normally be very embarrassed posting such old art. but its in the name of celebrating ricky, so i can tolerate it. 😊

1️⃣. first birthday

2️⃣. second birthday

3️⃣. third birthday

4️⃣. fourth birthday

that's all for this post now, considering it's already super long 😅 ricky is just one of the most important things in my life, and the fact that 1. it's now been a whole 5 years/half a decade since he came into existence, and 2. i'm actually alive to witness it is. kind of a big deal to me. so you all have to deal with me being particularly obnoxious about him, cause if it weren't for him, i would not be here. anyways... until next year. I LOVE ALL OF YOU, AND I ESPECIALLY LOVE YOU, RICKY GREENDOWN DAHLIA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 💚💚💚🦇🦇🦇

#PEACE AND LOVE FOREVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#HAPPY RICKY DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#my art #starstruck #kirby #kirby oc #ricky greendown dahlia #meta knight #foodstuffs #irl pics

20 notes · View notes

reikunrei · 2 days

Text

feeling incredibly averse to posting this but i'm just gonna drop my kofi link here in case anyone wants to help me get out of my increasingly shitty situation living with my parents

more info below ig

after having given my parents nearly $100k over the last four years, i'd love to be able to actually leave. my future job situation is still up in the air (i've submitted for about a dozen positions and the only one i've heard back from and interviewed for hasn't gotten back to me yet), and i haven't been able to build up any savings because, again, i was (and still am) helping my family afford rent and bills, and probably the taxes my parents are behind on, but if i think about that, i'll get too angry. no joke, i've given my family, at the bare minimum, 85% of my income over the last 4 years. the rest of it has gone toward medical stuff and, now, my car

at this point, with the combo of my mom refusing to lower her standards and my dad's seeming refusal to hunt for a new full time job, i don't see how they won't continue to bleed me dry. my dad even has a bad habit of taking money out of my old savings account that he's a joint owner on or whatever from when i got it set up when i was 16, even when i stopped actively putting money in it, so now any time it gets its automated $1 transfer from my checking account, he'll just take that $1 without consulting me. i'm not exaggerating, even if it has $1-2 in it, it'll be gone within a week

i've even put off starting on testosterone because of this. i wanted to start it like 3 years ago, but kept putting it off because of money issues and wanting to save as much as possible. i got really close to actually starting it this year, but because of how messy everything is, i put it off again bc having one more thing on my plate, especially when my parents are already weird about me being trans, was not something i wanted to deal with

not to mention, we're still currently not living under a lease in our house that we're, as far as i'm aware, still tens of thousands of dollars behind in rent on (again, my dad refuses to disclose our financial position honestly with any of us) and it's developed many, many issues bc the landlord, even before we were behind on rent, is shit and refuses to actually fix anything. and my dad loves to just ignore things unless we beg him to do something

i'd love to be on my own (in the, much more affordable, midwest) by the end of summer. i by no means want to rely on donations and i have other avenues i'm working with to make money (i still have my current full time job, but i'm going through my old belongings and selling a lot online), but i'll take any help i can get atp because i'm truly at my wits end. i'd start doing art commissions again if i could, but doing that from 2020-2022, partially on top of my full time job, absolutely wrecked my right hand and i'm still in enough pain that i can't make it a regular activity

idk how much else there is to say. there's more i could say but... i don't really wanna air all my dirty laundry here. i'm miserable in so many ways and it's just become increasingly clear that my dad expects me to constantly cover his ass. my younger brother gives money too, but he manages to go on big cross-country and overseas trips with friends, so i think i've been stuck with the burden of giving the most money. there's so many more things going on in the world rn and everyone is stretched thin so i don't expect much, or anything, but. idk. might as well throw it out there, right?

i’ve also since taken down the gfm i set up last year when we got our first eviction notice bc, while we still need the money, i don’t feel right keeping it up for multiple reasons, including “i don’t want to give any of that money to my family” and it feels too… serious to keep it up when i could just throw out my kofi instead

i just want to make sure i have some sort of safety net to catch me if i move before anything job-wise is finalized. i need to be able to afford a place to live for at least a month so i can job-search while physically being in the area i wanna move to, which would ultimately make it easier for me to find a job at all. i'm working on being more firm with giving less money so i can actually have the means to move and be safe and comfortable, but... that never lasts long in this house

anyway. that's it, i guess. thanks for reading

#i say things #crowdfunding

23 notes · View notes

therealcocoshady · 2 days

Note

Are you still taking requests if not by past this

Lilly (Marshall’s daughter) has a recital that she invited him to but for obvious reasons (him being a celebrity) he isn’t able to go so Lilly is upset and Marshall is kinda bummed and he try’s to make it up to her

« Just Daddy » - Eminem One Shot

Author’s note : THANK YOU for your request ! I am so in love with the Lily/Marshall duo ! If ay of you guys have any requests about this… PLEASE keep them coming, because they make my heart full ! (Also, it is the perfect opportunity for some cute and comforting fluff !!!)

MARSHALL’S POV

Marshall usually needed a very good reason to interrupt a studio session, especially if it was one with Dre. In that case, he had interrupted a studio session with Dre, Fifty and Snoop, which could only mean one thing : there was an emergency. In that case, the emergency was Lily’s first big ballet recital, which he couldn’t attend. In truth, he could easily have rescheduled his trip to LA to record a feature and produce a few tracks for Fifty’s latest album, but he couldn’t have attended the recital in person anyway. So far, he had managed to attend the smaller representations, but since this very recital involved most of the art schools in Detroit, with a bit of press coverage involved, he couldn’t take the risk of causing any problems. So instead, he had his wife FaceTime him, so that he would not miss the whole thing.

The sight would make anyone raise an eyebrow : four hip-hop legends sitting in front of an iPad, watching a five year-old’s ballet recital.

Which one’s yours, man ? Snoop asked.

Here, Marshall said proudly. Front and center.

He lovingly watched his baby dance on stage, dressed as a little mouse (or was it supposed to be a cat ?) In a tiny pink tutu. He arbored the brightest smile upon noticing his good his baby was doing. And, being totally objective, she was the one shining the brightest ! When the performance ended and his wife ended the call, he reluctantly turned off the iPad. He had been gone for a whole week and he was gutted to miss such a big event for Lily. So far, in spite of his hectic schedule, he had been able to attend all the major events for her, showing up whenever he could, whether it was school activities or dance performances.

You good, bro ? Fifty asked.

Yeah, yeah, he shrugged.

Missing the family ? Dre chimed in.

… Yeah, he admitted. I’m usually able to be there for these things.

We could have rescheduled, you know ? Snoop said. This shit’s important. I’d never miss my grandchildren’s things.

I know, Marshall replied. I would have. But it’s a fairly big city event, there’s press and I can’t show up like that. You can’t have Eminem ruining a children’s performance by causing a riot or whatever… I wouldn’t have been able to attend anyway, so I might as well work, you know ?

The press still don’t know about your kid, right ? Dre asked.

Nope, he said with a smile. Best kept secret in the country, so far.

Drake’s meat gets leaked on the Internet and meanwhile, you have a family the world knows nothing about, Fifty mused with a grin.

It’s better this way, Marshall shrugged. Lily’s living the life I always wanted for my eldest : I can give her everything and she doesn’t have to deal with the whole « being Eminem’s daughter » craze. And Y/N doesn’t have do deal with the attention either.

Not bad, Dre conceded. We all know you love your privacy.

And how you get crazy when it comes to your kids’ lives, Fifty added.

They never asked for the bullshit, Marshall simply said. And I swear to God, if Lily’s face ever gets leaked to the press, you guys will have to visit me in jail.

The others all chuckled. He had always been a protective father but it was even worse when it came to Lily. Rightfully so, though : when the eldest were growing up, attention was a bit easier to avoid. But now, with social media, his baby could become viral in a matter of hours, with no hope for his team to be able to kill the story by bribing the press or threatening to sue. Even now that Alaina, Hailie and Stevie were grown up, they were always dealing with the consequences of having a famous dad, and he wanted to avoid that for his youngest. The less she knew, the better. As far as she was concerned, her Dad made music she didn’t really care about (who was Eminem to compete with Disney princesses and puppies anyway ?) and she had no idea of the magnitude of things. Most of the time, he was able to go places with her and, on the rare occasion people walked up to him, she just assumed it was people he knew. He was also lucky that, so far, she hadn’t really batted an eye when it came to the security officers that discreetly accompanied them.

They slowly went back to their recording session, the conversation shifting to the others’ kids, then going back to what brought them to Dre’s studio in the first place : music. A few hours later, he was getting ready for dinner, while FaceTiming Y/N.

We miss you here, she said.

I miss you girls too, he admitted. Three days and I’m back home. Is Lily with you ? I want to congratulate her.

In her room, his wife said. She… doesn’t want to talk to you.

What do you mean she doesn’t want to talk to me ?! He asked. What’s wrong ? The performance was good, she was amazing on stage… What went wrong ?

You weren’t there to hug her when she walked off stage, like you usually are, Y/N explained. She’s upset. She was a mess for fifteen minutes and Hailie had to bribe her with ice cream.

Shit, he sighed.

I told her you had to work, she explained with tears in her eyes. But yes… That was a hard.

Babe… Are you crying ? He asked.

Don’t worry, she said with a smile. I’m tired and hormonal. Blame it on the babies you put in me.

How are my sons, by the way ? He asked with a soft smile.

Your possible sons are making their mom’s life a nightmare, she laughed. If I could, I would sleep all the time. And I don’t sleep as well when you’re not in bed with me.

A few more nights and I’ll be able to cuddle the shit out of you, he said reassuringly. And I’ll stay home for the rest of your pregnancy.

It’s fine, she said with a yawn. I’m only nine weeks pregnant. I can manage.

I can’t wait to tell everyone we’re having two more babies, he said. We talked kids with the guys and I swear… Keeping it a secret is harder than I thought it would be. I’m so excited for my sons.

Possible sons, she giggled. I have to go and put Lily to bed. Say hi to everyone for me, will you ?

Sure, he replied. Tell Lily I love her ? I’ll try and call tomorrow morning, ok ?

Of course, Y/N said. I should warn you though… She’s really upset. And she has her Daddy’s temper, too.

Fuck, babe, can you… Can you try and get her to talk to me ? Please ?

He could see Y/N open the door to Lily’s room and ask her if she wanted to say hi to him before bed but he heard his daughter’s voice say « No. He wasn’t here, I’m not talking to him ». These two sentences were enough to break his heart, nearly making him sick. He could see his wife looking annoyed and upset, mouthing a silent « I’m sorry » to the camera. They exchanged a few more words and « I love you » to each other and they ended the call.

It took about thirty seconds for Marshall to make up his mind : screw dinner, screw work, he was flying home. When he decided to adopt Lily, he promised himself to love her, care for her and never do anything to hurt her, and there was no way he would stay in LA while knowing his baby was sad because of him. What kind of father and husband would that make him, leaving his hormonal pregnant wife to pick up his slack ? In five minutes, he packed everything he had in the guest bedroom he occupied at Dre’s house and went downstairs, carrying his bag.

Ready for dinner ? Dre asked before seeing he had his bag in hand. Oh…

Sorry man, he said. I have to fly home.

Anything wrong ? His mentor asked.

Upset daughter, exhausted pregnant wife, guilty me, he summed up.

Pregnant wife, huh ?

Shit. Wasn’t supposed to tell you, he chuckled. But, yeah. Twins.

Congrats, man, Dre said as he dapped him. Alright. Go back to the family, we’ll pick up sometimes soon.

Sure, he said. Thanks. Dinner’s on me, I already put my card down at the restaurant. Say bye to the guys for me.

I should have known you’d fly home, Dre grinned.

Why ? Marshall chuckled.

Because it’s Lily, Dre replied. As far as you’re concerned, it’s her world and we’re all living in it.

Ten minutes later, he was in the car, begging an annoyed Paul to arrange for the jet to fly him back to Detroit as soon as possible. The manager tried to argue with him about his schedule and how late it was but he knew him well enough to know that there was no convincing him to stay in California any longer. Six hours later, in the middle of the night, he crossed the threshold to his house, his heart warming up at the sight of his family’s things scattered all over the place. Evidently, Y/N had had her arms full with Lily in the past week and he couldn’t help but wonder how they would manage once the twins would be born. He usually preferred tidy spaces, by far, but the realization that the mess was caused by his growing, loving family put a smile on his face. He let his bags in the foyer and went to the bedroom, where he found Y/N fast asleep in one of his tee-shirts, hugging his pillow. He got undressed and tried not to wake her up, though he failed miserably as she jumped as soon as she felt the dip in the mattress.

Hey beautiful, he said softly. It’s just me.

You’re home ? She asked with a confused expression on her face.

It’s 90°F in California but the bed was too cold without you, he said with a smile. I was missing home.

She immediately engulfed him in a hug and he took in her lovely scent as he returned the embrace. One week without the love of his life was too much. He sniffed and noticed something different. His cologne. On her.

Missed me ? He asked with a grin.

Oh, shut up, Y/N said as she rolled her eyes. You know I need a big if you you to fall asleep.

I see, he said with a smile. Enjoy the tee-shirt, babe. Soon, you’ll be too fat to put my clothes on.

And you’ll have to sleep on the couch to give my fat ass some space in bed, she giggled.

No way, he chuckled with a shake of his head. We’re sleeping together until the end of this pregnancy. The four of us.

He placed a loving hand on his wife’s stomach. She wasn’t really showing yet, but he could swear it was just a tiny bit rounder than when he had left. Or maybe he was simply too excited. Y/N laid back down and he kissed her tenderly before kissing her stomach as well.

Hey guys, he said softly. I’m home. Thanks for taking care of your Mama for me.

They’re beating the shit out of me, she giggled before yawning. Between fatigue and morning sickness, work and taking care of Lily, I’m a mess. Haven’t had the time to clean up much.

I saw that, he replied with a smile. I’ll take care of Lily and the mess tomorrow, you just rest, alright ?

Ok, she said before kissing him. I think Lily’s going to be pleased to see you.

You think ? He asked anxiously.

She’s mad but she’ll get over it eventually, she shrugged.

How mad are we talking, exactly ?

« The time you forgot our anniversary » mad, I think, she chuckled.

Any chance the Hermès bag works for Lily as well ? He joked.

You’re not getting our five year-old a designer bag, she warned. And you know what got you forgiven wasn’t the bag, or any of the other thousand fancy presents you bought to suck up to me that day.

I know, he chuckled. I’ll find a way to make it up to her. Hopefully it doesn’t involve watching Frozen again.

You’re on your own with this one, buddy, Y/N said. If I have to sing « Let it go » one more time, I am jumping out of the window.

Buddy ? He asked. One week away from you and I’ve been downgraded from « My love » to « Buddy » ?

Make up for your absence and we’ll see, homie.

You’re lucky I slept on the jet and I’m all energized, he grinned before pulling her to him.

Safe to say they didn’t sleep much that night, making up for the time spent apart. Y/N was fast to blame the horniness on the hormones and he couldn’t help but think to himself that, if that was true, he would have a lot of fun in the upcoming months. After the deed was done, though, she immediately fell asleep in his arms. She did seem exhausted and it was probably a good thing that he was back, so that she could rest as much as possible. A glance at the clock and he noticed that it was almost 8:00. Lily’s wake up time. And time for him to make amends to his baby girl. He put on some clothes and made his way to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast. He was putting everything on a tray, ready to bring it to her bedroom when the doorbell rang, the florist delivering the huge bouquet he had ordered just in time. Bouquet in one hand, tray I the other, he went up the stairs and knocked on the door with his foot before entering.

Daddy ! Lily said as soon as she saw him.

Hey bug, he said with a smile.

She was sitting up in bed, in her pink PJs, her hair still in the bun she wore for the representation. A smile passed on his baby’s face, before being quickly replaced by a frown. Almost as if she suddenly remembered that she was mad at him. Y/N could say what she wanted, that she took a lot after his personality (which was not wrong) she was so her mother. Thankfully, fifty years of life, countless girlfriends and four daughters had taught him a lot when it comes to charm offensive.

Thought you’d enjoy breakfast in bed, today, he said. Got you some flowers, too. Do you know what they are ?

Lilies, she said with a smile - and he could see she was trying hard to conceal it. Like me.

That’s right, baby, he grinned. You did amazing at your recital, you know ? Made me proud.

You missed the recital, Daddy she said.

I know, bug, he said as he put the tray and the bouquet on her bedside table. But Mommy FaceTimed me and I still watched you dance, you know ?

You did ? She asked.

Of course, he replied. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Uncle Dre, Uncle Fifty and Snoop watched with me, too.

But it’s not the same, she pointed out.

I know, he said. Mommy told you I had to work, right ?

She nodded with a small pout and mumbled something about him usually never working on Saturdays. At five years old, she wasn’t exactly a baby anymore and she was perfectly capable of sensing when things weren’t usual. Seeing the sadness and disappointment in her eyes broke his heart. He sighed and sat on the edge of her bed.

Want to eat, bug ? He asked. I made your favorite pancakes.

Ok, she said, still frowning.

You’re mad at me, huh ?

She nodded as she started eating. He sighed, not sure what he could say. His wife giving him the silent treatment when she was mad at him wasn’t enjoyable, but having your five year-old do it was a nightmare.

I’m really sorry, he said.

Will you come to the next year’s ? She asked.

I… uh… maybe, he said.

Obviously, this wasn’t the desired answer. She stared at him with her big blue eyes, as if she was giving him an opportunity to correct his answers. He scratched his throat and realized that it was probably time to have a talk about him possibly having to miss some events.

Look, bug, I might not be able to make it to next year’s recital if it’s a big event, he explained.

Why ? She asked. You don’t want to see me on the stage ?

No, no, it’s not that, baby, he said reassuringly. I always want to see you on stage. No one is more proud of you than I am. I want to show up to all of your recitals, but sometimes, there’s a lot of people.

So ?

So… You know I make music, right ? He asked. You know that’s my job, and that’s how I make money ?

Yes, she said. In the studio. With the big words I can’t say.

That’s right, he nodded. Well… A lot of people listen to my music.

They do ? She asked with a raised eyebrow.

The side-eye almost made him chuckle. With his level of fame, it would be easy for him to get big-headed but, thankfully, having children usually did a great job in keeping you humble. Rap God or not, his kids usually weren’t too impressed. It had taken years for his eldest to start showing an interest in his music, and Lily was no different.

They do, he nodded. I’m sort of… famous. So a lot of people know me. You know, the places where we usually go, a lot of people wave and say hi ?

Yes, she said.

They’re not my friends, he said. They know me from my music.

Ok, she said, still not seeing what he was getting at.

Usually, people are very nice to me, and it’s not a big deal, but if I turn up at a big event, a lot of people might come and talk to me. Like… A lot of people, he explained. And if I show up to one of your big events where the press is, people are going to take pictures and if they see you with me, they might start bugging you.

Really ? She asked.

Yes. And, as your Dad, it’s my job to be there for you, but a most important part of the job is to make sure that no one bothers you, he added. So, if you have these big events, I’m super proud of you, and I want to be there but, sometimes, I’m going to have to watch from somewhere else. I will always try to show up, and I can do it if it’s small events for school and stuff, but big events with thousands of people is a bit harder.

Oh. Ok, she said with a hint of disappointment.

But no matter if I’m here or not, I’m always super proud of you, you know ? And I never want to make you sad, he added.

So, it’s not that you like work more ? She asked with pleading eyes.

Of course not, bug, he said as he stroked her cheek. Work will never be more important than you. Never.

Ok, she said with an understanding face.

Are you still mad at me ? He asked.

No, she shrugged. But I’m still sad.

Let me make it up to you, ok ? He suggested. How about we spend the day together, just the two of us ? We can do whatever you want.

She nodded with a sly smile and, deep down, though he was relieved to see her smile, he knew he was doomed. And, indeed, she made him go through the labour of Hercules. They went to walk Winky, the corgi they got her for her fifth birthday and then, she wanted to go for some ice cream. She knew full well she wouldn’t be allowed to have it so soon after breakfast, but she reminded him that he said they could do « whatever she wanted », while making puppy eyes at him. He obliged and took her to her favorite ice cream place, at the mall. Thankfully, it was Sunday so there weren’t a lot of people around. The two security guards, dressed in regular civilian clothes so as not to attract attention, were almost unnecessary. It was one of the perks of living in Detroit : not as many people as NYC or LA, no paparazzis, not so many tourists and, mostly, people either didn’t recognize him (perks of dressing with regular, inexpensive clothes for everyday life) or treated him as part of the scenery. He knew full well that, if he had lived elsewhere, everyone would know about his marriage, him adopting Lily and his wife being pregnant. Thankfully, though, he was able to maintain a private family life and prayed that it would remain this way for as long as possible. At the mall, they saw a poster for Taylor Swift’s album and Lily was really excited.

Daddy, when you say you’re famous… Do you mean like her ? Lily asked.

Yes, he said. Kind of like her. A bit more. I’ve been doing this for a long time, you know ? Longer than her.

Because you’re old ? She asked.

Older, he grimaced.

Mommy says you’re old, she pointed out with a giggle.

Well I’m going to have to have a talk with Mommy, he said as he rolled his eyes.

Lily ended up dragging him to what seemed to be every single store of the mall. Ice cream shop. Build A Bear. Clothing stores. Toy stores. They finally went home after he spent an ungodly amount of money but the smile on Lily’s face was worth it. However, the day was still young and his daughter was clearly not done. Once they were home, she insisted on having a princess tea party with him and the two bears they made at the mall, so he found himself on the floor of her bedroom, drinking juice in a teacup while she applied makeup on his face. He inspected himself in the mirror.

Are you sure that’s the exact same way you had your makeup done for your dance recital ? He asked with a raised eyebrow.

Yes, she nodded. Just like that. But I had whiskers because I was a mouse.

Mmmh, ok, he said as he tried to hold a chuckle. I need the whiskers then.

When his wife came to see them, she burst out laughing as soon as she saw him.

Are you guys having fun ? She asked with a grin.

Time of our lives, he said sarcastically. Right Lily ?

Yes, she said. Daddy said we can do whatever I want today.

Is that so ? Y/N asked. Looks like Daddy should be more careful with his words.

Aren’t I the prettiest princess in all the land ? Marshall asked.

Yes my love, she giggled. Though I believe a princess would have a proper manicure.

Mommy can I have your nail polish for Daddy ?! Lily suddenly exclaimed.

I’ll bring it right away, Y/N said with an evil grin.

I can divorce you. I have my lawyer on speed-dial, he warned - but she was already gone.

Of course, Y/N just had to join the fun and get in on the torture. He loudly complained but, in truth, he was too happy to see the smiles on the faces of two of his favorite girls as they did his nails.

Starting to miss Dre’s house ? Y/N asked.

Missed you girls too much, he said. I don’t think I could get such an… artsy manicure in California.

Do you like it, Daddy ? Lily asked proudly.

Oh, sure, he said. I never thought my cuticles could use sparkly nail polish all over them, but I was clearly missing out.

You’ll be so pretty for tonight, his daughter said.

Tonight ? He asked.

Your daughters are coming for dinner, Y/N said. I didn’t tell them you’re back, it’ll be a nice surprise. Especially if they see you like this.

No way in hell, he chuckled.

Not even the nails ? Lily asked with puppy eyes. But you said…

Maybe the nails can stay, he sighed.

They spent the rest of the day as a family of three and, just when he thought he had dodged a bullet, Lily begged them to watch Frozen. Again. And just like every parent bullied by the smiles and supplication of their little one, they obliged. Y/N fell asleep on Marshall’s shoulder and Lily sang along to Let It Go while coloring his tattoos with highlighters.

I missed you, Daddy, she said. I’m happy you’re home.

I’m happy to be home, he said. I missed you too, bug.

I’m having fun today, she added.

I’m glad, he chuckled.

In the evening, the whole family was reunited for dinner and no one missed Marshall’s elegant manicure. This brought back memories for Alaina and Hailie, who used to beg him to do his makeup. Being a girl Dad for about thirty years, he’d certainly had his fair share of tea parties and home spa sessions. He absolutely loved having daughters, though, and if that’s what it took to put a smile on their faces, he would happily endure hours of this. However, he wondered what it would be like, having boys in the house. He was absolutely positive the twins were boys - no specific reason, just a gut feeling. Originally, Y/N and him had agreed not to find out the gender before the birth, but he wasn’t too sure how he could be expected to wait for about seven more months. And he couldn’t wait to hit the twelve week mark either, because keeping the pregnancy a secret from the rest of the family was a nightmare. He was just so excited to be a Dad again and he was so proud that the love of his life was carrying his children. She was already a splendid Mom for Lily and he knew it would be the same for the twins. The conversation shifted and someone pronounced the word « delusional ».

What’s that word ? Lily asked.

Delusional ? Hailie said. When someone’s delusional, it means that they believe things that aren’t true.

Oh ok, she said. Like what ?

Like believing in San- Stevie began.

Like Stevie believing she’s getting that new car if she doesn’t pay attention, Marshall scolded with a smile - not wanting Lily to be crushed if she learned Santa wasn’t real.

Oops, she said.

Is Daddy delusional then ? Lily asked.

Wha- No ? Y/N said confused. Why would he be delusional, baby ?

Because he thinks he’s more famous than Taylor Swift, Lily explained.

You don’t believe me ? He asked, almost offended.

She is really really famous you know ? his daughter explained. You, you’re just Daddy.

Everyone chuckled and stared lovingly at Lily. They all knew how important it was to Marshall that she be shielded from his fame, also because he didn’t want it to get to her head that her Dad was famous. He kissed the top of her head and smiled. He was fine with the title, really. When he was at home with his children, he was just Daddy, and that was more than fine with him. There was nothing more upsetting to him than Eminem getting in the way of his family life. So he was really fine with her not getting the level of things for now, hoping that he wouldn’t have to miss another event anytime soon.

When it was time to put Lily to bed, he went with her downstairs to tuck her in and read her a bedtime story.

Time to sleep, now, baby, he said. Good night.

I had fun today, Daddy, she said softly. And thank you for the flowers.

Am I forgiven ? He asked with a smile.

Yes, she said.

I love you, you know ? He said softly. And, as much as possible, I promise I will not let work get in the way. I always do my best, you know ? Whether it’s for you, Hailie, Lainey, Stevie or the babies…

What babies ? She asked.

He stared at her with a hint of panic, internally facepalming himself. Oops.

Do you know how to keep secrets, baby ?

#eminem #marshall mathers #slim shady #eminem fanfiction #eminem x reader #eminem fluff #eminem imagine #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers imagine

50 notes · View notes