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adhdnursegoat · 4 months ago

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This is Not a Drill

Word count: 1.8K

Content Warning: fluff, confession of feelings

Pairing: Edward Nygma X gn reader

Setting: Young Justice

“Dammit.”

It came out quieter than it felt. Soft, almost polite, like the word had tripped over his teeth on its way out. He wasn’t angry, not really—just tired. Tired of circling the same anxious drain. Tired of knowing exactly how to solve a thousand unsolvable problems, but not this.

Not you.

Someone might’ve heard him, had anyone else lingered. But mercifully, he was alone. Had been for the better part of an hour, haunting the lounge like a nervous ghost. He’d half-registered the shifting people, the casual comings and goings of Injustice League members grabbing coffee, making personal calls, or just plain needing a moment. But they'd all filtered out eventually, and Edward... Edward stayed.

First, he sat. Then slouched. Then paced. At one point he’d laid on the couch like a tragic Victorian figure, forearm flung over his eyes, until the automatic lights dimmed and shamed him back to verticality.

Now, he was just standing. Rooted. Heart rabbiting beneath his ribs. He stood in front of the coffee bar—an unremarkable stretch of metal and glass—and stared at the faint outline of himself in the backsplash. The reflection wasn’t sharp, not like a mirror, but he could make out just enough to scrutinize. The stiff line of his shoulders. The twitchy motion of his hands as they tapped a rhythm against the counter—Morse code for I'm losing it, send help.

This was it. The final boss. Not a mission. Not a trap. Not even Batman.

Just... feelings.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he muttered, squaring his stance like he was prepping for a debate. “Just say it like a normal person. Not like you’re delivering a riddle. Not like you're... trying to recite a dissertation."

He took a breath. Then another. Then your name slipped from his lips, shaped with hesitant reverence. A pause. Then—

“I like you.”

He winced. A slow, full-bodied grimace like he'd just witnessed himself fall down the stairs on security footage.

“No, no—too simple. Uggghhh.” He slapped a hand against the counter and dropped his head. “They deserve better than this. They deserve a confession with gravitas. Drama. Maybe a sonnet.”

Edward sighed. Then straightened, like he was trying to make his spine remember it belonged to a man and not a melted question mark. His eyes flicked back to the backsplash—his warped reflection staring back like a rival, or maybe a lifeline. He squared his shoulders again, poking a finger at the glass like it was both a chalkboard and a confessional.

“Try again, dumbass,” he muttered, barely above a breath as he pointed at his reflection, coach and player in the world��s most pathetic halftime pep talk. "I like you. Like, like-like you. As in—I think about you when I shouldn’t." He huffed, shaking his head. "During briefings, when you’re asking smart questions. During missions, when you move like you were built for this and I have to remind myself to look away before I forget how to walk. And lunch—don’t even get me started on lunch. Watching you eat fries has done irreversible damage to my brain chemistry."

Feeling a little hopeless, he laughed at himself, the sound dry but fond. His fingers slid back through his hair, tousling it into an auburn crown of frustration.

"And I know you’re probably into someone cooler. Someone who doesn’t speak like their mouth is hardwired to an encyclopedia. Someone charming. Charismatic. The kind of person who knows how to make a move without having to rehearse it like a courtroom deposition…"

He swallowed. Then, softer, "But I’m trying. God, I’m trying. Because if I don’t tell you soon, I’m going to short-circuit every time you so much as breathe near me. I already stammer, fidget, knock things over—I’m practically an animated error message when you’re in the room. And that is not a sustainable lifestyle. So—" Your name caught on the edge of his tongue. He hesitated, like saying it aloud might make it all too real— "...I-I like you… And... and I’m trying so hard not to ruin it by telling you in the most Edward Nygma way possible. Which is to say—badly. With poor pacing. And analogies. And at least three footnotes. Or, godforbid, a riddle…"

He leaned forward, pressing both palms flat on the counter, eyes locking with his reflection like he was trying to convince himself this wasn’t the stupidest thing he’d ever done.

“Okay—that wasn’t bad. Now. One more time. With feeling. Maybe less rambling. Maybe…” He took a breath. Let it out. “Maybe like you believe it—”

“You could just say it to me.”

Edward jolted. His head snapped up with such force he nearly unbalanced himself, whipping toward the doorway like someone had rewound reality and hit play too fast. For a heartbeat, he just blinked, staring at you as if you’d stepped out of a hallucination.

You were there. Not in his head. Not in the glass. Real. Leaning against the frame with your arms crossed, casual in that devastating way you had. Like you weren’t aware of the hurricane you’d just walked into. Like your smile wasn’t already unraveling him at the seams.

His brain stalled. Froze. Rebooted somewhere between panic and prayer.

"...How long were you standing there?" His voice had shrunk to something small and embarrassed, like it was trying to hide behind his teeth.

You tilted your head. “Long enough to hear the part about fries.”

He winced, visibly. A hand scrubbed over his mouth like he might erase the last five minutes from existence.

“And I’d really like to hear it again,” you added, stepping forward. “You know—said to me.”

There was no teasing in your tone, not really. Just a kind of quiet sincerity, soft as velvet and twice as dangerous. An open door he wasn’t sure he deserved to walk through.

Edward blinked. Once. Twice. As if your presence needed time to process, buffer, and load in full HD. Then he straightened up fast—like someone about to stand trial—and tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves with quick, fidgety precision, as if dignity could be tailored back into him with fabric and focus.

"R-right. Yes. Of course. To you. I can... do that." A beat. It took effort not to get locked on the glimmer in your eyes. That soft glimmer, that gentle curiosity—it disarmed him more effectively than any superpowered threat he’d ever faced. He actually had to shake his head, then take a deep breath. His chin lifted, his eyes narrowed. Then, firmly: "I like you."

The corner of your mouth tipped up before stepping forward just enough to enter his space—just enough for him to feel your warmth.

“Better,” you murmured. “Now try it again… without looking like you're preparing for an oral exam.”

He laughed—a breathy, uneven sound, like the release valve on a too-full heart. “Okay. One more time.”

Edward ran a hand over the back of his neck, expression sheepish, posture softening as the tension gave way to something quieter. Something real. His shoulders dropped slightly, and he looked at you from the corner of his eye—like the full force of his feelings might be too much if aimed directly.

“I like you,” he stated again, gentler now. “And I think I’ve been trying to say it in riddles...”

You tilted your head. “And now?”

His gaze didn’t leave yours this time. When he spoke, his voice was low, vulnerable, steady. “Now I’m just hoping you’ll say it back.”

After that, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected. A laugh, maybe. A grimace or nervous look. The quiet shuffle of your feet as you backed away. Some kind of mercy.

But instead, you just smiled softly.

Not a grin. Not a smirk. Not one of the carefully curated expressions he’d imagined in every hypothetical. It was smaller than all of that. Unhurried. Like you weren’t shocked or even surprised—just there, with him, steady as gravity.

“You’re lucky I like the weird ones.”

It wasn’t said cruelly. You didn’t weaponize it. No sarcasm, no scoffing. Just the faintest lilt of playfulness, the kind that slipped under his skin and warmed everything it touched.

Edward blinked. His chest thudded in his ears. His mouth twitched like it wanted to smile, but forgot how.

You took a half-step closer. Not enough to crowd him—just enough to prove you weren’t afraid. To make it even worse, or better—the jury was still very much deliberating—your hand reached up, slow and intentional, until your fingers brushed his tie. And stayed there. You didn’t yank or pull or do anything remotely scandalous. You just toyed with the fabric—soft little tugs, like you were adjusting it, straightening it, claiming it. Your knuckles grazed his chest, and Edward thought he might actually combust.

“And for the record,” you murmured, eyes finding his—half-lidded, sharp, unreadable in the most intoxicating way, “I’ve known for a while.” Your lips twitched. A smile barely contained. “You weren’t exactly subtle. But I was waiting to see how long it would take for you to implode.”

Oh.

Oh god.

The bloom of heat on his cheeks was so fast it should’ve had its own weather forecast. His hand shot up, uselessly scrubbing along his jaw, like that might do something about the heat scalding through him. But it didn’t help. Nothing helped. Not when you were still standing there like it was nothing—like you hadn’t just unraveled him with your fingers and a single, stupid sentence.

And worse—worse—you didn’t look away. You didn’t mock. You didn’t vanish like some hallucination conjured by emotional exhaustion. You stayed. Still smiling. Still close. Still casually holding his heart between your fingertips and treating it like something worth being gentle with. You knew. You liked him. You’d waited.

Edward swallowed hard. Tried to assemble words that made sense. Came up with gibberish. Tried again.

“I—I’m not always this bad,” he mumbled, which was objectively false, and judging by your raised brow, you both knew it.

You tilted your head, amused. “You’re worse, usually.” Then your voice softened, that teasing gleam still dancing in your eyes. “But it’s cute.”

Cute.

He was going to die. Right here. In front of the coffee bar. Cause of death: you. Yet—when he looked at you again, really looked—something inside him, something that had been shaking since the moment you walked in, finally went still.

Because you weren’t laughing. You weren’t walking away. You were smiling at him like he’d done something brave. Like this wasn’t a catastrophe—it was a beginning.

Maybe not the one he’d rehearsed. But maybe the one he actually needed.

Did you like this? Check out the rest of the PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE RIDDLER series!

Tag List: @trulydisturbed @wolfsrahne28 @riddled-with-fear @illustratedartist @angelsmile28 @caesariawritesstuff @jezabellesunshine @wingedqueenlynx

If you are interested in being on the tag list please let me know in the comments.

Thanks for the support!

#Please Do Not Feed The Riddler #riddler x reader #riddler #the riddler #riddler x gn reader #gn reader #ficlet #riddler fanfiction #riddler fanfic #cute #confession #edward nygma #young justice #young justice riddler #sweet eddie #bashful eddie #confession of feelings #fluff #riddler fluff

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mochinomnoms · 1 year ago

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Since PTM!Yuu has magic, does it mean they capable of flying on a broomstick? Do they have to take remedial flight classes since they wouldn't have been able to take the class in their first year? As someone who is absolutely terrified of heights, I know I'd be absolutely terrible at it and would probably need extra lessons to get anywhere with it lol.

Maybe coach Vargas gets Yuu to do some after-school flight workshops (i think thats what its called?) along with none other than Jade. I can imagine Jade trying to act suave and composed in front of them whilst simultaneously trying not to fall flat on his face on the broom. Maybe seeing him out of his depth and floundering will help Yuu see that there is more to this big bad eel than meets the eye 🥰

Yes! They can, but their classes vary by semester, like in a regular college. For the sake of story, I'm having the potions class be a two semester course for the sake of plot and looking at it the same way you would with a thesis or dissertation can sometimes be spread over multiple semesters. I also like to think about the more logistics about how NRC and its classes are run and have a lot of headcanons that I put in PTM.

But for flight, I like to think that flight class is one of those basics that all students have to take at least their first semester. Then they have an option to complete a sports club for the rest of their mandatory credits or continue with general physical education with Vargas, which included flight.

If you do particularly bad, such as merfolk in flight class, you are required to take a remedial class in that specific subject. In Jade and Azul's case, they both have to take a remedial flight class, but Floyd is able to get around it by being in the basketball club.

The remedial class is less about getting a good grade (it's a pass or fail class) but more about demonstrating that you are able to do basic moves and exercises on the broom. If you do, then you get a pass grade, which allows you to graduate. In the fic, I have it set that the remedial class is paired up with an advanced flight class, which is meant for students potentially interested in pursuing Spelldrive as a career. For extra credit or as an honors project, those students can be paired with one of the remedial students and tutor them.

With all that in mind, Grim tends to handle the magic bases classes in the canon storyline, or it's implied at least. I think that since they're in their second year in PTM, they have at least one semester for Yuu to catch up and make up for Grim's grades. So while they're not yet at the level that they'll need a remedial class or workshop yet (and for spoiler reasons the Nurse doesn't allow for them to participate in rigorous exercise), they might in the future!

What I do think makes for a fun scenario is Yuu needing to go to the class to take pictures, as is their job still. So they take pictures of the students in flight class! And imagine their surprise when they really pay attention to Jade and just how bad he is on the broom. He's always so elegant, it's so funny seeing how hard he clenches the brook and stares at the ground the moment his feet leave the ground.

It's almost cute, seeing him so nervous. He never lets anyone see him like this, but even Jade has his moments of simply being a person, rather than a perfect right-hand man. He even manages to get turned upside down at one point, though he's barely off the ground he's wrapped his legs and arms around the broom like is life depended on it.

Yuu can't help but laugh at him and his expression, covering their mouth to feebly hide their laughs. Jade is mildly annoyed that someone is laughing at him, until he realizes just who it is. Now he's admiring the cute sounds leaving their mouth and considering letting himself be the butt of the joke for just a bit longer. At least until his grip slips and he falls on his back.

#mochi asks #archival-cryptid #twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #ptm #i want jade to be so silly as much as he is serious and intimidating #a silly side that few see

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starstrider-productions · 4 months ago

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Dr Flloyd Kennedy, Liverpool-based, Australian-born actress, director, voice artist, performance poet, singer-songwriter, voice/speech/accent/acting/clown coach and producer of audio fiction took part in the British folk revival in the 60s, performed street theatre, cabaret and fringe theatre in Scotland throughout the 1980s and 90s, and wrote her doctoral dissertation on “Shakespeare’s Voice: a theory of the voice in performance”. She has performed, directed and taught voice and acting skills at colleges and universities in the UK, US and Australia. Her solo show Yes, Because! toured to Brisbane, Melbourne, New York (UNITED Festival of Solo Performance), London, Edinburgh and Liverpool. She regularly appears in indie feature films and TVCs, and at spoken word events in Merseyside.

Flloyd writes, performs (with guest artists) and produces the audio fiction comedy Am I Old Yet?, nominated for an Independent Podcast Award 2024 (fiction category), which has now published 147 episodes and received over 50,000 downloads. She is a member of the Fable & Folly Network (“where fiction producers flourish”), and she is a proud member of British Actors Equity.

Dracula: 2004 begins crowdfunding on 2nd April! You can check out our prelaunch here: https://igg.me/at/dracula2004

Care to take a bite?

#dracula: 2004 #count dracula #bram stokers dracula #dracula #indie podcast #uk audio drama #podcasting #uk podcasts #audio fiction #cast reveal #am i old yet podcast

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theposhsworld · 2 years ago

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❤️ The value of the educated, smart, and strategic woman…

In a recent post, I commented that no matter what bubble gum femininity coaches say, women who marry into the elite are smart, strategic, and educated.

So let me dive into that.

Bubble gum femininity argues that…

😠 In order to find an active, successful, and strong man, you have to be passive, confused, and certainly not goal-oriented.

😠 Smart, successful women intimidate successful men.

😠 You cannot possibly be good at something, driven, and successful at that thing, whether that’s being a business women running her online company or an expert in a field, unless you want to attract a loser.

To sun up, you have to be a loser to attract a successful (alpha!) man.

Ha!

So that got me thinking. In my former #womentolearnfrom series, we saw how it was the super smart and strategic women that made a difference and married their matches.

Cleopatra and Livia Drusilla, both of whom were renowned for their strategic minds and ability to use soft power to exercise political influence, seduced the three most prominent figures in ancient history, Julius Caesar, Marc Anthony, and Emperor Augustus, through their ability to support them on the way to power and use their wits to consolidate that power.

I’m doing extensive research about the rise of the Medici family for my dissertation. Guess what I found in an old letter?

✍️ The patriarch of the family, Cosimo de’ Medici, praised his son’s wife, Lucrezia Tornabuoni, for “being the only man in the family” when she stepped up at a time when both her husband and father in law were beset with gout. So he valued her not just because she provided their children with the best tutors and best education, but also because she could hold up the front when crises occurred.

(Side note: if you read her letters to the male members of the family, she gives her opinion very, very subtly; then, she always concludes with “I trust you know best” or something along those lines).

Later, Cosimo’s grandson, Lorenzo the Magnificent, who was known for his deep interest in philosophy, literature, politics, and poetry, didn’t even bother seduce his wife; he deemed her intellectually lacking. Even though she had all the resources available, she didn’t try to learn and challenge herself with new models of thought, which made her boring in her husband’s eyes. So he kept a mistress who read philosophy and allowed him to grow as an intellectual.

Well, if at a time when women typically had no rights per pe, but these ladies were valued for their strategic mind and intelligence, how can one say that 21st century women should not be smart, well-read, strategic, etc?

Because if we were to look at women we aspire to be like — Amal Clooney, Melania Trump, Queen Letizia — it won’t take us long to discover they are extremely Street smart and strategic. Most are very well educated, too, even if that means being self-taught.

Meanwhile, stunning models who marry up but don’t invest into inner work and education, have a hard time staying married. Think about Kendra Spears.

So bubble gum girls are worst off. Then, the ones who marry well but don’t know how to develop themselves. And, finally, there are the Cleopatra types.

Now, there are some movies who illustrate that. Of course, there are historical exaggerations and all, but I guarantee they will give you food for thought when it comes to feminine intelligence.

Look for the smart, strategic women who is the actual femme fatale of these films.

🎥 Domina, 2021

🎥 Dangerous Beauty, 1998

🎥 Casino Royale, 2006

🎥 La Riffa, 1991

🎥 Cleopatra, 1963

I hope you enjoy!

P.S. please share your thoughts. Do you think intelligent women are that intimidating or are the the biggest turn-on there is — for partners and friends alike?

#spoiled gf #feminine #hypergamy

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communistsharks · 2 months ago

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Modern university AU Stormlight head canons!! Because I have 60 pages of a grad school AU written and nothing to publish yet lol!!

Kaladin: controversially (as I’ve seen lots of folks put him in med school), I have him majoring in social work! Specifically with troubled teens (analogous to his work with veterans in canon for reasons within the AU). I think this works a lot better with his arc in WaT than him going to medical school. Imo, he’s someone who started uni later on in life, maybe after a stint in the army or after a gap year or two, with the goal of working clinically. My dude literally invents therapy in canon lol. He’d get a lot out of working with people to better their lives, and is generally pretty good at meeting people where they are later on in canon. He’d also be a big proponent of different kinds of therapies for folks, and would specialize in dealing with youth with trauma/PTSD in this AU.

Shallan: I have her in Art History, specifically looking at representations of nature in colonial artwork because I’m selfish and made her a historian. Jasnah is her supervisor, and she’s Jasnah’s first student. I think this works well by blending Jasnah’s love of history with Shallan’s love of natural science and art. It also echoes the mentor/student relationship they have in canon but leaves room for Shallan to push back against Jasnah like she does later on in the series.

Adolin: definitely the one I struggled with the most, which I think is fitting for him lol. I think he’d also have a hard time figuring out what he wants from uni, and would ultimately go with what his father thinks is best. In this case, a business degree. His real passion, though, is fencing. It’s the closest to dueling in terms of the sport itself and its classed nature, imo. This is his real passion, and he might drop out to try out the sport professionally? I think Shallan would encourage him, but Kaladin would probably have a hard time with the money aspect. Ultimately, I think Adolin ends up with his business degree, but prefers coaching to anything else.

Jasnah: one of the youngest tenured faculty in the History department. She specializes in economic history, looking at histories of power and colonialism and trade in North America and the Caribbean (mostly bc that’s what I know lol, but also bc I think her goal w history is to understand). She may pivot to more modern histories of fascism, though, and connect that colonialism theoretically. Her doctoral dissertation was published and was a best seller among academics, which is near unheard of. Shallan is the first grad student whose project interested her enough to take her on, and they’re learning how this works together (though Jasnah wouldn’t like to admit it). Generally, she’s in the university setting for the academia, not the teaching, and tries to limit the classes she teaches to upper year undergrad courses and grad courses.

Wit/Hoid: also a prof! A very eccentric English lit prof who specializes in folklore and the oral tradition. He likes to work with Jasnah when she’s working with oral histories, as he’s fascinated by them. He’s tenured, for some reason, and that’s the only reason he’s not been fired. Sigzil is his PhD student, and he’s working on a project about creation stories! (My other thought for Wit was the school librarian or archivist, but I like him working with the oral tradition a bit too much to go that route. I think that both work, though.)

Those are the main players in this fic within the uni specifically, so that’s all I have for now :D

#stormlight archive #cosmere #Stormlight archive headcanons #wind and truth spoilers #mild but I’m gonna tag just in case #wat spoilers #shakadolin #these are for my shakadolin au that I will hopefully maybe publish one day #just so yall know what you’re getting into oop

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dissertationcompletecoaching · 8 months ago

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Demystifying the Main Types of Literature Reviews

Tackling a doctoral dissertation demands careful research, critical analysis, and a deep understanding of the existing body of knowledge in your field. At the heart of this journey lies the notorious literature review—a crucial section that not only demonstrates your scholarly prowess but also lays the groundwork for your research. One question I had recently from a dissertation coaching client involved choosing the type of lit review that would be most appropriate for her dissertation project. To clarify, let’s explore the main types of literature reviews and what distinguishes them from each other. Read more: https://dissertationcompletecoaching.com/demystifying-the-main-types-of-literature-reviews/

#phd dissertation coaches canada #dr. cara weston #dissertation coach near me #dissertation coach

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thefoxholecast · 6 months ago

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i know in your last episode you mentioned how you were getting a lot of asks and emails, but i wanted to pop in and say how much i ADORE your podcast. i especially loved the discussion of wymack’s intentions during that scene after neil tries scoring on andrew - to me that was such an important scene in wymack’s character development and it also lays the groundwork for neil to have a reliable adult presence in his life which is of course very important later. i love the scene so much

(i also want to make parallels between neil + his coach and the concept of violence vs that scene in the sunshine court/jean + his coaches and the concept of violence however i’m going to digress bc spoilers and also no one has time for that dissertation) (blah blah blah something about misplaced forever partners??)

First of all thank you so much for listening and writing in!

Second of all:

#misplaced forever partners.................#somehow I had never noticed that parallel before!!!#😭😭😭#the foxhole cast #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #jean moreau #neil josten #ask #anonymous

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therealcocoshady · 1 year ago

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Recovery - Chapter 26

Eminem x FemReader Fanfiction

Summary : Reader has left the country to try and deal with her breakup with Em. She thinks it's over until she gets a call... from Hailie.

Tags : ANGST, Comfort

Y/N’s POV

You’d been back in France for a few months and you were finally a doctor. You had successfully defended your doctoral dissertation over zoom and it was one of the happiest, most relieving days of your entire life. It was quite an accomplishment and you felt extremely proud. Of course, it wasn’t the whole ordeal it would have been if you had stayed in Michigan : the university would have organized a designated event and you would have invited a lot of people to celebrate this milestone with you. Instead, it had been you, wearing a blazer in front of your computer for a Zoom call with the jury, while people you knew watched the livestream. It was a little sad, for sure, but ultimately, you knew that coming back to France was the best decision for your mental health.

The breakup with Marshall had taken quite a toll on you and you had not been able to function properly. Everything made you think of him and you had come to the conclusion that you would never heal if you had constant reminders. Talia and Jamal were sad to let you go, but they did it for your sake. Also, you did not want to impose and be a burden for your best friends. A few weeks after the breakup, things had gotten so bad that Talia had to help you shower and monitor your eating. Back then, you weren’t doing much : trying to work on your dissertation and crying, only sleeping when you were exhausted. It wasn’t a proper way to live and you knew it. Hence your decision to go back to France and live with your Dad. For university as well as most people you knew, the official reason for your departure was that you had family issues that required your presence. It was a blatant lie and you felt guilty, but you did what you had to do to go forward. Everyone had been nice and supportive, especially people you knew from the studio. Even Paul was kind to you and, when Jamal told him you were leaving, he even offered for you to take the private jet. You had refused, but you appreciated the thought, even though you suspected that he just wanted to make sure that you were leaving for good and wouldn’t be a disturbance to Marshall’s work life.

Regardless of the distance, your friends came through for your dissertation defense and they watched the livestream as you achieved your long-term ambition of becoming a doctor. You were truly touched by everyone’s support. They had even sent gifts to be delivered to your place the day after. You were treated to bottles of champagne (from people who did not know you were sober), gourmet baskets, bouquets of flowers… The biggest gift of all, though, came from Marshall.

FLASHBACK

Upon landing in Paris, you found that Marshall had tried to reach you while you were on the flight. Of course, you had the urge to call him back, after all the texts you had sent.

Hello ? You heard his sleepy voice say on the phone.

Oh my God, am I waking you up ? You asked as you were suddenly reminded of the time difference.

Mmmh yeah, he said. It’s ok though. Thanks for calling me back.

Sorry I missed your call, you said sheepishly. I just landed in Paris.

How was the flight ? He asked.

Good. Got an upgrade so I flew in business class instead of the coach, so it was pleasant.

Good, he said softly. Look, I… I’m sorry it took so long for you to get a hold of me. I completely unplugged and by the time I checked my phone, you were gone. I want you to know that I would have come and said goodbye. I was too late.

Thank you, you whispered in a sigh of relief. I thought you didn’t want to see me…

Of course I did, he replied. Also, thank you for the package. Jamal gave it to me and I’m… speechless. You know what I mean ? It means so much. I’m touched.

You’re welcome, you said. I was afraid it would be too much.

It’s definitely too much, he said with a small laugh. You shouldn’t spend too much on me. But the pen and the notebook are beautiful.

I’m glad you like them. They made me think of you. I was saving them for your birthday, but… You know.

I should have been the one treating you to fancy stuff, he mumbled. If I’d known you’d be leaving, I would at least have arranged for you to fly private.

I know, you said softly. Paul offered the jet when he knew I was leaving, but I refused.

Marshall went silent on the phone for a few seconds - enough to make you wonder if he had actually hung up on you.

I see. I read your letter. I get it, he said.

I’m sorry, you said flatly.

I’m sorry, Y/N… I wish I had known you were struggling. I wish you would have called me.

I couldn’t, you replied in a creaky voice. It’s too hard, Marshall.

I know, he said softly. But just so you know… You being on another fucking continent doesn’t mean I’m not here if you need, alright ? You can call me if you need anything. I mean it.

Promise I will, if I ever need a plane, you chuckled.

You know what I mean, he said sternly.

I do. Thank you, you said softly.

Anyway… Congratulations are in order, I guess ? You’re finally done with your work, he said.

I am, you said with a smile. Thank you.

Thank you for the acknowledgement, too. That was the sweetest thing ever, he said softly.

Not too cheesy ?

Just enough, he said with a laugh. Jamal told me you’d do the whole defense over Zoom and that they’d be watching. Can I watch too ? You know, I would have loved to be here on your big day if it had been in Detroit.

Please don’t, you found yourself saying. I appreciate the support but I just can’t do it if I know you’re watching.

I get it, he said sheepishly. But I know you’ll do great. I’ll be thinking of you. I always am anyway…

Thank you, Marshall, you said in a whisper. I always think about you too…

I read that, yeah, he whispered back.

Silence again.

I should probably let you sleep, you said.

…Ok, he replied. Thank you for calling, Y/N. Take care, alright ?

Bye, you said softly.

You heard him hang up the phone and whispered “I love you”, on the verge of tears. Now that you were back in France, something painful hit you : it may be the place that you were born, but it wasn’t home. Home was the place you had left six weeks ago. Home was Marshall. And now, you had to start all over again.

END OF FLASHBACK

About a week after your dissertation defense, you received the most enormous package you had ever seen in your life. You weren’t even sure how it could have been handled by the postal services. It contained the biggest bouquet of flowers you had ever seen - some real Dubaï Housewife Instagram stuff - a black velvet box containing an exquisite diamond solitaire necklace, as well as a gorgeous watch from Cartier. Of course, it was from Marshall. You didn’t even need to read the card. He knew this watch was your dream one - the one you wanted to get when you had achieved something significant, when you truly became successful. The box also contained a letter, written in his penmanship that you loved so much :

“Dear Y/N,

It’s my turn to make a big gesture. Congratulations on your achievement. You were absolutely amazing (unsurprisingly so). I might have hidden in a corner of the room when Talia and Jamal watched your defense (hope you don’t get mad at me). I hope you like the necklace, though it won’t do you justice. The watch is set in the Detroit time zone, just in case you want to call any of us. We’re all thinking of you. Especially me.

Love you always,

Marshall.”

You immediately sent him a thank-you text and the two of you texted for a bit but you didn’t really keep in touch. In the following weeks, your former roommates mentioned him when you were on the phone, but that was about it. You didn’t really know what he was up to, although you guessed he was working, as usual. The only other type of information that you had was from his official social media accounts so, really, there was no way for you to know how he was actually doing, apart from tweets about the Lions games and a few Instagram posts managed by his team.

Weeks went by and you received a package from Shady Records. It contained a CD version of the new album as well as a small box with a vintage portable CD player and Beats headphones, along with a note from Marshall.

“Dear Y/N,

I don’t know if you’re old enough to own anything that can play a CD, so I included one of my own players for you to listen to the album (take good care of it, it’s one of my favorites). We’re finally done with the new album. Thank you for every minute you spent in the studio, for all the time you spent encouraging and listening to me and for all the times you listened to some of these tracks. This album would not be the same without you.

Love,

Marshall.

PS : whenever you get a CD, always check the booklet :)”

You knew the album was coming. Jamal had mentioned it, although he was probably not supposed to, knowing how secretive Marshall and his team could be about this. However, holding a physical copy of the album felt different, not to mention how thoughtful and personal the gift from Marshall was. You immediately opened the case and looked at the track list. It included some of the songs you liked the most - some of which you had actually witnessed the recording of. You remembered the times you gave him your opinion and it seemed like he had taken it in consideration. There were some newly recorded tracks as well.

Before listening, you took a look at the booklet. You found your name in the acknowledgement section.

“To Y/N. Thank you for everything. You deserve a whole album, but I hope a song will do. Check track n.12”.

Curiosity got the best of you and, of course, it was the first track you listened to, as you skipped the first eleven ones. It was a track you had never heard before, so you could only assume it was recorded after your breakup. It was a feature with Skylar Grey, a dark, sad yet beautiful love song. It seemed like a conversation between two lovers parting ways. Your heart skipped a beat when you heard a line you distinctively remembered writing in your letter : “Every little thing is a reminder of what once was and will never be again. And being reminded that I had everything and lost it all is too much pain”.

You shed an emotional tear at the idea that your letter had inspired him to write such beautiful, yet sad lyrics. You listened to the whole album with your eyes closed, letting Marshall’s soothing voice fill your ears. You had always liked the way he could play with his voice, conveying so many different emotions. For a minute, it seemed like he was in the room with you.

Once you were done, you immediately texted him. With a newly released album, there was no doubt that he would be busy and you didn’t want to disturb him.

To M : Thank you or the album. And the CD player. And the acknowledgement. And track 12. Loved every second. PS : Let me know if you ever need a ghostwriter again 🙂

Much to your surprise, he responded immediately.

From M : Glad you liked it. Though I should tell you that ghostwriters usually aren’t credited.

To M : For you ? I’ll skip the credit. Just write me a big, FAT check.

From M : Check the booklet again… Credit section. Is wire transfer ok ? 🙂

Your heart skipped another beat. He didn’t… Did he ?!

You looked at the credits for the song and noticed that the list was surprisingly short compared to the rest of the album, prompting you to think that fewer people had been involved in the making of the track. It mentioned Marshall, Jamal, Skylar Grey and… yourself. Your name was mentioned as a lyricist.

Without a second thought, you FaceTimed Marshall who immediately picked up with a smile on his face.

You didn’t !!! You exclaimed.

I did, he said with a chuckle. That’s your line after all.

You didn’t need to credit me !

You know I give credit where it’s due, he replied. I’ll send a contract your way. I can even get Paul to talk numbers with you. Just keep it reasonable, ok ? It’s one line.

I don’t want money, you said with a laugh. I just can’t believe you did this. You turned a part of my letter into a song and dedicated that stuff to me ! That’s just…

Yeah ?

Well that’s crazy, you simply said.

Well I’m crazy about you, you know ? He mused.

After all this time ?

Always.

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

Harry Potter reference ? You giggled.

You’ve been on my back about these movies and how I haven’t seen all of them so I caught up, he chuckled. I actually watched the last one a few days ago.

You should read the books now, you said.

Not a chance.

You stared at the screen and watched his face, or at least the part you could see, since he was holding his phone in weird angles, as the boomer and technophobe he very much was. He seemed to have lost a bit of weight but you weren’t too sure.

Y/N ? He asked as you went silent.

Sorry, you said. I’m a bit tired.

Yeah, you look like a panda, he said with a smile. Or a raccoon.

That’s what happens when you make me cry with your music and acknowledgements, you replied as you playfully rolled your eyes.

Her smiled and chuckled. Hearing his laugh was medicine. Talking to him felt good too. It was the first time you felt alive in weeks.

What are you doing ? You asked. Did I wake you up ?

Nope, it’s still daytime here, he said. I’m at home, resting a little and packing my bag for some promo tour. I have a couple interviews planned in New York and LA next week. We’re also looking at actual tour dates for this autumn.

That’s soon, you pointed out.

Yeah, it’s a surprise tour, he said. A small one. Just a couple of dates here and there, US and Europe, to see if I can still attract the crowds, I guess.

Of course you can, you scoffed. People are going to go crazy. Are you excited ?

Yeah, I like performing, he said with a smile. I don’t really like tour life, though. I’m just afraid I’m a bit rusty. I haven’t done that in a while.

You’ll do great, you said reassuringly. A couple of sold out stadiums and you’re good. Where are you performing ?

So far, I think we have Detroit, New York, LA, Berlin, London and Amsterdam, he explained. We’re also talking about some festival dates, but that’ll be for next summer. We’ll see.

You found yourself a little sad that he didn’t mention Paris. It would have been the perfect excuse and opportunity to see him perform. After all, he was known to put on quite a show. But perhaps it was for the best. Maybe it was a bad idea. After all, you had literally fled to another country so that you could heal from your breakup. Talking to him was one thing, but seeing him in person was another.

How about you ? He asked. What’s up with your career ?

My career as a lyricist ? You joked. It’s going great.

Seriously, I want to know, he said with a smile.

Not much. I teach a couple of hours a week at university, you said. It’s not a fancy position or anything, and it’s actually ending soon, but it’s the best I could find. I’ll have to apply to other jobs.

Your students must be lucky to have you, he mused.

I’m kind of a bitch when it comes to grading, you chuckled.

Do you enjoy it ?

Love it, you said with a genuine smile. I can’t wait to have an actual job in the field and make a living out of it.

You don’t, yet ? He asked.

Right now, I don’t work much so the income is not the best, you admitted. But it’s fine.

You manage to pay the rent alright ?

I’m living with my Dad so I don’t need to, you shrugged. Plus, you know me, I’m not high maintenance so it’s fine, really…

You know, if you need money…, he began.

I don’t, you said.

Let me at least pay you for the lyrics, he offered.

Not a chance, you said sternly. If you give me a dime, it means you’re sending the letter back and you don’t want it.

Fine, he groaned. But can you promise me you’ll be alright ?

Yes. Promise me you will be alright ?

Promise. I’m sorry, I have to go, he said with a sad voice. The girls are coming to my place.

Enjoy, you said softly. It was great talking to you.

Thanks. Take care, alright ?

Take care.

The call ended and, for the first time in weeks, you had an actual smile on your face. You were happy you got to see him and hear his voice. You were also giddy and emotional over the fact that you had a song on his album that you could actually claim as yours. It was by far the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for you.

Weeks went by and you got a chance to catch a few interviews of Marshall talking about his new record. Obviously, it was doing really well in sales and streams and fans were obsessing over it - yet another surprise album he had quietly dropped after years of anticipation. Track number 12 turned out to be a fan favorite too. You liked watching the interviews as it allowed you to, once more, see and hear him. It was almost like a guilty pleasure and you could get where his Stans were coming from. He was always fascinating. By watching them, you could confirm that he had lost quite a bit of weight. He still looked good, obviously - to you he always did. But you did notice a few comments about his appearance. Some said he looked sick and tired. One journalist even confronted him about it.

I have to ask, because the Internet is obsessing over it at this point, man. You have lost some weight haven’t you ?

Yeah, I have, he confirmed quietly.

Are you on some sort of diet ?

Nope. I’m just eating healthy, exercising… staying in shape, you know ?

So you’re healthy ? Everyone seems worried about you.

I’m good, he chuckled. I’m just not twenty anymore, you know. I’ve been working a lot on the record so that’s probably where the extra wrinkles and dark circles come from. Plus, i kind of had to get fitter. We’ve been shooting a couple of music videos and, at this point, I can officially announce that we’re going on a few surprise dates to perform in a few months, so… if people want to make sure I’m healthy, just come to the shows, ok ? There’s gonna be some dates in the US, UK and Europe, to be announced really really soon.

He smiled as the audience clapped and easily got the conversation to shift.

It's quite a surprise isn’t it ? The journalist asked. We haven’t seen you perform in forever !

I have to get back into it, right ? I miss the fans, the energy. Recording music is great, but performing, it’s another thing. I like both, you know ?

Why didn’t you plan more dates ? And why so soon ?

As I said, man, I have to get back into it. I didn’t want to wait too long to perform the new tracks and that’s kind of the downside when you drop surprise albums like that, you can’t exactly plan a tour easily. Otherwise people will know about what’s coming. Plus, I’m at a point where I’d like to see if I can still sell out venues without advertising a year and a half in advance.

The interviewer went on to ask some more questions about the tour but Marshall wouldn’t give too much information.

Eventually, the interview ended and you had to refrain yourself from actually searching for the tour dates and booking tickets for whatever show. You knew it would probably be a mistake. Plus, even though you weren’t strapped for cash, you couldn’t really afford concert tickets and travel. It wouldn’t be reasonable. After a while, you ended up realizing that watching those interviews on loop was messing with your brain. It only made you miss him more and it wasn’t helping you to get better. You were still struggling, even though it was not as bad as when you had left Detroit. You had lost quite a bit of weight too - about thirty pounds to be exact and, even though you fought hard to stay clean, you didn’t exactly lead the healthiest of lifestyles, barely eating and struggling to sleep at night, only passing out when you were exhausted.

You figured out it was yet another thing to recover from : your addiction to Marshall Bruce Mathers III. You had to, otherwise you would never move forward. Although, as time flew by, you couldn’t help but think that leaving him was your biggest mistake. You didn’t care about kids and marriage nearly as much as you cared about him. But you had to move on. What was done was done, you were in another country and there was no going back.

At some point, you stopped checking the interviews, even unfollowed him on social media. Eventually, you stopped mentioning him and his music altogether when you spoke with Talia and Jamal. You decided that denial may be the best option you had for the time being. The only thing you did indulge in was track number 12. But only because you were one of the lyricists, so that made it ok, right ? Right ?

A couple more months went by and it was autumn. You fought against the thought that Marshall would soon be in Europe. Closer than ever. Your contract with university had not been renewed and, in spite of a lot of applications, you hadn’t found a job yet. So you were left alone with your intrusive thoughts and spent most of your days mindlessly watching movies and reading books. You didn’t go out much and most of your social interactions were through your phone, with Talia and Jamal. When it rang, you picked up without even looking at the caller ID. Who else would call anyway ? Hiring season was over, so it wouldn’t be for a job.

What’s up Talia ? You asked as you closed your book.

It’s not Talia, you heard Hailie’s voice say.

Your heart immediately began to race. If she was calling you, it couldn’t be good. After your last interactions, it was clear that she wasn’t your biggest fan and wouldn’t be calling to check up on you and have some girly chat anytime soon. For a second, you were worried that she was calling to tell you something awful had happened to Marshall.

Oh my God, what’s wrong ? What happened to him ? You immediately asked.

What ? She asked.

You’re calling me. We both know it can’t be good.

You heard her sigh on the other end of the phone.

You’re right, it’s not, she said.

What’s wrong ?

What’s wrong is that Dad is miserable without you, she stated. What’s wrong is that you left him months ago and now he is a mess.

I was trying to do the right thing, you said sheepishly. I guess you made some pretty valid points, Hailie...

Look, I hate to admit it, but I was wrong about some of it, she said in an annoyed voice. I guess you made him happy and that you were good for him after all. I’m… sorry for saying some of those mean things.

Thank you, you whispered.

Did you really love him ? She asked.

Of course, you said. With all of my heart.

Do you still ?

I… Yeah, you sighed. I do.

Then I need a favor, she said.

You were surprised. Hailie calling you was the last thing you expected. Especially not for a favor. You knew how proud she could be.

Go on, you said. I can’t promise I’ll say yes, though.

Will you please come to the Amsterdam show ? She asked. It’s the last of the tour and it falls on his birthday.

Do you think it’s a good idea ? You asked. I’m not even sure he would want me there.

He still loves you, Y/N, she sighed. Of course he would want to see you. Look… Do you want to be with him or not ?

You sighed. Of course you wanted to be with him. In fact, it was the only certainty you had about your future : that you actually wanted to be with him. You had done a lot of soul-searching in the past months, and you had come to the conclusion that, even though you had always wanted to get married and have kids, you didn’t care as much about your hypothetical future husband and kids as much as you cared about Marshall. When you imagined your future, you only saw him. You had ever met anybody as good for you as him.

Y/N ? Hailie asked after you’d been silent for a minute.

Sorry, you said. Yes, I do. I want to be with him.

Then please come to Amsterdam and get back with Dad, she said. He needs you. I’m still mad at you, but I’m not too proud to admit that you were good for him after all. Looking back, I had never seen him so happy than when you were in his life.

Are you actually giving me your blessing to date your dad ? You asked in disbelief.

Don’t read too much into it, she said in an annoyed voice. If you’re what it takes to make him happy again, I will find a way to put up with you. I’ll e-mail you with your plane tickets and we’ll discuss the details later ok ?

I’ll get my own, you said with sass. I would hate for you to think that I’m taking advantage of your family money.

Please shut up, she groaned. I’m doing my best to be nice to you and you’re not making it easy. I will book your tickets and you will accept them.

Thank you, you said as you eased up a little.

I’ll talk to you soon, ok ? For the details of the surprise and stuff, Hailie said.

Ok, you said. By the way… I heard you guys were engaged. Congratulations.

Oh you heard about that ? She asked as you could hear her smile. Congrats on the PhD.

Thank you.

You smiled. You were pretty sure she still despised you, but at least, these words meant that you could be civil towards one another. After another exchange of words, you said your goodbyes and you felt your heart pounding in your chest. After nearly six months apart, you were going to see the love of your life.

In the following weeks, leading up to your trip to Amsterdam, you were a nervous mess and Talia spent a lot of time on the phone with you, convincing you that it was, indeed, a good idea. For the first time in months, you were looking forward to something and it was quite a feat. Hailie had booked first class tickets from Paris to Amsterdam, which was extremely generous. It seemed like she was intent on making it a good surprise for Marshall and convincing you to come. She even texted back and forth with you to make sure you were actually coming and would not miss the flight. She even bought a fancy hotel room for you, just in case.

When you got out of the plane, she was waiting for you, along with Stevie and Alaina. The reunion with Hailie was a bit awkward but her sisters were all smiles. You made small talk in the car that was taking you from Schiphol Airport to the hotel everyone was staying at.

How was your flight ? Hailie asked in an attempt to make small talk.

It was good, you said shyly. Thank you again for the first class ticket. I would have flown in economy, though. It’s a short trip.

Well, we want the surprise to go well, Stevie giggled. Putting you in a good mood is part of the plan.

Shouldn’t you be spending the day with him ? You asked.

We arrived in Amsterdam yesterday to surprise him, Alaina explained. We also spent this morning with him but now he is doing sound-checks and rehearsals. He won’t even notice we’re gone.

So, what’s the plan ? You asked.

We have a few hours before the show, Hailie said. We’ll sneak you in the arena with a bit of help from Porter and Paul. We’ll hide in the crowd during the show and go backstage afterwards, so that you can go and see him.

Ok, you said nervously.

You stared at the three of them. The whole situation was definitely weird.

Don’t be nervous, Alaina said with a smile. It’ll be fine.

It’s been six months, you said sheepishly. What if he’s mad at me ?

He’s not mad at you, Hailie said softly. He misses you. A lot.

Are you sure ?

In the past few months, we’ve never seen him as happy as the few times he got off the phone with you or texted you, Stevie said.

You know about that ? You asked in confusion.

Here’s the thing about Dad, Hailie said with a grin. He believes he’s not letting on, but he sucks at hiding anything from us.

Doesn’t help that he doesn’t know how to lock his phone, Stevie giggled.

So you… snooped ?

Believe me, if you’d seen him, you’d have done the same thing, Hailie sighed. At some point, I was scared that he would relapse or something. So I checked his phone to make sure he didn’t have a drug dealer. That’s how I saw your texts. So I told my sisters.

And as time went on and he wasn’t doing better, we decided to help the two of you get back together, Alaina said.

Was it that bad ? You asked in a worried voice.

He’s a bit better now, Alaina said reassuringly. Touring helps getting his mind off things. But yeah… He wasn’t doing too good.

You nodded. You had no idea it was that bad. The thought of him being unhappy broke your heart. After all, on the rare occasions the two of you had talked, he seemed to be doing alright. But obviously, you weren’t there and his daughters knew best.

I’m sorry he had to go through this, you said on the verge of tears. And you too. Do you think he will forgive me ?

It’s not your fault, Alaina said. You’re the one who left but, from what I gather, you had your reasons and relationships end all the time. We wouldn’t have had you come all this way if we weren’t sure of what we were doing. No one’s mad at you.

Well, I am, Hailie said sternly. But it’s not about Dad. So, yeah.

And how about… you girls ? You asked Alaina and Stevie, whose stance you didn’t know about.

I couldn’t care less, Stevie shrugged. I mean, it’s Dad, so it’s weird to think of him being with someone but I guess I’m glad he found someone who is actually willing to put up with him. Didn’t think it would happen, so…

Steve ! Alaina giggled. But yeah, she’s not wrong. You know, Dad was single for so long, we were a bit worried. All we want is for him to be happy.

Ok, you said shyly.

It was reassuring to know that they didn’t hate you. Still, you were a bit unsure how you should navigate the situation.

We have a few hours before the show. We can get you set in your hotel room and after, we can do some shopping and help you find an outfit if you don’t have one, Hailie offered.

You looked at your outfit. It was nothing extravagant but you had made an effort to find clothes that fit you pretty well - which was a challenge since you had lost weight and your whole closet had become at least two sizes too big. You were wearing a casual short black dress, black tights, leather boots and the jacket Marshall had bought for you in New York.

What’s wrong with my outfit ? You asked. I didn’t think I would need to dress up for an Eminem concert…

Not the concert, Alaina giggled. For Dad’s birthday dinner, tomorrow night. Hailie told you, right ?

Oh my God, I forgot, Hailie said. I’m so sorry ! I’ve been so busy with planning… So, basically, we’re just celebrating casually after the show tonight, dinner in his suite. But we’re staying and enjoying Amsterdam for a few days after, and tomorrow, we arranged for people to fly in and have dinner to celebrate Dad’s birthday as well as the album’s success. Porter is already here, obviously, but Talia and Jamal are coming too, Royce, Dre and Fifty as well.

Are you sure I should be here tomorrow ? You asked, definitely nervous. I’m happy to just leave you guys to it, you know…

Believe me, if I have to be there, so do you, Stevie chuckled.

I’m definitely having the two of you sit next to each other, Hailie sighed. It’s Dad’s birthday, make an effort. Of course you should be here, Y/N. You’re his girlfriend.

Not yet, you pointed out. We’re not even sure he wants me back. What if it goes wrong ?

It won’t, Alaina said. Just relax. Look… I shouldn’t tell you, but I know for a fact that he made plans to fly to Paris after the tour. He wanted to see you. You’re just beating him to it.

Ok, you said nervously. I’m sorry, I know I sound like a broken record, it’s just… I guess I’ll feel better when I see him.

When you got to the hotel, they took you to the room that had been booked for you. Then, they convinced you to do some shopping. Apparently, the next night’s dinner was to be held in the hotel restaurant, which was five star. You were a bit nervous since it was your first time shopping in six months but they helped you find a nice outfit.

Hours later, you were in the crowd, waiting for the show to start, nervously playing with your pendant, which had never left your neck.

Is that Dad’s pendant ? Alaina asked.

Yes, you said. He gave it to me when we first met, to wish me luck on my recovery journey. I never really took it off.

For how long have you been sober ?

Almost a year and a half now, you explained. It would have been longer but I relapsed a while ago. But Marshall… He helped me through it. And I’ve been sober ever since. I owe him everything.

Even after the breakup ? She mused.

Well, yeah… I mean, the only thing that kept me from using again and numbing the pain with pills was that I wouldn’t want him to be disappointed, you said earnestly. He changed my life. He is the reason why I got better and stuck to it.

You guys are good for each other, she pointed out.

I don’t know, you replied. But… If he lets me, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be good enough for him.

Taking you by surprise, she engulfed you into a big hug.

Thank you for coming, she whispered. And thank you for loving him like this. I know Hailie is mad at you, and Stevie is just grumpy to be without her boyfriend, but… We’re really thankful for you, you know ?

You hugged her back and smiled as the show started. Suddenly, you understood what the big deal surrounding Eminem was. He was clearly born to perform and make music, he was literally oozing charisma. He was wearing jeans, sneakers and a simple black tee-shirt. Obviously, he didn’t need anything else to look good. You were literally unable to take your eyes off him.

Now, he said on the mic, we’re gonna perform a very special song. It’s my favorite one on the album and I know you guys love it. I need someone for that. Please welcome the incredible Skylar Grey, Amsterdam !!!

Everyone cheered as the singer stepped on stage and the first notes played. You knew what was coming : your song. Track 12. For three minutes and thirty seconds, the whole crowd sang along to the words of the most beautiful song ever written. It felt like they were singing it for you. You were flabbergasted and overcome with emotion : your mouth was wide open and tears were welling in your eyes. Hailie, Alaina and Stevie smiled at you, rubbing your shoulders.

Marshall and Skylar performed a couple more songs together and the show came to an end, with the crowd singing happy birthday to Marshall, who was smiling. Seeing him on stage made you fall for him all over again. When the crowd started to vacate, the girls took you backstage and Porter immediately came to greet you, as well as a few other people you knew from the studio.

We’re on a mission here, Hailie recalled. No one is supposed to see her before him. Where is he ?

Showering in his dressing room, Porter said. Paul is searching for you girls. Something about guests for tomorrow…

Can you take her while we sort this out ? She asked.

He nodded and she gave you a pat on the shoulder.

Breathe, she said.

Ok.

As Porter led you to the corridor, he made small talk.

It’s great that you could make it, he said. We all miss you at the studio, you know ?

I miss you guys too, you said with a smile. I had to go back because of some family stuff.

Quit lying, he chuckled. Marshall told me about the two of you.

Oh, you said, embarrassed to be caught in a lie. Who else knows ?

I think I’m the only one, he shrugged. Paul had suspicions, though. Here we are.

You were in front of a closed door and, suddenly, it became real : you were about to see Marshall after six months. You weren’t sure if you were about to faint or not. Before you got cold feet, Porter knocked on the door. No answer.

Bro, it’s me, he said. I have a birthday surprise for you.

Can this wait ? You heard Marshall’s voice say. I just got out the shower.

No. Open the door now, his friend insisted. Someone is here for you.

I swear, if it’s that prostitute joke, I’ll kill you.

Believe me, this one is out of my price range, Porter giggled.

The door swung open and you were faced with a shirtless Marshall, looking at you in shock, his jaw almost on the floor. You were staring at each other but none of you said a word.

I’ll leave you guys to it, Porter said with a wink. Happy birthday, man.

Hey, you whispered. Happy birthday.

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

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frostyclove · 5 months ago

Text

spoilers ep 5

im still working on the rest of the episode but heres my preliminary takes on the teen van/tai scene in the first third. basically no proofreading ; mostly just vibes ; real analysis will come later expanding on all of this.

Van I love you thank you for taking care of tai during this. Normally I must read fanfiction for this part <3

Tais trying so hard. Shes got it too. Shes a good shot, it’s easy at that range but her form is good and shes steady. But she just cant quite get herself to do it. Tai is entirely fine with the hypothetical or the in theory portion of everything theyre doing in the wilderness - but really struggles with the reality. it was at this moment I said ‘when her cortisol gets high enough other tai will take over just let her gets stressed about it and she’ll be fine’ so when van said it too?? Van you’ve just gone up in my estimations luv you pls keep taking care of tai <33

‘Whatever its a stupid tree its not our coach’ anyways other tai is symbolic of the teams cognitive dissonance and if you ever see me theorizing about the camp not being how they are seeing it I only ever mean it in a ‘theyre so deep in cognitive dissonance they aren’t seeing things for what they really are and are making them a bit better’ and not a theyre hallucinating way. Very similar to how other tai just takes over and takes care of tai when tai cant handle things. (Which is also why friend tai is no longer in state senate - OTHER TAI WAS THE ONE RUNNING please pay attention to tai tawny makes it so obvious and y’all just miss shit sometimes with her and I really do have to resist making the accusation but like y’all are doing the thing!!!!) and ways I digress ill press play again I could and would like to at some point write a dissertation on tai shes going in the Clara Oswald pile.

“Us no me” UGH I love tai. Tai is the one that has to do it. No matter what. Van just has to watch her. But , at the same time, van has to deal with tai, help tai. Van is making it about themself but is also realistically the only thing keeping tai functional through it all. Its all very interesting character dynamics that is too long to type out fully for this im putting a pin in it to come back to later ~~~~~~~

What If I miss into then he’ll really want to die into what Shaunahat did…. Yeah… foreshadowing to the max there. BUT its not on tai so thats nice thanks Shauna

“You’re not gonna miss’ and she didn’t <33 (honestly thought travis died at the end of the ep there I was so taken aback)

“He tried to murder us in our sleep tai” but I swear van looks unsure. Van doesnt even seem to believe van. As discussed in the tawny scene; I think van knows other tai too well. and is questioning it here as well. Which is why van follows up with ‘you still think hes guilty right?’ - the whole bit isnt out of the blue - van is now worried it was tai, and so is gently interrogating to make sure tai doesnt just happen to remember doing it. As long as neither of them know, pretending it wasn’t tai is very easy. But it doesnt shake the worry, not entirely.

Before I press play again. Omg I love taissa.

I just love this scene. Feels like the thesis of the season tbh.

Van palmer you genius you. Yes lets teach tai how to summon other tai that cant go wrong at all nope not at all ( I would have done the exact same thing im just worried the consequences are well ; biscuit )

Now also though - why isnt tai sleepwalking ? Because they aren’t in danger anymore. Nat is leading them well, they are safe. As we shift into Shauna leading, I expect we will see other tai more. Just a higher stress environment when miss angry bubble is in charge (not slander just facts)

Also I love how hesitant tai was about it - also it gets s okay and cute omg I love wlw ; ‘yeah’ oh van you are so whipped I love it (me too)

Y’all still ofc tai is the bottom and van is the top ; tai likes to feel safe - therefore tai likes control - therefore tai likes to be around all of that - but tai is also a little sweetie who , once again, likes to feel safe. And van makes her feel safe. Safe enough to not be in control. To not be the one with the power. To be the bottom. this isnt even sub plot this is just tais personality.

Interesting that other tai also uses she/her pronouns think this is the first time we have confirmation on what other this pronouns are just taking note to remember.

Love that the order of operations is 1) listen to trees 2) fuck 3) kill a bunny. These two

<333 love them

Its so funny tai even tried to take control but vans like no let me take care of you shush

Tai is so fucking funny I would have done the same babes. Mildly disappointed van took so long to realize it was a joke but its because van wanted it to work so I can let it slide

The little hair fix omg I love them so much cutest couple

Oh my poor tai you handled this part so well

Poor bunny though

Thought tai was gonna fuck up killing the bunny with how they held the shot ngl

The wilderness seemed to like the bunny moment but it didn’t work to get other tai - thinking its two entirely separate situational things.

Then it cuts to Lottie still teaching the breathing ooh editing team I see you

#yellowjackets season 3 #yellowjackets #yellowjackets spoilers #yellowjackets s3 spoilers #taissa turner #van palmer

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itstobias149 · 6 months ago

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Little Macs Sibling Lore dump

Hey guys! Today I bring you a post made up of a collectionon of random lore drops about Marie through the eyes of Little Mac! I had a lot of fun, I'm sorry its such a long post. I hope you all enjoy it though.

This post contains stuff about my oc, if you don't like oc stuff this post may not be for you and that's okay! This is also based on my own Headcanons and ideas! Everyone has their own interpretation of the boxers and their stories and personlives and that's okay!

“Alright, so Marie’s like, my older sister or whatever, but I swear, she’s basically an old lady trapped in a chubby cutman’s body. She’s out here knitting scarves for nobody, like just endless scarves that pile up in her closet. She’s got this thing for baking cookies at 6 AM—6 AM!—like who wakes up thinking, ‘You know what the world needs right now? Snickerdoodles.’

Oh, and don’t get me started on her tea collection. It’s massive. She’s got every flavor you can think of, like she’s preparing for a tea apocalypse or something. You open her cupboard and BAM! It’s like a botanical garden exploded in there. She’s always watching those weird crime shows too—like, if you ask her about “Murder She Wrote,” she could probably write a dissertation on it.

And you know what really gets me? The puzzles. Marie will sit there at the kitchen table doing jigsaw puzzles for HOURS. Like, she’s got all these guys fawning over her, and she’s over here acting like a grandma just waiting for bingo night. It’s weird, but it’s Marie, y’know? Her card game obsession is just the cherry on top. She’s always trying to rope people into playing Gin Rummy or Canasta. If she doesn’t have anyone to play with, she’ll sit there doing solitaire, shuffling the cards like she’s in a Vegas casino. And don’t even think about beating her—she’s ruthless, calling out rules you’ve never heard of, like, ‘Actually, you can’t play that card because it’s Thursday.’

Marie also has these old-school habits that just make her seem even more like an old grandma, and I mean that in the funniest way possible. First off, she’s always trying to feed everyone. Doesn’t matter if you’re hungry or not—she’s like, ‘You’re too skinny, you need to eat.’ She’ll whip out a full meal in five minutes like it’s a magic trick. Fighter? Coach? Cameraman? You mention you are hungry and she just appears with food, where does it come from? Her big beehive?

And the food—oh, the food. Marie’s kitchen always smells like she’s been cooking for a village. She’s making kugel, latkes, stuffed cabbage—you name it. She even learned how to make her own challah, which she insists on braiding perfectly, and don’t even get me started on her chicken soup. It’s practically a cure-all. Got a cold? Soup. Bad day? Soup. Sprained your ankle? Guess what? Soup.

And the guilt trips? Oh, man. Classic Marie. Like if I don’t call her when I’m out late, she hits me with, ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll just sit here and wonder if my little brother is alive or in a ditch somewhere.’ I’m like, ‘Marie, I went to the store for five minutes!’ I get it I'm short and I'm only 17, but I've beaten guys that are three times my age and height.

Then there’s her obsession with coupons and deals. She’s not even strapped for cash, but if she gets something full price, she acts like she’s personally betrayed her ancestors. She’s all about ‘Why pay $5 when you could pay $4.75?’

Oh, and holidays? Forget about it. She goes ALL OUT. Passover, Hanukkah, you name it—she’s dragging me to synagogue, making matzo ball soup, and lecturing me on traditions like I’m in Sunday school again. But honestly, it’s kinda nice. Makes things feel like home.

Marie’s just got this old Jewish lady energy, even though she’s… y’know, Marie. It’s like she’s channeling generations of bubbes, but in her own chaotic, lovable way.”

“Oh man, don’t even get me started on Marie’s house. It’s like stepping into a time capsule. She’s got these old decorations everywhere—like, actual antiques. She’s got menorahs that look like they came straight out of the shtetl, ceramic pomegranates, and a hamsa on every other wall. There’s even this weird old clock that doesn’t work, but she won’t get rid of it because ‘it has character.’

And then there’s the singing. If she’s cleaning, cooking, or just puttering around the house, you know she’s gonna be singing something in Yiddish. It’s like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it half the time. She’ll be scrubbing a pan and humming ‘Tumbalalaika’ or ‘Bei Mir Bistu Shein.’ Sometimes she gets into it and starts belting out like she’s on stage, and I’m just sitting there like, ‘You good, Marie?’

It’s honestly kinda comforting, though. Like, it’s chaotic, but it’s her. I mean, yeah, she’s got this whole grandma vibe, but it just makes the place feel warm and alive. Even if she’s singing so loud the neighbors can hear.”

“Okay, so Marie’s list of grandma activities is endless. Like, she collects random jars and containers. Doesn’t matter if it’s an old pickle jar or a tin from cookies—she’ll clean it out and say something like, ‘You never know when you’ll need a good jar.’ Now her cabinets are full of ‘em, and I swear, half of them are empty.

She’s obsessed with gardening, but not, like, normal plants—she’s growing herbs and weird flowers that I’m convinced nobody’s even heard of. She’ll come in with dirt on her face like, ‘Look, Little Mac, my rosemary’s thriving!’ Meanwhile, I can barely keep a cactus alive.

Oh, and she’s got this thing with handwritten notes. Like, she refuses to use her phone for reminders. Instead, she’ll write down recipes, to-do lists, or random thoughts on little scraps of paper—and they’re everywhere. You’ll find ‘em in her coat pockets, on the fridge, even in the bathroom.

Then there’s her perfume collection, which is wild. She’s got these vintage bottles that look like they came out of a 1920s department store. And the scents? They’re super flowery or musky, like classic grandma fragrances. She’s always dabbing it on her wrists like it’s a ritual, and if you say it’s strong, she’ll just shrug and say, ‘That’s how you know it’s good.’

And her dishes—oh boy. Marie’s got the fanciest plates and bowls, but they’re so old-school they’ve probably been passed down for generations. She’s got these blue and white porcelain plates she only uses for special occasions and some glassware that’s so delicate she practically makes you sign a waiver before touching it. Meanwhile, she’ll serve you cookies on a little tray that looks like it belongs in a museum.

Marie’s collections are a big part of who she is—they tell stories of her past, her culture, and her unique personality. Walking into her apartment is like stepping into a cozy, lived-in museum of sorts. It’s a collection of memories, keepsakes, and things that hold sentimental value. But at the same time, it feels like home, a space that’s warm and inviting despite all the stuff packed into every nook and cranny.

First, there’s her collection of old religious items. You can’t miss them. She’s got candles, menorahs, and even an antique silver kiddush cup that’s been passed down through generations. When she talks about these objects, you can see the reverence in her eyes—they’re not just decorations; they’re links to her family’s past, to the traditions her grandparents carried with them from Europe. She’s got prayer books in Yiddish and Hebrew, their pages yellowed with age, some of them with notes written in the margins. It’s clear that every item in her collection has a story, a memory attached to it.

Then there are her trinkets—lots of small figurines and dolls from different cultures. Some are from her travels, like the little wooden figurines from Slovakia or the hand-painted pottery she bought when she visited Romania. They’re scattered around her living room, on shelves or in glass cabinets, like little time capsules. Each one seems to have a story of where she’s been, who she was with, or something important that happened in her life. Some of the pieces are quirky—like the hand-carved wooden clown from a street market in Prague—but others are so intricate and beautiful, I can’t help but admire the craftsmanship.

Marie also collects vintage cookbooks. Old ones, some of them falling apart from how much she’s used them. She’s got this one cookbook that’s a hundred years old, and she’s used it so much that the pages are stained with grease and food marks. She said it belonged to her grandmother, who taught her how to cook all those old-world recipes. Every time I look at it, I can’t help but think about how much history is packed into those pages. You can tell these aren’t just recipes; they’re part of her family’s identity. Whenever she cooks, she’s connecting with her roots, with the women who came before her. It’s like she’s passing the knowledge down, one meal at a time.

There’s also a whole section of her home that’s dedicated to vintage postcards. She’s been collecting them for years—mostly ones from different places she’s been, but also some old ones she’s found at thrift stores or flea markets. They’re mostly from the early 1900s, showing cities, landmarks, and scenes from long ago. I remember her showing me one of New York from the 1920s, and she told me that her great-grandparents used to live in that exact neighborhood. It’s amazing how these little postcards capture a moment in time—like frozen memories of lives that were lived long before we came along.

And then, of course, there’s the collection of old dishes and teacups. She’s got this collection of mismatched, delicate porcelain teacups—most of them from different countries. There’s one that she’s really fond of, a cup with little roses painted on it that she got from a shop in Vienna. She says it reminds her of when she visited the city with her mother, back when things were simpler. Sometimes, on quiet afternoons, she’ll pull out one of her favorite cups, brew a pot of tea, and we’ll sit and chat, letting the time slip by. It’s like she’s recreating those small, intimate moments of her past, making new memories with each cup.

I’ve noticed how Marie’s collections aren’t just about having stuff; they’re a reflection of her life, her history, and her connection to both her Jewish roots and the cultures she’s grown up around. Sometimes, when she’s showing me her collections, it’s like she’s telling me pieces of her story without saying much at all. It’s in the way she talks about the items, the pride in her voice when she tells me the history behind them. It’s almost like these collections are her way of holding onto the past while moving forward—an acknowledgment of where she’s come from, and a way of keeping it all alive.

The coolest part, though, is how she’s started teaching me about her collections, how she’s opened up about the stories behind each item. I’ve learned so much from her—about her family, her heritage, and her way of seeing the world. She’s passed along some of the old cooking techniques from her family’s recipes, the way they used to stretch a meal and make everything from scratch. And every time we cook together, it feels like I’m adding my own little piece to her collection—like I’m a part of her story now, too.

Marie’s collections have this way of connecting the past and present, of honoring where she’s come from while she builds her life here and now. And even though I’m not really a collector, it’s hard not to get caught up in the magic of it all—the way she looks at each item, the pride she takes in preserving these pieces of her life. It’s not just about the things she owns; it’s about the memories they hold, the people they’ve connected her to, and the legacy she’s continuing. It’s a big part of why being with her feels like being part of something so much bigger than just the two of us.

Marie’s collection of old quilts and handmade clothes is probably one of the most personal and heartfelt parts of her home. Each piece is like a patchwork of memories, not just fabric, but moments in time, stories of hands that sewed them, and the love that went into making them. I’ve always been amazed by the way she talks about her quilts—how each stitch feels like it holds a piece of her family’s history.

The quilts are incredible. Some of them are centuries old, handed down from her great-grandmother and others from her mother. They’re faded now, the colors soft and worn, but they’ve got this warmth to them—almost like they still carry the imprint of the hands that created them. I remember the first time I saw them, spread out across her bed like a tapestry of the past. The designs are intricate, sometimes even abstract, and Marie can tell you exactly where each one came from. Some are made from fabric scraps, leftovers from clothes that her family wore, while others are more meticulously designed patterns that took hours to stitch together.

I think what really strikes me about the quilts is the level of care in each one. Marie says her grandmother made them during the tough years when they didn’t have much. They used whatever fabric they could get their hands on—old dresses, scraps from coats, bits of whatever they could salvage—and then she’d sew them all together into something beautiful and functional. It’s not just about making something to keep warm; it’s about creating something from nothing, something that could be passed down, that would be there to tell the family’s story.

Marie’s not only a collector of these quilts—she’s a maker, too. She’s shown me how she still hand-stitches some of the smaller repairs or adds new designs to the older quilts, kind of like preserving them, but also giving them a little life of their own. She told me that it’s part of how she connects with her family, with the women who came before her. Each stitch she adds feels like she’s participating in the same tradition, carrying it on in her own way. I never really understood how something like that could feel so personal, but when you see the care and attention she gives to each piece, it’s hard not to feel the love in it.

And then there are the handmade clothes. Marie’s always been into crafting—knitting, sewing, crocheting. She has this incredible collection of vintage sewing patterns that she’s gotten from all over the world, some dating back to the 1930s. I’ve seen her pull out these old patterns with these beautiful, detailed drawings of women’s dresses, coats, and even accessories, and she’ll talk about how she wants to try them out one day. She’s made everything from wool cardigans to hand-sewn dresses, each one unique, each one a work of art. The fabrics she uses are often vintage, too—like old silk from her travels or linen she picked up at a market in Spain—and she’s so particular about every little detail. I’ve watched her sew late into the night, her hands moving over the fabric with this incredible focus, like she’s channeling the spirit of all the seamstresses in her family.

One of the most special things she’s made, though, is a sweater she knitted for me. She gave it to me last winter, and when I first saw it, I couldn’t believe how much care she’d put into every stitch. The yarn was this deep blue, soft and thick, perfect for the cold weather. I don’t know if she meant for it to be anything more than a simple sweater, but when I put it on, I felt like I was wearing a piece of her heart. I wear it all the time now, especially when it gets cold, and it always makes me feel close to her, like I’m wrapped in her warmth.

What I love most about Marie’s quilts and handmade clothes, though, is how they represent her dedication to the people she loves. It’s not just about creating something beautiful—it’s about making something that lasts, that can be passed down through the generations, just like the quilts and clothes from her ancestors. It’s like she’s making her own legacy, stitch by stitch, and with each quilt she adds to her collection, each sweater she knits, she’s making a piece of history for the future. Even though she’s modern, her love for these handmade creations feels timeless, as though she’s carrying a tradition forward that might otherwise be lost. And every time I see her working on one of her projects, I’m reminded of how much of her heart goes into everything she does.

Then there’s her knitting addiction. She’s making blankets, socks, and hats for everyone. And she doesn’t just stop at knitting—she crochets too. Sometimes she’ll call me over and be like, ‘Try this on,’ and it’s some oversized sweater that I’m not even sure fits me.

Oh, and Marie LOVES writing letters. Like, actual letters with envelopes and stamps. She’ll sit at the table for hours with her fancy pens, writing to people who probably won’t even write back. She says it’s ‘more personal.’

I’m telling you, she’s basically 80 years old in a younger body. It’s kinda hilarious, but also weirdly comforting.”

“Okay, so I get it—Marie’s an immigrant from Germany, and her late family was super traditional. She’s told me the stories a million times: how they kept kosher, how her mom would light candles every Friday night, and how her dad used to lecture her about the importance of keeping traditions alive. Like, I know where all her quirks come from.

But sometimes I look at her and think, ‘Marie, we’re not in the old country anymore.’ Like, I’m pretty sure nobody else in the WVBA is sitting down to hand-roll kreplach or yelling at the TV in Yiddish when the news is on. And yet, there she is, making gefilte fish from scratch and humming old folk songs while she does it.

I get that her upbringing made her who she is, and I respect it—I really do. But Marie takes it to a whole new level. She’s out here sewing patches onto my clothes, like it’s 1935 and I can’t just buy a new jacket. Or she’ll tell me things like, ‘In my family, we always did this,’ while setting the table with enough food to feed the entire league.

Okay, so yeah, Marie’s got all these old-school habits, but honestly? She’s been teaching me a ton of stuff that’s actually useful. Like, she’s a master at stretching a dollar. I used to think meal prepping was just for fitness buffs, but nope—Marie’s out here making meals that last a week, and they taste better every day. I’ve learned how to make a mean pot of chicken soup, and now I’m the guy everyone calls when they’re sick.

She’s also big on fixing things instead of throwing them out. My gloves were falling apart, and I was ready to toss them, but she showed me how to sew them up. I know, sewing doesn’t sound tough, but you’d be surprised how handy it is when you’re training and gear gets worn out.

And her cooking? It’s like a crash course in survival. She’s teaching me all these recipes that are cheap, filling, and taste amazing—latkes, kugel, even braided challah. She says it’s about ‘taking care of your people,’ and now I feel like I could feed an army if I had to.

She’s even teaching me some Yiddish phrases, which is great for trash-talking in the ring without anyone knowing. Marie says, ‘If you’re gonna call someone a nudnik, at least do it with flair.’

So yeah, she’s old-fashioned, but it’s like having my own personal life coach. I don’t just get a sister—I get a survival guide, a tailor, and a chef all rolled into one.

It’s like she’s stuck between being this old-world Jewish bubbe and a modern-day cutman, and somehow, it works for her. It’s just… sometimes I have to remind her that we’re in New York, not a little shtetl in Germany. It’s funny how people can look at Marie and think she’s just this old, traditional lady, but they don’t always know the full story. I’ve heard her talk about her parents, and honestly, it’s a bit heartbreaking. Her mom and dad, they were born and raised in Germany, and they had that old-school, strict mindset that a lot of people from their generation carried with them. You know, they had lived through a lot—survived the war, rebuilt their lives—and they were determined to keep their family traditions alive, even if that meant keeping a tight grip on Marie. They weren’t bad people, but they were overbearing in a way that you’d only understand if you were raised in a time and place like that.

She was expected to follow the rules, do things the “right” way, and stick to their ideals. It was all about preserving the family name, the old customs, the way things had been passed down from generation to generation. And I get it—her parents went through things most people can’t even imagine. They lived through the worst of history, and their experiences shaped how they viewed the world. They probably just wanted to protect Marie from the chaos that had torn apart their lives and their home. But that didn’t mean she had to stay trapped in that mindset forever.

Marie’s always been this independent spirit, though. She’s got her own opinions, her own ideas about how things should be, and as much as she respected her parents, she didn’t agree with a lot of the things they pushed on her. She loved them, no doubt, but she needed more than just their way of living. It wasn’t until after they passed that Marie felt like she could truly breathe, like she was finally free to make her own choices and live her life on her terms. I think that’s when she really came into her own. That’s when she left Germany and came here, looking for something different, something that would allow her to be herself.

It wasn’t easy, though. Coming to a new country, starting fresh, and breaking away from the expectations her parents had set for her—it was all a huge challenge. But that’s Marie. She’s never been one to back down, and even though she didn’t agree with the way her parents had raised her, she understood where they were coming from. They’d lived through the worst times in history, and for them, that kind of control was just a way of coping with everything they’d lost. But for Marie, it was suffocating. She wasn’t going to live a life defined by fear or by the shadows of the past. She came to us, to America, for freedom—freedom to be who she truly was, to make her own path, and to define her own future.

It wasn’t like she rejected everything they taught her—she still holds onto parts of her heritage, her culture, and the values that shaped her. But she learned that she didn’t have to live under the weight of their rules, and that’s something she’s always fought for. She believes in embracing the past, but she also believes in moving forward, in creating a life that’s her own. That’s why she’s so willing to learn from others, to hear different perspectives, and to understand people from all walks of life. It’s her way of reclaiming her own identity, and I think that’s what makes her so special.

She doesn’t talk about it much, but I know that leaving Germany wasn’t just about escaping her parents—it was about finding herself, finding a place where she didn’t have to live in anyone’s shadow. And when she came here, she didn’t just step into the world that awaited her; she built her own life, on her own terms. It’s something I admire a lot about her—she took the lessons from her past, the struggles she went through, and used them to shape the woman she is today. She’s proud of her roots, but she knows she can’t be confined by them. That’s Marie—always pushing forward, always staying true to herself, no matter where she came from or who tried to hold her back.

But outside of her old ways her opinions are pretty modern. She is for the people, for the minorities. You know, sometimes Marie comes off as old-fashioned, especially with the way she carries herself. She’s got her routines—like making sure everyone’s got enough to eat, or making time for her old-school traditions, like keeping the house cozy with homemade quilts or sitting down with a good book. People might look at her and think she’s just this sweet, old lady who’s stuck in the past, but they couldn’t be more wrong. She’s actually one of the most forward-thinking people I know, especially when it comes to social justice.

It might not always look that way, but Marie’s got this fire inside her. She doesn’t just sit back and accept things because “that’s how it’s always been.” If she sees something she thinks is wrong, you can bet she’s going to stand up for it—no matter the situation. She might be the one sitting in a quiet corner at a dinner party, but when it comes to speaking out, she doesn’t hesitate for a second.

I’ve seen her go toe-to-toe with people who try to put others down, especially when it comes to injustice. Whether it’s racism, discrimination, or people being treated unfairly, she’s never afraid to call it out. It’s not always dramatic—she doesn’t make a big scene—but you can feel the power of her words when she does speak up. I remember this one time when a few of the boxers were making some off-hand remarks about someone’s culture, and Marie didn’t let it slide. She didn’t lecture them, but she calmly told them how those kinds of comments were hurtful, how important it was to respect every person’s background, no matter where they come from. The room got quiet, and for a moment, I think everyone realized how much they’d been missing—how easy it was to fall into ignorance if you didn’t stop and think.

Marie’s not the kind of person who makes a big deal about it, but when she stands up for what’s right, people listen. She’s never one to shy away from a conversation, especially if it means standing up for the underdog. I’ve seen her defend workers in the stores she shops at, the people who’ve been overlooked by others. It doesn’t matter if it’s someone cleaning the floors or serving food—Marie sees people as people, and if she feels like they’re not being treated right, she’ll speak up. She’s taught me that being kind and respectful isn’t just about showing love to people who are easy to love—it’s about standing up for the ones who might be forgotten or mistreated, too.

I think part of it comes from the way she was raised—growing up in a tough time and learning that you’ve got to fight for what’s right. It’s a different world now, but Marie’s sense of justice hasn’t changed. She was taught that you stand up for the people who don’t have a voice, that you make sure everyone gets a fair chance. She doesn’t just fight for others when it’s convenient or when it’s easy. She does it because she believes it’s the right thing to do.

And even though she’s old-fashioned in some ways, it’s clear that she’s got a modern heart. She understands the struggles people are going through today, and she’s got a strong opinion about how things should change. Whether it’s talking to one of the boxers about their behavior or stepping up for a cause she believes in, Marie is never one to back down. She may be gentle, but she’s got a backbone made of steel.

It’s honestly kind of amazing to see someone so rooted in tradition still push for progress. She reminds me all the time that standing up for others doesn’t have to be loud or flashy—it’s about doing the right thing even when nobody’s looking. That’s the real power she has: making sure people are treated with dignity and respect, no matter who they are or where they come from. And to me, that makes her more modern than a lot of people I know, despite the fact that she’s into old quilts and listening to language tapes. She’s got a wisdom that comes from experience, and I can’t think of a better role model.

“I mean, I’ve always been Catholic, y’know? It’s kind of in my blood. I’m Hispanic, so that whole church thing was a big part of growing up. Sunday mornings meant heading to church with my mom, and then there’d be the whole family afterwards for a big meal, and of course, we’d say grace before we ate. It’s just… tradition. My mom would make me sit still through the whole mass, even when I wanted to run around as a kid, and she’d always say the rosary with me at night before bed, counting the beads like it was a ritual. I’d pray to the Virgin Mary and Jesus, asking for guidance. It was something I didn’t always get, but it was comforting, like it grounded me in a way. Even if I didn’t understand all the words or the history behind everything, there was this peace in it. Church was a space for me to reset, y’know?

Then, there’s Marie. She’s Jewish—born and raised, and her family’s super traditional. I know she grew up with a lot of the same values, just with a different foundation. Every time I stay with her, I learn a little more about her culture and her faith, and she’s always open to hearing about mine too. I don’t think I ever realized how much I didn’t know about her traditions until she started explaining it. For example, she told me about Shabbat, how every Friday night, she lights candles, says a prayer, and makes everything peaceful for the weekend. It’s such a simple but deep thing, right? She said it’s about setting the tone for the rest of the week—something like that. Honestly, I was kind of surprised by how similar it felt to what we do, except ours is on Sundays. She also explained how lighting the candles is a way to honor the Sabbath, and I thought that was powerful. She said the prayer in Hebrew, and I couldn’t really catch all of it, but the way she said it… there was this calmness to it. I wanted to understand it more.

One night, I asked her about some of the prayers she says before meals, and she told me about the bracha, the blessing over bread. That was something I had never heard of. She said, ‘Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who brings forth bread from the earth,’ and she explained how it’s this deep connection to what the earth gives us. I liked that. It felt really… connected, you know? Like, appreciating where food comes from, where life comes from. I actually started saying a little prayer in my head after hearing hers, kind of like how we do grace before meals. It wasn’t exactly the same, but the feeling behind it—being thankful, taking a moment to appreciate what we have—it made sense to me. It’s not that different when you really think about it.

She’s even asked me to teach her some of the Catholic traditions, like the rosary. I showed her how we pray with the beads and how the Hail Mary and Our Father are part of our routine. At first, she didn’t really get it—like, ‘Why do you have to repeat so many prayers?’ But as I explained it to her, she seemed to find it interesting. She said something like, ‘It’s kind of like meditating, right? Repeating the words to focus your mind?’ And I guess, in a way, she’s right. It’s not just about the words, but about the mindset. About putting your trust in something bigger than yourself, taking a minute to just breathe and let go.

It’s funny because sometimes we’ll sit together, each of us in our own little world, practicing our faiths in the way we know how, but we never judge each other. Instead, it’s like we’re both learning from one another. I’ll catch her lighting candles, and sometimes, without even thinking, I’ll say a prayer to myself. Or we’ll sit down for a meal, and she’ll say her bracha while I quietly say grace. There’s no conflict, no “this is better than that.” It’s just… respect. We’re different, but there’s a shared understanding that both of our faiths are important parts of who we are.

I remember one day, I was feeling kind of off after training, and Marie noticed. She looked at me and said, ‘Maybe you should say a prayer for strength.’ She didn’t know what I usually do, but I felt like, for once, I didn’t have to explain. I just said, ‘Yeah, I think I will.’ And we both took a moment, in our own ways, to connect with something bigger than us. I said my rosary prayer, and she said one of her own, and it was like, for just a moment, we were both in the same place spiritually.

Honestly, the more we talk about it, the more I realize that faith isn’t just about the specifics of the tradition. It’s about believing in something, having that foundation to stand on when life gets tough. And Marie… she’s shown me that while our religions might look different on the surface, the core of it is the same: love, family, tradition, and a deep appreciation for the life we’ve been given. And, I guess, in that way, we teach each other, without even trying.”

“Man, when I think about how Marie and I have blended our cultures together, it feels like it’s more than just about food or traditions—it’s about a deeper connection. We’re from different worlds, right? Me, with my Hispanic background, raised in a Catholic household, and her, with her Jewish upbringing, coming from a family that holds onto traditions like they’re a lifeline. At first, I didn’t think we’d have that much in common when it came to holidays or meals or anything like that, but as we started sharing more of ourselves with each other, I realized it’s all about finding that space where both of our worlds can exist side by side.

I remember the first time I went with Marie to her family’s Shabbat dinner. It was so different from anything I’d ever experienced. The candles, the prayers, the way everyone gathered around the table to share the bread and wine—it felt intimate, spiritual. I had never been part of anything like that before. And I’ll admit, I didn’t fully understand all the prayers or the Hebrew, but I could feel something deep, like this connection to the past, to her ancestors. It was like they were carrying on something that meant so much, something that had been passed down for generations. There was such a reverence in the room, a respect for tradition. I felt like an outsider at first, but Marie, she didn’t make me feel that way. She just told me to do what felt right, and that was enough.

And then, she started asking me about my own traditions. I remember the first time I talked about Día de los Muertos with her. She didn’t know much about it—how we honor our loved ones, set up altars with candles, marigolds, and pictures, and how the food, like pan de muerto, is a symbol of life and death coexisting. I could tell it really resonated with her. She asked a million questions, like she was trying to understand the whole concept—not just the rituals, but what it meant to me, how it shaped my perspective on life and death. And I think that’s when I realized: it wasn’t about just explaining a holiday; it was about explaining a part of myself. Sharing that with her felt like we were connecting on a deeper level than I ever imagined.

When we decided to merge our two cultures for Christmas last year, that’s when it really hit me how much we were growing together. I cooked up some tamales, and she made her famous latkes. I swear, she was more excited about my tamales than I was—she was curious about every little detail, asking how I wrapped the masa, what kind of fillings I liked. And when it came time for dinner, we sat down together, and it wasn’t just about eating—it was like a celebration of both our families, both our histories. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that meal was a symbol of us coming together in this space we created—our own little mix of everything.

But it’s not just the meals or the holidays. It’s how we’ve both started weaving bits of each other’s cultures into our everyday lives. Like when Marie would teach me the Yiddish words her grandmother taught her, and I’d throw in some Spanish phrases she didn’t know. Or when we started making room in our lives for both the rosary and the Shabbat candles—one for the end of the week, the other for the beginning. It’s small stuff, but it feels monumental, like we’re building this bridge between us, brick by brick, until the difference between us doesn’t feel so different at all.

And the best part is, we don’t feel like we have to choose one over the other. It’s not about me abandoning my roots or her abandoning hers. It’s about realizing that the beauty of our relationship isn’t in our sameness, but in how we’ve learned to respect and embrace each other’s differences. It’s like each holiday, each meal, each little ritual, is a way to say, ‘I see you. I understand where you come from. And I want to be a part of that.’

We’ve built our own traditions now—ones that mix the old and the new. Like, this past year, we decided to make a whole bunch of different dishes for Thanksgiving. We had the turkey and the stuffing, of course, but we also had marinated brisket, challah bread, and tamales. It was a weird combo at first, but when we sat down to eat, I realized that this—this was the new tradition. It wasn’t just one holiday, one culture, or one history; it was a reflection of both of us, coming together and carving out something that was uniquely ours.

And the deeper I get into all this, the more I realize it’s not about any one meal or prayer—it’s about what those things represent. It’s about learning the sacredness in each other’s customs and realizing that, even though we’re from different backgrounds, we’re both carrying pieces of something bigger. That’s what’s made this whole journey with Marie so special: it’s not just about learning from each other, it’s about creating something new together, something that honors both of our pasts while looking forward to the future we’re building.”

Marie’s always looking for ways to connect with people, even when it’s hard. She’ll invite the other boxers over for dinner or lunch, and it’s not just about feeding them—it’s about sharing something, learning from each other, and seeing if they can break through the barriers that sometimes exist between them. I’ve seen it firsthand. No matter how different the boxers are, or how much tension might be between them, she’ll set a table for everyone. Whether they’re from different parts of the world, speak different languages, or come from different cultures, she’s always trying to create this space where people can connect.

Marie doesn’t expect miracles. She knows she can’t always get along with everyone, and she knows that sometimes, people aren’t going to suddenly become best friends just because there’s food on the table. But she tries anyway. She makes an effort to make sure everyone feels heard, even if it’s not easy. I’ve seen her with Bald Bull and Soda Popinski—those two can barely stand each other, but somehow, at one of Marie’s dinners, the tension fades a little. It’s not like they forget their differences, but it’s like they understand each other a little better. They’ll start talking about their hometowns or their favorite foods, and even if it’s just for that moment, the rivalry takes a backseat.

She’s got this deep need to get to know people, not just as boxers but as individuals. She’s always looking for common ground, always trying to understand where someone’s coming from. It’s not always about speaking the same language; it’s about making the effort, showing respect, and being curious. That’s why you’ll find her listening to language tapes in the car on the way to the gym or before bed. I don’t think she ever stops trying to learn. She’s always listening to lessons in German, Yiddish, Ladino, or Spanish, working on something new to help her communicate better. It’s one of the things I admire most about her—she’s not content just knowing what she knows. She wants to understand more, and she’s willing to put in the work to bridge those gaps.

And even though not everyone gets along, she still believes in the value of that connection. She knows there are going to be days when the boxers clash or when there’s a rough atmosphere in the gym, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to build something different. If she can’t make them all get along, at least she can try to give them the tools to understand each other better. She’s not a miracle worker, but she’s definitely a bridge builder. It’s something small, but it has a big impact. Even if they don’t always see eye to eye, I think they leave her dinners with a little more respect for each other and the cultures they come from.

Sometimes it’s the smallest gestures that mean the most. She doesn’t ask for much in return—she doesn’t expect anyone to suddenly speak fluent Yiddish or learn all about her background in a day. But it’s the effort she puts in, the conversations she sparks, that slowly starts to change things. I think it’s part of who she is—this belief that no matter where someone’s from or how different they seem, there’s always something you can learn from each other. It’s not easy work, and sometimes it feels like it’s not making much of a difference, but she’s always at it, trying to make the world a little smaller, one dinner at a time.

Oh, man, Marie’s definitely had her moments with the language barrier. It’s actually kind of funny how hard she tries, and how sometimes, it just doesn’t go the way she plans.

I remember this one dinner with a few of the boxers—Bald Bull, Soda, and a couple of others. Marie was really excited because she’d been studying a bit of Turkish for a while, trying to connect with Bald Bull more. She had this whole plan to surprise him by speaking a little Turkish when he arrived, and she’d been listening to language tapes for days. So, she’s all pumped, right? The food’s ready, and she says to Bald Bull, “Hoş geldiniz!” (which means “Welcome”), and she’s smiling real big, waiting for his reaction.

Bald Bull just stands there, blinking for a second, and then he says, “What’d you say? Is that a new kind of soup?”

Marie’s face went from excited to totally confused, and we all just started laughing. It turns out she’d gotten one of the phrases wrong. She’d meant to say something welcoming, but it sounded like she was offering him a bowl of something. Bald Bull wasn’t upset, though. He actually laughed, too, and started teasing her about being “fluent in food, not language.”

It was funny, but it also showed just how hard she works to make that connection. She could’ve easily just stuck to speaking English, or German, or whatever she knew best, but no—she’s always pushing herself, trying to speak someone else’s language, even if it doesn’t come out perfectly. And honestly, even though it didn’t go as planned, it meant a lot that she tried. After that, Bald Bull was actually way more open to talking to her, even teaching her some Turkish words. He got a kick out of it, and by the end of the night, everyone was joking around in a mix of languages—English, Yiddish, Turkish, even a little Spanish from me.

Marie’s always learning and pushing herself, but she doesn’t take herself too seriously when things don’t go perfectly. The language barrier’s still there, but she doesn’t let it stop her. That’s just Marie. She’ll stumble, but she’ll keep going, even if it means saying something that makes everyone laugh.

Oh, Marie’s always so thoughtful about these things, so before she gives anyone a hug or that European cheek kiss, she always checks with the management first. She doesn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable—she’s just naturally affectionate, you know? She’ll ask them, “Is it okay if I greet him this way? I just want to make sure it’s not too much.” She’s got this polite, considerate side that’s honestly kind of funny considering how enthusiastically she greets people.

But sometimes, it doesn’t always go as smoothly as she thinks. I remember one time, Marie had just been told by management that it was fine to greet this new boxer from Eastern Europe with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. They’d said it was cool, so Marie went for it—no hesitation. She walks up to the guy, big smile on her face, arms open wide, and as she goes in for the hug, you could see the panic in his eyes. He looks like a deer caught in headlights.

He tries to awkwardly sidestep her, but Marie’s already there, giving him this big warm hug, and then she quickly plants a kiss on his cheek, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. But here’s the thing—this guy doesn’t even know how to react. He turns bright red, completely flustered, and backs up a little like he’s trying to get his bearings. At first, he’s just standing there, looking around like he’s trying to figure out if he’s supposed to do something in return. Is he supposed to kiss her cheek back? Hug her again? What was happening?!

Marie, not missing a beat, just smiles at him and says, “There, see? Wasn’t that easy?” as if it’s a casual, everyday greeting.

But this poor guy? His face goes even redder, and he starts mumbling in a mix of broken English and his native language. He’s flustered, trying to explain he’s not used to the whole European cheek-kiss thing. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her—it was just, well, a cultural shock. He looks over at the other boxers like he’s hoping for some guidance, but everyone else is trying to hold in their laughter, not wanting to make it worse.

Then, just to add to the comedy of the situation, one of the other guys (who’s seen Marie do this a hundred times) leans over and says, “It’s okay, buddy. Just wait until you get the full Marie treatment—you’ll get used to it!”

It wasn’t that the guy didn’t appreciate the greeting, but the suddenness of it caught him totally off guard. After that, he made a point of giving Marie a little wave every time they passed by, but still kept a bit of a distance—like he wasn’t quite ready for the full embrace yet.

Marie, though? She just laughed it off, completely unaware of how flustered he was, and continued to ask management about the next person she’d be meeting. She never wants to make anyone uncomfortable, but she’s definitely got that big, heart-on-her-sleeve attitude that sometimes takes people by surprise.

Man, when I think about Marie, there’s a lot I could say. She’s definitely not perfect—nobody is, right? She’s got her quirks, her old-school habits, and sometimes, she comes off a little… overbearing. But in a lot of ways, that’s what makes her who she is, and honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing.

She’s a hugger(sometimes), always going for those big, warm embraces, and the European kiss on the cheek greeting is so her. I’ve seen her catch people off guard with it—guys who aren’t used to that kind of thing. She’ll greet anyone like they’re family, whether it’s Bald Bull, Soda Popinski, or some new guy we’re training with. Sometimes, they’re flustered or confused at first, but they come to appreciate it. She doesn’t judge people, and she doesn’t care where they come from. She just wants to make sure they feel welcomed. And that includes asking management if it’s okay to greet someone that way, making sure no one’s uncomfortable.

Marie’s got a lot of old traditions—she loves her Yiddish, her German roots, and her ethnic foods. She cooks like you’re at your grandma’s house, and she’ll make sure you know every single ingredient in that dish, even if it’s hard to pronounce. And don’t even get me started on how she’s always trying to learn new languages—she’s listening to tapes in the car, studying words late at night, just so she can connect with the guys better. She knows it’s not always going to work, but she tries anyway. Even when there’s a language barrier, she’s trying to make that bridge. It’s like she believes that communication, no matter how imperfect, is key.

She’ll invite boxers over to dinner, even if they’re from different cultures, just to get to know them. Sometimes it’s awkward, sometimes it’s a little weird, but she makes it work. I’ve seen her do it—making those cultural exchanges happen, finding something in common, and trying to break down those walls. Even when they don’t get along, she’s there, working her hardest to build some kind of understanding. She doesn’t let differences keep her from trying to make people feel at home, even if it’s a battle sometimes.

Now, I’ve seen the way she handles things with her family, too. Her parents were strict, real traditional—especially with her being Jewish and growing up in Germany. They had a way of thinking that didn’t always mesh with Marie’s need for freedom. She didn’t agree with everything they said or did. When they passed, she left for the U.S. She came here for a new life, for more opportunities, and for the chance to live on her own terms. She didn’t let anyone hold her back, and that took a lot of courage.

She’s got a big heart, but she’s also a fighter in her own right. She stands up for social justice, even when it’s not popular. You don’t always see it, but she’s got that fire. She might not be loud about it, but she’s quietly pushing for what’s right, helping people out in the ways she can.

But yeah, she’s not perfect. Sometimes she’s overbearing, sometimes she’s got her own ways that don’t always make sense to everyone, and sometimes she makes things awkward with her affection or language mishaps. But that’s what makes her Marie. She’s real. She’s stubborn, kind-hearted, and she doesn’t stop trying to make the world a little better—whether it’s through food, hugs, or just taking the time to learn about people. And to me? That’s enough. She’s family, and I’m proud to have her as my sister.

P.S. If you ever find yourself at one of her dinners and you see her pull out a dish that looks like it came straight out of a history book, just smile, nod, and eat it. You’ll be fine—unless it’s one of her experimental Yiddish-Slovak fusion dishes… then just pray you survive the taste test.

P.P.S. If you’re ever wondering why Marie insists on giving you a hug and a kiss on the cheek every time you walk through the door, just remember: it’s not because she thinks you need it, it’s because she’s convinced that if she doesn’t, you’ll somehow forget that you’re loved and appreciated. She’s like a walking, talking emotional safety net.

P.P.P.S. And if you’re one of those boxers who’s not into hugs or physical touch? Don’t worry—Marie’s got a backup plan. She’ll give you the warmest, most awkward air hug you’ve ever seen, complete with a look like she’s praying it doesn’t freak you out. Or some cheesy joke. It’s her way of saying, “I respect your boundaries, but also… I really want to hug you, just so you know.”

#punch out #oc #soda popinski #little mac #character blog #punch out oc #Spotify

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