This did not happen
I am working on Inception fic. You know how it goes. And if you don't, well, I made a RSS feed for Fuck Yeah, Inception (fyinception), a few hours of that and you'll definitely know.
However, this is not about that. This is about what happened when I saw this video and said to antheia and maurheti: Is it wrong that now I'm really feenin for some Eminem/Rihanna RPF? I mean they've both been through so much, and they'd be so hot together.
This just sort of vomited its way onto my keyboard in 30 minutes. Un-beta'd. All errors are mine, obvs.
Rihanna/Eminem
RPF
Relapse. Rehabilitation. Rehabilitated.
"Call me Marshall," he says the first time they meet.
He's smaller than she suspected but everybody is. Everybody except Chris.
She doesn't think about Chris much anymore. Or she tries not to.
She smiles up at the man before her. She likes the dark hair; it works for him.
She stands up and extends her hand. "Robyn."
In the studio he's like a crackhead. Not that Robyn knows any crackheads, but Marshall is everywhere. In the booth, messing with the drums Travis is teaching her how to play, crowding the techs at the console. "No, not like that, like this," Marshall instructs them. Once, twice, eight times.
He is the Oscar-winner.
Robyn just watches him from behind her bangs. She wriggles further into the sofa in the back of the listening booth and BBMs with her best friend, Melisa.
He's nuts. Cute tho.
He brings his kids to the studio to meet her: Whitney, Alaina -- Lainey -- and Hailie.
The very famous Hailie.
The kids are cute; they seem fascinated with her red hair. They take her picture to add to their Facebook walls. She laughs when they sing 'Umbrella' to her.
"You guys sound better than I do," she says, mock aggrieved.
"You're really pretty," Hailie says.
Over Hailie's head, Marshall just smirks. "You ready to do this?"
She likes Matt Kemp. She's heard the rumors, but everybody has rumors. God knows she has her share. Some are true. Some aren't. She's heard the rumors about Marshall, too. Who hasn't? Pills. Kim. Pills. Proof. Rehab. Relapse. Rehab. Recovery.
Everyone stumbles in this life. Everyone falls. Sometimes you get pushed.
Sometimes you get hit.
But it's about your recovery.
It's always about the recovery.
It turns out Matt's exactly what people say he is.
At least this time she knows it won't kill her.
Last time she wasn't so sure.
She gets a text three days after the story breaks.
The girls wanna c u.
Rochester Hills, Michigan
-M.
Lainey opens the front door at Marshall's house. She looks up at Robyn with saucer-like eyes and screams,
"OH MY GOD, RIHANNA'S HERE!"
Robyn winces a little; her ears never quite get used to the shrieking, but she gives her best smile anyway. Just like she's been taught.
She takes a step back at the stampede of feet. It sounds like elephants. It's just Hailie and Whitney.
Marshall comes from an entirely different part of the house.
He's wearing glasses and wiping his hands with a towel. He takes her Louis Vuitton duffel bag and slings it over his shoulder.
"You're just in time for dinner. Fish sticks."
Fish sticks. Well, it's not roti. Or fish and chips. Or salted cod.
After the girls go to bed, they sit on the sofa and watch 'Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares'.
"That's an angry man," Robyn says.
Marshall laughs dryly next to her. "I can relate."
"You said it, not me."
She stays in Michigan for two weeks. It's the longest she's stayed anywhere in three years.
Her manager is apoplectic. Her mom radiates disappointment down the phone. Melisa starts sending her bridal pictures.
Robyn texts her back. F U
And then she looks across the table at where Marshall's helping Whitney with her homework and something warm pools in her stomach.
She could do worse. She already has.
He surprises her in Los Angeles.
She saw him twelve days ago when they were filming the video for 'Love the Way You Lie', and he mentioned that Hailie has a piano recital sometime soon. Tomorrow in fact.
When he walks into her dressing room, she drops her red Solo cup filled with Diet Coke.
Her entire entourage goes quiet.
"Hey," he says nonchalantly.
He's wearing all black. He's like a throwback to a Run DMC video. She likes it.
She ignores the soda pooling around her shoes and brushes her hair out of her face. "Hey," she says just as blithely.
His smile is small, almost shy.
Who would've thought it of the great Eminem?
That warm feeling reappears in her stomach and she gestures for her entourage to get out. The door snicks shut behind them.
"Thanks for telling me you were in town," she teases.
He shrugs. "I wasn't, but I wanted to see what you were doing tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" she repeats.
"Yeah. I was thinking you could come to Hailie's recital."
Robyn Rihanna Fenty looks at Marshall Mathers and makes up her mind.
"I could do that," she says. "I'd like that."
"Good," he says. "So would I."
However, this is not about that. This is about what happened when I saw this video and said to antheia and maurheti: Is it wrong that now I'm really feenin for some Eminem/Rihanna RPF? I mean they've both been through so much, and they'd be so hot together.
This just sort of vomited its way onto my keyboard in 30 minutes. Un-beta'd. All errors are mine, obvs.
Rihanna/Eminem
RPF
Relapse. Rehabilitation. Rehabilitated.
"Call me Marshall," he says the first time they meet.
He's smaller than she suspected but everybody is. Everybody except Chris.
She doesn't think about Chris much anymore. Or she tries not to.
She smiles up at the man before her. She likes the dark hair; it works for him.
She stands up and extends her hand. "Robyn."
In the studio he's like a crackhead. Not that Robyn knows any crackheads, but Marshall is everywhere. In the booth, messing with the drums Travis is teaching her how to play, crowding the techs at the console. "No, not like that, like this," Marshall instructs them. Once, twice, eight times.
He is the Oscar-winner.
Robyn just watches him from behind her bangs. She wriggles further into the sofa in the back of the listening booth and BBMs with her best friend, Melisa.
He's nuts. Cute tho.
He brings his kids to the studio to meet her: Whitney, Alaina -- Lainey -- and Hailie.
The very famous Hailie.
The kids are cute; they seem fascinated with her red hair. They take her picture to add to their Facebook walls. She laughs when they sing 'Umbrella' to her.
"You guys sound better than I do," she says, mock aggrieved.
"You're really pretty," Hailie says.
Over Hailie's head, Marshall just smirks. "You ready to do this?"
She likes Matt Kemp. She's heard the rumors, but everybody has rumors. God knows she has her share. Some are true. Some aren't. She's heard the rumors about Marshall, too. Who hasn't? Pills. Kim. Pills. Proof. Rehab. Relapse. Rehab. Recovery.
Everyone stumbles in this life. Everyone falls. Sometimes you get pushed.
Sometimes you get hit.
But it's about your recovery.
It's always about the recovery.
It turns out Matt's exactly what people say he is.
At least this time she knows it won't kill her.
Last time she wasn't so sure.
She gets a text three days after the story breaks.
The girls wanna c u.
Rochester Hills, Michigan
-M.
Lainey opens the front door at Marshall's house. She looks up at Robyn with saucer-like eyes and screams,
"OH MY GOD, RIHANNA'S HERE!"
Robyn winces a little; her ears never quite get used to the shrieking, but she gives her best smile anyway. Just like she's been taught.
She takes a step back at the stampede of feet. It sounds like elephants. It's just Hailie and Whitney.
Marshall comes from an entirely different part of the house.
He's wearing glasses and wiping his hands with a towel. He takes her Louis Vuitton duffel bag and slings it over his shoulder.
"You're just in time for dinner. Fish sticks."
Fish sticks. Well, it's not roti. Or fish and chips. Or salted cod.
After the girls go to bed, they sit on the sofa and watch 'Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares'.
"That's an angry man," Robyn says.
Marshall laughs dryly next to her. "I can relate."
"You said it, not me."
She stays in Michigan for two weeks. It's the longest she's stayed anywhere in three years.
Her manager is apoplectic. Her mom radiates disappointment down the phone. Melisa starts sending her bridal pictures.
Robyn texts her back. F U
And then she looks across the table at where Marshall's helping Whitney with her homework and something warm pools in her stomach.
She could do worse. She already has.
He surprises her in Los Angeles.
She saw him twelve days ago when they were filming the video for 'Love the Way You Lie', and he mentioned that Hailie has a piano recital sometime soon. Tomorrow in fact.
When he walks into her dressing room, she drops her red Solo cup filled with Diet Coke.
Her entire entourage goes quiet.
"Hey," he says nonchalantly.
He's wearing all black. He's like a throwback to a Run DMC video. She likes it.
She ignores the soda pooling around her shoes and brushes her hair out of her face. "Hey," she says just as blithely.
His smile is small, almost shy.
Who would've thought it of the great Eminem?
That warm feeling reappears in her stomach and she gestures for her entourage to get out. The door snicks shut behind them.
"Thanks for telling me you were in town," she teases.
He shrugs. "I wasn't, but I wanted to see what you were doing tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" she repeats.
"Yeah. I was thinking you could come to Hailie's recital."
Robyn Rihanna Fenty looks at Marshall Mathers and makes up her mind.
"I could do that," she says. "I'd like that."
"Good," he says. "So would I."