Souls are eternal, yet Marshall wishes his wasn't. Every life of his is haunted by a white specter called Slim Shady.
Life 1 “Chain Reaction”
Marshall wants the money, the women, the fortune and fame, but he’s too broke to even buy diapers for his baby girl. When his debut album fails hard, he’s desperate enough to sell his soul. Soon, he’s losing himself in sex, drugs and violence. And as the bloodshed starts, Marshall needs to take control: be a family man or become a hip-hop villain.
> expected release: 2026
Life 5 “Straight Out The Coffin”
His wife is gone, his best friend is gone and Marshall is trapped in grief. The downward spiral is all consuming until he, too, is gone. Death has a funny way of putting your life's choices into perspective. Now he's a vampire and undead life has its own challenges.
> expected release: 2027
Life 7 “Vignettes”
At the imperial court, Marshall is a concubine. In witty and intimate verses, he collects vignettes about the life of the rich and beautiful.
Wake the fuck up, motherfucker! Slim Shady laughed maniacally.
Sulfur on the tongue. Chains dragged across bone.
Remember me? Slim Shady’s voice echoed inside his skull.
“I killed you!” Marshall screamed in terror.
You thought I was dead, didn’t you? Demonic glee.
“Leave me alone!”
Eminem goes into labor. It’s incredibly painful, and everything indicates he will die. Eminem is devastated to leave his children behind, to perhaps not even see this one but he wants her to live happily.
The Winchester brothers try to help by performing occult rituals, but that goes nowhere. Then, they summon the god responsible.
- available on Ao3 or under the cut -
Rearrange My Head To Be Just Right For You
[Collapse And Crumble]
“Fuck, that hurts,” Marshall muttered under his breath. His hand rubbed circles into the side of his big, heavy belly a little desperately, the cramping pain not subsiding. Inside, his baby girl kicked around lively, his skin rippled with her movements. No hoodie big enough to envelope him whole, always some stretch marked skin exposed to the cold. His belly was truly massive now, too big for Marshall to reach the worst spots by himself. Where was Nicolas with his big, warm hands when he needed them? I could stay in bed with ya starin’ at ya ’til the morn’. I just wanna be your secret lover.1
“And finally,” Paul continued his quarterly report. It was the time of year again when Marshall had to endure looking at spreadsheets filled with rows of long numbers and pretending words like COGS, 4Ps and SEO meant anything to him. “Shady XV underperformed expectations by about 15 percent.” Voice hard and disappointed like the father Marshall never had.
Usually he tried his best to follow along despite the headache inducing chaos numbers were to him, but not today. In the middle of the living room, only a cinnamon roll’s throw away from him, sat Nicolas between wooden boards and planks, a screwdriver in hand and scowling hard. Difficult to see how this would become a crib eventually. “Is that so?” Marshall managed to ask into the phone delayed.
“What do you expect? No promotion means no sales,” Paul sneered, possibly rightfully blaming Marshall for the failure. Mr. Mathers as advertised on the flyers, so spread the word ’cause I'm promoting my passion ’til I’m passed out.2 The last couple of months had suffered under quite a dramatic shift in plans, and Paul took this to heart.
Marshall wasn’t even sorry. With how massive he’d gotten so quickly, he did best to avoid the spotlight. The inevitable mockery and insults weren’t anything he cared for, neither in headlines nor in Twitter comments. They could feel lucky filming the cypher had worked out. His pregnant curves fit snuggly under a hoodie then, and yet gossip sites hounded him for every pound too much. “I told you, family comes first.”
“I hope you’re prepared to do your job when the movie comes out. We can’t afford another dud of a year.” Of course Paul didn’t know any details of his current predicament, Marshall just couldn’t fathom how to tell him. It just was easier to hunker down in his house and not see anybody.
“It’ll be fine,” he lied smoothly. If those two ghost hunters were to be believed – and at this point he did – his professional commitments were the least of his worries. He’d have a baby girl to raise from beyond the grave somehow. His toes spasmed and wiggled, tickled unduly. “Hey, careful down there,” he softly chided his (for now) youngest daughter.
“Marshall? Can’t you take this serious,” Paul was a good sport most of the time.
Whitney poked her head above his enormous belly, giggling in delight. With the cute stern of a twelve-year-old, she chided him right back, “Keep still, you’re ruining it.” She was turning his toes into an art piece of nail polish and glitter, and in a way Marshall was relieved he hadn’t seen his feet in a while.
Paul sighed, “Are you even listening to me, Marshall?”
“Enjoy the holidays,” he wished his manager. Sabotage Christmas, crap in your stocking. I’m wrapping up all the presents in fucking camouflage so you can’t even find ’em.3 As he leaned half off the couch to put the phone down on the nearby table, he couldn’t resist the bowl of Christmas cookies. Crunching on some, he looked to the TV where, silently, a seasonal movie played. The new ones didn’t measure up to the heartfelt cheese he’d grown up with. A problem for a different afternoon, and he loved their little tradition of movie nights leading up to Christmas.
Now, he waved for Nicolas’s attention. With a few crooked hand signs he asked if there were still some leftover tacos. After all he had to eat for two, and it almost felt like he had eaten more food in the last couple of months than he’d eaten in his entire life before. His big, heavy belly proudly proved him right, or so it seemed. The only part of his body to have grown out of proportion was his pregnant belly and his baby girl inside, others seemed slimmed down. He knew for a fact, he had lost inches on his biceps and thighs. His obsessive nature kept track of these stats, and his notebook never lied.
Nor did the hundreds of pictures Nicolas was taking every day. I got a room full of your posters and your pictures, man.4
Alas, no leftover tacos. Visibly relieved, Nicolas stood up. Boards and planks and screws littered the living room floor, not any closer to being an assembled crib than an hour earlier. Of course they were both too macho to read the instructions. Immediately Nicolas was texting their usual order to Marshall’s assistant, a rather practical by-product of being a super busy, world-jetting superstar. Even when he was being a homebody.
Again, or still, Marshall was rubbing the side of his massive belly. These cramps were really persistent this afternoon. Not a fan. Neither a fan of everything being forbidden for pregnant people. He was making a new life here, a little more respect and a little more fun, please.
Whitney’s little hands pushed against his big, heavy belly, and from inside his baby girl pushed back. If their little game wasn’t so painful; Marshall groaned a little. “You’ll see,” Whitney declared confidently, “It’s way more fun out here. Big sister promise.” But too adorable to miss, and Marshall smiled through the pain. His (for now) youngest daughter was absolutely jazzed to become a big sister, and he couldn’t be happier. “Well, unless you have to clean your room,” Whitney continued with the first life lesson.
“That reminds me,” Marshall said half in jest. He assumed absolute chaos had broken out in his children’s rooms. Since he’d become too heavy and too cumbersome to climb up the stairs about two months ago, he, naturally, hadn’t been able to keep them honest. And he wasn’t entirely sure Nicolas took this matter all too seriously either.
Whitney’s ears flamed up red instantly. “You sure, Nicolas’ll get this done in time?” and she gestured towards the disparate pieces of wood strewn about the living room floor. Initially, she’d been a little intimidated by Nicolas’s brooding exterior, but they had quickly warmed up to each other. She was the one to pick up sign language the easiest, not anywhere near fluent but enjoying this new mode of communication.
“Don’t worry about him,” Marshall smirked at the lame attempt for distraction.
The doorbell rang.
Marshall groaned utterly annoyed, cursing under his breath. If he hadn’t to see either of those infernal flannel brothers ever again, it would be too soon. “I’m not getting up, forget it.” He had nothing else to say to them. All the way ’round to the back porch. Man, door handles unlocked, shouldn’t be that easy to do this. You don’t plan for intruders beforehand?5
Whitney, energetic as always, jumped off the couch. “I’ll get it,” and ran towards the door.
“No running in the house!” Marshall yelled after her. Nobody ever seemed to hear him. “And we ain’t buying nothin’! Send them away!” Didn’t expect her to actually succeed. Should he go after her, or wait for Nicolas to come back from the kitchen? He was already bone-tired just thinking about getting off the couch.
“Is your daddy home?” Sam’s voice, and Marshall hated that he could recognize them.
“His toes need to dry,” Whitney explained wholly unhelpful.
“Mind if we come in?” Dean didn’t growl as much, how atypical. “We brought some plushies, you know, as baby gifts. A baby can’t have enough of ’em.”
Oh, that was devious. “Go away!” Marshall yelled through the house.
“Sunny’s as lively as ever, I hear,” Dean mocked lightly.
“He’s a bit grumpy,” Whitney said with her bright voice. “I’d be grumpy, too, so I forgive him. I can’t wait to play with her for real, but Daddy says I have to be patient. It’s not easy being a big sister, I tell you.”
“You’re holding up like a trooper,” Sam answered, “I’m sure your daddy’s real proud.”
Muttering, “Fucking assholes,” Marshall heaved himself off the couch. Instantly, the cramps intensified, and his bum knee sent a sharp pain through his foot. Inside his massive belly, his baby girl tumbled around kicking. He fell back onto the couch breathing heavily. “Shit!” He scrunched his eyes closed, willing the pain away.
To no avail.
Roughly, Nicolas put a new bowl of Christmas cookies on the couch table with ugly clangs. Neither did he hear the noise nor care for the wellbeing of a stupid bowl. Concern drawn on his face as he knelt next to Marshall and took his hand, a soft squeeze.
Marshall shook his head lightly, “It’s fine.” These cramps always passed eventually. Jaws pressed together tightly, teeth crunching against another. A wave of white-hot pain crushed over him, but Marshall tried his hardest to keep the whimpers and yelps inside. His hand clutched around his big, heavy belly. If he could, he would curl himself small. “Fuck!” he cursed breathless when the intense wave subsided again, tears in the corners of his eyes.
“You okay, Daddy?” Whitney stood by the couch, worry showed on her little face.
How much he hated when he worried his daughters. Never got the chance to say I'm sorry. Now look at all the pain I caused.6 “It’s fine,” he pressed through gritted teeth. “Just cramps.”
“We got a family remedy for that,” Dean pointed out. Of course the lumberjack thugs jumped on the opportunity to invade his home. “We can help.” Couldn’t they take a fucking hint?
“Go away,” Marshall spat at them. His body shuddered with the vivid, throbbing anticipation of another wave of this white-hot pain. It didn’t take a genius to know what this was ringing in. Been flirtatious with death, skirt-chasing, I guess.7
Nicolas’s hand on his shoulder wasn’t as comforting. There was nothing this man could actually do to help with this. Nobody could. His husky voice announced the unavoidable, “It’s time.”
-----
[For Luck]
“How it’s been twenty years?” Behind the impeccably polished glass the white jacket sparkled equally dumbfounded. Not only was Marshall surviving without his best friend, he was thriving. “Hailie’s a mom now, can you believe it?” He felt entirely too young to be a granddad, but his heart swelled with love. “Lainy’s married, too. And Stevie’s moved in with theirs. They’re all grown up now.”
Marshall couldn’t believe how happy and enjoyable his life had become. His bed wasn’t empty anymore. Nothing could fill what Proof had left behind, not even a God, but Nicolas had found his own corner and tended it like a beautiful garden.
-----
[Collapse And Crumble]
“Hailie!” Terror filled Whitney’s keen, high voice as it echoed through the house.
Marshall muttered words of protest but didn’t even hear himself. A yelp was wretched from his chest with another wave of hot-white pain flashing through his abdomen like a lightning bolt. He couldn’t be sure, of course, had only ever watched a normal pregnancy be delivered to term. But this felt different. Worse. Fatal.
Curiously, Dean’s eyes roamed Marshall’s big, heavy belly. “You look ready to burst.” Unnaturally big, the look implied. Reproachful that it even had come this far.
“You really know how to make a girl feel better, thanks,” Marshall said with dry sarcasm. His voice too weak for the mean, biting effect he wanted. With the back of his hand, he wiped sweat from his forehead.
“Just let us help you,” Sam pleaded. “You’re running out of time.” How cruel to keep up his hopes, pretending like this could end any other way.
Marshall huffed with a sneer. “Didn’t know midwives come in lumberjack thug.”
Crashing noises tumbled down the stairs. Instantly, Hailie rushed into the living room fully alert, “Is it happening?” Eyes wide, body tense.
“Just cramps,” Marshall answered. Wish I could be the daddy that neither one of us had. But I keep runnin’ from somethin’ I never wanted so bad.8 Throbbing pain radiated through his abdomen, dull but persistent.
Hailie frowned irate, with her hands put against her hips she looked eerily like her mother, always mad at him for one reason or another. You started gettin’ moody on me, pretty soon we’d argue and the ruder you got, the more beautiful you got to me.9 “We had a deal, Dad: No stupid man-pride.”
In answer, he slitted his eyes, “You’re ready to go to your Mom’s, then?” They’d seen him in too many bad situations already, seeing him exploding his guts out didn’t need to be on the list. Even a normal birth was a bit gory, not anything his delicate daughters needed to witness.
“As ready as can be,” she huffed in a tone Marshall didn’t like. That was the same bossy tone she used when organizing the family’s spring cleaning, or when hounding her sisters around setting up a house party. “All I said was, I’d be happy to let someone else do it. I don’t see nobody else, do you?”
Both their eyes landed on the flannel brothers, both equally pessimistic about how much help these could be. I can’t even help it, this is the hand I was dealt. A creature of habit, feel like I’m trapped in an animal shelter.10 “Only if you let Nicolas do the gory parts,” Marshall relented.
“Maybe you’re in luck and the doctor’s here in time,” she offered with a little smile. From the couch table she took the phone and dialed Doctor Theo’s number. The owner of a little independent clinic in Warren, mostly catering to the downtrodden and possibly illegal. Nicolas’s doctor of choice because he knew when not to ask too many questions.
Surprised Sam asked, “You have a doctor?”
Another wave of hot, sharp pain broke through his abdomen and Marshall clutched his big, heavy belly as tightly as he could. The whining noises and strained groans hard to suppress, sweat sticky.
Hailie sighed as she hung up the phone. “Looks like we’re on our own. The good doctor is elbow deep in somebody’s spine, is what he said.” Then she took her little sister’s hand and they rushed out the living room, intend to prepare the birth of their unconventional sibling.
“Disgusting,” Marshall muttered breathless. He tried to shift his massive body to the side, to find a less uncomfortable position. The cramps still plagued his big, heavy belly when the waves of pain subsided. Inside, his baby girl was as lively as ever, more so even as she kicked eagerly against the walls holding her back. As if she knew it was time.
Wouldn’t be the weirdest part of this story.
An unfamiliar hand squeezed his shoulder, and Sam said, “Relax.” The tone implied: Enjoy your last moments as much as you can.
“Look, we may be no experts in … baby stuff,” and Dean gestured towards Marshall’s massive belly. “But we know demons and gods, and I don’t care if you want our help or not, I can’t just stand by and — Dude, I think your water just broke.” Surprised, Dean leaned over the armrest and pushed one of Marshall’s legs out of the way.
He kicked out a little, “Don’t touch me.” But he definitely felt a rapidly growing wet spot around his ass. His sweatpants were probably ruined.
Sam leaned also in and shook his head, “No, that’s blood.”
“Oh God.” Blood spiller, mentality much iller than you could ever imagine in your wildest dreams. You’ll feel his pain in his silent screams.11 “I should-” and Marshall tried to heave himself up from the couch but his knees were to weak, his arms too heavy. He felt like puking his guts out. Fell back into the cushions. Exhaustion gripped him tightly, dizzy. He strained to keep his eyes open, and Nicolas’s worried expression didn’t help his confidence. “How bad is it,” only a whisper.
“I’ve seen worse,” shrugged Dean. It was hard to tell if he was lying for Marshall’s benefit (and why would he?), or if the life of a ghost hunter was that horrific actually.
With rigorous gestures Nicolas shoved the flannel brothers aside. Enough gawking! Then he moved to undress Marshall, cutting through the blood soaked sweatpants. Only a blanket left to cover Marshall’s modesty, for now at least.
Despite everything, Marshall’s cheeks burnt with shame.
“Where’s your kitchen? We need salt, and bones - chicken probably suffices - and some of that blood of yours,” Sam counted down on his fingers. “Maybe, if we ban the baby’s demonic energy, it won’t just rip you open. Once it’s out, we probably only have a few minutes to kill it. We have a bronze dagger in the trunk, I hope that works against Hittite gods. Works against Anubis and against sirens, so it’s the closest we can get. Not ideal, but we’ve worked with less.”
Marshall growled, almost a feral sound.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Hailie stood next to them, a thick binder clutched in her arms. She’d make any girl and boy scouts proud, always prepared. Behind her, Alaina brought a big stack of towels into the living room, and Nathan carried a large bowl of water that he put down on the couch table.
“You found any sigils for a good trap?” Dean asked, easily picking up his brother’s train of thought. “Or would any ol’ pentagram work? Can’t hurt, I guess.”
Weakly, Marshall shook his head. The dull throbbing echo now as painful as the stabbing white-hot agony that overwhelmed him rhythmically. Nicolas’s hand in his brought little comfort.
“Out of my way,” Hailie pushed past the brothers. “I have a baby sister to deliver.”
“Oh please, God,” and Marshall closed his eyes. None of this was right! If it meant life or death, never live to regret what I said12, but he couldn’t help the stabbing pangs of guilt accompanying the stabbing pains of birth.
Then, Hailie cursed.
-----
[For Luck]
Behind impeccably polished glass, smoky shadows swirled and flickered and puffed up the white jacket enshrined. “How’s she ten already?” His daughter’s face laughed at him through the gloom. A bright young girl, beautiful and kind. A shame he couldn’t raise her in his house, and only saw her in his dreams. Waking up broke his heart a little every morning.
What else were you supposed to do with a God’s baby?
He couldn’t do it again, but he didn’t regret it either. These little moments he loved dearly, and would always spoil her rotten. Not a reminder of things lost, instead the courage to live again.
-----
[Collapse And Crumble]
Too many hands touched his body all over, too many voices above him arguing. On his forehead lay a moist cloth, supposed to cool him but soaking up sweat instead. Another wave of pain took Marshall’s consciousness out of focus.
“Well,” Dean’s voice was softer than usual, less assured. Didn’t instill much confidence. “There’s one thing we haven’t tried yet.”
Marshall’s eyes fluttered open. His breathing labored and stuttering, his body hot and writhing in pain, and his big, heavy belly heaved in waves of contractions. Through the haze, he understood where the blood was coming from: His hole had ripped itself open, far wider and more reckless than any cock - divine or otherwise - ever had. Wide enough for his unborn baby girl to fit through. A feat boggling the mind when a normal birth happened, and none of this was normal.
“We could summon this Tita’an chick,” Dean suggested. “Make her make this right.”
If he could’ve, Marshall would’ve laughed, but he could hardly breathe. A spluttering at best. He hadn’t glimpsed any sign of Proof since he’d woken up in his bed pregnant. The real Proof would never break a promise, and his heart sank a little. Sweat and tears coated his face, some from pain, some from the inevitable, some from the angry sadness about it all. Another wave of white-hot pain gripped his body tightly, and Marshall tasted blood in his mouth.
Hailie’s voice was firm as she ordered the family and explained the next steps of the process. Again and again adjusting to the progress and how badly it was going. If she feared for her father’s life, she didn’t let anybody know. Stern, efficient, focused. She had the same perfectionist instincts as him.
When Marshall forced his eyes open again, he saw the brothers kneel in the middle of the living room where Nicolas had tried to build a crib earlier. They painted the same lines and symbols onto the floor than they had onto his big, heavy belly. Reminding Marshall of that fateful door and its glowing ancient glyphs. These, too, started to glow and a cloud of smoke and lavender wafted through the circle.
A scream tore from Marshall, his massive belly contorted under the pressure inside. His baby girl clawing through his intestines, making a way out that wasn’t naturally there. More intense now as this door to her father’s realm opened.
“Weird,” Sam mused as he watched the cloud of smoke and glow twist inside the circle. The tail of a lion snapped, crocodile’s claws slashed, feathers fell onto the floor.
Before Marshall could make a sound of warning, Nicolas stepped closer to the circle with his hands outstretched. A cry, mangled and deep, as the cloud of smoke and glow enveloped the man, swallowed him whole. Marshall tried to reach his hand out, give voice to his fear and dread but another wave of lightning-like pain flashed through his abdomen and his body contorted under the torment. He clutched his big, heavy belly and wished it all just over. Bearing pain he’d done all his life, always hoping and working hard for better days. So much for witchcraft and magic. Abracadabra that, bitch. No turnin’ back, I'm blackin’ as I say farewell to the love of my life.13
Slightly overly dramatic, as he was wont to be. Neither him nor Nicolas had said anything overly romantic yet, and now they would never get the chance. Not with each other, nor with somebody else.
Suddenly, a big, warm hand caressed his forehead. The pain ebbed away. Finally, Marshall could breathe again and the weight that had plagued him the last few months seemed lifted from him. As he opened his eyes, his belly was still big and heavy and rippling with the forces within. Blinking tears of pain away, he looked up and saw Nicolas stand by his side. But he knew better. A pattern of turtle scutes danced down the man’s neck, and its eyes bereft of the usual melancholy.
Marshall’s heart sank even more. “No,” he whispered devastated, “Don’t do this to me.” Was this how Nicolas’s kindness went repaid? His fist clenched into the other’s t-shirt. “Give him back!” A new well of tears.
“Don’t cry,”, it said and everything about it was wrong. The tone of its voice, the forming of vowels, the soothing smile - it was all wrong. “You’re doing so good for me.”
Meekly his fist hit against the other’s chest.
“You better make sure he survives, or you won’t,” said Dean and trained his gun on Nicolas’s temple.
Marshall rolled his eyes. These lumberjack thugs had a unique talent to make things worse. “Put your fucking gun away,” he said with a hoarse voice. The pain might be gone, but he could distinctly feel his baby girl claw her way out of his flesh. Blood poured out of the rift torn just the same.
“You have such a big heart,” it said. Its use of Nicolas’s body was bizarre, clearly uncaring about its surroundings and dangers. The real Nicolas was always alert and would’ve disarmed such a threat instantly. Harshly shaped by the rough upbringing on Detroit’s streets.
Bravely, Hailie stepped forward and her sweet voice shook a little asking, “Can you save our dad?”
“It would be a shame, wouldn’t it.” Gently, the fingers touched Marshall’s forehead again and out of this touch grew glowing glyphs and ancient symbols, eventually encircling his belly button. The movement inside slowed down. “How can we do this again if you die?”
Marshall set his jaw. The ecstasy and lust and love felt in those untold hours with Proof he remembered as well as the wish to do this a thousand times more. But here, now Marshall shook his head. This wasn’t Nicolas, and it surely hadn’t been Proof. All he wanted from life was to raise his family and make his music. Now, this baby girl of supernatural origins was part of his family and he’d raise her right just the same, but he couldn’t put himself and his family in this jeopardy again. “My family needs me.”
A shadow came over its face, different to the shadows under Nicolas’s eyes now glowing reptilian orange. “You promised.”
“And so did you.”
Had this creature ever tried to help one of its poor victims? As the brothers told it, no one had survived these pregnancies before and Marshall didn’t doubt it was impossible. A new wave of pain he couldn’t quite feel rushed through, and instincts as old as time drew in the last reserves. It didn’t matter if his body was overexerting itself, it only mattered to successfully birth this child. Marshall screamed and cried, pushing out all he had to give.
The cry of a newborn.
Deeply exhausted, Marshall fell back. Suddenly he felt empty inside. The second heartbeat he’d come to love so much was just gone from within him. “Please …” merely the trace of a word. He wanted to reach out for her, but he couldn’t move his arms. He couldn’t move his lungs to breathe. Marshall’s eyes fell closed, he couldn’t force them open. Barely a glimpse of her perfect little face he caught, the urge to kiss his baby girl and to kiss his boyfriend holding her. His heartbeat too weak. I never got to say I love you as much as I wanted to.14
-----
[For Luck]
“I’m fucking fifty!” The white jacket behind impeccably polished glass congratulated him to this milestone of a birthday. He’d always found this age impossible, death lurking over his shoulder. And a guardian angel.
But Marshall lived. Sober, healthy, and happy. From the living room, he heard his family’s laughter and smiled thankfully. “I hope this lasts forever,” or however long a human life could. Looking at Proof’s jacket, he knew deeply that it was over too quickly. Why was life so fragile?
A big, warm hand squeezed Marshall’s shoulder, tiny scars and a wedding ring. Nicolas mouthed, cake.
Marshall wakes up at home, now pregnant with his dead friend’s love child. The next few months go by in a blur. He is super ecstatic how well his daughter is growing, maybe a little too well …
The Winchester brothers ring Marshall’s door again and again. They just want to help!
You’re too soft, Slim Shady said.
On his knees and hunched over, Marshall retched. The sour stink of vomit rose from the toilet bowl and made it worse. Ingrained into the porcelain was the yellow tinge from decades of urine. Graffiti insults scribbled on the stall’s walls. In the background was the low pulse of music.
You sound like AZ and Nas. Casually, Slim Shady leaned in the stall’s doorway.
Marshall spit into the toilet bowl. His mouth tasted funny in the worst way, and wished for a toothbrush. But he had to get his act together, wasn’t like this was his first time on a stage. It really wasn’t. And yet, performing a song from his very debut album had him feel like a total scrub. He couldn’t manage his legs to pick him up from the floor. Marshall heaved again.
This is a new blog of mine, so I have a place to nerd out about literature, language, and art. Feel free to follow and see what I’m doing when I ain’t writing Eminem sucking dick #1710.
This chronicle shall be the only immortality you will ever know.
"You heard of Hell, well, I was sent from it. I went to it, servin' a sentence for murderin' instruments. Now I'm tryin' to repent from it, but when I hear the beat I'm tempted to make another attempt at it.
I'm Infinite!"
