#delivery boy roy

[y3esy]

Several doodles of mine from recently as a gift for you guys since I’ve been inactive lol.

I’ve been considering Carlo with Marfan syndrome recently so I made a diagram to show the symptoms that I think he exhibits of the condition. I love you Carlo

[orangeno]

average day in the pizzeria (probably not gonna finish this)

[nerdog]

roy themed favicons and blinkies!

not sure the creds to any of these so sorry :( if anyone can find any send me a dm/ask!

send asks for more little packs like these please!!! or userbars / blinkies / stamps / shiny buttons etc

[soupiero]

delivery boy roy (flipline studios) for me! 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 divi + der 0_o ⤷ 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 🧢

— day one in my flipline stimboards 🍕

Plain text ;

[PT: delivery boy roy (flipline studios) for me! End PT]

[PT: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5. End PT] [PT: divi + der 0_o. End PT]

[PT: 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 🧢. End PT]

[PT: — day one in my flipline stimboards 🍕. End PT]

[imepix]

day 7: crossover!! ft all my favorite characters in line at papa's pizzeria (the world is not ready for how much i love this papa louie games jdsjf)

[charlie-oh-no]

I gave him an awful valentines outfit but at least the hat looked awesome!

[saritaaaaaaaaa]

Este es Roy el repartidor:) 🍕🍕

(pequeño dibujo que hice de Roy papa louie jiji) (perdón porque se ve mal pero bueno es por la iluminación y también por la cámara de mi celular)

[just-juliet]

Oh yeah, I also made this

[itachi86]

wait how did sin know that roy was working for the arrow?he didn't tell her or sara. did sara just figure it out then tell sin

[eleganttiredcroissant]

How Logan Roy fucking up his children in different ways showed in their respective eulogies:

Roman: breaks down immediately because he's always been verbally abused by Logan and as a result he's incapable of communicating effectively (and have meaningful relationships with basically anybody).

Kendall: the exact opposite of Roman. He's a perfect public speaker because he's always been brought forth by his father on a higher pedestal than his siblings ("you're my number one boy") and here he's showing all the sociopathy he inherited from his father because everything he can say about him in his eulogy (his "other side of things") is how much of a great financial genius he was, how he built his empire from nothing. What also seals the deal is his delivery of "He was a brute. [...] I hope I have it too".

Shiv: victim and perpetrator of a familial misogyny that permeates the Roys. (When she says "Logan couldn't fit a whole woman in his head" the camera is stuck on Kendall who is beginning to show the same treatment on his ex wife and daughter.) Nonetheless Shiv still waited all her life for those crumbs of fatherly love and "warmth" she would sparingly get.

Bonus: Connor doesn't speak publicly at all because he never really existed in his father's mind as a worthy offspring

[y3esy]

“I found this during one of my trips in the Scorpion Den, even better, I think it’s just your size…”

Sorry guys. Papa Louie x Wings of Fire Carloroy yaoi. Autism is real.

[harmlessplant]

delivery boy roy

[kpiuniverse]

How to seduce your hot and shady neighbor in 10 steps, while solving your friend family drama on the way: a guide by Roy Harper

Step 1: introduce yourself (2/3) Masterpost here

The One where Roy has a newfound appreciation for lodgings in the bad part of town if they come with hotties.

It goes as well as one could expect being on this side of the law. The guy at the reception site – an abandoned warehouse, so original - is armed and apparently hopes for a posturing bonus. Roy has faced a lot more frightening sights than a shirt threatening to burst from inadequate bulking up, so he does not let it damper his enthusiasm.

A couple of days later, Roy has completed his first job. All that is left is the delivery, which is the part most likely to blow up in his face. And not because of the device he built – he is a professional, thank you very much.

Finding the job was the easy part; he boasted his skills in a couple of auto shops and hardware stores he visited in his first weeks, was approached with a proposal, negotiated the deadline and price, and went to build the thing – some kind of trig and trap device, pretty straightforward, his client complained about a newly arrived pest problem?  If not for the untraceable payment, Roy could kid himself that the job is legit. But it’s not, and now he has to go deliver it – because there is no way he’s going to share his own address.

It goes as well as one could expect being on this side of the law. The guy at the reception site – an abandoned warehouse, so original - is armed and apparently hopes for a posturing bonus. Roy has faced a lot more frightening sights than a shirt threatening to burst from inadequate bulking up, so he does not let it damper his enthusiasm.

Roy delivers his device, ignores the verbal comment – flexing a little when his temper gets tested – confirms the payment and calls his best friend the second he is on the grim streets of Blüdhaven’s industrial district.

Dick picks up on the second ring. “Missed me, honey?” Roy jokes, kicking an unidentified rodent away from him. Pest problem indeed, though the machine he just delivered is sized for mammals bigger than this one. Best not to dwell too much on it, though.

“Always, lover boy,” Dick answers, not missing a beat. There is a reason they’re friends, after all. “Everything okay on your end?” he asks, knowing where Roy was.

That’s how they planned it: Roy making the delivery and calling Dick fifteen minutes after the rendezvous time, else Nightwing would come swinging to the rescue. Roy can almost see him, in full vigilante regalia, on his kitchen stool in front of a hot cocoa while waiting for his call.

Ok, he might have pushed the sleep deprivation too far to complete the job on time. Note to self, extend the deadline the next time to take into account a toddlers' temper emergencies. It’s not just him anymore. He still has to adjust to that.

“Yup”, Roy confirms happily, high from the satisfaction of a – paid - job well done. “Thanks for the remote assist, man.”

“Not a problem.” Dick reassures him. “I’m glad to have you around, Roy. If the price to pay is to be on stand-by every now to keep you out of trouble, I’m fine with it.”

Roy takes a falsely affronted tone. “And why would you expect me to get in trouble, exactly? I’ll have you know, I am a family man and model citizen.”

Dick does not gratify him with an answer and bids him good night, extracting an easy promise from Roy to keep him updated for his next planned delivery. Dick is a good friend. Not much of a support system, but he’s here when Roy needs him, and that’s what matters, now.

[thegoldensanctuary]

Part II C the larger paintings and the early furniture

Saint Cecile playing music

Fig 30 : Dominiquin (Domenico Zampieri, dit Il Domenichino), Sainte Cécile avec un ange tenant une partition musicale, 1600/1625, 160 x 120 cm, Louvre, INV 793; MR 181.

Painted by Domenichino(fig 30) in the early 17th century it depicts saint Cecile playing cello while looking at the sky with a angel under the traits of an infant holding her partition. The artist chose to depict the saint wearing an outfit contemporary the artist’s life, which would have been anachronistic for a saint who live in the 3rd century. The painting was sold by Jabach to Louis XIV in 1662[22] and was placed, according to Piganiol, on the unique fireplace of the time on the southern wall.

King David playing the Harp

Fig 31: Dominiquin (Domenico Zampieri, dit Il Domenichino), Le Roi David jouant de la harpe, vers 1619, 240 x 170 cm, huile sur toile, Château de Versailles, MV 5359

Painted by Domenichino (fig 31)around the same time as the painting previously discussed, it depicts King Davis paying the harp. Just like in the saint Cecile’s painting the main protagonist is assisted by an angel depicted as young boy holding the partition, while he is looking at the sky. But unlike the previous painting, in which background is dark, the one in the King David painting appears to follow the code of a state portrait : with a tapestries with golden fringes filling the upper right corner, and a column displayed on the left. It was purchased by Louis XIV to the heir of Mazarin in 1665[23].

2.3 The Furniture

The 1684 winter set :

Fig 32 : 3d Recreation of set 1109, in the central salon in the Sims 4 engine

The 20th of November 1684 a large delivery of furniture is registered for the royal apartments in Versailles. Several sets of crimson velvet are placed in the King’s apartment. In the room where the King dresses the delivery mentions two armchairs, 16 stools 8 portiere tapestries covered in crimson velvet with gold fringes, and braids, registered under the number 1109[24](fig 32)while no specific seasonal use is mentioned it is nevertheless possible infer that the set in question was meant to used for winter, as the table cloth and daybed delivered alongside for the council cabinet under the number 1103[25], is, as late as 1740[26], still mentioned in said cabinet and used as a winter set, probably until 1749[27]. 

The 1700 summer set :

Fig 33 : 3d Recreation of set 1870, in the central salon in the Sims 4 engine

In May 1700, Doublet delivered three new summer sets for King’s apartment under the numbers 1870,1871 and 1872, the set destined for the central salon, the 1870(fig 33), contained :

-8 portiere tapestries made of 3 pieces of brocade each

-3 armchairs and 12 folding stools covered in brocade, with gold fringes and braids, with their wood sculpted and gilded [28]

The brocade in question was described as “silver background brocade, with flowers embroidered in gold and silver, contoured with silk of different colors, with gold braids at the edge and taffeta lining.”[29], the brocade discharge includes several brocades with silver background used by doublet when making the upholsteries and portieres for those three sets. The 6th brocade listed is the one used for the confection of set 1870, its description goes as follow  :”brocade from Lyon with silver background, flowers patterns of gold and silver surrounded by thin contours of red, green and purple silk”[30], the descrition is almost identical to the original but includes however the specific colors used for the outline of the silver and gold raised patterns, the origin of that brocade can be traced to a delivery from the 12th of June 1698, initially destined for the royal chapel in Versailles, and who was given at the time the number 135[31].

[22] See number 53 of Le Brun’s inventory

[23] See number 125 of Le Brun’s inventory

[24] AN O1/3305, f⁰ 153 v⁰ ; Jules Guiffrey Inventaire général du mobilier de la couronne sous Louis XIV (1663-1715). Partie 2, p. 348, number 1109

[25] Ibid

[26] AN O1/3453 f⁰ 4 r⁰

[27] AN O1/3314 f⁰ 145 v⁰

[28] AN O1/3307 f⁰ 417 v⁰

[29] Ibid

[30] Ibid f⁰ 420 r⁰

[31] Ibid f⁰ 360 r⁰

[jaebeomsbitch]

Hi! Pls could you write a Roman fic with the following prompt: 36.“i know i said we couldn’t do this anymore, but i need you. please.”? Thank You!

Scotch and Tears

Summary: Comforting Romey and hurting him at the same time or Roman comes to you needing release and the painful reminder that he'll never be loved because he's broken.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, Hurt, Crying, Jerking off Roman...

A/N: Not edited and written at 2 AM like every other fic of mine. I never ever intend to make this one so sad but.... Romey is just a sad little boy trapped in a dog cage :( GN!reader

You don’t know who you expected on your front door but it wasn’t him. Maybe a DoorDash delivery person or another Amazon package but not Roman Roy. His hands intertwined in front of him, that cocky smirk of his face. 

“If it isn’t my favorite whore” he says, a little too boisterous for your liking. 

“Welcome in” you say sarcastically as he bulldozes his way inside your apartment despite his small stature. 

“God if I thought you dressed shitty… this is a fucking rat-infested dying Victorian orphans type of shitty” he says, his hazel eyes analyzing every single detail of your apartment. You roll your eyes, leaning against the doorframe of your small living room. You’d never have the type of money he had but you were comfortable. More than the dozens of New Yorkers that couldn’t heat their apartments through winter or the ones that had eleven roommates. 

“Why are you here Romulus?” You ask in a cool toned manner. His head snapping towards yours, he hadn’t heard that name in a while. Not since… well not since his father died. 

“What, not happy to see an old pal?” He grins, taking off his little leather gloves. He makes a face as he uses the sleeve of his jacket to clean your little side table placing the gloves on it.

“Why are you here?” You ask stalking forward. 

“Don’t make me ask you again Romulus” you say with a bit more force in your tone. Roman gulps, those big doe eyes looking up at you with a mixture of fear and something else. That underlying swirl of emotion you were all too used to seeing many years ago. 

“Don’t-“ he says, trying to act strong but his voice slightly wavers under your watchful gaze. He tried to busy himself by taking his coat off. 

“I saw he died” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest standing toe to toe with Roman. He grunts in acknowledgment, afraid of opening his mouth. Afraid that the pent up tears will come crashing down the fragile walls he built. Because truthfully Roman hadn’t been coping. He thought it would get better with time. 

Thought a shrink would fix him, but they never did. No matter how expensive, how experienced they didn’t understand Roman, not in the way you do. So he comes crawling back every time. The pain and loss of memory crushing him into a little ball. 

Your fingers reach out to him holding his bicep lightly but he shrugs you off almost violently. He hates himself for being back here, for needing you. 

“Yeah he’s dead, should’ve gone a danced in his chew toy mausoleum when you had the chance” he tries to joke but it comes out slightly strained, at least to your ears. 

You circle him, reaching for the expensive bottle of scotch he gave you as a parting gift all those years ago. Popping in some ice cubes already prepared for his little digs but surprisingly nothing comes out. He gulps it down like he’s hasn’t had a drink in weeks. He quickly pours another glass taking that one back wincing at the burn

“Slow down,” you say sternly

“I’ll- I’ll fucking buy you another one” he immediately fires looking at you with an intensity. You can tell he hates being here. Well, hates that he has to be here again. He’d been okay for the most part but then every single person he loved had died or left him.

You silently take a seat on your couch, sipping on the scotch savoring the complexities on your tongue. Roman grips the glass tightly, hands shaking. 

“I-“ his voice wavers, that first sense of vulnerability sinking deep into Roman’s bones and it fucking disgusts him. It rips him to shreds that he can’t keep his voice steady. 

“I know I said-” he continues, filling up another glass. Watching the little ice cubes swirl in the amber liquid. 

“I couldn’t… we couldn’t… please,” he says looking at you with those big puppy dog eyes, all wet, as he tries to hold back his tears. 

“C’mere” you say softly spreading your legs and downing your scotch. You place the empty glass on the side table over his gloves as Roman shuffles towards you like a scolded child. 

His heart sinks deep into his gut. The vile thoughts filling up his head, screaming at him not to do it but, he sits on your lap with shaky breath. Your fingers find the familiar path towards his knees. 

Just like that the words dim and his breath picks up. The warmth of your palms seeping into his slacks, you knew that if you could see his eyes you’d see the swirl in them. The pink, smokey, tendrils of lust churning in his brain. 

It wasn’t that Roman hated you, he didn’t. In some sick twisted Roman way he loved you. You were the only person who could touch him, the only person who could untuck his fresh pressed dress shirt and undo his slacks. The only one who could slide his zipper down without him immediately going into a manic state. But after the comfort always came the guilt. That’s what he hated, he hated the crashing of sadness and despair pulling him down after your touch was over. 

Hated that he had to imagine it was your hands on him. That he yearned for you but you never sought him out. Not once, not even after he’d wined and dined you. Not after he let you into his fucked up head. 

Of course Roman never knew the truth. It hurt. It hurt seeing him cry, it hurt seeing him broken beyond repair. You take solace in the fact that you were the only one that brought him relief even if it was momentary. So you press your face into the line of his back, fingers taking his leaking cock out. Roman’s practiced spit falling onto his cock, his eyes closed shut not wanting to look at it. Not right now. 

He hated you for abandoning him. Hated the way he instantly moans when your warm hand wraps around his cock. The pool of heat burning deep in his gut.

“Fuck” he moans at your slow strokes. You wanted to prolong it. Smell his clean scent a little longer, feel the flex of his thighs on yours, memorize the hitch of his breath but Roman hasn’t been able to get off in a long time. 

His breath heavy as more profanities leave this pink lips of his. 

“Oh fuck” he groans, fingers digging into his slacks. You swirl your palm over his sensitive head, his toes curling in his dress shoes, jaw slacked. 

“Fuck I’m- so fucking disgusting” he swallows his spit. Your other hand working at his balls, rolling the skin in between your fingers matching your strokes. 

“Oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck fuck” he whispers hurriedly, fingers clenching the fabric harder, his head hanging in submission. Giving into the pleasure, his stubbled jaw pressing into the pin-striped light-blue dress shirt. 

You missed him. You missed his stupid quips. Missed the way his dumb little grin would show the dimple on his cheek. You missed that stupid idiot even when he was insulting you. 

“G-god” he chokes.

“Just me” you chuckle, stroking him faster knowing his telltale signs like the back of your hand. You could feel his thighs clenching under your forearms, his back tightening, and his hips trying desperately to follow your movements. 

He finally comes as he heaves for breath. A strangled noise leaving his throat as he ruins his slacks. All the pent up cum spilling on his stomach. You stroke his cock until he’s a whimpering mess. The back of his head tilted back pressing into your shoulder. 

You wanted to hug him. You wanted to tell him everything would be okay but you know he’d only push you off. You hold your tongue as he slowly sits up pushing your hands away and tucking himself back into his pants. He swallows hard, trying to busy himself with wiping the cum off with a napkin. 

You keep your lips sealed when you see his face. That anguished look in his eyes, another painful reminder of why you didn’t do this anymore but his little ‘please’ broke you down. He leaves mumbling some stupid line about you being a whore. His heart aching as he tries to straighten out his wrinkled slacks. 

Your heart hurts, it hurts so much but this is what Roman did. He used and abused because he was broken. You could never fix him not even if you tried but what would happen when you found a partner? When you wouldn’t let him into your apartment again?

The next day another bottle of scotch sits at your doorstep, you tuck it away into the same cupboard, holding his glass as a tear slips down your cheek. 

[moeroy]

roy headcanon list (prone to changes)

23 years old

He/him

Italian-American (or whatever the flipverse equivalent is)

Bisexual

Started working as a delivery boy/cook the day after he got his drivers license

Started doing college online after graduating high school

Majored in biochem because he found that interesting

Is lowkey balding under that hat

Very good at driving

Fav song is Nepo Baby by Fox SZN (very relatable)

Gets headaches really easily

His parents are actually alive and well he just doesn't visit them often because he's really busy with work and whatnot

Awful sleep schedule

Is genuinely a really good cook for all types of dishes (although italian food is his forte)

Insists on being the little spoon when cuddling with Moe even though he's 3 inches taller than Moe