#R studio for loop

[officially-bug-art]

They make me sick [postcanon au where everyone is friends :3 and goes home otay :3 and nothing bad ever happens :3]

[saatorus]

had the brightest idea…sukuna x tattoo artist reader..😪😪

wc: 1.4k

warnings: smut (unprotected sex)

authors note: anon anon anon. i need to pull your head off so i can get access to your brain like kenjaku so that i can give your smart brain a lil smooch. this was fun to write :3

The first time he walked into your studio, he had zero tattoos. Just scars from what looked like getting into fistfights and that sharp, cocky grin.

You didn’t think he was serious. Guys like him—too smooth, too smug—usually just wanted to flirt and bounce. But he picked a design off your wall, pointed to his chest, and said, “Right here. First one. Don’t fuck it up.”

You didn’t. In fact, he looked almost… reverent, watching you prep. Like he wasn’t used to being touched gently.

You assumed he’d be a one-and-done. He was not. He came back the next week, shirt already off when he walked in. “What’s up, picasso shawty. Wanna do my ribs next?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but you let him sit. Again. And again.

He kept coming back. More tattoos. Bigger pieces. One on his back. One winding around his thigh. Some you designed just for him—your art permanently etched into his skin.

Your studio’s small. One chair. Walls covered in sketches and post-it notes. Half your tools are secondhand, but your work is crisp—clean lines, solid shading. Sukuna never comments on it directly, but he never lets anyone else touch him. Not once.

You pretend not to notice how he watches you set up. The way he stares at your hands like he’s memorizing every move.

He’s always saying dumb shit.

“If I say something filthy mid-session, will you mess up on purpose?”

“If you talk while I’m doing linework again, I’m putting a Hello Kitty on your ass.”

“Tempting.”

You keep it professional for months. Years. But it’s not cold—it’s comfortable. Inside jokes. Dumb snacks during long sessions. Him crashing on your couch once when it got too late. You drawing a fake tattoo on his thigh with sharpie “just to mess with him.”

One night, you’re doing a detailed piece low on his hip. He’s quiet, for once. Then:

“You ever think about how many hours you’ve spent touching me?”

You blink.

“You ever think about shutting the hell up?”

But your voice cracks a little.

The shift is small. He starts showing up without appointments. You don’t kick him out. You start drawing designs with him in mind. You stop correcting him when he calls you “baby” just to mess with you.

One night, it’s late. Like should’ve closed an hour ago late. The shop is quiet, just the soft hum of the fluorescent light and whatever chill R&B playlist is still looping from your phone. You’re cleaning up after a late session with Sukuna—again. He’s lounging in the chair, shirt half-on, scrolling on his phone like he lives here now.

“You know I have other clients, right?” you mutter, wiping down your machine.

He doesn’t look up. “Yeah? You tattoo them like you do me?”

You pause. “What the fuck does that mean?”

He looks up now, real slow. Smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Means you get real quiet when you're working on me. Like you’re focused or… like you’re trying not to think too hard.”

You toss the rag on the tray, annoyed. “I don’t know if you know this, but that’s actually called doing my job.”

“You’re shaky sometimes,” he adds, casual. “Especially when I’m shirtless. Or when I ask for spots you gotta like, get on your knees for.”

You scoff. “You think you’re hot shit.”

He stands. Walks up, real close. “I know I am. But that’s not the point.”

Now he’s right in front of you. Not touching—but close enough that you feel him. Heat off his skin. The scent of his cologne and smoke and something distinctly him.

“You wanna do it or not?” he says, voice low, like he’s done waiting.

Your stomach flips. “Do what?”

“Come on,” he mutters, like he’s tired of the game. “You’ve been looking at me like you want to fuck me since the third tattoo. You gonna keep pretending or you gonna let me fuck you in that chair of yours?”

Your throat goes dry. You stare at him—cocky bastard, red eyes burning into yours, hands flexing at his sides like he’s holding back too.

You don’t say anything. Just grab the front of his hoodie and pull him in. Not your proudest moment professionalism-wise, but he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this.

The kiss is messy. Too fast. All teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. You don’t know who moans first—doesn’t matter. His hands are already on your ass, pulling you in like he’s starving.

You shove him back into the chair. Straddle him. His hands slide up your shirt, palms hot and rough, and he mutters, “Been jerking off thinking about this for months, fuck.”

Your fingers are already at his belt. “Shut up.”

“Not a chance,” he laughs, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna hear how bad I wanted this.”

You sink onto him right there, still half-dressed, the whole thing rushed and reckless. The studio smells like ink and sweat and skin. He’s gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. And you’re riding him like you’ve been needing it just as bad.

No soft words. No slow build. Just the creak of the chair. His filthy mouth in your ear. Your nails digging into his shoulders. And that broken sound he makes when you clamp around him, whispering “Fuck, don’t stop—”

Before you know it, you’re clamping down on him, hard, your orgasm washing in pleasurable waves over you. He follows suit, a final thrust of his hips, emptying his load inside of you.

The only sound is your breathing—still uneven—and the low thrum of the playlist you forgot was even on. You’re half-naked in your own damn studio, still straddling Sukuna in the chair, clothes tugged out of place, skin flushed and sticky with sweat and everything you’d been ignoring for way too long.

You shift off him with a wince. “Holy shit. That chair is not designed for fucking.”

He groans and leans back like he’s broken. “Speak for yourself. I’m thriving.”

“You’re gonna walk outta here bow-legged.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’ll limp home with dignity.”

You tug your shirt back down and start reaching for paper towels, the reality of what just happened catching up to your brain.

“Yo—chill,” Sukuna mutters, standing up behind you and gently taking the paper towels from your hand. “I got it.”

You blink, thrown off.

He gives you a flat look. “I just fucked you in your sacred little tattoo chair. Least I can do is wipe you down…and the damn chair down too.”

You snort, but your stomach flips at the way he says it—casual, like it’s no big deal, but not teasing either. 

He gently parts your legs, a grin on his face when he sees himself seeping out of you, wiping the mess clean. You lightly push your foot against his chest when he continues staring and he finally relents, snickering and grabbing your disinfectant spray.

He grabs a fresh towel, sprays down the chair, even gets the floor where one of you knocked over the rinse cup. You watch him for a second—shirtless, pulling on your pants and standing up—shakily— still flushed, watching the glint of his rings on his fingers as he moves. Like this is just part of the routine now.

“Don’t get used to this,” he says, not looking at you. “I just—y’know. Respect the tools.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So what, fucking me is now a line item on your cleaning checklist?”

He grins, tossing the used towel into the bin. “Only if it’s a recurring event.”

You scoff and toss him a water bottle. He catches it midair without flinching, cracks it open like this is just… normal now.

And maybe it kind of is.

He walks back over, presses the cold bottle lightly to your cheek with a smirk. “Still blushing?”

“Still annoying.”

“Still wet?”

You swat him, laughing despite yourself, but you don’t pull away.

There’s a weird quiet after that. Not awkward—just new. Like something’s shifted and neither of you’s pretending otherwise.

You break it first, voice lower now. “So… you still want that piece over your heart?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “If it’s your name? Yeah.”

“You’re so corny. That trend died in 2015.” You roll your eyes, but the smirk tugging at your mouth gives you away.

And when he leans in and kisses you again, actually moving his lips against you with a soft precision, different to how his tongue had been plunged into your mouth just minutes before. He grins—sharp— before uncapping the water bottle.

After a sip of the water, he looks at you over the bottle. “So… you free next week?”

You narrow your eyes. “For what?”

He shrugs. “Tattoo. Fuck. Hang out. Whatever. Don’t pretend you’re not thinking about doing it again.”

You groan. “You are so lucky you’re kinda hot.”

He winks. “And marked up like your own personal sex doll. Admit it—you liked the dick.”

You’re smiling this time. It’s different now. Maybe him being a regular wasn’t so bad at all.

[nats-firefly]

secret hobbies

natasha romanoff x reader

summary: Your strong muscular girlfriend shows you one of her lesser known hobbies.

warnings: daddy kink, beefy!nat, choking very briefly, strap on use (r receiving), teasing, fingering (r receiving), smut 18+ only

a/n: once again a repost from my old blog (twilight-99-tm), if you have any other ones you's like me to repost, let me know <3

🚩 warnings are clearly stated please do not report/flag :) 🚩

words: 2.5k | feedback is always welcome | masterlist

divider source

Natasha’s face snuggled deeper into the crook of your neck while the two of you laid on the couch. Nat was trying to take a nap, arms wrapped around your body with her slow, even breaths tickling your neck while you scrolled through your phone, soft tiktok audios filling the space of her bedroom. 

One of your hands stroked Natasha’s hair while the other tapped your screen, the contents on the device pulling the other woman’s attention. That’s where you stayed for a while, Natasha’s eyes fluttering closed every now and then, your shared laughter occasionally filling the room.

The next tiktok that played was of someone making pottery, spinning the clay as if it was nothing. Your eyes sparkled, letting the video loop over and over again. Natasha smirked, looking up at you to find your enamored expression.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” You said, pausing the tiktok and looking down at the redhead smirking up at you. “Have you ever made pottery?”

“Hmm,” She hummed, before leaving a chaste kiss to your neck and sitting up, strong thighs on either side of your hips as she took your hands into hers. “Come with me.”

She stood up, tugging your hand when you refused to get up. “But baby, we were so comfy.”

“C’mon,” She said, easily pulling you up onto your feet, arms flexing with her movement. “You’re gonna like this.”

You leaned your chin up, ever so slightly puckering your lips in protest. She chuckled and leaned down, pressing her lips against yours. You kissed her back, smiling against her lips as you wrapped your hands around her neck. Her arms made their way around your waist and down to your thighs, and before you knew it, you were being carried down the hallway.

“Where are we going?” You asked, not recognizing this part of the compound.

“You’ll see,” She said, smiling lazily as she walked down a flight of stairs. She put you down in front of two wooden doors, before scanning her thumbprint to unlock them. 

Your jaw dropped when you walked inside, floor to ceiling shelves filled with pottery or bags of clay. There was a large window on one side of the room, and right in front of it a pottery wheel with a stool. You walked further inside, Natasha following behind you holding your hand. 

“Is this,” You took in your space one more time, turning around to face your girlfriend. “Your art studio?”

Natasha almost blushed. She’d never brought anyone else here. The only person that knew about this was Tony and even he was sworn to secrecy. She nodded, pulling you closer to her and hiding her face in the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around her as you cooed, burying your hands in her hair. 

“Big, bad, Natasha Romanoff, likes making pottery,” You said, swaying the two of you as you took in more of the space. Every corner screamed Natasha, from the forgotten coffee cups on the counter, to the pictures of you on the desk off to the side, and the small radio in the corner. “It’s cute.”

“Don’t make fun,” She mumbled. “It’s fun, and relaxing.”

“I wasn’t making fun, baby,” You said, bringing her face out from your neck so you could look her in the eyes. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

She smiled as she looked at you, leaning forward to meet your lips once again. You gasped before she could pull away. “Did you make that pot you gave me the cactus in?”

The grin spreading over her face said it all, and you don’t think you’ve ever been more in love than right now. You pulled away from her, walking over to the pottery wheel and looking around the room. 

“So,” Your fingers trailed over the top, sheepishly looking over at Natasha. “Are you gonna show me how to do it?”

“Do you want to?” She asked, excited.

“Do I want my hot strong girlfriend to show me how to throw pottery? Uhh, let me think about it.”

“You’re a dork,” She said, beckoning you to follow her. 

“Yeah, but I’m your dork,” She leaned down to kiss you quickly before pulling an apron down from the hook. She draped it over your head before you turned around, her lips meeting the back of your shoulder as she tied it around your waist. 

Natasha put her own apron on before moving to cut a large chunk of clay from a block, telling you to go sit by the pottery wheel. Your eyes followed the way her arms moved as she handled the chunk, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip when she threw it harshly onto the wheel in front of you. Thank God for muscle tanks.

She brought a bowl of water and a sponge closer before approaching you, asking for your hand. You looked up at her, very obviously trailing your eyes up her body. The apron tied snugly around her waist only accentuated her muscles and if you had a little less self-control you’d be drooling. 

“I thought you wanted me to show you how to do it,” She said, taking your hand when you didn’t react. You let her pull you up, clearing your mind of the filthy thoughts your brain had come up with. She sat on the stool you had just stood up from. “Come sit on my lap, princess.”

You pursed your lips, letting her pull you into her. You made yourself comfortable atop her toned thighs, her breath against the back of your neck sending a small shiver you felt down to your core. You closed your eyes, your breath catching in your throat as her lips connect with where your neck meets your shoulder. You lean back into her as she runs her hands down your arms, taking your hands in hers. 

“Let’s start,” She mumbled into your skin, making you turn your attention back to the task at hand. Her hands almost completely covered yours as she placed them on the piece of clay. Natasha smirked as she watched your face, she could clearly tell your mind was elsewhere, exactly where she wanted it. “I’m gonna start spinning the wheel.”

Her thigh flexed under you as she pressed down the pedal, your own thighs clenching at the movement. “Go ahead, baby, try to start shaping it.”

Natasha pressed against you, it snapped you out of your train of thought, making you focus back on your hands. Natasha placed her hands on your hips, holding them against her as she watched you try to shape the clay. You grunted, the material feeling too hard and dry against your hands to make any progress.

“Baby, it’s too hard,” You whined, slumping back into her. You looked up at her with your best puppy dog eyes, if only she could move those hands further down. Natasha pushed you forward, straightening you up. She placed your hands back on the clay, leaning over and taking a sponge from a bowl of water. You felt her thigh tense again and had to suppress a moan.

“You have to get it nice and wet, sweetheart,” The cool water dripped down the clay and mixed with your fingers, immediately making it easier to shape. Natasha licked her lips before leaving a trail of wet kisses up your neck to the corner of your jaw. “Look at that, your hands look so good working on this.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, her lips connecting back to your skin. You shuddered, struggling to maintain the shape you were molding. “I know where they could look better.”

One subtle shift of her hips and you felt it. Natasha smirked against your neck when you stiffened, making the semi-shaped blob turn back into an unrecognizable shape once again. Natasha tsked, taking your chin softly between her fingertips and making you focus back down on what you were doing. “Eyes on your work, princess.”

You’re not sure if it was the way her voice went down or the rasp that suddenly became apparent, you just couldn’t help the moan that erupted from your throat. “Daddy…”

Her hand trailed down your neck, fingers subtly wrapping around your neck before pressing briefly. You gulped, suddenly becoming aware of the increasing wetness between your thighs as you clenched them together. Natasha hummed against you, sucking a mark onto the skin on your neck as her hands roamed down your body. 

“C’mon, detka,” She mumbled, hands curling around your thighs, and spreading them apart just enough so she could idly run her fingertips up and down your inner thigh. “I don’t wanna have to get my hands dirty, I’d much rather have them right here instead.”

She slid her fingers down to your core, pressing down against it over your clothes. You whined, pushing and grinding back against her. Your brain was becoming overwhelmed with the feeling of her against you, not wanting to focus on anything but that. “B-but, I-”

“Shh,” She shushed you, her fingers starting a slow movement sliding up and down. You have never hated the two layers of clothing separating her fingers and your skin more. You felt her arms flex around you as she pulled your hips back against her. “But what baby? Can’t think with Daddy’s hands all over you?”

“I- Pleas-” You stuttered, struggling to come up with words as you pathetically rocked against the redhead’s hand. You pulled back from the wheel, fully leaning against Natasha for support. This time, she didn’t protest, giving in to what you wanted in favor of all the pretty noises you were making for her. You needed to do the one thing you knew would give her no choice but to take you right there and then. “Please Daddy, I need you to fuck me.”

By the way her hands stiffened against you, you knew you played your cards right. Natasha is always one to tell you how much she likes it when you use your words. She practically stood up with you, turning you around and pulling your apron’s string behind your back. She slid it over your head before roughly slamming you against her workbench. 

Her lips slammed against yours, her tongue immediately colliding with yours between moans and whines. Natasha slid her hands down to your hips and easily lifted you onto the tabletop. Your legs parted on instinct, allowing the older woman to stand right between them. Her fingers easily undid the button of your pants and pulled down the zipper, giving her enough space to slide her hand into your pants and feel how you’d already ruined your underwear. 

“This all for me, princess?” She asked, smirking against your lips. You whined in response, crossing your hands behind her head and trying to pull her closer. “Nuh-uh keep those hands right there, let Daddy do the work.”

Your brain practically melted as she wrapped one arm around your body, easily lifting you up so she could pull your pants and underwear down in one go. Her fingers easily met your core once again, coating themselves in your wetness as you moaned against her lips.

“Please, Daddy,” You whined, rocking your hips forward so you were almost grinding against her. “I need you, please.”

“Patience, my love,” She said, easily pushing two fingers past your entrance. You gasped at the intrusion, legs clenching around her arm as she moved her fingers inside you. Her lips met your neck again, leaving marks in their wake as they kissed down to the collar of your shirt. You whined, clenching around her fingers as she reached the perfect spot inside you.

You tried pushing Natasha closer to you by bringing your crossed wrists closer to your body. Natasha smirked, leaning in just enough to tease you, eyes glued to your face. Your eyes were screwed shut in pleasure, lips parted and waiting for Natasha’s. She hovered her lips right above yours, breaths mingling in the small space separating them. She loved being this close to you, she loved knowing how good she was making you feel.

“Nat-Natasha,” You whined, clenching around her fingers. She knew you were close, but she had to drag it out longer, seeing how much you could take. 

“That’s not my name,” She corrected, curling her fingers in the way she knew made your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

“Daddy, please,” Your voice came out unsteady as you tried to hold yourself back. “I-I’m gonna cum.”

“Not yet sweetheart,” She said, withdrawing her fingers. Tears almost rolled down your cheeks at the loss of contact, your core yearning for sweet release. “I want you to cum on my cock.”

Natasha leaned back and slid her pants down enough so she could take out the strap, your core tightening at the mere sight of it. You reached forward, taking a handful of Natasha’s shirt and pulling her into you. You kissed messily, trying to feel as much of the other as possible. 

The tip of the strap nudged your entrance, making your hips shift closer to the edge of the table. Natasha broke the kiss, just long enough to slide the large toy into your cunt. You moaned against Natasha as you bottomed out, the toy easily sliding in with your arousal alone. The redhead grunted as she began to fuck into you. The force made you support your weight on your hands behind you, your ankles locking behind Natasha. 

Your thighs clenched around Natasha’s body as she brought you closer and closer to the edge. The mumbles leaving your lips only spurring her on more. She looked at your face contorting in pleasure before trailing her lips down your jaw and onto your neck. Her hand moved from holding your hip to rest on your front, thumb rubbing against your clit. 

“You close, baby?” She asked, baby hairs sticking to her face as she continued thrusting into you. You couldn’t do anything other than nod, sloppily trying to move your hips in sync with hers. Natasha paused, pulling out before quickly and roughly flipping you onto your stomach on the table and sliding the strap back in. You arched your back in pleasure, reaching up and gripping the other edge of the table. Natasha held your hips, the sounds of your drenched pussy filling the room. “Cum for me, princess.”

You didn’t need any more than that to send you over the edge. Your body shook as the intense orgasm washed over you. Natasha slowed her thrusts, letting you ride out your orgasm as she watched you twitch under her. She slowly slid the toy out from your pussy when she saw your grip let up on the other side of the table, carefully flipping you around once again. You weakly reached up, wanting Natasha closer to you but too weak to sit up yourself.

“Fuck, Nat,” You mumbled, thighs instinctively twitching when the strap nudged your entrance when she came closer. 

Natasha’s lips moved softly against yours, her arms holding you against her as you lazily kissed her back. Her hands slid down to cup your ass, enjoying the way you whined softly against her. The two of you shared a blissful moment enjoying each other's closeness before she pulled away. 

“Do you have any other secret hobbies I should know about?”

[pubbybutch]

Clit Warming with Abby

Length: 850-ish words

Synopsis: Abby helps you relax in a new way after a hard shift in the med bay. It’s pretty much just fluffy clit warming drabble…

CWs: Oral (R! Receiving), No use of Y/N, Cute Nicknames (sweetheart, sweet girl, baby), Spooning, Slight Somnophilia, Consent checks

*requests are open atm*

NO MINORS, MEN OR CUNTS 💚

(This is to keep anyone waiting on the next Chapter of the Twilight AU sedated while I do some extra editing and get stuff beta read.)

You come into your room at the stadium after a long shift on medical watch and Abby is cleaning her boots at your table, her eyes meet yours and she's instantly at your side holding you into her chest with firm arms holding you so tight. Little 'oh baby's and 'easy, sweetheart's come flooding from her mouth as she carries you move to the bed set up in the corner of your studio apartment.

She holds you so tight, the best big spoon with her strong arms around you, her body heat pushing you toward a sleepy half-wakened state. As you relax she moves you so that you're laying on your back with her leaving soft open mouth kisses as she moves down your body.

She unbuttons your jeans and moves the denim down your thighs, scraping her short nails down the soft skin as she does, your skin becoming rough with goosebumps as the cool air meets the newly revealed flesh. A single thick finger travels over your underwear tracing the outline of your labia, Abby pulls away from kissing your chest and leans into your shoulder and whispers, "Can I taste you, baby?" You nod. She prompts you again. "Words, baby. Use your words."

"Please Abs, I want you to touch me."

And she does.

Swift movements that send your head reeling, your legs are lifted up and thighs now lay spread across broad freckled shoulders. A hand instinctively goes to the roots of Abby's braid, you can feel each little bump that makes up your woman's signature hairstyle, you count them ‘one, two, three, looped. One, two, three, looped...' the counting keeps you grounded.

"Abby- wait!" You pull the rope-like hair, snatching her away from your soaked center. “Yeah, baby? What's wrong?” Her panicked eyes instantly cause you to smile, she cares so much for you and that's evident by her expression, ever so evident.

"I don't want... you to go inside right now?"

"Oh? Do you want me to stop?" Her head rests against your thigh, as blue eyes look longing into what feels like your soul.

"No!" A smirk comes to her lips as the refusal rushes from your mouth. "I want something, but I don't know what exactly... is that weird?"

"Not at all... how about we try something different?"

"Different how?" Your eyes sharpen and eye her with suspicion.

"Different as in, you just put your clit in my mouth."

"We do that anyways?"

"No it's more like, I hold it in my mouth and just keep it there, keep pressure on it and keep it warm and cozy for you?”

The idea is... odd to say the least. "It sounds-"

"You don't have to say yes if you don't wanna try," she interrupts you, almost as if it's natural instinct to reassure you, "I read it in a book a couple weeks back and I thought that maybe-"

“Abigail.” She comes to a screeching halt. “I would like to try, if you'd like to as well?"

A happy little smile graces her face as she nuzzles into your thigh, dropping back down to her previous position Abby settles between your legs properly.

Thick fingers spread your lips with gentle, loving care and she leans in, her nose bumps up against your clit and the scorching heat of her mouth meets the bundle of nerves and she sucks in. The pressure that she applies to your clit is strange, you keep waiting for her to flick her tongue to tease you, but it never comes. Abby stays perfectly still.

As strange as the sensation is, that feeling of softly applied pressure with no movement or other variation, you find the intimacy nearly overwhelming. Blue eyes are meeting your gaze as you try to stop your eyes from closing. Abby can feel herself getting wetter and wetter as she sees how relaxed you’re becoming, all because of her and that lesbian porno novel she found.

With your clit held safe and tight in her warm wet mouth, a wave of heated drowsiness hits you as you jolt up a few times catching yourself before you fall asleep. But in spite of your best efforts, sleep eventually comes upon you.

Abby doesn’t notice initially that your breathing has evened out in your sleep, so wrapped up in keeping you and your sweet bundle of nerves content. When she feels the hand on her head go slack, freeing her braid from your grasp, she pulls away. A long string of saliva attaches the two of you as it stretches between her lips and your lower ones. She breaks the string and sits back up on her haunches before slipping her way up to be your big spoon once again. With an arm around your waist and the other supporting her head, Abby leans into your ear. With a quick chaste kiss to the skin behind your ear, she whispers, “thank you sweet girl.” She settles behind you and quickly follows your lead and joins you in peaceful, content dreaming.

[velvetvexations]

Seeing the whole "let's just mock vaginas to trigger the TMEs" thing being painted as feminist is making me lose it because not only everything everyone has already said, but also are they aware that society is so vagina-phobic that if you show someone with a penis getting off you can squeeze by with a PG-13 rating, but if you show someone with a vagina getting off it's immediately a hard R. This used to be feminism 101, people talked about how it's ridiculous that vaginas are considered obscene in a way penises are not quite often and there was something of a push to change it, but eventually I guess everyone turned into anti-sex puritans and we stopped caring that showcasing a specific type of sexual expirience is punished so harshly you basically can't depict it at all(unless it's something like Deadpool or 50 Shades where an R is expected most movie studios will fight tooth and nail to get a movie to be PG-13 up to and including removing any depiction of people with vaginas experiencing sexual pleasure) so yeah saying "let's all start acting like vaginas are disgusting as a gotcha" shows that the people speaking are completely ignorant of feminist history and the issues we have always been fighting to address.

I've also literally seen TERFs use the demonization of vaginas to justify being that way about penises. It's a radfem loop lol.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Where You Belong

The studio hums with the low thump of bass and the rhythmic tapping of fingers on keyboards. It’s late—way past when you’d normally be in bed, curled up against Marshall’s side, but he didn’t want to leave you at home tonight. So here you are, tucked into a corner of the dimly lit room, quietly watching as he works.

The guys don’t mean anything by it, you tell yourself as one of them hands you an empty bottle with a murmured, “Can you toss this for me?” Another asks you to grab some water from the mini-fridge. It’s not rude, not exactly—but it does make you shift uncomfortably, your hands curling in your lap. You’re not an assistant. You’re his wife.

Marshall hasn’t said anything yet, but you can feel his eyes on you between takes, sharp and unreadable. He’s been watching—he always watches.

Then, someone claps their hands together. “Hey, could you—”

“Yo.”

Marshall’s voice cuts through the room like a blade. The casual chatter halts. You glance up just in time to see him push back from the console, his expression unreadable but his body language screaming something possessive, something warning.

“She ain't here for that,” he says, voice deceptively calm. “She’s here for me.”

The room is silent. The tension crackles. Your stomach twists as everyone looks between the two of you, but you don’t move, waiting for Marshall to decide what he wants.

And he does.

With an almost lazy motion, he reaches for you, his fingers curling around your wrist as he tugs you forward—easily, effortlessly, like you weigh nothing. You stumble slightly, but it doesn’t matter because he’s already guiding you into his lap, his arms looping around your waist.

It’s not the first time he’s had you like this, but it is the first time in front of the guys, and your cheeks heat instantly. Still, you don’t resist. You never do. Instead, you melt against him, small and soft in his hold, and he exhales like that’s exactly what he wanted.

His chin finds your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. “You good?” he murmurs, meant just for you.

You nod, fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie. “Mhm.”

Marshall hums in approval before turning his attention back to the room. “We good now?” he asks, though it’s not really a question.

No one argues.

And just like that, conversation resumes, but the dynamic has shifted. No one asks you for anything else. No one even looks at you the wrong way.

Because Marshall’s made it clear—there’s only one place you belong. And it’s right here.

The weight of Marshall’s arm around you is grounding, his grip firm but familiar, keeping you exactly where he wants you. You can feel the heat of his body through his hoodie, the steady rise and fall of his chest. It’s a silent claim, one the guys clearly understand, because no one so much as glances in your direction now.

His fingers trace absentminded circles against your hip as he turns back to work, listening to the track play back, nodding in approval. You stay quiet, content in your place, your head resting against his shoulder. It doesn’t matter that there are others in the room—when you’re in his lap like this, wrapped up in him, the world shrinks to just the two of you.

Marshall leans forward slightly to adjust something on the mixing board, shifting you with him like it’s nothing, like you’re just an extension of him. His lips brush your temple in a fleeting, almost absentminded gesture, but you feel it all the same, warmth blooming in your chest.

“Yeah, that’s better,” he mutters, satisfied with whatever change he made. One of the producers chimes in with a comment, and the conversation flows again, but Marshall keeps one hand on you, his thumb now running slow, lazy strokes over your thigh.

Minutes pass, maybe hours—you’re not sure. Time moves differently when you’re with him. Your body relaxes more and more, until you feel like you could drift off completely, lulled by the sound of his voice, the low thrum of bass vibrating through the room, the steady rhythm of his fingers against you.

Then, his breath is at your ear, quiet enough that no one else can hear. “Sleepy, baby?”

You nod, barely lifting your head, and he huffs out something that’s almost a chuckle.

“A’ight.” He leans back again, one arm tightening around you, the other adjusting his mic. “Guess we’re callin’ it soon.”

He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t explain. He just makes the decision, and no one questions it.

And you, as always, let him take care of you.

---

The weight of exhaustion tugs at you, but you don’t fight it. Not when you’re wrapped up in him like this, his hoodie soft against your cheek, his warmth seeping into your skin. His arm is still around your waist holding you close.

The track loops, the bass thrumming low, and then Marshall starts murmuring to himself—half-formed words, a flow building in his mind. You know this part. You’ve seen it a hundred times, the way he gets lost in it, the way the world fades until it’s just him and the beat.

His hand on your thigh taps out a rhythm. You can feel the energy thrumming through him, the way his breathing changes, the way his fingers flex like he’s already gripping the mic.

Then, it happens—he starts spitting. Low at first, almost muttering under his breath, but then he finds it, and the words spill out fast and sharp, weaving through the beat like they were meant to be there all along.

You stir against him, but you don’t pull away. Even through your exhaustion, you love watching him like this—watching him work, watching him get completely lost in his element.

The music swells, and he tightens his hold on you instinctively, keeping you close as he leans forward slightly, adjusting the levels with one hand while still flowing effortlessly.

And then, just as quickly as he started, he exhales, running a hand down his face, shaking his head like he just woke up from a trance.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself, then glances down at you.

You’re still curled into him, eyes half-lidded, body pliant against his. His expression softens instantly, guilt flickering in his eyes.

“Damn, baby,” he murmurs, shifting his grip to cradle you more comfortably. “I forgot you were ‘bout to pass out on me.”

You hum sleepily, barely managing to lift your head. “S’okay,” you mumble, voice thick with exhaustion.

He huffs out a quiet chuckle, one hand brushing up and down your back. “Yeah? You sure? ‘Cause you look like you’re about two seconds from knockin’ out right here.”

You don’t answer, just nuzzle further into him, and his heart clenches in that way it always does when you go soft for him.

“Alright,” he says, voice dropping to something gentler, something just for you. “Lemme wrap this up, then we’ll go home, yeah?”

You nod against his chest, and his hand slides up to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, keeping you right where he wants you.

And even though he’s still got music in his veins, still riding the high of his flow, he doesn’t let go. He keeps you close, keeps you warm, keeps you his.

Always.

The studio hums around you, voices blending with the low thump of bass as Marshall absentmindedly runs his fingers up and down your spine. His other hand is still adjusting levels, still playing with the beat, but his grip on you never loosens.

You’ve gone nearly boneless against him, tucked into his chest, your breaths slow and even. You’re not fully asleep, but you’re floating—somewhere between wakefulness and dreams, lulled by the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Then, a voice cuts through the space.

“Yo, Em—she’s out, man,” one of the guys chuckles. “You sure she don’t wanna stretch out on the couch or somethin’?”

It’s not a bad suggestion. The couch in the corner is definitely more comfortable than a studio chair, but before you can even process the thought, Marshall speaks—sharp, unwavering.

“Nah,” he says, his voice low but firm. “She’s fine.”

There’s a beat of silence, the energy in the room shifting. You don’t have to look to know he’s giving that look—the one that shuts down conversations before they even start.

The guy huffs a quiet laugh, backing off immediately. “A’ight, man. Just sayin’.”

Marshall doesn’t bother responding. Instead, he shifts slightly, adjusting you in his lap like you’re the only thing that matters. His hand slides up to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he presses his lips to your temple.

“Doin’ good, baby?” he murmurs, voice softer now, just for you.

You nod sleepily against him, and he exhales, something like satisfaction rumbling in his chest. His grip tightens, keeping you exactly where you are—where you belong.

The guys get the message. No one else makes a comment. No one dares suggest moving you again.

Because Marshall’s made it clear—you’re not going anywhere.

---

He’s barely thinking about it, just feeling you—your warmth, the way your fingers stay curled loosely in the fabric of his hoodie, the way you sigh softly when he shifts. It’s second nature now, the way you melt for him. The way you trust him completely, letting him hold you, letting him keep you.

And then—just like that—it clicks.

That one verse, the one he’s been struggling to land all night, suddenly unravels in his head, smooth and effortless. The words were there the whole time, hiding in the quiet, in the way you surrender to him so easily, in the way he never wants to let you go.

His grip tightens on your hip, and his breath leaves him in a sharp exhale.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, his mind already racing, already piecing it together.

You stir slightly, mumbling something unintelligible against his chest, but he hushes you softly, his fingers trailing up to cup the back of your head.

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby. Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair.

But his eyes are already on the mic, his pulse thrumming with something electric.

He nods to the engineer, signaling to roll the track again. The beat starts up, low and steady, and Marshall leans in, his voice smooth but sharp as he finally delivers the verse that’s been evading him all night.

And this time—it fits. Perfectly.

The guys nod along, murmuring their approval, but Marshall’s barely paying attention to them. His focus is on the way you breathe against him, the way you shift slightly but stay tucked in close, soft and warm in his arms.

He glances down at you, his voice dropping just above a whisper as he delivers the last line, one he hadn’t planned but knows belongs there now:

"And I ain't lettin’ go—nah, not now, not ever."

The track cuts, silence settling over the room for half a beat before someone mutters, “Damn. That’s it.”

Marshall exhales, his grip on you firm, protective, possessive. He knows it’s good. Knows it’s right. Because it came from you, from this—this quiet, sweet moment that no one else in the room will ever really understand.

And as the playback starts, as his own voice echoes through the speakers, he just holds you closer.

The track plays back, the verse finally slotting into place like it was always meant to be there. The energy in the room shifts—something satisfied, something settled. The guys murmur their approval, nodding along to the flow, but Marshall barely registers them.

His attention is on you.

You’re still tucked against him, your breath soft and even, your body warm in his lap. Even in sleep, you stay close, trusting, like you know—know—you’re safest here. His hand strokes slow, lazy circles against your hip, grounding both of you.

“That’s the one,” the engineer says after a beat. “Want another take?”

Marshall shakes his head. “Nah. That’s it.”

He means it. It’s right. He can feel it.

The guys nod, start wrapping up, but he stays still, listening to the verse again, his own voice running back at him through the speakers. His words hit differently now, not just bars, not just flow—something real, something meant only for you, even if no one else knows it.

"And I ain't lettin’ go—nah, not now, not ever."

He means that, too.

With a quiet sigh, he shifts slightly, one arm looping under your legs as he adjusts you in his lap. You murmur something sleepily but don’t wake, just nuzzle closer into his chest. His lips twitch—something small, something private—before he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“All done, baby,” he mutters, voice low and rough from rapping. “Time to go home.”

He stands carefully, lifting you effortlessly, and no one says a word. They just glance over, exchange knowing looks, but no one dares make a comment. They know better.

Marshall adjusts you against him, keeping you snug against his chest as he makes for the door. And even as the studio fades behind him, as the cool night air hits, as he carries you to the car—he’s still got that line in his head, still got you in his arms.

And he ain’t lettin’ go.

---

The house is quiet when Marshall carries you inside, the dim glow from the kitchen the only light guiding his way. You’re barely awake, your body limp and soft in his arms, but when he shifts to unlock the door, you whimper—the smallest sound, barely more than a breath—and nuzzle against his chest, reaching for him even in sleep.

Something tugs deep inside him, something raw and unshakable.

You don’t even know you’re doing it—don’t know how easily you seek him out, how naturally you cling to him. Like you trust him completely. Like you need him. Even knowing everything you do about him—all the darkness, the temper, the past—you still want him.

And fuck, does that do something to him.

He exhales sharply, tightening his hold on you as he carries you up the stairs. You’ve always been softer than him—smaller, gentler, all quiet patience and easy submission—but it’s not just that. It’s the way you let him be who he is, the way you don’t flinch from the shadows clinging to him.

He swallows hard, pushing open the bedroom door and stepping inside. The room is dark, the bed waiting, but he hesitates. Just for a second.

Then, carefully, he lowers you onto the mattress, peeling back the covers before tucking you in. His fingers linger at the hem of your hoodie—his hoodie, the one swallowing you up—but he doesn’t pull it off, just smooths it down over your stomach before brushing his knuckles along your cheek.

And then you do it again.

A soft whimper, barely more than a breath, as you shift under the blankets, your hands searching, reaching—for him.

His chest tightens, something hot and possessive curling inside him.

“Shhh, baby,” he murmurs, leaning down, brushing his lips against your forehead. “I’m right here.”

You sigh at his voice, settling slightly, but your fingers still grasp weakly at his hoodie, like you need his warmth, need him close.

And maybe you do. Maybe you always will.

He exhales through his nose, running a hand down his face before slipping off his hoodie, then his jeans, leaving just his boxers and a t-shirt. He wasn’t planning on climbing in just yet, but fuck it. You want him close?

You get him close.

Carefully, he eases into bed, sliding under the covers and pulling you against his chest. You go willingly, instantly, your small body molding to his like you were meant to be there.

His arm locks around your waist, holding you firm against him, his lips pressing into your hair.

“Go to sleep, baby,” he mutters, his voice rough, almost strained.

You let out a soft hum, your breath warm against his collarbone. “Mmm... love you.”

His grip tightens. His throat feels tight, too.

He presses his lips to your temple, lingering for a second. “Love you too,” he murmurs. “More than you know.”

And as your breathing evens out, as your body softens even further against him, he just holds you closer—because he doesn’t know what the fuck he’d do if he ever lost you.

The room is still, the only sound the quiet rhythm of your breathing against his chest. Marshall stays awake longer than he should, staring at the ceiling, his hand absently stroking slow circles on your back.

You’re so fucking soft. Always have been. The way you fit against him, the way you melt into him without hesitation—it does something to him, something he can’t put into words.

He’s never been soft. Not really. He’s sharp edges and frayed tempers, battle-worn and restless. But you—you move through life gently, and somehow, you’ve never let his darkness scare you away. You’ve seen the worst of him, stood in the storm of his anger, his demons, and yet—you still want him.

That truth settles deep in his chest, something warm and almost painful.

He tightens his grip on you, pulling you impossibly closer. You let out a little sound, barely more than a breath, and burrow deeper against him like you belong there.

And fuck, maybe you do.

He presses his lips to your hair, lingers there. “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?” he murmurs, voice low, rough.

You don’t answer, already too deep in sleep, but it doesn’t matter.

Because the truth is—he needs you. More than you’ll ever realize. More than he’ll ever be able to say.

So, he doesn’t say anything else.

He just holds you tighter, pressing another kiss to your forehead before finally letting sleep take him, too.

---

[xtra7s]

Well, since we know her iconic SNL performance (which was on loop) how would r react. Cause like I'm in love with herrrr. It could be like a live reaction or they are live and fans requested for a reaction vid

(Just a gay thought)

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋: 𝐒𝐍𝐋 ─── 𝘙𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘦 𝘙𝘢𝘱𝘱 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Synopsis: Y/N watches Renee preform on SNL.

Content: Renee Rapp x Fem!Reader, literally just Y/N swooning over Renee as she preforms, complete fluff

Word Count: 1.1k

masterlist | first part | second part | third part

a/n: I LOVED WRITING THIS, I added Snow Angel too because I felt like it was too short with just Not My Fault. Hope you enjoy!!

The stage lights bathed Renee Rapp in a warm glow as she took center stage on Saturday Night Live. The hushed anticipation in the studio was palpable, but amidst the cheering crowd, Y/N sat, fidgeting with nervous excitement. It was a secret thrill, knowing that the woman who held her heart was about to captivate the world.

Jacob Elordi was on stage, smiling widely as he introduced Renee. "Ladies and gentlemen, Renee Rapp!"

The stage was set in a soft, ethereal light as Renee Rapp prepared to perform "Snow Angel" on Saturday Night Live. The melancholic notes of the piano filled the studio, creating an atmosphere of haunting beauty. The audience hushed in anticipation as Renee lay on the stage floor, an ethereal figure amidst the gentle glow.

Y/N, seated amidst the crowd, watched with bated breath. As the first lines of the sorrowful ballad left Renee's lips, a wave of emotion washed over the audience. Renee's voice, rich with emotion, painted a poignant picture of heartache and longing. The harmonies join her as she sings, and Y/N finds herself captivated, unable to tear her gaze away from the captivating performance unfolding before her.

Renee's form on the ground seemed to embody the weight of the song's melancholy. The vulnerability in her voice resonated, and Y/N felt a deep connection to the emotions conveyed. The crowd sat in rapt silence, collectively holding their breath, as Renee lay there, pouring her heart into each delicate lyric.

More instruments joined the song, Renee standing up from the floor as the song swelled. The melancholy tones transitioned into a powerful crescendo, and the studio transformed into a sea of emotions. Y/N, now on the edge of her seat, felt a lump forming in her throat. The raw intensity of the performance left her in awe, a silent witness to the soul-baring artistry on display.

As Renee's voice soared through the studio, Y/N couldn't help but feel a deep admiration for the vulnerability and strength intertwined in the performance. It was a heartbreaking and beautiful symphony, and Y/N found herself lost in the haunting melody, her emotions mirroring the raw intensity and flow of the song.

When the final note hung in the air, the studio erupted into applause. Y/N joined in, her admiration for Renee's talent mingling with a profound sense of connection. As Renee smiled and the lights dimmed, she spun around and applauded the people playing the instruments to her song. Y/N couldn't shake the lingering impact of the song, grateful to have been present for a performance that transcended the stage and touched the depths of her soul.

After a short break, Jacob Elordi hosting and speaking, Rachel McAdams Walks on stage, smiling at the applause before gesturing her hands up.

"Ladies and gentlemen, once again, Renee Rapp!" She speaks loudly, gesturing her arms to the stage Renee is standing on top of.

The first notes of "Not My Fault" begin to float through the air, and Y/N's gaze is fixed on Renee. The way she was dancing, the raw power in her voice, the way she effortlessly commanded the stage, left Y/N breathless. Each lyric that came from her mouth had Y/N squirming in her seat. The crowd responded with thunderous applause, but for Y/N, it was a personal serenade, an intimate connection she could only share in secret.

"god damn, she looks so good I could die," Y/N murmurs under her breath, sitting up and adjusting in her seat.

As the song continued, Renee's stage presence intensified, her magnetic energy filling the room. Y/N couldn't help but feel a swell of emotion, pride, and an ache in her chest from the sheer brilliance of the performance. It was a potent mix of love and admiration, leaving her utterly flustered in the midst of the electrifying moment.

The entire time Renee has been singing, Y/N's eyes have been drifting down her neck to her stomach, her cheeks covered in a maroon shade as she takes in Renee's outfit. 

she has too much trust in that top.

Renee does a little dance as she sings with the backup dancers, getting to Y/N's favorite part. "Get her number, get her name, get a good thing while you can. Kiss a blonde, kiss a friend, can a gay girl get an amen?"

Y/N was immediately standing as she watched this, yelling out amen after Renee sang that part. Renee notices her in the crowd beyond the blinding lights and sends a wink her way.

The cake begins to spin around as Renee is singing, revealing Megan Thee Stallion as she raps her part of the song. Renee does a little dance in front of Megan as she sings, them both going into sync as they do their choreography. Renee sticks her tongue out while she smiles, making the cheers louder around Y/N.

Renee dances with her hands in the air and does a body roll as Megan sings, pulling her mic back to her face and singing again. It's short-lived as the song is getting to an end, Megan speaking into her mic. "What's up SNL??!" The cheers get louder as she does, Renee joining in. "Give it up for Megan Thee Stallion!!" She yells into the mic, jokingly twerking for a second before jumping back into the end of the song, "It's not my fault you're like in love with me." She sings as she gets closer to Megan, turning her head to smile at her. "You're like in love with me."

When the final notes hung in the air, the applause was deafening. Y/N joined in, clapping enthusiastically, but her eyes never left Renee. The stage seemed to shimmer around her secret girlfriend, a beacon of talent and passion that left Y/N in awe.

As Renee laughed with Megan and then hugged her, waving to the stage before rushing off stage the applause echoed, and Y/N couldn't suppress the giddy smile that spread across her face. She had witnessed something extraordinary, something incredibly sexy and beautiful, and it filled her with a warmth that lingered long after the lights dimmed. In the secrecy of the crowd, Y/N reveled in the magic of being in love with a woman who could command a stage with such brilliance, all while keeping their connection hidden like a precious secret between the notes of a song.

[crescencestudio]

when i release the Enhanced Demo one of u has to promise me u will download it do u understand. imagine if no one downloaded it omg u all would never hear from me again fr

beta testing has been going well. here r some of my fave comments:

there they are, all in their glory

i’ll die

it’s all fun and games until you enter the death loop

scrumptious

AHHHHHHH (Kuna'a)

AHHHHHHHHHHH (Fenir)

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH (Etza)

multiple people not starting the game bc they r hypnotized by the title screen (including someones cat)

multiple people not live reacting bc they r too immersed in the game

everything is amazing and definitely worth the wait

if you’d like to play the beta still, you can access it on Patreon at the Hydra level:

[pinkyjulien]

▶ Johnny, Mikoshi, and SPI AIs

Years ago I bought some of the original TTRPG sourcebooks and only just recently started to really read through them 👀 It's a blast and I recommend every cp77 fan to get them!

I'm mainly focusing on the Cyberpunk RED era - it's set during the 2040's (2045) and exist as a canon, direct bridge between the Cyberpunk 2020 pen and paper, and the Cyberpunk 2077 game;

"[...] In addition, RED allows us to create something unparalleled in gaming history—a tabletop RPG that serves as the perfect onramp for the expanded and far future of the Cyberpunk 2077 arc. With threads looping forwards and back through the timeline, my partners at CDPR (Patrick, Adam, Marcin, Amelia—let's face it, the whole damned 600+ crew at the CD studio) and our crew at R. Talsorian Games have given you a deep, complex gaming experience you can explore on both the tabletop and the video screen." - Mike Pondsmith, Cyberpunk RED (2020)

In the Cyberpunk RED sourcebook, we get to read through the real events that took place in 2013, the kidnapping and "death" of Alt

"He's coming out of the Hammer, about midnight, and he sees them. Three punks,mohawks bright and bristly with reflected neon, wearing high-collared jackets; gang colors." - Cyberpunk RED, page 5

We also get to read the Arasaka bombing event, how Johnny really died- and who's responsible for getting him soulkilled... 👀

"On the other side of the room, Johnny crouches under a desk, fighting with his past between bursts of gunfire. I left Alt last time. Just abandoned her. Not again. Never again. Better to burn out, says the Hand. Yeah, Johnny says to himself—and he knows what he has to do." - Cyberpunk RED, page 121

I'm obviously not going to post the whole chunks here and DEADASS ENCOURAGE YOU TO CHECK THEM OUT FOR YOURSELVES - especially if you love Johnny, Rogue, Alt and the entire old crew, it's a real treat!

Anyway, the reason why I'm making this post is because I got further into the book and into the parts about AIs

We know our Johnny, the engram stuck in V's head, isn't a reliable narrator; we learn why and how in the previously mentioned stories on how these events went down - We also know that, well, our Johnny isn't really much of Johnny - He, and everyone who has been Soulkilled, are known as "SPI" AIs

"Soulkilled Pseudo Intellects (SPI) are AIs that were originally actual people but have had their consciousness digitized and now exist only on computers in the NET. The process is often not voluntary — Soulkiller programs produce this type of AI. Otherwise indistinguishable from Symbolic Analysis AIs, these "ghosts" were created in huge numbers as Arasaka put its infamous Soulkiller program to work targeting enemies and rivals alike. The majority of these SPIs have gathered in sanctuaries around deserted mainframes and city systems abandoned by Corporations or (as in the case of a number of bio-plague attacked cities along the Asian Rim) totally abandoned cities. Most of these "ghosts" just want a safe place to live; rumor has it that Alt Cunningham, the creator of Soulkiller and a digital ghost herself, has created a number of "ghost towns" in hidden places all over the remains of the Old NET. They pretty much want to be left alone." - Cyberpunk RED, page 263

We learn about other types of AIs in this section as well - but obviously this one grabbed my attention because, well, that's the Johnny we know - and that's also who, what V becomes after Mikoshi (talking here about the canon game events in some of the endings ofc)

It is so interesting and almost comforting in a way to read about this, to have a proper name and description of what we see and experience in game

I'm late to the party of course, I bet this was already a known thing - but wanted to share it here cause again, it was really really interesting to read and made me feel things hHHHH a lot to think about

[amayaonly1]

Verses Unwritten: A Rap Odyssey

Eminem x Rapper!OC

Verse 5

About: Genji finds herself immersed in the creative chaos of her music studio, only to be drawn into an unexpected conversation with Eminem, who invites her to the release of his deeply personal book. The event in New York unveils a different side of him, vulnerable yet resilient, sparking questions about their connection and his decision to share this moment with her. Amid the city's electric energy, old friendships resurface, and Genji reflects on the intricate layers of human connection and creativity.

"Verses Unwritten: A Rap Odyssey" Chapter List: Verse 1 | Verse 2 | Verse 3 | Verse 4 | Verse 5 | Verse 6 | Verse 7 | Verse 8 | Verse 9 | Verse 10 | Verse 11 | Verse 12 | Verse 13 | Verse 14 | Verse 15 | Verse 16 | Verse 17 | Verse 18 | Verse 19 | Verse 20 | Verse 21 | Verse 22 | Verse 23 | Verse 24 | Verse 25 | Verse 26 | Verse 27

Disclaimer: This work is a work of fiction, and any involvement of the character Genji is purely fictional and not representative of any real person.

The gentle glow of her laptop screen lit up the dim studio as Genji adjusted the final EQ levels of the track. A sultry R&B instrumental looped softly in the background, filling the room with smooth undertones. She leaned back in the swivel chair, rubbing her temples. The creative process was relentless, yet deeply satisfying, like a puzzle she's never tired of solving.

Her phone buzzed on the cluttered desk, breaking her concentration. She glanced at the caller ID which sent an involuntary smile to her lips — Eminem. The name flashed against the faint glow of her screen, stirring an unexpected mix of emotions. Her lips curved into a small, involuntary smile, and her heart quickened, though she quickly pushed aside the ripple of nerves. Their conversations were sporadic and mostly about music, yet she could always tell when he was up to something. His invitations were never without a hint of unpredictability.

"Hey," she answered, her voice warm.

"Hey to you too," came his familiar voice, carrying a hint of excitement. "You busy?"

"Always," she teased, swivelling her chair. "But I'm listening."

"Well, I've been working on something different," he began, his voice casual yet deliberate tone. "Figured I'd let you know before the rest of the world does."

"Oh? Don't tell me you're trading rap for country music," she joked, stifling a laugh.

"Nah, I ain’t got the boots for that," he deadpanned, but the faint amusement in his voice gave him away. "No, it's a book. My book. I'm throwing a release party in New York next month."

"A book?" Genji repeated, her eyebrows arching; intrigued. "Interesting... Didn't peg you as the literary type."

"Yeah, well, surprise, surprise," He replied with mock indignation, drawing a soft chuckle from her. "I ain't all about beats and rhymes, y'know. Not like this is the first book I wrote, anyway."

"So what's it about? A collection of your best insults?"

"Yeah, and chapter one’s all about you," he fired back without missing a beat, earning a chuckle from her. Although, she could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

His tone shifted then, vulnerability slipping through. "Nah, it’s more like my version of therapy. It's about my life, the ups and downs... all the shit I went through, y'know I'm saying?" His words carried a weight that caught her off guard, silencing the teasing.

Genji leaned forward, gripping the phone tighter as a quiet understanding passed between them. "And you want me there?"

"Yeah," he said. "It's at Recon on October 15th, 8 p.m. You not flying back to Japan soon, right?"

"No, I got back like last week. Makes no sense for me to suddenly go back now, especially with new projects lining up."

"Alright, I guess I'll see ya there. Don't make me hunt you down."

"I'll be there," she relented, chuckling. "But you owe me a signed copy."

"Deal. I'll send a car. No excuses."

The call ended with a soft click, leaving Genji staring at her phone, a faint smile lingering on her lips. Eminem wasn’t one to extend such invitations lightly. He’d always been guarded, a trait she understood and respected. So being included felt meaningful, as it gave her a glimpse into his tumultuous inner world often masked by that aloof exterior.

The buzz of New York City filled the crisp October evening, its energy electric: a cacophony of honking cabs, distant sirens, and the rhythmic chatter of late-night pedestrians. Neon lights flickered in a kaleidoscope of colours, reflecting off rain-slicked streets and adding an electric glow to the city's bustling chaos.

Genji stepped out of the black car Eminem had sent, dressed in a long-sleeved V-neck navy blouse tucked into high-waisted white pants, and paired with black, heeled ankle boots. Her silver hoop earrings glinted faintly as she adjusted her scarf against the October chill. Anticipation swirled in her chest as she approached the building.

Inside Recon, the pulsating rhythm of music and conversation surrounded her. The low hum of excitement buzzed in the air, the sound of familiar voices blending with the buzz of anticipation for the night ahead. She'd always known Eminem as a force of nature in the music world, but tonight felt different. This wasn't about Slim Shady, and she could feel the weight of his presence in every detail.

She didn't have long to ponder the matter before Eminem himself walked into the room, cutting through the crowd like a storm. He spotted her almost immediately, and a subtle shift in his expression signalled a mixture of relief and determination.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice casual, but with that unmistakable edge that never quite left, even in softer moments. There was a slight hesitation in his steps, like he wasn’t sure how much of himself he wanted to reveal. "Glad you could make it."

"Wouldn't miss it especially when you personally invited me," she replied, offering him a smile. "Looks like a big night."

"It is," he agreed, glancing at her with a flicker of something genuine in his eyes. "But… you showing up? Kinda makes it better. But don't go telling people I said that." He smirked, the familiar, self-deprecating humour slipping in to mask the moment.

"Duly noted, sir," Genji answered playfully, though her curiosity piqued by the underlying tone in his voice. There was a softness there, a subtle shift in the way he was standing, as if he was letting something unspoken hang between them. The usual bravado he was known for hadn't disappeared; it lingered, but underneath, there was a fragility, a kind of quiet gratitude.

"Good, keep it that way," he said, glancing at the ground briefly before meeting her gaze again. "Alright, I gotta go. Gotta do Shade 45 and all that." He gestured loosely toward the broadcast setup, then paused. "Catch you after, maybe?"

"Maybe," she teased, watching as he turned and walked off with that familiar swagger, though she couldn't help but notice the way his shoulders carried a touch less weight than before.

Leaving her standing with a whirlwind of questions, Genji watched him disappear into the crowd, his presence still lingering like the echo of a verse unfinished. There was definitely something softer in him tonight, a glimpse of the man behind the razor-sharp words and bulletproof persona. But the question remained: why her?

They had worked on only two songs, sure, but hardly the kind of history that explained this unguarded moment. Their conversations, few and far between, had been all about music: beats, lyrics, the mechanics of creation. Nothing in those exchanges had hinted at this level of familiarity, this openness.

Had she missed something in the rhythm of their words? Or was this simply another side of him, one he rarely let anyone see, bleeding through the cracks? Whatever it was, it left her unsettled, like standing on the precipice of something far deeper than she'd anticipated.

"Baby G!"

A familiar voice echoed through the room, cutting through her thoughts. She turned to see LL grinning widely as he strode towards her. The moment they looked at each other, his face broke into a wide grin, and she couldn't help but return it.

"James!" Genji greeted. "How have you been?"

"Good," he beamed, pulling her in for a quick, friendly hug. "Still causing chaos in Japan?"

"Always," she quipped with a mischievous smirk. "Then I'll disappear for a year before shaking things up again."

He laughed, shaking his head. "That sounds exactly like you — unpredictable and always keeping people guessing. I still remember how you got MTV Japan to broadcast me, De La Soul, MC Lyte, and A Tribe performing live from New York. I still don't know how you pulled that off." He leaned closer, his grin widening. "And I'm pretty sure half the world doesn't even know it was you who made it happen."

"That was fun," Genji admitted, a wave of nostalgia washing over her. Those days felt like a lifetime ago, but she still remembered the rush of pulling off something so ambitious. She was so passionate about spreading hip-hop in her country. It was laboriously slow, but in the end, it was worth it. "I listened to Exit 13, by the way. You still got that energy, huh?"

"Of course," he replied, flexing his biceps with mock seriousness. "You know me; staying strong, staying smooth. Gotta keep the legacy alive."

Genji rolled her eyes, laughing. "But in all seriousness, you've still got it. I'll give you that."

"Hey," he said suddenly, his expression turning playful. "Let's grab a photo. It's been too long since we had one together."

"Er…" She hesitated, her smile faltering for a moment. "We can, uh, have someone take one for us."

"C'mon, Baby G," he teased, raising an eyebrow. "For such a pretty young thing like you, you sure hate photos."

Her gaze softened, and she murmured, "Well, 1995 happened…" The words lingered in the air, and for a split second, her lighthearted demeanour dimmed.

LL paused, his playful smirk faltered, now replaced by an understanding nod. "Yeah… I get it," he muttered quietly, his tone carrying a depth that only close friends could share. "But hey, this is different. It's us. No pressure."

Genji studied him for a moment, then sighed. "Alright, James. Since you asked, let's do it."

"That's what I'm talking about!" He enthusiastically gestured for her to follow him. "Photographer's right over here. Let's make this iconic."

As they reached the backdrop, the energy shifted. Cameras flashed, capturing their camaraderie in a way words couldn't. Genji stood beside him, her posture relaxing as the nostalgia and comfort of shared history took over.

"See? Not so bad," LL said, nudging her lightly as they stepped away.

She rolled her eyes playfully. "You're lucky I like you, James."

He chuckled, slipping back into their familiar banter. "I'm more than lucky, Baby G. I'm blessed to have a friend like you."

They drifted into more conversation, slipping into the comfort of shared history with each exchange. The evening unfolded with laughter, memories, and the quiet reassurance of a bond that had stood the test of time.

Genji slipped away from the noise of the event and found a quiet corner of the venue where a soft glow illuminated a secluded area. The chatter and music felt distant here, the dim lighting offering a rare moment of solitude. She swirled her drink thoughtfully, the night’s events replaying in her mind.

"Figured you'd be hiding somewhere," came a voice behind her. She turned to see Eminem leaning casually against the wall. His cap was pulled low, but it didn't hide the exhaustion etched into his face. His expression was soft and worn, like someone who'd been carrying a weight too long.

"You done entertaining guests?" she asked, her tone light but curious.

"Yeah," he said, stepping closer. "Needed a breather. Crowds aren't really my thing, y'know."

"Could've fooled me," she remarked lightly. "No offence, but I thought you'd thrive in the spotlight."

He shrugged, looking down at his shoes for a second before meeting her gaze again. "Yeah, but it's different. This… feels personal. Makes me feel exposed, y'know? Especially when I've been out of the spotlight for more than a year. Coming back like this…" he trailed off, his voice low.

Genji studied him, her expression softening as the vulnerability in his words settled between them. "I was aware of... what happened in 2006. I think this is a good start. Turning your struggles and pain into something people can connect with —that's powerful."

Eminem gave a faint chuckle, but it didn't carry his usual sharp edge. "Yeah... well, it's still easier to put it in a song than to say it outright. Writing this book? Man, it's like ripping open old wounds. Makes me question if I'm crazy for doing it."

Genji tilted her head, a thoughtful smile tugging at her lips. "Not crazy. Just… surprising. But I get it. It's not easy letting people see you. The real you."

"Nah, it's not," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "It's hard being the guy who's gotta have it together all the time, y'know I'm saying? I've been so busy being whatever the world thinks I'm supposed to be, I kinda forgot how to just… me."

There was a heaviness to his words, and Genji didn't rush to fill the silence that followed. Instead, she let the weight of his honesty linger, her own thoughts turning over in her mind.

"You know," she said eventually, her voice gentle. "You don't have to do it alone. You've got people who care about you. People who want to see you thrive."

He met her gaze, and for the first time that night, the guarded walls he so often kept in place seemed to crumble for a moment. "Yeah... but it's not easy letting people in. It's easier to keep 'em at arm's length, y'know I'm saying? Less mess that way."

His hand brushed over the brim of his cap, an absent gesture that seemed to ground him. "But you… you're not lookin' at me like I'm Slim Shady or that guy in all the headlines. And for some reason, that makes it easier to just… talk. Like, I don't gotta explain every damn thing, y'know I'm saying?"

Genji smiled faintly, crossing her arms. "Well, I think sometimes the people we don't know that well end up understanding us better than the ones who think they know everything."

Eminem tilted his head, his expression softening as he mulled over her words. "Yeah, that's some real talk. I guess it's just weird to me. Trust ain't somethin' I give out easy, but… I feel like I don't gotta worry 'bout you judging me, y'know I'm saying?"

She chuckled lightly, shaking her head. "I just want to make good music, just like you. Everything else? That's up to you to share or not."

He let out a quiet laugh, genuine but tinged with that self-deprecating humour he carried. "You got a way of makin' it sound simple, Genji. Kinda wish life worked like that."

Silence stretched between them for a moment, but it wasn't awkward. It was the kind of pause that let words settle and take root.

"That thing you said," he began again, his voice low. "About seeing someone for who they are now, not who they used to be… I dunno if I've even figured out who I am now. But maybe this — making music again — is how I start."

Genji's gaze softened, her voice quiet but firm. "That's all anyone can do, right? Take it one step at a time. You're not the guy from the early 2000s anymore, and that's okay. It's about who you want to be now."

Eminem nodded slowly, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah… guess I ain't used to people sayin' stuff like that to me. But don’t get used to this mushy shit. You caught me on a good day, is all." His smile lingered, though, the kind that suggested he didn't mind the moment as much as he claimed.

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Noted. I'll make sure to remind you the next time you're acting all grumpy."

He snorted, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. "Grumpy, huh? I just figured I was keepin’ it real."

Genji grinned, her eyes sparkling with challenge. "Wouldn’t want it any other way."

He shook his head, chuckling. "You're something else, y'know that?"

In that quiet corner, away from the lights and cameras, they found a rare moment of connection that didn't need to be defined or explained. It was just kindred souls sharing a moment of honesty in a world that rarely allows it.

[kemetic-dreams]

Minnie Julia Riperton Rudolph (November 8, 1947 – July 12, 1979) was an American singer-songwriter best known for her 1975 single "Lovin' You" and her four octave D3 to F♯7 coloratura soprano range. She is also widely known for her use of the whistle register and has been referred to by the media as the "Queen of the Whistle Register."

Minnie Riperton grew up in Chicago's Bronzeville neighborhood on the South Side. As a child, she studied music, drama and dance at Chicago's Lincoln Center. The youngest of eight children in a musical family, she embraced the arts early. Although she began with ballet and modern dance, her parents recognized her vocal and musical abilities and encouraged her to pursue music and voice. At Chicago's Abraham Lincoln Center, she received operatic vocal training from Marion Jeffery. She practiced breathing and phrasing, with particular emphasis on diction. Jeffery also trained Riperton to use her full range. While studying under Jeffery, she sang operettas and show tunes, in preparation for a career in opera. Jeffery was so convinced of her pupil's abilities that she strongly pushed her to further study the classics at Chicago's Junior Lyric Opera.

The young Riperton was, however, becoming interested in soul, rhythm and blues, and rock. In her teen years, she sang lead vocals for the Chicago-based girl group the Gems. Eventually the group became a session group known as Studio Three and it was during this period that they provided the backing vocals on the classic 1965 Fontella Bass hit "Rescue Me".

After graduating from Hyde Park High School (now Hyde Park Academy High School), she enrolled at Loop College and became a member of Zeta Phi Beta sorority. She dropped out of college to pursue her music career.

Her early affiliation with the legendary Chicago-based Chess Records afforded her the opportunity to sing backup for various established artists such as Etta James, Fontella Bass, Ramsey Lewis, Bo Diddley, Chuck Berry and Muddy Waters. While at Chess, Riperton also sang lead for the experimental rock/soul group Rotary Connection, from 1967 to 1971.

On April 5, 1975, Riperton reached the apex of her career with her No. 1 single "Lovin' You". The single was the last release from her 1974 gold album titled Perfect Angel. Riperton's third album, Adventures in Paradise was released in 1975. Despite the R&B hit "Inside My Love", some radio stations refused to play "Inside My Love" due to the lyrics.

Her fourth album for Epic Records, titled Stay in Love (1977), featured another collaboration with Stevie Wonder in the funky disco tune "Stick Together".

In 1978, Richard Rudolph and Riperton's attorney Mike Rosenfeld orchestrated a move to Capitol Records for Riperton and her CBS Records catalog. In April 1979, Riperton released her fifth and final album, Minnie. "Memory Lane" was a hit from the album.

Riperton provided backing vocals on Stevie Wonder's songs "Creepin'" from 1974's Fulfillingness' First Finale and "Ordinary Pain" from 1976's Songs in the Key of Life. In 1977, she lent her vocal abilities to a track named "Yesterday and Karma", on Osamu Kitajima's album, Osamu.

In January 1976, Riperton was diagnosed with breast cancer and, in April, she underwent a radical mastectomy. By the time of diagnosis, the cancer had metastasized and she was given about six months to live. Despite the grim prognosis, she continued recording and touring. She was one of the first celebrities to go public with her breast cancer diagnosis but did not disclose she was terminally ill.

In 1977, she became a spokesperson for the American Cancer Society. In 1978, she received the American Cancer Society's Courage Award, which was presented to her at the White House by President Jimmy Carter.

Riperton died of cancer on July 12, 1979 at the age 31.

During the 1990s, Riperton's music was sampled by many rap and hip-hop artists, including Tupac Shakur, Dr. Dre, A Tribe Called Quest, Blumentopf, The Orb

[lilarus]

We interrupt your regularly scheduled masked man posting read reblogging to bring you:

✨TES Fest '24✨

Day 1 !

B⃞ R⃞ E⃞ A⃞ T⃞ H⃞ vs F O R B I D D E N

[alt text: gif of woman (oc: Eisi) getting up after taking a deep breath, liquid dripping down body. black linework, no color. looping gif]

ramblings below

So this is the first animation/animatic I've made in years. Who thought it'd be for a character who's face I haven't finalized... AND she's nakey.. Who'd've thought...

Made on Clip Studio Paint Pro with that sweet sweet 25 frame limit bc it's a "premium feature" on CSP Ex orz

[romiantic]

LOWKEY !

rapper!earth 42!miles falling deeply in love with a rock angel member but tries to hide it from the public

→ READING: rock angel!jade-coded!black!fem!reader

→ GENRE + WARNINGS: fluff + miles & y/n do a terrible job at hiding their relationship

→ A/N: this is part of @mypimpademia 3k collab, thank you for letting me join juice. love youuuu and happy 3k <3

— miles, aka young and upcoming rapper prowler, would be head over heels, fallen in love with you. well, he would rather say that he’s into you a lot but really, this man wakes up every day thanking God that he has someone like you in his life

— he doesn’t know if it’s the personality you bring out on your shows or your angelic features that is shown on almost all social media, but miles will never get enough of you

— when he first seen you on his instagram explore page, his immediate thought was go to one of y’all shows. thankfully, he was on tour as well so some of the dates aligned, it was just depending on what his manager said

— coincidentally, his show, which was in the same city yall were performing in, was a day after yours so he had enough time to check (you)r band out. this boy got a vip package, with the meet and greet, just to get a good seat for the show and he didn’t regret it at all. he was blown away at the rock angel’s performance but even more in shock your beautiful vocals when you came out to sing, your voice brought chills and a rising temperature to his body

— the singing voice of yours was in a constant loop in his mind and brought his heart to start pumping. he doesn’t know why his heartbeat was racing but every time you got closer to your fans and shot them a smile, oh he would wish badly that you look his way. well you did and when made contact with the young boy, you felt…butterflies

— the meet and greet was no different after the show. you grew nervous at his presence, you would avoid his eyes but also smile at his blatant nervousness. your best friends/band mates that it was so cute how y’all were interacting, and they easily peeped how deeply y’all were into each other

— at first yall wanted to keep the relationship lowkey. both being artists, especially teen artists, would mean the spotlight is on yall almost every hour, every day. yall would reside to calling each other when you had the chance but a majority of the time, yall would just end up texting instead

— with the spotlight on yall two, any time yall would be spotted together, you would keep it platonic. any sign of romance would be kept in private places. though, the number of smiles and hands grazing each other when y’all are in public show that y’all are far from friends

— in public, miles would be caught smiling at some joke you mentioned and you would be poking his arm to bother him, or holding onto his waist. especially when it’s raining, you would have his hoodie on while hugging his waist and not trying to show your face

— in private, it was like best friends but more. you would hum a song while he laid on your chest, complaining to you about his recent studio session. he would lay there and tell you all his insecurities, his fears, his concerns of being a teen rapper

— sometimes y’all would sing or rap to each other snippets of y’all new song. miles does rely a lot on your opinion, besides his family, you are his biggest supporter. your opinion always matter to him, even if it’s for a verse to complete his unfinished songs

— you guys would sneak into other’s studio sessions, to give support and comfort. especially when miles visit, you feel more at ease and less tense while singing. he would give you smiles and text you words of encouragement while you’re in the booth

— sadly, fans start speculating from the songs yall would put out and how coincidentally, he would have a show the day after your show ?? yeah y’all not slick. It doesn’t help that yall would post each other songs on each other’s social media, comment hearts under each other posts, and pop into your live or the band member’s live

— it doesn’t help that miles would post mostly your part of the song on social media but hey, he says there’s nothing going on. liar

— during interviews, the host would ask if there’s anything going on between you and miles and you would deny everything but the cheeky smile on your face would show otherwise. your band mates would start laughing at your shyness and give major side eye when you deny

— but as time go on, miles would hint that there is a special girl in his life but definitely not say too much. during his instagram lives, he would avoid any comments that could drop y’all relationship and during interviews, he would play it off by saying vague answers or joke around it. any and everything that could potentially expose you, miles would pretend to not see and leave it at that

— when y’all did go public, your fans were incredibly happy and supportive for yall!

— the upcoming rapper, prowler, is speculated to date a rock angel member? oh fans will go insane for the two of yall and they did! they thought of how y’all compliment each other and begged almost everyday for a prowler x rock angel collab

⭑ why do I lowkey wanna make this into a series 🤭? lemme stop-

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: Ephesians 4:2

SPIDERMAN: ATSV MASTERLIST + MAIN MASTERLIST

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟥 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖼. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[sillymcfly]

A "visualizer" I did for musician RÜ! A series of loops spanning the course of 30-40 min in the back while she performs on stage. This is a 30 sec version :)

All made in Paintstorm Studio and Blender, with grease pencil.

Highly recommend checking her out, she's an up-and-coming artist with a crazy good voice rocking those mysterious R&B vibes 👇😎

Spotify

[vanyathedoll]

forthe ask game please tell me about lu guang

OHHGHGHHG KEWPIE I AM RUBBING MY EVIL LITTLE HANDS TOGETHER ABOUT THIS. this one goes under a cut because i get right into spoilers, sorry castor

favorite thing about them:

HE'S A HYPOCRITE HE IS SUCH A HYPOCRITE TO A HIGH DEGREE IT MAKES ME INSAAANEEEE his obsessive love and dedication to cheng xiaoshi driving him to break his own morals and rules is SO GOOD. and it only makes him double down on the rules he lays out because he keeps trying harder and harder to make sure cxs follows them, because trying to control his actions makes him easier to protect from death. i Will be looping back to this for the fave line part

least favorite thing about them:

i support gay rights and gay wrongs next question

favorite line:

not gonna pull up the episode to get a direct quote but

"You can't save them! they're already dead!" <- yelled desperately and angrily by a man trying to save someone who's already dead

brOTP:

qiao ling !! its very cute that he calls ql his jie and im excited [ and prepared to be devastated ] about season 3 possibly elaborating on their dynamic more now that she's. seen his memories and Knows what he's done.

i want to also say felix/xia fei, but i would need to put more deep thought into i think. i've read like one or two interesting fics about them but it was very surface level, which makes sense, and canon doesn't really ... give them a chance to be deeper. i think xia fei just meshes more naturally with cxs inherently, since lg isn't very social, but lg Has shown that he'll stand up to others for xia fei

OTP:

his beautiful strong dead wife cheng xiaoshi

nOTP:

same as what i said with till, my nOTPs spawn because of fandom and i think like 99% of the fandom ships him either with cheng xiaoshi or no one, and the 1% that ships him with someone else have done nothing to offend me

random headcanon:

i am so very fond and endeared to the headcanon that lg was crushing on cxs from a distance for a while before they met but was too shy to talk to him. i am So normal about that one tweet that pointed out how lg doesn't include photography in his hobbies or skills, and yet when he and cxs first properly meet, he was just .. taking random photos of the sky ? in the basketball court ????? the idea that he figured out cxs was super into photography, bought a whole ass camera, and then just hung out around him on campus taking random pictures until cxs took interest in approaching him first is so fucking dorky and cute

which ^ honestly makes it even funnier that he agreed be cxs' business partner in the photo studio. this boy is SO whipped

also he and cxs argue about who's making dinner a lot, but because they both like to cook and Hate having someone else in the kitchen with them. i think they rock paper scissors it if they can't agree on who gets to do it [ sometimes how much work they have to do or one of them not knowing what to cook decides for them ]

unpopular opinion:

once again i don't interact with the wider fandom to have a huge statement on this, but i will say, the amount of people who try to justify his actions or act like it's out of character for him to kill someone are bizarre and it pisses me off. he goes off the fucking rails at the end of season two, this dude is Weak as Shit because he's a nerd that does nothing but read all day AND he has a hole in his guts that he is constantly tearing back open and yet running on nothing but adrenaline and pure rage runs at a man whO IS ARMED WITH A GUN to beat the shit out of him because he shot cxs.

also just, more related to cheng xiaoshi than lu guang, but the amount of people who act like cxs would also break the rule of going back in time to save lg if he died. he would not. canonically. he spends episode one of season 2 thinking lg is dead and he desperately wants to go back in time to save him but can't bring himself to. this is a huge thing in their dynamic to me and it makes me clench my fist whenever people retcon it. there is so much more drama with it being included

song i associate with them:

should've known better. this is especially the case if we get a tragic end to the series where lg has to accept he can't save cxs [ WHICH IM ON MY HANDS AND KNEES WISHING WE DO NOT. ]

favorite picture of them:

i really love this poster i am constantly coming back to it

and honourable mention of the season 1 promo poster because it's what gave me pause and made me decide to watch link click way back when season 1 was coming out

[planetpissed]

...Until his wooden doors opened moments after.

“Murderface, It’s time to rewrap that hand. Sit up, sir.”

The band’s doctor, more akin to a disappointed pediatrician with their shenanigans, walked into the room with a gear in assistance. He himself was carrying a bin of medical supplies. 

Flustered, William rolled his eyes before sitting up with a scowl. 

“You take your meds?”

“Yesch, I did.”

“Good. Thank you. How’s your wrist feeling, buddy?”

William shrugged. “The schame.”

The doctor unraveled his hand, eyebrow raised. 

“Itchy, huh?”

“Very.”

“Yeah, looks like you’ve been scratching at it,” The doctor tsked, squinting.

“Hm. The more you scratch at it, the more agitated it’s going to get, Murderface.”

The assistant scanned his temperature on the other side. 

Br-rr-rr-rr!

It seemed to be janky - he kept trying to get a proper read.

Br-rr-rr-rr!

Br-rr-rr-rr!

“If you keep messing with it, the infection is going to spread. You don’t have time for a medical emergency, okay?”

Br-rr-rr-rr!

“‘tthe fuck are you schaying?”

“I’m saying, if you want to play bass, stop touching it. You have a mild infection. Here.. This should help with the itch.”

The doctor, gloved, smeared a salve onto his wrist. It felt hot.

Br-rr-rr-rr!

The klokateer shook his head. 

“It keeps saying ninety-three.”

“Give me that,” The doctor spoke, taking the thermometer, scanning Murderface’s head.

Brr rr rrr.

“…?”

He threw a serious stare at Murderface. He was looking for symptoms of…something. He tried to scan him again. Brr rr rrr.

Brr rr rrr. Brr rr r r r Br rr rr!

“…Needs new batteries, or something. Hm.”

He sat the device down and finished wrapping Will’s wrist. 

Keeping the bin on the bed, the doctor rose and gestured for the klokateer to follow him. 

“Stay put, Will. We’ll be back in a minute.”

The two left. 

…And seconds later so did Murderface, going a different direction than the medical team.

No way was he going to stay any longer. What was happening? Why were they not communicating to him? Fucking assholes! That’s why doctors are scum. Murderface had enough. He needed to be alone. He couldn’t even have that privilege in his room, anymore.

He stomped to the dethgarage, his jaw aching from how hard he clenched his teeth together.

What did he need?

A few hours out of the haus. 

To drive around. 

Drink, come back. He drove better drunk, anyway. 

Fall asleep in his cozy, warm bed.

Forget Today.

Start New Tomorrow.

The hallways were so vacant. Nobody gave a shit about him to keep proper surveillance of him. They cared about the rest of Dethklok, but no, not Mr. Murderface!

Weird enough, he was glad this time around. Nobody would bother him this way.

“Willy!” God…damn it. 

It was Dick “Magic Ears” Knubbler, out of all people, he had to be the one that Will bumped into in the hallways. He nearly crashed into Murderface as he headed toward the elevators.

The bassist tensed up, blushing in self-embarrassment.

“…Dick. What’sch up.”

“Nothin’ much, I’m preparing for a conference with C.F.O. - Tomorrow, the studio’s gonna be real busy with this prophecy business. Exciting, huh?”

William wasn’t in the loop. He was, but he made it his job to ignore everything during the meetings. Was the band going to start saving the world tomorrow? No. Maybe they’d write up ideas of songs that were Brutal, but also full of Love, something real stupid like that. How was that even possible? Dethklok had to figure it out, he guessed. 

But Dick was prepping for a call with

“Charlesch? You’re gonna talk to him schoon?”

“Yep. He’s uh. Pret-ty dedicated with this High Holy Priesthood. He’s been outlining how tomorrow will go with all the Gears. Heheheh. And he’s got many videos of Facebones for all of you, too.”

“…Aweschome.” William reacted flat. “…I’ll erm. I’ll let you to it, then, Dick.”

The blonde stared with unblinking cybernetic eyes. The lenses narrowed, scanning the bassist. It made chills go up Murderface’s spine.

“You’re supposed to be resting, aren’tcha, babe? What’s up-”

“Dick.”

“…”

Murderface swallowed.

“I’ll be back before dark. I juscht need to be at a schitty bar by myschelf, to forget who I am. I’m not feeling well.”

“…”

Dick’s eyes turned yellow, concerned brows showing he felt sympathy.

“…William. I can’t imagine the pressure you’re feeling with this metalocalypse. If you need anything, we can shoot the shit. I’ll be high as a fuckin’ kite- hah, when am I not - but I’m a great listener.”

It was so awkward. Murderface was beginning to zone out. 

“…Alright. Thanksch.”

“You go. Get a drink, loosen up. Take as long as you need. If you succeed in ah, forgetting yourself? I’ll be here if you need a reminder.”

After a gentle grip to Will’s shoulder, Dick walked down the hall. 

Murderface had to dethaw before moving the opposite way. Fighting himself from looking back, he focused on getting to his car.

>>>

Murderface had been at the bar for a little bit, now. He had no hat for a disguise, but didn’t need it. 

He felt like a walking cadaver. A sitting one, currently. His baggy old band tee was more intact than him.

A mere beer. Will just wanted that, the least a shithole bar in some random hole in the wall could provide for him. 

Sitting on a stool at the bartop, he stared at his dethphone. 

Skwisgaar had tried to call him. No voicemail. 

Toki tried to call him. Murderface deleted the voicemails he had left before he could hear them. He regretted doing that.

Pickles was now texting Murderface;

u sleepin big man? :-J hey. you ok?  Nathan is having a klokateer play the bass tonight but i doubt he’ll be able to cock slap the bass as good as u haha wait the bassist stand in just got fucking electrocuted by a frayed stage light holy fuck   ask me to show you pics of this tonight its so bad  they’re getting a new stand-in rn lets go baby wait no the other understudy hasn’t kloked in they aren’t here wtf keeping you posted  mordland sewage department said there's a chance stand in 2 point oh got dissolved by a pipe that burst down there today that let out some boiling acid or smth but i bet he’s pussying out he knows he can’t top what the willy serves understudy number 3 is the charm they’re getting him rn Oh shit its a girl gear haha looooool :-? My man hit me up I know ur fat ass is lurking on mobile 

*phat  u shittin? send pics SEND PICS IM HUNGRY hooooo my supermans just hit brooits time to warm up. I’ll call after the show u better be sleepin cuz when u wake we r gonna party fuckface

Murderface sat his phone face down on the countertop, groaning to himself. His eyes locked onto a stupid cartoon beer hops sticker on said bar counter. Looked too silly.

Thirsty?

Yeah, little hops. You could say that. A cup of your fermented piss would be great about now. 

Which… a twenty ounce was right then served to him, crushing the hops cartoon.

“Oh, I didn’t order yet,” Murder sighed, about to grab his phone again.

“I know. Sal said he owed you one.”

The bartender pointed out a tall man sitting in one of the booths, by the vacant billiards. He had half a plate of the dryest looking chicken wings, and his own beer. This man was focused on a newspaper, working on a crossword of sorts. Round rim glasses sat on his nose, helping him read the finer print.

His face looked grim and nearly disciplinary. Yet… Murderface knew this guy.

This “Sal” was the one at Depths of Humanity - His biggest fan. 

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