#They can't be the only band he listens to

[porkcutletbowl44]

A tease.

Keegan P. Russ/reader

NSFW MDNI

tags: mention of Exhibitionism, masturbation, blowjob/handjob, nudity, cum eating, horrendously down bad content

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You're taking forever.

It's like you're doing it on purpose; he had only just gotten back from a long, harsh deployment last night. And now that he has the energy, you've only given him one quick round. It's not how it goes; he's gone months without you and it ended too fast, too early, and you just didn't listen.

His hunger has only grown.

He lets out a deep breath, his mind warring between his growing need and the practicality of the situation.

He needs to get up, to get some air, to do something that isn't just sitting here and being horny, but he's so damn tired and comfortable that he doesn't want to move.

His mind is too full of lewd thoughts about what he wants to do to you.

Damn it, baby... why do you do this to me...?

He lets out a soft laugh, a little huff of amused disbelief, his eyes still focused on the ceiling.

He's starting to suspect that you're really doing it on purpose, that you know what you're doing to him. His mind is racing with thoughts of you, his body responding instantly.

Would you want to just play with it instead? Hold it? Maybe give it come clothes kisses? He gently rubs the head, keeping up some stimulation at the thought.

He lets out a soft moan at the thought of you nuzzling against his clothed cock, his hand squeezing himself just a little.

He's so worked up, his mind still racing with thoughts of you, even though you aren't even in the room. It's like he's addicted, his body yearning for your touch, your scent, your everything.

His mind is swimming with all the different things it would like you to do, to do to him. The things you could do to each other.

He's still too hard, his chest heaving ever so slightly, his breaths coming a little more ragged. He can picture you now, you on your knees in front of him, your hot mouth open for him to slap the underside of his cock head on your tongue.

He's starting to get a little carried away, his thoughts straying from anything practical, but he doesn't really care.

His cock twitches in his hand, getting some attention and a gentle caress, rubbing the head between his thumb and forefinger.

He can't help but give himself a few more slow, deliberate pumps, his hand wrapped loosely around the shaft as he tries to keep himself hard.

He's got an image of you walking in and catching him like this, touching himself while thinking of you…

And he's liking it.

He sneaks his hand under the waist band, gripping with a loose hand.

He lets out a long, quiet groan.

His hand is working a steady rhythm, his mind lost in thoughts of you. The thought of your reaction, if you were to catch him like this; how you'd look, what you'd say, what you'd do.

He gives his cock a little squeeze, trying to keep himself riding the edge of pleasure, trying not to go over.

The door isn't quite closed all the way, so if you were to get close to the room, you'd hear the gentle noises.

"God, you're in trouble when you get back..." he mutters to himself, his hand pumping lightly along his cock.

His breath hitches for a moment as the image of your lips around him flashes through his mind, the way you take him deep and good. His hand starts to pick up the pace a little, getting a little impatient. God, the feel of your hot, wet, tight throat and how it hugs him so nicely, how your hands would rub on his thighs and planes of his firm stomach.

He's still so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't hear you until you speak.

"I was only gone for a few minutes,"

He lets out a hiss of surprise, freezing instantly, his body going tense as soon as he hears your voice. He's immediately embarrassed, his mind going from filthy thoughts to mortified in the span of a second.

He's suddenly acutely aware of the position he's in, his hand in his boxers, his breathing rough and uneven. His eyes widen at being caught, and he turns his head, sheepishly meeting your gaze. his He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't hear anything, his hand instinctively flying away from his cock at the surprise audience.

He lets out a dry scoff, his face feeling a little warm at being caught. "Jesus, I didn't even hear you come back…" he says, a little sheepish.

He eyes you for a moment, his eyes quickly scanning your form, your hair, only wearing your panties. Dainty little things, barely covers up anything.

You toss him a bottle, his hand catching it easily with a quiet thanks. He's still a little on edge from being caught, but he manages to catch the bottle on reflex, He's got a small frown on his face, his mind still a little dazed.

He's still trying to process being caught like this, a little embarrassed and a little flustered. He lifts the bottle, twisting off the top and taking a large sip.

He wets his lips a little bit, his throat feeling dry despite having a fresh beverage as he looks at you. He can't find the words to say, his mind still spinning from being caught.

"Couldn't wait?" You tease.

He lets out a huff of embarrassed laughter, his eyes widening at your words. He's caught, and there's no denying it, so he doesn't even try. He can feel the flush of heat spreading over his face, probably turning his cheeks red.

He gives a sheepish shrug, his eyes still fixated on you, drinking in the sight of you perched next to him, wearing only those little panties.

His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, his eyes darting away from you, trying to regain his composure.

He lets out a quick, nervous laugh, trying to come up with something.

"Just lonely,"

He's trying to act casual, but his voice comes out a lot breathier than he intended. He looks back up at you again, eyes taking mental pictures of the sight, the love of his life.

He means it, it's the damn truth; he is lonely. It's a feeling that he's used to, it's something he's known since childhood, but it's one that he's getting tired of.

He's tired of being alone, of being by himself, of having no one to hold him or share his life with. He's tired of being the one who's always alone, of never having someone who can make him feel less lonely.

He's lonely, and he doesn't like it.

(And yes, 3 minutes is too long without you.)

"Want help?" You offer, rubbing his thigh tenderly.

"Depends on what kinda help you're offering," he replies huskily.

He lets his hand rest on top of yours, feeling the warmth of your skin, the gentle movement of your hand. He lets out a soft hum of pleasure, his eyes flickering shut for a moment, his head rolling back against the pillow as you cup him.

"Quit playing dumb," you grin.

His eyes are closed as he responds, "Me playing dumb? Never."

He bites back a moan, his hips twitching involuntarily, pushing into your touch. His face feels a little warm from being caught, and the fact that you're playing with him isn't helping.

"What do you want?" You coo, sitting on your legs beside him.

His tongue swipes lazily across his lips, his hand coming to rest on your hip, his fingers drumming against the roundness.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a small smirk on his lips. "What do you think I want, angel?" he rasps.

His other hand comes up to brush gently against your leg, tracing the length of your soft flesh.

He lets out a sigh, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your hip. "I want you," he says, a low, gravelly drawl. "Just you. Always you."

His fingers give a soft, gentle squeeze to your hip, his hand slipping beneath the thin material of your panties, tempted to snap the material on your ass cheek.

You reach the elastic waistband of his boxers, pulling just the tip out to play with your finger tips. He can't help but let out a needy little moan as you pull the elastic, his eyes growing darker, his throat working as he swallows hard. His body is taut with need, his muscles tensed, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

His hand tightens on your hip, his fingers digging into your skin as he watches your fingers rub over his weeping slit.

"That's cruel," he mumbles.

A fat drop of pre bubbles out, your thumb swiping it up and brought to your lips. His eyes track the movement intently, his breathing growing heavy and uneven. His chest heaves and his fingers flex against your skin, his eyes flicking up to meet yours briefly, his pupils blown black with need.

He gives a guttural moan, his voice coming out a little more shaky and breathless than usual.

"You can't… you can't just do that…" he almost whines.

His hips jerk involuntarily at the sight, his fingers digging into your skin as he watches you lick up his fluids. He can't take his eyes off you, his eyes glued to your mouth as he watches the bead of precum disappear past your lips.

He's desperatly trying to anchor himself against the onslaught of sensation.

He can't think straight, his mind is a jumbled mess of raw desire and primal need. His breathing is becoming labored, his chest heaving as he watches you, his eye dark and intense.

"Holy fuck..." He lets out a ragged breath.

You really were the best girl he could ask for, so shy and polite in public, sweet and soft to him when he comes home... but in private you were his. Warm meals and his balls empty. Perfection.

He loved you all the more for it.

You stroke him a few times, letting him out tall and aching.

"I thought you could go for another round?" You ask in a way that seems innocent, it is anything but.

"Oh, angel... You have no idea how badly I'm going to wreck you this time."

Yet, he makes no move to do so.

He lets out a low, throaty chuckle, his fingers giving your hip another promising squeeze.

His hand starts to slide up along your body, the rough callouses of his fingers scratching over your skin as they move higher. He palms the side of your breast, feeling the give in the squish and the pebbled nipples poking his wrist.

He's already half-gone and you've barely even touched him, but the way you're looking at him, the way you touch him, the way you talk to him, it's almost more than he can take.

He gently pulls you close, slowly manoeuvring you onto his lap. He never takes his eyes off you, his hands gently guiding your hips, taking in the sight of you perched on top of him, straddling his hips, bare and beautiful.

"Gonna make me come like this?" he husks gruffly.

"I can," you offer with a soft purr, squeezing with a stroke upwards.

His eyes flutter shut and a quiet, needy sound escapes his lips. He's so sensitive, so ready and desperate, his hips flexing up in your hand.

All he can do is nod quickly, his head bobbing jerkily as he desperately tries to speak, to let you know what he needs.

Your lips pucker slowly, a fat drop of spit landing with a smack on his cock. The sound that escapes his throat is guttural, a mix of a moan and a breathless gasp. It's loud and rough and needy, a sound he would've been embarrassed to make in any other situation.

But right now, he can't find it in himself to care. Not with you straddling him.

He's torn between wanting to watch and wanting to close his eyes to savor the sensation of your hand moving up and down with your slippery spit, his breath coming in rough, uneven gasps.

He can't help but let out a long, shuddering moan, his body quivering beneath your touch.

"Fuck, you keep doing that and I'm gonna be finished before we even start…" He gasps out, his hand reaching down to lightly grasp your wrist, trying to stop your hand from moving.

"So you can't go another round?" You tease.

"Of course I can, angel."

He (attempts to) rolls his eyes at your question, his expression somewhere between amused and desperately horny. Your squeeze makes him twitch, a sharp breath sucked through his teeth. You're really testing him.

"Oh, I'll go another round," he grits out, his eyes opening to lock onto yours, his eyes dark and intense. "But I need you to slow down before I blow my load right before it even gets good."

He can last more than a few minutes, it's just the softness of your hand that has his resistance washing away with every movement. He'd love nothing more than for you to get him off, but he also doesn’t want to end up looking like some kind of chump who can't even last more than a few minutes when he certainly can.

His hand gently encircles your wrist, stopping your hand as it shallowly pumps over his cock and letting it slap down on his stomach. He lets out a ragged breath, his eyes locking onto yours.

He's in a state of intense, desperate need, his body on the razor-edge of surrender, but he's still fighting against it, fighting to stay in control.

"You always make me lose my damn mind, angel," he mutters hoarsely.

"You're giving me mixed signals here," you rolled your eyes, instead moving your hand down to cup his balls through his boxers.

He's not entirely sure how you managed to pull something like this off so quickly, but right now he's not really surprised. With you, it's usually a 50/50 chance of what you're gonna do next. And he loves it.

"Not mixed signals," he grits out, his jaw clenched tightly. "You gotta give a guy a break here. You're gonna have me coming before we even start."

"Then, what-do-you-want." You pat his knee with every word, raising your brows expectantly.

How is he even supposed to think about that? With you, your tits out in the open, wearing not a stitch of clothing except for those slutty panties, and having his dick wet with your spit?

He lets out a sharp, breathless laugh, his head rolling back against the pillow.

"You have any idea how many thoughts are going through my head right now? How the hell am I supposed to pick just one?" he asks in a low, strained voice.

His head rolls bonelessly against the pillow. It's a damn good question. What does he want right now?

"Then I'll pick for you!" You grin, scooting next to him with your hand on his shaft.

"Oh hell," he groans, his eyes rolling back in his head.

He shivers under your touch, his body so sensitive and on edge. He's barely clinging to any shred of control he has left, his hips rocking against your hand, trying to increase the friction.

"You gonna go easy on me, baby? Or are you just gonna tease me until I lose it…" He complains.

He doesn't need to think about what he wants anymore, it's the same thing he's wanted from the moment he walked in the door.

"You," he says quickly to answer your question, to save himself, "I want you. All of you. On top of me."

"Too late, I wanna watch," you shrug, kissing the hinge of his jaw.

He's already at the end of his rope, his body thrumming with need, his patience at an all-time low. And now you're telling him you want to watch. The idea of you watching him, of him being the center of your attention, it's his extra lucky evening.

You're going to drive him insane this way, and you know it.

He lets out a ragged breath, his head rolling back in resignation, his eyes fixated on the ceiling above him.

"You're playing dirty," he grumbles, his muscles already starting to tense.

"Relax," you murmur, your finger tips are feather light on the underside of his shaft, wrapping around the tip in a slow downstroke.

His breath hisses through his teeth, his body trembling at your touch.

Your fingers are barely touching him, but it's still driving him wild. He's so sensitive, almost too sensitive, every little movement making him shudder with sensation.

"Hard to relax when you're doing that, angel," he mutters, his eyes half-lidded and his jaw clenched.

You shut him up, pressing kisses to his lips. He responds eagerly to each one, his hand coming up to bury itself in your hair, his other finding your breast to knead and push in his hand.

He kisses you hungrily, fiercely, his tongue sliding past your lips and tangling with yours. He lets out a low moan, cock flaring in your hand as you work him.

It's the perfect distraction, kissing you and touching you, his mind occupied with you instead of the intense sensation of your hand around his dick. He breaks the kiss with a ragged breath, his head rolling back to expose his throat, his eyes half-lidded as he stares at you.

The way you're driving him to the edge and holding him there, it's overwhelming. He's fighting against it, fighting to hold on, to make it last just a little bit longer.

"If you don't stop, it's gonna be all over you…" he warns.

You hum, squeezing and twisting your wrist. His hips jerk at the movement, a guttural moan escaping his lips.

Your touch is exquisite, it's almost torturous. He's on the edge, teetering on the brink, and he's never needed something so desperately, you're going to wring him dry and enjoy it.

He can't take it anymore, he has to do something, anything to distract himself.

With a guttural grunt, he shifts his hand, wedging it between your legs to sloppily try and stimulate your clit.

"C'mon, Keegan. Just a little more and I'll put it in my mouth?"

His eye goes wide at your words, his body shuddering, eyes closing again when your thumb brushes the underside of his sensitive head. His hips jerk forward helplessly, his mind going blank for a moment to paint that picture; bent over his lap, your mouth wrapped around his pulsing cock as his spunk spits out in your throat—

"Shhhit," he hisses, heels sliding on the sheets to gain leverage up in your hand. He hums, long and deep like he's in concentration (to not come), "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

"Can I?" You coo, peppering the sweetest kisses on his cheek bone.

"You don't— You don't even have to ask," he strains, his hand burying itself in your hair and fisting it tight.

You're playing with fire, and you know it.

He's on the edge, and all it's going to take is one little push, one little stroke, one little thought, and that fire is going to burn straight through him, leaving him boneless and satisfied.

And while it seems like you might be willing to wait, he isn't. He needs that release, badly. You've been toying for too long for him to protest that he refuses to get off without you, but you don't seem to care about that right now. His legs flex hard, hips canting shallowly, breathing getting choppy, oh, he's right there—

You shift away; letting him see how you take him in your mouth in just the nick of time. He can feel it the moment your mouth envelops him, hands coming up instinctively to your hair and neck. His head falls back, his eyes closing as he lets out a raw, guttural moan of relief. His hips shallowly thrust, milking every last drop out to your eager mouth. He's boneless, his muscles trembling with fatigue.

He's never felt so satisfied, so completely spent in his life. He can't even find the words to speak, he just slowly opens his eyes to look down at you, his gaze half-lidded and heavy with pleasure.

His hand weakly comes to wrap around your waist, pulling you back up and away from driving him into over sensitivity. He holds you there for a moment, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, his heart slowly starting to settle down.

After a few minutes, he lets out a tired laugh, rolling onto his side to face you. He's almost smothering you, a weighty arm strapping you to the mattress, to him.

"Fuck me, woman."

"Maybe in a few hours, when you can actually do another round,"

He lets out a mock offended huff at your comment, his hand coming to swat your thigh.

He's still riding in the floaty, boneless state of afterglow, his arms and legs feeling like air. He's exhausted, and you know it. Not that he minds, he'd take this tiredness over being restless any day, and you're certainly to blame. He's completely spent, and there's no way he's going to be able to muster up any kind of resistance anytime soon. He may be a fighter, but you're his Kryptonite.

"You've killed me," he complains, burying his face into your neck making the deep timbre of his voice shake your insides. "I don't think I'm capable of thinking about anything like that right now, woman. The most I can do for now is just lay here,” he mumbles into your skin.

"Okay, how about a nap, some food, and then press resume later on?" You offer, fingers between his shoulder blades in a nice soothing brush.

"Food sounds good. A nap sounds even better," he mutters, his words becoming more and more slurred as the exhaustion really starts to kick in.

He sighs deeply, his breath hot against your skin. That deep, satisfied sigh is of a man who has just had the life sucked out of him.

God, the way you scratch his back how you do, he's convinced you know exactly what you're doing to him. He loves the back scratches, and the head scratches during cuddle sessions, but your tits are in his face and he's still thinking about having your legs folded up to your chest. He's trying to protest, but it just comes out a low, drawn out groan.

"If you keep doing that I'm going to be asking for round two a lot sooner," he grumbles with exhaustion.

[the-lonelybarricade]

Queen of Thieves - Chapter 7

Summary: A fulfillment of this kinkmeme prompt. Or; A Canon AU where half fae, con-artist Feyre makes an ill placed bet.

We're back baby 🥰

Read on AO3・QoT Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

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It was a bold tactic.

Feyre knew that. Long before she'd been subjected to Nesta's listless criticisms at the breakfast table, where the eldest Archeron sister stabbed hole after hole into the fabric of Feyre's ill-conceived plan, leaving her with tatters that she had neither the time nor resources to mend, Feyre had known it was ambitious.

You can't outsmart a High Lord, Feyre.

Of course she couldn't. Rhysand wasn't like the men she normally conned—the rough, uneducated tavern-goers who were usually sloshing the ale in their tankards by the time they found themselves seated across her card table.

Feyre was a cautious huntress, who had only ever scouted easy prey.

Now, she was standing at the yawning den of an apex predator. His door was wide open. Inviting, daring her to come inside, knowing there wasn't a single weapon in her arsenal equipped to bring him down.

None except the interest in Rhysand's eyes as he swept them over her body. Once. Twice.

Feyre was expecting triumph, but his expression was surprisingly measured as he called over his shoulder, "Everybody out."

He was answered by grumbled protests and screeching chairs from somewhere inside the townhouse. Feyre stiffened at the sound of feminine laughter—light and peeling. It hadn't occurred to her, for some reason, that the High Lord would have company.

Female company.

Who were they? And what did it mean that he was kicking them out before he would let her inside?

She arched her brow. "You don't want me to meet your friends? Afraid it will sully their thoughts of you?"

"Their thoughts of me were sullied long before I met you, Feyre." He offered her a roguish grin, like it was something he took pride in. "And I'm a selfish male. I have no interest in sharing what limited time I have with you."

All she could think to say was, "The bargain hasn't started yet."

"No," he agreed, cocking his head to listen for any lingering sign of his guests.

When he was satisfied the house was vacated, he placed a hand at the small of her back, guiding her through the antechamber. The front door snicked shut behind them on a midnight wind, and the moment it was shut, she became acutely aware of the High Lord's presence.

It was like being trapped inside his mental walls again, the way he circled her, his gaze like warm fingers dragging over skin. She held herself still beneath his assessment, coaxing her expression into neutrality, even as his eyes lingered on her collarbone, her stomach, her hips—all of the places she'd deliberately left on display for him.

Rhysand arched an eyebrow. Her clothes weren't immodest, exactly, not for the styles that were popular in Velaris. But they were different from what she usually wore. Enough to be a statement.

Her top was a beautiful, soft blue fabric that wrapped across one shoulder and caped down her back. It bound her breasts tightly and stopped just below, secured by a golden band threaded with strings of beads that tickled the bare skin of her stomach each time she took a deep breath. Her skirt was made of similar fabric, long and layered and pooling all the way down to her ankles—save for the slit up her thigh where she'd tied the layered ends together. It slung low at her hips, revealing the delicate golden chain she wore across her abdomen. A perfect match to the bands circling her biceps.

She thought Rhys must have liked what he saw, the way he couldn't quite drag his focus away from the glinting jewelry. He ought to like it, considering they were bought with his money.

Feyre almost told him as much, but thought better of it when she felt a talon scraping over the adamant shield protecting her mind. He hummed to himself, as if pleased to discover that he couldn't penetrate it.

Evidently finished with his assessment, he gestured towards the open archway into the dining room, where she noticed three chairs had been hastily abandoned. Her mind paged over the possibilities of who had occupied them, sifting through all the information she'd spent the last two days gathering about the High Lord and his Inner Circle. Gambling for it, if necessary.

From the tales peddled on the street, she knew the High Lord had a cousin, the Morrigan. She was often seen flitting around the city after dark, dancing the night away in pleasure halls that catered to a much higher clientele than the taverns near the docks. But anyone with half a copper could get information on the Morrigan. She was the only pure-blooded High Fae in the High Lord's retinue, maintained an active presence in the city, and was a war hero. Those things ensured she was well perceived and, more importantly, very well featured in the city's papers.

The two Illyrians often seen in Rhysand's company, on the other hand… information on them was scarce. She knew they were Carynthian, she knew they fought in the War, and she knew they were not to be fucked with, unless she had a death wish.

But is that who had just been here? Three of deadliest people in Prythian, dismissed like it was nothing?

Feyre eyed Rhysand's clothes. He wore a black jacket, casually unbuttoned so that the white shirt beneath—which was also unbuttoned—showed off a V of bronze skin and hard muscle. Rather informal by his standards, but was that because he was among friends? Or visitors of the more… intimate variety?

She allowed herself the space of a heartbeat to admire the sight, noting the strips of black ink peeking through his neckline. Then she pried her eyes away, trying to swallow back the heat threatening to rise to her face.

"Would you like some tea?" He asked mildly, as if this were an ordinary house visit.

"I want you to agree to the bargain first. I don't intend to spend time with you without being compensated for it."

"You make it sound like such a chore." He tilted his head in a way that sent her every nerve on edge. Though his smile was easy—playful, even—it told her the game was afoot. "Is my company really that insufferable?"

When she leveled him a dry look, he held his hands up in defeat.

"Let's discuss it, then." He ducked under the tall entryway to the dining room, trusting her to follow without direction. "This bargain."

"What's there to discuss?" Feyre asked, treading carefully in his wake. "It's the same terms as before."

With a flick of his hand, one of the abandoned chairs shifted towards her. She slid into it, wary of that casual display of power. His friends weren't the only thing discussed in the streets of Velaris. The most powerful High Lord in History, she'd heard. At the time, she'd dismissed it as a lie he or his cohorts made up.

In Prythian, a leader wasn't selected from political prowess or the favor of the people; it wasn't even dictated by bloodlines, though noble families often coveted powerful matches to keep the scales weighted in their favor. But even the ancient High Fae scions would admit that power, true power, was crowned by the will of the Cauldron alone.

And to be the most powerful was to possess unquestionable authority.

Maybe she denied the truth because it scared her. It made her a fool for coming here, sitting at his dining table as if she had any right to join the playing field of a High Lord.

"I'm amenable to the same terms." Rhysand splayed himself across the seat in front of her and propped one of his polished boots onto an adjacent chair, the picture of arrogance. "But I'll admit, I'm surprised by your change of heart after you told me so firmly that you couldn't be bought."

"Maybe," Feyre said slowly, testing her courage. When her voice didn't tremble, she continued, "I didn't come here seeking coin."

His eyes flickered with interest. "You don't want money?"

"Let's not get hasty; I expect to be paid. But I've been thinking about what you said, about what I should be doing to earn my living."

Rhysand raised a dark brow, encouraging her to go on.

Feyre flicked her tongue along her lower lip. It was only partly deliberate, to court more of that razor-sharp interest. But her mouth was also becoming dry as her next words took shape in her mind.

She forced her voice to stay level. "I'm not educated and I don't like intensive labor. That excludes me from most honest work. But pleasuring males? That's something I think I could do well. And why would I settle for just any male in a pleasure hall when I know I could please a High Lord?"

Rhysand's pupils flared. He leaned forward, bracing his powerful arms on the table. His focus was lethal, flickering from her lips to the bob in her throat as she swallowed, trying to keep her breathing even.

He said, slow and soft, "I'm a notoriously very difficult male to please, Feyre."

She recognized the challenge for what it was, but it was difficult to feel any sense of victory when she was pinned beneath his stare. Now was the time for follow through and she realized that she was walking a very, very dangerous line.

"Then it's a good thing," she said, tilting her chin to stare up at him through her lashes, "that you'll be able to do whatever you want to me through our bargain. Whatever will bring you pleasure."

Rhysand stared at her, long and hard, before sitting up in his chair. One second, he was across from the table, and the next he was standing over her. Feyre blinked past her surprise. Did he really bother to winnow—

Survival instincts took over, seizing the trivial line of thought to direct her attention towards far more pressing concerns, like how the High Lord gripped the back of her chair, caging her between the table and his large, overpowering body.

Trapped, those instincts bleated, and she fought to keep her muscles from locking with panic.

The wood groaned beneath his grip as he leaned in closer, using his other hand to snare her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Silver rings pressed against her skin, their metal a cool contrast to his heated touch.

That's how she would paint him, she decided, if she was ever bold enough to try. With all his contrasts. The smooth and the rough, the light and the dark, the gentle and the vicious.

He wore both sides ever-present. She could see it now, in his blazing eyes and how they were tempered by the cool wisps of shadow creeping over his shoulders. Tendrils of them snaked forward, brushing over her bare arms—a lover's caress, sprouting pimpled skin in their wake.

"You want to know what will bring me pleasure?" He crooned, each breath a promise. "Taking you apart. Slowly. Piece by piece. Until I've known and tasted and fucked every inch. That's what you'll be agreeing to if you make this bargain, Feyre."

He was watching her reaction. Waiting, she realized. For the fear of his threat to set in, for her to start scrambling towards the door and decide she was better off at a pleasure house, afterall.

Feyre tilted her chin into his touch, bearing more of her neck to him. She thought she might have heard a growl rise in his chest. “I want half up front. Not in credit.”

At this, he straightened, rightfully suspicious.“Why not in credit?”

She shrugged. “Maybe I have debts to pay. The kind that shouldn’t be traced back to the High Lord’s name.”

“What kind of debt?” When she said nothing, he pressed, “Are you in danger?”

At that tone, and the rage she sensed simmering beneath his placid expression… An image of the captain’s slit throat flickered through her mind.

“No,” she said quickly. “It’s not like that.”

“Then tell me what it’s like.” 

Feyre was a practiced liar. For so long, the survival of her sisters had depended on her ability to cheat and swindle and hustle. It should have been an easy thing to reach for a lie, but as she stretched her fingers into that overflowing well, she found it dry, uncertain what she could tell him without inciting his wrath.

Uncertain if she truly wanted to go through with this.

“Feyre,” he warned, the grip on her chin tightening.

“This was a mistake." She pushed at his arm, finding that he dropped it away with little resistance. "I can see that now. I’ll just—“

“You’ll stay."

It wasn't a command, not like the way he'd spoken to those sailors in the alleyway. There was no hidden edge, no promise of violence. He didn't so much as raise his voice, and yet her body still responded instinctively, the words pouring over her like silk bindings that ensnared every limb, every muscle.

Before she could take any of it back, Rhysand said, "I accept the terms of your bargain. Half to be paid now, half upon completion.”

A prickling sensation brushed over her forearm, like the invisible stroke of a paintbrush, leaving behind another twisting black whorl to her ever-growing collection.

Just like that, her fate was sealed. Even if she were to miraculously come to her seneses and admit this was a suicidal, hare-brained decision, it was too late. For the next twenty-fours hours, she belonged to him. And he'd already made it perfectly clear how he intended to spend that time.

Rhysand leaned back, rubbing a hand down his face as if to compose himself. Then he vanished without a word, reappearing moments later with two glinting objects in his hand. It was only once he held them up, allowing light to scitter and bounce off their surface in a hundred different directions, that she saw they were cuffs of pure diamond.

“Here,” he said, reaching for her arm. She was completely limp, allowing him to take her wrist into his hands and clasp the diamond cuffs around each of them. “These are worth more than the amount you’re owed. They should be sufficient payment for any of your debts.”

No kidding. Feyre stared at the diamonds, noting how out of place they looked against her plain clothes. The fabrics were new, and expensive by her means, but hardly extravagant. She must have looked like a child playing dress up in his eyes.

"People will think I stole these," she said, holding her arm closer to admire the myriad of colors catching at every angle.

Rhys huffed in amusement. "Will you claim otherwise?"

"It won't matter if I did." She dropped her arm, frowning. "Everyone's already made up their mind about who I am."

He tilted her chin, bringing her face inches from his. "And who are you, Feyre Archeron?"

"The witch of Velaris," she answered, hearing her own bitterness. "A con. A cheat."

"Is that all?"

"Well." Feyre looked up at him, cautiously taking a step closer, raising her hand to his chest. It was like touching a stone wall. A warm, rapidly rising and falling stone wall. "For the duration of our bargain, I'm also yours."

"Mine," he repeated, like it surprised him to hear it. Then he let out a long breath. "Oh, Feyre. You are so much more than that."

For some reason… it stung to hear him say that.

Like it wasn't enough. Like he believed she was degrading herself by being being here, selling her time to him, or anyone.

What does it matter? She thought. Tomorrow none of this will mean anything.

Feyre pressed in closer, feeling the draw of his body heat. This close, she could feel his exhale brush her cheeks, and she blamed its warmth on the heat rising there. She made of a show of pouting her lips, imitating the females who she often saw lurking around the docks, greeting sailors as they debarked.

When she knew she had his full attention, Feyre extended a mental talon towards him, stroking it over his adamant shield in a suggestion of the ways she might pet him elsewhere. A small, amused crack split open for her, the High Lord watching carefully all the while. Like he was uncertain if this was part of an elabrate trap.

Feyre purred into his mind, Where would you like me to start, High Lord?

Rhys only stared at her.

She began lowering herself towards the floor, maintaining contact with those bright, burning eyes.

On my knees?

Before she could touch the ground, that same thumb and forefinger squeezed the bottom of her chin, stilling her. Feyre paused, halfway down his body and feeling like she was on fire from how close she was to his—

Don't look, don't look, don't look.

Oh. She broke eye contact with him just long enough to assess the outline rapidly growing in his trousers. Part of Feyre had always quietly assumed that High Lords couldn't be carrying much. Nature had to have balance, surely?

Not in Rhysand's case. At least, not in what she could gauge through the stiffening fabric.

And the smell—fuck, the smell. She was used to the scent of arousal. It was so saturated in that old tavern, it could become a place of sanctity today and still reek of sex for the next handful of centuries. But in all those years living in the attic, with the sounds and scents of fucking constantly permeating through the walls, she had never come across a scent like this. One that made the back of her mouth water.

Feyre caught herself taking in a deep breath before she could restrain the temptation. Her eyes fluttered shut, yielding to something deep and primal that wanted more.

"Feyre," Rhysand called, his voice a little strained. Those fingers became less patient, yanking her attention back up, forcing her eyes to snap open and meet his. His, which were becoming wide and dilated. "What did I just tell you?"

Casting her mind back was difficult. Like trying to retrace her steps in a fog.

"That I'm yours?"

It was a sincere guess. She didn't mean to make his expression darken. But the growl that rumbled through his chest… it made her gaze drift back between his legs, suddenly intent on a taste.

He yanked her again, this time hard enough to bring her to her feet. Her balance swung out, not prepared for the shift in her weight. Rhysand caught her at the shoulders, maneuvering their bodies with the momentum so that she was trapped against the table as he leaned into her, further and further, until she was resting on her elbows, practically splayed atop it.

"I said I was going to take you apart slowly." Rhys looked delighted by this change in position, perusing her body as if mentally calculating where he'd like to start. "Putting you on your knees doesn't further that goal."

Oh, but it furthered hers.

"How about we flip a coin?"

He laughed. "I imagined it will be weighted."

"It's not weighted!"

It was enchanted, but she wasn't going to tell him that.

Rhys shook his head. "You've been avoiding me, Feyre, which means I've had a long while to think about how we'd be spending our time if you ever came to bargain with me again."

"And your plan involves your dining table?"

"This table, the walls, my desk. Pick anywhere in the house and I'll tell you how I've thought about fucking you against it."

"Romantic," she said dryly.

He arched a brow before leaning down to nip at the gold chain at her stomach. He withdrew at the sound of her yelp, grinning like a fiend.

"Is that what you want then, Feyre? Romance? I can be romantic." He placed his hand on her stomach, tracing his fingers along the golden chain, and then higher. Past her navel, to the string of beads lining the underside of her breasts. "I can fuck you nice and gentle. Would you like that?"

Feyre was trying not to have any reaction to his words. But that was very difficult when she could feel the rough pad of his thumb tease under her breasts.

"This is supposed to be about what you want, High Lord."

Rhysand paused, considering that answer. And then he said, "Let's play a game. I know how much you love them."

Feyre only really loved a game when she knew she could win. But she was quickly learning that no game with a High Lord was ever winnable.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course," Rhysand said, feigning insult. "I can either fuck you right here, or we can go into the study to practice your mental shielding."

What kind of choice was that? Feyre wasn't a fool. She knew this was a trap, she just hadn't figured out how. And she contemplated just asking him to carry on with fucking her, because at the very least she knew she would enjoy it.

But she had been practicing her mental shields in the past weeks, and she wagered she was more proficient than he was estimating. Maybe that would give her an edge in whatever he was planning.

Maybe she wanted to say yes simply because she was curious and, somehow, she trusted he wasn't going to do anything to hurt her.

"Let's practice our shields, then, High Lord."

His grin said that was the option he hoped she would choose. She tried not to let that daunt her as he backed away from the table, allowing her to sit up, to breathe for what felt like the first time in hours.

Rhysand led her into the study. Feyre followed at a healthy distance away, swallowing air that no longer smelled like him and for some reason finding it… wrong.

He paused at the entrance to the study. Over his shoulder, she could see the spiral staircase where he'd tormented her in her dreams. She noticed dust particles hovering in the thick shafts of light that streamed in from the windows. There was a thin coating on the table, the shelves, Rhysand's desk, as if no one had come in here or bothered to clean since their last bargain.

"So," Feyre started, eyeing where he stood in the doorway, blocking her path. "Are we going in, or…?"

"No need," Rhysand said. He waved his hand to the top of the doorframe, where a thick black rope uncoiled, hanging high enough above her head that she'd need to stand on her toes to reach it.

"This is part of the game," she guessed.

"Grab hold of it."

Feyre wondered if it was a trait of High Lords, being unable to answer questions directly. Was it something they were taught in their lessons, a habit of the trade? Or was Rhysand uniquely insufferable? She knew which was the more likely answer.

Even so, she rolled her weight into the balls of her feet, stretching her arms above her head to grab hold of the rope.

Rhys made a sound of approval. His eyes, she noticed, were fixed on the bare stomach she was stretching wide in display.

Feeling strangely vulnerable, Feyre snapped, "I don't see how this has anything to do with shielding."

A black talon skimmed her mental wall, a mirror to the backs of Rhysand's fingers as they brushed over her stomach. Feyre gasped, instinctively tightening her grip on the rope to keep from letting go.

"I can tell you've been practicing," he said. "It's a strong passive shield. I could break through it, but it'd take me a while, and it wouldn't be subtle. You'd have plenty of time to react."

"That's a good thing… right?"

"Of course it is. You'll learn in time, Feyre, a good daemati is a stealthy one. You want your target unaware there's someone else pulling strings in their mind. That is," his magic slashed forward, whipping against her shield and pounding shockwaves through her skull, "unless you're aiming to kill them. But with a shield as strong as this, there's much faster ways of accomplishing that."

Feyre bared her teeth. "So, why the rope?"

"Like I said, it's a good passive shield. But I want to test how it holds up when you're distracted. If a daemati needs to break into your mind, they'll resort to other tactics before they try brute force."

"What kind of other tactics?"

Rhys grinned. "The game is very simple, Feyre." He let his fingers drag over her skin as he circled her, murmuring in a voice soft as velvet, "Let go of the rope, and I'll stop what I'm doing. But if you keep hold until the end, you win."

Feyre hated that she already sounded breathless. "What do I win?"

"Anything you want," he said.

The fae were taught to never define the spoils of a bargain so loosely. Anything could literally mean any thing—his life, his throne, his palaces. Feyre could seize control of the Night Court if she was so inclined. No one would propose something so reckless unless they had full confidence in their victory.

Or if they believed the risk was worth the reward.

"And what if I lose?" She demanded. "What do you get?"

"Six more hours added to our bargain."

Was that really all he wanted? Feyre couldn't fathom his reasoning, aside from perhaps an awareness that if he raised the stakes too high, she would never agree. Knowing she was getting the better end of the deal, she held her tongue from probing for answers.

"Fine," she said. "I agree to your terms."

A new bargain mark tingled her upper arm. Another black brush stroke, merging in the sea of other bargains, three of them now his doing. How many more would there be? Would they spread to her other arm, an entire sleeve to illustrate the ways in which the High Lord had ensnared her?

No, she reasoned. This is the last one.

Tomorrow, I'm never going to see him again.

I just need to hold on until tomorrow.

With her mental shields firmly sealed, Rhys had no way of reading her thoughts. It was coincidence, pure coincidence, that he chose that moment to flash his cruelest smile and croon,

"Hold tight, Feyre."

[bg12sofia]

Day 30: Free Choice Day

Since today is the Free Choice Day and From Zero release day, I'd like to go off the rules here and leave a few words, 30 days of challenge, one Linkin Park show and one listening party later:

This is our second chance.

Linkin Park has been all about second chances for a while now, even if not directly initially. It's not the first time I mention Hybrid Theory the Portuguese tribute and it probably it won't be the last. They changed my life, got me a community, a family even among their fans. They were my second chance. A second chance to hear Linkin Park music on a concert setting, at a time when the OG band wasn't playing. Also, as someone who barely made and kept friends for the previous almost twenty years, they were my second chance to learn how to make them again, as an insecure thirty-something.

I know Hybrid Theory also represented a second chance for other people. For the members themselves, I'm pretty sure it was a second chance for making a living in music, after a few failed attempts. Also for other HT fans. The band gave a few forty-somethings or fifty-somethings a chance to go out, to have fun at shows, meet people, be young again. For two friends of mine, a married couple, the band gave them opportunities to do more stuff together as a couple, after the birth of their son. And I know of at least one couple that met through Hybrid Theory.

And now Linkin Park themselves are getting their second chance. A chance to create and put out music, to play shows, to be a band again. Emily is getting a second go at music, a second band, at 38. Many fans who didn't get to see Linkin Park live before Chester died, but now the band is back on the road and those fans have new chances. And I'm getting a second chance to see my favorite band being a band again – when there were times over the last seven years where I thought it would never happen again. No wonder Mike hasn't stopped grinning for the last two months.

Not that I've fully moved on from Chester. I'll never forget him, no one will, and it still hurts that he isn't there. In fact, he's the only one who didn't get his second chance and it's not fair. However, Linkin Park is his legacy and it lives on. I know he's happy for Mike and the rest of the band, I know he's proud of us and of how much Linkin Park does for all of us.

Ever since Linkin Park came back, fans have been talking about feeling like teenagers again, when they first met the band and Linkin Park was their entire world. I'd be lying if I said I haven't felt eighteen, twenty-two, twenty-three again. But those versions of me hadn't lost as much as I have. They hadn't seen Mike barely keeping it together during a tribute concert for his best friend. They hadn't cried themselves to sleep thinking how Chester and Mike wouldn't share a stage again. They hadn't been to a Hybrid Theory show and felt terribly guilty for enjoying live Linkin Park music sans Linkin Park, wondering if Mike and the others knew how Linkin Park music still brought people together, even if they weren't playing it themselves. Hell, those versions of me hadn't really understood properly half of Linkin Park lyrics.

Present me has been through it all, though. Present me knows how much she owes Linkin Park. She knows how bless she is to have her favorite band back and she won't ever take Linkin Park for granted again. And, if everything goes well, we get to keep them for the rest of our lives (even if they take a few years off here and there).

Thank you for this challenge, this was a lot of fun. Happy From Zero release day! I'll leave you with Two Faced because I can't get over how dorky these guys are on this video. Here's to Linkin Park!

30 Days of Linkin Park Challenge

In light of my favorite band's epic reunion, I’d like to start a challenge. 1 day = 1 post. 

Inspired by this music challenge

I would love to see other LP fans joining! Let's fill the tag with something wholesome as we are waiting for the new album Nov 15.

Day 1: A song that was your introduction to Linkin Park

Day 2: A favorite Linkin Park song that needs to be played LOUD

Day 3: A song that feels overlooked/underrated by Linkin Park fans

Day 4: A favorite Linkin Park music video

Day 5: A Linkin Park song that hasn’t got a music video but you wish it had

Day 6: A Linkin Park song that makes you happy

Day 7: A Linkin Park song that makes you sad

Day 8: A Linkin Park song that makes you want to dance

Day 9: A Linkin Park song you know all the lyrics to

Day 10: A Linkin Park song that you think everybody should listen to, even if they're not into rock

Day 11: A Linkin Park song that you never get tired of

Day 12: A Linkin Park song that you’ve listened to lots of times recently

Day 13: A favorite cover of a Linkin Park song

Day 14: A favorite live performance of a Linkin Park song

Day 15: A favorite heavy Linkin Park song 

Day 16: A favorite Linkin Park song with rapping

Day 17: A favorite ballad or/and acoustic version of a Linkin Park song

Day 18: A favorite remix from Reanimation

Day 19: A favorite song with Chester singing

Day 20: A favorite song with Mike singing

Day 21: A favorite song with Emily singing

Day 22: A favorite Linkin Park song that isn't part of the main discography

Day 23: A favorite Linkin Park song with a featured musician/vocalist

Day 24: A favorite Linkin Park song from a soundtrack

Day 25: A Linkin Park song with the most beautiful/poetic lyrics

Day 26: A Linkin Park song with the most powerful message

Day 27: A Linkin Park song that reminds you of yourself

Day 28: A Linkin Park song that reminds you of a loved one

Day 29: A Linkin Park song that you love, but rarely listen to

Day 30: Free Choice Day

[ashwhowrites]

Hello! Can I request Eddie Munson and reader with miscommunication trope and halloween theme?

I thought about how they would spend their first halloween together as a couple. Every year as friends she and Eddie used to go to some party but these year they planned date at the trailer.

Reader heard one of Eddie's band friend saying that they're disappointed about Eddie ditching them and the party on halloween because now he has a girlfriend.

She feels guilty about it and thinks that Eddie would rather go to the party.

But in reality, Eddie is super excited about their halloween date at home. He has a lot of decorations, snacks and a few movies. He also planned to cook for her.

He adores the idea of cozy evening with his loved one and not at loud party where he went to not be alone during halloween night as a single and ends watching some guys talk to her while he wasn't brave enough to confess.

With a happy end pretty please ❤️

A bit late, my bad. But I think it's cute! So I hope you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Halloween night

Y/N was excited to spend Halloween with Eddie for the first time as a couple. They usually go to Halloween parties with Eddie's friends but this year they wanted to be alone. They agreed on a movie night at the trailer, something cozy and warm.

Y/N didn't think anyone would have an issue with it, but she was wrong. As she waited for Eddie to finish collecting his things after his gig, she overheard a few of the band members talking.

"I can't believe Eddie isn't going. Like why do boys get so lame once they have a girlfriend."

"I know. I don't understand why they both can't join us, it's only been the tradition for years."

"Probably Y/N. No way Eddie would ditch the party if he had the choice."

Y/N felt her stomach turn sour. She was friends with these guys and they were talking behind her back. It seemed like Eddie loved the idea of being alone, but maybe he'd rather be at the party?

"Ready to go?" Eddie asked, throwing his arm over her shoulder.

"Yeah, let's go," Y/N said, putting on a fake smile as they walked out of the bar.

~~~

Y/N wanted to forget what her friends said, but she couldn't. She didn't want Eddie to ruin his relationship with his friends because of her. With everything weighing on her shoulders, it was easy to tell she was in distress.

Y/N showed up to his trailer, nervously knocking. Eddie opened the door with a huge smile and let her through. She stepped in and her negative mood vanished. She took in the orange and purple lights, the Halloween blankets on the couch, and the coffee table covered in snacks.

"What's all this?" she gasped in awe, turning around to see him. She smiled at the proud look on his face.

"Date night!" he smiled, "dinner is in the oven. Take off your jacket, and anything else you want," he said with a small wink, "and get comfortable on the couch. I'll bring your plate right over."

Y/N took off her jacket, throwing it over the couch. She took a seat, cuddling under the warm blanket. Eddie walked over with a plate of food and took the seat next to her.

"What? Does it look gross?" Eddie asked nervously, watching her face as she scrunched her eyebrows.

"No! It looks great, Eddie," she said, but he didn't look convinced.

"Is something else wrong?"

Y/N sighed, this was the time to talk about it. She set down her plate and bunched the blanket in her hands.

"You know how we usually go to parties with the boys?"

Eddie nodded, setting down his plate. His full attention was on her as he listened.

"Are you disappointed we didn't go?" she asked, nervously looking at his face.

"Not really. I never had much fun at those parties anyway," Eddie shrugged, "Do you want to go?"

"No! I love being alone with you," she said, moving closer to his warm body. She slipped on his lap, and he wrapped his arms around her. "I love the decorations and all the work you put into it."

"I love being alone with you too," he smiled. Kissing her cheek before he pulled away to look at her again. "So why do you ask?"

Y/N let out a deep sigh, making Eddie rub her back for comfort. "It's just I overheard our friends talking about how they were disappointed you weren't going. And I worried you might have wanted to be with them."

"You want to know a secret?" he whispered, she smiled and nodded.

"I dreaded those parties, hated every second of it, but you were there so I knew I wanted to be."

"Why did you hate it? You always seemed to be having fun with the guys."

"Yeah with the guys once I got drunk. But I spent the first few hours sitting alone and watching everyone flirt with you. Watching guys make their moves when I was too scared to say anything."

Y/N's heart warmed. She never knew Eddie watched her all those years. She was never interested in any of the guys that came up to her, her heart was set on Eddie.

"I didn't know you did that," she blushed.

"So fuck the guys. I want to be with my girl, without fighting for her attention," Eddie laughed at the end, a cheeky smile on his face.

"Never have to fight for attention," she said, pecking his lips softly.

Eddie kissed her back, her lips never failed to make his stomach flutter. He waited until she pulled away, letting her lips move off of his.

"Feel better?" he asked

"Yes, let's eat dinner and watch our movies," she smiled, sliding off his lap. She picked up her plate, smiling to herself as he turned on the movie.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123

[sheep-from-rad]

Hi! Sorry if this is weird or anything, this is my first time sending an ask lol

But I just finished reading your writing about the singer/influencer reader and omfg I love your brain. Like imagine the reader did a cover of/wrote like spit in my face by ThxSoMch or Cigarette Ahegao by Penelope Scott (love her sm btw-) cause just imagine the GUILTTT

Imagine the Batfam listening to their music and just hearing the bitterness in their voice as they sing “Screwing everything up, doing everything wrong, In my defence I wasn’t supposed to be around this long, so” HGDECANZZKNFBVD

Anyway, I love your writing and I hope you have an absolutely amazing week! Take care of yourself too- drink water, eat some food and try to get some sleep ml <3

Nah anon you're cool. I love reading asks. ALSO credits to Luludelulusramblings, they made the originally made Influencer reader. Batfam belongs to DC as usual. Singer reader post: here

You know, in the Art History year 1901-1904, Picasso started the Blue Period where he only painted in the shades of Blue. It started due to the death of his friend, later his financial struggles, and of course the current state of the society. Blue Period art was so good but so doleful and depressing that no one wants to hang it in their house. Singer! Reader started their career covering mainstream songs, band songs, maybe even vocaloid. 

Their blue period started months before they planned to leave the manor. It was a simple cover of MARINA’s ‘Are you satisfied?’ A lot of burnt out overachievers ate that cover, even Tim himself. The song is basically the reader questioning the Wayne last name. Sure it was a goldmine to others but to them it’s a ticket to misery. One song cover turned into many song covers, enough to make a long playlist to play at 3 a.m. when you’re about to have a breakdown. 

The whole playlist? Batfam avoids it because it reminds them of the times they could have been giving you love but they didn’t BUT at the same time they can’t really avoid it. It became like those guilty pleasures playlist. Damian loves and hates reader’s ‘The Family Jewels’ cover because it reminds him of the fact that he and the reader are basically on the same boat. They were just children who needed attention and love. He got that attention and love immediately because of the whole league of assassins backstory. He won’t admit it but the weight of the role weighs like tonnes of iron on his shoulders. 

Jason, Bruce and Cigarette Ahegao will roll together so much. That man has twice the amount of trauma Bruce had and his coping mechanism sucks. All the aggressiveness was just a coping mechanism, underneath he’s a man with conflicted feelings and those years of being dead and suddenly being resurrected didn’t help. Let’s face it Bruce is a tired man who lives a double life. He's a man who dresses up like as a bat making sure the city is safe but he can't cover all grounds. The neglect on reader was unintentional but neglect is neglect.

Dick with reader’s cover of ‘Stressed out’ by Twenty one pilots, no explanation needed. ‘This is me trying’ by Taylor Swift with Cassandra, Stephanie, and Tim. Cassandra and Stephanie being raised by villains and Tim being an overachiever to have his parent’s attention. His parents being always away and realizing he basically did the same thing to the reader by making them feel invisible. 

Double guilt if they left the playlist on autoplay and ‘Daddy issues’ plays. Any version but I think the original fits the bill. Reader ends their blue period with a cover of Mother Mother’s ‘Burning Pile’ basically saying ‘Yeah fuck it, it’s over. I’m burning it, I’m leaving it, I’m closing the chapter’. But to the Batfamily, it meant renewal and turning a new leaf, an invitation to make things better.

[da-janela-lateral]

Unstoppable force meets immovable object, more known as "absurdly long and complex music liker" meets "won't listen to any music".

[nachoaveragejoe234]

Yes! To add to some points:

The Lumity thing. I knew they wanted them to be a couple when they went to grom (prom) together, but when they specifically made their dance a TANGO, a dance that is supposed to be ROMANTIC and SEDUCTIVE, after they hated each other, I was lie "yeah you're trying to make a new ship without actually putting effort into it".

Lagoona was literally described as spicy in her song, like in 3 different ways. And it's sus that when she was Australian she was sweet and gentle, and while she could be more passionate she wasn't violent and she never described herself as spicy or having a temper

Lagoona was also heavily implied to be Aboriginal. Latinos, sorry, but they have representation overall. In most modern media there will be a Latino who isn't just the "Tequila drinking, sombrero wearing mafioso named Carlos or Juan or Diego" or the "sexy attractive bombshell named Maria Teresa Jimena de los Santos" or some dumb thing like that (except Brazilians they only get portrayed as samba girls that American men go to Brazil to gawk at and make kinky remarks towards but that's another story). Name more than two Aboriginal characters in any media if you even KNOW ANY. You can't. You would think that with indigenous issues being big things in both North America and Australia, you wouldn't STRIP AN INDIGENOUS CHARACTER OF THEIR IDENTITY. Right? It wasn't canon but they could have made it canon! Think of the Aboriginal Australians who probably are begging to get roles in movies and TV. I literally have seen Aboriginal fans talk about how she reminded them of their lives and meant a lot to them. They were completely neglected. And worse, one Latina I interacted with on Reddit literally all but admitted she was racist towards Aboriginal people. She basically said "but Latinos don't get a lot of rep and it's not canon! What about us?".

Clankie doesn't work. Cleo was firstly already taken, but ignoring that she and Deuce were paired togther because of the Egyptian-Greek thing.

Nefera being good now... it's not a big deal but I think the sisterly dilemma was a big part of both of their characters. Not all family members get along and showing that is completely ok.

Cleo's voice is the worst. I can see her as an influencer, but why is she a VALLEY GIRL?

Fans call Toralei a punk. She's not. She doesn't wear punk clothing she just has a studded jacket. Her music is pop-rock not PUNK. Listen to her song Cool Cat, it's amazing but not even close to punk. If she was really punk she would look and sing more like the likes of the Clash, the Ramones, Green Day, or even edgier rock bands like the Stones, Nirvana, the Who, or Led Zeppelin. G1 Tora and the twins looked ironically way more punk, and G1 and G2 already had actual punk inspired characters like Venus, Deuce, sometimes Clawdeen and Frankie, and in G2 Silvi and Moanica.

Ghoulia being Canadian for no reason. As a Canadian it hurts. They literally had a concept art with a Canadian flag, she wears a toque (beanie for Americans), and was explicitly stated to be influenced by Scott Pilgrim by one of the designers, and she definitely looks like Ramona Flowers. Despite that they don't even MENTION her being Canadian. Couldn't even get a Canadian VA for her which.... Marieve Herington and Erin Fitzgerald from G1 are Canadians. Get one of them to voice her. Similarly Mr. Foxford has an Icelandic VA but they never acknowledge the fact that he's Icelandic. Even Bunny Earickson, the newest character. Shea basically confirmed she was Welsh. She said that werebunnies had connections to Celtic/Welsh mythology but... did she get a Welsh VA? No, she got a Latina. Why did you explicitly say she was Welsh but couldn't find a Welsh VA? Do Welsh people not deserve representation? Do you know most people know nothing about Wales? That the effects pof British colonization still take a toll on Wales? That one of the earlist British invasions was of Wales where along with Ireland and Scotland they tried HARD to strip them of their culture and language and then made measly apologies in the modern day but still harm the Celtic countries through a lot of crap the Tories do and by keeping their monarchy? Welsh people always get called sheepshaggers and their language is mocked as "smashing a keyboard" (it does look like that but I understand why many Welsh people would be offended and they have the right to be)

Monster high G3 rant

Watching the TV series and I’m kind of disappointed.

This will be my second watch of season 1, I’m rewatching after the current season 2 episodes.

the show feels very flat in my opinion. They’ve given the characters a lot of cool traits, but they’re used for like one episode and then never brought up, or they only use one specific trait 24/7. Like Frankie in this generation, they have the ability to electrocute, extend their body parts, and they get visions from the people they’re made out of. Specifically they get visions from this one recurring doctor/ scientist. The idea is cool, but the vision literally is there to give exposition about something conveniently. Like when they are trying to solve the puzzle of clawdeens mom, Frankie’s vision just conveniently tells them what to do and how to do it.

In that same episode, we see manny taur. A Minotaur character. And right away we are just told that he’s good at puzzle solving, and so is draculaura! They’re rivals! But this is the first time I’ve ever seen or heard about draculaura being into puzzles, let alone her one sided rivalry with manny. And as the episode ends, she’s like “well you can be the rightful puzzle master” but it feels so flat. There has been no build up to this moment.

Another example is lagoona. In her designated episode, she is rooting for torelai to win the fear-leading captain over draculaura (another thing that has no build up as to why it’s important to her) lagoona explains that torelai is holding a secret over her head, and if it gets out she will lose her status as the fiercest monster in school. But this is the first time we have heard this!! In previous episodes there’s no mention of her being scary or fierce. Or even her super fast swimming skills. It’s just brought up and glosses over with a “be who you are, it’s okay to like what you want! We all have secrets 🥹” but there’s no real character development.

My last example will be the way draculaura is presented in this series. From what she tells us, she has high standards to live up to as a vampire. She needs to look good for her day so she studies endlessly and is striving for perfection. But she also has a love for witchcraft, which is banned in monster high due to its connections to humans. This can be a cute premise, but they NEVER show draculaura compared to any other vampire to show how she’s supposed to act. They never give us episodes where she blows off her friend’s shenanigans because it makes her look bad, and they never really show her dad being so overbearing. They don’t show us WHY humans are hated. And even though witchcraft is banned, whenever anyone finds out about it they’re just cool with it? No push back or anything. The only character to challenge draculaura was torelai.

This all may be very nitpicky, but MH is a character driven franchise. Character relationships with each other and their surroundings are very important to me. I want to feel the so called pressure these characters are being put under. It doesn’t have to be ultra serious 24/7, but issues get resolved within one episode and then rehashed a few episodes later with no further development. Especially with characters like Cleo and lagoona. They have been benched as side characters in this show, and side characters get much worse treatment.

‘The general episode progression is like this - introduce an issue, introduce a high stakes situation that involves the school, have all or one of the main 3 engage in a sequence of fights against this issue(or rapid solving of said issue through convince) - issue is resolved and lesson is told to viewers-characters reset for the next episode.

I know this is a children’s show, but that doesn’t mean it needs to have bad writing, not all kids are high off cocomelon. Kids deserve good writing in their media!

My next rant will be about clawdeen and her story this generation

[pardonmydelays]

tøp: mtv unplugged will always be so special to me because it actually shows how fucking talented those guys are

[stardustedknuckles]

Memory loss associated with Adhd has got to be the stupidest and cruelest symptom because without fail it's like. Me wavering on whether I should take my meds every single time, followed by sitting on my dumb ass three hours later going "wow, I'm actually feeling emotions and connected to people I've loved and lost and I feel capable of facing the complicated grief and emotions associated with a lot of those memories. I wonder why that - oh. Right. I'm a whole idiot."

[travellingtribble]

made an Adam Milligan playlist because I love him

[moonsrune]

There's a wounded expression that crosses Tyler's face when Brooke tells him she's not sure if he should have broken up with Nina. Does that mean she changed her mind? That she thought about it and doesn't think they're a good idea? Tyler doesn't want to blame her for that. She has every right to be confused and flighty. Brooke has only been single for a few weeks and Tyler has only been single for a few hours. Maybe this was all too premature and they should wait until everything blows over. How was he supposed to do that though? He can't. Not when she's saying things like, 'I like you' and 'I want to be with you' because that's all Tyler has ever wanted to hear. And hearing those things come from Brooke of all people makes his heart race and his stomach flip. What does that even mean? He assumes its nerves, but really he's unknowingly falling in love with a girl he knows he can never have. If he knew that, he would be running. He would get in his car and flee town because he knows he wouldn't be able to handle that kind of heartbreak. Not now, not after laying awake with her in bed and talking about everything that makes them...them. At this point, no one knows him better. Except maybe Nina, who's currently pinned beneath Noel's grinding hips, being filmed in an aerial shot as he urges her to say his name while she's moaning. If Tyler and Brooke were to listen closely, they would be able to hear the thudding bed and quickening pace of their thrusts.

"Brooke," Tyler breathes as she slides down from the desk to examine his arm. At first he moves his arm away from her, but then concedes. He reminds himself not to push her away just because he's hurt. Not physically, but emotionally. He has a habit of self-sabotaging when the world closes in and the wolves come out. Not that he thinks Brooke is a wolf. But her rejection is no less dangerous than a carnivores teeth. "Are you mad at me for breaking his window?" Tyler asks and his expression is soft like he'd just been caught doing something disappointing. Until now, he's never cared about people's opinion. His moral compass has been broken for longer than half his life. He threw the thing out the window the moment he was separated from Olivia who was his last real friend before the onslaught of foster families and unforgettable abuse. "You think so?" he asks, suppressing a laugh when she warns him that the hydrogen peroxide might sting a little. "I've gotten used to it, pretty eyes." He looks down at the cut as she applies the disinfected. If only there was a bandage for his feelings. Then he remembers there is. The drug that girl gave him. What did she call it? For a minute, it made him feel like everything was okay. However, he sobered up the minute Brooke got upset with him. His heart wouldn't allow him to feel unbothered when she looked so ...sad. Which reminds him that she does care. She can lie and hide it, but she cares. She's not Nina...he's not being manipulated. She's not Toni...he's not being abandoned. And she's not Elizabeth...he's not being taken advantage of. She's Brooke...the only person who's ever taken care of him. "No one has ever so much as put a Band-Aid on one of my cuts. I've always had to do it myself. You're uhm...You're really good at it." His eyes find hers and his heart opens up yet again. How does she do that? Make him come out of his shell. She's beauty, warmth, and pixie dust. What does he need Grim or ecstasy for when he has her?

"I can deal with Nina's consequences," Tyler looks up from his bandaged arm with a half-smile. "Brooke," he lets out a sad sigh as she says she shouldn't be interested in him. However, the sting does hurt less knowing she likes him in spite of it. "I don't know what you should do. It's not my place to tell you. If you want to be with me then we'll find a way. If you don't feel right about it then you should go. But before you make that decision, I want you to know that I like you too. It's not...about sex. I like connecting with you. You feel familiar to me even though we're practically strangers. But there's so much of my life I want to share with you and I've never felt that way about anyone before..." he looks upward with regret and his jaw flexes at what he's about to say next. "I thought I felt that way about Nina, but I was wrong. I regret every moment with her. But I don't regret a second with you."

The absence of his mouth hanging dangerously close over hers, can be felt almost immediately. Part of her stomach falls too, with regret at asking the wrong question. She didn't mean it in any bad way. She was just overthinking now, worried that she might disappoint him somehow when he realizes sex and a relationship with her may not be as exciting or wild as it was with Nina. Brooke didn't have as much experience in either and her biggest fear was falling for Tyler and him realizing she's weak in comparison.

"No---" Brooke shook her head. Though, she didn't realize her answer could be misconstrued as her agreeing that he shouldn't have dumped Nina. Ultimately, that's what she wanted. It's what she hinted at in their texts prior to Noel's party. "I mean, I don't know..." Brooke didn't feel like she was the best person to be giving him relationship advice. Nor, did she feel entitled to tell him what to do. Unlike Nina, she didn't see him as an object she needed to control. To her, Tyler was a person and she valued his thoughts and feelings. As well as his general well being. Which is how she notices the squinting of his eyes and the slight hiss as he rolls his shoulders to alleviate the pain radiating from his elbow. How had she just noticed that the sleeve of his shirt was wet and ripped?? Beneath it, there was a cut outlined in red. Blood. He was bleeding.

"You're hurt...." She doesn't mean emotionally, although maybe that too. Seeing her with Leo had clearly agitated him enough and he didn't like it. That much was obvious when he stupidly cut himself by taking it out on Leo's driver side window. After sliding off the desk, Brooke rolls up Tyler's sleeve to examine the cut up closely. She's no doctor but, she has enough experience with Jake and his big mouth to where she's learned how to patch a wound. Therefore that's what she does, after she finds some bandages and gauze in Kayla's bathroom. "I'm not sure which is worse.... you breaking Leo's window and hurting yourself in the process or Nina coming after you." The latter wouldn't bode well for them. Tyler having a target on his back means, Nina will want to keep tabs on him at all costs, which makes sneaking around, even harder. "Don't move, this may sting a little." Next to the bandages, Brooke locates a bottle of hydrogen peroxide which she uses to disinfect the cut until a real professional could take a look at it. Then, while using the dressings she found in the bathroom, Brooke wraps Tyler's arm up tightly. "I mean don't get me wrong, I'm glad you aren't with her anymore. I guess I just didn't think about the repercussions when I suggested you leave her to make yourself happier." Knowing Nina, the consequences of that decision will be deadly. "By the way I'm flattered, I could make you that jealous. But, you know you don't need to be right? I'm not interested in him." Just then, her eyes find his to suggest who she's actually interested in. "I shouldn't be interested in you either. But, I can't help it. I like you. I don't know what that means or what I'm supposed to do about it." She finishes patching him up, just in time to gaze up at him. "What do you think I should do?"

[seaofreverie]

Success, my dad told me today that he listened to Flood at work, and TWICE at that. Could it be that the TMBG propaganda is also working at last

[silverior968]

You know what's half upsetting half pretty funny? There's this song I absolutely love and I've always wanted to put it in a character playlist, but it is just so bleak that I've never been able to justify putting it in a character playlist. Keep in mind I have a playlist for Anton Shudder, the guy who is so depressed he can turn it into a literal physical weapon. He's like the king of bleakness but the song was just too bleak. Well, I've finally found a character whose playlist I can put that song into -- and it's a fucking TFP character. I checked the song, counted all the lines in it (44) and all the lines out of those that don't fit him (9). As a percentage that means that 80% of the lyrics of one of the bleakest songs I know fit a guy from a show I watched when I was 11. Life is absurd.

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

Fans can be so funny sometimes. (Myself included.)

[magentagalaxies]

one of these days i need to make a kids in the hall iceberg based on all the increasingly obscure side projects/behind-the-scenes info i've acquired over the past few months

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]