#I'm insane.... or acoustic

[lancer1234]

when you really think about it, hellsing 2001 was insane. they had it OUT for integra man. in the span of uhh, three days, girl has a nightmare of being gagged, tied to a pole, and shot down. Then a vampire manages to hypnotize her and nearly turn her into a ghoul, by playing the facade that she was her sister?? Integra then stabs herself in the neck bc there was "impure blood in her veins". She is then incapacitated after surgery, framed for treason or something, nearly loses Seras, Alucard, AND Walter, and then for some reason ends up in jail for serving too much cunt. What the fuck did they have against her ass so badly.....

[lemonxlimee]

Think of these thoughts as hackneyed and trite

Cliched, depraved, disturbing and contrived

Shallow, cold, wretched, miserable, dark

And any other adjective

Choose to sit safely out of the sun

Away from rays so blinding to the eye

Singing songs someone's already sung

Averting gaze from beautiful light

But as complacency settles, anxieties will rise

And part this soul as Jekyll parted Hyde

Now I'm but half of the hollow man's lies

The love, the hate, the emotional side

Whats the point in trying if this end result of dying sits persistently encloaked in dimness?

Life can't thrive controlled by digits

I know I'm weak, I know that I'm vile, but sometimes that is needed to survive

That's what I'll say to rationalize

I'm needed if we're to stay alive

And yet here I lie with black, sunken eyes

My mind's consigned our sighs to a leaden void

the soul remains tempered, I remain plied

Condemned till we are both all but destroyed

But I know that one plus one can't equal two if happiness is both our truths

Our total sum must equal one if we're to find that golden hue

Spiralling down entropically, I beg of thee, have mercy on me

I was just a boy, you see

I plead of thee, have sympathy for me

See how it hurts when the sound (begins to ring)

And you feel it start to rot

And you beg for it to stop

But you've already dug your lot in the ground

See how the mind tricks the soul

Into being something sickly, dead and cold

As you feel it start to tire and fester so, so slowly

Up until the point where it will finally die

Just in time to see what could have been

Do what you want, you automaton freak

No, I can no longer bring myself to care

This hollowed-out vessel's beginning to creak

So take control, let's see how you fare

[djarinova]

from an article titled "I’m a Swiftie, but the staggering size of the Eras tour has left me feeling alienated"

girl im not sure you are a swiftie if you're saying the anthology is full of forgettable songs...

[lildudie18]

🐞 apologies for I haven't artistiqued in a while I'm just depressed 🐞

[scattered-winter]

are the different instrumentations in both reboot modern warfare themes actively tearing you apart or are you normal

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

So I remember seeing smth about a military unit reader

So how about a motherfnkin ENTIRE WAR COMMANDER Usually I'd add more but what do you get? -Sincerely, A very acoustic NPC anon

Ohohoho, You see, NPC Anon...

Reader's 101 Guide to Command ANY Military Faction.

I gotchu covered

Reader 100% knows tactics and strategies. I imagine some of their ideas are so insane and too recklessly bold ppl question how the hell they managed to become Commander UNTIL they see them in action and go "Oh yeah nvm it worked, whoopsies—"

Reader definitely a coffee person. Reader probably sleeps from like 3 AM to 6 AM or smth and then dunks the entire coffee pot in their mouth and go to work like it's nothing (might be slight exaggeration, but yk what I'm getting at, right?)

Reader will not hesitate to plant their foot down. They're probably also very disciplined, and won't take crap from anyone.

Reader kicks butts and takes names.

Reader is VERY hard to push around, but they would hear people out for their advice or suggestion depending on the context.

Please...Get Reader some free time, they need a break before they pass out—

And that's all I have LOL—hopefully this small bit is good—

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: Very small thing—sorry about that. Motivation has been leaving me for a very long time, and I seem to not have enough time to dedicate to writing again, sigh...How bothersome.

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

[melit0n]

Seen a couple other people do this, so, here are some recommendations for replacements for Wilbur's music and Lovejoy!

Crywank -> indie folk punk with lots of acoustic guitar with descriptions of paranoia, depression and a lot of dry humour.

Los Campesinos -> indie rock and indie pop! For their older music, they implement more 'emo' lyrics, but overall they have really good lyricism (you might have already heard them from Lovejoy's cover of Knee Deep At ATP!)

Arctic Monkeys -> literally what Lovejoy wanted to be. They come under almost every subsection of rock ever, and have the tendency to have absolutely stupendous bass lines.

Cavetown -> similar indie vibe to Wilbur's old music!

The Backseat Lovers -> alternate rock with intense and emotional lyrics! You may have heard of them from 'Kilby Girl' from their 2019 album 'When We Were Friends'

James Marriott -> obvious choice! As a prev Lovejoy fan, I can tell all of you you'd really anjoy his music.

Together Pangea -> typically fast paced, garage pop, or whatever you want to call it. They also have a small US tour happening soon!

Half·Alive -> you may have heard them from 'Creature' from their album 'Now, not yet'. I highly recommend these guys; very lyrical and have an insanely beautiful mix of jazz, rock and pop.

The Frights -> another indie rock/pop band! Has some really fast paced stuff, and some calmer acoustic stuff.

I've seen a lot of people saying 'seperate the art from the artist!' but, full honesty, go listen to new music! I can't take back the emotional attachment I had to his old music, especially YCMGA, but listening to his shit gives him money, and there is no way I'm giving money to an abuser. Let alone, it's become glaringly obvious that the e-girl trilogy isn't a persona, that was just him. Let alone the theme of Your Sister Was Right.

Plus, he's said multiple times that the money and the fame was all he cared about; he would disappear for months and, when he wanted attention and money, would come back to a dedicated fan-base who gave him exactly what he wanted.

Go listen to new music, and support Shelby lads <3

[onlyangel4]

vigilante shit. dr3. smau.

daniel ricciardo x fiancée reader

daniel thought he knew what to expect when it came to your live shows but he is quick to find out you kept a certain routine a secret from him for a reason.

author's note:I was planning to do the albums in order but i accidentslly posted this so i can't be bothered to fix it.

this can be viewed as an extension of the so high school series as i see them as the same couple. also for this can we pretend that danny has an official tik tok account pls and thanks

faceclaim: taylor swift

taylor swift series masterlist.

latenightseth

liked by y/ninsta, danielricciardo, user1 and 432,877 others

tagged: y/ninsta

latenightseth: y/n y/ln reveals that she has some surprises planned on her tour, including a few routines that her fiancee doesn't even know about, hear about this and more on tonight's episode

view all 2,309 comments

y/ninsta: thank you so much for having me

latenightseth: we would talk to you every single night if we could

user1: i have tickets to the first night of tour and i am so excited

user2: i am so glad that the start of tour lines up with summer break so danny gets to be there to support his girl

user3: still can't believe tour starts next week

user4: that outfit is everything, daniel ricciardo you are a lucky man

y/nsightings posted a story

written: y/n and danny have arrived in arizona ahead of the first night of tour which kicks off in two days

y/nfan

liked by danielricciardo, user5, user6 and 451,223 others

y/nfan: guys i am still in shock. bestie and i got to the stadium at 3am and have been first and second in the queue to see y/n, daniel just came out saying he was going on a coffee run, he spoke to use a little and i even got to give him a pair of glasses that i made on the off chance we would be anywhere near the vip tent. he is the nicest person ever and he told us that y/n is not letting him watch some parts of the show until the actual concert, she is planning something and i love it.

view all 4,329 comments

danielricciardo: thank you so much for the glasses, i showed y/n and she loves them

y/nfan: holy shit this day keeps on getting better and better

user5: you are so lucky oh my god

user6: i wonder what she is planning

y/ntourupdates posted a story

written: y/n kicked off tour starting with the album lover, written all about fiancee daniel ricciardo apparently those stood near him said he smiled the whole time.

y/ntourupdates

liked by user7, user8, user9 and 231,221 others

y/ntourupdates: y/n just introduced a section of her tour called the acoustic set, "i will play one song on guitar and one on piano. this set is going to be different for every show and i will play whatever i feel like and tonight i am feeling a whole lot of love arizona" she then proceeded to play i think he knows on guitar and dress on piano, both songs written about her finacee. y/n is so in love and it is the cutest thing ever.

view all 1,258 comments

user7: now i'm going to be so stressed about what acoustic songs i get

user8: that combo is insane

user9: i love the yellow dress omg

y/nissohot posted a story

written: guys daniel put on his glasses during vigilante shit so he could see y/n better

y/ntourupdates posted a story

written: y/n and daniel leaving the stadium after a brilliant opening night

dannyricofficialtok posted a slideshow

caption: i am marrying her wtf

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[coff33andb00ks]

Until You - Part Four

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four charles leclerc x female pop singer!reader x oscar piastri x lando norris f1 smau with intermittent scenes Summary: they drive vroom vrooms, she sings soulful tunes. there's no way in hell this is gonna work, right? Warnings: language, author lied when she said lando was just there (i promise she's not getting anymore men omg), implied smut playlist a.n: the next part will have a q&a with y/n on insta/tiktok so if anyone has questions they'd like for her to answer please send them to my inbox (as basic or unhinged as you like)

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and others ynyln: SURPRISE!!! I present to you my new babies: Enchanted and Lover. Enjoy, my little lattes 💋❤️

↳user3: MY THOUGHTS WILL ECHO YOUR NAME            ↳ user4: omg these are what her and the driver guy were saying            ↳user5: DID SHE WRITE IT FOR OSCAR?!?!?! ↳oscarpiastri: Beautiful, love. 🧡            ↳ynyln: no you 🧡            ↳user4: omg ↳charles_leclerc: all's well that ends well to end up with you ❤️            ↳ynyln: I'll save you a seat, lover ❤️ ↳sabrinacarpenter: on repeat!!            ↳ynyln:❤️ ↳landonorris: love            ↳ynyln: thank you sweetie 🫶🏻 ↳user7: I'm here from f1, why does she call people little lattes?            ↳user8: welcome!! it's a term of endearment for her fans. y/n said in an interview that we give her comfort and a burst of energy, like a latte midafternoon, and it just stuck.

Lando nodded along with the beat. "It just needs a little something extra… You want to keep it acoustic?"

She nodded, sipping her tea. She looked astounded that he was there. He knew he was. When she'd texted him he hadn't expected he'd be on a flight to London within two hours. But here he was, sitting with her in her "little" basement studio, listening to her song for the fifth time, mouthing the lyrics she'd probably written with Charles or Oscar in mind. Charles and Oscar, who were upstairs sleeping soundly.

How I obsessively adore you That's what I do I believe, I believe, I could die in your kiss No, it doesn't get, doesn't get better than this

Oh to be obsessively adored by her.

"I'll do some piano, hang on." She leaned across him, invading his space with her gentle floral aroma and her soft hair and…

He sighed, staring at her in awe as she worked her magic at the keyboard. It was crazy that he was even here, in her private sanctum, witnessing what would undoubtedly be a hit as it was created.

"The piano's too prominent," he said, wanting to feel useful. "The guitar should be the main instrument."

Y/n nodded, and he reached to adjust levels, standing up and hitting play. She looked tense and tired and stressed and he instinctively moved to stand behind her, hesitating.

"Ok to touch you?" he asked.

She tilted her head to look at him. "Yeah of course."

He rested his hands on her shoulders, rubbing gently as the song played. "It's a good song, y/n."

"You think so?" she asked in a small voice.

"It's a love song. Hopeful and adoring. It's beautiful. Charles is a lucky guy."

She hummed, relaxing under his gentle touch. "What's he got to do with it?"

Oh. "I uh… Osc then."

She turned her head to look up at him. "It's not for him."

Oh. Oh. "Someone else?" Christ how many boyfriends did she have--

"You don't remember? You float across the room. It's what you said to me at the club after the race in--"

"Monaco," he whispered.

"It stuck with me. So did the kiss," she murmured.

He swallowed, continuing to rub her shoulders. "You didn't... When I sent you those videos I didn't know about Osc and Charles."

Y/n turned and his hands dropped. "What do they have to do with it?"

A nervous laugh rose in his throat. "You're dating them? Both of them, which is insane to me but like I get it. You're like a mouse on crack, you probably need two boyfriends to keep you from taking off—"

She laughed. "A mouse on crack? Really?"

Sighing as she stood up, he looked down at her. "I just… Don't want to mess up what the three of you have going on."

"They don't own me, Lando. I'm a grown woman, I can do what I want with my body whenever I want. With whoever I want."

Lando blinked, his mind short-circuiting over the mental image that put into his head. Swallowing hard, he drew in a breath as she stretched. And held it, staring at her while she fiddled with controls and restarted the song. Let it out slow when he saw the tension returning to her shoulders.

He was reaching for her before he even registered the movement.

"C'mere," he murmured, pulling her to him. Reaching behind her, he switched off the song. "You're gonna drive yourself crazy, love."

"It's right there, Lando, I just need to push a little harder," she groaned, holding her head in her hands and letting him draw her closer.

"Hey, hey, shh…" It felt natural to kiss the top of her head, to wrap his arms around her and try to calm her. "I'm not gonna let you go insane over a song. It's fine, I know you'll come up with something amazing. Just give it time."

"It's not just a song," she whined. "I'm absolutely shit at talking about my feelings for someone, you know? Especially when it…"

"Might go up in flames?" he whispered.

Her hands were on his chest, her head tilting up. "Did you have any idea what you were doing when you stole my number and texted me?"

"Honestly thought I was shooting my shot and hoping I'd get lucky," he muttered, grinning when she laughed.

"It worked."

"Huh?" Lando grunted in surprise.

"Got me thirsty. The past couple weeks have been crazy, trying to fight it, but god, Lando." She sighed as though to ease the tension but it was still there, her body still taut with stress and worry. "I honestly thought you came tonight to fuck me."

His mind bounced like a padel ball in an intense match. He wanted to comfort her, to get her to relax, to ease her worries about the song. But oh how he wanted to kiss her again. He could just remember their half-drunken kiss in Monaco, the electricity thrumming through him, his heartbeat matching the thumping bass of the music. Thought you came tonight to fuck me.

He blinked, his mind going back to a quiet moment before the race in Montreal, when Oscar had been telling him about the unconventional relationship he'd found himself in.

"We're just taking it day by day. But she has a lot of love to give, mate. Sounds crazy, but… I don't think one person could handle it all."

Was there even room for him? Was he honestly considering entangling himself in what would, probably, end up being a PR nightmare for the four of them?

Why was he even thinking of love when he'd originally just wanted to be able to say he'd fucked the richest woman in the world?

"I…"

He leaned down, one hand rising to cup the side of her head. It was supposed to be gentle, sweet, the type of kiss that deserved the song she was working on, but it was harsh, deep and demanding, and he was swallowing her moans. Her nails lightly scraped his neck then they were sliding over his scalp and he whimpered.

"I didn't," he gasped between kisses, growing needier with each taste of her, each moan that fell past her lips. She tasted of tea and chocolate. "I didn't come here to fuck you."

"I know," she moaned. She leaned into him and he felt the need, the flames licking at both of them.

"That's new," Oscar commented, chin resting on her shoulder while she poured herself a coffee. His fingers brushed the side of her neck.

Y/n felt her cheeks warm at the delicate touch, sparking the very recent memory of Lando's mouth on her. "Yeah…"

"Did you get any sleep?" he asked, kissing the mark, his arms snaking around her waist.

"Maybe an hour," she mumbled. After breaking the chair in her studio with Lando, she'd had a burst of inspiration, and the sun had been coming up when they'd listened to the finalized track.

"Love," he sighed, taking the coffee from her before she could take a sip.

"Babe," she whined, her mind snapping to the present, though part lingered on the memory of the twisted sheets of the guest room, of Lando's panting moans in her ear.

"I'll fix you something to eat, then you're going back to bed." He kissed the top of her head and moved away, drinking her coffee.

"I've got to—"

"You don't have anything scheduled for the day. Or tomorrow. So it's rest. No recording, no caffeine, rest." Oscar looked at her over his shoulder. "Stop pouting."

"I just wanted to spend the day with my boyfriends," she sighed, climbing onto the stool at the island counter. Wrinkling her nose when he poured a glass of orange juice and set it in front of her, she reluctantly took a sip.

"We can spend the day here. Peace and quiet, love."

She felt herself melt at his gentle words. Peace and quiet and them. For the whole day. She'd only had snatches of time with them since leaving Monaco. She'd had a concert the day of the Canadian grand prix, and now it felt like some sort of cosmic kismet that her mini break coincided with theirs. They couldn't be together for the whole time, but she would cherish the days she could have.

"Bonjour, mon couer, bonjour koala," Charles greeted as he entered the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

Y/n saw Oscar's cheeks tinge pink at the affectionate nickname Charles had started using for him. She sipped her orange juice, looking on as Charles brushed by Oscar, his hand resting briefly on the small of his back, and heard the whispered word. Rousseur. Freckle.

God, she loved them. Oscar's freckles, Charles's nicknames, and them.

"Good morning," she murmured after he kissed her.

"You didn't tell me we would have a guest, mon couer," he murmured, moving to fix himself coffee.

Oscar turned from the cooktop. "Guest?"

"Oh. Yeah." Y/n rubbed her neck. "Lando flew in last night. Late."

"He's snoring in the guest room." Charles was chuckling. "Leo went to bother him."

"I texted him. About the song. I needed input, and you were both asleep and—"

"Lando came to help you?" Oscar's smile was soft.

"He did."

Oscar tipped his head, regarding her much like a cat watching a bird through the window. "Ah."

"Ah, what?" Charles asked, rubbing his eyes while he sipped his coffee. Lowering his hand, he looked at y/n, snorting into his cup. "Ah."

She groaned, slumping down onto the counter. "Is it that obvious?"

"Love, you're glowing." Oscar grinned and turned back to the eggs.

"I've been glowing since Monaco," she muttered against the countertop. Slowly, she lifted herself, eyes darting from Charles to Oscar and back again. "You're okay with it?"

"I already told you, mon couer. I don't mind sharing you." Charles's smile was affectionate. "As long as you're safe and he treats you well."

"He's one of my best mates, y/n. Not to mention he's been obsessed with you for ages," Oscar quipped, sliding a plate of eggs and toast in front of her.

"He's not obsessed," she snorted.

"Did he fly commercial or private?" Oscar asked, leaning against the counter.

Y/n sighed, taking a bite of the eggs. "Private," she mumbled.

"Day by day, love," Oscar said gently, leaning to kiss her forehead.

Liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, landonorris, and others ynyln: rough night in the studio until this one came to lend a hand. magic: made. forever grateful, sweet Lando. Let's just enjoy the view tagged: landonorris ↳landonorris: thank you for giving me a chance. soz about the chair            ↳ynyln: chairs can be replaced. and you'll always have a chance while I'm around            ↳user4: aww wait what did he do to the chair??? ↳user3: lando was streaming with quadrant until 1am monaco time            ↳ user4: god did he fly out to help her? my heart            ↳user5: wait that's really sweet 🥺 ↳oscarpiastri: will you rest now?            ↳ynyln: yes darling            ↳user6: aww ↳charles_leclerc: I adore the new song, mon couer            ↳ynyln: it sounds better when you sing it ↳user7: omg did she collect another one            ↳user8: omg stooopppp 😂😂😂

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[u3pxx]

you two can't just "ah... eto bleh" your way out of this one!

finally got to draw for ineffablerevau october! wanted to make something for the first day's prompt, "meet the cast", so i can finally introduce eve young here too! :^D and hey, better [looks at smudged writing on hand] 14 days late for the prompt instead of never, yea? extra stuff under read more!

really most of my ideas for anything are just "wouldn't it be silly if" or sometimes the occasional "wouldn't it be fucked up if" but that's bc i like tragedy and hurt </3 so i've had the idea of wouldn't it be neat if eve was trans in this au, just for fun DFGHDJ

she fractured her rib during football practice and then realized in the nurse's office "i think im a girl" ASKSKS (it was a long time coming but the rib thing was a catalyst pftt /j) (also get it, the rib thing, because she's EV

edit: forgot to mention her colors are an inverse of adam's colors!

once again and always, thank you to the gomens support group in the minibang server bc y'all always have such fun ideas and i love talking to yall <33 thank u for handling my insane and acoustic ramblings about my au very nicelys <33 ASKSKS

i also was thinking of giving crowley short hair for this one except I'm so used to him with the longer hair DFGHFJ, but then i remembered i made his hair timeline reversed in this so instead he has short hair 11 years before that he just grew longer pftt

[hazelsmirrorball]

Rockstar Girlfriend VI. | Hazel Callahan

Rockstar! Hazel Callahan x Popstar! Reader

Summary: Hazel Callahan and Y/n L/n have to be in a pr relationship, but both of them can stand each other. 

Warnings: Enemies to lovers! Enemies to lovers! Enemies to lovers! Angst, Fight (not physical) Not proof read. Sorry for any mistakes, English isn't my main language. 

a/n: I’m back after a while!! Sorry for being MIA. I don't know how to feel about this but I'm really thankful for all the support. Lots of new things coming soon. love you guys.

part one. part two. part three. part four. part five.

The tour was canceled. 

Everything Y/n had worked for went down the drain. Not only had she lost the tour she risked everything for, but she had lost her bandmates' trust. They were losing followers by the minute and receiving hate left and right. All that success she had gained because of Hazel was almost gone. 

The moment everyone found out about Hazel's outburst, the show was canceled with a blink of an eye. They could hear the cries and screams of fans outside. Y/n couldn’t bear to listen, she felt bad, guilty even. Management said that her band couldn’t perform because they were only the openers, so karma was biting her ass quickly.    

But after one show became two and then two became five, management canceled the whole tour, every single date. They claimed that they couldn’t do anything without Hazel, their star. Y/n tried to be positive that maybe Hazel was joking around and that she was going to come back but when management canceled the tour, her feet finally hit the floor. The tour was over before it even started. The hop of the wave of success both bands were having was cut short. The most anticipated tour of the year was canceled due to mental health issues from one of the band members. That was what got posted on the band's page and every news article. 

But Hazel made it her job for people to know that, that wasn’t the case. If the tour was canceled she wanted people to know the real reason, no more tricks, no more lies and no more fake love. Y/n felt her heart stop when her phone started to blow up with notifications and her eyes landed on a video Hazel had posted on instagram after being MIA for two weeks. 

That was when “Mean” was born. 

“Hi guys! I know I’ve been gone for a while and all of a sudden the tour got canceled. But I’m here to tell you guys that we are currently working to get your back running again. This time we decided it was best to get new openers. Anyways, on my little break I decided to write this song I really hope you guys enjoy!” Hazel said to the camera starting to strum her guitar. Y/n felt her heart drop every second that passed by. If she was already losing everything with a blink of an eye it wouldn’t surprise Y/n if what was left of her career ended just because of that song. 

hazel.callahan via instagram

liked by bottomstheband, y/nnn, and others

hazel.callahan rehearsals for tour are the shit! I missed this a lot, can't wait for tour to start <3

view all 1,550 comments

hazelsbottoms she's backkkkkkkk

user101 mother is back, hope tour doesn't get cancelled this time.

pjandhazeparis sorry to disappoint but I'll be a groupie for life

bottomsupdates why is y/n lurking in the likes? hasn't she done enough

| ynloveshazel please leave y/n alone

| bottomsupdates she's the one lurking her comments

Hazel had uploaded an acoustic version of a song she had written through her break in an attempt for people to understand what she was going through. It was something new, different from the songs she was used to writing for herself and other people. The song quickly took the world by storm gaining everyone’s attention. Fans had caught up quickly with who the song was written for, making it their job to make Y/n’s life a living hell. Her band's account was barely existent by the minute and management was going insane.

Y/n couldn’t let things slide. She had three options, let her pr team do everything for her, clap back and deny the allegations, or attempt to do a song just like Hazel did. The thing was, Y/n was already used to Hazel’s constant help writing songs and honestly she kinda missed spending midnights with her writing songs. She missed how Hazel would slowly touch her skin in an attempt to get her attention or how she got lost in her blue eyes while she tried to explain the chorus of the song. Y/n missed Hazel. She hated herself for running things with her. Things were finally different, this time Y/n didn’t hate Hazel, Hazel just hated Y/n. 

She was going to make things right, possibly ending her career. But it was worth it. If Hazel heard the song, she could lose everything and she wouldn’t care. 

Y/n propped her camera hitting record while sitting in front of it, letting out a sigh. She slowly strummed the guitar she barely knew how to play but all she could think of was all the times Hazel had attempted to teach her how to play it.

“This song is for someone special in my life that I treated so badly. I know I fucked up and I wished I could go back to december, they day I met you and start all over”

y/n's instagram

liked by bottomstheband, ynnnn, and others

y/nnn but if we loved again, I swear I’d love you right

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Y/nnn let out a sigh as she looked at her phone flooding with notifications. At least if she was gone for social media, she was certain Hazel had heard the song. Maybe she could get another chance or another life where they could get together with no mistakes.  Y/n’s thoughts got interrupted by a harsh knock on her door. She quickly walked towards it, ready to face her neighbor. But she felt her heart drop when she noticed the familiar blue eyes she had fallen in love with. Y/n’s eyes wandered all over her trying to tell if she was real or an act of her imagination due to the lack of sleep. But as the words slipped out of her mouth she knew it was all reality. 

“My guitar.” Hazel replied, playing with her feet. Y/n furrowed her eyebrows and looked at her confused. 

“What do you mean, my guitar? How do you know where I live?” Y/n responded leaning against the doorframe trying to get a better look at Hazel. 

“My guitar. You have my lucky guitar, I saw it in the video you posted. Now, can you please give it back” 

“No.”

“What do you mean no? It’s mine, L/n.”

“You don’t speak to me, drop a diss track on my name and expect me to give you back you guitar” Y/n exclaimed while looking at Hazel with a surprised look on her face. 

“Are you insane? You do know that all of this is not my fault, right? I was willing to do anything for you but you preferred the fame over me. You fucked up your own career and you fucked up with me. Yet, I came here, to your apartment and you still want to act like the victim instead of saying your sorry. You know what stays with the stupid guitar. I don’t want it anyway. You want to play a game that I’m really tired of playing. I really don't understand why are you like this.” Hazel exclaimed loudly pulling on her hairs.

"I like you Hazel and I'm like this because I know I screwed up the only good thing in my life" Y/n said loudly leaving Hazel with her mouth wide open not knowing what say.

At least he got the chance he desperately needed.  

thank you for reading

previous part.

[lemonxlimee]

[Look who it is, the saddened and weak]

[It seems those beams of light have caused some glare]

[Freakish and dismal, hollow and bleak]

[I could go on, but let's leave it there]

[Resident Heart is feeble and frail, a scourge to purge, due diligence is all]

[Silent, sad outbursts, inaudible wails dictate he never does as he's told]

[Fathers of fathers, brothers of sons]

[Deterred from being what they know they can]

[All because Heart refuses to run]

[This creature hardly resembles a man]

[My logic is the absolute]

[His pity parties simply harm these chances at an apt repute]

[Esteemed regard in place of mockery]

[I'm sure it seems from his point of view that I'm a simple, cynical machine]

[But is it so hard to see the whole truth?]

[I merely seek a soul that's pristine]

[I can't claim that I enjoy this, covering for a tortured boy who's slowly tired of all his toys]

[His wiles and woes ring like white noise]

[I know that it's hard to see my mind behind the entropy]

[But if he'd just once humour me, he'd see we need to live life logically]

[See how the Heart plays profound [see how he falls!]]

[But the depth is insincere]

[A pathetic, thin veneer]

[All the pain, regret and fear still resound]

[HA HA HA HA]

[See how his feet miss the ground and he falls inside a hole he dug for me]

[The kind of irony you'd read in Bible stories]

[Maybe my existence might be by design]

[A simple fact that he'll refuse to see!]

[Though I seem harsh in all my assessments]

[We each seek a life lived in the light]

[Yet here lies our Heart, engulfed in resentment]

[Stubborn, pale akaryocyte]

[ron456]

AHHHHH- IM SO SICK OF THE BS I SWEAR-

FIRST OF ALL-

He doesn't "act naturally" or "normal" because HE'S AUTISTIC-

Will Roland portrays him as AUTISTIC so he's gonna act AUTISTIC-

ALSOOOO- IT'S BROADWAY, BABE- THEY NEED TO BE OVERDRAMATIC AND VERY EXPRESSIVE OTHERWISE THE PREFORMANCE DOESN'T CARRY THROUGH THE WHOLE THEATRE-

AND ANOTHER THING- Jeremy is supposed to be a "loser"-

he gets bullied and is misunderstood by his peers because he is, well, NOT CHILL-

HE'S "CHALANT" AS HELL-

He gets bullied because he cares about things too much, he's anxious, he's loud-

And in regards to the "can't hold a note for too long"- have you heard Loser, Geek, Whatever? Or More Than Survive? Or Two Player Game??? Song where he holds notes for quite a long time- ALSO- to say that Will Roland can't reach the same notes as Will Connolly is just... not true.

And one of the reasons I think some people think Will Roland is "a worse singer" is because, sometimes, stylistically, Will Roland will use a sort of falsetto/head voice (which I LOVE BTW AND IM SICK OF PEOPLE CALLING OTHER PEOPLE BAD SINGERS BECAUSE THEY USE HEAD VOICE- IT'S BEAUTIFUL, IMPRESSIVE, AND REQUIRES GOOD BREATH CONTROL TO MAKE IT NOT SOUND CRAPPY AND WILL ROLAND DOES IT AMAZINGLY) like when he says "hero" and "Rob Dinero" (idk if that's how you spell it 😭) in More Than Survive.

It's not that he's a bad singer, he is taking the brunt of his voice during those parts and also, given that it's this little solo/soliloquy moment for Jeremy, I think that Will Roland's choice to use a light head voice there is perfectly well-placed. It feels kinda personal, I guess. And I love it <3

Not to say that Will Connolly's way of singing it isn't also great. It's awesome! But like, guys, we can't keep getting pissed when a new actor in a show doesn't have the exact same singing voice as the original 😭 That's just silly, guys. 😭

(LIKE WHEN PEOPLE GOT PISSED AT ELIZABETH TEETER'S LYDIA FOR SOUNDING TOO MUSICAL THEATRE-Y?? LIKE. HUH?!? GUYS, IT'S BROADWAY- WHAT DO YOU MEANNN??? Sorry, I have feelings- Also, Shoutout to Elizabeth Teeter, btw, cuz' she slayed <3)

Anywaysss- back to Will Roland's voice- he is very much capable of hitting the notes that Will Conolly hits- if not higher (IT'S NOT A COMPETION THO, GUYS- PLS DONT COME FOR ME). For example, the acoustic version of Loser, Geek, Whatever on Spotify which, I believe, is a key higher than usual!! This man can belt some high notes when the situation calls for it! And also, (these are not really bmc related but whatever) during the harmony or whatever at the end of "Sincerely, Me", that is none other than WiLL RoLaND (!!!) hitting that high E (I'm pretty sure it's an E. I hope it's an E. But regardless, it's still a SUPER HIGH NOTE) at the end! And in "Amphibian" on Joe Iconis' album titled, well, "Album", Will Roland hits some insanely high notes!!! ( EVEN IF THEY ARE HEAD VOICE. I REPEAT, HEAD VOICE DOES NOT MEAN BAD SINGER!!)

Also, as a little additional statement to my "Jeremy is autistic/ autistic-coded so Will Roland played him as autistic"; this is not to say that Will Conolly didn't add some "autistic flare", if you will, to Jeremy. I mean, just yesterday I was freaking out with my friend about a gif of Will Conolly's Jeremy doing the autistic flappy hands :))). And I think that he was a good baseline for other Jeremy's to build off of!

Also, I feel like the people that are saying that Will Roland's portrayal of autism/neurodiversity is "ableist" or "incorrect" or "too dramatic" are sorta failing to understand/acknowledge that autism/neurodiversity is a spectrum. Not every person with autism or another kind of Neurodiversity is gonna act the same. And I think that's something really beautiful that we should all cherish. It is GREAT that we are all different but also, in many ways, the same!

And to see myself and my uncontrolled speaking voice and weird noises and such represented by Will Roland on stage is such a beautiful thing that I think 'ought to be cherished.

[cobbbvanth]

to non glee fans: yes, these all actually happened. to glee folks: please tell me your favourite unhinged glee performances in the tags <333

[taesanluv3r]

lost in love songs.

han taesan x reader

a short, three part, friends to lovers story.

ੈ✩‧₊ hidden love unfolds when taesan's ipod nano accidentally ends up in the hands of his best-friend, yn. a certain playlist catches her eyes, revealing the true feelings kept within the depths of the boy's heart.

part two: about a girl.

reader goes through an overwhelming amount of emotions (shes crying 😿), some cuss words, myung jaehyun (reader's older brother) comforts her <3 lowercase intended, excuse any spelling mistakes / grammatical errors! enjoy :3

wc: 2,009

masterlist 𖦹 part one 𖦹 part three

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"damn, can't believe that dork writes songs about my loser sister…i say we give it a little listen and-"

jaehyun's words are interrupted, "get out of my room" yn says sternly, a finger pointing out the opened door and her face dead serious. her brother rolls his eyes, "whatever, i'll leave you to it i guess. weirdo…maybe you two are meant for each other" the girl flips him off, climbing off of her bed to forcefully push her annoying sibling out the door, slamming it shut behind him. she sighs, turning back around and staring intently at the silver device that remained on her white bed-sheets. her stomach hurts as she sits down beside it, her heart pounding straight out of her chest, though she doesn't know why. yn takes a deep breath as she holds her friend's ipod in her hands, the size of it unfamiliar to the girl who was so used to her larger phone. the wired earphones were tangled and grey from how worn out it was, she hesitates for a moment, wondering if it were really a good idea to be listening to the song her friend made a point to keep hidden from her. but it was right there, staring at her with her name written on it, literally. yn scoots, her back making complete contact with her pillows, a fluffy cloud-shaped plush toy sandwiched between her chest and her knees. she sticks an earphone into her left ear, beginning to do the same on the other side when the ping of her phone stops her. turning over to the device, she blinks slowly at the contact name on her screen.

han taesan.

she watches from afar as countless texts and a few missed calls came in, her arm reaching out to grab her phone. yn contemplates for a moment, his urgent warnings forming a sense of hesitance as she falls into a dilemma. once again, she sighs, turning her phone on do not disturb, ignoring the guy's begs and pleas before she averts her attention back to the ipod nano. blocking out all outside noise, the other side of his earphones find place in her right ear, a finger grazing against the white buttons that decorated the silver music player. yn exhales, finally pressuring the tips of her nail, pushing play on the very first track,

'about a girl.'

the name directly stolen from a song by his favourite rock band, the girl fully expects her friend's usually grunge-y sound. however, yn is taken by surprise when a soft guitar acoustic hits the surface of her eardrums instead. the rhythm of the track almost as sweet as the lyrics that he begun to sing. taesan's voice is smooth like butter, matching perfectly with the rather simple strumming pattern of the stringed instrument. being fully produced in his bed-room on a cheap microphone he got at the thrift shop, the girl finds herself smiling slightly at the shuffling sounds she could still hear in the background, breath hitching when she finally processed the words.

i listen to love songs in hopes they come true. i listen intently to conversations with you. my mind turns into mush and i can't seem to speak. in seconds i'm out, the door shuts with a creak. i could talk about her for hours on end, i could talk with her, or maybe not, it depends. cause she drives me insane, and i've got worms for a brain. and i can't get her out of my head.

the girl doesn't know what to think. it just all sounds so…foreign. the taesan she knew never wrote songs like this, or at least none that she knew of. the shy and reserved boy would never be caught dead showing this much emotion in real life, his honey-like voice fades out as the instrumental gets louder, giving the girl a moment to think. a million questions swarm into her head. he wrote this song…for her? she's lost in the music for a moment, her mind racing as she goes through about a billion thoughts per second. her heart fluttering at the very idea of this whole thing- i mean, it was as if all those romantic dreams she's had were finally coming true. a whole song written for her? frankly, the girl was on cloud 9. yet still, yn can't help but doubt herself, does he really feel this way for her? her best-friend since middle school? the ever so introverted han taesan who's never even spoken of love, this is him? as the questions swim through her brain, his soft singing wakes her up again.

this girl that i know, she's a girl that i like. but she won't feel the same, i don't know though, she might. i just can't, and i won't, let her know how i feel. i fear it might slip and it'll all become real. for my mouth only speaks around her, and my mind only thinks about this girl.

after another beat or two, he sings the final words of his love song,

still, you drive me insane. and i've got worms for a brain. think i might like you more than a friend.

with that, the first track in the two-song playlist comes to an end. the room is silent, the only thing she could hear was the quiet sound of her deep breaths. yn's mouth hangs open, her body freezing up like she had just been transported to the arctic without shelter. she doesn't even want to listen to the other song, in fear it'd make her heart beat faster than this one did. unconciously, a single tear begins to run down her cheek. "i know you said to go away but mom's asking what you want for dinner" the sound of her older brother's voice shakes her out of the daze, her eyes blinking rapidly as her head turned towards the door. "are…are you crying?" jaehyun asks, eyes widening as he began to walk over to where she sat on the bed, taking a seat beside her. "i…" she starts but doesn't continue, not really knowing what she was going to or even wanted to say. "so…you listened to that song, huh?" the boy asked, his features softening at the sight of his tearful sister who looked…well, lost.

she nods slightly, "just…just the first one" she mumbles, gulping all too loudly as her hand moves up to wipe at the tears that stained her blushed cheeks. "so? does he like you, or what?" jaehyun's question comes out a bit rushed, like he was impatient to know. "i…i don't know" and before they knew it, the girl had broken down into tears again. she still didn't know why though, the lyrics of her friend's song was nothing but sweet. however, the truth about the feelings he had, the ones he must've been keeping from her this whole time…it made the myung girl overwhelmed, not really knowing how she had to react. "hey, don't cry" her brother coos, a hand stiffly patting against the small of her back as she sobs into her hands. "yn…i know you hate it when i tease you but, don't you think it's obvious he's always liked you?" she lifts up her head, fully looking at her older sibling with confused eyes. "and don't lie, yn. we all know you're a terrible liar. i can tell by the way you smile when you mention him, i can tell by how annoyed you get over silly things about him that you, whether you like it or not, you're just in love as he is" jaehyun lets out a breath after talking too fast, his lips pursed into a line as he hits his sister with the reality of her feelings, and her best-friend's.

"but…" she starts again, stuttering as the salty taste of her own tears managed to seep into her mouth that started to feel a little dry. "but what if it's all a misunderstanding? i mean, what if i got it all wrong? what if this ruins our relationship forever? i shouldn't have…i shouldn't have listened to this. i-" the rambling girl gets cut off, "yn!" jaehyun's voice is louder by a decibel, his hands pressed firmly against his shaking sister's shoulders. "yn, look. there's only one way to find out. and you and i both know that things will only get weird if you don't talk to him about this, right?" the myung girl sighs, nodding at him, a grateful look on her face for her older brother and his big heart- even if he bullied and teased her half the time. "you're right…" another ping grabs their attention away from each other and over to the phone she had tossed to the other side of the bed. "i think that's him…" jaehyun smiles softly at his love-sick little sister, reaching to pass the phone over to her before patting her back lightly. "talk to him, yn. tell him the truth. what's the worst that could happen, right?" he says, earning a half-assed smile in return from the girl.

"besides, he did write love songs dedicated to you- something tells me you two are going to be just fine"

the boy gets off of the bed, "i'll tell mom you're not hungry yet. let me know if you need anything, okay? and if it is all a misunderstanding, which i doubt it is, i'm only a call away and i'll fight the guy for you!" the last part makes the girl giggle, breaking away from her somber state for a moment, rolling her eyes as the older sibling began showing off his non-existent arm muscles. he shot her a quick good luck before he was out the door again. leaving myung yn alone, alone with the thousands of messages and calls from a panicked han taesan.

emo loser (taesan) yn, whatever you do DO NOT touch my ipod. yn answer my calls!!!! yn please. yn, don't do it. it's too late isn't it? yn… i'm sorry.

the girl can't help but feel sick, the guilt of it all making her stomach turn and her heart to swell in pain. she takes a deep breath, the ticks on the bottom right of his messages turning blue, signifying that she had finally read them.

emo loser (taesan) you listened to them, didn't you?

yn's breathing gets heavy and fast, her fingers trembling as she began to type out a response.

i need to talk to you.

she bites her lip, nervously watching as the three dots appear then disappear on his end of the chatroom, like he had started to type but stopped half way through. yn shuts her eyes, opening them to stare at the ipod nano that had turned itself off at some point before. her gaze is turned back to the phone in her hands when he finally texts her back.

emo loser (taesan) meet me at the playground tomorrow? i have so much to say you'll listen right?

yn smiles softly, a sudden feeling of warmth engulfing her previously frozen body. she nods to herself, fingers hovering over the digital keyboard.

tomorrow at 1?

this time, he texts back almost immediately.

emo loser (taesan) i don't think i can wait that long meet me there at 10 unless you're still sleeping, lazy ass.

the boy's teasing joke, after the whirlwind of emotions she had just gone through, comforts her a little. suddenly, the girl feels confident that her brother was right and that they'd be okay after all.

see you at 10 then, weirdo

the conversation ends there. yn hides under her covers that night, her stomach empty though she didn't feel the need to eat, and her body exhausted though she couldn't seem to sleep. she's still in disbelief. the sound of his voice playing over and over again in her head all night. the lyrics tattooed onto her brain as she finds herself lost.

lost in the love song he wrote for her.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

first of all tysm for 100 followers !!! HEHEHEHE taesan straying away from his usual emo grunge music to write secret love songs for yn 😿 featuring the lyrics that i wrote myself <3 THOUGHTS??? reblogs n feedbacks are highly appreciated!! send me an ask, let's talk abt this 💭 see u guys in the final part!! love, kona.

[cambria-writes]

welcome to the very final chapter of honey and the hatchet! 🎉 it quite literally took eight whole entire years to get here, but i finally made it!

big thank you to everyone who's stuck around, read and flooded my notes with likes and shares this story around. i cannot express in any language i know how significant and meaningful that is.

for those who might be wondering, i used these photos of a suite at the macarthur to kind of situate myself.

...also sorry for kind of maybe edging you at the end there lol anyways enjoy!

pairing: patrick jane x named reader/ofc word count: 4,883 rating: A for adult content, MDNI warnings: smut, wearing, i know nothing about opera, PiV, unprotected sex, mild dom/sub, sir kink, neck grabbing but no choking, hair pulling if you squint, mentions of planned murders, relatively minor injuries (jane might have a cracked rib it's probably find), confession, the L word, this was not proofread and i'm almost sorry, please let me know if I should take anything else!

previousmasterlist

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕹𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓: ℭ𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔷𝔞

Several Months Later

An opera house. A fucking opera house is where you end up spending Christmas Eve. It’s not something that a lot of people would get upset about, normally, and you know this. That’s why you’ve schooled your face into an expression that’s more rich, entitled boredom than resentful impatience.

But you’re in a box for a fancy show, wearing a dress that definitely costs more just to look at than your apartment likely does in a whole calendar year, and there’s free alcohol. Not that you’ve been indulging up until now, but it’s nice to know that there’s expensive, free booze for when you will be able to pay attention to literally anything else. 

Right now, your eyes are half-heartedly trailing around the stage, eventually halting at the Sopranist singing her heart out. You can’t make out the lyrics at all—never could, with how broad and loud the voices are in operatic compositions, nevermind the insane acoustics of this place—but the sound of the song feels appropriate. A slow build that keeps on building despite several fake-outs that make you believe you’re finally out of this eternal musical waiting.

Conveniently, it’s when the Sopranist pauses for a quick breath that you hear it. The drag of a foot against an old velvet rug. You whip your fan open and feign interest in the elaborate emotional display the singer is putting on. You’re not worried; you know you look like every other bored twenty-something in this place.

Patrick had personally made sure of that. 

“Enjoying yourself?” A woman asks, her deep, airy voice drifting around you as she moves to sit down to your left, French accent heavy in her words. She flips open a small hand fan with a short “thwap” before turning her attention to you.

Madame Jonquière is someone whose gaze feels heavy. Patrick hadn’t told you much about her. Just that she was at Stonewall and that he owed her a favour. Didn’t mention what the favour was for, and you didn’t bother prying any further. Madame Joncquière’s eyes go down to your hands for a second before meeting yours again. She smiles politely and inclines her head expectantly. You realize you haven’t answered yet.

“Sorry, yes,” you reply quickly. Clear your throat before looking back at the stage. “I can’t understand most of it but it sounds lovely. Thank you for letting me accompany you tonight.”

Madame Joncquière swings open a hand fan with a muted ‘fwap’ before fanning herself. “Oh no, thank you for your presence tonight!” she exclaims quietly, leaning forward closer to you.  You grin and leave over. “No one ever wants to come to the opera house with me anymore. They all think it’s boring!”

You laugh quietly along with her. Madame Joncquière leans back into her chair and fixes her gaze to the stage. You appreciate the space she’s leaving you. Despite the fact that she knows damn well that you’re here to make sure she doesn’t get assassinated, she seems to be taking everything in good stride.

You watch his back as he carefully pours a drink out of a shaker. You have no idea what prompted him to pick you up at 11:30AM for cocktail hour. On a Wednesday. In the empty, closed bar of some man who happened to also owe him a favour. You hadn’t expected an explanation. But Patrick had kept silent the whole car ride. It hadn’t been uncomfortable, but the whole time you can’t help but feel like you’re being psychologically edged. You can only refrain from asking the slew of questions floating in your head for so long.

A highball glass filled with some strange red-purple liquid swirling enticingly inside it. The colours almost make the ice look like it’s sparkling. You’re dazzled for a second before looking up at Patrick.

“One Purple Haze for our esteemed guest,” he says, dramatically, with a flourish and a bow. You laugh quietly before picking up the highball. Hold the glass up to the light to watch the colours mingle.

“It’s definitely nice to look at.” Distracted, you don’t notice Patrick walking out from behind the island to stand behind you. You don’t flinch when his cold hands part your hair to slide down your neck and rest on your shoulders. “Am I really expected to drink this before lunch? I haven’t even had breakfast.” 

“I did tell you to get up early last night,” Patrick says, voice low, by your ear. “Sounds like someone snoozed their alarm four too many times.”

You don’t answer. You instead try to see how quickly you can down the purple haze that was handed to you. Hoping to maybe inherit some of its own haze. You only stop when you’ve gulped down half.

“It’s a bad one, by the way,” Patrick adds, pressing a soft kiss at your temple before moving away. He sits on the stool next to you, slotting his knees between yours. “You’re supposed to pour the liqueur last to let it settle at the bottom. It isn’t supposed to swirl like that.”

You hum in understanding a look at the glass in the light again. “Shame, it looks nice this way.” Bring the glass back to your mouth for another sip. “Why am I getting a lesson in mixology today?”

“You’re going to the opera,” he starts, and you chug the rest of the drink before bracing yourself for another briefing. “And I’m going to need you to remember to order this, and how it’s supposed to be made.”

You frown. “Okay, so if I get it and it’s well made that means… what?”

Patrick smirks. Your stomach flips, entirely unaided by his hands running up your thighs. “It means I might have gotten… held up.”

“And this is… bad?”

Patrick hums and leans in, brushes his nose against your jaw. “If you consider first degree murder ‘bad’ then yes, it would be quite bad.”

You scoff at the blazé tone he takes, but it’s half-hearted. His fingers are working their way up your loose shorts toward your hips. 

“It might be a bad idea to sip at something that might have been poisoned.”

Ah, so this was it. 

Patrick hadn’t kept you in the loop for the entirety of this particular… situation. Not only because Madame J had gone to see him directly rather than the CBI, for reasons that hadn’t been obvious at the time, but because this seemed to be a personal slight. You’d kindly asked to be kept at an arm’s length for it all; solving murders had been one thing, but actively trying to prevent one felt beyond you.

You put your hands over his to halt their movement. Patrick immediately pulled back, brows furrowed in concern.

“I feel like too much hinges on me here,” you say quietly, pointedly staring at your knees. You can see the veins starting to honeycomb on your hands. Your fingertips feel cold and stiff.

“You don’t have to,” Patrick answers, just as quietly, pulling one of his hands back to run down your face, brushing your cheekbone with his thumb. “I can bully Rigsby into it.”

You can’t help but laugh a little. He’d probably love the chance to go out at the opera with someone who also wants to be there.

“How long do I have to think about it?” 

“Only until Saturday,” Patrick answers, and you can hear the apology in his voice. The last-minute nature of this annoys you–it only gives you three days, including today, to decide whether or not you want to be the final hurdle.

“I’ll sleep on it and let you know tomorrow.”

The evening goes well enough. You still can’t understand much of what’s being sung, but you enjoy the performance. The drama and emotion in the acting, while singing, is something that’s at least legitimately interesting to watch. 

You occasionally look over the audience as well. Your perch from the box gives you a fantastic vantage point to see most everyone in the hall. The hairs at the back of your neck have been raising every now and then. Same feeling as you get being observed in the dark. But every time you try to scan the crowd, everyone’s either facing the stage or canted forward in somnolence.

You hear a knock at the door of your box before the door opens. This is it, you think. You’d ordered drinks just as you were coming back from the intermission. You take a quick look at the dainty gold watch Patrick had wrapped around your wrist earlier in the evening. It’s been… fifteen minutes. Which seems like an awful long time to prepare a purple haze and a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.

You don’t bother turning at all until you hear the serving tray being gently placed on the table between you and Madame J. You note, with no small amount of relief, that your purple haze muddled to absolute fuck and back. Perfectly safe to drink then.

Your server speaks up just as you notice, reaching for your glass, that there’s quite a spill on the tray.

“Au plaisir, mesdames.”

A thrill runs up your spine. Madame Joncquière looks up while you slowly wrap your fingers around the cool glass. She almost makes a joyful exclamation, but seems to stop halfway through taking in a breath for you. Keep your eyes on your drink while you listen to retreating footsteps, muted on carpet, until you hear the door open and close again.

Madame J’s hand lands softly on your shoulder to give it a squeeze. 

“How wonderful of Monsieur Jane to come look in on us himself!” she says to you, barely above a whisper. “Shall we cheers to that then, chérie?” 

Your heart still thrums in your chest from the thrill of it all. You raise your glass along with her, but just before knocking it against Madame J’s, you draw your hands back.

“Would you mind indulging me?” you ask quietly, trying to control the smirk threatening to take over your expression. 

Madame Joncquière clearly sees the scheming glint in your eyes and doesn’t hide her grin. It’s toothy, like a fox. And you feel like a peer, having caught a rabbit dead to rights. 

“Absolument! What would you like?” She leans in closer over the small end table between you. 

You carefully move to grab her wine glass and press your glass to her palm. She beams and immediately gets your meaning. You link arms together, giggling quietly as you try not to spill your respective drinks. 

“Cheers to yet another wonderful night on this train wreck of a planet,” you say, tilting the wine glass to clink against the highball. 

“I’ll drink to that!”

No sooner has the wine touched your lips, you hear a small commotion in the audience. Not enough to interrupt the show, but not something that won’t be noticed. 

The wine is bitter and sour on your tongue and you don’t bother to school your expression into something tame. Madam J laughs quietly behind her fan and offers your drink back. You hastily hand her back her awful wine and nurse your significantly sweeter cocktail.

The rest of the evening is blessedly uneventful. Patrick doesn’t make another appearance, but you don’t expect him to. You were surprised that he showed up personally in the first place. At the end of the show, after having another attendant–a real one, this time–slips you both back into your coats. Opens the door and thanks you for your patronage and only closes the door behind you once you’re most of the way down the hallway. Madame J links your arms together as you walk, chittering away about the singers’ performance. 

Once you reach the lobby, excuses herself for a moment to make a phone call. You make your way over to a plush lounge chair by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and take a seat. It’s fairly early, for a Sunday evening, so you pass the time people watching. Your phone vibrates in your coat pocket just as you see Madame Joncquière making her way over to you. Quickly look at your phone notification. 

‘Have her drop you off here,’ followed by an address and a room number. You don’t have time to respond back and ask where the fuck that is before Madame J extends her hand out to you. 

“I’ve been instructed to provide transportation for you, chère,” she says as you accept her hand to stand. “You’re alright to give my driver your address, yes?” 

Your body doesn’t seem to know if it should be excited or apprehensive. You acquiesce to Madame J after a second. Once you do actually enter her car–a vintage Cadillac with the classic wings–and let the driver know where to drop you off, she practically begins vibrating in her seat next to you. 

“Oh, please, you have to tell me who you’re meeting there!” she says, eagerly reaching for and grabbing your hands. The question must be written on your face because she laughs giddily. “Ma belle, the MacArthur is a veritable oasis in Sacramento. If you’re going there and you don’t know this, someone is very eager to make sure you enjoy yourself.”

This time the excitement wins over; you can feel your face heating up and you’re not entirely sure what your face is doing. You struggle to come up with something to say to that–what do you say to that?--but Madame Joncquière giggles some more and pats your thigh.

“So it’s Monsieur Jane, after all? What a man. I wonder who he conned into letting him stay there tonight.” 

“Probably someone else who owes him a favour,” you mutter. Your cheeks hurt from trying not to smile too widely.

“That would be a pretty sizeable favour to cash in on for leisure.” Her tone says she’s just thinking out loud, but you think you understand what Madame J’s trying to say.

Awful big favour to cash in on one woman. Must be a special one.

You try not to think too much about it.

The general manager meets you at the car. You wouldn’t have known he was the general manager if Madame Joncquière hadn’t turned into a gossipy 14 year old girl at the sight of him exiting the hotel doors. He opens the car door for you and helps you out with a hand.

“Lovely to have you, Ms Benraft. I’m Stephen Crawford, General Manager,” he introduces himself, taking a moment to lean forward to address Madam J. “Always a pleasure, Madame. Your friend will be in good hands with us.” 

“Always a pleasure, Monsieur Crawford. Have a wonderful night, chérie,” she finishes while addressing you, tossing a wink. “À la prochaine!” 

The general manager understands his cue to close the door, and the Cadillac slowly pulls away. 

You’re guided through the main building, where Stephen explains the history of the hotel and its various accommodations, all of which go into one ear and out the other. You’re taking directly to your lodgings, and  the general manager assures you that all amenities have been accounted for, including a late dinner and, in his words, “a small wardrobe in anticipation of whatever you would find comfortable”. 

You’re starting to understand why Madame Joncquière reacted the way that she did. Patrick has treated you to luxuries before–dinners, various events, even a trip out of the country–but none of it felt quite this… decadent. Almost overindulgent, actually. 

It truly feels like being spoiled rotten, and you’re still not sure how you feel about it.

Stephen hands you a very intricate key and steps back to wish you a good night, and that the front desk is available 24/7 should there ever be anything you need. You thank him and wait until he’s out of sight before turning back to the door. 

Your blood feels like it’s effervescing in your veins.

You consider knocking first, but decide to just let yourself into the room. You’re expected, after all, so it shouldn’t really matter, right? 

The first thing you notice is the fireplace. Then, the plush chairs, then the bed, then the bay window. The lighting is dim; only two lamps lit and the faint glow from the electric fireplace. The last thing you register is the sound of a shower running. 

You carefully close the door behind you and shrug your coat off, throw it in the direct of one of the chairs to your right. Walking further in, you spot a desk in a took to the left of the door with a chair conveniently pulled out. You carefully sit down to remove your shoes. Beautiful as they are and however aesthetically pleasant it was to have them match your dress, you’re happy to have them off. Carefully massage the soles of your feet, rotate your ankles, before leaning back in the chair.

This is lovely. You almost feel like you’re in one of those secluded little getaway suites in Bali or something. The vibes certainly match, even if late December weather is a bit too chilly. If you actually just let yourself enjoy everything for a second, and stop worrying about what it cost, this is just very nice. 

Maybe you’re starting to feel a little less spoiled and a little more pampered.

You’ve half dozed off by the time you feel warm hands on your shoulders. You sleepily hum, content, and sit up a little straighter. Stifle a yawn behind your hand and hear Patrick chuckle behind you.

“Have fun?”

You groan as you stretch. “Mm, would’ve been more fun withou–”

You cut yourself off after turning around and actually lay eyes on Patrick’s face. His lower lip is split on his left, and there’s a cut above the brow on the same side that you immediately know was from getting decked in the face. There’s also a disconcertingly large bruise on his left side, above his ribs, and you can’t fathom what would have caused that.

“Oh my–shit, are you okay? What happened?” 

You get halfway to standing up before Patrick gently presses you back down onto the chair. “Nothing too bad, I promise,” he answers, almost cajoling. Well, he’s breathing fine, from what you can see and hear. And he doesn’t seem like someone who got stabbed, you don’t think.

You still let the fingers of your left hand glide over the bruise. Patrick does a decent enough job to hide the wince, but it’s still there.

“Can I at least know what caused this one?” “Fire extinguisher.”

The words take a second to sink in before you start laughing. The image in your mind is absolutely far more cartoonish than what actually happened, for sure, but after an entire night of holding your breath, you can feel the tension start draining from your shoulders.

You turn back to face away from Patrick, and he resumes kneading the stress out of your traps and your neck. Thumbs dig into your neck on either side of your spine. It feels heavenly. Your breath catches when a shudder runs up your spine. There’s a heat that flares at the base of your spine when you feel his fingers gently wrap and brace against the sides of your throat.

“You did well tonight,” Patrick whispers into your hair. Takes a moment to brush your hair away before pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck. 

You temper the rising, bubbling pride. “I didn’t even have to do anything.”

You can feel his laughter at the back of your neck. Hands slide down your arms before you feel him resting his forehead on your shoulder. 

“Switching your drinks was a clever idea.” You feel Patrick pulling away, squeak in surprise when he grabs the sides of the chair to spin you around. Crouches in front of your–and only now do you realize that he’s only got a towel around his waist, which parts dangerously wide as he lowers himself. “Made it a lot easier to catch our guy.”

Whatever tension in our shoulders Patrick hasn’t been able to dispel and disperse with his hands just… vanished. It had been a relief, initially, to know that Madame was safe and sound and not at risk of dying a slow, horrible, poisoned death. For the past 48 hours, it’s been a struggle to reign in your mind. You could barely sleep at night just for trying to distract yourself from what would happen if you didn’t pay well enough attention.

Patrick runs his hands over your thighs, up to your hips, tapping twice with his thumbs.

“I’m here,” you say airily, shaking off your thoughts to look Patrick in the eyes. “Just basked in the fact that it’s over now.” Lift a hand up to his face and gently smoothing your thumb below the cut at his brow. “Starting to wonder if I should have been worrying about you this whole time, instead.”

“Probably should have,” Patrick shrugs, and there’s a thrill that runs through you when you think, Of course I should have, of course you’d be getting yourself in some kind of mess.

He doesn’t say anything else when he stands back up and extends a hand out to help you to your feet. You feel silly for it, but you giggle when he makes you twirl, puling you back in with a hand at your waist. 

“Love the dress,” Patrick says, dipping in for a peck on the lips. “Where’d you get it?”

You scoff to compensate for the blood rushing to your face. “Some absolute scamp made me wear it tonight.”

Leading you into a slow, gentle sway by the fireplace, he puts on a show of looking offended. You laugh lightly at the exaggeration, but clear your throat once his expression settles. 

“I suppose the scamp should take it back, then,” he answers, voice low as the hand that held yours skips over ribs and moves up your back. 

You tilt your head when he begins to place opened-mouthed kisses down your neck. You let him pull your zipper down but otherwise don’t help him. Not that he needs much help; once the zipper stops, nearly at the very bottom of your spine, the top of your dress simply crumples away, taking the rest down with it.

Patrick takes a moment to pull back, hands smoothing down your upper arms as he takes a look at you. There’s a very self-content smirk on his face when he takes stock of the lacey, racy lingerie you’re wearing. A hand reaches down and tugs at your garter before letting it snap back into place.

God, the way he looks at you with such open, raw hunger continues to do things to you that you hadn’t known anyone was capable of. Until him.

“Even happier to see someone can follow instructions,” Patrick comments, sounding every part like the cat that got the cream. Both hands both over your hips, up your ribs, thumbs tracing the underside of your breasts.

Patrick leans in, lips barely brushing against yours. “Think you can keep following instructions?” 

You sigh shakily at his tone. “Yes, sir.”

You can feel his chest vibrate with his rumble of appreciation. He doesn’t speak when he tugs you along to bed. Doesn’t need to tell you what to do when he sits, tossing the towel from his waist in the general direction of the sitting area, leaning against the headboard. You dutifully install yourself on his lap, slowly settling your weight over his thighs. 

With two hands firmly on your rear, Patrick pulls you in as close as he can. Thrusts his hips up as he does so. Just the heat of his erection, throbbing against your damp underwear, has you moaning behind tightly sealed lips.

“That’s it,” Patrick encourages when you begin to rut against him without prompting. “Take what you want, I’ll give you the rest.” The rest of his sentence is almost unintelligible as he takes turns between kissing and nipping at your breasts. The bra is a pathetic excuse for fabric, and you understand why he had you wear this particular set; it almost feels as though there’s nothing at all between your skin and the wet heat of his mouth.

It doesn’t take long before you have to brace yourself against Patrick’s shoulders, and soon after that you find yourself whining as you toss your head back. The friction and heat are both wonderful in their own respect, but the angle is wrong, and it’s not nearly enough. 

You’re ravenous, and Patrick is a meal that loves to hold himself out of reach just a bit past long enough.

“Use your words,” he breathes into your collarbones, one hand moving us to massage at one of your breasts while the other moves lower. Down past the delicate lace waist of your panties, thumb teasing around your clit. 

“Fuck,” you choke out, unable to keep yourself from grinding down harder and faster in the hopes that something will change. 

“Not quite enough words,” Patrick quips, and you growl, annoyed. Bring your head back forward and do your best to maintain eye contact. 

It still feels embarrassing, even now. To say it out loud.

You’re learning to accept that… maybe you’re just. A little bit into that.

“Please, sir,” you start, clearing your throat and swallowing thickly. “I would very much like you to fuck me, please.”

Patrick practically purrs, satisfied. This part, too, is well rehearsed. You muster just enough self control to raise your hips. Enough room so he can pull his cock forward. Enough for you to gather saliva in your mouth and let it dribble down. Over Patrick’s hand, and over his cock.

He groans with the feeling of it as you exhaled in something you think might be awe. His eyes are close and head tilted back. He looks debauched, you think, but not quite enough. 

“Can I–can I touch, sir?” you pants, hands already raised by the sides of his head.

“Can’t say no when you ask so nicely,” he breathes out. You immediately run your hands through his hair, digging your fingertips into his scalp. He moans, a drawn-out thing that has your cunt clenching in a desperate way. 

A shudder like electricity shoots through you when you feel Patrick simply pulling aside the gusset of your underwear before lining himself up with your entrance. He takes a second–during which you whine in complaint–to get a hand at the back of your head, fisting the hair there just enough to get your attention. Look down at him with impatient, hooded eyes. 

“You’ll forgive the terrible timing,” he starts, sounding about as breathless as you’re sure you currently do. “But there’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“You’re right,” you groan, leaning your head forward to rest against his. “It’s terrible ti–”

Your sentence is blissfully interrupting when Patrick thrusts up into you. Not quite hilting himself, but damn well near it. You’re not sure what you would call the sound that cracked its way out of your throat. He groans in unison with you, and you’re not sure who’d trying to pull who in closer.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes out, one hand guiding your hips to slowly move against him, the other smoothing the hair at the back of your head. “I love you.”

You keen, a quick, sharp pitched sound. Push yourself just far away to look him in the eyes. Takes him a second to build enough composure back off to raise his head and look at you straight on.

He’s been unguarded before, sure, but not like this. There’s something swirling in your chest and low in your abdomen. Something heavy, heady. 

“Christ,” you exhale, lifting your hips before slamming them back down. Your sharp inhale catches in your throat and Patrick bites back another groan. “Worst timing. Other women would question your motives.”

“Mmh, good thing you aren’t any other woman.” The end of his sentence is punctuated by a particularly sharp thrust upward. You can feel the tip of his cock just brushing against your cervix, and the jolt it sends through has you grinding down back in turn. 

Patrick winds his arms around your back and presses your against his chest. You feel him bracing his feet against the mattress, immediately move to grab the edge tof he headboard. Feel him chuckle under you, flinch when you feel teeth against one of your nipples through the sparse lace.

“Fortunate that I love you too, then.”

You don’t get to properly register the sound you hear bubbling up from the back of Patrick’s throat before he thrusts back up into you. Sets a pace that might’ve been brutal, but even in the haze of oxytocin in your brain you can recognize that this is relief. 

A man that’s been alone and snarling at and against the world for so many years just… just told you he loves you.

When you feel a hand make its way around your throat, you take the cue. 

It’s a tomorrow problem.

Tonight you can just feel, and bask in several jobs well done.

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