#Patrick Corona

[thisdayinmetal]

LUNAR Announces Progressive New Album “The Illusionist” And Single “Juggling Chainsaws” Ft. Obscura's Christian Münzner

ft. members from Witherfall, Helion Prime, Planeswalker, Novareign. Mokili, Nordic Frost, Outloud, Double Vision Album Guests Jørgen Munkeby (Shining), Christian Münzner (Obscura), Andy Gillion (Mors Principium Est),Taylor Washington (Paladin), Sam Vallen (Caligula’s Horse), Ben Karas (Thank You Scientist), Gleb Kanasevich, Patrick Corona Top – L- R – Ryan Price – Bass, Alex Nasla – Keyboards &…

[spencerscoven]

the alternate … art donaldson

Art has a proclivity for giving attention to his enemy. He hates her— but particularly hates how she has Patrick wrapped around her finger even more.

warnings ; smut .. slutty drunk freshman art x Patrick's gf, infidelity .. unedited for now! oops!

It didn’t take much time for Art to settle into Cornell— it wasn’t just the tennis or the girls, of which he quickly learned were rather women, or even the academics. His hesitation on his attendance was especially foolish, especially in moments like these as he rolled over, crushing the red solo up beneath him. The buzzing in his jean pocket persisted, just like it had for the last five minutes before, causing him to utter another affirmation to ignore it into her mouth.

Maybe the women had one or two things to do with it.

"Maybe just get it?"

"Why?"

"So you... can tell them you're busy."

He hummed into her mouth as the girl above him detached herself, moving to grab the stitch of her top to remove it as he tilted his hips to reach for his phone.

Patrick.

His calloused hands came up to push her thighs over his hips, sitting up to read the rapid series of text Patrick had sent. And Art soon saw— was still sending. All of them ranged from different ways of him asking Art to check up on you, letting your attendance be known. Patrick's texts detailed the simple request of him checking to see if you were taking your alcohol well. Another saying he hoped you wouldn't get roofed. And one that blatantly asked that he didn't let any of "those Ivy League assholes" fuck his girlfriend.

Art rolled his eyes, resentment laced in his actions as he muttered condolences and pledged to "be right back", his large hands taking the knob of the door and peering out into the dark hallway to find you. When a look wasn't enough, he left the room door slightly ajar, stepping completely into the hallway filled with red cups, colored lights, almost sidetracked by his team that pulled him by the neck and fought to put a drink in his hand. With a light smile still gracing his face and beer in a can, his eyes wondered up to your face, watching as your lips wrapped around a bottle of Corona, some leaking out the side of which you swiped away with the back of your hand. He felt the same kind of resentment he usually felt when he saw you when Patrick visited fill him from his chest out. He watched as you leaned against the wall talking to someone. He took in your skimpy skirt and top with less resentment, though.

He especially didn't like it when the next time he looked for your face, you were staring at him, eyes hooded and smile nasty and condescending.

"He told me to look for you."

"I know." You raised your eyebrow dismissively, almost wanting to laugh at Patrick's good intentions. He knew what you'd say about Art. Just like you assumed what Art said about you, yet he asked him anyway.

"And by that, he means look after you." Art leans in, lips close to your ear as the music sounded. You roll your eyes as he lingers there a moment too long and you expect him to say something more, but he never does.

"We both know I look fine."

It takes a beat before he responds. "We both do."

"And we both know you don't want to babysit."

"But I'm a good friend."

"I've known corrupt politicians that are better friends than you, Art."

He sways away from you, facing the rest of the party as he rolls his eyes with the kind of insularity he only reserved for you, tipping his head back to finish the rest of his beer and tossing it towards the trashcan, only to miss.

He turns to you, irritation flaring as he stabilizes himself on the sticky wall behind him by holding your hips. It's something you're willing to let go of, your breath clicking as he whispers: "You smell like pot."

"It's a free country."

"Okay," he challenges, pursing his lips as he leans closer. "What's in your cup?"

"What? Yours and Chelsea's not good enough for you?"

His upper lip raises, in a look of both disgust and toleration as he grasps your wrist, forcing you to bring your own bottle to his mouth. The contents of it are mostly able to be swallowed but the rest flow from the corners of his lips, down his chin, to his throat where his Adams apple bobs as he swallows. You wipe it instinctively, causing you to both freeze for only a moment. He shutters before he opens his mouth again to slur,

"Chelsea?"

You look at him quizzically, your mouth opening once, twice, three times, only to say nothing but erupt in laughter that rocks your head backwards and your body closer to his. Art looks around frantically, his mouth tilting downwards as he looks around, grasping your hips forward and gritting his teeth as he repeats himself.

"Chelsea? What's the fucking joke I'm not getting?"

"The girl that you just— my fucking god, Art. I know you look the way you do, but you couldn't even remember her name?" You tilt your head towards the doorway, insinuating the room you're sure his cologne still lingered in. He groans, his head falling forward in a laugh as his right hand on your hip runs up the side of your torso, his head spinning.

"I'm not a very good date, am I?" You can nearly taste the alcohol on his tongue and you're out of laughs, humor gone as a consequence of being so close to him. And maybe he's too drunk to realize it's happening, but you're too cross to care when his thumbs rub circles on your hipbone, of which he had to invade underneath your waistband to do.

"I almost finished my night like this." It's so quiet that you're unsure if it was for you to hear. But it doesn't matter, as your hand runs up his arm and shoulders, eyes following over the ripples.

"This is not the same."

Your other hand trickles down to his waistband, guiltily skating over his bulge as you feel his pocket for his phone.

"Arthur, Patrick told you to check on me. So, tell him I'm okay."

"I told him that I'd check on you. I also told him you were a bad idea, like I always do," He saws it lowly, as if it's not supposed to slip out and has only found it's way because of his level of intoxication. You scoff, pushing him backwards as you're suddenly slightly more sober. You rock back and forth, eyes rolling back, but the distance is not created before you can hear him finish: "but I never said he didn't have good taste."

You don't like that it's still said in the way only drunk and resentful Art could deliver it. "You're not a very good fucking friend."

"To who, you?" He makes it his personal duty to invade your space, his face in somewhat of a snarl. You know that some would see this as uncharacterized for Art, but it's most familiar to you. It feels somewhat like home. Albeit, a house fire, but home.

Your first encounter with him was glancing behind yourself at move in, and seeing his blonde locks brushed back by calloused hands as he looked at you, then to your racket.

Your second encounter was only minutes later, when he stood next to his raven haired friend who asked for your number as he rolled his eyes with a knot in his jaw, as if he didn't find you worthy. He tugged on the shirt of his friend, telling him there were better things to do. Better, he had said.

And that never made much sense to you. Because in your relationship with Patrick, there had always been the inconsequential three.

"You're not my friend," You begin, mind calculating how many rooms and doors of Cornell's largest final club you'd have to go before finding somewhere, anywhere, that would fit just you. "Never was."

Art's only silent for a moment, nose flaring and eyes squinting. his shoulders are tense, and if you were to look down you'd see his hand balled in a fist.

"What? What now, Art?"

"You never gave me your number."

He watches as your eyes furrow in confusion, the heat in your eyes rising rather than deflating. And he speaks again:

“You gave it to Patrick. But you never gave me your number.”

Without your bottle, your hands search for something to do, blinking frantically. They resort to touching yourself in the same places he just had, your fingers running down your torso quickly, your hip bone. When you touch your shoulder is when the two of your gazes meet once again. Art watches through blue as you nod your head slowly in both horror and understanding.

You're quick on your feet. He's watched countless of your matches, even when he had no business doing so. But he is too. So when a short string of curses land out of your mouth and you march down the hallway, he's on your heels.

And all you can think is that you know his gaze better than any other. It wasn't something you intended but through these sporadic games, your body and soul had bargained to be familiar with Art more than any other. If he leaned against the net or lunch table, it became the kind of resourcefulness of movement that was so particularly him. It was rare you called on him, yet necessary when it was a matter of Patrick. He was always there, steadfast and urgent. It'd be days before you learned of the lecture he missed because of it. And while your boyfriend was off being a pro, Art never was slow to tell you how good his female counterparts around him were, while you were "only barely whopping college ass".

But somehow he was always there. You found his gels and handle tape in your tennis bag. You had more than half your dining points still because you were just "a casualty of being present” when he was buying his own lunch. And it all made you feel as if he was just very...

"You're a fucking con artist," You shoved him against the door of which he only narrowly made it "A fucking wolf in sheep's clothing."

It made you even angrier that he was stronger than you but willing to let his body fall back, lips pierced in a thin obedient line as his back hit the door repeatedly under your assault until he grasped both your forearms, holding them closely together. A wince escaped your mouth, his strength relenting and becoming lighter but still he held you. He leaned down, attempting to meet your face that now focused on the hardwood below.

"I know I'm the bad guy. Still, what's it gonna be?"

You didn't look up at that. But you did at the vibration that sounded in his pocket just seconds later. There were always three.

Art doesn't waste a moment to release your arms, wrapping his own in an enclosure around your head to reach your lips, tugging you impossibly close to him. You can't help but not move-- letting him twist your head and invade your lips. It's only until you release a small moan you latch back.

After Art's kiss, your night was haunted. It was distorted beyond your eyes' power of correction. So when a pair of lips landed on yours again, you came back home. You gave in.

His hands ran down your body, invading each and every corner of you. Your hips, your waist, the small of your back, the back of your thighs which he used to hoist your body upwards and against the doorframe, caging you. As the wet kisses sound on your neck, you look past his head to the room you two now occupied, no bed. Just various pieces of miscellaneous covered in cream sheets. When you look towards the window, releasing another whimper as you feel his middle and index finger prod at your cotton panties, you can see dust aligning with the moonlight.

Like everything else he does, he's good at the way he touches you. No, nearly instinctual. Art's fingers curve and level themselves out inside of you, yet he leaves his palms frigid, rubbing your clit back and forth with the surface of it. It makes you all so weak, Art murmuring your name as the two of you lower to the floor, you're suddenly reminded of the urgency of the matter.

"Art, I need--"

"I know,"

I know,

I know,

I know.

He repeats the sentiment into your skin and it almost makes your eyes brim with tears as you feel his bulge covered by denim slot against your soaked underwear. The feeling is delicious, so you excuse your decorum when you buck your hips against his. You watch as he detaches himself from you, the depth of his blonde hair twinkling in the moonlight. His lips and chin are swollen and wet from your messy kisses that appeared to be more tongue than anything. He lifts your hips to remove your skirt on his own once he catches the way your eyes watch him, still. He looks at you, sick with the same fever, but now you're not quite sure what this illness even is.

His hands move to tug your shirt up, yet you push his hands away, making them double up on his belt as both of you scramble to slide his jeans below his ass. You also help him when he leans to grab your right leg, sliding it up and against his hip as he sways above you. You watch as he thinks, only for a moment, places a feather right kiss on your knee, whispers something you can't hear, and promptly shoves his dick inside of you.

The force of it slams your head against the door, the hinges rattling but the surprise of his size makes it so you hardly notice. You close your eyes immediately until you're struck with the realization that you hope this never happens again. You hope you're never drunk enough, or lucky enough to have your boyfriend's best friend's dick rocking you back and forth ever again. You near your eyes open, willing to at least let yourself savor what little you have now, gazing in the middle of you two where you can see him disappear inside of you repeatedly.

Art huffs above you as your name escape his lips repeatedly as if it hadn't been the first time. You find yourself unable to cope, grabbing the hardwood until you realize there's not much give. So you resort to firmly biting his shoulder between your gasps and yelps. which only surges him on to drive into you faster, his hips snapping and the sounds of both your flesh filling the room.

You feel his clammy hand reach for the hair at the nape of your neck and you allow yourself to submissively follow regardless of your confusion. Art's breath mingles with yours as he asks:

"Is it good?"

You don't answer.

"Does it feel good?"

Your brows furrow together as you nod your head up and down as if you’ve been doped, chest heaving uncontrollably. He meets your lips and it feels as if he's kissing you solely for himself as he drags his hand on your cheeks and forehead, ridding your face of your sweat and hair. His other hand circulates your clit with a firm hold and you feel the familiar sensation approaching. Your skin felt both as cold and hot as it ever had, your teeth penetrating your bottom lip, biting Art in the process.

"I don't think we should do this.." You spit out quietly in intervals, because it feels like the right thing to say right before you come all over his cock and he leans down to look at the mess you've made in bliss. The results that it gives are fruitful, as you feel his fingers' relentlessness on your clit still. But you can tell he's struggling to stay where he is, trying to milk every moment he can inside of you.

You use your feet to push his hips back, arms reaching above your head as you untangle your limbs. Your legs remain sprawled out on his thighs, of which lay on his calves. The silence between you two is like molasses, and he stares at your core as you brush your socked toes against his abdomen, then cock.

You see a frown form on his face, but you're also met with the needy repeated rise of his hips that meet your foot and help you grind against him. You watch in awe as his eyes don't leave yours, confusion filling the air. You bring your feet faster, rubbing against his tip and watch as Art's whimper fills the air and his cum shoots to his lower stomach and your sock, his eyes closing, throat repeatedly bobbing as he rides his high. You watch as the thrusts into you become increasingly slower until they stop completely and the two of you are left still once again. You marvel in the way it seems almost as if he always gets what he wants. And Art isn't quite sure of what to make of you at all anymore, with his ears ringing and chest warm.

On his knees, he cascades towards your body that slumps against the door frame. He moves towards you slowly at first, hesitating if you wanted any of this at all. But you don't decline the warmth of his chest as he pulls you in, wordlessly. You let him bury his nose to your scalp as he takes you in.

And you both agree that if this may be a story of tonight alone, you both might as well melt indistinguishably into it once again.

[batbabydamian]

Damian Wayne NYCC 2023 Remarks & Commissions!

Patrick Gleason

Jorge Jimenez

Dan Mora

Jorge Corona

Simone Di Meo

Dike Ruan

[doormatty3]

A True Gentleman (Patrick Wilson x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Summary:

[Patrick Wilson x Female Reader] [Patrick Wilson x You] He's just one of those terribly handsome dads that you're gonna talk about with your colleagues later - that's your initial thought when you meet Partick at a parent-teacher night. Those bright blue eyes, soft brown locks, charming grin, and that damn black wool sweater leave you smitten. When you accidentally burn your hand with hot coffee, he's a true gentleman, escorting you to the bathroom. But when seeing the two of you in the mirror you soon find out he's just as smitten and he teaches you the most important lesson - all you have to do is ask. OR: Patrick teaches you to be quiet while taking his cock

Wordcount: 7,673

Warnings: 18+, fingering, unprotected sex, cream pie, breeding, semi-public sex, vaginal sex, smut, dirty talk

A/N: This happened when I saw that picture of Patrick at the Sitzprobe for the 80th anniversary concert in London. Jesus fucking Christ HOW does he look so good in that black wool sweater.

I also wrote this while having Corona - great success

AND: Merry Christmas to you all

A hurried glance at the clock sends a surge of anxiety through your veins - you are late. While that would normally be excusable you know that it won't be today since you’re expected to attend one of the infrequent parent-teacher nights at the school. What complicates matters further is that you’re a teacher and parents wish to consult you to find out how their kids are doing. 

You gather your students’ files from the table in the teachers’ room you were sitting at, cursing when you drop a sheet of paper.

All this stress is certainly not treating you well so you stop to take a breath, telling yourself that it will be fine, especially because not many parents have booked a slot with you. If your memory doesn’t fail you it should be two appointments this evening, one at the beginning and one at the end of the time period.

As you stand in the teachers’ lounge, you take another moment to compose yourself. With a deliberate sweep, you smooth over the fabric of your skirt and inhale deeply again.

You gather your paperwork and your files and step you, leaving the confines of the room.

Stepping into the corridor of the cool, a wave of hustle envelops you. Lockers line the walls, intermittently punctuated by vibrant bulletin boards displaying student achievements as well as upcoming events and general information. Your footsteps echo rhythmically through the hallway as you walk.

You exchange quick greetings with anyone you encounter in passing.

Observing from behind, his short, curly light brown hair styled backward catches your attention. Some rebellious locks playfully curl around the nape of his neck, framing the contours of his ears. It’s a distinctive look, one that would undoubtedly be etched in your memory had you encountered him before.

Fuck an internal curse echoes through your thoughts as you approach your office and find a tall man standing in front of it with his back turned to you. His figure is outlined by a snug wool sweater that accentuates the breadth of his shoulders.

You sift through your mental catalogue of students and their parents, but his name remains elusive, a puzzle piece refusing to fit.

Maybe he is standing in for the mother of his child? Because his presence seems out of sync with the typical attendees of parent-teacher events. The subtle cues in his body language, the nervous weight-shifting from one leg to another, and the intermittent hand running through his styled hair, all suggest a discomfort that aligns with someone unaccustomed to such gatherings.

“Hi, I’m so sorry! I lost track of time while grading papers”, you greet him with a sheepish smile, closing the distance between you, “I hope I didn’t let you wait for too long?”

He turns around, and you involuntarily suck in a breath, an immediate heat spreading across your cheeks when his gaze meets yours.

He’s handsome.

Bright blue eyes, reminiscent of a cloudless sky, reflect the ambient light in the hallway, exuding a unique vibrancy. His high forehead suggests intellect, complemented by a straight nose that adds a touch of refinement to his features. Thin, defined lips curve with an understated confidence, leaving an indelible impression. His well-groomed hair, mostly obedient, frames his face, yet there's an artful disarray - a few wayward locks that seem to defy the meticulous order. 

He instantly breaks into a bright smile that reveals a set of perfect, white teeth and causes the skin next to his eyes to crinkle with an infectious warmth.

“Hi, it’s no problem. I was early anyway,” he reassures you with a friendly, soft tone.

You can practically feel his eyes raking over your form and some part of you desperately hopes that he likes what he sees. He embodies one of the terribly handsome dads that you and your colleagues will talk about in the future. You’re sure that he turned quite a few heads coming in.

With another smile, you turn toward the door, unlocking it with a practised ease. Gesturing for him to enter, you open the gateway to your office, inviting him in.

Closing the door behind him, you discreetly seize the opportunity to check out his ass. 

He patiently waits for you to finish your task before extending his hand.

“I’m Patrick Wilson, by the way. I’m here because of my son,” he states, properly introducing himself.

You take his hand, feeling the warmth and strength in his firm handshake, a physical reflection of the confident presence he exudes. 

As the name resonates, you recall Patrick Wilson’s son. The mental fog lifts, revealing a memory of a nice and quiet kid excelling in your class.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Wilson. Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?” you inquire.

“Please,” he says, accompanied by another of his infectious smiles and a playful wink, “And Patrick is fine.” 

“So, I’m sorry to ask, Patrick, but I am curious…” you begin, and he looks at you intently, one eyebrow raised in anticipation, “You’ve never been at a parent-teacher night as far as I can tell... so why now? Is everything alright with your son?”

“Alright,” you giggle, caught off guard by the unexpected lightness he brings to the interaction. A momentary realisation hits you – he even made you giggle. 

God, get a grip.

“Oh, oh yes,” he scratches his head, running his hand through his hair with a smile directed at you, “Normally his mother attends these… but since we split up, I just wanted to make sure he’s okay.”

Shit , you think, a sudden understanding dawning on you. Not only did you bring up a personal topic, but you did it with a lack of sensitivity. 

“I’m so sorry, Patrick! I didn't mean to be inconsiderate,” you express genuine remorse colouring your words. 

The sincerity of your apology reflects the understanding that you unintentionally touched upon a sensitive matter. He seems like a nice guy, and his child is genuinely a sweetheart, making the inadvertent misstep all the more regrettable.

Patrick makes a reassuring gesture with his hand, “Don’t mention it, it's fine—we just weren't compatible anymore.” 

His understanding response eases the tension, but you can't shake off the lingering discomfort from your unintentional insensitivity. Despite his graciousness, the awareness of being a dick lingers, leaving you with a sense of regret.

“Let me get you that coffee, Patrick,” you suggest, gracefully redirecting the conversation. Making your way to the coffee machine in the room, you seize the opportunity to shift focus.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” you hear him say, his steps echoing behind you with a hint of sincerity. 

You instantly stop in your tracks and turn around, catching Patrick off guard and causing him to collide with you.

His hand instinctively grabs into your waist, steadying you, you’re enveloped in his clean and fresh scent that lingers in the air. It’s a captivating aroma, reminiscent of the sea breeze on a crisp morning. The subtle notes of a light, refreshing cologne mingle with a hint of oceanic elements, creating a fragrance that is both invigorating and oddly comforting.

“Sorry,” Patrick murmurs, his face inches from yours, his breath brushing against your cheek.

“It’s okay,” you reply, breath catching as his fingers briefly tighten. Your gaze traces from his eyes to his lips and back up.

Nervously, you gulp at the close proximity, feeling a subtle tension in the air. Wetting your lips, you sense his eyes following the movement of your tongue. The touch of his large hands still lingers, a residual warmth seeping through your shirt, leaving a searing imprint that adds to the charged atmosphere between you.

“You didn't - it’s fine. I just didn’t want you to feel pressured or anything and felt that a coffee might be what we both needed,” you explain, stumbling over your words. 

He nods in response and takes a step back. Instantly, you find yourself missing the warmth of his touch, a subtle yearning lingering in the aftermath of the unexpectedly close encounter.

You turn your back to him, attempting to compose yourself and switch on the coffee maker. It’s a proper barista machine, a deliberate investment made some time ago to make the longer hours spent in your office more bearable. The rattling of the machine reverberates loudly in the otherwise quiet room.

“How do you take your coffee, Patrick?” you inquire, attempting to shift the focus to casual small talk as you turn around to face him. It’s a subtle effort to smooth over the residual nerves lingering from the unexpected closeness a moment ago.

He embodies the epitome of cool and collected, casually leaning against the wall in the middle of your office. The ease with which he carries himself creates a visual snapshot, a moment you'd capture if you had a camera, as he appears as though he just stepped out of a magazine. 

“Oh, just a dash of milk, please. No sugar,” he smiles at you, pursing his lips in an adorable way. 

“Milk is in the fridge behind you,” you say, pointing at the small fridge. Turning back to the machine, you proceed to pour both him and yourself a cup of coffee.

After a few moments, you turn around again purely on autopilot to retrieve the milk from the fridge.

What you did not expect was Patrick’s strong chest colliding with yours again. He had just taken the milk from the fridge and intended to bring it over to you.

The sudden impact causes the freshly brewed hot coffee to spill over. It hits your hands, searing them with a sharp pain. A pained yelp escapes your lips, you involuntarily release the mugs. They shatter on the floor, adding a chaotic note to the unfolding moment as you clutch your burning arm.

Patrick's eyes widen in shock as he observes the aftermath of the spilled coffee, freezing momentarily in place. It's only a brief pause before he snaps into action, his apology filled with genuine concern.

“Oh god, I’m so, so sorry,” he utters, his voice laced with remorse.

Moving gently towards you, his eyes remain fixed on yours, a mix of shock and worry evident in the depths of his gaze.

“Let me see,” he coaxes, reaching for your hand.

Despite the pain shooting through your arm, his touch is surprisingly gentle, the warmth of his fingers a stark contrast to the burning sensation. As he holds your hand, the close proximity causes goosebumps to erupt all over your body, a physical reaction to the unexpected intimacy of the moment. Your hand, seemingly small in his, accentuates the vulnerability that has unfolded in the aftermath of the accidental mishap.

He holds your hand gently, his fingers trailing over the burned skin with feather-light touches. His eyes remain locked onto yours, the connection is unbroken. The tenderness in his touch offers a contrast to the pain. 

“We should cool it,” he says quietly, his blue eyes intently staring at yours. 

Despite the throbbing pain in your hand and arm, an unexpected sense of peace washes over you. Patrick’s gentle care and his big hands on yours feel surprisingly right, creating a moment you don’t want to end.

You find yourself imagining those large hands cupping your naked breasts, rolling your nipples between strong fingers, teasing and twisting and pulling just a little too hard. You can imagine the look on his face too, that concentrated expression, with furrowed brows and pursed lips, dedicated to the task at hand.

Struggling to regain composure amid the pain and the magnetic pull towards Patrick, you concede.

“You're right,” still savouring the comfort of his gentle strokes, “Some cold water may help”

He nods in agreement, his eyes shifting from your hand to meet yours, “Lead the way.”

“You don't have to…” you trail off. While it’s kind of him to offer assistance and accompany you, you convey that it isn't necessary.

Instead of arguing, you surrender to the sincerity of Patrick's offer, a subtle nod expressing your acceptance of his assistance.

“I want to,” he insists, his expression serious. 

“It’s the least I can do…” Patrick says, his remorse evident. The warmth inside you grows, appreciating his genuine care despite the unintended hurt.

As you navigate towards the door, Patrick silently trails your steps. The subtle echo of his presence resonates in the corridor. Exiting your office, the two of you proceed towards the bathrooms. You can feel his proximity, a comforting closeness that extends beyond mere physical presence.

Patrick, without uttering a word, places his hand on the small of your lower back. It’s a gentle yet firm touch, a constant reminder that he's right there, steadfastly supporting you. The warmth from his touch permeates, creating a silent connection between the two of you. 

Arriving at the bathroom, you open the door, and your eyes catch Patrick standing there, uncertain. The moment hangs in the air as he seems unsure of the next move.

“Can you come with?” 

The request lingers in the air, wrapped in a delicate vulnerability that you allow to seep into your words.

“I don’t want to be alone in case I faint or fall.”

Patrick nods understandingly and opens the door for you, his hand gently guiding you with a reassuring touch on your lower back. As the door closes behind you two, you realise you’re in the typical school bathroom. Under ordinary circumstances, you might have opted for the private restroom reserved for teachers. Yet, in the current moment, with only a few parents and teachers lingering in the school, the distinction seems inconsequential and you're sure that you won’t run into someone you know.

That’s a half-truth. You’re veiling the fact that your injuries aren’t severe enough to induce fainting. 

Yet, there's a subtle comfort in the notion of having him by your side. It’s not just about the potential physical support - you want him to accompany you to get to know him a bit more.

The bathroom is illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights that reflect off the white-tiled walls. The atmosphere is surprisingly calm, creating a stark contrast to the heightened emotions of the previous moments. Patrick’s continued presence provides an anchor, his hand still resting on your lower back, a gesture that feels oddly comforting in this ordinary yet intimate setting.

You stand at the sink, rolling up your sleeves, and let the cold water cascade over your burned hand and arm. The stinging pain intensifies, pulsating with each beat of your heart. Examining it closely, you notice red patches forming, and it looks like there might be blisters beginning to emerge. Despite the discomfort, you continue to let the cold water offer some relief.

As you stand there, you can't help but entertain a fleeting thought. Perhaps there could have been a better way to spend the evening than standing in this school bathroom, cooling your injury under a tap.

“You doing okay there?" Patrick’s melodic voice breaks through your thoughts. Your head snaps to him, and the sudden movement makes you wobble, momentarily losing your balance. 

The image of Patrick in that damn wool sweater crosses your mind, and for a moment, you think about just taking it off him and about how that would lead to a much more enjoyable evening.

However, with a sigh, you push the thought aside, focusing on the practicality of treating the burn in the present situation.

He notices you are off-balance instantly, and he comes over to stand behind you, steadying you with a supportive touch. As you look at both of you in the mirror, you can't help but feel a sense of contrast. In his presence, you seem small, almost dwarfed by him, his large form surrounding you.

You sway a bit against him, feeling the steadying comfort of Patrick’s arms wrapping around you as soon as he notices.

“This is surprisingly effective,” you comment, a small chuckle escaping your lips. 

As you rest in the circle of his arms, you become acutely aware of the heat emanating from his body, the solid warmth of his broad chest against your back. You can’t help but feel arousal pooling in your veins, slowly but steadily spreading through your body.

With a playful tone, Patrick responds, “Well, I aim to provide top-notch steadying services.”

“You got a talent for it, Patrick,” you quip, enjoying the warmth of the embrace.

He chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest against your back, “Well, it’s all in the technique. A mix of charm and muscle, you know?”

“Ah, the secret recipe. I appreciate both elements,” you play along and you do appreciate both, they make an intoxicating mix. And if you’re honest your fingertips tingle to trace them over his mentioned muscles - over his hard chest that you feel rising and falling with every breath, over his strong arms that are wrapped around you.

His tone becomes a tad more serious, his arms tightening around you protectively, “In all seriousness, are you feeling alright? That burn looks like it stings.”

You nod, “Yeah, it does, but your impromptu rescue mission is definitely helping.”

He grins, “Glad to be of service.”

You can’t help but admire Patrick’s attractive smile. It’s something you’ve noticed before, but now, in the reflection of the mirror, you find yourself truly appreciating the genuine charm it holds. The interplay of his features, the crinkling at the edges of his eyes, the sparkling of his blue eyes like light falling onto a smooth water surface … it all adds an extra layer of warmth to the embrace.

Caught up in the moment you rub your ass against him, wanting to know if he feels that spark too.

His only reaction is a sharp intake of breath when you brush over his groin but nothing that indicates discomfort. 

So you do it again, harder this time, feeling him hardening against your ass.

Patrick tightens his hold on you, pulling you even closer. In the reflection of the mirror, you find his gaze and fuck, you like what you see. 

His eyes, once soft blue, have deepened into a more intense shade, revealing a hint of desire beneath the furrowed brows. The subtle play of light and shadow casts a captivating look on his face, where concentration blends with a dark allure. His lips have curved in a half smile, a mix of amusement and something more primal.

Patrick rubs his nose against the side of your face and breathes in, before sucking at the sensitive spot under your ear.

Your knees buckle and you realise that you're held upright by his steady grip on you.

“You know you could have just asked… no need to spill coffee and injure yourself,” Patrick murmurs against the back of your neck, his voice low enough that the slight growl of it vibrates against your skin.

Then his mouth is on yours.

Hot, heavy, heady, like you could get drunk off his kiss. You return it with the same intensity as you feel arousal crashing through your veins the sting of your hand long forgotten. 

A happy murmur escapes him, reverberating through you low and dark when he notices your enthusiastic response. Immediately you feel the need to hear it again, so you move a hand under his sweater, the warmth of his muscular chest against your palm ignites the fire in you. 

All logic and reason is gone when you dig your nails into his skin and he groans again, heavy against your lips.

Strong, hard fingers dig into the soft muscle as he devours you. You’re fairly sure that his grip will leave bruises and push harder against him. 

His hard cock feels big against you, you can’t help but wonder if you’d struggle to take all of him in your mouth.

While you know that there are at least four layers between you, his probably tight boxers and the blue jeans as well as your underwear and dress pants, it feels immaterial. Like he would just be able to push inside you with one hard stroke.

You end the kiss gasping for air, both breathing heavily and you take in the reflection in the mirror.

Would he try to push three of those thick fingers inside your cunt? To edge on that boundary of pleasure of pain before withdrawing and going back to two.

The hand on your hip that is digging so deliciously into your flesh is flexed and you swallow thickly, noting the long fingers.

You wonder if he was able to fit two inside you, making sure you were ready for all of him because evident by his hard dick pressing into the low of your back, Patrick is no small man.

Patrick keeps his eyes locked on yours as he slips on hand under your shirt, making sure that you’re fine with it. When he registers no opposition from you, he places his hand on your breast, touching it through your bra.

His finger rubs over your nipple, eliciting a quiet moan from you as it feels like electricity shoots from your breast to your pussy. Involuntarily, your free hand finds the edge of the counter to grip something as your other hand digs into the hard muscles of his back. He squeezes them again, before letting his hand wander underneath your bra, pulling the cups down, so he can reach your boobs easier. 

Patrick’s palm cups your naked tits and you feel the rough, warm skin of his strong hands. You can’t help but bite your lips when his fingers run over your nipple in an almost lazy gesture. 

You push back against the hard swell of his cock in an attempt to also give him some friction or motivate him to touch you more. 

Apparently, it works because he rolls your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, moving back and forth until they are stiff, before squeezing his fingers together roughly. You moan and arch your back, pushing into his hands at the sudden roughness that just touched that border of pain that you like. 

He pulls your head back to kiss you deeply. His tongue curves gently into your mouth and runs over the edge of your lip, coaxing you to flick your tongue against him. You lean fully into the kiss, deepening it even further. 

With one last flick on your nipples, he slides his hands out of your top and breaks the kiss. His hands find the hem of your shirt. 

“This okay?”  his voice is rough and deeper, clearly affected by the situation, His eyes are bright and questioning as he looks at you in the reflection, waiting for a response. 

You nod breathlessly - to be honest you’ll be fine with whatever he does to you at this point. But the way he smiles and presses a quick kiss to your neck almost makes you swoon.

Patrick pulls the shirt up and off over your head, leaving you in only your bra is already pulled down to reveal your breasts.

For a split second, you wonder if he may not like what he sees but they melt away when you see the barely constrained heat and desire in his eyes as he licks his lips unconsciously. He runs his palms over your back, arms, and neck before bringing you back for a kiss while undoing your bra and sliding it off you.

You tug on his sweater, telling him wordlessly to take it off, something you have itched to do since you’ve first seen him. He obliges, pulls it over his head and you’re left with Patrick Wilson shirtless. A breath hitches in your throat as you take him in - a broad chest, muscular, dusted with hair, and a prominent line going down over his stomach.

You sense that you aren’t the only one who is eager to finally see what you only felt earlier.

He engulfs you again from behind, reclaiming your mouth into a kiss. You close your eyes to relish the feeling of his hot, hard, and bare chest on your back. 

Patrick plants new open-mouthed kisses down the edge of your throat and neck, leaving brightly coloured marks in his wake. With each nibble and soft scraping of his teeth against your skin, you feel yourself getting wetter, the fabric of your underwear getting slicker. 

Your eyes flutter closed when he runs his hand over your collarbone to cup one of your tits in his big palm, every touch of his fingers setting your nerves alight with blazing desire. 

Patrick squeezes your breast deliberately, weighing it in his hand. You can feel his gaze on you, watching you, seizing your every reaction to his ministrations. Wanting to see him, you open your eyes and lick your lips breathlessly as you take him in. His eyes are heavy-lidded and the soft blue has given way to the blackness of his pupil. You watch his hand grope your body, mesmerised by the ripple of his muscles and the map of veins on his arms. 

He lets go of your tit and places his hand on your sternum, fingers sprawled out to touch as much of you as possible and keep you upright as you feel your knees buckle a bit with his burning touch and tenderness while his other hand continues to explore your body, moving downwards.

His hand massages the inside of your thigh, drawing lazy circles and patterns before his strong fingers edge closer to your cunt. You can’t help but whimper when he trails his forefinger over the seam of your crotch. 

“Needy,” he groans into your ear, hot breath fanning over it. 

He has the nerve to shoot you a wink and a lopsided grin before he increases the pressure and repeats the motion. Your head falls back against his shoulder and you grind against his hard cock again. You’re pretty sure that he has to be able to feel the dampness seeping through the material of your pants.  

A hiss escapes you when he uses the tip of his finger to gently rub over your clit and part of you is amazed that he manages to find it even through your pants. Your mind is blissfully blank, nothing is relevant and existing except the warmth radiating from Patrick’s broad body behind you and the wonderful feeling of his finger on your clothed cunt and clit. 

You arch against him, pushing your ass into his covered cock. A jolt of pleasure courses through you as you hear him moan lowly against your ear. His eyes flutter closed and his jaw is slack in arousal as he rubs his dick against you. 

You don’t think you have seen him look more beautiful today.

Unbeknownst to you, the words escape your lips, and a redness fans over your cheeks when you notice Patrick’s eyes opening, warmth evident in them. His lips curve into a sweet, shy smile, and the blush that creeps to cover his chest only enhances his handsomeness.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, his voice carrying a blend of sincerity and quiet delight before capturing your lips in a slow kiss.

His hand shifts against your hip, edging into the waistband of your pants as his fingers dance over the bare skin before he hooks them into the seam and drags both your pants and underwear down over your ass.

When his fingers trail over your bare cunt you let out a whimper and buck into his hand, desperate for him to give you more.

Patrick captures your mouth again in a wet kiss, biting down on your bottom lip just as he slips one of his thick fingers into your wet pussy. He swallows the moan that escapes you and you feel his cock twitching against your ass.

Suddenly, you are aching to touch him more too, to tease him in the same way he drives you insane. So you reach behind you to free his dick from his jeans. 

His stomach muscles tense when you graze them softly with your nails. With your gaze trailed on him in the mirror you watch his reaction to you. His lips are parted and his eyes are watching you intensely, his finger thrusting shallowly into your cunt, not going deeper than the first knuckle. 

Impatient you tug at his jeans and boxer shorts, pulling them down to expose his cock. Your fingers curl around him instantly, eliciting a deep and feral sound from Patrick that makes your whole body tingle. He feels hot and heavy inside your hand and you were right with your previous assumption - he is big. You move your hand over the length of him, swiping your thumb over the head to add to the stimulation.

Patrick moves his hand, so he can use the ball of his hand to rub against your clit, making you gasp sharply. 

Finally , he adds another finger and pushes them in completely, You mewl, bucking against his hand as you enjoy the way his thick fingers feel inside you, deliciously stretching you. 

You pick up the pace, letting your hand glide over his cock faster and he retaliates. 

Patrick thrusts into you faster and you whimper when the edge of his palm meets your sensitive clit hard. The wet sound of him fucking your cunt with his fingers is loud in the otherwise quiet room. When he curls his fingers inside of you, you stop jerking him off. Both of your hands come to grip the edge of the counter, overwhelmed by the sensations. 

Your mind is void of thoughts only the feeling of Patrick’s hard, hot body behind you and his thick fingers inside your pussy persist.

A loud moan falls from your lips when he adds another finger. Three of his strong, long fingers are pushing into you, feeling almost too big as the stretch is bordering on uncomfortable. With every thrust, you whine breathlessly as you grind into his hand. 

Patrick only fucks your cunt a few times with three fingers before switching back to two that feel just perfect now. His palm still provides friction on your clit, slowly but steadily leading you to your high. 

You whine when he pulls his hand back, “Please, Patrick -”

“I love it when you say my name,” he groans and nips at your neck before he taps your lips with his fingers, prompting you to open your eyes which you closed sometime during this as well as part your lips. Patrick pushes two of his slick fingers into your mouth, and the salty flavour of your pussy settles on your tongue as you lick and suck on them.

His mouth is on you the second he withdraws his fingers, tasting you on your tongue. He murmurs something against your lips, raw and deep but your brain is too foggy to register the words.

More, you just want more. More of him, his fingers, his everything.

And it seems like Patrick has a similar idea because he grinds his hard cock against the lips of your cunt, coating himself in your wetness, nudging your sensitive clit in the process. 

You’re sure that you don’t breathe when he pushes forward slowly. Patrick’s head falls forwards onto your shoulder with a groan as he fills you. When he bottoms out, he stills, his fingers digging into your hips sharply when he lets you adjust.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well,” his voice is muffled by your shoulder but the dark, masculine edge to it sends shivers through your veins. 

Patrick lifts his head, pressing one lingering kiss to your shoulder, before catching your glaze in the reflection. He gives you a cheeky wink and pulls out only to slam back into you.

The drag of his cock over the slick walls of your cunt felt heavenly, hitting all the right spots and filling you to the brim. You push back against him to meet him for every hard stroke. As much as you want to keep quiet you just can’t.

In the reflection of the mirror, you watch the way his muscular arms bend and tense as well as the tightening of his abs whenever he thrusts inside you. You watch his cock plunging into your cunt, shining when he pulls back.

You clench around him, making him groan as he continues his fast pace. Patrick moves one hand from your hip to your clit, the pad of his fingers scraping over it softly, adding to the stimulation. You know that you’re close, the combination of everything adding up much quicker than normal.

The rhythmic clicking of heels echoes outside on the linoleum floor of the corridor and catches your attention. Initially uncertain if it's just your imagination, but Patrick gradually stills in his movements, causing an involuntary whine to escape you.

“Quiet”, he hisses, his head turning towards the door.

The clicking of heels draws nearer, and a sense of urgency tightens its grip on you. Your mind goes blank, leaving you unsure of what course of action to take and how to diffuse the compromising situation.

Patrick’s quick thinking kicks in with a fluidity that catches you off guard. In a deft movement, he seizes both your shirt and his pullover as he smoothly guides you backward, his cock slipping out of you. The urgency of the situation propels you both into a nearby toilet cabin, the door closing behind you with a hushed click.

The creak of the door opening sends a jolt of tension through you. Whoever was in the corridor has now entered the bathroom, and your hope intensifies that you both managed to grab everything in the hurried move to the cabin.

Patrick seems fairly sure of that as he takes a seat on the closed lid of the toilet, pulling you onto his lap with a seamless motion. The sound of the other person fades into the background as you take the opportunity to study him. Dark eyes, watching you intently, swollen lips, tousled curly hair, shirtless with sweat glistening on his broad chest and his cock still erect. 

Something short circuits in your brain as you take in the handsome man opposite you as you mumble under your breath, “Jesus Christ, Patrick” and you feel the undeniable urge to taste him, feel him, and touch him. 

You let your fingers brush through his hair, scraping your nails over his scalp as you completely mess up the neat styling of his curls. In the back of your head, you note, that his hair is pleasingly soft to the touch.

Patrick in turn grabs the back of your head, pulling you into him to claim you in a kiss. It is soft and easy, his tongue slipping into your mouth to nudge his. 

He pulls back with dark eyes and drips his head to whisper into your ear, “You gotta say quiet, can you do that?”

Almost as if on cue you hear the other person in the bathroom entering a cabin.

And Patrick lifts you as if you weigh nothing and angles his cock before pulling you down on it. When he fills you completely and unexpectedly you cannot fully suppress the quiet moan that spills over your lips. 

You instantly bite down on your lip, afraid that you were heard but nothing happens and Patrick doesn’t seem to be worried by it. 

He thrusts shallowly into you while keeping his eyes firm on yours.

You feel like it’s all too much and not enough at once. The stretch of his dick inside you is just perfect, he feels deeper in this angle. You can’t help but roll your hips on him, desperate for more - even if you’re not sure what this more is. 

Patrick cups your face and pushes your hair out of the way before looking into your eyes and pulling you into a deep kiss. You moan into his mouth when he thrusts upwards hard a few times. 

He pulls back to whisper into your eyes, each word accompanied by a stroke of his dick, “It turns you on, doesn’t it? That they could just catch us…”

You clench around him because yes it turns you on beyond belief and he hoarsely chuckles. 

You’re afraid that the other person will hear you with every sound you make and that you can’t suppress. You concentrate on the feeling of him inside you. How his body radiates an impossible amount of warmth, how he seems to surround you completely, and how he fills you entirely.

Desperate to also make it harder for him to suppress his sounds you start trailing kisses from his mouth over his jaw, subtle stubble prickling against your lips. You feel him swallow thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. His fingers around your hips tighten, bruising your skin and making you whimper.

The other person seems to have left the cabin since you hear water running, you were so preoccupied you didn’t hear them flushing or unlocking the door.

Patrick’s fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you back to speak in a hushed voice again, “Do you want us to be caught? Do you want them to find me balls deep inside your cunt?”

You shake your head, no you don’t want them to know what Patrick’s doing to you. The consequences would be catastrophic. You’re supposed to tell him how his sons doing in your class, not letting him destroy you in a public bathroom. 

“No, I don’t. But I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you manage to grind out lowly and breathlessly. 

A sound deep in his chest rumbles and he cradles your face in his hands again to kiss you heatedly.

Finally, you hear the door. You’re alone again.

Patrick heard it too, because he gives you another searing kiss before thrusting hard, eliciting a moan from you. You hear the wet sounds of your cunt around his dick as he drives into you in earnest. His hand comes to rest on your clit, rubbing circles, desperate to make you cum now.

You bite your lip and watch the tensing of his muscles whenever he drives into you with purpose his gaze however is trailed on your pussy, looking at how his dick disappears into it.

You clench around him as Patrick brings you closer and closer, each time his dick hits that spot inside you, and his thumb brushes over your clit. He catches your breast in his mouth, sucking on your nipple, adding to the stimulation. 

Overwhelmed by the sensations you bury your hand in his hair, pulling on it as arousal clashes through your veins, the telltale throbbing between your thighs intensifying. Patrick groans under you and you feel his thighs quivering as well as his thrusts getting sloppy, losing their piercing rhythm. Every thought on your mind is now occupied by the sensation of being filled again and again by Patrick’s hard, thick cock that scrapes the walls of your cunt just perfectly as well as the sound of your hips slapping together. 

“Come for me, on my cock,” he grinds out and brings his hand down on your ass hard, rubbing the pinked skin afterwards.

The combined sensation of the pain and the pleasure Patrick is providing you steers you higher and higher until you heed his words and come apart. 

Fire crashes through your veins, burning you from the inside as the sensations flow through you. Everything feels more heightened for a moment, his cock, his fingers, his body - just all that is him surrounds you and lifts you up. 

You dig your fingers into his neck, half-frantic as you anchor yourself to him while the waves of your orgasm wash over you. 

You dully note how you clench around him, making him groan loudly under you as he continues to keep you on your high.

After a few sloppy, hard thrusts you feel his cock pulsing inside you when Patrick comes with hoarse a mumble of your name on his lips, filling you with his cum. He presses his hips flush against you, grinding into you as he releases as deep as possible, letting his eyes fall closed, his long lashes resting on his cheekbones.

As soon as he stills, you slump against him, fitting your forehead against his, closing your eyes. Just breathing and coming down from your high.

Patrick’s warm hand cradles your cheek, coaxing you to open your eyes.

“Hi,” the word comes out as a whisper.

“Hi,” he echoes, his words carrying a soft smile as he leans in. His lips meet yours in a sweet, unhurried kiss that seems to suspend time for a fleeting moment.

As the kiss concludes, you take in the sight of him and he looks just as spent as you feel. His disheveled hair bears the evidence of your fingers running through it, the neatly combed curls now messy. A glistening layer of sweat highlights his features in the bathroom’s subdued light. But Patrick's eyes remain bright and alive, their soft shade of blue reminiscent of the calming sea. A radiant and genuine smile is etched onto his face as he looks at you. 

You stand up with shaky legs and his cock slips out of you, leaving you empty. You feel his cum oozing out of your cunt and reach for some toilet paper to clean yourself up. 

“Don’t bother,” Patrick says, catching your wrist and blocking you from grabbing the paper. You give him a confused look but he simply gathers your combined fluids on his fingers and pushes them back inside you, “We’re not finished yet and I want you to feel what I have done to you. I want you to think of me - of the mess I’ve made”

You can’t suppress a moan at the combination of his words and his thick fingers thrusting inside your overstimulated, used cunt a few times. 

He pulls his fingers out and hooks them into your underwear to put them on you properly again.

“I want you to feel me with every step today, to feel my cum coat you,” Patrick’s blue eyes are intense on you, making you understand the meaning behind his words as he stands up, “If you are good I’ll fill you up again later, sweetheart.”

He bows down to grab your pants, pulls them up, and closes them. The intimate gesture causes heat to bloom on your cheeks, it is rather sweet that he helps you dress again so you want to return to favor.

With that he kisses you again, devouring you hungrily. You can’t help but respond and wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer so he engulfs you completely. 

You separate breathlessly and he tightens his arms around you to press a kiss on your hair before losing his hold and stepping back. 

Without a word you sink down to your knees again and grab his cock, causing him to hiss and look at you. It transforms into a low groan when you wrap your mouth around him, tasting the combination of both your releases. 

“Fuck,” Patrick curses roughly, one hand tangling into your hair as you swirl your tongue around him to clean him.

You release him from your mouth when you’re satisfied and tuck him back into his underwear before pulling up his pants. As soon as you stand again, he pulls you in for another short, deep kiss.

Patrick breaks the kiss and reaches for your bra and shirt, handing it to you before grabbing his sweater. You clasp your bra and pull the shirt over your head as does he.

Part of you is sad that he is dressed again, you quite enjoyed seeing him shirtless but you can’t deny that he looks delicious in that damn wool sweater.

Patrick leans in for another sweet kiss, his lips pressing gently against yours. His palm cradles your cheek, and the rhythmic strokes of his thumb create a soothing caress, a silent reassurance that lingers in the air.

As he cautiously opens the cabin door, his eyes sweep the interior, ensuring that the coast is clear before giving you a wink and stepping out. The dim light of the bathroom casts a warm glow on his features, and you can't help but notice the subtle sparkle in his bright blue eyes.

With deliberate care, Patrick fixes his disheveled hair in the mirror, raking his fingers through it to comb it back again. Mesmerized, you watch as he restores his hair to its previous order, each stroke a deliberate motion that reminds you of how capable his stronger fingers are and you clench your thighs, feeling the sticky residue of his cum.

You gather your messy hair into a ponytail, not being able to do more with it or detangle it properly since you don’t have a brush with you. In the light of the bathroom you see the purple marks on your neck and let your finger run over it deliberately. 

Taking stock of your appearance, you gather your messy hair into a makeshift ponytail, unable to do much more without a brush to detangle it properly. In the soft light of the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of purple marks on your neck and let your fingers deliberately trace over them. 

Feeling Patrick’s gaze on you, you ask, “Proud of yourself?” Pulling down the neckline of your shirt to inspect your collarbones and upper chest, you openly display the marks left by him.

Patrick grins in response, wide and toothy, and his eyes twinkle mischievously, “I’d say that I’m sorry, but I think we’re pretty much even.” 

He playfully rolls down the top of his turtleneck to reveal the little indents your teeth left on the juncture of his neck.

“You can be glad you don't wear a t-shirt under your sweater because I’d have stolen the sweater,” you muse, prompting a melodic laugh from Patrick and you find that you quite like it, “But I think I have a scarf in my office.”

“Well then, shall we?” Patrick gestures toward the bathroom door leading to the hallway. He opens it and guides you out with a reassuring hand at the small of your back.

[gunkreads]

Interesting to look at the power dynamic between Ianthe and Coronabeth (less "dynamic" more "leash") through the lens of Patrick Rothfuss' "inherent" vs. "granted" power idea. To summarize: inherent power is the stuff you can do naked and alone in the wilderness (e.g. knowing how to make a fire or cast a spell), while granted power requires a social or interpersonal structure through which you can exert your will because of trust, station, or some other social contract (e.g. having a servant or an army). The following will be a misconstrual of Rothfuss' exact textual intent, but I'm tweaking the idea to match this relationship.

Ianthe is a good mix of both, but mainly inherent; Corona is almost entirely granted, with very little inherent. Crucially, Ianthe is inherently powerful before she's granted any power and Corona is granted power before she's inherently powerful. Yes, of course, Corona is obsessively dependent on Ianthe--it seems fairly clear that she believes Ianthe is the one granting her all her power, which is largely true--but because Corona is both Hot as Fuck and Incredibly Cool (as far as most in-universe perspectives are concerned), people around her are willing to grant her influence at the drop of a hat. Notice how, even with several far more qualified and authoritative opinions in the room, Corona still manages to get her thoughts in the door in Canaan House? Notice how her charisma has kept her and Ianthe's ruse afloat for their entire lives? It genuinely doesn't fall apart until Corona has a complete breakdown. Even with Blood of Eden, who don't seem to want to value her as more than an intelligence asset, seem to actually respect her opinion. This reads like a red flag, to me, indicating that her charisma is obscuring her general lack of functional competency (just like how it works in real life).

Starting in Gideon the Ninth and cementing in As Yet Unsent, we see how Coronabeth is genuinely upset at her lack of inherent power. She's learning the rapier to make up for it. Of course, by Nona the Ninth, she's reentered a power structure at a hierarchical tier that mostly negates her need for inherent power. But what we're seeing here is her frustration manifesting: she's tried as hard as she's able, past her emotional blocks, to shed the power she believes Ianthe has granted her, and to (in her mind) reach her own inherent power.

But Corona doesn't understand inherent power. She's never really had it, not in the way she sees those around her exert. Naberius is top-tier as a House Cavalier. Ianthe is one-in-a-million as an adept (well, two with Harrow around). Corona tries to learn to fight, but can only compare herself to Naberius, which is supremely unfair. She reaches and reaches and reaches for inherent power, something she can do after everyone's left her behind, but she never really grasps it in a way that means anything to her. This leads to the belief that any inherent power she may gain for herself will feel granted.

The problem we see, of course, is that she's building a snow fort (reputation and power in BoE) to stop a lahar (reputation and power in Ianthe's eyes). Sure, she can actually experience something adjacent to self-esteem while she's building the snow fort, but once that lahar comes by, it's over. She's swept back up into her dependency. She realizes that the power she was granted by BoE feels like nothing in comparison to even a smidge of respect, even if it's laden with condescension, from Ianthe.

Corona's reliance on Ianthe parallels Ianthe's reliance on herself. By the time she's reintroduced in Nona the Ninth, Ianthe has been taking a good long crack at this whole "Emperor's Authority" thing and... seems to find it repulsive. Ianthe is all hands, all fingers, sticking them in where work needs to be done and expecting to complete that work before she has to withdraw to do something else. She was raised on the "shut the fuck up and work" principle, where Corona was raised on the "keep talking so nobody notices what's happening" principle. One of the key differences between the two is that Ianthe has been consistently seeing the results of her own inherent power for her entire life. She can hold the results of a project in her hands and feel pride--even if most of the pride she feels is the Deadly Sin kind.

Now that Ianthe has graduated from "inherently powerful" to "inherently powerful, so you're in charge of people", she has to cope with the idea of having somebody else do it. She cannot conceive of "somebody else" doing a job as well as she can. It's just not her lived experience. She's always been the best necromancer in the room, with the best talker in the room at her beck and call. Sure, the charisma she nets by having Corona around is granted power, but it's important that she doesn't see it that way. Corona is HER mouth. Corona doesn't get her own thoughts, and if she voices any, it's a flight of fancy in Ianthe's mind.

Because of the fact that Ianthe doesn't understand granted power, she believes that any power granted TO her is inherent. It's a supremely selfish perspective brought on by years of the self-satisfactory view that everyone else is relying on you, and it's not even hard to do what they need.

The sisters as a pair are obviously deeply mismatched, but I think Ianthe's ascendance to Lyctorhood marks a threshold being crossed (as in the Monomyth) where Ianthe begins to live in a world that Corona cannot touch in any way. There's a level of influence granted by charisma and speeches and hotness in the regular world of the Nine Houses, but once Ianthe ascends beyond that, Coronabeth is vestigial. Ianthe no longer needs charisma and speeches and hotness; she's acquired the physical power and been granted the influence to make all of those redundant. She speaks or thinks and things happen. There are only like five or six people left who can even pose a challenge to her, and half of them are Resurrection Beasts, which don't even count.

This leaves Corona collapsed coughing in the dust, two county lines behind. What the hell is she good for? The same stuff as before? No, in her mind, she's just a sexy leech that Ianthe pried off when she became a Lyctor. A leech without a food source shrivels and dies. She attaches herself to BoE, but after a lifetime of sucking the rich blood of Ianthe's necromantic talent, Corona wastes away on the anemic influence of the new group. Simultaneously, Ianthe has put on nail-shaped goggles, and by god does she have a big hammer. Now that her mouth, Corona, is gone, she has to lean on the belief that she's powerful enough to handle everything she used to get Corona to do with raw power. It's almost sad, but she's such a bitch that it's just pathetic.

I did not proofread this.

[thvshusband]

“i’m sorry”

dom!patrick bateman x afab!reader

warnings: hickeys, cunnilingus, throat fucking, protected sex, riding, softie patrick, minors dni!

word count: 1.3k

A/N: i’m sorry if it seems kind of rushed, i just really wanted to finish it today. i hope you enjoy!

you were watching a movie when your husband patrick came home after a stressful day at work agitated. he takes off his coat and hangs it up on the rack. he takes off his shoes and puts them near the door. you go up to him and kiss him happily.

“y/n, please i’m not in the mood right now. i had a shitty day at work and i just can’t deal with you right now,” patrick says, trying to keep his cool. psychical affection is something he is not fond of, especially public affection. you back off him, trying not to push his buttons.

“what happened at work today?” you ask, wondering why he is so on edge.

“well, paul is now in charge of the fisher account when he knows i’m more qualified for it and i’ve been wanting it,” patrick replies with an obvious agitation in his voice.

you get up and motion for him to sit on the couch. you try not to be close to him so he can’t become even more pissy. he sits down and turns the volume up on the tv. you pour him a glass of j&b and corona and kiss him on the cheek before you got ready for bed.

you enter your bedroom and strip off all of your clothes. you put on a silk robe before going to the connecting bathroom and turning on the bath’s faucet. you plug the drain and put in rose petals and bubble bath liquid. you light your favorite candle and grab your favorite book.

you hear your bedroom door open and see patrick entering. he sits on the bed and takes off his socks. he throws them into the hamper. you go over to him, smiling subtly.

“so, patrick, i’m drawing a bath for myself, do you want to join me? i just want to help you relax,” you say, trying not to get on his nerves.

“honey, i’m okay. i just think i need to be left alone,” patrick says, trying not to get angrier.

“oh, okay. i’ll be getting ready for bed, love you.”

“love you too,” patrick says before you kiss him softly, causing him to smile.

after you have a relaxing bath, you slip into your pink silk nightgown, brush your teeth, and doing your skincare. you walk into the bedroom and get under the covers next to patrick, who is watching TV. he’s still not in a great mood, but is feeling a little bit better from what you can tell. you reach for his hand and he moves it away; you take the hint and move away from him a little bit. he looks over and sees you’re visibly upset, which makes him move his hand to where yours is and holds your hand, interlocking your fingers with his.

patrick turns to face you and looks into your tired eyes.

“i’m sorry for how i was before, im just super stressed out because of work. i love you so much, i hope you’re not mad at me,” he apologizes.

you’re so confused and surprised. patrick apologizing to you? that’s something you never thought would happen. but yet, he’s sorry and actually owning up to his mistakes.

he pulls you into a long and loving kiss, the second part of his apology. you kissed him back and pull him into a deeper, loving kiss. he moves closer to you and holds your face as he starts to make out with you. patrick’s hands roam to the straps of your nightgown and pull them down to your elbows, exposing your chest. he grabs and squeezes your left boob and starts kissing your neck. he starts to leave hickeys all the way down your neck and moves his mouth down to your nipple and starts sucking on it softly. he gropes your right boob with his hand while he has his mouth on your left.

“mmh, patrick!” you moan, almost overwhelmed by the pleasure your husband is giving you.

he responds by kissing down your torso to where your nightgown is and pulls it the rest of the way off. he resumes kissing down your body until he got to your pretty white lace panties. he looks up to you, waiting for you to grant him permission with a “yes!” and he slips your panties off. he spreads your legs and stares at your glistening slit before he licks in between your pussy lips.

he licks up and down your pussy before he starts sucking on your pretty pearl of a clit. you gasp and moan breathily at the sudden feeling.

“oh, fuck patrick!” you yell, causing him to speed up and start fingering you slowly.

he speeds up when he notices you’re getting closer. he starts being rougher with his tongue on your pussy and moves his face closer to your sex in between your thighs as he grips them.

soon, you were on the verge of cumming and patrick had added a second and third finger, moving them fast in and out of your sopping wet cunt as he sucked on your clit.

“fuck, patrick, im cumming, im cumming!” you manage to squeeze out as your his skillful tongue has made you unable to think, overcome by pleasure.

you cum all over his lips and tongue, which he licks up.

“such a good job for me, pretty girl,” patrick compliments you.

you become flustered after hearing patrick saying such nice things to you. him being a softie is something he’s only done after arguments and on your wedding night.

patrick comes back up to your face and starts making out with you again, this time rougher and more desperate. he starts unbuttoning his shirt and you teach for his belt, unbuckling it. you unbutton his pants and unzip them. you pull his pants down and off, revealing his huge bulge and white calvin klein underwear. you pull his thick, long, and veiny cock out of them.

you spit on his dick and start plant sloppy kisses around the head while occasionally kitty licking his slit. he groans in response. you begin sucking on the head and stroking the base of his dick. soon enough, you take his entire length in and patrick grabs ahold of your hair. once you give him a thumbs-up signal, he starts thrusting his cock all the way down your throat, making you have the urge to gag.

once he goes faster, you try to hold back from gagging; but it soon comes too much when he gets close to cumming. you slap the front of his thigh to let him know he needs to give you a break. you take his length out of your mouth and try to catch your breath while coughing.

“are you okay, (y/n)?” patrick asks with a concerned look on his face.

“i’m okay, just needed a breather,” you reassure him.

you take his length back into your mouth, but ease into it a lot slower than last time. soon enough, he’s cumming, warm semen flowing down your throat.

you take your mouth off of his cock and go to get a condom. you put the condom onto patrick’s dick and he lays down. you sit on his cock and don’t move for a little, letting yourself adjust to his size. a few minutes later you start to move slowly, making sure he hits your g-spot.

well into the night, you can’t stop moaning and patrick is becoming vocal as well, considering he’s usually very quiet except for a sigh after pulling out of you. now sore, you get off of patrick and take the condom off, throwing it into the trash can next to your bed. you lay on his chest. he pecks your forehead.

“i had a great time tonight, again, im sorry for being a dick earlier. i hope you accept my apology,” patrick says.

“i accept your apology patrick. i love you,” you say, smiling.

“i love you too.”

[usaigi]

Mexican Matt Murdock Headcannons

Yay my meta was well received thank y'all. Here are some hc as a treat :)

Jacobo "Jack" Murdock is from Monterrey 🤠🇲🇽 Super Norteño, he sounds like a cowboy. Has the thickest accent, it embarrass Matt so much

Jack never went to high school and tells Matt to copy how the people on TV talk. They speak "proper" Spanish.

Dad's great great great... granddad was an Irish soldier in the Saint Patrick's Battalion. Hence "Murdock"

He was boxing in Mexico when he met Roscoe Sweeney. Sweeney promised he'd sponsor Jack's work visa and help him immigrate to the US

Sweeney never followed through with the sponsorship. He'll get around to it, don't worry. But as long as Jack's undocumented, he can't box for other promoters/organizers

He would go back to Mexico but he's making more money here than he could back home. Plus he met someone.

Margarita "Maggie" was training to be a nun until she saw him

Baby Mateo Murdock takes after her. He has her eyes, red hair, and pale skin Maggie worries will burn in the sun.

(TW Intrusive thoughts/Post Partrum Psychosis) Maggie worries a lot. About Matty choking on his blanket, about SIDS, about how she betrayed God, about how her child carries her sin, about how the devil possessed her husband, how maybe she should borrow Mario's car with Matty in the back seat so she can drive them off a bridge so at least one of them gets the change to go to Heaven

She nearly kills him.

Jack calls Father Lantom and their marriage is annulled. Maggie leaves to get help and doesn't come back.

Jack still misses her. Matt never knows.

So many nicknames: Matty, Canelo (Cinnamon), Chiltepin (Small Peper), Rojo (Red), Tomatillo (Tomato), Chapulín Colorado, Diablito (little devil), Irlandés (Irish. Later takes a 23andme and finds out he's only 5% Irish)

Jack doesn't speak a lot of English. Matt becomes his personal translator by 1st grade

After the accident, Matt even has to translate what the nurse says for his dad. There's an interpreter when the doctors need to talk to his dad. It hurt hearing about his diagnosis and treatment from the doctor. It hurts all over hearing the interpreter repeat it to his dad.

Matt feels so guilty he can't help translate documents for his dad anymore.

His dad's funeral is the first time Matt meets his extended family. One of his Tia offers to take him in but that would mean leaving New York/the USA and going to Mexico.

He says no. New York is his home.

Sister Maggie is one of the few nuns who speak Spanish. And the only one who will read him poetry. She reads him Jose Marti, Juana Inés de la Cruz, Miguel de Cervantes. Matt likes her. Even if she's strict and doesn't tolerate his sass.

Nina Rosario from In The Heights Kinnie

Almost cried the first time he heard "Breathe," no song has even spoken to him more

NINA: They are all counting on me to succeed I am the one who made it out The one who always made the grade But maybe I should've just stayed home... When I was a child I stayed wide awake, climbed to the highest place, on every fire escape, restless to climb .... I got every scholarship Saved every dollar The first to go to college

Takes a 3000-level Spanish for Elektra. Should have thought this through, Elektra speaks it with an Ethpañol accent. Cringe.

But the class is interesting. So he takes another. And another. And soon enough he has enough credits for a Spanish language and literature major.

Eavesdrops on a lot of conversations. Both because no one assumes he knows Spanish and because of his senses

Foggy: Do you have health insurance?

Matt: of course *pulls out his Vick's Vaporub*

Can't eat spicy food. This face turns as red as his hair :( The other Defenders/HFH tease him for this

Dislikes Spanglish because text to speech/screenreaders don’t recognize it

Calls La Virgen de Guadalupe Mom

Drinks Corona :D

[ailish-die-traumtaenzerin]

Ein unglücklicher Zufall führt die Diebin Maira zu Zirkus Aisling. Als sie den vor Selbstbewusstsein strotzenden Akrobaten Benon überfällt, geraten die beiden nach einer Verfolgungsjagd versehentlich in die Untere Welt. Dort entdecken sie die Fließenden Steine, zwei mächtige Reliquien, die der Astralmagier Fero aus Missgunst in seinen Besitz gebracht hat. Als die beiden diese berühren, verbinden sich die Reliquien mit ihnen und bringen sie auf magische Weise zurück in die Obere Welt. Nach diesem Erlebnis tritt Maira als Akrobatin dem Zirkus bei, wo sie sich neben Benon auch mit dem Axtwerfer Bolbadur und der Feuerspuckerin Reva anfreundet.   Schon bald müssen Maira und Benon feststellen, dass sie durch die Verschmelzung mit den Fließenden Steinen mehr losgetreten haben, als ihnen lieb ist.

Das Hörspiel entstand in Zusammenarbeit mit Laien, semi-professionellen und professionellen Sprecher:innen des Ensemble Hammer Hörspielschmiede.

Mitgesprochen haben:   Patrick McConnell als Benon, Erzähler und als Echse Denise McConnell als Maira, Erzählerin und Echse, sowie als Traumtänzerin im Prolog, Jonas Behr als Fero und Andrin, Christian Mielke als Bolbadur, Tíznak und Gretchen, Britta Johnen als Reva, Christina „Tina“ Maria Piechatzek als Roxana, Edelfried „Edel“ Hennig als Konrad, Elif Okutan als Ayla, Murat Okutan als Romeo, Anna Sudbrack als die Clown-Drillinge Linda, Leo und Lysandra, sowie Robert Biermann als Marktschreier. Die Credits wurden eingesprochen von: Johannes Jellinek

Postproduktion: Denise McConnell mit Unterstützung von Patrick McConnell.

Förderung Ein Teil des Projekts wurde gefördert durch das NRW-Corona-Künstler-Stipendium „Auf geht’s“ von 2020.

Atmos, Effekte, Musik Cave Ambience: Ambience_Cave_00 von LittleRobotSoundFactory (freesound.org) Sounds: Teils selbstgemacht, Teils von freesound.org (CC=) und musicfox.com (lizenziert) Musik (lizenziert) von musicfox.com: MF-7838 : The Great Illusion von Alexander Röder MF-11403 : Another World von Dag Reinbott MF-13147 : Tango Kino von Yana Fedoruk sowie von freesound.org (CC0)

Foto: Anna Sudbrack

[obscurecharactershowdown]

Round 3 Matchups!

This round has no 3 way matches, and I'm going to try to see if I can arrange round 4 so that doesn't happen there either. Matches are below the cut!

GROUP A 

Leila Vernon (The Magic Misfits by Neil Patrick Harris) vs Rosalia Rossellini (Trauma Team)

Miyabi Hanakouji (Persona 2) vs Merim Felspar (Three of Hearts Podcast)

Tragedian (pathologic) vs Rose Red (Ghost Quartet)

Nin (Paranatural) vs Itakura Akira (Talentless Nana)

Raikou Shimizu (Nabari no Ou) vs Cyber 6 (Cybersix)

Kate (Shadow’s House) vs The Guardian (Hyper Light Drifter)

GROUP B 

Tougou Mimori/Washio Sumi (Yuuki Yuuna is a Hero & Washio Sumi is a Hero) vs Tirsiak (Spooky's Jumpscare Mansion)

Anima (Why Shouldn't a Detestable Demon Lord Fall in Love?!) vs Walter Walzac (The Brave of Gold Goldran)

Pappy van Poodle (Rusty’s Real Deal Baseball) vs Isaac (Awful Hospital)

Oopsy Bear (Care Bears (2007 series)) vs Xuanli (Lanxi Zhen)

Hikaru (Hikaru ga Shinda Natsu) vs Red Savarin (Solatorobo)

Bennett (Hello Charlotte) vs Sheila (Witch’s Heart)

GROUP C 

Bolt (Crypt of the Necrodancer) vs Vella (Velouria Beastender Tartine) (Broken Age (video game))

Bai Lang (My Tooth Your Love) vs Aliya Elasra (Heaven’s Vault)

Sawamura Tetsuo (Yuureitou) vs Katook (The Katurran Odyssey)

The Spider Core (The Lab - Core Slingshot) vs Satyarani (Raven: The Secret Temple)

Rambler (Happy Happy Clover) vs Felix Iskandar Escellun (Last Legacy)

"good" Tom (El Goonish Shive) vs Dee Kennedy (Dayshift at Freddy’s)

GROUP D 

The Exsurgent Virus (Eclipse Phase) vs Heart (Moonlight Chicken) 

Es (Milgram) vs Ulala (Space Channel 5)

Diggory Graves (Hello from the Hallowoods) vs Brutha (Discworld) 

Kusuriuri (Mononoke) vs Tin (Triage The Series)

Silver (Oneshot) vs Gary (Faith the Unholy Trinity)

Shijima Tsukishima/Shimeji (Shimeji simulation) vs Nuch (Not Me The Series)

GROUP E 

Sarah Collins (Dark Shadows (1966-1971)) vs Zaknafein Do'Urden (The Legend of Drizzt (Forgotten Realms))

Leonie Beaumort (Aviary Attorney) vs Magda (Vapors)

Principal Shirley Oddwell (Oddport Academy) vs The Cashier (Midnight Museum)

Seaweed (Gloomverse) vs Stag Malinay (Krystar First Fragment)

No Significant Harassment (Rain World) vs Sally Swing (Betty Boop)

Shrimp (The Upturned) vs Cecilia Sylvie (Cross-dressing Villainess Cecilia Sylvie)

GROUP F

Gabrielle (Gabrielle's Ghostly Groove) vs Liv (Spooky Month)

Fumi-ba (Kamen Rider Ghost) vs Corona Hoshino (Swans in Space)

Granger (NeverHome game series) vs Gaap Goemon (Mairimashita! Iruma-kun)

Forest Friend (Gris) vs Protagonist (Melatonin)

Turnip (Chicory: A Colorful Tale) vs Agent (Penguinronpa)

Uhh… these guys? (Rhythm Heaven Fever) vs Tiger of the Wind (Monster Rancher (1999))

[remembertheplunge]

More from my 3/18/2020. Wednesday 2:33am journal entry:

I bet DUI arrests were down to zero post St Patrick’s day (yesterday). 2:45am. Bars would have been closed 45 minutes. Now, post Corona Virus lockdown, they never opened./// Wonder how much drinking is going on at home? The Grocery Store Liquor aisle is the hungry ghost’s new King! So glad that I’m sober through this. My sister even sited my “Not Drinking” as a reason I will probably survive this. That, and “you are in good shape”.///There is no cure or vaccine for CV20.///It’s amazing how scared I am. Does everyone feel this fear?/// But, I also feel calm.///end of this part of the entry

Note: one definition of “hungry ghost” is that a person greedy in life and not willing to share food with those in need will, after death, come back as a hungry ghost. My take on this is that when the bars died due to Covid lockdown, drinkers, hungry ghosts for alcohol, had to resort to liquor aisles.

[traktorfisch]

Plötzlicher Herztod - Häufiger seit Corona? / Patrick Strobach wieder 🤯

[metaljen]

HYPERSPACE METALFEST Announces 2025 Lineup

w/ ENFORCER, PLANESWALKER, GLYPH, LUNAR, SOLARUS, TYLOR DORY TRIO and More!

April 10th - 12th - Vancouver

HMF 2025 Lineup Spotify Playlist

Canada's premier melodic and power metal festival HYPERSPACE Metal Fest returns for its 6th edition after another year of crowd-pleasing epic fun in Vancouver, BC. Being hosted at The Cobalt (April 10 &11th) and The Rickshaw Theatre (April 12th), the 2025 lineup will feature headliners ENFORCER, PLANESWALKER, GLYPH along with Lunar, Solarus, Tower Hill, Luminator, Tylor Dory Trio, Heyoka's Mirror with more to be announced.

Festival organizer Joey Hockin of Journeyman Productions adds:

"It's finally time to reveal Hyperspace Metal Festival VI! We were a little later announcing this year because we want to make sure we're bringing you the same quality you've come to expect. And on that, I think we've delivered! The full lineup will be announced in the fall. Hope to see you next April!"

Headlining Saturday, April 12th at The Rickshaw Theatre, Sweden's ENFORCER have proved themselves both live and on record, they stake their place amongst the world’s most renowned heavy metal bands since first forming in 2005. They have toured the world over, playing the biggest festivals and garnering a global fanbase. Their latest sixth studio album Nostalgia (released May 2023 - Nuclear Blast), features 13 heavy metal anthems and throws ENFORCER back to their speed metal roots. Fusing extreme guitar riffing with catchy stadium choruses, ENFORCER is out to conquer the world.

Music Video - Nostalgia

Headlining Friday, April 11th, and returning for their second time at HMF, the duo known as PLANESWALKER features Jason Ashcraft (Helion Prime) and Sozos Michael (Gloryhammer, ex-Helion Prime) present Magic the Gathering-inspired Power Metal. They recently released their latest single "Compleated" and were joined by Carlos Alvarez (ex-Power Theory, Behölder, Shadowdance) on bass and Stefanos Meletiou (The Zilla Project, Private Garden).

Music Video - "Compleated"

Headlining Thursday, April 10th, the Pacific Northwest's Glyph, is not just a heavy metal band, they are a crew of intergalactic mercenaries escaping a dying planet in their spaceship, the VSS Dragonlord. Clearly, Glyph isn’t just writing songs, they’re building worlds and they bring it forth in their latest album "Honor, Power, Glory" released this past March.

Music Video - Volarad

Also featured on this year's 2025 lineup and making their first HMF appearance and performing for the first time ever, Lunar is a progressive metal project from California that features members from Witherfall, Helion Prime, Planeswalker, Novareign, Mokili Wa, Nordic Frost, Outloud, Double Vision. Their fourth and latest album “The Illusionist” features guests Jørgen Munkeby (Shining), Christian Münzner (Obscura), Andy Gillion (Mors Principium Est), Taylor Washington (Paladin), Sam Vallen (Caligula's Horse), Ben Karas (Thank You Scientist), Gleb Kanasevich, and Patrick Corona.

Meant to perform on the 2024 lineup, but forced to cancel, Tylor Dory Trio returns for 2025, they are a monstrous progressive metal unit and beloved by many in Western Canada. This live performance will be their first following a nearly seven-year layoff.

Hailing from London, ON, Solarus, simply put, is a musical vision and ambition to bring musicians together through their shared love for music. They bring forth impressive female-fronted melodic power metal.

Traveling from Edmonton, AB, Tower Hill delivers premium old-school heavy metal inspired by bands like Running Wild, Riot, Judas Priest, early Blind Guardian, and Helloween. Forging the best of the late 80s and early 90s German, British, and US metal scenes into a new blend of shimmering steel, Tower Hill’s riff-driven, hook-laden traditional metal will have you banging your head and singing along.

Luminator is a fantasy power metal band from the Pacific Northwest (Tacoma, WA) and will be supporting their latest EP "On The Clouds".

From Calgary, AB, Heyoka's Mirror is a progressive rock/metal band with international roots that was brought to life in the summer of 2015 by founding members Andrew Balboa and Omar Sultan. Their first music video “Asylum” (directed by Seth Williams), was nominated as Best Music Video by the 2020 YYC Music Awards and was released in support of their debut full-length "The Uninvited King".

Hyperspace Metal Festival VI - April 10th - 12th.

One-day passes and three-day passes are available at:

Facebook Event

To follow updates for Hyperspace Metal Festival 2024, please visit the following social media pages:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Hyperspace Metal Festival (@hyperspacemetalfestival)

Festival Press Materials Dropbox

Over the five editions of Hyperspace Metal Festival, bands from all over the world have come to play power, prog, melodic death, and speed metal on the Canadian West Coast. The festival has presented lineups that have included performances by Týr, Flotsam and Jetsam, Skelator, Trollfest, Aether Realm, Exmortus, Striker, Riot City, Into Eternity, Witherfall, Planeswalker, Iron Kingdom, Helion Prime, Ravenous, Crimson Shadows, West of Hell, Judicator, Odinfist, Tanagra, Scythia, Greyhawk, The Order of Chaos, Red Cain, and many more.

[smashpages]

Can’t Wait for Wednesday | Skottie Young + Jorge Corona take the battle to Death itself in ‘Ain’t No Grave’

Check out new comics and graphic novels coming this week by Juni Ba, Ann Nocenti, Lee Ferguson, Corrado Mastantuono, Claudio Sanchez, Patrick Horvath, Jay Stephens and more.

[celebsparkin]

Christopher Nolan: Caballero del Cine y su Legado en ‘Oppenheimer’

Christopher Nolan, el aclamado director de cine, y su esposa, Emma Thomas, serán honrados por la Corona Británica con los títulos de caballero y dama respectivamente, en reconocimiento a sus destacadas contribuciones a la industria cinematográfica.

Este prestigioso reconocimiento llega tras el éxito de Nolan en la dirección de películas icónicas como ‘El Caballero de la Noche’ y ‘Inception’, así como su reciente galardón con un Óscar por su película ‘Oppenheimer’.

Emma Thomas, quien ha sido una pieza fundamental en la carrera de Nolan, también será distinguida como dama. Este honor se une a otros reconocimientos similares otorgados a figuras destacadas del entretenimiento como Patrick Stewart y Julie Andrews.

Actores como Anne Hathaway y Jake Gyllenhaal han elogiado públicamente a Nolan por su apoyo y profesionalismo, destacando su impacto en la industria del cine.

[goalhofer]

2024 San Francisco Giants Roster

Pitchers

#7 Blake Snell (Shoreline, Washington)*

#12 Jordan Hicks (Houston, Texas)*

#23 Robbie Ray (Brentwood, Tennessee)*

#33 Taylor Rogers (Littleton, Colorado)

#38 Alex Cobb (Vero Beach, Florida)

#43 Tristan Beck (Corona, California)

#45 Kyle Harrison (Danville, California)

#57 Austin Warren (Fayetteville, North Carolina)*

#58 Nick Avila (Turlock, California)**

#62 Logan Webb (Rocklin, California)

#63 Ethan Small (Lexington, Tennessee)*

#64 Sean Hjelle (Mahtomedi, Minnesota)

#65 Landen Roupp (Rocky Mount, North Carolina)**

#67 Keaton Winn (Jefferson County, Iowa)

#68 Erik Miller (Creve Coeur, Missouri)**

#70 Kai-Wei Teng (Taichung Shi, Taiwan)**

#71 Tyler Rogers (Littleton, Colorado)

#74 Ryan Walker (Arlington, Washington)

#75 Camilo Doval (Yamasá, Dominican Republic)

#77 Luke Jackson (Ft. Lauderdale, Florida)

Catchers

#14 Patrick Bailey (High Point, North Carolina)

#19 Tom Murphy; Jr. (Hastings, New York)

Infielders

#16 Nick Ahmed (East Longmeadow, Massachusetts)*

#26 Matt Chapman (Lake Forest, California)*

#31 LaMonte Wade; Jr. (Baltimore County, Maryland)

#39 Thairo Estrada (Bejuma, Venezuela)

#41 Wilmer Flores (Valencia, Venezuela)

#49 Tyler Fitzgerald (Rochester Township, Illinois)

Outfielders

#2 Jorge Soler (Havana, Cuba)*

#5 Mike Yastrzemski (Danvers, Massachusetts)

#8 Michael Conforto (Redmond, Washington)

#13 Austin Slater (Jacksonville, Florida)

#51 Jung-Hoo Lee (Nagoya, Japan)**

Coaches

Manager Bob Melvin (Menlo Park, California)

Bench coach Ryan Christenson (Redlands, California)

Hitting coach Pat Burrell (Eureka Springs, Arkansas)

Assistant hitting coach Pedro Guerrero (San Pedro De Macorís, DR)

Assistant hitting coach Justin Viele (Anaheim, California)

Pitching coach Bryan Price (Mill Valley, California)

Assistant pitching coach J.P. Martínez (Baracoa, Cuba)

Bullpen coach Garvin Alston (Mt. Vernon, New York)

1B coach Mark Hallberg (Barron, Wisconsin)

3B coach Matt Williams (Carson City, Nevada)

Assistant coach Alyssa Nakken (Woodland, California)

Assistant coach Fernando Perez (West Windsor Township, NJ)

Assistant coach Uematsu Taira (Tateyama, Japan)