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fear-is-truth · 9 days ago

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𝐇𝐈𝐌 & 𝐈 𝜗ϱ . . . 𝓟𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝓑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍

tags — fem!reader﹒sfw + nsfw﹒headcanons﹒drug use﹒kinda toxic relationship﹒ p in v﹒handjobs﹒choking﹒use of the word “daddy”

SFW

has a habit of disappearing without explanation, sometimes for days at a time. when he returns, he acts as though nothing happened, brushing off your concerns with dismissive and cryptic responses.

extremely critical of appearances as he doesn’t handle flaws well—patrick fully expects you to mirror his aesthetic standards. even the slightest imperfection, such as chipped nail polish or an out-of-place hair, will piss him off. you’re basically his personal doll at this point—he buys you designer clothes, ensuring you wear the “right” brands to fit his ideal of a partner. he notices everything, from your choice of perfume down to the shade of lipstick you wear. if you switch brands, he’ll immediately make a comment on it.

prefers to keep conversations shallow and detached, as deep emotional topics make him uncomfortable. he constantly rambles about his niche obsessions—pop culture, business cards, and the “superiority” of certain types of suits. that being said, patrick talks at you rather than with you. he can yap on for an entire dinner about the fabric quality of valentino suits or the importance of a tie that “truly complements the suit’s structure.”

a walking encyclopedia on serial killers. in the middle of any conversation, he’ll start spouting facts about ted bundy or ed gein. he expects you to be thoroughly impressed by his knowledge and gets viscerally disappointed if you don’t show interest.

genuinely believes his opinions on music are groundbreaking. he’ll pull out albums and spend a good thirty minutes explaining why genesis or huey lewis and the news are masterpieces, analysing lyrics and production with the passion of a critic.

talks about dorsia as if it’s the holy grail of fine dining. if he’s lucky enough to get a reservation, he’ll spend days before and after the meal casually hyping it up to everyone, making sure they know he managed to get a table. however, if he fails to secure a reservation, it completely ruins his week. you sometimes wonder if he’d cry over it. (as a matter of fact, he does)

frequently asks if you think his business card is better than “so-and-so’s,” as if it’s a critical matter. if he gets even a whiff of another guy’s success, patrick becomes obsessed with one-upping them. you’ve had to sit through countless complaints about paul allen, his dorsia reservations, the fisher account. he can’t handle criticism, especially if it challenges his idea of “perfection.” if you casually mention you’re not a fan of his music taste or his suit choice, he’ll literally sulk about it for days.

when patrick gets jealous, you’ll catch him clenching his jaw, his hand gripping your waist a bit too tightly. sometimes he’ll try to act indifferent, but the slight sweat on his forehead or the vein throbbing in his temple gives him away.

lives by his routines and gets annoyed if anything disrupts them. you’re expected to adhere to his exact schedule when you’re with him, from gym time to dinner to his beloved skincare regimen. if something goes off-plan, he becomes irritable, even if it’s just because you suggested a new restaurant.

although he appears to be emotionally distant, he’s highly hypersensitive to how he’s perceived by you. an offhand comment or anything less than admiration from you makes him noticeably on edge.

obsessed with acquiring materialistic items that showcase his success. he’ll bring up these possessions repeatedly, and when he buys something new, for instance a painting or a stereo, he’ll practically drag you to admire it with him, giving an extensive monologue on its artistic value or technical specs.

constantly trying to impress you with his wealth or his “connections.” he’ll drop the names of people he “knows” (sometimes with questionable authenticity) or go out of his way to show you his credit card just to emphasise how wealthy he is. patrick assumes his looks and material success is inherently attractive to you, and if you ever show interest in something less superficial, he’s truly baffled.

always subtly fishing for compliments, but he wants them to sound like they’re coming from you, not just because he’s prompting you. if you mention anything flattering about another human, you can see his jaw clench as he makes a mental note to find something he’s “better” at. if you don’t give him the attention he craves, he becomes passive-aggressive until you finally give in and tell him how handsome he is.

if you so much as hesitate before complimenting patrick, it eats at him. he starts nitpicking his own looks, spending even more time obsessing over his skincare routine, gym sessions, and hair products.

to patrick, relationships are transactional. he’s constantly buying you lavish gifts, partially to impress you, but mostly to keep you “tied” to him. he would be genuinely insulted if you didn’t wear or display his gifts, taking it as a personal rejection, even though he never explicitly says this. instead, he’d pout or go into a passive-aggressive silence until you “make it up” to him (usually with sex)

loves the fact that you’re both attracted to and a little intimidated of him. what he doesn’t know is that you also think he’s a pathetic loser.

insecure about whether you actually love him or are just with him for his wealth and status. he craves reassurance but would never directly ask for it, so instead, he does things to elicit compliments from you or waits for you to say something affirming.

secretly torn between wanting to keep you as a sort of trophy and feeling an actual attachment he doesn’t understand. on more than one occasion, he’s imagined what it might be like to marry you—he’s even purchased a 7ct diamond ring on impulse. the thought terrifies him, though. he’s afraid of real intimacy, of anyone truly knowing who he is. still, he sometimes drops hints about “the future,” gauging your reaction to see if you might even consider it.

likes it when you adjust his tie or fix his collar. there’s something about your delicate hands on him, perfecting his appearance, that makes the blood rush to his groin as he reminisces the same pair of hands wrapped around his cock. he’ll even purposely wear his tie a little off or leave his collar slightly askew, just so you’ll step in to fix it.

whenever you say goodbye before he leaves, patrick insists on making eye contact, as if daring you to look away first. it’s his way of ensuring that he’s the last thing on your mind as he walks out the door. expects you to fix his lapel, straighten his tie, or give him a quick peck on the cheek. if you forget or rush the routine, there’s disappointment on his side.

patrick insists on every detail being pristine and coordinated, and he takes pride in the aesthetic of matching “his & hers” items. towels, robes, toothbrushes etc. he doesn’t necessarily see this as sentimental but as a way to project his status to anyone who might see it—like a small, smug reminder that you belong to him. he’ll also make a point to keep these items perfectly aligned on the bathroom sink or kitchen counter, internally congratulating himself when he sees them.

adores watching you in the kitchen, especially if you’re wearing something skimpy or nothing but one of his button-ups left undone just enough. he’ll lean in the doorway, watching as you busy yourself slicing fruit or preparing his bran muffins for breakfast. he often finds himself admiring the delicate curve of your neck, the swell of your ass as you move, though he’d never voice anything genuine about it.

his nicknames for you : “kitten”, “bunny”, “sweetheart”, “doll”, “hun” or “honey” in public, “fuckdoll” in private.

your nicknames for him : “daddy”, “sir”, “pat”

super meticulous when it comes to your wardrobe, especially lingerie. he’s obsessed with victoria’s secret and demands that you wear sets he’s chosen—lace and silk, only in shades he deems “fashionable.” as a way to elevate his experience. he’ll sit back with a drink in hand, watching you with an air of smug satisfaction as you parade around the bedroom like it’s a runway.

has certain… kinks that he knows you wouldn’t approve of. this is when sex workers come in handy. sometimes, he wonders if he could somehow desensitise you or change your mind about these things. he drops hints, gauges your reaction to certain acts, and tests boundaries. if you outright refuse to engage in his fantasies, he holds it against you, making passive-aggressive comments about your “prudish” nature or implying that he “puts up with it” because he “cares about you.”

NSFW

his dry cleaning bill has spiked noticeably ever since you started dating. nearly every other day, a new suit or bedsheet stained with cum is dropped off, patrick never looks the dry cleaner in the eye.

patrick’s version of aftercare is incredibly minimal. he’ll be content to simply roll over or give you a lazy kiss on the shoulder but that’s about as soft as it gets—he’ll immediately head off to the en suite to freshen up. if he’s feeling particularly generous, he’ll hand you a bottled water and that’s that. if you need anything more, he’ll listen, but the faraway look in his eyes suggests he’s already moved on mentally.

very fond of kissing your neck or collarbone, especially before you attend social settings—leaving hickeys and bruises. kisses from patrick can be surprisingly sweet and sensual when he’s in a rare moment of vulnerability, but it’s always short-lived.

he’s become addicted to the sound of your voice, so much so that he has tapes of you—masturbating while saying filthy things. when he’s stressed at the office, he’ll slip on his walkman, listening to your sweet whimpers and moans echo in his ears.

gets a thrill every time you say his name—whether it’s a soft “good morning, patrick” or a “mghm-ahh patrick!” when he’s jackhammering his cock into your cunt. he’s especially weak to hearing you coo or whimper his name, and he’ll go out of his way to make you say (scream) it repeatedly.

has a ritualistic routine for doing coke—spreading a neat line along your stomach and the valley between your breasts, admiring how good you look beneath him. when he leans down to snort the line, he often allows his lips to ghost over your hard nipples.

has no problem dropping obscene amounts of money on you��high-end jewelry, designer clothes, perfumes, he loves the way you look in everything he picks out. “only the best,” he’ll mumble as he fastens a diamond necklace on your neck. but his favourite part is admiring the pieces when he has both hands wrapped around your throat while fucking you.

he’s particular about which rings he picks out, envisioning how they’ll look on your fingers while you jerk him off. there’s something erotic about the way they catch light and glitter against your skin.

you’re kneeling in front of him, the hardwood floor cool against your knees as you stroke his thick, angry cock. patrick reaches down, thumb brushing over the 18k rose gold ring he’d recently bought for you. “looks nice on you,” he mumbles, almost distracted. you watch him for a moment, noticing the way he’s staring at your hand, like the ring is something precious he’s put a part of himself into. “you think so?” you ask, trying to read his expression as you continue to jerk him off. patrick clears his throat, dropping his hand a little too quickly. “of course. wouldn’t have bought it otherwise,”

#queue #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman x y/n #patrick bateman fanfic #american psycho #christian bale x reader #slasher headcanons #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x s/o #slashers x reader #slasher fanfiction #slasher smut

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s1aywalker · 4 months ago

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꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ little miss scare all. ꨄ

↷ ✩ —— sam monroe x alt! girlfriend reader headcanons. (nsfw 18+)

notes: a little slutty a little smutty! minors do not interact or else i'll collect your kneecaps. can we please stop kidding ourselves... this dude wants a goth girlfriend. and it's my duty as the resident metalhead mommy to serve my community. one alt!reader fic at a time.

| | | | she's got a date at midnight with nosferatu. oh baby, lily munster ain't got nothing on you. ⋆˚࿔

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe is, first and foremost, a fucking hater for the fun of it. the type of dude that calls anyone who doesn't listen to anything he deems cool a poser. the type of dude that sees a chick wearing a metallica shirt that she got from the thrift store and, with a straight face, tells her to name three albums without missing a single beat. so he thinks it's pretty fucking sick to have a girlfriend that can keep up with his, perhaps to most, acquired tastes in music.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who is ridiculously stubborn but secretly loves when you introduce him to new bands. he always acts like they're just okay after you popped the cd you recently bought into his stereo, and sometimes he'll even lie and say he already knows who they are. that he discovered them months ago. but then it's a few songs deep into the album, and wait... why is this actually fucking good?

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who is an absolute nightmare to argue with. even when it's not serious, when it's just having differing opinions on silly things like which vocalist is better, which album is the best. he's so stuck on his own likes and dislikes and everything is, as fred durst would say, his way or the highway. it's almost like he enjoys arguing with you... and maybe he does, because you can be just as stubborn when it's a topic as passionate as music, and he thinks it's cute when you stand your ground. he stopped actually caring about the argument ten minutes ago, and now he's just trying to piss you off because he thinks it's funny.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who has broadened his musical horizons thanks to you. bands like type o negative and h.i.m that constantly incorporate very obvious "romantic" themes into their songs never really did anything for him because he thought it was lame and corny. until he had to endure you constantly listening to them. now he'll claim his enjoyment of them is from a form of stockholm syndrome... but maybe he just never had a person that he could relate them to before he met you. he thinks about you when he hears be my druidess or for you. plus, they're one hell of an aphrodisiac, and he quickly discovered just how easy it is to get a hand under your bra or in your pants when they're playing.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who loves fishnets... maybe to an unhealthy degree. every time he sees you wearing them, he can't help but think about how good they make your legs look, how good he knows your ass looks under that skirt, and the thoughts of him tearing them to shreds instantly begin to flood in. and that's exactly what he does, the second he gets the chance. those poor tights never stand a chance in the same room as him... he'll promise to get you another pair while he's slotted between your legs and your hips are lifted, a promise he only keeps half the time. as his fingers dig into the fabric and start ripping them apart like it's the easiest thing in the world. like that's what those little tiny holes were made for. it's foreplay to him. but sometimes he's too impatient to even get them all the way off. sometimes he'll rip the crotch and push your panties aside to fuck you with a nice view of your legs still covered.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who encourages your piercing urges. you mention wanting a new hole in your ear or nose? he's on board. when you mention wanting your tongue pierced? that's hot. immediate filthy thoughts of what it would feel like when you guys are sucking face nasty style. or better yet, what it would feel like rubbing against his cock. when you mention wanting your nipples done? he thought he was going to have a stroke on the spot, and he's offering to make the appointment for you if it means seeing that in his face as soon as possible. he'll even hold your hand and let you squeeze him until your knuckles are white while you're getting them done. but once it came time for the boring aftercare part, his excitement drops the second he hears about healing time.... weeks? he has to wait weeks to put them in his mouth? but he'll make those weeks worth it once you've given him the go ahead. he's actually fucking feral about it when you do.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who lets you do his eyeliner. honestly, he's a little envious how good you can make yours look. effortlessly sharp and smoky. and you've always teased him about how shitty he does his. how he holds the pencil, how he has zero technique and just smudges it on with his fingers and doesn't even wash his hands afterward. so you jump on the chance to do it for him... it's only a bonus for both of you that you get to sit on his lap and be inches away from each others pretty faces. he's grumpily telling you not to poke his eye out and pretending he's not getting hard from the proximity alone. you notice... it's literally impossible to not feel it. and now you're trying to hurry this little makeover before you get the urge to ride his fucking thigh... but that's what you end up doing anyway. he's got one eye done and that pencil is long forgotten while his own hands are guiding your hips as they drag across his leg, searching for more of that friction his jeans provided. whining and desperate while he's saying how cute it is that you just couldn't wait five more minutes.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who fucks you in the shitty venue bathroom, one covered in stickers and flyers and permanently tainted with the stench of beer, while the equally as shitty opening band plays. it's not romantic. it's hard and fast, sloppy and impatient. because he has you bent over in the stall, repeatedly slamming his cock into your cunt and not caring about how loud it might be. the downtuned guitar and blast beats raging on outside the door works as both a brutal soundtrack to his brutal rhythm, and to muffle every grunt and moan that reverberates against the cramped space. there isn't enough time to be sweet and caring, because this set is about to end and you guys still have to secure a good spot in the pit... but he'll still kiss you and rub his thumb at the mascara bleeding under your eyes, while he's stuffing his cock back into his pants and you're wiping the cum dripping down your inner thigh.

#꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ch: sam monroe.#꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ alyssa writes.#sam monroe #sam monroe x you #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe smut #hayden christensen #3am is a horrible time to post this

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zegalba · 2 years ago

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Cibo Matto: Stereo ★ Type A (1999)

#cibo matto #Stereo ★ Type A #cd #compact disc #album art #japan #music #1999

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dms-a-jem · 10 months ago

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Depeche Mode - Interview with Alan and Martin

International Musician and Recording World - Nov. 1984

Leaving their beginnings as wide-eyed Popsters behind them, Depeche Mode have become masters of the art of noise and the science of the studio. Adrian Deevoy had a rewarding chat with the Basildon-to-Berlin boys, Les Drennan took some great pictures.

Somewhere, off one of the corporate corridors in the labyrinthine complex we affectionately term Broadcasting House, a woman sits alone. Her job is to create emotion, tension and atmosphere. Her key to this process is a PPG system. Although this is heartbreakingly unromantic it is the ultimate argument for machines in the Machine vs Human debate. It’s also quite a nice little story.

Depeche Mode like this story.

“All the sounds for Life Of Earth,” declares Alan Wilder.

“All those little animals,” beams Martin Gore.

After four years Depeche Mode are pretty bogged off with being told that they make inhuman music. They quite rightly believe this accusation to be untrue. They might accept that their first two albums weren’t cataclysmic – catchy, melody blip-bops if you like your lager warm but nothing to telex home about – but they remain adamant that last year’s LP, Construction Time Again, this years singles People Are People and Master And Servant, and their latest album Some Great Reward are anything less than stirring. For in the last 18 months Depeche Mode have discovered, embraced and subsequently immersed themselves in sound. With the aid of producer Daniel Miller’s matchmaking Synclavier a strange love affair has developed between the band and sampled noise.

Alan Wilder and Martin Gore, the songwriters, seemed most smitten to a meeting between themselves, and a micro-Walkman was promptly arranged in a horrendously loud video wine bar where they both bawled unashamedly of their love for sound.

“I’ll take you through all the sounds on People Are People,” says Martin, eyes glazed, sparing the machine no blushes. “The bass drum at the beginning was just an acoustic bass drum sampled into a Synclavier then we added a piece of metal to that – just a sampled anvil type sound – to give it a slight click and make it sound a bit different. That’s the beauty of the Synclavier, you can edit sounds together to make what we call combination sounds. The main synth sound is the actual ‘synth’ sound on the Synclavier, that’s the one that plays the bass riff. But the bass sound is a combination sound too with part of it being an acoustic guitar plucked with a coin, which sounds very interesting when the two sounds are sequenced together.”

“There’s very little playing going on in People,” adds Alan, “virtually everything is sampled into the Synclavier. With the guitar sounds we altered them slightly once they were in the Synclavier because you sample in one note and then you can alter the length and dynamic of every note in the sequence for the guitar part so it will give expression, but it will still be completely in time. You can justify all the rhythms, you see, so that you can have articulation but it’s all in time.”

Getting back to the People Are People breakdown Martin unveils a short sampling anecdote: Love on a plane.

“I took a stereo Walkman when I was going on a plane from England to somewhere,” he begins. “I originally brought it along to take the takeoff but while the air hostess was doing her safety speech at the start of the flight I decided I’d tape that as well. But as she was telling everyone to ‘Check the instruction cards under your seat,’ the door flew open and all this air rushed in which made a real loud noise and everyone laughed. Anyway I looped the end of what she was saying and the laughter so it goes, ‘…tion cards ha ha ha ha …tion cards ha ha ha ha,’ which sounds funny but I used it in conjunction with a choir sound and it added a really nice texture to the bridge on People.”

“There’s a Synclavier harp sound in the verses,” contributes Alan, “and an ARP sequencer playing very fast in the chorus and there’s some Emulator sounds that we used for adding a few frills here and there.”

The three throaty clunks at the end of each chorus is in fact Martin’s throat.

“That was a combination sound,” says Alan. “First of all we sampled Martin going, ‘Unk Unk Unk,’ with his throat then we added a bell sound and a timpani to give it depth.”

“I felt a bit of a berk doing that,” admits Martin. But love’s a bit like that.

The vocal line, “It’s a lot… like life,” at the beginning of Master and Servant was yet more fodder for the Synclavier. As Alan explains.

“Firstly we got a lot of people singing the high, ‘It’s a lot,’ and then a low, ‘Like life.’ You don’t have to play one slower or faster than the other to get the octave either because you make a patch on the Synclavier keyboard for each part and then you play the parts in their natural pitches and both at the same speed which is very handy.”

The lead vocals on People Are People and Master and Servant (or M&S as us Depechies call it) on the 7” mixes at least, were pretty well the only sounds that weren’t sampled.

“The vocals,” explains Alan, “were recorded in a big room. That is the vocals were sent down through a PA into a big, live room so we could not only get a great big sound but so we could put effects on the vocal while it was being recorded and afterwards on the disk.

“Although we sample all the snare sounds,” he adds as an afterthought on live rooms, “we always record the initial sound in an ambient space. We like to vary the snare sounds a lot so we record all different acoustic snares in various rooms and we close mike them or mike them from a distance depending on the width of the sound that we require. Simmons pads? No, I don’t like them. After you’ve done all that fiddling around to get away from that factory preset sound you might as well have got a really good sound on the Synclavier. Simmons pads just remind me too much of that Howard Jones factory preset and Drumulator syndrome. Really boring ‘synth’ sounds. They’re just not interesting, they sort of scream ‘DX7!’ and ‘JP8!’ at you.”

The latest Depeche album boasts a myriad of sounds, less overtly metallic than the socialist sentiments that they reflected on Construction Time Again but just as fascinating. Love is all about contrasts.

“We don’t think that we overdid the metal-beating idea on Construction Time,” says Martin, “but we wanted to make this one less obviously metal sounds. We wanted a little more subtlety…”

So instead of belting skips they belted concrete.

“Yeah, on one of the tracks on the album, Blasphemous Rumours,” elaborates Alan, “we sampled some concrete being hit for what turned out to be the snare sound. All that entailed was us hitting a big lump of concrete with a sampling hammer…”

“…I’m sure they’re not actually called sampling hammers,” interjects Martin giggling.

“Anyway,” continues Alan, “the engineer / producer we use, Gareth Jones, has got this brilliant little recorder called a Stellavox which we use with two stereo mikes and it’s as good as any standard 30ips reel-to-real but this is very small and therefore very portable. So we just took the Stellavox out into the middle of this big, ambient space and miked up the ground and hit it with a big metal hammer. The sound was… like concrete being hit. I can’t really put it any other way.”

“Professional Walkmans are good for sampling too,” claims Martin. “Gareth has always got his out. On trains… at home. They’re good because they get a very impure sound that can often be really interesting. But if we want a very pure sound then we’ll take the thing, say a bit of scaffolding, into the studio and mike it up in the proper conditions and get a clean sound.”

If an equipment list had been included in the mentions on Some Great Reward, apart from pavements, buildings, bottles and old people being stapled together it would have incorporated a long list of toy instruments which Martin divulged as he became more intoxicated; by love of course.

“One morning me and Andy (Fletcher) went down to Hamleys, the toy shop in London, and bought as many toy instruments as we could find. Pianos, saxophones, xylophones and we took them all back to the studio and sampled them. One we used a lot was a Marina (?), a toy one, very strange, but after we’d sampled it, it was great. It sounded pretty terrible as a toy but when we took it down a couple of octaves it sounded really good.”

“People tend to think that if you’re using toy instruments then they have to sound whacky,” complains Alan, “but we put some to very good use because as soon as you sample them they take on a whole new quality and when you transpose them it puts them in a completely new context. Like the noises Martin was making with his throat, we only took those down a tone and it was unrecognisable as someone going, ‘Unk’, with their throat.”

But sampling, like love, isn’t all happiness and although Depeche have learnt to take the rough with the smooth, they found out the hard way. Alan breaks off in the middle of another ‘good combination sound’ story to tell how they were stitched up by a sussed, sampling percussionist.

“We were doing this combination with Martin doing his Indian voice combined with a bassoon type sound.”

“It was pretty ethnic,” says Martin launching into his Indian voice.

Alan ignores him. He has something on his mind that he’s not sure if he should tell us.

“I’m not sure I should tell you this,” he tells us, “but we got this percussionist in for the afternoon to sample his drums and the different techniques of playing them. We didn’t try to hide the fact that we were sampling him. We said, ‘We hope you don’t feel r*ped,’ and he agreed to be sampled literally just hitting one drum, once at a time. Anyway we sampled all his drums once, maybe twice. Now, the Musicians Union haven’t really caught up with sampling and this bloke had obviously contacted them when he got home because he gave us this bill for about 50 different sessions, plus sampling time plus a consultation fee. It was enormous and the stupid thing was that most of the sounds weren’t even as good as that (bangs two pint glasses together) and we only used about two for maybe two seconds each on a couple of songs.”

Another problem came when the band had to divide their recording time between Music Works in England and the 56-track, Solid State luxury of Hansa Mischraum in Berlin.

“There were all these builders in next door at Music Works,” moans Martin, “and we’d have the track running with us hitting skips and concrete and they’d be next door tearing a wall down and we couldn’t tell which was which. It was very confusing at times.”

Like love and marriage, sampling and timing tend to go together like the proverbial horse and jockey.

“Although it makes the whole process even longer, when you get into one you can’t really help but get into the other,” says Alan. “You can’t help, after you’ve been involved with sequencing for a while, noticing three millisecond or five millisecond discrepancies. So you end up time-shifting every sequence until it’s perfect. Then we got into consciously putting things slightly out of time. Like, for example, the choir sound on People again we used a combination sound of different choir sounds on different synths and then put them slightly out of time with each other. Like we took one sound from the Synclavier, one from the PPG and one was on the Emulator. Are you familiar with the Friendchip? It’s a time code reading clock that can monitor every single click output from all your drum machines and all your synths so when everything is going via the Friendchip you can adjust the feel by pulling something, say five or six milliseconds in one direction.

“The thing is so many things can’t play in perfect time anyway,” reveals Alan, “the Linn isn’t in time when it’s meant to be playing ‘drum machine’ perfect time without human error programmed in. It can go out by 20 milliseconds. We set an oscilloscope on several things to see how well they kept time. The one that came out best was the TR808 which only as a two millisecond shift. That’s better than the Synclavier. Rotten sounds though. But we actually ended up triggering stuff from the 808 just because it’s so tight within itself.”

“We always thought the 808 had a good feel,” chips in Martin before adding a bitchy, “even though Alan has a grade eight piano his playing is still incredibly out of time compared to the Synclavier sequencer… and even that’s out!”

All this and the Emulator II?

“Yeah,” admits Martin realising that his love has almost turned him into a technocrat, “the sampling time is about 17 seconds now, I think, and you can get more sampling across the keyboard, it gives better quality than the Fairlight and it only costs about seven grand which is a lot but it will be a big help to us live.”

And there’s a pianillow ballad, Somebody, to be sung love. Martin promises some. Kinda wonderful.

“We’re going to go for a completely human feel on that one. Just a piano played by Alan and Dave singing and Andy playing tapes on the Fostex X15. It’ll be very different.”

So the love for sound can take you backwards but what of the future?

“I don’t know,” confesses Martin, “the Synclavier can already go further than your imagination and they’re thinking of getting new software for that. Then there’s re-synthesis which might happen in a couple of years where you can take a sampled sound and change just tiny parts of it. It’s really impossible to say. Maybe we’ll just get the guitars out and make a Rock ’n’ Roll album. Who knows?”

…and somewhere, within the folds of Auntie Beeb’s ageing skin, a woman sits alone wrestling with a similar emotional predicament. Is she really in love with her PPG system is has it been David Attenborough all along?

Adrian Deevoy, November 1984 (some of the text is hard to read so transcribed to the best of my ability. Apologies for any typos)

#depeche mode #alan wilder #martin gore #my passionate little synth nerds🤓

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hoffmanxfurthermore · 5 months ago

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Deadly Fun

Christian Bale as Patrick Bateman x reader.

Content: stranger sex, hookup, present day, knife play, afab reader, p in v penetration, oral (f receiving), KNIFE PLAY(like seriously don't read if you're sensitive to stuff like this)

Word count: 1.8k

Author's Note: holy crap I write something other than Mark Hoffman what? So this takes place present day, in the age of cell phones and dating apps. This is slightly inspired by a tiktok i saw a while back of what Patrick would be saying if American Psycho took place present day. Also a while back I read a fanfic, can't remember who wrote it, of Patrick getting mad at something and using a knife on his partner. So also slightly inspired by that too. Enjoy! Also peep the Ice Nine Kills reference.

It's a hot Thursday afternoon in June, and you find yourself alone in your apartment, craving something different. Something that would push your boundaries and satisfy your deepest desires. As you scroll through a certain dating app in your phone, you come across the profile of a man named Patrick, a 27-year-old with dark brown hair and a slender build, dressed in a nice business suit. Swiping right on his profile, you're immediately met with "it's a match!"

Never being one to send the first message, you place your phone on your bedside table and crack open a book. Within seconds, your phone buzzes with a new message.

The more you two message each other, the more your interest is piqued. After agreeing to meet at his place, you change your clothes. The lazy sweats and big t shirt come off, replaced with a black cocktail dress, black stockings, and a pair of black pumps. You spend an hour on your hair and makeup, hoping to make the best impression on Patrick.

Texting him that you're on your way, you climb into your Uber that takes you across town to his apartment. Upon arrival, you remove your shoes at his request.

His apartment is spotless, not a spec of dust on any surface, his furniture arranged perfectly, like a model home for selling. If you'd stepped into this place with no one else here, you wouldn't think someone actually lived here.

Patrick leads you to the nice leather couch, pouring you a glass of red wine, which he delicately places on a coaster upon the coffee table. In person, he is even more handsome, making you nervous. His warm brown eyes have your knees weak as you converse with him, just getting to know one another.

Standing up, he makes his way towards the huge stereo system on the other side of his living room. It's old fashioned, you hadn't seen one like that since the one your father had when you were just a kid.

"Do you like Ice Nine Kills?" He asks, holding up a disc as he switches the stereo on.

"Not really," you admit. You never really got onto the whole metal scene. All the screaming just made no sense to you. You're more of a softer, easy listening type of girl.

"Their early work was a little bit too scene for me, but when The Silver Scream came out, I think they really came into their own. Commercially and artistically. The whole album has a refined, melodic sensibility that really makes it a cut above the rest."

Clicking a few buttons on a remote control as he sits back next to you, he smiles at you as a song begins playing. Not your thing, but you listen attentively, giving it another chance. It's a track you haven't heard before.

"Is this about that movie, Saw?" You ask as the song is about half over.

"The Jig Is Up," he smiles at you, "my favourite song on the album."

His charming smile and intense gaze send shivers down your spine. You two sit on the couch, chatting and flirting, and the tension between you builds with every passing minute. As the wine flowed, so too did your inhibitions. Your heart races as you lean in closer, your breath warm on Patrick's neck.

"I've been wanting this all night," you whisper, your lips brushing against his ear. "Take me, now."

Patrick seems taken aback by your sudden advance, but nonetheless, he smiles.

With a growl, Patrick pulls you onto his lap, crushing your mouths together in a passionate kiss. Within seconds, your dress is unzipped and pulled off of your body, leaving you in only a pair of black lace panties and matching thigh-high stockings. His hands roam over your body, squeezing your breasts and pulling at your nipples roughly. You moan and arch your back to offer yourself to him. Your hands fumble with his belt, desperate to free his throbbing cock from the confines of his trousers.

In one swift motion, Patrick stands up, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. He carries you to the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him. The wine is left forgotten as you fall onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and hungry mouths. Patrick's hands wander, exploring every inch of your body. He cups your ass, squeezes your thighs, and traces the outlines of your pussy through your soaked panties. You undo his tie, throwing it to the ground as you frantically start undoing the buttons of his shirt.

"Watch it," he snaps, jumping off the bed, "it's a Dunhill. Very expensive." Scooping the tie off the floor, he folds it neatly before placing it onto the dark wooden dresser that rests along the wall. You watch as he slowly undresses, till he's wearing nothing but his skin. Your eyes scan his body, slim and toned, as you lick your lips and stare at him with your "fuck me" eyes.

Climbing on top of you, his lips make contact with your neck, causing a small whimper to escape your lips. Taking that as encouragement, his teeth nibble at the sensitive skin of your collarbone.

"Fuck..." You gasp.

Writhing beneath him, you feel desperate for release. With a wicked glint in his eye, Patrick reaches into the drawer of the bedside table, pulling out a knife. Your eyes widen at the sight, your breath quickening as a mix of fear and excitement courses through your veins.

"Trust me..." he whispers.

Patrick runs the sharp edge gently down your bare chest, following the curve of your breasts before sliding it lower, teasing your taut stomach.

"You have no idea how much I've thought about this," he whispers hoarsely, his breath hot on your skin. "Seeing that look in your eyes as I play with my knife, it drives me wild."

Whimpering, your body trembles as Patrick lightly drags the flat of the blade over your sensitive nipples, teasing them to hard peaks. The cold steel contrasts with the warmth of your flesh, sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. You squirm, desperate for more. Patrick obliges, dragging the knife slowly down your body, over your belly, the tip dipping beneath the waistband of your panties.

With slow, deliberate movements, Patrick slides the knife under the elastic, slicing through the fabric with ease. The sharp tip of the knife grazes just above your clit, causing you to gasp. You lift your hips, helping him remove the shredded remnants of your underwear. The stockings stay on your legs, and Patrick takes a moment to admire the view.

Leaning down, he places a soft kiss on your inner thigh, his warm breath caressing your sensitive skin. Moaning, your hips buck involuntarily as you crave his touch. Patrick smiles against your skin, the knife still in his hand, as he drags the tip lightly down your slit, spreading your wetness.

"Such a delicious sight," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Your pussy is so wet and ready for me, baby."

With that, he plunges his tongue into you, licking and sucking at your swollen clit while a single finger enters your dripping cunt. Crying out, your hands tangle in his hair as you pull him closer. The combination of his skilled tongue and the danger of the knife heighten your senses, taking your pleasure to new heights.

As your impending orgasm builds, Patrick adds a second finger, stretching you, filling you.

"You're so tight.. fuck..." he grunts between licks.

He pumps his fingers in and out, scissoring them to touch every sensitive spot. You arch your back off the bed as you moan, pleading for more.

"Please, don't stop," you beg, your voice hoarse with need, "I'm so close, Patrick, you're gonna make me cum... please make me cum..."

Obeying your demand, Patrick increases the pace, adding a third finger to stretch your pussy further. He curls his fingers, searching for that magic spot, and when he finds it, you scream. Your body shakes uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, your orgasm more intense than anything you have ever felt before.

But Patrick isn't done yet. As you ride out the waves of your orgasm, he positions himself between your legs, ready to claim you with his cock. With one smooth thrust, he penetrates you, filling you completely. You gasp as your eyes roll back in your head, feeling his length buried deep within you.

Patrick begins to move, slowly at first, pulling out until just the tip remains inside before slamming back into you. Raising your hips, you meet his thrusts with your own, your nails digging into his back as you whine for more. The sound of your flesh slapping together fills the room, along with the grunts and moans of pleasure.

Reaching down, Patrick picks up the knife, pressing it gently against your throat as he fucks you hard. The cold steel contrasts with the heat of your joined bodies, providing a deliciously dangerous sensation. Staring at his face with wide eyes, your breath hitches in your throat.

"That's it, baby," Patrick growls, "Take it all. My cock... and my knife.... they're yours."

The passion escalates as Patrick quickens his pace, thrusting harder and faster. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper still. You can't get enough, you want more.

"Cum for me," you cry out desperately, "Fill me with your hot load."

Your words send Patrick over the edge. With a roar, he releases, jetting his warm cum deep inside you. Feeling his cock pulse as he cums triggers another orgasm deep within your core. Your bodies shudder together as you ride out the intense release. The knife, resting beside you, now forgotten as your passion consumes both of you entirely.

Collapsing onto your heaving chest, Patrick gasps for breath, his spent cock still buried inside you. Running your fingers through his hair, matted with sweat, your body glows with satisfaction.

"That was..." you begin, struggling to find the words.

"Incredible," Patrick finishes your sentence, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

"I knew you'd be intense," you giggle, "but this..." You gesture towards the knife on the bed. "I didn't think I'd be into that."

A smile plays on your lips as you trace the contours of Patrick's strong back.

"There's more where that came from," Patrick promises, his tone laced with lust, "Much more."

And as you lie there, sated and spent, the night was still young, full of endless possibilities and untamed pleasures yet to be explored.

Patrick quickly rises and begins dressing.

"You need to go, I gotta go do something." He looks determined. Like he's about to be late for something.

"What is it?" You ask, confused at his sudden change of tone.

"I have to return some videotapes."

#american psycho #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x reader #slasher x reader #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #Spotify

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