#james patrick march image

[ahqkas]

♯ HIRAETH ; james patrick march

PAIRING! james patrick march x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! hiraeth (n.) — a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was, the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

WORD COUNT! 6.8k

WARNINGS / TAGS! angsttt, reader is described to have hair, mention of love making + lmk of more if found !

NOTES! found a collection of podcasts that reminded me a bit too much of james , this work is inspired by dangerously yours’ masquerade !! all the credits to the devider below belong to @/menschenopfer

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE YEAR WAS 1927, AND LOS ANGELES WAS A CITY OF DREAMS, BEAMING WITH AMBITION, GLAMOUR, AND DARKNESS OF ITS OWN. The Hotel Cortez, with its imposing façade of carved stone and gleaming brass, towered over the busy streets below. It was a sanctuary for the elite, a place where luxury met mystery, and where secrets were buried deep within its intimidating walls.

The heavy doors of the hotel creaked open, and in stepped a woman whose presence commanded attention. She was the very meaning of old-world elegance, a figure that seemed to have stepped out of the newest magazine. Her [color] hair was styled in gentle waves that framed her face, and her eyes, sharp and enigmatic, glimmered with a secret knowledge. She wore a tailored traveling dress of navy blue, the fabric clinging to her form in a manner that was both modest and alluring. A black cloche hat sat atop her head, its wide brim casting a shadow over her striking features.

As you crossed the marble threshold, the polished floors beneath your heels echoed with each deliberate step. The hotel lobby was a grand room of the hotel, adorned with chandeliers that bathed the space in warm, golden light. The walls were lined with dark, rich wood paneling, and the air was filled with the faint scent of jasmine and the lingering aroma of fine cigars. Guests shuffled around in the lobby, their conversations a murmur of excitement, but their eyes discreetly turned to the striking woman who had just entered.

A hotel worker, dressed smartly in a bellboy uniform of crisp white and black, approached you with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to catering to the wealthy and powerful. He couldn't help but be taken aback by your appearance, the way you moved with an effortless grace that seemed to belong to someone your status.

"Good evening, madam," he said, his voice respectful but tinged with curiosity. His eyes darted briefly to your luggage — a single, exquisitely crafted leather bag, monogrammed with the initials that possibly belonged to you.

Without pausing, you handed him your smooth gloves, your tone cool and commanding. "Have my bag sent to Suite 81," you instructed, words clipped and precise.

The bellboy hesitated for only a moment before snapping to attention. "Yes, ma'am!" he replied, taking the bag with both hands as if it contained something made out of glass, something precious. He hurried off toward the elevator, casting a final, awed glance back at you.

You continued your way through the lobby and a low hum of conversation followed after you. Guests and staff alike seemed to recognize you, though none dared to approach you directly. Your reputation, it seemed, followed you as well.

"Good evening, Countess [Last name]!" came a cheerful greeting from one of the hotel's attendants, a middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache who had seen many notable figures pass through the Cortez's doors, but none quite like you.

You turned your head slightly in his direction, your lips curling into a polite smile that did not quite reach your eyes. "Good evening," you replied, voice smooth and cultured, with a hint of an accent that spoke of faraway lands.

The attendant bowed slightly as you passed, and within moments, another voice, this time a younger woman in the concierge uniform, echoed through the lobby. "Welcome back, Countess [Last name]!" her voice was filled with genuine warmth and you didn't understand where did this come from.

The evening had settled over Los Angeles. The grand dining room of the hotel was appearing in art deco luxury, with its dark wood accents, gold-leafed walls, and crystal chandeliers casting a warm, inviting light over the tables set with fine china and silverware. The clinking of glasses and soft murmur of conversation filled the air and created something nostalgic to your heart.

You entered the dining room with the same air of composed grace that had marked your entrance into the hotel. Your eyes swept the room, taking in the diners who were engaged in their meals and conversations and you felt a pang of jealousy upon the sight. Their lives were so normal in comparison with yours.

As you approached the maître d's podium, the head waiter, a distinguished man with a neatly trimmed mustache and a tuxedo that fit him like a second skin, stepped forward. He recognized you immediately, the elegant Countess, and inclined his head in a deep bow.

"A table for one, ma'am?" his voice was practiced with the ease of someone who had served wealthy guests for years, though there was a slight quiver in his voice — perhaps a trace of the unease that always seemed to accompany you.

You, with your face expression as unreadable as ever, allowed yourself a brief pause before responding. Your eyes flicked past him, scanning the room once more, searching for something — or rather, someone.

"Is . . . James Patrick March dining?" you asked, voice soft but with an undercurrent of something that hinted at more than just casual interest.

The maître d' hesitated only for a heartbeat before answering, his gaze following yours toward the far end of the room. "Oh, he's at the table by the window, ma'am," he replied and a hint of curiosity crossed his tone as he gestured subtly toward the large, arched windows that overlooked the city's nightscape.

There, seated at a table clothed in the soft glow of candlelight, was James Patrick March. He was dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit with a crisp white shirt and a tie that was just slightly loosened, giving him an air of a casual someone. His posture was relaxed, yet there was an intensity in the way he glanced through the room, as if every detail, every movement was a piece in a grand, invisible game. A game that belonged to him. His dark hair was slicked back, and his piercing eyes, though cast downward at the moment, seemed to take in everything around him.

Your gaze lingered on him, breath catching slightly as the history the two of you shared played out in your mind — something you've never been able to erase from your memories. Your hand tightened around the strap of your formal handbag, the storm of rage already forming inside you.

"Thank you," you murmured to the maître d', who, sensing that his services were no longer required, bowed once more and stepped aside.

With a final, steadying breath, you made your way across the dining room, your steps measured and elegant, drawing the eyes of more than a few guests who wondered at the purpose of your approach. You moved with the grace of a woman who knew how to command a room's attention without asking for it, but there was also a tension to your movements, a barely concealed edge that hinted at the true intentions of your visit.

As you neared the table, March's dark eyes lifted from his glass of alcohol, catching yours in a gaze that was both intimate and unreadable. He leaned back slightly in his chair and a slow, amused smile played at the corners of his lips as he watched you approach, as if he had been expecting you all along.

"Countess [Last name]," he greeted you, his voice smooth and rich with a hint of that accent you both despised and adored. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You met his gaze evenly, your own smile small and controlled, but there was a fire in your eyes that belied your calm exterior.

"Mr. March," the way his name rolled out of your mouth shouldn't sound so lovingly. Your voice was steady, though your heart raced beneath your play. "I believe we have unfinished business."

March remained seated, watching your every move with the sharp, predatory gaze of a man who was used to getting what he wanted. The slight smirk on his lips hinted at his appearing satisfaction. He knew you’d show up, let it be few weeks or decades.

"If some kind fate wishes to send a beautiful lady to dine with me, I can only be grateful," the man said, his voice smooth and low, rich with the charm of someone who was well aware of his power. "You will do me the honor, won't you, ma'am?"

For a brief moment, the tension between the two of you hung in the air, taut and electric, as you studied him. You were fully aware of the game you were playing, the dangerous dance of wit and will, and you had no intention of backing down. This game would be his loss.

Finally, your lips curved into a small, controlled smile, one that spoke of your own understanding of the power dynamics at play. "I should be delighted," you replied, voice carrying the slightest edge of irony as you accepted his invitation.

March's smile deepened, pleased with your response. He gestured to the empty chair opposite him, a silent invitation for you to join him. The man poured a glass for you, the wine a deep, blood-red, before filling his own. He lifted his glass to you in a toast and his eyes never left yours.

"To fate," he said, his voice carrying a note of amusement. "For bringing such a captivating companion to my table."

You lifted your glass, clinking it lightly against his. "To fate," you echoed, gaze steady as you sipped the wine, the taste of it rich and complex on your tongue. It's been a long time since the last moment you tasted the sweet blood.

For now, the dance would continue.

And as you looked into James Patrick March's eyes, you couldn't help but wonder who would lead, and who would follow.

"What would you like for dinner?" his voice always seemed smooth, and you never knew if it was because of the accent or for the fact that he knew exactly what he wanted. A hint of amusement danced in his dark irises.

Your lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "What does the owner of this hotel eat? Pheasant wings and peacock breasts?" you inquired, tone playful yet edged with a subtle challenge. "And — what do you usually eat?"

His grin widened. "Ah, the usual fare for me tends to be quite varied, though I do have a penchant for the extravagant," he admitted, leaning forward slightly as he spoke and you knew his words hinted at something else as well. "But I find myself quite curious about what a countess might prefer."

Your gaze never wavered as you answered, your voice carrying a hint of wry humor. "Almost anything," the simplicity of your answer was belied by the layers of meaning beneath it.

The man's eyes sparkled with interest as he absorbed your response. He seemed to consider those words carefully before responding, his voice warm and teasing. "Well then, how about roast beef?" he suggested, his tone both casual and deliberate, as though he were making an offer that was both grand and intimate.

Your smile deepened and a glimmer of approval appeared in your eyes. James Patrick March had always had a rich taste. Especially in alcohol and women. "Roast beef sounds delightful," you agreed. "I appreciate your choice, Mr. March. It seems fitting for the occasion."

March signaled to the waiter, who had been hovering discreetly nearby, and relayed the order with a casual wave of his hand, all while his eyes never left yours. The waiter nodded and swiftly disappeared, leaving the two of you alone once more, the soft murmur of the dining room the only sound accompanying you.

With a slow, elegant movement of his hand, March poured himself another glass of wine. "I must say, Countess [Last name], it's a rare pleasure to share a meal with someone who possesses such . . . discerning taste," he said, his voice laced with both sincerity and a hint of irony.

"And it's a rare pleasure to find myself in such intriguing company," you replied to him, tone both warm and enigmatic. "I trust the evening will prove to be as engaging as the company."

March chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on you with an almost predatory satisfaction. "I have no doubt it will be," he said, raising his glass in a toast once more.

The night sky was a deep shade of deep indigo, flickering with countless stars that twinkled like diamonds scattered across velvet. The air was warm, with just the faintest whisper of a breeze, carrying the scent of blooming jasmine through the open balcony doors. The Hotel Cortez stood silent and still, its grand exterior bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, casting long, gentle shadows across the marble floors.

You stood on the balcony, the city of Los Angeles sprawling out beneath you like a sea of lights. Your gown, a delicate shade of silver that shimmered in the moonlight, flowed around you like liquid silk. Your hair was loose, cascading over your shoulders in waves, and your young face, bathed in the soft light, was a picture of pure satisfaction.

Beside you stood James Patrick March, his tall figure intimidating yet relaxed as he leaned against the ornate railing. His gaze, however, was not on the city below, but on the woman at his side. There was a softness in his eyes, a rare gentleness that few had ever seen, let alone inspired. In this moment, all the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you.

As you stood in comfortable silence, a sudden streak of light blazed across the night sky — a shooting star, burning its brief path before vanishing into the darkness. March, ever so observant, turned his gaze upward, his lips curving into a smile.

"Look, [Name], a shooting star," he said, his voice filled with a boyish wonder that was rare for him. He turned his head slightly to meet your gaze, his eyes reflecting the faint starlight. "Did you wish?"

Caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the star, you blinked and looked up just as it disappeared. Your expression softened, a faint smile touching your lips, but there was a wistfulness in your eyes as you shook your head slightly.

"Oh . . . I didn't have time," you admitted, voice tinged with a hint of regret, as though you had missed an opportunity that would not come again.

James' smile didn't falter, though there was a subtle shift in his expression — something deeper, more thoughtful. He stepped closer to you, his presence warm and reassuring. "And there is something you wish for," he said, more a statement than a question, as if he already knew the answer but wanted to hear it falling from your own lips.

Your smile faded into something more serious, your eyes searching his as though you were trying to decide whether to speak the truth or guard your heart. But in the end, you could not lie to him — not in this moment, not when you felt so safe, so completely at peace by his side.

"Yes," you whispered to him, barely more than a breath.

March's gaze softened further. He reached out with his hand and gently enveloped your own in his, the skin of his palm warm and grounding. "What did you wish?" he asked, his voice low and intimate, as though the words were meant for your ears alone.

You hesitated, the answer so close to escaping, yet so difficult to say. Your heart ached with the weight of it, with the knowledge of the life you wished for but could never truly have. Looking down at your joined hands, your fingers lightly curled around his in response to his question, and then back up into his dark eyes, which were watching you with such intensity, such sincerity. They seemed a lot darker now, under the night sky.

"I was wishing that we were two other people," you finally confessed, your voice filled with a quiet longing that spoke of dreams unfulfilled. "Two people who need not say goodbye."

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning. You could not bear the thought of losing him, of this moment being just a fleeting memory in the string of your lives. The depth of your love for him was overwhelming, a love so pure and untainted by the shadows that would later consume you.

James stepped even closer, his hand gently moving to cup your cheek and his thumb brushed tenderly across your skin. "Perhaps it can be that way," he murmured. March bent his head, his lips hovering just above yours, as if the very act of kissing you might seal the promise he was making. "Perhaps we can be those people, if only for tonight."

Your breath caught in the back of your throat, heart pounding in your chest as you searched his eyes for the truth in his words. And this time, you allowed yourself to believe it — to believe that the two of you could escape the world that would inevitably tear you apart, that you could be just a man and a woman, free from the burdens of your lives.

You were the one to close the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft, tender, and filled with all the love and hope you held in your heart for him.

And for that night, under the watchful eyes of the stars, you were just two people who did not need to say goodbye.

The present moment was completely different to the warmth and tenderness of the past. The air in the room was thick with tension, the kind that clung to the walls and settled in every crack of the Hotel Cortez. The grand suite you occupied was dimly lit, the once-gilded decor now seemed dull. Outside, the night became alive, the city's lights a distant blur beyond the heavy curtains, but inside, the atmosphere crackled with the remnants of an argument that had yet to reach its peak.

You stood near the window, your back to the room, while you stared out into the darkness with attention that wasn't really there. Your once vibrant spirit now seemed dulled by the weight of time spent in this cursed place, your elegance marred by the sorrow etched into your features. The memories of what had once been — of the love you had felt for him — were a distant echo. His betrayal hardened your heart.

Behind you, James Patrick March paced around the room restlessly, his usually composed demeanor frayed at the edges. The man who had once been a picture of controlled arrogance now seemed almost desperate, his eyes locked onto your figure as though you were the only thing grounding him to this world. His tailored suit was as impeccable as ever, but there was a tension in the set of his shoulders, a strain in his voice that betrayed the depth of his emotions.

"[Name]," he began, and his voice was urgent, almost pleading as he tried to bridge the growing wall between the two of you. "I offer you the three things most dear to me: my heart . . . my hotel . . . and my dream."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of promises that no longer held the meaning they once did. He took a step toward you, his hand outstretched as if to pull you back to him, to recapture the love you had shared before everything had gone so terribly wrong. Before his mistakes happened.

But you remained unmoved, back still turned to him, posture stiff with resolve. The pain in your chest was such a familiar ache, one that had become a part of your very being, but you had long since learned to live with it. Now, it was a shield, protecting you from the man who had once held your heart so completely.

"You are too generous —" you began with your voice full of coldness, as if you were speaking to a stranger and not the man you had once loved with every fiber of your being.

"[Name], you must listen to me!" March's voice cracked with desperation as he allowed himself to interrupt you, his frustration spilling over. He stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. "Since that first hour we met, I've been completely yours. There's never been anyone else for me . . . There never will."

His confession, raw and unfiltered, was the truth — at least, the truth as he saw it. To him, you were everything, the only light in the endless darkness that had become his existence. He had built this world all for you, and now it was slipping away, crumbling before his eyes because he could not reach you, could not find a way to make you understand.

You finally turned to face him, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. The words he spoke were like daggers to your heart, reopening wounds that had never truly healed. You had once believed in his love, had once shared his dreams, but that time had passed. What had once been your shared world was now a shattered illusion, a dream that had turned into a nightmare.

"Please," you whispered, voice trembling with the effort to maintain your composure, but you felt the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. "Please don't say any more. There are worlds between us, worlds that can't be bridged with words."

Your gaze bore into his, pleading for him to understand what you could not bring yourself to say out loud.

"You are dead. And I am me."

He was trapped in this hotel, in this half-life of his own making, while you remained bound to the world of the living, a world that he could never truly be a part of. The love you had once shared, as powerful and all-consuming as it had been, was now nothing more than a painful memory.

March stood frozen, the weight of your words crushing the last remnants of his hope. He had always been a man who believed that he could bend the world to his will, that nothing was beyond his reach if he desired it enough. But in this moment, he was confronted with the one thing he could not control, could not change — the inexorable march of time and the finality of death. Was he really though?

His expression was a mix of anguish and determination, the usual smoothness of his demeanor shattered by the knowledge he had carried for so long. This was a truth he had avoided speaking aloud, perhaps out of a twisted sense of mercy, or perhaps because he could not bear the thought of breaking you more than it was needed. But now, the time for silence had passed.

"You said one night that you wished we were two different people," March began to remember, his voice low and measured. His eyes never left your form. "I think you may have that wish, [Name]."

His words seemed to hang in the air. For a moment, you did not move, your mind struggling to grasp the meaning behind them. You felt your brows furrowing in confusion, the flicker of doubt that had long been buried now rising to the surface.

"But what do you mean?" you asked in a quiet voice, almost trembling. There was something in his tone, something in the way he looked at you, that sent a chill running down your spine. It was as if the ground beneath you was beginning to crumble, threatening to pull you into an abyss you had refused to acknowledge.

James stepped closer, his gaze softening as he saw the uncertainty and fear in your eyes upon hearing those words. The man who had always prided himself on his control, on his ability to manipulate and bend others to his will, now stood before you, stripped of all secrets. He could not protect you from this truth now, could not shield you from the reality that had been so carefully hidden away by him.

"[Name]," he started gently, as if to not scare you any more, "you are not who you think you are. You've been living in denial, clinging to the idea that you are still part of the world of the living."

You recoiled slightly, with your heart beginning to race as a cold dread settled against your rib cage. Your mind fought against his words, refusing to accept what they implied. You had always felt different, out of place, but you had attributed it to the strange nature of the hotel, to the dark energy that seemed to carve every corner of it. Not this. Never this.

"No . . ." you whispered, shaking your head as if that could wake you up from the nightmare that was taking shape before you. "No, that can't be true. I'm . . . I'm alive, James. I'm here."

The man's brows furrowed in sorrow and what seemed like guilt, his heart breaking for you when you struggled to hold onto the last shreds of your denial. He reached out, gently taking your hands in his, his touch warm but offering no comfort from the truth he was about to reveal.

"You are here, [Name]," he said softly, "but not in the way you believe. You died, my love . . . years ago. You've been here, in this hotel, ever since. Your spirit, your essence — trapped, just like mine. But unlike the others, you've refused to see it. You've built a world around yourself, a world where you still believe you can leave, still believe you can live."

The room seemed to spin around you, the walls closing in as the truth clawed its way into your consciousness. You tried to pull away from him, tried to reject the reality he was presenting, but his grip on your hands was firm, grounding you even as everything else fell apart.

"No . . . no, that's not possible," you insisted still, your voice rising in pitch as panic began to take hold. "I'm not dead, I can't be. I'm . . . I'm real, James. I'm standing here, talking to you."

"Yes, you are," March replied, his voice steady and calm, though his own pain was evident in his eyes. "But you're not alive. Not in the way you think. This hotel . . . it's a place where the dead linger, where they cannot move on. You've been here with me all this time, believing you were still part of the world outside, but the truth is . . . you're not."

Tears welled up in your eyes as the reality of his words began to sink in, your carefully constructed world shattering around you. You could feel the coldness creeping into your bones, the weight of your existence pressing down on you like a leaden shroud. It was as if you were seeing yourself for the first time — truly seeing — and what you saw terrified you.

"But . . . but how?" asking, your voice broke as you looked up at him, searching his face for answers, for anything that might make sense of this horror. "How could I not know? How could I . . . how could I forget?"

Your past lover's expression was filled with sorrow as he gently cupped your face, wiping away the salty tears that spilled down your cheeks. He had never wanted this for you, never wanted you to suffer as he had, to be trapped in this purgatory with nothing but memories and regrets to keep you company.

"You loved me," he stated simply. "You loved me so much that you couldn't bear to let go, even in death. Your love for me, your denial . . . it kept you here, in this place, unable to see the truth. But now . . . now you know."

You were his. Perhaps you had always been. And now, as the truth of your existence settled into your bones, he knew he could not let you go, even if it meant holding onto a ghost, a shadow of what the two of you once were.

Gently, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand still cradling one of your cheeks. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your face paler than usual, but in that moment, you were still the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. The love he had felt for you had not waned, even in death; if anything, it had only grown stronger, more desperate.

"You may as well take my heart, [Name]," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "It's already full of you. You walked into it the day we met."

A blink was all you managed to give. You had felt his love from the beginning, had known how deeply he cared for you.

"You're a fool, James Patrick March." There was no anger in your words, only a sorrowful resignation. You knew what he was trying to do, knew he was trying to hold onto something that had already slipped away. But there was no future for the two of you — not in this twisted world, not in this half-existence.

He smiled sadly, a flicker of the old charm that had once captivated you. "Oh, but isn't any man who falls in love?" He ran his thumb gently across the apple of your cheek, wiping away the last traces of your tears. "Do you know what you are to me? You're something to believe in again. You're the type of person that had ceased to exist for me — a fine and honest woman."

His words were like a knife twisting in your heart. The depth of his feelings, the sincerity in his voice, all served to remind you of what you had lost, of what could never be. You wanted to believe in his love, to find comfort in the fact that he still saw you as something pure and good. But the truth was that you weren't that woman anymore, and perhaps you never had been.

"Oh, my darling. You're such a child.”

James' face fell, the hope in his eyes dimming as he saw the resolve in your posture, heard the finality in your voice. He had feared this moment, the moment when you would push him away, when you would reject the only thing he had left to offer.

"Take your foolish little dream in your heart and go," you continued with your final decision and your voice broke on the last word as you fought against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm your every sense. You wanted him to leave, to take his love and his dreams and disappear, because you knew that if he stayed, you would both be dragged down into the darkness that surrounded you.

You didn't need to turn around to know he was still there. You could feel him, like a shadow that never left your side.

"What is it? What's wrong, my dear?" his voice was gentle, almost tender, but you could hear the underlying concern.

You wanted to lash out, to tell him to leave you for good, to demand that he let you be. But the words caught in the back of your throat, tangled with the truth of what you felt — what you had always felt for him, despite everything.

"You know nothing about me," you said, voice shaking with frustration, but also with a hint of despair. "You've known me only three weeks!"

March blinked, caught off guard by your statement. Three weeks. Had it really been so little time? To him, it felt like an eternity, and at the same time, like no time at all. Every moment with you had been etched into his mind, as if you had always been there, a part of him that never left.

"Three weeks?" he repeated after you. "[Name], I've known you all my life."

"All your life?!" the words were nothing but a distant echo, incredulous. How could he say that? How could he claim to have known you, when you yourself barely understood who you were anymore?

James took a step closer, his eyes locked onto yours. He could see the turmoil in your gaze, the confusion and doubt that swirled around you like a storm. But he had to make you understand — had to make you see what you meant to him, what you had always meant.

"It's true," he insisted, his voice filled with quiet conviction. "I've seen you in a thousand plays, read you in as many books. While I've heard beautiful music, I've thought, 'She'd like that.' I've looked at flowers and known that one day I'd give them to you."

To him, you had always been there, in his thoughts, in his dreams. Even before the two of you met, you had been a part of him, an ideal, a vision of something pure and beautiful in a world that had long since lost its luster.

Your breath caught in your throat as you listened, heart pounding in your chest. You had heard words like these before — sweet nothings whispered in the dark after you've made love, promises made and broken — but this was different. There was no lies in his voice, no empty flattery. He truly believed what he was saying, and that sincerity shook you to your core.

But it also terrified you. Because you knew that if you allowed yourself to believe him, to accept the love he offered, there would be no turning back. You would be lost to him, bound by the same chains that held you both to this place.

"James. . ." you began with your trembling voice as you struggled to find the right words. You wanted to tell him that it wasn't real, that what he felt was just another illusion, another trick of his twisted mind. But even as you thought it, you knew it wasn't true. His love for you was truly real — so real that it had brought you back, kept you from moving on.

But was it enough? Could it ever be enough?

You felt a cold sweat on your skin as you grappled with the turmoil building inside you. The love you felt for James was undeniable, a force that had bound you together in life and in death. But with that love came a profound sense of duty, a discipline that you had clung to as a way to maintain some semblance of control over your fractured existence. Now, that discipline was being tested in a way you had never imagined.

The man himself could see the conflict in your eyes, the way your emotions warred with your duty. He had always admired your strength, the fierce determination with which you had approached everything in your life. But now, he wondered if that strength would ultimately be the thing that tore the two of you apart.

"If I betray you, I betray myself," whispering, your voice trembled with the weight of your confession. You had always prided yourself on your unwavering commitment to your principles, to the discipline that had guided you through even the darkest of times. But now, standing before the man you loved, you realized just how fragile that commitment had become, all because of him.

"If I betray myself," you continued, "I betray my discipline. My discipline is very dear to me."

The words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. You had built your life around that discipline, around the principles that had defined you. It had been your anchor, your guiding light in a world that had often seemed dark and chaotic.

"Dearer than I?" James' voice was soft, almost pleading. He could see the struggle in your eyes, the way you fought against your love for him with the discipline that had been the foundation of your existence. He knew that he was asking you to choose between two parts of yourself, and the thought of losing you because of it was almost too much to bear.

You looked up at him, heart breaking in million pieces at the vulnerability in his voice. You had never wanted to hurt him, never wanted to put him in a position where he had to question your love. But the truth was, you were questioning it yourself. Not the love itself — no, that was as real as anything you had ever known — but whether you could truly allow yourself to give in to it, to let go of the discipline that had defined you for so long.

"No," you whispered into the dark while the soft breeze blew past you. "No, not dearer than you. But I must leave."

James Patrick March stood there, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you like a death sentence. You were leaving him — this time, forever. The love you had shared, the bond that had once seemed unbreakable, was now shattered, and there was nothing he could do to stop you from disappearing into the void where he could never follow.

For a moment, he said nothing, his heart a cage of grief, anger, and desperation. He had always prided himself on his composure, his ability to remain calm and in control, even in the face of the most dire situations. But now, with the woman he loved standing before him, ready to walk out of his life forever, all that control began to crumble.

"You gave me your heart, you know?" James finally spoke, his voice low and strained, as if each word was being torn from the depths of his soul. "And now you'd like me to hand it back to you, whole again. But I won't."

You flinched at the bitterness in his tone, but you held your ground, soft eyes betraying the sadness that mirrored his own. You had made your decision, but it was clear that it was one that pained you just as much as it pained him.

"You will live a long time yet, [Name]," the man continued, his voice growing stronger, more resolute, as if he were steeling himself against the inevitable. "An eternity without me."

He paused for a moment, hoping to find any sign that you might change your mind, that you might see the madness in what you were about to do. But there was nothing — just the same quiet determination that had always been a part of you, the same unyielding strength that he had fallen in love with.

"You will look into the faces of passersby, hoping for something that will, for an instant, bring me back to you. But it won't. You will find moonlit nights strangely empty," he went on, his voice now a haunting whisper. "Because when you call my name through them, there will be no answer."

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, unable to meet his gaze any longer. James felt a sharp pang in his chest, a sense of helplessness that he had never known before. He was losing you for real, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Always your heart will be aching for me," he said, his voice trembling with the intensity of his emotions. "And your mind will give you the doubtful consolation that you did a brave thing."

He took a step closer, reaching out to gently lift your chin so that your eyes met once more. The pain in your gaze was almost too much for him to bear, but he held it, wanting you to see the truth in his own eyes. He wanted you to feel his own pain.

"But know this, my dear," the whispered affection left his lips so naturally when it came to you and that was why it all hurt too much. He'd never change. "You may think you're doing the right thing, the brave thing, by leaving. But there will come a time when you will question it — when the loneliness becomes too much, when the nights grow too long, and the silence becomes unbearable. And in those moments, you will remember me. You will remember what we had, and you will wish, with all your heart, that you had chosen differently."

He let his hand fall away, stepping back as the finality of your decision settled over him like a blanket. There was nothing more to say — nothing that could change what was about to happen.

"You will never be free of me. No matter how far you run, or how long you hide. I will always be a part of you, just as you are a part of me."

You swallowed hard, tears now spilling freely down your cheeks again as you took one last look at the man you had loved with all your heart. The man you were about to leave behind.

"Goodbye, James," you whispered, voice breaking. "Goodbye."

And with that, you turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows, leaving James alone in the suffocating silence of the room you had once shared.

As the door closed behind you, the reality of your absence crashed over him like a brutal wave, and for the first time in his life, James Patrick March felt truly, utterly lost.

[gardenschedule]

Beatles defending each other ❤️

Link to masterpost of quote compilations

In 1965 [the Byrds] toured England and Paul invited us to his club, the Scotch of St James’s [sic]. He sent a limo to pick us up. He said he had been listening to our music. We were blown away. He took us for a ride through London in his Aston Martin, at great speed. He was really hip, he and John were so tight it was like one person at times. Unlike the Byrds, [where] Crosby would just leave you out to dry, the Beatles all defended each other to the hilt. If you criticised, say, George then they would all respond.

Roger McGuinn, in Paul McCartney: Now & Then, Tony Barrow and Robin Bextor

“They’re four very different people who together form a unit that is virtually impregnable. If, for instance, someone should find fault with anything one of them has done, the others rush to his defence. They close their ranks. They’re very close indeed. A lot closer than people think.”

George Martin, Disc and Music Echo (1967)

And actually, we’ve got the image of him all these years about criticising Paul – yeah, he did, but it’s like [when] you criticise your wife. “I can criticise her, but you can’t.” I was there once when some guy was saying that he didn’t think ‘Let It Be’ was such a great record, and he thought John would agree, and he didn’t.

November 10th, 2009: Journalist Ray Connolly

Q: How did Paul react [to “How Do You Sleep”]?

John: I don’t know because I never saw him, but I think he made a comment last year which was pretty spot-on which was ‘whatever I’m saying about him is my problem, or vice versa.’ The only regret I have about it is that it should never have been about Paul because everybody’s so bothered with who’s it about that they missed the track. That’s what bugged me. I’m entitled to call him what I want to, and vice versa. It’s in our family, but if somebody else calls him names I won’t take it. It’s our own business. And anyway, it’s like Dylan said about his stuff when he looked back on it, it was all about him.

Patrick Synder-Scrumpy with Jack Breschard, “Sometime in L.A., Lennon Plays It as It Lays.” Crawdaddy [March 1974]

"When John did 'How Do You Sleep?' I didn't want to get into a slinging match. Part of it was cowardice. John was a great wit, and I didn't want to go fencing with the rapier champion of East Cheam-- But it meant that I had to take shit--It meant that I had to take lines like 'All you ever did was Yesterday.' I always find myself wanting to excuse John's behavior, just because I loved him. It's like a child, sure he was a naughty child, but don't you call my child naughty. Even if it's me he's shitting on, don't you call him naughty. That's how I felt about this and still do. I don't have a grudge whatsoever against John. I think he knew exactly what he was doing, and, because we had been so intimate, he knew what would hurt me and used it to great effect. I thought, 'Keep your head down and time will tell,' and it did because in the 'Imagine' film (Imagine John Lennon, documentary), he says it was really all about himself."

Barry Miles, Many Years From Now, 1997

“Well the deal was, he could say that, but if you said that, if anybody said anything bad about Paul, John’d take a swing at you. He’d say “you can’t talk about Paul like that”, Paul was his best buddy. If you were talking to Paul and you said something derogatory about John, he’d get up and leave. Paul was more of a peaceful guy, but John had that hot head, and he’d say “you wanna talk about Paul? Let’s go”. You weren’t allowed to say anything bad about John or Paul to each one of them because they would defend each other to the nth degree, which I liked, because you could tell they were attached at the hip.

Alice Cooper Live and Uncut on the Kim Mitchell Show

You know, John loved Paul. No doubt about it. I remember once he said to me, “I’m the only person who’s allowed to say things like that about Paul. I don’t like it when other people do.” He didn’t like if other people said nasty things about Paul. And he always referred to Paul as his estranged fiancé and things like that, like he did on that [live] record ‘I Saw Her Standing There’ with Elton in Madison Square Garden. And he knew that his relationship with Paul was very important to him. But you know, like all great friendships, they’d grown apart and married different people and had different lives. He knew what he didn’t like about Paul, but he also knew what he liked about Paul.

1990: Former Beatles publicist Tony King

George didn’t mind slagging Paul off. But he HATED other people doing it.

Tom Petty

When I talk about George, sometimes I feel like I’m making him sound too much like he was a saint. By no means was the man a saint! Over the years with him and John, they could both be really brutal with Paul. I learned very early on that I couldn’t join them. They both on different occasions said, “We can say that, but you shouldn’t.” They were truly brothers who loved taking the piss out of each other, but they didn’t want anybody else doing it.

Jim Keltner on George Harrison

I felt protective of George. He was a long way from home and seemed to miss the attention of his family. The other boys were more grown up and so were a little less concerned with all that. I know, for example, that he always looked up to John, and probably even Stu, as big-brother figures. And conversely, it was sometimes difficult for them not to see George as something of a pain for being so young. Still, in their own way, they loved him. We all did. Even when things were pretty rough they all stuck together. They often argued amongst themselves, but just let an outsider have a go at one of them and the sparks would fly. At first they were close out of necessity; later it was out of love.”

Astrid Kirchherr

[fear-is-truth]

in your professional opinion: what would it take for jpm to decide not to kill a potential victim?

the types of victim who (might) live

disclaimer : super unprofessional opinion made by yours truly.. heh

1. innocence as a mirror of his lost humanity

james would probably be fascinated by someone who radiates genuine innocence, someone untouched by the filth of the world. this is not the naïve act many people put on to survive—it’s an uncorrupted purity he rarely, if ever, encounters.

the victim’s wide-eyed wonder or soft, sincere way of engaging with life might act as an uncomfortable mirror for him, reminding him of a version of himself before his descent into depravity. he might not even consciously realise this at first—it would manifest as a sense of fascination.

2. relentless optimism

imagine a victim who, in the face of imminent death, starts talking about how “everything happens for a reason” or how “there’s good in everyone, even you.” they don’t beg or plead; they truly believe that life is inherently meaningful and that even james himself is capable of redemption.

their vibrant energy, combined with an almost annoying optimism, would simultaneously frustrate and intrigue him. he might think, what makes this one so unshakable? how can they remain so full of life when faced with certain death?

he would become curious, almost studying them like a specimen: “your sunny disposition is either idiocy or brilliance. i haven’t yet decided which.”

3. potential protégé

james patrick march is always looking to leave a mark on the world, and nothing would be more satisfying than molding a successor.

if the victim showed any signs of darkness—repressed rage or a hidden fascination with violence—he might see them as raw material to be shaped into a killer in his image.

sparing them would serve his own desires:“you have potential, darling. rough around the edges, yes, but the makings of greatness lie within you. i could teach you… if you’re willing to learn.”

the idea of transforming someone so unremarkable into a cold-blooded murderer would delight him. it’s his way of proving that no one is incorruptible.

4. he fucking hates you

if the person annoys him in a way he finds intolerable, james wouldn’t want them haunting the halls of the cortez for eternity.

“i refuse to have you lingering in my halls, polluting the air with your insipid drivel for the rest of time. leave now, before i change my mind.”

[marchsfreakshow]

Comforting A Murder [James Patrick March]

Hurt/Comfort // Smut. (I guess?)

Well you did it. You finally murdered someone, but right in the middle of a mess James wants to clean up. You attempt to comfort eachother...

18+ MINORS DNI!

Warnings: dub-con, PnV, quick fuck?, James being James.

Brb inspiring this off of ep.9 and 10. Had no ideas anymore so I figured basing this off an episode or two would help me write this.

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Oh, your pretty red dress. Ruined by the darkness of fresh blood. Arms and legs decorated by splashes of someone's else liquid soul. A beautiful decorated purple gun, turned black, dripping. Eyes widened; scared, confused, joy? Your mind racing with thoughts of what others would think.

Others? Each ghost more insane than the last? They didn't care. Most, happy by your calling. Liz, your best friend, daring you to talk to someone. "Talking to James will do good my dear. I understand he is in love with the countess still, but you know he takes interest in you as well."

"Sure.." A shaky word left your brain as you stood straight, gripping onto the used gun like it was a dying breath. "But... Jesus Liz, he's so... intimidating."

"Only if you don't talk to him." She stated. You took a deep breath and a step back, staring at the now decomposing lady that you laid bare. Flesh, body and soul ripped down the middle after a shot in the head. "A wonderful killing. Just like you." Liz was never too interested in the killing around the Cortez, but the way you killed... invigorating.

" 'suppose." You undressed as quickly as you killed, picking up a purple dress. The same shape, size and glimmer as the one you had murdered in. Your body still dripping in red.

"go like that. Go and find him right now."

"like this? No. Liz no! I can't. I have to wash myself. And my gun."

She shook her head and took a small drag of her cigarette. "No. Go find him. Now."

After a long silence, you took a deep and long breath, debating whether or not you should find the prolific killer. So you agreed. Walking out of the room and leaving the open torso to bleed dry, Liz watched, maybe silently judging you. You could never tell. The still image ran in your head as you walked. The heart slowing down, and the stomach just sat there, begging to be opened so the acid could dissolve everything else.

"...James." You saw him standing there, looking bewildered. He had been slapped, in front of an open hallway. An open hallway? Why on earth...? But you whispered his name as you took a step closer, transferring your gun from one hand to the other. "James.." you cleared your throat, looking down to the ground, feeling insecure. The killer looked at you, and smiled, taking his hand off his face.

"Ah, love. You look...ravishing, and a gun? My." He started, his smirk coming back to him. Nervous and worried, a blush appeared, and your hands were shaky again. The gun was still coloured darkly, leaving little trails of blood behind you. If there was any more blood on you, you would look like Carrie, an icon to you and your deranged but silent mind. "May I ask, your kill you have come back from?"

"a lady. Insulted my dress. Shot her head, then...ripped her torso. Neck to crotch." You admitted, looking everywhere but in his eyes. Another step towards you. He took your hand and looked lovingly at the gun.

"I'm so proud my dear." A teacher, smiling widely at his student, blood smearing itself over both your hands. You stared at his hands. Such precious jewels, covered in a dark thick liquid, a gun being shared between two. A small gulp and another deep breath. "What are you nervous about?" He asked as you looked up to the open hallway, a looming darkness. It scared you, but you never showed it. You wanted to impress James, being scared would annoy him.

Oh just how wrong you were. James could tell you were scared about what could have been lurking in the hallway. What a wonderful thing to use to his advantage. "This hallway is empty my darling. Nothing exists here." He simply stated. Innocently looking back up to him and seeming like you didn't understand anything he was saying. Like you didn't believe him. "Go on. Walk in. You have your dear gun, use it if need to." Absolutely not.

But a cold hand on your back, pushing you in. It left a faint handprint on you, and James noticed, letting out a small chuckle. It rang through the looming hallway, making you shake more. Holding the gun in front of you, worriedly looking around. Then a shot. You shot something. You think. Maybe? But you turned and ran. Ran into James' chest, even if he didn't wrap his arms around you as you secretly hoped he would. "You found something?"

"I think...I think so?" Your voice was hurried, and resting your head on his chest.

"Come dear. Let's take you away from this." He placed a dead hand on the small of your back, still bloody. The blood on you was decently dried now, feeling unable to wash it off. Eyes always straight and front as you both walked. Meeting anyone's eyes would increase your guilt about the murder. Such a beautiful but meaningless kill in James' mind. Killing someone for insulting your pretty red dress? Insanity.

James' room appeared before you, and you were led into it. Cold but comforting. A room you had wanted to go into. Forever. Everything interested you. Mindlessly, you started to wander around. Leaving gentle touches over every surface. The interest you two had with each other, coming to light. Your wonder and innocence, lit up when you walked around. Going in circles, your hand loosening around the firearm you held so dear. A beautiful thing, all based on your personality. James picked it up as you stepped in another circle, staring out of the window.

Ah, the open world. Nothing you missed. Bullied for the way you worked, and how you carried yourself. You left the daylight alone and stayed in the Cortez. Liz and Iris helping you with anything you need from the open world. "Dear. You are lost again." James murmured, standing behind you. A breath? Maybe? By the crook of your neck. "Ah yes, the life outside of this hotel. You should not worry about it, my dear. You are here now. You are here forever, murdering just because?"

Words that left him, and made you shiver. "But, I want the life again."

"I understand darling, but you must understand that this hotel can offer you more. Offer you something you could not find outside." A hand, gripping the front of your neck, thick fingers finding a vein and pressing on it, hard. "The people here are dangerous, wonderful. Full of deprived attraction." A hitch in your breath as the pressure got harder and harder. The stopping of your breath and its effects on James were pressed against your back. Was he really getting hard at this? Really? Okay...

"James..." All you did was lean against him, your neck open to him again, so many possibilities, and so many things he could do to you. A low groan, maybe a snarl leaving him. His free hand exploring your side, gripping at the dress fabric and feeling the dried blood on you. Every touch felt odd like you shouldn't be enjoying it so much. But your love for James, and the way your need for him manifested as killing for him. Innocents who did nothing to you but make a snarky comment, a little joke. Why was he so irresistible to you? A killer who died nearly 100 years ago, who loves murder, fine absthine, and his students.

Wandering hands trailing down your back, pulling down the zipper. The purple fabric fell swiftly off you, pooling around your flats and the blood-covered legs of yours. All this talk and touch of murder, blood, opening someone up, it was nothing but erotica turned real to him. Such a need for someone he did not know too well. Who was he to deny such a gift? Deny the chance to make someone feel something other than rage and upset.

Such moveable skin in front of him, the way he touched and practically groped you, making you feel mindless already. Your head, silently thrown back onto James' shoulder, feeling every touch he gave. The way he gripped onto your hips, such a need and desire in him. You practically threw yourself onto the bed, but sat on your knees politely. Even when a feeling of warmth spread through you, nerves were still there and you never wanted to upset your dear so. Shy, doe eyes watching a ghost undress. A quick coyote, readying himself to catch the doe it craved.

Silence in your voices, but catching breaths, underwear ripped off of you. You were being pulled up from your knees and pushed down onto all fours. He fucked like you were going away that night. Barely any time to catch your breath as he kept going.

Faster.

Harder.

Fucking you like the world was ending. Your moans; loud, unfiltered, they could be heard anywhere in the Cortez. His were reserved but animalistic in nature, never giving you a break. You screamed his name, as he yelled yours. Bruises were appearing on your neck, hips and thighs.

When had the dam been broken? You wondered as you cleaned yourself up, starting to sit up. Looking over to your side, James was half-dressed already. "I will admit my darling, that blood drying itself on you truly is enchanting." He nonchalantly mentioned, walking over to where you sat. A little hum in response, looking to the side where James was not. The ghost pulled your face towards him and left a kiss on your wanting lips. Pushing yourself forward to try and kiss him again, only to be denied.

Only to be denied as he picked up that purple gun you adored.

Only to be denied as he reloaded it.

Only to be denied as he aimed it at your worrying face.

BANG.

Only to be denied one last breath, one that you could've kissed him again with.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tag: @babygorewhore @taintandviolent @coentinim @bluerthanvelvet444 @nahoyasboyfriend @slutforgarlogan @slvt4jamesmarch @tatelangdonsweater @feefymo @fear-is-truth

[badnewswhatsleft]

total guitar #160 march 2007 [joe's video]

transcript below cut:

You voted Dance, Dance in at No 57 in TG’s 100 Greatest Riffs, so we managed to collar the dual guitar talents of Fall Out Boy’s Joe Trohman and Patrick Stump to ask them how they write riffs, who they think is the ultimate riff-writing machine and what they deem to be the top five greatest riffs ever written…

Words: Claire Davies, Images: Joby Sessions

When you look at Fall Out Boy or listen to any one of their albums, it’s easy to dismiss them as pop punk scamps who like to mess around on the guitar but don’t take it that seriously. In some respects you’d be right, but singer/guitarist Patrick Stump and his talented co-guitarist Joe Trohman know quite a bit about writing insanely catchy riffs and playing guitar.

Patrick, for instance, doesn’t respect players who wail unnecessarily over a song. “I like restraint in guitarists,” he says. “It’s easy to go overboard and try to be Eddie Van Halen. But here’s the thing: you’re not.” Joe, on the other hand, is completely obsessed with vintage guitars. “I was really into vintage Gibsons, but I just used to break them all the time and it turned out to be kind of expensive. Now I play Washburns ‘cos they have that same wide-neck feel and pickups as some of those 70s Les Pauls.”

One thing they’re both passionate about, however, is writing great riffs and how you - by expanding your musical horizons - can write one with as much groove as Pantera’s Walk…

So guys, why did you choose guitar and when did you start playing?

Joe Trohman: “I started playing guitar because of Metallica. I used to listen to them loads and when my grandma got me the Live Shit: Binge And Purge video I couldn’t stop watching it. I used to play viola and trombone in my school band, but watching bands like Metallica and Smashing Pumpkins made me wanna play guitar. From the moment I got a cheap $50 guitar, I played it all the time.”

Patrick Stump: “I chose drums to begin with, but my dad was a folk singer in the 70s so he always had a guitar lying around. I’d mess around and write songs on it, but I never fancied myself as much of a player. When the band started I ended up singing, even though I was supposed to be a drummer. Then one of our guitarists quit, I had to fill in and it went from there.”

When you were starting out, which guitarists influenced you?

Joe: “Kirk Hammett and Dimebag had a huge impact on me, as did Billy Corgan. I was into a lot of lead players, I guess, but as I got older I realised how important it was to play rhythm as well. People don’t realise how good a rhythm player James Hetfield is. I also love Johnny Marr, who has probably been my biggest influence so far.”

Patrick: “I’m not a huge Stones fan, but I appreciate Keith Richards’ playing ‘cos it’s all about his riffs. Outside of that, my favourite shit as a guitar player is funk; everyone from James Brown to Prince. I also love jazz player Joe Pass, who is one of the only people good enough to noodle on guitar, and Jesse Johnson who was in a band called The Time from the Prince movie Purple Rain. My favourite solo of his is just one note, but the crazy shit he does with that one note is unreal.”

Moving on to riff-writing, how would you describe a guitar riff?

Joe: “It’s a cool guitar part that catches you instantly. It’s something you can play over and over without it losing its edge.”

Patrick: “Yeah, it’s four bars that are simple and that grab you immediately, like the riff from Janet Jackson’s Black Cat. I think a good riff comes down to a good rhythm section. When you look at a guy like Dimebag, he always got right in there with the bass and drums. Pantera were built on a groove as strong and simple as any R&B groove.”

Joe: “Yeah, Walk has to be one of the simplest riffs ever but it grooves, and that’s what matters: what you do with the riff and how much it grooves.”

So how do you come up with riffs, such as the one on Dance, Dance?

Patrick: “We just fuck around until we come up with something. You’ll come up with a gazillion riffs when trying stuff out, but every so often something will jump in front of you. Once you’ve got your four bars, stuff will start happening. With Dance, Dance I was just sitting in the van and we were all talking about The Cure, and I had this idea of a Cure bass line that they never wrote, which ended up being the riff in Dance Dance.”

What’s the best riff you’ve written?

Patrick: “I really like the riff on Of All The Gin Joints. But The Take Over, The Breaks Over from our new record [Infinity On High] is easily one of our best riffs. I wrote it after reading something Bowie said: that he was sitting around one day and decided that he really wanted to write a riff like Keith Richards did. So he wrote Rebel Rebel. After reading that I thought, ‘Fuck! I wanna do that!’”

What, in your opinion, makes a kick-ass riff?

Joe: “A great riff comes from being part of the rhythm and acknowledging that you’re not gonna produce something totally original. You should listen to loads of different music and put your own spin on it. Like on our last album we wrote a riff that was like Panama by Van Halen. We’ve obviously taken influence from them on that song, but we’re not ripping them off wholesale. Instead it’s like paying homage to them.”

Patrick: “When you’re writing a riff you’re part of the rhythm section and you keep up the tempo and rhythm as if you were the drummer. You have stabs as though you were the snare drum and you’re hitting low notes as though you’re the bass drum, but you’re also controlling the melody. At the end of the day, a riff is something that you can hum and it’s a rhythm you can play on drums. If you have both those qualities in your riff then you’re onto something good.”

What do you think are the Top Five greatest riffs ever written?

Joe: “I love the start of This Charming Man by The Smiths, and Black In Black by AC/DC. Walk by Pantera is probably one of the best riffs ever, same as Battery by Metallica, but if you can’t do triplets and haven’t got tons of stamina then it’s hard to play. I also love South Of Heaven by Slayer just ‘cos it’s so evil sounding.”

Patrick: “Satisfaction by The Stones is the be-all and end-all of riffs. I’d also go for Rebel Rebel by David Bowie, Janet Jackson’s Black Cat, the second section of Bohemian Rhapsody and Black Sabbath by Black Sabbath. That one riff alone changed metal as we know it. I also wanna throw in Owner Of A Lonely Heart by Yes ‘cos it’s a great example of having really talented guitarists who still keep it simple.”

Who do you think is the ultimate riff-writing machine?

Joe: “I’d go with Randy Rhoads, just ‘cos I love that riff in Crazy Train. That guy was a genius.”

Patrick: “Angus and Malcolm Young have written so many phenomenal riffs that you can’t do any better than those guys. But I come from an R&B background so I wanna say Prince, just ‘cos Let’s Go Crazy is so awesome. And I also wanna know who wrote the riff to Michael Jackson’s Beat It [TG mentions it was session musician and Toto guitarist Steve Lukather]. Was it Lukather? Yeah, of course it was: he played the riff and Eddie Van Halen played the solo. I wonder why Lukather doesn’t get more recognition? Now you’ve mentioned Lukather, I wanna change one of my Top Five riffs to Toto’s Hold The Line, ‘cos that’s one of my favourite riffs ever!”

How did you approach the guitars on your new album, Infinity On High?

Patrick: “We’re both playing a lot more rhythm on this record, but if there is lead then it’s in much more of a BB King way where there’s a call and response.”

Joe: “My favourite thing about the guitars on our new songs is that I can ad-lib when we’re playing live. I know scales well enough and understand the fretboard well enough to do that. I could never tell you what key something is in, but in my head I know what it is. The cool thing about being in this band is that Patrick and I play guitar really well together, and I’ve learned a lot from watching Patrick and playing guitar with him.”

So can we expect a lot of guitar interplay from you on this album?

Joe: “Patrick also plays piano on this album, so he’s not always on guitar, but we split up a lot of the guitar playing. There’s a solo on The Take Over, The Breaks Over that we split in half when playing live, even though on the record it was done by Chad from New Found Glory and Ryan from Panic! At The Disco. We thought it was cooler to have guest guitarists than guest vocalists. So yeah, we split a lot of the guitar stuff up and switched between rhythm and lead. The weird thing is that I’m always pegged as the lead guitarist of the band, but we always switch back and forth.”

Patrick: “I think in general, I play a lot of the single-note leads and Joe plays a lot of the octave and chord leads.”

Which tracks on the new album best exemplify you guys as guitarists?

Patrick: “The end solo of Don’t You Know Who I Think I Am? Is how I love to solo. It’s real bluesy, which is what I’m about as a player. I’d also say the solo on You’re Crashing But You’re No Wave.”

Joe: “Yeah, that one had a lot of Johnny Marr filler guitar in there, and also Don’t You Know Who I Think I Am? It's filler guitar that doesn’t really jump out at you, but it’s atmospheric and it changes the vibe without you really knowing it.”

Finally, how proud are you as guitarists of your new album?

Patrick: “This is my favourite record because it’s restrained and funny. It’s basic rhythm playing, which is my favourite kind of guitar playing. I’m much happier playing a strong riff 100 times over than playing a kick-ass solo once. We do have kick-ass solos, but the way we write doesn’t always leave that much room for them.”

Joe: “I learned from playing on this album that I don’t need to play solos all the time. I’m proud of the record and proud of the cool riffs and songs that we’ve written together.”

Patrick: “I’m less impressed when someone shows off, and on this record we don’t show off a lot so obviously you should be impressed… I’m kidding!”

[kit-walk3r]

Maybe a fic with James being with a modern human girl? Maybe she’s super into technology and has a Wednesday Addams style and sense of humor!!

Thank you for the request, sorry it’s a little late! Confession: I haven’t seen Wednesday or the Addams family so don’t know much about her personality/sense of humour. What I’ve gathered from the internet is that she’s sarcastic and has a dark sense of humour. I’ve tried to incorporate that into this as best as I can but I apologise if it’s not Wednesday accurate. I hope you enjoy it either way 💓

Photograph (James Patrick March x fem!reader)

James becomes fascinated with your phone.

Warnings: slight mention of blood

You were lounging about in the hotel room you often shared with James, mindlessly messing about on your phone when James appeared. He wasn’t in his usual three piece suit attire, but just an undershirt, trousers and a bloody apron. From his get-up you knew that he had just been butchering up some poor stranger. You were used to that by now, so you were barely phased by his bloody appearance. On the off occasion you actually found yourself weirdly liking it.

“What is that device?” James asked, pointing at your mobile in your hand. He’d often seen you playing around on it but didn’t actually know what it was, or what it did.

“It’s my phone,” you said, voice dry in a ‘duh’ tone as if it were obvious. It would be obvious to anyone if they weren’t from the 1920s.

James scoffed. “That’s not a telephone,” he denied.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, it is,” you said. “Things are different now, you’re just old.”

“Let me see it,” James extended his hand, expecting you to hand your phone over to him. You did as he said, realising how funny it was going to be to watch James try and use your phone.

James examined the phone, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he tried to work out what it was and how it worked. “What on Earth is this?” He muttered to himself. He pressed the power button in his examination and the screen suddenly lit up, startling him slightly at the unexpected light. “Oh my…”

The screen turned black again and you watched James as he just stared at the blank screen, unsure of what he did to turn it on. It was getting painful watching him try to understand your phone, so you decided that it was time to offer him some help.

“I’ll show you,” you got up so that you were standing next to James and pressed the same power button James had used just moments ago, lighting the screen up again. James’ eyes widened with fascination as he watched you type in your passcode and another screen popped up, this one filled with lots of little tiny square images.

“To use it you just touch the screen like this,” you swiped your finger across the screen so it switched to a new page, demonstrating how to use it to James. You pointed at the app icons. “These are called apps. You can use them for a bunch of different things. You can play games, call people, take photos,” you clicked on a random app. “And to open one you just click it like that.”

“Google,” James’ eyes squinted as he read something off your screen. “That two tone haired buffoon said he ‘googled’ me. What exactly is Google? It sounds obscene.”

“You look things up,” you explained simply. You snatched your phone back off James and typed ‘James Patrick March’ into Google. You handed it back to him. “See? That’s all information on you.”

James began to run his finger over the screen, looking at all the different results that had come up. “‘Ten things you probably didn’t know about infamous serial killer James Patrick March’,” He read aloud before scoffing.

However, he clicked on the page and, after a moment of amazement at watching the screen change yet again, started reading what it said. There was an intense look of concentration as he read the entire thing. “That was ridiculous,” he claimed once he had finished. “Did this ‘Google’ honestly think I would not know my own birthday?” He shook his head. “What utter nonsense.”

You snorted at James’ anger at the article, finding humour in how worked up he was getting over one webpage.

You showed James how to exit the app and let him play around with your phone for a bit longer, exploring the different applications and settings on your phone. He ended up in your gallery, and was flicking through your photos with a growing grin. “Darling,” he held up your phone, showing a photo you had taken of yourself earlier. “You’re breathtaking.”

There was a slight hint of a blush in your cheeks at his words, but you played it off as if you were unaffected by his words, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. You liked playing him that way, not letting him see the real effect he had on you. You could tell when he would slowly get frustrated when he couldn’t get a reaction out of you.

James continued flicking through different photos on your face, eyes wide with fascination at photographs of yourself he found. He looked up at you. “I want to take one,” he announced.

You looked at him oddly. “Uh, okay,” you shrugged. You opened the camera app and switched the camera round so that it was front facing. “Just press this button when you’re ready.”

James nodded and looked down at the phone. After staring at the screen intensely for a moment he finally pressed the button and took a picture. You noticed how his facial expression did not change.

Once he was done, James handed you the phone back with a satisfied look on his face, clearly happy with the photo he took.

One glance at it and you couldn’t help but snicker. James looked confused.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, voice laced with confusion yet also slightly defensive.

You showed James the photo, trying to hold back more laughs. “It’s just not the most flattering angle of you,” you explained. It was taken from a very low angle and didn’t exactly capture James’ handsome features.

James looked offended at your words, like he was seriously insulted by your critique of his first attempt at taking a photo of himself on your phone. It was understandable, he was quite the perfectionist and not being able to do something as simple as taking a nice photo of himself must have been hurtful to his ego.

“Here, let me take one,” You offered. It would be nice to have a good (and attractive) photo of him on your phone. James thought for a moment, not necessarily wanting to admit defeat over not being able to take a nice photograph of himself, but remembered that you were more affiliated with the modern world and clearly knew how to take a better picture, so he finally agreed.

“Great,” you opened the camera on your phone and raised it to take the photo, before thinking of something and pausing. “Maybe you should get changed?” You suggested. “You’re still covered in someone’s blood and even though it’s a look I think one of your suits would look much better. More hot.”

James looked down at his bloody attire before nodding in agreement and disappearing. He reappeared a few minutes later, finely dressed in one of his pinstripe suits and hair neatly combed over. He looked good. He looked great. Wow.

“I’m ready for my photograph,” James announced.

You nodded and raised your camera to take the photo. James actually posed, not looking directly at the camera but slightly off into the distance, and you rolled your eyes at his dramatics. James was always one to be more theatrical than needed, of course he wouldn’t pose with a simple smile. Anyway, you took a couple of photos before handing your phone to James to check.

He looked down at the screen and grinned with the same satisfaction he had when he took the photo himself. “I do look rather dashing, even if I do say so myself,” James said smugly.

“That you do, James,” you agreed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “That you do.”

•———•

I hope this was okay! I’m still a little nervous about how I write James since he’s such a distinct character but I hope I did an okay job. Thank you for the request!

My requests are still open 💓

Taglist: @jellyluvr @howtobesasha @dewberryobssesed @luv4evan @kaismanwich @violetharmonstwin @daylas-life @mariefics

Want to join my taglist? Just reply here!

[feefymo]

🥀 JAMES PATRICK MARCH VS TELEPHONE - NSFW HEADCANON 🥀

Warning: spicy and bloody mentions!

Author's notes: thanks to @taintandviolent and @silverzoomies support, here I am with a short headcanon! This my very first attempt so please, pleeease be kind! I apologize for any lexical/grammar errors. 🖤

Big part of Mr. March charm consists in his vintage aura. Well, let me redact the concept: he's not vintage. He's a real man from 1920, like, actually old but forever young. Tell me if is not a dream. Better: a lucid wet nightmare. So, what's the point? He's brilliant, clever, intelligent but he's not fascinated by technology. Immagine him like a pro with latest generation computer: does It have the same effect of him, dealing with a letter? His fatal fist clinging to an ancient telephone handset? No, right?

- James has no competitors: his croony, meowing voice vibrates so much better than a cellphone. He is keen to underline the only truth and you know It very well. You can listen to his deep and hoarsely voice until you go deaf. His superb dialectic knocks you out.

- The fact that cellphones are wireless Is tempting but not as much as the limit of a wire. When he calls you, James adores to transform you in a poetic prey. The wire is your collar but, since you are far away, he likes to provoke you. He loves to twist the wire around his smiley neck, imagining doing that to you. He ask you to rub the handset all over your body, guessing through interference if your naked or dressed.

- The heavy telephone can be a weapon, after all. JPM knows It very well. Ideal for actual murder or... modesty murder. *wink wink* Let him cook you slowly: you understand if is James at the phone. You know It thanks to his dense, inimitable silence. Eternal moments of breath and then... the earthy sound of a vinyl. Are those groans you hear between jazzy notes? Oh, darling: Jamesie is just a pioneer of phone sex. Of course you hear him moaning your name... the snaps of the suspenders... the gnashing of teeth. Please, don't be horrified if he ask you with contemptuos tone to read the Bible to him.

- CONTEMPORARY BONUS: James Patrick March indeed signs every message in your chat (@babygorewhore is totally right). He likes to sell is image like a Noir Gatsby or a Serious Gomez Addams but he just hates selfies. James is not so naive but, if he could, he would take pictures of the process of his bloody acts. You can find on is phone the final, gorey result between a pic of a cigar and a pic of a glass of whisky. Fav emojis: 🖤🥀.

[qnewsau]

New Theatre and Mardi Gras to stage Australian premiere of acclaimed queer play

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/new-theatre-and-mardi-gras-to-stage-australian-premiere-of-acclaimed-queer-play/

New Theatre and Mardi Gras to stage Australian premiere of acclaimed queer play

The Flea, a British play by James Fritz exploring the Cleveland Street scandal, will have its Australian debut at the New Theatre in Newtown next month.

Running from the 4th of February to the 8th of March 2025, the play will be presented in association with the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras.

Set in 1880s London, the story follows Charlie Swinscow, a telegraph boy who gets arrested for theft. The young boy gets caught with 14 shillings in his pockets – which turns out to be payment for sexual favours sold to a nobleman at a secret gay brothel.

The scandal, which implicated the Crown and aristocracy, rocked the nation amidst rumours that Prince Albert Victor, the eldest son of the Prince of Wales and second in line to the British throne, was a patron of the brothel. Homosexuality was illegal in Britain at the time.

Patrick Kennedy, the director of The Flea, told QNews the production would explore the effects of discrimination and the necessity of secrecy around homosexual acts at the time.

“The play poignantly captures the emotional cost of concealment and the psychological toll of masking,” he said. “Nowhere is this more evident than in Charlie’s relationships, which are fraught with secrecy and vulnerability. His coerced involvement in exploitative systems further underscores the dehumanising consequences of being forced to navigate an inauthentic existence under the weight of societal oppression.”

Thematically, the play blends documentary and farce, aiming to restore the voices of the Swinscow family while examining power, sexuality, deception and disgrace.

“19 Cleveland Street, the male brothel at the heart of The Flea, epitomises the systemic exploitation of queer men within a society that simultaneously criminalised their very existence. The involvement of aristocrats and even members of the royal elite couple, with the silent complicity of law enforcement and politicians, lays bare the mechanisms of power designed to preserve privilege.

“These dynamics force individuals like Charlie and his peers into the margins, highlighting the intersection of oppression, hypocrisy and the calculated ‘invisibilisation’ of vulnerable communities.”

“The Flea” will be staged at the New Theatre in February and March. Image: AI composite/New Theatre.

The story of Charlie delves into the interconnected themes of oppression, judgement and identity, which resonate universally within the LGBTQIA+ community and maintain significant relevance in the present day.

According to Kennedy, “The production has been deliberately crafted as a multi-layered, off-kilter theatrical experience, blending raw authenticity with heightened surrealism.

“At its core, the events are presented through the reconstructed memory of Emily Swinscow, Charlie’s mother, anchoring her scenes in grounded, intimate realism. These moments are designed to resonate deeply with the audience, carrying a clear emotional authenticity that feels tangible and immediate,” he said.

“In The Flea, Emily Swinscow and Queen Victoria are brought to life by the same terrific actor (Sofie Divall), a bold theatrical choice that speaks volumes. Their shared embodiment onstage blurs the boundaries of power and vulnerability, forcing us to question where humanity lies within the machinery of oppression. It’s a theatrical masterstroke that’s as emotionally impactful as it is politically charged.”

Kennedy said Divall would embrace a heightened theatrical style, using exaggerated and cartoonish movements along with a unique vocal approach, making Emily’s memories more playful and chaotic. The style of performance is intended to intensify the satire of social and political themes within the play.

Previews of The Flea will be held on 4 and 5 February, with the official opening night scheduled for 7.30pm on Thursday 6 February. For tickets ($20 to $37) and further details, visit https://newtheatre.org.au/the-flea.

[scarletunit6]

Many countries around the world have adopted a flower as part of their national emblem, usually chosen for historical or cultural reasons. England, Northern Ireland, Scotland and Wales are represented by the rose, the shamrock, the thistle and the daffodil respectively. Read on to learn about each of these plants, and discover how they earned their patriotic status.

Tudor Rose

The national flower of England is the rose, but not just any rose. The Tudor rose was adopted by Henry VII as England’s emblem of peace at the end of the War of the Roses, the civil wars between the royal house of Lancashire, who wore a red rose, and the royal house of York, who wore white. The Tudor rose, which combined both, came to symbolise peace between the houses. A red rose is used by sports teams like the England Rugby Union team, while the stylised image of the tudor rose is seen on the dress uniforms of the guards at the Tower of London and in the royal coat of arms.

Scotland Thistle

Commonly found in the highlands of Scotland, the thistle is the country’s national flower, but it's not clear how it came to attain this status. One legend has it that a sleeping party of Scottish warriors were spared ambush by a Norse army when a soldier trod on the prickly flower, rousing them with his pained cry. The emblem can be found on the Scottish rugby team, and it's also an important heraldic symbol. Founded by James III in 1687, the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle is awarded to those who have made an outstanding contribution to the life of Scotland.

Wales Daffodil

There is much debate about how the daffodil came to be named the national flower of Wales – but the clue could be in the title. The leek was the traditional emblem of Wales until the 19th-century. The Welsh name for daffodil Cenninen Pedr translates literally as ‘Saint Peter’s Leek’, which may have led to the confusion. It may also be because it blooms in early spring, coinciding with St David’s Day on March 1, when the flower is traditionally worn.

Northern Ireland shamrock

Not to be confused with the lucky charms of the four-leaf clover, the three-leaf shamrock is a registered trademark of the Republic of Ireland, and is also unofficially regarded as the national symbol of Northern Ireland. Its distinctive three-leaf foliage is said to have been used by St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, as a metaphor for the Holy Trinity of the father, the son and the Holy Spirit. Although by no means a showy flower, clover is increasingly a popular addition to wildflower meadow bouquets and arrangements.

Funny how flowers do that. (n.d.). The symbolic blooms of Britain: secrets of our national flowers. [online] Available at: https://www.funnyhowflowersdothat.co.uk/symbolic-blooms-britain-secrets-our-national-flowers. ‌

[dfe23q11]

Documents name alleged Jeffrey Epstein associates previously identified by accuser

Another batch of documents pertaining to the late sex offender Jeffrey Epstein was unsealed Tuesday.

The seven documents unsealed Tuesday total 1,482 pages. They're the last set to be made public pursuant to the court's order authorizing the release last month. Over 215 documents have been released since last week.

The unsealed documents include several depositions from Ghislaine Maxwell, one from Epstein, one from alleged Epstein victim Virginia Giuffre and another from Sarah Ransome, an alleged adult victim of Epstein, who was referenced throughout Monday's unsealing.

The records are part of a defamation lawsuit brought by Giuffre against Maxwell, Epstein's longtime companion, that the two settled in 2017. Epstein died by suicide in a Manhattan jail while awaiting trial on federal sex trafficking charges.

The Giuffre deposition included in the new batch comes from her testimony in a related defamation case filed by her lawyers against former Harvard Law professor Alan Dershowitz in a Florida state court. In that deposition, she names billionaire retail magnate Les Wexner as "one of the powerful business executives" that she was trafficked to.

In this March 15, 2005 file photo, Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell attend The 2005 Wall Street Concert Series Benefitting Wall Street Rising at Cipriani Wall Street in New York.

Joe Schildhorn/Patrick McMullan via Getty Images, FILE

Following Epstein's death in August 2019, Wexner accused Epstein of misappropriating "vast sums" of his personal fortune more than a decade earlier.

Wexner stepped down from his executive role at L Brands – the conglomerate behind retail staples Victoria's Secret, Bath & Body Works and Pink – in February 2020.

Wexner's charitable foundation did not immediately respond to ABC News' messages seeking comment on the filings released Tuesday.

The deposition also contains the names of men Giuffre has previously claimed she had been trafficked to, including Britain's Prince Andrew, Hyatt Hotel chief Thomas Pritzker, the late artificial intelligence pioneer Marvin Minsky and the late New Mexico Gov. Bill Richardson.

Pritzker and Richardson previously issued statements denying the allegations.

Minsky died in 2016, before Giuffre's allegations naming him were released in 2019 by the 2nd Circuit.

Giuffre's 2016 deposition also includes her claim that she met former President Bill Clinton not once but twice on Jeffrey Epstein's private Caribbean island toward the end of her time in Epstein's orbit in September 2002 – something he has denied.

Giuffre said she met Clinton "On Little Saint Jeff's," referring to the island properly known as Little Saint James

She claimed to have been at a dinner with Clinton and two girls: "Young, beautiful like every girl that's generally around Jeffrey."

The second meeting was also on the island and also involved a dinner, she said. "Very similar, I mean, there was a dinner, lots of laughing, lots of joking, it was just a dinner and then I didn't have to do anything with Bill Clinton, he was never sexually involved with me. I've never witnessed him sexually involved with anybody else. Jeffrey asked me for a massage after dinner and I went off to Jeffrey's cabana," she said.

Clinton, through a spokesman, denied in 2019 ever being on Epstein's island and said he was not aware of Epstein's criminal behavior.

No documentary evidence has been presented that Clinton was on the island.

Personal flight logs kept by one of Epstein's pilots -- which surfaced in separate lawsuits against Epstein -- showed that Clinton and his entourage had flown extensively on Epstein's jumbo-jet to international destinations such as Paris, Bangkok and Brunei in 2002 and 2003. But none of the available records included the former president on a trip to Epstein's island.

Maxwell also denied Clinton was ever on the island and Giuffre's efforts to depose the former president to ask him whether he had been on the island were rejected by a judge in June 2016.

In a January 2016 email to Maxwell, Epstein encouraged her to focus her effort to discredit Giuffre on Giuffre's version of "the clinton story" which he said could be "easily dsiporived," an apparent typo for "disproved."

Many of the documents released Tuesday have been unsealed and publicly available in various forms. The court is republishing them now with new portions unredacted.

The 134-page Epstein deposition had not been previously released but he was known to have invoked his Fifth Amendment right hundreds of times.

The records unsealed Monday included photos from Ransome and an exhibit that mentions discredited allegations Ransome made about Clinton, former President Donald Trump, Prince Andrew and Virgin Group founder Richard Branson. She later admitted the claims were false.

Neither Clinton, nor Trump, nor Branson was accused by Giuffre, or anyone else besides Ransome, of any wrongdoing in the course of Giuffre's defamation lawsuit against Maxwell. Trump has said he cut-off contact with Epstein many years ago.

In a statement to ABC News on Tuesday, the Virgin Group, on behalf of Branson, said Ransome's allegations against him are "false, baseless, and unfounded."

Prince Andrew has long denied allegations that he had sex with Giuffre on three occasions, as she has claimed in court records and interviews. In 2022, Andrew settled a case Giuffre brought against him.

Maxwell is serving a 20-year prison sentence after she was convicted in 2021 of aiding Epstein's sex trafficking of young women and girls. Her appeal will be heard in March.

[ahqkas]

♯ JAMES PATRICK MARCH masterlist !

❛ 🔍 ━ personal favorite

❛ 🗝️ ━ fluff

❛ 🪦 ━ angst

❛ 🗡️ ━ suggestive themes

! SERIES ౨ৎ

! ONESHOTS ౨ৎ

i. hiraeth — hiraeth (n.) — a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was, the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past ( 🪦 🔍 )

! BLURBS ౨ৎ

[rottenheaume]

　　　—————　　𝚂𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙴𝚂.𝙲𝙾𝙼/𝕳𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙾𝚁　...

Night was created so the gods had somewhere to hide: their sins; their sins; their sins. And us, made in their image – minus wing or cloven hoof – we follow suit.

— Scott-Patrick Mitchell, from "The Mourning Star," Clean: Faith, Abuse and George Pell

　　——　　𝙵𝙸𝔏𝙴　　𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙴𝚂.

𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕   𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎    :        hector jack lance 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜  :        tor 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎  :        march 30, 1954 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚗  :        las vegas, nevada 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜  :        ares (god of war, battlelust, courage, and civil order),　barbara lance (the preacher's daughter who had an affair) 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚘𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜  :        telumkinesis (the ability to manipulate weaponry),　odikinesis (the ability to manipulate feelings and emotions of war) 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢  :        bisexual 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚕𝚜  :        zuko　(a:tla),　ronan lynch　(trc),　james st. clair　(dark heir),　hua cheng　(tgcf),　roman roy　(succession)

　　——　　𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙾𝚁𝚃𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃　　𝙾𝙵　　𝙵𝙰𝙲𝚃𝚂.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　——　　𝚃𝚆　𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝕳,　𝚅𝙸𝙾𝔏𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴.

grew up in a strict, religious home.　(still can recite too many bible verses by heart.)　his mom had him out of an affair with ares (ig he likes to go after married women) and managed to convince her husband to let him grow up alongside their three children (ruining their perfect family of five).　ran away at the age of thirteen.　punched "dad" on the way out (after he kissed his baby sister on the forehead).　survived thanks to theo, another bastard ares-child, finding him in the streets of vegas and charting their way to camp halfblood.　(coincidence?　never.　however, he has not, and never will, thank ares for sending theo his way.)

only discovered his first name was hector when he laid eyes on his birth certificate for the first time, stolen "just in case" when he ran away.　he started going by it immediately.　still flinches at being called jack.

his first obsession was king arthur; he dreamed of becoming a knight.　later, after his mom secretly gifted him the odyssey for his tenth birthday, it turned into achilles (we love irony).

six years ago, theo died.　hector was the reason they left the safety of camp halfblood; he stormed off, hotly embarrassed, after losing a fight (bringing shame upon his father, himself, and his cabin), and theo, the most loyal dog in their pack, followed him out.　in an attempt to distract himself from his humiliation, he put all of his focus into shaking theo off.　the only good it did was distracting them both from the monster who was tracking their scents, sent by his father as a challenge to prove himself worthy after losing the fight.　he failed.　both as a son and a brother.　by the time hector realized something was wrong and came to fight, theo had delayed in using his gift to summon the dead against the stymphalian bird too long.　hector returned to camp alone - blood, sweat, and tears baked into his flesh like a new layer of skin - a fresh scar running down the left side of his face.　#rip.　theo facts in his honor:　grew up a pacifist (his uncles were all lost to the vietnam war), sparred better with words than swords, chivalry's last soldier, took kitchen knives way too seriously.

he shouldn't go to zoos as often as he does.　any animal in his range of sight goes wild with rage; bar excalibur, his two year old cat.　horses, the natural companions to battle, also calm in his presence.　perhaps a gift from his namesake as well as his father.

visualizes battle maps as he's falling asleep.

he's vulgar and intense, and enjoys the discomfort it brings to everyone around him.　frontrunner for cattiest man in new york.

nine times out of ten, he's wearing black.

his presence has an aftertaste.　like a gas leak.

starts training before a soul is up and goes to bed after everyone's asleep.　has a superiority complex about it.

cannot tan.　do not mention this.

defiance for defiance's sake.

　　——　　𝙿𝔏𝙾𝚃　　𝕳𝙾𝙾𝙺𝚂.

these are just some general ideas i had floating around, merely stepping stones to the real deal <33

a sparring partner　-　the person he goes to when he needs to train hard, whether as a challenge or a distraction.

the bark to his bite　-　he's not not a henchman. i'm joking, but in a totally real sense he is a dog that bites the hand that feeds him, as well as bites others in its service, and that hand needs an owner!! ref.

before　-　before the accident, before the rabid look in his eyes took over.

the kavinsky to his ronan　-　the person who hands him the match to light himself on fire.

his achilles heel (pun intended)　-　that tender spot that makes you ache.

conqueror　-　the person he lost to the night he ran away from camp (aka the night his brother died).

bad influence　-　he tries to make them worse.

[wikiuntamed]

Top 5 @Wikipedia pages from a year ago: Sunday, 25th December 2022

Welcome, sveiki, karibu, tervetuloa 🤗 What were the top pages visited on @Wikipedia (25th December 2022) 🏆🌟🔥?

1️⃣: Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery "Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery (titled onscreen as simply Glass Onion) is a 2022 American mystery film written and directed by Rian Johnson and produced by Johnson and Ram Bergman. It is a standalone sequel to the 2019 film Knives Out, with Daniel Craig reprising his role as master detective..."

2️⃣: Avatar: The Way of Water "Avatar: The Way of Water is a 2022 American epic science fiction film. It was co-produced and directed by James Cameron. Cameron co-wrote the screenplay with Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver from a story the trio wrote with Josh Friedman and Shane Salerno. Distributed by 20th Century Studios, it is the..."

3️⃣: Franco Harris "Franco Harris (March 7, 1950 – December 20, 2022) was an American football running back who played in the National Football League (NFL) for 13 seasons, primarily with the Pittsburgh Steelers. He played college football for the Penn State Nittany Lions and was selected by the Steelers in the first..."

Image licensed under CC BY 2.0? by Governor Tom Wolf from Harrisburg, PA

4️⃣: Tunisha Sharma "Tunisha Sharma (4 January 2002 – 24 December 2022) was an Indian television and film actress. She made her acting debut with Bharat Ka Veer Putra – Maharana Pratap as Chand Kawar in 2015. Sharma is best known for having played Rajkumari Ahankara in Chakravartin Ashoka Samrat, Zara/Babli in Ishq..."

Image licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0? by Anonymous124578

5️⃣: Stephan Bonnar "Stephan Patrick Bonnar (April 4, 1977 – December 22, 2022) was an American mixed martial artist. Bonnar competed as a Light Heavyweight in the UFC for most of his career. Bonnar was the runner-up on The Ultimate Fighter 1; his TUF Ultimate Finale loss to Forrest Griffin is widely considered to be..."

Image licensed under CC BY 2.0? by fightlaunch

[marchsfreakshow]

Memories Fading (James Patrick March x reader)

Oooohhooo another fic time. I just came up with this, and I hope it's nice for those who do have scars.

WARNINGS!: Sh scars, sh mentions, negative talk, self image discussion.

From the readers perspective!

The mirror had an ugly image in front of it. My own body. My arms looked fragile, I was weak. Sighs exited my mouth as James walked into the room. "My dear why are you sighing so?" He asked, looking at my almost naked body up and down, adoring it.

All I did was point to my arms and thighs, the faintness of the scars was barely there, yet I felt the pain of them again, shivering. James then sighed at me and stood in front of the mirror. "Dear you are exquisite, and so is the body you hold." He gently held onto my waist, trying to comfort me.

"James, I appreciate it, but, I...i can't. I can only see the scars. I don't like 'my vessel' or whatever bull Liz told me." I rambled and rambled, my brain going haywire by James' touch and my own body, cold, even though I was dead already. I'd been dead for a few years now.

3 years ago, a strange woman into the hotel, and I made eye contact with her, her eyes were bloodshot, and looked, insane almost. She stared at me intensely, like she knew something about me. She knew I planned to stay here forever.

But I turned around and headed to the bar, it was cold and dark, and the barmaid wasn't there. But someone sat by me and grabbed a drink from behind the bar. "Uh, you can't do that.." the woman looked over at me, and she had that same stare, it was the stare she gave me when I walked in.

"I can do whatever I want, so you better get comfortable." She just hissed, and then a tall lady dressed in Cleopatra-like clothes appeared from the shadows. She was beautiful, and her eyeliner resembled that of an Egyptian cat.

"You might want to be careful of Sally." She mentioned, pouring out a bottle of Dr. Pepper.

"Love?" James snapped me back to reality, I was staring into his eyes. "You gave me a fright there dearest, you looked like you were gone with the stars." He rubbed my arms gently, keeping me grounded.

I scrunched up my face. "Uh, yeah..I think." My head started to ache, so I rubbed my temples to calm the pain down. But as I did so, James picked me up swiftly, like he did when I passed, and laid me on the bed, like a starfish. It felt embarrassing having my legs so open for him, even though he was quite used to it. "What did you do that for?" I quickly asked though, being stubborn with myself.

He just smiled and went down to my thighs, kissing every single scar he could see. No words were spoken, but I know what he was doing. Trying to make me feel better. He placed a gentle kiss on all the faded lines, but each one was full of love. He occasionally looked up at me, his eyes made my heart flutter. But he made his way up my arms, both of them and ended it all with a deep kiss on my lips. I had to return it, for making me feel so loved.

"you're perfect my love, these mean nothing anymore, okay?"

[cyarskaren52]

This is what happened in sports during 2023

By Sam Joseph, CNNCNN  —  

none

2023 has been a year unlike any other in sport.

Records were broken, torches were passed, movements were started and tears were shed as fans experienced every emotion possible.

Here’s a look back at the biggest stories this year from all over the sporting world.

January

Sam Greene/USA Today Sports

Bills players gather as an ambulance parks on the field at Paycor Stadium, while CPR is administered to Hamlin. The game was suspended with suspended in the first quarter.

11th: Hamlin is discharged from hospital.

28th: Aryna Sabalenka wins the women’s singlesat the Australian Open.

Darrian Traynor/Getty Images

Djokovic celebrates after winning in Melbourne.

February

1st: Tom Brady announces his retirement from football for the second time.

6th: The Brooklyn Nets trade Kyrie Irving to the Dallas Mavericks.

Andrew D. Bernstein/NBAE via Getty Images

James fades away to make NBA history.

9th: The Brooklyn Nets trade Kevin Durant to the Phoenix Suns.

11th: Real Madrid wins the Club World Cup.

12th: The Kansas City Chiefs beat the Philadelphia Eagles 38-35 in Super Bowl LVII.

March

4th: The NBA begins an investigation into Memphis Grizzlies point guard Ja Morant after a video emerges of him displaying a gun at a Colorado nightclub.

17th: Three people finish the Barkley Marathonsfor only the second time in the 37-year history of the ultra-race.

Paul Sancya/AP

FDU guard Grant Singleton shoots during one of the all-time March Madness upsets.

21st: Japan wins the 2023 World Baseball Classicwith Shohei Ohtani winning tournament MVP.

April

Kevin Jairaj/USA Today Sports via Reuters

Reese gestures to Clark during the game.

3rd: World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) and Endeavor (the majority owner of the UFC) announce that the two companies will merge.

6th: European champion England beats South American champion Brazil on penalties, 1-1 (4-2) to win the first ever Women’s Finalissima.

9th: Spaniard Jon Rahm wins the Masters.

Oli Scarff/AFP via Getty Images

Welcome to Wrexham - striker Elliot Lee celebrates during the match that confirmed his team's promotion to the Football League.

26th: The Green Bay Packers trade Aaron Rodgers to the New York Jets.

Matt York/AP

Griner fights back tears at the news conference.

May

14th: Ja Morant is suspended by the Grizzliesafter being seen with a gun for a second time, this time on Instagram Live. He would later be suspended without pay by the NBA for 25 games.

20th: Manchester City wins the Premier League.

Mateo Villalba/Quality Sport Images/Getty Images

Vinícius was visibly upset during the match.

June

3rd: Manchester City wins the FA Cup, defeating bitter rival Manchester United 2-1 in the final.

6th: PGA Tour and Saudi-backed LIV Golf announce that they will merge.

10th: Iga Świątek wins the women’s singles at the French Open.

Catherine Ivill/Getty Images

Rúben Dias and the Manchester City squad celebrate their historic treble.

11th: Novak Djokovic wins the French Open and becomes the all-time leader in men’s grand slam titles.

Jack Dempsey/Pool/Getty Images

Denver's Bruce Brown drives to the basket in Game Five.

13th: The Vegas Golden Knights win their first Stanley Cup in only their sixth NHL season, beating the Florida Panthers in five games.

22nd: French teenage sensation Victor Wembanyama is selected first overall by the San Antonio Spurs in the 2023 NBA Draft.

July

Sam Navarro/USA Today Sports

Messi celebrates after scoring a 94th minute game-winning free kick against Cruz Azul, only six days after signing.

15th: Markéta Vondroušová wins the women’s singles at Wimbledon, the first to do so as an unseeded player.

Patrick Smith/Getty Images

Alcaraz lifts the trophy on the Centre Court Balcony.

24th: Bronny James, son of NBA legend LeBron James, suffers a cardiac arrest while at USC basketball practice.

August

6th: The USWNT is knocked out of the Women’s World Cup on penalties by Sweden in Megan Rapinoe’s final international match.

15th: Soccer superstar Neymar Jr. signs for Saudi Arabian club Al-Hilal, the highest profile name amongst a slew of international players to move to the burgeoning Saudi Pro League.

20th: Spain win the Women’s World Cup for the first time, defeating England 1-0 in the final.

20th: Royal Spanish Football Federation President Luis Rubiales is accused of multiple instances of inappropriate behavior after Spain’s victory, most notably forcibly kissing midfielder Jennifer Hermoso during the trophy ceremony.

Patrick Smith/Getty Images

Richardson celebrates with the flag after being crowned world champion.

24th: Magnus Carlsen defeats 18-year-old Rameshbabu Praggnanandhaa to become Chess World Cup champion.

25th: Rubiales defiantly refuses to resign at a press conference and condemns the rise of “fake feminism.”

25th: Spain midfielder Alexia Putellas posts on X (formerly Twitter) in support of Hermoso and kickstarts the #SeAcabó (#It’sOver in English) social movement.

Ezra Shaw/Getty Images

Biles competes in the uneven bars on day four of the championships.

September

Mike Segar/Reuters

Gauff kisses the trophy after claiming victory at Flushing Meadows.

10th: Novak Djokovic wins the men’s singles at the US Open.

10th: Luis Rubiales��resigns as RFEF president but does not offer an apology in his statement.

Elsa/Getty Images

Rodgers is sacked by the Bills' Leonard Floyd at MetLife Stadium - injuring him only four plays into his New York career.

David Eulitt/Getty Images

Swift, the girlfriend of Chiefs tight end Travis Kelce and the world's most famous football fan, watches on at Arrowhead Stadium in Kansas City.

27th: The Portland Trail Blazers trade Damian Lillard to the Milwaukee Bucks.

October

1st: Damar Hamlin returns to the Bills active roster.

6th: Simone Biles wins her sixth all-around world gymnastics title in Antwerp, Belgium, to solidify her status as the greatest gymnast ever. She would end up winning four golds at the event, taking her to 23 world titles – the most in men’s or women’s gymnastics history.

ANP/Getty Images

Verstappen celebrates after winning the Qatar Grand Prix - he had already sealed the World Championship the day before in the sprint race.

16th: The IOC announces that flag football, baseball/softball, cricket, lacrosse and squashwill be included at the 2028 Olympic Games in Los Angeles.

18th: The Las Vegas Aces win the WNBA Finals 3-1 against the New York Liberty, becoming the first repeat WNBA champions in 21 years.

28th: South Africa wins the Rugby World Cup with a 12-11 victory over New Zealand.

Ben Booth/SOPA Images/Shutterstock

Tributes to Johnson are laid outside the Motorpoint Arena in Nottingham, England.

30th: Luis Rubiales is banned from all soccer-related activities for three years by FIFA.

30th: Lionel Messi wins a record-extending eighth Ballon d’Or award.

30th: Police confirm that they are investigatingAdam Johnson’s death.

November

Sean M. Haffey/Getty Images

The Rangers celebrate after taking Game Five on the road at Chase Field.

1st: The Philadelphia 76ers trade James Hardento the Los Angeles Clippers.

6th: Iga Świątek wins WTA Finals and regains the world No. 1 ranking after thrashing Jessica Pegula, 6-1 6-0.

19th: Max Verstappen wins the inaugural Las Vegas Grand Prix.

Andrew Boyers/Reuters

Australia's Glenn Maxwell celebrates after winning the Cricket World Cup.

19th: Novak Djokovic wins the ATP Finals, defeating Jannik Sinner with ease, 6-3 6-3.

Tracy Wilcox/PGA TOUR via Getty Images

Woods tees off at the Hero World Challenge in Nassau, Bahamas.

December

3rd: Florida State, undefeated in the regular season, is controversially left out of the College Football Playoff.

7th: Jon Rahm announces that he is leaving the PGA Tour to join LIV Golf.

9th: Shohei Ohtani announces that he is signing with the Los Angeles Dodgers, reportedly on a 10-year, $700 million contract, the largest deal in professional sports history.

Mark J. Rebilas/USA Today Sports via Reuters

Nurkić lies on the ground hurt while Green reacts after being whistled for a foul.

21st: The EU’s top court decides that FIFA and UEFA’s rules which blocked the creation of the controversial European Super League were unlawful, potentially removing obstacle for the controversial soccer competition to be established.

Sent from my iPhone

[miaaxjb]

lady gaga and finn wittrock behind the scenes of ahs: hotel

they make me question things abt myself.