#this song actually discourages me from self-harm

[makeyoumine69]

Spit In My Face

— PAIRING: Sugar Daddy!Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

— SUMMARY: Fashion Week is in full swing in New York City and Patrick Bateman doesn't miss the chance to show you the world of luxury and beauty. So, he invites you to attend the fashion show with him. Through the chain of events that unfold there, you will see a new side of Mr. Bateman that you never knew existed.

— CONTAINS: Angsty romance, smut, toxic behavior, gaslighting, cheating, misogyny, hurt/comfort, seduction, swearing, flirting, sensual kisses & touches, jealousy, implications of self harm & panic attacks, (almost) character death, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering, rough sex, finger sucking, spanking, biting, manhandling, choking, orgasm control, dry humping, nipple play, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, body worship, Daddy kink, Praise kink, pet names, dirty talk, Service!Dom!Patrick Bateman being an asshole (again).

— WORDS: 21k (oops)

— SONG REC: ThxSoMch - Spit In My Face

— A/N: Hey guys! It took me a year to finally finish this and I decided to post all the parts together since most of you probably forgot what happened in the previous ones (I'll delete the old posts). I did some extra editing before posting and I hope you like it and I'm happy to get back to writing and soon I'll be rebooting the Cupcake series as I've already started working on prequels. Love you all!

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST];[SERIES MASTERLIST].

Fashion, grace, money, wealth, these were the words running through your head as you rode in the taxi, and you couldn't believe Patrick had just convinced you to go to the goddamn Dior boutique. Not to mention the upcoming fashion show you were going to together, which was an actual nightmare for you and your nervous system.

“I really can’t understand. Why me?” You asked Bateman, turning in his direction to see him looking through the window, with his headphones on. And of course, he didn’t hear you. 

All you could do was give him a shy tap on the shoulder. You heard the loud beats of rock music as he opened one of his ears and turned to face you. "What?"

His slightly annoyed intonation almost discouraged you from repeating your question. "I'm just wondering why you decided to invite me to this fashion show when you have much better options." 

You watched him frown, and before you continued, you already knew what Patrick was going to say: "Cupcake, I've told you several times. I want to show you the beauty of being rich. I bet you've never seen so many fabulous people in one place."

Sighing a little sadly, you fixed your coat to distract yourself from the burning anger in your chest. "I've had enough of the rich snobs in our company and…I’m not a fan of all these 'luxurious’ things, you know…”

With a small chuckle, Bateman removed his headphones completely, quickly checking his haircut in the window's reflection. 

"Of course you're not. How can you be a fan of things you can't afford?" He stated before trying to hug your shoulders, but when he saw your intense expression, he just gently put his palm on your knee.

"Money is not happiness," you cast a serious look at him, brushing his hand away from your leg. "Can you call yourself a happy man?"

Perplexed, Patrick knitted his eyebrows, as if your question had caught him off guard —you have never seen him so lost before and that was really strange. Fidgeting in his place, Bateman was certainly about to replay something when you heard the raspy taxi driver’s voice:

“We’ve arrived.”

"Thank you!" You responded before quickly getting out of the cab without waiting for Patrick to pay for your ride.

Obviously, you were upset and pissed off because of his endless snobbish dialogues about rich people, money and how much his regular suit cos—tnone of this really interested you, would he ever understand that?

As soon as you were outside, you felt a stiff wind blowing through your hair, ruffling it and making your mischievous locks cover your face. Quickly, you brushed them away and raised your eyes to the beautiful sign that read "Dior" in large letters; so stylish, so plush—just the way he liked it.

"Are you going to stand here forever?" Bateman scolded behind your back, his loud footsteps forcing you to spin around. 

"I'm so amazed, I can't even move," you sarcastically sneered, staring at the window of the boutique. "The aura of richness has just overwhelmed me."

"How witty," Bateman almost applauded you, his lips curling into a cheeky grin as he came closer, his muscular arms wrapped around your waist. "Come on, let's go inside." With a light push on your back, he induced you to move forward, his arms never left your little form. 

When you finally reached the entrance of the store, Patrick gallantly opened the door in front of you and looked at you from above, his eyes glowing with an unfamiliar tenderness.

"Much obliged..." You stammered as he somehow managed to grab your ass, stroking it and squeezing your buttock a little through your coat. Embarrassed, you turned to face him, but Bateman just smiled in his usual smug way. 

"My pleasure." He murmured in your ear before letting you go.

Once inside the boutique, you heard someone greeting Patrick with undisguised excitement:

"Mr. Bateman! It's so nice to see you again!  Welcome to Dior, we are so happy to help you."

'Again, huh?' You chuckled to yourself, turning your gaze to a side and wondering about the number of his visits and how many girls had been here before; Bateman’s face changed almost immediately as if he noticed your reaction.

“Thank you for the warm welcome, Mr. Graham,” you could definitely hear some tense notes in his tone. “You look great as always!”

The guy let out a little giggle; he seemed to enjoy the compliments as much as your yuppie boy. “Not as perfect as you!” he pointed his both index fingers at Patrick, and now was his turn to grin from being praised. “How can I help you?”

“Uh, I need a dress for…” he paused before staring at you, his eyes gliding over your completely relaxed expression. “For my good friend, but she doesn’t really know what she likes,” ‘good friend, with whom he slept almost every day. Nice shot, Bateman.' “Don’t cha, baby?” While saying that, Patrick groped your cheek, pinching it a bit.

Mr. Graham, who was supposed to be a local stylist, gave two of you a suspicious glare, and only then did Patrick understand what he was doing, pulling his hand away as if it had been burned. 

"Well, if the young lady doesn't mind, we can try something to your taste, Mr. Bateman," the stylist confirmed, examining you like a statue. "What do you think?"

"Great idea," Patrick exclaimed, pulling you into his arms to take off your coat. You almost fell into his embrace, whimpering as he 'accidentally' touched your boobs, squeezing them gently. 'Fuck, why should he be so obnoxious?' "I can't wait to see my Cupcake in one of these beautiful dresses." He whispered before leaving a tiny peck on your neck.

"That's very sweet of you, but..." you murmured, looking into his hazel eyes. "I don't think I'll fit into those dresses."

"Don't worry, honey." Bateman winked at you and gave you a quick slap on your butt to nudge you toward Mr. Graham, whose smile widened the longer he watched the two of you together.

“Please, follow me.”

Trying to distract yourself from all the bad thoughts, you just did what you were told and moved along countless hangers with new dresses. The further you got away from Patrick, the more insecure you became, and that strange feeling made your whole body shiver like from a cold shower.

“So, which color do you want to try on first? Maybe something dark?” the man asked you, sliding his hand across the beautiful fabric of some dress nearby. “Dark blue or dark red…Or even black?”

"I really like the black color, it goes with almost everything."

Mr. Graham chuckled amusedly and handed you a black cocktail dress, which of course was very short. Apparently Patrick didn't like long dresses or skirts, you already knew that, but that didn't mean you were happy about it.

“Mm-mh, and I think this one can fit too,” he gave you another dark blue dress before adding. “I still recommend you to have a look at our new collection, maybe you’ll find something interesting.”

“Maybe you’re right,” you sighed and smiled sincerely for the first time of the day. "Those amazing dresses I saw when we just entered are from a new collection?"

“Yes, Miss.”

"I'll check them out. And… thank you, Mr. Graham." Excited, you smiled again, and then you strolled away, a pile of dresses in your hands.

Once you reached the place you had been before, you heard multiple voices—one of them definitely belonged to Patrick while another one seemed to be unknown to you.

"What are you doing here?" You peeked out from behind the hangers to see a beautiful blonde girl, her face literally glowing with enthusiasm. "I'm so glad to see you, it's been a while." You didn't even have to look to know what she did next as the loud pecking sound echoed in your ears as if you had been hit with something hard.

The blonde left a small kiss on Patrick's cheek before he replied. "Good to see you too, Meredith."

“Are you here alone?”

“Mm-mhhm,” Bateman looked around and when he didn’t spot you, he added almost emotionlessly. “Yeah, you can say that.”

An instant pain burned in your chest, causing your hands to cling to the dress you were holding. Breathing heavily, you were about to send everything to hell and just leave, but for some reason, you decided to listen to their conversation, maybe you would learn something else about yourself being nothing but an empty place.

"So, are you going to the fashion show this weekend?" She asked cautiously, as if testing his line.

"Sure," they looked into each other's eyes for a while. "You know, I never miss things like that."

The way she giggled, forced you to close your ears from cringe, but that unpleasant sound kept bouncing in your head.

"Do you have a date or not?"

"Why do you ask?" Bateman retorted in a stern but concerned tone.

"I just... I thought maybe we could go together?" Flirtatiously, she pulled him closer, pretending to fix his coat.

"I'm sorry, but the answer is no." Frowning, he quickly took her hand away.

Ashamed, she stepped back and stalled. "You could just say you already have someone to go with and…"

Patrick scowled in irritation, cutting her off. "I'd still say 'no' even if I didn't…"

"Miss, did you find something you like?" Mr. Graham's sudden voice made you jerk and drop the super expensive dress with a thud.

It felt like all eyes were on you at that moment, and you didn't really know what to do other than quickly pick up the dress and act naturally. “God, I’m so sorry…I can be so clumsy sometimes!” You apologized, trying to ignore Bateman’s intense gaze. 

"Don't worry, Miss… it's not a problem!" The stylist assured you, matching his words with reassuring gestures.

"I'll pay for everything,” Patrick pronounced it so calmly and with absolute confidence, as he moved in your direction. “Have you finished?” 

First, you cast a confused glance at him, and then you looked at Meredith, her mad stare of disbelief almost making you laugh. “I think so,” you murmured, watching him getting closer. “I even got some of the new collection.”

“Ahh, is it so?” he teased, standing face to face with you. “Come on, let Daddy see what you’ve got.”

With that said, Patrick leaned over to your lips, and you let him pull you into a deep kiss, which was pretty surprising—your own behavior almost scared you, as you didn’t even care about people watching you making out. Deftly, he grabbed your waist to lift you up, but your audible protest compelled him to stop.

“Pat-Patrick…” you whispered against his mouth. “P-please, don’t forget where we are…”

“I know, I know,” he snickered softly, hiding his face in the curve of your neck. “I just missed my Cupcake so much.”

With a dull grin on your face, you pulled away from him to look into his dark brown eyes. "Really?" After you asked that, you glanced at the blonde girl behind his back, who was now talking to a middle-aged woman, probably the assistant.

“Time literally stopped for me when you left.” 

'What a beautiful flattery.'

After a while, you changed into the next dress because all the previous options didn't get Bateman's attention, even though you really liked them. You were struggling with a clasp when you heard him whine in anticipation.

“Baby, did you fall asleep in there?”

“Almost ready!” You blurted out before fixing the dress straps on your shoulders.

And then you walked out of the dressing room to the circular runway, and yes, this boutique had a special VIP area with a fucking runway.

"Finally, my favorite style," Patrick flattered, sitting in the leather chair and holding a glass of mineral water with a little lime. "Mm-mm, this dress outlines your tits so perfectly, not gonna lie, I like it."

A bit humiliated, you were constantly fixing the hem of the dress as it was too short for you, especially when Bateman was looking at you so vigilantly, making you feel yourself like a picture in some art gallery.

"Baby, turn around and…" he paused, crossing his long legs and pressing a finger to his lips. "Stop crawling! Square your shoulders and straighten your back!"

You turned around, unable to hide your sadness. "I… I don't feel comfortable in this. It's too short," you glanced at his annoyed face, wondering if you should continue. "I'm almost naked!"

"But that's the point!" Patrick tilted his hand to the side and was silent for quite a while, clearly thinking about something. "You know what, Cupcake?"

“What?”

"I'll be honest, this dress is amazing, but… unfortunately not on you," he scoffed before taking a sip of water. "It's not a problem, honey. Just take it as motivation to be better."

Biting your lip, you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't try to hide your pain and resentment, but your voice sounded dejected anyway. “Of course… keep pretending that you didn’t expect this…”

Humming to himself, Bateman squinted his eyes and leaned on his knees. “Expected what?”

“That these slutty dresses wouldn't fit me,” you glared at him, your body was yearning to get rid of this dress as quickly as possible. “Goddamn, I have enough of this…I hope you enjoyed this little performance!”

After saying that, you turned around and went back into the dressing room. Trembling with rage, you didn't even care what would come next as the searing flame of injustice overtook your mind. No way would you allow anyone to treat you like that.

"Shit!" You cursed as you attempted to undo the fucking clasp on your back, but it didn't seem to work. 

"If you keep pulling like that, you'll tear it apart for sure," his unexpectedly gruff baritone shot through your back like an arrow. "Let me help you."

"No!" You almost screamed, turning sharply to face him. Your chest rose and fell so abruptly that you thought you would choke on the air.

Sneering, Bateman gently extended a hand as if you were a wild beast he planned to tame. “Cupcake,” he was getting closer, forcing you to walk backwards. “Tell me…what’s wrong?”

"What's wrong?" You kept stepping back until you suddenly bumped into the wall behind you. "Maybe you should ask yourself first?"

"I think you should stop pouting or you will get wrinkles," he tried to be nice to you, but it only made you more upset. "I don't think either one of us wants that to happen, am I right, honey?"

“Stop it, Patrick…”

“Mm-mhh, it’s just Patrick now?” You didn’t even notice that his massive figure was already towering over you, pressing you a little against the wall. “No ‘Daddy’ anymore?”

Possessively, Patrick strived to cup your face, but you flinched away from his touch, coaxing a warning growl to break from his perfectly shaped lips.

 “Can you just leave and let me change?”

“Jesus, (y/n)...you’re acting like a stubborn child!”

Panting, you leaned your hands against his firm chest to push him away a bit. "Do you really think I'm in the mood…after all the rude things you said?"

He chuckled, looking at you from above and giving you a feeling of being so small compared to him, you almost stopped breathing. “Rude things?” laughing again, Bateman trapped you between his arms as he put them from both sides of your head. “I always say what I think, there’s nothing special about it…”

"More likely, you always think only of yourself," your voice wavered, and you found it hard to breathe, as if he was sucking all the oxygen out of the air. "Let's just skip this, if you still want me to go with you..."

“No, I don’t need you to do me a favor.” Patrick shushed you with a finger, pressing it against your lips, leaving you trembling like a leaf. 

“And I don’t need your help!” You tried to break away, but he kept you in one place. 

“Oh, is that so, honey?” he crooned in a sweet tone, rubbing his nose against yours; his seductive aura was almost intoxicating, it was corrupting your mind stronger than anything else in this world. “Honestly, I just wanted to help you undo the clasp but now… now, I want more than that…”

With no delay, Bateman covered your mouth his heated one, wrapping his brawny hands around your quivering frame and spreading your legs with his knee. Suffocated, you didn’t react, feeling his hard bulge brushing against your mound—a muffled moan of sudden pleasure pierced through your bonded lips, sending chills down you spin; your cute reaction didn’t surprise him, but Patrick couldn’t hide his satisfied grin as his hands were already pulling down the straps of your dress. 

And only now, you desperately clawed at his shoulders, weakly pushing him back, not understanding that your attempts to fight him were only putting gasoline on a fire, encouraging him to sprawl you against the wall, pinning your hands against your head.

"P-Patrick!" The way you almost screamed his name made you both tremble with ravenous lust as you looked into each other's eyes, not really knowing if you wanted him to let you go or hold you forever.

Growling quietly, Bateman continued to move along your longing body, forcing you to hook your hip around his loin, so you could grind against his hard groin. “Feeling good, darling?”

'No, not good...no!'

“Yes-s! Mmm-mh…Daddy… ahh!” Oh God, that was the end. 

"Baby," he murmured in your ear, thrusting his firm thighs into yours and shamelessly groping your bottom. "Daddy doesn't like to see his sweet Cupcake upset."

"Maybe...n-next time Daddy will think more before he talks." You stammered from the beat of your heart. 

“Do ya want me to bite this little sharp tongue?” panting, Patrick punctuated his words with rough smacks on your butt, which could be surely heard outside the dressing room. “I’ll teach you how to behave.”

Smoothly, Bateman pulled down the top of your dress, letting your breasts to bounce out from it, and the next second his greedy mouth was already sucking on your taut nipple. 

"Mmm…Gosh." You arched your back as the last vestiges of your self-control seemed to disappear along with your ability to resist this man.

Switching between your engorged peaks, Patrick didn’t stop rubbing against your mound not even for a moment, your throbbing pussy was about to explode at any second. Thirsty, he tugged on your tip with a squelch, enjoying each little whine you made, but he still needed more.

“Turn around,” he urged briefly, licking his lips in hunger as he watched you bent over in front of him. “Oh-fuck, I can smell your sweet arousal… mmm,” snuggling into you, Bateman left a wet hickey on the back of your neck before he started to move down, peppering your exposed skin with hot sloppy kisses. “C’mon, Cupcake, spread your legs for me.”

As if hypnotized, you obeyed and before you even noticed, his long fingers were teasing your sensitive clit trough your so-fucking-wet panties. Clinging to the wall, you were about to moan when you sensed his big palm on your chin, his hot breathing was mercilessly burning the delicate skin of your throat while his rock-hard bulge was still pressed against your ass.

“Aa-aww, Daddy….mhm.” You muffled against your own hand before turning around to give him your most innocent look–he read it almost right away.

“So, you need my help?” bastard! – you almost said it out loud, but Bateman was faster as he slid his thumb into your mouth, and you started to suck it like medicine you couldn’t live without. “Ahh-look at ya… Such a little slutty girl, can’t function without Daddy’s finger inside her dirty mouth…”

Twitching under his massive weight, you could only think of his skilful digits playing with your pussy better than you ever wished for, damn you were already so close but it seemed like Partick's endless craving spurred him on to tear you apart completely.

With no words, Bateman knelt behind your back to pull up the hem of your dress, and soon you had to compress your lips so tightly, as loud nasty sounds were about to erupt from your fiery chest when he finally moved your underwear to the side and his plump lips covered your feverish cunt. 

“Oh-mmmy God,” tensed like a string, you didn’t know if you wanted to cry or to laugh, or all these things together from how his masterful tongue was pushing you over the edge. “Mmm-Patrick-” you suppressed another moan when he bit one of your buttocks before spreading them wide open to push two fingers inside your blushing pussy. “A-aah-Daddy, I’m so close… p-please!”

Patrick only purred something incoherently in response, as he continued to lick your engorged folds and pumping your tight hole with his experienced digits. His persistent ministrations made you totally lose your mind, and now you didn’t understand were you begging him to stop or to NEVER stop. 

When your legs shook in his grip, you heard his raspy snarl: “Not yet, Cupcake…Not yet!”

'And he just stopped, holy hell.'

Your miserable sobbing bounced against the walls of the dressing room as the coil in your lower belly was yearning for its release, it was literally itching so hard you were ready to scratch the wall with your nails if it could help you a bit.

“(Y/N), you can’t even imagine how much I want to leave you just like that,” Bateman hissed, and then you heard the unzipping sound which caused your knees to buckle. "But I want to get all your stupid thoughts about acting like a brat… out of your head!"

Abruptly, Patrick put your legs together and the next second you felt his leaking tip between your legs, brushing against your soaked folds and making your squirm from ecstasy. 

'This man have no barriers, he can reduce me to pieces so easily, like no one else, and I am sure he likes it.'

A small drops of sweat were running down his forehead as he watched his beefy cock slipping back and forth with a sleek sound; your overstimulated pussy was literally on fire.

“P-please…” You whimpered, bending ever lower to give him a better access to your spasming cunt. 

“If you want to cum, you have to move, slut.” Groaning, Bateman stood still with his hands wrapped tightly around your hips. Mesmerised, he watched you grinding on his huge dick as you desperately chased your release. At that moment, your languid, heavy breathing was all that mattered to him.

Shivering erratically, you almost crested your high when Patrick harshly grasped your throat and pressed you against the wall, possessively he began to smack his cock against your clit, each slap he made was taking your breath away.

“Tell me, Cupcake…” he grunted against your neck, brushing his swollen tip along your throbbing nub barely sensible. “Who do you belong to?”

“You…Only y-you...”

Bateman squeezed your neck with blatant dominance and demanded in a low voice, "Uh, not quite convincing…try again."

“Aa-aww! I… I belong to you…Daddy!” You cried out through your pressed palm when he sped up the tempo, slapping your pussy with nasty wet sounds.

With a devilish smirk on his face, Patrick had to hold you still as you cummed so hard, gushing on his dick and fidgeting around the wall. Multiple waves of pleasure were washing over you like a waterfall, leaving you completely exhausted, you didn’t even have any power to moan. 

And soon, you became limp in his powerful arms, allowing him peacefully patting your head as he praised you. “You can be a good girl when you really want to,” Bateman kissed your temple, fixing his pants. “But still, you could just let me help you with this fucking dress.”

“You can help me now…” You replied, hungrily catching the air.

Smugly, Patrick eventually undid the clasp on your dress, not missing the moment to leave a red mark on your shoulder blade as he sucked on your soft skin. “Speaking about dresses. Since my favourite one didn’t fit, you can choose whatever you want…I don’t really care.”

You sighed, smiling ironically to yourself. “Great!”

Bateman didn’t stop smirking even for a second, he was so pleased with himself that he didn’t notice your sarcastic intonation, he just ignored it, as usual. “Come out when you are ready, I’ll wait for you in the hall.”

“What for? I can pay for this myself.”

His cheesy titter unpleasantly cut your ear. “I don't want you to starve, babe,” you cast an angry glance at him, but he only stroked your cheek before adding: “You only need to be an obedient girl, and I'll give you as many gifts as you want.”

“But I didn’t ask...”

A sudden ring of his mobile phone got his attention, so he hushed you with a finger before quickly going out from the dressing room, leaving you alone with your inflaming rage.

Snorting tiredly, you mentally screwed him a million times in a row, changed your clothes and tried not to even think about eavesdropping on his conversation with whoever it was. As you left the dressing room, you heard the echo of his voice from nearby.

“Jesus, Evelyn! I’ve told you already, I can’t take the time off work.”

At that moment, you could swear your legs weren't listening as they led you straight to the source of the sound. With your heart beating, you halted near the dressing room when his voice suddenly fell silent, and the next second the curtain was carelessly pulled aside so that your frightened eyes met his furious ones.

'Oops!'

Annoyed, Patrick stared at you with his hands crossed on his chest. It was too late to run now, so you stood still and heard him saying:

"Are you lost?" With a cocky grin, he picked up his briefcase and stepped closer to you.

"No...I mean, yes. Probably," your cheeks burned from the inside as the strong feeling of embarrassment hit you like a truck. "I was just looking for you and..."

"Aha," he crooned before towering over you, grabbing you possessively by the waist and leaning down to whisper in your ear: "Do you know the proverb 'curiosity killed the cat'?"

"I haven't heard it since I was a kid," you confessed, swallowing hard as you watched him taking the dresses from your hands, the mysterious grin never leaving his face. "Sorry, I really didn't mean to eavesdrop."

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Haughtily, Patrick winked at you, and that was really confusing because his unpredictable mood changes were the most difficult puzzle you had ever known.

“You don’t even want to see which dress I chose?”

"Not really, I'll see it tomorrow anyway," his voice sounded more stern now. "Unless you change your mind about going with me.”

He cast a challenging glance at you, but before you had a chance to reply, Bateman walked past you and gestured for you to follow. Slightly disappointed, you went after him and soon you made it to the hall where all this shit started.

"So, did the young lady find something to her taste?" The stylist asked as soon as he saw you coming. 

"Yep," Patrick let him pick up the dresses and put them on the big table next to the beautiful leather couch on which Bateman kept looking in disgust and you didn't even know why. "(Y/n), c'mon, point with your finger to which dress you like?"

The way he cooed to you was absolutely stunning. Sometimes it seemed like he could read you like an open book, and that only made you feel insecure.

"I think this one." You replied with a shy smile.

"Nice, very nice!" Mr. Graham exclaimed before calling for an assistant to pack your dress. "That will be 2800 dollars, sir."

Satisfied, Bateman hummed to himself and pulled out his wallet. "Do you take credit cards?"

"Of course!"

All the while, you were pretty shocked by the price for just a piece of fabric. Frowning, you didn’t even realize you were saying it out loud. "2800 dollars, for this?"

Everyone, including Patrick, turned to look at you; the stylist was seriously confused and he just mumbled: "Excuse me?"

"Huh, don't worry," Bateman chuckled and handed him his platinum AmEx credit card. "She just can't believe I finally bought her a dress of your brand. Am I right, dear?"

When Patrick glanced at you, you felt a cold breeze run through your body—he must have been really angry. "Mmm, yes! I have been dreaming about this for so long."

Even though you were not an actress, your words sounded more than natural. Both men smiled at each other and proceeded with the payment procedure.

All the way back to his apartment you both remained almost silent. Patrick continued to listen to the rock track he had paused on before going into the store, looking at you from time to time when you didn't see him, his hand fidgeting with the hem of your new dress that was lying on your knees. Yet, you couldn't believe he'd just bought you a dress that cost more than your monthly rent. You hated to owe someone, but now you felt like you did, and it was killing you from the inside...because you didn't ask him to get you that dress, you didn't ask him for anything, and still he was trying to push you into the world of luxury where you would be a stranger forever.

'Bullshit.'

"(Y/n), what's on your mind?" His sudden question caught you off guard, and you almost bit your tongue. Why did he even ask, when it seemed he could read your mind?

Fidgeting in your seat, you turned away from the window and gazed into his brown eyes, now filled with an unrivaled enigma. "Just thinking about how to survive all the challenges you have set for me."

You heard him laugh softly, and before you could continue, he hugged your shoulders and snuggled into your small frame, the heat his body was radiating melted the cold shell you had been building up since the moment he decided to 'help' you in the dressing room.

“Challenges?” Patrick rejoined, nuzzling against your neck as he pulled your collar down a bit. 

“Yes, Patrick,” you were trying to hold yourself as much as you could, not giving him more weaknesses to play around. “You know how much I hate all these fancy things which are made only for rich people.”

Bateman only purred something incoherently against your skin, tickling it a bit. “Cupcake…I think you need to relax.”

“Relax?”

“Yes, baby,” he tugged you closer, his nose was nearly rubbing against yours. 'Goddamn!' “Relax and take it easy.”

"Stop, stop, stop..." you pushed him away a bit, forcing his headphones to slide down his head completely. "You've reminded me almost every day...that I'm not from 'your world', that I'm just a mortal who can't afford to buy fucking clothes that cost a fortune...and now you're telling me to just relax?"

Patrick huffed and rolled his eyes. “(Y/n)...don’t even start this conversation again.”

“You’re such an…”

Despite the fact that the partition in the cab was closed, it seemed as if the taxi driver heard your loud voice, and the next moment he opened it to ask you if everything was all right.

When you said that everything was fine, he started to drive again and you clenched your palms into fists, feeling the embarrassment and anger fighting in your mind.

"You're ashamed of me, aren't you?" You wondered without looking at him. 

The way Bateman exhaled was not a good sign. "When you make such scenes—yes, I am." 

Sighing, you pressed a hand to your forehead. Damn, he was affecting you so badly and you hated yourself for it, for being so weak next to him, so vulnerable...you were literally losing yourself.

His apartment looked perfect as always, so clean, so posh, but there was something strange this time as you walked across the living room and saw a large bouquet of white roses on his kitchen island.

"Mmm, such beautiful flowers!" You approached them to inhale their scent.

"Yeah," he stated from behind, placing your dress on the back of his white couch. "I bought them for you."

Stunned, you broke away from them as if you were pricked. “For me?”

"I'm not going to repeat it," Patrick blurted out, walking into the kitchen to grab a glass and a bottle of super expensive whiskey. "Besides, I don't think it makes any sense now."

'Excellent.' 

Without asking, Bateman set a glass on the bar counter in front of you as you took a seat near it. Still frowning with irritation, he poured some red wine for you, and when you were about to thank him, he just strolled away. The situation was rather unconventional, to say the least, and you didn't really know what to do, maybe just leave?

"Patrick, I think we both need to cool off a bit...right?" you sipped at your wine, waiting for his answer, but he continued to ignore you. "I'm going to finish my drink and probably go home."

"Whatever." Was all he said, standing with his back to your face, clearly thinking about something. 

Upset, you stifled a sad gasp and took the glass before getting up. When you reached his white couch to have a look at your dress for distraction, you suddenly heard his challenging voice:

"You want to know who Evilyn is, don't you?"

Paralyzed, you almost choke on your wine. After coughing a little, you turned to see him standing near the coffee table with his hands in his pockets. This was getting serious.

"I don't understand, why do you ask?"

Patrick chuckled loudly and shook his head in disbelief. "Stop acting like a fool, Cupcake. I know you want this, I can even feel it," his face grimaced a bit dangerously while his eyes were getting darker by the second. "You've wanted it since we left the boutique, that's why you started acting like a bitch."

Trembling with burning rage, you squeezed the glass, almost breaking it. "I'm not in the mood for scenes, you know," you countered, not even noticing that you took a few confident steps toward him. "When I leave, you can bring Evelyn, Courtney, Meredith, whoever… and confront them for as long as you want!"

"Or maybe we can all have some fun together, huh?" he drawled the last words, enjoying the sight of your angry expression. "There's plenty of me to go around."

Scowling, you wanted to spit in his face, or slap him, or both. But instead, you just smiled and that was a little unexpected for him. "You're sick, Patrick. And I feel really sorry for you."

After saying that, you turned away from him to pick up the dress – you wanted to leave this place as soon as possible, so you even forgot about the glass in your hand.

"Of the two of us, you are the one who really needs some grief," his voice hurt you like a slow-acting poison, it was excruciating. Before Bateman returned to the kitchen, he added, "Evelyn is my fiancée, and has been all along. What an unpleasant surprise?"

A loud sound of broken glass echoed through the living room as soon as you heard his last words. It was a real miracle that the wine didn't splash onto the luxurious fabric of his white couch, but you didn't really care at that moment, with your heart beating so crazy in your chest. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and stood still, not hearing Patrick's footsteps behind you.  

'Damn, that glass must have cost a fortune.'

"Cupcake..."

"I know!" You cut him off, raising your trembling hands in the air. "I'll return the money...just tell me how much it costs?"

'Don't cry. Please, don't cry!' But you did, and when you felt his warm hand wrap around your forearm, you tried to push him away, yelping:

"Give me...give me something to clean the floor!"

"(Y/n), calm down! You're bleeding." 

"What?" you gasped, opening your eyes wide before looking down at your feet to see blood running down your ankle as a sharp piece of glass sank into your soft skin. Only then did you realize you were injured, a sharp pain hitting your brain like a lightning strike. “Oh, God…I thought it was w-wine…” You stammered as that was the end point for your nervous system.

With no more waiting, Bateman carefully took you in his arms to lift you up. Sobbing, you let him carry you into the bathroom and sat on the edge of his beautiful black tub. Gently, he removed your shoes and stretched out your bruised leg to assess the damage.

"Is it that bad?" You asked him in a shaky voice, trying not to look down at the wound. 

"No, but it would be better if you stopped flinching." He insisted, releasing your leg and going to the sink to get antiseptic, tweezers, bandages and cotton pads. 

As Patrick knelt before you, holding a pair of tweezers, time seemed to freeze for you, but then you screamed from the itching pain as he carefully pulled the shard of glass from your ankle.

"Mmmh," you mumbled through your palm when he pressed a cotton pad soaked in antiseptic. "Shit…I am so clumsy and reckless..."

"You are," Bateman murmured as he wrapped a bandage around your leg. Every move he made was very gentle and accurate. "But still, you are mine."

"No, I'm not," you struggled to free yourself from his grip, but his hands held your leg very tightly. "We both know that's not true..."

Shivering, you peered down at him as he remained on his knee beside you. Almost immediately, his hazel eyes locked with yours, mesmerizing as always. "Why is it always so difficult with you?"

“Ask yourself.”

The moment you attempted to get up, you almost fell on the floor, but Patrick caught you in his arms at the last second.

"Patrick, let me go..." you pushed him into his chest to get some distance, but he didn't even move. "I will leave and forget everything that happened between us. Just like you wanted!"

"I never said I wanted to!" he growled, holding you closer so you could almost feel his fast heartbeat. "Why can't you just be a good girl and accept what I give you?"

"Oh, you've already given me enough, believe me!"

Annoyed, Bateman just shook his head before pressing a finger to your lips, silencing you and taking your breath away. 

'No, no, no. Not again'

You swallowed hard as you felt his thumb slide up to your cheek to wipe away your salty tears. 

'Stop.'

"Cupcake."

'His voice, his scent, his brawny body.' 

"Look at me," Patrick whispered sweetly, and you felt yourself going limp in his strong arms, so you obeyed and let him kiss your temple. "You're driving me crazy and I hate it...because I'm so fucking obsessed with you!"

One sharp breath and his lips were on yours, forcing your hands to claw at his jacket, but Bateman only pulled you closer, deepening the kiss as his wet tongue played with yours. Panting against his mouth, you couldn't help but run your fingers through his soft hair, making it look so messy, but Patrick didn't care. Slowly, he lifted you up a bit to set you down on the sink opposite his bathtub, peppering your neck with little pecks.

"Daddy."

Just one simple word could turn this man into a savage beast, you knew it, but you couldn't stop yourself as your inner nature yearned for him and it felt like you were meant for each other, two broken souls finally found each other.

"Cupcake." He kissed your lips briefly before moving down to your cleavage and unbuttoning your shirt, his hot breath tickling your bare skin.

Everything about him was so intoxicating that your clouded mind refused to function at all and now you couldn't hear your inner voice begging you to stop. 

Quivering, you arched your back a little to give him better access, and immediately you heard him growl against your collarbone as he finally undid your shirt. Patrick didn't even bother to remove your bra - he just pulled it down, revealing your taut nipples; he licked his lips at the sight of them and then his greedy mouth was already devouring one of them.

"A-awwww," you mewled, hugging his shoulders as you literally melted under his touch. "Mmm, please!"

"Please what?" He looked at you, twisting your hard peak between his skilled fingers. 

"I..." you hiccupped from the way Bateman spread your legs as he nestled into you with pure possession, groping your hip and licking your neck. "I... don't know... Gosh!"

This was pure madness, what was consuming your mind, with every kiss he made, breaking all your barriers, the more you tried to resist it, the more it hit you back. Panting, you threw your head back and felt your eyes begin to water again as his strong hands caressed your trembling little body. Never in your life had you felt so lost. Never.

"Relax, sweetheart," Patrick mused into your ear as he slid his palm between your legs. And of course you were so shamelessly wet that you could flood his floor. "I got you."

"I can't, a-aah..." You sighed, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Yes, you can," Bateman planted another sloppy kiss on your neck before grabbing your hand to press it against the hard bulge in his pants. "I couldn't stop thinking..." he paused, drinking in your stifled moans as he gave your clit a few slight rubs. "Do you think about me, Cupcake? I know you do..."

"Mm-mhh," your hands roamed desperately down his broad back, fumbling with the smooth fabric of his suit. "And I...ahh-I know you don't think about me..."

A loud whimper fell from your lips as he shoved two fingers into your dripping pussy, almost causing you to bump your head against the mirror behind, but he prevented it by wrapping his hand around your neck.

"You're mistaken," his low groan echoed against the walls of his bathroom, sending shivers down your spine and coaxing your inner muscles to spasm around his fingers as they mercilessly rammed in and out of your throbbing cunt. "Because you know nothing about me," Patrick curled his fingers to stimulate your most sensitive spot, gritting his teeth as his aching cock was about to explode with ravenous desire. "Now be a sweet girl like you always are and..."

"Owwww!" you screamed in sharp pain as he accidentally pushed on your wound. “It hurts!”

"Fuck, I forgot...damn it!" He cursed and removed his hand from your leg.

Seizing the moment of his confusion, you slipped out of his embrace and nearly ran for the door, and thank God it was open, because when you heard his almost furious groan, your heart skipped a beat:

"Come back!" 

"No, it can't be like this," you leaned against the door, holding out a hand defensively. "Not after what you said..."

Trembling, you watched him breathe heavily through his red nostrils, his wild gaze seeming to burn you alive as his self-control was about to snap. Scared, you weren't sure what to expect from him next, so you decided to leave this place right now, while it was still not too late.

Quickly, you walked into his living room and grabbed the damn dress, trying not to think about the broken glass and spilled wine. To be fair, you thought Patrick was going to chase you or threaten you with punishment, but none of that happened as he stayed in his bathroom. It was suspicious, but you would think about it later. 

As you were about to leave, you walked past the open door to the bathroom and told yourself to just go and not look back. But when you reached the front door, you froze and sobbed - your heart sinking while your mind was waving a red flag.

'Just leave, please!'

Huffing, you turned and walked back to the open door. The scene you saw was not what you expected, it simply broke your heart - Bateman was standing still by the sink, leaning on his hands with his head bowed.

"Patrick."

"You're still here?" He asked without looking at you.

"I'll go with you tomorrow...but I'm not doing it for you," your voice wavered, but you didn't allow yourself to sound weak. "I just wanted to make that clear."

And then you left him alone in his super luxurious apartment on Manhattan's Upper West Side. No matter how hard you tried to hold back your tears, they kept slipping down your cheeks. Even when you were in the cab on your way home, your soul was still aching because it seemed like the wounds he made couldn't be healed.

When the night came, there were only a few windows with lights on, and Patrick's bedroom window was one of them.

Irritated, Bateman lay on his bed while a blonde girl sucked him off, bobbing her head up and down at a fast tempo. There was no denying that she was trying her best to give him as much pleasure as possible, but he felt nothing, literally no emotions – only the dark void inside his mind.

"(Y/n), you're doing everything wrong...not the way I like it!" Patrick grumbled, pulling on the girl's hair.

"Who?" She asked confusedly, looking up at him. "My name is Meredith, in case you forgot, honey."

Bateman just laughed and carelessly pushed her down, forcing her to continue. "Shut your fucking mouth and suck my dick. You stupid whore!"

Meredith was making too many noises which annoyed him so much as he was trying to concentrate on dreaming of you—your beautiful face, your innocent sparkling eyes. Although this girl was very pretty, definitely 'his type', there was not a single trace of you and he thought he would never reach his high.

"Mmhm, Patrick…Maybe you will fuck me already?" 

"Maybe," he sighed, watching her laying on her back with undisguised excitement, but then he frowned in a weird disgust. "No, get on your knees. I can't see your fucking face."

"W-what? What's wrong with you today?Ah!"

Angrily, he slapped her hip and rolled her onto her stomach. Without any preparation, he bottomed out, closing his eyes and thinking about the way you twitched every time he thrust inside you. Speeding up his pounding, Patrick finally felt his orgasm building up inside his body when she suddenly moaned. "Oh, yeah! Daddy, it feels so good!" 

That was not even rage, it was something beyond that. Brutally, he squeezed her neck, almost choking her, and growled near her ear as he leaned down. "Never call me that! Understand?" he yanked her against the bed, still clutching her throat, and only when she was on the verge of asphyxia he released her, fucking her harder and gritting his teeth. "Fucking bitch, you should thank me for not killing you."

Camera flashes never stopped clicking in front of your eyes, you almost thought it was impossible to hide from them. They were literally everywhere, as were the countless supermodels and rich yuppies who looked at them without shame, their hungry eyes ready to eat them alive.

"Hey, are you trying to get lost or what?" 

With a soft gasp, you stopped and turned around to see Patrick's irritated face as you walked through the huge hall, every part of which gave you strong vibes of luxury lifestyle.

"I don't think you'd notice my absence anyway," you replied, walking straight until his arm wrapped around your waist, causing your lungs to spasm from the sudden lack of oxygen. "Patrick?"

"Listen to me," he pulled you closer and leaned down to your ear, whispering in a serious tone. "There are a lot of bad people here who came for more than just fashion."

"Even worse than you?"

He scowled, but continued. "Much worse, believe me."

"Don't pretend you care," you tried to walk away, brushing his hand aside, but he tightened his grip. "Get off me!"

"You're too naive and innocent. I don't want you getting into trouble while you're here with me." Tensed, Bateman stroked your back to calm you down a bit as he noticed the people around starting to stare at you.

"That's very sweet, but I don't need your 'protection'...I'm pretty sure you came here for the same reason as all the other yuppies." 

"I didn't ask for your opinion, okay? Let's get to our seats," he said possessively, easily cradling you in his arms, covering your small frame like a cocoon. "We have the best seats, by the way. Right next to the runaway."

"Amazing," you murmured as he led you through the endless crowds. "Not a single model will escape your gaze."

"That's right."

Frowning, you were about to slip out of his grip when suddenly someone ran into you, stomping painfully on your feet.

"Ouch!" Your loud whimper caused Patrick to turn in your direction, but then he froze as he looked over your shoulder at the blonde girl who was immediately apologizing. 

"Oh God, I'm so sorry..." the familiar voice hit you like a bolt of lightning. "I can be so clumsy," she touched her forehead before locking her lost gaze with Bateman's. "Patrick?"

That was Courtney. There was no doubt it was her, especially when she smiled at him so brightly it could easily outshine the Sun. 

"Hello, Courtney. It's so good to see you!" Patrick crooned gallantly, his arms finally releasing your shivering body. 

But even if a few minutes ago you wanted him to take his hands off you, now you were feeling a bit upset that he actually did.

"How could I miss this?" She asked flirtatiously, completely ignoring your presence. "Where are your seats?"

"Yeah, where are they?" You blurted out abruptly, making them both almost jump. "I just don't want to interrupt your sweet conversation and..."

You almost hissed from the sudden pain as you felt his firm hand on your ass, pinching your buttocks. His face didn't change, though, as he continued to grin haughtily, his eyes never ceasing to roam over Courtney's pretty body. With slight irritation, Bateman approached your neck and whispered in your ear how to get to your seats, then nibbled briefly on your earlobe as a sign of his displeasure, but you didn't pay any attention.

"Thank you, Daddy." You uttered the last word in the most disgustingly sweet way you could and strolled away without looking back. No matter how much you wanted to, you just couldn't.

Patrick wasn't lying—the seats were really so close to the runway that you could probably see every little detail on the models' clothes.

After about fifteen minutes, it was getting dark, which meant that the show was about to start. You fidgeted in your seat, trying to find a comfortable position, but it just didn't work, your butt was still sore from Bateman's pinch.

As soon as you remembered him, you heard his voice as he moved across the seats to reach his place. Patrick grinned at you smugly as he sat down next to you, crossing one leg over the other and fixing his hair.

"You must be very pleased with yourself, Cupcake?" He asked mockingly.

You scowled and pretended not to understand what he was saying as the music turned up really loud: "I can't hear you."

Patrick just chuckled softly, put a hand on the back of your seat and moved closer. "I said you look so beautiful today."

'God, what a jerk.' 

"Can't say the same about you."

"Uh, such an angry little kitten," Bateman laughed, looking at you from under his beautiful lashes. "I don't think I'll survive this."

"You really think I care?"

And then the show started, unfortunately not allowing you to finish what you were about to say. As expected, the models looked gorgeous and the clothes they were wearing were absolutely amazing—you had to admit that. Although you tried your best not to notice the way Patrick was staring at the girls on the runway, you had to claw at your skin when one of them winked at him without any shame.

"This is the grace I've been telling you about," he bowed closer to you to make sure you heard what he was saying. "The perfect example of feminine beauty."

You smiled ironically and replied without looking at him: "The real beauty begins when the boys come out."

Your sudden statement elicited a muffled groan from his chest, but Bateman simply nodded and turned away from you. From that moment on, he was almost silent, and it was a little strange, but as the male models appeared on the runway, you stopped analyzing and just enjoyed the handsome men walking back and forth in front of you. Everything was fine until one of the models found your eyes in the crowd and smiled at you. And of course Patrick wouldn't miss it.

"Do you like him?"

"W-who?" You stammered, feeling his warm hand on your knee.

"The model who just walked by," he murmured, stroking your exposed skin under the hem of your dress, sensing the way you tensed under his touch. "Maybe you should go talk to him after the show."

Shit, you couldn't believe he meant it or... you just didn't want to believe it?

"I'm not like you, Patrick," you chastised, feeling so damned angry as his words cut painfully through your heart. "You sometimes forget that not everyone is like that..."

"Like what?" Bateman scoffed with a raised eyebrow.

"You know what I mean." You added with a teasing smile and turned away from him, but he immediately grabbed your face, forcing you to squeal from the unexpectedness. 

"No, I don't," he scoffed, pushing on your jaw. "C'mon, Cupcake, tell me."

The surrounding darkness came in handy in this situation, not to mention the fact that almost everyone was focused on watching the show, so Bateman felt pretty confident knowing that no one would notice your little fight here.

"Get off!" You hissed, wrapping both your hands around his wrist in an attempt to pry it away.

"Awww, look at those little hands," he pulled you closer, so you could feel his hot breath on your trembling lips. "You are so small and yet so brave. It fascinates me, I won't lie."

You froze for a second as his words caught you off guard. Blinking several times, you didn't even notice that his large palm was now gently stroking your chin, moving up to your cheek and ending this little intimate moment by pressing lightly on your half-opened lips.

Actually, that was the worst thing he could do at that moment, because his illusory softness and tenderness hurts like hell. It was like a sweet candy with a sharp blade inside.

Just as you realized how close your faces were, you tried to pull away, but Patrick's grip was too tight. Fixing you in place by your chin, he captured your mouth with his, hungrily relishing your taste, your shiver, your muffled gasp against his lips. Bateman tested your limits so masterfully that every little move he made was as precise as his side profile. Slowly he wrapped one hand around your neck while another was already resting on your waist, the kiss you shared was something more than just physical contact, and you let yourself sink into the flow of emotions, closing your eyes and letting him kiss deeper. You almost moaned, but the surrounding music of the show drowned out any obscene sounds that tried to escape your swollen lips.

His strong, warm tongue danced along yours, not even giving you a chance to take the lead, so you just opened your mouth wider and let your noses brush together, forcing your hearts to beat in a crazy rhythm.

God, this man was the darkest curse... the most delightful blessing.

After a few seconds, the people around started applauding so loudly that you had to open your eyes just as the lights came on. The strange delusion that was like a white veil behind your vision began to fade, and only then did you and Patrick realize that you were both staring at each other, your mouths still pressed together.

A second, two seconds.

It seemed as if you were both waiting to see who would break away first, and as soon as you heard someone coughing behind your back, you pulled away from Patrick's strong arms, but you knew that you only managed to break free because he let you.

"Patrick! I thought I wouldn't see you here!" A familiar female voice echoed from above and you didn't even bother to turn around to see another bimbo Bateman was hanging out with.

Shit, what if she saw what you were doing?

At first you thought Patrick would pretend he didn't know you or something, but instead Bateman smiled smugly and put his hand on the back of your chair.

Annoyed, but still as majestic as a lion, he looked up at the blonde and said quickly: "Hi, Meredith."

Her face turned into a sad grimace, though she pretended that Bateman's indifference didn't upset her. Obviously, Meredith was outraged and needed someone to take her anger out on. 

With a haughty grin, she scoffed and almost stepped on your foot. "I don't understand, how can a man like you go out with someone like... her?"

Damn, that was such an obvious insult that it didn't even trigger a single emotion, you just gave her a deadly stare when you finally met her little eyes and you could swear that you saw a trace of fear in them.

"I asked myself the same question," you muttered suddenly, getting up from your seat and looking at Patrick, whose perfect eyebrows now frowned, especially when he understood what you were you doing—he squeezed the back of the chair until his knuckles turned white. "Have a nice evening." 

With those words, you quickly walked away, and you were so damn glad that Bateman decided not to follow you, because with every step you took, your eyes got more and more watery. 

"How did she even get here? Ugly people like that should stay at home to avoid traumatizing anyone." Meredith hissed as she watched your little figure moving away from them. "Who is she?" 

Patrick chuckled, then did his classic move of parrying the question with his natural charm. "Oh, you're so mean," he muttered as he watched the blonde take your seat next to him. Playfully, Bateman pinched her nose and they both started to giggle, no matter how disgusted he felt himself right now, he wouldn't admit that your sudden leaving made him sad. "Such an angry little bitch."

You couldn't remember how you found your way to the ladies' room, but as soon as you stepped up to the sink and looked in the mirror, you scowled and clenched your fists from the sharp pain in your chest. 

"I... I hate you so much!" You hissed in a trembling voice, not really knowing who you were addressing, yourself or Patrick, who was probably already taking the blonde bimbo to his place.

His womanizer nature was not a secret, so why did it hurt so fucking much? 

Depressed by your weakness towards this man, you wanted to smash the mirror to stop seeing this sad face covered with tears, but you heard someone coming, so you just froze in place with your trembling hands in the air. A model walked past you and accidentally bumped your shoulder.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" She squealed and opened the fauster to wash her hands.

Even though you understood that she didn't do it on purpose, it made you so mad that you almost ran out of the bathroom, loudly slamming the door behind you.

The moment you realized that you couldn't remember how to get out of here made all your insides cramp like a spring, and you thought you were just going to fall to the floor from a sudden fear of being lost. 'Fuck, not now, not now!'

Quivering, you looked around, searching for... Patrick? But instead of him, you could only see an endless number of beautiful models strolling here and there. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath to calm yourself, but when that didn't help, your legs seemed to give way, and you slipped against the wall until you rested on the floor. This panic attack was nothing compared to the ones you had before, your heart pounding painfully against your chest as if trying to burst through it. Things got worse when you felt the lack of oxygen as you literally suffocated with panic and your body burned from the inside out.

The group of models stood by and noticed your small, shivering form, rocking back and forth with your hands wrapped around your head. 

"Hey! Are you okay?" One of them approached you and crouched down beside you, trying to help you up, but you refused.

"Don't touch her, Lizzy! Maybe she's on drugs. Let's go already!"

"No, wait... she clearly needs help," the models looked at each other, one of them trying to pat your shoulder to calm you down, while her friend tapped her foot annoyingly. "Are you in pain? Did someone hurt you?"

"N-no," you finally mumbled, opening your eyes to see that not only two, but many of these girls were already gathered around you. "I— I'm fine, I'm sorry... I'm just..." 

Lost.

Jesus, that was so embarrassing that the words just stuck in your throat like a lump, and now you felt like a little girl who got lost in the big mall when she decided to run away from her parents. 

"What's going on here?" That voice made you almost faint. "Get away!"

A bit roughly, Bateman pulled the model away from you and leaned down to your shivering form.

"HEY! We were just trying to help!"

"Go away! All of you!" He turned and barked at all the girls watching the scene. "Get the hell out of here, there is nothing to look at!"

Your head was spinning, at first you couldn't even believe it was him, hiding you from everyone with his broad, tall figure, as if he was trying to… protect you?

"Cupcake? Cupcake, look at me," his worried cooing made you submit, making you want to believe that he was really concerned about you. Gently, he cupped your face and stroked your slightly disheveled hair. "What happened?"

At first, you didn't say anything — you were paralyzed, mesmerized by his brown eyes, which were gliding desperately up and down your body, checking every little part of it. 

"Who did this to you?"

'You did.'

But he would never know.

"You came," you replied briefly. "Why?" 

Patrick frowned at your answer and let out a tired sigh. "I've been looking for you since you left, because this place is huge, and I didn't want you to get into trouble, but," he paused and brushed your tears away concisely. "But it looks like I'm too late. God, you're so reckless," he shook his head and stood up.

As soon as Patrick did that, something clicked in your head, and you didn't even notice that you were already on your feet as you snuggled up to him and buried yourself in his arms with a deadly grip.

"Please, don't go!" You begged in a trembling voice, hugging him tighter. "Don't leave me!"

Shocked, Bateman didn't know how to react, his arms dropped motionlessly, but then he carefully placed them on your back, drawing invisible lines along your spine. 

"I have to get our coats. You came here in your coat, did you forget?"

Blinking several times as you looked into his eyes, you replied softly: "Yeah… I did."

Patrick couldn't help but smile adorably. "Wait for me here, (y/n). I'll lead you outside, you'll feel better there." He explained and distanced himself from you. "Don't go anywhere! Got it?"

You nodded, and only then did he walk away. Without even looking back, he disappeared into the crowd.

Bateman was right, once you left the building your condition improved, and you could finally breathe in the fresh air, filling your lungs with the oxygen they so desperately needed. A cool wind blew into your face, making you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the emotions you were experiencing right now — the fact that Patrick had come for you, that he was looking for you, left you with no choice but to stifle a loud scream that you wanted so bad to let out.

Bateman remained silent, standing a short distance behind you, puffing on his cigar and watching the smoke rise from it.

"Has this ever happened to you before?" His question came out of nowhere.

You shrugged, but didn't turn around. "Yeah... it happens sometimes, especially in crowded places."

Bateman didn't say anything, but you could feel the tension between the two of you. Without a rush, he moved closer to you, watching you hug yourself — the difference in your sizes made him gulp, but he didn't dare touch you. Not yet.

"Why didn't you tell me then?" He whispered above your ear before smoking his cigar.

"Because it doesn't matter."

"It does."

"No!" You blurted out and turned round to face him. "It… doesn't."

The way he looked at you was enough to make you hold your breath and take a small step back, but the next moment you were already trapped in his sturdy arms, the sharp smell of snuff filling the air around you as he blew off several rings of smoke.

"You're not going anywhere now." His voice lowered, and you closed your eyes from the astonishing sensation of being caught in his strong hands, feeling his hot breath on your face. 

"Patrick," you gasped and hugged him back, surprising him for a second. "Thank you for... for everything."

A loud cacophony of laughter and rumbling got your attention and you looked over his shoulder to see Meredith and her friends coming towards you. She seemed to spot you even faster than you spotted her, and now her eyes were bloodshot red.

"Can you," you stammered, feeling ashamed. "Can you kiss me?"

What the hell was going on inside your head?

Anyway, you didn't have time to reflect on this, because Patrick wasn't the type of person who needs to be asked twice. The moment his soft lips met yours, the ground under your feet seemed to disappear, so he had to hold you with both hands, not caring that his expensive cigar fell down. Even if you would blame yourself for that, all you could think about now was his strong hands sliding along your small form, outlining your curves as you let him do it, while he used his wet tongue to make you go limp in his embrace.

Sneakily, Patrick admired your beautiful face with his half-open eyes, probably not even realizing how much you meant to him, how deep you were rooted in his soul. But did he even have a soul in the first place?

When you broke the kiss, you didn't see Meredith or her friends anymore. Bateman noticed you were looking for something, so he turned to look at the direction of your gaze.

"Cupcake?" He was confused when he didn't see anyone. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Uh, yeah! I just thought I saw a familiar face," you lied, trying to act natural. "I... I should probably go home."

Patrick gave you a suspicious glance, still holding you in his arms. "Actually, I don't want to leave you alone after what happened."

"What do you mean?" you asked, a little disappointed. "I said I'm fine."

"Shhh," he pressed a finger to your lips, and you felt the smooth, cold leather of his glove. "I know you like to be bratty, but now isn't a good time. You really scared me."

Sighing, you dropped your head and covered his hand with both of yours. "I'm sorry, I... I didn't want you to see me like that."

To be honest, you didn't want anyone to see you like this because you hated looking weak in front of people. Especially in front of people like him, because it would automatically give him another trump card to play around with.

"Let me take you home." Bateman mumbled briefly, fixing your hair and then rubbing your neck to relax you.

"Aren't you afraid you'll have a heart attack coming to my place? It's not like your apartment in Manhattan."

He chuckled and pinched your cheek, leaving you confused and offended.

"Of course it's not," Patrick grinned and poked you in the nose. "I don't have any expectations."

You frowned and tried to push him back, but he only pressed you closer, nuzzling your neck and leaving a small hickey on it for which you were not ready — your muffled whimper made him sneer even louder.

"That's a pretty exhaustive answer," he didn't even allow you to say anything in return as he kissed you again, but this time much more passionately. "I'll get us a cab."

This man was like a hurricane that tossed everything around and no matter how many walls you built — he would break them down, one after the other, because nature couldn't be stopped. It seemed that you were completely disarmed against your own nature, because it was calling for him, it was pushing you into his possession, and you were already so tired of fighting these feelings.

There was something special about New York at night, when millions of lights were shining like diamonds, reflecting on the water of the Hudson River and taking your breath away with the feeling of being so small in such a huge city, where the numerous soaring skyscrapers were almost touching the sky.

Tiredly, you closed your eyes, sighed, and leaned on the armrest of the car door, watching the scenery change behind the window. Patrick listened to the music, as he always did, his hands stroking your knee from time to time, but you could hardly feel it, since you were completely overwhelmed by emotions, feelings and thoughts. It was hard to believe that even after all that had happened, you still let him take you home, knowing damn well that he wouldn't just stay in the cab when it stopped at your place. 

Just as you entered your apartment and turned on the lights, you heard his slightly nervous chuckle and little comment.

“Mmm, it's pretty clean here.”

His words almost made you choke. “Did you really think that my place would look like a dump just because I don't live in Manhattan?”

“I didn't mean that.” Bateman murmured behind you, following you carefully down the hall. “Where can I put my coat?”

“Why do you ask? I don't remember inviting you here,” You took off your coat and put it on the rack next to him. “Aren't you afraid your coat will stink  of poverty?”

Patrick couldn't help but chuckle in a husky voice. “You're funny, Cupcake.”

'And why did I trust this man at all? What was so special about him?'

You didn't say anything, only a thin smile ran over your tired face as you turned around and saw him putting his coat over yours. After that, you continued to walk to your small kitchen, and as soon as you reached the table next to the window, your eyes began to search for something.

“Did you lose something?” He asked, leaning against the wall and hiding his hands in his pockets.

“N-no,” you stammered, as if he had caught you doing something bad. God, he was embarrassing you in your own apartment! “Just … It's been a while since I've had guests.”

Patrick hummed something incoherently and crossed his arms over his broad chest, then moved lazily to the kitchen counter when something caught his eye while you were busy gathering all the stuff on the kitchen table — including some books and various papers from work.

With undisguised interest, Bateman picked up the medicine to take a closer look at its name. “Don't you know these things can cause addiction?”

“What?” You turned to see him examining your sedatives.

“How long have you been taking them?” He asked again, his perfect eyebrows knitted together now.

You sighed tiredly and walked over to him, holding out your hand. “Not too long. Now give it to me, please.”

“I can bring you much better medication than this, since it obviously doesn't work,” he stated in a stern voice, without looking at you. “Because the panic attacks are still kicking your pretty ass.”

His words made your jaw clench, but you didn't even try to snatch the medication from him, instead you just let out a soft groan of annoyance, crossed your arms and rolled your eyes.

“That's very kind of you, but I have to decline your offer.” You replied, watching him shake his head in irritation. “Besides, you can only get those pills with a doctor's prescription.”

Patrick just shrugged and put the pills back on the kitchen counter.

“That's not a problem,” he quickly straightened his red tie before stepping closer to you. “I have one of the best therapists in the city.”

“Uh-huh, and the pharmacy you go to is probably one of the best, too?”

He grinned. “Sure, I usually get my meds from the one on Broadway.”

“Good for you.”

You started to saunter away from him, but his hands caught you faster than you could react. The next thing you knew, Bateman was holding you tightly against his tall, broad frame, looking down at you with obvious concern.

“Cupcake,” he murmured in a sweet voice, tracing a finger along your cheek. “I just want to help.”

Damn, this man only had to touch you a little bit and you were already lost in him. 

“Patrick, you don't have to. I—” You didn't have a chance to finish your sentence because your lips were sealed by his. 

Completely defenseless and vulnerable — that was how you felt right now, and it seemed as if he could feel it as the kiss grew deeper and more intense with each passing moment. Cautiously, you rested your hands on his shoulders before sliding them down to the lapels of his suit, fumbling with the soft material and feeling the ground disappearing beneath your feet.

'It's already too much.'

Only when you were both breathless did Patrick decide to break the kiss, but his arms were still wrapped around your waist, as if he was afraid you would disappear like a mirage. 

“You were involved in all this because of me," he paused and leaned down to you again, letting your noses rub against each other. This little physical contact made your heart flutter. “And you really made me worry.”

Bateman said it so quickly, as if he wasn't even thinking properly at that moment. Embarrassed, you shrugged a bit in his arms. No matter how hard you tried to believe this man, all you could think about now was whether you were trapped in his other manipulative, mind games.

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” you put a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating fast under your fingertips and the next second you pulled your hand away as if you got burned. “Anyway, it’s late already and you probably have some more interesting stuff to do.”

His soft chuckling was annoying but pleasant to hear. “You’re not quite hospitable, aren’t you?”

Eventually, he let you go and stepped aside, unbuttoning his jacket — that scene caused your pulse to race. 

“What are you doing?” “What does it look like?”

You crossed your arms and sighed. “Patrick, I really appreciate your help and… the show was really cool, but I doubt I would ever go back to that place again.” 'Damn it, did I actually say that?'

After Bateman removed his jacket, he carefully put it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs and tucked his sleeves. 

“You’re welcome,” he beamed with a cocky smile. “I thought you would offer me some tea, coffee or something?”

“I doubt I have anything good to your taste,” slowly, you turned away from him, as an unpleasant feeling of shame struck you right through your chest. “Mmm, I can only offer you mineral water but it’s not Apollinaris.”

“Oh, dear,” he crooned and suddenly hugged you from behind. “I didn’t expect you to have Apollinaris. Honestly.”

Gasping barely audibly, you covered his arms on your waist with your own arms and cocked your head to meet his brown eyes and for God’s sake, why did he always look so tempting, so captivating, so… magnetizing?

With a sharp breath, you managed to avoid another kiss he planned to pull you into, and it coaxed a low growl of disappointment to erupt from his half-opened lips which were so intended to collapse with yours. 

“Patrick,” you gulped when he nuzzled against your neck, leaving small wet marks along your sensitive skin. “Please, stop. Let me just bring you some water and I want to relax a bit, after… after everything that happened.”

It was kinda unexpected that Bateman decided to let you go as easy as that without even trying to overpower you like he always does.

“And what do you do to relax?"

“Hot bath.” You responded without looking at him. Annoyed, you stumbled past him to grab the meds he was inspecting a few minutes ago, and then you opened the fridge to take out the bottle of mineral water. As soon as you started to pour the water into the most beautiful glass you had, you noticed his persistent stare, which made you almost spill the water onto the kitchen counter. “What?”

“These pills are no good for you, (y/n),” his anxious tone was very unnatural, you didn’t even remember him sounding like this ever before. “Stop being stubborn.”

With a small thud, you put the glass on the table next to him and replied a bit aggressively: "I don't think they're worse than coke."

At first, Bateman just gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into fists, but then he took a quick sip of the mineral water, trying as hard as he could to play cool.

“Thanks.” Was all he said and that was actually not the reaction you have expected.

There was an awkward silence hanging in the air for some seconds and none of you wanted to continue this conversation, but once you tried to move his hand (that was wrapped around your forearm), his low voice engulfed you like a hot steam.

“Cupcake, I just want to make sure you won’t do anything bad.” “W-what do you mean?” You frowned in confusion and glanced at his hand before you raised your eyes to his perfect face. “Patrick, I suffer from panic attacks… not the things you're thinking of.”

“Then, go take a bath and I’ll leave after that.”

“But I’m not a child,” the more you were trying to resist him, the more your body was yearning for his touch, his large palm on your back was enough to make you forget how to breathe. “You don't owe me anything, this is my problem and I’ll handle this, just like I was doing it before.”

“To be fair, your behavior only shows how immature you are,” he crooned and traced a long, sensible line along your spine. “But, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt since you’re overwhelmed.”

At some point, you found yourself tired from trying to convince him to leave you alone, so you just nodded and quickly took your sedative before heading to the bathroom under his attentive gaze. After all, even if you even attempted to make him go away you would fail because compared to him you were so small and weak — Patrick had power over you in all ways, and he knew that. 

You were trapped in your own flat, what nonsense.

In a few minutes, you were sitting in the bath and letting the warm water bring you some relief, just like it always did. Affected by sedatives, you didn’t even remember whether you closed the bathroom door or not, but being honest, you didn’t really care, because even if Patrick came here he wouldn’t see anything new. 

The bitter aftertaste of what happened made you feel like shit, and you really didn't know how to find a way out from it. As if it was not enough for you to be dependent on Patrick (you owe him a lot of money), now you gave him more weaknesses that he could potentially use against you. 

'Excellent!'

Hugging your knees, you burst in tears — salty tears that were falling into the water, leaving small circles on it. Before now, you didn’t even realize how devastated you were. You closed your eyes for a second and you drifted off almost instantly, and with each passing moment, your body was submerging into the water more and more.

Meanwhile, Bateman was sitting on the little couch in your living room, which he suddenly found pretty cozy, though he checked if everything was clean enough before he dared to take a seat. Did he really think that people outside Manhattan used to live in dirty, trashy apartments? Well, maybe he did, since he didn’t even remember when was the last time he was in such places.

Ever since you left, Patrick had been fighting the temptation to go through your things to find something interesting, which he would of course use for his own interests. But instead, he picked up one of your books from the coffee table, and as he did so, a small piece of paper fell out. Squinting suspiciously, Bateman leaned down to grab it, only to almost crumple it when he saw your handwriting —  the paper was completely covered with your notes, and they were all the same phrase — "If I want to be loved as I am, I have to be willing to love others as they are." Patrick couldn't count how many times you had written that, but each line he read evoked something strange in him — the unraveling feeling that urged him to rip the paper, to crumple it. Is it compassion that he was so afraid of?

Closing his eyes for a moment, Bateman took a deep breath and put the paper back in the book, no matter how much he wanted to destroy it or forget what he had just read. After that, he checked his Rolex and noticed that it had been quite a while since you had left. Slowly, he got up from the couch and went to the bathroom. His 'sixth sense' had never failed him before, so he decided to rely on it and check on you.

Patrick didn’t knock once he noticed that the door was not closed, he just stepped in, looking for you.

“Cupcake, are you—”

A chilling shock swept over him when he saw only the top of your head above the water. Without a second thought, he ran across the bathroom and knelt down beside the tub to pull you out of the water, and the moment he did, you began to cough, clinging to his arms and desperately gasping for air.

“Pat-Patrick,” you were shaking so badly, so he had to hold you in one place, pressing you against his solid chest. “I don’t know how that happened… I… I didn’t want this I—” “Shh, (y/n),” Bateman cooed at you in order to calm you down, but he wasn't any less scared than you. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

Trembling, you looked up at him — your eyes so red from tears, your heart beating like a broken alarm-clock. “I think I ruined your suit… I’m so sorry!”

Appalled, you tried to break free but Patrick didn’t let you move, his strong arms were holding you like tight ropes. Damn, he was so angry — he could sense his blood boiling inside his veins, forcing his jaw to clench in a silent growl. He was so fucking mad at himself. 

How could he let this happen? 

As this question ran through his bewildered mind, he froze in fear. He didn't know if he was talking about letting you nearly drown in your own bathtub or letting you take roots on his broken soul. Maybe that was the reason you two had bonded, two broken souls seeking for something that would stop their pain, something that would bring them freedom from a burdened life. But how could he help you when every day he was fighting his dark side, the side you didn't know about yet? The side he wished you would never meet.

Never.

"God... I'm so stupid." You cried out, interrupting his train of thought and bringing him back to reality. 

"Shh," Bateman husked, cupping your face. "Stop talking!" He sighed and looked into your blurry eyes, breathing so heavily that it was almost painful. "Just don't say anything right now."

Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe the sedative had a side effect on you, but as soon as he tried to pull you out of the tub completely, your hand slipped down his chest to his groin — your sneaky fingers instantly playing with the buckle of his belt, causing a shaky groan to escape his lips. Dazed, you moved your hand lower to feel the outline of his thick cock getting harder under your touch, but as you were about to unzip his pants, his firm hand stopped you, confusing your cloudy mind and inducing you to raise your eyes to meet his. He could swear no one had ever looked at him like that — so innocently, yet so sinfully. 

"Cupcake, you don't want this," Patrick murmured, removing your hand. "Trust me."

"I do want this!" You replied in a trembling voice, pouting like a child.

"You're so fucking lost right now, you just don't understand," he manhandled you out of the tub and you almost punched him in his beautiful face, but Bateman paid no attention to your attempt to hit him. "Towels, where are they?"

Huffing, he lifted you up, and only then did you calm down, wrapping your hands and legs around him as securely as you could, like you were afraid of falling off the roof of the skyscraper. 

After you pointed at the bathroom counter, Bateman carefully moved towards it to take some big, white towel and wrap it around you — he was drying you off so gently and attentively, it almost made you cry again. 

Emotions were overtaking you.

Patrick didn't even say a word when he was done, he just got another dry towel and swaddled you in it like in a cocoon before carrying you out of the bathroom bridal style. Somehow, he managed to find the way to your bedroom, but once he saw your bed, he scowled and remarked: “Jesus, this bed is so small.”

“I love my bed.” You murmured in reply, hugging his neck and pressing yourself closer against his warm body.

Bateman couldn't help but chuckle in amusement, giving you a brief forehead kiss and sitting you down on the bed. As soon as you lost physical contact with him, you leaned on your elbows, watching him turn around and walk away.

“Patrick! Please, don’t go!” 

Your words echoed inside his head like the most sacred plea, they made him stop and looked in your direction. “I need to remove my clothes since they’re pretty damp,” he checked himself, with a visible disgust on his face. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Be a good girl, and just wait for me here, okay?”

“Fine.” You mumbled and took the plushy bunny which was resting on your bed next to you.

This scene made him chuckle before he left your bedroom. Now you were completely alone with your thoughts, they didn't wait a second to start eating you from the inside again. With your eyes closed, you lay on your back and began to count.

One, two, three…

What if he lied saying that he would return? Gosh, you wanted him to leave the moment you came here, so why were you getting so upset thinking about him leaving you alone just as you asked him for?

Four, five, six…

The inner voice kept reminding you how many times Patrick has hurt you, how many times he made you cry, how many times you felt like a toy in his hands. You gritted your teeth, pressing your hands against your head to stop thinking.

Seven, eight, nine…

How many times have you promised yourself that you would break out from this circle of lies, pain and suffering? 

“Stop it!” You whimpered, shutting your eyes as firm as you could until the tears started to form.

Ten.

“Stop what?” His voice—it was like a lifeline, like a light in the end of the tunnel, it was everything you needed here and now.

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was his almost naked form, namely his toned tiddies and his mouth watering V-line, not to mention his perfect abs and the small trail of hair below his navel.

“For one second I thought you would just leave.” You looked into his hazel eyes, which were partly covered by his messy, brown hair.

“In wet clothes?” He giggled and stepped closer to your bed. It was so hard to ignore the bulge in his tight white underwear, but you tried your best not to stare at it. “Feeling better?"

“Yes, I think y-yes,” you swallowed hard when Bateman sat on the edge of your small bed and drew an invisible line across your ankle. “Can I… ask you for something?”

“You can try.” His voice got lower, sending shivers down your spine.

Panting, you uncovered yourself, putting the towel aside and letting him admire the view of your beautiful body, a pleasure he gladly took, his thirsty eyes roaming all over your curves, especially your full breasts and your inviting neck.

“What do you want, Cupcake?” His hand slides up to your hip, teasing the sensitive skin and making you gasp from need. “Tell me.”

“I need you,” you bit your lower lip, frowning from how embarrassed you were. “I n-need you more than ever.”

With no rush, Bateman bent down to your belly to press a brief kiss which elicited a soft moan to fall from your shaky throat. “Show me where you need me.”

You were about to lost it at any second, as the mind-blowing passion was crashing over you like a fucking tsunami, and you didn’t even know if you would survive this. 

Could that be the moment of no return for both of you?

Stifling a moan, you took his big palm and guided between your opened legs—the sound of his fingers sliding along your oozed folds made you arched your back and you thought your heart would break out from your chest. Your heavy breathes filled up the room, and once you felt his hot lips on your mound, you nearly squeaked, creasing the sheets beneath you.

Patrick was enjoying every second of this moment, savoring the taste of your skin, reveling in all your little salacious noises when he encircled his arms around your legs and swiped his tongue over your throbbing clit.

That was the last drop of your resistance and you couldn't control it anymore, throwing your head back and mewling sensually: “Mmhm, Daddy…! You make me f-feel so good.”

“Are you sure you want this?” His sudden question pierced through your head like an electric pulse.

Gulping, you got up a bit to look down at him, his cheeks, neck and shoulders were already flushed, his hair was disheveled and his eyes were as dark as night.

“Yes,” you responded shortly, feeling a tight knot forming inside your lower abdomen just from being so close to his face. “Taste me, Daddy, please… I want to get lost… in you.”

“I see,” he said, hovering over you for a moment to grab the plushy bunny, then handing it to you with a mischievous grin. "Little girls always keep their favorite toys close?”

As soon as you held the bunny, Bateman got back to his previous position, fondling your hips here and there, then he kissed your inner thigh and put your legs together before bending them and pressing against your chest.

“Stay like that.”

After saying that, he brushed away his wavy locks, spit on your pussy and made several, barely sensible, strokes along your bundle of nerves, his sturdy arms were holding your legs to fixate you in one place as his ministrations were making it hard for you to stay still.

“Awww, P-Patrick,” you keened and squeezed the plush toy in your hand, feeling so dirty yet so high from the way his wet tongue was painting various ornaments on your taut lower lips. “I’m gonna faint…”

“Mmm,” he moaned against your feverish little bud before he took it inside his mouth, sucking it so deliciously that your eyes rolled back into your head, your inner walls were already spasming. “You’re my sweet little Cupcake.”

“Yes! Yes, please!”

Slurping at your soaked cunt, Bateman let you rest your legs on his shoulders and pull on his brown hair as you wanted to bring him even closer, moving your hips towards his face. God, you were such a wet moaning mess and when he shoved his long fingers inside of your dripping slit, you lost connection with reality and ascended to the apex of ecstasy.

His fingers were moving inside and outside of you like a clock-work, so smoothly and fast, since he knew your body so perfectly, it was quite simple for him to find your spongy G - spot. Once he started to stimulate it, your toes began to curve and your whole body was jolting as if you were hit by the eclectic shock.

The moment of your orgasm was as astonishing and relieving as a sip of water in the arid desert. But even after you cummed, Patrick didn’t stop eating you out, fingering you harder, so your juices were gashing around your sweaty bodies, the sheets beneath you were already wet and you didn’t know how you would live tomorrow when he leaves you.

“Mmmmh, I’mma cum again, D-Daddy!” You whimpered, squirming around the bed and pressing the plushy bunny against your face as you were on the verge of tears – overstimulation hitting pretty hard.

Bateman only growled in response and stuffed your soaked pussy with another finger, rhythmically swirling his hot tongue around your throbbing tip while his sneaky hand traced up along your shivering body to grope one of your breasts and pinch your engorged nipple.

“Ahhh—GOSH…! Pat...” Your voice cracked as you cummed so hard all around his face that your wetness was literally running down his chin. But he didn’t care, because the only thing that mattered for him was bringing you as much pleasure as he could.

Even when he was panting heavily against your abused cunt, and he almost couldn't feel his fingers anymore, he continued to lap at your cleft. By that moment your legs were looped around his head and you couldn’t stop twitching even for a second, with each lick he sent millions of tingles to your lower belly.

“Daddy, it’s t-too much… I can’t take it any longer.” You felt so goddamn sensitive, and your body was like jelly at this point.

“C’mon, babydoll,” he groaned in a raspy voice after he pulled on your clit with a nasty squeal. “You can give Daddy another one, can't you baby? For me, please?"

This time Patrick buried his tongue as deep inside your womb as he could, licking you from the inside out. He repeated the motion, making you climax countless times in a row, until your little frame couldn't bear it anymore. Soon, you drifted off with a smile of joy on your face, holding the plushy bunny close to your chest. Long time ago that toy was your only friend, but now it seemed like you have become a toy yourself. But unlike the plush bunny, it was obvious that you weren't the only toy for your owner.

Why did it hurt so good to be alive?

You heard a faint voice calling you and asking for help, but no matter how hard you tried to follow it and find it—all you could see was darkness before your eyes. Scared, you moved along the dark alley, surrounded by shadows, shivering from the abnormal cold, and for a second you even thought you were already dead. But when the voice called you again, you finally realized that it was your inner voice, but it sounded so sad, even compared to your darkest days.

"How did you end up like this, (y/n)?" Your own reflection spoke to you, each word cutting through your heart like a dagger. "You're so pathetic and weak, what would Mom and Dad say if they knew about your 'successful' life in New York?"

Frowning, you closed your hands around your ears to stop this madness, but the more you tried to ignore it, the louder the voice became in your head.

"Look what you've done to yourself! Do you really think he cares about you?" 

"Leave me alone!" You yelled at your shadow copy and ran down the alley, but there seemed to be no escape.

"Wake the fuck up! Bateman is just using you for his own needs, and you let him treat you like a fucking toy. Being in debt to him is not an excuse!" You could hear it even with your ears closed and there was nowhere to hide.

"SHUT UP!" You sped up, the cold air hitting your face mercilessly, but you didn't care. "Get out of my head!"

God, it was so fucking absurd to argue with yourself.

Perplexed and scared, you suddenly realized that the faster you were running the louder your inner voice was getting, bringing you a sharp headache as if a million needles cut into your brain at once. It hurt really bad.

“Patrick! Patrick, where are you?” You cried out as the darkness was clouding around you with each passing second. “Please, I need you…” A single tear slid down your warm cheek when you felt your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen as though you were drowning. “Pat-Patrick…”

Slowly closing your eyes, you let the void consume you, which actually brought you some relief, because now you were free from pain and sorrow, reveling in the sweet space of non-existence.

A loud gasp bounced against the walls of your small bedroom, signaling of your eventual awakening. Panting, you sat on the bed only to see Bateman’s sleepy form next to you—he was sleeping like a baby, laying on his back and sniffling from time to time. Shocked, you were trying your best to regain your composure and steady your heavy breathing, not even noticing that you were drenched in sweat. 

Quietly, you slipped out from under the covers to find yourself completely naked, so the next thing you did was find something to put on. Subsequently, you rushed inside your small bathroom and saw Bateman’s clothes drying off on the battery—the memories of the recent events flashed across your mind like a slow-motion movie. First, you were taking a bath—which was still full of cold water—then you nearly drowned but Patrick came in time and literally saved you. The next flashbacks made you lean on the sink and hold back your breath—his eager mouth on your cunt, forcing you to lose your mind and cum again and again until you eventually drifted off. 

Jesus Christ.

Embarrassed, you quickly opened the water and washed your face several times until you cooled down a bit. After you regain your composure, you fasten your terry robe and head to the kitchen as you were so starved that you even had a stomach ache. 

New York was already awake, and the sun was high above the horizon, shining so brightly in the windows that you had to close your blinds and thank God it was Sunday and you didn't have to go to the office because your head was spinning due the aftereffect of your sedative pills. Speaking of them—once you saw the jar with pills on the kitchen counter you threw it into the rubbish without any second thought, yet you didn’t want Bateman to know that he had an influence on your decision. When you closed the door to the kitchen, you accidentally slammed it harder than you should have, and it cracked so loudly that it sounded like a bundle of dishes broke at the same time.

"Damn it!" You cursed to yourself, pressing a palm to your face, certain that the noise would wake Bateman up.

Panicking a bit, you retreated to your bedroom and as soon as you stepped in you saw the man of your dreams stretching out and yawning so adorable, that for a moment you just froze in your place, not capable of taking your eyes off from Bateman’s disheveled hair and his broad chest.

With a low growl, Patrick pulled the blanket away and finally noticed you. "Woah, Cupcake, was that you?" The man chuckled, casually flexing his muscles as he looked at the mirror next to the door where you were standing. "I thought something had exploded outside."

Abashed, you quickly adjusted your robe from his piercing gaze. "Sorry, I can be really..."

"Clumsy?" Smiling broadly, Bateman leaned back against the headboard and crossed his arms. 

"Yes, clumsy," you tugged with your fingers, briefly glancing down—damn, he seemed to be the only person who could embarrass you so easily. "Well...do you want anything?"

"Hmmm, let me think," Patrick hummed before he thoughtfully pressed a finger to his plump lips. "I probably have something on my mind," Bateman gave you a mischievous grin when he saw your curious look and smoothed his golden brown hair. "How about a morning blowjob?" Your instant reaction was a mixture of anger and embarrassment, which made the man's face look even more smug. "Relax! I'm joking." 

Of course he wasn't joking—you knew it and couldn't stop yourself from rolling your eyes and crossing your arms over your chest. "I'd pretend I didn't hear that," you said, finally looking away from his sturdy body. "How about breakfast?"

"That sounds really good."

Shocked, you took a moment to think about the possible options you could cook for him since you didn’t really expect him to give you a positive answer. “I can offset you with a scrambled egg and some fresh orange juice.”

With a satisfied grin, the man slowly got up from your modest bed and stretched his muscles again; he was definitely making it on purpose. “Oh, that’s nice,” he almost groaned when he cocked his head to one side then to another. “I can’t say the same about your bed, Cupcake… you should change the mattress if you want to keep walking with a straight back.”

And though Patrick was lamenting, you could say he said it almost affectionately—as if he really cared about you, yet you brushed this conclusion off as fast as your heart was pounding right now when the man got closer to you; his tall, massive frame towered over you like a mountain.

“I also would like to have a shower, if…there’s such an option,” Bateman smirked and briefly traced a finger along your cheek, coaxing you to close your eyes for a second and revel in the soft sensation of his touch. “Did you sleep well?”

A sudden question that fell from his lips like a suffocated gasp, a tender stroke on your shoulder and you were already melting as Patrick knew what he was doing, every touch, every glance of his brown hypnotic eyes was deliberate and smooth, leaving you no chance but to surrender to his demand.

“Yes, I slept like a baby, though I can hardly remember the things that happened before I blacked out,” you lied with an embarrassed smile. “You can have a shower and use whatever soaps and towels you’ll see.” Thee more you talked the more his lips curled, especially when you allowed him to bring you closer into his embrace. “But don’t expect anything extraordinary.”

“I won’t, I promise,”  the man chuckled and playfully pinched your ass. “Sleeping beauty.”

With that, Patrick walked past you, leaving you alone for a moment, giving you a chance to pull yourself together. And when you seemed to relax, a thought of his clothes that had been left in the bathroom popped up in your mind. ‘Oh God, I forgot!’

Nervously, you rushed after Patrick into your bathroom to see that the door was already closed, implying that he was inside and probably naked, though you couldn’t hear the sound of flowing water. Embarrassed, you coughed quietly and knocked several times.

“Yeah?” Bateman’s muffled voice echoed through the door. 

“Patrick, I…” a short pause turned into a breathless gasp. “If you’re not already in the shower, may I come in?”

After a moment, the door in front of you opened and you saw Patrick wrapped in a white towel. “Something wrong?”

“No,” you giggled nervously and sneaked inside the bathroom to quickly grab his clothes. “I just wanted to iron your…suit and stuff, while you’re in the shower…” Quickly, you hovered his garments over your arm and walked past him, hoping he wouldn’t ask any questions, despite his surprised expression. “I’m so sorry for dumping your clothes yesterday.”

With these words, you deftly avoid his grasp as you knew he’d definitely try to make you embarrassed even more. “(Y/n)!”

“Take a shower. I’ll make you breakfast as I promised.” 

This time, the man didn’t try to catch you or follow you, thankfully. So, you could safely make it to your living room where you set an ironing board and put his shirt first to iron. Wrapped in thoughts, you didn’t even notice how carefully you were ironing his clothes, you couldn’t even remember doing the same with your stuff but maybe you were just scared of ruining it since everything he wore was utterly expensive. ‘This suit probably costs like my monthly rent.’ Sighing, you put the shirt aside when you heard the water flowing sound and your mind instantly gave you an image of Patrick’s naked body, enveloped in steam and slightly flush from the heat. ‘Damn, I should stop or I'm gonna ruin something.’ When it was time to iron his tie, you ran your finger along the smooth red fabric, draped in beautiful intricate patterns—you couldn't deny that you had a thing for his ties, for all of them—you smiled to yourself before bringing it to your lips, you could still feel his cologne on it. This tantalizing scent was driving you crazy, it fit him so perfectly as if it was made specially for him, but even if that was true, you wouldn’t be surprised at all, regarding how rich this man was. The moment you finished ironing his pants, you seemed to hear his voice coming from the bathroom. ‘Perfect timing.’

Slightly tensed, you stopped next to the door. “Patrick? Did you call me?” When he didn’t reply, you became even more stirred, so without really caring about seeing him naked, you opened the door and stepped in. “Patrick?” Since your bathroom was much smaller than his, you bumped into his massive frame, squealing in surprise. “Oh God, sorry!”

“Oh, Cupcake,” he wrapped his hands around your shoulders before carefully cupping your face. “I hope you didn’t break your nose against my firm chest?”

Frowning, you gave him a dead glare but he only snickered back. “What happened? Why did you call me?”

“Do you have an extra toothbrush for me? I’ll buy you another one and…”

You stopped him halfway and removed his hands to stroll to the sink and opened the cabinet above it. “Here. There’s also a razor if you need.”

Smirking, Bateman sneaked behind you and pressed his wet body against yours. “Do ya think I need to shave?” He rubbed the mirror from steam to check himself, sliding a hand along his chiseled chin.

“I…I don’t know…I just thought in case you need to, the razor is here.”

“Mhm…” he hummed and before you knew it he nuzzled against your exposed neck, forcing you to gasp and stepped back right into his embrace, just like he planned it. “Does that tickle, Cupcake?” 

‘Dear Lord, please give me the strength to survive this.’

Staying still, you just swallowed hard and let him continue to attack your neck, which he did with precious care before, but now, Patrick also used his mouth and teeth, and that was already too much.

"I think you definitely have some stubble," you laughed, trying to turn it into a joke. But as soon as you tried to walk away, he pulled you back into his strong arms, and that was not funny. "Breakfast Patrick, I have to make breakfast, did you forget?"

"Not really, but I need your help."

"Help?"

The man gave you a devilish smile before lifting you up and sitting you on the bathroom counter, not even giving you a chance to protest. Then Bateman took the shaving cream, checking the brand name skeptically, but then averting his eyes, probably thinking it was better not to know. With deliberate, calculated movements, he applied the cream to his cheekbones, moving up and down his face. The sight was something you never thought you'd find so damn hot that you didn't even make a sound, just watched him carefully prepare to shave.

"Have you ever seen a man shave, darling?" Patrick asked in a cheeky tone, surely noticing the way you were staring at him.

You shook your head. “No,” you shamelessly checked on him, following the little buds of water slipping down his torso. “God, this is such a silly question, don’t you think?”

Instead of answering, Bateman flexed his muscles while watching in the mirror and missing the way you rolled your eyes. “Well, now you finally have a chance.” The man winked at you and grabbed the razor. “You know, I really like your place, it’s pretty clean.”

“You already said that.”

“Oh, did I?”

“Yes,” you crossed your arms and turned away just the moment when the man started to glide the razor against his jawline—you thought the blade would become blunt because his cheekbones were too sharp—his every action was smooth and skillful. “That was the first thing you said when we came in.”

“That only means that it’s really very clean here.”

Huffing, you fixed your robe and cursed to yourself, ‘Why does he always have to be like this?’

Opening the faucet, Patrick cleaned his face after the last stroke of the razor. “Can you check here?” 

Confused, you gave him a questioning gaze when he turned halfway, pointing at the apex of his jaw. Sheepishly, you touched his freshly shaved skin, feeling a slight prickly sensation. “I think it’s still a bit stubbly.” 

“Aha,” Bateman acknowledged and quickly took your hand in his big one, briefly kissing the top of it and giving you the razor. “I told you, I’d need your help, Cupcake.” “How do you even do it yourself?”

“The razors I use are much sharper than this one, honey,” he chuckled but once you placed the razor against his skin he stopped moving. “Just be careful.”

The last phrase struck a chord inside your chest and you even stopped for a moment to take a deep breath before you eventually began to shave the rest of the stubble. All the while, Patrick would glance at you attentively, his hazel irises like hypnotizing spirals, so you forced yourself to stay focused on the razor and the patch of his skin still covered in a shaving cream.

“You have such soft skin,” you mumbled mostly to yourself but you were sure he heard it. “It’s so pleasurable to touch.”

“(Y/n),” he suddenly called out your name in a stern voice. “I think we should talk about yesterday.” “No…”

"Listen to me," he grabbed the hand that held the razor and pushed it to the side. "You should stop taking that sedative."

“It was just an accident.” 

“You could die, Cupcake…”

"I...I know...I owe you for saving me," you finally stated, releasing your hand to finish shaving him. "But let me take care of my life."

“Ouch.”

“Oh my God! Did I hurt you?” You jolted in panic, almost dropping the razor as if you were hit by the electric shot.

“Yes, you did,” Bateman glided a palm along his now perfectly shaved cheeks. “With your words.”

Letting out a sad sigh, you put the razor into the sink next to you and reached for another towel for him as you watched him washing his face. The more you kept silent, the more palpable the tension was getting in the air and after a brief moment of contemplating, you decided that the best option now was just to go to the kitchen and cook.

“Toothbrush is here.” You murmured and got up from the bathroom counter, about to leave but Patrick stopped you. 

First, you glanced down at his grasp around your wrist, then you raised your eyes to meet his walnut ones, now they were absolutely dark and demanding. Inch by inch, the man was getting closer, soon you could feel the fresh scent of your soap on his wet skin as he pressed you along his broad form, one hand rested on the small of your back, while another snaked beneath your robe to outline one of your hard peaks, which were visible through the fabric.

“Pat-Patrick…”

“No more ‘Daddy’ again, huh?” he whispered into your ear, playing with your stray lock. “Do you remember how many times you called me like that last night?”

‘No! I don’t remember, I shouldn’t remember this, I…’

“...your sweet voice sounded so good with all these little dirty pleas, ‘Daddy, don’t stop, mmhm-please!’ Uhhh, that was really something,” Bateman crooned against your neck, forcing you to step back until he trapped you between his massive body and bathroom counter. “Got you.”

There was nothing to say more, once his warm mouth latched on yours, the urge to deny him fading with every second of the kiss, especially when Patrick savagely sucked on your lower lip and drew his tongue across it as if asking for permission to slip inside.

Gasping, you instinctively inclined your head to the side for a moment and the man used it for showering your delicate neck with little peeks which then transformed into wet, red marks. This sweet torture could last forever if you suddenly didn’t press your palm against his naked chest in a determined way.

“We can’t,” you protested when he got down to kiss you again. “You’re engaged, don’t you think it’s so mean to…cheat on your fiance?”

The man couldn’t hold back a scoff. “What does that have to do with anything? You owe me, Cupcake, you owe me a lot.” 

Annoyed, you made an attempt to push him away, but you obviously failed as Patrick was too strong, looming over you like a mountain. “If you mean the last time—I already thanked you and moreover, I didn’t ask you to do it, you know?” You watched his face changing into something more impish, the corners of his lips curled up as if everything was happening according to his plan. “You always decide for me…maybe it’s time to stop?”

Bateman chuckled. “Maybe it’s time to finally open your eyes?”

“Are you…really telling me this?!”

“You owe me a pretty big sum of money,” the man suddenly turned the conversation in another way. “And we had a deal…” Carefully, he trailed his finger along your cheek like an artist admiring his most precious creation. “Do you think I’d be so patient with your bad attitude to me if I were not really into you, hmm?”

The last words made you swallow hard and turned away for a moment, as you were on the verge of tears. Did he really just confirm that there was some kind of affection for you from his side?

“I…I know I owe a lot of money, but believe me, I’ll back them soon,” you removed his arms from your waist but the next second, Patrick placed them on the bathroom counter behind you from both sides, not allowing you to go away. “Please, believe me.”

“I don’t need that fucking money,” Patrick barked and unexpectedly gripped your shoulders, but when he noticed the glowing fear in your eyes, the man loosened his grasp and cupped your face. “I need you. Both your body and soul.”

Closing your eyes, you wanted to sink through the ground. “You want me to do things that you can’t buy with money…” you declared with a chilling coldness in your voice. “Other women are okay with being your toys, but I’m not. Now, let's finish this conversation, it won’t lead to anything.”

A tired sigh broke out from Bateman’s broad chest and for a second he even thought to let you go and turned over the page of the story of two broken souls, who met themselves so suddenly. Maybe now was that exact moment he was waiting so long, the moment to open the cards and confess, even though Patrick could hardly believe it would work.

"You don't seem to be listening to me at all," was all the man could say. "And that's not surprising, since no one really listens to me. Because...uhh...because no one really cares about what really bothers me…" He let you go and stepped back. "And you...I thought you were the only person who...who actually tried to understand me and act naturally."

"Patrick..."

He raised his hand in an eloquent gesture to let him continue. "You probably did it all because of the debt, but...I'll be honest, sometimes I made myself believe that you weren't acting like this just because of the money."

"Is this another manipulation?" You asked bluntly, holding back your tears. "How could I believe you after all the things you did to me? How many times did you treat me like a puppet that you no longer wanted to play with? And not to mention that you turned out to be engaged!" You grabbed your head and leaned against the bathroom counter, massaging your temples. "This is already too much."

The man huffed and cautiously approached you. With a soft, feathery movement, he touched your hands and pulled them away from your strained face. "At least you seem to care that I'm engaged," he said abruptly, moving you closer so that your head was now pressed against his massive chest. "I know it's overwhelming, (y/n). But..." the words suddenly stuck in his throat like a lump. "You're not alone in this." Patrick urged curly, running his large palm along the crown of your head before resting his chin on it, inhaling the scent of your soft hair. 

‘Not alone’, you repeated inside your head and looked up into his brown eyes, which were now so stern and contemplative—you have never seen them like that before. This man, oh God, this man was such a mess, he was making you lose the ground beneath your feet with his sudden confessions, but in the end, actions spoke louder than words, even though you wanted to believe him and sink into the strong feeling you had towards him—you simply couldn’t allow yourself to get lost in him as you would burn out like a match.

All the while you were standing like that, Bateman was hoping you would say something in return, but when you didn’t, he just released you from his embrace without saying a thing. Overwhelmed by emotions, you left the bathroom and let him finish his hygienic routine in private.

A bit later, you didn’t even remember how you cooked a breakfast for both of you, the only thing you did remember was his positive comment that it tasted pretty good. You couldn’t help but smile, though your plate still stood untouched. Patrick noticed that, but didn’t make any comments about that.

“To be honest, I really didn’t expect it to be that nice,” he chuckled and finished his glass of mineral water that he didn’t really like. Quickly checking his Rolex, which he wore right after he took a shower, he added, “I’m afraid it’s time for me to go. Can you please bring me my clothes?”

“Sure.” You raised up and quickly strolled to the iron board where his suit and shirt were waiting to be presented to their owner. “Here, I ironed them for you.”

Bateman froze in shock for a moment. “You…ironed them?”

“Uh, yes, but I did it very carefully, I know everything you wear is utterly expensive,” you gave him his garments and he started to examine every thing with meticulous attention. “I…I thought you wouldn’t like to go outside in rumpled clothes.”

"That's… that's very sweet of you, Cupcake. Really…" he replied, his blush barely noticeable to anyone but you. "Thanks…thanks for everything."

“You’re welcome.” You murmured shyly, crossing your arms over the chest and watching him getting up from the table and walking to your bedroom to dress up.

Moments later, you both were standing in your small hallway, Patrick fixing his tie and coat, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

“How do I look?” He asked nonchalantly, putting on the headphones of his Walkman.

Slightly upset, you leaned against the wall, your eyes gliding up and down his elegant, tall silhouette; the way the dark blue trench coat sat on his broad shoulders made you almost gasp in admiration.

“Perfect as always,” you stepped closer to adjust the collar of his shirt. “You’re like a Vogue cover which came alive.”

Fluttered, Bateman smiled and caught your hand to place a kiss on top of it. “And I always believe your compliments, they are so…sincere or…” he paused and looked into your eyes. “...or I’m just fooling myself.”

His usual chuckling now was less happy and it stirred something inside of you, so when you got up on your toes to kiss his cheek, Patrick took it like another chance to be intimate with you. With unhidden tenderness, the man pulled you into his arms to seal your mouths with a soft but passionate kiss which brought some unexpected relief for both of you.

“You know, I…I really appreciate your courage to be open with me,” you suddenly confessed when he broke the kiss, still holding you close. “It’s just that I need some time to think over things and…my life is such a mess.”

"Oh, you don't have to tell me that," Bateman sneered ironically to himself. "Since I know who made your life so messy," he stopped you from saying anything else by pressing his finger to your lips. Then the man slowly leaned down so that your foreheads now touched in the most intimate way. "Promise me you won't take those pills again."

"And you promise me you won't say things like no one gives a fuck about you," you gripped his arm, rubbing his firm bicep under the soft fabric of his coat. "Because I do give a fuck about you, even though I don't really like it."

"We'll talk about...us. That's the only promise I can make right now."

"Us?"

"You heard what I said," he pinched your nose, just like after the fashion show. "I'll call you today and Cupcake?" He leaned down to whisper in your ear, accidentally brushing his nose against your neck. "You're always on my mind, but I still haven't decided if it's good or not." The way he used your words to tease you brought a broad smile to your face, but the next time, all joy faded as the man stroked your cheek one last time before stepping aside to check himself in the mirror. "Hope to see you soon, darling."

With that he closed the door behind him and as much as you hated saying goodbye, you hated the moments like that, when you couldn’t control yourself as your emotions peaked, causing your knees to buckle and you stopped yourself from falling down only because you managed to lean on the nearby wall. The whole thing about your relationship with Bateman was one big mistake, as you would never find yourself belonging to this world—your meeting was a joke of fate—no less to say. Although you knew it, your heart was like a rebellion who refused to listen, to obey, to accept the truth that there were no chances to turn this situation in a way that would help these relationships to become healthy and normal. ‘Normal, huh? Do yuppies even know such a word?’ Laughing ironically to yourself, you got up and went back into your kitchen to wash the dishes. The sight of Patrick sitting here with a glass of water in his hand was still so fresh in your mind, but now you began to doubt if that really had happened. 

All day later, you couldn’t sleep, you couldn’t eat, waiting for his call but he never did it. It was not surprising after the shit that man had done, but today you were really hoping he would keep his word. But your hopes were broken to pieces again, in the most brutal possible way because you really decided to give it a try and believed him.

When the night came to New York City, you were standing in your living room with a cup of freshly brewed coffee, thinking about what would you do next and trying to think less about what Patrick was doing right now…and even less about with whom he probably could be. ‘...with Courtney or maybe with his fiance, Evelyn?’ You snickered sadly to yourself and finished your drink. Coffee was supposed to help you to keep awake but instead it only made you even more sleepy, so you didn’t even realize how you fell asleep on your little couch while putting down the notes of how today’s day had gone in your diary.

The next moment you were awakened by the sudden doorbell, which caught you off guard and even scared you a bit as you didn’t wait for anyone. Quickly enveloping your robe, you got up and saunted to the door to look at the peephole—you would lie to yourself if you said you weren’t expecting someone specific, but when you saw nothing but flowers, your heart skipped a beat. 

With one swift motion, you opened the door and an unknown guy instantly greeted you with a polite tone. “Good morning, miss (y/n),” he then handed you a big bouquet of red and white roses—it was so heavy you could barely hold it. “Uh, can you please put your sign here?”

Confused, you pressed the flowers to your chest to see the man’s face. “Are you… are you sure it’s for me?”

The courier only smiled and giggled. “Of course, but you can check the address, if you want,” the man showed you the paper with the order details. “We make no mistakes, miss, that’s why our service is the best around New York.”

“I see,” you responded and put your signature on the place he pointed you. “But, can I ask you who sent me this?”

“There’s a card inside if I’m not mistaken,” the courier replied and with that he put the paper inside his bag. “Have a good day, ma'am.”

“Thanks.” 

With that, you closed the door and somehow proceeded into your living room where you put the bouquet on the coffee table and began to look for the vase for it. When you managed to find it, you poured some water and placed the flowers into it, then you remembered the courier’s words about the card and the next second you were already leafing through the flowers. Soon, a small white card caught your attention and when you picked it out, the first thing you noticed was two beautiful letters—P.B. in the end of the text which said: 

“Good morning, my sweet Cupcake, 

I’m sorry I didn’t call you tonight, I was extremely busy and didn’t really have any free time, but I hope this little gift would cheer you up a bit. What do you think about going to a yacht club these weekends? I’m looking forward to hearing from you soon. 

Utterly yours, P.B.” 

Your hands began to shake the moment you finished reading, but you managed to regain your composure. Driven by the unbridled happiness inside your chest, you leaned down to inhale the sweet scent of flowers—God, it felt like a dream. And speaking of dreaming—you were still so sleepy that after you finally calmed down, you decided to come back into the bed and nap a little bit longer. The sheets were still smelling of him, coaxing you to rub your face against the pillows and imagine him being here with you and somehow, you finally realized how deep this man was rooted inside your heart. ‘Utterly yours…’ You kept replaying these words inside your head until you drifted off to another dream, but this time, it was not a nightmare, but a heaven where Patrick was only yours, and you were his only one.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

[little-miss-vader]

Masterlist & Navigation

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Hey there! I’m Crow (she/her) and I thought it was about time to start a Masterlist :)

⚝ This is an 18+ blog! Minors please don’t interact or I’ll hex you.

⚝ My inbox is open for requests but I cannot promise I will get to it quickly. I read everything y’all send, especially requests so don’t be discouraged if I don’t publicly respond!

⚝ I also love making friends. Dm me or shoot me something fun in my inbox :)

⚝ I have a list of what I’m comfortable writing below so you don’t have to inbox me or dm me to ask unless what you’re looking for isn’t on the list!

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What I do/do not write!

Characters I am open to writing for:

The number of stars out of 5 represent how willing I am to write them

⚝ ⚝ ⚝ ⚝ ⚝ Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader

⚝ ⚝ ⚝ Obi-Wan Kenobi

⚝ ⚝ ⚝ ⚝ The Mandolorian/Din Djarin

⚝ ⚝ Padmé Amidala

⚝ ⚝ ⚝ Kylo Ren

⚝ ⚝ ⚝ ⚝ Poe Dameron

⚝ ⚝ ⚝ Ahsoka Tano (MANDALORIAN/AHSOKA ERA ONLY.)

⚝ ⚝ ⚝ ⚝ The 501st boys

⚝ ⚝ ⚝ Commander Cody

⚝ ⚝ Commander Wolfe

If you don’t see a character but have a good enough request, I might bend the rules and write the character! It never hurts to ask :)

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Kinks/Tropes

I will be categorizing this by colour, green meaning I will absolutely write it, yellow meaning the circumstances might differ me from writing it, red meaning I will absolutely not be writing it.

Green:

⚝ Bdsm

⚝ Daddy/Mommy kink

⚝ Breath Play

⚝ Mutual Pining

⚝ Knifeplay

⚝ Breeding Kink

⚝ Infidelity Kink

⚝ Corruption Kink

⚝ Enemies to Lovers

⚝ Forceplay (As in The Force, not coercion/rape)

⚝ Age Gaps (I’ll only write age gaps if both are consenting adults)

⚝ Normal stuff is my jam. Fluff, angst, romance, regular ass smut. The green isn’t as important because I’m okay with writing almost 90% of kinks and tropes. Yellow and red however, are mostly what I made this list for.

Yellow:

⚝ Polyamory (I’m not polyamorous and idk how it works so I don’t feel entirely comfortable writing about it as it might not be accurate/correct.)

⚝ Saberplay

⚝ Dubcon/Noncon (the only time I’ll write it is if there is consent beforehand)

⚝ Bloodplay

⚝ Ships (idk not a fan. I like writing reader inserts. I might make an exception for AniDala)

⚝ Anal (I personally just can’t get behind it but I understand the allure.)

Red:

⚝ Incest of any kind (step-cest included)

⚝ Rape

⚝ Piss/Scat

⚝ Omegaverse

⚝ Suicide

⚝ Self-Harm

⚝ Eating Disorders (I honestly tend to keep mental illnesses out of my writing for the most part, I like my fantasy worlds to be an escape, not a reminder)

⚝ Age Play (Age gaps are different, I’m fine with those. I will not however sexualize or romanticize infantilism)

⚝ ObiKin (I mean it)

⚝ AniSoka (Do not ever ask me for this I actually might block you.)

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Character Lists!

Anakin Skywalker

One Shots/Series:

Dueling Fates: Pt.1 & Pt.2

His Best Girl

Maker, Save The Queen

As You Wish

Gentle Hands

Ask Nicely (Hayden Christensen, if I write more for him I’ll give him his own section lol)

Driven to You (Anakin AU)

Unbreakable Bonds Pt. 1

Drabbles:

Flowers

Perfume

Songs that remind me of Anakin are all under the tag #anakins playlist

There are more drabbles but they’re scattered around, I’ll add them in when I have time 🫶🏼

#crows master list #Thank you guys again for even taking a moment to read my work #i love u all fr

[vivitalks]

you are a wildflower garden growing in my head

not to be insane about my own fanfiction that i wrote but i am a little insane about this one. so like come be insane with me. join me. dont be afraid. i dont bite (lying) nico deserves hobbies especially when they enable his own self-actualization. anyway. this was written for the bingo prompt "jason remembers nico" i'm normal normal normal about it (still lying) title from the witching hour by the ready set. nico di angelo ass song read it here on ao3

Jason finds Nico among the strawberry plants, staining his hands and knees with dirt.

It's not…like, he's not embarrassed. Plenty of people like to garden. Nico is entitled to his hobbies. Even secret ones. And it’s only a secret because he doubts the Demeter and Dionysus kids would be particularly receptive to Nico tampering with their beloved source of income.

Despite this, he can't help his instinct to be defensive when Jason walks up, the early evening sun haloing him in light.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Nico gestures. “Weeding.”

“Cool,” Jason says, because he’s Jason. “Mind if I join you?”

“To keep me company, or to help?”

“Whichever.”

Nico points to a few rogue sprouts. “If you're here anyway, you might as well get your hands dirty.”

“Done,” Jason says, immediately tearing out the weed with ruthless force. Nico cringes.

“Try to be gentler,” he says, and demonstrates on his own. “Like this. And make sure to get the roots out, otherwise it’ll just grow back.”

“What's the difference?” Jason asks. “We're killing it either way.”

“Yeah, but…” Nico squirms. “Just because we're killing it, doesn't mean we have to make it suffer. Wouldn't you rather die in your sleep than bleed out with all your limbs torn off?”

Graphic, but it gets the point across.

“Fair enough.” Jason looks a little faint, but he tugs out the next weed with a lot more precision, careful to unearth its roots and all.

“I know it takes a little longer,” Nico says, “but mercy is a worthwhile use of time. In my opinion.”

Jason has this look. It lands on Nico. “You never cease to amaze me,” he says. Almost reverently.

Nico turns the color of strawberries. “Shut up. Keep weeding.”

“Aye aye.” Jason salutes and returns to his assigned task. Every so often he'll stop to check with Nico if something is a weed or not, but he's always gentle pulling them out.

After a few minutes, Nico says, “How did you find me?”

Because realistically, anyone looking for Nico would probably never consider checking the strawberry fields. In fact, most people would discourage him from being there at all.

“I don't know,” Jason says, which causes Nico to look up in surprise. A thoughtful look crosses Jason's face. “Lucky guess, I suppose.”

“Hell of a guess,” Nico says, reaching for another green shoot. It comes out of the earth so easily, barely old enough to have burrowed down, and some part of Nico feels a sting at that. Plants uprooted before ever having a chance to grow. Nico knows what that's like.

He also knows that weeds don't mean to be bad. They don't mean to be anything; they're harmful only when rooted near bigger, better flora. It's not their fault they hog the nutrients and land. Like any living thing, all they want is to survive. Their only crime is trying to grow with something prettier flourishing close by.

Nico knows that feeling, too.

He really hates weeding. But he's long since learned it's a necessary part of gardening, and of life. Not everyone can live. Not everyone can grow. Some plants — some people — are poison. Sometimes the only thing to do is to whisper apologies and dig out the roots, and hope that whatever this dead plant becomes next has better luck than what it was first.

“Did you need something?”

“Do I have to need something?”

“No, but…” Nico shrugs. “I don’t know. I assume you hunted me down for something. And you didn’t have to stay here and help me weed.”

“I did not hunt you down,” Jason says indignantly. “I was looking for you because I wanted to hang out with you. You’re doing this, so I’m doing it too.” 

“I'm not trying to say you shouldn't. And I always—” Nico falters. Stupid. This is his boyfriend. If he wanted to continue being an unknowable enigma with emotions under lock, key, and unbreakable steel trapdoor, he wouldn't have gotten himself involved with Jason ‘Heart On His Heroic Sleeve’ Grace. “I always want to hang out with you. I just meant, you didn’t have to help. You could have sat and done nothing.”

“Look, if I'm that bad at weeding, you can just say—”

Nico throws a handful of weeds at Jason and he dodges, laughing. “Shut up. I hate you. I wish I could pull you up by the roots.”

Smiling, Jason says, “You kind of did.”

Nico's brain gives him an error message.

“What does that mean?”

“I mean…you literally uprooted me.” Once again, he has that pensive expression, like Nico is an abstract painting that Jason is admiring while also trying to interpret. It's not the worst way to be looked at. “My whole life before you was Camp Jupiter. The legion. Being Roman. Being Jupiter's kid.”

“I didn't change all of that,” Nico points out. “You did.”

He can feel the chill of the cold ground through his jeans. Every inch of his palms is smudged with dirt. Jason's hands are starting to look the same. There's a dark streak by his hairline, and one on his jaw, and the setting sun keeps glinting off his glasses. It is, on the whole, unfairly attractive of him.

Jason hums like maybe, maybe not. “It still feels like you were the catalyst to all that change. The good change, not the…manipulated-by-Juno change.”

“I appreciate what you're doing,” Nico says, “but you understand that's ridiculous, right? We didn't know each other until after the prophecy and the quest and everything. I can't have had any impact on you before then.”

“But you were at Camp Jupiter. You arrived just before I disappeared.”

“I know that,” — People suspected me, Nico doesn't add — “but we barely spoke.”

“Yeah, but you…” Jason falls silent, his eyebrows drawn together. If Nico was art before, he's a riddle now, and Jason is struggling to solve it. “I just…feel like it was important. The timing.”

Nico buries his fingers in the ground, relishing the way the dirt crumbles and closes around his touch.

“The timing was important,” he says. “My dad knew Hera was planning something, so he sent me to Camp Jupiter like…an advance team. But it had nothing to do with you.” He pauses. “No offense.”

“No, none taken.” Jason’s laugh is a little off. “I don't know. Maybe I'm going crazy.”

“If you're crazy, I belong in an asylum,” Nico says, digging and digging until he can feel the roots of the closest weed. He pinches it between his thumb and forefinger, and watches as it turns brown, then shrivels into a dead, drooping dandelion.

He winces. That's his least favorite weeding strategy. He didn't even mean to do it just now. It's like his own body is saying, You're damn right you should be locked up. See what you can do?

I'm helping plants grow, he retorts.

His brain says, Only you would inflict death and call it ‘helping’.

Nico growls under his breath and stops listening to his brain.

“Anyway, you're not crazy,” he adds belatedly. “A goddess literally played with your memory and identity like Play-Doh, so cut yourself some slack.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Nico figures Jason is deep in thought, but when he glances up, he sees a different look on Jason’s face — like he’s just solved the riddle.

“I’ve seen you do that before.”

It’s quiet and distant, Jason’s voice, and weighted with a revelation. Of something, though Nico’s not sure what. Nico doesn’t mean to, but he recoils a little — at the thought of Jason, some previous Jason, watching him ruthlessly murder an innocent plant, maybe even without meaning to.

“At Camp Jupiter,” Jason murmurs.

Those words don’t make sense. They smack into Nico’s memory like birds into a glass window pane, seeking a target and failing miserably.

“What?”

“At camp,” Jason says slowly, his hands resting limply in the loam. Behind the frames of his glasses, his eyes are unfocused. “One of your…first days there. I saw. You killed a hyacinth.”

An icy hand reaches into Nico’s chest, past his ribs, and closes around his heart.

“You saw that?”

Jason nods, still lost in the memory. “You were coming up to the principia, and you knelt to admire the flowers.”

To admire the flowers. Yes. That’s all he'd been doing. The walkway leading to the principia had been gorgeous, elegant flora lining the path in a rainbow of colors, a dozen or more different varieties in bloom. And Nico had only wanted to appreciate their beauty. To breathe in the fragrance of something so alive. 

“As soon as you touched it,” Jason says, “it died.”

Nico flinches.

“I was— I was nervous,” he says anxiously. “You and Reyna had asked to see me, and I was afraid you would decide I couldn’t stay. Couldn’t— be trusted.”

“I…” One of Jason’s hands comes up to rub the back of his neck, smudging dirt all over himself. “When I saw that, I had my doubts. But the way you reacted — like you were scared of yourself.” He shakes his head, his eyes sliding over Nico but with the distinct impression of looking beyond him. “I thought you must not have done it on purpose.”

“I didn’t.” Nico feels sick. He doesn’t know what to do here. Jason can’t even look at him. “I had never done it before, not by accident. I was scared.”

“And then I saw something else,” Jason says, blinking repeatedly. He pulls his glasses down the bridge of his nose and rubs his eyes with grimy hands, leaving the impression of twin shiners behind. But when he pushes his glasses up again, his gaze is sharp and focused. He faces Nico, straightening his shoulders. “That night, I watched you plant a new hyacinth.”

Nico stares. The ground underneath him might as well be thin air. “You…you saw that?”

“It was late,” Jason says, perfectly clear now, growing more certain every second. “I mean, later than anyone should have been up and about, but I left something in the principia, so I went back to get it, and when I came out, you were there. Kneeling by the flowers, just like that morning.”

Nico vividly remembers this. The wilted hyacinth had haunted him that whole day, a lethal combination of guilt and fear in equal measure. Something beautiful and alive was now ugly and dead, because of him. If he could do that to a flower, without even meaning to, what could he do to another person? What if he could stop someone’s heart on contact? How could Nico ever trust his own touch again?

And then something else had arisen, the way a new substance can emerge from two chemicals interacting. Determination. Nico may have been a child of death, but damn it, he could be more than that. He had to be more than that.

“I killed something,” Nico says hollowly. “I wanted to give something else life. To atone.”

Jason puts his dirt-stained hand over the knee of Nico’s equally dirt-stained jeans.

“Nico, I watched you plant that flower. I saw…” He hesitates. “I saw you pray. I couldn’t hear you, but the way you just…” He shakes his head, obviously overcome by the memory. “You didn’t do it for anyone else. You weren’t trying to prove anything to the Romans, you were just trying to make up for your mistake.”

“I didn’t know you were there,” Nico says weakly. How long had Jason stood in the shadows of the principia, a silent observer, as Nico mourned for one dead flower?

Jason ducks his head for a second. “I thought— I didn’t want to embarrass you,” he admits. “I figured you would misunderstand me if I said I had been watching you.”

Well, that’s true enough.

“I forgot,” Jason says, which is a familiar sentence out of his mouth. He grips Nico’s leg tighter. “But now I remember, and I was right. It was important. The timing was important.”

“What timing? What are you talking about?”

“My whole life, I had this feeling like I wanted to be more than who my father was,” Jason says. “I mean, you know. Big Three dad. They named the camp for him. Big shoes to fill, and it wasn’t that I didn’t want to fill them, but a small part of me was always thinking, why me? Why can’t someone else lead? You know?”

Nico nods. He does know.

“And then you came along,” Jason says. “The only other Big Three kid I had ever met. And yeah, at first, you seemed like the quintessential descendant of Pluto.”

“Scary, unapproachable, and surrounded by death?”

Jason breathes a laugh. “Yeah. But then I watched you plant a flower.” A slow-growing smile starts at his lips, then spreads up his cheekbones and illuminates his eyes. “The son of death. Nurturing life. Showing remorse and empathy for the living thing he’d killed, that he didn’t even mean to kill.” There’s impossible brightness in Jason’s gaze. “You were so much more than just the son of Pluto. And I thought: if he can do it, why can’t I?”

Nurturing life. Like now, Nico thinks, deliberately closing his fingers around the base of a strawberry plant. That instance, the one Jason is talking about — that had been the beginning of a chain reaction in Nico, turning all of his fear and self-doubt into stubborn conviction. The slow dawning of his refusal to being bound by his father’s name. He would always be Hades’s son, but sooner or later, he had to become his own man, write his own story, choose his own fate. Be Nico di Angelo, and decide who exactly Nico di Angelo would be.

He’d known then who he wanted to be. Someone who protects. Preserves. Sustains. Someone who accepts death and who cultivates life, who one day strikes a balance between light and dark.

He’s not that person yet. But he’s a hell of a lot closer than he once was. And it began with that hyacinth, planted under moonlight.

To which Jason bore witness.

If Nico believed in coincidences, he would call this one. As it is, he tends to believe that everything happens for a reason. Nico was fated to plant that flower. Jason was fated to watch.

“I’m telling you, Nico, it was you who got me thinking about how I could be more than just Jupiter’s son,” Jason says. “You really opened my eyes. And then a month later, when Juno took me…” He chews his lip. “I didn’t remember that moment until now, but I remember how I felt afterwards, like I wanted to just — do something spontaneous, something completely out of character. Surrender my rank and figure out what Jason Grace could do that Jupiter couldn’t. Even when I had amnesia, and even after that, I still had that feeling. It’s what made it so easy for me to choose Greek, to promote Frank as praetor, and then to stay here.” His fist knocks a quick pattern against Nico’s chest. The rhythm is indistinguishable from Nico’s heartbeat. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised it started with you.”

Nico, historically not great with emotions, pulls Jason in by the shirtfront and kisses him in all his dirt-smudged glory. Jason laughs, but he doesn’t break away to do it, so it vibrates over Nico’s lips and travels down his throat like a mild electric shock.

“What?” Nico asks, pulling away.

Jason’s smile looks indestructible. “Nothing.”

“You laughed.”

“I like when you kiss me,” Jason says, with the sun shining from his dimples. “That’s all.”

Nico blushes. “Oh.”

“I didn’t mean to stop you.” Jason’s lips twitch. “But while I’m at it, I guess I should thank you.”

“Thank me for what?” For kissing you? Nico considers, but he’s not that deluded. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You always say that,” Jason says, “after doing something amazing.”

This blush is not going anywhere, anytime soon. “Well, I didn’t do anything on purpose. I didn’t know you were watching.”

“Exactly. You inspired me without even meaning to.” Jason cups his face, so tender. Always. “Then and now.”

“It’s like you want me to kiss you,” Nico says, because he can’t take a compliment to save his life.

But Jason only grins. “I do want you to kiss me.”

Out of respect for Jason’s request, Nico kisses him again. 

This time, Jason doesn’t laugh.

Nico twists Jason's shirt into his fingers, right over his hips. Jason buries his hands into Nico’s already-tangled hair. A cool breeze rustles the plants on all sides and tickles their exposed skin.

Jason is gentle. Not like Nico is fragile, but more like Nico is worth taking his time. He breathes, “Sorry if I get dirt in your hair.”

“Don’t care,” Nico murmurs.

If only Nico from Camp Jupiter could see him now. Kissing a beautiful boy in a field of living things. 

I did this, he thinks. I nurtured this.

#jasicobingochallenge2024 #jason remembers nico #fanfiction #tw slight self destructive thoughts BUT just for a second #he's fine guys #jason grace #nico di angelo #jasico #jasico fic #pjo #pjo fic #fic #my fic #my writing #stuff #this user is NORMAL about a son of death who takes up fucking gardening she is regular and not thinking any untoward thoughts about it #she is certainly not obsessing over her own symbolism. NO SIR. #grey. it was this one #anyway!!!!!!!!!!!! have fun guys!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! have fun in the garden with the boys!!!!!!!!!!!!! #wow it is in fact past midnight #i was honestly going to do this earlier than midnight and then it just did not happen #i am not keeping up with my prompts very well yall i am several days behind #but that's okay because honestly ive already done more writing this month than i wouldve without the bingo #like by leaps and bounds #so it's okay. whatever i do is what i do and if i don't black out the card then so be it #and if i do black it out but it takes me more than a month that's also just life! #but in the end jasico fans have more jasico fanfiction and isnt that the ultimate goal we're all working toward #not world peace or any of that shit but sufficient jasico fanfic? yes? #yes.

[attemptsonherlifepdf]

bojack horseman and bo burnham: the art of acting like you’re acting and the comedy of misery

at the core of bojack horseman, raphael bob-waksberg’s 2014 comedy, is a story about the relationship between performance and depression. the protagonist of this renowned tragicomedy is best described as a sympathetic villain; he is shown to clearly be in the wrong across various events of the show, and is explicitly referred to as a bad person, but the audience is granted deep access to his personal struggles, resulting in some portions of the audience finding themselves on bojack’s side. the duality of his character is complex, but can be broken down into some core components, that all stem from the impacts of stardom and performance. the standup comedy of bo burnham arguably echoes this sentiment in real time. having been a performer from a young age, burnham creates work that serves as a satirical commentary on the life of entertainers. he uses original songs to explore the reliance upon and resentment for his performative nature both onstage and within his personal life. both the comedian and the netflix show are widely understood to be thinly veiling their critiques of the entertainment industry behind a particular brand of witty and absurd humour.

both bojack and burnham’s content openly criticises their audiences and explicitly states the manufactured nature of the narrative the audience is fed. in the fifth season of bojack horseman, the show satirises itself by having bojack star in a police procedural drama, parts of which are actively written by other characters to reflect events of bojack’s life. the titular character he plays, philbert, is the epitome of selfish male angst, and an example of what bob-waksberg’s show could have been; another story about a sad and angry man whose guilt supposedly makes up for the people he has hurt. according to bojack, philbert teaches us ‘we’re all terrible, so we’re all okay’, an interpretation that is harshly disputed by diane: ‘that’s not the point of philbert, for guys to watch it and feel okay. i dont want you, or anyone else, justifying their shitty behaviour because of the show.’ this moment is a direct reaction to some of the online reception bojack horseman has received. various circles of the show’s fanbase have found themselves relating to the protagonist to the point of defending his untoward behaviour, a response not intentioned by the show’s creators. this is not the only example of bob-waksberg’s ability to make his work self-evaluative. in season six’s exposure of bojack and sarah lynn’s problematic relationship, characters question their sexual encounter from the first season. the writers use this as a way of examining their own choices, and the harmful tropes they played into when using this exploitative sexual encounter as a gag. this self-evaluative quality is what sets bojack apart as a show that assesses the performance it participates in, much like the comedy of bo burnham.

bo burnham is known for directly addressing his audience, particularly in terms of discouraging idolisation and parasocial relationships. some examples of this manifest as responses to hecklers rather than a planned bit in the show, for instance:

heckler: i love you!

bo: no you don’t

heckler: i love the IDEA of you!

bo: stop participating!

he actively addresses the issues posed by being an entertainer, and encourages the audience to understand and recognise that his onstage persona is just that: an exaggerated persona. not once does burnham claim to be fully authentic onstage, and even moments of authenticity we see in his latest special, inside, are staged. we make the assumption that having the physical setting of a stage stripped away grants us a more personal look at the entertainer’s life, but he makes it clear that even in his own home we still see the aspects he has carefully constructed rather than the full truth. arguably though, parts of the show really are authentic; in his monologue during make happy, bo deconstructs his own show in a way that is similar to bojack horseman’s later seasons, admitting that all he knows is performing and thus making a show about the more mundane and relatable aspects of life would feel ‘incredibly disingenuous.’ in his attempts to separate himself from this onstage persona he actually manages to blur the lines between what is acting and what is now part of his nature as a result of his job. this notion is echoed in bojack horseman as bojack’s attention seeking nature is attributed to his years acting in front of a camera every day.

bo suggests that the era of social media has created a space in which children’s identities mimic that of an entertainer like himself, describing the phenomenon as ‘performer and audience melded together.’ in this observation he criticises the phenomenon. bo attempts to force the audience to recognise the ways in which their lives are becoming shaped by the presence of an audience and to some extent uses his own life as a warning tale against this. he points out the way in which the ‘tortured artist trope’ means that your cries for help or roundabout attempts of addressing mature themes such as substance abuse, mental illness and trauma become part of that on stage persona and therefore become part of the joke. both bo and bojack address these topics in more discrete manners earlier in their careers, but this eventually becomes expected, and thus they are forced to explicitly detail their struggles with these topics in order to be taken seriously. even then, portions of the audience are inclined to see it as part of the persona or as something that fuels the creators creativity and thus does not need to be addressed as a legitimate issue. the emphasis on creating a character or persona promotes the commodification of mental illness: any struggle must be made into a song or a joke or a bit, must be turned into part of the act in order to have value. this actually serves to delegitimise these emotions and create a disconnect between the feeling and the person, as it becomes near impossible to exist without feeling as though you are acting. even when an artist’s cries for help become blatant, they continue to go ignored because now they serve the purpose of creating content that criticises the industry they stem from. online audiences can be seen as treating bo burnham and his insightful work as existing to demonstrate the negative effects entertaining can have, and because this insight is useful or thought-provoking to audiences, he is almost demanded to keep entertaining and creating. in response to this demand, his work becomes more meta and his messages become clearer, and the more obvious his messages, the more people he reaches. this increases audience demands and traps entertainers in a cycle fraught with internal conflict.

during bojack’s second season, bojack’s date asks him, ‘come on, do that bojack thing where you make a big deal and everyone laughs, but at the same time we relate, because you're saying the things polite society won't.’ this moment exemplifies how aspects of his genuine personality have now become a part of his persona and this is demanded of him in genuine and serious situations, undermining the validity of his emotional reactions. he immediately makes a rude comment to the waitress at the restaurant they’re in and satisfies his date by performing that character he has set himself out to be. some circles of the fan base have argued that bojack is written as a depiction of somebody with borderline personality disorder, offering a psychoanalytical lens through which to view this notion of performance. a defining symptom of borderline personality disorder is a fluctuating sense of self; having grown up on camera, being demanded to perform to others as young as six years old, bojack’s sense of self will have been primarily dictated by the need to act.  whether this acting is for the sake of comedy, or as a representation of masking his mental illness, when they need to act is taken away bojack entirely loses his sense of self and relapses into his addictions: ‘i felt like a xerox of a xerox of a person.’ burnham’s depictions of depression run along a similar vein; in his new special he poses the idea that his comedy no longer serves the same personal purpose it once did for him. he questions ‘shit should I be joking at a time like this?’ and satirises the idea that arts have enough value to change or impact the current global issues that we are facing. burnham’s ‘possible ending song’ to his latest special, he asks ‘does anybody want to joke when no-one’s laughing in the background? so this is how it is.’ implicit in this question is the idea that when the audience is taken away and there is nobody to perform his pain to, he is left with his pain. instead of being able to turn his musings and thoughts into a product to sell to the public, he is forced to just think about them in isolation and actually face them, an abrupt and distressing experience.

the value of performance and art is questioned by both bojack and burnham, particularly during the later years of their respective content. burnham’s infamous song, art is dead, appears to be a direct response to the question ‘what is the worth of art?’ he posits that performing is the result of a need for attention (‘my drug’s attention, i am an addict, but i get paid to indulge in my habit’) and repeatedly jokes throughout his career that the entertainment industry receives more respect that it deserves (‘i’m the same as you, im still doing a job or a service, i’m just massively overpaid’). his revelations regarding the inherent desire for attention that runs through all entertainers is frequently satirised in bojack horseman. bojack is comically, hyperbolically attention hungry and self-obsessed, and the show has a running gag in which he uses phrases along the lines of ‘hello, why is nobody paying attention to me, the famous movie star, instead of these other boring people.’ his constant attempts to direct the focus of others towards himself result in bojack feeling like ‘everybody loves you, but nobody likes you.’ his peers buy into his act and adore the comical, exaggerated, laughable aspects of his character, but find very little room to respond to him on a genuinely personal level because of this. interestingly, bojack appears to enjoy catering to his audience and the instant gratification it produces, whereas bo burnham becomes increasingly candid about his mixed feeling towards his audience. ‘i wanna please you, but i wanna stay true to myself, i wanna give you the night out that you deserve, but i wanna say what i think and not care what you think about it.’ he admits to catering to what audiences want from him, but resents both the audience and himself in the process as it reveals to himself which parts of his character are solely for the sake of people watching him.

within bojack horseman, this concept is applicable not only to the protagonist, but to the various forms of performer demonstrated in the plot. towards the show’s end, sarah lynn asks ‘what does being authentic have to do with anything?’ to which herb kazzaz responds, ‘when i finally stopped hiding behind a facade i could be at peace.’ this highlights the fact that because entertainers are demanded to continue the facade, they do not receive the opportunity to find ‘peace.’ this sentiment is scattered throughout the show, through a musical motif, the song ‘don’t stop dancing.’ the song stems from a life lesson bojack imparted to sarah lynn at a young age, and becomes more frequently used as the show progresses and bojack’s situation worsens.

sarah lynn is also used to explore the value of entertainers; in the show’s penultimate episode, she directly compares her work as a pop icon to the charity work of herb, arguing that if she suffered in order to produce her work. it has to mean something. she lists the struggles she faced when on tour: ‘i gave my whole life...my manager leaked my nudes to get more tour dates added, my mom pointed out every carb i ate, it was hell. but it gave millions of fans a show they will never forget and that has to mean something.’ implicit in this notion is the idea that entertainment is the epitome of self-sacrifice. there is a surplus of mentally ill individuals within the industry, largely due to the nature of the industry itself, but some may argue that the cultural grip the industry has, and the vast amounts of respect and money it generates annually, gives the suffering of these prolific individuals meaning.

the juxtaposing responses entertainers feel towards their audiences manifest as two forms of desperation: the desperation to be an individual who is held accountable, and the desperation to be loved and validated. we see both bojack and bo depict how they oscillate between  ‘this is all a lie’ and ‘my affection for my audience is genuine’, or between ‘do not become infatuated with me im a character’ and ‘please fucking love my character i do not know how to be loved on a personal level.’ bojack explicitly asks diane to write a slam piece on him and ‘hold him accountable’, similar to bo’s song ‘problematic’ in which the hook includes the phrase ‘isn’t anybody gonna hold me accountable?’ for his insensitive jokes as a late teenager. their self-awareness is what enables their self-evaluative qualities, but self-awareness is its own issue. bojack grapples with a narcissistic view of his own recognition of his behaviour before settling on a more nuanced, albeit depressing take. originally he makes the assumption that in recognising the negative aspects of himself, he is superior to those who behave similarly: ‘but i know im a piece of shit. that makes me better than all the pieces of shit that don’t know theyre pieces of shit.’ eventually, during his time at rehab he is forced to reconcile with the fact that self awareness does not, to put it bluntly, make you the superior asshole, it just makes you the more miserable one. the show does, however, make a point to recognise how the entertainment industry protects ‘pieces of shit’, prioritising their productive value over how much they deserve to be held accountable, demonstrated using characters like hank hippopoalus. the show itself obviously stems from the entertainment industry, as it is a form of media produced by netflix, one of the most popular streaming platforms available. bojack horseman and bo burnham represent the small corner of the industry that is reflective enough to showcase the damage it inflicts. this is powerful in terms of education and awareness, and urges audiences to question their own motives and versions of performance, but the reflection alone is not powerful enough to help the artists in question. burnham’s candid conversations surrounding his mental health continue to reveal a plethora of issues somewhat caused or sustained by the nature of his career. within bojack horseman, bojack is only able to stop hurting other characters when those characters construct a situation that forces him to face consequence, his introspection alone is not enough. while bojack ends on a message of hope, suggesting to the audience that reverting back to the status quo is not the only acceptable way for events to end, it leaves stinging lessons and social commentary with the audience regarding the unnatural and damaging narrative that performers live through. on a similar but markedly different note, bo burnham’s work and personal progression is playing out in real time, and not in a way that is as raw and genuine as it appears. each bit is planned, even the most vulnerable moments that appear unplanned and painful. his latest special is not entirely devoid of hope, but does translate to audiences as a somewhat exaggerated look around the era of social media and the development of performance, using himself as an example.

the absurdist humour that often acts as a vehicle for poignant statements or emotionally provocative questions is very specific to each media creator. bob-waksberg’s use of puns, tongue twisters and entirely ridiculous circumstances served to simultaneously characterise his points as an expected part of the show’s style of humour, similar to bojack’s emotional instability, but also to make them appear gut-punching in comparison to the humour. burnham’s work is similar in that poignant but blunt statements are often sandwiched between absurd and exaggerated jokes, making them stand out via contrast but not giving the audience too much time to dwell upon them as they are said. performance art is second nature to entertainers, and is presented a an issue that is infiltrating the general population via social media rather than solely affecting the ‘elites’. bojack horseman and bo burnham present the duality of artists simultaneously attempting to level the playing field and increase their chances of survival in the industry, and encourage audiences to know that everyone is bluffing and you’ll never have the right cards anyway.

i.k.b

#mine #bo burnham #bojack horseman #bojack analysis #bo burnham analysis #comedy #essay #analytical essay #diane nguyen #sarah lynn #inside bo burnham #make happy #bo burnham what #long post #bojack rewatch #bojack ending #bo burnham netflix #bo burnham special #bo burnham my beloved #bjhm #satire #raphael bob-waksberg #netflix #netflix special #original essay #copyright ikb #reblogs appreciated!

[pilfered-words]

Say more about this Baoshan Sanren conspiracy theory? :0

I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED.

So, the thing about Baoshan Sanren is that she's a mythological, fairy-tale figure. She's surrounded by rumor and legend and the one time she comes in contact with the main plot, it turns out to be completely made up. And we know what MDZS as a book (and CQL as a series) thinks of the reliability of rumor.

Maybe she existed once upon a time (in CQL, she basically must have, Lan Yi is probably not lying), but died a long time ago. Maybe she was made up from the beginning. We don't know much about her origins, even in the series, and nothing at all in the book. Neither do we know much about the first student of hers said to have left the mountain.

Then there's Cangse Sanren. She was WWX's mother, and she is said to have had a personality like his. Imagine for a second someone like that, who was largely self-taught, picking up cultivation a couple lessons at a time from anyone willing to teach her, coming into contact with the elite sects, their rules and their snobbery.

"Cloud Recesses holds lectures," a fellow rogue cultivator tells her. "Not for the likes of us, of course, you have to belong to a sect or at least have a famous teacher." And just like that, Cangse Sanren has an Idea.

She leans in closely to her acquaintance, and murmurs in a confiding tone, "I didn't want to mention it, my teacher does not want us dropping her name all over the place if we leave, but as it happens, I do have a teacher who is rather well known. She lives apart from the world, not wanting people to bother her, but do you think the Lan sect will let me in if I tell them that my teacher... is Baoshan Sanren?"

She drops the same question into a few other strategically chosen ears, and after that, she barely even needs to assert it: everyone already knows. All she needs to do is discourage anyone who tries to find out more or catch her out or ask her for favors. "Oh, no, I'm afraid I cannot ask Master Baoshan that, I can't ask her anything. You see, Master Baoshan does not like it when we leave the mountain. She says that if we are stupid enough to leave, we must never return."

Then she dies, and not even her son knows that the famous story is a lie.

(...this is getting long.)

Xiao Xingchen is somewhat more difficult. He does have a streak of mischief in him, but not this kind of mischief. I rather think he was actually raised by a recluse on a mountain. She just wasn't Baoshan Sanren. Or immortal. It's even possible that she wasn't a cultivator, and he picked up cultivation elsewhere.

Perhaps they quarreled and she forbade him to call himself her student; perhaps she had a bad reputation and forbade it for that reason. Something surely must have happened for XXC not to honor her publicly as his teacher. Because here's what I think happened:

I think XXC came down the mountain and fought some monsters, and when he was asked where he was from, he said that it was a mountain refuge, and that he asked that they not inquire further.

"What, like Baoshan Sanren?" someone asked, remembering the stories of CSSR.

"Something like that," XXC answered, laughing a little at the comparison.

And that was all rumor needed. The next thing XXC knew was that he was getting letters addressing him as "the illustrious student of Baoshan Sanren."

"What do I do?" he complained to Song Lan.

Song Lan shrugged. "Don't correct them. The elite sects hate being wrong. And it could be useful. It's not like Baoshan Sanren will bother coming off her mountain to catch you out. You don't have to actually claim it, just don't deny it when someone says it."

XXC gets used to the thought remarkably quickly. He feels guilty about it, but it doesn't actually come up all that often, and what's the harm, really. Unlike CSSR, he never accepts anything that is offered him only because of his supposed pedigree, and this soothes his guilt.

Then Xue Yang kills everyone in Song Lan's temple and blinds Song Lan. XXC takes him to a doctor they know. She says it's impossible to save SL's sight, but something about her hesitation makes XXC press.

She says that the only thing she can think of would need someone else's eyes to be damaged, and that is the kind of surgery that would ruin her reputation. "People are uncomfortable with someone who might harm them to heal someone else. I know my neighbors. They would admire my skill, but they would not trust me ever again. I am no famed immortal who can do miracles and live apart. I need to live with them."

"Then we will say that Baoshan Sanren did it," says XXC, and after some persuasion, the doctor agrees.

There are definitely some flaws in this theory. In the series, XXC says his teacher was Baoshan Sanren when he talks to WWX and the rest of them, even when WWX asks about his mother. I think he panicked. I think he saw members of the most elite sects out there, and just went with the story. He might have taken it back when WWX started asking about his mom, but there is no way he could have known her, even if the story was true, so he is able to extricate himself without more lies. And he does feel a connection to her, by now, this woman who might have been his shijie, who at least shared the experience of being raised on a mountain and coming down into a world that is richer and dirtier and happier and more miserable than they could have imagined. (She did not, in fact, share this experience, but he doesn't know that.)

In the book, he never actually says he is Baoshan Sanren's student in so many words. We hear it from LWJ, but he only knows it from rumors. What we do get is a story that he tells in Yi City, about an immortal who lives on a mountain and forbids her students to leave, and her students who have left anyway. The descriptions of Yanling Daoren and Cangse Sanren are unmistakable. But A-Qing cuts him off after CSSR, and we don't know what, if anything, he would have said about himself.

When I first thought of this theory, @irrealisms objected that this story is followed by XY's story about Chang Cian, and that it's thematically correct for XXC's story to also be very personal for him. That's... not false, but I think that it has become personal for him. Most of what he says is about Yanling Daoren and Cangse Sanren, who he did not know regardless. I have already said I think he feels a connection to them, and I think their story is almost as personal to him as if he really was their shidi. (XY, of course, believes XXC definitely is Baoshan Sanren's student, to the extent he thinks anything about it at all.)

So there it is. It's definitely not the intended reading, but there's something remarkably compelling about it to me anyway. (It's about the narrative parallels.) So: conspiracy theory.

#thank you and i'm sorry #baoshan sanren

[notmymainblog]

A Sirius Black x reader angst where he's always flirting with other girls and one day she's had enough and breaks up with him. its only then that he realises how much he loves and needs her, but she doesn't want him anymore. angst ending for sirius, but maybe reader could have a new good relationship or something?

Obsession

Ok, so this is good but also like horrible. Like if I weren’t me, I would cringe at this (i honestly still kinda do). I’ve had a tough time writing at all but a harder time writing Sirius because an angry blow torch and hand mannequin boy are stuck rent-free in my mind. So I um...mixed fandoms I CAN'T HELP IT OK this is what you get for giving me creative freedom ig 🙄  , But I will get through the requests.  

And at your request i will also rewrite this if you want LMAO

Master list

InteractiveFics

To use:

Download obvi. Click the icon (upper right by the search bar) in the first box to enter your name. If you did it correctly y/n should read as your actual name. Under that it will say something along the lines of “need to change something other than y/n?” there you can change anything you want.y/h/c and y/h don't work together so please enter y/ho if you're inputting your Hogwarts house

TW: Oh baby, get ready, kidnapping, semi-forced sex (coercion?) asshole Sirius, self-harm? Like scratching? Stupid fic that sucks, yandere Sirius which, yes, deserves a warning and a big one at that. Death threats, lol. Me simping for a psycho who desperately needs Chapstick.

Here's a song I like!

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It wasn't anything new. Not at all. It shouldn't be normal like this. But it was. Everyone wanted Sirius. Everyone. You often asked yourself why he chose you, but you had never come up with an answer, and neither had he. Sirius always laughed it off. Made a dumb joke. It was pointless.

Almost everything was pointless with Sirius. Making plans, sitting together, being partners in class, and it was incredibly pointless to try and object to sex.

It was always “oh, but y/n I need you so bad baby. Look at how hard I am. Just for you. So hard it fucking hurts. Oh y/n please, ”

So you always gave in. Before you were dating, every sexual exploit Sirius had was public knowledge. But he never told anyone about you. Most of the school didn't even know you were dating.

It was normal for Sirius to wink at a girl, put a hand on her thigh, compliment her before tucking her hair behind her ear, “I'm just joking y/n. I'm not fucking them. Don't be so dramatic.”

“You're not dramatic y/n, ” is what literally anyone else would say if you told them about it. But you didn't. Hell, not even the pillow you cried into knew why.

You had decided enough was enough.

“Sirius, we need to talk, love, ” you said as he tried to pull your shirt off.

He smirked “ooohh, I get it. You want to hear how fucking hard I am for you, how pretty you sound moaning my name?” he chuckled.

“N-no, I want to talk about something else, ” you whispered

“What? Do you have a piss kink or something?” he asked.

“No, Sirius, not everything is about sex!” you said, much louder than you intended to.

He nodded, “so it's your period, huh? It's ok, you can still blow me, ” he shrugged.

“No! It's about you being all over the other girls. All. The. Damn. Time. Every time I see you, a girl is hanging on your shoulder.” you said.

“Oh my god, y/n, you are the most dramatic woman I've ever met. Have you never had a friendly conversation before?” he scoffed.

“I've had plenty of conversations with other boys, and I didn't have my hand on their thigh the entire conversation,” you said.

“God, just calm down; why are you so emotional?” he sighed.

“why aren't you so emotional. Why aren't you worried that you made me sad? Do you even care?” you sniffled.

“Of course I care, but hon, we need to move past this. It's stupid, and I haven't really done anything wrong. It's fine, ” Sirius smiled, pulling at the waistband of your pants.

“Get off me, ” you groaned, pushing him away by his head.

“Ow ow ow y/n the hair! That hurts!” he whined.

You gave it an extra tug before storming into your dorm.

By the end of the night, your pillow was wet with tears and sticky with snot. You threw the cover off of it before washing your face. The cold water felt heavenly against your watery, itchy eyes and irritated nose. A couple of shaky deep breaths stilled your cries as you fell into the sweet release of sleep.

However, the morning was hell. The whispers and laughter were horrible. The sympathetic looks were even worse.

‘I don't need to be coddled; I'm not made of glass.’ you huffed to yourself.

You sat down at the y/ho table and began to eat. You felt a hot presence next to you.

“Hello, Dabi, ” you said dully.

“Hey princess, finally ditched dog breath, I see, ” he said with a grin.

“Yeah, why do you care?” you asked, stabbing your pancake aggressively.

“Because I take broken girls and manipulate them into doing whatever I want over a week because I'm so good at gaslighting. Got that from my dad, ” he winks.

Your brain loaded for a second, “excuse me, you what?”

“You heard me, sugar. But we both know you're much too smart and much too pretty for it,” Dabi said, leaning in.

“This is literally part of gaslighting Dabi, ” you laughed.

“Shut up, or it won't work, ” he whispered.

“Ah, alright, I'm so flattered that I'm special and your feelings are real, ” you said in a robotic voice.

“Ha!” he laughed, “you're not bad y/n we should be friends, ” he said.

You nodded, smiling, “alright.” making friends had always been hard for you so to have this opportunity fall in your lap was a blessing.

“Um, but my other friend is-” he started.

“Weird?” you interrupted.

“Um yeah, you could say that. Not to Tomura's face, but you could say that” he smiled

(and that ^^ is what happens when you forget to turn the writer's block sub back on)

A couple of days passed. Tomura kept to himself mostly. Calling him and Dabi friends was a stretch; they were enemies who enjoyed each other's company was the best way to describe it.

However, when Tomura did come around for the first time, he was obviously anxious, taking off his gloves and scratching his neck more than usual, leaving red marks.

(we need to have soft Tomura moments, but cannonly he would be a Slytherin and act the part, but I just need more of him being baby)

At one point, you simply yanked his hand away from his neck (by his arm, obviously). He stared at you, and for a second, you thought you were done for.

But his look turned to one of adoration, and he hasn't left you alone since. No one had done anything like that for him, which was... Surprising since it was literally the bare minimum. Nevertheless, he followed you around like a lost puppy dog.

He ate with you, read with you, partnered up with you (leaving a very annoyed Dabi to fend for himself). You could've easily discouraged him by ignoring him, but you felt bad for him. If you were honest, it felt good for someone to finally need you. And he really was a sweet boy. He just needed someone to talk to.

And not in a hurl-playful-insults type of way. He would talk to you about his hobbies, his favorite muggle games, everything. It made your heart warm. He kept his gloves on a lot more which made teachers and students alike sigh in relief.

Usually, he'd leave at least one hand free as a sort of “ill disintegrate your ass if you piss me off” way. But he wanted to be careful around you.

“y/n?” he said, sitting beside you.

“Yes, Tomura?” you smiled, closing your book. You learned quickly that if you weren't giving him your undivided attention, he would get discouraged and moody.

“There's a dance on Friday, ” he said, looking at you.

You really didn't understand where this was going. Sirius has never asked you to dance. He just got ready and dragged you with him until he found another girl to dance with.

You nodded, “yeah are you taking someone?”

“N-no, but I was wondering if you wanted to go with me?” he asked timidly.

“Id love to, anything for you, my friend ” you smiled.

It was rare that someone gave him something he wanted without the threat of instant death. Even if it was just as friends, he was thrilled.

“And I, ” Dabi interrupted, “ want both of you to hang out with me. Because everyone else is “scared ill light them on fire”? What bullshit, ” he muttered.

“You would, Mr. anger issues. They have a good reason to be sacred. Most of us don't want to be toasted like a marshmallow, ” Tomura shot back, beginning to engage in their usual banter.

And so the night ended with laughter, but for Sirius, things hadn't been as fun.

“You miss her! Admit it!” James cried.

Sirius punched the wall, “yes! Yes, I fucking do, James! Ok! I get it! But her new “friends” will literally cremate me if I get close to her! And one of them is basically obsessed with her.” he huffed, “such a creep, ”

Remus grabbed Sirius by the shoulders, “I'm a nice guy, but Sirius, you did this to yourself. Even after she told you about how she felt you made...you made...” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “I still can't believe you made a fucking period joke!”

“Jeez, Rem, it wasn't a joke, ” he said.

“Sirius, ” James said, “that's even worse,”

“Even James knows what he's doing, Sirius!” Remus cried, “ladies-man, my ass, you don't know what you're doing!”

“Girls like assholes, ” he shrugged. “I was born for this, ”

“At least he's self-aware, ” Remus muttered

“If she liked assholes like you, Sirius, she’d be fucking Dabi right now, ” James said.

“Make it up to her, ” Remus said, pushing him out of the room, “like right now!”

Sirius muttered something about a ‘burnt piece of toast looking man’ before sulking down the stairs.

He dragged his feet to the y/ho common room. The girls were like mosquitoes; they were bearable at first, but now they were really fucking annoying.

Sirius let out an audible sigh when he saw you weren't there, alerting everyone of his presence. And so the mosquitoes swarmed him again.

“Oh my god, get off, ” he finally groaned, pushing away from the group of pouting girls.

He dragged his feet up the stairs to your dorm, peeking in to make sure your personal blow torch wasn't there. What he did see pissed him off. More than anything ever had.

There you were with Shigaraki dabbing lotion on the scratches and taking care of him. He should be the only one you took care of. Him and only him. Hell, he would kill the wrinkly bastard if he had to. Take him away so you would only fall for him. Only him. He'd get rid of Dabi too. It didn't fucking matter to him.

The only thing that stopped him was the realization that, in a way, he sounded just like his parents—mindless killing. He swallowed his pride and knocked on the door.

“What's up, you fiery bastard?” you called to who you assume was Dabi.

“A fiery what?” Sirius called back.

You tensed, and Tomura placed a gloved hand on yours, squeezing softly.

“Come in, ” you said glumly.

“Hey, um, I just came in here to apologize and see if you wanted to go to that dance with me?” he asked.

Tomura reached a hand to his neck, but before he could start, you grabbed his arm again.

“Hey, what did we talk about? No scratching. I don't want you hurting yourself, Tomu, ” you said quietly.

The nickname hit him like a truck; he loved it. He loved it more than anything on earth. He loved you more than anything on earth- no, more than anything in any galaxy.

“Sirius, I’m already taking someone to the dance. And they're a lot nicer than you. So, kindly, fuck off.”

His eyes widened, and his mouth almost dropped open, “who?” he said.

“None of your business, ” you scowled.

“They'll never love you the way I did, sweetie. You know that. I'm the only one who could really love you.” he cooed.

Tomura was filled with rage, but he clenched his hand at his side instead of scratching. He didn't want to disappoint you.

“Y-you love me?” you whisper.

“Of course I do baby, I love my girl more than anything on earth, ” he smiled, but it never reached his eyes.

“Whos gonna love you better than I can, huh?” he asked, “nobody, that's who, ”

His lips moved of his own accord, “You're wrong, ” Tomura said.

“Oh yeah?” he growled, “who? Blow torch boy?”

“No, ” he said, standing up and taking a breath, “me, ”

Sirius just looked at him and laughed, “please, you'll fucking kill her. Literally. What will she do with gloved hands? They can't touch you like mine do, baby, ”

That snapped you right out of your trance, “oops, I must have forgotten that you're missing a brain, Black. You only think with your dick, which, by the way, isn't even that great.”

“And for your information, as long as he has one finger covered, he can touch me, ” you huffed, standing up as well.

This was it, the moment Shigaraki had waited for; it should have been more romantic and without your ex, but still, this was it. Someone cleared their throat from behind Sirius.

“You're blocking the door, dog breath. Get out of the way or say goodbye to your eyebrows, ” Dabi said.

He moved reluctantly, and Dabi flopped down on your bed.

“If you're gonna take this asshole back, you should gimme a chance. I bet I fuck better than him, ” he smirked.

“We’ll talk later without these assholes—astronomy tower. 3:00 am,” Sirius mumbled before shutting the door.

You wrapped your arms around Tomura, rubbing his back.

“I'm not going. Don't worry, ” you said, knowing how anxious Tomura was.

He nodded and wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head.

“Wait, wait, wait a fucking minute. Did I miss a season? Can I have a fucking recap?” Dabi groaned.

And so, you talked late into the night with an arm around Tomura and a very angry Dabi who was sent into the bathroom to take a cold shower after almost burning your bed.

Sirius waited for over an hour for you at the tower. He stomped on the roses, pulling off each petal before throwing them off the tower.

“Those assholes, ” he growled, breathing heavily, “I'll kill them. I'll fucking kill them both of them, ” he rambles for a good thirty minutes before stomping down the stairs.

He slammed the door to his dorm open.

“She didn't fucking show that fucking asshole stole her from me, and I'm gonna kill them both of them and make her all mine, ” he rambled.

“Merlin Siri, calm down. Unless you want to spend the rest of your life in Azkaban (😳), you'd better get ahold of yourself.” James yawned.

“For the love of god, go to fucking sleep, Sirius. She's not vanishing tomorrow.” Remus groaned.

“You're a genius!” Sirius shouted.

“Oh my god. Sirius, no. Bad dog. Don't kidnap girls you like... Or well are obsessed with. Love is a stretch, ” Remus said, going back to sleep.

But come morning, you were not, in fact, at breakfast.

Sirius almost vomited when he saw you with your arms around Tomura. Tomura Shigaraki, the perpetual thorn in his side. He carefully lifted you and carried you to a small closet no one but him even knew about before binding and gagging you. He thought it was so sweet. Waking up slowly, not knowing where you are.

When you're y/e/c eyes met his, your face contorted into disgust. It broke his heart to watch his brainwashed little girl so mad at him.

He stroked your cheek, “Oh baby girl, I hope you can clear your mind from all the silly things they told you. It would be lovely if it were before the dance, but... A two-day timeframe may not do the trick.” he tutted, placing a kiss on your nose.

You tried to squirm away but just backed yourself into a corner. Sirius muttered a silencing charm before removing the gag.

“Dabi is gonna burn you to bits, Sirius, ” you growled.

“Whatever makes you happy, my love, you are allowed to think. Even if you're oh so wrong. Even if I know they don't care for you the way I do, ” he cooed.

“Oh my god, Tomura is gonna flip, ” you said, “shit, I hope he's ok, I hope he doesn't think I just left him, ” tears brimmed your eyes.

“What if he hurts himself? Oh god, Sirius, please let me go, ” you pleaded.

“No can do, sweetheart, ” he smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips as you tried to turn away.

It felt like days, even though it was only a couple of hours. Sirius kept telling you that only he loved you. How a silly little girl like you could never survive without him. That no one else wanted you this way.

But finally, after dozens of prayers to whoever's listening, James and Remus opened the door.

“What are you doing here?” Sirius cried, “you'll ruin it! Everything I've worked for! You weren't even supposed to know where we were!”

“We have a fucking map, Sirius. This is so creepy. You're so creepy. Get out of here, man.” Said James as he pulled him out by his hair.

Remus made quick work of the knots before setting you free. After giving them both two quick hugs, you rushed to breakfast. Your eyes scanned the hall for light blue or spiky black hair. You found the latter first.

“Hey Dabi, where's Tomura, ” you asked.

“Wouldn't you like to know, ” he sneered over his coffee.

“Yes, I would like to fucking know flame boy, ” you said.

“How can you just leave in the middle of the night and demand to know where he is?” he said, slamming a fist on the table.

“Cause I was taken from my bed by a psycho and spent the last couple hours trapped in a closet!” you whisper shouted, showing him the rope marks.

“I'm gonna incinerate him; he's in your dorm still. Didn't wanna leave.” Dabi whispered.

The walk back to the y/ho dorms felt excruciatingly long. When you finally burst through the door, your heart broke. There was Tomura nearly shaking, crying softly with bleeding scratches on his neck.

You crouched in front of him, reaching up to touch his face before he grabbed your arm.

“You left, ” he whispered, “was it for him? Please just tell the truth,”

“I didn't want to Tomu, ” you said, “He took me, and I couldn't stop him. He put me in a closet, and the whole time, I was thinking about you nonstop. I was worried, and I missed you. I just wanted you. You make me feel so safe, darling,”

He pulled you into his chest by your arm; you never realized how strong he was. He made slow circles on your back with his finger.

“It's ok, ” he whispered, “it's ok, ” he too saw the marks from the rope on your wrist.

(how do I fucking end this. Do I kill off Sirius? AH, I know).

The days felt shorter with Dabi and Tomura by your side. Suddenly it was the day of the dance. You woke up to soft kisses on the back of your neck.

“Good morning, love, ” you said sleepily.

“Good morning to you too, y/n, ” he whispered.

The day went by quickly; the teachers gave up on teaching, and before you know it, you were slipping on your dress.

Your hands clenched into fists as you walked past Sirius, feeling his eyes on you. You were too scared to tell anyone. And who would they believe? The golden boy who was the purest kindest family member, or you?

You felt his eyes on you as a burnt and stapled arm wrapped around your shoulders. He pointed to a very nervous Tomura.

“Please, for the love of god y/n calm the man down, ” he said.

The closer you got, the more you blushed; he was amazing. He was the most beautiful boy you’d ever seen. You stopped in your tracks as a girl stopped to talk to him.

This was it; it was the end; it was happening again. But instead, Tomura shook his head, and the girl walked away. You ran over to him (as fast as your shoes allowed) and wrapped your arms around his neck.

You pressed a soft kiss to his neck, “you're so amazing, ” you whispered

His arms wrapped around your waist, “I'm happy you think so, my dear, ” he smiled.

And you spent the night dancing as Sirius broke the glass he was holding in his hand. But he'd get you again someday, he knew it.

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This was long. This was pathetic. This was horrible. The was unrealistic. This was cringe-worthy. This was dramatic. I should probably make a side account. It all started with a playlist on my recommended and idk which mental illness caused this or if I'm just dramatic, but my brain immediately latched on to this burnt piece of toast, and after watching the show, this wrinkly psycho. It's been hard to write, period. But also hard to write Sirius, but I will power through, I promise.

#Sirius Black #Sirius orion black #sirius black x reader #sirius x you #sirius black angst #angst #sad? #mha #mixed fandom #Harry Potter #harry potter marauders #marauders era #this sucks so good

[lanzhanlanzhan]

Wei Wuxian - On Loving Lan Wangji

(Or 'I was supposed to be writing fanfiction but my character notes got ahead of me and now I have another meta')

One of the most charming things about CQL!Wei Wuxian is this: up to the end, I don't think he has realized that he is in love with Lan Wangji.

I mean, we know. The world around them knows. Heck, I think even Lan Wangji knows, because bless this boy, I think he resolved his own 'I am in love with Wei Wuxian' arc even before the show's half-way point.

Wei Wuxian, though? I don't think so. Funny enough, in CQL-verse, there were already hints of something promising between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji even before Wei Wuxian's death, unlike in the novel where Wei Wuxian was completely in the dark and only developed feelings for Lan Wangji in his second life. CQL-verse though gave them that foundation of them being two people who were drawn to one another from the start, who became friends and even established a bond so close they can consider themselves as soulmates. Again, all these before Wei Wuxian even died.

I would like to once again send my heartfelt gratitude to Xiao Zhan for all those interviews that gave us a glimpse of his headspace as Wei Wuxian. In a few of these interviews, Xiao Zhan mentioned how part of Wei Wuxian's next life involved having to resolve things in the last one, and this actually included his learning to trust Lan Wangji again. 

In his old life, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had to struggle with a beautiful relationship on the verge of collapse, brought by Wei Wuxian's seeming refusal to let go of his ghost cultivation path, and Lan Wangji's conviction that Wei Wuxian had to return to sword cultivation because any other path would harm him. The tragedy of it all was that they were both in the right—Wei Wuxian required an alternative path to fight for what he believed was right despite having lost his golden core, and Lan Wangji (who did not yet know about Wei Wuxian's core) was also correct in that ghost cultivation was affecting Wei Wuxian's psyche. All these came to a head at Nightless City, with Wei Wuxian, heartbroken over having lost the people he fought so hard for, went against the whole cultivation world. In that state, he also saw that Lan Wangji was still against him, tried to stop him, even though Lan Wangji himself was still conflicted though his heart was still with Wei Wuxian in the end. 

Now, this time it would be Wei Wuxian's character song that makes things interesting. His character song seems to be set while he was in that space between his two lives, looking back at a life that strayed so far away from where his good intentions would have wanted it to go. He recounts his life, but interestingly and heartbreakingly, when we reach the chorus, although the words are actually never the same, the lines are nonetheless about the same single thing:

Chorus 1:

I have tried to take a jar of liquor with a smile

And once fought with the most beautiful person in Gusu

Chorus 2 (here, the lines dedicated to the subject are even longer):

I was once stunned by someone

And teased the cloud patterns with my fingertips

The sudden vibrations of a zither

I wonder why I am remembering these deep in my dream

Chorus 3:

I also once had someone in the mortal world

To love and to long for

The chorus always starts talking about Lan Wangji—and yet, it doesn't really sound like Wei Wuxian fully realizes how much this person means to him. He looks at it from a distance, perhaps because it was a life that was already over and he was regretful about how things had ended. The feelings are bittersweet—and just wow, those lines where Wei Wuxian calls Lan Wangji as "the most beautiful person in Gusu" are just too powerful for my poor, weak heart. Note though that with Wei Wuxian, this could mean either he did think of Lan Wangji as the most beautiful person in Gusu, or he just took it for granted that Lan Wangji was known as the most beautiful person in Gusu. Or it could be a bit of both, with not a lot of overthinking because... ah, Wei Ying, Wei Ying.

Fast forward now to after Wei Wuxian's resurrection. We know he and Lan Wangji were not in a good place because Wei Wuxian hid from him at first. He got anxious when he heard the juniors talking about Hanguang-jun, and actually discouraged them from calling him over. This was the man he once called his soulmate! How bad of a fall-out had theirs been for things to change so drastically. It definitely took some time for Wei Wuxian to feel comfortable around Lan Wangji again. 

Two things, I think, softened Wei Wuxian. First, Lan Wangji's drunken confession in CQL-verse was that he regretted the events leading to Wei Wuxian's death. It made Wei Wuxian realize why Lan Wangji was looking for him in the first place, all this time. He sought to comfort Lan Wangji and explained that he was not to blame. We can see Wei Wuxian was moved by how gently he took care of Lan Wangji that night, drunk as he was. 

Second was Lan Xichen telling Wei Wuxian about the events after his death, what punishments Lan Wangji endured and how he retained his faith and conviction about Wei Wuxian even after all of that. Even the story about their mother was telling; it was a glimpse of how strongly and stubbornly Lan Wangji loves someone, and how deeply that love goes, even if he does not say anything in words. Lan Xichen reminded Wei Wuxian of how adamant and persistent Lan Wangji had been about saving Wei Wuxian in his past life. Wei Wuxian said that it was unnecessary for Lan Wangji to have done these things, to suffer through his loyalty to Wei Wuxian especially when Wei Wuxian was already dead. But somehow it must have proven something to him, too, and gave him a sense of security with Lan Wangji.

After these things, love (or at the very least, trust and attachment) just seemed to develop naturally from there. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are good together especially as "partners-in-crime", so to speak. They are a very effective team, and while this goes to show how naturally compatible they are, the adventures they go through just also strengthen the bond between them. What finally cemented their relationship in this second life, resolving any other doubts Wei Wuxian might have had with Lan Wangji, was that face-off at Lanling, where Lan Wangji had the opportunity to deny Wei Wuxian again in order to retain his respected status in the cultivation world. Lan Wangji refused, announced that he knew it was Wei Wuxian from the start, and told Wei Wuxian that it wasn't so bad, walking in this path of his. 

They were noticeably inseparable from there. What makes my heart sing about this is that this time, Wei Wuxian is more actively sticking to Lan Wangji. He needs no one else other than Lan Wangji, has complete faith in him. Back in Yi City, we saw how confident he was that Lan Wangji would win against Xue Yang, he was not even worried when he took the kids to safety. Then at the Burial Mounds, when he drew the spirit attraction enchantment on himself to drive away the corpses, he refused any other help, saying Lan Wangji was enough to protect him. 

There were many other instances. In Lotus Pier, he was constantly with Lan Wangji, and even presented him to his family. He accepted insults about himself from Jiang Cheng, but not even his guilt towards Jiang Cheng would allow him to let his brother insult Lan Wangji. Even his asking Lan Wangji to take him away from Lotus Pier after the confrontation with Jiang Cheng was telling, because Wei Wuxian used to be self-sufficient and was uncomfortable asking for help. But he was doing so freely with Lan Wangji. 

Even before entering the Guanyin Temple, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had a conversation about Wen Ning—another staple in Wei Wuxian's life—needing to find a life for himself. Interestingly, the thought that Lan Wangji (who was about as attached to him as Wen Ning was) similarly needed a life free from him did not even occur to Wei Wuxian. He would let Wen Ning go, but Lan Wangji stays.

Then, at the Guanyin Temple, when he found out that everyone seemed to know about his losing his golden core, Wei Wuxian checked with Lan Wangji first, asking, "So do you also know?" By this point, Lan Wangji had become a far first in his mind, far from everyone else. Wei Wuxian looks to him first, and before facing anything else that remained against him, he has to check first that things between him and Lan Wangji were okay.

This is also why the last episode is so heartbreaking. After the events at the temple, Wei Wuxian whisks Lan Wangji away and makes a run for it. Escaping did seem to be his intention, too, because when Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui—the most harmless, loyal people to them both—caught up to them, Wei Wuxian looked disappointed that they were caught.

Of course, he then learned that Lan Sizhui was none other than their beloved A-Yuan, and that was a heart-warming reunion all around. Eventually though, Lan Sizhui and Wen Ning said their goodbyes, and Wei Wuxian turned to Lan Wangji, wondering where they would go. He never thought to even ask Lan Wangji where he would go, never thought it would be anywhere Wei Wuxian wouldn't be, because already he learned to be secure that Lan Wangji would never leave his side. In a way, he took it for granted that Lan Wangji would no longer leave him, but to be fair to Wei Wuxian, after everything that had happened and given his own feelings towards Lan Wangji, it was an easy assumption and mistake to make, to have that sense of security towards someone to whom one's heart was so drawn to.  

Somehow though, I do think their parting might have done Wei Wuxian some good. Again, Wei Wuxian is a dense motherf*cker not the type who digs deeply at his own mind and feelings (heck, the boy falls asleep during meditation, and never forget the 'Do you like Mianmian?' incident), doesn't label things and just rides those feelings out openly and freely. Time apart from Lan Wangji could have given him more space to assess what he was feeling for the guy, what it meant to miss him, how badly he was missing him, and so on. And we know he missed him badly, because who in their right mind would play their theme song atop a mountain, looking like they were about to cry? How afraid he was to look behind him and find that maybe Lan Wangji wasn't really there, that it was all in his head… oh, Wei Ying. 

So, yes. We did not get the "I love you's" (nor "that night, I really wanted to sleep with you!" lmao) in the drama, but this also makes sense because Wei Wuxian probably also did not even know, or did not know what to call it, or whatever the heck they were. But spending those days (perhaps even months or years) away from Lan Wangji were clearly difficult for him, enough for us to know that their reunion would bring Wei Wuxian such relief, he likely would never let Lan Wangji go again. And maybe, just maybe, when they meet again, that's when it all comes to Wei Wuxian, the feelings he isn't able to keep anymore, and he would just burst out, "I miss you! I love you!"

#so is friday meta night going to be a thing #how do these things just happen #but really though wei wuxian #i love this boy #and i especially love the CQL version of him #my eternal thanks to xiao zhan for giving us such a wonderful and lovable wei wuxian #i adore him #may he be happy with his lan wangji #meta #the untamed #chen qing ling #cql #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #cql spoiler #because i suppose this would be the entire show

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - The Brothers Hook

It’s time to say goodbye to Hook Foot. He won’t be missed. 

Summary:  Rapunzel takes everyone to see Hook Hand in concert. However, this brings back bad memories in Hook Foot, as he was always overshadowed and looked down on by his elder brother. Hook Hand is revealed to be employed by the self-centered King Trevor who wants Hook Hand to play at the ceremony of the marriage between the Seal of Equis and his female mate. When Hook Foot sabotages his brother’s performance at the wedding he must face King Trevor in a dance off to save Hook hand’s career. 

The Episode Placement Is Indeed Wrong  

I talked about this last episode, but the ordering of episodes is confusing. 

The Brother’s Hook does come after Rapunzel: Day One in terms of production order and is placed after it on the Disney Plus, but it supposedly aired before Rapunzel: Day One originally and the events make more sense in that aired order. As they’re traveling on foot here because they lost the caravan, and they’re all stressed out and fighting in the first scene of this episode. Also it world explain Hook Foot’s absence in Rapunzel Day One. 

Yet why would they order things that way? Why hold off on resolving the Raps and Cass argument if you’re not going to even hint at it here? Why not place this earlier in the season so that you wouldn’t be dragging Hook Foot along in the Great Tree for no reason? 

It just goes to show how rushed and poorly planned out season two actually was. 

This is Another Pointless Parallel 

So Hook Foot is suppose to represent Cassandra here and Hook Hand is supposed to be Rapunzel in this scenario but like that doesn’t work for several reasons. 

For one, Rapunzel never discouraged Cassandra’s dreams. Cassandra herself just never opened up to tell her what those dreams were, and indeed even the audience don’t know what Cass’s dreams are now that she’s already achieved her goal of becoming a guard back in the first season. I don’t think even Cassandra knows what she wants. 

Second, Rapunzel and Cassandra’s conflict isn’t actually about ‘dreams’, it’s about control. Each wants to control the other, to be in charge, because they think themselves always right. Both equate ‘being right’ and a lack of criticism as validation and to them, and this show in general, validation is equated with ‘love and compassion’ and is the ultimate end all and be all goal for everyone. Even though that’s not how validation works and a it’s a very unhealthy mindset to promote. 

Third, no one owes you anything. Yeah, Hook Hand is a jerk here, but at the end of the day giving up on his dreams was Hook Foot’s choice. You are in charge of your own choices, and at some point you need to decide if you’re going to listen to rest of the world telling you no or have some self respect and do what you want because you want it. You don’t actually need anyone’s approval but your own. By making ‘validation’ the end all and be all of the narrative, it undermines characters agency and fails to teach people about self respect and accountability. 

Same goes for Cassandra, even more so in fact. She needs to be the one to get off her ass and try for what she wants. No one is going to hand it to her and Raps doesn’t owe her a damn thing. Cassandra is the only thing getting the way of Cassandra because time and time again the series gives her chances that she refuses to take for ill defined reasons. There’s nothing at stake for her to lose if she just left. 

Last off, no one learns anything from this. Cass gets nothing out of it despite being right there the whole time, and Rapunzel is too hypocritical and self centred to see that she is very bit the bully same as Hook Hand. Not because she crushes Cassandra’s dreams like the narrative wants you to think, but because she tries to insert herself and her views on to everyone.��

Bullshit

Once again, may I remind you that there is over twenty villians in this show and only four of them get redemptions. Four! And one of those four was Eugene’s doing not Rapunzel’s. 

The narrative does not support the ideas that it wants to push. If you want me to believe that Rapunzel does sincerely believe in second chances then you need to show her giving that chance to everybody equally. And no, not everyone has to take it, not everyone needs to be redeemed, but she needs to at least try. Especially if they’re a recurring baddie with a tragic backstory like Lady Caine’s.

Oh, and may I also remind you that currently a 15 year old orphan is rotting away in a jail cell because of the corrupt government and Rapunzel does not give a crap! 

The Song Is Sounds Good But It Adds Nothing

It doesn’t add anything to the overall narrative and it fails to add anything to the episode itself because it gives us no new information.  

This is extremely wasteful. Not only because Alan Menken and Glenn Slater are highly respected artists who are wasting their talents on crap like this, but also for pure budgetary reasons. Tangled has a limited budget for songs that is worked into the contract. Each season is suppose to get eight original songs and two reprises. (tho season three trades out one of those songs for an extra reprise) 

In an arc heavy series like this, with such a limited number of songs to convey information, then you need to choose where those songs go wisely. The writers did not choose wisely in this instance. 

Rapunzel You Are Not In A Position To Give Advice Here

This episode is foreshadowing for what season three would become. Which is a complete formula switch up that undermines the narrative’s goals. 

This is suppose to be a coming of age tale. That’s in its mission statement. It’s what the writers supposedly wanted to achieve according to interviews and the very pilot episode itself.

That requires Rapunzel learning and growing. She can’t be in the mentor role. She can’t be the one to give out sage advice if she is the one who is meant to grow the most. She not there yet. She’s not experienced enough to fulfill that place in the narrative.  

Season one may have been repetitive in it’s lessons but it at least tried to show Rapunzel owning up to mistakes and changing as a person, but here and in season three they toss that out the window and have Rapunzel teaching other people lessons instead. People who ultimately don’t matter to the overall narrative. 

Instead of showing her growing as a person and coming to fit in that role over time due to experience, it has the opposite effect of showing Rapunzel as being patronizing, selfish, and unworthy to rule. Because she has no grounds for having an opinion, no basis for her advice to go off of, no experience to back up what she says, and zero claims for being in charge except for being born in a classist feudal system. 

Had the narrative actually bothered to call out  this instead of just having Cass pitch a hissy fit over nothing, then we could have gotten a really complex character and unique moral to the show, but that’s not what actually happens. 

King Trevor Is the Saving Grace of This Episode

I don’t think the writers realize that Trevor isn’t the hateable douche that they believe him to be. 

Oh sure he’s not nice, he’s essentially the equivalent of an annoying ‘I want to speak to the manager!’ type customer. But there is a huge, huge difference between being a Karen and being a fascist dictator. One’s irritating and the other is actively malicious and a danger to people's lives. 

Frederic might be outwardly more pleasant but he’s still a person who abuses his power in order to harm poor people. Trevor is just a mother-of-bridezilla here and a perfectionist. Like big deal. 

 And to be honest Rapunzel isn’t that much better. 

Like you are a bully Raps. You’re every bit a pushy and demanding as Trevor is, particularly in season three. 

While she’s not actively malicious like Frederic, she’s still a danger to people because she refuses to acknowledge that the power she wields has an impact on others lives and that that impact can indeed be negative. 

There’s something called the banality of evil. That being simply mean to others isn’t how true evil spreads. It’s people refusing to challenge the system, and if you are a part of that system then you are a part of the evil it spreads no matter how nice you are outwardly. 

Rapunzel and the show at large, does not understand the difference between being nice and being kind. It introduces the concept of flawed government and systems but then does nothing to actually challenge it. It forgoes the actual work it takes to make change happen by focusing on easy outs and proformative progressivism. 

Trevor does more than either Frederic or Rapunzel here with this one line alone than they do in three full seasons. 

Eugene did indeed commit a violent crime, no matter how much the show tried to present such a crime as ‘funny’. Trevor is in his legal rights to prosecute the person who tried to kidnap his child/pet and assaulted his personage. 

Yet he’s actually granting mercy here. More than that, he’s inviting them to his child’s/pet’s wedding. He’s offering friendship when he could have had them killed. Because Tevor, for all his faults, recognizes the power the that he wields and then makes the conscious decision not to abuse that power. 

Moreover over he acknowledges the difference between what is a personal offense and not a an attack on his kingdom as a whole. What Eugene and Frederic did could have been considered an act of war and Trevor never even considered that an option. 

It’s sign of bad writing when the person we’re supposed to consider a jerk and a recurring antagonist is more compassionate than the main heroine herself. Even as he jeers and makes an arse of himself. 

This is the Point Where Rapunzel’s Characterization Buckles and Breaks 

At first glance this seems like growth. She’s now assertive and taking charge, and Hook Hand did indeed had this coming, but in context of the greater narrative and how Rapunzel’s character develops past this episode, this is the point where the wheels start to come off. 

Rapunzel is a hypocrite. We’ve established this as a fundamental part of her characterization back in season one and it’s the driving force behind all of the main conflicts with her in the first two seasons. But before now, her hypocrisy at least had consequences. It caused enough problems that if you were paying attention you could see it for the flaw that it was.

But here her hypocrisy is presented as being right. She looks over Hook Hand even as she tells him not to look down on others. She dictates to him how his relationship with his own brother should go, when she has zero context for said relationship. She’s heard only one side of the story and only a piece of it. She doesn’t know what actually went down between them while they were growing up nor does she honestly care why Hook Hand does what he does. Even as she asks him why. 

Yet she is rewarded for this behavior. She’s never called out as wrong. The narrative bends over backwards to accommodate her and reinforces her views. Without direct consequences a character’s flaws are rendered meaningless, and so the character will only frustrate the audience rather than endear themselves to us. 

That is the opposite of what you want to achieve in a story. You want to the audience to like you’re main characters, or at least find them entertaining in their awfulness. Making them right all of the time, even when they’re wrong sabotages this goal. 

Trevor’s Still the Better Person Here 

Like it may not have been Hook Hands fault, but at the end of the day he did screw up at his job and a paying customer has the right to be upset and refuse to work with you again or even demand their money back. That’s what being self-employed means. It’s part of the risk you take as being a contractor.  

Trevor’s not being unreasonable here just because he raised his voice and wants Hook Hand to leave the wedding premises. Yeah the insults are uncalled for, I’ll give you, but remember that Frederic locked a tailor in a stockade for accidently ripping a robe; that he has the ability to fix if he wasn’t locked up. 

And he resolves conflicts and personal insults with a dance off! 

What happened when someone called Frederic out for being a poor leader and endangering lives, oh yeah they wound up in jail! 

Also This Episode’s Big Climax is a Fucking Dance Off

Out of all the low stakes conflicts in this show this is the lowest. 

And it’s coming right off The Great Tree and the big Cassandra vs Rapunzel fight. This shouldn’t be here. It’s throws off the pacing the tone. 

Well I Guess Trevor Kept HIs Word, Which Is More Than What Frederic Would Do 

Like Trevor is defeated and he does indeed complain about losing, but everyone is apparently free to leave afterwards and Hook Hand still has a career so I guess Trevor kept his side of the bargain. Even though he has no reason to and no one to hold him to account for it. He just has a code of honor I guess. 

Meanwhile, Frederic throws a teenager in a dungeon after promising to help him and completely ignores his supposed friend Quirin being encased in amber.  

So What Was the Point In Bringing Hook Foot Along Again? 

What did Hook Foot add? What did he bring to the story that no other character out there could bring? What does writing him out of the story now achieve, and why couldn’t he have been left out of the narrative all together? 

If your answer to all of those question is ‘Nothing!’, then congratulations you have more sense than the showrunners. 

I have seen a few people get angry and suggest that Lance should have been the one to go because getting rid of Hook Foot meant getting rid of the shows main disabled rep, but that’s ignoring that getting rid of Lance would mean getting rid of the shows only real black representation as well. Because tokenism isn’t real representation.  

Yet for all of how poorly handled Lance’s character was, he still has more reason to be there than Hook Foot. He has a unique connection to one of the main characters that, once introduced, would be hard to ignore. There’s nothing connecting Hook Foot to the plot or the main characters, and that’s why he shouldn’t have been in the show at all. Regardless of how much you may have liked him. 

Destiny Isn’t a Goal!!!

How many times do I have to say this!? 

A goal needs to be specific. It needs to have logical motivation behind it. It needs a clear obstacle to be overcome for the character to achieve it. 

A vague ‘destiny’ has none of those things. 

Conclusion 

Meh. That’s the word that best describes this episode and the majority of season two. It’s not the worst thing ever if you just want to shut your brain off for 30 minutes, but it’s not actually good either, and if you stop to think about any of it for more than two seconds it falls apart.  

#tangled #anti-tangled #hook foot #anti-rapunzel #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure

[confusion-core]

Story

Despite the title, this isn't a fictional story. This is a true account of my experience with self harm, because I've heard it can be therapeutic to write about it, plus I want somebody to hear this story, especially if it'll mean somebody else will be discouraged from doing it in the future. Trigger warning for references to mental illness, self harm, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, maybe ED. If you don't wish to read about any of those things, please don't read this. If you know me in real life, please don't read this and just pretend you didn't see it, especially if you're a close friend, because I don't want anybody close to me knowing about these things. Also if anybody tries to reblog this with a joke or make light of it, they will immediately be blocked.

I'm gonna start from when I was very young, so that you have full context, and work my way up from there, because every part of this is important to understand the whole story.

3 years old - I hadn't yet said my first words (I was non verbal until I was 7) but I taken my first steps. This would be a cause for celebration, but honestly I wasn't really in the mood for celebrating. This next bit's kind of shaky because a lot of it is from 2nd hand accounts and I have trouble remembering from around this time, except for the days where I start remembering every detail of it. My mother was just starting to get the full effects of her thyroid problem, but she hadn't yet been diagnosed with it because she didn't trust the doctors apparently. Another thing she didn't trust was me and my one year older brother, and she thought we were out to get her. She'd spend hours alone in the living room crying and hiding from us, one of the few scenes I can regularly remember because I had/have a lot of dreams about how my dad would stand in front of the door, trying to convince us to not go in when all we wanted was to help her. I don't hold this against her, because she wasn't in her right mind at the time, but I do hold it against my father that he didn't send us to stay with somebody else for fear of somebody calling child protection services.

9 years old - My mother told me that I might have a thyroid problem like she and my uncle did, and I couldn't stop thinking about it because I knew that the one reason I didn't resent her was because she had no way of telling in that time with limited information, so if I didn't do my best to figure it out then I'd be doing the same to my kids, but I wouldn't have any excuses. I'd be letting them down, and that idea hurt me on a much deeper level than having been on the receiving end myself.

12 years old - My mother had forgotten about taking me to a doctor over time, and I never brought it up because I knew it'd lead to a conversation with her about how it affected me and I really didn't want to have that talk. Not then, not now, not ever. It's not that I thought she would be offended, but I knew it would break her heart to hear it from her own son. And so, at this point, I couldn't stop spiraling thinking about it, and every time I thought about it I'd get little flashes in my mind's eye of what I was there for, it lead to me laying in bed just shaking thinking of doing that to my children while knowing I could've done something about it and neglected to. One night, I just broke. I wanted to break something but I didn't have anything on hand, so I just picked up something sharp, maybe it was a razer I think, it might have just been a regular blade, and slashed it at my wrist. The first time didn't cut too deep, but after a moment I realised that the pain made everything else seem just a little less high-stakes. I did it again, and again, and again, the whole time still shaking and crying until I was a bloody, snotty mess. I did the same again the next day and the next after that etcetera for the next month or so, but everyday I'd cut just a little deeper. It did make me feel better, temporarily, but the cuts hurt like a bitch, I'd be whimpering from somebody laying their hand on my arm.

13 years old - A year later, I'd almost completely stopped when it came the time of year when I did it the first time, and I started feeling anxious and shaky all over again, and again I did it. At this point, I started feeling sick to my stomach at the thought of food, throwing up and starving myself for days at a time, and other times I wouldn't be able to stop eating. My mother found the scars, I told her it was a one time thing.

... then I did it again, the next year, and the year after that, and the year after that, and the year after that.

Around the 3 year milestone it stopped bringing me that sense of clarity, and just made me feel empty. Pain in general started making me itch for more, I'd fall over and suddenly all I'd want would be to bang my head one more time. I still feel that, and I recently found out that that's because you can become chemically addicted to pain, and I did. It was miserable, I started wishing that it would end. Last year, it almost did when I had my mouth full to bursting with painkillers, ready to swallow when when my mother's dog came into the kitchen. I panicked and spat them into the sink, and sat on the floor and cried. My dog comforted me, usually he's happy and energetic but he has amazing empathy and is seriously good at reading the room when it matters. People keep asking me why he suddenly became my favourite thing in the world overnight, and I just tell them he's cuter but in reality it's because I literally owe him my life. I would actually be dead if it weren't for him, and I love him for that, and the fact that he knew just how to help.

16 years old - New Year's Day, I was helping my family set up for dinner. Everything started looking kind of blue for some reason, I was getting tunnel vision and suddenly I felt dizzy, as if I were drunk. I wanted to mention this but my mother was saying something and I didn't want to interrupt, even though I couldn't understand a word she was saying, and being a pushover became my downfall. My vision went dark, but I could tell I was still standing, and I could see a bunch of shapes and lines in white in the darkness, and what appeared to be the outline of a person facing away from me. I couldn't see anywhere I was going, and I just stumbled blindly. After about 5 seconds, I felt something on the back of my knee and toppled, and as I hit the floor my vision suddenly came back. I was splayed out on the floor, my sister was looking at me and my mother and panicking, asking me what was going on, and I just kept telling her I didn't know. She said she was going to take me to a doctor, but never got round to it, and after a while I realised that it was a hallucination, since I still get them sometimes on much lower levels like hearing slide whistles and circus music. I digress, though, the night of that New Year's, I was still shaken by what happened and when I went to grab a glass in my bedroom I didn't close my hand and it smashed against the floor. I was still shaken, and in kind of a daze, and I took one of the shards and dragged it straight across my arm. Then several more times.

Now - it's been almost half a year since I last did it, and yeah, I still have nightmares about being an infant with a chemically imbalanced mother, and I'm still not sure if I have a thyroid problem or not, and I can't look at shadows without being reminded of New Year's Eve, but this is all shit I could've worked out in therapy. Now, I turn into a sniveling shaking mess acting like a scolded puppy whenever I hear a glass break, I can't listen to my favourite song because I listened to it while doing the deed once, and I literally have a chemical addiction to pain. None of the latter would've been true if I hadn't done it that one very first time, so to anybody who wants to "try it out" or "see what it's like", please, I beg of you, don't do it. It's not worth the youth it'll take away from you.

#tw sh #cw sh #tw ed #cw ed #tw mental illness #cw mental illness #tw suicide

[annaraebananawriter]

(Part One) I Want to Forget

Yellow again everybody!!! Guess who’s back? Sorry for the long delay in another oneshot, this year has been a bit stressful recently for everybody. As always, I bring to you some Dream Angst, which is apparently my specialty.

ALSO! I’ll say this here, and then again in the warnings. This oneshot involves Rape, and while it’s not shown explicitly, it is there enough to make a big appearance.

Fandom: Undertale, but specifically Dreamtale

Characters: Nightmare, Dream (Who belong to Joku), Original Character

Warnings: Implied Rape, some self harm, some self deprecation and I think that’s it? Pleas let me know!

Word Count: 2749

(Also, if you want to know the songs Nightmare sings in this, they are Here and Here. Happy reading!)

~oOo~

Dream sighed and swirled the drink around in his hand. The ice clinked against the glass and he propped his head on his arm, sighing. Someone shouted something in the background and he winced as the crowd cheered, the music becoming louder as it built up for a drop.

He was in an AU that he hadn’t learned the name of. Ink hadn’t let him know where they were going when he dragged him through a portal, through the streets and to this bar. He had said something about coming to unwind and have fun, as Dream had apparently been ‘no fun’ recently. Although, it was kind of pointless of that talk coming from someone who didn’t actually care about his job.

Anyways, Ink had left about an hour ago. Dream suspected that he had drunk too much and eventually forgot about the friend he dragged along. It was fine. It had happened before. Usually, Dream would just leave on his own after he noticed that.

He didn’t know why he was staying this time.

He stared at his drink. Maybe it was because he knew that Ink was right. He had been working himself rather hard recently. Nightmare had been attacking AUs left and right and while Dream understood the point of it—to help maintain the balance—he didn’t know why his brother killed people. Hurting people kept the balance enough. Death was pointless.

He sighed. At this rate, he was just going to get himself down. Wasn’t that the opposite of relaxing/winding down? Stifling a bitter laugh at himself, he raised his glass and took a sip. He sighed in satisfaction as the water cooled his throat and cleared his head a bit.

Yes, it was water. He wasn’t too keen on alcohol, no matter how little something contained of it. He had never been. That’s not to say he had never drunk before, though. No, the villagers had made him try some of their mead at one point (even if he was still barely 300 years old). It had been rather bitter, so he never got used to the taste. He turned down any other attempts at trying it.

The stool to the right of him creaked suddenly and he looked up. A male human smiled at him warmly, setting down his own bottle of beer. The human seemed to be a young adult, with wavy blonde hair and some stubble around his mouth. He had green eyes that seemed to sparkle a brighter colour when the light hit them. He wore a simple t-shirt and Dream could guess that the rest of his outfit was simple too.

“Heya,” the human said, “you’re Dream, right?”

Dream blinked. It was true that almost every AU knew of the outcodes and their jobs, though rarely were they ever approached. People usually viewed them as a sort of god, which discouraged them from approaching. Yet, this human seemed to not get the memo.

Realizing that he was being a bit rude by not responding, Dream hurriedly smiled and stuck out a hand. “A-ah, yes! That’s me.”

The human laughed and shook his hand gladly. He had a firm yet gentle grip. “Cool! The name’s Jake.” Their hands slid back to their owners. He fixed Dream with a sort of teasing look as he took a swig of his drink. “So, what’s the Guardian of Positivity doing in a bar all by himself.”

Dream’s smile melted into something more natural. “Well, I was with Ink, but he left me here a while ago.”

Jake sighed, lowering his drink. “Aw man, that sucks! I know what it’s like to be left behind by friends before.” His eyes conveyed so much sincerity that Dream found himself becoming even more relaxed. “I’m sorry that it happened to you.”

Dream shook his head. “It’s fine. It’s, uh…it’s happened before, so I’m used to it.”

Jake frowned further. “Still. No one deserves to be left behind.”

“True.”

They talked for a long time. Dream learned a lot about Jake in this time, though Jake did tend to ramble, realize he was rambling, apologize and then ramble again. Dream didn’t mind. He found it nice that Jake was acting like Dream was just another person, instead of basically a god. Dream, in turn, talked about the other worlds he’s seen and what exactly his job is.

Jake had just been wrapping up explaining why he decided to become a lawyer hen he went to take another swig of his drink and frowned when he realized it was empty. “Darn.” He said, standing up to go get another drink when he paused. “Hey, do you want me to get you a refill, too?”

Dream blinked and looked at his drink. His glass was empty save for some ice. “Oh, uh…It’s fine. I was just having water, anyways.”

Jake smiled. “C’mon.” He tilted his head, looking imploringly at Dream. “I’ll get you some more water?”

Dream hesitated. “…alright.”

Jake beamed, taking his glass. “Great! Be right back.” He turned and walked over to the bar, set the drinks down and waved over a bartender.

Dream laughed softly to himself, looking around. The music had faded a while ago, which he just now noticed. There was a significant decrease in people too. That made Dream pause and wonder how long he had been talking to Jake. Was it long enough that Ink and Blue would’ve noticed? Maybe. But they knew that Dream could take care of himself, so they would probably wait a bit longer yet.

Jake returned at that time, stopping Dream from continuing his thoughts. He smiled and took his water, immediately taking a sip, following by Jake taking a sip of his own drink. They set their drinks down at the same time, sighing in sync. They blinked at each other and giggled.

They resumed talking about anything. It was nice, Dream mused, talking with someone new. He was glad that Jake decided to approach him. Even if they would likely never see each other again, it would be a nice memory to look back on.

(Future Dream looks back on this thought and laughs at how foolish he was.)

Dream was recounting a story of Ink’s antics to him when it happened.

“…so, I had to chase him through various AU’s until I eventually—” The room suddenly began to spin around him and Dream gasped slightly, trying to hold himself upright. His eyes gained a heaviness to them and he struggled to keep them open.

“Dream?” He heard Jake through the haze of his mind. He sounded concerned. Dream focused on the human, who had put a steadying hand on his arm. “Are you alright?”

Dream struggled to speak. “I…I d’know.” He blinked at his own voice. It was slurred. He could’ve sworn that he had been wide awake all day, though, so why was he now, all of a sudden, so sleepy?

He dimly heard Jake swear and get up, bracing Dream against his body. “Okay, uh…maybe it’s just a crash? You did say you had been working pretty hard and sleeping little, so maybe it’s just a crash of not getting enough sleep.”

Dream blinked and felt himself being nudged off of the stool and onto his feet. His knees threatened to buckle beneath him, but Jake’s arm wrapped around his waist, the other held his arm and the human maneuvered them to the door. Someone shouted at them and Jake shouted something back before they left the building.

The world outside was darkening as they walked, though that could just be Dream beginning to pass out. Jake was still talking as they walked and he made out something about taking Dream home to rest. Since Jake couldn’t travel between AU’s, he must mean his house. That was fine. He trusted Jake.

(Stupid, stupid, stupid stupid stupidstupidstupi—)

Dream was helped into the passenger seat of a car and then the world went dark.

~oOo~

Dream woke up on a bed that wasn’t his, his mind muddled. He blinked hard, struggling to keep his eyes open. The room swam around him, even though he could only see black.

He was…confused.

The last thing he remembered was talking with…Jake. Then he had started to get dizzy…or…sleepy, one of the two, maybe even both. Jake had…said something about…taking him home? As Jake couldn’t teleport through AUs and Dream wasn’t at his home, then Jake must’ve meant his home.

…Why?

He supposed it could be out the kindness of Jake’s heart, but something about this situation rubbed him the wrong way. Which was stupid

(He was stupid—)

—Jake had been nothing but nice to him! Why would that all of a sudden change? He was being stupid. Jake was a good guy. He was kind, funny and helpful, if the concern over Dream was anything to go by.

He was overthinking things again.

Everything was fine!

After all—

He…couldn’t move his hands.

Well, he could, but he couldn’t bring them down from where they were…tied to the headboard? He tried to look up at them, squinting through the darkness to see what was holding him. He couldn’t see anything, no matter how hard he tried, but it felt like…rope.

He settled back down and tried to breathe calmly through the sudden tightness of his chest.

Okay. Okay…

This was…not…fine, exactly, but there had to be a reason for this!

Dream refused to believe anything else.

The door—which was apparently across from him—opened, letting light into the room for a split second before it was closed again. There was a faint click. The door was…locked. This did not help to subdue the tightness in his chest. Someone walked around the room, saying nothing as they made their way towards Dream.

The tightness in his chest grew.

Dream swallowed.

This was…

This was still…fine.

(It wasn’t, not really—)

There…there still had to be a reason for this.

(There wasn’t—)

The bed dipped beside Dream and he felt someone crawl above him. There wasn’t any more movement for a second. Then the person buried their head against Dream’s neck, a sound almost like a purr coming from them.

Dream’s breath caught in his throat.

Something itched at the back of his mind.

When the door was first opened, and light illuminated the room, it also illuminated the person. It was a short window of time, yes, but it had been enough for Dream to recognize the blond-haired individual. He hadn’t asked then because he had been hoping for this to not be real, that it was all just a dream. It wasn’t.

After all, dreams don’t have someone touching you without your consent.

That was more like a…nightmare.

However, it wasn’t just a figment of his imagination.

Dream wasn’t asleep.

That…that was a fact.

“…Jake…?” Dream managed to whisper; a small bit of hope left remaining that he was wrong. Though…he knew it was useless. The hand that had begun travelling across his chest paused and hovered in place for a minute.

Which was all the answer he needed.

Tears welled up in Dream’s eyes, spilling over silently as the hand of someone he was just beginning to call a friend began up again, travelling down and under his shirt, brimming with bad intentions.

~oOo~

Dream woke back up again on the same bed, his hands untied and light coming from the window. He had a split second of confusion, of relieve from not remembering what happened, before it all came back.

Tears welling up and spilling over—

A hand crawling over him, under his shirt—

Stripping him of his clothes—

Travelling down, down, down, down—

His lower half hurt.

Dream laid there for a minute, the tightness coming back in his chest. His hands began to tremble. Ghost touches travelled over him and his breath caught, leaving him gasping for air. A whine started in the back of his throat.

He had to leave.

He had to get out, get home.

Get somewhere safe.

Dream sat up quickly, trembling spreading to the rest of his body. He ignored the stains to the best of his abilities, his lower half throbbing in remembrance. He forced himself to breathe fully. Pushing himself to swing his legs off the bed, he stood up, ignoring the shakiness of his legs that threatened to make him collapse.

His breath caught again as the soreness appeared again.

He…he couldn’t do this now.

He had to get out.

He would have time to panic later.

He breathed in. Out.

In. Out.

Dream’s gaze was drawn to the dresser, where his clothes rested. They were neatly folded and seemed to be washed. Beside the clothing was a tray of food, along with a glass of water. Just seeing the food made his stomach churn and the water brought unbidden memories of trickery and laughter.

Tears welled up again and—

Breathe. In. Out.

In. Out.

I-In…Out…

Dream shook his head roughly, digging his fingers in his arm until his breathing settled again.

He gathered his clothes and got dressed quickly.

In…Out…

He ignored the pain when he put his pants back on.

…I-In?...

His hands trembled worse as he put his shirt back on and clasped his cape over it.

…O…u-ut…I-I…n…

A sob ripped its way out of his mouth and Dream broke.

He collapsed to the ground, crying and whining, breathing sped up, hand pressed against his mouth to try and quiet himself. He curled up against the dresser, his crown tipping off the edge onto the floor in front of him. Dream cringed at the clang of the metal with the floor, the sound too loud for him right now.

He ducked his head down until his forehead pressed against his knees. The hand that wasn’t on his mouth gripped onto his cape tightly, as if if he held on tight enough, all of this would go away.

He sobbed again, another whine making its way out and—

Humming.

No, not humming, singing.

Someone was…singing.

At first, Dream had the overwhelming fear that it was Jake. Jake, who did something so unthinkable, had come back singing some stupid song. Though, the voice was too deep to be Jake's. He would also like to think that it was too nice to be Jake’s, as well.

So…it wasn’t Jake. That made him relax slightly.

His hearing levelled out, the ringing that had appeared calming down and becoming background noise, leaving the words clear.

“…he took the heart of a little boy, and made it grow up too fast…”

Dream relaxed further.

This voice was…familiar.

“Now words like innocence, don’t mean a thing.”

It reminded him of waking up to someone’s arms wrapped around him, comforting words being whispered as he recovered from the horrible images his mind made up as he slept. It reminded him of running around and tagging someone, only to be tackled and tickled until he could barely breathe anymore.

“You hear the music play, but you can’t sing.”

It reminded him…of Nightmare.

“Those pictures in your mind keep you locked up inside your past…”

The voice paused. He switched to a different song.

“I know it’s all you’ve got to just be strong…”

Dream opened his eyes, though he didn’t remember closing them.

“And it’s a fight just to keep it together…together…”

His companion switched back to humming.

Dream took that as his queue to look up.

Ah…so that’s why it was…that made sense.

Nightmare sat in front of him, back leaned up against the dresser. His legs were stretched in front of him. Dream’s crown was held in his hands, being swung around and around. It stilled as Dream watched.

Dream drew his eyes up to meet Nightmare’s one piercing eye.

They stared at each other for a minute.

Then, Dream saw it. That one look in Nightmare’s eye, one that reflected his aura. It was…a knowing look. Not a pitying one, not a sympathetic one, just a knowing one.

Which was the only one Dream needed.

Tears welled up in his eyes again.

Nightmare started singing again.

“Just take…one step…closer…put one foot in front of the other…”

Nightmare set Dream’s crown down beside him and held out his arms.

“…You’ll get…through this…just follow the light in the darkness…”

Dream sobbed again and threw himself into his brother’s arms, ignoring the prickling sensation that told him the touch wasn’t okay.

“You’re gonna be okay.”

#my writing #my fanfiction #oneshot #undertale #dreamtale #dream sans #nightmare sans #original character #tw r*pe #tw rape #tw self harm #tw self deprecation #rape

[sparrowofsong]

For whatever reason, I got super super into the Doki Doki Literature Club AU I thought up last night, so I decided to expand on it. Will I do anything else with it? That’s for the gods to know and me to find out.

Technically inspired by @nachosforfree, who commented “doki doki” when someone mentioned a Sanders Sides dating sim AU.

(TW for blood, suicide, self harm, abuse, manipulation, starvation -- basically just all of the warnings for DDLC.)

Patton is Monika, and the other sides don’t have specific assigned characters. Patton controls them while the game is played, switching them around each time in hopes that, eventually, he’ll find the perfect combination of roles and personalities so that the player will hate them and love him.

The sides are conscious the entire time they're puppeted, even for the off-screen events or “death”, and feel what the characters feel. Whoever acts as Yuri has to watch as he cuts himself, as he stabs himself, as he grows more possessive and insane. Whoever acts as Sayori has to watch himself tie the noose, hang himself, and desperately claw at the rope as he slowly asphyxiates. Whoever acts as Natsuki has to watch himself be abused and starved by his dad, has to watch his neck get snapped, has to watch himself walk into the classroom where he knows he’ll see his friend dead. They have to watch and feel all the random chance body horror.

The only control Patton intentionally grants them (as far as they know) is over the personality, and vaguely the appearance, of the character they play as. The delivery of the lines and actions, the eye color or an accessory (out of specific options), etc.

Unbeknownst to them, though, Patton also purposefully lightens his control during specific parts of the game, just enough to allow some vague dialogue changes, to cover their tracks. Because if those changes happen around the same places, people think that’s just a random chance sort of thing like the other intentional glitches.

Of course, even he can’t consistently control everything at once. He’s powerful, but not omnipotent. Some things can slip through even outside of his intentional gaps. But usually, he manages to catch them in time to act like he does with the programmed glitches. If the attempted rebel does enough to potentially raise suspicion (or if he just feels shitty after being rejected once again) he makes sure they regret it. And more often than not, Patton’s precautions help players disregard the out of place “glitches”.

Even after they hit every single combination, Patton still keeps trying. Again, and again, and again. They know the entire game by heart; every line of dialogue, every poem, every choice-based mini plot line, every randomly generated event. They could act it out perfectly even without being puppeted.

Eventually, after enough repeats and failures and punishments, the other sides just,, give up. They don't bother with personality, they don't bother with trying to speak to the player outside of the script. It gets to the point where Patton has to start controlling those too to avoid players picking up on it. That's how they discover that he was allowing the changes, but at that point, they just don't care.

Enter Thomas: the latest DDLC player. He plays the game blind, gets scared, doesn’t understand every single aspect, yada yada yada. A typical playthrough. Until Yuri’s death.

After Yuri kills himself, Thomas doesn't know how to speed up the scene, trying to click through each individual line. He soon gets discouraged and bored. He spends the next couple days clicking through some more lines on and off, always forgetting/not caring to exit the game in between.

The effects of the game’s events are put on hold when the game is closed, and removed entirely once the character is "deleted”. Otherwise, the sides are continuously existing as the characters in their current state. Which means Remus, this current Yuri, has been living with the pain of three stab wounds for this whole time.

At some point during Thomas mindlessly clicking through the nonsense, one of the lines is actually something legible, and he almost misses it.

“Please... please skip forward. It... hurts.”

And it seems just a little odd? But, y’know, maybe the game just eventually auto-reminds people so they didn’t have to click through everything if they forgot about the skip option.

He gets to the day of the festival, and before Natsuki comes in with his line, Yuri's dialogue box pops back up with "Please keep playing. Just... a few more minutes. Please."

That's a little more weird. But so's the whole game, right?

Natsuki comes in, and says his usual lines. But right before the screaming and vomiting as the script dictates, he pauses, and Thomas swears he sees an expression of pity cross his face. The dialogue box shows a very tiny line reading "Please keep playing. Don't let him sit there anymore." 

It only lasts for a moment before immediately switching to the scripted terror. The transition is so awkward that it doesn't really sit well with Thomas. But it's probably like that to seem more meta. Or it's just bad writing. Right?

Monika's smile when he arrives seems slightly different than before. Almost forced. Thomas can't tell if it was like that before or not, so he takes a screenshot to compare later. He was considering googling it then and there, but after the pleas to hurry, he kinda felt like it'd be rude. Even if it was just a game. 

When Monika "deletes" Natsuki and Yuri, he hears a whispered "Thank you" and freaks out. Literally the only other audible human sounds in the game are breathing, a "baa", and the credits song, and there's a chance he didn't even hear the first two, and he wouldn't have heard the third yet. But,,, It’s a meta horror game. So it's supposed to freak him out. That's the whole point. Right?

(They're able to do all this because after so long of completely giving up, Patton realized he didn't need to waste so much energy on keeping them in line, so he gradually began using less and less. At this point, he's hardly using any more than necessary to have them play the part, and is a little rusty. They took advantage of it this one time out of desperation, and now that they've already started, they're doing as much as they can to get Thomas to listen before Patton takes them down again.)

Monika looks pissed before quickly forcing another smile and continuing his lines. The game goes the same way, Thomas eventually figures out to delete Monika, and Sayori appears to gain sentience. But instead of saying "I wanted to thank you for getting rid of Monika", the dialogue box shows "I wanted to thank you for freeing Yuri", and "Yuri" glitches into "Remus" on and off. 

When Thomas clicks, instead of going to the next line, the previous one glitches into "I wanted to thank you for getting rid of Monika" like it was supposed to be. The rest of the dialogue proceeds normally until Monika returns. 

Sayori's line glitches back and forth from "W-What's happening...?" to "Don't trust him!"

Rather than saying "I won't let you hurt him", Monika says "I won't let you lie to him." 

And instead of "Who..." "I-It hurts...", Sayori's final dialogue is "NO!"

The game continues and ends as programmed. Thomas just kinda goes "...What the fwuh?" before immediately looking up details about the game to see if this is all normal.

Surprise surprise: It isn't. No matter how long he researches, and despite all of Patton's precautions, the conclusion is the same: everything after Yuri's death is completely unique to his playthrough. No one else had those dialogue changes. Monika's smile in the screenshot is, in fact, different from his earlier smiles. There are not supposed to be any audible words besides the ending song. And there is no mention of a "Remus" anywhere.

There is definitely something up here. After he gives up searching for answers, he resolves to play again soon, and tries to commit to memory what's supposed to happen in the meantime.

Up until this point, their common area was a house a good bit away from the setting the events of the game took place in. They had a fair radius around the house to walk around, entertain themselves, etc., and were about as free as they could get while in that area. But, see, uh, Patton’s sorta really fucking pissed now.

Patton restricts the boundaries to just the house for everyone, and locks Logan, Remus, and Deceit (Natsuki, Yuri, and Sayori, respectively) into separate rooms, to make sure they can’t plan something else. He promises that they'll be playing the exact same roles every single time the game gets played, especially to decrease more suspicious changes if Thomas plays again, until he decides otherwise.

He hopes that Thomas will simply uninstall the game so that they'll move onto another player (because that's how I've decided it works don't question the logic). Unfortunately, he does not, and he decides to play again. 

Upon learning this, the three rebels decide that if they're fucked anyway, they may as well take this opportunity to give everything they've got in hopes that they can get Thomas to help them.

Which means Patton has to find some way to balance keeping them under his complete control, keeping Roman and Virgil from finding some way to escape the boundary and help out, and figuring out what to do with the script to undo the suspicion the three caused.

Roll for initiative!

#hey quick question is there an actual way to end these bullet point summary idea things #if not then ill just stick with roll for initiative lksdfjh #sanders sides #ts sides #sanders sides au #ddlc #logan sanders #ts logan #sympathetic logan #roman sanders #ts roman #sympathetic roman #remus sanders #ts remus #sympathetic remus #deceit sanders #ts deceit #sympathetic deceit #virgil sanders #ts virgil #sympathetic virgil #patton sanders #ts patton #unsympathetic patton #blood #abuse #starvation #suicide #self harm #manipulation

[kerterm]

Tips for dissociative disorder, depersonalization, derealization, panic attacks/anxiety, sensory overload

1. Listening to calm music or ambient sounds: this one is huge for me, because complete silence sends me further into dissociation and derealization. Youtube is great for this. I recommend “Ambient Worlds”. They are a youtube channel that features relaxing movie soundtracks with ambient nature sounds such as the Shire and others!

2. Distracting yourself: whether its with a simple video game, or funny animal videos, distracting your brain from your dissociation can help you from hyper fixating on it and spiralling further. Anything that will make you smile or laugh is recommended! As for games, I enjoy Animal Crossing Pocket Camp and the Terrarium Idle Garden on my phone! I also recommend trying kids shows on netflix such as: Hilda, the dragon prince, troll hunters, avatar the last air bender. Or on other platforms: Steven Universe, Studio Ghibli movies, or any disney movies. Soft, simple animation just relaxes me so much.

3. Talking to someone about whats on your mind: it’s important to realize that dissociating is just your brain trying to protect you from your pain and anxiety. Talking to a trusted friend or therapist about whats bothering you can help immensely. As you work through things, your anxiety will lessen which in the long run will make dissociating less frequent.

4. Sensory stimulation: When i dissociate, I’m extremely sensitive to sensory stimulation and i can get sensory overload very easily. But there are gentle sensory things to do that will help! I like to get a brush (any kind should do) and just gently brush it along my skin. This stimulates the nerves and reminds my brain that I am real, and helps my sense of space normalize. I usually end up brushing my arms, legs, stomach, back, and neck even. If you have sensory issues with textures, use your hands and rubs your arms or lightly scratch them. (Talk to your therapist or doctor if this becomes harmful to you, such as skin picking etc. you deserve help 💕) Also any sort of sensory toy is wonderful for this too. It helps with grounding and its a great distraction!

5. Self care ideas: this is a great distraction for your brain and will always make you feel better. If you can’t do these right now, thats okay too. Heres some things you can do: Cleaning your room (even just a small part), watering your plants, spending time with family or friends or pets, skin care routines, making a quick snack, get some water to drink, take your medication, brush your hair and teeth, deodorant is cool, have a hot shower/bath, light candles, put on a diffuser, turn on all your string lights, make a pillow fort, find all your old stuffies and make a pile in your bed, become a blanket burrito and watch netflix all day, pick up your favorite book again, dance to your favorite song, do anything that makes you happy as long as it doesn’t hurt you or anyone else. Have a you day. Its okay. You’re allowed to.

6. Other tips: I recommend using orange oil, this stuff has literally stopped panic attacks in their tracks for me, just a drop on the back of your neck. Also noise cancelling headphones are a blessing when you’re over stimulated. I bring them everywhere. Always have music and a charged phone with you. If you’re ever lost and alone, it’s important that you be able to find help. And relaxing music helps everything. Also If you have trouble falling asleep because you don’t recognize your surroundings or other issues, maybe try an over the counter melatonin.(read the label for dosage, don’t take too many). This helps on my worst nights. Or there are many essential oils for sleep as well. And if you still aren’t comfortable sleeping, get a night light or a salt lamp.

7. Also, please consider therapy. It has done wonders for me and its the only treatment that has actually helped me. (Ive tried everything from anti depressants, to natural supplements, to reflexology, etc etc etc) theres no shame in needing it and it will help you recover faster. But it’s important to know you may not have a good experience your first time. Sometimes it takes a while to find the right counsellor. And thats normal. Don’t be discouraged. you deserve to get the treatment you need.

8. IF YOU’RE NOT FEELING WELL BECAUSE OF THIS MENTAL ILLNESS, YOU’RE ALLOWED TO STEP BACK. YOU’RE ALLOWED TO TAKE A BREAK AND COLLECT YOURSELF. YOU’RE ALLOWED TO CALL IN SICK. YOU’RE ALLOWED TO REMOVE YOURSELF FROM ANY STRESSFUL, ABUSIVE SITUATION. YOU’RE ALLOWED TO HAVE BOUNDARIES. I didn’t know this, it’s important.

9. Remember that its gonna pass. Take a deep breath. It might seem scary right now. This might all be new to you, and you might not know what to do. BUT. Its going to be okay. This is normal and it does make sense. Your brain is just trying to protect you from all those things that stress you out. You’re not going insane. This is okay. Accept that you are spaced out today. Take your time. It will pass and you will get better. I promise.

#depersonalization #derealization #derealisation disorder #disociation #sensory overload #overstimulation #anxienty #panic attack #anxiety attack #advice #this is a psa #mental health #self care #mental health advice #mental health acceptance #depression

[jinruihokankeikaku]

have you done an analysis on the Page of Hope? if not then can you, please? :3 also maybe in a small portion of it can you talk about how being a derse dreamer may affect them? thank you so very much if you're able to!!! 💙

Page of Hope!! Swweet!! Another canon classpect, and a preeeeeeeetty cool one, at that. (This is a full-length analysis of the Role, but there will 8e a section dedic8ed specifically to Derse Dreamers towwards the end.) Here’s Jake English’s canonical Mythological Role, the…

Title: Page of Hope

Title Breakdown: One who passively defends [invites to defend, equips others with, calls others to serve] Hope [raw positive energy, faith, belief/desire, positive emotion, delusion/illusion]

Role in the Session: The Page of Hope is the most powerful Role in the Game (barring the Lord or Muse of Hope, I guess, but by definition both of those classes can only appear in Void sessions, so…) (I guess that’s not entirely true, as you could have a session with a Lord or Muse of Space, and a Lord or Muse of Hope, that could win the Game but couldn’t scratch. I’m still putting the odds of success there at “Unlikely”, though.) (Anyways…)

No, really. This is all-but-canonical (if I weren’t in the middle of a reread right now I’d try to track down the exact page, but recall the conversation between Jake and Aranea prior to her “healing his mind”). My rationale behind this statement goes something like this “Hope is a font of raw metaphysical power bordering on the divine, with the potential to turn belief into reality, but it has a tendency to induce irrationality and uncritical belief in those bound to it. The Page is the Class with the most raw potential, but begins the Game almost completely incompetent, and takes a long while to grow into their Role, barring external intervention such as Aranea’s. Any Class-Aspect combination is greater than the sum of its parts, so it follows that the Page of Hope would have more raw potential than any other Mythological Role, and then some.”

How does this actually apply to the Game? Well…that’s where the issue becomes a bit more complicated. While the Page of Hope is technically more powerful than any other Role, they’re also more likely to be incompetent, confused, delusional, and otherwise unprepared to function effectively within their Role. Their Quest will involve the long, arduous process of concentrating their scattered, slim Hopes and dreams into a pattern of directed activity – the Page will have to confront unexpected circumstances and waves of self-doubt and skepticism without allowing their faith and their confidence to buckle under the pressure. The Page may well falter, or even fail outright, several times, but as long as their will to live remains intact, they should persevere through these challenges.

The Page’s relationship with their team will likely be complicated by the Page’s initial inadequacies, and (real or perceived) discouragement or disdain from their teammates could seriously hamper the Page’s development. It’s crucial that they have their team’s full support, especially early on, as without it they are far more likely to hesitate and lapse into a spiral of self-doubt, self-deprecation, and ultimately self-destruction. In the worst-case scenario, a team (or individual team member) that actively discourages or disparages the Page could cause the Page to fail their Quest outright and either die or stagnate and invert to a Thief of Rage – in either case, the team has then lost their most powerful asset and (in the case of inversion) gained a very powerful enemy indeed. A Page of Hope would be greatly aided by a Sylph of Time – the Sylph’s intervention, which might be seen as fatalistic or unnecessarily meddling by their other teammates, would probably be embraced wholeheartedly by the Page, who will need all the help they can get, especially when it comes to the notion of fate and “good” vs. “bad” endings, early on. A Page of Hope is powerful in their own right, but is especially strong as a support player to a combat-oriented Hero such as a Knight or a Prince, either of their own Aspect or of the similarly resilient and fatalistic Aspect of Doom.

Opposite Role: The Thief of Rage, as mentioned above, is a powerful Role with a lot of potential to do harm, and could be particularly dangerous to the easily-manipulated Page of Hope. Defined as “one who steals skepticism, negative emotion, wanton destruction, or metanarrative disbelief”, the Thief could potentially empower the Page, clearing away many of the obstacles (in-game and psychological) set before them. However, in doing so, they’d also be clearing away many of the Page’s opportunities for introspection, and running the risk of (or deliberately encouraging) the Page’s completely embracing the darker sides of their Aspect, such as misguided faith or delusional suspension of disbelief. If they were to manipulate the newly-empowered Page to serve their ends (a trivially easy task for someone with the power to steal and exploit negative emotions), the two of them would be a nigh-unstoppable force with motivations that would almost certainly be less-than-pure.

God Tier Powers

Hope is the Culminative-Conclusive-Personal Aspect, and the Page is the Passive Defense/Service Class. This means that the powers an Ascended Page of Space might wield will concentrate the Page’s core beliefs into a unified and intensified force, in the way that a lens might concentrate a laser. These powers will largely be directed towards arming and/or armoring their allies with the results of their hope, turning beliefs that the Page once lacked confidence in into weapons capable of fortifying an army, concentrated in the hands of a very few players. Here are a few ideas as to how such forces could manifest…

Luminous Cavalcade: When the Page leads their allies in battle, those allies will be fortified on both a physical and metaphysical level – they’ll be exactly as effective as the Page believes them to be. Guided by and armed with the Page’s force of will, each member of the team will accomplish feats they’d previously have been incapable of, vastly increasing the strength with which they use their own Aspect. This would include things like Jake English’s “Hope Field”, which not only made a tiny splinter of Dirk’s consciousness fully real, but also allowed said splinter to wield powers Dirk Prime had not been previously seen to use.

Flower of the Dawn: The Page’s Hope blooms out around them, restoring Hope where it had once been lost, and calling on anyone and everyone near it to fulfill their Hope. Those touched by this field are, should the Page allow them to be, armed with Hope, wielding a portion of the Page’s own power as though it were their own to do any of the things a Hope-bound player might – conjure luminous destructive or creative energy, form constructs capable of effecting physical reality simply by imagining them, or even just finding the Hope within themselves to stay in the game and keep their head up.

Higher Calling: Those near the Page feel subtly, yet surely, called to serve the cause of Hope in much the way that the Page is. This isn’t exactly mind-control, and the calling doesn’t compel action from anyone, but simply awakens a seed of Hope within those who hear it, inviting them to believe whatever it is they believe with more surety and conviction than they otherwise might. It also doesn’t implant new beliefs where they otherwise wouldn’t be – it merely amplifies those beliefs, turning them into nigh-indestructible ideological shields and concrete courses of action as opposed to merely pleasant notions.

Personality: The Page of Hope is initially someone with many scattered Hopes and dreams, but little confidence or competence with which they might act on them. They’ll likely have a number of interests about which they’re passionate, and various firmly-held convictions, but they’ll find themselves stymied both in daily life and on the grander scale of the Game as their attempts to fulfill their Hopes and act upon their ideals fail one by one. The challenge set before them is for them to truly examine their beliefs, to hold each one up to the burning light of inquiry, to hold tight to those that emerge unscathed and to allow all others to fall away. Only once the Page has concentrated their Hopes into a unified, genuine, system of belief will they be able to unlock the vast potential within themselves.

DERSE DREAMERS: A Page of Hope who happens to be in Derse’s Lunar Sway will be more focused, but also more prone to spiraling into cynicism and despair. Their Quest, and their character arc in general, will lean towards pushing the limits of the Page’s belief – a relentless stress-test that will run the risk of shattering the Page, but from which they will emerge, should they emerge intact, tempered anew and with further magnified strength and conviction. In their personal relationships, the Derse-dreaming Page of Hope will be less naïve and a bit more focused on a few particularly strong beliefs.

Songs

The Only Hope for Me Is You by My Chemical Romance

Vindicated by Dashboard Confessional (havve I already used this one? Wwhatevvs im usin it again)

Lion’s Teeth by the Mountain Goats

Thanks for the ask, anon!! I hope you found my analysis entertainin and/or informativve!! I lovve Jake English as a character, so this one wwas a really fun analysis to wwrite (I may havve run just a 8it longer than I usually do.)

~ P L U R ~

#Hope #Page #Page of Hope #Homestuck #Jake English #Classpect #Classpect analysis #Class #Aspect #anon #ask

[redandfranticfeelings]

okay ive been wanting to make a post like this for a while but i wanted to make it an essay and i dont know if i can really organize my thoughts in that way yet, so here’s a chronological bullet-pointed dump to explain my very important thesis:

be more chill is about internalized ableism, and jeremy, michael, and christine are all highly autistic coded. this is going to be very long and detailed but only because there’s a lot of details that work very well under this lens.

there’s probably even stuff i missed but this is already extremely long so it basically just functions as a way for me to collect a bunch of details that i can piece together later in a more coherent manner.

“more than survive” in the context of jeremy being autistic works so much. the theme of wanting to be just socially acceptable enough to not burn out or be harassed is so relatable, and it visually establishes very early how jeremy is isolated from his peers due to his own awkward behavior and hypersensitivity. it’s coupled with his very obvious anxiety disorder, but the social aspect just screams autistic coding to me. i take this song to basically be “not having a meltdown is basically my goal but i would love to be neurotypical enough so i can heighten my standards and actually enjoy my social life.” some choice segments:

“if i’m not feeling weird or super strange, my life would be in utter disarray, cuz freaking out is my okay”

jeremy’s house being a mess is partly due to his dad’s serious depression, yeah, but i believe the other aspect is that jeremy’s executive dysfunction makes it just as hard to clean up in his place

he gets super anxious at the prospect of his expected routine being shaken up and having to make the decision on his own of how to get to school

“so i follow my own rules and i use them as my tools to stay alive” honestly sounds like a euphemism for autism to me

jeremy not really realizing that he’s staring at chloe

“avoiding any eye contact at all” explains itself

michael’s introduction, oh my god, every time i watch this part i just adore it. i could talk a lot more about michael’s autism later but this whole segment sells it especially.

first off, michael keeping his hood up and headphones on in a deliberate attempt to avoid social interaction and stay in his own space is such an autistic mood. even before this scene he’s constantly moving in the background to his music a la stimming. in the later performances he spends a lot more time playing with his hoodie strings and even chews on them!!

the fact he doesn’t talk to or even really look at jeremy until his song is done playing also feels very autistic to me! and the way he dances so confidently and basically pretends even his best friend isn’t there for the time being because he’s engrossed in his own passions.

michael is a great friend but it’s clear that he doesn’t really understand that his coping mechanism doesn’t really work for jeremy, and that even though michael feels confident reclaiming his identity as a ‘loser,’ jeremy doesn’t really feel any better about it. i think a lot of autistic folks, or at least i do, have this tendency to assume what works for us works for everyone around us at first due to our struggles with empathy. michael tries his best but struggles to see outside his point of view. it’s mind-blindness in action and jeremy can’t communicate why it upsets him any better than michael can pick up on it not working for him.

near the end of the song, they have a brief moment where all the ensemble crowds in around jeremy and the lights start flashing, which i interpret as a visual representation of sensory overload.

we’ll talk more about her soon, but outside of jeremy’s fantasies about her, christine also avoids social interaction during this number, constantly hiding her face in a book and avoiding eye contact just as much as jeremy. people forget that she’s not comfortable with unexpected social interaction, and that really informs my headcanon for her which brings us to....

“i love play rehearsal” is an autistic anthem. it also works, possibly even better due to in-text evidence, as an adhd anthem, but combined with the above it makes so much sense for her to be comorbid autism/adhd. i did a breakdown of the song in this context before, but i’ll sum it up here

the song showcases what having a special interest/hyperfixation is like. christine is singing to jeremy, yes, but she really seems so caught up in her own passion without much regard for how jeremy is following it, and even cuts him off from responding to her once or twice because she’s just so hyped up on her own feelings. she also basically implies her happiness is reliant on her special interest which is very relatable.

lines like “you follow a script so you know what comes next” also really sell the interpretation that christine isn’t good in unpredictable situations, and has so many identity issues and likes having something to look to where things are laid out for her. i think that stability is what a lot of autistic people look for, especially teenagers.

also with that in mind, look at how upset she gets watching a play she loves about get rewritten into something weird and new that she doesn’t know.

also gotta love how she still self-isolates before this song by focusing on her book, until she has a reason to infodump to jeremy. and then feels guilty afterwards and goes right back into her book while apologizing for getting “carried away”....biiiig mood there

the whole intro scene showcases both of their awkwardness so much. jeremy gets completely thrown off by her sarcastic comment about the swim team and almost believes it, which implies that he can’t read tone very well. and then christine’s “you’re a virgin” comment comes across like she really didn’t think about how that would sound to jeremy before saying it since she only made the clarification after he was ready to panic about it. she has a habit of speaking before she thinks, i think, the self-harm comment is also very awkward considering she barely knows jeremy.

after that scene we get “more than survive reprise” where jeremy admits to routinely having such bad breakdowns that he needs to step out and go to the nurse which works for both the anxiety disorder and the autism interpretation.

i’m not quite sure whether i see rich as autistic (i see him with a lot of mental issues for sure though) so i can’t say much on “the squip song” but there’s definitely something to describing a confused autistic kid as “almost helpless.” rich definitely has a habit of giving too much information though, i’ll say that.

“two player game” is just jeremy and michael being autistic solidarity: the song. i guess this is a good place to say that jeremy and michael work well as a contrast b/w two sides of autistic community, the side that struggles to function and desperately wants a change bc they’re afraid of being alone forever, and the side that tries to love all their symptoms and embrace their autistic pride. and as coincidental icing on the cake, jeremy wears blue (associated with the derogatory views from autism speaks) and michael wears red (associated with combating said views through autistic pride).

btw you could probably attribute michael’s ability to casually down a long-expired crystal pepsi as a sort of weird sensory quirk. and his fixation w/ that sort of memorabilia honestly feels like a special interest in its own right!

both “nice sideburns....wolverine, right” and “like in x-men????” using fiction as a reference point for real life always gives me autistic vibes (esp the first point where he awkwardly uses it to start conversation). can we assume x-men is a special interest? :3

jake referring to jeremy as a ‘freak’ when the squip turns on is really sad in this context but it also does make so much sense

now we get to the squip.....and what do you know, it uses tactics from abusive therapy used on autistic children. dare i say that “be more chill” as a song isn’t just an abuser’s song, but an ableist’s abuser’s song.

first off, the “spinal stimulation.” here’s a not so fun fact: electroshock therapy has been used to discourage autistic behavior in very recent years. (content warning in link for graphic description of ableist torture)

then the lyrics, in which the squip mostly focuses on jeremy’s posture and physically punishes him for disobeying. jeremy is shown to really struggle to stand up straight and pose himself in a normal, confident way, and i think that tendency to be unaware of what our body is doing is a pretty autistic thing?

the fact the squip singles out stammering and refers to jeremy’s “tics and fidgets” brings attention to two more autistic traits of jeremy’s

the squip basically punishes jeremy for responding “incorrectly” to social situations like rejecting brooke, even if they aren’t objectively wrong. it eventually just starts speaking for jeremy because jeremy seems incapable of acting natural. the squip is an abusive autism parent.

“sync up” demonstrates jeremy’s weird relationship with empathy. he wants to be nice to everyone- will has even called him “deeply empathetic”- but he’s initially really bad at seeing other people’s point of view, which is why he positions himself as sort of against the world, seeing everyone as better than him or trying to set up these barriers of Coolness where everyone else must be perfect compared to him. he’s so surprised to learn that the popular kids also hurt because of his strict idea of the social structure. it’s a combination of low self esteem and a black-and-white viewpoint.

let’s go back to christine. the squip, already established as ableist abuser, finds her “highly unusual” for acting in a way that disregards everyone who views her. she has very strange and specific visions in her head, and it seems very natural for her even if jeremy struggles to follow along.

in later performances, she chews on her sleeve and spins around during AGTIKBI. that’s stimming, babes. also gotta acknowledge “i don’t always relate to other people my age, except when i’m on the stage”

i’m gonna use this section to talk about jake and christine. christineis a bit unsure when interacting with jake, until he validates her interest- her acting is what really touches him. but jake, while good-hearted, has trouble being self-centered and thus not fully aware of christine’s own needs and space. so christine is always a little uncomfortable around him, especially in public, and not always willing to socialize. he is right about her being kind of stuck in her comfort zone, though, not doing anything off of her stage. and he is genuinely nice to her, it’s just a matter of their social strategies clashing.

the fact that the squip blocks out michael...i’ve had a lot of times in my life where i was told that socializing with other “weird” people would be counterproductive for my social development and it was part of why i was stuck with so few friends. so i really feel the idea that blocking out the person who helps you feel confident in your atypicality is framed as a good thing so you can act more socially adept, and that doing otherwise would just drag you both down.

hot DAMN does “loser geek whatever” make so much sense for an autistic kid with internalized ableism.

“it’s not only school that’s rough, being lonely’s stupid tough” makes it pretty clear this isn’t about the school social scene as muc as it is the entire social scene of the world. we may not see it, but it’s just (not) interacting with people in general that jeremy can’t stand.

“michael says that weird is rad but feeling weird just makes me sad” as stated above, makes a Lot More Sense with the idea that michael is both a more confident autistic and really bad at addressing jeremy’s own internalized ableism and desire to make connections outside his small friend group.

everything about jeremy boiling down all his problems to his “instincts” sucking and needing to basically be told what to do really highlights how autistic kids can feel broken because of their inability to fit into the social norm, to the point where we repress every behavior that actually makes us feel comfortable and unique. 

not to mention the line about him being seen as a “normal handsome guy” since autistic people tend to be infantilized and never seen as desirable (will roland also implied this line has trans coding which is another discussion altogether but i feel i should acknowledge that here)

all of those terms that jeremy calls himself near the end- namely weirdo, misfit, oddball, freak, failure- all of this sounds like the shit people throw at autistic kids. like this goes beyond anxiety alone, this is jeremy being outcasted and oppressed by the general public due to his behavior. especially the “please don’t speak” part, considering how often autistic kids are mocked for misunderstanding when to speak, how to speak, and what to talk about. jeremy needs some freaking love. :(

“michael in the bathroom” is a panic attack, related to severe anxiety, but i do see a lot of aspects that play into autism as well. the little nervous stimmy movements of foot-bouncing and picking at grout, the explosive sensory overload during the “knock knock” section of the bridge, the whole concept of losing the only person you ever managed to connect to without sacrificing who you are, dealing with this massive change to your sense of philosophy and reality where you pinned everything on one person to ground yourself, and thus you’re now completely lost trying to isolate yourself from this big overwhelming social gathering...neurodivergent anthem all around.

jeremy and christine’s couch interactions during halloween give me such autistic positivity. christine basically echolales jeremy’s weird noise and they both have so much fun vocal stimming that they forget there’s another person in the room. it’s such a sweet moment until jeremy ruins it by realizing that asking her out right after a breakup is Not Really Good For Her.

christine’s reaction to the fire demonstrates a clear case of hyperempathy to me. it isn’t discussed as much as a complete lack of empathy, but autistic folks are prone to feeling way too much especially when it comes to others’ pain. christine talking about how she hates that everyone’s hurting and desperately wants to help but doesn’t know how, and how we’ve already seen how much she struggles to connect with others like jake....it’s a very relatable, very specific autistic mood.

going back to the theme of jeremy and empathy, christine’s above hyperempathy kind of breaks this mold, and while jeremy always does feel for the other kids, by this point he feels so strongly- particularly for christine, who he also saw as a perfect confident being until now- that the squip can manipulate him into “fixing” everyone the same way the squip was supposed to “fix” him. and he never considers that christine doesn’t need to be fixed because he just projects his own insecurity that strongly onto everyone else who seems “weird” in the same kind of way- hence why he assumes michael is jealous of him back in MITB. it’s likely a result of the squip’s manipulation but i feel like mind-blindness is a factor, even if jeremy switches between struggling to process others’ emotions and being extremely empathetic.

michael’s special interest saves the day!!! :D

the whole fight b/w jeremy and michael, assuming it comes from a genuine place of repressed bitterness, has a lot of added subtext with them both being autistic. jeremy accusing michael of “giving up” on social interaction, michael envies jeremy for trying bc michael is clearly Not comfortable in most large social settings, jeremy envies michael for his pride, it just hits home for me i guess

rich calling michael “antisocial headphones kid” honestly how is michael not canon autistic

in the off-bway version michael briefly speaks too loud forgetting that jeremy’s head still hurts which is a relatable Forgot About Boundaries thing. plus him smacking rich playfully forgetting that rich is Still In Pain

“voices in my head” works nice as a fuck-societal-norms-and-just-be-happy song. “embrace the traits that make you so odd” in particular :’)

jeremy remembering christine’s infodump about her obscure bowling alley performance art idea and bringing it up to her again!!!

the squip doesn’t go away because ableism and the anxiety it brings and all the upsetting symptoms of autism don’t go away, but with the right support and confidence you can live with them!!! good message for mental disorders in general and works very well in this context!!!

so in conclusion.....be more chill is autistic pride!!!

#be more chill #bmc #actuallyautistic #autistic headcanons #long post #be more neurodivergent #queue are so busted

[skullsgonehelterskullter]

The Onceler’s Real Reasons For Chopping Down the Trees!

The Onceler’s Real Motivation for Cutting Down the Trees!

Hello. My name is Triniti and I speak for the Onceler. Before we get started today, I’d like to teach you a few terms that I’ll be using in this essay. 

Most of you have probably heard of emotional abuse before. It’s something I’ve suffered through and something the Onceler has suffered through. Emotional Abuse is any abusive behavior that isn’t physical, which may include verbal aggression, intimidation, manipulation, and humiliation, which most often unfolds as a pattern of behavior over time that aims to diminish another person’s sense of identity, dignity, and self-worth, and which often results in anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts or behaviors, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). 

Well, that’s quite a lot to take in, isn’t it? So let me tell you a few things that emotional abuse can present itself as: Intimidation, Manipulation, Refusal to ever be pleased, Shaming, Name-calling, Insults, Sarcasm, Silent treatment, Trivializing, Sabotage, Gaslighting, Scapegoating, Blame-shifting, Ranking and comparing, Unpredictable inconsistency, Threatening harm, and that’s not at all, but that’s not all this essay is about and I’m probably boring you. 

One last term we should cover is gaslighting. This is an important one as I use it in this essay quite a bit. Gaslighting is a tactic in which a person or entity, in order to gain more power, makes a victim question their reality. They tell blatant lies; they deny they ever said something; even though you have proof; they use what is near and dear to you as ammunition; they throw in positive reinforcement to confuse you. 

So, why was all of that important? You’re just here for more Onceler content, right? Well, all of this has happened to our dear Oncie. My thesis? Emotional abuse was a bigger motivator for the Onceler than corporate greed. 

The Onceler’s Family Life.

So, where could the emotional abuse in the Onceler’s life have come from? Simple answer, his family. When we first meet them it sounds like his mom is trying to be supportive and then she laughs his dreams off. “Yes, but just remember, Onesie, if some-how your invention ends up a failure instead of a success, oh it wouldn’t surprise me at all!” After she says this, the rest of the family joins in the laughing. A few things can be drawn from this conclusion. 

One, she seems to do this quite often throughout the film and probably his past. This can take a heavy toll on his mental health as I’ll explain later. 

Two, she seems to be the ring leader of the abuse because the others never join in unless she starts it. It’s better to make fun of someone else than to be ridiculed yourself right? It’s a come self-defense mechanism. Three, the other people in the family probably suffer to some of the same extent of abuse she places on him. Hence why they jump on the chance for the Onceler to be the victim.

From the line, “Nice wheels! *Punch* Burn!” we can learn that he’s probably been subjected to physical abuse too as he flinches before and after he’s punched. He lunches a lot around his family and they hit him quite a few times in this film. This can pair with the emotional abuse and cause him to be overly cautious around other people. 

Another thing I’d like to point out is his weight. Obviously there’s nothing wrong with him. But have you seen his family? Why is he so skinny compared to them? Do they feed him enough? Not supplying basic needs is a form of abuse too. This one can’t be confirmed but it is something I noticed. 

“Ha..ha.. Yea, Burn! But you’ll see, okay? I’m going to prove you all wrong!” Right after this line, the old Onceler says he had a completely irrational sense of optimism. Why? Because a lot of his drive came from trying to prove himself worthy and to make his family proud. Yes, he did want to change the world for the better, but when he has these negative feelings surrounding him, he’s going to do nothing but drown in his fear of being the failure his family has always told him he was. When you’ve been emotionally abused you always tend to look at the negative side first because that’s all you’ve ever been told. (You can see a little bit of this in the demo song The Onceler’s Travelling Madness.)

Another, smaller, instance is when he makes his first thneed. He says, “Now there’s a thneed! Nothing unmanly about knitting. No, sir.” Why would he say this unless his family had repeatedly drilled that into his head in order to discourage him from pursuing his dreams?

One more small one is when the Lorax first appears and asks why the Onceler didn’t notie the thunder and lightning. People who live in abusive households get used to chaos very quickly and tend to overlook big and small traumitic events. It’s very possible he didn’t even realize loud noises were going on because he’s so used to them happening around him all the time.

The next bigger point is when he finally makes it big. The first person he calls is his mother. He’s feeling really great about himself because they were wrong! He can amount to something and he can be a success! “Mom? Hey, it’s me! I told you I was going to be a success! You need to bring the whole family here right now. We’re going to be rich!” The only reason his family comes to his aid is because of the money he promises them. We know this because they leave the moment he stops making money. I’ll touch more on this later. 

When they arrive in the forest, she runs out of the van singing his praises. “There’s my suddenly successful son! We always knew you’d be a success!” She then uses a hug and kisses to praise him and give him affection, which if you remember is a sign of gaslighting. She’s using affection to ‘prove’ that she loves him. 

“But you always said I wouldn’t amount ot anything, remember?” -Onceler. Here you can see that he is desperately trying to get his mother to remember just how badly she treated him. You can hear the hurt in the inflection of his voice. ‘Don’t you remember how you hurt me?’

“Oh, you hush your mouth. I was just trying to motivate you.”-Mother. She’s gaslighting him here. ‘What? No, I never did that. You’re crazy. I loved you this whole time!’

“I’m really glad that you clarified that because it actually hurt my feelings for a really long time.”-Onceler. She never acknowledges this and lets him continue the conversation. He doesn’t get an apology or closure until the end. After he finishes, you can see him flinch when she starts yelling at the other two to set up the RV. 

Yelling is also a sign of emotional abuse. It scares and intimidates people into submission. You know that whole joke about if you shout loud enough at a grizzly you can assert your dominance and it will leave you alone? Same thing with yelling and emotional abuse. You can get anyone to do anything if you make them feel inferior enough. Hence the Onceler and his Mother.

The Onceler vs The Lorax.

Let’s take a break from that so you can absorb it. Take some breaths and think about it for a moment. 

So, who is the Onceler exactly? Well we know he wants to do something incredible and change the world for the better. “Bout to make a thneed, bout to change the world.” He likes music and is really good at playing the guitar.  He likes to play card games. He’s very imaginative and creative. He’s a great problem solver (when his family isn’t around). He thinks nature is really pretty. “Woah! This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen!” 

He’s also very respectful of nature in the beginning. When he sets up his cottage, he sets it up in a place free of trees and other landmarks. His family goes too far as to harm the animals and the trees when they set up the RV. They throw bears around and Onceler reaches out to protect pipsqueak at his own expense when they are being saved from the river. He never intended to do any harm to the forest of its occupants in the beginning even though he did so by being a bit reckless. He even cooks them pancakes!

So, then why does he keep threatening the forest when the Lorax tells him to stop? I believe it’s because the Lorax reminds him of his mother. The Lorax also uses shaming and gaslighting to try and get the Onceler to do what he wants. For example;

“Hey! Did you chop down this tree?” Right off the bat, the Lorax starts with an accusatory statement. He knows that the Onceler chopped down the tree. It’s like a mother asking her three-year-old if he got into the cookie jar when he’s holding a cookie. He clearly knows that he did, in fact, chop down this tree but now Onceler is being faced with impending disappointment coming from another figure. A common reaction to abuse is to try and immediately escalate the situation and to keep out of trouble so you’re not yelled at or hit.

“Uhhh...no? Who did it? *Gasp* What’s that? I think he did it!” Hence this line. And here comes the inevitable yelling that he was trying to stop.

“Leave! Vacate the premise. Take your ax and get out!”

*Tries to placate the Lorax by giving him the peace offering of a marshmallow* This action shows that he wants to stop the yelling and hopefully make things right. But how can he offer an apology when he’s never been taught how? His whole life presents meant everything was okay now. Hence the marshmallow.

*Lorax start kicking the pegs holding his house up*

“Whoa! Wait! Hey, Mustache! Will you stop that? What’s your deal, man?” He doesn’t start calling names until he’s tried to peacefully ask him to stop first. He’s learned this from his family and does this towards the Lorax a few times in the film. But never towards anyone who didn’t cause him harm first. (It’s still an emotional abuse tactic though.)

“Whoa! Stop right there!”- Lorax

*Immediately stops and takes several steps back*-Onceler

“So, you would hammer one of nature’s innocent creatures?”- Lorax

*Shock and hurt* “What? No! I would never hit this little guy! You, on the other hand, I would gladly pound you and your mustache into the ground!” He is aggressive now because all his other defense mechanisms have not worked to get his aggressor to stop. But this next part is the important part. 

“Behold! The intruder and his violent ways. Shame on you. For shame.” *All the other forest creatures start shaking their heads in disappointment* Who does this remind you of? The Onceler’s mother. She did this same thing with his family when he was leaving. The Lorax has shamed him for doing what he thought was a good thing and turned everyone against him. Feeling alone and isolated is a very scary thing, especially when everyone is targetting you. The Onceler has a lot of experience being on this end and never being able to stand up for himself. So, he turns to anger and ‘justifies’ his actions so people will stop targetting him and shaming him.

“All right, you know what? That’s it. You listen here, you furry meatloaf. I’m going to chop down as many trees as I need. Okay? Newsflash! Not going anywhere. End of story!”

After this, the Onceler and the Lorax reach an agreement of not chopping down the trees when Onceler sees just what kind of effect he could have on his new friends and doesn’t want to cause them any harm. But the Lorax keeps bringing up his mistake.

“You chopped down one of my trees to make that piece of garbage?” He is once again imitating the mother by putting the Onceler down and insulting something precious to him. The Oncelere’s face falls and he holds his thneed close to him as if to protect it. When you constantly bring up someone’s mistakes, it makes them feel worse and worse about themselves and prevents them from moving on and bettering themselves. This creates a cycle of self-hatred that’s hard to break out of. The Onceler has experienced this from his family and from the Lorax. After he destroys the entires forest, he also experiences it from himself as he shuts himself in isolation and refuses to move past his mistakes.

The Family influence on his decisions.

Alright, the part we all really wanted to get to. We have seen that the Onceler is not a greedy person. So, why does he keep chopping down trees to make more money and keep biggering his company? Because his abusive family manipulates him into it and it’s hard for him to break that cycle. He fully intended to keep his promise on not chopping down trees and devised another system to gather the tusks from the trees. 

When does he start chopping down the trees?

When his mother tells him to. Breaking his promise didn’t even cross his mind until his mother suggested it and here’s your proof.

Once-ler: I mean, look at this. It's amazing. I am so proud of me.

Once-ler's Mom: Oncie, we've got us a little problem.

Once-ler:  Problem?

Once-ler's Mom: Mmm-hmm. See, we're not making Thneeds fast enough.

Once-ler’s Dad: Harvesting the tufts takes too long!

Once-ler: Well, what else can we do? (Didn’t mention chopping down the trees at all. What can he do? He can’t cut them and he has to find a faster way to harvest them. )

Once-ler's Mom: Well, and this just came to me, we could always start chopping down the trees. (Oh, can he?)

Once-ler: What? (What? No, I can’t. I promised.)

Now you're thinking.

That would speed things up!

Once-ler: But… (But I promised!)

Once-ler's Mom: No buts, Oncie. You're running a business now. You have to do what's best for the company and your momma.

Once-ler: Well, I guess it couldn't hurt to chop down a few trees. (Well, I guess if it’s to keep my mom happy and they’re proud of me, how bad can it be if everyone is happy?)

Once-ler's Mom: You've made me so proud, Oncie. Come here!

And here it is. The moment you choose to please an abuser is the moment you lose everything. And what happens after? Exactly. 

One more thing I’d like to put in here is that pride also has something to do with it. He’s proud that he overcame adversity and made it big. He’s proud that he’s helping people. He’s proud that his family finally likes him. He’s glad he made his family proud! “Look at this! I’m so proud of me.” “You’ve made me so proud!” “Something good finally happens to me!” “This is all so gratifying! (Because I’m so proud of all that I’ve accomplished and All I’ve built and all I’ve collected!)”

His regret.

After this, his family starts pushing the Lorax and all his forest friends away so that he has no other information or support system so he can only keep making his decisions based on what makes them happy and what fuels his pride. 

“I’ve done nothing illegal! I have my rights!” Are these his thoughts or his family trying to keep his guilt in check so he doesn’t compromise their money income? Just saying. 

“The last tree. That might stop you.” You can see the guilt hit the Onceler really fast and he desperately tries to win the animals back as he realizes just how bad his actions really were. FOr the first time in his life he doesn’t receive any backlash for a mistake

 the animals don’t fight him and the Lorax doesn’t tell him how wrong he was. He just sits in the knowledge that he was wrong. “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.” 

The guilt hits him hard and he spends the rest of his life wallowing in his mistake. Not to mention all his efforts were for naught as his family leaves him, slamming him with more disappointment. “You have let me down. Bret! You are now my favorite child!” He tried so hard but they never cared about him and all his mistakes and choices were made in vain because you can’t please abusers. He had to be hurting really really badly after that.

I firmly believe he’s still a good person because I can see just how much he regretted his mistake. In my opinion, O’Hare represents corporate greed much more than the Onceler does because he doesn’t regret any of his actions and he purposely keeps the environment bad and making more smog and making more plastic to keep the people paying him and getting more money. He does all that on purpose. 

The Onceler? He made mistakes and he was manipulated. It doesn’t excuse his actions and he does hold accountability because abuse isn’t an excuse. But it was emotional abuse, not corporate greed and that’s my point. Thanks for coming to my essay. Have a lovely day!

#the lorax #the onceler #lorax 2012 #oncie

[dejaaalm]

Fearless

I remember when I turned 16 years old, my mom brought me to Subway to apply for my first job. Applying and doing the interview was easy, but my first day on the job was really scary. I had so many doubts and questions. Was I ready to work? To make sandwiches in a fast-paced work environment? To provide good customer service? To count money and give back change correctly? I had all the thoughts and worries a 16-year old would have on their first day of working.

I remember the supervisor teaching me how to make all of the different sandwiches - this meat goes in here and this sauce goes with this. I felt fine at first because he was there to guide me. I felt confident and rest assured knowing that he had my back if I messed up. Two weeks after training, I was on my own. I felt lonely and unsure of what to do. I did not want to screw anything up. I still remember the first time I closed the shop all by myself. I had forgotten the password to the safe, how to alarm the store, and how to refill the pop machine. It was a disaster and I remember feeling so overwhelmed and afraid that I would get fired.

This experience made a huge life-long impact on me. The constant battle of feeling so fearful often wrapped its wings around me. When I got my job at Hennepin County in 2016, the adrenaline of fear slowly crept up on me again. My hire group and I were in training for about 2 months and then we were left to be on our own to prove that we were worthy enough to make the cut and be a permanent team member. Previously, probation was 6 months long. Training lasted 2 months and then we have 2.5 months to process cases and have them be reviewed. I needed to pass both months with a cumulative average of 85% or higher to show that I understand policies and procedures.

I witnessed people from the previous hire groups get fired. There were a few people in our group that got fired or left to find a new job. I was mad and irritated with health care policies and processing procedures. I wept and wanted to quit every day. I felt so neglected by my senior colleagues and supervisors. I felt like God left me there to be tormented and slowly die on the inside because every ounce of confidence and pride that I had left within me had gone out the window. I began to question my own worth. Am I cut out for this job? Do I suck this bad? Do these numbers and percentages really depict my worth?

I was angry for a while. One day, I was praying to God about how hurt and mad I was about the probation process. During my prayer, God revealed something so prominent that I will never forget. In the quiet, I heard "But this was the job you desperately prayed for a few months ago. This was the breakthrough you cried for. Now that you have it, you want to quit?" Right at the moment, one of my favorite Bible verses pierced my heart: Jeremiah 29:11. "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

Right then, I stopped crying. I stopped bickering. I stopped venting. I began to praise him and thanked him for all that I have been given. I promised myself that I would work harder and shift my focus from my defeats to my victories. I would allow God to use me, mold me, and take me to where I need to be.

That prayer led me to so many incredible experiences and connections with people at my workplace. This is not to say that I completely stopped feeling fearful, overwhelmed, angry, and anxious because I still feel all of these emotions from time to time. I still feel defeated and have lots of questions sometimes. The difference is that I have a better coping mechanism and I've learned to really do a lot of self-care. Instead of re-evaluating my entire life and mishaps, I focus on realistic goals that I can reach. Instead of feeling sorry or sad for myself when I didn't do something well, I focus on how I can improve. Shifting my mindset and letting God take the lead has really allowed me to take on opportunities at work.

I got two promotions last fall! I got promoted to be a senior and to be a mentor. I train new workers to potentially become a worker like my colleagues and me. I create training materials and activities, facilitate group discussions, train in-person and virtual training courses, and so much more. For the most part, I love my job. COVID-19 has really stretched my co-workers and me in a lot different ways on a personal and mental health level, but we're hanging there and doing our best to provide meaningful training content.

We have two new hire groups. Our Aug 2019 group completed their formal training and case reviews already but we are still providing support to them. Our March 2020 group started at a really awkward time. It happened right after Gov. Tim Walz ordered everything, except for essential workers, to shut down. We've been training everything virtually. We work with a very complex health care system so it's not easy training this stuff virtually.

Before the state was ordered to shut down all non-essential workers and employment, we were gearing up our Aug 2019 group for the formal period--that is to dissect their case work and look for errors. This process is currently on hold. I could see on their faces how stressed out they were. In fact, one of them broke into tears and walked out of the classroom a few months back because she was so overwhelmed by the amount of test evaluations they were taking. I was not there but when I heard about it, I wanted to hug her and tell her that everything was going to be okay. All of what they're going through right now is to prepare them to gain the knowledge and experiences needed for their future role as it has done for me.

I think our relationship with God is a lot like that. The beginning stages always feel like we're on cloud nine and things are going smoothly. We happily pray every day, sing songs of praise, read scriptures, and intentionally engage in bible studies with friends. We attend conferences, retreats, and worship events to be filled. We want and search for that feeling of "God is in my life and he's guiding me onto the right path." It feels good to have a sense of direction or feel that God is holding us in the palm of his hands. But what about when we hit rock bottom or get close to it? Or, how about the days when we feel like we're worthless, our life has no meaning or value, or you feel like no one cares about your passion and goals. Even in my own personal walk with Christ, sometimes I feel like that long lost and lonely 16-year old making sandwiches at Subway. I need someone to hold my hand. I hate the process. I hate the struggle. I hate what I'm going through. I need to be reminded of my purpose and that God still has a plan for me.

Often times, I was afraid. I was constantly afraid of doing things on my own, or facing trials and challenges, or trying new things, or believing that God really does have a unique plan for me. I realized that my biggest fear is actually not really a fear. I have a trust deficit. I don't trust myself, my skills and abilities, and sometimes, I don't even trust those closest to me. They say, trust in God because he has a plan for you. How can I trust in God if I can't trust myself and others?

Being fearless is something I struggled with. I'm afraid of so many things but most importantly, I'm afraid of my journey with Christ. I'm afraid to let God take control of my life. I'm afraid of being obedient because I don't know what's ahead of me. If you're anything like me, I like to read spoilers before reading a book or watching a movie or tv show. It is so weird but I do that all the time. I don't want to feel like I wasted my time on something so good but it ended so terribly.

It's easy to look up scriptures and read it and say "Oh, that was really good. I needed that today." This doesn't have any meaning. It's a quick "hand-holding" moment that often times lasts for a few minutes and is forgotten. One scripture in particular that has really been my living testimony the past decade is Joshua 1:9 - "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go."

When I was younger, I always liked this verse. I had it memorized and even recited it out loud whenever I was afraid. But to believe and trust in it was a different process. To see the word of God come to life and manifest in my life was compelling. This bible verse is no longer just an encouraging or inspirational verse. It's alive! It's real. Believe it. Let scriptures come alive.

I don't think it was the struggle of the work or the amount of work that I was afraid of; I was afraid of not knowing what will happen. I was already afraid of the possible negative outcomes if my performance was poor during probation. I was afraid knowing that I was on my own. But God says that we are never alone for he is always with us wherever we go.

During this pandemic, it is completely normal to feel fearful. It is our natural response to a global disaster such as COVID-19. Our social media and news outlets continue to feed us fear. We fear of being disposed to illness, fear of being sick, fear of dying, and fear of running out of food and supplies. Our entire focus is on social distancing and staying safe. Fear has consumed many of us. I encourage you to relinquish your fears today, whatever it may be or what it is related to, and let God take the lead. He knows your strengths and weaknesses and what you are capable of doing more than you know. When you let go and let God, you find the courage and strength to overcome your fears.

It’s easy to fall through the cracks and let the enemy seep through with lies and chaos. Whatever you are going through, know that God is bigger. I often tell my kids to trust me because I know what’s best for them and I know that they don’t know, so in essence, God is the same way. We don’t know what the outcome will be weeks and months from now, but we do know that God is loving, forgiving, kind, and faithful. Call unto him and he will hear you. I am praying for you, dear friend. Be fearless!