(flirting)

thinking about patrick zweig and his sexuality…

mrta era up to 2007 i feel like patrick’s in his repressed bisexual era. like, it’s the 2000s and going to a boarding school, i’m sure there’s a lot of repressed homosexuals but, like, it’s definitely not an open thing. and patrick has a reputation to uphold. so, he doesn’t experiment, not yet. but, that doesn’t stop him from looking.

in the hotel room scene, when tashi asks if him and art have done anything, he looks away and sighs — that, to me, is regret. regret that they haven’t done anything. regretting the fact that he missed that opportunity. i do truly think that both art and patrick pined over each other in mrta days, but they were both too shy and repressed to do anything about it. other than distant, yearny looks from across the room.

i’d like to think that something happened between art and patrick after tashi leaves the hotel room, just because. but i think, if it does, it gives patrick a taste of what he’s missing. but he keeps that in the back of his mind, because, well, tashi duncan said she’ll give one of them her number!!

i feel like the first time patrick really first got in touch with his sexuality is post-tashi’s-injury. him being (forcibly) art and tashi-less, forced him to meet new people, and consequently, try new things out. i also think that with art and tashi not being with him, lifts a weight of his shoulders. like a newfound confidence — like, there’s not a sense of scrutiny or criticism from anything that he does anymore. that being said, it’s not like he doesn’t miss them.

now, 2019 patrick, is much more confident in his sexuality. i feel like this was portrayed beautifully by luca guadagnino when patrick eats the banana and stares art down. but, also, the tinder/dating app showing both men and women — which, could just be because this man is broke + homeless and just desperately needed a place to stay, but!! he is not opposed to getting dicked down.

i also think the sauna scene shows the difference between art and patrick’s sexuality. i saw a post on here that said that the way each of their towels are wrapped around their body acts as a metaphor for their sexuality. like, patrick’s towel is loose and barely there, showing that he’s comfortable and unashamed in his bisexuality. but with art, it’s tightly wrapped around, and he still wears his wedding band, though the heat would make the metal tighten around his finger. now, this could be a simple act of devotion to tashi, but, maybe a desperate way to hold on to any semblance of heterosexuality he has? idk! but it definitely reflects his internalised biphobia and repression.

ummm this went longer than expected but like !! <3

sleaze ; patrick zweig

you never thought you'd hook up with a jock—especially not patrick fucking zweig. the audacity he had, prancing around like the epitome of testosterone and privilege. you hated everything about him. the mere sight of him strutting through the hallways with that infuriating smirk always set you on edge.

yet, here you were, his letterman jacket draped over their shoulders like a brand.

it started after school, when you were too high to care about the consequences of their actions. the intoxicating, earthy smell of weed still clung to your fingertips as you leaned against the graffiti-covered wall behind the gym. and patrick? he was there.

and somehow—god knows how—you ended up in his car.

the leather seats were cool against your skin, the smell of his cologne filling the small, stifling space. patrick sat stiffly in the driver’s seat, his usual smug confidence replaced with something quieter, more unsure. his hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, and his eyes kept darting to you, like he thought you might bolt at any second.

“you should eat something,” he finally said, breaking the heavy silence. his voice was quiet, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure how you'd react. “i mean, not like, right now, but, you know. something. something that’s not… this.” he waved vaguely at them, at the evidence of your current state—the glassy eyes, the telltale haze of someone who’d stopped giving a shit for the day.

you'd only flashed an amused look. "..right." and nodded. he was being weird. you thought it was only for sex. caring wasn’t a good look on him. he huffed a reluctant laugh, running a hand through his tousled hair, mussing it from its usual perfection. his discomfort was obvious. he wasn't used to this—this intimacy that extended beyond physical touch.

"you always so high?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual. it wasn't judgement, not really. just an observation. a fact he couldn't ignore. "can't you function without it for a minute?"

"i mean, i could." you mused. the weight of your words struck him. he knew why. you knew why. you shrugged softly, staring out the window. "do you want me to leave?" you asked, your voice tinged with amusement.

his grip on the wheel tightened, his jaw clenching. he turned to look at you, really look at you. your carelessness. he shook his head, sighing deeply. “no. i don’t want you to leave.” his voice was quiet, a stark contrast to his usual cocky self. “and that’s the problem.”

"step-up from when you were kicking me out of your car." you scoffed. "patrick. we hook up, okay? you don't need to act like if you care. about my eating habits or the amount of weed i consume.” he would stop caring outside this car, anyway.

his knuckles were white from how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel. his jaw clenched, his usual demeanor faltering for a moment. he took a deep breath, his shoulders tensing as he forced himself to relax. when he spoke, his voice was low and rough, tinged with frustration.

"i'm not acting like i care," he said, his tone dripping with annoyance. "i do care. shocking, i know. but i do." he turned away from you, running a hand through his hair in agitation. his shoulders were tight, like he was bracing himself for a fight. "i'm not some heartless asshole. i have feelings, just like you do. i just don't show them often." there was a brief pause, his throat working as he struggled to force the words out. "not all of us can be as detached as you are."

"excuse me?" you scoffed. "are you trying to be self rightous right now? because you're not. i'm not a goddamn charity case. don't turn this on me."

he bristled, his jaw tensing. "i'm not trying to be self-righteous," he ground out. "and i’m not acting like you're a charity case." his voice took on a sharper edge, biting. "i just think you're better than this. getting high, screwing around, acting like nothing matters." he huffed, his grip on the steering wheel tightening even more. "i've seen you when you're sober. you're smart. you're better than this."

"oh, you've seen me?" you spat out. "that's rich. you haven't seen me outside this car."

"maybe i haven't, but i’d like to." his voice was surprisingly earnest, the sharpness giving way to something softer. he didn't look at you, his gaze fixed out the windshield, but the line of his jaw was tense. "i'd like to know the real you. the one who's not high off her ass, the one who's present in our conversations.”

there was a long moment of silence as his words hung in the air, stark and vulnerable in the closeness of the car. he kept his gaze fixed ahead, his tension palpable. finally, he spoke, his voice quieter this time. “this thing we have, it doesn’t have to be about sex, you know? maybe… i should take you on a date.”

“who are you and what have you done with patrick zweig?” you mused. he was rough, careless, and annoying. a blend of charm and intensity, as well as arrogance and impatience. praised for holding a racket and running across a tennis court.

he huffed out a laugh, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “trust me, i'm just as surprised as you are," he said, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. then his expression sobered a little. "but seriously. no sex, no weed. i mean it." he turned to look at you, his eyes meeting yours in that intense way of his.

“just… go on a date with me. get to know each other outside of this damn car."

you’d found out that day that he was stubbornly determined.

yikes. unstanning now. was okay with the cannibalism, wasn’t aware of the ‘being mean to nat’ part.

thank uou for showing me your little white boy i do not like him can you put him away please

hii! i love your blog smmmm!!💕💕🥰🥰

aww hi!! thank you sm🥹🥹 i love yours too, i love elvira 😆

Thinking abt. The challengers boner slap

I miss my boyfriend (I don’t have one)

thinking about his veins rn

isabella ❦⋆₊˚⊹ she/her. 18. bisexual. 🇲🇽

favorites ᯓᡣ𐭩 challengers. radiohead. tashi duncan. luca guadagnino. sufjan stevens. patrick zweig. lost in translation. jeff buckley. sofia coppola. art donaldson (apologists). cmbyn. yellowjackets. elliot smith. whiplash. slasher movies. björk. anya taylor-joy. ladybird. m. night shyamalan. suspira. timothée chalamet. mutuals.

new ; patrick zweig

you were something patrick had never thought to experience before. you were new. soft, and delicate. you were a breath of fresh air. he was used to rough, calloused skin. harshness. but you? fragile.

he’d never believed in god, or religion, for that matter, but you? temptation on a fucking stick. he’d begrudgingly sat at a pew on easter, bored out of his mind. it was a yearly occurrence. easter and christmas were reserved for church, as if it would make up for the other fifty sunday’s they missed at the grimly chapel.

then, he saw you. you quite literally looked like an angel, with your white dress (almost reaching your ankles, mind you). he immediately sat a bit straighter, eyes scanning your figure. you wore a sweet smile, your cross necklace dangling off your pretty neck, as a reminder that you were pure.

preacher’s daughter, it seemed.

you were greeting the congregation, handing out bracelets that tied into the message somehow, occasionally letting a god bless you fall from your lips. when you’d reached him and his family, he only stared. wide eyed, a crooked grin on his lips.

“good morning, god bless you!” you chirped, handing him a bracelet. your fingers brushed against his. and just like that, the moment was gone. you’d turned to the next family, keeping that grin on your face as you continued handing out the bracelets.

god.

he continued staring, his gaze trailing after you. his father made a point to turn in his seat, flashing a pointed look. “best behavior, son.” and patrick only rolled his eyes, and shrugged, feigning innocence. he watched you weave through the church, his gaze lingering on your figure as you weaved away. the way you moved, it was almost like you were floating.

what could he say? he’d always been a sucker for pretty eyes. you’d eventually sat at a pew in the front, next to your family. flashing your daddy a pretty smile, before he stood up and walked to the pulpit, setting his bible down and beginning to preach.

patrick had been staring the whole time. not even listening to what your dad was saying—he could care less. you’d piqued his interest. the way you stared wide eyed at your dad, as if hanging onto his every word. you seemed to know every book in the bible by heart, and were the first to clap.

well, he was most definitely some kind of sadist.