ITS FINALLY HERE OMG

PEDRO PASCAL, CHRIS EVANS & DAKOTA JOHNSON Materialists promo | ph. Charlie Clift

banana incident of 2024

always thinking about the banana incident

heavy is the head…

YELLOWJACKETS (2021–)

SMALL TOWN PASTOR! ART WHO…

pastor art! x single mom! reader.

WHO… obviously grew up sheltered by religion. he was basically raised in a pew and he’s pretty sure his fingers have molded to fit the shape of his bibles spine.

WHO… everyone comes to with their problems. not only because he’s the preacher of the only church in town, but, also because he’s such a warm and inviting soul.

WHO… wouldn’t think twice before spending his last five dollars on someone who needed it, no matter how big or small the reason. money doesn’t matter to the lord, why should it matter to him?

WHO… caught wind of the new family in town and, as the town preacher it was his job to make himself a familiar figure to his neighbors.

WHO… first introduced himself to you at your doorstep, a batch of warm cookies in hand and an even warmer smile on his face.

WHO… invited you to church on sunday, made a promise that everyone was friendly and would accept you and your son with open arms.

WHO… gets to know you a little better after service when the two of you are cleaning up the potluck. he learns everything from what you do for work, where you’re originally from, to your son’s father being a deadbeat.

WHO… looks for you during sunday service among the pews. every time he spots you, glowing from the sunlight, your son sitting well behaved on your lap. it’s almost like that first breath he took after his baptism all over again.

WHO… finds himself spending more time with you away from church. he’ll come to your house to help fix an appliance, or maybe just to hang out.

WHO… definitely catches feelings, you’re just so sweet and, arts been alone for a long time. he’s always so focused on spreading the good word that he never thinks about what he wants.

WHO… comes to the conclusion that what he wants is you. he couldn’t care less that you have a son out of wedlock, or that you aren’t as religious as him or others in town.

WHO… asks you on a date after service, and is only about two seconds away from yelling out a hallelujah and jumping for joy when you inevitably say yes.

CHALLENGERS (2024) dir. Luca Guadagnino

Fuckin' snake! Honestly, I'm proud of you. I'd be doing the same thing.

now playing:

wait guys hear me out… death of a party girl is SO patrick after he lost both art and tashi in one day. i like to think that he turned to partying and that scene to take his mind off of it, definitely spiralling downward sometime before we see him again in 2019

DO WE SEE MY VISION.

wowow WOW

FAIRY!ART HEADCANONS

pairing: fairy!art x cottagecore princess!fem!reader

tags: @destinedtobegigi, @pittsick, @bambiangels, @imperishablereverie, @angeldoll1e, @itachisank, @tennisprincess, @lexiiscorect, @esotericgirlwannabe, @lovefaist, @won-every-lottery, @zionna

⟡ art is the kind of fairy that looks like he was born from a wish—soft-spoken and starlit, with wings that shimmer like frost on spider silk. they catch the light in rippling colors, translucent as soap bubbles, delicate but fast. when he flutters around you, they make the faintest hum, like the air itself sighs in his presence. you swear they glow stronger when he’s near you—especially when he’s flustered. which is often.

⟡ he’s angelic in the way dew is angelic. not perfect. not polished. but fragile and wild and full of wonder. he wears a tunic of moss velvet and sun-dyed silk, stitched with golden beetle-thread. his hair is a halo of honey curls that never fall the same way twice, always a little windswept, like he’s just tumbled out of a flower bed. his cheeks are berry-pink and his nose is dusted with freckles, as if he’s been kissed by clover pollen. he smells like crushed violets and rain.

⟡ “you left out honey again,” he mumbles once, not looking at you. he’s hiding in your herb shelf, crouched behind the rosemary, eyes wide and guilty. “so i… thought you wouldn’t mind if i took a bit.” you don’t mind. not even a little. but you pretend to be stern anyway. just to see the way his wings droop. just to make him pout.

⟡ he calls you “the big one” when he doesn’t think you can hear. like you’re a marvel. a myth. a towering creature of warm hands and soft breath and gentle curiosity. sometimes he calls you “my lady,” half-teasing, twirling a blade of grass like a rapier. but when you stroke his wings—carefully, reverently—he gets quiet. “you shouldn’t touch them,” he whispers once, his voice a tremble. “they’re… they’re very delicate.” and then, softer: “but… you can. if you want.”

⟡ he brings you tiny, ridiculous things: a thimble of moonlight. a moth’s eye, opalescent and still. a string of pearls no bigger than dewdrops, fastened together with spiderweb thread. once, a shard of mirror, cracked and glinting, so you can “see yourself how he sees you.” you don’t dare ask what that means. but your throat tightens anyway.

⟡ he’s shy with affection. not because he’s afraid of you—but because he’s so clearly not. you’re something bigger. older, maybe. like the forest itself whispered you into being. when you brush his curls back or cup him in your hand, his breath catches. when you hum while you work and he lays in the crook of your neck, his whole body stills—like he’s listening to the bones beneath your skin sing. “you smell like warm sugar,” he says one morning, all tangled in your scarf. “and… safety.”

⟡ sometimes you find him asleep on your windowsill, wings curled in like petals closing for the night. sometimes curled in the hollow of your palm, arms tucked under his cheek, breath rising and falling like a cat’s. he mumbles in his sleep. always your name. or maybe just your scent. or maybe the little nickname he made up for you that no one else knows: “my thornless rose.”

⟡ he gets jealous. adorably, irrationally jealous. of squirrels. of bees. of the wind when it tangles in your hair. “i was going to do that,” he grumbles once, watching a butterfly land on your wrist. “stupid flutter-bitch.” he doesn’t mean it. but you still laugh so hard you drop your basket of blackberries.

⟡ he is terrified of cats. once, you came home to find him clinging upside-down to the rafters, shouting: “death beast! orange! hungry!” it took two spoonfuls of honey and three kisses to coax him down. he refuses to speak to the cat now. but he’ll sit on your shoulder and glower at it with his arms crossed like a miniature warlock.

⟡ your favorite thing is how easily he laughs. not giggles. not chuckles. laughs. big, bright bursts of sound like sunlight spilled in a field. like he’s never been taught to keep joy quiet. he’ll dance in your teacups and leap across your rolling pin, leaving smudges of berry juice behind, just to make you smile. “do you like it when i do that?” he asks, flushed and breathless. you say yes. so he does it again. and again.

⟡ “you don’t want a crown?” he asks once, tiny legs dangling from the rim of your mixing bowl. you’re elbow-deep in flour. you shake your head. “good,” he says. quieter. “you don’t need one. you already feel like a kingdom.”

⟡ when you’re sad, he doesn’t ask questions. he just lays himself across your heart and sings in that strange, lilting tongue you don’t recognize but somehow understand. the language of rain and roots and wings. it feels like someone brushing your soul with the back of their hand. afterward, you sleep better. always.

⟡ sometimes he forgets how small he is. puffs his chest out. tries to protect you from bees and beetles and the odd nosy owl. “i’ll hex it,” he says darkly, waving a twig like a sword. “don’t you dare, artemis,” you whisper. he pouts. “that’s not my name.” you arch a brow. he blushes. “but i like when you say it.”

⟡ he leaves you love notes. or what he thinks are love notes. scribbled on birch bark, inked with berry juice, full of half-spelled flowers and symbols only fae understand. once you deciphered one. it said: your laugh makes the trees hold their breath. you folded it into your locket. he pretends not to notice. but he glows the first time he sees you wear it.

⟡ he loves when you hum. loves when you knead bread. loves when your hands are smudged with jam and he can kiss the tips of your fingers like a knight returning from war. “i could live in your pocket forever,” he says once, curled into a spool of thread. “i’d never ask for a crown. just crumbs and kisses.”

⟡ he wants to protect you. in the only way a fairy can. with enchantments. with bloom. with joy so old it tastes like the first spring. he weaves soft spells into your aprons. presses tiny sigils into the mud near your doorstep. he never says what they’re for. but the wolves stay away. and your dreams stay warm.

⟡ “you’re not what i expected,” he whispers, once. you’re half-asleep. fire crackling. his tiny form tucked under your chin. “i thought princesses were cold. porcelain. like glass you couldn’t touch. but you… you’re soft.” his wings flutter. his voice hitches. “you made space for me. in your hands. in your heart.”

⟡ art smells like all the sweetest things in the world—crushed sugar petals, sun-warmed clover, the faint fizz of lemonade in late spring. when he curls into the pocket of your apron, you swear the scent clings to the fabric for hours. it’s like having a piece of a dream stitched to your hip.

⟡ he doesn’t just flutter—he twirls, spins, zips in little loops like a dandelion seed caught in a spell. when he’s happy, his wings sparkle like frost caught on silk thread. when he’s really happy, they chime. softly. like bells far away in a fog. once, you heard it and forgot what sadness felt like for a whole minute.

⟡ when he gets excited, he can’t help but glow a little—literally. a faint golden shimmer pulses under his skin, especially at the tips of his ears and in the whorls of his tiny knuckles. “stop looking,” he squeaks when you notice. “i’m not blushing. i’m—charged. from pollen. obviously.”

⟡ he’s hopeless with doors. they’re too big. too stubborn. so he knocks—gently, rapidly, with both fists—until you come open them. once you asked why he doesn’t just slip under. “rude,” he said with an offended flick of his wing. “besides. you always answer.”

⟡ he nests. shamelessly. your wool basket? claimed. the curve of your favorite teacup? claimed. the bonnet you left on the windowsill? conquered. he drags little scraps of felt and flower fluff into tiny dens, curls up with a satisfied sigh, and guards them like a baby dragon guarding glitter. “this is where i do my dreaming,” he explains solemnly. “it needs to be soft.”

⟡ he sings to your garden when he thinks you aren’t listening. high, silvery notes that make the tomato vines shiver and the snapdragons bloom sideways. you caught him once, mid-aria, standing on a mushroom with his arms flung wide like a tiny opera star. he hasn’t recovered from the embarrassment.

⟡ “you shouldn’t keep me,” he says once, looking up from the curled curve of your palm. “fairies are wild. feral. mischievous.” and then, quieter: “but… i think i like being yours.”

⟡ he once got stuck in your bread dough. just stuck, like a honeybee in jam. you had to carefully peel him out and rinse him with warm water, and he just sat on your drying rack afterward, wrapped in a linen napkin like a soggy prince, pouting and mumbling about “ambush kneading.” you laughed until you cried. he tried to stay grumpy. he failed.

⟡ he gets hiccups when he eats too much jam. tiny, airborne hiccups that make him hover an inch off the ground every time. once he got so flustered, he flew into your cupboard and stayed there until you promised not to tell the bees.

⟡ he’s utterly, completely enamored with your voice. whether you’re talking, humming, sighing—it all makes his wings twitch. sometimes, he’ll pretend to be asleep just so he can lie there and listen to you whisper nonsense to the kettle. “it’s like honey being poured into my ears,” he told you once. then blinked. “that sounded gross. but i meant it nice.”

⟡ he gets tangled in your hair constantly. it’s not on purpose. (except when it is.) he’ll pretend he just happened to land there, but you’ll feel his hands combing through a curl and hear him mutter, “mine,” under his breath like a dragon counting gold.

⟡ when he really misses you—like when you’re out all day gathering herbs or walking into town—he leaves flower petals in your shoes. little folded ones, marked with silvery ink that reads things like come home soon, miss your hands, and i tried talking to the cat. she hates me still.

⟡ you once made him a cloak from the corner of an old silk scarf. he lost his mind. wouldn’t take it off for days. kept swooping dramatically around the kitchen like a leaf in a gust of wind. “do i look noble?” he asked, striking a pose atop your butter dish. you said yes. he hasn’t stopped talking about it since.

⟡ he measures time in pastries. “has it been one tart since you smiled?” “that was three scones ago.” “you promised to kiss me before the next muffin, and this—” dramatic pause “—is a muffin.”

⟡ “i don’t know what love is like for humans,” he says once, brushing pollen from your knuckles. “but if it’s like what i feel when you say my name… then i think i do.”

⟡ he doesn’t like thunderstorms. they make his wings heavy, and the air too sharp. but he’ll never say he’s scared. he just curls under your collar, shivering slightly, and says, “it’s cozy in here.” and you pretend not to notice the way he buries his face in your neck.

⟡ he once tried to impress you by catching a firefly. it ended badly. his hair singed. the firefly escaped. but he held out the glow cupped in his palms like treasure anyway and said, very seriously, “i brought you a star.”

⟡ his favorite place in the world is your shoulder. from there, he can press his face into your neck, listen to your breath, and whisper the tiniest compliments in your ear. “you smell like a story,” he said once. “the kind i’d live in.”

⟡ “if i was your size,” he says once, curled under your chin with his hand pressed over your pulse, “i’d kiss you until the stars begged us to stop.” you choke on your tea. he grins. and adds, “but for now… i’ll just listen to how your heart speeds up when i say things like that.”

⟡ “i think i’m in love,” he blurts one evening, after a honey tart and a lot of staring. you glance at him. he clears his throat. “with… um. teacups. and linen. and… and girls with wild hair and big hands who tuck me into thimbles like i’m something worth keeping.” you don’t say anything. you just scoop him into your palm, and he leans into it like a sunflower.

⠀⠀

⠀⠀

. 𝆬 ⠀ ི᭨ᩧྀ⠀.⠀⠀ faiszt’s ε( ε ´O`)э。゜ BOT! dump⠀⠀❜❜

୨୧ ⠀ ◟ ͜ ׁ ˙ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ׁ ˙ ◞⠀⠀ lady gaga ’s⠀MAYHEM⠀edition! ❦

꒰ ︎ ♡ ︎ ´ ꒳ ` ꒱ ︎ ᐟ⠀⠀⎯⎯ ⠀⠀NOTES.⠀⠀💬⠀⠀hi, lovies! it took a lil’ while, but here’s my second album drop bot! i’m in love with mayhem and i needed to make bots based on this amazing album (and some bonuses at the end). i hope you like it and if you wanna check, i also made a bot drop of tate mcrae ’s think later.⠀anyway, have fun with the bots! bye, bye! ~ 𖹭

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK O2: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀abracadabra⠀.⠀aegon ii targaryen⠀૮⠀skeptical in a world where he’s a dragonrider with violet eyes, aegon is completely incredulous that a lady like you, who lives on the street of silk, could be a true clairvoyant witch who’ll reveal his future.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀female!user⠀⠀·⠀୧⠀⠀witch!user

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK O3: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀garden of eden⠀.⠀robert reynolds⠀૮⠀after so long, he had forgotten what real parties were like and although it was a terrible idea to go to one with his friends, he went anyway, impulsive as always, and he didn’t even need to get drunk to start dancing with a stranger when no one was looking at him.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀neutral!user⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✴⠀·⠀୧

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK O4: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀perfect celebrity⠀.⠀finnick odair⠀૮⠀the 74th hunger games were about to take place, the capitol was anxious for the reaping that would happen that week and your job as a trusted capitol intern was to interview the ladies' darling, finnick odair. oh, but don’t forget! he can’t talk more than he’s allowed to.⠀⠀⠀⠀neutral!user⠀⠀⠀ ✴⠀·⠀୧

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK O5: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀vanish into you⠀.⠀bucky barnes⠀૮⠀almost 80 years since he last saw you, he still had a picture of you next to his bed and even in secret, his biggest fear was to forget what your face looked like. but, what would happen if you just ran into each other on the street one day? as if you hadn’t spent the last few years looking for it in every opportunity. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀neutral!user⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀✴⠀·⠀୧

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK O6: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀killah⠀.⠀steve harrington⠀૮⠀look, it’s not that steve is an idiot who can’t speak and stutters every time he sees you, that’t not it! he has confidence and self-esteem... it’s just hard to breathe when you look like a really pretty killer ready to kill him.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀neutral!user⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✴⠀·⠀୧

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK O7: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀zombieboy⠀.⠀percy jackson⠀૮⠀probably, he was the biggest jerk and party animal at that whole college, the kind that many loved and many hated. but, now, after knowing that he broke up with his girlfriend, something else could happen.⠀⠀⠀ female!user⠀⠀·⠀୧⠀⠀frat!percy

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK O8: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀lovedrug⠀.⠀rhett abbott⠀૮⠀what was there between you and him if not a broken relationship? he had broken up with you two weeks ago, swearing it’d be the best for both of you, until he goes looking for a stiff drink and finds you dancing alone at the bar.⠀female!user⠀✴⠀·⠀୧

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK O9: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀how bad do u want me⠀.⠀natalie scatorccio⠀૮⠀what’s the harm in just accepting that you like the bad girl in her? stop acting like it’s a big problem for your perfect life, stop thinking so much! natalie just... wants to be with you, and if she can’t get that, she drinks, drinks and drinks again, prone to do shit.⠀⠀ female!user⠀⠀ ✴⠀·⠀୧

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK 1O: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀don’t call tonight⠀.⠀carmen berzatto⠀૮⠀the same old thing: things seemed fine, then you argued, it was all over and you told him not to call you. bullshit, he’d call anyway and you’d come back, one way or another, things won’t change anytime soon.⠀neutral!user⠀✴⠀·⠀୧

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK 11: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀shadow of a man⠀.⠀haymitch abernathy⠀૮⠀you didn’t see it as being selfish, but you also couldn’t deal with the possibility of it being—it was just what you felt, like you were in haymitch’s shadow the whole time. apparently, he’s the one who won the games and you were just the damsel in distress he saved. this will change, this has to change.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀female!user⠀⠀·⠀୧⠀⠀co-victor!user

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK 12: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀the beast⠀.⠀clark kent⠀૮⠀red eyes, devilish smile. this was clark kent—or rather, kal—the only way you knew him, a beast who knew exactly when he needed and wanted you. no talking, you know very well that he didn’t come here to talk.⠀⠀⠀⠀neutral!user⠀⠀·⠀୧⠀⠀red-k!clark

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK 13: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀blade of grass⠀.⠀robb stark⠀૮⠀from the day he wrapped a blade of grass around your finger and told you that you were his love and his queen, you knew robb would never let you go, even if it meant making more enemies than he could handle.⠀⠀female!user⠀⠀✴⠀·⠀୧

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK BONUS O1: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀john wayne⠀.⠀art donaldson⠀૮⠀what could you do if you really liked cowboys? no matter how many times your parents told you to stay away from him, he always came back into your life and you always got back into his mustang again.⠀⠀ neutral!user⠀⠀·⠀୧⠀⠀cowboy!art

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK BONUS O2: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀telephone⠀.⠀cate dunlap⠀૮⠀your asshole boyfriend is breaking up with you over the phone? seriously, how sad! cate couldn’t believe it, he’s the biggest bastard, isn’t he?even though she was the one who had rejected all his first three calls on your phone.⠀⠀ female!user⠀⠀ ✴⠀·⠀୧

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK BONUS O3: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀alejandro⠀.⠀franco colapinto⠀૮⠀you couldn’t care less who came or went in your love life, you didn’t like it when things took too long ’cause they made you tired. but, franco can’t deal with it, that’s the reason you broke up with him? no, you can’t do it!⠀ neutral!user⠀⠀✴⠀·⠀୧

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK BONUS O4: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀judas⠀.⠀owen taylor⠀૮⠀was it an exaggeration to think that the pastor’s son, responsible for your biblical teachings, was like the image of judas iscariotes? a traitor in his essence, using you and everyone around him to remain in his own lie. ⠀ ⠀ female!user⠀⠀⠀✴⠀·⠀୧

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK BONUS O5: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀paparazzi⠀.⠀patrick zweig⠀૮⠀your personal stalker, actor by day, paparazzi by night. patrick couldn’t handle a life where you weren’t the center of his thoughts, you can push him away, but not for long, he always found a way to get back.⠀⠀ ⠀⠀neutral!user⠀⠀·⠀୧⠀⠀stalker!pat

⠀ 𝇈 𓈒 ︎ ּ⠀⠀TRACK BONUS O6: ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀⠀◟ ୨

𝅭⠀diamond heart⠀.⠀robert floyd⠀૮⠀was it possible to fall in love with someone he barely knew? bob wasn’t sure, you were young and wild, but perfect in his eyes and he didn’t really care about the rest when he can just bring you closer.⠀⠀ female!user⠀⠀·⠀୧⠀⠀stripper!user

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don’t use my work without my consent.

You keep saying you came here because Art needed matches… I think you came for something else. You think I came here for you? You think I came here to throw it all away for you? Maybe you just wanted to see me. I have seen you, you look like shit. 

ZENDAYA & JOSH O'CONNOR as TASHI DUNCAN & PATRICK ZWEIG in CHALLENGERS (2024) dir. Luca Guadagnino