Thinking Abt The Color Choices In Challengers... Luca Guadagnino Ur Such A Genius And I Love U Forever...

lottie matthews / aeschylus: "the oresteia"

screencap redraw :)

JACKIENAT MY BELOVED

Love is only a feeling

CHALLENGERS (2024) dir. Luca Guadagnino

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

YOURE SO TALENTED OML

why do you think you're jesus? - a.d.

contains: wc just under 1k, sad lonely art donaldson, emotional apathy, mentions of religion/shitty religious imagery, nana donaldson mention 🔥🔥, LILY DONALDSON MENTION 🔥🔥🔥, 2019!art donaldson

notes: im so scared to post this but i really had fun writing it so. Dont flop? or if it flops i wont be mad.. i just hope it doesnt suck :(

“Who am I? Jesus?”

It’s the way she laughs when she says it, like it’s impossible for Art to worship her so. Like she doesn’t see how he’d be poised to kill himself if she wanted him to. It’s humorous to her, how Art craves her validation like the sun on his skin, he needs her more than the air he breathes. But to Art, it’s not a joke. This is just his life.

“Yeah.”

He answers truthfully, looking her dead in the eyes. He’s serious, too. To him, Tashi is everything, and he’s paying her back- he’s becoming everything she never got the chance to be. That’s love, right?

“You know you can beat him.”

She says it in that assured manner, as if she’s looked into a crystal ball and seen his future, maybe even manipulated the fabric of the universe to throw the game his way. It’s ridiculous to him, how she already expects these things from him, knowing damn well he’s never beaten Patrick fucking Zweig before. Not before, and definitely not now.

“What if I don’t? How are you gonna look at me if I still can’t beat Patrick Zweig?”

“Just like this.”

Tashi’s gaze is cold and calculating. It always is, but Art can read her well enough to sense the undertones, to see when she’s proud and when she’s upset. But right now, this whole poker-face act is working too well. It’s like staring into the eyes of a statue of Christ. Unnerving, all knowing.

Art’s only been to church once in his life. His nana had asked him along one Sunday morning when his parents were away on a business trip, and gladly, he said yes. But the whole experience felt.. suffocating for him. Like he was being forced into a too-tight, too-itchy sweater that just barely fit him. But the second they had left the church, Art had visibly relaxed, even as Nana asked him how he liked it.

“It.. It was good. Was fine,” he shrugged it off, before changing the subject and pivoting to the latest gossip in Nana’s book club. But deep down, he knew he couldn’t ever step foot in a church again, to feel so restricted under the watchful eye of Him.

It was sort of like that now, except Jesus was a She, and she was looking right through Art, wrapping him tight and warm in the itchy sweater. The love of his life, the woman he married, was snuffing him out like an unwanted flame. And what scares Art the most, is that the thought relieves him.

Art heard when she left. He heard the quiet pings on her phone and the rustling of a jacket. The sounds of the hotel door closing and her steps echoing down the hallway keep repeating in Art’s head as he feigns sleep, his chest rising and falling with each breath he takes. 

The bed is cold beside him, chilly where he needed Tashi’s lap to be, to keep him warm and keep him alive. He’s not stupid, he knows she’s off to see Patrick. Hell, he’s considered going off and meeting up with the bastard, just to have a chat, but Art has a feeling Tashi wants more than just a chat.

He curls up in the bed, not wanting to get up. Like if he kept his eyes closed, Tashi would come back, run her hands through his hair, feeling the smooth metal of the wedding band on his skin as she whispered quiet assurances, promises of love and devotion that the game didn’t matter.

Art opens his eyes.

The room is dark and empty, the sheets beside him rumpled. Tashi’s shoes are gone from where they were by Art’s slippers. There used to be a time when Tashi would make fun of Art for wearing slippers, but now she seemed to have accepted the fact that she settled for a man who wore slippers. He gets out of bed, sighing to himself in the quiet of the night. 

The stillness feels good, like cool air on sweat-soaked skin. It’s easier for him to think to himself, to really hear himself. Of course, none of the thoughts are great. He leaves the master bedroom, following Tashi’s steps. He could see the pauses that she made in his head, a hesitant step after a floorboard creaks and a pause to get her jacket. He can envision her sending a text to Patrick, leaving the hotel room without a second thought. Or maybe he was overthinking. Maybe he was doing the stupid jealous husband thing, not even realizing. Maybe it was just insecurity, and a quick talk could fix it. But he knew that wasn’t the truth.

He heads past the kitchen and living room to Lily’s bedroom, opening the door quietly and peeking in. His daughter is asleep, curled up under the covers while a quiet lullaby plays on the portable radio that Tashi brought along. The second Art takes the slightest step inside, Lily stirs, looking up to meet her father’s eyes.

“Sorry, Lilypad…do you have any space for me?”

There’s a pause before she nods, shifting over in the bed to let Art settle in with a groan, laying atop the covers as he wraps an arm around her, kissing her forehead and murmuring a quiet “Thanks, honey,” as he settles in for the night.

His eyes flutter, and he catches a glimpse of the framed photo on her nightstand, one that she liked to carry everywhere. It was a picture of her and Tashi, taken at her fourth birthday party. Lily was wearing a cowboy hat, and next to her, Tashi wore a bejeweled princess crown, smiling widely at the camera. 

Art reaches across to the nightstand, gently placing the photo face down, before settling into bed, snuggling into Lily.

He hopes Tashi will see it. And he hopes that whatever she does that night, she feels guilty.

took a shot in the dark and hit a bullseye travis ily

YELLOWJACKETS | Season 3, Episode 10, “Full Circle”

tell me why i reblogged rhis an hour ago and it failed.

strict machine - k.k.

contains: 1.5k words, kurt kunkle x onlyfans!fem!reader, kurts lowkey serving autistic (my personal hc), guns, blackmail + coercion, lowkey this would be dubcon but theres no actual smut so...?

notes: for my sweet baby @girliism!! shoutout to the other users who are tagged throughout this fic too! im really bad at writing from reader point of view so. plz bear with me (and send me some tips!) this was so fun to write , i love kurts character so much and i love writing him. rlly fun change of pace from the last two fics i posted so this was very enjoyable, i hope u guys like it woohhooo

“Hey, hop on in! I’m Kurt, I’m your Spree!”

You get into the car without a second thought, confirming on your app that your Spree has arrived, giving out instructions absentmindedly as you’re glued to your phone. Your driver is some… greasy haired somebody who was way too enthusiastic to be doing this job, and definitely didn’t know when to shut up.

“Heeyyy,” he croons, drumming his knuckles against the steering wheel as he navigates back onto the busy roads of L.A. “How y’all doin’?”

You don’t reply, eyes flicking up to see him looking back through the rearview mirror, a keen smile on his face. Your nails click-clack-click on your phone, along with the beat of the music on the radio, speeding up gradually as you type faster. He audibly scoffs, returning his attention to the road. “Also, hey, by the way, I’ve got these cameras here for privacy reasons. Gotta make sure my body will be avenged if one of my passengers kills me!” he chuckles good-naturedly, checking the rear view mirror to gauge your reaction. What the fuck does this guy want from me?

You look up slowly, popping your gum as your lip curls back in a slight sneer. “...Mmkay,” you mutter vacantly, sighing as your phone dies. You mutter a quiet curse under your breath, shoving it into your pocket and grabbing a bottle of water. You hear a little giggle from the driver’s seat as you do so.

“Sooo… where ya headed?” he chirps from the front seat, adjusting his phone- which isn’t even on a navigation app, it’s just… filming. Front camera, with comments coming in, a few pings from donations.

“...Are you fucking live?” you ask, leaning forward and stretching your seatbelt taut as you try to take a peek at the moving screen. “Dude, I didn’t know you were-”

His hand immediately shoots out to push you back, a loud, unnerving laugh escaping his lips as he swerves into another lane, tilting his phone juuuust right so the privacy screen obscures your view.

“Hey! Ever heard of personal space?” he snickers, seeing the look on your face. “Like I said, if you were listening, I have cameras for my own protection. Don’t hurt me!” He throws his hands up with a mocking scream, quickly dropping the bit so he can steer.

You sneer at him, looking around for a cord to plug your phone in. “I want that thing off, man. Please,” you mutter, covering your face. Multiple pings sound on his phone, and he leans forward to read the comments.

“@sincerelystarry, thank you so much for the $1.50!” he exclaims gleefully, making you roll your eyes. This bitch was making chump change. A robotic female voice reads out the comment that the donator made. 

@sincerelystarry 

umm isnt that the onlyfans 

bitch??? lol howd u get a 

hottie into ur dumpster kurt haha

“Hey, fuck off! It is not a dumpster. This shit is well organized, beautifully lit, and smells of fresh lemons and mint,” he protests, frowning at the screen.

You undo your seatbelt, leaning completely into the front seat and angling the phone away harshly, knocking it off the stand.

“Hey!” he yelps, skidding the car to a stop as he scrambles to set his phone back up, ignoring the honks behind him as he props it up again. He sighs in relief as the camera angle is straightened up again, glaring at you over his shoulder. “Jesus, dude, can you just- listen, just drink some water and chill.”

“Chill?! Some total random stranger who just happens to be my idiotic Spree driver is livestreaming this entire ride, and your bum ass wants me to-”

“@imperishablereverie! Thank you so much for the two dollars!” Kurt interrupts you, beaming at the camera, “Wow, this- I appreciate all of you guys so much, thank you- thank you! Thank you for sharing and spreading the hashtag ‘The Lesson,’ your support means the wor-” he’s abruptly cut off by a donator comment, read this time in a robotic man’s voice.

@imperishablereverie

haha omfg it totally is

that OF chick im on her

page rn 

Kurt cocks his head as the comment is done being read, peering into the rear view mirror to see you and your pissed off expression. “...What’s OF?” he peeps out innocently.

Your jaw tenses at his question, face reddening. “It’s a job,” you manage to force out through gritted teeth. “A perfectly respectable job.”

@faiztsheap just donated $5!

she shows ppl her

pussy so they can 

jack off lol

“Oh,” Kurt muses, seemingly unaware of your obvious state of embarrassment and rage. “Oh, so you’re, like…f-famous? I mean, hah! I’d assume so, considering my viewers know who you are, you seem pretty famous. Hey, do you have Instagram?”

You sit back into the backseat, looking disgusted. What the hell was this guy’s problem? “The fuck? Yes, I have Instagram,” you answer, cracking open the cap on the bottle of water.

“Don’t drink that!” he shrieks, turning around in the driver’s seat to smack it out of your hand, making water splash onto your legs and pool on the floor of the car. It all happens in a flash, and when you process it, he’s turned back around, driving and humming along to the radio cheerfully.

“So, this OnlyFans,” he says it like it’s a dirty word, hushed and secretive, “makes you a lotta money? And, uh… lots of clout too, I bet, heh.” Kurt pauses, meeting your gaze through the rear view mirror. “Is it just… ah, um- vaginas on there, or are penises allowed as well?”

You’re surprised a blood vessel doesn’t burst when you grit out a stiff reply. “Gender inclusive,” you grumble, “glad to have put you on.”

“Ohh, okay. That’s cool!” he pauses at a red light, turning around and smiling. “Do you wanna see my boner?”

“Okay, that’s it. Let me out of this fucking car," you demand, pounding on the back of his seat. “Pull the fuck over!”

“Yeesh, dramatic much?” he laughs, obliging either way. He pulls over to the side of the road as you grab your things with a huff and a short glare at him. Fucking weirdo. “Listen, thank you for riding in my Spree today! Um, I would just love if you could tag me on your Instagram- I’m kurtsworld96, and post it with hashtag ‘The Lesson.’”

You scoff at him, opening the car door. “Not a chance in hell, pervert,” you sneer, getting out of the car and slamming the door, ignoring his whines and pleas. Eventually, he gives up and drives off, and you’re left to wring the water out of your shirt, muttering under your breath as you head into your building.

It must be hours later when he shows up again. You’re monitoring your page, checking subscriber counts and recent donations, when you get a new message in your inbox- from kurtsworld69. You narrow your eyes, the current task forgotten as you navigate your mouse over to your inbox, clicking open the message.

kurtsworld69 sent you a message!

Haha hey its kurt from earlier!

your spree driver haha

I joined! Im an onlyfans person now!

Do u get my username? Haha get it because im kurtsworld 96 but now im kurtsworld69

its a sex thing haha

Wanna collab?

And below, he had attached a dick pic. You groan under your breath, moving to block his user when he sends another picture, this one blurred and needing to be clicked on to reveal the image. You click on it to be met with a picture of… you. Taken from outside the window, blurry and unfocused, but clearly you, slouched over your computer in just a t-shirt and underwear. You sit up straight, looking around frantically. 

@girliism

what the fuck???? are you at my house?????

There’s an infuriating lack of a reply, until another image pings into your inbox. Similar to the first one, it’s you from outside the house, but now there’s a hand in frame, holding up a gun. Pointing it directly at your head, through the pane of glass. Panic shoots through your core as you gape at the image, unsure of what to think of it. It could be a prop gun, it could be photoshop, but the chilling feeling entering your bones and making your gut twist said the opposite. This wasn’t a prank. This was real.

kurtsworld69

I asked you a question

wanna collab or not?

You swear you can hear footsteps growing closer, the cocking of the gun. You can imagine the bullet flying into your head, the laugh that would sound as your body hit the floor. You type back with shaky fingers, ignoring the tightness in your chest.

@girliism 

ok 

fine 

please get off my property

The response is immediate, and if you strain your ears, you can hear traipsing footsteps through the grass, moving further and further away. You visibly relax, letting out a shaky breath.

kurtsworld69

yay!

Can i eat your out?

To be loved is to be seen

i'll stop defending cmbyn when people stop defending lolita

hmm.. real quiet...