sowhatfaist

[sowhatfaist]

R.I.P. Malik Ali, the falafel vendor 💔

[sowhatfaist]

i love having two husbands <3

[sowhatfaist]

SUPERMAN AND KRYPTO Superman (2025)

[sowhatfaist]

on the topic of mike faist playing riff lorton (a raging racist) it just reminded me of a very sweet, unnecessary act of kindness from mike on the set of west side story (2021) :3

[sowhatfaist]

i need to STOOOOPPPPPPP !!!!!! thinking of THAT MANNNNNNN !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *continues* *continues* *continues*

[sowhatfaist]

just wanted to say that i love your account!! (especially the twitter one)

omg thank you so much!! your lalaland art blurb yesterday was truly life changing….two worlds collided 🙂‍↕️

[sowhatfaist]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ - in another life time, art donaldson.

lalaland au.

pianist!art x fem!reader

words: 861

art lived only for music.

it was as if he had been born for it. as if it were the only thing he truly knew how to do. music.

he lived music. he breathed music. feeling the piano keys beneath his fingers might have been the best sensation he had ever known. the piano was his whole life. he had played since he was a child.

he’d tried drawing, some tennis, a few fleeting hobbies…but nothing ever matched the feeling of his hands moving over the instrument. he had always dreamed of becoming a pianist. and he had become one.

but it wasn’t as easy as he had imagined. chasing after your dream is tiring. unfair, sometimes. but he had never given up. and he had made it.

he opened his own jazz bar, the kind of music that made his heart beat faster.

a warm, vibrant place, full of musicians playing live for attentive guests. the kind of atmosphere he had always dreamed of. he called it “art’s” (as cliché as it sounds).

but he liked it. that bar was his whole life, almost like the child he hadn’t had yet. and that night, art sat down in front of his piano. the bar was full, like every saturday night, a victim of its own success.

lost in his music, he rarely looked at the audience. but that night, he did. as if the universe was sending him a sign.

a good one? a bad one? he didn’t know. he saw you. sitting in the front row. holding the hand of a man who wasn’t him. a ring on your finger.

he could have screamed. stopped playing. thrown the piano across the room. or sped up the rhythm of his song, heart pounding. but no.

none of that. just silence. a strange kind of calm. like redemption.

and then, the memory came back. so vivid it felt like it was happening all over again.

he had been at this same piano, late at night. you were curled up on the couch in the back corner of the room, wrapped in one of his oversized sweaters. you were reading lines from a script, but you kept glancing up at him, half-distracted, like you couldn’t decide whether to live in the story on the page or the one unfolding in the room.

he had been trying to finish a new piece, something light, intimate, full of soft harmonies. you’d asked, “what is this one called?”

and without looking up, he had said, “i don’t know yet. maybe…her laugh in d major.’”

you’d laughed. of course. and that had made the title feel even more perfect.

you came over, sat beside him on the bench, and rested your head on his shoulder. he kept playing. and for a moment, nothing else in the world mattered.

that memory stayed with him now, playing in parallel with the music under his fingers. art had thought what he had with you was the most beautiful relationship possible. but your paths had diverged.

maybe you were the right person…just at the wrong time.

and yet, as he kept playing with the same passion that always burned inside him,

he imagined, just for a second, being in that man’s place.

he imagined a life with you. all the pieces he would have composed for you.

a life full of movement, with his career, and yours, as an actress. maybe it would’ve been perfect.

a house. children. and above all, so much love.

he pictured it so clearly, so vividly, that as the final notes faded, your eyes met his.

a silent look. like a goodbye. like a prayer. and when he watched you walk out of the bar, still hand in hand with that other man, without a single word exchanged, art prayed.

not for you to come back.

but for a life with you, in another one.

author note: idk about this one but, here’s my first little fic!

taglist: @iamaya03 @cinnamongmm @patrickzweigsdefender <3

click here to be added!

sincerely yours,

— elsie!

[sowhatfaist]

Reblog if its ok for your moots to stalk your blog and interact with everything you've posted.

[sowhatfaist]

GUYS THE LIL SMILE ON HIS FUCKING FACE 😵‍💫

[sowhatfaist]

squish <3

[sowhatfaist]

sometimes u gotta be like “ okay ” & leave that shit alone

[sowhatfaist]

twitter saw it first .... all these tastes are based on adolescence in 2000, especially my older brother's because i thought he looked cool

[sowhatfaist]

he’s actually not real 🫩

[sowhatfaist]

MIKE FAIST AS DODGE MASON IN

PANIC 1.10 — JOUST

[sowhatfaist]

it's so crazy how you actually have to live through everything

[sowhatfaist]

PRETTY BOY ‼️

[sowhatfaist]

i reaaally want to feel excited about (hopefully) seeing mike on stage, but yeah it's kind of a bummer. give international faisties a chance 🥲

definitely!! <3 i have a feeling he will come back to the west end soon everyone deserves a chance to see him and that day will come for you i just know it ✨