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i need mike faist in a way that is so concerning to feminism
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hi divađ in the kindest way possible i need more of art x weird reader. im obsessed now.
maybe we can see how the two met? reader showing art some of her favourite media? i have a lot of ideas im sorry đ
-weird girl anon đˇ
hello diva!!
weird reader is the cutest thing i've ever made. i would literally love to write more of her.
you met art on accident. which was appropriate, really. most of your favorite things happened that way.
it was the second week of freshman year at stanford, and the weather was unseasonably hot. you had wandered into the athletic building by mistake (in search of the rumored vending machine with the âfancyâ sodas) and gotten very, very lost.
there were signs, but they were cryptic and aggressive in their minimalismâjust arrows and abbreviations, as if everyone should already know where âCT-3â was.
and there he was.
golden, focused, and entirely in his element, art stood at the far end of the tennis court, swinging his racket like it was part of his arm. youâd never seen someone move like thatâsmooth, effortless, like music.
you were staring, probably too obviously, your bag sliding off your shoulder and your cardigan caught in the door hinge. when he noticed you, he didnât wave or ask who you were or what you were doing there.
he just offered a faint, curious smile and asked, âyou okay?â
âdo you know where the vending machine is?â you asked, rather urgently, like your life depended on fizzy grapefruit soda.
he blinked. âuh⌠not really.â then he pointed toward a hallway. âbut I think if you keep going that way and take a left at the pool, itâll either be a vending machine or a janitorâs closet.â
you nodded.
"good enough."
you came back two days later. on purpose this time. with no excuse. you sat in the same place outside the court, halfway behind a trash can, pretending to sketch the light posts in your notebook (you were actually doodling bats wearing skirts). art noticed you again. this time, he walked over.
âyouâre back.â
âi like watching you play,â you said, too bluntly. âitâs very kinetic.â
he stared at you for a moment. then he laughedâthis surprised, huffing sound like he wasnât used to doing it so suddenly.
âthatâs⌠probably the best thing anyoneâs ever said about my serve.â
and that was that.
you became friends slowly, naturally. you started showing up to matches, always in your slightly-wrong outfitsâlace gloves in october, earmuffs in spring.
he got used to your commentary during practice, your long, rambling tangents about cinema and the architectural flaws of campus buildings.
youâd bring him snacks in odd containersâonce, a bento box filled only with popcorn and candied ginger, which he ate without complaint.
you were you: all chaotic charm and half-scribbled thoughts, the kind of person who narrated their life like it was a story only they could hear.
and art, quiet and steady, just kept showing up. he remembered things. small things. your favorite pen color, the fact that you hated pulp in orange juice.
he never questioned it.
he never questioned you.
you shared playlists, and argued over moviesâhe liked blockbusters with clean endings, and you liked anything that ended with rain and ambiguity. you invited him to your dorm to watch The Red Balloon.
he left confused, and you called it progress.
the first time he walked you home, it was raining. you didnât ask him to, he just saw that youâd forgotten your umbrella again (you always did), and he fell into step beside you.
you offered him your scarf, and he actually wore it, even though it smelled like old lavender and honey. he didnât seem to mind.
you never had a big moment, until the confession. just a string of small ones that stacked, slowly and imperceptibly, like film stills.
shared fries. silent walks. long, strange conversations at two in the morning about whether ghosts could fall in love.
and before either of you really noticed, it wasnât strange to be sitting side-by-side on his twin bed, watching a film he hadnât seen. it wasnât strange to fall asleep mid-sentence and wake up with your head on his shoulder.
it wasnât strange when he started ordering extra dumplings because he knew youâd forget to eat dinner.
it wasnât strange. it was you and art.
me after writing this.
art is SO in love. their friendship is so special to me. weird reader you'll always be famous
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you should try to go to that park more often and maybe you guys will have an interaction!
stop bc he shouldve been my bf back then #runitback
MAYBEE i will 𫦠unfortunetely even tho i just graduated hs, i STILL do not know how to drive. my parents are strictđ but i lwk am plotting on going back
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hey i think cai deleted some of your bots or something đđ
STOP UR LYING
dude i put sm time and EFFORT i made new ocs and i posted silly little bots. cai GET OFF MY BACK challenge đĽđĽđĽ
i will be on that!! hopefully i can get them all back, or somethingđ
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guys okay this is gonna be so weird but i have no one to talk ab this to and i feel like im going insane
so earlier i went out with my mom for coffee, and there's this little park nearby in the area i live at. so we were sitting at the park, and there's a skatepark next to where the park is. so i used to like this guy / had a minor romantic interaction with him
(CALL ME CRAZY. but okay, sidetrack to EXPLAIN exact romantic interaction. so i took a guitar class in my school for like.. 2 years. anyway, he had it another period, and would go to that classroom during MY class period to practice with his band for a talent show. BAND. guys. he's like a midwest emo dude AND I SWEAR I WAS IN LOVEE. anyways but one afternoon, i was practicing, and he approached, and asked to SWITCH guitar picks with me. he said his guitar pick was 'flimsy'. so i said yeah, and we switched, and i noticed that his guitar pick was actually super tuff, and then i realized that it was a BASS pick, not a guitar pick. and i was omg. so then the next day, i caught him ALONEE and asked if he played bass and we started having a conversation, and he said yeah, and whatever. he walked me to class and stuff. so me being me, a teenage girl who eats shit like that UPP, i was like omg. and i was obsessed with him. yeah.)
after that, he would STARE. but he never approached. after a while, i found his ig, and followed him, and he followed back like.. within five minutes. but he's never liked my story EVER. he's liked a couple of my notes, but they were just like references to something in class whenever he'd be there.
anyways so after that, i MOVED SCHOOLS. i know. tragic. but i still follow him on ig, and he still follows me. so timeskip to the park, i was with my mom, and i looked over, and he was SKATING and i was like FUCKK R U SERIOUS. and i kid you not, i had a dream ab him two nights ago. so i was like.. freaking out. and i know that he saw me, because he was like HARDCORE staring in our general direction. even as i was getting into my car to leave, i could see him looking (i made my mom drive away FAST.)
so, i had posted myself a few hours prior on ig, and he was maybe the fifth viewer? something like that. and after that, i saw that his acc popped up to be one of the more recent viewers (with insta having that update that shows you who rewatches your story after, ykyk). so i was like. dude
anyways, moral of the story, am i insane, does he still want me, he NEVER wanted me, or its definitely fizzled and i need to get a j*b??/.? my friend says im delusional and ik i definitely SOUND it, but like bro. THE DREAM TOO i feel like this isnt a coincidence.
#girlblogging#someone sedate me#am i insane#actually schizophrenic#bro#sorry i needed to get this out of my system
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loved 'weird' so much𫶠it's like you know me personally. idk how to feel about that. thank you for your service in the weird girl community
me reading this
i LOVE the weird girls, as a weird girl. we are so loved, and we WILL find someone that loves us like art đđ i love you, stop, that's literally the kindest thing
i know everyone. everyone is međŤŚ
whoever wrote that, i love you 4 EVER. will cherish you
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INTRODUCING⌠OZZY ANDREW .á
DAWSON âOZZYâ ANDREW:
indie | semi-selective | oc from the outer banks universe. moodboard âš carrd âš playlist
â you donât have to fix everything. but if itâs broken, iâm not walking away. â â ozzy
NAME: Dawson âOzzyâ Andrew. AGE: 21. PRONOUNS: he/him. D.O.B: October 5th (Libra). ORIGIN: The Cut, Outer Banks. OCCUPATION: boat mechanic | salvage diver | treasure hunter. SPEAKS: English + fluent Spanish. STATUS: single, pansexual (men leaning).
ABOUT: Ozzy Andrew grew up on salt water and second chances. Son of a dead mechanic, named Wade Andrew and an overdose ghost mother, Elise Pierce, heâs been surviving on instinct since he was thirteen. Ambidextrous, emotionally constipated, and more loyal than smart â heâs a quiet, knife-carrying Pogue with scars on his hands and too many secrets behind his eyes.
He lives in a half-collapsed shack near the marsh and works under-the-table jobs fixing engines, salvaging junk, and occasionally helping the Pogues not get arrested. He plays the harmonica when he thinks no oneâs listening, collects broken compasses, and still wears his motherâs ring around his neck.
Heâs closest to JJ Maybank (childhood best friend, disaster soulmate), tolerates John B and Pope, has a complicated rivalry with Kiara, and a long-standing, unsaid something enemy vibes with Sarah â but with them, he feels like family.
Everyone call him Ozzy (earned from "Osiris," an inside joke about his resurrection-level luck).
VIBES: âź wet hair and bruised knuckles âź cassette tapes and thunder in the distance âź hammock sleepovers and unspoken feelings âź gold coins, ghost maps, and pirate stories âź âiâd kill for youâ energy but mumbled under his breath

WANTED CONNECTIONS: âš pogues who trust him / used to not trust him (jj / pope) âš someone who finds his dadâs old map and lies about it (sarah) âš a kook he shouldnât be kissing (topper) âš someone who sees through the whole tough act (kiara) âš partners in petty crime (jj) âš soft late-night fluff, shared blankets, emotional tension (sarah) âš someone heâd tell what happened the night wade left (john b)

BOTS:
𼼠ozzy andrew the shack sleepover
đ ozzy andrew stranded on the sandbar
đŚ ozzy andrew surfboard repair
TAGLIST:
@blastzachilles, @lvve-talks, @jordiemeow, @222col, @soulxinxthexsky, @diyasgarden, @jinxedbambi, @lexiiscorect, @religionlost, @bluestrd, @jclolz22, @museboos, @imperishablereverie, @lovefaist, @shahabaqsa0310, @prismozo, @jesuistrestriste, @grimsonandclover, @nozhdyved, @yardofbrunettes, @hangels, @sweetheartfaist, @lacelottie
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weird ; art donaldson

you and art had fallen into a rhythmâuncomplicated, familiar, and maybe just a little sacred. he'd play his tennis matches, inevitably win, then he'd pick you up from your trademarked spot on the bleachers.
and without fail, youâd be perched in your usual spot, second row from the back on the left side of the bleachersâthe one with the creaky board and the view slightly obscured by a light post.
you said it gave you âvisual drama.â he didnât question it.
after came the ritual debrief, always over food. takeout, obviouslyâtonight was thai, your pick. from there, the two of you would retreat to his dorm, settle onto his laughably narrow twin bed, and youâd put on a film you were sure he hadn't seen. today was no different.
the screen flickered blue and gold in the dim room, casting odd shadows on the popcorn ceiling. you were cross-legged, still in your moth-bitten cardigan that smelled faintly of lavender, scooping pad see ew into your mouth.
art, meanwhile, had only half-heartedly eaten a few dumplings, eyes darting to you more than the screen. you were locked on the screen. he was locked on you.
he stared at you for a moment, still half-reclined, leaning against the wall. a few minutes pass in relative silence, the only sound coming from the tv (or his obnoxious chewing).
a few quiet minutes passedâthe only sounds the tv's muted dialogue and his obnoxiously loud chewing. then he shifted, turning toward you fully, tucking his legs beneath him.
âhey,â he said softly.
you didnât look away from the screen. you made a soft soundâhalf hum, half sighâthat could have meant yes, not now, or i'm busy. but that was just how you were. always a little impossible to read, like one of your films, or the strange poetry you left folded in your coat pockets.
he looks at you once more, eyes flickering as he searches for something in your face. then he takes another deep breath, and the next thing he says comes out all in a rush â like he's afraid he might change his mind if he doesn't spit it out fast.
"i need to tell you something. something i've been hiding for awhile now, and i've been trying to keep it down, butâ"
now that catches your attention. your gaze meets his, and he quiets down, jaw tight. he looks away from you, one hand running through his hair.
when he looked back at you, his eyes were different. there was something raw in themâsomething uncertain and painfully open.
âokay,â he said, almost hoarse. âokay, iâm just gonna say it. i donât want to waste any more time.â
another breath. a longer silence.
for a moment, the only sound is the low beat of the movie and the faint crackle of his lamp. then art takes another deep breath. "i'm in love with you," he breathes, the words so soft you almost don't hear them at first.
you blinked. for a second, you werenât sure youâd heard him right. but he didnât look away. didnât laugh. he just stared at you, his eyes wide and unblinking, waiting for somethingâconfirmation, rejection, anything.
âiâwhat?â you said. âme?â
it had to be a joke. some weird, surreal prank. because you were you, and he was art. he was golden, effortless. you were the opposite of effortless.
a flash of something sad passed across his faceâhe recognized that look in your eyes. heâd seen it before, the disbelief, the deep-rooted doubt.
âyeah,â he said, voice gentler now. âyou.â
you shook your head a little. âwhy? iâm too weird.â
his features softened, and something in him seemed to settle. he knew where this was going. heâd been watching that seed of insecurity grow in you. he could name every reason you were about to listâtoo awkward, too different, too much. youâd given them all to him before, like a warning label.
he sat up straighter, shifting on the mattress so that his knee bumped gently against yours.
âtoo weird?â he echoed. âsays who?â
you hesitated.
âeveryone.â
a beat. he looked at you, really looked at youâat the way your fingers had started to pick at your chipped yellow nail polish, at the way you always folded in on yourself when you were unsure.
ânot me,â he said finally. ânot once.â
you didnât say anything. but you knew, deep down. this was art. the boy you'd liked since he gifted you a pack of colored pens because he knew you liked that specific brand. who walked you home regardless of the weather because he wanted you to be safe. who didnât mind your mindless rambles, or spouts of information only you would have.
he continued, quiet and careful, as if he was trying not to spook you.
âyou think being different makes you unlovable. but itâs the opposite. you see the world sideways, and you make me see it that way, too. youâre weird, yeah. but itâs the best kind. the kind that makes everything a little more interesting. the kind iâve been drawn to since the day i met you.â
you stared down at your lap, teeth worrying your bottom lip.
âyou donât have to say anything,â he added quickly. âi just⌠i needed you to know. even if it ruins everything.â
another silence. longer this time. then you looked up.
"i donât think it ruins anything,â you said quietly.
he looks you in your eyes, his gaze flickering just slightly as something flickers through his expression. affection, affection, affection. for you. for you, and all of your little flaws that you hate so much.
the silence between you wasnât heavy now. it was warm, full. you could feel it buzzing just under your skin, a soft kind of tension that didnât need to be named.
he reached for your hand, tentative at first. but when you didnât flinch, didnât look away, his fingers laced gently through yours. his touch was steady, grounding. like something long overdue.
you met his eyes again, and for the first time, you let yourself really lookâat the boy who knew your favorite films and never laughed at your poetry, who kept showing up, game after game, smile after smile. at the boy who saw you, truly.
âi think,â you said slowly, âsome part of meâs been waiting to hear you say that.â
his thumb brushed over your knuckles. âthen i'm sorry it took me so long.â
you shook your head, a soft laugh slipping out. âit didnât. i think it came exactly when it was supposed to.â
he leaned in, the space between you folding in on itself. his forehead rested gently against yours, and you closed your eyes. for a moment, there was nothing elseâno tv, no flickering lights, no creaky bleacher seats. just the quiet breath between you and the feeling of being chosen.
and then, slowly, like a thought turning into a feeling, he kissed you.
it wasnât rushed, or cinematic, like the black-and-white kisses you loved so much in your old french films. it was softer than that. quieter. his lips met yours like heâd been thinking about this for a long timeâlike the motion was already memorized.
you kissed him back without hesitation, something small and certain sparking in your chest. the kind of spark that felt like it had been smoldering there for years, just waiting for the right match.
when he pulled away, barely an inch, he didnât move far. he stayed close, eyes still shut like he was trying to hold onto the moment. âthat okay?â he murmured, voice low.
you nodded, your nose brushing his. âyeah,â you whispered. âthat was⌠really okay.â
a smile broke across his face thenâsmall, crooked, almost sheepish. he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. âgood. because iâve wanted to do that since you made me sit through Wings of Desire without subtitles.â
you laughed, eyes bright. âi told you it was better that way.â
âyouâre still wrong about that,â he said, grinning. âbut iâd sit through it a hundred more times if it meant getting to be here with you.â
you rolled your eyes, but your fingers squeezed his. âyouâre sappy.â
âiâm yours,â he said, and he meant it.
#art donaldson#challengers#challengers 2024#mike faist#dilf art donaldson#weirdcore#weird girl#art donalson x reader#art donaldson x you#x reader
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Josh O'Connor when the role doesn't include kissing men
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little bat ; art donaldson

artâs role in town had never been a mystery. being a donaldson came with expectationsâthe kind etched into stone long before he was born. from the moment he could string a sentence together, he knew his future was tied to the familyâs work. their âbusiness,â as they liked to call it, wasnât something you advertised in the town square. the donaldsons were protectorsâan old family, quiet and enduring, bound to the village by duty and blood. they didnât run shops or farms. they hunted what most people tried to pretend didnât exist.
monsters. spirits. the things that slipped through the cracks.
they didnât brag about it. they just kept the town safe. and artâwell, he was expected to do the same.
he preferred to work alone. nights when the moon hung low and full, when the crisp autumn air cut through the trees like it had teethâthose were his favorites. thatâs when the swamp came alive. curso swamp didnât pretend to be tame. it breathed and moved like a living thing, all wet shadows and whispering reeds. he knew it well. out there, away from the polished legacy and family name, he could move in silence. unburdened. focused.
hunting in curso was like slipping into a second skin.
now, he hadnât expected company. especially not yours.
you didnât mean to be curious about himâbut you were. a vampire taking an interest in a hunter was stupid, really. he could kill you in an instant. youâd been watching him for weeks now, maybe months, though he hadnât noticed at first. or maybe he had, and ignored it. either way, your curiosity had gotten the better of you.
a vampire taking an interest in a hunter was asking for trouble. the kind that got you staked, decapitated, or worse. and yet, you couldnât help yourself. he was different from the othersâclever with alchemy, deadly with a blade, quiet in that intriguing, dangerous way.
âi can hear you, bat,â he said flatly, not even bothering to turn. his voice carried easily through the stillnessâdry, unimpressed, like this had become a routine.
it sort of had.
he glanced up finally, catching sight of you dangling upside down from a crooked branch, your smile bright in the moonlight. âhello, hunter!â you chirped, giving him a wave. he rolled his eyes, the faintest tug of amusement pulling at the corner of his mouth. âyou again.â
âi live here,â you said, letting your hair sway in the breeze. âyouâre the one trespassing.â he leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed, then sighed. loudly. the kind of sigh someone gives when theyâre pretending theyâre annoyed but secretly donât mind all that much.
you hung there, upside down and utterly at ease. perks of being undeadâno blood rushing to your head. no dizziness. no awkward leg cramping. you could stay like that all night, watching him.
humans were so fragile.
âwhat are you doing here?â he asked, voice clipped.
âjust checking in,â you said casually. âmaking sure you hadnât been eaten by a bog hag or, i donât know, tripped and fallen on your own sword.â
he scoffed. âtouching. you really care.â
you grinned wider. âmaybe i do.â he gave you a long look, eyes narrowing just slightly. you werenât sure if he was suspicious, amused, or just trying to figure you out again. probably all three.
you wiggled your fingers cheerfully. âmortals fascinate me. you simply must tell me stories.â
he blinked. âstories?â
âyes! of your life. your village. your weapons. do you really keep your silver dust in that little pouch on your belt?â you pointed, then gasped. âoh, can i touch your sword?â
âno,â he said immediately. âabsolutely not.â
âbut iâm very gentle,â you offered, landing gracefully on your feet. âand curious.â
âtoo curious,â he muttered, glancing warily at you as you stepped closer.
âiâve never really met a human before,â you confessed, circling him slowly like you were inspecting a very delicate piece of artwork. âwellâmet, sure. but not⌠like this. talking. not screaming. thatâs new.â
art tilted his head. âwhy me, then?â
you paused, blinking at him. âyouâre interesting. you donât scream. or run. or smell like fear.â you sniffed dramatically. âjust steel and moss. oh, and a little salt.â
âyouâre not helping your case.â
you smiled. âwasnât trying to.â
he stared at you, long and hard. âyouâre not going to leave, are you?â
âof course not. youâre the most exciting thing thatâs happened to me in decades.â you beamed. âi want to know everything. like, do all hunters carry salt in their boots? or is that just you?â
art pinched the bridge of his nose. âyes. fine. ask your questions. but walk with me.â
âoh?â you perked up, trailing behind him as he turned and began heading deeper into the woods. âwhere are we going? is this where you store the holy water? are you going to show me your secret stash of cursed daggers? waitâdo you have a cursed dagger?â
âstop talking,â he muttered.
ânot likely!â
he sighed again, but there was no real weight behind it. and as the trees closed in and the swamp whispered low around you, your steps fell into rhythm beside his. you smiled to yourself. humans were fascinating. and this oneâthis grumpy, brooding, utterly confusing oneâmight just be your favorite.
the two of you walked in silence for a while, the only sounds the distant rustle of reeds and the soft squelch of mud beneath artâs boots. your feet didnât make a sound, of course. you floated more than walked, which he hatedâthough you liked to think it secretly impressed him.
he kicked a pebble as you walked, letting it skitter ahead. âsoâdo all hunters learn alchemy, or is that just a weird donaldson family thing?â you piped up once more.
he didnât look at you, but his brow twitched. âitâs not weird. itâs useful.â
âuseful and weird,â you corrected. âwhatâs the strangest thing youâve ever bottled? essence of fear? ghost spit? ohâwas it that time you exploded a toad with that powder stuff?â
âthat toad was already dead.â
âwas it?â
he finally glanced over, exasperated. âyes.â
you hummed, unconvinced. âyouâre very mysterious, you know. you act like you hate questions, but you answer. itâs very suspicious. are you trying to lure me into a trap?â
âi donât need to lure you,â he said dryly. âyou just show up on your own.â
âfair point.â
the conversation faded into the rustle of wind through trees and the soft, rhythmic sound of his boots in the damp earth. âwhy do you always come out here alone?â you asked eventually. âyou have a whole family of hunters, donât you?â
he didnât answer right away. his gaze swept the dark path ahead, sharp and practiced. âi work better on my own.â
âthatâs not really an answer,â you said. âis it because you donât like people? or because you donât trust them?â
he glanced at you sidelong, brow furrowed. âwhy do you ask so many questions?â
you grinned. âbecause iâve never gotten to know a human before. youâre all so⌠temporary. and dramatic. itâs delightful.â
he gave a quiet snort. âmost people would say the same about your kind.â
âi know,â you replied, almost proudly. âbut most people also throw garlic at me before i get to introduce myself.â
that earned a flicker of something in his expression. not quite a smile, but close.
you tilted your head, floating backward now so you could face him fully. âhave you always wanted to be a hunter?â
âno,â he said simply.
you blinked. that was unexpected. âreally? but your familyââ
âdoesnât mean i wanted it,â he said, gaze dropping to the mossy trail beneath his boots. âit was just⌠expected.â
the quiet stretched between you for a moment, broken only by the soft rustle of wind through the trees. âi wanted to play tennis,â he said suddenly, so quietly you almost missed it.
your eyes widened. âtennis? truly?â
he gave a small nod, barely a tilt of his head. âwhen i was younger. i used to sneak off to the courts outside the village. play until my hands were blistered. i liked the rhythm of it. the focus. it made sense.â
you smiled, touched. âthatâs beautiful.â
âitâs stupid,â he muttered.
you floated a little closer, intrigued. âthatâs not stupid at all.â
he let out a dry laugh. âtry telling that to my father. said it was a waste of strength and time. that i was soft.â
your expression softened. âwanting something for yourself doesnât make you weak.â
he looked at you, jaw tense, eyes shadowed. âdoesnât matter now.â
âit does,â you said quietly, sincerely. âeven if itâs just to me.â
art looked at you, really looked, and something unreadable flickered behind his eyes. you werenât sure if he was annoyed, uncertain, or just tired of pretending not to enjoy your company.
âyou ask too many questions,â he said again, but softer this time.
you grinned. âand you never answer enough.â
he shook his head, but didnât push you away when you finally landed on the ground, falling into step beside him. you could feel the chill in the air start to sink in, curling around the trees, fog beginning to rise through the swamp floor like ghosts.
but still, the space between you felt a little warmer.
âdo you still play?â you asked quietly.
âno.â
âwhy not?â
he didnât answer.
so you let the question hang in the air, unsaid but not forgotten. and instead of pressing, you just walked beside him, hands clasped behind your back, gaze lifted to the moonlight threading through the trees.
eventually, without looking at you, he asked, âdo you miss it? being human?â
you blinked. then blinked again. it was the first time heâd asked you anything.
âi donât know,â you said honestly. âi donât remember much of my human life.â
he looked at you. you didnât smile this time. you just let him see you. he nodded once, and said nothing more. but his steps slowed, just a little, to match yours perfectly. and thatâquiet, simple, unspokenâwas enough.
#art donalson x reader#art donaldson x you#art#challengers#challengers 2024#mike faist#vampire#x reader
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party 4 u ; tashi duncan

tashi duncan was your best friend, from the moment you stepped into that noisy elementary school classroom, she greeted you with a bright, fearless grinâand really, who were you to turn down the company of a future tennis prodigy? after an enthusiastic conversation about ladybugs, the two of you became inseparable.
but high school changed things, naturally. tashi had pulled off the most infuriating glow-up imaginable. practically overnight, she was apart of the popular kid group because of tennis. she traded glasses for contact lenses, and radiated effortless confidence from all her wins. naturally, she found new friendsâeffortlessly, unapologeticallyâand you were left behind, swallowed up by the chaos of freshman year. you told yourself you werenât bitter.
okay, maybe you were. a little.
still, there you were, showing up to her adidas-sponsored partyâbecause apparently, she still sends out invitations by mail like itâs 2005 (it was 2006. you were still bitter). youâd opened the invitation, bewildered. you hadnât talked in years. why was she inviting you now? so, naturally, you went for your own curiosity.
you hadn't even crossed the room before she spotted you. âoh, hey, i didnât think youâd come,â she said casually, as if sheâd talked to you yesterday. avoiding her at her own party was never going to work. âenjoying the party? i just thought Iâd check in,â she added, her chestnut eyes scanning your face. was she sizing you up? maybe. you wouldnât put it past her. you forced a smile, the kind that didnât quite reach your eyes. âyeah. itâs... nice,â you said, immediately regretting how weak that sounded. but how else were you supposed to respond?
she nodded, arms crossed loosely, her blue dress snug. blue was definitely her color, you noted despite everything. âyou look good,â she said, and maybe she meant it. or maybe it was just something people say when they donât know what else to offer. because what was there to say, really? that you missed her? that watching her slip away had felt like losing a limb and being expected to just keep walking like nothing happened?
instead, you gave her a quiet âthanks,â and looked away. she nodded, taking another sip of the drink. silence settled over the pair for a moment, and she studied your face. she cleared her throat softly, looking back at her friends for a moment. âyou look good.â you offered, trying to be civil, your fingers tapping against your cup awkwardly. god, you could only hope it didnât sound like you was hitting on her. maybe you were. her hand momentarily stilled at your comment, glancing down at her outfit and then back again with a look of vague surprise plastered across her face. as if she wasnât the star of the party, god. she was infuriatingly modest, still, after all this time.
"thank you." she replied, adverting her gaze. she didnât say anything else, not right away. just stood there, eyes flickering toward you and then away again, like maybe she was trying to see through all the years that had stacked between you. you couldâve, shouldâve left it thereâshouldâve walked away, melted into the crowd, let her return to her perfect circle of friends and free drinks. but you didnât.
because part of you still lived in the past, curled up beside her on sleepover nights, whispering secrets in the dark. and part of you, the worst part, was still waiting for her to say your name the way she used toâsoft, like a secret she didnât want to share with anyone else.âi never stopped thinking about you,â she said then, voice low, a confession barely audible over the pulse of bass-heavy pop.
her words caught you off guard. you blinked, the room tilting ever so slightly. âafter middle schoolâi meant to reach out. but everything got so loud. tennis. interviews. people telling me who i was supposed to be.â you searched her expression, unsure what to believe. but her eyesâthey were earnest. open. vulnerable in a way they hadnât been since seventh grade, when she cried to you about losing a match she was supposed to win.
âi thought you forgot about me,â you admitted, your voice quieter than you intended. it came out like a bruise. her face crumpled just slightly, a flicker of guilt, and then she stepped forwardânot enough to close the gap, but enough for her perfume to cloud around you, all clean sweat and citrus and something nostalgic. âi didnât,â she said. âi couldnât.â
your heart knocked against your ribs. it was stupidâso stupidâto still feel this way. but there it was, that familiar ache, lodged right where it always had been, somewhere between your ribs and reason. you looked at her, really looked at her, and saw traces of the girl you used to know, layered beneath all the new polish. and maybe she saw something in you too, something sheâd forgotten how to miss.
tashi smiled faintly, and when she tilted her head and offered a tentative, âwanna go walk along the beach? just us?â and you nodded. you walked side by side without speaking, her shoulder brushing yours occasionally like an accident she never apologized for. the string lights glowed gold and soft against the water, casting ripples of light across her skin. she stood there, arms folded, the chill finally catching up with her as she glanced sideways at you.
âi used to wonder if you hated me,â she said softly. you blinked. âwhat?â she hesitated, biting her lip softly, before letting it go. âafter everything. after i just⌠left. you stopped talking to me, and i figured i deserved it. but it still sucked.â your throat felt tight. âyou didnât leave,â you said, though you both knew it wasnât true. âyou drifted.â she laughed once, dry and quiet. âthatâs worse.â you didnât respond. because you had hated her, a little. and missed her more than that. and loved herâwhatever that had meant back then, in the safety of childhood, in the quiet of sleepovers and whispered confessions about boys neither of you actually liked.
but you liked her. maybe you always had.
she was looking at you again, that same open, earnest look. âi didnât invite you out of pity,â she said suddenly, firmly. âi didnât even think youâd come, honestly. but when i was putting together the list⌠i donât know. you were the first name i wrote down.â the world tilted again, subtle and slow. you studied her, this impossibly grown version of the girl who used to doodle hearts on your notebooks and steal your chips at lunch.
she still had that nervous tick of playing with her fingers, thoughâstill twisted her bracelets around her wrist when she was unsure. âi thought i was the only one who remembered,â you said, your voice barely a whisper. she looked at you then, fully. steady. her eyes held something that made your breath catchâremorse, maybe. but something else too. a yearning that mirrored your own.
âi remember everything,â she said. and god, wasnât that worse? because now you were both standing here, a breath apart, years too late and somehow still stuck in the gravity of each other. the kind of closeness that clings, that hums in the spaces between conversation, in the way her pinky almost touched yours but didnât. she didnât move closer. she didnât kiss you. and you didnât ask her to.
instead, the silence stretched like a held note, thick with all the things neither of you had the courage to say. âi should probably get back,â she murmured. and you nodded. but neither of you moved. you stayed there, under the soft halo of light, two girls still orbiting the memory of something that almost was. you watched her profile in the lightâthe slope of her nose, the way the breeze caught strands of her dark hair, lifting them softly against her cheek. you remembered brushing that same hair out of her face once, a lifetime ago, after she fell asleep beside you during a summer movie marathon. she always hated having her face covered. she used to mumble in her sleep, too. you used to listen for it.
now you listened for her breath. shallow, steady. like she was trying to calm herself. âtashi,â you said before you could stop yourself. she turned. âi missed you.â it hung there between you, suspended and fragile. you didnât say it to make her feel bad. you just needed her to know. something in her eyes flickered. she stepped toward youâjust one careful, quiet stepâand when she spoke, her voice sounded like the version of herself you remembered best. small. honest. âi missed you too,â she whispered. âso much it made me feel stupid.â
you could have laughed at that. but you didnât. you just looked at her, every part of you suddenly raw and alive. âthen why didnât youâ?â
âbecause i was scared,â she cut in. âbecause you were the only person who ever really saw me, and i didnât know how to keep that without ruining it.â your heart cracked open. you didnât know what to say to that. youâd spent so long convincing yourself youâd been forgotten, that sheâd outgrown you, left you behind. and here she was, admitting that losing you had scared her too.
you took a shaky breath. âyou were everything to me. and then suddenly⌠you werenât mine anymore.â she flinchedâvisibly. but didnât look away. âi was never not yours,â she said, and her voice trembled like the truth hurt to say aloud. âi was just stupid. and scared. and trying to be everything everyone wanted from me, exceptââ
âexcept what i wanted,â you finished for her. she nodded.
it wasnât a movie moment. she didnât lean in. no swell of music, no kiss under fairy lights. just the two of you, staring at each other like maybe time would stop if you held eye contact long enough. and maybe that was more intimate. because the air was thick with everything unsaidâthe touches that didnât happen, the almosts that never bloomed into anything more. âi think about you when i win,â she said suddenly. âwhen the crowdâs loud and iâm smiling for cameras. i always wonder if youâre watching. if youâre still out there.â
âi was,â you said. âi am.â she reached for your hand then. not to hold itâjust to touch. just enough for her fingertips to brush yours, and god, it made your whole chest ache. âi donât know what this is,â she said. âi donât even know if i deserve to still have you.â you swallowed hard, barely managing a whisper, âyou do.â and maybe that was the most honest thing youâd said all night.
tashiâs hand lingered over yours, the contact feather-light but deliberate. you didnât pull away. couldnât. every nerve in your body had gone electric, alive with the sensation of being seen againâreally, fully seenâfor the first time in years. she stared at your joined hands like she couldnât quite believe they were real. you didnât realize how close sheâd gotten until you could feel her breath on your cheek, soft and unsteady. her eyes flicked to your lips for a second too long, then back to your gazeâquestioning, asking without words.
you should have hesitated. should have been cautious. but love didnât live in logicâit lived in moments like this. quiet, charged, full of all the things you hadnât said for years. so you kissed her. it wasnât perfect. your teeth bumped. one of you gasped. but god, it fit. like something that had been waiting, quietly, to fall back into place. she kissed you like sheâd missed you in every timeline. like she was apologizing with her mouth and promising something better with every shaky exhale.
her hands found your waist. yours cradled her jaw. she pulled back for a second, just long enough to rest her forehead against yours. âiâm sorry,â she whispered. âi only threw this stupid party hoping youâd come.â
âi know,â you breathed.
she let out a shaky breath and kissed you againâsofter this time, slower. like you had all the time in the world now. and maybe you did, in the hush of string lights and old wounds and old love reawakened, it was just the two of you.
#challengers#challengers 2024#tashi duncan x reader#tashi duncan x you#tashi challengers#tashi duncan#zendaya#girlblogging#wlw yearning#wlw
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Challengers will forever be one of the sexiest movies Iâve ever watched. Everything about it is sexy. The friendships. The backstabbing. The drama. The way-too-close-for-comfort fights. The yearning. The longing. The fantasizing. The wanting. The tasting. The way Zendaya looked in that blue dress. The boys getting bricked up together watching Tashi play. The fact that Tashi knows they want her and the only thing they want more than her might be each other. The fact that the boys really just missed playing together all along. The way the boys always seem to cling to one another or have hands on each other. The way the boys ate churros. The way Patrick slapped Artâs boner away playfully. The way Tashi used Art to get Patrick worked up for sex. The progression of the scene where Tashi and Patrick reunite in Atlanta. The way Tashi gets hot for the competition. The bitchy way that Tashi cuts down both male leads with only a few words. The way Art looked up at her with his bottom tooted up in the air on the bed like a soft little puppy. The locker room scene of Patrick surrounded by naked tennis players having their breakdowns over the game or taunting their opponents for beating them while Patrick swiped right on guys on tinder. The longing glances and body language between the boys in the steamy sauna. And oh by the way, that righteous score provided by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross. That movie had no sex scene and was somehow sexier and more erotic than the sexiest erotic thrillers you can think of. I would like to see it again but I may need a cigarette afterward.
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REQUESTED BOT RELEASE .á
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AARON HOTCHNER. ( almost, always ) â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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ALICE CULLEN. ( new moon, new blood ) â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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BILLY LOOMIS. ( climbing through windows ) â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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BJĂRN IRONSIDE. ( twin rivalry ) â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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EDDIE MUNSON. ( tattoo artist ) au â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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EMERY WALSH. ( the cut that counts ) â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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FIONA GALLAGHER. ( manic episode ) â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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HANNIBAL LECTER. ( a taste of devotion ) â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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JACK ABBOT. ( the favor ) â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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JACK ABBOT. ( bleeding edge ) â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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JENNIFER JAREAU. ( good luck, babe! ) ⢠â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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JOE GOLDBERG. ( bad kiss ) â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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JOHN SHEN. ( his favorite student ) â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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JORDAN LI. ( suspicious hero ) â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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MICHAEL BERZATTO. ( playful wrestling ) â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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REMMICK. ( what i took ) â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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REMMICK. ( in his shadow ) â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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TRINITY SANTOS. ( morning confusion ) ⢠â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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TRINITY SANTOS. ( the one who sees me ) â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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VICTORIA NEUMAN. ( caught between lies ) ⢠â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ëâ
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camp counselor! tashi duncan hcs
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. reluctantly agreed to sign up for a summer camp as camp counselors together, as a getaway (technically, it was, anyway) before she went off to stanford, and you to princeton.
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. hated it the second you stepped foot on outside in the heat. she hated dealing with bugs, dirt, and uncomfortable weather. she doesnât like the uneasiness hanging in the airâsheâd heard offhand comments from locals about the camp, rumors about strange happenings in the woods.
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. thought the other counselors were annoying. the feeling only grew when at the first night, while telling campfire stories, a counselor told a story about an old camp legendâsomething about a counselor who went mad and committed a massacre. she bit down her annoyance, her grip on your thigh tightening every time he spoke.
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. tries to ignore the others, and bonds with the kids quickly. she thinks theyâre adorable (although sheâd never admit it. kids still bother her.. a lot). she helps them with setting up tents, and occasionally will play a campfire game with them to shut them up.
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. liked to sneak out with you into the woods at night, and make out. you know a good spot with soft bushes. sheâd never admit it, but sometimes the peacefulness of the woods would get to her, especially when the two of you were alone. she felt safer when it was just the two of you, away from the tension of the camp and the rumors swirling around. the quiet of the night, the rustling of leavesâsheâd let herself relax for a few moments, even if it was only when she was with you.
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. despite all the discomfort, liked the experienceâbeing away from the world. sheâd cling to you openly when the creepy stories got too much. it wasnât just the physical moments in the woods that made it specialâit was the sense of solidarity, the unspoken understanding that you two were in this together, whether it was dealing with the weirdness of camp or the impending separation after the summer.
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. notices first. at first, it was easy to dismissâjust small, almost forgettable inconveniences. a piece of equipment would go missing, supplies would be misplaced, flashlights would flicker unexpectedly, and it was always just enough to feel like coincidence. but things escalated. campers began whispering about seeing someone standing just beyond the tree line at night. some of them insisted they heard voices after lights-out: strange, fragmented whispers that drifted through the dark. voices that didnât sound like anyone at camp. she didnât laugh it off like the others, she believed them. from that night on, she kept a flashlight tucked beneath her pillowâjust in case.
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. notices immediately when a counselor didnât come back to their cabin. the director wrote it off as them quitting and sneaking outâbut her bunk was still made, her stuff untouched. thatâs when she stopped pretending everything was all stupid fun. that night, she clung tighter than usual when you snuck out to the bushes, her kisses frantic, as if she was afraid itâd be the last time.
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. used to love the rain. that night, the rain fell in heavy sheets, relentless and loud, drowning out the usual chorus of insects and leaves. then came the scream. sharp, piercing, and far too close. she took off running, the mud clung to her shoes as she scurried through the downpour. she burst into your cabin, soaked and panicked, barely able to get the words out. she didnât want to go back to the fire circle, her instincts screamed at her not to. but you two went. the scene that waited for you there still haunts her. benches knocked over like someone had fled in a hurry. scattered debris. drops of blood gleaming on the wet stone. and the axeâthe one from the equipment shedâwas gone. after that, the rain never felt the same again.
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. quickly locked the campers in the mess hall. the power went out. and the remaining counselorsâthose who were aliveâhuddled together with flashlights. she didnât speak much, except to grip your hand. her grip would get tighter every time you heard another scream, and the thump of a body. you two scurried off when the masked figure tore their axe through the door, ending up barricaded yourselves in the arts & crafts cabin. she had a pair of scissors gripped in her fist, and you had color pencils (sharpened, obviously. there weren't much weapons, unfortunately).
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. barely had time to register the flicker of movement behind you. the figure emerged from the dark as if waiting for this moment. you shoved her behind you instinctively, yelling for her to run. the attack happened fast.
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. didnât run, not at first. she screamed, charging at the figure with her scissors. you were already on the ground, blood in your mouth, telling her to go. she didnât want to leave you, didnât want to believe it was happening. eventually, she didâbarefoot, bloody, and grievingâuntil she burst into the main lodge and collapsed.
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. regained consciousness with a paramedic shaking her. her vision swam as she blinked against the harsh light, her mind slow to catch upâbut the first thing she did was search for you. her eyes darted frantically across the bloodied campsite, heart pounding, until the empty space where you shouldâve been made her stomach drop. even as they tried to lift her onto the stretcher, she fought to stay. she insisted you were comingâthat maybe you were hurt, sure, but not gone. youâd walk out of the trees any second now, bruised but grinning, like you always did.
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. broke down when she learned the final death toll. fourteen lives lost, including yours. once she got home, she shut herself away in her room, swallowed by grief and shock, unable to face the world outside her door. for days, she didnât eat, didnât speak. just mourned. at one point, she nearly turned down her stanford scholarship, convinced she couldnât move forward. but her parents gently pushed her to go, reminding her of everything sheâd worked for. and maybe, deep down, she knew that leaving wouldnât mean forgetting.
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. carried your memory like a woundâsomething that never quite scabbed over. sheâd stare out dorm windows at night, wondering what wouldâve happened if sheâd made you run with her. wondering if youâd still be alive if sheâd said the camp was a stupid idea.
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. shut down patrick and art immediately, still in the grieving process. she couldnât even think about dating, when sheâd lost you.
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. gave up on tennis for a bit, but pushed herself to go back (after all, her scholarship was for tennis). grief clung to her like a second skin, heavy and unrelenting, but she tried to outrun it, tried to drown it out in the rhythm of serves and volleys. every morning, before the sun had fully risen, she was on the courts. and at night, long after the world had gone quiet, she was still there, chasing something she couldnât quite name.
WHO ŕŞââ´ .. let training became her ritual, her escape. with every swing of the racket, she fought to keep her sorrow at bay. when the knee injury cameâsharp, sudden, and cruelâshe barely flinched. the pain wasnât as bad as the pain of losing you, in her head.
#challengers 2024#challengers#tashi challengers#tashi duncan#tashi duncan x reader#tashi duncan x you#number 1 tashi defender!#camping#camp counselor#camp slasher au#zendaya
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hii! i love your blog smmmm!!đđđĽ°đĽ°
aww hi!! thank you smđĽšđĽš i love yours too, i love elvira đ
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unpure ; art donaldson
the moment you entered the chapel, art donaldsonâperfect, revered, untouchableâmomentarily unraveled. known as the pastorâs son and golden boy of a devout small town, he was adored, idolized, and expected to be without flaw. but you werenât there for god, salvation, or belief. you were there for him. and there was something intoxicating about tempting someone so carefully constructed to be pureâsomething deliberate in your movements, in the way your skirt rode up, in the way you sat just within his line of sight. you knew he was watching, just as you knew he shouldnât. yet the tensionâthe push and pull of guilt and desireâfelt electric, and impossibly easy. maybe it was wrong, but it never felt like it. not with the way you looked at him.
#c ai#c ai bot#character ai#challengers#challengers 2024#art donaldson#art donaldson bot#preacherâs son! art#art donalson x reader
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thank uou for showing me your little white boy i do not like him can you put him away please
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