foxessnout

[foxessnout]

controcersial ship dynamic maybe but hear me out on patient that uses the doctor so he can feed into his addiction which is some medication or somerhing x doctor that uses the patient for validation and reassurrance and maybe also a verbal punching bag . Bonus points if patient doesnt care about the doctor like at all and the doctor isnt exactly in love but is more so obsessed or likes the idea of them

Or alternatively, patient is an addict but needs the doctor to keep them alive so they can feed into their addiction and non-stop nearly OD

Let me cook Okay

[foxessnout]

is it really an mlm ship if they dont abuse eachother

[foxessnout]

cellophane - t.d.

contains: 1.1k words, injuries, self-deprecation, sad angry tashi, duncan family rise up

notes: i had so much fun writing this one actually, i love tashi's character so much <3

It was just one game. The one game out of Tashi’s entire career that her family had missed. Of course, she wasn’t upset- her family had been everything when she was first starting up, sporting a different handmade sign for each match, making her beam and wave up at them every time she jogged onto the court. They were bound to miss at least one game in her career, and she couldn’t possibly be mad that they’d miss one game out of hundreds.

“It’ll be fine!” Her mother had said, her voice tinny over a call as Tashi finished up her dinner. “Plus, it’s not like you don’t win every match. I’m sure we wouldn’t miss a thing, honey.”

Tashi had agreed. Not to sound self-centered, but it was just Berkeley– and she could beat their entire team with her eyes closed. She bid goodnight to her mother with a sweet “Love you!” as she hung up, sighing to herself. It would be fine. Her family had already spent a fortune, flying to Stanford and back  just to watch her games. It made her feel selfish. But she knew the drill. She’d play, win, and accept congratulations from her peers on the way back to her dorm, only really paying attention to a few people, as she waits for her parents to text her. It was going to be fine.

That was a week ago.

And now Tashi was alone in the Stanford infirmary, tear tracks drying on her slowly cooling skin. The brace encircling her knee itched- Velcro that Tashi desperately wanted to just rip off, over and over again. Art had left hours ago, very reluctantly, despite her insistence that she was fine, it was all fine.

“Tash, here- just lemme help you,” he had grunted, trying to move her bulky brace and only making her hiss in pain.

“Art. I need you to get out now before I say something I’ll regret,” she gritted out, watching as his face fell and he shuffled away, tossing out a limp “G’night.”

She knew she was being bitchy and demanding, refusing help and stubbornly moving her knee in small fractions whenever she could, trying to get a grasp on her movements once more. She knew it was all useless, though, that she wouldn’t recover. She’d try, of course she would try, but Tashi Duncan would never become a household name.

Her phone buzzed on the table next to her. Over and over, the lilting melody of her ringtone worming through her brain until she finally gave in, wiping her nose with one hand and picking up her phone.

Mama is calling…

answer or decline?

Tashi groans aloud, hearing the sound echo back to her through the empty room, her despair and utter failure stinking up the room. After a second to compose herself, she sniffs, wipes her eyes and presses the ‘accept’ button, putting it on speaker.

Tashi doesn’t want to be the first one to speak. She’s sure her parents are disappointed in her, only calling to give her cold silence and lukewarm compliments on her serve and other bullshit they know nothing about. But she’d rather start the conversation than let them, probably beginning with a stiff congratulation that Tashi doesn’t deserve.

She inhales deeply, voice wavering as she speaks “Mama, I-”

Tashi’s immediately cut off by whoops and cheers on the other end of the line, scattered applause and exclamations of pride.

“Oh, sweetheart, we’re sorry we couldn’t watch!” her mother calls out from the cacophony of noise, shocking Tashi. Why do they sound like they’re celebrating?

“It-It’s fine, mama, but, I-”

“Shh, shh shh, no, honey. You’re not gonna do that self-deprecating thing you always do, not tonight. Look, baby, we’re all so proud of you. You’re the star of this family, you know that? Don’t ever forget that, okay, baby?”

Tashi can feel tears welling up again, stinging against her eyes like a million pinpricks. They didn’t know. They didn’t know that while her life had just started, it was over. It had ended. How could she possibly break their heart in this moment of elation?

“Thank you, mama,” Tashi chokes out, a hand to her chest, clasping her golden cross necklace. “It-it means a lot that you- believe so much in me,” she whispers, fat tears springing up and rolling down her cheeks.

“Oh, baby, don’t cry,” her mother coos, only making the tears fall down faster. “We never had a doubt. Not a single one, you hear me? We knew from the beginning you would win, every damn set was yours. You won that for us, didn’t you?”

They’re quiet sobs now, silent and deadly, wracking her chest and making her cave into her hollow, empty self. She clutches her brace as she white-knuckles her phone, desperately wanting to redo the last match, to go back in time and stop the fight with Patrick, to watch her footing more carefully. Anything to undo this pain in her heart as she pictures her family finding out about the injury, about the doctor’s prognosis. About how broken and useless Tashi would be now.

“I did it for you,” she whimpers, watery eyes looking up at the ceiling as she breathes in shakily. “All I do is for you, mama…”

“Oh, Tashi. Tashi, my baby, I love you so much.” Her mother’s voice sounds so far away– States away, it is, and Tashi just wishes she was here, pressing kisses to her brace and whispering quiet words of reassurance.

“I love you too, mama,” Tashi sobs out, feeling like she couldn’t breathe. Her knee– her knee. Snapped in half, bone sticking out, Art leaping over the net, her cries and screams like a wounded animal, Patrick, stupid Patrick, her coach running over, her mother, her father, her family, the shamed Duncan name–

She hangs up in the middle of her mother’s sentence, too sickened with herself to hear her sweet, beloved mother shower her with praises she didn’t deserve. This was their break. They were going to be the Duncans, the strong household that had raised the Tashi Duncan. But who was Tashi Duncan now? What else could Tashi Duncan do for her family?

Tashi tosses her phone against the wall across the room to smash against the wall, different bits and pieces clattering against the floor as she sobs loud and cathartically. Her heart hurts, it’s clenching and twisting at the image of her disappointed family’s faces, their glittery signs burned. She didn’t deserve it, not anymore. Tashi lets her tears flood down her broken body, pained sobs echoing in the empty infirmary.

I did it for you.

[foxessnout]

cellophane - t.d.

contains: 1.1k words, injuries, self-deprecation, sad angry tashi, duncan family rise up

notes: i had so much fun writing this one actually, i love tashi's character so much <3

It was just one game. The one game out of Tashi’s entire career that her family had missed. Of course, she wasn’t upset- her family had been everything when she was first starting up, sporting a different handmade sign for each match, making her beam and wave up at them every time she jogged onto the court. They were bound to miss at least one game in her career, and she couldn’t possibly be mad that they’d miss one game out of hundreds.

“It’ll be fine!” Her mother had said, her voice tinny over a call as Tashi finished up her dinner. “Plus, it’s not like you don’t win every match. I’m sure we wouldn’t miss a thing, honey.”

Tashi had agreed. Not to sound self-centered, but it was just Berkeley– and she could beat their entire team with her eyes closed. She bid goodnight to her mother with a sweet “Love you!” as she hung up, sighing to herself. It would be fine. Her family had already spent a fortune, flying to Stanford and back  just to watch her games. It made her feel selfish. But she knew the drill. She’d play, win, and accept congratulations from her peers on the way back to her dorm, only really paying attention to a few people, as she waits for her parents to text her. It was going to be fine.

That was a week ago.

And now Tashi was alone in the Stanford infirmary, tear tracks drying on her slowly cooling skin. The brace encircling her knee itched- Velcro that Tashi desperately wanted to just rip off, over and over again. Art had left hours ago, very reluctantly, despite her insistence that she was fine, it was all fine.

“Tash, here- just lemme help you,” he had grunted, trying to move her bulky brace and only making her hiss in pain.

“Art. I need you to get out now before I say something I’ll regret,” she gritted out, watching as his face fell and he shuffled away, tossing out a limp “G’night.”

She knew she was being bitchy and demanding, refusing help and stubbornly moving her knee in small fractions whenever she could, trying to get a grasp on her movements once more. She knew it was all useless, though, that she wouldn’t recover. She’d try, of course she would try, but Tashi Duncan would never become a household name.

Her phone buzzed on the table next to her. Over and over, the lilting melody of her ringtone worming through her brain until she finally gave in, wiping her nose with one hand and picking up her phone.

Mama is calling…

answer or decline?

Tashi groans aloud, hearing the sound echo back to her through the empty room, her despair and utter failure stinking up the room. After a second to compose herself, she sniffs, wipes her eyes and presses the ‘accept’ button, putting it on speaker.

Tashi doesn’t want to be the first one to speak. She’s sure her parents are disappointed in her, only calling to give her cold silence and lukewarm compliments on her serve and other bullshit they know nothing about. But she’d rather start the conversation than let them, probably beginning with a stiff congratulation that Tashi doesn’t deserve.

She inhales deeply, voice wavering as she speaks “Mama, I-”

Tashi’s immediately cut off by whoops and cheers on the other end of the line, scattered applause and exclamations of pride.

“Oh, sweetheart, we’re sorry we couldn’t watch!” her mother calls out from the cacophony of noise, shocking Tashi. Why do they sound like they’re celebrating?

“It-It’s fine, mama, but, I-”

“Shh, shh shh, no, honey. You’re not gonna do that self-deprecating thing you always do, not tonight. Look, baby, we’re all so proud of you. You’re the star of this family, you know that? Don’t ever forget that, okay, baby?”

Tashi can feel tears welling up again, stinging against her eyes like a million pinpricks. They didn’t know. They didn’t know that while her life had just started, it was over. It had ended. How could she possibly break their heart in this moment of elation?

“Thank you, mama,” Tashi chokes out, a hand to her chest, clasping her golden cross necklace. “It-it means a lot that you- believe so much in me,” she whispers, fat tears springing up and rolling down her cheeks.

“Oh, baby, don’t cry,” her mother coos, only making the tears fall down faster. “We never had a doubt. Not a single one, you hear me? We knew from the beginning you would win, every damn set was yours. You won that for us, didn’t you?”

They’re quiet sobs now, silent and deadly, wracking her chest and making her cave into her hollow, empty self. She clutches her brace as she white-knuckles her phone, desperately wanting to redo the last match, to go back in time and stop the fight with Patrick, to watch her footing more carefully. Anything to undo this pain in her heart as she pictures her family finding out about the injury, about the doctor’s prognosis. About how broken and useless Tashi would be now.

“I did it for you,” she whimpers, watery eyes looking up at the ceiling as she breathes in shakily. “All I do is for you, mama…”

“Oh, Tashi. Tashi, my baby, I love you so much.” Her mother’s voice sounds so far away– States away, it is, and Tashi just wishes she was here, pressing kisses to her brace and whispering quiet words of reassurance.

“I love you too, mama,” Tashi sobs out, feeling like she couldn’t breathe. Her knee– her knee. Snapped in half, bone sticking out, Art leaping over the net, her cries and screams like a wounded animal, Patrick, stupid Patrick, her coach running over, her mother, her father, her family, the shamed Duncan name–

She hangs up in the middle of her mother’s sentence, too sickened with herself to hear her sweet, beloved mother shower her with praises she didn’t deserve. This was their break. They were going to be the Duncans, the strong household that had raised the Tashi Duncan. But who was Tashi Duncan now? What else could Tashi Duncan do for her family?

Tashi tosses her phone against the wall across the room to smash against the wall, different bits and pieces clattering against the floor as she sobs loud and cathartically. Her heart hurts, it’s clenching and twisting at the image of her disappointed family’s faces, their glittery signs burned. She didn’t deserve it, not anymore. Tashi lets her tears flood down her broken body, pained sobs echoing in the empty infirmary.

I did it for you.

[foxessnout]

cellophane - t.d.

contains: 1.1k words, injuries, self-deprecation, sad angry tashi, duncan family rise up

notes: i had so much fun writing this one actually, i love tashi's character so much <3

It was just one game. The one game out of Tashi’s entire career that her family had missed. Of course, she wasn’t upset- her family had been everything when she was first starting up, sporting a different handmade sign for each match, making her beam and wave up at them every time she jogged onto the court. They were bound to miss at least one game in her career, and she couldn’t possibly be mad that they’d miss one game out of hundreds.

“It’ll be fine!” Her mother had said, her voice tinny over a call as Tashi finished up her dinner. “Plus, it’s not like you don’t win every match. I’m sure we wouldn’t miss a thing, honey.”

Tashi had agreed. Not to sound self-centered, but it was just Berkeley– and she could beat their entire team with her eyes closed. She bid goodnight to her mother with a sweet “Love you!” as she hung up, sighing to herself. It would be fine. Her family had already spent a fortune, flying to Stanford and back  just to watch her games. It made her feel selfish. But she knew the drill. She’d play, win, and accept congratulations from her peers on the way back to her dorm, only really paying attention to a few people, as she waits for her parents to text her. It was going to be fine.

That was a week ago.

And now Tashi was alone in the Stanford infirmary, tear tracks drying on her slowly cooling skin. The brace encircling her knee itched- Velcro that Tashi desperately wanted to just rip off, over and over again. Art had left hours ago, very reluctantly, despite her insistence that she was fine, it was all fine.

“Tash, here- just lemme help you,” he had grunted, trying to move her bulky brace and only making her hiss in pain.

“Art. I need you to get out now before I say something I’ll regret,” she gritted out, watching as his face fell and he shuffled away, tossing out a limp “G’night.”

She knew she was being bitchy and demanding, refusing help and stubbornly moving her knee in small fractions whenever she could, trying to get a grasp on her movements once more. She knew it was all useless, though, that she wouldn’t recover. She’d try, of course she would try, but Tashi Duncan would never become a household name.

Her phone buzzed on the table next to her. Over and over, the lilting melody of her ringtone worming through her brain until she finally gave in, wiping her nose with one hand and picking up her phone.

Mama is calling…

answer or decline?

Tashi groans aloud, hearing the sound echo back to her through the empty room, her despair and utter failure stinking up the room. After a second to compose herself, she sniffs, wipes her eyes and presses the ‘accept’ button, putting it on speaker.

Tashi doesn’t want to be the first one to speak. She’s sure her parents are disappointed in her, only calling to give her cold silence and lukewarm compliments on her serve and other bullshit they know nothing about. But she’d rather start the conversation than let them, probably beginning with a stiff congratulation that Tashi doesn’t deserve.

She inhales deeply, voice wavering as she speaks “Mama, I-”

Tashi’s immediately cut off by whoops and cheers on the other end of the line, scattered applause and exclamations of pride.

“Oh, sweetheart, we’re sorry we couldn’t watch!” her mother calls out from the cacophony of noise, shocking Tashi. Why do they sound like they’re celebrating?

“It-It’s fine, mama, but, I-”

“Shh, shh shh, no, honey. You’re not gonna do that self-deprecating thing you always do, not tonight. Look, baby, we’re all so proud of you. You’re the star of this family, you know that? Don’t ever forget that, okay, baby?”

Tashi can feel tears welling up again, stinging against her eyes like a million pinpricks. They didn’t know. They didn’t know that while her life had just started, it was over. It had ended. How could she possibly break their heart in this moment of elation?

“Thank you, mama,” Tashi chokes out, a hand to her chest, clasping her golden cross necklace. “It-it means a lot that you- believe so much in me,” she whispers, fat tears springing up and rolling down her cheeks.

“Oh, baby, don’t cry,” her mother coos, only making the tears fall down faster. “We never had a doubt. Not a single one, you hear me? We knew from the beginning you would win, every damn set was yours. You won that for us, didn’t you?”

They’re quiet sobs now, silent and deadly, wracking her chest and making her cave into her hollow, empty self. She clutches her brace as she white-knuckles her phone, desperately wanting to redo the last match, to go back in time and stop the fight with Patrick, to watch her footing more carefully. Anything to undo this pain in her heart as she pictures her family finding out about the injury, about the doctor’s prognosis. About how broken and useless Tashi would be now.

“I did it for you,” she whimpers, watery eyes looking up at the ceiling as she breathes in shakily. “All I do is for you, mama…”

“Oh, Tashi. Tashi, my baby, I love you so much.” Her mother’s voice sounds so far away– States away, it is, and Tashi just wishes she was here, pressing kisses to her brace and whispering quiet words of reassurance.

“I love you too, mama,” Tashi sobs out, feeling like she couldn’t breathe. Her knee– her knee. Snapped in half, bone sticking out, Art leaping over the net, her cries and screams like a wounded animal, Patrick, stupid Patrick, her coach running over, her mother, her father, her family, the shamed Duncan name–

She hangs up in the middle of her mother’s sentence, too sickened with herself to hear her sweet, beloved mother shower her with praises she didn’t deserve. This was their break. They were going to be the Duncans, the strong household that had raised the Tashi Duncan. But who was Tashi Duncan now? What else could Tashi Duncan do for her family?

Tashi tosses her phone against the wall across the room to smash against the wall, different bits and pieces clattering against the floor as she sobs loud and cathartically. Her heart hurts, it’s clenching and twisting at the image of her disappointed family’s faces, their glittery signs burned. She didn’t deserve it, not anymore. Tashi lets her tears flood down her broken body, pained sobs echoing in the empty infirmary.

I did it for you.

[foxessnout]

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.

[foxessnout]

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.

[foxessnout]

he's like a patron saint to me

[foxessnout]

...CHARLIE!!

ABOUT ME

charlie - he/him - 18 - trans and gay man - neurodiv - east asian - psych + dance major - film studies minor - wannabe writer - douchey film bro

FANDOMS/INTERESTS

black mirror - challengers - dog sees god - mysterious skin - glass animals - car seat headrest - the henry stickmin collection - generation loss - troye sivan - djo - mike faist - film - horror media - psychology - dance - writing

HOBBIES

to be honest im literally on here to post an au of me and my friends' ocs. but i would like friends. much love

[foxessnout]

...CHARLIE!!

ABOUT ME

charlie - he/him - 18 - trans and gay man - neurodiv - east asian - psych + dance major - film studies minor - wannabe writer - douchey film bro

FANDOMS/INTERESTS

black mirror - challengers - dog sees god - mysterious skin - glass animals - car seat headrest - the henry stickmin collection - generation loss - troye sivan - djo - mike faist - film - horror media - psychology - dance - writing

HOBBIES

to be honest im literally on here to post an au of me and my friends' ocs. but i would like friends. much love

[foxessnout]

amid, amidst the crash of worlds

WELCOME 2 MY BLOG! ᨒ ོ ☼

name is nikola or nikifor - aka fox! it/its & neos, transmasc aroace, 17 (2008) + turkish - slavic balkan, autiADHD & mentally stunted... i may be slow, sys, nonhuman :p

ᨒ ོ ☼

interior design student, debater, writer, artist, oc maker, self-shipper, self-proclaimed analyst & historian, beginner self-taught guitarist

dead dove + yaoi + cowboys <3

[foxessnout]

im gonna redo my blog so good u wont even recognize its me /silly ill change my user dont forget me

[foxessnout]

we've aged

[foxessnout]

amazinf. 10/10. Garret x Steve fic when btw

at minecraft movie. will update

[foxessnout]

at minecraft movie. will update

[foxessnout]

foxfag - where someone is a fox and a fag

stripe meanings:

first three stripes - fox colors

last three stripes - fading to purple because purple is a common queer color

@radiomogai

[foxessnout]

foxfag - where someone is a fox and a fag

stripe meanings:

first three stripes - fox colors

last three stripes - fading to purple because purple is a common queer color

@radiomogai