Mike Faist - Blog Posts
i know they’re tired of my ass 😭
My ancestors looking down at me as I talk about how much I love white men
im rewatching panic with my friend because of MIKE FAIST and she’s not getting the hype 😔 he’s so gorgeous and she just isn’t getting it 💔
Thinking about the lyrics from ballad of Lucy Gray but applied to Haymitch and Maysilee Donner, and his girlfriend, and his family, and literally all the people haunting him while he slowly drinks himself to death after winning the games
these are teenagers?
No.
THESE are teenagers
I fucking hate british men (I say with a great amount of lust in my voice)
“That’s fine, I have Cheese-o’s.”
I feel blessed to have watched this.
BRO THIS PICTURE OF MIKE FAIST IS SO SO SO SO OH MY GOD
Dear Evan Hansen 1) Noah Galvin as Evan 2) Mike Faist as Connor 3) Laura Dreyfuss as Zoe 4) Will Roland as Jared 5) Rachel Bay Jones as Heidi 6) Jennifer Laura Thompson as Cynthia 7) Michael Park as Larry 8) Kristolyn Lloyd as Alana
Here is a double sided character drawing of Evan and Connor from Dear Evan Hansen. Drawn in 1 hour 40 minutes with MyPaint. Based on Ben Platt and Mike Faist. There is a time lapse of this picture on my YouTube channel, Ravenclaw Book Nerd.
this man has my heart and soul. for obvious reason
Only a bit
Riff x Latina!
Warnings: use of a slur, bit of angst and a very awful writing.
“You’ll pay for that candy, five cents, on the counter” Said Valentina with her wonderful accent.
“She doesn’t want you in her store and neither do I.” I told him. “I think that even Tony wants you out.”I laughed. “Valentina told you to pay that” I said walking behing Riff.
“It’s not like you could do something if I don’t pay, What are you gonna do about it, flat ass” He laughed while Tony and i looked at him unimpressed
“I’m going to break your nose.” I said and he flashed me with that one sided smile. “and don’t act like you don’t want me, I see you looking at my tetas all the time.”
“i’m sorry, I don’t speak spics” I looked at him angry, but tried to relax. Still, my breath was fast, he noticed this, but what he was doing is watch my chest go up and down.
“I think you understood what i said. Now don’t ever put a foot over here.” It was a really lucky day for me, i had heels on, so i did what every Latina would do if someone is trying to take an adventage of her friends.
you step on him.
“What a bitch” he cried leaning down because of the pain, he grabbed my shoulder resting a bit of his wheight on me, now we were almost the same height.
“Don’t enter here again don’t bother Valentina or me or TOny againg, and if you even dare to disrespect my culture like how you did with the flag, I will cut you in small pieces, ¿Me entendiste cabrón?” He rolled his eyes and smiled.
“You look so hot when you’re angry” He whispered so only I can hear it, and bumped our noses. I, as every person in the shop, was a bit confused but i’ll let it pass. “Write me down a Milky Way, it’s the least you can do” He said to Tony standing straight. “ Womb to tomb was never a joke to me” And then he just left.
“Don’t be like that, just because I can’t go to a dance” TOny shouted to him, they were two idiots. I kissed Valentina on the cheek and walked to the door too.
“I’m sorry I had to go early, but tomorrow i’ll be here as early as the sun.” I said grabbing my purse. “Nos vemos mañana Valentina, see you later Tony” I run to my house as fast as i could, goddamn Riff, he was the biggest idiot ever, and he was so damn fine.
I knew he liked me, still, Grazzie and him were together, I shouldn’t be in the way. But he always came for more, he would come to my window just to make fun of me, walk by me when it’s late at night so i can be safe, he flirted then he would make me angry by saying something racist. He just wanted to make me mad. I am becoming mad.
I walked to the dance with my friends, but they had their dates, i was going alone, maybe i could find a date there. The gym looked like if it was divided by jets and sharks, a boy from my block who was a dear friend walked up to me and asked for a dance, I grabbed his hand and danced my way to the dance floor. I was so happy, my friend spinned me a few times and i was having the time of my life, but i couldn’t help but feel a pair of eyes on me all the time.
“I have to go to the bathroom, thank you for the dance” He nodded and i went away, somewhere, the eyes that were always on me stopped dancing too, and followed me to the hallway.
“Having fun?” Riff asked. I nodded. “I’m glad to hear that, you look amazing.”
“Thank you Riff, you look very handsome too.” He laughed and put my hair away from my face.
“The spins messed up your hair a bit, but it’s okay, you look pretty anyways, my friend” His friend ???? okey i guess. “Well, I wont bother you no more, see you later. “
And we did. Because the asshole organized a rumble.
“A rumble with the sharks, are you crazy?“ I said angry. “ Riff, don’t you think before you do these things?”
“They won’t hurt me...” Were the only words that escaped his mouth.
“It’s not just about you, idiota, what about your friends? What about my friends?”
“The jets will be okey, they are strong, but the sharks...” I interrupted him.
“WHat iff they hurt you? Huh, What will I do?” He rolled his eyes. “ WHat if i have to be on a side?”
“You will decide your side , with your family or with me.” I laughed sarcastically.
“And what are you to mme Riff?” He stayed silent for the fist time in his life. “Family is always first, but i don’t know how will i react if they hurt you, or any of the jets.” Riff remained silent. “Nothing? Fine... but promise me you will stay safe.” I Holded hhis face in my hands. “Just stay safe Riff.” Out of nowhere he kissed me, it was so desesperate and needy, i kissed him back. “What the actual hell?” I said letting him go.
“I’m sorry”
“Be sorry about the rumble, not about jkissing you idiot.” I said and went for a kiss again, smiled in the middle of tha kiss.
“So you don’t hate me?” He asked
“Only a bit”
Yes, Riff may be racist, but i love him okey.
If Maria can love the guy that killed her brother, my latina ass can love Riff
MF THE NEW WEST SIDE STORY PROMO LITTLE SHIT, I DON'T KNOW WHO IS HOTTER I JUST LOVE EVERYONE (Exept that little shit, i'm not ever going to say his name)
Do people still do song based fics? I used to love those but I don’t really see them around any more. Would yall be interested in me making a song list? As potential inspiration and stuff like that. If so also feel free to send in song suggestions in my request to add to it.
Just did a DEH sketch. Didn't know that drawing some sleepy boys could be this fun or turn out this well.
happy #throupletuesday
He's soooooo bbg🎀🍒😍🌹😫😫😫 I be drinkin his cum like... ANYWAYS. If u feel lonely hmu.
Sooooo????? This is not a drill!!!!!!!!! My bsf asked me something like "What music are you listening to except that depressed girl ???" And the thing is she KNOWS that I listen to my babygirl Elizabeth Grant with my ears& soul more than anyone ever could do I was like "Oh...Nirvana's great (greatest of all time)" And she sent me a voicemail sayin "Why TF didn't u tell bout em earlier. I loveeee thiss" WITH "That's what makes u beautiful or how tf it's called".......................................
........................,............................................................................................................. I'm done y'all 🎀
Unironiclly if someone made this 4 me I think I would actually fudging crumble. 🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🖤💋💋💋
Ur sparkle jump rope queen 👑
Challengers (2024) dir. Luca Guadagnino
1 year anniversary!!
obsessed with this letterboxd review for CHALLENGERS (2024) by rocky/WAYSTIAR
hiiiiiii my lovely lovely LOVELY elowyn (sorry, i'm ur biggest fan) would you cook up something about Y from the nsfw alphabet with art for me? there's no one better suited for this🧚🏼♀️
HIIII TAL of course i can 😼
ART DONALDSON | NSFW ALPHABET | Y = YEARNING (how high is their sex drive?)
Art Donaldson’s sex drive wasn’t something he bragged about.
It wasn’t the kind of thing he’d ever wanted to talk about out loud because it wasn’t about numbers, wasn’t about proving anything. It wasn’t about conquest or some shallow kind of ego trip. It was about you. And it always had been. He was just built like that, wired to want what he loved, and he loved you so much it hurt sometimes.
It wasn’t the sharp kind of lust people threw around like a party trick—it was this low, steady ache in his bones, a yearning that lived under his skin and made itself known in the smallest, stupidest moments. You’d bend down to grab a glass from a low shelf and his stomach would flip. You’d be curled up in his hoodie on the couch, hair mussed and bare legs tucked under you, and he’d feel it hit him so hard he’d have to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning out loud. He wanted you in ways that felt almost embarrassing.
And it wasn’t about getting off. It was about getting close. About having your breath in his mouth and your heartbeat pressed against his chest and your skin warm beneath his hands and feeling like if he could just touch you, kiss you, hold you, the ache would quiet down for a while.
He’d told you once, half-drunk on cheap wine, his head in your lap while you absently played with his hair, “You drive me insane, you know that? It’s like… I think about you all the time. I mean all the time. Not just in a sexy way, though God, yes, in that way too. But like… in a ‘can’t breathe right when you’re not in the room’ kind of way.” And you’d laughed softly, not teasing, not mean, just this gentle, fond sound that made him want to crawl inside your chest and live there.
You tugged lightly at his hair and murmured, “Good.” And he’d let out a shaky breath and kissed your wrist like you were the thing holding him together. Because you were. You always had been. And it didn’t matter how many times he got to have you, how many nights he buried his face in your neck and lost himself in the feeling of your body under his — it was never enough. Not in a desperate, frantic way. In a tender, aching, reverent way.
He was greedy for you. Could never seem to get close enough. And God, he was so gentle about it most of the time, kissing every inch of your skin like it was sacred, whispering against your ear, “Let me, please,” and he meant it every time. It wasn’t about fucking. It was about loving you in the closest, deepest, most physical way he could.
And he wasn’t built for quick, emotionless hookups. He needed the stretch of hours, the lazy roll of bodies tangled in sheets, the kind of nights where you made love slow until you both forgot where one of you ended and the other began.
His sex drive was high as hell, embarrassingly so sometimes, and it didn’t take much for you to turn him into this lovesick, touch-starved mess. You’d just have to crawl into his lap and whisper something half-nice in his ear and he was gone, rutting against you, lips everywhere, voice all rough and low, “Baby, you don’t know what you do to me.”
But because he loved so hard, because he poured everything he had into you every time, he wasn’t the kind of man who could turn around and do it again ten minutes later. He needed time. Not because he didn’t want to — Fuck, did he want to — but because loving you like that, having you like that, it left him blissed out and trembling, clinging to you in the dark, whispering, “I swear, I could die like this,” with his face buried against your skin. It was the kind of connection that left his bones feeling like smoke, the kind of pleasure that crept into his soul and left him undone.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he’d mumble against your skin, all heat and breath and love, so much love it scared him sometimes.
And you’d just kiss his temple, tell him he was dramatic, and he’d grin like an idiot because you had no idea, no fucking idea what you did to him. It wasn’t about the mechanics of it, wasn’t about positions or tricks or counting how many times. It was about having you in his arms, under his mouth, letting him worship you the only way he knew how. He’d wake you up at two in the morning just to kiss you, just to press his body against yours, just to murmur, “Missed you,” like you’d been gone a week instead of asleep beside him.
Because that was Art Donaldson. A man whose sex drive wasn’t driven by lust but rather by a need to be near you, to feel you, to love you in ways words could never reach. A man whose body ached with it, not because he was starved but because you made him so full he didn’t know what to do with it all. And he would want you every day for the rest of his life — not out of habit, not out of routine, but because you were his favorite thing he’d ever known, and loving you in every possible way was the only thing that made sense anymore.