God Is A Woman And It Is Tashi Duncan - Blog Posts

YOURE SO TALENTED OML

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

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

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

“Who am I? Jesus?”

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

“Yeah.”

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

“You know you can beat him.”

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

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

“Just like this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Art opens his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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