This Is Me Planning An Edit In My Head When A Song Comes On

tears in my human eyes

josh o'connor in la chimera (2023) dir. alice rohrwacher

you would be correct.

and if i said patrick zweig is a taco bell bowl and art donaldson is a chipotle bowl.....?

GRACE album bot drop — 1st sneak peek!

LAST GOODBYE —

after the chaotic challenges of panic, the only good outcome was meeting your boyfriend. Dodge, of course he had barriers but you manage to break them, working so hard for your relationship, you just couldn’t believe it when he told you he was traveling and had offered you to come, not offered— begged though you both had different plans. He hated to see the love between you die, meeting your separate ways. Now there you were, running til you saw your handsome cowboy, you had to say your last goodbye.

comment on any on my sneak peeks to be tagged on the bot drop!

She would choose the second one ngl

dude you’re so insanely talented i can’t

charlieeee! oooo you wanna write vampire artrick headcanons so bad oooooo

andyyyy!!! hello hello UR MY FIRST INBOXER U win... vampire artrick headcanons!!!!

-x- i like to imagine that with a lot of empty time on his hands, patrick would take up woodworking, working in the darkness of the night to craft a large wooden coffin, big enough to fit both him and art. he ladens it with crimson red sheets and pristine duvets, waiting eagerly for art's reaction. "might as well play into the stereotype in style, right?"

-x- they love being indoors, snuggled on the sofa as art's reading, while patrick just toys with art's fingers, interlacing them. sometimes biting, gently, his canines pressing into art's pale skin and leaving marks, like quiet whispers compared to the loud scream that tore from both of their throats the day they bit each other.

-x- they get the bite marks on their neck tattooed too btw <3 just to ensure it's really there forever.

-x- sometimes patrick will hear art crying- he feels the most guilt between the two of them, for the people he's hurt unconsciously and the ones hes left behind. patrick's bad with tears and better with blood, but he does his best, pressing gentle kisses to the hinge of art's jaw and pressing their palms together, firm and grounding. like a silent promise from patrick to art, that he hasnt been hurt yet, and art has no reason to leave him.

-x- i like to think that they both get irrationally jealous over miniscule things, they just show it differently. art gets quiet and sulky, answering in short sentences with a clipped tone. he cant ever stay mad for long, not when patrick's familiar lips crash into his, his tongue forming not words, but something more that makes the blood rush to art's head. patrick's a physically jealous guy, the second he gets art alone he's biting him all over, not caring if he draws blood. it's just more for him to drink up. "no ones gonna know you as much as i do, art. god, you taste so fucking good- no one's gonna taste you like this. you're mine, im yours, we're bound for life."

-x- sex is always an irritating matter, both arguing who gets to be on top or bottom until they give up and just have coin they flip. they keep it in the nightstand drawer. it's a filthy matter, sweat and blood and lube matting their bodies and making them stick together, each rough thrust seeming to meld them tighter, making them one. they bite each other as they orgasm, shoulder or neck or whatever body part is conveniently right there, muffling the sound of their climax as blood trickles out of their mouth.

-x- theyre a freaky ass couple- and patrick initiates most of the freakiness. u know when mgk and megan fox told the media abt her spiky ring that stabbed into her? yeah patrick would get matching ones for the two of them. when he's bored, he'll sidle up to art, take his ring off, and wrap his lips around art's finger, down to the knuckle. he licks up all the blood before giving the pad of art's ring finger a kiss, sliding the ring back on.

-x- art's bad at showing his love. so he does it in small ways, sewing hoods onto the back of patrick's shirts because he's always forgetting to cover himself whenever he goes outside, buying vinyls of artists that patrick's mentioned liking from a few hundred years ago, cleaning up the bites that art's given patrick, placing a bandaid on each mark with a soft kiss.

-x- they've been together for approximately 2,109 years, and they've watched each other grow within all that time. not physically, of course, but in softer ways. the way patrick's curls reach the nape of his neck eventually, and art grows out of his shirts. their favorite pieces of media change with each passing year, and they have a mini library that's in chronological order- the oldest book they have, a poem written on cattle skin by an old friend in the 1600's, and the most recent one, an adam silvera book. they listen to all sorts of music, from quiet classical pieces when cooking to loud rocking beats of waterparks while patrick fucks art harshly, gripping his hips tightly and making the blonde's whines compliment the music. they have assorted art from different centuries hanging on the walls of their cute little cabin, an original jackson pollock, some modern contemporary pieces that patrick scoffs at, a few monet pieces. those are art's favorites, so they're patrick's favorite too

-x- they've been in love for thousands of years, and they're prepared to keep loving for the next million years, until one day, once they're ready, they kill each other. wrapped in each other's arms, they plan on kissing each other with poison on their mouths, staying tight in the embrace when they're ready to let go.

banana incident of 2024

always thinking about the banana incident

when a rat wishes to be human you get josh o’connor

now playing:

wait guys hear me out… death of a party girl is SO patrick after he lost both art and tashi in one day. i like to think that he turned to partying and that scene to take his mind off of it, definitely spiralling downward sometime before we see him again in 2019

DO WE SEE MY VISION.

tell me why i reblogged rhis an hour ago and it failed.

strict machine - k.k.

contains: 1.5k words, kurt kunkle x onlyfans!fem!reader, kurts lowkey serving autistic (my personal hc), guns, blackmail + coercion, lowkey this would be dubcon but theres no actual smut so...?

notes: for my sweet baby @girliism!! shoutout to the other users who are tagged throughout this fic too! im really bad at writing from reader point of view so. plz bear with me (and send me some tips!) this was so fun to write , i love kurts character so much and i love writing him. rlly fun change of pace from the last two fics i posted so this was very enjoyable, i hope u guys like it woohhooo

“Hey, hop on in! I’m Kurt, I’m your Spree!”

You get into the car without a second thought, confirming on your app that your Spree has arrived, giving out instructions absentmindedly as you’re glued to your phone. Your driver is some… greasy haired somebody who was way too enthusiastic to be doing this job, and definitely didn’t know when to shut up.

“Heeyyy,” he croons, drumming his knuckles against the steering wheel as he navigates back onto the busy roads of L.A. “How y’all doin’?”

You don’t reply, eyes flicking up to see him looking back through the rearview mirror, a keen smile on his face. Your nails click-clack-click on your phone, along with the beat of the music on the radio, speeding up gradually as you type faster. He audibly scoffs, returning his attention to the road. “Also, hey, by the way, I’ve got these cameras here for privacy reasons. Gotta make sure my body will be avenged if one of my passengers kills me!” he chuckles good-naturedly, checking the rear view mirror to gauge your reaction. What the fuck does this guy want from me?

You look up slowly, popping your gum as your lip curls back in a slight sneer. “...Mmkay,” you mutter vacantly, sighing as your phone dies. You mutter a quiet curse under your breath, shoving it into your pocket and grabbing a bottle of water. You hear a little giggle from the driver’s seat as you do so.

“Sooo… where ya headed?” he chirps from the front seat, adjusting his phone- which isn’t even on a navigation app, it’s just… filming. Front camera, with comments coming in, a few pings from donations.

“...Are you fucking live?” you ask, leaning forward and stretching your seatbelt taut as you try to take a peek at the moving screen. “Dude, I didn’t know you were-”

His hand immediately shoots out to push you back, a loud, unnerving laugh escaping his lips as he swerves into another lane, tilting his phone juuuust right so the privacy screen obscures your view.

“Hey! Ever heard of personal space?” he snickers, seeing the look on your face. “Like I said, if you were listening, I have cameras for my own protection. Don’t hurt me!” He throws his hands up with a mocking scream, quickly dropping the bit so he can steer.

You sneer at him, looking around for a cord to plug your phone in. “I want that thing off, man. Please,” you mutter, covering your face. Multiple pings sound on his phone, and he leans forward to read the comments.

“@sincerelystarry, thank you so much for the $1.50!” he exclaims gleefully, making you roll your eyes. This bitch was making chump change. A robotic female voice reads out the comment that the donator made. 

@sincerelystarry 

umm isnt that the onlyfans 

bitch??? lol howd u get a 

hottie into ur dumpster kurt haha

“Hey, fuck off! It is not a dumpster. This shit is well organized, beautifully lit, and smells of fresh lemons and mint,” he protests, frowning at the screen.

You undo your seatbelt, leaning completely into the front seat and angling the phone away harshly, knocking it off the stand.

“Hey!” he yelps, skidding the car to a stop as he scrambles to set his phone back up, ignoring the honks behind him as he props it up again. He sighs in relief as the camera angle is straightened up again, glaring at you over his shoulder. “Jesus, dude, can you just- listen, just drink some water and chill.”

“Chill?! Some total random stranger who just happens to be my idiotic Spree driver is livestreaming this entire ride, and your bum ass wants me to-”

“@imperishablereverie! Thank you so much for the two dollars!” Kurt interrupts you, beaming at the camera, “Wow, this- I appreciate all of you guys so much, thank you- thank you! Thank you for sharing and spreading the hashtag ‘The Lesson,’ your support means the wor-” he’s abruptly cut off by a donator comment, read this time in a robotic man’s voice.

@imperishablereverie

haha omfg it totally is

that OF chick im on her

page rn 

Kurt cocks his head as the comment is done being read, peering into the rear view mirror to see you and your pissed off expression. “...What’s OF?” he peeps out innocently.

Your jaw tenses at his question, face reddening. “It’s a job,” you manage to force out through gritted teeth. “A perfectly respectable job.”

@faiztsheap just donated $5!

she shows ppl her

pussy so they can 

jack off lol

“Oh,” Kurt muses, seemingly unaware of your obvious state of embarrassment and rage. “Oh, so you’re, like…f-famous? I mean, hah! I’d assume so, considering my viewers know who you are, you seem pretty famous. Hey, do you have Instagram?”

You sit back into the backseat, looking disgusted. What the hell was this guy’s problem? “The fuck? Yes, I have Instagram,” you answer, cracking open the cap on the bottle of water.

“Don’t drink that!” he shrieks, turning around in the driver’s seat to smack it out of your hand, making water splash onto your legs and pool on the floor of the car. It all happens in a flash, and when you process it, he’s turned back around, driving and humming along to the radio cheerfully.

“So, this OnlyFans,” he says it like it’s a dirty word, hushed and secretive, “makes you a lotta money? And, uh… lots of clout too, I bet, heh.” Kurt pauses, meeting your gaze through the rear view mirror. “Is it just… ah, um- vaginas on there, or are penises allowed as well?”

You’re surprised a blood vessel doesn’t burst when you grit out a stiff reply. “Gender inclusive,” you grumble, “glad to have put you on.”

“Ohh, okay. That’s cool!” he pauses at a red light, turning around and smiling. “Do you wanna see my boner?”

“Okay, that’s it. Let me out of this fucking car," you demand, pounding on the back of his seat. “Pull the fuck over!”

“Yeesh, dramatic much?” he laughs, obliging either way. He pulls over to the side of the road as you grab your things with a huff and a short glare at him. Fucking weirdo. “Listen, thank you for riding in my Spree today! Um, I would just love if you could tag me on your Instagram- I’m kurtsworld96, and post it with hashtag ‘The Lesson.’”

You scoff at him, opening the car door. “Not a chance in hell, pervert,” you sneer, getting out of the car and slamming the door, ignoring his whines and pleas. Eventually, he gives up and drives off, and you’re left to wring the water out of your shirt, muttering under your breath as you head into your building.

It must be hours later when he shows up again. You’re monitoring your page, checking subscriber counts and recent donations, when you get a new message in your inbox- from kurtsworld69. You narrow your eyes, the current task forgotten as you navigate your mouse over to your inbox, clicking open the message.

kurtsworld69 sent you a message!

Haha hey its kurt from earlier!

your spree driver haha

I joined! Im an onlyfans person now!

Do u get my username? Haha get it because im kurtsworld 96 but now im kurtsworld69

its a sex thing haha

Wanna collab?

And below, he had attached a dick pic. You groan under your breath, moving to block his user when he sends another picture, this one blurred and needing to be clicked on to reveal the image. You click on it to be met with a picture of… you. Taken from outside the window, blurry and unfocused, but clearly you, slouched over your computer in just a t-shirt and underwear. You sit up straight, looking around frantically. 

@girliism

what the fuck???? are you at my house?????

There’s an infuriating lack of a reply, until another image pings into your inbox. Similar to the first one, it’s you from outside the house, but now there’s a hand in frame, holding up a gun. Pointing it directly at your head, through the pane of glass. Panic shoots through your core as you gape at the image, unsure of what to think of it. It could be a prop gun, it could be photoshop, but the chilling feeling entering your bones and making your gut twist said the opposite. This wasn’t a prank. This was real.

kurtsworld69

I asked you a question

wanna collab or not?

You swear you can hear footsteps growing closer, the cocking of the gun. You can imagine the bullet flying into your head, the laugh that would sound as your body hit the floor. You type back with shaky fingers, ignoring the tightness in your chest.

@girliism 

ok 

fine 

please get off my property

The response is immediate, and if you strain your ears, you can hear traipsing footsteps through the grass, moving further and further away. You visibly relax, letting out a shaky breath.

kurtsworld69

yay!

Can i eat your out?