@greenvlvetcouch has given me cowboy AU brainrot, here are the consequences.
2 guys sharing smoke(in a totally heterosexual way)
its my birthday but what am i even meant to do
•5/6/2025•
*photo found on pinterest
obsessed with the truly vast and desperately lost sadness that inhabits within logan. no one will look him in the eye, no one will level with him, no one will show themselves to him, he insists and insists and demands for a shred of human connection because he is a living dead man who doesn't know he has died. and he has died because he no longer can accept the love he craves even when it is offered to him: he is a starving man but his stomach has long ago shrivelled up and been excised, he sewed his mouth shut and doesn't even remember it. he is ostracized in his own empire, he is exiled from humanity, he has turned himself into a thing that kills everything it touches and then begs to be touched. midas king coded !!!!!
green pls. pls. green. im begging. pls. i would die for it. u could release the three lines and it would be enough to make me the happiest person on earth. seriously. like r or s in a ripped cropped shirt killing zombies with blood and cuts on their faces. i would give u my lifes earnings
this is more than i thought i had, so. here you go! a little bit more than three sentences, just enough to sit and rot away in my drafts folder until i inevitably do something with it someday.
tw: blood, guns
Remus feels it before he hears the gun cock.
Hands stilling where he’s gripping his blade tightly, his other under his shirt, wiping the blackened blood on the front of the dirty material. His fingers pause and his back straightens like someone shoved the barrel between his shoulder blades rather than it being pressed nice and soft against the side of his head.
“What day is it?”
Remus closes his eyes; thinks this the most mundane way he could possibly die. He’s a bit put out, to be honest, at the prospect of being shot after he’s made it this far. He swipes the blade through the fabric of his shirt again, tossing it to the ground and letting it clatter against the pavement.
Turning, letting his head fall to the side a bit, the gun presses to his forehead, and the sun is shining down much too heavy for him to see the person holding it. A pale arm, tattoos. A ripped pair of jeans, whoever it is, they’re much shorter.
It’s almost comical.
Almost.
“How am I supposed to know what day it is?” Remus says, tossing a hand up and scoffing. “Do you know what day it is? I’d love to know, hon—”
“Oh, fuck off,” The person hisses, leaning forward a bit. Remus knows he’ll have a lovely pink indent on his forehead from the barrel, something like a target if he’s not shot and painted across the broken concrete under them.
They dig it in a bit harder, bone against metal, and then the arm is dropped, the gun falling to the person’s side as their eyes meet.
ethel cain by marlsbarklee
”Take me to him”
Imagine this, Harry is in trouble and his patronus finds the person he desperately needs in that moment and it is Draco.
I had this thought and had to draw an illustration based on it🌙
or futch. im not picky
the only thing that could fix me would be a butch hitting me over the head with a rifle
#FYCUCKFBFIF #going into cardiac arrest #goodbye
"These are mine."
That day in the bathroom Harry cursed Draco to be forever his.
One day I will learn how to render I promise- I PROMISE. But for right now I'm happy that I've finally settled on a design of Harry that I like except now I'm warring with details like scruffy Harry? Or crisp and eerily focused Harry? someone please suffer this with me.