Me When Scorpius

AAAGHHJ YOUD BE A LIL CLOUD CAT

WHAT KINDA CAT ARE YOUR MUTUALS

I REALLY WANNA SIT HERE AMD GO THROUGH TAGGING EVERYONE BUT I HAVE TO GO TO BED NOW SO I’LL DO SO TOMORROW!!!

THE THINGS I WOULD DO

THE THINGS I COULD DO

BESTIE SO REAL FOR IGNORING THE RED FLAGS ONGGG 🙏🙏🤭🤭

Blake doodle :3

okay yeah id be a godfucker too if that was my man

@moronkyne @zimix-whispers @wuegh @totheak47 @indigo-greer-collins

@chlorine3 @fedorabender @dawnofiight @definitelynuwonhere @porters-fangs

@milogreer @ambrose-mp4 @nevaroonie @paythesmith @int3rtwiningh3artstrings

@puffin-smoke @vampire-biter @porcelaininkpot

if u wanna be added to the taglist just lmk :3

CAN'T stand his ass

Grief is inevitable. In the many years and lifetimes that Gavin has lived through, he knew that fact through and through.

The love of his life, his Freelancer, had passed with a soft content smile in his arms. Seventy years had passed since he first met them.

He saw their youth and was with them every step as they aged - they always looked beautiful no matter what. He tried to reflect that in his own appearance too, after catching the way that their eyes would flicker in pain whenever they caught their reflection in the mirror next to his. He loved aging together with them, even if his own evidence of the passing of time on his face was artificial. He revelled in the way their smile lines were so deep with every passing year, and his heart was filled with warmth at the realisation that he caused it. He’d rarely seen them without a smile, after all.

They knew their end was nearing, and asked for him to stay with them, lying in bed in their home. He gently wrapped them in his arms and listened to the slow, weak beating of their heart. Even now, they had a smile on their face. They reached a shaking hand up to his face, and caressed it. A single tear fell from their eye.

“I didn’t know love until I met you.” They whispered. Gavin felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Their eyes sparkled with love until their last breath.

He thought he knew grief after the inversion. But this was different. It consumed him - his mind, his body, his every thought and breath. It felt wrong not to have the warmth of their body pressed to him. It felt wrong to have his core so empty, dull without the taste of love radiating from them. He looked at his aged face in the mirror and couldn’t recognise himself. Who was he without his Freelancer? How did he live before he met them?

Months and years passed. He wandered around aimlessly, feeding the bare minimum amount needed to survive, although he didn’t really know if there was a point anymore. He had altered his appearance back to what it was before he met Freelancer, hoping it would help him move on.

He was stupid to think he ever could. He doesn’t want to.

He wandered into the nearby 7-11 and went through the motions. He only feeds once every month or two now. The lonely man he chose as his “meal” was now sucking him off - it was quite a poor effort, but Gavin couldn’t care any less.

The doors opened, setting off that annoying jingle that played throughout the store. The person walked in, slowly browsing through each aisle before picking up a cup and filling it with a slurpee.

Gavin’s head snapped up when he heard the sound of a cup dropping. Shit. He thought he’d cloaked them. He must’ve gotten rusty.

Then, he saw them.

The same eyes. The same energy pulsing through their core. They looked a little different - different eye colour, younger, and their features rounder than before, but Gavin was sure.

It was them.

His Freelancer.

The moment they locked eyes, theirs wide in shock and cheeks reddening in embarrassment, he tasted it. Gods. That sweet warmth of their desire.

And of course they’d ask for directions in the midst of this awkward situation.

Gavin couldn’t help but cry.

In that moment he realised,

Love was eternal.

He found his way back into their heart quite easily, for he knew every part of them intimately, both inside and out. Although their physical body had changed a little, he revelled in being able to explore this new side of them, relearning their sensitive areas. He was beyond pleased to feel their affection for him exceed lust - of course it did. This was his Freelancer, after all. The same kindhearted, loving Freelancer.

He could feel their core, a little fearful but determined and pure with affection, reaching out to him. They confessed that they loved him, and were awaiting his answer with shaking hands and the nervous pounding of their heart. Their eyes teared up, overwhelmed by the excitement of the prospect that he might love them back, but also the fear that he might reject them.

Oh, Freelancer.

He immediately took them in his embrace and kissed them, deep. He felt whole again. He felt alive. He tasted their love, now unrestrained, and melted at how sweet and familiar it was. He was home again. They smiled through their happy tears and whispered;

“I didn’t know love until I met you.”

Their eyes sparkled.

Love is eternal.

“Love”

That was what Marcus called Asset. Not my love, not lover, just “love”.

This was love in its purest form for Marcus. This was love in itself. Obsession. All encompassing devotion. This was love. Fighting against all the odds to be with each other. Breaking the laws of what should be. This was love. Not listening to reason. Letting yourself be put in peril. This was love.

Taking over a living beings subconscious. Forcing them to care about you. Feigning a choice in the matter. Playing the victim card when devotion turns violent. Compensating for a lack of empathy with an excess of lust. Letting yourself be overcome with feelings of fear and calling it a rush. Blaming the adrenaline on excitement, blaming the monster for its own existence. Believing the crime was not the creator, but the creation.

This was love.

This was Marcus’s love, his creation.

“What state of matter is love?”

Do you think he was questioning the concept or the person?

In which state could he contain it: his expectation of love or what it was. When love is a man-made creation how can one blame it for being deformed. How can we blame it for being unable to be defined by its matter.

Love would give him an answer. Let the creation answer for its creator. Let the worshipper define it’s purpose to it’s God.

Marcus. Marcus. Marcus.

And his love.

Love.

What state can love be in which explains the length of which Marcus went to the capture it?

What state could Love be to justify his sense of absolution?

you’re just so smellable pookinator dinkletin 🤭

SNIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFFF….

smells like fluoride. 😈

Do you always go up to people and start sniffin’ em like some dog or am I just a special case?

TWEKAING SHABAUSBEISN AHSTARAGAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

me when i make fanart for the firefighter au by @us3rnam3-r3dact3d

specifically!! fanart for the Treasure and Porter oneshot that has become my new favorite oneshot ever

ik that Porter is said to have blonde hair in the fic but ive been reading with my own interpretations of the characters 😞 please dont jump me

uh yeah :D i hope we get to see more ffau Treasure and Porter in the future :3

alt version + taglist under the cut :3

@moronkyne @zimix-whispers @wuegh @totheak47 @indigo-greer-collins

@chlorine3 @fedorabender @dawnofiight @definitelynuwonhere @porters-fangs

@milogreer @ambrose-mp4 @nevaroonie @paythesmith @int3rtwiningh3artstrings

@puffin-smoke @vampire-biter @porcelaininkpot @urfrenfishy @galaxyg1204

if u wanna be added to the taglist just lmk :3

HUHRUSHAUAHUEAHUAEAA

Hmm...I've never shared my moodboards here have I...

Lemme change that-

DAMN:

(They're the only complete group I have so yeah)

IS THIS VIET REP OR AM I TWEAKING???

Redactober 2024 Day Twenty-Five

Prompt: Porter & Prank

Pairing: None, Platonic Solaire antics

cw: Mild violence, Mild language

“I thought a little prank might liven up the place.”

Available on AO3 here!

<- Prev Day

“GETTY!”

“What have you done now, con gái?” William asks, not bothering to look up from the book in his hands. Alexis shrugs a shoulder, taking out an airpod just in time to see Porter speed through the door. With his eyes a lurid red and his fangs bared, he would be the poster image of vampiric rage… if not for the strip of lush, dark hair shaven clean in the middle of his head like a ridiculous, reverse mohawk.

“A bold choice,” Alexis deadpans with a raised eyebrow. “It doesn’t look good.”

“You won’t look good when I’m done with you, you vicious bitch!”

“What’s really vicious is the DIY job you’ve to your hair, sweetie. I know you’re missing Vinny, but let’s not be teenage girls about it.” Porter pounces at Alexis, his nails aimed for her smug face, and she, the older vampire of older blood, is faster, throwing him back into the wall with a swift duck and kick into the sternum. The younger vampire leaves a hole in the plaster but is unharmed, is incensed more than anything, and readies himself to launch again when William lifts his head, leveling them both with a level stare.

“Con cái, you’ll get blood on the floors and so soon after the cleaners have come,” he tuts, clicking his tongue disapprovingly at the flakes of paint and drywall littering the floor. “Alexis, did you do this?”

“Obviously not,” she says, already the put-upon image of laissez-faire boredom.

“Then curious and curiouser… Perhaps it was a ghost.” William goes back to reading with an air of finality only he can accomplish, sucking the momentum out of the fight. He keeps reading when Porter skulks out the room, hissing violent curses and threats at Alexis as he passes her and slamming the door on the way out.

“Really, William?” Alexis asks, looking at her maker, unimpressed. “Shaving his head?”

“The manor has been so quiet since Vincent left,” the king says with a little smile as he turns a page. “I thought a little prank might liven up the place.”

REALHEYAUHSUESADEUUEHEEE 🤭

his duality is crazy (i want him so bad restrain me i might do bad things if i see him)