Part Two Of My "scene Bites" Series, Where I Draw A Shitpost Sketch Of An Audio So I Can Convince Myself

Im so emotional over the fact that Yuu doesn’t even exist in all the other student’s dreams but Ace’s dream is centered around them. Ace cares so much about his friends what if I sobbed. Ace i know what you are.

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.”

hi, i’m wuegh 😧🤯

(“wuh-hhck”, “way”, or “woog”)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

the slowest drawer in all of tumblr. i hardly even post. ever. if you’re reading this i miss yew 🥹

#wueghworks - my art (IM WORKING ON IT.)

#wueghtalks - yapping? idk man

this blog is SFW!! 🙏

currently this blog is just for me to be silly and whimsical so don’t think about it too much. okay? okay. ☝️🤓

(insert portfolio here)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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.

GO YOU GOT THIS 🙏🙏

i have exams this thursday and i have no clue if im going to pass so. for every note this get will be a different extra credit assignment i do 👍🏼 for the motivation

“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?

john saga has ended 😔😔

WE GOT A NAME!!!! (Spoilers below the cut)

Asmodai (sp?)

Edit: Azmidi

Angel having a Chandler Bing type of job is so funny to me (David is the housewife, Angel is the breadwinner, but I digress)

I can just imagine the mates (Sam, Babe and Sweetheart) having a heated discussion about what the hell Angel actually does. And then Babe messages David and he just says ‘they do statistical analysis and data reconfiguration’

And then after a beat of utter shock, sweetheart just says ‘they’re a fucking accountant???’

Because Angel Shaw is many things, but somehow that also includes being an accountant

KICKING MY FEET AND TWIRLING MY HAIR

the sexiest couple alive right here

(it’s porter and treasure)

i think about this too often 🥲

Porter & Bright Eyes Thoughts

I thought about this just before I went to sleep and I didn't forget about it when I woke up so I guess I need to write what I'm thinking down

When he'd heard that in 3 short years, the clan had gained three new vampires he wouldn't say he wasn't shocked. It wasn't like William to be rash with turnings but learning that it was Vincent and Sam, and subsequently Sam's new progeny that were the makers? He was intrigued.

Meeting Frederick was a boring affair to Porter, honestly. He was the exact kind of man he could see Samuel turning, bleeding heart that he had... and then there was Bright Eyes. Taciturn, stubborn, difficult Bright Eyes.

Their maker was a freshly turned newborn, they were easily the weakest vampire in the clan. And you'd never know it by looking at them. The turning did nothing to dull a defiant brightness that burned in their irises, in the sharp roll of their eyes. This was someone who would do well as a vampire, provided their clan was giving them the room they needed to be themselves.

And they weren't.

Bright was under constant scrutiny. They were blamed for their death and Frederick's as if they ever could have known what was hiding under Dahlia's facade of normalcy. It was as if they could do nothing right, even three years into their turning.

Porter had no interest in playing as their maker, in being any kind of older brother figure to one of the newest additions to the Solaires. They were out of the bloodlust, they'd been taught the rules and how to behave. It really was only a matter of time until they were fully independent and wouldn't need the intervention of more experienced vampires.

That didn't stop Porter from weaponizing Samuel's clearly bad relationship with his progeny to get under his skin. He'd called Sam a deadbeat dad more than once, even in front of Frederick or any of the other Solaires. He'd grinned and said that even Alexis was shown more grace than Bright.

He tried to ignore that there was a wave of actual anger behind his barbs.

Porter was many things but if anyone tried to call him stupid he would laugh in their face. He saw the forest for the trees, as it were. Bright had become a scapegoat to the Solaires, to Sam. It was easy to blame them because it was their choices that put them in the path of Quinn. And they died for it. Shouldn't that have been punishment enough?

It agitated a familiar sting when he saw the way Bright lingered on the outskirts of their family. William was trying his best with Bright but clearly, there was some bias there... burned by trusting Adam, no doubt. Their relationship with their friend Frederick was fraught. Sam had burned that bridge before he even had a chance to meet Bright in the middle.

By the time he'd returned to Dahlia, the newborns were weaned off of Sam. They'd learned enough to be independent and only need occasional guidance... so Bright had moved as far away from the Solaires as they could while still being in Dahlia... just in the opposite direction of Sam. The lines in the sand had been drawn long before he'd returned home.

Something about the way Bright seemed to hate their new life bothered him but not in the way Vincent had. He had more perspective on Vincent now and maybe that's what was getting under his skin.

Sam was turned when he explicitly asked not to be. That was bad. Vincent was turned when he wasn't able to give consent. That was bad. Bright Eyes was turned when they weren't able to give consent. That was their fault?

Being shortsighted and dangerously stubborn clearly wasn't as much of an issue to their favorite cowboy as Sam liked to pretend it was. Porter learned that quickly when he met Sam's partner... so the wolf was worthy of kindness but the newborn was not. The double standard grated on him.

Bright truly had no one in their corner in the Solaire clan... and before he knew it, he'd stepped up.

It started easily enough. Bright had some pent-up aggression to work out, the kind that Sam would tell them to just bottle up and be quiet. Not Porter. He'd take them out in the forest and they'd spar. He'd let them be as vicious as they needed to be until their tense muscles loosened.

If Alexis or even Sam were making their "harmless" little comments, he'd slide up beside them and show them what true vitriol looked like. He was Wiliam's vampiric hitman, not a young vampire's bodyguard. And yet. And yet seeing any bit of shit being thrown Bright's way pissed him off beyond belief.

Bright could talk about that night to someone who they knew wouldn't judge them. They could talk about their guilt, their frustration, all of it, to someone and know that their abrasiveness wouldn't turn it into an argument. He just listened.

Porter was teaching them the things that Sam wouldn't. They were learning how to love themselves in this new life. Things were different and maybe some of their relationships would never be the same again but they were a Solaire. That name held power and that power would allow them to have fun again.

By virtue of being a Solaire, they had access to quite a bit of money and Porter was willing to show them all the fun ways they could spend it. It wasn't really Bright's thing as much as breaking into abandoned places was but it was nice to get back at the Solaires a little bit, even financially.

(As if William didn't know and didn't have more money than they could ever spend.)

Being under Porter's wing was really bringing life back into Bright. They were happy again, even if it wasn't all the time. They didn't spend as much time alone, they weren't getting into arguments as much because they were spending less and less time around Sam and the others. Frederick was watching the wonderful side of his friend come back, even though it was from a distance.

Instead, they were spending time with Porter and learning what being a vampire was like through his eyes and not Sam's and they found the immortality they faced to be a lot more entertaining.

Porter knew enough about being the outcast to empathize with them. He was well aware of how strong they were and how hard it was for them to hold their tongue for the sake of "peace." So he didn't ask them to. They could be themselves, unapologetically. The clan would handle the fallout whether they like it or not, the same way they did for him.

He would never have imagined himself as a role model for anyone but after meeting Bright Eyes, he couldn't imagine anyone other than him fitting that role for his vampiric sibling. He shuddered at the idea of someone as fiery as Bright trying to model themselves after Vincent.