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“My mate…My Angel…”

I never got around to posting these two, so have my David x Angel! I’m sure I’ll do an info page about Angel soon, but for now have the most accurate image of their dynamic

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You Will Not Be Mine

“One day, the only butterflies left will be in your chest as you march toward your death, breathing your last breath”

Sam and Darlin’ stumble into the conversation they’ve avoided, the one that spurns on insecurity and uncertainty

A tiredness hugged Darlin’s eyes as they peeled themselves from the formality of the night, stripping away not only clothing, but a small portion of the stress they carried in their very weave. Fingertips pushed into their eyes and rubbing as if it would push away the weary feeling that set in their vision, Darlin' dropped themself on the couch and let their head fall back. Following in behind, Sam swept a hand through tumbling brown locks, a hefty sigh filliing the open space. Tension and tightness sucked up the oxygen between where he stood and where Darlin' sat, suffocating and all-encompassing.

Sam's eyes washed over them, and the tug of war between what he wanted to say and the will to say it raged on within. They coud feel his gaze like a wildfire, burning into them and covering them entirely. "That was...a night," Sam began, closing the door behind himself and shrugging off the suit jacket. "A night indeed," they responded briskly, opening their eyes and sitting up, looking at their fingers, their nails, every line that decorated their skin; they looked anywhere but his eyes. He felt the avoidance like a sinister hand wrapped around his undead heart, fingernails digging in and rending his chest ached. "We won't have to worry about her anymore, at least not face to face." "Yeah, you said that earlier," they mumbled, the fight within the words, but failed by their meek and defeated tone. "And I meant it. I know she can be a grade A bitch, but I could tell she meant it when she said she wouldn't go near you anymore," the imploration in Sam's words licked up the back of Darlin's neck, in a fiery anger. A cold sweat sheened their hands, braced for the argument they could feel breaking the surface tension of their delicately maintained and feigned ignorance. "I'm glad you could trust that, Sam. And I trust you. But I don't trust her. And I don't trust she won't rear her head to make another snide remark. As long as she's a Solaire, she'll be there." "And as long as I'm a Solaire, there will be times that we see her. And that will be infuriating, I know. But if we can at the very least avoid her, not have to talk with her, ever-" The surface tension broke almost cataclysmically. "That isn't the problem, Sam!" Darlin's voice rose as their body did, hands balled up and eyes already beginning to wet, not in pain but in pure, heartaching frustration, the kind of tears that sear into your cheeks as they fall. "Darlin', what do you mean? It was one of the many problems that came from that Summit, but it's not one that we have to worry about anymore. All of the other problems are ones that we will face, together. You just have to talk to me." It almost sounded like begging. Pleading. Sam's hands lay flat in the space between them, palms upright as if bearing himself for them to take and hold and open their fears with him, calmly and level headed. That's not what they needed. Level headed was, at this point, unmanageable. Not after the night they'd had. "God. She still has her perfectly manicured claws sunk into your shoulders," Darlin's hushed voice was laced with so many emotions, it was hard for Sam to know which one was at the forefront of their barbed statement: pained, conquered, hopeless. They felt it all, and it was all too evident. Their hands ran up their own arms and they hugged themself, the warmth of the room nowhere to be felt, their skin shuddering under the chill of their desolation. "And now, they're in me too," they whispered, eyes wide and terrfied. "Darlin'...please..." "She doesn't live out there, Sam. She lives in here." They pointed to their own head, before shaking it as if to rid themself of the thought of her. "That's the game she plays." Sam approached cautiously and slowly, hands now both braced and surrendered, as if Darlin' were rocked by the explosive nature and strength in their utter anguish. As if they were a few wrong words away from shattering before his very eyes. "Only...only if you let her." He was never really good with words. "Let her?" Their laugh was humourless, empty, echoing. It rattled in their chest and left bruises in it's wake, blossoming over their lungs and igniting the air Darlin' breathed. They turned, the anger now shining across their face in terribly warm tears that gave an unpleasant contrast to the cold of their skin.

"To think I'd 'let' her do anything is insane, Sam. Do you hear yourself? Better yet, did you hear her? No. You didn't. But, to recap, after being reduced to your 'conquest', the plaything of yours that you'll be sick of once I'm old and decrepit, and then subsequently called a child, Alexis firmly planted her 'Sam is always going to be mine' flag in the ground. 'I turned him because I want him' she said. The only reason I was saved from that interaction was because fucking Porter came to save the day. Porter!" Sam said nothing. Not yet. He knew their fury wasn't for him, but they needed to let it out. He turned the words over in his head, feeling a numbness in his hands, his fingertips. When it seemed they were done, their words trembling in their veins and their eyes hard on him, chest heaving with the released weight of their words, he let his mouth form the words he carefully thought out. "I could never, ever get sick of you. Your aging means nothing to me-" "I cannot live forever, Sam!"

The silence was louder than anything they could have shouted into the void between. Yet the shout was loud. It was raw, and despairing, tearing through their throat and searing into Sam's heart. The floodgates were well and truly open. "I am dying as we speak," they heaved, unravelling themselves before him desperately, bitterly. There was a venom to their words, and even as it corroded them to say it, they knew it was toward the situation they were in, not truly to pain Sam. They also knew it would pain him regardless.

"Every day that I live, that I breathe and walk and smile and cry and...fucking exist, I am marching on toward a finish line you will never see. Not naturally." Thunderous and ever-howling did the returned silence loom between them. Sam's vision blurred, and he sucked in a sharp breath, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. His weight sat on one hip, as did his other hand, and he tried to choke out something, anything in response. What could he possibly say to that, though? After all, the truth swallowed him whole. "Every time I think about our future, I come to a stand still, right here. At this conversation. I cannot be without you. But I cannot, forever, be with you.

I am going to die alone, Sam. That is an experience you will not share in,"

The silver in Sam's eyes glistened and caught the lamplight, chest heaving, shoulders feeling as if they could collapse him. He had all but frozen, one hand still on his hip gripping as if it were the only thing holding him upright, or stood at all.

Sam couldn’t look at them. If he did, he’d surely fall into the horrible maws of anguish that threatened to swallow him up and lock him in an eternal darkness; as was his world without them.

“Darlin’, I-,” Sam began, his voice falling from some great height and losing itself in his throat, choked up, covering his face with his hand as he let their sobs rock his own body. Something he could share in.

“To give them up- my family, and my form- is to keep you.

To remain myself is to one day give you up.”

The words latched to the open air and seem to taunt the both of them, cruelly taking delight in the joy they stole and the numbing quake they left in turn.

Finally, Darlin’ slumped into the couch once more, and buried their face in their hands, knees tucked in. They were curled up, as if holding themselves tighter could fend off the agony. How were they not empty of tears? The crying seemed as if it would never end.

“I don’t know what to do,” they whispered bleakly, and Sam could only weep harder.

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Darlin’: What kind of tea do you want?

Sam: There's more than one kind?

I really posted a few drawings then dipped, huh? Anyways, coming back into the fold by posting a Scott Pilgrim themed Sam x Darlin’. I did this ages ago and never posted it

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❝Despite everything, it's still you.❞

a quote from undertale that made me really think of yuta :) so i really wanted to draw this out

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★ 【土偶ちゃん】 「 青がすんでるーー 」 ☆ ✔ republished w/permission ⊳ ⊳ follow me on twitter

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He's just a dude, a birthday dude

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I will not be apologizing for the person I’ll become once Lasko’s love confession comes out

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well i mean, not wrong // credits: @screamingemonight on Instagram

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My Lovely OC 🤝 My Sweetheart OC

Losing their original eye colour

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No guillotine could take away the head I'd give this man

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earth elementals when they have dirt due at 11:59

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You know your brain is gone when you’re out clubbing and you wish you were looking over at Samuel ‘Cowboy’ Collins

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Now you KNOW I’m taking it all out, ‘dress like it’s your last night alive and you’ll haunt the world in whatever you perish in’ style. I want to be ETHEREAL. I want to look as if I sparkle like a midnight ocean under a fully shining moon, tides crashing upon the ballroom floor and head adorned with the finest of the treasures lost to it’s depths.

I was a bit iffy on whether white was the go, but nothing compliments the scarlet rich red of blood like the illuminating shine of white as a canvas. So being dressed in white while sipping on red, seems entirely fitting.

quick! youve been invited and money is no object, i need to know what everyone would wear to the monarchal summit if this was a real party

no theme requirements! i wanna see everyones outfit choices *slams fists on table*

personally, im going with something dramatic (bc ofc, if im going w the Prince of the Solaire Clan, im going to be overdramatic about it and show off) and royalcore inspired 👑✨️

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they’re a security company because. because they’re guard dogs

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Southern Hospitality, now w/ fangs edition

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*heavy southern accent* "This is the skin of a killer darlin"

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I like to think that Lovely is silent, eerily so, throughout the whole ordeal. Every truth revealed from Porter’s lips is another cold reality that seeps into their skin and settles under their bones. Their face is devoid, of all emotion, life, signs of something, anything.

They want to be there for Vincent. His world is tumbling about him as he tries to reach for all that he can, and hold on tight.

But theirs has effectively been shattered into pieces too small to recover.

The one event that threatened the lives of the people they love dearly.

The one that tore agony through their soul, ripping it from their body and leaving them to die.

The one that had forced both them and Vincent to make the decision that stole the hue of their eyes Vincent had given hours of adoration to. The powers they’d nurtured from within themselves.

That was, in part, due to the machinations and assistance of the Bennett family.

Who’s king and prince were now no longer.

The ringing in Lovely’s ears can only broken by the faint call of their name, and the gentle shake from Vincent’s firm grip. He stares at them, eyes shining like rain on glass. Their silver pours emotion into the world around him, but it doesn’t quite reach Lovely. They feel as if they are not themself in this moment. And yet they are the most true, raw version they could possibly be.

“They are the reason…” Lovely murmurs, eyes still wide and limbs frozen in place, only the slight tremble of their fingertips felt.

“What?” Vincent doesn’t understand.

“The Bennetts are the reason. Why all those people died. Why I… why I almost died.”

They’ve never once regretted asking Vincent to turn them. Truth be told, for them, it was the inevitable. Their love would see that they never be faced with a future alone ever again, but…

The yearning for who they were was not absent.

“Lovely, I know…I know this is hard. We’ll talk to William as soon as we can. We need answers- we deserve answers, and-“

“We have the answer, Vincent. It’s across the estate, sitting in a pile of ash and a wayward monarch’s skull.” It sounds wrong. They aren’t usually so empty. The way they talk about this murder is apathetic.

“I know you’d prefer justice done the right way. But I think of the people I watched die. The feeling of that shade, draining me of my life. Suffocating on terrible dreams every night since.” The tears have spilt over, running silently over Lovely’s face. Their voice hushes, and suddenly an undercurrent of venom mingles with the lifelessness. Their eyes wander to meet his gaze, all concern and pain.

“I think about everything that has been taken from me. From the world. What I would have done if I’d known that William’s plan was to kill the Bennetts for being so involved in Closeknit.

And Vincent?

I wouldn’t change a thing.”