#no vtm content for now........

[humanb34n]

I need content of my character so I’m making some

[porcelainseashore]

They Don't Make Them Like Her Anymore - VTM Bloodlines 20th Anniversary

Commissioned art by @medeaft

Author's Note: I wrote this to celebrate the 20th anniversary of Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines and for a Gallery Noir server event by @vampemoqueen and @bigswordenergy.

Step into the shoes of our favorite sick freak, Vandal Cleaver, as he ruminates on the recent happenings in his life. Pliers and blowtorch included. Terms and conditions apply.

Content Warnings: Violence, torture, self-harm, body horror, mild gore, mild sexual content, obsessive behavior, blood bond, Hannah Glazer and Therese Voerman mentions, murder.

Hannah, Hannah… oh, Hannah. They don’t make them like her anymore, do they? It was sad actually—tragic—well no more tragic than another dead hooker found in a soulless apartment Downtown. Nothing that would make the headlines, not even worthy of a back page obituary in the local paper. Heh, I may be a sap for saying this, but she was good enough for me.

You see, they don’t make them like her anymore. No shit. The new girl? She can’t quite do the job like Hannah did, but since when were beggars choosers? Yeah, I know my place in the pecking order. At least she has the stomach for what I request of her. Doesn’t outright scream, “You fucking freak!” in my face, leaving me high and dry. I need my fix afterall, like the rest of you… Hiding dirty little secrets to dig out between your sorry sack of bones with a scalpel—do you know what a skilled hand can do with a scalpel? Have you ever run your finger across the edge of a blade? Any blade—come on, don’t lie to me now, we’re friends, aren’t we? Everyone’s done it once in their life, lost their innocence as blood blooms from the vulvic slit like a bouquet of roses. Sometimes it gushes like a torrent, depending on how deep you sliced. Shh, it’s okay to get carried away. Your secret’s safe with me.

Anyway, she does as I ask, like a good enough girl, then pukes her guts out—politely—in the bathroom next door. I know, because I hear it. Her chest concave and hollowed, heaving, organ crushing against organ as she squeezes her lungs, gagging on saliva and air. They don’t make them like her anymore, you get what I’m saying?

Earlier, I watched as the flimsy fabric of my skin peeled away, acid pink flesh melting from bone, and the charred layers curling under the blue flame like burning plastic. What remains blisters and festers. I’ve done it so many times I think all that can be salvaged from me are deadened nerves and an empty husk. I like being empty though. Sprawled out on the floor, naked and clean as a newborn while the world around me spins in circles. For a moment, everything feels attainable and unattainable. 

My queen… queen of all queens—

And just like that, it’s gone. I’m left with the chick who has a blowtorch in one hand and her nose in the other, pinching it as though the fumes are toxic. Her hands are always trembling, like an addle-brained patient, maybe because I don’t know whether I’m laughing or screaming half of the time.

My body is already mending at twice the speed when she brings out the pliers. I am a god and a shitty mistake all in one—not quite like the bitch goddess who owns me, but almost. Give it another hundred years, and I’ll be standing in this exact room, cutting myself open with my bare hands, alive and kicking to see the process. Imagine tucking my fingers under the sagging flaps, flaying skin from tissue as I pull it apart. Wet, stinking clumps of flesh and its sinewy tendons will stick between my nails, overstaying their welcome, yet impossible to scrub out. And that smell—mmm, that smell! A putrid, cloying tang of filthy pennies, assaulting my senses like a hammer to the head. I want to untangle my entrails like the wires in my brain that got crossed somewhere, just to check and see if they’re the same as everyone else.

Oh, so the new girl needs a bit of encouragement, does she? Lingering there slack-jawed and taking her sweet time. The missus—no, I mean, Hannah never needed to be told twice. Deep down, I think she even enjoyed it, the sick fuck. They don’t make them like her—

“Do it,” I hiss, saliva drooling from my lips like a rabid dog.

I hear bones snapping before the pain hits me, rattling my teeth as an excruciating jolt shoots up my arm. For a split second, I’m blinded by a searing white light. My thumb is dangling at an awkward angle and I must be howling, because the look on that girl’s face… well, what wouldn’t I give to have a picture as a keepsake? Frame it up on the wall like a goddamn Picasso.

Sometimes I feel the hairy legs of spiders skittering around my skull. It tickles like the high strings of a violin being plucked—faintly, daintily, as if it were never there. Sometimes I say things, but my words aren’t my own. And it’s happening right now. The girl before me is no longer a girl, but the queen bitch herself.

“Therese,” I weep and moan. It’s lewd and urgent like a fever prayer falling from my lips. I swear I could cum from her name alone, and I hate myself for it.

“What did you just call me?”

Therese in body and blood, spirit and flesh. Therese in all her unbearable glory. The cold metal clamps down on my trigger finger and her grin is so wicked I can only grovel and lick the dirt off her boots. She’s inside of me. When I hurt myself, she hurts too, and I enjoy it.

“Yes, please! Oh, mistress, oh fuck—”

My eyes shut as I throw my head back, mouth in the shape of an “O” that’s simply ridiculous. I try not to imagine how it looks like one of those snuff tape suckers in post-coital, or should I say, post-feast bliss. Disgusting and vile. I remember mocking them with Phil as I forced him to watch every single Death Mask film in that dingy basement of the Santa Monica Clinic.

When I come to, my balls are no longer heavy and aching, like an oppressive, shameful need. Semen trickles down my leg, pooling in my pants as though I wet myself. It smells of rotting fish and I’m trying not to cry. I wish it were the Nectar of the Gods instead.

A flash of anger rears up in my chest and I tear my eyes open. Therese—no, the new girl lies like a crumpled doll on the floor, mouth agape in that stupid “O.” Good enough like a pair of single-use gloves to dispose of in the trash without a second thought. Except, I used mine again and again. What’s the point if they break apart so easily? They don’t make them—

I yank her face towards me. The whites of her eyes loll back as I squash the fat of her cheeks within my bloodied hand, and her lips mime a fish sucking in breath.

“Tell me I’m good enough! Say it!” something that sounds more akin to a pig squealing explodes like a burst tap.

The stumps of my fingers move her mouth like a ventriloquist, but she says nothing. Blood smears across her dull skin. She doesn’t wake up. That can only mean one thing: useless. They don’t—

I let her body fall to the ground with a thud. Whipping a phone out from my back pocket, what’s left of my fingers fly over the keypad, punching in a line I’ve rehearsed a thousand times.

“A special order for the mistress.”

Tears cloud my eyes as I hear my quivering breath. It’s shallow and erratic. I still can’t tell if I’m laughing or crying half of the time.

Dividers by @diableriedoll

[bl0rbohandbag]

– some vampire the masquerade x changeling the lost concepts that will not leave me alone.

"but vtm and ctl are from different settings–" shhhhhh :)

— part 2.

before i begin: i have been dabbling in vampire the masquerade and changeling the lost content for a while, i am not a fan of changeling the dreaming and vampire the requiem is unfamiliar to me. anyway! buckle up, enjoy the ride, this is kind of long.

trigger warning for abuse/unhealthy parental relationships because vamps i guess.

first of all: i recently read vtm: bloodstained love. while it focus on the more romantic and sexual aspects of kindred relationships with a lot of references to obsessive/posessive behavior and grotesque acts of love, it also made me wonder how those would translate to platonic or familial relationships. add some changeling shenanigans to that and we have some interesting concepts to play with! and with that being said...

– you're a changeling. kidnapped into arcadia and trapped there for who knows how long. in your durance, you dream of going back home, of reuniting with your friends and family, escaping your keeper to finally, finally enjoy freedom in the world you were born in.

– and one day, you do escape. back into your world, never feeling completely safe with your keeper looking to get you back and huntsmen being a very real threat, but you're ready to rebuild your life and enjoy your newfound freedom.

– there are various mentions throughout the ctl books on how unsuspecting or heedless changelings might have their freedom stolen again, this time by kindred. so, as it turns out, you'll have to deal with creatures other than the true fae who are more than willing to keep you caged!

the angst potential in a changeling reuniting with ther parent(s) only to find out they've become something inhuman, and not all that different from their keeper is unmatched.

maybe you watch them from a distance first. maybe you excitedly seek them out. maybe you just randomly bump into your parent by complete chance, after presuming them dead or deciding to abandon your old life. maybe they find you.

but the point is: they're kindred. so different from when you last saw them, as a teenager, as a child, before you were taken. as if having huntsmen and your keeper after you wasn't trying enough, a vampire parent comes (back) into your life to make it even more complicated.

a ventrue dad will make his ghouls your bodyguards, following you day and night. it makes you insanely uncomfortable, as you liken them to changelings serving true fae back in arcadia. he says it's because of his own dangerous kindred affairs that might affect you, but after an unplesant encounter with the huntsmen he might just decide you shouldn't be out and about at all.

your parent is either a neonate or an ancilla by the time your return from arcadia. your fetch is dead for whatever reason, expired, after living a life in your stead, automatically making the vampire believe their child is dead– now imagine their surprise and confusion when they see you– real you, living and breathing. and maybe you're distraught, too, seeing that they haven't aged a day or should, depeding on how long you've been gone, be most definetly dead.

(this is absolutely NOT going to send the vampire parent into a mental breakdown and spiral into obsession upon discovering the child they have lost and buried was literally a soulless copy of their real child who got kidnapped by faeries. a clone made out of twigs and a cat's eyes that stole their child's place and they never noticed. everything is just fine. it does not them affect them mentally at all :3)

(bonus points if the fetch was killed by the vampire parent's enemies after being entagled in their mess. they feel like they are getting a second chance and will absolutely not screw it up! cue you, poor changeling, being locked away or put under heavy surveillance.)

on the other hand, a kindred parent who currently has a living fetch of their child just being EXTREMELY distraught when they keep spotting someone who looks exactly like their kid at random places they definetly shouldn't be at is very funny and kind of unsettling!

(a vampire mom just feeding on mortals at the club, socializing with other kindred, perhaps dealing with some unresolved issues with her sire, etc. Then she spots you, her real kid, unbeknownst to her, just chilling, among all those dangerous vampires, when you're supposed to be in your dorm room at least a thousand miles from there. she calls the fetch's phone, expecting you to pick up and start explaining yourself. your fetch answers the phone, talks to her, sleep-drunk and confused as to why she's calling so late, but the person she's looking at has made no motion at all. they're not talking. they have not picked up the phone. but that's her kid's face, she's sure. what the fuck?)

for low-humanity ancillae/elder kindred, having their child back might bring about long-forgotten mortal feelings of genuine parental love, although they might express in the very unorthodox way kindred would. they simply do not understand why their child does not want to be around them. they just want to bond with you and keep you safe where kindred and fae can't get to you, make up for lost time. what do you mean they're "just like your keeeper"?

i think a lot of kindred parents will leave you be, mostly brujah or gangrel, knowing you'll be safer if they keep you away from their world. provided there was no fetch to replace you, they think it's amazing enough you were found alive and well after years of being a missing person. you don't like talking about what happened in your... "durance"... fine, they'll keep the investigators off your back, too. they might not even know you're no longer human. but they are going to check on you once in a while, or keep tabs on you, or even have some of their people watch you from a distance. just to make sure.

(just don't let them catch wind of all the changeling shenanigans or huntsmen attacks on your person. that might just change their mind...)

kindred parents might believe you're safer away from their world, yes, but they can just as easily bring you into the mess of kindred society without a second thought.

not very fun being a fairest when your toreador mother insists you show your mien to impress her fellow clan mates and other kindred with your overwhelming beauty. she's always been a pageant mom, so this shouldn't surprise you. there's several layers of wrongness to this, from having your changeling identity exposed to multiple vampires to further your mother's social status to this very situation bringing back so many unpleasant memories from your durance, and it's bound to end badly.

(the toreador pageant mom could very easily be a nosferatu pageant mom, a cleopatra now living vicariously through your fae-given beauty.)

(she will realize how terrible a mistake that was when vampires start really paying attention to you. or not. who knows.)

(gifts that could easily have come from a true fae lord start pouring in. letters written in excessive passion, bouquets of bloody roses, dresses made out of human skin, all delivered by equally dazed-looking ghouls. perhaps your mother will know, then, she fucked up severely. or maybe she'll just tell you to be grateful for those wonderful gifts.)

on another hand, a nosferatu parent taking one look at their fairest child's mien and deciding "oh. no kindred can see you like. ever. stay away from toreador specifically". you don't know what a toreador is, but you'll try to heed the advice.

your ancilla mother meets your motley and proceeds to show them baby pictures of you, taken in the 1870s shortly before your abduction to Faerie. they are very well preserved and you look most proper in your little sailor outfit.

you have a beast/ogre seeming and your gangrel parent thinks you're pretty rad :) you go hunting together.

your tzimisce dad has living furniture made out of human skin, but it's nothing you haven't seen in arcadia before. he's a little disappointed by your lack of enthusiasm, and very offended when you tell him your keeper had better taste in couches. trying to evade a tzimisce dad after he's been made aware of your existence is a difficult task, and you will get caught and held captive at one point (for your safety, of course!). if there is a fetch currently living your life, they will be immediately killed or horribly tortured (read: vicissitude) for the crime of decieving the tzimisce and impersonating you, regardless of you already having decided to leave said fetch alone.

(tzimisce dad thinks you should be thankful. he dealt with the imposter. shouldn't you be happy?)

(if he’s got cash and has some land within his domain to spare, he might let you build a little home not too far from his own to give you a semblance of independence to try and settle you down. might.)

(on the other hand, you have the chance to become a really good escape artist. take your time in captivity with your tzimisce dad to practice your escaping and running away skills, after all, every good changeling needs it! you also get the bonus of reliving your childhood/teenagehood with all the sneaking out.)

(quick intermission: all of these concepts might result in low-clarity for the changeling?? i'm not too sure how clarity damage works yet.

update: it absolutely might!)

your malkavian mother thinks she's plagued with visions of her missing child, glimpses of what they might look nowadays, wherever they are. this is actually you, visiting her in her dreams through oneiromancy.

(everyone thought, back then, that it was just a scare. you wandered into the forest and for ten hours people searched for you, only to find you safe and sound, without a scratch in your body or a speck of dirt in your shoes hours later. but she knew better. she knew that wasn't really you. it haunted her for the rest of her life, and it haunts her unlife even now. she never made it to the hedge.)

you can't take your tremere parent ANYWHERE. you give in after endless nagging and take them to a goblin market, but their arrogance will get them roped into terrible deals if you don't keep your eyes on them full time. you do take this as an opportunity to show off your changeling capabilities. you're in your element.

(you also drop life-altering bits of Faerie lore at random or inappropriate times. it sends them spiraling. you just hope they won't share it with anyone...)

darkling changeling just chilling with their nosferatu dad in the sewers, sharing rats.

and that's all for today, folks.

[melonbear51]

VTM character concepts that I am compelled to share as they have completely taken over my brain: Part 2, Electric Boogaloo!

So since my last VTM character concept post BLEW UP and my brain is once again back on its bullshit, here are some more ideas! As usual, feel free to use these to your heart’s content! I’d love to hear about your characters too, so feel free to message me about them! Now, on to the main event:

1. A Malkavian researcher obsessed with statistics who hunts down “statistical outliers” in order to make sure their data is “pure and untampered with.”

2. A Ventrue who has created an up and coming adult toy empire (pun fully intended). They currently are in the midst of a fierce battle with the local Setites over who can cash in on the pleasure business the most.

3. A Brujah who was a successful athlete pre-embrace. Unable to participate in their sport and driven by extreme bitterness and jealousy, they now strive to turn the public against this particular as a whole by ghouling athletes and ordering them to discover, leak, and in some cases create, scandals. All the while, they rage against the sport they once loved under the thin disguise of false activism.

4. A dance instructor and head of a renowned academy known for producing performers who constantly seem to be breaking the limits of what the human body can do, much to the delight of audiences. What these audiences (and many newer students) don’t know is that this instructor is a Tzimisce and the performers have been carefully tweaked and trained during “private lessons” using a combination of Dominate and Vicissitude. Additionally, the Tzimisce is in search of a prospective childe worthy of being their dance partner, and has been carefully monitoring select students.

5. A Gangrel cryptozoologist who aims to be able to eventually master Protean to the point where they can turn into mythical beasts. 

6. A Gangrel veterinarian who was embraced after attempting to transport what they thought was an injured dog to their hospital, only for it to have actually been their hurt and very annoyed future sire.

7. A fledgling Baali abandoned after their embrace who thinks they are just some weird Caitiff.

8. A Banu Haqim who was traumatized after they were almost diablerized by a Sabbat vamp. Thoroughly disgusted by the practice, they now hunt diablerists, all the while attempting to ignore the cravings and habits of their bloodline.

9. A Hecata “fixer” who makes their living by disposing of bodies, whether turning them to ashes through the use of Oblivion or by adding them to their collection of undead servants.

I’m a little tired, so these are all I have for now, though I plan on dreaming up some more. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy these!

[thesixthplaneteer]

Palla Grande: King Slayers

I've been cooking this up a little too long and decided if I don't get it out now I might miss the deadline. Below the break is my entry for this year's Palla Grande: King Slayers! Thank you to @tzimizce for putting on the event!

This piece features a VtM OC I haven't said much about, Baldr! An elder by actual age but barely a young man when embraced. I hope you enjoy the look into his past and how he operates in the present!

Aspects of the Hart have always favored him. From the old stories his mother would tell, hunting them in the forest, and the antlers sprouting from his skull. they always had a place in his life and death. Water sloshed in an arrhythmic tone as he washed his hands and knife. His eyes on the fresh hide hung on a nearby rack, brown fur, even cut, clean edges. His mind drifted as he completed his monotonous work.

Heavy rain and high waves threatened to throw him from the ship. He’d tied himself to his station at the oar and mumbled pleas to the four great Harts to calm the winds. He was sure they were angry at him for killing their kin. His first voyage as a young man and of course it would be one that would try to sway him from going on voyage again. The thought of being lost to the sea, just how easy he would slip into the depths below, made him feel sick. After what felt like days being tossed around like dice in a cup they made landfall. He flung himself over the edge into the shallow water and clambered up the bank to kiss the dirt, to the amusement of many of his comrades. 

Two bowls, one with gray ash and another with briney water, sat on the floor. Kneeling between them the salt smell of the water and sooty smell of the ashes wafted to his nose. The beast balked but, motionless and silent he calmed his inner creature, there would be time later for it to reign. In his silence he meditated and focused on the smells. His mind, unmoored, drifted again out to distant memories. 

A feast and celebration to the siege of a city many deemed impregnable. Now a true man who has spilt blood and bled, he drowned in his cup. Stumbling off on his own to the nearby thicket, he was confronted. His attacker had no sword or spear, nor mail or shield. They had claws and ruby red eyes. Shouts rang out in the distance. For a moment he thought the others noticed and were coming to aid him. When the shouts turned to screams he realized they were facing the wrath of something other than soldiers and citizenry seeking revenge.

After they had their fun with him they dragged his bleeding and broken body to the shore. His wounds burned with the waves lapping at his body. Slowly, he was drained of blood, and forced to drink theirs. They aimed to violate more than his soul, they sought to torment his body and mind. Awakening into a dark wetness, the feeling of tiny mouths and claws ripping away small chunks of his flesh. His screams bubbled and floated away as the murky black rushed into his lungs and his greatest nightmare was manifest.  

With a fistful of ash atop his open palm, he breathes in, then blows it away. This is repeated three more times, blowing ashes into the cardinal directions in acknowledgment of the four harts. With the leftover ash he mixes in some of the sea water to make a lye paste. With the crude paint he draws a Sabbat Ankh over his heart, then runes and symbols over the rest of his chest, stomach, and arms. Scooping up the last of it he smears it over his forehead and eyes. 

Turning to his most recent kill he pulls the bucket out from under the carcass. The contents threaten to spill but the small waves don’t go over the rim. It smells delicious. Nothing compared to a fresh kine but he learned early on to not be picky, however this was not for drinking. He took his loched hair into his hands and bent down to the bucket, careful to not knock it over with his antlers, dipped his hair into the blood. Squeezing and drawing it up he saturated his hair. Once confident it was soaked he flipped back his hair, slapping against his back with a wet thump, intending for most of the excess blood to run down his back. Thin riverlettes of blood ran down his face, mixing with the ash paint. Meticulously he began to drape his lochs over his antlers like bloodied velvet.  

Hands still bloodied he put on his blue woolen pants, staining and marking it with red smears. Then a thin leather belt to secure his pants, leather boots, and finished with woolen leg wraps. The pants fit loosely and would billow out if not for the leg wraps. The excess length of his belt was tied in a knot around the buckle and left to hang. His boots are clean but worn and scuffed with use. Now clothed he turned to the accessories. In an open chest were crowns, aged, cracked, and with empty bezels. Hanging each crown from the points of his antlers he soon sounded like a wind chime when he moved his head. Standing up straight he went through a mental checklist of his outfit. 

Blood soaked hair and rattling crowns hung from his antlers. Thin threads of blood dripped down his face and around his vibrant green eyes. Ashen Runes and Symbols marking his black skin. Blue, blood stained, woolen pants secured with a thin brown leather belt and woolen leg wraps covering the top of his brown leather boots. Now dressed it was time for the final touch. Draping the stag hide over his back, the membrane attached to his skin, the wet blood acting as glue. 

[s-che]

If Systems Don’t Matter, Why Are You So Embarrassed?

hey gang. this play report is, as you may know if you've been paying attention, coming in just about two weeks late, which is not ideal. this happened because i have been very busy with work, because i am poor. if you like what i do here and want to make me more busy with this kind of stuff and less poor, maybe consider tossing me a couple of bucks? it would mean a lot. Now back to ur regularly scheduled content.

Sometimes it’s fruitful to have a collaborator in order to riff, bounce ideas off each other, and generally intellectually pollinate. Sometimes it’s good to have someone who can fall on a sword so you don’t have to. I’d be remiss if I didn’t start this month’s reflection on the Dream Library book club by calling out the tremendous amount of work the internet’s own @marvelousmsmolly has been doing in the last little while to keep things afloat.

We played, talked through, and read Vampire: The Masquerade this month, along with some guest excerpts from Werewolf: The Apocalypse, Hunter: The Reckoning, and probably Unicorn: The Saturnalia for all I know. These collectively make up a small part of something called the “World of Darkness,” a universe which I’ve been told is entirely separate from something called the “Chronicles of Darkness” in ways I don’t entirely understand. They were published by a company called White Wolf until White Wolf was sold, and then a team called White Wolf inside a series of larger companies until they were summarily — and rightly — dismantled following the spectacularly bad decision to pin real-world Chechnyan anti-gay purges on in-universe vampires. We’ll get back to all that in a second. 

I picked the game — Vampire, that is — to close out our fall semester on Monster(fucking), advocating for it in part because I suspected it would make big claims about what it could do narratively and fail mechanically to deliver. And, while I was right on that count, what I couldn’t have predicted was how hard the bug (the vampire?) would bite, and how seriously Vampire-mania would sweep the Dream Library.

I think @wildwoodsgames hit the nail on the head at the very tail end of our discussion thread, when they called Hunter: The Reckoning “a game playing with a lot of very potent ideas that it is not super responsible with.” 

This is a statement could be truly made about every scrap of World of Darkness I’ve read (which was none, to be clear, before we started this month). They’re games which constantly sit on the edge of juiciness and fail spectacularly, stumbling instead into some of the most short-sighted and often willingly edgy alt-history stuff I’ve ever seen. But — like I said — I’m going to have to come back to a lot of that later. 

I have two big takeaways about VTM:

I. VTM is comic books

Intertext and serial fiction get a bad rap, sometimes, in our current moment of bloated and collapsing franchises — of Glup Shittos and Marvel’s Sony’s Spider-man’s The Avengers. But before the content mill gets really grinding there is a real joy to be found in reading something and seeing the shape of a whole world fill out behind you. I know a lot of people find that pleasure in the EU Star Wars novels. When I was a kid, I found it mostly in Middle-earth — except, I should say, for one long summer at my grandparents’ house when I tore through my cousins copy of Marvel’s (Sony’s Spider-man’s) The Runaways. 

Big 2 Superhero Comics  — because they’re serial and because they’re short and because they have a long history — have a really lovely way of finding interesting niches in old worlds and running with them. In a real way, VTM tries to do the same thing. The whole structure of the World of Darkness relies on the fundamental premise that a big interlinked all-happening-at-once world is, in fact, cool. But it also — maybe because of the way the game is inviting you to make your own OC and carve out your own niche — tends to focus on the thing comics does, finding an interesting nook or cranny where more stories could be told rather than flattening everything down into one grand “Skywalker Saga.” 

By way of this interest, VTM resists the narrative black hole that so many “worldbuilding” IPs fall into. There are no Jedi to take center stage, no Aragorns into whose narratives the lovely story of The Hobbit disappears. And if there are — well, I haven’t read about them. I don’t have to read about them. Vampire gives me the space to do my own thing. It also gives its writers the space to make massively bad decisions — and, holy shit, there are so many bad decisions in these books. Famous instances, yes: the Vampire Chechnyan thing and Werewolf’s relationship with indigeneity — but also small corners full of some of the stupidest ideas you ever heard. Moses Maimonides, Mossad agent. V5’s inexplicable fascination with 9/11. An entire Wraith section on the Shoah. Some of this stuff swings around and is almost juicy again — but who on earth who ever greenlight it?

2. VTM is embarrassed to be a game

It isn’t a new take to say that VTM fails to deliver on its compelling setting with an equally compelling set of mechanics, but it did astonish me to realize how much the actual text of the game buys into the narrative that rolling dice and thinking about rules is a secondary function of a game in comparison to the almighty narrative. You see this in suggestions geared to streamline combat, but you also see it in the eighteen pages of in-universe fiction which come at the start of the book before the rules narrator can get a word in sideways. VTM exists setting first: they are desperate to prove that you could strip away all the numbers and still be playing VTM. I have two thoughts about this:

There’s a certain appeal to the way VTM seems to think about this, which we could call a Brennan Lee Mulligan “get the rules out of the way and let me RP” approach. The fact that Brennan and VTM have this in common is, more or less, unsurprising to me knowing that Brennan has a background in large-scale LARP, where clearing the explicit mechanics to let roleplay happen is a massive design priority. VTM has its own long history of LARP and I do think it’s radical to recognize that there is something to a game beyond the mechanics. To play in the VTM world — whether with a d10 or a cloak or by writing fanfiction — is to play VTM, and I’m glad to see a system take pleasure in that (especially because its explicit mechanics aren’t very good).

That being said, I wish participants in this sort of “clear the rules” roleplay-first style recognized more explicitly the mechanics they aren’t getting out of the way: social dynamics, narrative structures, relationships to knowledge and authority and the ability to hold a room’s attention which absolutely structure freeform RP as much as any “then roll Xd10.” The presence of these social dynamics, especially, has been a massive recurring theme of our Monsterfucking unit as a whole, as game after game seems to really struggle to design for their inevitable presence.

All in all, I was surprised by how much I enjoyed VTM — although I liked reading it and thinking up a character more than the live play. I think it’s a game that’s perhaps uniquely ill-suited to the Dream Library’s format and the rapid cycling-through of games it entails, but there’s something to be said for the way the setting itself gripped me. I wanted to tell the story of a little freak’s descent into evil, even if I didn’t have the time for it. Maybe I’ll go play 1,000 Year Old Vampire.

Next up — well, more like currently — the Dream Library is taking a little winter break. Not an actual break, of course: we’ve already had a festive session of Wanderhome, Molly is hosting a session of Never Stop Blowing Up set in a mall around Christmastime soon, and then maybe Hanukkah Goblins? We’ll see.

If you want to get in on any of that, hey. Click this link.

If not, I’ll see you here next month.

Peace

[ryttu3k]

Hello mutual of my mutual,

I would like to ask a vykos question to the knower of vast vykosian knowledge (ie you if Dusty's reblogs are correct).

Basically, I've been starting the clan novel saga from the beginning (previously i had only read the nosferatu, malkavian, and tzmisce ones) and I never quite figured out who had been writing "love" letters to sascha.

My first thought was illias cel frumos. As they were lovers. But I heard someone say it was vitel? Which makes no sense to me and don't know if they were correct either.

So out of curiosity, who is sending these letters to Sascha in the clan novel saga? If its not their lover, then why is someone else doing it? I sadly am not that knowledgeable on vykos.

Hello, mutual-in-law! SPOILERS for the Clan Novel Saga ahead!

It is indeed Vitel! He's playing all sides - posing as a loyal Camarilla Ventrue as 'Marcus Vitel', actually being a Lasombra methuselah with his own agenda of ruling absolutely, slipping information to Sascha as 'Lucius' (his real name is Lucius Aelius Sejanus) in the hope that the Sabbat will help fuck up the Camarilla for him (while also trying to manipulate the entire Sabbat in the process).

He is... quite good at what he does. By the time Sascha and Parmenides try to assassinate Vitel, not even they realise that he and the 'Lucius' they've been getting information from is one and the same, meaning 'Lucius' is obliged to keep up the impression of a loyal and passionate admirer and information-provider even as Sascha takes over his city as Archbishop of DC, while secretly trying to manipulate them into doing what he wants.

Some of the later letters are quite funny. Like they're still written romantically but they're also super thinly veiled threats. Sascha's last letter, after they learn who 'Lucius' is:

"I find your city in good order and commend you for having left it so. There is no step I tread, no sight I behold, that does not usher thought of you to my mind. Fear not that you will lack reward for your sojourn among the infidels. No good deed goes unpunished, or so the wits are wont to say. For now, however, I languish in your absence, wishing only that I might lay hands upon you."

Translation: "Hahahahaha I'm gonna turn you into a throw rug :)"

Anyway, eventually he gets revealed to the Camarilla, and gets taken down by Theo Bell and his companions (including Christof from VtM Redemption). He re-emerges in BJD a few years later, determined to take back DC and declare war against Vykos' Sabbat!

(Sascha, for their part, has gone "you know what, fuck this" and has abandoned DC. It's quite funny. Vitel gives Beckett nigh-unlimited funding to go in search of information, including multiple private planes, which means that he's more or less directly responsible for Beckett saving Sascha's unlife then making out with them in the men's bathroom of a huge gay club in Rio, but anyway...)

Anyway! If you're not too far in, I super recommend that instead of reading the original novels, you read the compiled versions instead! They're called The Fall of Atlanta, The Eye of Gehenna, Bloody September, and End Games. Not only do they compile everything chronologically, but, and more importantly, they include a lot of extra content from short stories, other novels (like the Lasombra Trilogy, which is super important for Lucita's storyline), and, my favourite part, content written exclusively for the compiled versions! Highlights include a gorgeous Sascha-centric story in Bloody September by Lucien Soulban, writer of Constantinople by Night and thus Sascha's creator, and the exclusive epilogue in End Games by Janet Trautvetter, which beautifully concludes Jan's story, reveals a great deal about Hardestadt, and also has Sascha in it too. That epilogue deals with Gehenna and so has technically been retconned, but the reveal about Jan has been continued through to BJD, and so is still canon!

However you read it, have fun! It's a bonkers adventure!

[eliotvlunogord]

if you dont mind me asking, what happened to your picrew?

Hi! Thank you for your question, because I even didn't notice that my picrews were not available...

I don't know which one picrew have you meant, but I'll answer about each one by one:

picrew.me/image_maker/1845378 My VtM picrew wasn't working probably because of new (?) terms needed, so I added some permission scope for the use of images and now this maker is available again! Maybe thats not because of it, but I have no any other ideas…

picrew.me/image_maker/292968 My first maker unfortunately was suspended by the site. I don't know why but I suspect because of the following "Contents using unauthorized third-party photos". I used web-memes in the icons of my maker, so I didn't thought it will be a violation. Don't see any other reasons for this decision.

This is only my guesses, I can't know for sure and even can't ask picrew support because of "Please note in advance that we do not provide individual responses regarding the suspension criteria."

I'm not very upset because my first maker is 4 years old and not relevant to me, but if you really need this maker to come back please DM me or comment this post and I'll try to figure it out! (I don't promise it will be successfull but at least I'll try)

[diableriedoll]

Vtm ask game for Sister Evangeline, 5 and 26 pls.

Hello! Of course! I'm going to answer 26 first as number 5 is giving such a long answer. 26. Do they want to become human again or are they fine as a kindred? She's not "fine" with being Kindred, but she feels she is a part of God's greater plan, through Caine and his children. She believes Saulot was embraced to give relief to others, Kindred and Kine alike.

5. Who is their sire? Evangeline's sire story is quite a long one, but I'm so thrilled someone has asked about it because I adore it.

Sister Evangeline was transferred to a new church within her city during the 2020 outbreaks, to help in a more deprived area. This church was already home to two kindred; Father Nathanial (Lasombra) and Father James (Salubri). These two kindred go back years, decades even. The pair were in the Sabbat together, within the same vinculum. Nathaniel was in the Sabbat because he enjoyed, James was in the Sabbat for pure survival reasons. When the Sabbat changed, the pair left together, and ended up just stayed together, again, for survival reasons. Father Nathanial being Lasombra, had means to allow them both to return to the Catholic Church. Now Father James was indeed a man of the cloth in life, as a Priest from Ireland who helped during the famines, so he was happy enough to return to aid those he need it, while Father Nathanial was content to be there to have his fingers in the Catholic pie so to speak, having some form of control. Now, when young Evangeline had arrived, Father Nathanial researched her, her family, anything there is to know about her, partly out of curiosity, partly out of boredom. He found out her ancestors actually came over from Ireland to England during the Famine, which he found exciting due to Father James, and decided there and then, this girl would be the perfect childe for his dear old "friend" and knowing full well that Father James, being a Salubri, wouldn't sire her, Father Nathanial took it into his own hands. On the night of her 20th birthday, Father Nathanial drained her dry, knowing that Father James would get a premonition and come running, which of course he did. His option here was either let her die from this horrid manner or to embrace her. Unable to let her die, he embraced her, bringing Sister Evangeline into Clan Salubri and beginning her unlife of being forever hunted. Father Nathanial happily considers himself to be her "Step-Sire" and constantly teaches her about Caine and the Book of Nod, perhaps how to be more ruthless too, but Father James teaches her what it is to be a Salubri when everyone is out to hunt you and how to protect herself. TL:DR? Her "Sires" are loosely based on Aziraphale and Crowley from Good Omens.

[leitereads]

⋆✮↪ ReIntroduction

-emia, meaning presence in blood.

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

The crime scene

⇒ Multifandom blog ➣ (series/films) (books) (anime) ⇒ Writeblr, langblr and studyblr ⇒ My visual arts ⇒ Literature, classical art and philosophy ⇒ Music ➣ classical, classic rock, goth, metal and indie ⇒ Dark Academia ⇒ TTRPGs and videogames ⇒ Horror, true crime and oddities ⇒ Medicine and science ⇒ Travelling and lifestyle ⇒ Further info: linktree

The Murderer

⇒ Name: Leite (they/them) ⇒ Age: 21+ ⇒ Blood type: [confidential] ⇒ Murder weapon: blood, sweat and tears ⇒ Profession: medical student ⇒ Location: Portugal ⇒ Languages: Portuguese, English, Spanish, French ⇒ Other details ➣ (linktree) ⇒ Hobbies ➣ TTRPGs (DnD, CoC, VtM, BitD, etc.) | writing | reading | drawing/painting | horse riding | swimming | HEMA | sportive fencing

Note: I am on holidays, therefore I won't be that active till the 26th July

Confidential Information

This blog may contain sensitive content. Everything potentially concerning is tagged under the tag "cw". Still, user discretion is advised.

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Modus Operandi

✏ WIP: The Apocryphal Truth

Set in the late 1890s-early 1900s, this novel is about a young doctor who doesn't believe in God, just to realise that he is part of what he doesn't believe in.

⇒ Gnostic, cosmic and psychological horror, sci-fi (steampunk and biopunk), historical fiction (speculative history) ⇒ 1st draft - longest WIP till date ⇒ 3rd person POV, likely unreliable narrator

༻✧༺

✏ WIP: The Immortal Emperor's Regicide

Inspired by the tabletop roleplaying game "Blades in the Dark", by John Harper, this WIP started as a collaborative creative writing project, being now a personal WIP. The steampunk city of Doskvol hides away all sorts of scoundrels, aristocracy and insane cults to Eldritch gods. While some criminals don't have any other choice besides a life of crime, some of them have higher ambitions, and the highest of them all is to finish the reign of terror of The Immortal Emperor.

⇒ Horror in general, sci-fi (steampunk, biopunk), mystery, thriller ⇒ 1st draft - adapting the lore and worldbuilding created for the collaborative writing project ⇒ 3rd person omniscient narrator.

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In order to understand, I destroyed myself.

- Fernando Pessoa

This Introduction post is also a WIP. Soon to be added:

Spotify playlist addressing all my favourite music genres.

The link to the content warning tag.

The links to important/personal tags.

Links to an info page about my OCs

[born-to-eat-rats]

Masterlist of...um...blogs and oc's for now I guess? Haven't really made any content for the fandom sowwy

Main Blog: @babayagaiscomingforya

OC's with a vtm AU:

Ruby Bates - Nosferatu. Will eat anything she finds. Does not beat the "Nosferatu are just some weird creatures" allegations.

Linda Eppes - Tremere. Siren. Born to be an anarch forced to be a nerd.

Ray Kuntz - Linda's ghoul and friend. The most autistic ace man in existence (I love him).

Feel free to send asks about any of them

OC Blog: @kiraras-universe As this is a vtm blog specifically you will only see OC content if it's related to the AU. If you're interested in seeing my OC in their canon context then you'll find it in that blog.

If you also still play bloodhunt for some reason: BabaYagalol

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (12)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Author's Note: Smut including blood drinking, and some violence ahead.

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel @miss-oranje-disco-dancer @delulusimps ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 12: This Ready Flesh

His vision was blurry, tunneling in and out as he struggled to focus on the pavement in front of him. The street lights flickered, his retina capturing them in a mesmerizing delay, creating luminous streaks and trails across the sky. It had been ages since Leon had gotten into such a state where he couldn’t walk straight anymore, shambling in a zigzag pattern towards his destination. At least he still knew where he wanted to go — to you. It was all he could think about as he staggered into Café Noir, calling out your name while the other patrons delivered wary side glances.

In his inebriated haze, he stumbled through the crowd until he came across a figure he vaguely recognized. Grabbing the person by the collar, he sputtered, “Patrick, right?”

The young man nodded timidly, trying to back away, though Leon clung onto him firmly. “Where is she?”

He could even smell the strong stench of alcohol on his own breath as he spoke. The vessels he had drunken from earlier must have been completely wasted. He should know, since they had already passed out when he got to them. It was probably pure vodka running through their veins at this rate.

“Sh-she already left an hour ago,” Patrick stammered, cowering slightly in fear.

Jesus Christ, what did this boy ever do to you? Leon sighed. He was scaring people unintentionally, looking all crazed with his bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair. He didn’t even need a mirror to confirm that. What a fucking mess.

Right on cue, he saw the ponytailed redhead come into view, and she looked pissed. Great job, Leon, he berated himself. Now he was gonna get his ass kicked. But he deserved it. He deserved all of it.

“I’ll handle it from here,” she told Patrick calmly, before turning back to Leon with a deadly glare. 

Dragging him by the arm over to a free table in one of the more private corners of the room, she shoved him onto a chair and ordered, “Stop terrorizing the locals.”

“Hi to you too, Redfield,” he mumbled despondently, slumping over with a hiccup before catching himself with his supporting arm.

Claire stabilized him, shaking her head disapprovingly as she sat in the opposite chair. “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me. On a scale of one to ten, how drunk are you right now?”

When he didn’t answer, she scolded, “Not a good look, Kennedy.”

“Yeah? What’s it to you, Claire?” he challenged, though his slurring made the words sound all jumbled together.

“Fuckin’ hell,” she cursed, tapping the side of his cheek rapidly, in a blind effort to get him to come to his senses. Finally, she came to a decision. “Okay, here's the deal. We’ll sit here until you sober up, and then, we’re gonna talk.”

Regardless, that didn’t prevent him from retorting, “Yes ma—”

“Shut it, Leon.”

It was an agonizing wait for the effects of the alcohol to dissipate, and it didn’t help that Claire kept throwing him dirty looks, warning him against trying anything funny. When he could finally string a proper sentence together without making a fool of himself, she spoke up, “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, and it’s your private business, but something tells me I need to step in before this blows up in everyone’s faces.”

“What do you mean?” He caught the underlying warning in her words and sensed there was more than what she was letting on.

Sighing, she knocked back a mouthful of beer before continuing. “Let’s… save that for later,” she negotiated. “What’s gotten into you? Hell, I’ve never seen you like this, ever.”

He pinched his lips together, reluctant to come clean with his emotions. But he knew he had no one else he could talk to like this. It was one thing he appreciated about Claire, even though her backhanded comments often grated on his nerves, she would always be straight with him. She just pretended to be begrudging about it.

“She’s gonna leave me,” he muttered. 

Claire raised an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side. “So… this is how Leon Scott Kennedy, the great knight in shining armor, wins back his ‘one true love’, huh?” She mimicked quotation marks with her fingers in the air, adding salt to the wound. “By getting trashed and moping around?”

In any other circumstance, he would’ve fought back in an instant, exchanging cutting remarks laced with hidden barbed wire. Now, however, he remained passive and compliant, like a doll. “I did something unforgivable,” he finally admitted.

She snorted, propping her legs up on the table. “Yeah, you’ve done a lot of unforgivable things. We all have,” she emphasized. 

Leaning forward, she prodded his chest with her finger accusingly. “You left us without a reason, no goodbye, nothing, and yet, Chris and I are still here, aren’t we?” She paused, taking a moment to recollect herself, and rolled her eyes. “God, that was soppy. Just, er, fuck— rewind and erase that shit, will ya?”

Leon bit his lip, suppressing a laugh. “Sure, whatever you say, Claire.”

“Anyway, your fledgling is beginning to realize and understand that there’s no perfect little world for Kindred like us,” she began.

“Of course, she would run off to you Anarchs of all people,” Leon huffed, clicking his tongue in disdain. “She’s been collecting all sorts of injuries from the gym.”

She sat up straight, folding her arms across her chest in pride. “Thanks to Chris’ training.”

He groaned, burying his head in his hand.

“You have it bad for her—”

“I don’t—” he protested, though she interrupted him in return.

“She talks about you, you know?” At this, he fell silent and she added, “Not in a bad way.”

“What does she say?” he blurted out almost too quickly.

“You’ll have to ask her that yourself,” she replied coyly. “But I don’t think she’s over you yet.”

His heart swelled, though he tried to rein it in to prevent false hope from building up. After all, false hope was worse than having nothing to hope for.

“Just do me a favor, will ya?” she requested. “Don’t try to control her; it never works. Trust me, I know my kind when I see one.”

It was Leon’s turn to scoff, “You wish.” He knew you well. No matter how much of a rebel you were, you were a Toreador through and through.

“Now that I got your attention, we should move on to the serious topic I guess.” She shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “There’s two things, which do you wanna hear first? The bad news or the bad news?”

“Claire…” he warned, his patience growing thin.

She placed her feet back down on the ground, unzipping her jacket to pull out a bunch of photographs from its inner pocket. Handing it over to him, she said, “I hate it whenever you’re right.”

“Get used to it,” he quipped back, shuffling through the pictures he assumed she had acquired from a bunch of surveillance cameras in the area. Then, he came across one that made him stop dead in his tracks.

Lucas. He was talking with someone, a tall figure with their back to the camera, obscured by a long cloak.

“A Sabbat member,” she clarified, pointing at Lucas’ image. “Turns out the suitor has been meeting with him regularly.”

“Shit,” he hissed. “You know this is a literal death sentence for the entire Anarch sect in Raccoon City, right? If Wesker finds out…” his voice trailed off as he witnessed Claire’s eyes watering up and her hands trembling. She knew the implications and she was scared.

“There’s something else though,” she stated, pushing forward despite her uneasiness. 

Fishing out a separate photo from the stack, she held it before Leon. It was a zoomed-in version of the previous photograph. Tracing the outline of another shadowy figure in the background, she mentioned, “You see this here? There’s a third party involved, but we couldn’t make out who they were.”

Tightening his jaw, he promised, “I’ll keep this under wraps for now, but we need a plan, and we need it fast.” And then, he suddenly remembered. “What’s the other bad news?”

This seemed to make her even more unnerved, but she steadied herself and said, “The suitor has started taking an interest in your childe.”

His eyes gleamed lethally, already imagining the multitude of ways he would slice the guy into ribbons. “Who is this suitor?” he seethed, saliva foaming at his fanged teeth as his voice quivered in blistering rage.

She was mute, her eyes darted away from his, and her whole body was shaking. Something was very wrong.

“Claire!” He grasped her hands, both pleading and demanding, “I need to know!”

“The Baron,” she whispered, barely audible above the constant drone of background chatter.

His eyes widened. Like the Camarilla had their Prince, the Anarchs had their Baron. He’d just never expected such a big player to be involved. But then again, why wouldn’t he? Who would be as foolish and powerful enough to risk it all?

“Heisenberg.” The name flew out of his mouth like an omen.

━━━━━━━━━━━

“Come on, you know the drill,” Chris instructed, clapping his hands together to get you to move. “Four sets of jump rope, three minutes each, and for your one-minute breaks in between, push-ups.”

“And don’t forget to use your vitae!” he yelled over once more.

That was just the warm-up. You groaned, stretching out your limbs as you pushed yourself up from the floor to grab the skipping rope disgruntledly.

“Hey, winners never quit and quitters never win,” he advised before setting the timed alarms on his watch.

It took every ounce of effort not to roll your eyes at his clichéd motivational quote. At least you could see the progress you were making relatively quickly. Your feet went through the motions, your muscle memory intact as you began with a basic bounce, working your way into side straddles, hip twists and then alternating single leg jumps. You were light and nimble in your steps, just like you had to be when you got into your fight stance. It was like Mr. Miyagi’s teaching technique with “wax on, wax off.”

A beep sounded. You tossed the rope to the side and dropped into a plank position, channeling your energy through your flattened palms as you performed controlled, repetitive push-ups. Beads of sweat trickled down your forehead, dampening the dusty ground. Your hands and fingernails were caked with dirt.

Another beep, and you sprung up, huffing as you took the rope and continued with high knee jumps. Your heart was pounding against its cage, and you felt like you wanted to die from exhaustion, but you pushed on. At some point, you broke through an invisible wall, and your body accepted the strain, no longer fighting against it. It was then where you had the headspace to think.

The past days you had free were spent mostly with the Anarchs, so much so that you felt more aligned with them than the Camarilla. You wondered if they secretly knew and were spying on you all this while, ready to dole out your punishment when it was time to face the consequences. For some odd reason, you had a hunch that someone had been watching you recently, but every time you tried to suss out the culprit, they had vanished from sight.

Despite favoring Anarch company, the insight you’d gained into their practices made you realize that they still had the same bullshit hierarchies and politics like the Camarilla, just a little flatter and more equal on the surface. It wasn’t perfect, but it seemed like the lesser of two evils to you.

Beep. Guess it was back to push-ups. Your sweat had begun to form a puddle beneath you and it stung your eyes. Halfway there, you told yourself. Not much longer to go. You’d talked to Chris and Claire about Leon, asking them how he was like when he still hung out with them, during the time he was somewhat a part of the sect. They’d told you many stories of his bravery and courage, putting others first before himself, but also how entangled he was in the mysterious deals he had with Ada and the rest of the Camarilla. It seemed as if he had no way out of them. 

“Why?” you’d asked.

“If this is the world he’s been exposed to, how would he know any different until someone or something challenges it?” Claire had proposed.

“His sire, Ada, is a…” Chris paused to consider his words before settling on “transactional woman.” He shrugged. “She probably taught him deals like that are inevitable.”

The same advice as she had tried to impart to you. If someone who was deemed as your superior repeated these teachings again and again, at some point, they could become the truth.

“We’re not excusing Leon for what he’s done,” Claire was quick to correct him. “Just trying to explain it in context.”

Beep. “Speed up!” Chris shouted, and you knew that he wanted you to train your Celerity. Faster than a blink, you took up the rope and completed the routine as swift as lightning. The rest of the sets went by in a blur as you thought about one person only — Leon.

The blue of his eyes, the color of the sea, changing into gold. It reminded you of the Mediterranean, back during one of your travels. The light of the sun glittering on the water’s surface, shifting into the sand dunes of the desert. You felt his presence then; faint, sorrowful and alone, just as he felt yours. A ghostly hand reached out, and you lost your balance, tripping on the rope and landing flat on your face.

“Better luck next time, kid,” Chris grunted, helping you up by your arm, as you wiped away the blood from the graze on your knee.

Leon. You had a sudden urge to speak with him after behaving like strangers since your falling out. As much as you told yourself it was to reconcile and meet Rebecca as a united front, you’d be lying if you insisted there wasn’t something more. Want and longing, like an empty glass discarded in the sink. You’ll talk with him tonight, you determined. However, fate had other plans for you first.

You were shadowboxing in the gym’s ring while Chris barked out directions from the sidelines. At some point, you noticed the expression on his face darken and his body stiffen. He started making his way over to you with an instinctive sense of protectiveness.

An imposing silhouette loomed over you and you stopped abruptly, spinning around to face a tall, robust man with long, unkempt graying hair. He wore a wide-brimmed fedora hat and a beige trench coat over his attire. Round wire-framed glasses covered his eyes but did nothing to hide the bold smile across his face. He scratched at his rugged beard before taking a long drag from his fat cigar.

“Well, well, sugar. How nice of you to visit,” he remarked, puffing out a waft of smoke as he released the cigar from his mouth, planting it between his thumb and index finger.

“Baron,” Chris greeted. He was standing beside you now, tersely grasping your shoulder, suggesting caution.

In his other hand, the man held a metallic cane, rigid and bladed at the sides, its handle adorned with a carved horse figure. The cane clinked every time it touched the ground as he walked towards you, seemingly heavier than it looked. He didn’t lean or rely on it like he had an injury, merely tapping it lightly with each step forward. When you focused closer on the mechanical contraptions, you could tell that it concealed a secondary weapon of sorts.

“Oh, no need for formalities.” He waved his hand dismissively. “We’re all comrades here.”

With a courteous bow, he tipped his hat at you, acknowledging your presence. “Heisenberg,” he proffered, stubbing out the cigar with his boot as he extended his gloved hand to you.

Despite the unsettling atmosphere, you took his hand and shook it firmly like you always do. Might as well fake it until you make it. He raised his eyebrows, grinning at you like a maniac, nodding in appreciation at your dauntlessness.

“So, sugar, how do you like what you see so far?” He raised his hands, rotating in a slow, deliberate circle, as he gestured to the surroundings and the Kindred who’d quietened down since his arrival.

“It’s nice,” you answered flatly, keeping your responses vague and to a minimum until you could better ascertain what he wanted from you.

“I always knew you’d belong to us.” Though with the way he said ‘us’, it sounded more like ‘me’. You caught a glimpse of recognition in Chris’ eye and your suspicions about the man in front of you were confirmed with his next sentence.

“Too bad that Toreador dickhead had to ruin my plans,” he sneered. Clamping his hand on your shoulder dramatically, he continued, “This has been a real party and all, but why don’t you come back to our base? Make yourself at home?”

Heisenberg was the suitor. The one who wanted to use you for his own gain and power. He made your skin crawl.

“Baron—” you saw Chris attempt to plead your case only to be cut off by him.

“Dammit, Chris, I swear to god!” he bellowed, slamming his cane so violently on the ground that you were afraid it would break. Then, in a complete switch, he became almost dainty, whispering with a light flourish, “For the last time… it’s Heisenberg.”

The man was unhinged. You didn’t know who was worse: Wesker or Heisenberg. But you needed to get the fuck out of there.

“Maybe another time,” you proposed, backing away, though that only caused his grip on you to tighten. “I really should get going.”

“Why? What’s the hurry?” he questioned in an odd sing-song before mockingly commenting, “Will your sire be worried?”

“Heisenberg.” The unmistakable voice of the man in question resonated throughout the room, penetrating the dense silence. You heaved a sigh of relief, never having been happier to hear it.

The Baron finally released you, but not without mumbling in your ear, “This isn’t over yet.”

“Oh, Leon!” he greeted in a sickeningly sweet tone. “We were just talking about you! Always the thorn in my side, huh?” He laughed at his own joke, but no one else joined in.

It didn't take long for Leon to catch up to where you were standing, positioning himself between you and Heisenberg. His steely countenance peered down at you briefly before he looked back at the Baron. From behind, you saw Claire slowly walking over to join her brother.

“You heard the lady,” Leon stated. “She wishes to leave.”

At this, there was a fleeting tick in Heisenberg’s cheek, his smile faltering as his lips twitched ever so slightly, betraying his obvious irritation at Leon’s words. Suddenly, there was a loud swish and an electric crack in the air, as the cane he was carrying turned into a whip, which he lashed across the ground. It landed mere centimeters away from Leon’s face, but he didn’t even flinch, staring Heisenberg down with a cold glare.

“Think you’re real tough, don’t you, boy?” Heisenberg spat.

However, Leon remained as calm and elegant as ever. You wondered how many times he’d practiced for this very moment. Motioning to you, he mentioned, “Correct me if I’m wrong, Heisenberg, but my childe here still remains part of the Camarilla.” Turning back to face the Baron, he delivered his final line like an arrow hitting its mark, “And if it comes to it, we will protect our own.”

For a split second, Heisenberg was stumped, but masked it with a ridiculing chuckle. “Is that a threat?” Without waiting for Leon to answer, he offered his hand to you. “Last chance, sugar.”

You ignored it, making your decision to take Leon’s instead, interlacing your fingers with his as you squeezed his palm. He squeezed back and smiled weakly.

“Your funeral,” Heisenberg huffed, disappointment and wounded pride clearly marking his face.

Together, you exited the gym hand-in-hand, narrowly escaping Heisenberg’s wrath unscathed, while numerous pairs of eyes watched you from the sides.

━━━━━━━━━━━

After the chivalrous display Leon had put on in your previous encounter with the Baron, you didn’t expect such a severe scolding from him the minute you stepped into his apartment.

“Wanna tell me what the hell that was back there?” he berated. “You’re being too reckless hanging out so openly with the Anarchs!”

A mixture of hurt and confusion flashed across your face as you shot back, “Yeah? Maybe you should take a good look at yourself in the mirror, Leon, considering that you used to be one of them!”

“Who told you that?” he snapped, backing you into a corner of the room. “Was it Chris—? No, Claire?”

You shoved him off roughly, shouting, “You have no right to judge! What have you been doing this whole time, huh? Fuck all!”

He looked away from you in embarrassment before turning back with a blazing fire in his eyes, his mouth writhing with manic fury. “I’ve been watching you, making sure you were safe, and you think I’ve done nothing?!”

You let out a harsh, hollow laugh in his face. “So, it was you? Stalking me like a fucking creep!”

He ground his teeth, jaw clenching so hard that you could see his muscles straining under the effort. “I don’t want to be ordered by the Prince to destroy you.”

“What did you say?!” you blurted out in bewilderment, grabbing his collar and slamming him into a nearby wall. Visible cracks emerged behind him along the plaster, spreading like spiderwebs. He whimpered in pain, but you continued pressing him in. “Are you threatening me?” you asked, your voice laced with grief and betrayal.

“No, never— I would never do that to you.” It came out like a cracked whisper. “If you step out of line, he will ask me to. But I would much rather be destroyed in your place,” he admitted.

So, was that why he kept trying to ‘control’ you? You were overcome with a sudden onslaught of emotions, and you didn’t know what to trust anymore. 

“Liar!” you screamed, an insurmountable rage surging through your blood as you hurled him against a glass coffee table. It smashed into smithereens, and he struggled to get up as the shards nicked his hands and body. Blood spilled onto the floor like a murder scene.

You bolted over, still overcome with frenzied anger, as you pinned him to the ground, pummeling his face while yelling, “I hate you! I fucking hate your guts! What you did to me, what you did to Sherry! You fucking monster! I wish you were d—”

You paused, realizing what you were about to utter and knowing that deep down that you didn’t mean anything you had just said. But the damage was already done. A pang of guilt seeped into your chest and it convulsed as you choked out uneven sobs. Your hands were trembling and covered in scarlet red, and your breath hitched as you peered at Leon’s bloodied and bruised face. He’d been cut up real bad, his nose was broken and his cheeks were puffed up like a balloon. However, he didn’t fight back, accepting every punch and insult you threw at him, like he deserved it.

“Do it,” he croaked, blood dribbling down the sides of his mouth. It almost seemed as if he wanted you to put him out of his misery.

“No, no, no, I—” You shook your head furiously, staring at your reddened palms and started crying. 

Your head fell forwards onto his chest, weeping into his stark white shirt, now ruined with blood and tears. A hand came to rest on your back, rubbing it reassuringly in circles, while the other carded through your hair. Even though he was the one suffering, he still took upon himself to comfort you.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” you repeated like a prayer, but he hushed you gently.

It was then that you gave in. You’d seen who he was laid bare entirely before you. A monster with his skeletons exposed, and yet, you loved him. You loved him so much your heart would burst.

Holding him close, you moved him away from the broken glass and onto the rug — a new replacement for the one you had bled out on. You touched his face delicately with your fingertips; it was wet and sticky. Why wasn’t he mending himself? You wanted to kiss away his wounds and the pain. He stayed still, eyeing you curiously, waiting to see what you would do. A small gasp fell from his lips as you took your fingers into your mouth, tasting him whole. It was divine, just as you remembered, like figs and honey, and you had the insatiable desire for more.

“I want you, Leon,” you breathed. “Every part of you.”

At this, he drew in, taking your lips with his own urgently. You kissed back, matching it with a similar level of desperation, like both of you were famished. Parting your lips, you allowed his tongue to slip in to caress yours, swirling against it tantalizingly, as blood and saliva dripped from his mouth into yours. You lapped it up ardently, as though you didn’t want to waste a single drop. 

The nuances of his taste became clearer. A hint of leather, oak and spice, and at times, subtle notes of vanilla and whiskey, making you feel as if you were a sommelier. Perhaps these were the flavors he had enjoyed when living. Fire coursed through your veins as you straddled him, pressing your scorching body against his. He groaned at the contact, bucking his hips into yours feverishly.

Both of you continued in the same rhythm, moaning each time his erection rubbed against your pelvis. Giddy and heady from the high, you clawed at his shirt, clumsily tearing through the fabric and sending its buttons flying across the room. He responded in kind, ripping open the clothes you’d been wearing, unable to wait any longer.

His heated gaze dragged along your naked body, admiring it in reverence, as if you were a goddess that he worshiped the very ground you stood on. Planting wet, open-mouthed kisses from your neck to your breast, he murmured, “I need you, angel.” His hot breath fanning against your skin, causing you to shudder in delight. “Please, let me taste you.”

“Anything you want,” you rasped, tangling your hands in his hair. “I’m all yours.”

A low, guttural growl rumbled from his chest, so unlike him that you wondered if you had awakened the sleeping Beast with your words. He took his time, cupping your breasts in his hands as his tongue flicked over one nipple and then the other. Latching onto it with his mouth, he suckled it, increasing the pressure as you twitched in response. You surrendered yourself entirely to him, allowing him to do as he pleased with your body.

He held your gaze as you watched his teeth sink in, puncturing the soft flesh of your breast. The sharp, prickly sting turned into that euphoric thrill you’d subconsciously craved for ever since the first time he’d tasted you. He drank from you a little before leaving the site, grazing your skin with his searing lips they traveled downwards. The first mark was left open and bleeding, just like the rest of the marks he would make. It was his way of showing the world that he had claimed you. You would let him devour you if you could.

His mouth paused at the side of your ribs and he made his second mark, the sensitivity of the spot causing your body to jerk suddenly, but he grasped the fat of your hips, holding you down as you whined. Blood flowed from the wound as if you’d been pierced in the side by a lance, and yet you begged, “More, please, more…”

The final mark he made on you in this round came when he reached your pussy, aching and sore for his touch. He licked your clit eagerly, sealing his lips around it as his fingers brushed against your folds, teasing the entrance before slipping in easily. Moans spewed out from your mouth as he continued sucking hard on your clit and curling his fingers against your spongy walls. At some point, he replaced them with his tongue, dipping and thrusting hungrily into your slit. His fingers glistened with your arousal all the way up to his knuckles, and you brought them into your mouth, soaking in the intoxicating aroma of sweat, lust and love. He hummed, taking the opportunity to bite into your mound, filling himself up with more of your essence as you threw your head back and gasped his name.

Coming up for breath, he peered at you beneath him. The carmine traces coating his lips like red-stained roses, and the scent and taste of your blood lingered in his very soul. He’d seen three separate memories of you with every mark, each more personal than the last, but no less beautiful. You looked truly holy like this, with your blissed out face and blown out eyes, your lips flushed and swollen. A moist sheen covered your body and your breasts quivered from your ragged breathing. He loved how he could do this to you. If he could, he would crown you as his sweet Mary, Isis, Ishtar, or any other form the saint and deity came in, bathing you in swathes of Marian blue and gold, and laying jewels at your feet. As the sanguine fluid trickled down your cunt like a virgin’s first time, he realized that for once, you were his, and solely his.

His wounds healed up in the process, good as new again, but you reached out, teary-eyed, cradling his face in your hands as you pressed your foreheads together. You never wanted to hurt him, and he never wanted to hurt you either. However, the pain still remained, like heavy stones crushing against your chest. He had already forgiven you, kissing you tenderly and stroking your cheek until you pulled away abruptly.

“Fuck me,” you sighed, like a thin wisp of smoke drifting into his waiting mouth. “Fuck me right here on the floor.”

The same floor where your life had drained away into the ether, the same floor where he had made that fateful decision to Embrace you, and the same floor where both of you had envisioned this very moment before it even happened. You needed him to fuck you rough and fast, just so you could forget and engrave this memory in your heart simultaneously. 

He heard it in your voice and understood, obliging as he peeled off the rest of his clothes, pushing you forward onto the ground, so that your front lay flat against its laminated surface. You felt him guide the tip of his cock against your pussy, smearing precum along your folds before burying himself to the hilt. He didn’t hesitate or hold back, pounding into you vigorously from behind without giving you the chance to adjust to his size. You mewled in agonizing pleasure as he grasped your ass, spreading it apart so he could penetrate deeper. Your skin rubbed raw against the hard floor, bones bruising against wood as you scratched scars into its layers.

With every sharp thrust your body jolted forwards, his balls slapping against your skin as he gritted out, “Fuck, angel, you just take it so well.”

“How much have you wanted me like this?” you asked impulsively, your voice strained as you rutted back into him in sync with his unrelenting pace, feeling the head of his cock hitting your cervix.

His dick throbbed at your question. A hand came up and pushed your head down, squishing your face into the floor. “God, I— think about bending you over and making you scream—” he panted. His tone turned feral and inhuman like you’d never heard before as he slammed his hips against your ass to punctuate each word, “Every. Fucking. Night.”

Screams tore from your throat until your voice became hoarse, and scalding tears gathered at your waterline before splashing onto the ground. Yet, something savage and animalistic, akin to what he had shown earlier, emerged from the depths of your chest. “Leon, please,” you keened. “Fuck me harder.”

Wrapping his arm around your neck, he leaned forward, placing his full body on top of you so that his chest was pressed flush against your back. Rocking his hips into yours, he fucked you so deep that you felt him in your ribcage. Instinctively, you plunged your fangs into his arm, breaking skin, as he hissed a string of curses before doing the same, clamping down on your neck. You drank from each other, consuming and mixing vitae as he continued pistoning into your cunt. Veins protruded from your neck and your eyes turned bloodshot, rolling back into your head. The excruciating euphoria you’d experienced from your Embrace returned, flooding your senses, and the visions began.

You saw the human life he’d led: a first and last date at the drive-in cinema where he’d fumbled with a cute girl, the all-nighters he’d pulled cramming for exams, his glasses sliding down the slope of his nose as he nodded off to sleep. Then came glimpses of his life and unlife with Ada: how they’d fallen in and out of love, the way he’d been brought to his highest highs and reduced to his lowest lows. You felt for him in those moments, wanting nothing more than for his happiness to shine through, even at the expense of your own. 

The images blended together like a watercolor painting, and you smelled the sand and sea. Two figures skinny-dipping, copulating by the waters, and again in the middle of a sandstorm. Your bodies melded into one and you were drawn back into your sweet release, both of you crying each other’s name on your lips. His hips stuttered, stuffing spurts of his cum into your cunt, the excess leaking between your thighs.

You stayed like this for an eternity before he pulled out, turning you around to face him as you lay side by side. He nuzzled your neck, kissing you affectionately. Blood caked your faces and streamed down your bodies.

“Messy drinker,” he chided softly, though his eyes were loving and warm. He licked all around your mouth, cleaning up the vermilion stains.

“I learned from the best,” you retorted, smirking as you caressed his jawline.

He scoffed, kissing your temple as he nestled you into his arms — a perfect fit. “You know I’m never letting you go after this?”

“Didn’t plan on leaving anyway,” you murmured into his chest, feeling his smile widen against your cheek.

I love you. He didn’t need to hear your confession to know that you meant every single word.

[storyowls]

Anna Harris: Pre-Embrace drabbles

Some of the drabbles I did for my VtM character Anna!

Warning, these works can include: Mentions of a body, negative feelings towards family, death of a family member, and strong language.

The weird, uneasy feeling that I expect to have in my tiny dorm isn’t there. All media has told me that I’d feel weird being away from my family, so removed yet so close. But I don’t, I don’t feel that at all.

I feel relieved.

The relief fades as I realize what that means. That nagging, aching, buried in my chest and squeezing my throat feeling. My hands cover my face as I try to hold it all inside, like the scared seventeen year old that I am. All my cousins are so much older than me, the youngest was ten when I was born. And uncle Rocco….he was nine, when I came around, but he cared.

He cared so much.

The others didn’t.

I was just there, a constant, annoying, young kid who was too small to do what they wanted to do. I was just annoying to teenagers, young adults. They had moved on so far with life when I was a teenager myself.

The severed feeling I felt from that side of the family when he died is still strangling my soul so hard.

I don’t belong, I never belonged. I’m so sorry Rocco.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

And I hate that I will never belong.

Mom insisted on putting a full body mirror in my tiny dorm (I’m tossing a sheet over it, fuck this) and I don’t want to tell her how I feel. We stand in front of it, and I just stare at myself. Try to ignore how different we look, how Dad’s genes won over hers except for the color of my hair.

I can’t even look like the others, can I?

She makes a comment about how beautiful I am, placing a hand on my shoulder. Am I, Mom? Am I really when I’m so far detached from the family? I can’t tell her about the aching in my chest, the longing for a sense of belonging.

How I’ve wanted to scream at her for making me have a different last name than everybody else.

She seems to be done with her check in on me (please give me space to grieve whom I never was in peace), and starts to walk towards the door. I follow her, we talk for half an hour more as her hand rests on the handle. I watch as she leaves before stepping back in and shutting the door.

And I toss a sheet over that stupid mirror.

The sketchbook is full.

Looking down at the last page, I study the drawings of a dissected tulip. The Darwin Hybrid tulip breed; beautiful, steady, a resilient flower for any discerning gardener. Or the favorite of a somewhat depressed, extremely bored college student. It’s my sophomore year, still stuck doing my general classes. I’ve moved to a somewhat bigger place; a near by apartment complex with my first roommate from the dorms.

And she’s currently out on a date so I have the place to myself.

Letting out a content sigh, I grab my fancy colored pencils and begin to color the pictures. I’m happy with this, feel like a real artist. And a real big dork too, haha. I soon finish up, closing the sketchbook up and going to hide it for now. Maybe I’ll share these one day.

Hell maybe I’ll design my own tattoo sometime.

But for now, I’m just get another sketchbook and fill that up too. Got a lot of plants to draw after all.

And a lot of college ahead of me.

I got the singing from Mom, the guitar skills from Dad. A country singer and a man who, if he so decided, could break the blue grass music industry with a smile and a wave created me. I do not sing country, I do not play blue grass.

I do metal.

I quietly pluck my guitar strings, my roommate out for the night to celebrate her first degree. We’re both very driven, ready for more, and we’ve agreed to move into one of the college apartments once we leave this dorm. More room, more privacy. And the parking doesn’t suck.

As for me, I’ve recently finished my minor in music theory, making Mom prouder than the day she got her first platinum album. Dad voiced his pleasure in a letter, and I can feel the radiating warmth of his joy. This degree has made Mom back off a little, giving me room to go after my true joys.

The sound of my music quietly fills the air as I try not to be a disturbance to our neighbors. Music sheets litter the tiny, shitty desk I have crammed into a corner. I pause, picking up my marker to connect a few more notes, write down another line in the lyrics. This has been my little project for a while, a hidden knowledge and joy. Smiling, I hold the pages up to see what I have.

Mom probably wouldn’t like it, but I don’t care. The words work, the music works. I just need somebody else to be part of this, and the song will be perfect. It’s me, all the way down to the screams and the resentment, it’s me.

I got the singing from Mom, the guitar skills from Dad, and the song from me and me alone.

I’m sitting through a classmate’s dissertation defense. While most people outside us would be bored, I and the others here are fascinated. Out of the corner of my eye I see their family; a bunch of fellow nerds in some degree. They may not fully understand, but they’re clearly interested.

I wonder how mine will look, if they come.

While most of them went to some form of schooling beyond high school (yes, trade school counts and it’s very important), their interests didn’t exactly align with mine. Most went into business, music, trades, and a couple became lawyers.

I once more settle under the very lonely “odd ball” section of the family.

Sitting back in my seat, I let my mind snap back to my classmate. Charles catches my attention briefly, tilting his head as if asking me a question. I nod in reply, knowing what he’s curious about. Giving me that soft, knowing smile, he turns back to the front and I follow his lead.

Damn, he’s good at knowing when I need him.

The defense wraps up, and we all stand around to talk for a little. After about ten or so minutes we disperse, going off in our own merry little ways. My mind thinks about Charles, trying to not think about who I will see at the end of the week. I spot him ahead, clearly waiting for me with a hand out stretched.

I eagerly take it when I catch up to him.

I try not to look too much at them as I give my defense, I don’t need to see. My paternal grandparents clearly are into it...mom and her side are doing their best to be supportive, but it’s all falling a little flat. Of course it is, but I’m trying not to let it get to me.

My classmates are into it, watching and listening intently. They’re my people, and I’m their person. I keep my attention on them, giving little glances once in a while as they watch. Charles is here, of course, and there’s a big smile on his face. It breaks my heart for a moment, knowing that we’re going to be parting ways after graduation.

I’m going to LA, and he’s going to Alaska.

I let my mind go back to the task at hand, finishing with a sense of triumph and confidence. My family come up to talk with me a little before leaving. Mom lingers a little, the smile of a proud mother on her face as she tells me I did great. I know I did, but I don’t say anything. I watch her leave before going to my classmates. We talk, and I let the pain melt away for a little bit.

I try to ignore the fact that I’m part of the painful, lonely “odd ball” section of the family where nobody else resigns.

It’s midnight, and I need a rush of caffeine before I fall asleep on the next job site. I know I’ve joked about wanting a dirt nap during exam season, but I did not mean like that. Pulling into a parking spot at the random gas station between point B and C, I look at the building. Lively enough to hopefully have coffee, but quiet enough that only the single person on shift will be there to judge my piss poor life choices.

Perfect.

Grabbing my purse, I pull my lanyard off and shove it in there so as not to just hand out my name to random people. My van shifts slightly as I open the door and climb out, which doesn’t surprise me anymore. Maybe someday I’ll get something else, something that hasn’t seen Michigan winters. Double check the doors locked before shutting the driver’s side and heading inside.

I don’t even check to see if somebody’s at the counter, I’m technically on break so I can take a moment to just look around. If they’re off doing something, they’ll come back. And since I’m here, might as well get some sort of lunch…late dinner, early as shit breakfast? I consider getting a hot dog, but eh, I’m just going to chip it.

Looks like I haven’t really gotten out of the college mindset yet. Getting a PhD will do that to ya.

After grabbing my chips of choice, I look at the coffee. Oh, oh no. It looks like the last shift made this, and I know stuff happens, but not this. Even I have standards for my coffee, and something I’d do to torture myself during my dissertation period isn’t on the list.

Once was enough, thanks.

This means I’m stuck with energy drinks, fuck me. Turning, I look at my choices, no to the Red Bull, the Monster….shit. I resign myself to my fate of the tiny, weird looking bottle of 5-hour Energy. Picking it up, I decide to stop wasting time and go up to the counter.

The person on shift looks like they don’t wanna be here. Don’t really think I can blame them. As they scan my items I notice the multiple magazines they have laid out to read when nobody’s around. I wonder when the last customer they saw before me was. I count the change out once they’re done, handing it over. The worker quickly glances it over, seeming somewhat grateful for exact change, and puts it in the register.

Once I’m handed my receipt, I pick my things up, say bye, and leave. There’s a strange, lingering sense of emptiness as I step out into the parking lot. I decide to chalk it up to the time of night, and unlock my van before slipping inside. It shifts as I get inside and slam the door closed.

Double checking that the doors are locked, I turn it on just enough for the radio. I put on the lanyard once more, making sure my work ID is facing out so people know who I am. Ripping the energy drink open, I let out a sigh before drinking it the only way I know. Chugging it.

If these people wanted me to sip it like a fine wine, they’re going to have to make the idea seem good.

Once done, I put the bottle and its cap in the little bag I have for trash. Fully starting my engine, and after buckling up, I start to back out of the spot I’ve been holding onto. I can eat in the parking lot of my next destination (damn me for not packing a real lunch), chill out for the rest of my break before pretending to be a whole person for some other botanist.

It’s sometime after midnight, and I’m banking on a rush of caffeine to carry me through the rest of the night.

Well, this certainly wakes me up.

Pulling out my phone, I find the non-emergency line for the police. After giving them the details of where I am, and what I found, I hang up and call my boss. She seems surprised and states that she’s on her way to me.

“How far back are you standing?”

“I backed up like five feet the instant I saw what I dug up.”

“Okay, good. I’ll be there soon, you just wait.” She hangs up and I put my phone away. 

I back up a few feet more, just to make sure. I’m still within sight so I can keep an eye on it, and this way nobody has to try and find me. 

Luckily I already have lights set up so I’m not just sitting in the dark. Sighing, I go and get my book from my purse before sitting down. I leaf through the pages, and wait.

It’s not like the body’s going anywhere anyway.

My boss gets here a few minutes before the police who instantly go to the body. She and I discuss how this will probably slow down the job site for a few days. There’s promises that I’ll still be paid, even though I’m not working. Works for me; I probably just saved her a lot of legal headache by finding it tonight.

I hear a cop remark that the body looks pretty fresh, and my heart sinks.

I try not to think about how it took some willpower to not just stand and stare at what I found for a few minutes before calling. The classes I took in college really piqued my curiosity in this line of work, though I was going to stick with the botany. 

I hope whoever this is gets identified and returned to whoever cares about them.

A cop comes over to talk to me. I pull out the laminated map showing where the dig sites were supposed to be and explain I was to get dirt samples. The workers during the day dug up the exact spots already, I didn’t have to do much that night.

“However,” I pull out a white board marker, circling the spot where the body was, “this was not supposed to be dug up. Naturally this got my attention, and I was very careful during my look over. The soil seemed to be dug up later too. So I carefully dug up some of the dirt and well…”

“You found the victim. What’d you do then?”

“I dropped my tool on the edge of the hole I dug up and then backed up about five feet before calling. I already messed with the scene enough, I didn’t want to do more damage.”

“Well, you didn’t do enough to mess with our work, and thank you for calling right away Miss Harris, we appreciate it. We’ll get our stuff set up so you can get yours and get home. Hopefully this won’t keep you up tonight.”

“Yeah, hopefully, thanks officer.” I watch him walk away before standing back, not wanting to get in the way. I’ve definitely earned the right to spend the rest of the night at a karaoke bar after this. 

And that’s where I’ll be.

I stand in front of the shitty, second hand full sized mirror I got at the thrift store. I’ve shoved it into a corner of my bedroom where I can easily hide it, turn it away. But I’m looking myself over, thinking about how I’ve grown and changed since the last mirror I had.

The one I smashed in college.

I have the stare of a stubborn fool who got a doctorate in something most people don’t wanna hear about. It’s going to be a struggle making friends, I feel like, for many reasons. I can just imagine the awkward silence when I introduce myself now.

The stares that tell me I don’t belong here.

I turn, staring over my shoulder as I check out the backwards reflections of my patches. Most collected over the years, bought myself or gifted. A couple of them…well, if Ridley wanted to keep them he should’ve come the fuck back to Detroit.

The thought that I probably won’t find him ever again catches in my throat and I choke down the tears.

Instead, I just stare at myself, Mom’s words about how beautiful I am ringing in my ears; metaphorically of course. Straightening myself up, I grab the tattered sheet I brought with me and toss it over the mirror. I can bring myself to stare at it some other time.

But for now, I’m going to a quick job to do before I go to church.

I exit the church, disappointed but somehow not surprised. There’s the aching pain in my chest, again, the longing of…something I’d rather not admit. Times like these make me wish I smoked so I’d have something to cut the anxiety.

Coffee doesn’t help and I’m not too keen on having too many college level nights with a punch bowl again.

My mind turns to the one guy I sat down by, the one with the stare of a man who hated nearly everybody he saw in there. It was fucking creepy, but somehow, I related. Maybe he feels just as let down by this whole shitshow like I do, maybe that’s what led me to talk to him. That or the fact that I’m dressed like a metal head dipshit and he was rocking the crusty punk look.

Fucking hell, what good is a PhD if you don’t know how to control your emotions?

I realize that I paused by the door’s side, not blocking the entry way but still close enough to hear any loud praying inside. I wish that stuff worked, gave me any sort of peace. Instead I have to deal with the fact that I’m just an idiot who thought that moving to LA would fix me in some fashion. Sure, being away from Mom helps, but…

Shaking my head, I turn and go towards the parking lot. Maybe I’ll just go drink some shitty coffee at Mic’s, scream the emotions out. Probably going to make some shitty art tonight, that’ll help for sure.

And I just need to ignore the aching in my chest.

Oh fucking hell, is this another body?

Is it going to be a common trend for me to find bodies while on the job? If so I’m going to need more...personal test tubes. I look around, spotting nobody. Fuck it, might as well. I back up to my equipment, grabbing one of the “spare” test tubes I keep on hand. In reality it’s for more, well, opportune moments like this.

I need to back up my college work somehow, right?

I’m quick to grab some of the dirt that’s furthest away from the body. I stare at it for a moment, guessing that it’s been in this spot for at least six months. A guess, of course, I’m no expert. I desperately want to study it more, but I can’t. Pocketing the tube, I back up and make yet another call.

I just hope nobody saw me.

I’m having the dream again.

Rocco sits across from me at one of the many coffee tables my grandparents owned in one of multiple sitting rooms. We’re on the floor, playing cards sprawled out in front of us. Probably UNO, not that the memory would serve me well. He’s got that smile on his face, and I can feel my heart sinking.

“Hey kid, what’s up?”

“Oh, same old…”

“College done?”

“Yeah, moved out to LA.”

“...didn’t wanna be by your mom?”

“….I couldn’t take it anymore. Being there.”

“Come on kiddo, you know she loves you.”

“And she loved you.” My voice breaks a little as I stare at him. His face falters for a second as he glances at me. “I know she blames herself for what happened. Over heard her talking to Dad once.”

“And why does she blame herself?”

“I know she asked you to come pick me up from school, surprise me. I was having one of my days after, after…”

“The diagnosis.”

“Yeah, that. She knew that you getting me would just make my whole day so much better. So she asked you, and you were coming..”

“And the guy side swiped me.” He pauses, looking me over. “You don’t blame her, do you?”

“Never.”

“Then who do you blame?” I don’t want to answer, feeling like I can’t breath despite it being a dream. “Anna, darling, who do you blame?”

“Me, I blame me.” The tears start to roll down my face, “If only I’d been normal, I wouldn’t have had one of those days, you wouldn’t have to come get me!”

“Anna, hey, hey.” He reaches out, drying my face with his hand, “It’s not your fault, that guy would have hit anybody coming his way. The way the universe shook that shit out isn’t your fault, okay?”

He gives me that smile, and all I can do is nod as I feel like a scared nine year old again. Grabbing a tissue from the box on the table, he cleans me up, humming softly. Soft, knowing, loving. Like the piece of my soul that was severed from me that day.

“Love you, kid.”

“Love you too, Roc.”

And with that, I wake up.

[bl0rbohandbag]

– more vampire the masquerade x changeling the lost concepts that will not leave me alone. (part 2)

continuation of this post: part 1. "but vtm and ctl are from different settings–" shhhhhh :) if you've seen this post before no you didn't

before i begin: i have been dabbling in vampire the masquerade and changeling the lost content for a while, i am not a fan of changeling the dreaming and vampire the requiem is unfamiliar to me. anyway! buckle up, enjoy the ride, this is another long post!!

trigger warning for obsessive behavior, abuse/unhealthy relationships because vamps again, i guess.

– you're a changeling. kidnapped into arcadia and trapped there for who knows how long. in your durance, you dream of going back home, of reuniting with your friends and family, escaping your keeper to finally, finally enjoy freedom in the world you were born in.

– and one day, you do escape. back into your world, never feeling completely safe with your keeper looking to get you back and huntsmen being a very real threat, but you're ready to rebuild your life and enjoy your newfound freedom.

– except...

after a series of events, you have been forcibly/begrudingly assimilated into a coterie. perhaps a tremere found out about your changeling nature and took great interest in the faerie magic you can wield, deeming it useful for their interests, or maybe a friend or relative of yours turn out to be kindred and are now dragging you into their messes.

(this is particularly annoying if you're more of a diurnal faerie, rising with the sun and going to sleep as soon as it goes down. your circadian rhythm sucks [no pun intended] now that you're up until 3 am running around with a bunch energetic vamps.)

(bonus points if the other members of the coterie don't know what you are, initially mistaking you for a random human and being confused as to why you're there.)

you're not very familiar with kindred, but at this point you're not as wary of them as you should be, either. after all, you've dealt with the treachery and cruelty of the fae, traversed goblin markets, escaped the hedge - you think you can handle yourself pretty well.

(... that's why you see no problem in making a pledge with that mysterious fanged gentleman, offering your blood in exchange for whatever you might need in return. when the pledge is over and they're no longer needed, you ghost them, unknowingly leaving behing a vampire who is now addicted to changeling blood, your changeling blood, and the rush of human emotions brought by being in contact with glamour, no matter how terrible the withdrawal feels.)

on another hand, purposefully letting a vampire drink your blood to torment them might be a fun little prank >:)

(note/context: there is a bit of a contradiction regarding how kindred reacts to changeling blood. some books mention that it doesn't do anything different than a human's, but tastes heavenly and causes no damage to the vampire consuming it, and it might even resurface human feelings or emotions long forgotten. however, changeling the lost: rites of spring, though establishing that changeling blood isn't directly harmful to kindred, still has a hallucinatory effect on them. it is said that the vampire suffers -1 penalty to perception rolls every vitae worth of changeling's blood they consume, because they suffer misleading visions that also plague the Lost of low Clarity, a.k.a it causes one hell of a bad trip ["faces sprout in the environment and babble nonsense rhymes, colors shift and bleed, the outlines of objects warp and shudder."] that lasts until the vampire sleeps it off, and even then they might be plagued with vivid nightmares. so i guess whatever works best.)

a kindred parent who has dedicated their life to finding their missing child after witnessing their kidnapping by an otherworldy, inhuman creature. it might very well be the reason they sought out the embrace, in the first place, after learning their child might still be alive even after centuries have passed, and to be strong enough to protect them from whoever tries to take them back.

using oneiromancy on your malkavian mother to give her beautiful, pleasant, peaceful dreams. perhaps she dreams of you, and picnics with food she can taste under a summer's day sky, and the sun on her skin doesn't burn or frighten her. and it feels so real, so much so that she is filled with a sense of warmth and longing she can never shake off. you do what you can to take care of her. from a distance.

traditionalist ancilla parent who naturally turns to you when they are experiencing issues with technology or anything related to the modern world because you are their child and therefore should know about this stuff, but they forget you were stuck in Arcadia for like three hundred years and you have no idea how to operate an IPhone.

if anyone remembers the ventrue dad using his ghouls as his changeling child's bodyguards, let me expand on that: you are an absolute MENACE to the ghouls babysitting you. if you have been isolated from the world, that means they're basically your social circle, so you talk their ears off and trick them for fun quite often. not only that, but they're the ones that have to run around to retrieve you when they notice you have succesfully escaped again.

(this might evolve into the ghouls becoming your sorta kinda motley. they figure that taking you out during the day won't hurt when you're under their supervision, as long as it means you'll stop running away. you end up dragging them into all sorts of changeling shenanigans, from seasonal court drama to trips to the goblin market, pledges gone awry and etc. they become quite involved in the whole changeling thing. and you STILL prank them when you're bored.)

now the dynamic between the changeling child and their parent's revenants far more removed from humanity might be... interesting.

alternatively, a fetch-maker changeling making a fetch of themselves in order to escape their captor, be it their parent, a partner or a just a kindred who got too interested in them.

(alternatively again, a fetchmaker changeling will continuously make fetches of themselves to throw off/escape their vampire, and said vampire just keeps noticing the differences every single time. it might take them a while, but they notice!)

a vampire who wants you but cannot have you going after your fetch and seducing them instead, maybe even in a conscious attempt to disturb you.

(drinking the fetch's blood will make them immediately regret it, though. fetch blood is just... Not A Fun Time).

a tzimisce's vicissitude is an all too familiar horror.

ancilla toreador who enjoys toying with emotions and sire their lovers just to abandon them after x centuries-old, manipulative fairest who spent their long durance in arcadia being revered for their beauty and talent = potentially the most toxic interaction to ever exist, so nuclear people grow extra limbs just from existing within their vicinity.

(tldr: toreador x fairest cunt off who wins)

"nice is different than good" is a lesson you thought you learned after years of dealing with all sorts of fae creatures, be it the gentry, hobgoblins or even your own changeling peers. but you're not in arcadia anymore, and isn't learning how to trust again a part of healing? ... and somehow that means ignoring the red flags your newly-acquired partner is exhibiting. point is: you didn't exactly sign up for a vampire making your strange life even stranger, but now they're becoming more and more attached to you. not that you're aware of this, or the fact that they're kindred, but you'll find out. oh, you'll find out.

(eventually, their vampire antics are bound to catch up to you. eventually, your changeling antics are bound to catch up to them. it's just a matter of which one will happen first.)

(unhealthy kindred relationship tendencies aside, it's not absurd a vampire lover or secret admirer would become obsessed with a changeling, without even knowing the changeling's true nature. there's just something about them. becoming the subject of obsessive behavior is possible, romantic, platonic or otherwise, born out of a spark of curiosity or a grudge. look at rose gonzalez and roddy van bastelaar, for example.

and if they are aware of what you are, it's all the better. you're like a fairy-tale come to life! but changelings can be a little too similar to their keepers sometimes, and it sometimes backfires. add an obsessed or scorned vampire into the mix and you'll have a recipe for disaster.)

alternatively, a good, healthy (as it can be) relationship with a vampire that absolutely embraces the whole changeling lifestyle. anarchs? camarilla? no. a nosferatu or hecata girlfriend would feel right at home at the moon court's freehold. a tremere boyfriend would love nothing more than to sit with their autumn court changeling partner and read through piles and piles of old books on fairy magic.

a spring courtier changeling helping a vampire acquire necessary information using memory of trees.

(vampire: so you're telling me that you know that one scripture i've been looking for over twenty years is buried underneath the chapel because a fucking tree told you about it?

spring courtier changeling: yes? :3)

when a malkavian surprises you with a cryptic prophetic vision about your life, surprise them back! tell them about the cryptic prophetic vision you had about them, and try to rope them into a pledge by telling them you can alter their fate with simple little spell :) for a price, of course :)

in true fairy-tale fashion, you return home to find that not only your parent has been embraced in your time away, but they have found a lover as undead as they are. maybe it's their sire, maybe someone they met after becoming kinred. but while your parent is overjoyed with your miraculous return, your new evil step-parent just sees you as a nuisance.

(there are so many ways this dynamic can be expanded upon!

not being aware of your parents and their partner's vampirism, but still feeling that something is fundamentally off whenever you're at their new fancy mansion/penthouse [maybe your live there. maybe you drop by for a visit, after they get you settled in a nice house or apartment close by]. your new stepfather is insufferable, eccentric and treats you coldly, perhaps outright shitty when your parent is not around, but your parent seems happy enough - or not, but they won't hear a word of concern from you.

and if you are aware, then... well. they'll just take it as an opportunity to further terrify you.)

[melonbear51]

VTM character concepts that I am compelled to share as they have completely taken over my brain, Part 3: The Return of The Ideas

So, before I get to sharing more ideas, I just have to thank you all for engaging with me and these concepts. It really means so much, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am! But enough with the sappy stuff (which I’m sure you’ll see a lot more of, knowing me), on with the show!

1. An ASMR artist famous for their medical horror and dissection-themed content. What most people don’t know is that this ASMR artist is a Tzimisce, and their sound effects are the real deal, if y’know what I mean.

2. A Toreador epidemiologist who finds beauty in disease, disease transmission, and all that comes with it. They dream of bioengineering an outbreak that effects kindred so they can better observe how different bloodlines adapt to illness.

3. A Tremere fledgling who is fascinated by the Malkavian madness network. Though they’ve been dissuaded by their clanmates, they’ve started interacting with Malks as part of a sort of field study. The Malkavians, for their part, aren’t bothered by this. They are always happy to share things. The future, the past, their madness...they’ll share it all. Oh yes, they’ll share it all.

4. A fledgling Brujah therapist who specializes in anger management. Determined to tame their much more powerful temper, they drown themselves in melancholic and phlegmatic blood to try and keep themselves in check

5. A fledgling who was turned after trying to find their birth parents and instead finding out their relation to the Hecata. Horrified by their family and their new undead state, they are on the run and must evade their "well-meaning" relations who wish to bring them into the fold whether they want it or not.

6. A Setite who, in life, belonged to an extremely conservative religious group. Now free of that way of life, they have fully taken up the ideology of the snakes, and seek to bring as many others into the Ministry as possible. They have yet to realize they've traded one extreme for another and are as trapped as before.

Again, hope you enjoy! As usual, feel free to use these ideas for whatever you'd like and please do let me know how these ideas have inspired you 😊

[cynical-tuba]

Hi! I sort of fell in love with that Leo the Toreador ghoul that keeps popping up on my feed because I'm hopelessly browsing VtM content. He looks like he's so done with life, but I also like his design. His hair is very pretty.

Could you tell me more about him? (or point me to where more content resides? I haven't had the time to dig deeper)

Oh wow firstly thank you so much for your ask! This is the first one I've had actually, and super thrilled it's about Leo!

I don't have a master post about him but I suppose now is a good of a time is any so let's go!

(Tw: Abuse mention)

Our Dark Ages game takes place in Oxford England in 1348. The game started in October.

Leo, (Pantaleo) is from Florence, Italy, what is now considered Santo Spirito. He has a love for music, good Tuscan wine, and Italian bread. He and his Domitor along with five other Apprentices traveled to Oxford to escape the Pestilence that was ravaging all of Europe at the time.

MORE BELOW THE CUT!

He came to meet his future Domitor, Dante at an orgy. Leo's best friend Marco told him it would be good money so they both found themselves caught up in this world. Let me note, he was an attendant pouring wine, handing out towels and snacks when he witnessed Dante feed from a vessel. He struck up an interesting conversation and Dante was impressed. Leo kept coming back to him, impressed by his art and personality. Eventually he came to study arts under his wing. He ran away from home and responsibilities to serve this Toreador.

( below Cotarie member 1# Emir Muzaka and Dante having a tiff. Art by @spell-fox )

He is in charge of 5 other artists under Dante all of whom are older than him so it was quite a bit of a march to earn their respect. Marco included. He enjoys painting Lucifer, admiring how he was able to break free from god and slip away from his control. He loves painting flowers as well.

He loves to play the lute and if the metal Genre existed back then he'd be a death screamer. The man carries a lot of stress and it feels like I'm playing a 40 year old man.

(picture by @spell-fox )

Leo in his opinion had a normal life, a normal upbringing but I feel it was hardly anything but. He would be that kind of person to tell a story about his mother drinking all day instead of parenting because it's "funny" and the entire room would go silent, feeling sorry for him.

His Domitor Dante is demanding, flakey and depends on Leo to help him organise, make decisions but Leo also challenges him, having the bravery to tell Dante what he truly thinks about the world. Dante is controlling of him emotionally manipulative. He is abusive at times. All except physically. Leo wants to break free of him by any means and in the Chronicle has been trying to impress Cainites with his bravery, wanting to be embraced into their world by any other means than Dante.

Then there's the second Cotarie member, Emir, (played by @urbanknightart ) the man who followed him around the first night Leo came to Oxford like a lost sheep. Wouldn't you know it he's a Malkavian priest! He "hears the voice of God" as a derangement of his and Leo is doubling down on his views of "god's not real you have free will" perspective. Emir has the power to see visions and can hear god when he touched the cross on his belt.

Emir has adopted the abused and mistreated ghoul, taking care of him, offering him food, insisting Leo hangs out with his own ghoul, Æthelfrid. Emir has protected Leo from a woman giving him a magical drink, wing manned for Leo and the Sheriff (Picture Below), took him on errands so he had an excuse not to go back to his Terrible domitor, and made Leo tell him all about his feelings in the church's confession booth.

Some of my posts have included a Suit of armour. That suit of armour contains a Nosferatu Sheriff named Hengist.

Leo met him when he arrived in Oxford, expressing to him how much be hates England, how it was so cold and he hadn't seen any flowers. The knight kindly pointed him in the direction of a garden where he could see amarth flowers. Leo visited them to paint them and returned the knights gesture by offering him the painting in return. Amarth, as be came to learn later has the meaning of undying love.

They then made love in a closet without Leo ever seeing his face. Leo also let him feed on him, offering his blood, "Dantes blood" to the knight. He accepted.

He offered to teach Leo how to protect himself and did a day of training, taking him to a field of flowers. They discussed the idea of Leo wanting to be embraced, this giving the Nosferatu the courage to carry through with the courtship.

So that's how he started dating the sheriff.

Oh he's also dating the ghoul of Hengist's brother, (The Prince of Oxford, Horsa.)

That's a thing. (both parties are aware of this) This lovely ghoul in mention is an anxiety ridden info dumping nerdy lad named Godwin who was the first NPC that greeted him in the game. They are also very cute. But I've made this post long enough and fear making it go on for ages longer.

I was considering sharing this Chronicle (with the agreement of the story teller and the other player but it does contain adult themes and situations that all three of us have discussed about before hand but I'm noooot sure to be honest maybe some day we will! As we log every session in a synopsis)