#oc: Dorian

[dyrdeer]

Can furries have body hair??

[vicciouxs]

DORIAN VASILE answering to @thebramblewood vampire calling 🦇

Mr. Vasile is undoubtedly the classic vampire stereotype, born as such, without having been transformed, so the purest blood runs in his veins. Many will think that he spends his eternity filled with luxuries, but the reality is that he lives removed from most of society, even his peers, and only goes out when his hunger is stronger than his resistance. He lives retired in a small house that anyone could mistake for a ruin, devoured by vegetation and covered with creaking wood. However, his exile, strange as it may seem, is voluntary. Before the tragedy he used to be an acclaimed figure among vampire society, he had large networks of contacts since his knowledge is immense, Dorian took advantage of his eternity to hone his skills in any field. But his big mistake was love. He fell in love with a human, a human who was scared of his true form and ran away without knowing that he would be caught by Dorian's enemies, jealous of his knowledge. At that moment Dorian lost his great and only love and, although he has more than enough power to regenerate himself, he keeps the scar on his face as a memory of that moment.

[fleurderat]

Just some portraits of my babies

[daseiins]

Hi I love strange, sad conjurers SO much can you tell me more about Dorian please<3

YES ABSOLUTELY!!!!!!!!!!!

Dorian’s a total nepo baby who got into Ravenwood because his parents are rich from producing weapons for the Marleybone army and it only kind of shows

He’s got the worst rbf and very rarely talks to people unless they speak to him first, which is super convenient because he works in the Wizard City library to have access to the good textbooks

His boyfriend Lance is his exact opposite in every way—a loud, energetic and friendly storm wizard that everyone seems to know about—but they make it work, especially when they’re fighting together

I also think he rides horses with his two younger sisters. His parents definitely have a ranch property in Avalon or Wallaru or something

Speaking of his little sisters, as the scion of bartleby he’s constantly telling them *not* to be like him. Post graduation his only advice to his sisters going to Ravenwood was to take more classes so Ambrose can’t send you on “extracurricular adventures”

I think him and Cyrus get along well after Dorian grows out of the Gifted Kid Anxiety™️ and they definitely have tea and talk shit together

[gorbalsvampire]

Clarimonde Explains It All

She’s not what I expected.

You say “elder vampire lady” to me and I’m picturing floor-length crimson ballgowns, nails and cheekbones you could cut yourself on, lips the only thing about her with any colour in it.

Clarimonde is five-five of boho chic; dress over jeans, big hat on the back of her chair, OG Doc Martens she's not been assed to lace up all the way. She does have long nails, but I’m pretty sure they’re fakes. There’s a tiny glass on the table in front of her, and it’s empty; can she keep it down?

She leans back to air-kiss Dominique, real old-school mwah-mwah lovely-to-see-you-babe; introduces herself in French, and smiles when I stutter my way through my je m’appelles and have to say in English, “but everyone except my mum calls me Tish.”

“Tish. My pleasure. So, why has Dominique brought you to see another old lady?”

Dominique glances at me — permission granted — and I explain there’s something I’m not getting from her and she thought hearing it in another voice would be good for me.

“I’ve lived a very boring life, my dear. Dominique has been around the world three times and left a trail of nonsense in her wake, what could I —“

“It’s the way you tell it,” says Dominique, rolling her eyes. “And of the two of us, who’s been on television?”

It’s Clarimonde’s turn to roll her eyes, and she does it with a little sniff that’s much more my idea of “elder vampire.”

“I was immortalised without my permission,” says Clarimonde. “You shouldn’t let poets lie to you, Tish; they tell you that you’ll live forever, they neglect to mention ‘as a petty pretty monster who leads innocent young men around by their dicks and away from God’. It could be worse; look what happened to poor Louis and his confessional. How many books of revision to his life story are there, now?”

“For real? The guy from —“

“Yes. The first at least is a true story. There’s a grain of truth at the bottom of all the stories. For instance; mine is truly the world’s oldest profession. I liked being called a ‘courtesan’, I wasn’t keen on ‘moll’, ‘whore’ has always been an insult…”

“What do you think of ‘sex worker’?” It’s out of my mouth before I know what I’m saying. Go for woke, I guess.

“Matter of fact, boring — but honest, which has its charms.” She smiles. “But — to stay on topic, because Dominique is making the face,” and she is, “let me forestall the inevitable question. Him too, and he was a piece of work.”

“The thing Clarimonde does so well,” Dominique explains from her end of the sofa, “is talk about men.”

“About a specific class of people,” says Clarimonde, and her pout looks like she wants to poke her tongue out of it. “Mostly men, who did awful things, frequently to women, and who happened to be like us. I’ve collected vampire stories ever since I was in one, and for the longest time they all had something in common. Take Dracula. Born in the fifteenth century. In the nineteenth, he re-emerges with a grand plan; he’ll move himself to what he’s been told is the greatest city on Earth and he’ll re-invent himself as a modern monster. What does he do when he gets there? Obsess over the first girl he gets his teeth into, and stalk his solicitor’s wife to punish the man for escaping, or whatever mad reason he had. Not just a monster but a failure. Why do you think that happens?”

“He’s got really poor impulse control?”

“And you said she didn’t get it.” Clarimonde laughs behind her hand, and for a second I can see her in costume-drama gear, peeking over a fan. “He’d been around too long. Once he’d been an empire-builder, and he remembered being that, but — did he really remember? Can the mind hold on to what it was five hundred years ago? Four hundred? When we cheat ourselves and say we were better people as little girls, from only ten or twenty years away?”

“I get it,” I say, practically talking over her. “I think. You’re saying he was trying to be who he thought he was, what history said he was. But really, he was… just a vampire.”

“And what a piece of work is a vampire?” she purrs, declaiming at her little glass. “Just a being who thirsts. A paragon of animals. Over time, we forget what else we were. Dominique brought you to me because I’m old. Because there are so few older. I’m a simple girl at heart; I take money and a little blood from people who have both to spare. It’s a simple rule, and it’s not a big plan, and it’s not much to hold on to.

“I keep my memories in stories. I don’t know if I’ve always looked this way, or if I saw that girl pretending to be me and made myself like her. Do you know Louis went back to his maker in the end? After everything he told, everything in that book, he went back on bended knee because he’d started to believe what was made up about him afterwards. He went back to a man he’d tried to kill and he thought he was in love. But he’s still alive, and he’s doing no harm to anyone but himself. And maybe one day I’ll wake up with a rosary in my hand and a pretty boy in my bed and I’ll hope to God he paid for it. That’s what happens when we live too long, Tish. We start believing what they say about us.”

One of the core impulses behind Bloodspell was "literary vampires are real but the version of their stories you get is off." Deconstructing the vampire as antagonist/romantic hero, y'know?

[dumb-butt-with-a-sword]

Dorian, stop chomping on your boyfriend.

He needs his blood.

You're not even a vampire!

[bubblepopsims]

Next

All of these men are by @fl0ptrait XD i can't help it i am obsessed with all of them... i keep hoarding more. soooo why not do some chaotic shit and see who she picks out of all of them.

[taterswithranch]

New goober :)

Solarisapien species belongs to @/sugarratio1

[choccychipz]

it's smug asshole hours

[trucbiduleschouettes]

Will the Menagerie defeats the tabaxi lich Dorian? Are all four of them going to make it out alive? Will Calaindo's nephew forgives the party for seemingly attacking him out of nowhere and keeping him unconscious and in holy water for three days?

Answers to come this Saturday, for the last Noluna session! *falls on the floor and starts sobbing*

A thousand thank you to @sessenaa for DMing this wonderful campaign! I'm forever glad I got the chance to hop into it and get to play Niquis!

-

Do not use/repost

[lnfini]

quick study from ptolmemaea (ethel cain)

[squishosaur]

meowmeows + wip

[fleurderat]

[whump-and-suffering]

🔇 and 🤩?

Quietest sneezes: Probably Lenora or Sylitha.

Least shy about sneezing: has to be Dorian since their whole thing is intentional contagion.

Thanks for the ask!

[gorbalsvampire]

The Answer May Surprise You

We’ve done this quite a few times, since we met Dominique and Sylvester. The four of us meet up on the Quay and start walking, out of town and around the headland and then down to the beach once we’re safely out of sight. We build a fire, and once it’s going we sit close enough to stay warm and far enough to feel safe (and look spooky, if I’m honest), and we talk about what it’s like.

There’s something on my mind tonight. I curl my toes up in the sand, on instinct, bracing for the revelation or something, and I ask “have you… how many people have y’all killed?”

Dominique blinks, deadpan, then laughs. Throws back her head and practically roars with laughter. I’d be offended, but I’m too busy thinking how incredibly hot she is. I’d never admit it, but the reason I suggested these little meetups was at least eighty per cent to spend more time talking with, and looking at, and thinking about Dominique. She glows in the firelight, shimmering dark and sleek across from me, and the next breath I take as I’m about to apologise for being such a weapons-grade dumbass is rough and unready because what I’m actually thinking about is jumping across the fire and burying myself in her giant hair and covering that long throat of hers in bites and kisses and —

I was gonna say something, but that’s Dominique for you.

“It’s not the sort of thing I count,‘Titia,” she says when she’s finally come back to Earth. “One thing to let it happen now and then, by accident, or to do in need when the damn fool’s decided you’re a monster and you gotta burn. But you don’t sit there, brooding and preening over what a monster you are. No pride, but no shame either. And never trust anyone who says you have to keep score.”

She leaves us no choice but to stan, says a stan who has no choice.

Dorian follows my eyes and coughs. I know they’re nervous about this. They’re not stupid, they have eyes and a bunch of brain cells, and they know — because we had the talk about this around the time we had the talk about that and the other, and what I’m saying here is that babe, I’m a vampire led in good time to babe, I love you and I don’t want to see you die one day and because we’d reached that point we had to negotiate with ‘til death us do part is a lovely sentiment but I’m poly and I have to know — will you get jealous?

D doesn’t get jealous, or at least they never admit to it, but they are a one-at-a-time kind of lover, and I think something buried deep in their psyche still worries about competing with Dominique. I keep telling them a) it’s not a competition and b) I have more than enough love to give and c) I don’t even know if Dominique swings my way and d) I live with Dorian and I let Dorian turn me into this and dear God I love you Dorian, you stupid sweet sexy jazz dork. I don’t tell them e) which is that nobody could compete with Dominique anyway, and I would hate to ever have to choose between them because if Dominique said yes, but it’s me and only me I might not immediately want to say no.

Anyway, Dorian coughs again and pokes up the fire to hide it and says, huskily as they can manage, “It’s not about keeping score, Dominique. If you reach a point where they’re just numbers, you’ve already gone off the deep end. But I think if you’ve happened to kill someone — if you’ve had to kill someone — you owe them something for the life they might have led. I keep diaries, and I write down every single name, every time for eighty years, just in case. Someone ought to remember them, and I’ll be here a bloody long time.”

Dear God, I love them. That’s what surprised me most about them. Not that they were a vampire, not even that they’d left the whole concept of ‘gender’ down the back of a sofa when Prohibition was still a thing and sort of got along without it ever since, but the sheer decency of them. The same petty, prissy, fussy little things that make them such a good teacher make them such a good vampire — according to my extremely limited ‘is it like a horror movie in here?’ sense of what makes a ‘good vampire’, anyway. Of course they keep notes in case they forget what happened last time. Of course they never throw away a diary in case they need it forty years later to remember some obscure fact about someone who might well be dead by now. Of course they care.

Sylvester. We all look at Sylvester. Dominique smirks, feline, and I crush the obvious joke as it bubbles up in my head even as I think about stroking her (stop it) and whether she purrs (stop it). Dorian’s lips are thin and tight, their eyes owlish behind their glasses, turning the firelight back. There’s some history there, and I’m afraid to ask.

“What are you all waiting for?” Sylvester grumbles. He’s kicked off his worn old man shoes and his worn old man feet are closer to the fire than any of ours. Words flit around my head — weatherbeaten, salt-stained, tanned — and as Sylvester shuffles himself a bit closer I catch a glimpse of scars and tattoos on his legs and the glimmer of heavy gold rings in the dark. If Sylvester the vampire pirate didn’t exist, someone would have had to invent him. He’s just too good to be true.

“C’mon, Sylv,” I say. “How many?”

“None.”

The word falls out of him grudgingly, a single penny in a slot machine, no lights or sounds blarting out at you, just the smallest kind of victory.

“You?” The word’s out of my mouth before I can cram it back in there, and “I don’t believe you,” says Dorian, and Dominique doesn’t say anything, she just sits there and smiles.

“Not for this. Not to eat. That’s what you’re aksing, in’t it? You live a kind of life where you kill a man and go to gaol, ‘less you’re in the army or the navy or what-have-you. So you’re aksing me a question as makes sense to you.”

Dorian’s mouth is open and they’re saying words — “You know very little about the life Laetita’s led” — and I put my hand up.

Sylvester nods to me and he says: “I don’t know how many men I killed at sea. Don’t know how many I knifed or hit in dock as died later. One or two women, I do know, and I amn’t proud of it now, but…” He rubs his beard, tugs at it like he does when he’s thinking, and points at Dominique. “Since that ‘un brought me over? Not one for eating, and I never tried to kill none either, after we ‘scaped Haiti and came to shore. Believe it or don’t; still God’s honest truth.”

It’s always the ones you least expect.

Bloodspell is a PWYW indie vampire TTRPG it's a little bit pretentious but it's my baby and i love it

[dumb-butt-with-a-sword]

Basil's future demon boyfriend.