#species: vampyre

[welcometomeloxia]

[cessreads]

Ali hazelwood wrote this? The same person who wrote Love, Theoretically and the line “He could fit her entire breast in his mouth. All of it.” aka the least sexiest thing you have ever read in smut history, wrote this? She wrote an omegaverse book? for real?

[sisterforsaken]

can we take a moment to acknowledge how underrated vampyr’s lore is? 

[petra-creat0r]

Vampires. Woo!

I have more lore on them, like the elves. So tell me which pages/species you'd like to see next!

[daydream-averyjane]

So, I’ve read and seen my fair share of takes on the vampire mythos and I’ve decided to craft my own version of vampires because of boredom.

Introduction

- To create a vampire 🧛‍♀️, a vampire has to completely drain a human of blood. Then the vampire virus will rewrite the humans DNA 🧬 and produce vampiric blood which is blue in color.

- By becoming a vampire the fledgling will stop aging and their body will change into its peak condition (i.e. blemish free skin, shiny perfect hair, perfect vision, healthy body, pique physical fitness, I.e. maximum health)

- Run at a lower temperature (not too low they are pleasantly warm). When regenerating or after eating they run at a higher temperature than humans.

- Vampire blood also does not replenish/replace itself so a vampire must drink at max 2 full humans a week to replenish their vampire blood and stay in tip top shape. Vampires can drink animal blood however it causes about the same reaction as a human eating uncooked meat or distilled water i.e. vampire sickness and possible death. However a vampire can learn to slowly transfer to animal blood, but it will result in the vampire acting in a more savage nature. If a vampire does not drink enough blood they will die. However a vampire can be brought back to life if they receive blood as a “dead” vampire corpse will not decay.

- Fledgling vampires are under the guardianship of their sire and are their sire’s responsibility according to vampiric law until they reach ten years of age.

- All new fledgling vampires must be registered with the Vampire King in Transylvania

Vampiric Powers (Increase with Age)

- Conditional Immortality

- Superhuman Strength

- Superhuman speed

- Superhuman agility

- Superhuman durability

- Illusory abilities. So they aren’t discovered by technology

- Shadow travel

- Shadow manipulation (to an extent)

- Animal transformation

- Compulsion

- Faster Regeneration

- Blood Healing Capabilities

- Turn others into vampires

- Magic?

Vampiric Weaknesses

- Daylight

- Ripping out the heart (stops the flow of regenerative blood in a vampire but can be healed if the heart is put back in and an older vampire uses their regenerative blood to kind of jump start the healing process)

- Decapitation (only temporarily stops a vampire until their head is reattached)

- Desiccation (draining a vampire of blood. Can recover with the injection of blood)

- Fire (burning the whole body)

- Killing them through a large generation of magic? (Overloads the energy/magic in a vampire and freaks out their internal system into shutting down)

Transylvania

- Vampire Kingdom in Romania

- The Leader is King Vladimir Aurelius Draconis (name sounds pretentious but is accurate to the original Dracula’s name)

- Is covered in perpetual Night with a blue moon and blue moonlight (caused by the film/barrier surrounding Transylvania that blocks off UV light)

- Mountainous region with old architecture and castles

- Vampires dress in traditional Romani clothing

- A black wall combined with the mountains contain and surround Transylvania and create a magical border (a dome) that keeps out UV rays and keeps humans from going into Transylvania. Instead, outside humans are influenced to think that they know and occasionally talk to Transylvanians.

- When tourists visit Transylvania they are taken to be “eaten” by the population and then their memories are altered and they leave.

- Transylvanian vampires that have an interest in sports participate in the Olympics (odd fact)

- Transylvania contains the largest supernatural library in the world, and in that library is the Necronomicon, which contains the original Vampire Virus Spell

P.S. Don’t be an unoriginal asshole and steal my ideas. More to be added…

~💖

[tadpolesonalgae]

Blood-borne

Azriel x reader

synopsis: When reports of attacks from strange beasts increase up in the desolate Illyrian Steppes, both Azriel and Cassian are tasked with clearing out the malicious creatures. But when Azriel is bitten by one and sweats break out, the High Lord realises perhaps he should have put more time into investigating the ancient species. More specifically, why the attacks started after a millennia’s worth of peaceful cohabitation, and what the consequences will be of their venom once again mixing with Illyrian blood.

warnings: blood, illness, eventual vampire! Az, generic healing descriptions

a/n: so this started off with I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead, then switched to Lust For A Vampyr, and finally ended with Sour Switchblade. Who knows where the next one will start 😔

word count: 7,975

It’s the dead of night. Peaceful. 

The moon is high in the sky—a gleaming, crooked, slash of a smile—and the city is dark, revelling in the beloved starlight far above, twinkling like millions of glazed, porcelain teeth, cast into a murky black sea and stitched into the heavens. Your windows are ajar, a cool night breeze circulating your chambers, keeping the air fresh and crisp even while you sleep. 

Azriel and Cassian will return in the early morning, eager to be rid of Illyria as soon as possible. Between the two of them Azriel will likely be the one more insistent on a swift departure, though you can’t imagine him ever voicing his distain. Luckily Cassian will be there to pick up on his non-verbal signals. 

You’ll have to check in with Feyre too, make sure she’s recovering well after her birth. Physically, the damage was extensive—if it wasn’t for the healing blood in her veins and Nesta’s intervention… Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose, rubbing to soothe the growing headache before your arm slides across your face, elbow hanging crooked over your brow. She’s been on the mend but it’ll be a long while yet before she can even think about shifting again; longer yet before she can fly. As for her son…he’s healthy. Practically brimming with life. Everyone’s seen the twinkle in his round eyes. You’re certain he’ll grown into a menace soon enough. 

As for Elain… 

Guilt is a ball of iron in your chest. With everything that’s been happening as of late there’s been little time for either you or Madja to keep a proper eye on her. You just hope the two of you haven’t been too preoccupied with the more obvious matters to disregard the internal ones. It’s hard to gauge where she’s at, and you often have to rely on Nuala’s reports to hazard a guess at what might be going through the young female’s mind. Externally, she’s doing exceptionally well—keeping herself busy: baking, reading, walking, gardening, knitting, sewing, stitching, studying. She keeps herself fresh and put together, skin healthy and strong, hair lustrous and long, a vivid glow about her. No eye-bags nor sallow complexion, she communicates with the twins fine and only has rare days of reclusion where she retreats to her bedroom. By all means she’s doing well. 

It’s worrying. 

There’s so much to keep an eye on within this family, so many minor tensions to understand—more so than any other setting you’ve been placed in. Each day has its own set events to overcome, a new detail to examine, whether that’s a shift in expression as another family member enters the room or as blatant as the simmering hatred that so nastily permeates any room the High Lord and his eldest sister-in-law, Nesta, are placed in. 

Inhaling a dragging breath, your focus slips to the raindrops glittering over the window pane, the piercing light of the moon shimmering like tiny stars, the inky darkness of the city itself reflected upward from below like tight, vicious pupils, hundreds of tiny eyes pressed up to the glass. 

A thunderous crash comes from the floor below, the thump pulsing once through your chest, jerking you awake. 

At once your feet find the cool wooden floorboards, a nightgown strung over bare shoulders, not a second of movement wasted before the glowing faelight is cupped in your palm and the cold iron of the door handle is twisted, opening up into the yawning darkness of the corridor. A gust of rain-soaked wind funnels down the hallway, whipping hair from your face and the faelight flickers, shuddering once before pushing back against the looming shadows crowding the space. 

You hug your thin nightgown tighter, hurrying barefooted down the hall to the staircase, skin tightening to gooseflesh as a second gust of icy wind flushes through the house, howling from the front door that is cast wide. The rug is soaking beneath your feet as you press it closed, following the low light at the far end of the corridor to the kitchen, tiles colder than ice and soaked in puddles of water. 

Blood roars through your ears, pausing only for a second of analysis as you take in the rain-soaked scene. Shards of ceramics scatter the floor, a body splayed across the dining room table, two figures stood either side. It’s all you have time for before rushing forward, only now catching the sickening tang of iron in the air, the wind having previously blown the scent away and you tap the fae light twice in your palm before releasing it high above the slumped figure on the table. It’ll have to do for now. 

Sour, pale-yellow light fills the dining room and blood gurgles from Azriel’s mouth, wet gasps bubbling up from his chest. Rhysand is stood at one head of the table, hand clutched tight around Azriel’s, the High Lord’s towering figure curved crookedly over his brother’s, close enough their brows are touching and it’s clear enough Rhysand is doing what he can mentally, relieving pain, sorting through panic and adrenaline to find his shadowsinger some order to cling to. 

“What happened?” You ask Cassian, darting forward to closer examine Azriel’s state. As far as you can see there are two main wounds, one on the thigh of his left leg and a second having broken into his ribcage on the opposite side. By now the blood flow has already begun to wane, a countdown to his life force bleeding dry. If the wound had been gushing you would have felt more reassured. There’s far too little blood coming from wounds as deep as his. 

“There were more than we anticipated,” Cassian grits out. “Their nest was supposed to be on the far side of the mountain. Most of them got cleared out but two we’d already cut down must have been playing dead and bit on our retreat.” 

“The chimeras?” You ask, noting the splay of teeth marks that are puncturing the right side of Azriel’s torso, the fleshy grey of broken bone visible through one of the upper gouges. 

Cassian nods grimly and you seal your mouth shut to prevent from cursing. It’s bad luck to hear a healer curse—your job is to know what’s going on and get things better, not worse. Adrenalised panic only helps in temporarily keeping pain away. For now you have to do what you can, sealing the wounds, and hope that there’s no fractured enamel trapped inside. 

“Has he begun healing yet?” You ask, pressing the second and third fingers on both your hands either side what you guess must be the puncture mark of the beasts’ canine, two significantly larger than the others. 

“No. I think he’s lost too much blood to manage anything like that. He wouldn’t stop bleeding the entire flight down,” Cassian replied, voice raw. You wonder how long he was shouting to Azriel over the screaming storm outside in order to keep him conscious. Cassian’s dark eyes shift to his brother’s face, thick brows growing heavy as they stitch together, chest still heaving as adrenaline doubtlessly begins to seep away, leaving stagnant fear to lean on. “I thought he was going to die,” Cassian murmurs, so low you doubt either other male can hear. 

“He’s not going to die,” you assure, pushing growth into the surrounding tissue, guiding his open flesh back together like shaping clay. “Hold the wound on his leg until I can let these ones breathe.” 

A pulse of rejection seizes Azriel’s chest, blood flecking his sour-toned skin, Rhysand’s own knuckles turning bone white as he grips tighter to his brother. You’re lucky he’s here, or else things would be much worse. You don’t linger on the thought, your own breath beginning to labour as you move to the second puncture gouge in his chest, bone protruding from deeper in the flesh. 

A twinge of fear pieces your mind. 

Azriel groans on the table, wings deathly still where they’re splayed off the sides, the joints at their ends beginning to curl inward like a spider’s legs on the verge of death. Breath whistles in his lungs, blood no longer gurgling from his chest—barely moving at all. 

“Rhys!” You shout, pulling him from that mental bridge he’d been tending Azriel upon, gripping his shoulder roughly. “Pull away! Pull away!” 

The High Lord’s chest heaves as he forces himself back, releasing the soothing hold he’d had on Azriel’s mind, hands still clutched together. 

The Shadowsinger jolts on the table, body writhing as fresh pain blazes through flesh, senses no longer muted. It’s probably going to be the last thing he can hold onto. 

He’s fading. 

You look at Cassian, bloody fingers still pressing down on the wound, the miniature, magical stitches sewing tissue back together slowly making their way back to the surface, flesh returning to its healed state. “Fetch Madja,” you instruct, “We’ll have a better chance with both of us. Quick. And Rhys, I want you to find-”

A gasp comes from the doorway and the High Lord’s expression drains. It’s far from ideal to have her within such a high stress environment but it’s really a last resort. 

“Feyre, your blood,” you request urgently, feeling the weight as violet eyes cut into your side, but it’s necessary. It’s the boost that will save Azriel’s life, or at least sustain him until Madja arrives. “Only a small amount,” you say calmly, “he just needs enough to keep him alive until I have Madja to help.” 

Feyre swallows only once before she’s hurrying forward, blue-grey eyes rushing over the male on the table, tension in her jaw. “How much?” She asks, taking the blade Cassian hands her before he heads out into the night. “A slice across your palm. If you feel faint stop immediately.” 

She doesn’t hesitate, an excess of blood swelling in her hand before spilling into Azriel’s open mouth, pale lips soaked red. His throat works and you rush round to his other side, now pressing one palm to each gash. 

There’s no time to pace yourself in this encounter. 

It’s a one-time brawl, not a long-spanned battle.

————

Come morning your hands are aching, lungs tired and stretched, throat parched. You haven’t had such a long night since the end of the war. 

At least now you have free access to water, which you’d taken full advantage of when returning to your room. 

By the time Madja had arrived you’d had all the immediate injuries patched but there had still been little colour to Azriel’s complexion. Pallid save for the blood staining his open mouth. If Cassian hadn’t flown so swiftly; if Feyre hadn’t been there; if Azriel hadn’t the strength to hang on… It’s a small miracle he’s still alive and breathing. 

As soon as the sun touches the horizon you get yourself up, preparing to take over Madja’s shift after she’d seen him through the night. There’s still a drained pit where your magic should be, the small amount of sleep you’d managed to grab doing little to aid its replenishment, but it should be enough for today. 

It’s only upon seeing the bloodstained bandages wrapping Azriel’s body and leg that you realise all the rainwater from the night before must have been blood, soaking the rugs, the tiled floors, the bare skin of your feet. It’s a good thing those clothes had been stripped down and tossed into a pile before falling into sleep the night just past. 

“How is he?” You ask, stepping into Azriel’s room. The thick curtains are drawn, but even so it’s too light. 

“Asleep, for now,” Madja replies, raising from her chosen seat at the bedside. “Once I administered the pain reliever he settled down and hasn’t stirred since.” Worried eyes flicker over the male’s body, dark hands tucking her pencil away. You step forward, hand cupping her elbow carefully, “You deserve some rest, too.” Brown eyes don’t leave Azriel for a few moments, but eventually she nods, meeting your gaze, returning the touch on your arm. “You’re a competent healer, you know. You did well last night.” Madja smiles, nodding. “Good work.” 

The words remain in your mind all morning while you’re overseeing Azriel, routinely checking his temperature, keeping an eye on his breathing patterns, and pulse, but it’s not until well past midday that he stirs. 

You sit silently at his side. It’s his breathing that changes first, a deeper breath than the ones before bringing air deep into his lungs, lips peeling themselves apart. Then it’s a twitch in his brows, lifting once then furrowing over his eyes which screw themselves shut. A low groan rumbles in his throat and you allow yourself a subtle sigh of relief. His eyes are next, blinking open by less than a hair’s breadth, pupils gradually contracting to filter the light away until he can look around freely. It takes him longer than usual to get his bearings, but that’s to be expected. 

You wait until he’s ready to speak. 

“How bad is it?” Azriel rasps, his vocal cords chewed up. A smile curves your eyes, “You aren’t dead.” Air rattles in his lungs, a wheezing cough stuttering once from his chest and you offer the glass of water from his bedside. Azriel tilts his head to the side, and you retract the glass. 

“I’m going to ask you a few questions,” you tell him, turning to the notebook Madja had left for you. “First of all, what’s your name?” Azriel is silent and you look over to him, concern welling in your chest, but instead his mouth is pursed, expression flat. You sigh, fondness pushing up into your voice, “Come on. It’s routine.” 

“Azriel,” Azriel answers, giving you a deadpan look. You nod. “Do you remember where you were going yesterday?” 

A pause, then, “Illyria. Cassian and I were returning.” 

“Good, but you’re jumping ahead,” you warn, making hazel eyes brighten within the shadowy room. “Can you tell me the names of your two brothers?” 

“Cassian and Rhysand.” 

“Do you know where you are?” 

This time Azriel pauses, eyes darting around the room, his brow furrowing. “The River House?” 

You nod, “You’re in a guest bedroom since it was closer. I’m afraid it’ll probably be some time before we can move you to your own room.” But Azriel tips his head to the side again, “It’s fine.” 

“Alright,” you reply quietly, keeping your smile to yourself. “Next question. Just a few more,” you add when Azriel exhales heavily. “Do you remember what happened to you?” 

“Cassian and I were supposed to be investigating the recent attacks up in Illyria. There was supposed to be no contact.” 

You nod, smile faded. “Do you remember how you got your injuries?” 

“We thought we’d cleared out the ones that had found us, but we hit their nest by chance and there were too many. On the way out one that had been dead bit me.” You wait for him to continue but he stops, looking back to you. 

“Is that all?”

Azriel nods. 

You note down his story, along with the point his memory cuts out. “You don’t remember the second bite?” You inquire. Azriel tilts his head, no. “Do you remember getting here?” Azriel tilts his head again, no. 

You nod, sitting straighter. Pushing a reassuring expression to your features. “Well, the good news is you aren’t dead, as you’re aware.” Azriel rolls his eyes, then hisses, groaning as something hurts. “Your wings are also unscathed, which I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear.” The Shadowsinger grumbles something you don’t hear. Of course you’re glad he’s okay. 

“Right,” you announce, pushing the glass of water to him again which he drinks from reluctantly, “Are you feeling right enough to answer a few more questions for me, or would you like to rest?” 

“What time is it?” He asks. 

You glance at the clock on the wall, “It’s coming up for four in the afternoon.” 

“I can answer a few more questions,” he decides, allowing you to take the glass from his hand once he’s done. 

“Firstly, how are you feeling? Any pain or numbness? Changes in temperature? Aches?” You prompt, pencil at the ready. “My head is pounding,” he answers, eyes remaining only half open though you doubt it’s entirely from fatigue. “My lower body is numb, but my left foot feels cold. A dead cold.” You nod, pencil scratching. “My throat is sore, but my eyes and teeth are the most piercing.” 

Your brow furrows, “Eyes and teeth, huh… Are your eyes hurting as a part of your headache, or do you feel it’s different?” 

“It’s like I haven’t slept in two weeks, and something’s trying to suck them from my skull,” Azriel rasps. Scritch scratch. “And…you mentioned your teeth are hurting… Toothache? I’ll ask Cassian whether your jaw might have had a collision.” You glance over to Azriel who’s still pale. But alive. “What does it feel like? Bruising? Broken?” You’d know if it was broken, though. 

Azriel tilts his head. “More piercing. Here.” Azriel guides his tongue to his left canine. “And here.” He touches the right one. Your brows furrow then you remember to keep your face neutral. Azriel wheezes a sound that might have been a chuckle. “Anything else?” You ask, moving quickly past your error. Azriel tilts his head again, no.

“Alright then. It would be best for you to try and rest for a few more hours—think you can fall back asleep?” You ask, closing the leather-bound notebook and setting it upon the side table. The Spymaster sighs, tilting his head. You aren’t surprised. “You should try. Your body needs the rest.” You pause, considering. Then, “Do you feel well enough to try eating something? It would be good for you.” 

Azriel’s eyes slide shut, lips curling miserably and you have to muffle your laugh. “I don’t want to be eating plain chicken for the next few days,” he mumbles. 

“We need to be careful of your stomach, and your body needs nutrition. Protein.” You reason, “Be happy you aren’t having to drink your meals after mentioning that toothache.” Hazel eyes crack open just enough to send you a piercing glare, but it only results in an upward twitch of your lips. “Would you like me to fetch you anything in the mean time?” You add, knowing it’s not nice to be resting when there’s work that one could be doing. 

“My notebook should be on my desk—can you bring me the stack of reports that will be in the uppermost drawer on the right hand side? There’ll be the first thing you see when you look inside.” You raise a brow, mouth pursing. “Already trying to get back to work?” 

His lips twitch. “I have a lot of work to do.” 

“Well it’s going to have to wait,” you sigh, standing from your chair. “I can fetch your notebook and a book of your choosing—so long as you promise it won’t be work related.” 

“All my books are work related.” 

Your eyes narrow on the bedridden male, waiting for his mask to slip but it remains firmly in place. “Seriously? Not one?” 

Azriel shrugs. Or tries to. It’s more a light twitch of his wings. 

You sigh, nodding to yourself. “Alright. I’ll find something.” 

You turn to leave but a small shadow stirs in your periphery, dragging your attention back to him. Hazel eyes twinkle as the darkness lifts the silky dark hair from his brow, damp enough to appear like ink even in the shadowed room. You roll your eyes, pacing back over to his side, gently laying the back of your fingers across his brow. A beat passes, then Azriel’s eyes slide shut the rest of the way. Your touch lingers on his forehead, taking longer than necessary to gauge his temperature. 

“Your fingers are cool,” Azriel murmurs. Eyes only opening once you pull away again, silky hair flopping back into place. 

“You’re still a little feverish,” you tell him quietly, wary for his aching senses. “Hopefully it’ll pass swiftly enough, but if not your recovery will only take a few extra days.” A pause passes through the room, and you should really be writing that temperature down as your hourly mark. 

As if on cue, a warmed plate appears on the bedside table, and a look of sorrow dims Azriel’s already dismal features when he spots the plain, boiled chicken.

You offer a pitying smile which earns you a grunt of displeasure before you’re turning for the door, pausing on the threshold. “I’ll make sure it’s a good book,” you offer. 

Azriel’s expression turns dour, brow pinched, mouth thinning, and you can practically see his shadows beginning to brood. 

‘It had better be,’ he mouths, voice too worn out to reach you across the room. 

————

The next morning is the same routine, waking up as soon as the sun bleeds over the horizon, trickling pale gold into your bedroom on the first floor. It’s a swift execution of movements, washing, combing, and dressing before you’re out into the house and heading down the hall to Azriel’s temporary room. 

The handle twists before you have a chance to lay your hand on it, Cassian stepping out from the interior. Hazel eyes shift to you, worn and fatigued—usually it’s Azriel who accessorises with the hints of mauve beneath his eyes. “Did you get to speak with him?” You ask, voice kept low in case Azriel’s resting inside. The General nods, leathers stretching as he pushes the dark hair back from his brow, not yet tied back for the day and curling around his shoulders. “Thank you for keeping him alive,” Cassian says, equally quiet. 

“It’s my job,” you smile. “Besides, it wasn’t just me. If you three hadn’t been there it could just as easily have turned bad.” You nod to the door, the room where Azriel’s staying, “You helped more than you think, Cassian.” 

Cassian offers a stiff nod, then he’s straightening, about to leave. 

“I wanted to ask you something about that night,” you say, catching his attention. “Azriel mentioned his teeth hurting, specifically his canines—do you know if he might have collided with the floor after the first bite?”

“Not that I remember,” Cassian contemplates. “He stayed upright and ambulatory until we reached the tunnel exit.” 

You nod, thinking. “Alright… Well, we’ll be keeping an eye on him anyway. Hopefully it’s just a side effect of sinus pressure or headaches.”

Cassian nods his head once, then you’re going your separate ways. 

The curtains are still drawn, and Azriel still appears pale despite the shadows dimming colours. He’s asleep however, which is good, at least. 

After a brief exchange with Madja over how the night went you’re all ready and seated at his side. The plate from yesterday had been removed but the book is still on the side table, no sign that he started it that you can see. 

Like the previous day, Azriel doesn’t wake until long past midday, only rising to consciousness around sundown. 

His eyes are thick and heavy as they blink open, a darkened tinge to the whites that you can’t quite make out the colour of in shadow. The skin of his lips is cracked, peeling at the bow of his mouth, pulling back from his teeth. Despite the long bouts of sleep the dark smudges beneath his eyes don’t seem to be going anywhere, only further deepening, contrasted against the waning colour of his skin—the once rich brown now turning grey and ashen. The fever will be surfacing, regardless of suppression and attempted appeasement. 

His temperature had begun rising overnight, just tipping into the twenties as the moon slipped away.  A sure sign the burning flesh is on its way.

Azriel’s chest lifts and lowers shallowly, breath rasping from desiccated lips. A sheen runs across his pale features, brows appearing closer to oil than ink. Heavy lids slide shut as you guide the slick hair over his forehead to the side, the backs of your fingers laying tenderly down—it’s nowhere yet even near the breaking point.

“Azriel?” You whisper, “Can you hear me?” 

The restless flutter of his lashes alerts you to his awareness, eyes stirring beneath near translucent lids, mauve capillaries webbing through the thin flesh. He creeks himself apart—he’s gotten abruptly worse. Bloodshot hazel tries to shift about the room but he groans, eyes choosing to remain stagnant in his skull instead.

“How are you feeling?” You murmur, fingers retracting, splaying the notebook across your lap, pencil in hand. “My head…” Azriel rasps, voice more ragged than when you last heard it, like something’s come along and ripped it to shreds, “…it’s splitting.” Your brow furrows—Cassian reported he hadn’t received a blow to the head. He seemed appropriately injured yesterday, but for some reason he’s so much worse. Could the meat have been off? Surely not. 

“Madja told me she administered a balm to your skin before dawn, is the rest of your body aching?” You inquire, considering applying a fresh layer to ease the pain that’s begun to bubble back up. 

“My stomach’s starving…” Beneath the cream cotton covers his arm passes over his abdomen, resting. “It’s like someone’s grinding me up between stones.” 

“Okay hold still, the balm might feel cold but I’ll apply some more.” Already you’re pulling back his covers, preparing to begin warming the cream between your palms to encourage its goodness to act swiftly but something catches your attention. While there’s no need for bandages over his torso, his thigh has been wrapped and sanitised, now mottled with something dark and not-quite blood coloured. More concerning is the black tissue stitching together the sections where his stomach had been gauged open, thin threads of necrotic flesh lacing his surface. 

Your jaw bites itself together, cold overtaking your spine. Whatever���s happening to him is different from general infection. 

Lips part as a soft curse slips out—venom? Impossible. The beasts have never been reported to posses glands like that. But it’s the only explanation. 

Considering explanations though…was the reason for their seemingly random switch in nature ever understood? Before now the chimeras never bothered the Illyrians, cohabiting up in the steppes peacefully, as far as you’re aware. What catalysed this sudden shift in nature? 

Another noise of deep-rooted pain groans through his chest, oil-black brows condensing to a point in the middle of his forehead, skin shining with the movement as feverish sweat breaks across his features. Your own brows furrow, heart beating frenetically, “Azriel…?” 

His teeth grit, jaw grinding as if in pain, and his breathing becomes ragged; irregular and torn at the seams. Again you lay your fingers across his brow, and he’s noticeably hotter than before, almost burning in comparison. 

Water. He needs water. 

“Azriel,” you try but his eyes are shut tight, the fabric of his sheets darkening in a close perimeter around his body, sweat staining the cloth. “Azriel I need you to drink some water,” you urge softly, taking the glass and sliding your palm beneath his head, inclining him from the pillow and bringing the chilled glass to parched lips. He drinks deeply, polishing off the water swiftly and you stand to go in search of a rag to lay across his brow. It brings only a temporary reprieve before he’s panting once again. Teeth worry your lower lip. 

Whatever’s happening, it isn’t normal. 

“Azriel, I’m going to speak with Rhysand briefly. I’ll be back in three minutes,” you tell him gently, pressing the glass back into his palm. “Drop this on the floor if you need me sooner; I’ll hear it.” 

Then you’re off into the hallway. Either male will do, but something was wrong with those creatures, and your instincts are telling you it needs to be gotten to the bottom of, and swiftly. 

A life might depend on it. 

————

It must be the goodwill of the Mother than allows both Cassian and Rhysand to be at that moment in the latter’s office, heads turning when the door is thrown wide. 

Apology passes briefly through your eyes but as soon as you step foot in the room it vanishes, door clicking shut as you hurry into the room. “Cassian, I need to you get me one of those chimeras. Dead or alive, but preferably dead. Something’s wrong with Azriel and I think it’s to do with the change in behaviour we’ve been seeing from those animals.” 

Violet eyes flicker, “What’s wrong with Azriel?” 

“I don’t know,” you inform, expression hard. “His flesh is turning necrotic in places around the wounds and his fever isn’t breaking. Madja reported his temperature increasing around two o’clock this morning and the way he is now makes it seem as if he’s on the third day and untreated.” You turn to Cassian. “I need one of those Chimeras to examine, as quick as possible. They aren’t supposed to carry venom but it seems a mutation is the only reasonable explanation, in which case we need to figure out what that means and fast, or else we won’t have enough time to figure out what that means for your brother and to cure it.” 

The General glances once to the High Lord, sharing a nod before Cassian’s making a swift departure, urgency underlying his movements in a way you hope won’t get him wounded. It makes you call after him. “Whatever you do, don’t be reckless. If you get hurt up there or bitten then both of you will be at risk. This isn’t a time to be cutting corners.” 

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “I know.” 

Then he’s gone. 

Sweat glides down your spine, if he’s as swift as he was the night they returned then the journey there and back should take under an hour. Add on the time to locate and kill a chimera…a few hours, tops. With the rate Azriel’s fever is developing, it’s all you can spare. 

Violet eyes are strained when you next meet them, but you’ve little time for further apology as you ask, “How is Feyre doing?” 

“Resting,” Rhysand replies, the stern grit of his voice telling you he already knows why you’re asking. Your jaw tightens, shoulders tensing at that tone, something inherent wanting to turn away from that fiercely protective look in his face, warning you not to suggest what you know you have to. 

“If worst comes to worst,” you say, quietly. 

Rhysand’s expression doesn’t give for a long while, and you fight to keep firm. Until tension flickers through his violet eyes. “It’s her choice,” he relents, tension taut, the whites of his knuckles disagreeing with his words. “But if she tries to give too much, if you don’t stop her then I will.” 

You nod grimly, understanding the order well enough. 

If Feyre tries to give Azriel more blood than she can afford, you’re to pull her back.

Even if it costs his brother’s life.  

————

The sun is down, and Cassian still isn’t back. 

The rain lashing at the windows and snarling round the house feels like an omen, shadows dancing like snakes across the floor every time a bolt of lightening fractures the sky. Deadened leaves whip through the howling winds, a deluge crashing down on Velaris. 

On the bed, shivering and drenched, is Azriel, pallid skin glistening with a deathly pallor. His surrounding sheets have been doused in sweat, a sour, sick smell filling the room, the stagnant odour of the ill. The black threads of flesh have begun spreading further, thickening into sluggish stumps, streams of necrosis reaching across his stomach; snaring his far leg. 

If Cassian isn’t back soon, you’re going to have to try and cut it out from the roots. 

Madja lays her hand over the slope of your shoulder and you exchange glances; she’s come to the same conclusion you have, her normally warm features for once showing a grim set. You turn your body from Azriel, dipping your head so he won’t be able to hear, though you doubt he’s in any state to eavesdrop. 

“How much longer?” You whisper lowly, eyes glued to the dark floorboards, unable to lift them any further. Madja glances once over her shoulder, a heavy silence filling the air. “Minutes,” she answers. “He has minutes to get back here.” You swallow—those are near impossible chances. The odds were steep enough without the crashing storm outside hindering visibility. 

“You’ll take his stomach?” You whisper, pushing past the lump in your throat. Madja nods, “Fetch two bowls of water. I’m going to speak with Feyre; see how she’s holding up.” She’s probably quickly becoming the last gleam of hope to give Azriel a fighting chance of surviving until Cassian arrives. 

Or until he bleeds out from the incisions you’ll be forced to make to cut away the rot. 

Azriel stirs in the bed once you return from the washroom, setting the second bowl down and approaching his side. Once more, you lay the backs of your fingers across his dampened forehead, sticky sweat smearing your skin but it’s nothing compared to the fierce heat radiating from his skull. His temperature has been teetering into the forties for a while now. 

Something like a groan strains through his chest, the tendons in his throat flexing as he swallows, and you lift his head from the pillow, bringing the chilled glass to his peeling lips. He’s too weak to push the drink away, hardly strong enough to swallow, and a cool trickle slips from the side of his mouth, streaming over his jaw and into the cushion. Azriel tilts his head when he’s done, and you pull away, setting the glass down upon the cramped side table. 

Hazel eyes crack themselves open, except now they’re a mix of yellow and black—pupils blown so wide they’re practically swallowing his irises, the whites of his eyes souring to a sickening yellow, like the congealed scum of rotten milk, red rimmed and watery. 

‘Hot,’ he mouthes. Barely. It’s the near silent touch of his tongue to the roof of his mouth that gives the word away. 

You don’t know what to do anymore. There’s nothing else you can do, besides offering water. 

“Azriel, can you hear me still?” You ask, crouching down to be by his side, mixing your hand with his. He groans, fingers weakly flexing around your own. It’s a small piece of hope,  that he isn’t yet completely gone. You lean closer. “Just a little longer, Az,” you whisper, thumb swiping back and forth gently over his burning skin, “You need to keep going. You can’t leave them behind.” 

His hand is silent in your own.

Where is Cassian? 

A shadow careens past the window and a flashing red thud slams into the front garden, the doors being blown open a few moments later as fresh rain and howling wind whips inside, sparing not a second in removing mud-caked boots or blood-slicked leathers before he’s marching into the house. From the floor below you hear his name called out, but there’s no cause for relief. 

Voices murmur and footsteps hurry, boots clumping about on the lower floors and you hurry to the bedroom door, looking just in time to see Rhysand near the top of the staircase. “Does he have it?” You call, the pound of your heart making your voice breathless. Rhys nods but his eyes are dark and unusually shadowed, “He has it.”

 It’s only when he descends the case that you spot the thick book he had clutched beneath one arm on his far side, as if anxious to keep it as hidden as possible. You want to follow, to see the chimera for yourself, lend Madja a hand in trying to understand what’s mutated within the beast to cause such a drastic shift but that’s not your job at the moment. Your job is to look after Azriel. Even if all you can do is sit by his side and watch as he dies. 

Tension stitches your jaws together, but you force yourself to turn away, shutting the door once more to return only for a scream to claw and rip from your throat. 

Blunt teeth are digging into the flesh of his forearm, biting and gnawing as blood paints his lower jaw, spilling down onto his chest, trickling along his arm. You run forward, trembling fingers searching for that point that will spasm the muscle enough for his jaw to unlock. 

“Azriel!” You scream, “Azriel stop! You need to stop it!” 

Thick blood oils your fingers, his teeth releasing the bitten flesh only to clamp down a fraction of a second later, locking themselves in place as muscle flexes in his jaw, straining beneath the pressure he’s clamping down with. You fumble, hands shaking as he tries to rip himself apart. You search again, fingers digging into his jaw but he writhes on the bed, wings flaring wide enough to send everything on the side table smashing to the floor, throwing you to the ground in a mess of fractured glass and gushing, freshly bloodied water. 

The leather-bound notebook is soaked, ink bleeding across the pages but that’s not what you currently care about. Instead you grip the book from the floor, flying to your feet as you surge forward, nails screaming out in pain as you try to forcibly pry his teeth apart, pushing the spine of the book forward. 

“Azriel…!” You hiss, straining against his sudden display of strength. “Bite! Bite down on this…!” 

For a few dreadful seconds it looks like he’s going to bleed himself to death, but then his teeth release just long enough for you to shove the hard leather of the thick notebook into his mouth, vicious canines stabbing through the outer layer in one swift bite. Clamping down firmly. 

There’s no time for relief, no time for fixing the jagged mess on the floor, nor for celebration, as you take in the fresh blood staining his lower face. Azriel’s wounded arm tries to lift from the bed but more blood gushes out and you have to pin it down until the message reaches his pain-twisted mind and he uses the other to change the positioning of the book in his mouth, angling and biting, slowly chewing the leather to pieces, digging his canines into the notebook repeatedly as if he’s teething.

Footsteps pound along the corridor just as you finish forcing Azriel’s flesh back together, door flying wide as Madja bustles through, a glass vial of pure black liquid grasped in her weathered hand, Rhysand just a step behind. Neither ask what’s happened, why there’s so much blood staining sheets and flooring and sallow skin. 

Dark brown eyes flash once over the Shadowsinger before Madja’s figuring her order—one both you and Rhys know before it even leaves her mouth—“Hold him down.” Rhysand takes the side the Azriel’s leg wound is on while you stick where you’ve remained, but even with you leveraging all your weight over his bloody, shredded arm it’s near impossible to keep him down. 

The book comes away in tatters when Madja manages to pry it from his mouth, jaws snapping, black ruby teeth glittering wildly as he searches for something to bite, all the while the storm roars on outside, thunder rumbling through miserable grey skies, so deep it’s in the floorboards. 

“Rhys,” you hiss out, “can you do anything?” If he can slip inside and provide even a temporary moment so Madja can get the remedy down the Shadowsinger’s throat. The High Lord’s jaw tightens with the effort it’s taking to keep his brother down, teeth gritting as he shakes his head, “there’s nothing to go into. It’s just wind and shadow in his mind.” 

“We have to do something,” you force out, looking between them. “He’s not going to drink it like this-”

“And we can’t waste this vial,” Madja finishes grimly. 

Rhys’ head lowers, hair falling over his brow like dozens of spider legs, tension gripping his shoulders, then he’s bellowing Cassian’s name, the roar so loud you’re surprised the room doesn’t collapse in on itself, heart pounding in your chest like a war drum. A few moments later heavy boots are lopsidedly clumping up the stairs, the General swaying as he hauls himself through the door. “Take her place. Keep him down,” Rhysand orders through gritted teeth. It seems Cassian’s barely keeping himself conscious, but still he manages, no time to pause. 

As soon as Cassian’s hands have taken over you retreat, darting around Azriel’s thrashing wing to be at Madja’s side. His blackened eyes are wild, back arching from the bed as pain lances through his body, teeth still flashing with furious hunger. 

“Azriel,” you yell, crusted palms laying either side his mouth, cupping his jaw as you attempt to still the wild thrashing of his body without losing any fingers. “Azriel, look at me. Look at me.” Blown out pupils stare up at you, yellowed eyes sore and so, so wrong. “That’s it,” you manage, forcing your voice to calm, “You know us. You remember us.”

His upper lips curls in a snarl and blood seeps from the broken skin, so dried out and desiccated that it splits at the slightest stretch. 

“You remember us,” you repeat, thumbs stroking back and forth, swiping the edges of his mouth tenderly, “Don’t you? Remember Cass and Rhys? They’re your brothers.” Oil-black brows narrow, but the two other males are having better luck holding him down than before, so you push forward. 

Your hold tightens and you lean closer, almost sharing breath. “Do you remember your name?” You ask softly, soothingly stroking his cheeks, ignoring the blood soaking your hands. “It’s Azriel,” you whisper, “You’re Azriel.” 

His eyes shutter, struggling again but you hold firm. “You just need to hold on a little longer, Azriel. We have a remedy, but you need to drink it first.” Sharp, black eyes scan your features, cutting back and forth across your expression, his face still twisted in partial fury, shadow and wind roaring outside but his struggling has lessened enough for the antidote to be administered. 

Yet as soon as you pull away his wings flare outward, the bed creaking as the powerful limbs thrash, a vicious snarl ripping from his throat and both Cassian and Rhysand are nearly knocked back from the force of his retaliation. 

“Azriel…” You plead, nails digging into his cheeks, dragging his attention back. “Azriel, please,” you beg, “hold still.” Icy breath repeatedly hits your chin, his panting becoming shallower and shallower by the second, yet he shows no signs of giving in. Pure panic drips down your spine, hands shaking as you hold onto him for dear life. 

“We have to try,” Madja whispers, not directed at you. In your periphery, Rhysand nods in agreement, but it won’t work. He’ll send the vial flying, just like the glass and the bowl, shattering on the floor, destroying the precious cure with it. 

A hot tear splashes down onto Azriel’s bloody cheek, a second droplet falling soon after, soundless compared to the raging storm outside. Thunder and lightening zeroing to silence as you look at him.

Thumbs swipe back and forth across his skin. He can’t die. 

You swallow, sparing a moment to look at Madja. “Give it to me,” you whisper. 

Madja hesitates. 

“Let me give it to him,” you plead, able to feel Azriel’s sluggish pulse beneath your hands. 

Silence hangs in the air, then Rhysand nods. “Try.” 

Beneath all of you, Azriel begins to stir again, the soothed state you’d gotten him into already so quickly slipping away. Slipping through your fingers. 

Madja offers you the vial, and in one movement you’ve poured the contents into your own mouth. 

The liquid is thick and congealed across your tongue, vile and putrid but then you’re pressing your mouth to Azriel’s, his bloody lips freezing beneath your own, peeling and ripped in places but they part for you, your thumbs still stroking as you tilt yourself over him. 

Your mouth opens for his, and the remedy flows into him, spilling down his throat. 

This time both Illyrians are ready and braced as Azriel writhes and thrashes on the bed, lip curling in revulsion as the foul tasting liquid is swallowed down his throat, wings flaring and flapping, knocking back and forth so violently the bed groans like it might finally give way. Fury twists through Azriel’s features and you recoil as his fangs sting at your lips, hot, fresh blood bubbling into his mouth before you can even realise he’s bitten you. 

You pull away, forcing your hands over his chest, Madja now beside Rhys as you all try to keep him down. Heaven knows what he’s mad enough to do with the pain carving his mind apart. 

By the time he settles, you’re all breathless. But it’s done. He took the remedy. 

Slowly, you stand, each of you bracing as if he might start back up at any second and you need to be ready to jump back into place. But he remains still. Dead still, but you can pick out the small pulse in his throat. You cling onto that pulse, desperately.

At last you all pull away, and Rhysand drags a hand down his face, you and Madja glancing to one another with a mix of emotion. To your left, Cassian sways, then his legs give out, body thudding  as his knees his the floor, the rest of him giving out now the task is complete. You’ve each done everything you can; pushed to the limit, and possibly beyond.

“Mother’s grace,” Madja whispers in thanks, and you do the same, sending a prayer to the sky, hoping it will be enough. She nods to herself once, twice, three times. Easing in a few steadying breaths before straightening, swallowing. “Cassian,” she names, addressing the body on the floor and you don’t fault her for her breathlessness, “we need to find him a bed.”

You nod, panting. “Rhys and I can manage,” you breathe, exhausted. “Can you take cleanup in here?” You ask, moving with Rhysand to grip Cassian beneath his arms, only now spotting the blood on his leathers, though it’s too much of a mess in here to judge who it belongs to. 

Madja nods solemnly, and between you and the High Lord, you manage to lift the fearsome General from the ground, hefting him out into the hallway, taking the room immediately next door and laying Cassian on the bed there. 

You slump against the wall, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand when you realise the foul taste is still there, having been obscured by the metallic flavour of your own blood. 

Rhysand remains stood over Cassian, looking down at his brother with an expression you can’t read. It’s none of your business, either way. 

Your nose wrinkles, pulling your sleeve over your hand and spitting into the fabric, wanting to rid yourself of the vile taste. “Fuck. What was in that?” You gag, looking forward to a glass of water to clean your mouth out and a wash. 

The hairs at the nape of your neck prickle, and you lift your head to find dark violet watching you from across the room. You’d apologise for cursing, but that doesn’t seem to be the reason for his look. 

Tentatively, you straighten. “Do you know?” 

Silence hangs in the air. Then he relents.

“Blood.” Rhysand murmurs. “Chimera blood.”

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna @acoazlove

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes @kksbookstuff @feerique @ratgirl2020 @just-m-2

[the-cypress-grove]

So, You Want To Write Vampires...

Here's a basic list of things to do/consider when approaching this creature.

Source Material

Go back to the origins. Almost every culture around the world has a story or myth containing cannibalism / blood drinking. You may want to base your origin story for vampires on one of these. This can also give you some ideas about what traits and abilities you might want to include that have been written out of modern fiction. It could help you add a unique twist.

2. Vampire Fiction

Vampires have been popping up in fiction for a very long time. Read The Vampyre by John Polidori (thought to be one of the first books written on vampires). Check out Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu (the lesbian vampire story that came out before Dracula). Speaking of, Dracula is a classic.

Look at modern fiction. Vampire Academy, Twilight, Vampire Diaries, True Blood, A Dowery of Blood, Crave. Read the good and the bad. Learn what qualities you like and which you will not use.

Make a list of things you like and things you don't.

3. Themes

Writing vampires brings a lot of themes surrounding mortality, immortality, morality, and at what point do we draw the line between what is human and what is other. These themes are integral to a vampire story whether you're writing a gothic horror, a paranormal romance, or a YA. There are a lot of links between cannibalism / blood drinking and love, vampires and LGBTQIA+ characters / coding.

4.Pick your traits

Vampires tend to be unique to the writer. The vampires in Twilight work differently to the vampires in The Vampire Diaries to the vampires in Dracula.

By this point you should have a list of possible traits and abilities you might want to give your vampires. My advice: tailor it to your genre. If you're writing a horror go with the traditional vampire abilities, give them the things that scare you. Think Nosferatu. If you're writing romance, then you might want to soften the traditional vampire traits in the way you find frequently in modern vampire media.

What you choose is up to you.

5. Origins

This is often overlooked in vampire stories but how did your vampires come into being? Who was the first vampire? Is this vampire still alive? How far back do vampires go as a species?

This could affect your vampires in terms of relationships with others of their kind, their powers, their strength.

This might not impact on your plot but, in terms of worldbuilding, if you intend to turn your book into a series then this could be very important going forward.

6. Society

Unless you're writing about the first ever vampire you're probably going to be writing about an established vampire population who will have their own laws, their own history, their own leadership, their own customs. This is an important piece of worldbuilding. It will affect your characters relationships, add conflict to the plot, create established enemies and can be used to raise the stakes.

7. Nocturnal Life

If you're following a traditional burn-in-the-sun vampire and they haven't found a way around this then you need to determine the night life of your setting. What is there for your vampires to do at night?

8. Feeding, Hunting, and Bloodlust

This will affect the level of gore in your story as a lot of the bloody parts in your story will take place through feeding and hunting. This will also determine your vampire population.

You need to decide how much your vampires need to feed, how often they need to do so, and what they can feed on. Do they drink animal blood? Is that possible? Do they drink human blood? Can they drink from blood bags? Do they need the blood fresh? If they need human blood do they need all of it?

The less a vampire feeds, the larger a population you can have in one area as it attracts less attention.

What happens when your vampires are hungry? What does their bloodlust look like? How does it affect a vampire? Is the amount of bloodlust a vampire experiences determined by how old the vampire is?

9. Threats

Unless your vampires are well and truly endless there will be ways to kill them and they will have enemies. Do these enemies take the shape of humans, of other vampires, or another species entirely? How can your vampires be killed? What other species are out there?

[sugarphoenixlovesfanfic]

× . bite . ×

synopsis: Dan Heng is befallen with a temporary illness that turns him into a vampire for a week. The only way to temporarily alleviate him of his bloodlust is to let him drink off of you, but as his wife can you convince him to do so? tags: f!reader, vampire Dan Heng, reader is a bit of a masochist, no smut, 1.5k words a/n: tagging @coupsworth because you suggested I write about dan heng being a vampire in this post, thank you!

ao3 link here!

[Sanguinary bats:

[A type of mammal that loves to feast on the blood of living mammals. It transmits a disease via its bites, Vampyroa, which is extremely effective on humanoid species. The disease usually takes place a week after the bite is made, and the affected grows sharp fangs and an unnatural bloodlust. There is no immediate cure for Vampyroa, however, Vampyroa often goes away after about a week within experiencing symptoms. Those who have caught the disease are advised to stay in rooms of their own, and to only consume water and red meat. Giving in to their bloodlust is ill-advised, yet drinking blood from another humanoid species does not transmit the disease or have any consequences apart from those that come with general exposure to foreign blood/blood loss on the victim’s side. In fact, the imbibing of another’s blood will sate the “vampyr” for up to a day.]

You gently push open the door to Dan Heng’s room.

It has been a week since the bat attack, and although the Astral Express crew had been prepared not to let any of the bats come into close contact with them, Dan Heng unfortunately suffered a single bite. The rest of the week from then on was spent in anxious anticipation of the “turning,” as March 7th referred to it. Dan Heng, upset by her constant use of that word, shut himself into his room entirely, only allowing you, his wife, in.

Last night, the symptoms had started to appear, as Dan Heng woke you up in a cold sweat. When you flicked the lamp on, you saw that his eyes glowed a soft red, and his canine teeth were longer than usual. He told you to sleep in another room, not wanting to put you in danger of himself. You refused, but he insisted upon it, so you let yourself be moved into another room.

Now you turn up at his door with a steak, prepared rare, and a glass of water.

“Dan Heng,” you say. “It’s me.”

“Don’t come in,” you hear him command, his voice husky.

“Too late,” you say, pushing the door open further with your foot.

You thought you had prepared yourself for seeing him, but your eyes widen at the scene laid before you.

In the dark room, you can make out Dan Heng curling on his mattress, in Vidyadhara form. It’s clear that his turning is affecting his internal balance, causing him to shift into his dragon self. His clothes are shrugging off of him, as though he was trying to shed them, exposing his skin. His long dark hair curls around him in strands and ribbons, framing his face, as he gazes blankly towards the ceiling, panting.

His eyes meet yours, and you see something else within them.

“Here’s your breakfast, Dan,” you say, setting the meat and water on his desk.

“Thank you.” Dan Heng speaks as though he’s holding back. “Now leave.”

“…Okay.”

You leave his room before he has a chance to pounce on you.

After that, Dan Heng insists on having anyone else but you deliver his next meals, so you reluctantly let Welt and Himeko deliver his lunch and dinner. At night, you peek into his room.

“Don’t come in,” he says, sensing your presence. He’s sitting in bed with a book, a single dimly lit lamp giving him only enough light to read. The rest of the room is shrouded in darkness.

“I miss you,” you say. He pauses, putting his book down and looking up at you.

“I miss you too,” he says, his tone gentle and soft.

“Why won’t you let me come to you?” you ask.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I’d never forgive myself if I did.”

You linger in the doorway for a few moments more, then make up your mind.

“There’s nothing that can keep me from you,” you say, walking into the room towards him.

Immediately he grows tense, and you can see his fangs peeking through his lips.

“Don’t come any closer,” he says, but you get on the bed next to him and wrap your arms around his chest.

“I don’t care. I wanna be here.” You shove your face into his side, savoring his warmth.

He growls, a rumble deep in his chest you haven’t heard before. When you look up at him, his eyes and horns are glowing, his eyes red.

“If you stay at my side like this, I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to hold myself back, darling.”

“What will happen if you don’t?” you ask.

“To put it simply… your blood looks tantalizing.” Dan Heng licks his lips. You gulp, feeling blood rush to your cheeks. “It’s hard enough for me to hold myself back from everyone else, but you…you entice me like no other.”

Dan Heng breathes softly, his gaze on you heated. “You know…it might be better if you let me drink from you.” Immediately, he puts a hand on his mouth and turns away, as though horrified at what he said. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, intrigued.

“If I drink blood from someone,” Dan Heng says, his horns gently illuminating the walls a soft blue, “my hunger would be sated for about a day.”

There’s a pause as you consider this information.

“So, you’re saying that I would be helping you by letting you drink my blood.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t—”

“I’ll do it.”

Dan Heng widens his eyes at you, and you can see a dark hunger gleaming within them.

“You would?”

“Yes. It’s not like you need to drink all my blood, right…?”

“No, no, I don’t require that much.” Dan Heng reaches for you, then stops himself. “I can’t.”

“You can. I give you permission.” You take his hand in yours and he grips onto it almost painfully. “Besides, I’m a little curious.”

“Curious?”

“As to how it would feel.” You grin at him. “I mean. It would probably feel similar to all the other times you sank your teeth into my neck.”

Dan Heng is too focused on your neck to notice the innuendo you made. He runs his tongue against his fangs as he drills holes into you with his eyes, looking a bit dazed.

“So, you’ll let me?” he asks after a pause. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yes.” You bare your neck to him with a smile.

Dan Heng’s reaction is instant, one arm wrapping around your chest to pull you closer, while his other hand comes up to grip your neck, steadying it. He brings his face close to your neck, pauses for a moment, then begins licking it. You shudder at the sensation, preparing yourself for what comes next.

Then, delicately, ever so gently, he buries his face into your neck and sinks his teeth in, the twin points sharp enough that you only felt a twinge of pain. You could feel as blood pooled out of you and onto his waiting tongue, constantly lapping and picking up any wayward droplets.

The act feels intimate in a way you had yet to encounter, and your eyelids flutter at the sensation of teeth and muscle working together. You wrap your arms around his body, one hand cradling the back of his head as he drinks from you like a man starved. And then, almost as soon as he had started, he pulls away, giving your neck a few last licks before the puncture holes are sealed. You notice the look in his eyes are clearer now, and he looks a little healthier than when you found him.

“Do you feel better now?” you ask.

“Much, much better.” Dan Heng sighs, a sound of relief and contentment.

“I hope this doesn’t give you a taste for blood after your sickness wears off,” you say, and giggle at the look of horror on his face. “Don’t worry, that’s not a side effect you have to worry about. Welt told me about it.”

Dan Heng looks at you, narrowing his eyes.

“You…knew. About the blood drinking.” he says, realization dawning in his eyes.

“Well…I can’t say it wasn’t my intention tonight to get you to quench your thirst off me.” You grin, having been caught.

“Wh-why—” Dan Heng starts, then stops himself. “Nevermind, I know why. You’re a masochist.”

“I just wanted to make you feel better!” you protest.

Dan Heng gazes into your eyes, his stern expression melting into a gentle smile.

“I know.”

“The masochism might have played a teensy weensy little part in my decision as well.”

“I know.”

“I love you.” You wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest.

“I love you too,” he says, stroking your head gently. “Always.”

“We will be doing this until you’re cured, by the way,” you say.

“Not if I have any say about it,” Dan Heng huffs.

“You don’t,” you say, smiling.

Your dragon husband lets out a resigned breath, but you can tell he’s relieved by how far you’re willing to go for him.

dividers by @cafekitsune

comments and reblogs appreciated!

[welldonekhushi]

Vampyr OC: Anastasia Graham 🏥

Introducing you all to a new OC, everyone! My head has been constantly brainstorming with ideas to create a new character based on the game I'm currently posting content with. So, here's what you can know about them, under the cut!

Currently for the bio, I've only used Picrews to describe Anastasia's appearance, but sooner or later I'll draw her in my style and update it all!

GENERAL:

Name: Anastasia

Full name: Anastasia Graham

Alias(es): Anna (by her family, and Dr. Reid), Annie (by the patients)

Age: 28 years old

Gender: Female

Nationality: British (UK)

Languages spoken: English, a bit of French (learnt from her mother who briefly served during the war)

Place of Birth: Birmingham, England

Species: Human

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Marital Status: Single

Occupation: Nurse at Pembroke Hospital

Current residence: Whitechapel

Status: Active

Faceclaim: Freya Mavor

(She mostly wears two braids to the hospital but when she's at home, she has her hair open like in the pictures!)

Biography: Anastasia Graham, an aspiring nurse with hopes of making a mark in medical studies, faces numerous challenges as she begins her career at Pembroke Hospital amid the deadly Spanish Flu epidemic.

PERSONALITY:

Myers-Briggs Type: ISFJ (The Defender)

Compassionate and kind: One defining characteristic of Anastasia is her deep compassion and kindness towards her patients, often referred to as a “hope restored.” Her mere presence brings light to those in the hospital, uplifting spirits even amid the bleak conditions caused by the flu’s impact on the city.

Emotional: The loss of her patients profoundly affects Anastasia, breaking her heart and making her feel as though she has failed in her duty as a nurse. She struggles to cope with these intense emotions, but with the guidance of Dorothy Crane, she is learning to be resilient and to maintain hope, even in the face of loss when there is nothing more she can do.

Cautious: Due to a traumatic vampire attack in her youth that nearly cost her life, Anastasia approaches the world with caution. She often fears walking alone, haunted by the possibility that someone might be following her. To protect herself, she keeps the knife her father gave her, always prepared to defend herself if necessary.

THEME:

AFFILIATIONS:

Graham Family

Henry Graham (Father, deceased)

Amelia Graham (Mother, alive)

Eleanor Graham (Aunt, alive)

Alfred Graham (Uncle, alive)

Pembroke Hospital

Dr. Jonathan Reid (Colleague, Love Interest)

Dr. Thoreau Strickland (Colleague #2)

Dr. Edgar Swansea (Employer, Administrator of Pembroke Hospital)

Dorothy Crane (Mentor)

Gwyneth Branagan (Mentor #2)

Pippa Hawkins (Distant Cousin)

Lady Ashbury (Friend, when she visits the hospital often)

Guard of Priwen

Diana Lune (Friend, @islandtarochips)

More facts about her in detail, through this post!

BACKGROUND STORY:

Anastasia Graham was born in Birmingham to Henry and Amelia Graham. Her father, a dedicated member of the Guard of Priwen—a society of vampire hunters—instilled in her an early sense of resilience, while her mother, a compassionate medic, inspired Anastasia's passion for healing. Determined to follow in her mother’s footsteps, Anastasia committed herself to the study of medicine from a young age.

Her life took a dark turn one evening when she was nearly attacked by a bloodthirsty vampire. She was saved just in time by a Priwen hunter, but the incident left a lasting impression on her. To help her feel safe, her father entrusted her with a silver knife, a small but powerful symbol of protection should she ever face such danger again.

As she grew, Anastasia remained focused on her goal of becoming a nurse, eventually securing formal education in the medical field. This path led her to London during the height of the Spanish Flu epidemic, a devastating time that demanded all hands on deck in the healthcare sector. It was then that Dr. Edgar Swansea, who recognized her potential and the urgent need for additional medical staff, invited her to join the Pembroke Hospital team.

Under the mentorship of Dorothy Crane, Anastasia Graham dedicated herself to serving the patients of Pembroke Hospital, striving to emulate Dorothy’s own unwavering commitment to compassionate care. Despite the harsh conditions, she went to great lengths to ensure each patient was treated with dignity and that their needs were met. Yet, the onslaught of suffering patients as the Spanish Flu ravaged the city took a toll on her. With each new wave, the pain, fear, and despair around her intensified, and Anastasia began to feel overwhelmed. Though determined to stay strong, she found herself teetering on the edge of exhaustion.

One evening, while rushing through the dim, crowded halls of Pembroke, Anastasia noticed a new figure in the hospital. Tall and composed, he moved through the chaos with a calm, almost unearthly presence that commanded attention. He was a doctor, recently arrived and eager to join the fight against the epidemic. When their eyes met, Anastasia felt a strange sense of foreboding—and fascination. Unaware of the true nature of the man she was drawn to, she sensed that her life was about to take an irrevocable turn.

[welcometomeloxia]

[stitchy-face]

Paekick Marketplace, Day

This is the day version of my new print series for Calibreon! It will be a semi choose-your-own-adventure like project showcasing the history and denizens of my headworld. Here, we start in Bronze Age Calibreon.

____________

Winds blow outward towards the shore, bringing with them warm air and the smell of building rains in the distance. Paekick, as always, is alive with the chatter of people from all across Calibreon, who travel here for commerce, religion, and socialization. Here, an abundant center of civilization and culture has arisen around a fold in reality, where individuals can reach out into the Realm of the Weaving God, and the Weaving God can reach out in turn. 

Staeus Ginnan (center, Gehen) glides across a large stone relief that features the Weaving God granting the Needle to the Formless – a common creation myth in Calibreon. In the streets below, many inhabitants are beginning their days; two students dash through the crowd, already late for a class. 

Another couple of marketgoers are heading to the market to purchase produce, while scholars are conversing while they walk, and traders are hauling their wares.  In this ancient era, it was common to see every species of Calibreon living together – even the ever-reclusive Shapeshifter, who today reside within the swamplands of Talis, and the Vampyre, who in modern times mostly inhabit only the furthest, frozen tundras of Desilan.

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. ﹙ the charming “vampire” lieutenant. ﹚: vespasiano agresta caliari 781.𖹭

. . . run, run his kiss is a vampire grin !! 🍒 : “ a bit of shadow here, a little there. a little mind fuck to make you pull your hair”

꒰ verse ꒱ 781

꒰ species ꒱ enigma ( telepath & darkness manipulator ) / or as many say: “a vampire”

꒰ ethnicity ꒱ italian

꒰ age ꒱ 64

꒰ gender ꒱ male

꒰ face claim ref ꒱ ( one ) . ( two ) ( when I find this artist I will link istg )

꒰ mbti ꒱ enfp

꒰ alias ꒱ lieutenant agresta, lo spetro, vesp, vespi, heart eater ( youth ), shadow walker, shadow whisperer, gov’fucker ( valerio ), sniper boy ( valerio ), vampire, fangs ( pietro )

꒰ story ꒱

ready, aim - fire!

charming smiles and kind, tired eyes are what many would be surprised to find are the same keen eyes behind the scope of a sniper. lieutenant agresta himself. warm - yet married to his job and intimidating when need be.

serene, playful, teasing - all of these traits make the perfect family man. the perfect father. quite the contrast to a name he holds as shadow whisperer and lo spetro. a man who’s known to live in the shadows and strike fear into his enemies heart. a rumored “vampyre” to most - what with his attraction, devilish fangs, shadow enthralling and telepathic charm - how can anyone think otherwise?

what a contrast indeed of family and work - and yet so much conflict on which to choose.

a man of passion. a pleasantly warm aura that draws many to him and yet - he feels most alone. his heart yearns for the warmth of a lover, one ripped from him by the woman he simply cannot get out of his mind. is he not the telepath? he only wishes for something stable. finally. have something to make him whole.

whole? he’s perfectly whole. with a job he loves. protecting people, saving lives. he’d rather feel the smooth of a trigger than deal with his aching heart of wounded romance, staggering filial bonds and brotherly conflict.

alas, he tries. what else can he do? but smile, smoke his cigarette, go out there and do what he does best.

꒰ appearance ꒱

salt and pepper look: medium-short black hair with grey streaks along the sides. a side-path widow’s peak hairline.

emerald eyes that are a bit on the dull side. bordered pupils. whites of his eyes can go black when using shadow manipulation

tanned skin, has a few beauty spots along his face. along with some wrinkles ( note that enigma age a bit slower than humans.)

a bit of facial hair that is neatly kept

stands at a height of 6’9” ( 209 cm ) and has a lean athletic build

oddly sharp canines, he’s had them all of his life

dark veins can swell around his eyes using shadow manipulation

triple lobe piercings on both of his ears

dark male aesthetic in fashion, although he does quite like his turtle necks as well

sometimes wears gold rings on his fingers

navel piercing

he paints his three middle nails the colours of his kid’s birthstones: blue and a softer red

꒰ personality ꒱

a charming man with a serene attitude, quite the pleasant persona in general but mature and refined in nature

warm in general but is intimidating when he needs to be - particularly with his work

humorous but a sort of calm type of funny

effortless and a bit laid back but keeps this with a refined exterior

flirtatious when it comes down to it - he’s a bit of an indulger

kind-hearted. especially when you see him with he’s family. he’s very family orientated despite his occupation

playful at times. he might be one that enjoys teasing, but he does it a rather serene way

passionate - about those he loves and the things he does.

dutiful. his job often comes first. many often describe him as ‘married to the job’

can be easily jealous at times - something that he tries to keep at bay

despite his pleasant personality, he is tired. worn down from a broken marriage, the woes of family vs career and brotherly conflict. he’s desperately looking for something to make him feel whole while deluding himself that he is

with the above point, can be a bit melancholic when it comes to love as he's been scorned by it so much. he doesn't like the idea of being alone and instead delves head first into his work.

꒰ with a lover ꒱

he's a man scorned by love but he would be so so soft with you.

a playful lover despite being so calm around you. he will definitely poke fun and give you light teasing as a way of showing his affection. he loves making you flustered.

knows that he is a busy man in regards to his career but he tries to make every moment with you count. any time that he can get with you - he will take. whether it be taking you out and spoiling you or sitting at home and cuddling

a passionate lover in everything that he does. he wants you to remember him when he's away. he'll worship you in kisses and affection, whatever it is that you may need or want. a part of him doesn't want you to leave him because of him not doing enough.

very flirtatious. it's subtle at times - he loves when you catch on eventually. sometimes it's outright and shameless. he can switch around a lot.

very physically affectionate, he needs to have his hands on you at any chance that he can get. whether that be holding your hand, and arm around your shoulders or one around your waist.

he's an easily jealous person and he's aware of that. he tries not to let it get to him but this combined with everything he has gone through with love. . . he can be a bit possessive of you sometimes, or get easily jealous of people he thinks are overstepping with you.

enjoys late night walks and early morning talks with you. simply talking to you is one of his favourite things.

loves whenever you pull him back to bed in the morning. will definitely do the same, only - he'll roll onto you and press kisses all over your face to keep you with him.

he doesn't sketch too often because it's not a passion of his anymore and yet he'd feel the need to sketch you. your eyes, your smile, you bring out that part of him again.

princess ( not gendered !! ) treatment ALL the way

he just needs someone to love please. someone that will finally stay.

꒰ strengths ꒱

telepathy: the power to read people’s minds and breach into them/speak into them

darkness manipulation: of shadow, he can manipulate it into various apparitions/appendages and use them as attacks. along with various other tactics such as shadow walking, shadow teleportation and shadow inducement. some say that he talks to shadows as though it were a living being

sharpshooter: he is a highly trained and skilled sharpshooter

combat: having been in the special opps since he was in his 20’s, he is highly trained in combat

strategic mind: he is very strategically gifted

vampyre: many consider him to be a vampire because of his combination of shadow manipulation and telepathy - however this also bleeds into his movements and general allure - which he has learnt to use to his advantage. he can go a bit feral sometimes

꒰ weaknesses ꒱

telepathy: at times he cannot control it, something that he struggled a lot with in his past. when he gets overwhelmed, he cannot control it at all and voices will get very loud and abrupt

dual traits: he is a rare type of enigma that has two traits rather than one, this makes him a target

꒰ relationships ꒱

alessia agresta caliari: mother

valerio agresta caliari: older brother, often referred to as his twin - complicated terms

albertino agresta caliari: younger brother

pietro agresta caliari: younger brother

meructio agresta caliari: younger brother

rainel: ‘father’ - ?

pasquale agresta moretti: son

vinicio agresta moretti: son

flora agresta moretti: daughter

ilaria moretti accardi: ex wife ( they are complicated, she’s constantly pushing and pulling him - he loves her but she has complications with commitment )

alessio arias: nephew

꒰ extra ꒱

he is a lieutenant in italy’s special opps - he is a sniper typically

he is very family orientated despite his career and loves his family very much. he tries really hard to keep up with his children

he smokes cigarettes

he is a rare type of enigma that has two traits instead of one, making him a bit of a target

he sketches

he speaks italian and english

he lives in italy within the agresta caliari estate, together with his brothers, their children and his mother ( and rainel )

many think he is a vampire because of his canines, shadow manipulation and telepathy - it is pure coincidence. but some suspect things from his lineage

[spongebob-connoisseur]

So what is Slappy exactly? Is he undead? I’m so confused lol

He's undead without question. When I first saw him in birthday blowout, I knew instantly he was something that crawled out of a coffin somewhere. Something about those cute soft-boiled egg eyes..

Now the details of it, well I'm glad you asked because I have yapped about this to my sister many nights prior. Finally! Someone who will listen <3333

I'm sure Slappy is some sort of zombie fish but not in a stereotypical sense since he doesn't seem to rot and he prefers bugs over brains. The fact that he has an actual burial plot and headstone implies he was dead for a period of time before being ressurected (it also implies that his family must've been well off, do you know how EXPENSIVE dying is?? Let alone a headstone with his face carved on it).

Who knows why or how but the gag where he decapitates himself makes me think it's a hint of how he died. Perhaps he was executed by guillotine or he ended up at a fish market, or maybe Nosferatu was the one who killed him by ripping his head off and drinking his juice.

I really hope they revealed just HOW he died and how he got ressurected and started worked for Nosferatu. I really want to see 👉👈

Speaking of Nosferatu, Slappy also works for the vampyre, Nosferatu (His name is actually Count Orlok but that's not important) and he basically fulfills the role of Renfield (or what Renfield is named in Nosferatu, Knock). He's basically a vampire's familiar which can be counted as it's own species of undead. There is an srticle he wrote in the unused art for the Bleeder's Digest magazine for Squidferatu. He wrote for the Bikini Bottom Familiar. It's in the name duh.

Slappy has all of the traits of a Renfield; Insane fits of laughter, penchant for eating bugs, calling his vampire "master", ect. Renfield himself is usually mortal according to the book but I'm sure Dracula cooked his brain cells hence why he's like that. Though some pieces of Vampire media sometimes makes him sort of undead like the 1979 Nosferatu.

How sad would it be if Slappy was actually a normal person once but Nosferatu scrambled his brain and that's why he's like that? Sometimes I think about it. I also think of the possibility that he was dead but he came back wrong. But I also prefer if he was always naturally a freak. I think he probably always had morbid tendencies, he is a licensed mortician after all. Being a mortician automatically makes you hotter a freak.

Tbh for the longest time I assumed Slappy was undead because of Nosferatu, however because of the most recent Patrick show episode, I think he was undead before he met Nosferatu and his obsession for Nos grew over time. He had his slumber party in the cemetary in his own burial plot which is set up like a home with a mail box and a framed picture of Nosferatu. He still works for Nosferatu but clearly not full time yet in The Patrick Star Show. He has work as a mortician and seemed to have money for his own things like a boat and a phone. I think Nosferatu slowly consumed his unlife. Probably because it's nice to have a friend who gets how it feels to he undead. Slappy is prone to obsessive tendencies so it just consumed him and that's why he seems much more dependent on Nosferatu in Spongebob Squarepants. Idk that's just my thoughts. I could just be over thinking it. Nosferatu probably refused to allow the slumber party to happen anywhere near the castle, so Slappy had to improvise lol

Now the real question is how OLD is Slappy. Is he just a regular middle aged dude from the current time or was he from centuries prior. How long has he been dead? How long has he been undead for? Does he have any surviving family members? I'm begging on my knees to know😭😭😭🙏

[monsterkin-culture-is]

Top 10 Fave Vampire Songs 🩸

Another species songlist! Honestly I like some of the songs here more than a few on my werewolf list...

As usual, feel free to send requests in the notes or my asks! Name links lead to Spotify.

10. I Don't Care by VIOLENT VIRA. This one isn't an explicitly vampiric song but it has all the vampiric female rage in it and it's one of my all time favourite metal songs. Her screams and vocals are insanely powerful.

9. Lonely Vampire by Weathers. If you feel you just need some feel good pop amongst the gothic angst of being a bloodsucker then this is definitely the song for you! It's one to get up and dance to.

8. Bloodsuckers by Johnny Hollow. One of those songs where I haven't picked up the artist yet but definitely will. The instrumentals on this one are like nothing else. Honestly though this song makes me think more of carnivorous gnomes than vampires but that's my problem...

7. Vampires by Night Club. Night Club has perfected their dark electronic music and their entire discography sounds like what would play at a vampire nightclub. How convenient they have a song named Vampires! They sound like if Draculaura went raving and have the black and pink aesthetic to match.

6. Cold Blood by Valen. Yes there is a certain point in these where I just add songs I like that have a keyword in the title but you have to trust it fits I promise!! In 2023 this song was 43rd on my Spotify top songs. In my defence the lyrics & vibe are still vampiric...

5. Lesbian Vampyres From Outer Space by Scary Bitches. Another Scary Bitches song in 5th position! Just like the last one this is definitely an experience... an experience I love though! Again, this is one you have to hear for yourself. The WW2 references really make the song.

4. Blood by Starbenders. Not explicitly a vampire song but definitely fitting for an angsty human x vampire drama. Starbenders as a band have such a unique and lively sound to them. My other favourite is Cover Me, which would honestly also fit in that theoretical vampire drama.

3. Bloody Creature Poster Girl by In This Moment. Massive slasher final girl (potentially turned villain) energy. I only discovered In This Moment about a month ago through a friend but I have been addicted to their music ever since - they're on all my main playlists! Definitely a song I associate with some of my fictionkins & werewolf kintype too.

2. Lust for a Vampyre by I Monster. This song feels like a lovestruck daydream. It's sweet, sinister and sooo catchy! Also who doesn't love a good human x vampire song.

1. Old Money by Jonathan Young & Caleb Hyles. This isn't just my #1 vampire song but one of my favourite songs of all time. Collectively we can ignore the cringe and appreciate Young & Hyles outstanding vocals and the catchy tune. Also bonus points - it's explicitly about vampires! This is a big band number straight out of a gothic musical.

That's all for now! Let me know if you liked any of these & feel free to make your own additions in the notes!

[damedechance]

𝖈𝖗𝖔𝖜 𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖌 (pt 7/15)

𓇢𓆸 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑜3 || 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

Pairing: Gwynriel Status: Ch 7/15 (Read from Pt 1) Rated: E (Explicit) Summary: Three years ago, Gwyneth Berdara became the ward of the Night Institute, a band of hunters led by Rhysand who work to rid the world of vampires. After one fateful night where Gwyn unwittingly welcomes one such creature into their home, she strikes a deal with Azriel, one that is just as likely to condemn them as it is to save them.

𓇢𓆸 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓 𝑠𝑛𝑖𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑡

VII.

Perhaps her furious rumination reaches a certain threshold of intensity, because Azriel cracks one eye open to peer at her, as if he can feel her glaring at him. Gwyn tenses, but otherwise does not dare to dampen her anger or lower her gaze–allowing herself to be caught openly staring.

“Are you thirsty?” Gwyn asks suddenly, before the pinch at the corner of his mouth can unfurl fully into a smile.

It never fails to astound her–how this vampire she’s made can bear such a striking resemblance to the human man who once delivered her to the Institute’s doorstep. He still wears the same, carefully blank expression. Still moves in that deliberate, languorous manner as he props his elbow up on the arm of the chair so he can perch his chin in the cup of his palm. He looks back at her, his entire posture forced into a brittle easiness, as if nothing should ever move him. Nothing can ever touch him beyond his perfect wall of indifference, or else it would crumble entirely.

Looking at him now, it seems only too perfect that he should be called a creature of the night. He’s always kept to the shadows, anyway.

“No,” Azriel says.

The answer is insufficient. Gwyn is certain he knows it, too, because Azriel turns his head to face away from her, eyes sliding closed. As if her glare is too horrible for him to withstand. 

Without a reason to call him out on it, however, Gwyn only bites at the inside of her cheek and returns to her book. It is early in the afternoon, but Gwyn tends to keep the curtains drawn these days, and the text appears fuzzy over the page. Still, Gwyn has made herself rather adept at reading in low light, and her eyes effortlessly scan the page for the passage she’d been reading before thoughts of Azriel distracted her.

The book is a mostly dramatized account of how the author captured, imprisoned, and later experimented upon a vampire. The events had likely occurred centuries ago, but Gwyn was hoping the author would describe some of his methods for sustaining the vampire, so they could be experimented with for longer. Instead, the author harps on the inexhaustible voracity of the vampire species, how their desires would drive them seemingly to the point of madness. How they pulled at their chains until the metal began to saw through their wrists.

Gwyn’s fingertips trace below one of the author’s more provocative aphorisms: The nature of a vampyr is to want. The vampyr may choke upon blood, and still demand satisfaction.

But Azriel is not thirsty.

With her fingernail pressed so hard against the page it threatens to bust through to the other side, Gwyn keeps her head bowed to not draw attention when her gaze swings back to Azriel again. He is still pretending to sleep, his breaths coming at a carefully even pace. In the time it took for her to find her place in the text, Azriel has sunk impossibly deeper into his chair. His cheek is pillowed against his palm, tugging his lip up just enough that the tip of one of his fangs is visible, and his legs have spread even wider apart in his slouch.

Gwyn slams her book shut, just to see Azriel jump up in his chair. And then, a second too late, he pretends to stretch his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Gwyn hisses at him, fingers drumming restlessly over the cover of the book. The text is old, and fragile, and usually she would not treat something as precious as this so carelessly.

Azriel rolls his head over to look at her, eyes drifting down and then back up her form, clearly unimpressed by her childish display of anger.

“Practicing temperance,” he murmurs finally.

˖⁺‧₊˚⸸˚₊‧⁺˖

[melabea]

syrepyre!

syrepyre; a species term for merfolk & vampire hybrids!

for; anon!

etymology; “syre(ni)” latin for mermaid, vampyre

symbol source (link)

tagging; @radiomogai, @specieschive