#toreador fledgling

[mortifying-macaroni]

En garde, Toreador!

[bigswordenergy]

More of Bloodlines AU Isaac, with Nines holding him up to the wall

[poplap1070]

Wanted to draw her again

[amberkendslacy]

Vampire the Masquerade: Bloodlines memes I made while lost in The Warrens

[splangfangzz]

[svampira]

messy eater

[zenithangelic]

Silk and Shadows

Chapter 2: A Velvet Cage

-velvet velour x fem!toreador!pc

-seduction, power dynamics, manipulation, emotional baggage

chapter 1

Juliette finds herself unable to resist Velvet Velour’s pull, accepting an offer of rest despite knowing the cost. As the night wanes, she realises she may have merely traded one prison for another—one she is too tired to escape.

The night stretches long and languid, weaving its spell through the corridors of Vesuvius. Juliette should have left already—should have known better than to get tangled in Velvet Velour’s web once more. But here she is, seated in the dimly lit private booth, feeling the weight of the Toreador’s presence beside her like a second skin.

Velvet’s fingers, still lightly brushing against Juliette’s own, linger as if testing the boundaries of something unspoken. The air between them is thick with things unsaid. The pulse of the club—a steady, decadent rhythm—feels distant now, muffled beneath the sharp clarity of the moment.

“You never answered me,” Velvet murmurs, her voice a warm breath against the charged silence. “About freedom. Does it still taste like ashes?”

Juliette exhales softly, her gaze dropping to the untouched drink before her. “Ashes are better than chains.”

Velvet’s lips curve into something that isn’t quite a smile. “Perhaps. But sometimes, a cage can feel safer than the open sky.”

Juliette doesn’t respond. What would she even say? That she knows the truth in Velvet’s words? That ever since she walked away from Lacroix’s cold dominion and Ming Xiao’s deceit, she has been adrift in a city that does not forgive strays? That she has learned, all too quickly, how the unaligned are hunted like wounded animals, how freedom is just another word for isolation?

“Don’t romanticise captivity, VV,” she says instead, lifting her gaze to meet the other woman’s. “You’re smarter than that.”

Velvet tilts her head, studying her. “I’m a performer, Juliette. I know better than anyone that all things are a matter of presentation.”

Juliette wants to scoff, to push away the familiar pull of Velvet’s presence, but the Toreador’s gaze is steady, unflinching. For all her illusions, there is something in her eyes that is painfully real.

“You’ve been running,” Velvet continues, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “You can tell yourself it’s freedom, but I know better. You wouldn’t have come back here if you weren’t tired.”

Juliette swallows hard. She should leave. She should get up, make some flippant remark, and vanish into the night before she becomes another pawn in whatever game Velvet is playing. But she doesn’t move.

Instead, she says, “Maybe I just missed the show.”

Velvet laughs, soft and knowing. “And yet, here we are.”

The night deepens. Juliette doesn’t realise how much time has slipped past until the club begins to thin out. The revelers have had their fill of music, of seduction, of the fleeting escape that Vesuvius provides. But here, in this secluded booth, time moves differently.

“You should stay,” Velvet says suddenly, her voice smooth as silk, yet edged with something Juliette can’t quite place. “At least for a while.”

Juliette hesitates. The offer is dangerous. She knows it the moment the words leave Velvet’s lips. There is no kindness in this world without cost, no sanctuary without hidden teeth. And yet… she is tired. Tired of the hunt, of the uncertainty, of the knowledge that she is always one wrong step away from becoming just another kindred that sees a sunrise.

“Meaning?” she asks, searching Velvet’s face for deception.

“A place to rest,” Velvet replies simply. “Nothing more. No promises, no chains.”

Juliette wants to believe her. Maybe that’s the cruelest part—how easy it would be to fall into this, to let herself be wrapped in Velvet’s world for a little while, to pretend that safety is something she can still have.

She nods, just once, and Velvet’s expression softens, though there is something unreadable in her eyes. “Come,” she says, rising gracefully from the booth. “To my private room upstairs.”

Juliette follows, the weight of the night pressing down on her shoulders. They move through the back corridors of Vesuvius, past dancers and lingering patrons who no longer seem to matter. The world narrows down to the quiet space between them.

Velvet’s room is just as Juliette expected—opulent, drowning in silk and perfume and muted lighting. It is a world apart from the cold streets outside, a stage set for something intimate and dangerous.

“You can take the bed,” Velvet offers, gesturing to the lavish spread of crimson sheets.

She sits at the edge, suddenly uncertain. This should feel like victory. A moment to breathe, to be free from the ever-present paranoia that has shadowed her every step since the night of Lacroix’s fall. But instead, it feels like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Velvet watches her, then steps forward, slowly, until she is close enough that Juliette can see the glint of something deep in her gaze. “You can relax, you know,” she murmurs. “You don’t have to be on guard with me.”

Juliette almost believes her. Almost.

But as the hours slip by, as the silence stretches between them, she begins to wonder if she has merely traded one kind of prison for another. Because even here, in the safety of Velvet’s embrace, in the quiet lull of whispered conversation and lingering touches, there is no escaping what she is.

A fugitive. A stray. A woman without a future.

And as the dawn begins to creep into the edges of the night, Juliette realises the cruelest truth of all.

There is no sanctuary for creatures like them.

She turns to Velvet, her voice barely a whisper. “This isn’t going to end well, is it?”

Velvet doesn’t look away. “No,” she admits, and there is something almost tender in the honesty. “But that’s never stopped us before.”

Juliette exhales, closing her eyes for a moment. And then, because she doesn’t know what else to do, she stays.

Outside, the city hums, oblivious. The world turns, indifferent to the small tragedies unfolding in the shadows.

And in the stillness of a room that is both a sanctuary and a cage, Juliette wonders if she has already lost.

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[kavalyera]

I have to know more about Ophelia! May I ask from these asks: https://www.tumblr.com/kavalyera/769162140997304320/yvesdot-oc-asks-that-reveal-more-than-you-think 6, 7 and 13?

haiii omg thank you for asking about my little baby ^_^

6. Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won’t they take advice from, no matter what it is?

In the world of kindred, only a few are the kind that one has trust in. Ophelia would take advice from Velvet, a fellow Toreador (…not really) as she finds Velvet to be one of the more lovelier ladies in the area. Someone she would never take advice from is her sire, a man that stole what was left of her sanity and slipped away the moment she acted on her based instincts—the moment her beast clawed ar her. They’re in contact still, Ophelia could never break anyone off.

7. Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

I’d say she’s murderous, sociopathic, and a sadist. While she’d think of herself as well… pretty, creative, and soft spoken (she is indeed soft spoken, though it doesn’t help the fact she’s a serial killer)

13. Name one thing their parents taught them.

They taught her everything she needed to know about words. Literature. Writing is arguably Ophelia’s best skill, and it’s something she has been obsessed over way befofe she was even embraced. Hell, it’s the only artistic skill she’s mastered! Not even painting or singing comes anywhere closer. Her mother was a play writer and her stepfather was a Spanish author, so you could see as to why she’s still had her creativity even after all these years. Her writing is so deeply ingrained into her by her parents, it’s also the only way she can fully express herself because talking is a chore compared to the flowery expressions of carnage on paper

[brainrustle]

[mortifying-macaroni]

[poplap1070]

Vampire the masquerade bloodlines oc

[dilfsisko]

I have decided that I will replay vtmb. Again. Need a clan and an ending to strive for 🤔

[bigswordenergy]

More Bloodlines AU!Isaac. He's VERY wounded after fighting through the meat monsters in the sewers.

[gith-zeri]

Felicia Aguilar

Voice claim- revised

[svampira]

oc lore drop👆📢‼️

text under thee cut

elias (died 19 cur 21)

lives in his middle aged best friend's basement. his job is onlyfans. kills people for fun but not food. id smash

social media star murdered an embraced by his obsessive stalker > his sire was executed by diamila on the prince's orders for turning him without permission. doesn't have any memories of his human life

occasionally acts as a camarilla "enforcer" despite being a chronic masquerade breaker himself. Somehow maxed out his presence powers just weeks after his undeath

diamila (died 26 currently 45) the middle aged best friend. Also canon fledgling > spent the last 20 years playing attack dog for the camarilla and doesn't feel like she has anything to show for it

ventrue, maxed out dominate, very high firearm skills. Has never killed anyone to feed. def did it for other reasons though

Cressida (died 65. currently 65, looks like she's in her 40s because she was a ghoul) clan tremere's newest embrace, she had been picked by her sire 20 years before her death. She was already a ghoul during the events of vtmb, and has known and disliked diamila for over a decade. Ambitious but fiercely loyal to her clan, she ends up butting heads with the equally ambitious but much less trustworthy ventrue

brooklyn (died 21 currently 40) an unpredictable vampire whose allegiances change every couple weeks. kept around because of her frequent (although cryptic) visions and her coming across as relatively saner than the average malkavian. emphasis on coming across.

eden (died 24 current 43) an anarch malk who pretends hes a brujah. has the same sire as brooklyn and they were dating before they were turned. Hackerman. Doesn't experience visions of the future and barely seems to be afflicted by the clan curse. or does he > his curse is his portrait came out kind of bad here

[zenithangelic]

Silk and Shadows

Chapter 1: Vesuvius Beckons

-velvet velour x fem!toreador!pc

-seduction, power dynamics, manipulation, emotional baggage

After the chaos of Prince LaCroix's fall and her hard-won independence, Juliette, a Toreador fledgling, seeks solace in the shadows of Los Angeles. When she receives a cryptic message from Velvet Velour, the alluring and enigmatic owner of Vesuvius, Juliette is drawn back to the club where power and seduction intertwine. As they reconnect, Juliette finds herself ensnared in a dangerous game of desire, manipulation, and unspoken truths. In a world where freedom tastes like ashes and every connection carries a price, Juliette must decide whether VV is her sanctuary, her trap, or something far more perilous.

The nights in Los Angeles always seem heavier after you’ve walked away from the wars of Princes and pretenders. Juliette has chosen independence. She’s torn her destiny from the hands of Lacroix and Ming Xiao, leaving them in ashes—literal in one case, figurative in another. The city is a labyrinth of shadows and whispers now, more dangerous than ever without the protective mantle of a sect. But Juliette thrives in this danger; she has made her choice.

And yet, tonight, something gnaws at her. The flickering screen of her laptop illuminates her small haven. It’s another message, short and almost teasingly formal, from Velvet Velour. VV. The memory of her name feels like silk sliding over glass. The email simply reads:

Dearest Juliette,

It’s been too long since we last spoke. There’s something about this night that reminds me of you. Perhaps it’s the moonlight, or perhaps it’s the lingering shadows you left behind. If you find yourself longing for company, you know where to find me.

Yours, VV.

Juliette’s fingers hover over the keyboard. She’s always prided herself on her independence, her ability to sever ties when they grow too tangled. But VV—Velvet Velour, with her intoxicating presence, her enigmatic smile—has a way of pulling at the threads of her resolve. The memory of their encounters is a swirl of desire, manipulation, and something Juliette can’t quite name. VV is dangerous, perhaps more dangerous than Lacroix ever was. She’s not sure if that danger is to her body or her soul.

But the pull is undeniable.

Juliette finds herself walking the familiar streets toward Vesuvius. The nightclub looms like a cathedral of decadence, its neon lights casting sinuous shadows on the pavement. The bouncer at the door gives her a nod; her face is still known here. Inside, the music pulses like a heartbeat, wrapping around her as she descends the staircase into the club’s warm, velvet embrace. It’s a stark contrast to the cold sterility of the Camarilla’s halls and the grime of the places Juliette has found herself in these past few nights.

Velvet is on the stage, as she always is, commanding the room with her presence. Her movements are fluid, hypnotic, as if she’s the puppet master of every gaze fixed upon her. But when her eyes meet Juliette’s, the world seems to slow. VV’s smile is like a blade hidden in silk.

Juliette approaches the bar, ordering a drink she doesn’t intend to touch. She’s not here for the ambiance, as enticing as it is. Velvet’s performance concludes, and the room’s attention scatters, but Juliette’s focus sharpens as Velvet descends the stage and walks toward her. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor seems to echo in Juliette’s ears.

“Juliette,” she purrs, her voice as smooth as her name. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Neither was I,” Juliette admits, her voice steady but soft. “Your message was… compelling.”

“Good. Compelling is exactly what I strive for.” Velvet’s eyes glitter with something unreadable. She gestures toward a private booth, and Juliette follows, feeling the weight of the room’s eyes on her back. Velvet’s magnetism makes her both desired and feared, and Juliette is not immune.

The booth is draped in shadows, the noise of the club muffled here. Velvet leans back against the plush cushions, her posture relaxed but her gaze sharp. Juliette feels the silence stretch, and it’s Velvet who finally breaks it.

“You’ve been busy,” she says, her tone almost teasing. “Burning bridges, toppling kings. I can’t decide if I should be impressed or worried.”

“You don’t seem the type to worry,” Juliette counters, though the hint of a smile betrays her.

Velvet’s laughter is soft, like the rustle of silk. “Oh, I worry about the things that matter to me, darling. And you’ve always been… intriguing.” She leans forward, her eyes locking onto Juliette’s. “Tell me, how does freedom taste?”

Juliette hesitates. “Like ashes. But it’s better than the alternative.”

Velvet’s gaze lingers, and for a moment, Juliette feels as though the other woman can see through her, into the parts of her she’s tried to keep hidden. “Freedom is a heavy crown to wear,” Velvet says finally. “But I think it suits you.”

“And what about you?” Juliette asks, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve made a throne here, haven’t you? All these people worshipping you, hanging on your every word. Is this freedom?”

Velvet’s smile falters, just for a second, but it’s enough to crack the veneer. “We all play our roles, Juliette,” she says softly. “But don’t mistake the stage for the world. There’s more to me than what you see here.”

The conversation shifts, the words becoming a dance as intricate as any performance Velvet has ever given. They speak of power and loneliness, of choices made and paths untaken. Juliette feels herself being drawn in deeper, the lines between truth and manipulation blurring with every passing moment.

At one point, Velvet reaches across the table, her fingers brushing against Juliette’s. The touch is electric, and Juliette knows she should pull away, but she doesn’t. Velvet’s gaze is steady, her voice a whisper.

“You’re stronger than you know, Juliette. But even the strongest need someone to lean on.”

“And what are you offering?” Juliette asks, her voice barely audible.

Velvet’s smile returns, enigmatic and dangerous. “Whatever you’re willing to take.”

Juliette knows she should leave, should walk away and never look back. But she also knows that she won’t. Velvet’s pull is too strong, her presence too intoxicating. And so, as the night deepens and the shadows grow longer, Juliette stays, knowing full well that she may be stepping into another trap.

Or perhaps, this time, it’s one she’s willing to embrace.

chapter 2

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