#he's an elezen and vampire yes yes

[emahriel]

SPINING HIM AROUND CHEWING ON HIM SCREAMING!! i missed my son sososo much

[agent-jaselin]

drawing Astarion as an elezen like "put that elf into a taffy puller"

[nini-dirthara-lothlenanas]

               psst

[cadrenebula]

A Healing Touch

Aryn bustled about his recently acquired apartment at a quick pace. Picking up stray clothes that had been discarded as not what he wanted to wear at that moment. Totally hadn’t expected his sister to be bringing by strays so soon. Especially one that was a bit… Unusual in nature.

Ears twitching as he looked towards the door. Hearing footsteps coming down the hall. Two pairs. One last shove to put the clothes away that he could smooth out later. Standing quickly in easy view with a warm and welcome smile on his face the moment his sister opened the door to his place. 

Watching her walk in with a man that couldn’t be that much younger than himself. But this poor elezen seemed like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders right now. Aryn did his best not to frown in concern as the young man didn’t seem injured to him nor someone that likes to snack on aether. 

“So who is the patient?” Aryn asked brightly as she smiled at Stefan. 

Stefan eyed him a long moment before reaching into his bag. Pulling out what looked like a bundle of cloth wrapped around something. Swaddled inside of it looked to be a small vampire bat toy. 

“Where should I put him? He needs space for when I release the spell.” Stefan asked as he looked down at the small toy with an expression that was pained.

Ah. The patient was in the toy?! Well that was a first for him. But he didn’t tend to deal with special patients everyday. Motioning for Stefan to come to the back half of the room. “He can use my bed if he needs space. Go ahead and show me the wounded.”

Stefan placed the bat toy on the bed before drawing on a bit of aether to release the spell on the toy’s magical core. Now a nearly black as night skinned elezen with snow white hair lay face down on Aryn’s bed, wings draped over the sides. Aryn’s face was one of surprise as he took in the patient he was supposed to help.

Aryn gave his sister a look before moving to shoo her from his room. “Be a dear, darling sister. Get me something sweet from that wonderful bakery nearby as payment for my services.” Chuckling as she told him he had two feet and could get his own sweets. “Yes but I think sweets are in order for that one.” His eyes shifted towards Stefan’s gloomy look. Giving her a kiss on the forehead before he moved to his small kitchen, trusting her to go get sweets. Glad he’d already had water heating before his guest and patient had arrived. Rooting through his unpacked ingredients to toss together some hot chocolate.

“Here. You look like you could use something warm to drink. Please go rest on the couch. I will take care of your friend’s wing.” Placing the warm cup into Stefan’s hands before giving him a small push towards the couch. “Your friend is in good hands. I promise. I was trained by a Sharlayan Sage and I’ve spent a lot of time tending to animals. I think I can handle a broken wing.”

Stefan seemed to be at a loss for words on how to deal with Aryn. Letting himself get shuffled away from the bed with a cup of hot chocolate. So he took a seat on the couch and stared down into the steaming liquid cradled between his hands. 

Aryn took a breath now that he’d cleared the space for work. Carefully checking over the wing that looked to be hurt. Having to hold back a small chuckle when he’d found someone had tried to help already. A strong sturdy paintbrush had been taped in place to keep the bones where they needed to be. Aryn’s hands were soft and gentle as he inspected the break. Raising a brow when he’d found it had already started mending. But it could still use some additional time and maybe a little nudge. 

“How long ago was this injury if I might ask? And you really should drink that hot chocolate. I even added extra marshmallows.” Aryn didn’t even look up from the wing. Guessing that Stefan had just sat there lost in his own thoughts. Which was why Aryn had added something mild to the drink to help the man relax. Maybe Stefan would take a nap even because the poor soul looked like he needed it. Maybe even a few days of sleep. But Aryn would settle for getting the man to take a nap if he could. 

“A couple days ago.” Stefan sighed deeply before finally raising the mug to his lips. If he detected any medicine in the drink, he didn’t let on.

Aryn nodded as he gently removed the make-shift bandage to the wing. Setting the brush aside to return to the elezen when he was done. Rubbing his hands together as he drew on aether with a deep breath. Aryn’s normally meadow green eyes became a soft molten gold as he placed his hands against the break in the wing. Gently urging the bones to knit back together as he kept them in their proper place. Only removing his hands once the wing was healed enough that it should be able to be folded without further injury. Carefully he tucked the wing close to the voidsent’s body and checked to make sure the bone held. As long as Ronove didn’t try to fly in the next few days, it appeared that it would hold together.  Next he tended to the mostly healed scratches Ronove had dug into his own flesh. Lastly the ghastly looking scrape on the left calf that looked like it had been hit with something acidic. Aryn sighed softly in satisfaction before looking towards the sleeping man’s face. Stifling a surprised noise when he found golden eyes staring back at him.

Slowly and stiffly, Ronove began to move. Shifting to a sitting position on the bed. “You drugged the Vanguard.” His words came out as a simple statement.

Aryn looked towards the couch to see Stefan had placed his cup down and curled up. Clearly the medicine in the drink had worked as intended. “Yes. He seems troubled and hurting soul deep. I thought it might be best that he take a little nap for a bit. I ask that you don’t try to fly for several days while that wings mends the rest of the way. Or at least I would suggest that. I have a feeling that for that wound being so fresh, you heal fast. Or faster when you feed anyways. You could have been fine had you taken more of what my sister offered. But… I am glad you only took what you felt you needed.”

“Tend to the Vanguard.” Ronove grunted as he stood, staggering for a moment. Waving off Aryn’s hand when it reached out to him. Ronove vanished his wings back into hiding. Leaving Aryn to watch him curiously as Ronove went over to carefully scoop up Stefan and bring him to the bed. “He does not heal quickly as I do. I attacked him when I was hurt.”

“Oh. Of course. Please rest easy. I will check the state of his wounds as well.” Aryn gently waved Ronove off so that he could look over Stefan. But unlike Ronove who had only been wearing a loose draped top and flowy pants, Stefan was far more dressed. Putting his hands on his hips for a moment. Well the man would just have to forgive him for doing this as a healer. Carefully he began with removing the jacket before moving to the tie and shirt. Shaking his head at all the scratches still faintly visible on Stefan’s torso and arms. The clear bruises from being grabbed. And the healing bite wound on the man’s neck. All of it looked like it had been cleaned and treated with medicine at the very least. This would be a very easy tending then since the worst of the injuries was the deep bite mark. Using his healing aether to help the wounds along just enough so they wouldn’t scar. Aryn didn’t think a man with no visible scars would be very happy to have a bite scar. 

Aryn nearly jumped when he looked up to find Ronove towering over him. Hand going over his heart as he sighed. “He really didn’t need much in the way of tending. Not in a way that I can help him. Most of his wounds are beyond aetherical healing.”

“This is my doing. I got into a fight with the guard dog. I feel his sorrow. His agony.” Ronove’s voice was pained as he moved a hand over his chest. It was the spot Stefan had a mark on his own in black ink but Ronove had no mark himself. His eyes seemed distant. “I have cost him one of his protectors.”

Ronove put a hand against the side of Stefan’s face. It looked like a tender gesture from someone that was a voidsent. “He cried for me… Actually cared that I might die.” 

“I am afraid I can’t comment since I know nothing of either of you. You are welcome to lay down somewhere and rest. I can make you some hot chocolate. I promise no sleeping aids in it.” Aryn offered Ronove a warm smile. “I think some long deserved rest will help both of you. And some sweets when my sister gets back with the sugar.”

“Thank you.” Ronove looked towards Aryn with a look that was strangely human and soft. But that look only lasted a moment before the man disappeared. The bat toy flapped a couple times before coming to rest on the sleeping elezen’s chest and closing its eyes.

“You’re welcome, friend.” Aryn shook his head as he smiled. Letting the sleeping pair occupy his bed for now as he moved to get himself a cup of hot chocolate and go sit on the couch to wait for his sister’s return. How silly he’d never bothered to offer his name or get theirs. He’d have to fix that mistake later.

[ladyramora]

My brain is full of dumb ideas today and you were the first person I could think of to share with so please consider: a vampire with a crush on the WoL (I'm thinking Zenos or Haurchefant, but anyone could work really) doing something dumb and reckless like sneaking out when the sun is just barely setting and they are still weak and in mortal danger because they must see the WoL. They just can't stay away, the crush is too strong.

"Are you two out of your damn minds?!" The Warrior of Light snarls, yanking Zenos inside to safety and out of the deadly sunlight. By the gods, the sun had only just begun to set! 

Zenos frowns, folding up his umbrella, hanging up his wide brimmed hat and peeling off the long gloves shielding his skin from the deadly rays of the sun. "Two?" 

The Warrior rolls their eyes and jerks a thumb over their shoulder. 

Zenos glances over, curious. And then scowls to find Greystone had again beaten him here. Not without cost to him, it seemed. Zenos was pleased to note the fading charring on the elezen lord's skin. He is covered in a blanket, the faint smell of burned fibers wafting through the air along with something else. Something tantalizing. Something that made Zenos's mouth water and fangs descend. There is a mug in Greystone's hands, and when he looks up and spots Zenos standing just inside the door, his resulting smile is stained red. 

Zenos snarls, whirling on his friend; his enemy. He spies the bandage on their arm, and is filled with such jealousy that his vampire face rushes to the fore. "You gave him your blood?!" He demands, snatching at their arm.

The Warrior scowls at him. "I did. Because he almost turned himself into a big pile of dust!"

Haurchefant, unrepentant, raises his mug up, offering it to Zenos. "Want some?" 

The Warrior levels him with a frown. "No, Haurchefant. That's yours. You need it to heal."

Haurchefant beams and continues sipping contentedly. 

Zenos glowers, disgusted, and shoves his hand under the nearest light blocking drapery covering the Warrior's windows. He grinds his fangs as his hand instantly starts to smoke.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" His beast demands, tearing him away from the window and staring down at his now terribly charred hand. 

Zenos stares down at them, blue eyes scarily intense. The eyes of a monster. "Will you give him your blood and not I? Am I not worthy?" 

They groan, shaking their head. "What did I do to deserve this..?" They sigh and move towards their kitchen. Glancing back at Zenos when he does not follow. "Are you coming or not?" 

Zenos follows. Remaining silent even as the hero mutters to themself about needy, annoying vampires. 

… 

Zenos frown down at the mug in his hands, burned fingers flexing and tapping along the glass. He would much prefer to drink from the source. 

"Drink it before it gets cold," the hero mutters. "I'm not giving you more, or letting you bite me." 

Zenos tongues a fang, annoyed, and raises the cup to his lips. He groans, long and low, sounding very much lustful as the first few drops touch his tongue. "Yess," the Garlean prince hisses, tongue swiping over the red coating his lips. 

The Warrior watches him, a little disturbed. They glance to Haurchefant, who meets their stare with an eye crinkling smile. "Does my blood make you horny?" They ask, just wondering at that reaction. 

Haurchefant nods. "Oh, yes, definitely."

Their eyebrows are up. "But you're not moaning like that?"

Haurchefant perks up, blue eyes gone hooded. Fangs peeking over his smiling lips. "Would you like me to? Rest assured, the desire is there, dear heart." 

Blood rushes deliciously to their cheeks and they shake their head. "Wh… Ah, n.. no, that's fine. Good to know, I guess." Gods, would Zenos stop moaning over there? 

They shoot the Garlean a flustered glare. And only feel weirder to see Zenos licking out the mug with his longer vampire tongue. Weirdo. 

"Savor every last drop," Haurchefant says with a nod and proceeds to do the same thing. 

The hero sighs and wonders why they had invited these two into their home in the first place. 

Oh, right. The attention. 

Speaking of. Haurchefant had set his mug aside, finished first, and prowls closer. Taking the Warrior's hand in his as he presses kisses up from their knuckles over the back of their hand and up their arm. "Dear heart," he purrs, nuzzling his face into their skin. "You have our deepest thanks. Truly, you are too lovely and generous beyond words. And positively delicious besides!" 

The Warrior shifts, flustered, but allowing Haurchefant's affections to continue. It felt nice to be appreciated. 

"The Ishgardian is right," Zenos murmurs. The hero startles at feeling the fan of his breath on their skin. He had come so close and they had not heard him move. His lips press into their neck, and the Warrior shivers, but warns, "No biting without permission. Or I'll break you again."

Zenos chuckles, licking at them, but agrees. "Yes, my beast. As you say." 

The hero relaxes, caught between them. Allowing Haurchefant to kiss up to their shoulder and then to their neck, pressing kisses there. Fangs gently scraping, sucking at their flesh. Far more than they allowed Zenos. Because the Garlean was much too fond of biting. The last time he had tried they had broken his spine. An annoyance for a vampire, but he had gotten better. If only because Haurchefant had taken pity on the other vampire and allowed him to feed from him. Zenos had not been gentle.

The hero frowns thinking of it, and pets gently at Haurchefant's hair. The elezen hums happily, his arms winding around them.

Zenos huffs, and rubs his hand over the hero's shirt. Trailing down and then rucking up the fabric to feel at their bare skin. Possessive. 

[the-dragons-knight]

WoLtober 2020

Day #2) Fangs

Party - ‘a social gathering of guests, typically involving eating, drinking, and entertainment’

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“What kind of party did you say this was again, Kat?” Aymeric asked, watching her fiddling with his vest and coat until she was satisfied with it.

“It’s a costume party. Mainly a kind of party one sees more of during the All Saint’s Wake season,” Katsum answered, checking him over before nodding and meeting his gaze, “Tataru thought it might be nice to hold one in Mor Dhona for everyone to enjoy as we all can finally enjoy a bit of respite thanks to the Garleans withdrawing as much as they have.”

“I do agree. While the idea of the All Saints Wake and the manner of the time is not particularly something I myself know much about, a festival for all manner of folk to join and enjoy is indeed a wonderful idea,” Katsum nods in agreement with him before he continued, “But...must I really wear these fangs? They are rather uncomfortable.”

Katsum grabbed his arm before he could pick at them again as he had been doing the whole time she’d been getting ready herself, “Don’t mess with them anymore. And yes, I would like you to wear them, please. You can’t very well match me as the count vampire if you don’t have your fangs.”

“But you are a werewolf, are you not?” He looked up at the wolf-like ears she wore over her own, reaching up and rubbing one of them until he could feel her own Miqo’te ear amidst the fur and fabric, “Or at least a much more cute one.”

Katsum nearly lost herself for a moment as his fingers massaged the cartilage of her hidden ear, yet she shook herself before she could start purring and swatted his hand away, “Don’t distract me, I’m almost done!” He chuckled with a grin as she flicked her ears to make sure the wolf-ear covers were still in place and patted down her skirt and made sure the sleeves of the dress were pulled down, “Yes, I am, but werewolves and vampires are some of the oldest known creatures of old folklore, and while they often fight one another, we are the opposite. Where there was often war, we found love.”

“Ah, I believe I understand then, so,” Suddenly she felt his arm snake around her waist and pull her in. As she fell flush against his chest, she looked up to meet his shouldering blue eyes that were darkened with desire as he loomed over her and whispered, “You are the damsel, and I am the creature that claimed you, yes?”

The blonde warrior blinked at the sudden change in his demeanor, stammering in shock as she answered, “W-Well yes, that’s the idea.”

“So then…” He moved down until his nose brushed her neck and breathed a warm breath on her skin, making her shudder, “I get to kiss this sweet neck of yours, and bite down upon it to mark you as mine then?”

Katsum’s ears flattened as her mouth fell open in a quiet gasp as she imagined the feeling, her fingers clutching at his coat to stay anchored to him, “Yes...yes please...”

He hummed as he drew nearer, ghosting his lips on her skin in a kiss before pulling away completely and standing straight again, a completely unphased smile on his face, “Perhaps later. We don’t want to be late to the party.”

Katsum gaped at him, her fluffed tail lashing about as she narrowed her eyes and pouted and smacked his chest, “You-! You are such a tease!!”

Aymeric laughed warmly at this and while she blushed and pouted, his laugh warmed her heart. Still, she reached up to the collar of his coat and pulled him down to her as she stood on her tip-toes and smashed her lips into his. She felt his arms wind around her waist then as he kissed back, and she happily found herself trapped as she leaned into him with a sigh.

“Ahem,” A voice from the door of the room drew them apart as they turned to see Alphinaud standing there with his arms crossed, dressed like a mad hatter with all manner of trinkets and buttons littering his coat, “Finally got your attention, I’ve been standing here for two minutes.”

Katsum blushed and pulled away from Aymeric’s arms as she cleared her throat and looked sheepishly at the young, white-haired Elezen, feeling her dear raven-haired husband intertwine his fingers with hers when he took her hand, “Apologises.”

Alphinaud shrugged and opened his mouth to speak when a glowing flash jumped into the room beside him and screamed, making him scream in terror as he fell back against the wall. Alisaie cackled in her glowing white ghostly tattered coat as she pointed at her older brother, “You should have seen your face! That was brilliant!”

Alphinaud flew to his feet again in rage, “ALISAIE! I told you that wasn’t FUNNY!”

“Oh no, you’re right. How silly of me,” She could barely contain her laughter as she replied, “It was actually HILARIOUS!!” She laughed again before jumping back out of the reach of Alphinaud’s hand and charging out of the door again with Alphinaud in hot pursuit.

Katsum laughed at the twins as she turned back to the Lord Commander, “Well, I suppose that’s our que to go. Ready?”

He nodded happily, “Lead the way,” He squeezed her hand and moved to whisper in her ear again, “And I promise to make real my teasing later on tonight.‘Tis the least I can do for how fun your reaction was.”

Katsum’s blush darkened before a grin of her own spread across her lip and she let go of his hand to step ahead of him to walk backwards towards the door, “Oh I know. And did I forget to mention?” She bared her teeth in a smile so that he could see a pair of her own fangs, making his eyebrows raise, “I’ll have my own to share with you too.~”

The Miqo’te spun on her heel and pranced through the door, yet her dear husband only needed three long strides to catch up with her and grab her hand again to lace their fingers together, “I see, my kitten. Then I certainly look forward to later.”

“As you should. I know I do.” Katsum giggled as she pressed into his side as they headed for the door of the Rising Stones to join the party before they were missed.

[alvaar-aldaviir]

First Bite (Vampire AU)

Based from this post. Because I can’t be trusted @ffxiv-writers.

Time Frame: Heavensward. No Spoilers. AU

Notes: A dumb vampire AU where the twins are older and dhampire’s. Vampires are the upper class and respected academics/mages in Sharlayan and so quite respected there, but wary mistrust everywhere else. Dhampire’s do not need blood to survive, but to replenish their magic. Everything else in the story is the same, more of an exploratory ‘what if’ because we ALL know vampires are kinda hot and I have no self control.

Just a self-indulgent bit of writing for that first bite scenario, after a heated battle against the Dravanians in early HW.

Cross posted to Ao3.

   -

“You going to be alright?” Alvaar asked softly, studying the Arcanist still slumped against the side of the bed closer to the fire. He’d done his best to patch the larger holes torn into the long-abandoned cabin in the Coerthas Western Highlands, but even then the blizzard raging outside still blew frigid air through.

He wasn’t overly surprised when he only got a mute nod from the pale Elezen. Alphinaud hadn’t spoken much since he’d collapsed in the snows after a fourth abrupt bout with the Dravanian Horde during their scouting mission. With a barely breathing dhampire in his arms, unfamiliar terrain, and a storm rolling in, Alvaar had been given little choice but to try and hole up somewhere to wait it out. Finishing tacking up one of his spare oil skins over one of the shattered windows for insulation, he hopped down off a chair and moved closer. Tossing a few more logs on the fire and tugging the tipped over long table a bit closer to help reflect more heat into the sheltered alcove he’d made from what surviving furniture remained. It wouldn’t be the most lavish of accommodations, but there was plenty of wood to keep them from freezing to death and they wouldn’t be buried under snow. That would be good enough to get them through.

“Jerky?” he offered, holding the wax paper bag he dug out of his pack in offer. “Otherwise I might have enough stuff on me to cook something,” he continued, finding a seat beside him on the floor.

Still buried under the thick blanket Alvaar had wrapped him up in earlier, Alphinaud shook his head slowly, gaze fixed on some far-off point through the floor.

“You should eat something Alphinaud. And don’t start with a ‘only the blood of the living’ crap I’ve seen you eat scones and tea,” Alvaar chided.

“I eat solid foods yes. But it would be a waste right now. I won’t keep it down,” he murmured.

That made the Bard still before ducking his head to study him with concern. “You sick? You said earlier it was magic depletion. That’s a rest and eat well situation Leveilleur. I can do a broth or something instead?”

Again, he shook his head, seeming a touch more annoyed but breathing out a slow sigh before he winced with discomfort. “I... I’m afraid I didn’t account for this much difficulty in our travels. And in light of recent days and troubles it has been difficult to acquire fresh stock...” he mumbled.

Staring at him for a long moment, Alvaar finally piped in with a flat, “You need blood.”

The dhampire’s ears twitched, a faint flush coloring his face as he ducked his head. “I... I’ll be fine. It will be difficult, but I can make it until we get back to Ishgard. The shipment Urianger was orchestrating must have arrived by now.”

A long moment of silence stretched out between them, Alvaar chewing on another bite of jerky as he mulled it over before washing it down with a swig from his canteen and slapping a hand to the floor.

“Well, people got to eat,” Alvaar offered with a much calmer tone than he really felt. “It’s just a bit of blood, right? Nothing fatal?”

Alphinaud blinked at him in surprise, the first proper look Alvaar had gotten of him and the red of his eyes was a stark shift from the deep blue he was familiar with. It was enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably, but he refused to let it show.

A few stunned moments ticked past before the Arcanist was nodding. “Y-Yes. I mean no, I mean... of course it’s nothing fatal I’m not savage,” he scoffed at last before his expression muted back out with a faint wince.

Alvaar studied him silently, noting the slightly hunched posture and the way the Elezen’s arms were wrapped at his stomach. He seemed almost sick from the Bards point of view, and in some manner he probably was. Alvaar was familiar with the feeling of starving after all, the gnawing almost sickening ache of an overly empty stomach...

“Then I’ll help,” he stated promptly. “Or donate, whatever you want to call it. What do you need me to do? Get a knife? Offer my neck? What?”

Staring at him in puzzled discomfort for a moment the Arcanist sighed heavily. “Nothing so dramatic... in fact I, well, I prefer drinking from a glass honestly that’s how I’ve consumed blood for years,” he mused aloud.

“... Holy shit do you just have fucking wine bottles of blood lying around in your fancy mansion in Sharlayan? Have you ever served it to a non-vampire?” Alvaar asked, tone purposely upbeat to keep them both distracted and given the nervously amused snort that escaped the pale Elezen it must have worked.

“In a fashion, yes I suppose so, and no. We’ve never mixed up the bottles. ... but a knife would be wasteful I think. It would also hurt more, and I would really rather... Just your arm please? If you’re certain...” he murmured, keeping his gaze lowered and obviously embarrassed and uncomfortable.

“Hey, what’s a little blood among friends hm? Sides, it’s better than the alternatives. I’d rather not see any problems today and, well starving sucks,” Alvaar murmured, holding his arm over after slipping it free from his coat and rolling up his sleeve.

The fingers that lightly gripped his wrist were eerily cold, enough to almost make the Bard flinch but he refrained given how guilty Alphinaud already seemed about the whole thing. And it wasn’t a big deal, it would be like a trip to the chirurgeons... just where needles were teeth... apparently...

“It’s been awhile since I’ve done this,” the Arcanist murmured, thumb trailing along the inside of the Bards wrist almost like he was measuring something. Then he was drawing Alvaar’s arm up even as he lowered his head, mouth opening wide and-

‘Have his canines always been that long?’ Alvaar wondered with a start, watching in morbid fascination as elongated canines set to his skin and-

“Ah!” he hissed before he could stop himself, gritting his teeth and still stubbornly staying put by force of will at the burning pinpricks he felt in his arm. The pain only doubled when the Arcanist jerked away abruptly at the sound.

“Sorry! Twelve above, sorry Alvaar I-” he apologized immediately.

“Don’t worry about it, just a reflex. Do what you gotta kid,” Alvaar cut in, lifting his arm a bit for emphasis. “Rude to waste food, right?” he joked.

The glower he got in return made him grin even as his heart was thumping instinctively with fear.

“I meant sorry because I haven’t done this in some time and I’ve sort of forgotten the steps...” the Arcanist grumbled, a faint flush of embarrassment on his face. “Just... don’t judge, it’ll help.”

Alvaar had been about to question it before falling silent at the wet heat of a tongue lapping over the wound. He winced again on reflex, but the sting was already fading to leave only the pleasant warmth of the man’s mouth against his skin.

“Oh... that’s, neat?” he murmured, still morbidly entranced by the whole situation.

Alphinaud made a soft sound, more to let him know he’d heard him than for anything else. Darker eyes flicked to the Bard pointedly as he lifted his head slightly. “Better?”

“Yea. It’s fine.”

“Good. ... Could you... oh, never mind,” he huffed.

“Could I what?” he pressed.

“I was going to ask if you could look away but somehow, I doubt you would,” Alphinaud mumbled sheepishly.

Blinking at him in confusion, the Bard snorted when it clicked. “Don’t bite people much huh?”

It earned a flat scowl. “Not particularly. Were things not so dire I would prefer to just weather it out but... with all of the fighting since we arrived, I’ve depleted my aether reserves. Even half vampires still have slower aetheric recuperation than most every other creature-”

“Not that this isn’t fascinating but maybe explain it once you’re done?” Alvaar cut in pointedly. “Honestly, I think it’s more surprising you’re not just fixated on my blood.”

“I am,” Alphinaud shot back a bit sharper than he meant and quickly looking away. “... It just... helps. To think about other things and not the fact I’m starving. Wouldn’t you pace yourself so you don’t make yourself sick?”

“... Would you get sick?” Alvaar returned, tilting his head a bit in puzzlement.

“I... no, but what could happen would be worse and I would rather it not happen.”

“Lose control you mean,” the Bard continued flatly, taking the faint flush on the other Elezen’s face as a yes. “Listen I won’t hesitate to punch you in the fucking face if you start gnawing up my arm. This buffet ain’t open and it ain’t free.”

“You say while insisting I hurry up and drink...” Alphinaud returned drily.

“And you should before my senses come back to me and I change my mind. That’s my draw arm I’m offering and it’s going to be a pain in the ass firing while injured.”

“You won’t be injured,” the Arcanist returned promptly before setting his teeth back to Alvaar’s arm and this time he barely felt a thing. Well, he felt something distantly, like his arm was locally numb and he registered the pressure, but he could still clearly feel the softness of lips and tongue against his skin and-

It was a little unsettling how those smut novels were rather on point. It was sort of... sensual wasn’t it?

Looking off abruptly, the Bard resolved himself to not think about it. It was just to help a friend. A very annoying prat of a friend that also happened to be a half vampire or dhampire or... whatever it was. Certainly nothing to get this bothered over. Unless…

“... Wait, there isn’t some passive enchantment shit is there?” he asked, looking back at the snowy haired Elezen. Who wasn’t listening and seemed rather intent on the whole blood thing now...

Shite.

“Hey. There isn’t some mind control shit in all this right?” he asked again, louder and tapping Alphinaud’s shoulder as he tried not to panic.

Thankfully, it got his attention, pulling away with a parting lick and wavering sigh. “Beg pardon?” he asked, blue eyes back to normal but dark and vibrant and honestly if Alvaar needed to find words to describe the soft breathy way he spoke and look he was giving it would be something akin to ‘hour two of marathon sex.’ The urge to ask if he wanted a cigarette almost overrode any sense of propriety.

His question dropped off his mind as he noted the clarity of his own thoughts against the warm and almost sleepy look of the dhampire sitting next to him. If anyone here was charmed it wasn’t himself… And hadn’t Minfillia mentioned something about the Echo protecting his mind from outside intrusion in the past? … Damnit. He wasn’t supposed to be the one panicking here.

“You okay?” he asked carefully after shaking himself free from the thoughts.

“Fine. Perfectly fine,” Alphinaud replied, finally seeming to settle fully into the present and glancing down to where his fingers were still curled around the Bards wrist before lowering a hand to his tome. The healing spell was faint, but still as quiet and warm as the times before as it sealed the two pinpricks of blood before he let go and shifted away a few feet. “Thank you, um, yes, sorry for that and not to be rude but please stay over there for a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Alvaar murmured slowly. “But you’re fine?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you’re not going to savage me...”

“Of course not.”

“So...?” Alvaar pressed after a few moments.

“.... What?” Alphinaud asked, giving him a wary look.

“I don’t get a critique on the vintage?” he joked.

 “Alvaar don’t ask that...”

“Why not?”

“Because I really don’t enjoy hurting people contrary to public opinion of my kind and it’s a little hard to remember it when you taste that good,” he returned flatly before pausing, another faint flush coloring his face before he was hugging his knees to his chest in a sulk.

“.... You know I thought I would be... So, is it more like trying to pin down a liquid flavor or a solid flavor?” Alvaar continued anyway.

“We are not having this conversation Aldaviir.”

“I see how it is. Here I am, putting myself out on the line and-”

“Alvaar.” It’s said firmly but there was a touch of anxiety underneath, a note the Bard doesn’t miss in part because it’s reflected in the nervous gaze he’s getting. The glitter of ocean blue over the top of his knees where he’s still hunched over, arms wrapped around his legs and making himself as small as possible.

It’s not the first time he notices how naive and inexperienced the dhampire can be, but it is the first time he thinks perhaps the Arcanist may be more concerned over what makes him different than Alvaar ever was.

He blinks, meeting that worried gaze for a long moment before glancing away to study the fire instead. “You’re right, I shouldn’t tease you. I’m sorry that was out of line.” The quiet crackles of the fire and howling winds outside are the only thing to fill the minutes of silence that stretch between them.

“... How do you make jokes about it?”

The whispered question almost doesn’t reach Alvaar’s ears, but it does and he gives the Arcanist a puzzled look anyway.

“The people of Eorzea... They fear my kind. They only begrudgingly accepted any help from my Grandfather because the situation was so desperate, and they didn’t know what he was. Surely they might suspect it but they would never ask. The only ones here aside from the Scions that know what I am is you...” he murmured, carrying on when Alvaar remained quiet. “When my sister and I first arrived, we came across a caravan being overrun by bandits. The situation was so bleak, and the night was so dark, we had little choice but to use our powers to help them.”

Voice trailing off, the Arcanist buried himself a bit further into the blanket he’d been given. “They screamed. They called us monsters. When everything was over, they tried to kill us too. Alisaie said she wasn’t surprised. The ignorance of Eorzeans has always been a problem she said. But... I started to understand why.

“We don’t think of it much in Sharlayan, where vampires are accepted parts of society. Mortals donate blood freely and it’s preserved and kept openly. Many of the great advancements in aetherology have been made with mortal and vampire scholars working together. There’s no reason to be afraid of vampires because it’s taught to us from the day we’re born not to hurt others. Why would we have to take what’s freely given? We give back our achievements and research freely in exchange. We fight and work together. It’s a cardinal sin to turn someone into a vampire, or to willfully harm someone. Punishable by death or exile at the very least, a sentence that may as well mean death. But the people of Eorzea don’t see that. They only see us as monsters... as something approaching voidsent... So why don’t you? Why aren’t you afraid?”

Studying him quietly for a moment Alvaar pushed himself closer. Pausing briefly when Alphinaud tensed before carefully looping an arm around the Arcanist’s shoulders and pulling him into his side. Settling his cheek against soft white hair he blew out a faint sigh.

“You’re not a monster Alphi, you’re my friend. I made a promise to you and Tataru both when we fled to Coerthas. That I would keep you safe and protect you. I don’t make those sorts of promises to people I don’t trust and care about. What you are doesn’t change who you are right? As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a friend with some interesting dietary needs.”

Blinking at nothing in particular, the dhampire made a slight annoyed face Alvaar couldn’t see but could hear. “It’s vaguely insulting to hear you distill my troubles down to something so base.”

Alvaar gave a soft snort of amusement. “Sorry. Not my intent. It’s just... not a big deal to me personally Alphi. The world at large has its reasons, and I’ll admit I was wary at first but we’re really not that different. Sides, whatever you took I feel fine so it doesn’t seem that big a deal to me.”

“Your blood is... unusually aether rich,” Alphinaud commented after a moment. “It wouldn’t take very much.”

“No shit? Well, I barely cast magic anyway, so I guess that’s fortunate for next time,” Alvaar returned easily.

“Next time?” The incredulous look on the Arcanist’s face had the Bard trying extremely hard not to laugh.

“Yea next time. There always ends up being a next time for this sort of stuff. Gods, read a book Leveilleur,” Alvaar joked, pulling away enough to steal part of the blanket and readjust it over both their shoulders.

“What sort of books are you reading where there’s an invariable need to take blood from someone ‘next time?’” he persisted, frowning as he was once again pulled into the Bard’s side.

Ruffling fluffy white strands absently, Alvaar stretched out a bit, crossing one boot over the other and settling back against the broken bed frame. Leaning his cheek against Alphinaud’s head, he gave a faint squeeze of the arm around him. “Come on, quit fussing and get some sleep.”

“That’s not you answering my question Alvaar,” he complained.

“I have my sources. Now hush, we should get some sleep while we can.”

The Arcanist blew out an irritated breath but didn’t argue it further. Though he did make a reasonable effort by the way he shifted and the several bothered huffs he made as he got comfortable of letting Alvaar know he was beyond annoyed. It just made the Bard chuckle in amusement, again ruffling soft strands gently before closing his eyes and slipping into the easy light sleep that was waiting to claim him faster than usual.

It made him miss when the Arcanist finally eased into his side, shifting a bit closer into the Bard’s warmth before falling into a quiet sleep himself.

[beetlebrownleaf]

Another Spooktober ficlet! Vampire Urianger this time. Explicit content, and also, obviously, biting and blood. ~1.6k words.

[Spooktober Masterpost]

It was dark, and Beetle found herself wandering into the Waking Sands rather late, in the middle of the night. Everyone had long gone, and she fumbled around for her keys, but was surprised to find the door already unlocked. Ah, someone must have still been there.

The door creaked open slowly, and she wandered inside, noting how utterly dark it was; the only light that could be seen in the whole of the place was from within Urianger’s chambers.

“Urianger…?” she muttered, walking towards the light. 

Her breath hitched as her ears pricked at some very unusual sounds, ones she could not quite make out. Instinctually, her steps became lighter, her breathing quieter. 

Hand at her weapon, she carefully turned the corner of his door, and could not keep herself from gasping aloud.

The Elezen turned his head quickly, and the sight caused her heart to race: the whites of his eyes were now black, their yellow irises glowing bright as if lit from within, his veins visible and dark against his now suddenly very pale skin, and his mouth pulled into a snarl, brandishing white fangs. He was sitting at the edge of his bed, his breathing pained and laboured.

“Uri…anger?” she whispered, stricken with fear.

He took in a deep breath, and he exhaled, his features returning mostly to normal.

“Forgive me,” he hoarsely said, “I am not a pleasant sight when I am… starved.”

Beetle trembled, unable to move as if rooted to the floor.

“Prithee, be not alarmed,” he said, “I shall not harm thee. But come now, there are words I wouldst have with thee.”

She nodded once, and slowly made her way over to him, despite every instinct of hers screaming run away, flee, don’t look back.

She approached him, though frightened as she was, and sat down next to him. He leaned in close to her, and she did not necessarily dislike the way he buried his nose into her hair, breathing her in deeply.

“Thou must be aware of mine attraction to thee, yes?” he said, his voice husky and low.

Beetle swallowed as her heart leapt into her throat.

“I… I always thought there may have been something between us,” she admitted, “Though I fail to see what this has to do with the state I’ve just found you in.”

His breath ghosted over her ear.

“Tis obvious, is it not?” he said, his lips now practically touching the skin.

Her heart thudded away in her chest, and he seemed to know, by the way his slender fingers reached up to palm it in his hand. His voice lowered even further as he spoke again.

“I hath chosen thee,” he said, “chosen thee as my mate, to sustain me with thy lifeblood.”

Her mouth fell agape, but she could not deny the thrill it gave her. Long had she desired him, and though frightened she knew she should have been… she could not be. Not when it meant being so close to him.

“Will… will it hurt?” she asked, breathlessly. His laugh ghosted hot over her face.

“Initially, yes,” he said, “But soon after, thou wilt be filled with the sweetest of sensations; this I do promise.”

He pulled away from her, tipping her chin upwards.

“I wouldst never dream of doing so without thy consent, of course,” he said, “Wilt thou grant it to me?”

She found herself nodding, and she silently untied the strings at her collar. 

“Yes,” she said, trembling, “You have my consent.”

He smirked, a glint of his fangs visible beneath his lips. 

“Come then,” he said, “Into mine arms.”

She allowed him to pull her close, resting against his chest as he sat upon his bed. She threw her head back, offering her neck, but he laughed and pulled her wrist up to his lips instead.

“Here, my beloved,” he said, “This is where I wouldst drink of thee. I wish to gaze upon thee as I sup.”

She watched on as he kissed it, listened to the churning of his tongue in his mouth, and swallowed hard as she felt his fangs make hard dents on the tender flesh.

She cried out as they pierced her, and the cry faded into a soft, low moan. The sensation was so oddly euphoric: her blood swam in her body, her skin prickling as if on fire. Her heart beat out of time, and she could not deny the budding warmth in her belly. She felt so utterly close to him in this moment; it was as if they were truly joined, body and soul. He suddenly locked eyes with her, and she gasped as she felt his presence enter her mind, rendering her silent.

Fear not, beloved one. Thou art safe in my care. No other shall harm thee. I hath made thee mine, mine to claim and to mark… to feed from. 

His thoughts echoed in her mind, and astonishingly, she was very much inclined to believe him. Her eyelashes fluttered as he gently lapped at what spilled out from her wrist, and he moaned quietly, wrapping his lips around the wounds.

I feel thy pleasure as mine own, beloved, and how blissful it is, to know that thou deriveth such feeling from my ministrations. I shall gladly feed upon thee for all eternity, if it should bringeth thee such happiness. Now, do relax. Give thyself to me…

“Yes, Urianger,” she sighed, “I am yours.”

She could not help but groan as she heard him swallow her blood down, and he hummed in approval. He fed quickly, separating from her only a moment later, and with one final stroke of his tongue, he sealed the marks.

She laid back against him as she regarded his face; it was luminous and beautiful, cleary made so by her lifeblood. The thought positively thrilled her, to know it was she who sustained him so.

“Thou art the beautiful one,” he said aloud, having sensed her thoughts, “So very much so. Pray… allow me to have thee tonight.”

Her chest heaved as she replied, breathlessly.

“You already do have me, Urianger.”

In an instant he was upon her, untying his robe and removing it. She had little time to regard his form as he fiddled with the hem of her blouse, removing it just as swiftly. He sensed how desperately she desired him, and therefore did not hesitate to fulfill her needs.

Had I known thou hath desired me so ardently, I would have made mine affections clear ages ago. My, how thy thoughts burst with such raw feeling… feeling I would fain respond with mine attentive ministrations. Hah, but thou shalt see soon enough.

He felt her ache for more, more, and quickly did away with the rest of her clothing, manically putting his lips to hers when he had done so. The copper taste upon his tongue sent shivers down her spine, and she greedily sucked it further into her mouth, tasting more of it. He laughed at her fervor, taking a hand down between her legs. 

As body moved with body, even a bit awkwardly so due to their differences, he imparted thought after lurid thought into her mind, at which she writhed desperately.

Oh, how I hath loved thee so. From the moment mine eyes laid upon thee, I knew I must needs make thee mine… and now thou art so… I shall make thee remember to whom thou doth belong, night after night after long, pleasurable night. 

And pleasurable it was; every fleeting thought of hers became as reality beneath his hands, his mouth, his hips. Every movement of his and every word of praise he gave her carried her to her peak, again and again. 

“Bite me,” she suddenly cried out, “Please. It feels so good.”

He grinned, flashing his fangs at her.

“Thou know not what thou request,” he said, “The more I feed from thee, the more thou shalt desire it. Such is the way of things.”

She desperately whined.

“Please,” she begged again, “I want it, please.”

He ceased his ministrations for only a moment, fangs sinking deep into the flesh of her neck, and she moaned again as his presence swam throughout her.

Our bond strengthens with every feed. Thou wilt truly become my mate… my bride. Dost the thought thrill thee? To think that I might possess thee, for all eternity? To live thy life, covered in the marks of my love for thee, from now and forevermore?

He moaned as he tasted of her, her wildly-beating heart pumping nearly more than he could keep up with. He sealed her wounds, then pulled up, gasping, lips stained crimson.

“Thy taste be sweeter than any wine, my beloved,” he said, wiping them with the back of his hand, “Sweeter and headier and far more addictive." 

Beetle’s head spun as she laid back, chest heaving. The places where he had bitten into her felt cold, freezing almost, but the rest of her body was hot and flushed. 

"Thou art not afraid?” Urianger asked, a brow raising upwards.

She shook her head.

“No, Urianger,” and replied, “But I am growing impatient. Please.”

He smiled wide, descending upon her once more.

———–

The dawn had nearly rose, and they laid in each other’s embrace, Urianger wide awake, holding his sleeping beloved against his bare chest. His mouth, though clean, was stained rosy with bloodletting, and Beetle laid covered in marks upon her neck and wrists. He ran his fingers over them, smiling to himself and closing his eyes.

“Beetle,” he whispered to himself, “My beloved…my mate.”

[roses-and-grimoires]

Neverending Survey - Idristan

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Idristan Parcemel Greystone Agache

NICKNAME: None that won’t get you glared at

AGE:  37

BIRTHDAY:   11th Sun of the 2nd Astral Moon

ETHNIC GROUP: Ishgardian Elezen

NATIONALITY: Ishgardian

LANGUAGE/S: Common, Mhachi

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Bisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Biromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS:  Engaged

HOME TOWN / AREA:  The Brume, Ishgard

CURRENT HOME:  The Mist, Limsa Lominsa

PROFESSION: Voidsent hunter, chirurgeon, mercenary

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Long, straight, and pure white.

EYES: Bright green

FACE: Very angular. Could cut yourself on those cheek bones

LIPS: Thin

COMPLEXION: Lightly tanned

BLEMISHES:  Birthmark on leg

SCARS:  Too many to list

TATTOOS: Arcanima circle over heart

HEIGHT:  6′3″

WEIGHT: 200 ponze

BUILD:  Lean

FEATURES:  Striking, intent eyes, large nose

ALLERGIES:  None that he knows of

USUAL HAIR STYLE:  Ponytail

USUAL FACE LOOK :  Scowling

USUAL CLOTHING:  Longcoats, suits, vests... basically Victorian-chic. Would not be caught dead in a t-shirt or anything with too much color.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Failure, airships, loss of control, the Inquisition, dragons.

ASPIRATION/S:  To redeem himself, to wipe out all voidsent, to protect his friends and family, and to one day grow a beautiful garden.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Determined, focused, curious, protective, kind, empathetic, quick-witted.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Reckless, restless, impulsive, stubborn, prideful, spite, vain, vengeful, moody.

TEMPERAMENT:   Melancholic

SOUL TYPE/S:  Warrior

ANIMALS:  Crows

VICE HABIT/S: Alcohol

FAITH: Halone

GHOSTS?: Yes

AFTERLIFE?: Yes

REINCARNATION?:  No

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Reformist

EDUCATION LEVEL:  Scholasticate-trained

FAMILY.

FATHER : Leodaire de Corbelin

MOTHER :  Ationne Agache (deceased)

SIBLINGS : Elonne Derinloire

EXTENDED FAMILY: Bellamy Black, some half-siblings that, as far as he is concerned, don’t count.

NAME MEANING/S: None

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: None.

FAVORITES.

BOOK:  Adventure and romance novels.

DEITY: Halone

HOLIDAY:  Starlight

MONTH: April

SEASON:  Spring

PLACE: Ishgard

WEATHER: Sun

SOUND / S: The ocean, a warm fireplace crackling

SCENT / S:  Brandy, leather, flowers

TASTE / S:  Brandy, wine, stew, chocolate

FEEL / S:  Draining aether, the wind whistling past somewhere high, sinking into a hot bath after a long day’s work

ANIMAL / S:  Cats

NUMBER: 6

COLORS: White, black, green, red

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Red magic, conjury, gardening, running for his life, dancing, getting into trouble, killing voidsent.

BAD AT: Anything mechanical, controlling his temper, arcanima and math in general, making good decisions

TURN ONS: Wit, confidence, cleverness, loyalty.

TURN OFFS: Cruelty, naivety, submissiveness, “being boring”.

HOBBIES: Gardening, dancing, practicing magic, researching, charity work, traveling, swimming, blitzball.

TROPES: Byronic Hero, Deadpan Snarker, Hunter of Monsters, Friendly Neighborhood Vampire, Knight in Sour Armor, Jerk with a Heart of Gold, Dr. Jerk, The Atoner, Sophisticated as Hell, Be All My Sins Remembered, Dark Is Not Evil, The Gadfly

QUOTES : “ …He wants to know that his sacrifices meant something. He wants someone to tell him that the nightmares that he sees when he closes his eyes help other people sleep better at night.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie,  what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?          

A1 :  Some sort of period piece. Likely a horror movie, given his profession.

Q2 :  What would their soundtrack/score sound like?          

A2 :  Something dark and moody, full of regret but also with just a bit of hope mixed in.

Q3 :  Why did you start writing this character?        

A3 : I fell in love with both Ishgard and the idea of making a snarky, (relatively) older character, someone driven by a sense of guilt turned into purpose. And the whole wandering hunter thing is cool, even if he’s settled down more these days.

Q4 :   What first attracted you to this character?          

A4 : I wanted to do something different from my usual nerds, and snarky grumps are fun.

Q5 :  Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 : It can be hard to balance making him just the right level of grumpy. Sometimes he ends up coming off a bit too nice because I OOCly don’t want to start a conflict.

Q6 :  What do you have in common with your muse?        

A6 :  We are both introverts to the extreme.

Q7 :   How does your muse feel about you?          

A7 :   I am a rather sadistic god.

Q8 :  What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?      

A8 :  Ahhh there’s too many to list. Solenne, of course. Michaux too, even if they aren’t really getting along atm. Lebeaux is always interesting, if antagonistic. Rashk. Synn. Lux. Bellamy (gods we need to do more stuff). And Idris and Cailan need their own buddy cop movie.

Q9 :  What gives you inspiration to write your muse ?        

A9 : Music, mainly. Podcasts.

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete ?          

A10 : Too long! Fuck you and your drafts not saving tumblr

Tagged by: @alannah-corvaine​​ Tagging: @secrets-and-aetherlight​, @veloxaraptor​, @smouldering-dream​, @fratres-fatali​, @theforestsquiet​, @rashkgeilt​, and anyone who wants to

[emahriel]

𝕸𝖎𝖐𝖍𝖆𝖎𝖑 𝖉𝖊 𝕿𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖇𝖗𝖆𝖊

[elegie-de-sang]

Never-ending survey - Lucian

Tagged by: @under-the-blood-moonlight 🌹

Tagging: @hangedemperor @handofcards @blackmagesol @kiara-nocturne @lydha-lran @rifted-vitale @heartxofxsword @tsukikotanshi @thevoilinauttheory & @ssytxiv

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Lucian de Sang

NICKNAME: Lucy (Hates it though)

AGE:  48

BIRTHDAY: 23rd Sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon

ETHNIC GROUP: Elezen

NATIONALITY: Ishgardian

LANGUAGE/S: Common, ishgardian

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Asexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Panromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS:  Single.

HOME TOWN / AREA:  Ishgard, Coerthas

CURRENT HOME:  Pillars, Ishgard.

PROFESSION: Head of the House de Sang

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Short, dark red hair with scarlet highlights.

EYES: Blood-red.

FACE: Diamond-shaped face, with high cheekbones.

LIPS: Thin, and seeminly naturally dark in color.

COMPLEXION: Pale, almost grayish.

BLEMISHES: Dark circles under his eyes.

SCARS: A diagonal scar running over his right eye. Another smaller scar on his left cheek, right under his ear. Clawmarks on both of his shoulders, four on each.

TATTOOS: None.

HEIGHT:  6′7

WEIGHT: Appears underweight and sickly.

BUILD: Slender body with long limbs.

FEATURES: Long fingers turn black towards the tips, ending into clawlike fingernails. Eyes seem to glow faintly in the dark.  Unusually sharp canines.

ALLERGIES:  Can you be allergic to people?

USUAL HAIR STYLE:  Usually combed & gelled back.

USUAL FACE LOOK :  Arrogant.

USUAL CLOTHING:  Favours red in all his clothing. Usually a mantle or cape, baggy, white shirt with frills, baggy pants, high-heeled boots & golden jewelry (ring on almost every finger). Carries around a decorated cane, and hardly ever leaves the house without it.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Losing control, poverty, failure, powerlessness.

ASPIRATION/S:  Rising his house back to its former glory.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Confident, hard-working, charming (if he wants to).

NEGATIVE TRAITS:  Arrogant, Supremacist, Narrow-minded, Withdrawn.

TEMPERAMENT:  Melancholic

SOUL TYPE/S:   King

ANIMALS:  Snake.

VICE HABIT/S:  Tends to be a gambler, and heavy drinker.

FAITH: Lost.

GHOSTS?: Yes.

AFTERLIFE?: Hopefully.

REINCARNATION?:  Depends.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: An elezen supremacist.

EDUCATION LEVEL:  Well educated, as a heir to his house.

FAMILY.

FATHER :  Quillenard de Sang (deceased)

MOTHER :  Lucienne de Sang (deceased)

SIBLINGS :   Lysander de Sang (brother, deceased), Lucy de Sang (sister, status unknown)

EXTENDED FAMILY: None worth a mention.

NAME MEANING/S: Light / Blood

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: Scandals shadowing the previous heads of the house.

FAVORITES.

BOOK:  Poetry.

DEITY: Halone

HOLIDAY:  Its all the same.

MONTH: Months of midwinter.

SEASON:  Winter

PLACE: Armchair at the fireplace.

WEATHER: A cold winter-night with northern lights dancing across the sky.

SOUND / S: Organ & violin music.

SCENT / S:  Hibiscus, old wood, red wine.

TASTE / S:  Red wine.

FEEL / S:  Fresh, warm blood on a soft skin.

ANIMAL / S:  Does not care about animals overall. Chocobos are handy for traveling.

NUMBER: 4

COLORS: Red, black, gold.

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Magic, fencing, riding.

BAD AT:  Gardening, controlling his temper.

TURN ONS: Confidence, good manners, the hunt, pale skin, longing eye-contact.

TURN OFFS: Untidyness, rudeness, stupidity, pretty much being anything but of Ishgardian nobility.

HOBBIES: Fencing, alchemy.

TROPES: Anti-hero, Monster.

QUOTES : “Such an intriguing lady you are... Intriguing indeed.”

                 “Maggots.. The cancer of our beautiful city...”

                 “A wolf eating tainted meat, gets sick.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 :  If you could write your character your way in their own movie,  what would it be called,  what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?          

A1 :  The name of the movie would be “Élégie de Sang”. It would most likely be a melancholic horror movie about the scandals his parents got trapped into, about their passing, Lucian’s childhood and how he became the heir for the house.

Q2 :  What would their soundtrack/score sound like?          

A2 :  I would imagine something like dark ambient-music!

Q3 :  Why did you start writing this character?          

A3 : This is most likely from the weird side of table, when talking about ideas for character, but... My lifemate’s character got a dog. We were joking about her naming the dog after some snobby Ishgardian lord she dislikes. And so Lucian, or as the dog is called “Lucy”, was born!

Q4 :   What first attracted you to this character?          

A4 :  I love Ishgard, dark aesthetics & old vampire-movies... And those three just mix perfectly.

Q5 :  Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 :  He is an asshole and racist.. I would hate him, if he was a real person. Damn, time to time I hate him, even though he is my own character!

Q6 :  What do you have in common with your muse?          

A6 :   In the end.. Not much. I think the aesthetics and love for good wine.

Q7 :   How does  your muse feel about  you?          

A7 :   “Maggot... Now writhe out of my sight...”

Q8 :  What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?        

A8 :   Like-minded individuals and characters with similar backround and goals. Throwing him into same room with some people he dislikes from the bottom of his heart might also be interesting!

Q9 :  What gives you inspiration to write your muse ?        

A9 : Music and aesthetics mostly. And in Lucian’s case especially, interactions with other people and their characters.

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete ?          

A10 : Not that long, suprisingly. Maybe an hour...ish?

[crystalsexarch]

Nonagenarian - T

“I ask again,” Haurchefant said. “An Elezen with fangs. Have you ever met one?”

-

Teen. Specific male WoL. Bas'ir Bahani. Ishgardian vampires. Okay? That's it. That's the entry.

Also on AO3.

Part of the 2020 FFXIV Writing Challenge

The halls of Fortemps Manor were empty. Or so Bas’ir thought.

A wooden creak pulled his eyes from the page. A Rhapsody in Blood, the book’s name. Absolute garbage, which is why he normally only picked up pulp of its ilk in his private quarters. Sometimes he found himself trying to secret them away from even his roommate, though the other man knew full well that Bas’ir’s taste in reading materials was quite high when high, and very low when low.

Today, though, not even Edmont was in. And that lace-ladled couch was so cozy—the fireplace so inviting, and much kinder to his shivering bones than the brisk air that filtered from the window in his room. Blankets could only do so much. Besides, reading was even more uncomfortable without his left arm, so why not live like a lord this morning? Well, a lord with very specific taste.

The creak must have been his imagination. Back to the tawdry tale. Mathilde’s long lashes fluttered down with an alluring shamefulness as the priest stalked closer, chin held high. If the tales were true, he could hear her blood coursing through her veins and coloring her formidable breasts a pleasant pink. Would the flavor please him? Sustain his need? How many years had he spent watching her, tiny hands clasped in prayer, from the shadows? As many as she had spent lusting after him in private? Now want contorted his youthful face into something demonic. The moment she saw his fangs, glistening in candlelight, she knew she was destined for a fate most unholy…

Footsteps in the manor. Bas’ir threw the book and sat up straight. He whipped his head and tail side to side trying to place the sound. When a looming figure appeared in the doorway, he shrieked...and immediately tried to disguise the pitiful noise as a sneeze.

“Forgive me, Master Bahani,” the servant said, bowing. “I’ve come to tend the fire...unless…”

“By all means,” Bas’ir said, gesturing with his palm flat. That was all the direct contact he could deal with after his display, so he leaned over and set about rubbing his forehead like he was weighing something immense, or perhaps in great pain. Well, he was in great pain, for having embarrassed himself, but until the Elezen was done with his business there would be no relief. After a litany of cracks and pops and prodding, the servant finally finished and offered a bow (unseen, unnoticed) before receding once more into the hallway.

Bas’ir deflated. Right. Rich people. He retrieved his literature and leaned back onto the couch with his legs crossed.

“Have you ever encountered an Elezen with fangs?”

A voice in his ear. He spun around and jumped onto the coffee table. That put him roughly at eye level with Haurchefant, who had somehow materialized behind the sofa. “You!” Bas’ir said, pointing.

“Me?”

“Camp Dragonhead. You were there. Your briefing.”

Haurchefant was unphased. “Yes. And now I’ve returned.”

Bas’ir crumpled into a lopsided glare. It just had to be Haurchefant. “I suppose I will be making my way back to my quarters, in that case.”

“Oh?” He circled around the end table. “But there is aught we might discuss in private.”

Tail twisting, Bas’ir stepped down from the table and eyed the floor for his book. “Hmph. Aught we might discuss in private.”

“Certainly.” He sat himself down on the couch and crossed his long legs with a testy look of confidence.

“Some kind of ‘private’ with servants traipsing around the house, like…” A hunk of wood cracked in the fire. “How long were you standing there?”

The warmth of his chuckle mimicked the flames. “I’ll keep your secret. Perhaps offer one of my own in return, should it soothe you.”

At first, Bas’ir didn’t want to know, but for the first time ever he had sniffed out something less than sincere on the bastard’s breath. Curiosity killed the Miqo’te. Bookless, he fell back onto the couch. “I hope it’s pitiful.”

“Hmm...perhaps a pity. But not pitiful.” As though he’d always had it, he lifted A Rhapsody in Blood and waved it around. “You ought to begin with my initial question.”

“Your initial question.”

“Have you ever encountered an Elezen with fangs?”

His tail went limp. Next time, he would continue his self-imposed quarantine and double up on blankets instead of venturing out into the house. Fire be damned. “I do not appreciate being teased.”

“I’m not teasing.” He shifted closer to the smaller man. “‘Tis an honest question. Give me your hand.”

Between his eyebrows and his twisted lips, Bas’ir painted a portrait of disdain someone ought to capture and print in a dictionary. Regardless, he relented and offered his wrist.

“I ask again,” Haurchefant said. “An Elezen with fangs. Have you ever met one?”

“No. Of course I haven’t.”

This was, apparently, the answer he had been waiting for. He tightened his grip and erupted with laughter. The sound grated against Bas’ir’s ears, which shot back like bullets. Just when he was about to wrest his hand away and storm back upstairs, Haurchefant lowered his head with a hiss. There, where ordinary teeth had been just moments ago, was a pair of shiny fangs peeking out from a manic smile.

“That’s because,” Haurchefant whispered, “we’re very good at hiding them.”