#then don't imagine him freezing. tears beginning to fall out of his sockets as he draws you into his arms

[llamagoddessofficial]

hello llama

i have been thinking and headcanoning about vampire bad sanses lately, so i was curious if you have any thoughts about or interest in vampires of the nightmare and crew variety? (人 •͈ᴗ•͈)

"do i have interest in vampires", he asks

ok, i will share my extensive vampire brainrot. but in return..... you have to write that vampire fic.... oooOOooO look into my eyes you know you want to write it ooOoOooo 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

I very much like the idea of Nightmare's castle being Castlevania-style. Lots of spooky architecture, lots of ancient magical passages that haven't been seen in centuries.

Horror can be summed up in one word. Bloodlust. There's a constant hunger inside him he can't ever seem to fill, driving him almost to the point of madness. He is more beast than man. When he smells or tastes blood, he loses control of himself, becoming little more than a starving wild animal - his capability for slaughter is limited only by his appetite. So unless Nightmare requires it, he generally abstains from blood. He doesn't like losing himself so entirely.

Something about you makes him forget his hunger. Is it your voice? Your scent? He has no idea, but oh, it feels good to feel whole. When you're around it's as if he'll never be hungry again... he follows you like a dog, grinning intensely every time you look at him. This is one hound that can't be shaken.

Despite his 'condition', he finds a lot of solace in cooking. Nothing will give him the same drug-like rush as blood but human food is nonetheless warm and filling and distracts him momentarily from the emptiness. He enjoys the process of making it, too, doing something with his hands. Let him cook for you, please? Watching you eat brings him vicarious joy.

Dust's backstory is one of legend. Something resembling a story can be spun from the loose whispers. A vampire invaded his peaceful isolated village hundreds of years ago, intending to turn the helpless populace into enslaved vampires. Dust, the first to be bitten, turned and slaughtered them all himself - and despite being a vampire for barely a week, the equivalent of a stumbling newborn, he killed the centuries-old invading vampire in single combat.

No one's quite sure why he's joined Nightmare. Perhaps Nightmare was keen to take this uniquely violent creature under his wing, and Dust just didn't really care where the wind took him. Or perhaps he has some other motive, hidden beneath that silent face. Who knows.

... Dust might be quiet, but it's obvious he's fixated on you. Which is a big deal. This is a creature who hasn't mustered a second thought for anything but blood for decades; but somehow, you've excited him. He's very clearly interested in you, silently watching your every move, listening intently to every word you say. Too bad he's not much for conversation.

Killer's backstory, on the other hand, is shrouded entirely in mystery. No one knows where he came from, who he is, or what he's done. He simply appeared one day - right within the coveted inner circle of Nightmare himself. He's the Night King's most trusted weapon, and the closest thing he has to a friend.

Killer seems very clear about what he wants. He thinks you're adorable, and he says you'd make such a pretty vampire. He talks (at length) about how much he wants to bite you, and how if it were up to him you'd already be one of them. A lot of his flirting involves calling you things like sweet treat and honeyblood. However... despite all the taunting, all the talk of seeing you as food, Killer is the one in the castle who treats you with the most respect. The others seem to see you as an object, a cute toy, something to squish and own. Killer talks to you like you're a real person. You can't help but like him for it.

Nightmare's inferiority complex has driven him to declare himself the king of the vampires. No one contests - Nightmare is royalty by blood, and vampires place a lot of emphasis on blood. But even if he wasn't, Nightmare frequently murders those who won't bend the knee. Plenty of powerful vampires have fallen embarrassingly fast at his hand.

... Nightmare's goal is to make you agree to be his spouse. A pretty little human partner would be excellent for his image. It would not only demonstrate his incredible self control as such an ancient vampire (not to mention his control over his warriors), but it would also show that his power is so great he doesn't need to strike a political marriage with another powerful vampire. It might also convince some of the pesky rebellious human groups to settle down.

His pride means that he won't force you. Not yet, at least. He likes to think he can seduce you. He's a royal vampire, after all, and you're just a simple human - isn't it only a matter of time?

... But it seems like, as time goes on... he's the one falling.

[remthalas]

Haunted

A long time ago, there was a city, nestled in the darkest depths of the sea.

The city still stands, of course, physically speaking. As long as anyone who lives remembers it, Ogenos will never truly fall.

Remthalas remembers when the city was full of movement, full of life and growth. He populates the dream with puppets and ghosts, memories of everyone he's ever known. Sometimes he changes things up a bit; he imagines someone older or younger, he imagines someone a friend, he imagines someone a new pet, new clothes, new hair.

No matter what he changes, the same tragedy unfolds.

The dream is wrest from his control. His mother stops laughing, begins to shiver, staggers away from him.

"Avatars protect us! O sacred Water, O steadfast Dark!" His mother wails, prayer after prayer after prayer. She claws at her face, eyes like silvery little bubbles blooming in the scratches. She gurgles in pain as bones shift under her skin. "The water cleanses, the darkness soothes, the earth shall c̸̱͑o̵͑ͅṋ̴͆s̸̡̠͌ụ̸̣̲̾̈́̈́ ̴͙̠̌m̶̬͓͊͜é̷͙͉̜̍͊̀̽-"

Nothing will answer you! He wants to scream. No sound leaves his throat. He reaches towards her with his hands, and sees her instead run through with his own trident. Blood spills into the water, bitter and metal in the back of his throat.

Her many eyes roll in their newly-formed sockets as she writhes and twitches, speared like an animal- and then, horror of horrors, they focus on Remthalas.

He freezes as her hand comes up, stroking his cheek with a tenderness he hadn't felt in centuries.

"You let me die." She said. "My boy. My own son. You killed me."

"I-"

The shades around him, twisted, bursting with eyes and limbs far too many- they pull at his skirts, at his hair, at his hands.

"You let us all die, Remthalas."

He tightens his hold on his trident, tears it out of the corpse.

"You were too weak to protect us."

"Listen to the whispers. Listen."

"This has happened before. It will happen again. You cannot stop it. You will never be strong enough. You will never save us."

"The Avatars don't care. There is one way to be free."

"There is one way to j̵̘̀̋o̴̡͆̕i̵̧̅n̶̪͎̂͆͗͜ ̴͉͇̺͒ú̶͇̲̆̅s̸̱̣̤̈́͆͑."

~!~

Remthalas phases out of the dream. He stands alone in the ruins of Ogenos, surrounded by long-forgotten bones. Most of them are buried in the silt, some of them peek out in the dark.

None of them look like the right shapes.

Every time he comes here it's the same: He dreams of what it once was, and then dreams of what happened when he left. There is nothing for him here, not anymore. All he's doing is tormenting himself.

The disquieting feeling of being watched doesn't go away as he phases into a different dream, a dream of white walls and stars.