#vampire!ainur au

[edensrose]

babyyy I'm so happy the vamp AU is out, it's so exciting!

I'd like to request a little something:

❀ character(s): Eönwë ❀ prompt(s): either (authority) or (capture), whatever you prefer~

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ eönwë ⠀〳 hunter!reader⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. after being separated from your once colleague and closest friend, you went the way of the hunter as it was your birthright. the last thing you expected was to face off the man who once held your heart — now turned vampire. and serving the very ones you fought against ( violence ៸៸ blood ៸៸ biting ៸៸ 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅-𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 ៸៸ choking ៸៸ 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌! 𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒘𝒆 )

· ⊰ note. anything for you darling <3 I really hope you enjoy! had so much fun with this hehe

˙ ˖ lore post ៸៸ character sheet ៸៸ masterlist

“Move aside, Eönwë.’’

Hilt in hands and drawn back with the end flushed against your shoulder, your blade glistens in the shimmering silver light. You bite back a curse, to have the moon shine down on your hallowed sword was a mockery to not only you but your people. Or perhaps it was the face reflected in it that angers you more. Those once azure hues that grew dark. Those elegant features — stunning as usual, but hardened by the frost of his turn.

“I cannot.’’ 

His refusal tightens your jaw and rage spreads throughout your chest, released by a bark of laughter to the moon that he served. “And why is that? Because it is your duty to serve those demons?” You care not for the way that his grip tightened on his sword. If anything, it lit the fire in your eyes brighter. Emotions ablaze and ready to burn down anything in your path. Including an old friend. 

“I will not warn you again.’’ Taking a breath, Eönwë keeps his sword sheathed and stares you dead in the eye. Peeking from the spruce trees behind him were the towers of the palace. Dark, mighty, and proud. As though they too sought to taunt you. “If it is blood that you wish to shed I will not humour you. Turn back to the way of which you came.’’ 

He offers you barely another glance as he turns on heel. Even with his cold demeanour that felt so foreign to you, his beauty prevailed in the moonlight. His white hair perfect in every strand, his blue eyes blessed by the illuminating night. Yet it is that same icy countenance that has your lungs looping around your heart. Tightening and strangling the last sliver of hope you dared to have. 

You knew in your soul that the old Eönwë, the one who stayed up night after night alongside you to partake in stories of old — the one who smiled at you with the radiance of the sun — and the one who swore to protect you that fateful moment of daybreak. . . was long gone. He now turns from you. Walking away as though you were nothing. Abandoning you as he did on that frightful night. Beneath the same moon. 

Suddenly, the gold scars beneath your clothing felt like a mockery too. Their worth that urged you to move on diminished with his fleeting figure. A painful reminder that it mattered not what you went through, and how much you tried to make him see the light. Eönwë was long gone. What stood before you is not your old friend, nor your would-be-lover. 

What strayed before your very eyes is a demon. 

A vampire. 

And you,

Are a hunter. 

Metal cuts through the air and in your blind rage you disregard everything that was of honour within you. Attacking him whilst his back was turned; truly going back on the way of the knight that you had sworn yourself to the entirety of your life. Then again, had he not as well?

However, Eönwë was not one to trifle with. He caught your movements from the corner of his eye and in a split second his blade abandoned his sheath. The clash of two sister swords, forged under the same master and with the same material, sends a powerful gust of wind sweeping through the forest. Yet neither of your budge. Locking eyes and gripping handles. A silent reminder, and promise, that neither would back down. 

“You,’’ he breathes, brows narrowing. “Have lost all honour.’’ 

If the fire had not been lit long ago, now it raged within you. Eager to consume everything in your path — this entire damn forest if you had to. 

“Do you think I give a damn about honour!?”

The stalemate is shattered by the sheer power of your stances and beneath the twilight sky — a war of hearts commences. Gold and silver flashes spill throughout the trees. Followed by the clashing of metal. The slicing of air. Dirt sweeps from the forest floor yet neither of you pays mind. 

For every hit, he dealt two back. Swift. Unfaltering. But you could keep up. Always. For every slice, you deflect. Metal sings a song through the air. Blood paints the leaves. Still, you both dance. Swords clashing. Hearts roaring. You dash forward after a shove that left you skidding. Left, right, right, left. Your sword whistles through the air in a rhythm. And he gladly provides the accompaniment. Blocking each and every one of your deadly, rageful array of attacks. Dishing his own. Slicing your skin. As you do his. 

A symphony of silver. A cacophony of clamours. He circles and throws his feet onto a rock. Elevating his body before kicking off and bringing his blade down upon you. Unfailing, you counter. Dodge, dart, swing, strike. Crimson splatters your clothes. His as well. Yet neither of you seize. Once more your swords clash. Both of you holding stance.

“Is it worth it?” You spit. Eyes ablaze — contrasting his icy ones. “Is it worth fighting me over those demons?” 

“I could ask you the same.’’ He sneers. 

“Do not dare turn this on me.’’ You seethe. “You promised me loyalty. I vowed it to you. Yet you turned your back on me! After everything we’ve been through! You joyfully took on their fangs!’’

The whites of his widen as they gape at you. You barely managed a look of effort on his face for the entire duration of the battle. Now, he stared at you with a newfound ferocity. Despite the howling of the wind and the pounding of your heart, you still hear his fleeting whisper loud and clear. Trembling, baneful. 

“Do you think this was by choice?”

Even the breeze halted in sound. You barely heard breaths, barely decipher the slice of light until you’re fighting for your life and desperately dodging his slew of attacks. Brutal in every way. Lacking any mercy he once had for you. Still, you do not regret your words, because in your eyes it was true. Eönwë had abandoned you for the sake of vampirism. It is what you told yourself all those nights that you wept into your pillow. Reminiscing on the good old days with your fellow knight and former friend. 

Perhaps it was that swell of emotions that threw you off of your game. Your excellency in skill had depleted drastically, as did your stamina as you narrowly dodges his strikes. Slices to your skin. Heart in your hand. You double back and are sent to the ground with one last attack. Eating dirt and seeping your blood into it as you gasp for the sweetness of air. Your sword clammers to the side and you scramble to your knees. Your hand shoots out to grab the hilt — only for it to be forced into the ground by a hard boot. Wrist joints releasing a faint, yet ugly cracking sound, you suck in a breath and glance up just in time to feel the chill of his blade against your throat. The tip threatens your pulse. Taunting it with its sharpness. 

Peering down at you like the ravenous eyes of a hawk, cerulean is consumed by amber. Pupils constrict into slits and suddenly — you felt as though you would rather his cold, indifferent stare than the one of malice shining down upon you. 

“You think. . .’’ that hungry gaze trails the streaks of blood not only upon your clothes but trickling down your exposed skin. Metal is aimlessly discarded on the floor and a tight grip circles the underneath your jaw as he abruptly cranes down. “That I wanted this?”

The tremble in his voice tells you all that you needed to know. Your other hand shoots up to attack but it is ultimately weighed down by a shimmer of gold. A bangle of his magic which soon encases your second wrist as well and pulls both of them behind your back. Rendering you helpless. 

“To become one of these sickening creatures — incapable of the humanity I once cherished?”

Your voice is reduced to a series of pathetic chokes and grunts when his hand tightens around the soft flesh of your throat. Thumb bruising your jaw along with his index finger, he forces your head back to witness not only the quickening of your pulse but also the blood that drips from a wound on your temple down onto your neck.

“I would almost applaud you for your ignorance. Yet it seems that through it, you have forgotten one detail.’’ Leaning in, his cold aura brings goosebumps onto your skin. Or perhaps it was the evident loss of control in his eyes. Either way, the last thing you prepared for was the hard ground against your back. His hand sends you down, clamping on your throat to suppress any cries while his knees cage either side of you. 

“That I was your Knight Captain and General. Even now. . . did you truly think you could get away with drawing your sword on me?” 

In response to his taunt, you draw your tongue back and spit in his eye. Eönwë so much as grunts in response before his weight forces you further into the ground and his hand coerces your neck to arch. “Even now you still defy me. But not to worry,’’ Wiping his face, he cranes down until his lips meet a streak of your essence and he groans at the sweet, metallic taste of blood on his tongue after so long. 

“I will be sure to remind you of your place.’’ 

Before you can even think of protesting, pain sends your nerves into a frozen state. Your muscles feel as though they are contracting, flaring — yet the scream ripped from your throat is restricted by the choking that you suffer. His cold lips and fangs contrast the warmth of your blood rushing from the bite wound he has dealt you. With your hands still bound and crushed under the weight of your back, you can do nothing but attempt to kick your legs and wriggle your body. 

Eönwë’s free hand slips to your side. Caressing one of your ribs through your clothing with his fingers before abruptly applying pressure. A silent warning which leaves you both horrified and sends your limbs motionless. With your head limping to the side, you attempt to mask the pain. To curl your expression into one of disgust at the loud gulping ringing through your ears. Alas, the pain contorts your muscles into one of agony, and with every bite, a sharper cry forces its way past your lips. 

“Eö-Eönwë,’’ gasping, you arch your back and flush your body against his. A strange feeling swirls in your abdomen. As though his coldness brought a sense of serenity and comfort over your form. “Eönwë p-. . .please, it hurts.’’ 

Even still. He parts, admires his work with the backlight of the moon casting a shadow over his face, before finding a new spot and indulging once more. Against your skin he rumbles an order, one that you could only decipher the second time around. “Not until you admit my authority.”

Despite the absolute misery that left your vision blurry and your body convulsing in response — you bite your tongue just a bit longer. Refusing to back down. Stubborn as ever. And oh, he knew that. Which is why his next onslaught was targeted directly at your collarbone. Smearing your neck and shoulders crimson until, at last, you concede. 

“F-Forgive this foolish —’’ swallowing your pride was like downing a stone. Nevertheless, you push through. “ — one. . . it’s you, Eönwë. You are. . . superior.’’ Flicking your head to the side, you can only hope to save some semblance of face. “Please have mercy, General!”

It took a second. Maybe two. He delighted in the sweetness of your blood and wished to savour it for a moment longer. Soon he parts. With hellish stains dripping down his chin and glinting on his fangs. The tremble of his hands clutching onto your body was enough of an indicator that it took everything within him to keep from simply diving down and draining you dry. Make you bleed for him as his heart has for you. Since the day you were forced to part. Perhaps then you would be satisfied.

An angel is what you looked like. One tainted by his own instincts. Painted with that fatal crimson. Even now, you are still the most gorgeous being he has ever set his eyes on. A wounded angel, yes, but an angel no less. 

‘You have gone too far,’ a voice echoes through his internal thoughts. ‘But she will finally be yours. As she seems to want so badly.’ 

Ice encases your form, yet to you his arms were warm. Heavenly. The same hands that dealt you such agony now brought you comfort. If whiplash did not make you dizzy, then blood loss certainly would. 

And as your vision hazes out with the only thing but the glimmer of the moon being recognisable, still you hear his deep, melodious voice against your ear. “I will not let you slip from my grasp again, my dawn.’’ The tear that you shed is kissed away as you are hoisted up into his hold. He steps towards the castle, fighting back every better judgement that screamed at him to leave you be. 

“You will be mine once more.’’ 

·⊰ masterlist.

·⊰ tip jar.

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( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ please consider liking, reblogging and / or commenting if you enjoy my work! all feedback is greatly appreciated ♡

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

"A master's hunger"

Pairing: Vampire! Tulkas x Fem. Reader (Human/Familar | Third person POV)

Themes: Dark

Warning: Vampirism | Blood drinking | Death

Word count: 500+ words

Summary: Vampire! Tulkas sates his hunger by feeding on the familiar who serves him.

Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume.

It was not how she thought it would be. 

She desired Tulkas, yes, but never did she think he would command her to tend to him, his needs. 

She certainly did not think that his need would be his thirst for blood. 

Y/n had to keep still, so very still. Teeth as sharp as tiny spikes pierced her flesh, the pain searing her like a red-hot brand. She grew dizzy, weak, her very life force seeping out of her with each swallow of her blood. Tulkas drank and drank, drinking deep from the sweet, crimson nectar that poured down his throat. 

Y/n was his first, his only, familiar. She was quiet. Diffident. He never knew what to do with her, except to give her orders. 

"Fetch me more wine."

"Procure this and this and this for me."

"Lay out my garments for the night."

And he did not give her a second thought, paying her no mind while she kept to the shadows. Now she was here, in his embrace, her very blood coursing through his veins. And it was intoxicating, filling him to the brim. More, more, more. He needed more. He took more. He did not stop. He could not stop. His skin was on fire, his senses now sharper than a finely forged blade. He drank and drank and drank, taking more, taking it all. He paused, hesitated. Something pricked at him, a reminder of something he said. What was it? Was it important? Did it matter? Tulkas decided it did not. He went back to satisfying his hunger.

Y/n's body grew cold against the rose and ivory tiles of the dining hall floor. She thought of what Tulkas last said, all of what he said.

"I am hungry," he had said. 

"It is too dangerous to hunt. It is too close to dawn," he had said. 

"You need not fear me," he had said. 

"I will restrain myself," he had said. 

"I will only take just enough—just what I need," he had said. "After, I will reward you."

And how could she refuse him? He was her lord, her master. She had sworn to obey him in all things. Everything she had came from him. Her happiness rested in his hands—the very hands that cradled her to him now while he drained her of all she had. 

Lies. His promises were nothing but lies. Y/n tried to fight him. She did not want to die. She squirmed. Tried to pinch him, move, do something, anything, that would bring him back to his senses. Tulkas growled and bit down harder.

It was too late, he was too far gone. Her body went limp. First her fingers and toes, then her limbs, then the rest. It was as if a blanket of ice was being draped over her, inch by inch. Y/n finally closed her eyes, ready to meet her maker. It was not fair. She had so many years left to live, and they were now taken from her. A single tear slid down her cheek. Her final breath came, a wet, rattling sound rising from the back of her throat when it did. It finally stopped. The pain, the sorrow, everything. It all stopped. The world went dark. Tulkas stopped. Drew back. He groaned in satisfaction, and licked his lips, greedy for the last drops that remained. He then looked down at the lifeless vessel in his arms. 

Gone. Tulkas did not have to be told. He knew. Y/n was gone. 

It did not matter to him. 

He could always find another.

 Tags: @asianbutnotjapanese @cilil

[illicit-unknown-shadows]

Ixalië

Follow From: @eunoiaastralwings

Other RP Blog: @luthriel-tinuviel | @quiet-flower-wonderlings | @son-of-the-moon-and-sun | @tears-of-burden

Non-Tolkien: @shadow-hazehuntress | @spider-lily-droplets

AU/Canon Divergence Friendly - RULES

Feel free to reach out – with an idea of your own

ARTWORKS: Young Ixalië

Faceclaim: young Ixalië - Jenna Ortega ; Older Ixalië - Maggie Lindemann

Epesse: Ixalië

                     q. Shadow (feminine)

Sindarin:  Dûviel                      

                     s. Daughter of the Night/Dark

Reason: Every one in Arda named her Daughter of the Night/Dark, because of her dark looks and type personality - thanks @saurons-flaming-eye.

Home: Halls of Mandos

Race: Maia

Ethnicity: Ainur

Origin: Born as an orphaned elleth in middle earth, whom later, was pushed to her death when she was a teenager - Mandos took pity on her bullied life and made her into his maia.

ABOUT:

Alignment: Lawful chaotic Good, but has sadistic tendencies

Occupation: Maia of Mandos

Love Interest: Eönwë

RP Love Interest:

Sexuality: Pansexual

Likes: reading, being alone, her job, her gifted magic, Mandos and Vairë.

Dislikes: Sauron, Melkor and dark creatures (until she doesn't and follows them)

Favorite Color: Black

Literature: crime and mystery stories.

Hobbies: Reading and writing.

APPEARANCE:

Height: 6′9

Visual Age: 20 - 23

Build: Lean Muscular, small built

Hair Color: Dark black

Hair Style: Young Ixa: Braided at both sides, bangs on her forehead or tied into classy bun. Older Ixa: Bangs on her forehead or tied into classy bun, otherwise left down dead straight.

Eye Color: black, glows red when using her powers

Eye Shape: Almond

Skin: Pale

Hands: Thin and long fingers

Scars: One near her left eyebrow

Types of Clothing: Gothic

Usual Accessories: None

Feet Appearance: Always has black boots on.

Mannerisms: Most always looks down and look through her eyelashes to stare, while relaxing all the muscles on her face. Sometimes give a raised eyebrow if anyone does something silly or questionable.

PERSONALITY:

Type: INTJ

Optimistic or Pessimistic: Pessimistic - sadistic tendencies

Introverted or Extroverted: Introverted

Bad Habits: preference for solitude, her comfort with being alone, somewhat dark personality among strangers. Can say the most ominous of things at bad times.

Love Language: Quality Time

Strongest Character Trait: analytical, inventive, and loves unraveling complex puzzles

Weakest Character Trait: stubborn, single-minded

Reactions to Praise: Cringes at first, then a prideful thanks

Reactions to Criticism: Is ok with it - a born strategist

Biggest Fear: Melkor or dark creatures (until they aren't)

Last Time they Cried: Not since becoming a maia

What Haunts Them: Her past orphaned and bullied life

Smell: exotic fruits

EXTRA NOTES:

Ixalië was born in Arda as Dûviel. She was orphaned at birth as her parents had abandoned her. Grew up in a nearby village orphanage.

She was different among the other children, who liked to play and laugh. Dûviel preferred to sight at a corner and read her books alone. She was easily picked on because of dark looks, which made her grow into a dark personality to avoid others and their teasing, mocking and bullying.

Dûviel was viewed as a witch or vampire, but she did not mind as long as people did not pay attention to her. She finally have thought to made a friend, with whom she was finally able to share interests and hobbies too - but unfortunately lied and betrayed to by her and pushed to her death off a cliff when she was only 19 years of age.

Mandos took pity on her and gave her rebirth to be his maia, who was granted visions by touching particular objects to help her unmark the truth. He named her Ixalië. Mandos and Vairë are whom she considers has both her saviors and parents, she grows in their care into her adulthood.

Slowly, she opens up to the idea of friendships again. Her best friend is a maia of Irmo, Nyarmë – they are polar opposite but it is like Vairë once explained to her: “You cannot have a shadow without light shining on you first.”

But later Melkor to brings her to his dark side,- and Ixalië follows to take vengeance upon the elves that once harmed her

In canon, much later - she meets Eönwë and eventually falls in love with him.

[lightdancer1]

The Seven Outer Gods, Shub-Niggurath the Black Ram of the Woods

Shub-Niggurath to put it simply is both Typhon and Echidna and all the other cosmic concepts of monstrousness and rapacious destruction all in one. Her manifestations take a billion different shapes, though her main appearance thus far is in a distant glimpse in my Arda timelines where a casual movement through the process of the Music of the Ainur exposed to Melkor/Belkoroz (in most stories) and Varda (in the Varda-verse) that there were Other Universes and Other Gods and that they could aspire to be more than what Eru said.

One of her many spawns is Ungoliant, who correspondingly gets a vast badass upgrade where she was already the most formidable entity in the setting (or more precisely her origins are 100% laid out as eldritch space spider-thing) and this applies also to her direct spawn.

So in these AUs Shelob is one of the most fearsome entities in the setting....magnifying that Sam Gamgee STILL gets her to flee shrieking into the darkness in his moment of awesome because he's Sam fucking Gamgee.

She is the ur-archetype of the Monster and the Primordial Cosmic Powers, so in this sense all the entities like the Jotnar and the Gigantes and Hecatonchires and Aztec Star Vampires owe their inspiration to her in the eyes of mortals.

Her presence and that of her direct spawn is the most sinister of all the Outer Gods, and is intentionally so.

[nillions]

What can you tell about spacealien!Ainur? (oh my god. your au sounds awesome!) Also, what are those black birbs?

Thank you! Let me see if I can go more in-depth on the space!Ainur for you:

As far as civilizations go, the Ainur rank just a little bit above a Type II on the Kardashev scale–they’ve harnessed the energy of their parent star(s), and they do currently receive energy from a few other neighboring areas, but it’s only supplementary. In a lot of ways, they’re still quite young on the galactic scale by the time the events of the Quenta Silmarillion.

Their personal belief system about their species’ role in the Music of Creation is clearly related to their own biology. In general, they have heightened sensitivity to vibrations; nuance in speech sometimes results in additional simultaneous pitches added to the words, which is why Earth-native species finds their native language abrasive.

The political body ruling their species are the Valar. Their lifespans are incredibly long, increasingly so as their technology improves, and by the time they become interstellar they have stabilized into a set population continuously replacing or rejuvenating their forms. Thus, if Manwe is referred to at any point, it is the same Manwe referred to at all points. 

The term Maiar is used to refer to bodied Ainur not on the ruling council. In addition, there are a great number of un-bodied Ainur still acting and present in society through robotic forms (not necessarily humanoid) running what is essentially a stored imprint of their intelligence. 

Melkor is most certainly in lock-down inside one of these forms “in the void” (i.e. in an undisclosed location in space), unable to be killed due to the Valarin moral code but unable to remain bodied for the safety of others. Due to the sinking of Numenor, Sauron is also bound to a robotic form, and the One Ring is his last life-line to regain control of the commandeered technologies his forces once had.

The Ainur the sentient species of Earth are not the only acting groups in this galaxy. There’s a lot going on out there that even they don’t understand.

As for the black birbs, they are my personal concepts and not from Tolkien’s canon. They’re vampiric, parasitic shapeshifters known as the Ahluum, but they are affectionately called sludge birds. Usually I only bring them up in the distant future scenarios, because they’re behind the Ainur in technologic development and also there can only be one group of shape-shifting puppeteers in this neck of the galaxy.

Everything is developing all the time; some thoughts have definitely changed since I discussed them with people back in… 2014? 2015? And that includes with @misbehavingmaiar, there are new and altered details that we’ve never discussed. 

(If people want to hear more about my sludge birds, I will gladly and with immense pleasure make a separate post about them. I just really love them a lot, you know?)

[edensrose]

hi darling <3 could I request vamp! Tilion with the "you're not just the friendly gentleman/lady, are you?" prompt and a mortal reader who's managed to get into where Telperion is kept? (whether she's a spy, is there for personal reasons or straight up lost lol, Tilion finds her) 👀👀

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ tilion ⠀〳 human!reader⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. long have you awaited this day — where you would reach your goal and avenge your loved one. but it seems that a new friend of yours has other plans. ( blood mention ៸៸ biting ៸៸ mentions of humans used as blood bags ៸៸ 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌! 𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏 )

· ⊰ note. to kick off the vampire au we have a request from my darling writing wife<3 hope you enjoy!

˙ ˖ lore post ៸៸ character sheet ៸៸ masterlist

Humans and vampires were like oil and water. 

Never mixing, and sure as hell not friends. 

Yet on the rare occasion, humans would mingle in the affairs of night crawlers. Rather, vampires in the Royal Court would prefer to have a walking blood bag than venture out into the world to feast on the son of man. Smaller villages that were well aware of their existence and feared them most, eventually came up with a solution: to offer a handful of young, healthy, sons and daughters — to not only live in the Court and be their breakfasts, lunches and suppers — but to also aid vampires in the more mundane, tedious affairs of the human world. 

When you turned the appropriate age of adulthood your village had roped you into the decade’s next supply for their blood-thirsty overlords and shipped you off to the palace. Ebony stone and lavish, candle-lit hallways awaited you. Paintings of old, sculptures of the talented and decorations of the rich adorned the interior of their domain. You expected something large, of course, but this was on a whole other level. Magnificent in every right. A part of you even began to believe that this was a hoax, a mere underhanded arrangement for your village to sell off a few of their own every ten years for wealth. Now that you stood before the red carpets, silver accents and crimson, beady eyes; you knew in your heart that this was reality. 

Perfect. 

You would merely bow your head and curtsey before the vampires — yet as you face the spruce-wood floors, your smile would remain inconceivable. 

Never, you promise. 

Never will these demons know of your true intentions here. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⊱· ❀ ·⊰

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“You certainly took your time.’’ 

A voice dripping honey and laced with playfulness tickles your eardrums. You glance up from your ink and parchment briefly to force a smile onto your lips. Or at least, you tell yourself it is forced as you discreetly slip a note into the drawer of your desk.

“Tilion,’’ you sigh with jesting exasperation and turn back to your quill. “You know, for a royal guard, you certainly have too much time on your hands. Slacking off, are you?” You could feel the roll of his eyes and his chuckle brought forth a swell of warmth in your chest. Goosebumps rise on your skin when cold arms wrap around your shoulders and silvery strands tickle your cheek. “Is it a crime to check up on my favourite human?” 

Favourite human. A title you had earned throughout your stay here. Tilion was different from his kin. Looney, comedic relief and far from the stern faces and constipated looks that other vampires around the palace wore like silver jewellery. You quickly gained favour from the higher-ups due to your ability to read and write, thus, you were sent on various tasks and missions into the human world. Documenting what you saw and relaying important information — apart from your default blood bag status. 

The first time you were bitten was absolute agony. Unfortunately for you, you caught the eye of a pureblood because of your pretty face and demeanour. You would quickly learn the difference between the fangs of a pureblood and their lesser selves: halfbloods. 

Perhaps you should be grateful for the title of favourite human to Tilion. You rarely faced the threat of his fangs. Initially, you assumed that his friendship was merely a ploy. A small game with his food before he sunk his teeth in. Needless to say, you were pleasantly surprised when the bubbly, sometimes goofy vampire only sought your companionship. It lessened the load of your ‘duties’.

And made your job so much easier. 

“What brings you here today?’’ You question before turning back to your note-taking. Scribbling down accounts of your short time in the human world. From the corner of your eye you observe his mannerisms, hoping that whatever it is that he was here for, it wouldn’t take too long. Let alone result in him plopping himself onto your desk and rambling on for hours. Whilst most nights you would entertain him, today was different. You had other work to attend to. Free from the watchful eyes of any vampire. 

A sacrifice, that is what you and the other humans were dubbed. Little did they know that one particular sacrifice would lead to spilt blood, and ironically, not that of the blood bags. 

Long had you been aware of the existence of vampires — and long have you craved vengeance for their reign of terror on the mortal world. Especially after the passing of your beloved friend to their powerful, cruel clutches. You worked hard to ensure that you were the main pick of the village for that decade’s batch of humans. Wormed your way into the palace and sucked up every ounce of pain that you were put through in order to make it to where you sat now. A map, that you deciphered, in your drawer that would lead you to their most revered possession: Telperion 

Tilion was not apart of the equation. An unknown variable that threw your plans into disarray. Not that he ever discovered your true intentions, rather, you could not bring yourself to hurt him. A conflict of interest. You wished to curse yourself until you were blue in the face. 

Maybe there is a way, you keep telling yourself as you allow him to chatter on about anything and everything interesting that occurred within the palace walls that week. ‘Maybe he is different.’

“Well, let me not take up too much of your time, seems like you are quite dazed.’’ Those words snap you out of your mini monologue and you habitually bite your lip. “Forgive me,’’ you sigh. “Suppose you can say I am far from energetic after today’s outing.’’ His smile tells you that all is well and he unwraps his arms from around you. Even if he was colder than ice, the absence of his touch left you chiller. Much like the ravenous winter that struck the land around the palace. 

“Rest today. If all is well, I will pay you a visit tomorrow.’’ His lips purse. “Well, if Eönwë has nothing planned for me. You know what a pest he can be.’’ Silver eyes roll to the chandelier strung from the ceiling. You give him a faint smile accompanied by a wave before he leaves you alone in your room once again. 

‘He is different.’

You already feel the headache settling itself between your nerves and you groan with fingers rubbing at your temples. Perhaps this is why vampires often got the job done without fail. They never grant themselves the luxury of forming meaningful relationships, at least from what you have observed. Unlike humans, who rely on their signature trait for survival: community. 

Curses fly from beneath your breath as you fish out the intricately drawn map and splay it over your desk. Bringing a candle nearby to ease the strain of your eyes, you follow the path that you can only hope will bring you one step closer to your goal. First, Telperion — and soon, the downfall of all vampires. 

‘East-wing, stay centre. The guards should be controlling the west once the moon is three-quarters through its course. Time it right and it should lead the way.’ 

Praying to whatever holy being might be listening, you once more fall back on your greatest strength: intelligence — before rolling up the map and burning it to ashes with the very candle in your hand. 

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⊱· ❀ ·⊰

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You would thank your lucky stars, but you knew that this was far from luck. This was skill. Skill that you sharpened like a blade. Knowledge and intellect were your weapons as you discreetly slink your way through the palace. 

Dawn would soon break through the sky, a sign for most vampires to call it a day. Even with their advanced energy and disregard for sleep, many enjoyed taking a few hours between the onset of dawn and morning to give themselves a break. A schedule you had memorised like the back of your hand. As you did the guard routine. 

Following the last shine of the moon that decorated the stone walls, you mind any creaking tiles and keep to the shadows. Avoiding windows that might send a breeze and cast your scent to the nearest guard in the vicinity. Many months had you planned this, and you would be a fool to let any possible contingency slip through the cracks. 

You could already catch glimmers of its shimmering leaves from the arch of an opening that lay before you at the far end of the hallway. Wouldn’t they guard it well? Many would ask. Vampires worshipped the tree, regardless of their rank. However, this specific wing of the palace was forbidden to humans such as yourself. Were you to be spotted, one can only assume a bloody outcome. Favoured or not. 

Heart in your throat, hands trembling at the taste of victory on your tongue — you approach the stone arch and slip out into the mini courtyard that awaited you. A ceiling was missing from above, allowing the power of the moon to shine down onto the area. Your lips purse for a moment. Was that the use of masking magic? You have never seen an opening from outside of the palace. After that brief spout of curiosity, you lower your gaze at last.

Lo and behold, the legend was true. Rooted at the centre, tall, mighty yet beautiful in every right stood the tree from the tales you read of in story books. Your eyes dazzle with the magnificence of silver that shimmers before you. Leaves, fruit, blossoms and trunk — all were blessed by the moon and shone with its pride. 

Telperion, the silver tree. 

Whether the gleam on your face was from the tree or the overwhelming sense of accomplishment that overflowed from within, you know not. After all this time, you are one step closer to your goal. Your friend’s name is sweet on your tongue for the first time in years as you whisper it into the air. Renewing your silent vow of avenging them. 

“Far from energetic, you say? Might I assume that you are sleepwalking, then?”

Nerves tensing. Hair standing. Your heart plummets into your stomach when a voice graces your ears. The same honeyed voice of the one you held dearest. The light of the tree means nothing to you anymore. Overtaken by the shadow that consumes the pebble floor beneath you and renders your body frozen. 

Unknown variable. . . No. 

A miscalculation. 

Nails dig into your palms as the presence that once brought you comfort finds itself in front of you. Seering dread throughout each of your nerves. Any warmth was now replaced by the chill of realisation — and the frostiness of failure. Betrayal. 

You sight those silver strands that you adored despite your gaze fixated on the ground — even so, you refuse to glance up. Whether out of fear or shock. 

“Will you not look at me?”

The pebbles melt to bronze and you soon face pools of grey. The warmth that you sought was still there. Familiar even. But now you could see past its facade and into the truth of malice. Staring back at you like a predator staring down its prey. The fingers beneath your chin that raised your head slip upwards. Caressing the underneath of your jaw as Tilion basks in the glow of your expression. 

“What is wrong? You are usually so happy to see me.’’ His thumb brushes at your cheekbone, a habit that you fell in love with. Despite it all, your mouth runs dry — and you can all but stare at him in a dumbfounded state. “Could it be. . .” he trails, before nails bite into your soft skin and his arm yanks you nearer. Flushing your heat against his iciness. 

“Is that fear in your eyes?” 

Was that cruelty in his? 

For the entirety of your stay here, Tilion was the one that chipped away your general view of vampires. Beating down the notion that all of them were merciless, sadistic beings of the night. With his silly smile and shimmering eyes. Oh, he still smiled. Yet it was filled with malevolence; and while his eyes shimmered, you knew well that it was not from kindness. 

“You. . .’’ Your throat wishes to bleed. Still, you power through — gaze locked onto his. 

“You are not just the friendly gentleman, are you?’’

His bark of laughter answers your question if not for the stone that met your back after he slipped his hand down to your throat and collided you into the nearest wall. Instinctively, your fingers shoot to his wrist and claw at his tanned skin as your body kicks into a struggle. Alas, you are no match for a vampire. Let alone a pureblood. The rose petals in your pocket would do so much as tickle him. 

“That is what I love about your kind.’’ Tilion grins, bringing his face closer to your frightened one. “You are all so trusting. So eager for companionship. Even if you try to remain aloof or indifferent. Tell me, did you think we were friends?”

“N-N. . .o!” your pride attempts to choke. 

“That look in your eye tells me otherwise.’’ His devilish hum rings through your eardrums and you gasp at the tightening of his grip that nearly cuts off your air supply. “Ah, that is right. You saw me not as a friend. . .” Tears spill into your eyes at his next spout of cruel laughter as he beholds your wriggling form. He needn’t finish his sentence. You knew the truth — so did he. All along you thought you were fooling him. Little did you know that it was you who was played like a harp. 

“As the Guardian of Telperion. . .’’ Your eyes widen at the start of his words. The bishop!? You absolute fool — how couldn’t you piece it together sooner?

“I should report you to the royals. After all, analysing your research would tell even a dunce of what you have been up to. However. . .’’ Holding your breath, your heart pounds against its ribcage. Eager to tear through your chest and run from you. Save you from the agony that you knew would come. 

“I must say, I believe I deserve a reward for this.’’ You catch a glimpse of his hungry gaze directed at your pulse. No doubt it is ringing through his ears just as much as yours. To make matters worse, the digging of his nails into your flesh cuts into your skin and allows a trickle of blood to drip down your neck. “I have held back all these months. . . And believe me, it was far from easy.’’ 

His hair tickles your face as his tongue flushes against the crimson; trailing it along the thin streak on your skin. You feel his tremble, his shudder — you hear his groan. Even a speck of your blood left him ravenous. Yet summoning all the patience he could, he parts in the slightest. So that he can behold your fearful expression once more. 

“I should have my fun with you first.’’ 

It is the only clarity you will receive before a cry is ripped from the depths of your throat. As though hot metal tore through the softness of your flesh. His fangs reminded you of the true prowess of a pureblood. 

It mattered not how much you protested. Struggled. Screamed — or begged. His hands found your wrists like chains and his bite left limp against the wall. A slave to your own ambition and at the mercy of his hunger. 

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[edensrose]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ꒰❀꒱ 𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆! 𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒖 ❜࿔ 

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ “ oh darling , the devil's whispers are sweet. . . and its bite is sweeter ’

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ ainur⠀〳 reader⠀ ៸៸ vampire themes ៸៸ blood mention ៸៸ biting, so much biting ៸៸ some violent themes ៸៸ dark fantasy ៸៸ royal aspects ៸៸ victorian esque ៸៸ various other tags  to be listed as the au ensues ❜࿔

꒰❀꒱ 𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆. 𝒂 𝒎𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒖𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒃𝒚 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒍 𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅.

· ⊰ synopsis. a world where mysterious, terrible creatures of the night rule over the land from the shadows. mere myth to most yet reality to others, it seems that the latter might become more apparent as there is an uproar in the vampire royal court. this victorian esque story follows the lives of the vampire court, the internal divide between kings, the struggle of scientists fighting for humanity. . . and the war between creatures of twilight and the divine hunters that vow to eradicate them. 

· ⊰ notes.

꒰❀꒱ ainur are either vampires or vampire hunter 

꒰❀꒱ while it is a victorian-like setting, it is not to be matched with the real-world time 

꒰❀꒱ some plots might have dark themes, but that depends on the premise 

You step through a dusty, dim lab. Strewn in blotched parchment, painted with crimson soaked into the carpet and wooden desk. 

Minding the shattered test beakers and other scientific apparatuses, you find your way to the table that lay across the dishevelled room. A half-melted candle lies abandoned on the side and you strike a match to alleviate the strain on your vision. 

Before you lay an open book. Droplets of that same crimson staining the worn-out parchment, coupled with hasty ink on the last pages. You brush the paper, feeling a sense of dignity almost emanating from them as you page to the front. Diagrams, sketches, essays and descriptions - whoever wrote this took great care and observation. You felt their life's work between your very fingertips, their pride and joy. 

You read over the title, The Vampire Legendarium, before slipping into the seat and reading the elegant handwriting. 

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Entry 0.1

Many think me insane for this research and its findings. 

Many call me a lunatic, a crazed fool.

However, I have seen it with my own eyes, what these. . . night demons are capable of. Beings of enhanced speed and strength. A terrifying intellect like no other. They stalk the twilight, but I believe that some may even walk the day. Exceptional hunters by nature, they seek only one goal throughout their frightening existence. 

An unrelenting, unquenchable, borderline sadistic craving for human blood. 

Perhaps I have lost my sanity whilst documenting what I can, but I only ask that you humour my insanity for but a moment, as I take you into the world:

Of the Vampire. 

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Entry 1.

To start my research, I scoured various myths and legends. There had to be some sort of explanation as to why these beings walk among us. 

Many tales were found, but there was an occurring story that seemed to stand out amongst the rest. A tale of the sun goddess Anartári and the moon god Isiltar. I will try my best to form a cohesive briefing of this story, as in order to understand one's present standing, you must first dissect their history. 

At the onset of creation, Anartári blessed the humans faithful to her with divine prosperity. This ancient race of humans grew to be more advanced than what we have today, in body, mind and spirituality. Records do not name these humans, so it is up to me to name this race,

Eruva; the divine. 

Blessed by the sun herself, their splendour reigned throughout the land. The Eruva adored their goddess and made it so that others conformed to her worship as well. The tree of Laurelin became their item of praise, their symbol of loyalty and the essence of their greatness. For whoever ate the fruit and drank its wine was sanctified.

Yet for all their otherworldly knowledge and excellency, they fell victim to the same fate that most mortals do: the folly of man. 

Greedy to conquer even death itself, they too went into the field of science and alchemy. Some even branched out, extending to the opposite spectrum. The tree of Telprion on the opposite end of the vast land, the essence of the moon god Isiltar.

And from that tree, coupled with rituals and blood sacrifices, came a result that no man could ever perceive as something divine or holy. . .

Vampires.

Better in every way were these creatures. Different too. And for a time, they were even praised. Exalted. Though something was off about these creatures: they served the moon. Praised and worshipped it. An act that was considered evil amongst the Eruva. Hypocrites.

But the final straw was when the Eruva came to learn that there was a price for immortality. For when these creatures grew hungry, mortal food was not enough to satisfy them. 

The land was painted red, and there was nothing to be done.

How can one kill the unkillable?

In their desperation to destroy the object of their own greed, they formed what would come to be known as the Laurëmá. 

An elite of hunters tasked with purifying the world of the evil that they created. 

I believe that they exist even to this day. With that being said, it is evident that they have not succeeded in their goal. As Vampires still dwell in these cursed lands.

Intricate. That was the only way you could describe these accounts. Your page slides down the width of the sewn-together book and you decide to continue. 

Paging through the old parchment, you scan different headings that caught your eye. Detailed, flawless. You might have even considered this to be the handiwork of the aforementioned Eruva. If this was not divine intellect, then what was?

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Entry 3. — Anatomy & Function 

While more popular tales and stories depict these beings as walking corpses, my findings show that it could not be further from the truth. 

They bleed like man, some cases of house invasion and disguise note that they even eat and sleep much like us humans. 

The notion of vampires sleeping in coffins and holding no reflection are plain inaccurate. While they are vastly different to us, their similarities are what allows them to blend in with the average human. 

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Entry 3.1 — Bodily Function 

With the previous statements above, I would like to note that while they might have the capability of blending in with humans, their abilities are far from what anyone would consider humane. 

While I cannot detail the extent of these extremities, the following is a general outline of the known vampire abilities: 

- enhanced speed, strength and agility 

- advanced senses, including a sixth sense

- night vision 

-  amplified cell replication, results in a healing factor 

Note: it is to be speculated that these advanced qualities of human function are not the only noteworthy abilities. These creatures obtain various mythical-based capabilities. Otherworldly and stemmed from magic.

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Entry 3.5 — Appearance 

A common misconception is that vampires are ghostly pale and as such, this is their identifiable characteristic. As stated in my previous entries, vampires walk among us. While it might be virtually impossible to decipher a vampire in disguise, there are a few general characteristics when they are not fooling the human eye. 

- taller height 

- crimson eyes ( they seem to mask this )

- slitted pupils ( see above )

- large frontal fangs ( addition from entry 6: different shapes for different species )

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Entry 4. — Diet

One of the few conceptions that remain apparent would be the vampire’s diet of human blood. While I do not have enough information regarding the amounts and the duration between feeding periods, my observations show that vampires go through some sort of. . . bloodlust. 

The variables of this remain unknown. 

Addition from entry 7: studies indicate that the different ranks have a play in the duration between feedings. Purebloods last the longest without blood whilst Halfbloods have the less desirable hunger habits. 

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Entry 7. — Ranking 

Quite the interesting discovery has been made, with the aid of my brother. 

It appears that vampires have their own ranking system, although I would also classify it as a range of subspecies. There are two main tiers of vampirism:

Purebloods and Halfbloods. 

The former are born vampires, whilst the latter is a result of a human being turned. 

There is a clear distinction between these rankings, most likely in correlation to their strengths, weaknesses and diet. 

Thankfully, from what I have deduced, Purebloods are no longer an existing subspecies. A mere myth nowadays. 

 Perhaps we should praise whatever gods are up there that the strongest of these creatures are dead and gone. 

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Entry 7.1 — Subcategories 

In my previous entry I concluded that there are different tiers of vampirism. Today I write that upon further investigation, I have discovered that there is a third category. 

In regards to Halfblood vampires, they divide one more time into two other sections: High-Rank Halfbloods and Low-Rank Halfbloods. 

The first is a result of a human turned into a vampire by a Pureblood, whilst the latter is created when a High-Ranked Halfblood turns a human. 

This brings the official ranking, from strongest to weakest, to: 

-Purebloods

-High-Rank Halfbloods

-Low-Rank Halfbloods 

Taking the previous entry’s findings into consideration, I can safely conclude that there must be a reduced number of High-Rank Halfbloods, if the ones that turn them have gone extinct. 

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Entry 11. — Weaknesses 

Once again we find that the tales passed down along generations are not entirely true. A common denominator would be garlic, silver or sunlight. However, it is far more complex than what many have come to believe. 

My findings have concluded the following results as accurate weaknesses of vampires:

- sunlight 

- gold 

- wild roses 

Further investigations will have to be conducted in order to devise the extent and conditions of these weaknesses. What one can assume is that they have a direct correlation with the rank of vampirism. 

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Entry 11.1 — Sunlight 

The notion of vampires burning to death in the sun seems to only be half-true. As I have stated countless times, these creatures of the night do walk amongst us. Including throughout the day. 

While this was a mind-boggling investigation for the most part, I believe that I have found the answer to this phenomenon.

If a vampire wears a piece of enchanted jewellery, they will be able to walk the day just like you and I. This piece of jewellery is more often than not, a ring. What is often referred to as a daylight ring. 

One can assume that without this, they are doomed to the rise of the sun every day, unless they find themselves indoors and away from its searing light.

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Entry 11.2 — Gold 

While I have already ruled out the weakness of silver, I was just as surprised to discover that the true weakness of vampires is gold. 

It seems that the myth of a silver stake torn through a vampire’s heart immediately kills them is in fact still applicable to gold. 

However, the condition of this is that the stake must consist of pure gold. Alloys tend to not do much damage, let alone be considered fatal. 

Gold dust may also be utilised to burn the flesh of these creatures. 

Entry 7.3 — Wild Roses 

If the discovery of gold as a weakness stunned me, then I must say that the notion of one of my brother’s favourite flowers being detrimental to vampires left me speechless. 

When roses make contact with a vampire’s skin, particularly the petals, it burns through their flesh.

While not entirely lethal, it is still enough to deter most vampires due to the sheer intensity of the pain that sears into them.

One might speculate that this extends to the essence of roses. Such as rose water, rose-based perfumes and other products. 

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Entry 12. — Strengths 

Now that I have uncovered the weaknesses, the next course of action would be to investigate the opposite end of the spectrum. 

I urge you to freshen up your knowledge of the named strengths that I have listed in entry 3.1, for this section will focus purely on the aforementioned ‘magic-based strengths’. Or rather, supernatural powers. 

The following will be explored in depth in the upcoming entries:

- compulsion 

- magic and enchantment 

- healing saliva 

These investigations require further observation. As I am sure you might assume, that will be far from an easy task.

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Entry 12.1 — Compulsion 

Compulsion is a supernatural ability that occurs when a vampire looks into the eyes of its victim and commands them to carry out a task. It is unbeknownst to me what they might use this for, but one can only assume that most cases are for sadistic purposes. 

When commanded, the victim will be unable to refuse. Even if their mind is strong enough to remain conscious and not enter a dazed-like state. 

Additional findings: further investigation concluded that one can combat this ability if they have wild roses on their person. One might even think to wear jewellery infused with this flower in pendants or chains.

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Entry. 12.2 — Magic & Enchantment 

This is a rather vague discovery as I have not found enough information regarding this quirk. From what I have been able to gather, the higher ranks of vampires have magical abilities that vary between individuals. 

One might speculate that this enchantment is what allows them to create their daylight rings. 

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Entry 12.3 — Healing Saliva 

It might sound quite bizarre, but vampires have a certain uniqueness to their saliva. However, this is not in regard to their own wounds. 

Their saliva acts disinfectant to a wound, however, it causes the wound to bleed longer yet slows down the rate of bleeding so that the victim does not bleed out immediately. . . I can only assume that this is so that these demons can enjoy their ‘meals’ for longer. 

Sadists.

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Entry 17. — The Turning Process 

Going into this, I assumed that I would not bear witness to such a. . . horrific act, but I suppose that I should not have expected anything less from these night demons. 

The process of turning a human into a vampire is far more complicated than a simple bite to the neck. 

While this part of my investigation was rather gruelling and. . . nauseating, I have managed to comprise a list of the accurate steps in turning a human into a vampire:

- the human must be bitten and injected with ‘vampire venom’

- the human must consume the vampire’s blood 

- the vampire must then. . . kill the human, who will awake as a Halfblood vampire after a day or so 

From what I have gathered, the venom induces agonising effects and excruciating pain on the body once injected. 

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Entry 20. — Moon Phases 

After growing rather curious regarding vampires’ connection with the moon, I decided to dig further into their relationship with the celestial body. 

My discoveries uncovered the following: during a new moon, a vampire is at its weakest — regardless of its ranking. 

However, there is a flip-side to this as well. 

During a full moon, the opposite occurs. Yet in a far more drastic way. Not only do they grow stronger, but their already insatiable bloodlust grows worse. 

This reflection of the moon pattern on their behaviour could help counter their attacks if followed with great consideration. 

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Entry 26. — Hunters 

To garner more information on the creatures of the night, I concluded that one might find out more from those who are possibly in contact with them the most — and live to tell the tale.

I could not uncover much about vampire hunters, but the little knowledge that I have obtained has quite piqued my interest. 

As stated in Entry 1, vampire hunters were a result of the Eruva seeking to eradicate the world of their own failure. From them stemmed Laurëmá: the golden hand. An elite group of hunters who took an oath to finish the task — by whatever means necessary. 

Some of the more ancient and experienced hunters can be identified by their. . . unique gold markings. While at first I insinuated that this was a result of gold-dust mixed into tattooing ink, I soon discovered that it is far more. . . unhinged, than that. 

Considering that these hunters are Eruva, they obtain an increased bodily function. Enhanced speed, strength, agility and endurance. While they are mortal, some live to be hundreds of years old — depending on their meditation practices. 

Upon obtaining injuries, particularly during their training years, hunters clean the wound before filling it with gold. To serve not only as a reminder of their cause or their loyalty to the sun, but to create a sort of built-in armour into their own bodies. Seeing as vampires cannot touch gold.

Yet the most intriguing factor about them, in my opinion, must be a phrase that they use. A motto. 

“Aurë entuluva’’ . . . meaning ‘day will come again.’

Beautiful, is the only way I can bring myself to describe it. Not only as a reaffirmation of their loyalty, but as a foil to those creatures of the night. 

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Entry 29. — Isilhíni

While I must admit that this entry will be rather short, by no means is it lacklustre. Through my findings I have unearthed an almost fantasy-like detail.

Then again, I suppose in a world of blood-sucking demons and sun-blessed humans, this might not be too much of a shocker. 

The Isilhíni. Translation: children of the moon. 

It is all in the name. The descendants of the moon god, who are ordinary humans just like you and I. But with one exception.

Their blood is of extreme importance to vampires. It is to be upheld, as it holds the essence of their precious Isiltar.

I have not found all that I would have liked to, but this fact alone could be a crucial factor in stopping these sadistic creatures.

I will have to find out more. There has to be something greater regarding these god children. 

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Entry 30. — Purebloods 

I write this entry in haste. 

While I have previously disregarded the existence of Pureblood vampires, recent incidents leave me anxious and I must note down what I have discovered. 

Purebloods are the nightmares that you think them to be. All known vampire weaknesses do not affect them. Roses, sunlight, gold, none of it!

They are stronger, smarter, and all the more dangerous. Their bloodlust knows no bounds, and from what I have uncovered — they were even considered royalty. 

I do not have much time. 

Purebloods can be killed only by having a stake from the tree of Laurelin. The tree that was destroyed centuries ago. But there is hope, some of Laurelin’s fr ﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

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Scribbles. 

Scribbles and blood splatters.

That is all that is left of the scientist’s writing. As though the scene itself told you a story — and suddenly, the cluttered state of the room made sense. 

Closing the book, you lift it into your hands. You would not let this work be done in vain. You felt as though you owed it to this mystery writer. Determination swells within you and you make a move to leave at last.

Well,

That was until a creak in the floor echoes from behind you. 

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ next up: characters

[edensrose]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ꒰❀꒱ 𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆! 𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒖 ❜࿔ 

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ “ masterlist / queue ’

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ ainur⠀〳 reader⠀ ៸៸ vampire themes ៸៸ blood mention ៸៸ biting, so much biting ៸៸ some violent themes ៸៸ dark fantasy ៸៸ royal aspects ៸៸ victorian esque ៸៸ various other tags  to be listed as the au ensues ❜࿔

꒰❀꒱ the vampire legendarium | character sheet | prompt page ( please read these if you have not already, for lore )

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·⊰ queue / masterlist. 

ʚ "you're not just the friendly gentleman, are you?" — 𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

ʚ ( authority. ) & ( capture. ) — 𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒘𝒆 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

ʚ ( interrogation. ) & ( sadistic. ) — 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 ( 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆 𝒙 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐 )

ʚ ( authority. ) & ( capture. ) — 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 ( 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆 𝒙 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐 )

ʚ "if you bite me, will I die?'' — 𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

ʚ ( turn. ) — 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒌𝒐𝒓 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

ʚ ( awake. ) — 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒌𝒐𝒓 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

ʚ human reader is in a relationship with a vampire, who tries to protect them from the others — 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏, 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐, 𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ( separate )

ʚ "your blood is intoxicating, if I start, I don't think I could ever stop." "I trust you." — 𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒘𝒆, 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏, 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ( separate )

ʚ (bite. ) — 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒖𝒓𝒆

ʚ ( accident. ) — 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

ʚ ( bloodlust. ) — 𝒊𝒓𝒎𝒐, 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ( separate )

ʚ vampire finds reader, after seeing how terrified they are, they cannot bare to finish their mission — 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒘𝒆

ʚ forbidden romance between reader and vampire — 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒌𝒐𝒓, 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐, 𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ( separate )

ʚ ( rescue. ) — 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏, 𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒘𝒆, 𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 ( separate )

ʚ ( temptation. ) — 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒌𝒐𝒓, 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆, 𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ( separate )

ʚ ( control. ) — 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏, 𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ( separate )

ʚ "holy water? how original.'' — 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒌𝒐𝒓 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏

ʚ "you're everything I've ever wanted.'', "hold still and this won't hurt as much.'' & "please give me a chance.'' — 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒌𝒐𝒓 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆

ʚ ( dance. ) , ( gift. ) & ''scared, darling?" — 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

[edensrose]

Curious ( I have more aus coming soon )

[edensrose]

For a fic related question:

What inspired you to write up Vampire! Ainur?

Well! There were a few notable franchises that gave me inspiration for the vampire!au. Namely:

Diabolik Lovers

The Vampire Diaries

( some ) Twilight

A lot of my lore and such was inspired heavily by Diabolik Lovers and TVD! If you look at my vampires you can see that they share resemblance to the vamp species in these two franchises

Also I just really like vampires — there's just so much plot you can do with them, you know? That on its own was an inspiration 🥰

Also @cilil motivated and inspired me BIG TIME. Couldn't have done it without her!

[edensrose]

another request if I may~ :3

❀ character(s): Manwë/Námo | calamórë ❀ prompt(s): either (interrogation) or (sadistic) you know what to do love♡

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖   manwë ⠀〳 námo⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. it became common knowledge that the new vampire turned by the prince was none other than the scientist and writer behind the vampire legendarium, manwë is well aware of the implications and knows that he must ensure the well-being of his race. . . even if it means tormenting the man that he claims to love. that he turned with his own fangs. ( blood ៸៸ interrogation ៸៸ capture ៸៸ 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ៸៸ burning ៸៸ torment ៸៸ 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌! 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆 )

· ⊰ note. indeed I do hehe, oh how I've been dying to write some dark calamórë ~ hope you enjoy lovely!

“Awake at last, I see.’’ 

Námo had barely processed the blur of colours within his fluttering eyes when the voice, sick with honey, graces his ears. A delightful melody that he would have once been head over heels for — yet now, he barely even raises his face to meet the telltale song. 

The binds on his wrists rub red markings into his skin. A reminder that all his struggling would amount to nothing if the very rope that restrained him was weaved with tidbits of gold. Even so, he had grown accustomed to the sensation of his burning flesh. If anything, it was a relief that he could still feel. Despite falling down the path of these night creatures. He doesn’t bother another attempt of struggling from the chair he is fastened to. His muscles have adapted to the stiffness, and if it meant staying down in this cobblestone dungeon without having to face the reality of what he has become, he would take it over seeing the light of day ever again. 

Whether he wanted to or not, his head was wretched into position by fingers coiling within his ebony locks. A strain shoots through his neck, spreading down to his shoulders and easing a groan from his mouth. The vibration awakens the burning agony in his throat and he grunts — hoping to sate the dry discomfort at the back of his tongue, yet to no prevail. Perhaps he should be thankful for the pools of azure that take his attention, but instead, he feels nothing but a twinge to his heart and disgust in his gut. 

“Missed me, darling?”

Who knew that honey could sound so bitter?

“Manwë,’’ he croaks, barely fluttering his lashes. He gives no reaction when that pale hand strokes his hair, feigning affection, before circling around his jaw. Cold fingers flush against his face, squishing it in the vampire’s hold as he drags Námo’s face closer. “While you should address me as superior because I am now your prince,’’ he starts, eyes flashing with a moment of displeasure before his sickeningly sweet smile returns and he brushes his lips against his beautiful captive’s. “I must say I do love the way you say my name.’’

Bile rises to the back of Námo’s throat. His attempts at turning his head away are fruitless. Even with his strength advanced now that vampirism flowed through his veins, he was no match for a Pureblood. Let alone the Prince. Especially with his thirst gnawing at his stomach.

“Please,’’ forcing down his pride, he battles. “I need. . . I need to feed. Please.’’ 

“You know what I need first, darling.’’

Námo shakes his head, albeit barely due to the grip. Whether in protest or desperation, it displeases Manwë all the more — as shown when his nails dig into the jade-like skin. “Now darling, if you do not cooperate with me I am afraid that I cannot give to you what you desire. After all, that is far from a fair exchange, yes?”

“I know not of what you assume!” Námo’s voice titters the edge of a cry as his shoulders slump. If it were not for the prince’s hand, the entirety of his body would have limped forward. “You saw the records, Manwë. Those were all done by me. I worked relentlessly to research the topics — but I have no connection to those that you think of!” The weight swelling around his throat grows heavier and the sting seeps in. Nagging at his tongue, salivating his mouth at the thought of his thirst. Of the sweet taste of blood that was only an inch away. Yet he would dare not reach for it. Not when its owner would leave him choking on roses and restrained by gold should he try. 

“If I held any connection to the Laurëmá, do you not think that they might have reacted by now? I have been in your clutches for many moons. Surely there would have been some upheaval?” He hopes his logic would go through to Manwë — and when that tight grip relents around his jaw and gentle stroking finds the side of his face, he assumes that it has. 

“My sweet, darling.’’ Crooning with such a tender voice, he rakes his hand through those long, dark tresses. Untangling strands and cupping his lover’s head. “I want to believe you. I truly do.’’ Námo’s gaze which shimmers with hope falters as he feels those fair fingers venturing further into his hair — 

“But,’’

nails dig into his scalp, fingers coiling around his tresses and bundling his hair into a fistful. The pain that shoots through his head and neck prompts a yelp from Námo who falls limp in the hold that forces his neck to arch and brings his face a mere breath away from Manwë’s. “You and I both know that something like this cannot simply be swept under the rug. Might I remind you that no mundane human has brushed even the surface of the knowledge that you compiled into that little. . . legendarium.’’ He curls his nose a little, criticising. “Your work threatens my kingdom and my people — including my own self. Tell me, is that what you do to the one that you claim to love?” 

He almost smirks at Námo’s flinch in response to that four-letter-word that now became null on his tongue. Forbidden to his mind. Manwë ignores the pang in his heart from viewing such a reaction and continues, voice dripping with faux kindness. “I have to ensure that what you are telling is indeed the truth, my darling. I must find out whether or not you are connected to those damned hunters or not. So,’’ he exhales, releasing the dark hair from his hold and circling around Námo’s chair to the wall behind him. His hand reaches out, elegantly plucking the candle from its hold on the cobblestone and returning before his beloved. The floral scent wafts in the air, making Námo’s nostrils flare and his eyes gape in realisation. The legs of the chair skid against the stone floors with his struggles and he shouts with protest, plead and pitifulness. 

“Forgive me for this, my beloved.’’ 

“Manwë!”

His scream rips from his throat and his head tosses back. The whites of his eyes increase and his irises threaten to bulge out of his sockets when the burn encases the flesh of his collarbone. Fingers flex, muscles tense, his hands clench and unclench. The sweet smell of roses taunts his nostrils — reminding him of the scent he once adored, that now burns through his lungs and swells tears into his eyes. 

“St-Stop,’’ he sobs, head kept in place by Manwë’s free hand returning to his jaw while the other continues to tilt the candle just enough. Allowing wax to fall onto pale skin and burn through flesh. Making a mess of his collarbones and streaking red down his chest when it drips beneath his robes. “Stop?” Manwë croons, arching his brow and intentionally tilting the candle a bit too suddenly, so that wax falls non-stop and burns his wailing lover. “But my darling, I thought you loved roses? These candles were crafted specifically for you.’’ 

Oh, he knows that it is cruel. His better judgement nags at the back of his mind and pulls at his heartstrings, but he forces it down. This situation was dire. If Námo was not honest with him and is indeed canoodling with the enemy side, this could very well be detrimental to the vampire race. Alternatively, if he can spout a confession and get him to spill the hunters’ secrets, it would be a massive advantage. 

This is the only way, he tells himself as he forces Námo’s head back further, his Adam's apple bobbing against Manwë’s palm as he cries and chokes. Body tossing and turning as the rose-essence candle wax falls onto his battered skin and leaves his eyes practically rolling back with agony. 

“Tell me,’’ breathes Manwë, his fingers retreating to dark robes for but a moment, to tear open the front and direct the candle to his lover’s bare chest before his grip swiftly returns to his throat. “All you have to do is tell me the truth and all of it will stop. You know how much I hate hurting you, darling. This is torture to me too.’’ 

“M-Manwë —” cries the other, shaking his head frantically, or at least attempting to. His sobs consume his voice and his weak body curls against the chair. Wishing that the cobblestone floors would swallow him whole.  “I know n-nothing! Nothing!” His lips part, his facial muscles slacking as he has little to no energy to control any aspect of his body. All he can do is sob, plead and hope that his prince will show him the mercy he once did. When Námo was human and Manwë loved him as he claimed to. 

Love. . . 

“P-Please,’’ Námo croaks, screwing his eyes shut in hopes of ignoring the searing burn down his neck and chest, already bleeding his flesh. “You s-say you love me. . . if it is true — please stop. . . I-I beg of you.’’ His head limps in the tight hold, brows furrowing. He anticipates the worst. To hear that cruel laugh that makes his ears wish to bleed. For his body to be spiralled into bouts of unspeakable agony. 

Yet, it stops. 

The burn still lingers on his skin, dying down only when the wax hardens. The scent of his own blood makes him dizzy — but the terror itself stops. 

He almost refrains from opening his eyes, frightened of what he might see before him. However, when such a tender touch strokes some of his hair from his face and caresses his head, he cannot help but indulge. Facing the monster that he, regrettably, still loves and yearns for with all his heart. 

It matters not to him whether Manwë’s face shines with displeasure. All that he can be grateful for is the fact that the candle was disregarded on the floor — snuffled out by the cobblestone. Námo entertains the thought of love reciprocated as the prince shows him such affection. Manwë leans in and bates his breath as he observes the mess of wax and crimson upon his skin. 

“Why must you make life so difficult for me, beloved?” Manwë breathes, craning his face closer to the other’s collarbone and inhaling the delightful scent of roses mixed with the intoxicating smell of his darling’s blood. Nothing came close to his essence. Even now that Námo has been turned into a creature of the night — his blood is still addictive nonetheless. Manwë should be ashamed. Was drinking from your own kind not considered taboo?

‘Let it be immoral for all I care. I cannot stop myself. I am blameless, this is his doing.’ 

He lowers his face, expertly avoiding the hardened wax and instead lapping at the sweet, cold blood that leaves him groaning. He savours the taste on his tongue, ‘cleaning’ his lover of the crimson spilt. He trails further, shuddering with every taste and shooting his hands down to grasp his waist — despite knowing that Námo had nowhere to run. 

At last, Manwë forces his head from the tattered flesh and brings his face closer to the other who stares at him in a daze. Despite neither needing to, they breathe — deep, heavy and laboured. The closeness allows Manwë to catch Námo’s line of vision that fixes itself onto his lips and despite knowing it is because of the blood staining his mouth and his dear captive’s starved state, Manwë indulges in the thought of Námo lusting for a kiss. Which is why he wastes no time in closing the gap and crashing his crimson-painted lips onto the other’s.  

He knows well what Námo seeks, prompting him to take less than a second before he is forcing his tongue past cold lips and invading him. Claiming him as he has before. Delighting in the feel of Námo’s tongue eagerly meeting his own — desperate for even a drop of blood remaining on his pink muscle. Manwë capitalises on this need, his hand fixing onto the back of dark hair and dragging his head closer. Deepening their kiss, intensifying their fervour. For a moment, he even forgets where they stand — let alone the situation at hand.

“So desperate,’’ he murmurs after parting, albeit with great effort. His breathless chuckle fans the air when Námo chases after him, rasping in plea. Begging for a sliver of blood, even if it were but a faint taste. Manwë’s hand holds him firmly, slipping beneath his jaw and stroking a cool thumb against his cheekbone. 

“My poor little darling, you must be so hungry. . . Hmm?” 

“Yes,’’ sniffles Námo, his breaths becoming pants as he looks at his prince with eyes full of need. Yearning for even a speck of crimson. “Please. . . My Lord, I cannot —’’ his words hitch when he observes Manwë bringing a free hand to his own lips. His fangs glisten in the faint glow of the surrounding candles as he pierces his wrist and bleeds his own essence. It takes only a second for the scent to fill Námo to his core. Brining his lungs, glossing his eyes and he practically gasps in want. “Please — Please, please, please My Prince.’’ 

The gums around his fangs pulse and his tongue salivates at the memory of such addiction. The intoxicating taste of Manwë’s blood nearly drives him mad with need as he parts his lips when the vampire dangles his wrist above his mouth. Those droplets of crimson clinging and dangling from pale skin serve to mock Námo, who whines with demand. 

“So impatient,’’ chuckles Manwë, his eyes glinting when drops of his blood finally fall. Soaking into Námo’s tongue who practically moans with euphoria and stretches his neck upwards, eager to suckle on the wound and finally feed after what felt like months — but was most likely only a few weeks. 

Feeling generous, Manwë brings his wrist closer and smirks as the young vampire darts to attach his lips to the puncture, albeit barely. His gasps and moans rumble against Manwë’s skin, who only strokes his beloved’s dark hair with his free hand. Delighted at the sight of such desperation for his blood. Sadistic pleasure shudders through his body and he himself has to suppress a groan from the sight of Námo’s blissful state. 

It takes everything within him to retract his wrist and he grins at the pathetic cry that leaves the other’s mouth, accompanied by tears that fall like waterfalls and slews of incoherent pleas. 

“M-Manwë — please,’’ he gasps. “It is —’’

“Not enough?” Manwë completes, pulling down the sleeve of his shirt and concealing the wound. “A shame.’’ He croons, biting back his excitement from seeing Námo break down into a state of pitiable begs and a thousand babbling bargains. 

Nevertheless, Manwë sighs, circling around his lover and caressing his head with both hands as he leans down to his ear. “You know what I need, my love.’’ His lips press a chaste kiss against his temple before he parts and backs off from the chair. 

“I shall return in the coming days, depending on my mood. Who knows — if you comply, maybe you can return to my side,’’ as he steps through the dungeon, ignoring the choked sobs and crying calls, he spares but a glance over his shoulder. Azure eyes consumed by crimson that glints in the wafting flames. 

“Perhaps I can love you once more.’’

·⊰ masterlist.

·⊰ tip jar.

·⊰ get tagged for my writing. @cilil @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @a-world-of-whimsy-5

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖  please consider liking, reblogging and / or commenting if you enjoy my work! all feedback is greatly appreciated ♡

[edensrose]

For the Vampire!Ainur Au,

[edensrose]

Y'all, I've planned out the majority of this vampire au. It's the info posts that are taking me literal AGES to complete 😭😭 THERE'S SO MUCH LORE

[edensrose]

For the Vampire!Ainur Au

[edensrose]

The current vampire au consists of the following characters:

Manwë

Melkor

Námo

Irmo

Eönwë

Mairon

Tilion

Oromë

Are there any other ainur you would like to see in this au? ( Apart from Ulmo, I cannot write him )

[edensrose]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ꒰❀꒱ 𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆! 𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒖 ❜࿔ 

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ “ 2k followers event ’

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ ainur⠀〳 reader⠀ ៸៸ vampire themes ៸៸ blood mention ៸៸ biting, so much biting ៸៸ some violent themes ៸៸ dark fantasy ៸៸ royal aspects ៸៸ victorian esque ៸៸ various other tags  to be listed as the au ensues ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. a world where mysterious, terrible creatures of the night rule over the land from the shadows. mere myth to most yet reality to others, it seems that the latter might become more apparent as there is an uproar in the vampire royal court. this victorian esque story follows the lives of the vampire court, the internal divide between kings, the struggle of scientists fighting for humanity. . . and the war between creatures of twilight and the divine hunters that vow to eradicate them. 

꒰❀꒱ please ensure that you have read the vampire legendarium and the character sheet before proceeding 

꒰❀꒱ queue / masterlist.

in celebration of reaching 2k followers, I have decided to run an event that the majority of you voted for in a poll. I would like to first take this opportunity to thank each and every one of you who have supported me. I have been in the tolkien fandom for over a year and I am so happy with how far I have come. I appreciate all of you and I can only hope for smooth sailings along with greater things to come! I would also like to give a huge thanks to my darling friend @cilil , for she was the one who helpled me massively with this au! at this point, it's our au lol. love you babes<3 anyway ~

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· ⊰ notes

꒰❀꒱ the following event will work on a request system. you can request as many times as you like, however, there are only fifteen slots. depending on my mood, I might open up more slots in the future ( 21 requests — closed! )

꒰❀꒱ anyone can participate, as long as you take my rules into consideration 

꒰❀꒱ requests are reader-insert based, you may request for a total of three characters in one fic

꒰❀꒱ you may request calamórë ( manwë x námo ) as well

꒰❀꒱ please send in a prompt from below and a character. you do not have to provide plot but you can if you so wish

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· ⊰ prompts 

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖  dialogue

 "don't vampires live forever? that's a long time. . ." "you make me sick."

 "for a so-called 'expert', your strategies are kind of weak." 

 "you're everything I ever wanted..." 

"you can run, but you cannot hide. "

"holy water. how original. "

"if you bite me, will I die?"

"please don't be afraid of me."

"your blood is intoxicating. if I start, I don’t think I could ever stop." "I trust you."

"I want you to turn me."

"what are you?"

“you’re hurting me!”

"you are/are not a monster."

"don't come any closer!"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"if you’re going to sit there bleeding, at least have the decency to offer me some to drink."

"please, just give me a chance!"

"what happens if two vampires drink from each other?" "would you like to find out?"

"you're not just the friendly gentleman/lady, are you?"

"scared, darling?"

"hold still and this won't hurt as much."

“don’t you dare lie to me!”

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( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ scenarios 

ʚ A and B knew each other in the past, and A is heartbroken and betrayed seeing that B is a vampire Hunter now. B has to now try to regain this trust. 

ʚ B finally finds A, but after taking one glance at their terrified form, they can't bare to finish carrying out their mission.

ʚ A and B are in a forbidden romance, as they are either a vampire or vampire hunter 

ʚ A is a hunter and thinks that they are misleading B, a vampire. little do they know that B already knows what they are and is playing them as well 

ʚ A is a human and in a relationship with B, a vampire who is trying to keep them safe from other vampires 

ʚ A and B are on opposite sides, A ends up defending B in a fight when their kin clash 

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( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ action prompts

( angel. ) reader is tricked by the beauty of vampire and is thus lured into a dangerous sutuation. 

( accident. ) vampire/vampire hunter accidentally hurts reader.

( authority. ) vampire / vampire hunter shows their authority over reader.

( awaken. ) reader awakes as a vampire with the one who turned them at their side.

( battle. ) reader and vampire / vampire hunter are on opposite sides, they find themselves in a battle. 

( betrayal. ) vampire / vampire hunter betrays reader ( or vice versa ).

( bite. )  vampire bites the reader on their ( neck / wrist / thigh / body part ) to drink their blood.

( bloodlust. )  vampire has gone too long without feeding, base instincts taking over, the reader finds them. 

( capture. ) reader is captured by vampire / vampire hunter ( or vice versa ).

( chase. ) reader runs from either a vampire / vampire hunter.

( control. ) vampire has to control themselves from draining the reader dry.

( dance. ) reader and vampire / vampire hunter share a tense or intimate dance. 

( discover. ) reader discovers what the other actually is, a vampire / vampire hunter.

( duty. ) vampire hunter has to decide whether to choose duty over love when they discover what the reader truly is.

( gift. ) human reader gifts vampire roses without knowledge of its effects.

( gold. ) reader sees vampire hunter's golden wounds.

( intentional. ) vampire / vampire hunter intentionally hurts reader either out of spite or to obtain information from them.

( interrogation. ) vampire / vampire hunter interrogates reader.

( protective. ) vampire / vampire hunter expresses protectiveness over reader.

( rescue. ) vampire hunter / vampire saves reader.

( reveal. ) vampire / vampire hunter reveals to reader what they really are.

( sacrifice. ) vampire / vampire hunter sacrifices themselves for reader.

( sadistic. ) reader finds themselves in a situation with a sadistic-driven vampire / vampire hunter.

( stake. )  after finding out the other is a vampire, the reader tries to stake them.

( temptation. ) vampire tempts reader with immortality or the idea of staying by their side for all eternity.

( trapped. ) reader finds themselves trapped in the vampire royal castle / the hunters' domain

( turn. ) vampire turns the reader into one of them.