#vampire!dream

[skumhuu]

Found your Vampire! Dreammare on Twitter. Nay I asn for more info? Particularly in regards to Dream and experiences as what is essentially an abandoned fledgling before he got reluctantly and forcibly adopted into he Pack and dragged back into the arms of the vampire who first turned him?

Oooo vampire!Dreammare is so fun 👀 here’s a copy/paste of one of my twt threads:

Basically either Nightmare was unwillingly turned or eating the apple made him into a vampire. He almost starves before Dream realizes and forces him to feed from him. Things go horribly wrong when the villagers find out what is happening, and Dream gets fatally injured by accident.

In response Nightmare goes on a rampage, kills everybody, and turns an unwilling Dream who would have died otherwise. Dream is,,, heartbroken, to say the least by his predicament.

Thus Nightmare dedicates all of his time to finding a ‘cure’ for vampirism. Sadly, it backfires and he becomes goopified and unhinged. Afraid of his power hungry sibling, Dream flees. The twins spend a long time apart, fighting, waging wars, but at the end of the day Nightmare IS his sire and eventually Dream is forced to return.

He’s dragged kicking and screaming but it’s not like he could have stayed away for much longer w/o going feral. He is his brother’s fledgling, as much he tries to fight their bond, instincts outweigh logic. He gets drunk off of the instinct high at times 😂

Thankfully at this point Nm has settled down a bit with Killer, Dust, and Horror who have all been feeding him. He’s effectively Chilled Out and is ready to be a Good Sire 🥺 And along with Dream comes Cross, who is basically his emotional support werewolf/bloodbag in this mess.

Also Dream leaving in the first place was very very difficult since fledglings feed off of their sire’s blood and completely severing the deep mental bond they had was impossible. Instead Dream carefully walled off his mind, pushing his brother out.

Closing Nightmare off was one of the most difficult things Dream ever did. When he’s forced to return, reopen their bond, and feed from his sire, there’s no way of leaving again w/o Nightmare noticing and immediately dragging him deep into his instincts.

Nightmare is very soft towards him tho, and ready to prove to Dream that things are better now and that he’s going to properly cherish him. Very soft vampire and werewolf stuff, lots of instincts and growling and warbling until they finally all settle down 💚

Also Nightmare has chilled out as a sire but he’s still a power hungry murderous vampire dictator who doesn’t hesitate to drain anyone who inconveniences him dry (Except his pack ofc) the pack is also usually Very Vicious to outsiders. Thus Cream’s nervousness 😂

Dream doesn’t realize it but he was only allowed to leave the first time because Nightmare LET him leave out of guilt of hurting his brother over and over again despite how hard he keeps trying not to. The moment Nm realizes that Dream is hurting himself he drags him back.

[roguelov]

Crimson Stained Petals

Summary: Set in the 1880s, rumors and mysteries swirled around a quaint town, mostly about a lord tucked far into the woods. Arriving in town, you could not deny your curiosities, but you were not here to stay. Or so you thought. Low on funds, and a job for a live-in servant advertised in the paper, you now found yourself in the home of Lord Morpheus - the source of all rumors. Passions and tensions will grow. Questions will be answered, but may come at a hefty price. And a promise may be broken. But, is Lord Morpheus, and those few residents, truly as scary as they seem?

Words Count: ~3.9k

Reader: Neutral (unspecified now, however fem leaning)

Warnings: Mostly establishing characters, minor pining, hints of bloodlust

Chapter 2 and future chapters to come!

A advertisement in the newspaper, and a purpose.

A live-in house servant wanted. Duties required as such including cleaning and maintaining cleanliness of said home, laundry - including washing, folding, and ironing linens, occasional shopping, and menial requests asked of the owner, however cooking skills are unnecessary. Contact at -

You tucked the clipped ad into your pocket. You leaned back, and lazily glanced out the dusty window. The carriage bounced over the dirt path, kicking up dust clouds. A forest, thick with little sunlight penetrating through the tall treetops, surrounded the carriage on both sides. One turn, one stray off the path, and you would be lost. A poor soul taken by the creatures and ghosts of the woods. A soul whose name would drift off into oblivion in a day.

You bent forward, trying to sneak another glance at the manor - at your new home.

“Please, follow me this way.”

You were led by a woman, with round glasses, and wore a well tailored suit. She held her head high, yet her eyes shone with an unbelievable kindness. Walking in, you tried to sneak a peek over the expansive, and expensive, home: the chandler in the center of the main foyer - a globe of dripping starlight, the crown molding etched with swirling elaborate designs, two staircases carved from a rich warm wood curved upward to the second floor, the wall were mostly in dark tones - each room a designated color from greens, reds, blacks to creams - and some covered in wallpaper mimicking a lace design, however the showstopper was the stained glass window above the front door which reached to the top of the two story home - it depicted a tree in a sea of roses, dare you say a version of Eden.

The home was draped in dark, ominous tones, but where light shone it shone brightly cutting back the dread.

If only the sunlight was out now. It was setting, casting shadows across the floors and onto the walls. And with the dense forest, night arrived much faster.

The woman directed you to a small, parlor room to the right of the entrance. Cozy, would be how you would describe the room. A place to talk with guests. There were two sets of couches and a few chairs with a table. Cream tones covered the room, breathing fresh life compared to the diming home. The fireplace, however, was unlit and the curtains were drawn closed for the night leaving a chill. It was a give and take.

“Please, sit.” The woman pointed to any of the seating options.

You nodded, and chose the couch directly across from the other, with the table adding a division. The woman smiled, and sat across from you.

“I’m not sure if I properly introduced myself initially, so apologies for such odd behavior. You may call me Lucienne,” the woman, Lucienne, spoke.

“Lucienne,” you greeted with a small bow of your head. “It is wonderful to now be formally acquainted. You may call me (Y/N).”

You were pleased to skip past such stiff formalities of sir, ma’am, mister, and misses.

Lucienne smiled, softly reaching her eyes. “Wonderful. Now, I am the one who will be conducting this interview for the job.”

You cocked your head, your confusion written plainly on your face. “The lord will not be joining us?”

“No, unfortunately, he is a busy man and has asked for me to do this in his stead. Is this okay?”

“Oh, yes, please continue.”

Lucienne nodded. “Okay, then let us start. I will begin with a simple question: why have you decided to apply?”

You fiddled with your hands, suddenly very nervous. “I’m new in town, and have been staying at the local inn. This job provides an opportunity for myself, and I cannot deny the pay piqued my interest.”

“Do you have any experience in housework?”

“Not professionally, however, I have cared after my uncle for years and have done most of the housework when living with him.” You looked out of the parlor back to the main grandiose foyer. “I will admit the size of the manor is quite daunting and intimidating, but I like a challenge. It will keep my mind and hands busy.”

Lucienne smiled, pleased with your response. However, her smile soon flickered. She straightened her posture, and cleared her throat. “Allow me to be less formal for a quick moment, I have a more personal question to ask. It’s more for my own curiosities.”

Your eyes locked back with hers. “Please, ask.”

She paused, struggling to find the correct wording. “Have you heard of the rumors surrounding the manor? Do … do they not frighten you?”

Ah.

“I have, but only a few. And I am not afraid, I am here for work and pay. As long as I can do what I can, and not stir any trouble for the lord then I will be content.”

Lucienne nodded, her smile returned. “I do believe we have found a new member of our manor.”

Your heart soared.

“However, allow me to discuss with my lord and to see if any other applicants apply. Please, you will hear from us by the end of the week.”

“Wonderful.”

The carriage pulled around the massive stone fountain - a simple three tier tower in which water gently spilled over the edges. Water lilies floated amongst the top as they were rock side to side by the small turbulence. You hopped out, taking in the manor once again.

A truly haunting, gothic visage.

It was built out of mute grey stones and harsh angles. Tall spires extended from the roof to the heavens. The stained glass window over the front door shone almost calling out to you like an exotic Venus flytrap - a beautiful front hiding a dark truth. All the tall thin windows had their curtains drawn forbidding anyone from peeking in.

Yet, life bloomed around it.

Willows trees hugged the manor, and its limbs danced in the wind beckoning all to seek shelter under them. Bushes with various flowers blossomed in front of the manor along the building’s edges. Around the side, a greenhouse stood proudly with countless vegetables and beside it, curving around the whole back side and unable to fully see from the front, was a maze formed out of lush full rose bushes. The brightest, and darkest, red roses you ever seen - the red of rising passions, the red of forbidden attractions, the red of blood spilled under the moonlight.

It truly was a serene place. A place of mystery and wonder.

“Your luggage.” You spun around, finding the coachman holding your two carryon bags. Your entire life packed neatly. He asked, “Do you -“

“Oh, no, I’ve got it. Thank you.” You took your bags.

The coachman stared, and squinted with a hint of uncertainty. His eyes flickered over your shoulder to the manor. “Okay,” he mumbled, then left.

He spun on his heel and hopped back into the carriage. With a flick of the reins, the horse whined and trotted off. May God have mercy on your soul, I will be praying for you. It all lingered on the man’s tongue, but didn’t speak aloud. For if he did, he believed whatever sick imaginations his twisted mind thought of would come to fruition. He was from an older generation, one who still believed in devils and creatures of the woods, one who warned all children of the dangers of leaving the house under the full moon. Heading down the dusty road, and once away from the manor’s sight, he finally mumbled a prayer for you.

You approached the manor - your new home for the unseeable future - with the setting sun tucked behind the foliage. You peered over your shoulder, watching as the carriage slipped out of sight. It was happening. It truly was happening.

Inhaling, you steadied yourself.

A new chapter.

You exhaled, calmly your anxious heart. You reached out, and pressed the ornate doorbell. A soft chime buzzed. Your anxiety, however, could not be quelled. You tightened your grip on your bags. Your body betrayed you, unable to settle, and your mind started to spiral into insanity.

You needed this job.

You needed to do this.

You have dealt with much worse, and yet you also wanted to tuck your tail and run. No. You vehemently shook away those fears. You will stay. You will do your job. You will start this new part of your life.

The door unlocked, and swung open with a high pitched creak. Your breath hitched, momentarily startled. You expected to see the familiar face of Lucienne, instead you were greeted with the lord of the manor.

Lord Morpheus.

He was a man of stature and wealth. He held himself with the utmost dignity with perfect posture - chin leveled with the floor, back straight, and his shoulders pushed back and downward. His chiseled features were carved out of marble, his pale skin had no blemishes. His short, cropped black hair swept back. And not a single hair was out of place, or dared to be. His eyes locked with yours. Instantly, you were small, you were a child again. A spike of fear crackled over your skin. His eyes were calm, a steady practiced calm. Yet, as he studied you, a twinkle shone in them - if it was a twinkle of interest, you could not say.

He certainly was attractive, exceptionally so.

His clothes neatly pressed. He draped himself in night’s cape: black. His midnight black vest was finely embroidered with a somewhat floral design - adding a softness to him. Two rows of silver buttons lined his vest, along with a silver chain tucked into a pocket. If it was attached to a watch or simply for design, you couldn’t tell by a quick scan. Under the vest, his dress shirt - a pale grey like a storm cloud rolling in - puffed out at the sleeves and tapered at the wrists. The cuff links were small, yet resembled starlight. With each catch of the light, they dazzled like a miniature universe - it must be an expensive jewel embedded into them. The collar, stiff and high, was wrapped in a silk black puff tie, smoothed nicely against his chest. A perfectly crafted ruby brooch was pinned to his tie. Scanning downward, his trousers were also black and tailored, and his shoes were polished as if dirt never touched them.

However, his eyes captivated you. It was the only other color on him: a pale, sparkling blue. They seemed to glow in the setting sunlight. They were swirling galaxies, they were diamonds forged in promises, they were oceans holding all its mysteries and mythology.

He seemed to be from another time, like an ode to the renaissance.

With your little time spent in town, you had still learned quite a lot about Lord Morpheus. He was a recluse who rarely left his manor, his crafted realm. And soon, whispers of witchcraft followed. Some of the townspeople still believed in folklore, and if anyone ventured off the beaten path they would be whisked away. Taken then killed. Rumors of animals gone missing, along with young adults, did little to ease their worries. Yet with no evidence, speculation stirred. So, why not point fingers at the man who hardly made an appearance with the town?

However, although he never made an appearance, his influence rippled throughout. His constant donations to the local school and businesses rebutted all such weary thoughts. He owned a local bookshop in town which was adored by most - with the expectation of those who believed the devil lurked between those shelves. He was also the CEO and founder of an editing and publishing company. He let stories into the world, and he encouraged creativity. He was the man to uplift the underdogs, but such kindness had a price. His editing, his notes on stories sent in, were cutting. Such harsh critiques were enough to discourage a few despite the reasonable payment for his services.

He was truly a man of absolute power.

“I’m sorry,” you bowed your head. “I was expecting Lucienne.”

“She is away most of the day to care for the bookshop,” he answered easily.

His voice was so surprisingly low that it rattled you to your core. He spoke at an even pace, lulling you. A voice truly perfect for telling any and all stories.

“Of course,” you said as if you knew such information.

“You must be our newest member, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” He continued.

“I am.”

“Lord Morpheus.” His outreached hand hovered between you. Quickly, you dropped your bag, and took up his hand. A chill ran through you at the contact of his skin. He bent forward, and kissed your hand. “Pleasure, and I hope your stay here is enjoyed.”

“Thank you for allowing me into your home,” you said with a nervous smile.

Morpheus eyed you for a moment, but moved on. He dropped your hand, and motioned into the manor. “Allow me to show you to your room.”

“Thank you.”

You moved to grab your bags, however, Morpheus was faster - like a viper striking. He had snatched up your bags, carrying them for you. “As the lord of this home, I do believe it falls under my duty to attend to the newest member of our quaint home.”

You wanted to retrieve your bags. “Please, sir, you don’t have to -“

He started to walk inside, ignoring your pleas. “You are under my roof and care, this is nothing.”

He was a nobility. He shouldn’t cave to such droll formalities, but he did. And oddly, your heart raced with your things in his care. You didn’t think he would sneak through your belongings, or withhold them. But, they were your livelihood.

He held your life in his hands.

However, you pushed down such feelings and strolled after him. “Thank you for showing such kindness.”

“Please, it is the least I can do.”

He briskly walked to the back, to the opened double doors in the middle of the two staircases. Walking past, your keen eye did note a door under one of the staircases - a query for another time. The double doors led to a massive dining hall with a long table to fit a dozen or more people. A spacious room had an assortment of plants in the corners and a beautiful rose bouquet in the center of the table. He turned, heading to the back right wing of the manor. Before, following after him, you also caught a vast room up ahead with an abundance of plants decorating the space - a sunroom. The first few stars of the night twinkled through the high arched glass.

“To the left is the kitchen where you are welcome to any food,” Morpheus explained as he walked. “As stated in the job description, you do not have to cook for me, but you must feed yourself. Lucienne usually takes care of the groceries on her way back from the bookshop, so if there is anything special you want just relay that to her.”

“Yes, sir.”

He moved through a swinging door, revealing a hallway veering left or right. “This is mainly the guest quarters, and where you will be staying. Just to inform you, Lucienne does sleep upstairs to help me with the bookshop and company business, so it will be you alone on this side of the manor.”

You nodded, understanding.

He peered over his shoulder to you. “Which room do you want?”

“I am given a choice?” You were slightly taken back.

“You are. This is your home now, and I want you to be as comfortable as possible.”

“Oh, well.” You looked left and right. Windows on either side of the hall revealed what you may see each morning. To the right, it showed the stone structure of the manor with bushes lined along its edges. Most of the light - sunlight or moonlight - would be blocked out. Looking left, you saw the first twinkles of starlight, and a massive forest. Rose hedges ahead glittered under the changing light. You gestured to the door on the far left. “The left one, I suppose.”

Morgues nodded, and turned left. “If you are ever dissatisfied with it at any point, please switch rooms if you so wish.”

He opened the door, quite easily despite the bags in his hands. He stepped back, allowing the space and opportunity to enter first. You thanked him and brushed past him.

It was a quaint room, and bigger than any other you had. It had a rather large bed for just a simple guest room, with plush pillows and soft sheets. There was a wardrobe and drawer for your things, a desk tucked into the corner to write letters or for any other reasons, and a window looking out the back to the forest and - now properly seeing it for the first time - the maze. Walking in, you were in awe at how cozy it all felt. Your fingers skimmed over all the furniture and strolled to the other door on the opposite side. Opening it, it was your own personal bathroom with everything you needed, and more importantly with a massive soaking tub.

“I hope it is to your liking.” You spun around. Morpheus had gently placed your things on the bed, and stayed there for a moment. He glanced around, “I apologize for any dust.”

You waved him off. “I have seen worse, and this is perfect. Thank you.”

He nodded, “Good.”

Silence blanketed over like a bated breath. Morpheus turned his head staring out the window to the flourishing rose maze. He cleared his throat, stepping away from your bed. “I should also inform you of another who lives on the premises: Mervyn. He lives in a small cabin closer to the forest. He tends to the greenhouse and the gardens, mostly a gardener, but if something does break inside the manor he has some knowledge on maintenance.”

You nodded. “Okay, maybe I will introduce myself tomorrow -“

“I would strongly suggest against doing so.”

You tilted your head as your brows furrowed. “Can I ask why?”

Morpheus sighed, bringing his arms behind his back. “He is weary of strangers, and enjoys his solitude. To respect his boundaries, I would advise against it. You may see him out and about, but do leave him in peace.”

“Oh, okay, I understand.” You peered out the window to all the lush flowers and to the willow tree brushing its branches against the window. “But, if he ever needs any assistance please inform him. I will be happy to aid him in any way I can.”

Morpheus eyed you. Not with animosity, but curiosity. You were certainly an oddity, and a breath of fresh air in this purgatory. “I will inform Mervyn if the need arises, but he is protective over his work so I do not expect he will accept it.”

“Understandable.”

“Is there anything else you need?”

“Oh, uh,” you thought for a quick moment, “I suppose hearing about Mervyn, it does raise one question: is there anyone else who lives here that I should know about?”

Yes. “No, it is only the three of us.”

You nodded.

“Excellent, and if that is all.” He turned around to leave.

You stepped forward. “Oh, Lord Morpheus, one more thing.”

“Yes?” He glanced over his shoulder.

“And what of my duties for tomorrow?” You asked. “Where shall I start? And is there anything specific you want done?”

You had his attention, you figured it was better to ask now instead of tomorrow.

He shook his head. “No, in fact, I say explore the manor. Familiarize yourself with it. If you wish to start cleaning you may do say, you are welcome to go into any room. But, I will suggest staying out of Lucienne’s room. She likes her privacy as well.”

You blinked, surprised by his response. But, you mumbled an ‘okay’.

He stepped once, but his foot hovered in the air. He paused, considering your question again. What other duties could he give you, besides cleaning this rotting corpse of a home. “I may call for some tea tomorrow afternoon,” he spoke softly.

You perked up, “Of course.”

He walked away. “Goodnight, and I wish you the best of dreams.”

A smile graced your lips for the first time. “Thank you. And you as well sir, goodnight.”

Morpheus snuck a glance, seeing your smile. He turned away and swiftly walked out, shutting the door behind him.

Taking a breath of peace, you began to unpack your things. You folded and hung up clothes from your bags. Toiletries and other personal items now found new homes. However, one bag remained. Reaching the bottom of almost empty luggage, you pulled out a small handbag. You breathed a sigh of relief and clutched it to your chest, holding it tightly.

This.

This was what frightened you when Morpheus carried your things. It was a small somewhat insignificant bag - only slightly bigger than your forearm, but stuffed to the brim. This worn down bag, with stitches and patches, carried your whole world.

Your two luggage bags carried your life - materialistic needs, and necessities. This bag carried your world - precious memories, irreplaceable items, and a promise. You closed your eyes, and said a small thanks that it was still in your possession. Taking this brief moment, you tucked the bag in the drawer under all your clothes completely hidden, and away from any prying eyes.

Now, you could rest.

You changed into your night clothes, did your nightly routine, then settled into your new bed. Laying down, you stared up at the ceiling.

You were truly here.

You were truly about to change your life.

You knew it.

And while you began to settle into bed, the lord battled with himself.

After leaving your room, he tried to keep a calm exterior. However, as soon as he walked away, he braced himself against the doorway between the main foyer and dining room. He breathed erratically, gulping for air. No. Not for air, for thirst. His throat clenched, begging for a drink, begging to be satiated by you. He gritted his teeth as sweat broke out over his forehead and back of his neck. He clawed at his tie, yanking it down. His clothes were too tight, suddenly very constricting.

“This may be more difficult than anticipated,” he mumbled to himself.

The smell of you consumed him. He was a dying man in a desert, and you his only salvation. And he truly hadn’t had a proper drink in a while.

He pushed himself off the frame, and scrambled over to the door under the grand staircase. Pressing his forehead against the door, thankfully for the coolness, he reached into his vest pocket, pulling out a plain, silver key. The key slipped through his fingers, but the chain easily caught it. He fumbled with the key for a second, constantly dropping it. He swore under his breath.

An outsider looking in would be alarmed.

This wasn’t a man any longer.

No, it was a frantic feral animal, this was a monster in disguise. His fingernails grew in length, sharpening to a point. A perfect weapon to slice into any flesh. His canines also elongated, easy to sink into veins and drink until his feast was complete. His hauntingly blue eyes glowed, eerily so. It was unnatural, and also hypnotizing.

He nearly wanted to rip the door off its hinges. An easy feat. But, he composed himself. Breathing in slowly, the disguise was pulled over once more - the wolf was a sheep again. He took up the key, unlocked the door and darted inside, locking it behind him.

The manor was silent again.

And when Lucienne returned, she would know where to find her lord.

[immacaria]

❄️ and 🌈 ?? 👀 *grabby hands*

❄️ Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing:

"You know," the younger girl started, carefully cleaning around the burn wounds her older sister had made. She smelled and acted a lot like Hob, but there was something under the surface, something hidden from everyone - And, perhaps, even herself - that made Dream think about a dormant volcano. Full of power, but peaceful and kind. "My older brother really, really likes you."

Dream only nodded, watching her with curiosity.

"And I know you like him too, don't you?" He nodded again, feeling like this moment was too precarious and sensible for him to speak. "I know you had no intention of hurting him last time, that you thought you were doing the best for everyone, even if you weren't." A grimace distorted his features for a moment, the consequences of their "break-up" still too fresh on his memory.

"I assure that the intention of hurt-" Dream started, feeling his throat constrict to the point of almost suffocation.

"I know!" The girl interrupted, flashy brown eyes finally lifting up to stare at icy blue ones and Dream finally understood why Hob always said his younger sister was the most like their mother. They shared the same fierceness deep within. "But Hob suffered too much after Dad was gone and Milla suffered watching him suffer!"

🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP:

"I hate that part," Pete said beside Tom, his body quickly moving away as Tom turned around to look at him. "What? You like it?" His voice was hoarse and low, his hair sticking in every possible direction. He looked absolutely wrecked.

"No, no," Tom said slowly, trying to fight the images appearing behind his eyelids every time he blinked. "I hadn't read this part yet. First time reading this," he explained, feeling his ears heating up as he settled beside Pete again.

"Really? Because this look old," he said as he motioned to the yellow and crippled pages of his book.

"It was my mother's," and it truly was, but it was not the first time Tom read that book. Its pages were all familiarised with him, the margins were full of his handwriting and post-its were littered through it. "Where did you read it?"

"Carole," Pete answered, moving closer to him and curling around his side, way too comfortable and satisfied around a guy that faked to be his boyfriend for weeks. "She loves this book."

Thank you for the ask, beloved 🫶🫶🫶! Both the fics are still on planning/initial writing stage lol but one day I will get them out there

[reallyintoscience]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Characters: Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Additional Tags: Vampire!Dream, (temporarily as a favour to Hob), Blood Drinking, Feeding Kink, Belly Kink, Blood Kink, Vampire Sex, Vampire Bites, Fantasy Fulfillment, Temporary Character Death, (...as a favour to Hob...), Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Immortals Abusing Their Immortality, Snuff, (If it's still snuff when immortals), Service Kink, First Time, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, POV Alternating, this is horny and soft, Dream of the Endless Has a Kink for Humans, Dirty Talk, Getting Together Summary:

Hob has the world's longest running vampire kink. Dream has the world's longest running human kink. Together they... make decisions only immortals can get away with.

Made for square B3: Creature: Vampire for @dreamlingbingo

[baka-monarch]

Rivals duo who are rivals in college and compete with each other to be the best in their debate team- but Dream is a vampire and Techno is a vampire hunter.... But neither of them realize what the other is because they're too focused on beating each other in good grades

[fastlikealambo]

Need a break from hotd so im gonna completely rewrite my vampire!morpheus fic. It's trying too hard I think and my multi chapter fics flop so it'll be maybe 2 parts tops like dreaming in blackness

[8-0mph]

Ice loser party

and drawovers.

[plusie]

[roguelov]

Crimson Stained Petals (Ch. 2)

Summary: Set in the 1880s, rumors and mysteries swirled around a quaint town, mostly about a lord tucked far into the woods. Arriving in town, you could not deny your curiosities, but you were not here to stay. Or so you thought. Low on funds, and a job for a live-in servant advertised in the paper, you now found yourself in the home of Lord Morpheus - the source of all rumors. Passions and tensions will grow. Questions will be answered, but may come at a hefty price. And a promise may be broken. But, is Lord Morpheus, and those few residents, truly as scary as they seem?

Words Count: ~3.4k

Reader: Neutral (unspecified now, however fem leaning)

Warnings: Minor angst (hints of Morpheus’s past), mutual pinning, some fluff, hints of bloodlust

Chapter 1, Chapter 3

After a week of working in the manor, you quickly found routine in your new life. It was far easier than anticipated, although somewhat tiring at points. And despite exploring the manor, you still tended to become lost or forgetful where certain rooms were. It was massive to say the least, but you adored the architecture, the different colors and styles of each room, and the obvious love - even if slightly dusty due to negligence - poured into it. Two rooms in particular captured your interest and attention: the upstairs library, and the sunroom.

The sunroom was magical. The glass - a soft sea green - dome roof sparkled in any and all lighting. On sunny days, it was as if the heavens rained down on this secret cove. Plants of all colors and variety outlined the room from vibrant dark green ferns - nearly an envious green - to signature staple of the manor’s passionate red roses as well as strong and proud sunflowers, delicate lilacs, and the intricate petals of the blushing pink carnations. Fern leaves as large as dinner plates bent towards the doorways like curtains. You could not help but imagine you were an explorer traversing the jungle as you entered.

In the center, a couch, two chairs, and a table were set out. However, there was a very obvious empty space for furniture to be pushed aside. The true beauty of the room was it could double as a ballroom if needed. You could see where a musician could sit, you could imagine a dozen people dancing in unison, you could feel the air crackle with potential energy. When you walked the pristine tile floor sang with every step of your shoe, heels clacked and echoed like a chorus; imagining a group of people in here, and oh how the room would harmonize.

The library, on the other hand, was quaint and far less grandiose compared to the sunroom. Yet, it held its own type of magic, one of comfort and warmth. It was draped in rich dark browns, glowing oranges of the sun and lanterns, and overall warm tones. The walls had built-in shelves and overflowed with books. A single thin window with a nook to sit and read by sunlight was nestled between two shelves. Two long wooden tables with chairs were placed in the room, almost more of studying than reading comfortably.

The air in the library was calmer, and gentle like an escape, or a brief pause on life. If you strolled over to the collection of books, most were published from Morpheus’s company ‘The Dreamer’s Palace’. Which wasn’t too surprising, but the library held many other books from the popular to the unknown. Every genre filled the shelves: drama, contemporary, romance, horror, fantasy, mystery, nonfiction, mythology, and poetry. You had worlds at your fingertips and each of them called to you.

When you had time, you would eventually borrow a book, with Morpheus’s permission of course. Maybe you could take the book and lounge in the sunroom, now that sounded like a lovely idea.

However, you supposed there was another place besides the sunroom and library to entertain you and your thoughts. You desperately wished to explore the ground, especially the maze. The rose maze enthralled you. The hedges must be ten feet tall, barring all from sneaking a single glance in. The full, perfect lush red roses filled the hedges and dazzled in the sunlight while somehow seemingly glowed in the moonlight. With the moon above, they tempted you like some Greek tragedy. The maze was your labyrinth. Maybe a monster lurked among the roses, maybe you would become lost and lose your sense of self, or maybe it was simply just a maze.

One day.

One day, you would run freely through the hedges and happily lose yourself amongst them.

Late in the morning, Morpheus had requested some tea. If it wasn’t in the morning after what you expected a long night, then he requested afternoon tea for one last boost to finish the day. Light seemed to always shine under the crack of his door. His footsteps creaked along the home constantly even as you laid still in bed.

Maneuvering up the stairs, you carefully balanced a kettle and a tea cup with a saucer. Stepping onto the second floor, you immediately veered left. Morpheus’s study was the first door. You knocked, announcing yourself. His reply was muffled, but allowed you in.

Opening the door, Morpheus was hunched over his desk. Stacks of paper covered his desk, with his pen scratching away editing and making revision notes on a new manuscript. A dying fire crackled as embers burned a reddish orange hue casting the room in a radiating warmth. The curtains were opened showing off the dreary morning. Rain tapped against the window, adding to the ambiance.

You beelined for Morpheus. You efficiently, as possible, set up his tea in the small corner space free of papers. Morpheus - who had been watching not just since you walked in, but since you first arrived - wondered about something that had been bothering him for a few days. The scratching of his pen seized, and he glanced out of the corner of his eye. “May I ask you a question?”

You paused as you set up his tea. It was one of the few other times he addressed you, besides your first interaction and occasionally calling for tea. Shaking yourself out of your stupor, you poured his tea. “Of course, sir.”

He laid down his pen, and turned his head to address you. His eyes - an enchanting pale blue in such dim lighting - locked with yours. “You are not afraid of me.”

You stepped back from him, having finished your assigned task. The kettle left besides his cup if he wished to have more later. You folded your hands in front of you with the empty tray in your hands. His sentence tossed over and over in your head. You frowned slightly in thought, “That is not a question.”

The corner of his lips twitched upward. “You are correct, apologies. I suppose I was more inquiring about your opinion.”

“On what?”

“Myself, and said rumors that circulate the manor.”

You didn’t need time to think. Most people warned you of this place whether directly or indirectly. “The townspeople have their beliefs and I have mine.”

“So you have no care for the matter?”

“I can form my own opinions.” You cocked your head quizzically, “I’m sorry, but did Lucienne not inform you of my answer? She asked a similar question during the interview.”

“She did, but I wish to hear it from you especially given you have been staying with us for more than over a week now.” He twisted his body in his chair, facing you directly. He gave you his full undivided attention. “So what are your opinions? What do you think of the rumors?”

You paused, considering his question. “Do you want my honest opinion, sir?”

You had your opinions. Ones that had been slowly formulating since your arrival, ones that may be an unpleasant truth to hear.

“I do.” He saw the hesitation written plainly on your face. “You can be blunt.”

You nodded, and sighed releasing any tension. “If you wish -“ you cleared your throat - “the way I see it you revel in said rumors. You can easily dispel them by ingraining yourself more into society, but you don’t. You do the donations, you have the well liked bookshop, but you do not show your face. Either you isolate yourself to protect yourself, or because you believe you deserve it - deserve the isolation.”

Morpheus hummed, utterly fascinated by your answer. “Truly? And what do you think? Why would I sever my connection to society?”

Your eyes dragged up and down over his body - you were dissecting him. Morpheus noted how a change came over you. You were not a servant, head bowed, but an equal with a sharp eye. You were clever, far more clever than you let on. A mask had momentarily slipped. “Because you deserve it or so you believe.”

He nodded. You may have indulged a mere facet of his curiosity, but somehow stirred more within this one conversation. He turned back to his work, “Thank you for indulging me.”

“Is there anything else you need, sir?” You smiled, and your tone suggested a hint of teasing, “Any other of my opinions you wish to know?”

His smile was hidden from you. “No, thank you.”

“Of course.” You bowed and swiftly left.

“And do not feel frightened to share your honesty.” He spoke the next sentence softly, whispering, “I enjoy it.”

You paused at the door. A faint flutter hummed in your chest. “If you wish, sir.”

I do, he thought.

You turned your head, glancing back once more. He had returned to his work. Your mind thought back on the conversation, on Morpheus’s self imposed isolation. You opened your mouth, only to quickly close it and simply left. As the door softly clicked shut, Morpheus put his head into his hands.

A mortal.

A foolish mortal who had unknowingly walked into the lion’s den. His thirst rose when you walked by, and the smell of you now imbued his home. Before he remembered a time when his thirst could be quelled for months at a time, unbothered or unaffected by hunger. But now as you freely roamed his halls, he could barely go a few days without feeling its intense and paralyzing effects. The taste of human blood has not touched his lips in nearly a century.

Idiot, he thought. Why did I allow this?

“I believe it would do you some good sir,” Lucienne pressed. She had approached her lord, proposing to introduce a servant, more so a cleaning servant, into the manor. Or more accurately cornered him in his study.

Morpheus huffed under his breath. “Lucienne, I respect you and your opinions, however, this is ridiculous and out of the question.”

“Lord Morpheus, you need to try more or dare we have another fiasco such as the last manor.”

Ah, yes, how could he forget.

He had gotten complacent in his solitude. He kept to himself, and worked on new stories that continued to be sent in from all over. He only cared about his work, and nothing else.

No. That was incorrect.

No, he was purposely drowning himself in it; all to forget the painful heartache. No, he had not gotten complacent in solitude, he had gotten complacent in his endless grief. Let the people gossip, he bitterly thought. Let them believe in the monster. He did not care for his world were these dingy walls with the ghost roaming amongst them.

But, a strange man who lived on the outskirts of town stirred vile imaginations. After a decade and possibly longer of living - in what Morpheus ignorantly believed to be peace - the townspeople charged one night forcing everyone to flee.

He had to rebuild.

He had to remake himself in this new town. He had hoped his donations would soothe the townspeople, but mortals were weary of newcomers and indulged in their superstitions far too often.

Even if their intuitions were right most of the time.

A tap on the window broke Morpheus out of his thoughts, his memories. Through the haze of the night, a small black mass was perched on the window sill. Morpheus wordlessly strolled over and opened the window. A bird, a raven specifically, swooped in and landed on the desk.

“And what do I owe the pleasure, Matthew?” Morpheus asked, facing the raven.

The raven shuffled, his talons clacked against the wood. “Sorry to interrupt, boss, but Merv is asking for something for the pain again. He says his supply is almost out.”

Morpheus’s features softened, a miniscule change. “Okay, tell Merv I will send for more immediately.”

Matthew nodded, but he did not move.

“Is there something else you need?” Morpheus asked, raising his eyebrow.

Matthew sighed, sinking a bit. “I may or may not have been listening to yours and Lucienne’s conversation.”

Morpheus’s lips thinned, not angered Matthew was listening - it was nothing new - but because he knew Matthew would side with Lucienne. “And what do you think of the matter then?”

“Well,” he drawled out, “I have been visiting the town a bit, and some of the people have begun to talk and they’re not too … happy.”

Morpheus barely contained his eye roll. “I have done all I can to appease them, if they want to make speculations then let them. I don’t harm them in any capacity.”

It was true. His diet these days consisted solely of animals.

“Maybe an appearance at the bookshop then,” Lucienne suggested. “But, I still urge you to hire someone. If others see someone unharmed in your care then it would lessen the problem.”

“I will not bring a stranger into my home just so mortals can stop gossiping.”

“If not for you then for us, for the manor. We already had to run once.”

Morpheus frowned.

Lucienne cautiously stepped forward. “You opened your door to me - for Mervyn, and Matthew - you brought in a stranger once before.”

“That was different. This will be a mortal, Lucienne.”

“And do you not trust yourself, or do you not want a repeat?”

Morpheus’s shoulders tensed. An intense, chilling, glare settled into his eyes. His eyes glowed ominously like a feral animal. “Lucienne, I will ask you once to not bring that up again.”

Lucienne stepped back, but did not look away. She held her ground in a way. “Apologies, sir, but I do not want to find a new place so soon.”

Matthew chirped up, disliking the heavy tension in the room. He flapped his wings to turn all the attention onto him. “And it would be nice for you, boss. The manor has been gathering dust, so it would be good for all of us, right?”

Morpheus closed his eyes then exhaled slowly. Opening his eyes, they had returned to a normal shade. “Fine.”

“What?” Matthew muttered, stunned.

“Bring someone in, do what you must.” He turned his back. “If we can survive another decade here peacefully then do so. I don’t want to start again so quickly.”

“Of course, sir, thank you.” Lucienne bowed her head and left as Matthew swooped after her.

Look at all the good it has done, Morpheus thought.

Morpheus was confined to these walls with you lurking around. You were haunting him, and you reminded him of -

He shook away those memories. He had a new ghost in his home and he had to deal with this unfortunate reality. This wasn’t about him, this was about Lucienne, Matthew, and Mervyn. They were lucky last time to escape before the home burned, but luck always ran out. If people discovered the truth, if they came in the night unheard, he couldn’t forgive himself for anything that would happen to his friends - his family.

This was his family unlike the one born from blood.

Meanwhile as you strolled away from Morpheus’s study, your thoughts were tangled together. He was odd. Polite, yes. But, odd. He created a wedge between him and most; a wedge you clearly saw. In the short time you were living here, it was becoming obvious who Lord Morpheus was: a tortured soul. But, why? What drove him to this state? If you were to continue to live here, you would find out.

Curiosity was powerful, and you had your reasonings to do so.

Taking the tray to the kitchen, you once again passed by another oddity in the manor: the plain wooden door under the stairs. Earlier in your adventures of the manor, you tried to open it to no avail.

“I wouldn’t keep trying if I were you.” You whirled around - panicked you had been caught - and thankfully only saw Lucienne. She smiled, a joking smile, at your reaction. Her eyes darted to the lock door. “It leads to the basement where the plumbing goes.”

You frowned, disappointed.

“Sorry, I know it’s not as wondrous as you might think.” She strolled forwards, eyes kept on the door. “But I assure you, it’s not pleasant down there. It’s damp and dark with old pipes.”

Her eyes flickered over, locking with yours. She peered over her glasses to ensure she looked at you directly. ‘Don’t’ was all her eyes said.

“I suppose the wonders of plumping is something I’m not too keen about,” you chuckled lightly.

Her smile softened, and laughed along with you. “No, I don’t think most are. Now, if you excuse me, I was going to get a drink.”

She skirted by you towards the kitchen. Once, she was down the hall and out of sight, your eyes swiveled back to the door. Only one thought ran through your mind: she’s lying. You pressed your hand to the door. In your chest, deep within your bones, something hummed on the other side.

Stepping back, you searched and no one was around. If not today, but one day you will see what was behind that door. A voice told you to be cautious in your curiosity, but to also not let it die out. Trust your gut. And your gut needed the door to be opened to reveal all its secrets.

You paused, running your hand over the grain of the wood. The hum still called out. Similar to how you swore to uncover the secrets of a Morpheus, this door fell under it as well. This manor reeked of secrets and lies. It did not frightened you, not in the least. It compelled you. And the rumors only spurred your thirst for knowledge.

But, today was not the day. All of this required a touch of patience.

A skill you honed over the years.

Brushing past, you made your way into the kitchen dropping off the tray. Glancing out the window, the late rainy morning reminded you of all the hours you still had left in the day. You sighed.

Now, what should I do?

The rest of the day you decided to busy yourself with cleaning the kitchen. Most of the appliances were new, and strangely did not seem to be used as frequently since some dust had collected on them, much like the rest of the manor. You scrubbed the cabinets and the floor, cleaned dishes and silverware, and threw away any rotted food - which was surpassingly little. The kitchen nearly sparkled by the end of your work, and luckily the day had passed between all of it.

You retired for the night and drew a well deserved and needed bath. You soaked for almost an hour, letting your skin prune and your thoughts wander: thoughts of the manor, thoughts of Lucienne, thoughts of the mysterious gardener, thoughts of Morpheus, and thoughts of your past and life now.

You sighed, sinking into the water until it barely touched your nose.

Here was a new start with new promises while the past still loomed heavily over your shoulders. No, you truly couldn’t start anew until the past was settled. You knew this, and you were constantly reminded of it.

With the water now cold, you decided to get out. You dried off and pulled on your night clothes. Shuffling out of the bathroom, you passed the writing desk.

You paused.

Changing direction from your cozy bed, you veered to the desk. You needed to write a letter, one you had forgotten - and may have purposely neglected - to write. You plopped down into the creaky wooden chair and began to write a letter. Amongst your initial search of the desk, you were surprised, and thankful, to find paper and ink already inside the drawer.

You had an old promise to keep.

You pulled out a paper and addressed it to your uncle. An uncle who raised you and taught you many things. An uncle who you spoke exclusively in letters since leaving his home nearly over a decade ago. You loved him dearly, and hoped maybe one day after your journey of self discovery, and possibly after truly settling down, you would visit him again.

Under a candlelight, you wrote about the past week. You spoke of your new job, your new lord, and the others who lived here - even if you spoke only to one. You spoke how this job could be the one, the one to change your life. You told him he was still always in your thoughts, and wondered how he was doing since his new retired life per his last letter. You smiled down at the letter, and signed it. You neatly folded it, and tucked it into an envelope to send at the earliest convenience.

Maybe Lucienne could take it to the post office for you, or maybe you’ll make a visit into town.

The decision will come later, for now you need to sleep.

[pinklavenderdoll]

[starbbypluto]

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was a vampiric fountain pen stabbing myself into people's necks.

[doitforstamets]

Explicit Dream of The Endless / Hob Gadling

London, 1880.

Hob finds himself pinned to a wall by a vampire. A tall, dark, gorgeous, lethally dangerous vampire. Well, lethal for an ordinary man, which, Hob is not, thank you very much.

[songoftrillium]

Werewolf: the Apocalypse 5th Edition and the Anti-Indigeneity in the Gaming Industry

reosted with permission from J.F. Sambrano

Dagot’ee!

Shii J.F. Sambrano gonsēē. My nations are Chiricahua Apache (Ndeh) through my maternal grandmother and Cora Indian (Náayarite) through my maternal grandfather.  I am a mixed race Indigenous person, and through my father my heritage is English and Scottish. I am currently residing and doing work in my community on the lands of Lummi Nation. I use both gender non-binary and masculine pronouns, but prefer the former. I have several published works in the TTRPG industry, and am probably most known for my contributions to Mage: the Ascension 20th Edition, Werewolf: the Apocalypse 20th Edition, and the Transformers Roleplaying Game, as well as being part of the Essence 20 development team. Further, I also work in higher education at an Indian college, both advising and teaching Indigenous students across the United States. My passion is education, and I believe that we all learn through play, and that TTRPGs are a valuable source of learning, especially on personal, cultural, and social levels. This has always been what has drawn me to TTRPGs since I started playing M.E.R.P. with my brother in 1996 (and before that HeroQuest), through to my “graduation” into more story-driven games such as those presented in the Storyteller System, until now, where I author and produce my own roleplaying games.

I was also part of the First Team (in-joke intentional) hired by White Wolf Studios/Paradox Interactive via Hunters Entertainment to develop and author Werewolf: the Apocalypse 5th Edition. After several months of work, Paradox Interactive chose to go in another direction in early 2021 (I believe it was either March or April) and in fall of that year, it was announced that Werewolf would instead be taken in house, with Justin Achilli as the Brand Creative Lead and primary author of the book. Going forward I will be describing my experience while I worked with Paradox Interactive, primarily through Karim Muammar, White Wolf’s Brand Editor, as well as the developmental editor for Werewolf. Although I worked in a team, both with hired authors and in-house representatives at Hunters Entertainment, I will not be speaking for the experience of others, except when specifically noting unanimous consensuses, and specific interactions (which will go unnamed) that are particularly relevant. My hope is that by highlighting some of the anti-Indigenous attitudes that are central to the foundational members and leaders of the White Wolf brand, that I can provide opportunities for growth and healing within the World of Darkness TTRPG community, but also in the broader gaming community, where these behaviors and attitudes are rampant. I also want the community to have a better understanding of what this experience is like internally, and the challenges that Indigenous creators, as well as other marginalized creators, are met with when they try to make positive change within nerd and geek communities clinging to inherited white supremacist values, even if they don’t realize they are doing so.

What I do not want to be doing in this article is creating fuel for edition wars.  I believe that both legacy and Werewolf 5th are rife with anti-Indigenous attitudes, and appalling amounts of appropriation. Both versions deserve criticism, I am not defending one over the other, I am only sharing what my experience was like working on the 5th edition of the book. Further, please understand that I was originally going to wait until I had read the final copy of the book, because I wanted to know how much of my work was used (based on previews I already know some was, just not the extent) and whether or not they decided to credit me for that work, and how I was going to be credited.  My belief is that I likely will not be, but I am genuinely uncertain.  Knowing how they handled that would have reframed how I addressed this. But more importantly, I want it to be very clear that even before Paradox ultimately pulled the plug on the Hunters team, I was preparing to exit working on the project based on the experience I will describe below. Not only did I find it frustrating, and personally disparaging, but I ultimately decided I was uncomfortable with my name being attached to the product based on the direction they wanted to go. So while I wanted to know whether or not I would be credited, because it would teach me something about their internal practices, I do not want or need the credit.

Finally, the reason that I decided to speak about this now instead of after having a chance to inspect the final product, was because my personal experience dealing with anti-Indigeneity coming from Paradox was just that: personal.  But since then I have witnessed a throughline of hateful and xenophobic attitudes wielded against Indigenous people across the globe, and we do not deserve this treatment.  I was outraged over the events that led to the segregation of the Latin American fanbase, which culminated from bottom-up criticism about how poorly their people and countries were being defined through World of Darkness products, and ended up with the firing of their Latin American Brand Ambassador, Alessa Torres, because she chose to stand with her community in those criticisms.  I was further appalled when the likeness of Tāme Wairere Iti was shoehorned into the Werewolf book, a blatant example of cultural theft: not only in stealing the literal physical identity of an Indigenous person, but also his sacred tā moko.  When Paradox Interactive issued an apology for this, it felt incredibly hollow to me in the wake of these events, the hateful attitudes I had personally witnessed coming from the top.

Whether from North America, Mexico, Brazil, Argentina, or Peru, or across the globe in New Zealand, not only do Indigenous people deserve better treatment from such a major company, but their Indigenous and Latino fanbases, who have twisted and worked themselves through difficult representation for decades at this point, deserve better.  Apologies are not enough, especially when they come with next to no real change.

Werewolf: the Apocalypse in Context

At the time that White Wolf Publishing began to produce its World of Darkness line, the TTRPG industry was dominated by white men, both as producers, developers, and authors, as well as the main characters in their settings. White Wolf's World of Darkness made an impact at the time, by defying these Eurocentric, patriarchal presentations, first by defaulting to feminine pronouns throughout Vampire: the Masquerade, and then by focusing on Indigenous representation and values in Werewolf: the Apocalypse, and as a young Indigenous nerd, it had a positive impact on me, as I know it has on some other Indigenous people who became fans of the World of Darkness at the time. This was because before opening the pages of Werewolf: the Apocalypse, I had never seen heroes that I could play who looked like me and my culture. It was off, and often offensive, but it was my first experience in which I could directly play a hero who shared my heritage--and I also had more than one option through two different Tribes to do so. This might sound a little like I was cheering for table scraps, but again, at the time, table scraps was more than I had ever seen before.

Werewolf: the Apocalypse 1st Edition was originally published in 1992 via then White Wolf Publishing (not to be confused with Paradox Interactive's White Wolf). From its inception, the premise was interwoven with what its then-authors believed to be Indigenous praxis and representation.  Like many pop-culture presentations of Indigeneity from this time period (see Fern Gully, Dances With Wolves, Disney’s Pocahontas, or in TTRPGs, the NAN from Shadowrun) it was rife with problematic and even offensive stereotyping. The most obvious examples thereof are within the two "Pure Tribes" Uktena, and W****** who I will henceforth refer to as Older and Younger Brother. However, Indigenous inspiration was at the core of the game's spiritual premise as well, where animism and "Totems" are central to the setting and gameplay. The way these concepts are presented is trivializing and dehumanizing, but it is important to acknowledge that the appropriation present in Werewolf: the Apocalypse goes a lot deeper than the two Brother Tribes (even the term "Tribe" was meant to invoke a vision of Indigeneity compared to the previous setting in the line's use of "Clan"). Additionally, there is art throughout every generation of these gaming books that represents humans, wolves, and human-wolf hybrid forms wearing Indigenous regalia, including sacred items such as headdresses, or engaged in sacred rituals such as the Sun Dance. The list of problematic representations goes deep, and my examples only scratch the surface, but it is also important for me to note the positive impact that this had, particularly in the 90's.

Even though the primary contributors to these narratives were non-Indigenous authors, or in one case, a Pretendian, and another, a culturally disconnected author, by the time the Revised (or Third Edition) era of the books came around, White Wolf Publishing was actively engaged in cultural consultation.  While I do not believe cultural consultation makes a big difference on its own, it matters that the attempt was made, to a degree: while these efforts fall short of what needs to be seen in cultural representation, this was still ahead of most other gaming companies at this time.

Hired by Hunters Entertainment

In February of 2020 I was approached by one of the co-owners of Hunters Entertainment to be one of the primary authors for Werewolf: 5th Edition due to my work on other World of Darkness projects, and let's be honest, because I was capable of bringing a much needed Indigenous perspective to a gameline that was rooted in Indigeneity and rotting with appropriation and racist stereotypes. I was overall receptive to the invitation, largely because I was very passionate about the World of Darkness setting overall, and Werewolf in particular, due to the impact that 90's representation had on me when I was a younger gamer. I also felt hopeful that with a really hard rewrite of Indigenous aspects of the game that I could shift a lot of really painful aspects of the game into something that was a net positive for Indigenous representation. I will tell you now, more than anything, I was excited to rewrite the Younger Brother Tribe, because when separated from racist authors, their message is very empowering and real to my lived experience.

That said, I did not agree to join the project without first asking for reassurances. I said that I was not willing to write negative Native stereotypes. I would not use appropriative language, or generally engage in appropriative writing (which meant at minimum that the names of the Pure Tribes would need to change), and most importantly, that I would not not engage in writing that contributed to erasure. While the person who recruited me to work on the project was eager to work with me, he acknowledged that he was not sure he could get everything I wanted to see approved, but also promised to fight for everything I suggested as hard as he could. Additionally, he shared with me that the original setting pitch for W5 involved all of Younger Brother being slaughtered en masse in a massacre. I made it clear that this was exactly the kind of thing that I would not write.  I cannot remember if this was something he suggested to be changed before or after I was invited onto the project, but with some pushback it was changed.  However, I point this out because I want you, the reader, to understand how eager Paradox Interactive was to start with mass genocide and erasure as a foundation to the setting.  All that said, I cannot stress enough that I have had nothing but positive experiences with Hunters Entertainment, and none of the following concerns fall upon them.

The Sword of Heimdall

The first encounter the Hunters Entertainment team as a whole had with problematic guidelines for the W5 draft was the direction that Paradox Interactive wanted to go with the Sword of Heimdall. At the time, the suggestions from Paradox and Karim Muammar were that the Sword of Heimdall was going to represent the new major villain of the Werewolf setting, and that they were to also represent the far-right, fascist direction that Werewolf society so often turned toward. They were meant to be representative of how far the new concept of Hauglosk could take entire communities. However, the Sword of Heimdall was discussed interchangeably with the Get of Fenris as a whole, and more than once Muammar seemed to suggest that every member of this Tribe was guilty of the same attitudes espoused in previous editions from the Sword of Heimdall. Now let's not beat around the bush: the Sword of Heimdall are literal Nazis. They believe directly in white supremacy and don't shy from it. They wanted to cleanse impure elements from the Get of Fenris, including BIPOC people, other non-white ethnicities, women, neurodivergent Garou, and other disabled Garou.

The writing team found this approach problematic for several reasons. The first, and most obvious, was that the direction seemed to want to turn one of the most popular Tribes into a horrific stereotype of its most abhorrent faction. Whether or not Muammar’s goal was to turn them into villains, we could not imagine a world where fans of previous editions would get their hands on this book, and not look for a way to play one of their previous favorite groups, thus creating the issue of making a guide to playing Nazi. Even beyond that, it’s not as if historically there were not players who used the tools of the setting to play Black Spiral Dancers, why wouldn’t this draw people who actually wanted to role-play through these toxic, harmful politics? Further, and while this is less important, it left a bad taste in my mouth, the justification for this major shift in Werewolf lore seemed to change over each pass. At first, Muammar suggested that all Fenrir were Nazis/SoH.  Then, when he was provided with evidence that it was a small faction that was eliminated in the early 2000’s, he started to shift toward the idea that we should not follow the lore. Finally, when every single member of the writer’s team flatly refused to provide what would essentially be “a player’s guide to being a Nazi werewolf” the writing was on the wall about the end of our involvement with this product. More than once, he suggested that we were cowardly social justice warriors for being unwilling to work with this concept, even though there were several attempts to write a heroic version of the Fenrir that were focused on undoing these ills of the past.

Indigenous Erasure in Werewolf: 5th Edition

While the entire Hunters Entertainment writing team was handling the major, glaring issue of Paradox’s fervor to include a major Nazi element in Werewolf, I was personally dealing with the problematic approach to the Indigenous issues in the setting. The largest problem, for me, was in addressing Younger Brother’s issues, the history of non-Indigenous writers creating horrifically racist stereotypes, and what was valuable in the Tribal identity that should be saved and recentered. However, my attempts to do so were thwarted with every approach. I rewrote this Tribe four times, and offered three different versions of it to try to earn approval for a final write-up, but each time there was a lot of negativity directed towards my attempts and all them boiled down to this: Muammar felt that having two Tribes (both Younger and Older Brother) representing the “Indigenous population” was too many, and wanted them to only be focused on Older Brother, and that Younger Brother’s connection to a central, Indigenous identity, was undesirable because “other sources wrote them as having Siberian and European connections” and that future writing on this Tribe would require a lot of sensitivity…suggesting that one, Muammar wasn’t interested in doing the work to handle that level of sensitivity, and further, that he wasn’t interested in including me in future work, since I was involved with doing that at the time.

I want to take a moment to remind you that the work that was put into recovering Younger Brother started with “Let’s Kill Them Off” and at this point, through a combination of convincing and pleading, had been walked back to “They can live, but now they’re not connected to being Indigenous anymore” which is just representative genocide of a different variety. “Kill the Indian in him, and save the man.” It was also explicitly something I said I would not write about going into this project. Ultimately, my efforts did not get much further than this, with some specific exceptions I will cite below.

Karim Muammar’s Anti-Indigenous Positions

Muammar consistently and repeatedly communicated to the team in ways that were condescending and dismissive of our collective accomplishments and capabilities, but from my perspective, no one suffered as much significant derision as I did while discussing the changes I wanted to make to Younger and Older Brother in order to make their representation empowering and exciting.

In the pulled quote from the previous paragraph, I want to point out to you that Muammar, who had the title of Lead Editor on this project, refused to capitalize Native American. Further, he would often redline my work with edits to decapitalize my own uses of Native American, as well as the word Indigenous when referring to Indigenous peoples. While there are plenty of people who might want to argue about this, I will point out that both the AP style guide as well as the Chicago style guide (the one which I am most familiar with in my academic historical work) both call for Indigenous to be capitalized when referring to a people. Further, I challenge anyone to defend the consistent decapitalization of Native American. More importantly, the reason that these are standards in respected style guides, is because the English language has been used historically to oppress and erase ethnic identities, including Indigenous identities. By transforming adjectives into proper nouns, we are declaring that Indigenous and Native aren’t descriptors that can be applied to animals, plants, and soil, but real lived identities and culture groups.

When I was explaining to the Paradox team (which was mostly just Muammar) why it was important to change the names of these two Tribes from the appropriative (and offensive) ones used in the past, Muammar pushed back by defending the previously used Younger Brother name, even after reading my extensive research and explanation about how this would harm Indigenous communities and fans.

While doing so, he also decided that it was appropriate to refer to this entirely Native American tribe by the word “savages” a slur that has been specifically used to dehumanize Native Americans, and then mocked my rewrite that focused on presenting them as stewards of the land using Indigenous methodologies and praxes, instead of the “savage” racist stereotypes they were presented as in previous editions. Further, as in the above quote, even after it was communicated that the use of this term was problematic, he kept doubling-down to use it to refer to the Tribe.

Even though I worked hard to redefine Younger Brother through Indigenous theory, such as place-based theory, relational theory, and communal theory, Muammar either refused to recognize this work, dismissing it as simple, or else simply could not understand the importance of these changes. Either way, the choice is that he didn’t want them to change, or couldn’t comprehend why the change was important because of how entrenched in white supremacist thinking he is. Further, after the massive effort that I put forward to attempt to educate him and the rest of the Paradox team on these issues, the insistence on using offensive terms and belittling my work felt intentional. So let’s talk about the work I did that was above and beyond my job description: free cultural consulting work.

“Sensitivity” and Consultation

I have seen several misunderstandings of my role working on this project going around, so I want to make something very clear. I was hired to work on this project as an author, and nothing else. I was not ever hired to be a cultural consultant. I do not do cultural consulting work. While I feel that there are many creators and companies who hire cultural consultants with the best intentions in mind, their responses often fall short of what is needed, as no one is ever obligated to actually follow the advice of cultural consultants. Further, I think there are also many companies who choose to hire cultural consultants only to say “we did this minimal step, and that is enough” in order to ward off naysayers.

However, anyone who hires me gets some level of cultural consulting for free, because it comes out in my writing–in both what I won’t write and what I choose to center my writing around. In the case of Werewolf 5th Edition, however, it was far more involved than this. I came with a plethora of “I will not write X” because I knew the setting was so problematic.  A short list of my demands besides not being willing to write Indigenous erasure, was that we needed to change the names of the Pure Tribes (and the term Pure Tribe itself), we needed to change the word Totem to Patron, and also the Patrons of the Pure Tribes. We needed to move away from the term Metis for obvious reasons, and we needed to move away from the term Skin Dancers. I also specifically noted that there was a lot of cultural theft happening from the beginning of Werewolf until now that I wanted to address. The only way these issues were going to be addressed was to convince Paradox they were actual issues on the level of PR concerns, because nothing else was likely going to be considered. So in order to achieve this, I put in weeks worth of research, writing, and meetings with top level administrators with Hunters Entertainment so that they could bring this information to Paradox.  I never documented my hours, but I would guess that I did approximately 80-100 hours of what I could only describe as cultural consultation work for free that was outside the contract work I was hired for. Let’s be clear: I did this willingly because I was passionate about the positive changes I wanted to see in this product, because I believed that Werewolf’s historic ills could be turned toward non-toxic representation.

Besides my actual words, such as naming the Ghost Council, and arguably the name Gale Stalkers came from a combination of names I pitched to Paradox after Winter’s Teeth was denied, and several sentences and paragraphs that I have seen so far that appear so close to what I originally wrote that you could imagine they were just edited versions, my largest contribution toward the final version of Werewolf: 5th Edition was this work. The only reason the offensive, appropriated names were changed were because of hours of my work to convince them it needed to happen. The reason that the Gale Stalkers aren’t just dead and gone: again, I pushed against this. The reason that Skin Dancers, Totem, and Metis will not appear as canonical titles? I pushed against their unwillingness to alter these things (see Karim’s defense of Wen**** Tribe name above).

Further, and this is the biggest reason I decided to write this article before seeing the final version of the book, I want to mention that I was also included in discussions with Hunters Entertainment to potentially be part of the art direction team, especially to oversee depictions of Indigenous characters, regalia, and art, to ensure that it would be represented either respectfully or not at all. I decided I needed to speak as soon as possible after the artistic portrayal of Tāme Iti appeared in the Glass Walkers preview without his permission. There are many arguments surrounding this issue and I am not going to address everything, but ultimately, I can tell you that had I remained as part of the art direction team, and saw that, I would have questioned it immediately. Even if I didn’t recognize Tāme Iti immediately, I would have asked what the source was on the depiction of moko in that piece, because I am aware that this is a sacred form of art–and I had already discussed wanting to make sure things like Crinos in headdresses didn’t appear in the book (as had often happened in previous editions, particularly on a certain white-skinned character whose name rhymes with Steals-the-Past).

As time working on this project went on, and I went through rounds and rounds of trying to convince Muammar and Paradox that it was important to not steal Indigenous identities, art, and stories, and that a greater effort needed to be put in powerful and empowering Indigenous representation, and I constantly ran into refusals and criticisms that were clearly hateful toward Indigenous identities and peoples, not to mention the push to represent Nazism as a major part of the game setting, I grew increasingly frustrated and restless with feeling like I was trying to work on a challenging project while also defending my right to exist as the person I am at every turn. Eventually I turned to another Indigenous TTRPG and game creator to ask for advice, and after a long and difficult discussion, I came to the conclusion that I was going to talk to the Hunters administration team and tell them that if Muammar kept using slurs and other anti-Indigenous language and attitudes, I was going to need to step off of this project, because it was harmful to me on a personal level. In furtherance of this point, I have been avoiding doing any contract work at all where I can tell that I am wanted for my specific cultural perspective ever since, because this situation was so harrowing for me.

Unfortunately, before I could have this conversation, after one final draft of Younger Brother and Bone Gnawers (which had its own issues, but that is not the point of this discussion), before we received any other specific feedback, the Hunters Entertainment administrators announced to the writing team that Paradox had decided to take the book in-house, and would no longer need our services.

The main point I would like to leave you with, besides these few specific quotes (out of dozens and dozens) that Muammar made that were anti-Indigenous, is that there is often a big call to have more BIPOC voices in various entertainment industries, so that both our stories, perspectives, and unique views on how the universe and life works, can be included; so that an industry that is historically, harmfully Eurocentric, might turn toward new, healthier, and inclusive directions. And I agree with this call for change, but I implore you to consider the conditions that BIPOC creators often have to work under: doing cultural/identity work and consultation for free as part of being present, being subject to vicious refusals of our experiences and perspectives, and straight-up having slurs lodged against our work. I want to see these changes in the industries we love, including the gaming industry, but currently the people who are in charge, who have the most power, are severely hostile to our work and our perspectives. This is why, for example, works like Coyote & Crow were done with an almost entirely Indigenous group of creators, and led by Indigenous creators, because trying to work for and with this ugly, hateful, and xenophobic group of people is so often exhausting, both mentally and spiritually, and because no good changes end up being made.

I am glad the harmful, appropriative terms were removed from the setting. I am glad I was part of the fight to make that real. I am not so glad that I was treated with hostility and racism by Muammar for the effort and love I put into this work, and I am not so glad that I will certainly be reviled by one of the two communities I did this work for–the gaming community, and certainly the people in power in this industry–and I am also not so glad that I didn’t have the opportunity to properly acknowledge how much of Werewolf’s base themes and setting are twisted and tied-up in Indigenous appropriation without giving the proper acknowledgments.

More than anything, I hope that this story will help you, the fans, realize that there is a lot of darkness in these communities, and they won’t change unless you hold their feet to the fire.

Ánaagodzįįhł

J.F. Sambrano