#(vampire vincent)

Vampire Vincent HCs

Vinnie’s mortal life ended in the 90s, after a series of disappearing acts and box set fiascos, while working on new songs for a new album he wanted to release, he was backstabbed by the proposed singer to get the music for himself, and brutally murdered…. well, almost anyway. As it turns out, not only was his now ex-singer an asshole and thief, but an idiot too - he couldn’t stab Vinnie well enough to kill him. From that point on, everything was too blurry, he felt a sharp pain in his neck and he woke up a completely different person.

He flat out refuses drinking animal blood; many vampires prefer it over hunting down humans, but Vinnie is horrified at the idea of drinking blood from innocent pigs or cows. He has heard of plant based “bloods” that can mimic some similar health benefits vampires need, and he is looking into that.

He hisses uncontrollably and is super embarrassed about it around company - his face heating up and apologizing profusely.

He cannot be in regular sunlight at all or else his skin starts to heat up irregularly causing him pain.

Due to his Italian descent in the mortal life, he has a tolerance against garlic.

Opposed to turning into a bat, Vinnie will turn into a raven.

He lives in an abandoned mansion, because no one knows an undead man lives there, and he doesn’t have to pay taxes or worry about cutting his lawn every other week.

Due to all of the space he is given, Vinnie adopts just about every outcast animal in the area, from black cats to mangy dogs and even reptiles and birds.

His first pet is Rosie, a stray black cat. He adopted her after witnessing how she was treated - almost getting run over, things thrown at her - all because she was considered “bad luck”. He scooped her up and said “It’s alright, no one quite likes me either.”

He still creates music, plays guitar, but now it’s all done for himself.. and his new roommates. After all, the whole world thought he was dead.

Speaking of his roommates, he makes special meals for each of them, creating his own garden, shopping at farmers markets with a cloak on to protect his skin, all to make the most delicious puppy and kitty bowls of food.

He still attends church, just prefers to go in the evening after mass had passed to be by himself.

It's best not to try zombie blood

I had a revelation XD

Imagine vampire Marquis starving for blood after a few days of not being able to feed because he’s on the run from John.

When John finally catches up to him, he finds him laying in the ruins of a crumbling cathedral, almost too weak to move and he stands over him with the stake but he just can’t bear to kill him. He’s been killing for so many years and he’s so tired, he doesn’t want to do this anymore.

So he offers him his own blood instead and no one has ever done that for Vincent before. No one has ever willingly given him blood just because he was hungry.

And as he sinks into John’s neck, John just cradles him and says everything will be okay. And his blood tastes rich like dark chocolate and the sheer power of John's will and determination. He feels the most alive he's felt in years. But even in his wild intoxication, Vincent manages to pull away before killing him because this is the first person who has shown him kindness after knowing his true nature and he doesn’t want John to die.

What will they do? Where will they go? The hunters will come for John too, for sparing him. But it doesn’t matter. There’s a new life on the horizon and the sun is rising over the ruins so John throws his cloak over the Marquis and says he’ll hide him from the daylight for as long as it takes and THEN THEY FUCK -

I also drew Vincent,, from before the,, accident,, m, 🤩 his neck is so long omg

Cloud Strife @azure-steel , Vincent Valentine

It was time to hunt once again. It seemed as if it had been some years since the leader of the Valentine coven, and the sole Beast Hunstman of the Valentine line left, had actually took to an official hunt on a subject for consideration of his Sworn Acts as Huntsman. No longer were his skills demanded, given what he was. Instead, it was given through pleas through word of mouth amongst the communities of beasts and beings alike.

He was the Hunter of the Damned, and it was by his study and his judgment, that they were given the chance they needed, or the end they deserved. He was never one to enjoy his work, but it was his obligation, and a purpose he held proud to. Most of the time.

His current hunt seemed to be leading him after a rather unruly were canine. He had come across quite a few, and most never really seemed to trust him, nor tolerate him. He supposed that was fair, given the societal history that poluted their lives, of enslavement and mistreatment and inequality. But he did not see anything less than the person, even within the beast. And he intended to look into this werewolf, like every other he’d face (and a few that were among his makeshift coven), to see what person if any would be staring back at him.

Reports ranged from the killing of livestock and the destruction of property, to the disruption of villages and the safety of those therein, and a few attacks as well. It didn’t exactly sound like an innocent case thus far, but to Vincent, it did not sound like a cruel beastly hound that deserved to be put down. No, that he would have to see for himself. There were a few reports brought to him as well, from those were in his coven when he announced he was taking on the hunt, but they seemed more rumors.

Rumors of just who this were might be--a were known for being passed amongst Vampires, of tearing apart master after master, of countless bloodshed. Again...only rumors.

He would see him with his own eyes, and sense him with his own instincts, before he gave in to the gossip heavy hysteria.

He’d tracked him down to his most recent village, only a few reports of sightings, and lost livestock thus far. He took up residence in a reluctantly offered abandoned cabin up on a hill, shaded by a great, big tree (he was certainly amused by the irony that his aid was so needed by locals and their friends from other towns, yet they still feared the monster within him and couldn’t bear his presence within their village). He had his fathers journal, laid out with former reports and his own additions, currently flipped to that of various alias of his current target. Drinking blood-infused wine from his person glass, he flipped through, fingering the pages as he waited for the sun to fall. Given his nature, he did not enjoy the sun. His kind were not killed by the light, but it did weaken and wound them. It prickled his skin and unnerved him, made him feel ill, but he held better resistance due to his altered creation.

But the sun needed to lay to rest, and night must rise. That would be the truest time to hunt. So it was only when the last light of dusk that he finished his glass, licking the faintest trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, that he took up his three barreled gun, strapped various rounds to his hip that would be used to stun, knock out, or kill his target as needed, and a few other essentials strapped under his side hanging cloak. And then he took off into the night.

He did not run, he did not soar, he did not slink in the shadows. This creature, if it was worth the stories told about it, it would smell him. It would know. So he would go out to meet it directly, as there was no point wasting time on dramatics. It was only as he neared the woods, the moon high in the sky, that he spoke into darkness.

Thanks to @secretsofthemasquerade precious suggestions, I name you Vincent!