#mod malkavian

[vtmb-imagines]

[vtmb-imagines]

How about Beckett? Any headcanons on how a relationship between him and the fledgling would be like? Specifically, Gangrel fledgling x Beckett if I may request?

okay but consider —

wolf dad beckett literally holding the fledgling back by the scruff of their neck

beckett wearily putting an actual leash on the fledgling

dual wolf forms dual wolf forms

running side by side through the california wilderness, fledgling occasionally letting out a howl of joy and getting nipped by beckett because “do you want other wolves sniffing around and realizing you’re not one of them?”

“if you’re going to act like a wild animal, i’m going to treat you like one.”“promise?”

fledgling giving beckett sass whenever he gets too nerdy or archaic or sardonic

fledgling giving beckett too much sass and having to backpedal really quick because that one arched eyebrow means amusement, but also stop it

showing beckett the “on all levels except physical” vine

beckett becoming way too invested in meme language and discourse

the fledgling dying of embarrassment whenever beckett tries to use modern slang

like when beckett finishes a meal and calmly announces “ah, this bitch is empty. yeet.”

[vtmb-imagines]

headcanon bonanza: the deb of night

keeps dozens of vintage perfume bottles on her vanity; some of them were absolutely purchased brand new.

doesn’t go to work without a full face of beautiful makeup. it’s a little hard to find foundation to match her skin, but she makes do with her own blend of high end costume makeup and mainstream brands.

is a nosferatu, remember?

adores cats and keeps seven of them. they eat like kings: raw meat and gourmet food, all day, every day. each one has a different colored collar and bell with their name engraved on the tag.

would trade lacroix’s soul to the devil for a single corn chip.

“perfect isn’t easy”

has turned down gary’s affections multiple times over the years.

it’s not personal, it’s just... well, they’re in different leagues, okay?

often paints her nails while she’s on air. she likes red and pink the best.

hacks the prince’s email for fun on slow nights to keep up on all the high society gossip.

bath bombs and epsom salt foot baths are self-care.

[vtmb-imagines]

Is it possible to get an imagine with Beckett finding the fledgling missing home/their family and confiding that they hate their new unlife? You guys are the best!

first, let me apologize for the radio silence on our end — the mods’ lives are a little busy at the moment! that said, i have some free time, so i hope y’all won’t mind if i take a crack at some of the asks you’ve sent in! ~ mod malkavian

Ah, youth.

They either learn quickly or die screaming; if Beckett has learned anything about fledglings and neonates within the Camarilla, it is surely this. Among the Anarchs, there is perhaps a greater chance of survival — assuming they cross no other Kindred who more highly uphold the unspoken laws of their kind. The others, perhaps, are too well overseen to fail their lessons.

But this poor unlucky childe has had the misfortune of falling neatly under whip and lash of the Ivory Tower and, alas, is learning on their feet, no time to sleep or consider their next move for fear of delaying too long to make another. And all this without even the cursory watchful eye of a sire.

Still, they find time to dawdle near him, careful not to impede his work, his examinations of the sarcophagus, always just out from under his elbow, the nervous, copper-rich, dead smell of them filling his nose to the point of excluding all else.

“Must you linger?” he says, a bit more gruffly, world-weary, than he perhaps intended.

They seem taken aback, perhaps insulted, perhaps hurt, affronted in some way. He could have been gentler, but then that’s never been his style. 

“Sorry. It’s just quiet.” They rub the back of their neck and glance aside. “Reminds me of home.”

“Here? This self-indulgent wasteland of taste?” Beckett snorts.

“No. Well, not here, exactly.” They shift next to him; he feels the movement of their clothes, unwashed and thin with too much wear, not enough clean and rest. “I just meant. You know. Everyone else wants something.”

“Everyone wants something,” he corrects.

“No. Not you. Not from me, anyway.” The fledgling bristles, almost like their namesake ruffling feathers in irritation. “I’m sick of it,” they continue in a rush. “I’m tired of being used. I don’t like being his pawn. I can’t stand it. I hate it — I wish I’d never been changed!”

Beckett waits. Studies a pattern of markings on the sarcophagus. The fledgling breathes erratically beside him, and he waits. For that reflexive breathing to slow and even out, for the echo of their words in the fine, aggrandizing halls of the boy prince’s tower to fade away.

“Are you finished?” he asks, finally turning to look at them with his piercing red eyes.

The fledgling nods, their eyes brimming pink with tears. Frustration? Sadness? Despair.

“Good.” Beckett adjusts his glasses. “Now listen: It isn’t this life that you hate. This existence. It’s the kindred you surround yourself with. They’ll make any existence miserable. So you have to bear it for now. So what? Time marches on, immemorial. And so do we, if we’re smart.”

He regards the fledgling coolly, though there is something like affection stirring grimly in his chest.

“This is not your permanent state. Remember that — and live long enough to see it change.”

[vtmb-imagines]

f!tremere with trust issues trying to confess her feelings (romantic or platonic) to Beckett? Maybe it can take place a couple years after the ending of vtmb. Please <3 and i'm sorry for my poor english :(

i’m drawn to beckett and i’m all you’ve got right now so i’m gonna put my grubby little hands all over this prompt. ~ mod malkavian

Gehenna, that terror of the mind, the horror not to be spoken of aloud, the misericordiae of providence all that keeps it at bay…

Well, it doesn’t look a thing like the signs predicted.

No lakes of fire, no antediluvians rising to consume their childer, no earthquakes and world-shattering calamities thrusting kine and kindred alike into a pit of despair.

She remembers a movie, some 20 years old now, which featured a pit more desperate, in fact. A fairy tale. Nothing at all like the dark nights in which she now walks.

But the point remains: if this is Gehenna, it’s a poor one.

“I don’t mean to say I told you so-”

“Don’t-”

“-but I told you so.”

She rolls her eyes, an expression so seamless she seems born to it, and one so frequent as to be utterly impotent to him by now. In fact, he seems amused, which is one of his most frequent, and thus most annoying, expressions.

“You don’t have to be so smug about it.”

“Of course I do. Don’t they teach you anything in those chantries anymore? The older you are, the smugger you have to become.” He chuckles, a short, quiet sound.

“You’re an asshole,” she mutters.

“Indeed.”

He adjusts the collar of his coat, looks over the edge of the cliff. Mount Lee is as kitschy as ever, but the cliche seems to suit them both. Clinging to old glamour, ignoring the mud-filled slushie cups and used condoms that litter the grass. The glowing letters blaze down on the city, the two of them hidden behind its light.

She crosses her arms, taps her fingers on her elbow, worries the loose thread at the seam. It needs attention.

“I must admit, I didn’t think I would see you out of those walls anytime soon. Did Strauss let you out on a night pass?”

She can feel his amused smirk on the side of her face. A muscle in her cheek twitches.

“No…” he answers for her, moving to stand beside her in the dry, flattened grass, his hands in his coat pockets. “A solo venture, then.” He pauses. “What would your master say if he knew you were associating with doggerel kindred like me?”

“He’s not my master,” she barks.

Silence passes between them.

“There was something I wanted to say,” she finally admits.

“Oh?” His eyebrows raise, just slightly, his eyes cutting sideways toward her from behind his sunglasses. “What was it?”

She returns the glance, then looks back out over the busy, glittering halo of Los Angeles nightlife. Self-assured, intelligent, free of outside demands and obligations. If she lives long enough, she might claim the same, one of these nights. Might even feel safe enough to give voice to the feeling she doesn’t quite trust inside herself yet.

“Never mind,” she says, content enough to stand at his side. “I forget.”

[vtmb-imagines]

more deb of night headcanons coming later today!

reply if you have any other headcanon requests! will be anywhere from serious to absolute shitpost material.

[vtmb-imagines]

VV, Damsel, Jeanette, Therese, Picha, and Gary react to a malk fledgling just up and dropping Heather with them for the weekend because malk will be away on a mission and needs someone to take care of her? Pretty please?

i enjoy dialogue a little too much, but any excuse to listen to the edgy voice acting in this game. gary is a fucking treasure. ~mod malkavian

velvet velour: “are you sure that’s what you want? well, if you say so. i suppose i’ll be the one doing you a favor this time... the customer is always right, after all. hmm... tell me, is she any good at pouring drinks?”

damsel: “whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa, you want me to watch after your blood slave? no way. no way. this is — so fucked. does she even know what she’s doing here? does she know — what we are? no. with everybody sniffing around and crawling halfway up our asses and you want me to watch this poor little — ugh! … whatever. it’ll probably do her some good getting away from the rest of you cammies for a while.”

jeanette: “ooh, what a lot of fun we’re going to have. oh, don’t worry, duckling, — your little pet will be perfectly safe with me. i don’t bite, remember? at least not things that don’t belong to me, anyway… mostly… oh, you should see your face! i’m teasing. go on, go on then. we’ll see you bright and early… or is that dark and late?”

therese: “do i look like your babysitter? never mind — don’t answer that. i don’t need to know any more about your messy little hangups. … ugh. fine. but you owe me. and i’m not just talking about working for peanuts. believe me — whatever all important mission this is, is going to look like a church basement cakewalk compared to what you do for me. remember that.”

pisha: “someone should tell the girl how little you care for her. not me, of course. wouldn’t want to scare her off. … how do you feel about the most dangerous prey?”

gary: “well, this is a surprise. packing your little popsicle down to the sewers for a weekend with uncle gary? not that i’m not delighted, but i hope you’ve given her an appreciation for... what would the youngsters call it these days... sewer chic? oh, never fear, child — you get used to the dripping.”

[vtmb-imagines]

Headcanons for Pisha’s view on the clans in general?

i literally always forget at least one of the clans so i’m sorry in advance. if i missed your favorite clan, send another ask! ~mod malkavian

PISHA’S BURN BOOK

ventrue: stuffy, pretentious, facetious pockets of slime. any power they have was won by somebody else and then taken over. capitalists who get off on making kindred society feel like the worst of kine corporations. total hypocrites.

tremere: the only thing worse than a ventrue. they could have the world at their feet if they actually embraced thaumaturgy and used it to the fullest of its capabilities. too concerned with secrecy to ever make any power moves for fear of breaching the masquerade or letting some other clan know what they can do.

brujah: absolutely no regard for education or learning. brawlers and fighters. good entertainment if you want to watch a clan tear itself apart, but completely unimpressive by any other metric. no potential for upward growth.

gangrel: at least they acknowledge their beast without apology instead of pretending they don’t have one, or that they’re superior to it, or somehow above it all. they don’t go far enough indulging it, of course, but that’s because they’re too stuck in camarilla headspace. beckett is cute.

nosferatu: worthy of respect. a universal priority of clan over sect. they protect their own and defend each other against outside influences. almost as guarded as the tremere, but much more straightforward. at least they’re honest about it.

malkavian: total nutjobs, but if you can find one willing to share whispers and prophecy with you, it’s worth the hassle of making the deal. take everything with a grain of salt, of course, and think outside the box, but you might just get ahead of the game if you have some idea of what’s coming. do not eat them.

toreador: who even made them vampires? anne rice was definitely writing about toreadors. large egos. they belong in museums with their beloved marble sculptures and oil paintings. at least the antitribu are interesting — how much art can you create from pain and deviance? at least they value history and critique.

tzimisce: unafraid of their dark nature and capabilities. creepy and terrifying, even for pisha, but in the most respectful way. wouldn’t mind partnering with them. just don’t use fleshcrafting on her. maybe they could eat some kine together.

giovanni: ventrue 2.0, now with more garlic.they’ll breed themselves into extinction. powerful only because nobody wants to confront them about the incest and the ghostfucking. they have absolutely no business judging any other kindred about their feeding habits.