Not truly. Not the way the other Guild trainees did when they were kids, reciting bedtime warnings about fangs at the window or blood-slicked coffins buried beneath the city. Even after her mother died, throat torn open in the alley behind their home, eyes wide with a fear Natalie would carry forever. She didn't call it a monster.
She called it a vampire. A killable thing.
A body. A mistake. Something that could bleed.
By the time she was twenty-three, Natalie had carved her way through two dozen nests. She'd severed heads, staked hearts, been fed on and survived. She didn't care for ritual, didn't pray, didn't go home. The Guild called her a prodigy. A weapon. They stopped assigning her a partner when they realized no one could keep up.
Then, they gave her a name.
Lottie Matthews.
Not just a vampire. The vampire.
A pureblood. The last surviving daughter of the House of Matthews, a noble line that once ruled the Eastern Courts of the Old War with velvet gloves and iron teeth. Rumors said she hadn't fed on a human in decades. That she refused to sit on any throne. That her power had curdled from disuse. That she was sick with grief. That she could tear a man in two with her mind alone.
She had vanished for years. Centuries, depending on who's telling the story. Until Guild scouts traced recent activity to a ruined cathedral just outside the city's perimeter. Victims left untouched. Crosses defaced but not destroyed. Offerings left behind and seemingly… Accepted.
The message was clear.
She was waiting for someone.
And the Guild sent Natalie.
—
an excerpt from the newest chapter of AGAIN, IT’S US, a multi-life lottienat fic
Vampire!Lottie hcs plz,,,,, can be nsfw sfw or wtv I just NEED VAMPIRE!LOTTIE HCS UWAAAA.....
also ty in advance:3
VAMPIRE!LOTTIE HC'S • 🦇
summery: silly vampire lott hc's !
warnings: blood sucking, a little but of smut, fluff
notes: dis is the best request ever and the only request ever thank u anon:3
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ vampire!lott who walking home from your house notices someone following her, she constantly turns around trying to see if they've left yet
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ vampire!lott who knows the intentions of the person who's following her, with all the vampires in town she just knows
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ vampire!lott who when you found out she'd been bitten just cried in ur arms, she was so scared she was gonna hurt you:(
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ vampire!lott who slowly started to distance herself from you while she turned
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ vampire!lott who randomly shows up to your door hungry asf . you run to the butchers and grab her a couple bags of pig blood but that doesn't really help
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ vampire!lott who asks you if she can drink your blood and not the "disgusting" pig blood
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ vampire!lott who tries to bite you as gently as possible, she slowly sinks her teeth into your neck, the sting hitting you immediately but you chose to ignore the pain
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ vampire!lott who carefully sucks your blood, she makes sure not to take too much but she of course gets a little carried away, not too much but enough for you to have to pull her away from you
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ vampire!lott who licks the wouldn't on your neck, that she made, she's so proud of herself
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ vampire!lott who only comes to school on rainy/clouded days, she comes like twice a month😭
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ vampire!lott who bought you those necklaces where you put each other's blood in it,
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ vampire!lott who takes you on walks in the forest on cloudy days, she can run real fast so sometimes she'll have races with you knowing she'll win
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ vampire!lott who sucks your blood while fingering you, her fingers pumping in and out of you as she sucks and licks the bite on your neck
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ vampire!lott who can smell you from afar and she lovesloves your smell:3
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ vampire!lott who still treats you the same, in fact she's more attached to you, she gets sad she can't go out on dates with you in the day time anymore but at least you can see each other at night so she takes you to restaurants for dinner !!!!!
Lottie Matthews doesn’t remember being human. Not clearly, anyway — only flashes of warmth and noise, of sunlight filtered through curtains before it became poison. She was five when her parents adopted her. They were beautiful, strange people, pale and deliberate in a way that unnerved the neighbors. They said she was “special,” that they’d chosen her for a reason.
The ritual that made her what she is was equal parts ceremony and violation. She remembers the chanting, the circle of salt and iron, the way her parents’ blood burned when it touched her tongue. The pain stretched for hours, days maybe. When it was over, she could hear things she wasn’t supposed to — the heartbeat of the house, the whisper of the trees outside, the murmurs of things that lived in the dark.
Her parents smiled and said she was perfect now.
Unlike most vampires, she aged. Slowly, steadily, like a normal child. The ritual allowed her body to mimic mortality until it stopped at the cusp of her twenties. She would never grow old, never wither, just linger — permanently twenty, perpetually caught between child and adult.
Her parents taught her vampire etiquette: how to drink discreetly, how to hide, how to lie. She was terrible at all of it. Even as a child, she would cry after feeding, apologizing to the rabbits she drained, whispering little prayers to their spirits. Her parents told her to stop being sentimental.
They disappeared when she was twelve. Vanished into the night without explanation, leaving Lottie alone in a big, empty house that echoed with ghosts. She survived by instinct, hiding from daylight, learning to hunt by herself. She kept the rituals, even the ones she didn’t understand — lighting candles before feeding, saying the names of the animals she took.
Transition: Becoming Herself Twice
Lottie always knew she wasn’t who her body said she was. Being undead only made the process stranger. She could change her clothes, her voice, her name — but her body resisted everything beyond that. Vampiric physiology doesn’t respond to hormones the way human biology does. Healing overrides chemical change.
In the early 2000s, information was scarce. The internet was barely helpful, doctors were useless, and other vampires just told her she should be “grateful to have a body that never decays.” She wasn’t.
She scavenged what she could — makeup tutorials from late-night TV, thrift-store skirts, scarves she wore like armor. She built herself from the outside in. Every piece of presentation became both rebellion and ritual. When people asked why she didn’t “just glamour” herself female, she’d mutter something about how glamours feel like lies. She didn’t want an illusion. She wanted truth.
Her reflection still doesn’t match her self-image. But she’s learned to exist in fragments — lipstick that doesn’t smudge, nail polish that never chips, her voice soft but unsteady. Transitioning as an undead being meant crafting identity by force of will, one small defiance at a time.
College Life: The “Taxidermy Club”
Lottie’s decision to attend college wasn’t about education. It was about hiding in plain sight. Universities are full of chaos and nocturnal schedules — nobody looks twice if you’re up all night. She applied under false documents (courtesy of a witch acquaintance) and got into Wisayok College, a small liberal arts school that looks normal enough until you realize how many things there don’t blink right.
She studies psychology and comparative religion. Professors describe her as “ethereal,” “polite,” and “chronically late.” She rarely attends morning classes, always claims she has “a blood sugar problem.”
To keep suspicion off herself, she invented a club.
The Taxidermy Club.
The name came to her during a panic when her roommate, Natalie, asked why she had a large fridge in their minimal sized dorm room.. “It’s… for the taxidermy club,” she said. It stuck.
Now, the “club” is a semi-functional front for half the supernatural population of Wisayok. Vampires, werewolves, even the occasional fae — they all gather under the pretense of learning how to “preserve biological specimens.” Lottie brings snacks (never human), takes attendance like it’s a real organization, and mediates disputes between creatures trying to blend in with human life.
It’s absurd and oddly wholesome. They meet in the biology basement after dark, drink from stolen blood bags, and swap excuses for cover stories.
Feeding & Control
Lottie’s biggest secret — and constant terror — is her lack of self-control. The smell of human blood sends her into feral frenzy. She’s learned the hard way that one drop is enough to erase her humanity for hours. She sticks to animals: squirrels, raccoons, pigeons, sometimes stray dogs if she’s desperate.
Feeding makes her calm, euphoric, almost childlike. She hums after meals, usually something soft and tuneless. But afterward comes the guilt. She buries the remains outside campus, murmuring apologies to each.
When the hunger gets bad, she isolates. Locks herself in the bathroom, curls up in the tub, prays to something she doesn’t believe in. She’s tried synthetic blood, but it’s like drinking plastic — no life in it, no warmth.
Schizophrenia & the Supernatural Connection
Lottie’s connection to the supernatural world is both curse and conduit. She sees things — shadows that whisper, halos of color around people that shift with emotion. Sometimes, they speak to her. Sometimes, she answers.
The line between her illness and her gift is thin. Antipsychotics help, but they also dull her connection to the forces she’s come to rely on. She talks about “the hum under the skin of the world,” the way the earth itself feels alive. Other vampires find her unnerving. Humans find her mesmerizing.
She’s learned to use her visions to guide others. Lost vampires come to her for advice, frightened werewolves for safe cover stories, witches for someone to ground them after spells go wrong. She doesn’t want to lead, but people follow her anyway.
On paper, she’s not the leader of the supernatural underground at Wisayok. But when someone panics, when a feeding goes wrong, when a human finds out too much — everyone goes to Lottie. She has the patience of someone who’s seen centuries of tragedy condensed into one life.
They call her “Saint Lottie” behind her back. She hates it.
Relationship with the Other Supernaturals
To the vampires, she’s something between a therapist and a big sister. She helps them stay off human blood, teaches breathing techniques that don’t actually do anything but make them feel human again.
To the werewolves, she’s the one who doesn’t flinch at their hunger. She’s helped bury bodies before, not out of malice but mercy. To the witches, she’s a grounding rod — a quiet listener who understands what it’s like to hear too many voices.
She doesn’t seek power, but it gravitates toward her anyway. The “Taxidermy Club” has become the de facto council of Wisayok’s hidden world. She just wanted to survive college. Now she’s managing a supernatural support group held together by caffeine, denial, and duct tape.
Lottie’s Relationship with Herself
Lottie tries to be normal. She studies, writes essays, watches trash TV with Natalie, complains about exams. She smiles too wide when lying, stammers when cornered, and has a laugh that sounds half-mortal, half-feral.
She is, at her core, lonely. She’s been alive for decades but still feels like a child — forever learning how to be a person, forever apologizing for existing. Her kindness is genuine but tinged with guilt. Every drop of blood she drinks, every animal she kills, is another mark against her in her own mind.
Despite that, she keeps trying. Keeps showing up. Keeps pretending she’s just another college student who happens to have a very strange diet.
Her biggest fear isn’t the hunters. It’s that Natalie — her kind, sharp, stubborn roommate — will find out what she is. And worse: that she’ll agree with the guild’s verdict when she does.
Present-Day: The Saint of Wisayok
Lottie Matthews is the campus ghost story everyone half-believes. She’s the quiet girl with the antique cross necklace who always has dirt under her nails and never eats in public. Professors think she’s eccentric. Her peers think she’s quirky. Supernaturals think she’s divine.
Her dorm room smells faintly of iron and lavender. There are always half-burned candles, half-finished essays, and too many dead squirrels in the mini-fridge.
She spends her nights mediating disputes, feeding carefully, praying to something she hopes still listens. She doesn’t know what she is anymore — vampire, saint, fraud, monster, girl — but she knows she has to keep going.
Because if she stops pretending to be okay, the whole fragile world she’s built — her fake club, her friends, her carefully maintained cover — might collapse.
And if that happens, she’s not sure anyone at Wisayok, human or otherwise, will survive the fallout.
