Tried drawing some of the VTMB PC girlies but my style
I yassified some of their outfits hey! Icl nossie was the most fun to draw but I tried smth new w Brujah by trying muscles… it’s tough out here. Ventrue was really inspired by Vivienne Westwood’s silhouette, which I adore. I gave Brujah baggy jeans bc she’s dripped out like that, and Nossie is just out here living her best life tbf
The streets of Hollywood are buzzing as always, neon lights flickering overhead like some kind of urban starlight. It’s late—past midnight—and the air clings to y/n like the weight of the past, heavy and inescapable. She adjusts her tailored coat, the fabric sharp and precise, like armor against the world she now navigates with cold precision. Her Ventrue blood demands it, after all. But beneath the perfect facade, there's a storm of emotion she’s been trying to suppress for years. Emotions that don’t fit neatly into the life she’s been thrust into.
Tonight, though, something feels different. There’s a tension in the air, an unease crawling up her spine that she can’t quite shake. Her steps are measured, purposeful as she weaves through the crowd, just another predator among the unwitting.
And then she sees her.
Samantha.
The world stops.
y/n freezes, her heart—or the memory of it—thudding against her chest in a way that almost hurts. Samantha stands a few yards away, outside a coffee shop, bathed in the cold, artificial glow of a streetlamp. She looks just like she did the other week—still human, still warm. She’s waiting for someone, probably not expecting it to be her. But Samantha’s familiar form, the gentle curve of her face, the softness in her posture—it’s like a wound torn open again, and y/n feels something twist painfully deep inside her.
For a second, she wants to turn around, to melt back into the crowd and disappear like she never existed. After all, she’s not the same person Samantha once knew. Not even close. But before she can make her escape, Samantha’s gaze lifts, and their eyes lock.
A flash of recognition crosses Samantha’s face, her breath hitching in surprise. Her lips part in disbelief, and then—God, that smile. The one y/n thought she’d never see again.
“Is that… you?” Samantha’s voice is soft, tentative, like she’s afraid speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile reunion.
y/n forces herself to breathe, to push down the surge of longing and pain threatening to drown her. She can’t let it show. Not here. Not now.
“Samantha.” Her name feels like a knife in y/n’s throat, edged with memories too painful to dwell on. She takes a half-step forward, though every instinct tells her to stay away, to keep the distance that’s kept Samantha safe all these years.
Samantha’s face lights up with something like hope, but her confusion is obvious. She takes a step toward y/n, the warmth in her voice almost unbearable. “I—I thought I’d never see you again. Where have you been? Why did you—” Samantha hesitates, searching y/n’s face for an answer. “Why did you just leave?”
y/n’s stomach churns. It’s the question she’s dreaded, the one she knew would come if she ever saw Samantha again. The question she can’t answer—not truthfully, at least. Because I died. Because I became something you can’t understand.
But she can’t say that. Not now. Not ever.
“I had to leave,” y/n replies, her voice cold, distant. She hates herself for it, for the lie that slithers out of her mouth so easily. But it’s safer this way. “I didn’t have a choice.”
Samantha’s brows knit together, hurt flashing across her features. “No choice? You just… vanished.” Her voice wavers, like she’s holding back something deeper. “I thought you were dead. I thought—” Samantha bites her lip, a familiar gesture that tugs at y/n’s dead heart. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”
The implication in her words lances through y/n like a silver stake. Didn’t want her? It couldn’t have been further from the truth. If anything, leaving Samantha behind had been the hardest part of all of it. The nights they’d spent together, the quiet moments in the dark when Samantha’s head rested on her chest, when their fingers intertwined like they never wanted to let go—those memories still haunted her, more than the hunger, more than the blood.
But she couldn’t let Samantha into that world. Couldn’t drag her down into the shadows.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” y/n says, the truth slipping out before she can stop it. Her voice cracks, and she turns her gaze away, fixing it on the neon blur of Hollywood’s streets. “But I had to protect you. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay.”
Samantha steps closer, her hand twitching at her side, like she wants to reach out but isn’t sure if she’s allowed to. “Protect me from what? From you?”
y/n stiffens. The words sting, sharper than she expected. Yes. From me. From what I’ve become.
She forces herself to meet Samantha’s gaze, the weight of the Masquerade pressing down on her like a vice. She can’t let her in. “I’m dangerous,” she whispers, the words cutting deep, but necessary. “I’m not who you remember.”
Samantha’s lips tremble, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re still you. I know you are.”
You don’t. y/n swallows hard, the ache in her chest growing unbearable. She wishes she could reach out, wishes she could let herself feel what she once felt, even for just a moment. But the price is too high. “I’m not,” she says, her voice flat, mechanical. “I’ve changed.”
Samantha takes another step forward, close enough now that y/n can feel the heat of her, the warmth that reminds her so painfully of everything she lost the night she was Embraced. “You don’t have to do this,” Samantha pleads softly, her hand reaching out now, trembling. “We could figure it out. You and me. We always did.”
y/n almost laughs at the naivety of it, the sweetness of the lie that could never be. Once, she might have believed that too. Once, she might have let herself hope. But hope is dangerous now. It’s lethal.
“I’m not the same,” y/n repeats, her voice a harsh whisper. The words feel wrong in her mouth, but she forces them out. “You have to forget about me. I’m not… I’m not who you think I am.”
Samantha’s eyes are wet now, her breath catching in her throat as she shakes her head, refusing to believe it. “But we—” She swallows, her voice breaking. “What about us? Was that just… nothing?”
That final question almost shatters y/n. Samantha’s words hang in the air between them, weighted with memories of nights spent tangled in each other’s arms, whispers of love shared in the dark, promises made that neither of them ever thought would be broken.
“No,” y/n says, her voice soft, pained. She looks away, unable to bear the sight of Samantha’s heartbreak, of her own reflection in those eyes. “It wasn’t nothing.”
Samantha reaches for her, her fingers brushing against y/n’s arm. The touch burns. y/n jerks away, the instinctive movement more brutal than she intended. Samantha flinches, her hand falling limply to her side.
“I’m sorry,” y/n whispers, her voice barely audible, the weight of her lie pressing down on her like a thousand stones. “I can’t be with you. Not anymore.”
Samantha looks like she’s about to say something, to beg y/n to stay, but no words come. The silence between them is deafening, the pain almost tangible.
Without another word, y/n turns and walks away, her steps heavy, deliberate. She can feel Samantha watching her, feel the heat of her gaze as it follows her into the shadows.
Behind her, Samantha’s voice breaks the silence one last time, trembling, full of a sadness that y/n knows she’ll carry with her for the rest of her existence.
“Please… don’t go.”
But y/n doesn’t stop. She can’t. She keeps walking, disappearing into the night, leaving the only thing that ever made her feel human behind.
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As an impressionable young bloodsucking bean, he became Prince LaCroix’s dog and blindly loyal to the Camarilla, somewhat out of fear but mostly out of a misplaced sense of purpose. As he gained confidence (and grew more powerful) he realized that the Camarilla way of doing things really wasn’t jiving well with his desire to protect the vulnerable and make the corrupt eat lead, so at a critical juncture he gave LaCroix a big old ‘fuck you’ and jumped ship to the Anarchs.
Playing Vampire the Masquerade: Bloodlines was such an amazing experience for me and has sucked me into the World of Darkness as a whole. This is Elric, my take on the male Ventrue PC from the game, whom I have grown very fond of.
He’s a bit of an underdog as a Ventrue, much more comfortable in the dingy emo clubs of LA than climbing the corporate later. May take the concept of “eat the rich” a little too seriously...
He’s based off of the “Corporate Goth” Ventrue outfit reskin by Vampire Nonsense (on Nexus Mods) hence the fun skull shirt.
