Gangrel - Tumblr Posts

all the vtm ocs i drew for artfight, in order:

fay belongs to @hceinart iver belongs to @gooulyys joints belongs to @redapparitions sorja belongs to @professoryaz

@puppycheesecake has declared it Tomboy Tuesday and who am I to refuse?

Sierra Torres | hot-headed, self-assured, loves outdoors | born 1981, Embraced 2004 | clan Gangrel vampire

Former environmental activist, current Anarch. Adopted childe of Nines Rodriguez (she adopted him). Singlehandedly drove Sabbat, Kuei-jin, and Camarilla out of LA over the course of a very peculiar week in October 2004. Gets flustered over pretty girls 😳

I’m just throwing out five minute sketches now, i should go to sleep.. my old gangrel character from my old larp days. :)

Submitted by cvs521

GUCCI GANGREL

First quick sketch of my horrible carrion eating Gangrel vampire in stolen clothes

I chose a vulture as a theme of both her build and look and I'm looking forward to terrorising upper class of 1930 Detroit XD

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brujah | hair | top | trousers | shoes | gloves |

gangrel | hair | top | trousers | shoes | nails |

malkavian | hat | hair | top | trousers | shoes | gloves | necklace | nails |

nosferatu | bat | top | trousers | shoes | nails |

toreador | hair | costume | shoes | gloves |

tremere | hair | top | trousers | shoes | disembodied hands | evil finger tips |

ventrue | hair | costume | shoes | nails |

I Caught Fire excerpt

Part of an Awakening fic I started writing years ago.

“Don't Leave Me” pt.1

In the end, she knew that war, on the whole, really did just boil down to a numbers game. As long as Chrom was still alive at the end of a fight, that battle counted as won. But not to her. Never to her. They had been lucky thus far- the Shepherds, at any rate. The Ylissean League as a whole suffered many losses, good soldiers, men and women who's family and friends would never be able to fill the hole in their lives once word got back to them that their loved ones were counted amongst the dead.

She took every one of those losses personally.

Even though she didn't know most of them. Even though she had no obligation to feel anything towards them. “War is Hell”, her friends told her, trying to lift the dark cloud that hovered over her after every battle in vain. She knew war was Hell, that was why they fought- to finally put an end to the reign of hell on earth. Sacrifices had to be made, but who was she to decide which lambs to send to the slaughter? One life was nothing when weighed against millions in the grand scheme of things. She had told herself that from the beginning. But that didn't mean that one life was worth more than another.

At least, that would've been her response had anyone asked. Aloud. In her mind, and in her heart however, she knew that was not the case. Aversa's final words to Chrom from their final battle rang loud and mocking in her ears. “A sweet sentiment, and easily spoken when you bear no love for the one...” It pained her to admit the old hag was right. And under normal circumstances, she'd have vehemently denied it to her dying day. But everything was different now. Everything was new and wonderful and terrifying and--

“Blazing hells, woman, are you still slaving over that silly game board of yours?” The voice came so suddenly, so unexpectedly close, that Bryn started, her hand twitching involuntarily, sending three of her little carved figures flying off the table. She looked over her left shoulder, even though the voice rang in her right ear, lips pulled into a frown and her brow furrowed.

“What have I told you about sneaking up on me, Gangrel?” He met her displeasure with an exasperated frown of his own. “How is it sneaking up on you if I've been here the whole time? Don't tell me you've forgotten about me?” Her eye widened slightly, and she quickly looked away, a faint pink tinge on her cheeks. She could hear the man behind her clucking his tongue disapprovingly. “Really now, I'm hurt. It's one thing that you forget to eat and sleep and bathe when you get caught up in your silly little tactics, but to forget your fiancée? Wholly unacceptable!”

There it was. Fiancée. Betrothed. Such a simple little word, but one that had turned her entire world (and world views with it) on it's head. Breathing deeply in an attempt to calm her fluttering heart, Bryn slid off the stool she had been sitting on for the past hour or so, kneeling on the hard ground in search of her errant game pieces.

“My 'silly little tactics', might I remind you, are the only thing standing between you and a grisly death.” The younger woman tried to make it sound like a flippant, offhand remark, but even she could hear the way fear hardened her voice. She wasn't entirely sure what scared her more- the thought of his death, or what the thought of his death inspired in her. It wasn't the fear of it happening- that was normal, completely understandable. No, it was the cold, selfish disregard for everyone else's life that was unacceptable. As the tactician, she had to keep everyone safe, make the most pragmatic decisions. But really, what did even a million lives matter when weighed against the one she loved most?

Unacceptable.

She started again as a larger hand covered her. Bryn looked up, her single brown eye meeting a pair of dark red. “Was that meant to be a shot against me, my lady?” Gangrel asked sardonically. “Because I can assure you my amazing fighting prowess was keeping my hide intact long before I ever met you.”

On the one had, she knew he was right. He was strong, cunning and versatile- everything she looked for  in a solider she planned on putting on the front lines. He'd fought on the front lines himself, as a Plegian solider, as it's king, and as one of the dread pirates. The truth in his words made them an even harder pill to swallow. A pill she would much rather spit out.

“Spoken like a true dead man.” she intoned coldly. As her fiancée (ugh, there it was again- her Achilles heel) gaped at her most flatteringly, she removed her hand from his, resuming her search for the errant game pieces. They had flown farther than she'd noticed, landing close to her cot. She picked up the small pieces of wood, turning them over in her hands for a moment. She'd painstakingly carved each one of them herself in the likeness of her friends. It helped in many ways. It helped her feel closer to them. It helped her remember the gravity of her duty. She literally held their lives in her hands. One of the figures, she noted with belated surprise, was a roguish trickster, a small crown perched on his brow. The full scale model was still kneeling behind her. She could feel his stare drilling holes in her back. Rather than give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his death glare, Bryn closed her eye, curling her fingers around the small figure in her palm. It was almost as if her subconscious had know what she was doing when she jumped that first time. After all, this was where she wanted him- safely off the game board. As far from the battlefield as possible and out of harm's way. His voice, that ever mocking tone, snapped her from her thoughts.

“So this is what our relationship has devolved into? You hurling insults at me, then giving me the silent treatment? I thought couples didn't start hating each other until after the wedding...” Ugh, damn that man. He always knew how to strike chords with her. She pushed herself to her feet and walked back over to where Gangrel still kneeled by the table. Setting the game pieces back on the board, she leaned down and took both his hands in hers, pulling him to his feet as well. It was a mark of how much he loved her that he indulged her with these small moments of weakness. Anyone else, and he'd have slapped their hand away, probably with an expletive for good measure.

“You know I don't hate you, Gangrel. I love you with all that I am and more.” It'd have been foolish to constantly reassure someone else of her love for them, but Bryn always had to remind herself not to take simple things like this for granted with the once Mad King. She often felt that if she forgot to tell him even for one day, that he might simply assume she no longer cared for him. “That's why I have to do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

“I'm not a child, Bryn. I'm not some milksop who doesn't know which end of a sword to hold. Hells, I've been fighting for my life since most of these Ylissean fools were still in diapers. I can hold my own.” Again, she knew he was right. But even the most battle hardened warriors could meet their ends unexpectedly. Pride always goeth before the fall, and if there was one thing Gangrel had in excess, it was pride. There were so many stupid ways one could die when they over estimated their abilities, ways she had seen firsthand. Ways she could not bear to see again.

“I know that perfectly well.” She relented, struggling to keep her voice level. “And were you simply another solider, I would not think twice about trusting you to your own abilities. But you're not. You are, as you yourself keep reminding me, my fiancée, and hopefully husband once this damnable war is won. If anything ever happened to you, all the light would go out in my life.” She could not stop her voice from catching in her throat then. She had glimpsed that cold, lonely darkness once, before she had ever felt the warm light that came with love. To be deprived of that light now? There was no doubt in her mind that she would simply die of grief.

“Bryn? You're not crying, are you?” The tactician could feel the sting of tears in her eye, and bowed her head so as to spare him the guilt of seeing her so. Of course, Gangrel seemed to have a strange addiction when it came to guilt, so naturally he gripped her chin firmly and forced her to look up at him. At once, his face fell. “Oh, gods, you are! Why am I the only person who ever makes you cry?”

Bryn sniffled slightly, raising a hand to wipe away the moisture that threatened to course down her cheek. “Because you're the only person I love, you fool. You're the only person who means everything to me.” “So all your wretched tears are reserved for me and me alone? I'm flattered.” He intoned dryly. She couldn't help but chuckle slightly. That ever-present scathing wit of his was one of the reasons she loved him so much. Gods, why couldn't he just understand how much she didn't want to lose him? She looked back up at him, committing every detail of him to memory, just as she always did.

“I know I can't control everything, no matter how much I plan. I'm not a god, regardless of what the Grimleal think. There's always a margin of error when humans are involved. No matter how much I love and care, bad things can happen. That's why I need you to care too.” She reached up to where his fingers still brushed her face, gripping his hand in both of hers. For the first time since she learned of it's meaning, she cursed that stupid mark of Grima for not giving her more power. Power to protect him from everything life could throw his way. “Gangrel, promise me you won't leave me... Promise me you'll stay safe.”

For the briefest moment, she thought he might laugh at her and refuse. In her mind, she played back that day when she truly met him, not six months past. It was only at her insistence that Chrom extended  an offer of peace to former king rather than run him through. Bryn had stood right there, not five feet from the men, listening to their exchange, praying the Plegian man would cease his assault and join them. All this despite his insistence that he had never sworn an oath in his life, much less kept one. Technically, he had sworn no oaths since that day, save to love her and make her happy. Didn't he realize that his staying alive was part of that bargain?

However, barely a second must've passed before Gangrel answered her, albeit with a loud, exasperated sigh and accompanied with much eye rolling. “Fine!” He groaned, as if he were answering under much duress. “I don't care if I live or die.”

She knew that. His suicidal past weighed as heavily on her as his murderous one weighed on him. Every time she remembered how very little his life meant to him, it added another layer of fear to the already nuanced love she felt for him. Bryn opened her mouth, ready to argue him down about how she never wanted to hear that again, regardless of how true it may have been, but she was quickly cut off as the man before her (her fiancée, she remembered belatedly) leaned down, pressing his lips against hers. It was almost too quick to be considered a kiss, but it still sent shivers down her spine and caused her heart to flutter almost painfully. As he pulled back, he smirked at her in a way that would've been mocking had she not seen the love and warmth in his eyes.

“So I may as well live and care for you.” He finished, his voice barely above a whisper. Bryn remained silent. It still scared her to know how little he valued his own life, but at least he valued something. It was a start. That she was his reason for living made her all the more determined to keep him safe at all costs. “Is that good enough for you?” She simply wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek against his chest. If she listened hard enough, she could just barely make out the faint rhythm of his heartbeat.

“It's a start...”

Old art, from like, two years ago (back when I still had my tablet). Gimp wasn't working, so I was trying to paint in MyPaint- didn't work. Originally, Gangrel had his grey skin (and freckles) but he looked like a literal corpse, so textures. Now he looks... human. I am disappoint. I imagine Gangrel is the best dad in the world. His life revolves around both future!Morgan and present!Morgan.

I Caught Fire excerpt pt.2

(Here’s the other part of this Awakening fic I did. I think I’m going to post my unfinished work here so as not to bother readers on ff.net and ao3 with drabbles)

–

“Don’t Leave Me” pt. 2 – He detested the healing tent, for so many reasons. The simplest was that he just couldn’t stand being around other people, especially not the people of the Ylissean League, and a trip to the healing tent meant human interaction was a given. Perhaps on a more complex level (one that he would never admit to anyone willingly) was the fact that medical bays of any sort always reminded him of that tentative transition period after the great war. That time when he had barely been king for a fortnight, when the dead still littered the streets and the sand was red from fresh spilled blood.

While hatred had stewed in his mind and heart, there was no time for revenge. Every temple had been converted into a hospice, but it still wasn’t enough to contain the massive influx of wounded and dying. What could he do other than open the castle up to them, despite the protests of the lords and nobles. What was he supposed to do; let women and children that may as well have been him and his mother, die on the streets? The bourgeois would’ve preferred that, but he had never cared for the opinions of the rich and powerful. That was something Ylissean dogs would do.

The sight of the wounded, with their limbs missing and bones shattered and guts hanging out of them like streamers was never truly wiped from his mind. He’d seen enough of it over the course of two wars- he didn’t need any reason to further humanize these damnable Ylisseans.

Gangrel stood by the edge of the tent, far enough from the cots so as to not be in the way, but close enough that his presence could not go unnoticed. At a glance, it would’ve been easy to assume he was angry, enraged even, the way his jaw clenched as he practically seethed at the woman currently sitting on the only occupied cot. The young woman, her already pale skin an almost sickly gray from blood loss, sat with one arm slightly raised and shaking from the apparent effort of keeping it aloft while the other held her overly large shirt up over her stomach while still covering her breasts (Bryn, like most Plegian women, did not take kindly to wearing small clothes).

A younger, very petite blonde girl donning the attire of a War Cleric was wrapping a tourniquet around her midsection. It was obvious the girl (who’s name was Liz or something) wanted to say something to her patient, but every time she opened her mouth, she froze, before casting a furtive, almost frightened glance toward the man looming over them in the background. Gangrel met every timid glance in his direction with a death glare. He had been silent the whole time, but the look on his face spoke volumes. Eyes forward, girl, before I take them away from you. He didn’t need the silly little chit looking at him when she had a job to do. Finally (he was beginning to suspect the blonde princess wasn’t exactly good at her duties), Lissa tied the bandages in place, getting to her knees as she brushed off her hands.

“There. All patched up.” Her patient smiled up at her, obviously weary, but sincerely grateful. “Thank you, Lissa. You’re a lifesaver.” “Yeah, well, I can be a life taker too, so you’d better actually rest this time if you know what’s good for you.” Bryn rolled her visible eye. “Yes, mother.”

As the cleric left (finally), Gangrel walked over until he occupied the spot she had just vacated, saying nothing as he watched the other woman gingerly lower her shirt, wincing slightly. Heaving a deep sigh,  she slumped forward a bit, clearly exhausted.

“Well?” She prompted, not bothering to look up at him. “Go ahead. I know you’re just dying to lay into me.” For a second, he thought of holding back, leaving her to rest in peace… of course, the former Plegian king had the impulse control of a child, and a second was as long as he could restrain himself.

“How could you do something so positively stupid?! You’re supposed to be a master tactician, someone  who’s smarter than the rest of us idiots!” “What I did was tactically sound–” she tried to interrupt him, but he wasn’t having any of it. “Does it look like I’m finished? No! Now let me talk!”

“…I’m listening.” The way she looked up at him, guileless and enraptured despite the exhaustion and pallor of her face, took all the wind from his sails. He sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He had allowed his anger to fade, and that was his mistake. Anger was easy. Anger was comfortable. The emotions swirling inside him now were new and confusing and they terrified him. Fear, misery, guilt, concern and, yes, a bit of anger, but for all the wrong reasons. Reasons he wasn’t used to. Everything within him now was born of love, love for the stupid, reckless woman sitting in front of him. It made everything he felt more intense, to the point of physical illness. He wasn’t used to caring about anyone, and to suddenly have someone thrust in his life he cared for so much… it was like drowning.

He reached out, brushing the backs of his fingers against the curve of her cheek. She was so soft, but so cold. Not as cold as she had been on the battlefield, but close. “Why did you put yourself in danger like that?” he asked in a tortured whisper. “Trying to beat me to the grave?” To anyone else, he’d have meant that as a joke, albeit a rather morbid one, but with Bryn, it was simply a grim reminder that every second he had with her was precious. That there was no guarantee they would have much more time together. The ever looming threat of Grima already gave him nightmares, he didn’t need the added horror of watching her fall on the field of some inconsequential skirmish.

For a long time, Bryn was silent, but it seemed to be more from the toll her wounds were taking on her than any kind of hesitance. Finally, she spoke up, her voice weak and tired, only emphasizing her words.  “Just trying to keep you safe. You’re lucky I was there; if I hadn’t pushed you out of the way, that berserker would’ve cleaved you in twain.”

The truth of her words left a sour taste in his mouth….

He had been so caught up in picking off the undead archers and tricksters that surrounded them that he hadn’t even noticed the silvery glint of the ax that nearly bisected him until Bryn shoved him hard to the side. He’d hit the ground at an awkward angle, twisting his wrist painfully as he instinctively tried to catch himself, but he hadn’t noticed any of that until much later. At the moment, all he could focus on was the woman standing between him and the Fell servant that nearly killed him. That blow, meant for him, only grazed the young tactician, but the razor’s edge of the blade still sliced effortlessly through what flesh it met.

She wasn’t wearing her usual breastplate (it was only a skirmish! The Risen they faced weren’t even that strong!), and her thin clothes offered less than no protection. Everything seemed to slow down as Gangrel watched the bright red arc of blood that followed the path of the ax fall to the ground. It seemed to take Bryn a moment to even realize she’d been struck, but he needed less time than that to get back to his feet. As he held his ever present Levin sword aloft, he could feel his blind rage mixing with and strengthening his magic. The air around them burned and cracked loudly as a bolt of lightning emanated from the sword into the shambling bag of rotting bones and flesh that was the Risen. It could not even howl in agony as it exploded into a (unsatisfying) cloud of acrid purple smoke. Gangrel was sure he would’ve gone on a massacre, probably hunting down Risen and ally alike if only to quell the rage burning within him, had there not been a strained whimper behind him.

He turned, all the anger and hate within him doused by fear as he watched his betrothed clutch at the wound that gaped across her belly, trying to stem the flow of blood that had already dyed most of her shirt and trousers. He dropped his sword at once, not caring that they were still in the midst of a battle, rushing to her side before she fell and injured herself more. It was just a flesh wound, but it bled so much, and she was so pale and cold… How could he have let such a thing happen? He was supposed to protect her, and he had been doing such a good job of it too… Of course, things like this always happened, though usually with less disastrous results. No matter how hard he fought to keep her safe, Bryn always had to jump in and take blows meant for him. More often than not she just deflected them expertly, but the fact remained that this was getting to be a habit…

“I was doing just fine, thank you. Maybe if I didn’t always have to worry about you getting yourself hurt, I could pay more attention to what was going on around me.” The young tactician gaped at him in disbelief. “Oh my gods…. Are you actually trying to blame me for this? I save your life, and you’re trying to blame me for getting hurt?” “Damn it, Bryn, I don’t need you saving my life! I’m supposed to protect you! There’s only one person here who’s life matters, and it sure as hell isn’t me.” That look she fixed him with, that sad, disapproving look, made it feel as if there was a chunk of ice in his throat, choking him.

“…Don’t say that, Gangrel. Please don’t. You know I hate it when you talk like that…” How dare she guilt trip him when he was in the right? It was a disgrace… but it worked. It wasn’t fair- wasn’t he guilty of enough things, things much less noble than loving someone who mattered more than him? Gritting his teeth, he ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair.

“It’s the truth.” He seethed. “You know it’s the truth as well as I do. You are all I have to live for, Bryn. I am nothing without you. If anything were ever to happen to you, let alone because I couldn’t protect you or save you…” He simply trailed off. He knew what he wanted to say, and she undoubtedly did too, but he simply couldn’t put it into words. Not out of fear of making it real, but because there were just no words to describe how lost he would be without her. She had shown him a glimpse of what real life was like for the first time since he was a child. Death would not be enough to stop the pain of losing her.                                

Bryn remained quiet for a long moment, before reaching out and taking one of his hands into her much smaller ones. Those delicate looking hands were rough and calloused, the fingertips like sheets of ice against his skin. She cradled his hand against her chest, right over her heart.

“I know, Gangrel. You think I don’t know? I live with that dark cloud hanging over me constantly. That all consuming fear that the person you love won’t be there tomorrow…. That you’ll be all alone and miserable again, and what’s the point of even living like that?” He was more than a little surprised to hear her talk like that, given how much she believed in preserving life. She looked up at him, her face a mask of misery.

“I feel exactly the same as you. So how can you not understand why I have to keep you safe?” So many reasons bubbled to the surface of his mind that it took a moment to untangle them all. The main reason was because it was simply too difficult to wrap his mind around the fact that somebody cared about him.  Not because of what he could do for them (or to them), but because of who he was as a person. A lifetime of evidence to the contrary made that hard to believe, but here was the proof, that this woman was willing to throw her life away for him. Of course, he couldn’t tell Bryn all of that- despite her best wishes, he tried to keep his thoughts and feelings hidden from her. Bad enough that Emmeryn had seen him at  one of his lowest points, Gangrel would rather blast himself in the face with an Arcfire tome than let Bryn witness him having a breakdown. She was still waiting for an answer, though (the tactician did not appreciate rhetoric), so he had to tell her something.

“Because I’m the one who’s supposed to be protecting you! I don’t need to hide behind your skirt, I need to keep you safe.” “But why can’t we keep each other safe?” “Because I’m the man!” He raged, instantly regretting how loud his voice had gotten. The last thing they needed was Chrom running into the tent, Falchion drawn and looking for any excuse to cleave him in half. Gangrel lowered his voice, but still seethed with frustration. “I’m the man, and the man is supposed to keep his woman safe. …what else am I good for?” There was the crux of the problem, it seemed. It was impossible not to feel useless around Bryn- she was just good at so many things (well, not cooking, but she was even working on improving that). She wasn’t the one who needed him, he needed her- he’d told her as much when he proposed. Their relationship was entirely one-sided. And now, she even fought his battles for him… how long would it take for her to realize he was simply a drain on her and walk away?

She was looking up at him, with that same horrible, sympathetic look Emmeryn seemed to have reserved for him alone. Somehow, Bryn’s single eye seemed to concentrate the pity, making it even worse.

“Stop staring at me like that!” he hissed, resisting the urge to cover his eyes. It wouldn’t do any good- he could feel that stare, boring into his soul. “Oh, Gangrel…” she even shook her head sympathetically… which made her next words all the more bemusing. “If I sculpted a man out of Pegasus dung, he couldn’t be as full of Pegasus dung as you are.” “…what?!” She frowned up at him, her furrowed brow and pursed lips looking no less intimidating against her pallid complexion.

“What else are you good for? How about making me happy? How about keeping me sane? How about giving me a reason to keep moving forward when every fiber of my being is screaming at me to give up? Or is that not good enough for you? Would you be happy if I were some weak little noble lady who swooned at the first sign of danger?”

For some reason, a vivid image of Maribelle, with her shrill, grating voice and revolting little parasol popped into his mind. The look on his face was all the answer she needed. Sighing deeply, Bryn lifted her legs onto the cot and gingerly laid down, her face tight with pain. She was silent, but obviously fighting back whimpers, evident by her hands clenched tightly in the sheets. Scarcely thinking about it, the former king reached out and took her hand into his own, squeezing it gently to let her know she could squeeze back. She did as she finally stretched out and, were he a lesser man (like Chrom), he probably would’ve cried out in pain himself. She had a really strong grip.

She turned her head slightly to look at him once more. “I’ve been fighting on the front lines all this time, and I have no intention of stopping until there is no more fighting left to be done.” “What if I tell you to stop? I’m your husband, what if I tell you you can’t fight anymore.” Bryn smiled widely at this, a glint of humor in her dark eye.

“First of all, you’re not my husband, you’re my fiancée because someone doesn’t want to get married by a priest of Naga-” “It’s not because he’s a priest of Naga, it’s because the marriage will be null once we get back to Plegia, and also because fuck Ylisseans and their weird wedding traditions.” Gangrel had already made it quite clear time and again how he felt about getting married amongst the Shepherds. Brides wearing white? No feast? Fuck that noise. The paler woman chuckled softly.

“Well then, until we get to Plegia, you can’t order me to do anything, and even once we’re there, you still can’t order me to do anything because I outrank you- you’re just a foot soldier now, remember?” Dammit, why did he ever say that aloud? But Bryn still wasn’t finished. “And even once we’re married and you’re king again, you still can’t order me to do anything.” “Why the blazing hells not?!” It wasn’t as if he had any intention of ordering her around. He wasn’t one of those pathetic excuses for men who felt like a big shot because they treated women poorly- he could pick on someone his own size, thank you. But he would think that when he was a proper king again that she might hold a little more respect for him, at least… She simply smiled benignly at him.

“Because I’m stronger than you, Gangrel. I can beat you in combat without even breaking a sweat.” “That was a one-time occurrence!” he seethed, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. How could she bring that up now? “All three times? You shouldn’t feel bad, dear- I’m stronger than most of the men in this army. Hells, most of the girls are. We just have a more useful skill set.” “… if you’re still trying to make me feel better about being completely worthless, congratulations; you’ve failed miserably.”

“What I’m trying to do is tell you that I don’t need you putting yourself in harm’s way to keep me safe.” For the briefest moment, the wind was taken out of his sails, but he recovered quickly. Or tried to. “I’m not you, I don’t–” “What, do you think I don’t notice all the times you’ve taken blows meant for me? I have one eye, I’m not blind. Hells, you’ve been doing it longer than I have, I’m ashamed to say.  I probably would’ve been killed a while back if not for you, and while I know I should be grateful- and I am, Gangrel, I truly am- it makes me sick to my stomach to see you get hurt in my place. Especially when I should be smart enough not to get caught unawares in the first place.”

She reached out, lightly brushing the backs of her fingers across his side, tracing the faint remains of one of the first scars he’d gotten since joining the Shepherds. It had been a skirmish, much like the one today, the only real difference being that back then, he could barely stomach the annoyingly cheerful tactician who always hounded him. He could’ve easily let that Risen spear her like a fish- he held no affection for her and it would’ve served her right for not paying attention. But he couldn’t. For some reason that eluded him to this day, he had thrown himself in front of her, taking the blow and loosing a decent amount of blood in the process. But honestly, he hadn’t regretted it, even back then. Now, he was thankful for that knee jerk reaction.

Pulling her hand away from his side, Gangrel laced his fingers with Bryn’s. He could just see the glint of her engagement ring (he’d buy her a much nicer one when they went back to Plegia). “If a few more scars is the price to keep you by my side, then I’m happy to pay it.” “I feel exactly the same way.” Bryn said stubbornly. His sentimental mood was crushed with a wave of annoyance and frustration.” “That is so fucking stupid!” “You’re stupid!” For a long time, they glared at one another, daring the other to back down first. Of course, stubbornness and a refusal to admit when they were wrong were two of the things they had in common.

“We are a terrible couple.” He said finally, sitting on the cot beside her.” “We’re probably going to kill each other one of these days.” Bryn agreed, curling around him. “I’d rather you kill me than some Risen’s stray arrow.” “I don’t want you to die in a random skirmish, either. Or ever, from anything.” She sighed deeply. Closing her eye. Her weariness seemed to finally be taking it’s toll on her. “Look, I promise to stay safe if you’ll do the same.” “What?” He was completely thrown for a loop by that seemingly random request.

“What I was saying before before I got derailed, thank you very much, was that I have no intention taking myself off the front lines. And I have a feeling that you won’t stop fighting either.” “Not until you stop or I get the grisly end I was promised.” Bryn opened her eye and glared daggers at him. “Neither of those things is happening. Which is my point. We spend more time fighting each other’s battle’s than paying attention to what’s in front of us. So let’s just try to keep our eyes on our respective part of the battlefield, at least a little more than we do now.” “…you only have one eye, Bryn. You can’t even see the whole battlefield.” “I compensate for that!” She snapped at him. “Stop trying to make excuses to die before me, dammit! I want to grow old together.” Gangrel laughed wryly.

“I never think about getting old.” It was mostly because he never expected to live as long as he had. “Well, you need to start. Didn’t you promise me you’d love me even when I was an old crone?” “Of course I will.” He said truthfully, leaning down to press his lips against her cheek. He’d love her till the day he died, however soon that might be. “I’ll love you no matter how old and gross you are. But I never said anything about me getting old.” A small, but surprisingly strong hand wrapped around his throat.

“Excuse me?” “What? I’m just saying, women get ravaged by age more than men.” “Says the man who already has crow’s feet and frown lines deeper than Wyvern Valley.” “You swore you’d stop making that comparison!” “Then stop making weird faces like that- it creeps me out.” As they continued arguing, any promise of staying safe was long forgotten. It didn’t matter though; it was unspoken, but very clear neither had any intention of letting the other die before them.

So, I did my Fates baby in swim wear, but not my Awakening baby? This injustice will not stand! As soon as I saw that design of trunks/speedo, I knew Gangrel had to have it. I drew him with my Awakening avatar Bryn, who he's married to in all my playthroughs, because I don't really care for Robin, and the fandom seems to want her to be with Chom anyway. Which is just as well, because Robin is a teenager, whereas Bryn is a 32 year old woman who's already making plans to get shitfaced, son.

He totally uses that inner tube like a ring blade.

my poor vtm character only looks their age when they’re smiling…

Your Gangrel looks SOO fun! Could you share some tidbits about them? :3

Hey there, tysm!!! You've opened pandora's box here lol

Lauchlainn Douglas Black is a former WWI soldier saved from rotting in a mass grave by their sire’s Embrace. They were born to poverty in the late 19th century in Scotland, eventually joining the British army to support their family in 1912. When the Great War broke out across Europe, Lauchlainn was shipped off to the western front.

There they served for four years, and in that time grew close with a mysterious gravedigger nicknamed "the Mórrigan" by their Irish comrades. They hadn't thought it possible to dig graves gracefully, but somehow Mórrigan pulled it off.

The two were eventually engaged — planning to wed upon the war's end, though they both knew the law would never recognize the union. Lauchlainn would not live to see the ceremony: the soldier was killed in the final hours of the war.

Over a century later, some would-be graverobbers got a wee bit more than they bargained for when they accidentally woke a blood-starved fledgling from torpor after digging up the mass grave where Lauchlainn had been buried (un)alive. All they want now is to reunite with their lover and sire — their engagement the only undying thing they have to hold onto in the cold, unfamiliar world that left them for dead.

I'm currently playing them in a chronicle alongside a Renaissance assassin, a Jewish Salubri scholar, a WW2 pilot, an Edwardian mad scientist, and a guy who responds to stress with IEDs — we as players are currently betting on who in the coterie tries to kill each other first LMAO

Revenge for @doomface 's Stephanie also including @Maliciousmetal (on artfight)'s Darcy <3

MANE! Little gangrel gremlin.

They have a sick and twisted backstory, but she also has a dark mysterious best friend who helps her cope,.. if you're wondering, dynamic is chuunibyou + actual real life assassin. I love them, and I love Mane.