#strikingly attractive like dark hair (or strikingly ugly like dark hair too)

[abri-chan]

do not fall for his conspiracy!

kubo made them look ugly young to sell you more old men.

[laequiem]

No tricks, only treats [ONESHOT]

/ Cardan and Jude join the rest of the family to enjoy Halloween in the Mortal World.

Part of Tales from the Mortal Realm, a collection of random moments in the lives of the Queen and King of Elfhame.

"Is it strange that I find you attractive dressed as such?"

I was looking at myself in the mirror, assessing my outfit, when Cardan sneaked into the room. His training with The Ghost was paying off, he was as silent as ever.

"Strange? Yes. Surprising? No."

Read it on ao3

"Is it strange that I find you attractive dressed as such?"

I was looking at myself in the mirror, assessing my outfit, when Cardan sneaked into the room. His training with The Ghost was paying off, he was as silent as ever.

"Strange? Yes. Surprising? No."

I saw him prowl towards me through the glass. He slid his arms around my waist, staring at me through my reflection.

Today is October 31st and Oak insisted we join him in celebrating Halloween. Of course, this means we all need costumes. I decided to go as the one character I knew more than anyone else.

Cardan.

I looked through his wardrobe for my outfit. It was quite hard to find a top that was loose enough to account for my breasts, as most of his clothes were tailored to fit him perfectly. I also found a dark blue coat, its collar covered in iridescent feathers. I gave up trying to find pants in his collection, as my hips would never fit, and just wore a pair of black leggings with black combat boots.

"What do you mean, dear Jude?"

"The only thing you love more than booze is yourself."

He raised his brows, making a show of looking offended. 

"Your capacity to lie to yourself will always impress me,” he said then plucked a kiss to my temple, “I love you more than I love wine."

I don’t think I will ever get over him being  caring . It felt as if he was a completely different person from the boy who would disturb lessons just to get attention.

Cardan turned me to face him, then inspected my face. “Something is missing.” He took my hand and directed me to his personal vanity. He opened the drawer and pulled out some cosmetics. He lined my eyes with kohl and coated my lashes with dark mascara. I suppressed my laugh when I saw he was so concentrated that he had stuck out his tongue. Then, he took out some glittery gold powder and applied it on my cheekbones. 

He took a step back to look at his handiwork and smiled.

“And the final touch,” he said as he plucked his crown off his head and put it on my head at an angle, “Voilà!”

I looked at myself in the mirror. I did not bother with any kind of wig. I put my hair up in elaborate braids, letting a few short curls hang in a few places. Yet, even without his signature dark hair, I still looked like him. I made faces at myself in the mirror, trying to get his grin right. 

Finally, I got up. “Your turn now, dearest Cardan.”

When Heather learned that Cardan would be coming too, she started suggesting outfits for him. She even went as far as drawing some of them. Something about his otherworldly looks inspired her. Maybe it's the tail, since a lot of her designs included it: a devil, sexy cat man and my personal favorite, a cute puppy.

In the end, I chose my own, petty idea. I walked in the closet and pulled out the outfit I had the servants clean for the occasion. 

“A King needs his Queen,” I grinned as I revealed the Queen of Mirth dress and crown.

Cardan threw his head back laughing. “You sure know how to hold a grudge.”

Thankfully, my husband was a team player, and he went with it. Even in this, he looked strikingly handsome. Or pretty, I guess. Unfair.

We landed in Maine in the early afternoon. It was strange to be awake so early, but Cardan did not seem bothered at all. We met up with Vivi, Heather, Oak, Taryn and Garrett at the entrance to FallFest, some kind of harvest festival that was held every October in the local park. It had everything from harvest contests to food stands, a section with typical carnival games, a small hay maze and even a haunted house.

I was not surprised to see my eldest sister dressed up, she went crazy for Halloween every year. Vivienne would dress up for a week straight before Halloween, even when she still lived in Elfhame. She was wearing a tight black bodysuit with a tail and claws as well as a black leather mask with cat ears. Heather dressed up as some kind of … plant lady? She had a short bodysuit made of green ivy leaves, green stockings and a long red wig. Oak was with them, wearing a reddish pink shirt with a big yellow star on it. I can only assume they went for pop-culture references I am unfamiliar with.

The real surprise was seeing my twin Taryn and her quiet lover also dressed up.

"What are you dressed as?", Cardan inquired, cocking his head to the side, "You ought to have dressed as Jude, you have already proved to be so good at it."

I snapped my head at him and slammed my foot as hard as I could on his. He was joking, of course. But the peace between me and Taryn was still fairly new. We mostly kept to ourselves and rarely talked. Garrett was back with the Court of Shadow and we were friendly, but he kept his professional and personal lives completely separated.

Cardan was hopping on one foot, scowling at me like he did not understand why I was upset. Taryn understood, though. She was sheepishly looking at the ground.

"I… I'm sorry for tricking you, Cardan."

I tried finding something to say to end the awkwardness. I wanted Cardan to apologize for what he said, but I knew he would not. Fae don't apologize.

Thankfully, Vivi broke the silence. "C'mon guys, we're here to HAVE FUN!" she complained, "What ARE you two dressed as?"

"Phantom of the Opera." Garrett replied.

"Nerds."

"Says the one dressed up as Catwoman." Garrett mocked.

The bickering continued, though less mean-spirited than Cardan’s original comment, as we walked down the main path. Our first stop was the pumpkin carving station. Each couple got their own pumpkin to carve, though Vivi and Heather’s pumpkin was mostly Oak’s handiwork and the couple making sure he did not stab himself. Taryn and Garrett made some intricate flower design on theirs, Garrett being the one doing the carving of course. As for us, well… Cardan had creative ideas, but no skills with a blade, and my skills were more of the  stabbing  variety. We settled on giving our pumpkin a traditional jack-o-lantern face. 

After the effort of carving pumpkins, we were starving. Oak was complaining, dragging his feet on the ground so much that Vivi and Heathers were holding both of his hands to pull him along. Behind them, I saw Taryn with her arm looped around The Ghost's.

I was suddenly very aware that Cardan and I were the only ones not holding hands.

Nobody knows us here. We needn't keep the appearance of the power couple, together to rule and nothing else.

I took my hand out of the pockets of my borrowed coat and tentatively brushed my fingers against Cardan's hand. I saw him whip his head towards me, and I blushed when I witnessed the surprise in his face. Soon enough, he smiled. One of those smiles he kept for me and only me, blissful and happy. The smile he gives me when we have the time to spend hours cuddled together in bed, enjoying each other's presence.

Cardan took my hand and squeezed. I squeezed back.

We spent the rest of the afternoon eating good food, trying to guess the weight of giant pumpkins and visiting a haunted house. Cardan was fascinated by the weird human traditions and absolutely ecstatic about the food. Pumpkin-spiced flavored food will become the new trend in Elfhame, judging by his reaction.

When the sun started to go down, Taryn and Garrett left for Madoc’s, who decided to try giving out candy to the trick-or-treaters. Heather and Vivienne had initially volunteered to take Oak trick-or-treating himself, but when one of their friends invited them to a party, we offered to take him instead. Oak was excited to spend more time with me and “Uncle Cardan”. 

I had not gone trick-or-treating in...10 years? Maybe 12? Since my parents died. Cardan, obviously, had never gone. So, dressed up as each other, with Oak dressed as some cartoon character, we roamed the residential streets of the city to beg for sweets.

“If it is called ‘trick-or-treat’, does that mean I can make bargains if someone refuses to give me candy?” Cardan asked as we watched Oak go up to a house.

I gave him my best ‘I’ll-strangle-you-if-you-do’ stare. “No. No turning people into cats, no curse making them hear imaginary insects buzzing around their ears.”

“Why is it called trick-or-treat, then?”

Vivienne told me they had to explain this to Oak, too, a few weeks ago. Someone at school had mentioned being excited to go trick-or-treating and my brother had been very confused.

“I don’t know.”

Cardan hmmed and smirked, “Perhaps the Folk were involved when the holiday was first established.”

I crossed my arms.

“If that’s the case, not all traditions need to be brought back.”

He laughed at that, then reached around me and pulled me closer to him.

“You win. I won’t trick anyone,” he crooned in my ear, “but I want a kiss for being well behaved.”

I rolled my eyes dramatically. “So needy.”

Once again, I had to remind myself that nobody knows us here. Nobody recognized our costumes today: in the mortal world, dressed as each other, we were only The Guy In An Ugly Dress and Fashionable Emo Boy. Nobody knew we are King and Queen of Elfhame, therefore there are no expectations to be the hedonistic king and his murderous wife.

I slid my hand behind his neck and pulled him down. I felt him smile as I captured his lips with mine.

“Ew, gross!” Oak’s voice came from the other end of the driveway, “Stop that, come here.”

Reluctantly, we pulled away from each other and looked towards the house. Oak was in front of the opened door, talking with a couple. 

“Honey, look,” the tallest woman exclaimed as we walked down the driveway, “She’s dressed as High King Cardan!”

“Oh my god,” the other one replied, sounding so very human, “that sounds kind of profane. Do you think he would have her hung for this?”

As I looked at the two women, I realized that Oak had stumbled upon the house of a Fae couple. They saw through his glamour, and he saw through theirs.

“This is my sister Jude,” Oak started, “and this is my Uncle Cardan.”

Both females had gone completely still and were staring at Cardan with wide eyes. Simultaneously, they bowed deeply. 

“Forgive us, Your Majesty. We weren’t expecting you.”

“We so rarely see our kind around here,” the shorter one said nervously, “we… wanted to meet who little Oak was with.”

“We have tea, if you would like.”

I dared a glance at Cardan and noticed he seemed amused. Was he delighted to make them uncomfortable?

“That won’t be necessary,” he said as he took my hand, “My  wife  has us on a tight schedule, we have other houses to visit. Have a nice evening.”

I caught the emphasis on  wife  and realized they only recognized him as royalty. ‘  Your Majesty ’, singular. I could tell from the two females’ expressions that they also understood their mistake. I felt bad for them knowing they had no ill intent, probably unaware of the situation in Faerie. Yet, I could not help the grin that crept on my face. I worked hard to become High Queen. I fought and killed my way through the ranks, almost dying. Multiple times. I made decisions that will haunt me until the day I die. I am High Queen, and the Folk must know. 

“It was nice meeting you,” I say as I take Oak’s hand, “You are welcome to visit us at the palace if you wish.”

My memories from before Faerieland were to blurry, I did not remember getting so much candy. Did Taryn and I get that much? How could we possibly have eaten all of that? Cardan and I each had a smaller bag, only accompanying Oak to some of the doors, but Oak had multiple full bags. Once he went to sleep, Oriana was more than happy to give us some. She had learned how bad candy was for children’s teeth - even little Fae kids. She filled little bags for us to take back to Elfhame. 

Like anyone eating candy for the first time, Cardan went a little crazy. He wanted to try everything. Faeries might be different in a lot of ways, but I now have proof that chocolate is addictive even to them. 

The High King of Elfhame ate so much candy that he fell asleep on the couch, to the former General’s dismay.

[artificialqueens]

A Vampire in Paris, Prologue (Fame x Violet) - Chae

A/N: hey! i’ve been lurking for a while and decided it was about time i contributed. this is a prologue to a long-ish?? Gigi x Crystal fic, and it takes place about 100 years before the actual story so that’s why it’s a different ship. Also, the lack of Famelet recently has been disturbing so here i am!

Summary : Set in the 1920s, Miss Fame is the high-class, high-power CEO of the worlds biggest, and frankly, only fashion brand. She often scouts burlesque clubs for pretty models to take home as well as hire, and happens to find herself at Violet Chachki’s one night… Oh yeah, by the way, Fame and every high status designer in Paris are vampires.

—–

What had brought Miss Fame to the burlesque club was a mystery. Especially because it was a Friday, and she knew it would be packed, and she knew someone would recognize her. She hoped the sunglasses she dawned would conceal her identity enough, but she had a feeling her efforts would end up futile.

She entered the room wearing a boatneck blouse tucked into a leather skirt, and she removed her floor-length overcoat when she stepped inside. The brooch and necklaces around her neck sparkled in the dim light, her sleeveless pale arms hosting no imperfections and the sheer milkiness of her skin causing her to stand out. She removed her hat as well, her icy blonde hair styled in face framing finger waves, her baby hairs stylishly curled around her temples. She was easily the best looking person in the room.

The mistress slinked to a booth in the back as a waiter came up to the table to take her order. 

“Madame, are you sure you’re in the right club?” He was referring to the fact that the performers were women, and it was ‘useless’ for a female to watch another female.

Fame peeked over her sunglasses, the server turning white as he realized who he was talking to. She had been to bars such as this in the past to scout for talent (as well as take them home, and boy was she lucky for that cover up), so it was no surprise that she was here alone. Fame was known for being illusive and independent, and although many protested her position and status, there was not much they could do about it. The woman was undoubtedly powerful and not only ruled the blossoming fashion industry, but had a hand in just about every going-on in Paris. 

With all this said, the waiter apologized for his rudeness and caught the attention of his manager immediately to let him know who their guest was. Fame was immediately brought a glass of Grand Marnier — every bar in the city knew that to be protocol for whenever she was present. The woman loved the way it reminded her of the sweets and delicacies that she once ate when her form of sustenance wasn’t human blood. Her real pick of poison would be Absinthe, but ever since it had been deemed illegal she was forced to choose something else. 

When her name first hit the scene, bar owners would often sit across from Fame and discuss performers that she might want to hire. This practice had inevitably stopped when she went from portrait model to CEO, everyone far too afraid to say something wrong in her presence. And that’s the way she liked it. She was there for her purposes, and the only people she had interest in talking to were the beautiful women she got to seduce. The debutante sipped her drink, watching the empty stage as she waited for someone to come out.

Finally, the name of the next performer was announced —  a name that wouldn’t leave Miss Fame’s head for the next century: Violet Chachki. 

The woman that stepped into the spotlight could only be described as an illustration, or as close to an illustration as humanly possible. Her skin was even whiter than Fame’s (and Fame was dead), which starkly contrasted her raven-black hair, styled in bob-length curls smoothed to her head and pinned together with a sparkly feather fascinator. Her face was small, her greek nose pointed and her eyes squinty and catlike. Her tiny, upturned lips were painted deep red. In the 150-plus years Fame had been alive, she had never seen a visage so strikingly and purely beautiful. She leaned forward on her elbows, entranced by Violet’s movements as she simply walked on stage. Somehow, even sat at the back of the club, the burlesque dancer made eye contact with the vampiress. In those moments, the two seemed to share an energy beyond physical attraction. Fame’s back raised with goosebumps as she realized that she needed to have this woman — not just for the night, not just as a model, but as a part of her life. Forever.

And the performance hadn’t even started, which Fame realized when the jazz band began playing a tune. Violet flounced around the stage in a black leotard, dark feathers pluming out from her hips into a dress shape. Her rhinestone jewelry caught the lights as she began her number, her movements light as air. She pulled off her sheer gloves, also adorned with sparkles, to the beat of the music and cast them aside. Fame’s eyes widened when she noticed the woman had tattoos, a complete and utter rarity among the streets of France. The heiress couldn’t help but imagine her own marks joining the ink on Violet’s skin.

Violet danced with a feather boa before tossing it down to join her gloves. A drumroll started and she turned around, revealing the zipper to her dress that she undid. As a cymbal crashed, she revealed the costume under her costume: a strappy thong, a bejewled corset, and a matching bra. Her waist was unimaginably small, causing Fame to wonder where her body could possibly go in that tiny space. Poor thing must not eat much, she thought. I can relate.

The crowd went wild when the dancer removed her garters and stockings, whipping them around like small lassos and tossing them to the savage gentlemen in the front row. She turned and rocked her hips, letting everyone in the club see the way her ass was flawless in every way, shape, and form. Fame licked her lips, the pain of waiting to have that ass in her manicured hands too much to bear. The corset soon came off as well, revealing that Violet’s actual waist wasn’t much larger than her corseted one. Now was the trick that got the crowd riled up the most — when the burlesque dancer removed her bra, putting her breasts on display in all their glory (well, except for the black glittery pasties). They were small and perky, of course, just like Violet, and it set Fame off. She needed this woman. 

The final part of Violet’s set was dancing around the club, collecting her tips. Fame’s eyes didn’t leave her for a second, making sure no men touched her or even looked at her wrong. If they did, they’d be disposed of soon enough. Violet made her way to where the mistress was sat, making eye contact once again. There was that energy again, the invisible line that bound the two together, and Violet seemed to recognize it, too. Fame pulled out 100 Francs, a healthy amount of money, and waved it towards the performer, beckoning her to come closer. She did, coming up real close to Fame’s face, a move anyone else could have been killed for. But Fame welcomed the close proximity, stopping herself from closing the gap. 

“I want you to meet me here when you’re done, Miss Chachki.”

“I want to meet you here as well, Miss Fame,” Violet winked as she took the money and strode away. Her voice was sultry and airy, very fitting and very sexy.

At the prospect of speaking to the one and only Miss Fame, it didn’t take long for Violet to finish up and get changed. She probably skipped about half the club, but had a feeling these tips wouldn’t matter for much longer. She put on her best set of lingerie, wanting to show Fame how good of a model she was. Only in the back of her head was the idea that she’d be showing off for a different reason, and those were feelings she’d only address if she was forced to.

She made her way to the back of the premises again, her regular clothes disguising her from the clubgoers. Her coat was black, like most of her wardrobe, and was lined with feathers. It swallowed up her figure, but it protected her from the cold. She found Miss Fame’s booth, who patted the empty space next to her, beckoning her to join. Violet could barely contain the buzzing in her chest—an opportunity like this didn’t come just every day. She hung up her jacket on a coat rack and took her place.

“Violet,” Fame started, scanning the beauty’s face. Violet had kept on her makeup, but Fame was eager to kiss off that rouge lipstick. “I’d introduce myself, but you seem to already know of me,” she continued, removing her sunglasses.

Violet was surprised at how gorgeous Fame actually was. It’s not like she’d assumed she was ugly, but the woman’s face shone with a youth and perfect facial structure that didn’t quite line up with how old Violet thought she was. “Of course I know of you, madame—”

“Mademoiselle, please.”

“Oh, I apologize,” Violet’s voice wavered, but she didn’t let herself skip a beat in order to make a good impression. “Mademoiselle, every performer in this city wishes they could meet you. Every person knows of your work. You are stunning, Miss Fame.”

Fame couldn’t help but blush at such a woman calling her ‘stunning—’ well, actually, she couldn’t blush because she had no blood to rush to her cheeks, but if she could she would’ve. “Why, thank you Miss Chachki,” she placed a hand on Violet’s thigh, feeling the human warmth from under her dress. 

Violet shuddered at the contact, a feeling washing over her that she couldn’t quite explain. Her stomach tightened up and her lips were ever-so-slightly parted, the idea that she wanted Fame the only thing she could think. But Fame was a woman, and that was absolute insanity.

“I look forward to working some more with you, so I’m asking you to come spend the night at my penthouse,” Fame suggested. Violet couldn’t help but agree to the prospect, her dingy apartment above the club would barely compare to what awaited her in that home. “I’ll just do some evaluations, and we can get to know each other, hm?” Fame rubbed the spot on Violet’s leg, making the younger girl let out a small sigh. Needy and noisy she is, huh? Fame couldn’t wait to have time with her.

“That sounds wonderful, Mademoiselle,” Violet nodded.

“Amazing, shall we?” Fame scooted out of the booth, conjuring both of their overcoats in her hands and presenting Violet with hers. The fabric was disgustingly cheap compared to what Fame wore. Fame made note to buy her a new jacket like this one, as Violet seemed to adore the color black. 

They exited the bar, Violet asking which way they were to go. Surprisingly, Fame motioned forward into the street, opening the door to a shiny Rolls Royce with a chauffeur sitting up front. Violet climbed in, eyes wide at how expensive the car was, down to the smell. She looked at Fame with a wondrous childlike expression, causing a break in the vampires stony exterior. She smiled, and Violet smiled, and they smiled together because they were happy to be in each other’s presence. 

The entire drive to Fame’s home, her hands were glued on top of Violet’s, relishing in the warm contact. Violet found it adorable and madly attractive how Fame wouldn’t let go, but grew acutely aware that the older girls hands were cold — freezing cold, like there was not one ounce of life in them. Strange.

They were led out of the car and into the grand spinning doors of the apartment complex Fame owned. Most of her models and workers were housed there and she spent a majority of her time living there, managing the many clean-ups that went around town, attempting to find better solutions for obtaining blood, and ruling an entire fucking royal fashion empire. Busy, life was, and this was her only break. 

Without much hesitation, they wound up on the top floor: the penthouse. Great glass windows lined the walls, a perfect view of Paris visible below. Violet stared out of them in awe, her attention turning back to the living room and a portrait hung up on the wall.

“Who’s that?” She asked, gesturing to the painting. It was of another beautiful woman, with tan skin and long dark grey hair. She looked exciting and different, and Violet could’ve sworn she looked familiar.

“Ah, Raja. She is someone very close to me, almost like a mother.”

“She’s not dead, then?”

Fame let out a laugh, covering her mouth to chuckle as she sat on the couch. “Oh no, darling, she’s very much around.”

Violet giggled nervously, perching on the edge of an armchair, a flush of embarrassment dotting her cheeks. “Oh, I see. A mother—is that what you’re trying to be for me? Did she do what you’re going to do?”

Fame blinked, not knowing how to respond. Something was telling her to be upfront about her intentions, the conversion process much easier when the victim had time to calm their nerves. “Well… hopefully I’ll be doing to you what she did to me, yes,” Fame began. “But I was hoping our relationship could be something… different to mother and daughter?”

“Of course! Friends? Sisters?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of lovers, Miss Chachki.”

Violet turned beet red, her arms tensing up and her elbows locking. She responded with curious eyes. “Lovers?”

“I know you are probably not interested in women the same way I am, Violet, but I offered anyway.”

“I don’t know who I’m interested in,” Violet admitted. After years of performing for unruly men, seeing how disgusting they could truly be, her attraction to them had significantly decreased. The pining in her chest never left, however, and ever the hopeless romantic, she’d taken a small interest in women through the years (no matter how much she tried to deny it). “I can say I’m intrigued by whatever you have to offer, though. I meant what I said when I said you were stunning.” 

Fame put her finger over her chin and flicked her eyes over the shape of Violet’s body, the dancer growing hot from the attention. “Come here, ma cherie,” Fame said. Violet did as told, sitting on her own leg to face the other woman. Fame was still surprised how close to her Violet was willing to get, the bond between them only growing more prominent. “I don’t want it to seem like your success is only based on attraction, but if I’m honest, I only brought you here because I’m mesmerized by you, Chachki.”

Violet’s pointed eyebrow raised. “So, you don’t want me to model for you?”

“Of course I want you to model for me, but god, Violet, I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you walked on that stage.”

“I assumed that was the case when you said you wanted to be ‘lovers,’” Violet smirked. “You felt it when I looked at you, right?” 

Fame nodded.

“Is that what love is supposed to feel like?” Violet asked.

Fame nodded.

Violet bit her lip and looked down. “Oh. I guess… well, I guess that was the only time I’ve felt it.”

The vampire lightly took the other girl’s chin and flicked her head up. “Darling, do you want me to show you what love can feel like?”

Violet blushed at the intensity of her stare, already feeling completely roped in. She nodded quickly, Fame closing the gap in between their mouths. At first, Violet’s eyes widened at how cold the other woman’s mouth was, but sighed into the kiss at the sweetness of how she tasted. Fame latched onto the warmth of the human’s lips, caressing her cheek and intertwining their tongues. Violet was still in shock, but welcomed Fame and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. It was a long and passionate kiss, each woman pouring all their feelings for each other into it. Fame finally broke away to Violet’s dismay, the vampire not wanting to take it too far before she couldn’t control herself.

The burlesque dancer felt a deep longing once their mouths had parted, not realizing until then just how much she adored Fame. From the moment she’d seen her in person, she’d adored her. “Mademoiselle-” 

“I know you’d like to continue, but there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Fame, I don’t care, I just need you to know that I…” The heiress let Violet continue, intrigued. “I think— what’s it called when you know you want to marry someone?”

“You want to marry me?”

“Anything to spend the rest of my life with you, please.”

The corner of Fames lip turned up in a satisfied smile. “Well, that happens to be part of my proposition.”

“Do tell!”

“Have you ever heard of a vampire?”

“… yes?” 

Fame focused her energy on her mouth and her eyes, her natural fangs popping out from her gums and her eyes swirling from their human-blue shade to crimson red irises and pitch black scleras. She was expecting Violet to be afraid, but she wasn’t. In fact, Violet was more fascinated than anything. She’d always been interested in gothic themes and horror novels, and her appearance was already more vampiric than Fame’s. She stared at the transformation in awe, the purpose of this meeting clicking into place.

“Miss Fame, are you suggesting that I spend eternity with you? Like this?”

“Only if it suits you, ma Cherie.”

“It suits me, Fame, oh my lord it suits me,” she grabbed Fame’s cheeks and before the vampire could protest, they were interlocked in another kiss. Violet gently ran her tongue over Fame’s ridiculously sharp teeth. It was so light of a touch, yet it still cut a tiny gash in the muscle. Fame sucked on it, a hint of warm liquid sliding down her throat. Violet’s blood tasted like honey and candy and a hint of liquor, and got Fame hooked immediately, her instincts taking over as she sucked harder. She snapped herself out of it when Violet seemed to mumble, and she realized she needed to focus on the transformation before she drained the younger of blood.

“Darling, turn around,” Fame ordered. The younger complied, sitting with one leg hanging off the couch. Violet took it upon herself to remove her thin dress, finally getting to show Fame the outfit she’d worn for her. Fame ran her teeth across her tongue, hungry for blood and for Violet. The human had taken her hair out of its style, and it now sat just above her shoulders so that Fame had to brush it away. “This is going to hurt a little, but I promise it will feel heavenly soon enough,” Fame stated.

Before Violet could ask what she meant, two sharp pains entered the crook of her shoulder and neck. She let out a wince as Fame began drinking from her. Immediately Violet felt cold, then lightheaded as one did when they lost large amounts of blood. She almost forgot Fame was working some vampire magic and fully expected to pass out, before the cold suddenly disappeared and her senses were regained. She thought it was over, but Fame continued drinking. From the wound on her neck, a familiar need latched itself in the pit of Violet’s stomach — lust. She knew vampires were creatures of the dark and of sex, but didn’t expect the transformation to pool wetness in her panties—which probably wasn’t made any better by the fact that she was attracted so desperately to Fame.

It only took a couple seconds for the need to overtake her, Violet beginning to writhe and her hips grinding uncontrollably upward. Fame sensed this, not surprised as it was a customary part of the transformation, and slid a hand around Violet’s waist and down between her open legs. She massaged the woman’s clit through her panties, a moan escaping through Violet’s lungs. She continued the motion, taking in Violet’s noises and adjusting her position accordingly. She eventually slipped her hand under the cloth of her tiny underwear, beginning a more vigorous stimulation. Violet let out more squeals and moans of pleasure at the feeling, biting her lip to try and stop, but the girl was loud and her jaw hinged open anyway. She was already nearing a climax when Fame slipped a finger inside her, slowly pumping in and out. Violet leaned backwards into Fame as the vampire continued to feed, her pleasure completely numbing her to the pain. She was moaning loud, her thighs tensed and shaking.

“Fame—ah! I think I-I’m gonna—” her last words were drowned with another prolonged moan as Fame hit her sweet spot, which basically released the floodgates as an orgasm overtook Violet’s body. 

Fame sucked up the last drops of blood as Violet came, the girl shuddering and falling limp into the mistress’s arms. The transformation had gone without a hitch, and Fame congratulated herself for drowning out the painful process and answering Violet’s needs. The orgasm mixed with the blood-draining always caused the victims to pass out, which left the magic to do its thing for a while anyway. Technically Fame had killed Violet, similarly to how she did to any person she drank from; but unlike the humans she feasted on, there was a certain amount of focus needed to transform someone. It left Fame deathly tired, but content and probably full for the next few weeks. 

The older vampire gently removed herself from under Violet, finding a blanket and pillow and tucking her in. She stopped by her kitchen and poured a glass of blood that she kept in her refrigerator (newfangled things, really, and extremely useful to a vampire), setting it on the glass coffee table in the living room. She knew Violet would be extremely thirsty when she woke—and she didn’t know when that would be, so better safe than sorry. Drowsy, Fame looked upon her sleeping lover, who seemed incredibly peaceful despite what had just occurred, and smiled. My Violet, she thought, going over to pat her on the head. I hope we go on to make something incredible.

[otterthewriter]

javid summercamp au (modern)

“Attention campers!” Jack boomed. He easily commanded the amphitheater stage and his young, excited audience. “Welcome to Camp Kelly!” He gestured to his crowd and they at once erupted into deafening cheers. From the back of the audience, Katherine’s eyes nearly rolled out of her head.

“I am Jack, and I’m the king of this camp. You can call me Your Majesty,” Jack gloated, grinning widely.

“Get off the stage!” Race shouted, standing up and throwing a handful of trail mix from the back of the arena.

“That is the Royal Jester. You can ignore everything he says,” Jack taunted, and was then interrupted by Medda’s vehement shouts of protest.

“JACK KELLY!” she bellowed, climbing down the center aisle of the seats.

“And now, I would like to hear a thundering round of applause for the Queen of my kingdom, the lovely and wonderful, Medda!”

The children burst into applause even more boisterous than the last as Medda entered the stage. She exchanged a deadly look with Jack, who smirked and dashed to the back of the audience, collecting high fives and fist bumps all the way.

“I apologize for my employee,” Medda said to the audience, emphasizing the word “employee”.

“I am Medda. You can call me Medda.” The kids giggled. The kids always loved Medda. She was bubbly and generous, and welcomed the children to her camp with open and loving arms.

While Medda was launching into her “welcome” spiel, Jack was taking a seat with the other counselors.

“You’re a real dumbass, Jack,” Sarah chided, as he sat down at the end of their row.

“Love ya too, Sarah,” he replied, letting his gaze pass briefly over David, who sat two seats down from Jack. Jack was hopelessly enamored with David, though he would never admit it. He couldn’t get enough of his loose brown curls resting on his forehead, or his electric blue eyes that pulled Jack in headfirst over and over again.

“Besides, the kids just eat that stuff up. They love me,” Jack continued. “David knows”, he added. “They can’t resist my undeniable charm.”

David’s freckled cheeks reddened and he smiled awkwardly. He noticed Jack too, and Jack knew. Just like he knew--or thought he knew--that David could never love him. Jack Kelly, with all his flair and confidence, was certain beyond doubt that David would never really love him. Not David. Not shy, sweet David. Not David who cried after every group of campers left, and who spent his free time braiding the girl campers’ hair and making friendship bracelets with them. That David could never love an arrogant, cocky asshole like Jack. David deserved better.

Medda was wrapping up her welcome speech, so the counselors started to stand up. The kids were split up into groups based on their skills and interests. Kath did photography and film, Sarah did hiking and outdoor activities, Crutchie did theater, Race did water activities, Jack did arts and crafts, and David did botany. The seven counselors spread out and held up signs corresponding to wristbands that the children had received on arrival. As kids gathered around their new camp leaders, the counselors greeted and got to know them.

Once the kids were organized, the counselors marched them off to their respective activities, just like every camp, just like every year. But somehow Jack knew something about this camp would be different.

The counselors sat around a campfire that night, laughing and singing together after another successful first day of camp. Jack played his guitar and Crutchie led the group in bad renditions of classics and pop hits alike. The teenagers were comfortable with one another and thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company. It was as if they had grown up together, and they regarded each other as family. The joy was apparent on each one’s face when the fire’s glow would briefly light up their tired grins.

One by one the counselors would announce that they were turning in, and depart to their small dormitories, until there was just Jack, Crutchie, and David left.

Crutchie, sensing the tension in the air, stood up and said, “I’m gonna head in. Good night.”

David seemed to bolt to his feet. “Me too,” he sputtered.

“Stay, David,” Jack suggested, sitting back. “It’s only ten.” He was guessing.

David hesitated, exchanging a desperate glance with Crutchie, then slowly sat back down as Crutchie headed toward the dorms.

Jack knew he shouldn’t tease the boy like this. He knew he should just leave him alone, let him move on, find someone better. But that crooked smile… and those perfect lips…

“How’s your group?” David asked, yanking Jack out of a trance. Jack shifted his eyes up, not having realized he was staring at David’s mouth.

“Huh?” Jack asked, blinking.

“Your kids? What are they like?” David repeated.

“Oh, they’re good. Yeah. I’ve got one boy, Xavier. He loves Harry Potter. Talks about it non-stop. Made me think of you.”

“Oh,” David replied sheepishly. Jack scolded himself for flirting with the innocent boy.

Jack could occasionally catch a glimpse of David’s flushed pink face in the darkness. It brought him back to a night about three years earlier. David was new that year, and he fit in perfectly, despite his shyness. Jack immediately noticed David, but stopped himself from getting too close.

It was a Tuesday night when David came to him. Jack was up late painting, as always. It was a rainy summer, and it had been showering that night. David was in Jack’s doorway. His curls were wet from the rain and lay heavy over his eyes. His cheeks were pink from the cold. Jack’s heart was pounding hard as he helped the boy dry off. They sat close to each other on Jack’s bed while David weeped and admitted to Jack that he liked boys. Fingers intertwined, foreheads pressed together, lips brushing. Jack let David sleep in his bed that night. Jack stayed up all night and sketched images of a small, unharmed boy lying in his bed. He dotted every freckled and drew the curve of his hips under the covers. In the morning Jack was gone from his dorm. He was sitting on the roof, watching the sunrise.

“Jack, I want to tell you something,” David said, breaking a lengthy silence. Jack’s heart raced. “I think you’re a really good person, Jack. Most people aren’t like you. You have a good heart.”

Jack was taken aback by his words. A good person? Jack grew up in foster care, surrounded by dirt-poor scumbags who would do anything for a dollar. Most people thought Jack was no different from them. Jack thought he was no different from them.

“I’m no good for you, David Jacobs,” Jack nearly whispered. “You don’t want this. You don’t want me.”

The fire crackled loudly into their silence. David hurt for Jack. He knew what Jack thought of himself, and longed to convince him otherwise.

David moved toward Jack, who became stiff.

“I need you.” The words tumbled out of David’s mouth. Messy and unintentional; unplanned and unrehearsed. The spontaneity made David nervous, but it thrilled Jack. It revealed a side of David that Jack had never seen. David was messy sometimes too. Just like Jack.

Jack grabbed David’s perfect jaw and pressed hard into his perfect lips. David inhaled sharply, but then gave in and kissed Jack back. Jack ran his fingers through David’s curls, and David carefully felt up and down Jack’s chest. Jack kissed David like he was cold water in the desert--thirstily, hastily, and desperately.

Then, as quickly as it began, Jack pulled back.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, then hurried away, leaving David confused, hurt and alone.

Jack was up early again the next morning. He went out to David’s garden and sat near a bushel of snapdragons. Snapdragons were Jack’s favorites, and David always made sure to keep an area for them every year. Jack knew they were for him but pretended that they weren’t.

The air was calm and sweet before the sunrise. Jack’s thoughts were slow and steady for once. He found that David slowed his thoughts down. Something about the boy helped him focus.

A voice from behind startled Jack. It was Sarah, David’s sister.

“You’re up early,” she noted, sitting down next to him on the bench. The two had dated for about a month a few years ago. They had fun together, but Sarah was never really attracted to him, and Jack really had eyes for David. The two were strikingly similar however--messy, passionate, and headstrong. After they broke up, they developed a surprisingly strong and meaningful friendship.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answered.

“You and David were out late together last night,” she pointed out. “Anything juicy?”

“I kissed him. I shouldn’t have,” Jack admitted.

“He has such a thing for you Jack. Let him in,” she urged. Jack was quiet.

“I can’t. He’s so… sweet and undamaged. He doesn’t deserve this.”

Sarah sighed. She knew his feelings too well. She knew that by “this” Jack meant his chaos, his sadness, his fears, his fury. Everything that he felt was a liability. Everything that made him who he was.

Sarah clasped his hand tightly.

“Let him decide if he deserves it or not. Give him a chance,” Sarah said, meeting Jack’s intense gaze.

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the sun’s rays start to spill into the sky from behind the mountains.

“What are you thinking?” Sarah asked, still holding Jack’s hand.

“I’m thinking that David won’t love me when he sees the real me. The anxious me, or the sad me. The ugly me.”

“I’m thinking that you should let him try.”

That afternoon, during free time Jack took his kids to the main plaza, where he knew David would be. They were working on quick sketches that day, so Jack told the kids to sketch every other camper before free time ended. They relished the assignment, and spent all their time chasing kids around with a pen and a pad of paper. David made flower crowns with his kids, and taught them about maintaining gardens. Jack would occasionally glance at the boy, who always hopefully smiled back. Jack’s heart skipped a beat every time David laughed, his whole face lighting up.

“Jack,” said a young voice from next to his chair. The voice belonged to Brie, a quiet little girl who liked drawing faces with no bodies and signing her art with a puzzle piece.

“Why do you keep looking at David?” she inquired.

Jack laughed, then met her eyes, large and curious.

“Are you in love with him?” she asked. Jack said nothing. He looked again at David, with a strand of flowers in his hair, blushing from heat and delight.

“Yeah. I am,” Jack finally answered, looking back at the girl.

“Then here,” she announced, handing Jack a piece of paper and walking away. Jack unfolded the paper and saw a drawing of David. His unabashed grin and gleaming eyes floated in the center of the page. Jack smiled to himself and put the drawing in his pocket.

I’m in love with David Jacobs.

That night during dinner David didn’t eat. He stared at his parmesan chicken, a usual favorite, and thought only of Jack’s calloused hand on his jaw, and his fingers through his hair.

“David what’s wrong?” one of his kids asked.

“I’m about to do something really really stupid,” David responded, climbing on top of his chair.

“Everybody listen!” David shouted. He felt his knees weaken as all eyes in the cafeteria were fixed on him. Jack’s stomach dropped. He had never seen David so exposed, so spontaneous, so… much like Jack.

“I have something I need to say, that I should have said a long time ago,” he continued, ignoring his trembling hands. “Jack Kelly, I want you. I need you. And I know you don’t think you’re good enough, but you’re good enough for me.”

Jack stared admiringly at the boy, heart beating in his ears. I’m in love with David Jacobs.

Jack stood and maneuvered toward David’s table. He climbed on top of a spare chair and stood beside David.

“David, you gotta understand-- I’m a mess. My baggage is… a lot. It’s not pretty. You’ve gotta promise me that you’re in for the long haul,” Jack told him. David gripped Jack’s hands and looked hard into the deep blue of his eyes.

“Through thick and thin,” David answered, cracking a grin. Jack couldn’t help but beam back.

“Come here,” Jack whispered and pulled David’s head close to his. Their lips met and the children collectively groaned. The other counselors cheered. Jack pulled back to look at David’s face, flushed and exhilarated. Their lips met again, hot and cold, coming together to form a perfect warmth.

[jvcrys-blog]

skin, legs, chest

Skin

Fair with warm undertones. If exposed to the sun for long periods, Jaerys does tan and can get quite dark. However, this does not happen often; he was always more studious than outdoors-y, preferring to remain indoors most of the time, and while in Essos he primarily traveled by night to avoid detection. Thus his skin has maintained its light hue. He also, to the surprise of any who have seen them, has very faint freckles. They do only tend to stand out when he’s taken in sun, though, so it’s hard to notice them unless you are looking for them. But on his torso, especially his shoulders, they are somewhat more prominent and larger, even without sun exposure. He also is easily flushed in his cheeks, his neck and chest, and on his upper arms. He doesn’t have many other birth marks, though there is a small beauty mark on his upper lip right by his cupid’s bow.

Jaerys has decent circulation, so his skin temperature varies depending on his surroundings. However, he is less used to cold and cold climates, and so tends to bundle up more when the temperature outside drops. His skin feels smooth, for the most part, thanks to his royal upbringing and pampered lifestyle. However, exposure to harsher elements in Essos have made his hands a little rougher than they used to be, the soles of his feet more calloused, and the age lines in his face a little deeper than they might have been had he stayed home.

All of these are relatively small changes that go unnoticed by most. What would be far more noticeable, were anyone to view him without clothes, are the assortment of scars he’s acquired. Three years ago, the only scars he had were small and faint, usually the result of a mishap in his combat training, nothing serious or prominent. Now, his body and hands are littered with scars, large and small, ranging from faint to ugly. His hands bear small, pale scars from climbing, with one larger scar tracing a line on his left palm from grabbing an oncoming blade. His legs and feet bear the brunt of long treks across varied terrain with little rest and many obstacles to trip over or run into. Finally, his back and torso bear the worse scars, and though they are fewer, they tend to be harder to look at. They are testimonials to skirmishes and fights from Braavos to Qarth, and at least one attempted assassination. The worst sits on his lower back, a deep slice that only narrowly missed his spine. He believes the gods spared him that day, leaving him with an angry red gash that sometimes twinges as a reminder to be more careful.

Legs

Long and muscled, round at the knees, tapered significantly at the ankles, hardened and strengthened by walking for miles on end. They can’t be called beautiful, but they are shapely in a way, despite being hidden by trousers and robes most of the time. They’re not the legs of a warrior or even of a prince; they’re the legs of a ranger, all lean strength and agility. The hair on them is surprisingly dark, but thin and delicate, not rough. Jaerys has a very long stride, mostly even and very regal. He doesn’t have to push himself hard to outpace most people, as his legs are more than equipped to carry him farther faster. He’s also an extremely fast runner, and can easily outpace most people with less effort. They sometimes seem to have a mind of their own, too, carrying him in wide paces while reading or thinking.

Chest

Jaerys’s chest would normally be relatively nondescript. His nipples are small, set a little wide and low on his pecs, and while not strikingly dark, they are several shades darker than the rest of his skin. He is quite well muscled at this point; he already was fit before leaving King’s Landing, but three years of harder living than he was used to have sculpted him even more. He has a small amount of hair right in the middle of his pecs, though it is light and not prominent. Though attractive, his chest wouldn’t have been much out of the ordinary if not for his scars. As mentioned above, the scars on his torso are the worst on his whole body, and though none are as bad as the one on his lower back, there are some pretty nasty ones on his chest. A massive forked scar rakes across his pecs, starting mostly on his left and trailing to his right, jagged and deep as though mauled by some animal. Another deep scar, about three finger-widths long and curved, sits just above his right nipple pointing up toward his outer shoulder. A smaller set drape across his collarbones on either side, the right one about four finger-widths wide, the left one about two. Yet another pair hang below his pecs onto his upper abs like fangs. Finally, a long gash the length of his hand crosses the right side of his stomach at a downward angle. x x x x

[ruthdemoofins]

Cor Tutor - Chapter 3 - Perc’ahlia modern college AU

Read the first two chapters on AO3: (X)

Thank you all for the support, like honestly, it makes me teary eyed and smiley and dfisdjfsdjfod. As usual, I checked this over on my own, so please let me know if there are any ugly mistakes or let me know what you thought! :)

My semester has started up again so I'm afraid my updates won't be quite so speedy. Thanks for putting up with me!

Percival had known many odd days in his life, many days that had him questioning if he was truly awake and alive, or rather, if he was simply in a some kind of horrible, twisted nightmare.

He’d felt that way, at least, at eighteen, as he stood in front of a roaring, invasive monster of a fire that had consumed his home and the majority of his family. He could still hear the screams of his sister as she struggled in his arms to break free, as though she could put it out with her own with her own tears and fists. Cassandra had always been braver than him and he wouldn’t doubt that now, she could put out a fire with her bare fists if needed. Back then, however, she had been small and fragile, shaking in his arms like a leaf. Percival could still feel the smoke furling into the back of his throat, making a home there deep within his flesh as he let out a raw, enraged roar.

This evening, however, had been different from those fiendish memories.

The rest of his stay in the library had involved him attentively listening to Keyleth vent about Vax and how horribly hard it was to read him. The majority of the time, Percival sat in silence as she wildly gestured into the air, offering what little advice he could when she gave a pause (it wasn’t good advice, though. He hadn’t much experience in terms of “dating.”)

As unconfident as he’d felt in his advice, Keyleth had seemed to feel a bit better and thus, he felt bit better too. It was hard to come across people like Keyleth, who were perfectly content with sitting in a comfortable silence and brimmed life and enthusiasm. They were opposites, he knew, but it took a negative and a positive charge to connect, didn’t it?

He’d left to pick up dinner for him and Cassandra at Jarret’s Exotic Foods (the amount of spice that man used was nearly a travesty. Nearly. His innate ability to level out spices to the point of nearly being unbearable and both addictively wonderful was still unfathomable to him) and made his merry way to their apartment.

Percy had happily been within his own thoughts, as he usually was, when he noticed a young woman and man stopped in their tracks ahead of him, the man earnestly speaking towards her while her posture seemed to be as rigid as a well-supported beam.

Before he could speculate further, the woman caught sight of him and briskly turned towards him. He’s sworn he’s seen her around campus before, one of the many faces that are vaguely familiar to him. Her eyes attract his immediate attention as she comes towards him, nearly aggressively. Aggressively enough that he almost trips on the uneven sidewalk as he slides one of his boots back to evade her charge.

Her eyes, though. They’re sharp, immensely sharp. It’s funny, really, he thinks, that he’s so focused on the way they seem. Most men notice a woman’s eyes for being ‘strikingly blue’ or ’warmly brown,’ but he’s standing here noticing the way of them. She’s confident. Her lips tug in a sudden smirk that unnerves him completely, like she already owns him without even knowing him, like he’s just putty in her hands.

It’s nothing like Dr. Anna Ripley, nothing like Delilah Briarwood. He thinks of their faces, meticulously pinned upon the wall in the back of his closet, from newspapers, from the images he’s located online. Their smiles curve in a way that would make one feel as though they owned them and intended upon crushing them, scorching their fleshy muscles from their body, and whittling their bones into small toothpicks to pick their flesh from their grinning, white teeth, but this…this is different.

“Darling,” she’d cooed at him, like she wholly adored him. If only she knew the rampant, dark, horrible thoughts in his head! If only she knew what he’d do if he had Anders, Ripley, Delilah or Silas before him in that moment.

The entire exchange had been horribly awkward, resulting in theft of his takeout.

Percival had been entirely sure to glare as hard as humanly possible at her as he saw the thought upon her face, something along the lines of: “Ah, this appears to be takeout, and by the significant, spicy smell, Jarett’s takeout, no less. I think I’ll be taking this, thank-you-very-much.”

And she had.

He could’ve stopped her, but he didn’t.

He’d only stood there, watching the stranger happily strut away, bag swaying in her clawed grip, noting that the other stranger, the man, had disappeared.

Percival hastily returned to Jarett’s, re-ordering and seating himself at one of the tables with his fingers steepled as he brooded over his misfortune.

“Come now, chum, turn that frown upside down, ay?”

Percy jerked his head up to eye a rather short young man with a charming smile (though not as bewitching as the takout-thief’s) and a rather dashing maroon beret.

“I..?” he gave the man a confused look before noting the bag extended towards him. Ah. “Ahem…Thank you,” he murmured, taking the bag and entirely disregarding the previous comment made. Chum?

By the time he’d arrived home, or rather, in the flat he and Cassandra shared a few minutes off of campus, it was dark.

Cassandra, of course, was seated at their kitchen table, her face pinched in concentration as she meticulously underlined a passage in the heavy book open atop the table.

Percy patiently stood in silence before the table, waiting for her to finish underlining before placing the bag down before her.

“It’s nearly seven, Percival,” she shot him a severe glare over the top of the takeout bag before slowly reaching in to locate her dinner.

“I apologize,” he gave a curt nod, sighing heavily, “I-ah…had quite the time getting this back,” he hoped she wouldn’t pry. It seemed wholly pathetic to be robbed of takeout, especially by a woman wearing an oversized shirt with a bear face printed upon it (the “I hate Mondays” beneath said bear face hadn’t helped the ridiculousness of the situation).

“Well, it’s still warm, at least,” Cassandra brushed a brown and gray-imbrued lock of hair from her face as she opened her container, giving a contented breath. “Still, thank you. You haven’t a clue how hungry I am.”

“Hungry work?” Percy questioned as he reached in the bag for his Styrofoam takeout box, nodding to her book.

“I only need to memorize fifty fleshy judiciary laws for tomorrow,” she disgustedly swept her gaze down upon her open textbook before digging into her curry.

For a moment, he’s unsure if he should try to inspire her with “brotherly advice,” but self-loathing immediately diminishes the thought. What good are you? You couldn���t even save her from those years with the Briarwoods. Why would she want your input? You can hardly manage yourself. The back of his throat ached and he realized that his takeout box was squeaking under his grip.

“I…” he slowly glanced from his hand to Cassandra, looking to him with a confused furrow of her brow. “I’m going to eat,” he says, his chest twisting with guilt as she musters a weak smile and nod for him.

Wanting to evade any further fucking up, Percy quickly made his way towards the hall.

“Oh, and Percy?”

His steps halted entirely, Percival glancing back to Cassandra.  

“Do refrain from staying up all night trying to find more links, won’t you? You’ve squeezed everything as dry as it can be. Sleep will help you more, at this point.”

More self-loathing flooded his chest, weighing it down and making it hard to breathe for a moment. He was pathetic. He should be the one telling Cassandra to take care, his younger sister, but she’s the one telling him to take care.

Weakly, he clears his throat, “I’ll try. You do the same,” his anxiety diminishes a bit as she manages an honest smile, nodding.

“I know us both well enough to know there’s a good chance we won’t listen to each other, but it’s worth a shot.”

She’s right, unbearably so, and he wishes he could tell her he loves her, but he can’t bring himself to do so. She doesn’t deserve such a pathetic love from him, nor does he deserve it. All he’s brought upon the poor girl was stress

Percy resumed his walk to his room, carefully closing the door behind him before moving to his closet.

He pushed his hanging clothes (a lovely mixture of obscure band t-shirts, heavy coats, and sweaters; the entirety of his wardrobe either black or a dark navy blue) to the side so he could properly view the mass of information on the back wall.

Articles upon articles, pictures upon pictures, all pinned and covered in yarn lines, meticulously linked together.

The plethora of string all led to the center of the wall, creating a macabre sort of sun. Upon the center, a newspaper clipping was carefully pinned to the wall. “Tragic Fire Wipes Out Majority of de Rolo Family.”

Percy steps closer, touches the picture included with the article of a nearly-grown boy with harrowed, wide-eyed stare standing next to a younger girl with the same, shell-shaken expression upon her face. Behind them, he could faintly make out the smoke lifting from the remains of their home, even in black-and-white.

He wishes he could go back in time to them, wishes he could snatch them both away from the incoming social workers, the long discussions with adults who either looked upon them with sadness or with greed. He still remembers standing on the street as the Briarwoods drove away with Cassandra. Her hair had still been brown, then.

He had been alone, he had been alone with money, but he was alone and the people who he knew had something to do with the murder of his family had his sister.

“I know I expected it, but this doesn’t look like ‘taking it easy’ to me.”

He startled and jerked up, looking to his side to find Cassandra, giving him a cool, skeptical stare.

“I-erm…was only thinking,” he lamely excused, sighing a bit as the excuse fluttered aimlessly in the air above her head, completely ignored.

Cassandra extended a hand, disdain on her face as she offered him the box of cigarettes he’d forgotten to bring with school to him that day.

But still, she provided them to him. She understood his necessary darkness.

“Thank you,” he curtly nodded to her with a solemn gaze as he took the pack.

“Please rest tonight, Percival. I promise we’ll have our day, but don’t lose your mind to insomnia beforehand. And do eat your food before it goes cold?” she worriedly looks over him and her expression is enough to spur him into placing a hand upon her shoulder.

“Yes, mother,” he sighs heavily for effect, a bit contented to see her manage another smile.

“You’d be a wreck without me here to dawdle behind you,” Cassandra lifts a brow before taking a step back. “At least eat before you worry yourself to sleep,” he doesn’t miss her soft sigh after requesting this.

“I will,” he vows and waits for her to slowly make her leave before tapping a cigarette from the box she’d passed him.

Percival sat upon his bed for a long while, inhaling and exhaling smoke as his eyes glared towards the mass of information upon his closet wall.

Fuck.

He snapped from his near-trance as he recalled he had a student to tutor, scrambling to locate his phone and write a cordial text to Vex’ahlia, the potential asshole.

Pleased with his sent text, Percy reached over for his takeout, recalling Cassandra’s stern expression with a faint smile before delving in.

He was certain between studies for mechanical engineering and pouring over his closet like he could find some hidden code within the papers he’s read over-and-over, he wouldn’t be sleeping much that night.  

-----

“You.”

Percy was the first to speak, after taking in the way her surprised expression literally “slipped into something more comfortable,” or rather, slipped into a calm, challenging smirk.

His voice was a hiss and his eyes his eyes accusatory, finger crooked out towards her from his seat.

At worst, he expected that, perhaps, the student he would be helping would be completely, irrationally stubborn, or perhaps rude, or perhaps an asshole.

He didn’t expect them to be the very vexingly (now literally Vexing) attractive asshole who’d stolen his dinner the previous night.

“Yes, me, ‘darling’,” she was ridiculously cool about this entire situation, even with his obviously pissed stance. Vex’ahlia whipped her braid over her shoulder before dumping her bag onto the table he occupied, sinking into the seat adjacent to him. Percy ridiculed the entire thing, the way she slouched down in her seat and crossed her legs, twiddled with the end of her braid, chewed rather aggressively on her gum.

He would’ve admired her lacks of shits given in a different situation, but right now, he was entirely sour about his lost takeout. Vex’ahlia lifted her sharp gaze to his and immediately rolled her eyes (at his expression, perhaps). “Oh, stop it,” she swatted at the air in front of him dismissively, “The stomach wants what the stomach wants, can you blame me? It was Jarett’s!”

She did have him there; Jarett’s food was masterfully crafted, even for quick takeout. The spice of it all…snap out of it, man! She’d entirely wooed him again already, hadn’t she? Speaking to him so fluidly, as though they were good friends!

Not that he would mind that.

“I do blame you. You stole it,” he slowly replied after a heavy, outraged huff.

“Ugh,” Vex’ahlia rolled her eyes again and dropped her cheek to rest upon her fist, looking at him with-was that interest?

“Fine. I’ll buy you some fucking dinner. I’m not one to give my money to anyone, so you’d better understand how lucky you are,” she snapped her gum, crinkling her nose.

Percival tried to pry his thoughts from how ridiculously sweet her face looked with her nose crinkled-you’ve only just met her for the…first…second time and you’re already bewitched-and managed a very good scoff in reply, “How lucky am I that a thief is going to refund me? Would you like me to pay for shipping and handling as well?” he primly questioned with a quirk of his brow.

Percy visibly startled a bit as she let out a loud guffaw, followed by a boisterous laugh that made his insides writhe in delight that he’d said something that was, in her opinion, funny.

“Fine, freaking fine,” she reached out with the hand that wasn’t propping her cheek aloft and slowly, he took it, pleased by her firm, businessmen’s shake. “Obviously, I’m your student-thief, thief-student, whichever you’d prefer, but call me Vex, yeah?”

“Vex,” he repeated with a slow nod. “My name is Pervical Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the Third-“

Vex smiled inwardly, softly muttering: “-and you killed my father, prepare to die,” and Percy barely contained a proper laugh of his own. She caught this, a smug grin on her lips as she slowly drug herself into a proper sitting position. “So, Percy, shall we?” she motioned to the statistics book, his old statistics book, sitting in front of him.

He was about to object to the nickname, but he knew she’d only charm that off of him too.

It almost felt a little invasive, how quickly Vex’ah-Vex was whittling her way into his brain, plucking his ire, his personal nickname, and even his wits from him.

Gods. She was entirely quick on her feet, entirely maddening, entirely bewitching, entirely attractive, and a bit of a nerd.

He was entirely fucked.  

As fucked as he was, though, he did manage to aid Vex’ahlia in her homework for that week. Professor Hydris did love her extensive statistics programming, so most of their session was spent sitting side-by-side in front of Vex’ahlia’s very large laptop.

Percival forced his mind not to reflect on how very close they were to one another, nor did he let himself nervously tap his foot, afraid he’d bump her leg. He did, however, note the scent of her, unlike any other. There was a hint of spice to it, along with the scent of pine needles and freshly chopped hickory. It wasn’t like Keyleth, who usually, unintentionally whipped his face with her long, fiery mane when turning to tell him something. Keyleth smelled of flowers and earth, Vex smelled of secrets and woodlands.

As expected,  she was stubborn. Many times she’d stretch her arms out across the table and land her forehead against it with a thunk, like an ornery toddler, other times she’d moan and groan about until he pointedly jostled her back to attention. She listened though, well, most of the time, she did. At some points her eyes would wander, or she’d find something of interest in her hair, but he’d clear his throat and she’d be back with him.

After an hour, Percival decided, despite the initial theft, she wasn’t an asshole.

They’d only just gotten past the programming assignment before Vex’s phone buzzed from her phone. “Sorry, sorry,” she rolled her eyes as she caught his lifted, skeptical eyebrow. Snorting softly, she flipped open her phone. Percy watched her silently mouth the text as she read, suddenly alarmed as her expression broke into complete panic.

“I…fuck, I…I need to…” she stood up so abruptly that her chair flipped back, grabbing her bacg and looking around wildly. “Fuck!” she spat, slapping a hand to her brow, “Vax has the fucking bike I…”

Percival blinked a few times, wondering if there was merely another “Vax” in their university or if this was Keyleth’s “Vax.” No, no, no. This wasn’t the time to think of such things; she seemed to be in absolute shambles.

“Percy,” she whipped her gaze to him, a hopeful, relieved smile on her face that made him feel all too much.  She was looking at him like he was a goddamned miracle, like her life depended upon him and it felt like too much. “Do you have a bike, darling?” she squeezed her hands together, Percival startled to see them shaking.

“Ah…yes, I do,” he didn’t always feel like walking to class, after all, especially when he’d spent most of the night awake, pouring over old information in his closet. “Do you intend upon stealing it too?” he added, despite himself.

“No! I mean…maybe? Could you do me a huge favor? I mean I know we’ve only really just met but I really need a ride to the forest, like, right now,” she literally bounced on her feet, like a dog that really needed to relieve itself. “It’s an absolute emergency, could we..?”

“Say no more,” he said, surprised at how even his voice sounded. Percival quickly threw his long jacket on and threw his bag over his shoulder before leading the way from the library.

Luckily, his bike was chained up nearby. After Percy seated himself he paused, glancing over to Vex, who seemed to be taking in the bike with awe. He’d spent many, many hours on the bike, gathering pieces from various junkyards across town to create a brassy, vintage bike compiled of all styles of piping. It wasn’t sleek, nor was it conventionally beautiful, but he adored it.

“It was project,” he explained, clearing his throat as he patted the rear-rack behind him. “Hop on. I’ll need to know where we’re headed.”

He was entirely thankful that he could face away as she daintily sat side-saddle on the rear-rack, for the moment she slipped her thin arms around his waist, his cheeks flushed. He should be better mannered than this, more suave, but here he is, blushing like a schoolboy.

“Can we go?” Vex’s irritated voice brought him to the present and he bobbed his head.

“O-Of course. Where did you say we were headed?”

“The forest.”

And so he pedaled.