OH MY GOD IT'S FINALLY DONE. This is an art trade with
. I've been putting it off FOREVER, which is terrible because most of the pictures were actually drawn and inked weeks ago! And to make up for the shoddy drawings and shitty time frame, I wrote out a little story for the pictures as wll. I FINALLY FINISHED EVERYTHING. The story, the art.... guuuuuh. I feel terrible, because I haven'e even friggin' edited the fic, but I am so tired I can't even, and that can wait until tomorrow night or something.
Here's the link to the story and pictures in a cohesive structure on my livejournal, to anyone who cares (recommended!!!): [link]
I advise going to the link to the livejournal story, as the pictures are all nicely put together.
But in case you're too lazy for that and just want to read the shitty, not-edited-for-Deviant-art copy/pasted lamegay story I wrote to go along with these pictures, here it is.
He didn’t see you; you saw him. That was the way it seemed these things always played out. You could see something in their eyes, you think. That gleam of life, the certain sparkle that would inevitably lead to someone’s untimely demise—alas,you think with a smile. That candle that burns twice as bright lives half as long.
At least, that how things usually go went. This time is just a tad different.
And by different, you mean horribly, horribly wrong in so many ways.
You have no idea how or why the fuck your plans aren’t going the way you wanted them to go; this sort of stuff never happened. It should’ve been as easy as one, two, three, dead. You were happy, they were… well. You got what you needed, and tt wasn’t every day that you found someone who could meet your high standards. After all, not everyone can handle being one of your thralls.
This kid, this boy was throwing you off balance, and regardless of how hard you tried, you simply couldn’t let this tryst play out like the others did. He was too interesting, far more so than the others you’ve seduced, and the more time you spent with him, the more you didn’t really want to fuck this up.
Out of every person on this stupid little rock called Earth you could’ve found, it had to be Dave Strider.
As you walk the darkened streets, you wonder if this is somehow your fault. It has to be, you think, because never before has someone ever gotten past the superficial faze of “let me be your friend so I can bite your neck and drain your life away after the third date.”
It did start different from the others, you supposed. You weren’t even looking for another thrall when you’d found him; you had only just finished someone off a few weeks ago, and it took a long time for you to go hunting for another. You pride yourself on your self-control.
You bumped into him at the mall. He was surrounded by some other people.
Ugh. Humans. Not a troll in sight. This didn’t come as a surprise to you; it wasn’t as thought trolls and humans didn’t get along, but they held different sleeping schedules—though it was becoming more and more of a troll-norm to be more active in the day.
At that point, surrounded by a gaggle of giggling friends, you assumed he was another lifeless backdrop that inhabited the town, just a cardboard cut-out of a someone there to provide a more realistic experience of walking through a sparsely packed mall. You were intent on not noticing him but, throwing a glace in his direction, you realized he was staring at you (though looking back on it, he could’ve just been looking at the store behind you. After all, he was wearing sunglasses). It caught you off guard, and as you narrowed your eyes at him, ready to frown, he waved to you, just the fainted smile on the edge of his lips.
That smug sack of shit.
It was from then on that you knew he was your next target.
You approached him with as suave an aura as you could muster—which, all things considered, wasn’t terribly suave; no one finds lisps sexy— and gave him your number. He smirked, and his friends giggled around him as you said something snarky about wearing glasses indoors. He responded in kind by telling you that the movie theatre wanted their 3D glasses back, and then it was your turn to smile, gracing him with one of your toothy, snorting laughs before telling him to give you a call sometime.
A few days later—much earlier than you expected, actually—he called you. He said he and his friends were throwing a party, and you thought to yourself, what could po22iibly go wrong.
You went to the house party which was swarming with people—some of whom you knew, such as Kanaya, a fellow who shared in your unique… appetites. You bee-lined to Dave, trying to chat him up, working your charms to the best of your abilities to woo him as fast as possible—or you were, until you realized that he was actually making you laugh. Not the stupid, fake laugh that sounded very professional and collected, but the snorting, unattractive laugh that you save for things that you are not trying to sleep with and/or kill. Through the joking and the brochats, more alcohol than you would’ve usually allowed yourself passed through your lips—but then, he was drinking about the same as you. You eventually both settled on the couch, chatting drunkly at each other while a party whizzed around you.
Eventually in your drunken state, the two of you—by now, close enough to call good acquaintances—decided to walk to the mall. No one at the party noticed you going, and he didn’t seem to mind being alone with a troll he’d just met. The walk was comfortably short—occasionally you would both stumble and catch each other, eventually just walking arm in arm to steady your steps. Generally, it was this sort of behavior that led to your ultimate goal of drinking the fuck out of some hot red blood, so naturally, it didn’t bother you.
The malls seemed to be closing at this point, and you were surprised that the doors were even open. The moment Dave put his foot through the malls doors, he headed right to the photo booth, dragging you behind him. It was the type of photobooth that would take your picture and bling it up, and so you both made as unattractive a face as possible when the flash went off. He had taken off his glasses, which struck you as odd, and his hair—wasn’t it straightened when the party began?—was curling around his ears in a way that made you laugh.
“do you 2raighten your haiir?”
He looked at you, red eyes glassy and uncomprehending in their drunken state.
“yeah what of it,” he retorted, slapping his shades on quickly and wiping all emotion from his face.
“iit looks better curly. you look 2ort of 2tupiid with it plastered to your face liike that.” Time to turn on the charm, whispers your drunk brain. “ii liike the way iit--”
“gay,” he interrupts, raising his eyebrows and walking out of the photobooth.
You sit for a second, alone and drunk in the photobooth, and try not to let your wounded pride ruin your nnight.
After the party, you hang around your house for a few days, sulking. It was around that point that you began to realize that Dave wasn’t quite like the others— if only because he was the first person you’ve ever tried to seduce, only to fail more than miserably. That’s what you thought until he called you out of the blue to invite you to a movie.
This asshole wanted to take you to go see Twilight.
This is when you knew that Dave Strider was the best thing and worst thing that could ever happen to you.
When you met him that night to go see the movie, his hair wasn’t straightened. You weren’t lying when you told him that you liked it better that way, but you didn’t expect him to remember that.
You would stop narrating your own story to write a review about Twilight, but you were too busy enjoying the crazy sexual tension with Dave the entire movie—the kind of romcom tension that starts by accidently touching each others hand when grabbing popcorn, and ends with a make out session for no adequate reason in the back of the threatre.
A make out session that, by the by, was never really acknowledged when the movie got out.
You went out for movies at least three times a week after that.
After a solid three weeks of making out in a threatre and sending lewd text messages back and forth, Dave called you to make plans, as usual, for a movie.
Except the movie was at his house.
When he told you this, there was a silence as you both mused the implications of a movie night (now synonymous with furious and torrid tongue wrestling). It also dawned on you that, if there was a time that you were going to drink his blood, tonight would be the night.
You were watching yet another stupid vampire movie. Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. Instead of watching the screen, though, you’re too busy looking at Dave, so close to you on the couch. You wouldn’t really call this a relationship. There hasn’t been a single acknowledgement of attraction from either of your, unless you count the occasional groan in the movie theatre (which you don’t). He was as interesting and wonderful as he was enigmatic and stupid.
He moved closer to you, and you moved closer to him. You’ve been in this situation before; there is little time between when he is dead and bleeding in your arms and now. Hands slowly entwining, he leans in close—so close you can feel the warmth of his breath on your ear.
“I know what you are,” he muttered. You can hear the smile in his voice, and your body turned to stone.
“What am I,” you inquire, your hand leaving Dave’s grasp to begin creeping up his shirt. Not long now—but maybe he didn’t have to die? Maybe you can control yourself just this one time—
“Vampire,” he whispered. Instead of answering you just turned your head and kissed him on the lips, allowing the usual theme of “make out session” take it’s course.
This time would be different, though, you think sadly. This is when your fangs would slip into his delicate skin and leave him a shambling husk.
The amusing part was, however, when it got to this point, Dave simply tilted his head back and sighed in a breathy, shaky tone. You felt the blood touch your lips, and that invigoration that usually comes along with feeding made your brain hazy.
It was a shame too, you thought, because you realized only then that you would, in fact, miss Dave.
And then he pushed you right the fuck away.
“yeah okay that shits fun for a second but now it hurts and you are seriously acting like a punkass.”
Snapping out of your vampiric haze, you bark at him.
“ii thought you fuckiing WANTED to be a vampire.”
He just looks at you with a raised eyebrow.
“you weren’t going to make me a vampire, you were probably going to kill me. and at anyrate i don’t want to be a goddamn living dead horrorterror. do you not even get what I was doing.”
He looked at you expectantly, and you stare back, confused to all hell. You being to run through everything that happened, what he said and—
Oh no he fucking didn’t.
“You were reenacting Twilight,” you said, without a question mark. You cover your face with your hands as you turn a wonderful shade a bright yellow. Dave laughs.
“youre stupid. its not hard to spot a vampire seeing as how youre the only other troll beside kanaya who walks around at night, plus she told me about you so theres that. what did you think I randomly invited you to my house party without even knowing who you are. why the hell did you think i even called you in the first place?”
And with every word your face burned a little bit brighter. That was a low blow for your vampire-pride, which is different from normal people pride, because it was only for vampires, which is what you are.
He wrapped his arms around you and kissed you on the cheek, a laugh still on his lips.
You didn’t say anything in response to this. Fuck this guy, fuck this whole situation, and fuck being a vampire. You’re only reply was to move your hands from your face and put them to better use. Dave seemed to have the same idea in mind. It dawns on you that, rather than you doing the seducing, you had been seduced.
Whatever. For the first time in a long while, you were happy just being around someone without the gaudy precept of being suave; if the worst you had to deal with was Dave’s twilight bullshit, you could handle it.
After all, a small voice says in the back of your head, you can always kill him some other time.