Title: and for dessert i'll suck your teeth
Fandom: shadowhunters & the vampire diaries
Rating: teen
Length: ~600 words
Author notes: title from the kesha's cannibal



It’s 1986, and Camille is back in New York for good. It was almost disappointingly easy to take over as the Brooklyn clan leader. It’s a little more challenging to sell antiques, what with modern paperwork and such. But that’s worked around easily enough with a few witches and warlocks, and her fortune- and the clan’s fortune- ever grows.

Tending the shop isn’t necessary, but she likes being surrounded by trinkets and trophies from centuries ago. What vampire doesn’t enjoy in indulging in some nostalgia?

As if the thought has power to summon, the door creaks open, and Camille is both surprised and not by the woman that follows.

“I see the rumors of your death have been greatly exaggerated.”

Katherine laughs, flutters her eyelashes, “You say that as though we aren’t already dead.”

.

It’s 1845, and Camille has found a new companion. A warlock brimming with power and promise, devotion in his every move. He is, without a doubt, perfect.

An unfortunate childhood, the desire to help other downworlders, immortal- Camille could not have crafted a better lover than Magnus. They crash parties, they promote revolution, they argue long into the night of the best ways to end the Clave. They are well matched in every way that matters, well suited in those that don’t.

The problem remains of being the loved, rather than the lover- it always becomes dull. (Is it guilt or greed that has her selling off the ruby necklace, mere decades later?)

.

It’s 1796, and war has brought Camille back to Italy. Thousands upon thousands of soldiers to snack on in the night. Not a soul believes the ghost stories, not truly. There is no hunt for the mysterious woman who visits the dying soldiers. (Not like there would be in a town, all torches and pitchforks.) ((Not like anyone notices some of the soldiers weren’t dying until she appeared.))

It is an absolute feast, a party that only grows when she rediscovers Katerina.

Katerina, who has anglicized her name to Katherine, who delights in blood, in the decadence of it all, has quickly become her favorite. Nights are spent decimating the Austrian troops, for they are most plentiful and reoccurring. Days are spent hiding from the sun together, trading stories of another life.

It’s quick and easy to fall into lust with Katherine, as beautiful as she is cruel. They have both long shed their mother tongues, kiss with matching scars. This era’s skirts are heavy, once they hit the ground, they stay there.

Hunters have the nerve to show up, ruining their bloody honeymoon, apparently some people have begun noticing the sharp drop in mundanes. It’s probably an achievement considering the war, but it doesn’t feel like one. Katherine is gone when Camille returns to the abandoned church she has started thinking of as home.

Katherine is gone, and Camille has no reason to stay.

.

It’s 1610, and Camille is thoroughly bored with hearing about a sun she’ll never see again and orbits. She knows this is where all the most valuable one-day antiques will be, and that’s the only thing keeping her in Italy. It’s always near the boring academic types- the rare tomes, the gorgeous paintings, the exquisite furniture. And if she happens to drain a few of the old bores, it’ll only drive up the future prices of her merchandise.

She already has an eternity, money’s all that’s left to measure how much she is winning.

.

It’s 1491, and Camille hates everything about England. The people are dull, the weather worse, and all that’s left is to decide how big a bloodbath to leave upon her departure.

A pretty girl with a prettier heartbeat trips over her, tongue laden with apologies, pressing a fine handkerchief into her hands- for it could not possibly belong to a commoner as herself.

Camille’s amusement is thick, smothering any remaining urges to correct the charlatan. “Thank you young miss. I am Camille.”

She takes her gloved hand, daintily pressing her lips to Camille’s knuckles and looking up at her. “My name is Katerina.”