#i am just so tired and strung out and today involved a lot of hanging around waiting for people

[trans-cuchulainn]

had a headache and used this as an excuse to escape to a dark room before family even arrived today. immediately had an anxiety attack and now i do not wish to leave this room ever again but it's dinner in half an hour and there are seven other people in this house 🙃

[ghostwise]

Zevran deals with ghosts of the past every day. He regards them with an aged nostalgia, remembering clearly when they were more solid, more substantial in their influence—not the gauzy and transparent feelings they are today.

Things have changed. The world has changed.

Today he can pour coffee, unhurried and uninterrupted, even as an unexpected tapping sounds at the window. He briefly thinks to reach for a weapon, any weapon, even the letter opener on the desk—but there’s no need for that. There hasn’t been, not for years. Not for decades. 

Zevran finishes pouring his coffee. Then he goes to investigate.

The tapping is persistent, but any worry he might have felt vanishes, upon seeing what it is. Who it is.

Behind the glass a raven peers up at him with golden eyes, bright, inquisitive, and Zevran opens the window to let a man clamber in, all draped fabrics and feathers and furs, and familiar eyes, and an even more familiar laugh.

“Hello! Thank you for letting me in! It was freezing out there!”

“Kieran!”

 Zevran chuckles warmly, returning his embrace. He’s tall and angular. He takes after his mother in that. “How fortunate that you arrive just as I’ve made a fresh pot of coffee. Come, sit, will you?”

“Coffee,” Kieran gasps. Ah, but he takes after his father in some regards, too.

They drink their coffee, Zevran seated at his desk, and Kieran pacing restlessly around the office, draining two cups before Zevran has finished one. There is not much talking involved with this activity, just Kieran reading the titles of the volumes on Zevran’s bookshelf. He picks up a book of love poetry, and holds it up to Zevran, eyebrow raised.

“One never outgrows love poems, my boy,” Zevran says, gesturing with his cup.

“If you say so,” Kieran hums, setting it back. “I myself see little use in such things. ‘Tis an awful lot of effort, no?”

Zevran smiles and shrugs. “Your father liked them.”

“Oh, no.” Kieran shakes his head and shuffles away from the bookcase.

Zevran feels an urge to laugh. It is Morrigan and Hamal, talking to him in turns.

The thought makes him wistful. He is barely prepared for the feeling, and all he can do is let it claim the moment, and finally pass with a quiet acceptance, sipping at his coffee, patiently regarding Kieran.

“I always enjoy your visits,” he says finally. Kieran blinks up at him, beaming, as he continues. “To what do I owe today’s?”

“Oh, you know,” Kieran waves a hand elaborately. “I was in the area. I wanted to check in with you.”

“Ah, truly?”

“Quite!” Kieran all too quickly drops into the seat across from his desk. He steeples his fingers, looking at Zevran intently. “You have been well?” he asks.

“Never better.”

“And things in Var’myathan, things are going smoothly?”

“I stay away from politics in my advanced age, but from what I hear, yes. Very smoothly.”

“I hear whispers, you know.” Kieran leans forward, unblinking. “Change is coming to the world. Not at our bidding or our involvement, but then, these things never are. I should like you to be… prepared.”

Zevran cannot help but smile, the lines around his eyes deepening in amusement. “Again?” he asks. “You don’t say. Seems the world is changing all the damn time. It has changed, what, three times in my lifetime? And I with it. You need not worry so about me.”

He pauses, and with that said, takes another sip of coffee. “How is your mother?”

“Well, I presume,” Kieran shakes his head. “Haven’t seen her.”

“Is that her choice, or yours?”

Kieran hops off his seat, giving Zevran the distinct impression that it’s the latter. His ominous warning delivered, he simply stands there, fidgeting. Always nervous in closed spaces, much like his father.

“I just wanted to check in on you. I am glad you are doing well.” Kieran sets his empty cup on Zevran’s desk. “I should be going soon.”

Zevran almost thinks that is all. But then Kieran sighs, and his voice softens. “I would like to see him, before I leave. Accompany me?”

Zevran Arainai, hahren, retired ambassador, ex-Crow, ex-assassin, widower, absent step-father to this strange man who is no longer young himself… none of these titles or roles seem to help in this moment. He simply nods, feeling a small ache under his chest, masking it with a smile.

“Of course,” he says.

Together, they descend through Zevran’s modest and homey estate. Kieran, already clad in layer upon layer of rags and finery, has no need for a coat, but Zevran bundles up before they leave. 

Snow falls in flurries upon the ground outside, catching in Zevran’s silver hair. The coffee had been well-timed. It’s a silent walk, and a long one.

“Dalish cemeteries are so beautiful,” Kieran breathes as they turn a corner, and a canopy of trees comes into view. It is as if a small forest has taken root within the city.

Back when the clans wandered—and as is still the case for those who opted to remain nomadic—the fallen were buried where they died. Here, each tree represents a deceased citizen of Var’myathan. It is like walking through an arboretum.

Some plots are adorned by small statues or signs. Some of the trees have ribbons strung along the branches, or names and messages painted upon the trunk (never carved, for to damage a funerary tree is disrespectful).

Finally, after passing by dozens of saplings and oak trees and even a few fruit trees, they arrive at the Hero of Ferelden’s grave, an alder tree standing ostentatiously with a plaque and a monument at its base.

Kieran hurries forward quickly, but Zevran hangs back. It has been too long since his last visit, and it almost shames him, but—no, nothing about Hamal could shame him. He would certainly understand.

The artist did a good job capturing his husband’s likeness. After a moment, Zevran smiles and draws near, reaching up to brush dirt and snow off his beloved’s statue.

“Hola, amor,” he says softly. “No sabes cómo te extraño.”

Kieran has wandered off, circling his father’s tree, humming some wordless tune.

Zevran, tired, sits at the base of the tree and closes his eyes to remember.

Being old is surreal. It almost feels like a dream at times. He has a veritable encyclopedia of moments and memories he would rather peruse, than to live through more. This is especially true here, at Hamal’s resting place, where he cannot help but remember their times during the Blight, their long years in Antiva, their wedding days—plural! For they were married in an Antivan chantry first, then bonded in a traditional Dalish ceremony later.

It has been far too long, and many of their companions are gone, too. Alistair ventured to the Deep Roads many years ago. Lavellan passed this summer, and her daughter, Paloma, sent word through mail. Zevran remembers that funeral, and his husband’s, too.

Bad memories, good memories. More good than bad, though.

When Zevran opens his eyes again, Kieran is sitting, cross-legged, in front of him.

“Good! You’re still alive,” Kieran quips.

Zevran frowns, annoyed. “Of course I’m still alive! Amor, mira, do you see your son? Do you hear this?” he whispers aside to the statue. “Terrible. As if I could not still strike down any foe, with my stealth and daggers.”

Kieran and Zevran then laugh despite the cold.

“I like to think he can see us,” Kieran offers finally. He takes a breath, continuing shyly. “I really wanted to visit and tell him—you, as well—that I am going by his name now. For a few years, in fact.”

The news does come as a surprise. Zevran blinks and smiles as Kieran continues.

“Kieran Mahariel. Do you think that’s alright? Is there something, I don’t know, formal I should file? I doubt my birth records exist anywhere, but… I never had a surname. Morrigan said it would be fine. I think she likes it, even. I should go see her next I suppose. Father would agree.”

“He would be proud of you,” Zevran tells him, listening to him ramble. Kieran fidgets and smiles.

And here, the visit hits on one of those unseen emotional snags. The brink of a goodbye, the need for assurance, perhaps. Zevran looks at Kieran and takes inventory.

Eyes, Morrigan’s. Mouth and nose, Hamal’s. Powerful magic, a need for solitude, Morrigan’s. Vallaslin, over his left eye, at his own insistence. Ears, softly pointed.

“Everything will be fine, Kieran,” Zevran Arainai says. “I’m doing well. Your mother will be happy to see you, as I am happy, and thankful, for you coming to see us.”

“I know,” Kieran agrees, though he sounds uncertain. “Creators. You and my parents had already done so much by the time you were my age. How did you figure any of it out?”

“Poorly,” Zevran laughs. “You must play these things by ear. That’s the nature of living.”

“Then I hope I continue to make you proud,” Kieran says, and he pulls himself out of the snow, casting one final look at The Hero of Ferelden’s tree. “I’ll try to write more often,” he adds, and Zevran nods, though he knows it is unlikely.

With a smile, Kieran flits into the branches as a raven once more, and Zevran calls to him.

“Safe travels, d’alen.”

[aivaehdaevis]

The More Things Change: Ch 6

The More Things Change

by Aivaeh

Disclaimer: Familiar characters, plot elements, and settings belong to L.J. Smith, Julie Plec, and the CW. The author of this work of fanfiction has made no money from it. Summary: I have no idea how it happened, but one morning I woke up in the world of The Vampire Diaries. Which, aside from the insanity of waking up inside a television show made real, might not be so bad—if I weren't stuck in the body of vampire magnet and doppelgänger herself, Elena Gilbert. Pairing(s): OFC x Damon, OFC x Stefan, OFC x Elijah, OFC x Klaus Rating: M Warning(s): Graphic descriptions of violence on par with the show itself. References to sex and drug use. Mind control and all the issues of consent that go along with it. Character death. Master List External Links: AO3 | FF.Net | Wattpad

Chapter Six

I found the bulbs in a downstairs storage closet.

Hunting for them gave me something to think about other than Damon's threats and the insanity of being stuck in a television show. I went to change the bedroom's first, but when I threw the switch, the light turned right on. A test of the rest of the lights were the same. The lights worked just fine.

I tried to convince myself it was a wiring issue, but there's no denying I felt more vulnerable in the Gilbert house.

Replacing the bulbs back into the supply closet, I continued snooping around. I didn't find anything exciting. The vampire-related weapons and diaries were at the lake house. My biggest discovery were the heirlooms and a ton of documents related to the family's history stored in the basement. I only glanced through some of it before going back upstairs.

Back in Elena's room, I settled in for some homework. My poor performance in Biology and Tanner's comments in History convinced me to finish it before the party tonight. Besides, it was a normal thing to do, nothing supernatural involved. Trigonometry took the longest, but by the time I was done with the chapter questions for history, the sun was getting low in the sky. "Hope you appreciate this, Elena," I muttered before huffing out a tired breath.

I was scouring Elena's closet when the phone rang.

Picking up a cordless handset from her desk, I said, "Hello?"

"Elena," Caroline said in a frantic rush, "I needed you here an hour ago!"

Crap. "Sorry. I lost track of time." I grabbed the first thing I could reach that had long sleeves. Elena had nothing but nice clothes, anyway. I couldn't go wrong.

"Well, get over here."

Uh, where was here? I wondered if there was a non-suspicious or weird way to ask this when the phone clicked and the dial tone hummed in my ear. "Great."

I ended up looking the park up online. It wasn't that difficult to get to from highway seventy-five, one of three roads that led out of town.

I hurried through another shower and was drying my hair when there was a knock on the connecting door. I fiddled with the hairdryer until I found the power button. "Yes?"

There was a beat of silence. "I heard you're driving again, but the car was in the garage," Jeremy said, voice muffled by the wood.

"Someone else took me to school today, but yeah. I drove to the Grill."

"You driving to the party?"

"I'm leaving as soon as I'm done. Caroline wants my help."

"Can I ride along?"

"Oh. Sure."

"Cool."

"Let me finish up."

Jeremy agreed and left me to it.

Once I was dressed and ready, I knocked on his door. He walked out in a hoodie and jacket. Together we made our way down to the kitchen. Jenna hadn't come home yet, so I left a note on the fridge saying we'd be at the falls.

The sun was on the last leg of its journey across the horizon. The sky was flush in pastel pinks and violets, gradually settling into molten gold. It was pleasant enough out to roll the windows down as we pulled out of the garage, letting in the song of crickets. Jeremy plugged his mp3 player into the stereo and alternative rock pounded out the speakers.

"Doesn't driver pick the music?"

Jeremy's answering shrug was largely swallowed up beneath all the layers he wore.

Well, this would be fun.

This time, it was a right out of the driveway. I paid attention to the signs as I navigated the neighborhood. I needed to take Grotto Avenue instead of Washington. It would lead to the infamous Wickery Bridge and connect to seventy-five.

Once we'd turned onto Grotto, the speed limit picked up to forty-five, and the wind rushed past the window as I sped up. I had to speak louder to be heard. "How have things been lately?"

Staring out the passenger window, Jeremy's reply was bitter. "How do you think?"

I had nothing to say to that. I watched the dashed yellow line on the road, the trees lining either side speed by as I tried coming up with something more innocuous. "How are your classes?"

Another half-hidden shrug. "Alright I guess."

"You guess?"

"Yeah." Jeremy fitted his hand through the crack in his window and sliced through the wind.

"Good talk," I muttered.

I thought the wind would've taken my words, but Jeremy lifted his other hand in a thumbs up.

The wind and music replaced any attempts at conversation after that. The only time I wondered if I should try to say something was as we approached the Wickery Bridge. I ran a critical eye over the structure. Whatever damage had been caused when their parents' minivan had gone into the river must have been repaired.

Jeremy stared out the window as he'd been doing that the whole way. Something changed, though. Like a heavy and colorless smog that saturated the car, the mood turned dark and toxic, suffocating any attempts at conversation.

It didn't let up until the bridge disappeared behind us and we'd reached the highway. The rush of wind turned into a roar. The sun glared off the horizon and made it hard to see even with Elena's sunglasses and the visor. It was a relief when it sank beneath the treetops, and I was able to see comfortably again.

The sky was all deep merlots and dark heather by the time I saw the turn off. Rocks ground beneath the tires and pelted the undercarriage as we drove down a gravel road that twisted snake-like between the woods. Once we were half a mile in, the road turned paved. The smoother drive led up a steep hill to a large parking lot. Several vehicles were already there, a mixture of cars and trucks and vans. I pulled in and joined them.

Jeremy and I got out. Distant voices drifted through the trees, almost drowned out by the frenzied chirrup of crickets. I followed Jeremy, who didn't hesitate to step off the pavement to a dirt trail that led further up a gently sloping hill. Old trees stretched overhead all around us, growing darker as the last light of the sun surrendered to the silvery glow of a distant half-moon that had begun its ascent.

I hugged my jacket tighter around me. There was a humidity to the air that made it chillier than it had felt during the drive. I supposed it came from the falls that granted the park its name, though I had no idea where they were.

We found Caroline at a series of pavilions that had carved out a small space in the middle of the woods. Basically, the giant frames of empty houses. She was busy tearing plastic cups out of their packaging and stacking them on the fold-out tables pushed flush against one of the open-air railings. Bonnie was beside her.

"Hey Elena, Jer," Bonnie greeted.

As Jeremy raised a hand and gave a close-lipped grin, Caroline spun about. "Good! Jeremy, help Aaron and Matt hang lights over the bridge."

She must have meant more lights like the ones strung around the pavilion. Outdoor Christmas lights by the look of them, except with bigger, colorless bulbs. They were pretty, if unnecessary. Several outdoor floodlights that must have been put up by the park provided more than enough light, and a bonfire was already flickering away in a pit a safe distance away.

Jeremy's expression didn't so much as twitch. "Hello to you too, Caroline."

Caroline's lips pressed into a line as she sent Jeremy a look. "Hello, Jeremy. So nice to see you." She flashed a plastic princess smile. "Please help Aaron and Matt."

Jeremy rolled his eyes and, hands stuffed into his pockets, headed out of the pavilion to one of the paths that led deeper into the forest.

"There's a bunch of six packs in the back of Aaron's truck," Caroline then informed me with all the command of an empress. I didn't know what Aaron's truck looked like, but it shouldn't be hard to find. Just look for the liquor store in the back.

I ended up trudging back and forth through the woods as night crept over the forest. Caroline and Bonnie just set up tables and coolers. I had a feeling I was being punished for 'forgetting' to arrive earlier.

Teenagers started to trickle in, a strong bass beat began to pulse through the trees, and the lot was filling up. I was halfway through—she wasn't kidding about it being a bunch of beer—when a distinct rumble echoed through the trees. I squinted as headlights pierced the darkness and shone in my face.

I wasn't surprised when those headlights slowed as they approached, stopping a short ways after passing me, revealing the distinctive blue camaro with Damon in the driver's seat. "Hello, Elena."

"Damon," I sighed.

His eyes darted towards the six packs and back to me. "Am I too early?"

"No. I think it's just starting." I picked up four more six packs. The pair I carried in each hand clinked merrily as the bottles swayed. Carefully, I hopped off the truck bed.

"I prefer to be fashionably late," Damon said.

"Why am I not surprised." I turned and headed back up the path.

The camaro gave a purr before gliding away as I stepped off the pavement and onto the hard-packed ground. There was still enough space that he'd find something. I anticipated it wouldn't be long before he was pestering me again.

Sure enough, I wasn't a quarter of the way up when he appeared beside me. He sidestepped around until he was doing his backwards walk in front of me, reaching out for the cases of beer. "Allow me."

I held them back. "I've got it, Damon."

"Elena."

"Damon." I wondered if he was actually tripping every other step, and just moving too fast for me to see it.

"I can have this done before you even reach the top," he reminded me.

"And how will I explain that?"

The expensive silk shirt, top few buttons undone, stretched across his shoulders as he shrugged. "Who will care enough to ask?"

I did want this task to be over. I slowly held out the beer. "Fine."

He smirked as he took the cases from me—and promptly disappeared from sight. I did hear the stir of leaves every other second. It was less than a minute when he appeared beside me again. "Finished." If smugness were a resource, Damon would've had enough for every man, woman, and child on the planet.

I replied with a grudging, "Thank you."

"You're very welcome, Elena." Before I could start up the hill, his arm ended up around my shoulders. His warmth still managed to surprise me. "Why don't you introduce me to your friends?"

I shook my head. "No."

Damon's arm slid off me. He started walking. "Maybe I'll see if Caroline wants—"

I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He allowed it. "You promised."

"As long as you," he tapped my nose, "were agreeable."

"Do you have to threaten all the girls?" I groused.

"No. Not usually." Arm back around my shoulders, he grinned. "You're special."

"Why?"

The trail crunched underfoot as he guided me towards the pavilions. "Why what?"

"Why am I special?" I knew it had to do with Katherine, but wasn't he supposed to still be in love with her? Why spend so much of his time bothering me?

Something in his stare set my nerves alight with a nervous energy. It skittered along my spine and spread out until every inch of me was alive and awake. "You're beautiful. Very seductive."

Uncomfortable in my suddenly hypersensitive skin, I squirmed. Afraid it'd tip him off to his effect on me, I tried for nonchalant. "Seductive?" I scoffed. "And you've met hundreds of beautiful, seductive women."

"None like you," he returned.

I gave him a flat stare.

His brows rose. "It's true."

I pictured a certain self-centered vampire in period clothes. "Why don't I believe you?"

"Because you have major trust issues."

"Can't imagine why."

We reached the top of the hill and the clearing. The pavilions were lit, strung lights adding a softer, magical quality the harsher park lights lacked. A good gathering of people was strewn about, arrayed in clusters around the wooden structures, the grass and the fire, to the treeline. The conversations were already lively. Even as we stood there, I could hear more coming up the trail behind us.

"Lets get a drink," Damon suggested, guiding me towards the coolers I'd spent the early portion of the night filling.

I eyed him. "What do you mean by a drink?"

He tilted his head towards me and smirked. The closer we moved towards people, the more tense I became. Thankfully, he went for the beers instead of the teens hanging out beside them, snagging a pair of bottles by the neck. His thumb slipped under the edge of one's cap, popping the top off without effort. He held it out to me.

I accepted, still fixing a weary eye on him as he opened the other. I wasn't a fan of beer, but I definitely wanted a drink. I endured the yeasty flavor for a good-sized gulp. Pulling the bottle away, I'd have wiped my lips, but I had lip gloss on. I settled for rubbing them together.

Damon guided me back up to the largest of the three pavilions. The creak of our steps almost lost to the shifts and pounding of all the other feet. The smell of pine was strongest here. The people parted before us like a school of tiny fish breaking apart and gliding around a bigger predator.

Caroline and Bonnie were at the back railing, each one with a cup of what I assumed would be beer. Madison, Sarah, Aaron, and a few other cheerleaders and football players made up the rest of Caroline's entourage. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Damon. "You came!"

"I said I would," he answered.

Still trapped under the hard muscle of his arm, I settled for another swig.

"Everyone, this is Damon. Damon, this is everyone," Caroline introduced.

"Yeah. Elena's mentioned most of you." He pointed with the hand holding his beer. "Bonnie, right?"

Bonnie nodded before her gaze slid to me, a clear question in her pale green gaze. I just shook my head.

Damon proceeded to freak me out by naming the rest of the little group, even the three I wasn't familiar with. He knew Elena's friends better than me.

"When did you and Damon get together, Elena?" A blonde cheerleader that Damon had called Sophie had a pixie's face and a beauty mark over her left eye.

"Yesterday," he answered before I had a chance to say anything.

We exchanged a glance, mine already finished, his full of mischief. I fumed, wishing I could shrug out of his hold, and took another drink.

Caroline's earlier enthusiasm had dimmed. "So this is, what," her smile threatened to fall off her face, "a date?"

"Mmhmm," Damon replied, pulling me closer to him.

Bonnie's brows flew up. "Oh."

Half of my bottle was already gone.

"In fact, I really should be thanking you for tonight, Caroline," he went on blithely. "Elena wasn't sure about going out with someone as old as me. Then your name came up, and she became much more agreeable."

Mother fu—

"Really," Caroline replied. Flatly. Her stare was piercing, like a dagger. One she probably thought she'd pulled out of her back.

A series of looks exchanged between the others ensured that this news was going to be around the whole school by tomorrow morning.

"Elena, can I talk to you real quick," Bonnie interjected.

"Absolutely Bonnie," I said, relief lightening my voice.

Damon shot me a close-lipped smile. "Don't wander off too far," he said into the top of my head. "Wouldn't want to run into any animals."

I nodded, and Damon's arm left my shoulders, but not before his hand skimmed my spine. I shivered before hurrying to Bonnie's side, and the two of us headed over towards a spot near the fire pit while Damon went about charming the rest of Elena's friends.

As soon as we were down the pavilion's steps, Bonnie turned to me. "What's going on, Elena?"

I wasn't sure what to say. Damon had to be listening. "Damon said he wanted to go with me to the falls." I shrugged.

"You said he was using you to get to Stefan," Bonnie reminded me.

My lips twisted of their own accord. "Yeah. I think I maybe judged him a little harshly." I forced myself to add, "He's been great so far."

"And when Stefan shows up?"

We reached a spot a few feet from the fire, close enough to see one another in the dancing light, but far enough for some privacy. "I told you. Stefan and I are friends."

"Friends don't look at each other the way you two did the other night and at lunch, Elena." Bonnie shook her head. "This seems like a bad idea."

No kidding. "It'll be fine, Bonnie." I forced a smile. "Just like you predicted."

She shot me a thoughtful look. "Maybe it's worth a try."

"What?" But I had a feeling of what she'd say.

"Reading your future." Bonnie shook her head. "It's crazy, I know. But Grams says I can."

"Long as you aren't charging ten bucks a minute," I quipped with a small smile.

Bonnie snorted. "Here," she held out a hand. "Let me see your hand."

Remembering she'd seen the crow and Damon in the show, I let her close her eyes to concentrate and took her hand.

Bonnie's eyes popped open immediately. She dropped my hand like it was red hot and took a step back, a strange look on her face.

I frowned. "What?"

"I—I don't know."

"Bonnie?"

"A woman."

What?

"I was holding her hand instead of yours. You were behind her, yelling at me." My blood turned to ice. "I couldn't hear what you were saying. It was like some kind of fog separated us. But you were frantic. And scared."

I stared. I couldn't think of anything to do or say, so I did and said nothing.

Bonnie shook her head, throwing up her hands. "I… I don't know. I don't know what I saw." She looked around and then said, "I'm going to get another beer."

I watched her rush off then turned far enough to look over my shoulder. There were a few people further back, but no doppelgänger.

That couldn't have been Elena, could it? Maybe Katherine?

Shivering, I rubbed at my arms. I could feel the fine hairs standing on end, tickling as my sleeves rubbed against them. Blowing out a breath, I turned to head back to the pavilion.

And nearly ran into a solid wall of muscle. I took a startled step back, head snapping up. "Stefan?"

He smiled. "Hey." His brows pinched together. "I didn't scare you, did I?"

"Just startled," I assured him.

His lips softened into that small smile. But it only lasted a moment before melting away. "Is something wrong? You look upset."

I took a breath and shook my head. "No, just—something weird Bonnie said."

"Oh?"

"It doesn't matter." I let my hands fall to my sides. "You made it."

His eyes were still searching my face, his expression concerned. He didn't think it was nothing. But his, "I did," suggested he was willing to drop it.

"Stefan!"

We both stiffened at the sudden greeting. Standing right behind Stefan, Damon sported a wry smirk.

Stefan levelled a low-browed, guarded stare at Damon. Damon met it with a smile, his crinkled eyes glinting like arctic light off an ice sheet. "Beer?" he offered, holding up an unopened bottle.

"What are you doing, Damon?" Stefan stared so hard it was as if he was trying to see into Damon's head.

"Well, Stefan, I'm enjoying the party I was invited to. You should give it a try sometime." Damon's gaze shifted to me. "Finished with your friend?"

Bonnie. I looked around and found her back up on the pavilion with Caroline and the others. She was hugging her arms, eyes darting around until they fell back on me. As soon as she met my stare, her eyes widened and slid away.

My brows gathered. "I guess so."

Damon shoved the beer into Stefan's hand and strutted over to my side. "Why don't we go look at the falls?" His arm found it's favorite perch across my shoulders.

Stefan's eyes fixed on me. I offered an apologetic smile before finishing my drink and setting the empty bottle on a log behind me. "Whatever."

Damon gave Stefan a little wave with the hand draped over my shoulder. "Later."

As Damon guided me back towards another trail, he turned to look over our shoulders behind him. "Oh, he's pissed," he gloated.

I caught sight of disappointed Caroline, eyes down on her cup while Bonnie looked troubled beside her. "Is there anyone you don't enjoy screwing with, Damon?"

"Hmm, let me think—nope." Damon and I rounded the trail and moved into the trees. Eventually the pavilions became a distant twinkle of lights through the leaves, and then disappeared.

There were more lights strung up along the trail. "Why do you want to make Stefan miserable?" I knew the story but wanted to hear it from him.

"Ask him." Damon lifted a bottle, and from the swig of beer inside. "Although Steffy's not being very open with you right now."

"What do you mean?"

Damon smirked. "Mm, not yet." He pulled me closer. "I want to see the look on his face when you figure it out."

That I was the spitting image of Katherine and that's why he's so interested in me? Yeah, Damon was going to be disappointed.

A bridge strung with lights waited ahead of us. It must have been the one the boys had worked on. Our footsteps thumped against the wood as we crossed to the middle. Damon guided me to the railing, where the lights twinkled along the arch overhead. Leaning an elbow on the rail, he nodded off in the distance. "Can you see them?"

I squinted and saw a hint of the falls in the glint of the moonlight. Mostly I heard them. A constant, low spray of churning water. "Not well."

"Want to get closer?" Damon asked before throwing the rest of his beer back and then tossing the bottle down into the river.

"It looks pretty far," I said doubtfully.

Damon moved his arm off my shoulders and turned around. "Hop on."

I blinked. "What? Like, on your back?"

"Like, yes. Duh."

"What, so you can get me somewhere secluded and feed?" I folded my arms, ignoring the excited tingle in my belly. "No thank you."

Damon looked over his shoulder. "I won't feed on you tonight."

"And I should believe you because…"

"Because I haven't lied to you."

"My bag," I corrected.

"I haven't lied to you today," he amended. He sighed. "Just get on, Elena. Do I need to threaten someone again?"

As I grit my teeth and walked over, I heard him mutter, "Most stubborn woman I've ever met." Knowing I was frustrating him me smile slightly.

I wrapped my arms around his neck. He extended his arms out to the side for my legs. Frowning, I hopped up. His hands cradled the backs of my thighs. I was glad I'd picked out a pair of jeans and not leggings or, heaven forbid, a skirt.

"Hold on tight," he said. "And don't let go."

I tightened my hold till, if he'd been human, he'd probably be choking. I also locked my ankles over his abs and said, "This is very Twilight."

"If you're expecting me to sparkle later on, you're going to be sorely disappointed."

Before I could reply, the bottom dropped out of my stomach. It was like one of those barrel rides, where they spin around so fast, you're pressed up against the wall while all your organs feel shoved back. If it weren't for Damon's grip on me, I doubt I'd have been able to hold on.

The world was a smear of darkness. I had to close my eyes and hide my face in the crook of his neck as gorge rose up my throat.

Thankfully, it was over almost as soon as it began. "Alright," he yelled over the roar of crashing water.

Able to breathe without feeling as if my lungs were being squeezed, I took a breath of humid air. I was cautious as I opened my eyes. Fortunately, we'd stopped. I lifted my head higher.

We were on the edge of a cliff overlooking the falls. The water looked like mercury in the moonlight. It flowed over the edge into a misting veil of cascading silver, plunging into the churning river below. Fireflies danced along the shore. Without the city lights, the stars were a bright dusting of glitter across a velvety darkness.

"It's beautiful," I breathed.

Damon looked back. His eyes were bright, more silver than blue, like the water and the stars. They stared for several long moments. Unable to endure the building tension any longer, I asked, "What?"

He blinked and turned back around. "Want to go skinny dipping?"

I shoved his shoulder. "No!"

"You're no fun, Elena," he complained.

I was about to make a comment about perverted crows when his muscles stilled beneath me. His head swiveled to the right. He walked towards the edge of the cliff, until he was close enough to lean over the ledge. Which he did… with me still riding his back.

I held on tighter, heart pounding against his back as the wet air rose up to hit my face and blow back my hair.

Then he stepped off the ledge.

It happened so fast I barely had time to draw a gasping breath before my stomach flew into my esophagus as we plummeted. The ground slammed into his feet, sending a shockwave up his legs. Damon merely straightened up and started walking, not so much as a twitch in his stride.

"Don't do that!"

"Shh." He nodded his head, letting go of one of my thighs to point. "Looks like I wasn't the only one with the idea to go skinny dipping."

I squinted in the direction he was pointing and discovered two distant figures bobbing in the water. They were—well. Yeah. They'd had the same idea. Their faces were mashed pretty firmly together. Averting my eyes, I turned to look back, and saw a pile of clothes strewn over a large boulder that had cracked apart from the cliff face.

Damon let go of my other leg, and I slid down his back to the ground. Before I could ask what he was doing, he had his shirt up and over his head.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. "What are you doing?!" I hissed, mortified at the expanse of naked back. I could trace the muscles with my eyes as they shifted beneath pale skin. The scapula of his shoulders slid together and apart. Biceps bulging as he moved his arms to— "Don't take off your pants!"

"SHH!" he hissed. "I swear, Elena, if you scare off dinner…" he threw a warning glare over his shoulder.

"Scare off—" my eyes rounded again. "You can't… eat them!"

"Uh, yes I can." Damon moving his hands around to grip either side of the wasteland of his jeans was the only warning I had that he was about to drop them.

I looked away as I heard the rustle of stiff fabric and clicking of the zipper. "Damon, don't!"

"Stay here," he ordered.

Before I could think better of it, I looked around and grabbed his upper arm. I was careful not to look down, but to meet the annoyed stare of the vampire whose eyes were already darkening in anticipation. "Don't, Damon," I entreated again. "You don't have to. I'll drive you to the hospital myself. Help you get to the blood supply."

He stared at me as if I were mad. Considering his black and red eyes, it was a terrifying glare. "Elena. We've had this discussion. I can't feed from you, so I'm going to eat them," he flung a hand out, "instead."

I quivered, and my throat seized, but despite my suddenly chattering teeth, I managed to say, "Feed from me, then."

He paused, his dark eyes rounding in surprise. "You'd let me?"

I trembled but nodded.

His sights narrowed, face tilting down as his gaze flew over my body. He scoffed. "You care about a couple of strangers that much?"

"You won't kill me," I reasoned. Whether I was trying to convince myself or him, I wasn't sure.

His sights narrowed. "I won't? How can you be so certain of that?"

I couldn't admit to my knowledge of Katherine. "Because you like me. Enough to find out where we put the spare key to the front door and what my friend's names are. You wouldn't go to all that trouble just to murder me."

"You know, plenty of murderers go to that much trouble," he pointed out amiably.

I stared. "You care."

"I told you, I'm a vampire, Elena. I don't have any humanity."

"I don't believe that." I chewed my lip. "I think, somewhere deep down, you regret hurting people." His eyes narrowed. "And you want to go back to being human."

Damon stood still, the moonlight reflecting off his pale skin as if he were glowing. He stared with those monstrous eyes, veins pulsing beneath his eyelids, until they began to drain to his normal arctic gaze.

Relief so powerful I could have collapsed washed over me. I smiled, real and wide and unbelievably happy. Damon smiled back.

And I realized I'd made a terrible mistake.

His smile was a dead thing. His eyes empty of all emotion except fury. His cheeks pulled back so far it was almost as if he meant to snarl, instead. He ducked, grabbed his pants, and pulled them back up. By the time he had them fastened, the smile had fallen from my face.

His hadn't. It was like it was carved there.

He grabbed my arm. "Upsy daisy," he said, all faux-cheerfulness.

He nearly threw me as he swung me onto his back. I barely had time to wrap my arms and legs around him before he was leaping up the cliff. I couldn't watch him punching the rock with his fingers, instead I shut my eyes and did my best to endure the gravity-shifting speed at which he moved.

When we came to a stop, I heard voices off in the distance. The sharp and emotional words of two people fighting.

"I want you to know, you can thank Stefan for this."

"What?"

Damon grabbed my arm and dragged me with him. I had to step quickly to keep up. "I do love that Gilbert blood, and you did offer. But since I can't have yours, I'll have to take it from somewhere else."

I was confused as to what he meant, until we rounded a tree and—

Vicki and Jeremy.

Damon's hand was gone, along with the rest of him. Suddenly he was in front of Vicki. She only had time to widen her eyes in shock before, "You're thirsty. You're going back to the party for a drink."

"Hey, whatever. I'm out of here," she replied before turning around.

"What the hell?" Jeremy demanded. He put his hand on Damon's bare shoulder as Vicki continued walking away.

"Jeremy!" I shouted, terrified.

Damon whirled around. His eyes were black. His lips were drawn back, revealing all his teeth. His canines were pointed and glistened. His jaw opened so wide it looked as if it couldn't be attached to his skull.

"Damon! No!"

Jeremy shouted. Damon struck.

It was so fast and hard, it was as if Damon had tackled him. Jeremy fell back, Damon on top of him. They hit the ground. Something squelched and Jeremy screamed. Damon snarled.

I stared, horrified. Then I was moving. Skidding over rock and moss and leaves and dirt as Jeremy wriggled and shouted in pain. As the slurping continued.

At their side, I stood frozen for too long, trying to figure out what to do. I finally grabbed a handful of Damon's hair and tried wrenching him off. He ignored me. Blood was pooling on the ground. Some of it slid to the tip of Elena's shoe.

Jeremy had stopped screaming and was gazing up at the treetops with glazed eyes. I realized Damon intended to kill him.

"DAMON!"

I grabbed another fistful of hair and yanked. I ended up with handfuls of black hair, but Damon was still draining Jeremy. I yelled, kicked at his ribs. Jeremy's eyes slid shut.

And then Damon was flying away from him.

His side slammed into a distant tree, hard. He grunted as he landed on the ground.

And standing over Jeremy and in front of me was Stefan.

Damon, rubbing the back of his hand across his chin, smearing Jeremy's blood over his face, let out a mocking laugh. "Really, Stefan? This again?"

Stefan's jaw ticked. "I won't let you hurt her."

Damon snorted. "That's what you said last time." He grinned, showing off his pink-stained teeth. "Didn't stop me then, either."

"You've gotten what you wanted," Stefan said. "Leave."

"I don't know. He's still breathing."

I grabbed Jeremy and leaned over him.

"Is this helping, brother?" Stefan asked. "Does it make you feel less like a traitor to her memory?"

Damon grinned. "As if she compares."

"You're right. They're nothing alike."

The two stared silently as the leaves rustled overhead.

Damon grinned. "I can enter anytime. You can't protect them."

"Leave," Stefan demanded.

Damon shrugged, bare skin still gleaming in the dim light. He licked up the blood from the back of his hand and smirked at me. "See you soon, Elena."

And he was gone.

I collapsed to my knees, staring off into the darkness. Then turned to the boy on the ground. He was ashen, his neck smeared with blood where the skin had been torn into. I didn't know what to do. "Stefan!"

Stefan knelt beside me, frowning. "He's dying."

"Help him. Please, Stefan!"

Staring down at Jeremy, the blood vessels in his eyes pulsing, Stefan eventually shoved down his sleeve and bit into his wrist. "I don't know if there's enough time," he warned as he held the open wound over Jeremy's mouth and squeezed his forearm. Blood trickled from his wrist and dropped between Jeremy's lips.

Transfixed, I waited, everything in me a bundle of wrought nerves. I looked for the slightest sign that Jeremy was healing. Nothing happened.

I was about to ask Stefan to try feeding him more when the side of his neck began to meld back together. It merged completely, smooth and unblemished, as if the wound hadn't happened at all.

Jeremy opened his eyes, wide and terrified and darting to and fro as he gasped awake. He met my stare, and then Stefan's small smile, and lifted a hand to his neck. "What?" he asked as he brought his hand before his eyes, staring at the blood staining his skin.

Stefan frowned. Meeting my eyes before looking down at Jeremy. As soon as Jeremy locked eyes, searching for answers, Stefan's pupils contracted. "You had too much to drink. You fell down and hit your head. You weren't attacked."

"I wasn't attacked," Jeremy repeated slowly.

Stefan blinked and Jeremy looked woozily around before holding a hand to his head. He grimaced at me. "Think I drank too much."

"I'll take you home," I said, soft and gentle as I took a hand. Stefan took the other, and together we helped him up.

As soon as Jeremy was standing on his own two feet, Stefan looked to me. "We should talk."

"Yeah."

Stefan glanced at Jeremy before gazing back at me. He lowered his voice as Jeremy wandered towards the trail. "Tonight. Once everyone else is asleep. I'll be waiting outside your window."

The idea should have terrified me, but Stefan had just saved Jeremy's life. I nodded. "Okay."

Stefan nodded back. "I'll make sure you get to your car."

Together we followed the lights back towards the pavilions. Jeremy would occasionally stretch his neck and rub at his head. It was quiet except for the distant music and the rustle of leaves.

Except the closer we got, the bigger commotion we heard.

When we stepped out into the open, several eyes turned to me. "Hey, Elena! This some kind of prank?" a boy I didn't recognize asked as we strode near him.

"What?"

"Elena!"

I turned to see Caroline hurrying across the grounds, a frown on her face. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything."

"What's going on?" Jeremy asked.

Caroline huffed, holding out her phone. "Elena's gone nuts. She's texting a bunch of crazy stuff at everybody." Caroline scowled. "It's not funny."

"Caroline, Elena doesn't have her phone," Stefan said.

Caroline's brows flew up. "Then who's doing it?"

"What do they say?" Stefan asked.

Caroline turned her phone back. "A bunch of stuff. Like, a dozen nine-one-ones. A whole wall of text that's just help me over and over. And another that says imposter. And thief."

Stefan held out a hand. Caroline handed her phone over. I leaned over his arm as he began to scroll through all the texts. There were dozens, just as Caroline said.

"Whose gotten them?"

"Like, everybody," she said, waving an arm.

"I haven't," he said.

"Everybody in her contacts? I don't know," Caroline returned.

A cold chill had my body hair standing on end as Jeremy pulled out his phone. "Me too. Must have happened while I was out."

I looked around to find the whole party staring at me, a confused murmur of voices sweeping through the gathered teens like a spreading virus. Bonnie was back at the bonfire and met my stare with the same unsettled look on her face. Our eyes met.

All the lights blew in a flurry of popping bulbs, and darkness swallowed us.

[suiciderealestate]

Today I am making an agreement with myself to stop giving any kind of flying fuck about what other people think, especially the specific brand of idiot I often surround myself with. My life is my life, my work is my work, what I do is for me alone and really no one else. If I have something to say I’ll say it, and I’ll say it in really any way that I want to. I don’t need a specific voice. I don’t need a specific style. I don’t need to seek or give false approval. Things like that do little to serve me and today I am accepting that there are people in my life I have strung along in ritual and who also no longer serve me.

Lately I have been drinking — a lot. In fact, at this very moment I am somewhat intoxicated. Over the course of the day, I consumed a bottle of rum, but I’m still not really satisfied. I want another bottle of fucking rum so I can pump this bullshit out and get on with my life. I guess I need to make a confession, on the off chance the relevant members of the peanut gallery will read it, and if not, it’s here for posterity’s sake.

I have spent years in myriad unhealthy relationships. In fact, almost all of my relationships are unhealthy. Now, when it gets to that point you kind of have to wonder to yourself: Are all of my relationships unhealthy because I myself am a toxic individual? Probably. I definitely don’t think I’m pristine, but the thing is that even people who are toxic to some aren’t necessarily toxic to others. It’s all about that glorious immune system that renders you unfazed by another’s corrosive influence. But in some cases, the toxicity of two people builds into a chemical reaction that creates a unique kind of poison, one that doesn’t kill you, one that doesn’t get you high, but one that fogs your mind enough to make you think you like it and convinces you that it’s a good idea to keep drinking.

I often tell myself that I say what I think and speak the things I feel, but lately I feel that I’ve been less of that person. I have, time and time again, chosen to spare people’s feelings, with some exceptions that I have been routinely castigated for but for which I am still not sorry. It should be noted that when someone pushes you down the stairs, they should not remain your friend. That is called insanity. And no, I was not the one who was pushed down the stairs. I was the one who pushed that bitch down the stairs.

It’s ridiculous to me that these things can procrastinate the way they do. Like when I was drunk and she made me drive myself home because she didn’t like that I was infatuated with a racist. A good rationale, one that I ultimately got over, but let’s speed up the reel — to the night she was the designated driver and I was the blackout idiot on Xanax who was made to drive home because her bisexual lover made out with me in public, right after I made out with her. I slept that night at the club for probably the whole time we were there, but then later in the evening when they were fighting and I absentmindedly kissed, I don’t know, his hand? I was allowed to drive myself home, at which point I momentarily passed out in the car and ran off the road.

When I talked to her later, it was made out to be nothing. I was acting up. This and that. I was so fucked up I didn’t even know I was passed out at the club for an hour or more. I had no idea. I thought it was just three or four hours chock full of me being ridiculous, but when I found out the innocuous truth, I guess I was a tad miffed at what happened, that someone would be so self-absorbed they would let me cast my life to the winds of fate, no strings attached.

Later on, she realized that some friends of mine were mad at her, because obviously I had a few things to say about it, trying to sort my emotions, attempting to determine if I was being ridiculous. When confronted with the situation, she said something along the lines of, “Whatever happens happens. I’m not going to apologize.” That was what set the tires to a screeching halt until it came to be crunch time. Boyfriend viciously headbutted her in the face after what was I guess a trivial argument that involved a dispute about somebody not leaving.

There was blood. Pictures were taken. An Instagram-Facebook witch hunt was launched. I decided not to care. This here is not poetry, but I guess it’s time to lay out some honesty for this honesty-starved online diary, because I guess I’ve just committed myself to turning the other cheek and moving on. And for those curious, photos of the phallic empress litter this repository. But, as I said before, sometimes moving on with the albatross still hanging around your neck is an endless fool’s errand. I took the boy’s side online, in the form of a Facebook comment, because up until that point the only bouts of feckless insanity I had thus far witnessed came from the queen of the ocean deeps, not him.

I won’t say I’m not crazy. I certainly am. Both of us bond over one thing more than anything else: We are both subject to the same romantic delusions, that always end in tragedy. But is that really anything to base a friendship off of? To hold out for an oasis of mutual misery and bicker during the oscillating moments of unmatched happiness and sadness that invariably constitute the in-between? I’m not really sure. All I know is that I haven’t forgotten what happened. Both of us see the other as having committed a wrong, but neither of us really feels sorry for what we did. She doesn’t feel sorry for potentially sending me on my way to my (maybe) death while she haunted an idiot’s dick, while I don’t see how defending said idiot in public when it comes to the whims of a flighty plus-size siren is really all that deplorable.

But people have their own feelings about these situations, and I guess I just decided to move on. I usually do. It’s a problem. With boys, friends, this, that and the other, I tend to just try to get over it. No use in holding grudges. But in the back of my mind I feel the psychic weight of all this drama. I am not innocent. Nobody is innocent. But at what point do you put a stop to the tedium? These days we exchange art with each other that neither of us care about, share dreams that neither of us truly believe in, talk hot air to each other, taking turns, like fleshly diaries chatting at the other without ears to listen. It’s just taking turns to talk, taking refuge in the other’s propensity for perpetuation in the grand scheme of delusion when things get rough.

But when I look into the future, I don’t know what the real purpose is of such a relationship, if not to bog me down and incite jealousies and resentments. Always there are these settings up of reasons to hate each other. I can feel it in the casual exchanges: a Facebook add, a passing comment, an uninformed fuck. We joke that we’re old enemies from a past life. Of all the fantasies, that feels most real. Our hatreds leaked into the next world and now we’re tangled up with each other in a bramble of our own punishment. Every now and then it’s nice, but there is always a distance, a dependance, on both ends, that doesn’t feel right. Sometimes it feels sinister. Often it’s so redundant it ventures into boredom. Calling for reasons we can’t really pinpoint, talking about nothing — it sounds like a lovely friendship, but the real spikes of energy are always evil, and when we come to the other side of it we just tell ourselves that maybe it made us stronger, strengthened the toxicity of our acidic solvent.

And in this, factions have developed, tangential disdains, objectionable affinities. There are sides to this endless drama and the hostility that underlies it, bubbling up, lashing out. There is always the jealousy, the resentment, the entitlement, the deep-seated desire to get revenge when the opportunity presents itself. Do you understand? And even though I have refrained from taking advantage of such an insidious, persistent impulse, afterthoughts linger like regrets that make me feel like maybe, just maybe, I should have tossed out the holy water and stolen sweet Sylvia’s playthings if only for a moment in the screen room. Maybe I did it once before. Maybe it’s a cute fantasy that we entertain as an adhesive to our strange, magnetic, miasmic bond. All I know is that honesty henceforth will have to be the best policy. And if honesty proves a sharp stone that cuts into the soft skin of this relationship’s sinew, then cut it to ribbons, because I don’t care.