#Things that have trickled out or been found since then only increased it

[toa-archive]

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[so-long-soldier-writes]

Dog Days Are Over

kai parker x reader

summary: the post-wedding heartbreak never ceases. without him, life seems to lose its meaning. but despite your best efforts to depart and chase the void that seems to call to you, somehow you're held back. someone refuses to let you go.

tags: tw: su1c1de attempt & thoughts, blood, blood drinking, vampirism / transition, heretics / siphoning, emotional hurt / comfort, light angst, heartache, anger / mild violence, slow recovery, domesticity, friendships, found family, canon divergence, loosely follows plot of seasons 7 & 8

word count: 8.2k

a/n: I'm obsessed with found family x heretics, if you can't tell. I've had this idea for months and finally was able to execute it! (and by execute, i mean write the whole thing in 10 hours & edit for 2 days)

A subtle weight rests on your body; a heaviness in your chest makes it hard to breathe. You don’t fight it. In a couple of minutes, it won’t matter anyway. The wound in your stomach bleeds, soiling your bright blue shirt with a dark red tint. Your heart rate slows, and your eyes flutter. The world around you is getting darker by the second. The end is near, and you swear you can taste it. To whether it’s heaven or hell you are headed, you don’t mind. Or maybe, it’s nothingness. A void. Either way, anything is better than here. 

Your short gasps for breath begin to even out as your heart fails. Pumping no longer seems necessary, so the organ quits. It succumbs to the state that your brain has been in for weeks: numb. Cold. Dead. 

A glimpse of life flashes before your wilting eyes. A figure running towards you, putting their hands on your cheek. Your lover, maybe, greeting you for an eternity of peaceful nothingness together. Your lips part in the joy of seeing him. Blood trickles from your mouth; the wound finally shutting down your body. Your eyes close and you welcome the darkness. 

<•>

The next time you wake up, it’s still dark, and you automatically assume it’s the void that called you home. The Other Side collapsed over a year ago, but supernatural creatures have died since, and nobody ever knows where they go. Here, presumably. To the dark. 

After a moment, your eyes begin to adjust and you move to sit up on your knees. The ground beneath you is hard and cold, like cement. It is not at all welcoming or comforting, but maybe that’s how death is supposed to feel. You shrug, not caring yet. Soon, you won’t feel anymore. Soon, you’ll enter the void, or cross the Styx, or whatever is the last necessary step of dying. Soon, you’ll be free. 

You stand, then stumble. One minute, your mind and soul feel empty, but in the next, an insatiable hunger takes over your body. It knocks you back to your knees. A whine escapes your throat. Death should not feel this way. Death is supposed to be empty. Something’s wrong. 

“Hello?” You call into the void, not expecting an answer. 

Instead, you hear a far-off voice, talking not to you, but someone else. “She’s awake.”

Fear thumbs in your heart. You put a hand over it, only to realize after a couple seconds that it’s not beating. The hunger increases as the sound of footsteps approaches. This isn’t happening. You can’t be alive; shouldn’t be. You chose death. Wanted it. Sought it. 

But someone had other plans. 

<•>

“Hello?” A girl calls out, maybe to you. She waits, then pulls back a small window, letting a little light in your supposed void. “Where are you?”

“What do you want?” You ask, straining. Your voice comes out weaker than you like it to be.

“I brought you something.” 

“Nora, turn on the light,” another girl says.

“Would you like a light?”

No, you think. You’d like to be dead. But… you’d also like to identify your captors. “Okay.”

An overhead light comes on a moment later. You shut your eyes tight as it floods your senses, then open it once you start to adjust. 

“Too much?”

“Was there a lamp option?” You sass. 

“I could find a lamp,” the second girl suggests.

“We’ll find her one in a moment,” the first turns back to you, “can you see us alright?”

Finally, you can. Two girls peek through a window, one brunette and one blonde. They seem sweet, not like the high school mean girls’ type, but you’re still cautious. “I can see you.”

“Good. We have something for you.”

The smell of blood attacks your senses. Your hunger grows. 

You make two big strides to the pair, before realizing something. You weren’t a vampire before, so why should the smell of blood excite you now? You stop, shaking your head. “No.”

“You have to drink,” the blonde urges. You have to complete the transition, she doesn’t say, despite it on her mind. 

“No, I wanted to die. I tried to die.” You lock eyes with the brunette. “One of you turned me.”

“Y/N, you can’t die. You-”

“How do you know my name?! Who are you?!”

“That doesn’t matter right now, what matters is that you drink.”

“No!”

“Y/N, please!” She holds the bag further out to you. 

Your weak body begs for you to drink, but your mournful heart refuses. “No!” You shout again. “I’m not drinking your blood; I’m not transitioning!”

“You have to!” The blonde agrees with her friend. “You’re getting paler by the second.”

“Good. Then I’ll have lived and died a witch.”

“You’re too young to die, Y/N. You can’t give up. He wouldn’t want you to give up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Please, drink, and then we can talk.”

“No. You can’t make me.”

“I can,” she argues.

“You won’t come in here with me. With me so close to transitioning. That would be suicide.”

“Well we can’t let you die, either.”

You stand off with the two girls. They seem to communicate telepathically between themselves. It’s quite frightening to not know what they’re thinking. You stare at them, wondering who they are and why they care that you live. 

“You’ll thank us later, Y/N, just drink.”

“I don’t want to live. If I wanted to, I wouldn’t have stabbed myself.”

“You won’t feel this heartbreak forever,” the blonde speaks, like a Hallmark card you didn’t ask to receive. You roll your eyes. 

“I think we have to,” the first girl says, hand undoing the bag.

“I agree.”

Before you can ask about their apparent plan, they’re opening the door and swarming to you. 

“Get out!” You cry. The blonde holds your left arm, while the brunette backs you up to the wall. “I don’t want it.”

“You’ll be grateful one day,” she sticks her promise to you again. 

“If it’s not today, there’s no point. I can’t take this anymore.”

“Take it from someone who spent a hundred years in solitary confinement, I know loneliness. It hurts. It’s worse than a knife to the stomach,” she references your attempt. It’s still apparent on your clothes. “But life isn’t all sad. Sometimes it can be beautiful.”

“I’ve seen it beautiful,” you argue, tears forming in your eyes, “I've seen it, yet I’ll never see it again.”

“You have to trust us. Trust yourself. You can be happy again.”

“No.”

“Yes, Y/N, come on. Drink the blood.” The brunette holds the bag to your face, pinning you against the wall.

“No.” In a last ditch effort, you raise your free arm and smack the bag out of her hand. It flies, then hits the stone wall across from you and splatters. Her eyes go wide, and when she looks back at you, a triumphant look shines in your eyes. 

“What did you do that for?!” The blonde shouts. “Waste a perfectly good bag!”

“It’s okay, Mary Louise, just means she’ll get a taste of the real stuff.” Before you can ask, the vampire before you is biting her wrist and shoving it between your lips. You fight, kicking and swinging, but the girls are much stronger. “Keep her still,” she nods to her friend, “just a little more.”

Your wrist starts to burn. You glance down for a second and see an orange glow emitting from the point of connection on your skin. “What-”

The brunette takes advantage of your parted lips and shoves her wrist further into your mouth. “Okay, stop,” she says, and the girl siphoning stops. 

Your body is weak, but your heart feels strong. It doesn’t beat, but the blood filling your stomach powers it. The siphoning, however, tolls on your body. The girls let go of you, watch you daze, then gently help your body to the floor. You’re out like a light, asleep. 

<•>

You’re much stronger the second time awake. Stronger, with a vengeance. First, you need to find out who those girls were, how they were able to siphon you, and why they wanted to keep you alive. Then, you need to find the nearest piece of wood and send your soul to the void like you had planned. 

You look around, searching for anything sharp and anything wooden. You realize now that you’re in a cellar with absolutely nothing that could be used as a weapon, and the only thing in there with you is another blood bag. Angrily, you kick it and it splatters. The smell reaches your nose and you curse yourself for wasting it, now hungry. On the bright side, the violent act seems to let your captors know you’re awake. They walk gingerly down the stairs only a moment later, then switch on a lamp before opening the window. 

“Y/N?” The brunette starts, tone cautious. 

Your reply is bitter. “What?”

“I’m sorry we had to hold you down. We didn’t want it to come to that.”

“But you had to drink. We couldn’t let you die.”

“What do you care? And who are you?” Then, “and why could you siphon me?”

“If we let you out, will you run?”

“We can’t let her out, Mary. I don’t trust she won’t hurt herself.” You scoff. She turns back to you. “I’m Nora, this is Mary Louise.”

“And? How do you know me?”

“Well, we don’t, but we recognized you from pictures.”

“Pictures? What pictures?”

The girls hesitate. A name rests on their tongues, but they don’t utter it. Unbeknownst to you, they fear saying it out loud will drive you mad. Names have power, and in this case, a lot of it. 

“Doesn’t matter right now,” the brunette, Nora, says instead. “What matters is that you get better.”

You laugh dryly. “I would’ve been better off dead.”

Mary Louise seems to get agitated at that. “Stop saying that! You have to live! He’d-”

“Mary, don’t say anything.” The girl quiets immediately. 

“Why do you care so much if I live? Who’s he? Where am I?”

“Technically, you’re in the Salvatore house. The basement. We’d give you a room if we could trust you, but it’s too great a risk that you’d hurt yourself still.”

“Why the boarding house? Where’s Damon? Stefan? Do they know I’m here?”

The girls share glances but confess nothing. “You’re safe here. We are not going to hurt you.”

“That’s what people often say before hurting said captive.”

“You’re at more risk by your own hand than ours,” Mary retorts. “You stabbed yourself in an alley behind a dumpster. You’re lucky Nora and I sensed the blood.”

“Luck is not the term I’d use. If you couldn’t tell, I did it on purpose.”

They sigh as if they knew it was on purpose, but for some reason they’re not telling you, they still felt the need to save you. 

You ask again, “why did you turn me? Why not just let me die?”

Nora hands you a new blood bag. “Drink this.”

Rolling your eyes more, you refuse. “No.”

“Drink, and we’ll give you answers.”

“C’mon, you’ve already transitioned,” Mary argues, “you might as well not dessicate.”

You know she’s right. Angrily, you snatch the bag and drink it down quickly. When you toss the bag back at Nora, she sighs. 

“You’re a friend of a friend of ours,” she says vaguely. “He would want you to live. He’d want you to live your life and die naturally, rather than die young and heartbroken.”

“That ‘naturally’ part is no longer happening-”

“-which is not our fault,” Mary snaps, interrupting you.

“Mary,” the other calms, “patience. Yes, when you die, it will no longer be natural, but at least as a vampire, you have a shot at life again. In a sense, maybe, it’s a gift. You can leave if you want to leave. You can go where you want. You’re not bound by human laws or rules. You can be free.”

“I don’t want to be free. I don’t want anything if I can’t-” you stop yourself. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know. But someday, you’ll realize life is worth living, and you’ll be glad that you got a second chance. Take it from someone - both of us - who were given one.”

“Easy for you to say, you have each other. I have no one.”

“Maybe we can be someone for you, if you trust us.”

“Yeah, not likely.”

“Give it time, Y/N. We’ll bring you another bag later.”

As she shuts the window, you shout. “You didn’t even answer all my questions!” But they’re gone. The lamp remains on, but you’re left to your thoughts, alone. 

<•>

The same cycle repeats for days. Weeks, even. The longer the mystery girls keep you locked up, the angrier you get. They arrive, open the window, practically force you a bag, spew bullshit about how you’ll get better, then leave. Two, sometimes three times a day. No one else ever visits, although one time, they had a third girl - Valerie - join them. She didn’t talk much, but she sure did seem to study you. 

That day, after realizing there were more people in the house than just the two of them, you grow restless. Your mind is understimulated and bored. Your heart is broken and sore. You haven’t seen daylight in god knows how long. The next time Nora and Mary Louise come down, you’re ready to pick a fight. 

You drink the bag without complaints, then send it flying back through the barred window along with a string of shouts and cuss words. They’ve given you the bare minimum of information, despite promising an explanation, and saving you from death just to lock you in a cellar seems cruel and unfair. They want you to live, yet treat you like a wild animal. They swear they’re protecting you, but you can’t see them as anything but kidnappers. 

Nora remains calm throughout your rants, though Mary Louise looks on the verge of tears. It hurts, a little, to see her so upset, but if she could feel the agony you feel day-after-day, maybe she’d understand your pain. 

After every last word on your mind is spat out to the girls, Nora gives you a look that you hate. It reads that she sympathizes; she cares, in her own way, but she keeps you confined for your own good. You hate to admit it, but she’s right. If they had even given you a pillow, you’d find a way to hurt yourself. Even if you kill yourself daily just to be unconscious most of the time. Still, you scream at them. How you didn’t ask to live; how you were ready to die; how you can’t live without him, and he’s gone. You think Nora doesn’t understand, but she does. They both do. 

She doesn’t tell you she does until you settle. And when you do, she finally tells you all of it.

<•>

“Your silencing spells are weakening with her anger. She’s literally breaking them down, there’s so much pain in her screams,” Valerie tells the girls. “You better get her under control quickly, or Lily will have something to say about it.”

“She’s just facing the worst part of her transition. All the pain is hitting her at once, coupled with the fact that her lover is dead. Give her a break.”

“You shouldn’t have turned her at all, Nora.”

“Well I couldn’t very well let Kai’s girlfriend kill herself out of heartbreak. We owe it to him to save her.”

“Some people don’t want to be saved.”

“She doesn’t want to die,” Nora counters, “she just doesn’t want to live without him.”

“And now she’ll live forever without him.”

“I’m going to help her find happiness in this life. Even if he’s not here, she needs to know life is worth it to hold on and find something that makes you happy again.”

“A heartbroken vampire in love with a murdered sociopath can be a very dangerous thing.”

“So can a previously dessicated heretic still in love with her ex-lover from the eighteen hundreds,” Nora sasses. “She’ll be okay, she just needs time.”

“I bet Mary Louise won’t like you devoting so much time to a girl that’s not her.”

Mary enters the conversation from the kitchen. She leans against the doorframe, a small smirk on her lips. “Mary quite likes the girl, actually. She’s grateful to Kai for feeding us and busting us out of that god-awful prison world, and she knows how much Y/N meant to him. And, she likes seeing her girlfriend put so much effort into healing someone else’s broken heart.”

Valerie rolls her eyes, defeated. “Whatever. Just put up new silencing spells, because the neighbors will start to complain.”

<•> 

That afternoon, the girls visit you and prepare themselves for a new string of cuss words. The modern day tongue seems to have many at the ready, and the pair are always surprised to hear the variations you spew at them. Although, when they open the window this time, they’re shocked to find you sitting criss-cross, in the middle of the floor, sobbing heavily. Your hands cover your face, and you seem to neglect to notice their presence. Nora’s heart breaks. In the moment, you remind her of Alice in Wonderland in her sea of tears. She recalls reading that book over a century ago and relating to lost little Alice. Now, she’s transported back in time as she looks at you.

“Y/N?” She asks cautiously. You look up, glance at her, but then dart your eyes back to the ground. “Are you okay?” 

“How is life supposed to get better? How do I live after all this tragedy? Where do I go from here?”

“That’s something we’d like to help you find out, if you’d let us.”

“That’s why we turned you,” Mary adds, “so that you could find it, and have friends along the way. We want to help you.”

You raise your head back up to them. “I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough for it.”

“You are perfectly capable of living a life you can be proud of. You just need a little push to get there.”

“And how am I supposed to get there, living in here? In this cellar?”

“This is only temporary. This is for your safety, until you find it in yourself to want to live. ‘Til the desire to hurt yourself is gone, okay?”

“We have another bag for you,” Mary says, tossing it to you.

You drink it unquestioningly, and they prepare for the shouting. This time, however, it never comes. You only nod to the girls, then lie on your back and continue to cry. 

<•>

A month after your transition, you finally settle. Most of the anger and tears have subsided, and the boundary and silencing spells hold without wavering. Nora and Mary Louise want nothing more than to tell you their full story, and they think you’re finally ready to hear it. 

For the first time ever, you smile at them. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Nora says calmly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I want to die,” you blurt out, but then sigh. “But okay. A bit numb.”

“You haven’t turned off your humanity, have you?” Mary jokes lightly.

“And be even more bored out of my skull? No.”

“Good. Bag?” 

You shrug. 

“Can we come in?”

Your eyes narrow at Nora’s request. The question is new to you. Usually, they stay beyond the cellar door. The last time they had come in with you, she force fed you her blood. But despite that memory, you don’t feel threatened by the girls anymore. They give you a strange sense of peace, like you could trust them, for reasons you don’t understand. “Sure,” you reply. 

They join you on the ground, the three of you all sitting criss-crossed. Mary hands you the bag, which you accept and drink quietly. 

“Y/N…” Nora starts, “we know you have a lot of questions. And while we didn’t want to give you any responses before, we think you’re ready to hear some answers now.”

You pause sipping your bag. “Really?”

“Well the hard part of your transition is over,” Mary says, “we’d really like you to trust us, and we’d like to have trust in you, too, so that we can let you out. But in order for that to happen, we have to know you’ll be safe in the world. No pointy objects, no wood.”

You turn to Nora. “Is that one of the questions you’ll answer? The real reason you want me alive?”

“It is.”

You nod. “I’m listening. And I promise, I’m okay right now. I’m not going to hurt you, or myself, unless I have reason. Truth be told, I don’t really have the mental strength for it.”

Nora nods, too, then, “why?”

“What?”

“Why is it that you don’t have the strength? What’s plaguing you? Why did you attempt to take your own life?”

“I…” your eyes already start to water again, “I can’t live without him. I don’t want to live without him.”

“And who is him?”

“I- I can’t say.”

“Can’t say because you fear our judgment, or can’t say his name out loud?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Might I say it, then?”

“I guess. If you know…”

“Y/N… we know it’s Kai. And we know because his… passing affects us, too.” Hearing his name out loud shatters your heart, but Nora saying she knew him catches your attention. You tilt your head at her. “The reason we were able to siphon you earlier is because we’re like him. We’re heretics.” You straighten. “We were trapped in the 1903 prison world. Kai fed us and let us out. We owe our survival to him.”

“He became a brother to us,” Mary adds, “was a brother to us. We’re all of the same family, with the same rejected gene, although a century apart. Besides each other, we’ve never had anyone understand us, and aside from Lily, no one’s ever cared to listen.”

“But how do you know me? You know,” your voice wavers, his name coming off your tongue weakly, “Kai. How do you know me?”

“Because, silly, he loved you,” Nora rolls her eyes gently, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Mary nods. “Once he knew we were trustworthy, he talked to us nonstop. Some of it was about the modern world or his own past, but he mostly talked about you. He had the strangest device, a phone, he called it, and would look at pictures of you until it died, and after that, he had one in his wallet.”

“And he’d tell stories. How kind you always were, how he came to trust you, and how you had started a relationship together.”

“The longer he spent there, the more worked up he was getting. He told us about 1994 and what had happened, and that he’d spent eighteen years in another prison world, just to end up in a colder, darker one. I think that’s where the wedding went wrong.”

You agree. “He told me his biggest fear was getting sent to one of those again. Being alone.”

“Not only being alone, but being without you,” Nora says. “We were there, but he still needed you.”

“And although we kept him company, it wasn’t the same.”

“Valerie didn’t help much,” Nora mutters.

“Valerie… the other one? Upstairs?”

“She didn’t approve of his crime to get locked in 1994. She seemed to have forgotten her own childhood, judging his like that. We all grew up similarly. Told we were abominations and cast away.”

You’re about to make a comment on that, but Mary beats you to speaking first,

“You didn’t flinch when I siphoned you.”

“Yeah, um,” you smile, a memory surfacing, “I used to let Kai siphon whenever he wanted.”

“It didn’t hurt?”

“I liked it.” You shrug. “Hurt a little, sometimes. Like a burn, but… I liked the feeling.”

“You say ‘whenever he wanted,’ so like, not only for spells?”

“Sometimes he just wanted to feel magic in his blood. I didn’t use my magic a lot, and knew he had been deprived of it, so regardless if he was performing a spell or not, yes, I’d let him siphon.”

“So…” Nora starts, “you said you didn’t use your magic a lot?”

“Not really.”

“So you won’t be too upset at losing it now that you’re a vampire?”

You give her a playful glare. “I’ll miss it, but I can live without it.” Her face lights up at your choice of words. “What?”

“‘You can live without it’. That’s exactly what I want to hear from you; that you know you can live, despite the tragedy, just like you said you fear.”

“Nora-”

“Sh, sh, sh, let me relish this moment.” Mary giggles at her girlfriend. “You want to fight the war inside your mind. You want to live.”

“I wanted to live with Kai,” you remind. “Alone…”

“You won’t be alone. We know what it’s like to be lonely. We won’t let you feel that way.”

“I just… it’s going to take some time for me to heal. I can’t promise it’ll be easy.”

“We’ve got your back, Y/N. Kai would have wanted you to live. We want that for you, too.”

You nod, still a bit unsure, but now aware that these girls aren’t going to let you out of their sight, so you might as well comply. “Can I stay here, then?”

“In the cellar or upstairs?”

“I don’t know.”

Mary rolls her eyes playfully. “C’mon, we have a room ready for you.”

<•>

Adjusting to your new life is hard. Living without Kai is hard. Living with the heretics, though, is surprisingly easy. They’ve taken you in as one of their own, filling in the void that Kai left, and treating you like family. Valerie is a little weary around you, perhaps wondering how you could love the man that killed his entire family, but Nora and Mary Louise don’t ever let her get far. She, too, deep down, is grateful for the escape that your lover brought them; she doesn’t let her disapproval of his crimes cloud that too much.

Beau is more similar to Valerie than the girls. He’s older than them and Kai, and has never been one to seek revenge, as told to you by Valerie. While Kai had a penchant for violence, and Nora had a heart craving retribution, the other heretics were much more level-headed. They wanted to distance themselves from their family more so than to make them pay. And although Mary Louise was one of these, she strongly supported her girlfriend’s needs, understanding how their coven’s treatment could make them turn cold. 

Once awoken in 1903, Nora quickly admires Kai for his actions. Granted, he may have not gone about his revenge in the best way, but he refused to let his father win, and won himself. Nora wasn’t a twin, just a sibling in her particular line, but she had suffered as much isolation as Kai did. For him to break free from his father’s prison world, then complete the merge he was denied and become their leader, it didn’t take much convincing to get her involved in the break-free from 1903 plan. Mary, again, went along with her girlfriend. She was passive but had a similar childhood, and couldn’t help but see Kai as the brother she always wanted. She had one, but wasn’t allowed to speak to him, and so when Kai spoke nonstop to her, she felt adored by him. And it’s true, Kai loved them all like family, because they were. 

Despite knowing most of the heretics, you never meet Malcomb, who was killed by Damon while you were still transitioning. Nor have you met Oscar, who is out running vague errands for Lily. Though you remain in the boarding house with the four until tensions start to rise between Lily and her sons. 

Lily, rarely at the house, is nonetheless welcoming to you. She offers you a simple condolence when you thank her for giving Kai her blood. She says she wishes things turned out better, and regrets not being able to save his life. In a way, you tell her, she did, but that Damon took him away from both of you. All of you, rather, as Nora strokes your hair as you speak.

The warming party between Mystic Falls’ residents and the heretics is the day your new status as a vampire is revealed. The wistful shock in Damon’s eyes and the concerned delight in Bonnie’s is something you’ll never forget, although by this time, you’re too disheartened by either of them to address it. When Mary Louise whisks you away with a bottle of bourbon, you don’t fight. Enzo sends Bonnie a confused glance that you miss, but neither comment. 

<•>

A lot happens in a short time following that night. Jo’s twins are confirmed to be alive with Caroline carrying them, something about which you’re still unsure. Valerie had a rendezvous with Stefan a century ago, and Julian’s confirmed a monster when his atrocious response slips from between her lips. For a moment, Mary Louise is hesitant to trust her, and Nora finds solace with Bonnie, but you, now permanently bonded to the two youngest heretics, pull them back together. Oscar is lost along the way, caught by the Salvatores who had just put down their own mother. Four funerals are held in a mere couple of months: Kai, Malcomb, Oscar, and Lily. One month after that, a fifth is held for Beau. 

Caroline’s twins - well, Jo’s, ish - are born, with the help of the heretics. You watch from a distance, concerned way more for Caroline birthing two refusing siphons from her vampire womb, than for the twins themselves. In the end, only Beau is the one to not make it out. A previously estranged vampire hunter released from Alaric’s armory interrupts the introduction of life with a promise of death. Bonnie was the one to let her out, it’s revealed, so it’s only fair that she’s the one to get tangled in the mess and take her down. After that, Enzo and Damon are captured by sirens and made to perform the dirty work of the two ancient beings. Bonnie’s trapped in the middle of it, as is Caroline, and incidentally, as is everyone else in the town. Eventually, what’s left of the old Mystic Falls’ gang manages to rid themselves of the sirens, only to be faced with Cade, the Devil himself. 

Though most of these details are blurry to you. Parts of the story are missing, like holes in a blanket. You’ve kept up with the general plot, but lost a lot of the story’s structure along the way. 

That’s because seven years ago, right after the twins’ birth and Beau’s funeral, the heretics ran. Valerie escaped to Europe, and you, Nora, and Mary Louise headed south. You didn’t want to get mixed up in the turmoil, especially not with Rayna Cruz, then a vengeful Bonnie, on the loose, so the three of you disappeared with barely a trace. You’re still in contact with Caroline, and Valerie remembers to charge and connect her phone, she still talks to Nora and Mary Louise, but for the most part, you’re set far apart from your old life. 

And surprisingly, you’re happy. 

Life in the boarding house with the heretics was easy. Living with Nora and Mary Louise is even easier. You’ve taught them to adapt to the modern age, despite their unfamiliarity, but as it turns out, they blend in quite well. You have a thing for take-out; the girls love catching up on all the movies they’ve missed, so many nights are spent as movie nights, eating large amounts of take-out and binging movies all night. Of course, you also rotate cooking. Mary’s the worst. Nora’s the best. You’re in the middle, no talent of your own, for it’s Kai that taught you all you know about it. 

Speaking of Kai… over time, you’ve been able to talk more about him. You open up your relationship to the heretics, sharing stories you’ve never told anyone, telling them things that most might consider TMI, but by this point in your friendship, there’s no such thing as secrets. They love it. They love laughing at the funny parts, and crying over sadder ones. They share memories and tragedies from their own pasts, sometimes relating to Kai, but sometimes, also, relating to you. 

You share blankets on the couch and straws with drinks. You braid each other’s hair and rotate chores. You dance together in the kitchen, singing along to music both old and modern, with no neighbors to hear how undeniably loud you are. You’re happy. 

<•>

It’s been a while since you’ve heard from Caroline, but when you finally do, she sends you a cryptic message that immediately pulls you to your feet. 

Caroline: I need a favor. Call me when you get a chance. 

Your eyes narrow at the text. Rarely does Caroline text with such seriousness, especially with such a long period of not speaking. 

“What is it?” Nora asks, seeing tension on your face. 

“Caroline… asking for a favor.”

“You don’t have to go back to Mystic Falls, do you? It’s dangerous there,” Mary worries. Talk of the Devil filled the last phone call you’ve had with the other blonde. Specifically, Kelly Donovan returned for one more dramatic entrance, a bell was rung, and the Devil got out. A second protection spell was put around the house, just in case, after that news. 

“I’m not sure. One moment.” You dial her number, and only wait a second before she picks up. “Caroline?”

“Y/N? Hi.”

“Hi. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Kind of. I need you to come back to Mystic Falls as soon as possible.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“It’s… it’s about the twins.”

You shoot the girls an anxious glance as they overhear the call. 

“Is everything okay with them?”

Caroline hesitates. “How soon can you get here?”

“Caroline? Are they okay?”

“Y/N-”

“Overnight. I’ll be there by morning.”

“Okay. Come to the armory.”

You pack a quick bag and hug your friends, then leave immediately. 

“Be careful,” they wish you. “Let us know if you need help.”

“I will. I’ll be back shortly.”

<•>

You burst into the armory quite loudly, calling for Caroline. She races to your side a moment later, a finger over her lips. 

“What’s wrong? Where’s the twins?”

“The twins are fine. They’re-”

“What?! Caroline, what the fuck?! I drove all night. I-”

“Come with me. Please. And be quiet.”

Still worried, but now a little pissed, you follow her down the narrow, dark hallway to the cells. You’re about to ask more questions, but then you notice a person occupying one of the rooms. “Who-?”

She spins you around by the shoulders, forcing you to look at her. “Take him and go. Wherever you are with the heretics, bring him with you. I can’t let him hurt my girls, but if he’s with you, he’ll stay away from them.”

“Caroline, what-”

“Cade is looking for him, and Stefan and Damon want to send him back in exchange for Elena’s coffin, but I know how much he means to you and if I were in your shoes, I’d intervene, too. Hell, I’ve spent the last three days compelling Stefan’s victims that they’ve been seeing things. We’ve all done questionable things for the people we love, and so I’m telling you to do the same. Get him out of Mystic Falls, now.”

When you turn the corner, Kai Parker is on the other side of the glass. His hand is raised as he siphons the magic from the walls. 

“Caroline, will-” he pauses, noticing you. “Y/N?”

Your breath hitches in your throat. “Kai?” You turn to Caroline, searching for answers.

“He escaped when the Maxwell bell rang.”

“That bell rang days ago, you said. He’s been here ever since?”

“Damon told me you were dead,” Kai says. The glass begins to crack under his hand. 

“We don’t have time for this,” Caroline interrupts hurriedly, “Y/N, you need to go.” She waves in Kai’s direction. “Break the glass, make it look like you’ve escaped, and get out of here. Just don’t think about coming after my kids, or I’ll make you regret it.”

Kai sets his jaw, then shatters the glass. Caroline blocks the both of you from the shards, and in the next moment, you’re standing face to face with the man you’ve missed for years. 

“Hi, princess,” he greets.

You waste no time jumping into his arms, legs around his waist, burying your face in his neck. You cling to him tightly, wrapped in an embrace, until he sets you down gently. 

“Caroline,” you start, “thank you.”

She smiles sweetly. “I love you. Now, go!”

“I love you, too. I’ll call you when everything settles.”

“You better.”

You take Kai’s hand and drag him out of the armory. A series of turns leads you to a side exit; an emergency door, but with the sirens already blaring overhead, you’re not worried about it. 

“Y/N,” he pauses the moment you get outside. 

“My car’s over here, c’mon.” 

He doesn’t budge. “But-”

“Kai!”

“You’re a vampire,” he says, clearly confused. “What happened? When’d you turn?”

“What? You don’t think I could look this young seven years later?” You joke, tugging more.

“No! I didn’t mean that-”

“I…” your grip weakens with the look he gives you. “Can we please get in the car? Alaric’s going to notice you’re gone, and-”

“When? When did you turn?”

“After you died,” you confess, face falling to the ground. You can’t look at him; can’t stand to see the sadness on your face. 

“How? Did Damon-?”

“No, Damon didn’t do it. I… I couldn’t live without you. It was too hard. I didn’t want to. I tried… someone had other plans.”

“Princess…” his voice trails off as he realizes what you mean. Strong arms reach for yours to pull you into his chest. “You didn’t… oh. Oh my god.” He tilts your head up to face him, but you avoid his eyes. “Who turned you? Dam-”

“Again, not Damon. I, um, can we go? Ric’s gonna come any second, and-”

“Who turned you, Y/N?”

“Nora.” 

“Nora? From-”

“1903? Yeah. “

“Is she-? Are the heretics-?” Kai’s interrupted by shouting coming from the armory. You grab his hand once more and drag him to your car. He climbs in the passenger seat without question, and you speed out of Mystic Falls as fast as you can. 

Not until you’re fifteen minutes from the armory, do you finally answer the questions swarming his head. You lower your speed to follow the limit, then take a deep breath. 

“Nora,” he beats you to it. 

“I killed myself,” you confess, “attempted, I guess. She found me, fed me her blood right before I died. She and Mary Louise took me to the boarding house, where they had been staying.”

“Both of them?”

You nod. “I wasn’t an easy project. First I refused to transition, then I refused bags. She had to pin me to the wall to get me to drink; I still fought, and Mary had to siphon me to weaken me enough that Nora could complete the transition. After that, I’d scream and cuss at them for keeping me alive. Nora would give me this cold stare, and Mary would cry, but neither gave up on me. Then, I flipped a complete one-eighty and cried for weeks. Nora said I resembled Alice in Wonderland in her sea of tears.” You chuckle now, but Kai has a feeling you weren’t laughing then. He sure isn’t laughing at all as you retell the story. “But finally, after about a month, I settled. I realized I couldn’t die, and they wouldn’t let me die, and I had to figure out how to live, now, as a vampire. I let them give me bags without a fight, and with time, talked to them.” 

“Why did they save you, do you know?”

“That’s something I begged them to tell me for weeks, but they refused to say until I was ready to hear it. They loved you,” you say, stealing a glimpse at him, “like a hero, like a brother. They loved you, and heard so many stories in the prison world about how you loved me, and when Nora found me in the alley, she knew she had to save me because you would’ve wanted me to live. She did it for you. She didn’t want me - your girl - to die ‘young and heartbroken’.” You sniffle, tears forming. “She wanted me to learn to live a life I could be proud of, and she wanted to honor her admiration for you by keeping me here.”

It’s a lot for Kai to take in; he’s quiet for a few minutes. As he thinks, though, his hand creeps towards yours and takes a hold of it. He squeezes gently, then kisses your knuckles. 

“The heretics,” he says, “where are they now?”

“Val’s in Europe, traveling. She didn’t want to be near Mystic Falls; turns out she has history with Stefan. Damon and Bonnie killed Malcomb before I could meet him, and Damon and Stefan killed Oscar, also before I met him. Beau was killed by an ancient hunter, whilst protecting the twins after Caroline gave birth to them, and-”

“Mary Louise and Nora?”

“I live with them.”

“What?”

“We have a little house on the border. Just out of Virginia, but barely considered North Carolina. They’re still together; had some bumps in their relationship, but they’re happy now.”

“And you, are you happy?”

“It took me a long time, but I found happiness within myself and from them. So I would consider myself happy, I guess. As weird as it is to say.”

“And me… if I were to join you, would you still be happy, after all these years?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve learned to live without me. You’ve found your place in this world, and friends. You’ve built a life for yourself.”

Slowly, you pull over to give him your full attention. Kai watches carefully, curious at what you’ll say. “Not a day has gone by that I haven’t missed you. I think about you every day. I miss the feeling of holding your hand, and hugging you. Kissing you. Hell, I miss the feeling of you siphoning me. No matter how happy I’ve become, there’s always been a piece of me missing. I figured it would always be missing, but as I sit here and look at you, I realize it’s not anymore. I love you, Kai, and I want you in my life, with me. I always have. I’ve learned to live without you, yes, and I’ve found people and things within myself that contribute to my happiness, but I will never be as good as when I’m with you.”

“Y/N…”

“And if your next question is about Nora and Mary, just know that they adore you way more than you might ever know. Nora admires you, and to Mary, you’re the brother she never got to know. They saved my life because they were mourning you, and knew I was, too. We all saved each other, in a way, and we’re all brought together because of you.”

It takes another minute of focused staring to process your words. You follow his line of sight to the steering wheel, but the moment you catch his eye, he stutters a response. “I-I love you. I’ve missed you, too, every day, and the thought of you is what kept me strong when I was in Hell. I need you.”

“You have me.”

“I won’t be easy, either. I can’t promise I won’t have nightmares from all the shit that happened there, but I promise I won’t ever leave you again.”

“I’ll help you through them. It’ll be okay.”

“You sure you want me in your life?”

“I need you just as much as you say you need me. Don’t ever doubt that.”

He nods. “Take me home, then.” He smiles. “Wait, after a kiss first.” Kai moves towards you as you turn twice, once to the wheel, then back to him, and takes your face in his hands. He kisses you with a passion equally sweet and rough, fingers grazing your skin and tangling in your hair. Your own hands find his shoulders, pulling him closer. After a moment, he pulls back, needing to catch his breath after such a long time of not kissing you. “Good? You need any more convincing to keep me around?”

“Shut up,” you joke, lighting hitting his chest. “Convincing? No. But I am gonna need you to make up later for seven years apart.”

“Well that I can certainly do.”

<•>

Four hours later, you pull into the long driveway that is your home. It’s nestled peacefully in the woods, away from most people, yet not so much that anyone will assume it’s abandoned. It’s cute and dainty, with colored tulips in beds in the front, and a red wreath hanging on the door, all compliments of Mary Louise. A bowl of food and water rests on the porch, to which Kai makes a face, and you explain that Nora’s been feeding the stray cats. You, on the other hand, are responsible for the hammock on the wrap-around porch. It provides a perfect spot for reading, or, more often, a place to daydream what life would be like if Kai never left. 

Just like this, you’d think, but he’d be beside you, softly kissing your neck. 

You don’t knock before entering. However, Kai bumps into the doorway, and you let out a quiet giggle at his confused expression. 

“Nora?” You call into the home. “I need you to let somebody in.”

The door is open wide enough that Kai can see into the house, but he can’t see the stairs. Nora trots down the stairs a moment later, asking to whom you could be referring before she sees him for herself. 

“Just a friend Caroline wanted me to pick up. Kinda like a stray puppy, actually.”

Mary giggles, half-expecting an actual puppy. But then when Nora comes to the door and her heart begins to race, her girlfriend gets worried. “Nora?” She hurries to stand beside her. “Oh!”

“Kai?” Nora asks gently. It looks like him, but she can never be too sure. She looks to you for confirmation.

You nod. “It’s him.”

“Hi,” he greets, signature smile confirming his own identity. 

“Kai,” she says, tone full of relief. She rushes into his arms for a hug he didn’t expect. Nevertheless, he hugs her back just as tightly as she holds him. “Come in,” she invites as soon as letting him go.

Mary gawks as he crosses the threshold. “Can I-?”

He opens his arms again for her to hug him, and the two share their own embrace. 

“What happened?” Nora starts, “how’d you-? Where-?”

“As I told Damon, then Caroline told Y/N, I jumped out when the Maxwell bell was rung. Damon tried to keep me hidden from Y/N, but Caroline had other plans. She let Y/N take me as long as I didn’t hurt the twins, to which I’m happy to let those little Gemini gremlins go if it means being with her.”

“And Cade?”

“Caroline called on the way; Cade’s dead. And Kai ate on the way, so he’s feeling better.”

“Earlier I felt like I could still be slipping back into Hell, but Cade’s grip on me weakened, and her blood gave me strength, so I won and got my footing back on Earth. I am officially a live-dead man once again.”

Mary chuckles, but Nora’s attention catches on a word. “Her?” You glance at the ground, a blush rising to your cheeks. Nora smiles. “Not twelve hours, and the lovebirds are sharing blood.”

“Match made in Heaven,” Mary laughs more.

“Completely inseparable,” Nora agrees. “Well, Kai, I hope you’ve made plans to stay, because now that you’re back, we’re never letting you out of our sight again.”

“You want me to stay?”

Nora had turned, but now she whips back around to face him. “What? Of course. Did you and Y/N-”

“We talked in the car! I thought you were okay with staying.”

“But Nora’s the owner of the house, I have to ask her, too!”

“Of course you’re staying, dork!” She’d learned that word the last couple years and always said it fits Kai; now she gets to use it on him. “Now pull up a chair. I know you’re the cook around here, but I made dinner, and it’s pretty good!”

The four of you take to the table where Nora pours bowls of soup. You settle around the chairs like a family separated for too long, but finally joined back together, never to be apart again, and it’s good. Your hands connected with Kai’s underneath the table, and he squeezes. Across from you, the girls’ own hands are held in each other’s. The joy and laughter around the table is something you want to be a part of forever. 

[mackerelphones]

"Game of the year," the coveted status one awards only to what video game one liked most of all the ones they played that year.

GotY 2023: Pheonotopia: Awakening. Tons of fun from start to end. Tens of hours of nonstop entertainment that kept me hooked for weeks. For comparison, most video games don't even lose my interest because they never gain it in the first place. Perhaps I should finish the video review I was making of it

GotY 2024: Dungeon Munchies. No contest. Unfortunately, the gameplay is just fine, and it is definitely not optimized for controllers. But the storytelling in this goes so much harder than anyone could possibly expect that I fell in love with it. Exactly the exhilarating mixture of farce, horror, and extreme sadness that I search for. One of those where whenever I wasn't playing it, I was chomping at the bit to get back to it

Honorable mentions for 2023 and 2024: Dead Estate and Anthology of the Killer

Dead Estate: Many hours (70!) of fun and entertainment. The final update came out this year, so it's finally complete. The new Steam thumbnail does sort of spoil the surprise that the cast of characters is larger than it first appears, though

Anthology of the Killer: This series of comedy-horror adventures has been trickling out episode by episode since 2020 but was only completed in 2024 with the final episode, "Face of the Killer." Because I've been playing each episode as it came out since 2021, I don't feel like this qualifies as my GotY 2024. Consistently clever and brilliant. Just one perfect line and memorable scene after another, for hours. Erudite, delightful, hilarious but also surprisingly haunting. I think about it often

***

I barely played any video games released in 2024 itself. The only ones I can recall are Felvidek, the Paper Mario: The Thousand-Year Door remake, and Psychopomp: Gold (and of course Anthology of the Killer, but since it began coming out in 2020, I do not consider it as "belonging" to 2024)

Felvidek is surprisingly difficult. The mistakes in the fake Early Modern English kept ripping me out of it so that I never got invested. I found it kind of embarrassing, and such a letdown when the graphics are so striking and the setting so unique. Maybe if I kept going it would have hooked me, but I think I'd have to start over for the challenge to be possible

PMTTYD remake has much nicer graphics than the rather ugly original, but the new OST is usually too noisy. Some of the new tracks layer it on too thick. But even so, it is PMTTYD, so it's 5/5. Something-something Vivian (the longest thing I posted online in 2024)

Psychopomp: Gold has a fantastic aesthetic, dark and pixely and grimy, but the narrative, such as it is, has little to offer, and the gameplay is also only serviceable. The story is far too concerned with "lore" to the exclusion of the characters or drama. I never cared about anything that was happening. But I can't knock that aesthetic! If you're as scared of the dark as I am, this is a very tense video game

***

I haven't posted much on any of my accounts lately because, given various events in the world, I feel there are certain things I should say, but also that they would be embarrassingly, shamefully useless to say besides my increasing fear of saying anything. So simultaneously I should say certain things before I dare say anything else, but also I shouldn't say those things at all. I don't know if I'll be more active in 2025, though I doubt it.

[strangerstilinski]

SELENOPHILES OF BEACON HILLS | Teen Wolf Rewrite

Stiles Stilinksi/Original Female Character

chapter one - - chapter two

summary; after an already traumatic evening involving the unfortunate discovery of a gruesome scene, amber is convinced to hike through the woods with her two best friends in search of the other half of a dead body. but it's not as if she could ever say no.. not when stiles looked at her like that.

word count; 11,952

notes; this whole thing was inspired by the throwaway line "two joggers found a body in the woods-" this is the first half of s1e1. i've already completed season one in its entirety but i will be posting them slowly on here. it's 13 chapters in all.

masterlist

c h a p t e r o n e

wolf moon pt.1

All of the craziness started on a Sunday.

The last day of winter break had been stressful enough to start, with the anxiety of having to start up classes again at the front of Amber’s mind all morning. It would be the final semester of her sophomore year. Then, the next year would be crammed with SATs and ACTs and applying to colleges. She knew they would all be one step closer to having to decide what to do with the rest of their lives.

She found it all very daunting.

Since waking up that morning, the girl had restlessly alternated between hiding away in the privacy of her bedroom and lounging in the living room downstairs, unable to find a comfortable place to settle. At some point, she'd managed to chew her nails to the point of bleeding. Pulling her hair back into a braid had become a necessity when she noticed herself picking obsessively at her split ends. Her laptop sat open on the coffee table along with a small stack of paperbacks, from where she had started and then immediately abandoned two different television shows and three books.

After dinner, her irritating inability to sit still had finally pushed her older brother, Jason, to his final breaking point. He'd demanded she go change into exercise clothes and then he dragged her from the house in an effort to release some of her pent up restless energy.

Jason forced her out for a jog through the preserve, and only a measly ten minutes into their run she found herself already with sweat trickling down her temple. She was breathing heavily, slowly falling behind, while her brother continued to run ahead of her with ease.

Amber watched as her brother's lead slowly increased in length, the gap between them growing larger and larger, the sound of his footfalls crunching over leaves and twigs growing more and more faint as she trailed behind. Eventually, upon rounding a long bend in the hiking trail, she realized that she could no longer see him in the distance at all.

With a pause to catch her breath, she bent over at the waist to brace her hands on her knees in an attempt to pull more air into her aching lungs.

Over a mile deep in the preserve, the only sounds that met her ears were that of the breeze whistling as it filtered through barren branches, the odd scuffle of fallen leaves rolling over one another, and her own wheezing breaths of exertion.

When she lifted her head to take stock of where she'd stopped, she found that she'd reached the first fork in the trail. She returned to an upright position, chest heaving as she continued to pant labored breaths, deliberating which path her brother might have taken with hands on her hips.

With a resolved shake of her head, she chose the path to the right. Regardless of which she took, both would eventually lead back to the small trailhead where they'd parked the truck. So, she continued on.

The pace that she settled into could hardly have been considered a jog — if anything, she was moving in a walk with only the exaggerated body movements of a run, but she was tired.

She had only made it a few hundred feet from where the trail split off before she spotted something that piqued her curiosity in a pile of dry brush and leaves at the side of the trail. She slowed as she approached, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead with her shirtsleeve and breathing heavily.

Poking out from the leaves, she could just make out the peculiar shape of a cluster of pale rocks — it almost resembled toes.

A choked combination of a gag and a gasp escaped her. She covered her mouth with the sleeve of her windbreaker as she reached the pile of brush because — It was definitely toes, connected to a foot, which then connected to legs and, well, that was pretty much where it ended because there was only half of a body.

Another gag pushed its way out of her throat, eyes drawn to the clean, smooth cut that went straight through the hips of the corpse beneath the dead leaves. Something had been used to cut them through muscle and flesh and bone. She could see it was a female — the body had been left completely naked.

This had been a person. And they laid on the ground, covered in earth and dried blood, just a few feet from where she was standing. Amber could see dirt caked around the pink nail polish that covered the woman's toenails. Even through all of the blood, she could make out a tiny freckle on the bare skin of the corpse's knee.

She fought back another gag as she finally found her voice, and she screamed.

“Jason!”

Her voice came out shrill. It cracked painfully as she shouted for her brother again and again. She screamed only a handful of times before she could hear her brother yelling her own name in panic as he backtracked and found his way to her on the trail.

Jason's feet skidded in the dirt as he came to a stop in front of where his sister was still standing. Her shaking fingers still covering her mouth as she struggled to keep herself from dry-heaving. His hands went to her shoulders as he checked his sister over for any sort of visible injury. When he found none, his attention turned around them, searching for a threat. His eyes widened when he followed her gaze and caught sight of the body — what there was of one — that sat only a few feet away from them.

Amber distantly heard the call that her brother placed to the Sheriff's Station. She could hear him telling someone about the body and she heard him give directions to their location on the trail, but it was echoed, like she was underwater as she listened to him speak into his phone off to the side of her peripheral vision.

She couldn't seem to pull her eyes away from the corpse. The skin was so pale, it had almost a blueish hue. She wondered, absently, if the person had been out here in the cold before they died, or if that was just what a body looked like after so much blood loss because this person must have lost... So. Much. Blood.

The whole body was covered in in it, gluing dry leaves and dirt to their skin. They had been cut in half. Or, maybe they hadn’t been cut in half until after they’d died. Maybe, Amber thought, it had been something simple. A quick death. Something like a gunshot to the head–

God. She hoped desperately that the woman hadn’t been sliced in half while they were still alive.

It felt like only a minute or two had passed but it must have been longer because suddenly, the bright evening sunlight that had guided her along the trail during their jog was dwindling. It was growing dark and she was being ushered away from the body as officers took pictures, laying crime tape and placing little numbered tents around the scene.

Her brother stood off to the side speaking to the same deputy Amber had just finished with, recounting his own memory of the evening. The deputy nodded and took notes down on their little pad once again, just as they had when Amber had been talking.

Down at the end of the trail, it seemed as if police cars might never stop coming. There were officers making their way up with search dogs now. The dogs barked and ran around, likely on the search for the other half of the body.

She stood off to the side as her eyes flicked from where Jason was speaking to the deputy, to the location of the body, where cameras were flashing and uniformed deputies were moving back and forth in a blur.

Amber felt a hand land on her shoulder and nearly jumped out of her skin. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears as she spun around to see that it was only Sheriff Stilinski, looking at her with the same soft look of concern in his eyes that she'd seen so many times over the years.

“Amber. I didn’t realize it was you and Jason who’d come across it. When I got the call.. I was out of the house so fast I didn’t think to ask-” He sighed, “You okay, kid?”

The girl took a shaky breath, but nodded. The heavy hand Sheriff Stilinski still had resting on her shoulder felt grounding. While he could never replace her dad, he was as close as she got these days and she was grateful for his presence now.

Over the years, there had been something about the stern, protective, always unwaveringly loving energy that her best friend's father emitted. Somehow, he always managed to make her darkest days just a bit better — it was entirely possible that the ability was simply a Stilinski family trait.

“Yeah. I’m okay. Scarred for life, definitely, yeah. But, okay.” Amber said, feeling proud when the small smile she gave him was only somewhat shaky. “I actually think I might go to Scott's? I’ll call Stiles.. See if they want to watch some movies or something. Just.. Distract myself, y'know?”

Getting Stiles to sit down quietly and watch a movie could be like pulling teeth sometimes. He was constantly jamming his elbow into her waist to get her attention away from the screen, or talking over the action, or pulling out his laptop mid-scene to search the internet for inaccuracies or an actor's filmography in a way that she found endlessly endearing.

It was exactly the kind of distraction she felt like she needed right now.

The Sheriff nodded in response before pulling her in for a tight hug. His hand lingered at the back of her head for a few moments, but then he was releasing her and setting off to talk with a cluster of officers.

“I'd really feel better with you at home where I know you're okay.” Jason told her once they'd closed themselves off inside of his pickup truck.

While understood why her brother was so reluctant to let her go off on her own, Amber was entirely too stubborn for her own good, and Jason inevitably agreed to drop her at Scott's house on his way home, with her promise of getting a decent night’s sleep.

After all, it was a school night.

It was hard to believe that only a couple of hours before, she had been stressed about school of all things. Now, she was fighting off yet another wave of nausea brought on by stumbling across a dead body deep in the preserve.

Well, half of one.

As soon as the vehicle began moving, trees rushing past her window in a dark blur of motion, she was trying to get a hold of Stiles. After two attempts in which the call merely rang through to his voicemail, she tucked her phone back into the pocket of her sport jacket with a frown and a huff. She would just have to wait and see if Scott knew whether Stiles was busy tonight.

Amber had hardly made it two steps into the entryway of the McCall house when Scott came barreling down the stairs, attempting to pull on a zip-up hoodie with one hand and wielding a baseball bat in the other. She opened her mouth to question him but before she could make a sound he shushed her aggressively, pushing her behind himself without explanation as he crept out the front door and onto the porch with an abundance of caution and visible nerves.

“Scott?!” She whispered aggressively, still receiving no answer beyond a frustrated wave of his hand signaling for her to be quiet.

She followed close behind, confused and mildly alarmed as she tried to imagine whatever threat Scott thought that he might find outside. She clung onto the hood of the boy's sweatshirt with one hand as she trailed close behind. Scott held the bat, ready to strike, as the two rounded the porch at the side of the house.

The rapidly dropping temperature over the previous half an hour had the breath puffing out from their mouths in foggy clouds in the dark. Scott relaxed his hold on the bat for a brief second as he peered down over the railing, inadvertently pulling Amber forward with him.

Suddenly, something large dropped down from the roof to dangle in front of them, both teens letting out a scream of alarm. Amber instinctively yanked on Scott's sweatshirt in an attempt to pull him back from the threat, but they both quieted upon recognizing the third scream coming from the person now hanging upside-down from the trellis at the roof of the porch.

“Stiles!” She and Scott both yelled in frustrated synchronization.

“What the hell are you doing?” Scott continued immediately.

“You weren’t answering your phone!” Stiles yelled at Scott defensively. “And.. Okay, I know I wasn’t either.” He added sheepishly when he spotted Amber still hidden behind Scott. “Why do you have a bat?!” Stiles’ voice rose to a shrill level again.

As if only now remembering his weapon of choice was still clutched defensively above their heads, ready for an attack, Scott lowered the bat a small increment before speaking, “I thought you were a predator.” He explained simply.

“A pre-” Stiles spluttered, “Look, I know it’s late, but you gotta hear this. I saw my dad leave twenty minutes ago. Dispatch called. They’re bringing in every officer from the Beacon Department, and even State Police.”

Amber felt her heart drop suddenly into her stomach as if it were made up of lead.

“For what?” Scott asked, his eyebrows scrunching in curiosity.

“Two joggers found a body in the woods.” Stiles explained at the same time Amber’s voice whispered a meek, “We found a body.”

Stiles clumsily dropped down from where he had been hanging upside-down, arms flailing as he fell from the roof and onto the ground below the porch in a clumsy heap of limbs. The boy stumbled a bit before he managed to get his footing and moved to stand upright.

Scott’s head pivoted back and forth between his two best friends, his eyes wide. “A dead body?”

“No, a body of water. Yes, Dumbass. A dead body.” Stiles scoffed, climbing up onto the porch to stand in front of them. He turned to Amber with a furrow between his brows, “Who's we? You found it?” He asked with growing excitement.

“Jason and I.” She supplied quietly.

“You mean like.. Murdered?” Scott interrupted, taking a step back to stand beside Amber instead of in front of her. He seemed to be stuck on the concept of the dead body being dead.

“Nobody knows yet. Just that it was a girl, probably in her twenties.” Stiles said with wide eyes, like he found it all very exciting. Amber was beginning to feel queasy again.

“Hold on,” Scott said, “If they found the body, then what are they looking for?”

“That's the best part.” Stiles started, looking to Amber for assurance, or maybe some assistance in the reveal of the next bit of information. She only managed a deep breath after a moment, feeling truly sick as Stiles finished, “They only found half.”

“It was only half.”

Although they spoke at the same time, Amber's words had come out much quieter than Stiles, hardly a weak murmur. Hand beginning to cramp where she was still clutching tightly onto the fabric of Scott’s hood, she released it to flex her fingers a couple of times.

Stiles reached out a hand to rest on her shoulder, leaning in close, “We're going.” He announced firmly.

“Are we actually going to do this?” Scott asked, looking back and forth between them again.

“No.” Amber got out, though the heavy warmth of Stiles' hand through her windbreaker was already making her judgement fuzzy.

Stiles looked at Scott briefly before returning his attention to her, “How come you're the only one who gets to find a body, huh?” He slipped his hand down from her shoulder to grip at her elbow and cradled it softly.

“I don’t know how great you think finding a dead body was for me, but I assure you, it wasn't nearly as fun as whatever you're imagining.” Amber told Stiles.

He stayed silent for once, maintaining eye contact with her for a long minute. She tried to remain strong, she truly did. Amber broke eye contact to look at his face, her eyes flicking over each freckle and mole dotting his pale skin. Steadfastly refusing to let her eyes fall to his lips or drift back to his whiskey colored eyes, she could literally feel her resolve crumbling with every second that she looked at her best friend.

“I’m never going to be able to talk you assholes out of doing this, am I?” She asked quietly. The pit in her stomach felt as if it were expanding with the intent to swallow her whole as her eyes finally went back to his.

A stupidly sweet smile stretched across Stiles' face immediately as he realized he'd won and his hand trailed lower again, taking hold of her own and giving it a squeeze.

Her belly did a traitorous flip at the feeling of her hand in his own and she heaved a resigned sigh. She really didn’t want to have to find both halves of this body.

“We’re seriously doing this?” Scott repeated, sounding unsure.

“You're the ones always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town.” Stiles said, rifling through his backpack as they climbed out of his cramped Jeep. He triumphantly pulled out a flashlight and clicked it on, illuminating the preserve in a bright stream of light.

“Plenty has happened for me, today.” Amber reminded them, shielding her eyes until Stiles had lowered the flashlight to shine on the ground.

He put a hand at the small of Amber’s back as they ventured away from the Jeep, guiding her forward gently while he lit a path in front of them.

“And I was trying to get a good night’s sleep before practice tomorrow.” Scott said.

Stiles addressed Scott first, “Right, ‘cause sitting on the bench is such a grueling effort. And you,” He said, shining the flashlight at Amber briefly before focussing it back in front of them while they made their way through the trees, “You get to find a body, I get to find a body, right? Fair's fair.”

“I'm playing this year. In fact, I'm making first line.” Scott said, bringing the conversation back around to himself and looking annoyingly smug.

“Hey, that's the spirit! Everyone should have a dream, even a pathetically unrealistic one.” Stiles laughed, his hand drifting to grip Amber's hip momentarily before it returned to the safety of her spine.

She reached up to reprimand Stiles with a gentle thwack on the back of the head as they walked, letting her hand fall to his elbow and pulling his arm from behind her, taking ahold of his hand for support instead as they walked. He began to move faster with his long stride and Amber allowed him pull her along while she attempted to keep up on her shorter legs.

It had grown colder still, their breath continuing to puff out in tiny clouds as the three hiked through the preserve, moving as quickly as they could while watching their step over rocks and fallen branches.

“Just out of curiosity.. Which half of the body are we looking for?” Scott finally asked.

Stiles stumbled, his steps faltering as he paused beside Amber, “Huh. I didn’t think about that.”

Both boys looked to her as they continued to move, waiting for an answer.

“You know what? You’ll find out if we find it. I refuse to indulge you both any more than I already am just by being here.” She huffed, taking a step away from the two of them while maintaining her hold on Stiles' hand.

“And, uh, what if whoever killed the body is still out here?” Scott followed up, nervously looking up into the trees surrounding them.

Amber took a hasty step back toward Stiles as her stomach tied itself tighter in knots at the thought, fearfully clutching Stiles' hand tighter in her grip.

“Also something I didn't think about.” Stiles replied.

“It's comforting to know you planned this out with your usual attention to detail.” Scott panted as they dropped to nearly a crawl at a steep incline.

“I know.” Stiles grinned, carefully pulling Amber up with him as they scaled the slippery hill.

When Scott stopped to lean against a tree trunk, she paused and tugged on Stiles' arm to slow him as he tried to keep moving.

“Maybe the, uh, severe asthmatic should be the one holding the flashlight, huh?” Scott said between choppy breaths.

Amber shot a brief glare toward Stiles in the dark, rubbing her free hand on Scott's arm in a comforting gesture as he pulled out his inhaler.

They continued on, following the light Stiles shined ahead of them until he suddenly dropped to the ground, dragging Amber down beside him and covering the bright beam shining out from his flashlight. In the dark, they could see more flashlights sweeping back and forth in the distance, illuminating the mist of rain that was beginning falling around them. They could hear search dogs huffing quiet noises between barks.

“Come on.” Stiles shot to his feet and took off before either of them could stop him and he pulled Amber's arm painfully as he took off, not yet relinquishing his grip on her hand.

“Stiles!” Scott and Amber both whisper-shouted at his back.

When her hand slipped from Stiles' as they raced after him in the dark, Amber squeaked unhappily, “Wait up!” She called out iman hushed voice.

“Stiles!” Scott called after him, “Stiles!”

The two moved as fast as they could, trying to keep up with their friend, but he'd gotten ahead of them. Amber huffed when her toe caught on a tree root and she grabbed onto Scott as she righted herself. She was still gripping onto Scott's arms and getting her feet back underneath her when she heard Stiles let out a cut off scream of alarm in the distance, shortly followed by the sound of dogs barking.

He had been spotted.

“Stay right there!” An officer shouted over the sound of the dog barking.

“Shit.” Amber whispered with wide eyes as Scott dragged her along to hide behind a large tree.

“Hang on, hang on. This little delinquent belongs to me.” They heard the Sheriff’s voice announce with disappointment.

“Dad. How're you doing?” Stiles greeted weakly.

“So. Do you, uh, listen in to all of my phone calls?” Sheriff Stilinski questioned.

“No,” Stiles laughed nervously, “Not the boring ones..”

Amber thumped her forehead against Scott's shoulder. “Idiot.” She whispered fondly, shaking her head.

“Now, where're your usual partners in crime? I thought after the night she’d had, Amber would've kept you away from this.”

She felt the heat of it when Scott took a quiet, shaky breath.

“Scott? Scott's home.” Stiles stuttered, “He said he wanted to get a good night's sleep for first day back to school tomorrow, so.. Amber went home and now it's just me. In the woods.. Alone.”

“Scott!” The sheriff yelled out, causing them both to flinch from where they were huddled behind the tree, “Amber! You out there? Scott!” There was a pause during which Amber and Scott looked at one another nervously, eyes wide. “Well, young man, I'm gonna walk you back to your car and you and I are gonna have a conversation about something called invasion of privacy.”

Thunder rolled loudly over the sound of the Sheriff dragging Stiles and their only flashlight off into the distance. The mist from earlier had eased it's way into a drizzle during the encounter and Amber shivered violently as the cold rain began to seep into her clothes.

“Now what?” She asked quietly.

“We- Walk home, I guess.” Scott sighed.

They made their way back through the trees in what Amber could only hope was the right direction, arms coming up to attempt to rub warmth into her own biceps as they moved through the rain.

They both flinched and spun around in fear at the sound of an animal howling in the distance. Amber turned to Scott and they looked at one another with wide, scared eyes before they began walking again. Scott jerked and came to a stop again only a few minutes later when they heard a large bird flapping it's wings overhead in the trees, prompting Amber to walk straight into his back. She reached up to push him forward with hands on his shoulders.

“Come on.” She urged quietly through her own nerves.

Eventually, Scott slowed to a stop again and moved to take a puff from his inhaler, his breathing ragged from all of the hiking. As he brought the inhaler to his mouth, Amber heard the sound of twigs breaking, the sound growing louder at it rushed toward them.

Scott yelled, shoving his friend to the side before falling to the ground himself. Amber screamed as she smacked against the ground, scrambling to hide behind a tree as a stampede of deer came running through. She gasped as she watched the deer only narrowly avoid trampling Scott several times before they cleared.

“Scott,” She whispered in the dark, heart pounding in her ears, “God.. You okay?”

“I dropped my inhaler!” He answered frantically, pulling out his phone for a weak source of light as he raked his hands through the leaves underfoot.

Suddenly, he yelled out again and Amber took a step closer to her friend just in time to watch him stumble and fall down an incline, and then he was gone.

“Scott!” She ran to the place where he’d fallen but as she reached the hillside, she tripped over something large on the ground and tumbled down after him.

Twigs snapped and scratched at her skin as she rolled down the hill, scraping at her hips and back as her shirt rode up, the back of her head smacking down roughly on a large rock when she finally came to a stop at the bottom of the incline.

Scott's heavy breathing was loud in the silence that followed as he righted himself.

“Amber?” He whispered, moving through the leaves.

She moved to sit up but her vision swam and she was forced to drop her head back down to the rock beneath her with a painful thunk.

“Ow.” She moaned quietly.

A loud growling sounded close by and they were both immediately filled with a cold dread. She could hear Scott’s screams but couldn’t make herself move. She shivered both from the cold and from fear, her head throbbing painfully as her heartbeat picked up.

“Scott?” She called out after a moment, voice quiet.

His screaming had stopped and she heard the sound of twigs breaking and footfalls running into the distance until she could no longer hear them at all.

“Scott?” She tried once more, finding the strength to lift her head to look around her.

The forest remained silent.

She rolled onto her front, moving her arms underneath herself and pushing up onto her knees shakily, black spots danced in the corners of her vision but the preserve was so dark that it was difficult to tell if it was due to the throbbing in her head or lack of light.

Crawling toward a large tree, Amber moved to lean back against the trunk. She shakily lifted a hand to the back of her head and felt the warm wetness in the hair at her crown. She withdrew her hand and her fingers came back stained dark.

“Fuck.” She whispered into the trees, unsure what to do now.

She must’ve fallen asleep for a few minutes because suddenly, she found herself waking.

She groaned quietly when she felt the sharp pain in the back of her head, the wound immensely sore where she had it pressed against the trunk of the tree behind her. She pried her eyes open and saw a head of dark hair on the person who was knelt down in front of her.

She tried to lift her head to lessen the pressure on her injury, but her head felt heavy so soon after waking, and it lolled to the side instead. The movement stopped when a hand moved to catch her gently by cupping the side of her face. Her vision swam for a slow second afterward while the hand held her head steady.

She could hear a voice but it sounded muffled and distant, like she had cotton stuck in her ears.

“Scott?” Amber rasped softly.

The first thing she’d felt had been the ache in her head, but as she came to, she began to feel other things. She could feel the way her damp clothes clung to her skin as she shivered. Her whole body felt sore from rolling down the hill but nothing seemed to hurt enough to be broken.

The hand on the left side of her face moved to cup her chin and pressed their thumb into her jaw, shaking her head softly. She let out a quiet, unhappy noise when the movement made her vision swim again.

“Spinny.” She complained.

Amber lifted a hand up to reach for the person's face. When her cold fingertips landed on their cheek she could feel a light stubble covering the person’s sharp jawline.

“Not Scott,” She deduced to herself miserably. She widened her eyes at the mystery person comically for a moment in an attempt to clear her vision, “Definitely not Stiles.”

She let her hand drop to the person’s shoulder to steady herself and pulled her torso up to lean away from the rough bark of the tree.

“Your. Name.” The voice repeated slowly, voice sounding clearer to her ears now that the fuzz in her brain was clearing. The hand on her face squeezed softly and pressed warm fingers into her cheek with each word.

“Amber.” She told them.

Her vision was clearer now. As the rain passed, so had the clouds, and in the glow from the moonlight that now shined through the bare trees above them, she could see the person in front of her with minimal double vision — The incredibly handsome person in front of her.

“Your eyes are very pretty.” She whispered before she could stop herself, looking into the palest eyes she’d ever seen. She wondered absently whether they were blue or green in the daylight.

The guy snorted softly in amusement, shaking his head before regaining a stoic expression, “Turn your head so I can check what we’re dealing with.”

His voice was deep and gruff and incredibly soothing. He continued to gently cup her head in one hand as he examined the bloody patch at the back of her skull, his hands the same rough yet soft combination as his voice.

“What seems to be the damage, Mister Doctor, Sir?” She asked after a moment, flinching when he prodded gently at the swollen area.

“Doesn’t look like you need stitches.” He told her, leaning back to give her some space and wiping his hands on his dark jeans, “Don’t think you hit it hard enough for brain injury either, but it’ll probably hurt for a couple days.”

“Yay for no lasting brain damage.” Amber cheered quietly as she shivered, missing the warmth of his hand against her cheek.

“You should get home. Get some rest.” The guy reached his hands out to her again, gripping one of her own and helping her to her feet with a firm grip at her elbow, “You shouldn’t even be out here in the first place. It’s private property, y’know. This isn’t a part of the preserve.”

They started to move through the woods slowly. Amber’s legs felt shaky and her butt was numb from sitting on the cold ground for so long, but her mystery doctor had moved one of his arms around her waist, supporting a majority of her weight as he maneuvered her feet smoothly over fallen branches and tree roots.

“It’s dark and my flashlight abandoned me,” She defended, “Then I tripped. Then I was abandoned again. Jesus, I hope Scott made it home okay.”

She looked to her doctor-helper with wide eyes, suddenly remembering the blood chilling sound of Scott’s scream before he had run away from her.

“There’s no one else in the preserve, now.” He assured her, “It’s just the two of us. So, whoever he is, I’m sure he made it home, just like you should be doing.”

“Yes, sir.” She mumbled reluctantly with her eyes still glued to his face, trusting that if she tripped he wouldn’t let her fall. She swore she saw his lips twitch into a brief but genuine smile before he shook his head, continuing their hike out of the forest.

“Do you have someone you can call for a ride?” He asked, “I didn’t drive here.”

Amber found herself wondering how he’d gotten out to the preserve on the edge of town if he hadn’t driven, but didn’t voice her thoughts.

“I, uh, yeah. I can try.” She decided. She pulled out her phone to see that less than an hour had passed since their run in with the Sheriff’s Deputies. She couldn’t have been unconscious for more than twenty minutes.

Amber sent a quick text to Scott to check he’d truly made it home, but paused before calling anyone. There was no way she was calling her brother to pick her up at nearly midnight, so she pulled up the number she’d called twice earlier in the evening and hoped for an answer this time.

The man beside her guided her over a cluster of rocks with a hand at her elbow as she brought her phone up to her ear and listened to the dull ringing.

“Amber! You good? You and Scott make it home okay?” Stiles greeted, picking up after only the second ring.

“Not exactly.” She muttered, her phone beeping as a text came through and she read the message from Scott.

Just got home. In bed. Need to talk to u and Stiles before school tomorrow.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she read and reread the message. She was glad Scott was safe at home but was he not at all worried about her?

“What do you mean? You guys okay?” Stiles asked nervously through the phone.

Amber smiled at the stranger beside her in silent thanks as he kept her from tripping over another rock.

“Scott’s gone. I guess he’s home now but I’m still in the preserve. I think I’m almost out to the road-” She said with question in her voice. The man next to her nodded silently and she continued, “Yeah, almost out to the road, but-”

“I’m on my way-” Stiles said quickly. She could hear movement on the other end of the line before his keys jingling loudly and the telltale bang of his front door closing.

“Your dad still working?”

“Yeah, I doubt he’ll be home ‘til morning.” He told her as the door to the Jeep slammed and she heard the loud rumble of the car coming to life, “Just stay with me and I’ll find you when you get out to the road, alright? Let me know when you’re out.”

“I can actually see it now.” She said, as the trees began to clear and she caught sight of the pavement ahead of her.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be right there, alright?” His voice was laced with worry and she sighed softly into the phone.

“Stiles, I’m fine, okay? Don’t speed to get to me.”

She heard him huff in response, which meant he was probably already going too fast as he drove the winding roads that led out to the preserve.

The hand on her arm had released her when they got closer to the main road and Amber looked to thank the man next to her but he was gone. She spun in a slow circle as her eyebrows furrowed, thinking that surely he couldn’t have gone far, but he’d vanished.

She looked back to the street after a few minutes and could see headlights shining bright in the distance, reflecting off the telephone wires and the wet pavement.

“Stiles, I see a car coming.”

“Okay, okay, I’m slowing down.”

The car approaching did, indeed slow down until there was a blue Jeep stopped in the road in front of her. Stiles threw the door open and ran from the car as she crossed she street and he didn’t waste a second before he was throwing his arms around her shoulders.

“You okay? I can’t believe Scott left you by yourself.”

His voice was muffled in her hair as he pressed his face into the top of her head. One of his hands trailed up from her shoulders to cup the back of her head and she flinched, whining in pain when he pressed against where she’d hit her head earlier.

“What happened?” He asked immediately, pulling back to look at her. When he caught sight of the red stain on his hand in the glow of the headlights, his eyes went wide, spinning her around quickly to look at the spot he’d touched. “Jesus, Am, what happened?”

“I’m fine, honestly. I’m pretty sure it’s barely bleeding anymore. I tripped and hit my head, but I’m okay. Could use an aspirin or ten, though.”

Stiles spun her back around and looked at her like he didn’t quite believe her, but guided her to the passenger side of the vehicle silently. She climbed inside and he was leaning in to buckle her up before she could begin to do it herself.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” He asked softly, letting his hand linger on her thigh after getting the buckle clicked into place.

“I’m fine,” She promised quietly, flushing under his gentle attention, “Can we just go to your house? If I get caught sneaking in at this point, Jason’s gonna kill me. I’m better off sleeping somewhere else.”

“Yeah, ’course.” He pulled back and gently closed the door before rounding the vehicle and climbing behind the wheel. Turning them around and heading home.

When they got to the Stilinski house, they went straight to Stiles’ room and he closed the door out of habit despite them being the only ones home.

“Let me see your head again so I can get a better look.” Stiles demanded as he approached her.

In the bright light of his bedroom, Amber could now see how dirty she was, her athletic leggings covered in mud streaks and her hands much the same. She could only imagine how filthy her face was. And her hair hair where it was pulled back in a now messy braid.

His hands were gentle as he moved her hair to look at the bump on the back of her head, but she still flinched when he poked at it delicately.

“Sorry.” He apologized from behind her, stroking a hand down the side of her hair.

“It’s fine.” She promised again, “I should shower though. Seriously.”

“Yeah, of course.” He said easily, squeezing her arm before traipsing back into the hallway and to the linen closet, pulling out a clean towel and holding it out to her.

She thanked him and made her way to the bathroom before closing the door behind her. She stripped out of her damp, dirty clothes, undoing the braid in her hair and combing her fingers through it softly. She turned the water on and let it heat up before climbing under the spray. She watched dirt and small bits of leaf trailed down onto the shower floor as she rinsed her hair.

She used the men’s shower products that littered the shower, scrubbing down with the masculine smelling body wash twice. She winced when it stung the tiny scrapes on her hips, and proceeded to gently shampoo around the bump at the back of her head.

When she finished, Amber climbed out and dried the excess water from her hair roughly before drying her body. She secured the towel she’d been given around her tight once she was no longer dripping.

She knocked softly on Stiles’ bedroom door as she made her way back over, not wanting to interrupt him if he was getting changed. The door swung open quickly and Amber jumped in surprise at the sight of Stiles standing in front of her in his doorway, already changed into pajama pants and a tshirt.

He gaped silently as his eyes trailed to where her towel was hooked loosely at the top of her breasts. A small bead of water dripped from the nape of her neck in a slow trail past her collarbones and into her cleavage before disappearing beneath the towel and he couldn’t help but swallow loudly, blinking himself out of his stupor and returning his eyes to the safety of his friend’s face.

“Am I allowed in, or have I been exiled to the hallway?” She laughed when he continued to block the doorway after a few moments.

“Right! Sorry!” He jumped back, opening the door wider and allowing her entrance into the room.

She continued to smile as she stepped past him, a blush rising to her cheeks as she thought about the look on his face as his eyes had trailed down to her chest.

“Can I borrow something to sleep in?” She asked, hand coming up to fiddle with where the towel was secured around her.

“Sure, yeah, what do you want?” He rushed to his dresser and opened a drawer already rifling through it.

“Any tshirt would be good.” She said, biting her lip as she thought about the underwear she’d left in the bathroom. She’d been wearing them on her run earlier and grimaced at the thought of putting them back on.

Stiles triumphantly produced a clean shirt and threw it toward the bed before looking at her, his eyes stuck on where she had her bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

“Would- Would it be weird if I asked for boxers or something?” She asked awkwardly.

“N-No, no I can-“ He slammed the drawer he’d procured the tshirt from and opened another, moving things around aggressively in search of a pair of underwear for her. It took longer than it had for the shirt, but after a minute his hand re-emerged from the drawer with a pair of checkered boxers in his hands and a flush on his cheeks. “Here.”

Amber accepted the shorts, her hand brushing his softly in the exchange and she gulped.

It was hardly the first time she’d slept at one of the boy’s houses, definitely not the first time she’d borrowed a shirt, but there was something significantly more intimate about doing so after a shower — about doing it and not having an article of her own clothing to separate Stiles’ clothes from her naked body.

She toyed with the underwear in her hands, “Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“I uh, I can’t get changed if you’re standing right in front of me.”

This seemed to startle him into action and he blushed, coughing into the back of his hand awkwardly in an attempt to hide it.

“Right, I’ll go- I’ll get you some Aspirin!” He said before moving around her and closing the door behind him.

She shook her head and took a deep breath, dropping her towel and drying herself one final time before pulling on the boxers, rolling them twice at the waist to get the fit better before she paused, distracted. Curling her fingers into the material at her hips, she had a thought.

Her mind was racing, imagining Stiles’ own naked body beneath the shorts that were against her bare skin, now. The thought sent a flush creeping up her neck and a tingling heat to her gut.

She swallowed loudly in the quiet room.

Stepping toward the bed, she picked up the basic shirt Stiles had gotten out for her. She moved her arms through the holes and was using her hands to stretch it over her wet hair in an attempt to avoid the sore spot at the back of her head when she heard the door open behind her. She quickly pulled the shirt down over her back and turned to face Stiles where he was standing frozen in the doorway with a glass of water in one hand and two Aspirin cupped in the other.

“I- Sorry,” He said quickly, “I should’ve knocked? I don’t know why I didn’t knock.”

“No worries, Sti.” She told him softly as she pulled her damp hair out from beneath the collar of the shirt. She moved to take the painkillers and the water from him with a smile before sipping from the glass and swallowing the pills.

“I also got out a new toothbrush. Left it by the sink. Figured you’d need one.” Stiles told her as he watched her swallow down the tablets.

“God, yeah. Brushing your teeth with your finger is just- Not the same.” She shuddered at the thought, “I’ll be right back, then.”

Grabbing her towel from the floor, she went back across the hallway into the bathroom. The mirror was still clouded with condensation from her shower and she wiped it clear with the damp towel before putting it in the hamper tucked behind the door.

She brushed her teeth quickly, collecting her dirty heap of clothes from the bathroom floor before she made her way back into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Stiles was already standing at the bed, pulling down the blankets and settling into the open side, already armed with the knowledge from previous sleepovers that she preferred to be on the side closest to the wall.

She moved to crawl across his legs to the other side of the bed and climbed underneath the covers, settling down onto her side facing the wall, not wanting to put pressure on the back of her head while she slept. Stiles quietly settled down next to her after switching off the lamp beside the bed.

“You smell good.” He whispered to her in the dark after a moment.

“I smell like you.” She laughed, “I used your shampoo and your body wash.”

“I know.” He said quietly.

She waited a full minute for him to continue, but he said nothing else. She turned to smile into the pillow before closing her eyes and drifting to sleep.

Too soon, morning came and they woke to the sound of Stiles’ alarm clock trilling loudly. Amber cracked her eyes open to find herself on her back, head tilted toward where best friend slept beside her.

During the night, one of his arms had been thrown over her chest, his forearm rose and fell in time with each of her breaths where it was laying across her breasts. He was sprawled out on his stomach, pillow tucked over his head, still sleeping soundly with his pillow muffling the obnoxious beeping.

“Stiles.” She groaned loudly, nudging her friend with her leg beneath the duvet, “Turn it off.”

He woke with a snort, moving to push himself upright with one arm against the mattress and the other where it was still pressed to her chest. He reached out a hand and clicked the alarm off.

“Ow,” She gasped, jerking away when his elbow put the brunt of his weight on her left breast, “Boobs, Stiles. Jesus.”

Stiles’ head snapped around to look at her as he pulled his arm away from where it had been digging into her. His eyes were wide, flicking down to her tshirt covered chest quickly before they traveled up to her sleepy face.

“Sorry.”

She sighed in response, reaching a hand up to sleepily cup the injury with a sleepy frown. It didn’t hurt anymore, the pain gone as quickly as it had come, but she covered the breast protectively for a moment anyway out of principle.

“Uh.. How’s your head?” He asked after pulling his eyes away from where her small hand was touching herself through the shirt. His shirt.

“Better than last night. Probably should take something for it before we head out, though.”

When Stiles crawled out of bed, Amber rolled onto her stomach and smothered herself in the pillow he’d been using, taking a deep breath of the scent under the guise of still being tired. She stayed in bed as Stiles went to shower and get dressed, waiting until he returned before she got up to use the bathroom and brush her teeth.

They stopped at Amber’s house before heading to the school so she could change out of her borrowed sleep clothes and get her backpack.

“Fifteen minutes!” Stiles yelled out the window of the Jeep in warning as she ran inside.

“Time me!” She dared over her shoulder.

She ran upstairs to her bedroom, stripping out of Stiles’ clothes and quickly pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweater within two minutes of rushing through the front door.

Using her hair brush, she removed the tangles from the ends of her long, ashy waves, combing through the top with her fingers until her flyaways settled.

Still rushing, she applied deodorant beneath her sweater with one hand and tossed her books into her bag with the other before zipping it shut and throwing it over her shoulder.

The girl ran down the hall to the bathroom and spritzed herself with the perfume on the vanity, fumbling to collect a tube of mascara and her eyelash curler in her hands before jogging back downstairs.

As she passed through the kitchen, she grabbed two apples from the basket hanging on the wall without slowing and continued on until she was out the front door and back at the vehicle where Stiles was waiting.

“Seven minutes.” Stiles told her with an impressed grin as she climbed back into the passenger side of the Jeep. “I think that’s actually a new record.”

She smiled, shoving one of the apples toward his face. She grinned harder when he automatically opened his mouth wide and sunk his teeth into it to take it from her while he backed out of the driveway.

Pulling down the sun visor, she curled her eyelashes and applied mascara quickly before shoving the items into her backpack where it sat on the floor between her feet.

“Dunno how you can do that in a moving car.” Stiles said through a mouthful of fruit, earning a laugh from her in response.

As she grabbed her own apple from where she’d put it for safekeeping between her legs, she looked over to where Stiles was steering the car with his left hand and shifting gears with his right between bites of the fruit. She ate her breakfast as they drove, her eyes bouncing between her friend’s long fingers where they wrapped around the gear shift and his mouth as he munched on his apple, too distracted to notice her ogling.

Stiles was finishing the last bite as he turned into the parking lot at the school, pulling the car into a spot and shutting off the Jeep before he turned to face the girl beside him. “Scott’s got something crazy to show us before class.”

“What?” She asked in confusion, climbing out of the Jeep and pulling her bag over her shoulders as she rounded the car to meet him, “He just told me he wanted to talk. What the hell’s he got to show us?”

Stiles rested a hand at the base of her neck, above her backpack, and guided her as they approached the school.

“Got bit by an animal last night, I guess.” He told her, “Says it’s pretty nasty.”

“Shit.” She said quietly, eyes scanning the bike rack as they passed to see if Scott was there yet, but not seeing his bicycle.

“Deserves it.” Stiles muttered, his hand gliding from her neck over to her opposite shoulder as he wrapped his arm loosely around her, “For leaving you alone in the woods. Hope he has to get a rabies shot and everything.”

“Stiles.” She scolded, “If he got bit by something, I’m pretty sure it happened before he left me.” She said softly, reaching her hand up to pat his where it was curled around her shoulder, “I heard him yell and then he was gone. He was probably in shock.”

“Yeah, well.” Stiles muttered as they came to a stop outside the front of the building to wait for Scott’s arrival, “I stand by what I said.”

She shook her head at him, appreciating the protectiveness, but more concerned about their other friend at the moment.

Only a few minutes passed before Stiles perked up and was releasing her shoulder as Scott came to stand in front of them.

“Okay. Let’s see this thing.” Stiles said excitedly, bouncing on his toes.

They both watched with rapt attention and leaned in close as Scott tugged up his shirt to reveal a large piece of bloody gauze on his side. The size of the bite was significantly bigger than either of them had been expecting. Amber gasped at the sight but Stiles looked absolutely thrilled.

“Ooh!” He said excitedly, reaching out to touch it before getting his hand slapped away by Amber, the girl pulling his hand back and keeping it trapped in her own.

“Yeah. Woah.” Scott said blankly, pulling his shirt back down, “It was too dark to see much, but I’m pretty sure it was a wolf.”

“A wolf bit you?” Stiles questioned incredulously as they slowly walked down the path to the school building.

“Uh-Huh.”

“No,” Stiles said immediately, “Not a chance.”

“I heard a wolf howling.” Scott looked past Stiles’ body to make eye contact with Amber, “Did you hear it?”

“I mean, I don’t know that it was a wolf,” She said slowly, shrugging and shaking her head, “Sorry, Scott.”

“No,” Stiles repeated, looking at Scott, “You didn’t.”

“What do you mean, ‘No I didn’t’? How do you know what I heard?”

“Because California doesn’t have wolves, okay? Not in like sixty years.” Stiles explained, shaking his head. He pulled Amber and himself to a stop as they turned to face Scott at the staircase in front of the school.

“Really?” Both Scott and Amber asked at the same time.

“Yes, Really.” Stiles told them, his eyes bouncing between his two friends. He squeezed Amber’s hand where they were still connected, “There are no wolves in California.”

Amber took in the information and reached down out of habit to check the time on her cell phone, only to find it missing. The pocket of her jeans decidedly empty.

“Stiles, is the Jeep unlocked? I think I left my phone.”

The boy reached his hands deep into the pocket of his jeans and produced his collection of keys, a tiny green bottle opener bright in the jumble of metal. Amber plucked them from his outstretched hand and rushed off without a word to retrieve her phone, only hearing the beginning of what Scott said next.

“Alright, well, if you don’t believe me about the wolf-“

Unlocking the passenger door, she quickly reached in to snatch the device from where it must have slipped out of her pocket and into the seat on the ride to school.

As she made her way back to the building, she fell into step with the beautiful strawberry blonde beside her as she made her way back toward the building, “Hey, Lyds.” Amber smiled, “How was break?”

“Oh the usual," Lydia narrowed her eyes. “We should’ve hung out, though.”

“Soon.” Amber promised her friend as they approached where Scott and Stiles were still in conversation at the bottom of the stairs, the latter’s voice gaining in volume the closer they got.

“-seriously gonna be the best thing that’s happened to this town since.. Since the birth of Amber Callisto.” He finished, catching sight of their friend and grinning at her cutely, “Hey, Amber, you look- Like you’re gonna walk right past me with Lydia.”

The girls passed by, but while Lydia’s eyes remained focused on the path in front of her, Amber shot her best friends a sweet smile over her shoulder, Stiles’ car keys still gripped in her hand.

“You’re whipped, dude.” She thought she heard Scott mutter before hearing what was definitely the sound of someone being hit followed by Scott’s quiet whine of pain.

Amber couldn’t keep the smile off her face at her friend’s antics, shaking her head as she continued to her locker to collect her things for first period. She turned her head when Stiles passed her locker to get down the hall to his own, her eyes glued to the back of his buzzed head as she pulled out her notebook.

She jumped when Scott stepped into her field of vision and blocked her sight of Stiles.

“Hey, I wanted to talk to you alone real quick.” He said, his hands pulling at the straps of his backpack nervously as he avoided her eyes.

“Sure, what’s up?” Amber clamped her notebook between her legs as she reached into her bag to pull out her chemistry textbook to stuff it into her locker where it could stay until third period.

“I just, I wanted to apologize. For last night. I-I don’t really remember getting home, or cleaning up the blood, or even texting you before I fell asleep. It-it’s all kind of a blur.”

“Scott, it’s okay,” She promised, turning her body to face him as she freed up her hands. She reached up to loosely tangle her fingers in the long hair at the side of his head, “You were in shock, okay? I’m not mad at you.”

“Right, I just, I needed to make sure you knew, y’know, that I’d never leave you behind.”

Amber’s grip on his hair tightened and she pressed up into her toes to lean her forehead against his. “I know.” She told him with a smile, knocking their heads together softly before shoving his head away and pulling back to gather her books for English into her arms.

She made her way to the English classroom and slid into her seat, smiling at Stiles where he was sitting at the desk behind her. She pulled out a pencil and tapped it quietly on her desk top as her eyes skimmed over the words printed on the paper in front of her until class started.

Students trickled in slowly, Scott going to his own seat beside Amber. When only a few empty desks remained, Mr. Anderson stood from his chair and moved to begin writing on the blackboard behind his desk.

“As you all know, there indeed, was a body found in the woods last night.” The teacher started, “And I am sure your eager little minds are coming up with various macabre scenarios as to what happened. But I am here to tell you, that the police have a suspect in custody-”

Amber whirled around to face Stiles, Scott doing the same, but the former shook his head. The Sheriff hadn’t even returned home by the time they’d left for school that morning, so there was no way for him to have obtained the information.

“-which means you can give your undivided attention to the syllabus which is on your desk outlining the semester.”

Amber turned to face forward again and slouched in her seat as she looked through the paper Mr. Anderson had left on their desks, reading through the syllabus and jotting down notes in the margins as she went. Her attention was torn away only for a moment to lean her head back and see Stiles with a pen in his teeth, using a yellow highlighter on his own paper. She grinned at him from her upside-down position before returning to her notes.

“Class,” A voice cut through the silence in the classroom, the students all looked to see their Vice Principal standing at the front of the room with a beautiful brunette. “This is our new student, Allison Argent. Please do your best to make her feel welcome.”

The girl, Allison, was nervously fiddling with the end of the thin scarf she had wrapped around her neck. She smiled, looking at the ground and making her way to the back of the room to sit in the seat behind Scott.

Amber watched as Scott turned to face Allison, pen between his fingers in offering. Both girls’ faces clouded in confusion before Allison smiled softly and took the pen from Scott’s outstretched hand.

“Thanks.”

Amber watched in awe at the way Scott continued staring at the new girl for just a moment too long before turning back to face the front of the room with a grin on his face.

“Are you staying to watch tryouts today?” Stiles asked Amber as he came to a stop where she was standing at Scott’s locker later that day after classes ended.

“Yeah, of course.” She told him with a grin, “Gotta watch my boys make first line, don’t I?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, engulfing her face in the palm of his large hand and playfully pushing her head away as she cackled.

“Can someone tell me how ‘new girl’ is here all of five minutes, and she’s already hanging with Lydia’s clique?” A girl from their English class asked as she came to stand behind Stiles.

“Lydia’s really not so bad. She’s a completely different person when you get to know her.” Amber defended.

Stiles ignored his friend and turned to the girl, “Because she’s hot.” He stated, “Beautiful people heard together.” He flicked Amber on the nose after his statement and she furrowed her brows. She rubbed at her nose before leaving them beside Scott’s locker and making her way across the hall where Allison, Jackson, and Lydia were standing.

“Um, I can’t. It’s family night this Friday.” Allison was saying as Amber reached the group, “Thanks for asking.”

“You sure?” Jackson pushed, “Everyone’s going after the scrimmage.”

“You mean like football?” Allison asked innocently, eyes drifting to Amber and smiling.

Amber shook her head at the girl, about to answer when Jackson’s voice cut in again.

“Football’s a joke in Beacon.” He laughed, “The sport here’s lacrosse. We’ve won the state championship for the past three years.”

“Because of a certain captain.” Lydia added, smiling at her boyfriend.

“Takes a whole team to win!” Amber said sweetly, her thoughts drifting to Scott and Stiles warming the bench for the entire season the year before.

Jackson rolled his eyes at her before returning his attention to the new girl, “Well, we have practice in a few minutes. That is, if you don’t have anywhere else-“

“Well I was going to-“

“Perfect!” Lydia interrupted what was likely to be an excuse from Allison, “You're coming.” Lydia and Jackson wandered off down the hallway, leaving Allison stunned in their wake.

“It’s actually kind of fun to watch.” Amber smiled, “I’m going too. You, Lydia, and me can all sit together, if you want. But, if you really don’t want to stay, you don’t have to. Lydia honestly won’t be mad. She doesn’t realize the force behind her own words sometimes.”

“No, I-I’ll stay and watch.” Allison decided.

The two girls caught up with Lydia on their way to the lacrosse field and the three of them settled down on a set of bleachers on the side of the pitch.

Amber smiled and waved when Scott turned to look at where they were sitting, but he paid no attention to his best friend, his eyes glued to the darker-haired brunette beside her. Scott’s gaze was torn away by Coach Finstock throwing a lacrosse stick with a larger net into the boy’s hands along with a new helmet.

“McCall! You’re in goal.” Coach told him.

“I’ve never played.” Amber heard Scott defend, clutching the new stick in his hands.

“I know,” Coach said, “Scoring some shots will give the boys a confidence boost. It’s a first day back thing. Get ‘em energized! Fired up!”

Amber’s shoulders slumped slightly. She knew that Scott had worked his ass off over the last year to try and improve his skills, but he’d never practiced in goal. She was unsure how her friend could attempt to impress the coach if he was being thrown into a new position just to make the rest of the team feel better about themselves.

“What about me?” Scott asked.

“Try not to take any in the face.” Coach supplied, reaching a hand up to slap Scott’s cheek softly before turning to the rest of the players around the field, “Let’s go! Come on!”

Amber rubbed her hands together in an attempt to keep them warm in the cold, winter air of the afternoon. She watched Stiles settle onto the bench, putting his helmet on the ground between his feet. He craned his neck to look for her on the crowded bleachers and grinned when he found her.

Shooting him a thumbs up and a smile, she waved before he turned his attention back to the field. Amber watched Scott make his way into the goal, helmet on his head and the goalie stick clutched in his hands.

“Who’s that?” Allison asked, looking at where Scott was waiting.

“Him?” Lydia asked, “I’m not sure who he is. Why?”

Amber rolled her eyes at her friend, about to cut in when Allison spoke again, sounding self-conscious.

“He’s, just- He’s in our English class.”

Allison turned her attention to Amber in question and Amber smiled at the girl’s lack of subtlety before the whistle blew loudly, interrupting them.

Their attention went to the field and Amber watched Scott in confusion as he clutched at his ears over the thick plastic that covered them. He looked like he was in pain and Amber rose slightly from her seat, debating going over to check on her friend.

Before she could move, another player walked toward the goal, stopping ten yards away and lobbing the ball as hard as he could at her friend. Amber flinched when Scott immediately took the ball to the head. It thunked loudly against the plastic of his helmet before he fell to the ground in the goal. Players on the field laughed at his pain and Amber slumped back to a seated position with a frown, seeing Stiles make a similar movement where he sat on the bench in front of them.

“Hey, way to catch with your face, McCall!” Someone on the field yelled.

Scott began to pull himself up, getting ready for the next player.

“Scott McCall.” Amber finally recovered enough to tell Allison, leaning close to give a small amount of privacy from Lydia. “He’s one of my best friends. Very much single.. Y’know, if you’re interested.”

Allison blushed and smiled, but refused to look at the face of the girl sitting next to her.

Another player ran up on the goal, throwing the ball to the left corner and straight into the net of Scott’s stick.

“Yes!” Amber squeaked in excitement.

Scott looked at the ball he was holding for a moment as if surprised he’d caught it at all.

“Yeah!” Stiles called out after a few seconds had passed, turning to look at Amber behind him for a moment and also wearing a look of pleased surprise on his face.

The third player in line rushed forward, shooting the ball low at Scott’s feet, but the ball was again, miraculously stopped from reaching the goal by Scott’s stick.

Stiles and Amber both yelped in surprise, the latter’s hands going above her head as she squealed excitedly.

Scott proceeded to catch every ball that was thrown at him, letting no goals pass as his friends watched on in amazement.

“He seems like he’s pretty good.” Allison observed.

“Yeah, very good.” Lydia agreed, impressed.

“He’s been practicing like crazy.” Amber supplied, unable to wipe the proud grin off her face.

They all watched as Jackson stepped forward, moving to the front of the line and readying himself for a shot. His feet came off the ground as he launched the ball toward the goal.

Scott caught that one too.

Stiles shot out of his seat when he yelled, his arms outstretched as he spun to look at the people around them, ensuring that they’d all seen the save.

“That is our friend!” Stiles announced loudly, looking toward Amber on the bleachers and pointing to where Scott was standing on the field. She nodded at him with an incredulous laugh.

Scott was good.

[harker-jonathan]

8 May. —I began to fear as I wrote in this book that I was getting too diffuse. But now I am glad that I went into detail from the first, for there is something so strange about this place and all in it that I cannot but feel uneasy. I wish I were safe out of it, or that I had never come. It may be that this strange night existence is telling on me, but would that that were all! If there were any one to talk to I could bear it, but there is no one. I have only the Count to speak with, and he- I fear I am myself the only living soul within the place. Let me be prosaiac so far as facts can be. It will help me to bear up, and imagination must not run riot with me. If it does I am lost. Let me say at once how I stand, or seem to.

I only slept a few hours when I went to bed, and feeling that I could not sleep any more, got up. I had hung my shaving glass by the window, and was just beginning to shave. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder, and heard the Count’s voice saying to me, “Good morning.” I started, for it amazed me that I had not seen him, since the reflection of the glass covered the whole room behind me. In starting I had cut myself slightly, but did not notice it at the moment. Having answered the Count’s salutation, I turned to the glass again to see how I had been mistaken. This time there could be no error, for the man was close to me, and I could see him over my shoulder. But there was no reflection of him in the mirror! The whole room behind me was displayed, but there was no sign of a man in it, except myself.

This was startling, and coming on the top of so many strange things, was beginning to increase that vague feeling of uneasiness which I always have when the Count is near. But at the instant I saw the the cut had bled a little, and the blood was trickling over my chin. I laid down the razor, turning as I did so half round to look for some sticking plaster. When the Count saw my face, his eyes blazed with a sort of demoniac fury, and he suddenly made a grab at my throat. I drew away and his hand touched the string of beads which held the crucifix. It made an instant change in him, for the fury passed so quickly that I could hardly believe that it was ever there.

“Take care,” he said, “take care how you cut yourself. It is more dangerous that you think in this country.” Then seizing the shaving glass, he went on, “And this is the wretched thing that has done the mischief. It is a foul bauble of man’s vanity. Away with it!” And opening the window with one wrench of his terrible hand, he flung out the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pieces on the stones of the courtyard far below. Then he withdrew without a word. It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave, unless in my watch-case or the bottom of the shaving pot, which is fortunately of metal.

When I went into the dining room, breakfast was prepared, but I could not find the Count anywhere. So I breakfasted alone. It is strange that as yet I have not seen the Count eat or drink. He must be a very peculiar man! After breakfast I did a little exploring in the castle. I went out on the stairs, and found a room looking towards the South.

The view was magnificent, and from where I stood there was every opportunity of seeing it. The castle is on the very edge of a terrific precipice. A stone falling from the window would fall a thousand feet without touching anything! As far as the eye can reach is a sea of green tree tops, with occasionally a deep rift where there is a chasm. Here and there are silver threads where the rivers wind in deep gorges through the forests.

But I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen the view I explored further. Doors, doors, doors everywere, and all locked and bolted. In no place save from the windows in the castle walls is there an available exit. The castle is a veritable prison, and I am a prisoner!

[vickyvicarious]

Count Dracula and Jonathan Harker — Dark Mirrors

As Dracula Daily goes along, there has been an increasing reversal/exchange of traits between Jonathan and Dracula. There's a lot of parallels or contrasts to be found with most of the cast and the Count, to be fair, but I think Jonathan goes a step further. In some ways it's as if Dracula's early identity theft came true, and they really are beginning to exchange places, or at least meet in the middle.

As I started noticing more and more, I became curious about how often they are directly mirrored, using the same language to describe both Jonathan and Dracula. So... that's what I'm doing here! Below the cut I have collected quotes as much as possible for all the traits I can think of being shared/stolen/exchanged between these two. There's a lot to work with, so it's all divided into three subsections: physical appearance, abilities, personality/role/relationships. (Plus a bonus section for things I want to mention that don't have good quotes to pull or don't fit anywhere else for some reason.) Nothing is in any particular order within each section, but I have arranged any quotes I use for a single trait chronologically.

Enjoy - and feel free to let me know if you find one I've missed! I already plan to update as we go for things that would be spoilers at the moment, so I'm happy to add in anything else relevant too. I can also make a cheat-sheet of all the similarities listed off in bullet-points without all the lengthy quotes, if you want something shorter to reference (because, I will warn you now - this is long). Just let me know. EDIT: cheat-sheet available here.

Physical Appearance

These are some of the most obvious/dramatic changes. I wasn't expecting as much language matching exactly here, since the changes themselves are of such a visible sort. However, it does match surprisingly often.

HAIR COLOR - Dracula gradually goes from white to dark, while Jonathan more abruptly goes from dark to white. Dracula's color change is associated with the youth he regains while feeding, and may thus revert if he doesn't feed. Jonathan's trauma-induced change appears permanent so far.

[Dracula, May 5 - note, the names in brackets are just referring to who the quote is about, not who it's said by] Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of colour about him anywhere.

+

[Dracula, June 30] There lay the Count, but looking as if his youth had been half renewed, for the white hair and moustache were changed to dark iron-grey; the cheeks were fuller, and the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath; the mouth was redder than ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled from the corners of the mouth and ran over the chin and neck.

+

[Dracula, September 18] There wasn't much people about that day, and close at hand was only one man, a tall, thin chap, with a 'ook nose and a pointed beard, with a few white hairs runnin' through it.

+

[Dracula, September 22] He was very pale, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, half in terror and half in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin man, with a beaky nose and black moustache and pointed beard, who was also observing the pretty girl.

-vs-

[Jonathan, October 3] Harker was still and quiet; but over his face, as the awful narrative went on, came a grey look which deepened and deepened in the morning light, till when the first red streak of the coming dawn shot up, the flesh stood darkly out against the whitening hair. [...] Last night he was a frank, happy-looking man, with strong, youthful face, full of energy, and with dark brown hair. To-day he is a drawn, haggard old man, whose white hair matches well with the hollow burning eyes and grief-written lines of his face.

+

[Jonathan, October 11] Then her husband turned to her wan-eyed and with a greenish pallor which subdued the snowy whiteness of his hair, and asked:

AGE - Dracula begins the novel with the appearance of an old man, and regains youth and vigor to a degree. Conversely, when his hair changes color Jonathan begins to look very aged as well. While it's true there's only one mention of this, and it may thus be more hyperbole or descriptive language to describe his state in the moment, it still feels worth including.

[Dracula, May 5] Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of colour about him anywhere. He held in his hand an antique silver lamp, in which the flame burned without chimney or globe of any kind, throwing long quivering shadows as it flickered in the draught of the open door. The old man motioned me in with his right hand with a courtly gesture, saying in excellent English, but with a strange intonation:

+

[Dracula, September 22 - his noticeable features no longer include age when Mina describes him. Jonathan remarks upon the contrast.] He was very pale, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, half in terror and half in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin man, with a beaky nose and black moustache and pointed beard, who was also observing the pretty girl. [...] "I believe it is the Count, but he has grown young. My God, if this be so! Oh, my God! my God! If I only knew! if I only knew!"

-vs-

[Jonathan, October 3] Last night he was a frank, happy-looking man, with strong, youthful face, full of energy, and with dark brown hair. To-day he is a drawn, haggard old man, whose white hair matches well with the hollow burning eyes and grief-written lines of his face.

CLOTHES - Dracula directly wears Jonathan's clothes specifically to impersonate him on two separate occasions. There is a possible element of mirroring on Jonathan's end as well, but it is largely speculative and you can feel free to consider it a stretch on my part: when Dracula isn't dressed up as Jonathan, he consistently wears all black. Later on in the story, Jonathan is the chief mourner at Mr. Hawkins' funeral. I think it may be reasonable to imagine him wearing mourning clothes as long as a child would for a parent, thus reflecting their relationship to one another. This appears to have been around 6-12 months, though men often only wore a hatband, armband, or ribbon. That may have been based on them going back to work however, which Jonathan didn't really do. Basically... it's possible that Jonathan has also started dressing in large amounts of black (and a change I have seen people make in fanart, etc.), but there doesn't seem to be anything confirming it in the text.

[Dracula, May 5] Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of colour about him anywhere.

+

[Dracula, June 24] It was a new shock to me to find that he had on the suit of clothes which I had worn whilst travelling here, and slung over his shoulder the terrible bag which I had seen the women take away. There could be no doubt as to his quest, and in my garb, too! This, then, is his new scheme of evil: that he will allow others to see me, as they think, so that he may both leave evidence that I have been seen in the towns or villages posting my own letters, and that any wickedness which he may do shall by the local people be attributed to me.

+

[Dracula, June 29] To-day is the date of my last letter, and the Count has taken steps to prove that it was genuine, for again I saw him leave the castle by the same window, and in my clothes.

+

[Dracula, October 3 - first Seward's, then Mina's description] By her side stood a tall, thin man, clad in black. His face was turned from us, but the instant we saw we all recognised the Count—in every way, even to the scar on his forehead. [...] Then indeed, my heart sank within me: beside the bed, as if he had stepped out of the mist—or rather as if the mist had turned into his figure, for it had entirely disappeared—stood a tall, thin man, all in black.

+

[Dracula, October 5] A tall man, thin and pale, with high nose and teeth so white, and eyes that seem to be burning. That he be all in black, except that he have a hat of straw which suit not him or the time.

-vs-

[Jonathan, September 19 - referencing Jonathan's role, and the first day Jonathan may have started to dress in mourning. The funeral itself was September 22] I dread coming up to London, as we must do the day after to-morrow; for poor Mr. Hawkins left in his will that he was to be buried in the grave with his father. As there are no relations at all, Jonathan will have to be chief mourner.

+

[Suitor Squad, September 29 - Jonathan is not present in this quote. However, it references 'being in mourning' affecting clothes, and even those not officially doing so also wore black at least that particular day] A little before twelve o'clock we three—Arthur, Quincey Morris, and myself—called for the Professor. It was odd to notice that by common consent we had all put on black clothes. Of course, Arthur wore black, for he was in deep mourning, but the rest of us wore it by instinct.

ACCENT - Dracula speaks perfect English at the start of the novel, but he has a noticeable accent. He specifically asks Jonathan to help him practice his English accent and manners. Then, once he arrives in London, no one ever comments on his accent. Even the zookeeper and dockworkers, who otherwise describe his appearance and tone freely and rudely, make no note of his accent. It seems like Dracula has learned from copying Jonathan how to affect an at least somewhat passable British accent (contrary to common portrayal in film).

[Dracula, May 5] The old man motioned me in with his right hand with a courtly gesture, saying in excellent English, but with a strange intonation:—

+

[Dracula, May 7] "I am content if I am like the rest, so that no man stops if he see me, or pause in his speaking if he hear my words, 'Ha, ha! a stranger!' [...] You shall, I trust, rest here with me awhile, so that by our talking I may learn the English intonation; and I would that you tell me when I make error, even of the smallest, in my speaking."

COLD HANDS - A single mention in both cases, but notable for using the exact same phrasing. (The phrase 'cold as ice' is used only one other time, to describe how Seward's heart feels as vampire!Lucy approaches.)

[Dracula, May 5] The instant, however, that I had stepped over the threshold, he moved impulsively forward, and holding out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed as cold as ice—more like the hand of a dead than a living man.

-vs-

[Jonathan, October 25] We men are all in a fever of excitement, except Harker, who is calm; his hands are cold as ice, and an hour ago I found him whetting the edge of the great Ghoorka knife which he now always carries with him. It will be a bad lookout for the Count if the edge of that "Kukri" ever touches his throat, driven by that stern, ice-cold hand!

BLAZING/BURNING EYES - The Count's eyes are described as red multiple times, but Jonathan's never are. However, when they are angry or full of bloodlust, the same language is used to describe the look in their eyes - specifically 'blazing', and more generally fire/hellfire imagery. This only happens once for Jonathan, but it's still significant for mirroring the exact wording, and because as far as I could find, this wording/imagery is never used for anyone else who isn't actively being influenced/corrupted by Dracula (and it is overwhelmingly associated with him the most). The closest we come is one mention of "fire in his eyes" when Arthur is asking how to help on September 7th, but that has a different tone in my opinion, and in any case doesn't match the exact wording used for Dracula and Jonathan both.

[Dracula, May 8] When the Count saw my face, his eyes blazed with a sort of demoniac fury, and he suddenly made a grab at my throat.

+

[Dracula, May 16] But the Count! Never did I imagine such wrath and fury, even to the demons of the pit. His eyes were positively blazing. The red light in them was lurid, as if the flames of hell-fire blazed behind them.

+

[Dracula, May 28] "See!"—he must have looked at it—"one is from you, and to my friend Peter Hawkins; the other"—here he caught sight of the strange symbols as he opened the envelope, and the dark look came into his face, and his eyes blazed wickedly—"the other is a vile thing, an outrage upon friendship and hospitality!"

+

[Dracula, June 30] Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated. [...] There was no lethal weapon at hand, but I seized a shovel which the workmen had been using to fill the cases, and lifting it high, struck, with the edge downward, at the hateful face. But as I did so the head turned, and the eyes fell full upon me, with all their blaze of basilisk horror.

+

[Lucy, September 29 - a bonus other vampire!] Lucy's eyes in form and colour; but Lucy's eyes unclean and full of hell-fire, instead of the pure, gentle orbs we knew. At that moment the remnant of my love passed into hate and loathing; had she then to be killed, I could have done it with savage delight. As she looked, her eyes blazed with unholy light, and the face became wreathed with a voluptuous smile. [...] The beautiful colour became livid, the eyes seemed to throw out sparks of hell-fire, the brows were wrinkled as though the folds of the flesh were the coils of Medusa's snakes, and the lovely, blood-stained mouth grew to an open square, as in the passion masks of the Greeks and Japanese.

+

[Dracula, October 3] A dark mass spread over the grass, coming on like the shape of a flame of fire; and then He moved the mist to the right and left, and I could see that there were thousands of rats with their eyes blazing red—like His, only smaller. [...] His eyes flamed red with devilish passion; the great nostrils of the white aquiline nose opened wide and quivered at the edge; and the white sharp teeth, behind the full lips of the blood-dripping mouth, champed together like those of a wild beast. [...] It would be impossible to describe the expression of hate and baffled malignity—of anger and hellish rage—which came over the Count's face. His waxen hue became greenish-yellow by the contrast of his burning eyes, and the red scar on the forehead showed on the pallid skin like a palpitating wound.

+

[Dracula, October 5] A tall man, thin and pale, with high nose and teeth so white, and eyes that seem to be burning.

-vs-

[Renfield, October 1 - a notable exception to the vampires being the only other ones with this phrasing. The timing of this description being given after he has aided Dracula to access Mina and is regretting what he's done, seems significant as well.] Suddenly he jumped to his feet, with his eyes blazing and all the signs of intense cerebral excitement. "To hell with you and your souls!" he shouted. "Why do you plague me about souls? Haven't I got enough to worry, and pain, and distract me already, without thinking of souls!"

+

[Jonathan, October 3] I told him exactly what had happened, and he listened with seeming impassiveness; but his nostrils twitched and his eyes blazed as I told how the ruthless hands of the Count had held his wife in that terrible and horrid position, with her mouth to the open wound in his breast. [...] To-day he is a drawn, haggard old man, whose white hair matches well with the hollow burning eyes and grief-written lines of his face. His energy is still intact; in fact, he is like a living flame.

Abilities

These are all pretty much only in one direction - namely, Jonathan acquiring these abilities. They vary on how much you can say "that's not normal" versus Jonathan performing a human version of a vampire activity, but either way they still tend to come from Dracula first.

WALL CLIMBING - One of the first and most noticeable changes in Jonathan stealing traits right back from Dracula. While the Count's version of climbing is definitely supernatural (lizard fashion), Jonathan's freeclimbing is at least upright and subject to gravity, as well as initially shorter and limited to moving sideways rather than down. However, it could be argued that the circumstances under which he does so/speed he uses may be a little inhuman. The language used to describe their climbing on the castle does sometimes echo, though not usually exactly. That said, Jonathan is directly imitating Dracula's technique and mention is made of that (fingers and toes grasping mortar). They also are described climbing Castle Dracula the same number of times, though Dracula only gets described going down and Jonathan's descriptions cover both directions so the actual number of trips is different. Also notable: when Jonathan is attacking him/the group has crucifixes aimed at him on October 3, Dracula's flight out the window involves neither lizard climbing nor turning into mist/a bat. He has transitioned to a more normal/undignified manner of exiting, while Jonathan's climb after him seems much smoother/has greater ease based on the description. It's as though in London, or at least in that moment, they've swapped.

[Dracula, May 12] But my very feelings changed to repulsion and terror when I saw the whole man slowly emerge from the window and begin to crawl down the castle wall over that dreadful abyss, face down with his cloak spreading out around him like great wings. At first I could not believe my eyes. I thought it was some trick of the moonlight, some weird effect of shadow; but I kept looking, and it could be no delusion. I saw the fingers and toes grasp the corners of the stones, worn clear of the mortar by the stress of years, and by thus using every projection and inequality move downwards with considerable speed, just as a lizard moves along a wall.

+

[Dracula, May 15] Once more have I seen the Count go out in his lizard fashion. He moved downwards in a sidelong way, some hundred feet down, and a good deal to the left.

+

[Dracula, June 24] I had been at the window somewhat less than half an hour, when I saw something coming out of the Count's window. I drew back and watched carefully, and saw the whole man emerge.

+

[Dracula, June 29] As he went down the wall, lizard fashion, I wished I had a gun or some lethal weapon, that I might destroy him; but I fear that no weapon wrought alone by man's hand would have any effect on him.

+

[Dracula, October 3] The next instant, with a sinuous dive he swept under Harker's arm, ere his blow could fall, and, grasping a handful of the money from the floor, dashed across the room, threw himself at the window. Amid the crash and glitter of the falling glass, he tumbled into the flagged area below.

-vs-

[Jonathan, June 25] I have seen him myself crawl from his window. Why should not I imitate him, and go in by his window? The chances are desperate, but my need is more desperate still. I shall risk it. [...] The stones are big and roughly cut, and the mortar has by process of time been washed away between them. I took off my boots, and ventured out on the desperate way. [...] I thought he might have the keys on him, but when I went to search I saw the dead eyes, and in them, dead though they were, such a look of hate, though unconscious of me or my presence, that I fled from the place, and leaving the Count's room by the window, crawled again up the castle wall.

+

[Jonathan, June 29 - an extra detail: Jonathan's final climb out of the castle was from the Count's window, not his own bedroom. So the way he left the castle mirrored the way Dracula had left while impersonating him. Also, if you subscribe to the belief (as I do) that Dracula drained Jonathan's blood the night before, then Jonathan is doing this extra-long climb with blood-loss which may be a point in the more supernatural tally.] Then a wild desire took me to obtain that key at any risk, and I determined then and there to scale the wall again and gain the Count's room. He might kill me, but death now seemed the happier choice of evils. Without a pause I rushed up to the east window, and scrambled down the wall, as before, into the Count's room. [...] With a last look around and at the box which contained the vile body, I ran from the place and gained the Count's room, determined to rush out at the moment the door should be opened. [...] I shall not remain alone with them; I shall try to scale the castle wall farther than I have yet attempted. I shall take some of the gold with me, lest I want it later. I may find a way from this dreadful place.

+

[Jonathan, October 3] Godalming and Morris had rushed out into the yard, and Harker had lowered himself from the window to follow the Count.

KUKRI KNIFE - This is rather speculative. I feel like there is some kind of parallel to be built with how often Jonathan is mentioned carrying his knife, mirroring how often Dracula's teeth are mentioned (their respective weapons). The language isn't quite the same though it would have been relatively easy to do (sharp, white teeth = sharp, silver knife) which is why I hesitate to say it is a definite mirroring. I also didn't quote all those moments because they don't fully match and there's so many of them. Aside from that though, Dracula's reaction to the knife was slightly unusual. He was unbothered by the mate's knife on the Demeter, but actively dodged Jonathan twice, once before the others even had their crucifixes lifted. Given the myth about this type of knife being made to draw blood (per @thegoatsongsngs excellent meta), perhaps there is some level of symbolism with it matching Dracula's teeth and being dangerous to the other. Of course, you could just say Dracula was being wary because of the situation/timing of the attack/the money in his pocket, more than actually fearing the knife.

[Mate of the Demeter, August 3 - Dracula is unbothered by the knife] "It was in the bows, and looking out. I crept behind It, and gave It my knife; but the knife went through It, empty as the air." And as he spoke he took his knife and drove it savagely into space.

+

[Jonathan, October 1 - the knife is intended only for mundane threats; Van Helsing doesn't expect it to harm Dracula] "Keep this near your heart"—as he spoke he lifted a little silver crucifix and held it out to me, I being nearest to him—"put these flowers round your neck"—here he handed to me a wreath of withered garlic blossoms—"for other enemies more mundane, this revolver and this knife; and for aid in all, these so small electric lamps, which you can fasten to your breast; and for all, and above all at the last, this, which we must not desecrate needless."

+

[Jonathan, October 3 - another option for why the Count avoids Jonathan's knife may be due to him aiming directly for his heart. We don't know exactly where the mate's knife would have stabbed. That said, the Kukri is more for slashing while the usual danger to a vampire comes from being impaled in the heart (the mate seemed to make more of a stabbing motion), so it's still unclear.] I did not myself know whether our lethal weapons would avail us anything. Harker evidently meant to try the matter, for he had ready his great Kukri knife and made a fierce and sudden cut at him. The blow was a powerful one; only the diabolical quickness of the Count's leap back saved him. A second less and the trenchant blade had shorne through his heart. As it was, the point just cut the cloth of his coat, making a wide gap whence a bundle of bank-notes and a stream of gold fell out. The expression of the Count's face was so hellish, that for a moment I feared for Harker, though I saw him throw the terrible knife aloft again for another stroke. [...] The next instant, with a sinuous dive he swept under Harker's arm, ere his blow could fall, and, grasping a handful of the money from the floor, dashed across the room, threw himself at the window.

+

[Jonathan, October 4 - Van Helsing now describes the Kukri as dangerous to Dracula after seeing his reaction to it] "We can know now what was in the Count's mind, when he seize that money, though Jonathan's so fierce knife put him in the danger that even he dread. He meant escape."

SUPERSPEED - While superspeed is never specifically noted as a vampiric ability, Dracula is known to move quickly. Jonathan's flight to Budapest from Castle Dracula happens at an alarmingly speedy pace which strains the limits of credulity. I know that there has been a more intensive meta/breakdown of the timing, but I can't find it at the moment so I will link this post instead, which shows the distance he was able to travel on a map. He leaves Castle Dracula on June 30th, and on August 12th Sister Agatha says that he has been with them nearly six weeks. A full six weeks would mean he arrived July 1, the very next day after he left, and anything close to six weeks means he only took at most a couple of days to travel to Klausenberg (where he caught the train to Budapest). While this is doable (Google maps tells me it's a 31-hour hike from the Borgo Pass, which is in the rough area of Castle Dracula), that would have been on foot through the mountains with no warm clothes, after climbing out of a castle window, possibly with heavy blood loss. Your mileage may vary on whether this was just Stoker not paying close attention to the timeline (something he has certainly been guilty of at other moments) or whether Jonathan moved with supernatural speed/endurance. Similarly, Jonathan's attack with the Kukri on October 3 is described as something Dracula only avoids via his superspeed - but that may simply be down to a human-speed blow that Dracula needed superhuman reflexes to escape since it was an unexpected/sudden attack.

[Dracula, September 30 - speed is not specifically listed as one of the vampire abilities, but it may be included under the umbrella of superstrength] "This vampire which is amongst us is of himself so strong in person as twenty men; he is of cunning more than mortal, for his cunning be the growth of ages; he have still the aids of necromancy, which is, as his etymology imply, the divination by the dead, and all the dead that he can come nigh to are for him at command; he is brute, and more than brute; he is devil in callous, and the heart of him is not; he can, within limitations, appear at will when, and where, and in any of the forms that are to him; he can, within his range, direct the elements; the storm, the fog, the thunder; he can command all the meaner things: the rat, and the owl, and the bat—the moth, and the fox, and the wolf; he can grow and become small; and he can at times vanish and come unknown."

+

[Dracula, October 3] Suddenly with a single bound he leaped into the room, winning a way past us before any of us could raise a hand to stay him. There was something so panther-like in the movement—something so unhuman, that it seemed to sober us all from the shock of his coming. [...] The blow was a powerful one; only the diabolical quickness of the Count's leap back saved him. [...] The next instant, with a sinuous dive he swept under Harker's arm, ere his blow could fall, and, grasping a handful of the money from the floor, dashed across the room, threw himself at the window.

-vs-

[Jonathan, August 12] He has been under our care for nearly six weeks, suffering from a violent brain fever. [...] He came in the train from Klausenburg, and the guard was told by the station-master there that he rushed into the station shouting for a ticket for home. Seeing from his violent demeanour that he was English, they gave him a ticket for the furthest station on the way thither that the train reached.

+

[Jonathan, October 3] The first to act was Harker, who, with a quick movement, threw himself before the door leading into the room in the front of the house. [...] Harker evidently meant to try the matter, for he had ready his great Kukri knife and made a fierce and sudden cut at him. The blow was a powerful one; only the diabolical quickness of the Count's leap back saved him. A second less and the trenchant blade had shorne through his heart.

PSYCHIC CONNECTION - You can interpret Jonathan as possibly reading Dracula's mind right before attacking him with a shovel. If so, there's a parallel there to Mina first gaining access to his mind via hypnotism the morning after she had begun turning into a vampire. Of course, that parallel only exists if you believe that Dracula drank Jonathan's blood the night of the 29th (which I do, and gave evidence for below). There is little other evidence for Jonathan knowing Dracula would spread vampirism across London, but he does express a fear of being locked out of Heaven if he dies via supernatural means, and he's aware of the existence of multiple vampires/could know they may have once been human, so he could also have been extrapolating from what he has seen. I've included both the possible mind-reading passage, as well as other relevant quotes below.

[Jonathan, May 16 - Dracula references possibly being the one to turn the vampire ladies into vampires in front of Jonathan] Then the Count turned, after looking at my face attentively, and said in a soft whisper:— "Yes, I too can love; you yourselves can tell it from the past. Is it not so? Well, now I promise you that when I am done with him you shall kiss him at your will."

+

[Jonathan, June 25 - Jonathan seems certain that a natural death will allow him into Heaven, implying he fears that won't be possible otherwise.] The chances are desperate, but my need is more desperate still. I shall risk it. At the worst it can only be death; and a man's death is not a calf's, and the dreaded Hereafter may still be open to me.

+

[Jonathan, June 29] Unless my ears deceived me, I heard the voice of the Count:— "Back, back, to your own place! Your time is not yet come. Wait! Have patience! To-night is mine. To-morrow night is yours!"

+

[Jonathan, June 30 - either he is reading Dracula's mind here, or he's had a theory building up over time since May and this is just the first he speaks of it. I also quoted Dracula's bloated appearance to support the previous quote/theory that he drank from Jonathan very recently] There lay the Count, but looking as if his youth had been half renewed, for the white hair and moustache were changed to dark iron-grey; the cheeks were fuller, and the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath; the mouth was redder than ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled from the corners of the mouth and ran over the chin and neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated. It seemed as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood. [...] Then I stopped and looked at the Count. There was a mocking smile on the bloated face which seemed to drive me mad. This was the being I was helping to transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come he might, amongst its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and create a new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the helpless. The very thought drove me mad.

+

[Mina, October 4 - the day after becoming linked to Dracula, she is able to read his mind while hypnotized] "I have an idea. I suppose it must have come in the night, and matured without my knowing it. He must hypnotise me before the dawn, and then I shall be able to speak."

SUPERSTRENGTH - Incredible strength is listed as a specific vampiric power, and is referenced multiple times throughout the book. In the final battle, Jonathan displays an incredible strength by lifting and moving Dracula's box of dirt, with him still in it. While normal humans have been known to exceed their usual limits of strength in extreme situations (hysterical strength) and thus it's possible this wasn't supernatural, it sure seems like it.

[Dracula, May 5 - the first two references are to the driver, the second two to the Count himself. Of course, we know and Jonathan later confirms they are one and the same] Then I descended from the side of the coach, as the calèche was close alongside, the driver helping me with a hand which caught my arm in a grip of steel; his strength must have been prodigious. [...] When the calèche stopped, the driver jumped down and held out his hand to assist me to alight. Again I could not but notice his prodigious strength. His hand actually seemed like a steel vice that could have crushed mine if he had chosen. [...] The instant, however, that I had stepped over the threshold, he moved impulsively forward, and holding out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed as cold as ice—more like the hand of a dead than a living man. [...] The strength of the handshake was so much akin to that which I had noticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, that for a moment I doubted if it were not the same person to whom I was speaking; so to make sure, I said interrogatively:—

+

[Dracula, September 30] "This vampire which is amongst us is of himself so strong in person as twenty men; he is of cunning more than mortal, for his cunning be the growth of ages; he have still the aids of necromancy, which is, as his etymology imply, the divination by the dead, and all the dead that he can come nigh to are for him at command; he is brute, and more than brute; he is devil in callous, and the heart of him is not; he can, within limitations, appear at will when, and where, and in any of the forms that are to him; he can, within his range, direct the elements; the storm, the fog, the thunder; he can command all the meaner things: the rat, and the owl, and the bat—the moth, and the fox, and the wolf; he can grow and become small; and he can at times vanish and come unknown."

+

[Dracula, October 2] When I had promised to pay for his information and given him an earnest, he told me that he had made two journeys between Carfax and a house in Piccadilly, and had taken from this house to the latter nine great boxes—"main heavy ones"—with a horse and cart hired by him for this purpose. [...] "There was the old party what engaged me a-waitin' in the 'ouse at Purfleet. He 'elped me to lift the boxes and put them in the dray. Curse me, but he was the strongest chap I ever struck, an' him a old feller, with a white moustache, one that thin you would think he couldn't throw a shadder." [...] "Why, 'e took up 'is end o' the boxes like they was pounds of tea, and me a-puffin' an' a-blowin' afore I could up-end mine anyhow—an' I'm no chicken, neither." [...] I had gained a new painful experience; the Count could, it was evident, handle the earth-boxes himself.

-vs-

[Jonathan, September 29 - just one more note on the weight of these boxes. Though the workers were emphasizing the weight as a clue to buy them a drink here, the boxes are mentioned being heavy several other times as well] Their tally was exact with the list, and they had nothing to add except that the boxes were "main and mortal heavy," and that shifting them was dry work.

+

[Jonathan, November 6 - remember, this box is the same as the ones the workers struggled with above, and likely heavier given that it has the Count's body inside it] In an instant he had jumped upon the cart, and, with a strength which seemed incredible, raised the great box, and flung it over the wheel to the ground.

PARALYZING GAZE - Both times when someone actual seems about to physically harm him, Dracula is able to stare at them with a gaze that seems to sap their strength and force them to fall back. In the final battle, Jonathan seems to drive away the men Dracula has hired through the force of his gaze alone. You might say he just seems very ferocious and they don't want to mess with him; however, Quincey dies because they do not fall back for him in the same way and he gets stabbed while forcing his way past them, so there is at least some support for Jonathan's gaze being supernatural here.

[Dracula, June 30] There was no lethal weapon at hand, but I seized a shovel which the workmen had been using to fill the cases, and lifting it high, struck, with the edge downward, at the hateful face. But as I did so the head turned, and the eyes fell full upon me, with all their blaze of basilisk horror. The sight seemed to paralyse me, and the shovel turned in my hand and glanced from the face, merely making a deep gash above the forehead. The shovel fell from my hand across the box, and as I pulled it away the flange of the blade caught the edge of the lid which fell over again, and hid the horrid thing from my sight.

+

[Dracula, October 3] "So when He came to-night I was ready for Him. I saw the mist stealing in, and I grabbed it tight. I had heard that madmen have unnatural strength; and as I knew I was a madman—at times anyhow—I resolved to use my power. Ay, and He felt it too, for He had to come out of the mist to struggle with me. I held tight; and I thought I was going to win, for I didn't mean Him to take any more of her life, till I saw His eyes. They burned into me, and my strength became like water."

-vs-

[Jonathan, November 6 - his gaze isn't specifically described; however, Mina is too far away to see his eyes clearly, and the contrast to Quincey is notable] In the midst of this I could see that Jonathan on one side of the ring of men, and Quincey on the other, were forcing a way to the cart; it was evident that they were bent on finishing their task before the sun should set. Nothing seemed to stop or even to hinder them. Neither the levelled weapons nor the flashing knives of the gypsies in front, nor the howling of the wolves behind, appeared to even attract their attention. Jonathan's impetuosity, and the manifest singleness of his purpose, seemed to overawe those in front of him; instinctively they cowered, aside and let him pass. In an instant he had jumped upon the cart, and, with a strength which seemed incredible, raised the great box, and flung it over the wheel to the ground. In the meantime, Mr. Morris had had to use force to pass through his side of the ring of Szgany.

Personality/Role/Relationships

The title of this section is pretty loose, and encompasses attitudes and outside perspectives of them as well. Basically a catch-all for anything to do with ideals, personality, narrative role, their relationship to one another or others, etc. Several of these, especially further down the list, also start pulling away from direct quotes mirroring the same language, to being more about contrasting narrative arcs and the like.

LIVING FLAME - This was partially covered in the entry on 'blazing eyes', but I feel like it warrants special mention of its own. When Jonathan is hunting Dracula after Mina's attack, he is described with a turn of phrase otherwise only ever applied to the Count's warrior ancestors (in a very proud, bragging-about-why-they-are-conquerors context). Dracula is also described as looking/moving like a flame several times (usually from a distance or when he can't be seen clearly), which goes along with the hellfire imagery.

[Dracula, May 8] "We Szekelys have a right to be proud, for in our veins flows the blood of many brave races who fought as the lion fights, for lordship. Here, in the whirlpool of European races, the Ugric tribe bore down from Iceland the fighting spirit which Thor and Wodin gave them, which their Berserkers displayed to such fell intent on the seaboards of Europe, ay, and of Asia and Africa too, till the peoples thought that the were-wolves themselves had come. Here, too, when they came, they found the Huns, whose warlike fury had swept the earth like a living flame, till the dying peoples held that in their veins ran the blood of those old witches, who, expelled from Scythia had mated with the devils in the desert. Fools, fools! What devil or what witch was ever so great as Attila, whose blood is in these veins?"

-vs-

[Jonathan, October 3] To-day he is a drawn, haggard old man, whose white hair matches well with the hollow burning eyes and grief-written lines of his face. His energy is still intact; in fact, he is like a living flame.

HUNTER/HUNTED - Initially, Dracula is described as a hunter. Later on, this language reverses and he becomes the hunted. While Jonathan is by no means alone in hunting him, he started off the book in the role of prey and so in his case it becomes a reversal/exchange (unlike the other men who weren't directly hunted by Dracula/Mina who was attacked only after they were working against him first). Despite Dracula's taunt at one point about the group being 'jackals', they are clearly the hunters now, not scavengers. (There is also a lot of animal imagery used for Dracula in general, but I didn't get into that here.)

[Dracula, May 5] The Count's eyes gleamed, and he said:—"Listen to them—the children of the night. What music they make!" Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to him, he added:—"Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter."

+

[Dracula, September 27] But it may be that he will not attempt the place. There is no reason why he should; his hunting ground is more full of game than the churchyard where the Un-Dead woman sleep, and the one old man watch.

+

[Dracula, October 3] "Then he spoke to me mockingly, 'And so you, like the others, would play your brains against mine. You would help these men to hunt me and frustrate me in my designs!'"

-vs-

[Jonathan, May 12 - I just picked a couple quotes to illustrate his initial role as prey. If I had tried to gather up every mention of Jonathan feeling trapped/trying to flee the length would be insane.] I feel the dread of this horrible place overpowering me; I am in fear—in awful fear—and there is no escape for me; I am encompassed about with terrors that I dare not think of...

+

[Jonathan, June 25] I thought he might have the keys on him, but when I went to search I saw the dead eyes, and in them, dead though they were, such a look of hate, though unconscious of me or my presence, that I fled from the place, and leaving the Count's room by the window, crawled again up the castle wall.

+

[Van Helsing, October 3 - these quotes about hunting are Van Helsing talking, to the whole group but (at least in the first two instances) especially Jonathan. Notably, by October 3rd Jonathan now 'understands' what it means to be a hunter... the feeling Dracula accused him of lacking in the beginning of the book.] "And so we have this day to hunt out all his lairs and sterilise them. So we shall, if we have not yet catch him and destroy him, drive him to bay in some place where the catching and the destroying shall be, in time, sure." [...] "We shall go there and search that house; and when we learn what it holds, then we do what our friend Arthur call, in his phrases of hunt 'stop the earths' and so we run down our old fox—so? is it not?"" [...] "Why take that money? You follow quick. You are hunters of wild beast, and understand it so."

RUNNING HOME - A subset of the previous one in a way, but something I wanted to quote specifically as well. The novel begins with Jonathan trying to escape Dracula and flee home to safety, only to meet his enemy there once more. Then, they reverse: Dracula flees home and Jonathan (together with the others) chase him towards home. If you want to take it a step further, you can note Dracula leaving vampire!Lucy behind alone to face her fate (unaware she already was killed) and prioritizing saving his own skin - and parallel that to Jonathan initially wanting to move on with his life and not confront whether or not Dracula was truly a monster (despite knowing if he is, he might be preying upon other people). I feel that is less distinct of a parallel but it can still be made so I included it here as well.

[Dracula, October 28] "So he came to London to invade a new land. He was beaten, and when all hope of success was lost, and his existence in danger, he fled back over the sea to his home; just as formerly he had fled back over the Danube from Turkey Land." [...] "As he fled back over the Danube, leaving his forces to be cut to pieces, so now he is intent on being safe, careless of all."

-vs-

[Jonathan, June 30] And then away for home! away to the quickest and nearest train! away from this cursed spot, from this cursed land, where the devil and his children still walk with earthly feet!

+

[Jonathan, August 24] 'I have had a great shock, and when I try to think of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I do not know if it was all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know I have had brain fever, and that is to be mad. The secret is here, and I do not want to know it. I want to take up my life here, with our marriage.'

TAUNTING - Noted more because it seems a little unusual for Jonathan than for it being a recurring thing or using the exact same wording. Dracula is absolutely sadistic and takes great joy in mocking/tormenting Jonathan repeatedly throughout his imprisonment. While he doesn't waste time doing so in any open confrontation, saving it for his journal, when Jonathan is in what he perceives to be a position of power he gets in on the mockery of politeness as well. His words somewhat reference one of Dracula's taunts.

[Dracula, May 29 - only quoting one instance, as it is the most relevant one] "But I am in hopes that I shall see more of you at Castle Dracula."

-vs-

[Jonathan, October 17] Everything is pretty well fixed now, I think, to welcome the Count on his return from his tour.

BLOODLUST/BLASPHEMY - Not a direct mirror, but Jonathan's dedication to Mina has him willing to damn his own soul, even outright saying he would sell his soul to destroy Dracula. There are also several later moments that imply he would fight his own companions if they ever tried to kill her, despite that being what she requested. While hellish/demonic imagery isn't unusual for vampires in general, Dracula is directly compared to Judas and implied to have potentially made a deal with the Devil while still alive (hence his weather magic not being a normal vampire power). This in addition to Dracula's whole thing being going around damning others' souls to hell (via corrupting them into vampires), which is exactly what Jonathan wants to do to him.

[Dracula, May 29] The last I saw of Count Dracula was his kissing his hand to me; with a red light of triumph in his eyes, and with a smile that Judas in hell might be proud of.

+

[Dracula, September 30] "The Draculas were, says Arminius, a great and noble race, though now and again were scions who were held by their coevals to have had dealings with the Evil One. They learned his secrets in the Scholomance, amongst the mountains over Lake Hermanstadt, where the devil claims the tenth scholar as his due."

-vs-

[Jonathan, October 3] To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. [...] "I care for nothing now," he answered hotly, "except to wipe out this brute from the face of creation. I would sell my soul to do it!" [...] "May God give him into my hand just for long enough to destroy that earthly life of him which we are aiming at. If beyond it I could send his soul for ever and ever to burning hell I would do it!"

MINA - Everything about Dracula's relationship to Mina is trying to be a mirror to Jonathan, just in a darker way. The most notable direct contrast is during/after the attack of October 3rd. I've already directly compared the quotes for that day, so I won't repeat it here... but there's a lot of direct contrast. After that day, I think the relationship continues to be the same... while Jonathan and Mina chose one another and are bound by love, Dracula's connection to her is an assault and they both hate one another. An anon wrote me a note on the nature of their relationships while traveling, which I'm just going to quote here: "while Dracula is escaping London for Galatz, he's in inactivity and silence, all while occupying Mina's mind. Jonathan has been made to build "a door" between himself and Mina, who told him to never tell her anything about their actions or else the Count will hear. Jonathan is barred from Mina's mind, all the while the Count is claiming it. He's also silent and increasingly inactive and silent, cold and distant to his peers while this is happening." Generally speaking, Mina and Jonathan seek comfort together; Mina and Dracula use their connection to try and oppose one another. Dracula is (temporarily) tied to her soul just as Jonathan is, but the nature of that connection is vastly different.

[Dracula, October 3] "And you, their best beloved one, are now to me, flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood; kin of my kin; my bountiful wine-press for a while; and shall be later on my companion and my helper."

+

[Dracula, October 11] "But you must remember that I am not as you are. There is a poison in my blood, in my soul, which may destroy me; which must destroy me, unless some relief comes to us."

-vs-

[Jonathan, August 24] I could only tell him that I was the happiest woman in all the wide world, and that I had nothing to give him except myself, my life, and my trust, and that with these went my love and duty for all the days of my life.

+

[Jonathan, October 11] "You are nearest and dearest and all the world to me; our souls are knit into one, for all life and all time."

RESEARCH/PREPARATION - Not unique to Jonathan alone by any means, the research of our heroes is a large part of the reason Dracula is driven back/able to be defeated (Van Helsing and Mina being especially big stars). However, this is in fact a trait that the Count himself shares as well. This is not anything they learn from the other; both Jonathan and Dracula start out the novel as the type of person who tries to do research and prepare for the future when possible. The difference may be that Dracula is too convinced of his own superiority to admit when he makes a mistake (ex: feeding on the wrong person with Lucy), while Jonathan is generally perfectly willing to listen to most others (colonialist racism aside) and adjust his planning to accommodate new information or events. The many boxes are also an excellent example of this, as Dracula's plan to bring/scatter them about the country was very clever, but he didn't alter his plan to hide them swiftly enough or in new places even when he knew the group had investigated Carfax. Meanwhile, Jonathan dove headfirst into researching/tracking them before even knowing how they were relevant, and then took direction on how to deal with them. I'm only quoting from the beginning of the book, as both their research on the new region they were traveling to was what initially struck me here. *Edit: I'm adding a third quote, when Jonathan remarks to himself that Dracula would make a good lawyer. I don't think it quite needs its own section, but does show how their minds can work in similar ways.

[Dracula, May 7] In the library I found, to my great delight, a vast number of English books, whole shelves full of them, and bound volumes of magazines and newspapers. A table in the centre was littered with English magazines and newspapers, though none of them were of very recent date. The books were of the most varied kind—history, geography, politics, political economy, botany, geology, law—all relating to England and English life and customs and manners. There were even such books of reference as the London Directory, the "Red" and "Blue" books, Whitaker's Almanac, the Army and Navy Lists, and—it somehow gladdened my heart to see it—the Law List. [...] "But, Count," I said, "you know and speak English thoroughly!" [...] He was interested in everything, and asked me a myriad questions about the place and its surroundings. He clearly had studied beforehand all he could get on the subject of the neighbourhood, for he evidently at the end knew very much more than I did.

+

[Dracula, May 12] I explained all these things to him to the best of my ability, and he certainly left me under the impression that he would have made a wonderful solicitor, for there was nothing that he did not think of or foresee. For a man who was never in the country, and who did not evidently do much in the way of business, his knowledge and acumen were wonderful.

-vs-

[Jonathan, May 3 - Jonathan's account goes on into various things that he has learned about the region but I'm only quoting the first part that describes him researching.] Having had some time at my disposal when in London, I had visited the British Museum, and made search among the books and maps in the library regarding Transylvania; it had struck me that some foreknowledge of the country could hardly fail to have some importance in dealing with a nobleman of that country.

NO SAFE SPACE - I actually wrote a meta quite a while ago all about Jonathan's privacy being increasingly invaded during his time at the castle, which I'm linking for you. But there are ways that Jonathan actually begins to mirror Dracula's invasion/destruction of his safe space. Dracula gives Jonathan specific paper to write on that will be easily read through a thin envelope; Jonathan retaliates by trying to read his letters as soon as Dracula leaves the room. Dracula later intercepts Jonathan's shorthand letter and burns it while pretending to be Jonathan's friend; in London, Jonathan pretends to still be employed by Dracula in order to gain access to Dracula's documents and read his finished correspondence. Similarly, while staying in Dracula's castle, Jonathan knew that he had no safe space remaining when Dracula had carried him to bed, changed his clothes, could climb in through the window, and had stolen his belongings (more detail in the post linked above). Later on in the book, Jonathan leads the heroes through Carfax, which is meant to be Dracula's safe abode in London. He is almost singlehandedly responsible for tracking down all of Dracula's boxes of earth and thus his other properties, which are what allow him a place of refuge in a foreign land (like Jonathan's private room should have been). Finally, he knows roughly where Castle Dracula is and is the reason the rest of the heroes are able to work out where Dracula is ultimately headed once he's on the run (though Mina is the one who figures out the specific routes to get there). I'm only quoting the letters aspect below, but I think the parallel of the bedroom/home being entered and Jonathan's belongings being stolen/Dracula's boxes being purified is a valid one too. Just very long to quote and doesn't have as distinct line by line parallels to point towards.

[Dracula, May 12] "I pray you, my good young friend, that you will not discourse of things other than business in your letters. It will doubtless please your friends to know that you are well, and that you look forward to getting home to them. Is it not so?" As he spoke he handed me three sheets of note-paper and three envelopes. They were all of the thinnest foreign post, and looking at them, then at him, and noticing his quiet smile, with the sharp, canine teeth lying over the red underlip, I understood as well as if he had spoken that I should be careful what I wrote, for he would be able to read it.

+

[Dracula, May 28] The Count has come. He sat down beside me, and said in his smoothest voice as he opened two letters:— "The Szgany has given me these, of which, though I know not whence they come, I shall, of course, take care. See!"—he must have looked at it—"one is from you, and to my friend Peter Hawkins; the other"—here he caught sight of the strange symbols as he opened the envelope, and the dark look came into his face, and his eyes blazed wickedly—"the other is a vile thing, an outrage upon friendship and hospitality! It is not signed. Well! so it cannot matter to us." And he calmly held letter and envelope in the flame of the lamp till they were consumed.

-vs-

[Jonathan, May 12] Then he took up my two and placed them with his own, and put by his writing materials, after which, the instant the door had closed behind him, I leaned over and looked at the letters, which were face down on the table. I felt no compunction in doing so, for under the circumstances I felt that I should protect myself in every way I could. One of the letters was directed to Samuel F. Billington, No. 7, The Crescent, Whitby, another to Herr Leutner, Varna; the third was to Coutts & Co., London, and the fourth to Herren Klopstock & Billreuth, bankers, Buda-Pesth. The second and fourth were unsealed. I was just about to look at them when I saw the door-handle move.

+

[Jonathan, September 29] They all knew that I was busy, and that my stay was short, and Mr. Billington had ready in his office all the papers concerning the consignment of boxes. It gave me almost a turn to see again one of the letters which I had seen on the Count's table before I knew of his diabolical plans. Everything had been carefully thought out, and done systematically and with precision. [...] I saw the invoice, and took note of it: "Fifty cases of common earth, to be used for experimental purposes." Also the copy of letter to Carter Paterson, and their reply; of both of these I got copies.

+

[Jonathan, September 30] Harker has got the letters between the consignee of the boxes at Whitby and the carriers in London who took charge of them. He is now reading his wife's typescript of my diary. I wonder what they make out of it. Here it is.... [...] The bundle of letters relating to the purchase of the house were with the typescript.

RETURN TO HELL - Not a true exchange of traits so much as an interesting parallel/contrast. To quote an anon, in the later sections of the chase, "The Count is going back to 'Hell' on a dark river, Jonathan is on the same river, also returning to his 'Hell'". I found this particularly interesting. The context of course for Dracula's hell being that he is returning home (hell = home, thus Dracula = demonic) whereas Jonathan is willingly returning to his personal hell where he suffered. This goes along with the Castle being the seat of an old power the likes of which “mere "modernity” cannot kill", as Jonathan says on May 15th (and possibly magical in its own right, as a malevolent ‘genius loci’, per the awesome meta by @see-arcane). Another interesting detail about the river travel as well, is of course the link to the River Styx. Taking a river to hell - of course you’ll think of Styx (though Hades as a whole is not actually a direct parallel to a Christian Hell, it still encompasses the 'bad afterlife' so to speak). But Jonathan and Arthur’s boating accident forced them off the river early, which is actually a good thing in this metaphor, because the further down the river Styx you travel, the worse your punishment will be in the afterlife. So in that sense, them being forced to stop traveling down the river in a boat is akin to saying that though they follow Dracula back to (metaphorical) hell, they aren’t going as far in/won’t be permanently damned the same way.

[Dracula, September 30] Thus, whereas he can do as he will within his limit, when he have his earth-home, his coffin-home, his hell-home, the place unhallowed, as we saw when he went to the grave of the suicide at Whitby; still at other time he can only change when the time come.

+

[Dracula, October 4] “Because my dear, dear Madam Mina, now more than ever must we find him even if we have to follow him to the jaws of Hell!”

-vs-

[Jonathan, October 30] “Do you know what the place is? Have you seen that awful den of hellish infamy—with the very moonlight alive with grisly shapes, and every speck of dust that whirls in the wind a devouring monster in embryo? Have you felt the Vampire’s lips upon your throat?”

Miscellany

This is a few notes that I don't really have specific quotes for, and which may not be parallels in the same way as everything else, but which still seem fitting to go in here. Some of these might not be as unique to just these two (not that all the others have been anyway), but they still affect them, so I think are worth mentioning. Some are also just interesting to me but not fully thought out.

COMPANIONS = POWER - Jonathan and Dracula appear to be seesawing back and forth a little bit. In the beginning, Jonathan was isolated while Dracula had his vampiric companions and wolf minions. Then, as soon as Jonathan (together with Mina) enters the story again in London, the tide changes. Until this point, Dracula has been gradually winning and finally kills/turns Lucy. However, when the Harkers arrive, the Suitor Squad (plus Van Helsing) quickly defeat vampire!Lucy, and they all begin working together to hunt Dracula. He seizes back control and gains a new companion of his own (in a sense) once they start leaving Mina alone, though they still drive him away from the country. Then, as tension builds between Jonathan and Mina over her wish to be killed if she poses a danger and his decision to become a vampire with her if she turns, Jonathan starts pulling away from his other companions as well. Or rather, he seems willing to do so if he thinks they're going to harm his wife. At the same time, Jonathan and Mina don't get to talk anymore - and Dracula is able to seize back control briefly and escape their trap, hiring new people to work for him along the way. When Van Helsing slays the vampire ladies and our heroes rejoin one another the balance of strength tips back towards them. Basically there is a pattern of back and forth. When Jonathan is isolated either mentally or physically, Dracula is in power and begins acquiring more companions; when he unites with his companions and especially Mina, Dracula begins to lose.

CULTURAL SUPERIORITY - Jonathan begins the book as a representative of the British, in a way (certainly for Dracula). There is a fair amount of colonialist attitude in his journal entries, dismissing local "superstitions", using racist language/terms, and generally seeming to express a kind of paternalistic fondness for "exotic" ways of life, in a way that reduces them to being lesser than what he knows. This isn't necessarily intended to make him an awful person, or indeed even unusual for someone of that time/place. He may actually be meant as an example of being better/more open-minded than most of his peers, as he does seem to be willing to change his own beliefs and respects their kindness even when he thinks they're being superstitious. But his perspective as a citizen of a ruling empire clashes/mirrors with Dracula's view as a bygone conqueror in interesting ways. Dracula also has a sense of innate superiority that he links to his culture and more specifically his direct family line. Dracula believes that his inherent abilities, his past, and his power all guarantee his success in the future as well. He is looking to conquer a new people, in a way. This divide intersects in interesting ways with Jonathan's status as middle-class employee and Dracula's wealthy nobility as well.

GRAVITY OF CHARACTER - This is more of a meta note. But I've just found it really interesting to watch as many people reading Dracula Daily have reversed their view of Dracula and Jonathan. In the beginning, Jonathan was the subject of a lot of jokes. Dracula too, don't get me wrong - but those jokes still tended to make more fun of what Dracula was doing (cooking dinner, playing maid, etc.), versus mocking Jonathan's character (his awareness, his intelligence, etc.), at least in my opinion. Both of them have been subject to a lot of serious analysis as well as memes, but on the whole, the trajectory has been that people increasingly take Jonathan seriously. Dracula is still being called a dumbass and mocked far more in the late book. There's also a kind of reversal where people who only knew the movies or pop culture didn't care about Jonathan in the very beginning and only knew/cared about Dracula, but now most people seem in agreement that we all hate Dracula and love Jonathan. Just fun to notice the exchange into their reception as well a bit!

[4dtk]

hi!!! are you taking smut requests? ignore this if you dont but if you are, can i request morning sex with mark?

nectar (mark)

warnings/tags: irl porn at the end for visualisation, blowjob, cum swallowing, riding, unprotected sex, pwp, brief face-sitting

word count: 1.9k

a/n: sure anon <3, this is for fem!reader btw. link at the end contains irl porn pleaaase don't click unless you're comfortable!

NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MINORS DNI!

“oh man… he’s knocked out cold,” you mumble, squinting at the bright light seeping in through the windows. it baths the room in warmth perfectly, providing that gentle caress of apollo in the messy room that you could half call your home at this point. like the complicated wires of his recording software bundled up at the corner, you were entangled tightly with mark’s complicated life as an idol, having had met the man at a concert where the group’s lightstick hit you in the face, hard.

it had become a running joke ever since you’ve been coming over to the dorms more and more, even getting you a celebratory cake that said please don’t injure her again when mark had finally confessed after months of pestering from the members. johnny had whispered to you that maybe you could finally get your revenge by slamming mark’s face into the cake.

giggling quietly at the memory from two years ago, you’re finally met with mark’s peaceful face, deep in slumber. the sun hardly touches him, blocked by your body as you propped your upper body up with an elbow. he looks so beautiful, so so divine that you can’t help but trail a hand over his covered body, blanket up to his neck since he gets cold easily.

“mmhm…” he mumbles, albeit still unconscious with the slightest knit of his eyebrows. you’re on high alert with that expression, observing him for a few seconds more if he really did happen to have a bad dream. his breaths seem to be laboured, irregular and needy that you catch on without fail. while you readjust yourself under the covers, your knee brushes against his centre to test the waters while your eyes drink in the furrowing of his eyebrows and shaky breathless whimpers he lets out.

“oh. so it’s that kind of dream,” a smirk is plastered on your face, frequenting the contact of your knee against his crotch as you rub him through the fabric. mark thrashes in the sheets below you, obvious that your movements are only fuelling the nasty, dirty fantasy he’s having in his sleep. with a hand, it slips inside his shorts to squeeze the bulge, adding and removing pressure that mark straight up ruts into your hand.

“a..ahn… (y/n)…” he mumbles out, digging his face deeper into the pillow with a tense to his muscles, on edge like intense dance practices and when mark’s just striving to make you cum behind closed doors. right now, you smile to yourself with the tables turned, speeding up your hand. the covers are thrown off of you and you take the chance to see how much he’s making a mess through the underwear, hips shimmying out of the loose sweatpants to chase the tempting touch of your skin on his dick.

you’re so zoned in on the sight that you don’t realise mark’s already awoken, the scrunch on his face displaying the mix of immense pleasure and the annoying headache he’s feeling due to a hangover. like a vice, your hand tightens around his hardening cock that it draws a long moan out of him and you have to bite your lip from concealing your own. the other fists the bedsheets, finger tapping against the cotton; a habit you noticed he does when he's close.

"ack!" you exclaim when mark takes over, meeting his familiar dick as he fishes it out of his underwear, now fully rock hard with beads of pre-cum leaking from its tip. the idol wastes no time in forcing your mouth on him, smiling when it's thrusted so deep that it touches the back of your throat; you gag uncomfortably but recover rather quickly, humming around his length. the warmness of your mouth mimics your pussy so good, and mark can't help but continue the bucking of his hips.

it reminds mark of the countless many sessions he's had with you, hot and heavy in the recording studio as you fucked ruthlessly in the soundproof toilet. shivering and toe-curling on the vibrating washing machine, stimulating your clit while mark hit it from the back. maybe mark's checking off all the boxes, because the way your eyes look up at him at half-mast, desire swirling in your eyes, sinks him into a trance. the gentle whisper of sun rays paint your body like a renaissance painting, splayed over his legs and the remainder of the duvet covers. maybe this is the check box that marks the time where he lazily fucks into you as you struggle to hold in your moans, voice raspy from the morning.

likewise, the thought of mark's cock in you makes you shift uncomfortably, the wet patch on your underwear undeniably growing by the minute with your core pulsating and throbbing. his hands hold your head in place, fingers carding through your locks laced with possibly last night's drunken sweat. they pull back your hair, creating a small ponytail while you tease the tip with your tongue and lick a stripe up his shaft. the sounds you make with your mouth could rival the ones you're making with your fingers on your core, moaning the slurping up his pre-cum that has his length twitching.

"y-yes... oh fuuuck, (y/n)..." his head is thrown back as your bob your head, trailing your hands over his torso where you can feel the contraction and expansion of his ribs. it doesn't take long for mark to cum, hips halting its movements for a second to pump your mouth full of his seed. a smile breaks through when you cringe at the taste, but he's sure you don't mind it since you've done it many times before. "c'mere, angel."

the name makes you grin, getting off the comfort of his thighs to let him taste himself, indulging in a short kiss before mark takes the chance to tug at your shorts. he thumbs it down without effort, coming right off your bottom half as you manoeuvre from knee to knee to let the man take it off.

mark whistles lowly at how soaked you are, a lazy, boyish grin taking over his features as his fingers slip between your folds. they shamelessly leak more juices when mark's digits make contact with your clit, already clenching over cock that you haven't even received. slowly, they trickle down the expanse of his hand and your thighs, a lone string of arousal connecting from your cunt to the tip of his finger.

"so wet, so early in the morning," mark giggles, mirroring your earlier action as he prods at your mouth with those fingers. you taste yourself on him, suckling and licking around them like you just did to his length. "i'll fit right in, won't i?"

you make a noise of approval before grabbing his dick, inching it into you gently and gradually. mark bottoms out and you mewl, shivering at how deep he's in you without any effort before grinding down on him. the little tufts of hair on his skin brush against your sensitive spots near your folds that make the pleasure all the better, and you have to brace yourself with both hands on his chest.

"feel good, honey?" mark's found clarity in his voice now, voice dripping exactly like the pet name while you continued to get used to the seemingly growing erection in you. with eyes closed from both the pleasure and the increasing brightness of a new day, your hips move on their own accord, moving up and down his dick at a slow pace.

"'s good, mark," you babble, instantly speeding up your ministrations. his cock splits you open so good even if you aren't going at your usual pace, choking out mixes of moans and whimpers along with the sounds of your ass descending on his dick.

"you're so d-deep, mark! ooh, hhnn..." your arms are ready to give out, opting instead to lay on his chest with a small pound me leaving your lips. your arms go around him to clutch at the headboard, the sudden snap of mark's hips elicits a dramatic gasp from you. he's filling you up to the brim, and the groan in your ear shows the similar feeling that mark's experiencing.

mark takes your order to heart, the force of his hips continuing their assault on your poor, poor pussy so early in the morning. "babe, you're so- fucking- t-tight, holy shit!" a breathless laugh, a hand to your ass, butterfly kisses along your collarbone, everything else is forgotten except for those few things that dance around in your mind.

"faster, deeper, please...!"

his chuckle is interrupted by a groan, "i'm at my fastest, baby. i did go all out for our last concert yesterday."

the squelching sounds coming from between your legs make you cry out, drool dripping down the sides at your mouth as mark takes up more of your mind. mark, mark, mark falls from your lips repeatedly as he rocks in and out,

"you-" a soft, delirious giggle escapes you at mark's reference to the concert yesterday.

"no words, huh? maybe i should fuck you till you're babbling nonsense," the lack of response makes mark smile against your skin, mouth latching onto your neck.

with the little tap of his finger against your ass and the falter of his thrusts, you know he's close to reaching his peak. his sloppy movements still bring out the worst in you, either way, moans increasing tenfold as his cock continues to impale you. you hold onto his bicep for life, body rocking deliciously against his.

you're so warm, both inside and out, forehead already producing beads of sweat as your hot cavern clenches around his shaft repeatedly. mark pounds into your pussy relentlessly, brushing up against that spot that makes your body convulse before you're gushing and cumming around him, juices leaking non-stop onto the sheets while the knot continues to be undone.

"ahnn- mark! maaark..." the drawl of his name makes the other's eyes roll back in pleasure, not giving you the chance to recover as he pulls his cock out of you. there's an endless trail of profanities leaving his mouth while he pumps out the last bit of restraint out of him, finally letting go on his stomach when he looks at your spasming body, pussy dripping with both your juices.

his cock spurts out hot, white cum, staining his stomach before he lets out a satisfying whine and other breathless words that you can't catch on to. you swipe up his seed with your finger, dipping it into your mouth like dessert that you hum around it.

"i guess i won't need breakfast for a while," you joke, clenching your thighs together to prevent the further dirtying of your sheets. you did change it a week ago...

"ah. no no, don't close 'em," mark beckons you closer with his finger, "i won't need breakfast, either."

you know what's in store for you when the other licks his lips, a sick grin appearing on his face. and when you finally take your rightful place on his face, you find that you'll never get tired of mark's tongue laid flat against your soaking cunt, lapping all that you can offer that mark describes tastes like honey, like nectar. you tell him he's lying, but who are you to judge the words of someone who eats you out so good?

one day, you'll be convinced, but for now, you're fine with accepting the embarrassing compliments from mark, since he's the only one that makes your pussy flutter like a little slut.

(it's irl porn, please please don't click unless you're comfortable) how i imagine mark would fuck you <3

[tteokdoroki]

awake with you | s.todoroki

♡ pairing: shoto todoroki x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 1.7K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: ua student!au, angst, comfort, fluff.

♡ summary: during the night, bad things happen but your boyfriend is always there to keep them away. by your side always, shoto todorki makes it his mission to fight your demons and make sure you know that you’re loved.

♡ warning(s): please read ! character death, mentions of car accidents, nightmares, guilt, lack of sleep, but a lot of fluff and the best boyfriend in the whole world :(

♡ author’s note(s): guys! it’s shoto’s birthday, so here i am postiing this shoto request from anon a while back, i hope you all enoy and have celebrating the beautiful boy’s bday <3

♡ masterlist | requests

it was hard for you to sleep.

harder, when shoto wasn’t around.

sometimes it was your thoughts that kept you up; late at night— dark thoughts that swirled around in your head and slowly poisoned your brain with heavy black venom. it was hard to sleep when your mind was heavy with fear, but ever since dating shoto todoroki; those nights became easier and sleep wasn’t so hard to come by.

you weren’t so sure what it was about your boyfriend that made it easier for you to get some shut eye; it’s not like he really knew either. todoroki just didn’t like seeing you in pain, the way your face twisted with discomfort or the way sleepy tears would wet your cheeks under the moonlight— but you had somewhat of an idea, that his fresh peppermint smell and warm arms are what often helped you.

shoto would so lovingly sneak into your room, no matter the time, dusk or dawn— he would hold you tight under the sheets until you drifted off to dream land. even if it meant being teased by the others for stumbling out of your room in the morning, his pretty hair a wild mess creating the image that’d you’d both been up to no good, he’d face it all for you, over and over again.

but tonight, your loving, caring and doting boyfriend was nowhere to be seen— everyone’s second internships had begun and todoroki had chosen to work with his father along with izuku and katsuki, so it was no doubt that they wouldn’t be home until late. what with endeavour being the number one and all.

your friends knew about your struggles to sleep, of course, todoroki bluntly mentioning how you ‘like to sleep together’ to soothe your nightmares ( iida had lectured you about it after, saying it was inappropriate while deku and ochako turned as red as your boyfriend’s hair ) so offered to stay up with you— but you needed rest, today’s training sessions  having taken a toll on your body, and wave them off with a smile laced with tiredness.

you could call him, he wouldn’t mind and you know it— but he’s with his father and that takes enough out of him as it is.

you decide, instead, to trudge to the dual quirked boy’s bedroom, instantly calmed by his sweet peppermint scent embedded into every inch of his dorm. you swipe one of his clean sweaters straight from the closet before hitting the lights and snuggling into his bed.

tonight would be fine, todoroki would come home, wrap you in his arms and with the aid of his scent surrounding you— you would sleep safe and soundly.

is what you hoped as you drifted off to the land of dreams.

when you were younger, you watched your older brother, haru, get hit by a car.

the scene haunts you to this very day, crawling up on you while you rest at night— choking you out in your dreams. you see it now, feet glued to the ground as you’re forced to watch the younger version of you, mess with your older brother using your new found quirk. your parents had called it scenery, back then your powerful quirk had been their pride and joy, giving you the ability to create a mirage in a certain targets mind— make them see things that weren’t really there.

back then it was fun to play tricks on your sibling— you made haru see all of his worst nightmares, everything but the road.

everything but the oncoming car.

everything but his untimely death.

you want to scream at little you— tell her to stop and that it’s not funny anymore as she forces your brother back into the road— he’s giggling, he doesn’t know it yet and neither do you. but the words you want to say die down deep in your throat, suffocating you from the inside although they burn at your lungs to burst through.

why cant you speak? why cant you stop her?

adrenaline trickles into your blood stream as you will yourself to run out into the street and protect haru from the oncoming traffic just as he slips off of the sidewalk. your senses are blown out of the water, static noise filling your ears and intertwining with childish screams and the sound of a not so distant honking horn.

you claw harshly at your throat. speak. save him. for god’s sake; do something.

“you’ll kill him! stop! you’re going to kill him!”

the flickering of artificial, yellow light behind your closed eyes has you jolting awake, sweat forming at your brow and hands clenched tightly around your boyfriend’s plain bedsheets. your gaze darts across the room while your heart thumps loudly in your ribcage from the fear that struck you in your dream and finally, your stare settles on a shirtless, bewildered shoto todoroki. his face is a little scratched up no doubt from being on his father’s patrol and he looks exhausted but that doesn’t stop the concern he has for you taking over his expression. “yn—?”

“s-sho,” you hate how your voice caves so easily, the single syllable of your nickname for him falling wetly from chapped lips. todoroki is by your side in an instant, not caring that he’s only half dressed and half awake. he’ll deal with that later.

with tender hands shoto cups the back of your head, letting you sink into the warmth of his flesh. you reach out for your boyfriend and he’s there, taking your free hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze to help ground you. “love, what happened? why didn’t you call? you know i don’t mind—” his timbre voice fills your ears like warm honey, calming your rapid breathing but all you can do is shake your head.

“nightmare ‘n you were working,” you pant, cutting him off while the death grip on your lover’s hand begins increasing. you feel so far from the ground, the scene of haru’s death dancing across your mind. “i killed him, again—“

shoto watches your body twitch with fear and your usually glimmering eyes gloss over in away that makes him feel sick. you’re not here with him yet, still tangled up in the black string of your bad dreams. the world around the dual eyed boy begins to change and it seems you’ve activated your quirk by accident— showing him scenes of the day your brother died.

you screw your eyes shut as flashes of his body tangle with reality to the point where you don’t know what’s real and what’s not. you’re losing control of yourself so easily, fresh sets of tears stinging their way down your streaked cheeks. trapped. you feel trapped like a bird in a cage even while you’re awake and the sounds of cars and screaming burn at your ears once more.

make it stop, please.

“yn... come back to me love, i’m right here,” todoroki’s calm voice cuts through the suffocating song of death, dragging you back to reality while the effects of your quirk drift away. his fingers, although contrasting temperatures, now cup your cheeks to tilt your face towards him so that your eyes lock with his under the crescent moon. “you didn’t kill him. that wasn’t you. it wasn’t your fault.”

you blink away more tears like a helpless child, chest heaving but todoroki doesn’t give up. “but—“

“no.” your boyfriend says softly, yet sternly, leaning down to place an eskimo kiss to your nose. your eyes flutter shut at his simple gesture, although it raises saftey and warmth across your body— black radiates behind your closed eyelids, no longer plagued broken bones and blood. it’s easy to keep breathing from there, focusing on that as todoroki pulls you into his lap and the sheets fall away from your body.

“no,” you repeat back to him while shoto’s arms settle on your waist and his familiar scent of fresh peppermint fills your senses. “not my fault.”

it wasn’t your fault, that day the car had come speeding down a usually safe road in a residential area. the accident was a hit and run, but being a child made you feel every ounce of the blame. shaking the thought away you curl into your lover’s chest, listening for sounds of his heartbeat while he toys with a lose string on his sweater— the one you wear.

“that’s right, good girl...not your fault, here with me yet, love?”

when you glance up, todoroki is looking right back down at you— brows creased with worry but there’s love in his stare, overwhelming amounts that make you hum into his bare chest, grounded by the feeling of his skin against yours. “present and accounted for,” his chest rumbles with relieved laughter, soothing you even more. “thank you, sho. i’m sorry for making you do this so late at night.”

this time, shoto shakes his head— sending locks of red and white flying. “don’t thank me and don’t apologise,” his words are feather light in the dark while he manoeuvres you both onto his back to settle into bed. you’re about to mention that he’s still half in his suit, but your boyfriend doesn’t seem to care, already closing his eyes. “i’m yours, your boyfriend and i’m going to support you no matter what. i’ve got you, okay? you’re always here for me so i’ll do my best to do the same for you. what kind of man would i be if i wasn’t?”

“a very unmanly man,” you tease with a kitten like yawn, already feeling the confines of a more comfortable sleep, taking over.

todoroki rolls his eyes but pulls you closer to him anyways. “you’ve been spending too much time with kirishima.”

“at least i don’t spend everyday working with bakugou, now that’s true nightmare.” you counter, narrowly missing a pinch to the side from your boyfriend.

the pair of you sleep soundly that night, wrapped in each other’s arms. you feel safe, knowing that nothing could ever harm you, as long as you were with him. shoto todoroki would give anything for to you to have a goodnight’s rest. no matter what. even if it meant staying awake with you and being late to patrol with endeavour the next day.

not like he cared, he hated his dad anyway.

[queenshelby]

Roommates – Part Two

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 2,363

Warning: Smut

Note: This plays in 2020.

Three days had passed and your new little toy had become your new lockdown obsession. You never had an orgasm so strong and your two best female friends thought that it was rather amusing when you told them about it over a glass of wine.

Every Tuesday evening, you skyped with Laura and Elenore in your room for at least an hour while enjoying some alcoholic beverages and tonight was no different.

But, since living with Cillian and following his breakup with Laura, you had to be careful about what you were saying as you didn’t want to upset either of them.

Laura clearly wasn’t over the breakup and continuously asked you about Cillian, finding it somewhat strange that you were living together and, whilst you assured her that you were not interested in Cillian, she struggled to believe you.

You hadn’t told Laura about Cillian’s hook ups with Lindsay and made it clear to both of her and Cillian that you weren’t going to discuss their respective private lives with the other and would appreciate if they were going to accept your position in this regard.

Whilst Cillian did, Laura sometimes couldn’t help herself and dwelled on about how she missed Cillian. Clearly, she was still in love with him and, whilst you reminded her that you aren’t a messenger between him and her, you were quite willing to listen to her and provide emotional support as a friend.

When, however, the topic of intimacy came up in your conversations, you couldn’t help but cringe.

According to Laura, he was quite a devil in the bedroom department and you felt as though your wanted your ears to explode every time Laura brought up specifics.

This, again, happened tonight when your sex toy recommendation turned into something else entirely and you learned that you missed out on so many things with James.

According to your friends, what you and him used to get up to was quite ordinary and you learned that your best friend and roommate was much more adventurous than your ex-fiancé.

‘You did not have sex at the theatre…oh my god’ you said in disbelieve when Laura told you one of the many stories in which you learned that Cillian had quite a thing for risky public relations with his female partners.

‘Who would have thought huh? He seems all so quiet and shy, but he really isn’t’ Laura confirmed, making you to take a rather large sip from your glass of wine.

‘Apparently so’ you then giggled before you also learned that your new house mate was hiding some things in the basement.  

‘Common, you’ve been living there for three months now and you never wondered what the hooks in the ceiling of the basement are for?’ Laura then asked and you couldn’t help but choke on your wine. A sex swing perhaps, you now wondered?

‘I think I have heard enough, thanks. Can we please change the topic?’ you asked somewhat embarrassed but, it wasn’t the fact that you learned these kinky facts about Cillian which embarrassed you. Rather, it was the fact that you got aroused by the thought of him doing those things. This, in turn, made you uncomfortable and you didn’t like that you were fantasising about him in any way at all.

You even had started to have dreams about Cillian over the past few days, causing you to wake up aroused and wet and forcing you to seek relief. You never felt like this about him before and you wondered why this was happening now.

Was it the fact that you saw him every day, sometimes even half naked as he carelessly moved through the house? Was it because you were bored and sex deprived? Or was it because your bond had become stronger after he helped you and supported you through your break up?

You didn’t know what it was that caused you to have these thoughts about him but you noticed that they had become more prominent and you found yourself looking at his body more frequently when you were around each other.

****

But you weren’t the only one checking out their roommate. Cillian quite obviously did the same.

It was Wednesday morning that he came back from doing the grocery shopping as you were in the kitchen, dancing and making pizza dough.

You didn’t even notice Cillian walking in as you shook your booty to some loud music while giving the dough a good workout.

Wearing nothing but a cotton singlet and cotton briefs, you were twirling around the kitchen just you twirled around the dough. Your top wad covered in flour and so was your hair and face.

Cillian’s chin dropped and inhaled sharply before putting down the shopping bags.

‘Having fun there?’ he asked, startling you and making you drop one of the empty plastic bowls.

‘Absolutely’ you smiled before bending down in front of him and he couldn’t help but wonder how far your tattoo on your right thigh extended upwards.

Whilst Cillian put away the groceries, you finished preparing the dough and set aside to rise before cleaning the mess you had made.

‘I am going out with the dog shortly, do you want to come?’ you asked but Cillian declined your offer.

There was something else he needed to do.

***

Knowing that you had left the house, Cillian made his way to the basement.

‘This is ridiculous’ he said to himself as, once again, his erect cock was straining against his tight jeans after he saw you dancing around in the kitchen.

There was something about you like this, in your black cotton panties and your black singlet, messy hair and your top covered with white dust from the flour moving to the beat of “Touched” by Part Human. Your nipple piercings were clearly visible through the thin top and the tattoo on your upper thigh was barely covered.

It wasn’t even the kind of music he liked, nor did he like tattoos or piercings on women. He didn’t want you. Or did he? He wasn’t so sure anymore but, what he did know, was that he needed to get off yet again.

Opening up his laptop he was quick to flash up the internet, but it wasn’t a porn website which he decided to visit. To the contrary, Cillian felt the need to listen to this very same song again, picturing you in his head, dancing and slowly loosing the little amount of clothes you were wearing.

He placed a towel onto the large office chair in front of his desk and, after sitting down, Cillian unzipped his jeans and pulled them down slightly, releasing his raging erection. He leaned back against the chair comfortably, closed his eyes and caressed his shaft gently.

Using an open hand, he massaged his cock and balls at the same time while imaging you, dancing for him. There was no time for guilt as every stroke of his hand sent a shiver down his spine and every exhalation released tension from his already throbbing cock.

Cillian then used his other hand to move upwards and with a lick of the forefinger, massaged the back of his bulging head, much like the way you tease a wooden clit.

But it was no longer his hands he imagined stroking him, it were yours instead and he squirmed under the overwhelming pressure of anticipation. Panting and short of breath, Cillian opened his eyes like one waking from a nightmare.

It didn’t quite feel right just yet and he quickly reached into one of the draws in his study desk and retrieved a tube of cherry flavoured lube which Laura had bought back in time. Cillian squirted the lube directly down his pulsing shaft and some of it ran over his tight balls and down into his clenching ass. The lube was cold but soothing and the scent of cherry-scented lube filled the room.

Cillian spread the lube all over his shaft with his right hand and began stroking, up and down, slowly at first and then increasing in speed. The sensation of it trickling down his ass arched his back, making his breath seize up.

The thought of you stroking him occupied his mind as he continued to stroke. He was sweating now, panting and wanting more. He could feel the surge through his testicles as he continued to rub his shaft and tease his balls.

His body lurched. Mouth open. Eyes closed. There was a surge of pre-cum, running across his thumb and, in his mind, he imagined you licking it off with your pierced tongue.

Then, finally, the roll of cum began as he continued to stroke his cock hard and fast. The orgasm was building, muscles contracting. Cillian’s cock was hard as a rock. One frantic gasp for air and release.

With a loud groan, Cillian came hard and his seed landed all over his upper thighs and the towel beneath him while his cock continued to throb and pulse in his hand. Cillian squeezed the last of his cum from his shaft with a final groan and, just as he did, he heard a voice in the doorway.

‘Oh my god, fuck’ you said with total embarrassment as you quickly turned around when you realised what you had just witnessed.

‘Fuck, Y/N, Jesus’ Cillian shouted out, cheeks flushing red.

‘I am so sorry Cillian. Please tell me when you are decent, alright’ you chuckled while Cillian quickly wiped his cum off his thighs with the towel and pulled up his jeans.

‘I am decent’ Cillian huffed out rather embarrassed and you turned around with a wide grin on your face.

‘Listen Y/N, this…’ Cillian began to say but you immediately interrupted him.

‘Cilly, there is no need to explain, really. We all have needs and its not that I haven’t seen your manhood before. In fact, most of the world has, although maybe not in an erect state’ you chuckled, thinking back at 28 Days Later.

‘I thought you were out with the dog, so, uhm…you know…’ Cillian barely managed to say.

‘I forgot the doggy bags and came down here to ask you where they were’ you eventually said and Cillian got up and showed you where he had put them.

‘Right, thanks, I am going now, see you later’ you then said before commenting on his choice of music to masturbate to which, of course, embarrassed Cillian even more.

***

For the remainder of the day, you couldn’t get Cillian out of your mind. The picture of him masturbating was stuck in your mind and so was the picture of his hard cock and cum covered thighs.

There was no way you could go to sleep like this and you pondered on about what Laura told you and how dirty minded this man really was.

From light BDSM to anal sex, you were certainly turned on and you were feeling ashamed about it. He was your best friend for god sake and yet all you could think about was his hard cock.

With those thoughts running through your mind, you reached for your other more conventional vibrator and lay back and open your legs as wide as they will go before placing the tip of your vibrator at the entrance to your dripping pussy.

Whilst you felt guilty about it, you imagined it be Cillian’s hard and glistening cock instead of your vibrator, pausing for just a moment before gliding it home.

‘Fuck’ you whispered, unable to keep completely silent, and began sliding the vibrator in and out of you. The fullness felt amazing and you loved it but you couldn’t get enough. You were aching for more, for Cillian’s warm skin on yours instead of the hollow air and the cold vibrator in between your legs.

But your mind went even further than that, imagining the cum you had seen on Cillian’s thighs inside of your pussy, filling you and dripping out of you slowly. You even wondered what his cum would taste like and feel like in your mouth as you began pleasuring yourself harder and faster.

You were desperate now, your eyes closed, picturing your best friend making love to you. Imaging that this is him slamming himself into you over and over as he tells you that you are his. It's almost too much, but at the same time not enough.

You stopped for a moment and pull the toy out suddenly, almost cumming as you did. Quickly you reached down with your left hand and used your fingers to dip them inside, soaking them in your juices. You began pumping the vibrator into you slipping and sliding over and over in a constant motion. Fucking yourself faster, harder in desperate need.

Your left hand had also increased in speed, furiously drawing circles around your twitching swollen clit and, after only a few seconds you explode without making a sound.

The explosion was overpowering from waves of pleasure from inside you coming out and along every inch of your skin. They started before the last one ended, rippling forever upwards throughout your whole body.

Your clit suddenly too sensitive that you had to remove your fingers gently and bask in the glory of it. But, it only took a moment for the guilt to set in.

You knew you had to do something about this but, with new COVID restrictions having been introduced, you knew that you were stuck for now. You wouldn’t be going anywhere and all you could do is distract yourself from your filthy thoughts about your closest friend.

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[jschllatt]

𝐈’𝐋𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 | 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐭

Prompt: Here's an irl version of the request if you'd like to try it! Schlatt and a few friends are streaming and end up talking about how the reader doesn't ever drink and is probably a lightweight, she gets slightly insecure because she wants to impress him, she ends up getting super drunk and schlatt walks in on her sadly babbling to herself and at first schlatt is worried but it quickly becomes amusement as he listens to her say she was just trying to impress him and that she's a failure and her just being a very emotional drunk, he's very soft with her and tells her that he doesn't care if she can drink or not he loves her for who she is, all while teasing her for trying to impress him HEJDJ he makes me feel things 🥺🥺 change whatever you'd like!! And if you aren't inspired, feel free to ignore!!

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, swears, and slight angst

Pairing: Schlatt x Fem!Reader

Words: 1,168

Masterlist

Thanks so much for the request anon, I absolutely loved writing it! I hope you enjoyed <3

Schlatt had been streaming for hours. 

At first, you were fine with it. It had been a long time since he’d last streamed, and you knew it was good for both him and his fans. But as time passed, you found yourself feeling lonely, having been unaccustomed to his busy schedule as you sat alone on the couch, bored. A sigh of discontent escaped your lips as you tore your eyes away from the tv, no longer in the mood to finish watching your favorite movie. You missed your boyfriend a lot—so much to the point where nothing would satisfy your longing besides Schlatt himself. Deciding to visit him, you ventured down the hall, stopping once you reached his door to ensure you wouldn’t be interrupting him. You were about to knock before you heard Schlatt say your name, the sound making you perk up in surprise. Though Schlatt’s fans were aware of your relationship, the two of you avoided public interactions, finding the privacy more comfortable. 

“What is the most embarrassing thing Y/N has done while drunk?” Schlatt muttered aloud as he read a dono, chuckling softly to himself. “She doesn’t drink.” He answered simply, soon after being met with an amused Swagger as his friend chuckled, “I wish I didn’t drink, then I could go back to being a lightweight.” Schlatt laughed in response, shifting in his seat to get more comfortable. “I can’t imagine Y/N drunk, she’d probably just freak out or something.” You felt your heart drop, suddenly embarrassed at your boyfriend's words. Did he really think that you weren’t capable of holding your liquor? Sure, you avoided drinking and didn’t have much experience being drunk, but that doesn’t mean you can’t handle it, right?

Wrong. 

Minutes later, you found yourself in the kitchen, reaching for the bottle of vodka that sat idly in the cabinet. Schlatt had saved it for special occasions and only drank in moderation, respecting the fact that it was something you didn’t do, and had managed to finish three quarters of the bottle, leaving the remaining quarter now in your possession. You decided that tonight was special enough and brought the bottle up to your nose, cringing at its intense scent. Hesitant, you brought it down to your lips to take a swig, instantly grimacing as it slid down your throat painfully. It was impossibly bitter and made your face instinctively contort in disgust, but you swallowed sip after sip of the pungent liquid until there was none left. You tried to ignore your lightheadedness as you placed the bottle back in the cabinet, leaning against the counter as you tried to process what you’d just done.

Though your throat burned, you were still coherent—you almost could’ve convinced yourself that you were totally fine if it hadn’t been for the intense dizziness that took over your body just minutes later. Every step you took towards your bedroom felt heavy, forced, and you plopped down unceremoniously onto your bed, suddenly drowsy in your drunken state. Thoughts of Schlatt’s words circled your brain and you mumbled to yourself, upset, “Lightweight my ass.” Though you knew his intentions were harmless, you couldn’t help but take offense, feeling somewhat inadequate. The buzzing in your body only increased, and you found yourself growing uncomfortable, the feeling foreign. “Fuck.” You muttered, unable to process the unfamiliar sensation as you sat up once again, your body heavy. The sound of footsteps neared the bedroom, though you ignored them, continuing to mumble strings of profanities and incoherent words to yourself. 

“Y/N?”

You turned your head slowly to meet Schlatt’s eyes, his expression one of confusion as he observed your delayed reaction. He stepped forward until he towered above your hunched form, practically standing between your legs as he asked incredulously, “Are you drunk?” You reeked of alcohol and appeared out-of-it, though you played it off, slurring a drunken ‘no.’ Schlatt bent down to cup your face in his hands, eye level with you as he murmured in disbelief, “Holy shit, you are.” You pulled away from his touch, feeling ashamed as you nearly fell back onto your bed. There was a brief moment of silence before you admitted, “I just wanted to prove I’m not a lightweight.” Your tone was dull and you had covered your face with your hands in embarrassment, your words muffled beneath your fingers.

Schlatt shifted so he sat next to you, placing a hand on the back of your head so he could pet your hair comfortingly. “I didn’t know you heard that. It’s not a bad thing, y’know.” He assured softly, watching as you pulled away from your hands. You blew out a breath, still riddled with sadness as you mumbled, “I thought I could handle it, I’m such an idiot.” Schlatt struggled to fight back a smile, finding your pitiful words amusing as he stared at you in awe—you were just too damn cute. “You’re not an idiot, baby. How much did you drink?” You turned to face your boyfriend, thinking for a moment before you answered, “A lot.” Schlatt laughed at your uncertainty, though you were humiliated, and felt embarrassed tears well in your eyes. 

“I’m a failure.” You cried suddenly, feeling a wave of tears trickle down your cheeks. No longer laughing, Schlatt moved so he could sit in front of you, cupping your cheeks in his hands as he countered worriedly,  “Hey, hey, hey, no you’re not, princess.” He pulled you into his chest, rubbing your back comfortingly as he continued, “I don’t care if you drink or not, I’ll love you no matter what.” You sniffled pathetically into his shirt, feeling your tears subside as you took in his comforting words.

Minutes later, your sadness was soon replaced with a heavy drowsiness and you let out a yawn, making Schlatt chuckle softly. “Are you tired?” You could only nod in response, pulling away from his chest so you could wipe away your tears. His expression was one of amusement as he watched you sway slightly, steadying yourself by grabbing his firm shoulders as you continued to sniffle repeatedly. “All this to impress me, huh?” Schlatt teased with a smirk, snickering to himself once you shot him a pointed look. “Shut up, asshole.” You slurred. This only encouraged his laughter, and you fought the urge to laugh along with him, his giggling contagious. “Stop, it’s not funny.” You drawled out with a pout, still clutching his shoulders as he shook with laughter. “You’re right, it’s not funny, it’s hilarious.”

Playfully angry, you huffed, standing up shakily. You wobbled on your feet, nearly falling before Schlatt shot up to steady you, circling his arms around your waist. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck and the two of you stared at each other in a brief silence before you blurted out, “I love you.”

Your boyfriend chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving yours as he replied adoringly, “I love you too, my beautiful, wasted girlfriend.” 

[greyias]

FIC: Chance Encounters - Chapter 10

Title: Chance Encounters Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight (pre-relationship) Rating: T Genre: Canon Divergent AU. Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Even the smallest change can have large, unseen ripple effects. When Theron Shan books a voyage on the Esseles, he has no idea how a chance encounter with a Jedi Knight will change the course of his life. A canon divergent alternate universe examining what happens when Theron and the Hero of Tython meet much, much sooner. Author’s Notes and Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Crossposted to AO3 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

If there was anything to be said about Theron’s unorthodox exit strategy, it was that their landing was mostly a soft one. And wet. And made an unpleasant squelching noise that was probably going to follow him even longer than the smell.

On the more humorous side, Theron might have finally found a foolproof way to pierce Grey’s cheery optimism. As they stumbled and slid down the pile of refuse, the look she fixed on him was caught somewhere between pure disgust and haughty indigence.

“You did that on purpose!” The fire in her eyes might have been more intimidating if her tone hadn’t come out a pure pout. The image of pure indigence was accentuated by the delicate trail of an unidentified substance slowly trickling down the side of her face.

“Saving us from certain capture, excruciating torture, and death? Yes, I think that was on purpose.”

“You pushed me!”

“You were being too slow!” He insisted, which only caused the heat in her glare to increase tenfold. Instinct had him backing up a few steps. “And in my defense, you pushed me with your mumbo jumbo back in engineering.”

“That’s different.” She sniffed indignantly at him before getting a whiff of the incredible smell wafting off them both; her face turned a shade greener.

“You know you have a little something here.” He mimed swiping across his forehead.

Her nose crinkled in annoyance, causing that same smattering freckles to scrunch together again. That, combined with the indignant noise that escaped her throat, nearly did him in. As it was, he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing — which was a mistake, as he got a small taste of the muck and yeah. Okay. Maybe he deserved that a little.

“Look on the bright side,” he said.

“What bright side?”

“You can’t smell the whiskey that was spilled on me anymore.”

Somehow, this seemed to only make her look even more aggrieved. “That’s your bright side?”

“I mean, for me.”

She snorted out a long breath that made her nostrils flare out, and he didn’t think it was all due to irritation this time. “This is not funny, Theron!”

“I’m not laughing!” He insisted, although it was probably not altogether too convincing, as she looked like a leaf-tail whose cheeks were stuffed with cyanoberries.

“You must be the most infuriating person I have ever met!”

For all the heat in her words, she didn’t really sound angry, more… confused. Which was an emotion he had become well acquainted with ever since she had sat down next to him on the Esseles. 

“Likewise.” He found himself saying.

For a long moment they just stood there, looking at each other with tense expressions that veiled a tangled mess of emotions like a thicket of nettles. Then she sighed, the anger bled from her features, leaving her looking tired. 

“We should probably find a way out of here.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Probably.”

The walk back to the hangar bay was mercifully short and uneventful. They tried to make themselves halfway presentable with some cleaning cloths Theron had stashed in an inner pocket. His beloved jacket would definitely have to be laundered — but he had no clue if the rest of his ensemble would be savable. Someone was definitely going to be paying for his dry cleaning bill. Theron just didn’t know who that would be yet.

Just as he was musing whether he could finagle expensing the whole thing to the SIS without getting an earful from the Director about excessive costs, they rounded the last corner to the hangar bay. However, instead of the wide-open door they’d left, a shimmering red force field blocked their path.

“What the—?”

He was cut off as a figure slammed into the force field from the other side, hitting it so hard that he bounced off and hit the floor with a grunt. With a start, he recognized it as one of the security guards that had accompanied them here. Beyond the pulsating red glow of the barrier, they could only watch as a small squadron of troopers and a figure in a dark hooded robe attacked Asara and the rest of the security team.

Blaster fire rang out as the Esseles crew exchanged fire with the Imperials. In the distance, two more security guards flew up in the air as if being lifted by an invisible force. Theron hesitated only a moment before rushing to the controls on the door, drawing his slicer spike.

“There’s no time for that!” Grey grabbed his wrist and tugged him out of the way.

Before he could even question her, her lightsaber was already in hand. It blazed to life in a burst of blue and she skewered the entire panel with the controls. With a loud pop, the panel sparked and died, and the force field blocking the hangar faded away.

“Well, I guess that’s one way to slice open a door.”

Grey took a precious moment to give him a disgusted look for the poor joke before sprinting off into the hangar, lightsabers in hand. He was right on her heels, his blasters already drawn.

The scene that greeted them as they entered the hangar was one of pure chaos. Acrid smoke wafted up from the surfaces and bodies where blaster fire had found its mark. The final security guard slumped to the floor with a hole in his chest as the hooded figure turned to the disguised Asara, who had been flung to the ground during the battle, and now was desperately crawling backwards to put space between her and their attackers.

The hood obscured the face of the tall, robed figure as his arm stretched out, hand clenching the air dramatically, as if he were grabbing hold of a great unseen weight. Asara let out a choked cry as something yanked her upwards, her eyes going wide as she clawed at her throat to get some air. The figure’s head cocked to the side, as if able to hear — or maybe just sense — their approach and whirled around in one swift move, hand still in the air as Asara struggled helplessly.

The Sith, because what else could he be, was young, probably not any older than Theron, if that. However, his sickly gray pallor made him look aged beyond his years. An expression of what could only be described as glee lit up in his red eyes as his gaze fell on the Jedi rapidly advancing on him. With a positively feral grin, he threw Asara aside, eager to toy with his new prey. The ambassador landed in an ungraceful pile on the floor.

“At last,” the Sith’s words dripped with both venom and anticipation, “Kilran promised me an actual challenge, but I was thinking he wouldn’t deliver.”

Theron slid a look over at Grey, but her gaze didn’t waver from their new opponent. If this was her first time facing off against a user of the dark side, she didn’t let it show, as she had slipped back into that calm, unyielding mask of hers.

“I would ask that you set your weapon aside,” she said in an even, measured tone. “We can settle this peacefully if you let it.”

The Sith let out a loud snort of derision. “Peace is a lie.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Theron muttered. “We’ve all heard the spiel.”

A single, disdainful look was spared for him. “Your betters are speaking, insect.”

Despite himself, Theron’s brows rose in both surprise and indignation, but the only sign that his Jedi companion had even heard the brusque dismissal was a single muscle that twitched along her jaw.

“And does my ‘better’ happen to have a name? Or should we just refer to you as Darth Asshat?”

“You may not refer to me at all,” the Sith bristled. “This is a conversation between two ancient foes.”

“You two literally just met. Your rivalry has all the history of a hundred and twenty seconds.”

“I grow weary of this tiresome babble.” The Sith flicked his eyes back to his target. “Do you not have anything to say for yourself, Jedi?”

“You do not look old enough to have the title of Darth,” she mused. “Nor do I think my companion’s appellation is appropriate.”

“I am Vokk.” The Sith’s face contorted into a sneer. “And with your defeat, I shall prove myself worthy of inheriting the title of Lord.”

When that statement didn’t get the desired reaction, he drew one of his lightsabers in a smooth motion. The red blade bursting to life with a loud snap-hiss. It cast an eerie glow across his unnatural gray pallor and seemed to almost make the red in his eyes aglow with power and madness. 

“The way of a true Sith is to destroy a dangerous foe. I will carve your heart from your chest — and your fellow Jedi will sense your defeat. As will my master!”

“O-kay,” Theron dramatized the word by drawing it out, “someone has an active imagination.”

Grey’s lips quivered between stoic resolve and a smile threatening to erupt. Ultimately, common sense won the battle as her expression steadied into its now familiar facade, even as Vokk’s expression twisted with outrage.

“Do not worry, worm, I will cut your tongue out with my lightsaber once I finish with my foe.”

“Oh, good. I was feeling left out of this conversation.”

“Sparky, I think to be left out, you must stop talking first.” Grey’s expression didn’t budge from its neutral mask, but he thought he heard the barest trace of humor threaded through the comment. But still, point taken.

“All right, Blondie,” he emphasized the nickname as he shot her a look. “Why don’t I leave you two to your ancient struggle of light versus dark, then? Me and the boys here will make do on our own.” He motioned to the troopers behind Vokk with his head. 

Apparently Vokk had tired of not being the center of attention for several seconds in a row, and stabbed a lightsaber straight for Grey’s heart. She deftly parried the blow with a flick of her wrist, sparks flying as the two blades met.

Theron pushed away from the spot, twisting to shoot at the troopers as he dove for cover behind a stack of nearby crates. The aim was wild, but the effect was to send the troopers scattering back out of range. They returned fire, their shots going wide and hitting the floor, walls, and ceiling as he quickly ducked behind his impromptu cargo shield.

From his shelter behind the crates, a sharp bark of laughter momentarily grabbed his attention. Instinctively he turned to the source of the sound to see the two force users locked in a dangerous dance, their feet moving with a startling speed. The result was a blur of red and blue as their blades clashed together repeatedly in a colorful shower of sparks, with neither opponent gaining any ground on the other.  

His attention was pulled back to his current situation when a blaster bolt pinged dangerously close, punching a smoking hole in the crate just inches from his head. While Theron had been distracted, one bolder trooper had left cover and repositioned to get a better shot at him behind his temporary cover. His targeting implant adjusted his arm minutely, helping him aim precisely at the narrow gap between the chest plate and shoulder guard — and the trooper went down with a cry.

The close call sent a surge of adrenaline through him. Outnumbered as he was, it would be tempting to lean into the rush and let it buzz through his veins, to allow the red haze to descend and fog his awareness. A distant echo from the past rose unbidden: Ngani Zho telling him to open his mind to the present situation, to allow awareness to fill him and distractions to fall away. There was always a solution to every problem. It was just a matter of being open to its possibility.

Perhaps some lingering resentment should have surged forth, but he didn’t have the luxury to indulge in it right now. Instead of squashing down the voice like usual, he chose to listen to the words instead. He took in a deep breath to center himself, and then surveyed the room, taking everything in and processing in it.

The remaining troopers had sought refuge behind some half-unloaded cargo — and forgotten, judging by the layer of dust that had settled across the tarp stretched across it. They would peek out from behind it to take potshots at him, but had apparently been so focused on him, they’d missed the bright red warning sign on one barrel labeling its materials as highly explosive. One well-aimed shot would probably be enough to pierce the barrel and ignite the materials inside.

Theron weighed a few other tactics before taking aim at the barrel and pulling the trigger. The shot plowed into the barrel, punching a hole straight through and drawing a burst of sparks that set the volatile chemicals inside ablaze. Rather than reveling in his success, he immediately took off running in the opposite direction to put as much space between him and the oncoming inferno.

The ground shook beneath him as the barrel detonated into a fireball that sent the bodies of the troopers flying. He leapt over another stack of crates, flames and debris flying towards him, and narrowly escaping a chunk of jagged metal hurtling at him. Distantly, he could hear it clatter and scrape against the ground as his ears rang from the blast. He landed in a crouch and peeked back to see a large blackened ring where the cargo had been.

During all of this, the lightsaber duel had moved closer to Theron. He looked over in time to see one of Vokk’s red blades come down in a heavy blow aimed at Grey’s head. She caught it between her two crossed lightsabers in front of her. His guts clenched in anxiety as he waited for the larger, more imposing figure to force down his opponent’s blades. But he’d forgotten how capable she was, and to his relief and amazement watched as she reversed the momentum of the strike and sent her opponent stumbling backwards.

Vokk let out a bellow of rage and frustration at being outmaneuvered, quickly regained his footing. His eyes blazed with rage at Grey, but she returned the stare with an almost unnatural calm. This steadfast confidence from his mortal enemy of three minutes only made Vokk angrier. 

Hate practically radiated off of the Sith apprentice. He snarled, looking around wildly until his gaze landed on Theron and the burning chaos and wreckage wrought by the spy.

“You,” he seethed.

Vokk gave a quick flick of the wrist, and Theron’s entire world became a blur as he went flying across the room. He slammed into the ground, his head bouncing off the floor with the impact. Stars exploded across his vision, darkness flickering at the edges. The first sensation to register beyond the wildly spinning world was the cool, metal grating pressing into his cheek and a distant ringing in his ears.

He pushed up onto his elbows and tried to get his bearings. The world swam out of focus with the movement, and it took a moment for his vision to clear. The various blurs of the world came into sharp focus just in time to see an airborne Vokk, triumph and hatred gleaming in his eyes as his lightsaber aimed to cleave Theron in two. Even if Theron had his full faculties at that moment, he had barely enough time to process the scene, let alone react. 

Someone shouted something that might have been his name before a vision of tan and gold slid out of nowhere in the split second before Vokk skewered him. He had hardly recovered any of his precious equilibrium when it was once more upended by something considerably more substantial than Vokk’s Force throw, and he once again was sent flying backward.

This second landing was softer, but the world still pitched sickeningly as he hit the ground with a grunt of pain. He had just enough presence of mind to roll with the impact this time, shoving himself up into a half-crouch as everything swayed with the movement. It took another precious moment for him to focus again and understand what had just happened.

Grey was standing in the area where he’d just been pushed away from, her eyes wide and face pale. She held up a single saber in front of herself as a defensive gesture, a tremble running through the typically firm stance. Theron’s relief at being alive quickly gave way to horror as he saw her other arm hanging uselessly at her side. The sleeve of her shirt and tunic burned away completely. Blackened flesh peeked out underneath the tattered remains of the sleeve. Her second lightsaber had been flung several feet away as she’d received a glancing blow from Vokk’s lightsaber when she’d thrown herself between it and Theron.

The Sith’s mouth curved into a wicked smile as he raised his twin blades to strike a blow at the injured Jedi.

The darkness at the edges of Theron’s vision brightened into an crimson that pulsed in time to his rapid heartbeat and the pounding in his head. He hadn’t even registered that his fingers were tightening around his blasters, nor was there any thought in his mind other than a percolating anger quickening, boiling over into rage. He didn’t bother to aim, letting his targeting implants do the work as he unloaded shot after shot at Vokk.

The Sith was caught off guard by the sudden onslaught from a presumably downed foe, retreating several paces as he narrowly deflected the blaster fire. Red eyes first widened in disbelief, then narrowed in rage as he raised his hand to use the Force once more. 

Dark purple electricity arced from Vokk’s fingertips, but this time Theron was ready and rolled out of the way from his semi-crouched position. The moment he had cleared the blast zone, Theron was struggling to his feet, firing wildly in Vokk’s direction with both blasters.

A few of the wild shots hit their mark, and smoke curled up from Vokk’s singed flesh. He snarled in pain and fury and his hand shot out again to send another blast at Theron. Before the Dark Side energy could finish crackling and unfurling from his fingertips, the snarl turned into a sickened gasp. Vokk looked down to see a single blue blade buried hilt-deep in his chest.

Vokk’s knees buckled as disbelief and anger warred in his expression. His gaze first shifted to Grey, whose face was set in a grim and determined mask, then up to meet Theron’s unflinching stare. As if, even in his last moments, he couldn’t comprehend the fact that this puny Force-blind spy had contributed to the downfall of this supposed great and mighty Sith.

With a final hiss, Grey’s saber deactivated, the blue light vanishing as Vokk collapsed facedown with a thud. Her lips pressed together, face set into an unreadable expression as she stared at the body at her feet. Even though she was still standing, it was clear at this point she’d exhausted the seemingly infinite reserves she’d been drawing on all day.

Sweat beaded on her forehead and neck, dripping down beneath the collar of the ruined tunic. With her good arm, she still held the hilt of her lightsaber with a white knuckled grip, her posture so rigidly tensed it seemed she might break with the slightest movement. Her injured arm still hung limply, the wound clearly visible through the charred cloth of her sleeve. The lightsaber blade had cauterized immediately it, so it wasn’t bleeding freely, but still looked extremely painful.

When she eventually raised her head to meet Theron’s gaze, exhaustion and pain shone through the cracks in her stoic mask.

“Are you okay?” Her question came out almost as a breath as her legs gave out and she collapsed to the ground.

His lunging forward to catch her was more of a natural reaction than an active thought. The entire world swayed with the sudden movement, his stomach clenching uncomfortably as his equilibrium tried to catch up. He grabbed her just barely, and eased them both gently to the floor.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, too quickly and entirely unconvincing.

“You,” he muttered as they both slumped against each other, their foreheads touching, “are the most stubborn woman I have ever met.”

“Your face.” With her good hand she reached towards where his head had hit the ground, but seemed to realize what she was doing at the last moment and let it drop.

He winced, now that the adrenaline was fading, noticed the cool sensation of trickling liquid, and belatedly realized that maybe it wasn’t all sweat. “We certainly make a fine pair, don’t we?”

The laugh she let out was quiet and strained, but there was a note of fondness behind it. “Now that’s not something I ever thought I’d hear you say, Sparky.”

His chuckle was half-hearted. “I thought I told you to call me Theron.”

“Sorry. Force of habit.”

In the wake of the battle and surrounded by carnage, the hangar was eerily quiet. Compared to the earlier cacophony of blaster fire, explosions, and lightsaber combat, the relative silence was a stark contrast. The only sound outside of their haggard breathing was the fizzling from the flaming debris of the cargo that Theron had used as an impromptu incendiary device.

“We should get moving,” she said after a moment, “before—”

The loudspeakers drowned her out as Kilran’s voice seeped out of the crackling speakers. “I’ve just given the order to charge up our main turbo lasers. In a few minutes, your pathetic ship and all of your pathetic friends will be nothing but debris.”

“That?” Theron asked.

“That.” Grey breathed a sigh.

“No rest for the weary.”

“I am afraid not. Can you check on the ambassador?” At her question, Theron’s gaze settled back on her injured arm and she shook her head at him softly, as if sensing his thoughts. “Despite my injury, I am still capable of walking.”

The skepticism must have shown on his face, because she gave a soft huff of exasperation as she pushed herself to her feet with a single movement. He didn’t bother to check the frustration in his own sigh as he carefully picked himself up. Thankfully, the world was deciding to stop spinning so much, and he could make his way over to Asara. She was conscious, and even if her thanks were uttered hoarsely as he pulled her upright.

She looked around at the smoldering mess of the hangar, and the bodies of both their attackers and the security guards that had given their lives in her defense. Her brows bunched up into genuine contrition. “So much death.”

“Too much,” he agreed quietly.

“We don’t have time to take them with us, do we?” Her voice was still quiet and raw from the abuse she’d taken at the hands of Vokk. At the soft shake of his head, she bowed her head. “Then we get back to the ship to save what lives we can.”

After retrieving her lightsabers, Grey had joined them at the shuttle. As she eyed the pilot’s seat with intent, Theron made an executive decision and firmly steered the stubborn Jedi to a bench in the back of the shuttle, while Asara quickly took her place at the controls.

It was was for the best. Of the three survivors of their little counter-boarding party, at this moment, Asara was the best candidate to pilot the shuttle. She had a clear enough head and vision to operate the controls, or at least, better than a one-armed Jedi and a possibly concussed spy.

As they took off and cleared the hangar, Theron stared out the view port at the wreckage and bodies of their fallen comrades. There had been too much death and bloodshed. But perhaps — he thought as he looked back at Grey, leaning against the bench, clutching her injured arm — it hadn’t all been in vain.

Next Chapter

[jisungscaramel]

dare | han 

❀ genre; smut, a little fluff, best friends au ❀ pairing; han jisung x reader (fem) ❀ word count; 2k

[warnings] explicit sexual content, oral, unprotected sex (be safe y’all), (mild) edging, cockwarming, saucy truth or dare

The intangible friction between you and your best friend was undeniable, yet with conviction, you held this idea that it was all in your head, and instead of fleshing out the inkling of frustration you felt every time you’d hang out, you chose to ignore it.

You chose to ignore the way he’d press his palms into the small of your back when he’d pull you close, the way he’d keep your body tight on his when he’d hug you, the way you’d catch his curious stares, the way his eyes seemed to send endless subliminal messages. 

You chose to ignore the way the butterflies would flutter in your chest whenever that physical contact was made, the desire that would pool in the pit of your stomach whenever your wordless gazes collided. 

You chose to ignore it. 

Until today. 

Honestly, you couldn’t say if he was on the same wavelength as you but as soon as he said these words on what you perceived to be a usual Netflix date (hold the chill), you were definitely suspicious: “Let’s play truth or dare.”

You knocked him on the head. “Han Jisung, you know there’s only two of us here… right?” 

He blinked at you innocently and rather cutely, as if he couldn’t see the correlation between your questions. “Yes… you’re point?” 

You clicked your tongue, sinking back into the worn in leather couch with your arms crossed. “Have you ever played truth or dare with just one other person? I sure as fuck haven’t.” 

He rolled his eyes in an exaggeratedly exasperated manner. “No, but I don’t recall there ever being a rule saying you can’t.” 

“But,” you turned to him to put on your best puppy dog face… which was mediocre at best but a valiant attempt, “don’t you wanna watch Avatar? We’re almost done with Book 2.” 

“We watched it already… 4 times actually… in the past month.” 

“Yes… your point?” you wrinkled your nose, repeating his previous words. 

“Let’s do something different for a change.”

You turn the television off. “Ok fine,” drawing out the latter word as if it were stuck on your tongue. 

Next thing you knew, he was constricting your body with his limbs, happily rubbing his cheek on yours like a child. “Yee!” and then all of sudden, he was sitting back, deadpan, folding his arms with determination. “Truth or dare?” 

“Hmmm truth.” 

And then that small child was back. “What? Why? That’s no fun!” 

You shrugged. “You wanted to play truth or dare, remember? Emphasis on truth.” 

“Fine, is it true that you hooked up with someone in the library?”

“Ji, I already told you that story.” 

“I know, but it was so wild that I didn’t really believe you. Now you have to tell me the truth.”

“What makes you think I’d be any less truthful otherwise? And also, what makes you think that I’d absolutely tell you the truth now if I was possibly lying before?” 

He widened his eyes and flared his nostrils in a rather comical manner. “If you can lie during truth or dare, you must be satan.” 

You stared at him rather blankly, speaking quite frankly, “that… made no sense.” 

His lips pressed into a firm line. “It does; you just won’t admit it.” 

You snickered, rolling your eyes. “Whatever… truth or dare”

“Dare, I ain’t no bitch.” 

You smacked his shoulder - playfully. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

And he pouted, rubbing his shoulder. “Nothing… nothing at all.” 

“I dare you to leave Felix a voice note confessing your love to him.” 

He offered you a begrudging glare but he wordlessly unlocked his phone with no hesitation, opening his messages with his roommate. He lifted the end to his lips: “Oi Felix! I just wanted to let you know that I love you bro.” He smiled in satisfaction as he sent the note. 

“That’s not what I meant!” you protested. 

To which, he shrugged. “You didn’t specify what kind of love.” 

Your hand made contact with your face in embarrassment. “Why are you like this?”

“Because you,” he placed his palms on his cheeks to squish them, “love me.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Ok, truth or dare?” 

“...Just to make you happy: dare.” 

“Hmmm,” he bit his lip in contemplation, “what should I get you to do?” he gripped his chin. 

“Please don’t make me eat wasabi. I almost burned my nose off that one ti-” 

“I dare you to kiss me… on the lips.” 

When you met his eyes, you expected the usual teasing glint, but you saw none. He was dead serious, and you felt the saliva thicken in your throat, forcing you to swallow a little harder than normal. 

As if your body was moving on its own, you leaned forward toward Jisung, resting your hands on his shoulders, distance lessening an inch by every passing moment. You were only planning on giving him a peck, but it just felt more natural to slightly part and purse your lips into a proper kiss. As your eyes fell shut, your heart began trembling in its confines, rattling your spine - you just hoped it wasn’t as obvious to him as it was to you. 

His plush peach lips were as soft as you imagined - though you’d never admit you’d been imagining it in the first place. And for a moment, maybe two, you passed through the mix of emotional signals, focusing instead on the physical, the subliminal body language: how his hands found themselves on your hips, how his lips occasionally broke the rhythm to tug on your lower lip, how he’d let out the softest groans every time there was a change in pressure. 

But then you removed yourself from your physical position, remembering the mental position you were in, biting your lips and looking away, biting your lips as if you wanted to say something, but your words clung to your throat - so you cleared it. “...truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” 

“Why did you want me to kiss you?” 

His expression was serious - something you weren’t used to. He leaned back, folding his arms, lips parted, tongue smoothing over his teeth to graze the edge of his top lip. “Same reason why you couldn’t get your hands off me.” 

You didn’t even have a moment to be dissatisfied with his answer. “Truth or dare?” there was a sultry tone to his voice, and although it was out of character for him, it was perfectly in line with the vibe he was giving in that moment. 

“Dare.” The first time you’d chosen that, it was for no reason other than to spare yourself of Jisung’s complaints, but this time? Curiosity laced your tongue, wondering where he would take it next, if he would take it anywhere at all. 

“Go down on me.” 

You tugged on your lower lip with your teeth as a subtle smirk grew on your face. Of course, he would. You got down on the floor, kneeling in front of him. 

You placed your palm over his crotch, feeling a stirring beneath the fabric of his jeans. “Are you gonna help me with this?” You prodded the top button with your index finger.

He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “You’re a big girl.” 

Challenge accepted. 

The finger on his button flicked it undone, but you took your time pulling the zipper down. You were in no rush. 

But he was. 

You could tell from the slightest gestures: the way his back kept sinking back in the couch, the way his fingers kept combing through his hair, the way he hissed under his breath, the way his hips rolled up - if you weren’t so close to him, you wouldn’t have noticed any of it. 

When you finally took it upon yourself to free his personified frustration, you were taken aback, not because of his girth or the throbbing redness - although that was in the back of your mind. You were teetering on a metaphorical edge of your friendship. The kiss was one thing but now you were approaching the gate of no return. But you’d have plenty of time to worry about that later... and after the fact. 

You let the lust shroud your head with its black clouds as you leaned in closer. You delicately ran the flat of your ring finger up his length while dragging your tongue down, eliciting an explicit gasp from him.

And he couldn’t help but squirm under you when you circled your tongue under the head, where he was the most sensitive. 

Your lips secured around the tip, and you sunk them down as far as they could go, until they pressed firmly on his pelvis. The vulgar gurgling sound you inadvertently made while fighting your gag reflex only did more to stir his arousal. 

“Fuck, since when were you this hot?” 

You started bobbing your head up and down, cheeks hollowing as a result of the increased suction. Every now and then, you’d slow down to trace his prominent veins with your tongue, and when you’d pick up your pace again, grunts and groans continuously trickled down his lips. 

You wanted to smirk. Your nostrils flared as the corners of your lips lifted up as much as they could in their limiting position. You had to take your hands away from his hip and the base of his dick to place them behind your back just to show off.

When Jisung’s sounds became gruffer and more primal, you had an inlinking of what was to come. So, you stopped, smacking your lips with a loud pop. 

“Truth or dare?” Desire poured from your half-lidded eyes, lacing your voice in a tone that sent electricity through Jisung’s nerves. 

“...Dare,” he whispered, still heavily breathing. 

You stood up. “Take your pants off and don’t move for the next five minutes… no matter what.” 

He peered up at you with suspicious eyes, but did as you asked. His suspicion turned into surprise as you pulled your leggings and panty off in one motion, setting the garments on the ground. 

“What are you doing?” he asked in a strained voice as you straddled him, gripping the back of the couch for support, aligning your now-dripping heat over his erection. 

“Making,” you started lowering yourself, taking him in, “things more,” all in, “interesting.” 

He threw his head back, “Fuck.” 

“Remember,” you tapped your phone on the other side of the couch to see the time, “no moving for five minutes.”

“You’re so evil.” He glared at you. 

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I thought you knew this already.” 

“I didn’t-” his attempt to amend his statement was cut short when you attached your lips to his jaw, trailing kisses up its line, slowly, taking your time. 

He held his breath when yours blew into his ear, heat searing his skin, and you could feel him twitch inside you.

“I’m gonna destroy you when my turn is up.”

You tapped his chin with your finger. “If you can manage to behave until then.”

“You think I can’t?” 

“It’s not that I think you can’t… I just don’t think you can.” You waved your hips to increase the pressure between your connected skin, and you could tell he had to bite his tongue just to suppress a moan. 

When your lips latched onto his neck, he gulped, staring at the clock at the other end of the room. He tried to fixate on the constant movement of the second hand, but his body had a different agenda, preferring to focus on how good your lips felt on his sensitive skin, how you alternated between sweet pecks and French kisses, hard sucking and soft nibbling.

He felt the heat radiating from his skin, sweat dripping down the back of his neck as a result of his attempt to hold himself back. He grit his teeth, frustration crippling his body; he was this close to caving, this close. 

“Time.” 

He bucked his hips up, gripping yours tightly. “Such a fucking tease.” But he still held back, keeping his pumping slow and steady. “Truth or dare?” 

You crashed your body to match his tempo. “Truth.” 

“Do you want it harder?” 

“...Yes.” 

 ><><><><><><><

A/N This one is also a reimagined version of a scenario I wrote for a different idol years ago

[tomtenadia]

Remember us - part 5

Hello everyone....

Your weekly dose of angst is here... but in this part we have a bit of domestic fluff...

CW: mention of miscarriage and depression

-----

“Aelin, please.” His voice gruff with pain.

“I said get out.” She snarled at him from the bed.

Rowan moved a step towards her doing the exact opposite of what she had told him “I am not.” His arms folded at his chest “do you really think that being alone will help? That kicking me out will heal the pain of losing our daughter?”

Aelin sobbed hard and threw the pillow at him and he took the hit “don’t.”

“I lost her too. Will you accept that the pain is not only yours?” He shouted back “I feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest. And it fucking hurts because she was my baby girl too.”

“Stop…” her sobs grew in intensity “You have no idea of the pain.”

Rowan moved closer “No I don’t. I did not carry her in me for five months. I don’t know that pain.” He caressed her head “but she had a hold on my heart since the day you showed me the sonogram.”

“You are hurting me.” She said quietly looking away from him “and I need you to go.”

“Fireheart…”

“I said get out.” She shouted.

With his heart breaking, Rowan left the room.

Rowan woke up with a gaps, feeling the desperate need to get air in his lungs. He drew a hand on his face and felt tears. Had he been crying?

The memory was still vivid in his mind and it left him with unbearable anguish in his heart. In the dream he had felt both their pain. It had been real. His thumb reached for the ring on his fourth finger a gesture he had been doing a lot recently.

The memory had left him in a daze. How had they survived such deep pain? How could two people recover from such destructive sorrow?

But they did. Somehow their marriage had proven stronger than loss.

He sighed and took his phone to look at more picture of his family. He had so many that it took him a lot to go through them all. When he unlocked the phone he saw a text from Aelin sitting there, waiting for him.

Eagerly he opened it I am going back to work today, is it okay if I come and visit you?

Like a desperate man Rowan texted back as fast as he could please, it would make me very happy. The tv seems to be a very poor companion.

After he sent the text he realised his words had been true. He needed to see her.

Great. I am taking Tom to the nursery and I am on my way.

His lips tugged upwards in a smile. Then he made himself presentable. Aelin had brought him clothes and Evalin had brought some more so slowly and very carefully, he walked to the wardrobe. His right leg still getting used to have weight back on. Once he was done he went back to bed and fixed his ruffled hair. He was nervous. He had said to Evalin that his heart told him to try and that was what he was going to do. Apologise first. Then slowly start to get back to his old life. He knew it was going to be a tough ride but their time apart had increased that tug between them. He was afraid to admit that he had missed her daily visits.

Aelin arrived an hour later and as soon as she walked into his room, his heart raced.

“Hi you,” she said softly, still standing on the door.

He gave her a smile and with his head motioned to the chair. She took the offer and sat in front of him.

“Rowan—” she started but he stopped her.

“No, let me go first, please.”

Aelin nodded and he took a moment to gather his thoughts. This was his chance to right his stupidity.

“I am sorry for what I said.” He told her “but I need you to understand how frightening and overwhelming this is for me.” Pine green eyes met blue “memories have started to trickle back. Some happy some more painful, but they helped me understand us a bit better. When I married you I promised we would face this adventure together.” He took a deep breath “You said that life can be unpredictable and cruel but that at each other’s side we could conquer anything.” He told her grabbing the hand that was on the bed near his leg “what I am trying to say is that if you are happy to take back a husband in less than minted condition, I will be grateful for the help.”

Aelin stood and kissed his forehead “Yeah, yeah I will take you back.” She sobbed hard, standing in front of him.

“This is not going to be easy.

“I know.” She brushed his hair in a loving motion and the gesture felt familiar to Rowan “but our marriage has withstood far worse.”

“I know. I saw a memory of it.”

Aelin sat back down, the smile disappearing from her features “but you fought for us. Even when I was so broken that I was ready to give up everything. You brought us out of the darkness.”

“Yrene said they can let me go home in a couple of days but she needs to know that I have a place where to go.”

Aelin took his hand “you are coming home.”

*

Rowan was in Aelin’s car and together they were driving home.

He had been so nervous that he barely slept. In the past couple of days Aelin had visited whenever she could and had discussed the new challenge ahead. Evalin was going to stay. Thomas would go to nursery but Freyja would stay with her grandma. Rowan had agreed that he could not yet be trusted with being alone with an infant.

He was nervous about meeting their kids; Thomas in particular. He was the one who remembered him the most and did not want to break the boy’s heart.

Aelin had tried to explain to Thomas that his dad had been in hospital and unwell and that his memories had disappeared. Thomas had cried at the sadness of his dad not remembering him. She had told all of that to Rowan.

“I am terrified.”

“Don’t. Acknowledge Thomas, play with him. Even if you don’t remember things just go with it.”

Rowan sighed and then he saw Aelin park in front of a lovely detached house with a garden at the front, a swing set and a tree with a treehouse.

“The tree has a treehouse on it.” He noticed, admiring their house.

Aelin chuckled, “you built it for Tom last year. You two would sleep in there from time to time and pretend to be on some sort of incredible adventure.”

Rowan smiled and then opened the door of the car and grabbed his walking stick. Dorian had assured him that it was time to leave the crutches behind and use the stick. They had practiced together until he was comfortable with it.

Aelin grabbed his bag and joined him “let’s go, mum is making lunch and I am starving.”

“You are always hungry.” He said to her and Aelin stopped in her tracks.

“What did you just say?”

“It just came out, I am sorry.”

She turned fully to him and smiled “you said that to me a lot. Together with complaining about my diet.” She took his free hand “come on buzzard, time to meet our two terrors.”

As soon as they walked into the house and Aelin announced their arrival a little blonde hurricane crashed into him, grabbing his legs “Dad, you are back.”

Rowan looked down and saw his son with his arms wrapped around his legs, green eyes shining with happiness.

His hand brushed his blonde hair “I am.”

“Mum, can I play with him?” The boy asked eagerly grabbing his father’s hand.

“Later, Tom. Dad just got back. Give him some time.”

In that instant he noticed Evalin appear with a girl in her arms “welcome home, Rowan.”

“Thank you, Evalin.” He said, not being able to stare away from the little girl. She was his clone.

Freyja seemed to recognise him and leaned forward, extending her arms to him.

Rowan looked at Aelin almost as if to ask permission and she nodded. He took the girl and sat down on the sofa. Freyja’s head leaned on his shoulder and Rowan’s hand went to her back in a protective gesture. A moment later Thomas joined them and hugged his sister and a bit of his dad.

Aelin sobbed at the scene. They had both been scared. Both worried. Because Rowan had confessed her that hurting the kids was the last thing he wanted. But now looking at that precious moment, she realised they would be fine. Thomas was easy going and Freyja always had a deeper connection with her father. And she knew, from the way Rowan had taken his daughter in his arms that no memory loss would ever took away the bond they had.

“Hi, my love.” He whispered to the girl, inhaling her scent. Freyja snuggled closer. “Come to my side, Tom.” The boy grinned and climbed on the sofa and on his knees he turned to his dad and hugged them again “I missed you, dad.”

“Well, you need to tell me everything you did while I was away.”

Aelin’s hand went to her stomach and smiled tenderly at the man in front of her. He could not yet tell his son he had missed him so he had found a way not to disappoint him.

“Mum, you come too.”

Aelin brushed her tears away and sat on the arm of the sofa just beside Rowan. It was the first time they were that close. Rowan turned his head and stared in the depths of her blue eyes. His eyes moved down to her lips and then back up. That thread between them pulled hard and before he knew it, he was kissing her. His body recognising hers. He pulled away only when he heard Thomas disgusted sounds.

Aelin stared at him with an expression he could not decipher. Maybe she was mad at him for kissing her? But it felt right. In his soul, kissing her had been right.

“You cheeky monkey.” Aelin stood and grabbed Thomas and started tickling him and the boy and Aelin’s laughter was the best music for Rowan’s ears.

*

After lunch was over the kids had gone out for a walk with their grandma and Aelin had given him a tour of the house. Rowan was impressed. They had a lovely house with four bedrooms and spacious enough to welcome a big family.

“You lost your parents when you were 20. They left you a nice stash of money that you never used. When we got married you used that money to buy this house. Our home.”

She sat at his side on the sofa, with a cup of herbal tea in her hands.

“I am sorry I kissed you. I should have asked first. I am sorry.” He looked away embarrassed at his gesture.

Aelin placed the tea on the table then grabbed his face with her hand and turned to him “Ro, you are my husband. You don’t have to ask for permission to kiss me.”

“I know, but I don’t know where we stand on that aspect of us.” He explained looking at her “I don’t know where I stand. I kissed you because it felt right, but I don’t think I can go any further right now.”

Aelin nodded “of course.” That was probably their last big challenge. There was so much to deal with right now that sex was very low on her priority list although her hormones were having another opinion and that kiss had awoken in her the need for him, she had to be patient “but you can kiss me anytime and without asking, if you feel like it.” And winked at him.

He gave her a smirk that was so familiar that for a moment she felt like Rowan was truly back.

She stared into his pine green eyes while her hand was still on his cheek and then she moved and her lips met his and Rowan did not pull away. He just stood for a moment but then his mouth parted and opened for her and Aelin, at the invitation, deepened the kiss feeling the need to connect with him again.

Rowan froze for an instant at the kiss but as she did not move away he let it happen and slowly he melted in the feeling of her lips on his. Aelin’s hand sneaked on his back, pulling him closer and as Aelin deepened the kiss Rowan felt a strange feeling surge in him. Was it passion? It burned in him that strange desire and when Aelin’s tongue brushed his a moan left Rowan and he pulled back, not sure about what was happening between them.

When they pulled apart they were both breathless and Aelin caressed his face and smiled “it looks like this part between us hasn’t changed.”

Rowan lifted an eyebrow and Aelin chuckled “the fire between us. Before we had the kids we sometimes spent entire days off in bed.”

The top of Rowan’s ears turned red and she giggled and kissed him again and Rowan this time did not hesitate and her hands sneaked under his t-shirt and after a few more minutes of their make out session Rowan pulled back and stared deeply at her “you are stunning,” he whispered. He had thought that from the beginning. Rowan leaned back on the sofa and Aelin snuggled closed to his chest, inhaling deeply his scent and his arm went around her back.

“If you are uncomfortable, you tell me.” She said to him, her hand close to his heart.

Rowan shook his head “this feels nice.” His head turned to her “I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels right.”

“Hold me.”

And Rowan pulled Aelin to him, enveloping her in his strong arms.

He thought that perhaps, with her at his side, not everything was lost.

He closed his eyes and welcomed his dreams.

[mxvladdy]

Forgotten Affections: Mammon

Here is Part Two of @marymaryroo 's request!

This one used more of my True forms ideas so if you want some more contexts here is Mammon's Link

Hope you like!

Magic is a beautiful and powerful thing. It permeates the Devildom like an eternal fog. For the residents, it is as common as breathing. From the strongest of their kind down to the lowest inhabitants, it is integral to their culture and daily life. Mistakes and accidents happen daily with young and old alike learning or experimenting. Magical rebounds and mishaps mean very little to them, especially the brothers. From the Celestial Realms down, they have seen it all.

Sometimes they forget that to you, magic can be a volatile and dangerous.

Part Two of Three: Mammon

TW: Gore and slight body horror

His plans are not stupid. No matter what his brothers thought or said. He was always calculating, always thinking and scheming. Sometimes his plans were fast and spontaneous, some do get the better of him. But risks were always a part of the games he plays. The hazards are just as an addictive high as the rewards he strove for. Mammon knew his plans could go sideways, but he never cared. When he failed he just would try again. Variables changed on a dime and he knew how to handle that. Life moves fast but he always moves faster. Until he couldn’t.

The plan this time was foolproof. Everything had been in place, or so he thought. He ran a tight ship with his informants and an even tighter ship with his court. He anticipated everything. He just can never predict you.

You weren’t supposed to be here. Why were you here! You should have been at school!

Of course, the witches saw you as a threat. They thought he was trying to underhand them once again. They weren’t wrong obviously. But he would never put you in harm's way to get what he wanted. Seeing you here startles him, startles all of them. While the shock of your face showing up where it didn’t belong slows his reaction time, it increases the witches. Their spells move with blinding speed, out-pacing him by mere seconds as he tries to get to you. The spells hit you with a wet crunch, flinging you across the room. He watches in horror as your body flops like a marionette cut from it’s strings. He catches you scooping you up to his chest before hitting the concert hard. He skids along the cold warehouse floor hiss when his heat cracks hard on the metal of a stack of crates.

It hurt, but he couldn’t give less of a damn. He didn’t give a shit about the black blood trickling from his brow or the crack in his beloved glasses. He had one thing on his mind, you. You were still and loose in his arms. He saw no blood, but something wasn’t right. His pact is alight with pain, flaring and itching as he panics something wasn’t right with his master and his pact couldn’t locate it.

The next few moments in time freeze around him as he moves faster than he ever has in his life. The city and realm are brief flashes in his mind's eyes as he blinks, he just had to keep you safe. He takes you to the only place he knows you will be safe. It was the safest place in the kingdom for him, and it would be for you too.

The cave is cold. An eternal shadow coats every part of the large cavern, it had been a while since he had visited his hoard. His greatest treasure now sleeps in his bedroom and shines more brightly than even his most precious stones. Yet, now you were as cold as the jewels he once coveted. He doesn’t remember shedding his human skin but he doesn’t care using his many mismatched and uneven wigs to move you to his nest.

He tucks you into the silks and wool sheets lining his bed. Bending closer he nuzzles your arm. His many broken and scarred beaks picked up on the fetid odor of tainted magic seeping from your pores. He can’t place all the damage done to you but it is more than he knew what to do with. He was no practiced healer like Asmodeus or learned in medicine like Satan. No, he didn’t have that, but he was yours, and you were his to protect. So he does what he can through his pact, leeching some of the poison from your body into his. Getting comfortable beside you he shuffles you closer into the remaining soft down feathers on his belly. This close he can feel your frail heartbeat.

The hours move on and you still do not stir. He hates himself for this. How could he be so useless? You trust him, he was your first man he was supposed to be better than this. In this moment Mammon regrets every class he ever ditched and the class he slept through in the Celestial realms. He was never good with magic but perhaps if he had just paid attention he might have been able to help you better right now. Whatever toxins the combination of spells had embedded you rolled in his stomachs mixing with his guilt. He takes it all powering through so you could rest.

You stir sometime in the wee hours of the morning, of what day he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. His many eyes never leave you as you wake. “Mammon?” You slur, mind still groggy with sleep and the residual effects of whatever it was that hit you. He clicks his many beaks asynchronously in delight, the chatter of bone on bone is raucous.

Beside himself, he turns back to his human form in a dizzying blur of feathers and gold light. “Babe!” He snatches you up kissing every bit of your skin he can find. “I am so sorry. I fucked up-you weren’t supposed to be there. How in the hells did you find me?” He pulls back to make eye contact with you. Your eyes are wide with shock. “What’s the matter? Why are ya lookin’ at me like that?”

You looked confused, eyes darting around you as you clutch the furs and blankets closer to your bare chest. “Mammon. What...what’s going on? Where am I?” You glance down at yourself seeing how battered and bruised you were. You look at him, the confusion now replaced with unadulterated terror. “Mammon...what did you do?”

“Ti?” He shakes his head momentarily, losing his grip on your shared tongue. “Babe-I don’t understand.” He tries to touch you. You push away, scrambling back and tumbling from his nest. Mammon hears your heart rate pick up, hammering like a helpless beast when it knows it's cornered. But where was the threat? You were safe here, tucked away with him. He feels numb, disbelief locking his jaw and tightening his shoulders.

You couldn’t think he was the threat...right?

“C-come on,” He blinks back tears. “This ain’t funny. Don’t you remember me?” He reaches out for you beckoning for you to come back to his nest. There is an odd and sharp twinge in his pact and he hisses. You mark weights him down, locking him in place from coming any closer to your trembling form. You were stopping him from comforting you. You were scared of him.

“Mammon.” You shudder holding the blankets close and back away till your back hit the rough stone wall. “You’re scaring me.”

“An’ your scaring me! You promised not to play cruel jokes on me.” His head bobbles inhumanely, sapphire and gold eyes glowing in the low moon light.

He smells the sour tang of sweat blooming on your skin, his sense locking on the bob of your throat. He mimics the dry clicking of it as you try to swallow enough spit to speak. “When did I do that?” You croak. He rears his head back. The words strike him hard. You curl away from his screeching arms raised for a blow that he would never do.

“Date? You, us!” He barks, voice coming sharper and shriller in desperation. “Our late night drives? Us...movie nights alone at the theater. Just last night?” He implores searching your gaze for something. Anything!

You shake your head clutching your brow. “I’m sorry, I don’t...” His caw of rage rattles his chest. His many heads emerge again to echo his cries. He shakes them in disbelief. “Mammon! Listen to me, please! Just-just take us home-”

“No!” You flinch back, spit coating your upraised arms. “You are my human!” Mammon’s eyes flash in warning. If you didn’t remember him then the others could try to take you away from him. He would never let you go. Your scream of terror is swept up in a flurry of wings and plumage as he disappears back into the night.

He doesn’t return home to the House. He takes flight and heads east, the winds and forest coming alive with the sounds of his legion taking to the sky with him. Search. Find. He orders images of the coven and what they did to you flashes in his mind to his murder. Those mages did this, and they would fix this. He travels on the wind ignoring the searing pain of your mark. You are calling him to return, ordering him to. The pain only fuels his desire to hunt.

He will have to be fast, for your sake. While his cave had plenty of fresh water and food for you he knew you. You were that spark in the night, that shock to the system that kept him going. You help him keep his head up high. You would try to get down from his nest, or try the other brothers before long.

His council found the witches one by one, picking off the weaker members while leaving the elder witches to him. He barrels through the punishment of breaking a pacts to extract whatever he could from them before his talons find their throats. The kills got more and more savage as each hunt turns up nothing.

On the fifth day of his hunting, Lucifer finds him. His world turns into a blur of black mist and boney fingers as his brother throws him violently from the gurgling body of his last victim. Empty eye sockets bore into Mammon's dazed faces. “Where…” Lucifer opens his broken maw, jaw creaking as his voice gurgles out. Mammon ignores him screeching and clawing at the hand pinning him to the floor. The fingers begin to close slowly, choking off his air until he is forced to revert to his other form, dark chest gasping for air. “Wheerrree…” Black smoke fills his lungs, the cold radiating off of Lucifer’s exposed bone burns his skin.

Mammon hisses back, throwing caution to the wind and landing a quick kick to his brother’s deteriorating nasal bone. “Mine!” He groans, head filling with static. “They are mine...even if they don’t remember me.” The fingers around his throat loosen before pulling back. Mammon coughs holding his throat as he struggles to his knees. “You can’t have them.” He wipes his face, cleaning off blood and tears. Devil’s when did he start crying?

“Mammon.” Lucifer tries again, flowing closer. “No one wants to take them away. I want to make sure they are safe.” Safe? Of course they were safe! The Great Mammon was watching over them, there was nowhere safer. Right? But there was safety in numbers too, what was a murder of crows or a flock of night creatures if they did not stick together. Mammon pushes his palms hard into his eyes till light spots of color irrupted behind his eyelids.

Clarity and exhaustion caught up to him all at once. “I messed up. I messed up so bad, μέντορας.” He looks at the corpse of the last witch. They were the final witness to what had happened the night he got you hurt. His last chance to help you is gone, splattered across the pavement. “Λυπάμαι. Λυπάμαι, αδελφός.” The dam breaks, all the suffering, and confusion of the past week overwhelms him in that moment, robbing him of coherent thought.

Warm human hands grip his shoulders squeezing him tight to center him. “Calm yourself. Remember how I taught you?” he nods, grimy head bobbing through a hiccup. “Good-good. In through your nose and out your mouth. Yes, just like that. Again.” Once punishing hands now wrap around him surrounding him in a sea of black silk and soft hair. It is of little comfort to him now, but Mammon feels the invisible hands clutching his hearts loosen. Lucifer does too and brings his brother out of the crook of his neck to look him over. “I want to help both of you. But, I need to know what is going on.”

To say Lucifer was displeased was an understatement. He couldn’t fault Mammon for his outburst, while he could not say he would do the same he understood what fragile hearts his sibling has. Mammon would never intentionally harm you, but as he pleads his case Lucifer began to worry more and more for your well-being. Mammon wasn’t going back to check on you, that was very clear by the pattern of violence he had marked around the eastern prefecture. Mammon’s recklessness had the potential to get you hurt, and he could not have that.

“Take me to them.” Lucifer raises, helping Mammon up from his knees.

“Can’t.”

“Mammon.” His patience grows thin.

“I can’t,” Mammon repeats himself, firmer this time. The magic he placed on his nest was the last that he had. Having a demon as strong as his brother coming in would break the barrier beyond his repair. “I swear to you I will bring them back, now, back to the house. Just please...I can’t take you.”

Lucifer sighs but relents. Mammon doesn’t swear often if not at all. With care Lucifer takes the back of Mammon’s head and brings his forehead to touch his. “Promise?” Mammon coos softly showing his neck in submission. “Thank you, now go retrieve them. I will clean up this mess.”

Mammon returns to his nest to find you sleeping again. You were clothed and freshly bathed, bits of food nearby and used cutlery at your side. He doesn’t approach fearful of how you would react after last time. He kicks a pile of gold by the side of you instead. You react immediately, lurching up in bed. Something shiny glints in your hand and he laughs. The silver dagger gleams in his direction. “Mammon?” You blink in the low light squinting hard to make out his form. “Is that you?”

“Of course,” He steps closer, arms relaxed at his side. “No one else can come up here, you know. Or, I guess you did at one point.” You lower the knife but keep your eyes trained on him still hesitant.

“Are you ok?” Getting a better look at him you frown. He was a mess, disheveled and grungy. Dark viscous matter cling to his once vibrant white hair clumping it and sticking to the hard edges of his face. You didn’t want to know what it was, but you had your suspicions.

“Yes.” He said, tone clipped and stressed. “Come on, let’s get you back.” He holds out a grimy hand to you.

You look at it. “Are we really?” With how he left you you weren’t sure if this was a trap or not. For all his boisterous claims and vibrato you never thought he would actually go through with anything. Now you weren’t sure.

Mammon nods, waiting for you to make up your mind. You take his hand after a few minutes of contemplation. Your touch was so familiar yet foreign all at once. It was as warm and soft as he remembered it to be, but that was it. You were hesitant with your touch, fingers barely resting in his scabbed and scarred over palm. “What happened?” You turn his hand over seeing how the cuts and bruises continued.

“Nothing.” Nothing of worth any way. “Come, Lucifer is waiting for us.” That makes you pick up your pace and it chafes him.

When you both land in the outside garden of the house Mammon let’s you go. Rushing over to Lucifer’s side, you almost use him as a shield between the two of you. You grab at his brother’s pressed suit jacket asking a rapid fire slew of questions. Mammon relaxes only a fraction noting how Lucifer has yet to touch you out of respect for him.

Lucifer let’s you run out of steam before speaking. “I believe I know what has happened but let’s get you checked out first, and Mammon.” He looks over to his hunched brother. “Go wash up. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.” Dismissed, Mammon slinks off to his room without a fight and empty handed.

With a clean bill of health, minus the apparent memory loss you sit in Diavolo’s office nursing a cup of tea. You look at your companions on either side of you. You, Solomon, and Lucifer sit on Dia’s large couch while the prince paces in front of you. The latter shaking with rage.

“I’m not mad.” You say again looking at the men around you. Mad wasn’t the right word for the feelings you have right now. You were angry at the situation and how Mammon handled it, yeah. But now you were more confused and fearful for his sake. Even if you didn’t recall the particulars of your relationship, what you did remember was a warm and friendly mix of emotions and companionship. He had always been a good friend and steadfast ally after the initial rocky start. Could you have been more? Something blooms in your chest.

“Irregardless,” Dia turns to you, face grim. “He put you in immediate danger and then abducted you. If Lucifer hadn’t tracked him down you still would be missing.” You nod your mouth closing on a rebuttal. He wasn’t wrong. “And,” He continues. “This matter now has more repercussions then just you and your lost memories I’m afraid.”

“That’s right.” Solomon butts in. “The covens are in an uproar. Seats have been usurped and the power imbalance now is reaching dangerous degrees. They want blood.”

Diavolo scoffs, cursing low in infernal. “Mammon needs to be reprimanded, Lucifer.”

Lucifer stiffens next to you. You hear the soft creaking of his leather gloves as he clenches his fists tight. “Is this not enough?” He leans forward imploringly. “Let me handle his punishment. You know I am fair with it.”

“He wiped out the entire East coven. This will take years for me to handle diplomatically. The council of Magi wants justice, and I cannot blame them. Mammon broke contracts and peace agreements.”

His words go over your head but the implications were very clear. “I’m so sorry.” You bow low in your seat. This was your fault. You should have taken a brother with you to retrieve Mammon that night. While trapped in Mammon’s treasure trove you had plenty of time to go over that night’s events and try to figure out why Mammon had said those things to you.

You remember that day clearly. Going to classes, turning in homework and rounding up the brother’s before they got into mischief. You run down that night the best you can too. You remember texting the group that you would bring Mammon home in time for the last meeting of the day, then the burning sensation of spells hitting you and bright flashes of light before waking up next to him in his nest. You remember him, but those nights he told you about and his feelings he shared with you were gone. Nothing there but black space.

Solomon’s hand on your shoulder breaks your musing. “This isn’t your fault. I’m sure we can settle this out over time.” The two demons in the room nod, faces unreadable. With that Solomon nods, getting to his feet. “I believe the time for humans in the room is over, shall I escort you home, or would you like to stay at Purgatory?”

“Home please.” The week's events land heavy on your shoulders. You wanted to sleep in your bed surrounded by familiar comforts. “I’m over this demon shit.” Solomon doesn’t even try to hide his snort.

“There is never a dull moment with you around, huh?” He chuckles, combing a hand through his hair once he gets to the front door. You shoot him an exasperated look. “Relax. I promise we will get this all set to rights...if that is what you wish.”

“I have a choice?”

Solomon raises a pale brow. “Yes. I do believe I can fix this with enough time and preparation. While Mammon had the right idea going to find the root of the problem and there for the spell, he did it all ass backwards. Once I get in contact with the spirits of those he murdered I believe I can get you back together again. You do want that don’t you?”

Did you?

The question perplexes you while you crawl into bed. Did you want something that you didn’t even know you had? The Mammon that had greeted you when you woke up was like nothing you could remember and had planted a seed of doubt within you. What about him had you fall for him in the first place? Would you remember all of this if Solomon was able to fix it? Could this break in your memory change how you felt for him? Ugh-why was magic always so difficult…

You are left to your own devices for a while allowed to stay in from work and school while you recover. The brothers dote over you in their own ways, all expertly navigating around any question you had about Mammon’s whereabouts. Only Beel gave you any useful information.

“He’s...working off his debt.” Cryptic, but at least you knew he was alive. With the brother’s all being tight lipped you took matters into your own hands. Your phone was gone, no doubt shattered on the floor of the warehouse when you fell. You should have had a new one by now, but Lucifer seemed to be hiding it from you like Mammon.

The door to Mammon’s room is sealed tight, no handle or seam to be found. The loud hum of magic radiates from the door making it impossible for you to open. Even his seat at the council was empty. So much secrecy, you were beginning to believe you were being punished as well.

Good thing you were too pig headed to care.

Cornering Lucifer wasn’t as hard as you expected it to be. He very well could have been waiting for you to jump him by this point. He looked tired and drained, his mark, like Mammon’s, was dark and silent on your skin. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Yes. Though, as you can see, I’ve grown tired of it.” He waves at himself leaning on the wall just outside of the kitchens. “What do you want?”

“Why can’t I find anything?”

“Any what?”

“If I was dating Mammon wouldn’t there be, I don’t know evidence of it?” There was nothing in your room, and you couldn’t get into Mammon’s. The other’s had been of no help. It was gone, as if by magic. “Is this your doing?”

Lucifer pinches his brow with a grimace. “Yes, and no. Mammon asked me to.”

“What! Why?”

“He heard what Solomon said to you. That you are unsure if you want those memories back. This is your out.” A gift as Mammon likes to think of it, the last one Mammon can give you. Even if it kills him, his brother still thinks of your comforts.

“Don’t I get a choice?” Lucifer snorts eyeing you.

“It is one of the very few strategic advantages of being human. Have you made one?”

Yes? No? “Well, I would like to make an educated one! I can’t do that if I can’t even see Mammon now can I? I’m clear headed now.”

Lucifer chortles rummaging in his pocket. “Please, the fact that you picked Mammon as the object of your affection clearly shows me you have never thought clearly a day in your life.” He drops something in your hand before turning. “The magic of the door is gone. Just-please be gentle with him. The council has not been kind.” He gives you a final small smile. “You two were happy together, you know.” He leaves you with your new phone in an empty hallway.

You clutch the small device close to your chest, eyes riveted to the screen. Lucifer had backed everything up. Your contacts, calendar dates, assignments, and pictures. You click on your photo gallery. Oh, there were so many pictures of the two of you together. For a moment you hate the you grinning up through the screen. Mammon’s arms wrap around you, his face nestle in your hair as you glow under his attention. He looked serene, eyes closed with a blissful smile peeking out through your locks. The next few photos were very much the same, little dates and windows into a life you wanted to remember. The next few you took were candid photos. Him asleep on his couch stretched out and snoring or in the kitchen trying to do something, and failing.

It was so different from the Mammon you remember and the one you saw so briefly in the cave. Deep down your heart hurts for him, out of sympathy or the echoes of your lost love you weren’t sure, but you wanted that life from the pictures again. You reach his door with a new reinvigorated fire in your belly. You could do this. Mammon would never fall for someone indecisive.

The door opens as quiet as a whisper into a dark room. Stepping in you hold your breath, ears hyper aware of just how dark this place was. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this place without lights on. Mammon didn’t like the dark all that much. The room was quiet too, except for an eerie wet gurgle. “Mammon?”

“Leave.” Deeper into the room a massive black shape moves. “Shouldn’t be here.” You turn to the shape, arms outstretched to guide you through the pitch. “Don’t-” Several large luminous gold eyes lock with you. They are weary and apprehensive. You push forward till your hands touch some feathers and…

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s fine.” Like hell it was. Ignoring his protest and the slick feel of his blood on your hands you grab for your phone.

“Oh Mammon.” Your stomach twists. In the bright little of your little flashlight you can see only a small bit of his side, but it was shiny with fresh blood, feathers broken and limp from where hands had yanked at them. “Who?”

“The Rite of Equivalency.” A head turns to follow your fingers. He hisses, the feel of your fingers stroking along a raw gash under his upper set of wings burns. “Pound for pound of flesh for that which I took.” His beaks click, sore and irritated, they had not been gentle with their gathering today. His body was worth a lot to witches. His feathers and beak shavings were valuable in potions and on the market. It was the most lenient punishment Lucifer could broker, even if it did literally cost him a limb or two. Your hand goes still on his side, he can feel your small fingers trembling on his hind leg.

“Mammon-this is monstrous.”

The crow chortles swiveling his heads to look at you. “Are we not monsters?” He tries to joke, uncomfortable with your gentle touch now. “Hey- no...please don’t cry.” He sees tears clinging to your eyelashes, your lower lip quivering. He opens a wing to try to wrap it around you but stops gasping in pain. His side was like a live wire, healing bones burning under his thin skin while they mended. He is so tired.

You pick up on his discomfort and move away wiping at your tears. This wasn’t about you right now. “I came to talk about...us and what you overheard between Solomon and I,” His heart rate picks up.

“Lucifer put you up to this.” It wasn’t a question but a simple statement of fact. He had hoped-

You shook your head, brushing his side. “He gave me the option by opening the door, but I wanted to do this. To see you again and talk.” Talk, and get his side of the story, to fill in the pieces of the puzzle until you could get them back yourself. You pull up a few pictures and turn the screen to him. “I want to go back to this. I think I liked being yours.”

[hellomynameisbisexual]

Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transexual, queer. While the LGBTQ+ label continues to expand with the increasing awareness of sexual and gender identities, we are not yet seeing this awareness extend to our screens. While we are seeing an uptick in positive, empathetic stories of homosexual characters, those characters whose sexualities are not so neatly black or white (or pink, lavender, and blue), are still depicted as confused, sexually deviant, or greedy – if they are even depicted at all. While a more fluid take on sexuality is trickling into more mainstream media, it is often done so without seeing the need for ‘labels’, ignoring an entire subgroup of the queer community who long to see themselves not only portrayed on screen but portrayed correctly and proudly.

Bisexual Erasure – “A pit stop on the way to homo” – Perpetuating Negative Stereotypes:

The 1990s and 2000s saw a number of new media hit screens that aimed to not only appeal to the queer community but to educate those outside of it as well. Joss Whedon’s landmark show Buffy the Vampire Slayer displayed the first on-screen lesbian kiss, while shows such as Will & Grace and The L Word put gay and lesbian characters to the forefront of serial narratives. While borderline revolutionary for their time, such shows now seem outdated in a time where sexuality is understood to more fluid than simply gay or straight.

Buffy’s Willow Rosenberg came out as gay after her first relationship with a woman, discarding that she had a strong emotional and physical connection to her previous boyfriend, Oz, for two and a half seasons. The 2005 drama Brokeback Mountain is often described as a romance between two gay men, similarly dismissing that both Ennis and Jack are married to women towards whom they display attraction. Katherine Mayfair of Desperate Housewives suffered a similar fate, jumping straight to believing she might be gay after her first sexual experience with another woman despite a lifetime of heterosexual relationships, with bisexuality not proffered, or even mentioned, as an option.

While the words bisexual or pansexual were never mentioned in any of these narratives, others discussed it to their detriment. Will Truman, from the now at times dated Will & Grace, referred to pansexuality as “a pit stop on the way to homo”, contributing to the common myth that bisexual or pansexual people are confused or can’t yet admit to themselves that they are gay. Friends works this line into one of Phoebe Buffay’s songs for a laugh; “And then there are bisexuals, but some just say they’re kidding themselves.”

Sex and the City also contributed to negative bisexual and pansexual myths, with Carrie Bradshaw referring to bisexuality as ‘double-dipping’ and ‘greedy’. This is another common stereotype of the bisexual. Returning to Desperate Housewives, in the episode I Know Things Now, bisexual character Peter McMillan ended up cheating on Bree with her teenage son, Andrew. HBO’s True Blood also contained a number of bisexual characters including Eric Northman and Pamela Swynford De Beaufort, whose homosexual scenes were played as kinky or deviant, saving the romance for the heterosexual couples.

“I like hot people!” – is casual sexuality progress?

A more modern approach has been taken in recent years, showing sexuality as more fluid than the rigid homosexual or heterosexual labels. But is this really a step in the right direction? Piper Chapman from Orange is the New Black is shown having serious relationships with both fiancé Larry Broom and ex-girlfriend Alex Vause, without once describing herself as bisexual. The closest we are given is Piper explaining that “I like hot people!” In The Good Place, Eleanor Shellstrop’s attraction to Tahani, Janet and Simone is made clear, but is used only as a comedic landing-place, with Eleanor’s sexuality going undefined and unexplored. While this take on sexuality as a place without labels is refreshing and a step up from the representation of the bisexual as deviant or confused, it leaves the need bisexual and pansexual people have to see themselves on screen unfulfilled.

Even shows that pride themselves on being progressive in their representation of sexuality can be found complicit in bisexual erasure. Fox’s popular musical drama Glee dedicated much of its screen time to Kirk Hummel’s struggles as an openly gay teenager in Ohio and Santana Lopez’s struggles to accept herself as a lesbian, but bisexual character Brittany S. Pierce is denied this same careful treatment and seemed to come to terms with her sexuality remarkably quickly in comparison.

“Letting my bi flag fly” – getting it right

All this isn’t to say that bisexuals are never represented correctly. Brooklyn Nine Nine’s Rosa Diaz, played by bisexual actress Stephenie Beatriz, is not only given a coming-out story – something bisexual and pansexual characters are often denied – but the struggles of her coming to grips with her sexuality are also displayed in full with understanding and tolerance. The brush off of “You’re gay, so it’s not a big deal,” applied to many members of the queer community who do not fit neatly under a homosexual label, is debunked here. Not only is Rosa given a coming-out story at her workplace, which is fielded by her colleagues with grace and acceptance, but she is also given one to her parents, causing a rift between her and her mother when Rosa insists that she has an equal chance of ending up with a woman as with a man.

The CW’s Crazy Ex-Girlfriend features a total of three bisexual characters over the course of its four-season run, most prominently Darryl Whitefeather. After divorcing his wife after a long-term marriage, Darryl is confused when he becomes attracted to White Josh and begins to question if he’s gay. This journey to discovering his bisexuality culminates in the celebratory musical number Getting Bi, the lyrics of which debunk the myth that bisexuals are confused, indecisive, or sexually deviant. It is important to note that this song is also a coming-out story, which is a refreshing change to the idea that coming to terms with being bi or pan is easy or without confusion.

Pansexual characters are also starting to find a name for themselves in mainstream media. Klaus Hargreeves from The Umbrella Academy is most likely pansexual, although once again this comes without explanation or labels, denying the pansexual community visibility on screen. This is not the case in either Sex Education or Schitt’s Creek. Sex Education, which also sees Adam Groff come to terms with his bisexuality, gives Ola Nyman not only a journey of self-discovery with her sexual identity but a journey that culminates in a neatly worked-in definition of pansexuality. Schitt’s Creek takes a more nuanced but by no means less helpful approach with the now-iconic wine bottle analogy. David Rose, who has long since known he is pansexual, describes his sexuality tidily and succinctly as “I like the wine but not the label.”

We’re making progress. We’re increasingly seeing not only a wider range of sexualities and genders enter our content, but we are also seeing LGBTQIA+ characters be more than victims, stereotypes, or defined only by their labels. While it’s important to have such characters in narratives be more than their sexuality, it is equally important to depict these sexualities correctly and visibly. While films and shows may be getting better at giving us the wine, sometimes we do like the labels to be there as well.

[majesty-madness]

Detroit Become Human: I’ll See You Again (RK900 x reader)

Word Count: 2600+

Warning: Angst, cursing, mentions of blood (thirium lol)

Chapter Nine

By the time backup arrived, snow was lightly trickling down from the gray sky. 

Y/N might have enjoyed it had her feelings not been distracted by a certain android, who had yet to come walking out. He was still inside. 

Why she wasn’t sure, but the longer she thought about what happened, the more she became conflicted. 

She was still rather angry about what Connor said, however another feeling was starting to take rein. The smallest part of her felt he might have been right. 

Her mind revisited a short conversation she had with another one of the officers when they had arrived. 

“Chris, how long do you think it would take Cyberlife to send a vital replacement part for an android?” Y/N had asked. 

The officer looked up at the Detective with a bit of confusion at her sudden question, but he answered nonetheless. 

“It really depends on the part. Though it can be anywhere from two weeks to a month or so.” 

Upon hearing that, Y/N’s heart dropped. 

Damn. He was probably right. 

Of course he was right, he was an android afterall. They knew everything. 

Speaking of which, Y/N wondered what was keeping Connor. It had been over half an hour, and the RK900 model hadn’t stepped out of the building. 

What exactly was holding him up? Was he scanning the area again? 

Y/N shook her head at the theory. It was unlikely that he was scanning the area again because once he scanned something once it was ingrained within his data. 

Then what the hell-

She immediately perked up at the sound of footsteps approaching her from behind. And when she saw that signature white jacket, her body perked up at his presence. 

However, as her eyes ran over his tall figure she could tell something was off. 

It wasn’t really something she could explain. He was an android, and androids didn’t usually make faces since they couldn’t feel emotion (so they said) but her best guess was that Connor looked very perturbed. 

“What’s wrong?” Y/N asked the android as soon as he was inches away. 

His blue eyes met hers and the first response that came to his mind was “you” but he shoved that thought away. 

“Nothing is wrong, Detective. I was running a diagnostic.” 

Connor watched Y/N jerk her head up in a slow nod as she processed what he said like it wasn’t what she was expecting. 

Y/N didn’t say anything more and stared at Connor as he stared back at her. 

Several seconds passed before Y/N realized that she had been staring at him longer than socially acceptable. So she resorted to looking down at her hands and fiddling with her long sleeves as her mind revisited the conversation she had earlier with Chris. 

“Um… I uh…I’m sorry. About earlier. Turns out you… you were right.” She suddenly confessed. 

^^^ Software Instability ^^^

Connor felt his eyes widen at Y/N’s apology. 

She continued. “I found out that it could be two weeks to a month before we can receive a replacement for an android. So I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have been so quick to kill him.” 

Another message popped up in Connor’s vision. 

UPD̸̖̀A̸̱̓T̵̢̋E̵͙̋D̷͖͌ STATU̶̟̚Ş̴̲̂͊ ̸̮̫̂́O̵̟̪̔̌N̵͇̬͋:̸͔͎̓

Detective Y/N̶͔͕̍͊͒ ̸̙͐L̶̢̢̘͗̍/̶̯̺͑͆̒N̷̮̣̓

Y/̸̨̥̄̈N̴̹̗̚

DETECTIVE Y/N L/N

Increased heart rate

Increased Temperature

Increased Sweat production

Information Stored in Data Folder:

“Y/N”

Folder Y/N? Where did that come from? He certainly didn’t make that folder, but it indeed existed within his memory. 

Though the newly found folder wasn’t the only thing that shocked the android, it was the seemingly calming sensation spreading throughout his artificial body. 

And before he could even process it, Connor began to speak. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Detective. You were trying to stay alive.”

Yet again her android partner had managed to catch her off guard. 

His response was not an expected one, in fact based on how he had been acting the past several days, Y/N was anticipating a snarky remark. Well as much as a snarky remark an android could make. 

Instead, Connor took on a tone of compassion, one of sympathy, one she had grown far too accustomed to. 

“Oh...t-thank you, I-I guess.” Y/N stuttered out, her soft voice sounding forgein to herself. 

As she was looking directly at Connor, her eyes shifted to the very slight upturned corner of his lips in a barely noticeable smile. 

Connor didn’t even know he was doing it because for some reason his system was running free of its own accord. 

The detective couldn’t help the way her cheeks flared with heat, and a blooming sensation coursing through her chest. Y/N’s mind knew exactly what this feeling was and why it was happening. 

It was the same kind of feeling she had around the other Connor when they worked together. The same kind of love and yearning she thought died with him. 

Apparently she was wrong. 

Right now, Y/N wanted to reach out and touch him, feel his synthetic skin against her own, comb her fingers gently through his hair, to have him as close to her as humanly possible, to feel that he was alive. 

She began to raise her hands to do exactly that, however, when she saw Connor’s smile disappear, they stopped. 

Seeing him back to his original expression reminded her that it wasn’t Connor. It was an exact model, yes, but not the same android. 

Letting her arms fall back down to her side, Y/N let out a shaky breath. “Let’s uh...get back to the station. They’re waiting for us.” 

She stepped away from the android, pausing for a moment to gather her thoughts before walking in the direction of her car. 

Connor didn’t immediately follow, a habit of his it seemed, instead opted to watch the detective get closer to her car. 

He wasn’t sure why the detective had reached out to touch him, but he was aware of the anticipation he felt when she did as well as the disappointment when she pulled away. 

This should be impossible. He was feeling something. 

__________

Connor noticed that on the way back to the station, Y/N didn’t look over at him a single time. Not once. 

In the past few days since he had known the detective, that seemed unusual. 

She had always made a point, whether purposefully or not, to look in his direction. 

It was still a mystery as to why the young detective had made a habit of it but Connor accepted it. But now, there wasn’t any of that. Not the slightest glance, she just kept her eyes focused only on the road. 

Connor spent a majority of the car, searching for something he could say or ask or what have you but unfortunately came up with nothing. 

That would have been troubling enough if he wasn’t so concerned as to why he couldn’t think of anything. He’s an android made of the best processors and systems in the world, a simple question or inquiry should be easy. 

Truth was; it wasn’t simple. And that was what was distracting him. 

All this trouble just to talk to a human, an actual living being. Unlike- 

The silence was interrupted when Y/N got a call. She grabbed her phone that had been sitting in the inner console of the car then pressed the ‘talk’ button on the screen. 

“Detective L/N.” Was all she said. 

Connor watched as her expression then suddenly changed from casual to panicked. 

It caused his system to jump into overdrive once he saw how freaked out she was. 

“Where at?!” She yelled into the phone, her knuckles turning white from how tightly she gripped the steering wheel. 

“Okay, I’m on my way!” Y/N quickly hung up the phone and tossed her phone back down to the inner console. Ignoring it as it slid onto the floor. 

“What’s going on, Detective?” Connor calmly asked despite Y/N’s fearful face. 

She didn’t answer right away as she pulled an illegal u-turn and sped down the street. 

“Chris just told me there’s a shootout between androids and the cops.” 

“Has anyone been killed?” Connor urgently asked, turning his body towards the detective. 

Y/N shook her head. “I don’t know, all I know is that we need to get there right now.” 

As those words left her mouth, she pressed harder on the gas causing the car to speed down the inner city roads.

It took ten minutes to show up on the scene, but it felt like ten hours. Y/N couldn’t reach the scene fast enough she thought.

Before she even sprinted out of the car, Y/N could hear the ear piercing gunshots being exchanged between the cops and the androids.

She and Connor kept low to the ground as they made their way behind one of the many cop cars parked sideways to provide cover.

Y/N pressed her back against the car then turned her head to face a fellow police officer sitting next to her.

“What happened?!” She asked over the gunfire.

“Got a call about another possible deviant hideout! One of our deputies went to question what he thought was a person, turns out it was a deviant! After that a bunch of them came out of nowhere. Starting shooting!”

“How many are there?!”

The cop raised himself up from the ground, pointed and fired his weapon at a few of the androids.

He quickly slouched back down behind the cover. “Nine, maybe ten!”

Y/N barely peaked through the driver side window to get a look at where the deviants were and how many.

From what she could tell they were shooting erratically without a clear target in mind, clearly in a panic and there were ten of them.

Ten androids that couldn’t feel pain and held deadly weapons in their hands.

Great.

The detective crouched back down.

“I saw seven! There could be more!”

Just then Y/N heard the sound of bullets hitting the car she was currently hiding behind.

It caused her to crouch even lower for a few seconds, before lifting her head and arms up over top the hood to fire her gun.

She hit two androids, one fell and the other only stunned.

She crouched down again.

For a moment she let her eyes wander over to her android partner, seeing him staring off into space. She might have been annoyed had she not known exactly what he was doing.

Still, she nudged him which brought his attention back to her.

“You got any ideas?!” She shouted, the echo of bullets making contact with the cop cars almost deafening.

Without warning, Connor leaned in, his mouth just a few inches away from her ear. She couldn’t help the way her cheeks heated up from his closeness.

And with all the loud noises going on, he spoke at normal volume.

“I scanned the whole area, there’s a way inside this building next to us where I can get into and sneak around then take the androids by surprise.”

Connor pulled away from the detective’s ear just enough to gauge her reaction.

The first thing he noted was her dilated pupils and increased body temperature.

“U-uh… what are the odds that it will work?” She asked, her tone back to it’s normal pitch as well.

“85%.”

He watched the detective bite her bottom lip as she thought about it.

She poked her head up just a bit to look out the car window once more before she moved back to Connor.

“What do you need me to do?”

Connor perked up. “Keep them distracted. It’s the only way to catch them off guard.”

Y/N nodded. “Alright go, I’ll keep them busy. Just make sure you stay down, and don’t let them catch you.”

Connor quickly nodded before he headed back down the street then turned into an alleyway.

The detective was quick to raise herself up again and fired three more shots. She landed each shot but didn’t stay up long enough to see what kind of damage she did.

Whether she had killed an android or not was left to her imagination.

Once safe again, she mumbled a prayer to herself.

“God, please let this work…”

Meanwhile, Connor was doing exactly what he’d said, now quietly walking through an abandoned laundromat.

It was easy to tell that it had been abandoned for quite some time by the looks of the water damage all around the ceiling, and cracked, dirty tiles of the floor. There were even a few baskets of clothes someone left, now stained with rainwater and whatever else.

However, Connor didn’t have time to analyze the condition of the building. Right now his only focus was to sneak behind the deviants and force them to surrender.

He made a b-line for the back of the dilapidated building in search of a back door. Of course he found one and opened it with ease.

Despite the squeaky hinges of the door, the deviants didn’t seem to notice his presence.

Connor would have been surprised if they did hear him over all the gunfire.

Crouching, the RK900 made his way up the dark alley as quickly as possible. When he had reached the corner of the building, he could see the android’s backs turned to him as they continued their assault.

He then moved his gaze past the androids and down the street, where all the police vehicles were lined up. From there, he could also see some of the shapes of the officers crouching behind the cars for protection.

His eyes lingered when he found Y/N, currently still hiding her body from harm.

What was most likely the leader of the deviants, heard two more shots fired and simultaneously witnessed two more of his comrades fall to the ground.

His artificial heart ached with sorrow.

All they wanted was to live freely so why was everyone trying to stop them?

Why couldn’t they live in peace?

The deviant leader was well aware of who was placing those well aimed bullets.

He lifted up his head to peek over his improvised barricade and eyed a woman with y/c/h fire another shot then quickly duck.

She was mostly covered, but the slightest surface of her head was poking out from the hood of the police car.

It wasn’t good enough for a kill shot, but maybe he could do better.

As far away as he was, it was obvious to the deviant that the woman was sitting dangerously close to the driver side window.

Maybe he couldn’t kill her, but he could try.

The leader lifted his handgun, aimed for the car door windows, and fired off three shots.

Y/N heard the shots, seeing the bullets smash the glass next to her face into tiny pieces. She attempted to move out of the way, but she wasn’t fast enough.

In the next second, all she saw was black.

Connor watched in horror as the windows shattered and he saw Y/N’s figure fall to the ground.

Suddenly, the world seemed to stop; seemed to come to a screeching halt.

It shouldn’t be possible.

Androids weren’t living beings, they felt nothing. They weren’t capable of feeling the adrenaline-fueled illusion that time ceased when it came to traumatic events.

Yet somehow, Connor felt it. He was feeling it.

^^^ Software Instability ^^^ ^^^ Software Instability ^^^ ^^^ Software Instability ^^^ ^^^ Software Instability ^^^ ^^^ Software Instability ^^^ ^^^ Software Instability ^^^ ^^^ Software Instability ^^^ ^^^ Software Instability ^^^ ^^^ Software Instability ^^^ ^^^ Software Instability ^^^ ^^^ Software Instability ^^^ ^^^ Software Instability ^^^

Only one thing repeated within his artificial brain. One thing and one thing alone.

Y/N

Y/N

Y/N

______

Author’s note: I have, obviously changed the cover for this story into a moodboard I created. That means I will also be removing the fanart that I used on my all my posts in regards to the DBH series, HOWEVER, I will still be providing a link that goes to the artist profile so you can still check it out.

Link to the artist who drew the fan art I used in the past. LINK IS HERE!!

There will also be a link to the images I used for the moodboard. HERE.

Series Masterlist