Hallo again. Hopefully at least some of you will be the same people as last time given how much time you spent telling me to write more Jyler.

And this is, in fact, more Jyler, based on an idea which I am totally in love with and which was provided for me by Onecoldn'tsee-so if you like it, be nice to her. And me too, obviously. But it is requiring me for the first time to have an ACTUAL WARNING LIST, which will be long, so the strong-of-heart should simply skip this, although it will give you a better idea of what on earth will be going on.

WARNING(S):

Main Character Death

(Eventual) detailed descriptions of (nonviolent but icky) Character Death

Character refusal to go away despite Character Death

THE GIRL WE LOVE TO HATE in large doses. No, she doesn't GRAPHICALLY sleep with anyone because I can't bring myself to write that, but she is definitely a presence.

Oh for the love of I'm not even going to bother whatever I suppose if you didn't get the message SLASH BY THE SPARKLING BARREL LOAD

Drug use, over-dose, and drug-addiction

Tyler-addiction

Tyler-seriously-yes-that-counts-as-a-warning

MINOR SLIGHTLY WONKY AU-ness, because, while technically all the events I need for this premise happen on the show, so do VAMPIRES and WEREWOLVES and shit I don't want to deal with, so, I'm changing things around a bit. I don't think it makes the characters OC, but, well.

Female character written by a non-female person and also possessing a non-female body, so, sorry about that, and also eventually I got bored and decided to include some ACTUAL ISSUES(dun dun dun DUN), so if you have a problem with discussions of gender identity, gender ambiguity, or transsexuality...oh for goodness sakes what are you reading my writing for anyway? If you feel that my giving Vicky any of these issues makes her OC, well, that's what the pretty Review Button is for, my darlings.

(Eventual) Sluttishness, sort-of-maybe-you-could-think-of-it-as rape because someone else IS controlling his body at the time, but believe me, he enjoys it, so I think consent is given.

Jeremy gets man(and ghost)handled a lot. That's probably the most worrying thing, actually, but almost certainly none of you will care.

ALL CHARACTERS ARE IN GRAVE DANGER OF BEING EATEN BY CROCODILES BECAUSE THEY SPEND SO MUCH TIME IN THE GODDAMN RIVER DENIAL

And, for the more delicate readers...this time Jeremy is the dick who says bad words.

OK I think you're ready now. So jump in, and watch out for the things that look like floating logs because they MAY try to bite you, and if you find any pretty sparkly reviews, comments, or compliments along the way I will be HAPPY to look after them for you.

Geronimo.

...

...

So she had been a bit of a bitch. Weren't you supposed to forgive and forget when a person was dead?

Not that she was so wrapped up in the whole forgiving thing, personally. It was more the being forgiven she was interested in; after all, until recently, she hadn't really thought she'd be around to be doing anything much.

She particularly hadn't thought, Vicki Donovan reflected, that she'd be sitting on her own gravestone. Her perfectly tangible, undeniably solid gravestone, made out of very real granite, with her full name very definitely inscribed in its speckled surface. Its stolid presence beneath her was making it a great deal harder to pretend that all of this wasn't happening.

And she would have liked to, she thought, looking up at the shimmering beech leaves that rose over her grave. She would have really quite liked to be able to pretend that all of this wasn't happening. Not the being-dead part: she had gotten used to that, because now that most of her vague preconceptions of the afterlife had gone out the figurative window, what it came down to was not being alive, and that sure wasn't something she'd miss very much.

But the no-visitors aspect of it all. That was enough to get a dead girl down.

Oh, her family had been there, for the funeral and all—which she didn't remember entirely clearly, given that she'd been little more than a self-conscious fog back then. It had taken her almost two weeks to start feeling like herself again, and by now she was mostly back to normal. But in that time, they hadn't visited once. And she was alright with that, she supposed, kicking at a stone with one bare foot. She wasn't sure, deep down, that she wanted to see her family. She certainly hadn't when she was alive. And the biggest shock, or even letdown, about death was that it really didn't change much of anything. Just like in life, her family was a comforting presence in the distance, offering the idea and memory of love. But she didn't feel the need to get any closer, or to remind herself of how love hurt when you were surrounded by too much of it.

She certainly didn't look for many visits from her school friends—because it wasn't like she had ever gone to school, and neither had most of the people her own age she knew. None of them were likely to be visiting her here, while they were probably still busy doing exactly what she had always done, and she frankly didn't mind very much. Vicki had had enough of druggies for a while. Specifically, she had had enough of being one, about three weeks after that might have been helpful to her.

She'd be mad to expect flowers from her boyfriend, given that Tyler probably hadn't even noticed she was dead. He hadn't seemed to remember she was alive most of the time.

And that left…well, pretty much no one, admittedly, who she could reasonably expect to bother coming all the way to the cemetery for her. Vicki frowned, and flipped a bit of hair out of her eyes. Hell, she wouldn't have attended her funeral herself if she had been given any choice in the matter. But still, the lack of attention rankled.

She tapped her foot on the big rock, and watched birds. Damn fluttery things. She was fairly sure the grass had gown noticeably since she first sat down here, and amused herself for a while by trying to see it change. A very short while.

That, she thought, was exactly why no one was coming. In her not-very-lamentably shortened life, Vicki Donovan had done exactly nothing more constructive or interesting than popping pills and waiting for the grass to grow.

"Oh fuck that," she said, and jumped down onto the little sprouts atop her grave, taking a certain amount of pleasure in at least pretending to flatten them. She picked up her shoes, which left no mark where they had been lying, and headed crosswise towards the gate and the road that led back to Mystic Falls.

...

Jeremy was asleep when she arrived at the Gilbert's house. She knew, because she paused only briefly before clambering up the back porch to the ledge outside his window, and then paused for slightly longer, but only because she couldn't believe the idiot still kept his window open, despite how ridiculously easy she had told him it was to break in through it. Hopping through, she stood at his bedside, and gazed down at him as he lay there, shoes on and on top of the covers, apparently with music still screeching though his headphones. It was kind of cute, really.

She looked at him for a minute, and then lifted her right hand and looked at it and at him through it, given that it was, even to her, slightly translucent. Vicki spread her fingers to admire the effect. Jeremy appeared to have a kind of halo.

Then she closed her fingers into a fist, and punched him.

She hadn't expected it to be particularly effective, but she hadn't considered that she might simply pass through him. And she certainly hadn't considered that she would do more than that: as her fist neared him she felt an electric tingle and a tug, as though something was actually pulling her hand forward. But it was, she realized, a very pleasant tingle. Her arm wanted to be closer. Vicki let it, and her hand hurtled forward and buried itself in Jeremy's oblivious stomach.

That, she thought, was odd. But then no, it wasn't. She was, after all, a spirit: her body wasn't an actual body, it was simply what went inside one. And it wanted to occupy a body again. So without further ado, and in what would be called a spirit of scientific curiosity if she had attended anything past fourth grade science lectures and knew what that was, she sat down on Jeremy's bed, and lay in Jeremy.

Jeremy screamed. Vicki considered screaming too, but decided instead to slap him.

"Fuck," Jeremy said loudly, or, Vicki was suddenly certain, thought. "What was that for? And why the hell are you in my dream?"

Vicki looked around. She was, she could feel, very definitely inside Jeremy. Warmth and blood and a thousand normal chemical processes bustled on around her, more sensed that seen or felt, and completely oblivious to her presence. She herself was now more of a cloud than a Vicki-shape, with the main part of her nestled snugly into the space inside his head.

Which was also, it seemed, where Jeremy was. He was, indeed, in a dream, she saw, peering closer at it. And so was she—a part of her had wormed its way inside, and she looked at Jeremy, both inside the dream and out.

Through the figure of her in dream she stared at Jeremy, sizing him up, and smiled.

Jeremy flinched. "Seriously, Vic," he said, the sound itself trying to avoid coming near her. "What, um, are you doing here?"

"I'm not part of your dream, Jeremy," she informed him. "Or, well, I guess I am. But you didn't make me up."

He blinked at her. "I. What?"

"I," she said happily, "am a ghost, Jer. A spirit. A…supernatural something or other. I'm dead, Jer, and talking to you. Get the picture?"

"I know you're dead," he said. "I mean…yeah. Oh, fuck. I mean, what are you…you're in my dream, for fuck's sake. You're not…"

"Not just in your dream, yes," Vicki interrupted him, and before he had time to do more than blink stupidly, which always took him a surprising amount of time, she reached a bit of herself into his limp right arm and smacked him in the face.

Jeremy jerked awake and upright, swearing yet again, and staring around for what had just hit him. Inside his brain, she performed the mental equivalent of jumping up and down and waving, and she could tell when he focused on her.

"Oh, damn motherfucking hell," he said, and fell back into the pillows.

"Hello to you, too," she responded. "You can at least say…I don't know, welcome, or something."

"You're not," he groaned. "Why the hell are you in my head? You're not even real, and I'm too young to be going insane."

"In your case, I don't think it could happen quickly enough," she told him, "And in any case you're not. I'm as real as you are, and way better looking."

"Not real," he said, moronically, and covered his eyes with a spare pillow. "Not real not real not real, not real. This is not real. None of this is happening."

Vicki, getting bored, poked at him with his own hand, and he squeaked and twitched before hiding under the pillow again. "Dude, grow up," she said. "I'm not, like, Tinkerbell or something, I'm not going to vanish if you tell me I'm not here."

"That's not actually how Tinkerbell works," he complained. "She—"

"What. Ever,Jeremy. And anyway, you don't have to actually talk, that's really helping you look not crazy."

He was quiet, both inside and out, for a moment. Then he pushed away the pillow and lay for a while on his back, staring up at marks in the paint on his ceiling. Vicki, inside, marveled at the boy's ability to, apparently, not think at all. Not that that was too surprising.

"Are you still there?" he thought, when he was done memorizing the appearance of the plaster.

Vicki thought the sound of snapping gum at him, and felt him wince.

"You'd miss me."

"Why are you here, Vicki?" he asked, still thinking, and while she ignored it she noticed that he sounded much more serious this time.

"Accepted I'm real, then?"

"Please just…answer, okay?" So, he had, but wasn't going to let himself think about it long enough to risk admitting it.

"Because I can," she answered promptly. "I mean, it turns out I can possess you, which I didn't think I could. And, frankly, it's fun." He groaned. "Shut up, Jeremy. I can make you do whatever the hell I want, which I can't do without a body, I'm pretty sure, and now that I've got one again I'm going to do exactly that, whatever I want to. I'm bored. Death is seriously boring, Jer."

"So why not somebody else?"he complained, throwing his hands in the air.

"Um, because…I don't see why I should? Don't even say to be nice. Anyway, why should I leave my nice, comfortable warm body and wander off looking for another one? Who'd I even use?"

He considered. "I don't know. Some chick, maybe? I'm a guy, that's kind of just weird."

"Oh, so like your sister," she suggested.

"No!"

"Keep your panties on, God. And you're girly enough as it is, thanks. You probably actually do wear panties."

"Shut up," he said, sufficiently quickly to make her snicker. "And don't even think of checking," he added, as an afterthought.

"Oh, grow up, Jeremy," Vicki sighed. "And get a clue. Not like I haven't seen it before, plenty, and anyway so not interested."

That made him pause yet again, and she watched his thoughts with interest, debating about poking them to see what they contained. When he thought at her again, though, his tone was more measured, and serious. He practically reeked of having a plan. "Fine, then," he thought. "So why don't you go possess Tyler, then. You certainly like his body plenty."

"This is true," Vicki conceded.

"So?"

"What."

"So. Go."

"No, thank you, I have a better plan, actually," she said, and, using his face, she smiled. "I'm very glad you made me think of it."

"Oh fuck," thought Jeremy.

"Yes, indeed," she agreed. "I have a boyfriend, Jeremy, who I do like a lot. I am, currently dead, which means I don't have a body. But I do have yours. I am going to have," she said happily, "so very much fun."

Jeremy seemed to be trying to turn his eyes back into his head to stare at her. "I don't like this is going, Vicki," he thought, very slowly and quietly. "I really, really do not like where I think this might be going. Please tell me it isn't going there, and you aren't actually insane, Vicki."

"So we're going to have sex," Vicki said, happy as a cat in cream. "Him, and me. And you."

Jeremy sat up suddenly. "Excuse me," her said. "I need to go throw up."

"Jeremy." Jeremy put his fingers in his ears, and then realized that that was stupid. He appeared, instead, to be simply trying to shake her out of his skull.

"Stop that." He stopped.

"Good boy."

"It isn't going to work," he complained, "For one thing. Even if you can do…whatever you want to…with me, and I can't apparently stop you, which sucks and doesn't make sense, because this is my body—"

"It's because you're a wimp," she informed him.

"In any case, whatever you do to me, Tyler is not going to sleep with me," he said, as though explaining that, yes, it often got very dark at night.

Vicki considered. "Well, no. I think the word 'fuck' is more like what Tyler does. But I thought you'd prefer it if I didn't say that."

"Now that it comes to it, yeah, I would—really, really would…but, um, neither of them is going to happen, Vicki," he told her, getting back into his stride. "You know how you and Tyler were screwing each other? Remember what that was like? And how, when you were doing it, one of you was a girl and the other wasn't? I'm not a girl, Vicki, Tyler isn't going to want to have sex with me."

"We never did," Vicki says, after a very long pause to build up her nerve. "Me, that is, and Tyler. We never actually had sex."

...

Which was embarrassing as hell to admit, obviously. It was also, factually, untrue, because she and Tyler had done a remarkable number of things that would qualify as sex and a few that would probably turn out to be illegal, but when it came to the particular kind of sex that Jeremy was, currently, trying to demonstrate by means of embarrassed hand gestures, there had been none. She hadn't even thought about it, really, because whether the…gestures…were being done or not, going out with Tyler Lockwood didn't really leave a lot of time for thinking, especially when most of your dates were to a different piece of furniture in his bedroom or, several times, the bed of his truck.

Then, all of a sudden, she had thought about it, as though…well, as though a ghost had planted the thought in her mind, she supposed. And that was when Vicki knew that she was almost certainly in love with her not-really-boyfriend, because she didn't even think to complain. She just began, in a different way than she always did when he walked because, well, she couldn't really help herself, to watch Tyler, when he was with her but wasn't looking at her, or when he was laughing with her brother and their usually drunk jock friends, or on afternoons when they went outside and the smell of the sun on the grass seemed to lull him nearly asleep. She liked lying on the grass next to Tyler.

And she was also certain of something. Vicki Donovan wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, even when she wasn't so high on stolen pharmaceuticals that she was practically a spoon. But even if she was shallow and talking wasn't her strong point, she wasn't stupid, and she wasn't blind, and she had a knack for finding out what other people didn't want her to know, as Matt had learned every time he tried to hide the last of the cookies from her. And Tyler was a cookie that Vicki most definitely wanted.

She was also absolutely certain that he was gay.

There was nothing in particular that said it, and she was also pretty sure that this was because he himself didn't know, and didn't want to find out. Tyler was, by far, the most affectionate of all her brother's friends, she saw when she watched them together. Given that it was Tyler, expressions of affection could range from frequent hugs to what would appear to most people to be casual violence, but still, it was there. And it was there when he talked about them, too—not all guys, and not even all of his close friends, as some people he clearly got along better with where inexplicably mentioned less than others. She was certain it wasn't just the way he was. Somewhere along the way Tyler had convinced himself that he liked and admired some boys because they must simply be worthy of admiration, for some reason or other, and so deserved the complete loyalty and veneration he gave to them as though they had some kind of superpowers. It was a fairly safe system, she thought, because if Tyler himself ever wondered why he behaved the way he did around a person, the answer was simply that they deserved it, and it was hard to think that your own friend wasn't a good person, so he'd simply leave it at that.

But Tyler still was a dam very close to breaking, and in the week or so before she'd died she remember thinking hard about how exactly she was supposed to keep her gay boyfriend.

Something she was fairly determined to do, especially since the realization, which had piggybacked into her mind on the first one, that she didn't dislike the thought of Tyler imagining another guy when he was with her. Or at least, not so long as that boy could be…well, her.

...

Yes, I am twisted and evil. Thank you.

Now, I know you found SOMETHING.

Hand it over...