"you wont." damon replied. "stefan's the academic one -- i prefer my library." besides, he wouldn't be caught dead in a ten mile radius of a college campus unless he was after an easy meal. and even then, there were plenty of less headache inducing ways to sink his teeth into someones neck without having to tolerate frat boys, shitty booze, and their even shittier taste in music. at her question, damon tiled his head a little. the movement was innocent if you didn't know any better, but he was analyzing every twitch of her face. witches were incredibly intuitive but the young ones were rarely very good at hiding the moment they caught his scent. "i'm sure stefan hasn't said much for her to tell." damon went on. "our fathers family is originally from mystic falls, but stefan and I bounced around after our parents died. zach is our only living relative." he shrugged. a perfect non answer and a hidden joke just for him.

On edge,   one could say,    is how she balances herself between the dead and the devoured.    In the middle of a haunted girlhood she had survived on transformations.     She chewed on old stories of ancestors.    She found remains of old terrors.    She let herself grow   ⸻    as a woman and as a potential witch.     Bonnie wonders how soon before Damon Salvatore betrays himself.    How soon the eyes grow dark and the spine bends.      She blinks slowly,    like a feline observing an empty food bowl.     “It seems like everyone’s showing up in Mystic Falls lately.    Or going missing.”     Is all she replies with.    There is something scratching at the back of her mind  ⸻   but she denies it.    As she denies many things.   Her next comment is subtle,   if not insulting.    Yet,  she says it as soft - tongued as could be,   absentmindedly.    As if only speaking about the weather.   “Stefan’s said about as much as you have,    if I’m honest. Is ambiguous a Salvatore trait?”    

elena rolled her head to the side to take in bonnie's flushed face. "—you think a sharp pencil jump is enough to save me? we may have to face reality: i'm rusty." eyes drifted shut as elena allowed herself to get lost in the possibility of the fantasy. "honestly, bon, i don't think anyone would miss me." maybe jeremy. elena knew deep down he would, but the conflict images of her little brother with his scrapped knees and the sadness he now wore warred in her mind. jenna would, but jenna was so busy. jenna wasn't supposed to playing parent. "i promise i'm not trying to be all depressing elena," aka how she felt, "i'm just saying that right now would be a perfect time to drop out and book it to greece. is greece an island?"

“Elena   ⸻    you can be whoever you need to be around me.   Depressing Elena or not.    I’m here for you.”    A soft smile,   eyes piercingly sweet,   as if she lugged around the tough love energy of her grandmother.     “Maybe we need a girl’s trip.    Ditch classes for a few days.    I think it’s warranted …    besides,    all these Founder events seriously have me wanting to rip up all my pretty dresses.   Or burn them with my crazy witch powers.”    A laugh,   the wide grin of a mischievous friend following those teasing words.    Her? A witch? What a joke itself. Bonnie gets to her feet and offers hand down towards her friend,   brows raised with warm support.    “Let’s get some frozen yogurt in the meantime.”

home, daliah ammar // when god talks to your father, salma deera // lost river, dir. ryan gosling (2014) // aloha from hell, richard kadrey // punishment, marcin cienski // ghoul, mud howard // pet sematary, dir. mary lambert (1989).

“I just care about you,   but I get that you want to get away and do normal college things.    Just be careful,   hm?   I don’t trust a lot of the guys around here.”     The comment is genuine,    she says it with a breathy tone of sheer cynicism.   Her hand reaches over and brushes along the forearm of the blonde, sending a flash of cold lightning across the back of her vision. As though a thunderstorm was on the horizon, but it was voiceless. Too quiet. There is a dreaminess she holds while speaking with people she loves   ⸻   perhaps the lack of sleep is getting to her.   As though she is meeting a god.   As though she is one.    Is she thinking of meadows again?    Old logs with rot and spring’s flower buds growing in them?    The dreams must bring something kind with them.      Suddenly,    a wave of self - consciousness rolls over Bonnie,     she angles herself slightly more towards the other.     Sheltering themselves from the other eyes.    Those who watch without much thought of nature or gentle rivers.    “Stefan seems to make her happy,   happier than I’ve seen in a long time.”      Her fingertips tap lightly against the mug of coffee,   the surface of it bubbling almost as if awaiting her next command.     “What guy did you meet? You've never been so secretive. Is it Matt? Oh god, please tell me it's not that guy from our gym.”         A pause,    mid - pitch laugh following the question before she continues.       “And myself?   No.    Nothing crazy.    I played pool with Jeremy the other day,   and I've been learning a bit more about my ancestors.     Hey,   is it a good thing or bad thing my Grams seems to be encouraging my …  'psychic visions'?   Like what if a lottery win is in my future?”

She had seen that side of loneliness that made others vicious    ⸻    and also created a crater in her stomach that seemed so akin to emptiness.      It wasn’t courage that drove her to endure,    but it was that appetite of love.     For those she met during the bloodletting and to those she will leave behind.      Half - buried in snow,    a lingering feeling of memories shifting and splicing through the static of paranoia.       Bonnie Bennett seemed to be an elegant reminder that those who drift between worlds of doubt and historical suffering don’t necessarily have to be sharp like the knives in their back.      They are soft - hearted,     a warmth beneath the skin that offers a reprieve.       While busy bars were avoided without hesitation,     she is guided by that honeying curiosity to see a newly opened tattoo shop.   A lone sketchbook holding the penciled drawings of what looked to be a ring.    The sound of an arrival,    her smile polite almost to an awkward point.       “Hi!     Sorry,    I was curious.”      Fingers release the sketchbook and push it gently back towards the other woman.     “Really cute.    You should look into designing jewelry too  …    unless you already are?    Bracelets are more my vibe,   but this ring would look gorgeous on you.” 

" happy new year -- i guess. " matt was trying not to be bitter, but this was so not how he thought his year was gonna go. he already felt like a loser for thinking he and elena would be engaged by now but when she said she needed to figure things out, he didn't think she meant with another guy. now he felt like a loser and an idiot. " hey -- you haven't seen vicki around, have you ?" he asked, trying to shift the subject.

She eats doubt.     She feels the blood spinning around her body.      Shared blood    ⸻   betrayed blood.         Her grandmother,    like any woman in her lineage,   remains perplexed in her own analysis.     It left her with a vague sensation of depth that Bonnie was still unsure how to journey through.      She finds Matt with the soured look of a knight rejected.    Pride seeping from him in spoonfuls.    She greets with a tease,     “Just don’t go to any acting auditions,    Matt.     They’d eat you alive.”     She giggles,   eyes sparkling with mischief that perhaps was inherited by her grandmother,    as she takes a seat beside him.     She is happy to be around him,   a small town boy with that heart that could swallow up the town with its bleeding empathy.       Predictable safety in his presence.      “She was here earlier,   I didn’t get a chance to talk with her though.    Why?” 

he's lonely ; he can admit this much. he'd become less person and more cautionary tale in the wake of all that happened ( bad example , call for a good time , get sick , quick fix ..... ). people avoided or sought him out accordingly. it got exhausting. he had brought most of it on himself. he had no intentions of changing it anytime soon. it was easier , in most ways , to deal with than care ----- than hope. for as many empty platitudes as people spit at him , he was unmoved. for all the quiet , he had this darkening suspicion that even if he didn't self-immolate , something else would come to set him aflame ( and he'd rather be eviscerated by his own hand than leave anything for anyone else to pick at ). needless to say , jeremy was glad for bonnie's company ..... even if it was born from some misplaced obligation. she spoke and his face split into a grin. " what elena doesn't know can't hurt her , " he said , winking at her. a pause. " how is she , really ?? " it wasn't like she'd tell him if things were falling apart ..... he lined up the shot , trying to ignore her scrutiny ---- and swearing when the ball careened just about everywhere but where he wanted it to. " if you wanted to buy me lunch , you could've just asked , " he teased. he'd end up trying to pay regardless.

She’s been having dreams again.    Those rich dreams of the woods and moss    ⸻    the earth before the burning.     She had,   in other ways,   rebelled against trauma.     She soaks herself in oatmeal baths,    she combs out knots in her hair,    she finds compassion inside each panic stricken face and she nurtures it.       She had been brave,   hadn’t she?     But who is there to listen to that curdling in her belly    ⸻   that feeling of dread that follows her home each night.    There is something wrong in this town.      Jeremy,   as well,    must notice this underneath that desire to be whole and good.    He is a mirror to her in some ways.   Naive and desperate.    Like a young hound searching for a better hearth to lay down in front of.      Pink blush plumes across her cheeks at his wink and she’s unsure the root of it.    No need for attraction or any kind of attention,    but she also hasn’t thought of it around Elena’s younger brother.     A dry swallow before she replies,    eyes avoiding him as she twirls the pool stick in her hand,   one finger absentmindedly picking at the peeling paint.     “She’s dealing with all of this in true Gilbert fashion.”      A flutter of her lashes as she pointedly glances at him,    mouth curling in a grim smile.       “She’s maternal at heart and wants to make sure everyone is okay around her.    Including you,   Jeremy.”     A hum of a laugh crawls from her throat at his butchered shot,      the giggle of feminine innocence almost overwhelming the previous hardships.      Bonnie’s own line of shot proved to be an overreach and the ball ended up thudding against the border of the table.     “How are you doing, hm?     Should I even ask about the dating life updates? Gossip travels fast around here ...” 

She refused for her soft - skinned heart to bury itself in self - doubt.     She’d prefer it to be kept safely,    for years,     all peeled and naked for those she loves.   Which is why she is bristling mildly,     concerned    ⸻     her own abandonment wounds analyzed and routinely brushed aside.        The best friends speak the same language after all:      a love that transcends death.    Sisterhood that blooms even underneath the darkest of suns.      “I haven’t talked to you in days,    Care,    of course we’re getting right into it.   I don’t want you to disappear again.”      Voice hushed slightly before the pair received any more glances from the other patrons in the cafe,     eyes sparking with warm maternal instincts that perhaps she adopted from her grandmother.        “You’d tell me if you were in any trouble,    right?”    Her drink is left unattended,    Bonnie picks at the hangnail on her left index finger absentmindedly.     A protectiveness over the blonde that stemmed at the very first meeting    ⸻   devotion that never deterred from being ingenuous.  The comment about her magic is ignored, brushed aside for her own words of warning, albeit less serious.     “You better fill Elena in too.  I’m not going to be the messenger.”

bonnie bennett. emily's great great granddaughter. between him and stefan, damon was the more familiar salvatore regarding the bennetts. stefan knew emily but had no idea damon made a deal with her back in 1864, nor that he'd been honoring it by protecting the bennett line from vampires for years. witch keeper was never his favorite occupation but a deal was a deal. "bonnie, right? elena's friend." he already knew that but it was better to get the simple pleasantries out of the way now, seeing as he couldn't use compulsion to dig for what he really wanted. not with any witch but certainly not a bennett. "i'm damon--stefan's brother." he was smart enough not to extend a hand to shake, baby witch or not, and instead kept one in his lap-- the other wrapped around his bourbon as if it were liable to grow legs and walk off.

Being sized up had never been a strange occurrence.    She had been measured and chewed on many times.     Too gristly,   too soft.    But tenderness was something she hadn’t left behind.      Tenderness was something she had hidden inside her memories     ⸻     winter tended to bring it out.       Those who pretended to be someone they weren’t.    Like the Salvatore in front of her,    not necessarily out of place in the crowd.    Charming and clothed well,   suave like an emperor.     Still,   she bristles.     Uncertain and distrustful.    “I haven’t seen you around campus.”     An innocent comment,   potentially,     but Bonnie watches him closely for any glimpse of a peeled open mask.    “Where’d you two move from,   again?    Elena never mentioned it.” 

"i don't know, bon," elena panted from where she was sprawled on the grass. "i think this shows that you're in, and i'm out. you're gonna be a lock." and elena? elena was looking for an excuse to not even try out.

Each day a funeral for a piece of her body.     Here lies her heart,     her head,     her lungs,    her palms.    There are things that cannot neutralize the blood or the coal.     The days go on.      Dreary and gray   ⸻   as if the world had died beneath the ground during the frost months of abandonment.      An interesting observation:         this town has teeth like a crocodile.       Bonnie has seen them in action,   ripping up the tendons and bones.    It knows how to chew her way into a warm throat.    Not that it matters.    They seemed to be circling a drain where the bottom is nowhere in sight.    Her head tilts down to glance at Elena sprawled out,   the cheerleading moves paused and her shoulders relaxing slightly with the break.    “You’re too hard on yourself  …   give it a bit longer.   I actually think your pencil jumps look sharp.    No pun intended.”    A short giggle,  girlish and innocent,    as if transporting them back to childhood.     An exhale is released before she joins Elena on the grass,   enjoying the sunlight on her cheeks.      “Do you think college would miss us if we just took a cruise around the world and stayed on some island?”

"How much time do we have left?"

“About as much time as it takes Caroline to walk over and lecture us about how much time it took the committee to set up the streamers and how little it looks that we’re fully appreciating the decoration choices.” It was mostly a tease of a reply, and Bonnie knew that restless anxiety from Elena was stemming from the tragedy only months ago. How does someone patch up that wound? She smiles over at her best friend and offers her hand, palm - up. “Come on, ‘Lena. Maybe dancing will make the time go by faster and then we can finally be in front of Chicago Med and some ice cream.”

"--to founding families." damon said, offering a glass for a little pre new-years cheers. the town was kind enough to throw a party gathering them all and presenting the perfect opportunity to charm a bit of info out of--well--anyone he could.

She couldn’t place it, a vague ode of apprehensiveness surrounds the speaker. Paranoia was, in fact, another sign that perhaps her Grams’ words had been wriggling underneath her skin for some time. Still, she kept her distance instinctively. Only offering a slight tip of her own glass, smile albeit performative. “To the Founding families.”

RYAN DESTINY via Instagram (11.17)