This Magic Keeps Me Alive

Because one of my moots said they would’ve loved to see Klaus and Bonnie in a hate sex situation that slowly turns into actual feelings and I was already writing a one shot for it very slowly.

But then I accidentally started plotting an entire rewrite.

So canon splits after 2x22. Stefan still trades himself for Jenna. Jenna survives but she wakes up in transition because Klaus still used her in the sacrifice. Elijah never betrays them. Greta dies. Klaus suddenly has no witch.

Meanwhile Bonnie is completely spiraling because Stefan is gone, Elena is grieving, Damon is shutting down emotionally, and Bonnie blames herself because she almost killed Klaus and still failed to save everyone anyway.

So Bonnie confronts Klaus after everything and it turns into this really toxic grief-fueled hate sex situation because they are both insane people actually.

And Klaus becomes fascinated with her because she almost killed him. Bonnie hates that he sees her at her ugliest and somehow understands it anyway.

So now I’m sitting here accidentally building an entire Klaus/Bonnie season 3 rewrite instead of the one shot I was supposed to be writing.

Delena background because after Stefan is taken Damon completely distances himself from Elena out of guilt and grief and whatever issues that man has going on every second of his life.

And I think I’m leaning Caroline/Jeremy because I want the story to focus heavily on the girls and I’m still irritated by how Matt treated Caroline.

There's some weird shit goin' on out here.

what the fuck is this.

And somehow it’s GOOD. Like genuinely good. Maybe even some of the best writing you’ve ever done. Which honestly makes it worse.

Because now I’m sitting here 11 chapters into a fic that’s supposed to be 25 chapters long thinking:

1. when the fuck did I write this

2. who wrote this

3. how am I ever supposed to emotionally reconnect to this exact level of insanity again

Like I can read the words and recognize they came from me, but mentally I feel like I found an ancient manuscript left behind by a version of myself that no longer exists.