I just want to remind everyone (esp w summer approaching in the northern hemisphere) that when you are looking for shells on a beach that you are doing so ethically.
Many beaches currently have a shelling ban, meaning if you find one, leave it there. This is because shells greatly impact the coastline ecosystem, offering homes and latching points to many organisms, offering minerals as they break down, and creating sand in the middle of a global sand shortage.
Additionally many countries have bans on taking shells in luggage, even by car. It’s important that you ‘know before you go’ on vacation. You can look up a specific beaches laws prior to your visit, and when in doubt leave shells where they are.
For my witches: I know many posts suggest taking shells home as offerings, esp older sources, however due to the nature of the situation it’s best they are left where they are. Rather than taking them, bless them, skip them closer to the waves as offerings, make fun sigils around them in the sand before they are washed away, honor the species they came from as a muse, charge shells in sunlight or moonlight before placing them back. Ideas are infinite, so depending on what you need them for there are beach equivalents that are ocean friendly!
Finally: please don’t introduce foreign materials into the water systems, buying commercial shells just to put back, adding random crystals to beaches, buying shells from beach shops (unethical to begin with) and trying to put them back. Many of these objects either are not native to the area, or have been treated for craft purposes, or like in the cases of beach stores have been brought from international sources. These shells are no longer beach safe, and risk introducing things into the water ways that don’t belong.
We can respect these beauties from a distance, our water ways need us 🙌
｡･:*˚:✧｡ when fire scrying, be sure not to stare into the flame for too long!! blink regularly, limit your sessions to no more than 10 minutes, and use eye drops afterwards to ensure your eyes don't get too dried!
Summary: After a chilling encounter in a fog-drenched parking lot, Bonnie Bennett realizes her grandmother’s "stories" are a dangerous reality when Damon Salvatore reveals he shares her mystical connection to the elements. Bound by the power of the Bennett talisman and a shared mastery of the "Crews," Bonnie must navigate a world where the line between enemy and ally is as thin as the autumn mist.
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Chapter 1
The asphalt of the Mystic Falls High School parking lot was cold, the kind of biting October chill that seeped through the soles of Bonnie’s boots and settled deep in her bones. Behind her, the muffled, rhythmic thumping of the Halloween party felt like a heartbeat she was no longer in sync with. She fumbled with her keys, her fingers clumsy and trembling, while the flickering orange glow of a nearby street lamp cast long, jagged shadows against the side of her car.
At seventeen, Bonnie Bennett just wanted to be the girl who worried about cheerleading practice and whether or not her best friends were okay. But for weeks, the air had been changing. Every time she walked into a room, it felt like the molecules were shifting to make space for her. It was a pressure behind her eyes, a constant, low-grade hum in the back of her skull that she had spent every waking moment trying to ignore. She had called it a headache. She had called it stress. She had called it "the Bennett craziness" that Grams was always trying to sell her.
“You’re a witch, Bonnie,” Grams’ voice echoed in her mind, thick with that heavy, ancestral pride that Bonnie found so terrifying. “It’s in the blood. It’s a gift.”
Bonnie let out a jagged breath, her steam pluming in the air. To her, it didn't feel like a gift. It felt like a tether. It felt like being pulled toward a cliff she wasn't ready to jump off. She thought about the generations of Bennett women who had come before her the stories of Emily and the others who had lived in the shadows of this town. She had spent seventeen years trying to be Bonnie, the girl who was just there, the reliable one, the one who didn't have "powers."
She reached her car and leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the driver’s side window. She felt a sudden, sharp spike of heat against her chest. It wasn't the heat of a fever; it was concentrated, a small, burning sun sitting right against her skin. It was the necklace.
She hadn't even wanted to wear it. The antique amber, encased in its ornate silver filigree, felt like it weighed ten pounds. It was a relic, a piece of a history she wanted to leave in the attic. Earlier that evening, Damon Stefan’s brother, the one with the predatory eyes that made her skin crawl had tried to snatch it right off her neck. The memory of his cold fingers nearly touching her, the way he had looked at the crystal like it was more important than her life, made her stomach turn.
She had run. She had escaped the party, the noise, and the people, but she couldn't escape the stone.
She reached up, her hand hovering over her collarbone. She hesitated, her pulse drumming in her fingertips. Then, she let her fingers close around the amber.
The world didn't explode. There were no sparks, no flashes of light, and no dramatic cinematic shift. Instead, there was a sudden, heavy stillness.
It was as if a vacuum had been placed over her head. The distant bass of the music? Gone. The rustle of the dry leaves skittering across the pavement? Muted. Even the internal static that frantic, "am I losing my mind?" buzzing that had been her constant companion for weeks simply leveled out.
Bonnie gasped, but the sound felt trapped in her throat. She gripped the necklace tighter, and for the first time, she didn't feel like she was falling. The amber felt like an anchor, holding her down to the earth, but the grounding didn't come from the stone. It was coming from her.
The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow. The necklace wasn't doing the magic. It wasn't some cursed object forcing her to feel things.
As she held it, the "muted" sensation deepened. She realized that the static she’d been feeling wasn't noise from the world I t was her own power, raw and unrefined, looking for a way out. The necklace was just the first time she had found a way to tune the radio.
She looked down at her hand, seeing the way the amber glowed with a faint, inner light that had nothing to do with the streetlamps. She wasn't just Bonnie Bennett, the girl from Virginia. She was something older. Something that belonged to the elements.
“I’m a witch,” she whispered into the silence.
She didn't say it with pride. She said it with a dawning, chilling terror. Because if she was a witch, and if this necklace was this powerful, then she finally understood why a man like Damon Salvatore wanted it. She realized, in the dead silence of the parking lot, that her life as a "normal" seventeen-year-old had ended the moment she touched the stone. She wasn't just a girl in a parking lot anymore; she was a target.
She let go of the necklace, and the sound of the world rushed back in—the wind, the sirens, the distant party—but it felt different now. It felt thin. Hollow.
She fumbled the key into the lock, her mind racing through every story Grams had ever told her, looking for a shield she didn't know how to build. She needed to get home. She needed to hide. But as she pulled the car door open, she felt the temperature drop ten degrees in a single second, and a strange, thick mist began to roll over the asphalt, swallowing the tires of her car in a white, ghostly shroud.
Then, the mist shifted. It didn't blow away; it parted, coiling like a serpent around a dark figure leaning casually against the driver’s side of her car.
Damon Salvatore.
He looked exactly as he had at the party—the dark leather jacket, the hair that looked perpetually windblown, the eyes that seemed to hold a mocking secret—but the context had changed. In the flickering light of the gym, he had been a nuisance, a creep who didn't know the meaning of personal space. Here, in the heart of a fog that shouldn't exist, he looked like a nightmare that had finally taken shape.
"You have a habit of running away, Bonnie," he said. His voice was a low, melodic purr that cut through the damp air. "It’s a bit rude, don’t you think? We were right in the middle of a moment."
Bonnie’s fear flared, but right behind it was a hot, sharp spike of indignation. She wasn't the girl who let people push her around, and she certainly wasn't going to start now. She straightened her shoulders, putting the car door between them like a shield.
"A moment?" she snapped, her voice trembling but loud. "You literally just tried to snatch this necklace off my neck. You practically attacked me in front of everyone. Why would you think I would even be interested in talking to you, let alone helping you?"
Damon didn't look ashamed. He didn't even have the decency to look sheepish. Instead, he tilted his head, his eyes tracking the way her fingers twitched near the amber stone. "Attacked is such a strong word. I’d call it an aggressive introduction. I wanted to see if the rumors were true. I wanted to see if the little Bennett girl actually had the fire Grams keeps whispering about."
He took a step forward, invading the small pocket of space she had claimed. Bonnie instinctively backed up, her heel catching on the uneven asphalt.
"Where did this come from?" she demanded, gesturing wildly at the fog that had now risen to her waist, obscuring the ground entirely. It felt like they were floating on a cloud of ice. "It was clear two minutes ago. This isn't normal. This isn't just weather."
Damon’s smirk widened, but there was something different in his expression now—a flicker of something ancient and dark. He didn't look at the fog; he looked at her, watching for her reaction.
"Me," he said simply. "I did it."
Bonnie’s breath hitched. "You... you what?"
"The fog. The atmosphere. The Power," he said, the last word carrying a weight that made the air feel heavier. He raised a hand, and as if on cue, the mist swirled around his fingers like a trained pet. "Most people in this town are blind, Bonnie. They see the surface. They see the trees, the buildings, the boring little lives. But you? "
Before she could process that, a sudden, heavy thud sounded from the roof of her car. Bonnie jumped, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She looked up and gasped.
A crow sat on the edge of the roof, mere inches from her head. It was massive twice the size of any bird she had ever seen. Its feathers were a black so deep they seemed to drink the light of the streetlamps, and its eyes were fixed on her with a terrifying, human-like intelligence. It didn't flap its wings or caw; it just sat there, a silent sentinel in the mist.
"The Crews," Damon murmured, glancing up at the bird with something akin to affection. "They like you. They can smell the potential on you. It’s like a beacon."
He leaned in closer, his face just inches from hers. Up close, he smelled like rain and something metallic—like the air right before a thunderstorm. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, his eyes dropping to her lips for a fleeting second before locking back onto hers.
"You feel it, don't you? That silence when you touch the stone? That 'muted' feeling? That’s not you going crazy, Bonnie. That’s you finally waking up. And I’m the only one in this miserable town who can help you stay awake."
He reached out, his hand moving toward her face. It wasn't an aggressive move this time; it was slow, calculated, a practiced piece of flirtation designed to make her melt. He wanted her to feel chosen. He wanted her to feel like they were the only two people who mattered in the world.
Bonnie felt the pull a strange, magnetic tug that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the energy he was projecting. For a split second, she wondered if he was right. If he was the answer to the questions she didn't know how to ask.
Then, she remembered the coldness of his fingers on her neck ten minutes ago. She remembered the way he had looked at her like she was a locked box he intended to break open.
"Absolutely not," she said, her voice cold and final.
She shoved his hand away, the contact sending a sharp, electrical jolt through her palm that made her hair stand on end.
"I don't care about your fog, or your birds, or whatever 'Power' you think you have," she spat, her eyes flashing with a sudden, amber light that she didn't even realize was there. "You’re a thief and a creep. I don't want your help, I don't want your secrets, and I definitely don't want you anywhere near me."
Damon froze, his smirk faltering for the first time. The fog around them suddenly turned jagged, the soft coiling replaced by sharp, turbulent gusts of wind that whipped Bonnie’s hair across her face. The crow on the roof let out a harsh, piercing cry and took flight, its wings beating against the mist with a sound like thunder.
"You're making a mistake, Bonnie," Damon said, his voice no longer flirtatious. It was a warning. "The necklace is just the beginning. Things are coming to this town. Things that will want more than just your jewelry."
"Then I'll deal with them," Bonnie said, finally finding her keys and jamming them into the lock. "But I'm not dealing with you."
She scrambled into the car and slammed the door, locking it instantly. Through the fog-streaked window, she saw Damon standing there, a dark silhouette in the white void. He didn't move as she backed out, the tires of her car screeching against the asphalt as she tore out of the parking lot, leaving the mist and the crow and the man behind.
But as she reached the main road and the fog began to thin, she looked in her rearview mirror. There, perched on the power line directly above the exit, was the crow. It watched her car until she turned the corner.
The drive from the high school to her house was a blur of streetlights and shadows. Bonnie’s hands were glued to the steering wheel at ten and two, her knuckles white as she repeatedly glanced at the rearview mirror. Every time a pair of headlights appeared behind her, her heart spiked, expecting to see a wall of white mist or the silhouette of a massive crow following her into the residential streets.
But there was nothing. Just the hum of the engine and the smell of the plastic car interior, which felt strangely artificial now that she had tasted the iron-heavy air Damon had brought with him.
When she finally pulled into her driveway, she didn't get out immediately. She sat in the dark, the engine ticking as it cooled, and listened to the silence of the neighborhood. It was a normal Tuesday night in Mystic Falls. Somewhere down the street, a dog was barking. A neighbor’s porch light flickered. It was all so mundane that for a second, she almost convinced herself she had hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe the stress of the party and the weirdness with the necklace had finally snapped something in her brain.
Then she felt the heat.
The Bennett talisman was resting against her chest, and even through the fabric of her shirt, it felt like a hot coal. She reached up, slowly, and touched the amber.
Snap.
The silence hit her again—that heavy, pressurized stillness that she was starting to recognize as her own power. It wasn't a hallucination. The "muted" feeling was the only thing that felt real.
She hurried inside, locking the front door with a frantic click and leaning her back against the wood. The house was empty, the air still and smelling of the lavender candles Grams liked to burn. Usually, this house felt like a sanctuary, but tonight the shadows in the hallway looked too long, too deep.
Bonnie climbed the stairs to her bedroom, stripped off her jacket, and sat on the edge of her bed without turning on the light. She stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror, a pale ghost in the dark. She reached for the necklace again, her fingers tracing the silver filigree.
"Me. I did it," she whispered, mimicking Damon’s voice.
He had said it so casually, as if summoning a wall of fog was as easy as breathing. She had spent seventeen years thinking magic was just stories her grandmother told to keep their history alive, but Damon had treated it like a tool. Like a weapon.
A thought began to itch at the back of her mind, one she couldn't shake. If she was a witch because of her bloodline, then what was he?
She had never really thought about it before. In every book she’d read or movie she’d seen, witches were women. They were sisters, mothers, and grandmothers. Grams always talked about the "Bennett women" and the "lineage of daughters." She had never mentioned a man.
Can boys even be witches? she wondered, her brow furrowing in the dark.
She tried to rationalize it. Maybe "witch" was the wrong word for him. A warlock? A sorcerer? Those sounded like words from a fantasy novel, but after seeing that crow and feeling that ice-cold mist, they didn't seem so far-fetched. If Damon Salvatore could do what she did—if he could feel the "vibrations" and manipulate the air—then he had to be like her. He was a male version of whatever she was.
The thought made her skin crawl. She didn't want to be like him. She didn't want to share a category with someone who tried to steal from her and looked at her with that dark, predatory hunger. But there was a small, traitorous part of her that felt a flicker of relief. If he was a witch—or whatever the male equivalent was—then she wasn't the only freak in Mystic Falls. She wasn't alone in the "vibrations."
But then, why was he so much better at it? He had moved that fog with a thought. He had a connection to those crows that seemed almost psychic. Compared to him, she was just a girl who could make a few candles flicker and feel a necklace hum.
She picked up her phone, the screen’s bright light making her wince. She opened her contacts and scrolled down to "Grams."
Her thumb hovered over the call button. She needed to ask. She needed to know if there were others like them, and if men could carry the same spark the Bennett women did. She needed to know if Damon was a threat because of what he was, or because of who he was.
But as she stared at the name, she hesitated. If she called Grams and told her everything the fog, the crow, the man with the dark eyes then there was no going back. Her "normal" life would officially be over. She wouldn't just be Bonnie, the high school student; she would be Bonnie, the witch in training, caught in the middle of something she didn't understand.
She thought about Damon leaning against her car, his voice dropping into that low, flirtatious purr. “I’m the only one in this miserable town who can help you stay awake.”
He was trying to get into her head. He was trying to make her think he was her only ally.
Bonnie set the phone down on her nightstand, the screen fading to black. She wasn't ready to call Grams yet. She wasn't ready to admit that the world was as dark as Damon Salvatore said it was.
She pulled the covers over her legs, her hand still gripped tightly around the necklace. She stayed that way for a long time, staring at the window, waiting for the sound of wings against the glass,
The sun rose over Mystic Falls with a cruel, mocking brightness. Bonnie stood at her bedroom window, her fingers wrapped so tightly around the edge of the sill that her knuckles were white. The world outside looked identical to the day before—the same manicured lawns, the same suburban quiet—but to her, the colors felt washed out, as if the vibrancy of the world had been drained by the fog from the night before.
She hadn't slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the glint of the crow’s eyes and felt the heavy, unnatural weight of the mist. The necklace sat on her nightstand, its amber eye watching her. Even without touching it, she could feel it. It was like a low-frequency hum vibrating through the floorboards, a tether to a reality she wasn't ready to own.
Her first instinct was to go to Grams. She needed the one person who didn’t treat the word "witch" like a ghost story. Her hand hovered over the necklace, wanting to grab it and run straight to that old house on the edge of town where the air always smelled like sage and secrets.
But then, she stopped. She looked at her school bag. She looked at the bright, mundane sunlight hitting her carpet.
She decided then: she was going to school. She would stick to Stefan and Elena like a shadow.
She grabbed the talisman, and as her skin made contact, that familiar, heavy stillness settled over her. The "muted" sensation was a relief now; it dampened the sound of the birds chirping outside and the hum of the refrigerator downstairs. It gave her a sense of control, however fragile. She tucked the necklace deep under her sweater, hiding it from the world, and headed for the front door.
She stepped out onto the porch, the crisp morning air hitting her face. She expected the driveway to be empty. She expected to get into her car and drive away from the nightmare.
She was wrong.
Damon Salvatore was leaning against the hood of her car, looking as if he had been there for hours. He wasn't wearing the leather jacket this time, just a dark shirt that seemed to absorb the morning light. He looked disgustingly relaxed, one foot crossed over the other, watching her with an expression of mild, predatory interest.
Bonnie froze on the top step. "What are you doing here?"
Damon didn't answer immediately. He pushed off the car and began to walk toward her, his movements fluid and far too fast for a normal man. He stopped at the base of the porch steps, looking up at her.
"You’re a runner, Bonnie. I told you that last night," he said, his voice smooth and resonant in the morning quiet. "But the thing about running is that eventually, you run out of road."
"Get off my property, Damon," Bonnie said, her voice shaking despite her best efforts. "I’m not in the mood for your games. I’m going to school. I’m going to be a normal person."
Damon chuckled, a low sound that vibrated in Bonnie’s chest. He started up the steps, closing the distance between them until he was standing just one step below her. Even with the height advantage, she felt small. He was radiating heat a physical, pulsing warmth that seemed to fight against the cool October air.
"School," he repeated, the word sounding like a taunt on his tongue. "The keeper of the mundane. Tell me, does your little friend Elena know how much you’re vibrating right now? Because I can feel it from here. It’s like a bell ringing in a quiet room."
He leaned in closer, invading her personal space until she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. He didn't touch her, but he didn't have to. The proximity was a form of manipulation. He was trying to overwhelm her senses, to make himself the only thing she could focus on.
"We’re the same, Bonnie," he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek. "You’re trying so hard to be the good girl, the normal student, but you and I both know that’s a lie. You don't belong in that high school. You belong in the dark, where the Power is."
Bonnie’s head was spinning. The "muted" feeling from the necklace was being drowned out by the sheer force of his presence. She felt trapped between the girl she wanted to be and the thing he was telling her she was.
"We are nothing alike," she snapped, pushing past him to get down the stairs.
But he was there again, appearing in front of her before she could even reach the driveway. It was impossible. He hadn't run; he had just been there.
"Are you sure about that?" he asked, his eyes dancing with amusement. "You felt it last night. The way the fog responded to you. The way the Crews watched you. You aren't just a girl with a piece of jewelry, Bonnie."
He was using that charm now the slow, heavy magnetism that made her skin crawl. He wanted her to look at him and see a mentor. He wanted her to think he was the only person who understood her.
Bonnie looked at him really looked at him. She saw the way the shadows seemed to cling to him even in the direct sunlight. She saw the way his power felt different from hers sharper, more jagged, and infinitely more practiced.
And then, she couldn't help it. The question that had been eating at her all night just blurted out.
"Are you a witch?"
Damon stopped. The smirk didn't vanish, but it froze. A look of genuine, dark surprise crossed his features. "What?"
"Are you a witch?" Bonnie repeated, her voice gaining strength. "I’ve spent my whole life hearing about my family. My Grams, her mother, the women in our line. It was always women. I didn't know... I didn't know boys could be witches. Are you a warlock? Is that why you can move the fog? Is that why you want the necklace?"
Damon stared at her for a long beat. Then, he threw his head back and laughed. It wasn't the mocking chuckle from before; it was a loud, sharp bark of genuine amusement that seemed to startle the birds in the nearby trees.
"A witch?" he asked, stepping even closer, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "Is that what you think I am? A boy with a cauldron and a few dusty books?"
"I don't know what you are!" Bonnie shouted, her frustration finally boiling over. "But you do the things I do. You feel the vibrations. You control the air. If you're not a witch, then what are you?"
Damon’s expression shifted. The laughter died, replaced by a look that was almost pitying. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.
"You have so much to learn, Bonnie Bennett," he whispered. "And your grandmother is only going to tell you the parts she thinks you can handle."
Bonnie went to retort, but before she could get the words out, the air around them suddenly surged. The wind picked up in a violent, localized gust, swirling dead leaves into a miniature cyclone around her feet.
She blinked, shielded her eyes for a split second, and when she opened them, the driveway was empty.
Damon was gone. There was no sound of a car, no footsteps, not even the rustle of a bush. He had simply vanished back into the shadows.
Bonnie stood in the sudden silence of her driveway. She had intended to go to school. She had intended to find Elena and act like nothing had changed. But as she stood there, the silence felt different. It felt like a lie.
She looked at her car. Then she looked toward the road that led to the outskirts of town.
School wasn't going to save her. Elena and Stefan couldn't explain the fog.
She peeled out of the driveway and headed toward the one place she knew the answers were hidden.
She was going to her grandmother’s. She was going to find out exactly what kind of world she had stepped into and exactly what kind of person Damon Salvatore was.
