Hey, guys. I’m going to be a little MIA for a while. I still love Tumblr and being on here, but I think I need a break from posting for a bit.
I’ll probably still be writing in the background, but if I do update anything or post new chapters, they’ll only be going on AO3 from now on because it’s a lot easier for me to keep everything organized there.
I’ll still probably lurk sometimes, reblog things, like posts, and randomly appear in tags every now and then, but I just need a small step back from actively posting.
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 4
For forty-eight agonizing hours, Bonnie had managed to survive on a diet of pure, unadulterated anxiety and way too much caffeine. Sitting across from Elena at lunch had become a form of psychological torture. How was she supposed to casually pass the mustard while carrying the radioactive secret that Elena’s new textbook-perfect boyfriend was a literal corpse who drank blood? Worse, how was she supposed to explain that his older, much more annoying brother was currently stalking her and that she, Bonnie, was a witch who could apparently throw grown men through the air?
It was impossible. So, instead of destroying her best friend’s fragile grasp on happiness, Bonnie did what she did best: she kept her mouth shut, wore a fake smile, and spent her Thursday evening driving right back into the lion's den.
She pulled her car to a stop at the edge of the woods, the headlights cutting through the charred, skeletal remains of Fell’s Church. The air was already thick with that familiar, iron-scented mist. Before she could even turn off the ignition, a sudden, heavy *thud* rattled the roof of her car.
Bonnie rolled her eyes, stepping out into the damp chill. "Seriously, Damon? The roof? You’re going to dent the hood next, and I swear to God, insurance doesn't cover vampire-induced property damage."
Damon materialized from the fog, leaning against a scorched stone pillar with a devastatingly smug grin. He brushed a nonexistent piece of dust off his shoulder. "Please. I land with the grace of a gazelle, Bennett. Besides, look at you! You didn't even flinch. You’re making progress. You're practically a pro now." He clapped his hands together once, his eyes lighting up with mock excitement. "Great! Wonderful! Can we open the tomb now?"
Bonnie crossed her arms, deadpanning him. "We have been here for exactly ninety seconds. You haven't taught me a single thing, you ridiculous ego in a leather jacket. No, we are not opening the tomb."
"Oh, come on," Damon groaned, rolling his eyes as he walked toward her. "Why do all you witches have to be so bureaucratic? It’s a simple door. You do a little huffing and puffing, the stone moves, I get my girl, and you get to go back to your boring little cheerleading routines."
"I don't chew pom-poms, and I'm not opening a massive vault of monsters until I know how to actually protect the people I love," Bonnie snapped, her chin lifting defensively. "Now, are you going to teach me how to use the Crews or am I going to drive home and leave you here to talk to the trees?"
Damon sighed dramatically, but the playful glint in his eyes didn't vanish. "Fine, fine. Patience. It’s a terrible virtue, really."
He stepped directly into her personal space, closing the gap between them so fast that Bonnie’s breath caught. He didn't pin her down this time, but he stood close enough that she could feel the unnatural, deathly cold radiating off his body. It fought violently against the hot, prickling energy currently surging beneath her skin.
"Your ancestors were incredibly stiff, you know," Damon murmured, his voice dropping into a low, teasing purr as he circled behind her. "Seriously. Emily and her little coven? Always with the grand gestures. The dramatic chanting, the sage burning, the melodramatic candle lighting. It was exhausting to watch. They forced everything."
Bonnie turned her head slightly, tracking him out of the corner of her eye. "At least my ancestors had a sense of personal space. And they didn't wear the exact same outfit every single day. Do you actually wash that jacket, or does vampire hygiene just freeze in the nineteenth century along with your morals?"
Damon let out a sharp bark of laughter, appearing right in front of her again. "My hygiene is flawless, Bennett, I assure you. But back to the lesson." He reached out, his hands hovering just a millimeter away from her shoulders, not quite touching her but close enough that the static charge between them made her sweater fibers twitch. "Close your eyes. Stop trying to build a brick wall in your mind. I spent a few decades down in Georgia with a witch named Bree. She was... untraditional. She taught me that magic isn't about forcing the door open with a loud chant. It’s about 'leaking' into the environment. Like water finding cracks in a floorboard."
"Leaking?" Bonnie muttered, her eyes still tightly shut.
"Don't think about it. Feel it," Damon whispered, his breath brushing the shell of her ear, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine that she desperately tried to hide. "You're trying to keep your power bottled up because you're terrified of it. Let it slip out. Let it bleed into the fog. Find the crow on the branch above us. Don't grab it. Just... slide into the empty space behind its eyes."
Bonnie swallowed hard, forcing her hands to relax at her sides. She stopped fighting the heavy, rhythmic thrumming in her chest. Instead of holding the "muted" silence like a shield, she let it dissolve. She imagined her consciousness stretching outward, slipping through the damp air, climbing up the rough, scorched bark of the oak tree.
Suddenly, her knees buckled.
Damon’s hand instantly caught her elbow, his grip surprisingly firm and steady as he pulled her back against his chest to keep her from collapsing onto the damp leaves. But Bonnie barely registered his solid frame.
The world had exploded.
She wasn't on the ground anymore. Her vision fractured into a dizzying panoramic view of silver, grey, and deep midnight blue. She was looking down at the clearing from forty feet in the air. The sensory overload was staggering—she could smell the crisp, high-altitude oxygen; she could hear the microscopic rustle of a field mouse three acres away; she could feel the rapid, frantic heartbeat of the small bird whose nervous system she had just violently hijacked.
Down below, she saw herself, looking small and pale, safely anchored in the arms of a dark-haired vampire who was looking up at the sky with an unreadable expression.
*I'm flying,* she thought, a rush of pure, terrifying euphoria flooding her mind. The sheer scale of the town stretched out before her like a living map, the lights of Mystic Falls blinking in the distance like fallen stars.
"Don't lose your head, Bennett," Damon’s voice echoed directly inside her mind, sharp and anchoring. "Pull back before you forget how to breathe."
With a sharp gasp, Bonnie snapped back into her own body. The sudden weight of gravity hit her like a physical blow, and she stumbled, her chest heaving as she grabbed onto Damon’s leather sleeves for support. Her eyes flew open, the residual amber glow slowly fading back into deep brown.
Damon didn't push her away immediately. He stood there, holding her steady, his gaze locked onto her face with a mixture of intense fascination and something that looked dangerously like respect.
"Well," Damon murmured, a slow, wicked smirk stretching across his lips as his fingers lingered on her arm for a beat too long. "Look at that. You didn't even throw up. Bree would have been thoroughly impressed."
Bonnie ripped herself away from his touch, her face flushing bright red as she smoothed down her sweater, trying desperately to regain her composure. Her heart was beating a frantic rhythm, but for the first time in two days, the terrifying weight of her secrets didn't feel like a prison. It felt like a weapon.
The physical hangover of the mental flight hit Bonnie all at once, a sudden, crushing weight that made the world spin on a terrifying axis. Her knees gave out completely this time, and she slid down the rough, soot-stained trunk of the oak tree until her jeans hit the damp, leaf-strewn earth. Her ears were ringing with a high-pitched hum, and her vision was still plagued by ghost-images of the gray-and-silver landscape she had just witnessed from forty feet in the air.
Damon didn't try to mock her. The irritating, smug smirk that usually seemed glued to his face finally dissolved, replaced by a quiet, observant stillness. He watched her for a long moment, then casually dropped down to sit on a low, moss-covered stone wall opposite her. He rested his elbows on his knees, his leather jacket creaking in the quiet night air. The playful, flirtatious energy that had defined the last hour completely evaporated, leaving behind a silence that felt heavy and thick with centuries of dust.
Bonnie pressed the heels of her hands against her throbbing temples, taking deep, ragged breaths of the cold night air. "My head feels like it’s being crushed by a vice," she muttered, her voice sounding small and raspy in the emptiness of the ruins.
"Spatial vertigo," Damon said quietly, his tone surprisingly devoid of its usual bite. "Your brain is trying to process two completely different sets of sensory data at the same time. You’re trying to occupy a human skull while your consciousness just experienced three-dimensional flight with a bird’s depth perception. It passes."
Bonnie let her hands drop, looking across the small expanse of dead leaves at him. In the pale, weak moonlight filtering through the branches, he didn't look like the theatrical monster who had terrorized her driveway. He just looked tired. Cold and frozen in time, but deeply, profoundly tired.
Curiosity, sharp and persistent, began to worm its way through her exhaustion. She had been running on fear and adrenaline for days, but now that they were sitting in the quiet aftermath of a spell, she wanted answers. She was tired of being the blind girl in a room full of people with night vision.
"If we’re going to be partners in this," Bonnie began, her voice gaining a bit of its usual defensive edge, "I want to know what I’m actually dealing with. No more riddles, Damon. No more 'I am the Power' nonsense. How does this even work? How do you... how do you become one of *you*?"
Damon raised an eyebrow, a flicker of his usual amusement returning to his eyes, though it was fleeting. "You want a biology lesson from the undead, Bennett? I'm flattered."
"I want to know the rules of the world I apparently just crashed into," she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest to fight off the chill. "Grams just tells me you're bad people. Stefan tells me you're a disaster. You tell me you're a masterpiece. I want the actual facts."
Damon leaned back against the stone wall, looking up at the dark canopy of the trees. "It's not as poetic as the books make it out to be. You want the mechanics? Fine. To become a vampire, you have to have vampire blood in your system when you die. It doesn't matter how you die—a car crash, a broken neck, a gunshot. If our blood is in your veins, it catches you on the way down. It keeps your soul pinned to your body."
Bonnie swallowed hard, the image of it making her stomach turn. "And then?"
"And then you wake up in transition," Damon continued, his gaze drifting back down to meet hers. His eyes were entirely dark now, the golden flecks swallowed by the shadows. "You’re trapped in a limbo between life and death. You have about twenty-four hours to make a choice. You either feed on human blood to complete the turn, or you starve. And let me tell you, the starvation is excruciating. Your body starts to dry up from the inside out. Your mind fractures. Most people feed just to make the pain stop."
"Is that what happened to you?" Bonnie asked softly, the words escaping before she could stop them.
Damon’s jaw tightened, a microscopic movement that she only caught because she was watching him so intensely. "I didn't want it," he said, his voice dropping into a register so low it was almost a whisper. "Stefan completed his turn first. He was... enthusiastic back then. He didn't want to be alone in the dark, so he brought a girl to me. He forced me to feed. He made the choice for me."
Bonnie stared at him, the revelation knocking the wind out of her more effectively than the mental flight had. Stefan. The good brother. The one who held Elena’s hand and worried about history assignments. He was the one who had forced this monstrous existence onto his brother. The moral hierarchy she had built in her head over the last forty-eight hours shattered into a million jagged pieces. There were no good guys here. There were just different shades of dark.
"So you hate him," Bonnie concluded, the pieces of their toxic dynamic finally clicking into place.
"Hate is a very human emotion, Bonnie. It requires too much energy," Damon said, though the bitterness in his tone gave him away. He stood up, pacing a few steps away from the stone wall, his hands buried deep in his pockets. "Vampirism doesn't change who you are. It just... magnifies it. Everything you felt when you were alive gets turned up to eleven. If you were angry, you become a tyrant. If you were sad, you become a tragic mess. And if you loved someone..."
He trailed off, his eyes fixing on the patch of scorched earth near the center of the ruins the hidden entrance to the tomb.
Bonnie watched him, her curiosity morphing into something heavier, something that felt suspiciously like dread. "That's what this is all about, isn't it? The twenty-seven vampires. You don't actually care about starting a vampire army. You don't care about the tomb at all."
Damon let out a short, dry laugh that sounded entirely hollow. He turned back to face her, and for the first time since she had met him, the mask was completely gone. There was no arrogance, no flirting, no smart-mouthed quips. There was only a raw, bleeding obsession that had been festering for nearly a century and a half.
"I don't give a damn about the other twenty-six," Damon admitted, his voice terrifyingly calm. "They can rot in that dirt until the end of time for all I care. I only want her."
"Katherine," Bonnie said, the name tasting like ash on her tongue.
"Katherine," Damon repeated, the word sounding like a prayer and a curse all at once. He stepped closer to her, his movements slow, deliberate, and entirely devoid of his usual theatricality. "She wasn't just a 'love,' Bonnie. She wasn't some girl I had a crush on. She was my one true thing. The only thing in my long, miserable life that ever made sense. When Emily locked her in that tomb, she took the only part of me that was worth saving."
He stopped just a few feet away from where Bonnie sat on the ground. He looked down at her, and Bonnie felt a cold shiver run straight through her core.
It wasn't fear of a predator anymore. It was something worse.
Looking up at him, Bonnie realized that the theatrical villain she had been fighting was a myth. The man standing in front of her was something infinitely more dangerous: he was a desperate man. A man who had spent a hundred and forty-five years living in the shadows, fueled by nothing but a singular, blinding obsession. He didn't have anything left to lose because he had already lost it all in 1864. A monster who wanted to kill you was terrifying, but a monster who was hopelessly, pathetically broken by love was unpredictable. He would burn the entire town to the ground, he would sacrifice Elena, he would sacrifice her, without a single second thought, if it meant getting Katherine back.
And yet, looking at the raw wound exposed on his face, Bonnie felt a sudden, terrifying pang of empathy. He was a monster, yes, but he was a horribly human one.
"She's been in the dark for a long time, Damon," Bonnie said quietly, her smart-mouthed armor completely gone. "What if she isn't the same person you remember? What if the dark changed her?"
Damon’s expression hardened, the mask sliding back into place with a chilling efficiency. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by that cold, immovable certainty. "Then I'll adapt. But she’s coming out, Bonnie. And you’re going to help me do it."
Bonnie didn't answer. She sat in the damp leaves, the weight of the talisman around her neck suddenly feeling like a millstone. She was still out here, standing on the absolute precipice of a canyon, deeply debating whether or not she should actually go through with this. She looked up at the black crows resting silently in the branches above them, their dark eyes reflecting the moonlight.
She had wanted a weapon to protect Elena and Grams. She had wanted the power to fight back against the things in the dark. But as she looked at Damon, she realized the terrifying truth of the supernatural world. It wasn't a phase. It wasn't something you could just dabble in on Thursday nights and go back to being a normal high school student on Friday morning.
Once you stepped into the fog once you made a deal with a creature driven by a century-old blood lust you didn't get to go back. The dark didn't let go. Whoever picked up this kind of power, whoever let themselves be pulled into the orbit of the Salvatore bloodline, disappeared forever from the normal world. There was no version of this story where she got to be just Bonnie Bennett again. If she opened that tomb, she was changing the fabric of her life permanently.
"I need to go home," Bonnie whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she pushed herself up from the ground. Her muscles ached, and the mental exhaustion was starting to cloud her thoughts again.
Damon didn't try to stop her. He didn't offer a witty retort or a flirtatious goodbye. He just stood there by the stone wall, a solitary figure wrapped in black leather, watching her as she walked back toward her car.
"Same time tomorrow, Bennett," he called out quietly just as her hand hit the door handle. "Don't skip practice. The birds get lonely."
Bonnie didn't look back. She got into her car, her hands shaking so badly she could barely fit the key into the ignition. As she backed out of the clearing, the headlights washed over the ruins one last time, illuminating the empty stone archways. Damon was already gone, dissolved back into the mist, but as she drove down the isolated forest road, she could feel the heavy, silent presence of a crow keeping pace with her car from high above the tree line.
Bonnie pulled her car into the driveway, the engine dying with a heavy shudder that seemed to mirror the rattling in her own chest. For a long moment, she didn’t move. She just gripped the steering wheel, staring at the golden light leaking through the living room windows. Inside that house was safety, history, and a woman who loved her more than life itself. But inside that house was also a legacy that Bonnie felt like she was actively betraying with every breath she took.
She forced her fingers to uncurl from the wheel, smoothing down the front of her sweater. The amber talisman beneath her collarbone felt impossibly heavy, a localized pocket of heat that refused to cool down.
When she pushed the front door open, the familiar scent of dried sage, chicory coffee, and old parchment washed over her. Usually, this smell was an anchor. Tonight, it felt like an accusation.
"Bonnie? Is that you, baby?"
Grams’ voice drifted from the kitchen. A moment later, Sheila Bennett stepped into the hallway, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her sharp, knowing eyes instantly locked onto Bonnie, scanning her face with the terrifying precision that only a grandmother and a seasoned witch could possess.
"Hey, Grams," Bonnie said, forcing her voice into a casual, higher register that sounded fake even to her own ears. She quickly slid her jacket off, trying to hide the damp leaf-flecked hem of her jeans. "Sorry I'm late. I got caught up... studying."
Grams narrowed her eyes, stepping closer. The air in the hallway seemed to tighten. "Studying? In the woods, Bonnie? You smell like a thunderstorm, child. And your energy is completely scattered. It’s vibrating so loud I could hear you coming down the street."
Bonnie’s heart did a violent flip against her ribs. She instinctively took a step back, reaching up to cover the necklace with her hand, pretending to just adjust her hair. "I just took a walk after the library closed. To clear my head. The high school is just... really loud lately. You know how it is."
"I know a lie when I hear one," Grams said softly, her tone shifting from suspicious to deeply concerned. She stepped up, resting a warm, calloused hand against Bonnie’s cheek. "You're carrying a weight, Bonnie. I can feel the static on your skin. If those Salvatore boys are bothering you if that dark one, Damon, has crossed your path again you need to tell me. The men of that bloodline are leeches, Bonnie. Not just for blood, but for power. They will take a young witch's light and use it to burn the world down."
The guilt that washed over Bonnie was a physical wave, sickening and cold. She was standing three feet away from her grandmother, directly omitting the fact that she had just made a pact with the devil himself. She was actively hiding that she had agreed to open a tomb of twenty-seven vampires just to secure a supernatural shield she wasn't even sure she could trust. If Grams knew, it would break her heart. Worse, Grams would try to protect her, and Bonnie couldn't risk Damon turning his terrifying, unpredictable hunger toward this house.
"They're not bothering me, Grams. Stefan is just with Elena all the time, and Damon... I haven't seen him since the Grill," Bonnie lied, the words tasting like copper and ash in her mouth. She forced a tired, convincing smile. "I promise. I’m just completely exhausted. My head is pounding from all the family history we went over yesterday. I think I just need to sleep it off."
Grams stared at her for a long, agonizing beat, searching her eyes for the truth. Finally, she let out a soft sigh, patting Bonnie’s cheek before dropping her hand. "Alright, baby. Go on up. But put some lavender oil on your temples. Your aura is practically bleeding."
"I will. Goodnight, Grams."
Bonnie didn't walk up the stairs; she practically bolted. She didn't breathe cleanly until she was inside her bedroom with the door firmly shut and the lock clicked into place. She threw her backpack onto the floor and collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in her pillows. The silence of her room was deafening. For the last two hours, her brain had been processing the sensory overload of a bird's-eye view, the terrifying reality of vampires, and the tragic, pathetic desperation of Damon Salvatore. It was too much for a seventeen-year-old girl to carry alone.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, a sharp, mechanical vibration that made her flinch. She pulled it out, the bright screen illuminating the dark room.
There was a text from Elena.
“Hey, tried calling you earlier! Are you okay? Stefan said you seemed really overwhelmed at school. Let me know when you’re home, I want to talk about this weekend xoxo.”
Bonnie stared at the glowing words. Stefan said you seemed really overwhelmed. Of course he did. The good brother was checking up on his investment, making sure the little Bennett witch hadn't cracked under the pressure of his brother's shadow. She typed out a quick, trembling reply: Hey! Yeah, just totally exhausted. Family stuff with Grams has me wiped out. Talk tomorrow, love you!”
Before she could even lock the phone, a second text popped up, this one from Caroline.
*“Bonnie!! Tell me you’re alive because I need a serious distraction. My mom is being a total dictator about curfew and I swear if I don’t get out of this house I’m going to dye my hair pink. Also, did you see what Elena was wearing today? Is it just me or is she totally changing her style for Stefan? Call me!!”*
A bittersweet, breathless laugh escaped Bonnie’s lips. Caroline Forbes was currently having an existential crisis about curfew and hair dye, completely oblivious to the fact that the entire town was sitting on top of a powder keg. The utter normalcy of it was devastating. Bonnie felt like she was standing on the opposite side of a bulletproof glass wall, watching her friends live their lives in bright, vivid color while she was being dragged into a monochrome world of grey fog and black feathers. She couldn't tell them. She couldn't drag Elena into the horror of what her boyfriend truly was, and she certainly couldn't involve Caroline. She had to be the shield. She had chosen this.
She tossed the phone onto her nightstand, unable to look at the notifications anymore.
Slowly, Bonnie pushed herself off the bed and walked over to her old wooden vanity. The small lamp in the corner threw long, amber shadows across the mirror. She sat down, leaning her elbows on the glass surface, and stared at her reflection.
She looked different, her dark hair a bit wild from the wind in the ruins, but it was her eyes that made her freeze. The deep brown of her irises looked heavier, older, as if the panoramic view of the entire county was still hidden somewhere behind her pupils. She looked like a stranger wearing her clothes.
Her gaze drifted down to her collar. Slowly, deliberately, she reached into the neckline of her sweater and pulled the Bennett talisman out into the open.
In the dim light of the bedroom, the ancient necklace looked alive. The silver filigree was dark with age, but the heavy, polished amber stone in the center seemed to be holding onto its own internal light. She had never looked at it this closely before. It wasn't just a piece of jewelry; it was a relic, a direct physical link to Emily Bennett and every woman who had bled for the safety of Mystic Falls.
Bonnie unclasped the heavy chain, her fingers steady despite the phantom chill still lingering on her skin from Damon's touch. She held the heavy talisman in the palm of her hand, feeling the distinct, rhythmic pulse of heat radiating from the stone. It felt like a tiny, trapped heart beating against her skin.
What did you really do, Emily? Bonnie thought, her thumb gently tracing the smooth, cool surface of the amber. Why did you lock them away? And why did you leave this for me?
As she looked closer into the depths of the stone, she noticed a faint, microscopic fracture running through the center of the amber a tiny, dark shape embedded deep within the crystallized resin. It looked almost like a reflection, but not of her room. She leaned in, her breath fogging the surface of the vanity mirror as she brought the locket closer to her eyes.
The amber didn't just reflect the lamplight; it caught it, magnifying it until the deep orange hue began to swirl like liquid fire in her palm. The tiny fracture in the center began to expand, shifting into a shape that looked terrifyingly familiar a silhouette of a woman standing in front of a wall of flames.
Bonnie’s fingers tightened around the metal casing. The smart-mouthed defense mechanisms, the exhaustion, the fear everything vanished, sucked into the sudden, roaring vacuum of her own power.
The heat in her palm spiked violently, turning from a gentle warmth into a searing, agonizing burn. Bonnie went to gasp, to drop the necklace back onto the vanity, but her muscles locked completely. She couldn't move. She couldn't blink.
The familiar smells of her bedroom the lavender oil, the clean laundry were violently ripped away, replaced by the suffocating, choking stench of thick smoke and burning flesh. The low hum of the fluorescent lights vanished, replaced by a deafening, roaring chorus of screaming voices that echoed from deep beneath the earth.
The room around her began to dissolve into a violent, blinding rush of white-hot light, the cold night air turning to ash against her skin as the talisman violently pulled her consciousness backward through time, plunging her headfirst into a darkness she wasn't ready to see.
I'm bored, so I decided to make a little board of all my old teenage crushes and mix them in with my current celebrity crushes. It's actually kind of hilarious seeing them all in one place.
still in the originals topic, i can't stress enough with the fact that camille was absolutely one of the top five characters. she had great writing, leah pipes delivered a amazing performance, she has parallel storylines some people cross their heart and hope to die swearing by dear life she does not but she has she has a great plot and every single person in that show respected her greatly, even mikael and esther. he recognized her for the warrior heart she had. elijah saying he liked her spirit and that she lived gracefully. davina had cami as a figure of protection. josh was a close friend. vincent was never the same after she's gone. rebekah saying that klaus would listen to her but never to them. freya, that barely knew camille, respecting her autonomy and trying to save her. aurora admired camille's strength, even tho she absolutely hated her. marcel was in love with her, and loved her after their relationship end, for who she was. hayley had a close friendship with cami to the point that they plotted plans together multiple times and hayley is showed devastated after cami dies. kol bringing cami's memory to make a point to klaus, years after she's gone. finn almost fell in love with her. let's not even start with klaus, whose camille's was with no doubt, the epic love. she was the love of his life. kill camille was a ridiculous mistake and the show never recovered from it.
You know what? Forget the discourse. This is no longer my hill to die on.
You wanna ship canonically aspec characters because “aro/ace people can still date/have sex”? Okay, then. LET’S DO IT.
I wanna see an aromantic character with an alloromantic love interest. I wanna see that confession of undying love and the moment when the aro character says they will never feel the same way—not romantically.
I wanna see the asexual character with their allosexual partner. I wanna see that moment when the ace characters tries sex with their partner for the first time because they want to make them happy only to realize that they are 100% sex repulsed.
I wanna see the two demiromantics who don’t even know if what they feel is romantic attraction, but they adore each other and just want to make healthy snacks together and destroy each other at Mario Kart.
I wanna see the two aces who love sensual affection and are figuring out what they define as sexual or not.
I wanna see the romance + sex neutral aroace who happily and consensually does whatever makes their partner happy…but their partner still struggles with feeling undesired.
Oh, babe. You thought shipping an aspec character would be just like shipping an allo character?
