#gothic klonnie 2k18

[thefudge]

It’s the season Klonnie fam, so gather around for a special Halloween event: Gothic Klonnie 2k18! (hosted by yours truly and the divine @irresistible-revolution)

If you participated in or simply enjoyed #Gothic Klonnie 2k17, then we hope you’ll join us for another week-long event (October 24th - 31st) where we’ll celebrate all that’s haunting, dark and inescapably gothic about this ship through gifsets, edits, graphics, fics and fanart. This year’s prompts are evocative words in various languages that capture something of the gothic condition. Like last year, each day has a prompt and you have to either incorporate it or draw inspiration from it when you create your work!

Daily Prompts

Day 1: Oneirataxia : inability to distinguish between fantasy and reality.

Day 2: Cwtsh : a safe place; the space of the cupboard under the stairs.

Day 3: Rubatosis : the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.

Day 4: Draugagangur :  the walking of ghosts, a haunting.

Day 5: Vemödalen: The fear that everything has already been done.

Day 6: Opia : The ambiguous intensity of eye contact.

Day 7: Voluptate: A yearning which is both physical and spiritual, a lust of the body and the soul.

So mark your calendars and let your imagination run wild and gothic!

(tag your posts as #gothic klonnie 2k18 and #klonnie so we can eyeball your magnificent creations!)

[wordsmithie]

Day 7 - Voluptate: a yearning which is both physical and spiritual, a lust of the body and the soul.

strange duet | the phantom of the opera au

Bonnie Bennett, one of the chorus girls at the Magnolia, soon catches the eyes of its owner, Klaus Mikaelson. Reclusive, engimatic, and dangerous he has been dubbed the “Phantom.” But in the quiet of the nights after the Magnolia has farewelled its guests, and Bonnie takes to the darkened stage, she finds an unexpected accompanying pianist in the formidable club owner. Through their strange duets their tentative bond grows into something deeper. Soon, however, Bonnie is embroiled in the dark underbelly of the Phantom’s world, and finds herself having to face the point of no return.

[thebennettdiaries]

Gothic Klonnie 2k18

      ↳  Day 7: Voluptate: a yearning which is both physical and spiritual, a lust of the body and soul 

Klaus does not often make mistakes (or at least he doesn’t often claim them) but he knows the moment her blood is on his lips that he has stepped wrong.  She is a witch, a powerful one --- his enemy. 

And now he wants her like no other. 

At first he blames the blood; the pure raw power that runs through it is enough to bring even the strongest of men to their knees.  It is no surprise that he should crave it.  He had only gotten a simple taste before she had turned on him, caused his bones to snap and his skin to burn.  The pain had been agonizing.  But looking back, he thinks it is worth it. 

For the first few days he thinks of nothing more than tracking her down so he can sink his fangs into the soft skin of her shoulder (or her wrist, her inner thigh).  He finds that in comparison, the blood he is forced to drink tastes almost bitter.  He is sorely disappointed to find his palate has completely changed. 

A week passes and he realizes that he has not even begun to make a move against her.  Instead he has let her continue on with her life in Mystic Falls while he skirts around the edges and daydreams.  It is out of character for him and he admonishes himself. 

(but still does not change his actions)

Finally when they are face to face again, two combatants on the battlefield, he understands fully.  As he watches her body tense and the magic unfurl itself to push out against him, he knows that he does not just want her blood.  He wants every part of her. 

And like every other desire that he has had in his life until this point, he will stop at nothing to ensure it is fulfilled.  

[gimmetheheadcanons]

Breathe - Day 1 Gothic Klonnie -

A/N: Hey decided to take part of the #gothic klonnie 2k18 this week with this little story. May do the others prompts but not sure how many since I had a pretty awful week. sorry no energy to edit so prepare for glaring typos and errors

Prompt Day 1: Oneirataxia : inability to distinguish between fantasy and reality.

-------------

The days after Bonnie Bennett buried her grandmother were indistinguishable from one another. Beginnings melted into endings until time froze. Night fell, the sun rose, and Bonnie went on existing in a world icier and more grotesque than it had any right being.

First it was her mother.

Just as the heavy lid slammed shut on Abby's glossy dark coffin, a fourteen years old Bonnie began to choke. The lungs her mother so lovingly made for her finding themselves out of a job also.

“Breathe child.”

Next it was her father.

Snow came early that year and Rudy, still adjusting to life as a widower, was every bit as careless as she begged him not to be. In a dorm miles from home, surrounded by bags she would never unpack, Bonnie's tongue turned to stone. All the pretty words her daddy taught her all of a sudden gone. 

“Breathe child.”

She’d been there. Grams.

Through it all, whispering to Bonnie. Her voice, a gentle current carrying a young battered body back to shore. Holding onto the heartbroken teenager with the strong clasp of her fingers. Shaking. Wrinkled. Dependable as driftwood.

“Just breathe for me and we'll take it from there.”

Now there was no one left to remind Bonnie to breathe but Bonnie. And the unimaginable grief swallowed her whole, trapping her in a dark place to become as lost as God said Jonah was.

Night fell, the sun rose, and in between there was nothing to do but sit in same dusty upstairs home office; consume bitter cups of black coffee topped-up with tears, meant to keep her from a soft bed she knew would never leave if given the chance.

A dull ache in her head cried out for real nourishment but her jaw wouldn't know what to do with a full meal. It may well have been wired shut right after the last conversation she had with another soul ended.

Days ago.

Or was it weeks?

Thrown by the faded numbers on the face of an ancient grandfather clock long past its chiming days yet diligently still stood in its corner, Bonnie gave up.  

She continued to sit cross legged on the scratchy hardwood floor, in the same black dress and wool tights from the funeral and her nose deep in a dusty, yellowing notebook. After whole nights spent reading and doing little else, Bonnie’s senses were numb to the strong musk of ripe clothes or the churning sounds of an empty stomach. Weak and nauseated, she struggled to put away the late great Sheila Bennett's things just as she had so many of the things that once belonged to the people she loved. 

Surrounded by piles of bound paper, some with glossy professional hardcovers proudly displaying her family name and others limp cheap things filled with far more intimate wisdoms kept from the public eye, Bonnie Bennett sat in a sea of Sheila’s secrets. And whilst she waded through these warmer waters, the waves outside the pages would have to wait.

Undeveloped ideas, musings and drawings. All done in her grandmother’s hand. So much to obsess over and yet each night, lit only by the softest glow of the desk lamp beside her, Bonnie returned to the same page - staring into eyes that had begun to stare back.

The wriggly lines bewitching Bonnie made up a face.

A man with cheeks high and round, the faintest hint of dimples on each side and at the center of his chin. He was objectively handsome as he was terrible.

Head full of short wild locks with full lips curling into something on the brink of a smile yet clouded by enough of the world’s cruelty to deny the beholder such grace. His mocking mouth was surrounded by a sea of tiny dots delicately done by the precise nib of a dark fountain pen. It was like someone had spilled a shaker full of pepper over half his face as a means to cast a shadow over an otherwise bright countenance.

He was older than her but how old exactly she couldn't say for sure.

But those eyes...

Burdened a dark secret she knew she shouldn’t want to know, they sat under a set of straight thin lines produced by trickling ink that barely touched the page; the artist’s careful bid to accurately represent the soft sparse hairs of a couple of faint, yet still very much there, eyebrows.

A glance and she'd fallen into a well. There, Bonnie lost herself for hours. Drifting in the cool dark waters of those clear astute orbs that thought to read her like the very tower of books she built around herself.

Sat in near darkness, she continued to stare at a face she met years ago.

Or had she?

Twice she crumbled. Twice she forgot to breathe. Twice she was brought back.

Twice she saw him.  

And now he was here.

Among her grandmother’s things.

Cold and unmoving.

A rough sketch, an absurd death mask.

Except this time when Bonnie blinked, the picture blinked back.

It blinked back.

He did.

“No.”

Bonnie shut the book and shook her head.

No, no such thing happened.

Couldn't have.

She just needed coffee. Plenty of it.

Disorientated and with only the aid of her cellphone light, she was amazed she made it down the stairs in one piece. A victory, something her grandmother never managed having slipped on her final descent one morning in late September.

Sheila Bennett was dead before she hit the ground.

An aneurysm had taken her from a granddaughter who needed her. Another Bennet woman cruelly betrayed by her own body.

It was quick and painless - a mercy, Bonnie was told this many times, a mercy when compared to the indecisive cancer cells that taunted her mother for months with the promise of meaningless survival statistics and conflicting second opinions.

“Breathe.”

Bonnie commanded her stubborn body, it begged for slumber with a pathetic yawn she chose to ignore. She rubbed her blurry eyes and stepped over the exact spot she found her grandmother's broken body, banishing the awful image until the next time she stood at the bottom of the winding staircase.

Once away from the spot, she turned on the hall lights the rest of the way.

She entered the kitchen forgetting for a moment why, the cool stone under feet sent a chill up her spine. When she remembered, she pulled her cardigan tighter and this time just skipped lighting the fires of the old stove acting as a heater.

There was nothing that could banish the cold, Bonnie told herself as she waited for the strangely out of place, expensive coffee machine to switch on and brew her next fix. The year end came with harsher winds she’d better get used to.

Grams in September. Mom got November. And December for dad.

“Breathe damn it.”

Bonnie said through gritted teeth, aloud for the ears on the walls of this grand federal style house, a house always listening and more than used to the comings and tragic goings of its inhabitants.

“We deal in legacy, not death.”

Her mother told her the first time she visited this place. Six years old, gripped by an intense fear of ghouls and goblins, she found the awful intimidating architecture of her grandmother’s home off putting. Then came the merry christmases and the happy birthdays, her mother teaching her piano and her father chasing her all over the green grounds in spring.

And Grams.

In the pattern of the dated wallpaper. On the shelves in between the many books. In the random drawers capable of conjuring up sweet treats.

Grams in every room.

The place began to smell like a different kind of old.  

Familiar.

What Bonnie had to figure out on her own, however, was that their history was bought. The fixtures foreign and her grandmother, a fraud who kept things as she found it.

Now, left behind, there was only decay and doors to rooms that won’t open.

Bonnie had been looking for clues to a past that didn’t begin after her grandmother’s first million dollar book deal in 1979. Something that could make sense of the gaps in her own memories.

All she found were more gaps.

Like how did she end up here after the funeral? Where was everyone else? And when was the last time she actually saw the sun rise?

Not a memory but with her own two eyes.

Bonnie looked for her phone, the one she just used to safely maneuver those dangerous creaking stairs.

It was in her right hand.

The screen had gone black. It should’ve bothered her, but she knew it’d be on again for the climb. It always was.

Even if she when couldn’t remember charging it. 

How funny of her to forget.

Unsure why, Bonnie remained as she was, waiting patiently for the spurting sounds of the coffeemaker to stop. But as she moved to grab for the steaming pot she noticed what lay next to it.

There it was on the counter - the same yellowing notebook.

Bonnie frowned slightly.

She was certain she dropped the stupid thing after the unkind trick her tired brain decided to play. Yet here it was.

She began to reach for it, drawn to it as she had every night since she came across it in the study, but at the last second changing her mind and going for the handle instead.

“Just breathe.”

She whispered in a far calmer voice than she expected and began pouring her coffee.

When she glanced at the notebook again it was open on the same page from earlier.

Those eyes staring back.

Bonnie's own ones widened.

There appeared to be a new detail for her to read. Written in elegant, yet wholly unfamiliar, cursive script - Niklaus.

Scalding hot blackness connected with her brown skin, coffee spilling everywhere but into the stained chipped mug she always fished out of the sink.

Her grandmother's favorite.

Now smashed to a thousand pieces, it too would never again kiss Bonnie's lips.

The burn was agonizing.

There was something wrong.

So very wrong.

Clutching at her injured hand, pressing the arm up against a thundering chest, Bonnie stumbled out of  the kitchen and into the hallway to get away.

Breathe.

But there wasn't enough air in the empty halls either. Unable to get far from the kitchen and the unexplainable things there, she suddenly was confronted by the home two faceless grey lawyers described to her at reading of Sheila Bennet’s last will and testament.

A place far too huge for a young woman on her own to keep haunting.

Except she remembered now.

That never happened. And she wasn't alone.

Those clear eyes following her.

The hot pain on the back of her hand.  

It happened before.

Her trembling fingers desperately grabbed at moving wallpaper to steady legs about to give out. Then as Bonnie fell to her knees, the maroon carpet turned to jello beneath her, first wobbling then quaking.

Again, before her it lay in wait.

The notebook.

It seemed larger now. A monstrous mouth, inch by inch expanding and prepping itself for the birth of a fresh nightmare.

A pale hand reached out of the blinding whiteness. Fingers first, shooting up towards the sky like branches on a tree and then for her throat.

She saw it coming but failed to move until her long dark hair became trapped between the white knuckles and it began squeezing. The more she struggled, the deeper and deeper its nails cut into her soft skin; taking root and leaving her thin neck slick with blood. Tears falling from her eyes earned her little mercy from the thing, yet she continued to water it just the same as it went on growing out of the blood soaked pages before her.

So much wetness, none of it allowing her to slip free from the hooks planted into her flesh.  

Breathe.

A final gasp, a futile kick and Bonnie gave in. A dark curtain drew over the world and her weary body finally got the rest it so wished for.

[elsac2]

Gothic Klonnie 2k18

day 5: Vemodalen : The fear that everything has already been done

Complications…

Bonnie draws a soft breath, and she throws away the novel in her hand. As she moves to the window, the echo of her silk dress grazing the parquet resonated like a funeral march. Bonnie glances at the window, and the streets are alive. Although, it is hard to see anything through the penumbra and the oil-lamps poorly light the streets.  Kids jumping from doors to doors shouting trick or treat sadden her. A Few years back, she was part of the innocent souls.

Walking at the edges of her eighteen birthday, her life is about to change. Bonnie looks through the window, and she starts to accept her fate. She attempted everything, and she must accept that everything has already been done to avoid this tragic end.  From her window, she catches the miniature frame of her father, and she sighs. Her father has left with her younger brother, who still has the luxury to be a child. After tonight, her family will send her to a coven, but it is better than the asylum. Which Abigail wanted.

"Bonnie?" Her mother’s voice draws her out of her sad thoughts.

Reluctantly, she moves away from the window and walks down the long spiral wooden staircase. The old house winces at every steps, and the sound adds to Bonnie’s emotional turmoil. She tightly holds on her skirt, and she holds her lips under a tighter control. The wrong world may make her situation worse. Abigail always twists her words, and the woman only need very little to achieve her goal.

"Mother?" She irritably growls, and Abby rolls her eyes.

"Your poor attitude holds no charm, darling." Abigail’s voice is strong, and the warning behind every words forces Bonnie to straighten her spine.

Slowly, Abby pours bourbon in her evening tea, and she offers Bonnie a seat by her side. The younger woman is reluctant, but she does not take the risk to offend further her mother. She has done enough of it in the last month. Although, she can't help the attitude.  Bonnie’s fear for her fate starts to make her eager for any sort of distraction, and she will risk her mother Ire. Nothing else can be done, and she must accept fatality. No explanation and truths will save her. The knowledge leaves her terrified, and her heart has started to implode slowly.

"My frustrations do not allow me to be my usual charming self, mother.  Should I pretend to be in better disposition for your diatribe? Should I smile so I may not embarrass you while you have your little posh gathering? I know we must pretend and hide behind disguises during Hallow eve. However, I think my reality poked hole into my costume.”  Bonnie spits with an anger fueled by growing resentment, and she rises from her sitting position.

The air becomes heavy. The lights poorly light her face, and the candles burn out at impressive speed. The temperature in the room is cold, but Abigail continues quietly to stir her tea.  Her eyes fall on the decorated living room, and she sighs.  She does not want Bonnie to tarnish the family reputation more than she already did. Whatever perversion her daughter chooses to do, it must end.  She looks at Bonnie’s neck, and the wound are still open. She averts her eyes, and she starts to pray for her daughter’s salvation.  

"Well, you’re to blame for your situation. I’m saving you from a scandal, which you caused. I have seen the mark of your debauchery" Abby answers with disinterest, and her daughter’s temper does not bother her.

"I'm almost eighteen." Bonnie indignantly says, and Abby rolls her eyes again. It is because she is always eighteen that she must be sent away.

"Nonetheless, still my child.” She pulls the collar of Bonnie’s dress to hide the devil’s mark, but Bonnie flinches because Abigail’s hands often inflict violent punishment. The secret, which she wants to hide, has little to do with the devil. It is a measure of protection.  

“Maybe you should have join your father and brother. Make use of your last day. Your grandmother will soon be here, and she has found a priest willing to free you from the devil, which has his hold on you. It will be a quiet affair and you will return to this obedient and grateful for my care of you." Abigail kisses Bonnie's forehead.

...

...

"I don't think your mother will be please." He says with a stern voice when his eyes fall on her.

The hallow eve party is in full swing, and Bonnie does not expect her mother to notice her presence in a middle of a drunk crowd. If she ever does notice her daughter, Abigail will ignore her. After tonight, Bonnie will become a dirty secret like many others, which Abigail buried. With a soft smile on her lips, Bonnie smooths the wrinkles on her costume, and she stares at Niklaus Mikealson. He is one of her mom oldest friend, and the husband of her aunt Caroline. He is also the reason behind her intricate situation. Who will believe that the man is a vampire?

"I don't think she has the mind to care presently. I also have been told to make the most of my last day.  As the ever obedient daughter, I have the moral obligation to comply." Bonnie leans closer toward Klaus, and she points at a dancing Abigail.

Her hand comes to rest on his shoulder as she moves closer to him. The silk material of her aristocratic dress slides against the bare skin, which he has to show as Dionysus. Klaus looks at Bonnie, and he extends his tumbler where the golden liquid swims. He tangles his finger in her unruly curls, and he drags her neck toward his mouth.

"A treat." He quietly whispers in the hole of her ear, when she brings the tumbler to her lips.

His warmth engulfs her, and she leans closer to him. With a pulsating excitement, she awaits his bite.   Her hand moves from his shoulder to his chest, and she presses her palm flat against his skin while her fingers drum the excitation away. She can't help it when everything is done and set. Why should she deal with the consequences without enjoying the fruits of her sins? If Abigail must send her away because she believes Bonnie has fallen prey to the devil, Bonnie must flirt with the devil to make her punishment count. Although, she knows better than to believe the lies, which her mother feeds her father.

"When it is proposed so sweetly." She returns his tumbler to his hand, and she leans closer to the point where the space between their bodies disappears. “Yet, I will rather be a trickster."

Bonnie moves away her neck when she feels the sharp pain of his fang puncturing her soft skin. She uses her forefinger to collect a lonesome blood drop, and she presses her finger to his lips.  

"Bonnie..." Klaus calls for her as she starts to walk away, and he already misses the presence of her hand on his flesh.

"There is nothing much that can be done in this situation. It ends tonight. Make the most of night, Uncle Niklaus." She says with a haunting quietness.

The admission that everything has been done weakens her mind, and she has lost her bravado. She can alter her future, and she despises his present. Her taste for the night disappears with the last touch of his lingering finger on her hand. She smiles to him and leaves the room with a last sight to her home.

…

…

Bonnie does not flinch when steps echo in her room, and she does not bother to protect her modesty. Klaus has seen what needed to be seen, and he has corrupted every inch of her. He switches the light on for her benefit, and she shields her eyes from it. Klaus looks at her, and he basks in her beauty. Curls carefully cascade on her shoulder, and only her sheets protect her modesty. She smiles at the sight of him and frees a shaky breath. His eyes rest on her most recent marks, and she drops the sheets.

"Aunt Caroline will not be please." She eloquently reuses his statement.

Klaus glides in her room, and his fingers explore everything, which intimately belongs to her. His eyes never leave her bashful smile.

He discards his jacket and unbuttons his shirt to match her state of undress. His pants fall in a pool at his feet, and he joins her in the bed. His cold hands run along her shivering skin, and she forgets that nothing else can be done for her.  She kisses him, and she tilts her head to display her neck. Bonnie frames Klaus’ face, and she drags his lips to the curvature of her neck. Everything has already been done, what is another transgression for a punishment, which she awaits. Klaus’ fangs sink in her neck, and she forgets.  

…

…

"Promise me forgiveness.”  He whispers against her bleeding flesh when he digs his fang out of her soft neck.

His tongue leaks every drop, which rolls down her satin skin, and his knuckles lazily brush her stomach. He nuzzles her neck and runs his nose along her collarbone.

“Is the sin made in my name?” Bonnie questions him while she climbs his body and straddles his narrow waist.

“To me there is no name above yours.” He answers while he looks at her.  

Head thrown back, she is a glorious equestrian. Curls fly at every bounce, and her skin glisten under the hue of streets’ lights. She is beautiful, and he can’t accept that everything must end. Between his marks, Abigail’s one are hidden.  His fingers rub the mark, which she never allowed, and they sometimes overlap with his bite marks.  

“Everything has already been done, Niklaus.” She places a soft kiss on his cheek, and she rolls to the side to hide her fear.

…

…

His disappearance is not a surprise. Bonnie collects her cherished gowns, but she is unsure of what she needs.  Carefully, she makes her luggage, and she waits for her mother.  The staircase winces, and she braces herself for the worse. Everything has already been done, and there is no hope.  Bonnie has to remind herself to squash any hope. She is afraid, but she has no choice.  The wincing and steps are louder.  Although, a cry of horror interrupts everything, and it lasts for a few minutes. The sounds are gruesome, but they warm her heart.

Her heartbeat races with growing hope, and when the stair winces again, Bonnie rushes out of her room. Blood starts to draw sinuous path, and it reaches the hem of her nightgown. It crawls on her toes until her feet are drench and red. Klaus leans by the stair, and he stares at Bonnie. Hair tousles and blood spattered on his visage, he is the devil, which her mother raved about every night.

His welcoming arms await for her, and Bonnie rushes into them. She kisses him uncaring of the blooding coating his lips or the victims, which he has laid at her feet. Iron, it tastes like the chains, which no longer holds her. She looks beyond his shoulder to face a pool of blood.

“Am I forgiven?”

[capesandlace]

I'm sorry I didn't get to participate in Gothic Klonnie Week 2018 as much as I would like. Life has been very hectic lately. I've got one more piece I'm working on and will try to post this week. Thank you @irresistible-revolution and @thefudge for organising ❤

[bonniebennettkingdom]

Our favorite fics published 2018

I. Story: Paint it Black by jazzywazzy08

After the death of her grandmother Bonnie Bennett starts on a downward spiral and is sent to live with her mother Abby Bennett-Mikaelson. When Bonnie witnesses firsthand the life of luxury her mother has been leading, she’s hellbent on making Abby’s new life miserable and taking everything that her mother holds dear, starting with her new husband Niklaus Mikaelson.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13144065

II. Story: fever dream by jazzywazzy08

when bonnie bennett is inducted into the inner circle of niklaus mikaelson she immediately falls for him and starts on the winding path to darkness as she assists the hybrid in his quest to break the hybrid curse and bring about the new order. (season two rewrite from episode 2x03)

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13031265

III. Story: PublicRelations by gimmetheheadcanons

Klaus Mikaelson, Hollywood’s Native Son has fallen from grace once too often. Bonnie Bennett has yet to taste the terrible addictiveness of being tabloid fodder. Perhaps, together they can lift the curse of celebrity or at least profit from it. Extra, extra, read all about it…here.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13031891

IV. Story: Kissed By Fire by TheHedgeRider

 A rightful heir to the throne and a rebel king with a curse. Can what fate has joined together save their land and survive their marriage? Arranged marriage fic. Klonnie

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12859090

V. Story: no one hears you say my name by Anastasia-G

Bonnie needs a source of magical energy to defeat Silas, and Klaus is the most powerful there is. But when nothing goes as planned, one night’s ritual changes everything -and everyone- it touches. (Klonnie. Post-S3 AU)

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12869115

VI. Story: Comet by Elsa C2

Every one around Hope Mikealson has moved on from her father'death, but she refuses to give up. a years after his death, she discovers how to bring him back to life, and she only has a little problem. she needs a Bennett witch to do it, but with her father tumultuous history with the witch, she may have to renounce.However, there is more to the past between the witch and the hybrid

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13053531

VII. Story: Gigolo by Elsa C2 

 during a drunk night, Bonnie reveals to her best friend Caroline that she has never experienced an orgasm. To remediate to her best friend’s misfortune, Caroline Forbes hires Niklaus Mikealson, a man worth his price 

  https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12873824 

 VIII. Story: a shelter of shadows by Anastasia- G 

  When an old enemy of the Bennett family resurfaces, Bonnie Bennett is forced into hiding with Klaus Mikaelson, a supernatural assassin employed by the Witches Council. Away from the world with only each other for company, shadows make it easier to let down your guard. AU (Written for Gothic Klonnie 2k18, and dedicated to thefudgeisgumpy) 

  https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13102585

IX. Story: The Claiming of Bonnie Bennett by RockerChick08 

 What if Niklaus Mikaelson broke his werewolf curse only to imprint immediately on the teenage witch who nearly foiled his every plan? Klonnie. One-shot. Spells out the word C-L-A-I-M while exploring the journey of the Original Hybrid as he sets out to “claim” the stubborn Bonnie Bennett as his. Alternate/adjusted 2x21 and 2x22 happenings. Rated M for sexual situations and scenes

. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13084238

X. Story: Mystic Heat by kayer713

 Three days before the full moon, werewolves goes into heat. Tyler was always alone but now that Klaus has broken his curse, the Original Hybrid experiences his very first heat. Unfortunately for Bonnie, she is the object of both of their appetites. (Sort of AU, after Season 2 finale).

  https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12812721 

 XI: Story: Altered Carbon by thefudge is grumpy

 When Klaus is transferred into Jeremy Gilbert’s body, things go terribly awry. 3x21 AU. Two-parter.

  https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12875407

[givemeabite]

Gothic Klonnie 2k18!

Day 1 (I’m late!) Oneirataxia : inability to distinguish between fantasy and reality.

Loosely based on the comic book character Dream by Neil Gaiman 

Klaus is both lord and personification of all dreams and stories, all that is not in reality. Living in a castle at the heart of his realm, alone, Klaus enters the dreams of a particularly talented witch in want of company. 

At first, Bonnie Bennett is unsure about what she sees. Are these dreams or visions of what is to come? Haunting imagery soon turns into beauty and the face of a man she has never met before. Is he real? A figment of her imagination? Or neither?

[thefudge]

Oneirataxia | a klonnie oneshot

written for Gothic Klonnie 2k18

Day 1 - Oneirataxia :the inability to distinguish between fantasy and reality.

There was a man. Of that much she was certain.

He stood on the edge of the clearing, right where the trees started to get thicker and the shadows played in the light. He was dressed in black, but he wasn’t wearing a suit. The devil was usually well-tailored, that’s what her Grams used to say, that’s how you recognized him. No, there was nothing formal about him. He looked like a passing traveler, except that he wasn’t purposeless. He wasn’t passing. 

Though the contours of his body shimmered in the afternoon sun, his eyes remained fixed on her and the spot next to the wooden swing where she had begun to crush some herbs. 

Bonnie wiped the sweat from her brow. It was unseasonably warm for the time of the month. One would almost think it was still summer. Should she call out to him, offer him some sweet tea? 

Maybe he didn’t dare approach because he knew the rumors, that this was a house of witches. 

Maybe he needed a favor from the witches.

No...no, he didn’t look helpless. He didn’t look in need of something.

And if Bonnie was honest, it spooked her, him standing there on the edge of their territory, waiting for nothing. 

She didn’t get the sense he was afraid. On the contrary. 

Well, Cousin Lucy was bound to return from town soon. Grams was resting upstairs. Bonnie wouldn’t disturb her for something like this. The poor woman needed her beauty sleep. 

Bonnie returned to her herbs, but she kept sneaking glances at the stranger. As the sun dragged its honeyed feet across the sky and dusk settled like kisses on the leaves, his outline became more and more uncertain. He began to meld with the blue shades around him, but he didn’t leave.

Bonnie had to squint to see him. 

She raised her hand halfheartedly, meaning to wave at him. But then she put it down quickly. There was something eerie about his face. The darker it got, the brighter his eyes became. Like two lanterns at the bottom of a lake. Not bright, but amber yellow. 

Bonnie shuddered. She got up and dusted her jeans. The air was cold now, but she had finished making the rune circle. All that was left now was to set it on fire. It was going to be her last autumn equinox before her eighteenth birthday. The initiation would happen in February. After that, she would be a witch in her own right. Grams had always said she didn’t look forward to the day. 

“Once you come of age, there will be consequences. The burdens of the Bennett coven will be yours. Along with its enemies.”

Enemy.

Bonnie gazed at the figure, barely perceptible now except for his eyes. 

Was this the first one then? The first enemy to come and greet her before her birthday? 

Bonnie would not be intimidated. She dropped her spade and started walking towards the edge of the clearing. 

The man in black shifted, turned back and forth like a lynx, stalking the perimeter. His gaze never left hers. The closer she got, the more Bonnie could see of him and it was... unsettling. He seemed young, but the furrows of his face looked like accumulations of time. His features were irregular, all askew, as if his face had been broken in several times. He had been put back together more than once. Still he was sort of boyishly handsome. Or he would be, if he didn’t scowl so much. 

Bonnie pulled at the heart-shaped amulet around her throat, the one Grams had given her for protection.

“Hello,” she said as she inched closer to the man. “Are you here for me?”

The figure stared her down, one corner of his mouth lifting in an unbecoming smirk. 

“I knew you’d come eventually.  Witches are always too curious for their own good.”

“You don’t scare me,” she let him know, folding her arms. “You can’t even get past the protection barrier around our land.” 

His smirk turned even uglier. “I don’t need to. You’ll take the final step, eventually.” 

Bonnie frowned. She looked back at the house. The lights were still out, so her Grams had not gotten up for tea yet. Lucy was still in town. 

“You’re contemplating it even now,” the man purred, trying to draw closer. “It would break the monotony, wouldn’t it?”

Bonnie looked down at herself. She wasn’t dressed for a meeting with the enemy. Her beat-up sneakers, frayed jeans and pink tank top did little in the way of armor. They didn’t make her look formidable, although the Bennetts all said she was a prodigy. 

Perhaps that was a good thing. The element of surprise. 

She noticed the man was staring at the point where her neck met the ridge of her collarbone. He didn’t seem to care what she was wearing.

Bonnie bit her lip. She called out her magic, pouring it down to her fingertips. 

He cocked his head, as if he could smell it. 

“I’m not eighteen yet. Why don’t you come back then?” 

The man grinned, revealing a pair of sharp canines. “I don’t have to come back, love. I’ll be here. Waiting. Days, weeks, months.” 

Bonnie frowned. “You can’t do that. You’ll go cold and hungry.” 

A curious expression flickered across the stranger’s face. He laughed. “Maybe you’ll bring me something to eat, once in a blue moon.” 

There were only a few inches between them now, but the barrier was still up and he couldn’t even reach out with his hand. 

A soft breeze lifted her hair from her shoulders. “Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe I’ll let you starve.”

The man stared at her until she blushed. 

“You wouldn’t be so unkind, Bonnie.”

“How - how do you know my name?” 

He did not answer, only smiled.

Moments later, Lucy called her from the back porch.

“Who are you talking to?” 

“No one!” Bonnie shouted back. “I just thought I saw a squirrel.” 

"Well, don’t stand out there like that. Come inside, I’m about to make dinner.” 

Bonnie turned back to her would-be enemy. The man nodded his head towards the house. “Go on then. Go help your cousin. But make sure you save me some victuals.” 

Bonnie wanted to say more, to ask him questions, to find out who he was, but he stalked out of her sight and into the woods before she could open her mouth. He was faster than thought, almost.

Bonnie walked back to the house with a sense of disappointment, though her heart beat faster. Maybe she would put something aside for him at dinner.

When she walked into the kitchen, the warmth and ordinariness of the Bennett household made the man in black seem like a distant apparition, almost an unreality. 

Perhaps she had dreamt him up. She often got lost in her own fantasies.

Lucy pinched her arm. “Who is he?”

“What?” Bonnie asked, louder than intended. 

“The boy you’re clearly thinking about. Is it someone from school?” 

“Um, yeah. It’s - someone from school. He’s a bit older than me, actually.”

Lucy smiled. “I see. You’ve always liked a bit of danger.”

Bonnie stared out the window, watching the edge of the clearing, trying to make out his amber eyes. “Yes. I always have.” 

[thebennettdiaries]

Gothic Klonnie 2k18

       ↳  Day 4: Draugagangur: the walking of ghosts, a haunting. 

In desperate need of money, Bonnie takes on the position of governess at the remote Greywolf Hall.  Although others warn her of the danger, she finds herself charmed by young Hope Mikaelson.  Her father --- the distant and moody Klaus, is another story all together.  Bonnie tries to reach out but finds herself rebuffed at every turn.  

Soon Bonnie’s attention is pulled in all directions.  There are strange knocks, cold winds and the ever present feeling of being watched. The house seems to have taken on a life of its own and it is none too happy with those who live within its walls.  

One thing is for certain, if they are going to survive Greywolf Hall, Klaus and Bonnie will have to put aside any differences and work together. 

[thebennettdiaries]

Gothic Klonnie 2k18

    ↳  Day 5: Vemödalen: The fear that everything has already been done.

TVD Season 6 AU

The collapse of the Other Side lands Bonnie in a pocket world, where every day is May 10th.  She soon discovers that she is not alone.�� Klaus Mikaelson inexplicably appears one day, blustering and promising he will kill her for this.  At first it is war with the pair nearly drawing an actual line down the middle of Mystic Falls.   However as the day repeats over and over, loneliness draws the former enemies together.  Together they find ways to combat boredom and actually find some common ground.  He is surprised that she actually knows how to have fun and she enjoys poking holes in his stoic facade.  

Their burgeoning friendship is tested when it becomes clear that there are others lurking in the shadows of their little universe.  They promise a way out --- but the cost is high.  Will the pair trust one another or will their desire to return to life push them to turn on one another?  

[thebennettdiaries]

Gothic Klonnie 2k18

     ↳  Day 2: Cwtsh: a safe place; the space of the cupboard under the stairs

Below is an excerpt from a WIP multi-chaptered Klonnie fic set to be published in late 2018.  

He doesn’t even notice her at first.  So caught up in his memories (and the pain that snares him).  However, an almost cloying mixture of lavender and green tea wafts in his direction.  It pulls him free from the hell he has been circling but still, when he sees Bonnie standing there he is not grateful.  

There is a brief moment of confusion.  Then his quieted temper seems willing to pick right back up where they left off.  He stands, body tense and ready to move in the blink of an eye.

Her tongue darts out nervously to swipe across her bottom lip.   

(those cracks --- they seem to be widening with no assistance from him at all)

She appears to caught between wanting to come closer and wanting to retreat.  In the end, she takes a deep breath and steps forward.

“I need your help.”

[thefudge]

Written for Gothic Klonnie 2k18. Historical Renaissance AU. Bonnie Bennett and Niklaus Mikaelson have made a marriage of convenience, but it proves convenient to neither.

[thebennettdiaries]

Gothic Klonnie 2k18

     ↳  Day 3: Rubatosis: the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat

A snippet from the In the End verse 

There are too many of them to fight properly (they know their own strength by now).  

Instead they are reduced to hiding in the thick brush.  He goes left and she goes right, an unconscious decision to ensure that they both will have enough cover.  She pushes herself low to the ground and goes absolutely silent. 

She hears nothing save the dragging sound of their footsteps. 

(and her heartbeat) 

Bonnie wills herself to remain absolutely silent.  The more effort she puts toward that goal the more she becomes convinced she will fail.  Her heart presses against her ribcage in a consistent rhythm that she is sure those things will hear.  When they find her, cowering in the scrub they will rip her heart from her first just to silence the deafening noise it makes. 

(she is aware that she is panicking and she feels powerless to stop it)

She shifts her head slightly and catches sight of Klaus across the path.  He is lying parallel to her and their eyes meet (hers wide, his determined).  He gives her just a fraction of a smile and suddenly she finds that she can no longer hear her heartbeat.  He holds her gaze until those things finally reach them and she can see nothing but rotted flesh and torn cloth. 

She closes her eyes. 

When she opens them again, he is right there.   Close enough to touch.  So she does, reaching for him to keep her grounded.  He is on his knees on the forest floor.  

“You are safe,” he promises her. 

She believes him. 

[gimmetheheadcanons]

A Witch’s Lullaby - Day 2 Gothic Klonnie

A/N: So this is my second Klonnie short for #Gothic Klonnie 2k18 (much shorter and kinda extra...actually embarrassingly lol). It is connected to Day One. How you ask...all will be revealed on Day 3!

again usual disclaimers this filled with more errors than usual cos 1) wrote it on my phone and 2) I’m posting with no edits to make it on the deadline. not my best work but hey we’re here for fun!

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Day 2: Cwtsh : a safe place; the space of the cupboard under the stairs.

In the past, this place and its constant creaking kept him alert. Ears open mouth shut, listening out for the heavy footsteps of his master’s servants. Each travelling with great speed and great fear up and down those steps. Each time, a handful of dark confetti rained down onto his head and a cloud of dust, dirt and distrust danced before his eyes. 

Each roll of thunder, a pair of feet belonging to an enemy capable of revealing his position. Each pair -  but one - perfectly willing to watch him receive a further helping of righteous pain at the hands of their shared tormentor. An audience for a tyrant as he would gleefully dispense a particularly vicious brand of paternal love. An audience, relieved to be spared much of the same. Watching on as a bloodied child was once more thrown out of the main house where his brothers and sisters blissfully slept. Once more made to crawl his way up to the stables and bear the weight of their sins. 

“With the beasts you shall stay boy. Your true kin.”

Out there, exposed to the elements, the education would continue.

Die or deny them.

The bullets of rain insisted.

Die or deny them.

The bullwhip wind declared.

And whenever he thought to do the first, she would make other plans.

Offer him a kinder alternative. Respite to spite their master. 

Carry him. Shelter him. Feed him.

Have him huddled up in this space under the staircase; a stowaway in his own home. Tenderly lay his shivering body out, onto the only bed it could ever remember having -  an emptied out corn sack stuffed with whatever could be spared in the way of household linen.

A mother, should a godless, fatherless abomination dare to dream of ever having such a heavenly thing.

A mother. The child-sized, darker hands caressing his fevered head felt just the same.

There, safely pressed against her warm chest and tickled by her curls as she drew him even closer, he could finally float away.

A boy unbothered by thoughts of the torment yet to come. The threatening tapping from up above turned into a harmless tune, a quiet rhythm to serve her loving lullaby.  

Her song spun a web of magic. A protective layer shrouding him from danger.

“My poor witch”

“They'll hang you if they find you.”

He said what he said and still she sang in a tongue long outlawed. Sang her songs from shores lost to her and hers. Sang for him until the shutters came down on the realm of death and he knew his answer could never again be ‘die’.

Death had been denied.

Yet all that death she took away over the years had to go somewhere.

His worried words now an ill-fated prophecy, one her wisdom and magic must have coaxed out of him.

She knew of her fate just as he did and yet when it came to finally pass, it was he who wept without grace. 

“They’ll hang me too! They have to!”

“No! The others won’t allow it. They can’t!”

The others.

The six who got daylight; whilst he nothing but the sickly pale glow of the moon. A face in the shadows, hungry for more than scraps. Six, unable to help as the borrowed brightness that had come their miserable brother’s way was set to be extinguished. 

His cries, that of an inconsolable babe. Freshly orphaned in this world. Much younger in that terrible moment, he fell to his knees and begged. Recalling to eyes that would not meet his, how hers had been first green he ever saw. 

Green, a colour he sought out and loved. 

Until that day his master took her and he failed to fight him. Made to stand witness, in the harsh and unfamiliar sun, as the green garden only his siblings ever truly enjoyed turned into an open grave.  

Her song ended by the swing of a rope.

Under the cover of a white oak tree she continued to gentle sway. Her hair catching rays and leaves for a while. 

He ran. To escape the image that followed, he ran. 

The green of her eyes engulfed by so much frightful red.

Now...sometimes, a ghost of a whistle played on his lips. The exact notes and melody, a secret lost to him as he shed that shameful skin and crawled out of that safe place.

Her songs had subdued him for long enough.

His homecoming was set to a magnificent chorus of bloody screams. A reprise much more suited to the man he had become. The man taking an axe to that cursed tree and then to those responsible for violating its beauty first. 

When the cries ended. He heard the spirit of a scared boy speak his final piece.  

“They’ll hang you...”

A reply was prepared without him needing to drop his trusted instrument but he paused long enough anyway; to wipe that rare, priceless red paint from his face so he could admire its final masterful stroke with clearer colder eyes.  

“They will need to find another tree.”

His declaration was complete. With great difficulty, he pulled his weapon free from the jagged mesh of flesh and bone longing to hold onto it. The rich crimson smear left behind on the white oak panels that once kept out so much of his pain left him breathless. 

His former home appeared so much smaller than he remembered, the space now bulging with the excess of its latest occupants. He struggled for sometime to make the new arrangement work for his guests. He worried not however, knowing he could count on their patience - their silence - as they had on his.

Unflinching, soaked in sweat and so much blood, he finally shut the tiny wooden door on his past; on his cruel former master and on the weak woman who birthed him then betrayed him. 

Both would remain there now, more cut up than he ever was. Denied the decency of a Christian burial by the heathen they once harboured out of Christian duty. 

He smiled as he listened to the familiar scurrying of servants, travelling with great fear and great speed. 

Fleeing the hell they just witnessed. The hell unleashed by a mere man.

Godless. Fearless. Set free by strange sinful songs she was banned from singing.

Soon, soldiers would come, carrying their sabres, their silly muskets, and he would meet them with laughter.

How were they to know the thing they were sent to fight could not be killed? 

They were his secrets. 

His and hers alone. 

The whispers of love in the walls of that small space, where she shut the door on the possibility of death long ago. 

And Death, impatient and angry, would be left to knock for an eternity.

Knock and knock and knock....

Humiliated and denied entry by the new and only master of this grand home. 

All he had left to do now was once more shed; shed the constraints of this skin which served its base purpose. Shed and then walk these halls more freely.  

Stay upstairs now. Forever. 

And what would he do with forever? Such freedom?

Guard their secrets. Guard over the last thing that moved him as a human being - the memory of dark curls, gentle hands and the strange spells she sang. 

Spells, time would reveal were in fact nothing more than long forgotten lullabies. The magic that he was so convinced made him immortal, ageless wisdom and truth translated to be sorrow-filled pleas. A melody, set to the words of a mother begging her child to let go of all the things that would weigh him down.

Let go and float away...

Let go to be with me...

[gimmetheheadcanons]

the cost of an embrace - Day 7 (Gothic Klonnie 2k18)

A/N: And so Klonnieween has come to an end! This is Day 7 and the final instalment of a story that began way back on Day 1. Please make sure to read Days 1 through to 6 before reading this (or be prepared to be super confused...but nonetheless entertained I hope.) 

Thanks for sticking around! But don’t abandon me yet and fill my inbox with asks please ;-)

--------------

Day 7: Voluptate: A yearning which is both physical and spiritual, a lust of the body and the soul.

Bonnie flung herself at his body and let him touch her right down to her soul.

She was his little witch once again, cloaked in magic and nothing more.

A blanket of fog lifted in time for soft rays of light to finally surround her exposed skin and so she pulled him close enough to be engulfed by this strange warmth too.

Heat radiated from her in waves and washed over him.

The boy she once knew would’ve cried at the power held in such a simple embrace, but it was a man she drew into her arms and the only wetness that should move him was that which she held between her legs.  

With a small nod, Bonnie let him in.

Left breathless by the act of being reborn, she stole a moment to enjoy the new and mourn the old.

What Bonnie saw now was a man, naked and wild and still every bit hers; but the things that haunted her could not so easily be forgotten.  

Their kisses had an expiration date.

Not yet.

He licked at her neck, nuzzled at her breasts and she shut her eyes and her mind to everything but the feel of his mouth.

“I made it.” She told him, her voice clear and controlled, her body anything but that.

She felt his laugh against the skin on her belly now.

“Oh you did.”

The hairs on his chin tickled down there until she was forced to laugh with him.

He was on a journey and not to be disturbed; lips eager to travel the highs and lows of a land previously uncharted.

A place he worked so hard to get to.

Bonnie let him explore for a while and made a log of his discoveries, learned all she could about desire.

But when she began to miss the waves of his hair, the sea in his eyes and the sand on his face she gently signalled; Come home and rest.

Her lover - homeless all his life - had no complaints and let himself be swiftly navigated back up her body and towards her face by adoring fingers. 

He kissed her upon his arrival and kissed her again before taking his rightful place beside her.

She missed the weight of his body instantly but settled for the clasp of his hand around hers instead.

He’d been gone for so long and sadly the sound of him breathing next to her couldn’t turn back time.  

Lying on their backs they watched the sky for some time.

“This is it.” said Bonnie, only just realizing where they were and how time did not matter.

Their world was a pocket of light, free of form and fullness.    

“I carved it out for us.”

That he did, Bonnie thought, through sheer will.

By believing in a magic that never was he managed to tap into something ancient; made nature his servant and transcended to become one without boundaries.

His newfound power should’ve frightened her and his disregard for the natural order of things did.

“Grams knew of this place.”

“She did. We led her here.”

She shifted uncomfortably, not appreciating the implication of her role in this. The idea that Grams, bold and strong-willed as she was, could allow herself to be used in such a way bothered Bonnie.  

No, Bonnie would bend to his will, he to hers and Mother Nature to theirs - but Sheila Bennett belonged to no one.  

It was something else that brought them together. The same thing that wouldn’t allow her to let go of his hand despite the anger she felt bubbling under the surface.

Eventually, Bonnie gave into it and spoke her mind.

“I died and you waited for me Nik.”

“No, no, that isn’t right.” she said correcting herself.  “You didn't wait. I didn’t get a chance to actually leave did I?”

He turned to face her and she did the same.

Their eyes narrowed out of a sense of mutual frustration at the ugly turn their reunion would take now the lust between them had lessened a little.    

“I had to make sure you would stay too.”

His reply was uncharacteristically calm. Bonnie knew it was because he got what he wanted and that infuriated her more.

“But I didn't stay, you stopped me. Dragged me back down.”

He swatted away the accusing finger she used to poke him with but then filled the gap between them with more of himself anyway.

“You feared I'd try and follow you.” He said, finally accepting this conversation was one Bonnie needed to have.

“But you didn't.”

“I didn't know how to.” He spat back.  “You never taught me. All those times you kept me alive, all those times I forgot how to die.”

“This anger, it’s what’s weighing you down Nik.”

“No, being without you did!”

“You don’t get to blame this on me.” Bonnie hissed, she was furious he had placed his hands on her naked hips and pushed her up against him.

Did he think the feel of his body could silence her?

It could.

“You were angry long before they did what they did to me.”  She continued, turning her need to be close to him also into a weapon. She put her arms around him and pulled his head down to touch hers.

There was nowhere left to hide for either of them.  

“So what did you then Klaus? While you waited for me, what did you do?”

Bonnie tightened her hold around his neck, then watched a look of irritation wash over his face now that her closeness didn’t bring him pleasure but punishing judgment instead.

“You made this place.”

“But what else.”

She thought he’d try and turn his head away, retreat or attempt to unfix her grip yet he remained where he was and looked upon her with great fury and disappointment.

“Don’t insult me like this!” He warned her. “I loved you.” 

Bonnie found his unearned self-righteousness repulsive, but dear God how she loved him too.  

Sad, she let her lips longingly drift a little closer his.

“You asked me for names.” Bonnie whispered unable to bring herself to connect for a kiss.

“Well, I have them now, do you want to hear the names Klaus?”

“No.”

She watched him inhale deeply, shut his eyes and prepare himself anyway.

“There are so many of them, so I’m sorry if I don’t get them all.”

Bonnie cleared her throat and began.

“The Gilbert family. Christmas 1871. John, Isobel and their daughter Elena. Uncle Grayson, Aunt Miranda and cousin Jeremy.”

“The papers blamed John, Klaus. They called him a monster.”

His face remained expressionless, his lids still closed whilst Bonnie powered through despite the flood of emotion burning at hers.

“In 1920 Carol Lockwood breaks open her skull in the bathtub after her son Tyler eats a bullet from his father’s shotgun right in front of her.”

“Tyler somehow survived, but unable to explain what possessed him to do such a thing his mind never quite recovered.”

“I guess he too wasted his life trying to find you huh.”

For a second, Bonnie thought she saw him wince, his lids twitch a little - but she was left to continue uninterrupted.   

“Alaric Saltzman and Jenna Sommers. It’s 1945 and he made it home from Midway and Manilla. Just as he promised he would. He bought this real fixer-upper and his mother’s ring. Jenna knew was planning to propose. The war was finally over and they were going to be a family.”

“Do you think they loved each other as much as we do Nik?”

Again, almost but not enough to disrupt the cold mask he wore throughout the telling of these terrible tales.   

“Flashforward to 1952 and the Suttons. Smoke inhalation took them in their sleep, funny thing is that the fire should’ve turned this place to ash too.”

“You wouldn’t have let that happen. No, you needed your feeding grounds.”

“All because you loved me right?”

River of hot tears streamed down her face, the wetness from her nose reaching his. None of it melting that icy silence.

Bonnie, however, felt the hands on her hips tremble with rage and his fingers dig into her skin enough to bruise her pelvis.  

She didn’t flinch. Not even a bit.

“Who else did I forget but you didn’t Klaus?”

“Petrova? Muller?”

Bonnie’s voice grew stronger with each name.  “O’Connell, Voronova, Rosza and Cruz and Cortez!”

“You’ve made your point. Enough.”

But Bonnie had a final name left, one she’d been afraid to ask.

“Sheila Bennett?”

His eyes flashed open.

“Klaus, I said Sheila Bennett!”

He froze for too long and it was enough of an answer to cause her to let out an agonizing wail.

Overcome by soul-crushing despair, she pushed her sorrowful head deep into his shoulders and let him, the cause of such misery and much more, comfort her.  

“I did it for us.” He whispered into her ear, not an ounce of regret in his voice and she turned her fists against him, trying to inflict as much damage as she could without breaking the embrace.

“God. Why Nik.” Bonnie screamed, her sobs loud, ugly and filled with shame for not ending the hug.

“God why.” She cried, asking herself the question as much as she was him.

She knew the answer and it hurt to hear anyway.

“For this moment.”

“And what if I tell you I don’t want you anymore?” She asked as she wrapped her arms around him a little tighter. “Not after all that pain and death.”

“What was it all for then?”

He answered with the same questionless certainty as before.  

“For this moment love.”

There was a weakness inside her, always had been, and she heard it now more clearly than ever. Pulsating loudly and aching for him; Bonnie Bennett shut her eyes and let it guide her to his cruel mouth.

Her stomach churned, made sick by the taste of blood on his lips and by how much more she yearned for him still.