Some girls just can`t refuse my good looks, my style and my charm and my unflinching ability to listen to Taylor Swift.

“ 𝘿𝘼𝙈𝙊𝙉: 𝙇𝙀𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙎𝙄𝙇𝙆, 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙁𝙄𝙉𝙀 𝘾𝙃𝙄𝙎𝙀𝙇𝙀𝘿 𝙁𝙀𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙎. 𝙈𝙀𝙍𝘾𝙐𝙍𝙄𝘼𝙇 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝘿 𝙀 𝙑 𝘼 𝙎 𝙏 𝘼 𝙏 𝙄 𝙉 𝙂 . ”

𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 & 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚝. 2013 ; 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚍 2019 𝚘𝚌 & 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚡, 18+

The Vampire Diaries  |  1x13 - “Children of the Damned”

Damon Salvatore | The Vampire Diaries S04E01

reapeir​:

     regardless of which path the two were to venture down, this interaction was going to get maliciously violent eventually.  minnie has known that since they crossed the line of banter into genuine aggravation.  and of course, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚎’𝚜 𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜— just sprinkle in the right words, poke at the correct soft spots, leave just enough to be desired that the target’s mind begins to work fill in the blanks for her.  damon has done just that, and now he has had enough.  no game is being played any longer ; spoiled is the atmosphere around them now, made obvious in more ways than one.

     𝙠𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙚.  𝙞𝙩 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙚.  held under a different situation she would be rolling her eyes, shaking her head at how everything always manages to come back to one infamous doppelganger.  maybe the world really does revolve around her.  minnie doesn’t fight, doesn’t squirm when her body thuds into the door, head bouncing quite unpleasantly off the wood.  to kill damon would require about as much effort as it would for her little fingers to flip the page of a book— she is choosing not to fight back.  especially now that he has shared what has been crawling beneath the surface of his skin, responsible for his foul mood.

     at last the desire to best and defeat is relinquished.  disappointment sweeps across her features, wiping away anything and everything that had previously lingered.  guilt swirls ever so briefly in the pit of her stomach, but she has nothing to feel guilty for.  right?  in an attempt to communicate the change that has occurred her head cranes back and she looks at him — but he has already turned away.  and before she knows it she is released.  slowly does she back away from the door, merely watching him silently for a moment.

     everything must digest, and she must organize her thoughts before continuing to speak.  a moment feels like an hour as they stand there, only the sound of their breathing filling the room, and her fingers idly fiddle with each other.  once she is finally ready to shatter the peace, she sighs.

     “𝚒 𝚊𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚔𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚎,” is the first thing to, defiantly, leave her lips.  “and i think you know that.  because if i was like her, i would have told you her secret forty years ago.  i didn’t, because she is my friend, and i don’t betray my friends.  and i don’t pretend to care about people— at least not for decades.  what do i gain from stringing somebody along for so many years?  that would be cruel.”  to say she cannot be cruel would be a lie, but not when it comes to friends and family.  no ; 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙖𝙮 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧.

     “why…”  voice quiet, she pauses and her lips purse.  how to go on, how to go on…  “why are you still angry at me for keeping her whereabouts from you?  why are you still so hung up on her?  she’s horrible to you!  to push away probably the only friend you have on this earth in the name of the woman who has been 𝘁𝗼𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗮 𝗰𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘂𝗿𝘆 sure does sound idiotic if you ask me, damon.  you may want to reconsider our ‘finished’ status.  unless you want to be even lonelier than you clearly already are.  and without me, who are you going to put all the blame onto?”

oh, how her name curses the air, kindles the slow burn. the same name that once had meant everything to the man... that inspired the only hope in this eternal life, that kept him going each and every one of its endless days. k a t h e r i n e . who knew his love could mutate into such a loathing as this?

well, it was one thing for her to disturb his thoughts, another to hear minerva speak of her. she rambles with agitation, on and on. this was a conversation they’d had before, these sentiments long shared already — among them her disdain for his and katherine’s relationship, her disdain for him being angry, yadda-yadda... but damon was more than angry. he was hurt, and not solely about their deceit, for this wasn’t only about katherine.

‘to push away probably the only FRIEND you have...’

friend. at the word, his mind ceases to listen, for it has become overrun with an old memory, one decades into the past; these were the days of extreme debauchery —  of hell only an emotionless vampire, rampant in a city that never sleeps, could raise. damon was brutal and undiscriminating in his killings. hedonism, tenfold. bring into play the image of two, the scent of blood and smoke heavy on their clothes... which are discarded on the floor. their kisses rough, and in time would share a sweet reluctance. this was him, and minerva. she’s unmistakable. her face, her body... he shakes himself from recollecting any further, absent eyes veering to the floor. 

how close had he come, in those years of numbness, to feeling everything again? to flipping the switch? how close had he come to allowing himself to love, allowing himself to believe that katherine was never coming back... and ultimately, becoming at peace with that? and yet, he clung to that illusion and minerva let him, despite knowing the truth. and the truth was, that katherine was out there. avoiding him, not giving a damn about him, while he spent his days in some lifeless misery over a girl, burying any semblance of emotion he had for the one right in front of him. how different would things have been had she told him then? 

“ 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐩𝐞-𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥.” damon starts, now a calmness in his low voice as his body turns to lean against the entry’s archway to the drawing room. “ 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐦𝐢𝐧. 𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡. 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲  𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞,” he looks back to her, cool blue orbs gluing upon hers. there’s a split second where he hesitates, everything locking up as though to stop him. but what was there to lose? everything was falling apart. all he’d known, foreign. gone. so just say it. a breath fills wary lungs — “ 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭  𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰? ”

bonnie bennett was the backbone of this show, send tweet

@brbievmp liked for a short starter

“ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 ‘𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭’ 𝐚𝐜𝐭. ” eyes are accusing and suspicious as the blonde stranger approaches his side, a faux smirk growing while he continues to finger idly through the array of comics. “ 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬  𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 . 𝐢 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐞.” 

reapeir​:

     𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙨 𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬.  words that go unspoken but lurk within her supposedly alluring eyes as she tracks him with each step he takes.  a grin begins to pull at her lips— is it malice?  smugness?  just the pleasure of being a nuisance?— whilst her hand rises to meet them ; the smooth glass presses to her skin and she welcomes the liquid of intoxication onto her tongue, into her throat.  down it goes like silk, and her gaze does not waver from his form.  once the contents are emptied she disappears— a shadow sinking into the darkest corners of the room, all but vanishing into thin air.  𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚌𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.

     just beyond the threshold of that door is the escape minerva assumes he so desperately seeks…  and had she allowed it, he would be in the golden light of the setting sun by now, on his way to god knows where to avoid the continuous teasing torture of her claws piercing his skin, and retreating before causing any real damage.  probably he knows that she will do it again and again.  𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘀 𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝗻’𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗯𝗮𝘁.

     but he doesn’t get the chance to flee ; air bends around her movements as she flashes before him to block his path, and a hand is pushing against his ( toned, she notes ) chest.  push, push, push.  “where do you think you’re going?”  now minnie smiles, purposefully giving the air of someone covered in lust whilst her intentions say otherwise.  or do they?  once again… perhaps he will never know.

     “the fun is just beginning, damon.  do you not agree?”  a voice with all the temptation and lure of a siren’s song spills so easily from her throat, pretty pink lips wetting with the lick of her tongue.  “i sure am having a good time.  or— let me guess,” she murmurs, those brown eyes flickering up and down, up and down as if to check him out ( or is she sizing him up? ).  “it isn’t fun to play a game with someone who is… 𝙨𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪?”

     minnie giggles, managing to appear like all the joy in the world is bursting within her heart, all the while it is dowsed in deceit.  but surely, she thinks, he is quite used to such a thing.  katherine pierce is her friend, and she knows all about that girl’s toying with salvatore hearts.

     fingers stride up his chest, graze ever so gently at the skin of his neck, and stop only once they feel the strength of his jaw.  with force she is tilting his head downward so that he has to look at her.  still… she couldn’t look any happier.  leaning forward, rising on her toes as if to kiss him, she simply whispers, “𝚒 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎, 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚗.”

in a nick of time, his giddy assailant is standing between him and his yellow brick road to freedom — and this doesn’t startle him, but does rouse the burn of rage in his chest. had she not gotten the hint? he’s done playing, and not for such speculated reasons. no, no, and... no, damon internalizes with a grimace. it’s when her touch lingers upon that same, pounding flesh of wrath and glides upward to now detain his face that he attempts to pull away. alas, minerva was strong.

“ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 . ” he spits at her, his facade beginning to fracture. the fickle bitterness, the plague of resentment that everyone even damon had thought had at least somewhat resolved, has shown its face again. come to find out, self-indulgence couldn’t mend such hurt this time. every word of unspoken despondence — days of lamentation — practically purges from him.

“ 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤-𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫  𝐭𝐨𝐨, 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮? 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫... 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.” speech disappears into heaving breaths, the muscles of his tight jaw writhing beneath her fingertips. “ 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥.” he considers, arms snaking around her frame before he flips minerva, pinning her to the door. “ 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 . 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮  𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐝 .”

hues are shifty as they peer down at her, as though to search for one fragment of truth. of confirmation, at least! he wanted needed to hear her say it, that she didn’t care. that she never loved him. hell, that it was stefan! katherine’s soul-stirring confession returns to his conscience, and damon immediately glances away with embarrassment, unpinning minerva’s body to step backwards. “ 𝐬𝐨, 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐠𝐨. 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞. 𝐨𝐫, 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 . 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞, '𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢'𝐦 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬  𝐢𝐬.” there’s the surrender. the desperation for numbness, for escape. “ 𝐢'𝐦 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞  𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”

reapeir​:

     feeling the bend and crunch of the bones within her hand brings about a pained gasp, and her eyes are locking on the now 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 she sports.  in the time it would take one to blink  minnie’s hand had been twisted and released— and as she stumbles back she is panting, sharp and seething hot pain flaring up and up the length of her arm.  snarling— teeth bared and nose twitching— she pops everything back into place.  not without grunts that, try as she may to, cannot be suppressed.  all is back into place and a thumb is caressing the now sore skin along her knuckles in a weak attempt to soothe the throbbing pain.  in just moments it will be good as new, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙘𝙝 in the mean time.

     “you remember leon,” she sighs, appreciating the beginning disappearance of her aches.  “not that it is any of your business but we’ve decided to take one of our breaks.  haven’t seen him in a few years.  we keep in touch, of course.  so sorry to burst your bubble,” whilst she speaks she carries herself to his side once again, but this time to pour herself a glass and take a swig.  “he doesn’t do jealousy.  feel free to call him and tell him, embellish the story if you wish, he won’t care.”

     after another sip, minnie sets her glass down.  palms find the edge of the table and she leans against it for support ; eyes look him over and in the brief silence she realizes there’s no more pain in her hand— and that she dares reach even farther.  “they are quite lovely.  like tropical waters as the sun beats down and glistens in the ripples,” closer she moves, voice dropping to but a murmur, and the once malicious tone in her voice becomes sultry.  a finger glides along the rim of his glass.  “𝗶’𝗺 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗽𝗶𝗱 𝗲𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝘁𝗼 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘃𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗺 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺.”

the cracking of her resetting bones is an objectively unpleasant sound — but nothing akin to her droning about ‘LEON ’. when she steps closer once again, this time reaching for his stash, damon is tempted to intervene. he doesn’t. instead, lips form a bored pout and he sighs. “ 𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫  𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝 .” watching as she fills a glass of her own, his gaze intensifies as minerva then leans over the counter of the booze-filled table to look at him closer.

there was  s o m e t h i n g  in these dark, impenetrable eyes that looked upon him —  something that never ceased to allure the elder salvatore in some way. perhaps it was their paradoxical effect: the hybrid feeling of both familiarity and mystery. it perplexed damon. frustrated him to no end... and fascinated him equally. fuck.

her words permeate the tense quietness, and they drip with a cloying mushiness that provokes his brows to arch with a cynicism that fades into interest with every inch she continues to close between them. flirtation? or manipulation? he wouldn’t admit that he hoped it was the former. but that hope is prematurely crushed with a typical minnie quip... and to be fair, he should’ve expected as much.

“ 𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧? 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭? 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬  𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦 ? 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤-𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬? ” damon preens his ego, taking a drink as the corners of his mouth slowly coil to welcome that ‘infamous’ smirk. “ 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 .” he finishes the bourbon with haste, placing the emptied glass in her hand before finally muttering, “ 𝐬𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 .” and like that, he’s starting for the foyer of the house, not forgetting to grab his jacket along the way. a drink alone at the grille never sounded so good. she had struck damon’s last nerve.

He looked charming, sinister and a little crazy. Prince of darkness with the face of an angel.

… 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 ! 

like for a short to mid-length starter.

… 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 ! 

like for a short to mid-length starter.

… 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 ! 

like for a short to mid-length starter.

“ 𝘿𝘼𝙈𝙊𝙉: 𝙇𝙀𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙎𝙄𝙇𝙆, 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙁𝙄𝙉𝙀 𝘾𝙃𝙄𝙎𝙀𝙇𝙀𝘿 𝙁𝙀𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙎. 𝙈𝙀𝙍𝘾𝙐𝙍𝙄𝘼𝙇 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝘿 𝙀 𝙑 𝘼 𝙎 𝙏 𝘼 𝙏 𝙄 𝙉 𝙂 . ”

𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 & 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚝. 2013 ; 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚍 2019 𝚘𝚌 & 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚡, 18+

reapeir​:

     just as he had so eloquently put it, grief does suck.  it consumes and maims and spits you back out — and that isn’t even the end.  grief has no end, she has learned.  to this day she still misses her mother and father.  her children - who’s faces she can no longer recall - never could cross her mind without bringing along the ache of a shattered heart.  and it does not limit itself to one form.  abusive husband, dead children, ripper bender that made it into the history books… 𝚘’ 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚏.

     dwelling on it any longer is a burden quickly lifted from her shoulders ; he just cannot help himself, can he?  as she spins in place to track his movement a look of disgust sweeps across her face.  eyes squinting, brows furrowed, mouth just slightly parted.  in she breathes, rolls her eyes, and releases.

     “is this what you always do?  the mere concept of feelings creeps a little too close for your comfort, so you decide to drown it in booze and put on a flirty facade?  i bet it works, too.  𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗰𝗼𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗹𝗼𝘂𝗱.  women must swoon at your feet when the stoic, reserved, bad boy damon salvatore bats his pretty blue eyes and flashes that surely infamous smirk.  although, if it worked every single time…”  minnie taps at her chin, taking rhythmic steps toward him— heels click clack against his floor as she moves, the sound resonating throughout the empty room, “you would be the one who 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡, wouldn’t you?  tell me, damon,” soft and caring is the tone of her voice despite the intentions beneath being coated in malice as a hand just touches upon his shoulder, “does it hurt you to know your tricks have failed on two versions of the same face?”

what’s left of the man who knows not the face of true love? nor recalls the warmth of life, or its tenderness? thus, what does he know best to remedy the pain of such a void? for as long as damon could remember, this was it — the acrid liquid, e l i x i r . this was his method and his medicine. from his mother’s absence and ultimate death, to the heartbreak of losing the woman he loved... alcohol was his only constant cure-all.

so it’s muscle memory, the ease with which his digits seek the bottle and then the glass, pouring a more than generous dosage. her ensuing prodding and prying doesn’t do much to affect the smug expression upon his face as he does so. he loved seeing minerva all ‘hot and bothered’, after all... but then, just as he’s ready to relish the taste of perfectly aged southern comfort, she says something that causes damon to put down his glass with a speed that almost sends it into flying splinters. the hand that reaches for one of his broad shoulders now twists in his vice-like grip.

“ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 ... 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫-𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 .” he says in a grating tone that matches a leer of ever-growing petty irritation. he shoves away minerva’s hand just as quick as he had taken it and retrieves his drink again. touche, he thought, as the bourbon finally slid down his yearning throat. was this the white flag of surrender? not quite. “𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 -𝐡𝐢𝐬 -𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞  𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞. 𝐬𝐨, 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐦, ” damon pauses, blue hues flashing with suggestion. “ 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭  𝐡𝐨𝐰 ‘𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 ’ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞.”