Hello! This is a new independent Damon Salvatore rp/ask blog, and as to my knowledge, there are already a fair few damon blogs out there already, but he’s always been my favourite character and I’ve missed rping as him. If anyone has any plots or ideas feel free to hit me up in my askbox and we can get started. I’ve attached a para sample of mine under the read more.
It’s always going to be Stefan. He doesn’t know why, the words keep echoing to him over the decades. Ever since he heard them, first from Katherine’s lips, then Elena’s, each one more excruciating than the next, it was a constant reminder that he was inadequate for both of them, no matter how hard he tried. How many times has he been told he couldn’t feel? Was soulless? Wrong. Unlike his saint martyr of a brother, Damon’s biggest secret was that he never once turned it off. He experienced every single intensified emotion, every little detail. That was his thrill, and his reminder. It was what kept him from going over the edge. Pulling the car into the garage, his lean muscled body emerged smoothly from the Jaguar. Giving the metal frame a small pat, he walked through a side door and straight into the cavernous living room of the Salvatore boarding house. A low smirk drifted to his lips at the familiarity of the place, perhaps the only constant thing that remained throughout the years. Running his hand over the couch, he moved towards the liquor cabinet in the corner. The musty smell of pine drifted over him as he pulled it open, its hinges squeaking with protest. Spotting what he wanted, he grabbed it and admired it in the low sunlight filtering in from the window. Perfect. He threw himself down on the sofa, his jacket slung over the edge and his legs stretched out along its length. Pulling the stopper out from the bourbon, he took a long slow drink from the bottle. The burn down his throat not unwelcome in this place fraught with so many not so pleasant memories.
Elena was different. Although he would never admit it, he thought vampirism suited her, despite how it was against her choice and its beginning wasn’t exactly the smoothest. If she could only see things through his eyes, watched how she moved and behaved; she didn’t adapt to being a vampire, but had molded it to suit her needs. Stefan insisted on the bunny diet, and Damon had protested. The consequences of which were rather too drastic in his opinion, and the last thing he wanted was Elena to become the next ripper, something he knew she wouldn’t want as well.
For some unknown reason, he remained in Mystic Falls, even though Elena didn’t and probably wouldn’t ever choose him over his brother. More than once he felt like some lion that had been stolen from the wild and placed in a zoo, and now that was given the opportunity to leave, was hesitant to. What do they offer anyway? Safety? Security? Companionship? He almost scoffed at the idea, those were all of the things that Damon Salvatore does not, and will not ever need. But if he was honest with himself, he knew what the real reason was, that all this, all that Elena was going through, was because of him. His blood and her vampirism, both intertwined so tightly it was hard to see where one began and the other ended.
He almost did leave that one night, but when he got to his car, he found someone perched on top of the hood with one leg curled under her and the other swinging gently, hitting the wheel. Tap, tap, tap. Her brown eyes were staring at him, but he couldn’t read the emotion in their depths. He glanced down for a moment, breaking their locked gazes. So much for taking the silent road out of there, he mused. Picking his bag up from where he had dropped it, he intended to walk right past her to the car boot, but clearly that never stopped her, and a hand shot out and grabbed his arm.
“Damon, don’t,” she whispered.
Shrugging his arm away from her, he turned to glare at her. “What’s there for me to stay for?” he shoots back. The words were harsh, but he had to let her go, she had to let him go. He watched her flinch at the implications behind his words, and her eyes cloud over with sadness soon after. He swallowed, but kept his face stoic.
“You know me, there’s only so much of Saint Stefan I can take,” he continued, trying to brush it off as typical Damon behavior.
“You can stay, for me,” her voice came forth, pleading. “I can’t lose you Damon.”
His eyes slid shut and a low sigh escaped him. Why does she always do that? The moment she pleads it was as if she ripped all his walls down, as if she knows of his weakness and uses it to her advantage every single time.
“You haven’t seen me for a while Elena, last I checked, you didn’t want to. And you chose him. What do you need me for?” he questioned, his icy blues boring into hers. Her mouth opens and closes in silent shock, and doubt flitters across her face for a second, and then she leans forward and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck.
“I just need you.”
And so he had stayed.
But things would not be the same this time. This time there wasn’t going to be fun Damon, nice Damon, protective Damon. Screw all that. He wasn’t going to care anymore. Before, he wanted to feel, now, not so much. He was sick, and tired of being disregarded, being treated like his feelings weren’t mattered. Not to mention she went right back to ignoring him after that little moment. He wasn’t going to be her little playtoy, played with one moment and ignored the next.
He was going to bring the old Damon back.