#ghostuned

Because when would he EVER get to be TRULY happy?

How many times would Damon forget that Clarke didn't remember him and end up with reality stabbing him through the chest like the cruelest stake when she rejected him? Despite the constant feeling of a hat pin piercing his heart— the pain a sharp keening ache— the vampire couldn't give up on her— even when he knew without a doubt what her reaction would be each time they met.

Still. Every damn day he tried in vain— and every night ended up drowning his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle.

     — Even on normal days in his human years, Damon had a 'thing' for blasphemous behavior. How many times had he and Katherine nearly went all the way in the confessional of Fell's Church? Or what about that time he stole the decanter of holy wine from behind the pulpit and got drunk out in the cornfield with his friend William?

Though nothing he could have done all those years ago would even come close to comparing to his latest 'trend'.

Of course, they all deserved it, being Whitmores and all.

She was young and pretty and already had a kid waiting for her at home— a kid that Damon would later leave alive as the only one to carry on the family name before he began killing Whitmores again.

The vampire entered the church, a silent specter drifting through the peace within and cutting through it like a warm knife through butter. Wearing a devilish smirk, Damon dipped his fingers in the basin of holy water near the door and lazily made the sign of the cross while making his way down the center aisle between the pews. The girl was praying, how sweet, her head bowed, and she didn't look up when he sat down behind her— or when he sighed as if aggrieved before grabbing her from behind, fingers knotting in her pale hair. 

THEN she took notice. THEN she made a sound. But it was too late.

There was a strangled scream which was abruptly cut off by the vampire's vicious bite yet the sound of it still echoed throughout the cavernous church, shrilly bouncing off the walls for a moment before the human's life was cut short, severed as quickly as her vocal cords had been.

Standing, the vampire wiped the blood from his chin with the sleeve of his leather jacket, pale eyes lifting to stare at the crucifixion of Jesus posed behind the altar, hatred seething in his gaze and thoughts which were so focused he heard nothing but the slow, steady drip drip of the last of the human’s blood pooling on the carpet beneath her believing himself alone.

But he wasn’t. 

Someone had witnessed all of it— and it wasn’t the deity that he felt had abandoned him years ago.

headcanon meme || accepting

clarke vc: well its official, his hair is fade green everybody!

He could not help a laugh, heartily amused by her reaction.