damonpsychopathsalvatore:

iamthefirechild:

walk-right-through-me:

“Anybody like me? Oh, you mean psychopathic vampire who doesn’t give a damn about human life?” he asked, smirking. “Well the good news is that you don’t have to love me.”

[text to: damon] that’s cute. you think I can’t find you.

[text to: damon] were you this stupid before you turned or has it accumulated over the years?

[text to: summer] If you find me I swear to god I will bite you and rip that necklace off and compel you to forget.

[text to: summer] It’s accumulated over the years.

[text to: damon] how in the world do you think you can even do that

[text to: damon] you shit. you won’t even let me protect myself

[text to: damon] I should compel you to protect me

damonpsychopathsalvatore:

iamthefirechild:

walk-right-through-me:

“Anybody like me? Oh, you mean psychopathic vampire who doesn’t give a damn about human life?” he asked, smirking. “Well the good news is that you don’t have to love me.”

The fact that he’d let her hit him reduced the anger to a simmer instead of a hot roil under her skin. “I’m in danger every moment, in a myriad of ways. Simply being a woman would be enough to endanger me, far less what I truly am.” Her mouth compressed. “Go. Hunt. Find some thief, some murderer, some Wall street asshole with a soul smaller than a pinprick — or some innocent human on their way home. And when your hunger is sated, find me, and give me the details I will need to protect myself.” It wasn’t a request.

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I’ll be back after a bite,” he muttered, zipping away from her. Three unfortunate bystanders later, Damon was sitting in the foreclosed house, feet propped up on the couch. He sighed and picked up his phone, staring at it for a few moments before sending the text.

Damon: I lied. I'm not coming back.

Damon: To keep yourself safe, delete my number and forget all about me. But keep that necklace on.

[text to: damon] that’s cute. you think I can’t find you.

[text to: damon] were you this stupid before you turned or has it accumulated over the years?

damonpsychopathsalvatore:

iamthefirechild:

walk-right-through-me:

“Anybody like me? Oh, you mean psychopathic vampire who doesn’t give a damn about human life?” he asked, smirking. “Well the good news is that you don’t have to love me.”

She stared at him for a long moment before starting to laugh. “All of this. All of this,” she lifted her fingers and splayed them before his eyes, and the fire went out, leaving pristine skin, “and you still don’t believe I can protect myself. You think I’m /fragile/,” spitting the word out, “helpless. It that because of my mortality? Because I can die, I must be protected?” The hand clenched into a fist. “You utter, chauvinistic, brainless, pig of a man!”

Then she hit him.

Damon stumbled back, adjusting his jaw before clearing his throat. “Alright, I deserved that. But it still stands. You’re in danger and it’s because of me, and I won’t have that.” He ran a hand through his hair before looking at her. “I can’t have this conversation right now. I need blood,” he said, looking away and huffing.

The fact that he’d let her hit him reduced the anger to a simmer instead of a hot roil under her skin. “I’m in danger every moment, in a myriad of ways. Simply being a woman would be enough to endanger me, far less what I truly am.” Her mouth compressed. “Go. Hunt. Find some thief, some murderer, some Wall street asshole with a soul smaller than a pinprick — or some innocent human on their way home. And when your hunger is sated, find me, and give me the details I will need to protect myself.” It wasn’t a request.

damonpsychopathsalvatore:

iamthefirechild:

walk-right-through-me:

“Anybody like me? Oh, you mean psychopathic vampire who doesn’t give a damn about human life?” he asked, smirking. “Well the good news is that you don’t have to love me.”

“Ah, but I promised I wouldn’t, remember?” Summer touched his face, and the fire didn’t leap from her fingers. It burned there, flaring and flickering, on her fingertips, sheathing her whole hand, and didn’t devour the new fuel. “Answer the question, Damon. You sought me out, and now you shove me away. Why?”

Damon sighed, flinching at the touch and grimacing. “Then I’ll bite you and you’ll have all the permission you need to kill me,” he said, smirking before rolling his eyes. “Things have changed. I made enemies with the wrong werewolf. A very vengeful one at that. I killed one of theirs, and now I’m afraid he may come after you,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “So take it from me and stay safe. Forget everything you ever had to do with me, and you should be fine. I’ve kept you a pretty decent secret, so you should be fine.”

She stared at him for a long moment before starting to laugh. “All of this. All of this,” she lifted her fingers and splayed them before his eyes, and the fire went out, leaving pristine skin, “and you still don’t believe I can protect myself. You think I’m /fragile/,” spitting the word out, “helpless. It that because of my mortality? Because I can die, I must be protected?” The hand clenched into a fist. “You utter, chauvinistic, brainless, pig of a man!”

Then she hit him.

damonpsychopathsalvatore:

iamthefirechild:

walk-right-through-me:

“Anybody like me? Oh, you mean psychopathic vampire who doesn’t give a damn about human life?” he asked, smirking. “Well the good news is that you don’t have to love me.”

“And how often do you kill people who are not a threat and who are not prey? How often do you simply kill for the pleasure of killing, and not to protect yourself, to feed yourself?” she asked softly. Her hand flared into flame with a dull whump, and her eyes flicked to it, then back to his face, marked with shifting shadows.

“Why are you so desperate to convince me that you aren’t good?” Slowly, she reached out toward him with the flaming fingers.

Damon watched her hand, watched it come closer, and honestly he didn’t care at this point. One hundred and seventy years was a long enough life. “I do it from time to time. More in the past than recently,” he said, slipping his hands in his pockets. He didn’t want to answer the last question, so he didn’t. “Go ahead. Burn me. Kill me,” he said, almost taunting. “I’ll stand here and take it.”

“Ah, but I promised I wouldn’t, remember?” Summer touched his face, and the fire didn’t leap from her fingers. It burned there, flaring and flickering, on her fingertips, sheathing her whole hand, and didn’t devour the new fuel. “Answer the question, Damon. You sought me out, and now you shove me away. Why?”