Cᵣₐzy ᴵᵐᵖᵘˡˢᶤᵛᵉ ᵛᵃᵐᵖᶤʳᵉ {ᴬᵘ

[mercurialcrow]

PSA; Archival & Relocation.

I’ve thought about it quite a bit and finally decided; I'm going to archive and move to a new blog.

I toyed with the idea of saying nothing and just poofing but with what I have going on in real life with my health, I don't want to just vanish on you guys without a single word or explanation (even though I'm pretty sure the only people who would notice/think about my health as the reason behind my absence would be the folks I follow on the new blog anyway lmao xD, but still).

I'm doing this for several reasons: trying to downsize, change my tagging system, start fresh with most threads, and escape some toxic crap here, and those are the biggest reasons. I won't be sharing my new URL. If I feel safe with you, want to continue writing with you or admiring your writing from afar, I will follow you from the new blog here shortly. You may also send me a message asking for it if you’d like to follow me in what I HOPE is my last and final blog move.

On that note, while I focus on moving, no threads will be posted after this one so this WILL be the final post this blog makes. 

To the rest of you, good luck and may we meet again. 

[ghostuned-a-blog]

                                           GHOSTUNED

GHOST: ɡōst / Noun

1.an apparition of a dead person that is believed to appear or become manifest to the living, typically as a nebulous image.“the building is haunted by the ghost of a monk; synonyms: specter, phantom, wraith, spirit, presence; More 2. What Clarke sees 3. What Weaver was 4. What Bastion guides 5. What Edith is haunted by 5. What Jeremiah creates

[mercurialcrow]

「 ,.., — 𝓓. 𝓢𝓪𝓵𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓮: @ghostuned 」

     — 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.

He had been so lost in the kill that he hadn't heard Jeremiah enter behind him let alone approach.

[mercurialcrow]

Jeremiah stopped, back turned on Damon. His head cocked to one side. And all at once he stopped bothering to pretend. His other body – the one these fucking children had half demolished – was just a few feet behind his target. 

He let out a sigh that sounded too rough on Clarke’s vocal cords. Then turned, a wry, half sadistic smile on their face. Clarke’s eyes – the same eyes as her father – gleamed wickedly in the dusk of the storeroom. 

“All I c’n count on you for, Damon, is bein’ a disappointment, followin’ after your brother like a little bitch – and knowin’ when my kid ain’t who she seems.”

A careless, theatrical gesture that looked wrong on Clarke. A posture that seemed to belong to a stranger. 

Jeremiah did not move closer. 

Only reached out for that mental thread of oily black tying all their experiences together – and yanked it free with vicious glee. 

When the vampire crumpled, he pulled his daughter’s pocket knife and ripped it over her neck. Blood spurted, splashed and –

Yessss…

He abandoned his daughter’s body, drifted into his own –

And Clarke fell to her knees, trying not to scream. Pain? Horror? Disgust so potent she wanted to scrub her insides with a wire brush? 

It didn’t matter. Because she’d just cat a man’s throat and – and she had to help –!

“No, no, no, no, no, – don’t you dare –!”

A dark shape lurching closer. Withered hands stretching into the pool of light, streaking blood. The sound of something licking it’s lips – the theater went dark. And something moved away. Leaving her with her hands slick and warm and pressed in a futile effort aganst an open vein.

「 ,.., — 𝓓. 𝓢𝓪𝓵𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓮: @ghostuned 」

     — Damon stared at Clarke's possessed features from beneath a furrowed brow, hearing that familiar accent and the cadence of the words— which caused his gaze to darken in warning as his upper lip curled, poised on speaking— Damon recognized Jeremiah, but didn't have the adequate time to react to the sudden indignation before the pain hit like a mack truck, ramming his skull and rendering the vampire unable to do anything but collapse to his knees as the memories flooded in.

"What... the hell... did you do?" he managed to grind out through clenched teeth, fingers knotting in his raven locks as he clutched his skull, the pain overwhelming in more than a physical sense.

Tears blurred Damon's vision, his heart shattering until the ache became a physical manifestation— or had it really been ripped from his chest? No. The pain would have ended if so. Instead, lifetimes spent together flashed through his mind— and the bastard possessing Clarke had stolen every single one of them, snatching their memories like leaves falling in the wind.

Then came the kiss of the blade; sharp, stinging, opening his throat from what felt like ear to ear.

Air, crisp and freezing flooded in as his life’s blood flooded out, stinging his exposed windpipe as spots started to dance in and around his vision, floating, closing in like the shutter of a photographer's lens as he collapsed against the nearest wall and slid down it.

Suddenly Clarke was there with him, her hands over his own, pressure, his warm blood flowing from between their fingers and all Damon could do was stare up at her with love, pale eyes wide and swimming, filled with fear— was he really about to die? Was this her father's final cruel joke?

Knowing it was useless, the vampire struggled to free a hand from beneath Clarke's, bloodied fingers trembling as they caressed the curve of the brunette's cheek leaving a sweep of red in their wake.

And then the darkness came. The edges of Damon's vision dimming until he went still beneath Clarke's desperate ministrations, death— but not the true death— temporarily claiming him.

[mercurialcrow]

Unlike Damon, Bastion didn’t really need air. Fuck if he knew how his biology worked at this point. Probably, he was better off in the dark all things considered. 

Nevertheless, the fingers digging through skin and muscle were not exactly comfortable sensations. 

He let out a low rumbling growl. Shoved Damon against the wall again. Grey eyes gone pale and silvered. Cold as the surface of the moon and seeming nearly as sightless. Then, he calmed, forced his teeth to blunt edges and dropped his hands from the throat to the shoulders. 

“Damn it, Damon, what the hell happened to you?”

Things went fuzzy after they’d parted ways. Poison did that to a man. And yet – there’d been a light in Damon’s eyes that was missing utterly now. 

A laugh – both fond and deeply exasperated choked past his compressed airway. 

“I missed you.” 

Unfortunate circumstances aside, he’d always been a creature of impulse. He gave up all pretense of restraint and went in for a hug.

「 ,.., — 𝓓. 𝓢𝓪𝓵𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓮: @ghostuned 」

     — A twinge of some pesky emotion. Remorse? Longing? Affection? The vampire instantly stomped it out like it was no more than a disgusting insect, not daring to allow ANY such thing to seep into reality knowing if he did if he dared to allow himself the fleeting sensation of FEELING that simple SINGULAR thing he'd feel it ALL. Enzo. Katherine. Augustine. Years of PAIN all at once.

Nope.

Damon's pale hues lifted— deadened— missing the vitality of their usual vibrancy yet possessing the iciness of a frigid wasteland of emptiness and FURY.

He was there, all the lights were on, but no one— that Bastion knew anyway— was home.

For now his hands slid away from the other male's throat, thoughts turning inward to his memories of the man now holding onto him in an impulsive hug which Damon did NOT return, instead going slack in his embrace, a scowl on his features as he inwardly cringed at being touched while imagining how to use this to his advantage.

Moron. I could rip your head off if I wanted to and play soccer with it.

Thinking it but not saying it, the vampire forced one of his usual megawatt smiles into place and patted Bastion's side in an attempt to get the other male away from hugging range. "What's your deal anyway? You got fangs now or do you get hairy under the full moon? Cause I've never seen anyone's eyes go all silvery like yours just did."

First order of business— find out what the hell the guy was— cause if Bastion was a werewolf Damon would be a blur in the night, self-preservation being the number one thing a vampire without humanity cared about and a wolf bite? Deadly to his kind— and without a cure at that.

[mercurialcrow]

「 ,.., — 𝓓. 𝓢𝓪𝓵𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓮: @killypool 」

     — Damon hadn't given up on finding Wade, he didn't have it in him— just ask Katherine Pierce— over a century and a half and the vampire had never stopped loving her or trying to find her. Once you were in his heart, Damon Salvatore had trouble letting go— giving up— forgetting. Even if the person hurt him, it didn't happen easily. To some, it was admirable, to others pathetic. Either way, it was who he was.

Tonight was a break. Nothing more. Tomorrow his search would resume.

Drunk. Stumbling. The vampire made his way from Sister Margaret's back to his apartment, forgoing the Camaro waiting for him out back behind the school for a walk through New York's icy streets. Was he punishing himself? Feeling guilty for Wade's fall in and disappearance with the same organization which once had gotten ahold of him nearly a century ago? Yes. Damon somehow blamed himself. He always did. Inadequate. Unable to do anything right.

And then the ultimate punishment for his self-blame would come moments later.

The vampire felt himself SLAMMED up against the nearest brick wall, the wind knocked from his lungs and choked off as a gloved hand circled his throat in a vice. Only knowing that he couldn't breathe and hearing the soft sound of a gun's safety being lowered, Damon simultaneously felt the cold steel of the barrel pressing against his sternum right above where his heart beat as his own fist slammed into his attacker's chest beyond bone and gore, a hoarse chuckle of bitterness passing his lips as his fingers sought the muscle keeping the taller male alive, intending on taking out his sorrows on the poor idiot deciding to attack him.

Cerulean hues flared wide for effect, ping-ponging between the black opaque fabric where Wade's eyes would be.

"Masks are for Batman, moron. And the living. You, buddy, are neither."

And with that, Damon withdrew his fist with a sickening sound, having no idea whose life he had just 'taken'.

[mercurialcrow]

Another tally scratched into the floor on her cell. Right at the edge of the door, as out of sight as she could make it. Because time – the days – they were hers. She refused to lose track of it. Even if the concept of the sun had long since become a mystery. Even if she measured by the sounds filtering from above, and the food she was given. Just enough to keep her alive.

Only this day was different. There were new screams. A man. Though soon enough the horrid sound bordered on inhuman. 

Edith watched Whitmore with dimly glowing yellow eyes as he entered. Then turned and locked on the idiot beside her, who didn’t know well enough the meaning of silence. 

She waited until she could no longer hear the doctor’s footsteps, then pressed close against the gap. Why did he look – vaguely familiar? 

“Y’ sure do got a bug up y’ ass fer causin’ trouble, huh? Th’ good doc seems t’ enjoy ‘imself. Ain’t no science fer causin’ subjects pain. Pure sadism. So y’ ought t’ learn to b’ silent. If y’ really want t’ win at things ‘at is.”

A cant of her head. Lantern eys – wolves eyes (they hadn’t looked human in a long time, the wolf along kept her alive) locked with his. 

“‘M Edith. What’re you? Y’ don’t smell like a wolf.”

「 ,.., — 𝓓. 𝓢𝓪𝓵𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓮: @ghostuned 」

     — Damon groaned and weakly rolled onto his back as a wheezing sound rattled in his chest— respirations pained and labored— blood seeping from the corners of his mouth with each breath he took as his lungs struggled to not only inflate with oxygen but also heal from the damage done by Whitmore's scalpel beneath the potency of the vervain preventing his preternatural genetics from working as they would have without the herb's interference.

Of course, he had no idea that today would be the first of many similar days filled with agony and torture.

The vampire didn't reply at first— couldn't— his vision swimming in and out of focus as he struggled to remain awake, cerulean hues fluttering as they fought to focus on Edith's lantern-yellow hues— wolf's eyes— yet not one werewolf he had ever met or encountered had glowing eyes such as hers when it wasn't a full moon out.

Damon scoffed inelegantly and rolled his eyes, glaring at the redhead coldly. "Excuse me if I can't handle being cut open and taken apart as well as you can raggedy Anne," he replied hoarsely, words dripping with as much snotty sarcasm as he could muster in his current state— which still turned out to be quite a bit.

A long exhaled sigh, pain giving way to simple exhaustion as his injuries healed to a dull ache yet the vervain kept him weak and unable to do much else let alone move more than sluggishly.

"Damon. Vampire," he replied quietly, cerulean hues managing to focus on Edith for longer than a few seconds as he reached through the bars, holding a hand out for her to shake in greeting.

[mercurialcrow]

Jeremiah took in the damage, absently pushing thick curls out of their face. It looked like a tornado had torn through the place. But what else would a destructive Salvatore do when thwarted? 

His gaze locked on Damon’s when he went ahead and spat out his problem. And revealed his true nature. 

Now, how would his daughter react? 

He pushed himself to his feet, unsteady on the unfamiliar prosethetic, not used to being so short. Frowning at him with an affected look of concern and exasperation.

“Y’ –” he cleared his throat, killing the habitual drawl and slipping into Clarke’s normal tones. “You think I haven’t met vampires before? You lot are like spiders in a haunted house. All over the place.” 

He reached out, gripped Damon’s wrist, then turned, throwing his considerably diminished weight into dragging the monster forward. 

“Ought to have just said so in the first place, buddy. Come on. I know storage better than most.”

He was impatient to be done, out of this short, damaged body, and back to the one he favored. 

In the back of his skull there came an unsteady throbb. The tinny sounds of terror. He hushed the girl and went on. 

“Lets find Stefan.”

「 ,.., — 𝓓. 𝓢𝓪𝓵𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓮: @ghostuned 」

     — Chest heaving as he froze in place, Damon stared at Clarke with wide cerulean hues for a long beat before he blinked hard several times, taken aback and rendered speechless by the reversed revelation she had just made.

She knew he was a vampire? Since when? Nuh uh, bullshit.

An ill feeling quickly settled heavily in the pit of his stomach with an icy chill following suit, the skeletal fingers of dread quickly scurrying up his spine the longer he gazed at her. A shiver. A gulp that sent his adam's apple bobbing along the ridge of his throat. Something wasn't right. Something was missing. Something was OFF.

This wasn't Clarke! SILENCED. Brain unable to fully PROCESS the accusation before it was forgotten. Yet warning bells screamed loudly, ringing in his skull but were abruptly thwarted by some invisible force which blocked Damon from putting the pieces of it together in a manner timely enough to prevent the inevitable.

Frowning, the vampire's head tilted in suspicion, pale hues narrowing into slits and yet he still fell into step beside the possessed girl, the stubborn determination at finding his brother being the only thing that kept him from questioning EVERYTHING that had just happened.

And it wasn't until they reached the basement that something clicked and Damon's steps faltered, his brow furrowing into a scowl of accusation as he came to a complete stop, head tilting. "I don't recall telling you my brother's name... Clarke." he nearly sneered her name in a low voice, paranoia becoming paramount.

Now Damon wasn't so sure it was her at all that looked back out at him from that mahogany gaze, something all too familiar— and sinister— or so he thought— gazing back at him instead.

[mercurialcrow]

   Katrina watched him, perhaps too closely. he looked liked he was having some inner fit with himself, and she was curious to know what it was about. but all too quickly he seemed to refocus on anything but his own thoughts. 

  he placed her down and shew as reluctant to let go of him. “two days?” geeze, no wonder she felt awful when she woke up. 

  she held his gaze as long as he offered it, and when it slipped lower, she licked at her lips. there was a slight tilt of her head as she focused on him, taking in every micro expression her human eyes could catch. when he said they should go, he sounded far too much like he didn’t want her to leave. 

 she could feel the thrum of his heart beneath his chest, only because her hands were still rested there. katrina wondered why the stranger had been so keen on taking care of her. why hadn’t he just dropped her off at some hospital and let them deal with her and her injuries. there was no logical explanation, no reason. and then he spoke. 

it feels like i’ve known you forever. how weird is that?

 and while, typically, the words would be off putting, coming from a man she had only spoken to for perhaps a half hour, they seemed to calm her. seeped through her skin and made her feel something. an ache, a longing to know him better. like she had before. before?

  katrina noted his smile, it was off and not at all one of happiness. “it should be.” was her honest answer. “there is something about you damon, I just— can’t put my finger on.” she was hit with another headache, her head dropping forward and pressed against his chest. 

flashes of images, that seemed centuries old. too old to belong to her. and yet they felt like memories. there was him, and a dark haired woman, but there was also another man, a little younger perhaps. 

 “damon, do you have a brother?” she asked out of the blue. maybe she saw a picture? in the house on the way out and it was just registering now? that was the only logical explanation for it. she shook her head a little and straightened up. “my parents are probably worried sick, right, we should go.” 

「 ,.., — 𝓓. 𝓢𝓪𝓵𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓮: @petrovakoketka 」

     — He was a foolish... hopeless... IDIOT. It didn't matter how hard he tried to hide it— to strangle and suppress those feelings— deep down Damon Salvatore would ALWAYS love Katherine Pierce, a fact which was made evident by the irrationally REACHING thoughts he was currently experiencing while looking upon the latest copy of the doppelganger.

Of course, he didn't know that THIS time there was a REASON behind the horribly familiar feelings than her appearance alone. That Katherine had ALWAYS been more. That she herself had returned to him now and was gazing back out at him from those familiar doe eyes. It had been fear and trauma keeping her from admitting her feelings for him in her last life, not lack of love for him as she had preferred him to believe. 

"Woah there, easy, you okay?" a soft chuckle of breathlessness left his lips as a hand moved to rest against the curve of Katerina's spine at her waist to steady her, a frown of concern creasing his brow.

Again, the fist-sized muscle beneath the vampire's sternum kicked into overdrive at the brunette's sudden close proximity, breath quickening, heartbeat becoming erratic beneath her palm.

Damon could smell the perfume of her dark hair, the scent of her skin, the odor of blood and dirt mixing with Katerina's very essence...

And then that question ruined everything.

Stiffening, he swallowed thickly, face flooding with heat.

Why wouldn't she ask about Stefan? Quetsiyah told him years ago their souls were destined to be together. Well, it still didn't hurt any less— even after all this time apparently.

Damon huffed out a bitter chuckle of laughter and took a step back, gaze averted and dazed with an expression of being freshly slapped at the same time even as his once open features SLAMMED shut and turned cold.

Well, that sure as hell brought him out of the warm fuzziness of 'what if'.

"Yep. Sure do. His name's Stefan. I'll introduce you sometime when he comes to visit." he replied flatly yet with an odd tone of sad irony, opening the Ferrari's passenger door for her and gesturing inside.

Once settled, the vehicle's engine purring away, Damon glanced over at the brunette covertly, staring a moment before clearing his throat. "Soooo... what's that address again? Gonna need it to get you home and stuff." he laughed softly, attempting to lighten the atmosphere.

He wasn't eager to get rid of her, but he WAS eager to rid himself of the pain-filled emotions currently coursing through the very fiber of his being like his own life's blood.

[mercurialcrow]

Omfg, I actually wrote a reply! AHHH! I had this CRAZY dream last night and Damon was such an integral part of it that I THINK it revived his muse?! I’m so stupid happy (and actually proud of my writing for once :o) I THINK I needed this big hiatus!!!

*squeals and rolls away to write more*

[mercurialcrow]

That voice…

A memory itched at him.

But it wasn’t until he saw the stranger’s face that Bastion recognized him. Was taken abruptly back to the smell of gunpowder, the sound of screams, never ceasing gunfire. Distant flashes in a smokey night sky. Everpresent damp, and chill, and rot. The pain of starvation. A pale hand burning under the light of the sun. 

The old scar in his stomach – a ragged bullet wound – burned. And memories of another burning returned to him. Hazy the way all of them were from Before. 

Grey eyes narrowed.

“I’ve been to hell – came back fine. In fact, so did you.”

He jumped into the open grave with remarkably little noise, and slammed his one time friend into an earthen wall by the throat. Grave dirt, familiar as his own bed tumbled around them. The corpse at their feet sloughed to the side. As if to escape their notice. 

Perhaps its even true. I’m no friend to the unquiet dead.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Damon? Coming to kill people in my home town? Bad. Idea. But you always had a lot of those, huh?”

「 ,.., — 𝓓. 𝓢𝓪𝓵𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓮: @ghostuned 」

     — The vampire fell back against the once hard-packed earthen wall of the grave behind him with a grunt, oxygen choked off by Bastion's sudden vice grip upon his throat.

No matter— not like he really NEEDED to breathe or anything.

Oh wait, he DID.

Damon's lips curled into a snark-filled sneer and his pale eyes narrowed defiantly in their sockets up at the other male, mirroring his old friend's expression as his own hand flew to Bastion's throat. Squeezing. Choking. Fingers digging as if to rip the meat from his bones. Really? Did one think they could outdo the other? Probably. Definitely.

"Well, maybe if you stop choking me I could tell you!" he lied in a strangled voice, icy hues focused on Bastion even as the edges of his vision began to grow fuzzy, dark spots floating in to accompany the dream-like feeling of being suffocated. The vampire wouldn't die permanently, no, but the other male could definitely choke him unconscious.

"You know me, always the disappointment," he replied smoothly with a cavalier flash of one of his most reckless smiles, cerulean hues flaring wide for effect.

Now, wait for an opportune moment to break Bastion's hold upon his neck— which likely wouldn't come before he fainted from loss of oxygen— or go slack and play possum.

Or maybe his old friend would surprise him and just let him go— which would be the most shocking thing of all to the vampire. A chance at being trusted? GASP!

[mercurialcrow]

PSA;

Okay so here is the deal; in an effort to get muse back (because roleplay has become a chore and I have zero desire to write), I'm going to TEMPORARILY archive some threads. They are not being dropped (unless YOU want to drop them) I just need to MAJORLY lower the number of threads I currently have so I can focus on (sorry to say, the threads I have the muse for). I also have favorites. I can't help it. And mains. And to be honest, those faves keep muse for me going and because of that, I WILL reply to them first or back to back a few times in a day if I so wish to. If I'm constantly forcing myself to reply to stuff I don't have the muse for then roleplay becomes a chore. If you don't like it, there is the fucking door. Hit the unfollow button. Some people can shit out replies regardless but I can't. I need to have the desire and muse to make it quality. Again? Don't believe me? Don't like it? Bye.

I miss my kids. I actually made a third blog just to escape all of what I perceive as pressure here and on Peter. So please understand this.

If you're on this list (or were promised a start) we're still good. Archived threads will return when my muse is strong enough. I'm truly sorry guys.

[dvsbshsjsjfjdtibg-deactivated20]

[yesbpdbabe-deactivated20210115]

99% of my personality was formed by trauma

[mushi-and-junior]

period moodboard: Italian Renaissance (requested by anonymous)

one short sleepe past, wee wake eternally, and death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die

[mercurialcrow]

how many years have you played damon and did you ever have another url? you seem familiar to me I knew a damon named sam once years back

I’ve been writing him since March of 2015. My previous URLs were imaliability, causeimadick, ofmurderbuddies (I had a dual blog of Enzo and Damon) and I can’t remember the first first one I ever had. But I think I’ve seen another Sam-mun writing him also? But yeah, come talk to me if it’s me! lol

[tamper]