RED VELVET FEEL MY RHYTHM

RED VELVET ♡ FEEL MY RHYTHM

promise me you’ll keep your ringer on ; damon salvatore

overview: damon comes back to the boarding house to find the vampire in the cellar is out and his girlfriend won’t pick up the phone

songs i listened to while writing this: im good - henry, sunny side up! - red velvet, lullaby - got7, view - shinee, and weightless - all time low

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A stake through the heart sent another body falling next to Damon. His adrenaline was rushing and he could feel the blood rushing through his veins. He walked through the house and raided the fridge of the now-empty vampire hideout, grabbing their blood bags hidden behind the Thai takeout containers. He looked through the drawers and upon finding a knife, plunged it in the top of the bag and emptied its contents into his mouth, blood spilling out the sides of his mouth at some points.

Right as he was cleaning off his mouth, his phone rang. Annoyed, he picked it up to hear Stefan on the other end, sounding panicked, “I think the vampire we locked in the cellar is gone.”

“Dude, what? I’ve been gone like 30 minutes!”

“I don’t know how he got out, but whoever did it had vervain in their hands. The knob burns to the touch. I can’t get down to the cellar, but whoever opened it is still down there; I can see the tip of their shoe.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming. What else? Why couldn’t this wait until I finished with this?”

“I can’t get in touch with Clara.” The line was dead before Damon could respond. He felt rage building up in him; if that vampire bastard even thought of trying to touch his girlfriend, he’d be dead in half a second.

Damon pressed the numbers he memorized the same day he got them into his phone.

Ringing. Ringing. Ringing.

“Hello! You’ve reached the number of Clara. Sorry I can’t get to the phone right now! Please leave your name and num-”

He slammed his phone shut, ramming his fist into the table before running it over his face. “Fuck, Clara . . .”

Damon never moved faster in his life. He was home in under 5 minutes, nearly ripping the door off its hinges when he arrived back. Stefan was standing at the door to the cellar, unable to touch the doorknob covered in vervain oil. Damon looked down the stairs through the keyhole, seeing the tip of a shoe just as Stefan claimed, except the shoe looked a little too familiar to him. Damon took a deep breath as a pulled away from the keyhole, redailing the number he did earlier.

The intro of a Paramore song hit the brother’s ears, Stefan was too slow to stop Damon from putting his hand on the doorknob and pulling the door open. Stefan saw the oil begin trying to eat through his skin. Damon was so focused he couldn’t feel the pain, he practically flew down the stairs, the wall at the end stopping him. He stumbled back to balance and looked down the hallway where the two brothers saw the shoe earlier. He saw his girlfriend laying there; the only indication she was alive was the slight rise and fall of her chest. A bottle of vervain oil was broken next to her head. Her phone was in her open hand. As this was happening, Stefan heard rummaging in the house that he left to investigate, a stake in hand.

He fell to his knees next to her, running a hand down the side of her head. “Oh my God, baby, please be okay.”

He picked her up bridal style and carried her up the stairs where Stefan was dragging a body toward the backyard, where a fire was starting up.

When Damon lay Clara down, he saw he foot twitch and her head turned and a pained look took over her face. She began to move and tried to thrash around while repeating, “Please, please, me not him.” Damon looked her up and down and pinned her arms down to the couch.

“Clara . . . Clara!” He lightly shook her upper body trying to get her to snap out of her seeming nightmare, “Clara, baby, it’s Damon!”

Her voice was quiet, but he heard it, “Damon? Is it really you?”

He grabbed her hand as he eyes began to open, as if she was waking up from a deep sleep. “Yeah, yeah, it’s me.” He placed a kiss to her hand.

She looked around and shot up to a sitting position, looking around, scared. Damon had to take her face and force her to make eye contact with him. “Clara, what’s wrong?”

“I-I, there was a guy in here. I kept hearing his voice and I don’t know it was like something was controlling me. Next thing I know I was down in the cellar . . . Oh my God, did I let him out? Damon, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

He pulled her into him, taking a shaky breath, sliding his heavily blistered hand behind him. “No, no, baby, it’s not your fault. Besides, he’s been dealt with. You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

“America has looted black people. America looted the Native Americans when they first came here, looting is what you do. We learned it from you. We learned violence from you. If you want us to do better, then damnit, you do better.” —Tamika Mallory, Nat. Co-Chair of Women’s March

literally any true crime doc will just straight up tell you that almost every unsolved case in history is due to police incompetence or outright intentional negligence