tw: brief discussion of prison, drug addiction,
domestic abuse, and murder.

XVI. OF HIS BLOOD, BUT NOT
HIS LEGACY

THERE was a time in Ivy Salvatore's life when she would have killed for silence.

As a young girl, silence wasn't just a comfort— it was a sanctuary. When it descended like a heavy blanket, it cloaked her in the closest thing she could find to safety; like the quilts Nonna would make her as a child, worn at the edges, but heavy and comforting all the same.

When it blanketed the house, it meant her father's boots weren't pummeling the floorboards like war drums. It meant his voice— sharp and venomous— wasn't slicing through the air, and his fists weren't writing bruises across tender skin.

Silence used to mean security. Silence once cradled her— not trampled her, but it had betrayed her.

Once her serene sanctuary, it had developed teeth. Now, it prowled through her mind like a predator, dragging the skeletons from every locked room inside her head.

It wasn't serenity anymore.

It was punishment; a death sentence.

She felt like a girl waiting for the gallows; already a ghost.

Silence echoed louder than screams ever did— gnawing at the edges of her sanity, drumming reminders of every bruise, every word, every shadow she thought she'd escaped.

It left her alone with herself— with a mind that was deteriorating, blackening at the edges by the hour.

Her quivering fingers grasped the family locket nestled between her collarbones— the chilled metal digging into warm skin, grounding her just enough. Just.

A jolt. A flicker of reality. It gave her lungs the consent they needed to inhale, even if the puff came out shattered.

The contrast between her tan flesh and silver reminded her she was still here— that the agonies in her mind weren't the world she stood in.

Sometimes that was a mercy.

Other times, it made the madness feel even more inevitable.

Why was her mind so cruel?

Hadn't she suffered enough?

People always said the universe worked in mysterious ways— but in Ivy's world, she was learning it wasn't mysterious at all. It was cruel, personal, and relentless.

Her limbs constricted around the locket, nails pressing into the metal like she could bleed the pain out of it.

In through the mouth.
Out through the nose.

She was okay. Her mind could plague her— but it would not take her.

A muffled sound tore her out of the purgatory she'd been drowning in— the lifeless, hollow state where breath came only because the body hadn't yet learned how to stop. Green eyes blinked rapidly and her heart thumped viciously behind her chest.

The front door.

Damon was home. She knew that he was, but after what had happened to Stefan, her body no longer trusted plain facts. Her hands fluttered with instinct, abstaining from reason. She reached for the dagger she kept concealed in her room, the blade still faintly smudged with dried vervain— a weapon that had become less tool and more of a comfort. Something that reminded her she wasn't powerless anymore. She was no longer that helpless little girl with too-tight ringlets and a corset yanked so tightly she forgot how to breathe.

She shifted toward the staircase, flattening herself against the wall like prey sensing a predator. Except somehow, she still felt like the prey.

Then a voice— cold yet soft and familiar in the same breath. "I'm here on behalf of my mother," Anna called out.

Damon's laugh cut through the tension like a blade, "On behalf of or in spite of?"

Ivy descended the stairs like a shadow— quiet, dagger clenched in her grip, eyes pinned to the doorway as Anna stepped inside.

"Anna, you need to leave," Ivy said, voice low, already shaking with what she couldn't name.

There was a time where she would've invited Anna to go to the library with her, or frolic about the estate, but now, Anna's presence set loose something dark hidden deep within her, something she didn't know existed.

Anna's gaze locked with hers, regret floating behind her eyes, "I'm sorry about what the others did to Stefan. Abducting him, torturing him; it wasn't meant to go that way."

Ivy's expression didn't shift, "I don't exactly know what you two thought happen in a house full of vampires who spent a century rotting in stone?" Her fingers squirmed around the handle of her blade. She wasn't sure if she could use it, but it was a solace nonetheless. "They weren't exactly going to throw a tea party."

"Yeah, not everyone is Ivy," Damon added obtaining a nod from Ivy.

He shuddered with the memory of Ivy forcing him and Stefan to have a tea party just the other day, hats included and pinkies lifted.

"My mom is devastated," Anna continued. "They tried to overthrow her."

Damon stepped slightly in front of Ivy, protecting her without a word, "Then why isn't she the one standing here saying that?"

"She doesn't really do apologies."

"Well, lucky us, I don't do forgiveness," Damon snarled. "Run along. And if you're going to keep playing house with these little vampire pets, you might want to stop bleeding the local blood bank dry. They're catching on."

"I haven't been to the blood bank in over a week."

And that's when it hit her.

The hum.

That god awful hum.

A soundless scream behind her eyes—
Rushing, roaring, splitting her open from the inside out.

Her body stiffened. Her heartbeat pounded against her ribcage like it wanted out. The world blurred at the edges, but she knew that sound. It wasn't from out there— it was inside her. A warning. A memory. A scream trying to claw its way up her throat.

Her lungs shrank in on themselves, her breath caught in her chest. Her brain flooded with static. That awful humming wouldn't stop— it was trying to show her something.

Something wasn't right.

And whatever it was, it was already here.

LENNOX TATE was not an easy man to understand. His presence filled every inch of space— tall, broad, and covered in ink that coiled over his arms like whispered stories no one had earned the right to read. He wore a permanent scowl like armor. People didn't talk to men like Lennox. They crossed the street all while keeping their eyes low.

But Ivy? She wandered straight into his shop, sundress fluttering, eyes too delicate for the world she'd lived through, and made the strangest request he'd ever heard, "Can I have the leftover animal blood?"

He told her to get out— barked it, even.

But Ivy didn't flinch. She just beamed, that disarming little curve of her lips that camouflaged centuries of war beneath velvet warmth. She saw the curiosity flicker in his eyes— brief, but there.

She lingered in it. She never did scare too easy. Unless it was a cellphone, or car, or anything from the modern world.

She came back the next day. And the day after that. Each time with a coffee in hand, trading it for a bucket of blood like they were old friends bartering in some medieval market.

And slowly, Lennox began to crack.

The first time she brought him coffee, she wasn't sure what kind he'd like. Everything about him screamed black— bitter and unforgiving— but something told her that wasn't quite right.

So she brought sugar. A lot of it. Cream too.

He didn't say a word. Just dumped half the sugar packet into the cup, swirled in the cream, and took a sip with a quiet nod— maybe even the ghost of a smile.

She tried again the next day, this becoming her new project, What is Lennox Tate's coffee order?

Vanilla latte. Too sweet, even for her, but he drank it. Hush as always, but she saw the way his shoulders relaxed just a little bit. Like something in him was thawing.

The next day she had brought a blended caramel drink, something the barista suggested when Ivy asked what to get for a "brooding tattooed fellow who likes sweets but won't admit it". He gulped it down before wincing, clearly, not a fan of the cold, but fond of the flavor.

It was on the fourth or fifth visit that she finally got it right— a hot mocha latte with extra vanilla pumps and mocha drizzle, saccharine enough to make a mortal gag. Lennox emptied it like water.

And then, finally, he spoke. "So," his voice was deep, the kind that settled into the bones, smooth but edged in rust, "the animal blood?"

Ivy sipped her tea, perched on the edge of his butcher table like she belonged there. "My brother has," she hesitated as she kicked her feet, "a unique diet."

"That's it?" Lennox raised a brow. "Come on, darlin'. You come in here with your sunshine smile and weird-ass blood request, and that's all I get?"

She hesitated and wrestled with lying, but she was dreadful at it. She could feel the weight of his eyes, the way they scraped over her like they could see too much. So she gave him a version of the truth— the version that didn't bleed.

"My twin, Stefan, he struggles. He has a history with addiction. And I was gone for a while because of my father. Let's just say, he wasn't the soft type."

Lennox didn't respond right away. Just glanced down at his forearm where a faded tattoo peeked out beneath his rolled sleeves— a clock with no hands. His delay barely noticeable, unless you were looking.

Ivy was always looking.

"Small towns," he finally murmured, "they chew you up and spit you out. Like a mama bird with teeth. How old's your brother?"

Ivy counted on her fingers, her sense of time forever skewed. "Seventeen — no, eighteen. We had a birthday." She nodded, seemingly proud of herself.

"You forgot your own birthday?"

"There was a situation," she whispered.

He filled in the rest himself. "Your old man?"

She nodded, shrinking like his name had been said aloud. "He had me locked away. For a long time."

"Confined," Lennox repeated, his voice low. But he didn't push.

Ivy, ever the queen of misdirection, tried to pivot. "Is this what the internet meant by '21 Questions'? I don't get the appeal. The girls online said the boys on the book of faces enjoy this game, I don't see why."

He let her shift the conversation, but she could feel it— he saw straight through her— not even commenting on her butcher of the name Facebook. "Fine," he smirked. "Ask yours."

She tapped her chin, mock-pondering, before pointing at his arm. "The clock tattoo. What does it mean?"

"I got a lotta tattoos."

"You didn't look at any of the others when I mentioned my father." She grinned when he scoffed under his breath, "Gotcha."

"Lennox let out a low laugh. "Is the warmth you give off just an act?" he mumbled. "Damn."

"You can't deflect with me, Lennox Tate. That's my parlor trick."

He held up his hands in surrender. "Alright. You got me. I owe you one."

"Two," she corrected.

"Two," he agreed. Then, quieter: "I got it in prison. Spent years behind bars. After a while, time stops meaning anything. It all bleeds together. You forget what day it is, who you are. The clock, " he rolled his sleeve up a bit further, "it's just a reminder of what it took from me."

Ivy was still. Her eyes looking him over once. "What were you in for?"

He sighed. "I was born wrong. Wrong side of the tracks, junkie mom, alcoholic father who liked to make me choose— his fists or my baby sister, Hadley's, ribs. I always chose myself. Until one day, he chose her. I didn't let him walk away from that."

He didn't say what happened. He didn't have to.

"And he's gone now?"

"Yeah."

Ivy glanced down at her tea, voice dull. "Good."

Lennox pivoted his gaze toward her. "You're not gonna run? Most people would."

"If my father weren't already dead, I'd make sure he was." She said it without uncertainty. As though Giuseppe would step inside the shop right at that moment and Ivy wouldn't falter in her actions.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It was understanding.

A tender truce between two people with ghosts in their veins and blood on their hands.

Eventually, Ivy whispered, "I don't think we're doing this whole '21 Questions' right. I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be lighthearted and fun. So Lennox, what's your favorite color?"

IVY sat on the couch, cocooned in a stronghold of blankets— only the crown of her head peeking out like a wary animal testing the air— a groundhog testing to see if Winter had ended. The TV glimmered before her, casting soft light across her features.

Twilight.

She had become rather fond of the movie so far. It was absurd, tragic, and engaging all at the same time. The absurdity of the plot was half the enjoyment (though she thought people could think the same of her life). The other half was watching Damon grimace every time a vampire glistened.

He had tried to burn the DVD the moment he saw it in Elena's bag of items she had lent to Ivy, theatrical as always, but Ivy had threatened to take a baseball bat to his liquor cabinet.

They negotiated. Meaning, Ivy got her way.

Now, he sat sulked on the armchair across from her, glass of bourbon in hand, eyes glued to the screen despite his better judgment.

"What kind of vampire sparkles?" he muttered under his breath, earning a small smirk from Ivy.

"You don't? How painfully boring! A tragedy!" She gasped, holding a hand to her chest. "We ought to take that up with the inventor of vampires!"

"Can it, Bambi. Or else you're not watching the whole series."

"There are more?"

It was peaceful— oddly strange, yet still delicate. The kind of night she never thought she'd get to have— soft, ridiculous, human.

The front door clicked as a key turned in the lock. As it pushed open, the air shifted; Stefan walking in, dropping his backpack with a sluggish thud. His presence was quiet, but Ivy's heart always detected him first.

"How was school, Steffie?" she chirped, her voice muffled by the heavy fleece of her fortress.

"Fine," he replied without looking at her.

Damon sat up slightly in his chair and paused the movie, "Yeah? Nothing new? No riveting tales from Mystic Falls High?"

Stefan froze mid-step, kicking off his shoes with excessive force, "Why the small talk?"

"You've got a little pep in your step lately. Less broody, more suspiciously chipper. And you expect me not to notice?"

"You think it's the blood again."

Damon grinned. "I mean, if the wooden stake fits—"

Ivy's fingers unconsciously found her locket, thumb rubbing over the cool metal. It leveled her; reminded her what was real and what mattered.

She had never been one for full-blown confrontation; she despised it really. It was something she vehemently avoided and now, it was right in front of her; interrupting her Twilight.

"I'm clean," Stefan said firmly.

"Not possible," Damon replied, waving his glass. "You've been a walking storm cloud for over a century and now, suddenly, sunshine? Nope."

Ivy spoke softly, forever trying to keep peace where none existed. "Anna stopped by earlier. She said someone's been draining the blood bank. Claimed it wasn't her. Damon said he didn't lie. Not about this. He loves depravity, but this wasn't him."

Damon raised his hand in pretend innocence. "She's right. I lie about plenty of things, but not this."

"Well, believe it or not, I'm clean." Stefan's jaw tensed. "Just because I'm not miserable doesn't mean I'm hiding something."

"You're lying." Damon stood abruptly, bourbon and Edward Cullen long forgotten.

"Believe what you want." Stefan cast a sharp glance at Ivy. "Nice intervention, V. Thanks for the loyalty." Then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Damon turned to Ivy, voice softer but edged in steel. "He's spiraling, Bambi. You know it too. He doesn't turn on you unless he's drowning."

IVY never cared for John Gilbert.

There wasn't anything glaringly monstrous about him; not at first glance at least. But that was the most dangerous kind of man, wasn't it?

The kind who hid sharpness beneath charm.

The kind who grinned as they passed you the knife.

Something in her gut curled the moment he set foot in their home. He strolled like he owned it— that trademark Gilbert arrogance leaking from every movement, every smirk. From a young age, Ivy had learned long ago to trust her instincts, and her instincts screamed danger.

She approached quietly, shadows cloaking her steps as voices filtered through from the living room.

"The only thing that matters," John said smoothly, voice heavy and confident, "is that I want it back. And you're going to help me — if you want your secret safe."

The way he said it made her stomach turn. Secret. Like they were a game piece. A threat to bargain with.

Then Damon's voice, heavy, yet calm, sarcastic, and lethal all at the same time. "Why bring me into it, John? I don't know what you're talking about, much less who has it."

John didn't miss a wink. "Come on, Damon. You were there. You remember Pearl. Her name ring any bells?"

Stillness answered him; a loaded, raging kind of silence.

Ivy strolled into the entryway, gaze flicking between the two men, her chest already pulling taut.

Damon's voice dropped, quieter now, growing dangerous. "I'm not playing anymore. Get out, John. Now."

John seemed to notice her presence then, turning to her with an appreciative glance, "And the ever so elusive Salvatore sister, Ivy, is it?"

Damon made an effort to pull his concentration away from her, " You know, I only entertain this whole blackmail scheme thing of yours because I thought that you and Isobel could lead me to Katherine but see, now I know you've no idea where Katherine is because if you did you would know that Katherine and Pearl were best friends. See, you don't know everything, do you John?"

"I'll tell the entire council what you are."

"Go for it! I'll kill every last one of them. Then I'll sever your hand, pull your ring off, and I'll kill you too. Do you understand that?"

"Is that before or after they get to your sister? No offense but she doesn't look too tough for a vampire."

Ivy let out a huff, waving her hands around, "I am right here, you know?"

"Sincerest apologies," John flashed her a grin that told her he wasn't genuine in his apology.

"Besides I'm not even a vampire," Ivy beamed back, "send the council my way and you'll only make yourself a fool. It is rather difficult to rise in the ranks if you're deemed a jolterhead, you see."

John titled his head in assessment, "If you're not a vampire, then you wouldn't mind if I," he paused and came towards her, removing a clutch of vervain from his pocket and smashing it against her cheek, "did this?"

"Ouch, my flesh is melting away. You have bested me, oh wise one," Ivy drawled, shoving him away from her, scowling at his touch, "For a Gilbert, you're not the wisest, you know? Had I been a vampire, you just put yourself right in arms reach. Your ancestor was just as pretentious, but at least he had some semblance of self-preservation."

John at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed at his miscalculation before he schooled his expression and looked at Damon, "Be smart about this, Damon."

Ivy smiled sweetly, "Ironic coming from you?." Turning her head to look at her feet, she muttered, "you arrogant corpse of a man."

John cast her a look on his way out, but she held off till the front door was shut before she grinned mischievously, "May want to lock the door, dear brother. I don't think your little friend will be too delighted when he realizes I was absent at the beginning of your illuminating conversation and his tires are now," she twirled on her feet, "missing."

Damon only blinked. "You didn't."

Ivy just smiled, all teeth. "I did." She lifted her finger up, as if remembering something, "Just three though! That thing, Reddit, said that's the only way insurance won't help him? I hadn't the faintest idea that insurance now covers those monstrosities they call cars, but his won't."

THERE were unavoidable instances in Ivy's life that came wrapped in the feeling of déjà vu— a quiet dread, like the universe was dragging her back through something she thought she'd long escaped.

This was one of them— the second Elena stepped into her room, Ivy knew.

It was in the way her arms wrapped tightly around herself, the way her face crumpled at the edges like paper water-damaged from regret.
The expression wasn't exactly Katherine's — but it was close enough that Ivy felt her pulse begin to race.

She climbed out from beneath her blankets gradually, bracing herself for the words that followed. "Elena?" Ivy asked, careful, quiet. "What is it?"

"It's Stefan," Elena breathed, eyes already welling. "I'm so sorry. After they tortured him, I gave him blood. I didn't know what else to do."

Ivy's stomach plunged, a feeling that felt less like falling and more like being ripped open. "He's drinking human blood again?"

Elena nodded once, then crumpled into Ivy's arms where Ivy held her, even though her heart was fracturing into pieces.

She cradled the girl like she was a child as though she wasn't holding the weight of her brother's relapse in her hands. Elena's body shook in her arms, and Ivy rubbed a hand down her back out of instinct.

"You didn't cause this," Ivy murmured. "His addiction was carved into him long before you knew him. You offered him relief. You didn't know how deep it ran."

Elena pulled back, uncurling her fingers to expose a slim small silver dart on her palm. Vervain-tipped. Quietly lethal.

"Damon gave it to me," she whispered. "He said I could use one of the old cellars to get Stefan back on his animal diet. But I need you to be okay with it, Ivy. I need your permission."

"My permission?"

"You're his twin, Ivy. You know him better than anyone. I don't want to do this without you."

It felt like the floor tilted under her.

Images clawed their way into her mind — the frigid gravel walls of the tomb, the iron latch on the door, the foreign memory of her own screams reverberating in a room not unlike the one Elena was proposing.

Imprisoned. Just like before.

How could she do that to him?

How could she lock him away like their father once did to her?

Her twin. Her blood. Her mirror.

And yet— hadn't he asked for help in every broken, roundabout way?

She inhaled sharply, then exhaled with a tremor.
"It won't be easy," she declared.

"I know."

Ivy looked down at the dart in Elena's hand— tiny, delicate, and filled with consequences. She reached out, skimming her fingers across it like it might bite her. "Do it," she whispered.
"He'll loathe us. But once that fog lifts, he'll understand. We have to get him back before he becomes someone even he can't recognize."

SEEING Stefan behind the cell bars felt like watching a mirror crack— slow, deliberate, and permanent.

A piece of her splintered with every moment that passed. The sight of him— pale, furious, caged— etched into her like glass beneath skin.

He'd woken a few hours ago.

At first, he was discombobulated— bewildered from the vervain. However, that confusion didn't last. Desperation crept in behind his eyes like a fire, ravenous and feral. He tried talking to Elena first; tried reason, manipulation, and charm.

When that didn't work, Ivy watched the panic emerge. And when he saw her, everything in him turned sharp.

"Ivy," he said softly at first. Delicate. Enticing. Familiar. "Being locked up didn't help you, did it? You know that. If you really want to help me, you'll let me out."

She shrank, not from the words itself, but from his tone. It sounded like their father. It sounded calculated. It sounded amiss.

"I can't," she said quietly, her voice cracking. "This is what's best. I need you to understand that."

And just like that, he snapped.

His voice was no longer her brother's.

It became something crueler— a weapon dressed in his face.

"You're really his daughter, aren't you?" he hissed. The words hit harder than any slap ever had. "Locking me up when I don't bend to you. Just like he did to you. What else did you learn from him, Ivy? What else of him do you carry?"

Something inside her shattered.

Damon was beside her in a flash, his hands on her shoulders— but she didn't feel them.

She couldn't feel Damon. She could only feel him.

She felt Giuseppe.

Her father's shadow plowed itself into her skin like ink; his boots on the stairs. His voice like poison. His hands bruising her arms. His belt struck across her back; leaving welts and blood in its trail.

The iron carriage door banging shut, the air bending cold and damp and small. Her body twisting into itself on a stone floor with trembling bones. She could still feel the crack of his palm against her face.

The sting of cigar ash seared into her thigh, leaving imperfections in its absence.

The snap of her finger under his heel, making it so she couldn't play piano for weeks.

It was happening again; she couldn't breathe.

Her lungs were folding in on themselves, bile clawing up her throat— sour, acidic, and alive.

Reality blurred. The stone beneath her feet felt just like the old tomb; freezing and apathetic.

She was slipping.

Where was she?

When was she?

Her vision flickered, her hands reaching for the locket around her neck— her anchor and tether, but that felt faint.

And just then, when she thought she would never escape this limbo— a voice broke through. Soft, gentle, and familiar: "Stai bene, Bambi. Il padre non c'è più."

Italian.

Damon.

That was real. That was now. She inhaled, shallow at first. Then again. And again. Until they fell from her lips smoothly and without resistance.

Her fingers pulled taut around the locket like it could pull her sense back into her body.

He was gone— Giuseppe was dead.

Luckily.

He couldn't touch her anymore— not unless she let him.

She finally opened her eyes and found Damon sitting before her; his bright blue eyes were filled with concern. Looking up, Stefan was still in the cell— his pacing and snarling not having ended, but he was not their father.

He was a boy drowning and she was trying to throw him a rope— if it looked like a cage.

She whispered it to herself— over and over— He is not our father. I am not our father. I protect. I do not punish.

She could still feel the blood they shared— the monster they came from — slithering inside her veins.

But it was her choice what to do with it.

________

well, hello. i decided to not leave
wattpad. my presence on her may be
more scarce, but i love ivy too
much to leave forever just yet. thank you
to everyone who has stuck by me in my
almost 8 years on wattpad and especially those
that came to ride for me the past 24 hours.
i love you.

i hope you enjoyed!!!!!

ALSO we finally get to officially meet Lennox!
he is the scary tattooed butcher ivy mentioned
before and he is a precious baby. i will
protect him so watch your words. ⚔️

qotd: if any supernatural species were to
be introduced into the show, what
would you want it to be?
→ i struggled to answer this myself, but i feel like a phoenix or a dragon
would be super cool. sort of like
a shapeshifter?

copyright © -loonylupins