#* answ .

[ofreporting]

why are you covered in blood ?

"it's that time of the month again." daniel snarked as he lit the cigarette hanging from his lips. the orange flame reflected against his dark glasses. "why do you think, armand?" smoke escaped from the corners of his mouth as he threw his maker a look. daniel molloy didn't sound particularly pleased with his current predicament. there were specks of red across his forehead, over the lenses of his sunglasses, his jaw and jacket were drenched in slowly coagulating blood --- how was he supposed to get back to his hotel looking like that?

three and a half months of trying to track down the vampire armand had landed him in oulu. not much to do in the city. but during that time of year, that area of finland didn't really see much sunlight. the weather report predicted thirty days of night, and daniel couldn't help but think that might have been for his sake. he had seen armand walking in the sun; had seen the light reflecting off his brown skin and illuminating his big eyes. the guy did not need to travel all this way up north to roam the streets freely.

some pathetic part of daniel had concluded that armand wanted to be found. he wanted to be chased through europe and into the smallest of crevices of a country for --- what? a fight? a fuck? a big dramatic rendez-vous that would put all chick flicks to shame? daniel didn't know. what he did know was that the gravitational pull of the sun had shifted since he was given the dark gift; the reporter no longer turned his head towards light or warmth. now every part of him seemed to be propelled towards one thing and one thing alone.

a fat drop of blood fell from the hand holding his cigarette and onto the thin layer of snow covering the sidewalk. molloy cursed under his breath. "i didn't get a workshop on how to feed without hitting a main artery."

[ofstage]

❛ i care nothing of your afflictions. ❜ / @stberggren at @ofstage

"oooh, someone got up on the wrong side of bed today." santiago observed with an arch of his brow. they're both standing there, on opposite sides of a lived-in kitchen, there's broken glass near the sink and an awfully still body separating the two of them. santiago puckers his lips when noticing the wound on the poor bastard's neck to be much deeper than needed. the floor tiles might have been white once. but not anymore. blood had squirted all over, onto the wooden cabinets, up the walls...he even noticed a few stains on the lamp hanging over their heads. "tsk, tsk, tsk, what a mess." it would seem poor thomas wasn't very good at abstaining. every meal of his became a gruesome crime scene for someone to find.

the vampire santiago stepped over the dead body with exemplary indifference. he did not care for the life lost; his green eyes were locked in on his fledgeling, sitting on the floor, backed up against the wall, full-bellied and glowing from the fresh kill. even when covered in gore he was a sight to see -- a ferocious killer disguised as a soft boy. santiago scoffs while looking down at tom. "all those books and combed up hair can't hide the fact that you're really just a filthy little thing." he said this with a smile, as if it were meant to be taken as a compliment. as if being anything other than human was worthy of praise.

pale hands rested upon his hips as he considered the young vampire before him. "you do not wish to hear of my afflictions," santiago tilted his head to the side. "do you wish me to help you? with all of this?" he asked gesturing towards the murder behind him.

[ofmensogne]

∗ 76﹕ sender is caught snooping in receiver’s things . / @ofmensogne from esmeralda

"on joue aux gendarmes et aux voleurs?"

a slender silhouette is leaning against the doorframe of the empty office. he had been watching her for a few seconds now --- esmeralda was flipping through pages of books and documents as if her life depended on it. marcel's books and documents to be more precise. he had watched her skim through his personal agenda, frown at a book about famous alchemists and freeze when finding a document which depicted a drawn prototype for an iron muzzle. a design not too different from the one some talamasca agents chose to impose onto the more uncooperative vampires. marcel smiled. "it's a scold's bridle." he pushed himself off the doorframe and calmly approached his desk. "there are records of it being used in scotland and england as early as the eighteenth century, as a torture device for women who gossiped or spoke out of line." he tilted his head as if to get a better look at the old illustration. "mainly it was meant to be used as a humiliation tool." marcel looked the vampire in the eye.

"i would hate you to think that you have to keep secrets from me, esmeralda. or vice versa." said marcel, sounding quite sincere. blue eyes shift between the creature's own. he wonders what her dreams might look like. if they're full of deceit and omission or if they are vast and sincere. "we are on the same team." he wonders what sound she would make if she burned. "if there is anything you need from my office," the frenchman reached into his pocket and casually tossed a something for esmeralda to catch. "i'll give it to you." if the vampire were to catch it, she'd find a small key between her palms. one that'd open every drawer of marcel sorel's desk.

[ofstlouis]

What do you smell on me? (from jesse's vampire verse perhaps)

he reminds him of a small bird.

a sickly, hollow-boned thing whose pale feathers had been stained by the smog and sewage of the city. louis wishes he could hold him in his hand but fears that any amount of pressure might shatter jesse. instead he gazes down at him and, despite his best efforts to appear impartial, his brow furrows. how many lost boys would be ripped apart by sharp teeth? were life's jaws not cruel enough that they all needed to be dragged kicking and screaming towards this half-death?

louis eyes pinkman from head to toe. his sneakers look filthy. it looked as if he might have been walking the whole night. where are you going, jesse? he wondered. where is there for you to go? "tears." louis finally said with both hands kept in his pants' pockets, as if posturing as a man in control of his instincts would spare both of them from whatever pain loomed over their heads. louis' came from a lifetime of not knowing himself ; jesse's torment, however, had a first and last name. louis' jade eyes shifted across the young man's face.

then, with all the gentleness he could muster, louis stated a fact. "you have to feed, jesse." he had been taught that creatures such as them could perish from hunger. but it was a long and torturous ordeal. pinkman would likely go mad before ever coming close to surrendering himself to that distant and eternal sleep. louis thought about reaching out and touching the boy's arm. instead he made sure to keep his hands hidden, lest jesse think he too might be trying to clip his wings.

"yeah?"

[ofdustymesa]

for RUSTIN :   sit .   gesture  for  my  muse  to  sit  down .

what did the world smell like before humankind came along and ruined everything? moist dirt? sweet fruits? animal shit? rustin can't even try and guess anymore; the plane he exists in has had every single atom infiltrated by the hot stench of tobacco. it had a weight to it, this smell. a texture ... sometimes the sharp taste of something chemical will zap him out of the dull smokey rhythm he has fallen into but it is only momentary. soon enough he'll need another hit. something stronger, something weirder, something deadlier...

dove gestures for him to sit and all rustin can offer in return is a small nod. what did she smell like before the still dusty louisiana waters soaked her wings down? something lighter, he imagines. lighter than all the expensive furniture she's surrounded with. but dove doesn't look like she owns any of it --- she is part of the decoration, another velvet lined thing for the cancerous agents of his camel cigarettes to slowly sink into. a stuffed bird gaining dust around her feathers; damned if she breathes, damned if she don't.

"i ain't gonna waste your time, dove," rustin drawls, sitting at her kitchen table at a weird angle. he hadn't fully risen from his barbiturate induced sleep --- there was another layer of methaqualone he needed to push through in order to start feeling things again. "ain't here as police either." he blinked lazily at her, his head shake more of a twitch than anything. cohle's boss had chewed him off for stalking dove's husband around town. if he were to find out he was inside whitfield's home he might get suspended for a while. wouldn't be the first time.

"just need someone t'a look me in the eye while they're talkin' to me." though his lids are heavy, rust's gaze is relentless. he watches her from across the table with the patience ( or the high ) of a saint. "did you spend the night with your husband?"

[deadtwice]

is that the best way to work on something like this ? / (((((:

❛   yup . ❜ was the immediate answer sira was met with along with a small porcelain figurine of the VIRGIN MARY , pointed at her as if it were locked and loaded . césar doesn't leave his spot by the gas station's counter , he's still waiting on the clerk to give him his change for the suspiciously squishy kitkat bar he had just purchased .

❛   you keep those hands where i can see 'em , missy . i told your people a hundred times now , this soul ain't for sale , 'kay ? ❜ laces announced , eyeing her from head to toe , half-expecting sira to do something sudden or dangerous . the clerk arched an eyebrow as she glanced the two of them but quickly went back to holding césar's twenty dollar bill up to the light , seemingly unbothered by the bizarre confrontation .

laces confidently tightened his grip on the miniature mary . ❛   i need it . ❜ hazel eyes flickered . ❛   ── i think . ❜

@viiolencia

[detectiev]

(   *   &.   –   SHARP  OBJECTS  SENTENCE  STARTERS .

‘  it’s hotter than a whore in church today.  ’ / santino d'antonio if u want ! 🌹 @bruisedstare​

“  yeah. ” he agreed before taking a long drag of his cigarette. 

the other man’s skin glistened under the bar’s lights, just like everyone else’s. it was a particularly warm evening. folks were saying this could be the warmest summer yet. and because cohle felt his shirt glue to his back and a moistness building underneath his armpits despite the best efforts of a janky looking fan, he was inclined to agree. rust wasn’t from around those parts, he wasn’t used to the humidity. and neither was the guy lingering by the counter next to him.

he had money, that much was clear ( all it took was getting a whiff of the guy’s cologne for rust to tell ) . but the group of men standing close by, watching, and waiting, led the detective to believe that perhaps that man wasn’t just an unfortunate tourist. he took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled smoke. the damp bar was made only more miserable by the grey tobacco reeking cloud hoovering over everyone’s heads. 𝙰 𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚂𝚃𝙾𝚁𝙼, rust thought. 

“  everything’s drying out around these parts.  ” cohle pointed out before killing that night’s sixth cigarette in an ugly little ashtray. “  makes vermin of all sorts come a’running, lookin’ for something to drink.  ” he turned to face the man then with a pointed look. he might have looked more tired than anything else but one thing rustin cohle didn’t radiate was friendliness.

[hrker-a]

❛ I understand. ❜ // @wmina​

                       “ forgive me , i fear i might have not spoken clearly , ” 

                          jonathan harker was quick to raise his hand , as if this gesture alone would stop mina murray on her tracks . he hoped it would , for he dared not reach out and touch her , least she think  (  nay , realize !  )  that jonathan was desperate to feel her skin upon his . it was foreign to him , to struggle with this sort of infatuation . mr . harker had always been so skilled at keeping his composure but , when it came to ms . murray , everything he knew to be true became horribly frail . he was willing to second guess himself when near her    ───   ready to surrender whatever mina wished to have . A TERRIBLE THOUGHT HE DARED NOT SPEAK ALOUD ! not because he feared his dear friend’s rejection , but because jonathan could not stand the thought of mina and he growing apart due to his feelings for her . love was a blade dangling over his head ... if he were to speak its’ name , then it would surely fall . 

                        but this battle within himself had now transpired onto sweet mina . she thought he had left yesterday’s gathering in an attempt to avoid her . jonathan could see the hurt in her eyes . his heart had nearly leapt out of his chest and onto her palms then , ready to confess that the only reason he had gone there was , in fact , TO SEE HER . but she appeared with her arm wrapped around another’s man’s arm and her smile was wider and warmer than ever and mr . harker , being the infinite fool he was , went home without ever speaking a word to her . 

                        “   it was not your presence which caused me to leave so hastily last evening , far from it ! i just ...   ”   jonathan trailed off , letting the sentiment fill the space between them , even though the words faded from his mouth like smoke . he adored her . never had he felt so strongly about another person . enough to ridicule himself , enough to question , enough to TAKE A CHANCE . there was much he wished to confess to mina . but his face became hot when realizing a pair of brown eyes gazed up at him , expectantly . harker finally sighed , defeated .        “   ───    i’m just a cowardly man , ms. murray . ”