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@bloodebayou liked.

"This fashion stuff just seems like it's- It can't be that serious."

#bloodebayou #.𖥔˚ — verse — moderni — threads.#andrea from devil wears prada was in her top 30 on that statistics thing so :) i took inspo

melt into me.

@bloodebayou : i won't break, don't be afraid.

❛ i'm not afraid, ❜ he huffs quickly, as if it's scrutiny he is presented with, or worse, doubt about his confidence. and that must be smothered.

he has showered extra long just for the other. at lourdes' place, where there is running hot water for longer than ten minutes. he'd greatly enjoyed the rare opportunity. though ultimately, it is selfless, he tells himself. all for lourdes' comfort. or to be allowed inside these hallowed halls at all, is what siegfried begins to think, after having seen the cleanly state of the man's home.

he'd removed the soaked bandage from his wrist only afterwards, quickly replacing it with a clean strip of adhesive gauze the color of his skin. he has the strict intention to keep his weak spot hidden from the other. lourdes might be sweet and good now. but siegfried doesn't need him staring at the bite mark, or getting carried away by his desire later and sink his teeth into it. with all of this considered, there may not be fear, but just a bit of apprehension still in him.

though certainly none about handling the body beneath his. with a hand on the other's chest he pushes him to lean back upon the bed, easing down after him to kneel on the soft surface. the tips of his hair are still slightly damp, the strands on his forehead almost a pest with how insistently they force themselves in front of his eyes, not yet having regained their natural bounciness by properly drying up. the towel still tied around his waist threatens to slip down, and with one free hand he holds it in place, yet. he pauses a moment to crack a humored smile at the situation, then whips his head around to fling hair away from his eyes a last time. he peers down at lourdes with an unvoiced 'what you make me do'.

❛ oh, did i get you wet ? ❜ he teases, hoping dearly that some droplets have hit the man beneath him, just as payback for what siegfried already considers service on his part. his hand grabs the other's hip firmly, then moves slowly to the buttons of his shirt. ❛ how about i ruin your outfit first ? ❜

#bloodebayou #LOOK he showered just for him #also btw lourdes is totally allowed/probably very capable of receiving siegfried's thoughts about his bite mark pfff #he just THINKS he's slick #v: au / slayer of the undead.#answered.#suggestive /

@bloodebayou / sc

❝ I know I complain either way but... ❞ he tossed a hand up lazily in exasperation and then he was sitting back in the arm chair, leg thrown over the other and bouncing slightly. His hand came to cradle the side of his temple.

❝ But it's just all so easy nowadays. Everyone is so fucking stupid and lazy and dependent on asking some chatbot how to breathe. There's no conquest to be had in outsmarting this new generation of business sharks. I feel myself intellectually stagnating a little more each day... ❞

#old man shakes fist at the sky vibes #(;ic)#bloodebayou #omg hiiiii

🍓 for @sluaghter

let me say nice things about you. ♡

i already did here ~ (he actually sent it for @knightedgales but i yapped about him anyway bc i know hien wouldnt ever send one for himself)

SO I GUESS IT'S YOUR TURN. HAHA.

lourdes is suuuuuuuuch an interesting character, i just wanna read about him forever and i LOVE that i get so many character insights from you from the moment we became mutuals !!! it's so easy to see how effortless he comes to you i feel, the way you think about his anxieties and Other Such Issues with such specific details like i cannot do that shit lmao !!! someone asks me about my character and for some reason my mind goes blank or i take years to respond with 80 paragraphs that have nothing to do with the original point. and through your thoughts on him it's so obvious that he's sat with you for so long that it seems like he comes so natural to you. i sink my teeth often and particularly into your threads WITH hien, actually, because i feel like teague's cool-calm-unsettling type of violence plays off with lourdes who shows a lot more on the surface by comparison !! i luv my creature feature.

lourdes' characterization has gotta be one of most like "lived in", real, unique ones i've seen for a vampire oc in a while. as a big big fan of gothic literature, like the true gothic canon that the whole later genre and understanding of the word it is today was influenced by . . . he feels actually of that time. of that literature. not gloom for gloom's sake but a moral, philosophical experiment. the bones of how you write him feels authentic to what gothic literature was and not what ppl have made gothic out to be. that there's so much humanism in his darkness. and the whole gothic canon at the time was all about turning humanism inside out and intellectualizing all that through their superstitions of the Dark and ommmmmg im going into such a tangent. sorry !!!

GOOD JOB KEEP IT UP LOVE YOU !!

#bloodebayou #ꫂ᭪݁ . ( ooc )

@bloodebayou asked: “ what exactly is it i am to be remembering ? ” 𝑽𝑨𝑵 𝑯𝑬𝑳𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑮 sentence starters (accepting)

There are towers of dusty shelves in place of squelching gums, tomes for teeth. Nicholas is at a table, beneath him a stretched lolling tongue, a wool runner in shades of luxurious jacquard fleshy cherry. A sound trickles like saliva. The ceiling is ribbed.

Now, Lourdes fills the space. Lourdes is an anomaly. Lourdes stands like a jutting crucifix, a funeral procession in oil blacks, his cape spilling off his shoulders. He wonders what Lourdes saw tonight—maybe familiar limbs wrapped around him, a warm mouth to his cheek. Lourdes’ eyes are sharp. In the moonlight, they glow like maraschinos.

“I’m afraid you could never remember what was never yours.” Nicholas clarifies but doesn’t all at once. Beneath his hand is a closed book. “Lourdes— Was it everything you’ve ever wanted?”

#bloodebayou #( sluaghter: v: main. )#( sluaghter: asks. )#u asked and i shall deliver #i look at your boy and his maraschino eyes and pointy teeth and 50 megatons of trauma

Bespoke tailor houses aren't a foreign concept to Howard at all. As a child, people spoke of the legendary Saville Row like it was paved with gold. He has never been yet, but the trend certainly have brought aspiring young tailors to Mayfair even as far back as he could remember. He remembered James's brother Robert, who had borrowed money from the local butcher to afford his stagecoach ride to London, so he could work for Henry Poole. Those were the times.

What he wasn't prepared for, were snotty customer service in these so called exclusive tailor houses telling him off for not relenting the package meant for their boss. From the moment he entered the establishment he could feel eyes on his dusty, well lived in Carhartt tan jacket and his dirty, white vegan Reeboks. The disgust in their eyes had subtitles on it.

It says, in French, « Cheap fast fashion fuck . »

Obviously he could have been misinterpreting the gaze -- he IS a weird, green looking bastard after all, with a suspicious box in his arms that he cradled protectively.

"Look, I'm telling you," he gave up on his French in the end. It's a delicious language to moan and whinge in, but not at his expense. "This is for your boss and your boss only. Just give him a call, and I'll hand this off to him, and I'll be on my way."

Oh what a palaver, and over a bloody fucking box.

@bloodebayou

#bloodebayou #{ ? }#// hope this works? lmk if not!

@bloodebayou sent : [ PALM ], sender and receiver ignore stresses of real life together.

She doesn't want to go home. What's new? Lately, things weren't as bad as they had been —Micah had been spending more and more time at this apartment in downtown, and all that was waiting for her back at her little glass home in Malibu was emptiness. Not even the daughter that she failed was permitted to stay there anymore, and so the house was dark without her light and Madonna, when present, could only hear the crash of the neighboring waves against the cliffside her home was built upon. It wasn't so bad. It had been a lot worse ( ... ) But who the fuck cares about how much worse things could be when the default was just... bad? Not her.

Madonna pushes a fat, bourbon-drenched chocolate square into her mouth and chews. She's sprawled out on the hotel suite's chaise lounge like a napping cat, several empty bottles of wine littered on the floor near her. She's wrapped up in a white hotel robe. Before her is a glossy brochure detailing services, prices and more offered by the hotel spa. She waves the brochure lazily in Lourdes's direction, drawing his attention from the nearby armchair —the book that he was currently reading.

❛ Did you know they offer late-night spa treatments to card-holders? ❛ She asks with a haughty glimmer in her eye, red wine mouth drawing into a conspiring grin. ❛ Shiatsu, Swedish, and facials too. They even have something called hot stone therapy. I think I might try that. What about you? ❛