valentin-stjohn-archive

[valentin-stjohn-archive]

Neither of them needed to breathe and yet between the silence spaces of their conversation the sound of soft breathing could be heard from the petite vampire woman and from Valentin himself though it was a habit he did not frequently partake in. Something so human as breathing was usually a front to appear just so or a subtle manipulation to make a wary individual around him feel more at ease. Unnatural things inherently made people uneasy and not breathing was unnatural. His reason for breathing now was neither of the aforementioned. His reason for breathing was much simpler and a lot more intimate. He breathed so he could smell her, the soft fragrance she wore filled his senses and he relished in it, the knowledge that she'd chosen to adopt the fragrance he had gifted to her. She could have easily not done so, remained with her own signature scent but she had opted instead for his gift and that felt distinct.

Vulnerability was not something that the vampire exhibited but with her, he could feel built up walls from centuries begin to crumble, cracks within marble stone letting in pinpricks of sunlight, warming a long cold heart that had not seen a daybreak for years.

The cool touch of his fingertips trailing absently along the length of her arm, down the line from her shoulder to the slight bend of her elbow, other hand remained occupied with her own against her chest, fingers slotting between her digits. "I want," his lips parting, speaking over the rise of grown fangs he could not recede back into his gumline so they continued to fill his mouth, spilling past the line of his lips, "I want you to want me as more than your sire but I will not ask more of you than you are willing to give." His fingers trailed back up her arm slowly, his touch by no means soft due to old human callouses and working hands but it was gentle.

"For my heart," he thought briefly on it then replied with a sedated honesty, "It is enough to have these moments with you. I enjoy our quiet solitudes together where we can build a space for you and I to feel comfortable." Just as he had done here, for the estate in Missouri he had furnished a few rooms and filled them with the memory of her without knowing if they would ever be put to use, it would be nice to see her occupy them and truly make them her own, an indirect indication that she wanted to build a new life with him. "Also, I would request," as he inclined his chin lower, brushing against the softness side of her hair, "That you continue to wear this scent whenever you plan on seeing me. It pleases me knowing you are using it well."

⌝ Bella looked down, placing the stuffed toy to the side, and hearing it fall from the edge of the bed as it's weight shifted and there was not room for it to remain. No attempt to go after it she kept her own blackened gaze on his own unbalanced irises. His calloused fingers placed on her chest were sweet, as were his words, but she did mean it when she said both and while she wished to see an honesty to his intentions she didn't expect all desires and concessions to be for herself.

⌝ "It would please me for you to say how you felt," she answered, placing one of her hands over his, talons scratching at her skin as they slipped beneath his fingers to wrap around them, red blood building at the shallow wounds. "I know you wish to reconcile, that you want to show me you wish to be here with me," she squeezed his hand softly. "That doesn't mean you have to concede all desires and feelings to me or dance around honesty, I can handle a less than perfect truth." At least for Bella she desired his harmful honesty, so it might make her understand things better.

⌝ With a slow and purposeful exhale of air she did not need from lungs that ached with demonic blood pushing through them she lowered herself, drawing her legs between his thighs and extending down beneath the sheets until her toes touched the tops of his feet, her form finding itself against him, hand still wrapped around his own and keeping it at her chest. "What can I do that would help your heart?" she asked him.

[valentin-stjohn-archive]

The old fashioned way. By summer it would be glorious once more. Valentin was not considerably vocal but there was an element within his silence now as it stretched between them that spoke volumes and while his facial expression had not shifted, the atmosphere filling the garden house felt almost stifling with disappointment. His unbalanced eyes, one appearing pale blue as forget-me-nots, the other pitch black entirely landed on her slowly, the movement of his irises so miniscule that if one hadn't been paying attention to their shifting one could easily wonder if he'd even moved or had he always been staring at her. "Your word," silence broken, "means nothing to me."

He could hear the crunch of gravel of footsteps outside the garden house, of birds chirping on dry branches, hushed conversations about the state of the garden as it was now and what a shame that so many of the plants seemed affected, things audible to his heightened hearing which was apparently one of the features of his vampirism that hadn't been affected by the shift of dynamic caused by the mist.

"I don't care how you do it," the methodology meant nothing, "You will fix this," points of his fangs visible beneath the line of his upper lip, unable to conceal them or withdraw them back into his gums, whatever force was affecting them made it impossible to conceal such features, the same true for her it seemed. He had never seen her in such a state, so exposed with all her fae peculiarities. "By any means necessary."

it was a simple question yet, forced eilonwy to answer and think of a way do to so in a manner satisfactory. without this job, she truly felt as if she were useless. more less useless, completely nothing without the job she occupied - somewhere, somehow, eilonwy had forgotten that she was a separate person outside of the gardens and butterfly house. it was an identity that she felt she couldn’t function without, not properly. what else was there to do? many fae had fled to their realms for comfort while she had not the luxury.

the woman still had not answered back, black eyes staring into palest blue and the other one. it spoke louder than her eventual; “the old fashioned way”, without her magic. something eilonwy could do, as she had done almost 20 years ago. plan, plant, water, monitor. something much more intensive then simply allowing fae magic to aid in the process. “if i work quick, by summer it will be glorious once more,”

not once had she been perturbed by his appearance, by the fangs nor anything else. not that it mattered if she was, after all. “you have my word, valentin,”

[valentin-stjohn-archive]

Do you think you only like Bellamy because you were forced into a confined space with her and would like other people just as much were you forced to spend time with them?

"I was not forced into a confined space with her. I had the agency to leave at any time but I chose not to. I have since then, spent a considerable amount of time with lab technicians and my own personal assistant and have not developed any feelings. Suffice it to say, no, I would not like just anyone because I am forced to spend time with them."

@thebellamybarnes

[valentin-stjohn-archive]

FMK: Bella.

"Yes."

@thebellamybarnes

[valentin-stjohn-archive]

"If I had the answers to that question I would not have called the ERT," was his response to her line of questioning on whether he knew something which would be useful in counteracting the effect of the cursed object.

There were over a few thousand items of varying historical significance which he had accumulated himself throughout the course of his long life, some of which were his own belongings, others purchased or acquired through various methods and while he kept a curator in his employ the information of every single item within this estate was not something he retained in his immediate memory. As for the brooch itself, he had no memory of it being one of his belongings and must have therefore been acquired through some auction, perhaps as part of a lot. "I can have my curator be made available to you to advise you on more information regarding this item." Otherwise, all he knew was it was a brooch.

The rest he could confirm easily enough, "Yes, this is the first time this has occurred regarding this item. Generally, we test each item before it goes on display to ensure it is safe," some items which were magical in nature could be temperamental and occasionally reacted when within close proximity of each other or were dangerous in general. He would need to speak with his staff to determine where the oversight had fallen that allowed this cursed object onto the display floor where guests could touch it.

@mahalinaeisen

Who was this man? She heard the name murmured before, but he was surely not one for simple pleasantries nor did he seem like the one who cared to waste time. Albeit, didn’t he have time on his hand being a vampire and all? As she followed him, she looked around and was astonished by the amount of people who were touring this space. Was this some freak accident or was there a waiver included with their admission that hinted they were potentially at risk? “Oh…yeah, museums aren’t really my thing,” she nodded. Not unless they were contemporary and this most certainly did not express that at all. She accidentally got left behind and trapped when she was kid. Terrified the shit out of here and since then, she'd avoided museum like the plague. Plus, she didn’t find the chance of floating due to an object quite an experience she desired to have at any point of time. 

As she walked in, she noticed the piece of jewelry that was glimmering with the sunlight hit it just right. She could see why someone would touch it. Breathtaking in every sense of the word. As she analyzed it, she looked back at him for a moment before reverting her eyes to the brooch. “Interesting.” This was certainly well out of Hal’s wheelhouse and she was curious to know how exactly they could get this man down. “What can you tell me about it? Anything you think would be useful to figure out how we can counteract this?” Mahalina was thinking they would need a witch well versed with a hex. As a werewolf she was very much out of her league with this call. “I’m assuming nothing like this has happened before? Or at least with this brooch?” The Eisen was curious to know if there were any other flukes that happened here.

[valentin-stjohn-archive]

"If you wish to make a potato clock," tones of amusement interlaced as he replied, "or a volcano then you certainly can," the tour would more likely be one that involved no touching of the equipment, or rather minimal touching, lest anything be contaminated or mishandled but if she wanted to exhibit anything or try her hand at something within the lab he was certain to be able to find her something safe for her to amuse herself with. It would be enticing, to show her more of his work, show her how much had been progressed, how much there was still yet to do but how much closer they were toward reaching a resolution.

Valentin did note the shift in atmosphere, moderate, almost hesitant in nature as she spoke, expressing her thoughts and desires to him which he received with patience confidence, listening intently until her voice, sweetly melodic, came to a pause.

His abstract gaze landed on her features, pale blue and dark black irises a bit unsettling in their nonsymmetric duality but not lacking in affection, dilated pupil more apparent in his forget-me-not eye as he observed her, still feeling the soft draw of her skin beneath his fingers, slightly sticky with ichor. "If it pleases you, then that is what will be done and nothing more," the hand at the side of her cheek came down to rest softly against the top of her chest, a few drops of the ichor which had fallen onto the surface beneath his palm and his coated fingerprints leaving their own traces of the substance against her porcelain like skin, "Until our hearts overflow."

⌝ The question of what a Dave and Busters was brought joy to her already excited face. Valentin was by no means close to ignorant but everyone was unaware of things not within their worlds and silly restaurants with silly games were in no reality within his...except with her. Just as the notion of stepping into a pristine lab filled was by no means a part of hers except with him. The venn diagram of their worlds intersecting came together as a sliver, just wide enough for what game them their affection.

⌝ "It is a restaurant that sells burgers more expensive than their quality would suggest with silly games humans cannot win with prizes worth less than playing the games themselves," she described as she sat on him, shoulders leaning in so her form seemed to curl around him on her bed, watching as his fingers flapped the little bat at her. She would need to be cautious, of not getting caught up in his little gestures and discovering three days later they had not left one another's company. At least now they grew tired, time made sense, out there it would fall away.

⌝ His intended efforts of balance would, in the same regard, be taken as genuinely by the young woman. He would find balance between her and work, and she would do the same. Promising herself so internally as he promised a desire to have her with him, his fingers touching at the black ink on her cheeks as he spoke more, brushing the darkness across her, the movements he made leaving little trails on her. "A tour? Will I get to show off all my scientific knowledge?" Bella asked to amuse herself. "Maybe a potato clock or a volcano?"

⌝ She settled though, the smile and joy she offered not going away entirely, but there was a shift, something less playful to her eyes and to the edges of her lips as she felt his hands on her cheeks, fingers clutching the small toy between them. "I don't want to seek out that sort of enjoyment," she attempted to respond to his words without losing the affection he was gifting her, aware that beyond the moment they'd had on Valentine's Day the two had been quite chaste, quite the opposite for Bella.

⌝ "I want us to both feel like it's an act of love and vulnerability," she admitted, something that her intimacy had lacked. She wanted an honesty to it, cautious not because he had been keeping something from her before, but because she had hidden her own wounds in favour of being wanted and loved, which only left her the opposite. "I want us to feel it, in our chests, like we're not capable doing anything else because we feel so...seen and safe in whatever moment it is," she tried to explain. "For both of us. Not just me. I don't know what it'll be that makes us feel that way but, I know for you I'd rather wait. Touring your lab, laying next to you while you read like before, those things will make me happy, being around you makes me happy, and maybe it was always my fault but for all the trust I've given I feel like it's just been ripped apart in front of me. I don't think I'm capable anymore of rushing things, of having that same trust. I - I want to give us our best chance," Bella whispered her final words, unsure if any of them had upset or offended the man who had been caring for her the past few days. Perhaps her desires were unfair and yet she couldn't help but feel them.

[valentin-stjohn-archive]

"I was in Missouri," a touch of a smile played upon his features when she expressed a desire to go to the lab he'd been working at previously, shifting to make room for her as she settled herself over his lap, her gentle weight pressing over him. There was never any physical warmth between them, impossible between two dead bodies and his own that did not shift in temperature no matter his efforts, but there was warmth in action, in physicality, in the closeness of bodies and the affectionate presses of hands to hands and lips to skin. "What is a Dave and Busters?" It was not the sort of place that he frequented at all on his own or with business associates who were more inclined for upscale cocktail bars or Michelin star restaurants.

Based on her description of what they could leave with though, he was presuming it was some sort of arcade filled with games similar to those at the faire. His hand coming up to rest against the soft plush bat she pressed against the center of his chest, fiddling his fingers at the wing to make it flap as he returned the kiss. The smell of her fragrance heavy in this close proximity, laced with the bitter floral notes of burning edelweiss essence.

If it were a matter of productivity, then he should go alone, do what needed to be done to catch up with his work and the many meetings he'd been having to reschedule because now he had to sleep during the night when previously he had been able to conduct meetings at all hours of the day which suited his connections overseas and internationally and now scheduling conflicts arose, unable to manage his previous workload. However, it was not just a matter of productivity. It was a matter of balance. "I would love to have you with me," even if they didn't go to this place called Dave and Busters, he would make time for her.

"I will give you a tour of the lab and if there is no faire in the area," his hand came up to the side of her cheek, fingers trailing gently over the dripping blackness from her eyes, smearing down the cool planes of her rounded cheeks, light and careful strokes of affection, "then we will find our own enjoyment elsewhere."

⌝ Bellamy spoke in overwhelming waves while her sire spoke in gentle ripples. It had taken a few conversations to get accustomed to it again, but she had. It was all in the movement of her jaw that indicated she was watching when his fingers laid on her own, drawing her hand with his though. Bella warmed by the way he allowed physical affection to comfort her as he thought, filling his silence with lips to the inside of her wrist, her own talons taunting the back of his jaw with a touch of their sharpness.

⌝ At his answer he took her hand and held it between his own, Bella's fingers curling around them, feeling their daylight charms touch. The one he had bought her to fulfil her niche interest, and the one she had bought him to match and had ended up replacing the one had had been wearing for over a century. Distracted from these thoughts a laugh fell from her lips when he named three states she had certainly never considered visiting. Nevada perhaps, but she wasn't much of a Vegas girl. "Where were you working before you came here?" she asked in answer, because if she was going to go somewhere without entertainment while he worked she needed something else to fill her days. She could have tea with his neighbours and hear the rumours about town of who he was. "I think there," she decided, her hand still holding his own as she moved forward.

⌝ Lifting her weight onto her knees as she brought one leg over him, seating herself on his thighs before pressing soft pallid lips to the height of his cheekbones, where there were obvious dark blue veins. Smile still on her lips she drew back, looking at him with a warmth to the way her muscles pulled that her colouring and descriptors were certainly unable to make clear, but it was there, for him. "Maybe we will find another Faire there and you can win me some more toys," she commented, picking up the fat black bat laid on her bed with her free hand and touching it to his chest. She'd enjoyed Val's determination on Founder's Day to win the silly game, so sure in her heart it was those ridiculous and unnecessary things that he enjoyed with her. And realistically she was older now, she could restrain herself. She didn't need to draw him into her web of violence pleasure and romantic fun for days, a few hours was more than enough, especially as she did want him to succeed. "Really we should go to some like Dave and Busters or something, leave with a light up keyboard, maybe a finger trap, a bunch of candy, and one of the game attendants for dinner."

⌝ Bella leaned in once more, plush creature between them, this time kissing the edge of his lips. "Do you want to go and spend time together when you are not working, or would you rather go alone?" she checked with him before getting too ahead of herself as she could. Nose in his cheek and aware he might feel behind with a need to catch up she hoped that Val would be honest with her. Bella wouldn't mind not going with him, what she would mind was going and being ignored.

@valentin-stjohn

[valentin-stjohn-archive]

He was still knelt close to the ground as she rose to her full height, the grandness of it did not bring him any unease, nor did her altered appearance. He was well familiar with the peculiarities of the fae, had seen many who looked like extensions of trees or abstract creatures of myth and while he had not seen one that looked exactly as she had, it was not so strange a sight to make him pause. Her appearance meant nothing, after all, in the wake of what she could do. "How?" A simple question but weighted. Her talent had been infused with her fae magic and with that gone, how did she intend to fix it.

Valentin rose to stand now but he maintained some distance between them. Hunger gripped at his throat, fangs perpetually descended and eager. Already he could imagine ripping into flesh, tearing through sinew, a rush of intoxicating fae blood filling his mouth. He remained rooted in place, a living statue, not breathing because the small garden house was filled with the sweet aroma of blood.

@eilonwyj

another voice, one familiar to her for it was the man who employed her. as quickly as her sadness had crashed into her like an overwhelming wave eilonwy fought to batter it back down into a private place where it could fester along with all her other negative emotion. in her fae form, she was unable to cry yet, it didn’t stop her from using one pair of hands to wipe at her eyes while the other quickly closed the box of deceased bugs. the butterflies were, after all, a surrogate family. no longer could she be with her monarch family, so eilonwy had seen it fit to make her own. a loneliness she so often kept at bay, forcing herself to be content with the cruel had she had been dealt was beginning to leak over the edges of that dam.

still, around valentin, she knew she must show no weakness. standing to her true height, she brushed off the dirt that had gathered on her lap from where she had been hastily attempting to try to replant something. spring’s bounty had been ruined, and she had not the energy now to really think about what she was going to do next. “i am in the process of coming up with a plan to fix it,” eilonwy spoke quickly, stumbling once more to please. without the job, she truly believed she was nothing. without use, nobody would want her, and she was free to be discarded, like she had before.

the fae did note how different valentin looked, truly more like a corpse than before. it seemed everyone was affected by what was going on.

[valentin-stjohn-archive]

Cillian Murphy featured in the Document Journal (2023)

[valentin-stjohn-archive]

The events following Founder’s Day had been an adjustment period even for the older vampire. He’d lived centuries now of existing without strain or the inconveniences of being human and with the sudden shift of supernatural abilities and strengths there was a newfound weakness that he had not felt since he had been human. It was now a foreign element to him and he frequently forgot that this body now needed something he had grown so used to existing without, sleep was a necessity that was more inconvenient than anything and he often remained awake despite the fatigue that now settled over him and it seemed fae too were being affected with a loss of their connection to magic which unfortunately rendered his stolen eye into more a decorative aesthetic choice rather than an actual functional eye, therefore his vision was now too also affected. The eye which would previously been glamoured using stolen fae magicks to appear visually normal was now pitch black with no colored iris, as if the pupil itself had dilated to encompass the entire orb leaving only the whites encircling it. Not only that, but unable to conceal his other vampiric features so his fangs remained descended from his gumline, sharp and prominent against the backdrop of his lips and the hunger could almost be seen in the now thinly visible blue veins beneath his nearly corpse like skin, spiderwebbing more visible along his forearms and around the edges of his face where the skin was thinner. 

When Bellamy indicated she had a proposition for him, he moved to sit up, back now resting against the headboard and pillows of her bed, feeling a comfort in them and in the way her sharp taloned hands drew up his thigh over the sheets. Valentin seemed to consider her words, something he frequently did, taking some time before responding verbally as he considered the options within his ever overworking thoughts. His singular pale blue eye looked down to her hand against his thigh, his own hand now moving to land over top of hers, cool touch of his fingers nearly matched her own cool temperature as they encircled her thin wrist and lifted her hand, pulling it toward his lips while he leaned forward to apply a soft kiss to the inside of her non-beating veins at the bend of her wrist, “I would like that very much,” was his verbal response. “I have a lab in Missouri and in Nevada and in North Dakota,” he removed his lips and held her hand between his own as he looked back up at her, “Which one would you like to see?”

⌝ Bella's talons cautiously reached for the dark strands of his hair that fell over his face as he laid in her bed and the young vampire girl sat cross legged and facing him, black silk night gown not nearly as dark as the black ink wells of her eyes that were, presently, perpetually crying as the candles of edelweiss in the space drew out the ever growing demonic blood in her. She didn't necessarily see Valentin as someone who experienced guilt, certainly not for his efforts in achieving his synthesised blood. How was he to foresee this sort of side affect? How was he to foresee them becoming weakened? For Bella, at the very least, she wasn't angry, actually quite the opposite. Valentin could have left, he could have gone outside the towns borders and been fine, and yet he stayed. If anything was proof of his efforts it was the few hours of sleep he allowed himself that took him from his work.

⌝ Hand falling against his legs beneath the sheets of her bed she smiled. "I have a proposition for you," Bellamy told him, her talons running along his thigh, though not quite breaking through the fabric of the sheets. Since their reconciliation, Valentin had made time for her, but with the amount of time, and with all that had happened on Founder's Day intimate moments had been lacking, and certainly Bella wasn't in the mood as ichor ran down her cheeks. "We take a trip to one of the labs outside Opulence," she suggested. "I have some business to work on, you are getting behind, and I miss the old days." The days when they could grab strangers off the street and finish their meals, an outlook that with how hungry both were certainly was becoming harder and harder to resist.

⌝ "I want to feel strong enough to dance with you, and I want to not feel guilty doing so is consuming your work," she insisted because Bella had tried since Founder's Day to on draw him to her when it was time to rest, to allow him to focus for as long as his body would allow him. She was selfish. She wanted more. "Would you want to?" All the while, more black blood ran down her face, hitting her jawline and landing on her chest, a few droplets there.

@valentin-stjohn

[valentin-stjohn-archive]

Valentin’s initial response to her request to bring the cookies was to smile, in the way which was reserved solely for her, for no one could be quite so capable of eliciting such a response or reaction from the man who had lived nearly three centuries. All she desired could be hers and it was for a plate of cookies that she made her request. “Take a plate from the cabinet,” he replied to her softly, leaving a sticky kiss against an untouched plane of her cheek, now marked by the remnants of blood in the shape of his lips. They could, of course, bring the cookies with them. It was only then that he moved to create some distance between them, crossing the space from the now destroyed dining table that would need to be restored back to the expansive kitchen island where the lace cookies had been cooling after their time in the oven. The crisp toffee and caramel hardened now and the bowl of melted chocolate was essentially useless, it would need to be remelted and tempered all over again but that was something he was no longer interested in so the lace cookies would go without a drizzling of dark chocolate. 

Once the cookies were removed from the wire cooling rack and situated on a plate, he proceeded to the upper levels of the estate that made up his private wing. An area that was private to everyone except for her and his most trusted members of staff and the occasional temporary guest. The door to his bedroom would be somewhat ajar and he felt certain her senses would pick up on the sweet metallic scent of fresh warm blood. The door would creak as he pushed it open, waiting for her to pass through the threshold, visible from their vantage point would be the bathroom, door open, aromatics wafting. “Surprise,” he would say to her, for it was thus: the bathtub filled with crimson blood, still warm from an unknown amount of living bodies not visible for they had been used for their purpose and then removed. “How long has it been,” Valentin began to ask with the tender touch of his fingers up the side of her arm, “since you have been able to truly be at ease?” A question that did not necessarily require an answer. “Let me bathe you in blood and feed you cookies and you will know the intensity of my apology.”

Keep reading...

It felt like a release when her words left her lips, a unique relief that washed over the vampire with the warmth of melted metal that he had not felt for years during the absence of her. He had forgotten what it felt like. It was so easy to forget when she was not present, so easy to disregard everything that he had felt for her as nothing more than a necessary means to an end and yet now it felt like he’d found his soul again and it came rushing in. 

What space had been created between them, the vampire now moved to close it, the soles of his shoes tapped in the slick puddle of sticky blood, sinking weight and softly squelching, his hand wrapped over her own that had rested a bloodied index fingers to the center of his frozen heart, keeping it in place as he angled his head down to press the cool skin of his forehead against her own and trained pale blue eyes to her own flooded black gaze. He shut his eyelids softly, a flickering of dark brown lashes and when he opened his eyes had dropped the stolen glamour that made his left eye appear natural and looked into her with his half black and half blue sights. “I have every intention of apologizing to you,” he moved his opposing hand not resting over hers held to his chest to wrap around her waist and bring her closer in a firm embrace, “thoroughly, until you are sufficiently satisfied and can no longer question my devotion..” 

A turn of his head and he littered the side of her face with affection, lips leaving a sticky damp trail of lips, drying blood caused each kiss to stick to skin briefly before he drew them away and planted them again in a fresh location that wanted to be touched, he would leave no space behind without first giving it the attention it deserved. He kissed over her eyelids and in the corner of her eyes, her temples, the side of her nose, the plane of her cheeks, he did not relent, his hands simultaneously traveled up the length of her arm on one side and down the side of her body with the other, pushing forward with his weight and pressure so the table’s edge would be pressed behind her. A display of affection was what she desired then it was what she would get. “My beautiful Belle,” he spoke against the torn up wound that was at the side of her neck, kissing softly against slowly healing muscle. “I believe now it is time for your surprise,” lips coated in fresh blood trailed along the rounded slope of her shoulder. "It is upstairs," he spoke intermittently, with lips moving against her skin, "in my private chambers," and he felt quite certain she would enjoy it.

⌝ Bella felt coarse fingers curl around her own hand and his forehead lower until she felt his skin press against her own, the close proximity making her feel softer again, less concerned by the fact he had raised her from the table prematurely. Any lingering displeasure at the movement of her, and the statement implying a lack of awareness for what had upset her about him dancing with Ophelia faded the second he blinked and she was no longer staring at matching blue eyes but instead was gifted with the rare sight of the endless pit of blackness that was now one of his eyes. Cruel perhaps to enjoy the sight of the replacement he had needed to make after her actions but it made her feel like the black gaze she had was no longer solely hers.

⌝ His words, of course, made the young woman flush. Not in a way that could be seen in any sort of rising hue to her cheeks, without a living partner she couldn't show a faux display of life, but in the way her cheeks swelled, in the way the edges of her lips pulled into them, and in the way she had to look away from his eyes for a moment or be overwhelmed by him. Not that looking away allowed her any true reprieve as his lips laid bloody affections to her, touching at her cheek and pulling away like separating the dried pages of a book left out in the rain, and doing the same with each gently affectionate placement. Her hand went to wrap around his own, to hold their hands between one another's hearts, but his determined gesture sought her arms and so instead she flattened her hand out on him once more, a soft moan escaping from swollen lips when the firmness of his hips pressed to her own, hands at her sides holding his partner in place. It cause her bones to ache while he spoke, kisses left on Bella's exposed wound tickling slightly, her cheek falling against his head as she smiled a little.

⌝ The notion of a surprise though did just that though - surprised her. It had not been in the requested plans and so the idea alone was one that made Bella believe him, that he cared about working on things between them, on understanding she had been hurt and felt like she was taking a risk. Bella knew the press of his hips implied a physical way of proving his devotion, of making her satisfied, but Bella felt there was more to it, a reflection of the cold unbeating heart in his mostly hollow chest. He got hard tearing at her cunt with his teeth, swallowing flesh and blood, and could probably get hard doing the same to any willing participate but softer affections had always seemed not to interest him, at least with anyone other than her. Maybe she was a fool but the gentleness of his touch on her, of the physical without the violent, reminded her how much he did when it came to his affections for her, how different he could be.

⌝ The notion his chambers were private amused her still, when he knew she had explored them, wondering in a fleeting moment if the flowers she had asked Eilonwy to place would be ready but it was too soon, she doubted it. The pause in her features from thought was barely noticeable, she assumed, instead thinking of what might be hidden up there for her. The space was relatively empty, her mind running wild with what might fill it - a custom dress, a soft pink pillow just for her, a pile of fashion magazines replacing the empty bedside table opposite the one covered in his books - but also what she knew was already there - the products she knew Rosita had helped him find, the bath strategically placed for a keen observer. Fingers that had been left at his chest crawled up slowly to caress one side of his throat. "Whatever it is," she promised him, fingers forcing his eyes back to her own with a nudging from her thumb and index finger. "Thank you, for thinking of me, my Fionnan," she whispered, allowing the blacks of her eyes to fade finally, revealing the liquid gold irises she typically wore, fingers still at his throat, caressing his jaw. "And can we bring the cookies?"

[valentin-stjohn-archive]

Valentin’s response to her confirmation to see the object was to simply begin walking in the direction of it under the assumption she would follow and she did, so he maneuvered through the crowd of curious and shocked onlookers as if they were not even there, paying no mind to their whispers of surprise and concern for the levitating patron. “I do,” he replied to her question. This was not his only home, he had many places in which he owned and chose to live, either part of the year or not at all and only returned there from time to time throughout the decades when it suited him. Longevity of life afforded a different view when it came to the passage of time and the ownership of a building. Very obviously, this estate was more of a museum than a home, a collection of artifacts and items he’d collected over the course of his extended life and instead of hoarding them all in some private and secret storage container he’d decided to share them with the public. Knowledge was only meaningful when it was shared, afterall. 

“You can take a tour of the estate once your work is done,” he offered nonchalantly to the woman, finally pausing in front of a locked door, which he promptly unlocked with a collection of bronze keys on a ring. He pushed open the door and gestured for her to enter, “I had my staff put the item away so no one else would accidentally touch it,” the item in question was laid out on top of a table and appeared entirely unimportant, a small but ornate looking brooch with an engraved cameo. “It is my understanding, they pricked their finger.”

"Great," she nodded. "Yes, that would be helpful." Vampires. It's what she was still getting used to only ever meeting about five in her entire life. Her mother was very adamant about the limited socialization with other supernatural creatures. Afraid that her minions were going to attain a warped view, she wanted the werewolves under her order to know and understand they were the superior being at the end of the day. Looking the man over, Mahalina wasn't sure if she could envision the man being anything but a vampire. He was so stoic and it was rather eery the lack of emotion exuding from the man. Did he even feel any? "Dom you can handle –– this," she said gesturing towards the man whose back was surely going to snap with the ferocity in which he banged into the ceiling.

Following the man towards the object, Hal couldn't help but be mesmerized by the ornate home she was standing in. "You live here?"

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Whispers of disgruntled visitors who had wanted to view the butterflies and exquisite gardens soon reached the vampire’s ears, because the gardens were no longer filled with fragrant flowers. Colors and petals dulled, stems wilted and bowed, leaves shriveled and fell, an unnatural autumn overcame the gardens, made green and vibrant through the magic of the fae and now without the careful tending of its fae caretaker what was once luscious and wick began to fade into rustling crisp browns and lackluster greys. Even the vampire was not feeling as he once was. The green mist had stolen more from him than his human essence, with the rise of his hunger gnawing at the back of his throat, fangs descended from his gums and remained, unable to be withdrawn and the fae glamour that concealed the visage of his stolen fae left eye was gone so it appeared pitch black and soulless. He could no longer see out of the eye either, a mere placeholder, useless, vision altered, depth perception suffering. Any sense of warmth that was once within his cold skin had also gone, appearing entirely pallid and sullen, like a true corpse with thin blue veins visible beneath thin clammy skin. His hard soled shoes crunched beneath the gravel that carried him through the garden paths toward the butterfly pavilion. The scribbled closed sign did not deter him, nor did the locked door for he had the master key and unlocked it promptly. 

When he stepped in, he paused, shoe halted, shadow falling over a dead butterfly on the ground. Carefully, he set his foot down beside it, mindful not to step on the deceased insect. He knelt down and softly extended out a single finger to brush against the wing, shifting the butterfly as if to confirm it was truly dead, inspecting its immobility. "The damage is extensive," he commented in his usual soft tone of voice.

the wailing echoed off the glass window panes of the botanical gardens, ghoulish and completely inhuman in its nature - people may have come to investigate why only the doors were locked to the public with a hastily scribbled ‘closed until further notice’ on the front. she didn’t mean to be so loud, yet her entire lifes work had begun crashing down around her. without the stream of constant fae magic in the soil, the plants that were kept healthy and robust had begun to appear lackluster - some of them had even begun to die off. it was the same at home, her gardens turned grey. a bee had stung her, for no longer could eilonwy speak to them either.

perhaps the biggest loss, the reason for her emotional outburst was not the plants. it was the butterflies, twitching on the ground as they finally succumbed to death. eilonwy had been able to extend their natural lifespans but…no more. a pair of hands carefully placed them within a test tube while another scrawled latin names on stickers to attach to them. it seemed the cherry on the cake was that her glamour could no longer be upheld, revealing eilonwy as a 7-foot bug woman. 

if somebody were to enter, she wouldn’t have noticed, too busy whispering apologies to the deceased creatures that she was so fond of. “i’m sorry my loves, i don’t know whats happened i’m sorry,”

@valentin-stjohn​

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The thumping of the young human’s heart was indeed immediately obvious to the vampire, especially so since it was the only audible sound of a living being within his direct vicinity. Only in a crowd would the sounds of living bodies begin to mass together into a soundless mass of white noise but like this, in a room where there was only one such living body, the sound of a heart beat and the inhalation of lungs was constant and easily noticed when its pattern was altered. The sound of it, however, was engaging for the vampire and his pale blue gaze trained onto the thin wrist now placed in the center of his palm. With his opposing hand which held the black mug, he offered it to the young man, “Hold this,” a simple demand. The mug itself was empty.

Valentin then brought his freed hand to his lips and with his fangs now distended, pierced the tip of his thumb to produce a bubble of crimson blood. Valentin was a unique vampire who had the ability to control and manipulate his own blood and so with this bead of his blood and the access of more through the small puncture, he would be able to construct without much effort a thin blade not too dissimilar to a scalpel, with a thin handle and a small but very shape blade at the end. He held the fashioned scalpel made of his blood loosely in his hands and with a single but precisely made stroke, made an incision a few inches up from Fionn’s wrist, cutting through skin and superficial veins, avoiding the major artery found nearby and then quickly moved to take the black mug back from Fionn, positioning it beneath the human's bleeding wrist so that all the blood produced that began to leak from the wound would drip into the container.

"Oh, you don't have to," he imagined the reasoning behind the offer was probably more practicality, allowing Valentin to safely take more blood, and yet Fionn still somehow felt the need to give some sort of excuse and deny the offer, not wanting to put the vampire to any trouble. Was that a stupidly human trait or simply an inconvenience? He didn't think Valentin was the type to be charmed by such responses. "I'm not fussy," Fionn said instead, phrasing the words slowly, carefully. "Anything would be completely fine. Thank you." Politeness, even if unnecessary, never hurt, and he even managed what he hoped was a neutral expression as he extended his arm, bony wrist sitting in Valentin's palm with space to spare, Fionn silently hoping the thumping of his heart wasn't immediately obvious to the vampire.

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Location: St John Museum Estate & Botanical Gardens With: @fran--bonet

The days were growing moderately warmer but still thin clouds hung within the brightness of the sky and so the gardens were a popular place for those of the general public to accumulate, either to stroll the garden pathways admiring the blossoms and other natural plants native and not or to enjoy the butterfly pavilion or the company of their companions through picnics on the great lawns after having a tour of the museum estate or simply to enjoy the curated gardens on their own. The estate being both a public and private residence and the owner of said establishment was frequently present though not always seen for the workings of maintaining such an estate while running his own pharmaceutical company took a great deal of time so he was rarely ever seen to be idle though he may appear to be.

In this moment, he could certainly be perceived as idle or taking some time for comfort and reprieve by sitting at a wrought iron garden table taking tea with a woman sat opposite to him but as ever, the vampire was not here for a casual chat. He sat as poised as he always was, well-tailored suit worn comfortably that it felt almost like a second skin, suit jacket unbuttoned to reveal the deep olive vest and white shirt beneath, and a brown cigarette hung loosely between thin fingers. It would not smell like tobacco or nicotine because it wasn't, not entirely. It was a special blend of his own making that featured a distinct fae element so perhaps a small amount of glimmer could be detected in the thin line of smoke that rose up from the smoldering tip. Valentin was ever a businessman who understood the value of time and so he did not care to linger on the pleasantries of small talk when it could be avoided and went directly in with his intentions.

"I am developing a synthetic blood substitute for our kind," attempting would be more accurate as it had thus far eluded him for more than two centuries, "and it is beneficial to understand my intended demographic," he was close now, closer than he'd been before because he'd found the element he'd been missing all these years, he only had to find a way to harness it and then his work would be complete. "So tell me," he glanced toward the woman sat opposite him with unblinking pale blue eyes, "Ms. Bonet, of your interest."

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Valentin hardly looked at the wounded werewolf woman, at least not directly, only a few careless glances made from the corners of his vision for there was little to interest him. The most notable feature was her wound which seemed slow to heal and for a werewolf whose healing was meant to be accelerated, it caused the intellect in him to wonder what had caused the injury. "You're hurt," he therefore stated, pointedly, with a tonality that she should do something about it. Werewolf saliva contained healing properties and even in this humanoid state if she licked her injuries it would certainly numb any pain or discomfort. His own blood too contained healing properties but he was never one to freely give his own blood for it was a commodity to a vampire such as he.

Scarlett stared at the vampire, brows knitting together in confusion at his reply. He didn't want the help her, and yet here they were. He could have chosen to keep driving rather stop to investigate a wounded animal- though she was loath to call herself that- and offer help. Unease wiggled its way into knots in her stomach. However, instead of pointing that out, she let out a halfhearted snort. "Right" she replied before watching the exchange of looks between Valentin and the driver. They way there were no words spoken unsettled her further, and she drew her bare legs up onto seat to rest her injured arm on her knees. "I'm Scarlett Salvatore" she replied after a few moments of silence.

[valentin-stjohn-archive]

Keep reading...

It felt like a release when her words left her lips, a unique relief that washed over the vampire with the warmth of melted metal that he had not felt for years during the absence of her. He had forgotten what it felt like. It was so easy to forget when she was not present, so easy to disregard everything that he had felt for her as nothing more than a necessary means to an end and yet now it felt like he’d found his soul again and it came rushing in. 

What space had been created between them, the vampire now moved to close it, the soles of his shoes tapped in the slick puddle of sticky blood, sinking weight and softly squelching, his hand wrapped over her own that had rested a bloodied index fingers to the center of his frozen heart, keeping it in place as he angled his head down to press the cool skin of his forehead against her own and trained pale blue eyes to her own flooded black gaze. He shut his eyelids softly, a flickering of dark brown lashes and when he opened his eyes had dropped the stolen glamour that made his left eye appear natural and looked into her with his half black and half blue sights. “I have every intention of apologizing to you,” he moved his opposing hand not resting over hers held to his chest to wrap around her waist and bring her closer in a firm embrace, “thoroughly, until you are sufficiently satisfied and can no longer question my devotion..” 

A turn of his head and he littered the side of her face with affection, lips leaving a sticky damp trail of lips, drying blood caused each kiss to stick to skin briefly before he drew them away and planted them again in a fresh location that wanted to be touched, he would leave no space behind without first giving it the attention it deserved. He kissed over her eyelids and in the corner of her eyes, her temples, the side of her nose, the plane of her cheeks, he did not relent, his hands simultaneously traveled up the length of her arm on one side and down the side of her body with the other, pushing forward with his weight and pressure so the table’s edge would be pressed behind her. A display of affection was what she desired then it was what she would get. “My beautiful Belle,” he spoke against the torn up wound that was at the side of her neck, kissing softly against slowly healing muscle. “I believe now it is time for your surprise,” lips coated in fresh blood trailed along the rounded slope of her shoulder. "It is upstairs," he spoke intermittently, with lips moving against her skin, "in my private chambers," and he felt quite certain she would enjoy it.

Keep reading...

She was a delicacy laid bare over the ornate wood surface, dripping cocktail of crimson arousal, a sensory overload of sound and feeling that filled a satisfaction within him for every flex and flutter of muscle around his fingers until he felt her begin to still and silence. He too stilled his actions, pulling his fingers out from her dripping center, blood bubbling out from her opening and oozing down to the puddle on the floor, with the mixture of her creamy arousal the blood was thick and sticky, dripping down in a fine line that also coated his fingers and filled his palm. He was about to move that hand he’d removed from her to unfasten the belt that was fastened around his hips when her voice broke through the silence. 

Blood slick fingers stopped over smooth metal of the belt buckle, fingerprints leaving their mark against silver, uncertain to what she was wanting an apology for until she continued on, clarifying her meaning. She wanted him to apologize for dancing with Eilonwy at the Valentine’s day luncheon. It hadn’t been something that he had considered would have caused her upset and he suspected there was more to it than that. 

Instead of unfastening his belt, his finger tapped against the silver buckle once then twice and then he put his hands on either sides of her thighs, red handprints beneath his gentle grip, moving upwards to bring her closer and encourage to her move into a position where she could now face him, whether she sat on the surface of the table or stood while leaning against it, however she wanted to move or not, “Look at me,” he would say to her, waiting for their eyes at least to meet before he continued. “I am sorry,” he said to her, “for dancing with her and for my actions which made you feel unimportant,” since he presumed that had been the root cause of her upset. He did not have much care or consideration for others because he did not consider anyone important enough but Bellamy was important to him, perhaps the one person who actually mattered to him.

“You need more blood,” he said to her then, noticing that the wound he’d inflicted at the side of her neck had not yet healed.

⌝ Bella heard the tapping, expecting the man to crawl onto the table with her, to look up into his eyes and feel his apology with his lips against her skin and his hips between her thighs. Instead she felt his hands on either side of her thighs, pressing bloody straps to them as he tugged on her, willing her to rise. With a slow exhale she focused for a moment, a sharp but fluid motion to remove her heel from his back, ankle moving down his side until there was a click, and then a second, heels hitting floor as Bella sat up, leaning against the table with her eyes finding his own, confused to find one still glamoured but allowing herself to focus in on his intent, obviously he took her request quite seriously.

⌝ There was a softness to the blackness of her gaze that came from the muscles around her eyes being weak, it was, however, a temporary softness that lingered as he began his apology and by the end of it turned dark. The inner corner muscles drew inward and it was clear even without pupils that what he had apologised for was not what she was upset about. "Is that what you actually think it is?" she asked him, a disbelief to her tone that someone who could probably calculate any equation thrown his way as though it were the questions one might ask a child could not understand what she was asking of him. Perhaps cruel, for her to expect such astute social awareness, considering they had been apart for so long, but Valentin had always been a master of charisma and trickery. The social requirements, of course, for meeting someone and showing enough of friendly back and forth to lure someone into ones orbit was certainly a far cry from understanding the complexities of someone's deeper needs.

⌝. Bella's hand pressing to his vest, sitting uncomfortably on him from each action he had been performing without thought for it tugged softly. A light scolding soothed by the pressure of her hand smoothing over the fabric she had pulled on. "You didn't make me feel unimportant," she insisted, the tight muscles around her eyes giving way, she was frustrated somewhat. In part with Valentin, for not simply knowing how she felt like it was instinct but also for herself, she felt as though, if she had not changed so much, if she had been as she was when she was just turned, he might have been right. "You have a portrait of me hanging as anyone walks into this home, I know to you I am important," she reiterated, slow exhale that showed the tightening of muscles by her exposed wound.

⌝ Of course, Val seemed focused - Bella unsure if it was concern or simple observation - on the fact she wasn't healing and Bella was not. It was a massive wound, she didn't anticipate it would heal until morning without feeding more but she had never worried much on injury, certainly not when her heart ached. So she didn't respond, standing before him with open wound at her throat and blood on her exposed chest that ran down to her thighs. Perhaps she should have had more decorum for her appearance, though she did attempt to draw the torn corset up over herself, for the most part Bellamy didn't care.

⌝ "Beyond that I don't need to be important to you, I need to feel loved and wanted," she clarified, she hoped. Afterall he'd been gone a while, maybe what she had needed in her youth was to feel important to him but Bella knew her value. She knew it to herself, even if sometimes she was a little less sure about where she was with everyone else. "You didn't show me that," she stated, black eyes flickering somewhat with the golden flecks of her iris' coming through in moments, only to be covered once more by inkish black tar again. "You insulted what I had made, you danced with someone who was not me, and when I did you the curtesy of telling you I wanted your time and your effort regardless you insisted I settle for less, like caring for me was not worth your time." Bella swallowed, once more the muscles in her throat shifting. "I don't expect every moment of every day devoted to my happiness, but at an event where I have gone out of my way to look beautiful, when my heart is aching because being unloved has left me so hurt, I expect your devotion entirely to me." There was a pause as she looked at him, those golden flecks showing through, Bella will so full of hope fighting the darkness that filled her veins. "If you want me."

⌝ Because he didn't actually need to meet the expectations she held for him, not if he didn't want to. There was no actual obligation to listen to anything she said, or care for any emotion she had, it was a choice, and that was what Bellamy sought. To be someone's choice. For them to choose her and if they did so to do it with the entirety of their being. She did not need every day, or every night, but she would not suffer another forgotten birthday, she would not allow her efforts to be insulted, and she would not waste her love on someone who would not love her back.

⌝ Fingers still on his chest, though the opposing ones clutched at her corset to hold it in place, she let a blood index finger touch over where his unbeating heart sat. "I want you," she informed him, "and I want your apologies to be actions, opposing actions to the ones that have hurt. If you want me, I need you to show me."