Bellamy Chevasym

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐘 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 'if i cannot bend heaven i will raise hell' seamstress at red thread with an affinity for blood and beasts walking by her side.

[djinnoffire]

A broken promise. Notelaih was confused for a moment before he remembered and his face softened. Yes, this was true. But he could not fault her, he could never fault her. Because he had also made a promise, to himself most of all. To love her despite everything. “I suspect you did not mean to break it, and… you’re here now.” Though of course he hadn’t liked the time spend apart. While there was so much sexual and romantic tension between them, Notelaih above all considered her a friend, and it was hard to feel like he’d done wrong and could not fix it.

“And I am here now, too.” He offered a smile. “You can always tell me what bothers you, I would not call myself old and wise, I am not like your Valentin. A creature set in my ways, I still fall into the same traps I did when I was younger.”

He took a deep breath. Then pulled her in for a fierce hug. “I have missed you, Bella,” he whispered as he held her close. “I hope it’s okay if I hug you.”

[bellamychevasym]

Bella let out a laugh when he said that he was not like her Valentin. It was not a pointed comment, though if it had been she wouldn’t have been particularly defensive over the matter. “I imagine you discovered the most obvious of your differences when you paid him a visit,” she noted, not aware of exactly how it had gone but she could easily assume that Valentin had not been inclined to behave beyond his normal disposition and that Notelaih had. “And I suspect you did not approach him as you once approached me.” Bella felt if he had then he would have faired better, because she did not recall him being boring with her, they had, rather immediately, spoke on matters beyond civil conversation. She imagined Notelaih had sought to be kind and generous, Valentin valued neither.

The djinn's arms engulfed her and, of course, he was already holding her tightly when he noted his hope that the gesture was approved by the young woman who held him back and gave a slow nod of her head. "I have missed you too, Notelaih," she reciprocated, withdrawing her chin from his shoulder only so she might place a soft kiss to the side of his face, careful to place it on the height of his cheek bone, just beneath his eye. It did linger though, the shade of her make up would likely stain his cheek because of this.

Still in his arms, her cloak draping over her form and parts of his arm, she spoke again. "I hope his disposition did not concern you in how his behaviour is with me," she offered, because she did not wish for Notelaih to presume things about her that were not true, worry on things that he needn't worry on. "I wane on about what is of interest to me and he is quite attentive, but he does not tend to extend the same fascination to others without something he perceives as fascinating to hold his mind." In truth Bella had found it of comfort when she had first met him, because his behaviour did not force upon her the necessity for pleasantries when she did not care to behave with them but she knew others found it irritating that they could try and form casual bonds with him and he lacked an interest.

[dracothscourge]

There was an awkwardness to their dancing as the pair became more acquainted with one another. When spinning Bellamy, Dracoth sensed he was not performing to her taste. Like any other shared activity, deeper insight into a person could be found if one were paying close enough attention. Dancing was no different. Bellamy was composed and considered where Dracoth was uncurbed and impetuous. Sensing the disparities in their dancing, Dracoth offered her a more decorous style. It was more restrained than he typically enjoyed, but the Incubi wanted the vampire to feel comfortable at the least. In keeping with the music, Dracoth led with his right hand and ensured he gave Bellamy a wide turn.

"That's quite some acclaim, thankyou princess." Dracoth responded wryly, "I would assure you that I am no threat to his Majesty, but I suspect you would not take my word for it." Dracoth smiled wryly. "You are protective for your friend, that's natural, so you will want to see my true nature with your own eyes, I suspect? What a clever courtier you already are." Even as he tried to be serious, Dracoth couldn't help smirking at the prospect of either of them being courtiers. It was laughable, all of it. "But what of you, perhaps this display of vigilance is just that, a show!" Dracoth jovially accused, brows shooting up mischievously.

[bellamychevasym]

Bella could sense his age from his actions, the way he seemed to shift his styles without missing a step. From. the idea he was Evelyn's eldest son she had to imagine he was old but she did not know the age of the succubus so even guessing Dracoth's was not something she could easily do. He seemed expert enough in his shift however, Bella finding the dance easier now as he lead and she turned with his direction.

His wry smile felt more worrisome than his words but she left the dryness of it fade from her mind to focus on what he was saying. "Your word assuages something in me," she disagreed with his idea she would not believe him. "Afterall, many simply admit they have ill intentions and that nothing might be done of them. Your comments rules out that sort of evident betrayal."

Commenting that her own vigilance might be a show felt a joke similar to one Merry might make, even about her, but Bella didn't laugh, her eyes shifting to the now King. "If I wanted him gone he would be gone, but I care for him so much I have allowed a title of vanity to be placed upon myself. I would rather do as I had been but I won't let Merry go to the fires that are the other courts alone."

[dracothscourge]

SIMILIAR to a bird, Dracoth indeed did dance for the vampire before him. He gave her a brief but energetic display of his best footwork, while thinking of an answer for his inquisitive friend. Like his mother, and other likeminded creatures, Dracoth had been preparing for a war for a long time. This would not change with one town event, and so Dracoth was determined to make the most of the town's brief celebrations. It occurred to Dracoth, as he offered his hands once more for Bellamy to take, so he could either spin, or be spun, that Bellamy and others did not feel similarly. He wondered whether perhaps he was witnessing Bellamy tactfully gauging people’s intentions. She would have made a good guard for the new King, he thought, for she seemed to already be at work, assessing who would be a credible threat or ally, or general nuisance. Dracoth had a feeling he knew which category he would fall into. Then again, he could also be paranoid, over consumption of certain fruits can do that to a man.

"My poor mother is not endeared to any court, or my involvement with them, but she will come to understand..." Dracoth admitted, hope in his eyes. Smarter than he misled himself to be perceived, Dracoth's dark grey eyes narrowed for the briefest of moments. Taking on the title had been as much for the sake of entertainment as for his hope to see more from the world than his own revolving door of excessive feeding and drinking. He thought the title would open more doors for him, keep him at the forefront of the new and brave world that Destarin was surely creating. Sure, they had a jester for a King, and degenerates like Dracoth could pay their way into higher circles, but beneath all that was an opportunity for change.  After a thoughtful pause, as he lifted his arms for Bellamy to pass through, Dracoth added. "Perhaps it is neither, Princess. I am an old man, have you considered that I have lost my marbles? That I believe we are on the precipice of something, something even I have yet to see..."

[bellamychevasym]

Bella allowed him to take her hand, and raised as she had been did not spin him but rather waited for a more cautious sort of dancing, the kind he seemed to do one she tended to reserve for the likes of Merry in the small apartments they had shared before Valentin's return, where she did not have to concern herself with being perceived as more free spirited than she was. If he intended to spin her she would not resist but it was just not instinct for her to offer it to him.

'She will come to understand.' Bella knew many rumours of how his own mother had gained her power, by taking it through some manipulative means, and while Bellamy could admire the effort she hoped that he did not intend to reach for the crown himself and hurt Merrymock in the process. Enough people would be coming for Merry, she did not need to add friendly names to the list. "I would rather you lost your mind," she spoke of her comfort as she stepped gracefully beneath his long arm. "It would be easier to deal with two mad men than one strategic one. My only intention is to protect my friend, and while we may not be friends persay I find you pleasant and respectable, which is more than I can say of my opinion for most people." No, they were yet to be friends but Bella did like him enough she would rather not kill him.

[dracothscourge]

ENCHANTED by the delicately elegant fingers that slipped between his, Dracoth led the way to the centre of the room, with a proud chest. He did so enjoy the company of beautiful women, even more so when he was overheating and his vampire friends had wonderfully soothing, cool skin.

"Is it really that surprising Princess?" Dracoth asked Bellamy, his dark grey eyes gleaming with excitement. Even as the Incubi released her hand and lapsed into a grandiosely low bow, he maintained an air of theatrically in how he maintained that position. The crown of daisy atop one of his horns fell to the floor with his bow, but when Dracoth straightened up, spinning once, it was evident he still felt very much a King. Pride and confidence exuding from the Incubi as he began to dance; a peacock brandishing it's feathers.

[bellamychevasym]

Bella practically flinched at the title. She would need to become accustomed to it, but she had only done it to protect Merrymock, from both himself and others. Bella was not inclined to become one of the people who had tormented her but if it meant protecting Merry she would.

The woman, lead by him to the dance floor, observed his countenance as he bowed before her, something else she did not enjoy, but took it the same way she took Merry doing so - as a dramatic sarcastic performance. In response she offered the same, her knees together as she lowered her head, hands folded against her thighs, a religious bow.

Once she rose, he seemed to dance before her rather than with her, Bella taking small steps with the rhythm to maintain her gaze on him. "Your mother doesn't like the Crirthan court, it's surprising she would allow you to take a title," she explained of her surprise. Dracoth seemed to enjoy the concepts of wealth but Bella had always assumed it was also a performance. Perhaps she was wrong and he truly did hold value to objects and titles. "I must assume it was done for yourself, or for some tactical purpose?"

[dracothscourge]

GRIMACING, Dracoth slapped his forehead with shame for his lapse in memory. Alas, he quickly forgave himself and unreservedly yanked a berry from its stalk with his mouth.

'My apologies, friend, " Dracoth apologised in his customary drawl and bowed his head. He closed his eyes as his teeth crushed the crimson fruit, breaking the taught flesh and swallowing the sweet fruits juices. "But, I shall make amends with entertainment!" Dracoth declared, opening his eyes once more and smiling broadly at the vampire. "Yes, a dance would be a fine place to start!". The newly appointed duke offered a hand, with long fingers and dark, threatening claws which he wriggled playfully.

[bellamychevasym]

Bella's own hand, with far shorter digits though elegant all the same with her extended and sharpened nails much like his own, took Dracoth's, the cool nature of her skin likely a comfort in the heat of the space so filled with people. "You seem very pleased with things," she noted as she waited for him to lead them to the center of the room where others already seemed to dance in a variety of skill levels.

"It is surprising to me you would seek a title," the woman spoke her feelings aloud. To Bella, much like her own title she had taken on, it seemed tactical in terms of victory. To fill the court with those who might terrify the other Kingdom's was wise, but it also seemed contrary to their guild. She wondered if it was his own materialised that had driven him to it, or if it was tactical.

[dracothscourge]

Event: Crowning

Open Starter

"Ah, won't you have this, on me!?" Dracoth encouraged, drunk on wine and the wild residents of Destarin who were abuzz around them, dancing and roughhousing, raucous with laughter.

The Incubi offered a goblet, filled to the brimmed with berries and various other fruits. Entangled in his hair and sloping horns was a variety of beads and flowers bestowed upon him by others celebrating. 'Eat up, your newly appointed Duke commands it!"

[bellamychevasym]

"Not quite to my taste," Bellamy commented of the liquor as she could not drink it without making her insides want to jump out of her but she offered a smile regardless.

The young Incubi had taken some time for Bella to grow used to when his mother had brought him to her to be fitted, much like his mother he was...affectionate, in ways Bella was not, but he had seemed to wise up quickly to her disinterest that went beyond simple displeasure, and was rather obviously discomfort, and had allowed for the fittings between them to simply be that.

"But I should watch you with amusement." If anyone were to become a Duke she was glad at least it was Dracoth, he probably had more power within his familial guild than he got from such a aesthetic title. "Perhaps a dance instead?"

[bellamychevasym]

"We cannot just stand around, we must dance," Bella insisted to Eirwen as though she had not been keeping Valentin on the dance floor for most of the evening, the pair within each others arms as the woman laughed and the male seemed to occasionally smile if he was observed from the correct angle.

The blood stained gown she had worn only hours before had been changed, no longer was she stained by blood, unlike the King who had yet to change, still covered in a mix of the human mortality and the rotting strawberry puree. It had not been removed because of guilt or shame, she showed no sign of either as she attempted to lead Eirwen to the dancefloor. Bella had no regrets. After what they had done to her she could have done worse than slit their throats. She could have tormented them as much as she had been tormented and it would have been deserved, in truth she'd had mercy. Bella doubted there was a woman near that could not at least empathise with her choice, even if they did not quite agree with it. "Until our feet ache or until the sun rises, whichever comes first."

@furicdheart

[bellamychevasym]

[kallistetheharpy]

Kalliste's bright Hazel eyes followed the vampire with open curiosity. She stood for Bellamy, with perfect posture, and still only reached five foot two inches. Having led a life of calm and quiet luxury, the harpy bore very little in the way of muscle and tone. She held herself as tall as her height allowed, but she was already growing tired of being on her feet, her back beginning to ache.

"Uhm..." Kaliste considered her next answer carefully. "Truthfully, you are the only person I have come to," she admitted, bright eyes dropping to the floor, then back up to Bellamy's face which she searched with a nervous smile. "You have the best reputation, which doesn't sound a lot, but I think, round these parts, it is! People trust you with their most cherished possessions"

Though the Harpy's golden brown wings shifted with her words and the candlelight complemented their natural shine, Kalliste was actually motioning with her hand to a basket of the fabrics she had brought with her.

Upon arriving, rosy cheeked, with strands of her brown hair plastering to a damp forehead, Kalliste, who had been shielding herself and her cargo with her wings, spread them magnificently and procured the basket for Bellamy. Carefully folded and protected by sheet paper was a dense pile of unique textiles. Every layer of fabric was hand embroidered. They were rich in detailing, featuring scenes that mimicked the harpies' origin stories, the eggs from whence they came, the great storms, and winds that carried the harpies from babe to maturity. Islanders would have spent several days and weeks hand stitching these garments, using various gold threads to complement Kalliste's eyes without dominating the rest of the fabrics, which were various creams and off-whites. An expert eye might have noticed the subtle differences between individual artists' style, but to the untrained eye you could be easily impressed by the unanimous detail and precision.

"These are my most prized possessions." Kalliste had sworn, her soft voice had been breathy with reverence as she explained. "All unique and cannot be replaced." Even now. As Kalliste stood for the pretty seamstress, her golden eyes would seek out the basket every so often to appease her concerns. Kalliste intended on crafting a wardrobe from the materials, one that would last her years. She led a very sedentary lifestyle and so did not anticipate any real threat upon her or her possessions. She was also a little naïve, having no real idea of how long ones clothes should typically last.

"Before here" Kalliste continued, caressing her extended wings with delicate fingers that trembled ever so slightly. "I never really had to think about it". Thoughts of her beloved followers brought unabashed tears to Kalliste's eyes. She missed them. Not because they made her clothes or because they had catered to all of her whims, but because they had loved her. Her followers had showered her with every kindness possible, and now she lived in a place where every good deed was a shield for duplicitous intentions. She had been bathed in sunshine, and now she felt stalked by darkness.

Kalliste was fortunate indeed to have found a seamstress with such a considerate touch and a reassuring tone of voice.

"How fortunate I am to have found you..." Kalliste trailed off so that Bellamy could offer a preferred title or name. The Harpy wiped away a single tear for the islanders she had left behind, and giggled apologetically for her show of emotion. "Please excuse my discomposure" Kalliste was painfully aware that she must appear pathetic, relative to other hard lived and hard faced residents.

[bellamychevasym]

Bella let out a neutral 'hmm' as she considered what her reputation might entail. There seemed to be enough people who were fond of her work, this was true, but Bella imagined that was where most of her reputation had to come from. The more murderous element likely went unmentioned because few were close enough to her to be aware of it, and no one she sought to become violent with lived to mention it to anyone. This, at least in this instance, worked to her advantage. The harpy would not see the removal of her wings coming, and likely Bella would kill her following their removal, to prevent her from revenge...

The notion of killing her did seem harder upon the receiving of her fabrics, the embroidery unique and detail, as much as she believed her own work could be, but telling a story her own heart could never fathom as it was not that of her own culture or history. Observing it she had taken a delicate touch, attempting to understand what they meant. Much like her own clothing had once been there seemed to be a religious element to it, sacred and ancient. It was only the continual sight of broad wings that pushed Bella passed her sensitivities.

"I imagine not," she commented on the woman's statement that before Destarin she had never needed to concern herself with the complications of her wings and what she wore, attempting not to obvious allow her eyes to linger on the woman's wings she caressed.

Bella had not told the woman she once had wings, and had been avoiding her usual tick of stretching muscles in her back that had once been used to support them, much as she avoided now mentioning she had also never needed to concern herself with this as her temple had made her garments for her. "I shall have no trouble though, I have made garments for tails, and spinal thorns and quills, I will make sure you will be able to move your wings without damaging your garments."

Concluding her measurements, of both the woman's wings for her own reference and for making her something - because Bella would make her something, so she could die in what she loved, surely she could do her that service - Bella stepped down from the tailoring podium and walked towards her sewing machine. One her sire had made for her that was easier than the ones the other seamstresses used, and could work effeciently with her vampiric speed.

"I can either treat the fabrics so they might not hold as much dirt and grim, but the process is an extensive one and might take months, so I would need to make you a few pieces from more common fabrics in the meantime, or I could simply make sure the garment does not reach the ground?" she offered as she sat her notebook and measuring tape down next to the machine.

"Bellamy is fine, or Bella if you prefer," she continued, as the woman seemed to request a notion on how Bella desired to be refered. 'Miss Chevasym' was not a title she would request from anyone. Her name half that of her mortal family with the addition of that of her diety. Chevalier for her mother and father, Vembrasyn for the celestial that had been part of her aasimar life. Bellamy could only assume that Kalliste did not know of the formality of her surname when seeking her out. It was ancient Withermore temple tradition for the aasimar children of Vembrasyn, unlikely to be known in Crirtha or anything surrounding it.

Her gaze rose to catch the woman's tear, only having smelt them before, the salty scent a subtle addition to the woman. "When I found myself in Destarin I cried constantly, having to bury myself so the sun would not burn me alive," she shared, allowing this because it would bring trust, and did not relate as directly to her wings as her mortal life did. "I felt I was so terribly alone. Many who come here do. So you are certainly not the first to cry here, and will not be the last, and it is best to let it out otherwise it will sit with you, holding you back. Running from your feelings never does one any good."

[bellamychevasym]

Wings and Friends || Kalliste&Bella

Valentin had said he could not work with her wings. They were ruined. He needed new ones. He body still help the muscles and bone structure required to hold them. He just needed a new pair to attach. A healthy pair. These had practically fallen into her lap.

"It must be so challenging for your to find attire that you might wear around your wings," Bella asserted as she stood behind the woman within her private tailoring suite of Red Thread.

There was still some caution required for her expression, there was a mirror opposite Bella and the winged woman she had started to befriend so the woman would notice if she was too obvious in her true intentions. To learn enough about the structure of the wings so she might drug the harpy and remove them for herself.

Bella's measuring tape was held with both hands, one to leverage the length of the tape while the other found the actual numbers so she could determine Kalliste's height. The implication was that this was for the dress, but it was, in truth, a way for Bella to find out if the wings would be appropriate in length for Bella to wear, anything too small would not be worth the effort and anything to long and she may not have the capacity to hold them above the ground.

"In Destarin at least, there are such a variety of species it can be challenging to carry what it required for all of them, but that is part of why I like my work. It is never the same twice," she expressed before she put the tape measure between her teeth and walked towards the small desk space she had covered in work, as well as the design journal she had, marking down both the woman's actually heigh from heel to shoulder as well as the height of her wings she had taken in the prcoess.

@kallistetheharpy

[valentinstjohn]

Keep reading...

The lab changes shape. It is no longer a lab with four walls, a floor and a ceiling. It is no longer a sterile and hostile environment inhospitable to comfort and warmth. Though their bodies are cold as corpses, there is a heat there, generated through friction and tender touches. Valentin relishes in her touch, every purposeful glance of her fingers as they steeple and peak on his thighs, every roll of her hips, every press of her nose to his and into his cheek, every caress of lips. It makes the lab into a special place for just the two of them. No one where could have housed them better.

He hands land against her hips and ease her movement, following the trajectory of her body like he’s a cartographer. The dip of her hips, slant of her thighs, all unexplored territories left open for him to roam. Valentin documents the flexing of her quads, thighs firm as she moves over him and finds them marvelously proficient in their work.

Time is on their side and it shows in the way they move, languidly, like bodies made of rich molasses. Valentin loses himself in her, lets himself swallow her and lets her swallow him. He does not want to surface any time soon. This is worth savoring. She is worth savoring. His lips connect with hers, never leaving. There is no need to breath so there is no need to part. The kiss is endless. It’s impossible to determine where one ends and the next begins, it is all one continuous kiss.

The cartographer in his hands moves upwards to cup the mound of her breasts and ascend the mountainous peaks of pert nipples. He vacations there. Taking all the time to sightsee. Pinching and rolling, massaging and twisting. He would extend his stay and perhaps he will but for now, his hands return to her thighs and wrap beneath them to lift her from her seat. Valentin rises as well, holding her up against him, bodies still connected in their most intimate of places. He hasn’t stopped kissing her.

It’s only until the edge of the metal table before them hits the very base of her body that their lips part only to be economical with their maneuvering. He sets her down on the table so that he can join her on top and then makes sweet worship with the plushness of her calf as he sinks himself into her luscious folds once again. The kiss cuts, fangs puncturing through pliable skin. Her blood is a shock of color against her pale landscape, dripping down in a solid line from her lifted leg.

[bellamychevasym]

Keep reading...

His affection lacks a moment of waning, a sweet affirmation of his heart. It's what she feels most of him as his hands tease sensitive nerves, pinching and rolling with calloused touch that is all his own. It nourishes both want and familiarity as smaller touches always had, making her heart feel as though it beat in her chest, swelling with a mix of comfort and desire. Her own hands flexed as the young vampire's mind thought on how those same hands had interlaced with her own, had touched her jaw softly, had played piano alongside her. This is what allows him lifting her to lack nerves, he is her calm, his lips an assurance of his love for her and his hands a revelation of him.

The metal table's familiar sensation doesn't startle, even as his lips leave hers, eyes opening to watch him, his length leaving as well. A sliver of doubt pulls up in her stomach - he doesn't want her - but his lips press with pain to her calf, risen with his grasp, as his cock sinks back inside her, and the notion sinks back down - he does, of course he does. She can see it, his fangs piercing her skin, the dark blood dripping down in a thick flow, the deep rose red caressing the shaping of her muscles and her bones beneath, circling the palette of her knee, flowing into the crevice of her tightened thigh muscles.

'I love you.'

Bella didn't say it, she knew she didn't need to, but the thought kept circling in her mind. Over and over.

Extending her toes, the muscles in her ankle's flexed beneath his grasp, as did the blood flow from her calf pulsate with additional flow. Hands reached above her head to feel the edge of the metal slab, curving around it's edge. There was a whine to the metal as her grasp tightened with the depth of his manhood, cunt wet with such arousal it steadily slipped over the curve of her arse pressed to the metal, and created an evident spill of want on the slab, and the shift in her body caused her spine to arch up, while her opposing leg wrapped around him like a python. She was lowing him, and in turn her own extended leg, towards her, delicate ribcage elongating and rising the same nipples he had played with, pointed and pink they pressed to him as Bella released a delicate drawn out moan, eyes not once leaving him.

"More," she requested, chest curling back down as her hips rose against him, cunt tightening around him while her fingers did the metal slabs edge. The scraping sound of her nails tearing into the metal with her hard grasp of the surface accompanied the sensation of her womanhood claiming his firm cock, wetness slick around such hardness unlike the fingers or toys she had used over the years to teach herself pleasure. The sensation and notion such that she could still feel herself dripping with arousal beneath her cunt.

In specificity to her request Bella didn't know if she meant harder, or faster, or for his fangs to pierce her again, she just could not concede an ounce of him. 'More' was a word - an action - she wished she'd employed sooner with the vampire, and would not allow addition regrets to build by not doing so now. Bella was so sure she saw it in her sire as well. In his lips, the way they sought her body to please, in his confidence to raise her from where they sat and lay her out for his pleasure. Surely he would no longer deny himself either. They belonged to one another.

[heartwasglass]

Dove Cameron via Instagram

[forgottenbloodfather-deactivate]

Jealousy. What an odd feeling.

It settled in his stomach like wet ash, smoldering. He could name it for what it was—beneath him—but the feeling didn’t care. Doran had seen many rise under Valentin’s hand, and yet this one itched. He told himself she wasn’t remarkable, but that only made it worse. That Valentin would give this woman what he had never given Doran. Attention. Favor. Protection.

How absurd.

He hadn't even known Valentin to be sentimental, let alone gentle. And yet she walked like one kept. One treasured. How unlike him. How… insulting. Not to her, but to Doran. As if he’d ever been worth less. As if what he had wasn’t good enough.

He muttered low, but not low enough: “Miracles, no. But he always did love lost causes.”

His pride flared for one sharp, instinctual moment when she named her condition. He had opened his mouth to snarl, to toss some barbed thing back in her face, but the promise in her eyes stopped him. Not rage. Worse. Certainty.

So he did something he hadn’t done in a hundred years. 

He submitted.

Doran opened his mouth slightly, dragged his tongue across the edge of a canine just slowly enough to make Bellamy wonder if he’d do it himself, and smiled.

“A tongue for a word,” with a rakish slowness, he stuck it out, just far enough to show her. Pink, intact. Daring. “It’s a nice one. I’ve grown rather fond of it. Would hate to lose it.” A beat. “But I suppose I’ll manage.”

And then he stepped across the threshold.

He could feel the magic settle over him like a second skin. The moment of admittance. The rules had been made, and now the house knew them too. He gave a shallow nod of respect to the space around him, as if acknowledging the contract with the estate itself, not just its silent guardian.

Doran stayed in front of Bellamy. Close enough to remind her of his presence, far enough not to provoke. Watching the fall of her hair, the tension in her posture, tugged at him. Familiar.

Where had he seen her before?

“…Have we met?”

She didn’t need to answer.

Because now that he was looking closely, that tangle of jealousy was joined by something softer, stranger, and far more dangerous than pride.

Recognition.

No, not her. But someone. Someone in her bones, maybe. In her eyes. Or the shape of her silence. “…You look like someone I knew,” Doran said under his breath.

There was something tentative in it, a searching he hated himself for. His hand twitched at his side, as if reaching for a memory that might complete the image in front of him.

“How strange,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “I came here for answers, and already I’ve found ghosts.”

[bellamychevasym]

Bella wondered if it had seemed a lost cause to the other vampire to synthesis blood, if he saw it as some sort of aspect drawn of sympathy from Valentin towards his kind. Bella hadn't experienced much sympathy from Valentin when she had first arrived at his door, she didn't think he cared for her plight remotely so much as he was a man of his word. Even his saving of her wings from the first she had started she knew in part was because he had told her that in exchange for his experimenting he would save her wings and he hadn't achieved that yet rather than because he knew she would want them. He cared for her enough by that point it was part of it but even if he had not cared for her it seemed only of his nature that he would have regardless.

Besides did he love anything beyond her? Bella hadn't noticed it if he did.

She allowed the consideration of where his own thoughts had come from to fade. She'd have questions for Valentin on the man's implications but more out of curiosity for what had once been, rather than any doubt her own perception of him lacked accuracy. People changed, her accurate understanding of him now did not mean it would match who he had been when he knew this...pink tongued vampire.

She half had expected the tongue to be forked with how venomous some of his words had been.

It was his own recognition of her once he stepped over the threshold that Bella's familiarity with him became clear. There was an obvious shift in her, teeth clenching within her mouth, feeling her fangs beneath her lower lip slice blood. She could remember now, the eyes of the monster that had not simply killed but tortured the low lords she had been escorting through the woods. Not quite of age but no longer a child she had watched from her tent, whispering in his mind. One she had been able to reach at the time for he was a beast and her aasimar abilities had allowed her as such then, but with such a complex mind she could not control it the way she might a kelpie or imp. All she could do was offer her gratitude, and encouragement.

Adjusting the sleeves of her gown over her hands and turning the woman spoke her answer in an old tongue. It was the language of her religion. A language that only small old towns who prayed for safety from the horrifying beasts that loomed outside their homes still knew, that temple priestesses were taught as children. Vembrasyn. Valentin knew it, by age and by his studies, she suspected Doran might too.

'Prayers cannot calm the cognitive beast who feasts on sinful flesh.'

As an old religious language it tended to be less concise as the common tongue but if he knew it he should surely place the woman's face. The encouragement she had laid in his mind as he fed on those who had hurt her with a vindictive joy.

"Fortunately the answers might still be possible," she then said in English, gifting Derya a gesture towards the stairs so she might inform Valentin of Doran's arrival if she was willing. He was private about his lab, few tended to be allowed entry and so Bella would not simply take him to Valentin without knowing what boundaries Valentin wished for his own needs.

Then she gestured for Doran to follow her to the main parlour if he wished to wait in comfort. The large windows wide and open, allowing moonlight within and a beautiful view of the garden, dew wet and fortunately not alight with the fire Doran had threatened. The decor of the room itself had clearly been somewhat influenced by Bellamy as there was more furnishings than Valentin would have wasted his time on as well as a portrait of the pair.

"You are ill now?" Bella asked, seeking some of the synthetic blood Valentin had created from a cabinet stocked with various glasses full of his work, as well as crystalware to serve it in.

[bellamychevasym]

Do you ever regret the paths that led you here?

"Not particularly. I regret not seeking potentially better paths but only in so much tha it pained people I care for, not so much as what they got me. If I had not run the first time I would not have Valentin or Derya, if I had not run from Valentin I would not have Merry or Notelaih. I regret wasted years away from Valentin, the potential hurt I inflicted on him, but I have never been so fortunate in my companionship. I wouldn't go back and force a more mature response from myself."

@valentinstjohn, @nereidofneed, @madkingmerry, @djinnoffire

[bellamychevasym]

Do you have any childhood friends or companions that you miss?

"I did have others I grew up in the temple with that I enjoyed being around, especially when I was very small, but it was strange to be around them sometimes because the same things were not expected of us and it became more evident as we grew older. It is hard to not resent someone you is saved from things you aren't, and in turn hard to not resent someone who it is perceived as recieving more material treatment. As an Aasimar I had a nicer room, more gifts given to me, but other elements they were spared. Resent grew both ways. I might hope as adults maybe things would be different, more understanding between us because it would be nice to talk to someone else who understood what that environment was like to be raised in."

[forgottenbloodfather-deactivate]

Irises and success. She had bite. He liked her.

“Oh, I see,” he murmured, the flame flickering gold in his hand, dancing between them like a secret. “So this is what Valentin’s been doing instead of answering my letters. Hiding in his garden with his flower and pretending the sun can’t find him.”

He tilted his head as he looked at Bellamy, amused more than anything. Not quite admiration, not quite mockery. The sort of expression a boy might wear while watching a snake swallow something bigger than itself.

“No wonder he’s gone soft. I would’ve, too. Look at you.”

He turned, flame still idly lit between his fingers, and made a show of flicking his gaze toward Derya.

“Though you are wrong about something… it would take far less than hours to set Miss Fishbait here alight,” he drawled. “Isn’t that right, darling? Still half river and half dry rot. One spark and whoosh! No more gatekeeper.”

Derya scoffed. “Try it and see what you lose.”

“Oh, sweet,” Doran crooned, a whistle dragging between his lips. “You always were the bravest piece of tinder I knew.”

She stepped between him and Bellamy then. Fool’s move. A knight’s instinct with no armor to back it. “That’s enough,” she said. “Whatever his reasons, they matter not. He’s not coming in—”

It would’ve been so easy to just say it. But Doran had forgotten how to be simple.

Her hand reached for the door, and that was all he needed. He sank his fangs into his own forearm. The sound was soft. A puncture, a tear. Blood welled up fast, dark and wrong, like ink spilled on water. Not red, not quite.

Derya froze. A beat. A breath. Her head tilted, nostrils flared, lips parted. Confusion flickered across her face before reason did.

The wound was already closing, skin knitting over in unnatural spirals.

She reached across the marble archway, fingertips brushing the drying blood, and frowned as Doran put out the match against his tongue. 

“You smell different,” she murmured, face scrunched. “Off. Like—”

“I’ve been cursed. Badly. Even worse than usual. And I need your darling alchemist.”

A pause. A lone truth hanging between ancient bloodlines.

“I really need him.”

The glint in his eye was less cruel now. Still sharp. Still dangerous. But shaded with something else. Desperation, maybe. Or grief in its cleverest disguise.

“And before you ask,” he added, glancing down at Derya, “yes, it’s permanent. Yes, it’s spreading. And yes, before you try to stab me with whatever delightful little bone needle you’ve tucked in your bodice, I’ve already tried to kill myself. Four times.”

He lifted her hand, and kissed it. Just like he had centuries ago, at that cursed ball where they first met. “Didn’t take.”

“So,” he said to Bellamy, voice silken once more. “What do you say, angel? Want to give a dying man his miracle?”

[bellamychevasym]

He had not seen Valentin in some time. Each time he tried to insist upon her sire's shifting nature now that she had become a part of him she knew there surely had to have been no contact between them in some time. He had not changed. To Bella's perception even the kindness and exceptions he offered her were always a part of him, awaiting the right person, but it hadn't changed his direction, his intentions or his behaviours generally. Even those she liked he didn't afford any extra kindness too. So as much as he attempted to degrade her sire all Bella saw was someone so entirely out of touch with him it wasn't worth arguing over.

The comment to her appearance was especially unendearing to the woman whose lips seemed to tighten at the notion of prettiness in her, that it might change a man. A grotesque a notion to the woman whose value had only been prettiness until she had run from such obligations.

Derya seemed far more caught up in it, which she supposed meant even if he had not seen Valentin in some time that at some point the pair had most definitely crossed paths intimately, enough for the woman to concern herself more than Bella felt she needed to, even if she didn't understand it. Certainly when he pressed his lips to his own skin she felt no emotional requirement for sympathy. Much like Merry he seemed a showman but had done little to provoke her efforts of empathy with his words.

What did seem to ingnite something in her was the notion of what existed within him.

'Yes, it's spreading.'

When she had come to Valentin's doorstep she could not even hold up one of her wings, so poisoned by then that the muscles had deteriorated and it could not be raised properly off the ground. It was an insult to allow them to drag, to have it's end as filthy as her priestess robes had been. Then they were gone. It was hard not to empathise, even when his verbiage was something to be desired.

"Valentin doesn't deal in miracles," she commented, aware he would notion the same. "And I do not appreciate threats, or insults. So I will allow you entry and escort you to my sire on a single condition."

Bella remained behind the boundaries of the estate, Derya's choice if her words did not gift her the knowledge she should retract her appendage from the other side of the threshold in case he responded poorly to her words.

"You utter a word, or a string or words at the insult of my creation or the result of it on my sire's disposition, and I get to cut out you tongue. Each time."

A contract of entrance. One that if unhonoured meant he would be thrust from the building by whatever magical means bound them from private estates and occasionally holy grounds. Sacrifice his tongue or sacrifice his entrance if insult was done to Valentin turning her, or caring for her as he did.

"I have been taught to be very efficient with a scalpel."

[nereidofneed]

Derya’s hands paused over the leather-bound book resting on her lap, the quill in her fingers hovering above the parchment as Bella’s words drifted through the humid air of the glass conservatory. The poisonous plants around them thrived in their little glass world, their sharp leaves catching the flickering candlelight like tiny blades. The steady splash of water from the fountain cradling Derya’s feet was the only sound aside from Bella’s quiet embroidery, the needle slipping rhythmically through silk, the fabric drawing soft, precise patterns beneath her delicate, pale fingers.

Eternity was a weight Derya carried like a humid cloak, thick and suffocating, syrupy slow. She had wandered far, through centuries blurring into one another, the faces of her kin faded and borrowed from old books and half-remembered stories. Before meeting Valentin, she had tried to live without blood, to step lightly on the land, but it was only with him that a new silver glimmer of hope had taken root. 

And Bellamy had encapsulated her in a joy so fierce it nearly ached, a flame in the endless night.

Derya looked up from her book, the quill tapping lightly against the page as she met Bella’s bright eyes. 

“I missed you too. You’re like the sister I lost long ago... before everything shattered and faded into silence.” Her lips curved in a faint smile that didn’t quite touch the depths of her eyes, but softened her gaze all the same. “And no, I would never be angry. You feared that, but it was needless.” She closed the book slowly, laying it on the small table beside her notes. “Though matters of the heart… those are far less my expertise. Much less fixable than potions or spells.”

She shifted her feet slightly in the cool water, watching the candlelight flicker across Bella’s focused face as the needle slipped through the silk again, pulling threads taut and steady.

Derya chuckled softly when Bella mentioned the scandalous letters to a djinn. The flush that rose to her friend’s cheeks made her feel a flicker of warmth. How far had Bellamy recovered, what a beautiful sight!

“I’ve had many lovers before,” Derya said, leaning back, eyes twinkling with a rare spark of humor. “But it gets boring, when you can barely count the centuries. Faces fade, names blur, and desire becomes... predictable.” She shook her head slightly, the faintest sigh escaping her lips. “It’s not often you find something—or someone—that makes you want to risk more than your usual detachment.”

Rising with grace, she pulled another chair beside Bella and sat, letting the rustle of the plants surround them like whispered secrets. The water lapped gently around her feet, cool and grounding.

“Well then,” she said, voice dropping to a teasing murmur, “since Valentin will not, you must tell me everything about this djinn. Every scandalous detail. Don’t leave out a single thing.”

Her hand brushed a loose strand of Bella’s hair back behind her ear, an unspoken invitation to share, to bridge the long gaps of time and distance that had stretched between them.

Inside the conservatory, warmed by candlelight and their shared closeness, the night felt almost tender.

[bellamychevasym]

A sister. Bella had never had such a thing. There had been other priestesses at the temple, and the one closest to the court had a small selection of aasimar - as many were born to different celestial parents there were still so few it was rare she was close in age to any that had been born of Vembrasyn - but none had felt like sisters. Maybe it was that what Bella experienced was not much akin to the others but she'd always felt at a distance to them. It seemed especially of value because of this that Derya saw her in such a way, though only made her abandonment of the woman worse.

"It was easier to assume anger than much else," she responded, aware Derya knew enough of her past to know that she and Valentin were, at the time, some of the few people who had not used her in some capacity. Directly, yes, they had been studying her, but it had been a voluntary trade, not a demand, not an act inflicted upon her, and even in the first few days after she had lost her wings when grief consumed her and she was not the most effective of studies they had not become angry with her for her sorrow as others had in the past. It was hard to assume that eventually such kindness, as Bella saw it, would last.

There was a uniqueness to the way Derya saw her companions as opposed to the way Notelaih had described his own. Even the cruel master's the djinn had he seemed to recall with a beautiful fondness where as Derya spoke of them becoming haze in her mind. It justified the reality that romance and sex was especially different to all but, perhaps she was naive because...

"Not often but...possible," she shared this naive insistence on love as Derya pulled a chair up nearer to her. "Someone could surprise you." Surely Valentin having waited for her was proof of this for Derya. He was perpetually detached. Derya deserved someone who would surprise her. "Someone grand like a master of dragons or a victor of war or an emboldened poet." In her mind the only person who might be capable of getting Derya's notice was someone grand, larger than life.

Her words stopped with Derya's soft touches, feeling the brushing of fingerprints over her cheek as her dark hair was pushed back. Having a sister would have been nice, a comfort, as Derya felt that way now. "He complimented my work at an event in town and requested we dance, and when he came to see me at Red Thread," she mentioned the establishment where she tailored clothing - a new talent she had developed since running to impress Valentin upon breaking the charm. "Where I felt the strangest desire to feel his hands on my waist." It was a feeling she'd had with Valentin, but not one acted on, and not one she'd acted on with Notelaih either in the moment because it had felt so overwhelming. "He spoke so deeply and with such boldness for his heart I just wanted to feel it against my own."

Bella's shoulders had curled in as she spoke and the hair Derya had pushed back fell forward. "I had already begun writing down fantasies within my coffin while the sunlight trapped me in. Most of which were fictitious entirely, or focused on Valentin if they saw any true face, but one day I wrote to him instead. Half letters of emotion and thought and the other of desires and want."

Her green gaze lifted to Derya, "you have written letters of romance yes?"