HOLY. HOLY. HOLY.

DIVINITYWEPT. indie oc blog. est 2013, remade 2022. NSFW themes present, strictly 21+ • a study of divine anger, relentless defiance, and recovery.

loved by doe (23, GMT, she/her)

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the basics really! no godmodding, force shipping etc. multi everything. here to have a good time.

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“Shit- sorry honey.”

She truly hadn’t intended to make such a mess, least of all in their home. Standing sheepish and breathless under his gaze, mouth dripping with sanguine, tongue coated in iron. Hunched over the body like a feral dog protecting its prey, throat ripped open in a gory display of ferocity and strength. She retreats, albeit with initial reluctance to rest on her haunches and feebly attempt to wipe the blood from her features. Damn, this was a good shirt. Her breath rattled, glancing at the crimson spray across the floor and cupboards. Hell- with the state the room was now in she would much rather hide the body. Still, the woman manages to a smile as her partner roused her from the daze with a gentle shake of the shoulder. Pulling herself to her feet, joining John as a looming shadow cast over the mangled remains, planting a bloody-lipped kiss to the corner of his lips with a hum. “Thank you.”

Sluggish movement to the sink, wrenching on the fresh water to cleanse her palms of the blood’s fading warmth. Dunking her face under the stream, watching the colour bleed out to a soft pink, scrubbing off the drying edges from sun kissed features. Hunting out the bleach, suppressing a GROAN of dismay as John took to body by the legs to drag it from her feet across the tiles and out of the kitchen. Fuck. She really needed to work out a cleaner way to do this.

She can’t help the worry, how the anxiety and dread is as sure to creep in and take her mind hostage as the sun is to rise and set each day. Awaiting him, pleading that she would not instead hear news of the great white wolf slain by a beast or man, that he would have ridden off at the break of dawn to simply never return. Yet still, even basking with him in the warmth of the Toussaint sun, fear was slow to leave her. Awaking with a start, tears pricking the corners of her eyes and breath rattling like a spent beast. Tattooed fingers biting into the sheets of their bed, struggling to decipher what Geralt was asking in her dazed state. “I-i… Oh- I had this dream where-” words spilling forth amidst anxious breaths, barely able to look at Geralt least she finally succumb to her overwhelming need to sob. “You were dead. I-i-i couldn’t save you, there was SO much blood and…”