#sheasp

    He smiles in spite of himself. Indeed, she has that effect on him.

    Far too ordinary, now, the position in which they lie: Radana has, for as long as the White Wolf can remember, been none too shy with her touch, and while she idles with the chain around his neck and studies him with eyes just as inhuman as his own, Geralt for many moments does not look back. No stubbornness to the gesture. He does not huff like a petulant cat and raise his chin, feign some form of ignorance to her attention simply to prove a point. Rather, just as simply, the witcher has learned the instant he meets molten gold, he is near powerless to look away.

    So he must first accept the consequences. And it is after a low rumble in his throat that he finally turns his head just so, pins her lidded stare with a passive look almost masking that he is now ensnared.

    “Reckon I’d still be here,” he answers, pursuing her phrasing in as literal of a manner as he can—and something playful flickers swiftly through his eyes. “Trapped beneath a vampire who assumes she owns just about anything she sets her eyes on.” Did that include himself? He’d not have to say. “Before you ask, no.”

*   𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐔𝐕𝐀  𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐒  .     sentence starters from helluva boss.  adjust as needed.  features nsfw topics: swearing, sex, violence, just extremely vulgar language, etc.  some potentially triggering subjects. // @sheasp

   A practiced hand balanced a wooden stem betwixt two fingers, guiding it across a blank canvas as its bristled tip dragged pigment to his whim. Painting had eluded his conscious during time of Regis’s revival -- having been more focused on the vampire’s health and stability than to what art had been pending. Though now on two feet, less was required in his care and thus Dettlaff returned to his craft.

   Memory strained to recall her features, hues blending together in mute frustration to separate the mental image into the real, a recollection near white hot that couldn’t be simply placed carelessly and yet to a degree lost in a mind wrought with worry and longing. Rehna was gone, simply vanishing , leaving nothing but the scent of her love lingering and shadows of her presence marked in his thoughts that endlessly search for her to no avail. Bittersweet were the the colors that played out in front of him though paled in comparison to whom she had been.   Dulcet notes were careful in their placement, breaking his concentration to pull him from what so focused his hand and heart singularly. Air forcibly pushed out from his nostrils in reply -- a hand dropping the brush to nestle in the folds of a weathered apron. What resulted from his efforts had been the shape of a dark haired woman'