#she killed someone as a romantic gesture and is now feeding the meat to her beloved

[handthattakes]

It’s probably just tuna don’t worry about it:)

[elisajdb]

GoChi Week 2021: A Fulfilled Life: Part Two

GoChi Week 2021

A Fulfilled Life

Day Two Prompt: Romantic @gochi-week

Goku added another log of wood to the dying fire. The flames grew twice its size from the thick log. Goku hoped that will be enough. It was the last one. He could go out and get more firewood but he promised to stay here and watch Celia. When Goku made a promise, he kept it.

Celia laid nearby on a futon wrapped in a blanket. Her sudden coughing had Goku rushing to her side. “Are you all right? Do you need anything?”

Celia cleared her hoarse throat. “You’re so kind. If I were well, I would cook you a meal. Seeing you eat, always makes me happy. You’re so adorable.”

“Adorable?”

“It means kind; you make people feel good. No one has reacted the way you have to my cooking.” Celia’s sickly smile was tender. “You eat every morsel and you’re always hungry for more. You’re special.”

Goku was used to being called names. Most were of criticism. Very rare he received praised for being himself and he received a lot from Celia. Celia was a kind woman. She fed him yummy meals and mended his clothes. When she fell ill, Goku did all he could to accommodate her. Goku never got sick but saw it happen to Master Roshi, Krillin and Lunch but Celia appeared sicker. Last night she was burning up and this morning she woke with chills and couldn’t move from her futon. If something wasn’t done soon, she’ll die and Goku didn’t want that to happen to a kind woman like Celia.

The cabin door burst open. A man in a bearskin coat, matching hat, knitted scarf and gloves walked in. He had a large sack over his right shoulder and logs of wood under his left arm. He kicked the door shut to keep the cold air out.

“How’s Celia, Goku?”

Goku took the logs of wood from the burly, bearded man. He stacked them by the fireplace. “Still sick. She looks really bad, Silas.”

Silas set down his sack and removed his hat and scarf as he approached Celia. Goku stared at the two confused. Celia was ill but the way Celia and Silas smiled at each other reminded Goku of those weird movies blue-haired Lunch loved to watch. She always cried watching them. Silas touched Celia’s forehead with his gloved hand. “You’re burning up again. Sorry I took so long to get back to you.”

Goku saw Celia wrap her sweaty hands around Silas’s gloved one. Celia didn’t allow any direct touching in fear she will spread her sickness to him and Silas. “You’re here now, Silas.”

“I have the medicine to cure you. I’ll make it now.” Silas grabbed his heavy bag and carried it to the kitchen. “I’ll need your help, Goku.” Silas placed the bag on the table. Goku climbed onto the seat and stood on it to peer inside the bag Silas opened.

A foul stench latched itself onto Goku’s nose. He covered his nose with his hands to protect himself but the strong scent penetrated his hands. “Yuck! What stinks?”

Silas pulled out a variety of green and color plants and wet, squishy dark red organs. “This is medicine for Celia, Goku. These plants are medicinal herbs: yellow root, echinacea, elderberry, hyssop, lemongrass and catnip. This squishy flesh is liver from bear and boar. It’s all around these mountains. It’s better than the chemical medicines used in the big cities.”

The foul stench made Goku’s head hurt. “It stinks!”

Silas grabbed a mortar and pestle. “It does. City medicines don’t have a stench. Chemicals are used to drown the smell. It makes their medicine less effective.” Silas placed the yellow root in the mortar. He began mashing it with the pestle. “Watch and learn, Goku. You may have to use this to cure someone you love one day.”

Goku wiped the sweat off his forehead. He did everything from memory: mashed the plants he collected in the mortar and pestle until they were fine crumbs, drained the blood from the bear and boar liver and boil for an hour; transfer the livers in another pot and boil again for another hour with the crushed herbs.

While that cooked, Goku made chicken soup from a recipe in the cooking books ChiChi sometimes used. He mentally thanked ChiChi for showing him to use appliances and kitchen utensils a year ago when Gohan was a newborn and she needed extra help around the house. The soup was finished an hour before the medicine was ready. Goku spent that time cleaning the kitchen. It was a mess with dirt and animal blood on the floor and table. The counter was covered with messy bowls and stains of food. If ChiChi saw this mess, she’ll kill him. Grabbing a soapy towel, Goku started his big clean. He occasionally looked up to check on Gohan in the other room.

The two-year-old sat on the sofa, clutching his stuffed rabbit engrossed with the talking animals on TV. He was wide awake. After Goku fed Gohan breakfast, he placed Gohan in a carrier and attached him on his back. He’ll take it to his grave he gathered herbs and killed wild animals while Gohan napped on his back. It was either take Gohan with him or leave him unattended at home while ChiChi slept. ChiChi was so ill she couldn’t get out of bed so Goku made a hasty decision. It was all for ChiChi’s health but Goku knew ChiChi wouldn’t see it that way if she knew the truth.

Goku finished mopping the floor when the timer on the stove beeped. Goku turned off the shrilled sound. He raised the lid off the pot. “Ugh!” he groaned. The scent was putrid. “Guess it’s ready.”

Goku filled a mug of the smelly brew. Remembering Silas’ final instructions, he sprinkled cinnamon and stirred to mute the foul scent. Now it was time for the final test. Goku blew on the mug. His lips touched the top of the mug but before he could taste the liquid contents, Goku pulled back.

“Argh!” The cinnamon didn’t help at all! “It still smells like dookie!”

Pinching his nose, Goku sipped the liquid and quickly spat it out. Still bitter and foul; exactly as it should be.

Goku heard ChiChi coughing heavily as he entered their bedroom. He cautiously walked in carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a mug with a saucer plate covering it. “ChiChi, I got something for you.”

ChiChi groaned as she pulled the covers off her face. She felt as if she was hit by a truck. Her body ached, her head throbbed and her throat was sore. ChiChi sat up and pushed her messy hair back.  She thought she was delirious. Goku held a tray of food. Was this for her? “Did you cook?”

Goku placed the tray on the nightstand. “Just medicine and soup.” Goku handed ChiChi the mug.

“Medicine?” ChiChi noticed the mug had a saucer plate over it. She lifted the saucer, “Why is this…. Ugh!” ChiChi closed it. “It’s ghastly. What is this?”

“Medicine. Drink it. It stinks but it will make you better. I promise.”

ChiChi removed the saucer and immediately recoiled. “Urrgh! How do you know it will make me better?” ChiChi sipped and pulled back. She shuddered as some of the liquid went down her throat. “I taste yellow root and lemongrass. Ugh. This smells like a dead animal.”

Goku knew ChiChi would throw the mug back at him if she knew liver from boar and bear helped created this concoction. “Fresh stuff and herbs I picked outside. When I trained for the 22nd tournament, I met Silas and Celia. They live in the mountains south of Yunzabit Heights. I got the recipe from them.”

“Who are Silas and Celia?”

“A married couple. I was living outside when Silas found me hunting dinner. It was winter and he didn’t think it was right for a kid to be living outside. I told him I can take care of myself but he insisted and invited me to his home for a meal. I stayed with them for a month before I moved on. Grandpa taught me some things, too, but I forgot. Silas showed me what plants to pick, what to eat and how to create herbs to season any meat I hunt. When Celia got sick, he made medicine with plants and stuff around his home.”

ChiChi looked skeptically at the mug. “Did it work?”

“Yeah,” Goku nodded. “It stinks but Celia was better the next day. She’s a nice lady. She made a lot of yummy food for me and fixed my clothes whenever I tore them. I think she was really nice to me because she and Silas didn’t have kids.”

ChiChi stared at the putrid liquid. After hearing that story, there was no way she could reject this. She pinched her nose and drunk the hot, smelly liquid in four gulps. She made a gagging sound as she handed the empty mug to Goku. “I hope it works.” She rubbed her throat. The aftertaste was horrific!

“Time for the good stuff,” Goku said as he handed ChiChi the soup.

This pleasing smell of the hot soup made ChiChi’s mouth water. “Is this my reward for drinking the stinky medicine?”

“Yup. Silas did this for Celia, too.”

“And you’re doing this for me,” she whispered. For several moments, ChiChi stared at the soup.

When she tasted it, Goku saw tears roll down ChiChi’s cheeks. “What?” he panicked. “Is it bad? Did I put too much salt?”

“No. Nothing’s wrong,” ChiChi sniffed. “This is so sweet. I didn’t know you were a romantic, Goku.”

“Romantic?” Goku knew that word. It always tied with flowers and doing nice gestures. Romantic didn’t tie to medicine and food. “I just made medicine and soup.”

“You did,” ChiChi cried, “but it’s more than that. You remembered something years ago to take care of me.”

“Yeah?” Goku drawled slowly still not seeing what he did as romantic. It was practical. ChiChi’s sick and Goku thought of some medicine he felt will cure her. How was that romantic?

ChiChi stirred the hot soup with a spoon before taking a bite. “Mmm,” she moaned. This was so good and what she needed to wash down the nasty medicine! “Delicious. This is the best soup I’ve ever tasted!”

“It is?” Goku tasted it. It was okay but not as good as the soup ChiChi makes. Maybe this cold weakened ChiChi’s sense of taste.

ChiChi wasn’t sure if the medicine was working but her mood was lifting at the wonderful gesture of her sweet and romantic husband. “Where’s Gohan? Did you feed him this wonderful soup, too?”

“Not the soup but Gohan’s already eaten breakfast and lunch. He’s watching TV now.”

ChiChi groaned. Gohan was only allowed an hour of TV time a day and she knew Goku broke that rule. “Did you put Gohan in front of the TV all day?”

“Yeah,” Goku knew ChiChi would be upset with that, “but he’s watching those educational videos. I had to distract him while I made your medicine and soup.”

“Okay.” ChiChi accepted that excuse. After this sweet gesture from her husband, ChiChi couldn’t be mad at Goku today.

Goku kept ChiChi company until she finished her meal. When he left, the concoction of the medicine finally got to her. She fell asleep at three in the afternoon and didn’t awaken until thirteen hours later.

Her throat wasn’t sore; her nose wasn’t stuffy, her body didn’t ache. She didn’t feel sick at all.

The medicine worked.

For the first time in two days, ChiChi got out of bed. She felt great! She was so happy to be strong enough to cook and clean again for her family, and after the way Goku took care of her, ChiChi wanted to give him a big meal and later tonight, show her thanks in her own personal way.

However, with Goku running the house these last two days, ChiChi knew she had a big task on her hands. Her house. Her kitchen. How much of a mess did Goku leave for her?

To ChiChi’s surprise, the kitchen was spotless. The floor was mopped clean. There were no food stains on the table, counter or refrigerator. All the dishes were put away in their correct spots. ChiChi was impressed. Goku was never this clean. The few times Goku cooked, ChiChi was left to clean the tsunami mess he left behind.

ChiChi went to the living room next. This was Goku’s bedroom for the last two days. When she became ill, ChiChi kicked Goku out of their bedroom. She didn’t want to risk him getting sick. If she and Goku were sick, who will care for Gohan? The television was off but the lamplight was still on. This room wasn’t as neat as the kitchen but ChiChi’s heart melted as she understood why. Goku slept on the sofa with Gohan on his chest. Her baby’s tiny hands clutched Goku’s shirt as he peacefully slept. An opened baby book was sprawled over Goku’s face and papers were on the floor. ChiChi knelt and picked up the papers. They were folded like a card. ChiChi opened one. Her eyes watered at the words inside.

‘Get well soon, Mommy!’ With it, was a crude drawing of their happy family. Gohan could write some letters but they weren’t completely legible and he couldn’t form words yet. Goku’s education was limited but he did know how to read and write basic words and he wrote the following notes on the makeshift card.

Mommy always takes care of Daddy and me.

She gives good baths and makes yummy food.

When Mommy is sick, Daddy takes over.

Because Daddy loves Mommy like Silas loves Celia.

ChiChi clutched the card to her chest and softly wept.

Oh, Goku. You are a romantic.

[missingartist]

Fated Destiny

anonymous asked:

Hi can i request geralt x reader soulmate unwilling to find each other, you can do whatever you want for the story. I know this sentence mean a lot in the tv show ''people linked by destiny will always find each other''

Rating Mature- You have been warned

People linked by destiny will always find each other

The words etched into your skin since your birth. It burnt at first, even after a lifetime you could still remember the searing, the burning, the begging for it to end. The priestess had told you that it meant your bond was strong, the strongest they had ever seen. That had not been very comforting in your heats, with no lover or soulmate to pull you through; those times were harrowing and hard. Still, the priestess had been proud of a Valkyrie to have a soulmate, the stuff of dreams you were told. It made you almost laugh; you were never a romantic, a realist if anything, the scowled you received at the hands of the High Priestess herself were legendary. So few Valkryie receive such an honour and those who kept them after were few and far between. The High Priestess would repeat time and time again that destiny would prevail. Even now, you could clearly recall the sound of her voice as she bared down at you from her throne in the temple. When you ascended from Swan Maiden to Valkyrie, she had been destroyed that you chose to stay at the temple as advisor and teacher.

Staying in Valhalla was practical, there were so few of them remaining that they need sturdy teachers, who else could teach the old ways, then who would carry the slaughtered through to the next world, guard the weak and vulnerable, help the unfortunate. There were times you regretted it; you were not above the idea of love and a family, only a soul bond could grant that for a Valkyrie to free of her duties and allow the gods to grant fertility. Yet, sacrifices had to be made, and you would never had made a good soulmate, too much of a reader, too bookish, too dull. Those were the taunts that were whispered behind your back, the jeers and isolation who received at the hand of your so-called friends in arms, the other swan-maidens. So you remained in the temple bound to your duty, honouring the dying and the fallen.

But in saying that, sometimes you would fantasise. He would be a fierce warrior, skilled in his craft, bathed in blood and at the same time kind with a loving smile and warm arms that would encircle you. Your dreams kept you company in the lonely nights in the library, and that was enough because you knew, no matter what the books said about soulmate, it was romanticised, no one could love another like that, not even your parents, too afraid of her daughters mark to keep her, so instead offer her to the Temple of the Valkyrie.

‘Y/N…’ A voice called you back into the present as your friend, and mentor Edda entered the vast library, gliding across the marble in her white silk dress. Elegant and poised as ever, she had ascended when she was nearing 40, but she was easily one of the most beautiful maidens in the temple, graceful and slim bodied.

‘We have been called to the throne room; it’s the High Priestess, she has called an emergency meeting.’

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

‘Ahhhh Edda and Y/N so glad you could finally honour us with your presence.’ The High Priestess chirped, standing in the middle of the throne room.

Including you, 27 Valkyrie’s stood silently around the edge of the circular hall, some in temple dress of white silk and bright gold metal, hair twisted in place immaculately. Others, in armour, battle dress, plated metal and hardened leather, adorned with the finest steel swords and bows, glittered shield strapped to there backs. Both sides of the Valkyrie were so different. Light and dark. Life and death. Contrasting, but the different sides of the same coin.

‘My children…I fear our age is coming to an end. We have become less and less, humans kill us, haunt us when all we have done is serve them. Till we are the few that remain, if we perish then the Valkyrie is no more. I cannot allow this to happen. The humans have turned, just as they did with the Elfs. Kings mad with power deem themselves beyond us. Some have outlawed magic altogether, train witch hunters to track and kill all things magic. Our temple can stand no longer silent when our brother and sisters are tortured and burnt at the stake. Tissaia de Vries, Rectoress of Aretuza, has pleaded for our help and we can no longer linger at the side of the battlefield. We are Valkyries, shield maidens, defenders, and we do not hide. WE WILL fight. If any of you do not agree, go forth from my halls, I will hold no ill will. But daughters, I beseech you. Fight with me.’

Your eyes did not move from her, her golden hair shining in the light, creating a hallow around her as she moved. No one moved, no one breath till the High Priestess has a sharp nod and ascended the throne.

‘Men have forgotten what it is to be afraid. We will bring fear. Shall we begin?’ The voice of the High Priestess run out deadly across the room as you received your orders.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

With that you found yourself posted to the mortal lands, you still found yourself standing in awe as you past some wonder or another. Skellige had a savage beauty to it, dark greens and blues, mix with the earthy tones of browns and greys. The people for all their ferocious talk and gruff nature were warm and welcoming; few knew your true visage, but that didn’t seem to matter. They welcomed your help with open arms, clothed and feed you.

Your Pegasus, a pure white mare, its wings tucked secretly away at her side as she trotted merrily through the worn path. You had picked her personally from a litter, the runt; you had nursed it yourself, fed it day and night for weeks, will it was strong enough to train and since then you were inseparable. You had flown into battle with her, sprinted through meadows, guarded Kings with your faithful Pegasus at your side.

You had been travelling for days, across Skellige to reach here, the gates of Crach an Craite’s castle, Kaer Tolde. It stood tall and imposing above the sea and waves broke violently against the cliff wall. The stone was a dark grey, but vibrant green ivy climbed the stone, giving it an almost picturesque quality. You hated to admit it but coming to earth had made you realise how much you hate the pristine halls and celestial keeps, you like the imperfect, the grim and the grotesque. Nothing had to be perfect to be beautiful.

A tall, powerful man in traditional garb stood in the middle of the keep, a band of gold surrounded his head, making him almost King-like, a powerful Jarl to be sure.

‘Hail Virtuous Valkyrie, my home is yours for as long as you need.’ The Jarl stepped forward bowing nearly in respect.

‘I thank you, noble Jarl, but just Y/N is fine. My High Priestess thanks you for you tributes. I am at your service.’ You grinned as you stepped forward, clunch his forearm in a Northan handshake.

‘Ahhhhh you with your pretty words. Come I have had the maids prepare a room for you. There is someone I think you have been waiting a long time to meat ’ The jarl laughed as he gestured you into the castle.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The room was comfy, autumn colours warmed the room, while a fire softly roared by the hearth. It was not as grand as the rooms at the Temple, but in its rustic charms, it felt more homely than any rooms you had ever slept it. You made your way, thought the larges corridors to the feasting hall, it wasn’t hard to figure out where you were going, just follow the noise of roaring cheers that reverberated across the castle. The hall was full of merry people, laughing and cheering, songs rude enough to make a sailor blush. It was outrageous, and you loved it. Weiving you way through the crowd you pitched a flagon from a pasting steward toward your host, who stood in conversation with a group of white-haired men and a woman.

‘Ahhhh Geralt, Vesemir, Ciri this is Y/N, the Valkyrie I have the honour of hosting’ Crach beamed as he hoisted his horn aloft draining the vessel in one gulp, droplets of mead, gathering in his beard.

‘Greetings fair warrior maiden, humble Witchers are ever given such an honour’ the oldest man, bowed, revealing two swords strapped to his back, ever ready it would seem.

‘I have never met a Valkyrie before, is it true you ride a flying horse?’ The women Ciri grinned across at you, amused.

A laugh formed in your belly and escaped from your lip before you could fight it back, ‘It is, mine is called Slugger, he often has to roll with the punches, if you want you could come on a ride. She loves to show off. But the honour is mine; Witcher’s are famed throughout the hall of the temple they are very coveted, I believe many of my sisters have a favourite Witcher they protect and guard against harm.’ You teased, taking a sip of the honeyed mead, savouring the taste on your tongue.

‘Hmmm,’ the last Witcher hummed but remained silent, looking boredly at the floor.

‘I never realised you all had different coloured irises.’ You beamed before turned your attention to the silent man's eyes; they were a stunning amber, flecks of gold run through them, along with burnt oranges and saffrons.’ You smiled ‘Your eyes are beautiful.’

The group smiles vanished, replaced by shocked stares. You blinked quickly, eyes snapping from Witcher to Witcher. You had never meant a Witcher before; it had never occurred to you that they may have some kind of etiquette to them. From the tales that spread across the temple, they fought hard and played harder, any coined they earnt was spent on wine and women, they didn’t seem the kind of people easily offended.

Pursuing your lips in a quick apology they stopped as the Witcher’s lips twitched into something resembling a strained smile, it looked neither happy or unhappy just impassive.

‘People linked by destiny will always find each other.’ The man grunted, his bulky form vibrating at the sound.

A shiver through her body and to her core at the sound of his gruff tone. Immediately, your hand flew to cover your forearm, where your mark was held, just above the artery to her heart, in fear that your gauntlet had come off. The gauntlet that had covered your arm the last 50 years, shielding the mark from the world and you. The man's eyes didn’t leave yours as your thoughts raced a thousand miles a minute. The feeling you felt were conflicted, guilt for not find him sooner, for finding him and shattering what he had already made of his life. Happiness at not being alone, soulmates were meant to compliment the other physically and mentally, to meld into one to create the most potent force, unstoppable. A magnetism pulled you to him, powerful and commanding.

‘By the gods…. I never thought you would hear your word Geralt. You have no idea how much shit I used to give him about those words. Beautiful eyes….huh this grumpy bastard.’ The drunken Jarl boomed.

The other Witchers laughed and raised their drink; however, the ashen haired women observed you curiously, through light green eyes, cat-like, only distracted when behind you a couple of warriors began to brawl causing a chain reaction. Within seconds the whole room erupted in chaos, beer and mead splashed against the walls, teeth spilt out across the floor and the sound of flesh against flesh cracked across the room. Blade where unsheathed and the clash of metal pierced the air. By the time Ciri’s eyes came back to find you, you were gone.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The roar of the fight had long ago since died down and the roar of laughed was once again back. Your feet aimlessly wandered the castle for the last hour; you weren’t really sure where or what you were doing, the only thing you could hear was his voice repeating your words over and over, like honeyed silk in your head. You never thought he would be this attractive, tanned marble skin paired with white hair pinned back revealing chiselled features. His body was 6ft5 of honed muscle, and in his armour, he was more than impressive, no wonder he was a favourite among the Valkyrie’s.

‘You know I’m not going to let you leave. Not till you let me ride Slugger. I don’t think Geralt would either, but I think he has a rather different idea of riding.’ Ciri’s voice cut through the chilly night air.

The young women sat cross-legged on a bench at the end of the hall. You stood hesitantly lingering in the middle of the hall observing her; she was expressive and kind, her face told everything. It was a gorgeous face, but her eyes were the main feature, framed in thick charcoal, with a smoky eye effect.

‘I never believed it when Crach said a Valkyrie had Geralt words. Apparently, your High Priestess is important to get you bonded.  Had to see it myself, never thought you would be so cool. Is that really a G'valchir sword- I heard they penetrated anything.’

‘It is, and it does. I'll let you practice with it later…perhaps we can spare tomorrow morning.’ You smiled tightly, coming closer.

‘I don’t think Geralt going to be letting you leave that room anytime soon. Don’t worry Crach removed everyone from this wing. I don’t think he wanted a raging Witcher roaming the halls. It's going to fun having you to hang around with.’ Ciri giggled, hopping off the bench and out the window.

The world had lost all normality. This morning you where a wandering Valkyrie, burden with aiding an uneven war and now you were confused. It couldn't be real, just some surreal daydream, fueled by a bad reaction to mead, you just need to sleep and tomorrow would back to normal. Soulbond forgotten. Pushing your way into your room, you fell against the back of the door and let out a puff of breath, as you removed your breastplate and threw it onto the bed, rolling your neck, groaning as you felt the stratifying clicks and began to unbuttoning your undershirt. Only stopping when you saw a mans armour on the dresser.

‘I thought you were going to run away, though I was going to have to track you down….I am a little disappointed not to have a hunt. I think that would start my rut off.’

Geralt of Rivia was lounging on a bearskin rug in front of a roaring fire, shirt half-open, chest hair teasingly peaking out from a rock hard chest, just as tanned as his face. Why was he in your room?

‘What…What are you doing here? These are my rooms.’

‘Hmmm,’ The Witcher grunted.

You stood in silence for several more minutes, his eyes hungrily devouring you, his predator eyes taking in every inch of you, his head tilted to the side, giving you a beautiful view of his neck. Perfect to bite, to suck, to mark. You could feel a familiar tingle travel through her body; wetness pooled between your thighs as gazed down at him. You wanted to say something, anything, but every time you opened your mouth, no words would form.

Swallowing hard, you spoke. ‘What are you doing in my room.’

‘Our rooms. Crach had my things moved in while we were at the feast. Think he thought it was more…. convenient.’ The Witcher smirked as he raised himself up on one arm.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I stopped running. You can’t outrun destiny just because you’re terrified of it. I was coming for you. I have always been coming for you.’ Geralt purred, standing elegantly, his full height was impressive and intimidating, he crossed the room in two long strides.

You scrabbled across the bed and darted across to the fireplace. Now the light was to the back of you; his features were more prominent, highlighted by the flickering flames, that licked up the fireplace. Geralt’s shirt was now fully open, revealing the sheer power of his chest, perfectly toned by battles and training, the odd scar decorated his body. No wonder he was so converted, your sisters were going to be green with envy when they found out he was yours.

‘I…. We…You’

Before you mouth could catch up with your mind, you found yourself pin to the furs that laid across the floor in front of the blazing fire. The Witcher hovered over you, eyes searching your face, his large hands gripping your hips as the rest of his length held your body in place. Without hesitation, you curled your legs across his thighs and twisted, switching your position, your knees stretched to pin his hips to the floor, it was an easy advantage, from here you could place pressure on his weak point and for a brief moment escape. As you moved back, though the flimsiness of your riding pants you could fill his hardness pressing against your wet core. You had never felt anything close to this pleasure  from the briefest contact. You had tried to bring your self through the heats, the touches where only enough to stave off the pain for a short while, necessary but not pleasurable.

Biting your soft plush lip, you attempted to hold back a groan, as you moved again. Your grip loosened as you caught yourself gentle grinding against the Witcher. His hands slowly travelled up your thighs to rest on your round bottom, pushing his chest up and once against resting above her. You stared nervously up at him, all thoughts lost, he smelt like mint and spice, it overwhelms your senses. Geralt pulled back, peeling off his black undershirt and tossing it clear across the room. Your eyes following the masterpiece of his muscles as they moved. Tentatively, you let your hands brush across his skin with feathered touches, feeling his muscles tighten and relax under your fingertips.

‘I have never been with a man.’ Y/N gasped.

What sounded like a growl feel from his lips, as he kissed his way down your body ‘You are mine’ Kiss. ‘You are only ever gonna be mine’ Kiss. ‘ To kiss, to make love to, to fuck, suck,’ Kiss ‘to finger and touch’ Kiss ‘to tease and bring to the brink of ruination.’Kiss ‘Just like I am yours.’

The sight of the golden skin man between your legs was too much as sight to believe, his amber eyes pinned you to the plush fur as his rough fingers tore into the weak fabric of your cotton trousers. The sounds of ripping fabric were deafening and you couldn’t help but let a bright red blush as he caressed your features. No mortal man had ever seen you this bare, the only thing that covered you modestly was a pare of heeled riding boot and a half-opened shirt. Geralt made quick work of the boots, sliding them off your calf letting his fingers massage them and he removed them one by one, throwing them over his shoulder.

The Witcher shifted slowly pulling himself up your body; his eyes were dark with desire, he looked prima. The intensity of his look made you shift away, backwards, into the mound of pillows, the ashen haired man did not climb all the way up to you; instead his torso pinned your hips to the mattress, his strong hands shooting out to encircle your forearms pushing the down onto the bed, totally disabling any chance you had of escaping him. Geralt amber irises completely consumed black with lust eyes turned away from her a began to mouth any piece of skin he could, his hot tongue gliding across her flesh, teeth nipping and gnarling as he went. It was so gentle yet possessive; he groaned as he sucked the plump flesh of her stomach. Geralt nuzzled at you stomach before looking at her, directly into your eyes. You held his gaze, staring into the depths, of the emotion swirling in his honeyed orbs. Angry. Passion. Fear…Love. The outburst of raw emotion was unexpected; it made him look…vulnerable. Something you neer thought a Witcher to be.

Your lump pink lips parted to speak but instead he pulled hoarse cry from your throat instead. His free hand found your most sensitive area, your clit, swirling in the wetness that had already pooled between her legs. It was slow and playful as the tip of your finger mischievously teased your opening. It was a curious feeling, the need for something, anything was unfamiliar and terrifying, to yearn for something this badly. His middle finger sank down into your core. Bliss. It was a totally new sensation; a moan escaped your lips as his mouth suckling on your breast as his thumb teased your clit. Breathy moans escaped your mouth as he withdraw his finger almost entirely before plunging it back in, it was frantic, you felt raw with the to sensation it has made you slick and pliant to him, something he took complete advantage of. After a few more thrusts another finger curled within you, almost hitting the spot within you, the spot you knew he could feel. The stretch felt strange at; first; his fingers were large and thick, almost too much but still, you wanted more, something to build the burning arch that roared inside you. He shifted a little so he was on his side, still pinning you down with his body, angling his hand for better thrusts, his other hand still gripping your forearm, as your hand searched for anything to hold, something to ground you from the feeling bubbling under your skin. Finally, after what seemed like an age, her slender fingers found his muscly shoulders, she could feel his muscles flex beneath her fingertips as they dug into him.

‘Geralt!’ The tension in your stomach was close to breaking; you could feel it splintering at the force of his actions.

The Witcher rose on his knees taking in your flustered form, a panting mess beneath him. He shed his leather pants so quickly your eyes could not follow his movements. Now he was bare, a true warrior, all muscles and scars. You wanted to spend day upon days worships his body in the old ways, to guide him to the peak of divine pleasure but now his body caged you to the floor, as his black orbs swirled with lust.

His hard member rested heavily against you, thick and throbbing, he said nothing but slowly sank it deep into you with a swift and strong thrust. A feral groaned grunted through clenched teeth as his eyes fell closed, basking in the tight warmth that surrounded him. The pain was pierced through you; he was so thick you though he had split you in half, instinctively you tried to move away, to shift away from the dull pain but his hips kept you in place.

‘Breath…’ Geralt gritted out through clenched teeth. ‘Tell me to stop and I will’ The rough voice of the Witcher broke out in heavy puff, as he rested his forehead against you.

The pain subsided quickly to an ache, a need for you to move. Raising your hips, you felt Geralt shift, pulling back slightly and pushing back in, shallow thrusts hitting the sweetest spots. Wanton moans spurred Geralt, his hips picking up pace and force, withdrawing fully before slamming into you again.

A thin sheen of sweat covered your bodies, moans and grunts filled the room as the fire illuminated them, glancing down you watched with fascination as his cock pushed its way into her tight walls, it was the single most erotic thing you had ever seen. Geralt's thrusts became stronger and stronger, more iritic and with each movement inched you closer and closer to your release.

‘Geralt….’ Your eyes found his as you pleaded.

The Witcher shifted his weight on his elbow as he sank close, his cock grinding against your sweet spot, his free hand moving between your bodies to frantically play with your clit. His pace increased, desperate and needy as he chased their release. Your moans turned into screams as you felt the warmth fizzle in your stomach.

‘Yesssss, Gods, please….Geralt’ Your voice released a hoarse scream as your orgasm rolled through you. Above you, you felt his hips stutter into you, as his teeth bite down into you shoulder and his cock slammed into you once last time as he poured his seed into you.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You awoke sometime later to find Geralt tracing the word on your arm, lazily. Contented eyes smiled up at you; his hair ruffled up in pleasant bed head.

‘Mmmmm this is nice’ you hummed and snuggled into him. ‘Things are going to get complicated now aren’t they.’ You sighed tucking you head onto his chest.

‘Hmmmmm’ Geralt grunted wrapping his arms around you, tightly.

Requests are open!

[brooklynislandgirl]

👄 Do you kiss on the first date?

📼 Favorite movie romance?

💐 Do you think sending flowers is an appropriate gesture? Why, or why not, and if so, when?

☕ Coffee date, dinner date, or movie date?

Love, Love me do... || Accepting

👄 Do you kiss on the first date?

“I don’ date.” Those are the first words that come out of her mouth, though, maybe unfortunately for Aspen, they won’t be the last. She twirls her straw in her cup, having just tried the iced coffee the other woman is fond of, and for all the sweetness in it, there’s still a sour taste in her mouth and what feels like hot burning coals in her belly. 

“Don’ see da point. I don’ ... I don’ really feel romantic toward oddah people. Not like you or Andy or...really almost every kine I know. I mean, I go places. Mos’ly wi’ friends. I go out f’ dance. F’ movies. Stuff li’dat but not alone, not like a couple. Second...no one really askin’ me to, eiddah. An’ I’m pretty sure if someone did, before I could say yes or no, Andy would politely decline on my behalf. Take it a step more far...assuming I did go out wi’ someone, jus’ da two of us, first time... I don’ know dem. An’ kissin’ is mebbe da third mos’ intimate kine of expression an’ if put in dat situation, prolly punch ‘em dead in da face.”

~*~

📼 Favorite movie romance?

Everyone knows that Westley and Buttercup are the idealisation of everything Beth’s romantic soul finds appealing. There’s sweetness, incredible romance, swashbuckling, and who wouldn’t want your bashful farm boy to grow up into a sword-wielding Man in Black who would stop at nothing to rescue you. Someone who loves you so much, they would come back from death just to be with you? But Beth also knows that anyone who knows her well enough, gets sick to death of that being her truest go to. And it isn’t the only one she loves best, it’s just the first one that always comes to mind.

So she reaches out for the second one that comes up when she bothers to think about it.

“Li’dat... Phan’om of Da Opera, an’ Christine. Granted, is very one-sided an’ I nevah figure out how...jus’....Like okay. So you got Erik ~he’s da phan’om, but not really a ghost, jus’ pretends to be one, for reasons~ an’ Erik is dis really brilliant musician and magician ~stage kinna magic, not real kine~ an’ he travels da world, an’ constantly get’s dumped on by everyone cause he was born with tragic facial deformity. Eventually, he help build da Opera Populaire in Paris an’ was minding his business an’ da t’eatre t’rough da manager. Den dis orphan girl, daughter of a famous musician ends up at da Opera House. An’ one time she sing for him an’ he decides t’ train her but like...on da down low. An when she gets older, he realise he loves her, but den her old friend from childhood, rich guy son show up, an’ make eyes at her an she make eyes at him an...I guess wha’ I’m sayin’ is...I nevah understood how she could choose some rich guy over da beautiful soul of da Phantom dat love her SO much he would do anyt’ing, even kill lots of people, to make her happy.”

~*~

💐 Do you think sending flowers is an appropriate gesture? Why, or why not, and if so, when?

“I mean, define...appropriate? Well, no. I suppose it’s a maddah of context, really, isn’ it? I could send flowers to a friend ~male or female, cause dat always seem to make a difference to people~ like on special occasions. Birt’day, wedding, anniversary of some kine, funeral, all dat kine. No one would blink an eye. Could send flowers to female friend just cause dey pretty, or cause she like dem. Again, no issue to be had.  But...say I was seein’ a guy in a romantic context... even as flexible an’ fashionable as it is now a-days wi’ expandin’ gender roles... da man in question, his immediate peers or family, an’ maybe even some of my friends would definitely find dat weird.

“And mebbe more so, dependin’ on when. Like we jus’ met? Unless I know it’s one dem special occasions, oh absolutely not. Dat’s da kine...inappropriate. Mebbe later on, once we know each oddah real good, once we both consider each oddah as friends, den mebbe yeah...cause at dat point, he know I’m kinda weird, kinda funny li’dat. I dunno. I t’ink if I was gonna do some kine li’dat, I would ask Andy his opinion. My braddah never steer me wrong, yet. An’ he really loves givin’ me advice.”

~*~

☕ Coffee date, dinner date, or movie date?

“Oh uhm.” This is another one that needs more context and her brows furrow as she takes an inordinate amount of time to answer. “Like, if jus’ met dis person I’m goin’ out wit’? Absolutely goddah choose coffee. Dinner is awkward because like...I no eat meat if I can help it, an’ dere’s allergies and illnesses dat goddah be taken into consideration. Plus you know..it’s at night an’ dat’s really uncomfortable. Den dere’s da whole awkwardness about who payin’ for it, if it’s fancy or casual, if ya wanna spend hours trapped in a room wi’ lots of oddah people an’ everyt’ing is kinda loud and crowded an’... if I were to drink enough wine t’ put me at ease...den I’d be more dan a lil intoxicated an’ it jus’ sound gross to me.

“An’ movies are jus’ as bad. Mostly at night. Trapped in a small, dark, crowded room where people all around you are talkin’ an’ whisperin’ an’ at least two or t’ree phones are gonna ring, an’ someone’s got a baby or two in dere, an’ dey cryin’ an screamin’ an’ as much as I love dem, it’s considered real impolite t’ jus’ walk up to someone an’ ask dem t’ leave or to hand ovah da baby dey obviously don’ know how to make quiet an’ it’s kinda considered assault or kidnappin’ to take one away and bounce it on ya hip our feed it so everyone else can watch da film. An’ most of da time, dere no subtitles an’ so it’s really hard to hear what’s happenin’ an’ it’s a strain on my eyes tryin’ to watch dey mouths and like yeah, I’d really raddah not.  “An’ anoddah kine, wi’ movies a’ least...ya not talking to each oddah. An’ I have heard from oddah people dat sometimes you’re date’s hands go wanderin’ an’ people start kissin’ and again, dat’s da kine dat gross me out.  “But wi’ coffee, can be any time. Usually a decently lit place. Can meet dere, an’ dere’s room for talk, an’ da kine to look at’ an...”

Beth’s eyes widen owlishly large an’ she slowly raises them from her cup, to Aspen’s face. The expression that etches itself onto her features is one part cringe, one part apology and two parts confusion. “I mean...we...we...are not...this isn’t a date, is it?”

[theabominableblogger]

Rewatching “Crimson Peak”

Discussing this movie on the Gotham group chat with @ckatattack and decided “Eff it, Imma watch it again.”

Lez go!

“Rent movie for $3.99″ absolutely

Holy crap, I forgot about this opening lullaby during the logo.  Holy shit.

For some reason, the bloody Edith in the opening shot really looks like something the girl behind MadeYewLook should do.  Other Alexis, hear me out!

These colors (in young Edith’s bedroom)!

*flinches when the first ghost puts her hand on Young Edith’s shoulder*

You ever had someone put their hand on your shoulder when you’re like seconds away from falling asleep?  Scariest shit ever.

*silently jams out to the music when Edith is traveling to the publisher*

I freaking LOVE Edith’s yellow dress in this movie.  The puffy shoulders, the black under dress, the straw hat, love it.

“Actually, Mrs. McMichael, I would prefer Mary Shelley.  She died a widow.”  *z snaps*

“The ghost is just a metaphor.  For the past.”  Boom there’s the whole movie.

“He told me it needed a love story.  Can you believe that?”  AGAIN-

Also holy shit, Bobby from Supernatural is Edith’s dad!

For a second, I thought this typing house looked like a science fair.

AND THERE HE [Tom HIddleston] ISSSS!!

I’m sorry, I’m just smiling... so hard at this [Edith and Thomas’s first scene together]

Listen, if we get a scene in the Loki TV show where we see him in an outfit very close to the one he wears in this movie, I will... die.  That’s it.  I’ll just die.

The aesthetics for most of Guillermo del Toro’s movies are wonderful.  The like 95% period accurate clothing, the yellow lighting, the red and green wallpapers OH MY GOD I JUST NOTICED THE RED AND GREEN

*The door knob starts creaking*  Oh boy

That shot of Edith’s face in half shadow when she’s about ready to close the door but she sees the ghost of her mother?  Good stuff.

*Thomas waits near the staircase*  OH SNAP HE LOOK GOOD

OHHHHHHH THAT TRANSITIONNNNN [from the staircase to the ballroom]!!

I also love the detail that Lucille’s dress is ten years too old for her because she is still stuck in the past when it comes to life.

*grins like an idiot when Thomas offers the candle to Edith*

There are so many people gasping in this scene

I wonder if they actually did try to do the waltz with the actual candle lit for filming or did they do some VFX to make it look like it was lit the whole time?  Part of me thinks that that flame’s real but I don’t know.

Where have I seen the guy who plays the investigator before?

“The man that just left, among other ailments, is colorblind....only the majority around him does.  Now that man will never perceive the colors red or green.  He only accepts their existence because the majority around him does.”  “Perhaps we only notice things when the time comes for us to see them.”  OH MY GOD ALL THE RED AND GREEN IN EDITH’S HOME

Charlie Hunnam’s Britsh accent slipped in when he said “understand”

Also I want this man to play Green Arrow in the DCEU

Did she [Lucille] just rub the dead butterfly on her face?

*Close of ants feeding on dead butterfly*  Thanks, that was needed.

*Thomas reveals the ring he was going to give Edith*  BOY YOU KNEW HER FOR LIKE A THREE DAYS AND A NIGHT

Were those all the previous marriage certificates?

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have an unexpected announcement.  Sir Thomas?”  *sinks down in seat and hisses nervously*

*is extremely uncomfortable when Thomas has to insult Edith’s novel in front of her*

*Edith slaps Thomas*  Well he took that pretty well.

*Lucille in the doorway of the dining room*  You know what, eff you.

*jaw drops in horror when someone smashes Mr. Cushing’s face in the sink repeatedly, killing him*

I love that Edith is still in her nightgown and she still has bed head (of a sorts) and yet she ran to the hotel, just throwing on a coat and leaving her reading glasses on.

*slams hands on laptop*  THESE.  TRANSITIONS.

I FORGOT ABOUT THE PUPPER!

BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH THE GREEN WALLPAPER, SET DESIGNERS!

I’m sorry, was that a slight kiss mark on Edith’s chin?  Did I see that right?

Boy, you be hugging your sister for way too long...

*Lucille refuses to give Edith a copy of the keys*  Electric chair.

“You chose her.  Why?”  BECAUSE HE LOVES HER YOU BITCH

*One of the ghosts sneaks up on Edith in the bathroom*  We see you, @actordougjones!!  I see you!!

*Thomas loudly stirs Edith’s tea for her*  I’m suddenly flashing back to the tea cup from “Get Out”

So would the Sunken Place for this scenario just be completely red from the red clay?  Thoughts to think about.

Wait, how long is Mia Wasikowska’s hair?  Is that all real?  Jeez!  The last time I had hair down to my butt was in elementary school.

“Mother.”  Oo woo oo...

Look, I’ve already seen this movie, but I already want Lucille to shut the hell up.

I’m sorry, was that a porn book Lucille just showed Edith?

Well damn they replaced that sink real quick!

*Thomas watches Edith as she watches one of his contraptions*  S T O P

Mr. del Toro, you have been reading my list of favorite romantic tropes.  Sir please-

*Edith and Thomas kiss passionately*  OH... OHH...

*gestures in the air with frustration when Lucille enters the room*

GO AWAY

Can we start taking shots every time Edith starts wandering around the halls in her nightgown holding a candelabra in this movie?

GREEEEEENNNNNN...

*One of the ghosts starts crawling on the floor, moaning and wailing*  Haha me

*to the tune of “Sugar We’re Going Down”*  WE’RE GOING DOWN DOWN INTO THE RED CLAY BASEMENT!  EDITH WE’RE GOING DOWN-

“My hands are getting rough.  Your father would approve.”  Why would I just realize that?  Man, I’m getting slow.

The last time I watched this movie was in 2016.  I watched the trailer back when I was a senior in high school.  And I watched that trailer multiple times.

I love the ghost as the scarecrow

Girl, you are coughing up blood.  You have been poisoned.

Edith back at it again wandering around at night!  Take a shot!

This was a terrible decision for me to watch this at like midnight.  Why did I do this?

OK, so which one of these ghosts is Javier Botet?

Oh my gosh, the chair Edith is in is bigger than last time because she’s being swallowed by the house. 

AND ANOTHER TRANSITION!

“Sir Thomas is already married.”  BUM BUM BUMMM!!

*has to look away as Thomas and Edith get it on*

Aaand there’s the English countryside right there.  I’m gonna look back away now.

“Lucille, we’re back!”  Lucille, you son of a bitch.

“You slept there?  You two... alone...”  Yeah, that’s what husband and wife do.  They get together, sleep together, do a lot of things together.  Jesus.

“I was so alone.  I can’t be alone.”  Lady, I just want you to shut the hell up.

OK, so now I forget what’s in the ES suitcase?  Enola’s body?  What’s up?

Oh, it’s just a suitcase full of other stuff.  Never mind.  I thought it was gonna be her body.

Lemme guess the ghost is gonna rise out of the red goo?  Yep!

I’m getting a lot of callbacks to “The Shining” like with all the red and then the ghost with the ax in her head climbing out of the tub

Jessica Chastain’s accent keeps slipping.  Am I the only one who’s noticed?

*laughing*  Oh my God, again!  Take a shot!

Oh my God they freaking swindled a lady in a wheelchair.  Ohhhh my God...

WAIT I FORGOT THAT WAS ENOLA’S DOG!

“The poison... is in the tea!”  Funnnnnnnnn....

Oh but of course she got snowed in. 

“I [Lucille] tended Mother in this bed.”  *so done*

STOP EFFING... SCRAPING THE TEA CUP GODDAMN

STOP IT

So is Lucille the older sibling?  Oh yeah she is because she said she tended to their mom

*completely done with Lucille’s BS*

Whoever did the set design for Allerdale Hall, I want to send them flowers and my love

OK I know for a fact that that’s Doug Jones as the ghost of Enola

WAIT I FORGOT ABOUT THIS SHIT

*quickly rips out earphones*

*cue a very long string of expletives and looking up and away from the screen*

EXCUSE ME HER [expletive] BACK IS BROKEN!  SHE HAS LOST THE WILL TO WALK!

*singing* ALAAANNNN THE UNSUNG HE-ROOOOOO!!!

LUCILLE I WANT YOU *laughing* TO SHUT THE HELL UP

*gasps*  WAIT SHE TOOK THE RING BACK FROM EDITH!

“I’m [Alan] here to take you [Edith] away.”  *singing*  They’re going to take me away, a ha, they’re going to take me away!

Wait he’s a doctor and he just yanks that sucker out of his arm pit?  You’d think he’d be smarter than that.

OH MY GOD THEY KILLED THE DOG

*shakes head at the whole fiasco*

*ends up glaring at Lucille as she tosses Edith’s manuscript in the fire*

Edith, while she’s looking away, just freaking tear that... *mimes tearing motion*

Oh my God of course she [Lucille] has a drawer full of the victim’s hairs

“You told me you loved me!”  “I do!”  AGH

*Thomas throws the law papers in the fire*  YAASSSS!!

*gasps when Lucille stabs Thomas*

*jaw drops in horror when Thomas just shanked IN THE FACE*

GOD AND YOU CAN HEAR THE BONE-

*Thomas dies*  Jeeesus... that was a good death scene.

God the shot of Lucille running down the stairs from behind?  Ugh!  And with the flowing fabric behind her!  Freaking gorgeous

*Edith goes down in the elevator*  Bye bish

That is a huge freaking meat cleaver

Seeing Edith with her steak knife going up against Lucille reminds me of that freaking chainsaw fight from “Mandy” with Nicholas Cage

This final set piece!

*Edith goes up against Lucille with a shovel*  MY NAME IS INIGO MONTOYA!  YOU KILLED MY FATHER!  PREPARE TO DIE!

*Ghost Thomas*  Those prosthetics look amazing

*Ghost Thomas nuzzles against Edith’s hand before disappearing*  God it’s the little movements.  del Toro freaking GETS it

*nods when the end credits start*

[serelia-evensong]

Interview with a Demoness

(For my alt Darthea who does not yet have her own blog)

1. What is your name?

The woman makes herself comfortable in the chair opposite the interviewer, clasping hands on the table in front of her.  “‘Thea.”

2. What is your real name?

“Just Darthea.  That is my full given name.”

3. Do you know why you were called that?

“It is the name that I have.  No one gave it to me, I simply exist with it.”  She drums neatly manicured nails lightly on the table, studying the person across from her from under her hood.  “You may continue.”

4. Are you single or taken?

“I am single, and I have no interest in being taken.  I am...”  She clicks her tongue, considering, “Not well suited to romantic entanglements.”

5. Have any abilities or powers?

A rise and fall of ‘Thea’s shoulders, and she reaches a hand up to push the hood back, meeting the interviewer eye to eye.  “Many.  I can charm the weak willed to the point of domination with naught but a few words.  Would you like to see it?”  She cracks a smile, and relaxes.  “Don’t worry, I do it rarely.  I can also see auras and sources of magic by type.  I can syphon mana from around me to feed.  I can take the living essence from a person should I choose to get close to them.  I don’t do that either.  I could go on but I don’t wish to take the whole day.”

6. Stop being a Mary Sue.

Darthea tilts her head, as though listening to a voice from somewhere beyond.  “You might be right, I could be a bit of one, ah well.” 7. What’s your eye color?

“Blue.  Are you reporting this somewhere?  You can see me right now.”  She edges forward in her chair, trying to get a look at the interviewers writing.

8. How about your hair color?

"It’s a mix of black and dark greens.  More forest than fel.”

9. Have you any family members?

“I don’t have any family no.”  The Demoness brings hands together again, glancing down at the wood grain of the table.  “In a way, I suppose I do.  I exist after all, but no, no family in a way that is meaningful.  Brand is a bit like a brother.” ( @iron-ravens)

10. Oh? What about pets?

Her smile returns, lifting gaze again.  “The Warlock who summoned me to Azeroth was my last, he didn’t make it.  Are you offering?”

11. That’s cool I guess, now tell me about something you don’t like.

The smile replaced with a flicker of a scowl.  “Meandering conversations.  I prefer to keep somewhat on topic and to the point.  Not that I don’t enjoy socialization but this...there is no logic flow to your questions, I don’t like it.”

12. Do you have any hobbies/activities you like doing?

“Like this.  Why are we...” She takes a slow breath, “No, fine.  I enjoy hiking, fishing, swimming.  I’m very comfortable out doors and among nature.  I also like to people watch, mortals have such endless fascinating variety.”

13. Ever hurt anyone before?

"Yes.  Both under my own power and under the control of others.”

14. Ever… killed anyone before?

"Yes.  Both under my own power and under the control of others,” she repeats evenly.

15. What kind of animal are you?

"Metaphorically?  I might be a lone cat.  Like one of the Panthers of Stranglethorne.  If you mean your question literally, I am Sayaad, a Demon of the Twisting Nether.  Your people call me Succubus in the common tongue though I do not feel your interpretation fully encapsulates our capabilities or interests.  You have a very narrow, if often accurate, view.”

16. Name your worst habits.

Darthea casts gaze upward for a moment as she considers that question, one of her nails dragging along her lower lip in thought.  “I have issues trusting others.  I push away those who would profess to offer me aid or friendship.  I am not the only one of the Sayaad to defect from the greater whole of my people, but I’m territorial and I will admit irrationally mistrustful of my kind.  Perhaps because I know myself.  I find it easier and safer to avoid or attempt to destroy those like me rather than form a bond of safety with them.”

17. Do you look up to anyone at all?

“No.  I do not have any heroes or idols.”

18. Gay, straight, or bisexual?

“I am not a sexual creature.”  She frowns, rethinking that.  “No, I am, by nature, that is not what I meant to say.  I have no sexual interest in the mortals of this world of any shape or form.  Romantically I suppose I could form emotional ties with anyone.”

19. Do you go to school?

“I was trained harshly.  The more powerful demons of the Nether, and then the Legion had specific goals for us.  I do not currently receive any schooling and prefer not to.” 

20. Do you ever want to marry and have kids one day?

'Thea’s expression darkens, and she reaches up to pull her hood forward again, looking prepared to leave.  “That is not a possibility.”

21. Do you have any fanboys/fangirls?

“That’s an interesting question.  Not me specifically, but I have certainly found that there are a subset of people that are even to their own detriment, intense fans of us and what we can do.”

22. What are you most afraid of?

“Returning to the Twisting Nether.  Being forced into the service of a Warlock or anyone else who can control us.”

23. What do you usually wear?

She gestures down at herself.  Hood half covering her face, wrapped up in her cloak, an over large men’s tunic hanging past her hips, and long heavy skirts that brush the floor.  “This, unless I am with people I trust.  So this.”

24. Do you love someone?

“There is a philosophical question as to if I am capable of love.  I would be curious to find out, but I do not have it now.  There are several people for whom I have affection.”

25. When was the last time you wet yourself?

"I have never wet myself.”

26. Well, it’s not over yet!

She eases back down into her chair.  “Fine, continue, quickly.”

27. What class are you? (High class, middle class, low class)

“According to the general financial caste system of most Azerothian cities?  Low Class.”

28. How many friends do you have?

"Very very few.  Brand.  A gnome who’s name I will not give.  The woman Olivia Lovecraft seems promising, to be seen.” ( @olivia-lovecraft)

29. What are your thoughts on pie?

“I enjoy almost all sweet pastries, Pie would be on that list in most of its forms.”  She starts to gesture the interviewer to move on but then adds, “Pie should be sweet.  Meat pies, pot pies?  Disaster.”

30. Favorite drink?

“I like sweet rosé wines.” 

31. What’s your favorite place?

Darthea considers that, eyes flickering toward the ceiling again.  “Oh that’s an interesting question.  I like most places in Duskwood.  I find it atmospherically comforting though its feral population is inconvenient.”

32. Are you interested in someone?

"I am to assume you mean romantically?  No.  I am interested in a number of people as a curiosity though.”

33. What’s your bra cup size and/or how big is your willy?

“When I shift to take the guise of one of the mortal races, it’s dependent.  Naturally?  You do know cup size is dependent on band size, and that the same cup size on six different women will not mean the same thing do you not?”  Darthea huffs a sigh.  “No.  You probably do not, or you would not ask. D.”

34. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

“I prefer lakes.  You’re doing the meandering thing again.  You could ask all these same questions with better ordering and the conversation would be smoother.”

35. What’s your type?

“I’ll humor this.  Curious, open minded, constantly learning, explorative, outdoorsy.”

36. Any fetishes?

“Yes.”  She stares the interviewer down.  “I can be non-sexual and still have fetishes.”  She continues to meet his gaze evenly.  “I will not give you an indexed list.”

37. Seme or uke? Top or Bottom? Dominant or Submissive?

“It is situational.”  She does not elaborate, the glow in her eyes increasing slightly in intensity as she becomes more and more ready to leave this conversation.

38. Camping or indoors?

“I answered this with my hobbies.”

39. Are you wanting the interview to end?

She pushes out of her chair, and leaves the room without answering, satisfied that the person got the answers they needed.

40. Now it’s over!

...

(Tagged by no one, I just wanted to do more Darthea stuff.)