EMIEL REGIS ROHELLEC TERZIEFF-GODEFROY

𝙼𝚈 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙸𝚂 𝙰 𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙳𝚁𝙰𝙻.

[anyzek-a]

𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙼𝚆𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙰𝙽𝙸𝚂𝙴 𝚂𝙴𝙴𝙳, 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝚆𝙴𝙴𝚃𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙲𝙸𝙽𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙾𝙽

@ANYZEK: a modern au interpretation of the vampire emiel regis of the witcher saga. book-based but heavily & primarily headcanon influenced.

focused on magickal realism / supernatural horror. regis is a vampire and, though he abstains from drinking human blood by choice, there will be frequent mentions of vampire-y things. he is also in recovery from addiction, a fact that is very important to his character and development. i will tag all discussions and mentions of these topics. rules below the cut.

basic rules apply:  mutuals only, 18+ only, all triggers will be tagged with #trigger /. personal blogs are welcome to follow but please don’t reblog ic writing / headcanons. i will enthusiastically block for racism / bigotry / transphobia / p*dophilia / incest / any other nasty behaviour or abuse apologism.

all mutuals are welcome to im me or request my discord for plotting. if i follow you, i want to write with you! duplicates / multiples are welcome.

i write with big text formatted with unicode / bold / italics / icons when i feel like it but i don’t care if my partners format or use icons. PLEASE DON’T USE EXCESSIVE WORD / CHARACTER SPACING WHEN WRITING WITH ME, any other formatting styles are fine.

writer’s name is katie, she / her, 25+, est.

[gnostick-deactivated20210607]

Samantha J. E. Riches, Encountering the Monstrous: Saints and Dragons in Medieval Thought

[anyzek-a]

regis in the twilight universe but instead of sparkly in the sunlight his skin turns translucent like a little deep sea jellyfish glub glub

[1038276637]

Brideshead Revisited (2008)

[anyzek-a]

interesting how regis is the nicest person in the world but also has killed more people than even he knows

[withextra]

THE HOUR SERIES ONE sentence meme. feel free to change context/pronouns/etc as necessary.

Next time do it yourself, I am not your secretary.

Please, the details of your love life do not interest me at all.

I do love a man who plans.

It’s everything we’ve been waiting for.

Stay and have a drink with me?

Is this some kind of joke? 

One needs to find tiny acts of rebellion where one can.

They will kill me if they know I’m talking to you.

What is it about you men? You always need a tiny corner where we can’t quite reach you.

You work twice as hard as any man and none is half as good as you.

It is true, I am asking myself why I am doing this. Especially as it is you who should be apologising to me. But that’s what you do when you believe in someone.

There’s only ever been you.

There’s only ever been you. And you’re not even that nice.

You want to be oh so independent, but you just can’t quite cut it alone.

Is that your idea of an apology? 

I want to hear you say it.

It’s all gone horribly wrong.

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Why are you lying to me?

You don’t like me, do you?

You know that a subscription to Marvel’s All-True Crime doesn’t make you a real detective?

Don’t send me back.

Why are you being such a child?

I see we are being watched.

Is he good-looking, do you think? Would you classify that as a good-looking face?

I won’t actually have to hold a gun, will I?

Perhaps it needs the likes of you and I to shake things up a bit.

You should have bloody cared. 

Let me come with you.

Just say if you want this.

I know you know something. Something you’re not telling me.

You don’t know what you’ve got yourself into.

I’m not here to hurt you.

I just need someone to tell me the truth.

You are jealous, aren’t you?

We might never get a week like this again.

There are no lifetime guarantees.

The only person you can really trust is yourself.

Are you in trouble?

Whatever you know, whatever you’ve seen, just forget it

May I say how exceptionally beautiful you look tonight?

Now, I know you say that to all the girls.

I like you like this. I like you even more.

Do you love him?

You’re different with him.

I hope you sleep better tonight.

How brave you are.

We’re not all as brave as you are.

I do like you very much. You’re such fun.

It’s only what anyone would have done.

I never thought your ambition would compromise your integrity.

You’ve got to grab it while you can.

I used to think the worst possible thing would be to be like you.

I can never live so lightly. It all matters too much to me.

It all matters very much to me, I just don’t let my face show that.

Why can’t we do what the hell we like? 

Well, I am going to do exactly what I like and to hell with the rest of them.

All my life, I’ve been a man of peace.

I suppose there are worse ways to go.

You patronising bastard.

Do you have any idea what you are risking here?

I’ve thought often of what a disappointment I must have been to you.

What if we left now? What if we just went? You and me.

Do you trust me?

I’d never betray you.

I hate you.

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments, Roland Barthes

[anyzek-a]

been thinking about catholic regis all day, thinking about him lighting candles in a church in france, genuflecting, literally kneeling, which is so fucking funny because he’s a) a vampire and b) AN ALIEN and yet somehow

[anyzek-a]

love that regis is basically unkillable, love that for him

[anyzek-a]

actually alec secăreanu as dettlaff

[anyzek-a]

i’ll be back before you have time to miss me. i promise. / from sasha/omheds <3

a thousand ships.

THE OLD WOMAN KISSES HIS HANDS, as she does, and claims again that he must have some gloves. How cold his hands are! He is only a little taller than her son, she tells him, and next time she will bring his old pair. Hadn’t she saved them for such a reason? People throw too much away these days, but she saves everything. Regis smiles, and squeezes her fingers in his own, and thanks her. She kisses his hand again, pulls him down to touch his face, laughs, and goes in a bluster. Dismissing him with a backwards wave.

She loves him because he lets her come at sundown, lets her pay him half in eggs, as her mother always paid the doctor when she was a girl. Her ailments are easy, and Regis leaves the eggs on the steps to his house so that they are sure to be stolen every night. Someone in the square has breakfast.

The old woman commands so much of his attention that Regis thinks perhaps it is an impressed vision, an after-image on his eyes, when he sees Sasha waiting politely in the thick of the shadow that hugs the neighboring house, shielding him from the last fall of the evening light along the narrow street.

“Aleksei.”

Regis’ voice is soft with surprise, though of course it is impossible that he should be surprised. He is always aware of Aleksei moving about the city, of an approximate distance or nearness, shrinking or growing, so much so that it has become sort of a game of imagining for him when is alone. Where in the city is Aleksei tonight? What event is he attending, what court is he holding this evening? Teaching, or reading, or beautifully dressed in a throng of admirers, dolling out his genuine affection, backlit beneath the skin by an impossible warmth of effortless light.

Thinking such a thing makes Regis feel foolish, but also fond.

More often than not, Regis stays in or moves about the city alone. He has not been returned to living with humans for so very long and there is tenderness in him still, a yellowed bruise. He can’t recall the faces of the mob who took his head, though he remembers the smell of the earth being put over him. As much as he longs to be amongst them, the crush of so many bodies can be as oppressive as the silence, still, depending on his mood.

Time will ease it, he has no worry over that, but Alexei’s departure will leave an extrasensory silence. The quiet of the church when one has grown so used to the nearness of God.

They know one another. The expectation of a growing intimacy.

“i’ll be back before you have time to miss me. i promise.”

Strange, to be so discomfited by the thought of his going. Blinking through his own alarm at the sudden farewell and the suddenness of its impact upon him, Regis recovers only a slant of his good humour. It brightens beautifully fully in his warm, black eyes,  “Miss you? How presumptuous.”

He turns and motions for Sasha to follow him through the house and into the garden.

As he walks, Regis resists the desire to wring his hands—such a human demonstration of emotion. Even after nearly a century apart from them, Regis has lived all the rest of his life tightly woven into the throng of humanity. He has their mark, their likeness. He has their nature as though it were his own. It is not always a strength.

Somehow, he had not considered loneliness again until this moment.

They do not see one another very much, do they? In society, sometimes. At the theatre, across a busy street just after nightfall. Once or twice, Regis has looked up from browsing the shelves of a bookseller’s shop to see Sasha smiling at him softly from across the stacks. And yet—

“I will be alone without you,”  a startling confession, but Regis makes it without flinching. It’s the truth, isn’t it?  “Until you return, of course.”

It has been a slow and pleasent introduction over the course of weeks. Aleksei is careful but astoundingly eager. He respects Regis reticence. He would miss this sweet world terribly, too terribly, to be careless now. Even with both their caution, Regis cannot recall a time when someone wanted so badly to know him. From it, he feels a strange sense of ownership over the other man—a sense of having been transgressed against, that Aleksei should be coming to him now only to say that he is leaving.

Regis turns his back to the house and to Aleksei, pressing a hand lightly over his brow, the other on his hip, and then turns again to them. The long, elegant line of his slender frame is tight, impatient. Lacking his usual ease. He must acknowledge that he is unhappy. He must acknowledge that, childishly, he is annoyed.

Regis exhales impatiently, another fruitless human gesture.  “Very well. You are going. God must bless you, I suppose, as I cannot do it for Him. There is no recourse for me but to take you at your word."

A moment of stillness between them, and Regis searches Sasha’s silence. They’re both cordial men, but cordiality has its place. Nearness need not be rude. Regis tilts his head, almost catlike, and asks gently:  “Are you preparing to run from me, Aleksei?”

[anyzek-a]

good news everyone

[colleenwing]

Matthew Goode as Matthew Clairmont in A Discovery of Witches (2018–) 1.03

[anyzek-a]

i love regis so much 😔

[anyzek-a]

some things don’t require wisdom. just eyes.

a thousand ships.

HE NEATLY OPENS THE BAG’S SINGLE TOP, more than familiar with the logistical motion, and feels a pang of regret that the anticoagulant will muddy the flavour for her. The heady, hemophilic scent pours out into the air, sharp with tang, beautiful and layered. Healthy. As is physiologically expected, Regis feels the hollow sensation of sensory longing ringing in his teeth. He does not dismiss it but allows himself to feel—no longer disturbed by it after so many years. The feeling, something akin to hunger when one sees it in the human eye, slips through him and then settles, and all the time he is also preparing the tea.

He brings her the mug, filled from the warmed bag, and puts it in her hand. There’s something soft and jovial in his voice. Pleasure, and an utter lack of presumption.

“Any fool can know. The point is to understand.”

Regis draws the salon cape around her shoulders, mindful of her hand and the cup and the collar of her dress. The tea will not be ready for several minutes. In in the interim he stirs her hair with his gentle fingers, painlessly working away the superficial little wind knots made by the sharp spring evening and assessing its texture, its shape. He is accustomed to working with human frailties, and his hands are calibrated to their delicate tenderness, even with her. There is little difference for him, though her scalp is cool and scentless and her hair holds nothing but the faint environmental odor of the damp outside, of her lovely rose perfume.

As she drinks, the scent of the cup changes and becomes only a trace of something that moves through her—nearly extinguished. It’s quite becoming. As though one might smell the child inside the mother, the way another’s blood begins to populate her body, the way it is brought back to a strange sublimation of half-life inside of her.

Her body loosens visibly, as if she were drowsing, and Regis smiles, budding with affection for her in the moment of her vulnerability. The blood will thicken her senses, make them both clumsy and sharp. He remembers. A pity that she hasn’t yet told him what she wants done with her hair. Regis circles her to lean back lightly against the edge of the vanity table where his shears and razors are sterilized and neatly laid out—a vanity dominated by a mirror showing only the reflection of an empty chair. Bach is playing softly from the other room. The air smells of tea and blood. It is a beautiful night, a night that he will think of in the future. One night in countless nights, burning like a comfortable little fire in the long black eternity of life.

“But perhaps we are discussing instinct? The inherently understood. That pesky little wedge somewhere between the body and soul.”

She rolls her eyes at him and Regis winks. The tea is ready, he can tell by the change in its scent, and he leaves her for a moment to tend to it. When he returns, he brings a crystal ash tray and sets it at her elbow. She looks up at him, a feint sleepy softness about her eyes, and Regis touches her cheek with the back of his hand. Budding into blooming, as fond as he is satisfied with her company. It's a simple feeling. Rich, and happy. How complete the delusion that beauty is goodness. She smiles—Regis smiles, and then retakes his previous perch to wait for her to decide on her explanation.

“You will have to spell it out for me, my dear. I am afraid I am not young enough to know everything any longer.”

[notmorbid]

a thousand ships.

dialogue prompts from a thousand ships: a novel by natalie haynes.

how much epic poetry does the world really need?

why should the past be any guarantee of the future?

are we safe now?

is it too much? do you want to go back?

i’m sorry for what you have lost.

save your prayers for yourself.

may i sit beside you?

i will weep when i’m alone.

you’re not angry, are you?

i’m surprised by your subterfuge.

did you always look so sad?

who do you love most?

the casualties of war aren’t just the ones who die.

i’ll be back before you have time to miss me. i promise.

i expect no sympathy, nor do i want it.

to refuse a god is to be driven mad.

i am only telling you what happened because you asked.

did you have a question for me?

your ruthlessness is one of the first things i loved about you.

i walked until i could only crawl, and then i crawled.

did you think for a moment what i might want?

you can abandon someone and still miss them.

waiting is the cruelest thing i’ve ever endured.

you always were prone to sentiment.

you can’t begin to imagine.

not every story leaves the teller unharmed.

some things don’t require wisdom. just eyes.

i will return for you.

never approach a problem directly if you can come upon it sideways.

all that matters is the telling.

[anyzek-a]

nora reminded me that i have this blog so