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✍️ luv me

Send ✍️ and I’ll draw your muse!

tagging @mandragoraregum because u both asked for regis at the same time dfkngd

#◤ 🐺░ 🇳🇴 🇴🇳🇪 🇼🇦🇳🇹🇸 🇹🇴 🇸🇺🇫🇫🇪🇷. 🇧🇺🇹 🇹🇭🇦🇹 🇮🇸 🇹🇭🇪 🇫🇦🇹🇪 🇴🇫 🇪🇦🇨🇭. — ‘ answered.#cyruliik

cyruliik replied to your post: { LISTEN. MY NATION LIST. IS PHAT blogs that exist...

make a multi coward

yes sir 😔

#cyruliik #ily 😔#also did i tell you that im currently in the middle of playing witcher 3 rn #ooc

I know a lot of people are talking about what their Modern AU muses would do during quarantine - for the record, Dandelion would be driving Geralt up the wall - but have you considered them watching Tiger King?

Because Dandelion would make Geralt watch Tiger King, except by the end of it he decides he wants to pet a tiger (but not an abused tiger, a happy tiger) and Geralt’s just like “you cannot break into a fucking zoo, Dandelion, that’s illegal.”

And then Dandelion decides that a gay polygamist should be president - just not Joe Exotic - so he decides that he, Dandelion, should run for president because he is a pansexual polygamist.

@cyruliik is his campaign manager.

Geralt can’t wait for the quarantine to be over.

#║ the bitch is back: stone cold sober as a matter of fact ║ au ↦ ;;Modern #cyruliik #║ talentless wastrel who panders to the masses ║ misc ↦ ;;OOC #block ↦ ;;Corona

@cyruliik said: "I’VE LIVED A LONG, LONG TIME, AND THESE ARE THE MOMENTS I WAIT FOR.”

THEY RIDE LIKE APPARITIONS, like Horsemen, like Angoulême’s fabled Ice Demons. Their horses heave heavy breaths -- and, while they would very much like to avoid pushing their horses (and Drakuul, too) to their limits, they must. Because there is no other option. The snow sticks to their faces, the majority of them pink-red from the snow. The wind howls. But they, these noble few, ride on in Silence. Away from Toussaint. And towards the Castle that is not Rhys-Rhun.

They stop intermittently. The blizzard howls over their voices. He watches carefully, impatiently, as Regis stops to check on Angoulême. Her woolen hat is not enough to keep her face, ears, cheeks warm. She settles down after Regis tends to her, after Regis says that which is inaudible to Geralt’s ears. He would smile, were they not on the Trail. Of Vilgefortz. And Yennefer and Ciri.

They must ride. Like Devils. Like Apparitions. Like those who are Desperate, Hurried, In Haste.

They agree upon a cave, secluded from the harsh blizzard outside. There are Bones in the cave--skulls and ribs, and they do not take care to analyze them with scrutiny, for there are, more importantly, dry twigs, branches, Kindling. Enough to last the night. Geralt rubs the sticks together until sparks form, and he encourages the campfire along with a sign. Igni. He is silent as he gathers Everything. Because there is a Worry in him. Again, as it has been, as it will be. He is silent as he grabs from the pack, bundles of blankets for Milva and Angoulême -- and, of course, Cahir, who is huddled with them. Now, away from the blizzard, he could hear them mumble about themselves if he so wished. But he doesn’t, for he is wholly preoccupied by the crushing weight of his Thoughts.

There is silence, before they rest. Silence that Angoulême and Milva happily take, exhausted from The Day. Silence that Cahir endures, too, and again, before eating dried meats and dozing off. Silence that Regis and Geralt do not break, engulfed in Contemplation.

“We will ride tomorrow. Early. Very early.” He finally breaks the silence, quietly, tensely, palpably, to Regis only. He recites facts, only facts: they will ride early, and they will find another cave, and they will ride again, until they arrive at the Castle that is not Rhys-Rhun, until they save his Girls. And until Ciri meets his Companions, his noble few, who have dared ventured to the Ends of the World to seek her out. And until they will gather around a campfire not unlike this one. Until they will appear from the Castle that is not Rhys-Rhun, Unscathed, Relieved. He swallows hard. Against the dim white-orange of the fire, his Viper’s Eyes are reflective. He grips Regis’ shoulder firmly, and nods.

The Witcher says Nothing. He does not say: thank you, my Noble Companion, for all of the help. He does not say: thank you, for that in which I cannot ever hope to repay, for the Goodness in you. He does not say: thank you, friend.

The Witcher says Nothing.

#cyruliik #:-)#he is only gripped by a paralyzing fear that leads him to silence that he later regrets when they perish at stygga..... dw about it.........

@cyruliik -- ❝ Where the fuck have you been? ❞

unprompted ask

>> ⚔️ << HE HUFFS as he shifts the tack off of roach’s back, placing it down for it to be CLEANED later ; not processing the expletive that came out of regis’ mouth at first. ❝ I’VE BEEN out on a contract, regis, why does it ------ wait a MINUTE.

did you just SWEAR ?? ❞ he questioned, brows raising as he turns to LOOK at the higher vampire.

#cyruliik #{ he's shook }#⚔️ // among brilliant witchers he is one ; one who cared more than he ever should have ( asks )#⚔️ // something ends ; something begins. ( quest updated: post tw3 | main )

❖ FEATURING : Cirilla Riannon & Regis Terzieff-Godefroy // @cyruliik ❖ starter ;; semi-plotted starter

Ciri often appreciated Regis' kindness. Despite the rough patch they had at first, and Ciri having to realize that while Regis was a vampire, he was not one who would cause harm (this in itself was new knowledge to her, and she had to get her feral instinct in check to not attack) they had grown closer. Ciri respected him, she could see his strength, but it was more than that. He was a kind man, and just like Geralt, someone she wished she had as a father.

But something troubled her today. She woke up in a terrible mood, her nightmares the night before haunting her ever-present being. And despite waking up, the worse part of her nightmares was that they were real. Memories that haunted her thoughts, that never let her sleep. That reminded her of the cruel upbringing she had ever since she lost her grandmama and when she lost Geralt and had been on her own for some time. Five years, five years of utter chaos, with only a few moments of happiness in between.

A soft breath left her lips as she looked at the swords in her room, and then turned away from them. Not because she didn't want to use them, but seeing them today made her realize she had to fight every second of every hour. The Wild Hunt, the elves, the bandits, the lodge, Nillfgaard, and so much more. Hunting monsters was easy, surviving her own mind was hard. She was sitting outside in a small garden, away from everyone else, alone.

Until she heard her name. Not just Ciri, but the full name. Cirilla.

Her green eyes looked over toward Regis, though it wasn't the spark of happiness she usually had. This time it was a confrontation with herself, with who she was. "Why... why do you still call me that?" She asked. Not that she hated it, but she was trying to understand why. She turned away, looking back at the fountain in front of her, the trickling water a soft comfort, though only superficial at best.

#cyruliik #° ✧ ⇢ [ replies ]#° ✧ ⇢ [ ›› closed starter ]#° ✧ ⇢ [ ›› thread tracker ]#° ✧ ⇢ [ OV ;; fighting the wild hunt ]

[ @cyruliik ! ]

Gloved hands gently clasp around the bottle , the faint taste of mandrake on his tongue and the tingle of alcohol in the back of his brain . He leans forward to offer it back to his vampire companion , then leaning back onto the support of his arms as palms pressed against the grave he sat atop . ❝ Do you ever miss it ? your real home , before the conjunction . ❞ he asks , natural curiosity seeping forth into words in his comfort around Regis . He figures the answer , but he knew so little of the other worlds these monsters came from . one couldn’t help but wonder .

#◤ 🐺░ 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 — ❛ ic.#◤ 🐺░ 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗁𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 — ❛ verse; the wild hunt.#cyruliik