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[starszakrewsaysbye]

ciri’s eyes are green for pavetta gold for geralt and violet for yennefer

[starszakrew-a3]

I’m not FALKA. I’m CIRI from Kaer Morhen. I’m a WITCHER. I came here to kill.

ciri of the witcher, mixed game and book canon. heavily headcanon influenced.

[starszakrewsaysbye]

“ i can’t put my mind to rest . ”

“You’d     think     having     lived     for     centuries     you’d     have     grown     quite     accustomed     to     that     by     now.”     All     said     in     jest,     of     course,     eyes     big     and     green     and     shining     like     the     stars     as     they     lay     side     by     side     in     the     tall     grass,     hidden     away     from     the     rest     of     the     world.     If    only    for    a    little    while.     The     crickets     sing     and     birds     dance     above     them,     and     for     a     few     moments,     everything     feels     more     at     peace     than     it     has     ever     felt     in     Ciri’s     entire     life.     “Are     you     thinking     about     her?”     They     never     mention     her     by     name,     but     Ciri     wasn’t     secretive     about     her     feelings     toward     Anarietta’s     sister.     Sometimes,     Ciri     would     ponder     the     idea     of     being     born     under     the     Black     Sun,     of     what     might’ve     happened     and     how     it     might’ve     changed     her.     Then,     eventually,     she     came     to     realize     there     was     no     need     for     an     eclipse     to     curse     her.     She     already     was.

Turning     on     her     front,     she     props     herself     up     on     her     elbows,     curls     filled     with     blades     of     grass     which     he     starts     to     pick     delicately     from     her     hair.     “How     about     we     play     a     game,     hmm?”     The     point     of     her     chin     digs     into     the     dip     of     his     shoulder     but     he     doesn’t     seem     to     mind,     quiet     as     she     speaks.     Her     eyes     are     sharp     as     they     scan     the     field,     𝑳𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑺     𝑶𝑵     𝑻𝑯𝑬     𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑾𝑳     for     anything     a     bit     more     interesting     than     blades     of     grass.     “I     spy     with     my     little     eye     .     .     .”     Suddenly,     all     at     once,     she     spots     her     target.     Long,     sleek     lines.     Shimmering     blue     feathers     all     along     the     top     of     its     body,     little     red     face     and     a     pale     underbelly.     A     𝑺𝑾𝑨𝑳𝑳𝑶𝑾.     “Something     just     like     me.”

@beastend​ / accepting / sleeping at last

[starszakrewsaysbye]

“ somehow , we’ll be okay . ”

For     a     few,     singular     moments,     Ciri     actually     believes     Yennefer.     As     she     kneels     in     Geralt’s     blood,     his     head     cradled     in     her     lap,     she     somehow     finds     it     in     her     to     agree     that     yes,     everything     will     be     okay.     Then,     she     realizes     what     complete     HORSESHIT     that     is.     “No,     Yennefer,     we     won’t     be.”     Rivia     reeks     of     blood     and     mud     and     horseshit     and     all     at     once     Ciri     starts     to     realize     something     is     wrong     about     all     of     this.     Even     so,     she     plows     on.     There’s     blood     on     her     hands     and     across     her     face     and     down     the     pale     expanse     of     her     throat     and     running     into     the     streets.     What     in     fuck     makes     Yennefer     think     they     would     ever     be     okay?     “ARE    YOU,    PERHAPS,    SHORT    OF    A    MARBLE    YENNEFER!”     Jaskier     snorts     somewhere     behind     her,     and     she     loves     and     loathes     him     with     her     whole     heart.     “In     what     world     will     things     ever     be     okay     again?     We’re     in     fucking     Rivia     and     Geralt     is     dead     and     you’re     dead     and     everyone     is     —     !”     You’re     all     dead.

Ciri     shakes     herself     from     the     dream,     leaning     over     the     edge     of     her     bedroll     and     emptying     the     contents     of     her     stomach     into     the     grass     quickly.     She     heaves     so     hard     she     chokes,     limbs     shaking     with     both     adrenaline     and     anxiety     as     she     tries     to     take     a     breath.     Her     nose     is     snoty,     eyes     glassy     with     tears     and     Ciri     can’t     help     but     let     out     a     frustrated     scream,     a     fissue     cracking     itself     into     the     ground     several     feet     away     that     she     chooses     to     ignore.     The     scream     she     lets     out     is     full     of     rage     and     anguish     of     frustration,     𝑻𝑯𝑬     𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑺     𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑴𝑺𝑬𝑳𝑽𝑬𝑺     weeping     for     their     fallen     sister.     “You     were     short     a     marble,     momma.     Everything     is     not     okay.”

@belleteyne​ / accepting / sleeping at last

[starszakrew-a3]

piggyback :   my  muse  jumps  on  your  muses  back,  my  muse  gives  yours  a  piggyback  ride. (let him give her a piggyback ride 😤 ) 

His      arms      are      looped      loosely      around      her      neck      as      he      presses      against      her      back,      the      two      of      them      wedged      onto      a      single      bleacher      as      she      wiggles      her      feet      free      of      her      skates,      pulling      black      leg      warmers      over      her      feet      and      then      up      to      her      knees.      “Pat,      can      you      —?”      But      he’s      already      handing      her      her      boots,      his      smile      buried      in      her      cheek.      “Thank      you.”      Socked      feet      slip      in      easily      with      two      quiet      pops,      slim      fingers      working      quickly      at      her      laces.      “I      was      thinking      we      could      go      to      Grouchy’s      after      this?      Get      some      coffee,      maybe      some      pastries,      head      back      to      my      place?”      All      of      this      is      a      ploy      to      get      him      curled      up      with      her      on      the      couch,      Ciri      cold      from      her      frappe      and      using      it      as      an      excuse      to      curl      between      his      legs      and      up      under      his      chin.

𝑬𝒙𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒔, 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝑪𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂.

She      stands,      joints      popping      as      she      stretches      her      arms      over      her      head,      fingers      laced      tightly.      Her      duffle      is      suddenly      looped      over      her      shoulder,      Patrick      having      tucked      her      skates      in      the      bag      already.      “Aren’t      you      just      a      dream?”      His      fingers      tickle      as      the      backs      of      her      knees      as      he      rounds      the      bleacher,      smile      sweet      as      sugar      as      she      laughs.      “C’mon,      let’s      go      h      —      𝙋𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙄𝘾𝙆      𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙊𝙉𝘼      𝙔𝙊𝙐      𝙋𝙐𝙏      𝙈𝙀      𝘿𝙊𝙒𝙉      𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙎      𝙄𝙉𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙉𝙏!”      Ciri      squeals      as      he      lifts      her      up      over      the      bleacher,      his      arms      tight      across      the      backs      of      her      thighs      as      he      starts      off      toward      the      doors.      She      kicks      futilely      at      his      shins,      smiling      victoriously      when      she’s      placed      on      her      feet.      “I      will      not      be      hauled      around      like      some      sack      of      potatoes      you      found      on      the      street.”      Her      smirk      is      wicked      sharp,      glinting      silver      like      a      knife      if      you      look      close      enough.      “Kneel      for      your      queen      —      I      wish      for      a      piggyback      ride      and      I      will      not      take      no      for      an      answer.”      Her      accent      comes      out      a      bit      thicker      as      she      turns      her      nose      up,      arms      crossed      over      her      chest      even      as      a      grin      settles      at      the      corners      of      her      mouth.

He      crouches      before      her,      grinning      like      the      cheeky      bastard      he      is      even      when      he      lets      out      an      oomph!,      having      to      brace      himself      against      the      weight      of      her      gear.      Nonetheless,      he      persists,      hands      curling      beneath      her      knees      as      he      bounces      her      up      a      bit      higher,      the      pair      of      them      reveling      in      her      laughter      as      it      rings      out      like      bells      in      the      early      morning.      The      relief      from      not      putting      weight      on      her      feet      is      heavenly,      transcendent      as      he      carries      her      out      to      the      car      whilst      telling      her      about      his      day.      Her      cheek      presses      to      auburn      curls      as      she      listens,      the      timbre      of      his      voice      reverberating      through      her      chest      nearly      lulling      her      to      sleep.      The      smell      of      his      cigarettes      clings      to      his      clothes      and      Ciri      briefly      considers      rooting      around      his      pockets      for      his      pack      before      deciding      against      it,      burrowing      further      into      his      warmth.      “Missed      you      today,      Patty.”

@vherona​ / accepting / one word prompts