“i know you were way too bright for me.”

Her     hair     is     spun     starlight,     eyes     emitting     the     celestial     glow     that     resides     within     her     soul;     Ciri     is     a     star,     through     and     through.     Not     that     she     knows     any     of     this:     she     is     simply          𝐂𝐢𝐫𝐢     𝐨𝐟     𝐂𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚,     𝐨𝐟     𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐠!     𝐒𝐡𝐞     𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟     𝐨𝐟     𝐊𝐚𝐞𝐫     𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐧!     𝐒𝐡𝐞     𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫     𝐨𝐟     𝐭𝐡𝐞     𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡!     𝐋𝐢𝐨𝐧     𝐂𝐮𝐛     𝐨𝐟     𝐂𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚!     𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭     𝐨𝐟     𝐭𝐡𝐞     𝐄𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫     𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝!     Never     has     she     wanted     to     be     anything     more.     Even     now     as     she     smiles,     star-bright     and     stunning,     she     knows     she     is     happier     than     she’s     been     in     a     very     long     time.     “Oh,     I     wouldn’t     say     that,     ‘Laff.”     Her     tone     is     teasing,     head     tipping     to     one     side     like     that     of     a     curious     wolf     as     she     idly     sips     her     ale,     starry     qualities     hidden     well     beneath     the     black     of     her     hood.     Her     medallion     buzzes     idly     against     the     skin     of     her     throat     as     they     sit     together,     one     boot     pulled     to     sit     atop     his     knee     as     he     works     painstakingly     to     assure     himself     the     sole     is     fixed     properly     to     it.     (     “Dett,     it's     fine.     Really.”     “I     just     want     to     make     sure.”     )     “Maybe     you     just     needed     a     little     light     in     your     life;     someone     to     show     you     the     way.”

“I’m     but     a     She     Witcher,     old     friend.     A     very     loud     and     proud     and     brash     one,     yes,     but     still     a     She     Witcher,     nothing     more.”     Her     words     are     casual;     she     acts     as     if     she     herself     had     not     devoured     that     which     devoured     worlds,     as     if     the     𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑻𝑬     𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑺𝑻     itself     doesn’t     rage     within     the     cage     of     her     chest,     writhing     and     screaming     to     be     let     free.     There     is     an     ease     between     them     that     blooms     warmth     in     her     chest;     even     after     all     her     father     had     been     apart     of,     Dettlaff     found     space     somewhere     in     his     heart     to     let     a     She     Witcher     reside.     Her     mouth     curls     upward     at     the     thought,     silvery     and     sharp     as     the     dagger     at     her     hip.     “Are     you     sure     you’re     not     too     bright     for     me?”

send “💟” for my muse’s reaction to your muse suddenly wrapping mine in a blanket with no explanation || x.

Tired humming could be heard from the minibot as he scribbled away in a diar- Journal. It was a Journal, last time he had called it a diary, Cliffjumper wouldn’t let him live it down.

Bee had been so engrossed in his writings that he didn’t take notice of the smelter making his way over to where he sat. Funny really, he was usually always aware of what was around him. The closer the bigger mech got, the more he could see just how intently Bee was focused on writing. Though that was shortly interrupted by the blanket falling on him.

“Wha–” The tired Bee let out a huff of air from his intake, poked his helm from the blanket, and began looking around. “Whose there- oh primus- Trust me when I say this… you don’t want to mess with me, you won’t be able to handle the heat–” The smaller mech was doing his best to keep his vocalizer stern, as if he could scare a sparkling…Let alone a huge mecha like Helex. It wasn’t until he realized just who it was that he dropped the tough-bot act.

“Helex!” He was genuinely surprised, but happy to see the smelter!