Princess Arianne Martell (via sprightlysylph)

Lost in Misanthropy

Donned in panties && a loose shirt only, Ciri hugged her knees close to her chest && stared into the flames she’d built. Eredin had approached, && though her stance hadn’t shifted, one could tell she was warier than ever with the elf LINGERING about.

Elder Blood Beef?

It seemed there was still room for jest within the elf, && it would have almost sounded like a joke had the young woman not been REMINDED of an earlier pet name, not too far from the likes of such calibre.

‘That’s what I am to you now?’ Ciri retaliated, still finding herself quite cross for having been called a bit of nugget on top of a pile of manure, now an Elder Blood Beef.

It seemed the quality of the material had diminished, though also did its repulsive nature.

‘What’s next for a COMPLIMENT? Swallow in a stick?’

Ciri could almost taste the bitterness in her mouth as she spoke, her heart aching horribly.

A sigh escaped her at the Aen Elle’s question, one too many feeling of HURT lingering in her eyes, the effects of which gave them a strangely watery effect, almost as though Ciri was on the verge of tears when, in reality, she was merely pained && fuming.

‘Vilgefortz wanted me to come.’ She spoke without wavering, fuelling the flames with broken branches && dry leaves. ‘Damned mage wouldn’t quit chewing at my ears… I’m disappointed, though. I’d rather have seen you as the CORPSE of a great warrior than some warlord’s lapdog. Seeking to bite the hand that feeds you?’ She gave him a punctured stare.

Guard-dog, more like. But Ciri sought to make it sting… as did his PRESENCE alone to her heart.

It was the sweetest, most painful form of vengeance.

       ‘Swallow on a stick’ visibly provided the elf with a malicious retort as he cocked an eyebrow - however, his choice was to keep that one in store and not indulge his crude humor this time. Instead Eredin accepted with a shrug when accused of being a poor name giver “Would you rather I call you ‘apple pie’ or ‘little doll’ like other humans do!?” Replied rubbing his hands over the flames. Non sense; she would always get the stingy ones. Sweetness had a way of making things far too much REAL.

&& there it was - the lashing out. Eredin exhales exhausted and far more frustrated than words could ever convey; 

             “Oh, shut the fuck up -- You’re not GERALT and I’m not a little pussy to buy into your wicked glaring and poorly thought insulting” The former king merely sighed, eyes rolling behind his half closed eye lids. It was like the NAGLFAR sinking all over again -- or every other situation of emotional stress where the female blew off steam & hid behind sad rants. Did she really think he didn’t know her better? Besides, Even if he didn’t, Eredin could tell the technique with ease - after all he was probably one of the first to use it. AUBERON would always push the little brother’s  nose with the grace of a cat & chuckle arrogantly. May the bastard float in the void forever; 

              “You always see yourself so FIERCE but when you rattle on like that all you do is ruin your complexion && sound like a princess brat” Eredin quoted his brother, his serenity while at it making those words sound almost exactly like the deceased king’s “What kind of fucking reaction do you even want? Do YOU even know?”

“On or off?”

                     :^).jpg

a new spitpainting. Toppic: chain weapon. And I guess I need to play Fallout XD

Albert Einstein 

@sparrcwhawk

“Well, which one is it?”

        “I was terribly distracted, honestly.                     Can you ask again?”                                 gestures mimicking her playing                                       with the gown strings

Lost in Misanthropy

What with being no snotty fifteen year old anymore, && in spite of her bluntness of being, Ciri was the most gracious when she wasn’t trying to be.  Though there was precious little particularly ladylike about her, perhaps it was the lack thereof that enticed the elf all the more.

Time was naught to her that moment, && once Ciri was finished playing with the long-necked creature, she waded back to the LAKESIDE, collecting leaves && broken bits of branches in order to build up a small fire. Wet from her name to her toes, the young woman couldn’t help sneezing, thus ignoring Eredin’s presence about, though not entirely, she turned her back to him && unwound the bandages around her torso, the effects of which exposed a very recent set of claw-marks dealt to her ribcage. Not only that, but, in comparison to before, a bigger collection of scars mapped her skin through && through.

What with having removed her shirt, Ciri put it back on, making certain her BREASTS would be well away from the Sparrowhawk’s gaze, && removed her trousers next, leaving them to dry as she sat down && poked the flickering embers with a stick.

I’ll have to find myself something to eat. Ciri thought, hugging her knees && staring at the sun. Some clothes as well. Perhaps… No. I’ll look for something myself.

With her resolve steeled, the young woman picked herself up off the floor && patted the pine needles && dirt clingingto her backside away, stealing a gander at Eredin from the corner of her eyes before tearing her gaze away from him in order to resume her task.

Ciri couldn’t help wondering if Vilgefortz kept anything EDIBLE in that manor’s kitchen.

     The playing around was a roller coaster of emotions. Eredin had for one moment rushed in & took up his sword again only to make himself feel more secure that he could protect the swallow had the creature turned rabid at any point. Fingers clenched around the hilt very often, shaking the steel that seemed to vibrate in attunement to the warrior’s anguished and protective spirit. && as she left the water, emotions took another turn - still just as intense - and the warrior saw himself grow somewhat embarrassed of how her silhouette tickled him so right.

    That’s it, he couldn’t lie in silence anymore. Besides, the danger had passed as well & she was in dry land setting up what seemed to be a bonfire. Perfect time, if there are ever such things; 

     “So... How fun was it to dangle yourself in front of an unknown monster like a juicy elder blood beef?” Along with the cracking of branches and the shifting of leaves, an approaching murmur somewhat less melancholic than his previous speech and positively caustic of him - lips even displaying the ghost of a smile which almost came to be displaying how her playing around had succeeded in lightening the airs “I thought you would become dinner before telling me why you’re here of all places” Fingers are stretched over the bonfire and the elf king takes a deep sigh when warmth touches him. Still quite an ALIEN sensation that one of being free of the biting embrace of the white frost nearly every passing hour.

      He knew there was a relationship between the swallow and the eagle. Aen Saevherne often mentioned the human with higher magic & how he would play an important part in setting the child of elder blood in her path to save the Aen Elle -- Yet he refused to believe she was there to visit Vilgefortz. Out of the shock of seeing her for the first time, his mind could clearly see that the visit was hardly a random one. She knew what she would find and, incoherent with all her nonchalant facade, sought it out. 

     But what did it meant? Eredin couldn’t tell. Everything about them seemed so... broken, even though still existent & insistent. Had she come with a better insight on those emotions aiming to share with him -- Or had she come to sort it out in company? Either way, the cold shoulder was making him restless and inquiring scratched the itch just about enough for now. 

nkedfr0g:

otherworldly | xintrean

Never would Ciri have been able to quite place one such borderline magical sensation – it was as though dabbling with FIRE all over again, for something in the act spoke to her, seduced her… whispering tenderly in her ear.

Blood in your hands, Falka.

She could hear the voice say, digits furling involuntarily, rubbing lightly against her palm, now wet with sweat, as though to make certain they weren’t stained in red.

One of her many tugs caused her hand to come FREE from Eredin’s grasp, or was it the elf who had released her at last? Heavy eyelids were pried open to watch the King of the Hunt in all his glory. Body automatically moving in lieu of his motions to prop herself up as the elf had ordained. Small hands alighted on either his shoulders, giving them an encouraging squeeze. It was shameful how Ciri didn’t understand what he meant at first, and even more so the fact she was unable to hide her inquisitiveness.

Could he be speaking of their STANCE, or…?

Unable to hide her embarrassment from the situation, Ciri could at least pretend she still had a grasp of it. One of her hands skated along the underside of Eredin’s jaw line, coaxing him to look at her before her lips met his. Almost as if of its own accord, her hips swayed.

Were an ARTIST to try and capture that image, they’d be found in such a dilemma, for there was utterly no telling where Ciri ended, and Eredin began.

                Still wet behind the ears, Eredin concluded with a light scoff & a grin. She hadn’t understood a word, it seemed. No matter; he would simply continue to control the flow of their little indecendy and, luckily, teach her a thing or two while at it. Ciri WAS a good learner, all things considered - her palms adept of finding the curves of his body and lips growing a professional grace with time. She barely seemed like the scared && sad girl sitting alone crying by the lake anymore. Had the elf any notion of what it is to cause good and bring solace of any kind; he would have been proud of fabricating this little monster so much more gleeful than the previous. But he didn’t. The thought missed him by far - for Eredin wasn’t one to see his own perks, despite the facade of arrogance.

                           He could never, for the life of his, credit himself something good.

        Hands would easily find their way to support Cirilla in her endeavor - an almost null effort considering that the prince could wrestle a wild boar & the female was but a cub yet - resuming their greedy grip at the girl’s thighs and rear && offering all the aid possible to hit their pelvis is growing liquid noises of sweaty pelvis clashing. SONG to his ears, honestly -- Its rhythm dictating the ever growing pace of their blissful kiss that more and more lost its technique and personality to become a blur of tongues, lips and teeth. All of it merely reflecting the truth that with every fearless act - even the sloppy ones - Ciri stole the control from his body. His hard member inquired depth & speed in such intensity that left his heart pounding faster than his athletic self would have believed likely. Even If no one could tell where one begun and the other ended; the rider required more. He needed to feel it all slide in, her clenching, her lips, her noises - Such a shameful thing to be overcomed by a brat. 

H.L. // excerpt from a book I’ll never write #34 // the end of you and me (via)