It takes a leap of faith
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
#99
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
He smirked and snickered along the ethers and fumes of temptation, Cheshire grin revived on the eaves of her distraction – a gloating posture even as he managed to find some clothing to put on. He remained shirtless though, pushing the drawers closed again, listening to her contemplations while he maneuvered around the room, dousing lights, finally glancing back her way as hooded gazes locked. The baker’s answer was practical enough, though her intention to leave without informing him, ghosting away, like a phantom, like a wraith, had his brows arch, then swing back down, as if naught happened or lingered through his mind. “I rise early,” the beast shrugged, roaming closer and closer, a predator stalking, a carnivore tracking, feral recollections resuming, blue on black with savage intervals. “Best time to hunt.” The Reaper allowed the insinuation to linger, amused. He could also sleep like the dead – if it was a good evening, lacking in horrors, anguish, or ghosts behind his eyes, painting and condemning their vivid scenes.

Suddenly it felt like a competition – if he could awaken before her, make breakfast, share as much time as he could, before she returned to her world, and he to the wilderness again.

With the thought insistent, tucked in the corners of his mind, Deimos lingered near her side, overcome with the unknown again. These were intrepid lines and daunting, daring tasks all of a sudden, because vulnerabilities and intimacies were something once perilously vacant, new, and then distant, unattainable things; this was foreign once more. So, on a whim, because he was making everything up as he went along (these hours weren’t for calculations, and perhaps that was part of his problem), he slid upon his anointed side of the bed – before placing his arm across her midsection, and pulling her to him. “Really,” he chided, still on top of the covers, a light rumble of laughter coursing through his chest. “You were going to try to escape me.” What a futile notion he wanted to add with another touch of humor, instead, leaving the rest of it to linger in silence, reveling in the notion of simply having her near.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: shark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 3,098 | Total: 4,577
MP: 2580
Amalia

stop thinking so much

He takes her decree of early rising and counters it with his own, a declaration that feels like a promise to meet her wherever she may be.  Perhaps it is she who is being hunted, stalked and studied by a savage beast. Perhaps Amalia should be afraid: of being known, of being seen, of revealing so much he loses interest, giving until he will no longer take.

Amalia is not afraid. To be known is all she has ever wanted, to feel she fits somewhere in this world. That her place should be in the arms of a mountain never would have been her dream, but now that she has taken solace she cannot imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else.

Dark eyes watch as he lowers himself into the bed, his body shifting to he shape of the mattress, his weight settling in beside her, a thunderous melody in her heart. He is monolithic and mighty, a bulwark against bad dreams; he warms her skin and fills her senses, the scent of him inhaled keenly and exhaled with a contented sigh. Smiling, Amalia raises her fingers to gently push back a lock of hair, freeing his face from agitation, thumb lingering briefly on his lips. A part of her stirs with fire anew, reminds her how close he is, how easily she could slide him between her thighs.

Another part cherishes this intimacy too much to sacrifice it to a baser urge.

The arm that snakes around her is welcome, and Amalia burrows against his chest, laughing slightly and shifting as she tries to find a place for herself, to adjust to sleeping in his wake. At last she winds up on her side, her back to him, his heartbeat a tattoo on her back, their fingers entwined upon her waist. He teases her gently and she smiles her reply, tilting her face back to meet his gaze, a sleepy smile on her coral lips. "Mmm... I'm only here for the scars and sex, remember?"

you're breaking your own heart


Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Deimos was afraid, terrified, clinging to shallow waters, where he was comfortable, where he could tread lightly, meander and wander along known ventures. But the paths here were growing foreign, not twisted, not gnarled, but unfamiliar, novel, experiences coiling over his senses that had been grown over, frozen, immersed in ice. He’d spent so long grieving, brooding, and brewing any number of things, occasions, events, and lost, beloved individuals, that he merely thought that was how he’d spend the rest of his days, drifting in and out of cold, acrimonious malevolence. He’d slip into vile indiscretions, he’d sink into desolation, he’d isolate himself, cruel to his own soul, to his own entity, barbed, forsaken, renounced, a relinquished pariah void of sentiments – and that would be the pattern, the ritual, until he breathed his last again, scorching over the same winding motions, the same feral decadence. All these things were before -

Before Caido. Before renewals and resurrections. Before redemption.

Before Amalia – and all these other blades coming to surround him, not pointed at his chest, not directed at his existence, but there, beside him, accepting, tolerating, understanding who and what he was prior to his own comprehension. He was more than echoes and reflections of deplorable means and measures. He was more than a mountain, more than a ruin. He was more than a weapon, more than a machine, more than anarchy and knives. Maybe he’d try to believe in it too.

He’d be devastated to lose all of it again. It’d taken this long to try and piece him back together. Gone was the shell, gone was the hollowed vessel, and in its wake, something consumed life instead of distorting it, something ached and yearned and craved instead of unraveling everything he’d ever strived to do.

The beast took in the warmth of her devotion and didn’t know what to do with it except to relish, except to savor, except to cherish, hold as tightly as he could, protective and guarding, reverence and rapturing glinting and refracting off of shadows, off of moonlight, off of beams of sunlight and the stars. It wasn’t fair, really, the way she could take his breath away with a mere touch (starved; he’d once been starved of any caresses, any strokes, any sort of affection – and now it made him tremble, made him shudder). The heathen half-intended to catch her thumb in his mouth, graze the tender skin with teeth, rake them all down to oblivion; but the notion ended there, on spiraling thoughts, on a smile, on mercurial whims coiling in his mind.

The proximity wasn’t new – not since their first ventures into affection, devotion, and ardor, but the space confined, just them and the evening, not spread out into dancing wiles or entangled mischief. His arm lingered along her waist, over her hips, coiled on his side so he could tuck all her angles, all her curves, in his monolithic wake, every breath with her in it. He didn’t know what to do – lost and lost and lost, no maps, no charts, no plots – taking and giving what he could.

So maybe it was the vulnerability, the last walls coming down and him stretching out to meet her, parting through fog, mist, and labyrinths, that made his voice rumble and beckon across the top of her hair, lips crooning into gold. “Love you,” didn’t roam, didn’t saunter; piercing and stalwart, strong and enduring, promises and vows curled in gilded clarity. Then he clutched and held all the more, as if the words would cause her to disappear.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: shark Offline
Change author:
Posts: 3,098 | Total: 4,577
MP: 2580
Amalia

stop thinking so much

They lie there in the spaces carved out, the paths once silent and empty and alone, souls and bodies and fates entwined. There is magic in the way she fits against him, each of her curves and angles finding a space, her body tucked against his warmth. It is new and strange, and it is comfortable and natural; it is what the human body was meant to do, and what she never anticipated to find for herself. To be held, to be guarded, to be cared for, to belong-

Amalia shivers in his arms, pressing closer into the bulwarks, overwhelmed and awed by the simple and stunning pleasure of having a place were she belongs.

They have been close before, closer than Amalia ever dreamed she would want to be to another (fingers and tongues, skin and skin, soft and hard and slick and heat-), but this remains distinctly different. Intimacy in vulnerability: here between these hallowed walls a trust is given, a promise exchanged. There is a deeper comfort, a more important sensation of safety, a happiness to be found in this new proximity. For months she has not been able to sleep except when wrapped in another skin, the leopardess a shield against the darkness, the haunting dangers of unpredictable night. But tonight, tonight, tonight alone, the Shield feels no need to retreat, to wear the armor of another skin: she has him as guard.

Oh, but she is still afraid- only her fears are different now, bathed in hope. In the comfort of his embrace, in the weight of his arms, the uneasy baker yawns and shifts, her eyelids heavy with impending sleep. Though she is happy, though she is content, anxiety can never leave her be; even now she wonders, considers, fear, a nagging doubt in the darkest recesses. Words and dreams fill her mind, never at peace but close, so close, here where she belongs, where she has found a place. In her dreams this place is permanent; in her hopes it is built to last. She holds to dreams, because reality is more frightening, because there haven't been promises, because there are things she still wants, because she is inadequate and somewhere deep down he must see, must feel, must know that truth, because as much as she hopes it she does not know, cannot know, because-

"Love you."

Does he hear her heart stop, she wonders?

Does he feel it start back up again, a thunderstorm inside her breast?

Does he sense the electricity that sparks within her, the way her entire self is suddenly alive, wired and woken and wild and vibrant?

She feels like a fire, an inferno, a whirling vortex of passion and happiness, joy and relief and love and love and love. Love you- two words she has known, has felt, and yet to hear them is to be lifted, liberated and illuminated and buoyed higher than she has ever been. It is silly, stupid, how much it means, how long she has wanted to hear it, how deep the void those syllables fill.

Love you-

Were she to float off the bed she would not be surprised.

Amalia does not move, terrified of breaking this perfect moment, of scaring him with the intensity of everything she feels. Love you echoes and resounds in her mind, repeated and repeated, a haunting refrain, an opus, a sonata, a chorus, a hymn. Love you, love you, love you, love you-

She hasn't said it since that day, has waited through seasons and interludes. Only now does she realize the abstinence, the absence: only now does she recognize how much she has wanted it, the ache that waiting has left in her chest. Afraid to say the words again, to drive him away with too much, too much, to open the window into the inferno that is her passion and ardor. Amalia has so much love to give the world, to give him-

"Love you, too," the Shield smiles, happier than she has been in her life.

you're breaking your own heart


Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 6,559 | Total: 10,652
MP: 9824
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
She’d said it to him before (I think I’m in love with you), and he’d never forgotten it, utterly stunned because it hadn’t been a notion, a sentiment, extended towards him often (ever?) – not understanding what she saw in him. Amalia had made it remarkably clear over the evening’s dynamics, trust and devotion, stalwart commitment and fortitude, more, more, and more he could likely refute, self-deprecation alive and incensed in his chest. But sometimes it was enough to believe in, for a moment, for an instant, that he was just as she’d described – better than the decadent roots and seditious efforts, better than the sum of all his ghosts and wraiths.

His eyes closed, not succumbing to slumber just yet, mouth near her crown, her halo, breathing her in, soaking in the essence of her light while he could. It was almost a waiting game; perhaps she didn’t hear him, perhaps she didn’t care, perhaps she already regretted the things she’d uttered before.

Then it reigned across intervals, emboldened and bright, out into the ether, over the rush of his heart, a tattoo, an anthem. Love you too; and he wore it along his skull, so it could press and coax along his dreams, so there were other things to dwell upon besides doldrums and iniquities (contentment, satisfaction, ardor, love, love, love). His lips pressed against her hair, a chuckle smothered by gold and the crinkle of his smile, before sleep finally wove its way behind his eyes.
Unite and spread the heart apart


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