From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
snow glistens on the ledge, whiskey on the bed shake it out and light a cigarette
The scars along her body might mostly be from friendly fire, but his are not. They’re both survivors, her bearing the scars of learning and training, him bearing the ones of people out to get him, to put him down — evidenced by the scars acquired not here, like the stab wound Lusea stitched up above his hip, like the gunshot wound to his thigh that hasn’t be unearthed yet, like the scar that adorns his neck from where he should have died and yet… didn’t.
It’s almost poetic, in the sense that they’re here, that things have accelerated in such a way that neither of them thought it would. Perhaps it was the light touches, perhaps it was the teasing tones thrown between them, perhaps it was the fact that loneliness won out and neither of them wanted to sleep in a cold bed (or couch) alone. He doesn’t care what spurred it, not with her in his arms, already beginning to burn in a way that Sunjata knows intimately well.
But she purrs her approvals to the bites, right before Sunjata’s moving — shifting to better help her remove the shirt and bra she wears, moving to tug her atop him, lips meeting and clashing in a fiery dance. She settles on top of him, though he keeps his torso against hers as his tongue sweeps along her lower lip and she shudders. He can feel the way she gives him a grin back, full of teeth and were she attuned he could only imagine the sharpness of them in response to his own. They’re one in the same, after all.
Her hips roll against him, against the anticipation that’s evident with the movement, and a hum of a vibrating groan slips from his throat, even more so when she pairs it with a sharper bite — sure that the lip would be swollen but truly having it no other way. So his hands lower, along her sides, partially shifted to blunt claws to not draw blood, dragging along her skin until he reaches her hips and pulls her down against him again — a shuddering pant of a breath leaving him. But he’s still trapped beneath the fabric of pants, tight and uncomfortable just as she’s hidden away too, so he breaks the kiss with a parting fanged bite to her own lip, sharper and taunting, before smoldering steel tries to meet fiery amber once more.
So he shifts them again because he probably should have thought about this better but he’s drunk, trying to raise her to slide whatever else she wears off, trying to orient her along the couch similarly to before when she’d been under him, only this time he doesn’t stay at her lips. No, he plans to travel down, slowly, playfully, hoping to indulge in her and show her exactly why the forked tongue was enjoyable. Though he doesn’t start to drift until he’s placed a sharper bite to her neck, below her ear, that likely would leave a mark as he goes to start his descent — a hand trailing up in light ghostlike touches along the inside of her thigh.
miss me when you, you wish you weren't right shake me all out if i'm wrong, for you, for you
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful
She has a surprising lack of scars from people out to get her, but then again, she’d lived a sheltered life, in a way. There are scars from hunts gone south, of course, scars from claws and fangs and tusks and a few rookie mistakes. There are all the scars from training. But she’d grown up and lived an entire life in Halo, and though there’d been men to try and take advantage of a pretty girl (weren’t they surprised to find a tiger and not a woman), there’d been nothing more than that. It was a hard existence here, but full of good people, surrounded by a town all trying to make it together. Though the ursur tusk through her chest is another matter, the sort of scar he bears as well. They should both be ghosts. She’d trade her life for Erebor any day, because he deserved to live in a way she did not. She imagines Sunjata would trade his life for Lusea all the same. Yet they were the ones left, the ones still living.
Maybe they were still alive to meet one another. Not to be soulmates, not to fall in love, but to keep each other standing when it would be so much easier to fall. To remind each other why they lived like death was on their heels, because it always was, wasn’t it? On their heels but not yet ready for them, so instead they left it in their wake. Might as well keep going with the destruction.
But was this really destruction? Not of them. Not of those left alive. Only of pain and loneliness and sorrow, at least for a time.
He groans into her as she bites his lip, and she grins around the bite before letting go. She could just heal whatever little wounds they tore into each other when it was all done, though she doubted that she would. That wasn’t really the point. The point was the pain, a thing that they had both learned to find pleasure in. He draws blunt claws against her side and she arches into the touch, the potential of pain and pleasure both. He bites her own lip with real fangs, and she can taste the hint of blood, though she doesn’t mind.
He shifts them again, and she obliges, stretching her legs out and leaning back, pushing at the tight cotton pants to slide them down, allowing him to take them all the way down and off, kicking them away to join the growing pile of clothing on the floor. A sharp bite to her neck, and her hands come to tangle in his hair, careless if she grips a bit too tight, though she does not hold him in place, letting him drift, letting him explore. Her hands trail along his skin, finding scars and muscle again and again, learning the feel of him as he tastes her, as his hand trails against her thigh and sends the fire in the hearth even higher.
snow glistens on the ledge, whiskey on the bed shake it out and light a cigarette
To heal the wounds leaves little point to it, he agrees. The idea of it being a part of the danger, the allure that comes with it, the fact that the claws at her hip could absolutely dig in and draw blood (hadn’t Nate already done that? The scar to his wrists?) but it was something Sunjata writhed within, something he thrived within. The anticipation of danger and marks, scratches and blood, the promise of something brutal and primal and all consuming. It’s like that as she bites his lip, as he bites hers in return, pulling away begrudgingly (or excitedly?) to run his hands along her — to watch as she arches like a cat into his touch.
She moves with him, laying back against the couch, giving him a moment to discard everything else she wears, mouth watering in the anticipation and wanting to drown himself in her. But he takes his time, his hand roaming up the inside of her thigh, spreading her legs a bit further to fit him in on his path downward. He blazes a trail with kisses and playful nips, humming the approval to the nails and tight grip in his dark hair, traveling down and down to pay attention to her chest and moving on. Until, of course, he gets to the prize.
His breath rakes over her then, a hot pant as he pulls up a small amount, his hands slipping to find their way on either of her thighs to hook her legs over his tattooed shoulders. Smoldering steel lifts to her face, scanning to see if he can bring out the flame even more, before that forked tongue slips out to tenderly drag along her, wondering what kind of sounds she might make with it as he goes to repeat the gesture with a bit more pressure, a bit more hunger.
miss me when you, you wish you weren't right shake me all out if i'm wrong, for you, for you
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful
She’d certainly had tamer nights in bed, without the threat of claws and fangs, teeth and nails. There’s been nights for lovers, for boys she’d kept around a little longer than the others. There’d never been a proper lover though, never a boy with a future in mind. She couldn’t dream of futures, not then, and barely now. Then she worried too much about keeping food on the table, about how Korbin might react to her bringing someone so seriously into their lives. Then she’d worried that the future would be cut short. The first worry is gone, the second has changed, but the third? There is always the third.
So instead she craves the threat of blood and violence, the pain, the danger. It makes her feel alive to hurt in that physical way, to bleed. She craves being set free. She craves connection too, even if its connection in the primal, sorrow filled way she finds it with Sunjata.
She discards her pants and her underwear, leaving only the knife that is sheathed at her ankle. It seems unnecessary to remove that, almost wrong to remove it. The steel belongs there, like a promise, like the part of her that it is. At his touch, she spreads her legs willingly, allowing him the space to make his way down the trail of her chest, her stomach, to reach his destination. No, that sounds too final. It is the destination, but it is only the start of the journey.
His breath is hot, tantalizing, teasing, and her heartbeat thrums lower in her body. Her legs slip over his shoulders, her hands running up his arms, dragging her nails against his skin. She calls to the wind, tugging at a small breeze to shiver against the back of his neck, just to tease back. The forked tongue slips out and this time her shudder is pure delight, desire, and she digs her nails into his skin a little more, insistent. The tongue again, obliging, and the moan that escapes her is soft but feral, deep and raw, the sound of wild animal finally loosed from its tether.
snow glistens on the ledge, whiskey on the bed shake it out and light a cigarette
It was different, the fact that they weren’t new at this – that they had various partners and learned and adapted, used it to better know and learn the way to draw the most pleasure out. Used it to learn what worked best for themselves as well. And when the dance occurs, there’s confidence and surety within the moment, despite the primal heat and threat of scratches and scars, of trysts in the dark with a fire in the hearth.
They crave much the same, at the end of the day.
She leaves the knife strapped on, finding that it doesn’t bother him in the slightest. If anything, it only adds to the feeling of danger – that red line along his jaw a reminder of the sharpness of that blade, and with it the claws that extend and trace, that dig in as he trails down, blazing that fiery warpath to get where he wants to be, dragging those hands along her sides until he has her legs hooked over his shoulders and he can give her his full attention.
He can feel her hands run along his arms, hums against the feeling of her nails digging in, purrs against the feeling of the wind at the back of his neck, stirring the dark curls there, goosebumps racing along his shoulders and down his neck. It’s a tease, but it’s fun, and he dives in – smoldering silver gaze lingering on her face to watch for the reaction, to see what he can cause to burn through her. Her shudder causes the corner of his lips to raise in a smirk, humming once more as her nails dig in – an approving sound to tell her she could do anything to him and he’d probably like it – as the forked tongue dips again along her, pulling those sounds from her.
He relishes in it, in the way that he can give her something back. Perhaps he doesn’t have to, perhaps it was never expected. But he wants to. And for someone that had been classified as selfish one too many times, perhaps it’s saying something as he indulges her. The tongue dips again, insistent and playful, ready to give her everything he can. One hand lifts to her side again, running along her hip toward her chest, the other latches onto her leg, pulling her closer, the predator skins within him edging out almost possessively as he breaks the contact with her to kiss the inside of her thigh, to leave a tender bite there with enough of a pause to catch his breath while his heart thunders in his chest, before he dives in again with that forked tongue, exploring and playful, testing and caressing.
miss me when you, you wish you weren't right shake me all out if i'm wrong, for you, for you
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
05-06-2020, 08:14 PM (This post was last modified: 05-06-2020, 08:15 PM by Weaver.)
WEAVER
she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful
There was always the benefit of repeat partners, of learning what they like as well as what you like. They’d lack that benefit now, but they were so similar that maybe it didn’t matter. They sought the same thing tonight; they sought enjoyment, release, pleasure, danger, pain. They sought to drown in each other as they drowned earlier in smoke and alcohol, in stories of past woes that would never completely leave them. The confidence of their actions, their surety in themselves, would lessen the awkwardness of the first dance because neither of them knew how to be awkward. Not anymore. They have learned to be so much more than that.
His claws dig into her sides, leaving pink trails, little pinpricks of blood in the places where he digs a little harder. It is all a tease. Her nails, the wind. His claws, that forked tongue. Teasing is half the fun, the anticipation building, that primal want turning into a need until it can no longer be denied. Like starving for days only to take that first bite of meat, but so, so much better. She slips slightly closer to him, encouraging.
There’s something particularly rewarding, particularly fun, about giving back. She is a selfish person, and certainly a willing taker in bed, but she likes to give too. The truth is it’s no fun if the other person isn’t enjoying it just as much. She wants them to want as much as she does, wants them to crave as she does. Though she cannot help that she has the distinct advantage of being female in this particular scenario.
And indulge her he does. He pulls her closer, and she obliges, sliding toward him and that tongue. Still weird, but oh...oh in such a good way. Her eyes close, her back and neck arching slightly as he explores. One hand stays on his arm, running nails along his muscles, the other coming back to brace against the armrest of the couch. He breaks away, kissing at her thigh, and she relaxes slightly with a soft moan at the bite before he returns to exploring and oh. Oh. The pleasure is like a wave, cresting higher and higher, her breath hitching in her throat. "Don’t stop,” she says, voice smoky and raw, a prayer and promise.
snow glistens on the ledge, whiskey on the bed shake it out and light a cigarette
He hadn’t meant to draw blood, not intentionally at least. Perhaps a few welts, a few lines raised. But when the spark of blood is felt and the way she reacts beneath his touch with it, sliding closer to him, has him growing more and more possessive of the position he’s in. So he pulls her closer, diving in. Oh, he told her the tongue was worth it if you knew how to use it. He hopes she believes him.
He tugs her closer and she obliges him, and he in turn gives into it. The muscles beneath her hand flex as he holds her close to him, his steel gaze watching as she closes her eyes and her back arches slightly — acutely listening, living through the sounds she makes. And when she speaks, her one raw and rough command has him obliging entirely, announcing that he plans to go the whole way with a vibrating growl accompanied to the kisses and exploration his tongue takes.
So he grows a bit rougher, a bit more into the taking, trying to pull whatever he can out of her. One hand abandons her hips to run along her thigh again, while he focuses on picking up a particular speed with his tongue. His hand shifts back into his own, and he pauses briefly to give her a moment, before slipping a finger into her — relishing in a bit of the power he holds right now. There’s a flush to his neck, all focus and attention given to her, pausing ever so slightly in that taunting mind of his. If he was an incubus, she was a succubus, both taunting and toying with one another, with the promise of a sweet release.
miss me when you, you wish you weren't right shake me all out if i'm wrong, for you, for you
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful
Maybe she’d leaned into the claws just a hair too much, as he’d leaned into the point of her knife. She wants to cut and be cut, wants to possess and be possessed. She wants to live in this feral, wild moment, slide into their roles as serpent and feline, embrace that wild, primal thing called desire. She doesn’t have to believe that the tongue is worth it, not now. Believing suggests some amount of required faith, but this requires no faith. The proof is there, in the way her body responds, urgent, wet, betraying her (though it is not really betrayal, when she wants him to know).
His growl vibrates against her, sends her arching higher, her head back more, another moan through her lips as he takes her further. He grows rougher, and she responds in kind, legs tightening against his back slightly, herself closer to him where she can. The sheath of the knife grazes against his back. Her skin prickles beneath his touch. He pauses, only a moment, but it is a brutal moment that makes his finger in her all the sweeter, the wave of pleasure cresting into a tsunami.
She doesn’t want the wave to break, not yet. Oh, it could, but she wants to play, wants to enjoy, wants to drown in him - in his steel eyes, in his calloused hands, in his skin against her, in his finger inside her. And drown she does. Drowns beneath the pleasure, that wave cresting higher and higher. But she holds out. Just another moment, another minute...how long can she ride the wave?
snow glistens on the ledge, whiskey on the bed shake it out and light a cigarette
It’s a dance, one where the two of them both can indulge in the dangers and recklessness — why else would they be here right now if it weren’t for the recklessness, the selfishness of giving into the feeling of lust and sins and heat in a cold Halo night. Sure, there’s a hearth with a flame that responds in kind to Weaver’s magic, but it’s nothing like the fire he draws from her, nothing like the hoarse ferality of her voice, coloring the air. It’s nothing compared to the blood that hums in his veins when he feels the press of the sheath of the blade against his back as he urges her closer.
It’s nothing compared to the way he wants to take her. And he could, realistically, play to his hearts content, but there’s that wave that’s formed within her that mimics his own — still trapped beneath fabric, seeking an out for himself, burning and burning. But ah the reaction he gets when he slides the finger in, toying and playing. No, he doesn’t want to give into her just yet.
So reluctantly, he withdraws, breath heavy as he presses apologetic kisses to the insides of her thighs, shifting a small amount from where he is with her legs hooked around his shoulders, to undo the belt he wears, the button to the pants he wears, hissing something nearly snakelike with the relief that that brings. He hovers over her now, fishing into a pocket for the protection he seeks (because he really isn’t in the mood for a surprise later) and let’s his gaze focus on her with the same smoldering steel as before, shadowed by the lust and desire brimming within them. And he has two choices now — indulge her with muscles that already tremble from supporting his weight this long, or pulling her over to him as he initially had done.
He figures he’ll let her decide, hovering over her with roaming hands as he seeks her collarbone and neck to kiss and bite, craving more of the burn and flame she has to offer.
miss me when you, you wish you weren't right shake me all out if i'm wrong, for you, for you
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful
Though the fire in the hearth responds to her, her magic is not out of control. Oh, how it could be though, given the way the heat floods through her veins. She is alive with it, buzzing with the hum of a magic grown more powerful than she ever dreamed. She could burn within it, could light this room on fire and embrace the inferno that swirled around them. It sings within her, drives her forward, coaxes the fire he can feel within her, surges to meet him.
He withdraws, and the wave turns to a swell, a waiting thing that shifts with the tides of their evening. Those kisses to her thigh are hardly an apology, but promises and taunts all at once. Still, as his hands move to remove the belt, she is not sorry, lifting herself up slightly to look, because it is her turn to enjoy the full sight of him. He hovers above her, waiting for a choice she’s already made.
She sits forward, a hand on his chest, pushing him back against the other side of the couch, crawling out from underneath him to kiss her way down his chest. Her hands are on his hips, nails digging into the flesh around the bones there, as she kisses around him. The sleek trail of muscle, circling around to one thigh, to the base of him, before licking her way up to suck. Tip first, a tease, before the whole thing. If he got to enjoy her reactions, then she will take a moment to enjoy his. It seems unlikely that he will mind.
snow glistens on the ledge, whiskey on the bed shake it out and light a cigarette
It’s surprisingly easy to remove the belt and the rest of it – hovering over her as he does. And when he manages to slide it all off, hovering, letting her decide, that’s when those steel eyes smolder and swarm even more. The hand to his chest pushing him back, though it’s not hard with how pliable and willing Sunjata is to experience what she has to offer. He moves back, giving her the space she seeks, only for it not to last long.
She’s hovering above him now, kisses placed to his chest that begin to trail down over tattoos and scars, and he shifts a bit more comfortably – one foot flat against the floor for a bit more purchase, giving her a bit more space to work with. Still, his gaze follows her – awaiting, feeling acutely the nails that dog into his hips that are accompanied with a low growl from his throat.
And when she reaches him, fully, the succubus as she is, there’s a sharp intake of breath at the tongue he can feel tracing along him, surprisingly hot (or perhaps, not so surprisingly?) His own hands move to her, snaking down, one along her arm while the other tangles in her hair as his head tilts back when she begins. A louder growl leaves his throat, something primal mixed with the heaviness of his breath, the panting inhales he takes when she takes him. There’s a string that grows tighter, the wave of the flood that builds in him beneath her touch, though not quite at the point he has her in. And he waits, waits for her to take the lead.
miss me when you, you wish you weren't right shake me all out if i'm wrong, for you, for you
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful
He is pliable and willing, bending to her and pushes him back, making space for her to slither down him, to taste her way along his body. That sweet and salty taste of day old skin and sweat, the smoke still lingering on her tongue and in her lungs. Maybe really it is smoke from the fire that burns both beside them and in her, the fire that churns in her belly and rages through her veins.
His growls only encourage her, the way his head arches back (those amber eyes peeking up, just to see). His hands find her arm, her hair, and she purrs into his touch, as she does her own exploration, bringing him closer to the place he’d already brought her. Closer, though not quite so far. She takes her time, lingering, finally lifting her head from him to slide back up his body, pressed close.
She trails kisses back up him, along his chest to his neck, her body low and close to his. She pauses at his neck, sucking at the skin, catching it between her teeth, before shifting and her tongue finds the space behind the lobe of his ear. She licks a gentle circle there, blowing on the skin before finding his lips for a moment.
Her hand slips down, finds him, the intention clear. She pauses long enough for them to fumble the protection he’d grabbed earlier (a necessary mood killer, but she’d prefer no surprises either), before guiding him into her. The fire roars in the hearth as she feels him, and she sits up, hands hiding purchase on his thighs, as she moves against him.
snow glistens on the ledge, whiskey on the bed shake it out and light a cigarette
She takes her time, drawing that wave within him, drawing him closer toward the edge with a rush of quick, panting breaths, and the tilt of his head as he leans back, fingers twisting and tightening in her hair, the other squeezing along her arm, dragging nails along the soft skin there. He’s content to let her explore, to test and see what draws the most out of him (at this moment it’s nearly everything) and when she pulls up, sliding along him with kisses and taunting bites, his hands slide back down to her sides — keeping her pressed against him, humming growls of approval at the bites and marks left behind, tilting his head to give her a bit more room to work with.
And when she blows a bit of air along the space behind his ear, there’s a shivering shudder that travels down his spine when her lips find his again. He gives into her, entirely, fumbling — too distracted by her lips and the act of slipping on the protection in a moment of pause that has his body raging against it. But it doesn’t last long, not as his hands find her hips again, partially shifting into those claws again, and she adjusts them just enough that he slides into her — another shudder and a growl leaving him with the sensation of entirely her.
And then she sits up, he gives her a parting kiss, shifting his hips with her as she moves against him. A rhythm is picked, one that has the hands on her hips pulling her down against him and aiming to drive himself deeper, one hand lifting to trail those claws along her side to her breast. And he burns with her, that wave raging within him, thrashing against wanting to drown completely within her and wanting the same for her.
miss me when you, you wish you weren't right shake me all out if i'm wrong, for you, for you
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful
His hands keep her close, pressing down along her sides, though she doesn’t object. She never planned to go far, letting her breasts graze his chest, keeping contact against him to keep the tease going, to keep the anticipation building. She won’t waste what they have created, won’t let it slip, even as they pause to fumble with the protection, there’s still enough there that they are ready. So, so ready.
His hands shift into claws again, digging lightly into the flesh around her hips as she sinks down, riding him. He pulls her down and she obliges with a gasp, arching back slightly so he fills all of her, so there is no space left untouched. The claw grazes her breast, and she speeds up, lost in the feel of him. It is wild, untamed. Despite the cold of Halo, the room is warm with the heat of them, sweat on her skin as that wave builds. Builds and builds, her breaths coming in ragged gasps, until everything crashes, a beautiful release of pleasure. She moans, head tipped back, fire jumping in the hearth as she finds that release.
She leans forward, her speed slowing but not stopping, taking a moment to rest her head against his chest, fingers finding his sides, catching her breath. Just a moment, her hips moving slowly against him, sitting back up in a clear invitation to him to move her as he wanted. She had taken, and so she would let him take as well.
