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!
Though his arms don’t drop, the best emanating from his skin is inviting enough even when paired with the long-suffering exhale of his cheeky acceptance. She doesn’t do it to torment him, but any thoughts of material items effectively dissipated the moment she had the statuesque vision of his naked form to occupy her thoughts with instead. And her hands, which slide lower to press the slight jut of his hipbones into the matching hollow spaces of her palms, like they were always meant to rest there.
Distantly she notices his command over their discarded clothing but she couldn’t care less about where they end up. The barracks are their for the evening, and any lost items could be replaced even if whoever discovered them come morning might have questions.
Reluctant to take her hands away even for the brief moment it would take to pull upon his nape, the Evergreen rises on her toes to press a lingering kiss to the line of his jaw, his beard tickling at her lips as she holds herself steady with the hands at his hips. “Kiss me,” she commands, and perhaps it would be jokingly imperious were her voice not so breathy, her tone a mere whisper. A parallel to when she’d asked him not too long ago if she could, but more certain now in where they stood with each other even without labels or names.
you can tell how dangerous a person is by the way they hold their anger inside themselves quietly
Despite his remarkable stillness, statuesque and poised, the measure of his pulse quickened, snagging beneath flesh and bone. His breaths committed the same, and though he’d always been a paragon of patience, something wild and unrelenting threatened, loomed. As quickly as he’d picked up the clothing, thinking they were relocating elsewhere, they were immediately forgotten, the boundaries of silence, the otherwise stillness, leapt against his ears.
Another shudder, involuntary or inherent, loomed under his skin from her ministrations, however light, and the muscles in his jaw feathered, eyes hooded as they glanced, lanced, downward, over crimson hair and pale skin and flickers of embers and fire unfurling upon canvas. Expectations were a bare, minimal thing, mind conjuring too many things all at once, until the barrage of senses were all he could linger and snatch and snag. The rise of her frame, mouth moving along his jaw, quirking a smile along the corners of his own, the whispering command thereafter enough to solidify alterations and changes; not unlike the springs, but for more.
He leaned down, arms eventually unfolding, hands basing themselves along the curves of her nape and shoulders, the semblance of cheekiness sauntering from his rumble to maintain some notion of normalcy. “Is that your prize?” Easily forged just the same – he would’ve ensued greed or simplicity. His lips hovered over hers for an instant longer; a tease, before aligning and molding, light, airy, and then withdrawing, the inquiry layered thereafter because maybe he did want some clarity, labels, sense. “What are we doing?”
It’s a strange combination of honor and intimidation to feel the power of his body ripple beneath her light touch, restrained and yet leaping beneath her like she holds the reigns to something that could - should - never be truly tamed. A power she can’t possibly harness, but which is entirely harmless when leveled against her. Even his hands are gentle despite their weight as they come to rest upon her nape and shoulder, exuding warmth that seeps down into her bones.
“Why would I waste my prize on something you freely give me?” she teases back, scarcely more than a whisper against the teasing, not-quite touch of their lips. Any other words die in a soft hum of pleasure when he puts an end to the waiting, lips pressing firmly together. It’s not nearly long enough, and she laments that as he pulls away. But it’s worth it in the end.
What he asks might have once sparked anxiety or insecurity in a younger version of herself, but she knows what she seeks, what she needs and desires, and the middle ground where the two meet. Blinking away the fire in her veins until she can think clearly, the Evergreen lifts one hand from his hip to gently cradle his cheek, giving him her full focus and sincerity. “I know how I feel, what I want. But I know you hold so much more hurt than I do; whatever you’re comfortable with calling us, I’m willing to consider.” And, though it never gets easier with age and wisdom, she opens up a little more; enough for him to know, without doubt, how she feels. “I don’t want to rush anything. But you make me happier than I can ever remember being. I trust you more than anyone else. I’ve cared for you a very long time, even if it wasn’t romantic then.” Platonic, but not quite familial. A deep, abiding trust in him - always sure he accepted her for who she was, magic and all, in ways her own family could not. “I don’t want to be apart from you. Whether that grows into love, I think only time can tell, but…I feel like it can, very easily.” The rest she would let him guide, because she knew how much he’d been hurt, and she suspected his boundaries were far firmer than her own when it came to love now because if it.
you can tell how dangerous a person is by the way they hold their anger inside themselves quietly
Once, it would’ve been much easier to circumvent forms of communication – to either give in or isolate, granting very little because that was far more comfortable. To remain hidden and cloaked and locked away, away, away, where no one hurt and maimed and bludgeoned him again. Those angles of fortresses and bulwarks, trapping and tempting, couldn’t be the way he lived his life anymore, no matter the beguilement of their ease, the familiarity of their wake. It hadn’t been for lack of trying over the years, and while pain wasn’t foreign to him, and never had been, the way someone could slash at his heart and tear it apart still lurked in the back of his mind. Nor was it fair to believe that every soul would come to eventually maim his. But if he didn’t guard himself, no one else would.
He feigned an eyeroll at the first response, but leaned into her waiting hand, trying to pry his thoughts and feelings into words, into phrases. Vulnerabilities and discomforts, realities and tangibilities, coercing together to try to give him a voice – but he listened first, as they receded from igniting and sparking, no incendiary urges with conversations unfurling into meanings and sentiments. Trust and slowness and giving space to breathe, happiness and contentment, caring and safety, things he’d taken a very long time to grasp – ignoring the flush of color along his cheeks, he tried to convey and impart the same. “I trust you,” which might’ve been the most difficult to wander through – reserved for few. “And I am drawn to your spirit, your strength, your convictions. Maybe your mischief too.” A grin formed along the corner of his mouth, cheek dimpling slightly. “And I care about you, I always have.” As friends, and extended proportions, to this.
He wasn’t going to say love yet either – too soon, and he was too wary, waiting for something else to flicker and fall away. “Nor do I want to rush anything.” Because then they might’ve skipped steps and hurdles, might’ve forgotten something along the wayside, might fracture and break before anything was structurally sound. “So is that…dating, courting?” What did they even call it now?
It seems ridiculous to have this conversation with Deimos nude and she in only her undergarments, but perhaps that’s what makes it fitting. They are bare, disarmed, all weapons and armor set aside in favor of vulnerability and trust. There is physicality there of course, Evie would not pretend to be some puritan above the pull of flesh and allure of intimacy, but as she looks up into his eyes those embers are feeble shadows compared to the fires of her deeper emotions.
She waits quietly through his own words, imparting them to memory. Evie does not do him the dishonor of doubting his veracity, his healing. If he feels he is ready to try again, to open himself to her with the knowledge they could hurt one another, then she will respect his decision. Appreciate it, deeply, for the opportunity it gives her in turn. She can’t conceal the wobbly grin at his small, needling teasing, trying hard to control her emotions. Evie knows she is not the most self-assured woman in Caido, or even within Deimos’ close circle (Hotaru would beat her by the length of the continent), so to hear him praise these parts of her makes her heart so warm the sensation trickles down her arms into her fingertips.
Those fingers slide from his cheek to just behind his ear, cradling the curve of his skull to pull him gently in until their foreheads meet. “I feel like the sentiment is the same regardless of what people are calling it these days,” she huffs a laugh, unable to tamp down on her smile. “But I think it’s a fitting label. We can talk through the changes as they come.” And then, because she can’t help it, she grins and bumps their noses together. “I’m happy with whatever one means I can kiss and touch you as I like.” Though they hadn’t gone beyond the former, it doesn’t matter when it comes to teasing him.
you can tell how dangerous a person is by the way they hold their anger inside themselves quietly
The Sword favored his armor and weapons, and so perhaps it was with greater circumstance that he had neither now. Even surrounded by the familiarity of a defensive world he’d built for himself, his warriors, and his citizens alike; the exposure left him seemingly bare, and more so than the lack of clothing. Safety and sanctity, trust and assurance, things he’d promised her, still had to be solidified in the base of his skull and the stronghold of his heart, each and every instant. And then they’d ring true, for beats and pulses, for whims and caprices, for faith and conviction, until they blended and mended, folded over all the healing scars and the broken lacerations he’d tended to himself. Day by day, little by little, trying and striving, reaching above the surfaces of those dreadful, blackened waters – now with another’s hand extended, reaching out, if he was willing to take it.
He bent under her movements, until brows brushed and met and some solidified laugh conjured along the minimal space between. “Okay,” was along the curve of a smile, more boyish and endearing, as if allowed to see the sun again. “Just be patient with me,” perhaps by warning, for the rooted hurts and the difficult entanglements, where places were still knotted and gnarled. “And I will do the same.”
Deimos nearly took the bump along his nose as a goading tactic, but reeled the competitive notions back in when the sentiments coincided, leading to a billowing snort. “Deal.” And by promise and oaths, his hands rose back up, to cradle her cheeks, for lips to meet, to solidify it all with certainties and shelter –
And then a rumble of his stomach echoed immediately thereafter, a hint of ignored routines for the sentiments of earlier foolishness. A soft laugh followed, shaking his head in her hold. “Are you hungry? I skipped dinner.”
His smile is always contagious, and regardless of what they deem to call themselves, Evie wants to spend all her future days and nights finding new ways to make it appear. If it’s a warning he means with his wording, it is noted, but the deeper insinuations of his emotions and traumas being a burden are staunchly rejected. “I’m happy to be patient,” she assures, voice warm with the weight of her smile. Though her own baggage was not so romantic in nature, they would surely stumble on each other’s sore spots unintentionally with time. Evie has faith that they will overcome those moments when they occur, but patience is something she can promise.
She rises to his lips as his single word seals their intentions, eyes falling shut and hands braced on his warm skin. The faded scent of his soap in her nose and the slight rasp of his beard against her skin making her shiver, entranced and happy to fall into him -
Only for them to break away on shared breaths of laughter as his stomach makes itself stubbornly known. Though she wishes he’d taken the time to eat earlier for his own sake, the opportunity to spend that time alongside him is a benefit. “I could eat,” she huffs a laugh, amused by their ongoing routine of seeking out food when together. Reluctantly opening her eyes, she gently squeezes Deimos’ nape before letting her hand fall to return to his hip where the other still sits. “What did you have in mind?” A precious few shops were undoubtedly still open, but they both surely had food in their own spaces, accustomed to cooking for themselves.
you can tell how dangerous a person is by the way they hold their anger inside themselves quietly
Considering the magnitude of his forbearance, there was some intangible thread of relief that someone would be patient for him. It pulsed gently in the crux of his heart and conjured another smile, reassured and soothed. “Thank you,” came on a lighter rumble, and he meant it, like all the other weights to his words, and would’ve been content to remain there, had his own stomach not protested the notions.
Rounds of acceptance proceeded, and the grin didn’t fade amidst the considerations, tilting his head, eyes flickering elsewhere while he recalled what he’d taken out this morning. “I have some chicken thawing. We can add something else to it. Potatoes.” He shrugged, not adverse to suggestions. Then, nearly apologetically, with the boyish tint to his features, he shrugged his shoulders. “I will have to put clothing back on though. My apologies.” Being immersed beside Evie, braziers, and the furtive little tranquility they’d concocted amongst the silent training grounds was one thing – but striding across the street in the middle of Halo’s chill was another.
Flicking at the incantations again, permitting the piles of shirts and pants and boots to rise along, until he snagged at the first article nearby.
She wants to say there’s no need to thank her, not for what seems to be a basic kindness, a foundation of a budding relationship. Instead - because it’s clear this means a lot to him - Evie instead tilts her head just enough to the side to press a gentle kiss just below his eye. “Of course,” she murmurs there, wanting to impress upon him her care and affection. That she would wait however long he needed, because already he makes her so happy; anything beyond what he inspires here and now in her arms, it will merely be an additional gift.
A soft groan of appreciation hums in her throat at the imagery of food he paints. “Maybe some green beans too?” she suggests, hopeful. Though not at all averse to meat, it’s no surprise Evie loves her vegetables.
So tangled up in the moment they’d created, it takes Evie by surprise to remember he’s entirely naked. Laughing and releasing him just enough for him to obtain his clothes, she shakes her head slightly with a despondent sigh. “Shame, that.” But it doesn’t stop her from snagging her own clothes, pulling on leggings, blouse, and coat before reaching for shoes last. Lazily pulling each to her with her magic so they might get to this delicious food faster. Straightening, she waits for him to take the lead so she can fall into step beside him, and only then does she hold her hand out for him to take if he desires.
you can tell how dangerous a person is by the way they hold their anger inside themselves quietly
The gratitude was there just the same – leaning into the caress, returning his own with a gentle bump of his lips to her nose, a long and slow breath flickering over pale skin, before retreating to clothes and planning. Boxers and pants slipped back on, socks and boots following, the residual return of heat and warmth with no need of the braziers. His eyes flicked upward in thought at the vegetables, arms maneuvering through coat sleeves. “We can probably grab some at the greenhouse,” not far from his own home directly across from the barracks – figuring the process wouldn’t take long at all.
His gaze ran over her thereafter, glancing at the offered hand, before snorting, and tugging it into his larger, calloused one. In no time at all he’d dragged her away from the training portions and back into the main hall, utilizing his free hand to snag at his drawings, folding them into deep fur pockets, and a whistle to follow. At the signal Belial launched from the hearth, while Zuriel took her time, sovereign and queenly. By the time he’d snagged his bag over his shoulder they all seemed ready to depart, door closing behind them as companions ambled along.
It was late enough that there weren’t too many milling out and about, moon bright against a backdrop of cloudless evening, breaths pluming and rising, strides long despite his intent to not move as swiftly with Evie in tow. “See what we can find,” he smirked, gesturing towards the glassy veneer before them.
Each kiss is like tiny fireworks on her skin, and they keep her warm and smiling to herself as she goes through the process of re-dressing. Though she had eaten unlike him, it had been a fair few hours ago, and the positive reception to her addition only makes her hungrier. Her soft laughter trails behind them to linger in the empty room as he pulls her forward, leaving no evidence of their training aside from errant leaves and scattered pebbles.
A hand is offered to Belial, and a warm smile for Zuriel - always letting the unicorn choose when she desired contact, royal as she was - as they make a quick stop for Deimos’ drawings before emerging out into the snow and rime. The greenhouse is a familiar beast even in the dead of night, moonlight glinting off glass panes. Winking conspiratorially, the Evergreen opens the door and ducks inside, leaving it open for Deimos to enter as she winds her way down the rows like a well-trained hunting dog sniffing out prey. She is already familiar with nearly every inch of the garden, and it isn’t long before she is collecting a sizable handful of green beans for their dinner. Though a handful isn’t much given the size of her own hands, they only need to feed the two of them. Tying the bunch together with twine, Evie trots back to Deimos triumphantly wiggling the beans in her hand. “Successful hunt,” she lilts playfully, already heading for the door once more. Ready to reach their destination and begin cooking so they might relax together for the remainder of the night.
you can tell how dangerous a person is by the way they hold their anger inside themselves quietly
Zuriel granted very long looks to the pair of them, which Deimos suitably ignored in favor of wandering down the length of rows – checking in on the citrus he’d planted recently. While Belial sauntered along outside, Evie took no time at all to breezily snatch at the vegetables, and he only arched a brow and eased a snort before extending his arm out again. “They did not give you any trouble?” A mild tease, the heat and humidity of the greenhouse forgotten the moment they stepped out of its confines; the rumble of his stomach threatening to echo once more.
His house, situated directly across from the barracks to relieve his own mind and to eternally keep an eye on things, opened to a swift turn of the doorknob, and the influx of companions to their usual places. The peryton swarmed in a hasty flight around the initial surroundings, and into the rooms, before breezing back, while Zuriel situated herself easily in front of the hearth, waiting for the sparks and embers to unfurl. He rolled his eyes but settled back into routines as well, the stretch of incantations permitting a warm glow to settle from the renewed fire and light fixtures. Bag placed on coat hook, then furs, he offered to take hers, head tilting in another bestowal. “What do you want to do?” Jawline gesturing to the awaiting food, or to the vegetables in her hand.
It would take him a moment more to register the comfort and security in having her there, amidst shared spaces and sanctity.
Times like these Evie is relieved to not have companions, if only to avoid their judgment and teasing. Deimos does that plenty, any more from other sources and Evie will need to start hitting the books for better comebacks. “Their resistance was futile,” she intones gravely, adopting a deeper voice for the dramatics. There is no need to sneak, but their short journey to his house is quiet, soaking in the beauty of the clear night.
His abode is familiar from days of baking and banter, and as she closes the door behind her and shrugs off her coat - handing it to him once she sees his offered hands, smiling her gratitude - the Evergreen breathes deep and soaks in the presence and aesthetic of this place he has made his own. Reorienting herself with what is already familiar, and visually exploring the few lived-in changes of a busy life spent on the move.
“I trust you with the meat, I’ll handle these and making the potatoes,” she offers easily, pressing an idle, thoughtless kiss to his shoulder as she passes by him into the kitchen, setting the beans on the counter and heading to wash her hands. Maneuvering easily around the kitchen which she has used frequently at this point. She gets to work washing the beans and potatoes next, all together in a bowl before separating them and plucking a perfectly sharpened knife from the block to begin chopping them expertly. Admiring as always the way Deimos keeps his instruments finely honed. “Do you have the ingredients for gravy?” Evie asks over her shoulder, turning to catch his eye if possible. Blind to the gravity of how easily the domestic motions come, but soaking in the comfort in the moment.
you can tell how dangerous a person is by the way they hold their anger inside themselves quietly
With Zuriel distracted, Belial moderately content (Deimos could feel him hovering outside the kitchen, inevitably waiting for a treat or scraps), concentration could hone and focus on aspects of dinner preparations. Playfully bumping her aside with his hip, he nodded at the notions of gravy, reaching upwards along cabinets and placing down proportions for her to utilize at her convenience. Thereafter, hair was tied back into a loose-fitting bun, sleeves rolled, hands washed, before he pre-heated the stove, contemplating seasoning choices, and settling on a skillet.
Waiting for it to warm, and portioning off the pieces of chicken in the meanwhile, he continued a line of questions they’d started from weeks before, smiling, watching her from the corner of his eye. Invoking and conjuring the semblances like a game, content to revel in the simplicity of it. Tones rumbled deeply, echoing along the kitchen, over the press of knives (of which she’d find many – in every drawer) and the beginning stages of a sizzling pan. “What is your favorite game?”
