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!
It's a safe assumption to say that, between Ronin and Remi, they've had pretty much every flavour Longnight imaginable. From the quiet and tranquil, to turbulent, to the living out traumatic horrors, there's not much they haven't been through in that dark, lonely week when the sun disappears.
But Ronin doesn't think they've ever done this.
The door to the Tramezzino bonks open, rattling on its hinges and in its doorframe, and it bounces off the wall with enough force to almost push the Huntsman back out again. Ronin is not to be deterred, however; backing into the houseboat, he looks like someone's fever dream - stripped to the waist and with damp hair and clothes, parts of his body literally light up in streaks and artistic splotches.
One might assume this is his Dazzle at work, but it isn't so. Having found some bioluminescent algae, he'd suggested that they see if they can illuminate the Weightless Waterfall throughout Longnight. Alas, he'd gotten distracted by becoming someone's canvas instead; the very same someone he's trying to corral through the open door.
Eventually Ronin settles on tugging Remi inside by the waist of his pants, drawing the Lullaby flush against him so he can welcome them both back home with a kiss that he feels with his entire body. His lips are soft, his tongue generous in its passion, and yet his hands swarm almost possessively around the other man.
The firelight expands his colour palette to include streaks of gold and amber and flashes of dark shadow, but Ronin is hopeful that he'll be able to add some seaglass green into the mix as well.
What good are hands if there's nothing that they hold
Perched around Ronin's shoulders with his masked face pressed close to Ronin's ear that he might chitter his instructions as well as think them, Remi had planned on remaining an adorably fuzzy foreman for the majority of this experiment. It was only when Ronin had slipped on a particularly icy rock that had sent him half under the spray of the falls—and thus necessitating the removal of his shirt—that things had begun to change. Innocently enough, at first, Remi's raccoon paws had begun to trace the lines of his husband's muscles with bits of algae to contour Ronin's body with soft blue-green light. It didn't take long for the raccoon's playful and uncomplicated instincts to be swamped by the Lullaby's sudden and overwhelming desire to feel the glow of Ronin's body beneath his hands. And so he had.
As he'd been shifted when they'd left, Remi hadn't bothered with a jacket and so it's in a pale long-sleeve shirt now smeared with glowing fingerprints and smudges that the Lullaby is dragged inside. Kicking the door shut far too hard and without any concern for the fact that it had banged open again, Remi inhales sharply against his husband's lips before pulling himself back. In the firelight, the flush of the Lullaby's cheeks was a deep maroon, and the pale sea-glass of his eyes had been darkened as if by a brackish sea.
"Ahh, mi è mancato qualcuno di voi." Remi whispers in the travelling tongue, his tone one of self-critique as he tsks under his breath. Dragging his gaze up from Ronin's torso to the Huntsman's face, the Lullaby's eyelashes flutter as the firelight carves out his husband's features in crimson and ash. "Perdonami." He adds softly through lips barely able to move, before dropping to his knees and letting fingertips alight with an aqua-glow sketch out the shape of his desire across Ronin's belly and hips.
And what good are hearts if you bury them all alone?
Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Smiling against Remi's lips and trying to chase another kiss from them as he draws back, alas, Ronin will just have to be content with the siren song of his husband's words. The travelling tongue spills like music from the Lullaby's lips, as always, but here in the firelight and with the oppressive darkness caging them in on all sides, it sounds vastly more intimate. With a stuttering breath punctuated by the way he stumbles against their kitchen table, Ronin can only watch as Remi sinks to his knees.
You look incredible, is what he wants to say. Or gods, you make me want you, or any number of other declarations, some lewd, some sweet, some a warped mixture of both. Somehow, though, ruining Remi's poetry with his clumsy common tongue feels like an act of heresy, and so his fingers slip through soft, rich curls and trace along the other man's jawline so he can feel what he wants to say instead.
What good are hands if there's nothing that they hold
Looking up at Ronin, bent in a posture of devotion and prayer before him, there is something sweetly submissive about the way the Lullaby yields without argument to the whims of his fingers. Not unlike the way his right hand seems sometimes to have a mind of its own, now Remi watches as if from a distance as his hands scatter abstract shapes across his husband's body, mapping out the flourish and currents of emotion that flow between them.
Pressing a kiss just below Ronin's bellybutton as his thumbs line the v-shaped musculature on either side of his mouth, for just a moment the Lullaby's hands tighten predatorily against Ronin's hips as a ripple of tension sweeps across his arms and upper back. Feathers prickle beneath the thin cotton of his shirt and through his curls as Remi leans forward enough to send their kitchen table thudding back a few inches with the force pressed against Ronin's body. Colour flushes anew across his cheeks as the alchemist tilts his head back almost apologetically, and as he leans his cheek against the Huntsman's hand, he forces out a breath that shivers with restraint.
"You have always been a work of art." Remi whispers as he presses his lips against the hollow created by the Huntsman's belly and hips, sipping in a shaky and reverent breath.
And what good are hearts if you bury them all alone?
Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
It's at times like these, where Ronin feels so caught and so seen, that he isn't sure he's deserving of the attention being lavished upon him. He can almost see the blinkers glide down over Remi's vision, reducing the world to the small and imperfect space Ronin takes up, and for all of his confidence, butterflies take flight in the pit of his stomach. The Lullaby's touch is a welcome balm against his nerves, and he (only just) resists the urge to arch his hips against the gentle fingertips using him as a canvas.
Letting his thumb follow the curve of his husband's cheekbone, he stutters out a soft laugh in sync with the sudden and violent movements of the table, his free hand coming to steady against Remi's shoulder lest he trip and fall. "A work in progress," he corrects, his voice breathless despite doing none of the kissing or the work right now. Judging by the tightness of his pants, though, it's entirely possible that all the blood rushing southwards has rendered him dizzy.
"The right artist might finish me off though," he offers with a lopsided smile that threatens to ruin the reverence of the moment.
What good are hands if there's nothing that they hold
The Remi who had once landed on the shores of Northaven, alone and enlisted in a war he had no business being in, had never wished for strength or power. He'd never wished for infamy or for some one-word title to be known by. That man hadn't even wished for a house larger than the little one-room flat he'd been given, or even for some small sense of security against the vandals and thieves that prowled through the cheaper housing districts. All that man had ever wanted was a quiet place in which he could be himself, and, when he was feeling foolish and selfish enough, to dream of a man like Ronin to be there with him.
Now, with precisely that man gazing down at him with eyes the colour of which he'd never been able to replicate, the Lullaby's utter loss for words is the reason why his fingers begin to flinch and shiver as his body longs to make up for all the things his mouth can't articulate with sounds.
"Ahh," Remi chuckles, his smile turning boyish and slanted. "But if you were finished off, then I would have nothing to work on." He murmurs as he slowly rises, allowing his body to press against every inch of his husband's body on his ascent. 'As you said, you are a work in progress.' Remi concludes as he cages Ronin's body between his and the kitchen table.
And what good are hearts if you bury them all alone?
Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
"It's true," Ronin supposes with a smile growing ever more crooked, only for his lips to flinch into an expression not unlike pain (and yet so far from it) as the other man rises up the length of his body without giving even an whisper of reprieve from his teasing. Shuddering out a breathy exhale and leaning one hand back against the table, as if the miniscule amount of space might kickstart his brain (it does not), it's with hazy blue eyes that he regards the other man.
"Well, then," he whispers, trying and failing not to let his lips twitch into a grin, "I don't suppose you'd like to work on me a little? If not, I am something of an artist myself." One of his legs hooks around the Lullaby's hips, pinning him closer, though to say that Ronin is malleable right now is an understatement. As sure as Leafchange makes him possessive and dominant, the coldest season quite literally sends those urges into hibernation.
What good are hands if there's nothing that they hold
The predator lurking in every unrestrained twitch of Remi's muscles is smugly satisfied to see the distress that flickers across Ronin's lips, and though for the time being the alchemist is more or less in control of himself, the threat of the heat in his belly turning into a wildfire grows ever more certain with each passing second.
"A man of many talen-" Remi inhales sharply as their bodies are pressed together; though the Lullaby does not have fight or flight instincts perse, what he does feel is the tension between his inclinations to take or wait. Though just now that delicate line was vibrating like a freshly plucked guitar string, the resonance of which Remi was quite certain he could feel in his teeth.
"You," The Lullaby growls warningly against Ronin's lips, as he reaches a hand around to cage the Huntsman's leg around his waist at the same moment he sweeps his other arm across their kitchen table to clear it. Papers, a vase filled with flowers from Mateo, a stack of books and two coffee mugs go flying, though Remi hardly hears the subsequent crash given the pounding of blood in his ears. With a kiss that's as much meant to guide Ronin's body back against the table as it is to convey his desire, Remi reaches to guide Ronin's other leg around his waist as he bends forward to blanket the Huntsman. Whether the press of their bodies ruins or compliments the artwork lavished upon Ronin's chest is suddenly a question laughably far from Remi's mind.
And what good are hearts if you bury them all alone?
Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Many talents, yes, and the smile on Ronin's face is perhaps just a little smug to know he's been able to return the favour of winding up his husband. Granted, he's also perhaps one of the few people in Caido to know exactly the sort of animal he's provoking (and choosing to do it anyway), and so as their belongings crash from the table and Remi is suddenly invading his personal space in all the best ways, Ronin knows how to play his part well.
Moaning into the greedy press of Remi's tongue and letting his back and shoulders willingly hit the table, he hooks his legs around his husband's waist and welcomes the weight of his body, the heat between them threatening to kindle into a blaze at any moment. With his fingers tangled in unruly curls and his free hand grasping at the other man's shirt, the Huntsman breaks their kiss if for no other reason than to let his head tip back to bare his throat, inviting Remi to have, to take, however dangerous a game it might be.
What good are hands if there's nothing that they hold
Where the creatures within Ronin's bones seem to complement each other in how they rose and fell with the seasons, Remi was filled with creatures too supernatural to be damped down by something as simple as the cold. Indeed, the endless dark made the Lullaby feel cagey and feral such that the inclination to lash out was nearly too strong to override. Even now his senses were nearly incandescent with desire to see Ronin's head tip back, revealing soft skin stretched and pulsing in the golden light with every heartbeat. It made the alchemist's mouth begin to water as he dragged one clawed hand across the table, rooting his talons into the wood and gripping on for purchase.
"You," Remi whispers against Ronin's throat, breathing in deeply through his nose while pushing his hips forward. A single tentacle twists from somewhere on Remi's body to tug at his shirt so that the alchemist could keep his hands braced one on the table and the other on his husband's hip.
Though Remi's lips are crinkled into a snarl, it's a kiss rather than a bite which the Huntsman will feel pressed against the delicate flesh of his neck. Another tentacle joins the first, and though the alchemist is loathed to give up even an inch of the body he's claimed for his own, he allows himself to move from side to side to allow his additional appendages to begin to relieve them of their belts and buttons.
And what good are hearts if you bury them all alone?
Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
It has been said before, that the love that burns between the Huntsman and the Lullaby is dangerous. And it's true - what's more, it's just as dangerous for the two individuals as it is for those who get in their way. Case in point: it absolutely should not feel as good as it does, to know that he riles the monster in his husband's bones to the surface and then some, that the barrier between pain and pleasure is so murderously thin.
But it does. It feels more than good, such that the smile on Ronin's face is almost dreamlike to feel soft lips against his throat and the deep, guttural sound of talons in hardwood. Aiding the efforts of the tentacle attempting to rid Remi of his shirt, he drags it over the other man's head and drops it carelessly to the ground, and in the meantime, more helpful appendages have come to strip them of the rest of their clothes.
"Have me," he all but demands, and were he more inclined towards it, a crown of glowing antlers might have adorned his head to really drive the point home.
What good are hands if there's nothing that they hold
With Remi's magic as it is, Ronin's words are nearly eclipsed by the bright bolt of gold that seems to shine out from him. Like the emotional equivalent of the way the Huntsman's dazzle looks, Remi's senses are utterly bathed in light, such that he feels the need to shy away just as one might narrow their eyes against strong sunlight. Just as he's unable to shade his eyes with his hands, so too is Remi unable to dim Ronin's brilliance; all that's left to do is meet the blindness that's sure to follow head-on, and with an eager smile.
Hardly needing to be told once much less twice, it's with the ease and familiarity of years together that Remi makes quick work of adjusting Ronin's hips as well as his own that the only friction between the two is entirely intentional on his part. Lowering his head and pressing his open mouth against Ronin's chest, it's with teeth pressed against the Huntsman's collarbones that Remi tightens his grip on the table lest it gives out beneath them as he presses his hips forward.
The tightness is maddening at first, and against the reckless desire it conjures in the alchemist, newly healing wings sprout from his upper back and fan out around Ronin as if to claim him anew. Splinters form beneath Remi's claws but the strings of pain that sing up his arm only add to the symphony of pleasure screaming out from his core. "Gods I love you." He pants through bared teeth before adjusting his grip on Ronin's hip and thrusting slowly again.
And what good are hearts if you bury them all alone?
Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
The years that span between them make something that might seem clumsy and awkward into a dance where they both intimately know the moves, and Ronin meets his partner at every step. His head tilts back and his fingers twine gently though the alchemist's curls, his back arched against the table. Lips part in a helpless, silent moan as his husband takes him, Ronin willing the tension to melt from his muscles, put there by the anticipation of even greater pleasure to come.
"More," he urges - he'd beg if he thought he needed to, but for all of their godly endurance, he doesn't think Remi's self control would last to the point of him begging. His affections needs no words at least, not with the press of their bodies and the fan of ragged wings around them. Ronin's emotions are not unlike the bioluminescence that coats his body, pressing warm against Remi and staining him with the shapes of his love.
What good are hands if there's nothing that they hold
Riled and untethered as he is, every snap! from the fireplace where the flames have burst a pocket of sap has the alchemist snarling possessively against Ronin's skin, and every howl of the wind outside has feathers trickling down his spine in hostile defiance. That didn't mean the heat from the flames nor the roar of darkness was unwelcome, merely that any semblance of rationality on Remi's part had been fully eclipsed by the weight and warmth and feel of the Huntsman around him.
Each of Remi's thrusts was accompanied by deeper notches carved into their table as he mindlessly fought to balance the forward movement of his hips. Though he had ample strength and endurance, part of him yearned to forego his hold on the physics of the situation and succumb entirely to the building core of pressure expanding from the base of his spine. hold on to me, Remi thought, as his lips were still parted in a silent scream against his husband's chest, soundlessly pleading for more of everything against the ink-stained hawk tattooed there.
With whatever meagre amount of thought was left in his body, Remi reached for Ronin's magic. Though the duplicate who appeared seemed lack lustre compared to the Lullaby, its role was simple enough for the minute amount of concentration Remi had to provide it. Slipping a hand between Remi's belly, the duplicate reached for Ronin's cock that it might give the Huntsman the friction necessary to orgasm as well without having to take his hands from his husband.
And what good are hearts if you bury them all alone?
Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
