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!
as if I could let you go, Ronin all but purrs in response to his husband, though his mental voice is a lot more eloquent than the ragged breathing and hitched moans that every thrust drags from his throat. He can already feel his climax itching at the balls of his feet, and while it's absolutely down to Remi's prowess as a lover, the Huntsman would be lying if he said seeing the other man so utterly undone isn't also one helluva turn on.
He's pleasantly surprised, then, to see the duplicate appear, and though his heels are urging the Lullaby on and his arms are possessively wound about him, if the other Remi gets close enough then Ronin will absolutely be stealing a lusty kiss from his lips. Before that thought so much as has a chance to take hold, however, a hand sneaks between them to grip his cock, and he bucks his hips up reflexively and clenches his teeth.
"Fuck," he hisses, his fingers tightening in Remi's curls as the added attention is all but the beginning of the end for him. Distantly he can hear the table thumping against one of the walls, but for once there's no neighbours to give a fuck about (as if they ever did). Regardless, when Ronin does cum it's far from a quiet affair, and when the static fades from behind his eyes and he's aware that his throat is sore, perhaps he'll be sorry for it.
What good are hands if there's nothing that they hold
Though Remi's grin is a feral and monstrous thing against Ronin's skin, the palette of his emotions are nevertheless bright if not wildly reckless with need and pleasure. Not unlike the abstract but intentional shapes Remi had drawn with meticulous precision across Ronin's body earlier, now too the tirade of their mutual bliss is painted with equally measured strokes.
Straining his muscles if only so that he might feel even more of everything around him, Remi tilts his chin to his chest and transitions from the deep and decisive thrusting which had gotten them this far, to what can only be described as the frenetic and rushing movements of fucking. So, with his talons buried deep in the wood of their table and his own wood buried deep within the Huntsman, Remi chases the thud of the table legs until it matches the pounding of their combined heartbeats. Even as his fingers tighten around the base of Ronin's cock and his ears begin to ring heralding the white-out aftermath of his own orgasm, still his hips buck forward as if through sheer selfishness he might somehow pull even more pleasure down for the both of them.
Somewhere far away the fire crackles as a log shifts in the hearth, the leg of their table threatens to break with a low groan, and snow begins to build on their doorstep from where Remi hadn't quite managed to close the door. All of this happens in a world that the alchemist is only tangentially aware of, lost as he is in the salty-sweet taste of Ronin's skin on his lips, and the Huntsman's heartbeat keeping him aloft in the starbright nothingness that coats his thoughts.
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 like a fine rain - that's what Ronin decides, anyway, in the distant part of his mind where neurons are still firing enough to knit together coherent thought. The comedown after the near violence of their lovemaking is like the sort of rain that falls slowly and softly, clinging to your clothes and soaking you through before you've noticed. And it's such a strange, quaint image to get stuck on that the Huntsman finds himself smiling about it, his eyes half open, focused on the criss-cross of ceiling beams above and whether there are any rainclouds forming in the wood grain.
Calloused hands stroke down the valleys between Remi's shoulder blades and his still spread wings, Ronin humming a deep sigh into the air and letting his head thud back against the table. "Do you think the waterfall is glowing?" he asks in a voice made rough by the pleasure his husband has dragged from him. "Because if it isn't, we could always try again."
His laughter is a shaky thing, as exuberant as it is exhausted, and while his thighs and calves at asking not-so-politely for a readjustment, he has no intention of moving until both of them are good and ready.
What good are hands if there's nothing that they hold
Through the sleepy and syrupy distance that separates Remi's mind from the here and now of his husband's words, suddenly comes the image of a waterfall. It exists on its own, surrounded by nothing by ultraviolet static, and gods if the alchemist's pleasure-drunk mind isn't having an impossible time understanding what the image is meant to mean. "Mmmmmmmmmmm." He hums in response as he blinks without opening his eyes and yawns widely against Ronin's chest.
Slowly, like an old internet connection trying to load a large image from top to bottom, Remi finds himself accountable for his limbs again. His toes curl under as he rocks back on his heels slightly, and though it makes him grunt softly, he unwedges his claws from their table. The subtle shift of his husband's legs and hips is one his body implicitly understands, and though no part of him feels like moving more than he already has, he presses his palms flat against the table to push himself up and off the Huntsman that Ronin might not have to bear his weight at such an awkward angle anymore.
Still with his wings draped over his shoulders, he leans down to press a feather-light kiss against Ronin's mouth, letting his lips linger there even as he sips in a relaxed breath. "I might need a minute before trying again." Remi answers finally, grinning childishly.
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.
Torn between wanting to press against Remi's back to keep him close, and letting him go so he might release the tension from his muscles, Ronin inhales a deep, almost indulgent breath and reluctantly allows himself to relax on the exhale. He's just getting an elbow under himself as the alchemist leans in again, and the act of sitting up immediately takes second place to the taste of Remi's lips. "Fine," he whispers, his tongue flicking out to tease against the other man, "you can have one whole minute."
And the rest, of course - Ronin is just being a shit about it. He does eventually decide to sit up properly, taking advantage of the way he obnoxiously invades the Lullaby's personal space by hooking his legs around Remi's waist and delivering further kisses against the soft space beneath his jaw. "I think this is my favourite Longnight so far," he admits.
What good are hands if there's nothing that they hold
"You are too kind." Remi purrs under his breath. Like two pieces of the same sculpture, the Lullaby straightens just enough to let his husband sit up and not an inch more. Tilting his head in a gesture that might have seemed like a warning were it not for the boyish smirk on his lips, Remi tsks lightly under his breath as he brushes his nose against Ronin's. "It has not been a minute." He says of the way his husband's legs are once again around his waist.
"I think so too. Nothing is burning down, I have not traded my soul to bring anyone back to life, and not a single monster has knocked on our door." Gods, it was almost laughable now to think of the trauma LongNight had put them through over the years.
Peeking over Ronin's shoulder, Remi partially closes one eye as the other narrows. With a twitch of his lips he sighs to himself, before letting his gaze return properly to his husband's. "I.. think we might be in need of a new table...and, if you'd like, instead of making one, perhaps we could...Oh, I don't know, go shopping for one." The implication of course being they'd have to go out in the real world.
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 is one of my better traits," Ronin agrees, as if being too kind was something the Huntsman was well-known for. And while it's true that the slant of his lips is decidedly wicked (and not at all kind) as Remi calls him out on his naked shenanigans, he doesn't do anything to further provoke the other man's dick ire. Not yet, anyway.
Instead, he lets an arm stretch around his husband's neck, just enough that he might fuss the ragged feathers of one wing. It's impossible to wrangle them into any kind of sleek order - not like when they had been whole - but it's a job he nonetheless enjoys. "In fairness, I am not sure a monster could get to our door any more," he says with a chuckle, peeking through the space between wing and curls to note the building mound of snow against their still open doorway.
"Mm? You think?" he says regarding the table, rocking his hips enough to make the abused legs groan beneath him (and okay, maybe he's being a cocktease, too) before humming his agreement. "I think Mateo's flowers are alright, but the vase might have broken. We might have to dry off the papers, too, if any water got on them." Their mugs are carved out of peppermint bark, luckily, so no risk of broken ceramics.
In his mind Ronin is already carving away at the trunk of a fallen pine, so at the suggestion that they go shopping, his eyebrows shoot up as if Remi has just suggested Safrin come to tea. "Well," he says, trying and failing not to sound too eager, "where would you like to go for it? Torchline would have some lovely driftwood pieces. Halo is closest, and obviously there is some great wood in the Greatwood."
What good are hands if there's nothing that they hold
'Well, no need to tempt them.' Remi mutters as he's preened. Whether manticores in the wild found partners to help groom their feathers was something instinctively the Lullaby thought wasn't the case. Nevertheless, the trickle of his husband's fingertips against his healing plumage was every bit as welcome as Ronin's heels pressing against his lower back had been.
Grumbling and glancing toward the broken vase, Remi drums a warning with his fingertips as Ronin's hips rock the table back and forth. 'Well, we can get a new vase too.' He mutters, sounding decidedly uncommitted to this suggestion in lieu of the Huntsman's continued shenanigans, both verbal and otherwise.
"That I will leave to you. You have a much better nack for decor than I do." Remi answers casually, and for anyone watching this exchange, it's rather amusing to see two men who know each other so well both acting so lackadaisical about going out.
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 warning is heeded - for the moment, anyway - and although Ronin is very busy with his preening, with a grumble of agreement, he does concede that no monster, Longnight or otherwise, ever needs tempting. "Or perhaps we can pick up some gold or silver, and fix this vase with it. I heard that some people do that, so the broken thing ends up even more beautiful than it was in the beginning," he says. There's a comparison to be drawn there, he knows it, but it feels like too obvious a point to make.
And so while the phoenix in him tries to groom manticore feathers and the luxere merely enjoys being close, a second Ronin pops into existence somewhere near the open doorway. "Maybe we should buy a shovel as well," he suggests, his double very artfully kicking the snow out of the way so he can shut out the cold.
"Mm, I will think on it then. It will be Flowerbirth before we go, so I suppose weather won't be much of a factor." Unless Halo, because it's always colder than a witch's tit there. "For now, we could rig it so it doesn't collapse over breakfast?" And maybe Ronin should, y'know, get his whole entire weight off it at some point too.
What good are hands if there's nothing that they hold
'You know, I cannot tell if I like the thought of that or not.' Remi murmurs with sudden thoughtfulness. As someone whose mind had been fractured more times than he'd like to count, whose body was silvered with scars, who had been blinded and broken, to think that a bit of shiny metal could somehow improve the spaces left by trauma seemed laughable. But then...well, streaks of gold were rather pretty, now weren't they? "Might just be easier to get something new." He concludes after a moment. Gods knew their lives weren't easy, and there were precious few things that Remi cared to make harder than they needed to bet these days. wink.
The appearance of another, whether an identical duplicate of Ronin or not, immediately has Remi tensing and coiling. Turning his head over his shoulder with his lips pulled up into a snarl, it takes far longer than it ought to for his hackles to lower and for the tension in his upper back and arms to ease. Grumbling something that sounds like agreement as he turns his attention back to the real Ronin, Remi raises an eyebrow.
"Oh? You would like to stay holed up all LongNight, then?" He wonders with a cheshire grin. "Or we could just have every meal in bed. I would not mind that."
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.
Wisely waiting until the snarl relaxes away from his husband's lips, the real Ronin leans in to cheerfully nibble at the corner of his mouth while his double leaves the doorway and begins to putter around collecting the items off the floor. "It probably would," he agrees, planting a kiss over the space where his teeth have just visited, "but I think fixing it might be quite relaxing. As a compromise, we could always keep both."
And Ronin would undoubtedly surprise Remi with the gold and silver veined vase when he least suspects it and most needs it. Such is the nature of their relationship. "Well, unless we are going out into the snow to frolic in the waterfall, I don't see why not," he says. "Most of the rest of the world will be holed up, so why don't we stay a little longer? We could learn to knit, or play chess, or make explosives." All very ordinary things, of course.
"We could also have every meal in bed." This last agreement is mumbled along Remi's cheekbone as the Huntsman makes a beeline to snug his head against his husband's shoulder. Meanwhile, the soggy papers, mugs, and pieces of the vase are carefully set down on the table around them. "Want to cook with me? I'll wear an apron and nothing else. You'll have to make sure I don't toast my buns by accident."
What good are hands if there's nothing that they hold
Running his tongue over his teeth as if to melt away the sharp points, Remi's snarl melts away as he quickly moves to steal a kiss. "Well, if you would find it relaxing, I will happily break more things." He offers with an angelic rounding of his cheeks before helping himself to another chaste kiss.
Straightening slightly, the Lullaby tilts his head to the side at an angle that's decidedly avian. "We could knit a chess board." Remi suggests. "Where the Kings have explosives in them, and explode when they are knocked over in defeat." Actually, that sounded incredibly fun both to make as well as play.
Ignoring Ronin's duplicate lest he lashes out at simply for existing, Remi straightens fully in order to wrap his arms around his husband's shoulders and drag him into a sitting position. The table groans uncooperatively but remains standing for the time being. Likely it's just biding it's time and will collapse just as the two have dozed off. "Not really." Remi remarks with bald honesty as his fingers rove across the trails marked by various scars on the Huntsman's back. "But I will be happy to watch and lend my expert opinion when it is needed."
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.
Playfully narrowing his eyes even if his lips are still occupied by Remi's, Ronin's opinion about the other man's help is obvious in the flush of withering amusement in his emotions. "Is this where you suddenly become very accident prone?" he wonders, breath hiccuping a little in his chest as he's repositioned. "Because I'm not sure you have ever been clumsy, husband, especially not now you have both hands."
The knitted, explosive chessboard is ridiculous enough to catch his attention, but feels like enough work that food (as usual) quickly overrides the thought. "Would that make it one use only, then?" he wonders of the exploding kings as his token contribution, all the while reluctantly peeling his legs away from the other man.
"I would be honoured to have your ogling and your expert opinion," he croons in sync with the groaning song of their table, Ronin shifting to very carefully rise to his feet, though if the alchemist wants to let his roving hands offer further support, he won't complain. "There's a plucked ningo I could roast?" he offers.
What good are hands if there's nothing that they hold
'How dare you.' Remi hisses with feigned distress. "Clumsiness has nothing to do with it. Just as I would get you yarn and needles to knit if you found that relaxation, so too would I give you broken pieces to fix." Sniffing, his offense a garish and hastily tossed on thing, Remi quickly lets it fall away in lieu of dragging Ronin closer even as the Huntsman tries to peel himself away.
'Occhieggiando.' The Lullaby tsks under his breath, gesticulating with his hands in the space suddenly between them. "Plucked ningo sounds like a euphemism." He mutters with a grin. "The sort of thing Maeve might charge extra for at the brothel." Lazily running a hand up the side of one unshaven cheek, the fingers on his right hand take the opportunity to roughly itch his ear before twining through his curls.
Not wanting to test the table any more than they already have, Remi instead goes to maneuver their couch in order to flop down upon it while keeping an eye on Ronin. 'Want to know something I learned?' He trills innocently as he reaches for one of the many books that he'd snagged while in Torchline.
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.
