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!
No, they shouldn't be starved, but with the storm meandering unnoticed overhead and the springs to themselves Evie feels ravenous. And though the water around her is like a phantom touch that he directs and orchestrates like a masterful conductor, nothing can compare to the heat and pressure of his hands as they chase after those teasing, not-quite-enough motions. That is what she truly craves.
Well, that and the grin that she can feel spreading across his lips. It's infectious, and for a moment their kiss is more teeth than tongue or lips, helpless in their happiness.
Using the water to lift herself more easily, Evie wraps her legs around his waist and squeezes slightly with her thighs to perch there and kiss him from a slight elevation. One hand remains threaded through his hair, but the other descends between them to caress his neck and down over his collarbones, nails lightly teasing as they descend towards his sternum. Taking the chance to bite down on his own lip now that he is hopefully distracted.
Cover your crystal eyes And let your colors bleed and blend with mine
A provocateur even in his best moments, the chase was equally rapacious; where water touched, he soon persisted; hands contorting along ribs and hips, rising along bones and curves with the slyest of smiles wrapped along his mouth. Contentment in the rush and haze, of storms well cast or dimming, he really didn’t care; the swarm of the springs and Evie in his arms, rushing around and clambering for purchase was more than enough to make the entire world and void stay away.
Her legs wrapped around his waist and he loosened some guttural growl from deep within his lungs and chest. Calloused palms became a supporting beacon along her waist as he wandered them closer to edges of the pool, long limbs carrying through the undulations of enchantments and incantations. A gasp centered there too, from fingers in his hair and the moment she bit down on his lip, a laugh soon to follow as he hunted and haunted in the same stead.
who we were before bones, before dirt, before even light we have always been deep, restless souls
It is difficult to remember to keep her magic swirling around them when his hands are all over her, when his magic feels like a physical touch that also sings in a metaphysical way to her own magic, making it restless and alive in her bones. Her own magic comes in waves entirely dependent on Deimos' motions - abating when he kisses her hard, flourishing when he focuses more on walking them to the edge of the pool.
Trusting him to hold her even if her own legs fail her, he could carry her out into the snow storm and she wouldn't have the mind to object. Pulling away from his lips is a tribulation, but it allows her to kiss down his neck, hiding small marks in the shadowed areas beneath his jaw and behind his ear where nobody would think to look. Just enough to revel in staking her claim, but without embarrassing him. Teeth and tongue worrying at his slightly salty skin, feeling rather animal and needing to know he was hers.
Cover your crystal eyes And let your colors bleed and blend with mine
The waves swept around them like a current, a constant undulation touching and following breadths of their breaths; purposeful, instinctual, inherent, drawn into bones and chords. Simultaneously adrift and present, they were beacons of forged motions, restless wakes coming alive again and again. By the time he’d managed to walk them towards the edge of the springs, the stone along Evie’s back, he’d maintained a steady boundary, found a way to scorch her in place; pinned, but just so.
Though she did much the same, following trails of skin and scars down the length of his neck, jaw, ear, to which he emitted growls and his muscles promised, prospered, his own oscillation. No tremors in strength, but in control and conviction, possession keen, spoken for, drifting in and amongst his mind like a rapacious, thrumming, humming pulse. He might have sighed and rumbled, and then dipped his mouth, slowly, teasingly, tauntingly, down the length of her neck, before tracing after her collarbone.
who we were before bones, before dirt, before even light we have always been deep, restless souls
The stone is blessedly warm against her skin as he presses her against it, smelling of salt and sulfur and - far above that - the indescribable cleanness of new snow. It all paints a rather pastoral picture of innocence that only further delights Evie in their tainting of it all. Or perhaps they're merely embellishing it.
It should stand to reason that she had gotten her taste of his skin so it is only fair he can do the same. Tilting her head back she holds nothing back, letting him hear every hitch of breath, every half-there moan, every hushed whine when he moves away from a particularly good spot. With his mouth against her collarbone she lets both hands move into his hair, holding tightly there as she arches into tongue and teeth, braced against the wall. "You're over-dressed," she murmurs, the heat of the springs making each lungful of air feel quite literally steamy with how her chest rises and falls quickly to the rhythm of the lust in her veins.
Cover your crystal eyes And let your colors bleed and blend with mine
Innocence had long since left both of them. Perhaps they could’ve meandered and strolled amidst the springs, sank into its depths, unfurled their incantations, and then simply gone home – but that would’ve been wholly unlikely, given the pair. Instead, there were carnal strokes and relished gasps, taking and giving and promising in everything but words. The notions would’ve been unnecessary.
He savored the hitches, the sighs, the whines, the moans, spurring, invoking, inciting him onward, until his mouth drifted against the pale outline of her neck again, intending for the mewls to continue while his hands wandered. Tracing, stroking, like outlines and sketches on canvas, intending to tease and torment with light, ghostly trails; a contour along her hips, a calloused finger against her ribs, a palm inching towards her thighs.
His persistence only ceased at her mild protest, grumbling lowly in his chest as her fingers maneuvered through his hair, instinctually curling and coiling into the motions without thought. Were his mind not engaged upon desires and needs, he might have rolled his eyes. Instead, his lips taunted just above hers, the huff of a laugh prospering against her skin. “Same to you,” and truthfully, she was wearing more than he was. But the Sword could fix that.
He moved, teeth grazing the shell of her ear, before dragging their way down to the strings of her bikini, and neatly pulling, plucking, their knotted ends out.
who we were before bones, before dirt, before even light we have always been deep, restless souls
If continuation is what he seeks then he gets it; Evie sings and sighs and moans as his mouth relearns each curve and hollow of her neck, the thrum of her voice right beneath his lips. Each stroke of his hand has her rising to try and chase it, straining and flexing against all reason to try and keep that touch a moment longer. It drives her mad each time he doesn’t; and especially when he skirts so close around her thighs and along her hips, which he has always known are sensitive.
With him so close she doesn’t bother to refrain from kissing him the moment he finishes speaking. She lets him go easily if only because the teeth around the shell of her ear are almost better, and she doesn’t bother removing her hands from his hair to pay back the way he loosens the strings of her bottom - using her telekinesis to help shimmy his shorts down in the same way as the first time they’d ever visited Frey’s Breath. Except this time it’s for very different reasons.
Cover your crystal eyes And let your colors bleed and blend with mine
His teases and taunts, no matter the setting, were always purposeful and direct; a goading, inciteful, kindling, stoking fire. Sometimes for simple amusements, sometimes for moments like these, to bring her to a line and tether, drawn and eager, fervent and ready. Breathless, unwinding, unfurling noises, contorting to a rhythm of heedless and wanton abandon, only entertained and amplified him more, a rousing disposition to accompany her sighs and hums and moans.
It became an exercise in his own control as shorts slid away and strings came undone, kicked off and somewhere else along the pool – indifferent to their cause at the moment. He did smirk at the pattern of their behavior, echoes of years before. More water pooled around them, churning and shifting, as if he’d forgotten the task and suddenly recalled, as temptation meandered closer and closer. His own chorus of sounds echoed – an intake of breath as her mouth ran over his ear, a shuddering moan as her hands made their way through his hair, chasing after those clamors with each feverish second.
Intent drummed along his fingertips too, as one hand wrapped around her waist, keeping her aloft, while the other drifted towards her thighs, soft brushstrokes of calloused palms and long fingers; waiting for the rush and fervor to pitch.
who we were before bones, before dirt, before even light we have always been deep, restless souls
She can feel the smirk against her mouth as his shorts fall away, and though her own tilt in a similarly amused manner - gods has it really been years? - she's too busy trying to draw him closer, closer, closer for recollections and nostalgia. Instigated all the more by the sound of his voice, so much harder to free from his chest than her own that every time she hears it her body goes hot and her skin breaks out in shivers.
Evie had never considered herself to be too terribly impatient before dating Deimos. Childish, yes, and impetuous, but not impatient. Now? Now she can scarcely stand the drifting of his hand as his fingertips revel in all the revealed skin her now-absent bottoms have presented to him. He makes her feel crazy sometimes with how badly she wants him, how easy it is for him to string her out like a kite on a tether, teasing and pulling at his leisure. Bracing one leg around his hip on the same side as the hand that holds her in place, she opens her hips wider and tilts them in a silent plea at the same time as she drags him forward to place open-mouthed kisses up the front of his neck, already beginning to breathe heavily from the anticipation. Impatient, but desperately trying to wait.
Cover your crystal eyes And let your colors bleed and blend with mine
The semblances of before, before, before might have echoed in movements and motions, but the focus on the present undulated through muscles, movement, desire, ardor, and appetite. He nearly laughed on an exhale, as she dragged herself closer and closer, limbs and hips intertwined, until it was lost in the rumble in his chest, freed in her silent pleas, in her lips pressing against his pulse, in the intoxicating explorations. The maps had been made and constructed and drawn well in advance, but the pathways never quite the same; just as stimulating and defying on touches of skin, on wanton tours, on rousing voyages. Her impatience felt like a formality he’d always toyed around with – like the strand of a bow, for as long as he could manage before her release.
One hand plumed on the arch and curve of her spine, while the other took its time in its audacious odyssey, winding along inner thighs, and then to her core. Eyelids fluttered closed for a moment, as his mouth maneuvered towards her neck, tracing along collar bones and muscles, an upward brushstroke of beard and brazenness, ever-taunting. He knew, but always asked, in case the yearnings, longings, and cravings changed. The grumble of his whisper slid against skin, a tug on the shell of her ear by teeth and tongue. “What do you want?”
who we were before bones, before dirt, before even light we have always been deep, restless souls
Though the span of his hand across her spine makes her feel small, it is far from a negative sensation. Intertwined like this she always feels powerful and attractive, even when she is undeniably at the mercy of his patient teasing. Normally she could leverage their surroundings as a reason for haste, but given the spontaneous snowstorm she doubts Deimos would believe her even if she tried. All she has, then, is her body language and the soft sounds in her throat to try and entice him to quicken his pace.
Whether it actually works or he merely takes mercy doesn't matter when his fingers finally slip away from her thigh to brush electrically against her core, making her jolt and tighten her thighs with a hiccuped sound. The slow slide of his beard up her neck is a symphony of sensation on her heated, sensitive skin, and one hand leaves his hair to grip the top of his shoulder almost desperately. He knows what she wants. She knows he knows. But she also understands why he always asks, even if she answers before he has scarcely finished. "You, just you, just - fuck me," she manages to bumble out, not the type for such crassness as evidenced by her warm cheeks but completely unrepentant in the moment.
Cover your crystal eyes And let your colors bleed and blend with mine
The Sword was not a merciful creature, depending on circumstances. Adversaries and enemies, opponents and challengers, rarely saw anything beyond stoicism or abhorrence. Bludgeoning, beating, an unrelenting force of vitriol, vehemence, spite, pettiness, and power. Here, in the shelter and confines of their rapidly beating hearts, their penchant for giving and taking, the rapacious edges of lust and love and satisfaction, he could relent. A little.
But only when she’d appealed for it; mewls and moans, sighs and softness, the tightening fractions of where they were headed. Desperation in the molten thread of her hands were a given, and he couldn’t help the echoing fronds of laughter pluming across her skin, slinking from his mouth, absorbed by the water, by the dire, swift yearning. It inspired another snort to echo, to reassure, to acknowledge.
There were a few more slides of his fingers against her, heated brushstrokes of the infernal, before it left for half a moment more – ensuring protection broadened over himself, contorted and created swiftly, easily. Angles altered slightly, hands splayed, strength and might and precision all in the balm of muscle, undulations shifting beneath her touch, before he pushed, where she’d be enveloped by him, and then the stony fixtures of the wall; features tilted into hers, a hazy breath coasting and ghosting over her cheek, her hair, her neck.
who we were before bones, before dirt, before even light we have always been deep, restless souls
Foreplay has its place, and Deimos' rapacious desire to tease and twist her into knots is usually the equivalent, even when he scarcely touches her. It usually leads to moments exactly like this; Evie begging, pleading, craving for more and rushing to get him inside her, skipping any merits that might come from the use of his truly talented hands. Evie has never worried about that though. Deimos ensures she remembers the virtues of his other appendages often enough to balance the scales.
But today - whether it's the location, weather, or happenstance - Evie wins this particular round. As she watches his hand dip lower and fall away from her folds, surely conjuring protection in a familiar motion that shouldn't be hot by itself but decidedly is every time, Evie shamelessly congratulates herself - and then loses all manner of train of thought as he slides inside, stealing her breath on a long, slow whine.
Her arms come up to cling and envelop as Deimos' mouth presses into her neck, legs squeezing around his hips. "Deimos," she invokes like a prayer, skin burning hotter than the springs could ever hope to achieve. Never one to simply lay passive, she undulates her hips against his, using what little leverage and strength in her thighs she has to work herself upon him in a shameless display of her impatience and need. Now that she has him where she wants him there should be no need for restlessness, but this is no realm for slow and sweet lovemaking, and so she embraces that recklessness wholeheartedly.
Cover your crystal eyes And let your colors bleed and blend with mine
Deimos had long since learned that there were tipping points with Evie – how far he could push, tangle, knot, and tease – before she truly came undone. Her impatience always brought him some measure of amusement, of ruminations buried before and relished again; to be wanted and loved and craved, but eventually she would take no more of just his hands and promises and breaths. She was one eager, fervent, ardent, ready to rush into a storm at a moment’s notice, seeking the rush, and he followed, a figure of the surrounding elements.
He was generously rewarded with her keen, a hallowed rumble of his own adding to the sounds and sibilance; a hiss pushing through teeth as his mouth settled on her ear. A scrape of her own name might have left his throat, difficult to tell in everything thereafter, transpiring through movements and lust, her hips grinding into his and blending into his potent, powerful motions. The wall behind her was a ceasing point for her frame, and he drove her there, with strong thrusts and virile conviction. Undulations, shudders, moans worked through the vehement and earnest pleas; taking over their reckless, emboldened chords, breathless and shameless and unfurled. Pleasure for pleasure, love for love, and longing, ardor, piercing in between.
who we were before bones, before dirt, before even light we have always been deep, restless souls
