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!
New sensations and physical demands were instantly thrust upon him, and while innate survival mechanisms went about their work, even they paused to seek out his permission before beginning. Air was pulled in over soft and full lips: a broad chest rose with breath, muscles shifted and grasped beneath the clutches of gravity, and, only once everything else had been attended to, did his eyes open.
Stars, though unseen, held no secrets from him. He knew intimately where they burned, where they fell, as if the tapestry of the universe unfolded within the canvas of his consciousness.
Though the world around him was utterly without light, still he turned his head slowly from one side to the other, testing both his range of movement and surveying the world ahead of him. His movements, heavy with calculations, bespoke a mind that measured every step, every gesture, in the delicate dance of unveiling. Of arriving.
He needed no light with which to see even now, and yet as he extended his hand outwards, the veins beneath his pale skin pulsed a deep purple. Inhaling, through a throat thus far untested, it was with a clear and resonant voice that he bade "Come-" - into the darkness.
The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate
Sensation ignites, taking root in her toes and in her fingernails, raking across willowy limbs and setting fire to her spine. She wants to writhe beneath the moonless dark, to bite the air from this strange world and hold it hostage behind her teeth.
But his voice casts out its lure, farther away than it has ever been now that he has lips with which to speak, but no less velvet soft. Moth-hungry, she rises, reaching for his hand, her fingertips barely grazing the treasure map of his palm.
Even that is enough for captivation to take root; with her eyes cast down from the blind sky, she walks her touch along the inside of his wrist, wanting to laugh but barely comprehending how. "So warm." It's a hoarse whisper that will soon become a sultry purr, a siren song in the making.
let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world
10-18-2023, 03:23 PM (This post was last modified: 10-18-2023, 04:32 PM by Dorian.)
Not unlike the way a venus fly trap will not snap closed immediately, but instead wait until its prey is suitably positioned, so too does his palm remain open and inviting as her fingers trickle up the lines of pulsing purple like curious prey. Certainly, there is something which can be said to snap and bite, but it was not his fingers. Those, not unlike tendrils, cradled her wrist. The touch, sensual yet purposeful, sought not just the softness of her skin but the very essence beneath. Each movement was a measured exploration, an intimate examination of the frailty of bone beneath the soft surface of her flesh.
"Tell me how it feels." He commanded in a lurid whisper. The invitation, draped in dark sensuality, sought not just the physical sensations but the metaphysical dissonance that echoed within her as well. He would hear from her low lips how heavy and archaic her body felt; how utterly unconnected and adrift her mind must feel compared to the cosmic vastness of what she had just been. What they had just been.
The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate
She can feel the dance of tendon and bone beneath her skin as her fingers flex around his wrist - it would be so easy for him to crush them in his grip. And what would this primitive form do with that, she wonders? Would it heal? How long would it take? The answers are a succulent unknown, and she promises herself a taste in the future.
"Slow," she murmurs, her voice echoing the sentiment of the word. "But not in a bad way." Her free hand rises as if to caress the air, fingers curling around nothingness so she might marvel at their movement. "The silence, though, is deafening." Who ever knew her own thoughts could be so loud, or that loneliness lived in the pause between each heartbeat?
"Our entrance has been noticed." Her head turns towards the two craters in the near distance, and the figure aproaching the blighted earth through the snow.
let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world
A curious rush of moisture beads on the tip of his tongue as he feels the paradoxically delicate bones beneath his fingers, and though it's her form that he feels, he's aware of how this maps onto his own flesh as well. Her descriptions, like dark poetry, tickle the small hairs in his ears. Beautiful, cosmic, uninteresting—each word a brushstroke on the canvas of their shared experience.
"These bodies were based on the best of them," he muses, his voice a low murmur that echoed in the quiet space between them. His words, draped in an arrogant satisfaction of being a creature able to perceive the intricacies of mortal existence through the lens of ancient wisdom, and to scoff at it. "How they would mewl to hear that the pinnacle of what they might achieve in their lifetimes we think of as slow and weak."
"Of course it has, but it hardly matters. Let them look, and measure, and guess at what it all might mean." His tone is dismissive, and his indifference is thinly veiled. "They'll tilt their faces wonderingly up to the sky and pretend that they know enough to keep themselves safe."
Turning away his eyes fixed upon her, cold and calculating. "Now, let me look at you." The request, though spoken with a veneer of curiosity, bore the weight of scrutiny. His gaze dissected, not with admiration, but with the detached precision of a scientist examining a specimen, or a general examining his army.
The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate
"Were they?" The hand groping at the air withdraws now to whisper across her pale cheek, the fragile column of her neck. "That is a shame." To consider this to be enough, caged within a tomb of flesh and sinew.
His words are dismissive and so the matter is dismissed, as are the craters and the figure examining them. Instead, she straightens in response to his request, hands falling to her sides. "Of course." Her turn, when she makes it, is almost lazy in its movements, but not for allure or seduction - merely to give a practiced eye the chance to get its fill.
Once she's come full circle, she pauses before him, chin lifted, body poised like a flower about to unfurl its petals, and invites any closer scrutiny he wishes to make. "Am I sufficient?" she asks.
let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world
Predatory and scientific, he observed with a keen eye as she turned, the clothing she wore veiling the details he sought. Yet, the subtle articulation of her body beneath the textiles provided enough answers for the moment, answering many of his unspoken questions. With a weary indifference, he dismissed her question, instead reaching for her upturned chin and enfolding his palm around the haughty jut of bone.
"To their eyes, you will be viewed as beautiful, but not immediately within their reach. They will want you without knowing quite how to have you," he advised, his tone calculated and detached. His touch, possessive in its claim, conveyed a predatory understanding of mortal desire. The intricacies of human longing were a tapestry he had studied, and now, in the guise of humanity, he wielded that knowledge with a certain cruel finesse. "Any sort of touch for these creatures, be it sexual or violent," or both "- serves only to reinforce just how isolated they truly are when the act is finished."
Even with such an intimate touch of his hand on her face, she existed outside of him—a presence both tantalizing and maddening. The yearning to consume her, to bridge the widening gap and assimilate her essence, intensified. Such was humanity, after all.
In the silent space between them, the predator's hunger stirred, driven by the primitive instincts newly awakened by mortal experience. Instincts that did not seek his permission before flaring their keenness in his veins. The veneer of preparedness wavered in the face of the raw, unfiltered emotions that surged within, marking the beginning of a journey into the depths of human weakness.
The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate
Lips part and lungs expand to feel the delicate, dangerous clasp of his fingers, and she resists the urge to gag herself on it, to find out whether the sensation is pleasurable or painful with increased pressure. The alchemy of touch and heat is, as he has already put it, completely maddening, and there exists not one particle within her that relishes self-control. "And I will want them, and I will enjoy finding out how best to have them," she whispers, the words a purr vibrating against his palm.
"I wonder, is that why touch is so addictive for these creatures?" There are no shared synapses between them any longer, no ethereal existence where beginnings and endings coalesce. It makes her hinges loose, letting chaos spill through the cracks in the door, and she reaches out automatically, the pads of her fingers pressing to his soft, full lips.
"This world is ripe for the plucking," she murmurs. "I can taste it in the air."
let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world
Envy, a rare guest in the chambers of his thoughts, pulsed like a distant star in his consciousness. A small subset of his mind acknowledged the pleasures she'd certainly derive from her time in this human existence. He'd think on that later.
"You feel it already, don't you?" he wondered, his tone inviting, as his fingers slipped forward, entwining into her hair. With a calculated twist, he pulled against the roots of her dark locks, a subtle smile playing against the pads of her fingertips.
She was right, he mused internally. It was an addiction, an intricate dance with emotions that were ultimately terminal and forcefully vast. The tendrils of humanity, like the grip of his fingers in her hair, entangled them in a web of desires and complexities that promised both pleasure and pain, and hinted at success.
"Here they have names. Have you given any thought to what you would like to be called?"
The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate
"Of course I do. Every part of me is singing with it, and I--" Cut off by tight fingers gripping at her crown of curls, it's with a siren's soft moan and the feel of his smile against her touch that she melts forward. It's well-timed, lest she become untethered and mad for sensation - and there's always a possibility for that later, too.
A name is a curious thing - an identity separate from that which she has always been. She's unsure the likes the prospect; does a bed of flowers need a name for each separate bloom? If not, why then should they prise each other apart so?
But he has mentioned it, and he would not have done without reason. And so she considers a new moniker. "Dahlia," she decides, the sound full and breathy on her tongue. "A perennial, I believe. It means devotion." Smiling, her touch migrates from his lips to the strong curve of his jawline. "And you?"
let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world
The lust he felt was a flame, its intensity tempered only by the satisfaction derived from the ease with which he could exert control over even one such as she, bound by the constraints of the skin she wore. It manifested as a sinister satisfaction, a silent acknowledgment of the power that came with the guise of humanity. Confidence surged within him, elevating his posture, and though they stood nearly equal in height, he rose like a tower.
"Dahlia," he repeated the word like a toy in his mouth. It took on a different shape and sound when uttered through his lips, as if by holding it on his tongue as if it were an aged whiskey, he could make it burn and shine in the same way.
"Dorian,I think" he replied, the name a deliberate choice, draped in a calculated immediacy that hinted at meticulous forethought. Deliberately he provided no justification for his choice, as Dahlia had, but that of course was in line with the nature of their distinct skillsets. For Dahlia, the name held meaning, a red carpet upon which she could shine at her leisure, fueled by whispers and desires. But for Dorian, the enigma of his person would stretch out like an invitation. Assumptions and poorly reasoned judgments would weave a tapestry of speculation around him. The calculated nature of his responses and the deliberate withholding of explanations were tools for crafting such a persona. Tools not even she - Dahali - was spared.
"Your hands are filthy." He said suddenly, harshly, shifting his chin away from her.
The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate
10-18-2023, 07:02 PM (This post was last modified: 10-18-2023, 07:03 PM by Dahlia.)
"Dorian," she repeats, just as he had done, though his name falls from her lips like a prayer. "And Dahlia. I think they make a good match." She stands, relishing the heat their bodies kindle between them, the way his fingers in her dark hair are starting to hurt so good. And at his sudden withdrawal, the laugh that's been building in her throat finally spills forth, a chiming, full bodied thing. Contagious.
"They shan't get any cleaner, Dorian." Stepping away and onto the crunch of freshly fallen snow, it's with a sensual roll of the shoulders that she sets off into the night. Never too far - never out of earshot, in truth - but circling him like a moon in orbit around a planet, she's a scout, a protector, a shadow to his shadow.
Ludi incipiant, Caido.
~FIN
let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world
