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!
i would do anything for you to love me, like i'm an american hero, baby
It’s slow to start. He’s slow to start. Synapses fire slowly, and then all at once, sending servos twitching, reawakening a body that has been asleep for a season. Checks are run through, a system wide scan looking for new damages, hiccups to the waking process, and finds none. Nate’s mind is the last thing to wake up, but it makes up for it by very helpfully providing the last few moments it remembers.
He’s falling.
Nate sits bolt upright in the bed, a snarl tearing out of his throat and and his face twisted in a mask of rage, of seething hatred. His false arms curl around him, defensive but ready for anything, filling the room with a dim glow. The room. The… what?
Online is not necessarily the same thing as functioning, and it takes Nate longer than it should to look around, to really see the place he’s in. And only when it clicks does his mind offer the last little bit of context. He isn’t falling. He’d fallen. Smashed to the ground like a broken toy, having done nothing.
star-spangled in my manner, shaking every man's hand in the presidential manor, you see
look who's digging their own grave this is what they all say; you'll drink yourself to death
The bolting upright should surprise him, should rouse him from his sleep. But it doesn’t. He’d drank the night before, a bit too much this time, but he also hadn’t expected this to happen. Most nights it’s calm, Nate settled in the bed like a lifeless mannequin, waiting and waiting until he wakes. Sunjata isn’t so sure if he is going to wake. But he clings to hope because it’s all he has left. He clings to Nate, because he’s all he has left.
Most nights go like this, Sunjata dragging himself to bed after tucking the twins into the bedroom off to the side. They’re older now, able to sleep on their own, even if it doesn’t prevent them from crawling into bed with the two of them most nights. Tonight they haven’t, though, and Sunjata has dragged himself into bed with exhaustion and an air of depressed alcohol that wafts from him. Not like it matters with Frey’s magic working on everyone he was around.
So instead of waking when Nate bolts upright, when his hope comes to life, all Sunjata can do is roll over in a half awake state, tossing an arm around Nate and burrowing into his side. A dream, he thinks it’s a dream. A murmuring of shh passing his scarred lips, “gonna wake ‘em.”
look who makes their own bed, lies right down within it and what will you have left?
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
i would do anything for you to love me, like i'm an american hero, baby
An arm wraps around him, another little hint in the puzzle he’s woken up in, but Nate knows it. Better than his own hands and face, he knows the feeling of his husbands arm around him. The extra arms shatter into motes of static and then nothing, Nate’s true arms dropping along with his gaze, both coming to rest on the man tucked beside him.
“’M sorry.” He offers, not knowing what else to say. Not even knowing where to start to ask questions. His voice is hoarse with disuse, made worse by the twist of his accent and the whisper, Nate not bothering to put the effort in to make himself more understandable. Fingers come to play in the short hair at the back of Sunjata’s neck, a frown settling over Nate’s face.
It seems ridiculous, but the next question out of his mouth, once he’s laid back down, is an almost petulant “When’d you cut your hair?”
star-spangled in my manner, shaking every man's hand in the presidential manor, you see
look who's digging their own grave this is what they all say; you'll drink yourself to death
Perhaps that should be his cue to wake up more fully, but it isn’t. Instead, his voice simply soothes him more, sighing into the weight of Nate’s arms draping onto him. He nuzzles in, pressing his face into Nate’s side. Hands play with the short crop of hair, the thing that does rouse him more fully awake. And he bolts just as Nate has before, jolting upright with a gasp, realization dawning over him like a sunrise on cooled, winter’s ice.
“Oh my gods” Sunjata breathes before he dives into his husband, face pressed into Nate’s chest. “Holy fuck, you’re awake! She was right—” he trails off, gasping in a breath. “She was right.” And rather than answering the question of the hair, he pulls back, moving to pull Nate into his lap, to press his hands to each side of the Ascended’s face, incapable of keeping the sudden punch of a glassy sheen from overcoming his gaze. “I… What, what do you remember?” He asks, wondering how long he’s been away, whether he’s seen the decorum of their room, the lantern that screams Nate, the little scrapbook nicknacks that are new, a few little birthday gifts still wrapped with a thin layer of dust.
look who makes their own bed, lies right down within it and what will you have left?
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
i would do anything for you to love me, like i'm an american hero, baby
Maybe it should come as more of a surprise, but Sunjata snapping upright suddenly is met with nothing more than a confused hum from Nate (though every sound that passes between his lips right now is steeped in confusion) and his fingers tightening to tug at brown hair before he remembers to let go.
Every part of him is stiff and slow, though the protestations of his body do nothing to discourage his own eagerness to be pressed close to Sunjata. In bits and pieces, the attuned wraps around Nate, his warmth, his touch, his smell. Everything seems different, more than it ever has before somehow, though not in anyway that Nate would ever be able to articulate. It feels like he’s been away for years, and is just now coming home.
“Falling. Not landing, but…” Nate nods, as much as he’s able to with the way his glowing cheeks are held. “Before that… the tower, and… Ronin.” The Dark Star’s name is said with a trembling venom, Nate’s eyes growing distant and his lips twitching, trying to tug into a snarl. He’s still stuck, a season behind, though it’s all just as fresh for him, a film negative exposed over reality, blotting out the details of the room, everything except for what’s in Nate’s head and what’s touching him.
star-spangled in my manner, shaking every man's hand in the presidential manor, you see
look who's digging their own grave this is what they all say; you'll drink yourself to death
Sunjata’s nose wrinkles, the frown wanting to form but twisting on his face and along his scar, a mechanism he’s so used to doing when the tears come, but he doesn’t hide away as he’s prone to do, as he used to do. Instead, it’s with an understanding nod that he lets them fall, hands never moving from the glow of Nate’s cheeks because of his touch.
Instead, his fingers splay slightly, thumbs pressing and brushing along Nate’s sharp cheekbones, threading back into tangled dark locks, the Flood swallowing hard before he speaks. “I thought I lost you.” He admits, weakly, like a child — terrified to let the words pass his lips. “It’s been… A while since then, Skatjie.” He can’t quite figure out how long with the tangle of his brain, but he tries.
“Over a season. We didn’t get to celebrate our birthday this year.” He tries to aim for a joke but it falls flat, the smile that tugs on his face thin and see through, fragile like glass.
look who makes their own bed, lies right down within it and what will you have left?
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
From the corner of the room a massive wine-spider scurries. Running toward you, it tries its best to crawl up your leg, hovering against you for warmth. Clearly something has startled it. Poor thing.
This is not a RE nor a rare creature. It cannot be used for levelling.
Wine Spider: These friendly arachnids can grow up to the size of a small housecat. With fuzzy bodies and spindly legs, they are often found lurking around wine racks or kegs of beer. They are almost always drunk, hiccuping and stumbling about. It is said that finding a baby wine spider in your drink is a lucky omen!
i would do anything for you to love me, like i'm an american hero, baby
Sunjata is louder than the roar in his head. Louder than the fall, than the lost time rushing as it tries to claw at him. Nate is safe with him, a relief that’s not worth much when it cost the attuned his peace of mind. The snarl dies an abrupt death, mollified into a softer frown as Nate’s hands wrap around the other man, trying to pull him closer, to close their embrace into a hug.
“You didn’t.” There is more vehemence in Nate’s voice than he necessarily means, trying to insist on the words. “You didn’t lose me, I’m still here. No one is taking me away from you.” He’s so sure of it it’s hard not to believe him, though there’s cracks there, hidden away by smoke and mirrors. The grin is too wide, too toothy; his brows too furrowed. “I’ll make it up to you.”
A season though, that’s… more time than he’d thought. Less than it could have been, sure, but… “I missed a lot.” It’s not a question, merely an exhausted statement, bright eyes locked on Sunjata, the light under Nate’s skin making the pearlescent shine at the corners of his eyes dance in a rainbow reflection. The barest tickle at his ankle has him twitching, just a little, flicking the spider away without ever really noticing it.
star-spangled in my manner, shaking every man's hand in the presidential manor, you see
look who's digging their own grave this is what they all say; you'll drink yourself to death
“They kept you.” Sunjata says slowly, a hint of a venomous touch reaching his voice, one that’s soothed over as Nate tugs him in. He can see the cracks, he can feel them where his hands press against the sharp edges of the demigod’s cheeks, he can feel them in the way Nate seems stiffer than he’s used to. “But we got you back. Isla, Wessex, and I.” He doesn’t say anymore about it, having not understood the entirety of the situation at the time, and now it feels like it’s almost too much. “Your… Other birthday gift isn’t finished yet but I made you a lantern.” He breathes a shaky laugh, pulling back with a sniffle, tilting his head to brush the streak of tears from his cheeks onto his shoulder.
His hands, however, remain on Nate’s cheeks, thumbs smoothing over the skin and watching the lightshow as it is reflected in his gaze. Reluctantly, his hands drop, moving to his shoulders, to press his thumbs into his husband’s collarbone. He searches the other man’s gaze for a moment longer before he speaks, his lips twisting again with slight uncertainty because he knows Nate wanted to be there when he met the Voice, knows that he had technically been there, though the circumstances Sunjata doubts his husband is aware of…
And so he takes a deep, shuddering breath, forgoing the story so far to tug Nate in hard by the shoulders for a kiss, one he’s wanted for so fucking long now that his chest hurts. And when he pulls away, that’s when he admits it. “I met the Voice.”
look who makes their own bed, lies right down within it and what will you have left?
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
i would do anything for you to love me, like i'm an american hero, baby
Anger too big to be held in his hands flares, an involuntary growl snarling out between his lips. It’s a reaction to the venom leaking out of Sunjata, but it’s not just that. “How dare he.” Nate presses harder into the other man’s hands, his voice barely squeaking out between his teeth. For maybe the first time since Sunjata had changed allegiances, Nate is glad they aren’t connected by the bond anymore. The hate that wells in him is a monstrous thing, black and bloody and rabid, a beast his husband should not need to witness. “How did you… do that?” His voice comes out so distant Nate’s almost surprised he’d spoken.
Bright blue eyes dart over Sunjata’s features, dark brows furrowed above them, tugging at scars old and new. This time, the wave of emotion that threatens to drown him is grief, but he opens his mouth and lets a crooked grin fall across his lips. “Happy birthday, I’m dead!” He says it like a joke, even laughs after it, so of course it’s a joke. “I… I’ll get you something good to make up for it, eh? Something nice, just for my Sunshine.” It’s a babble, to fill the uncomfortable space where Sunjata just looks at him. And before he can line up another spout of words on his tongue, Sunjata’s leaning in to shut him up with a kiss. It’s perfect, Nate’s whole world reduced once more to the points where they touch, his arms squeezing around the other man to pull him closer, to try and keep him from pulling away. It doesn’t last forever, no matter how much Nate tries to follow after Sunjata’s lips, he’s far enough away to speak eventually.
An immediate, sickly panic washes over Nate. A fear that makes him feel fourteen again, watching his father question a friend he’d been getting too friendly with. “Oh?” He tries to force his expression into something other than what it is, but all he manages to do is add a slight grimace to his mess of an expression. “Wh… what for?”
star-spangled in my manner, shaking every man's hand in the presidential manor, you see
look who's digging their own grave this is what they all say; you'll drink yourself to death
“A trade.” Sunjata whispers for the moment, unsure of the details of such a thing. But he’d flown them, brought Isla and Wessex to Stormbreak’s shores, watched (and gotten covered) by the fluid that had come from the Wraith when Isla had reached in to take out the upgrade. “An upgrade of Wessex’s for you.” He doesn’t know which one, though. He knows that she has that backsplash upgrade, but whether or not that was the choice, he’s unaware of.
He also thinks it’s too much to bring up what had occurred, too, the potential to destroy Remi where they stood, retrieving the Lone Ranger’s lifeless body. Instead, he clings to the babbling of his husband, lingering on the accented words that he nearly comes to tears again (knowing Nate was coming back but still not believing it until he’d seen it, he’d have stayed perched by his husband’s side for years should it have taken that long, grieving. A widow still not giving up.) “I know you will hartlam.” He murmurs through the hiccuping laugh that accompanies it, the jest, the joke. The fucked up birthday gift, despite how he thinks he’s done a good job getting the essence of Nate into a lantern.
But he melts into the kiss, pressing in and close where Nate tugs him to, the hands on his husband’s shoulders moving to slip around his neck instead, to tangle his fingers into raven curls even as he pulls away, fingers twisting the locks between each other. There’s a heavy sigh, one that he knows bringing it up would have brought the why’s. And they’d made an agreement not to lie to one another, no more secrets, on a day much like this, where the cloud cover had been dark enough to seem like it was the night. The only thing missing was the storms, the rolling and rumbling thunder that drifted down the valley their large home had sat upon.
“I needed to talk to her about… Something with Frey. And to ask her a question.” He pauses, cutting himself off before his voice cracks, brows pinching as he swallows against the tightness of his throat. “Wessex told me that after you died, Ronin took your eye.” He reaches up, his thumb brushing against the scar that trails beneath the eye that had been fucked up far too many times than was neccessary. “It exploded, but, I went to see her with Isla to see if we could fix it for you. We couldn’t, but the Voice decided to do it for you instead. It isn’t an upgrade like it used to be. She said you could decide what you wanted after you woke up but at least you’d be able to see.”
look who makes their own bed, lies right down within it and what will you have left?
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
i would do anything for you to love me, like i'm an american hero, baby
A trade of what exactly is a question for someone else, the details not needed right now. He was back, and if Wessex had been there, it could not have been entirely in Sunjata’s hands. Nate imagines he’ll be having a talk with his fellow Demi god sooner rather than later anyway, he can ask her then. So many things filed away in his later box, unimportant for the moment, questions and gifts and gods only know what else.
Compared to the kiss, their closeness, it’s all inconsequential, too small to worry about. It’s only when they part again that Nate can feel the weight of their problems in Sunjata’s hands, twisted in his hair. Nate wants to lean into the touch more than anything, but he’s hesitant to move, to open up distance between them.
Something with Frey was less worrying than something with Safrin ever had been, metaphorical wind returning to Nate’s sails. Those are more questions for later, less important again than what Sunjata follows it up with. There had been something minor, something wrong when he’s woken up, but it was lost in the general fuzz of being awake again. Now, realization slams into Nate like a freight train, his eyes flicking around as if they could somehow get a glimpse of themselves while his husband explains further. “I hope it fucking hurt him. Motherfucker.” Nate snarls, unable to stop himself.
His eyes stop, locking on Sunjata with an intensity that matches the urgency in his voice. “I wanted to bring you his heart, so you could see it, so you knew. He’s a fucking cheater, coward.” Nate leans in again, hard enough that the thumb near his eye digs in, a pressure his systems raise a low protest to. “Scum of the earth, called Her, and fucking… fucking…” He blinks, the shimmer of fluid spilling over from his eyes and flooding down his cheeks, surprising him. “I’m sorry.”
star-spangled in my manner, shaking every man's hand in the presidential manor, you see
look who's digging their own grave this is what they all say; you'll drink yourself to death
He thinks it has hurt him, though he doesn’t know for sure. His focus had been on the fact that Nate didn’t come home, didn’t come with the party that had returned. Not with Amun, not with Wessex, and he had spent the weeks after wondering until Wessex had informed him of his options. But he doesn’t comment on that either, it wasn’t Nate’s fault anyway as far as Sunjata’s concerned, focusing so much more on the fact that he was here now, and now is what matters most.
The fact they’re in the Grounds. The fact they’re together. The fact he didn’t lose his other half. The fact their twins are sleeping soundly in the other room. The fact that Sunjata hadn’t burnt himself out. (Though if Nate looks too closely he’ll still likely be able to see the fresh healing Ascended bites along his neck, muddled into the mixture of scars he’d left behind himself.)
There’s some surprise there, brows rising at the admission, unsure what to do with the initial information other than hold his husband, watching as his fingers press little indents into Nate’s skin. “I know. I should’ve known earlier and I didn’t. I’m sorry too.” It’s an accented whisper, another shaky breath inhaled as he swallows against the next wave of burning in his eyes, the steel open and light but fragile. “I… Everyone knows I chose a side in this now. The Voice knows too. I wanted–” He cuts himself off the second his voice starts to twinge, the second he knows that he won’t be able to make any sense, sucking in a sharp breath. “Part of my deal with Frey when I became their demigod was to keep you safe. I had to get the Voice’s permission, though. Which I… I didn’t get. And… And that’s okay.” He wasn’t over it yet, but he knew realistically it was the answer he’d always get.
Nate was strong. He is strong. And the Ascended need all the help they can get. And Sunjata needed to get used to it. “But I brought up an idea I posed to Frey before the attack, like a neutral zone. You know the one.” They’d talked about it once, if he remembers right. “The Voice agreed to that.” But you can’t come.
look who makes their own bed, lies right down within it and what will you have left?
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
i would do anything for you to love me, like i'm an american hero, baby
Oh, now that is a question that can not be filed away for later, the embers from then sparking, and catching now. “What do you mean? How could you have known any… didn’t someone tell you first?” What else would be more important? What else could possibly take precedence? Nate fists clench, twisting in the fabric of Sunjata’s shirt, in the short hair at the back of his head, a forceful grip tugging him closer, until their foreheads press together.
Nate’s heart climbs into his throat as his husband stops himself, swallowing his words and a breath. “It’s okay.” He coos softly. “I love you.” It’s better than saying that Sunjata never needed to protect him, that he didn’t need to tie himself to forces beyond them, because that’s just not true. Maybe in another time, another place, all they would truly need was each other, but here and now they were simply puppets with their strings knitted so tightly together no one had bothered really trying to separate them. Yet.
“I remember.” All at once Nate puts the pieces together, filling in the unsaid words and frowning. “The only way I’d be safe is if I wasn’t fighting.” Nate almost makes the words sound like a guess, though he doesn’t need to guess. He’s just giving voice to reality. A hand, warm and staticky, rises to pet through Sunjata’s hair, pushing it back from his forehead gently. “Sunshine.” Somehow, Nate smiles around the nickname, albeit sadly, waiting for steel eyes to find him. “You know I was always going to fight. If one of us is going to be safe, it has to be you.”
star-spangled in my manner, shaking every man's hand in the presidential manor, you see
