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!
She knows him well enough now to hear when his agreements ring hollow, and rather than argue, Isla merely tilts her head to rest it against his shoulder as he steps into the Inn. Still in what could arguably be called a drunken haze (if it isn't obvious by the intensity of everything thus far), the Remedy nevertheless wisely keeps her gaze from Sunjata while he puppets himself through small talk and manages to get them a room to stay in for the night.
And she's in agreement with him at first, grateful and surprised in equal measure, until she actually steps into the room (totters, more accurately) and spies the four poster bed, the suspiciously heart shaped aesthetics, the ever-so-romantic view. "Gods, they think we just got married," she blurts, raking her fingers through her hair. "I... no. I'm not thinking about it," she decides, slipping off her sandals and trying to ignore the pale glow of the moonlit ocean.
It would actually be hilarious were it not for their very recent conversation, and as she glances back towards Sunjata, it's all too easy to see the bruises and tension beneath the charming exterior. "Come here?" she says suddenly.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
'cause we might as well be blind, if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
He hasn’t drifted in further than the door to see the room as he lets Isla step inside before him. He locks the door, setting the key on a little table beside it before he looks up at her blurted sentence, brows pinching as he steps further into the room and notices it, and honestly? The Flood laughs. “Fuck.” He manages to say, reaching up to rub at his temple as he slips out of his boots, already trying to think of how the rumor mill would spread this miscommunication.
It wouldn’t be the first time – after all, many here still think Edmund is his.
But she beckons him to come closer to her and he lets the amusement of the surprise in the room fade as he does as asked, stepping into her space and craving her warmth from the cold truths they’d shared outside the Inn before he’d played pretend once again. His arms slip around her middle and he leans in a bit more to her space, head tilting in a silent question of yes?
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses — that you'll fire in vain — but those 12 rounds just won't do
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.
Fuck is right, but for now Isla has swung much more towards the fuck it end of the scale, and they can deal with whatever weird repercussions come from this misunderstanding tomorrow, in the sober light of day. Sunjata crosses the room towards her, bathed in soft, pale light, and while she doesn't expect him to draw so close so quickly, there's no part of her that objects to it.
With the ghost of a smile on her lips, her hands drift up to press gently against his chest, guiding him back towards the bed until he can sit, leaving her standing between his thighs. There's something that feels more real about being able to look him more easily in the eyes, and warm, deft fingers sweep along his shoulders and up, grazing along high cheekbones and the scar that cuts his smile too wide.
Her kiss, when it comes - because it was always going to, she realises belatedly - is even softer than her touch, lacking any of the frenzy or immediacy of their previous tumbles together. And the Remedy is in no rush either; the liquor in her blood makes it easy to savour the moment, to take more from it than she might have allowed herself to do with a clear head.
"It doesn't have to be more than this," she murmurs, as if suddenly embarrassed by her own candidness. "I just wanted you to know that it wasn't impossible. I don't have it in me, to hurt you."
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
'cause we might as well be blind, if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
It’s the liquor and the sudden clinginess that has Sunjata stepping into her space, warm arms wrapping around her as she lifts her own to press against his chest. And he regards her, even as he steps back as she beckons, feeling the edge of the bed hit the back of his calves and knees, that he does sit down amongst the surprisingly lush and comfortable bed beneath him. His legs spread, giving her space to settle between them as he meets her eyes far more easily.
The pale dim glow of the moon highlights the edges of her pale, golden hair, turning it into a soft white along her horns as well, and his hands move to her hips and sides as her own run along his skin and cheeks, along a scar where sensation used to sit that has been long since gone since his father had destroyed those particular nerve endings.
His chin tilts up, catching her kiss with a softer one of his own in equal measure, his fingertips twitching lightly as he seems to debate clutching her close to him, in case she intends to step away. But she doesn’t, and instead the kiss breaks and he blinks as he opens his eyes again to her, his long lashes fanning out around his steel grey eyes.
There’s understanding in them, as her voice hits his ears, however quiet she wishes to speak he’ll understand her with those gilded earrings in his ears. But he doesn’t nod, doesn’t do much other than offer his as open of an expression that he can, as soft and quiet as can be with the alcohol in his system. One hand abandons her side to slide up, cupping her cheek as his fingertips thread through her long blonde hair, enough for him to murmur a soft “thank you, Isla.” though whether it’s to her first comment or the fact that she doesn’t want to hurt him, it’s hard to say.
But he does use the hand on her cheek to guide her back into his kiss, to use the hand at her hip to pull her closer against his lap, as if in this particular moment he does want to feel something that won’t come with the pain alongside it.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses — that you'll fire in vain — but those 12 rounds just won't do
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.
06-03-2023, 10:38 PM (This post was last modified: 06-03-2023, 10:44 PM by Isla.)
Isla
You don't need to thank me lays dormant behind her teeth, waiting for release, and you're welcome quickly rises in its place when she ops not to pollute the moment with words. A smile does kick up the corner of her mouth, however, borne from soft understanding that she might be seeing the Flood properly for the first time. There are shutters that might well slam back down on both of their parts by tomorrow, but here and now, there's no hiding.
Leaning into his touch, Isla is drawn back into Sunjata's kiss without resistance, and she needs no persuasion to shift closer and sit astride him in his lap. Looping her free arm around his shoulders, the other slips from his cheek and up into salt and pepper hair, still cropped short and tidy, though she remembers once upon a time when it had been longer.
Drawing back from his kiss for no other reason than to hitch up her sundress and draw it over her head, Isla finds herself suddenly craving the warmth of bare skin, the sort of heat that only kindles between two bodies. Tossing her dress aside, her body arches against Sunjata, as if begging for the touch of his hands.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
'cause we might as well be blind, if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
There’s something softer in this moment, rather than the times they’ve done this before. Those moments felt more like desperation as he’s faced with the gentleness of her lips against hers, his hand remaining at her hip as she straddles his lap, as he makes some minor adjustments leaning into the kiss more that might make it easier for him to remain as he is.
Her hand runs through his hair and her other arm loops around his neck while Sunjata’s hand continues to cup her cheek, tangling in her blonde hair enough that his fingertips can run along the smooth material of the horn that sprouts there. And when they part, his chest rises and falls faster than before, trying to capture some of his breath while his hand withdraws from her momentarily for her to slip out of the ivory dress she’s worn. “Flora was right, you know.” He pauses as he looks up at her from the small space between them. “You are gorgeous.”
He’s quick to give in to her as she presses against him craving his warmth, his head pushing in against her neck and collarbone where he can leave a trail of tender kisses as he lifts the hem of his shirt, brushing against the skin of her stomach and up toward her breasts as he pulls his own shirt off and tosses it into the corner alongside her own, hands finding the small of her back to press her against the hard muscle of his torso while his lips find her collarbone.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses — that you'll fire in vain — but those 12 rounds just won't do
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.
Sunjata's fingers in her hair earns him a soft moan for his trouble, Isla feeling every touch as somehow more than for its tenderness. Parting just enough to let him readjust, she welcomes his lips back against her throat, fingers skating down the nape of his neck and across ink and scars alike. Surprising herself with a breath of laughter, it's through blue eyes made darker by the moonlight that she gazes down at him. "It sounds better coming from you," she admits in a whisper, shifting back so he might pull his shirt over his head.
As she's clasped close again, it's the heat as much as the feel of him that has her fingers flinching against his shoulder blades, Isla happily pressed against the length of his body, draped about him like a blanket. "Let me, this time," she whispers; so often she finds Sunjata taking the lead, both in and out of the bedroom, that it feels like he doesn't know how to not to carry everything on his own shoulders, where even pleasure becomes a responsibility.
And so, if he allows, Isla guides him back onto the bed, her lips finding his own once more to write promises she fully intends to keep.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
'cause we might as well be blind, if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
A flush blossoms on his neck, one that trails up along his cheeks, darkening the edges of his skin as he hears the soft moan from her — wanting to cling to this feeling rather than letting the shadows race back in. Luckily, he doesn’t need to worry about it as he draws his own shirt off, as their bodies press together again and his lips press kisses back to her skin.
Her fingers twitch against his shoulders and one of his slips deeper into her pale gilded hair, running along the smooth surface of her horn while the other possessively wraps around her hip and back, fingers digging in against the hollow of her back as she draped against him and heat sparks through his skin, most notably beneath where she sits, where his pants remain separating them.
She pushes him down, though, back against the bed as her whisper reaches his ear, and a shiver races through his spine as his shifts make an appearance — horns curling around his head to match her own, the leathery dark wings that drape back against the bed, the tips hanging off the sides of the bed, while his hands remain tangled with her as their lips meet long enough for the Flood to grow breathless, withdrawing with a shivery gasp, fully intending to let her have her way with him.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses — that you'll fire in vain — but those 12 rounds just won't do
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.
Whilst it's true that Isla can and has had her way with lovers in the past, as Sunjata's fingers plunge through her fair hair and glide along the curve of smooth topaz, and she swears she can feel the heat from the flush to his skin, she's more interested in giving pleasure than taking it. Forced to catch her breath as well as he draws back from their kiss, the Remedy finds herself stretched exquisitely along the length of the Flood's torso, the curves of her body fitting seamlessly against him.
The appearance of horns and dark wings both is and isn't a surprise, Isla dropping a chaste kiss onto his lips, and another against the corner of his mouth over the strike of a silvery scar. "Is this how you see yourself?" she wonders through a whisper, even as she shifts enough to grind her hips against him and sit up. Her hands are gentle but no less thorough in their explorations, stroking along the expanse of one wing, even pausing to smooth across the joint she knows to have been broken once.
"So many scars," she remarks in the same, hushed tone, the Ancient snagging one of Sunjata's hands to slowly guide it over her body in return, up her torso and along the swell of her breasts, until she can press her lips to his fingertips. "Still going, though."
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
'cause we might as well be blind, if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
She presses against him easily, slotting against the hard muscle of his body as she pushes him down and his fingers trace against her smooth horn and tangle in her blonde hair. She nears him to press a kiss to his lips, however chaste, before she presses one to the corner of his mouth, her whisper alighting in his ears loudly thanks to the golden earring in his ear. His lips part to respond, but only makes for a soft grunt as she grinds her hips against his, fingers slipping from her hair as she sits up. “No,” not entirely “it’s my most sensitive” shift. He can’t even finish the sentence as her hands run along his skin, along the wing to prove exactly just how sensitive it was as a shiver visibly racks down his spine and he exhales a gasp with it.
His eyes are half lidded as he peers up at her, as she takes his hand along her smooth skin, and he lets his calloused fingertips seek and explore as much as she’d allow before his fingertips find her lips and he knows she can feel the ache beneath her, still trapped in those nice pants he’d worn to the grand opening.
He arches his back ever so slightly, tilting his chin up as his fingertips stroke along her lower lip, as if preening under the look she gives him with each scar on display. Many have tried to be the one that ended him — the first being the one on the side of his neck that drops to the top of his collarbone, covered by one of those compass tattoos that have oriented just right from where she sits to be pointing his north toward her. The rest, criss crossing lightning scars dance from the hand at her lips to his chest, arching across like knobby fingers seeking out his heart, the slivers of Ascended bite marks that dot his neck, the NW etched into his chest, and of course the little marks here and there of other varying adventures that have left him with the reminder.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses — that you'll fire in vain — but those 12 rounds just won't do
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.
Head tilting to the side a fraction, Isla doesn't need to verbalise any of her thoughts on the matter; Sunjata's reaction proves only moments later that what he's said is true. Given that this is his most sensitive shift, she treats it with all of the soft and careful attention it deserves, her fingers continuing to spread in gentle starburst patterns along the membrane of his wings, even as she drops further kisses against his fingertips.
Shifting and grinding with the arch of his back, the Remedy's soft gasp proves that she's neither ignorant to the arousal kindling between them, and nor is she willing to ignore it. Releasing Sunjata's hand to let it explore as it will, Isla leans in to softly press her lips against the side of his neck, down onto the stripes of scar tissue on his chest, as if she might erase them with her touch. All but the NW so carefully marked over his heart - that's as sacred as any shrine, as far as she's concerned.
Finally sitting back, if for no other reason than to free up some space between them, Isla makes quick work of unfastening Sunjata's pants, wanting to both release the tension there and to create more.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
'cause we might as well be blind, if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
Shivers run along his spine as do the goosebumps alongside them dotting his tattooed and scarred skin, exhaling a soft and gentle sound as her soft lips press against his calloused fingertips and she grinds against the desire and need burning through him. Her own gasp sparks a flush of red to blossom on his cheeks and neck, his hand is soon released as she presses against him to lay her kisses all along the raised scar tissue that bisects the panes of his skin.
His hand takes its own detour, smoothing along her neck and shoulder, down along her spine in smooth strokes, toward her hip where he cups it gently — at least before she moves and sits back again and he exhales a sharp breath of relief as she unbuttons his pants. He’s aching and already hard, his gaze swollen by pupils that shift toward a more sit appearance, to better see her in the lowlight of the room where the moonlight reflects off the curves of her body like she’s an Angel of the night.
Lifting his free hand now, he strokes gentle lines up her stomach to the swell of her breasts, circling one and then the other before his fingertips explore and ghost along her perked nipples. His gaze flickers up, back to her face, watching her from a face half hidden in shadow and half a murky green hue from the blue moonlight flowing through the amber of her horn.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses — that you'll fire in vain — but those 12 rounds just won't do
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.
Having intended to withdraw only to help Sunjata shed the rest of his clothes, Isla is distracted both by the detour of his fingertips and the flush against his skin. Pressing greedily into his touch as if she might be able to encourage more of it that way, one hand comes to rest against the muscled expanse of his torso, the other reaching out to whisper across reddened cheeks to sample the heat there.
"I love seeing you like this," she admits; luckily, Sunjata chases up that confession with his own expert attentions, and Isla is cut off by her own soft moan of pleasure as his hands roam across her breasts. Wanting both to savour the moment and to reach between them to simply get it over with, the Remedy is forced into a semblance of composure so she might slip off the bed and shimmy out of her underwear.
"I want you," she tells him, blue eyes made dark by the late hour and the gentle shafts of moonlight, though it's nothing compared to the predatory slant of Sunjata's gaze.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
'cause we might as well be blind, if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
“Undone?” He suggests, fully aware of his flush as his gaze remains half lidded upon her, keeping her in his sight despite the way he might look nonchalant about it. His hands continue to ghost across her skin, paying attention to the more sensitive parts of her body, lingering around her curves and breasts and relishing in the moan that leaves her lips, his own quirking slightly with the smirk that wishes to bloom despite him keeping it tempered down.
As she slips off the bed, though, to reorient herself without all of the hassle of clothes, one of his hands comes to rest behind his head, watching her through those slit pupils as he drinks her in and shuffles his legs ever so slightly to get the clothes to slip right off. He debates for a moment before he props himself up on an elbow to get just a bit closer to the warmth of her, cocking his head with all the arrogance he can muster up.
“Then take me.” He purrs the light demand, his voice throatier and dripping with his accent. He makes no move, however, because she’s told him she wishes to take control and Sunjata is more than content to let her. Instead, he sits there waiting for her with ache and desire, sat upon the plush covers of the bed, like a present for her to unwrap, throwing himself into the sea of this emotion because it was better than the alternative — especially after the day they’ve had.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses — that you'll fire in vain — but those 12 rounds just won't do
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.
