Click here for a list of weather descriptions, seasonal festivals, and a real time:site time conversion.
Character of the Season
Once known as the Butcher of Whitebrim, he's now The Butcher of Dygra, stepping forward as the first created demigod of the Ancients. There is no question that Astaroth casts an intimidating silhouette. Tall, domineering and dangerous, if looks could kill you'd be dead already, but to get up close and personal with the Grounds' resident cannibal tells a much different story. Dripping with charm and clad in only the finest attire, Asta is a gentleman monster, as polite as they come and committed to his role as security for the Dusklight and those who have earned his loyalty. Be careful of that smile, though - those teeth are sharp.
Congratulations, Asta!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
OG Skinning provided by Kaons, with functionality and many custom plugins made by Neowulf!
"Ah, there it is." Jack rolls his shoulders a little as if sensing something fall into place as Flora steps into the room, and the other colours fade with his influence as he shuts them out, replaced by the stronger threads of the Doubletake's thoughts. Garnet hues spiral out from her feet and fade into wintergreen, climbing the walls of the space in bursts and pulses of colour, Jack turning to watch them overhead with a hand in his pocket, as if having suddenly forgotten their plans from just a few minutes before.
"It's louder," he clarifies, "especially when there are a lot of 'em. Didn't think you'd want that, though." He conjures the soft roar of the ocean in its place, though, and the distant purr of a storm rolling in from out at sea. Those are all Jack's additions, at least, so there's something in the space that has come directly from the captain.
"Are you wowed?" He wonders with a raise of his brows.
As she turns, Flora can literally see her own astonishment as a thread of delicate gold begins to weave and wander its way around the room. She too has momentarily forgotten the whys of how they found themselves in this room, such that the palette of her thoughts are far more pastel than they had been moments ago.
As she turns toward Jack, his concern for how his installation might affect her not evading her notice, a swell of turquoise rises like a wave shimmering with flecks of gold. The colours of Flora's affections were not brazenly pink just now or even violet, but instead splashed the room in shades of indian yellow before falling to a dark blue as she realized what she was seeing.
"Yeah, I am." Nodding, Flora's voice has all but lost its lascivious quality for the time being, replaced with softly awed appreciation. Moving toward the captain, the Doubletake loops her arms around his shoulders, thinking lofty thoughts in an attempt to brighten the room. It works, momentarily, dimming as her attention is stolen by the too-blue of Jack's eyes. "This is not what I was expecting." Not of his magic, and certainly not in terms of what she thought she'd experience walking into the room.
"Do it all the way." Peering up at him, Flora raises her eyebrows. "I want to see what it's really like."
Tracking Flora's astonishment and affection around the room with a soft tilt of his head, Jack senses her approach as a pulse of light and desire that has him stepping against her a second before her arms loop around his neck, as if they're both some part of an imaginary dance where they both know the rules. "You won't like it," Jack warns, of him doing it all the way, but of course Flora has asked and the captain isn't exactly honour-bound to acquiesce, but he can't really say no either.
"Here's the level I try to keep," he says slowly, and with a furrow of his brow, the thoughts from downstairs (and up, and anywhere either side in range) appear again as bursts of colour, this time accompanied by voices.
gods I'd like to fuck her if he looks at me that way one more time --this job is going to and when he's asleep I'll take everything
They cycle quickly, almost automatically, as if trying to filter for anything exciting or interesting or dangerous, like guitar strings plucked to make a symphony of thoughts.
"And if there's no filter at all?"
The delicate webwork of colours becomes a veritable explosion all around - hot whites and soft greys clash with acid greens; crimson splashes drip along a tide of indigo, and the symphony becomes a cacophony that has Jack's eyes creasing with the effort.
"You go mad with it after a while," he says, his voice raised to speak above it.
She wouldn't, either, but that's not why she was asking.
Shivering at the sudden voices that invaded their room, Flora took a step closer to Jack until her feet were almost entirely between his, her arms tightening around his neck.
As the full extent was unleashed, the room suddenly felt far too small, the world too loud and bright and chaotic. It wasn't just overwhelming, it was suffocating. Flora could hardly think but for the incoherent voices that seemed to yell without having any volume at all; colours so bright it was like looking into the sun.
Swallowing, Flora looks up at Jack, his voice hardly more than a whisper above it all, and without thought at all for how prideful it might be to even consider let alone attempt, as the queen stood on her toes to press her lips against Jack's, she tried to drown it all out.
For them both.
Focusing as loudly as she possibly could on the deafening hum of the Greatwood during a summer rainstorm, of the way she sometimes felt like the only person in the entire world when standing along the Arclight, of the ultraviolet weightlessness that blanketed her entire body just before orgasm, Flora pulled the captain closer against her as if she might centre his own thoughts simply around skin, and lace, and heat.
Flora focuses on Jack, while the captain (perhaps understandably) is entirely distracted by the overwhelming riot of sound and colour, trying to catch pieces of thought here and there before being forced to let them go. He's about to drag his mental barriers back in place whether or not Flora is finished with her experience of it, when her lips suddenly find their way against his own. To say it's a surprise is an understatement, because Jack is not often taken by surprise, and he finds an arm slipping around the Doubletake's waist quite on autopilot, melting into the unexpected touch.
The cacophony still blares, distracting and painful against the borders of the room, but in the immediate space around them comes the rich crash of Longheat rainfall against leaves and branches, growing tendrils of forest green and cool blue between their bodies. Sandy gold sprays beneath their feet, inlaid with sparks of ultramarine and hairline cracks of silver, and with the reprieve of a different kind of overwhelm, Jack draws Flora more fully against him, calloused fingers roving across her skin and clutching her close.
He might have lied, of course, about her presence managing to block out the thunder of all the others around him, but it isn't the first time he's focused on an individual to block the whole. It just so happens that Flora is very good at it - likely because she knows what she's doing.
If ever there was a time that Flora's need to be the centre of attention was a benefit rather than just a girlish kink, perhaps it was now. Indeed, there weren't many instances where being egotistical and self-centred were thought of as good traits, but had the Dobuletake not thought herself capable of looming so large in Jack's thoughts, she'd never have even attempted to block out the noise of the world with the weight of her mind.
Malleable against him, Flora's fingers begin to work at the buttons of the captain's coat as her mind hones in on individual sensations she assumes Jack is less familiar with: the ache that comes from too much laughter, the weightless feeling of butterflies rising up and fluttering in the back of one's throat, the sensation of wanting to laugh and scream at the same time, of breathless joy.
Each time she's aware of some invading voice or streak of colour not of her own making, Flora contours herself against the captain's wandering hands as her tongue scolded him for his lack of attention on her.
Jack shrugs out of his coat the second he's able, dropping it carelessly against the backdrop of black and the ribbons of colour and thought that suffuse the room. The sound of laughter is an echo, an itch in the back of his mind, joy a buoyant thing that nudges him closer and has his lips parting from Flora's to drift down the soft column of her neck, even as his fingers work the buttons of her jeans. "Think about me," he whispers, and gods if not even the captain can tell whether it's to stoke his own ego or if it's to nudge Flora's thoughts back towards something lewd and tantalising.
He'll help her along, at least, pushing down her jeans over her hips and descending the length of her body to kneel between her thighs, his lips painting invisible promises against her belly and hips. Freeing her of the garment proves less easy than he'd like, Jack relying heavily on the distraction of Flora's thoughts to keep the tide of other people at bay, but eventually, at last, he's able to drape one of her legs over his shoulders, nipping at the inside of her thigh.
He might have drawn the shutters down over the rest of the world and their inner voices, only he feels as though the Doubletake would resent it. It just means he'll need to deal with those consequences later.
There aren't many situations wherein the Doubletake enjoys being told what to do, but it's a perfect storm of childhood trauma and recent rejection that has Flora all too eager to do just as she's told. Her mind fills the spaces between their bodies with thoughts of clever fingers that boast chunky rings clasped around her throat, of eyes too sharp and focused to belong to anything other than a predator, of what it felt like to be wanted by a man who wanted for little else.
Tangling her fingers into his hair to redirect his lips from the inside of her thigh, Flora's heel digs into his back as she slides her leg further onto his shoulder.
That Jack was in love with her was not what the queen was immediately interested in, but rather the possibility of it. Further, she was enough of a realist to know that where once she'd yearned for a love that was golden and brimming with the warmth of daylight (Koa), it could come in other shades as well. So it was that as she let her eyes slip closed, she filled both of their minds with a love that was maroon: a hand around her mouth to keep her quiet as Jack fucked her in some closet or other merely because the inclination stole over him; of fingernails dirty with blood as they tucked an errant curl behind her ear before pouring her a glass of wine; of common goals and mutually assured destruction that held them together with a vow more sacred than a few words and golden bands.
Flora's thoughts turn maroon and while it's true that Jack internally rolls his eyes at the notion - love it is not, however she wants to paint it in her mind - he'll accept anything from possession to obsession to binding if it keeps him afloat and keeps her lips sealed around his secret. And yes, fine, the flush of red haze that descends upon the room with her thoughts is also thoroughly enjoyable as well, and the captain is easily redirected between the Doubletake's thighs.
Letting a rough hand cup the curve of her ass and the hourglass of her hips, Jack's tongue is as wicked as his words, and at this proximity and with Flora's emotions taking centre stage, she'll be able to see the explosion of thoughts from elsewhere seem to grow a little more distant, a little less vibrant, leaving her own artistry weaving around them in sweet panorama.
The only thing the captain can't replicate, of course, is the way it feels, and the way her own arousal vibrates through him in turn. With luck, though, Flora will get the idea by the movements of his hungry mouth and greedy hands.
Gasping at the feeling of his tongue suddenly pressed into her, Flora's fingers tighten in Jack's hair, (not that the captain needed any physical guidance from her), as her head tips back. With the thoughts she'd been posturing into his mind that evening, every movement of his tongue served only to stoke a fire that was well on its way to becoming an inferno before he'd pressed himself between her thighs. With his skillset added to the mix, the Doubletake already felt the shaky rise of her climax building up the back of her legs and draining into her core like growing sands from an hourglass.
That the room is somewhat quieter than it was, both in sound and in texture, Flora absolutely chalks up to her own mental acuity rather than any dampening on Jack's part. It makes her feel powerful and like the sort of asset that the captain needed rather than simply just fucked. If it was all a lie, it wasn't one Flora's mind was capable of working out at the moment such that the lurid red of her thoughts became gilded with gold as she moaned Jack's name.
"Gods, yes." She cries out, without reservation. Feeling her leg begin to tremble, Flora used the room to her advantage by conjuring a leather chaise directly behind her, perfectly positioned, that she might simply lean her weight back against it.
With her thoughts pulsing ruby around them (in time to the beating of her heart, if Flora has the capacity to notice or care), Jack drowns himself in her pleasure, and as he feels her lean against the conjured lounge, she'll feel his catlike smile against her.
Alas, he's in no position to speak - not words she'll appreciate, though the hot flick of his tongue might be writing any number of things against her clit. He does, however, let the hand not greedily cupping her ass skate up the length of her body, curling around her lower back to tilt her more insistently against his waiting mouth.
Around them the world still screams at full volume - it's more concentration than even Jack is capable of to pull those mental shutters down at this point - but its a distant, riotous thing to the palette of garnet and gold set to burst between them.
Had he paused to speak, Flora would certainly have killed him and told him that he only had himself to blame. With access to the lively slipstream of her thoughts, he had to know how close she was such that to do anything but continue would be to invite the entirety of the Doubletake's wrath.
Would she channel sex-Frey to punish Jack on the basis of a withheld orgasm? I think we all knew she would. Or maybe she'd simply scream out for her mother to come and dig her talons into the captain.
He doesn't stop, though, and as the world raises its voice, Flora rises to the challenge. The queen's moans and shattered sentences were overlayed with images of other where's and when's that she and the captain might fuck. Scenes where they were alone and aiming for secrecy, scenes where multiple hands pawed at the captain as he lay sprawled on rich red fabric with Flora poised atop him, scenes of torn dresses and bloody lips and moans fueled by adrenaline.
Around them the colours of Flora's inner monologue begin to pulse and then flow backward as her thoughts blend together into a bright singularity that seems to swallow everything else before fracturing and exploding outwards. "—fuck, Jack—!" Her thighs tighten around his neck and if he hasn't taken a breath, that's his own damn fault. Pulling at his hair to fix him in place, Flora's back arches as she comes, his name dropping from her lips like a threat, then a curse, then a vow. Only once her body begins to tremble does she loosen her fingers in his hair, her thighs falling open as she sinks back into herself.
It is a good thing that Jack takes a breath, though the distant pain of her fingers pulling at his hair or her leg tightening around him is nothing to the mental overwhelm of her orgasm, and while the captain's eyes are closed, rest assured the kaleidoscopic parade of colour dances behind them nonetheless. Granted, the view is likely the last thing on Flora's mind compared to riding out the ecstasy real-time, but if she does look, she might notice the way the world brightens and pulses with each call of his name, as if Jack might grab more of her somehow - mentally, physically, emotionally, he doesn't care.
Of course, what goes up must come down, and by the time Flora is herself enough to relax her grip around him, she'll be able to feel the captain's hot breath panting against her inner thigh and the way his fingertips will leave faint constellations against her hips and ass. Tilting his head up just enough that he might meet her eyes - little more than dark pools of blue hazed with the fuscia of her thoughts, at present - Jack does finally have to conjure some sort of barrier between himself and the rest of the world, else he's liable to pass out between her thighs.
Slowly the cacophony around them fades until the whorls of colour are barely that once more, and the majority of the room is painted solely in shades of Flora.
When Flora is able to open her eyes, she looks down the length of her body to meet the captain's wolfish stare. Despite having just cum, the sight of him there, powerful and predatory within the halo of her thighs, has the embers of her arousal pulsing with life. Around them her heartbeat shivers the fractals of her thoughts as exhausted satisfaction is immediately replaced with an effervescent anticipation of more.
"You'd better take your pants off and fuck me, Jack." Flora purrs lazily as she leans back on an elbow and smirks down at him. "Before I go around telling everyone what a good guy you are for making me cum out of the goodness of your heart."
Given their little trip down honesty lane, Flora assumed that if Jack had been fucking her based on how she liked things, then perhaps she'd be treated to another insight into the captain's mind. Or at least until she figured out that what he liked simply was whatever she liked.
