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Character of the Season
Frail in body but dangerously quick of mind, Nikandr is the sort of character who proves that curiosity can be just as perilous as any weapon. A necromancer, inventor, and problem-solver with more ambition than self-preservation, Niki approaches the world like a puzzle box begging to be opened, even when what’s inside has teeth. Blunt, dry-witted, fiercely independent, and carrying a history best left partially buried, he has a knack for making even failure feel fascinating. Whether he’s raising the dead, moving across Caido to King's End, or experiencing a hangover for the first time, Nikandr brings a wonderfully strange spark to Caido, and we can’t wait to see what trouble his brilliant mind wanders into next.
Congratulations, Niki!
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!
The flowers climb higher on the Ark’s mast each time she glances out over the harbour, their colours impossible to ignore, each bloom like a spark thrown onto tinder that’s already aching to burn. It isn’t the shoe-flag or even the flower-flag they'd joked about, but gods, it’s louder than any sail could ever be. A living (booty-call) bouquet strung skyward, and on the heels of her last journey, it lands like proof she is actually wanted by someone, and perhaps most importantly, wanted in a way that doesn’t collapse into silence or hesitation.
By the time she ghosts her way onto the Ark, her pulse is already a tide too fast to control. The chambray shirt she wears hangs loose on her frame, soft enough to disguise the lace whispering against her skin, the thin straps of the lingerie beneath cutting delicate lines over her shoulders. Every step invisible, every thought focused on silk and fabric and the teasing scrape of it against her thighs, thus turning herself into a beacon; an open invitation for Jack to find when he inevitably comes prowling.
Rather than sliding into his bed, instead Flora perches on the edge of his desk, long legs dangling on either side of the corner, curls spilling forward as she tilts her head and waits. The shirt hangs rakishly open at the collar, her posture casual and feline, but her mind hums bright and shimmering with deliberate texture; the bite of lace, the softness of silk, the way her body feels wrapped and unwrapped all at once. For all the burrs and thorns still caught in her chest from the Cordillera, she sharpens herself into something sultry and deliberate, an oasis she hopes Jack won’t be able to resist the second he walks through that door.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
It's quite obvious, at this point, that Jack has taken a flower flag as something quite literal, and the crew haven't questioned it. (It's why he's hired them, among a few other key traits). What he doesn't dare to mention is that he'd grown each bloom himself, teasing it to life with the earth magic now budding in his veins. He still can't manage more than flowers and the manipulation of stone and earth, but it's enough for his purposes.
The botanical banner is streaming overhead and Murphy is making his last checks before taking them skyward, Stormbreak-bound, when Jack's magic vibrates with equal parts alarm and dark enjoyment. Stowaway is what telepathy tells him, but Flora is what experience follows it up with. A few clipped instructions to Murph has the smaller man opting to find something menial to do instead, and the captain does, indeed, go on the prowl.
"I thought," he drawls, almost under his breath as he slips in through the door of his cabin, "that we agreed to meet in Stormbreak. Somethin' about replayin' memories?" Blue eyes drink her in at the corner of his desk, perched there like work he's been neglecting for far too long, casually clothed and promising all sorts of wickedness beneath the loose fabric. "I don't remember ever doin' this with you, love."
Nudging the door shut and knocking the latch in place, he's already unbuttoned his waistcoat and is halfway done with his shirt when he reaches Flora, wasting neither time nor breath in snatching her response from her lips in a hard kiss.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
The quietly commanding way Jack always has about him undoes her so much faster than she ever gives it credit for, and her thoughts ripple with the same shiver running down her spine at his drawl, at the lazy precision of his hands working over his waistcoat.
"Oh?" she breathes, watching him with a fascination sharp as hunger, the sight of his clever fingers at his buttons pulling her in like a tide she has no interest in resisting. Her arms loop instantly around his neck, thighs parting to welcome the press of his body against hers, and when his mouth meets hers, she answers with molten heat. Teeth catch his lower lip, dragging, before she leans back enough to shrug her shoulders so the neckline of her shirt gapes wider, cleavage framed and presented like an offering
"You must be getting old and forgetful," Flora teases. "I can think of plenty of times we’ve done this." Her mind flashes with the memory of when she'd slipped into Jack's cabin wearing the gown Asta had bought for her with the sole intention of having the captain tear it off her, or when he'd pinned her hard enough against his cabin door that her skin had taken on the pattern of the wood.
Shrugging again, languid and entirely suggestive, her hands slip down from his neck to roam the flat plane of his stomach through his open shirt. "Then again..." she adds, her voice low, "it’s possible I’ve fantasised about a good deal more than what’s actually happened in this room, so if you want me to go..." Flora's hips shift forward as if she means to slide off of the table, her thighs still bracketed around his legs such that the movement does little more than press her hips flush against his.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
"Actually," Jack says, a little breathless as he parts only slightly from her waiting mouth, his lips curling into something devilishly pleased, "I think you'll find this is the first time I've ever gotten you flowers." It seems somehow fitting that it's in the form of a banner streaming from The Ark's mast - and no, the ink on his skin doesn't count before you say it, Flora.
Still, as her memories flood with the other things they've done in this cabin, on this desk and against these walls, his hands move greedily against her outer thighs and her hips, eyes dropping to the perfect slope of her breasts she's put on display just for him. "If I wanted you to go you know full well you'd already be gone," he rumbles, the words framed around the smile still on his lips, and as she shifts forward his hands corset around her waist, keeping her pinned flush against his growing arousal.
"Instead, what if we make one of those fantasies into somethin' you can remember later?" he proposes, dragging his lips against the soft curve of her jaw, trailing phantom kisses towards her neck. "Think of the one you like best. See what happens."
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
In the wind you hear voices. It sounds like children playing some kind of game with laughter and mischief. Then one screams. There’s a call for ‘Mom!’ ‘Papa!’ and other adults as the laughter stops. Glancing towards the direction of the commotion, you’ll see fins cutting the water. A pack of echo sharks lurks, ready to leap up and grab any who fall for their trap.
You’ve encountered a pack of echo sharks. This counts as a common creature encounter for the purposes of levelling, but does not count as a Random Event for levelling or MP. There will be no further admin/re intervention. If you choose to follow this creature, you do so at your own risk, however, just having it in this thread is enough to satisfy your levelling requirements.
Echo Shark (common) - A dwarf species of shark known for hunting in packs, the Echo Shark can live in both freshwater and saltwater. They are able to mimic any sound they’ve heard and band together to increase their range of vocals. The sharks use the words and sounds they’ve learned to lure unsuspecting prey into the water, where the sharks will then leap up and drag them into the waves.
There’s being romantic, and then there’s being romantic for Jack. The bar wasn’t lower so much as it was tilted, skewed into its own shape, one that anyone who didn’t really know him might write off as careless, heartless even. For those on the outside it was easy to miss the small things, the private gestures, the ways he bent the world just a little out of character for someone else’s sake. But Flora, who arguably knew him better than anyone else alive—yes, even Murphy—could see it. Could feel it, when it was there. And so at the mention that this was the first time he’d ever given her flowers, her thoughts gild bright and shimmering despite the near-overwhelming desire to just shove her hands down his pants. A smile sweet as honey curves across her lips as she murmurs, "Ah, well, I stand corrected."
Her grin deepens, sharp and hungry, as his hands tighten around her waist. Her breath stutters, nails raking down his skin in answer, and she straightens up just enough that the shirt slips looser across her shoulders. In her mind she lets it fall away entirely—black satin and lace revealed, intricate straps hugging curves meant for his eyes alone. She imagines him sweeping it from her body, his mouth fierce and demanding as he lifts her easily, tossing her down onto his bed as if he’s been starving for this.
Her lips brush his ear, voice roughened with heat. "Like you’ve just seen me after far too long and you can't help yourself." And in the space between their minds, he’ll feel her want him with both ferocity and ache, her fantasy colouring everything with a sort of uncharacteristic raw need. "You’ll want to fuck me," she whispers, and in her thoughts she’s pinned hard beneath him, headboard rattling as her hands claw for purchase while he drives into her. Another breath, another whisper—"But you’ll also want me on top, to see everything you’re doing to me"—and suddenly the memory-shapes shift, and she’s straddling him, skin glistening, his hand clamped around her hip to guide her and the other palming her breast as she rides him.
At the childish sounds from somewhere outside of his window, Flora will exhales a slightly shaky breath, raising a brow up at him and emphatically adding, "And you definitely don't leave me to go and deal with the echo sharks."
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
"You can shove your hands wherever you like so long as you keep thinkin' such nice things about me," Jack purrs, smiling in earnest now despite himself, his lips reaching the mark he'd already left against her neck some days before, claiming it again before it has a chance to fade.
It's at that point that Flora begins to paint a picture of their time together for him, and the captain's hands are already moving to bring the image to life. The heat of her desire floods through him like the scorching warmth of the sun on a Longheat afternoon, prickling across his skin and catching low in his belly. He sees their acrobatics in her minds eye, feels the need that drives them and, with a breathless laugh, he's all too pleased to acquiesce.
His hands graze further along her sides, gathering the soft chambray and simultaneously pushing it back, as if to unwrap Flora like a present. And gods, she always knows how to make herself irresistible; even if her thoughts weren't already driving him wild, the criss-cross of lace and satin and straps are enough to have his fingers itch to tear it away. Instead, he schools himself if only for now, surging forward to capture her mouth anew and pull her flush against his body.
Clutching her close, the distance between the desk and his bed is minimal, such that he really can toss her onto the sheets in a movement that feels almost practiced. He doesn't follow instantly, though, blue eyes molten as they rake across her body, his hands dropping to his belt to finish undressing.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Flora shivers as his hands strip away the soft chambray, her skin prickling with heat that runs deeper than anything to do with cold. She melts into him as his mouth seizes hers, body and memory tumbling together, everything as wickedly familiar as it is dangerously addictive. The gasp she gives him is both delight and surprise when he picks her up off the desk, weightless for a heartbeat before the mattress takes her, and for a moment she’s swept under by a tide of nostalgia sharp enough to sting at being back in such a familiar place. But Jack’s eyes—molten and consuming—burn the ache away before it has a chance to root.
Much as she wants to drag him down on top of her to smother all the other nagging burrs and kaisel-shaped thorns in her mind, to tangle him in every inch of her lace and heat, she instead lets her own fire answer his gaze. Catlike, unyielding, she traces her fingertips along the pathways of satin that crisscross her golden skin, teasing herself under the weight of his stare. "No one has ever looked at me the way you do," she murmurs, her voice rough with promise, her words drifting up to him like smoke.
A fingertip ghosts over the peak of a barely covered nipple, lingering long enough for her breath to hitch, before it trails down the flat plane of her stomach, pausing just above the dangerous descent between her thighs. She holds his gaze all the while, a teasing smile curling her lips, offering him both a provocation and an invitation in the same breath.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
"No one has ever earned this look from me," Jack replies, the words easy as they are true, as the ring on Flora's finger will attest. "Only you." He tosses his belt to one side, kicks off his boots and unbuttons his pants, all the while mapping every wicked movement of her hands, the way she teases herself, teases them both, without ever giving them satisfaction.
Letting out a sigh that's all restraint, when at last the captain is wearing little more than scars and ink and jewellery, he prowls forward to claim her on the bed. Which is when Kaisel catches like a burr in Flora's mind - and in turn, Jack's - and it's with an unimpressed curl to his lips that he tilts her chin up to meet his gaze, his other arm braced above her near the headboard. "I'm gonna fuck that name right outta your mind for good, I swear," he half growls.
Then he's kissing her again, wild and full of need, sinking his full weight down onto her in the bed and reaching to arch her back up against him, where she'll be able to feel the full, hard press of his cock against the lace of her lingerie.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
What might pass for arrogance or a throwaway comment to anyone else always strikes Flora differently, such that the words out of Jack’s mouth only have her burning hotter. Whatever impossible bar he sets, she’s always been reckless enough to leap for it, hungry enough to try and claw her way there, and when he rewards her with praise, it’s sweeter than any luxury she’s ever known.
When he tilts her chin she goes easily, lips parted, gaze wide and willing, every inch of her surrender written plain in the way she gives herself to his hold. Kaisel’s name hadn’t even properly registered until Jack’s sneer branded it into her, and gods, with his weight pressing her down she could almost believe he really could fuck the thought out of her entirely.
The way he seizes her, pinning and pulling, has heat crackling in her belly and pooling heavy between her thighs. His weight is exquisite, trapping her where she wants to be, and she rolls beneath him with all the slow, teasing rhythm of the tide coaxing at the shore like it was the sea itself trying to unravel him. Her fingers curl into his hair, tugging just enough to drag her own head back into the pillow, creating a fragile sliver of space only so she can whisper against his lips, "say that you want me."
In her mind, she paints it out for him as her hips push upward, the aching rub of lace and the hard press of him sparking through her body like lightning. She imagines his hands marking every inch of her skin, his mouth sliding worshipfully over gold as he claims her again and again, all while her body arcs hungrily up to meet his.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
"I want you." It isn't a lie; Jack's voice tapers into a bitten back moan as her hips roll beneath him, stoking the heat already flooding his veins into something truly unsustainable. His hand traces the arch of her back and down to her hip, squeezing possessively, while the other braces over her to create just enough space for his touch to continue its wicked work.
He doesn't warn her, doesn't ask if she expected to have the lingerie back after this - if she wore it on board his ship with the intention of it being removed, the odds are good it's coming off in shreds. Still, the sound of snapping straps and tearing lace is satisfying enough to give Jack pause, a reckless breeze whipping around them with the noise as he manages to expose one pert and perfect breast.
"I want you." It still isn't a lie, the sentiment mumbled against her lips before his mouth drops to her collarbones, his thumb brushing across her nipple, his cock pressing insistently against the lace barrier that persists between them. "Fuck, I want you."
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Flora knows better than to ask for truths Jack can’t give. Not always truths, not forever truths. But this—right now—she can have him say he wants her, needs her, could probably even have him say he missed her so long as he was able to hiss it against her skin, and gods she's sure the only heat she'd feel would be between her thighs. I want you. No caveats. No half-truths. Not I wanted you, but, not I want you until . Just the sweet sound of lace tearing, the hot scrape of fabric against flushed skin, the words searing straight into her blood.
Her gasp is loud, reckless, as unashamed as the moan of his name that follows, echoing off his cabin walls for whoever might be listening. Her fingers knot into his hair, pressing his mouth down over her breast, begging silently for him to another another bloom to the bouquet outside, a twin to the one on her neck.
"How do you want me?" she breathes, her voice a tremor of velvet heat as her hips roll again, finding the hard line of him through the final barrier of lace. It’s the kind of exquisite torment that leaves her torn between power and surrender—shaking, wanting, utterly his. Her lips brush his hair, her words a freying and threadworn thing: "You're the only one who makes me feel like this." The only one who can strip her bare and make her crave ruin. She’d bleed for him, bruise her knuckles raw for him, throw her name into the gutter just to hear it whispered from his lips, the way no one else ever could.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
The dark laughter that threatens to spill from Jack's lips is silenced the moment Flora's wild grip in his hair directs his mouth to her breast; there's no pausing, no telling her no, even if he wanted to (and he doesn't), his tongue flicking across her nipple, his hand skimming across the ragged lace still covering her hips. "I want you pinned right here, moaning my name," he whispers against her, trailing a line of kisses across her breast before settling to leave another bruising flower upon her skin.
"I want you to say you're mine." The admission is paired with his fingers hooking into her panties, and whether he drags them aside or rips them entirely isn't something Jack stops to check. And then she's there, slick and wet and open for him, the head of his cock pressing against her; it's a mere half second of hesitation, of course, before his hips drive forward, and nothing else remains between them.
A soft, muffled moan escapes his lips, half lost in the side of her neck, Jack hooking her legs around his waist even as he starts to move, each thrust hard and deep enough to rattle the headboard. "You're the only one I want like this," he whispers, the words almost inaudible against the shell of her ear.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Flora’s laugh breaks free, bright and sharp, but the flower Jack leaves against her skin frays it at the edges until it becomes breathless. "I can’t—" she starts, her mind already betraying her with flashes of the next few moments, unspooling a tapestry of just how loud she’ll be, how moaning doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Lying to a telepath would be ambitious on a good day, but here—stripped bare of anything but heat and want—there’s nothing polished or clever left in her. Just raw truth, and so the word spills out of her like an open door, a surrender wrapped in a whisper: "yours." The lace gives way, the head of his cock nudging against her, and she tries again, breathless, "you—" before the thrust drives the word out of her lungs in a moan that’s anything but quiet, nails digging crescents into his shoulders as he fills her.
Her legs tighten high around his waist, hips rising to match him, meeting each thrust with a tide that won’t recede. One arm clings around him, but the other lifts, fingers brushing the sharp line of his jaw where she can already feel the muscles feathering. "Don’t," she breathes, voice soft against his skin despite the hitch that follows from the thrust of his hips. She doesn't want him to hold back, to swallow it down, to rob her of the sounds she’d pull from him. She wants every ragged edge, every groan, every shred of restraint unravelled, having lost far too many over the seasons between clenched teeth and curses muttered against her skin rather than moaned into her ear.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
