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infinites-chaser · 3 years ago

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show a little faith, there's magic in the night | tears of themis | lu jinghe

warning for spoilers for themes from ch. 1 of lu jinghe's story, use of bruce springsteen, and a very long conversation about Life that is purely conjecture about lu jinghe's past

"watch the sunset with me?" he asks.

you blink for a moment, at a loss.

"please?" he tries. then, with another grin, "jie jie?"

you sigh. you move to join him, anyway.

("an hour of your time, jie jie?" he says. "I'm willing to pay.")

"lu jinghe?" you ask.

he's facing away from you, leaning heavy on the riverside railing, his features turned silhouette by the light of the setting sun.

"why did you tell me to meet you here?"

he turns at the sound of your voice, and something like relief flickers brief across his face before he relaxes into a careless grin, beckoning you closer with one lazy hand's wave.

"an hour of your time, jie jie?" he says. "I'm willing to pay."

you scoff, and let your elbow knock hard against his as response. for once, he takes it without complaint.

"watch the sunset with me?" he asks instead.

you blink for a moment, at a loss.

"please?" he tries. then, with another grin, "jie jie?"

you sigh. you move to join him, anyway.

the two of you stand in silence as the shadows of the city length, stretch fingers long across the water in pursuit of the fading rays of light.

then,

"if I tell you a story," he says, "will you promise to just listen?"

"what does that even mean," you start to say, playful, but you stop short when you catch sight of his expression: lost, uncertain.

you swallow the teasing back. lean closer, then nod.

he glances your direction, then away. takes a breath, then speaks.

"I almost ran away from home once, when I was eight," he says. you stiffen. you're about to open your mouth when you remember his initial words. you subside.

he continues,

"it was after my father's assistant had taken me to a circus."

he smiles, self-deprecating, lost in memory.

"I was throwing a fit because my father wouldn't take me with him and my brother on his business trip. but then I was promised a day at the visiting circus that had set up tent along the water, blooming like a rare flower at the center of the CBD."

"I'd never been obedient in my life," he adds with a grin. "but that day, I shut up. did my homework and studying, and was on my best behavior until we left the mansion."

"at that circus, there were all types of performers— put on by people of all talents, no matter how strange."

"there were elephant riders," he says, eyes bright, fixed on a scene out of his distant past, a scene for him and his eight-year old self alone, "lion tamers. knife throwers. trapeze artists who soared so high I thought they'd grown wings, and without the tent's roof, away they'd fly."

he scoffs a little.

"I thought they were magic."

"aren't they?" you ask. "in a way."

he lifts a shoulder. lets it fall. smiles. brittle, mocking.

"then magic's not all it's cracked up to be."

you don't respond. after a moment's silence, he clears his throat, glances your way, then back out across the horizon.

"anyway," he says, "point isn't if they were magic or not. eight-year-old me wanted to paint them anyway. try and capture even a little of their energy with my brush."

then, almost too quietly for you to hear,

"I still do."

"but?" you prompt.

"but," he repeats. the word's flat. sounds hollow on the still evening air, falls too cold, too heavy, too real under the setting sun's warm, hazy glow.

"it was just the one summer's day. painting and art— that was already my one indulgence. as my father's second son I wasn't allowed much more."

he swallows. you take a long look at him, but his gaze never wavers from the sun, slipping low and golden below the city skyline's flickering lights.

"it was like a dream," he says, soft, wistful. "I could've stayed forever, memorizing every inch of it. the flying trapeze. the dancers. the music. the cheering crowds. the smell of caramel and spice."

"it was evening before I knew it, and my father's assistant was doing his best to convince me to leave the snake charmer alone."

"I was just about to bribe him with what was left of my pocket money—"

"of course you were, young master," you interject with a scoff. though his body's still tense, he throws you a smirk, then continues.

"but then, the tent lights dimmed. a hush fell over the crowd, even the animals, as if we were all holding a collective breath, waiting, waiting for something. we didn't know what, but I could feel it, y'know? that if I didn't stay, I'd regret it for the rest of my life. missing that moment."

"so I gave him the money. promised him double when we got home. and we stayed."

"the tent was near pitch black, and everyone still and silent in this almost unnatural way, nearly scared, the feeling near sacred, when flames blossomed in the darkness, and the world of our tent came alive again, with the breath of fire, with the fire's light."

"fire breathing?" you ask. he nods.

"fire dancing," he says, makes the words reverential.

"I'd never seen anything like it before. And even while watching, barely blinking so I wouldn't miss even a single flame's briefest flicker, I knew I could spend my whole life trying to capture that scene on canvas, that energy, and still not manage a passable echo of it."

"that was real magic, jie jie," he says, and for once, his voice is earnest. full of childlike wonder. "I'll never see anything like it again."

"those performances that day, they were art. art everyone should see. art everyone should appreciate."

"I was planning on buying the circus company once I was old enough," he says. you'd scoff at a similar statement any other day, but his voice is dreamlike, worlds away,

"I wanted to preserve it. to capture that magic in the only way I knew how."

his eyelids stutter shut. he inhales, exhales, grip flexing hard against the railing.

what's wrong, you almost ask, but the words lodge hard and painful in your throat at his smile: warm, genuine. almost heartbreaking.

"today, I found out the company shut down ten years ago. the day I went was one of the troupe's last."

"and now?" you ask, voice soft. "is there no way of finding where all the performers are?"

he shrugs. glances sidelong at you. his eyes are lost. lonely as the final rays of sun sink into nothing.

"now I'm here," he says, a forced sort of flippant. it falls flat, and he abandons it, lets his voice falter. "I'm here in the same spot that tent was when I was young, and everything's gone. everything's changed. me, too."

you don't know how to respond. how best to comfort him. if there are any words of comfort that exist for moments like these at all.

at your silence, he sighs, shakes himself hard, then tries a smile.

"sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have said all that. it was selfish of me. just forget this, and tomorrow I'll be the lu jinghe you know again."

he turns to leave. on an impulse— don't let him leave, your nerves sing, your heart shouts, not like this— you grab his wrist, call his name, tell him to wait.

he does. he's still in your grasp, hardly breathing, though beneath your fingers, you feel his pulse racing.

"jie jie?" he asks, and it's hard to tell in the dusk half-light, but you think there's color creeping high across his cheeks. you flush in turn, but don't let go.

"wait," you repeat, and he does, and you sigh a little, relieved, take a breath, organize your thoughts, then speak.

"I—" you start, grasping for your usual lawyer's eloquence, "I used to visit this field every summer. it was behind my grandparent's house in the countryside. during the daytime, it wasn't much. just a patch of overgrown grass gone golden dry, any flowers that might've chosen to grow there in the spring baked under the summer sun."

"me and my childhood friend, we'd run through it until our cheeks were red with the burn of the sunlight, 'til we were exhausted, exhilarated, our hearts racing still long after we'd stopped."

"it was like tasting freedom," you say, your voice softening. "the golden field stretching wide in every direction. the never-ending blue sky up above."

if you close your eyes, you can still see it: xia yan's hair gleaming, just a few shades darker than the grass underfoot, his broad smile, your breathless laughter as you tried your best to keep up. your heart twists at the memory. since he's returned to the city, you don't think you've seen him as carefree as he was then, nor as bright.

some of it must show on your face— lu jinghe makes a vaguely comforting noise and bumps his shoulder against yours.

"during the daytime, though," he says. "then, I'm guessing it must've been something else at night."

you swallow and nod. blink a thanks in his direction, then respond.

"you're right," you say. "it was."

"at night," you say, "the grass was dark. the air was cool. if you looked up, you'd see more than a million stars. only, most nights we never bothered looking up, because it was like we were surrounded by all the stars of the sky, our own galaxy, blinking in, blinking out. little constellations all our own, those little fireflies and their lights."

"I could buy you a star," he says, tone forced light.

"lu jinghe," you scold.

"I could," he insists. "a galaxy, too."

"lu jinghe!"

"only if you wanted," he says. though his demeanor's sulky, you can tell, the words are heartfelt. you smile. just a little.

"what i wanted to say," you continue, "is that the field's probably still there. the fireflies, too. or, not exactly the same fireflies as in my memory, not exactly the same grass, but even if I were to return, even if I were to be there with the same person, it wouldn't be the same as my memory. we wouldn't be the same people either."

he chuckles. you frown.

"paris was never to be the same again although it was always paris and you changed as it changed," he quotes, smirk still tugging the corners of his lips up. "you and that old man have the same taste in literature."

"if art can be a moveable feast," you counter, "then why not the circus, too? maybe you'll never see those same performers again. maybe you will. either way, it won't be the same. not because you've lost the magic or the circus has, but because you've already had that moment. it was something that'd happen only once, that was no less meaningful for its brevity, that you'll keep forever in your memory."

he shrugs. smirks devil-may-care again.

"memory is hunger," he quotes, then sobers, turns serious once more.

"maybe you're right," he says. "either way, it doesn't change the truth: it's gone. we move on. the world moves on. we have to."

you frown.

"that's not what I meant," you say. "not really. because maybe it's gone, maybe the world asks us to move on, tells us that it was all in the past, there's no such thing as magic anymore. but you tell me, is that a life worth living— you're an artist, aren't you?"

"pax," he mutters. doesn't meet your eyes. then, louder:

"I have a responsibility to my father's company, miss attorney. ceos don't get to be artists, too."

"you see the beauty in the world," you counter. "the magic. you want to preserve it. not everyone can. not everyone has the power to. the money. the privilege. as ceo, why don't you?"

he's silent.

"isn't that what you told the director," you press. "that you'd defend other's dreams? doesn't it start here? by fighting first for your own? where you can. when you can."

then, quieter:

"while you still can."

"maybe there will be a day in the not-so-distant future where you'll have to choose," you continue. "and maybe you already know the choice you'll make. the choice you will have to make. but until that day, why sacrifice it— the vision only you have?"

wind rolls nighttime heavy across the water, blows chill between you, spins your hair loose and ruffles his bangs into his eyes. he reaches to brush them aside, and you think, for a moment, you see his hand shake. his eyes shutter closed. in the quiet, the shadows play dark over the panes of his face, turning his expression to nothing but another piece of night.

"I don't know," he says. "maybe no one's ever told me I had that choice before."

he turns to face you completely, and there's a child's hope hovering fragile in his dark eyes.

"not until you, jie jie," he says. then, so softly, you're not quite sure you hear him right:

"there's no one like you."

"that's not true," you say, tipping your head to gaze back up at him. just above his head, the first stars wink into existence. he swallows. leans closer. and your heart's racing, it has been, since you're not sure when, it's been racing, been waiting for a moment, for this moment, this moment, that, like magic, won't ever come again,

"there's you," you say, then the words are lost to the rest of the world as he closes the space between your lips and his.

the stars are as bright as the city lights by the time you pull apart, breathless wonders, the two of you a constellation all your own.

"jie jie," he says with a sweet smile the antithesis of his customary smirk, then pulls you close.

"thank you for coming today when I called."

"aren't you paying me by the hour?"

he scoffs. you laugh, nestled warm against his chest.

"then," he says, and you can hear his smirk return, "i'll be asking for the rest of the night, too."

it's your turn to scoff, if only to cover your blush.

"is there anywhere you want to go?" he asks a beat later. "you must be cold."

you shrug. slip out of his arms to claim his hand in yours.

"anywhere," you say.

"then," he replies, boyish bright, "let's go find some more magic together."

you don't have to go far— before you can search, magic finds you.

as you start down the path away from the riverside, back to the roadside, back past the deserted playground, through an empty lot, light splits the night: a ball of flames, soaring like a meteor through the night sky, burning bright.

at your side, lu jinghe stops dead in his tracks.

"fire dancing," he breathes, eyes alight. the flames fly further, and he follows.

a small crowd's gathered at the other end of the lot to watch, and you join them. there's a child crying, the group of teenagers in front of you are clearly drunk, and above their chatter, you can barely hear the music from the performer's battered speaker (talk about a dream, bruce springsteen growls, try to make it real), but lu jinghe has eyes for the fire and the fire alone, the fire and the old man who dances with it, his movements graceful, his wrinkled face creased into a broad smile.

the flames make another arc, sweep higher than the half-risen moon then come crashing back down, scorching the heavens and pavement alike, the man snaps his wrist, it returns to him, then with another tug, it soars back out into the darkness, blazing a trail of light into the night, carving temporary constellations, curling close around him, closer than a lover's caress, then flying proud, flying free— his passion, his life burning bright for the world to see.

and lu jinghe's fingers are closed tight around yours, and you hardly dare breathe, you don't think you breathe at all, you don't think you blink or move, and you want this moment to last forever, you want this magic to stay, because you don't think you'll ever see anything like it ever again: a person's soul become art, become a living, breathing thing, become light and flame,

(because maybe we spend our lives chasing the light, in love with it, the way it dances— always proud, fierce, always bright— but we hardly ever live it. breathe it. make it our own. hardly ever become it, the thing we love most.)

but the fire burns low, burns lower, burns out, and it's over with a smattering of applause, with a passing car's blasted pop song drowning out the fading crunch of 70s guitar, and you can breathe again, you blink and the world kicks back into motion around you, the crowd dispersing, though some are like you, like lu jinghe: they linger, still lost in the dream, lost to the light.

beside you, lu jinghe shakes himself, as if rousing himself. you turn to him, about to say something, anything, words that'll pale in comparison to what you've just shared, but he pulls away, strides to where the old man's taking a drink of water.

you blink again. shake yourself in turn. flex your fingers where they'd grown numb and sweaty intertwined with his. in his absence, one of the teenagers who'd stayed sidles up next to you.

"your boyfriend looks happy," she says with a grin and a shoulder nudge. you follow her pointed finger with your gaze to where lu jinghe's talking animatedly with the old man, his arms sweeping dramatically through the air, his shadow as excited as he is.

you're about to correct her, but then they both laugh, the old man gestures, and lu jinghe's head lifts, his gaze seeks out yours, meets it mid-laugh,

and you're suddenly struck painful breathless, your heart in your mouth, because this is yours, and only yours, and it's lightning magic, a match lit in the dark, blossoming bright in the dead of the night, it is enough, more than enough, everything you'd never dreamed of, never hoped for, never knew you wanted, never knew you needed: this firecracker charmer of a boy, carefree careless with an artist's heart that cares nevertheless. this boy who shines only for you, shines bright as the flames he's mesmerized by,

and the girl speaks again, but his eyes are still on yours, and she fades back into the night with her friends, leaving only a wink and a laugh— he's grinning broader, happier than you've ever seen him, and he's making his way back over to you, lit torch in hand.

"why are you looking at me like that, jie jie?" he asks, and you know he's barely your junior, but he sounds impossibly young in this moment, the firelight dancing in his eyes, turning the edges of his hair bright, burnished gold, and words could never quite describe what you're feeling— if it were bottled, you're sure it'd be sparkling strange, a living thing, a breathing thing, like fire, like this night, like you and him— but you smile, you reach for his hand before he can react, wind your fingers warm around his where they're gripping the torch's handle.

"you look happy," you say.

"happy?" he asks, but doesn't shrug off your hand. "happy, and not handsome?"

a heartbeat passes. the flames flicker. then his grin widens.

"I'll take it. a compliment from jie jie? I'll treasure it."

"yeah?" you say, eyes still on his.

"yeah," he replies, staring steady back at you. "I will, always."

"you better."

("lu jinghe?"

he's trying to learn to twirl the flames when you call his name soft, a question only your heart and his has the answer for, and when he turns to look back at you, his eyes reflecting golden glorious in the torchlight's glow, you want to call this magic, too.

"jie jie?"

"watch the sunrise with me?" you ask.

"another hour of your time?"

"for free, this time."

"then," he says, grinning bright, grinning broad, "we'll have to make it magic, too.")

#tears of themis #tears of themis marius #val writes #this is! entirely inspired by the fire dancers my friend and I were lucky enough to see by chance in the park by the water last Friday #anyway. ScrEAMs in lu jinghe hell hours.#tears of themis lu jinghe #do u ever think. about how his life passion is art. and he became CEO knowing he'd have to give it all up #bc.#yeAH.

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radiant-flutterbun · 4 years ago

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Lair Review for Avalonian

@avalonianrising - 10 dragons

First impressions: Your lair is very green, yet is also diverse with dragons of all kinds! I like how organized it is, and how rich with lore each tab is.

I’ll start with Lockwood. I’m assuming that he’s probably one of your progens. First impressions? He’s very green. You clearly knew what you wanted when you chose his colors. Also you got extremely lucky with his tert. I love the mixture of Wind and Nature’s holiday apparel on him. They go together well! then the brown accents of the mask and wraps tie together his whole look.

Reading his lore his combination of wind and nature apparel makes so much sense! I think it’s always cool to see what happens when two elements are incorporated within one dragon.

Origin is beautiful! She is a really lovely shadowy shadow dragon. She’s spooky, yet elegant. Black is definitely her color and I feel like the unearthly onyx apparel was made for her. Her accent is what gives her her elegance. The gold pops nicely over the black. I was hoping she’d have some lore in her bio, but I guess she’ll just be a mystery for now.

I clicked on him because I thought Madness was an interesting name for a dragon. He’s a very pretty dragon, but I’m not really sure how to describe his aesthetic. He looks like a gem filled cave, full of magic and mystery. but he also looks like an old warrior who fought in wars now forgotten.

I really love the concept of the Firefly Dance Troupe! Though I have to wonder, who are the the Children of the Water Gardens? And why do they need freed?

I chose to review Narcissus because he’s very pretty! And I’m someone who doesn’t usually like irishim dragons. I love the way that honeydew iridescent gradually blends in with his ivory shimmer. And I love how the green from his accent and sylvan wings pop out against the ivory and lighter green of the honeydew.

Now this is an aesthetic I can get behind. Sinann looks like something you’d find lurking at the bottom of the ocean, or by a ship wreck. Eldritch is just such a great color and I’m so happy it was added to the color wheel. Then her accent adds that extra layer of “i’m a sea/swamp dragon” and I love it.

Hey an ace dragon! You love to see it. I don’t have too much to say about Murmur, but I just think they’re neat and that I love any lore that has to do with Emperors. I’m sure Murmur is good at sneaking up on them.

What a pretty mirror! I love the nice neural colors and the natural look of jaguar and rosette on this guy. I think m pose mirrors in particular look great with jaguar. The fading of tarnish also adds to Mercado’s overall look, giving them an antique feel, like they were transported from the past, or have an old heart.

Eron gives my angel vibes. Archangel vibes in particular. the main reason is the white feathered wings, but also the glowing light eyes and the golden pearl. I could be wrong, but Eron feels like the kind of guy that will do what they believe is right, at all costs - even if that cost may hurt others. But also that’s just what I’m getting from the snippet of lore you have in their bio so I could be completely off the rails here.

Zilya’s aesthetic is also very nice. White, black and gold all blend together so neatly on her. With the veil on she feels very mysterious.

10.

Ooo a Shade Touched dragon? That hunts Emperors? Tell me more. AND he’s a necromancer? Help he’s checking too many boxes that I like! Poor guy though, sounds like he’s had a tough time.

I love his accent. I’ve seen different versions of this accent around and it’s probably one of my favorite accents I don’t have :’) The black clothing he’s dressed in mesh surprisingly well with his green coloration. Overall a really cool dragon and lair!

#lair reviews

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avalonianrising · 8 years ago

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Because I laughed at this a solid minute...

Let’s see here...

Clan in the Mists: Thamuz

Emperor Elimination Task Force: Renshaw

Golden Firefly Dance Troupe: Narcissus

The Archivists’ Legion: .../stares at them All of these little shits. Azania would be the worst, probably.

The Nightspear Company: Nirel

Dear lord, I laughed so hard trying to type this out.

Serious lore question: who is the ‘move, I’m gay!’ dragon in your lair

#Which Dragon #Thinking of all of them saying that seriously I am -dead-#MOVE I'M GAY /SHOVES THROUGH

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shroudingmists · 6 years ago

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Dance — One muse gives their partner a lap dance

There were so many possibilities for this one, I’m gonna’ SCREAM.

I’m also starting to link to my kids, ‘cause I should’ve been doing that before!! Hhh. How do write.

Oh shit–this is gonna’ be a long one, I can feel it. I’ve wanted to write this one for ages, and it’s the perfect platform. Yeezus take the wheeeeeel.

————————–

Tipping his head to the side, Narcissus squinted heavily at the man across from him. Tapping the annoyingly sharp point of his pencil against his paper, he watched. And tapped.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Is there something I can help you with, sir?” Cass spoke calmly, with frankly annoying patience.

He had been trained, nearly from an egg, to attend to his needs.

Whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

To never talk back, to never question him.

It never used to annoy him, really, but now…

“No,” the man snapped, icily as ever. There were so many things that he just didn’t…get, now. Everything had changed. And so too, did he have to change. For the most part? He hated it. Hated how they smiled, how they moved so flawlessly of their own accord.

He hated how happy they were.

“Sir,” the Fae murmured, pressing in his own way. To his boundary, as much as he was ‘allowed.’ It made Narcissus nearly sick to his stomach, for so many reasons. Some, he also didn’t understand.

I don’t understand damn near anything anymore.

“You’re ripping into your paper, sir,” Cass spoke, quietly, eerily bright eyes flicking down. The former Flower chewed his lip, and dug the pencil in deeper out of spite.

“Why did you come back?”

Cass had been trained never to react noticeably. To be the aid of a Flower meant to be neutral, unassuming, and above all–deadly efficient. It meant many things, many of them explained to Narcissus at a young age.

He hated that, too.

Slowly, the Fae dropped his pencil, and steepled his fingers. Narcissus’ shoulders hitched in anticipation, his entire body tense as always.

I hate it. I can’t read him. I can’t…I can’t…I don’t understand anything, I don’t…

“Because I wanted to.”

The Skydancer’s eternal frown deepened. “Don’t lie to me. You’re not allowed to lie to me, I–”

“Sir. With all due respect, you underestimate me.”

Narcissus flinched. He’d never talked back like that before–if that could even be called talking back, by his standards. Gripping the edge of his seat as if it were his lifeline, his entire body nearly folded in on itself in an ugly hunch.

“I would never lie to you,” Cass’ calculating voice continued, those eyes boring into his own–even if they were heavily diverted to keep a chill going down his spine.

I’m pathetic. Acting this way in front of my own attendant. You were not taught to act like this, you–

“You’re berating yourself again, sir,” Cass breathed. And then, something…

His eyebrow…it’s…?

And indeed, his eyebrow had furrowed…a fair bit, at that. He was…

“Are you raising your eyebrow at me?”

Cass, about to speak, froze in place. Straightening his expression, and himself, he took a sadly unnecessary breath.

“Forgive me, if you find it in yourself to do so. Perhaps it’s time I train with our associates, once more. It has been a while,” a rare tint of inflection hinted into his voice, making Narcissus shiver just a bit.

“…what kind of training is it?”

You’re so stupid. You know damn well what–

“Hm? Oh, the usual. As you would’ve learned in your studies,” Cass interrupted his master’s thoughts out of habit–all the while teasing him in his own way. “Physical fitness. Meditation. Weapons training. I’ve fallen behind, I’m afraid. I wasn’t worthy of–”

“Don’t you dare say it!” Narcissus finally burst, nearly exploding out of his seat to slam his hands on the desk. Pointing accusingly at the man across from him, his entire body shook. “You did everything in your power! Don’t make me say that again, you–you!” he heaved, feeling suddenly heavy and unhinged.

I never used to act like this. I was never short with him, I never rose my voice.

Cheeks suddenly wet, the Skydancer heaved a helpless sob. Cass only watched, but oh so obviously from the edge of his own seat.

“I had to watch you die, you useless thing! You fought them all by yourself! You stupid, brave, useless thing!” he continued, voice rasping with effort. The tears fell freely now, cheeks red with the exertion of something he’d never, not ever been allowed to do. “Even when they cut your side, you kept going! You were beautiful, and deadly, and brave! Stupid!” the man’s words stumbled out in a stream between sobs.

Cass lowered his head, only slightly, as he listened.

“They caught me just as you fell to the Gardener,” Narcissus sniffled, lip trembling so hard that it made his lip quiver as well. “The look in your eyes, I…”

And he fell to his knees in a great heap, eyes rolling so far back that Cass knew this time that he had to move. Shoving the small table aside, he just barely caught the man to prevent his head cracking off the ground–arms wrapping protectively tight as his body went briefly limp.

“Sir…S–sir…” the Fae found the facade hard to keep up in light of the situation, his cool hand tapping his master’s cheek rapidly with just enough force to bring him back to. It was lucky that he hadn’t fully fainted however, his eyes rolling back to normal with a few good tries.

“That’s the first…time I heard you stutter…”

The spirit twisted his head a bit, almost quizzically.

“It’s…cute.”

“Oh. Ah…well…” he trailed off, quietly, obediently.

Narcissus gripped his arm tight, swallowing as he suddenly lurched and burrowed into the Fae’s chest. Nervous and unsure, Cass simply laid his arms across his shoulders as the former Flower sobbed wildly against him.

“I found…my coat, in your room. You hadn’t even washed it, the blood was still…”

“Don’t say it,” Narcissus hiccuped messily. “It’s not…I mean, I–”

“I’m honored that you kept it. But who–?”

“The leader. The one you met first. He saw how distraught I was over you, and…he took your coat for me,” the Skydancer admitted shyly, trying desperately to control his breathing. “It was all I had left, I…the first days were a blur. I didn’t notice anything. They said I refused to eat for three days. That I held that coat for dear life, slept, and nothing more. When we finally did speak, he said he gave it to me because he knew I needed it.”

“…needed it?”

Narcissus swallowed. “Don’t make me spell it out, idiot. You were…you and I, I–”

Get it together. This isn’t how you were raised, you–

“Without you, I was nothing. The smell of tea in the morning was gone. Your incessant patience, gone. The way you cared for me, gone. Everything was gone, and I was pathetic,” he spat, shaking his head frantically. Gripping the man’s vest in both hands, he forced their gazes together.

And the look in Cass’ eyes was beyond anything he’d ever seen before in their years together.

O–oh…it’s so…warm.

He was smiling. Truly smiling. It was small, polite, but…

“…Narcissus.”

…what did he just–?

“Forgive me.”

And suddenly, their lips were together. He’d dreamed of it, so often…so often, that it physically hurt him more than once. How many times had he thought of the two of them together like…that? With his coat wrapped around his prone and shaking body? How many times had he come with his name on his lips?

He didn’t fight as their tongues touched, slipping together effortlessly, as if they were meant to do so. He was still trembling, shivering desperately–especially as the Fae’s arms slipped down to wrap around his waist.

When he could breathe again, he noted that it was no longer frantic. Blinking, teary-eyed, his thick eyelashes fluttered.

“…is that a little better?”

Dumbly, Narcissus nodded. Swallowing, he peered at the scene around him. “Well, this is stupid.”

Cass laughed, softly–his voice airy, sweet, so…oh.

“Did you learn to dance, too?” he asked suddenly, dreamily.

“Hm? Oh, yes. Every day. Especially when you taught, of course. I watched. Do you want to see?”

Cass gently lifted Narcissus, a man quite taller than him, with the greatest ease–settling him neatly back into his chair. Kneeling at his lap, he gazed up with honest curiosity in his eyes.

Sniffling, dabbing at his face with a handkerchief he found Cass had pressed into his hand, he laughed wryly. “You. Dancing. I can scarcely imagine it.”

“There was one I was particularly fond of, when you taught the elder Children,” his attendant hummed thoughtfully, as he took a step back. Removing his suit coat, he looked down to his hands–peeling his gloves off with surprising ease. This was unprecedented. Never will you present yourself as anything less than perfect to your Flower. “It was beautiful, heartbreakingly so.”

Narcissus’ pupils reacted, quite viscerally, in realization.

The way he moved was as effortless as any of the Fireflies’. He was a warrior, above all else. He’d been trained as such.

However…

When Cass moved his hips like that, he wondered. And when they moved just above his own, his breath hitched.

“Tease them, just like this. Make them desire you, and only you. Make them believe that you are the only two in the room. That’s what you told them, every time. You danced for them, like this. Every time. The boys were hard by the time you were done…the girls, so wet…and you always smiled, so sweetly.”

Holy shit. He’s…gods above, you dumb bird, keep your head on straight. You know this game, you invented it. But he–he’s…

He danced, exquisitely, above his lap–just as he’d learned. Softly, Narcissus whimpered. In such a state, he couldn’t resist. Arching his hips, he sighed–breathlessly, as Cass moved just out of reach.

“And you told them to by coy, do you remember? To push away wandering hands, until later. You told them to enjoy…”

But it was too much. When their lips found their way together again, he knew: it was all over.

He knew, in that moment, that he loved him. Such a love was inappropriate, discouraged, but it felt so…

And it was his thoughts that were interrupted–by a cold hand down the back of his pants. A startled squeak, and Narcissus smiled triumphantly.

“Take me. Now.”

The Fae’s eyes glimmered in the low light, that ghost of a ghostly smile playing his lips once more. Even as Narcissus stood, leaning his entire upper body over the edge of the table they’d been working at. Not once did it disappear from his handsome face, not even as they coupled–quickly, hotly, messily–for what seemed like hours.

And when his own legs shook with effort, Narcissus only spread his once more.

“What’s wrong? Is this training too hard for you?” the man asked, breathily.

Cass chuckled.

“Training. Of course.”

And he kissed him again, enveloped blissfully into the arms of the man he…

I love him. I won’t deny it any longer. Things are different. We are…free…we are free, now.

“Please,” Narcissus whimpered, eagerly.

“Gladly, my Flower.”

Hissing, his lover stole the words from his lip with a stifling kiss.

Ah, yes…Narcissus. No longer a Flower. But my flower…always my flower.

#Xem Tag #The Golden Firefly Dance Troupe #C: Narcissus #C: Cass #:v OMIGOD THEY'RE OFFICIAL WOO??#Also: FEELS TRAIN HOOOO #I LOVE THEEEM AAAA PICKLEFARTS #I'M SCREAMIN' WHERE DID THIS ALL COME FROM #MY SHOULDERS ARE KILLING MEEE-HEE-HEE

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shroudingmists · 7 years ago

Note

“Do you like it when I touch you like that?” OR "Sit back, and enjoy" for after hours maren Iolaus 👀

(This one’s probably gonna’ be a lot longer than normal, ‘cause I CAN’T HELP IT–I HAD AN IDEA. It’ll go under a cut, so I can have FUN!!)

—————————–

The arms that wrapped around his neck could’ve been any number of peoples’–but he was delighted when a sweet and familiar scent wafted up. Apple. Wine. Something so sweet, unique, and lovely.

“Did you like the show, Eve?” Iolaus hummed, keeping it ‘casual’ as he brushed out his long hair with a steady hand. He hadn’t even changed, still painted to perfection–so much so, that he really could’ve been a Maren come to land.

Rubbing his soft button nose against the Imperial’s neck, Eve let a giddy laugh bubble past his lips.

That would be a ‘yes,’ I think.

When he crawled into his lap, he abandoned the brush–there were much more important things to do with his hands, now. Like push them against Eve’s thighs, savoring their smoothness. He’d wanted to do this since the performance started, and the warmth of his skin would certainly relay that–or so he hoped.

Through layers of silk, he found his prize–the tender skin of his inner thighs, which he parted wide across his lap. The help he received, with the body above him arching, was…exquisite.

Ah, yes…you’re a dancer, too. You’re going to join me in the performance, aren’t you…?

Dipping his head, Iolaus let the soft tuft of hair at his chin rub against Eve’s shoulder–only a moment, as his lips glanced across the outer shell of his ear.

“Sit back, and enjoy.”

Eve gasped in surprise as his fingers brushed across him–a noisy moan tumbling after. He never did like being quiet–what for?

Exploring him was a gift, each and every time. Iolaus’ eyes glazed as he parted his gorgeous folds, and…ah, there. His excitement was already quite noticeable, and Iolaus couldn’t help but chuckle.

“And what are you giggling at, little fish?” Eve hiccuped, arching his hips, whimpering in pure excitement.

“How beautiful you are,” the dancer whispered, shifting–with surprisingly minimal effort–to pull Eve onto the vanity he sat in front of. “Mind your horns on the mirror, love…you can do that, can’t you?” he continued, teasingly, dropping to his knees in front of him.

He couldn’t help himself, not this time, as his mouth pressed to the prize before him. Sweet, hot skin. He explored each delicate fold first, rolling his tongue carefully. He heard Eve’s head thump against the mirror, antlers scraping oh so quietly against it. Ah, well. I can always get another one, he mused. He licked, slowly, savoring.

“You’re…already so wet…” Iolaus whispered ticklishly, letting his breath puff across the already-sensitive spot where he’d tasted. Flicking his tongue playfully, he delighted in the sensation of Eve’s hands in his hair–urging. He knew what he wanted, and gave without second thought.

It was different with him, and he made note to take care, taking that precious bud into his mouth. It was long enough for him to curl his tongue around–to which he took particular delight in doing so, over and over again. Only when he felt Eve’s feet on his shoulders, did he continue, by beginning to bob his head.

So beautiful, Eve. You are…so beautiful. And you know it. You revel in it, and I love you desperately for it. Can you feel it? Let me show you…

Eagerly, he shifted him forward–just a bit, and plunged his tongue into his most precious place.

So hot. Gods, he’s so hot inside, I–

Iolaus twitched, below, and wrapped a hand around himself. You’re too much for me…can you feel that?

Eve squealed in surprise, his grip on his hair tightening. Perfect.

He wasn’t very deep, here–but it only urged him to pleasure every last inch, curving his tongue playfully upward.

“Iolaaaus…c’mon, please…suck my cock again, I–” Eve whimpered, frustrated, pouting childishly. “Put your fingers in me, an’ suck it–please…” he slurred, red from wine and arousal.

“Aha…you talk so dirtily…you’re such a little tart!” Iolaus hummed, brushing his lips lower…lower…pressing a firm kiss to a very different spot. Shifting, he took Eve into his arms in one rather fell swoop, laying him down on the surprisingly plush mattress of his small–but comfortable bed. Ah, the little things.

“I could fill both your holes like this, you know?”

“N–now who’s talking dirty?” Eve quipped, wriggling his legs in Iolaus’ surprisingly strong grip. “More importantly: why don’t you? Come on, show me…what you can do?”

He didn’t just -talk- dirty, he -played- dirty. And he loved him all the more for it.

“Where do you want this?” Iolaus whispered, pressing the already-damp tip of his member teasingly to Eve’s ass. Eve shook his head rapidly, leaving one solid scrape on the headboard. Oops. Maybe that wasn’t a great surface to lean him up against, either. Oh, well. He hardly cared, at this point. Hell–he could hardly think at this point.

“No. Here…I saved it for you, don’t you know? Dorian’s too damn big, and Shesha is…scary.”

Iolaus bit back a laugh, but couldn’t help nod in agreement. “We know how to pick them, is all.”

“Say that to my poor V after a night with those two,” Eve sighed, impatiently easing Iolaus into him. The Imperial laughed so hard at that one, that he nearly jerked forward too fast–catching himself on the headboard instead. With both of them laughing now, his heart soared. “No, really–REALLY, I’m tempted to sit on a block of ice!” yelled Eve, throwing his arms up around Iolaus’ neck again.

Iolaus nearly snorted in laughter, burrowing his head into his precious lover’s shoulder. “Nooo, oh my goodness,” he breathed airily, sides aching as he eased into Eve. So warm…so tight. And again, he took care, shivering as he tucked the man’s leg around his waist. “Please tell me if it hurts, okay?” he urged, softly, pressing their foreheads together.

When Eve gripped his backside and pulled, his answer was more than clear.

“O–oh…”

“Ten million gold pussy.”

Iolaus sputtered, while Eve smiled proudly below.

“Wait, wait, wait. No. Twenty-four karat pussy. Yeah, that has a better ring to it, right? Ri–oh!” Eve squeaked, as the dancer’s body shifted above. Iolaus shook with laughter even as he pushed, and as he felt soft hands cupping his face. Nuzzling into them, he laid his both hands gently on him.

It didn’t take long to find a rhythm that suited Eve–not himself–Eve always came first. Literally, and figuratively, he thought with glee.

He knew he’d found it when his antlers began to bang on the headboard noisily, scraping, denting the wood with little effort at all. And he definitely knew it when he started to moan wantonly, loudly enough to most certainly be heard outside the very, very thin door to his room.

Finally, he joined him, and he swore that Eve squeezed tighter around him. Bracing, frantically, he whimpered.

“Th–there!” Eve wailed, digging his nails quite firmly into his shoulders. Smirking, Iolaus snuck his fingers between them–and rubbed.

“You’re sure it’s not here?” he breathed, trembling harder at a reaction that could’ve ended any man.

When Eve’s mouth opened like that, when his toes curled so perfectly against his skin, it was more than just hard to hold back. Pressing their lips together, he was met with a kiss so frantic, that he believed he thought it would be the one to end them all. Something cracked behind them. Ah. That’d be the headboard.

If there was such a thing as an internal grin, he was definitely managing it.

“E–Eve, I…I can’t…” he realized he was stuttering now. His hips and legs ached from the sheer mercilessness of his pace, head dropping low to press wet open-mouthed kisses against his lover’s nipples.

“Inside. Inside, inside, inside,” Eve pleaded, and it barely had to be a command as Iolaus came without much warning. Both arms had to switch to holding him as he came clear off the damned bed, antler tips rather firmly stuck in the headboard now.

His entire body shook for a good moment as he filled him, head laying on the slender chest that had so thoughtfully pressed to his cheek.

And, then, quietly:

“…can you…just…”

Iolaus blinked.

“…oh. Oh, those are…stuck in there. Wow.”

Eve just laughed, again.

My sweet. I love you. I love you so much, really, I do. And one day, I’ll tell you how much, I promise.

Humming, helping his head tilt just enough to free those decorated antlers from his headboard, Iolaus smiled, collapsing onto the bed with his precious prize in tow. Rubbing the base of them, just in case, he sighed.

The man’s delighted murmuring was a fine answer, indeed, especially through his giggles.

“Are you two done yet?” came a voice from outside the room. “Good gods above and below, I could hear you all the way out there.”

Ah. Shesha.

Iolaus snickered.

“Really? We’ll have to try for all the way outside next time.”

Dorian’s raucous laughter that followed made him shiver, especially when Eve’s chimed in. Even Shesha’s low, rumbling chuckles…

Oh…I love…you all.

Iolaus pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Shall we…let them in?”

“Too late!” Dorian called, unceremoniously pressing puppy kisses to Eve’s face, which Eve sputtered against.

Shesha’s large hands were on his hips not a moment after, lips at the back of his neck.

I am…blessed.

All of those years lead to this.

And he would do it all over, for this opportunity. For these smiles, these laughs.

“Boys, are you…going to help me?” the Imperial hummed, suddenly. Glancing at each of them, then to Eve, he smirked.

“The headboard doesn’t have enough scratches, yet.”

#The Golden Firefly Dance Troupe #C: Iolaus #C: Shesha #DEAR GOD I RAMBLED I'M SORRY #BUT THAT ONE WAS TOO GOOD TO PASS UP!!

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shroudingmists · 6 years ago

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Any deets on Sekai? 👀

👀BINCH, I MIGHT. Thank you for forcing me to remember all of this, I’m still tweaking his character a pinch. So, this is good!!

———————————

Just recently, I’ve come up with a name for the head Gardeners–which is ‘Harvester.’ Where Tsozin was the Harvester, Sekai was second in command–just as Shesha was at his Garden.

Despite this, he had a really unusual attitude for such a position: a surprisingly good sense of humor (being serious when he needed to be, obviously) that was kind of unfitting for such a place. It was pretty much his coping method, but it did help a lot of people in the process.

As with all of the Gardeners, he used to be a Guardian as well. His change into a Skydancer definitely came with its downfalls, as the new powers he obtained with it were pretty damn intense. He’s much larger than your average Skydancer, and does retain some Guardian-like features here and there.

Constantly teased Tsozin about his crush on Cass, but had a massive one on Narcissus. Both knew about their relationship before they did though, so neither of them acted on it. They did gossip though–one of the small guilty pleasures that kind of distracted them from the dirty work they carried out in the Garden.

When they learned that Cass had been killed and Narcissus had been kidnapped, they made a pact: get out, no matter what it took. It took ages, because they wanted to get all the Children out as well–in one fell swoop. Because of all the stress, and because of their already strong relationship themselves–they did often comfort each other. Since rejoining Narcissus, they haven’t, but remain close as ever.

Most likely changed into a Skydancer because of Narcissus, just as Tsozin got tattooed because of Cass. They tease each other about that, too, naturally.

His personality has gotten even better since he’s joined the Fireflies, and he’s now able to explore the more sensual side of himself that he’d suppressed for years. This was a big reason that Haimah suggested they add in an ice show–to not only showcase their immense talent, but to give both Sekai and Tsozin positive outlets to express themselves. An ice show paired with the after-hours show is magical, and has become almost as popular as the after-hours water show.

Is incredibly drawn to heavy magic users. He thinks it’s a side-effect of becoming a Skydancer, but he’s not entirely sure. Gets a high/drunk effect from being around them too long. If he goes too long, there’s a strong chance he’s going to start getting naked. Oops.

Kissing him is like kissing a popsicle. His Capsule has the effect of liquid nitrogen, so every time he breathes, he breathes cold steam through his mouth and nose. If that’s your jam, you’ll definitely love the fact that his tongue is equally chilly. He’ll have you shivering in no time at all.~

Is a dominant submissive, although there are cases where he likes taking someone over entirely. Especially if they’re bigger than him. Let! Him! Climb! PEOPLE! LIKE! VINES!!

#Xem Tag #The Golden Firefly Dance Troupe #C: Sekai #:V THANK YOU I like this guy a HECK OF A LOT

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shroudingmists · 7 years ago

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/steps up to the podium, shuffles some papers

Ahem. The most sexual people in my lair, by faction:

The Clan in the Mists: Big toss-up between Erebos, Thamuz, Nemesis, and Vasilios.

The Golden Firefly Dance Troupe: How do I pick one, oh my god. AHEM. Some top (hehehehe) contenders: Shesha, Iolaus, and Narcissus.

The Emperor Elimination Task Force: Masato. (Tho’, Renshaw and Ranell are reeeeal close, too...)

The Archivists’ Legion: Azania.

The Amber Temple: Jaqen.

The Nightspear Company: Toss up between Kinbaku and Madness, possibly Timber as well.

The Paragon Foundation: Toss up between Absolem and Helsing. Although, Mephisto kinda’ wormed his way in there, as well. He’s more toy-driven, tho’. Unless he reeeally likes someone. Then, they become the toy.

Ahem. Thank you for attending this assembly.

#The Clan in the Mists #The Golden Firefly Dance Troupe #The Emperor Elimination Task Force #The Archivists' Legion #The Amber Temple #The Nightspear Company #The Paragon Foundation #:v Yayayayayaya #I just felt like doing this pfffbt

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shroudingmists · 7 years ago

Note

41. “I’ll meet you in the changing rooms.” IOLAUS

One leg folded over the other, he shifted to lean back on both palms in impish delight. Yes, I do look beautiful, the pose screamed–as it was supposed to.

The after-hours show was a rare treat, but the money and patrons it brought were well worth the wait. And the cause the funds went towards? Secret, but more noble than anyone could ever expect. Eve wiggled the half-emptied (second? Third? Hm) glass of wine between his fingers a little, and smiled widely.

Of course, he got in for free. Perks, and all.

Especially when he performed. The Imperial that he swore was part Maren, the way he shifted through water as if it were nothing…as if it were carrying him, caressing him. He was even dressed as one tonight, his very skin painted with patches of scales along his legs, up to his hips, and all across his slender torso.

He looked dangerous, like this. Dangerously beautiful, and he had the crowd panting in moments. Eve wriggled in his seat, giddy with wine and the fact that that particular person was sneaking glances at him.

When intermission hit, he knew what awaited.

The Fireflies always mingled with the crowd during these shows: a very, very special treat indeed. And all he had to do was wait, until a pair of damp arms wound around his neck.

“Hello, sweet Eve,” Iolaus hummed, breath still a bit heavy from his performance. Immediately, he nuzzled into his jaw, taking a deep breath. “Did you like it…?”

“Like it? I loved it,” Eve was hamming it up now. He could feel the eyes, and oooh, the delicious jealousy, digging daggers into the back of his head. Empty wine glass now abandoned, he swung both legs around the taller man’s hips. “You were sublime.”

Iolaus bit back a laugh, but he loved these ‘performances.’ He loved his confidence, the way his head tilted back just a little too far when he laughed. What was that word Gazsi had used? Ah…extra! But, he had to admit…

His damp hair fell across his shoulder as he buried a kiss into the Wildclaw’s neck, his little squeal of joy only spurring him to push him almost fully back onto his back. Ahhh. I love it…

“I’ll meet you in the changing rooms.”

Not so much a question, as a demand–though still, somehow, quite polite.

Iolaus bit his lip, and glanced over his shoulder. So many people were watching–some of the closest ones leaning far forward to listen.

And he was gone, hips swaying the whole way. His hand glanced Shesha’s chest as he walked by, fingertips barely brushing, so that he could raise bumps on his dark skin. Raising his head from kissing Dorian, the Guardian smiled almost serenely.

“…you two, too.”

Shesha’s purr deepened.

How far you’ve come, little minnow, Iolaus told himself, in the words of his former Flower. Now, give them what they came for.

But this time, it was his choice. All of it.

And he chose the ones he loved, every time.

#The Golden Firefly Dance Troupe #C: Iolaus #C: Shesha #Hey wassup I love this strong and wonderful boi #He's...come...so far!! HURRRRGH #And he loves!! His boys!!#So much!!

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shroudingmists · 7 years ago

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...oh, shit, I gotta’...hold up. I gotta’ do a thing, ‘cause I just gotta’.

People who are still virgins. I gotta’.

Clan in the Mists: Raxka, Cheran, Rahela, Deyanira, Nishchala, Kande, Spriggan, Marwood, Hazarmaveth, Varun, D.E.U.S

The Emperor Elimination Task Force: Murmur, Daiyu, Neviah, Nagataka

The Golden Firefly Dance Troupe: Ryann, Faust, Skanda

The Archivists’ Legion: Claymore, Switchblade, Chakram

The Amber Temple: Ezhno, Fehin, Hye

The Nightspear Company: Wolfsbane, Vex, Chaos, Drone, Timber

#The Clan in the Mists #The Emperor Elimination Task Force #The Golden Firefly Dance Troupe #The Archivists' Legion #The Amber Temple #The Nightspear Company #?? Why did I list these you ask??#I DUNNO' IT SEEMED FUN.~#HOORAY FOR LISTS??

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avalonianrising · 8 years ago

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Profile Update: Iolaus

...I got super guilty after I reblogged that post about writing lore. I HAD TO WRITE SOMETHING. So, I loafed around, procrastinated to hell, then finally decided to write out Iolaus’ profile.

A very, very pivotal character in the Golden Firefly Dance Troupe, and the Children of the Water Gardens arc. （´∀`）ｂ He’s the Fireflies’ Russian Barre and (predominantly) Russian Swing performer. (If y’all have never seen that video, let me tell you. I die. Every time. It’s just...so good. That may also be an unofficial Firefly theme song. Hurr hurr hurr.)

ANYWHO. Can read it: here!

(Obligatory @chroniclecat-fr tag!)

And...since I don’t think I ever posted his gijinka, either:

Have a cutie pie.

#The Golden Firefly Dance Troupe #Children of the Water Gardens #/does a split I love...this child...#Like I love him a -lot- okay...

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avalonianrising · 8 years ago

Photo

/opens sleeves...Fireflies fall out

I forgot...how many Fireflies I had. (I mean, I know I had a full page...but seeing them all lined up like this is...whoa.)

So, here, they are! If you were curious, breed-wise...

Ridgeback --> Imperial --> Ridgeback --> Wildclaw --> Imperial --> Imperial

Mirror --> Nocturne --> Fae --> Skydancer --> Nocturne --> Guardian

Skydancer --> Spiral --> Ridgeback --> Imperial --> Tundra --> Guardian

Imperial --> Skydancer

Fwoo.

So, there’s a couple cool notes here, like there was with the Nightspear Company!

As far as breed-changes go, there are a few who’ve canonically changed: Hakon, Kyrenia, and Skanda. Hakon changed from Mirror to Ridgeback, Kyrenia went from Ridgeback to Nocturne, and Skanda went from Guardian to Tundra. It affected their height, very much so--Kyrenia used to be much taller, Hakon used to be a hell of a lot shorter, and Skanda was almost on-par with his brother at one point, but shrunk hardcore!

Dragons like any who were a Child of the Water Garden are typically actually shorter than they’re supposed to be. They’re fed...well, not that well, to be honest. It does factor in, in this case. Some make it to their normal height, but it’s mostly right on the fence if they do. Reasons that Niamh and Rori, I believe (canonically) should be a little taller than she is. (Rori also is a survivor of an eating disorder, which messed with her system quite a bit.)

Faust is small for a Guardian for plot reasons!

Otherwise, everyone’s pretty on-course per breed standard.

(Obligatory @chroniclecat-fr tag~!)

#Golden Firefly Dance Troupe #Character Size Chart #LORD the vast majority are tol as heck...#But judging by what they do it's not surprising...#Tol beans...good beans...

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avalonianrising · 8 years ago

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Do good end and bad end for shesha?

mylongestyeahboi.vid

Shesha the Penitent - a former Gardener, the elite warriors of the Water Gardens, a secretive network of slave traders and harem masters who will stop at nothing to keep their customers pleased. Subjected to a ‘Forced Charge,’ through brainwashing, Shesha was doomed to watch his ‘Charges’, the Children of the Water Garden. subjected to horrid abuse…sometimes at the hands of those who were supposed to protect them. Any Gardener who breaks through their brainwashing to seek out their real Charge is met with swift and brutal retribution. So far, Shesha has been lucky–but the ‘son’ of the head Gardener of the largest Water Garden in the Sunbeam Ruins has not been forgotten…or forgiven.

GOOD END - The time has come, and the now beloved member of the Golden Firefly Dance Troupe (traveling dancers and entertainers with the goal of freeing every last Child from the Gardens–some of them, former Children themselves) leads them through the darkness. They strike at the heart of the Water Gardens…the very place he grew up. Though he’d try to insist his beloved True Charge stay behind, a flurry of teeth and claws await any Gardener who comes too close. He couldn’t be more proud. As it turns out, word of this raid has spread through the Children…who are tired of being someone’s property. Iolaus, a beloved friend and former lover of Shesha, has rallied all able to fight–mainly older Children such as himself, and a very rare few Gardeners who have kept their loyalties to the Children–not the Gardeners–a secret. The younger Children lock themselves tight in their rooms, and wait. The time is now, and the Gardeners (though many), have no idea what’s about to hit them. When all is said and done, the Fireflies are exhausted, but victorious–there have been casualties, but with the fall of the main Garden, the countless innocent lives saved are well worth the price. Shesha’s ‘father’ remains standing–wounded, and feral, with Shesha watching him with sad eyes. The man who raised him now curses him, and eventually, attacks…but he does not attack Shesha. His spear is pointed instead towards his Charge. The ingrained fear of a Guardian erupts inside, and something else does, as well. Shesha is able to transform into a Chimera, a form he has been unaware of his entire life, due to the careful suppression of his power by his ‘father.’ The battle does not last long…but his Charge is safe. The Children are safe…and he now knows that he is a true Guardian, worthy of his name. From that day, the Gardens begin to systematically collapse, and their name becomes only a faded memory. The Golden Firefly Dance Troupe gains countless members that day, becoming the most massive traveling dance troupe to exist–bringing warmth, love, and light, to Sornieth’s whole.

BAD END - Dorian and Eve are gone–and only a letter remains on Shesha’s desk. The Gardeners have surmised, with their countless network of spies, that these are precious people to Shesha–and that at least one is his True Charge. Shesha goes, that night, alone, to the Gardens–where Dorian awaits tied to a pole on the execution grounds. There is no sign of Eve. Even though Shesha is careful not to make himself known, he is caught easily, and tied up with him. He knows what is next. The Gardeners’ executions are normally swift–brutal, but swift. This is not the case for such a high-ranking ex-Gardener, and his very valuable Charge. For three days and nights, they suffer in the rain. Cold, wet, miserable, they are constantly teased and beaten by the Gardeners. Dorian’s head is shoved into pails of water, and held there–over, and over, and over. Shesha’s cries echo for the first day. They are weaker the second. By the third day, his voice is a hoarse whisper–barely able to call out to Dorian, whose lungs are ragged with horrid coughs. On the dawn of the fourth day, the Gardeners arrive. Dorian is first, so that Shesha is forced to watch as spear-heads plunge into his beloved Charge. His chin is forced up in rough hands, so that he cannot look away. And though Dorian heals quickly, he’s unable to withstand this for long. He begs them with all he has left, to be allowed to hold him. Strangely, his bonds are undone…his chains are cast off. He crawls, painfully, to his Charge, who now lays twitching on the ground. For one sweet, quiet moment, he is able to hold him, and stroke his hair. It will be alright, he promises. The Fireflies will be here soon…surely, they’ll be here. A spear pierces his back. Defiantly, he hunkers over his precious Charge, and whispers to him as each spear pierces him. They want to hear him cry out, but Shesha refuses, both strength and utter exhaustion spurring him to speak only to Dorian now. He kisses his forehead over, and over again. Eventually, however, his kisses become sloppy and red. Eventually, his murmuring lips go still and silent. The Gardeners laugh. Their leader turns his head in shame, and orders their bodies placed above the gates for the arrival of the Fireflies. Let them see. The Water Gardens are eternal.

#FR Inbox Games #Golden Firefly Dance Troupe #The Water Gardens #/HAND OVER HEART #I MADE MYSELF MORE SAD!!#EEEECH...

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