ofautumn

[ofautumn]

tag: @oframen​  location: Adenson Concert Hall, Piltover

Perhaps some day he would realize his deepest desire was to feel wanted, but it wasn’t happening yet as he sized himself up in the floor-length mirror before him. Even from here, he could still hear the roar of the crowds begging him to come back for an encore they wouldn’t get because they wanted Spencer Salem: Siren of Piltover. They wanted more- they always wanted more. More than he could ever actually give, and yet he could never stop himself from promising to. 

His eyes always looked so melancholy- bother, really. The exposed skin of his torso glistened with golden glitter and sweat, and his cheeks were flushed from the final act. He didn’t even do cardio during performance season because what he did on that stage every night made laps in the park seem a bit... dull. 

He wanted so much, all the time, disappearing behind a little white line and refocusing on himself to watch his eyes go hollow. Better, he thought, slapping himself in the cheek. Better already. 

“Car’s waiting in lot C,” his assistant called. He didn’t break eye contact with himself long enough to regard her, wiped the corner of his mouth.

“Waiting on my security,” he said. She looked confused, eyes flitting to the three very large, very capable guards stationed at the only exit. The crescent moon tattoo on his right cheekbone glinted with golden light briefly, and he realized how, if it weren’t for the contrasting sun tattoo and the laugh lines, his eyes could have been exact copies of his mother’s. Controversial subject with a lot of layers he had absolutely no interest in dissecting at present time, his mother. Tried not to think about her at any cost, if he was being honest.

As if on cue, Leo ducked through the curtain, breezing past the three guards almost as easily as if he hadn’t noticed they were there. Spencer raised an eyebrow at his assistant.

“Fucking finally,” he said, throwing an arm around Leo’s neck as they walked, “I wanna get drunk tonight.”

[ofautumn]

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[ofautumn]

[ofautumn]

freya​:

If there was one thing that Freya could consider herself a master at, putting her emotions aside was definitely a contender. Just like her father, she was as quick to anger as she was to calm down. Her mother used to joke that the girl was going to end up breaking the Garrison family tradition by becoming a water type master one day, with the way her feelings would rise and fall so sporadically.

Then she’d smile that charming smile of hers, pinching Freya’s cheek until it stung. Childhood trauma through rose colored glasses. “I’m only teasing, love. There’s nothing about you that isn’t just like your father.” The air in the room always seemed to get thinner in those moments, standing in the shadow of Thistle Hill’s very own gym leader. None other than Fenrir Garrison II.

The Wyvern King.

Even if she accepted her role as the heir to her father’s legacy, she had always harbored a quiet discontentment with her decision not to follow her brother on his travels. All she knew was Thistle Hill, and the incredible mythos of dragon type pokemon, guarded and idolized by her ancestors for millennia. If she was being honest, they scared her. Always so loud, and wielding such terrible power.

Her father knew she was frightened, and in his defense, he at least tried to meet her halfway. Applin wasn’t the worst starter to have, but even from the first day the two were introduced, they had never gotten along. “Is it… sick? Why’s it green?” It shook in her hands, hissing to make sure that Freya knew it was offended. Turns out it was shiny, and it had been raised perfectly for her.

Unfortunately, it was even more timid than she had been. Her first battle, the little firecracker had quickly lost its fighting spirit, opting to hide behind her leg. It never listened to her, and as much as she wanted there to be a connection, their bond always fell flat. It just didn’t click. Which she had tried to explain to her father, finally trying to work up the nerve to confront the inevitable.

Freya didn’t want to be a dragon type trainer.

Of course, he took it as poorly as could be imagined, and Freya was quick to go searching for a distraction from the tension that followed. Her brother was supposed to be coming home for the holidays, and when she finally spotted him through the bay windows, she wasted no time running out of the house to greet him. “Hey, stranger! Didn’t you see the no trespassing sign?”

She grabbed his bag from him, punching his shoulder for good measure.

“Come on, let’s get you inside. Mom’s been about to combust all day.”

… Dad, too.

He’d prepared to be annoyed by whatever was waiting on the other end of the swinging wrought iron gate- his mom waiting to complain that he needed a haircut, his dad waiting for help tilling the sand pit at the gym, but his eyes lit up pleasantly as he saw them reflected back at him in his twin sister. The two of them were nearly identical now, sure, but as children they had been nearly indistinguishable. Which was crazy because, fun fact: boy/girl twins can’t actually be identical. Their parents used to talk about it all the time, about how they even sometimes spoke with such similar cadence and walked so similarly that the neighbors thought they were lying about having two children. 

Then, as they grew up, Fen’s eyes grew lidded with melancholy and fixed on the dreamy sky full of stars above him, and Freya’s eyes began to betray her innocence so she couldn’t make eye contact when she lied. Not that she often seemed to need to, of course. But when she did, he caught her every single time. It was the gift of being a twin- or the burden, depending on whose turn to be analyzed it was. She was keeping something from him, and had been for quite some time. He could feel it. Even now as she took over carrying his bag and led him inside, there was a moment where he felt it. A something she wanted to say but didn’t. He wanted to know, of course, but he wouldn’t ask because he was sure he’d be the first person to know when she was ready. But still. Patience was considered a virtue for a reason, he supposed.

“Yay!” he called in mock excitement. 

The hall echoed as the doors closed behind them. The inside was cathedral-like, which, in his mother’s words, made it open and spacious, but in reality it was just a lot more space to feel alone in. Each footstep clicked against the marble and he squinted down at Ralts just in time to see her sigh.

“Don’t-”

Before he could say anything else, he felt himself being lifted into the air with his sister by Ralts’ telekinetic powers. Another fun new development as of late is that she absolutely hated clicking noises. He’d found out at the expense of his computer mouse about a week ago, and had learned that fighting only made him look like an idiot who didn’t know how to swim. He huffed in disappointment, folded his arms over his chest in defeat, and let Ralts lead the way.

“No use in fighting her,” he grumbled, “Trust me.”

[ofautumn]

tag: @ofmoths​ setting: Garrison Manor, Hoenn Region

From an outsider’s perspective, he could see the appeal in Garrison Manor. It was huge- surrounded on all sides by crawling vines plump with grapes, lined with fruit trees and a crystalline pond full of goldeen and magikarp. And the house itself was expansive and expensive and demanded attention from all who basked in its very, very bright light. It was a beacon to the rest of Thistle Hill, the middle-of-nowhere town north of Petalberg that his parents called home. 

To him, it was a lot of steep expectations growing up, which he had made a lifetime of skirting around or doing on his own terms. His mother was a retired world-famous coordinator and his father was the revered gym leader of Thistle Hill, and he guessed his sister had been training day and night to take over for him some day. 

As for Fen? He had a box full of ribbons and a single trophy collecting dust in his room, and that was it. That was what he had to show for all of his hard work. Well, that and Ralts. She’d been levitating more than walking those days- a sure sign, according to his mother, that she would evolve soon. He smiled down at her and she whirled around in a circle. She hated coming home just as much as he did-- he wasn’t the only one with some steep parental expectations.

“We are going to be fine,” he said aloud, though he wasn’t sure if it was for Ralts to hear or himself. Before he could figure out an answer, he heard the sound of the gate’s locking mechanism click, and then it swung open on its hingers.

“Home sweet home,” he grumbled.

[ofautumn]

Ferrolorn 

The southern fifth of Terres is called Ferrolorn and it is ethereal: emerald foothills that roll on and on for miles, marching through the verdant forests and fertile orchards and fields of fresh flowers before plunging into the mossy forgotten waters of the boglands at their southernmost tip. The great castle Highgarden, the ancient seat of the Gresham lords and the lingering bloodline of the ancient Garden kings before them, is said to be built into the largest of the hills. It is stunningly beautiful and many who’ve had the pleasure of walking the hedge labyrinth or the sprawling gardens, or who have taken tea on the sunset terrace and smelled the rose-water steam from the royal springs have said its beauty is unmatched. The strange and untraditional build of their castle speaks volumes for the royal family dwelling within. The castle’s build does have some practical reason for existing, of course: it is one of the few defensive measures house Gresham has taken against enemy invaders, due to its long-standing peace with all the other great houses. It is only seen- and therefore only approachable- from one direction: its front, right where the main gates and the entire Green Guard await.

The people of Ferrolorn are mostly free men, farmers who work and receive wages and land in exchange for the taxes which have made the noble stags of house Gresham so fabulously wealthy. The Green Guard, while comparatively small and mostly made up of loyalist volunteers, is worthy of respect and has been called on by Greater Terres many times through the ages. The people of Ferrolorn, while preferring peace, are fiercely devoted to protecting it and its rulers. even if they have to ruin some alliances to get what they want most in the world at this moment: Augustus Gresham on the throne of Terres.

Especially now that Dead Fall seems to be back and stronger than it has been in the last century. Dead Fall, more commonly referred to simply as the Fall, is a strange phenomena in which organic life- crops and wildlife alike- seem to enter a permanent state of decay without ever fully dying. The tell-tale sign, as its derivative name might suggest, is when crops seem to wither into an autumnal-like state. While the plants never fully die, they are also no longer capable of growing healthy enough to yield product. No product means no food and no money. It has been mostly contained since the great Autumn Famine occurred well over a century ago, with only quickly-quelled cases popping up randomly over time, but the harvest season is struggling to continue even now, with several weeks of harvest still necessary for most people to make end’s meet. Citizens are beginning to become fearful of what their futures might hold if their hero doesn’t win the throne.

[ofautumn]

The news that the world was about to change forever arrived as news always did: scrawled on parchment, rolled up and sealed with wax, and strapped to the leg of a carrier crow. The entire nation of Terres has been in upheaval since the death of Rudolphus Renaux, the last living heir of the kingdom’s most powerful family and the final ruler of a centuries-long dynasty. What comes next? The citizens of the various inner kingdoms wondered, Will the northern armies take over? Will the eastern philosophers appoint someone? Will the south use their previous connections to their advantage? Will the west threaten to cut off trade in our time of need? The conspiracy had been building for weeks by the time the interim high council sent out their answers. And today is the day that they arrived.

Each of the heirs has received identical correspondence from the centermost, formerly in charge kingdom, Greater Terres. Its purpose is to both notify and invite the receiver to a competition. A tournament of sorts, wherein the heirs compete in various tasks against one another. Each of the heirs has always known they would one day rule, but one of them will rule more than they could’ve ever imagined.

[ofautumn]

“So why can’t someone else do it? Doesn’t anyone else have some abandoned farm you can use?”

It was late- late enough that it’d probably be better to start calling it ‘early’ again, and Billy Bigby had decided today might possibly be one of the worst to ever exist. He didn’t bother to hide his disdain as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his shoulder against the cold cement wall of the abandoned warehouse he stood in. In this light, the man he was talking to looked kind of... pathetic. Old. Killable. All vampires looked that way eventually, he guessed, when they remained idle for as long as the elders do. It was never, ever a good thing to get a visit from an elder. Usually, it meant some idiot was making themselves too known. Rarely, it meant someone new was joining their ranks. But it was never a good thing.

This elder in particular rolled his eyes, seemingly amused by Billy’s question.

“I think we both know why.”

He had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He knew exactly why.

“It’ll be good for you to visit home, no? How long has it been?”

Billy hadn’t considered Stardew Valley home since before he went by Billy, and he’d been going by Billy since... ‘54? ‘55? Whenever it was that Elvis Presley released his first record.

“Not long enough.”

The elder offered a heart chuckle, a carefully placed hand on Billy’s shoulder.

“Do this right and the council might just... overlook... the past.”

It was a promise Billy knew better than to take seriously, but as much of a pipe dream as it was, it was his only hope, so he clutched to the words as the elder said them. For the potential of being free of his past, even if it was only a snowball’s chance in hell, he might have done anything.

“What would I have to do?”

“Moderate. Make sure no one’s doing anything stupid. Report anything suspicious. Same thing law-abiding vampires like yourself always do, just, you know, at the farm.”

He considered this, and when he didn’t immediately reply, the elder carried on.

“Live your life, fucking hell kid. You have forever to mope around in dumps like this. Make it what it can be, who knows?”

When the elder held out his old, leathery hand for Billy to shake, he begrudgingly accepted as if he’d ever had a choice in the first place.

He was going to miss the city, that was for sure.

“Deal,” he said.

[ofautumn]

Name: William 'Billy' Bigby Birthday: 14th October, 1908 Hometown: Stardew Valley

Billy, though new to the people within it, is far from new to Stardew Valley. To anyone who’d ask, he has just arrived in town to take over a distant relative’s farm. The truth? Well, you’ll have to get to know him better than that if you want to find out!