#thousand autumns kin

[ghostgeranium]

18+ Danmei Kincord!

For any 18+ kin/fictives from any danmei source! I.e. mdzs, svsss, tgcf, 2ha, thousand autumns, etc- I don't know them all personally but anyone with a like source is welcome!

The server includes a blacklist, pluralkit, and we're double-friendly!

[risetherivermoon]

sometimes i remember that people actually hate sparrow full heartedly and it baffles me

[i-love-tall-women-with-big-hats]

The Yanderes of the Autumn Court

(Fall has finally 'fallen' haha, and I couldn't resist writing this. I'd say this is based on fairies, but I love cosmic horror too much to not add a wee bit of it...so I named them Alterkinder or Alterkind for singular (lit just German for 'Older Children' smh 😞) because this is my bastardized version of them.

To avoid the overuse of this made up word, I also call them the Fallen, the Autumn Court, autumn fae, or the Wither. If I say 'Yandere' specifically, I'm referring to the Yandere. Though it might seem like it, not all fair folk are lovesick in this world of mine, so the yanderes are one of a kind even compared to their fellow eldritch abominations.

Enjoy this cosmic fairy shit, loves.)

Content: original worldbuilding, stalking as courtship, unintentional cannibalism, kidnapping, necrophilia, eldritch monsters and their own version of love. Took inspirations from Hades and Persephone, but besides the kidnapping scene, nothing else.

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The Autumn Court.

Once the greatest of the Alterkinder, they bear scars from wars of ages past.

Nowadays, they are merely remembered as the Fallen, the Shadows of What Was. They were left to rot in the realm of ambers and russets, where the earth is too coarse and barren to grow much of anything.

As a result, the Fallen pride themselves on being resilient, persistent even at the face of hardship and humiliation.

Which is why for you, their mortal pet, it means rejection will never be an option.

Harvest Season

As patron deities of harvests and hunts, the Fallen treat courtship the same way a hunter would a promising prey. It's all a game to some of them. Whereas we mortals have dating rituals, the Autumn Court have what they call 'the Harvesting'.

Elder Fallen will know the season is coming before it even hits them. They will feel it in the breeze flowing through their hair, feel it in the slightest drop in temperature, or in the smallest change to their physiology.

The younger, inexperienced Fallen tend to fall victim to their basest instincts.

Should you find yourself the target of a Fallen's affection, and a Yandere one at that, just know that you will have until winter to dissuade them. Before the first snowfall, they can court you without interference from any other spirits besides those from their own court, so take advantage of it.

I wouldn't get your hopes up though. You'll realize the further more you read this what I mean by 'persistent'.

Finders, Keepers

It is a tradition in the Autumn Court that a fae must brand their chosen prey to prevent any conflict.

At this point, they will not show themselves to their chosen mortal just yet. Reasons vary, but for a Yandere, it's typically because their first priority is to let all the others know that you are theirs and theirs alone. They know just how heated territorial disputes within their court can get, and they'd rather keep you out of it as much as possible.

Though this tradition was founded to prevent any two autumn fae from fighting over the same prey, it isn't always respected. If the Yandere themselves haven't disregarded the brand of their fellow kin, then they are ensuring that nobody else would do the same. Realistically, that is impossible, but some of the more powerful members of the court could absolutely decimate anyone they think covets their pet.

From death by a thousand thorns to being mauled to shreds by their most vicious familiars, but I'll speak of their cruelties later.

How a Fallen chooses to brand their Darling is up to individual preferences.

Among the Headless Riders, their favourite method is to douse their target with their blood. Their human can scrub themselves clean, but little do they know, enough of it will still linger for any fae to notice.

Some are less dramatic and opt for something simpler, like runes and insignias.

I don't know about you, but the lack of blood make it a little less romantic...but that's just my opinion.

Pumpkin Spice and Apple Pies

After they have secured their ownership, this is when the true courtship begins.

Some Elder Fallen may still remember the magic of the Old Summers. They cannot stop the inevitable march of winter, but the chill won't drop any lower than is comfortable for a while just so they could see you wearing your favourite sweaters. Anythig to prevent you from wearing too many layers.

Some could even bless your lands with fertility to ensure a plentiful harvest for the local farmers in your area, or make it drizzle everyday should they see how much you like how it sounds against your windows.

But what can a young Fallen do when he doesn't have much power or prestige to his name?

A feast.

It isn't official, but any Fallen worth their salt must show they are capable providers. The Autumn Court as a whole not only finds pride in being survivors, but in thriving where their enemies thought they will perish.

Roast meat, your favourite desserts, and fruits you cannot name will all be beautifully arranged on your table regardless of how small it is.

But never ask what the meat is from. Don't ask what these fruits are either. The apples' flesh is red, bleeding, for a reason. You wouldn't want to know why.

The feast is simply a symbol of their dedication to you. The Yandere hopes that by showing you the fruits of their labour, you will believe them when they promise that you will never feel fear or hunger ever again.

Just let them take care of you.

The Reaping

At last, fall is coming to an end, and the Fallen are beginning to feel the approach of winter. The time has come for them to choose whether or not they want to keep you.

The Reaping is the last stage, and it is perhaps the most scariest thing the Yandere can do to you during the Harvesting.

This is because for many mortals, they wouldn't even see their suitor until this stage in the Harvesting. It's not like they could have known that the owl, falcon, cat, mountain lion, and fox that they have been encountering was just their secret admirer in disguise.

And as the wise of old said: "The longer the wait, the sweeter the fruit."

Knowing this, the Yandere would certainly abstain from talking to you just to keep the Reaping special.

It would be the first time they'll hear your voice directly being spoken to them, and only them.

It would be the first they'll feel the warmth of your skin and supple flesh, take in your scent and taste.

At last, they have you all entirely to themselves.

It all seems romantic...for the Alterkind. But for you, the first meeting is nothing less than a kidnapping.

Imagine the earth shaking out of nowhere. When you thought it was only an earthquake, the ground quite literally parts in half, and a great hole forms before you. Just as you try to even make sense of it, a great black steed leaps out. Its rider--of course it has a rider. It won't be able to wear the most noblest of accruements otherwise--simply whisks you away, back to which he came from. Your screams of terror will be ignored.

Every Fallen has their own unique love story, but if there is one thing common in all of them, it is that none of the brides were willing.

Zealous Protectors

Their defeat at the hands of the Summer Court and Spring Court had heightened something that every Alterkind has: possessiveness.

For one thing, having their home realm taken from them has made them deeply paranoid. Being stripped of all their wealth and power was like rubbing salt on their wounds.

As such, the Alterkind of the Autumn Court learned to be wary of anyone who so much as look at their possessions wrong.

The average Fallen are zealous in their guardian duties. Elder Fallen especially are known for taking their vows of protection seriously. After all, the memory of what they've lost is still fresh in their mind.

So optimistically, your devoted Alterkind was born several generations after that fateful war, but don't expect much improvement.

One of the most cruelest deaths whispered within the Court came from someone even they least expected.

There was once a prince of a quiet nature. Though far from a pacifist, his temper was not as tempestuous as the winter blizzard or thunderstorms of spring. He planted thorn berries within the belly of a spring fae, nurtured it until they grew out of her bleeding mouth and tore her stomach open.

All of this because she regarded his beloved mortal for longer than what he allowed.

Possessiveness runs deep in the veins of the Alterkinder, be they of autumn, winter, spring, or summer.

But you must know, the culture of the Fallen was built from humiliation, the detritus of their golden age act as its foundation. It nurtured them to become what they are now:

Jealous.

Possessive.

Vindictive.

Like Leaves in Fall

Ironically, the court that finds virtue in change and transition have some of the most...'inflexible' members.

You might think concepts often associated with autumn like decay and inevitability would make them more accepting of death, but alas. Once in a blue moon, you will hear tragic tales exemplifying just how much lower the Fallen Kinder could fall.

The Lovesick of the Autumn Court are just that; patron spirits of rot and inevitable death, unable to accept that even something immaterial and abstract like love can be taken from them.

They themselves can decay. It isn't unheard of for an autumn kind to slowly devolve into the very thing they are masters of. Their skin dries and peels like dried bark as their joints and bones go brittle.

They can grow lonesome.

It may hold onto the rotting corpse, too broken to acknowledge the maggots infesting its sludgy flesh, and imagine movements. In desperate hope, their decayed heart will jump as they think, "They're alive! They're waking up! I don't have to be cold and alone anymore!"

But once the Kind realize they were wrong, the grieving process starts anew, and they hurt all over again.

Their entirety withers. Their thoughts and memories may drift away. Their grasp on reality becomes just as lost as fluttering leaves.

'Reality.'

Where you truly ever theirs to begin with?

.

.

.

The Fallen Fae becomes bitter. Cold.

This cold bitterness grows and grows until it turns into something all-consuming. It will destroying whatever kindle was left in their heart, making it impossible for them to feel the warmth of love or hope ever again.

And so...they hold onto their Darling. A hollow shell of what their love once was.

In the shadows of the past.

Mind scattered in the wind like fallen leaves.

.

.

.

Ivies grow here.

In this cold dungeon of old.

Hush, for you will miss it.

The crying of the Withered.

[shadowsandlint]

Long as Amber of Ember Glows; or, the Prythian Prometheus

For Eris Week day 6: Retellings

706 words. Read on Ao3.

Long had the Fire belonged to the Fae.  It was power, and it was knowledge. It was sacred.  The humans did not possess it. They struggled along in darkness, only seeing the shadowed patterns the fire cast all around them, interpreting the motifs as truth. Never knowing the true meaning of light and warmth, those shadows were their only reality.  None treasured the Fire more than the High Lord of Autumn, and he kept its burning embers close to his greedy heart. From up on his dais – fire licking at his fingertips – he scoffed at the lower beings crawling along Earth’s crust, wrinkling his nose at their barbarism.  He urged his subjects to do the same.  Occasionally he shot his flames down onto the humans, letting them devour people and homes alike, laughing scornfully at his cruel jest. Treating their lives and deaths as mere entertainment for his depraved whims, the High Lord played with the humans as if their worth was null.  He urged his subjects to do the same.  The humans, eager to please their overlords, sacrificed their livestock in an attempt to halt the ravaging flames. The High Lord devoured their offerings, but when he again grew impatient and hungry, he burned the Earth anew. Remembering their last reprieve from the flames, the humans gave more of their precious sustenance to appease the Fae, hardly leaving any for themselves. Eternally gluttonous, the High Lord filled his belly with their immolated oxen, goats and sheep.  He urged his subjects to do the same.  But the High Lord’s eldest son, Eris, saw the treatment of the humans, and shame burned willfully in his chest from the strife. The next time his vicious father feasted on their hard earned provisions, he ate so much that he fell into a deep slumber. Eris crawled up the dais to the Autumn despot’s sleeping form and stole the fire from him, before starting his descent to the human lands.  When he reached the Earth, the cunning prince distributed the flame among the humans, enlightening them with knowledge, technology and civilization. As if rousing from a vivid dream, the humans saw the world as it was, and so shaped it in their own image. Pleased with their creative power, Eris returned to his father’s seat quietly, pretending never to have left at all.  But upon waking, the High Lord found that his flames had been taken from him, and he was furious. He turned to the humans and tried to seize his fire back, but it had been split into so many parts that he could never catch them all. Vowing to destroy them for their theft, the High Lord again directed his flames towards the Earth, but Eris – who by now loved the humans as his own kin – stopped his father by admitting his guilt.   Enraged by the treachery, the High Lord punished his son by chaining him to a rock upon the highest mountain in Prythian, where every day eagles would eat his immortal liver, and every night it grew back for another day of torment. It was a never ending cycle.  The pain of the tearing beaks became so unbearable that Eris pressed himself deeper and deeper into the rock until he became indistinguishable from it. Therefore, in the course of thousands of years, his deceit was forgotten – forgotten by the Fae; forgotten by the eagles; forgotten by himself.  Only the lowly humans remembered.  They commemorated Eris by creating an altar to him in the grove of their first academy, holding a festival in his honor where they lit a torch with the Fire he gifted them, then raced it along the streets of their newly built cities. Mirroring the chains in which Eris was trapped, they adorned themselves with wreaths made from the plants they cultivated, never forgetting his sacrifice.  And so, the fire gave life, and it took it away.  Generation upon generations of humans came and passed as the Fae sat sulking upon their thrones, never quite remembering where their unhappiness stemmed from.  But the glowing embers of one crucial sacrifice continued to warm the hearts and hearths of humans, the lone figure on the rock never more than a thought or prayer away. 

Tags (not mandatory, but very appreciated!):

@erisweekofficial @talibunny30 @jules-writes-stories @mistandmemories @c-starstuff-man0 @chunkypossum

[oakthcrn]

❝ 𝑨 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑬𝑵 𝑰𝑺 𝑨 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑽𝑨𝑵𝑻 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑷𝑬𝑶𝑷𝑳𝑬, 𝑰𝑻 𝑰𝑺 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑾𝑨𝒀 ' 𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑫. ❞

An original verse set in original lore. This will be Lark's main verse. Loved and crafted by Jackie.

Humans and the fae are both children of the Elvine. The Elvine were the stewards of the star known as Hiraeth. The Fae were the first children and were made from shards of the Star Ocean.

They were taught from their conception that they would be the new stewards and the Elvine would return to the Star Ocean....

Humans were created from the terrain and forged by powerful magic and yet they could not wield magic as their elder kin could.

Together, humans and the Fae worked together to cultivate the land and over the course of eons, several kingdoms were built. The two largest were the Kingdom of Manon - the land of Autumn and the Holy Amaelian Empire, where the Holy See of Valencia governs the empire.For thousands of years, there was peace between the two nations, and they aided each other in trade and commerce. However, with the advent of a new Arch Pope, came an extremist group with anti-fae sentiments and soon people began to fear their brethren. Eventually, the Amaelian Empire stopped being friendly with their Fae neighbors all together.

Tensions grew and grew until the humans feared and hated the fae for their gifts deemed them unnatural, and became openly hostile towards anyone with Faeblood. Many fae within the Amaelian Empire fled to Manon for their safety as several witch hunts had put the Faeblooded citizens in danger. Those who didn't flee became second-class citizens and indentured servants.

There had been so much fighting between the humans and Fae, that it caught the attention of one of the Elvine. Caelus, the god of fire, the day, and the sun. He attempted to broker peace between the two nations, and at his behest, the Fae reached out to bring peace to the two nations.

The King of Manon, Mulicfer Oakthorn II arranged a meeting at the borders of their kingdoms, and with Caelus in tow, they met the Arch Pope for peace talks. However, it had been a trap. The Arch Pope brought an army with the intent of slaughtering the King of Manon, and a bloody battle ensued.

The Fae army had arrived and aided their king and Caelus to beat back the humans, and when victory was nigh, the Arch Pope summoned forbidden magic which he had gotten from the trickster god named Sike. It was such a formidable and potent magic that is caused a schism between Hiraeth and Elvine. Caelus had simply disappeared, never to be seen.

The result of using such magic was an ever-evolving curse. A blighted scourge upon the battlefield between kingdoms. This would be known in the modern day as the Forest of Umbra because from the shroud of shadow sprouted a black crooked forest that was cursed. Those who fought in the battle were lost within it, and eventually, their souls were sucked from them and leaving husks--wandering blighted people with blood lust.

King Mulifer Oakthorn II were lost to the Forest of Umbra, and his daughter took the throne and started the long line of Queendom. She created a powerful ward in which only those with faeblood could pass through.

A few hundred years later, the new Arch-pope wished to reconcile with the Kingdom of Manon, and though to the face, it was a blink of an eye compared to the incredibly long lives they lived. Queen Roselyn Oakthorn was incredulous and for a long time, she ignored the offers of peace. However, to ease the anti-fae sentiment in the Amaelian citizens, she agreed to at least speak with the Holy See.

The peace talks were long and didn't do much to sway either side, however, in the name of peace, both sides agreed that every hundred years, the Queen of Manon would take a bride or groom in exchange for a bountiful dowry in which Manon would send rare resources to Amael, and Amael would trade very rare gemstones which are important to the fae.

The arrangement was purely political and the human that married the Queen would become the Queen Consort, a fancy title that held no real power. The Queen has the power to drop the wards on a specific year, on a specific day with a specific ritual, and it isn't the whole ward, but a fraction of it. Now in the modern day, Queen Larkspur Oakthorn has reigned for hundreds of years and has held up tradition by continuing to marry humans. Never has she ever felt love for any of them, not true love, while she treats her spouse well, and they are taken care of, she has never shared a bed with any of her spouses. For her, it is purely a political alliance, and she is focused on curing the Scourge.

[feathers-little-nest]

essays on blorbos you kin? kin list drop?

Sure, why not. It feels like exposing myself as a red flag tho LMAO

Luo Binghe (both of them) from SVSSS, Hypnos from Hades, Nikolai Gogol from BSD, Wei Wuxian from MDZS, Yan Wushi from Thousand Autumns, Yato from Noragami, Liu Qingge from SVSSS, Harry du Bois from Disco Elysium, Shōya Ishida from Koe no Katachi and hmm I think that's all. They're not in any particular order

[thepaleys]

It was at Coburg during the autumn of 1891 that Mamma received news of the death of Uncle Paul's young wife. Grand Duke Paul was the youngest son of Alexander II and our mother's favourite brother. Hardly three years before he had married Alexandra of Greece, eldest daughter of King George and Queen Olga; and now "Alix", as we all called her, that sweet young wife and mother, was dead! The news came like a thunderbolt. Two Lovers, full of their young happiness, they had filled our quiet home with their Joy. A daughter had then already been born to them and it was at the birth of their second child, little Dmitri, that Alix had died. What a cruel, unnatural event. Alix was dead. Our guest so recently, that sweet, gay, happy young creature, she was no more. It was unbelievable. Could happiness be so quickly torn asunder and destroyed? Mamma decided on a hasty departure for St. Petersburg and that Ducky and I, the two eldest daughters, were to go with her. She wanted to be at the funeral, but above all she wanted to be with the brother she so dearly loved. How well I remember that funeral when young Alix was laid to rest alongside those who had gone before her. She was buried in the great church of the Peter and Paul fortress where, since Peter the Great, all the Tsars and their kith and kin had been interred. (...)

And here we were, all gathered together in this great, gloomy cathedral, to lay a young wife and mother in her untimely grave. Full of the pomp and splendour characteristic of all Russian ceremonies was that funeral. Stupendous chants rose to the vaults, echoing again from the fortress-like walls; there were thousands of lighted tapers, fumes of incense, and those thundering bass voices of the cantors which always made me hold my breath, wondering how human lungs could sustain such an effort without bursting. Clad in deepest mourning, with long black veils on their heads, stood the Empress, Grand Duchesses and Princesses, their dull black slashed by the bright ribbons of their respective orders, blue for the Empress, red for the grand duchesses, making their sombre apparel appear all the darker by contrast; and there was huge Uncle Sasha, surrounded by his enormous brothers, cousins and uncles, and as chief mourner, Uncle Paul, a little in front of the others. Frailer than his brothers, though just as tall, and marvellously slim, Uncle Paul was a different type darker and more gentle, he had soft brown eyes and the beautiful hands of his mother. In the white tunic and silver helmet of the Garde a Cheval, there was indeed something knight-like about him. I cannot remember if he wore this particular uniform at the funeral, but it was thus that I best member him, long and slim like a slender marble column, with his impressive voice and luminous eyes. A man full of human kindness and understanding, a man who always defended those who were being attacked, who was always fair towards others, a charming companion, gay and intelligent, it was not astonishing that of all her brothers Mamma loved Uncle Paul best.

I can still see him bending over the bier upon which his lovely young wife lay with crossed hands, against which leaned a small holy image we all had to kiss in turn, and with a thin white veil over her face. I remember the tears running down his cheeks and how Uncle Serge, his favourite brother, took him in his arms when he made a desperate gesture of protest when at last they laid the coffin lid over the sweet face he had loved. It was indeed a scene which made a deep impression upon the very young girls that we were then the grand setting, the flickering tapers, the flowers, the impressive chants, and above all the grief of that young husband who had to be torn away from the coffin of his bride. Tout passe.

Queen Marie of Romania - "Story of my Life"

[bookofjin]

Origin of the Western Qiang, Part 2 (HHS087)

[The history of peoples collectively known as Rong from the end of Western Zhou until the destruction of the Yiqu kingdom by Qin in 272 BC.]

During King Yi [of Zhou, r. 885 – 878 BC] there was decline and weakness, and the Wild Domain did not come to court. Therefore he instructed the Duke of Zong to lead the Six Regiments and attack the Rong of Taiyuan. He arrived at Yuquan, and captured a thousand horses.

King Yi was King Mu's grandson, his personal name was Xie

King Li [877 – 841 BC] had not the Way, and the Rong and Di robbed and plundered. They then entered Quanqiu and killed the kin of Qinzhong. The King instructed to attack the Rong, but they did not overcome.

Reaching the fourth year of King Xuan's reign [824 BC], he sent Qinzhong to attack the Rong. He was killed by the Rong. The King therefore summoned Qinzhong's son, Duke Zhuang [of Qin, r. 822 – 778 BC], and gave him 7 000 troops. He attacked the Rong and routed them, and because of that held them back a little. Twenty-seven years later [797 BC], the King dispatched troops to attack the Rong of Taiyuan, they did not overcome. Five years later [792 BC], the King attacked the Tiao Rong and the Ben Rong. The king's regiments were defeated. Two years later [790 BC], the people of Jin defeated the Northern Rong at Fenxi. The Rong people wiped out the district of the Marquis of Jiang. Next year [789 BC], the King campaigned against Shen Rong, and routed them.

Ten years later [779 BC], King You instructed Boshi to attack the Rong of Liuji. The army was defeated and Boshi died there. That year, the Rong besieged Quanqiu, and captured Duke Xiang of Qin's older brother Bofu. At the time King You was muddled and oppressive, and the Four Barbarians invaded one after the other. Thereupon he deposed the Queen Shen and installed Baosi. The Marquis of Shen was angry and together with the Rong robbed Zhou. They killed King You at Li Mountain [in 771 BC], and Zhou then moved east to Luoyi. Duke Xiang of Qin [r. 777 – 766 BC], attacked the Rong and saved Zhou. Two years later [769 BC?], the Marquis of Xing greatly routed the Northern Rong.

Reaching the end of King Ping [r. 770 – 720 BC], Zhou thereupon waned for a long time. The Rong pressured the various Xia. From Long Mountain and eastward, reaching the Yi and Luo, the Rong were present here and there. From that point, the headwaters of the Wei had the Rong of Di, Kai, Gui, and Ji. North of the Jing there were the Rong of Yiqu. In the Luo river-lands there were the Rong of Dali. South of the Wei there were the Li Rong. Between the Yi and Luo there were the Rong of Yangju and Quangao. Westward from the headwaters of the Ying there where the Rong of Manshi.

During the Spring and Autumn period, they were interspersed among the Central States, and made pacts and held assemblies with the various Xia. Duke Zhuang of Lu attacked Qin and defeated the Rong of Gui and Ji.

In the Zuo Transmittals' 18th Year of Duke Zhuang [684 BC], the Duke pursued the Rong to Jixi. In Du Yu's annotations, the Rong invaded Lu. The people of Lu did not know about, after they had left, they then pursued them. 24th Year [678 BC], the Rong invaded Cao.

About ten years later, Jin wiped out the Li Rong. At that time the Rong of Yi and Luo were strong, and to the east they invaded Cao and Lu. Nineteen years later [in 649 BC], the thereupon entered the King's city. At that point Qin and Jin attacked the Rong to save Zhou. Two years later [647 BC], they again robbed the imperial capital. Duke Huan of Qi [685 – 643 BC] summoned the various feudal lords to defend Zhou. Nine years later [638 BC], the Rong of Luhun moved from Guazhou to the Yi river-lands. The Rong of Yunxing moved to within the Wei, to the east reaching unto Huanyuan. Those located north of the Henan Mountain were called the Yin Rong. The offspring of the Yin Rong thereupon multiplied widely.

Duke Wen of Jin [r. 636 – 628 BC] wished to put in place a legacy of hegemony, and therefore rewarded the Rong and Di for opening the roads, and so succoured the royal house. Duke Mu of Qin [r. 659 – 621 BC] obtained Youyu, a man of the Rong, thereupon had hegemony over the Western Rong, enlaring his territory a thousand li.

Youyu had previously been man of Jin who absconded to enter among the Rong. The King of the Rong heard that Duke Mu was worthy, and sent Youyu to observe Qin. Duke Mu of Qin treated him with the courtesy due to a guest. Qin dispatched to the King of the Rong female musicians. Youyu admonished [the Rong King], but was not heeded. Youyu therefore surrendered to Qin and made plans for attacking the Rong.

Reaching Duke Dao Jin [572 – 558 BC], he sent Wei Jiang to make peace with the various Rong, and managed to put in place a legacy of hegemony. At that time, Chu and Jin were strong and flourishing, and awed into submission the various Rong. The Luhun, Yi, Luo, and Yin Rong served Jin, and the Manshi followed followed Chu.

Wei Jiang was a grandee of Jin. See the Zuo Transmittals' 11th Year of Duke Xiang. [562 BC]

Later the Luhun rebelled against Jin. Jin ordered Xun Wu to wipe them out. Forty-four years later, Chu seized the Manshi, and fully took their people prisoner. At that time Yiqu and Dali were extremely strong. They build several tens of cities, and both declared themselves Kings.

Xun Wu was the son of Jin's grandee Zhonghang Muzi. See the Zuo Transmittals' 1st Year of Duke Zhao. [541 BC]

Arriving at the 8th Year of King Zhen of Zhou [461 BC], Duke Li of Qin [r. 476 – 443 BC] wiped out Dali, and seized their territory. Zhao likewise wiped out the Dai Rong, which were precisely the Northern Rong. Han# and Wei then together gradually annexed the Yi, Luo, and Yin Rong, and wiped them out. Those of their remnants who escaped all fled west across the Qian and Long [Mountians]. From that point, the Central States had no Rong robbers, and there only remained the Yiqu of them.

25th Year of King Zhen [444 BC], Qin attacked Yiqu and captured their king. About a hundred years later [331 BC], Yiqu defeated the Qin regiments at Luo. Four years later [327 BC], the state of Yiqu was in chaos. King Hui of Qin dispatched the Chief of Multitudes Cao to bring troops and settle them. Yiqu thereupon became subject to Qin. Eight years later [319 BC], Qin attacked Yiqu, and took Yuzhi. Two years later [317 BC], Yiqu defeated the Qin regiments at Libo. Next year [316 BC], Qin attacked Yiqu, and took the twenty-five cities of Tujing.

Reaching King Zhao's instalment [in 306 BC], the King of Yiqu came to court in Qin. Thereupon he had intercourse with King Zhao's mother, Queen Dowager Xuan, and they begot two sons. Arriving at the 43rd Year of King Nan [of Zhou, 272 BC], Empress Dowager Xuan lured and killed the King of Yiqu at the Ganquan Palace. Following that, they raised troops and wiped them out, and first set up Longxi, Beidi, and Shang commanderies there.

The Rong originally had no lords or chiefs. At the end of the Xiahou clan and at the juncture of Shang and Zhou, some of them followed the feudal lords on campaigns and attacks and had merit. The Son of Heaven gave them feudal ranks and used them as the Vassal Domain. In the time of Spring of Autumn, the Luhun and Mangshi Rong claimed to be Counts [zi], and in the Warring States period, Dali and Yiqu claimed to be Kings. Reaching their decline and destruction, the remnants of their kind all turned back to their old customs and became chieftains.

[granny-griffin]

Never Fade author’s notes under the cut! @masterfuldoodler you wanted to see this

The title contains the theme and also a key word—so to start, here’s a list of all the times I use some variant of the word fade in Never Fade

1. Uraraka repairs Midoriya’s half-destroyed shirt and the blood that was staining it fades away. Actually, this is the only time in the fic I used the word unintentionally, but I’m sure it can be read into to fit anyway.

2. In the flashback where Bakugou and Midoriya find Kirishima, who is in the middle of dying and being reborn. The color of the scales on his old body fade away.

3. Bakugou destroys a monster—it crumbles to dust and then fades away.

4. All for One loses his power and immediately dies—he flakes apart and fades away.

5. Midoriya remembers something the dragons told him in a past life.

The following events occur in this order chronologically:

1. Izuku asks all might if he can be a hero

2. owlbear fight

3. all might appears during the night watch

However, they appear in the fic in the order 3, 1, 2. Izuku doesn’t remember scenes 1 or 2 when he’s in scene 3—so the non-chronology of the fic shows his perspective.

“Young Midoriya,” All Might said, fiddling with the hem of his robe, “I changed my mind about something—and I never got the chance to tell you.”

This is a reference to scene one—knowledge of canon should gap in what All Might’s response was when Izuku asked the question the first time.

There was originally a small error in these scenes: 1 and 2 were supposed to occur within a week of each other, but I accidentally set 1 in the spring and 2 in the autumn. It bugged me, so I went back and changed the forest description in scene 2 to make it springtime.

Bakugo’s reaction the first time he sees Izuku in the fic is a direct response to the scene with the owlbear.

Racing through Kamino, Izuku remembered the crisis that had taught him how to run. Carrying the remnant of his master’s notes and an extra life force, he had fled this barren country, stopping only when he reached green grass and a clear stream.

Now he was going the other way.

This is a callback to the very beginning:

There was something wrong with the gait of his run. Once he had lapped up leagues where grass grew only in patches and the wastes lived to kill, but now he was huffing through a perfectly ordinary woodland.

AFO actually didn’t realize that Izuku was the current OFA holder (since he thought he was Todoroki).

The first soul explained it later, once Izuku had learned to dream.

At some nebulous time in the future after Izuku unlocks the OFA dreamscape, First explains the content of this paragraph to him.

The main portion of the spell was built to summon a dead man from beyond the grave, and All for One's blood directed it towards his nearest kin.

AFO was attempting a necromancy spell—he wanted to resurrect First. This is why AFO cuts his arm—the blood is supposed to “select” First from all possible dead people.

Though they had been bursting out of him instead of running towards him, the thousands of life forces traveling through the mechanism had still powered it, would have fulfilled their master's plan, were it not for one fatal mistake.

Izuku messed with the spell—it was supposed to be powered by killing a bunch of random nearby people using the AFO life force stealing mechanic. Izuku had previously changed this to the OFA life giving mechanic which is why AFO disintegrated—the spell made him use his own (stolen) lifeforce to power it. But this change didn’t actually keep the spell from working—it just changed how it was fueled.

His brother's most recent body was not the one he had been born in.

The spell functioned—it selected a person by AFO’s blood but then resurrected them based on life force, so by a fluke it pulled Izuku instead. Izuku doesn’t know any of this.

Waking without that knowledge, Izuku could think only of the word told to him by the dragons. Giving up your life was the only sure way to get one that would never fade.

It’s something Banjo learned from Kirishima. It’s the center of the story. If you lose your life you will find it.

Iida shook his head. “I’m not one to talk—but what you did was extremely foolish. You’re lucky you didn’t die too.”

The dramatic irony here is on purpose.

Knuckles half an inch from the door frame, Izuku stopped. There was something in the placement of the stepping stones, the color of the house’s paneling, like a tree left to grow for a decade—almost familiar enough to recognize. This could be his home, but it could have been Nana’s. What if he opened the door and found someone he did not know, a descendant he never got to meet?

This is funny because the last time he knocked at a random door he was greeted by one of Nana's descendants.

Now compare this:

Drawing his pocket knife from its sheath in his boot, he dove forward onto the ground, held the blade steady with both hands just as the owlbear stepped onto its point at full speed. Shrieking, it jerked back. The knife came up with its paw, driving in deeper when it put its weight on the limb again. Izuku had just enough time to scramble to his feet, grinning at his success, before its face turned sideways to bite him. His ribcage cracked like a nut in its beak.

With this:

“Are you sure? I’ve been told that coughing up blood is a symptom of severe pneumonia.”

Izuku held his breath. That was her.

“I told you,” All Might insisted, “I am not sick—it’s because of an injury to my ribcage.”

In this AU, All Might’s injury isn’t from AFO, it’s from passing on OFA. When he gave Izuku his life force(s), he ended up with Izuku’s injury.

[chapfallenpoet]

Autumn Phoenix

Unlabelled, August 2024

Weather / Time Unknown

Dear CH.

I know you are less favourable towards that name, and I am of the same sentiment. You much prefer our Chinese name, blessed to us by our late grandfather from our father’s side.

楸凤。

An autumn phoenix, but with a twist.

You and I always loved the story of our name, especially when your grandmother told it. We were almost named as a swallow, the bird my grandfather said he would be in his next life. They added an extra wood element to my name because I needed it to balance my energy. It is a name of power, prestige and elegance. But lately I find, however, that I appreciate it for much different reasons than before.

There is a facet to the name — the cycle of rebirth. The fact that I must witness a hundred thousand deaths in order to gain fresh breath from the surface.

I am the child I was and, too, the woman I have become. That’s you. Not too long ago, you had made a firm decision that I was family; I believe it firmer still, today. No one dreams for me like you do, feeds me endless inventions of the mind like you do, plans for me tirelessly and points out the mundane beauty of everyday life like you do. You are both parent and child in one, and to be the person that I needed most, I cherish it whole.

You walk the fine line between my sleeping and restless hours, and there you are constantly, dangling my comprehension by a thread.

Debates go on in my head, on whether or not you are good for me. You cut me, scraped my knees through nightmares, and pushed me, harshly; I resented it until I saw that you meant to scare me out of harm’s way, and I think it suggests that I simply don’t understand all of you. Not yet, at least.

You are not cruel by any measure, I know that much. You tried to tell me that you were, but I know now that those words that fell carelessly from your own tongue were not your own; they were fed to you forcefully, when you had not known any better, when I had not known any better. Yet it is true, and only to yourself; you see too much, you know too much. You point out every flaw; every loud noise or heavy footstep; every micro-expression and every crease of the brow; every gesture, clothing, choice of words, vocal tone, intention, movement and implication. I hear all of your observations in one shot, and you read people as easily as lifting a pencil. That ability is intimidating, even to me, who have lived to see it for over a dozen years, knowing that I could tear myself apart with it or, worse, assume the worst of others with it.

You still keep me up from time to time, evading and running away from sleep, from food and from your friends. You needed space, yes — but why is it that when others need space, that space includes their loved ones, friends and/or family, and as for you, that circle is drawn tightly around your own two feet?

Almost paradoxical to those behaviours, you are the one to push me to go outside on a walk, to block out the world with music, to read, to draw, to be my life’s witness. You care, but not enough.

Is that not what you want to be?

To be enough?

I know you wish for a heart like your own in another body, I know you wish to receive as you give, and I know that you give as graciously as the ocean provides life. However, like the ocean, you will eventually reveal your trenches when the lines you drew recede, and those you fed, the ones who took without second thought, will run away from the depths you have always had.

Your own grandfather had sealed your fate when you received your name of his choosing; a phoenix suffices on its own. It needs no kin to be born, no family to be raised — and it needs no partner, not even near the time of death. But companions, yes, you will have a strong number. A fine multitude. A great army of them, for every step of the way.

Unlike Icarus, you do not fall to the sun. You come from it, and only those that fear not the flames will approach you with a heart of gold. So choose, my dear. Choose your baskets. Choose wisely.

Choose you.

Because now, after watching you love more people than I can remember, I know that with you my heart will be safe.

And I will choose you, even if you cannot register it yet.

For you, of you, and by you,

The Autumn Phoenix

[supermariokin]

Autumn Doopliss Stimboard

x / x / x - x / x / x - x / x / x

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ACOK: Bran III (Chapter 21)

Rickon was to his right, his mop of shaggy auburn hair grown so long that it brushed his ermine mantle. He had refused to let anyone cut it since their mother had gone.

She sat on the bed and smoothed his long, fine hair. He does have pretty hair. Lady Lysa had brushed it herself every night, and cut it when it wanted cutting. After she had fallen Robert had suffered terrible shaking fits whenever anyone came near him with a blade, so Petyr had commanded that his hair be allowed to grow. - Alayne II, AFFC

Rickon and Sweetrobin parallels fill me with dread.

+.+

Such food Bran had never seen; course after course after course, so much that he could not manage more than a bite or two of each dish. There were great joints of aurochs roasted with leeks, venison pies chunky with carrots, bacon, and mushrooms, mutton chops sauced in honey and cloves, savory duck, peppered boar, goose, skewers of pigeon and capon, beef-and-barley stew, cold fruit soup. Lord Wyman had brought twenty casks of fish from White Harbor packed in salt and seaweed; whitefish and winkles, crabs and mussels, clams, herring, cod, salmon, lobster and lampreys. There was black bread and honeycakes and oaten biscuits; there were turnips and pease and beets, beans and squash and huge red onions; there were baked apples and berry tarts and pears poached in strongwine. Wheels of white cheese were set at every table, above and below the salt, and flagons of hot spice wine and chilled autumn ale were passed up and down the tables.

Extravagance like this during war, with winter coming, is no more justifiable than when Lannisters do it.

+.+

The singer sang good songs, "Iron Lances" and "The Burning of the Ships" and "The Bear and the Maiden Fair," but only Hodor seemed to be listening. He stood beside the piper, hopping from one foot to the other.

The Burning of the Ships? Battle of the Blackwater.

The Bear and the Maiden Fair? A maid with honey in her hair, who calls for a knight, but to her horror gets a bear? She kicks and wails, but he licks her hair? Gosh, I don’t know.

Iron Lances? Are we staying with the theme of Blackwater, or is this Greyjoy?

+.+

Bran had not wanted the Freys at the high table, but the maester reminded him that they would soon be kin. Robb was to marry one of their aunts, and Arya one of their uncles. "She never will," Bran said, "not Arya,"

You’re only her sibling, how well could you really know her?

+.+

He sent sweets to Hodor and Old Nan as well, for no reason but he loved them.

+.+

He watched them as from a distance, as if he still sat in the window of his bedchamber, looking down on the yard below, seeing everything yet a part of nothing.    

Bran can see everything, but can’t engage.

+.+

Bran watched Farlen make his red bitch beg for bones and smiled at Old Nan plucking at the crust of a hot pie with wrinkled fingers.

What is this? Is this something?

+.+

Alebelly led two new guests into the feast. "The Lady Meera of House Reed," the rotund guardsman bellowed over the clamor. "With her brother, Jojen, of Greywater Watch."

The Lady Meera has top billing over the heir to Greywater Watch.

I smell future!

+.+

Her brother was several years younger and bore no weapons. All his garb was green, even to the leather of his boots, and when he came closer Bran saw that his eyes were the color of moss

Like a GREENseer?

Where else are you going to find literary analysis as good as this?

+.+

"My lords of Stark," the girl said. "The years have passed in their hundreds and their thousands since my folk first swore their fealty to the King in the North. My lord father has sent us here to say the words again, for all our people."    

Okay but why is Howland Reed sending his children to go chill with Bran indefinitely? Why is Howland Reed not participating in the war? Does Howland Reed know things? Can Howland Reed see things? Give us Howland Reed!

Theon was about to tell him what he ought to do with his wet nurse's fable when Maester Luwin spoke up. "The histories say the crannogmen grew close to the children of the forest in the days when the greenseers tried to bring the hammer of the waters down upon the Neck. It may be that they have secret knowledge." - Theon IV, ACOK   

+.+

"To Winterfell we pledge the faith of Greywater," they said together. "Hearth and heart and harvest we yield up to you, my lord. Our swords and spears and arrows are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help to our helpless, and justice to all, and we shall never fail you."

"I swear it by earth and water," said the boy in green.

"I swear it by bronze and iron," his sister said.

"We swear it by ice and fire," they finished together.

Sounds like something you might say after you agree to a pact.

+.+

The girl caught him staring at her and smiled. Bran blushed and looked away.   

+.+

When the singer reached the part in "The Night That Ended" where the Night's Watch rode forth to meet the Others in the Battle for the Dawn, he blew a blast that set all the dogs to barking.    

He lost me with that last part.

+.+

They went out the rear rather than walk the length of the hall, Bran ducking his head as they passed through the lord's door.

We get it, George.

+.+

In the dim-lit gallery outside the Great Hall, they came upon Joseth the master of horse engaged in a different sort of riding. He had some woman Bran did not know shoved up against the wall, her skirts around her waist.

Amazed this didn’t trigger his post-traumatic stress disorder.

+.+

"The finest knight I ever saw was Ser Arthur Dayne, who fought with a blade called Dawn, forged from the heart of a fallen star. They called him the Sword of the Morning, and he would have killed me but for Howland Reed." Father had gotten sad then, and he would say no more. Bran wished he had asked him what he meant.

I’m sure you’ll find out.

+.+

"They will be bigger still before they are grown," the young male said, watching them with eyes large, green, and unafraid. "The black one is full of fear and rage, but the grey is strong . . . stronger than he knows . . . can you feel him, sister?"    

"No," she said, moving a hand to the hilt of the long brown knife she wore. "Go careful, Jojen."         

"He won't hurt me. This is not the day I die."

Guys, I’m so happy the Reeds are here! 🥰

Final thoughts:

Has anyone ever noticed there’s a lot of sex in Bran’s chapters? Contemplating sex, talking about sex, witnessing sex...

Imagine that creepy scene on the show wasn’t a stretch, and Bran spies on one or two of his siblings?

-> return to menu <-

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Monstrous Secrets Chapter 1

Eris Vanserra x reader

Word Count: 1161

Summary: You’re Illyrian, and that’s quite the odd sight to see down in Spring. Then you run into someone you’d learned from stories to avoid. And then something weird happens.

Note: Yeah, this was a cursed idea that popped in my head after reading ACOMAF about my man Eris (who is lowkey one of my fave characters). Might not be super accurate to the world since I was just kinda running with the idea, but I’ve read all the books so . . . whatever. Also there’s no set length like some of my others; it’s just gonna run until it’s done. Hope you enjoy!

You weren’t even supposed to be here. As an Illyrian woman, you were there to serve the males of your camp. The fact that you’d been allowed to keep your wings was a shock that was only even brought about by the Night Court’s Lady being your somewhat-removed aunt. The ensuing job within the Hewn City’s walls--just cleaning and cooking, and there were times when you wondered if it was really any better than where you would have ended up otherwise--wasn’t as revolutionary since you also played spy and reported whatever whispers seemed important to the High Lord in a monthly letter. That very High Lord bringing you to serve--spy--at some ball held over in Spring, though, was almost as surprising as the whole situation with your wings. Later, you came to realize that you were meant to be some sort of exotic spectacle.

Either way, you were to pose as Rhysand’s personal attendant (for the other males to gawk at to a degree) while taking careful note of the goings on and servant gossip to aid Azriel later. Your however-distantly-related cousin liked having you close, fortunately. You and Rhysand had always gotten along famously even if you didn’t see each other very often; plus whenever he was around you didn’t have to deal with Mor’s asshole of a father. You’d never liked that man, but the current mess with Autumn . . . The engagement that Mor was desperately trying to escape . . . It left a bad taste in all of your mouths. Needless to say you hated the man for putting her through that.

~

It was when you were taking a breather from the party (leaning against the wall in an unoccupied hall you’d managed to find) that you first met him.

“Not often that we see one of your kind this far South,” a male voice said from some distance away.

Instinctively, your body straightened to full attention as you turned to face him. He was beautiful--a common thing among High Fae, but still--skin just lightly tanned from some activity or another under the sun, fine features and clothes, and deep red hair tied messily atop his head. “You say that like Azriel doesn’t regularly travel these parts.” Should you be challenging him like that? No, definitely not, but then again you spent too much time in the uncivilized depths of the Hewn City to really know how to bite your tongue.

A flush colored your cheeks when the smirk tugged at his.

“But you’re right, my lord, my kind don’t normally venture far from the mountains,” you ducked your head sheepishly, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t punish you for your foolish words. It was clear from his hair alone that he was kin to the High Lord of Autumn, so he’d be well within his rights to have you flogged at minimum.

“My name is Eris, and I’m no lord.” Something flashed in his amber eyes when you glanced up. “Not yet, anyway. But I suspect you already knew that.”

You hadn’t. Beyond a basic description that could have easily been of one of his brothers, you’d heard little about this man, Mor’s betrothed. Finally, your eyes trailed back up to his more confidently. That wasn’t the tone of someone who’d been angered. Again, you probably shouldn’t have done this, but unlike last time you didn’t feel like you could help it. It was almost like something was pulling your gaze upwards. Those eyes were the most unusual golden color you’d ever seen, your mind mused distantly. And that was all you had time to notice before something thrummed through your head.

Eris seemed to experience the same feeling based on the way those beautiful eyes widened like the serving platter you’d carried earlier and the way his jaw fell open slightly. “No . . .” he breathed, horror dawning in his voice. 

“What--”

“Say nothing,” he ordered. Gone was the warmth you hadn’t noticed in his tone until it was missing. Out of habit, you obeyed, so he continued seemingly to himself, “We shouldn’t be seen together . . . Then again no one would think twice about sneaking around with a servant, but someone might remember our faces and fuck us over down the road . . .” His gaze was wild as he fully returned his attention to you. “Tell no one of this, for your own sake,” he implored. “I do not care about why you are truly here,” you almost gasped at the implication that he knew you were spying, “but do not report this to your master.”

You blinked rapidly, dimly aware of the way your wings were tucked tightly to your back because of your fear. “What are you talking about?” you managed to mutter past the anxiety.

His face scrunched in frustration, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose the same way you’d seen Rhysand do a thousand times when Cassian was being particularly stupid. “We have things we need to discuss . . . privately. Will you be able to leave your room tonight?”

“Why--”

“Yes or no?”

“Y-Yes!” you spluttered. “They don’t lock me--”

“Good. There is a clearing in the woods just south of here; you should be able to see it from the sky. You can fly, correct?”

You nodded.

“Meet me there at midnight.” And without another word, he strode off, leaving you standing there confused in his wake.

~

Really, you shouldn’t have been surprised when you entered your tiny guest quarters only to be immediately greeted by the sight of Azriel appearing out of a particularly shadowy corner, but it still sent your heart into a racing rhythm. You’d hoped you would have more time to decide what to do; to tell him about that strange encounter or to keep quiet about that whole thing. Apparently that hope was for naught.

“Anything to report?” he prompted, as quiet as ever. You had no idea how to read his face; you had no idea if he already knew anything.

It took all of your self-control not to nervously twitch your wings. “Nonsensical gossip, mostly,” you stated, voice surprisingly steady. “Nothing particularly useful yet . . .” You hesitated. “Eris . . .”

The spymaster’s already attentive gaze seemed to sharpen. “What about him?”

“He was acting strange.”

“How so? Did he give any indication about his intentions with Mor?”

You shook your head. “No, nothing specific. I ran into him in the hall. Something about the whole encounter was odd; I plan on looking more into it.” There. That should be vague enough that you’ll be allowed to investigate without implicating that your interaction was more than just odd. There was still that strange feeling you hadn’t figured out yet, and it was still scratching at the back of your mind like it wanted you to go somewhere.

“Good,” Azriel was saying. “If he’s having second thoughts, we might be able to free her from this whole scheme.”

“I’m on it,” you announced with no small amount of worry and feigned self-confidence.

[rachaelmayo]

First, a bit of inspiration: The two fish images are of Inimicus didactylus, the "Devil Stinger" of Australia (naturally). This species' fins influenced the wing designs of the dragons.

The dragons are of the Shadowgorge Series.

The first was done as a winning Halloween-themed contest entry on DeviantArt many years ago. But I couldn't leave that wing design alone. So... more, more, MORE! ...With some variations on the color palette over the next three warm-colored dragons.

But what would this species look like in a cool-color palette? Must try it out! Yes! So Shadowgorge 5 has me off and running with a completely different color theme, while still in keeping with the overall style and pattern of the dragons.

These all are comprised of Prismacolor pencil over a watercolor (or thinned acrylic/ink) base. Shadowgorge 2 has small pebbles of petrified wood and some goldstone accents.

For the first dragon, I wrote a little story:

<STORY>

The harvest moons shine brightly on a crisp, cool night, and when the people look up, they yell out and point with joy and wonder, for the Dragon King is passing overhead. His vast wingspan could touch the tops of the mountains on either side of the people's valley. His breath purled forth in the gold, orange, and scarlet of autumn leaves when he fought in defense of the people of the valley.

When the King deigned to land on the miles-wide beach before the cool ocean, the people of the valley brought him offerings of warm apple cider in huge kegs, and a dozen sacks-full of fresh cinnamon. They burnt great piles of fallen forest leaves for the King's delight. He inhaled the aroma of his favored season and bestowed his smile upon the people of the valley.

While the people were not his kin or kind, they were good people who respected the Dragon King. They sang songs for him, and he, in turn, sang of the wisdom of his ten thousand years. The people of the valley and the Dragon King sang of Life, and of its waning in this, the cooling of the year.

O People, don't be alarmed by this fellow's ferocious appearance or his dark-seeming name. Shadowgorge was a deadly and monstrous beast at one time, but like most of us monsters, he grew up and became a respected protector of his civilization.

</STORY>

[autumn-magnolia]

FFXIVWrite 2022 - Day 12

For the FFXIVWrite 2022 Challenge. For more information, click here!

Prompt | Miss the boat Warnings | None Pairings | None Notes | intentional lower caps. I tried a thing.

sitting in limsa lominsa's bustling aetheryte plaza, autumn sometimes dreams of what ifs.

what if he never left home? he could have been a dreamweaver, teller of stories and record keeper of his clan's long and mysterious history. settling his kin around the fire, enchanting the younger kits with fantastical heroic deeds and reminding the elder of what used to be.

what if he were just another run of the mill adventurer? wandering around with nothing but the clothes on his back, his trusty bow by his side (no need to pick up an axe if he had no one to save). taking on whatever leve he fancied (or that his no name status had access to), following the winds to find his next fortune and camping under the endless stars.

(granted, autumn still does this, just with trusted companions at his side to share the warmth)

what if he hadn't been the blessed champion of light? no higher power guiding his fate, no one to tell him that he was mankind's last and only hope, and perhaps... maybe those he loved wouldn't have to die.

(fate is inevitable, he remembers bitterly, as the song of despair echoes quietly in the back of mind)

what if... he wasn't a shard of the traveller. 

here his mind grinds to a halt. unwilling, or perhaps unable, to imagine what his life would mean without the gifts, without the promises of a reunion fifteen thousand years in the making and yet still unfulfilled-

stop. a voice murmurs, soft like the breeze that caresses his cheeks. the ship has long since sailed. don't leave your heart on the shore.

a shadow falls upon him, and autumn cracks one amber eye open to see the smiling face of his beloved.

"Sorry I'm late, my Sun. Shall we go?"

[snorpington-fizzlebean]

❤️💔👕🔮?

This is going to get long.

❤️ - What's your favorite memory from this kin?

Snorpy: There's a lot of really good ones. Explaining my theories to Lizbert and feeling the kind of rush you can only feel when you're finally talking about something you've kept close to your chest for years and being heard and understood. Chandlo helping brush and trim my mane and fur (as I had a lot of both). Leaning against Chandlo in the hot tub we built by the cabin, under the stars, the air freezing but him and the water warm. Helping build Snaxburg with him, keeping everyone organised and making sure they kept to our plans. Finally kissing him - REALLY kissing him and being able to really, really mean it - after we reached the mainland. Snaktooth: Memories get tricky when you live for thousands of years, you're mostly sessile and your consciousness is formed from uncountable accumulated minds. I think the best thing was just an every day, all the time thing - the warmth and security of being so many, feeling so together and unassailable, especially after a big meal. Every time a new one joined us it felt beautiful. An ecstatic relief.

💔 - What's your least favorite memory from this kin?

Snorpy: This one. Given I had to flesh out and embellish a few things to make it into a functional fic, and that we've learned a little more about Snorpy's past from the devs since I wrote it, it's a little outdated and definitely not precise. Maybe it's dead wrong, and I've misremembered or the like. We'll have to see. Dishonourable mention: Narrowly stopping my sibling from dying. That was terrifying, and honestly worse than the attack on Snaxburg - at least then I felt like I was really helping, and there was so much adrenaline in my system given I was finally getting to defend against a real threat that it was sort of exciting...

Snaktooth: Learning about consequences the hard way after consuming a whole civilisation for the first time and realising there would be no more grumpuses to observe, interact with or eat until more moved in. Runner up goes to losing Lizbert's crew - it's terrible to sink so much time and so many resources into something only to have it slip away from you through no fault of your own.

👕 - What sort of clothing do you associate with this kin?

Snorpy: Stuff that's sturdy, comfortable and built to last as well as for working in. Simple t-shirts, flannel shirts, overalls, chunky sweaters, denim jeans and leather, mostly in autumnal colours. Big, sturdy boots - not exactly applicable to when I was a grumpus, but the feeling is there.

Snaktooth: Fruit and botanical prints. Lots of layers - petticoats, chunky shawls and ponchos, anything that makes me feel big. Either pretty and pastel enough to eat, or in regal earth tones. Eye and food motifs, naturally. Ultimately, though - whatever the person or people I'm planning to meet wants to see most, and whatever will garner attention.

🔮 - Have you ever predicted something about your source material before it happened based on kin feelings?

Many of these were confirmed by word of god in the official YH Discord - I can provide screenshots if you’re curious.

Gramble making Chandlo's hat

Snorpy working with radios before he was blacklisted

The island being notably more intelligent than the smaller bugsnax, as it’s technically the largest bugsnak

Grumpuses having pawpads

The journalist having an overbite

I think there’s more, but that’s all I can recall right now.