#because I worry since the tags for the Archivists aren't like

[ask-thearchivists]

Hi Charmer! :] I realize the main reason why you're probably showing off your fangs so much is because you're angry/irratated/upset but. Good lord. My goodness. (This is a compliment btw)

The Charmer: Oh, you like my fangs mortal? Lucky for you I am happy to indulge~

The Curator: Gag.

[grismavessel]

Well I just discovered you after finding your post in the Submas tag, and I like your Au! So i'll toss in some random writing/drawing idea/prompt. "A normal hour-to-hour day in Gris' life. "(Things like what they eat/drink, how they spend their day, what thoughts would they usually have at certain hours of the day. Basically an excuse to write about the mundane things that aren't often requested/thought about. )

(Oh this sounds cool! I think I’d have an easier time writing this than drawing it out. This would center around Gris and the Vessel AU)

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In the mornings Gris would wake up at the crack of dawn. Not because they wanted an early start to the day, but because their pokemon were already awake and rowdy. Dragging their corpse out of bed, Gris would get up and fix their pokemon team some breakfast. Usually a mix of berries, some fruit, and sometimes leftovers. Living in the past meant Gris had to learn how to cook for both them and their pokemon.

They’d daydream about the powers of indoor plumbing, lattes, malasadas, and wifi, glad that their phone, or their Arc-Phone now, still kept the pirated shows and songs on the device, at the very least able to enjoy some panic at the disco in the morning.

Getting ready for another day of surveys and running around the wilderness, Gris runs off with Laventon to the different parts of the region. When they have time, they’ll sit down and write in a personal journal.

Since getting dumped into the ocean by Arceus, Gris’s had some trouble coping with the fact that for some reason a Legendary chose them to aid in catching all pokemon, and in acting as a ‘vessel’, whatever that meant.

In the mean time, Gris wanted to keep record of their life and journey in the region. Mainly as a way to be able to have some communication between the past and present.

They’d get quiet, wondering how worried their father was, hoping that the man would find this journal some day in a museum or archivist room and see that Gris was doing just fine. They were happy, happier than they’ve ever been in the present.

After a full day of research they’d head back to Jubilife. If they were deadbeat tired, it was straight to the wallflower for food. If not, the training grounds called to them. Everyone who sparred there was eager to go up against The Hero of Hisui, the little cadets wanting a chance at victory, the older ones knowing they’d get wiped the minute Gris pulled out their Decidueyes.

But Gris wasn’t just drawn to the training grounds for the battles. Ingo was there as well. After quelling the nobles, the amnesiac man had set up a battle facility, arranging battles between the more notable people of the region.

Gris wasn’t sure why, but they had a hunch that Ingo was someone just like them. Thrown back in time for some task. If only he could remember his past than maybe that was the answer, in the mean time Gris could only guess as to why and how he got here.

Surprisingly the two became quite close. Gris able to make the stoic man laugh, maybe even crack that frown of his with a smile.

At the wallflower they’d eat with Rei and Akari, the siblings having grown on the punk. It left Gris wondering if this is what it felt like to be an older brother, fighting and looking after the two as if they were blood related. It reminded them of home. Plumeria and the grunts she took in coming over for dinner, chatting and joking around. Gris would sigh, hoping they were doing well.

If they had the energy, they’d stay out a little later than usual, sitting in front of their quarters and gazing up at the sky full of stars. Their eyes trained on the constellations of Solgaleo and Lunala, the closest they’d get to seeing home. In these moments, sitting alone in the quiet dark of the village, they could hear that booming radiant voice in the back of their skull, repeating the decree.

Why had they been chosen of all people to be flung back in time? There’s more qualified people out there. Other champions, Hau, even their father might’ve been a better pick. Often Gris wondered what the exact purpose was, to live in these wild lands. They were gifted a second chance, a new place to start over and an excuse to run from their past and their mistakes. But why?

Why did Ingo get thrown back in time? Why did the nobles still struggle with the glided heavenly light from the rifts?

Why did they feel a dark, looming presence inside their soul.

Gris would shake these doubts out of their head, going to turn in for the night, but their dreams would be filled with doubt and questions all the same.