#townsfolk trio

[gilfhunter069]

💫That's Life!

[axes2-axes]

Ugh

Yes Byron, You are stupid

[townsfolk-triad]

Oh?

Oh???

"What a pleasant surprise seeing you here, R-T!

What a warm welcome too... Of course, you needn't worry about what I do! It's not like I was trying to elude you. Trust me! ♡

Byron on the other hand... hee hee! Just kidding."

[joelsrose]

Guns & Roses

next chapter

Summary: New series! Joel Miller couldn’t stand you, and you weren’t exactly fond of him either. Yet somehow, fate seemed determined to weave your lives together, no matter how much you resisted.

TW: just mean!joelmiller - 4.8k words eee enjoyyy

Chapter One

You and Joel Miller were not friends. Not at all.

Ever since Joel Miller had entered Jackson, there had been something—something you couldn’t quite name���that kept him at arm’s length from you. It wasn’t just indifference or distance; it was as though every time you were near, it set off an invisible alarm in him, a deep, simmering irritation that crackled in the air between you.

You didn’t understand it.

It felt personal in a way that made no sense, as if just being around him was enough to make him want to leave the room.

And you had no idea why.

Sure, Joel was a gruff man, with his trademark stoicism and hard edges. Everyone knew that. He was someone who struggled to connect, someone with walls so high you’d wonder if he’d ever learned how to take them down.

But slowly, after a few months in Jackson, Joel had softened. Not by much, but just enough.

You’d see him offering small smiles to the townsfolk, his weathered hands occasionally helping out with a chore, his nods of acknowledgment more frequent. He wasn’t friendly, exactly, but he was warming up to the people around him. Jackson, with all its noise and community, had chipped away at his rough exterior.

But with you? Joel Miller remained a brick wall.

He didn’t smile at you. He didn’t wave or nod. He didn’t even make eye contact unless it was absolutely necessary. Every interaction felt like walking on thin ice, a sharpness to his silence that made the air between you ache with discomfort. The warmth you’d see in him, the small flickers of humanity that everyone else seemed to coax out? They evaporated the second his gaze found yours, as if all the walls that had softened for others came crashing back up around you.

It wasn’t just confusing. It stung.

What made it worse was that you couldn’t figure out why. You were well-liked in Jackson. You had a reputation for being kind, caring, funny—charismatic in a way that drew people in without much effort on your part. People sought you out. You were the type of person others trusted, the one who could make a tense moment lighter with just a smile. You knew how to connect with people, how to build friendships that were rooted in something real. You had friends everywhere—Tommy, Maria, the patrol groups—and wherever you went, you fit in.

But not with Joel Miller.

With Joel, it felt like no matter what you did, you could never find your footing. He didn’t laugh at your jokes, didn’t seem to care about the easy rapport you had with everyone else. If anything, his coldness made you doubt yourself, made you second-guess every interaction, every conversation. You, who had always been so sure of your ability to connect, were suddenly questioning everything.

You could still remember the day Joel arrived in Jackson, Ellie by his side, both of them looking weathered and wary. There was something raw in the way Joel had embraced Tommy, a kind of relief that softened the edges of his usual guarded self. For a moment, he had looked so vulnerable, so unburdened by the weight of the world, that you’d thought, maybe, just maybe, we’ll get along. After all, if Tommy loved him, how hard could it be?

Tommy had been so excited to introduce you two. You were one of his closest friends in Jackson, practically family, and he’d pulled you aside that day, a wide grin on his face as he said, “I can’t wait for y’all to meet, I know you’ll get along great.” There had been such hope in his voice, such warmth. It had made you smile, had made you eager to get to know Joel. You had thought of all the ways your bond with Tommy would naturally extend to Joel—how you’d become this little trio of friends, tied by loyalty and time.

But it hadn’t happened that way.

Instead, from the very first moment you and Joel had locked eyes, something had been off. You couldn’t pinpoint when, exactly, it shifted, but as the months wore on, the gap between you seemed to widen. You couldn’t understand what you had done to push him so far away, but whatever it was, it felt irrevocable. It was as if, in Joel’s eyes, you had done something unforgivable before you even had the chance to know him.

Tommy’s words echoed in your mind sometimes, taunting you with their false promise: You guys will get along great.

You remembered the first time you had met Joel—it had been one of those evenings meant to feel light and warm, filled with laughter and food. Maria had invited you to Tommy and hers for dinner, a small gathering, just family and close friends. The kitchen had smelled like garlic and rosemary, the scents swirling around you as you helped plate the dishes while Maria buzzed beside you, chatting about the latest updates in town.

Then you heard the door creak open, the murmur of low voices carrying into the kitchen. Joel and Ellie had arrived, their figures framed by the dying evening light streaming through the doorway. There was something comforting in how they stood—a familiarity, an ease that only family can share. Tommy’s laugh rang out, hearty and genuine, as he clapped his brother on the shoulder, leading him into the room.

“Hey, Maria,” Joel’s voice cut through the air—gruff, grounded, with a depth that seemed to echo from the very walls of the house. And then, Tommy turned to you with that warm brotherly smile of his, introducing you.

You’d smiled—nervous but friendly—extending a hand as you offered a casual greeting. “Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you, Joel.”

A light-hearted joke about the food had slipped from your lips, something meant to fill the space, to break the silence, to ease the unfamiliarity. But Joel had only stared for a heartbeat too long, his hand moving to shake yours with a grip that felt as solid and immovable as stone. There had been no warmth, no softness in his eyes, no smile to meet your own. It was as if your presence unsettled him, a chill descending between you two in that brief exchange. You had felt it then—the distance, the resistance.

And it only grew from there.

Through the evening, you had tried. Tried to coax him into the conversation with little remarks, to pull him in through laughter and lighthearted banter. Ellie had laughed, her bright smile flickering like sunshine breaking through the clouds. Tommy had nearly fallen out of his chair at one of your jokes, his laughter filling the space between bites of food. Even Maria had chuckled softly, her eyes glowing with warmth as she nudged you playfully.

But not Joel.

Every time you spoke, his brow furrowed just a little deeper. His lips pressed tighter together, and his eyes flicked away from yours as if he couldn't bear to hold your gaze. It wasn’t outright hostility, but the coldness lingered like a shadow, hovering between every word exchanged. The more you tried to engage him, the more distant he seemed, as if you were pushing against a wall that refused to budge.

And the more Joel pulled away, the more it gnawed at you, turning your confusion into something more jagged, more bitter. How could someone you barely knew have such a hold on your thoughts? How could one man’s distance feel like a rejection of everything you thought you were good at?

As the days blurred together, you’d find yourself thinking about it more than you cared to admit. And as much as you tried to brush it off, tried to tell yourself that you didn’t care, that his coldness didn’t matter—it did. It mattered more than you wanted it to.

And Joel? He didn’t seem to care.

That was why, when you saw your name paired with Joel for the next patrol, you were stumped. A frown pulled at your lips as you stared at the roster, the list mocking you with its cruel pairing.

Joel Miller.

The man who could barely look at you, who actively avoided your presence, now slated to spend hours—days even—alone with you out in the wilderness. Whoever had put this together had to be playing a joke on you.

But as your eyes drifted down to the bottom of the roster, you saw the telltale initials: M & T. Maria and Tommy. The two people in charge of organizing patrols.

Of course.

You gruffed in frustration, the idea of spending hours in silence, or worse, awkward small talk with Joel, made you inwardly groan.

Shaking your head, you started the short walk toward Maria and Tommy’s house, the crisp winter air biting at your cheeks. The snow beneath your boots crunched with each step, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet evening. Jackson’s main path was lined with soft, glowing lights that reflected off the fresh blanket of snow, guiding your way.

Their house wasn’t far, tucked neatly alongside the other homes, warm and inviting with its soft glow spilling from the windows. You could see the familiar curl of smoke rising from the chimney, a sure sign of the roaring fire inside. As you approached, you could hear voices filtering through the thick wooden walls—louder than usual, urgent. You slowed your pace, the tension in the air becoming palpable, the muffled sound of raised voices stirring something uneasy in your chest.

“What the hell is this, Tommy?” Joel’s voice cut through the stillness, gruff and laced with irritation. You stopped short of the door, your breath catching as curiosity took hold. You shouldn’t eavesdrop—you knew that—but you couldn’t stop yourself. You needed to hear what Joel had to say, especially if it would finally give you some insight into why he always seemed to look at you with that simmering frustration.

“What’s the big deal, Joel?” Tommy’s voice echoed back, exasperated but steady, trying to keep the peace.

“You know damn well what the big deal is.” Joel’s tone was biting, sharp enough to cut through the thick wooden walls. His frustration was palpable, practically vibrating through the air. “You’re pairin’ me up with her? Jesus, Tommy, you know I can’t stand her.”

The words hit like a physical blow, and your heart clenched painfully, the sting immediate and deep. You had suspected it for a while, of course, but hearing him say it out loud—that he couldn’t stand you—felt like a punch to the gut, one you weren’t prepared for.

You weren’t the type to let words get to you, especially not like this, but this—this was different. A lump formed in your throat, and before you could stop it, tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill over. You pressed yourself closer to the door, the silence inside the house heavy as if even Tommy was taken aback by Joel’s outburst.

Finally, Tommy spoke again, his voice filled with frustration, tinged with disbelief. “And why the hell not? She’s a good person, Joel. A damn good person with a heart of gold. What the hell did she ever do to you?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat growing. You stepped closer to the door, your heart pounding as you waited—needed—to hear Joel’s response. You needed to know why.

“It’s not that simple, Tommy.” Joel’s voice was quieter now, the frustration tempered, but it carried a weight that made your pulse quicken.

“What the hell’s so complicated about it?” Tommy shot back, his voice rising in disbelief, clearly at the end of his patience. “You’ve barely said two words to her since you got here. If you’ve got a problem with her, why don’t you just spit it out?”

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. For a moment, you thought Joel wouldn’t answer at all. The tension hung in the air like a coiled spring, ready to snap.

And then, in a voice so low you almost didn’t hear it, Joel finally spoke. “It’s just… I can’t, alright? I can’t… be around her like that.”

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, confusion swirling inside you. What did that even mean? You had no idea what he was trying to say, but it twisted something deep within you, the uncertainty gnawing at your insides.

“Jesus, Joel,” Tommy sighed, his voice carrying the weariness of too many conversations just like this one. You could practically hear him running a hand through his hair, frustration and exhaustion blending in his tone.

“Look, you don’t have a choice here. What if one day it’s just the two of you out there, the only ones available for patrol, and something goes sideways? You gonna let things fall apart because you can’t get over yourself and work together?”

There was a pause, Tommy’s words hanging in the air like a plea for reason. You knew you had heard enough. The knot in your chest had tightened to the point of pain, and you were ready to turn away, to retreat before things got worse.

But before you could move, the door creaked open.

Joel stood in the doorway, his broad frame blocking out the warm light from inside. His eyes found yours immediately, and in that instant, you knew—he had seen you. And he knew you had heard everything.

The flicker of recognition in his eyes made your chest tighten even more, your heart racing as the tension between you grew impossibly thick. There was no apology in his gaze, no softening in his expression. He just stared at you, his features tight and unreadable, leaving you suspended in the heavy silence of everything unsaid.

Behind him, you could see Maria and Tommy, their faces filled with worry, watching as the situation unfolded like a slow-motion tragedy. You felt exposed, raw, like an open wound, and the last thing you wanted was for anyone to witness that vulnerability.

Joel pushed past you without a word, his shoulder brushing yours as he strode down the steps, his footsteps heavy against the ground. He didn’t even glance back, leaving you standing there, heart in pieces, with nothing but the cold air biting at your skin.

You turned on your heel, walking away from the house, your steps heavy, dragging, like your body was weighed down by the ache in your chest. You wanted to move faster, to disappear into the night, but your legs felt unsteady beneath you, refusing to obey the urgency in your heart. Each step felt like a struggle, the sting of unshed tears blurring your vision as you tried to hold it together.

“Wait—” Tommy called after you, his voice tight with concern. “Come inside, talk to us.”

But you couldn’t. The tears were already threatening to spill, your throat tight with the pressure of holding everything in. The last thing you wanted was for them—for him—to see you like this, breaking apart in front of their eyes. Your vision wavered as the first tear slipped free, and you blinked hard, trying to will it away, trying to push down the hurt that was clawing its way up.

You needed to get out of there. Anywhere but here. You moved faster, your boots crunching in the freshly fallen snow, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts as you made your way down the path. The cold air nipped at your cheeks, but it did little to numb the burning in your chest.

Behind you, you heard Tommy rushing after you, his footsteps crunching through the snow, his voice softer now, urgent but gentle. “Hey, kid—he didn’t mean it. You know Joel. He’s complicated. He doesn’t know how to—” His words trailed off, as if he couldn’t find the right way to explain something even he didn’t fully understand.

You stopped, your feet rooted to the ground, but you didn’t turn to face him. You couldn’t. Not like this. Not when you were one breath away from falling apart entirely, from letting everything you’d been holding back flood to the surface.

“I’ll be fine, Tommy,” you said, your voice tight, barely managing to stay steady. It felt like a lie, like a betrayal of the truth you were burying inside, but you couldn’t let him see you like this. Not over Joel Miller. You wiped at your eyes hastily, trying to brush away the tears before they fell. “I just… I need to go.”

There was a pause, the silence thick between you, weighted with sympathy, with Tommy’s understanding and his guilt. He didn’t say anything else, and in that moment, you were grateful. He didn’t push. He knew better.

So you walked away, your heart heavy with the weight of it all. The cold air bit at your cheeks, but the sting of Joel’s words hurt so much more, echoing in your mind like a wound that refused to heal. And underneath it all, one question burned like fire, searing through every doubt and every hurt—Why?

Why did Joel hate you so much? What had you ever done to deserve it?

•••

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of your small home, casting soft, golden beams across the wooden floor. The house was modest—just enough space for one person, with a kitchen that opened into a cozy living room, and a bedroom tucked away in the back. The walls were lined with small, personal touches—books you had collected over the years, a few framed photos of moments from before, and little trinkets you had scavenged from various patrols. It was a quiet space, peaceful, but this morning, the weight of the silence felt heavier than usual.

You sat on the edge of your bed, your hands lingering over your boots before pulling them on with a sigh. The air in Jackson had the sharpness of early morning, and you knew the day ahead would be long. As you tied the laces, the conversation you’d overheard at Tommy and Maria’s house replayed in your mind—the sting of Joel’s words, the coldness in his voice. "Jesus Tommy, you know I can’t stand her." It had been days since, but the ache of it still hit like a fresh bruise, tender to the touch.

You stood and moved to the small table by the door where you kept your patrol gear—your rifle, your gloves, a well-worn coat. Everything felt heavier today. As you strapped on your holster, you caught your reflection in the window. You looked tired. Not just from lack of sleep, but from the quiet hurt that had been growing inside you, quietly gnawing at your spirit since the moment Joel’s words reached your ears.

With one last glance around your home, you opened the door and stepped outside, the crisp morning air hitting your cheeks. The stable wasn’t far, just a short walk, but the journey felt longer today. Each step reminded you of the awkward silence that was bound to hang between you and Joel, the weight of unspoken words and the tension that had always been there but now felt even more unbearable.

When you arrived at the patrol meet-up spot, your eyes immediately landed on your horse. He whinnied softly, recognizing you as you approached. You smiled faintly, running your hand along his muzzle, brushing through his thick mane. It was a ritual by now—whispering a soft hello to him, patting his side, and taking a moment to ground yourself before setting out. He was the one constant, the one being you could rely on during patrol. You leaned in, pressing your forehead gently to his, letting the warmth of his presence calm your frayed nerves.

But then, you heard the familiar sound of boots crunching in the snow behind you. Without even turning, you knew it was Joel.

You felt his presence like a weight in the air—heavy, silent. He said nothing as he walked past you, his eyes fixed on his own horse. There was no greeting, no acknowledgment, just the awkward tension that had settled between you both like a fog. The memories of that conversation played over again in your mind, and the pang of hurt hit you square in the chest as you stiffened slightly.

You stole a quick glance at him as he saddled his horse. His face was set in that same stoic expression, the one he wore around everyone in Jackson—but with you, there was an added distance. He kept his eyes averted, focusing on the task at hand, and for a moment, you wondered if this day would pass without a single word between you.

With a sigh, you climbed onto your horse, settling into the saddle with a practiced ease. The silence between you and Joel was palpable, thick like the cold morning air. You wanted to say something—anything to break the tension—but the words caught in your throat, stifled by the hurt that lingered.

Joel mounted his horse without a glance in your direction. You both sat there for a beat, the sound of horses shifting in the snow the only thing breaking the stillness. Then, without a word, he nudged his horse forward, and you followed suit, the two of you riding out together into the white expanse of the wilderness beyond Jackson.

The only thing heavier than the quiet was the unspoken weight between you.

You began your journey through the thick silence that had settled between you and Joel like a fog. The cold wind bit at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the coldness that radiated from the man riding just ahead of you. His shoulders were hunched, his back stiff, his eyes never once flickering in your direction. The snow crunched beneath your horse's hooves, the sound the only thing to fill the uncomfortable quiet between you.

Not a single word had passed between you since the patrol began. The tension was unbearable, the weight of Joel’s unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. You hadn’t expected warmth or friendliness, not after everything, but the biting silence cut deeper than you could have imagined.

Hours passed before Joel finally spoke, his voice a low mutter as he pointed toward a narrow path. “We’ll go through here,” he said, his tone flat and emotionless, as though he were simply checking off a list. It was strange to hear him speak after so long, and for a moment, it felt as though his words didn’t belong to him.

You followed in silence, the trail winding deeper into the forest, the trees closing in around you. The snow-covered ground glittered under the faint sunlight, casting long shadows that twisted and danced between the trees. The world felt smaller here, more enclosed, and with each passing moment, the unease inside you grew.

Eventually, you arrived at your destination—a crumbling cabin tucked deep in the woods, half-buried in snow, its wood aged and brittle against the cold. The stillness of the air made everything feel heavier, like even the trees were holding their breath. You dismounted your horse quietly, your fingers stiff from the biting chill as you fumbled with the reins. Joel had already tied his horse to the post, his movements precise, practiced.

He turned toward you, the lines of his face hardened, eyes sharp as they caught yours for a moment too long. His jaw clenched, the tension palpable. “Follow me,” he ordered, his voice cutting through the cold air like a whip. “And don’t say a word. Not a single word. From here on out, we’re silent.”

His command, rough and unyielding, struck you with a sharpness that left your chest aching. It wasn’t just the cold seeping into your bones—it was the weight of his disdain, pressing down on you, constricting your breath. You nodded, your throat tightening with unspoken words you knew would only make things worse.

You followed him toward the cabin, the wind howling softly around you, whispering secrets you couldn’t quite hear. The snow crunched beneath your boots, the scent of pine lingering in the air. But despite the open wilderness around you, the world felt unnervingly small. The cabin door creaked on its rusted hinges as Joel pushed it open, the sound echoing like a warning in the eerie stillness. You hesitated before stepping inside, the dim light barely illuminating the cramped space that lay beyond.

Your pulse quickened, your instincts telling you something wasn’t right. You’d been on enough patrols to recognize danger, but this… this felt different. It felt personal. Like the shadows themselves were watching, waiting.

Joel moved ahead of you, his broad shoulders tense, his gun drawn as he scanned the small room. His silence felt thick, suffocating, the air between you charged with unspoken tension. You tried to steady your breathing, to calm the hammering of your heart, but the unease gnawed at you, made every sound sharper, every shadow darker.

And then it happened.

A figure lunged from the darkness, too fast for you to react, the world tilting violently as you were tackled to the ground. The impact stole the breath from your lungs, the cold, hard floor biting into your skin. The raider was filthy, wild-eyed, his hands rough and cruel as he pinned you beneath him, the sharp gleam of a knife flashing before your eyes. Panic surged through you, but your limbs felt heavy, useless against the overwhelming force holding you down. The knife hovered dangerously close to your throat, the cold steel grazing your skin, and for one terrifying moment, you thought this was it—this was how it would end.

But then Joel was there.

He moved like a storm—fast, brutal, and unstoppable. In one swift motion, he yanked the raider off of you, throwing him to the floor with a strength that seemed to come from somewhere far deeper than just muscle. Rage radiated from Joel as his fists met flesh, each blow landing with a sickening crack that echoed through the tiny cabin. He didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The raider’s body went limp beneath him, but Joel kept going, his fists relentless, pounding into the man with a fury that seemed to possess him, until the only sound left was the ragged heave of his breathing and the wet thud of blood dripping onto the floor.

You lay there, gasping, your chest rising and falling in uneven, desperate breaths. The world spun around you, the edges of your vision blurred by adrenaline and fear. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, your body weak, every nerve on edge. Your heart thundered in your chest, so loud you could hear it in your ears, drowning out the silence that had settled like a heavy fog.

Joel turned toward you then, his chest still heaving with exertion, his fists stained with blood. His face was dark with anger, his eyes burning as they locked onto yours. “What the hell was that?” he growled, the fury in his voice so raw it made you flinch. “You could’ve been killed.”

His words were a blade, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the thin veil of composure you’d been clinging to. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to breathe. You wanted to speak, to defend yourself, but the intensity of his stare pinned you down more effectively than the raider ever could. Every word you wanted to say died on your tongue.

And then he muttered it, low and venomous, just loud enough for you to hear: “Fucking burden…”

The words sliced through you, deeper than any knife. You felt them settle in your chest, a sharp, stinging ache that spread like wildfire, consuming the air around you. You stared at him, the sting of his words leaving you breathless, your heart sinking as if it had been thrown into the abyss.

“No,” you spat, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and hurt. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

Joel’s eyes flashed, his body going rigid as he turned fully to face you. “Excuse me?” His voice was dangerously low, like the quiet before a storm, but you didn’t back down. Not this time.

“You heard me.” Your chest was still heaving, adrenaline still coursing through your veins, but your resolve was stronger than your fear. “You don’t get to treat me like I’m some… problem you have to deal with. I’m out here trying to do my part, same as you.”

His expression darkened, disbelief twisting his features. “Do your part? You almost got yourself killed back there! If I hadn’t been here—"

“If you hadn’t been here?” you cut him off, your voice rising as the anger overtook the fear. “What, I’d be dead? Is that what you think? That I can’t handle myself? I’ve been on patrols long before you showed up. I’ve survived without you. Just fine.”

Joel scoffed, his lips curling in frustration. “Yeah? Didn’t look like it just now.”

His words were another blow, sharp and biting, but you refused to let them break you. “I didn’t need you to save me, Joel. I would’ve figured it out.”

His eyes narrowed, his jaw working as he fought to control the anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You think this is a game? You think you can just figure it out when you’ve got a knife to your throat?” His voice was loud now, booming in the small space, filled with a frustration that felt all too personal.

“You could’ve died. And for what?”

“Fuck you, Joel.”

The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, raw and jagged, fueled by the fire burning in your chest. You didn’t care about the consequences, didn’t care that his eyes had gone dark with shock. You were done. Done with being treated like something fragile and disposable.

Joel stared at you, his body tense, his mouth slightly open like he hadn’t expected the bite of your words. For a moment, the space between you felt like a battlefield, the silence pulsing with the weight of everything unsaid. The anger that simmered in you wasn’t just from this moment—it was months of pent-up frustration, of feeling like you were constantly crashing against a wall with him, never allowed in.

Your chest heaved, your hands trembling with the adrenaline still coursing through you.

“I don’t need you to save me,” you said, your voice shaking with the force of what you felt. “I never asked for your help, Joel. And I sure as hell don’t need you treating me like I’m some burden. So fuck you.”

His eyes flashed with something—anger, guilt, maybe something softer, but he quickly buried it beneath that familiar cold exterior. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might snap back, might throw something just as harsh in your face. But he didn’t. Instead, his gaze dropped, just for a second, like your words had found their mark.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice low and hard. “You don’t need my help? Then don’t ask for it.” He turned sharply, storming out of the cabin without another word, his footsteps heavy in the snow, leaving you standing there in the cold, breathless and burning with the aftershocks of everything you’d just said.

But even as the silence swallowed him up, you knew the storm between you wasn’t over—it had only just begun.

[jmkjournalblog]

"Soulmates" Part 1

Part 2

Pairing:Wednesday Addams x FemVampire! Reader

Summary: The Fem!reader, vampire with a penchant for dark humor and psychopathic tendencies, is sent to Nevermore Academy by her parents following an unpleasant incident involving the murder of a couple of triple students in her previous school. Despite their contrasting personalities, the reader and Wednesday form a complex bond, navigating their differences while facing challenges that threaten to keep them apart.

A/N: This text combines three chapters written at different times, so there might be slight differences in style. Also, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes))

Warnings: Shitty humor

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The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the picturesque town. It was a quaint, almost idyllic place, with its cobblestone streets and charming old buildings—a far cry from the darkness that lurked within the reader's soul. She stood at the edge of town, a lone figure amidst the bustle of the afternoon crowd. Tall and imposing, with an air of quiet confidence that set her apart from the ordinary townsfolk, she surveyed her surroundings with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.

The Y/n was not here by choice. No, she had been sent—a pawn in a game she had no desire to play. Her parents, in their infinite wisdom—or perhaps, their utter lack thereof—had deemed it necessary to exile her to Nevermore Academy, a school for misfits and outcasts. It was a punishment disguised as a solution, a way to rid themselves of a daughter whose darkness they could no longer abide.

And so, here she was, alone in a town that reeked of desperation and decay, a stranger in a strange land. It was a bitter irony, she thought, that a creature such as herself—a creature of the night, born to roam the shadows—should find herself so utterly exposed in the harsh light of day. But she was not one to dwell on self-pity, nor was she inclined to mourn the loss of a home she had long outgrown. No, she would embrace this new chapter of her existence with the same ferocity that she embraced life itself.

With a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes, the Y/n turned her gaze towards the looming silhouette of Nevermore Academy, its spires reaching towards the heavens like the fingers of a long-forgotten deity. And as she took her first steps towards her new prison, she couldn't help but wonder what twisted fate awaited her within its hallowed halls.

*Y/n POV*

As I stepped into the imposing entrance hall of Nevermore Academy, I was greeted by the sight of a young girl. She was dressed in the school uniform, her blond hair falling in waves around her shoulders as she approached with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Welcome to Nevermore Academy," she said with a wry smile, extending her hand in greeting. "I'm Enid Sinclair. And you must be the new arrival."

I nodded, returning her handshake. Enid's warmth and charm were a welcome contrast to the oppressive atmosphere that hung me like a shroud.

"Nice to meet you," I replied with a forced smile. There's no point in being rude, this school is my last resort, and it's better to try to be nicer to people. "I must admit, I wasn't sure if anyone would meet me."

" I always give a tour of the school to new students, especially since you will be my roommate." A smile spread across her face. God, I wish I could be as carefree "It's going to be so much fun, you, me and Wednesday are three new best friends".

Three best friends? Well, that's one way to look at it—a trio of misfits ready to conquer the world, or at least survive sharing a room.

"Wow, lucky me," I muttered inwardly, plastering on a grin that probably looked more like a grimace. "I've always wanted to be part of a trio. How did you know?" 

I forced another polite smile, masking my inner cynicism with practiced ease. "Okay, we can't stand here all day. Let's go. "

After walking around all the main areas of the school, Enid and I headed towards our room. The whole time we were walking, I couldn't shake the feeling that this place was definitely going to be interesting. Enid had her own issues, but I'd always been attracted to people who looked at the world with an unhealthy amount of optimism. Talking to her should dilute my morbid thoughts with a touch of sweet idiocy. For being alone with myself again does me no good, though it gives me a lot of pleasure.

“So, roomie, ready to see your new abode?” - Enid said with a smile, her hand resting on the doorknob. With a casual shrug, I followed her into the room.

A huge room greeted us, with beds on both sides. The left side was a riot of colors, what I would call “colorblind worst nightmare” It was a cacophony of hues that defied description. Plush toys adorned one wall. Well at least it is not dakimakura with half-naked characters from anime or furi costumes. On the other side of the room, the atmosphere was stark—black linens on the bed, a desk, and a typewriter. Its practically untouched. It felt more like a museum piece than a living space, devoid of any trace of personality. Enid had mentioned that the other girl had only recently moved in…

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY ROOM ROOM?” – Enid asked in irritation.

Her voice startling me out of my thoughts. Distractedly looking around the room, I completely missed the girl who was tearing off colored stickers from the right half of the huge window. It must be Wednesday.

“Dividing our room equally,” replied Wednesday, her voice dripping with disdain. She kicked the last of the colored paper to Enid's side for emphasis. "It looks like a rainbow vomited on your side." She finished in a calm tone, as she returned to the desk at her side of the room.

God, I love drama.

“I...” I could literally see Enid's ears steaming right now.

“Silence would be appreciated.” Wednesday spoke as she quickly cut her roommate off. "This is my writing time."

I like this school already.

“Your writing time ? ” Enid asked, raising an eyebrow.

Wednesday rolled up her sleeves as she situated herself in front of her typewriter. “I devote an hour a day to my novel. Perhaps if you did the same your vlog might be coherent.” she slides the carriage of the typewriter to the side as she continued, “I've read serial killer diaries with better punctuation.”

She read serial killer diaries? One point to the goth girl.

Enid clenched her fists “I write in my voice. It's my truth. It's what my followers love.”

“Your followers are clearly imbeciles.” Wednesday stood up from her desk as she moved infront of Enid. “They respond to your stories with insipid little pictures.”

“Uh, you mean emoji's?” a small smile appears on Enid face “It's how people express their feelings. I realize that's a foreign concept to you.”

“When I look at you, the following emojis come to mind. Rope, shovel, hole.” She continues “By the way, there are two D's in Addams." she moved back over to her desk. “If you're going to gossip about me, at least spell my name correctly.”

“Ahem”- as much as I'd love for this delightful show to continue, I can't just stand there like an idiot with things to do. I could certainly settle down nicely on my suitcase to brew some coffee and continue watching this wonderful drama, but I think sooner or later they'll notice me.

“Oh, sorry about that please, I'm just not used to this attitude. Wednesday, meet Y/n. She's going to live with us too.”

“That's okay, Enid, you can continue this lovely conversation, very intriguing actually. All I need to do is put my things somewhere and ideally lie down myself. The long drive and the splendid but somewhat drawn-out tour, has tired me out.”

Wednesday turned to me. “Nice to meet you, now if you'll excuse it’s my writing time,” she said, before turning back to her typewriter. She began methodically tapping the keys of her typewriter.

I smiled to myself, amused by the interaction. These two were definitely something else.

“Ms. Thornhill has decided that your bed will be on Wednesday's side, there's more room and the closet is close by. Bed should be arriving soon, but in the meantime, you can lay out your things, the outer two doors are yours.”

“Got it, okay then, that's what I'll do for now.”

Taking the suitcase in my hands I headed over to the closet, starting to put things away. I've always had a problem with this, not that I don't like it on the contrary, pedantically folding shirt to shirt, pants to pants, has always calmed me down. Things in the closet should look like they're on the counter of a boutique. If something doesn't look right, I can't sleep well.

Enid put on a song. I guess this is another one of God's tests for all the sins I've done. Don't get me wrong, I like music, but on rare occasions. People who play it on a regular basis to soundtrack their daily routine are the real psychopaths.

“Turn it off!” Wednesday gets up from her chair and heads over to Enid.

I couldn't help but stifle a laugh at the exchange. It was moments like this that made me grateful for immortality. Trying not to attract attention, I peeked out from behind the locker door, amused by the unfolding drama.

“This is your final warning!”

As she got too close Enid raised her hands and let out her rainbow painted nails out a claw. “Don't mess with me. This kitty’s got claws and I’m not afraid to use them.”

Suddenly the door swings open and a woman walks into the room.

“Good evening girls.” She looks around the room throwing a glance first at me and then at Wednesday. “I wanted to make sure that Wednesday and Y/n was settling in...”

She walks to the middle of the room, kicking up mud from her shoes on the wooden floor…. It drives me insane.

“I’m Ms. Thornhill, your dorm mom. Apologies, I wasn't here to greet you when you arrived. I trust Enid has given you the old Nevermore welcome.”

“She's been smothering us with hospitality, I hope to return the favor. In her sleep”.

Such unconcealed aggression, I like it.

“Enid did a great job of showing and telling me everything, thank her so much, and it's nice to meet you,” I interjected, wanting to move the conversation along.

Ms. Thornhill turned to me, offering a warm smile. “I'm very glad it went well.”

“The only thing I would like to ask about is the bed. I wouldn't really want to sleep on the floor on the first day in such a beautiful place. It would have dampened all the excitement I got out of today.”

“Oh right, the guys were supposed to bring it, but it looks like they're running late. I'll have to find them again and tell them.”

At this rate, I was going to sleep on the floor tonight.

“Ms. Thornhill, why do we need the guys? Why don't you just show me where to get it, and I'll take it from there? I think I'm strong enough to do that,” I replied with a sweet smile.

She looked at me in disbelief. I smiled a little, letting her catch a glimpse of my fangs.

“Ah, okay, I didn't realize right away. Not all vampires who are in this school have abilities such as strength or speed, so...Let's go,” she said, turning around and heading for the door. I followed her, casting a disdainful glance at the dirt left on the floor.

Who even does things like that?

Y/n POV

The walk with Ms. Thornhill was uneventful, except for her curious glances, which I pretended not to notice. She seemed… overly friendly, and her cheery disposition grated against every instinct I had. There was something unsettling in how her smile lingered just a bit too long. Still, I played the obedient new student—sweet smiles, polite nods, not even a hint of fangs. It wasn’t hard to find the storage area, cluttered with dusty furniture and half-forgotten relics from who knows how long ago. With little more than a gesture, I hefted the bedframe onto my shoulder, making it look far easier than it should have been.

As I walked back through the hallways of Nevermore, I couldn’t help but scan the dimly lit corridors and high arched ceilings. This place was dripping with history and secrets—I could practically taste it in the air. I wondered what kind of skeletons were hiding in these closets and whether any of them were literal. The thought amused me enough to crack a smile, which I quickly smothered when I caught sight of the door to our room.

Returning to find Enid attempting to cheerfully hang more decorations—and failing spectacularly in the face of Wednesday’s withering glares—was almost worth the trouble. Almost. I stepped into the room, set down the bedframe with a soft thud, and stretched slightly, letting out a satisfied sigh that earned me a sideways glance from both girls. I raised an eyebrow at Wednesday, who, naturally, looked unimpressed.

“You’re back,” she stated flatly, her attention already returning to the clack of typewriter keys. “I’d begun hoping you’d gotten lost and decided to stay that way.”

I grinned, leaning casually against the wall as I met her icy gaze. “Oh, did you miss me already, Wednesday? I’m touched.” I let my words drip with playful mockery, watching for her reaction.

She didn’t even pause her typing. “I don’t miss nuisances. They have a way of making themselves known whether one wishes it or not.”

“Well, it’s good to know I’ve made an impression,” I replied lightly, crossing my arms. “I do so hate being forgettable.”

There it was—a slight pause in her keystrokes. Barely perceptible, but I saw it. Victory. She resumed typing, but I could see the muscles in her jaw tense, and that alone was worth every ounce of effort. Behind me, Enid let out an exaggerated groan.

“Can you two not flirt for five minutes?” Enid asked, half-exasperated and half-amused as she tossed another garish pillow onto her bed.

“Flirting?” I said innocently, a hand coming to my chest. “Enid, I think you’ve misunderstood me. I was simply trying to have a civil conversation.”

“Your idea of civil conversation seems to involve needling people until they bleed,” Wednesday remarked coolly, finally glancing my way. “I’m sure you’re quite proud of yourself.”

“Oh, very,” I said, flashing a grin that showed just the hint of fang. “But I only needle people who are interesting. Take that as a compliment.”

Her expression didn’t change, but there was a spark in her dark eyes. A dangerous, calculating spark. “Compliments from you hold about as much value as a counterfeit coin. Useless and possibly diseased.”

I tilted my head, letting my smile widen. “And yet you’ve pocketed it anyway.”

“Enough!” Enid interjected, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m already regretting my decision to be roommates with either of you.”

“I thought we were best friends, Enid?” I teased, giving her a mock-wounded look. She rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself.

As the brief silence fell, Wednesday turned back to her typewriter, the clack of the keys resuming with renewed vigor. I moved to finish setting up my space, feeling her presence keenly even as she pretended, I didn’t exist. But I knew better. She’d noticed me, whether she liked it or not. And I intended to keep it that way.

I focused on arranging the few belongings I had, keeping one eye on my two roommates. Enid flitted around, determined to keep the atmosphere upbeat despite the thickening tension, while Wednesday remained stoic, her fingers tapping out words with relentless precision. The mechanical clatter of the typewriter filled the room, a fitting soundtrack to our peculiar dynamic.

As I stowed the last of my clothes, I moved to the shared windowsill. Half of it, Wednesday’s half, was bare and colorless, just like the rest of her side. I dragged a finger across the divider she’d drawn—black tape down the middle, stark and deliberate. When she’d divided the room, she hadn’t left any margin for negotiation. That was fine. I wasn’t one to negotiate either.

“Did you choose the décor yourself?” I asked, tone light but teasing. “It really says a lot about you.”

The typewriter stopped mid-sentence, and her head turned, her expression a mask of cold detachment. “If by ‘a lot’ you mean ‘nothing,’ then you are correct. My surroundings reflect my disregard for frivolity.”

I leaned back against the windowsill, arms crossed, giving her a slow once-over. “Yes, I see that. Stark, somber, a touch of morbidity… What’s next, Wednesday? Iron bars over your window? A ‘keep out’ sign? Or is this already your version of a welcome mat?”

“Those who need signs to warn them of danger are already too foolish to avoid it,” she retorted, her voice like ice. She didn’t look away, and I felt the weight of her attention settle on me like a dare.

“Danger? That sounds intriguing.” I stepped closer, deliberately closing the space between us. “But I’d rather find out for myself than take your word for it.”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought she’d lash out. Instead, she simply pushed her chair back with a quiet scrape and stood. “Are you always this insufferable?” she asked, stepping closer herself. We were nearly face-to-face now, her glare as sharp as a blade.

“Only when I’m provoked,” I said, my voice softening, the challenge in it unmistakable. “Or intrigued.”

For a heartbeat, I thought she might reach for one of her knives. It wouldn’t have surprised me. But then she stepped back, and the flicker of emotion was gone, replaced by a cold, composed exterior. “Intrigue is a fleeting distraction. You’ll tire of it soon enough.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t count on that,” I murmured, watching her turn her back to me and return to her typewriter. I had to give it to her; she was disciplined. She’d withdrawn from the confrontation as if it hadn’t fazed her, as if the moment hadn’t happened. But it had.

Enid broke the silence, plopping down onto her bed with a frustrated sigh. “Why can’t we all just get along? Isn’t this supposed to be like… the beginning of a beautiful friendship?”

“I don’t recall asking for friendship,” Wednesday replied without looking up.

“And I don’t recall rejecting it,” I added with a smirk, earning a scoff from Wednesday.

“See?” Enid grinned, ever the optimist. “Progress! I’m telling you, we’re going to be the best trio ever. Just give it time.”

“Optimism is a fool’s currency,” Wednesday stated, resuming her typing. “It’s usually spent too freely and leaves the owner penniless.”

“Good thing I have plenty to spare,” Enid shot back, unfazed. She turned to me. “Y/n, you’ll see. She’s all doom and gloom now, but she’ll warm up eventually.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” I said, letting the implication linger. “Though I have to admit, I like her just the way she is.”

Wednesday’s fingers paused for a fraction of a second, and my grin widened. There it was again—the tell that she was paying attention, even if she pretended otherwise.

Enid reached for her phone, likely ready to drown out the tension with music or social media, but she paused, her expression curious. “So, Y/n… what brought you to Nevermore?”

“Exile,” I said simply, my voice taking on a darker edge. “I’m here because my family thought it would be safer to have me… away.”

Enid blinked, unsure whether I was joking. “Safer for who?”

“Exactly.” I allowed a flicker of my fangs to show, then shrugged. “But this place isn’t so bad. It might even grow on me.”

“It’s full of disappointments,” Wednesday said coolly, not missing a beat. “Don’t let the shadows fool you.”

“Disappointments keep things interesting,” I replied, stepping back toward my side of the room. “And I’ve always been drawn to interesting things.”

I felt her eyes on me even after she turned back to her writing. This was going to be fun. Dangerous, maybe—but undeniably fun.

The next morning, the air was crisp, and a thin layer of fog crept around the gothic towers of Nevermore Academy. I found myself sitting on the edge of my freshly delivered bed, lacing up my boots. The rest of the room was quiet, but I could feel a watchful presence. Turning slightly, I caught Wednesday’s reflection in the mirror; she was silently observing me while pretending to prepare her things. Her eyes were intense as ever, like she was sizing me up, waiting for me to make the first move. It amused me, and I made no effort to hide my grin.

“Good morning, sunshine,” I teased, breaking the tension in the room.

She blinked, a slow, deliberate motion that barely disguised her disdain. “Please spare me your nauseating pleasantries.”

“Why, Wednesday, it almost sounds like you didn’t sleep well.” I stood, stretching. “I’d say I’m hurt by that, but I do recall you typing well into the night. Plotting murder, perhaps?”

“If I were plotting murder, you wouldn’t have woken up,” she replied with a deadpan expression.

I laughed softly, loving how quick she was. “Noted. I’ll try to be more deserving of your mercy.” I leaned closer as I passed her on the way to the door. “For now.”

“Don’t push your luck,” she muttered, though there was a glint in her eyes that suggested she was far from indifferent. Oh, this was definitely going to be an interesting place.

The hallway was bustling with other students, each an oddity in their own right—shapeshifters, psychics, sirens, and more. I navigated the throng with ease, catching glimpses of curious eyes that lingered just a moment too long. Whispers followed me. New arrivals always attracted attention, and I wasn’t exactly the type to blend in.

“Y/n!” Enid’s cheery voice pierced the noise, and she bounded over like a hyperactive puppy, practically glowing with excitement. “How did you sleep? Oh! You’re going to love breakfast here—it’s the best part of the day!”

“I’m surprised you managed to sleep at all with the ambiance,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I half-expected bats to swoop down from the rafters.

“Oh, they’ve tried.” She shrugged with a wide smile. “But seriously, come on! The sausages are to die for.”

I followed her, letting Enid’s chatter wash over me. She was like a rainbow in this dreary place, and, strangely, I found her optimism a welcome contrast. Wednesday walked a few steps behind us, silent and brooding as ever. It was almost comforting.

The cafeteria was a storm of voices, laughter, and clinking trays. Enid led me through the throng of students, her energy a stark contrast to the brooding architecture of Nevermore. We found a spot at a small table near one of the tall, stained-glass windows. As I settled in, a presence made itself known—a girl with sleek black hair, crimson-tinted sunglasses, and a confident air that turned heads without effort. She walked up, holding her tray like she owned the place.

“Mind if I join?” she asked, but it was rhetorical. She was already sitting down, her eyes on me.

Enid perked up. “Oh! Y/n, this is Yoko Tanaka. Yoko, meet Y/n. She’s new.”

“Yoko,” I repeated, my gaze trailing over her with casual interest. I extended a hand, playing along. “Nice to meet you.”

Her grip was cool, steady. She didn’t let go right away, and her lips curled into a smile. “The pleasure’s all mine. So, Enid’s newest roommate, huh? Welcome to the madhouse.”

I returned her smile, undeterred by the playful challenge in her tone. “Thanks. From what I’ve seen, I’m going to fit right in.”

“Really?” Yoko’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the table. “It takes a lot to fit in here. But something tells me you’ll manage.” She tilted her head slightly. “You’re not... ordinary, are you?”

I leaned back, crossing my arms. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, I might,” she replied, the light catching the edge of her sunglasses. “Most newcomers are easy to read. But you? You’re a little... more.”

Wednesday, who had been quietly picking at her food, suddenly spoke up. “If you two are done exchanging veiled flirtations, there are more important matters at hand.”

I turned my gaze to her, a smirk playing on my lips. “You know, Wednesday, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

“Jealousy is a pointless emotion,” she said flatly, though her eyes seemed to darken. “I simply despise wasted time.”

“Oh, so you’d rather spend your time... constructively?” I asked, feigning deep interest. “Writing your next bestseller or analyzing the cafeteria’s murder statistics?”

She set her fork down with deliberate precision. “Both. I find productivity in all things. Unlike some people who waste their breath on hollow banter.”

“See?” I leaned forward conspiratorially, turning to Yoko. “This is what I get for trying to lighten the mood.”

Yoko laughed, a rich, throaty sound that drew a few glances. “You two are something. But don’t worry—I enjoy the kind of banter that makes the daylight hours less boring.”

“Is that why you’re here?” I asked, deciding to prod a little. “To liven things up for me?”

She pushed her sunglasses up, revealing striking eyes that glimmered with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just trying to figure you out. Vampires don’t often get surprises, you know.”

“Vampires?” I arched an eyebrow, pretending not to know. “Is that what we’re calling ourselves these days?”

Enid jumped in with a cheerful clap of her hands. “Y/n’s also a vampire, Yoko! You two should totally hang out. Maybe you can teach her the ropes!”

Yoko’s smile widened, showing a hint of fang. “Oh, I’d be delighted. As long as she doesn’t get scared too easily.”

I matched her smile, unflinching. “Scared? That’s not really my thing.”

“Good.” Yoko’s voice dropped, her gaze sharpening. “Because there are plenty of things in Nevermore that will test your limits. I’d hate for you to miss out.”

Before I could respond, Wednesday stood up abruptly, gathering her tray. “This conversation has officially crossed into drivel. Some of us have standards.”

“Leaving already?” I asked, enjoying the way her expression never wavered.

“Unlike you, I have productive tasks awaiting me.” She paused, her dark eyes meeting mine. “Try not to lower the collective intelligence of the room while I’m gone.”

I grinned. “I’ll do my best.”

She left without another word, and for a moment, I could have sworn there was a hint of amusement hidden beneath her icy exterior. Yoko watched her go, then turned back to me, a knowing look on her face. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Good,” I replied. “I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.”

[crystallizedtwilight]

Your take on LSB thought process during Jack and Boogies fight? It must of taken a lot of courage to get the mayor considering they didn't know the outcome of the fight

Below the cut:

It was all fun and games when only Sandy was in Oogie's grasp. But then, unexpectedly, they hear Sally's screams from his lair as well. She wasn't supposed to be there.

The Mayor's megaphone echoes the haunting message that Jack has died, but as the trio peer though the bars into the dungeon, the Pumpkin King appears alive. A heated life-or-death battle begins between Jack and Oogie and suddenly it's not so fun anymore.

They need to make a choice. If they rush to get the Mayor and townsfolk's aid they can save three lives—Sandy, Jack, and Sally. But if their boss discovers that they betrayed them, their own three lives would be at stake.

Oogie will be furious for losing his chance at revenge on the king and disloyalty would surely add their masks to the treehouse walls. But as they look at each other, tense and anxious, they share a nod and do the right thing.

By the time the Mayor arrives, Jack had been victorious and Oogie was no more. But the trio couldn't have anticipated this and their change of heart, as well as everything they risked, is something Jack doesn't overlook.

Despite their mischievous nature, they're good kids.

[parasolladyansy]

How's Ogerpon doing after everything that happened in the SV story? I adore your art style, and the little snippet of her eating icecream and pouting was so precious

At least she has a traditional matcha-anko soft serve with dango for her Magikarp taiyaki cone. 🍦🍵🫘

I would say she stayed in Kitakami where she keeps the Lousy Trio & Pecharunt in check, & is adored by the townsfolk. I could see Kieran being good friends with her now that he’s gone through his character arc. Overall, I’d say she’s very happy & well-cared for. ^_^

[thatoneegghead]

Townsfolk Trio 2/??

[addictivedaze]

Explaining my Lansoni AU/Fic

I’m currently in the storyboarding part of this fic, but it’s something I want to eventually release once I’ve got all the details figured out.

Current characters: Maurice (Sonic), Lancelot, Rouge, Gawain, Percival, Tails, Nimue, Merlina, The King

Basic overview:

The story starts off with Merlina. With the orb on her staff, she has the ability to see vaguely into the past and future. She sees the foreseeable destruction of the kingdom, and in turn summons a hero just as she does in the beginning of SATBK. Nothing happens immediately, no one comes, and she assumes that means the kingdom is doomed.

Cut to Maurice, a blue hedgehog who had just moved into one of the bustling villages of Camelot after his parents had died. He goes to move in with his blacksmith uncle, Chuck, at the smithy he owns. At the forge, Chuck also has an apprentice fox named Tails. Chuck tries to get Maurice into the business, but he’s awful at it. He has unsteady hands that don’t go good when it comes to delicate tasks such as metal working.

One day when Maurice is out shopping, he sees an advertisement on the community bulletin board offering a spot in the local newsbook if they enter. Maurice has always had a knack for poetry, it’s his passion. So he enters under the pseudonym ‘Sonic’ and sends in a poem. He’s eventually chosen and is set to send in a poem for the weekly newsbook after that.

On the other side of the village, in Lancelot’s quarters, he happens to be an avid fan of literature and poetry alike. He finds himself intrigued with the new poems written by ‘Sonic’ in the news books and looks forward to them every week.

At the forge, another day passes with Chuck and Tails trying to teach Maurice the basics. Chuck’s patience is running thin, he is paying for all of Maurice’s expenses now after all, but he isn’t getting a thing in return. After an incident in the forge involving a ricocheting sword, the smithy trio realize Maurice’s natural talent when it comes to wielding a blade. Because of this, Chuck urges Maurice to join the city’s knights’ ranks since they were always looking for new members. And because Maurice feels guilty for freeloading basically, he agrees.

Maurice starts off at the lower ranks since he’s a new recruit. Although skilled with a sword, he’s sort of unsure of himself. Therefore he doesn’t succeed all that much. Eventually he learns of a retired knight, Rouge, and he goes for a visit hoping to learn more from her.

For reasons unknown yet, Rouge was quite hesitant to mentor Maurice. She herself wasn’t in the best condition. For one, she didn’t have wings. There was a cut off, so they were definitely there at one point. Eventually she gives in and mentors him and with her help he rises quickly in the ranks, earning more money for his family while also continuing to write poems on the side.

At one of Maurice and Rouge’s training sessions, the two had grown close. And soon enough, Rouge confides to Maurice, telling him he reminded her of a past friend. A friend that had gone down a lonely path after the incident. (There will be a flashback scene explaining everything that happened between Rouge and Lancelot on the battlefield and why they don’t speak anymore.) She doesn’t name names, so Maurice wouldn’t know she was talking about the Lancelot de Luc until later.

Maurice rises up the ranks to eventually work with the more esteemed knights, including the knights of the round table. All the while, Merlina has also taken sight of him and suspects he’s important to the town’s future. Pretty early on, he is unknown to the village since he hasn’t done anything to stick out and his unsure demeanor makes it hard for him to stick out regardless. Due to miscommunication, Gawain challenges him to a joust much to his dismay, but he ends up winning and gains favor amongst the townsfolk.

Past this point I don’t have many more specifics. The knights are often discharged into fights as dangerous fiends become more seen near the town. The king makes some questionable calls as well. There are times where the main knights go on quests that last days, slaying fiends or seeking things out.

During one expedition in particular, the four knights are on an overnight quest. Percival is mapping out their journey for the next day, Gawain is working on making a fire, and Lancelot is going to go into the nearby forest to find some food for them. Lancelot, wanting to help, offers to go with Lancelot. This scene in particular is inspired by the song ‘Open Arms’ and I’ll expand on this more when I write it

Romantic feelings eventually start to bloom even as the chaos continues to arise around Camelot. Maurice continues his poems and writes one about Lancelot. But because Lancelot doesn’t know Maurice is Sonic, it doesn’t lead to anything, though he does find that particular poem to be interesting.

More mysterious fiends start to show up, and in one particular battle, Maurice is presumed dead. Lancelot is distraught after losing someone else important to him AGAIN (ties back to his backstory with Rouge) He hyperfocuses on his duties again, his loyalty to his job and unknowingly corrupted king is stronger than ever.

Meanwhile, Maurice had flowed down a river, eventually leading to Nimue’s lake. He is saved by her and nursed back into good health. While he was out, it seems that the state of the kingdom had gotten worse. Some fiends had made it through, and it seemed like the king had grown more powerful in the courts. Nimue helps him realize the king is corrupted, and knowing that Lancelot is ever so loyal, he jumps back into action.

The first person he seeks out is Merlina. (I forgot to explain this before since I don’t know where to fit it yet. But Merlina had sought him out before, telling him he’d be a hero, helping the kingdom. But before, it sounded silly. But now he can see that the kingdom really did need help.) So he seeks her out in a forest, slaying beasts and navigating the harsh terrain to get to her.

When he eventually does, she’s solemn. She can see the future, but no longer does she see a future where he’s a hero and Camelot is saved. Instead, she sees a future where he and his beloved are slain. A future where evil reigns.

He doesn’t believe it and rushes back to Camelot. I’m not sure about specifics. But there’s a battle. Lancelot is still deluded by his loyalty to the king. There are fiends. But eventually there is a sacrifice. Lancelot takes a blade for Maurice, and enraged, Maurice takes the king down. There will be more details for that later but yeah.

I want to add more filler scenes to make it all feel real and connect but I don’t knowww. I also want to incorporate the sword in the stone and Maurice getting caliburn at some point but I don’t know!! If anyone is interested it has suggestions I’d love to hear ur opinions ^^

[valentine-cafe]

Hello, have a lovely day! Can i ask for a key lime pie and a rhubarb and strawberry crumble? I want to ask for the primordial husbands with a reader that first came across them some time ago but they are maybe too naive/friendly, and don't know they should be scared, so at first reader just gave both of them a little wave when they saw them, then came the smiles, then the "hey i was passing by, do you need anything?i was going to the market!"

Till one day when others do confront the reader for the "bad company" the husbands are, only for the reader to become teary eyed, with a heartbroken "but.. they're my friends"

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ verse 164 talisen & alessio ⊹ ۪ ࣪

. ˚◞꒰ 🍵 corrupt god x reader, siren x reader, sorcerer x reader ⊹ ۪ ࣪

it was on quite odd times that you’d see the two that many referred to as husbands around your town. their aura alone was admittedly a little weird — but you are not one to judge such. no, not darling you.

it is what eventually caught their eye. especially when they realised that you work at a bakery they repeatedly frequent.

you were always so friendly. greeting them. asking how their day was. once you even complimented talisen’s robes and alessio’s jewellery - needless to say, they may or may not have gotten just a bit smitten.

well on their way to visit your bakery once more after discovering that they were low on some of their favourite goods - they halted not too far from your figure stood outside of the fluttering flannels and cream-painted building.

“those two are a strange bunch, don’t you know?”

“mhhm. you should be careful. one rotten apple and all, y’know -”

“but. . .” you murmur, brows furrowing as gloss takes over your poor eyes.

oh, they both felt their hearts clench. and then came your little quivering voice.

“they’re my friends. . .”

that was it. both were behind the small group in seconds. alessio with his arms folded over his chest and talisen peering down with a less than decent look yet a smile.

“my, one would think the gossiper is worse than the rumour, would they not?” his voice spun the trio around immediately. sweatdrops evident on their brows at the mere sight of the aforementioned ‘strange bunch’.

all while alessio stepped around them and came up to you. reaching to brush your tears away delicately and giving a small shake of his head.

“don’t listen to the townsfolk. superstitious, is what they are.”

and once talisen was done scaring the ever-living soul out of the group that scattered not too long after, he steps closer as well. brushing some dust off of your shoulder and raising a basket in his hand.

“as promised, the homemade bread for sampling.”

a bright smile finds your lips. how could these two ever be considered odd?

well, your precious eyes hadn’t quite caught sight of sharp teeth.

[mystiffox]

— badsansuary: days 25 - 26

original prompts from @owl-bones ! i was indecisive on which medieval au (within an au) i wanted to go with so i did both :) previous days here !

lore notes under the cut:

Day 25: Lost -> Ohana Timeline + Royal Swap!Medieval AU

first things first: Ohana! self explanatory name, "Ohana means family, and family means nobody is left behind or forgotten."

in the original timeline, both me and night were seperated from our siblings. this timeline fixes that, but the change is that neither me or gillan was brought to the kingdom, we just stayed as townsfolk while night keeps his role of king (he rules alongside dream). this au is practically the best timeline in the medieval lore bc of how little angst there is

Royal Swap, however, is the opposite. i did mention it previously but never explained what kind of swap this is, and to quote the lore doc, "the dragon twins are now townsfolk (that are later brought into the palace), while the two orphaned brothers [Rei and Gillan] are royals."

Rei/Blue (me) <=> Nightmare Gillan/Mal (@gillanfryingpan) <=> Dream

the difference between me and night as kings is that he adapted to the role. i didn't. "old mad king," as i fell from grace, spiraling into madness (similar to night falling for his curse) and fleeing the kingdom. i don't rebuild a kingdoom, i become a haunting- or a pathfinder in the dark forests if people dare to come close. most of the time, no one knows where i am (cryptid) (feral creechur vibes) (i think bro compared me to muriel from arcana)

speaking abt him, gillan is forced to be king now and theres a lot more tension between us hahahjdihsgyb i love angst (sobs in the corner)

anyway, night might be a royal advisor here while dream is a ranger, not sure rn

Day 26: Veiled -> Vampire and Werewolves AU

the contrast between how much lore this and medieval au is crazy bc guess what? i got nothin LMAO

all i can tell you is that night and dream are still close and share a coven, and they keep werewolves (me and the murder trio, also nicknamed as cerberus). i can also say that if there's any other skeles, crayon bros (geno, error, fresh) are vampires, while plum/lust and reaper/mortem are witches of some kind. and that's all i got

theres like 2-5 more prompts but no promises on if i'll even do the last three .. i do enjoy medieval lore way too much so that has more priority in my head. idk but lemme know if yall want more of it tho !

[gilfhunter069]

Varieties.

[pandas-pandemonium]

new halloween theory:

I don't think Skully actually means much harm? I mean, as far as it seems, it looks like he managed to recruit the kid trio to help with some kind of Halloween plan. I'm wondering if it's another Scary Night situation where like Malleus spirited away the NRC students, he's pumpkining the students and the townsfolk to bring them to his own Halloween party. One which he thinks is worthy of being a "real" Halloween.

Again, I could be wrong. It's just the involvement of the kids throws me off a bit and makes his actions seem less sinister.

[townsfolk-triad]

Biggest fear? Probably zombie apocalypses. They're the number one thing in my nightmares-

"I hear that stress does a number on the mind. I'd offer you a pastry, hon, but sugar makes things worse.

I'd advise preparation. Have you considered learning how to handle a range of guns? I can give you a few lessons~

...By the way, I appreciate your candid response! Not a lot of folks around here like to open up. Can you believe that?"

[8bitchmain]

BRAWL STARS LGBT HEADCANONS - TOWNSFOLK TRIO🔔

firstly, we've got...

BYRON

Gay gay homosexual gay 🫵

Trans of gender, I bet he made his own HRT

Demiromantic for sure

Also asexual, Yaya❤️

Off topic but 🥵

After this hottie, we've got...

PIPER

Non-binary AFAB (I told y'all, I love nonbinarying characters)

Bisexual (bi4bi yay)

She/He

And the last one would be....

BARLEY

Since he's a robot, no assigned gender! Robots can choose whatever gender they are :3

Genderfluid, might draw Barley in a dress once .3.

He/She/They

AroAce, sorry Barley shippers lol

[sincerely-sofie]

Dadnoir Musings: The Fanfic

Lord help me I’m back on my nonsense. Finally making this monstrosity public.

Word count: 6,930-ish

Summary: Fragments of Dusknoir’s interactions with and thoughts on Kip and Twig (especially Twig) throughout the events of the game, leading up into the start of The Present is a Gift.

It was meant to be simple. He would travel back through a passage of time alone, the sableye making the journey separately to spread rumors of a renowned explorer before he'd quietly enter the areas that were handfed awe-inspiring stories of his exploits. He'd do a number of good deeds along the way to validate the rumors, and in doing so he would gain the loyalty and aid of an entire population in tracking down the grovyle and human that had gotten dangerously close to securing another time gear before vanishing entirely after their retreat.

He had heard reports of the grovyle being sighted in this time period. It was good news, certainly, to have reliable sources verify one another— but he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling he had at the reports. They always identified the grovyle, but never the human. Easily the most stand-out member of the trio of rebels— even moreso than the Legend in their ranks— and suddenly the only one unaccounted for. He didn't know much about humans and how hardy they were, but the grovyle’s habit of whirling her out of reach of whatever strikes were sent her way implied a distinct fragility— perhaps she'd been disposed of in the window of time that they'd lost track of the rebels.

He hoped that was the case. Everything would be so much simpler if it was. Still, he instructed the scouts to search more diligently for the human. He wasn't foolish enough to hope for much of anything anymore, and the fact that he found himself clinging to the idea of not having to execute the human himself left him wary.

Something wasn't right.

He entered the lively settlement of Treasure Town with a sense of dread weighing heavy on his shoulders.

***

His cover story gave him a particular level of sway over the local exploration guild. Not only did they eat up every word he said with an unmatched trustingness, they provided access to their outlaw reports and records of suspicious activity. There he was— the troublesome grovyle was reported enough times to give an area he was likely frequenting, but not an indication of his next move or where he'd hide away after brushes with danger. Dusknoir needed to wait and gather more information. The grovyle was rash— it wouldn't be long before he showed his hand.

In the meantime, Dusknoir would continue building Treasure Town’s trust in him.

That didn't prove very difficult. The townsfolk were exceptionally welcoming. They bore no doubt in his cover story. The Guild’s recruits were almost sycophantic in their hero worship, as were their elite, save for a team of two— and even then, the team that seemed wary of him appeared more cautious out of nerves than actual suspicion.

They were a young pair of recruits— much younger than the rest of their peers. Where the other recruits seemed at least well on their way to entering adulthood, these two were evidently the youngest apprentices in guild history. Team Venture was composed of a timid but eager mudkip and an odd charmander who seemed completely flabbergasted by basic social customs.

Kip was endearing in his overzealous enthusiasm— his excitement whenever Dusknoir interacted with him and his partner was palpable, and he introduced himself by name almost immediately upon meeting him. Another indicator of the two’s youth, then— he was so young he didn't quite grasp the finer details of when and where you should give your name. One might find the misstep offensive, but Dusknoir was flattered by the boy considering him such a close friend.

The charmander didn't give him a name. In truth, she didn't give him much of anything— she hung back when Kip and Dusknoir spoke, never really saying anything, just watching him with a confused look like she was trying to remember something long lost to time. She was a studious character— Kip didn't attend many of the workshops the Guild put on, but Charmander arrived early to and left late from every last one.

“She wasn't the one to ask to form a team together— honestly, she kind of rejected the idea at first,” Kip admitted to him while waiting for his partner to return from one such event, “but I think that now she likes exploring even more than I do!”

“Funny how things play out like that,” he replied.

“She's amazing. I'm so lucky to have met her. She's my best friend.”

He watched as the mudkip fidgeted happily with his scarf, a slight blush on his face. Ah. Definitely a bit of lilipuppy love on his end. He couldn't help his chuckle. “And how did you two meet?”

“Oh— um. She was passed out on the beach one day, but I thought she was dead when I found her and I— uh— I screamed so loud she woke up,” he stammered. “It wasn't a very cool way to meet, but I'm glad I got to meet her at all.”

“I'm sure any would react as you did were they to stumble upon a possible corpse.” His brow furrowed. “Why was she passed out on the beach in the first place?”

“She doesn't know. She's got amnesia, if you haven't heard— she doesn't remember anything about herself before waking up on the beach. Well, anything but her name and how she used to be a human.”

“What?”

Kip startled at the sharpness of his tone. “She… she doesn't remember anything but her name, and how she used to be a human? Is everything okay, Dusknoir, sir?”

It couldn't be. This was a coincidence. He hoped desperately that it was a coincidence. If there was a human in the time he had traveled from, then there surely had to be humans in the time preceding it. This was another human, unrelated to the one that had evaded detection for the last year or so. It was a simple coincidence.

Kip watched him nervously.

“Apologies, I… I was simply caught off guard. Humans turning into pokemon is a concept that I thought was only the stuff of fairy tales. That combined with humans having been long extinct makes your story seem a bit peculiar.”

“Oh! Yeah, it does seem strange, doesn't it? I don't know if she's misremembering or not, but she's pretty intent on how she wasn't a charmander before waking up on the beach. She took a while to learn how to walk, though, and she doesn't know how to control fire like a normal charmander— so it makes me feel like she's telling the truth.”

Dusknoir hummed, lost in thought. Kip ran off to greet his partner when she exited the meeting hall for whatever seminar was put on that week, and she caught him in a hug and showed him a stack of notes she'd taken during the seminar. Kip stifled a laugh as he looked over the pages— Charmander demanded he tell her what was so funny, and he meekly explained that her spelling was even worse than her handwriting.

“Dude! Not cool! I didn't even know how to read any of this stuff last year. I'd like to see you write a paper in English after barely getting any time to learn it!”

They wandered off, chattering all the way, leaving Dusknoir to recall the mannerisms of the human who had all but dropped off the face of the planet and recognize their echoes in the child resting her hand over her friend’s shoulders as they walked to the guild dorms.

It was a coincidence. Simply that.

(The thought that the human he'd been trying to… dispatch for so many years was only as old as Charmander sat like a block of ice in his belly.)

***

He tried to get more information on this mysterious recruit, and his efforts to find any background beyond when she first arrived at the Guild yielded nothing. It was as if Charmander never existed before appearing on that beach— no records of her prior residence, birth, or heritage were to be found— no one had ever even known she existed before Kip brought her into town. He wondered if it was a conspiracy between them— that the girl was playing dumb and the boy was lying to cover up what he knew— but couldn't place any stock in the theory. Kip was as guileless as they come, and he had seen Charmander attempt to hide surprises from her partner— she was an atrocious liar. They were genuine in their cluelessness.

He learned more that personified the child than he would have liked while posing faux-idle questions to the townsfolk.

(“That lil’ charmander girl is the sweetest thing. She's got the etiquette sense of an overturned stump, make no mistake, but she means no harm by it, y’hear? Keeps coming by to my storehouse to hide presents for her friends— asked for a second lockbox and everything so her partner wouldn't know she was collecting up his favorite things to give him later on.” The woman laughed. “She loves playing with my little one, too— it's the funniest thing, seeing her try to play with her. It's like she thinks she's made of glass. I keep telling Charmander she can be a bit rougher, but she still treats the girl so gingerly!”)

(“Ah! Charmander, you say? Yes, yes, she's quite the character. Loves wordplay, that one. Sharp mind, if a little dense at times. Always asking about the finer points of merchantry. If she weren't already apprenticed at the Guild, we'd consider taking her on ourselves!” A pause as his brother interjected with his own comment. “Ah! I'd forgotten about that. She's made such a habit of paying for those two’s groceries. She's always so mischievous about it— almost treats it like a prank. Keep in mind she's never told those boys or their mother who keeps paying for their things, and she's sworn us to secrecy about it— you'll not tell a soul either, yes?”)

(“Charmander is… well, she's one of our most promising recruits, alongside her partner. I've had my misgivings— those two have shown their immaturity at the worst of times, to the point of near disaster, mind you! If it weren't for Team Skull, I shudder to think of what would have happened… But they've got good hearts. Charmander started out one of the worst-performing recruits in the Guild’s history, but she's made leaps and bounds of progress. It's easier to look past her age when you see the stacks of pages of notes and research she produces— though it's significantly harder when you see the severity of her spelling! She gave me a paper where she'd listed several questions about expedition protocol, once, and I was appalled by the sight!” A nervous flutter of wings. “Everything she writes is phonetic! Horrifically so! Her handwriting is no better. It's to the point I've debated calling on a tutor to stay at the Guild for a time to provide lessons. I shudder to think of a recruit ever rising to the point she and her partner have with such deplorable writing skills. Should I ever meet her parents, I have strong words to give on the importance of education!”)

It was a coincidence. It had to be. She was a former human who had arrived in town at the same time that the fugitive human had disappeared, but that wasn't enough to be incriminating. He didn't want to think about the alternative. In his questioning the townsfolk, all he learned was how utterly normal this child was— how she had the same quirks and charms as any youth would, despite her constant efforts to seem mature and keep up with her older peers.

She and her partner asked him if he, in all his travels, knew about the cause of her dizzy spells and visions. There it was— the Dimensional Scream, and another nail in Charmander’s coffin.

It had to be a coincidence. If it wasn't, then this child's blood would need to stain his hands if he wanted to continue on himself, and he was starting to doubt how much he wanted to live a life with that fact haunting him.

It would have been easier if it was just death he was facing. He could handle the thought of dying, grim as it was. But he faced no simple looming threat of death, but one of complete and utter erasure from existence— if the grovyle succeeded, it would be as if he never lived in the first place. The same fate would be dealt to Charmander. If the existential terror wasn't enough, Dialga’s visceral descriptions of what erasure felt like were unsettlingly vivid. Dusknoir would simply have to remind himself that an execution would be swifter, less painful— even, in a twisted way, more merciful than what Grovyle was so resolutely seeking.

She wouldn't suffer, and he wouldn't be stricken from all of time and space. It would be a twofold victory, grim as it was— if it ever came to that. He didn't even know if this was the exact same human who could discern Dimensional Screams. All signs pointed to her, but if he refrained from learning anything more, he could claim ignorance. He could leave her in this time and simply dispose of the grovyle, and she would remain as she was, blissfully unaware of her origins.

He just had to stop asking questions. That's all he had to do.

Charmander came up to him one day with a newfound hesitancy in her posture. “Hey, so— I really appreciate you telling me about the Scream a while back. And how you came to help me and Kip when the Manectric Tribe came along, and you scaring off Team Skull, and all that, too.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“I don't really get Pokemon stuff, but I know names are pretty important, like, as a trust thing.”

“That they are.” Don't. I don't want to hear—

“So I figured I could give you mine? As a symbol of, like, gratitude or whatever.”

“There’s no need.” Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it, don't tell me anything, I don't want to know—

“Nah, I don't mind.” She smiled widely, puffed out her chest, set her fists on her hips. “It's Twig! Nice to meet you, or whatever you're supposed to say when you… um…” Her prideful posture fell, giving way to concern. “What's with the face? Sorry if I messed that up, I don't really know how things are supposed to— I just thought…”

Of course. Of course he was wrong to hope. When was he ever right to cling to such things? It was her, and he'd known it all along, but he stubbornly refused to accept it.

“I'm sorry, man. You don't have to look so upset.”

“Whatever would give you that idea?”

“You're crossing your arms to hide the fact you're frowning.” She furrowed her brow. “I'm not stupid, Dusknoir.”

You are, though. You're so, so foolish, and you don't even realize it. I could have moved on from here without ever confirming who you were, and you ruined it.

“Apologies,” he murmured tersely. “I'm just a tad overcome. I need a moment.”

“Oh. Yeah, no worries.” She awkwardly reached out and patted the back of his hand as she passed. “I’m gonna go and… I dunno, do some sentry duty. Sorry again if I messed stuff up.”

You should be. You did. Legends and Life, you'll regret this even more than I do when the time comes.

***

It was rather jarring to see the same human that Grovyle had been so determined to keep out of harm’s way laid so low by his own hand. Dusknoir’s appearance at Crystal Cave sent the fugitive packing, and he was left to tend to an injured Team Venture.

Twig shoved his hands away as he assessed the damage. “Don't! Don't, I'm fine— Help Kip! He's— I don't know if he's going to…” Her voice broke, and his heart followed suit at the pitiful sound. “Please. You've got to help him.”

It took a moment to locate the mudkip in question— Twig had evidently been making efforts to lead the fight away from where he had collapsed behind a large stalagmite, unconscious.

He had seen injuries, he had seen gore— but he had never seen so much of them on such a small body.

Twig wasn't overreacting in her fear of whether or not her friend would survive their encounter with Grovyle.

He knew enough first-aid to ensure Kip didn't bleed out in the moment, but lacked the supplies necessary to do much else. Twig was bundling Kip up in her arms before he admitted as much to himself, starting the trek out of the mystery dungeon on shaking legs— and only managed several strides before falling to her knees with a pained groan. She didn't protest when he lifted her into his own arms and resumed the journey with more haste than she could muster in her state— only curled tightly around her partner, to the point that her tail brushed her jaw, promising over and over again that he would be okay.

***

Chimecho received the two recruits and administered the care that Dusknoir was unable to provide, ushering him out of the room so she would have room to work in the cramped Guild infirmary. Left in the silence of the main floor alongside the unsettled guild members who had gathered together when they learned of Team Venture’s state, he found himself standing before the infirmary door, numb. Slowly, the guild members dispersed, the quiet tension in the air left unbroken as they awaited news of their friends’ fates. Chatot remained, noisy in his silence as he alternated between pacing and leafing through paperwork that he never gave more than a few moments of attention at a time. Dusknoir eventually had the sense to seat himself a ways away from the infirmary door and began sifting through the events of the last few hours.

He hadn't pursued Grovyle. He had the opportunity to corner the fugitive— there were a number of dead ends in Crystal Cave, any of which he could have driven him into and had the upper hand in a confrontation where he might capture him— and he didn't take it. He squandered the perfect chance to finally do away with the greatest thorn in his side in favor of assisting another of the trio he'd been tasked with dispatching. He could only hope that Dialga didn't learn of his misstep— there would be hell to pay if he did.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Chatot’s startled squawk as he shot over to the infirmary door when Twig stepped onto the threshold, though not fully through, heavily bandaged and with a pronounced limp. “What are you doing up and about?! You need to remain in the infirmary until you've been given a clean bill of health! I won't have you running about jeopardizing yourself— think of— think of what horrors that would do for the Guild’s image! Get back in there immediately!”

Twig gave him a weary glare. “I'm not going to sit around and watch while Chimecho stitches Kip back into one piece. Move over, man.”

Chatot opened his beak to protest once more, but froze upon glancing over Twig's shoulder— catching an eyeful of Kip’s injuries, judging by the way his feathers flattened against his body in fear. “A-Alright, just this once, then. But sit down! You look faint. I don't want to have you falling and giving yourself a concussion on top of all this!”

“Pretty sure I already have a concussion, Chatot. I also can't sit down unless you let me through the doorway.”

Chatot complied, fretting over her until she laid down on the floor and set her legs up against the wall to combat her supposed faintness that Chatot was so worried about. “Dusknoir, I'm dreadfully sorry, but please keep watch over this recruit for a moment. Chimecho will no doubt need more material for sutures shortly— I must seek supplies in town.” He didn't wait for a response, simply shot up the ladder leading out of the guild in a flurry of wings and panic, leaving Dusknoir and Twig in an vacant chamber.

She closed her eyes, falling so still that she seemed to be asleep. Recalling her mentioning a concussion, he reached over to rouse her— but her sudden words made him freeze with his hand outstretched.

“Chimecho doesn't know if he's gonna make it.”

He couldn't muster a response to that.

“You’ve— you've been around, you know lots of stuff. You've probably seen injuries way worse than those. Kip’s— he's gonna be okay, right?” He watched as she opened her eyes, fixing him with a teary stare as she waited for an answer. “... Right?”

He couldn't look at her. “His injuries are severe,” he finally murmured.

She turned to stare at the ceiling. He did his best to ignore the way her breaths stuttered and hitched, turning into quiet hiccups and whines as she rolled over and shifted to press her back against the wall and cry into her knees. Distantly, he wondered how she managed to cry so quietly, even when every whisper of a sob shook her entire frame with its intensity. He intently avoided pondering what had motivated her to develop such a skill.

It wasn't easy to ignore an injured, distraught child weeping only an arms-length away from him. He found himself unwillingly reminded of the sableye when he first took them in— Twig's situation was different, but the end result was almost the same— a child left adrift and frightened in the face of tragedy. Where the sableye had each other, though, Twig was left to weep without five siblings to answer the slightest whimper with unflinching support. Her partner— her only true friend amongst the Guild, from the sound of things— was on death's door, unable to come to her aid and offer the same words of comfort she had repeated to him as Dusknoir brought the two back to the Guild.

Despite himself, he reached out and set his hand over her back. She stiffened under his palm, and he nearly pulled away, but she caught hold of his thumb on her shoulder and held his hand in place. Her tears continued. He didn't say anything when she curled up tighter and her sobs picked up in volume, too startled by the memory of one of the recruits describing something to him.

(“Twig really doesn't like being touched. Not most times, at least! One time I patted her on the back because she beat my best sentry duty record, and she whirled around and almost took off one of my petals! Like, oh my gosh, I totally freaked! Kip said that she barely lets anyone touch her— you've got to be a real close buddy for her to be okay with it, or else it really freaks her out— but I didn't think it was that bad! Eek!”)

He kept his gaze fixed on the opposite wall and tried not to think about how she felt bonier under his hand than one so young had any right to be.

***

Kip survived, adorned with a number of scars that would remain for all his remaining days as a mudkip. Twig was glued to his side during the days in which he was allowed to exit the infirmary and rest in the dorms, and she became his crutch whenever he struggled to walk about the Guild to build his strength back up after so long being bedridden. The other recruits flocked around the two and made their concern known, offering to help with anything they needed as they recovered.

Kip asked for help checking a particular book out of the Guild library and sending word to Chimecho that the numbing agent was working a bit too well, and that he couldn't feel the fin on his head whatsoever. Twig didn't ask for anything— suddenly every bit as stoney, stern, and stoic as Grovyle had appeared in confrontations once they were separated— and said little over the following days. When one recruit waddled up to her after a workshop with carefully written notes and an apology for how he couldn't write as many pages as she always did on account of how fast the lecturer spoke and how slow his paws were, though, she pulled him into a hug that he meekly returned.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

“Aw, shucks, it's really nothing! Don't mind it at all. I know how much you love those workshops. Me, though, I was lost as soon as the lecturer flipped the first page on her big ol’ chart thingy! You mind explaining how traps form in a mystery dungeon? She kept saying that it was important to know for this workshop, but I didn't go during the one where it was taught.”

She launched into a lecture of her own, more animated than he had seen her since her encounter with Grovyle, and Dusknoir was tempted to applaud the young man for so cleverly distracting her from her wounds.

***

With a trap laid for Grovyle, Dusknoir watched for the right moment to spring it. It didn't take long— the fugitive was gullible and impatient, a dangerous combination of traits that ensured Dusknoir wasn't left waiting for long.

Grovyle was secured— albeit perhaps roughed up a tad more than was totally necessary to capture him— and that meant he had to resolve the other loose end before he departed for his home era.

He called Team Venture forward, out from the back of the crowd where they always lingered. He only had to bring Twig closer, but to summon her alone would raise suspicions at this most critical of moments. She was slow to come up to the front of the crowd and made her way there leaning heavily on her partner when she finally appeared. Evidently, her refusal to rest and recover from her injuries had backfired, leaving her in a worse state than Kip was despite her having the lesser wounds at the beginning.

He only needed her. He could leave Kip behind and have a single child’s death weighing on him for eternity instead of two, if only they would stop clinging to each other for one measly second. He gave a speech describing his gratitude, waiting for the moment when she would shift her weight off of his side and onto her own two feet so he could grab her and be off— and there it was. He seized her in a hand and shot back into the passage of time, realizing too late that Kip was dragged along by her fistful of his scarf.

Great. Of course.

He caught hold of the boy when Twig’s own grip came loose and cursed whatever Legends were watching and no doubt laughing at his luck.

***

He really should have expected Grovyle would have another trick lying in wait before the execution. He'd hoped that Kip and Twig at least would remain unconscious for the act, but Grovyle's hissing and spitting curses his way roused them, and they were pulled along with his escape plan as a result. Dusknoir was going to kill him personally if things continued to sour thanks to him. When they had the three cornered— along with Celebi, even— he found himself possessed by the urge to twist the knife.

It was cruel to reveal Twig’s identity to Grovyle in order to stamp out any bit of resistance in him, but Dusknoir would be lying if he said it didn't give him some awful sense of catharsis to see the horrified guilt in his face— he finally realized just what he'd done by beating a child unconscious and nearly doing the same to a second one in Crystal Cave, and Dusknoir took a certain glee in his regret. Twig’s look of disgust at the reveal only drove the knife deeper. Good. He deserves it. He put out a hand and sent a shadow snaking along the ground, ready to take the wretch out—

— and Twig tackled Grovyle out of the way of the attack, putting herself in the range of the strike. He fumbled, dampening the worst of the blow before it hit her, but she still let out a sharp cry in response. Legends and Life, he would rather put the two youths out of their misery with something quick, but that was made difficult by their insistence to throw themselves in harm's way as living shields for the one target he wanted to suffer.

Fine, then. He reached out to snatch Kip up and snap his neck, but Twig surged into Dusknoir with such force she managed to throw him against a tree and lit a barrier of flame between them and her allies.

She kicked off of him, further dizzying him thanks to her using his eye as her chosen springboard, and landed ready to dash back to her group— but stopped short when she saw the long wall of fire between them.

(He'd never seen her use any sort of attack before that incorporated the flames she could manifest as a charmander— only ever using her fists, teeth, and even fallen branches to strike— and he suddenly recalled how he could count the hours at the Guild by how many times she'd let out a startled yelp when she'd see her own tail. Back then, he thought she'd simply never grown accustomed to an extra limb. It was with a bitter, weary laugh now that he realized she was afraid of fire.)

He reached out, hand outstretched to take her by the throat.

Kip sprang up from the ground that he had tunneled into and headbutted him hard, whirling around to douse the flames and shove his partner forward. “Come on, come on, we've got to get out of—!”

Grovyle snatched the girl up as he sprang for the passage of time, not even sparing her partner a second glance as he leveled Dusknoir with a deadly glare when he passed. Kip was only pulled along by Twig grabbing his scarf and pulling him into her arms as they darted into the passage of time, Celebi swiftly shuttering it and vanishing in a shimmer of air.

Lovely.

***

Grovyle hadn't told Twig what would happen to her if their efforts to restore Temporal Tower succeeded. Of all the things he'd done, this one failure to act was his most repulsive misdeed by far.

She was baffled by Dusknoir's question of whether she truly didn't fear erasure, looking to Grovyle for answers. He stuttered and stammered, resisting her request for the truth at first, and Dusknoir, for all his willingness to see his instructions to kill these two as just business a few seconds ago, concluded that it would be a lovely vacation to throttle Grovyle in particular.

One last attempt to dispatch Twig as kindly as he could was once again foiled— Grovyle passed on the burden of his mission to a child who just learned she was giving up her entire existence to change a future that was uncertain— and he forced Dusknoir into the passage of time.

***

Erasure was less painful than he expected. It was less like being ripped apart by every second he had lived and more like his very soul was slowly being brushed away, like he was falling asleep. Twig had gone through with her part, then. He hoped the event of her disappearance wasn't too frightening for her or Kip.

Dusknoir could feel himself slipping. He could barely summon the words as he asked, “Grovyle… My life… did it shine?”

Grovyle must have been just as exhausted as Dusknoir, but he smiled despite it. His hand shook as he reached out to grip his arm. His voice trembled with effort as he fought to speak. “Extraordinarily.”

It was a pitiful scrap of comfort— meaningless, really. But that simple response, combined with the sun rising behind the collapsed forms of his unlikely allies moved him to tears.

Okay. If this was how he was struck from all of time and space, it was okay. He would be able to accept it.

As dawn broke for the first time in decades gone uncounted, Dusknoir stopped clinging to the world about him, and let himself drift away completely.

***

To return to existence was unexpected. To be given a second chance at life by Dialga himself was even more unexpected. But perhaps most unexpected of all was how much he hated this bright future’s refusal to admit all of the terrors that had taken place on its soil.

Grovyle and Celebi felt similarly. The decision to immigrate to the Present was unanimous, heightened by Grovyle's late realization that if they'd been restored, Twig likely was as well— Celebi couldn't open a passage of time fast enough for his liking once the idea hit him, and he bolted through it the moment it was vaguely safe to traverse.

“… He's certainly eager to move in.”

“Dusknoir, dear, you know full well he's not leaping at the opportunity to pick out wallpaper.” She turned to the passage, face pensive. “It's been so long since I've seen them in this timeline… I'm almost afraid. How do I look? Are my antennae straight? Are my wings as dazzling as ever?”

He gave her a flat stare.

“You have no appreciation for beauty! Hmph!” She feigned anger for only a moment before glancing back at him, worried. “If you'd like a moment, Dusknoir, you can wait here and prepare yourself. I know you didn't part on the best of terms with our two little explorers.”

“I doubt they're very little anymore.”

“You're right! Oh my goodness, they must be full-grown by now… I'm going through, dear, but you come on out only when you're ready.”

He waited for a feeling of readiness to overtake him.

It never did.

All he could do was take a breath and enter the passage.

He was greeted by sunlight, dappled shadows, treetop canopies rustling overhead, and Twig's startled command for Kip to get behind her.

She was barely any taller, covered in scars he didn't remember her wearing when they last parted ways, and she had her fists balled up in front of her and ready to lash out the second he approached. Grovyle stepped forward and tried to explain, and her look of frightened fury gave way to confusion, then frustration.

“There's— No way. There's no way he did any of that. He's just trying to get our guards down again.” She cast a vicious glare his way. “What, was Primal Dialga a cover? Were you really working with Darkrai all along? Too bad, we beat your real boss months ago! Get out of here before I—”

Kip stepped forward, brushing aside his partner's threats with a smile. His words were sincere and simple. “I knew you were too nice to be faking it. All the times in Treasure Town, Amp Plains, Crystal Cave— I told you, Twig. C’mon, you owe me five-hundred poké!”

She sputtered for a moment as he simply held out a paw expectantly. She reached into her bag and begrudgingly slid a large coin into his waiting palm. He gave her a smug smile as Dusknoir looked between them.

“Do you two often bet on the intentions of those you meet?” He asked, unsettled by the well-practiced exchange.

“It’s a joke. Mostly. And we don't do it too much,” Kip answered.

He was scared to hear the answer he was certain he already knew. “And what started this routine between you?”

To his surprise, they didn't respond by pointing to him. Twig crossed her arms and murmured, surprisingly hesitant, “We got… um. Don't know if there's a specific word for it in Pokéspeak, but we thought we were talking to Cresselia, and it turned out it was very much not Cresselia that we were talking to. We started up the joke to deal with that.”

“A Cresselia that wasn't Cresselia— who would impersonate a Legend?”

Twig gave him a once-over, her suspiciousness giving way to exhaustion. “You know that Darkrai dude I mentioned a bit ago?”

The explanation that followed wasn't as horrifying as the manner in which it was told. Kip admitted his fears as he explained their subsequent clash with a Legend who masterminded Dialga's decay, but Twig dismissed hers. The blatant attempt to put on a brave face and minimize her own anxieties— anxieties which still clearly affected her, judging by the way she avoided eye contact and her tail’s flame fizzled and hissed while burning an anxious magenta— brought to mind a memory he'd almost forgotten.

(A bloody child shakily shoving helping hands aside, sobbing for him to ignore her wounds and tend to her partner. A refusal of aid in favor of assisting another.)

His hands curled into fists, and he looked away. Twig tensed and took a half-step closer to Kip, and the sight killed him.

***

Kip offered their motley trio a place in his and Twig's home as they searched for more permanent lodgings. They accepted, much to Twig's poorly hidden chagrin.

Everyone else had retired for the night— curled up in makeshift beds pulled haphazardly together out of blankets and pitiful amounts of straw insufficient for any real mattress. Grovyle snored loudly, sleeping deeply for perhaps the first time Dusknoir had ever been around to see, and Celebi had tucked herself tidily into her bed, breaths whistling lightly as she rested. Kip was doing the same a short distance away. Twig, meanwhile, sat at a table across the room, pretending to look over papers she must have read ten times each by now, glaring up at him every time she leafed through the stack anew.

The implication that she didn't trust him around her unconscious friends and had taken up watch to protect them wasn't lost on him.

She did this for multiple nights. She'd reached the point that she was nodding off in the daytime, exhausted by her nightly vigils, but she still kept them up. He had attempted to fake sleeping earlier in the night so she'd allow herself rest, but she remained awake even then— and so he swiftly gave up the ruse in favor of his typical pattern of sleep. Each evening, she'd take up her post at the table and start skimming papers with feigned interest, keeping an eye on his every move and tensing whenever he so much as twitched.

He deserved each terrified glower she gave him. His knowledge of his guilt didn't make it any easier to see one so young carrying the world on her shoulders.

She was grown now— likely nearing an evolution, if the reddish scales now dotting her skin meant anything— but she still had the eyes of a haunted child when the nights were long and her watch over her friends wore on her.

She finally slipped up one evening, her head settled on folded arms over the table’s surface, eyelids drifting closed until her breathing finally evened out and she fell asleep. He sighed with relief, but the reassurance that she'd finally get some rest was short-lived.

She flinched in her sleep, murmuring fearfully, fingers twitching against the tabletop she'd slumped over.

Uncertain of what to do, but called to help all the same, he rose and pulled a blanket from the meager sheets comprising her empty bed. She relaxed when he draped it over her, her hands no longer balling into fists and her tail’s flame glowing a warm, peaceful white instead of flickering between aggressive violets and panicked magentas.

She looked smaller as she slept— as if in her slumber she forgot to puff herself up and pretend she was self-assured and confident. She looked like a recruit too young to keep up with her older peers and too naive to understand the danger she threw herself readily into.

She looked like a child.

She looked like a child, but she'd never had the chance to truly be one. Between running for her life in the Dark Future, to taking on a schooling far too intensive for those her age, to waging battles with Legends and shouldering whatever trauma she'd garnered from all of it— she'd never been allowed such an opportunity.

(He was part of that. He was part of the reasons she'd never been able to grow up as a child should. He'd been part of the wretched selection of foes who robbed her of her youth.)

Dusknoir tugged the blanket higher around the girl's shoulders. She sighed a cozy, content sound, and he left for a late night walk.

He didn't mention the blanket come morning. She left it unspoken as well.

(She took a glance at her post the next evening and turned away, electing to sprawl out in her bed and snore almost loud enough to put Grovyle to shame.)

(It was a simple thing. Meaningless, really, and no great signifier of any faith that had been rebuilt. But it moved him near to tears regardless as she dropped off to sleep before any of the rest of them. She trusted them all to keep her safe and be safe in turn— and he was encircled in that trust.)

(It wasn't the unwavering faith of a child, but it was something, and it was something that meant the world.)