TF-Stories

Everybody at school knows of the day everything changed, when Team Star rose up against the bullies and the bases that followed. For me, that day was the week before. I want to focus on the sole event, but I can’t, not without some context, and I know you know some of it already. Let me tell you my side though. First, as you know, my name is María. Second, that particular day nothing really happened until lunchtime when me and Ramon were sitting on a bench eating food. The usual stuff: my sorry excuse of a sandwich and his tastier looking Paldean style bento box. The other usual stuff were other students walking here and there with their Pokémon. “Isn’t Atticus so dreamy?” “I know right! Shame he’s just such a dweeb.” I rolled my eyes at the two girls walking past, Ramon joining me. He lowered his head and whispered. “Hey, have you heard?” “Heard what?” “Atticus has been joining the other four. It sounds like one of them has an idea for intimidating the living daylights out of

also posted on AO3 and FFN as "Crises Abridged" Use only as directed. Do not use with other products containing magnesium. May cause gastrointestinal discomfort, including diarrhea. Larry was on a supplement kick. He'd been researching magnesium all morning and was now 80% sure it wouldn't give him cancer. Currently he had three tabs open on the single club room computer, and a fourth with his email, just so he had something to note on his timesheet later. (Of course he had to draw all this fire even while assigned to subaqueous students in Unova. This was the usual.) Now he stared boredly into a plastic cup of powder clinging around the remaining pinch of waxy white macaroni. It was the only thing he found in the cabinet to whip up quickly, after the kids apparently learned to hide their stash of snacks from his notorious appetite. Somewhere in with yellow dye and gluten was a pithy bit of magnesium. This was according to the flimsy, flattened cardboard packaging now lying halfway

“Objection!” “What is your objection defence?” Gabriel placed one hand on the table and pointed at the prosecution. It wouldn’t seem out of place in a video game. “Your honour, I am convinced that the prosecution’s evidence is unreliable, faulty, and quite frankly, fake!” The prosecutor, one Miles Ungerecht, laughed. Properly laughed. “And do you have any proof of this, Mr Marshall?” In fact, Gabriel didn’t, but to admit that was to admit he was out of options, and out of his depth. More importantly it meant that justice was not going to be served. Still, he stared back, unwavering, letting Mr Ungerecht and the spokesperson for the company in question take in his brown hair that was beginning to look a little ruffled, his unflinching brown eyes and his grey suit, highlighting a simple badge. Gabriel was in his 30s now and this was his first ‘proper’ trial. Despite coming from a family of mostly construction workers, Gabriel had been grabbed by the idealised world of law. He had

The Wingulls had declared the stranger’s presence upon the porch long before the doorbell had been rung. Slender shadows had cascaded across the living room as the birds had whisked past the window, squawking chirps blending with the dull roil of bluish waves against the sandy shoreline only thirty or so meters from the front door. As the shadows had briefly flickered over the various sparse pieces of furniture, further hindered by the open slats of the blinds, the sleepy dusk sun had continued to bath the unlit cubic space in its gold-orange haze. A guiding hand, perhaps, coaxing the cottage’s lone inhabitant to answer the beckoning call. And she had. Standing now within the open doorway that unveiled the full of the speckled tufts of grass leading to the beige-pink beach and the soaring expanse of the simmering ocean beyond, she simply…stood. As often as she saw the effervescent tide stretching towards the distant horizon, always, always had she been enamored with the sight. But

'Twas approaching the end of December, with a chilly breeze rustling through the small coastal town where our story takes place. As the sun slowly made its way down behind the mountains edging the town, the only thing there was to contrast the persistent cold weather was the warm, festive feeling of the holidays approaching. Laughter echoed through the streets as children spilled out of school, the shoppers rushed home with their treasures, and the snow-tipped mountains stood as silent witnesses. And off to the side of all of that was a determined young man named Calvin, who was straining on his father's ladder to set up the last of the lights on his roof. "Come on... come on!" he groaned, wobbling a bit on his ladder, "Why's this one side have to be too high to reach?!" Despite his best efforts to get the wire up onto the hooks of his roof, it seemed to be just a little too high for Calvin's ladder. He was just about ready to trip and fall right off of it if he stretched his toes

To say that the last thing Quinn expected to wake up to was the sight of a Corviknight outside his bedroom window pecking at his apartment porch would be an understatement. Last night he was just playing Pokemon Violet, and now here he is, apparently in the world of Pokemon. “I would be mad, but I do like that Pokemon,” Quinn said, closing the curtain not to disturb the Corviknight and sat down on his couch and turned on the TV, and true to what he thought, the very first channel that came on was about a Pokemon championship, the trainers were using a Dragapult and a Tyranitar, and the two were going at it. “Eeyup, I really am in the Pokemon world, I wonder if it is the same for my friends as well,” Quinn asked himself, watching the battle go on the TV when he caught something at the bottom corner of his eye. Turning he saw a red pokedex on his table, "Wait, I never owned a pokedex." He picked it up and gave it a good look over. It looked like the old one Ash had

“Stop staring! Keep working you lazy little-” I decided to zone out again while Elisabeth continued her tirade. It was the usual thing and I’m not going to recount it here. If you pick up a fairy tale with any wicked villain, you can probably pick out a suitable monologue. Fairy tales… I still love them, and my life is very much a modern day one just… not quite in the way you think. I went back to ‘counting’ blades of grass on Paniola Ranch. I say counting but really my thoughts drifted to other things, because let’s be honest, who really counts? At least Elisabeth was likely not going to be in a manager position long. She was already in trouble for not meeting quotas and staff treatment, and rather than causing a change in behaviour, Elisabeth was still very much acting as the farming queen. Some things never change. There’s always a wicked witch, a vulnerable princess and a handsome prince… But no one had rescued me yet… Not at that moment. Let me explain myself. My name is Vesper