Common
I trust you know where the happy button is?
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I can not wait for that to happen lol
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A New Journey in Pokémon
- Thread starter Common
- Start date
-
- Tags
- pokemon pokemon au
Chapter 12
New
Common
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- May 15, 2022
- Messages
- 558
- Likes received
- 15,921
Cynthia was tired.
Not the dramatic, collapsing-on-a-fainting-couch kind of tired. The quiet, bone-deep exhaustion that came from back-to-back League meetings, two arbitration disputes between Gym Leaders, and a three-hour excavation review that could have been an email.
She had just removed her coat when her phone rang.
She stared at it.
She glanced at the caller ID.
Grandma.
Cynthia closed her eyes briefly.
"…Of course."
She answered.
"Grandma, it's almost—"
"I've cracked it."
Cynthia paused mid-step.
"…Cracked what?"
"The script," Carolina said, voice vibrating with barely contained energy. "Pre-Sinnoh Glyphic Pattern Type-3. It's a tactile linguistic system. Fully structured. Repeating syntax. Cynthia, it's a complete language."
Cynthia leaned against the wall.
That woke her up faster than coffee.
"That's not possible," she said automatically. "That archive has been studied for decades."
"Yes," Carolina replied. "Incorrectly."
There was the sound of papers shuffling on the other end. Excited pacing. Possibly mild academic hysteria.
"Grandma," Cynthia said carefully, "how?"
A pause.
"…Ethan."
Cynthia blinked.
"…I'm sorry?"
"He can read it."
Silence stretched between them.
Cynthia glanced at the clock.
She considered several possibilities.
None of them were sane.
"He can read," she repeated slowly, "a script that every specialist in Sinnoh has failed to decode."
"Yes."
"And how exactly is he doing that?"
"He says it's called Braille."
Cynthia frowned. "I've never heard of it."
"Neither has anyone else," Carolina snapped. "Which is precisely the point."
Cynthia pushed off the wall and began pacing.
"Grandma," she said, voice lowering into Champion-mode calm, "Ethan is five."
"Almost six," Carolina corrected automatically.
"That does not improve the situation."
"He read a line verbatim," Carolina insisted. "'The Royal Giant must rest between uses. If overworked, even it will break.' Cynthia, that directly links to the mythological interpretation regarding—"
"—Regigigas," Cynthia finished quietly. "I'll be there first thing in the morning… You are letting Ethan get his sleep, right?"
"As much as I regret it, he's currently asleep," Carolina replied. She paused, thinking rapidly. "Do you think we could have him translate the inscriptions at Snowpoint Temple as well? They're not Pattern Type-3, but if this 'Braille' is a broader system…"
Cynthia exhaled slowly.
"So that psychic diagnosis the doctor mentioned after his accident," she said carefully, "might actually be legitimate?"
===
Morning came too quickly.
Ethan shuffled downstairs in socked feet, hair sticking up in impossible directions, Eevee padding loyally behind him.
He rounded the corner into the kitchen—
—and stopped.
At the table sat his grandmother.
And across from her—
A very tired-looking Cynthia.
Cynthia's posture was straight out of habit, but there were faint shadows under her eyes and a mug of coffee in her hand that suggested she had not slept nearly enough.
Papers were spread across the table.
Transcriptions.
Rubbings.
Charts.
Ethan blinked.
"…Morning?"
Both women turned toward him at the exact same time.
It was deeply unsettling.
Eevee froze mid-step.
Cynthia offered a small, deceptively calm smile.
"Good morning, Ethan."
Carolina's expression was far too neutral.
Ethan's gaze dropped to the papers.
Raised dot patterns.
Translation notes.
The word Braille written in Carolina's sharp handwriting.
Ah.
So this was happening today.
He looked back up at them.
"…Why does Aunt Cynthia look like she fought a Garchomp?" he asked innocently.
Cynthia did not blink.
Carolina, however, pointed at him.
"No. This is entirely your fault. Finish breakfast. We're going into town to get you winter gear."
Ethan froze.
"…Winter gear?"
"Yes," Carolina said crisply. "Boots. Coat. Gloves. Hat. Preferably something rated for subzero wind."
Cynthia took a slow sip of coffee, watching him carefully over the rim of the mug.
Ethan processed that.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"To Snowpoint Temple," Cynthia replied calmly. "Though that trip will be a few days from now. I need to clear time from my Champion duties first."
She set the mug down.
"Today," she continued, "you'll be translating more of this Braille."
Carolina slid one of the tablets forward across the table.
Ethan stared at it.
"…What happened to breakfast?" he asked.
"Chomp!"
The shout came from directly behind him.
A plate was set down on the table—
—and Ethan absolutely shrieked.
He nearly launched out of his chair as a massive, blue-gray shape loomed over him.
Hammerhead.
Fins.
Teeth.
Eevee bolted under the table.
Ethan looked up an the Dragon-type blinked down at him, eyes bright, expression smugly pleased with itself.
In one clawed hand, a perfectly balanced breakfast plate was set down in front of Cynthia, who took another calm sip of coffee as if nearly giving a child cardiac arrest was part of the morning routine.
"Good morning to you too," she said mildly. "Garchomp insisted on helping."
Garchomp gave a proud rumble, clearly pleased with both the plating and the psychological warfare.
Ethan clutched his chest.
"You can't just— just— stealth deploy a land shark!"
"Chomp," Garchomp replied, entirely unrepentant.
Carolina adjusted her reading glasses, unfazed.
"He did not stealth deploy. You were distracted."
Cynthia nodded, finally picking up her fork.
"You need to work on your situational awareness," she said evenly. "Especially if you intend to explore the forest out back more. A lack of awareness can land you in trouble."
Ethan stared at her.
"You sicced a pseudo-legendary on me during breakfast," he said.
Cynthia paused mid-bite.
"…Pseudo-legendary?" she repeated, one brow lifting slightly.
Garchomp tilted his head.
"Chomp?"
Carolina slowly removed her glasses.
"That's a new term," she said evenly. "Care to explain?"
Ethan immediately realized he had made a mistake.
He pointed at his plate instead.
"Is this Oran berry reduction? That smells like Oran berry reduction. Did Garchomp make the sauce? That's impressive motor control for claws that size—"
Carolina did not blink.
Cynthia set her fork down again.
"Ethan."
He deflated slightly.
"I don't know," he said, waving a hand vaguely. "I just kinda know, y'know?"
Silence.
Both Carolina and Cynthia paused.
They looked at him.
They looked at each other.
Then, unexpectedly—
They nodded.
"…Yes," Carolina said after a moment, as though that explained everything.
An Ethan could only sit there confused.
Not the dramatic, collapsing-on-a-fainting-couch kind of tired. The quiet, bone-deep exhaustion that came from back-to-back League meetings, two arbitration disputes between Gym Leaders, and a three-hour excavation review that could have been an email.
She had just removed her coat when her phone rang.
She stared at it.
She glanced at the caller ID.
Grandma.
Cynthia closed her eyes briefly.
"…Of course."
She answered.
"Grandma, it's almost—"
"I've cracked it."
Cynthia paused mid-step.
"…Cracked what?"
"The script," Carolina said, voice vibrating with barely contained energy. "Pre-Sinnoh Glyphic Pattern Type-3. It's a tactile linguistic system. Fully structured. Repeating syntax. Cynthia, it's a complete language."
Cynthia leaned against the wall.
That woke her up faster than coffee.
"That's not possible," she said automatically. "That archive has been studied for decades."
"Yes," Carolina replied. "Incorrectly."
There was the sound of papers shuffling on the other end. Excited pacing. Possibly mild academic hysteria.
"Grandma," Cynthia said carefully, "how?"
A pause.
"…Ethan."
Cynthia blinked.
"…I'm sorry?"
"He can read it."
Silence stretched between them.
Cynthia glanced at the clock.
She considered several possibilities.
None of them were sane.
"He can read," she repeated slowly, "a script that every specialist in Sinnoh has failed to decode."
"Yes."
"And how exactly is he doing that?"
"He says it's called Braille."
Cynthia frowned. "I've never heard of it."
"Neither has anyone else," Carolina snapped. "Which is precisely the point."
Cynthia pushed off the wall and began pacing.
"Grandma," she said, voice lowering into Champion-mode calm, "Ethan is five."
"Almost six," Carolina corrected automatically.
"That does not improve the situation."
"He read a line verbatim," Carolina insisted. "'The Royal Giant must rest between uses. If overworked, even it will break.' Cynthia, that directly links to the mythological interpretation regarding—"
"—Regigigas," Cynthia finished quietly. "I'll be there first thing in the morning… You are letting Ethan get his sleep, right?"
"As much as I regret it, he's currently asleep," Carolina replied. She paused, thinking rapidly. "Do you think we could have him translate the inscriptions at Snowpoint Temple as well? They're not Pattern Type-3, but if this 'Braille' is a broader system…"
Cynthia exhaled slowly.
"So that psychic diagnosis the doctor mentioned after his accident," she said carefully, "might actually be legitimate?"
===
Morning came too quickly.
Ethan shuffled downstairs in socked feet, hair sticking up in impossible directions, Eevee padding loyally behind him.
He rounded the corner into the kitchen—
—and stopped.
At the table sat his grandmother.
And across from her—
A very tired-looking Cynthia.
Cynthia's posture was straight out of habit, but there were faint shadows under her eyes and a mug of coffee in her hand that suggested she had not slept nearly enough.
Papers were spread across the table.
Transcriptions.
Rubbings.
Charts.
Ethan blinked.
"…Morning?"
Both women turned toward him at the exact same time.
It was deeply unsettling.
Eevee froze mid-step.
Cynthia offered a small, deceptively calm smile.
"Good morning, Ethan."
Carolina's expression was far too neutral.
Ethan's gaze dropped to the papers.
Raised dot patterns.
Translation notes.
The word Braille written in Carolina's sharp handwriting.
Ah.
So this was happening today.
He looked back up at them.
"…Why does Aunt Cynthia look like she fought a Garchomp?" he asked innocently.
Cynthia did not blink.
Carolina, however, pointed at him.
"No. This is entirely your fault. Finish breakfast. We're going into town to get you winter gear."
Ethan froze.
"…Winter gear?"
"Yes," Carolina said crisply. "Boots. Coat. Gloves. Hat. Preferably something rated for subzero wind."
Cynthia took a slow sip of coffee, watching him carefully over the rim of the mug.
Ethan processed that.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"To Snowpoint Temple," Cynthia replied calmly. "Though that trip will be a few days from now. I need to clear time from my Champion duties first."
She set the mug down.
"Today," she continued, "you'll be translating more of this Braille."
Carolina slid one of the tablets forward across the table.
Ethan stared at it.
"…What happened to breakfast?" he asked.
"Chomp!"
The shout came from directly behind him.
A plate was set down on the table—
—and Ethan absolutely shrieked.
He nearly launched out of his chair as a massive, blue-gray shape loomed over him.
Hammerhead.
Fins.
Teeth.
Eevee bolted under the table.
Ethan looked up an the Dragon-type blinked down at him, eyes bright, expression smugly pleased with itself.
In one clawed hand, a perfectly balanced breakfast plate was set down in front of Cynthia, who took another calm sip of coffee as if nearly giving a child cardiac arrest was part of the morning routine.
"Good morning to you too," she said mildly. "Garchomp insisted on helping."
Garchomp gave a proud rumble, clearly pleased with both the plating and the psychological warfare.
Ethan clutched his chest.
"You can't just— just— stealth deploy a land shark!"
"Chomp," Garchomp replied, entirely unrepentant.
Carolina adjusted her reading glasses, unfazed.
"He did not stealth deploy. You were distracted."
Cynthia nodded, finally picking up her fork.
"You need to work on your situational awareness," she said evenly. "Especially if you intend to explore the forest out back more. A lack of awareness can land you in trouble."
Ethan stared at her.
"You sicced a pseudo-legendary on me during breakfast," he said.
Cynthia paused mid-bite.
"…Pseudo-legendary?" she repeated, one brow lifting slightly.
Garchomp tilted his head.
"Chomp?"
Carolina slowly removed her glasses.
"That's a new term," she said evenly. "Care to explain?"
Ethan immediately realized he had made a mistake.
He pointed at his plate instead.
"Is this Oran berry reduction? That smells like Oran berry reduction. Did Garchomp make the sauce? That's impressive motor control for claws that size—"
Carolina did not blink.
Cynthia set her fork down again.
"Ethan."
He deflated slightly.
"I don't know," he said, waving a hand vaguely. "I just kinda know, y'know?"
Silence.
Both Carolina and Cynthia paused.
They looked at him.
They looked at each other.
Then, unexpectedly—
They nodded.
"…Yes," Carolina said after a moment, as though that explained everything.
An Ethan could only sit there confused.
ThunderBasilisk
Well Worn Bastion
- Joined
- Mar 23, 2020
- Messages
- 21,544
- Likes received
- 178,854
Honestly can't wait to see how he explains Psuedo legendaries. And how each region has at least 1 (Hoenn is special cause they couldn't decide on Salamance or Metagross)
Chapter 13
New
Common
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- May 15, 2022
- Messages
- 558
- Likes received
- 15,921
Celestic Town was alive with activity—a proper metropolitan hub in Sinnoh, layered atop centuries of history.
Glass-fronted storefronts and modern transit lines wove between stonework that predated the League itself. Streets bustled with commuters, tourists, trainers, and scholars. Pokémon moved just as freely—delivery Chatot fluttering overhead with parcel straps, a pair of Machoke assisting with construction under careful supervision, children laughing as a Buneary darted between benches.
The air carried the warm scent of bakeries, street food, and distant sea wind drifting in from the coast.
But the "town" portion of Celestic was, in many ways, a polite fiction.
The true Celestic Town—the one printed in history texts—was the preserved heritage district at its heart. Ancient stone paths. Weathered wooden buildings. The ruins and cavern systems protected under cultural authority. The place where Sinnoh's creation myths were etched into rock walls older than recorded civilization.
And today, Ethan was seeing all of it with wide, openly curious eyes.
This wasn't Maverik's memory.
This wasn't secondhand knowledge or inherited context.
This was real.
A Growlithe trotted past on police duty, tail wagging as its handler chatted with a street vendor. A pair of elderly women shared tea outside a café while their Lilligant carefully pruned decorative ivy climbing along a balcony. A Rotom flickered inside a digital billboard overhead, briefly glitching into a smiley face before stabilizing.
Cynthia's eyes softened, and then, unexpectedly, she giggled.
"It's a lot more than you expected, isn't it?" she asked, her tone teasing but warm.
Ethan nodded slowly, taking it all in, his small hand gripping the strap of his coat. "Yeah… it's… kind of amazing."
Cynthia smiled faintly at that—soft, satisfied.
"Good," she said. "It should be."
She guided him down the main avenue, Garchomp trailing a polite distance behind them so as not to cause traffic incidents. People still parted instinctively anyway.
Their first stop was a winter outfitter near the northern end of the district—large windows displaying insulated coats, thermal layers, snow boots rated for mountain conditions.
Ethan stopped dead in front of a mannequin wearing what looked like enough padding to survive an avalanche.
"I'm going to look like a Swinub," he muttered.
Cynthia hummed thoughtfully. "A well-prepared Swinub."
Inside, it became immediately clear that shopping with the Sinnoh Champion had… perks.
The clerk straightened instantly. "C-Champion Cynthia! How can we help?"
"Winter gear for Snowpoint conditions," Cynthia replied calmly. "Child-sized. Layered insulation. Waterproof outer shell. Wind resistance is non-negotiable."
Ethan blinked.
This wasn't casual aunt mode.
This was expedition logistics mode.
Within minutes, he was being measured, fitted, rotated, and lightly manhandled into thermal underlayers, wool-lined pants, and a thick down coat that made him resemble a particularly fashionable Spheal.
He waddled experimentally.
"I can't bend."
"You can," Cynthia said mildly. "You're being dramatic."
He attempted a crouch. It was slow. Mechanical. Deeply undignified.
Garchomp made a low rumbling noise that sounded suspiciously like amusement.
"Traitor," Ethan muttered.
Boots came next—heavy, insulated, with serious tread. Gloves with reinforced fingertips. A knit hat that covered his ears entirely.
Cynthia crouched in front of him, adjusting the scarf herself, tucking it properly under his collar.
"Snowpoint Temple isn't forgiving," she said quietly. "Cold like that isn't uncomfortable. It's dangerous."
Her tone wasn't teasing anymore.
Ethan nodded seriously.
"I'll stay close," he promised.
She searched his face for a moment, then seemed satisfied.
"Good."
===
Ethan walked beside his aunt while the land shark behind them carefully carried an impressive stack of shopping bags—winter coats, boots, gloves, and several sets of everyday clothes balanced neatly in its claws.
He was only just beginning to remember why he had hated clothing shopping as a kid.
Too many layers. Too many decisions. Too much standing still.
"Hey, Aunt Cynthia?" he asked, looking up at her. "Why are we getting so many clothes? Don't I have some back home? Won't Mom bring them?"
Cynthia didn't answer immediately.
She adjusted the strap of one of the lighter bags on her shoulder, gaze forward, expression calm and composed in that Champion way she had perfected.
"Well," she said evenly, "Snowpoint requires specialized clothing. What you had before wouldn't be sufficient."
"That's not what I meant," Ethan replied.
Garchomp's tail swayed slowly behind them, careful not to knock over a mailbox.
Cynthia's eyes flicked down to Ethan for half a second—measuring, thoughtful.
Then, very smoothly:
"Would you like ice cream?"
Ethan blinked.
"…What?"
"There's a place two streets over that makes excellent strawberry swirl," she continued casually.
"Sure!" Ethan responds.
Glass-fronted storefronts and modern transit lines wove between stonework that predated the League itself. Streets bustled with commuters, tourists, trainers, and scholars. Pokémon moved just as freely—delivery Chatot fluttering overhead with parcel straps, a pair of Machoke assisting with construction under careful supervision, children laughing as a Buneary darted between benches.
The air carried the warm scent of bakeries, street food, and distant sea wind drifting in from the coast.
But the "town" portion of Celestic was, in many ways, a polite fiction.
The true Celestic Town—the one printed in history texts—was the preserved heritage district at its heart. Ancient stone paths. Weathered wooden buildings. The ruins and cavern systems protected under cultural authority. The place where Sinnoh's creation myths were etched into rock walls older than recorded civilization.
And today, Ethan was seeing all of it with wide, openly curious eyes.
This wasn't Maverik's memory.
This wasn't secondhand knowledge or inherited context.
This was real.
A Growlithe trotted past on police duty, tail wagging as its handler chatted with a street vendor. A pair of elderly women shared tea outside a café while their Lilligant carefully pruned decorative ivy climbing along a balcony. A Rotom flickered inside a digital billboard overhead, briefly glitching into a smiley face before stabilizing.
Cynthia's eyes softened, and then, unexpectedly, she giggled.
"It's a lot more than you expected, isn't it?" she asked, her tone teasing but warm.
Ethan nodded slowly, taking it all in, his small hand gripping the strap of his coat. "Yeah… it's… kind of amazing."
Cynthia smiled faintly at that—soft, satisfied.
"Good," she said. "It should be."
She guided him down the main avenue, Garchomp trailing a polite distance behind them so as not to cause traffic incidents. People still parted instinctively anyway.
Their first stop was a winter outfitter near the northern end of the district—large windows displaying insulated coats, thermal layers, snow boots rated for mountain conditions.
Ethan stopped dead in front of a mannequin wearing what looked like enough padding to survive an avalanche.
"I'm going to look like a Swinub," he muttered.
Cynthia hummed thoughtfully. "A well-prepared Swinub."
Inside, it became immediately clear that shopping with the Sinnoh Champion had… perks.
The clerk straightened instantly. "C-Champion Cynthia! How can we help?"
"Winter gear for Snowpoint conditions," Cynthia replied calmly. "Child-sized. Layered insulation. Waterproof outer shell. Wind resistance is non-negotiable."
Ethan blinked.
This wasn't casual aunt mode.
This was expedition logistics mode.
Within minutes, he was being measured, fitted, rotated, and lightly manhandled into thermal underlayers, wool-lined pants, and a thick down coat that made him resemble a particularly fashionable Spheal.
He waddled experimentally.
"I can't bend."
"You can," Cynthia said mildly. "You're being dramatic."
He attempted a crouch. It was slow. Mechanical. Deeply undignified.
Garchomp made a low rumbling noise that sounded suspiciously like amusement.
"Traitor," Ethan muttered.
Boots came next—heavy, insulated, with serious tread. Gloves with reinforced fingertips. A knit hat that covered his ears entirely.
Cynthia crouched in front of him, adjusting the scarf herself, tucking it properly under his collar.
"Snowpoint Temple isn't forgiving," she said quietly. "Cold like that isn't uncomfortable. It's dangerous."
Her tone wasn't teasing anymore.
Ethan nodded seriously.
"I'll stay close," he promised.
She searched his face for a moment, then seemed satisfied.
"Good."
===
Ethan walked beside his aunt while the land shark behind them carefully carried an impressive stack of shopping bags—winter coats, boots, gloves, and several sets of everyday clothes balanced neatly in its claws.
He was only just beginning to remember why he had hated clothing shopping as a kid.
Too many layers. Too many decisions. Too much standing still.
"Hey, Aunt Cynthia?" he asked, looking up at her. "Why are we getting so many clothes? Don't I have some back home? Won't Mom bring them?"
Cynthia didn't answer immediately.
She adjusted the strap of one of the lighter bags on her shoulder, gaze forward, expression calm and composed in that Champion way she had perfected.
"Well," she said evenly, "Snowpoint requires specialized clothing. What you had before wouldn't be sufficient."
"That's not what I meant," Ethan replied.
Garchomp's tail swayed slowly behind them, careful not to knock over a mailbox.
Cynthia's eyes flicked down to Ethan for half a second—measuring, thoughtful.
Then, very smoothly:
"Would you like ice cream?"
Ethan blinked.
"…What?"
"There's a place two streets over that makes excellent strawberry swirl," she continued casually.
"Sure!" Ethan responds.
ThunderBasilisk
Well Worn Bastion
- Joined
- Mar 23, 2020
- Messages
- 21,544
- Likes received
- 178,854
I was hoping he would explain the pseudo legendary thing but oh well. And LoL family bonding over ice cream!
Common
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- May 15, 2022
- Messages
- 558
- Likes received
- 15,921
So it's a funny thing I got going on where they think Ethan is a Psychic, when realistically us looking in know he's not but to them he just knows this stuff some how.
As for explaining Sudo-legendaries how exactly would you go about explaining Pokemon base stats and how having over 600 is a qualifier