#such as the fact that Dumas waves the chapters in such a way that that of Aramis starts with Porthos‚ while the chapter of Athos

[longagoitwastuesday]

I've also been reading the three musketeers and the thesis chapter had me Cackling. the clowning on learning latin in particular and aramis as a character constantly emphasizing that being part of the higher sought after and hard-to-get-into regiment of the king's musketeers is just kind of a temp job for him is so funny. character of all time. (also bazin wanting aramis to be a abbe so bad is so good)

Disclaimer that I was actually not reading the book, just giving a look and toying with the idea of reading it soon. In fact I was reading something else, but the chapter was so funny I've abandoned it and will probably start The three musketeers instead xD

Yes! Bazin was so funny. While reading him I couldn't help but be reminded of Smee wanting to leave Neverland and done with Hook's obsession for Peter Pan. Aramis dismissing being a musketeer is hilarious, but it becomes particularly funny after reading Cyrano de Bergerac, where Cyrano mentions being a musketeer wistfully a couple of times. While I was reading the play I kept thinking that Cyrano's aspirations were basically to be Aramis haha

The use of Latin each character (the curate, the Jesuit, D'Artagnan and Aramis) does was indeed very funny, as well as insightful. I ended up reading a paper on the command each of the four protagonists has of Latin, and I loved the comparison it established between Athos and Aramis. I don't have an opinion on this formed because I have yet to read the book, which is a good thing (it will hopefully keep me from rambling), but I found what I read super interesting.

The chapter was very funny, and I felt Dumas managed everything very well? I loved the writing itself. Every part of the chapter worked wonderfully as a whole to enhance every aspect, making the funny parts more fun and drawing a more clear lively depiction of the characters.

By that I mean, basically, that even from the initial interaction between D'Artagnan and the hostess in which he asks for Aramis and she goes "the charming hot guy?" we can see Aramis' hypocrisy and unsteadiness by a mile. It's hilarious to read the chapter and see how Aramis ends up contradicting everything he does or says, at times not even that long after saying it xD

Which takes me to the thesis itself. Honestly, I loved the topics. I know they're supposed to sound a bit ridiculous and funny, but I thought Dumas conveyed very well the air of some of those intricate questions of theology that seem trifle but have a lot of implications, and end up being of a very poetic nature (such as the question about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, one of my all time favourite questions). I wasn't very interested on the topic of the hands until the Jesuit commented that sprinklers "simulate an infinite number of blessing fingers"; that's beautiful.

Now, the topic Aramis himself proposes is just gorgeous. The way he defends it with a syllogism is so clever of Dumas considering the link between theology and the development of Logic. Besides that, despite how unorthodox the topic may appear at first, as Aramis himself puts it, there is a lot of truth in what he says about the world being full of temptations and it being very much a sacrifice to leave it, and how there lies the devotional act. I ended up being very intrigued by the potential development of this thesis in a mix of appreciation of the world as God's creature, and thus the leaving of the world as an act of true love for God, of more importance; how instead of an easy surrender, the struggle and doubts are as much reflection of the condition of humanity's frailty as it is a more steady and full surrender to God.

The topic of Aramis' thesis is somewhat paradoxical yet sound, and reflects doubts, as well as an appreciation for the world, aesthetics and beauty; I think it reflects so much of what makes Aramis himself.

And then, again, there's the whole hypocrisy through the entire chapter (which is what makes it for me haha). The way he says he isn't defending a regret at renouncing the world while proposing the thesis, that the mere idea is sacrilegious, how he insists he won't miss it, that friends are but shadows and the world a grave, and still how his resolution wavers almost instantly with his "And yet, while I still hold to the earth, I would have liked to talk with you, about you, about our friends" (and what a tender shaking), only to end up asking D'Artagnan to tell him about the world in the last line? Hilarious. What an hypocrite xD

But how extremely charming and adorable, I must admit! I love how when D'Artagnan tells him "But how are you going to live while you wait for me? No more thesis, no more commentaries on fingers and blessings, eh?", Aramis smiles and replies "I shall compose verses". Truly one of the characters of all time xD

[friendlyneighborhoodborg]

Marc Appreciation Week 2019| Day 4: Rainbow| “Color by Numbers”

And I’m barely on time for Day 4 of @wearemiraculous‘ challenge.  I don’t have time to edit it tonight, school and procrastination mean I’m posting this late at night, and I have some more homework I want to get done before tomorrow.

Again, the prompt interpretation was very loose here.  “Rainbow,” I interpreted to mean as... well, I think we all know what the rainbow’s supposed to mean.

Disclaimers were in Day 1.

(~2700 flipping words.)

Edit:  Something’s wonky with the url, so here’s a link to the chapter on AO3.

Subsequent Edit: It might work now, but I’m keeping the link up just in case. 

Chapters:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

           “Alright,” Nathaniel surveyed.  “I don’t have a lot of homework tonight.  I can do the line-art up to page 3 while you’re settling the specific dialogue.”

           Marc looked at the sketchbook.  Nathaniel had filled in about five full pages with incredibly detailed pencil sketches, including multilayered shading, during the hour they had been sitting here.  On top of this, he’d created many new reference sketches for the two villains – Princess Fragrance with an updated costume, and the newly-created Ghostlight – as well as some new action poses for Reverser (Marc decided to keep the name after all).  It looked like something out of an actual, professional superhero comic, and he had the gall to sit here and claim he could only ink half of it.

           This boy was going to be the flipping death of him.

           “You’re really good,” he said before he could stop himself.  “I mean… you’re going to be famous one day.”

           “Hah.”  He shook his head and leaned back in his chair, smiling.  “No, I’m not there yet.  Maybe you, though, one day.”

           “N-no.”  Marc retreated into himself.  “I’ve just been writing what you told me.  It’s your story.”

           “It’s a crap story.”

           “No, it’s not.  It’s a great story, and it’s yours.  You’ve got great art, awesome designs, and the only weak thing here is my writing.”

           “You see,” Nathaniel said, sitting back up.  “That’s where you’re wrong on everything.”

           “You could’ve had the story without me,” Marc stated.  It wasn’t even an argument or an opinion in his eyes- it was just fact that Nathaniel was a better creator. “Just saying, you should have found someone better.”

           “Well, look at this.”  Marc’s journal was snatched out of his hands, despite his protests.  Nath pointed out the section Marc had already shown.  “This is emotional stuff, you hear? Reverser gets de-akumatized, he runs away when he doesn’t change back and Mighty-Illustrator finds him.”  He skimmed down the paragraph.  “All these parallels you drew between them, being the only ones to stay powered up even uncorrupted, all this, this depth you gave them that I never even thought they could have.”  He slammed down the journal and stared him down.  “This scene would be meaningless without your dialogue.”

           “It’s just words.”  Marc’s voice was weaker now.  “That’s all I’m good at.  And it was your story.  You set everything up, I just filled in the blanks.”

           “All you’re good at?”  Nathaniel released the journal from its captivity.  “Sure, fine, okay.  Words are all you’re good at.  And words were all Shakespeare was good at.  It was all Dumas was good for.  Everything Tolkien was good for.”  He pointed at it.  “This is just… you’re incredible, okay?  Seriously.  And trust me, once they see it, everyone’s gonna agree.  Then you’ll get the appreciation you deserve.”  He started placing his sketchbook, pens, and pencils into his bag.  “Now take a rest, man, you deserve it.  I’ll keep you posted.”

           It was one of Nathaniel’s many attributes.  He was so adamant that people he admired had a worth that exceeded his own, Marc had to wonder how he didn’t realize his own abilities.  No, drawing was just a thing he liked to do, never mind that he was so good at it.  Nathaniel seemed more interested in Marc’s contribution to the project, something Marc hadn’t expected from his first impressions. Now his friend was trying to moderate his wellbeing?

           Marc found himself unable to say no.

           Here he was, a trashy gay mess of a thing.  If Nathaniel kept up with his talent and humility and his whole coolest-person-on-the-planet deal, Marc would never shake his crush at this rate.

           Elsewhere in the room, Rose walked into the art room and made her way towards Juleka, who was tuning her guitar.  “Sorry Julie,” she apologized.  “I looked all over the classroom, and I couldn’t find your mirror anywhere.”

           “Really?” Juleka smirked, guitar on her knee, flashing the chain that was on her wrist. “What a surprise.”

           “Oh!”  Rose looked at the accessory in surprise.  “You found it!”

           “It was in the locker room.  I went down while you were across the hall.”  From behind her bass, she withdrew a small black box with a pink ribbon.  “I grabbed this, too.”

           Rose’s eyes widened at the unexpected object.  “Julie, what is this?”

           “An early surprise.”  The goth unstrapped the guitar to stand up and hand the present over. “I know our six-month anniversary isn’t till Saturday, but…”  A wide smile spread across her features.  “Well, I couldn’t wait.  I had to see your face when you opened it.”

           Rose looked at it in surprise.  “For me?”  She hesitantly picked it up from the gloved hand.  “Julie, you shouldn’t have.”

           “Oh, I kinda did.”  Juleka waved a hand dismissively.  “Considering you’re always getting me things, I had to return the favor somehow.”

           “No, you didn’t,” she argued, loosening the bow on top.  “You’re more than enough already.  I always feel like I’m in your debt.”  She almost dropped the box once she opened it and saw inside.  “Oh.  My.  God.”

           Marc stopped packing up to look across at the two.

           Rose gingerly fingered the sterling chain, hypnotized by the charm.  Marc couldn’t see it from his vantage point, but it was a small heart, the size of a coin, with spiked silver-colored bat wings coming off of it.  The heart was set in a chrome border, cast resin of swirling dark pink.  “Did you make this yourself?

           “Luka helped with the metalwork.  It’s not real silver, it’s tin, but… well, there isn’t really a difference.  You outshine both the same.”

           Rose stifled a laugh, unable to stop herself from tearing up in euphoria.  She rushed Juleka and enveloped her in a hug.  “I love it! I’ll wear it every day!”  She quickly clasped it around her neck.  “I love you so much!”  Rose forcefully pulled her face down (the downside of dating someone a head taller than her) and crashed into it.

           Marc stared at them, wondering what it’d be like to hold Nathaniel like that and kiss him like that.  And for just a second, watching their young love, he let himself dream that his crush wasn’t such a bad thing.

           “Oh, come on,” Alix groaned, breaking the spell.  “Teacher!  They’re at it again!”

           The girls separated, blushing when they realized they had an audience.

           The art teacher sighed.  “Alix…”  He got up from his seat.  “Girls,” he reminded, “you did say you had a lot of work to do.  I can only keep the room open for another half-hour.”

           Rose sighed.  “Yes, Mr.—”

           “Hey, Marc,” Nathaniel nudged him out of his observation.  “You okay? You should get some rest.”

           “I’m fine,” he assured, waving a hand towards the pair.  “Just, uh… researching our subjects, I guess.”

           “Oh yeah.  Rose and Juleka.”  Nath nodded. “They’re interesting, alright. Part of the reason I agreed to do them for the comic.  That reminds me, we should really start thinking about how we’re introducing Juleka’s new villain.”

           “Their dynamic is really weird.  Juleka’s normally really quiet.  But when she’s talking to Rose, it’s so much easier for her to talk.”

           “You noticed that too, huh?”

           “They’re…”  Marc bit his lip.  “They’re really happy, aren’t they?”

           “If not, they sure fooled me.”

           “Then… And they get to be themselves.”

           Nathan looked at them.  “Yeah,” he murmured.  “Good for them.”

           Rose and Juleka wrapped up, and Rose walked over to the Graphiti Gurl (as she requested it be spelled).  “That wasn’t very nice, Alix.”

           “I’m sorry,” Alix grunted, doodling in her homework. “I’m not in the mood today.”

           “I’m sorry to hear that.”  Nevertheless, she persisted.  “But you could have said nicely if we were bothering you.”

           “Probably.”  She looked up.  “I wasn’t in the mood for that either.”  They looked at each other for a moment.  “Don’t look at me like that.  I’m an ass, it’s in my genetics.”

           “Right next to the ace gene?” Juleka asked.

           “Oh,” Alix grinned, “you bet your bass it is.”

           “You okay?”

           “Yeah, just not terribly into everyone’s hyperromantic bullshit today.”  She closed her workbook.  “No offense in particular to the lovely gay couple in here.”

           Marc suddenly found himself speaking.  “It’s not as if their love is a hindrance to your life.”

           “It is a little in my case.”  She turned to Marc.  “But it’s not cause they’re gay, if that’s what you’re thinking.  I’d be just as moody if a straight couple did what they just did.  I’m just not a lovely person.  It always seems so fake, the way they people those things, and it gives me a weird sense of… squick.”  She shuddered.  “I’m aromantic, if you didn’t know.”

           “Sorry?”

           “I don’t fall in love.  Aromantic/Asexual, I don’t even get crushes.”

           “Huh.”  Marc sat down closer to her.  “I didn’t know that was a thing.”

           “Not many people do.  It’s the more obscure end of the sexuality spectrum.”  She gestured all around them.  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but almost everyone in this room is queer.”

           “R-really?”

           “Yep.”  Alix cracked her knuckles and stared him down.  “That better not be a problem, Shakespeare.”

           “No, I… I just thought there was supposed to be some… ten-percent statistic or something.”

           This elicited a laugh from the punk.  “Marc, Marc, my dear Marc,” she put her feet up on another chair.  “We are Parisian.  We are the ten-percent statistic.”

           Marc was overwhelmed with yet another emotion he couldn’t name.  “So,” he stalled.  “You’re all… gay?”

           “Queer,” Rose corrected.  “That’s the blanket term.  You already know Juleka and I are dating, right?”

           “Well, yeah, but—”

           “Well, I’m bisexual.”  She put a hand on the taller shoulder and leaned into her.  “And she’s a lesbian.”

           “I noticed.”  Marc did a double-take.  “Wait, hang on, did you say everyone?”

           “Well, everyone but you, maybe.  Even the art teacher’s out.”

           “So, what about…”  He turned to his writing partner.

           Nathaniel realized everyone was looking at him.  “Um… I don’t…” he buried his nose into Marc’s writing journal, masterfully evading whatever question they were going to ask before they asked it.

           “Forget it,” Alix said.  “He’s gone statue again.  I can never get anything out of him like this.”  “Hey, anyone see where the art teacher went?”

           “It’s 16:30.” ��“He must have left.  Guess we can leave now.”

           “Alright.”  Alix scooped everything into her bag.  “Later, losers.  Nate?”

           Nath left with her.  Marc walked out as well, Rose and Juleka at his heels.

           ‘Everyone in here is different,’ he mused.  ‘Like me.  Could I…’

           “Hey Shakespeare,” Nath stopped him.  “Your bag.”

           ‘Shoot.’

           Marc ran up to catch the closing door.  “See you tomorrow, he called, retreating back inside.

           ‘Maybe one day.’

           “Rose,” beckoned Juleka, at the base of the metal stairs.  “You coming?”

           Rose bit her lip nervously.  “Behind you, my love.”  She turned back towards the room.  “I’ll catch up.”

           He stuffed everything into his sack, and he was about to leave when…

           “Rose?” he asked, looking at the girl in the doorway with confusion.  “What are you doing here?”

           “I think we need to talk.”

           “… about the comic?”

           “About you.”  She stepped forward.  “You’re acting really weird.”

           “Uhhh…… this is how I normally act.”

           “And it’s really weird.  You flipped out about Juleka yesterday, and today you were kinda staring at us, and you were interested in our dating preferences.”  She gave him a sharp poke in the ribs.  “You don’t have a crush on my girlfriend, do you?”

           “N-no,” Marc yelped.  “I-I don’t.”

           “Then why are you stuttering?”

           “B-because you’re… really close up, it’s actually kind of uncomfortable.”

           “Oh, sorry.”  She backed away.  “Let’s see, then… it’s something about a crush, though isn’t it?  I’m really good at telling when someone has a crush.”

           “I-I don’t want to—”

           “Come on, I won’t judge—”

           “Please, Rose, can you just drop it!?”

           Rose quieted, shocked at Marc’s rise in volume. He instantly regretted his tone.

           “I’m sorry.”  He panicked.  “Oh, geez, I’m sorry.”

           “It’s okay.”

           He stood there, letting the atmosphere soak up the noise.  Then, with his voice so low he might as well have stayed silent, he mumbled.  “I like boys.”

           “Oh.”  Rose smiled sympathetically.  “I… That can’t have been easy for you.  I promise, it doesn’t make a lick of difference.”

           She held out her hand.  “Friends?”

           Marc stared at it.

           For the first time in his life, there was someone who was queer, and who knew he was gay, and who… wanted to be his friend.

           Here, in front of him, was someone who might know what was wrong with him.

           “Is it… normal?”

           Rose smiled.  “Yes.”

           “Not that.”  He summoned his courage.  “Is it normal for… for gay men to… not feel like men sometimes?”

           That was it.  The leap of faith.  Either he was normal, there was something in his life that could even be considered normal, and he might be able to live with that.

           Rose wasn’t smiling anymore though.  Her eyes had gone wide, and she was looking at Marc with dismay.

           “I… I don’t think so.”

           Marc shattered.

           “Why do… why do you ask?”

           “Because I’m fucked up.”  He fell back onto the box, clutching his arms and hunching over. His hollow eyes started dripping black mascara, spilling over from an over-filled heart.  “Because I’m not normal, and I like boys instead of girls, and sometimes…”

           Rose didn’t answer, or bid him continue, or say anything that could help him determine how she’d react.

           He sniffed.  “Sometimes… I think I’d feel better if…”  He was just waiting now, any moment, Rose was going to turn and walk away in disgust.  “It’s-It’s fucking crazy, but…”  

           Rose put a hand on his shoulder.  “Hey…” she whispered.  “You can let it out.”

           With one final push, and the reassurance he needed, he forced himself to.

           “Sometimes I want to be a girl!”

           Rose hugged him.  Marc weakly returned the embrace, burying his face into her shoulder.

           “There, there,” she consoled, a voice genuinely caring about his trouble.  “So is that why you freaked out when… oh.  Reflekta zapped you, didn’t she?”

           Marc sobbed a little.  Rose held him tighter.

           The pain was getting too big to ignore now.

           He shifted in his seat and Rose let go.  “But just, like,” he blubbered.  “I’m fine, a lot of the time.  Being me, being a boy.  It’s just sometimes… not all the time, but sometimes I wish my chest was bigger and I didn’t have a—”  He looked up, blushing.

           Rose got the picture.  “Oh, buddy… Is that it?”  She took a deep breath.  “Well, I can’t say I know much about dysphoria, but I guess—”

           “Does it even count as dysphoria?  If I don’t feel it all the time?”  He grabbed at his hair, the stress overcoming him.  “And that’s not even all of it… sometimes I just feel wrong.  No matter how much makeup I put on, how feminine I look, it’s always wrong, like nothing I can do will make me look right.  And sometimes, the more I use, the less it works.  And it feels like I’m missing some crucial detail, but I don’t know what, and it just leaves me feeling… empty.”  He covered his face with his hands.  “I feel like that now.”

           “I’ve done some reading online,” Rose said. “Dysphoria hits in different ways sometimes.  If you’re a girl…”  She trailed off, surveying him.  “If you’re actually a girl, you shouldn’t force yourself to be a boy.  That could really be bad for you, with the coginate… distance – shoot, I heard Max say it once. When you try to accept two different things at the same time?”

           “Doublethink?”

           “Sounds right.  Maybe.”

           Marc chuckled ruefully.  “So you think I’ve tricked myself into being a boy?”

           “Maybe.  Whatever it is, I’ll help you.”  She caressed his shoulder again, offering her comforting touch.  “You can be yourself, Marc, no one can take that from you.”

           “Trust me.”

You know what, any editing of this work after I post these will come after the week is already finished.  I am not giving myself more to do.  But these are done for now, until I think of any better rewordings.

(How I wrote this: I typed out a few cool moments ahead of time, got distracted, and connected them all on the day it was due.)

Comments much appreciated, as always, I want to know if there’s anything I should change in future chapters.

[miraculouspaon]

Where Have All The Heroes Gone And Where Are All The Gods?

Chapter Forty-Seven: Jonathan Dumas

AO3

“I wanted you to rescue me,” Adele whispered.

Jonathan closed his eyes, leaned his head against the wall of their tiny cell, and tried to brace himself for his sister’s latest wave of despair. They're her emotions, they're harder on her than they are on you, if she can get through this so can you. “It doesn't matter, Adele.”

“I said I didn't,” she continued, not registering Jonathan’s response. “I was so angry. You didn't protect him.”

“I know.”

“But I wanted you to come. I’d think about it, in the middle of the night when it was impossible to sleep. I think if anyone could figure out how to get me out of here, you could.”

“There, Adele, get you out of there,” Jonathan corrected, not for the first time since they'd been locked up. “You're somewhere else now. It was thirty years ago. We’ll be out of here in no time.”

“I tried to send you a message.”

This was news to Jonathan. “You did?”

“Well, Adrien. I tried to manipulate this woman into letting him know I was alive. But I thought he'd show the letter to Gabriel and Gabriel would show it to you. I thought even if she thought the letter was untraceable, that you could still find some magic way of tracking it back to me. But I fucked it up,” Adele said bitterly, her voice breaking. “Like I fucked everything up back then. I never even got far enough to ask. Could you have traced it, do you think?”

“I don't know, Adele,” Jonathan said wearily. “I try not to focus on the What Ifs anymore.”

“On some level,” Adele whispered, “I think I always knew I never really left.”

“Jesus Christ, Adele.”

“Thirty years. My dreams don't usually last that long, even in here.”

Jonathan bit back a groan. “I knew I never should have let you come on this mission,” he muttered. “Two empaths was redundant.”

“Oh, don't start that again, Jonathan,” Adele snapped, her tone suddenly much more present and focused. “My radius is five times yours. This mission would have failed without me and you know it.”

She was right, but Jonathan wondered if he should replay the argument they'd had a few days ago all the same, since it seemed to be grounding Adele more than anything else Jonathan had tried.

“I could have done it,” he said, putting a bit of sulk into his tone.

“There wasn't even a damn warrant out for you. How were you going to get yourself arrested without me?”

Jonathan shrugged. “The reporter could have had one of her double agents slip the Order some information about me, enough for them to-”

“That would have been a good way to lose a double agent,” Adele muttered. She looked at the door. “The fighting stopped. I can’t hear it anymore.”

She was back. Jonathan refrained from sighing in relief, though of course Adele could feel it all the same. “Yeah,” he said. “A while ago.”

“Nobody’s come.”

“Not yet.”

“That’s not a good sign, Jonathan.”

Jonathan shrugged. “Can’t do much about it right now, can we?”

Adele sighed and leaned on her brother’s shoulder. “No,” she agreed, “I suppose not.”

They’d given up on trying to figure out what was going on outside their cell hours ago.

After being caught, the four of them had been separated and questioned again, far more forcefully than the first time and with far greater security measures in place. After a few hours, however, there had been a marked emotional shift, and they'd been quickly thrown into cells and abandoned.

Well, Jonathan and Adele assumed that's what had happened to the other two as well. They only knew what had happened to them. Given the powerful anti-empathy spell wound into the walls, Jonathan figured the only reason they weren't by themselves was because setting up a second cell that blocked their abilities would have taken too much time and effort.

The Dumas siblings were half asleep when Jonathan finally heard the sound of nearby footsteps coming closer down the hall, stopping every few seconds. Jonathan gently shook his sister awake, bracing himself again as she regained consciousness and remembered where she was.

“Someone’s-” Jonathan stopped talking as the face of Marinette, of all people, appeared at the small window in the door. Jonathan had never expected to feel so relieved to see her. From the look on her face the feeling was mutual, although Jonathan couldn't sense her through the door to say for certain.

Marinette turned to her right. “Emma! I found them!” She turned back. “Why couldn't Dani locate you two? We found everyone else over an hour ago.”

“They didn't want us knowing what was going on, so they cast an empathy block,” Jonathan said. “Apparently it goes both ways. I'm guessing we won? Is… did everyone make it?”

Marinette nodded. “It was closer than I'd like,” she said, “but the whole family’s-”

Marinette was interrupted by Adele's sudden laughter. “Marinette,” she said, almost giddily, “we have to stop meeting like this!”

Marinette's eyes widened with concern. “Adele, are you alright?”

Jonathan shook his head. “Just get her out of here,” he said, more harshly than he'd intended. Marinette nodded and shouted for Emma again as Jonathan slowly, stiffly, got to his feet, then pulled his sister up after him.

“Grandma!” Emma exclaimed, relieved, as she reached the door. “Hang on, I’ve got the keys, one second.” She fumbled with the lock for a few seconds, and then the door was open. Adele was through the doorway in a flash, leaning against the hallway’s opposite wall and taking breaths that were far too deep. Emma took her hand, and as Jonathan exited the cell his sister’s overwhelming relief and gratitude crashed into him.

“Where’s…” Adele was breathing too hard to finish the question.

“Everyone’s upstairs,” Emma said. “Louis is fixing up Grandfather and Uncle Ferd. Come on, I’ll take you.” Adele nodded and straightened, her anxiety starting to die down ever so slightly as she quickly followed after her granddaughter.

Jonathan hung back and let Adele and Emma hurry on ahead, then turned to Marinette. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

Marinette hesitated. “The Order got their Miraculous detectors working.”

Jonathan relaxed. “Oh, that,” he said. “Yeah, we knew that already. It came up during our interrogations.”

“It came up during your public execution announcements, too. Along with the official warrants for me and the kids. Everybody in Paris knows who we are now. Every secret identity in our family has been completely exposed. Including yours.”

Jonathan froze. Of course, of fucking course, after four months of doing everything possible to free this city, this continent, of course this is what was waiting for you at the end of it.

Jonathan shook it off and started walking again. “Whatever,” he muttered. “Thirty years later than I deserved, I guess.”

“Yes, it is,” Marinette snapped. She took a deep breath, and Jonathan was surprised to feel a flash of guilt, regret. “We wouldn't have succeed… the kids wouldn't have made it… if you hadn't figured out the Order’s delayed magic dampener, the one they set up last month. So… thank you. Again.”

Jonathan nodded. “I'm glad it helped,” he said softly.

 ~~~

 Jonathan knew, of course, he’d known for fifty years, that his sister found her husband to be an extremely steadying, calming influence, but feeling the effect directly was something else entirely. She rushed to Gabriel’s arms, burying herself in his embrace in an instant, and the sense of peace and relief that washed over her almost took Jonathan’s breath away. Gabriel, for his part, struggled between rage at the state his wife was in and relief that she was still alive, but after a moment he settled on relief. He wasn’t the only one, either.

“You look terrible, querido,” Ferd said as they entered, and Jonathan grinned and crossed to the small couch Ferd was occupying.

Louis, who was standing over Ferd and healing his quickly-fading black eye, scoffed. “You’re one to talk, you looked worse an hour ago.” He looked at his uncle. “I can get you next if you-”

“I”m fine. Get your grandmother,” Jonathan said, sitting down next to Ferd and taking his hand. Louis nodded and walked away. “What’d I miss?” Jonathan asked.

“We won,” Ferd said, squeezing his hand back, “and everybody made it. The rest is details.”

“Details like keeping the city from being retaken long enough for us to figure out how to take down the barrier?”

“Yeah, little stuff like that.” Ferd yawned. “The prime minister should be here any minute to go over city defenses with Benois. We don’t need to worry about it.”

“We need to worry about the barrier, though. Do we know where the Order was keeping all their information concerning the prison island?”

“Jesus, querido, can we just sit next to each other for a few minutes and take a little time to appreciate the fact that we’re both still breathing?” Ferd asked.

Jonathan sighed. “Yeah, of course.” He kissed Ferd’s cheek. “I’m very happy you’re still breathing. Breathing Ferd is my favorite Ferd.”

Before Ferd could reply, the door to the room opened once more. Jonathan looked up and saw the prime minister. There was a figure standing next to her for half a second, but it quickly transformed into a quickly-moving blur that launched itself right at Marinette on the other side of the room.

“Marinette! You’re alive, you’re alive, I can’t believe it!”

“Oh… hi, Chloé,” Marinette said, somewhat awkwardly, as Chloé Bérégovoy clung to her neck. “It’s, uh, nice to see you, too.”

“Ugh, thank God you’re back, you don’t know what it’s been like in Paris without you.”

“You know, I think I did get a pretty good idea actually-”

“Is Adrikins alive, too?” Chloé asked. Marinette nodded, and Chloé burst into tears. Marinette tried, to no avail, to get Chloé off of her, before shooting a helpless look at Adele.

“Chloé, darling,” Adele said, “come sit next to me, would you? I’m not allowed to get up until my grandson’s done with me, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, Adele!” Chloé released Marinette and quickly went to Adele’s side.

Meanwhile, Chloé’s wife was being approached by General Benois. “Madame Bérégovoy,” he said, “now that Paris is free again, it is imperative we get you up to speed on the state of her security as soon as possible.”

“Me?” the prime minister said, her voice small. “No, I… I don’t think, after everything-”

“Ma’am,” Benois interrupted, “you’ll forgive my directness, but the President’s whereabouts are still unknown. It is highly unlikely he is in Paris, the only unoccupied piece of France, if he is even still alive. The President of the Senate, I’m afraid, we know to be deceased. I know this is unprecedented, but there is no time for an election, do you understand? For now, you are the leader of liberated France, and you must do everything you can to keep her stable and safe until Europe is completely free again.”

Bérégovoy closed her eyes. “I was their puppet,” she whispered. “The people of Paris are not going to feel safe with me as their leader. The things I said, the things they made me-” her voice broke, and she took a deep breath.

“Giselle,” Alya said steadily, “People are going to understand that you did what you had to. We all did what we had to.”

The prime minister laughed humorlessly. “What you had to do and what I had to do, then, were very different things.”

Alya folded her arms. “A few of my people got information from your wife on more than one occasion,” she said. “It was extremely helpful, and there’s no question in my mind where she got it from. That’s going to mean more to people than anything you were obviously forced to say.”

Bérégovoy glanced at Chloé, then looked back at Alya. “I could have done a lot more,” she said.

“You can do more now,” Marinette replied softly. The prime minister considered this, then nodded.

“You’re right,” she said. “Thank you.” She looked around the room. “Thank you to all of you, in fact,” she continued. “I… I’m afraid I wasn’t very aware of what was going on while you were all fighting for this city, being under house arrest, but from what I was told on the way over here it sounds like every single person in this room was instrumental in liberating the city. Paris is forever indebted. If there’s anything I can do to repay-”

“Oh, nonsense,” Marinette interrupted. “There’s no need for any of that, there never has been.”

“Quite right,” Adele agreed.

“If you’re handing out political favors, I could really use a pardon,” Jonathan muttered. Ferd smacked his arm. “What?”

“Now? Really?”

“Can you think of a better time?”

The prime minister frowned. “But of course all the executions are cancelled, I thought that went without saying,” she said, confused. “Being a superhero is only a crime under the Order.”

“I’m not a superhero,” Jonathan replied, and he felt the flash of recognition, the moment the prime minister realized who she was talking to, along with the growing discomfort from everyone else in the room. “You know what, it can wait, we have more important things going on. You should get your security briefing, and I should start working on locating those barrier defense spells.” Jonathan stood and left the room abruptly.

 ~~~

 Searching for information on the barrier defenses might have taken forever, if Jonathan hadn’t had Ferd to direct his efforts. Ferd had pointed out immediately that since any information on the barrier was likely to be highly classified, they might as well start in the most secure place in the building and work from there. So now they were currently searching through extensive filing cabinets in Thornton’s office, Ferd moving through his set about twice as fast as Jonathan was.

They’d been searching for about half an hour when Ferd happened to glance over and notice Jonathan reading a piece of paper very intently. “Find something?”

For a few moments Jonathan continued to stare at the piece of paper in his hand without speaking, his grip tightening. The edges of the paper began to tear beneath his fingers. “Yes,” he managed to say, his voice tight and controlled.

Ferd raised an eyebrow. “Well? What is it? Something useful?”

“No. It’s…” Jonathan clenched his jaw briefly. “It’s a list,” he said. “They figured out their power source wasn’t completely sustainable. It’s a list of people in Paris, potential replacements for when the superheroes start dying. Citizens who generate magic energy, who could be hooked up to the barrier spell, to extend its lifespan.”

“Ah,” Ferd said. He paused. “Is my name on it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that explains why I didn’t get sentenced to death along with the three of you,” Ferd said lightly. “Honestly, I was feeling left out. Now I feel special again.”

“This isn’t funny, Ferd.”

“It’s not exactly a surprise, either. Why are you getting so upset about it? Is sending me to that island really worse than what they had planned for you? Public execution?”

“Your name isn’t on here because you helped us take down their defenses,” Jonathan said, his voice rising. “This list predates that by months. They had no idea you were Resistance when they made this list. Your name’s on here because you have magic and you turned down their job offer. That’s it.” Jonathan’s grip tightened even further. “These bastards kidnap my nephew, they take over my city, they plan to kidnap my husband, they think they can just use the people I love like pawns in their pathetic bid for world domination-”

“Oh, good,” Ferd interrupted, with the lightest flash of annoyance, “this is about you. I was confused, since it's my name on the list.”

Jonathan groaned. “Sorry,” he said. He walked over to Thornton’s desk and sank down into the chair. “I just… God, Ferd, I don't know what I would have done if they'd taken you before we got the city back, I honestly don't.”

Ferd grinned wryly. “Not that a part of me isn't flattered by the idea of you going mad with grief and vengeance over losing me,” he said, “but I think we both know you're past that.”

“I don't know,” Jonathan muttered. “The last time something like this happened...not to mention that this time it would have actually been my fault, too.”

Ferd raised an eyebrow. “How’s that, pray tell?”

“Ferd, I told you to turn them down when they offered you that job. I thought it’d be safer.”

“It was safer,” Ferd replied. “It bought us months. Enough time to take Paris back. Now that list is completely moot, at least where I’m concerned. If the city gets recaptured I’m just going to get shot along with the rest of you.”

“You're missing the point.”

Ferd sighed and walked over to his husband. He stood behind Jonathan and bent down, wrapping his arms around him. “No,” Ferd said. “I think I see what this is. You feel guilty, and you're telling yourself it's because you told me to turn down that job offer, even though you know it was the right thing to do. You're telling yourself that because you'd rather not think about the reason you're actually feeling guilty.”

Jonathan sighed, frustrated. “What am I feeling guilty about, then?”

Ferd reached over Jonathan and pulled the list from his grasp. “These people didn't do anything wrong, even in the eyes of the Order,” he said. “They're just convenient. Things to be used. A means to an end. It's not the first time a villain’s seen me in that light, is it? Maybe it hits a little close to home?”

For a moment, Jonathan was speechless. “Fuck,” he muttered, “I’m sorry, Ferd, I’m so-”

“It’s fine.”

“You know I can tell it isn’t,” Jonathan snapped.

“It’s fine for now,” Ferd amended, unfazed. “We don’t have time to deal with it.” Ferd gently placed the list down on the desk. “Come on, if you found that then you must be close to finding the information about the island we actually need.”

Jonathan nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

 ~~~

 “So. Good news, bad news?” Alya asked, as Jonathan and Ferd rejoined the others about an hour later.

“Mostly good news,” Jonathan said. He laid out his work on the giant table, even though nobody else present could understand what was written on it. “It’s difficult, but doable.”

“You think five superheroes are enough to take down the barrier?” Benois asked skeptically.

“Four,” Louis corrected. “Someone should stay behind to guard Paris. Probably M-Honey, since her identity hasn’t been compromised.”

“No, not four,” Jonathan said. “But fifty to a hundred could.” He looked around the room, feeling the small wave of understanding that ran through it, before continuing. “The spells keeping the barrier protected are intense, but the spells keeping the current prisoners in line are much weaker. It’s pretty much just a generic magic block and the memory spell. Break those, and you have almost a hundred new allies. I can’t say exactly how many of them will actually be helpful, but at least more than half.”

“If they’ll fight,” Benois said. “Is that a safe assumption?”

“Absolutely,” Marinette said. “Every single person in that place would like nothing more, believe me.”

Benois nodded and turned back to Jonathan’s work. “Walk us through it.”

“Step one,” Jonathan said, “is breaking the anti-magic field. Step two is dispelling the amnesia charms. Both are weak enough that we can set up the spells here in Paris, in advance, and have one of you four activate them when you arrive. After that, everyone on the island will remember who they are and what their powers are, and they’ll be able to use those powers. The rest of it is a lot harder, but straightforward. Not that different from what we did for Luxembourg, actually. Find the anchor points, corrupt the defenses, break the spell.”

“Does that mean we’ll have to bring you and Uncle Ferd?” Dani asked.

“No,” Jonathan said. “We wouldn’t be much help, actually. Corrupting the defenses of this thing is pretty far beyond Ferd’s abilities-no offense, love.”

“None taken,” Ferd said easily.

“So who do we bring?” Emma asked.

“Nobody. The island’s already filled with extremely powerful magicians as well as superheroes, remember? And I know from personal experience that at least one of them is definitely up to the task of casting these corruption spells.” Six faces stared blankly at Jonathan. “Beth,” he specified.

“Beth… Beth as in, Fake Ladybug Elizabeth Renaud?” Alya asked. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. We’ve worked together before. Well, not exactly, but we’ve sent each other clients. She can do it. Find her, get her to the anchor points, give her the corruption spells I write up, and she’ll pull it off. Find other powerful spellcasters to help her, if you can. The more the better. Everyone else should be fighting through the defenses around the anchor points, and holding off the guards and any Order reinforcements that show up.”

Benois nodded. “Got a map of the island?” he asked, and Jonathan pushed a folder across the table to him. Benois looked at Ladybug. “I could walk you through some basic tactics,” he said. “Strong points of defense, good cover, that kind of thing.” She nodded. “What do you need?” Benois asked Jonathan. “For everything you need to set up before they go?”

“A lot, actually,” Jonathan said, starting to pack up his notes, “but fortunately I can get it all in one place.” He looked up. “Actually, Emma should come with me, I’ll need to walk her through activating the prepared spells.”

“Why Emma?” Marinette asked. She wasn’t nearly as suspicious as she’d been about Emma helping Jonathan a week ago, but she was still guarded.

Jonathan shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be Emma,” he said. “Anybody who’s up for learning how to measure environmental variables and plug them into various polynomials in order to adjust the parameters to the correct-”

“Fine, fine, point taken,” Marinette interrupted, annoyed. “Emma it is.”

 ~~~

 “Something you want to talk about?” Jonathan asked, after about ten minutes of driving in total silence.

Emma groaned and continued to stare out the passenger side window. “You're as bad as Dani,” she muttered.

“Sorry.” Jonathan waited patiently.

“We saw Dad,” Emma finally said. “Thornton video-called the prison. They wanted him to convince us to surrender.”

“Oh.” Jonathan took a second to absorb this. “How, um, how did he look?”

“Really bad,” Emma said tersely. “But he didn't, you know, do why they wanted, so I guess he's not… I don't know, broken or whatever.” Emma brushed a tear away impatiently. “Of course, who knows what that means for him now. Dani and I both tried threatening them, the guards in that place, they know we’re coming for them, but-” her voice broke, and she stopped talking.

“I don't think they'll kill your father, Emma.”

Emma shot her uncle a look. “Why not?” she asked, with a wave of irritation uncharacteristically intense coming from her.

“The barrier’s weaker than they'd like,” Jonathan replied. “They were already making plans to connect more people’s energies to it, but they haven't been able to yet. And they already lost your mother. They'll be reluctant to kill off another battery.”

Emma blinked. “Oh,” she said, surprised to have gotten a real answer. “Good to know.”

“Actually, that's good news for when you go there, too,” Jonathan continued. “They'll avoid using lethal force against the superheroes you manage to free. If the Order kills too many of them, the barrier falls anyway. So as long as you all keep fighting, one way or the other you'll probably win. Either you'll fight your way through to the barrier anchor to take it down, or you'll force them to kill enough of you that it-you know, now that I'm saying it out loud, it sounds a little too morbid to actually qualify as good news. Sorry.”

Emma laughed. “No, it's fine,” she said. “It's nice to know their hands are tied.”

 ~~~

 “Holy shit, look who it is,” Sal said as Jonathan and Emma entered his shop. “Hawkmoth himself.”

Jonathan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, Sal, you have every right to be mad, but right now we’re trying to take the Order down and we’re kind of in a hurry, so if you could just get it all out of your system upfront, that would be great.”

“You're just the absolute last person I would have suspected, that's all,” Sal replied. He was a little hurt, a little insulted, but mostly he was confused. “After everything you did in the nineties helping your superhero sister and her partner, you know?”

Jonathan blinked. “You didn't even know about that.”

Sal laughed in Jonathan's face. “Right,” he said sarcastically, “because you were so subtle back then, coming in here once a month for, what, two years straight? Always looking for just the thing Butterfly or Paon would need to take down whatever the latest threat was. Oh, and freaking out when your sister got caught up in that Sleeping Beauty incident early on, insisting she absolutely couldn't wait until the superheroes fixed it. How dumb did you think I was?”

“Seriously?” Jonathan asked, incredulous. “You knew? Why didn't you say anything?”

Sal shrugged. “I don't ask personal questions, and I didn't feel like getting dragged into it. Besides, I wouldn't have been able to keep charging you extra for all those last minute rush jobs. It would have been tacky.”

“It was tacky anyway!”

Sal raised an eyebrow. “I'm sorry, have I offended the delicate moral sensibilities of our resident supervillain?”

Jonathan sighed heavily. “Feel better?”

“Yeah, actually,” Sal said, grinning and shaking his head. “Just when I thought the world couldn't get stranger. So what brings you in, anyway?” Jonathan pulled out his list and handed it over, and Sal took a few seconds to skim. “Jesus fucking Christ, it's never anything easy with you, is it? What is this for?”

“We’re taking the barrier over Europe down. Ending this for good. I have a pretty good idea of how to go about it, but we’re gonna need everything on that list and the best spellcasters you can get ahold of as fast as possible to make it happen.”

Sal nodded. “I'll have to check my inventory. There hasn't been much demand these past few months, but there hasn't exactly been a steady supply of out-of-town shipments either. As for magicians… I'll make some calls.” Sal looked up suddenly. “Oh my God, you akumatized your husband.”

Jonathan sighed again, annoyed. “Yeah, I did,” he said defensively. “But like I said, we’re kind of in a hurry, so if we could have this conversation some other-”

“When did he find out?”

“Two months before he asked me out! Jesus, Sal, what kind of person do you think I-you know what, don’t answer that.”

Sal raised an eyebrow, confused. “So what, he’s like, into that, or-”

“Sal. We are in. A hurry.”

“Right, right.” Sal began to turn towards his back room, then seemed to notice Emma for the first time. “Oh, shit, which one’s this?” he asked, excited.

“This is my great-niece Emma, she's-”

“You know what I meant, which one is she?”

“I'm standing right here,” Emma muttered, annoyed.

“Sorry. Which one are you?”

“Oh my God, what part of ‘We’re in a hurry’ was confusing for you?” Emma snapped. “Would you just go check your inventory before the Order takes the city back and executes all of us?”

For a moment, Sal was speechless. “Yeah, of course,” he finally said, before quickly exiting to his back room. Jonathan looked at Emma.

“Finally using that, huh?” he asked. “I was wondering when you’d start.”

“Huh?”

“That, you know, that thing you just did,” Jonathan said. “That supernatural bossiness or whatever that comes with the Peacock Miraculous.” Emma looked at Jonathan blankly. “You didn’t know? What did you think your civilian ability was?”

“I thought I didn’t have one,” Emma said, stunned. “I have magic? Outside of transformation?”

“Sure, all Miraculous holders do,” Jonathan said. “Admittedly your thing isn’t as blatantly useful as, say, empathy, but it’s pretty nice in the right circumstances. You command attention. People are more inclined to listen to you, do what you tell them. It’s not, like, hypnosis, you can’t make somebody do something they don’t actually want to do, but if someone’s on the fence or hesitating it’ll give them a push.”

“Oh,” Emma said. A certain excitement was starting to rise in her, pushing its way past all her present anxieties.

“Your grandfather got a ton of use out of it when he was building his fashion empire out of nothing back in the nineties, actually,” Jonathan continued. “Even with his talent, he would have had a much harder time getting others to pay attention to a twenty-something no-name, invest in him, take a risk on him. You must have noticed that people have a tendency to do what he tells them to do?”

“I guess,” Emma admitted.

“You didn’t think that was charisma, did you?”

Emma grinned. “No,” she said. “I don’t… don’t get me wrong, it sounds great, but I don’t know if I’ll be as comfortable with it as Grandfather is.”

“He grew into it,” Jonathan said. “He was a lot more like you when I met him. You’ll grow into it, too.”

Emma blushed and nodded. “Yeah. Well, I’ll grow into it if I survive the rest of the week, anyway.”

Jonathan sighed. “Yeah. If.”

[umbrahighpriestofgiratina]

Rude Awakening Chapter 7

In which things get tricky.

Chapter 6: Error

Virion ran down the dim corridors of the barracks. He looked left, he looked right, he looked at his shoulders to make sure Kellam wasn't sitting there again, and he crept toward Howard's room. Surely he'd find something.

He peeked in and immediately regretted it.

Garish gold, gray and red patterns had been scrawled all over the room. The entire room had various clothes and bits of armor strewn all over, as well as other accessories. Virion wondered how he'd ever find anything in this mess.

He shrugged and figured he may as well try.

He started digging, rummaging, hoping to find anything that'd give the Cincinnatians away, when he heard a voice from above.

"Dude. What are you doing?"

Virion looked up to find Giratina standing on the ceiling, looking down at him with a sneer. He gulped and stood up straight, twiddling his fingers nervously. "Well, you see, I was looking for my bow and-"

He blinked. "How did you get up there anyway?"

Giratina scoffed. "Dark knight privileges. Now get out of my room."

Virion let out an audible "meep" sound before sprinting off, heading all the way back to Libra's room, where he found Libra himself pacing back and forth.

"Er, hey, any luck with Bartimaeus?"

"No. When I entered there was nothing there."

Virion sighed. "Great, ether they're on to the fact we're on to them or Panne was off her rock-"

He paused. "Hang on, where is Panne?"

Libra blinked. "I think she was checking into Valentia..."

"...Something could be up," said Virion. "We should check on her."

And the two headed off.

-------------

Once again by the waterfalls, Dialga and Naga were swapping stories of each other's worlds.

"And the humans can actually have some pretty good TV shows. Like Sailor Lunatone."

He stiffened, looked around, and waved one of his forelimbs. "Don't tell Palkia I said that."

Naga giggled. "I won't."

Dialga thought for a bit to change the subject before something came to mind. "More serious question?"

"Yes?" said Naga.

"Panne from the Shepherds said her people, the Taguel, were slaughtered by humans. Do you remember that?"

Naga grew somber. "Yes. It was brutal, merciless. I could only observe, but... It is hard to stay cold, to stay pragmatic in times like those."

Dialga hung his head. "I know what you mean. To me extinction by natural causes is only normal, but when a species turns upon another out of pure hate it is not. I remember when the Sceptile of my world turned upon their predecessors..."

Naga shook her head. "It's bad enough protecting the world from threats like Loptyr... And Duma... and Medeus... and Grima..."

Dialga raised an eyebrow. "You've told me about all the others, but not the last one."

Naga blinked. "I haven't? Grima is a foul creature, one born of a dragon corpse infused with the power of the divine by a madman. He lays waste to all and has the power to end the world if he wants to. But he must work through a vessel, and was last sealed away a thousand years ago."

Dialga paused, then looked at Naga worriedly. "Does he have any chance of coming back?"

Naga nodded. "Yes. Almost guaranteed."

"Then I will help stop him. And help bring the Taguel back too if I can."

--------

Panne listened to it all. She choked up, she froze.

Then she ran yet again.

------

Palika was sitting in the Yilissitol castle courtyard with Robin, both of them enjoying popsicles.

"These frozen treats you made are great, Valentina!" said Robin.

He furrowed his brow. "Didn't recognise the magic you used to make them though."

Palkia winced. "Er, Cincinnati specialty."

Robin chuckled. "What is it like for you back home, anyway?"

"Oh, uh. Lots of responsibilities to make up for the cool stuff, certainly."

She tried to think of anything to change the subject. Only one thing came to mind.

"So, you hear those rumors about that weird girl posing as Hero King Marth?"

Robin blinked. "I've never heard of such rumors."

"Oh, huh," said Palkia, taking a bite of her popsicle. "Well-"

She then realized exactly what Robin just said and spat out her chunk of frozen dessert. "Wait, what do you mean, you've never heard of her?!"

"Why's that so startling? None of us have heard of such a thing."

Palkia paused, racked her brain for a response to the scenario, then gulped.

"Robin?"

"Yes Valentina?"

"I'm going to ask you some very strange questions, and I need you to answer as honestly as possible, OK?"

Robin blinked. "O... kay?"

Palkia gulped again. "First, they told me your exalt got killed... Emmeryn, was it? How did she die?"

Robin grew somber. "An assassin from Gangrel murdered her in her castle one night... Gaius was lucky to not be framed for the deed..."

Palkia grew slightly pale. "G-Great... What happened to Gangrel, by the way?"

Robin scowled. "I chopped the bastard's head off personally."

Palkia grew more pale. "Yipe... Where'd you learn to do something like that? What even was your life before the Shepherds anyway?"

Robin paused, looking shocked, before hastily turning his head and shaking it side to side. "I... It wasn't pleasant... I don't want to talk about it..."

Palkia grew about as white as Robin's hair.

"Oh... Oh geez, that's rough buddy... Listen, I'll leave you alone to get through that while I get more popsicles, see you!"

Robin started. "Valentina, wait, I-"

But she was already gone. Robin blinked.

"What just got into her...?"

------

Palkia ran.

Panicked thoughts flooded through her mind. She had to find Dialga Giratina, Hoopa. There had been a grave mistake.

And now this world's end was nigh.

------

The four Legendary Pokemon in their true forms were gathered together, in a forest clearing, alone, with a barrier keeping out the eyes and ears of others. Dialga stamped one of his front feet angrily on the ground.

"What do you mean you and Giratina found the wrong timeline?! I thought you said this place matched your little video game perfectly aside from the lack of Pokemon!"

Giratina shifted awkwardly. "Well, um, bro, me and sis failed to account for-" he sighed. "Sis, you probably can explain better than I can."

"Okay," said Palkia, "so I prepared a little demonstration."

She wheeled in a whiteboard with crude illustrations and started pointing to each of them with her claws, beginning with a doodle of a forked line.

"OK, so the problem is that the game has two timelines, one where the heroes win and one where everyone dies horribly."

She points to some scrawled people of various shapes and sizes hopping from one timeline to another. "The only reason the timeline where the heroes win exists is because their kids, particularly Chrom's kid Lucina, went back in time to try to fix things. From what I've heard from Robin that has not happened, like, at all. Which is an issue because..."

She points to a doodle of Robin smiling with sparkles above his head. "Robin happens to be the key to the apocalypse."

"Wait, that kid? How?" said Hoopa.

"Well..." said Palkia.

She pointed to a second doodle of Robin surrounded by flames, grinning evilly with three pairs of red eyes having sprouted on his face, and with the head and neck of a demonic dragon with three identical pairs of eyes looming above him.

"Robin happens to be queued up to be the next vessel of a really nasty undead dragon demigod named Grima. Who is really big and evil and powerful and can also cause zombie apocalypses."

Dialga's eyes widened. "Grima?! That was one of Naga's nemeses she told me about! She said his return was imminent!"

"Wait, Naga said Grima was coming back like, soon?" said Giratina. "We're definitely in trouble."

Hoopa gulped, then shook his head and shrugged. "Welp, so much for that vacation, guess we should take the next plane or train or cosmic portal ho-"

"No we're not," said Palkia.

"Then what are we doing?" said Giratina.

"If Lucina and the kids aren't around to fix the incoming mess, who else will do it but us?" said Palkia. "I mean, we care about these people, especially after staying with them. We ought to help, right?"

"I most certainly agree," said Dialga.

"I'm up for it," said Giratina.

"Well when you phrase it that way sure why not?" said Hoopa.

Palkia smiled. "All right then..."

"Let's save this world."

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