#i was drawing this with a ballpoint pen while it was attached to the wall. and i was squatting to reach it

[zippityzap]

If anyone happens to pop into HMV in Belfast, let me know if you spot my post it note!

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 11: Intruloceit (pt 2)

@tsshipmonth2020

The sequel y’all were waiting for! (@hoppe-ideas)

Day 11: ‘Choose your own adventure’ day! I chose to continue from Day 9, since I couldn’t very well leave it there.

Content warning: allusions to abuse, Remus being Remus (need I elaborate?), implied past panic attack, mention of bipolar disorder, and of course, Janus’ crippling insecurities. Angst with a happy ending. 

Word count: 4k

*READ DAY 9 FIRST*

Blue: What time are you available?

Green: What is this, a doctor’s office? I’m free after lunch 

Blue: I was merely tr

Green: I know, I know. I’m just teasing you. It’s endearing, my little mocking-nerd. Bring your textbook, I’ll meet you in the cafeteria. It’s octopus learning time!

Blue: I will never understand you.

Green: Good 

He drew a crude rendering of the devil emoji, then a heart, and the conversation ended as quickly as it began.

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Green: What would happen if you injected coca cola into your bloodstream

Blue: No.

Green: It’s just a question!

Blue: I’m assuming you would die.

Green: Damn. Can we try anyways?

Blue: No!

Green: C’mon, for science?

Blue: NO! Why did this question even arise?!

Janus hid a small chuckle, before immediately slapping a hand over his mouth. Even if the writing was as much on his arm as it was theirs, it still felt wrong to read it. Felt wrong to admit that he was starting to enjoy their shenanigans.

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

Green: Hey

Blue: Hello, my dear. What is so important that you couldn’t text me?

Green: my mom broke my phone and I’m having an attack

Janus sat straight up, his calligraphy pen clattering to the floor, effectively ruining the large swooping letters he was working on with a splattered gold streak. This was the first message the two had shared that wasn’t either Blue’s notes about homework or Green’s odd creative ideas, or cheesy conversations between the two that Janus tended not to read. It felt like intruding on someone’s life. He hadn’t learned their names yet, and while they always stuck to the same color scheme, he knew at this point he’d be able to distinguish their handwriting with no hesitation. It was his version of hearing their voices, and he’d started growing attached to them. He turned his full attention to the conversation on the back of his arm, feeling a surge of worry.

Blue: I’m on my way, be at the curb in ten minutes?

Green: thanks

Blue: Remember those breathing exercises. Try to stay calm. 

Green: please hurry

Blue: I’m driving as fast as I can, love.

The messages ended there, and Janus didn’t sleep that night.

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

Blue: Happy birthday, Remus. I hope you have an amazing day.

Remus: Are we still good to go for tonight? 

Blue: Of course. I had Roman and Patton help plan most of the date, so I hope you enjoy it.

Remus: Logan, if it’s with you, I will~ 

Logan: You’re a sap.

Remus: And you love it

Logan: Guilty.

Never had Janus felt so alone. It was one thing to have anonymous messages scribbled on your arm, little doodles and good luck wishes, but to know their names? That brought on a whole new round of tears that he hated himself for. Remus and Logan. The names of his so-called soulmates, the labels he could finally put to the personalities. As much as he hated to admit it, waking up had become a whole lot easier since they’d started appearing on his skin. It was something little to look forward to.

It also hurt, just a little bit more. Before he was eighteen, he’d been able to imagine his situation like his parent’s, with a soulmate who would end up hating and hurting him, and it was easy to decide to never communicate when the time arrived. And even if they seemed like genuinely good people, every time he lifted a pen to respond, to announce his presence, he stopped himself, as his father’s words rang through his head.

Why would anyone want you, Janus?

You’re a mistake, and they’ll see that instantly.

Honestly, what good do you even have to offer a soulmate?

He didn’t want them to be true, but it wasn’t like anyone had ever told him differently. His mother avoided his eyes and was silent, his peers treated him like a disease, so those words were the ones he started to believe. So he capped the pen, pulled his sleeve down, and ignored the small feather light tickles as they spread across his arms. 

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

Of course, it wasn’t avoidable forever. 

It was writing on skin, did he think that was something he would never do accidentally? Was he really that stupid? They were going to be so pissed when they found out how long he’d been snooping on their conversations. They’d hate him. They’d never be open to the idea that he was somehow meant to be in their lives. He was done. He was such an idiot.

These were the thoughts raging through his mind as he looked down over himself in shock, spilled amber ink shimmering on his skin. It was an accident; an opening of an ink pod combined with over enthusiastic dancing to the Chicago soundtrack, leading to a faltering concentration and skin covered in staining gold. He’d been sitting cross legged on his chair when the cartridge exploded, and he’d bounded to his bathroom to try and wash it off, but it had only been partially successful. There was no doubt in his mind that they would see it. It had covered a good majority of today’s messages on his arms, smeared across his shins from hurriedly trying to wipe it away, and speckled across his face like the world’s most unfortunate freckles. 

He dropped back into his chair, his music now turned off, and laid his head on the cool wood of his desk. The ticking on his clock was the only sound in the room and he counted each one, mentally marking the minutes as they passed by. Waiting. Five minutes of silent fear had passed before a new anxiety began to rise in him. What if they were his soulmates, but he wasn’t theirs? He’d heard of it happening, ever so rarely, that soulmarks weren’t reciprocated. If that was true for him, and he was starting to become sure it was, they wouldn’t see the ink. They never would. He would be forced to live the rest of his life on the outside, reading their life on his skin but never able to take part. Somehow that seemed a lot worse now that it wasn’t his choice.

Just as he was starting to spiral, a familiar tickle on his arm snapped him back to the present. His head jerked up, hair falling into his heterochromatic eyes as he followed the dark blue script, starting just under the largest golden spill.

Hello? 

And how should he respond to that? He couldn’t think of a fun one liner, a sassy quip, to introduce himself. For the first time in his life, lying wasn’t an option, and he hated that. He grabbed the first pen he could grab, a black ballpoint, with shaking fingers.

Hi. Well, that was lame. 

You’re our soulmate. It was less of a question, more of a statement. Janus took a deep breath, bringing the pen down again.

Yes. 

I’m sorry. What he was apologizing for, he couldn’t quite put a finger on. But it felt right. Apologizing was simply second nature to him.

Whatever for?

He didn’t know how to answer that time, so he did what he always did best, and watched. Waited again, hoping that Blue (Logan, he remembered vaguely), would just drop the subject. This was the most conversation he’d had with someone in a while. 

My name’s Remus. The other dork is Logan. 

The green ink appeared under the blue, and Janus’ heart dropped painfully in his chest. As if he didn’t already know their names. It’s not as if he could say that, though. 

You seem kinda shy. It’s cute 

Let them speak, Remus. 

Both of them went silent, offering time to allow Janus to write. But he didn’t know what to say, how to explain… 

So he didn’t. He yanked down the sleeves of his pajama top, pulling the edges over his hands to hide the now dried golden  ink, and collapsed onto his bed, dooming himself to another night of restless sleep. 

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

If Janus had the choice, he wouldn’t have gone to school the next day. He would have laid curled up under his blanket, struggling to tune out the sound of his parents arguing, letting the world pass him by like an old camera reel. Janus didn’t have the choice though, not when he remembered it was nearing the end of the year and exam season was drawing closer, and then the bickering downstairs became motivation. Good grades would equal an out-of-state college, which would mean getting away from thrown dishes and slamming doors. 

Even so, that didn’t mean that Janus didn’t regret the entire day of school. It seemed like a breath of fresh air when the lunch bell rang and the students shuffled out of the class in a lump, leaving just him and Mr. Sanders behind, as per usual. Just as he reached down to pull his lunch out of his bag (just a handful of cold scrambled eggs he had set aside from his already meager breakfast), the teacher spoke.

“I actually have a meeting today, Jay. You’re gonna have to find a different place to have lunch.”

“What?” Janus recoiled as he spoke, his own voice sounding foreign to him. He hadn’t meant to talk back, half expecting a lecture, and was surprised when the teacher’s expression morphed into one of sympathy.

“Sorry, bud. It’s a staff meeting, and I couldn’t find a TA to watch the room over the break. It’s only for today. Cafeteria is open though, I’m sure you can find an empty table there. Or better yet,” He smiled softly, lifting his laptop bag onto his shoulder, “Sit with someone. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

Janus picked up his bag as well, rushing from the room without a second glance. He didn’t feel like explaining that the reason he sat alone wasn’t his choice, and he couldn’t help it. He was just tired of being pushed away, so why not make the first move himself. 

The path to the cafeteria was hardly trodden by him, and he tried to take in the pictures of past grad classes on the wall for as long as possible before his time was up. The security guard marching the halls gave him a pointed look, reminding him that he couldn’t stay in the hallways during lunch, so he hunched his shoulders and walked into the lunch room. He cursed the weather under his breath for being so damn hot today; he would melt in his hoodie and gloves to cover the ink. Luckily the splatters on his face blended in enough with the skin tone to be unnoticeable. 

The first thing he noticed is that it was loud. People shouted, trays clattered, and Janus wanted nothing more than to curl up in his hoodie. Social interaction. Gross. The second was that Mr. Sanders had been right, there was a line of empty tables at the back that people seemed to avoid in favor of grouping together in the center. The third and final thing was the overwhelming sense of loneliness that flooded Janus as soon as he walked in. Sitting alone in an empty room was one thing, choosing to sit alone in a crowded room was another. 

For a split second, the teacher’s words ran through his mind, and he wondered briefly if he should join a group, only for his anxiety to immediately shut the idea down with a shriek of are you crazy?!

He chose the closest table to the door that was untouched and sat hesitantly, appetite lost. All he had to do was get through an hour of this, he thought painfully. If he paid close enough attention, he could tune into other people’s conversations, and if he closed his eyes and drifted far enough, he might actually imagine that he was a part of them. 

“Hi!”

Janus’ eyes shot open and he shrunk back as if he’d been slapped. Standing in front of him was a guy he recognized from his math class, bouncing on his heels enough to make his blonde curls fall into his eyes. He was grinning from ear to ear, gleaming teeth matching the white collar that stood out from under his blue sweater. 

“Do you want to sit with us?”

His critical glare didn’t deter the overly joyful guy as he gestured over Janus’ shoulder, encouraging him to look. He did, albeit reluctantly. Four people were sitting at the table behind him, three caught up in a spirited conversation. The last one was staring back at him owlishly through thick square glasses, and surprisingly, Janus wasn’t unsettled by the look. 

“Come sit with us!” The happy guy said again, looking like he was refraining himself from just grabbing Janus and pulling him over. His round glasses had started edging down his nose as he hopped from foot to foot.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep! Please?” He drew out the word for several seconds. Janus couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips, nodding mutely and gathering his backpack. His anxiety started again, pelting him with ‘they’re going to hate you’s and ‘this changes nothing’s, but he pushed them down resolutely. It was just the one meal. Tomorrow would be back to normal, eating lunch by himself in Mr. Sanders’ room. And he really couldn’t say no to that hopeful face. 

“Yay! Okay,” He led Janus to the table, dropping into one of the two empty seats and pointing to the one next to him. He took a deep breath before gushing on, “Sit! Okay, okay, okay, so I’m Patton, purple-hair is Virgil but they hate the name so you can just call them V. We all call them V. That’s Logan, and the twins are Roman and Remus. Remus has the white streak, but it’s actually really easy to tell them apart once you get to know them.”

Janus’ blood froze in the middle of Patton’s gleeful rant. Those names… those were all the names that kept popping up over the five months of secret soulmate snooping. That wasn’t a coincidence, right? Most of those names weren’t exactly common.

His eyes shifted to the two Patton had introduced as Remus and Logan, sitting shoulder to shoulder across from him. Remus had halted whatever he was talking so animatedly about in favor of greeting the newcomer, but Janus couldn’t get himself to wave back. Instead he dropped his gaze to their loosely intertwined hands on the table, feeling somewhat lightheaded at the identical golden stains covering both of them. 

So... he ran. He wasn’t proud of it, and he was somewhat certain that he’d made a scene, but he couldn’t do it. His own self doubt was crippling, all his fears rushing him full forced and reminding him just how little he mattered, how messed up his life had made him, how he would only ruin any possible relationship. This was all too real now. They fit so well to the picture he had unintentionally made of them in his mind; navy blue button up tops and slicked back hair, green bomber jackets and mussed up shoulder length curls. Eyes that glinted with barely concealed mirth, a dimpled grin revealing almost razor sharp canines. Two polar opposites, so perfectly built for each other, soulmates. He would just come along and ruin it. 

Screw the sun, he thought, as he sat on the scalding hot bleachers by the football field. To his extreme annoyance, tears had started drifting down his cheeks, and he hurriedly wiped them away from sheer habit. His dad didn’t like tears almost as much as he didn’t like Janus. It wasn’t like they would know it was him, right? All they knew was a stranger had been invited to their table and had booked it before they even got his name. So he could stay a mystery, a fly on the wall, for the rest of his days.

The all too familiar feeling on his arm was more of a curse now than it ever had been. Resigned to his fate, he rolled the sleeve up to read whatever the two were no doubt talking about. 

Hi. 

He looked around frantically despite his better judgment, his eyes landing on a figure standing at the end of the bench, uncapped pen in one hand and one blue sleeve rolled up. Logan regarded him with a careful look, locked in a staring contest that neither wanted to look away from. The other broke first, turning his focus to his steps across the rickety surface as he approached Janus. He took a seat, mumbling something about how hot it was, before scribbling something else onto his arm and capping the pen. Janus tried to fight the urge to look down at his own still-bare arm, but he couldn’t resist a quick peak.

I found him. Bleachers in the north field.

“Why don’t you take off the gloves, at least. It’s almost ninety degrees out.”

Welp. Apparently this was happening. “How did you know?” He whispered, not touching his gloves.

“Remus and I both felt naturally drawn to you as soon as you walked into the cafeteria. We could not and still can not explain it. When Patton followed our gaze, he was more than eager to invite you over. Not that he needed the prompting, I am certain he would have invited you over regardless of Remus’ and my feelings the moment you sat alone,” Logan stopped briefly, taking note of the new green smiley face under his last message, “Your reaction to our names and hands in rapid succession was enough to solidify our previous suspicions. That-” He pointed to the shared messages on their skin, “-was the final proof I needed.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Janus at a complete loss for words, until a loud clang to their right grabbed both of their attentions. Remus was clinging to the railing like a vine, having climbed all the way from the bottom, he realized with a start. The older man crawled over the top and landed solidly, rattling the seats, before bouncing over to them.

“Hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi!” He plopped onto the bench in front of Janus, sitting backwards to face them. Consequently, he was slightly lower than the other two, and could see Janus’ usually ducked face for the first time. “Oooh, I like your birthmark! Is it a birthmark? Or a burn? Either way, I don’t care. I like it.”

“Gee, thanks,” Janus snarked before he could stop himself, his self protective tendency rising to the surface. Remus only giggled in response, manspreading a tad more and leaning forward on his elbows. 

“I like him, Logan. He’s feisty.”

“I’m so glad I have your approval.” He was on guard now, he couldn’t help it.

“Remus, stop pestering him. He just met us.”

Remus grumbled under his breath but held his tongue. Logan could silence him, he’d have to remember that for the future. If they had a future. He couldn’t help the sliver of hope since they had actually come to find him… but maybe it was to let him down easy. No clue.

“When did you turn eighteen?” The question shouldn’t have shocked him the way it did; it was a valid thought.

“Five months ago.”

And he waited, expecting the worst at the sharp intakes of breath from both of them. Expected them to stand up and leave. Expected them to call him a creep. Expected them to… anything, really. 

Well, anything except take his hands. Which they both did.

It was like they could speak telepathically, the way they seemed to be so in sync. Maybe that was a soulmate thing. Remus reached forward and weaved their fingers together at the same time that Logan placed his hand over Janus’ left one, squeezing it gently. They were both calming gestures in their own ways, and admittedly the most contact Janus had felt in maybe years. If that wasn’t enough to bring back his tears, Logan’s next words certainly were. 

“Why didn’t you write right away?”

“That’s so much missed time we could have spent together,” Remus chipped in, eyes surprisingly soft. 

“I…” Oh, for fuck’s sake. Better let them see how messed up he is now so they can walk away before he gets attached. More attached. “My parents are soulmates and they ended up hating each other. He’s a jerk, he hurts her and me and I didn’t want that to happen to me and my soulmate. Soulmates, I guess. Then the first thing I saw was you guys talking, and I realized, there’s two of you,” He laughed humorlessly, shrugging nonchalantly, “You wouldn’t be missing out if I never made myself known, and what kind of asshole would I be if I intruded on your relationship anyways? It’s not like I can add anything worthwhile. I’m not… that great of a person. I never have been. I have too much baggage and I’m pretty boring and I only scare people away so if I were you I’d get out while I had the chance.” His cracking voice gave away how he actually felt, and he despised himself for it. In all honesty, there was nothing he wanted more than to be held and loved and wanted. He’d never had that before in his life, was it a crime to not want to be pushed aside forever?

To his utter confusion, neither of them pulled away. He’d just vented to two strangers, and they were still as attentive as before. 

“Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that,” Remus hummed in a decent impression of John Mulaney, letting his thumb glide over Janus’. 

“So if I’m correct,” Logan stated in a tone that implied he usually was correct, “You didn’t contact us because you didn’t want to burden us, or get yourself hurt.”

“I mean… yeah.”

“I’m going to kill your dad,” Remus chirped all too brightly, “For hurting you. And for ever making you think that we would hurt you.” 

“Remus!”

“It’s true!”

Logan sighed heavily, “Remus is a little extreme, sometimes, but he is harmless. Look, I can assure you that your presumptions are entirely false. We would never harm you, and anything you’ve gone through in your past, what you call baggage, is not a deterrent to us in the slightest.”

“I have bipolar disorder, and a whole wacky past that we’ll get into another time,” Remus added, waving away Logan’s ‘shut up’ face, “And in the fifteen years I’ve known this nerd, he’s always stood by me.”

Janus knew it was supposed to feel better, but learning that the two have known each other since long before they knew they were soulmates suddenly made Janus feel that much more like he was intruding. Remus must have noticed his expression, because he quickly kept going.   

“All I mean is that we have our fair share of baggage, my multicolored friend-”

“Remus!”

“Both of us do. So you won’t be hurting us in any way, shape, or form. And we won’t hurt you either.”

Janus’ own doubts were still raging inside him, but each word they said was adding splashes of water, slowly dousing the flames, much to his dismay. Even Remus’ attempts at humor were delighting him in ways he wasn’t used to. 

“For some reason, the universe wants us together somehow. We’re meant to be in each other’s lives. Aw gross, that sounds like something Roman would-”

“Trusting us will be a slow process, and we understand that,” Logan interrupted smoothly, “You don’t need to believe our words, because we’ll prove it to you. Alright?” 

It took a second until Janus nodded, but he did. He could hardly understand it himself.

“Can you start by telling us your name?”

“Janus.” It was a near whisper, a confession of the name he’d disliked since he was old enough to get bullied by his peers.

“The two faced Roman god of decisions, doorways, and new beginnings,” Logan spouted as if on instinct.

“Janus,” Remus repeated slowly, before a huge grin stretched across his face, “I love it.”

[imjeralee]

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 6 - It’s You

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

Rating: General/Teen

Warnings: Blood, also I think this chapter is quite dark

It's You

...

...

[Unused testimonial, submitted by Chief Inspector Chris Graves: She's used to dealing with death. It doesn't get easier, but it doesn't surprise her anymore.]

...

...

A droplet of icy cold water splashes over Leon's cheek, forcing him to stir.

Opening his eyes groggily, he lets his vision settle before he looks up and around, discovering that he has been brought to a cave and is lying on an incredibly chilly and hard surface. He doesn't see Charizard anywhere.

Surrounded by nothing but doom and gloom, Leon emits a groan as he attempts to sit up. He gathers as much strength as he can to his arms and eases his elbows backwards in order to push himself off the ground but discovers he cannot move; glancing down, he sees a sheet of ice covering his legs and feet, preventing means of escape. Although he's wearing clothing that would combat the cold to an extent, he finds himself shivering from the extreme frigidness of this cavern.

"Where am I...?" he mutters, before an eerie and ethereal wail shakes the cavern walls and Leon tosses a glimpse to the source of the sound.

A writhing, ghostly white figure bobs up and down over the cavern floor in the distance, bounding closer and closer to him.

It's a Froslass.

He's never seen a wild one in Galar before and unfortunately he makes eye contact with it and the Froslass trills happily when she sees that he is awake and floats over to him, reaching for him with her little cold and elongated white paws that are attached to the sides of her head. She proceeds to stroke his long hair and nuzzles her face over the top of his head and buries her cheeks over the scruff of his beard affectionately.

Overjoyed, Froslass releases him, turning away before quickly whirling round, revealing that she has brought a leppa berry for him and she leaves it on the ground near his right thigh. She continues to float around him daintily before heading to the far side of the cave to go through a collection of rucksacks and opening them happily one by one and emptying them of contents.

Froslass goes through them whilst singing unintelligibly, occasionally throwing away items that aren't of interest before she pulls out a packet of mixed mushrooms and holds them high in the air. She emits a loud squeal of glee and clutches the packet in her paws. Next, she finds a comb from one of the bags and returns to Leon's side. She nudges the packet for his taking.

With the comb, she settles beside him and begins brushing his hair, purring with affection.

She appears to be fond of him.

...

When Charizard brings you to the area where he had lost Leon, he lands in the middle of a lonely path hidden between a large cluster of trees and you hop off his back and onto the ground, the dirt scrunching under your shoes.

Charizard and Gengar watch you silently as you begin assessing your surroundings. You're aware Leon has a bad sense of direction and despite your warning, he's vanished in the Giant's Seat. They camped outside, but from what Charizard is attempting to tell you, Leon was lured in.

And the moment Charizard brought you here, you knew something was wrong immediately. The negative energy that lingers here is suffocating. To the untrained eye, it's a typical, clear day. However, you can sense that the atmosphere is heavy and thick as fog. There is a miasma that has taken ahold of the vicinity, filling it up with nothing but misery, fear and regret.

Gengar appears to sense it too for he shivers on his spot.

It's very late now and there is not a single soul in sight, allowing you to work quickly and silently with no disruption. It's too dark and dank here so you decide not to waste your time dressing up as a boy in order to get yourself captured or to look for tracks or footprints, granted if there are any. Finding Leon as quickly as possible is your priority here and you have a technique that would assist you here, therefore you hurriedly drop to your knees on the ground, grabbing your bag and zipping it open.

Charizard and Gengar move to your left and right respectively and observe as you pull out a small strip of clean bandages, a pouch containing a small blank piece of scritta paper and a swiss army knife with red handle.

"Don't look if you're squeamish," you warn them as you settle the piece of paper over the ground in front of you, using your knee to prevent it from flying away in the wind, but the Pokemon don't retreat in response to your words of caution and you swipe the blade over your left palm, drawing blood.

Charizard balks at your action but Gengar doesn't flinch at all and you dab your a finger into your bloodied palm and proceed to draw a symbol on the paper. When you're done, you quickly bandage your hand, pull your gloves back on, close your eyes and place the talisman over the middle of your forehead where it doesn't fall off.

You activate it with a murmured chant, re-open your eyes, and immediately the world around you has shifted; the woods are no longer empty but filled with several pale, humanoid figures that stand listlessly behind bushes and near the path. There is even one hanging motionless from a tree. There is also one standing on the cliff overlooking the horizon before it slowly shuffles away from sight.

The talisman helps weed out these weaker presences and you're able to focus on a stronger and sinister entity. Your eyes narrow once more as you hone in on the source of the overwhelming energy that plagues the entire area. It's a white and wispy trail that beckons you to follow the path before it disappears to the left, into the trees and towards the cliffs.

There.

That's where Leon was taken.

You get up to stand with Charizard and Gengar by your side.

"Let's go."

You use the talisman and the additional boon it has granted you to follow the trail that whisks you and the Pokemon far away from the gym challenger's normal path and towards the forest. Much like the haunted house case, no-one should be able to come across here unless they deliberately go off trail.

Your group continues to wade through the tall grass and through the undergrowth, trying to avoid disrupting the wild pokemon until you finally arrive at a steep and winding path that leads uphill. With a plethora of trees and bushes bordering everywhere you look, you realise you have no idea where you are. You've completely gone off track and you find yourself in a remote area devoid of anyone and anything. There are even no pokemon lurking about; you have no idea of how deep you are in the Giant's Seat.

The talisman's effect is beginning to wear off, the wispy white trail growing fainter and fainter, so you hasten your pace. The dwindling trail leads you to a powerful, rushing river and Charizard needs to help you out here. Once again, he allows you to ride on his back and carries you safely across whilst Gengar floats after you both.

On the other side of the river, a deteriorated path leads directly to the mountain that lines the border and once you reach this unknown new area, a familiar black cap sits lopsided near a berry tree. Eyes wide, Charizard zooms towards it and picks it up.

It's Leon's snapback.

"He's close," you tell him, and Charizard hugs the cap to his chest before handing you the cap which you keep safe in your bag. The talisman is showing you that the trail continues, leading further ahead into the mountain. "We need to go up."

Charizard nods and when you climb onto his back, he takes off to the sky with a huge flap of his wings. Once you're high enough in the air, Charizard lets you scan the horizon where you see a large gathering of the white wisp within one of the many small summits.

You ask Charizard to land and he does so; you hop off without much further ado once you're back on land and inspect your new surroundings.

It's a strange spectacle; the summit is covered entirely in snow and there are scattered remains of a campsite which have been completely frozen solid. The tent is still standing on its frames and zipped open, the flaps fluttering uselessly in the icy breeze. You're grateful you're wearing thermal clothes for the temperature here must be bordering sub zero.

Leon must be here.

"Leon!!" you call out, shivering somewhat, "Leon, can you hear me?"

Charizard roars and bellows for his friend, his fiery tail melting away some of the ice. You inspect the campsite but there are no footprints (aside from yours and Charizard's), it does not look like it has been subjected to a pokemon attack but it does appear someone was camping here and had left rather abruptly.

You see a plate on the ground near the tent, covered in snow and full of uneaten, rotten food which you suppose is curry. An opened metal flask stands beside it, full of frozen water. Then you check the firewood, picking up one of the pieces and you notice it is charred on one side, which indicates it had been burning for a while before eventually fizzing out. Whilst Charizard and Gengar look around, you step over to check the tent, pulling the flap down to see a pair of running shoes and rolled up socks stuffed inside, along with a sleeping bag and journal and a ballpoint pen lying near the pillow.

Gengar floats inside, picks the journal up and hands it to you; you thank him and read through the pages and discover it belongs to Maisy, the first missing victim and the latest diary entry is dated roughly three months ago as per below:

'Day 10. I'm still camping in the Wild Area, somewhere in the Giant's Seat. I found this neat spot in the mountain and I don't think anyone else has been here. It's awesome! It's like I have the whole place to myself! I've visited a few pokemon dens too but I kept getting tossed out. Can't stop thinking about that Watt Trader I met in the Rolling Fields either, he is so cute! Even Rookidee thinks so!'

The entry finishes there.

Closing the book, you gingerly place it down and move from the tent. Maisy was here but there is no sign of her anywhere.

"What happened to her...?" you murmur to yourself.

The effect of the talisman eventually wears off and your vision returns to normal. You pull it off your forehead and the little paper flutters limply in the wind and disappears down the cliff. You continue searching the campsite to look for clues until you drop to your knees, clutching your chest. A particularly oppressive force has wrapped itself around you and you struggle to breathe.

The negative energy appears to cloak the entire campsite. You move to stand, blindly take a step forward near the pile of firewood and the snowy ground underneath you completely gives way. You shriek as you fall, promptly dropping inside the small hole.

Gengar is quick to dive in, catching you in mid-air and he gently lets you down on the ground and onto your feet, the bottom of your shoes crunching under the snow.

"Thanks Gengar," you mutter and he grins wider.

Glancing left and right, jagged, sharp rocks surround you, covered in a slippery sheen of ice. You can no longer hear the howl of the icy wind outside and it is hauntingly quiet in this hole. Charizard arrives at the rounded entrance, resembling somewhat of a speck. He waves at you and you tell him you're fine, your voice echoing. It's a huge drop...a fall from this height would surely kill someone...

Gengar gestures if you want to be brought back up but you shake your head.

"I think this is it," you tell him whilst Charizard tries to squeeze himself in but he is too big, unable to fit into the hole. You're quite certain this is a Pokemon den.

Gengar tugs on your arm and you turn to where he is pointing to.

There is a medium-sized hollow to your left that indicates an entrance of some sort and it appears to be your next destination. Thanking Gengar for his vigilance, you are about to enter only to be halted immediately by the faint stench of putrefaction which hits you square in the nose. You and Gengar turn to look at each other before you both throw your glance to the uneven level of snow beneath your feet.

"....Do you think...?" you croak out, and Gengar nods.

Dread begins piling in your gut as you lower yourself to your knees and begin brushing and shovelling away the snow. Gengar assists, uncovering as much of the snow as he can with his paws until you unearth a pile of jagged rocks of all shapes and sizes. Gengar helps lift them up and moves them to the side, revealing a dull pea-green, flimsy material with a broken yellow, plastic zipper and the symbol 'LASS'. You curl your fist and gently rap your knuckles against it; there is something rock-solid underneath.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you continue to brush away more snow until you uncover an eye.

Charizard growls loudly as you pause, wondering what you have discovered, but you quickly sweep the remainder of the snow away using the sides of your palms and soon, you have uncovered a pale, white face.

Her head is bent to one side, her eyes open and staring endlessly at the sky. Ice crystals frame her face and eyelashes, her lips painted an eggshell blue.

"Oh..." you murmur under your breath, "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..."

Gengar watches you silently, then averts his gaze to the dead body. There's one more rock to move and he inches it out of its spot, revealing a dirtied bag crushed underneath and pulls it out. Holding it upside down, a crushed pokeball drops out and Gengar holds it up to you for your taking.

You're reluctant, but you take it off him and push the button and a red light fizzes limply, revealing a Rookidee... though it is unmoving as it lies on the ground, eyes closed. You reach for the little bird and cradle it in your arms, stroking its cold and limp feathers. It doesn't respond.

You look at Gengar and he shakes his head sadly.

It is dead.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you feel their loneliness, fear and pain and emit a hoarse cry from the back of your throat before you murmur a prayer for them under your breath.

However, Charizard growls louder, forcing you to place the little Rookidee beside its trainer. Your legs feel heavy as you force yourself to stand up and rub your eyes with the back of your wrist, inhaling a deep and heavy breath.

Turning to Charizard, you yell, "Go to Wyndon Police Station and find Chief Inspector Graves! Bring him here."

Charizard nods, takes off, and the silence returns.

The hole to your left is your next destination now and so without further ado, Gengar hitches a ride in your shadow and you climb inside, lifting your left leg first then your right, and you shimmy in as carefully as you can and try not to lose balance or else you risk falling and dropping on a sharp rock. You squeeze yourself into the tight and narrow passageway which is covered in cobwebs and frost, ducking to avoid jagged rocks.

You grab your torch and shine the light in front of you only to be greeted with darkness.

It's a long trip. You cannot see anything else up ahead except pitch black. With one gloved on the wall and another gripping your trusty flashlight, you continue in your journey, using the rocks as support and taking baby steps so not to slip or fall, until the area around you becomes colder and colder, your breath escaping into the air in the form of thick puffs of smoke.

Throwing your glance over your shoulder, it's an equally long trip back to the way you came from.

You can't stop now. Emitting a grunt, you push yourself forwards, squeezing through the narrow passageway.

Eventually, it comes to an end when you see the small, glimmering flicker of light and you are hopeful you have made it into the pokemon den. The light grows brighter and brighter, shifting to a slightly blue tinge and you arrive at a large and empty cavern with rocky, uneven walls that are completely frozen over with ice. It's even colder here than it is outside.

You're bathed in blue and your jaw drops slightly as you make your way further inside where you are greeted with the sight of huge stalactites and stalagmites.

The stalagmites are a beautiful, crystalline azure in colour and you inch towards one to peer into it, you see a magnificent rainbow of colours within as the light from your torch reflects off. It is as tall as yourself, stretching from the ground and creeping towards the ceiling where an equally impressive-looking stalactite points dangerously above.

You shine the torch around, not quite sure what you will find here until you spot a large assortment of random bags and rucksacks piled up in one corner, including many empty phone cases.

Next, you shine the long beam of your torch to the wall where the bags are and a peaky face encased within the icy walls stares at you from across the expanse and you realise it is one of the missing gym challengers. His eyes are open, mouth agape with unheard terror, his body lodged deep within a thick case of ice.

Shining the torch to his right, he is not alone. There is another body... and another. In fact, the walls are embedded with the bodies of the missing people you were looking for. Some of them are displayed far apart and appear to have been forced into a strange, outlandish pose, with their arms and legs splayed in odd formation. Their faces are etched with horror and agony.

Resembling grotesque, stringless puppets that have been casually positioned in a canvas of ice, you struggle to breathe again as you are hit with their terror and grief which overwhelms you; the atmosphere is full of anguish and you squeeze your eyes shut with pain.

Gengar emerges from your shadow and floats into the air, looking around cautiously and on high alert.

You did it.

You found the missing people, but...

Where is Leon?

You shine the torch everywhere, calling out for the Champion until you see a familiar figure reflected off one of the stalactites. He is lying on the ground near a particularly large boulder which would've been missed.

"Leon!” you yell.

You rush over despite the icy ground and Gengar trails after you as you struggle to maintain your balance, your feet occasionally slipping or sliding over the glacial floor; when you reach the boulder, Leon is unmoving on the ground, his body covered in a thin sheet of ice. He appears paler than usual and his lips are turning a shade of blue. It appears he is in mid-process of being frozen alive but his woolly sweats are still keeping him warm to an extent.

"Leon!" you exclaim with relief, dropping to your knees beside him.

You lift up his arm, pulling his sleeve to his elbow and applying two fingers over his wrist. You find the thrum of his pulse before lowering his arm back down and you gently place your ear over his chest. When you sit up, you notice he doesn't seem to be breathing.

Being a Researcher means you have to be well-versed with at least some emergency procedures and CPR is included, though you didn't think you would ever have to carry out CPR on the Champion of Galar.

Without further ado, you move the heel of your hand over the centre of his chest, then place your other hand on top and begin to routinely press down.

Gengar floats over and watches as you administer the chest compressions before you lean down and tilt Leon's head gently, lifting his chin up to yours and pinch the bridge of his nose carefully.

You proceed to press your lips over Leon's and provide two rescue breaths before you retreat and check if his chest rises. Nothing happens and Leon is still unconscious so you repeat the process a second time until Leon's mouth opens on his own accord, he inhales a sharp breath and coughs and you release him.

He slowly opens his eyes, those deep honey pools landing on your form and the corner of his lips tugs upwards into a wide grin.

“Leon, you're okay! Thank Arceus!!” you exclaim with relief.

You want to be careful with him as much as you can as it looks like he's in a lot of pain but it doesn't stop you from hugging him tightly; you wrap your arms around his head, bringing him into your embrace and holding him tightly, resting your chin atop his head and smoothing your hand over his hair.

Leon blinks sluggishly at you as you let go of him briefly, inspect the rest of his features by placing a hand over his icy cold cheeks. He watches you as you continue to hug him and croaks out, "...It's you..."

"Yeah, it's me."

"...What're you doing here...?"

"We came to rescue you. You got taken by a Froslass...Geez, you're freezing," you utter, before you gently let go of him to pull your warm coat off. You proceed to drape it around him, pulling the lapels tightly together, followed by your scarf which you fish out from your bag and loop around his neck again and again. Leon's gaze is fixed on you the entire time, watching you tear your gloves off your hands and ease them over his own. "Is that better?"

He nods as you sneeze, your teeth beginning to chatter. "Aren't you..."

"It's fine. I'm fine," you say quickly, before you encircle your arms around his shoulders once more.

"...I read your blog...You're so brave..." he mutters and when he notices that your exposed fingers are shaking from the cold, he reaches for your hand and entwines your fingers together. His hand is so much larger than yours, his fingers curling around yours, and he grips you rather firmly. He's grateful for your warmth, brushing his thumb over the back of your palm.

However, he runs his fingers over your bandages and along the middle of your palm where you had cut yourself. He looks up and you throw your glance down; your gazes meet and he says, "What happened to your hand? You're hurt..."

"It's nothing."

"...Nothing?"

"Yeah."

He blinks slowly at you and murmurs your name. "I really admire you..."

"Save your strength. You're delirious from the cold," you say to the woozy Leon.

"And you're pretty..."

"Now you're just delusional."

"Where’s Charizard...?”

"I asked him to get help.”

"...How did you find me?”

"Charizard brought me to the area where you went missing and I followed this trail and...”

You can’t tell if he’s listening but he appears to be studying you carefully.

"......Charizard let you ride on his back?”

”Yeah."

Leon says nothing and you wonder why he’s fallen silent until he suddenly points at something in front of you.

You quickly look up to see an intense flurry of snow materialising in the middle of the cave before you, hovering in the air in a tight ball.

The cavern's temperature drops even further and Gengar hastily stands in front of you and Leon protectively, ready to battle.

An unearthly, mournful wail rips through the cave and sends numerous shivers down your spine and rattles your very core before the hail of snow unravels violently, revealing a ghostly white figure within, her blue eyes glowing brightly under the dim light.

It's Froslass, and she's enraged that you've trespassed her home and found her prey.

"Gengar, use Dark Pulse!" you yell, and Gengar immediately leaps towards her, summoning a bright ball of purple energy in his hands before he shoots it at the pokemon.

Froslass avoids the attack with a dainty twirl and hurls a glowing white ball at him in response. It's a Confuse Ray. He avoids by leaping to the side and you instruct him to use another Dark Pulse attack whilst Froslass counterattacks, unleashing a barrage of icicles towards your direction.

You protect Leon from the frost by throwing yourself in front of him, shielding him with your body though your back bears the brunt of the attack and you squeeze your eyes shut, biting down on your lip to blot out the pain. Leon's eyes grow wide at your action and a vicious snowstorm brews inside the cavern. As you start to shiver and twitch furiously, Leon drapes his arms around you and pulls you closer to you to him and you open your eyes in shock, whipping your head up to him.

He offers you a gentle smile and as the snowstorm rages, he moves one hand to the back of your head and the other around your shoulders as you huddle together on the ground.

Gengar darts left and right to avoid the harsh snow and Froslass' incoming attacks. His eyes glow a bright red before he soars into the air and holds his arms out, circular beams of energy shooting out.

The snow stops at once, the little round particles frozen in mid-air, and you and Leon avert your gazes to the beautiful but deadly sight. Froslass looks confused until Gengar waggles his finger and the sleet returns to her, shooting towards her direction.

You're not sure what kind of move that was but it appears to be a psychic move and Froslass is battered by her own technique.

"Way to go, Gengar!" you exclaim as you look up, still shivering, "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

Gengar returns to land in front of you and Leon, turns to you and nods, grinning wickedly.

As Froslass reels from the impact, it's then you see various shadowy tendrils emerging from her weakened body and Leon loosens his grip on you so you can stick your hand into your bag, pulling out the Odd Keystone and tossing it upwards where it lingers in mid-air and begins to shake rigorously.

"In nómine Pátris, et Fílii, et Spirítus Sancti." you say aloud, aware that Leon is staring at you.

Trembling violently, a loud crack emits from the Odd Keystone and the fissure begins to glow.

The dark shadow is forcibly pulled from Froslass and the pokemon drops to the floor, severely weakened. The shadow screams agonisingly, the sounds echoing off the walls of the cave but the Odd Keystone continues quaking furiously, effectively sucking the shadow inside. Shadows also begin to arise from the multiple corpses that are frozen in the walls, a mix of contorted horrifying screams following as a number of dark, shadowy outlines become sucked out from the ice and towards the stone.

The Odd Keystone glows brighter as the shadows resist. It is futile, the keystone drags them in with a power like no other, the screams grows fainter and fainter until the dreadful sounds stop entirely, and the cavern goes silent and all grows still. The Keystone drops to the ground but Gengar quickly catches it in his paws and brings it carefully to you.

"Thank you, Gengar," you say, and he grins in response as you return the keystone safely into your bag.

Leon has been watching the entire time, eyes wide.

Averting attention to the downed Froslass, you take out a Dusk Ball from your bag, tossing it at the pokemon and the capsule smacks into the pokemon and opens, sucking the critter inside. The ball drops to the ground and wiggles for a few seconds before it successfully clicks shut.

Emitting a huge sigh of relief, you turn and bury your face in Leon's chest.

It's over.

You glance at Gengar, teeth chattering. "Gengar....can you check if...if Charizard's come back?"

He nods and heads for the narrow passageway you had emerged from, disappearing into the darkness.

It's you and Leon all alone again, and the temperature of the den is not improving; having given Leon your coat and other warm gear, you pull yourself off his chest to sit beside him against the boulder, though you still slink your arms around him, hoping to keep him warm until help arrives.

He reaches for your hand again, glancing up as you shake and your teeth chatter. "....You're cold..."

"I-I-I'm fine...don't worry about me..."

"The coat's big enough for the two of us." he utters, but you shake your head and pull the coat properly over him and zip it up to his chin. You let go of him, retreating your hand away from his and choosing to roll and curl up in a fetal position, clutching your bag to your chest for warmth.

“You need it more than I do, Leon…” you utter as you close your eyes, hugging your bag firmly.

A silence settles between you both and you don’t know how long has passed but the cold is getting worse; your fingertips are growing numb and you cannot stop trembling. You’re wondering what is taking Charizard and Gengar so long until you hear Leon fumbling around in his spot; you throw a cautious glance over your shoulder to see that he has pulled the zip down, unwrapped the coat again and he reaches for you, slinking his arms around your waist, pulling you into his embrace.

“…W-what are you doing…”

His lips tug upwards into a grin of reassurance. “It’s okay…”

You gawp at him but you are so cold, you cannot move, resist or protest, and so Leon attempts to sit up with you sitting limply in his lap. He also unravels the scarf from his neck and drapes it around you and you glimpse down at yourself. You're sharing the scarf now. The coat is not forgotten and he pulls and tugs the thick fabric to cover you before he settles his sturdy arms around your waist and you're instantly swept up by Leon's lingering warmth. He rests his chin atop your head, the scruff of his beard tickling your scalp as he emits a hum under his breath.

You're surprised by his bold actions but you feel at ease at once and you slump against him, your cheek smushed against his chest. “….If the press saw us, they'd have a field day…” you mumble under your breath.

He chuckles, his chest rumbling. "I know, but I wouldn't care and neither should you," he utters, "...Thank you for saving me."

"You're welcome, Leon."

"Is your back okay?"

You nod.

He gives you a tight squeeze and although you know it's to keep you warm, you can't help the frantic thudding of your heart as you consider how close you are and how tightly he's holding you to him. You wonder if he's feeling the same.

"So...so cold..." you croak out, your breathing laboured.

He glances at you in surprise, then rubs your arm up and down with his large palm soothingly. "Is that better?"

"...Yeah."

Leon throws his gaze to the ceiling as he continuously rubs your arm. It grows silent briefly until he utters, "Hey, I got a question..."

"What...?"

"Who’s Rosie?”

"...How...how do you know that name?"

"I thought I heard you say that name when we were camping."

"Oh..." you mutter, “Rosie is my little sister…”

“…Did something happen to her?”

You grow tense, squeezing your eyes shut and curling your fists. “……..You....wouldn't understand.” And you didn’t think you would tell Leon this, if at all. "...But if she was still here, she would've been Hop's age. She would've started her pokemon journey..."

There is a silence following your revelation, but Leon gives your waist a squeeze as he shifts his arms. You cannot tell if it was accidental or not but it makes your heartbeat soar.

“...I’m sorry," he murmurs.

You shake your head limply in response.

Before Leon can ask further questions, the cave begins to tremble and a muffled but loud noise is accompanied with a fierce roar; it must be Charizard. He is not alone, you can hear several voices echoing through the passageway.

"Mr Champion??" yells a familiar voice, "We have a team coming to get you, please sit tight!"

It's Graves.

You are saved.

...

Charizard has returned to the pokemon den with the Chief Inspector, who has brought a team with him.

Maisy's body and Froslass' victims have been recovered.

Leon is brought to the nearest hospital and so are you. You had spent the long wait in the Pokemon den huddling together until Graves arrived. The whole trip is a rather nerve-wracking one as you sit in the ambulance by Leon's side. He falls unconscious as he's wheeled in and fitted with a breathing mask but he holds onto your hand the entire time and refuses to let go, even when the paramedics attempts to split the two of you up.

Once you arrive at the hospital, you're forced to separate and Leon's fingers are pried off yours; you're extremely worried, watching as Leon is wheeled away by the medics out of the ambulance and into the hospital. He's taken to a private room away from the curious bystanders and journalists, whereas you're redirected to the main A&E area and forced to sit on a bed with the curtain pulled round, tended by a nurse on her nightshift.

Your shredded palm is properly dressed and she checks the rest of your body and back and then after that brief checkup, she tells you you're free to go. The coat is returned to you and so are the rest of your belongings.

When you return to the main waiting area, Chief Inspector Graves picks you up for questioning and to take some testimony off you which you do to your best ability.

You're dismissed a second time after a long and particularly gruelling session and you return to the waiting area again whilst he disappears to buy a coffee from the vending machines. You find the same seat again, sit down and spot a man in a white tracksuit, cap and sunglasses who passes you and realise it is Chairman Rose of Macro Cosmos when his stoic assistant Oleana strides beside him. Despite the late hour, they appear immaculate and they're heading towards the direction of Leon's room.

You attempt to follow them, albeit maintaining a safe and short distance away and they vanish further down the corridor and into the room, the door slamming shut. As you pass several rooms, you see numerous Lampents hanging outside, staring woefully at the patients through the windows.

It appears no-one is bothered by their presences but your priority is Leon. You want to see how Leon is doing, so you want to go with them but there is already a small crowd and the nurses are doing their best to disperse them.

It's not ideal to go see Leon right now; he needs time to rest so you return to the main waiting area where you find an empty seat and sit down, glancing at Froslass' capsule.

You're not sure what to do with her.

A short while later, a dark-skinned woman and little boy (with piercing golden eyes that resembles Leon's) enters the hospital and you hear them asking for Leon at the desk and you're well aware that this is his mother and his little brother, Hop. His mother's face is sagging with concern and fear whilst Hop hugs his Wooloo to himself tightly. You can't help but feel bad for them. You observe as they disappear down the same route Rose and Oleana had ventured to.

You still have Leon's snapback with you which you want to return to him, but you think it's best to return it to him the next morning when he's better and circumstances have cooled down.

The TV in the corner broadcasts a quick thirty second run of 'Breaking News' about eight bodies being found in the Giant's Seat that are believed to be the missing gym challengers. There are no news about Leon being part of the bunch and it shifts to a Turrfield Orchards commercial.

You sit in your seat, pondering to yourself.

You had found Leon in the nick of time. Froslass never froze him entirely because she became infatuated with him so she had spared his life. Also, his clothes were warm enough to a certain extent. He will recover but according to the Pokemon League's official website, his match has been postponed and Rose has to give him a week or so, maybe longer, to recuperate.

You can imagine what is most likely to happen.

The League will have to reassess the areas that can be explored in the Wild Area, due to the deaths of several gym challengers. You can already imagine the social media content that will emerge such as 'Galar's Gym Challenge and the Perils of the Wild Area: How Safe is Safe?' and 'The Reason Why I'm No Longer Going to Pursue The Gym Challenge, Read Full Article Here'.

The gym challenge won't be cancelled and will continue to exist but sections of the Wild Area considered dangerous for gym challengers such as the mountain summit and the pokemon den where you found Leon, will be sealed off for good and Macro Cosmos will introduce more Watt Traders to patrol so this wouldn't happen again.

You sit for an hour or so, waiting for further updates until you hear the sounds of footsteps approaching and you look up; it's Graves and another police officer, escorting one of your clients you had spoken to earlier on in the day.

She's ashen-faced and quiet until she spots you in your seat. "You liar! He's dead! My son is dead!" she roars accusingly at once, her eyes wild and full of hatred. She is quickly apprehended by Graves and the officer, blocking her from approaching you any further.

"Ma'am, calm down," Graves says and his stern looks and commanding tone serves to quell her anger in seconds.

The woman's furious expression crumbles and she begins sobbing loudly. Graves leaves the woman snivelling and wailing with the officer, heading towards your direction.

"Why're you still here?" he asks gruffly when he stops by your side. Despite the late hour, Graves doesn't look tired. He's used to pulling late night shifts just like you. "Leon's fine, if that's what you're worried about."

"...Are there any survivors?" you ask, "The Pokemon?"

Graves shakes his head. "Frozen to death."

You tense in your seat. "What about their Rotoms?"

"Gone."

...which means they're also dead. "Okay," you say quietly as you throw your glance to your lap.

"We can handle it from here, kiddo. I'm going to speak to Rose and we'll deal with the victim's families and the press. Thanks for your help; you did good. Real good. Your parents would be proud," he scrubs his face with his palm and says, "Go home, it's late. Magnolia will be worried."

You nod in response, Graves returns to the weeping woman and escorts her away with the officer. She's grieving so you don't blame her for her outburst. It's not the first time you have been called a liar anyway.

You let out a gentle sigh under your breath before you shift your gaze to the TV again where it's showing that Chairman Rose is supposed to release some formal statement first thing tomorrow morning. There's no further reason to linger anymore and even Graves is telling you to go home. Your work here is done so you should head back to Wedgehurst. You will try to visit Leon in the morning if you can.

You get up from the seat and Gengar suddenly appears from your shadow. You look at him with a smile and he grins in response. Together, you leave the hospital and emerge outside; it's foggy and cold as you step into the night.

A single light shines from the lamppost that stands near the exit, bathing you in a warm yellow glow.

You tug your coat firmly to yourself, glance up and around before you leave the light, disappearing into the darkness.

...

Instead of heading to Wedgehurst, you take a late night Corviknight taxi and ask if the cabbie can take you to Greyson's Cemetery which is close to the Meetup Spot but a mile or so past the Dappled Grove and Rolling Fields.

The cabbie wonders why you're wanting to go to such a spooky and desolate place at night but says nothing of it since you're paying for the ride after all. He and Corviknight carry you to the entrance of the cemetery where you hop out of the huge carriage and pay the fare.

Pained screams emit from within and the cabbie's face pales. "W-what was that?!"

"You don't want to know," is your reply.

He hurriedly hands you the change then flies off with Corviknight.

You watch them leave before you push open the huge steel gates and step inside, making your way down the worn path whilst the agonising howls increase steadily in volume.

The cemetery is hardly visited during daylight hours and even less during the night.

It's a gloomy and creepy place, covered in heavy mist and fog. Rows and rows of old, grungy gravestones poke out of the soil and up ahead, a single mausoleum stands silently in the middle with the door ajar. The light is on, indicating someone is inside.

As you venture further in, you glance at all the ghost pokemon ranging from Pumpkaboo and Sableyes who are hanging around and playing together. Gengar greets a few Ghastlys and Haunters who are lurking around the fountain that contains an old statue of an angel. Looks like they're having a party.

You leave Gengar to his own devices and stroll down the empty path, eventually arriving at the mausoleum and peer between the gap of the door. A dishevelled-looking man in a black duster, shirt, trousers and flip flops with an Absol beside him can be seen within, facing a woman who is tied to a chair made out of stone. She is drenched with water, hissing and spitting and snarling through gritted teeth, her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

Absol is first to notice you, leaving the man's side to trot up to you and nudge the door open to a small extent. You smile as you squat down, patting her on the head whilst the man chants under his breath, holding a silver cross up in his withered hands.

"Exsúrgat Deus et dissipéntur inimíci ejus: et fúgiant qui odérunt eum a fácie ejus," he mutters, stepping around the woman who responds with fierce gnashes of the teeth before she hurls colourful abuse at him in a deep voice.

He presses the cross against the woman's forehead and immediately, her skin sizzles and burns, smoke emitting. She begins shaking violently against the restraints, flailing in a frenzied manner, flinging her head side to side until her features resembles a blur.

The man is undeterred and continues, "Sicut déficit fumus defíciant; sicut fluit cera a fácie ígnis, sic péreant peccatóres a fácie Dei."

You decide not to intervene and find a nice spot by a random gravestone, waiting in silence and twiddling your fingers together. The noises from within become more and more animalistic, resembling feral growls and grunts before it grows silent and the door opens.

The man emerges, drenched in blood and what appears to be vomit.

Meanwhile, the ghost Pokemon behind you frolic and play, oblivious.

You stand up at once. "Ezra!"

He emits a wheezy cough, smacking a clenched fist over his chest repeatedly before he erupts into a violent coughing fit and turns to the side, spitting out some blood.

You immediately go over to help him stand, holding him up by the arm.

He says, "Hey kid."

"Take it easy..." you help him over the steps of the mausoleum and as Ezra plops himself down with a heavy sigh, Absol joins him and he pats her gently on the head. "What's going on? Do you need help?"

"It's fine, nothin' for you to concern yourself with."

You peek inside the mausoleum to see the woman is now sitting limply in the chair with her eyes closed. “She gonna be okay?"

"...Yeah."

"Who is she?"

"I dunno, she just ran inside screamin' and sayin' she been hearin' voices in her head....then she began speakin' in tongues." Ezra grunts, before he enters another harsh coughing fit. When he's finished wheezing, he grabs a cigarette from his pockets along with a lighter and lights it up, inhaling a deep drag and exhaling into the air with a deep but inaudible sigh. "Bring me a beer, kiddo. I left it behind that grave over there."

"Okay," you head over to where he's pointing to, pull out the aforementioned pack of six beers and return to his side.

"That's it, gimme."

Handing one to the old man, he flips the lid, brings the can to his lips and takes a messy swig before sighing with relief. You open your bag and pull out the Odd Keystone that pulses gently in your grip, "I think it's time I gave this back to you. Can you hold onto it for a while?"

He nods, you hand him the stone and he holds it in his limp hands. "Good job," he murmurs, and you know he's talking about the number of evil spirits you've collected, "...Looks like you got yourself a partner too."

"Yep. Gengar, this is my mentor, Ezra."

Gengar stops floating around the Haunters and hovers to your side, then glances at Ezra and Absol. Absol merely regards the shadow pokemon quietly but pays no attention and returns to lie down on her front paws. Gengar floats towards Ezra's direction and takes note of his rather bedraggled appearance, the blood and vomit, before he glances at the silver cross dangling off his neck. Then he notices the old man's pupils are dull, glazed and white. They don't react to anything in front of him, not even when Gengar waves a hand in front of his face.

Ezra doesn't respond, though his smirk widens and he inhales another deep drag, the lit end of his cigarette glowing brightly before the ashes flutter to his feet. "...Isn't that something," he utters, "You two play nice now."

"We get on really well. Right, Gengar?" you add, and Gengar nods as he returns to your side and floats behind you.

"So," Ezra begins, "Did you find the missing folk?"

"Yeah. It was a Froslass haunting the Giant's Seat. A gym challenger fell down a pokemon den during a snowstorm and died. She was crushed by rocks and so were her pokemon. She ended up kidnapping young men and using them as decorations in her cave. I guess she didn't want to be lonely," you emit a sigh and throw your glance to your shoes. "They were already dead. I was too late."

There is a brief silence following until he pats you on the shoulder. "...I'm sorry, kid. You know what it's like. You know what you signed up for. Most people walk in the light and then there's people like us, who tread in the darkness. This is the path you chose," he replies, "Don't be so hard on yourself. You did your best."

You don't reply to that but you gesture to the pack of beer, "Can I have one?"

"Help yourself."

"Thanks," you grab a can and pull the lid off, downing the booze in big gulps.

Ezra returns to the mausoleum, whistling loudly. "Absol, let's go." He mutters, and the dark pokemon stretches on her paws before she joins her trainer and Ezra closes the door behind them.

You're left on your own.

Throwing your glance up to the full moon, you think about Leon and how many worlds apart you are.

...

[sidsky]

What do you do when you feel depressed? I'm sorry if this question makes you feel uncomfortable...

Hi, it’s alright :) But you should know I’ve never been diagnosed with depression (although honestly that may just be because I’ve never been to a therapist) so I’m going to answer this more in the mindset of what my family likes to call “rough patches.” Please bear with me. 

I find that what pulls me out of rough patches typically comes down to varying combinations of socializing, learning, physical health and creating.

Sometimes when I’m feeling dejected or isolated, I’ll realize that I haven’t picked up the phone and talked to my parents, or my non-work friends, for weeks, and in that case I usually feel a bit better once I’ve done that. People need people, and even if I can’t been in the same room with someone I care about, reaching out even just to hear their voice for a few minutes helps me reset. Even texting helps, if I’m worried they might be busy, and not able to talk on the phone. Which happens a lot, because I work afternoons/nights, and most of them are on normal 9-5′s or thereabouts. Any way I can stay in touch helps.

Learning new things has always made me happy. So if I find myself spending all my free time watching Netflix or scrolling social media, I try to switch it up a bit. TED Talks are a great way to get bite-sized bits of information about all sorts of topics, and it’s really cool seeing people talk so passionately about the things they do. 

I’ve also been getting back into reading lately. Fun books; not just the classics everybody says you should read even though they’re really racist or misogynistic and you’re just supposed to “ignore” all that and say how “great” the book is. Fun books: fantasy and mystery and drama and comedy and whatever else I feel like reading. And unless it’s a fanfic, I read books in physical paper/hardback form. I spend way too much time in front of a computer screen at work, and while writing my own stories. Sometimes you just need something you can hold in your hands, and physically turn the pages, and has that old/new book smell. It also helps me focus: it’s hard to open a new tab when your laptop’s closed.

I sometimes get into cycles of eating really poorly, or forgetting some other aspect of taking care of my physical needs. If I forget to take my allergy tab when I wake up–especially in the summer, and especially since I’ve moved closer to Chicago–then there’s a good chance I’ll spend the rest of my day with a mild sinus headache, which doesn’t combine well with an office job staring at a computer for eight hours while editors are scrapping page designs and getting me content ten minutes before deadline and still wanting the page out on time. Really adds to the stress, which in turn adds to wanting to numb the stress, which just numbs everything, which goes bad fast.

It’s easy to get into a rough patch when I’m physically not feeling well, so I try to make sure I’m taking my allergy medicine, and eating right, and drinking water. Some days I’ll feel miserable, then realize the last thing I ate was eight hours ago, and I’ve just been drinking black coffee in the interim. That’s when I have to make myself stop what I’m doing, and go get some food, or it’ll just get way worse. My dad is terrible at watching his diet, and he’s had giant sugar swings my whole life, leading to some pretty hurtful comments coming out of his mouth with no apologies once he’s had something to eat. I don’t want that for myself. So that’s an added reason for me to try and keep track of my physical health, even beyond the rougher rough patches.

Last but not least: creating. Writing. Drawing. Sculpting. Painting. Gardening. Photography. You name it. Creating breaks me out of a monotonous loop and gives my brain a chance to play by its own rules, all while producing something that is a physical proof of my efforts. It doesn’t have to be good; in some cases, it doesn’t have to cost more than a ballpoint pen and drawing on my own skin (or a piece of paper if I’m trying and failing at origami); it doesn’t even have to be all that useful. It just has to be something I did. I don’t have people over often in my apartment, so my “dining room table” is constantly covered in projects. Right now I’m gluing popsicle sticks to the back of thrift store picture frames, so that I can have a decent base to attach some command strips to, so I can actually put the photos up on my walls. It’s small, but it’s still creation. And for me, cooking counts too. It’s like a little experiment that’s successful if I can take a bite and go “yum.”

A combination of socializing and creating helped drag me out of the worst rough patch I’ve ever had. It had gotten so bad that I actually needed a kickstart to care about anything, and that kickstart came when the mom of a friend from high school–someone who is now a friend in her own right–asked if I would be willing to assistant-direct a play she was putting on. Which led to also stage managing that play. Which led to working the lights on another play, and set building on another, and spotlighting another, and getting back into acting, and on and on. Working with that theater company’s one of the things I miss most since I’ve moved. I’m honestly not sure where I’d be without them.

And it was during that time that I started working on both Safe, and some original stories. All of which helped bring back my confidence, and make me want to take care of myself again.

So really, it’s a combination of a bunch of things that help me when I’m in a rough patch. And these things might be different for other people, but these are the kinds of things that have worked for me.

I hope this answers your question, and I wish you well.

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: What Lies Beneath: Carl D’Alvia’s Buried Meanings

Carl D’Alvia, “The End Is…,” (2007), resin and paint, 27 x 20 x 28 inches (courtesy Regina Rex)

I laughed out loud the first time I saw a sculpture by Carl D’Alvia. On a pedestal sat a forlorn, four-legged creature (a kind of rodent/hominid hybrid) slouching on his haunches. Made of cast resin, the little guy had a thick coat of mousey-brown fur the diameter of spaghetti, which covered his face (including eye sockets), hands, feet, tail — and even the rectangular sign, stuck on the end of an equally furry pole, that he wielded, weakly, in his right hand.

It is titled “The End Is…” (2007), and I laughed again when I saw it at Regina Rex, where it presides over Endless, an exhibition of D’Alvia’s work of the last several years. More of Endless — three new works — is at Nathalie Karg Gallery. This knockout, two-venue show — D’Alvia’s first solo outing in New York since 2013 — demonstrates the absurdist humor, masterful craftsmanship, and elliptical thinking of an artist for whom working at apparent cross-purposes is an end in itself: embracing irresolution, the banalities of existence combine to form imponderable conundrums.

Covering things with the texture of fur (or visually related surface treatments, such as hair, grass, scales…) has been a go-to strategy for D’Alvia for some time now.

Carl D’Alvia, “Robot” (2007), bronze, 21 x 36 x 36 inches (courtesy Regina Rex)

In many cases, the thing itself resists recognition, or suggests several things at once. At Regina Rex is “Robot” (2007, bronze), which looks like a small, boxy vehicle with one mechanical arm that, having crumpled to the floor some time ago, is now just a heap of junk overtaken by moss or crabgrass. But emerging from the useless wheels and belts, eclipsing this suggestion of time having passed, is a humanoid face, with jug-handle ears and a wide, urgent grimace.

The title of “4:20” (2012, painted resin) is a reference to smoking pot, and sure enough under all that purple sculpted hair there’s the same weird rodent/hominid guy, taking a hit off an enormous bong, which emits a (similarly hirsute) purple cloud of smoke. Another puff appears in “Puff” (2013, painted resin), but this is otherwise one of those inscrutable pieces that, for me, defies rational comprehension: an elongated wedge protruding between a pair of rubbery, cartoon-like legs, bent at the knee. Everything is covered with a pattern of little leaves. (It could be that I just don’t know enough about the varieties of bong design.) The sculpture is slightly too big for the pedestal, a nice touch.

Carl D’Alvia, “4:20” (2012), resin and paint, 18 x 8 x 18 inches (courtesy Regina Rex)

The 34-item checklist at Regina Rex is retrospective in scope, reaching back to 2001. A major treat is the broad selection of the artist’s exquisite drawings, many of which are in ink or ballpoint pen. “Carburetor” (2005) is an “exploded view” of that device, apparently appropriated from an auto parts manual. Devoid of labels, the unidentified components swarm in formation, floating in pictorial space. This unassuming little work implies that an unintentional vernacular surrealism, by means of which the familiar is made strange, fuels D’Alvia’s larger project.

“Engine” (2005), a drawing of a stripped-down 12-cylinder engine set on end, looks like a fetish object from a patriarchal, power-obsessed civilization. (Hmm.) Other renderings display curious uses of familiar materials, such as a box made of wood slats (“Untitled,” 2016) with a 45-degree bend at the middle, designed to hold — well, who knows what? (“Puff,” maybe?)

Carl D’Alvia, “Puff” (2013), resin and paint, 16 x 31 x 11 inches (courtesy Regina Rex)

D’Alvia’s drawings of his sculptures, such as “Eagle” (2015), apply a chiaroscuro treatment, straight out of Caravaggio or 1940s film noir, to these often comical objects, plunging them into incongruously melodramatic raking light and deep shadows. It is as if the artist wanted to see what one of his characters would do, what it would become, in an unfamiliar situation. The source sculpture for “Eagle” resembles an out-of-shape Maltese Falcon with a toucan’s enormous beak, tipped slightly backward on its base; it’s hard to tell if the creature is recoiling in terror from the inky void, or just dozing off.

Carl D’Alvia, “Eagle” (2015), ballpoint pen on paper, 22 x 30 inches (courtesy Regina Rex)

Though he wears his scholarship lightly, D’Alvia is adept at the semaphores of 20th-century sculpture. One fairly obvious reference: actual fur is of course prominent in historical Surrealism’s best-known sculpture, Meret Oppenheim’s 1936 “Object (The Luncheon in Fur)” — a teacup, saucer and spoon lined with the stuff. (Fun fact: it’s Chinese gazelle.)

“Worm” (2014), a long, rectangular form, segmented and hairy-looking, holds its head-end erect, alert. Despite its right-angled infrastructure, the work is as animate-seeming as its title suggests and recalls Tony Smith’s penchant for metaphor disguised as Minimalism. (‘Literalist’ art’s Trojan Horse?) A nearby drawing, possibly hypothetical, of a similar but much smaller, single-segment work, is titled “Kiki” (2001).

Carl D’Alvia, “The Birds” (2016), bronze, five pieces 18 x 50 x 6 inches (courtesy Regina Rex)

Perched on a plinth, “The Birds” (2016) consists of five bronzes about six inches high, abstract but distinctly avian in character. Four of them continue in D’Alvia’s modus operandi of ornamenting an essential underlying form with obsessively detailed (in this case, feathery) surfaces; in contrast, the central piece is smooth, burnished to a high sheen. The latter channels Constantin Brancusi’s “Bird in Space” (1923) and “Mademoiselle Pogany II” (1925), with a nod to “Princess X” (1916) for good measure.

The Romanian master is the primary link between the two installations. Of the three works at Nathalie Karg, the largest by far is “Endless” (2016, resin and aluminum) which, shoehorned into the gallery’s far-from-cramped space, is endlessly frustrating to photograph. That’s not only because of its scale, which is better suited to an outdoor site, but because the camera can’t really deal with the work’s elongated, rhomboid volumes with their optically confounding angles.

But in person, it’s a blast. It refers, of course, to one or more of Brancusi’s “Endless Column” variants. (The public, 30-meter-long version in Târgu Jiu was erected in 1938, but Brancusi made the first prototype at least twenty years earlier.) Flat on the floor rather than upright, it stretches to almost 60 feet in length. Three feet high, it is a series of discrete rhomboids — imagine a cube stretched at opposing corners, so that every side is a parallelogram.

Carl D’Alvia, “Endless” (detail) (2016), cast resin over aluminum armature, 8 rhombus sculptures (each 36 x 87 x 38 inches), 2 half rhombus sculptures (each 36 x 57 x 38 inches)

“Endless” has eight such sections, plus a half-rhomboid at each extremity. (You can imagine the beginning picking up where the end leaves off, like Finnegans Wake.) These elements are aligned corner-to-corner, so that the acute angles are just a few inches apart. They are physically discontinuous, but the gaps between the volumes are too narrow and steeply angled to allow you to pass through easily. You have to walk around “Endless” to really see it; outdoors, I expect, its resemblance to a barrier would be less conspicuous.

Carl D’Alvia, “Endless” (detail) (2016)

The funny thing is that it’s made of “boards” of cast resin (from clay originals) marked by deep wood grain and knots, here and there, that look a whole lot like eyes. The boards are obviously faux, once you look closely, but the many screw heads dotting the surface are real — surprise! — and attach to an aluminum armature. Gallery information has it that every element is unique because, while the constituent boards are themselves multiples, they are assembled differently in each section.

Carl D’Alvia, “Lith” (2016), aluminum, 96 x 48 x 31 inches

Eight feet high, smooth of surface, and painted a semi-gloss black, “Lith” (2016, aluminum) is in the spirit of the Modernist, public-scale, vaguely anthropomorphic sculpture of Clement Meadmore, who gave elongated geometrical volumes — typically square in cross-section — all manner of twists, curves, and curls. “Celestial” (2016), an eight-foot-diameter circle of nearly 50 sections of unglazed black earthenware extruded in rope-like thicknesses, recalls Richard Long’s floor-based disks made of shards and chunks of slate.

“Endless” takes center stage, though, and seems the most conceptually expansive. Brancusi designed his masterpiece in tribute to fallen Romanian soldiers who defended Târgu Jiu against the advance of German forces in WW1. Might the barrier-like “Endless” refers to a certain proposed border wall, and the seemingly infinite xenophobia that prompted it? Farfetched, maybe, but these days, an artwork’s implications, however latent they may be, migrate from the margins to the center of this viewer’s interpretive imagination. Forms attract associations like iron filings to a magnet. Walls and barricades, like the color orange and the word “nasty,” signify differently than they did just a year ago.

Carl D’Alvia, “Celestial” (2016), unglazed black earthenware, 81 x 81 inches

You don’t have to be a fan of affect theory (I’m not) to be aware that unintentional or supplemental meanings accrue to the reading of an artwork according to contexts, both spatial and temporal, and contribute to the viewer’s emotional response to it. Absent explicit narrative or other interpretive guides, content can be fickle, changing with the daily headlines. What we see depends on what we see with — the cognitive mechanisms we bring into the gallery. Looking at “Endless,” you’re on one side, or you’re on the other. You can’t pass easily between the gaps, but if you really wanted to, you could. “Endless” may be difficult to breach, but not impossible.

Carl D’Alvia: Endless continues at Regina Rex (221 Madison St, Lower East Side, Manhattan) and Nathalie Karg Gallery (291 Grand Street, Lower East Side, Manhattan) through February 19.

The post What Lies Beneath: Carl D’Alvia’s Buried Meanings appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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