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imjeralee · 4 years

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Comfort in Despair: Chapter 13 - Edward Rose

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: For blood, gore, vomit, disturbing and graphical scenes. This is really a horrific chapter. If you like this stuff, that’s great, if not I promise it will get better :’)

@marydragneell - here is the latest update

Edward Rose

…

[Ezra’s Notes on Exorcism Tools:

1. The Odd Keystone. A peculiar stone bestowed to me by the diocese. Quintessential in capturing evil spirits that cannot find salvation and are cursed to wander the earth for eternity (I’m surprised they didn’t ask for it back). It is 'activated' by latin exorcism prayers. If the number of contained spirits reach one hundred and eight, a pokemon will form, ie, Spiritomb.

2. The Khira Dagger. This small, hand-held dagger was used in rituals and sacrificial ceremonies, with roots dating back to the 8th century. It has absorbed so much blood that its power transcends any other. It kills spirits, evil or good. Try to refrain from using this unless you’re dealing with a powerful adversary (again, I’m surprised they didn’t ask for it back).]

…

The sound of rapid footsteps approaching can be heard echoing along the dark hall and you and Jace both turn to the source only to be greeted with an ashen-faced Cole.

“Help! I need help!” he exclaims, clearly in distress. He comes to a grinding halt before you and puts his hands on his knees with his head low, panting.

“Are you alright?” Jace asks, as Cole struggles to regain his breath.

You give him a moment or so until his face finally returns to its normal colour and he squeezes his eyes shut before he cries out, “Tan is missing!”

You’ve never seen a grown man look so panicky and hysterical before. “Calm down, tell us what happened.”

“He went to the bathroom and several minutes passed, and he didn’t come out so I went in to check in on him and he tried to scare me but then there was this loud noise outside and he left to check. When I went out, he was gone – there’s no way he could’ve just vanished into thin air so quickly like that, you know? And I was calling his name and saw this shadow run past, I followed it-“

As Cole rambles, he becomes increasingly louder.

“But then I heard footsteps behind me and between these two displays, I saw this face-“

“A face?”

Cole nods and Jace throws you an alarmed glance. “I saw it in the pictures we took. It was following us!”

“Show me these pictures,” you say, and Cole switches on his bulky digital camera, fumbling with a few buttons and switching to view mode where he mutters and mumbles under his breath until he finds the designated pictures. “Here.”

You scoop the camera out of his grip and go through the snapshots under Cole’s instruction; you see an array of photos of Tanner taken when they were on their way to leave the gallery via the right wing. There are a couple of so photos of Tanner striking funny poses in the taxidermy section.

Cole does not fail to point out the grinning face in the darkness that he’d noticed appear in numerous photos he had taken of Tanner after capturing Runerigus.

You peer curiously at each of these photos where you see the face that appears in every picture. Whether it’s above Tanner’s shoulder, head, on his left or right, it is always there.

“And you noticed this after you found us in the basement and after Tanner captured Runerigus,” you reaffirm, and he nods again. You hand him the camera wordlessly.

“The damn asshole won’t pick up his phone either,” Cole growls.

“What should we do?” Jace asks.

“Call Horace. Get all the lights switched back on so we can start looking for Tanner.”

“O-okay, I can do that…” Cole utters, before he fishes out the walkie talkie and pushes on the button; it fizzes weakly before it goes silent and he takes this as an indication to speak. “Hello? Horace? Are you there, over?”

He lifts his finger off the button and waits, but there’s no response.

Cole tries again. “Horace? Can you hear me, over. Can you switch all the lights back on, please?”

Still no response.

“…I’ll go find him,” Cole says with a sigh, “I’ll go through the left wing, it’s quicker that way. There’s no use just hanging around here. I’ll keep in contact with you through my walkie.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Cole replies, “You guys gonna stay here?”

“We’re going to investigate a bit more,” you say whilst Jace looks unsure.

“Okay, see you in a bit. Arceus…Tan, you better be okay…”

You watch Cole’s retreating back as he disappears towards the direction of the left wing and it’s just yourself and Jace once more.

“Where do you think Tanner is?” Jace asks.

“He could be hiding somewhere.”

“Yeah, he must’ve seen the ghost and bolted for it!”

“Possibly,” you mutter, before you unzip your bag and rifle through, picking up the Odd Keystone you had received from Leon earlier.

How is this going to work, you think to yourself, as you return the Odd Keystone safely back inside; you opt for a small and dirty gold dagger with a thin blade the length of your hand that is engraved all over with strange symbols. You carefully place it into your inner jacket pocket to conceal it but Jace sees it anyway.

“A knife!?”

“No, a khira dagger,” you say quickly, revealing the small blade, “It doesn’t hurt humans, only spirits. Watch.”

You proceed to stab the blade into your awaiting palm but nothing happens, the sharp blade doesn’t penetrate your flesh and skin at all even when you bring the blade down again and again and Jace gawks in bewilderment as you lift your intact hand, wiggling your fingers.

“See?” you say, “I don’t really want to use it, but I’m concerned. If Graves found out about this though, he’d confiscate it so don’t tell anyone.”

Jace chuckles. “Your secret’s safe with me!”

“Thanks, Jace-“

You are both briefly stopped in your actions when you hear the distinct sounds of clanging metal above your heads which makes you look up.

The noise continues, identical to someone with a rod and banging on metal, and you shine the torch at the ceiling. It’s coming from the ventilation and the noises are heading towards the direction of the left wing.

“…Do you think Cole made it out okay?” Jace asks, and you purse your lips.

“I’ll go check,” you say, “Jace, stay here.”

“No way! I’m coming with you.”

“…Alright fine, let’s go,” and you both begin to follow the sounds which are heading towards the direction of the left wing where up ahead, you hear a loud cry of pain.

Hastening your pace, you and Jace rush to the scene as quickly as your feet can carry you until you see Cole a short distance away. He is lying on the floor, though he is not alone for a figure can be seen squatting over his body, emitting guttural and choked croaks and grunts.

You and Jace go to a skidding halt on your heels, shining the torch on the figure who whips round with a feral hiss.

It’s Tanner, yet his eyes are wild and crazed, with lips pulled backwards so tightly they appear to reach his ears. His teeth are clenched together into a grisly and never-ending, distorted grin of malice, his nostrils and mouth drenched with blood. Hot tears stream profusely down from the corners of his eyes and over his cheeks, mingling together with the blood.

“H…help muh…” he manages to grunt out, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief second.

Rising to stand, his body jerks and twitches fiercely. He takes a step forwards, then immediately doubles over, groaning and heaving before he proceeds to vomit, large splashes staining the pristine floor before he begins plodding towards your direction with his arms stretched out, fingers bent into claws.

You’re seized by Jace before you can react; he mutters a string of obscenities whilst the possessed man rampages after you, shrieking and screaming unintelligibly.

“This way!” Jace yells, as he drags you down the hall.

Your heartbeat begins speeding up as Tanner’s hysterical, gnarled screams of agony assaults your ears, along with the violent thudding sounds of hands and feet meeting the floor. Too disturbed to look over your shoulders, Jace reaches for Joltik’s capsule and releases his pokemon.

“Joltik, use Electroweb!!” Jace commands, and the little yellow bug glows brightly before shooting a large spiderweb filled with crackling electricity towards Tanner’s direction.

You throw a quick glance to see the web ensnaring the man but it does little to stop him. He has made no effort to evade and drops to the ground as the web tangles him up and he begins crawling whilst snarling and gnashing his teeth ferociously, dragging himself towards you, reaching with outstretched arms.

“Good job, Joltik,” Jace says, as the little bug trills in response.

You run aimlessly through the gallery, listening to the horrendous noises which are still growing closer and closer until Jace suddenly lets out a yelp. You turn briefly to see he’s been grabbed; you cannot believe your eyes - Tanner has rid himself of the electroweb and he has caught up so quickly – and Jace is promptly tossed high in the air with Joltik stuck to his shoulder and you watch helplessly as he slams against the wall of one of the taxidermy displays and drops to the ground, unconscious.

“Jace!”

As Tanner proceeds to lunge at you, he’s quickly fended off by a dark beam of energy.

Gengar floats in the air, grinning wickedly before he glances at you and nods; he’s got your back.

The possessed Tanner rolls upright, hisses and scrabbles away, disappearing into the darkness.

Your legs tremble as you scan the surrounding area with your torch but he has vanished; all that is left of him is a bloodied trail which vanishes in one corner.

A loud clunk from above grabs your attention and you shine the torch to the source to see that the iron vent on the ceiling has been pried open.

Gengar returns to your side and you exhale shakily.

“…Thanks Gengar, can you check up on Jace and Joltik, please?”

Fumbling for Mimikyu’s capsule, you release her and she looks up at you expectantly.

“Mimi, can you check up on Cole, please? And please return to the entrance and ask Horace to turn on all the lights.”

“Leave it to…mi.” Mimikyu says, imitating a salute motion with one shadowy tendril from its mouth.

You smile at your pokemon; though they are rather reluctant to leave your side, you confirm your instruction with a firm nod.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing. Meet me in the basement once you’re done.”

Gengar and Mimikyu acknowledges your commands and everyone parts way; Gengar floats away to where Jace and Joltik were tossed, Mimikyu heads for the direction of the left wing whilst you make your way towards the door that will lead to the basement.

You’re going to destroy the damn thing.

Along the way, you check for any airducts and vent shafts and you remain on high alert for any strange noises and signs of Tanner, using your torch to sweep the area before proceeding.

The path is clear and the basement door lies ahead and when you shine the torch on the ceiling to the air duct nearby, you see it is closed.

Without further hesitation, you head over until a brutal force from behind rams into your back and you’re shoved away from the door and to the wall, your head smacks hard against the concrete and you drop to the floor, your torch clattering out of your hand. Your mind reels as your vision slowly grows black and your eyes slide to a close.

Drifting between consciousness, a wet and cold grip seizes your ankle and you’re slowly pulled out of your spot.

You slump over the uninviting floor and as you groan and mumble and mutter, the grip tugs on your ankle again.

You slide forwards and stop briefly.

Then you slide again.

And stop.

You’re being dragged.

Groaning, you muster the strength to open your eyes and stare groggily at the ceiling above you before you lift a hand to the side of your head and press your fingertips over your skin. You are bleeding.

You see Tanner with his back to you and his hand curled around your ankle which is lifted in the air, pulling you towards the direction of the basement. You struggle but you’re wracked with pain, your head throbbing.

Your eyes slide to a close…

…and you wake up by a searing hot stab of pain and you begin screaming uncontrollably, your eyes darting around your surroundings.

It’s the room with the fans and the easel and the accursed canvas and the sounds of flesh squelching and blood gurgling forces you to whip your head to the side where you see Tanner bent over you, biting down ravenously on the flesh of your forearm. As you scream and flail, he looks up, his crazed and possessed eyes meeting yours.

With a mouthful of blood, he slowly shuffles up and away from you, and you gape as he drags himself to stand limply in front of the easel with his shoulders slumped.

The incomplete painting awaits; he regards it for a moment before he begins to dab his fingers into his bloodied mouth and slaps his fingers and palms onto the canvas, smearing your blood over the surface.

You stare at the scene in horror and shock, your eyes widening as he begins to paint.

Slowly, you begin to inch yourself away towards the direction of the closed door as quietly as possible so not to alert the possessed man. Gengar and Mimikyu haven’t come to find you, so you doubt you’ve been unconscious for long. As you drag yourself across the floor, your arm is a bloom of red, brimming with pain and discomfort and bleeding abundantly from where he’s bitten into you.

He stops, having run out of blood and turns round, his crazed eyes pinned on your helpless form on the ground and you inch backwards as fast as you can, struggling away on your elbows.

“Edward Rose, I know it’s you,” you hiss. Lifting yourself off the floor to stand, you cradle your bleeding arm, panting heavily, “You want to finish your painting, right?”

“….Need more blood…not enough blood…” Tanner utters but it’s not his voice, it’s deep and darker.

Without a second to spare, he lunges at you but you reveal the small dagger that you’ve managed to keep safe and thrust the sharpened tip towards his chest but one huge fist grabs your arm and the other seizes your throat and proceeds to squeeze down on your windpipe. You grunt as he slams you against the wall and lifts you high into the air.

You struggle violently as his hand closes around your neck and wrist firmly; with your remaining hand, you clench your fist tightly and begin beating against his shoulder.

Struggling for breath, Tanner’s manic gaze meets yours; his distorted grin is incessant, his pupils are dilated as he hisses and rasps unintelligibly, your ears ringing with discomfort from the grating noise.

You shake and flail as much as you can, your ravaged arm sweltering with pain.

The pressure on your neck increases, the howling grows more and more deafening, your mind grows dark and dreary, your clenched hand on his coat is growing loose.

This must be it, you think to yourself, and you wonder how sad it is that this is how you will meet your end because you didn't think this would how it would end until Tanner abruptly jerks backwards and you are freed from his clutches. You drop to the ground, coughing and choking and gasping for precious air.

You didn’t hear the door open.

Glancing up, you see it is none other than Leon holding the man back. Charizard is by his side, too.

“Leon!!” you cry breathlessly with widened eyes, “Charizard!”

“Are you okay?!” he exclaims, and you force a nod. “Arceus, what’s wrong with him? Has he gone mad?”

“No, he’s just possessed,” is your reply.

As Leon holds Tanner back, having successfully wrenched the possessed man off you, Charizard waddles to your side to inspect you.

However, there’s no time to waste. As Charizard helps you off the ground, you grab your dagger with renewed grip and lunge forwards as Tanner fights and resists Leon thoroughly, screaming and flailing viciously in his hold. You quickly swing your arm forwards with the dagger and Leon’s eyes widens at your action.

He’s never seen you like this. You must look deranged, you think; your eyes must rival the possessed Tanner – wild, manic and desperate. You’re completely soaked in blood, your teeth clenched together firmly as adrenaline pumps furiously through your veins.

But you want to finish this.

An estranged cry of distress erupts from Tanner’s throat.

“Stop!”

And you pause, the tip of the dagger an inch from his chest.

“Please….no….” he croaks out, his voice strained and heavy and belonging to none other than Edward Rose, “H…he….help me…I want to…finish the painting…”

Leon is baffled by the entirety of it all but you cannot spare the time to explain; he looks at you incredulously as you stare at the sobbing man in his grip with widened eyes. Your shaking arm slowly lowers, the dagger returning to your side.

“….Please…please…” he begs, squeezing his eyes shut. Tears leak uncontrollably from the corners of his clenched eyes. A mixture of Tanner’s and Edward Rose. “It is almost…finished…just a few strokes…please...”

An unsettling silence fills the room as Leon throws you another alarmed glance, then at the man in his grip.

“What is it?” you ask, panting heavily and sucking in noisy breaths, pointing a shaking finger to the painting. Your heart beats furiously, your knees trembling. “What is that meant to be?”

“A map…I hid something…a treasure…”

As Tanner continues to sob, you step backwards as you sweep your hand through your messy hair in disbelief. Leon waits for your response as you pace the floor momentarily before you nod weakly.

“…Fine,” you reply, “But you have to vacate this body at once…I’ll allow you to use mine instead.”

“What?” Leon exclaims.

“It’s okay, Leon. Trust me.”

Whilst the Champion gawks at you, Tanner nods, grateful.

“Oh…thank…you…”

Clearly confused by this entire ordeal, Leon cannot help but watch; you’re relieved he doesn’t attempt to step in, nor does he waste time by questioning everything that’s happening.

Tanner emits another anguished moan and as he convulses violently under Leon’s hold, a murky, dark mist expels from his body, rising from his shoulders and chest in tangled wisps.

He croaks with pain and Leon eventually releases him as the man continues choking and grunting excruciatingly. His throat rattling loudly, Tanner dips to the side with his arms taut and retches, mouth stretching wide open to violently regurgitate another mixture of vomit, blood and a strange, yellowish-white substance that resembles phlegm.

Then he drops to the ground, eyes closed. He is out cold.

“…Ectoplasm,” you mutter, as Leon stares with widened eyes and Charizard snorts loudly with disgust. “Think of it like….ghost residue.”

Despite your explanation, Leon and Charizard look incredibly baffled as you drag yourself to stand properly, hopping on one leg and throwing a glance to the unconscious Tanner before you glance at the awaiting shadow that hovers in mid-air before you.

“I’ll be right back,” you tell the Champion as the shadow slinks forwards.

“Wait!” Leon yells, but the shadow proceeds to envelope you.

He watches as you sway on the spot with your eyes closed before he murmurs your name anxiously.

Your eyes re-open slowly a few seconds later although your gaze, now empty and not belonging to you, sweeps past Leon. You hardly bat an eyelid to his presence and proceed to plod towards the direction of the easel, staring lopsidedly at the canvas before you throw your glance to your bleeding arm. You start to sink your fingers into your torn flesh and once they’re soaked, you begin to apply your bloodied fingertips over the canvas.

Leon calls your name again but you don’t respond.

He observes you painting for a few minutes, your eyes empty as you drag your fingers over the board in a hypnotic but expert fashion.

The stench of blood is strong in the air, the metallic, coppery smell assaulting his nose and Leon grows concerned as continuous drops of blood stain the ground from the tips of your twitching fingers. Charizard growls lightly to elicit some form of response from you but there’s not much the pokemon can do.

When you’re finished, the painting has taken form and has become clearly distinguishable to resemble a monument which Leon is quite certain he has seen somewhere in Rose’s manor.

With the painting completed, Leon watches you carefully. The atmosphere in the room is tense, as he waits for your next move; however, he was not expecting your body to abruptly jerk violently and he takes a cautious step forwards, reaching for you as you shudder on the spot, eyes twitching.

You throw your arm out, halting him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Mustering a minute shake of your head, your eyes squeeze shut and you emit a low groan.

"What is it?" he tries again.

You merely groan.

Leon says your name and what he perhaps feared finally happens: your face contorts, your expression turning dark.

“He won’t leave. Shut up, you fell for it and willingly let me in, swine, and now you shall suffer; they shall all suffer. Arceus, I should’ve known-”

Erupting into boisterous, mocking laughter, you suddenly throw your head back and howl until tears form in your eyes; you drop to your knees with your arms out, facing the ceiling, chin raised in the air, before you wildly scrub your face with your bleeding wound, smothering the dank liquid over your eyes, nose, lips furiously.

"Stop!" Leon yells in response to the macabre display, calling your name again.

You whip your head to him sharply, your chilling eyes wide and glinting under the dim light.

“Do not call me that! Get away from me, Leon – My name is Edward Rose! Leon, get away from me, now!"

“I won’t,” he says sternly, shaking his head.

"This body is mine!" you scream next, before you bite down on your arm, hard, and draw more blood.

Leon abruptly tackles you to the ground, apologising profusely for his manhandling of you despite your aggressive attempts to throw him off; he successfully pulls your arm free from your mouth and you begin convulsing helplessly, eyes rolled to the back of your head, mumbling and muttering incoherently. Your head bends to one side, your shoulders hunching up and arms going stiff, fingers twisting into curled claws before your back arches off the ground and you begin to grunt with pain.

"Leon-"

“I’m still here. I won’t leave you, I can’t-”

“Futile! I'll tear you apart!”

And you yelp and yell, your clinched fingers creeping into the sides of your head and hair. A few strands are torn cleanly from your head from your maniacal clawing, your fingernails desperately raking over your cheeks and temples.

In response to your distress, Leon grabs your wrists and pins you to the floor before you can hurt yourself further.

“Focus on my voice,” he says, remaining as calm as possible, “Please.”

Your eyes clench shut firmly and hot tears stream down your face. Leon continues, asking you to focus on his voice, on him, on yourself, that you're still there and in control and after an ear-splitting shriek, a black shadow is forcibly expelled from your body and shoots into the atmosphere and your body grows weak under Leon’s grip.

Leon moves to wrap his arm around you as your weary body lies limply in his hold, your head rolling to the crook of his elbow as you pant uncontrollably. Leon and Charizard exchange quick glimpses to each other before he carefully shakes you.

Your eyes gradually flutter open and he breathes a sigh of relief.

“....Leon?” you whimper.

He blinks slowly before he responds with a relieved and reassuring, kind smile which thoroughly warms your heart.

“…Hey,” he says gently, before he finds your bloodied hand and holds it tightly, “you’re back. You did it.”

You scan his features briefly before you return his smile with a thin and weak one of your own. You find you have become incredibly languid and drained and tears begin forming in the corner of your eyes once more and your lip trembles.

"Oh god...I'm so sorry. Did I frighten you?"

"It's okay."

You emit a meek sniff and Leon squeezes your hand tightly.

Having successfully expelled Edward Rose from your body, you cannot afford to let precious time go to waste; the shadow bobs up and down in the air listlessly, seemingly stunned from your forceful expulsion and so you indicate to Leon that there is no time to dither and you must get up. He helps, wrapping an arm around your shoulder whilst clutching your hand tightly though your hands occasionally slip due to the blood on your palms.

With Leon’s help, you lean on him as he keeps you hoisted whilst you hastily grasp the Odd Keystone from your bag which you proceed to hold up.

“Adjure te, spiritus nequissime, per Deum omnipotentem,” you croak, your throat burning.

Despite the weakness of your voice, the keystone is activated and the shadow, having realised its incoming demise, rapidly attempts to escape by flitting across the room, darting to and fro but the brilliant light encompasses it and the Odd Keystone, with a power that surpasses like any other, continues to reel and drag it in. Screeching and convulsing viciously, the shadow stretches and morphs aggressively as it is dragged inside.

Edward Rose's agonising howls and screeches bathe the room and stings your ears until the Keystone sucks him inside, the fissure glowing brightly as it claims another evil soul for itself. The room grows dark and not a sound can be heard.

You’re aware it’s far from over; Ezra’s words echo in your mind and the keystone begins to glimmer and tremble violently in your grip; heat spreads across the base of your palm, something which the stone has not done before and you have no choice but to drop it.

It does not hit the ground; instead, it zooms back into the air, hovering before you and Leon whilst shining brightly.

“What’s going on?” Leon asks.

“It’s the creation of a Spiritomb,” you reply; the stone begins rapidly spinning in an anti-clockwise fashion in the air, the fissure of the keystone resembling a blur yet it continues to glow brilliantly under the dimness of the room. As the stone whirls, the stillness of the room is penetrated by a thunderous sound.

A purple miasma unravels from the center of the spinning stone as the glowing light fades away and you and Leon watch in silence as the stone spins faster and the strange purple cloud grows larger and larger before the stone comes to an abrupt stop and the creature that has formed finally manifests before you.

It’s Spiritomb, and the stone slowly returns to wobble on the ground; ragged green lines and specks form on its body, its expression contorting into a sinister sneer before unleashing a powerful shockwave that takes everyone off guard.

Leon’s instinct is to protect you, so you find him throwing himself in front of you in a split second, shielding you with his body.

A bright light encompasses the entire room and you’re forced to shield your eyes; when you re-open them, Spiritomb is nowhere to be seen.

Unable to muster the energy to chase after it, you slump against Leon’s chest, your body growing light again. He mutters your name and slowly uses a hand to sweep some of your hair from the frames of your face and tuck it neatly behind your ears before he slides his hand over yours once again. There are ugly bruises on your neck. You are still bleeding from your head and arm.

Though you have the strength to squeeze his hand, he helps prop you up against the wall where you sigh and groan under your breath with agony and exhaustion.

There must be a way to stop the bleeding and his t-shirt seems to be a good way to do so he tears several inches of the hem off and uses it to wrap your tarnished arm, looping it around and around your wound.

“Leon, don’t,” you croak; you receive a sneaky and quick peek of his abs but only just for a second or so, “Your champion shirt…don’t ruin it…”

He merely grins at you reassuringly. “Don’t worry.”

You really do not want Leon to see you like this.

This is the side of your work which you didn’t want him to see.

The ugly side, the dark side.

As Leon finishes tying his shirt around your wound, there is a gentle tug on your arm and you see Gengar; he stands to your left whilst Mimikyu perches herself in your lap. You smile at them weakly as Gengar glances at you worriedly and Mimikyu, rather reluctantly and awkwardly, releases a tendril to pat you on the head.

“Mi mi?” she asks, before she slides her gaze to your bandaged arm, the bruises on your neck and your injuries.

“I’m okay…” you murmur as your eyelids flutter to a close.

With a shuddering exhale, you slowly turn your head to the side, your eyes closing as your breathing grows shallow.

As Leon reaches for you, you are far too fatigued to move anymore; he brushes some loose strands of hair from your face and uses his thumb to brush a tear from the corner of your eye. The warmth from his hand on your cheek is comforting and you sigh again.

“Leon…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m tired…”

Retreating from the side of your cheek, he scoops your hand with his and holds you tightly. Your hand is limp in his hold as he sweeps his thumb over your cold knuckles.

“I’ll get you outta here,” you hear him murmur.

You nod wearily.

Removing his cloak, Leon carefully wraps it around your body despite your protests. He tucks it around you and pulls at the collar to ensure you're warm and covered and once you're completely bundled up, he effortlessly picks you up and off the ground, easing you into his arms. He slides one arm underneath the bend of your knees and the other around the small of your back, ensuring you’re comfortable before he rises to stand.

With you safely in his arms, Leon carries you out of the basement as the lights go on one by one.

…

Rose enters the basement, assessing the damage.

Whilst Leon, the pokemon researcher, her assistant and the Ghostbunkers team have been escorted to hospital, Rose slips into his gallery before the night is over. He calls his cleaning staff to make haste and tidy up the mess they made.

He glances at the completed painting and smiles. Oleana stands behind him with a large black case which she proceeds to open.

“What does this look like to you, Oleana?” he asks.

“It looks like one of the dormers of Rose Manor, perhaps the drawing room. East wing.” Oleana replies stoically.

“My thoughts exactly. And that’s where Edward Rose hid it,” Rose replies. “We couldn’t have done it without her.”

“Agreed, sir,” is Oleana’s remark.

Rose lifts the canvas off the easel and deposits it carefully into the case, closing the lid shut.

Then they leave the basement silently.

…

#leon #dande #Leon x you #pkmn #pokemon #pokemon shield #pokemon sword #pokemon shield and sword #fanfic #fic #reader #reader insert #jeralee #Comfort in Despair #archive of our own

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lastsonlost · 6 years

Link

REMEMBER KIDS IF YOU DON’T LIKE SOMEONE ACCUSED HIM OF NAZISM.

also

Roseanne Barr, whose cable sitcom revival pulled down boffo ratings this week, once dressed as Hitler for the dear departed Jewish magazine HEEB.

The 2009 photo shoot, in which Barr appeared in Hitler armband and mustache removing a tray of burnt gingerbread cookies from an oven, was controversial at the time. Former Fox News host Bill O’Reilly inveighed against it, as did Mario Lopez, who on the syndicated gossip show Extra scolded, “Come on, Roseanne. Hitler jokes are never funny.” (Mel Brooks would beg to differ.)

youtube

In an explanation posted on HEEB’s website soon after the pictures were posted, the magazine’s then-publisher, Joshua Neuman, wrote that the photos were inspired by questions about “whether the taboo against joking about the Holocaust and the Nazis exerted as much power as it used to.”

Wrote Neuman: “What better way to capture this moment in popular culture than by having the original ‘domestic goddess’ don the Fuhrer’s famous mustache? For better or worse, hasn’t the Holocaust itself been domesticated?”

HEEB killed its print edition a year later. Today, the brand survives as an infrequent blog.

Roseanne, meanwhile, is the Trump-supporting star of the biggest hit on television. Barr was born into a Jewish family and in more recent years has explored the texts and ceremonies of the Jewish priestess movement.

FAST FORWARD WE GET THIS ARTICLE FROM SNOPES.

Controversial images of the comedian were originally published in a 2009 issue of a satire publication catering to young Jewish readers. (LINK HERE)

The revival of the sitcom Roseanne in March 2018 sparked big ratings for ABC, generally positivereviews, and, of course, controversy. However, the initial episodes did not seem to drive the conversation online quite as much as a years-old series of images that suddenly reappeared featuring the show’s eponymous star, actor and comedian Roseanne Barr, dressed up as Hitler and pulling gingerbread cookies out of an oven:

These photographs are real. However, they are frequently shared without important accompanying context. The series of images were originally part of a 2009 article in a “Germany” issue of Heebmagazine, a satirical Jewish publication that ran between 2001 and 2010. (An infrequently updated version of the magazine still exists online.) In the article which originally accompanied these photographs, entitled “That Oven Feelin’,” author Oliver Noble wrote that Roseanne asked to dress up as Hitler for the spread, as she believes (or at least jokingly said that she believes) that she may be the reincarnation of the Führer himself:

As I wait for Barr to arrive, I contemplate the pop culture folklore that surrounds her: the alleged multiple personality disorder, the roller coaster relationship with Tom Arnold—which culminated in a bitter divorce—the theory (her own) that she may in fact be the reincarnation of Adolf Hitler, whom she has requested to be dressed as for her Heeb photo shoot. “Nervous” doesn’t begin to describe my feelings about meeting this 5’4” Jewish grandmother.

With her hit sitcom off the air for more than a decade and the tabloid pages of her tumultuous life rotting in landfills, Barr currently spends her time working on a collection of essays on menopause, celebrity, pharmaceuticals and Jewish life in Mormon Utah (to be published by Simon Spotlight Entertainment) and disseminating her signature mix of insights and insults through her blog (Roseanneworld.com). She briefly kept an account with what she now calls “that shit heap” (Twitter) before deleting it, citing as her reason “the idiocy of people and how ill-informed they all seem.” Today, when she brusquely enters the photo studio, she seems none too happy about having been dragged from her self-imposed exile.

[…]

As the “Domestic Goddess” dons the famous moustache, transforming into “Domestic Goddess Hitler,” I notice that she’s beginning to have fun. She nails the Fuehrer’s facial expressions with twisted glee, and as she takes the burnt gingerbread “Jew Cookies” out of the oven it occurs to me that Barr may be the last celebrity utterly incapable of giving a fuck—a quality theoretically easy to embody until it’s time to face the practical repercussions. “Franklin Ajae, Paul Mooney, Mort Sahl and Dick Gregory’s passings will tear my kishkas out,” Barr laments. “They gave everything they had to just tell the truth, and they couldn’t make a decent living because of the choice they made—not selling out to Hollywood.”

The photoshoot stirred up considerable controversy at the time, and from pundits across the political spectrum. Segments on The View and The O’Reilly Factor criticized the comedian for the Hitler-themed photoshoot. Heeb, however, defended the pictures and noted that Holocaust jokes are frequently featured in Hollywood movies, explaining that as a satirical, Jewish publication its goal was to challenge preconceptions:

Heeb is a satirical Jewish culture magazine that interrogates stereotypes and ideas (hopefully in creative ways) that many hold sacred in order to represent the complex and nuanced perspectives that many Jews have about their identities. When we depicted Sarah Silverman behind a hole in a sheet or Jonah Hill dressed as Moses holding two kegs as if they were tablets, we weren’t trying to be shocking–we were trying to communicate something truthful about contemporary Jewishness. Yes, that may sound impossibly high-fallutin, but it’s the truth and while we kind of don’t give a shit whether the magazine wreaks havoc on smug and sanctimonious visions of Jewish life, we do care when our intentions (or those of our collaborators) are distorted.

Virtually every pitch we received leading up to the publishing of our Germany Issue circled back to the Nazis and the Holocaust and almost all of them were humorous in nature. Naturally, our editors couldn’t help but wonder whether something new was happening in the culture— whether the taboo against joking about the Holocaust and the Nazis exerted as much power as it used to. Certainly Jews have been joking about the Holocaust since the Holocaust (I believe it was the Warsaw Ghetto where the Jewish inhabitants referred to Hitler regularly as “Horowitz”), but these jokes have largely been uttered in private or underground. In recent years, they have been finding themselves in the most public of conversations.

[…]

And what better way to capture this moment in popular culture than by having the original “domestic goddess” don the Fuhrer’s famous mustache? For better or worse, hasn’t the Holocaust itself been domesticated?

Roseanne also addressed the issue during an episode of The Green Room with Paul Provenza. The conversation about those Hitler images begins about the eight minutes in. We’ve transcribed the relevant portion below:

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Roseanne: It’s like a Jewish woman. And She’s dressed up like Hitler. And he’s in drag. Hitler. And he’s baking cookies. And he’s really proud of them. But he’s also looking off into the horizon because he has a dream. It was for Heeb magazine. It was their Germany issue. And who better a symbol of Germany than Hitler?

Provenza: What did your detractors have to say?

Roseanne: Oh my god. You don’t want to piss of Jews. Even if you’re a Jew, don’t piss off Jews. All Jews hate each other.

Provenza: Jews went crazy over this. Understandably.

Rozeanne: I don’t think understandably. It really pissed me off. Because they were like “you’re making fun of the people in the ovens,” but I’m not making fun of people in the ovens.

Patrice O’Neal: You kind of are though. The only thing worse would have been if you made the cookies skinny.

Roseanne: There’s another, deeper layer to it. You know just the everyday. Moving off this Holocaust. There’s been about fifty of them since then. That’s what I’m kind of trying to say. Is like, Jesus Christ it’s so fucking every day now, holocausts, it’s like baking cookies.

Provenza: Were you not aware that that’s not what people would be thinking?

Roseanne: I don’t give a fuck what people think.

I don’t care what they think. That’s what I’m trying to say. Let’s stop holocausts. When I did The Star Spangled Banner— let’s care about freedom, instead of symbols of freedom for a fucking change. You know what I mean, I don’t know. I’m just really old. When you’re post-menopausal, you’re just really crazy.

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