chounaifu - Tumblr blog

[chounaifu]

I need to write up a headcanon post about Slowpoke Well and how all of that went down, when I'm not being swamped by irl obligations. Pokémon confirming that Slowpoke tail is eaten across multiple regions, and that the tail regenerates, actually adds more layers of complexity to that entire operation.

[chounaifu]

Slow Dance with Sasquatch, Jeremy Radin

[chounaifu]

♩♫♪

The encounter is something out of a childhood fable, one told to persuade youngsters to behave, lest they attract the attention of an unsavory beast at their window. Firstly, the ever present grin, far too wide for human comfort, is gleaming in the dull glow of the outdoor flood light. Again, those two eyes give off the eerie, liminal glow. During the pair's initial encounter on the pier, Proton's abnormal appearance may had been dismissed as a trick of the eye, or the result of too little sleep.

Taptaptap.

" Oh?! No! No I'm not. GOOD observation! You get a passing mark from me. I thought, hmmm, maybe showing up at his front door was too bland, I should put forth some EFFORT! "

He drops down further, that lanky build of his dangling down as both hands press up against the glass. Tapping at it again and again, the delightful little sound of 'heelllllooooooo' could be heard. Proton's breathe was fogging up the glass as he behaved like a child at an aquarium, only, there were no sea creatures to observe, only a depressed man covered in cat hair.

" Can you heaaarrrr me? I came all the way out here in the middle of my party to see you! Are you gonna let me in? "

Taptaptap.

There's a pout, and he ponders on it for a second. Oooohhhh, he gets it, he understands this behavior: Grimsley is shy! Or he's playing hard to get, OOOHHH, how exciting, this would be fun. Proton likes having fun. In order to display his interest, he will simply have to find a way inside through his own skill, that would certainly get the point across!

" Allllright! I'll just do it myself! "

Proton begins to feel around the frame of the window, crawling and pushing at certain spots, talking to himself the entire time, lecturing out loud about the intricate rules of breaking and entering! It had to be done the RIGHT way, after all, if he was going to impress his friend.

" Wow, this window is pretty strong. I might have to get in the OTHER▒▌▌▓▔▁▁ oͦtͭhͪeͤrͬ ▒▌▌▓▔▁▁𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗. "

Snapping his head to the side with abnormal, unusual speed, Proton's entire body jerks and twitches, digital distortion manifesting from his form. As the pixelated disfigurement reaches his fingertips and arm, the friendly stranger presses against the glass once more with a firm push.

This time, there's a loud, electrical crackle, and his hand clips right through without even shattering the glass-- as though he were a ghost. His fingertips grasp the surface of the window from the opposite side as he pulls himself downwards, aiming to reach in with the other arm.

Grimsley didn't get a wink of sleep that night. The adrenaline lingered, and his thoughts never quieted. He didn't walk back to Nanu's place that time. Instead, he beelined it to some bar to drink away some of the edge, before going to the nearest cheap hotel and booking a room. It wasn't uncommon for him to disappear at night, so there should be no issue in doing so beyond that of mild prying when he returns one day. For now, he needs to be alone, and he knows better than to immediately lead trouble to those who have nothing to do with it.

Alone mostly so, at least. His Pokémon provide excellent company in warding off the nagging anxiety and paranoia. The gambler never liked to show that he has these issues, but with every passing year they become more difficult to hide as they persist like parasites latched to his skin.

And unfortunately, with each passing day, it only grows worse. The feeling clings to him even after he goes outside, Grimsley constantly tries to shrug it off. His perception is raised with his restlessness, and at some point in the middle of those few days, he had eventually succumbed to exhaustion before picking himself back up and repeating the cycle. The feeling of having a target on your back hasn't burned this much in years.

He brought this on himself, and he's paying for it. He knows this, but regret doesn't accompany that. Regret for matters such as this is a waste of energy. All one can do here is be along with the ride.

The gambler sits down at the small table in silence, his gaze focused on the card that had been placed on it. Fingers fidget with the card, slowly rotating it around on the surface. Grimsley's somewhat surprised he hadn't gotten rid of it by now, even with all the pressure that had been on him the past few days. ...He's thinking about it still. The words begin to faintly echo in his head, along with the plastered smile that had been dropped. "you're just thinking about it? You hurt me,"

With that, fingers automatically move to type a number into his phone. Digit by digit. Every second that passes feels like a minute, and he lingers, hovering over the call button until...

A tap.

On his window. He straightens, lifting away from the screen of his burner phone.

Another tap, and he immediately stands up.

A third tap, eyes begin to squint at the direction of his window. A whistle. Don't tell me he's...

Grimsley slowly stalks towards the noise, his posture is slightly hunched over in anticipation. A single hand remains tucked into the opening of his yukata, just in case... He's silently pleading to the tapus that he won't be needing to cause a ruckus. As the gambler looks out the window, he spots the footprints down below. ...Of course he had been followed, he's not surprised by that. He suspects that the one who did follow him is either currenly trying to sneak into his room, or is lingering outside to either ambush him or follow him some more. ...What he doesn't expect, is when he tilts his head up to find that very person hanging upside down like an Ariados.

Muffled words sung from behind the closed window can be heard, and the tensed mood is nothing short of killed as his shoulders immediately drop and his hand falls from his yukata. He had half a mind to only laugh. Sure, it may be foolish to drop his guard down so easily right now, but at this rate, it's worth having to die for. What is he supposed to say? 'Hmm... No, I think I'm good actually~' And just simply close the blinds on their face? It's tempting for sure.

"Through the window~? I take it you're not very fond of doors, then~?"

[chounaifu]

" I made it to TikTok, oh, joy, what am I gonna do now that I'm famous? " Even in this abysmal state, Proton is able to crack a joke and make light of the situation. " That's a type of pressure I'm not ready for boss. "

Proton was already living in a state of infamy in the cultural zeitgeist. In an age where digital privacy was becoming more and more scarce, perhaps it was for the best that he was no longer responsible for keeping the eyes and mouths of risk-taking subordinates under control. A valuable tool for helping a thought or a belief to gain traction-- was a double edged sword, and could dismantle an idea before it left the nest entirely.

Amusement and musing over the 'what if's' of life could wait for another time though.

" Go for it, " there's a grimace as his forehead is touched; he's burning up, the subtle sound of crackling audible the moment that another source of heat is pressed to the skin. While the discomfort isn't enough for Proton to sink further into his bedding, he does grunt with displeasure.

" It's bad, boss, " he grumbles, using the sort of tone one would expect from someone addressing their elder, in hopes of being handled with care.

" It was fiiiiine until I got hit by some stupid fuck off attack at Silph. I was doing GREAT, even, like super great, like nothing could even TOUCH me kinda great. "

"I didn't get to see you on TV at that moment," the older man admits, stepping fully past the threshold to observe Proton's condition, "I did see clips of it all over online. I think quite a few people recorded it on Tick-a-Tok."

Boons and banes. Part of him was glad to be out of the business before the commodification of online spaces and rapid sharing of information in video format- as well as before the more recent of banes: deepfake and artificial intelligence.

Given everything and his adaptability, he definitely would have been able to effectively utilize those trends and tools- but every careful step could have been jeopardized by an insecure Grunt sharing sensitive information for clout in a gaming server.

Proton lay mostly motionless on his bed, and Giovanni set aside his tools, and positioned himself so that Proton could see him without much effort.

"I'm going to touch your forehead and see your temperature."

He could take temperature without having to touch his forehead, but it would risk a tool, and it wouldn't be able to relay other information that he needed- such as the skin-feel, whether or not there was static or other sensations that would give him insight on this particular ail.

[chounaifu]

It's difficult not to be sincere about something that Proton was interested in. Art had brought him to the opposite side of the globe. One had to be just a little insane to uproot their entire life in pursuit of an artistic vision. Seoul, in all of it's high-speed glamour, had grown dull to him-- he needed to be in an entirely different surrounding in order to captivate an audience.

He, himself, was strange, and needed to use it to his advantage, both behind the canvas, and in front of viewers.

" O o o o O O o o o realism is so natural that it's unnatural, isn't it? Being able to put our own faces onto something, and recognizing it, I think that's as close to being God as it gets, " Proton suggests, still grinning from ear to ear.

" I like Roberto Ferri, it's like he's an immortal born 200 years ago, with how his style looks. It's got that-- " he tilts his head side to side a few times to try and think of the word he wants to use:

" VISCERAL feeling. Yeah. That's a good thing to feel when you look at art, feeling like you wanna just-- EXPLODE, or, EAT YOUR OWN HAND, y'know? When it's just so great you can't handle it. "

Unhinged.

" Buuuut I like abstract work too, things that make you squint and wonder if the artist was going through some kind of mental break down, or if they're trying to transmit a message in a different language, or both. Both is good. "

Realism and abstract were two different sides of the same coin, something that Proton himself embodied in more ways than one.

" Talk to me about tragedy, " he leans forward, now resting his chin on his arms, very, very focused.

❝ really ... ? ❞ she hesitates, again; a part of her didn't know HOW SINCERE this guy was. not that she doubted him — or maybe she did. he had the same warmth the popular kids back at school showed to her; but then IT WAS BRIEF, IT WAS FLEETING, and it left her in the dust. she almost prefered the grimaces of those too put off by her weirdness.

and yet— NO ONE ever showed so much interest, and NO ONE ever got her as much. she relaxes, just slightly, as she presses a finger under her eye, looking at his canvas. HOW DEEP DID HER EYEBAGS RUN ?

❝ ah, hah ah, i– i didn't sleep much last night ... ❞ what was it, PATROL AFTER A LONG DAY AT THE OFFICE ? had to be it.

not that she could tell him. she can't tell anybody. not in this dimension.

❝ well ... ❞ she starts, shifting on her seat. ❝ i've ... i've stuck to CLASSICISM and realism a lot ... which– i mean i, i REALLY LIKE IT ... ❞ apollo and daphne, standing triumphally in galleria borghese, in all of their TRAGIC BEAUTY; fingers turning into branches and leaves, delicate feet turning into hardened bark; and she stood there, as a small child.

CAPTIVATED BY BEAUTY THEN.

❝ i like the PASSION in some of the pieces i've seen ... but, it's a bit hard to put it into mine sometimes ... not with– with RANDOM SUBJECTS ... ❞ which is why she sat there, the entirety of the class; doing nothing.

❝ i– i guess that means i still have A LOT TO LEARN, ah ah ... ❞

[chounaifu]

Tragically erratic as he was, Proton was extremely perceptive of his surroundings. Entering a new space required being alert, and prepared to disappear if need be-- thus was the lifestyle of someone who was deemed a criminal from a young age. It's imbued into his body. In between listening to Grusha, he was getting a feel of everyone around him.

Most notable was the fact that the volume of several patrons seemed to fade into a hush when the pair were ushered into the establishment. Speaking as though they were delivering a secret eulogy, one woman looks across from her table at the retired snowboarder, turning, muttering-- 'do you think that is--' and she is nodded to by her coworker, confirming their curiosities. That was the former snowboarding champ.

Proton perks some, zoning in his focus as their conversation became something slightly more serious.

" Oh, so that's what happened? " He comments. Anybody who followed winter sports would be aware of Grusha's accident-- of course, that was not the type of business that Proton kept himself occupied with.

Still, he grimaces some, intimately aware of how debilitating something of that caliber could be on the human body.

" Rough. "

He, too, seems to have joined the funeral silence.

It hangs for a moment, before it becomes too obvious that he's thinking.

" -- I mean because, uh, yeah, something like that happens and changes your whole life, that sucks, " Proton speaks up again. Of course, he had been internally thinking about his own shortcomings and struggles-- but there was no reason for him to divulge such information to someone he just knew. He was quite guarded about his own condition.

" But ya seem to be gettin' around decently even if you're all injured, you sure as fuck helped me from getting lost. That counts for something! "

Back to the overly excitable energy, like a boomerang. It's interrupted by a waiter approaching and pouring classes of water, looking between one of Glaseado's finest-- and their very strange appearing company.

the momentary laugh that leaves grusha is largely empty, but all the same the sound is not forced -- they're genuinely amused by the pidgey comment, and it's a chuckle doubled-down by the shake of their head coupled with the briefest flicker of curved lips. "if i was a pidgey, getting around would be marginally easier. maybe." they're very much trying not to imagine a pidgey with the same sky-blue thing sprouting from its head... and failing.

amusement fizzles out as readily as it had surfaced, and two-color eyes briefly skim to ascertain any potential alterations to the menu since last he's visited. "i look beat 'cause i kinda am," its admittance that comes easily / no different from the last interview he'd ever given. given proton's lack of reaction upon his introduction, grusha assumes they'd been outside of their company's radar... always. "ancient history..." an exaggeration made obvious by the following reference to himself, "...dictates i was a snowboarder once. pro, even."

one of the best in the world. ... plenty fans had vocalized their bitterness online that his title of "best" had been short-lived.

"early retirement 'cause of catastrophic injury --" a shoulder lifts / silence falls as someone - not the one to serve them, based upon appearance alone - brings bread & smoliv oil to the table before retreating. the glance spared over her shoulder tells grusha she's new, doing a double-take at his appearance. he resumes once she's out of earshot, "-- now disabled." any magazine/newspaper/online "scoop" from five/six years prior would contain largely the same. grusha hadn't minced words at that interview, either.

back then, because he'd wanted to be left alone. now, because it makes no difference.

"being on my feet for a while is a good way to wear me down in a controlled space," such as their own gym, for instance, "- much less out on the mountain itself." an eyebrow lifts, and his gaze follows the movement to proton, "i picked a hell of a place to live, given that circumstance." anyone would say the same, even if he didn't balance physical impairment as part of his life, "but i grew up at snowpoint... this was like home."

[chounaifu]

[Going into monster body. Being monster.]

Proton copies these signs, slowly and meticulously. In doing so, he is filled with wonderous thoughts, his imagination roaming wild.

[That sounds cool.]

He signs 'excitement' for extra measure.

He wasn't entirely sure what to expect with any of this. Syncing was something that he listened to everybody talk about, as though it was second nature. Though, most of the people that Proton surrounded himself were adept trainers, many of them highly competitive. These were matters that Proton had never bothered with. Yet, it was obvious that there was something to this syncing business that seemed to elevate the connection between man and monster-- and Proton was dying to understand what that felt like.

A man who always felt so much, or nothing at all, would always be greedy and starved for something that brought him closer to elation.

Proton sits himself in the sand, crossing his legs, and holding his hands out to greet the bug type.

[You trust me with your monster?]

It puts a grin on his face, the minty green of his hair contrasting the subtle burst of pink that appears on his cheeks as a finger nudges one of Larvesta's digits.

[What do I do first?]

[Don't know. Would've answered either. Don't consider myself a professional though.]

Red was the farthest thing from reflective that a person could possibly be, the small amused smile fading back to that all-encompassing seriousness. He took a look at Proton from boot to bite, flailing and moving around the space he occupied while Red didn't move.

[Syncing with Pokemon.]

He's had the conversation before, several times. The words don't really exist to communicate the topic easily. The visuals of sign language help the metaphysical topic.

[Sure. Syncing is sharing eyes of monsters. Going into monster body and being the monster.]

He couldn't explain the sciences of it either. There just seemed to be people that could do it, people closer to their "monster-ness", and people who could not. His experience with opening himself up to the inhuman was one he started before he could speak. It wasn't a normal experience, and nothing that could be replicated.

[Larvesta.]

His fur covered shoe wiggled, and untangled its nubs one at a time from his shoe tongue. The fire type was the size of his calf, and came to just below his knee, the corona around its head making exact dot shapes in the sand.

Red looks forward, and the bug trots over the sand, clicking up at Proton.

[You want to sit? Can try it.]

[chounaifu]

" Man. That isn't kinda sappy, that's REALLY sappy, " Proton retorts, groaning and dropping his head a little, a hand finding a place to rest on the back of his neck.

" Isn't that the stuff that's normal? Showing up for people you care about? That's what I've learned at least; sometimes I don't really understand what I'm feeling, or how I'm feeling it, but, if it feels right-- if it feels like it's what I'm supposed to be doing, I do it, " he explains.

Sometimes, that mindset is dangerous for other people. His impulse control was almost non-existent, and acting off of feelings could result in chaotic behavior.

At least, for now, when operating from that mindset with Ree, things have remained steady. It has to, or else there was a gigantic fucking bastard who would cave his face in.

" Look-- people don't always treat me right because I'm, well, I'm a lotta things that most people don't care about. But being cool to you is the least I can do, 'cause you're cool to me. That's how I live by. Boss taught all of us early on to treat the ones like you with respect. And-- uh, well, you and I got a lot more in common than most people. "

“— yeah. It does make it easier”

Didn’t they tell someone something like that a while ago? Who knows. Ree has a lot of conversations, a lot of people talking to them. The memories get muddled sometimes.

“I know you know what I mean. An’ I’m glad for it. But it just…” a pause, a frown. “It sucks. When it all happened, I figured I’d maybe use a wheelchair for a month, two tops, but I’m lookin into gettin a permanent one.”

They look up, now, head touching the back of the rock they’re leaning against. Their eyes roll over to look at Proton — careful, curious — but also…

Sad, and happy, at the same time. That somebody else gets it. Red gets it, too, but it’s something that Ree always hesitates on talking about with people.

Proton is easy to talk to, somehow.

“I’m glad —” they stop, and flush, exhaling sharply in embarrassment. “I’m glad that … you came here. I’m glad that you watched me on television and became my fan. I’m glad we know each other…

but that’s kinda sappy, huh?”

[chounaifu]

Slides this over on a napkin in the middle of a meeting.

it indeed could had been.

a glance. is he keeping colored pencils with him in meetings? huh.

quietly folds the napkin with the delicate care of someone wrapping up ancient texts before sliding it in his pocket. / @chounaifu

[chounaifu]

Sometimes dinner is a handful of shredded cheese, and kimchi straight from the jar in the back of the fridge.

[chounaifu]

the fact remains that body horror is an expression of intimacy. a grotesque and perverse one, maybe, but intimate nonetheless.

[chounaifu]

❝ In this metaphor, in order to exorcise these ghosts, We have to remove the distortion that creates them, Straighten out the mind, Dͩiͥs̾tͭoͦrͬtͭiͥoͦnⷫ. ❞

♡ or ↺ if you are interested in interacting with a canon-divergent interpretation of 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐓 𝐄𝐗𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐍. Written by 𝐑𝐄𝐗. Art by @/fracturedhues.

[chounaifu]

[chounaifu]

@shayochism asked:

"I 'ad a dream you exploded."

" But did I explode in a COOL WAY at least? Like an action anime way? Did I win something? Was it a dramatic death kinda situation? Or did I just fuckin' detonate and turn into a pile of goo? You gotta tell me the context if your brain is just gonna imagine up stuff about me, " Proton rambles.

[chounaifu]

The name 'Geeta' is one that hadn't been brought up in conversation in some time. It had been well over a year, at least. When Rika was still sleeping on the couch of his apartment while she was visiting the Kanto region, Proton recalled her bringing up her boss at the Paldean league, and how she was concerned that Geeta would be stuck in a compromising situation if the ground elite didn't return to her post sooner than later. It was an irritating time, to say the least, a time period when Proton's physical and mental wellness had been nearly as low as when he'd had his accident.

His eyes narrow with focus, and he shifts so that he is facing Rika from where he was perched on the arm of the couch.

" Yeah? " Proton asks, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, arms hanging lazily on front of him.

" You haven't brought her up in a while. Wasn't she like-- or-- weren't YOU super fuckin' pressed about getting back to Mesagoza because of her? " He's beginning to recall the more specific details.

" THAT fuckin' sucked, " he rubs the side of his face idly, " you were so stressed. "

Unfortunately for Rika, her usual tactic to get Proton off of a subject, wasn't working. He had already hooked his blades into the topic at hand and was digging in.

" -- What was she like when she was younger? You bringing that up for a reason? "

She’s clicking a pen rather aggressively as she laid out on the couch, staring at the ceiling and not answering him right away, but the look on her face showed she was at least listening, and in the midst of forming a response.

Where do you even start?

“…Nah, Pasios beautiful, made a bunch of friends real quick.” She hums, starting to spin the pen around her fingers- A rather amazing show of dexterity.

“…Geetas there… Not my Geeta, though, this ones way more…. Stoic? Reminds me of when she was younger, at least. Stick so far up her ass that I swear she was gonna get skewered on it.”

Its absolutely another universes Geeta, had to be.

She lets her eyes trail down to the couch cushion, maybe she’s just being petty by dwelling on this.

“I definitely wanna go back and keep helping with the sync study, Bellis got real concerned about some of my results for some reason.”

Change the subject, quick.

[chounaifu]

Brows are knitted together in confusion as Red signs his first question. It should be expected for him to position his hands correctly, or sign the wrong word all together, and so he slouches and leans forward, paying close attention to what he is being told.

And then his cheeks flare a vicious, embarrassed crimson, and Proton recoils back, throwing his arms up and signing 'NO, NO, NO' over and over again. There's even some shocked and flustered vocalization thrown into the mix.

[ WITH P-O-K-E-M-O-N ! ]

Exclamation punctuation, for good measure.

Fuck's sake.

[ Why would I-- ]

Never mind. Proton throws his hands up for a moment, gathers himself, and proceeds.

[ I struggle with it because of my sickness. Asked boss for advice. Wanted to ask you too. ]

Pause.

[ With syncing with P-O-K-E-M-O-N not with-- ]

And there's the gesture for the more vulgar intimacy.

Red is not a highly reactive man, and the more Proton's new-to-the-sign fingers and face keep signing the more explicit word for intimacy he smirks, smiles, and eventually does have to cough and laugh. Larvesta climbs onto his shoe when he hardly moves from his spot.

[Hang on, what are you asking me about? Are you asking me about syncing- intimate bond, or intimacy? Syncing with Pokemon like this-? Or with people like this-]

He demonstrates the difference with his hands slowly, his monsters taking note that there was someone else on the beach.

[Yeah I can help... I... think?]

[chounaifu]

He huffs through his nostrils, eyes lidding as he listens to the kid's reasoning; kid's gotta be a hero, kid's gotta be bigger than the others, kid's gotta show that they're not gonna get stepped on anymore. Backed into a corner with an executioner's blade at their throat, any creature walking this earth would bear their teeth, whether it's man or monster.

Littens grow up into Incineroars, after all.

" It's not good, but, I don't gotta tell you that, " Proton retorts plainly, waving his hand idly. As he does so some of the tension resting on his rotator cuff begins to ease.

" Self-sacrificing attitudes work with like-- trivial shit. Doing a favor for someone. Maybe not eating the last donut in the box. It doesn't work with life or death situations, or injuries, because then that's lowering your worth, " he explains.

" You can be upset ya got hurt without justifying it, but, I think justifyin' shit makes it easier to deal with for a lot of people. At least that's what I've noticed. If it happened for a good reason, yeah yeah, your crew didn't get hurt, but you still got hurt. And they still gotta care for you. Doesn't make it any better for anybody. "

He huffs again.

" Sorry, you get what I mean, " he assumes.

“Yeah. You’re right. It’s not fair.”

there’s a beat of silence. Ree jiggles their leg.

“Angry… actually, I’m too tired to be mad, most of th’ time, now.”

It’s kind of funny. Before the accident, Ree was angry all the time — angry, like an abandoned Pokémon. Like a Litten that’s been tossed aside and left to lick its wounds with other strays.

But now. They’ve mellowed. They’re okay … or, at least, okay enough.

rather than up at the sky, Ree looks at the ground.

“I’m not sure if the accident is why I don’ feel mad anymore, or if it’s just cos stuff got better, though. A lots changed in th’last couple years. and… between you and me...

…— I’m glad it was me who got hurt. Cos that means… nobody else did. I know if I said that, the team would be really mad. But … that’s just how I feel, I guess.” A pause. “And that’s not good, right? Not that it’s bad… it’s just not good.”