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COMPLETE: I'm A Marionette [MATURE]

Magic Mirror on the wall, give me some direction
    • Thread starter
    • Staff
    • #2
    Mentions of purging and transphobia, anxiety

    Wallace stared at his reflection in the mirror. He used to be just a little short for his age. His Hinodego name, Mikouri, meant "little child" in Sootopolitan Chrysosian; he had been a small baby, a small toddler, a small child. It was just one of the many things people would tease him for.

    But then, at the age of fifteen and a half, he had a sudden growth spurt. Now he was just shy of sixteen, with a lanky frame and a height of just under six feet. He felt awkward. He felt weird. He felt confused.

    In ten minutes, he and Victoria would be performing in their first Contest.

    Wallace picked up his beret and put it on. After staring at his reflection some more, he became dissatisfied with his appearance and took it off. He wore a purple shirt, white jacket, turquoise dress pants, and white boots. At least he had settled on that much—his outfit. If he was going to be defying Megalos and taking part in Contests, Wallace had to look professional in a way that would please him.

    The green room of the Lilycove Contest Hall was sort of green, but it was more blue in Wallace's opinion. It was aqua: aqua tiles, dark aqua walls, light aqua chairs and tables. All four of Hoenn's Contest Halls had a different color palette: mauve for Slateport, scarlet for Fallarbor, emerald for Verdanturf, aqua for Lilycove.

    They also all looked perfect. Everything was polished and lit to perfection. Everything smelled of clean linoleum and expensive, floral cleaning products. It was sometimes overwhelming, especially the lights, especially right now.

    Victoria watched as he took out his makeup case and put on foundation and turquoise eyeshadow. Wallace had spent a whole hour making sure his Milotic looked her best—her scales shimmered like a lake, and her Blue Scarf was tied into a perfect bow—and now he was nearing an hour and a half spent on his own appearance.

    If only there was a dimmer on the mirror lights. It would make doing his makeup easier.

    (“Wallace, you look fine,”) Victoria pleaded. (“Come on, I want to talk to Lovelynn.”)

    “I look like a slut.”

    Victoria cocked her head. (“What does that word mean?”)

    It meant… well, on a dictionary level, it meant “derogatory term for a person, usually a woman, with many casual sexual partners”. But Megalos used it for all sorts of people: feminine men, masculine women, Wallace… wherever Wallace fell on the spectrum. It wasn’t a very nice word, but Wallace couldn’t help but use it on himself.

    “Human stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”

    Wallace returned to his makeup. He put on lipstick of a subtle shade of pink, but after five seconds, he wiped it off. Everything felt off, down to the finest details of his face.

    He looked up to established and well known Coordinators—especially his teacher Juan—and saw that the main difference between him and them was that he wasn’t perfect. Especially Juan. Juan was so intelligent, so elegant, so perfect. If Wallace couldn’t be perfect like that, how would he succeed?

    The stress made him feel sick.

    Victoria rested her head on Wallace's. He gently petted her head, hoping some of her calmness would rub onto him. She was long for a Milotic, though her head fins were ever so slightly shorter than one of a Milotic born female. She was born male, but deep down, she knew she was female. Such was acceptable among most Water types. They were fluid in their appearances and sex, ever changing and beautiful in expression. The same couldn’t be said for humans.

    Wallace could find some solidarity with her; he was born male, but deep down, he knew he was... female? Male? Neither? Deep down, his true self was still foggy and blurry. Either way, he feared what people would say if they knew he so much as questioned his identity.

    But Pokémon kept secrets, as the Hinodego saying went. Wallace’s confusion was safe with Victoria.

    There was a knock at the door, and Victoria slithered over to open it. Meanwhile, Wallace prayed that it wasn't Megalos coming to scold him for taking part in such a "feminine" sport.

    It wasn't, thank the heavens. It was his sister.

    “You excited?” Nicole asked as she walked into the green room. She wasn't taking part in the Contest, but that didn't mean she wouldn't come and support her younger brother. As a former Coordinator, she knew the ins and outs of performing well.

    She had the same hair and eye color as Wallace, but unlike Wallace, she was perfect. Her white shirt and skirt were perfect. Her simple makeup was perfect. Her posture was perfect. If they were siblings, then why couldn't he be perfect?

    “Wallace.”

    Wallace forced a small smile and forced down his anger. He couldn’t feel anger towards his sister; that was immoral.

    “Sure,” he said. In this context, “sure” meant something more akin to “I might puke.” Nicole seemed to pick up on this, because she walked over to him and looked at his reflection with a sympathetic look.

    “I was nervous before my first Contest,” Nicole said, placing her hands on his shoulders as she looked at their reflection in the mirror, “but as soon as I stepped onto the stage, all worries fell to the wayside, and Goldie and I both took home gold.”

    Except she had been perfect. Nicole and her Goldeen had been perfect, with not a single hair or scale out of place. They weren't nervous. Wallace couldn't imagine Nicole ever being nervous, because she never was.

    Surely she knew that he was inferior to her. Surely she knew how pathetic he was. Surely she was only pitying him. That's how everyone in his family viewed him. Wallace had been hand picked by Mayor Megalos to serve Sootopolis City, but his family was more worthy of such a privilege, and they made sure to remind him of that:

    "Sick again? Weren't you just sick with a cough a few days ago, Mikró Mikouri?"

    "You're so slow, Mikró Mikouri! You can't even keep up with us!"

    "Why did the mayor choose you? You're nothing special, Mikró Mikouri."


    "Wallace?" Nicole asked. "Is everything okay?"

    He wasn’t okay; he was feeling a lot of emotions, none of them good emotions.

    “What if I step onto the stage and spill my guts out on it?” he mumbled.

    Nicole gently turned Wallace around so he faced her—the real her, not her reflection.

    "Wallace, look up at me." She smiled when Wallace did. "Kamari mou, you’re going to be just fine.”

    He didn’t feel like he was going to be fine. Maybe Megalos was right. Maybe Contests were a bad idea. Better to not try than be imperfect trying. Or maybe he could be perfect trying if he could get rid of his anxiety.

    “I don't want to risk it. Maybe I should make myself throw up so I don’t feel so nauseous—”

    Nicole's smile fell.

    “Don’t say things like that.” Her face was stern but concerned. “Making yourself sick won’t make you feel better.”

    Getting sick wasn’t fun; frequent influenza and other illnesses as a child taught Wallace that well. Part of it was from how yucky it was, but part of it was also the lack of control. Maybe it wasn’t so bad when you were the one controlling it.

    “Are you sure?” Wallace asked.

    “Wallace, would I lie to you?”

    Nicole had lied before. When she was planning surprises for Wallace, for example. And when father wasn’t okay, back when he and mother were still alive… Maybe she was lying out of ignorance rather than malice. After all, she had never gotten nervous. She had never needed to make herself sick.

    “Perhaps.”

    Nicole crossed her arms. “Wallace.”

    Wallace rolled his eyes. “Fine. No, you wouldn’t.”

    Nicole smiled. “There’s my Mikouri. Now listen: I’ll be out there in the audience with Raphael and Lisia. We’ll all be cheering for you. You’ll do great.”

    Wallace trusted the first two statements, maybe not the third.

    He gestured his hand towards Victoria, who straightened up with poised pride. “How does Victoria look?” he asked.

    “Beautiful.”

    Wallace motioned his hand back towards himself. “How do I look?”

    Nicole’s eyes darted towards the counter. She picked up the beret and put it on Wallace.

    “Beautiful.”

    Kamari mou - Greek, "my pride"
    Mikró - Greek, small
     
    Last edited:
    i'm a marionette everybody's pet just as long as i sing
    • Thread starter
    • Staff
    • #3
    Panic attack, descriptions of restricted eating habits, discussions of transphobia and homophobia, depictions of purging/self induced vomiting, mentions of self harm, overstimulation, body shaming, themes of poverty and corruption, mentions of past character death, discussions of dysfunctional family

    It wasn’t an eating disorder.

    He wasn’t restricting what he ate to get thinner; he was thin enough. He was fixated on the imperfections of his body to the edge of obsession, but that wasn’t the main reason for his restriction. It was restriction for the sake of control.

    His duties and training were rigid shackles, dragging him across tumultuous oceans. He was at the mercy of the press, Kenta Cockburn, the socialites of Sootopolis City, his family, and—most of all, Megalos.

    Everything about his self was imperfect, and no one could know. He found himself falling in love with his fellow Coordinators, male or female. He found himself wanting to crossdress more, like his parents let him when he was a kid. He found himself looking in the mirror and feeling… even more off, even less like a man, and yet not like a woman either. But no one could know; Trainers and Coordinators who were outed as gay were ostracized, and “men who called themselves women” were mocked on the front pages of every tabloid. His grandparents didn’t approve of people who defied tradition, and Megalos especially wouldn’t like it if Wallace was gay or called himself anything other than a man.

    Socialites at Megalos’s parties would sometimes hit on Wallace, but it only got worse once he reached the age of consent. On top of that, eighteen was the age when Wallace started dealing with Megalos’s matchmaking with the wealthy debutantes of Hoenn, matchmaking that his grandparents endorsed so he could produce great grandkids. If Wallace was lucky, they were close to him in age, maybe even tolerant of his love of art. But usually, his luck ran dry, and the women he had to put up with for a month or so would hurl abusive remarks at him, or they would touch him in ways he didn't feel comfortable with, or they would call him weird for liking art and Water types as much as he did. And all he could do was put up with it until the women eventually broke up with him for one reason or another—much to Megalos’s anger.

    And as if all of that wasn’t enough, there were his duties: Duties as Sootopolis City’s Gym Leader, to give the city some semblance of pride and to appease Kenta Cockburn. Duties as a future Lorekeeper, tasked with learning and memorizing his people’s stories and the secrets of speaking with the gods. Duties as a Papadakis, and his grandparents’ only male descendant. But most of all, duties to serve Megalos, and in turn Sootopolis.

    He couldn’t be himself openly. He couldn’t choose his romantic partner. He couldn’t control his duties.

    But he could control what he ate.

    For breakfast, it was toast. For lunch, half a bowl of rice. For dinner, salad made of lettuce and carrots. Sometimes, he skipped lunch. He could compensate for any vitamin deficiencies with supplements. That’s why they existed: for vitamin deficiencies.

    Was he hungry? Of course he was. Was he tired? Seemingly constantly. Did he feel like shit? Absolutely. He could ignore those side effects just fine. They didn’t mean anything serious. He wasn’t in the hospital, so he was fine. He wasn’t, so he was fine. And besides, fasting—or Nisteía—was a part of Rounékyo Feast Weeks. Sure, Wallace restricted his eating even when he was supposed to do the opposite, but surely the gods would understand that it was for the best.

    His family sure didn't.

    "You look like you're going to blow away in the wind, Mikró Mikouri!"

    "You don't eat enough, Mikró Mikouri! Don't you like my cooking?"

    "You're so skinny, Mikró Mikouri. Aeolus and I need to fatten you up."


    Wallace got downright terrified at the prospect of eating with other people, even just one person or Pokémon. Because of this, he avoided it by any means possible. He made excuses every time there was a family gathering involving food, planned dates anywhere but restaurants or cafés, and refused to talk about eating under any circumstances. He ate by himself, locked up in his room with the excuse of schoolwork. Not even Victoria was allowed to see him eat—she fussed too much about him, and that only stressed Wallace out more.

    He probably looked like a lunatic. His family always gave him weird looks when he couldn't go to a dinner or when he turned down a meal. But sometimes, the pressure and questions were too much, and he had to eat past his restrictions. When he had to, he felt like he was dying. His chest tightened up. Breathing became harder. He feared he would throw up in front of other people.

    Worst of all, he felt like he had failed his parents and Sootopolis City, that the gods would punish him for failing to be disciplined, perfect, because he couldn’t even stick by his guidelines.

    But it wasn't so bad, right? It gave him control. It gave him control.

    -

    Nicole’s house was bathed in soft light from the ceiling windows. Every piece of furniture was a warm shade of brown that accented the traditional whitewashed walls and blue accenting. The walls and shelves were decorated with watercolor paintings by Nicole and Wallace, family photos, snippets of poetry written by father, mother’s sheet music… photos from Nicole’s countless Contest wins. Sometimes Wallace would spend hours looking at the pictures, hearing the stories from Nicole or in his head. He wondered why she had given up the Contest life; she was perfect onstage. Wallace couldn’t even be perfect in his day-to-day life.

    The kitchen had some of the amenities of modern life, but it still had the domed ceilings watching overhead. The fridge was covered in pictures by Lisia and Wallace. And of course, there was the aroma of spices and home cooked food, an aroma that became overwhelming when you were sticking to a strict diet.

    Nicole set a plate down on the table. “Here you go. You don’t want to perform on an empty stomach.”

    Fettuccine Alfredo. Wallace's favorite meal. How long had it been since he had eaten it? A couple months? A year? Gosh, even just smelling it brought happy feelings. He couldn’t remember the memories attached to them; he had suppressed most food related memories so he could fight off hunger and focus on his studies.

    But still… he was hungry.

    Aren't you disciplined? Aren't you in control?

    Nicole's going to think you're a freak if you don't eat.

    You're going to fail this Contest if you eat.

    You're going to fail this Contest if you don't eat.


    "Wallace?"

    Nicole stared at Wallace. She gave him a small smile, but even then it was a perfect smile.

    "Thank you, Nicole," he sighed.

    Nicole picked up Wallace's beret from the table and on his head, but he took it off right after she did. His hair was short and tousled; he had cut it in the middle of the previous night out of a half conscious impulse, in part driven by confusion, in part driven by hating his appearance. At least he had been able to resist the urge to cut his arms with the scissors.

    "Come on, Wallace,” Nicole said as she tried to put the beret back on.

    Wallace gently swatted her hand away. He wasn’t a child anymore. He didn’t need the silly hat he wore as a child. "I look stupid in hats, Nicole."

    Nicole chuckled and shook her head. "No you don't."

    "I'm not in a 'wearing my beret' mood,” Wallace sighed.

    Nicole cocked her head playfully. "Are you in a 'fettuccine Alfredo' mood?"

    The two stared at each other. Wallace was… he wasn’t sure whether or not he was in a ‘fettuccine Alfredo’ mood. Well, he was, but he didn’t want to be.

    Eventually, he gave up. “Fine. I am.”

    Nicole giggled before hugging Wallace. Her happiness and love were contagious. Despite his anxiety, Wallace couldn’t help but smile. The two had been through so much, and yet she still tried to make the people around her happy. Wallace had to be happy for her.

    He could make her happy, right? He could let himself eat and feel happy, right? He could let himself have a little more than his strict limitations, right?

    -

    The shuttles leaving Sootopolis were always crowded before noon; all of the worthwhile jobs were outside the city. Luckily, in the afternoon, they were uncongested enough that Victoria could be out of her Pokéball and rest her head on Wallace’s lap. Her presence was comforting, and for a moment, it distracted him from the nagging regret for eating the fettuccine Alfredo. He wanted to—

    (“Wallace. Head pats.”) Annoyance was clear as a lake in Victoria’s voice.

    With a forced sigh, Wallace went back to petting Victoria. He could feel her smile.

    (“Good.”) Petty little… big fish. Well, at the very least, it gave Wallace something to keep his mind on besides the motion sickness, the anxiety, the regret—

    No. Head pats. Head pats for Victoria. No bad thoughts. Just head pats for Victoria.

    -

    Slateport City, the city where Wallace’s maternal family has come from.

    Well, he didn’t know a whole lot about his mother’s side of the family, other than the fact that they were poor immigrants and the fact that most of them died before he was even born. He had that one uncle who had moved to Kalos, but he rarely spoke to Wallace’s paternal family. The Papadakes and Izumis grew… distant after Wallace’s parents died, not that they had liked each other much before.

    But family was important! Family was the cornerstone of Sootopolitan culture! Family gave Wallace a sense of identity, a sense of pride. His family wasn’t always kind to him, but he was proud to be a Papadakis, and he had to make his family proud that he was chosen by Megalos.

    But still, Wallace had a lot of questions: Why did everyone hate his parents? What was wrong with his father, and why did everyone say he had cursed the family? Why did Uncle Milas disappear? Why did the family act like he had never existed? Why did Cousin Kristina get treated like a bastard child? Why did Cousin Kristina and Lisia get treated like they were freaks?

    But no one ever wanted to talk about that. People always shut down his questions about that.

    Why did no one like talking about that? Family was weird and confusing. Wasn’t family supposed to be loving and simple? Wasn—

    A Poochyena barked at Wallace. He gasped and stumbled against an old, concrete building.

    The center of the city was beautiful, but the west side slums were rife with filth, corruption, and poverty. Wallace couldn’t blame the people living there. From the stories he heard, up to three families would live in one apartment. The breadwinners would have to work two, sometimes three jobs. All those people and Pokémon, who had families to take care of, who probably faced disease and starvation, who could barely afford to put food on their table…

    And look at you. You’re able to eat, but you can’t help those people who can’t eat.

    You’re selfish for eating that.

    You’re selfish for not wanting to eat it.


    He thought about ducking into an alley to make himself sick, to make the thoughts go away. At least then he would be able to control the inevitable nausea clawing up his throat.

    Despite how hot it was, Wallace wore long sleeves in dull colors. He didn’t want anyone commenting on his body, whether to insult it or to objectify it. He felt like he was going to keel over or throw up, but oh well. Such was life.

    There was a small Arcean church on the way to the Contest Hall. Gray stone, one story tall, rusty bell in the tower.

    Inside, the plaster walls and wooden pews showed signs of age and wear, but that age made Wallace feel like this place was a childhood memory, even though he wasn’t even an Arcean.

    By the door, there was a wooden box with a slit in the top. The sign above read, “Blessed be the poor. Blessed be the charitable.”

    Wallace opened his shoulder bag and took out his wallet. He slipped out about 3,000 Pokédollars and dropped it inside the box. So what if he was a Rounékyoto? It was Rounékyo principle to love your neighbor, help the poor, and remember where you came from.

    “Who are you?”

    The sudden voice startled Wallace. It was just an old lady with wispy, white hair and white and gold robes. She was sitting in the pews, reading Arcean scripture.

    Wallace bowed. “Wallace Papadakis. Um… Do you know of the late Lucille Izumi?”

    The woman thought for a second. “Ah… that woman. I remember her. She and her father would make meals at this church. She was a good cook.”

    “She sure was…” Wallace couldn’t remember much of his mother’s cooking. He knew she knew a lot of recipes, but he couldn’t remember any of them. He knew she was a good cook, but he couldn’t remember how exactly her food tasted. Maybe his memory was just bad. Maybe he had suppressed those memories along with his hunger pangs.

    The old lady squinted, tilting her head. “You’re the Runekyō priest, aren’t you?”

    “Lorekeeper. Still in training. Though my mother was Arcean.”

    The old lady’s eyes widened, and a smile formed on her face. “Ah, you’re her son, aren’t you? Bless your heart for stopping by our humble church. I see she raised you well.”

    Wallace could see deceit in the woman’s eyes. He could see the disgust, the shame, the hate. He could hear what she was thinking:

    She tried to raise you well, but you still grew up fucked up. Look at you in your ugly clothes and your ugly body. Look at your slutty, fake identity. Look how you’re trying to compensate with money—how materialistic. How selfish. What are you? What would your mother say?

    “Child, are you well? You look sick.”

    Wallace felt sick; in fact, he feared he was close to fainting. He half-walked, half-stumbled towards the door.

    “I have to go.” Wallace began to walk away, regretting ever eating that fettuccine Alfredo.

    -

    He was still regretting eating when he got to the Contest Hall.

    Stress before Contests wasn’t new to Wallace, but it seemed even more overwhelming this time. Every single noise was too loud. Every light was too bright. Everything was too much.

    This feeling wasn’t new to Wallace, but over the years, he had learned to suck it up and put up with it. Everyone else was able to tolerate overwhelm, so why couldn’t he? Besides, the future and image of Sootopolis City was more important than his feelings.

    But now he couldn’t even focus on what his and Victoria’s routine was supposed to be. His hands were shaking too much to put on Victoria's makeup, and they both needed makeup to look and be perfect.

    “Are you okay?”

    Hailey, one of Wallace’s friends and Contest rivals, was staring at him, her brows furrowed with concern. Even she was perfect: perfect short, brown hair; perfect brown eyes; perfect short blue dress; perfect gold eyeshadow and lipstick.

    Victoria gently nuzzled her head against Wallace’s. (“Wallace? Are you okay?”)

    Everyone around you is better. Everyone around you is in control. Hailey is in control. Victoria is in control. What about you? WHAT ABOUT YOU?

    “I’m fine.” Wallace smirked, pointing to his beloved Milotic. “Victoria is fine, too. You should be worrying about yourself. We’ve been practicing for weeks.”

    Victoria sighed. (“I wasn’t asking about me,”) she mumbled.

    The confidence returned to Hailey’s eyes. “Ha! Lovelynn and I are going to wow you with our new techniques!”

    “Yeah… you sure will…”

    The lights in the green room were too bright. The marble counter was too scratchy. The room was spinning. Wallace’s gaze and attention turned away from Hailey and Victoria and the room… and to his thoughts.

    You’re going to fail this Contest because you lost control.

    What would your parents think if they saw you?

    You’re a failure to them. You're a failure to Nicole. You’re a failure to Juan. You’re a failure to Megalos. You’re a failure to everyone.

    Calm down, Wallace. Calm down. Calm—


    “Wallace?!”

    He slammed the door to the bathroom. Too bright. Too bright. Too much. His legs were shaking, and his head was spinning.

    Tears stung his eyes. He couldn't cry. He couldn't cry. Sootopolitans didn't cry, especially not the city's Gym Leader, guardian, poster boy...

    Why can't you calm down?!?!

    He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t take it anymore.

    Fuck you. Fuck you. FUCK YOU.

    The torrent of thoughts stopped when Wallace plunged his fingers down his throat.

    It all happened so quickly that he couldn’t even register what had just happened. Slowly, he began to process the sound of his choking echoing on the walls of the bathroom, the slimy feeling of spit and vomit on his fingers, and the burning, bitter sensation in his throat.

    He also felt... number, calmer, only just a bit disgusting.

    He reached his hand over to shut off the light. It was dark. It was quiet. He could breathe. He could open his eyes. Things were better now.

    “Wallace? Is everything okay?”

    He could process another sound: Hailey’s voice. He could stand up, stumble to the sink, wash out his mouth, and open the door.

    “Come on, Victoria,” he said monotonously, glancing over Hailey's shoulder to avoid eye contact. Poor Victoria was so worried, so confused. He could make up a lie to tell her later.

    “Wallace, are you feeling well?” Hailey asked.

    “Of course I am.” His tone didn’t change. “I’m feeling wonderful.”
     
    Last edited:
    I get bi with a little help from my friends
    • Thread starter
    • Staff
    • #4
    Sexual themes, almost sex, discussions of eating disorders, mentions of self harm, drug abuse, manic episode, use of LSD, body dysmorphia, vomiting, migraines, overstimulation, anxiety, fucked-up views on mental illness

    “Are you sure you don’t mind that I never take off my clothes when we have sex?”

    Wallace looked up at Lucy when he asked that question. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, and she was standing in front of him. She was dressed in black lingerie, while he was dressed in a long sleeved shirt and long sleeved pants. The dorm room was dark, but Wallace still felt… insecure, almost guilty.

    He felt guilty that he couldn’t hold down his sinful urges, guilty that he had given into sex before marriage, guilty that he had given into sex with a man, guilty that he had several romantic and sexual partners. He had to keep his sins a secret. He had to keep his facade perfect.

    Lucy smiled and strutted over to the bed. “Why would I care? Besides”—she slid a finger down the buttons of his shirt—“you look sexy in those clothes of yours. Do you take them off for Steven or Winona?”

    Wallace's heart started racing even more, partially from lust and partially from anxiety.

    “No.” Not even Steven and Winona—who were more than friends with benefits, unlike Lucy—were allowed to see Wallace’s body. He hated his body. Hated it. And what would Lucy or Steven or Winona say if they saw his body? What would they say about his body if he took off the makeup and clothes that hid his imperfections?

    “Are you anorexic?” No, Wallace would respond, because he hated how thin he was, and he didn’t want to keep losing weight. Paradoxically, he didn’t want to gain weight either.

    "All right then, are you bulimic?" Also a no; Wallace didn't binge before purging, unless eating even just a bit over his strict limits counted as binging, and even then he sometimes purged other times, like when he got stressed before Contests, or when he was having an emotional low, or when he was on the brink of a panic attack, or when he needed to tire himself out because his emotional high was too high for him to sleep.

    "Do you have an eating disorder?" If he didn't have anorexia nervosa or bulimia nervosa, and if he didn't want to get thinner, he couldn't possibly have an eating disorder.

    “Where did those bruises come from?” He hated those bruises too. They sometimes came from him accidentally falling, or intentionally slapping himself, or intentionally slamming his textbook on his arms just below the point of potentially breaking them.

    “You look high.” He wasn’t high, Wallace would insist, just a little tired. Sure, he had tried marijuana and LSD, but that was for art, not for the high. Sure, he occasionally drank a little too much, but only on bad days. Sure, he took sedatives and stimulants, but only to regulate his emotions. He wasn’t high. He wasn’t an addict. He could stop if and when he wanted to—or as long as his emotions weren’t smothering him in exhausting sadness or distracting euphoria.

    “Is everything okay?” Yes. Everything was okay. He didn’t have a problem. He didn’t have any problems. He couldn’t have any problems. He was Gym Leader Wallace. Guardian Wallace. Sootopolis Perfect Boy Wallace. He couldn’t let something as small as college or stress taint his perfect image. He was tired, though, and he did sometimes have to call in sick from school or work at the Gym because of a hangover or bad trip, and he could barely focus in class anymore, and he was losing more battles than usual, and he was a failure failure failure.

    “What the hell is wrong with you?”

    “You’re hideous.”

    "You're a freak."

    “You’re—“


    “Wallace? You stuck in space or something?”

    Wallace stood up and walked towards the door, avoiding Lucy’s gaze.

    “I’m so sorry for cutting this hook up so short, Lucy, but I’m not feeling well.” Wallace was still riled up on hormones and still physically wanted sex, but his sexual thoughts were spinning around alongside creative urges and panicky feelings, and he didn't mentally want sex.

    “Hey, it’s alright,” Lucy said softly. “I’ll manage just fine alone. Maybe some other time?”

    Wallace nodded. His head was starting to hurt, and he had to rest it against the wall for a second.

    ”Do you need help walking home?” Lucy asked. “You don’t look too hot.”

    “I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine.” He didn’t need help. He couldn’t need help.

    As soon as Wallace shut the door, he began quickly walking down the hall. He was tired, but he also wasn't.

    It was going to be another all nighter. God fucking damn it.

    -

    Wallace managed to deal with his sexual urges by jerking off at his dorm, but unlike other nights when he had these certain thoughts and feelings, he couldn’t get anything productive done. The “euphoria” was just too overwhelming. It wasn’t euphoria. He didn't even feel happy, just shitty in an over-energized way instead of an under-energized way.

    After pacing around the dorm's living room for what seemed like forever, he opened the dresser drawer where Filbert kept his drugs. They were reserved for his parties only, but it's not like he would miss a few pills. The mystery of how Filbert got so many illegal drugs was one that bugged Wallace, but hey, rich people did weird and likely illegal things all the time.

    "Gamó ton Drákou." No sedatives. In fairness, it would be improper etiquette to sleep at a party, and Filbert didn't know about Wallace's emotional problems. Obviously Filbert wouldn’t get drugs for Wallace’s emotional problems.

    Actually, Wallace knew more about Filbert than Filbert knew about Wallace. Probably for the best; Filbert was a stereotypical rich boy frat bro, and Wallace was a disaster artist nerd who couldn't tolerate a single piece of lint on his clothes.

    He combed through the drawer. There had to be something he could use for sleep or focus or something.

    There were a few sheets of... LSD tabs? Yeah, LSD tabs, with colorful pictures of Psychic type Pokémon. Wallace had done LSD once, when he was doing Art History assignments with some... acquaintances, not friends. Wallace didn't have human friends; he had family, lovers, a mentor, coworkers, people who hated him, and Megalos.

    But anyway, someone offered him some LSD "for inspiration". It was a trend with psychics and artists: for psychics, it was a way to test their skills, and for artists, it was a tool for inspiration.

    And LSD was inspirational all right. It took the colors in his mind that appeared when he listened to words and music and put them in front of his eyes. Maybe he could use his frenzied energy and that hallucinatory energy to do something productive...

    Well, Filbert was out for the night with a girl, and Wallace's Pokémon were asleep in their Pokéballs, so what did he have to lose?

    -

    The trip was bad, bad, bad, but the art that came out of it was good, and that was all that mattered.

    Then the morning came like a tsunami to bring his emotional high tumbling down.

    He felt too sick to eat breakfast, and by the time lunch rolled around, he was feeling downright miserable.

    But he had to meet Steven and Winona at the bookstore café—he couldn’t miss a “friend” date, as they had to call it for publicity’s sake. That would make him a bad friend, a bad lover, a bad person overall. Winona and Steven didn’t deserve that. They deserved good things—a good friend, a good lover, a good person.

    -

    Unsurprisingly, Winona and Steven were in different sections. It was, as Steven put it, “parallel play but parallel shopping”: being in the same general area, doing their own things.

    Winona was sitting on the floor of the “Art” section, reading a book about fashion inspired by Flying types—a very Winona book, but Wallace was also intrigued. What kinds of outfits and what ways of interpretation and why did he feel so dizzy why did his head hurt so—

    He felt arms wrap around him, and he felt himself return to reality. Winona was hugging him, humming against his chest. She was almost a full head shorter than Wallace; she fit into Wallace’s hug like a lock and key.

    “Hello, darling,” Wallace sighed. He realized too late that he sounded like shit.

    “Tired?” Winona asked.

    Good. Wallace’s makeup was hiding his pallor. He could pass this off as poor sleep for one night.

    “Yeah.” Well, at least it was partially true that he was tired. Everything felt heavy and hazy. He just wanted to lay down on the floor with Winona hugging him. But… well, poor sleep had become a habit.

    “Aw, aren't you two lovebirds sweet.”

    That half-teasing voice came from Steven, who approached the two with arms ready to hug them. Steven’s hugs were firm as a Metagross’s arms, and Winona’s were gentle as an Altaria’s wings.

    “Ready to fuck some shit up later?” Steven asked.

    Wallace shook his head. Last time Steven said ‘fuck shit up’ before a protest, he punched his physics professor. Needless to say, Wallace didn’t want that happening again.

    “Peaceful protest, Steven,” Winona said. “The fish will like that better.”

    “And I’m a fish,” Wallace added.

    -

    Wallace, Winona, and Steven were in the bookstore café, discussing classes or something. Actually, Winona and Steven were doing most of the discussing. By now, Wallace’s head was spinning, and he was too fixated on how nauseous he was and how many spots of black and white he was seeing to contribute anything meaningful to the conversation.

    “Wallace?” Steven asked. “You doing okay?”

    Wallace could only nod. The light was too bright, his throat burned too much, his head hurt too much—

    “Do you want me to get you anything?” Steven wrapped his arm around Wallace’s shoulders. While Wallace appreciated the gesture, it also further aggravated his condition. “I can ask the waiter for some ice water. Maybe you’re just hungry.”

    Winona put a hand to Wallace’s forehead. “Wallace, you don’t look well. Do you want to go to the restroom?”

    At this question, Wallace shook his head. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to have to. He needed control.

    “Alright,” Steven said, “just let us know when you need us.” Steven looked up at Winona. “So Winona, as I was saying…”

    Wallace couldn’t focus on the conversation anymore. He was too worried he would throw up. He was terrified that he would throw up in public. He was terrified that he would lose the control he so desperately tried to cling onto. He was terrified that he would make a fool of himself.

    Breathe, Wallace. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

    You’re too weak to have control. You don’t have control.

    You’re safe with Winona and Steven. You’re safe with Winona and Steven.

    You have no control. You have no control. You have no—


    He stood up and, with his hand over his mouth, briskly walked away from the table and towards the bathroom.

    “Wallace?!” Steven shouted as he stood up.

    -

    Wallace knew he wouldn’t make it to one of the stalls in time, so he leaned over the sink just as he started to vomit.

    No one else was in the bathroom. He would have counted himself lucky if his head wasn’t pounding so much that he couldn’t process anything around him. Even after throwing up whatever was left in his stomach, he still continued to choke up bile and, eventually, nothing. He kept retching, but he was too exhausted to keep standing.

    “Wallace?! Is everything okay?! Speak to me, Wallace!”

    Someone was holding him on the bathroom floor. Panting, Wallace slowly regained consciousness.

    “Steven?” Wallace whispered feebly. He figured he had stopped retching right before passing out, but the violent nature of what had just happened left him exhausted. The whole bathroom was spinning.

    Wallace leaned his head against Steven’s chest, his eyes closed. The light in the bathroom was too bright, too invasive. The floor and air were too cold, too harsh. He wanted Steven to hold him and protect him from the light, the floor, the air, the world. Steven knew how to deal with overwhelm. Steven knew how to deal with the world. Steven was perfect.

    “You collapsed into my arms!” Steven gasped, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “You’re weak and pale as talc! What’s wrong? Do you need me to get help?”

    “Don’t,” Wallace demanded weakly. “Whatever you do, don’t get help.”

    “I’m worried, though. What’s wrong?”

    Wallace couldn’t respond. Nothing could be wrong. Nothing could be wrong.

    “Do you think it’s a migraine?” Steven asked.

    “You’re the one who gets migraines, not me,” Wallace mumbled.

    “I wouldn’t be surprised if you got one, seeing how you’ve been drowning yourself in your studies. And stress isn’t great for migraines. Trust me; I know.” Steven thought for a second. “Have you eaten anything today?”

    “Don’t remember,” Wallace replied.

    “‘Don’t remember’? Wallace, you haven’t been forgetting to eat, have you?”

    Wallace was starting to feel nauseous again, so he didn’t try to respond. He felt Steven’s arm wrap around his shoulders again. Wallace didn’t try to stop him.

    “Think you can stand up?” Steven asked.

    “Sure.”

    “‘Sure’ isn’t enough for this.”

    Wallace sighed heavily. “Fine. Yes. Yes, I think I can stand up.”

    “Wallace, I’m going to need to get the manager and janitor for this, and I need to make sure you’re safe when I do that.”

    Poor manager. Poor janitor. Poor Steven.

    And now you’re causing problems for the people around you? What the hell is your problem?

    Wallace heard a ping, and then he saw a Claydol.

    “Take care of him while I’m gone,” Steven said to Claydol as he left.

    Wallace washed out the sink and his mouth in silence. He washed it out as best as he could; soap and water and all that. He washed his hands several times to wash away the uncleanliness, the impurity, the—

    “Kid? Kid, I can take over from here, though… it looks like you’ve done a pretty good job yourself.”

    An old man with a sympathetic smile was standing next to Wallace.

    “You look like you need a good rest,” the old man said. “Come on, why don’t you let your friends take you back to your dorm to rest? And get some water, too.”

    Wallace bowed deeply. “Thank you. Thank you.”

    With a hung head, Wallace walked out of the bathroom and to Steven and Winona.

    “Please let me go back to my dorm alone,” Wallace insisted. “Please.”

    “Nonsense,” Steven replied as he wrapped his arm around Wallace. “It’s like the Orbeatles song: you get by with a little help from your friends.”

    “Gonna try with a little help from your friends,” Winona added as she followed suit.

    Wallace gave her a small smile. His headache was starting to ease up. “It’s ‘I get high with a little help from my friends’ first.”

    “We’re not gonna get high,” Steven said. “We’re gonna get… bi.”

    At that, Wallace laughed for the first time in months. “Steven, I love you.”

    “Do you love me?” Winona teased.

    “Of course I do. I love you both. So much.”

    -

    “Wallace? Aren’t you going to order anything?”

    “I’m not particularly hungry.”

    Winona cocked her head. “Why are you never hungry?”

    “I am. It’s just a coincidence that I’m never hungry around you.” He leaned closer to Winona. “Because I’m hungry for you.”

    The red lights of the Coveside Bar and Grill made Wallace feel especially… horny. Lustful. Sinful. It was like he was committing adultery. When Megalos had found out about Winona, when he found out she and Wallace were sleeping with each other, things… didn’t go very well. Winona was too poor, too unimportant to be the bride of Sootopolis’s poster child. Wallace still had bruises from the beating the day after that disastrous night.

    Worst of all, now his family knew that he was no longer a virgin, that he was a sinner, that he was no better than his father, that—

    No. He had to hold it together. He had to hold it together for Winona.

    He gave her a peck on the lips. “I’m waiting to eat you out.”

    Winona smiled when Wallace pulled away. “You’re funny, but you need to eat before we can fuck.”

    Wallace sighed, then he looked up at the bartender. “I’ll have the udon noodles.”

    He’d purge after the date… if he didn’t throw up before that happened.

    Wallace gagged into his hand at the smell of grilled fish down the counter. Fuck, thinking about the fact that it was fish—

    “Wallace, are you okay?”

    “Yeah, yeah… just not the biggest fan of fish.” He looked over at the man with the fish platter, trying not to focus on the fish platter itself.

    “Same with… poultry,” Winona said. “Poultry is evil.”

    Wallace forced a smile, taking quiet, deep breaths.

    No. Wallace wasn’t going to let nausea ruin his date. He often had to cancel dates because of, as he called it, lovesickness: nausea, vomiting, racing heart, dizziness. But he wouldn’t cancel this one. He couldn’t. It meant too much to them, to Winona.

    So he forced food down his throat, even though it tasted like cardboard. He talked about birds with Winona, ignoring the pulsing pain in his head. He ignored the nauseating, overwhelming smells of fish and heat.

    He loved Winona. He truly loved her. He had to make himself worthy of her love. He had to be perfect for her.

    -

    Wallace felt worse after dinner, but he pushed those feelings aside for Winona. He was going to make this the best date ever for her, with city walks and kisses and passionate lovemaking. He wanted to make Winona the happiest woman on Oceana. She deserved it. She deserved it after all of the shit her mother put her through. She deserved it as the greatest woman Wallace had ever met. She deserved it for being the first woman Wallace had dated that had shown him a gram of respect.

    And besides, they were going to the Lilycove Museum. Wallace loved art museums! And he didn’t know when he would be able to go to an art museum after his date with Winona—Mayor Megalos surely didn’t like it. Wallace wasn’t going to let a migraine or stress or anything stop him from enjoying this date.

    The street lamps on the walk to the Lilycove Museum were bright, too bright. Wallace felt too dizzy to walk, but he had to keep walking for Winona. She looked so happy—her happy face made Wallace’s heart race.

    “Wallace, is everything okay?”

    Winona was looking up at Wallace, her eyes soft with concern.

    Wallace smiled as he wrapped his arm around her waist.

    “I’m fine.” He wasn’t; his head was starting to ache again, and the nausea was creeping back up again. It wasn’t just anxiety now, probably a migraine. “I’m especially fine tonight; I get to be with you.”

    Winona beamed a smile—a smile that made Wallace’s racing mind worse. “You’re too kind to me.”

    “I’m not kind enough.”

    “Oh stop it,” Winona teased. “You know that isn’t true.”

    “I made you listen to an hour-long rambling about a single painting.”

    “It had birds, so it was worth it.”

    Wallace kissed the top of Winona’s head. He hoped the lavender smell of her hair would calm him down, but it just made his nausea worse. “Why else do you think I chose to ramble about that one?”

    Winona shrugged. “Most people wouldn’t bother trying to engage with my special interests. You’re probably the first friend I ever had… first human one, at least.”

    Wallace felt his grip on Winona and reality weaken. “Same to you…”

    “Wallace?”

    “I’m fine, darling.”

    “You don’t sound—”

    Wallace ran back some distance from Winona, grabbed the edge of a bike rack, and vomited.

    He heard Winona run over to him, felt her hold back his hair. Her efforts were a bit too late: the tips of his hair were already stained.

    The date had already been ruined.

    “Migraine?” Winona whispered.

    Wallace nodded. He had to thank the heavens that he wasn’t puking from drunkenness this time. That last time Winona had seen Wallace drunk, he was a bumbling, stumbling mess—probably. He didn’t remember much from that night. Alcohol and drugs messed with his memory.

    But still, why were the heavens cursing him with migraines? Didn’t he throw up enough by his own accord? Was this some sick, twisted, divine punishment? Wasn't three nights in a row of no sleep enough punishment? Did he need to purge more?

    When he finally started heaving up nothing, he realized that he now had vomit on his shoes, as well. He was even more of a mess than he thought.

    He had even less control than he thought.

    ”You’ve been getting a lot more migraines than usual,” Winona said softly. “Is everything okay?”

    Wallace let himself fall to his knees. Keeping his head hung and facing towards the railing, he sighed. ”My head still hurts, if that’s what you mean.”

    ”I mean in your day to day life. Are you getting enough sleep? Are you eating well? Are you keeping your stress levels low?”

    ”Sure I am."

    "That doesn't sound like a very sure answer."

    Wallace sighed and looked up. "Darling, I don't think I can muster the energy to sound more sure."

    Winona gave a smile: partly sympathetic, partly a smug "I told you so."

    "Fine. Fine." Wallace staggered back to his feet, holding onto the railing in case he passed out. "You win. I'm not fine, surprisingly. I feel like I'm dying, and worse yet, if someone sees me like this, I'll have to kill myself or face public humiliation."

    Winona's smile fell. "Wallace, are—"

    Wallace collapsed against Winona, who caught him before he could fall in the puddle of his own vomit. Something worse happened: Wallace threw up onto Winona's dress.

    Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.

    Silence. Wallace didn't even want to look up at Winona. She was probably disgusted, ashamed, furious...

    "Wallace—"

    "I'm so sorry, Winona. I'm so, so sorry. You can do whatever you want to me: break up with me, shoot me, let Aurora peck me to death, expose my kinks to the press—"

    Wallace looked up at Winona. She… She wasn’t disgusted, ashamed, or furious. She looked like she was worried.

    Maybe she was just pretending to be worried. Maybe she was secretly disgusted, ashamed, furious—

    "Wallace, Wallace, Wallace, deep breaths. It's okay. It's okay. You're not feeling well. A dress is replaceable; you're not."

    Winona wrapped her arm around Wallace.

    "Now come on. Let's get you back to the hotel. You need water and sleep, maybe a shower, too. If you need to throw up again, tell me. If this doesn’t get better—"

    “It will get better.”

    “—But if it doesn’t, we might have to take you to the doctor.”

    No. No. No. He couldn’t go to the doctor. A doctor would be able to find out that he used drugs. A doctor would be able to find out that he cut himself. A doctor would be able to find out that he starved and purged. A doctor would be able to confirm that he was a freak.

    Drug addicts and cutters were freaks. They were attention seekers and embarrassments and discharges. They got into car crashes and got into bar fights and assaulted their girlfriends. They were horrible, horrible people, and if anyone found out he did drugs and hurt himself, his life would be over.

    "I'm sorry for ruining our date,” Wallace mumbled.

    He looked back up at Winona. That soft smile of hers was back.

    ”Wallace, your health will always be infinitely more important than a date. Now come on. Let’s get you a nice bath, and then let’s get you comfy and cozy in bed.”

    Wallace managed a small, dizzy smile. ”I would kiss you if I weren’t such a mess.”

    -

    The two went to one of Lilycove's cheaper love hotels, the kind with simple walls and floors in beiges and browns, the kind that only gave lovers a basket of condoms. At least it had a shower and other toiletries.

    Poor Winona stayed by Wallace’s side in the bathroom, rubbing his back as he vomited up the first attempt to take medication. He was disgusting. He didn’t deserve such a wonderful woman.

    “Winona,” Wallace groaned. “Water…”

    “You’re still dry-heaving. I don’t want you to immediately cough it up, or worse, choke.”

    Wallace retched into the toilet bowl again. “Everything hurts. I just want—” More retching cut him off. “I just want something to throw up so this will stop.”

    “Hey.” Winona’s voice fell back into that soft, gentle tone that made Wallace feel safe and loved. “Deep breaths. Deep breaths. You’re going to be okay. This will pass. This will pass.”

    And it did. After an hour or so, Wallace managed to hold down water, ibuprofen, and melatonin. Hopefully it wasn’t too late for the ibuprofen to work, but at the very least, the melatonin would help him sleep.

    Wallace and Winona hadn't really prepared to sleep clothed, so all they had for sleepwear were their clothes for the next day: for Winona, the shirt and pants she wore under her flight suit, and for Wallace, a plain dress shirt, purple pants, and a short cape.

    Winona didn't let Wallace use the cape as a blanket. Instead, she wrapped him up in a blanket and Aurora's fluffy wings and cuddled him, facing him and letting him rest his head in the crook of her neck. The pressure, the warmth, the comfort… Wallace was safe. Wallace was loved.

    “Goodnight, darling,” Winona whispered before kissing Wallace on the cheek.

    “Cuddle me,” Wallace mumbled, too out of it to say anymore.

    Winona made a humming noise as she held Wallace closer.

    “Of course, Wallace.”

    Wallace smiled. He didn’t deserve such a wonderful woman. What did he do that made Winona fall in love with him and want to stay around with him? Assuming she even loved hi—

    No. He wanted to have this one moment of happiness, of safety, of love.

    He thought he could feel Winona getting out of bed and calling someone just as he started drifting off to sleep.
     
    Last edited:
    I'm so tired.
    • Thread starter
    • Staff
    • #5
    Purging, mentions and depictions of self harm, discussions of drug abuse, suicidal ideation

    “Wallace? Are you okay?”

    Wallace slowly raised his head at the sound of his sister’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door. Of course he wasn’t okay; he had just purged dinner, and he didn’t know if he had the strength to stand up from where he lay on the bathroom floor.

    “I… I don’t… I’m fine…”

    “Can I open the door?”

    “...Hold on.”

    Grabbing the edge of the sink for support, Wallace staggered to his feet. He had to flush the toilet. He had to wash out his mouth. He had to be perfect again.

    The water from the sink faucet stung like the time Wallace had gotten his Sealeo, Richard, to use Sheer Cold on him. It was heaven to his throat and hell to his skin. It still couldn't wake him up, so he turned it from freezing cold to burning hot. As steam started to rise, he stuck his hand under the water.

    He had to bite back a shout as he forced himself to keep his hand there. He only pulled back right before he thought he would get a second degree burn.

    Nicole opened the door as Wallace shut the faucet. There was shock on her face, along with hints of concern.

    "Nicole, I didn't—"

    “Oh Mikouri…”

    The next thing he knew, Wallace felt Nicole wrapping her arms around him.

    “Eíste kalá?”

    He wasn’t okay, but even if Wallace wanted to respond, he couldn’t muster the energy to do so. The past few weeks had been rough; he seemed to constantly have some sort of ailment or illness. It was his early childhood all over again.

    "Did something not agree with you?"

    "Nothing's agreeing with me," Wallace mumbled.

    Nicole slowly rocked Wallace and gently patted the back of his head. Damn it, his hair was a mess.

    "Go lie down, Mikouri. I'll get you some medicine for your stomach."

    “I don’t wanna be sick. I don’t wanna—”

    “Shh… It’s okay. It’s okay.”

    Nicole slowly guided Wallace to the bed and helped him lay down.

    “Are you okay?” she asked. “Should I call a doctor?”

    “Please don’t.”

    “But Wallace—”

    “Don’t.”

    There was a bitter harshness in Wallace’s tone, and it stung his tongue even after the words came out. He had a bad habit of snapping at Nicole, and sometimes—a lot of times—it would turn into arguing. In Wallace’s current state, he would probably call her some awful things—a jerk, a bitch, just as much of a slut as their mother. Even thinking about the things he called her made his heart sink.

    Nicole only sighed. “Wallace, I just want you to… I just want you to be okay.”

    She stood up. Wallace couldn’t muster the energy to look up, but he heard the door open and shut.

    Guilt weighed him down into the old mattress. Nicole was his older sister and his closest family member. Their parents were dead, and their grandparents weren’t too fond of them. All they had was each other.

    None of those things made Wallace feel any better about essentially needing her like a sick child needed a parent. He was nineteen—legally an adult. Adults were self-sufficient, able to take care of themselves. Only children needed help from others when they were sick. Only children needed someone to give them medicine and reassurance.

    Aside from that, Nicole had a child of her own. She didn't need to be burdened with deadweight that couldn't go a whole week without getting sick. She didn’t need some jerk who would irregularly snap at her at the smallest wrongdoings or questions. She didn’t need another thing to worry about on top of parenthood, dealing with the rest of the family, and working two jobs.

    The weight was dragging him deeper into the waters of his mind.

    Look at all the problems you’re causing. Look at all the dates you're ruining for Lucy and Steven and Winona. Look at the time and money and energy your sister is wasting on you. Look at all the worry and anger and misery you're causing. Look at how disgusting you are.

    Things would be better off if you were dead.


    -

    He slept lightly but peacefully through the night and the next morning. When he woke up, his Milotic was there to greet him, hanging her head over his bed.

    “Promise not to tell her?” Wallace mumbled.

    “Pokémon keep secrets”. “Pokémon keep secrets”. Victoria was the only one who knew what Wallace was like behind the mask. She was the only one who knew about Wallace's scars and bruises. She was the only one who knew about his flaws and habits and sins. She promised not to tell anyone. She promised to bring these secrets to her grave.

    It was nice that he could tell someone about the darker parts of his self, but it was also shameful that he had those darker parts in the first place.

    “I’m sorry.” What good would sorry do? Wallace was living in a personal hell, and he had dragged Victoria into that personal hell. “Sorry” wouldn’t take her out of it. “Sorry” wouldn’t make up for all of the pain Wallace put Nicole through. "Sorry" wouldn't fix or do anything.

    There was a soft knock at the door.

    “Uncle Wall?”

    Wallace turned his head towards the door. “Lisia?”

    The door opened, and a little girl walked into the room. Well, maybe she wasn’t that little; she was eight, not too little anymore, but still not big enough to be not little. She was wearing a blue hand-me-down dress. Once it had been her Yiayiá Lucille's, then her mother's, then her uncle's, and now it was hers.

    She hopped up into the bed, holding a drawing in her hand. Wallace sat up. His head hurt from doing so, but he cared more about Lisia than his stupid head.

    “Mom wants to know if you’re feeling any better,” Lisia said. "She said I can visit you if you're doing better."

    When Wallace was five, he came down with the flu. When he said he wasn’t fine after twenty four hours, he soon found himself in the ER—The Lilycove ER. Sootopolis City didn’t have a hospital at the time. It was just how his parents were, and it seemed that Nicole had inherited that same fear of prolonged illness.

    “Tell her that I’m doing better. I should be able to go to classes tomorrow.” He wasn’t sure how true that was.

    The lie worked. Lisia was smiling again. “Good! I made you a get well present!”

    She held up the drawing in her hands. It was a drawing of a Milotic, an Altaria, and a Metang. Maybe Wallace was biased, but it looked far better than the average eight year old’s drawing. It was certainly far better than anything he had done as an eight year old.

    “It’s Victoria, Aurora, and Metang!” Lisia explained. “They’re all playing together! Just like you and your friends! Someday, I’m going to be strong like them, and I’m going to be a dazzling, dazzling Coordinator like you!“

    Dazzling. Lisia really liked that word. She said it whenever she could. She really was a smart kid—always learning new things. She was going to do great things one day.

    Wallace wrapped his arms around Lisia, holding her in a tight embrace as he leaned against the headboard. Lisia hugged him back. Wallace could feel the happiness radiating from her, but not even that could lift his spirits then.

    “Lisia, can you promise me something?” Wallace said, voice grave. “Can you promise to not do anything to hurt yourself or make yourself sick? Can you promise to take care of yourself?”

    “Sure I can!”

    Wallace looked over at Victoria, who was resting her head on the bed and purring as Lisia pet her. Wallace reached his hand over so he could scratch her under the head.

    "Can you promise me something?" Lisia asked.

    "Of course. What is it?"

    "Can you promise to do Contests with me? Just like you did with Juan! I think you're the best Coordinator ever!"

    Wallace forced the best smile he could muster. “Of course I can, Lisia.”

    Lisia beamed another smile before jumping off the bed and walking over to the dresser, where Wallace’s school bag was.

    “Can I draw with you—”

    “LISIA!”

    Lisia froze at Wallace’s shout. Shit, he could already see the tears beginning to form in her eyes.

    Wallace swallowed. “There’s… there’s a surprise in there that I don’t want you to see yet. I’m… I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

    It hurt to lie to Lisia, but he couldn’t let her know what was in there. His textbooks? Those were fine; sometimes he would even let Lisia look through. Condoms? Those were a symbol of Wallace’s sin, his lecherous desires. And Lisia was too young to know about those sorts of things. The stimulants and sedatives? Those were from Mayor Megalos, but Mayor Megalos wasn’t a drug dealer or anything. He was giving them so Wallace could be functional, normal. It was like a doctor prescribing medication, not like a dealer handing out LSD. And besides, drug dealing and drug use was illegal, and in Sootopolis City, both were punishable by up to ten years in prison.

    But Lisia didn’t know anything about drugs. And she would go off and ask Nicole about them. And Megalos needed Wallace to keep them a secret. So if Lisia ran off and told on Wallace…

    Duncan pushed the door open again. He looked up at Wallace and Lisia.

    (“Are you two okay?”)

    Cute little Spheal. He didn’t care for battles or Contests, but he loved helping people: cheering up crying babies, playing with old people, and quelling arguments. He was certainly more mature than Richard, who was prone to petty arguments with Wallace’s other Pokémon.

    Wallace smiled at Lisia. “Why don’t we draw with Duncan?”

    “Yay!” Lisia cheered, jumping up and clapping. Duncan also started clapping.

    Wallace chuckled. “Why don’t you two go down to the kitchen? I’ll meet you there with my art supplies.”

    Lisia nodded and skipped out of the room, Duncan rolling behind.

    Wallace collapsed back in bed and stared up at the ceiling. What little happiness Lisia and Duncan had given him was draining away.

    What would Lisia think if she found out her shining uncle on a shining pedestal was abusing drugs? What would she think if he died of an overdose or malnutrition? What would she think if he killed himself?

    No. No. Even if Wallace did end up taking his own life, Lisia—no, nobody—could know it was a suicide. It would have to look like an accident. It would have to—

    Victoria was staring at him. Shit, could she sense his negative thoughts?

    Was he really contemplating suicide?

    Eíste kalá? - Greek, "Are you okay?"
     
    Last edited:
    WAKE UP, PUPPET BOY
    • Thread starter
    • Staff
    • #6
    Panic attacks, discussions of xenophobia and queerphobia, body dysmorphia, mentions of purging and self harm, mentions of alcohol, drug abuse, suicidal ideation, emotional abuse, implied sexual abuse, religious themes

    “When Kaióga first slumbered, he sent his child to us to watch over our daily lives. He came up from the foams of the early morning sea, coat shining like a blue pearl. The first ones to spot the child were not the nobles or the merchants, but the children of the fishermen…”

    Wallace’s mind wandered away from the pages of To Chon, but he quickly snapped himself back. No. He needed to keep reading.

    Deep in the depths of magma and sea, Gourádon and Kaióga slumbered. High up in space, Rekkoúza flew between the world of dreams and the world of reality. But were Sootopolis ever to face danger, someone would need to reawaken them.

    When Spenser, Lorekeeper of Kaióga, eventually died, Wallace would be one of three people who could.

    So he read To Chon— the main body of stories and parables—front to back. He listened to Spenser sing the Songs of Summoning over and over again in his head—they couldn’t be written down, only passed down from Lorekeeper to Lorekeeper by mouth. He had to cultivate himself into the perfect keeper of Sootopolis’s legacy.

    But he still forgot large sections of To Chon when he tried to read the whole thing out in his head. His voice still cracked whenever he sang high notes he had been able to sing before. He still wasn’t the perfect Lorekeeper. He still—

    “Wallace, mi chiquito, why do you look so worried?”

    Juan was standing in the doorway of the bedroom—well, it was technically a guest bedroom in Juan’s estate, but it had essentially been Wallace’s bedroom since he started tutoring under Juan at the age of ten.

    “I’m not worried,” Wallace lied, “just reading.”

    “You don’t normally look this worried when reading.”

    Wallace forced himself to smile. “Maybe what I’m reading is worrying.”

    That little joke didn’t seem to convince Juan. He walked over to the bed and sat next to Wallace, a concerned look on his face.

    “Wallace, Wallace, Wallace,” the older man sighed, “why are you reading things that worry you?”

    Juan gently pulled down the book so he could look at the page Wallace was reading. “This is… the story of Manafí, isn’t it?”

    “It is.” Hinodego may have been Juan’s fourth language, but he spoke it so fluently. He didn’t speak with a thick accent like Wallace did. He didn’t stutter like Wallace did. He didn’t speak so slowly like Wallace did.

    Juan looked perfect, spoke perfect, acted perfect, thought per—

    “Well,” Juan said, interrupting Wallace’s spiral of thoughts, “that’s a good story.” He smiled. He smiled perfectly. “I think you’ll enjoy it, Wallace.”

    Wallace nodded before looking back down at the book—mostly to avert his gaze from Juan’s.

    “Is something else bothering you?” Juan asked.

    Sometimes Wallace wished Juan was like Spenser, in the sense that Spenser didn’t dote as much as Juan. Spenser and Wallace’s relationship was strictly professional, with no other complicated feelings.

    But sometimes… sometimes it was nice that someone cared for Wallace. It felt nice to have someone like… like the vague memories of Dorian that Wallace could still cling onto.

    “Just worried about a meeting with Megalos today,” Wallace half-lied. He did worry about those meetings—a lot—but there was just too much to be worried about. Juan would never understand.

    “In that case, maybe I should go meet with him instead.”

    Wallace chuckled and shook his head. “Master, I don’t think that’s—”

    “I think it’s necessary.”

    Wallace jumped at Juan’s sudden change in tone. Juan got angry, but he never got angry at Wallace. Wallace couldn’t make Juan mad Wa—

    “Wallace, Wallace, Wallace.” Juan’s voice was much calmer now, and he was holding Wallace by the shoulders.

    Somehow, that only made Wallace more anxious. More than anxious. Terrified.

    “Off off off OFF!”

    Wallace pushed Juan away, curling up on the bed. His heart pounded in his chest. All he could feel was fear. Fear like teeth from an invisible force. Fear fear fear fear fear.

    “Wallace?” Juan shouted. “What’s wrong?!”

    I don’t know. I don’t know.

    “No… no touch,” Wallace gasped out. “No shout. No. No. No. No. No.”

    “Do you… Do you want me to stay with you?” Juan asked, much softer this time.

    Juan… Juan wouldn’t hurt Wallace. Whatever Wallace’s body was scared of, his mind could trust Juan to keep him safe from it.

    “Stay. Stay. Please,” Wallace begged. He couldn’t cry. Sootopolitans didn’t cry. He didn’t let himself cry.

    “Okay… I’ll be right here, chiquito. I’ll be right here…”

    Wallace didn’t remember how long he lay there, but he did know that Juan was there for however long it was.

    -

    Wallace quietly shut the door to the bathroom; he didn’t want anyone in the hall noticing him.

    He hated public bathrooms. They forced him into the “male” box—a box that made Wallace anxious for some god forsaken reason. They made taking drugs (medicine, it was medicine) almost impossible and purging disgraceful.

    But it was getting harder and harder to focus in his classes. And his classes were important—he needed to learn the history of his region, he needed to learn how to speak in other languages, he needed to learn and get a degree and make his family and Megalos proud. And outside of school, he had to memorize all of the songs and stories of his ancestors, how to perform blessings for everything from child naming to death. His ancestors were probably ashamed of how little he could remember. And if he couldn’t remember, how could he awaken the gods in Sootopolis’s time of need? How could he save his people?

    He pulled the bottle of caffeine pills out of his handbag and twisted the cap. He needed these pills in order to get through the day, but he needed more and more as time went on. Maybe he needed something different. Steven had amphetamines for ADHD, didn’t he? Maybe Wallace could ask for some. Or maybe he could steal—

    What kind of twisted freak are you? Steven needs that medication, and you want to take it from him? Do you want him to die? What’s wrong with you? What—

    The door opened.

    Wallace didn’t want to look up. It was some guy coming to tell him to stop peeping at boys from under the stalls. It was some guy coming to accuse him of trying to make a glory hole. It was some guy coming to beat him up for fucking in the bathroom—

    “Wallace? From Water Type Studies?”

    It was… Gavin, from the Coordinating scene… Gosh, how long had it been since Wallace had done a Contest? Life had just gotten too busy, and Megalos would approve of Wallace giving up Contests to focus on more important matters.

    Gavin was a good man, and a good looking man. Clear, tawny skin with no blemishes or scars like Wallace, dark brown hair that wasn’t messy like Wallace’s. A perfect, muscular body that was nothing like—

    Fuck. Wallace remembered the bottle in his hands. Fuck. Caught in the act. Gavin also seemed to notice the bottle. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

    “You know, taking a bunch of pills for weight loss does a lot more bad than good,” Gavin said. He didn’t… seem disgusted. He seemed… concerned?

    But it wasn’t for weight loss. It was for control. It was for being able to function in society as the perfect form of Wallace. But in fairness to Gavin, Coordinators were notorious for extreme means of losing weight. Gavin had every right to be worried that Wallace would starve himself to death, because such a thing was pretty common.

    But Wallace wouldn’t starve himself to death. He was trying to control his food intake and energy levels, not his weight. He was controlling himself, not his weight.

    “I’m not taking them for weight loss,” Wallace insisted. “I have classes I need to get through.”

    Gavin raised an eyebrow, but he walked past Wallace anyway. “Be careful with those things. They’re easier to abuse than coffee.”

    As soon as Gavin went into one of the stalls, Wallace shoved the bottle in his bag and ran out of the bathroom.

    -

    Wallace paced around the locker room, staring at his reflection in the locker room mirror as he did so. The light overhead was too much, the buzz of the radiator was too much…

    He felt like he was dying.

    It was his first swim meet in... well, a while. Panic attacks and migraines kept him from his duties on the swim team, and now that he was back, now that he was goodness knows much thinner, what was once an enjoyable hobby had become a terrifying nightmare.

    Most of the people on the Rustboro University swim team had far more muscular physiques than Wallace. Meanwhile, he was like a long twig. While he wasn’t into hyper-masculinity and was glad he leaned away from it, he hated how awkward he looked. He was a man. He wasn’t supposed to have bony looking arms and ribs sticking out. He tried hiding his body under long sleeved turtlenecks and dress pants. He knew he would have to change into his swim trunks soon (why did the swim uniform have to be swim trunks?), but he dreaded having to change. He dreaded having to show everyone his body: the fucked up shell of illness, injury, and failed expectations.

    He was already five minutes late to the meet. No one on the swim team liked him for one reason or another: because he spoke with a thick Sootopolitan accent, because he didn’t stand a chance against any of them in a fist fight, because they suspected he liked men, because he was one of those rebellious hippies, because of whatever else they could use against him. He couldn't remember all the names he had been called, and he certainly didn't want to repeat them. He couldn’t remember how many times he had gotten beaten up. He didn’t even get adrenaline rushes anymore; he was just exhausted.

    He leaned against the lockers. Well, at least he knew to go into the locker room once everyone was gone. It was empty, but it was still too much. He was going to keel over any second. Part of him wanted to purge again, but the other part of him knew there wasn't anything left to purge. He thought about cutting his legs again. He thought about slamming his head against the lockers. He thought about—

    Bzzz! Bzzz!

    His Pokénav was buzzing with two notifications:

    Winona and I haven't seen you yet
    You okay?
    - Steven

    Wallace took a deep breath, a small smile forming on his face.

    I’ll be out in a few minutes.
    - Wallace

    For a moment, he could let himself relax. Steven and Winona would be out there to watch him and support him. With them nearby, he would be safe from harassment and abuse. He would be safe. He would be—

    “Hey Wallace, can I get something out of my locker?”

    Startled by the sudden presence of another person, Wallace jumped away from the lockers and whispered several quick “sorry”’s.

    His heart started racing. Fuck, he had messed up. He has gotten in the way. He had fucked up he had fucked up he had fucked up.

    The other guy gave Wallace a raised eyebrow, but said nothing before he left.

    Wallace grasped for his bag. He needed to change. He needed to get out to the pool. He needed to win the swim meet. He needed to be perfect.

    He fumbled with his pill bottles. He was too exhausted and unfocused and needed his caffeine pills, but he was also too anxious and jumpy and needed his alprazolam. Would they cancel each other out if he took them both, or would they both get him to a stable, functioning state?

    It was a 50/50 chance. Wallace had nothing to lose.

    -

    “You had better win this Gym battle. The whole world is watching you.”

    "Don’t wear that. You look like a stripper. People are going to think this city is a pornocracy.”

    “You have a swim race today. People will be watching you. There might even be reporters. Don’t fail.”


    Wallace was already failing Megalos’s order to not fail and not defy standards by wearing a full piece, long sleeved suit instead of the uniform. It hid his body, but it also made him stand out more.

    Wallace ran into the natatorium. The rest of URC’s swim team was already there, along with Rootclaw Academy’s team.

    Coach Alagona briskly stormed over to Wallace. He was somewhat shorter than Wallace despite being fifteen years older than him, and his messy, purple hair was held back with sunglasses. He had a slight tan from being in the sun often, and his face was red from anger.

    “Where were you, Wallace? You missed warm ups, and you only have five minutes until the Individual Medley! And why aren’t you wearing your uniform?!”

    “My apologies, Coach Alagona,” Wallace panted. “I did my laundry the other day, and I couldn’t find them.”

    Alagona scowled, but he said, “Fine. Just get ready.”

    Winona and Steven were sitting in the second row of bleachers just a few steps away from where Wallace was. He walked over to the two and waved.

    Wallace sat down—or rather, collapsed—in between the two. “You two have anything interesting to talk about?”

    “Are you doing okay?” Steven asked. “You look and sound exhausted.”

    Wallace brushed off Steven’s concern with a forced laugh. “I ran all the way from here to my dorm and then back here. Of course I’m exhausted.”

    “What are those bruises on your face?" Winona asked. She gasped as she saw the parts of Wallace’s arms uncovered by his suit. “And your arms?”

    “I tripped.”

    The sounds of people splashing in the people, talking, yelling... all of it felt empty in the seconds during which neither Wallace nor his companions spoke.

    “Wallace,” Steven said gravely, “you’re not hurting yourself, are you?”

    Shit.

    “Of course not! What would possibly make you think that?!”

    “Wallace, deep breaths.” Steven held Wallace’s hand. “We’re just worried about you. You’ve been pushing yourself a lot since becoming a Gym Leader and starting college. You’ve been drinking a lot, you haven’t really been taking care of yourself, you've been getting horrible migraines, you’ve been spending more and more time alone—”

    “I’m fine.”

    Wallace stood up—a bad idea, since a wave of dizziness almost immediately crashed over him and threatened to drag him to the floor—and walked over to the other swimmers. The 200 Metres Individual Medley was up next, anyway.

    Wallace looked up at Winona and Steven. Before stepping onto the diving block, he forced himself to smile before giving them a thumbs up. He wished he could have given them a better apology.

    In his head, Wallace went over the stroke order of the Individual Medley: Beautifly, backstroke, breaststroke, freestyle. Beautifly, backstroke, breaststroke, freestyle. Beautifly… backstroke… god, why did his head hurt so much? Why did he feel like he was going to puke?

    “3… 2… 1… GO!”

    The freezing cold waters shocked Wallace out of his half conscious state. He was too busy to dwell on how cold the water was. He had to win this race.

    Before he knew it, Wallace reached the other end of the pool. The sudden switch from Beautifly to backstroke threw him off more than usual, and the backstroke itself felt more off than usual. Wallace felt himself losing focus…

    ...only for his head to hit the other end of the pool.

    Even when the impact shocked him awake, Wallace was too dizzy to process his surroundings, save for the shouting of spectators, the splashing of water, and the fact that he seemed to be leaning against the edge of the pool. He soon realized how far behind the other racers he was. He couldn’t stop now, no matter how exhausted he was.

    After giving his face a quick but hard slap, Wallace shot off the edge and swam faster than ever before.

    What little focus remained was directed entirely towards catching up. Even when he reached the other end and spiraled into freestyle, he didn’t notice that he had caught up to the other swimmers, that he had surpassed them, that he had reached the other end, that he had won. It was only when the judge grabbed his arm and lifted it into the air did he realize people were cheering for him.

    Everything was a blur, a blur of lights, flashes, cheers, and then screams.

    -

    He woke up on the pool deck. There were people staring down at him, including a medic. There were people talking or shouting. It was too much, especially when coupled with the haze still lingering in his mind. He thought he could see Steven and Winona, and he tried to reach for one of their hands. The flashes of light weren't helping his vision or state of consciousness.

    “Is everything okay?” the medic asked.

    “Sure I am... Sure I am...”

    -

    He was taken to the health office. Winona and Steven wanted to follow him in, but the medic kept them out, leaving Coach Alagona and Wallace alone in the room.

    The fluorescent light made the baby blue walls and white, tiled floor even brighter. It was overwhelming, but at the same time, the room felt empty. Perhaps it was the silence. Perhaps it was Alagona’s stare: serious yet emotionless.

    “Wallace,” he finally said, “at times, you are the greatest member of the swim team. You take first place. Your form is phenomenal. At your best, you guarantee that URC brings home gold.”

    Alagona smiled, probably expecting Wallace to smile back. Wallace didn’t; he looked down at his feet. Making eye contact was only making him feel worse.

    “At your worst,” Alagona sighed, “you're late to or even absent from meets and tournaments. You’re too tired to compete. You’re a gamble: Either the top of the charts or the bottom. As good as your best is…” Alagona sighed. “…I’m sorry Wallace, but I can’t risk it. Your skills are valuable, but not as valuable as your health. I’m going to need to ask that you take a break from the team and focus on yourself.”

    Those words reached Wallace as “You’re a failure. You’re a disappointment. You don’t deserve to be here.” And then he heard Mayor Megalos’s voice: “You’ve failed your parents. You’ve failed Sootopolis City. You’ve failed me. I thought you were Sootopolis City’s pearl. You’re just a failure. You don't deserve to be alive."

    “Wallace?”

    “I’m sorry, Coach Alagona.”

    Wallace stood up. Without making eye contact with Alagona, he opened the door and left.

    Winona and Steven were waiting for him right outside. He had to resist the urge to yell at them to leave.

    “Everything okay?” Steven asked.

    “I need some time alone,” Wallace said softly.

    “That doesn’t make it sound like—”

    “I don’t ask you two such incessant questions about your goddamned scars,” Wallace snapped. “I don’t assume your injuries from wandering around caves are because you’re a cutter. If I was Winona, I wouldn’t assume I was an addict because I got drunk once. I’m not a cutter. I’m not an addict. I’m not a freak. I’m. Fine. Leave me alone.”

    Silence. Shock. And then… and then regret.

    Steven wasn’t the easiest person to read, but the way his eyes were so wide and his hands were shaking…

    Wallace turned to Winona, who seemed just as shocked. No. No. No no no no no no this wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to snap at his two lovers.

    “Winona?” Steven gasped. “What does he mean about…”

    Winona’s gaze fell to her feet, and she was nervously squeezing her hands. “I found him one night in his room. He was drunk and kept saying how he—”

    No. No, why was Steven asking anything? Why was Winona talking about how fucked up Wallace was? Why were they betraying him like this?

    Wallace stormed away from the two. He’d had enough.

    “If you two want to speculate on my private life like the tabloids, go ahead. Just do it without me in the room.”

    “Wallace!”

    He ignored Winona’s plea and kept walking.

    -

    He only felt regret when he got back to his dorm, but it was… angry regret. He angry-regretted getting mad at Steven and Winona. A quiet, dull anger at himself.

    He sat on the bed, hitting his head against the wall. He was stupid. He was fucking stupid.

    Bzzz! Bzzz!

    His Pokénav was buzzing on the other side of the bed.

    They want to break up with you.

    Reluctantly, Wallace picked up the Pokénav and checked his texts.

    15 minutes ago - 20 new messages from: Steven

    They want to break up with you.

    Hi Wallace
    Hope you’re doing okay
    Winona told me about that night
    We’re worried about you
    I don’t want you to do anything to yourself
    Wallace please say something
    I’m so sorry
    I love you Wallace
    Winona loves you
    You have a family
    Your Pokémon love you
    Wallace they wouldn’t be the same without you
    None of us would
    Shit don’t feel pressured to respond right away btw
    O understand
    *I
    I understand
    Just respond soon
    Are you still there
    Wallace?
    - Steven
    Wallace couldn’t muster the energy to respond.
     
    Last edited:
    Sober/life is a prison/Shitfaced/it is a blessing
    • Thread starter
    • Staff
    • #7
    Drugs and drug abuse, slut shaming, eating disorders and restrictive eating, self harm, purging, mentions of sexual harassment, implicit sexual abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, a very unhealthy relationship with very bad power dynamics at play, graphic depictions of physical and emotional abuse, strangulation, grooming, outdated views and language regarding mental illness

    Special thanks to @Spiteful Murkrow for beta reading this chapter.

    Mayor Megalos’s office was white. Stark white. White walls, white floors, white desk, white chair. It fit in with the white and blue architecture of Sootopolis City, even without any blue of its own. In other circumstances, it probably would have been what Wallace imagined what the chambers of Tziráchi’s angels looked like—ethereal yet homely. But in the present circumstances, it was less welcoming and more intimidating, like a pristine altar that couldn’t be damaged, dirtied, or touched. It all made Wallace feel like his presence in the room was a dirty stain on the clean room in and of itself.

    Megalos was sitting up straight in his chair, hands clasped together on the desk as he stared at Wallace. Megalos was old enough to be Wallace's dad, but his graying brown hair and wrinkles made him look closer to being his grandfather. Sure, Wallace was taller, but speaking from both appearance and Wallace's own experience, the older and far more heavyset man was hardly some frail old codger. Even at his age, Megalos was big and muscular enough to overpower Wallace by hitting him, or pinning him against a wall, or holding him down on the desk and taking off his—

    No. No. No. No. Fuck, those thoughts were too painful to remember. But they couldn’t be painful. Not for someone with his duties and responsibilities. He had to serve Megalos to save Sootopolis City. And besides, Wallace had to repay Megalos somehow. Megalos deserved compensation for helping Sootopolis City, for caring for Wallace.

    “I have some matters to discuss with you regarding past and future events.”

    Megalos’s voice was calm. Megalos’s voice was perfect. His voice could bring Wallace back to attention. So why did Wallace keep getting distracted by such painful memories when there were more important matters at hand?

    Wallace nodded. His legs felt shaky, and his head was spinning. He wanted to sit down, but even if there was a chair for him to sit in, he knew that Megalos would look down on him for showing weakness if he didn’t keep standing. Weakness wouldn’t save Sootopolis City from ruin. Only perfection would.

    So he stood in front of Megalos’s desk as perfectly as he could.

    “I heard that you won this week’s swim relay… only to pass out and get kicked off the team. I’m disappointed, Wallace.”

    Megalos's stone-like eyes barely blinked. Wallace couldn’t keep himself from staring into them; they were smooth, and their gaze was sharp enough to cut into his skin.

    “I also heard you lost a Gym match,” Megalos added.

    “I won the one after—”

    “Don’t talk back to me,” Megalos snapped back. “Losses reflect poorly on you and the city. It’s a miracle that we got to keep the Gym after your father died. If it wasn’t for Juan, you wouldn’t be here.”

    Wallace swallowed. “I’m sorry—”

    Megalos’s brows furrowed sharply. “It’s too late for ‘sorry’, Wallace! Don’t you care for Sootopolis City? Don’t you care for yourself?!”

    Wallace's gaze fell to the floor. “I’ll do better.”

    “You’d better do better.”

    Wallace nodded, knowing full well that it would do about as much as an “I’m sorry”.

    “Tomorrow," Megalos continued as he relaxed back into his chair, "I will be hosting a dinner party at Juan’s estate. The wealthiest and most important of Sootopolitan, Hoennese, and larger Hinode society will be there.”

    He tapped his fingers on his desk, narrowing his eyes. “I want you to attend, and I want you to take part in an exhibition match against Cerulean City’s Gym Leader.”

    Wallace wasn’t stupid; by “want”, Megalos meant “do these things or I’ll make sure you regret it”. Even still, Cerulean City’s Gym Leader? Ren Mizutani was a controversial figure at best and accused of several crimes at worst: DUI’s, Pokémon neglect, maybe sexual harassment if Wallace was remembering right—his memory wasn’t always clear, and it only got worse and worse as the days went on.

    Did Megalos really want to associate with her? Well, Megalos knew more than Wallace. He knew how to talk to people; Wallace didn’t. Megalos knew about politics; Wallace didn’t. Megalos knew about perfection; Wallace didn’t.

    But Wallace wasn’t above morality. He wasn’t about to—

    “Do you have a problem with that, Wallace?” Megalos asked.

    “With all due respect, Sir, doesn’t Ren have a less-than-savoury reputation with her past relationships with younger men?”

    Maybe Megalos would like Wallace’s suggestion. Maybe he would praise Wallace for being so attentive to perfection.

    “It's a bunch of sensationalist drivel made up by the media.” Megalos retorted. Wallace noted Megalos’s voice was ever so slightly more… angry.

    “They made up those rumors when they found out she was coming to Sootopolis. They want us to fail.”

    Wait… that didn’t line up.

    “But didn’t those rumors start at least a year ago?”

    Wallace was only trying to help Megalos from making a mistake and being imperfect, just as Megalos did for Wallace. Maybe Megalos would praise Wallace for being so smart, for knowing so much about politics, for—

    Those ‘maybes’ abruptly died in Wallace’s mind when Mayor Megalos grabbed Wallace's shirt collar and jerked him forward. Wallace stumbled onto the desk and looked up, panting tensely. Mayor Megalos's eyes were aglow with fury.

    “Are you questioning my intelligence, young man?!” he hissed.

    You shouldn’t have said anything.

    “Mayor Megalos... please... I'm sorry for—Hhk!”

    Mayor Megalos twisted his hand, choking Wallace in an iron grip that kept him from speaking. Adrenaline rushed into Wallace’s body, and he felt his heart begin to throb in his chest. Logically, he wasn’t surprised this was happening. Moments like this had happened before. They had been painful, but they had happened without Wallace dying. They only happened when he behaved very, very badly. He wouldn’t die this time.

    …Right?

    “You’re young, Wallace. Young and stupid,” Megalos growled. “You’re unstable and imperfect and wholly unprepared for the harsh world outside of this city’s walls. Outside of my protection.”

    Megalos’s grip on Wallace’s collar tightened, and Wallace was certain he would pass out, at the very least.

    “You don’t understand things like I do. I don’t want you misbehaving or disobeying me anymore. Do you understand?”

    Yes. Yes I understand. Let me go let me go LET ME GO OR I’LL DIE.


    Megalos let go of Wallace, who had to catch himself with his arm before his head crashed into the desk. Panting, Wallace had to steady his breath and consciousness for a few moments.

    He felt around his neck for any marks left behind. He didn't want anyone thinking Nicole or a set-up or Winona or Steven or Megalos had choked him. Luckily, his scarf was in his bag; he could easily hide his neck. If word got out about any bruises, someone close to him would be accused of abuse. And if that person was Megalos… Wallace didn't want that. Sootopolis didn’t need that. He wasn't being abused by anyone. He was just being put in his place by Megalos.

    …Well, now that he thought about it, he hadn’t spoken to Winona or Steven since… since their argument. He thought about responding to those text messages, but… Megalos wouldn’t like that. Megalos wanted Wallace to marry a woman of high status, not a woman of low class who stooped to premarital sex, especially not a man. And besides, Winona and Steven didn’t deserve someone so stupid, so unstable, so imperfect.

    Megalos sat back down, his expression… ‘softening’ didn’t seem like the right word, but at the very least, there was no longer fury boiling in his eyes. “I need you to get your act together by tomorrow night.”

    Wallace nodded as he tried to lift himself up, but Megalos snapped, “You aren’t dismissed yet.”

    Fuck.

    Megalos rested his hand under Wallace’s chin and traced circles on the younger man’s cheek with his thumb. Wallace tried to let himself relax in the steady motion, no matter how terrified his body was. Megalos cared for him. Megalos cared for him. Megalos cared for him.

    “You have your… medicine, don’t you?” Megalos asked. His eyes were stern, stern and calm and perfect and all of the things Wallace wasn’t.

    “C-caffeine pills, or-or alprazolam?” Wallace stuttered. Pitiful of him.

    “Both. You need both of them to function. They’ll lock you up if you don’t take them.”

    Wallace’s heart stopped. “Lock m-me up?”

    “When my father died, my mother suffered from hysteria. Could barely function in society. They locked her up in an asylum, tied her up in a straitjacket, and she wasted away for the rest of her life.”

    Megalos glanced to the side, expression solemn in a way Wallace had never seen before.

    “They’re terrifying places full of psychotics, schizos, addicts, and some of the worst imaginable dregs of society. You don’t want to end up in a place like that, do you?”

    That sounded… horrible. Wallace felt his stomach churn and felt acid clawing up his throat. He hadn’t eaten anything today yet, but just the thought of being in a place like that was making him feel ill.

    “I… I don’t,” he replied. He didn’t want to be locked up. He didn’t want to be locked away from his family or Steven or Winona or his Pokémon or anyone. He didn’t want to be reduced to a gibbering, screaming waste of space.

    “Do you think I’ll end up like that?” Wallace asked weakly.

    Megalos turned back to Wallace, putting his thumb to Wallace’s mouth. “If you don’t listen to me, and if you don’t take your medicine, yes,” he answered. “Fortunately, those are choices, Wallace. Ones where the right ones are right in front of you.”

    Megalos moved his face closer to Wallace’s. “I trust you’ll make the right choices.”

    Wallace’s eyes darted towards the door. Megalos was quick to cut this notion short when he tapped Wallace’s lip once.

    “If you want to leave now, that’s your choice, of course—” the sentence lingered in the air as if there was a “but” just waiting to be said out loud.

    Wallace knew the routine. He swallowed down bile before he began unbuttoning his shirt. “I'll stay.”

    -

    The bathroom was down the hall. No one came to Megalos’s office around this hour, so it was safe to purge in the bathroom without fear of anyone walking in on him.

    Everything hurt. Everything hurt. Wallace was too exhausted to lift his head from the toilet seat, too exhausted to stand up. Maybe it was the medicine. Maybe it was the… the…

    He couldn’t purge again to make the thoughts go away; there was nothing in his stomach, not even bile. He just wanted to clean the thoughts away with water and soap and rubbing alcohol and whatever he needed to make the dirt on his soul go away, to make the guilt for feeling dirty go away.

    “Clean yourself up,” Megalos had said after… after that, “and don’t tell anyone about our little secret. They wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t understand you like I do.”

    No one understood Wallace like Megalos. Megalos knew that Wallace wanted—needed to save Sootopolis, no matter the cost. And best of all, Megalos knew how Wallace could save Sootopolis. Megalos deserved something in return, even if it was…

    His fucking PokéNav was buzzing.

    With shaky hands and stiff fingers, Wallace took it out. Steven was texting:

    Hey
    Are you good
    Haven’t heard from you in a while
    Winona and I are worried
    - Steven

    Want ot bekauo
    Canktldo thuihs anymmkpre
    y9ou dseveruve besteter
    - Wallace

    He couldn’t be with Steven and Winona. He had to be with Megalos. He had to be with Sootopolis.

    This duty was his birthright. Countless Sootopolitans, especially most of his cousins, would do anything to be Megalos’s protégé. His ancestors had given up so much—sometimes their lives—so Wallace could have this position and carry on Sootopolis City's legacy. He had to stand up to the waves that would try to bring it down, whether they were physical or cultural or social or political waves.

    He had to be its shining, guiding star, and shining, guiding stars were perfect. The people were staring up at him, and the gods were staring down at him: Wallace Izumi Papadakis, Gym Leader of Sootopolis City, guardian of Sootopolis City, priest of Sootopolis City, Lorekeeper of Sootopolis City.

    His outer shell had to be perfect. His inner self and desires and well being didn’t matter. They weren’t going to be seen by the city. They weren’t going to shape its destiny as its guardian in front of the whole world. He had to be perfect for Sootopolis City's past, present, and future, and that sometimes meant dealing with unpleasant things such as Megalos. But not even Megalos was unpleasant, because Wallace was lucky to be with Megalos. Wallace was lucky to be chosen by the only person who knew how to save Sootopolis.

    So what if he had to use drugs to stay awake or fall asleep or stay sane? He never overdosed except when he was blackout drinking, and he wasn't an addict or dealer. So what if he had to discipline himself with starving and purging? It wasn’t like it was an eating disorder; it was more akin to an extended Nisteía, a routine of self-discipline and respect for what the gods had given the world. So what if he had to cut and hit himself? Just a bit of makeup and then he looked perfect again.

    So what if Megalos yelled at him? So what if Megalos sometimes got physical with him? So what if Megalos all but encouraged old, rich socialites to harass Wallace? So what if Megalos sometimes… sometimes…

    This was his duty. This was his duty.
     
    Last edited:
    You earned this, new purpose
    • Thread starter
    • Staff
    • #8
    Drug abuse, panic attack, mentions of purging, arguing, mentions of abuse, body image issues, internalized queerphobia

    Wallace could barely tie his necktie with his hands shaking so much.

    He wasn’t really a “suit and tie” sort of person, but he had to look pristine, presentable, perfect for this dinner. Everyone would be watching him, and he couldn’t make a fool of Sootopolis City, Megalos, or himself. He had to look perfect in front of Ren, no matter how questionable her past was. He was a (former) Coordinator; he knew how to put on a show.

    But… he didn’t look perfect. His nose was too broad, too flat, too different. His eyes made him look like the drug dealers they kicked out of Sootopolis City, glassy and bloodshot and unfocused. His skin was deathly pale, save for the spotting of red flush on his cheeks.

    And that was just his face. His body was bony and awkward and covered in bruises and cuts and imperfections. He had next to no muscle, looking closer to an anorexic woman than a stable man. Hoenn already looked at Sootopolis as the backwaters of the region, and Wallace was doing nothing for its image like this.

    At the very least, his white dress shirt and dark blue pants could hide his body, making him look tastefully skinny rather than gaunt and emaciated. Foundation would hide the circles under his eyes. Sure, makeup was too feminine, and Wallace couldn’t be feminine, but it couldn’t be so bad if it was making him look like a more presentable man.

    He had barely been able to get himself out of bed by three in the afternoon, and even then he had been exhausted. Nicole had been concerned, but Wallace had chalked up his sleeping habits to studying for an upcoming test—a test in a class he was failing, as he forgot to tell her. He had caffeine pills back in his dorm room, but inhaling an Awakening would work just fine to keep him from collapsing from exhaustion, and he had a few appetite suppressants in his travel bag to stave off the hunger pangs. He wasn't hungry. He was just a little nervous.

    But he still needed to straighten the creases and folds of his shirt. He still needed to arrive on time. Most of all, he still really, really needed to stop his spinning thoughts, his racing heart, his shaking hands. So many things were on his mind: college, the Gym, his grades, his duties, the stories and songs he couldn’t remember, Megalos, his appearance, too much too much too much.

    He thought about purging his fears. He thought about loosening up by sneaking up some wine from the cabinet downstairs. He thought about—

    “Uncle Wall?”

    Lisia had opened the door to the guest bedroom. She was holding a big box of crayons—a box Wallace had given to her for her eighth birthday. It has been her favourite thing to carry around for months.

    “Are you okay, Uncle Wall?” she asked, a small smile on her face.

    Wallace took a deep breath in. As he exhaled, he forced a soft smile.

    “Uh… Of course I am. I’m going to a party. Parties are… fun.”

    Lisia smiled even wider, radiant as a rainbow.

    “Do you wanna draw with me before the party?”

    Wallace nodded. Maybe engaging in something he loved—art and his family—would help him calm down. Maybe it would be a better, easier alternative to self-induced vomiting or alcohol.

    -

    The crayons were scattered across the kitchen table, along with stacks of construction paper. Luzia picked up crayons five at a time, sometimes using all of them at once to scribble in the sky.

    Nicole was boiling water over the stove as she watched the two. There were reports that tap water in Sootopolis City was contaminated, and Nicole wasn’t going to take any risks. Raphael was off at work in Lilycove City, which wasn’t too uncommon among Sootopolitan men. It’s not like there was much work within the city.

    Thinking about all of the city’s issues weighed down Wallace’s heart. He had to be perfect to fix things. He had to be perfect so Lisia could have a better future. He was the city’s Gym Leader, the city’s protector. He had to save it. He had to save it by being perfect.

    Speaking of Lisia, she was looking up at Wallace with sparkling, turquoise eyes and a big, big smile.

    “I like crayons, Uncle Wall!”

    Wallace forced a smile. “I do too.”

    “I’m going to draw mommy and daddy and Vicky and Goldie and…” Lisia waved her crayon around like a wand, then pointed it across the table and towards Wallace. “...you!”

    Wallace couldn’t help but laugh. He looked over at Joan, who was sitting next to him. The Swanna pointed up to the clock: 6:30. Megalos needed Wallace at Juan’s estate by seven. If he was late—

    “Joan,” Lisia said, “I wanna draw you! Hold still.”

    But… Lisia was so happy. Wallace didn’t want to ruin that by leaving.

    Joan shook her head, but Wallace said, “Joan, didn’t you hear Lisia? Hold still.”

    Joan rolled her eyes but did as Lisia said.

    Eventually, Lisia finished the drawing. It was… wow, it was good. Even Joan was impressed, and Wallace had never impressed her with his drawings.

    “Lisia, that's impressive,” Wallace gasped.

    Lisia beamed a smile. “I want you to give it to your friend Megalos!”

    …Oh.

    Wallace took the drawing. After a second of hesitation and thought, he folded it and put it in his pocket.

    "I'm sure he'll love it," Wallace lied through the most happy smile he could muster. Maybe Megalos would like it. Megalos had a family: a wife and two daughters. Maybe he would like a pretty piece of art from Wallace's own family. Maybe... Maybe for the first time, Megalos would smile at Wallace, say 'thank you', say he was proud of Wallace for everything he did. Maybe Megalos would finally express his love.

    Megalos loved Wallace—why else did he trust him and care for him for so many years— but he… never really expressed it. Megalos punished Wallace with beatings, but he never rewarded Wallace with praise, with hugs, with anything.

    “Why don’t you draw too?” Lisia asked.

    Wallace snapped out of his thoughts. Well, maybe Megalos would also like some art from Wallace himself.

    “I suppose I have time for a quick drawing…”

    For just a brief moment, Wallace managed to keep his hand from shaking as he picked up a light pink crayon—coral pink, to be exact. He knew all of the Smeargle crayon colour names by heart.

    Art won’t save Sootopolis. Art won’t save Sootopolis.

    Lisia hummed to herself as she continued drawing pictures of Water and Ice type Pokémon.

    She certainly takes after her mother. Wallace tried to push back Megalos’s voice… or was it his own?

    Speaking of Lisia’s mother, Nicole would look over at Wallace and Lisia every so often, smiling and whispering about how cute they were. Lisia giggled at Nicole’s words. Wallace smiled for them. He was happy. He was happy. He was happy. He didn't even have to lie to himself anymore. He was happy. He was happy. He was—

    Shit. He had made the heart shape of his Luvdisc drawing too sharp. Luckily, it was small enough that he could simply cross it out and try again. Maybe he could make the patch of pink into something later.

    The phone rang. Nicole walked over to pick it up.

    “Hello… Oh, hello there, Steven!”

    Wallace's heart stopped. “Steven?”

    “I’m sure everything is okay.” Nicole beamed a smile at Wallace before returning to the call. “Yeah, Wallace is with me…”

    Wallace distracted himself from his returning fear by going back to drawing.

    He tried again to draw a Luvdisc. Still not perfect. He tried again. Still not perfect. He tried again. And again. And again and again and again and—

    Snap.

    His hand froze in place as the crayon split in two. His hand stayed still for a few seconds. Then it started shaking.

    He ripped the paper apart.

    “Uncle Wall?”

    Wallace stood up and stormed out of the kitchen. He could hear his sister calling for him, but he ignored her.

    He slammed the door behind him and stomped down the stairs.

    “Wallace—”

    “I’M FINE!”

    His breathing was ragged, and his hands were shaking as he clutched his unkempt hair. He let them fall to his side as he realized that he was standing at the bottom of the stairs, and Nicole was standing in the doorway, staring at him with terrified eyes. Well, at least he wasn’t a complete mess; he had put on his shoes for the party.

    “What happened?” Nicole gasped. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

    “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s wrong. I have that dinner to go to, and I have to leave now—”

    “Wallace, you don’t have to go to it. If you want to stay and talk about whatever is going on at work or—”

    “I don’t. I have to. Now."

    Joan was standing next to Nicole. She shared Nicole’s concern, and she cocked her head in confusion.

    “Come on, Joan,” Wallace ordered quietly. “We have to leave... I said we need to leave!"

    "Wallace, what is going on?" Nicole pleaded.

    Anger joined the fear in Wallace’s blood. What had Steven said about him? Joan still wasn’t coming. What had Winona said about him? What had everyone else said about him? What were they all saying behind his back? Were they tattling and saying he’s was a fucked-up freak?!

    “Joan. Now.”

    Joan hesitated for a moment. Eventually, she stepped past Nicole and walked over to Wallace. He climbed onto her, and with a flap of her wings, she flew off.

    Wallace felt a sinking sense of guilt in his heart as Joan flew higher. He had snapped at Steven and Winona. He had snapped at Nicole. He had snapped at Joan.

    "I'm sorry, Joan." He could apologize to Joan, but it was too late to apologize to Nicole. It was too late to apologize to Steven or Winona. It was too late to apologize to everyone.
     
    Last edited:
    PLEASE CAN I BE PLEASE CAN I BE COLOURFUL AND FREE???
    • Thread starter
    • Staff
    • #9
    Dissociation, depersonalization, slut shaming, alcohol abuse, purging, eating disorders, panic attack, emotional and physical abuse, internalized slut shaming and queerphobia, purging mistaken for a suicide attempt, sexual harassment, sexual assault, and implicit sexual abuse

    Sebastian, Juan's butler, opened the door to Juan’s estate. The warmth from inside flooded out into the cold February air, and it almost shocked Wallace unconscious.

    “Wallace! Welcome… Welcome… Are you well?”

    “Good evening, Sebastian.” There was a smile on Wallace’s face, and his posture was straight, but there was no emotion, no life in his voice.

    "Are you sure—"

    "I'm fine."

    Wallace walked inside the estate. The entrance hall was grand and glorious: gold-cream walls and Ionic pillars reached for the fresco above, which depicted the Runekyō myth of Arousésou giving humanity the eighteen plates that they would use to paint their masterpieces. As a child apprenticing under Juan, Wallace would always ask questions about the mural: the story behind it, the painter who painted it, the techniques they used.

    But Wallace didn’t even look up at the ceiling. He didn’t have time for such silly matters. That child was gone. Instead there was Wallace, finally perfect. Finally perfect. Finally perfect.

    Wallace couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t process anything. The only thing on his mind was his mission: find Megalos, find Ren, be perfect, be perfect, be perfect.

    He didn’t register his surroundings until he stopped in front of Megalos. Main hall. Bright white and gold light. Paintings of nautical life on the walls. A wall of tall mirrors. White tablecloths. String music. People. Lots of people. Tables with bottles of wine and liquor laid out. Megalos staring at him and not smiling.

    “You’re five minutes late.”

    “I’m sorry.” Wallace didn’t feel his smile fall. It was a miracle that he still had the energy to keep it up.

    Megalos smiled, grabbed Wallace’s shoulders, turned him towards the mirror wall, smiled, smiled, smiled. Megalos finally smiled at Wallace.

    “See? You look better when you smile.”

    Wallace was finally perfect. Wallace was finally perfect for his family, for Megalos, for Sootopolis.

    But all he could think was, What is that?

    -

    “Ren, I’d like to formally introduce you to Wallace Papadakis, Sootopolis City’s Gym Leader, and my protégé.”

    Ren approached Wallace with a smile. A good thing. A very good thing. Black hair. Around her early 40s.

    “He’s very mature-looking for his age—what did you say he was, nineteen? He looks better in the flesh than in the tabloids.”

    She put a finger under Wallace’s chin, getting a view of his face and body. Wallace kept his smile up, but his stupid heart began racing with fear.

    Megalos handed Wallace a glass. Red liquid. Wine.

    Wallace didn’t need to be told what to do; he drank the whole glass, even though it tasted more bitter than the wine he was used to.

    Was he even Wallace? He didn't feel connected to himself. He didn't feel connected to the reflection he had seen in the mirror. He didn’t feel connected to anything… well, except Megalos. With Megalos watching him, his body would react perfectly to whatever Ren did.

    “He’s a very talented Water type trainer,” Megalos commented. “I believe he’s better than his own father was. When he behaves, he’s one of the city’s greatest assets. But when he’s… rebellious, he loses his intelligence, that charisma, and becomes a wretched whore. I trust you’ll keep him in line so he won’t destroy Sootopolis.”

    …Keep him in line?

    “My husband was a pretty successful tech developer on his time,” Ren said, frowning. “One of the first members of Silph Co. Died in the war, the poor thing. I know my way with men.”

    “I’m sorry to hear,” Wallace heard himself say.

    Ren smiled. “He’s so polite, too. I’m sure he’ll make a great husband. Am I bringing him home, or do you want me to move to Sootopolis?”

    No. No. No. No. No. Wallace didn’t want to marry Ren. He didn’t want to marry her. He didn’t want to marry her. His body nodded its head, his body answered with everything Ren wanted to hear, but no no no no no no NO—

    …Was this event all just a plot to set up the two?

    The fragile pillars began to crumble, and everything fell into place.

    Ren’s words started blending together. They made less and less sense. It was getting harder and harder to breathe.

    Wallace’s legs started shaking. His heart pounded in his chest as thoughts ate away at his mind. He felt like he was going to pass out or throw up. Either thing happening would be imperfect. Terrible. Terrible terrible imperfect imperfect imperfect terrible imperfect imperfect imperfect imperfect.

    Don't you dare leave. Don't you dare make an ass of yourself you stupid stupid—

    “Excuse me one moment, Ms. Mizutani.”

    -

    No matter how hard he stabbed his finger down his throat, no matter how deep he stabbed, no matter how hard he tried, Wallace couldn’t bring up more than a thin string of mucus and bile.

    He had to be perfect he had to be perfect HE HAD TO BE PERFECT OR HE WOULD DIE.

    He stumbled back to his feet and collapsed against the wall. He felt worse. His stomach was sore from unproductive gagging. His throat ached from relentless attacks. He felt like he was dying. Was he really going to die such an undignified death?

    He couldn’t die if he died he wouldn’t be able to save Sootopolis he would be imperfect imperfect IMPERFECT IMPERFECT.

    Eyes. Eyes staring at him. Shadows of figures. Pointing. Laughing. What a freak, couldn’t even purge anymore. Stupid fool who could see but not process what he could see. Stupid slut. Stupid freak. STUPID STUPID STUPID.

    Someone was banging on the door to the bathroom.

    “Wallace!” Megalos shouted. “Don’t tell me you’re sick!”

    “Don’t worry, I’m—”

    As soon as Wallace’s hand opened the door, Megalos grabbed Wallace and dragged him by the necktie.

    "I don't know why I chose you to be Sootopolis City's guardian and Gym Leader! Why can't you be like Juan? Why can't you be like your father? Why can't you be normal?"

    With one last tug, Megalos threw Wallace into a small dining room and against a table.

    Panting, Wallace shakily stood back up and looked over at Megalos. No one else was there.

    Red room styled after Kalosian châteaux. Red rugs. Red drapes. Red furniture. Red. The colour of love. The colour of wine. The colour of blood. The colour of anger. The colour of a lot of things, like the things swirling through Wallace’s head. None of them were red things, though, only black and white and grey: exhaustion, fear, despair…

    Lisia.

    Lisia’s drawing.

    Sorry wouldn’t save Wallace, but maybe…

    "I wanted to give you something my niece made for you." With a smile, Wallace stood up and took Lisia's drawing out of his pocket. He held it out to Megalos, hoping he would take it, see it, admire it, smile at it, smile at Wallace.

    Megalos didn’t even give it a second glance. He walked towards the door, saying "I'll go find Ren. You two can continue your conversation from earlier."

    -

    Alcohol. More alcohol. Wallace was one year under the drinking age. Maybe. He couldn't remember anymore.

    Nothing was stopping him from drinking. Hell, if he wanted to, he could drink a whole bottle of the wine Megalos had brought in. No one was in the room Megalos had brought Wallace to. The doors were closed. No one else was there. Maybe Wallace would stop panicking inside. Maybe someone would slip something in his drink so he could be completely numbed or maybe even—

    Someone wrapped an arm around his back. A woman. Clearly drunk.

    Ren.

    “Hey babe.”

    Wallace couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move his smile. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want a woman over twice his age flirting with him. He didn't want to be touched so suggestively, not now, not with this woman. He wanted to be left alone.

    He needed to let her touch him. He needed to let her touch him. His body wanted to run, but he couldn’t run. He couldn’t be a coward. He couldn’t be imperfect.

    Ren creeped her arm lower, wrapping her leg and other arm around him. "Look at the lucky lady who gets to play with a sexy little boy, and no less than Sootopolis City's special boy. Maybe we could go to my hotel room to... get to know each other a bit better before the big day. Or we could do it here."

    I don't want either. I don't want either.

    Megalos entered the room. Wallace stared up at him, desperate for someone, anyone to save him.

    "Come on, Wallace. I thought you were an entertainer. Aren't you going to entertain our guest? Aren’t you going to entertain your fiancée?”

    No. No. No.

    Megalos turned his back, left the room, and shut the door behind him.

    No no no no no NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO.

    Wallace was choking. His tie and collar felt too tight. He wanted to scream. He wanted to scream or cry or even just say something. But he couldn’t. He had no control over his body anymore. Wallace couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t stop smiling. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t stop smiling. Couldn’t move couldn’t speak DON’T STOP SMILING. He felt like a doll cursed with sentience and stillness, a doll Megalos had thrown away when he had gotten bored, a doll that anyone was free to play with however they wanted. DON’T STOP SMILING BE A GOOD DOLL. GOOD DOLLS HAVE PERFECT PAINTED SMILES AND DO AS THEIR OWNERS WANT. He wanted control again. He needed control again.

    Maybe he deserved this. Maybe he deserved this for dressing the way he dressed, being pansexual and polyamorous, being a dirty slut. Maybe he deserved this for not being a good Gym Leader, for not being a good protector of Sootopolis City, for not being a good Lorekeeper, for not being perfect.

    Maybe this was all Wallace was worth to the world. Maybe he was just a toy. Maybe he was just a puppet to be pulled around at other peoples’ needs or pleasure. Maybe he was just meant to be used. Maybe he had no real worth as a person. Maybe all of his worth came from others using him. Maybe he—

    “GET OFF OF HIM!”

    That shout was all that echoed in Wallace’s mind for a second. Or minute. Or hour. He didn’t remember. Then Juan was standing over him. A Kingdra guarded them—Ruisseau. That name came up in Wallace’s mind. Ren screaming as she was taken away. Juan yelling at Megalos. Megalos yelling at Juan. Yelling. Too much. Too much. Too much.

    Somehow, Wallace got the freedom and energy to run.

    "Wallace, wait!"

    -

    Wallace was in Juan’s bathroom. Too bright. Too big. Too elaborate. Too much. Too much. Too much. The freak in the mirror was just a stranger to him now. Nothing was real. No past. No future. No present. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

    His smile was gone. His stillness was gone. He was shaking. Choking on air. Dying from his own thoughts. Only one thing assured him that he was still conscious and alive and sane: he was trying to open a bottle with hands that could barely hold it.

    He needed to open it. He needed to open it. He needed to—

    “WALLACE!”

    Juan grabbed Wallace’s wrists. The bottle fell to the floor and shattered. The label was still intact: ‘ipecac syrup’.

    Silence. Deathly silence. Wallace looked down at the bottle. He couldn’t look at Juan. Wallace hadn’t stopped shaking.

    “I wasn’t trying to kill myself.” Even his voice was shaking. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I want to kill myself, but I don’t want to kill myself, and I wasn’t, wasn’t trying to kill myself.”

    “What were you doing with ipecac syrup?” Juan paused. “You’re not making yourself sick to control your weight, are you?”

    “It’s not about weight. It’s not about weight. It’s not about weight. I hate how I can’t swim or take off my clothes without seeing my ribs sticking out from under my skin. I hate how I can’t eat around other people without feeling like I’m going to die. I hate having to taste vomit everyday. I hate having to go to the dentist every week. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.”

    Juan let go of Wallace’s wrists. Wallace almost fell over, but Juan grabbed him into a hug.
     
    Last edited:
    Kuzurete yuku maeni
  • Delirium, aftermath of sexual assault, blood, internalized queerphobia, self-directed transphobic and homophobic slurs, and Wallace spilling all of his drug abuse, disordered eating, suicidal ideation, and mental health issues, along with his stomach contents

    He was in bed. Juan’s bed. Maybe. He was starting to forget things.

    He thought he could feel Juan loosening the grip the tie and collar had around his neck. He still couldn’t breathe. He thought he could hear Juan and Megalos arguing outside of the room. It was all echoey noise. He thought he could see Victoria. Joan also seemed to be there. She was… comforting Victoria? He thought he could hear a door open and close. Echoey noise. He thought he saw someone sit next to him.

    “Wallace, can you sit up?”

    Juan.

    Wallace took a few seconds to muster the strength to shake his head. Juan lifted Wallace’s head up and propped him up against a pillow. There was a bowl of… soup, probably soup on the nightstand.

    Wallace was too ashamed to look at Juan.

    “Wallace, how are you doing?”

    Wallace didn’t, couldn’t respond. If he did, he would start crying, and Sootopolitans didn’t cry. Wallace had been imperfect out there, and now Megalos, Juan, everyone was disappointed in him.

    After a moment of silence, Juan asked, “Do you need me to get anything else for you?”

    “I’m sorry for not letting her—”

    “Wallace, Wallace, Wallace, you didn’t do anything wrong. Do you understand? You didn’t do anything wrong.” Softness. Unwarranted softness. Wallace didn’t deserve it for making a fool of Sootopolis.

    “But I never said no. I never said no. I never said—”

    “Did you say yes?”

    What was that supposed to mean? Why did that matter? “I couldn’t say anything.”

    “Wallace, if you did not give your consent, then it’s not your fault. It’s Ren’s fault. Do you understand that?”

    Wallace didn’t understand. He wished he wasn’t too stupid to understand.

    “We’ll get through this,” Juan said after a long silence. “We’ll figure this out, and I’ll help you—”

    “Stop.”

    “But Wa—”

    “I wasn’t a perfect host!” Wallace shouted, raspy claws cutting into his throat. “I wasn’t a perfect Gym Leader! I wasn’t a perfect protector! I wasn't a perfect anything… ever. I’ve never been perfect. I’m a tranny faggot freak. I don’t deserve to replace you in the Gym. I mutilate myself and do a fuckton of drugs like some Spinda’d freak and starve myself like some attention whore and—”

    His breathing hitched as he sat upright. “I’m a slut. I’m a homo. I’m a freak. I’m a freak. I’m a freak. I don’t deserve to protect Sootopolis City. I don’t deserve to be alive.”

    Silence save his breath. Silence that let Wallace—in his half conscious, feverishly delirious state—realize what he had just done. His throat was burning. His eyes were stinging. His heart was either beating too fast or not beating at all.

    “Juan, I’m not… I didn’t…”

    “Wallace, Steven and Winona called me and Nicole about your drinking and potential self injuring behaviour, but… how… how long have you been drinking and starving yourself?”

    Wallace didn’t want to look at Juan. He already knew that his mentor was ashamed. He knew he was disgusted. He knew he was… crying? Crying from shame? Why were there tears falling onto the bed? Were those Wallace’s tears, or Juan’s? Juan couldn’t cry. Sootopolitans didn’t cry.

    “Starving started sixteen,” Wallace finally responded. “Purging eighteen. First binge drink maybe three months later. LSD and marijuana one week after that. Started cutting and hitting somewhere sometime. Don’t remember when Megalos started prescribing the drugs.”

    “Prescribing drugs?” Juan gasped, barely a whisper.

    “I need to be perfect. I need to be perfect. I need to be…”

    Hands on his sleeve. Unbuttoning the cuff. Making the tight shackle a bit looser. Juan staring at bruises and cuts. Juan staring at the cuts on Wallace’s knuckles. Juan staring at Wallace’s neck. The bruises on Wallace’s neck.

    No. No. No no no no no no no no NO NO NO NO NO—

    He felt Juan hug him, and fear took over. Fear—No. Juan would never hurt Wallace. Juan would never hurt Wallace. His touch was safe. His touch was safe. His touch was safe.

    “Wallace, I care about you. There are so many people who care about you. To see you like this, to see you suffering so much… I’ll never fully understand your pain. I’ll never feel the true weight and toll of it, but I will do everything in my power to try to bring you some relief from it. I’ll do everything in my power to help you out of this darkness. And you're not a failure. You're not a failure. You're not a failure.”

    Juan let go of Wallace and smiled.

    "I'm sorry for breaking the bottle."

    Juan’s expression softened. "In times before you were born, ipecac syrup was used to make people vomit after swallowing poison, but then people realized that self induced vomiting is far less effective than other methods of poison treatment, and that, in fact, it does more harm than good. I should have gotten rid of that bottle years ago.”

    “But I took your medicine…”

    Juan took the bowl of soup. “That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that you need to eat. Nicole said you didn’t even eat breakfast today.”

    The thought of food made Wallace’s stomach turn. “But I—”

    “I know you aren’t feeling your best, but I promise that eating something will make you feel better.”

    After some hesitation, Wallace accepted a spoonful of the soup. His throat immediately regretted it, and soon after his stomach did too.

    “No more,” Wallace mumbled as Juan tried to coax another spoonful in his mouth.

    Juan’s smile fell. “Wallace, I think we need to take you to the doctor. I’ll call your sister and—“

    “Juan. Please. Don't.”

    “Wallace, your sister loves you, and she’ll help you through this. We all will.”

    “I don’t need help. I need to go back to the party.”

    “You’re in no condition to be—”

    “I’ll die if I can’t be perfect!”

    It was all too much. Too much. Too much. Wallace hid his face in his hand. He couldn’t cry. Sootopolitans didn’t cry. Sootopolitans didn’t cry. Sootopolitans didn’t cry. Wallace didn’t cry.

    He sobbed.

    His sobs were quiet. Shaky breaths. Hot tears falling on his lap. Heart heavy and hot with shame. But it felt good to finally, finally cry. He felt so much lighter, so much freer.

    He buried his face in Juan’s coat, and Juan wrapped his arms around him—tightly, in a comforting way. Wallace felt safe. Care for. Loved.

    His sobs became coughs. Choking, it seemed.

    Wallace pushed Juan away and vomited. He tried to cover his mouth, but that only coated his hand in wine, undigested broth, bile, and…

    …blood.
     
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    spiraling down thy majesty I beg of thee have mercy on me I was just a boy you see I plead of thee have sympathy for me
  • Delirium, hospitals, needles, IVs, dissociation, depersonalization, suicidal ideation, mentions of drug abuse and eating disorders, vomiting

    Silence. Silence save his racing heart. Silence save the expanse of the ocean.

    Juan came back. Other people too. Blurry in the thick water.

    Questions. Questions he couldn’t answer. Maybe he did. He couldn’t understand his own response. He was taken from the bed and put in another one. It moved.

    Gold light. Coral pink. Gold. Light yellow.

    Black. Darkness. The depths of the ocean.

    Red. Red. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Red blue red blue red blue red blue rebureburebureburebureburebubububububu. Talking. Shouting. Questions. Faces.

    White.

    People surrounding him.

    Stinging on his arm.

    Screaming.

    Sitting up. Bitter, slimy liquid burning his throat. Blood. Someone holding a bag under his mouth. More liquid. More blood. Someone putting something on his mouth.

    Eyes. Hands. Fingers. Watching. Pointing.

    Fading.

    Drowning.

    Dying.

    White.

    Blinding white light.

    Beep. Beep. Beep.

    The white light turned into white squares. There was a humming or buzzing sound. There were also those beeps. Those persistent beeps.

    Beep. Beep. Beep.

    Nicole was sitting in a chair next to his bedside. She hugged Wallace. He could hear her softly sobbing.

    "Mikouri... Chília syngnómi..."

    Wallace didn't speak. He didn't hug his sister back. He just stared into nothing. A heaviness overtook him. He didn’t want to be touched. But Nicole was safe. Nicole was safe.

    He saw a nurse standing near the door.

    "Nicole," she said. She made a beckoning gesture with her hand. Wallace was left alone as the two woman talked about something:

    "Traumatic... temporary aphasia... a while to..."

    Wallace sat up. He needed water. He tried to stand up. But then he saw the IVs on his arm.

    Blinding white light.

    Beep. Beep. Beep.

    There was no one in the room when Wallace woke up again.

    He tried standing up again. He was careful not to look at his arm. He grabbed the IV drip stand and shifted his weight from the bed to his feet.

    He almost fell over when he did.

    He leaned on the bed for support and slowly began walking. He stopped using the bed as a crutch when he opened the door.

    The wall became his companion. He aimlessly walked down the hall. He found the restroom.

    He needed water.

    There was a yucky smell. Mildew. The lights were bright. His throat tasted like death. He grabbed the edge of one of the sinks. He was breathing heavily. He tried to reach a hand to turn on the sink. His eyes caught a glimpse of the mirror above it.

    A turquoise-haired shell of a person. Sunken, bloodshot eyes. Pasty, bruised skin stretched over nothing but bones.

    What is that thing?

    Blinding white light.

    Beep. Beep. Beep.

    Wallace was starting to think he was trapped in purgatory, maybe even hell. At least he woke up feeling less like… he was dead. Maybe he wasn’t dead.

    Damn it.

    The nurse was there with a Gardevoir, and Wallace seemed to be sitting against the bed, not laying down.

    “Wallace, I understand the need to be independent, but if you need to use the bathroom, you have to tell me. I don’t want you hurting yourself.” She handed Wallace a notepad and pen. “If you can’t speak yet, you can use this.”

    Wallace stared at the blue lines printed onto the yellow paper. After some hesitation, he began writing:

    I want to see Juan.

    -

    Juan came into the room a few minutes later. After a short, quiet exchange with the nurse, he walked over to the bed and sat in the chair next to it.

    His eyes were red and wet, but he smiled after a few seconds.

    “How are you doing, my friend?”

    Wallace stared at Juan. For almost a minute, the only sound in the room was the buzzing and the beeping. Wallace wanted to strangle the stupid beeping machine. Wallace wanted to strangle himself. Why was he here? Why had Steven and Winona snitched? Why hadn’t he said no to Ren? Why hadn’t he just listened to Megalos?

    "Wallace—“

    “Why didn’t you let me die?”

    Juan froze at Wallace's whispered question. He shook his head, tears returning to his eyes.

    “Wallace… why would you say—”

    “Why did you have to save me?!” Wallace’s voice was raspy, and it hurt to speak, but that didn’t stop him from shouting and sitting up. “You could have let me be put out of my misery! You could have let someone replace me, someone who’s actually fit to be guardian and Lorekeeper and Gym Leader and whatever else I need to be!”

    “Wallace—”

    "I DON'T DESERVE THE RIGHT TO LIVE ANYMORE! I LOST THAT RIGHT A LONG TIME AGO! I DON'T HAVE ANY WORTH OR VALUE THAT GIVES ME THE RIGHT TO... to... to..."

    Wallace’s face fell into his hands as he started sobbing. Juan reached his arms out to hug him, but Wallace weakly tried to push him away.

    “Wallace, every human and Pokémon is born with equal, intrinsic value. No one and nothing can take that value away. No matter what. Do you understand that?"

    "No..."

    "Wallace, when you were born, did the doctors tell your parents 'you have created a child with no worth'?"

    "...No..."

    "Do you think that worth has faded as you've grown older?"

    "Yes."

    "What makes you think that?"

    "I'm not a strong enough trainer," Wallace gasped in between sobs. "I'm a failure to Megalos and Sootopolis City, I'm a drug user, I'm an alcoholic, a purger, an anorexic—"

    "But you're also a wonderful partner, if Steven and Winona's word is to go by. And I believe it is. And do you really think you have no worth to your sister, your brother in law, your niece, your Pokémon, or me?"

    Wallace looked up at Juan. "I mean something to you?"

    Juan chuckled a little. "Of course you do, Wallace. Why would you ever think otherwise?"

    "I'm not a good Gym Leader... and I'm not good enough for Megalos."

    "Am I Megalos?"

    "Well... no."

    Juan smiled. "That's my so—boy. That’s my boy.”
     
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    Hello. How are you, my heavy-hearted friend?
  • Overstimulation, panic attacks, arguments, past death by suicide, bigotry, dysfunctional family, suicidal ideation, overstimulation, discussions of sexual assault, discussions of emotional and physical abuse, discussions of eating disorders and drug abuse

    "Steven, Juan just called. Wallace is in the hospital. Something... Something happened."

    "Has Wallace ever done drugs?"

    "Has Wallace ever shown depressive or anxious symptoms?"


    "Has Wallace ever expressed thoughts of suicide?"

    “Sir?”

    Steven jumped. The receptionist was staring at him, so he forced the memories to the back of his head and offered her an apologetic smile.

    “I’m here to see Wallace Papadakis.”

    Steven stood even straighter as he stared at the receptionist, adjusting the box in his arms.

    The receptionist nodded at Steven’s request. She then reached for the telephone, her brown, curly ponytail bouncing with every movement. It was satisfying, almost soothing, to watch them. Steven didn't want to look like a creep for staring at someone, but he needed something to calm him down, and stimming wasn't an option unless he wanted to draw confused glances towards him. He was already risking it by being a Champion visiting someone in a hospital. He didn't need anyone knowing that the Champion had problems.

    The last 48 hours had been a nightmare of shock and fear and anger and panic. You could have lost him. His Pokémon and father couldn't even touch him, because everything was so overstimulating. You could have lost him. You could have lost him. You could have lost him. Too many thoughts and fears were running through his head. You could have lost him. You could have lost him. YOU COULD HAVE LOST HIM LIKE YOU LOST HER.

    Things were getting better, at least a little bit. Wallace was stable enough to have visitors. He was getting better. He was getting help.

    But there were still so many uncertainties, so many things that were getting worse. The sexual assault was all over the regional and even national news. There was harassment coming from all corners of Sootopolis and Cerulean City for “trying to tarnish Ren’s reputation”. Wallace had kept so many secrets for so long. Steven had… almost been too late in intervening.

    The bright fluorescent lights above were making the clicking of heels on linoleum, the squeaking of wheels rolling, the opening and closing of doors—

    “Your name?” the receptionist asked.

    “Ah!” Steven blinked a few times to ground himself back in reality. “Uh… Steven Stone.”

    The receptionist nodded and turned back to the phone. “It’s Steven Stone…Mm-hm. I’ll tell him.” She put down the phone and looked up at Steven, smiling. “You can visit him." She handed him a clipboard. "Just fill out these forms and I'll fill out your ID tag.”

    -

    The hospital room was just a bit dimmer than the halls outside. Good.

    Wallace must have been wearing makeup or something for the past few years, because when Steven entered his room, he looked… Well, from the way Wallace was slouching as he sat on the edge of the sagging bed, and from the way he stared at Steven with sunken, glassy eyes, he looked like he needed first a good meal, second a hug, and third a long nap. Maybe a shower in between; his hair was a mess, and he stank of alcohol and blood.

    “Hey, Wallace.” Steven placed his box on a table against the wall. God, was this even Wallace? Was this skeletal figure the same as that beautiful, intelligent man Steven had fallen in love with?

    …Fuck, that was mean. And Wallace was still staring at Steven. Still frowning.

    “Um… Do you want a hug?” Steven asked. Perhaps that was too… sudden for him to ask, but what else was Steven supposed to say, “Hey love, I heard you almost got raped by the Cerulean City Gym Leader and almost died of malnutrition, sorry to hear” or some other hollow or potentially triggering shit?

    Wallace collapsed onto the bed, though he nodded. Steven walked closer to the bed. He looked at the Chansey by Wallace’s bedside, who nodded to him, and then back at Wallace.

    “Are you sure I can touch you?” Steven had always been one to need to give and receive explicit, unambiguous consent from Wallace or any of his romantic partners, but that was especially important now. This wasn’t just a matter of making sure no body language was mistaken; Wallace needed safety more than anything now.

    “I don’t know if I want to punch you or hug you,” Wallace mumbled.

    “Punch me?” Steven cocked his head.

    Wallace sat up, brows furrowed with anger as he stared at Steven. “You told my sister and Juan, didn’t you? I was in the kitchen when you called. I heard her talking to you... WHY DID YOU TELL THEM?!”

    “Wallace, Wallace, please—”

    “I HATE IT HERE!” Wallace shrieked. “I HATE IT HERE! BUT WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW! THE WHOLE WORLD KNOWS THAT I’M A FREAK! AFTER I LEAVE THIS SHIT HOLE, I HAVE TO FACE THE WORLD AND ALL OF THE PEOPLE WHO HATE ME!”

    Wallace panted heavily, squeezing his hands and swaying like he was about to keel over. “WHY DIDN’T YOU SHOOT ME OR SOMETHING?!”

    “I’m not going to shoot you!” Steven yelled with jabs of a pointed finger. “And you’re a stupid, fucking idiot for thinking I would ever shoot you!”

    “ÁI STO DIÁOLO, NA!” Wallace shot out two spread out palms stacked on each other and faced them at Steven.

    “WELL FUCK YOU TOO!”

    Steven punched the wall before falling to the ground. Pain rang through his hand and up his arm. His breathing was heavy, shaky. The anger in him began to melt away, and all that was left was… fear, and suffocating sadness.

    “I can’t let you die, Wallace. I can’t… I can’t… I can’t…”

    Wallace stood up with shaky legs that couldn’t even hold up his emaciated body. He collapsed next to Steven and wrapped his arms around him. Soon, the two were crying in each other’s arms.

    “I’m sorry…” Wallace hiccuped.

    “I can’t lose you Wallace… I can’t lose you like I lost my mom…”

    “I’m a freak, Steven.”

    “No you’re not. No you’re not.” Steven rested his head on Wallace, who was starting to curl up against him. “I’ve been there with the cutting and thoughts about ending it all. And I don’t know if you’ll believe me now, because I sure as hell didn’t believe it myself when I first heard it, but it gets—” Hollow advice. How did Steven know if things would get better? What if Ren got acquitted? What if Megalos faced nothing for what he did to Wallace?

    “Death is permanent, Wallace. Suicide is permanent. If you ever did anything to yourself—”

    "I want to go home."

    Steven swallowed back the pain in his throat. There was so much despair in Wallace’s voice.

    Steven buried his nose in Wallace’s unruly hair, smell be damned. "Shhh... I know... I know... It's going to be okay..."

    He drew little circles on Wallace’s shoulder with his thumb. This was Wallace. This was the Wallace that Steven loved, no matter how frail he looked now. And right now, Wallace needed Steven’s support more than ever.

    Steven felt something bump against him. The Chansey was holding out an egg-shaped rock. Steven smiled and took it, wincing as pain shot through his hand.

    The Chansey took his hand in hers. She closed her eyes, and her hands began to glow pink. A warm, calming energy radiated onto Steven’s hand, and when she pulled away, the scars on Steven’s knuckles had gone from red to almost white.

    “Thank you,” Steven said.

    The Chansey walked over to the wall, where Steven had punched a hole into the drywall.

    “Shit,” Steven whispered, guilt weighing down his heart. “Sorry about that. If there’s a way I can pay for repairs or—“

    (“Mr. Stone, that won’t be—“)

    Steven took out his wallet and held out ten thousand Pokédollars to the Chansey. “Please, ma’am.”

    He shoved the money in the Chansey’s hands and stood up. Some of the bills fell to the floor, but Steven didn’t care.

    He shut the door behind him and quickly walked down the hall. He was mad at everyone and everything in the whole fucking universe. He couldn’t even see where he was going. All he could see was rage. Pure, blinding rage.

    He blinked, and he was outside of the medical centre. He stared at the vast, suffocating world. He pressed his hands against his face. And he screamed.

    -

    The phone call came, and the world went silent.

    And then Winona’s mother was by her side. Mom hugged Winona. She hadn’t done that in years. Mom’s embrace was soft and gentle, like a bed of moss in the forest. Through sobs, Winona spilled everything Juan had told her. And for once, Rina listened.

    “Shh… It’s okay, Nagi-chan. It’s okay. It’s okay…”

    Winona felt safe. Winona felt safe. Winona felt safe.

    Mom cupped Winona’s face in her hands. “That’s what those kinds of people are like,” Mom whispered. “Men from those parts of Hoenn, they’re all drug addicts and whores and—”

    Winona pushed Mom away. “He’s not!”

    “Did he or did he not do drugs?” Mom retorted, all serenity gone from her voice.

    “That doesn’t make him a freak!”

    “Don't put words in my mouth,young lady! You’re lucky you didn’t get caught up in his drugs. You’re lucky he didn’t get you pregnant or take adva—”

    “Shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP!”

    The world had found sound again, too much. Too much painful noise.

    -

    Sootopolis City didn’t have the money for more than one hospital—just Tzirachi’s Mercy Medical Center—but it managed to make that one hospital as beautiful as possible. A shining example of this dedication was the courtyard: a stone path wandered across a stream, wavelike patterns were drawn in a bed of sand, and a large maple tree protected the garden from harsh sunlight.

    There were also Pokémon abound: Sunflora dancing in patches of sun, Chimecho floating by and ringing pleasant tones, Torchic playing tag, Roselia tending to beds of lavender… But what stuck out to Winona most were, of course, the Wingull in the tree.

    But none of them were calming Winona down. She was angry. Very angry.

    Wallace was asleep off at the base of the tree, resting against a Chansey and holding two Azurill in his lap. He looked... he looked peaceful in his sleep, and he certainly needed peace.

    “Cerulean City Gym Leader Faces Seventh Sex Scandal.” “Sootopolis City Mayor in Hot Water; City In Disaster.” Most infuriating, a thousand theories about what Wallace was hospitalized for—cancer, drug overdose, sex addiction, and a whole slew of other things. Winona wanted to yell at every single reporter who had the nerve to speculate on Wallace’s mental and physical state after such a traumatic event. She wanted to storm into the Cerulean City Gym and fight Ren with her own two fists for what that woman did to Wallace. She wanted to—

    "Winona? What brings you here?"

    Wallace was awake and looking up at Winona. The Azurill in his arms were also giving her curious stares.

    Winona took a deep breath and smiled. "I'm here to see you. Are you... How are you doing?"

    "Couldn't get much sleep last night. Too antsy." Wallace looked over at the Chansey next to him. "Winona, my girlfriend." He looked back up at Winona. "Sister Dymphna, my caretaker." The Azurill hopped out of his arms to run around Winona. "Antonio and Antonia."

    Sister Dymphna held out a stubby little hand. Winona held her box in one hand and shook Sister Dymphna's hand with the other. Antonio and Antonia ran off, leaving just the three of them. Wallace's short-lived smile was gone.

    "Can you..." Wallace's voice trailed off.

    "Hm?"

    "Can you, um, can you hug me?"

    Winona swallowed. "Are you sure you want me to be close to you like that?"

    "I feel safe with you, and I want to feel safe." There was looming terror in his eyes as he shook his head. "Because there's a world out there where I had to marry Ren and I never got to see you or Steven again and we couldn't get married and Ren used me every night so Megalos could—"

    "Wallace."

    Winona knelt in front of Wallace. He was staring at his bony legs. Tears started to fall down his face as his breathing hitched.

    "I'm sorry, Winona," he whispered. "I'm sorry I almost—"

    "Wallace, you didn't do anything wrong. You have nothing you need to apologize for. You didn't do anything wrong.”

    Wallace wiped away his tears. "I'm sorry for crying and—"

    Winona smiled. "You've been through... a lot of stuff. Whatever you're feeling right now is okay to feel. Whatever you're comfortable with or not comfortable with... it's okay to be comfortable with some things, not be comfortable with other things, and to take some time with other things."

    Wallace smiled back, shaking his head. "I don't deserve a woman as wonderful as you.”

    "You deserve peace."

    Wallace didn't say anything. He just leaned against Sister Dymphna and stared at the grass.

    "'You deserve peace.' 'You deserve peace.' Wonder how long it will be before Megalos comes to take away that peace." Wallace chuckled. "But hey, if it's for Sootopolis City, that's all that matters."

    “What do you mean by that?” Winona asked as she sat against the tree by Wallace's side. He didn't say anything in response, instead choosing to kiss her cheek.

    “You look really cute when you’re angry, like a pretty little bird.”

    “Pretty little birds can peck out eyes with no mercy,” Winona muttered.

    “Oh come on, Winona darling. I had it coming for not listening to Megalos. I failed Sootopolis City by not listening to him.”

    “Why do you say that?”

    "Megalos chose me to be Sootopolis City's harbinger of greatness, and look where we are now: I'm in the hospital for countless problems, and Sootopolis City is still facing an unprecedented, historical low. Not even Megalos could beat me into perfection."

    A storm of emotions struck Winona's heart. She slowly shook her head and stared at Wallace. He was... He wasn't showing any sort of fear; he was even smiling a bit.

    "'Beat you'? What do you mean 'beat you'?"

    Wallace pointed to a bruise on his neck. "Whatever helps Sootopolis City," he said in a nonchalant tone, as if physical abuse was just a normal thing for him. That only made Winona more angry. He had been used and abused.

    "Wallace"—Winona sat in front of Wallace and stared into his half-focused eyes—"you shouldn't have to go through abuse of any kind."

    Wallace looked up at Winona. "But it's not abuse. It's discipline ."

    "I don't care what the reasoning is. Abuse. Isn't. Okay."

    "It's not abuse—"

    "There is no excusing what Ren or Megalos or anyone did to you!"

    "IF FORTREE CITY WAS GOING THROUGH SOCIAL AND ECONOMIC HELL, THEN SURELY YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND!!"

    They both stared at each other, breathing heavily as the anger drained from their faces and their bodies. Sister Dymphna ran to Wallace's and held him by the arm. She chirped her little Chanseyspeak as he breathed in and out.

    Winona closed her eyes and let the soothing music of the wind, the leaves, and the birds calm her down.

    "Wallace, if the mayor of Fortree City was choking me or hitting me or making me have sex with older men, how would you react?"

    "Simple," Wallace said in a much calmer tone, "I would kill him."

    Winona was taken aback by that response. It… wasn't the answer she was expecting.

    “Okay, but you would be angry, right? Why is it any different for you?”

    “‘Cause I deserve it,” Wallace mumbled.

    Winona sighed. “But…” How was she supposed to reason with Wallace in this state? He had suffered from abuse for… so long. So, so long. Having to unlearn something so innate to him…

    Wallace smiled as he leaned against Winona. "But I don’t want to think about that. Can I have that hug?"

    Winona wrapped her arms around Wallace. The two sat in silence for a bit as she gently rocked him back and forth. The only sound was the squawking of Wingulls. Others found that sound annoying, but to Wallace and Winona, Wingulls had always been a symbol of their love. Besides, they both liked the Wingulls' calls, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

    "'Lady, shall I lie in your lap?'" Wallace whispered. Avonspeare.

    Winona couldn't keep herself from smiling. She knew these lines by heart. "'No, my lord.'"

    "'I mean, my head upon your lap?'"

    "'Ay, my lord.'"

    "'Do you think I meant country matters?'"

    Winona kissed Wallace's cheek, laughing.

    "But in all honesty," Wallace whispered, "I'm exhausted. May I sleep on you?"

    Winona took the box out of Wallace's hands and kissed him. "You may."

    Wallace dozed off in Winona’s lap as she gently combed his hair with her fingers. He was smiling in his sleep, again. Winona hadn’t seen him like this in… gosh, she couldn’t even remember—

    That night. The night she found him drunk.

    His smile had been wide and his eyes had been aglow. He had looked so happy, but it had been fake. The only real part had been the smell of alcohol.

    He had needed to lean on Winona to walk. He had rambled off the lyrics to “Yellow Submarine”, laughed at nothing, mused about love and life.

    And then his mood had crashed. He had sprawled on the bed, staring at Winona, smile gone.

    “Use me.”

    “What do you mean ‘use me’?”

    “Use me. Use me for whatever you wish and need. That’s all I’m good for. That’s all I’ve ever been good for. I can’t take him anymore. Just use me like I’m not even alive.”

    “What do you mean? Is everything okay, Wallace?”

    He hadn’t said anything else for the rest of the night. The next day, Winona had cared for him during the nasty aftermath of binge drinking. So what if they had both skipped classes? Better to ditch class than leave Wallace alone, especially after that night. He didn’t remember anything. He denied anything was wrong. He pretended he hadn’t said anything.

    Maybe Wallace was doing better now—maybe even a little happy—but Winona was livid.
     
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    I've been training like a Pavlov dog/Let my independence out to take a hike
  • I feel the need to preface this chapter by saying that I do not endorse the beliefs/actions of the POV character.

    Sexual harassment, implied sexual assault, use of queerphobic slurs, bigotry, homophobia, transphobia, sexism, character death, Fantastic Racism, arguments, implied sexual assault, implied eating disorders and drug abuse, mentions of alcohol abuse, slut shaming, themes of sexuality, politics and political themes, blood, strangulation, and a really, really squicky physically, verbally, and sexually abusive mentor/student relationship. I was making edits to this chapter to humanize Megalos, and instead I made him a total creep. I want to murder Megalos.

    In 2978, the Hoennian economy collapsed, and the mayor of Sootopolis City at the time, Mayor Myron Makris, did nothing to help his city, save for the select wealthy few. As a result, Sootopolis City fell into financial, social, and political ruin. Unemployment and homelessness reached an all time high. Crime and drug use ran rampant. The city’s reputation among the rest of Hoennese society was shattered. By the end of his first term, Makris was regarded as one of the worst politicians in Hinode’s history. He was almost unanimously voted out of office and replaced by Mayor Matthias Megalos.

    Megalos was from one of Sootopolis City's wealthiest families—Upper Sootopolis wealthy. His grandfather had been the first Sootopolitan in the Hoennese House of Representatives, while his father had served in both the navy and the regional government. "Mayor" was a good title for a man of the Megalos bloodline, but it was far less than “Honourable Representative” or “Commander”. One could argue, however, that Megalos was in a much more high-stakes position; it was one thing to represent the city, and it was a completely different thing to save it. Especially when that city represented a group of people that the larger region looked down on. Failure would result in Sootopolis City losing its semi-autonomy, at absolute best. Failure would result in the Megalos name being tarnished.

    The story of Lokásoúvia, Rounékyo deity of love, was one of the most important stories in Sootopolitan history. At its core, it was the story of a woman who sacrificed herself to save Sootopolis. It was a story that meant much to the Megalos family. This was reflected in the family crest: the shell of Lokásoúvia’s Clamperl encircled by a Gyarados, a symbol of power.

    Megalos believed in many values, all of them embodied by the goddess: the sanctity of marriage, the sacredness of the nuclear and extended family, the value of alliances. But above all else, self-sacrifice was the ultimate virtue. Megalos’s father had given his life for Sootopolis City, as had his father before him. Megalos wasn’t dying for Sootopolis City, though he gave himself up in a metaphorical sense: he quit art school so he could pursue politics—artists didn’t solve problems, but politicians did. He married for social status over selfish feelings like love. Now more than ever, Sootopolis City needed a strong leader, a leader who would do anything for the city. And Megalos would be that leader.

    “Don’t fail.”

    The first thing he did was kick out many of the unemployed and homeless people in the city; they could always find work in other cities, but in Sootopolis City they were just filling up the soup kitchens, no more useful than litter on the streets. He forced smaller businesses to close down, businesses that weren't adding anything to the city's economy, businesses that were just wasting resources. Sacrifices had to be made for Sootopolis City.

    He got approval from the Hoenn League Association to instate a Gym in the city. To be a Gym City was one of the highest honours, a guaranteed way of putting oneself on the map. But none of the other Gym Leaders liked Megalos's candidates, and they instead chose Water type trainer and Lorekeeper Dorian Papadakis as the Sootopolis City Gym Leader… for some reason.

    Dorian’s very existence was against everything Sootopolis stood for. He fell in love with a common entertainer and prostitute. They conceived their first child—a daughter—before marriage, when they were both nineteen. And then, some ten years later, it turned out he was mentally ill. He was every stereotype of the promiscuous, drunken, depraved Sootopolitan. But somehow, somehow the Hoenn League decided he was worthy of being Gym Leader, and there was nothing Megalos could do.

    “Good?! You think ‘good’ is enough?!?!”

    So perhaps Megalos didn’t have control over everything. Perhaps Megalos wasn’t a perfect mayor. He hated himself for it. This was unacceptable. He had to be a perfect mayor. He had to be a perfect mayor.

    -

    There was a child by Dorian’s side when he came to Megalos’s office: a small, frail looking girl with short, messy, turquoise hair—like her father’s messy hair—and a white dress—like her father’s white shirt. She smiled and waved at Megalos. Well, at least Dorian was raising one proper daughter. Maybe he learned something after conceiving a child outside of marriage.

    “You wanted to see me after work?” Dorian sighed. Exhaustion was palpable in his voice and eyes, though he smiled when the girl with him tugged at his blue pants. He picked her up.

    It was hard to ignore the shadow looming over Dorian’s past, but he tried to hide that shadow with blinding radiance. He won over the city with his charm and grace, he proved himself a worthy opponent on the battlefield, and he made it a point to stand up for Sootopolis City on the regional and national stage.

    But that light only intensified the shadows, from Megalos’s point of view.

    Megalos nodded. “I did.” He sat down at his desk. “What a lovely daughter you have here—”

    “Son,” Dorian corrected.

    Megalos’s smile fell. “Son?”

    Dorian looked down at the girl—boy—in his arms. She—he—was shivering. “Wallace, this is Megalos, my work friend. Megalos, this is Wallace, my son.” Dorian wrapped one end of his purple scarf around Wallace. “My little boy here has taken quite an interest in my duties as Lorekeeper. He—”

    “Son? What, is he unbreeched or something?”

    “Wallace likes wearing dresses. Besides, we can’t exactly afford to get new clothes for him, and Nicole's old hand-me-downs fit nicely.”

    “Do you really need another daughter?”

    Dorian’s smile fell. “If Wallace ends up being a man or a woman or something else, he’ll end up being that whether or not I let him wear dresses. The only difference is whether he grows up loving himself or hating himself.”

    Dorian sat in the chair in front of Megalos’s desk, and Wallace played with his scarf. She—he—looked up at Megalos as Dorian asked, “Why did you ask me to come to speak to you?”

    “I heard you lost a Gym battle today.”

    Dorian nodded. “I did. To a rather talented Ice type trainer. She said she’s from Orzeska, and she’s travelling to regions of warmer climates so she can train her Ice type Pokémon.” He smiled, as though he was recounting a happy tale.

    This wasn’t a happy tale. This was imperfection.

    “You say that as though it’s a thing to celebrate,” Megalos mumbled. “It’s only been a week since you’ve started this line of work. Do you think the League will tolerate this?”

    Dorian shook his head. “It’s a learning experience. I learned how to better counterattack Ice types. More importantly, I got to hear many wonderful stories of the woman’s travels. For example—”

    “The Hoennese government already looks down on this city! We can’t afford to lose to some stupid tales!”

    Dorian sighed. That dumb smile of his was gone. “The government’s not going to like us regardless of whether I win or lose. I don’t thing a singular loss is going to change—”

    Megalos slammed his fist on his desk. Wallace gasped and began to cry, burying her— his—face in Dorian’s scarf. Pitiful; this boy dressed and acted like a girl. If this was how Dorian raised his children, how was he supposed to be a Gym Leader?

    “I don’t want you getting smart with me!” Megalos bellowed. “As your mayor—”

    “I don’t care if you’re the mayor.”

    Dorian’s shaky voice had sharpened. One arm was wrapped around Wallace, while the other was pointing a cold finger towards Megalos.

    “Power is a drug, Megalos. Consume too much too quickly, and it gets to your head. For some, that kind of intoxication brings wrath, and it also brings a false sense of superiority. And if we want Sootopolis to be a community where our children can survive, you must not let that drunkenness come to you.”

    Dorian stood up and began walking to the door. His daughter—son—looked over Dorian's shoulder as the man said, “As a Lorekeeper of this city, I pray to the Sky Dragon that you find sobriety from your newfound power high. Good. Luck.”

    He opened the door and left, slowly shutting the door behind him. A few seconds passed. Then Megalos threw his chair into the wall.

    What was Dorian saying? Megalos wasn’t drunk on power. That was like saying it was possible to get drunk on water. And sobriety! What a hypocrite! Alcoholics had no right talking about sobriety like that!

    Megalos needed power. He needed it for himself. He needed it for Sootopolis City. He needed power to be perfect. He needed power to make Sootopolis City perfect. Anything less than perfect was imperfect. Anything less than perfect was terrible.

    Makris didn’t know how to make Sootopolis City perfect. Dorian didn’t know how to make Sootopolis City perfect. Nobody knew how to make Sootopolis City perfect. But Megalos knew. Megalos knew that everything—everything—needed to be perfect, perfect, perfect.

    -

    By all accounts from the other Hoennian Gym Leaders, Dorian and Megalos did not get along. But despite their massive differences in character and beliefs, Sootopolis flourished under the combined leadership of Dorian and Megalos.

    Dorian proved himself to be a formidable opponent on the battlefield, ranking as the second strongest Gym Leader in the Hoenn region and the tenth strongest in Hinode overall. Outside of his duties, he engaged with Upper Sootopolitans and Cardinal Plaza courtesans alike, as controversial as it was with the former. He was a Sootopolitan Gym Leader, he said, not a Gym Leader of the Sootopolitans.

    He was often criticised for actions like diminishing the historical importance of Sootopolis City’s red light district or making questionable remarks on homosexuality, but he justified his claims with Rounékyo text: same-sex relationships and extramarital sex were sin, and sin had destroyed Gourádon and Kaióga. According to Rounékyo belief, the two deities had fed on sin long ago, causing them to gain anger and bitterness for each other that had almost destroyed the world.

    Seven years later, however, the city lost its Gym Leader.

    -

    Megalos was a very good mayor. He went to the funerals of important people to pay his respects, even if he didn’t like them.

    Dorian Papadakis and Lucille Izumi were dead, alongside their Pokémon, taken from the world by Kaióga’s fury. Part of Megalos believed that this was part of the Sky Dragon’s plan. A new Gym Leader—a good Gym Leader—could replace Dorian, and Sootopolis City could thrive. It was a sign from the heavens that Megalos was right all those years ago and the League was wrong.

    Another part of him knew it was selfish to celebrate the death of two people, sinful perhaps. But Megalos didn’t like Dorian and Lucille: Dorian had been effeminate, rebellious, pompous, self-centered. Sure, as a Lorekeeper, he had been adamant on keeping Sootopolis’s culture and history and stories alive, but Megalos was sure that the ancient Sootopolitans were expressing their disappointment with him, assuming Dorian was allowed among them. He was tainted with Sin, too engrossed in art and his own issues to focus on the city. And Lucille? Lucille had been a nobody, the daughter of two poor immigrants, a harlot who had barely gotten by performing in Slateport City’s clubs or engaging in extramarital sex. And the two had done terrible things: They had engaged in intimate relations before marriage, raised their children to be crossdressing deviants who would probably grow up to be strippers and drug dealers—

    “Mr. Megalos?”

    A young woman with black hair, turquoise eyes, and olive skin stared at Megalos. Cruzita Yoshiyama, Psychic type Gym Leader of Mossdeep City and Mauville TV’s newest weather reporter. She seemed like a respectable enough middle class woman, but she had never given Megalos any reason to like her. Maybe she would change his mind one day. Unlikely, seeing as she thought drug addicts made better Gym Leaders than well-to-do trainers.

    “First of all,” Cruzita began solemnly, “I want to say that I am deeply, deeply sorry for the loss of Dorian and Lucille. Hoenn will be much less bright without their light, and I can’t even begin to imagine the pain you and their family must be going through.” Her words were certainly empty. Since when did Cruzita care for Megalos? Just as Megalos was putting up a facade of caring for Dorian and Lucille, so too was Cruzita putting up a facade of caring for Megalos.

    “Your words are very kind, Miss Yoshiyama.” If anything, Megalos thought, it will be brighter without the stain of their presence.

    Cruzita nodded. “Second of all, the HLA has been discussing what to do about replacing Dorian, and there’s a very good chance—a 90% chance—that Juan will step up and take the role of Sootopolis City Gym Leader.”

    Although Dorian and Megalos never got along when the former was alive, they did share a mutual friend: Juan. Megalos detested Juan’s love of Contests and his… outward flamboyance, but Juan was a wealthy, respectable Trainer from a prominent Paldean and Kalosian family. Juan was the lesser evil. Better to have a competent but homosexual Gym Leader than an incompetent and sexually depraved Gym Leader.

    It was an imperfect solution, though.

    By the side of the Church of the Ascent—the church where Dorian and Lucille had gotten married, the church where they had baptised their children, the church where they had been blessed so as to go on to the next world—was a small cemetery painted white. In one corner of the cemetery, a woman knelt before and stared at two headstones. A man stood over her like he was Jirachi’s Angel of Deaths by Disaster or something. Hopefully, that angel was taking Dorian and Lucille to hell.

    That woman was Nicole, wasn’t it? Dorian and Lucille’s bastard child born before they got married?

    Where was their other child?

    -

    Megalos weaved through grieving family and friends, professional mourners, and clergymen to find Wallace, sitting alone with a Seaking, crying.

    Megalos wanted to grab the boy by the collar and shake him and scream at him. How stupid was this boy? Did he have any self respect? Did he know how much Megalos had paid for old ladies to cry instead of the grieving loved ones? Public grieving was disgraceful!

    But Megalos wasn’t a bad mayor. He didn’t believe in unnecessary violence out of anger. He only used violence when necessary. When his father would beat him, it was because Megalos had done something wrong. When Megalos spanked his children, it was because they had misbehaved. He wouldn’t give into his emotions and beat the boy, especially not in a church and in front of his family. That wouldn’t look good for Sootopolis City.

    “Stop crying, boy. Sootopolitans don’t cry.”

    Sniffling, Wallace looked up and wiped away his tears with the sleeve of his black dress. A dress. Was this boy so poor and pitiful that he couldn’t even afford to stop looking like a girl?

    The whispers of the other members of the Papadakis line echoed from the other side of the church:

    “Will Nicole be able to take care of Wallace when she’s expecting a child out of wedlock?”

    “Like mother, like daughter.”

    “Ionia and I could take in the boy.”

    Megalos looked back down at Wallace. He was nine or ten, wasn’t he? Still young and impressionable… He could be moulded into whatever Sootopolis City needed: a replacement Lorekeeper, an eventual replacement Gym Leader, a political figurehead… Adults were firm in themselves, but children were malleable. Sure, Megalos could have used one of his own kids, but none of them were as young and impressionable as nine or ten year old Wallace. None of them were as vulnerable as grieving and emotionally distraught Wallace. Also, both of Megalos’s children were girls; a boy was much more preferable to be a political figure.

    Maybe there was a reason why Megalos and Wallace were meeting here and now in this church. Maybe it was the will of the heavens. Maybe they saw something in Megalos and something in Wallace. Maybe Megalos was supposed to replace Dorian as Wallace’s father. Maybe if he raised Wallace right, he wouldn’t go down the paths Dorian—

    “Matthias?”

    Juan was staring at Megalos. Wallace and the Seaking were by his side, the former clinging onto Juan’s arm. The Papadakis family looked confused, and Megalos couldn’t help but share the feeling.

    “I know you… I… Dorian and I were very close, and I know you have two children of your own while I have none. Between your parenthood and mayoral duties, perhaps I should take the boy in.”

    Megalos wanted to keep the boy all to himself, but… he had to sacrifice his wants for his public image. “I will raise him, too. He has my blessing to carry on the legacy of the Lorekeepers. And maybe… maybe he will be my protégé. But you may take him in as though he were your son.” Well, at least this left Juan with the messier parts of child-rearing, like taking care of Wallace when he got sick.

    There were gasps—scoffs from the Papadakis family.

    “Wallace?!”

    “Why not our daughter? She’s much stronger and healthier than Wallace!”

    “Why are you choosing him?!”

    “Children, children,” Ionia Papadaki, the matriarch of the family, hushed, “this is a blessing. Let us not diminish it because it isn’t perfect.” The shorter, older woman looked up at Megalos and Juan. “Please, he’s my only grandson. Raise him well. Make him someone I can be proud of.”

    Megalos nodded. “Only the best for Sootopolis City.”

    -

    Juan quickly rose to be the strongest Gym Leader in Hoenn and the fifth strongest in Hinode. Similar to Dorian, he used Water types. Similar to Dorian, he entertained the rich and poor alike.

    In contrast to Makris’s laissez-faire approach to solving the city’s issues, Megalos took a more proactive approach. While he met some criticism with many of his choices—detracting funding away from important cultural buildings in dire need of repair, halting the passing of several civil rights laws, and enacting stricter punishments for breaking curfew—his second term was marked by a return to Sootopolis City’s roots as a center of trade and commerce, a return to values of family and beauty. During the second term, votes from the working class were at an all time high for any Sootpolitan mayor, though many people were openly critical of Megalos.

    There was also the matter of the child Megalos had acquired. Some called him the child Juan could never have. Others called him Megalos’s amends for his rivalry with Dorian. In either case, he was certainly something to be proud of—Wallace was a prodigious child of the arts and of Pokémon. With the exception of one minor incident with a Gyarados, he had a gift when it came to communicating with Water type Pokémon.

    -

    The garden of the Aguado estate was a masterpiece of architecture. Even Megalos had to admit it wasn’t a complete waste; it was a symbol of the family line’s wealth, a lavish display of what they could afford to flaunt.

    Wisteria climbed up the white walls, their blossoms wavering in the wind like a waterfall. White tiles with patterns of earthly brown and ultramarine decorated the ground. The interior of the white fountain—which had four stone Feebas on the Cardinal points facing the Milotic in the center—was lined with similar brown and blue tiles. The courtyard alone must have cost a fortune, and that wasn’t even considering that both sides of Juan’s family still had fortunes to spare in their wills.

    A girl with sepia brown skin and navy and cyan hair ran across the courtyard. She wore an orange jacket over a fancy blue dress. Running after her a long distance away was a boy with pale, freckled skin and pink hair. He was wearing dirty overalls over a clean, white button up shirt. Their laughter filled the air.

    “Slow down, Nessa!” the boy called.

    “You’ll never catch me, Milo!” the girl laughed. “I’m the best adventurer, even better than Torneko!”

    “Yeah, but I’m the best fighter! I’ll beat you in a Pokémon—“

    Nessa skidded to a stop. Milo realized this too late, and he ended up crashing into her. They both fell to the ground.

    “Hey!” Nessa huffed, “we have a fancy party to go to! We can’t get our clothes dirty!”

    Milo sat up. He smiled, showing off the gaps where he had lost his two front teeth. “Well, I already did.” His clothes were always covered in dirt or grass stains.

    Nessa laughed.

    “What did you stop for?” Milo asked.

    Nessa pointed at a column. Wallace, dressed in a white sailor suit and beret, stared back, mouth agape and eyes wide. It was hard to tell if he was scared, surprised, or something else.

    Milo was the first to walk up to the boy. He held out his hand.

    “Hi there! My name is Milo. What’s yours?”

    The boy stared at Milo, then he stared at Milo’s hand, then he looked back at his book, never once saying a word.

    “Do you want to play with us?” Nessa asked.

    The boy shook his head. Nessa and Milo looked at each other.

    “Are you sure?” Nessa asked as she looked back at the boy. “We’re playing Mystery Dungeon. Milo and I are Milotic searching for treasure in the sea!”

    At the mention of Milotic, the boy’s eyes lit up, but he eventually looked back down at his book.

    Some distance away, Juan and Megalos were watching the three children from a table nearby.

    “I don’t see why you’re entertaining commonfolk,” Megalos mumbled as he took a sip of his tea. “What are they, fishermen? Farmers?”

    “Kabu is a… friend of mine,” Juan explained. “We go far back. He moved to Galar a while back, but he still has family in Hoenn. And he has found other family in Galar; Nessa and Milo are to him what Wallace is to me.”

    “His students?”

    “His children.”

    Megalos raised an eyebrow, but he chose not to say anything. It was clear Juan had some grief over being infertile, and pressing further on the issue would be stupid.

    “He’s a very kind man,” Juan sighed. “A wonderful, wonderful mentor and friend and—”

    “There are plenty of rich families in Galar that Wallace could be mingling with,” Megalos interjected. “The Rose estate, the Starostas, the Vinogradov family—“

    Juan shook his head. “Rich kids don’t have a good history of treating Wallace well. Can we not appreciate him finding friends, regardless of their social status?”

    Megalos put his cup down on the table. He stared at Juan, calm but stern.

    “Juan.” His voice was low, grim, demanding. “Do you know what is at stake here? Sootopolis City’s economy is deep in the gutter. Homelessness and unemployment are getting worse and worse. The Hoennese government is giving us nothing, and so we must give up everything we have and are. We can’t afford to focus on the needs of the individual.”

    Juan’s brows furrowed. “If you do not know who you are, if you are nothing, then you will have nothing to give.”

    “Juan, that makes no sense. Selfishness is Greed, and Greed birthed Sin.”

    “It’s not selfish to spend time focusing on oneself. It;s only selfish when you become lost in yourself. I want Wallace to explore himself, his expression, his interests…”

    Megalos squinted so he could see what book Wallace was reading.

    “‘Sootopolitan Sculpture’?!”

    “The gods blessed us with colours to see and paint,” Juan mused, clearly not sensing Megalos’s anger, “love to lend to others and ourselves, flora—“

    “Wallace needs to be preparing for the future of Sootopolis City,” Megalos growled. “What is sculpture going to do to save Sootopolis?”

    Juan finally took a hint, noticing Megalos again with disdain. “He is preparing for his future. I’m teaching him about Pokémon. I’m teaching him about the city’s history and culture. I’m giving him freedom.” Juan smiled once more. “Rekkoúza gave us the freedom to choose—”

    “Rekkoúza needs us to choose good! He needs us to make the right decisions!”

    Juan’s anger was rising by now, and he stared at Megalos with bitter eyes. “They gave us a choice between good and evil, yes, but they also gave us the freedom to choose our own path in life—”

    “BULLSHIT!”

    The whole courtyard went silent. The children were staring at Megalos, eye wide. Megalos breathed in deeply and looked at Wallace, who was covering his ears and trembling.

    “Wallace, come with me. Now. I will teach you what Juan refuses to teach you.”

    Juan stood up. “Matthias—“

    “If you don’t sit down, I am forbidding these children from ever seeing Wallace again.”

    Juan slowly, slowly obliged. Wallace wordlessly stood up and began to walk to Megalos. Wallace took his hand, and Megalos led him out of the courtyard. Such an obedient boy. Such a waste being tutored by people who didn’t understand him.

    “You don’t need that book, Wallace,” Megalos said calmly. “You need to learn about politics, not art. You want to keep Sootopolis safe, don’t you?”

    Wallace looked up at Megalos, eyes trembling with tears. “Don’t yell, Mr. Megalos. I don’t like yelling.”

    Megalos put his hand on Wallace’s head. “Adults yell all the time, Wallace. You want to grow up to be an adult, don’t you? Then you need to get used to yelling. Listen to adults when they yell at you. Listen to your elders. And stop crying. Sootopolitans don’t cry.”

    Megalos caught a glance of Wallace looking back towards Nessa and Milo.

    “You don’t need friends like that,” Megalos sighed. “No need to be so sad. They probably don’t even understand you like I do.”

    -

    Despite his increasingly aggressive political decisions, Megalos was known to be a very calm politician… for the most part. After drunken anger boiled into a fight with Mauville City Gym Leader Wattson, Megalos swore off of violence. Rumours still emerged of coworkers comparing him to a ticking time bomb, ready to explode if anything went wrong.

    But the tabloids quickly latched onto Wallace as he entered puberty. As he grew older, they speculated on his relationships, his sex life, whatever striked their fancy.

    Eventually, news came that Wallace was eighteen years old, the legal age of marriage and consent in Hinode.

    -

    Megalos was a very good mayor. He knew how to get elected and re-elected. He knew which people to talk to to gain respect, what money to spend to support Sootopolis, what districts to draw out to win the most votes, what obstacles to crush to maintain his facade, what enemies to destroy to clear his path to victory. He wasn’t doing anything bad; he was just doing what was right for Sootopolis City, and he was securing his right to and his need for power and control.

    He was playing a game of chess. Every piece had to be moved to the right spot and sit perfectly in its square. Pieces of all sorts had to be sacrificed here and there, opponents had to be destroyed, but that was all a part of the game, the game to save Sootopolis City.

    “Wallace, I’d like you to meet Melissa Zaizen. Melissa, Wallace Papadakis.”

    Melissa was a beautiful woman—clear, beige skin without a single imperfection; long, straight, walnut brown hair; eyes a beautiful shade of violet; a long, modest, light blue dress and a matching, modest sun hat; makeup that was simple, pretty, and modest.

    Wallace was eighteen. He was old enough to get married. He was old enough to copulate. With that and his status in the city, it was imperative for Megalos to find him a wife, a wife to support him financially and politically, a wife to produce children for him, a wife to make Sootopolis City well respected in the Hoenn region. Sure, Megalos had set Wallace up with women before, but Juan always protested that the women were “too old” and Wallace was “too young”. Didn’t Juan know that Wallace could be set up with a woman and then marry her once he turned eighteen?

    But those protestings wouldn’t stop Megalos anymore, because now Wallace was of legal age. Juan couldn’t protest anymore.

    Marriage was touted as a vow of love, but that was just sugarcoating nonsense. Marriage had always been a tool of negotiation, a means to an end. The love nonsense was just a way of prettying it up for unruly young adults like Wallace. Megalos didn’t love his wife. His father hadn’t loved his mother. Marriage was a sacrifice of wants for needs.

    That was where Dorian and Juan failed; Dorian had run off with a poor nobody instead of marrying the upper class lady he was meant to, and now the Papadakis family was in disarray, with Wallce as their only hope at salvation. Juan had given into his homosexual desires instead of suppressing them, and now he was trying to raise another traitor to Sootopolis.

    But Wallace, Wallace was different. Wallace listened to Megalos. Wallace loved Sootopolis City. Wallace was obedient, devoted to duty. If Wallace had been born a woman, he would have made a good wife, and maybe Megalos would have actually loved a woman for once. If Wallace had been born a woman, then the question of marriage wouldn’t even need to be asked; he would just marry Megalos.

    But Wallace was a man despite his pretending, and his femininity, his weakness, his emotions, what would have been strengths as a wife were weaknesses in a future husband.

    But his submissiveness was certainly an asset, wife or Megalos’s figurehead. Wallace knew his place. He knew what needed to be sacrificed. He knew to listen to Megalos.

    Wallace waved to Melissa, though the confidence usually present in his eyes was gone. Then again, the confidence and glow in his eyes was slowly fading with each passing day. He was wearing a respectable suit, at least. Nothing foppish or feminine, thank goodness. It was loose, though, and it was enough to tell Megalos that the body underneath was skinny, feminine, weak. Wallace would have made a good woman. He should have been a woman. Then Megalos wouldn’t be distracted by… obsessive thoughts about Wallace. Then Wallace would be perfect.

    Nevertheless, Megalos smiled, clasping his hands together. He had to make due with what he had, and he had to make the Wallace he had perfect.

    “Well, with those introductions out of the way, why don’t you two come down with me to the dining hall?”

    -

    Megalos had made sure that the chefs prepared their finest dishes and arranged them perfectly on the dining room table. Wallace, who was sitting in between Megalos and Melissa at the table, picked at a plate of unseasoned rice with his fork.

    “Wallace,” Megalos hissed into his ear, “eat something.”

    “I’m not hungry,” Wallace whispered back. Ungrateful little brat. If he was Megalos’s kid or wife, that would be enough to warrant a spanking. If this was supposed to be the golden child chosen by the heavens, why didn’t he act like it? Why was Wallace so selfish?

    “What are you two talking about?” Melissa asked, drawing out her words a bit. She put a hand on Wallace’s leg, but he quickly pulled away from her.

    “Let her touch you, Wallace,” Megalos ordered. “Don’t you think Melissa is a pretty woman?” Why was Wallace never attracted to any of the women Megalos set him up with? And even if he wasn’t into them, why didn’t he at least pretend he was? Megalos pretended he loved his wife just fine, so why couldn’t Wallace? Did he not know what was at stake?!

    Wallace smiled. “I-I think she’s a very pretty woman…” He took Melissa’s hand and pushed it away. “Well, Melissa, do you have any favorite artists?”

    Megalos jabbed his elbow into Wallace’s bony side. He must have hit hard, because Wallace winced and held his side.

    “That’s your idea of a conversation topic?” Megalos snarled. Wasn't Wallace the son of Dorian, supposedly acclaimed rhetor? Wasn't he good with words? Why was he stuttering? Why was he talking about art?

    “I don’t,” Melissa replied to Wallace. “Do you?”

    Wallace closed his eyes, a soft smile forming on his lips as he leaned back against his chair. “Well, there’s—“

    “Great. Wonderful. Save me the lecture.”

    Wallace opened his eyes to glance at Melissa. “My apologies. I’m just excited to further study art once I start college.”

    Melissa cocked her head. “You’re studying art? I remember studying medicine.”

    Wallace gave Melissa a longer, more intense stare. “How… How old are you?”

    “Twenty eight.”

    Silence. Wallace looked at Megalos, then back at Melissa, then back at Megalos. Not once did his expression change. Finally, he spoke again:

    “Melissa, I’m sure you’re a fine lady, but I… I don’t think we’re compatible as a couple.”

    Melissa’s eyes quivered with tears, then—crying—she ran off. Megalos was fuming.

    “What was the meaning of that, Wallace?!”

    Wallace didn’t respond. Instead he stood up and ran off like the coward he was.

    “WALLACE!”

    -

    Megalos thought he could hear Wallace throwing up in the bathroom. This was unacceptable. Illness was unacceptable. Noncompliance was unacceptable. Imperfection was unacceptable. Wallace had done nothing but unacceptable things the whole damn night. First his parents, and now Juan was raising him to be a spoiled brat? Juan was going to need a strong talking to, or Megalos would have to take Wallace into his own hands.

    “Wallace! Get out here and speak to me, young man!”

    A whole minute passed before Wallace opened the door. He was shivering. His tie was undone, and his face and hair were dishevelled.

    “Your behaviour towards Melissa was unacceptable, young man!”

    “I’m sorry, Sir,” Wallace half said, half mumbled. He looked exhausted, though the way his brows were lowered suggested he was annoyed with Megalos. He had the nerve to be annoyed after making a fool of himself and Sootopolis City?

    “Melissa is a perfect potential wife!” Megalos continued. “She’s rich, she’s influential in Mauville City, she’s well respected—”

    “She’s ten years older than me,” Wallace snapped back. “I am not marrying someone ten years older than me, much less someone ten years older than me who I just met. I’ll find myself the right—”

    Something suddenly possessed Megalos. No, something had been boiling in Megalos for years: fear over the state of Sootopolis, confusion over the changes surrounding him, anger over his lack of power and control in the world. And now, on top of all that, Wallace had the nerve to choose himself over Sootopolis, after everything his ancestors had sacrificed for Sootopolis, after everything Megalos had sacrificed for Sootopolis?!

    A hard fist met Wallace’s face.

    Wallace staggered back against the bathroom wall. With his hand over his nose, he looked up at Megalos, shocked, confused, furious. Blood started to drip from his nose, on his hand, onto the floor.

    “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” Megalos grabbed Wallace by the shirt collar and shook him. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?!” He slammed Wallace against the wall. Holding Wallace tight against it, Megalos snarled in the bastard’s bloody face.

    Megalos was a good mayor. Megalos was a good mayor. Wallace was bad. Wallace was bad and selfish and cruel and hedonistic and bad, bad, bad. If this spoiled little brat was going to try to defy Megalos’s commands and ruin Sootopolis City by being a slutty little she-man, someone was going to have to keep him in line, and neither his parents nor Juan would be doing that. This was Megalos’s duty. Megalos needed to take matters into his own hands. He needed power. He needed control. He needed to save Sootopolis City.

    He twisted his grip on Wallace’s collar. Megalos was a good mayor, and Wallace was a bad Gym Leader, a bad Lorekeeper, a bad, bad kid who needed to be put into his place. If Sootopolis City was to survive, Wallace needed to be good—no, perfect, and Megalos was the only person able and willing to get anything done. There wasn’t room for failure anymore. There wasn’t room for want anymore, especially not selfish wants like “love” and “choice”.

    Wallace couldn’t breathe in Megalos’s chokehold. Damn well deserved it.

    “Why do you get to run around and do as you please while I have to take on everyone’s burdens?!” Megalos screamed. “Why can’t you listen?! I wish you were a woman so I could beat you into a perfect wife and so you would know your fucking place! You need to listen to others! If I could get my way, if I could get my fucking way…” Megalos didn’t know what else to say. He would do a lot of things if he had his way: leave his wife, pursue art again… but in this moment, he wanted power and control over the only thing he had control over: Wallace. He wanted to strangle Wallace. He wanted to let out his frustrations on Wallace. He wanted to fucking murder Wallace.

    But then, Megalos let go of Wallace, who then fell to the floor, trembling, barely conscious. He looked up at Megalos like a terrified little Whismur.

    Megalos looked down at his hands. Never before had he felt so… powerful. He hadn’t killed Wallace, but if he ever got too out of line—

    No. What horrible thoughts to think. Murder was a Sin. Murdering such a public figure would be disastrous for Sootopolis City. How would the Megalos line ever recover from the stain of murder?

    But Megalos had that power. Megalos could slap or hit or even threaten violence to mould Wallace to the needs of Sootopolis City. Megalos wouldn’t kill, but he could.

    “I’m sorry, Sir.” Wallace meant it this time. He was begging for forgiveness, kneeling, grabbing Megalos’s pant leg, as if Megalos was the Mediator of the Sky himself. “I’m so, so sorry. If there’s anything I can do to make up for this—“

    “You don’t talk about this with Juan or your sister or anyone, do you hear?” Megalos hissed. “They won’t understand. They’re selfish. You’re not selfish, are you?”

    Wallace meekly shook his head. “No. No. No, I don't think so. Do you think I’m selfish?”

    “I do.” Those words put even more terror in Wallace’s eyes, even though they were spoken in a much calmer voice. “I think you’re very, very selfish. I thought you cared for Sootopolis, Wallace. I’m disappointed. Very, very disappointed.”

    “I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so—”

    “It’s too late for sorry, Wallace. You’ve ruined any connection we could make with the Zaizen family, and now Sootopolis City will suffer for it.”

    Megalos put a hand on Wallace’s head and forced him to look up. Wallace looked so… beautiful when he was obedient, when he was scared.

    “But there are plenty of richer families,” Megalos continued. “And you’ll behave in front of them, won’t you?”

    Wallace couldn’t nod, but he did say, “I’ll behave.”

    Megalos wanted to smile, but he couldn’t. Not with so much at stake. “You’d better behave.”

    “Mr. Megalos? Do you love me?”

    That question made Megalos pause. Megalos didn’t love Wallace—not as a wife, not as a son, not as a friend—and even if he did love him romantically, that would be sinful. Homosexuality was sinful. But Megalos needed Wallace. He needed Wallace in order to survive. He needed Wallace in order to save Sootopolis.

    He needed Wallace so he could have some semblance of power and control.

    “I do love you,” Megalos finally replied, “but I want you to be worthy of my love. I want you to listen to me. I want you to make me proud.”

    I want you to make Sootopolis proud.

    -

    As Megalos’s second term came to an end and his third term began, his political actions became calmly aggressive, quietly draconic.

    He quietly shot down bills to protect the homeless and the unemployed. He gave drug crimes and even just drug use harsher punishments. He shut down papers criticising him, even shutting down the sketch comedy show “The Andreou and Barlos Show” after they made a skit poking fun at him. He shut himself out from friends, coworkers, and even family, only speaking to the public during socialite parties and PR managers. One such PR statement stated simply, “We need perfection. Nothing else can be tolerated.”

    The paparazzi speculated a lot over Wallace's sexuality, over who Wallace would marry, over what he was doing around Megalos. Wallace had always been a magnet for speculation. No one expected that he would be betrothed to Cerulean Gym Leader Ren Mizutani, though.

    -

    Megalos was a good mayor. Megalos was a good mayor. Megalos was a good mayor.

    Fuck Dorian. Fuck Lucille. Fuck Juan. Fuck everyone. But most of all, fuck Wallace. Megalos knew what was best for Sootopolis City, and nobody understood. Did they even care for the city? Did they have an ounce of self respect? Nobody understood what was at stake. Nobody. Nobody. Nobody.

    Nobody except Ren Mizutani.

    A woman of 34, Ren was one of the strongest Gym Leaders in the Kanto region. She was a wealthy woman with a lot of influence, socializing with the likes of the Tanakas and the Yamaguchis. Her eldest children—three triplets—were all sixteen, while her youngest son, Floris, was seven years younger than Wallace. Ren was fifteen years older than Wallace, sure, but age was just a number: Wallace could talk to people far older or far younger than himself, and even before turning eighteen he could handle the flirtations of older socialites. He and Ren were of the age of consent and marriage, and age gaps in marriages weren't uncommon. Besides, Ren still had several years ahead of her to try to conceive more children with Wallace, to conceive an heir to make sure Sootopolis lived on even after Megalos passed.

    Wallace was impure. He had slept with several people before—like that lecherous succubus Winona, or that man whore Steven. Ren was also impure, having two marriages and divorces in her past. By setting them up, Megalos wouldn’t have to taint purity with premarital Sin, and Wallace would serve his greater purpose of saving Sootopolis.

    And so Megalos set up a party to acquaint Ren and Wallace on the battlefield and in conversation, eventually leading to Ren proposing a romantic relationship. At this point, Wallace needed to be offered such matters with alcohol—specifically liquor disguised as wine, as desperate times called for desperate measures. Wallace complied better under the influence of drugs. Drugs made Wallace listen to Megalos's demands, his orders, his... sexual needs. It wasn't homosexuality, because Megalos didn't love Wallace. He only used Wallace as a way to get his sexual urges out to keep them from distracting him. If Wallace could sleep around the whole damn Hoenn region, then Megalos could let out his sexual frustrations on Wallace. It wasn’t drug trade, because Megalos gave him half the drugs he used. It was a mayoral prescription, a medicine to save Sootopolis City. Luckily, alcohol made Wallace forget things, so he wouldn't tattletale to others. And even if he did remember, he knew that everything Megalos did was for Sootopolis City. This was for power, for control, for Sootopolis City.

    Wallace didn't seem to like Ren yet, even when she started to flirt with him before their battle. Wasn’t he supposed to be a slut? He flirted with women and men and whatever those other made up genders were, but as soon as his future wife stepped in and flirted back, he got all quiet? He slept with that bird whore from Fortree City, but he wouldn't sleep with someone who could actually make a good, respectable wife? He slept with that Devon slut, but he wouldn’t marry a woman who was just as rich and influential? He let other rich folks flirt with him, he let Megalos have sex with him, so why was Ren different? Ren would have to teach him to love her, but that was fine. He would learn. He would learn what was right for Sootopolis City. He learned quickly.

    Stronger measures would need to be taken. Ren knew how to make Wallace love her.

    -

    A crowd had formed outside of Juan’s estate. Far to the side, Ren was trying to fight her way out of the grip of Officer Jenny, kicking and screaming and shrieking.

    “Out of the way! Out of the way!”

    Several paramedics ran out the door with a gurney. Megalos caught a glimpse of the person laying on it: Wallace, his face pale, his mouth and shirt messy with blood and vomit, eyes barely open. He looked like one of those drug addicts Megalos would arrest.

    He disappeared into the water ambulance. The doors shut, and the ambulance sped off. The stark red and blue lights slowly faded, dimmer and dimmer and dimmer… until the night became dark again, filled with the whispers of the onlookers:

    “What did Ren do to him?!”

    “Damn, he must have gotten really drunk.”

    “Guess he had it coming for acting and dressing the way he does.”

    "You think he got into a fight?"

    Some distance away from the crowd, Juan stood alone, staring in the direction the ambulance had disappeared. With his back away from Megalos, it was hard to tell what he was thinking or feeling.

    Megalos stood still for a long time, long enough to see the crowd disperse, long enough to realize that he and Juan were left alone, long enough to see the police boat drive off, long enough to see Juan walk off.

    Megalos was alone, alone to ponder his next move. What people would he have to pay to keep this scandal out of the press? What strings would he have to pull to keep his position? What lengths would he have to go to get Wallace back or, if Wallace died, find a replacement? Maybe that niece of his could be pulled from her kiddie Contests and replace him. A woman could market her beauty. Or maybe he could find another young boy at the University of Sootopolis City or Upper Sootopolis City’s grammar school. A man would be preferable to a woman. Whoever the replacement was, they would have to be perfect. Everything had to be perfect.

    Because Megalos was a perfect mayor. Megalos was a perfect mayor. MEGALOS WAS A PERFECT MAYOR.
     
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    When will you finally grow up? Just what is growing up, anyway?
  • Arguments, mentions of homophobia and transphobia, implied eating disorders, anxiety, mental illness, and sexual assault, all from the perspective of a child.

    Lisia liked a lot of things. She liked chocolate. Milk chocolate, not the icky chocolate that grown-ups ate. She liked fluffy, pretty birds. She liked shiny, colourful gems. She liked her family.

    Most of all, Lisia liked Uncle Wall. He was good at Contests and Pokémon battles. He was good at makeup and fashion and art. He was smart and brave and kind. He was better at teaching Lisia Chrysosian than her Chrysosian teacher, old Dr. Gounaris and his old Grumpig. Uncle Wall was perfect. Lisia was so lucky to have such a wonderful uncle!

    But sometimes, Uncle Wall and Mamá would argue. Sometimes they would argue about things Lisia could understand. Like college stuff. Other times, either from the grown-up stuff they were arguing about or the grown-up Chrysosian they were using, she couldn’t understand what they were saying. In either case, she would sometimes yell at them back to try to stop them from arguing. Lisia didn’t like fighting. Weren’t Mamá and Uncle Wall siblings? Didn’t Mamá and Uncle Wall love each other? Why were they fighting?

    After one particularly bad fight that led to Uncle Wall slamming the door to the guest bedroom, Lisia marched into the kitchen, stormed right up to Mamá and shouted, “Why do you have to fight with Uncle Wall?!”

    Mamá didn’t respond. There were tears in her eyes. That made Lisia sad too. That made her feel sad about being so mean.

    “I’m worried about your uncle, Lisia,” Mamá cried. “I’m so… so worried about him…” Mamá fell into sobs, unable to speak.

    Táta stared from the doorway to the kitchen. The room was small enough that he could reach over to take Lisia’s hand.

    “Lisia,” he said in a cheerful voice, “let’s go to the museum.”

    Pouting, Lisia followed him to the other side of the kitchen and to the front door. She didn’t speak to Táta.

    Táta tried smiling at her, but she glared back. How could he be so happy? Uncle Wall and Mamá had gotten into a fight! Fights were bad!

    “Lisia, what’s wrong?”

    “Why do Mamá and Uncle Wall have to fight? You said that only kids get into stupid fights.”

    Táta looked up at the sky. He was silent for a few seconds.

    “Loukia.” Wow. Táta and Mamá almost never used Lisia’s Hinodego name. Proyiayia and Dóro Pappoú sometimes did, but they... didn't seem to like Táta and Mamá, so maybe it was a bad thing when people used her Hinodego name.

    Actually, from the niceness of Táta's voice and expression... maybe not. Maybe it was just serious.

    “Nicole and Wallace’s family have been through… a lot," Táta continued, "and sometimes that makes them get tense and lash out at each other. Nicole’s got a whole bunch of family issues, and Wallace has his job and his studies to become a Lorekeeper and school—”

    “Uncle Wall is really smart in school,” Lisia chimed in. “He says he’s doing double classes. That’s double smart!”

    Táta chuckled and looked down at Lisia. “Double major, yes. Religious Studies and Art History.”

    “What’s a major?”

    “It’s where you take a lot of classes on one subject, until you become really good at that subject.”

    “Wow! Uncle Wall is smarter than I thought!”

    “Sure is.” Táta's smile fell. “But sometimes smart people push themselves too much to do big things. Nicole wants him to take it easy, but…” He sighed. “…the two’s needs and wants can sometimes conflict with one another.”

    By then, the two had arrived at the Sootopolis Museum. Lisia beamed with happiness. The museum! The museum had all kinds of pretty paintings and sculptures. Lisia liked the museum…

    …but she liked going to the museum with Uncle Wall.

    -

    “Uncle Wall, how do you do makeup?”

    Uncle Wall looked up from the book on his desk and down at Lisia. He looked tired, like he needed a nap.

    “Hm? Oh! Makeup. Right.” He looked at the papers and books spread on his desk. “All right, Lisia, how about I teach you about makeup once I finish this schoolwork?”

    “Okay!”

    Lisia hopped onto Uncle Wall’s bed to wait for him to be done. Part of her was excited. Uncle Wall was really good at makeup. He was also good at fashion. He wore pretty shirts and pretty pants and pretty dresses—well, maybe he only wore dresses at home. Mr. Megalos didn't seem to like it when Uncle Wall wore dresses, and the extended family didn't seem to either. They always gave Uncle Wall and Lisia and her parents weird looks. All the time. Maybe they just didn’t like Lisia and Uncle Wall and Mamá and Táta.

    But another part of Lisia was annoyed. Uncle Wall was always busy. He was always away at the Sootopolis City Gym or some meeting or school. Even when he was at home, he was too busy with paperwork to spend time with Lisia. Couldn't he at least bring Lisia along to some of his stuff? Why couldn't they do the things they used to—playing games, drawing, and making dinner with Mamá and Táta?

    Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The clock counted the seconds and minutes. Uncle Wall scribbled frantically with shaky hands and tapped his fingers and pulled at his hair and bit his fingers… until his hands shook so much that he couldn’t hold his pencil anymore. It fell and rolled off the desk.

    “Uncle Wall? Are you okay?”

    "I'm fi—" Uncle Wall looked over at Lisia. The anger melted from his face, replaced by a smile. “I… Yes, I’m okay.”

    Lisia stared at him with shock. Was he mad at her? No, he couldn't be. Maybe he was mad at his work. He seemed okay now. “Is your work stressing you out?”

    “No, I just can’t get myself to focus." He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "Part of the reason might be that I have a date later.”

    “A date! Where are you and Auntie Win going?” Auntie Win was really cool. She was a Flying type trainer, and she and her Pokémon looked so pretty whenever they battled. Best of all, Winona always got Lisia little presents, like candy or bird plushies.

    Uncle Wall sighed, shaking his head. “It’s… not with Winona.”

    “Is it Uncle Steve?” Uncle Steve was also cool. He was the Champion, and he was passionate about stones and knew a lot about them. Sometimes, he would find pretty rocks and give them to Lisia.

    Uncle Wall shook his head again. “He’s rich all right, but if Mayor Megalos found out I was with a man…”

    Lisia didn’t understand grown-ups sometimes. Why did some of them hate people who liked people of the same gender? Why did some of them hate people who dressed in certain ways? Why couldn’t grown-ups just get along? And why did Wallace put up with people like that when he liked boys and dressed in ways that they didn't like?

    “It’s with someone you wouldn’t know,” Uncle Wall explained as he stared at his schoolwork. “I’m hoping Megalos doesn’t push it further, but…”

    Eventually, Uncle Wall stood up. He smiled and looked at Lisia. “Ah heck, I don’t think I’ll be able to get this work done by tonight, and I want to have time before my date to spend time with my favourite niece…”

    He picked Lisia up. She giggled as he spun her around in the air. She was flying! She was flying! The two laughed together. They were happy. They were happy!

    Uncle Wall eventually stopped spinning Lisia and put her back down on the ground. Still laughing a bit, he did a pose—like one of the poses he did in Contests.

    “Now,” he said, pointing his finger, “why don’t I teach you about makeup?”

    -

    “Uncle Wall?”

    Uncle Wall stood up and stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. Mamá raced after him. She left the door open behind her.

    “Wallace—”

    “I’M FINE!”

    Oh no. They were fighting again. They were fighting again. Lisia covered her ears with her hands. Wasn’t it supposed to be a happy night? Wasn’t it supposed to be a happy night of drawing with Uncle Wall? Why was he mad? Why was he mad?!

    The phone was dangling from the wall. Someone had to talk to Uncle Steve on the phone.

    Lisia hopped out of her chair and walked over to do just that.

    "Hello? Uncle Steve?"

    "Is this Lisia?" the voice on the phone asked.

    "Yeah."

    "Where's Nicole?"

    "She's fighting with Uncle Wall."

    "God damn it..." Uncle Steve mumbled. "Why did I say anything... Lisia, can you do me a favour? Can you… I don’t know, hug Wallace for me? Maybe draw some nice pictures with him when he gets back home from his party?"

    "Sure!"

    "Lisia, can I have the phone?" Mamá was back. Her voice was cracking, and her eyes were red with tears.

    "Mamá?" Lisia asked as she handed the phone to her. "What's wrong?"

    The door was still open. Uncle Wall was gone. Lisia wanted to cry. How was she supposed to watch him now?

    "Come on, Lisia," Mamá said. She was crying, but she was also smiling. Why was she smiling?! “Why don't we draw—"

    “Only Uncle Wall draws with me!”

    “Lisia—”

    "NO!"

    Lisia pulled her arm away from Mamá and ran off. She ran up the steps and slammed the door to her bedroom and hid under the covers to cry.

    Why were Mamá and Uncle Wall mad at each other? Why did Uncle Steve say to hug Uncle Wall? What was wrong with Uncle Wall?!?!

    There was a knock on the door. Or rather, a tap. Lisia looked up. It seemed to be coming from the bottom end of the door.

    With shaky legs, she walked over to open the door.

    (“I heard the yelling,”) Duncan said. (“Lots of triangles were thrown around.”)

    Lisia smiled. Duncan always knew when to come to the rescue.

    “Is Uncle Wall okay?” Lisia sniffled.

    Duncan sighed. (“Well, Wallace seems like a big block to me: he’s very hard to move or read. And then he grows spikes when he gets stressed out.”) He looked back up at Lisia. (“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”)

    “I just want him to be okay.”

    (“Tell you what: I’ll talk to him after he comes back home. But right now… do you want a hug?”)

    Lisia smiled as she picked up Duncan and squeezed him. For as long as she could remember, Duncan had been there for her.

    “Duncan, why are grownups so…” Lisia sighed.

    (“I’m a grownup, and not even I know. Maybe humans are just different from Spheal. Humans are… strange. I think once in a while, they should roll around like cylinders. You learn a lot when you roll on the ground.”)

    Lisia sat back on her bed. “It’s hard being small. The world’s so big and scary… and we’re so small.”

    Duncan patted Lisia’s arm with a flipper. (“It might not be the same thing, but Spheal used to make fun of me because I can’t evolve, no matter how strong or how old I get. I was surrounded by Sealeo and Walrein, and I felt… very small.

    (“But then I learned that being small isn’t so bad! I can go into places that others can’t! I can help people by letting them hug me! I’m… my own special mon, my own, unique shape! And maybe… maybe you have your own Lisia shape, a shape that will grow as you do, and even once your body stops evolving! Even now when you’re small, you can make a big difference!”)

    Well… that was true. Duncan was small, but he gave so much joy to so many people. Lisia was small, but she could… she could also bring joy! She could make everyone smile again!

    -

    Lisia woke up to the sound of her mother screaming.

    She sounded like one of those old ladies that wailed and cried at funerals. Did someone die? Did Uncle Wall die?!?!

    Mamá and Táta were on the floor, Mamá sobbing in Táta's arms. What was wrong? What was wrong? WHAT WAS WRONG?!?!?!?!

    "Should I call your grand—"

    "No! No! No!" Mamá shrieked. "You can't tell them! You can't tell any of them! You can't! You can't! You can't!"

    She buried her face against Táta’s chest.

    "Should I tell Steven and Winona?" Táta asked.

    Mamá nodded at that.

    "What should I tell them?"

    Mamá sat up. She was shaking. "Tell them that Wallace is in the hospital for malnutrition. Tell them that Wallace almost got..." she gulped, shaking her head. "They should probably know."

    Hospital? Uncle Wall was in the hospital?! When Lisia was a little kid, Uncle Wall would sometimes have to go to the hospital when he was sick. He still got sick a lot, but never enough to go to the hospital. It was always something minor like a tummy ache or a headache. Was he sick enough to be in the hospital now? Was that why he was so angry? And what did he almost get?

    "I'll take care of Lisia," Táta whispered, holding Mamá close so he could rock her and pat her back. "You should go to Sootopolis City to see him. Leave all the calls to me.”

    "I'll kill them!" Mamá screamed into Táta's shirt. “I'll kill them for what they did to Wallace! I'll kill them! Kill them! KILL THEM!!!"

    "Lisia?"

    Táta was looking up at Lisia. She froze. Táta whispered something to Mamá, who then also looked up at Lisia.

    "M-Mamá? T-Táta?" Lisia's voice trembled. "What's going on? What happened to Uncle Wall?"

    "Everything's okay." Táta smiled, but even Lisia could tell it was fake. "Everything's okay. Just... say a prayer tonight for Wallace."

    They were lying. Why would Lisia's parents lie?

    Nothing was okay. Nothing was okay.
     
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    Oh, captain, let's make a deal where we both say the things that we both really feel. I feel scared and I'm starting to sink, and I only sink deeper the deeper I think.
  • Thank you to CinderArts and UnderSeaWings on Thousand Roads for beta reading this chapter!

    Depictions of self harm, blood, injury, depictions of purging, eating disorders, discussions of drug abuse, mentions of queerphobia and racism, minor mentions of violence, delirium, implied emotional and physical abuse, queerphobic and fantasy slurs, discussions of sexual themes, nudity, and enabling, all from the perspective of a Pokémon

    Wallace was there when Victoria hatched from her egg, when she had been just a Feebas. She was the daughter of Juan’s beloved Milotic, Marie, and Kingdra, Arroyo. Wallace told her the meaning of many names, because as they said, names were chosen for a reason. Her first name had been "Alfonso", meaning "ready for battle". But that name was a man name. Having a man name didn’t feel right.

    And so they gave her a different name, a woman name: "Victoria". "Victory".

    Juan meant "God is gracious". Marie meant "star of the sea". Arroyo meant "stream". Juan and Marie and Arroyo were stars of the sea and the stage, glowing like pearls. They were graced with beauty and strength from the Mediator of the Sky themself. When the mighty Gyarados threatened to consume Wallace and Victoria in his waves of rage, Juan and Marie and Arroyo were strong enough to save them. They were... beautiful. Perfect.

    Wallace was Victoria’s sibling through all but blood. They were siblings of the Sea. The two were imperfect, unlike their parents, But they sought to reach perfection together.

    Her name meant "victory", and theirs meant "foreigner". They were the outcasts of Sootopolis City—kids and Pokémon their age just didn’t like ugly fishes and socially awkward bookworms. Kids and Pokémon their age just didn’t like kids and Pokémon who… stood out like Victoria and Wallace. But Victoria and Wallace didn’t mind. They were going to be good—no, better than those kids and Pokémon. They would be the smartest, the prettiest, the strongest, the best. They would reach victory.

    Side by side, they studied and trained, ever improving their skills and aiming for greater heights. Side by side, they dominated the Contest stage and the field of battle. Side by side, they would grow to become the best Sootopolis City had ever seen. Side by side, they would be beautiful. Side by side, they would be the best. Side by side, they would reach victory.

    Boys grew up to be men, Feebas grew up to be Milotic, and Wallace grew up to be a shivering teen on the bathroom floor, forcing fingers down their throat until they vomited themself dry.

    ("Are you okay?") Victoria and Wallace couldn’t speak each others’ languages, but they could understand each others’ languages, which was far more important.

    "It was just one time," Wallace choked. They looked up at Victoria. They looked so small from where they knelt on the floor. So small. So scared. "Okay, fine. I’ve done this before. I promise to never do it again… But you can’t tell anyone. You can’t tell anyone… You can’t tell anyone."

    Victoria cocked her head. She was a fighter as well as a healer, so she knew a few things about human sickness and health, including the fact that vomiting wasn’t good. So why would Wallace ever make themself sick?

    ("I won’t tell anyone. Promise not to do it again?")

    "…Sure. Yes. Of course, I promise."

    Victoria trusted Wallace. After all, they had been chosen to serve as the Lorekeeper of Kaióga, the mother of the sea. A Lorekeeper wouldn’t lie. A child of the sea wouldn’t lie to another child of the sea. A friend wouldn’t lie to another friend.

    Except Wallace did. Wallace made themself sick again. Several times, actually. Every time, they would beg Victoria not to tell anyone. Every time, Victoria would comply. Even if she could speak to other people, what then? What would those people do? Ignore her? Mock her? Hate her or Wallace? It wasn't worth it.

    Besides, Wallace was fine. They insisted as much, and they seemed capable of functioning in human society. Victoria trusted Wallace to know when they were okay and when they weren’t; when they were sick, they stayed at home, and that’s what humans were supposed to do when they were sick. They took medicine for their headaches, and that’s what humans were supposed to do when they got headaches.

    Everything was going to be fine.

    -

    Victoria waited in Wallace’s dorm room. They and Winona—Winona, a name meaning "firstborn daughter"—were on a date, a thing two humans did when they were in love to get to know each other, grow closer physically and emotionally, relax and unwind. Having more than one mate didn’t seem to be common among or even accepted by most humans, but if that was the case, Wallace didn’t care. They had several mates—there was Steven, meaning "crown", a man who was heir to the crown of his father’s kingdom; Lucy, meaning "light", who weirdly seemed more like a snake in the shadows than any sort of light. But out of all of their mates, Wallace’s favourite seemed to be Winona.

    Winona was the eldest daughter of someone named Haruki—"the spring child". She had a refined, mature grace, and she was very beautiful. She herself seemed to be a child of the spring, loving everything the land and sky bestowed upon her. Like Wallace, she was training to be a Gym Leader, a leader of Pokémon and people. She also was a child of the sky. She was a wise, calm teacher. Her students were strong—Victoria would have to do even better if she wanted to be victorious against them. Two strong trainers, two beautiful trainers, a child of the Sea and a child of the Sky…

    The two seemed to be on a "go to a special mating nest" date, so it would probably be a while before Wallace came back to the dorm. Wallace—well, humans as a whole seemed to have strange views on mating. They kept it behind closed doors, whispering about it in shameful tones. Once, Victoria had come in on Wallace and Winona mating. Wallace wouldn’t speak for a whole day afterwards. From then on, the two only seemed to mate in the special mating nests.

    Wallace was strong, but they couldn’t face every threat alone or even at all. The streets could be especially dangerous. There could be humans who insulted them for the way they were born and the way they identified like the people on their swim team, criminals who wanted to rob or attack them, predators—

    The door opened.

    Victoria slithered out of the bedroom. It was only ten, a meer hour after they had left. What were they doing back so early?

    Wallace was leaning against Winona, eyes barely open and mouth slightly slick with vomit. Winona looked worried—very worried.

    Wallace looked up at Victoria. They smiled when they made eye contact, though it was debatable if they were actually just staring into space.

    There were times when Wallace would drink that strong smelling liquid that made them contemplate all sorts of things—Orbeatles lyrics, Sootopolitan poetry, how to kill themself in a way that would look like an accident. There were times when they took those tablets that made them see things that weren’t there. There were times when they took pills in the evening that kept them up until dawn. Victoria was there for them at all times when they were under their spell, because they usually consumed those things alone, and she wasn't going to risk them attempting to take their own life. They said the substances were medicine, like the stuff they gave to Victoria after battles, or the stuff they took for their headaches. Had they done those substances when they were with Winona? Why would they do them in front of their mate if they were too ashamed of themself to tell their family that they did them? Why were they so ashamed if it was medicine? Maybe it was a human thing; humans didn’t like to admit when they weren’t okay. Or maybe Wallace was too small of a sample size.

    Winona carried Wallace into the bathroom, placing them on the floor next to the shower. Victoria slithered in after them, and Wallace looked up at her.

    "Hello, Victoria," they mumbled. "Bad migraine, it’s nothing—" They brought a hand to their mouth and gagged violently. "I didn’t do anything bad."

    Ah, a migraine. Wallace got those a lot ever since they started college. It was a lot better than doing substances that made them act strange. Victoria knew what to do when Wallace had migraines.

    She placed her head on Wallace’s. She focused her mind on the world around her, the water in the air, the pain in Wallace’s body, a prayer to the Mediator of the Sky and the Alpha of the Sea for healing and easing of pain.

    Wallace’s breathing became slow and steady. Victoria felt them put a hand on her. It must have worked.

    "Winona," they said, "I’ll try to change and shower with Victoria in the room. If something bad happens, she can scream for me." At that, they laughed softly.

    "Are you comfortable taking off your clothes in front of Victoria?" Winona asked.

    Wallace’s short-lived smile fell. "Right… Yes, yes I’m fine with that. As long as she turns around, it should be fine."

    Winona nodded and left the room, shutting the door behind her. Wallace looked up at Victoria. Their eyes had gained some lucidity.

    "Victoria, can you help me stand up?"

    They held onto Victoria’s body tightly as they stood up with shaky legs. After getting onto their feet, they leaned against the wall, opening the closet to take out a shirt and a pair of pants.

    "I don’t have clean undergarments," Wallace mumbled, "could you… could you look away?"

    Victoria turned her gaze to the opposite wall. She turned her mind to other things: Her new team members, Charles the Goldeen and Richard the Spheal. Charles meant "free man" and Richard meant "strong and brave ruler". Very self-centered individuals, but she had to constantly prove to them that she was stronger and prettier. She had to prove she was worth—

    THUD!

    Victoria’s heart plummeted, and her head snapped towards Wallace.

    They were on the floor. They seemed to be conscious, and they were even trying to lift themself to their knees. They didn’t have clothes on; Victoria had never seen Wallace without clothes on. They even wore them while sleeping or mating.

    They were thin. Really, really thin, with bones sticking out from their torso. They looked dangerously thin for a human. There were bruises all over their arms and legs, and there was a notable one on their neck. They were so pale, like bleached coral ready to break.

    "Wallace?" Winona called from the other side of the door. "Are you okay?"

    Wallace stared up at Victoria, then they held their legs against their chest in a vain attempt to hide their body. "I’m fine."

    They reached for the pill bottle resting on the counter—the pills that were supposed to keep them from throwing up—but that proved to be hard when they wouldn’t let themselves stand up. Finally, they gave up and stood up to get the pill.

    "Well," they whispered before swallowing the pill. "Let’s see if I throw this—"

    Victoria nuzzled her head against Wallace. A few seconds passed, then Wallace began petting her on the head.

    ("Are you okay? Have you been eating enough?")

    "Of course I’m okay. It’s just a bad migraine." They pulled away from Victoria so they could put on their shirt. "Don’t tell Winona. She can’t know I look like this."

    ("So you aren’t okay.")

    Wallace stopped buttoning their shirt and looked up at Victoria. Victoria couldn’t even recognize them anymore. They were just a stranger with a body she didn’t know, a foreigner to her memory.

    "I’m okay, but she wouldn’t understand that." Wallace went back to buttoning their shirt.

    ("I don’t understand.")

    "That’s fine."

    ("Do you even understand yourself?")

    Again, Wallace paused, longer this time. They didn’t have a response, it seemed.

    "Of course I understand myself."

    Anyone could have heard the lie in Wallace’s voice.

    -

    The lights in the green room cast a warm, radiant glow on Victoria. They were different from the cool lights of the Gym, but they were no less beautiful.

    ("I’m prettier than you,") Lovelynn teased.

    ("Oh stop now,") Victoria chuckled. ("Your taunting doesn’t scare me.")

    Lovelynn, a name meaning "love and cherished one." Names didn’t seem to determine how much a Pokémon was loved by their trainer; Victoria was loved by Wallace just as much as the Luvdisc was by Hailey—"hayfield". Victoria’s name certainly brought victory, though; whether it was in Contests or battles, she rarely lost.

    Names were strange like that; they only told part of the story. Maybe the solution was to just have more names. Wallace had two other names—Izumi, meaning "water", and Papadakis, meaning "son of the priest"—given to them by their parents. Those names told the world that Wallace was a Lorekeeper, a child of the sea, and a priest of water. But they seemed more connected with people’s clans—everyone in Wallace’s family had the name "Papadakis" or "Papadaki", but none of them were priests. Maybe the first member of the family had been a priest, passing down their name so their legacy would live on past them.

    There were names like "Mr." and "Mx.", indicating gender, "Mrs." and "Ms.", indicating mated status, and "Dr." and "M.D.", indicating wisdom. There were also bad names—"slut", "faggot", "runie", "amorpho"—that people gave to Wallace, but those names were more scars than crowns. They were mean names, names that indicated that Wallace was an outsider. Why would people make up mean names to use on others?

    Names were complicated, but humans were even more complicated.

    "You two seem excited about today’s Contest."

    Hailey closed the door behind her as she walked into the green room. Her dress was the same shade of pink as Lovelynn, and not a hay brown or grass green like her name would suggest. She looked around the room. "Where’s Wallace?"

    Wallace opened the door to the bathroom. The dark circles under their eyes were gone, and the colour had returned to their cheeks. Maybe they were okay again, just like when they were young, when things were simple and okay.

    "You ready?" Hailey asked.

    "Sure… Sure I am."

    Hailey smiled, but Victoria could sense that Wallace wasn’t okay.

    But they walked up to Victoria like they were okay. They whispered encouragement to her like they were okay. They walked onto the stage with her like they were okay. They performed, called out moves, stood, smiled like everything was okay.

    They accepted failure like they were okay. They returned home like they were okay. They spoke to their sister like they were okay. They walked into the guest room’s bathroom to wash off their makeup like they were okay. They—

    SMASH!

    They weren’t okay. They weren’t okay.

    Victoria slammed into the bathroom door. Wallace was on the floor. The mirror was shattered in an intricate web of cracks and falling pieces. Wallace’s hand was like the mirror: an intricate web of dripping blood. They were shaking, panting, staring at Victoria, red eyes wide with fear.

    "Help," they rasped, like they wanted to scream but didn’t have the voice to do so.

    She was immediately by their side, wrapping herself around them to shelter them from the broken mirror, the blood on the shards of glass and the floor, the bad luck and fear and everything else in the room. The air was filled with water—she prayed to the Mediator of the Sky and the Alpha of the Sea that she could draw on it to save her friend. There was only one other thought on their mind: Why did they do this?

    Silence. Silence. Silence. She had to save Wallace. She had to save Wallace. She had to save Wallace.

    Knock knock.

    "Wallace? Is everything okay?"

    Victoria looked up. That was Nicole’s voice. Nicole—meaning "victory of the people". She was a very strong Trainer and Coordinator. Even Wallace, a Gym Leader, looked up to her. She was older, smarter, stronger, more beautiful than either Wallace or Victoria. She was even closer to Mediator-tiers of perfection than Juan or Marie were.

    Victoria looked down at Wallace’s hand. The blood was gone, and all that remained was a pale scar running down their hand. Of course, there was still the mess of the blood and glass on the floor, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Wallace was safe. Victoria had saved them.

    Thank the Mediator of the Sky and the Alpha of the Sea she had saved them.

    "I’m fine." Wallace whispered that to themself several times before finally being able to say it loud enough for Nicole to hear: "I’m fine! I accidently broke the mirror. I… tripped, and my hairbrush broke it. I’ll clean it up."

    "But you have to meet with Mayor Megalos," Nicole called. "Do you need any—"

    "I’m fine!"

    Victoria placed her head on Wallace again, channeling her energy to further heal their wounds and to quell their anger. Their breathing slowed before, in a calmer tone, saying, "I’m fine. I’ll clean it up."

    They stood up to grab a towel. They turned on the faucet to run the towel under the water, feel the water on their healed hand, and wring the towel until it was damp. They got to work cleaning up the blood first. Victoria began to leave the bathroom to get the dustpan downstairs, but Wallace held up a hand.

    "Victoria, wait." They stood up and tossed the towel in the clothes hamper, then tossed another towel on top. "You’ve done more than enough for me today… Thank you. Thank you so much."

    They crossed their arms—hiding their hand in the crook of their arm—and left the bathroom. They opened the door with their uninjured hand.

    Victoria stood close by as they spoke to their sister. If the two got into another argument, she would be there to stop it. She could win against Wallace’s demons.

    This was perfect. Victoria could save Wallace. She could heal their injuries and suppress the anger that caused them. Sure, there were issues with that plan: for some reason, Megalos didn’t let Wallace let their Pokémon out of their Pokéballs when they went to his office. He would even sometimes make them leave their Pokémon out in the courtyard during their meetings. What if Wallace or Megalos got angry during one of those meetings? What if Megalos hit Wallace? Sure, they always brushed that off as a discipline measure, but they never struck Victoria. Was that just a human politics thing? Must have been.

    Victoria didn’t care about victory anymore; her greatest victory was keeping Wallace safe, healthy, alive. They were alone together against the raging sea of the world, outcasts in their own city. All they had was each other. All Wallace had to keep them alive was Victoria, and all Victoria needed to do was keep Wallace alive.

    All would be good, because Victoria had the power to save Wallace.
     
    Last edited:
    Chiquitita, tell me what's wrong. You're enchained by your own sorrow. In your eyes there is no hope for tomorrow. How I hate to see you like this.
  • Mental illness, discussions of sexual assault, vomiting, use of queerphobic slurs, mentions of transphobia, hospitals, misdiagnosis, discussion of medication, arguing, self harm, injuries, trauma, mentions of seizures, discussions of physical/emotional/sexual abuse, discussions of queerphobia and misogyny, offscreen suicide attempt

    Special thanks to @Spiteful Murkrow for beta reading this chapter.

    Wallace was Juan’s little kid. Wallace was the child Juan could never have, and Juan was the father Wallace would never have again.

    Wallace was a very quiet, precocious child. He didn’t spend time with other kids his age, whether by his own choice or because they wouldn’t let him. It didn’t matter too much at the time; he easily found companionship with Pokémon. And he eventually found human companionship: Steven and Winona, the best human companions a person could ever have, in Juan’s humble opinion.

    They were probably the only things keeping him from becoming a hermit. Well, them and his niece Lisia. But Wallace was a good kid in his heart. Wallace was Juan’s kid.

    But now that sickly boy was older. Now he was taller, smarter, wiser, sicker, thinner, weaker, more confused, more terrified. But despite the expectations placed on his shoulders, despite his public image, once you stripped away the facade that was carefully carved to perfection, he was still just a kid. He was still Juan’s kid.

    Juan had done everything he could to take care of Wallace: he made sure Wallace had access to well-balanced, nutritious food. He made sure Wallace got exercise through walks around the city or through swimming, as was customary in Sootopolis City. He made sure he got a well-rounded education while also cultivating his strengths and interests. He let Wallace explore his identity with safety and privacy—or as much privacy as a public figure could afford. He assured Wallace practiced healthy and nourishing spirituality. He kept Wallace in tune with his culture and heritage.

    But it wasn’t enough, and now Juan had to learn from his mistakes and move on. Not as a perfect mentor, but as the mentor Wallace needed.

    -

    Victoria and Wallace’s other Pokémon stayed with Juan at his estate. And Victoria… well, she had been acting strangely lately. She had always been a quiet Pokémon, but she always took time to take care of herself.

    Now she wouldn’t eat. Now she wouldn’t play with other Pokémon or even converse with them. Now she would just sit by the fountain or the cove in front of Juan’s estate. She didn’t go to the hospital to visit her trainer; she left that for others: Juan, Nicole, Raphael, Steven, and Winona. He needed the familiarity and comfort of people he loved during such a terrifying time.

    But then a week or so into his recovery, Wallace had a seizure. He was okay, thank the heavens, but it left him even more terrified than he was before. He begged the hospital staff to let Victoria visit him; he hadn’t seen her since his hospitalisation. It made sense; the two had been inseparable from Victoria’s birth until now. The staff allowed it, but that left Juan to be the one to tell Victoria that Wallace wanted her—needed her.

    She was at the courtyard fountain, staring blankly at the rippling water and the Goldeens. Long ago, when she and Wallace were under Juan’s tutelage, they would spend their afternoons there reading poetry. Juan had a book Wallace had been reading recently with him. Perhaps he could try to bring back happy memories.

    "Good morning, fair Victoria," he greeted.

    Victoria barely looked up. Her eyes were glassy with melancholy, like a tranquil lake in the winter.

    "I have some poems Wallace has been reading as of late. Would you like to read some with me?"

    After teaching Wallace and guiding him through tumultuous trials of grief, puberty, and his current mental and physical state, Juan knew that it was sometimes better to ask questions that could easily be answered with body language. A nod here, a head shake there, counting with fingers, pointing to things, all of that. Wallace was often a nonverbal speaker, especially in moments of emotional distress.

    Victoria shook her head. Well, maybe that was for the best considering she’d been out of sorts lately. Wallace was starting to take an interest in the black comedy of poets such as Dionysios Ueda-Ioannidis and Dolores O. Arima. Poets known for works that centered around drug addiction, mental instability, and suicide. Poets known for tumultuous personal lives. Victoria likely needed something more… positive to read.

    "Victoria, Wallace wants you to come to the hospital to be by his side. Do you want to come there with me?"

    ("I failed them.")

    That gave Juan pause.

    "...‘Failed them’?"

    Victoria curled up, refusing to make eye contact. ("I tried to help them. I tried to heal them when they were sick. I tried to heal them when they were hurt. I tried everything I could to save them. But it wasn’t enough.")

    She hung her head and shut her tear-filled eyes. Pain. Insurmountable pain. Pain Juan could have prevented if he had done better in raising Wallace. Juan extended a hand towards her.

    "Victoria, can I touch you?"

    Victoria was still for a second, then she nodded. When Juan hugged her, she started crying.

    "It’s okay, Victoria. You did the best you could. We’re all doing the best we can. Sometimes we mess up, and that’s okay."

    Her tears fell on Juan’s coat, no matter how much he tried to comfort her.

    ("But I’m his partner Pokémon! How could I have failed so horribly?")

    Well… Juan had also failed, in a way. Wallace had always been a sickly boy, so Juan had never attributed his myriad symptoms to anything but that. Juan had tried to create a safe environment, but it wasn’t safe enough for Wallace to come out about Megalos’s abuse. Juan had failed.

    …But really, hadn’t everyone failed, in some shape or form?

    "Victoria, no one knew Wallace was suffering this much. Not his sister. Not his lovers. Not me. Beating yourself up for not knowing won’t do any good."

    Victoria looked down at Juan, eyes wet with tears. ("Then what will do any good?")

    Juan didn’t have a response to that question, not at first.

    “We’ll… We’ll figure out the answer to that question together, okay?”

    -

    Wallace was laying in bed and staring out the window when Juan came to his room. He was a shadow of the curious child he had once been, an empty shell devoid of any energy or emotion.

    Dymphna nodded to Juan as he shut the door. The flickering light had been turned off, likely a choice the doctors made after Wallace’s seizure, so the curtains were open to let sunlight in. Juan swallowed, then he spoke to Wallace:

    "Hello, my s—friend. How are you doing?"

    "I ha’ a seizure in fron’ of my girlfrien’," Wallace mumbled.

    The buzzing of the radiator filled the silence. A few seconds passed, then Juan had to fill it with something else: "Winona told me."

    Juan's throat twisted a bit as he recalled that phone call, but he brushed those memories aside. "How are you doing now?"

    Wallace groaned loudly, shrivelling up under his blanket.

    "They pu’ me on benzos for withdrawal an’ anxiety." Wallace’s words were barely comprehensible. His usual sharp diction was gone; t’s became d’s and g’s became much softer. "Makes me tire’ and nauseous. I hate i'... being here. I wanna go home."

    Juan looked to Dymphna. After the Chansey gave him a nod of approval, he walked over to the bed so he could sit in the chair next to it. It was clearly a chair rescued for free from some other building long ago, the elaborate, dark wood in no way matching the simple whites and silvers of the hospital.

    "I know you want to go home, Wallace, and you will." But you need to heal, my child. No, he couldn’t say that. That would be too aggressive. So what could he say?

    But thankfully, before Juan could try to think of another response, there was a knock on the door, and Nurse Chara Joy walked in with a tray of food: egg noodle soup, potatoes, salad, and juice.

    "How are you doing today, Wallace?" she asked as she placed the food in front of him.

    Wallace didn’t sit up, and Chara Joy’s kind smile disappeared.

    Even Juan felt a bit disheartened. Wallace needed to eat. He needed to eat to get better and get healthier and back to… the real Wallace, whatever that looked like. Not even Juan knew what the real Wallace looked like anymore. The boy had been lying about himself for so long, that everything Juan knew about him felt like a lie.

    "Wallace?" Juan put a gentle hand on his student’s shoulder. "Aren’t you going to eat?"

    "There’s three people starin’ a’ me. Of course I’m no’ gonna eat."

    “Wallace, we can’t keep doing this,” Chara Joy sighed.

    Juan looked up at her as he started to stand up. "I could leave so Wallace can—"

    "Juan, they have to eventually learn to eat around other people," Chara Joy interrupted. "It’s part of the reason why he’s here."

    Wallace finally sat up. "Can’ I ea’ with Dymphna? She’s jus’ like a person."

    Dymphna looked up at Chara Joy, who smiled, partially with sympathy, partially with resignation.

    "Wallace, it’s wonderful that you’ve grown such a close connection with Dymphna—"

    "But I’m a social baske’ case who can’ interac’ with people. I’m a los’ cause.”

    No, no, no. Those words hurt Juan’s soul. Wallace was troubled, but he wasn’t a lost cause. He just needed… needed something.

    Chara Joy sighed and stood on the other side of Wallace’s bed. "Please, Wallace."

    -

    Wallace managed to get three bites of food down before needing an emesis bag. At least Chara Joy had managed to get it out of the drawer and under his mouth before he could get anything on the bed.

    Wallace shivered as he hacked up what little he had managed to swallow. Juan could only pat his back and whisper that things were going to be okay, as he had done when Wallace was a little boy.

    Wallace seemed to be done vomiting, and it eventually dissipated into unproductive retching, then coughing.

    "I’ll dispose of this," Chara Joy said stoically as she sealed the bag. "We’ll have to write this down."

    She looked down at Dymphna, then turned to leave, flinching at a particularly bad coughing fit from Wallace.

    "If their condition gets worse, get me right away."

    As soon as Chara Joy left, Wallace, still coughing into one hand and wrapping his other arm around his stomach, fell on his side. He lay there listlessly, facing away from Juan.

    "Sh’ gon’ make me do thos’damn protein shakes. Hate ‘em. Hate ‘em. I hate i’ ‘ere."

    Juan turned his gaze to the floor, heart heavy with shame. Wallace was so weak, so miserable. Juan just wanted to pull Wallace out of his ocean of suffering and hold him close.

    But that would be hard when Wallace was spiralling so deep. He needed more than a hug to save him. He needed so, so, so much more.

    (“Mr. Aguado,”) Dymphna said, (“I can leave you and Wallace if you need some privacy.”)

    Juan looked up, then nodded at Dymphna’s suggestion. “That would be good, thank you.”

    Dymphna bowed before waddling over to the door, shutting it behind her.

    The future was very big, and the path to recovery was long. But for now, for this moment, Juan could take the first steps to help Wallace. By supporting him, by… making small talk to distract from the pain.

    Yes, that was probably a good place to start.

    "Um… How has today been, Wallace?"

    Wallace curled up at the question. "I had grou’b therapy. I’m the only non-girl with an eatin’ disorder."

    Juan smiled. "Group therapy! How wonderful! How was it?”

    Wallace wasn’t as joyful; he shook his head and pulled his blanket over him.

    "Terrible. I ha’ two pani’ attacks and one o’ the girls called me a tranny."

    Juan’s short-lived smile fell. Even with Wallace’s voice slurred and muffled, Juan could make out that last word.

    "Who?"

    "Juan, she’s pro’bly goin’ through a lo’ of shi—"

    "That’s no excuse for someone to use such terrible language towards you!” Juan snapped. Going through shit or not, that didn’t justify using such… horrible language on someone also going through shit.

    Though it did make Juan wonder… was Wallace transgender?

    “Why didn’t Chara Joy do anything about it?!" Juan demanded.

    "She tried." Wallace turned his head back towards Juan. The older Coordinator froze at the sight.

    Sunken cheeks. Ghastly skin. Bony fingers. There wasn’t even a hint that this was the same kid who would lose himself in literature, who would try to connect with the heart of every Pokémon he met, who wanted to be a Coordinator just like Juan.

    "Master, have you ever been in a boy’s locker room? They said shi’ like thatta me all the time. Worse stuff, too."

    Those words pierced Juan’s heart like a knife. He looked at Wallace with a concerned gaze.

    "Wallace… how long… have people been calling you those kinds of things?"

    Wallace rocked a bit back and forth, resting his head in his hands.

    "Don’ remember. Maybe ten when kids firs’ thought I was no’ straigh’ and when I still wore dresses."

    "…Ten?"

    Wallace shook his head. “Swimmin’ kids wou’ beat me up because I wasn’ man enough an’ call me worse things than ‘tranny’. I’m used to it.”

    Juan’s whole body ached at the thought of Wallace suffering from that kind of horrible, horrible harassment for so long, and starting at such a young age.

    Well, now that Juan thought about it for a bit longer, Wallace had been… different from a very young age. There was the fact that Wallace wore dresses as a child, mostly from his own insistence, according to Dorian. There was the fact that, in his pubescent years, he seemed to fixate on suggestive art of men and women alike in his books. Of course, way of dress and looking at art didn’t necessarily mean anything, but…

    "Wallace, are you gay?"

    Wallace swallowed. "Juan, y’know Winona, righ’? And y’know Steven, righ’?" By now, he was shaking. "I’m… I’m fuggin’ Steven too. I’m some fuggin’ faggie an’ maybe a tranny—"

    "Wallace, I’m gay."

    There was silence between the two. Juan spoke before Wallace could interject:

    "Wallace, I never want you to think that you don’t deserve love, dignity, or respect because of your sexual orientation or gender identity,” he insisted. “If anyone has ever made you feel like that, then I am truly, truly sorry. It’s not right and it’s not how things are supposed to be. Do you understand?"

    "No! I can’t understan’ shit! I’m too fugged up to understand anythin’! I’m never gettin’ better an’ I’m gonna die some fugged up freak!"

    Wallace fell back against the bed, sobbing and blubbering incoherently. Juan could only hug him.

    "You’ll always be mi chiquito, no matter what,” Juan said. “You don’t have to understand now, but I promise, I promise that you are worthy of love no matter who you are."

    Juan sat up and took out a familiar Pokéball decorated with Milotic-inspired patterns. He looked over at Dymphna, and she gave him a nod of approval.

    "My beloved friend, you’ve been through so much these past few years, months, weeks, even days—"

    "Bu’ Imma los’ cause."

    "—and a dear friend of yours wants to stay by your side during this tumultuous time."

    A beam of blue energy shot towards the floor, and it materialized into a long, elegant Pokémon. Wallace quickly sat up, his mouth agape and his body shaking.

    "Victoria…"

    Victoria’s forehead went to Wallace’s, and he flung his arms around her. Tears rolled down their faces as they both broke down into loud sobs.

    Juan let them cry. They were both going through so much; they deserved to cry.

    -

    The halls of the Pokémon League were quiet, as usual. Then again, the Elite Four tended to lean on the milder sense in terms of temperament: Ice type Trainer Glacia, Fire type Trainer Moore, Dark type Trainer Sidney, and Juan’s old friend… Dragon type Gym Leader Drake.

    Juan opened the door to his friend’s office. Drake immediately looked up from the papers on his desk and stood up.

    "Juan!" he boomed. "It’s been ages since we last saw each other! How have you been?"

    Juan sighed but put up a smile. "A little tired, that is all."

    Drake nodded and crossed his arms.

    "How’s Wallace been?” he asked, his voice a little less energized. “I haven’t seen him in a while, and the other Gym Leaders are getting worried."

    Juan froze. Had the other Gym Leaders suspected anything? The news had too many rumors to be a reliable source. Were the Gym Leaders drawing their own conclusions about what had happened?

    No. Juan knew several of them, and they would never be so cruel. Had they seen the news about Ren’s arrest and Wallace’s hospitalization and put two and two together?

    Drake was generally a reliable confidant, but Juan didn’t know if he could trust him that much. Drake was old, and Juan feared that his views were too.

    "Wallace has been in the hospital for pneumonia. It was a bit worrying when he was first hospitalized, but he’s been recovering,” Juan explained.

    He felt horrible for lying, especially about his own student. But mental illness was so misunderstood by Hoennian society. Juan couldn’t just go around telling people the truth of Wallace’s condition. People already attacked Wallace for his sexual or gender identity; who was to say he wouldn’t face similar or worse harassment for being mentally ill?

    Drake stared back down at his desk, a grim expression on his face. The desk was messy and disorganized, but Juan could notice a newspaper with a familiar-looking face: Steven Stone, arrested for petty robbery. With no prior criminal record, he just had to face a fine. But still, why was Steven suddenly getting into such risky behaviour?

    There was another mugshot: Ren, convicted of sexual assault.

    "Juan, who’s Ren Mizutani?"

    Merde.

    Juan’s thoughts had stopped with that one word. He couldn’t… How… Why…

    "A Gym Leader from the Kanto region," Juan said as flatly and calmly as he could.

    Drake nodded slowly. "She didn’t… She didn’t do any of… those things to Wallace, did she?"

    "WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME, STEVEN?!"

    Muffled screaming echoed from one of the other Elite Four offices, followed by banging and incoherent shrieks. Drake bolted from his desk and dashed out of the office, and Juan ran after him.

    Sidney pinned Steven against the hallway wall. They were both bruised and staring at each other, eyes ablaze with murderous intent.

    "Boys, boys!" Drake gasped, trying to calm his voice. "What is the meaning of this?!"

    "He was shit talking me!" Sidney shouted.

    "I wasn’t. Everything I said is true," Steven growled. "You’re poor and ugly and you're a little bitch. And your hair looks like a rat ate it."

    "I’M NOT!" Sidney shouted as he punched Steven in the face, sending a shot of spit and blood flying.

    "GO TO HELL, SHITFUCKER!"

    As soon as he recovered and stood back up, Steven went for one more blow in Sidney’s direction. Drake grabbed Steven before his fist made contact with Sidney’s nose.

    "Boys! Please!" Drake dragged Steven away from Sidney and then stood in between the two, hands up in case either one tried anything. "Sidney, Steven, deep breaths. Count to ten. This isn’t like you."

    "Yeah, no shit," Sidney growled. "What changed, bitch?"

    "Sidney," Drake scolded.

    Sidney rolled his eyes. "Fine. What changed, Steven?" There was a mocking tone in the way Sidney said the last word.

    To Juan’s surprise, that got a rise out of Steven, who lunged for Sidney.

    "FUCK YOU!" Steven shrieked, jabbing two middle fingers up at Sidney as Juan held him back. "FUCK YOU ALL! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!" Tears were cracking his voice, but he kept screaming.

    Juan had never seen Steven so… aggressive. Steven had always been a mild-mannered kid. Never before had he been so prone to violence.

    Juan slowly, slowly, carefully approached Steven and wrapped his arms around him. "Sh… Sh… Steven, Steven, it’s going to be okay."

    "IT’S NOT!" Steven half screamed, half sobbed. "NOTHING’S EVER OKAY! NOTHING’S EVER OKAY!"

    The harsh sounds of Steven’s howls filled the hallway as he began weakly hitting Juan’s chest. It didn’t physically hurt, but seeing Steven like this mentally hurt. All Juan could do was hold him until he tired himself out.

    Juan looked up at Sidney, who still looked angry at Steven.

    "Sidney," Drake said, "why don’t you go talk to Glacia?"

    Sidney huffed and walked off. As he did, Juan could feel Steven’s breathing waver into gasps.

    "Steven, what’s going on?" Juan said softly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

    Steven shook his head. By now, he had gone limp, but Juan still wouldn’t let him go.

    "That’s fine if you don’t, my friend. It can wait for now,” Juan said. “Would you like to go sit in Drake’s office?"

    Steven nodded and, without looking up, let Drake take his hand. Juan caught a glimpse of the skin covered by his shirt sleeve. It had… light, fresh scars. Drake seemed to notice them too.

    "Steven," he said. "Have you been cutting yourself?"

    "Only a little," Steven mumbled.

    Drake’s eyes widened, then his brows furrowed.

    "Steven, what the hell is going on?"

    "Wallace was sexually assaulted by Ren and almost died of starvation."

    As soon as the words left Steven’s mouth, his breathing stopped, he stood up straight, and his eyes widened with fear.

    "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK—"

    Juan grabbed Steven before he could fall to the floor.

    "Steven, Steven, Steven." Drake put his hands on Steven’s shoulders. "It’s okay."

    Steven began to cry again, shaking uncontrollably.

    "It’s not okay," Steven blubbered. "He’s in the hospital and he not going to be okay and—"

    "Shhh…" It’s okay." Juan held Steven again and rocked him back and forth. "It’s okay. Wallace is going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay."

    Drake looked up at Juan with a grim stare.

    “Juan, why don’t you tell me what’s actually going on?”

    Juan sighed. Lying wouldn’t get anyone anywhere. If anything, lying was the reason Wallace had suffered for so long.

    "Drake, Wallace… doesn't have pneumonia. He has… He has a lot of other physical and mental health issues, and…"

    There wasn’t any hint of anger or disgust or even pity in Drake’s eyes, just… understanding. He started to walk back to his office, beckoning Juan and Steven to follow.

    "Well, maybe it would be easier to talk about this in private."

    -

    All eyes were on Juan when he entered the conference room.

    Seven Gym Leaders—most of them his friends and former colleagues: Rock type Leader Robbie, Electric type Gym Leader Wattson, Dark type Leader Vivian, Grass type Leader Hanada, Psychic type Leader Cruzita, and Flying type Leader Winona.

    Cruzita stood up. She was sharply dressed in a pink suit, her generally soft appearance further softened by a sad smile and friendly eyes.

    "Juan," she said. "It's wonderful to see you again. How are you doing?"

    "A little tired, that is all."

    Juan couldn’t count how many times he had told people that phrase in the past month. It came as naturally to him as breathing.

    There was a moment of silence.

    "How’s Wallace?" Cruzita asked.

    Terrible. Awful. The medication was supposed to make Wallace feel better, but for some reason, for some reason, it was making him sleep less. It was making him more irritable. It was making him feel worse.

    "His recovery has been…difficult. I don’t know when he’s expected to be discharged."

    Juan couldn’t look at Winona right then. That would break his heart into even more pieces. She knew the truth. She knew Juan was lying.

    Juan had to be strong. He had to protect Wallace.

    "I… I came here so that Wallace could stay up to date with the goings-on in the League."

    A girl in a sailor fuku shirt and long skirt—Vivian—brushed a few strands of wavy, dark purple hair out of her face. "He’s not missing much.”

    "How so?" Juan asked.

    Robbie shrugged and pulled down the face mask he was wearing. His black, unkempt hair was a bit neater than normal, and his black leather jacket was also unusually tidy.

    "It’s just that nothing’s happening. That’s all.” He smirked. “Unless you count Wattson’s business stuff, which I don’t."

    “Robert,” Wattson scoffed playfully.

    Robbie shrugged. “Sorry, old man.”

    He pulled out the chair in between him and Winona. "Here, you can keep his seat warm."

    "Developments in Mauville City are going smoothly." Wattson stroked his graying, almost white beard. "Gym renovations are almost done. TEPIG is still protesting the Game Corner, but we can’t really close off a venture that’s bringing funds to the city."

    Juan caught a glimpse of Winona as he sat down. She was… staring into space with a blank expression.

    Wattson continued on about Mauville City. It couldn’t do much to distract Juan from the past month: seeing so many of Wallace’s loved ones suffering, awaiting Ren’s trial and not being able to do anything but pray that she would face justice, seeing Sootopolis City Hall go up in metaphorical flames, seeing Megalos move on so quickly even after all of the pain he’d put Wallace through…

    "Juan? Is everything okay?"

    Juan looked up at Cruzita. He could feel the stares of everyone in the room, searing into his skin. The air was humid with silence.

    Juan couldn’t lie and say that everything was okay, but how… how could he put into words just how not okay everything was?

    He couldn’t find a solution with words, so he just shook his head.

    Cruzita looked down at a lady with a brown ponytail and overalls, who was sitting next to her. "Hanada, I’m going to go talk with Juan and Winona for a bit. Could you take over the meeting while I’m gone?"

    -

    Cruzita took Juan and Winona to a different conference room. The two sat across from each other in silence.

    Juan stared down at the table. He usually preferred eye contact, but now didn’t seem to be the time for that. Winona didn’t seem to like it in general, and looking at her right now would mean seeing her miserable. Juan couldn’t bear the sight of her like this. He just wanted her to be okay. He just wanted everyone to be okay.

    The door opened and closed again. Now, Hanada and her Xatu, Xaxa, were also in the room. Her posture was straight and professional, in contrast to Juan and Winona’s awkward, solemn glances between objects and people in the room. For an eternity, no one spoke. The silence was unbearable.

    Finally, Cruzita spoke up:

    "Winona, Juan, I don’t think you two should… come to work for the time being, given everything that’s been going on with Wallace."

    Winona’s gaze shot up, her eyes wet with tears. "But—"

    "Winona, you haven’t been yourself lately. Your performance in battle has fallen by at least 50 percent, you’ve been visibly depressed during every meeting, and…”

    Cruzita stopped when she noticed Winona start shaking.

    Cruzita continued: “I don’t want you to be working yourself too hard after Wallace was sexual—"

    "NO! STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!"

    Winona’s high pitched cries were sudden, startling, strangled. She was holding her head in her hands, hands gripping her hair. Juan had never seen her in so much despair, and now… god, it hurt to even just look at her.

    Cruzita walked over so she could sit down and hug Winona.

    "It’s okay, my sunshine."

    Winona curled up against Cruzita, sobbing.

    "You don’t know what’s going on with Wallace! YOU DON’T!" she bawled. "You haven’t seen him! You haven’t seen what’s happened to him! He’s not okay! He’s not okay! He’s not okay! He’s never going to be okay!"

    "Shh… Shh…"

    Cruzita held Winona for a few minutes, gently rubbing her hand up and down Winona’s arm.

    "It’s okay to stay home and—"

    "I’m scared of home," Winona sobbed.

    Cruzita closed her eyes, holding Winona closer. "Is there… anywhere you feel safe where you can stay?"

    Winona sniffled and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

    "I don’t… I don’t know…"

    "Would you like to stay at my place?"

    Winona nodded.

    Cruzita smiled and looked in the corner, where Xaxa stood.

    "Xaxa," Cruzita said, "do you want to take Winona down to the food court to get some tea or hot chocolate?"

    With a kind and protective wing, Xaxa led Winona out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Now it was just Cruzita and Juan. And silence.

    "What has the…" Juan’s voice trailed off for a moment. "What has the press been saying about… everything?"

    Cruzita shook her head in exasperation.

    "Juan, if I were you, I wouldn’t bother with the press. I’m in the news industry, and I can tell you for a fact that anyone speculating on Wallace’s life is, 100 percent, without a doubt, full of shit." She shrugged. "Granted, meteorology and gossip are about as different as you can get, but…"

    "But what will Wallace think when he finds out they’re speculating about him like this during such a turbulent time?"

    Cruzita looked back up at Juan. Her expression was as cold as death.

    "What will he think when his own family and friends give into that fear?" she retorted. "Odds are he’ll think something’s wrong with him… something innate and unloveable. And you don’t want him thinking that, do you?"

    Juan didn’t want that. He didn’t want Wallace thinking something was wrong with him, be it his sexual orientation, his gender identity, his… psyche. But mental illness was different from gender or sexuality; it was inherently harmful to Wallace. But that didn’t mean Wallace was any less worthy of love because he was mentally ill.

    Juan sighed. "It’s a scary world out there."

    "It is. But it becomes a lot less so alongside people who accept you and love you." Cruzita chuckled. "Though ‘scary world’. You’re telling me. I’m the only woman on Mauville TV. Every other day, I’ve got someone harassing me. And if I ever want to get married or have children?" She tossed her hand in the air. “Good luck keeping my job.”

    "And I’m a closested gay in Upper Sootopolian Society. If someone asks me why I’m not married one more time…"

    The two had to laugh, as the tension in the air was replaced by a sort of mutual understanding.

    “How many different excuses have you made up?” Cruzita asked.

    Juan shook his head playfully. “Oh, I don’t even remember. People have been asking me since I was sixteen. So it’s been… forty years now?”

    Juan’s Pokénav buzzed in his coat pocket. He looked down at it, then quickly back up at Cruzita.

    "Excuse me."

    Now - 2 new messages from: Nicole Papadaki
    Hospital
    Now
    - Nicole


    What happened?
    - Juan


    Wallace tried to kill himself
    - Nicole
    -

    Juan raced to Tzirachi’s Mercy Medical Center the moment he got that text.

    Nicole and Raphael were already in the waiting room. Nicole was shaking, and not even Raphael’s tight hugging could calm her down. Wallace’s psychiatrist, Dr. Angelopoulos, was standing in front of them, explaining Wallace’s current state:

    “...going to need to be put on antipsychotics and watched 24/7. We’ll assess him every day until he’s deemed stable again.”

    “Could it be the medication?” Nicole asked, voice quivering through tears.

    Juan quietly walked into the room as Dr. Angelopoulos answered:

    "Usually, SSRIs don’t cause mania unless the patient taking them has bipolar disorder."

    He was so calm. How was he so calm?!?! Wallace had gone three whole days without sleep. Wallace had developed horrible delusions and hallucinations. Wallace had attempted suicide. Juan had almost lost his child.

    "But Wallace has depression, doesn’t he?" Nicole gasped, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. "That’s what you said he had, isn’t it?"

    "Well, misdiagnoses aren't unheard of, especially for bipolar disorder,” the doctor answered. “Oftentimes, it is confused for depression.”

    He looked away from Nicole and Raphael.

    “If that’s the case, then I’m sorry for my error…"

    It was then that Dr. Angelopoulos noticed Juan.

    “Mr. Aguado, are—”

    Juan turned to leave, rage beginning to boil in his blood.

    ‘Sorry’? Was ‘sorry’ supposed to make up for all of the pain this misdiagnosis had put Wallace through? Would sorry make up for the fact that Wallace had almost killed himself?!

    Juan almost slammed the door, but he decided against it. That would be rude, and besides, part of him still needed to hear the rest of the conversation. So he left the door slightly ajar, breathing deeply as he tried to listen.

    "Wallace mentioned dealing with manic episodes with sedatives, didn’t he?" Dr. Angelopoulos asked.

    "H-He did,” Nicole replied.

    "My first impression was that the mania and mood swings were brought on by anxiety and drug abuse," Dr. Angelopoulos continued, "but maybe those two factors were just worsening an underlying cause."

    There was a long moment of silence.

    "I’m the only psychiatrist at this hospital, and we can’t exactly afford to have every medication for every illness,” the doctor said. “We just have antidepressants and benzodiazepines. It… might be a while before we can order the right medicine…"

    Juan shouldn’t have stayed back to listen. This whole conversation was miserable. Shaking his head, he wandered away from the waiting room door. He didn’t bother to hear the rest of Dr. Angelopoulos’ reassurances.

    He was too numb with anger to care about where he was going.

    -

    Sootopolis Mayor Faces Cholera in the Midst of Political Upheaval; Fate Unknown

    Juan felt a lot of emotions reading the newspaper headline, but above all, he felt regret.

    Juan had never trusted Megalos, especially not around Wallace. But politics were… messy by nature, and the most Juan could do was let Wallace stay at his estate instead of Megalos’, or try to stay around Wallace when the boy was with Megalos as much as possible.

    That still wasn’t enough. That still wasn’t enough to keep Wallace safe from verbal or physical or sexual abuse. That still wasn’t enough to keep Wallace from… from…

    ("You’re ruminating again.")

    Marie gently bumped her head against the newspaper, a sign that Juan was better off throwing it away, along with his thoughts.

    There wasn’t much Juan could do to fix the past. All he could do was fix the present, as best as he could. Learn from the past, fix the present, change the future. Learn from the past, fix the present, change the future.

    The estate was empty for the day. Juan had dismissed his butler and maid so he could try to find some peace of mind in this hurricane of emotional turmoil.

    It was a chance for Juan’s mind to take a break from constantly thinking about Wallace. Juan was Wallace’s teacher, not his father. And besides, Wallace was recovering from his psychotic episode. Wallace was in safe hands. Wallace didn’t need Juan constantly obsessing over him.

    …But he needed a parental figure.

    -

    Tests were done over the next few days. Wallace was off of the antidepressants, he was back in touch with reality, he wasn't actively suicidal, and he was being watched by at least one nurse at all times. He was safe, but he was exhausted. After three days of no sleep, he could now barely get through his therapy and meals. Juan worried about what the reevaluation and potential new medications would do to his present state…

    There were indications that Wallace had bipolar disorder, a much more… stigmatized mental illness. Depression was one beast, but what about the countless tabloids about celebrities with bipolar disorder being violent and abusive and—

    No. Fuck those tabloids.

    No tabloid, no mental illness would ever diminish Wallace’s worth to Juan. As a student, as a person, as a son. Nothing would. Nothing. Noth—

    ("Mister Aguado? Are you okay?")

    Sister Dymphna, was looking up at Juan with a concerned look from in front of the door to Wallace’s room. Juan felt tears on his face. He was crying, wasn’t he?

    "I’m… not okay."

    Sister Dymphna nodded in understanding. ("You’re an artist, aren’t you? Maybe you and Wallace can process your feelings together through art?")

    Juan stopped for a moment.

    "...Art?"

    Sister Dymphna opened the door and led Juan inside. Wallace was sitting at a small table—not in bed. Chara Joy was carefully watching from the corner as he moved a brush back and forth along with his hands: he was painting with watercolors.

    Juan stepped over, still in disbelief to see Wallace actually out of his bed for once again and looked down at the table to see his work. He froze at what he found: people being strangled, drowned, sexually assaulted, cut apart. The human subjects didn’t have eyes, though they were often surrounded by them. Surrounded by watching eyes. Surrounded by hands pointing, grabbing, choking, pulling. Messy techniques. Purple blotches on necks and torsos. Red lines over arms and legs. Gray blotches on private areas.

    Wallace had always been an artistic type, despite Megalos’s strict orders against it. His works occasionally dabbled with taboo material, but they had never been this… raw.

    Juan took a moment to compose himself, then he spoke: "Hello… Hello, Wallace."

    Startled, Wallace jumped in his seat and looked up at Juan. The older Coordinator took a moment to look at the watercolor case.

    Juan smiled. "Aqua Ring Watercolors, I see. My my. Whom did you get those from?"

    "Steven," Wallace said, voice devoid of emotions and gaze still on his canvas. "And Winona got me some, too. Steven got earth tones. Winona got cool colours."

    "Well, isn’t that generous of them. And to get you the same present yet also not? It seems like Fate is a cunning maiden."

    Wallace looked down at his art, frowning. "I’m sorry."

    That sorry caught Juan off-guard.

    "Why are you apologizing?"

    "I’m sorry for drawing…" Wallace gestured across the table and the drawings on it. "...This."

    Juan shook his head a bit, smiling once more.

    "Wallace, there’s nothing to apologize for. If drawing these things is how you process your emotions, well, you’re not hurting yourself or anyone else,” Juan reassured his son—student. “And besides, you’re a talented artist. A very, very talented artist."

    Juan knelt in front of Wallace. "Art has always been a means for people to express the parts of their psyches, and not all of those parts are made of sunshine and rainbows."

    Wallace collapsed against Juan and groaned.

    "I’m getting reevaluated."

    "...So I’ve heard,” Juan said, gently rubbing Wallace’s back. “But it’s okay. You’ll get a better diagnosis and better medication to help you—"

    "What’s wrong with me?"

    Juan was taken aback by Wallace’s question. He looked down at his student in confusion.

    "What do you mean?"

    Wallace buried his face deeper against Juan’s chest.

    "I have all these stupid diagnoses and stupid medications and stupid anxiety and depression and bipolar and shit,” Wallace muttered. “I can’t even function anymore and I’m a freak. I’m a freak. I’m a freak. My brain’s messed up and it’s never going to get better."

    Juan hugged Wallace. "None of that changes anything, Wallace. Depression, bipolar disorder, or whatever you’re facing,” Juan insisted. “You will never be undeserving of love."

    Tears returned to Juan’s face, and he hugged Wallace tighter.

    "I love you so much. And I will do everything, everything to help you,” he promised. “Because so many people love you. So many people and Pokémon love you and care about you. No diagnosis can take away your worth and value."

    "Stop crying, Juan!"

    Wallace’s words came out in choked screams. Juan looked at him and saw that Wallace was gritting his teeth, at once scowling and dribbling tears from the corner of his eyes.

    "You’re supposed to be emotionally stable! I’m the sick freak! I’m the one who’s not okay! Sootopolitans aren’t even supposed to cry!” he shouted. “I shouldn’t have been such a fuckup and started crying, because now you’re crying! Now everyone’s sad and suffering and wasting time and money on me and—! And—!"

    Wallace’s words cut out as sobs overtook him. Juan pulled him into his shoulder and just stood there as he let himself sob too. For a few minutes, Juan rocked him back and forth, and the two cried in all of their perfect imperfection.
     
    Last edited:
    Come receive the light
  • suicide attempt, discussions of mental illness and eating disorders, discussions of physical/emotional/sexual abuse, misdiagnosis, psychosis, blood, medical stuff, hospitals, discussions of strangulation and icky bodily functions, discussions of suicide, past death by suicide, discussions of sexual assault, discussions of sex and sexuality, seizures, discussions of drug abuse, corruption, religious themes, internalized queerphobia

    Special thanks to @Spiteful Murkrow and BitchHips for beta reading this chapter.

    When the world was still new and the night was still dark, Sin created disease and unleashed it upon humans and Pokémon. Young and healthy men fell dead in the fields. Parents watched their newborn children wail as pestilence overtook them. Entire villages were wiped out in a matter of days.

    On the darkest night of the year, a comet flew over the sky, a tiny village living in the sky. Tziráchi the Star, a being who dwelt in this village, saw the horrible diseases in this world and flew down to help.

    "I see your pain. I see your sickness. Come forth to me and bring your foreheads to my hands. Let me touch them so that this disease may leave you."

    And so they did. Humans and Pokémon came from far and wide in search of Tziráchi’s healing, and with a mere touch, their disease disappeared from them. Everyone marvelled over the miracles and great works they beheld, and were ever-grateful for the Star and their salvation.

    But then, after many days and nights, the Star grew tired from their healing. Rekkoúza came down, and told them to rest.

    "Oh Mediator of the Sky," said the Star, "I cannot rest. How could I when there are so many who are still suffering?"

    "There is no one person in this world who knows all. None who can do all."

    Rekkoúza departed and left the Star to ponder this wisdom for three days. At its end, Tziráchi came upon a pool of crystal-clear water. The Star dipped a hand in the pool, then flung the speckles of water into the air.

    A thousand stars filled the skies, twinkling and sparkling. the Star smiled and spoke:

    My children, I must rest so I can heal the world in its times of great need. Go to the highest mountains and the deepest seas, and heal the young and the old, the rich and the poor, the righteous and the sinful. May you pass your knowledge onto your children, so the world will always have healers.


    -

    Wallace Papadakis

    19, M

    Ruptured esophagus, malnutrition

    Suicide precautions




    Sister Dymphna held the report in her hand as she ran through the hallways of Tzirachi’s Mercy Medical Center. It was two in the morning, but she had to take on this duty. She had to help Wallace. As a Chansey, it was her birthright to help others. As a child of the Sky Dragon and the Mother Star, it was her duty.

    In the elevator, she took a moment to take a few deep breaths and collect herself. It was important to remain calm in her field of work, both for her patients and for herself. As the doors opened, she put aside her worries for later and put up a professional front.

    You can do this, she said to herself before she entered Wallace’s room.

    Wallace was laying in bed, unconscious, deathly pale, bruised, scarred. He was hooked up to several machines and an IV. Sister Chara Joy had the endoscope snaked down his throat, and Sister Aphrodite was using Heal Pulse on Wallace. There were clothes in the sink—bloody clothes.

    Sister Aphrodite looked up from Wallace and over at Sister Dymphna, who pointed to the sink. The Gardevoir nodded before Sister Dymphna waddled over to the sink, hopped onto a stool, and began washing the clothes.

    For the next few minutes, the air filled with the hum of psychic energy, the splashing of water, and the scrubbing of sponge against cloth. From the bed came the erratic beeping of the heart monitor and the inflating and deflating of the blood pressure monitor. There was the metallic smell of blood and the sour smell of vomit. Such smells filled Sister Dymphna’s heart with dread, no matter how used to them she was.

    The stark light overhead flickered every few seconds as she worked. In a way, it all felt like walking the city streets at night: the world wasn’t empty, but it was still scary.

    Then the psychic humming stopped. The beeps became much more hollow, much more lonely. The two women at the bed were looking up at each other.

    "It looks good," Sister Chara Joy said. "You can begin retracting the endoscope. I’ll talk to Sister Dymphna."

    Sister Chara Joy stood up and walked over to the sink, sighing and resting a hand under her chin.

    "Six phone calls tonight," she sighed. "Poor thing’s gone through the worst night of his life, and it’s not even over yet."

    Sister Dymphna took a deep breath. That could mean many different things, and Sister Dymphna had to be prepared for every option.

    ("What else should I know about the patient?") she finally asked.

    "Apparently, Mr. Papadakis has a history of drug abuse and self harm. And he…" Sister Chara Joy inhaled deeply. "…He was sexually assaulted not long before his guardian called the ambulance by a Gym Leader from Kanto. Ren Mizutani."

    Sister Dymphna’s heart stopped. She had seen and heard of tragedy her whole life, but it never made such stories hurt any less. No one deserved to go through something like… that.

    And the report said he was only nineteen… Only nineteen, barely an adult. A child with a whole life ahead of him.

    "He had a BAC of .19 and an estimated weight of just barely over 45 kilograms," Sister Chara Joy continued. "We had to perform an emergency gastric suction."

    Sister Dymphna nodded, wincing a bit.

    ("The report mentioned a ruptured esophagus. Is it bulimia, or prolonged alcohol use?")

    Sister Chara Joy shrugged. "No one mentioned binge eating, but we’ll… have to wait for him to wake up to know for sure."

    Sister Chara Joy looked back over at Wallace and Sister Aphrodite. "There are… There are also signs of strangulation. We’re not sure if it’s from the assault or—"

    Sister Dymphna froze. Strangulation. Strangulation. Strangulation. Sister Dymphna knew damn well that strangulation could have lasting effects, even if they weren’t immediately obvious.

    Internal injuries.

    Brain damage.

    Death.

    ("Strangulation?!")


    Sister Chara Joy flinched at Sister Dymphna’s sudden rise in tone.

    "Sister Aphrodite performed the Healing Wish procedure when Wallace first came to the emergency room. He…" Sister Chara Joy sighed. "He seems to have been strangled in at least the past few days. But it’s okay. He’s going to be okay."

    -

    Sister Dymphna ran back to Wallace’s room. Sister Chara Joy had to take care of another emergency patient, and someone had to be there for Wallace. It was too dangerous to leave him alone: he could purge or cut himself or try to—

    Oh no.

    He was gone.

    Sister Dymphna tried to calm herself down with deep breaths, but that couldn’t do much when one of her patients was missing. She ran back out of the room, shouting, ("Where is he? Where is he?!")

    She opened every door she came upon in the hallway: the janitor’s closet, the elevator, the bathroom—

    That was where she found him. Wallace was laying on the floor. His IV was still in his arm, but he was on the floor of the bathroom.

    Sister Dymphna tried to pick Wallace up, but it was hard given how much taller he was than her. Sister Chara Joy noticed the two from the hallway and bolted into the room.

    "What happened?" she gasped.

    Sister Dymphna shook her head worriedly.

    ("I found him here. I don’t know what happened!") Sister Dymphna helped hand Wallace over to Sister Chara Joy. ("I don’t… I don’t think he hurt himself.")

    Sister Chara Joy looked up and down Wallace's arms. No fresh wounds. Thank The Mother Star. It didn’t look like he had come here to do anything bad to himself. Maybe he just needed water or to use the restroom.

    Sister Dymphna exhaled with relief, and the tension building up in her body faded away

    But Mr. Papadakis still needed someone to be with him. Suicidal thoughts usually went away after at most 72 hours, and Wallace had barely been in the hospital for 12. And besides, he still needed to be evaluated for a potential mental illness diagnosis. He still needed to be evaluated on whether or not he was at risk to himself.

    -

    ("Hello there! My name is Dymphna, and I’m going to be your nurse alongside Sister Chara Joy. We’ll be trading places back and forth so you have someone with you at all times.")

    Wallace sat up in bed awake in his hospital room, but his half-lidded eyes and tired frown showed he was still exhausted. His posture suggested boredom or shame, and his gaze was just barely directed toward Sister Dymphna.

    She smiled and walked over to his bedside, climbing onto the chair next to it and handing him a clipboard and pen.

    ("The doctors have deemed you well enough to take a few assessments for us. Nothing bad, just assessing your mental state so we can take care of you as best as we can.")

    Wallace stared at the page on the clipboard for several, long seconds before taking it. Sister Dymphna nodded.

    ("Answer all of the questions honestly. It will help us in your treatment plan.")

    This was all standard procedure, and standard procedure like this—paperwork and surveys—tended to be the least stressful part of the job for Sister Dymphna.

    "But what if I choose the wrong answers?" Wallace mumbled.

    Dymphna sighed, a small chuckle escaping her lips. ("There’s no right or wrong answers. Just tell us what’s true for you.")

    That seemed to be enough; Wallace went right to work filling in bubbles with the pen. He was very precise with his penwork, filling in every bubble with not a blank spot or stray mark. It made for a slow process, but if he—

    Wait, was Wallace a he?

    ("Wallace, your medical records list you as being male. Are you… comfortable with me addressing you as such? Would you prefer that I use pronouns other than he?")

    "I’m whatever Megalos needs me to be," Wallace replied without looking up. "So male."

    Megalos, the mayor. Right, Wallace was the mayor’s protégé. Some people said that Wallace had been chosen to go on to be Megalos’s successor, others said he seemed too rebellious for the role.

    Megalos wasn’t the best mayor, to say the least, but this Wallace person seemed… not too bad, just troubled.

    Sister Dymphna shook her head and turned back to Wallace. ("But when you look into your heart, when you ignore Megalos, who are you?")

    …Oh dear. Wallace’s eyes were getting misty now, and he dropped the clipboard on his lap.

    "I—I don’t know."

    ("Well… what would you like me to call you during your stay here? What pronouns would you like me to use?")

    A pause.

    "I like the name Wallace. I like ‘he’ and… ‘they’… and ‘she’?"

    Sister Dymphna smiled. ("That’s good. All of us Chansey are what you humans call female. I like ‘she’ and ‘her’.")

    Wallace picked up the clipboard again and began filling out the questions. The silence and scratching of pen on paper soon became… lonely.

    ("Um… what do you like to—")

    "What does this question mean?"

    Sister Dymphna stood up on her tippy toes to get a better view. Wallace was pointing at the last question in the assessment:

    Have you ever in your life attempted to take your own life?

    Yes ☐ No ☐


    Well, that was the… first time Sister Dymphna had been asked about… that question. It wasn’t exactly the most fun of the questions, even for a depression assessment.

    ("It’s asking if you have ever attempted suicide,") Sister Dymphna explained.

    Wallace’s expression didn’t change. Something else was wrong.

    "I don’t remember whether or not I’ve attempted suicide, and even the times I do remember… don’t count."

    Dymphna froze. ("What… what do you mean?")

    Wallace shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe I was drunk or high and tried to do something. I wouldn’t remember. I only remember my LSD trips." He stared back up at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thought. Or tears. "And well… There have been times where I crossed the street without looking, or drove a car recklessly without wearing a seatbelt, or went into a dangerous part of town, and my logic was…"

    Wallace covered his eyes with his arms. "… My logic was ‘if I die, oh well’." His voice cracked a bit. "But that doesn’t count, does it? There’s a chance that Megalos had sex with me when I was drunk, but I’m not going to accuse Megalos of infidelity. There’s a chance I tried to kill myself when I was drunk, but I’m not going to accuse myself of having attempted suicide."

    Sister Dymphna was at a loss for words. There was a lot in Wallace’s words. Too much.

    ("Megalos didn’t… He didn’t rape you, did he?")

    "Of course not!" Wallace shot back, seemingly insulted. "There's... vague memories of sex in his office..." He shook his head. "But he didn’t rape me, how dare you say that! And even if he did have sex with me, I only started drinking at eighteen"—he stared at Sister Dymphna angrily.—"so if you’re implying he’s guilty of pedophilia—"

    ("It doesn’t matter if you’re both above the age of eighteen,") Sister Dymphna interjected. ("No one in a position of power like that should take advantage of a person below them. No one should take advantage of someone when they’re drunk. No one should take advantage of anyone—")

    "You’re not going to snitch on me, are you?"

    That question caught Sister Dymphna off guard. Wallace’s eyes were wild with terror, and their face had gotten even paler.

    Sister Dymphna forced a smile. ("Wallace, do you know about patient confidentiality?")

    Wallace shook his head. "No."

    ("Under the oath every nurse makes, I won’t tell anybody else what you tell me—unless you are at risk of hurting yourself, hurting someone else, or being hurt by someone else. And well… you’re being hurt by Mega—")

    "He’s not hurting me!"

    Sister Dymphna flinched. The sharpness of Wallace’s words was startling, and his whole body was shaking.

    "Are you a registered priest?" they asked frantically. "You’re a child of The Mother Star, right? Can I make this a confessional? I might as well if you’re going to snitch on me."

    Sister Dymphna held up her hands defensively, trying to calm down Wallace.

    ("Wallace, Wallace, I’ll only tell what I—")

    "I had sex before marriage," Wallace blurted out. "I had sex with a prostitute once to try to figure out how sex works. I had sex with men! I had— I had—" They shook their hands in front of them, as if trying to conjure up thoughts. "I had sex just to satisfy my own degenerate desires! I— I’m—"

    His voice cut off with a choked sob, and he weakly hit his forehead as he collapsed on the bed and curled up like a scared, scared child.

    "Miku did worse things than whatever Megalos did," Wallace said, not looking up. "Miku is bad. Miku is very, very bad."

    ‘Miku’? Was that… Was Wallace referring to themself in the third person? Was it a coping mechanism? But aside from that, it was clear Wallace had been through… so, so much. He needed respect more than ever.

    She took a few deep breaths before speaking again:

    ("Wallace.") Her tone was calm. ("You’re a priest in training, aren’t you?")

    Wallace was still for a moment, then he nodded.

    ("Do you know about Lokásoúvia?")

    Wallace nodded again, tears streaming down his face. "Goddess of love, marriage, fertility, and friendship. She’s one of the most important deities in Runekyō scripture, and she’s the most important to the Megalos family. She represents perfection. I-I… Miku has to know about our gods and goddesses to—"

    ("Did you know that Lokásoúvia was a prostitute?")

    There were several moments of silence.

    "…No?"

    Sister Dymphna put a hand on Wallace's. ("Wallace, prostitution, homosexuality, premarital sex, sex for personal pleasure… none of those things are wrong or sinful. As long as it’s safe and consensual, there’s no fault in fulfilling physical needs.") She paused. ("And before you say anything, do not blame yourself for what Ren or Megalos did to you. Rape is not an act of love; it’s an act of violence.")

    An idea came to Sister Dymphna. She opened the drawer in the nightstand, and inside was a copy of To Chon—the most important book to any Rounékyoist . Pretty much every patient who came to the medical center was a practitioner of the faith. Unsurprisingly, most hospitals in Hoenn... didn't respect their religious needs.

    She opened to the Book of Mánafi and sat in the chair next to Wallace’s bed.

    ("When Kaióga first slumbered, he sent his child to us to watch over our daily lives. The Princess of the Sea came up from the foams of the early morning sea, coat shining like a blue pearl. The first ones to spot the child were not the nobles or the merchants, but the children of the fishermen.

    ("‘Who are you?’ asked the children. ‘Are you a human or Pokémon? Are you a prince or a peasant? Are you a boy or a girl?’

    ("The Prince of the Sea laughed. ‘Do you really think it’s as simple as being one or the other? Tell me, what does it mean to be a human or a Pokémon? A prince or a peasant? A boy or a girl?’

    ("‘That doesn’t make sense,’ said the children.

    ("‘Many things don’t make sense, little ones. Many things can’t make sense until we spend a day in the body of others who are different. Only then can we realize that we all have fears and hopes, loves and hates, flaws and strengths, joys and pains. The body matters not, for it is the mind that carries who one truly is.’

    ("At this, the children—")


    "With all due respect," Wallace interrupted, "I don’t see the point to any of this."

    Sister Dymphna looked up at Wallace. Well, perhaps her choice in passages wasn’t conventional. For most patients, she would have turned to the Book of Tziráchi and the Song of Healing. But it wasn’t just the Prince of the Sea’s connection to water that made his book relevant to this moment with Wallace.

    ("It seems you’ve been told throughout your life that you must look or act a certain way to deserve respect. But you already deserve respect, no matter who you are or how you look or where you come from.") She smiled. ("I have to do a lot of analysis of religious texts, and I think it’s notable that To Chon uses both masculine and feminine language for—")

    Sister Dymphna stopped as Wallace looked down in his lap. He didn’t seem to be feeling any better.

    "I’m disgusting. I’m a gross, disgusting person."

    Sister Dymphna shook her head. ("You’re not disgusting at all.")

    "I threw up on my girlfriend. Several times."

    Sister Dymphna swallowed. That sounded rough.

    ("Well, I can’t speak for your girlfriend, but when Nurse Joy called her…") Sister Dymphna shuddered. When Nurse Joy called Winona, the poor girl was inconsolable. ("…she didn’t seem to be any less worried for you because you were sick a few times.")

    "I had to stop going to the dentist and just bleached my teeth so I wouldn’t get found out for purging. And so my dentist wouldn’t see my fucked-up teeth."

    Sister Dymphna sighed. ("Well… we’ll be sure to help you find a dentist who specializes in treating patients with eating dis—")

    "Sometimes…" Wallace’s face was red with embarrassment. Sister Dymphna didn’t want to say anything just yet; it seemed like Wallace just needed to vent.

    "Sometimes Megalos would discipline me and I would… I would…" He stopped for a second. "I would lose control of my bodily functions."

    Sister Dymphna’s heart stopped. ("How did he… discipline you?")

    Wallace put his hands around his neck, tears returning to their face. "Miku is a disgusting little pig who needs to be treated like a baby and—"

    He was cut off by a hiccup, and he tried to rub away the tears in his eyes.

    "Younger Miku needed to go to the hospital a lot. Miku couldn’t eat or stand up or even use the bathroom without help. A-And look at Miku now!"

    Wallace held his legs against his body, shaking again.

    "Miku can’t even force himself to choke down food without vomiting it up immediately afterwards like a sick dog! Miku is a disgusting junkie whore who uses drugs every damn day! Miku is a damaged slut who sleeps around with people who don’t even like him! Miku is a pathetic coward who can’t even take being disciplined like he deserves without pissing or shitting himself like a frightened bird half the time!"

    His body and expression were twisted up into something so unrecognizable, so angry, so scared. His posture was sharp with despair, eyes violent with pain.

    "Miku never deserved to be loved by Megalos! Megalos was a perfect mentor, and Miku—Miku is just a worthless, fucked-up freak!"

    He crumbled into loud, shaky sobs. The poor thing… The poor thing…

    Sister Dymphna felt her body tense up with anger. Wallace was so young, so weak. He had been abused for so long, and his mind was trying to make him feel disgusting for it.

    She put a hand on Wallace and took a few moments to think of a response: ("Incontinence is a… common occurrence in victims of strangulation. It’s okay to not be in control of your body during times like those. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You aren’t at fault for the abuse you suffered.")

    She paused for a moment. ("And I’m… sorry to say Wallace, but you will need a doctor to watch you at all times, including when you shower or use the bathroom.")

    Wallace’s eyes shot wide open, but Sister Dymphna’s continued:

    ("I know this will be difficult for someone like you, but believe me when I say that we’re doing all of this because we want you to be safe. And there’s nothing for you to be ashamed of. You are worthy of respect, and nothing can ever change that.")

    -

    Fear. Fear when Winona rushed out of Wallace’s room, crying, screaming that Wallace was convulsing. Fear when Sister Dymphna ran into the room, praying that Wallace was okay. Fear when she went through all of the steps of first aid, laying him on his side, cushioning his head, timing the seizure. Fear that the worst would happen. Fear. Fear. Fear.

    But then… the worst didn’t happen. The seizure ended. Wallace was okay, and Doctor Angelopoulos and Sister Dymphna were discussing its aftermath outside of his room.

    "The symptoms Wallace has been exhibiting are in line with those of alcohol and drug withdrawal," he said.

    Sister Dymphna nodded. Doctor Angelopoulos was a very old and very wise doctor. He knew a lot about medicine—for the body, for the mind, for the soul. She trusted him to do what was best for Wallace.

    "Is Chara with Wallace?" he asked.

    Sister Dymphna nodded, and Dr. Angelopoulos began to leave.

    "All right, then. I’ll go discuss this situation with his partner. I was going to discuss Wallace’s diagnosis with her anyway."

    She followed the doctor for a bit to ask, ("What’s the diagnosis for Mr. Papadakis?")

    "Major Depressive Disorder, Purging Disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, abuse of almost every substance you can name," the doctor replied. "We’ll put him on sedatives, since we have those handy, but you’ll have to keep an eye on him while he’s under their effects. They are one of the drugs he abused before his admission."

    Sister Dymphna put a hand to her chin. She was a bit… confused by Dr. Angelopoulos’s plan. ("Then why would we put him on sedatives?")

    "Because it’s the best we can do. Better to have him on sedatives under careful supervision than let him keep having these adverse effects."

    Sister Dymphna nodded. She trusted Doctor Angelopoulos. And with that, she turned to walk back to Wallace’s room.

    She pushed open the door. Wallace was sitting at the table in his room, staring into space with glazed eyes, frowning. Nurse Chara Joy was sitting in the corner of the room.

    ("Wallace? How are you doing?") Sister Dymphna asked.

    He held his hands together in front of him, opening and closing them. Her smile fell.

    ("Mr. Papadakis, do you need something?")

    "Wallace," Nurse Chara Joy sighed, "can you speak?"

    Wallace shook his head.

    What a predicament. The poor thing was so mentally shaken by his seizure that he couldn’t even speak. Though… perhaps they were speaking in home sign…

    An idea struck Sister Dymphna. She ran out of the room and to the waiting room, where Doctor Angelopoulos and Winona were talking.

    "...He’s in good hands," Doctor Angelopoulos reassured Winona, whose face was wet with tears. "We’ll take good care of him."

    ("Winona,") Sister Dymphna interjected. ("Do you know what it means when Wallace opens and closes his hands? Does he need something?")

    Winona wiped away tears and looked over at Sister Dymphna. "Both hands together?"

    Sister Dymphna nodded. Winona’s sad expression sharpened into something more professional.

    "Um… can I… can I see him? I think he might want me."

    ("Of course!")

    Dr. Angelopoulos shot a glance towards Sister Dymphna.

    "Are you sure?" Doctor Angelopoulos asked.

    But Sister Dymphna didn’t respond, because she was already running off to Wallace’s room. When she got there with Winona, Wallace was still staring into space, still opening and closing his hands. Except now Sister Dymphna knew what it meant!

    ("Wallace, do you want Winona?")

    Without looking at Sister Dymphna, Wallace nodded.

    As if on cue, Winona came into the room. She made her way in and knelt by the side of Wallace’s chair, and Wallace turned towards her.

    "Hey, Wallace," she whispered, "how are you doing?"

    Wallace put his head in his hands. Winona smiled sympathetically.

    "Not good, huh? Is there anything I can do to help?"

    He wrapped his arms around himself.

    "A hug?"

    He nodded.

    Winona smiled and wrapped her arms around Wallace. She hummed like a chipper little bird.

    "I love you, Wallace, and you’re going to be okay. Okay?"

    Wallace shook his head. Winona nuzzled against him, glancing over at the bedside table. Her and Steven’s presents for Wallace sat atop it.

    "The doctors will take good care of you. Steven and I will visit. It’s going to be okay. Do you think opening your presents might help?"

    Wallace nodded. Winona let go of them and stood up to pick up two boxes from the nightstand. One had been from her, the other had been from Steven.

    "Do you want to open them, or should I?"

    Wallace pointed to himself, and Winona handed them the boxes. He slowly stripped off the wrapping paper, folding it neatly on the table.

    There were watercolors inside of the boxes. Wallace’s eyes glowed brighter than the shades of blue and purple paint within.

    And then, Wallace hugged Winona and buried their face against her body. Winona gently ran her hand up and down Wallace’s back.

    Sister Dymphna sighed out of relief. Wallace seemed to trust Winona. They seemed to trust that Steven man too, even though he punched walls. That was good. Having a support network was vital for recovery.

    Wallace had Pokémon, right? Maybe those Pokémon could help, too!

    -

    As it turned out, Wallace’s partner Victoria liked to help, she just…

    ("I shouldn’t have ever let it come to this point. Was I not a good enough healer?")

    …Well, perhaps it would be mean to say that Victoria was bad at her job. She clearly cared for Wallace and wanted the best for them. But… But…

    Sister Dymphna swallowed and tried to sort her words out. ("Victoria, do you know what codependency is?")

    Victoria’s brow scrunched. ("What do you mean by that?")

    Sister Dymphna stopped in the middle of the hallway, and Victoria stopped some seconds later. For a few seconds, Sister Dymphna let the buzz of the radiator fill the silence. Then she spoke again:

    ("Well, it seems as though Wallace has been… quite dependent on you, and in turn you’ve enabled many of his more unhealthy—")

    Victoria’s tail slapped! on the floor.

    ("Enabled?!") she shouted, eyebrows furrowed with anger. ("Do you think I would let Wallace suffer?! Do you think me caring for them is just as bad as letting them hurt themself for so long?!?!")

    Dymphna held up her hands, signalling Victoria to pause and take a moment to calm down. Victoria’s body still seemed tense, but her tail slowly fell to the floor.

    ("Victoria, it’s important to have family and friends to help you in difficult times, but when it gets to the point where you put the needs of others over your own well being…") Sister Dymphna began. ("When you forget that you’re a person too, when you put a little bandage on a broken leg and don’t address the underlying problem… that’s when it becomes a problem.")

    Victoria’s body relaxed a bit, and Sister Dymphna smiled. ("I don’t think you’re a bad partner, Victoria. And I don’t think Wallace is a bad partner. But—")

    Victoria turned to leave down the hallway.

    ("Wait!") Sister Dymphna gasped. ("Where are you going?!")

    ("I don’t want to hurt Wallace anymore,") Victoria said, eyes sharp with worry and anger.

    Victoria dashed down the hallway. Sister Dymphna almost ran after her, but she decided against it. Victoria needed time. Everyone did.

    -

    Reports of abuse were to be taken very seriously. Sister Dymphna took Wallace’s testimony to the police as soon as she had the time.

    "You have reached the Sootopolis City Police Hotline. For human services, press 1. For Pokémon services, press 2. For—"

    Sister Dymphna pressed "2".

    "Thank you. Please wait while we connect you with a dispatcher."

    Barely a few seconds passed before a dispatcher came:

    "How may we help you?" The voice on the other end of the line was firm yet calm. Sister Dymphna felt safe.

    ("I need to report a case of abuse.")

    "A case of abuse? Would you mind elaborating?"

    Sister Dymphna nodded, before remembering that the dispatcher couldn’t see her. The Pokémon services tended to be handled by… well, Pokémon. Human-Pokémon verbal communication tended to work better when both parties were near each other.

    ("I have a patient who has… confessed to being physically, emotionally, and… and sexually abused by… by…") Sister Dymphna swallowed. ("...by the mayor. Matthias Megalos. For at least a few years.")

    "...I see. Do you have any evidence of the abuse? Do you have photos of the victim’s injuries? Has she—"

    ("‘He’. The victim is a ‘he’.") Well, Wallace was more than a ‘he’, but Sootopolis City didn’t seem too fond of anything outside of strict ideas of ‘male’ and ‘female’.

    There was a brief silence.

    "Alright then, has the patient taken a forensic exam?"

    ("I don’t believe that’s possible anymore. It’s been… a bit since the victim was last in contact with Megalos. But there are still visible bruises I can take pictures of.")

    "Alright then. You can send those into the police department. Can I have the patient’s name?"

    ("Wallace Papadakis.")

    "And can I have your name?"

    ("A—Dymphna. No last name.")

    "Okay, Dymphna. We will call you back once we look further into this case. Thank you for reporting this."

    Sister Dymphna never got a call back. A few days later, news came that Ren had been acquitted of her charges.

    -

    "She can’t come in!"

    "Wallace, Sister Dymphna won’t hurt you!"

    "SHE’S GOING TO KILL ME! EVERYONE IS GOING TO KILL ME!"

    Wallace and Sister Chara Joy were fighting—loudly. Wallace had been refusing to sleep, insisting that he wasn’t tired. One night of restlessness was understandable, but three nights of no sleep was taking its toll on his mind and mood. He was more irritable. He was talking to himself. He was… different. It started once Wallace started taking antidepressants, progressively getting worse as the month continued on.

    Was this a side effect of those antidepressants? The nausea and dizziness that accompanied the sleep problems seemed to line up with the side effects, but what about the…?

    …This wasn’t psychosis, was it? Was it the LSD he supposedly took? Was it schizophrenia?

    Sister Dymphna left the room, heart aching with pain. She couldn’t help herself from rocking side to side. It was a self-soothing behaviour that had been with her since infancy. She was so, so worried about Wallace. His own mind was turning against him and making the people around him into enemies.

    But psychosis wasn’t a common symptom of depression, was it?

    She looked back into the room. Wallace was pacing around the room, speaking rather than shouting now.

    "All of them want to kill me. All of them want to kill me. They want to kill Sootopolis City. Use me. That’s all I’m good for. Use me and drug me and beat me and choke me and fuck me IT’S NOT ABUSE IT’S DISCIPLINE!!!"

    …His condition was getting worse. It was supposed to be getting better, but it wasn’t.

    Wallace was safe with Sister Chara Joy, so Sister Dymphna ran to Doctor Angelopoulos’s office and told him about Wallace’s condition. His stoic face turned grim.

    "Talking to himself?" Doctor Angelopoulos said. "Oh dear…"

    The world stopped for Sister Dymphna. It was never good when Doctor Angelopoulos said "oh dear". "Oh dear" was not having the medication to treat a patient. "Oh dear" was finding out that a patient had terminal cancer.

    "Oh dear" was bad. Very bad.

    "Has Wallace been happier than usual?"

    Sister Dymphna looked up at Dr. Angelopoulos, who was resting his chin on a finger. It was a strange question, but she replied, ("Sometimes, but not really. Just more… energized.")

    "More self-confident?"

    ("I can’t really tell. He’s just been screaming about how everyone wants to kill him and Sootopolis City.")

    "Is he speaking faster than normal?"

    Sister Dymphna was starting to suspect what Doctor Angelopoulos was suspecting. ("Yes.")

    Doctor Angelopoulos’s frown grew more grim.

    "This sounds like it might be a manic—"

    "YOU DON’T FUCKING UNDERSTAND!"

    Sister Dymphna ran out of the office at the sound of Wallace’s scream. He was still screaming, and now Sister Chara Joy was too, but Sister Dymphna couldn’t hear it.

    Wallace ran out of his room, Sister Chara Joy pursuing him. He crashed into the window at the end of the hall, banging desperately on the glass until it shattered. Why didn’t the hospital have enforced glass? Why didn’t the hospital have enforced glass? Why didn’t it have the funds for enforced glass?!

    ("WALLACE!")


    He stared down at the ground outside the window. First floor; not a height that would kill. He still looked… sick in the brief moment he looked out the window.

    ("Wallace, please!")

    He grabbed a shard of glass and held it to his throat, panting and staring at Sister Chara Joy and Sister Dymphna with eyes wild like a storm.

    "IF YOU STEP ANY CLOSER, I’LL SLIT MY FUCKING THROAT!!!"

    Memories flashed before Sister Dymphna’s eyes: a young woman, a child of The Mother Star, standing at the edge of the Sootopolis Crater.

    ("Please, Dymphna. I love you. Your family loves you. So many people love you. It will get better, I—")

    "Whenever it gets better, it just gets worse."

    Then there was silence, nothing but those two.

    Then there was just one.


    There was no serenity in Wallace’s eyes, nothing like Dymphna’s, but there was that same fear, that same despair.

    From that day forward, Avi—no, Sister Dymphna made it her mission to save as many people from her lover’s fate as she could.

    "I HATE IT HERE!" Wallace shrilled. "I ALREADY FAILED MEGALOS! I ALREADY FAILED SOOTOPOLIS CITY! I NEED TO DIE! I WANT TO DIE! I WANT TO DIE I WANT TO DIE I…I…" Their voice fell to a whisper. "I want to die I want to die I want to die…"

    Their mantra continued as their grip slackened and they dropped the glass. Blood dripped from their hands. There was no more anger. Just fear. Just despair.

    Sister Dymphna caught Wallace before they could fall to the floor. His blood was warm on her fur. So were his tears.

    "Miku wants to die," he muttered under his tears. "Miku’s scared to die. Megalos loves Miku. Everyone else wants Miku dead. Miku needs to obey him. Miku’s scared to die. Miku needs to die. Miku needs to be disciplined. It’s not abuse. It’s discipline. Miku doesn’t like being disciplined. Miku wants it all to go away. Go away. Go—"

    Sister Dymphna could feel him suddenly look up, then he went limp. Two people took him away from her: Sister Chara Joy and Sister Aphrodite. She looked up at them for comfort, for answers, for something.

    ("Is he going to be okay?") She was supposed to know. She was a nurse. She was a Chansey. They were supposed to know. But now she was just scared, and she didn’t know anything.

    ("We’ll put him on a suicide watch,") Sister Aphrodite reassured her. ("We’ll remove all hazards from his room, and I’ll stay with him at all times. Go call Wallace’s next of kin.")

    -

    Sister Dymphna needed a break after that day.

    She took a lot of pride in her duties as a nurse, but even nurses needed a break. As the Book of Tziráchi said, "Eat when you’re hungry. Drink when you're thirsty. Rest when you’re tired." So it only made sense to take a break, and Wallace was in the safe hands of Sister Aphrodite and Sister Chara Joy, so Sister Dymphna finally had the time.

    And if she didn’t rest, she would surely go crazy.

    It was hard to play instrumental music when one had such short hands, especially with a bouzouki, but Sister Dymphna had built up minor skills in telekinesis. Perhaps she wasn’t as skilled as Sister Aphrodite, but she could hold down the chords with her mind while strumming the lute with her hands.

    She played a few chords for practice. It had been… so long since she had held her bouzouki. It felt like meeting an old friend, with memories blurry but rediscoverable.

    "It’s good to see you around again, Sister Dymphna. Where have you been?"

    Sister Dymphna stopped and looked up. A pretty, petite woman with bluish-grey hair was walking over to her, a stáchifláouto in hand.

    ("Sister Markella, Earth and Sea and Sky Above.")

    Sister Markella smiled as she sat down next to Sister Dymphna, causing the Chansey to blush. "You look like you need a friend to play with."

    ("That would be nice, yes. You can play the melody, I’ll play the chords.")

    For a brief moment in time, Sister Dymphna was at peace, playing nautical and urban songs with Sister Markella—"poor Sootopolitan’s music", so to speak. That brief moment reminded Sister Dymphna that the world could be good and kind. She had seen the worst of the world so many times over her life, but these moments of kindness… they were important.

    -

    Wallace was beginning to stabilize mentally. The order of lithium had finally come in, but it would take time to tell if it was the right medication for Wallace. Different medications worked for different people.

    At the very least, things were finally going back onto the path to recovery.

    Sister Dymphna noticed Victoria waiting outside of Wallace’s room. Well, Wallace still had therapy and wouldn’t be back at his room for another hour, so maybe Dymphna could talk to Victoria again.

    ("Victoria! What brings you—")

    Victoria snapped her head down to Sister Dymphna. For the first time since the two had met, Victoria seemed hopeful. ("I want to be Wallace’s service Pokémon.")

    Well, this was… hm…

    ("Their… service Pokémon?") Sister Dymphna tilted a bit to the side in confusion.

    ("Yes, service Pokémon! ") Victoria waved her fin to emphasize her words. ("The ones that help humans who can't see. The ones that help humans who are sick. The ones that help them through panic attacks. I want to be that for Wallace!")

    Sister Dymphna forced a small smile. She didn’t know… how to word her next statement.

    ("Victoria… A therapist can’t treat their own family. You and Wallace are very close—that’s wonderful! But… well, a therapist wouldn’t treat their sibling. For practical and ethical reasons, we would need a different Pokémon to be a service Pokémon for Wallace.")

    And besides, Victoria needed to learn about boundaries, and about taking care of herself.

    Victoria looked shocked at this news, and tears were beginning to form in her eyes.

    ("B-But I’m supposed to be there for them. I’m their partner Pokémon. How… I…")

    She was cut off by a harsh sob. Sister Dymphna hugged her long body.

    ("But you’re just as important as any therapist or service Pokémon,") Sister Dymphna said. ("Family is very, very important. They’re just important in a different way.")

    An idea suddenly came to Sister Dymphna’s mind. Victoria was too close to Wallace, but maybe…

    ("Are there any other Pokémon Wallace? Ones who maybe aren’t as… close with the ?")

    Victoria sniffled, but said nothing. After a long silence, she sighed.

    ("I mean, there’s quite a few, but all of them are very close… Not as close as me, but they’re also very busy. Duncan… Duncan isn’t. He’s a Spheal and used to train with Nicole, but he likes helping people more than battling. He doesn’t know too much about Wallace. I guess… I guess he can help.")

    Sister Dymphna nodded.

    ("That would be good. For you and Wallace.")
     
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    you're not a monster just a human and you made a few mistakes
  • Mental illness, discussions of sexual abuse/assault, offscreen death, discussions and aftermath of abuse, discussions of drug abuse, discussions of eating disorders and self harm, discussions of bigotry, minor arguing, cigarette use, alcohol, mentions of self harm

    Steven was on the porch of the Mizushima-Papadakis house, smoking a cigarette. He had drifted between his dorm, Wallace's home, and Winona's dorm in the wake of Wallace's suicide attempt.

    His dad had been texting him earlier—"How are you doing son?" "How's your friend?" "If you ever need to come back home, your old man's door is always open". Steven didn't want to respond, and luckily Dad was probably too busy anyway to read any responses.

    Too busy to scold Steven for smoking.

    He couldn't even remember when or why he had picked up the habit. Probably in middle school or high school, when he wanted to stick it to his dad or teachers, when his poor study habits finally caught up to him, when he needed a way to deal with a new ADHD diagnosis. It wasn't pleasant, but… well, it was always there when things were rough.

    It wasn't a pretty habit, and deep down… maybe Steven really did want to drop the habit, even with Winona's teasing pleas that she didn't like a man who reeked of tobacco. Maybe—

    "Need a smoking partner?"

    Steven jumped at the voice and looked up. Oh, it was just Raphael.

    Steven sighed. "Don't you have a daughter?"

    Raphael sat in one of the porch chairs. "Social smoker. Try not to make it a habit."

    Steven chuckled, handing Raphael the box of cigarettes. "How do you do it?"

    Raphael raised an eyebrow at the label on the box. "Camerupt Luxury?"

    "What else would I blow my dad's money on?"

    Raphael said nothing in response, instead taking a cigarette and letting Steven light it for him. The two sat in silence for a few minutes. Steven wanted to strike up some sort of conversation, but that had never been a strength of his.

    Luckily, Raphael started the conversation: "Seen any… movies lately?"

    "No."

    Well, never mind. That conversation died about as quickly as it started.

    "Well…" Actually, maybe Raphael was going to try again. "How are the… Rustboro Cradily? Is that your baseball team?"

    Steven smiled. "My dad would probably know. He loves baseball. Made me try out for the little league and everything. I think he thought it would do me some good."

    Raphael turned to Steven. "Your dad's the president of Devon Co., right?"

    Steven fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah. Why?"

    Raphael shrugged. "I don't really know a lot about you and Winona, really. Wallace doesn't talk a whole lot about you." He paused and thought for a moment. "Well, he was over the moon when he met Winona and first introduced her to use… But Megalos didn't like her." He stifled a laugh. "Wallace's family sure didn't like her."

    Steven's heart broke a bit at that. Sure, he and Winona had gotten used to the fact that they couldn't make their relationship with Wallace public, but… the fact that Wallace felt like he couldn't talk about them with his own family, even as a friend…

    "I mean," Raphael continued, "Nicole liked Winona. Lisia liked Winona. I liked Winona. But…" he groaned. "Their family, I swear. They think we have some curse because Nicole was born out of wedlock or Lisia was born out of wedlock or Wallace wore dresses or—"

    He collapsed against the back of his chair. "Sometimes I wish they would just ostracize us already so we wouldn't have to deal with them."

    Wait, Wallace used to wear dresses? And Raphael… didn't seem to show disdain for it?

    "It's kind of sad, really." Raphael's voice was much quieter. "I barely know anything about Wallace, and we've known each other for almost a decade. Are Nicole and I… really any better than the rest of the family?"

    Steven's heart broke. Raphael looked… well, he looked stoic as always, but… it felt like a different kind of stoicism. Was he hiding something?

    "Y-Yeah," Steven stammered. "Well… when I came out to my dad as… as not straight, I didn't come out immediately after I found out. I…" He bit down on his cigarette. "I didn't have the best relationship with my dad as a kid. But we… tried opening up to each other, allowing ourselves to be vulnerable, and only when he showed that he unconditionally loved me, I… I felt like I could be myself around him."

    His hand fell against his side, the flame on the cigarette dying away.

    "I think you just need to make sure Wallace feels safe being himself around you, right?"

    Raphael looked up.

    "Steven, how do you know Wallace?"

    Shit. Shit shit shit.

    "I… Well I… I'm the Champion." Steven stood up, holding his cigarette in a shaky death grip between his fingers. "Of course I would be there for Wallace! I—"

    "Raphael? Steven?"

    Nicole was standing in the doorway, expression… expression uncharacteristically emotionless.

    "You… you need to come see the news. Megalos is dead."

    -

    Megalos had succumbed to cholera. He was fifty five years old.

    His death set Sootopolis politics on fire, with his followers mourning him and turning their attention to memorializing a symbol of Sootopolis's rise from near destruction, while City Hall scrambled to choose a successor.

    Nicole, meanwhile, celebrated with a bottle of her most expensive Asírikó wine.

    She wasn't intending to get drunk, but she deserved to treat herself. Megalos could never hurt Wallace again. Megalos could never beat or rape Wallace again. Megalos was gone, and Nicole couldn't be happier.

    …But Ren was still out there in the world. There were still so many predatory socialites in Sootopolis. The world was still so scary.

    But without Megalos, Wallace wasn't shackled to publicity and Sootopolis City. He had no reason to stay, and he had every reason to leave.

    -

    "Lisia," Nicole said one morning, "we're moving to Lilycove City."

    Lisia looked up from her cereal. "But… why?"

    Nicole looked over at Raphael, the gears in her head turning.

    Of course.

    "Well, you know how Tàta works at the museum in Lilycove City?"

    "Yeah."

    "Well, it's been getting harder to commute between cities, and so we're moving to Lilycove City to make it easier."

    "But what about school? What about my friends?" Her eyes widened. "We're not leaving Uncle Wall behind, are we?"

    Nicole couldn't help but chuckle. Cute Lisia, watching out for her uncle. "Of course we aren't leaving Wallace behind! Wallace is family, and we'd never leave him behind!"

    Lisia crossed her arms. "You're a bad liar."

    The whole table went silent. Then, Lisia's voice came back, louder and harsher:

    "You said that Wallace is okay! You said that he would be okay! But he's not! He's never going to be okay!"

    "Lisia—"

    Lisia ran out of her chair and out of the kitchen.

    -

    Wallace eventually went from just barely above 45 kilograms to a healthier, albeit still below healthy weight. The withdrawal symptoms lessened as the months went on. Most importantly, Wallace was back in touch with reality, and he wasn't at risk of killing himself the second he was left alone.

    He moved to Lilycove City with his sister and her family. Steven didn't have an excuse to follow them, not unless he wanted to out his true relationship with Wallace.

    So instead, he tried to focus on college. He tried to focus on his studies. And somehow, he even managed to get himself to do Devon work. Anything to distract himself from Wallace.

    And hey, maybe it was a good thing that he wasn't thinking about Wallace. After all, being a caretaker was exhausting. It took a lot out of Steven. It gave him panic attacks and self harm thoughts and—

    Fuck.

    What kind of a boyfriend was he, thinking of Wallace like that? Wallace was the greatest man Steven had ever met. Wallace was calm and kind. He loved art and Water types. He… He…

    Who was Wallace? And did Steven even know the real Wallace? Wallace had lied for so many years that he was okay, that he loved everything about his life, that he was perfect. How could Steven know what the real Wallace was like? How—

    His Pokénav was ringing. It was Nicole.

    "Hello, Ms. Papadaki." Shoot, was it 'Ms.' or 'Ms.'? 'Papadaki' or 'Mizushima'?

    "How do you know Wallace?" Nicole's voice was direct. Was she mad at Steven?

    "I-I told Raphael already, I'm the Champion! And a good Champion cares about the other League members! And—"

    "Then why is Wallace begging me to let you and Winona share a bed with him?"

    Silence. Cold, cold silence.

    Nicole sighed. "I'm not mad at you, Steven. I don't care if my brother is gay or straight or whatever. I just… I just want him to be happy." Her voice cracked at the end. "I—"

    "Wallace and I are gay." Fuck it all, it's not like anything even mattered. "We're gay and we have gay sex and—"

    "Steven, Steven, you don't need to go into detail. I don't—" Nicole was cut off by a laugh that took her out for a few moments. Honestly, it was nice hearing her laugh.

    "Then what," Nicole asked once her voice had calmed down again, "what about Winona? Did she and Wallace break up?"

    "No. She's…" Shit, how was Steven supposed to explain this? "She and I are dating Wallace. And I'm dating Winona. We're all dating each other."

    …Thinking for a moment, Steven realized that maybe using "gay" implied he was only dating Wallace. Maybe he should have used… what was the word… bisexual?

    "I really don't know anything about Wallace, do I?" Nicole sighed. "I've known him since he was a baby, and I feel like he's a stranger."

    Steven chuckled awkwardly. "I don't even know if I'm dating the real Wallace or some made-up fantasy."

    "Steven… from now on, we need to be honest with each other. All of us. Me, Raphael, you, Winona, and Wallace."

    Someone was missing. "What about Lisia?"

    Nicole was silent for a bit. "We… We'll have to figure that out."

    -

    Wallace wordlessly looked around the new house, ducking in and out of the rooms. Unlike the home in Sootopolis, this house was one floor. The kitchen, the living room, the dining room, the three bedrooms, and the garage. That garage probably wouldn't be getting much use; cars weren't really a thing in Sootopolis City, and surely Lilycove City had public transport. It was better for the environment than a car.

    Well, as Wallace looked around the garage, he could imagine it as an art studio of some sort, with all of his paints and canvases and folders… but Megalos wouldn't like that. Megalos would want the place dedicated to something more useful, but how did one make a politics studio?

    What would Megalos think of Wallace taking lithium instead of his government-mandated drugs? What would Megalos think of all of the mean things the doctors said about him? What would Megalos think of the false accusations of abuse? What would Megalos think of Wallace no longer living in Sootopolis City?

    What was Wallace supposed to do now, after he had attempted suicide, after he had been hospitalized for drug addiction and an eating disorder, after his whole life had almost ended several times over? What—

    "Hey, Wallace."

    Light flooded into the garage as someone opened the door… Steven. And Winona was with him, too. They had come! They… They looked... They looked off, but Wallace couldn't pinpoint why.

    "Can we talk to you about something?" Steven asked as he looked around the garage. "Like… sitting down… there's nowhere to sit here—How about the kitchen?"

    Wallace's heart raced as he followed the two out of the garage, down the hall, and into the kitchen.

    "Are you breaking up with me?" Wallace asked.

    "No," Winona replied.

    "Are you pregnant?"

    "No."

    "Do I have some sort of terminal illness that the doctor didn't tell me about?"

    "No."

    Now they were sitting at the kitchen table. Winona and Steven occasionally glanced at each other.

    "Is Ren pregnant? Are Ren and Megalos going to jail? Is Megalos still going to be the mayor? When do I need to go back—"

    Steven raised his hand, signaling Wallace to stop talking.

    "Wallace, I love you. Winona loves you. Nicole and everyone in your family loves you. Juan loves you. Your Pokémon love you." There was a resigned smile on Steven's face, genuine love, genuine exhaustion. "But this… All of these things… the alcohol, the drugs, the self harm, the purging, the constant lies and coverups… they're all hurting you, and they're hurting us. You can't go on like this and expect to live very long or very well. If it's all for Sootopolis… you can't really do much for Sootopolis if you're dead. And you're just…" Steven sighed, rested his head in his hand. "You're living for someone else and you're not even living your true self."

    Steven looked back up. "So I'm going to give you a choice." He pointed to the front door. "Either you walk out that door and return to living for Sootopolis City and return to the drugs and the purging and the self harm and the lies"—Steven took a deep breath—"or you stay here and start living for yourself, you start living your authentic self, and we can all start figuring this out together. Coming from someone who's been there… it gets better, with the help of others, and help from within. There's nobody that can snap their fingers and make everything go away. It's a long, long road, and it's not an easy one, and, well, only you can make the first step."

    Wallace's heart stopped. He had… hurt Steven and Winona. No, that couldn't be... No... looking back on their time together—the cancelled dates, the ghosting, the fighting, the nights of migraines and drunkenness—he had hurt them…

    ...and they still loved him. They still wanted to stick around to help him. They wanted him to stay. They wanted him to get better. They still loved him after all of the pain he put them through.

    And he had to do his part.

    "I don't…" Wallace whispered. "…I don't know where to start. I want to get better, for you. But I want to start somewhere, and I don't know where to start."

    It was Winona's turn to smile, to speak: "You can start by answering a question: How are you feeling? And be honest."

    Wallace stared back down at his feet. "I'm scared. I don't know..." He swallowed back the lump in his throat. "...I don't know how to keep living... much less live for me."

    "Well," Winona said, "what makes you happy? Forget about the things that others want you to do or like; what makes you happy?"

    "I like... Water types." Wallace searched through the depths of his mind. "I like art. Making art, looking at art, talking about art. I like Nicole and Raphael. I like Victoria and all of my other Pokémon. I like Juan. And I like..." He smiled, and this time he didn't have to force it. "...I like you two. I like your hugs, too."

    Steven chuckled. "Are you trying to ask for a hug?"

    "Yes. Your hugs are good touch. Very, very good touch."

    Their touch was good—great. He trusted them. He loved them. He wanted to do his very best to give back for everything they had done for him.
     
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    alone... at the edge of a universe... humming a tune...
  • Discussions of mental illness and medication, self harm, eating disorders, and drug abuse; arguing; codependency; sexual themes; implied past abuse

    Duncan rolled into the pharmacy. Bright, colorful boxes stood on bright, white shelves. Fluorescent light reflected on the Spheal's satiny skin. Everything glowed like ice on a sunny day.

    "Can I help you?" the lady at the counter asked.

    Duncan nodded and took out a small slip of paper from his purse, which was wrapped to his side in a way that would allow him to roll without damaging the items inside. The lady's eyes widened.

    "Oh! I see. Let me just… get that…"

    She reached over and took the slip of paper out of Duncan's mouth:

    Patient Name: Wallace Papadakis

    Date of birth: 2976年8月15日

    Date: 2995年5月30日

    ℞: Lithium, 500 mg

    Sig: PO nightly

    Disp #: 30 (thirty)


    The lady smiled. "Of course! I'll get it right away!"

    -

    Duncan came back home about half an hour later. Well, it was the new house in the new city, not yet home. Lilycove. It seemed like a nice city. Lots of shiny buildings. Lots of friendly people. Lots of friendly boats. It was like a round cube of ice, full of possibility and joy.

    Nicole was waiting outside the new home, a big smile on her face. She hadn't looked this happy in years… many, many years. She was very happy as a Coordinator and a Trainer, but when her parents died… when Wallace became the leader of the colony at such a young age…

    "Thank you, Duncan," Nicole said. "You did good today."

    The Spheal squeaked happily, clapping his fins. ("I finally found where I belong! After so many years… I've found my place.")

    Nicole smiled brightly. "I'm very happy you have."

    But now things were good again. Wallace was getting the help he needed, and Duncan finally knew where he was meant to be: helping others and spreading joy.

    -

    Duncan rolled into Wallace's sleep-cave. Wallace was sitting on the bed, reading. He was like a fragile triangle: tapping on the book with his fingers, darting his eyes up from the book and back down, tapping his foot on the ground, shaking.

    ("How are you doing, Wallace?")

    Without looking up, Wallace said, "Miku is having bad cutting thoughts. Miku needs to make them go away. Miku doesn't know how."

    Duncan's training had prepared him for this.

    He rolled into action, patting Wallace's foot.

    ("All right then! Let's use our coping strategies!")

    Wallace smiled weakly at Duncan. "Is Winona around?"

    "Did someone say my name?"

    Winona was poking her head in the bed-cave.

    "Winona," Wallace said, "I need… Miku needs help. Bad thoughts. Doesn't know how to make them go away."

    This was the first time Wallace had asked for help! Progress!

    "Why don't we go for a walk?" Winona asked.

    "A walk? Sure. Walks are nice."

    ("Can I come, too?") Duncan asked.

    A flash of blue light sprung from the Pokéball on the bed table. Victoria stared down at Wallace, cool anger simmering in her sharp eyes.

    But Wallace didn't seem to notice, and he smiled. "Why don't you both come with us?"

    -

    The city was very pretty in the daytime. Very hot, yes, but the sky was blue as the sea, and the buildings shone like ice. In a way, hot and cold places were very similar, but their differences helped them sustain all types of life.

    Winona and Wallace looked so happy talking about human things and birds and fish. It was so nice to see Wallace smile again. It had been years since he had been this happy. Maybe Wallace was like Duncan, stuck in a life that he wasn't meant to lead. Maybe Wallace had also finally found his place.

    "Hey, at least now we'll get to have more Lilycove dates," Wallace said to Winona. "Maybe we'll even get to see the red light district together. I've heard there are some wonderful strip clubs."

    Strip clubs? Those were the places humans went to for mating, right? Humans had a lot of mating rituals, but at the same time, they didn't like talking about mating. Humans were strange like that. Very wonderful, but very strange.

    Victoria was looking at Winona with disdain.

    Wallace's Pokémon partners were… odd friends, to say the least. Flamboyant and self-centered, all of them were. Spikes ready to strike at any moment, imposing rectangles, or destructive spheres.

    Victoria was the most hard to read: she loved Wallace, but she was bitter to the doctors helping him, and she was bitter to Duncan. She was never explicit in that, but… he could tell she didn't like him. She had a vague shape of something, but Duncan couldn't pinpoint what that shape was.

    Duncan stopped rolling, waiting for Victoria to catch up. Rather than continue to follow Wallace, Victoria stopped, sighing.

    ("What are you doing?") she asked.

    ("Why don't you like me, Victoria?") Duncan asked.

    ("I do like you. When did you ever get that idea?") There was a defensive, rectangular tone to her voice.

    ("You always look annoyed with me. And right now, you sound very triangular.")

    ("Triangular?")

    ("Angry. And sharp, like you could hurt someone. Wallace is like a triangle, too, but in a different way.")

    Victoria shook her head. ("I don't understand.")

    Duncan thought for a moment. ("Well, circles are round. Very friendly. But sometimes their friendliness causes them to spin out of control and into the wrong hands. Squares are firm and determined, but they're sometimes also stubborn. Triangles are dramatic and creative, but sometimes they can be violent and unstable.")

    Victoria scowled. ("You're calling me violent and unstable? You're calling Wallace violent and unstable?!")

    Duncan waved a flipper.

    ("No… Victoria, be honest: Why don't you like the doctors? Why don't you like me?")

    "Victoria? Duncan?" Wallace called.

    He and Winona had stopped walking, standing some distance away from the two Pokémon. Victoria began to slither again.

    ("Coming, Wallace—")

    ("Victoria, wait!")

    An idea struck Duncan. He rolled over to Wallace and bumped against his leg to grab his attention.

    ("Sit!") Duncan pointed a flipper to a nearby bench. ("Talk about birds and fish and strip clubs! I want to talk square things with Victoria!")

    Wallace cocked his head. "Um… sure! What are the square things you're talking about?"

    Duncan didn't answer, instead pushing Wallace a little more firmly.

    Wallace and Winona eventually sat on the bench. Wallace rested his head in Winona's lap as she rambled on about birds. Birds were nice! Very round. Very friendly. Wallace and Winona's happiness was round and bright.

    ("Why does Wallace need doctors?")

    Victoria's sad voice was… not round. Not square. Not triangular. It was a sad, sad blob.

    ("Wallace needs doctors so he can get better.") Duncan explained.

    ("But why wasn't I enough?")

    ("What do you mean?")

    ("I'm their partner Pokémon!") Victoria's voice was just a bit louder. ("I should have been enough to help them!") She gasped. ("A Trainer is meant to teach and guide, and in turn, the Pokémon cares for them. But I… I wasn't able to do that. I failed to help them.")

    Duncan thought for a bit. When he was a younger Spheal, he was determined to be the best battler or performer, even though it wasn't what he wanted to do. But with Victoria… Victoria wanted to be Wallace's protector, Victoria wanted to be the best protector, even though… well, she couldn't be a protector all by herself.

    ("Victoria, outside of caring for Wallace… who are you?")

    ("I'm Victoria! What a silly question to ask.")

    ("Not like that. I mean… do you have ambitions? Do you have dreams?")

    ("I want Wallace to be okay!") Her voice was sad now. ("I want to be useful! This is my purpose, and I've failed!")

    ("Victoria—")

    But she ran off.

    "Victoria!" Wallace called as he stood up. "Where are you going?!"

    -

    Victoria opened her eyes. Familiar white and blue buildings were there to greet her: the buildings of Sootopolis City.

    There were many people going in and out the streets, going about daily business.

    Wait. Where was Wallace?

    She dashed up and down the street. Were they still in Lilycove? Were they hurt? Were they doing drugs or hurting themself or making themself sick?

    No. They were walking down the street, Winona on their arm, and smiling. Their smile… It was the most wonderful thing in the world. Her happiness returned. Wallace was finally happy again. After so many years of pain, they were finally happy.

    She slithered her way through the crowd toward them.

    ("Wallace!") They didn't seem to hear her, but it didn't matter. They looked healthy . They didn't look scrawny and exhausted anymore. Even with his clothing, Winona could tell he was healthy, happy. Happy happy happy.

    ("Wallace!")

    They turned to her, and their smile vanished. Winona patted them on the arm and whispered something gently to them, and they nodded in response. What were the two talking about? Why wasn't Wallace happy to see Victoria? They were partners, friends.

    Then Wallace approached, but with formality, not camaraderie, as if they were meeting with a foreign diplomat and not their sister through all but blood.

    What's going on?

    ("Wallace? Don't you remember me?")

    "Victoria." They remembered her name. They spoke in their voice, but their usual compassion was gone. "Our partnership was a very fulfilling one. I gave you strength, and in exchange, you gave me companionship. But we don't need that partnership anymore. We've been over this before. We must go our separate ways. Please leave my beloved and me."

    A crack, like the one Victoria had heard when Wallace had hit the mirror in a fit of self-hatred.

    No.

    Then Wallace left Victoria.
    Wallace left Victoria. Left Victoria, back for Winona, didn't look back.

    Her heart raced and her whole body trembled. She wanted to cry out, but her mouth was stiff, like she had been frozen with Freeze Dry.

    Wallace was her family! Sure, she had her mother and father back at Juan's estate, but they weren't as close as Wallace. She and Wallace were two pearls from the same oyster, two kindred, inseparable souls. What would Wallace do without her?…

    Probably do just as fine, if not better than when he had been with Victoria. They had seen their doctors and therapists. They had gone through their partnership with Victoria. They had no more need for someone to heal their scars, someone to stay up with them through restless nights of hallucinations and suicidal ideation, someone to protect them. They were at peace. They were finally at peace.

    What would Victoria do without Wallace?

    All her life, she had been by their side, pulling them back from the brink of ruin. Her life mission had been to protect Wallace. Her life purpose was to be there for them. But now that they didn't need her anymore… what now? If she stayed any longer, she would probably bring them back down, probably ruin their happiness.

    But if it was the last time she would ever see them…

    ("Wallace!")

    She didn't care if Wallace didn't hear her or didn't want to hear her. She stopped right in front of them and Winona. Before Wallace could protest, she cut them off:

    ("Before you go…") she swallowed. ("Before you go, I… you may not need me anymore, but if you ever do need me in the future, I'll always be there for you.") She rested her head on theirs. ("You can always come back home.")

    Wallace wordlessly pushed her away.

    "Sure."

    They and Winona left again, and this time, Victoria didn't stop them. She knew it was futile, even dangerous. She wasn't needed anymore.

    She watched the two until they disappeared in the crowd and the horizon. Then she began to cry. What was she supposed to do now? What was she supposed to do now? She felt like a part of her had been stripped away, and now she had nothing to fill that void.

    What did she want to do now?

    As she wandered the streets, as she tried to figure out the answer to her question, all of her wants circled back to Wallace. She had thrown her whole self into them. She prided herself on being Gym Leader Wallace's ace Pokémon, Coordinator Wallace's shining star, Wallace Papadakis's caretaker, but she… she was her own Pokémon. She was a strong battler. She was a talented performer. She was part of a whole, but she herself was also a whole, complete by herself. She had been part of an archipelago, but she was a whole island in and of herself.

    Eventually, she came upon the edge of the Sootopolis Basin, the doorway to the Hoenn Sea. She carefully slipped into the water.

    She let the waters take her in. Light glimmered from the sky above. Rocks, coral, sand…

    It was lonely without Wallace. But they were with Winona, healthy, happy, well in body and mind. They were their own person, too, and… the time had come for when they didn't need a caretaker anymore. The baby Feebas had left the nest, metamorphosing into a beautiful Milotic. And now Victoria had to find herself.

    Maybe she would travel Hoenn—no, the world. Maybe she would help other people and Pokémon. Maybe she would—


    She woke with a start.

    She raised her head from the floor and looked down at Wallace, who was asleep on the left side of the bed with their mates asleep to the right.

    She looked down at them. They were frowning, muttering in their sleep.

    "Óxi, Megalos… óxi… óxi…"

    Victoria rested her head against Wallace's forehead as she began to say a prayer in her head:

    Rekkoúza, Mesolavitís ton Ouranón, bless my partner's mind and heart. Bless their indomitable will. Bless… bless those who are easing the pain in their mind and heart. One day… I won't be needed as their caretaker. When that time comes, guide them down their own path. Guide me down my own path—

    Wallace wrapped their arm around Victoria. She let them nuzzle against her neck as she shifted into a position more suitable for sleeping.

    Whatever the future had in store was unimportant for now. What mattered now was getting comfortable, and drifting off to sleep.

    Side note: the Victoria nightmare scene is from an RP I did over on Thousand Roads. Originally it was intended for ATAC-era Victoria, but I felt it was more fitting for IAM-era Victoria.

    Formatting of Japanese dates: Years年Month月Day日

    Óxi - Greek, "No"
     
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    pale green things
  • Discussions of physical/verbal/sexual abuse, discussions of sex and hypersexuality, physical abuse, discussions of death, victim blaming

    "Wake up, Wallace," Winona whispered.

    "Don' wanna."

    He looked cozy in his baggy clothes and under the blanket. Sure, he still had those dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was still the sickly gray of a cloudy sky, but for once, he looked cozy. He looked safe.

    Winona playfully nudged Wallace's arm and sat up. "Come on, Komala Kid."

    Wallace turned over and nuzzled against Winona's legs. "No." A smile crept into the corners of his lips. It was good to see him smile again. That thought came to her every morning she woke up to his smile.

    -

    "This is the one."

    Wallace held out a red book with gold trim: "Woodblock Prints of Fortree". Winona could feel the joy the book had given over the years, in the musty smell, in the soft edges of the cover, in the countless sticky notes scattered throughout.

    "The purple ones mark the bird prints," Wallace explained. "Everytime I pick it up, I think of you."

    "How long have you been thinking of me, two hundred years or so?" Winona teased.

    Wallace chuckled. "It was my mother's, then my sister's, then mine, and now… now I want it to be yours."

    -

    "Maybe Megalos will let us be together now."

    Winona's throat tightened up. She swallowed. "What do you mean?"

    Wallace leaned against Winona's shoulder. "Well, you've proven yourself to be one of the strongest Gym Leaders in the Hoenn region." He chuckled. "And if he saw how kind you were to me through… everything, I think he would have a change of heart. If… Sootopolis can't live without me, it can't live without you."

    He smiled. "Megalos loves me. It's… tough love, but maybe he just needs to hear what Steven told me: live for yourself."

    "I… sure, Wallace. Sure."

    -

    "Where are you going?"

    Wallace turned his head to Winona, eyes glowing from the street lights outside, hand gripping his wallet.

    "I have… sexual urges. 'I need to fuck ten people right now or I'll die' urges. I can't put the burden of that on you."

    "That's one way to say 'I'm very horny'."

    Wallace looked even more distressed.

    "It's different. I feel like the most fucked up, worthless piece of shit, and if I don't go to the district and get fucked by ten businessman, then I'll die a worthless piece of shit."

    "How about we… talk through it instead?"

    -

    It was sometimes exhausting for Winona to care for Wallace, but it was downright miserable to spend the weekend at her mother's house. But she had to put up with it. Mom was family, no matter how miserable being around her was.

    "Why do you stick around Wallace?" Mom mumbled.

    "Because I love him. It's basic human decency."

    "Rina, please," Dad sighed. "Not now."

    "I don't think our daughter should be marrying a man who's too weak to keep a woman off of him."

    Winona stared at her mother from across the kitchen table.

    "Go fuck yourself," Winona replied calmly.

    -

    "Where did you get those bruises from?" Steven demanded.

    "I fell."

    "Winona, is Wallace—"

    "It's mom." How dare Steven insinuate that Wallace was abusing her?!

    Steven sighed, holding up his hands. "What did I say about taking breaks?"

    "Whenever I do, my mom spouts out bullshit, and I get a slap on the face for telling her to stop."

    "I mean from your family."

    Winona thought about that proposition for a moment, but Steven spoke before she did:

    "How about… How about you and Aurora have a little… girls' day? Bring Lisia along, too. I can stay with Wallace."

    -

    "Winona? Miss Winona? You have a challenger… Well, you've had a challenger for fifteen minutes… Winona? Whatcha staring at? Everything okay?"

    Winona wasn't paying attention to Bran. She was paying attention to the spinning windmills, the late spring breeze, the smell of the woods, the world. The physical. The present. Breathing away the "what if" and "why can't". Breathing in the moment. Being in the moment. Trying to stay in her body and out of her mind. Today, here, and now. That was all she knew and would know for now.

    She would be okay, for even just one moment.

    -

    Winona woke up in the middle of the night, and the first thing she saw was Wallace sitting up in bed, staring at nothing.

    "Wallace? Is everything okay?"

    "Why didn't Megalos visit me in the hospital?" There was pain in his voice. Confusion. Betrayal. "Nicole visited me. Steven visited me. Juan visited me. You visited me. Why didn't Megalos?"

    "Wallace, Megalos… hurt you. So, so much."

    "But he didn't. He struck me and all that because he loved me. He did everything out of a love for Sootopolis City, a love for me. He loves me, Winona."

    He hated you.

    -

    Lisia and Ali were fast kids. Winona had to thank herself for starting track back in high school.

    The two ran (or flew) in short bursts, running halfway across Lilycove City before wanting to stop to buy ice cream or Hi Kitty and Papimocchi plushies. And just when Winona thought they needed to go home to take a nap, they were back on their feet, just as excited as ever. She and Aurora could barely keep up. Lisia and Ali were smiling the whole day.

    And for the first time in the tumultuous year, Winona was happy. Unconditionally, indescribably happy.

    -

    "How's Wallace doing?" Cruzita asked.

    "He's doing… well," Winona said. "Maybe he'll be able to go back to the Gym soon."

    "Cockburn's bugging me about how Juan will have to replace Wallace if they're not back by the end of the month, and he 'means it this time'." She rolled her eyes. "Who's got the notorious Xatu, buddy?"

    Winona laughed at that. "You're not going to challenge him to a battle, are you?"

    "Well, Xaxa wouldn't mind skipping the middle mon and pecking at him."

    Winona gulped. "Oh… Well, I think therapy's going good. Wallace is… good. Everything is good."

    -

    "How was therapy today?" Winona asked.

    Wallace shrugged. "We talked about how Megalos is abusive. My therapist thinks he was a business authority or something, but he was more than that. He was family."

    "Domestic abuse is a thing."

    "It's like spanking a child. It's not how I would discipline a child, but it's how Megalos does."

    "If we're going with this parent bullshit, then it was rape and incest."

    "It's not! I don't remember shit from the 'sexual abuse'. Who's to say I didn't enjoy it?"

    "You were drugged, Wallace."

    "Megalos can change! Megalos can learn!"

    "Megalos is dead."

    The kitchen went quiet. Winona's words weighed the two down, deeper and deeper and deeper.

    And then Wallace screamed.

    Winona ran to him, trying to talk over his incoherent wailings. Her voice got louder and louder as she tried to reach him somehow. More people came into the room. More voices. Louder and louder and louder and louder too much too much too much.

    She was on the floor, cradling Wallace as he sobbed. The room had finally quieted down.

    "I killed him!" he screamed. "I killed him I killed him I killed him…"

    "Sh… No you didn't. No you didn't."

    "I deserved it. I deserved to be hurt. I deserved to be raped. I deserved it I deserved it I deserved it…" His voice got weaker and weaker as he repeated those words over and over.
     
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    It's a, it's a, it's a, it's a sin
  • Discussions of physical/emotional/sexual abuse, mental illness, disordered eating thoughts, intrusive thoughts, mentions of illnesses, religious themes

    The blue of the afternoon sky tinted the chipping, white walls of the Church of the Ethereal Sea and reflected on the golden murals of Kaióga. The benches were supplied with only a few worn, torn copies of To Chon in the front row. The air was stuffy with the smell of decay and neglect, memories dancing with a sense of loneliness. A priest stood at the altar, lighting stubs of burgundy candles.

    Tap. Tap. Tap. Nicole's footsteps echoed across the emptiness. The silence and emptiness was at once overwhelming and comforting, as if the heavens were guiding her through the uncertainty.

    "Brother Spenser, Earth and Sea and Sky Above."

    The priest turned at the sound of Nicole's voice. He wore white and blue vestments, standard for priests and Lorekeepers serving under Kaióga's domain. Perhaps most distinct was his balding head and long, white beard.

    "Sister Nicole, Earth and Sea and Sky Above," his voice was powerful yet gentle. He could speak directly to the heart and bring it light. "What brings you here today? It's unusual to be praying at a church under Kaióga's domain during the Feast Week of Gourádon."

    "Brother Spenser, I come here to ask for your blessing."

    "Ask and I shall give. Is it a blessing for the Feast Week? A trial you're facing? Your daughter?"

    Nicole nodded. Swallowed. Collected herself.

    "My brother cannot fast for the Feast Week, and I seek your blessing on his behalf."

    Brother Spenser's brows furrowed with worry. "Is Brother Wallace sick?"

    Nicole looked down at the ground. "He is."

    Spenser swiftly glided past Nicole, down the aisle, out of the sanctuary, into the church office. It was a small room with three desks against the walls, with papers scattered on the floor.

    He spoke not a word as he searched through the bags and bottles he stored in his cabinet.

    "What is it? Influenza? Bronchitis? Salmonella? Tetanus? There's an outbreak of pneumonia in the city."

    "We… moved to Lilycove City."

    Spenser laughed softly, his voice tinged with lingering worry. "And you failed to tell me? I was there as Wallace memorized To Chon, you know. And your father as well, bless his soul."

    "It's a disease of the mind."

    Spenser looked up. The smile on his face was gone. "Does he have… Huntington's Disease? Parkin—"

    "Mental illness. It's… mental illness."

    Nicole rubbed her eyes with her wrist to fight off her tears. She had to stay strong to face whatever Spenser was about to say to her: that Wallace wasn't ill, that he was actually cursed, that he needed to be exorcised or killed or—

    Spenser there wasn't shame or disgust or malice in his eyes. There was simply the same gentle power of his voice.

    "I see. Would you still want me to come to him for the blessing of Tziráchi? I might be able to come once the Feast Week is over."

    -

    Wallace spent the next few days in the garage, only coming out when Nicole dragged him out for meals and therapy, or when he went into the red light district in hypersexual heat.

    It was Gourádon Feast Week, but under no circumstances would anyone let Wallace fast for any amount of time. Being forced to eat three meals a day against religious law only drove Wallace's state of near-constant anxiety. He barely slept at night and was constantly on edge. There were times where he couldn't even hold down a meal because of stress, though at the very least, he never induced vomiting himself. It was a small miracle.

    Duncan stuck by his side through everything to make sure he wouldn't… do anything. The good news was that Wallace didn't do anything. He didn't cut his arms or hit his head with books or purge after meals. Progress was being made, at least, even though certain other things were falling back.

    Most notable were the black clothes he wore: black shirt, black coat, black pants, black shoes, all stained with paint here and there. He refused to wear any other color.

    The paint got on his hands and face, too, along with the general dirt and grime that came with not bathing for several days. He looked haggard with his unkempt hair and sunken eyes.

    "Come on, Wallace," Steven coaxed as he knocked on the door to the garage, "I thought you were a performer."

    "I'll do it tonight," Wallace called back. "I'm busy."

    "But don't you want to change your clothes?" And stop mourning your fucking rapist???

    "I said I'll do it tonight!"


    Tonight became the next morning, which became later in the day, which became tonight again.

    Eventually, the Feast Week ended, and somehow Wallace made it out alive. With the week over, Spenser came by for the prayer of sickness.

    "My my, Wallace," Spenser sighed, "I always believed Coordinators were prissy about their clothes having even a speck of dirt, and now here you are covered in dirt and… paint?"

    "Forgive me, Brother Spenser."

    Wallace was laying in bed. As was tradition for prayers for the sick, the rest of the household stood or sat close by—except for Lisia. She was off playing with Ali in the living room. She had to stay oblivious to Wallace's condition, for her sake. She wasn't going to become what Steven became. She was going to get a good childhood and a good life. All she had to do was stay out of this.

    "Ah, there's nothing to apologize for," Spenser said. "Just remember to bathe and shower every other day. I recommend mixing up a scrub of olive oil, honey, sugar, and oatmeal to remove dead skin cells. And remember to nourish yourself with good food and drink."

    "Easier said than done," Wallace mumbled.

    Spenser placed a hand on Wallace's forehead.

    "Tziráchi to astéri

    "fére chíkari sou

    "Tziráchi to astéri

    "fére chíkari sou"


    Spenser had a strong and baritone singing voice, protecting Wallace like a golden barrier. Even when the song ended, the warmth of it lingered on.

    "Tziráchi, To Astéri," Spenser said, "blessed be the heart and mind of Wallace. Blessed be the family who has stayed by his side as he has walked this difficult path. I call upon you, if you cannot be with Wallace, to instead lend him your strength, your love, and your serenity. By—"

    "Brother Spenser… may I make a request?"

    Spenser looked down at Wallace, smiling.

    "Of course you can."

    "Can you say a prayer for Megalos?"

    Steven shot out of his seat, and Winona had to grab him before he could storm to the bed. Rage fumed in his body.

    "We are not saying any prayers for Megalos!"

    "But Steven—"

    "Wallace," Nicole said, "respecting the dead is important, but if they didn't respect you—"

    "He did!" Wallace shot upright. "He loved me and respected me and—"

    "Wallace," Steven snarled, "he raped you. He choked you and beat you within an inch of your life."

    "HE DID IT OUT OF LOVE!"

    "HE DID IT BECAUSE HE WAS A FUCKING DICK!"

    Spenser held up a hand, and the room went quiet.

    Wallace was shaking and gasping for air. Spenser turned back to him, expression softening.

    "And Tziráchi, To Astéri, as Megalos moves on into the realm after ours, let us not forget the person he leaves behind, distraught and lost in a typhoon of emotions. Shine your light on Wallace, and let him know that he is not alone. Let him see you in the light, and let it guide him." He looked up at Steven and Winona. "And please… do not forget the family around Wallace. They are trying to help him, but they are doing so alone in the darkness. Give them light. Give them hope. By Earth, Sea, and Sky, in Harmony."

    He smiled. After a moment of silence, he turned to Steven and Winona. "Can I speak with Wallace alone?"

    Steven huffed, but he stood up to leave. Soon, the others had left, as well.

    "Steven," Winona said as she stopped him in the hallway, "why do you have to be…" she waved her hands "...so aggressive?"

    Steven exhaled harshly. "This is ridiculous, Winona. We can't have Wallace glorifying his rapist and almost-murderer."

    "He doesn't understand that what Megalos did was wrong." Winona smiled as she put her hands on Steven's arm. "But he will."

    "When will he?"

    "He'll figure out that it was abuse eventually, but…" Winona's smile fell. "Steven, it's going to take time. We can't rush him, or he'll just push himself further away. It's like when he denied he self harmed or had an eating disorder. We kept pushing and pushing and demanding and demanding—"

    "If we had demanded more, then Ren wouldn't have raped him."

    "Steven, we can't blame anyone but Megalos and Ren."

    "We should have done more! We should have intervened sooner!"

    Now Winona was angry, too. How dare Steven imply she was a bad girlfriend! "But now we can't! Now all we can do is be here for Wallace until he figures out all of this shit!"

    "Why can't he figure it out now?!"

    THUD!


    Pain shot through Steven's hand—a familiar pain, but that didn't make it hurt any less. There was a small dent in the wall where his fist had made impact, and there was a dull, throbbing pain in Steven's hand.

    "Steven."

    Winona took Steven's hand in both of hers, gently stroking it.

    "Remember how you told me about taking breaks to focus on self care? Have you ever considered doing that yourself?"

    "I'm a hypocrite, remember? I've even been cutting because of all of this shit."

    Winona immediately rolled Steven's shirt sleeve up. Several fresh cuts ran up his arm.

    "Steven…" she gasped.

    "If you think I'm violent now, then imagine how bad I would be if I didn't let it out on myself." Steven forced a chuckle, despite the fact that tears stung his eyes. "I sometimes worry that I'm going to let out my anger on Wallace."

    "Steven, you would never, would you?"

    "They're intrusive thoughts. Very scary intrusive thoughts." A tear managed to crawl down Steven's cheek. "I've never… I've never told anyone about those thoughts, but sometimes I just want to… strangle him." He rubbed his eyes with his unrolled sleeve. "That makes me no better than Megalos, doesn't it?"

    Winona hugged Steven. "It doesn't. You would never act on those thoughts, would you?"

    "Never in a million years, but sometimes I worry I would."

    "Have you ever thought of therapy?"

    "I did OT in elementary school and CBT in high school."

    "What about now? What about getting therapy and taking a break for a day every once in a while?"

    "I don't think a day away is going to make Wallace realize he was abused."

    "Then how about… a temporary breakup?"

    Steven's eyes widened, and his heart stopped as he grabbed Winona's arms and stared into her eyes. "A breakup?!" Steven didn't hate Wallace; he only hated Wallace's thoughts. He just wanted to use his power in battles or money or whatever to make them go away. "Are you crazy?!?!"

    "I said temporary. Maybe until Wallace realizes that he was abused… and after he's gone through the aftershocks that follow that, unless you would want to be there."

    "Are you thinking of breaking up, too?"

    Winona shook her head. "I think I'll be able to manage. I can just tell my mom that college is getting busy. So instead of worrying about family, Wallace, college, Gym duties, and myself, I can just worry about Wallace, college, Gym duties, and myself."

    Winona looked down at Steven's feet. "And there's the matter of… Wallace's sexual… everything."

    "Winona, I may be asexual or demisexual or whatever I am, but I'll be able to handle Wallace's trauma and readjustment to healthy intimacy."

    "Are you sure?"

    Steven leaned against the wall, sighing. "Maybe… the anger wouldn't mix well with intimacy post-assault and abuse. I don't want to become another Megalos."

    "You won't."

    "But what if I do?"

    Winona smiled. "The fact that you're even introspecting about your anger automatically makes you better than Megalos. I don't think he was even capable of regret. And the fact that you're acknowledging it might be better to step back instead of suppressing things until they boil over…"

    "But how will we break the news to Wallace?"

    -

    "Brother Wallace," Spenser said as he sat at Wallace's bedside, "is there anything else you wish to talk about with me?"

    "Is Megalos going to heaven?" Despair dripped from Wallace's voice like wax on a melting candle.

    Spenser winced. "Well… that's for the Angels of Tziráchi and the Judgement of Rekkoúza to decide."

    "What do you mean?" There was confusion in his eyes. "He hurt me, but he did it because he needed to. For my sake. For Sootopolis's sake. He made sacrifices for Sootopolis."

    "Megalos was selfish."

    Spenser had seen countless Sootopolitans die of illness, illnesses that could have been prevented if the people in power cared. He had seen his church begin to crumble as they looked away. Megalos had power. Megalos supposedly cared for Sootopolis, unlike Hoenn. So why did those countless have to die? Why did the church have to crumble?

    "He cared about Sootopolis," Wallace retorted. "He cared about me."

    Spenser sighed. "You'll understand one day… I won't try to force anything on you, but focus not on what you lost, but the people around you, who love you no matter what."

    "But Megalos—"

    "Grief is a funny thing, you know? In my time, I've seen many people and Pokémon leave the physical world: my first companion, my parents, your parents, Megalos… I've felt different things every time. Grief is a primal, innate creature that brings out the deepest emotions of Man and Mon. And the grieving one creates waves of collateral for the ones around them…" Spenser chuckled. "I'm sorry for rambling."

    "Keep rambling," Wallace's voice cracked.

    "Why do you say that?"

    "So I can stop thinking so I won't start cry—"

    Spenser held Wallace tightly as he sobbed.

    "It's okay to feel those deepest emotions," Spenser whispered. "All of them, none of them, some of them. It's okay… It's okay…"

    -

    Dinner was always loud, with the sounds of people talking and utensils and dishes clanking. At least it drowned out the sounds of people eating, otherwise Wallace wouldn't be able to eat.

    Why did people make such a big deal about eating? There were too many events and rituals and other bullshit centered around eating. Why couldn't it be a private thing?

    Wallace stared down at his food: rice, lemon-egg-miso soup, and grilled vegetables with spices. His therapist always talked about focusing on food—mindful eating or something. So he tried that. It soon turned into him staring at his chopsticks, and the traces of soup on them.

    "You should let yourself have unconditional acceptance and permission to eat what makes you physically and mentally well."

    Bullshit. Food wasn't something to make into unconditional love and acceptance. That was ambiguous, uncontrollable. It was a tool for survival, not something to enjoy. It was a necessary evil, a—

    "Wallace, can Winona and I talk to you?"

    The table was cleared except for Wallace's food, and the only people left at the table were Wallace, Steven, and Winona.

    "Is everything okay?"

    Steven swallowed, glancing over at Winona.

    "Well…" Steven began, "I've been… thinking… considering… contemplated…"

    Nausea clawed at Wallace's throat, and he hadn't even eaten half of his food.

    "What?" he choked out. What was Steven doing what was Steven doing WHAT WAS STEVEN DOING???

    "I think I need to take a break," Steven blurted. Before Wallace could say anything else, he held up his hands and said, "This isn't a breakup. This isn't permanent, but well… you saw how I reacted to the prayer for Megalos. You haven't processed Megalos's abuse as abuse yet."

    Why did Steven keep calling it abuse? "It wasn't—"

    "Exactly my point. I don't think it's healthy for you to hear my thoughts on Megalos when you're still processing yours. And on top of that… you have sexual trauma. A lot of sexual trauma. Even you can admit that, right?"

    Wallace looked down at his lap, nodding. His head was filled with…nothing. Static-like, buzzing nothing. "Ren hurt… me… Miku. Lots of people hurt Miku. But—"

    "And I don't think I'm in the right headspace to be able to give you the care you need to recover. But… Winona can. Winona can set boundaries that you can respect. My boundaries would be 'don't talk about Megalos', and that's… that's impossible." A pause. "I love you, Wallace. I want you to grow into the greatest, most beautiful version of yourself. And I think if you stay away from the hell of Sootopolis high society, if I take a break while you process your baggage while I figure out myself… I think you'll blossom."

    "You think so?"

    "Of course I do, Wallace," Steven chuckled.

    "Then why do I keep loving Megalos? Why do I keep hating myself?"

    "Because human emotions are weird. Take it from me."

    "But why can't my emotions be normal?"

    "What even is normal?" Winona asked. "Are we normal according to your standards? Because Steven and I aren't normal according to society's standards." She thought for a second. “We both have autism, you know. Not the first thing people think of when they think of ‘normal’.”

    “The only normal thing in life is the Normal type,” Steven teased. “And even then… take any Normal type Pokémon, and you’re sure to find something not normal about them.”

    Wallace shook his head. "But I'm a drain on everyone around me. I can't even think like I should be thinking. I—"

    "Deep breaths, Wallace." Winona's hand was on his shoulder. "Deep breaths. Your feelings are okay. All of them. You're okay. You're okay. You're okay."

    Images and sounds blurred into one. Winona was Wallace's only tether to reality, the only person or thing reminding him that anything was real.

    "Wallace, think of it like a little vacation. Steven's going to take a two-month break so he can focus on his Champion and Devon Co. duties. And you're going to take a break so you can process your trauma from Megalos and…" Several seconds of swirling spinning went on. Silent buzzing. Ineligible noise.

    "Wallace? Wallace, did you hear Steven?"

    "What…"

    Wallace shook his head. "What did you say?"

    "Do you want to discuss the terms of the break and boundaries?" Steven asked. "Stuff like how long it will last, what we will and won't do, how we'll re-evaluate once the two months pass. I'll be in touch with Winona, so I'm not completely cutting off contact. I just need… a break. A break to reflect on my own issues and figure out how to be a better boyfriend."

    Silence followed. Stillness followed. Then Wallace took Steven's hand in his.

    "And I'll do the same."
     
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