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Pokémon Wallace en Paldea

Torchic W. Pip

Here, Queer, and Utterly Glorious
Location
Sootopolis City
Pronouns
they/he
Partners
  1. torchic
  2. custom/torchic-blue
  3. custom/torchic-mikuri
  4. custom/torchic-daigo
  5. custom/quaxley-torchic
Wallace is destined to be Sootopolis’s perfect figurehead, the mayor’s perfect puppet. But during a foreign exchange program to Paldea, he finds that the world isn’t as bleak and colourless as he always believed. He finds colour and beauty, and on the way he finds his treasure: unconditional, familial love.

Or: What if Torchic!Wallace became Hassel’s son.

@Very_Tired_Person this is your fault (affectionate) (thank you this AU gives me so many happies)

If you were expecting this to be in chronological order, I was too until I realized how much I would have to write before I could publish because silly little me thought it would be great to start writing not at the beginning… If that wording makes no sense, basically you’re getting this story in non-chronological order. Take it as an artistic choice made to reflect Wallace’s mental state.

Speaking of which…

This is Torchic!Wallace, so expect the following to crop up:
Mental illness
Drug use/drug addiction/drug withdrawal
Discussions of physical, verbal, emotional, and sexual abuse
Eating disorders
Panic attacks, hallucinations, dissociation, and suicidal ideation
Sexual themes
Trauma
Fucked-up perceptions of authority figures (basically a lot of Wallace worrying that authority figures want to hurt him or use him sexually due to past experience with an authority figure)


Everything above warrants this fic a T/TEEN rating.

Individual chapters will be tagged accordingly.

I promise this one’s fluffier than IAM.
 
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Torchic W. Pip

Here, Queer, and Utterly Glorious
Location
Sootopolis City
Pronouns
they/he
Partners
  1. torchic
  2. custom/torchic-blue
  3. custom/torchic-mikuri
  4. custom/torchic-daigo
  5. custom/quaxley-torchic
Implied abuse, minor panicking, discussions of child abandonment. Maaaybe potty humor in the form of a character’s nickname being poopoo butthead?

The house was warm, both in temperature and in color. Almost everything was bathed in warm shades of brown. Even the blue shade of the velvet curtains was warm, complementing the tawny brown walls and mahogany crown molding well. Wallace wanted to feel safe. This place was safe. It had to be.

“I’ll go make dinner,” Hassel said. “Why don’t you sit by the fireplace and read up on some art history? I’m sure there are some books on Hinode art if you’re feeling homesick, or Paldean art if you’re interested in studying that for school.”

“Yes, sir,” Wallace replied with a nod of his head.

Hassle sighed. “Wallace, you don’t need to call me that. Hassel is fine.”

“Okay, Mr.—Mr. Hassel.”

Hassel opened his mouth, as if he was about to say something, but instead he closed it and turned to the kitchen.

Wallace looked up at the bookshelf. It went up all the way to the ceiling, and every shelf had books upon books about art from all over the world. Some of the books looked very old, and some of them looked fresh off the printing press. There was so much he could learn…

…There were so many ways he could mess up the books, so many ways he could make Hassel angry with him. Fear overtook curiosity, until he couldn’t even look at the shelves without feeling intense anxiety and impulses to fuck everything up.

So instead, he looked at the fireplace (just another way he could ruin everything), the chair (was he allowed to sit?) and…

“Clod.”

Well, it looked like a Quagsire, but it was brown, and it was on four legs instead of two. Was this a regional form of some sort? It didn’t seem to speak the Pokéspeak dialect of Water types. Wallace knelt in front of the strange Pokémon.

“Um… hello there.”

“Poopoo butthead, you got a new friend?”

Rika was standing over the two, arms crossed and a smile on her face. She seemed to be looking at the… Quagsire? And she spoke in fluent Hinodego.

“You named your Pokémon…” Wallace didn’t want to repeat the name.

“‘Course not,” Rika replied. “His name’s Freddy.” She shrugged. “But that’s the only name people never call him. He responds to anything and everything.”

She squatted down to pat Freddy on the head.

“Is he a Quagsire?” Wallace asked.

“Clodsire. He’s sort of like a Quagsire, just swap out the Water type for the Poison type.”

Well, that explained it.

“Are you… from Hinode?” Wallace asked.

“Johto, apparently,” Rika specified.

Wallace cocked his head. “Apparently?”

“Never knew my parents, but Hassel didn’t. I think they sold me for drinking money.” She shrugged. “That’s what I picked up from my ol’ man, at least.”

A pang of pity struck Wallace’s heart. The poor woman…

“So,” Rika said, “What’s it like in Hoenn? Hear it’s pretty hot.”

Wallace nodded. “Yeah, it’s nothing like Paldea…” He scratched at the collar of his turtleneck, trying to subconsciously hint that he was wearing it because of the weather and not because he was hiding bruises.

Rika smirked. “Are the ladies hot?”

Wallace fell back a bit, and he had to catch himself before he fell flat on his back. Rika laughed.

“I take it that’s a yes?”
 
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