Okay yeah, you finally get a little bit of porn in this.

N didn't know how to feel when things began to change. All he'd ever known were the toys in his room, the trains on the tracks, his trucks lying around, his stuffed animals staring at him with button, lifeless eyes, the plane that flew over his head, attached with a string to the ceiling, lulling him to sleep with its circular motion. It was his world, everything he'd ever known about anything. The trucks were meant to be pushed along the floor, like they were flying over the clouds. The pokemon plushes were placed on his bed, snuggled next to him and Zorua when they would sleep. The plane would go around and around and around.

Ever since he could remember, this had been life. Fragments of memories would recall a place like outside. Green trees, grass on the ground, the sky-what color was the sky? The clouds on his floor were white. The sky was blue. His lamp was so dim, it was getting too dark in his room to tell the colors anymore. But N wasn't afraid of the dark anymore. Babies were scared of things like that, and N was no longer a baby. His lamp had been turned on for as long as he could remember, it was no surprise that the light bulb was finally flickering and dimming.

But what about outside? Was it brighter out there? His memories wanted to say yes, yes it was, so bright, so very bright and warm and big-but he couldn't remember. When had he come to live in this room? The memories of outside would leave him everyday, and it made him sad.

N didn't want to forget. It was his goal, to get back to that warmth. Because daddy-because dad said that when he grew up and became king, he could leave the room. The room was his training ground, and he had to stay here until his dad deemed him a suitable king. If N were to be a good king, a hero to his people, he had to stay here, and learn his lessons. It's what dad said was good for him, so he had to trust him. And N did trust his dad.

And he wanted to go out. N wanted to breathe fresh air, smell the scent of trees, feel his toes touch the grass-what did it feel like? What did the trees smell like? He couldn't remember anymore.

Slowly but surely, N was forgetting everything.

The outside world, the smallest, but most primitive and prominent of his memories was being replaced with toys. Trains, stuffed pokemon, planes, basket balls. N had grown into the life with his toys, because dad gave them to him, to keep him occupied since he couldn't read yet, telling him that when he grew older, he would be taught to read by Concordia, and that he would be smart.

Now that everything had been taken away, N felt empty and alone, even with Zorua there beside him on the bed, snuggled next to him and keeping him warm. It was strange for him to look up from the clouds on the floor and look around his room, completely empty from every corner, save for his nightstand, bed, and the books that cluttered his bed. He had to read. Reading would make him smart. That's what dad said. So N had to do it, because dad loved him and knew what was best for him.

He wanted to smile when he picked up a book to begin reading. He wanted so bad to believe this was going to make him a smart person, a good king. He had to. N was growing up, he had to do these things. It's what was best for him, because dad said so.

And he hated himself. Because still. Still. After everything. After two years of being in a completely empty room with nobody but Zorua to keep him company, N would cry.

The books taught him many things. There was one about pokemon, about the different kinds of them, and how to tell their genders. That's how he found out Zorua was a girl, and it made him happy. Because he was getting smarter. He wouldn't have been able to find that out if it weren't for the book. Zorua seemed to be glad she wasn't being called an it anymore. That made N happy, too. One book taught him how to count, what numbers were, and how to use those numbers to figure out equations. He found it a little odd that he would actually enjoy immersing himself into the book, scribbling numbers onto a piece of paper and smiling in delight when he looked back at the book and realize he'd gotten the answer right.

Books like these were studied and read everyday. N hated some of them. Like the science book. It was so boring for him, he would fall asleep reading it. The fairy tale books were worn out from being read so much. Even now, N would curl up beside Zorua and read her a story every night before they fell asleep.

Even with the feeling that he was getting smarter, learning things, growing up, N felt empty. Always empty. No matter how many equations he solved or how many pokemon he identified in his book, or how many times he would fall asleep reading the science book, there was something missing. There was always something missing.

The room was empty. N still missed playing with his toys. One of the highlights of his day was getting to roll a truck around on his floor, pretending it was a submarine and saving a water pokemon. Zorua would chime in too, yipping at the truck and diving under N's bed when he would pretend to honk the horn at her. Even if it was a 'submarine', it was still partially a truck, in N's mind anyway.

Now that was all gone. N's world was changing, and he hated it. He missed his toys, no matter how many times he told himself over and over that he wasn't a baby, he still missed everything.

Would his world continue to change? Would dad take his books away when N got older? What then? N was already attached to his books. He didn't want his stories taken away, or the book full of numbers. And even though he didn't care for the science book, he still felt like it would be wrong for everything to be taken away.

His empty room was wrong. The missing toys were wrong. But. Dad said it was all right. This was what growing up was about. N had to accept it, because that's what a good king did. A good king was kind, brave, smart, and loving of all of his subjects. A king did not play with toys.

It made him a little sad.

But he had to keep telling himself that it would all be worth it. Because even though he missed his toys very much, N missed the outside world even more. And when he grew up, he would get to go outside again, and it would be beautiful and better than he remembered. N knew it.

It was very cold when N's door opened and his father strode in, smiling for once, something N was sure he had never seen before. And it frightened him a little bit. Dad never smiled. Never. Zorua dived under his bed. She always did when he came in.

"Today is your birthday, N." That smile was wrong, no, no, dad never smiled. His words sounded false. N was scared. "Do you know how old you are today?"

It took a second for N to realize he'd been asked a question. Dad liked quick answers, so N stuttered trying to spit it out. "Y-yes sir. I'm 10 years old, dad." And it hurt a little that dad had hit him once for calling him daddy. Babies say daddy, he'd said. You're not a baby anymore. N hated it when he was hit.

The smile widened, and N felt his heart race. What did this mean? It was so foreign to him. No, it was all wrong, like his empty room. Why did things keep changing? It was wrong...

His eyes fell over the papers scribbled with equations and numbers. "Good boy. I see you've been studying. That's good. The more you study, the more books I'll bring to you. Won't that make you happy, N? A room full of books?"

Dad was nice. Dad was right about everything. N loved him. So he smiled. "Yes sir." He wasn't scared anymore, he couldn't be. Dad loved him, the smile was wrong, but N shouldn't be scared. Books were good. Toys were bad.

Then dad sat next to him on the bed, making the end N was sitting on rise up. "Come here." N knew better than to disobey or talk back. It was his fault if he were slapped or punched or kicked. But dad only did that because he loved him, and N deserved it.

Scooting next to his father, N let his legs dangle off the side of the bed, still too short to actually reach the floor. Would he ever get taller? He hoped so. N wanted to be big and tall, just like dad.

A swoosh of his father's clothes from behind and N found his robes being wrapped around him, pulling him closer to his father's body. Instinctively, N was frightened, because this wasn't normal. No, dad wouldn't do this, dad was always distant and the only contact he made with N was when N was bad and he had to hit him. Not-this. Not meaning to, N pushed away, driven by fright and a desire for things to go back to the way they were.

"N, don't you push away like that." Just as soon as he had done it, N was pulled back, held tighter than before.

That was that. If his dad had said it, N had to obey. It hurt a little, in his stomach, it made him sick, but then at the same time, he was happy to do it, because making dad happy would make him happy. N wanted his dad proud of him. "Yes sir. I'm sorry. I'm just..." No, no, no, no, he wasn't supposed to say anything. N had messed up, no. Please, he was sorry, he didn't mean to.

"You're just what, N?" The arm around him pulled tighter and N thought he was going to be crushed to death. Even without seeing his face since his eyes were glued to his father's robes, a place he found himself staring at a lot to avoid his gaze, N could tell the smile was gone.

"I-I'm sorry, dad-" N found himself being pushed away this time, instead of constricted, and-relief? Because this was how things were supposed to be, but no, that was wrong. Dad was mad. Oh N was so stupid. Stupid, stupid. There were going to be hits and kicks and punches and dad would bite him and burn him and-

Flinching, it was pure instinct, the reaction N had learned from years of this, and he couldn't help it. His father's hand was balled up and it slammed into N's side, making him cough and gag, trying to catch his breath.

And that's all. Just one punch. Maybe N hadn't done anything that bad after all. Even though he deserved this, it always scared him. It was natural to be afraid of pain, wasn't it? Wasn't N's fear just. Being human? Was daddy-dad ever afraid? If he was, he never showed it. N wanted to be fearless, to not flinch when he was hit, to not cry out when he was burned, to not choke and retch and spam when his blood was cut from him. What if dad went too far one day? That always scared N. As much as dad loved him, just what if he went too far and killed him? It always frightened N to his core, so bad, he wanted to vomit to release all of the horrible feelings and thoughts. Because this was normal, it had to be, daddy loved him, he did.

"That's one of the things I came to talk to you about, N. You're growing up. Everyday you spend in this room is a day you grow. You've learned that little boys play with toys and you are not a little boy anymore. You're learning that mature men, like you're striving to be, read books and are smart and wise. I've made you stop calling me daddy and it's time you stopped calling me dad too."

O-oh no. The bile was rising in N's throat. It was just more change, and he couldn't take it. No, he missed his toys, he missed saying daddy and-and no. Please, he hated change, he hated it! Please, give him back his toys, he wanted to play some more! It was driving him insane.

Looking up, his side still sore from being punched, he stared into his father's red eyes, still seeable even in the dim light. And N couldn't help it. "D-daddy-"

He hadn't meant to. Daddy punched him in the face, sending him sprawling to the floor, coughing, trying to catch his breath. No, no, he was going to be beaten, daddy was going to-!

A foot was pressed to his back, stomping him down onto the floor and N choked, trying to breathe. Fear, fear, N was scared! "You're a fucking disgrace, N. You sicken me." His foot was pressed harder and N couldn't help it. Crying out, he let it all out. Because no more toys, no more daddy, no more anything that ever was. All there was was change now. And N couldn't get used to it. Every fiber of his being told him to suck it up, grow up, this was best for him, he was only hit because he was loved, but N couldn't take it anymore. And so he sobbed. Pressing his head to the floor, giving up, N cried like a baby as his dad's foot ground into his back.

Through his cryings and wails, N could hear his father speak again. "Shut up, N." He couldn't help it. The tears kept coming and he couldn't breathe and- The sobs were controlling him now. No amount of screaming in his head for it to stop was helping. The foot was lifted from his back, aimed for his side and slammed into it, knocking him over from his stomach.

Holding his hands up to protect his face, N continued to cry, expecting more kicks, expecting everything, but not wanting to deal with it. There were more kicks, almost unfelt when they collided into him, there were so many, making his body ache and his brain scream at him to fucking do something, you're going to die!

"DADDY, I'M SORRY! NO, NO, DAD-I-PLEASE, PLEASE, I LOVE YOU!"

Still sobbing, N couldn't stop. It was becoming frustrating, because he wanted this to be over, he wanted daddy to love him again. He tried, he tried so hard to stop crying and to make daddy stop kicking him and nothing ever worked, it never worked, N was going to die this time. And it would be all his fault. Pain, pain, from every inch of his curled up body, N could feel every kick now. Because he wanted it to stop, it felt like it lasted forever, a kick to his legs, his back, his head. And it hurt so much, he could only sob.

It stopped. Finally, it finally stopped. N couldn't remove his arms from his face. Not wanting to see his father's angry glare, he hid in hopes of protecting himself, even a little.

Not a word was said, not a sound made, but N knew even as he hid his face that his father was still standing over him, breathing hard, waiting for the next moment to strike.

N had to take that opportunity. "I-I'm sorry. What-" Swallowing, because his throat was so dry. "What do you want me to do? I'm sorry. It's my fault." It was his fault. All N's fault. Daddy hit him because he loved him, and it was N's fault.

Still no words from his father's end, and N feared another attack. Instead, he felt his father's large hands grab his arms, yanking them away from his face, and N tried, but couldn't contain the yelp he made. His face was slapped for it, his father still not saying a word. A king knew pain, a king dealt with pain. A king was strong for his people.

N was thrown to the bed, still shaking, still hurting and aching and-a sickening feeling when he noticed splotches of blood from open wounds on his arms and legs. They stung.

Finally, the other spoke. "You've disappointed me, N." He couldn't look at him. N was a disgrace. A stupid, stupid fucking disgrace of a king. Why did his daddy even keep him around? N was garbage. Yet daddy loved him enough to keep him. Yes, he loved him. "You're no longer going to call me father or dad or 'daddy', do you understand?" The way the word 'daddy' was said made N's stomach knot up. It was condescending, in every way. N was so stupid.

But he nodded, saying, "Yes sir." Like he'd been taught.

"You are not my son. You fucking stupid little piece of shit. You're going to grow up to be king, N. A king, yet while I run myself ragged trying to teach you everything you need to know, you're still so immature about it. You whine for your toys, you whine when you can't use pathetic titles, you whine when anything different happens. A king does not whine, N. And a king like you certainly has no right to be my son anymore."

It felt like every single slap, punch, kick, burn, cut, every little thing or anything his father had ever done to him was like nothing anymore.

The outside was forgotten, the trees, the sky, the grass. Tepig, Snivy, all of his trucks and planes and trains were wiped from his mind. All of the times he had been slapped for insubordination, kicked because he paused for too long before answering, burned for crying, it was nothing anymore. Nothing in the world could compare to what his father just said. It was crushing him on the inside, and N couldn't cry anymore. Not physically.

Daddy hated him.

But. N couldn't do anything. He had no choice. If this is what needed to happen, N had to let it happen. There was no way around it, no possible, physical, emotional way around it anymore. N thought he had been dealing with everything, but he hadn't. Not yet, he hadn't adapted, because he couldn't, because daddy loved him so much, he was sure this would never happen.

Staring down at his feet, all N could do was say, "Yes sir," and be obedient. There were no more feelings. Only numbness. There never was an outside. There were never toys in this room. N never had a daddy who hit him. There was only now and the stab of pain he felt penetrate his insides, there was only hatred now, because N was so stupid, he had messed up everything. Everything.

"If you must address me, you will call me by my name, do you understand?"

It hurt, it hurt so much, and he wasn't being hit or yelled at-but it still hurt. Tears fell, but N didn't feel them, or notice them. Obedient, that's all he knew how to be. "Yes, Ghetsis."

He just wanted to sleep for a very long time. N wanted to wake up, and have this entire horrible incident be just some ugly nightmare. But he knew that wouldn't happen. It never did. This was always reality. It was all his fault.

"You almost made me forget." It wasn't even registered when Ghetsis slowly slid down on the bed next to him again, wrapping his arm around N again, just like the first time. N didn't feel it this time, or move, or think. "Your birthday present is a special lesson tonight, N. I'm going to teach it to you personally. Being wise is one of the most important things of being a king, but so is learning to give your people what they want."

Something foreign was happening. No, N couldn't think right now. He didn't want to feel anymore because it hurt too much. There were no tears left to cry, no more feelings to feel, he just wanted to sleep. Everything was changing.

Ghetsis's robes were pulled away to reveal his pants underneath them, and then he grabbed N's limp hand, but N couldn't feel. The tears that fell were automatic now, but inside N wasn't there. He was far off in another world where daddy loved him.

"A good king gives people what they want, N. Do you understand?"

Obedient, robotic. "Yes, Ghetsis."

It was a strange feeling when Ghetsis kissed his hand. It was too soft, and it made N's world spiral back to reality. In his reality, there were no gentle anythings. There were no hugs or goodnight kisses or I love yous. There was only pain. The familiar feeling of his stomach sinking pulled him back when he realized-daddy was kissing his hand. That was not normal, b-but N couldn't do anything. If he didn't like it, then that was too damn bad. Still, he winced, trying to be still, trying to please Ghetsis. He didn't want to be hurt anymore.

"Good boy. Very good boy." Ghetsis opened his mouth, pulling N's small hand to it and licked his fingers. N was horrified. No, this was-no, no. Why was daddy doing this-why, why? The tears were coming back, but Ghetsis wasn't saying anything about them. Like he didn't care anymore, and N could feel his entire body go stiff as his father sucked on his fingers. This wasn't normal-but it was because daddy was doing it. It was, it was. N had to be good. N didn't want to be hurt anymore.

Finally his fingers were removed, his wrist still held in Ghetsis's grip, and it was moved to his pants where Ghetsis released him. "Undo it."

Confused, but compliant, N did as he was told, trying to block out the horror growing in his stomach. It was making him sick, but he kept telling himself it was okay, it would be okay, because- The buckle was pried apart, N shrinking back as soon as he finished it. He didn't like this, he-

Again, his wrist was snatched up, and there was no where he could run with daddy's arm wrapped around him. Even if he did run, Ghetsis would catch him. N didn't want to think what he would do if that ever happened. "You're being a good king, N." N wasn't used to hearing Ghetsis speak with such a gentle tone. Why was he doing this all of a sudden? It frightened him, it was wrong, very, very wrong. "You're going to give this to me, because you will be my king one day too. And a good king appeals to his people."

Something hard was pressed to N's hands as his father manipulated him, moving his hand down to his pants. Bile rose, but N bit it down. Because this was okay, it was okay. He wasn't scared, he wasn't. His hand was forced to move over and over the thing until it grew harder and Ghetsis ordered him to wrap his hand around it. When that happened, N heard his father make noises he'd never heard before. Pants, stifled grunts, strained gasps of air. W-what was happening?

"Harder."

N listened, because he was a good king. For once, he was grateful for his lamp to be so dim. He didn't want to see what was so hard and big in his hand, or why his daddy was making those noises. Closing his eyes, he continued to listen, just wishing for it to be over.

"Nn-harder, god dammit."

Nervous, N's hand began to tremble as he listened. Why was he doing this? It scared him when Ghetsis thrust into his hand, mumbling 'fuck' over and over. N was terrified. He just wanted this to be over so he could go to bed and snuggle with Zorua. But he listened. The louder Ghetsis moaned, the more he could tell what he was doing was right.

It felt like forever. N didn't know what to think. This was something new, just more change he was forced to deal with every single day. Would Ghetsis make him do this every night? It made N feel dirty, because there was just something not right about those noises his daddy made. It made him feel small and-wrong. This was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Then, Ghetsis threw his head back, letting out another loud moan, and N felt something sticky gush into his hand, and he reared his arm back in fright, eyes falling to his hand at the strange white substance coating his fingers. It terrified him, it was dirty, he was scared.

Both of Ghetsis's arms were wrapped around him, trapping N more than he ever felt in his life. He couldn't cry anymore. He couldn't feel pain anymore. All he could think of now was how scared he was, and how he just wanted Ghetsis to leave. Even if it was wrong, because daddy knew what was best for him, N couldn't take it anymore.

"N..." His father's voice was strangely distant. N was too tired to think anymore about change. The robes tied around his body were warm, and he had been cold. Sleep was all he wanted right now, just to leave reality for awhile, because it hurt too much, and dream of love, of daddy's love.

Everything from before seemed so miniscule and simple. Now, here and now, it was so new and confusing. N wanted to deal with it and be a man, he did. A good king could deal with everything. The good and the bad.

Everything N knew was to listen to daddy. But daddy hated him now, and N wasn't even allowed to call him that anymore. If he was to be told to call him Ghetsis, that's what N had to do. Because to avoid the pain and suffering, N had learned listening to everything Ghetsis told him made things better. If Ghetsis told him to do this every night, then that's what N would have to do.

Because deep down, Ghetsis loved him. He knew it.

There was always going to be change, but N had to live through it. Reality was a nightmare, reality was fear and pain and tears. It was love.

N could feel himself slip away as he was wrapped in those robes. The warmth was comforting, to say the least. And he had made daddy happy, right? When Ghetsis was happy, N was happy as well.

N finally saw black as he fell away into sleep, wrapped in his daddy's arms.

Emilie Autumn's 'the art of suicide' is excellent inspiration for this fic.