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ihopuhopwehop · 3 years

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Sirius Fic based on “Maniac” by Conan Gray 🥺🥺 maybe read and review🥺

Tw: angst, mentions of abuse/trauma, talks about the prank

Ps. Lmk if I should make a tag list:) AO3

Sirius scrubbed his eyes fiercely as he walked dejectedly down the hall towards McGonagall’s office.

Whispers followed him every where he went, though they were ten-fold this time around because no body else actually knew the extent of what happened.

Some called him psychopathic.

Thinking he had done something similar to what his family members did. That he’d finally gotten the dark mark and now James, Remus, and Peter refused to associate with him because of it.

Some told him to stop being so dramatic.

That whatever it was, they’d fix it soon. James, Remus, and Peter couldn’t stay mad at him for long. They were brothers.

Surely they’d work it out.

At least that’s what they told him. He wasn’t so sure what bonds of blood or love meant to anyone anymore.

He was the perfect example.

Their friendship had been magic.

Supporting each other no matter what it was. Being there for each other. Helping him heal himself after his father sliced him. Sitting with him while he tried to forget his nightmares. Comforting Remus after the full moon, seeing who could eat the most chocolate frogs. Saving the cheese danishes for Peter. And researching new brooms for James to try out.

Now it was tragic.

Because he chose to make it that way.

At first he tried to convince himself it wasn’t his fault. That if only Snape hadn’t done what he did. If only Snape hadn’t been nosing around Remus. Lurking and searching for their secrets.

But really he was the one to go manic.

He was just so angry. So explosively angry.

Everywhere he looked Snape was there.

Whispering to his innocent, little brother.

Pointing out Remus’ scars to fellow Death Eaters.

Calling James a blood-traitor.

Harassing mud—that word. Muggleborns.

He had had it with Snivellus. So he decided to do something about it.

He didn’t think...no couldn’t think of any other option that would work better than scaring Snape. Threatening him with the knowledge Snape so callously desired.

He didn’t think about how the monster at the end of the tunnel would turn into a living human being that would have to live with the consequences of Sirius’ actions.

All he could think about was that Snape had it coming. And he knew just what to give him.

And then it all went wrong.

Suddenly, James wasn’t supporting this decision.

James was yelling at him. Cursing at him. Demanding Sirius tell James just what he had done.

Suddenly, James wasn’t on his side.

And Sirius pushed him away. Tried to explain why he had done it, but all he got was James telling him he needed to get help.

But Sirius didn’t know who to ask for help, if not his brother.

Back to the present, Sirius was now in front of McGonagall’s office.

He released a deep, shaky breath as he knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

He slumped his shoulders as he hesitantly slipped through the door, enjoyed how the whispers behind him faded as the heavy wood clicked into place.

“Ah, Mr. Black.”

He couldn’t help the flinch. His last name was a reminder of what he did. His parents would be so proud to know Sirius was using a werewolf for his own gain.

It made Sirius sick.

And sad. Tears sprung to his eyes again, but he forced them to stay there, hating how much his eyes burned.

“Professor.” His voice was raspy from the sobbing he had done in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

She gestured him to sit and he mechanically did so, waiting for her to yell at him like many others had.

When she opened her mouth, he flinched again. Until,

“Have a biscuit.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. Have a biscuit? Why? What was the point?

He delicately picked one up and brought it towards his body, but didn’t dare put it in his mouth yet.

McGonagall just stared at him until he finally took a tiny bite, hoping he did what she wanted of him.

“I think it’s time we had a little chat.”

He gulped down the little bit of biscuit as he waited for her to continue.

“Tell me Sirius, how are you doing?”

That one question shouldn’t have done it.

And he tried so hard to make it not happen, but he couldn’t help it.

He broke down.

The tears he’d thought were suppressed, came rushing painfully up and his throat constricted, a lump forming.

He put a rough hand on his forehead while he leaned forward. The tears leaking out. His dirty, shoulder-length hair falling into his face.

He breathed a shaking breath before he could get a word out.

“Not—not good.” His voice broke.

Suddenly though, all of his thoughts came rushing out.

“I can’t—I can’t believe I did that. To Remus. To James. To Sn—Snape.” He exhaled forcefully, a choking sob working its way up. “I’m so much more like my family than I thought.”

He was now sobbing harder than he had in his entire life. In front of his Professor. His Professor who looked like she was trying her hardest to push her own tears down.

“Remus isn’t the monster. I am. I used his affliction against him. And the sad thing is, if James hadn’t have fought me, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But Snape deserved it.” Another wracking sob and a sniffle.

“He corrupted Regulus. My—my little brother. One of them. He hurt Remus. Made fun of his scars. Hell, he said Mary McDonald’s assault was “just a laugh” I don’t—I can’t”

He paused, running a hand down his face, “What’s wrong with me Professor? What’s—“ He took a deep inhale, trying to finally get rid of the painful lump in his throat, before he looked into his Professor’s pained eyes.

“I just wanted to help them. But I only made it worse. And now I have no one. Not James. not Remus. Not Reg—Regulus.”

He leaned back in the chair, but folded his arms around himself, waiting to see what she had to say.

She only pushed the biscuit tin towards him again, and he gratefully took one.

She then conjured some water for him to drink and Sirius thought it felt cool against his throat.

When he was finished and unsure about what to do now, McGonagall finally spoke.

“Sirius. I think you need to heal. From what I’ve heard, you’ve experienced a lot of abuse and trauma from your family. This in no way excuses what you did, and you will have consequences for your actions as Dumbledore, Slughorn, and myself deem fit, but you need help. As such, you will meet in my office weekly for the rest of the year and we will work through some things and teach you better ways to cope with your emotions, of course, if you are okay with it?”

Sirius didn’t know. He wasn’t sure what help she could give, but seeing as he no longer had friends to rely on, he figured he should at least give McGonagall a try.

So he nodded. James had said he needed help anyways. Maybe this was the help he meant.

“Can I...can I change my mind if I don’t like it?”

“Of course. Or you may request a new therapist to help you if you feel I am not the best fit for you.”

Sirius nodded again and swallowed audibly. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Thank you Sirius. You may go back to Gryffindor tower.”

Sirius didn’t miss the unspoken warning; don’t go anywhere you shouldn’t.

Sirius stood up and walked out of her office, his shoulders tensed and his eyes hurting.

He clenched his eyes shut as he made it out into the hallway, the whispers once again flaring as people noticed him.

Just at that moment, he noticed Remus walking in front of him, no doubt heading to the common room.

He debated catching up with him, but thought of the pain in Remus’ eyes when he had found out what he’d done.

He didn’t think he was ready to face him again. So he sulked back behind him and stayed as close to the wall as he could.

He let Remus get safely in the common room, waiting in the hallway a for a few minutes, before giving the password to the Fat Lady and cautiously entering the common room.

He noticed James, Remus, and Peter by the fireplace. All looking exhausted, but James smiled at something Remus said, and Sirius had to look away.

He wanted to go to their four poster but knew it was getting late and they’d be retiring soon, so instead he flopped onto the window seat, ignoring his housemates questioning looks and gossip.

He had been staring at the faint outline of the whomping willow for about ten minutes when someone sat across from him.

He lazily rolled his head to the side to see who it was and refused to let the hope that it was James or Remus show on his face.

It was Lily Evans.

She smiled at him lightly.

He wanted to roll his eyes but managed to control that impulse. Look at him go, only one session with McGonagall and he already was showing restraint.

He inwardly snorted at his joke but outwardly puffed a strand of hair out of his eyes.

“What do you want?”

“Why aren’t you sitting with them?”

He knew she was just curious but it still pissed him off.

So he scowled at her, “because I’m alone now Evans.” When she opened her mouth to ask another question, he continued, “if you’re here to ask me questions, don’t bother. I’m not in the mood.”

He turned back to the whomping willow.

He felt a tentative hand on his knee, “I’m not sure what’s happened, but...I’m here if you need to talk.” When he only continued staring at her she continued, “or you know, stare pensively out of window with you like the brooder you are, then—“ she shrugged her shoulders and it brought a twitch of his lips.

How ironic that Snivellus’ former best friend was the one there for him, “Thanks Evans. I’ll keep that in mind.”

At this, he stood and made his way up to their dormitory, hoping to be in and out of the shower before they got went to bed.

#Sirius black #James potter #the prank #lily evans #harry potter #angst #hogwarts #fanfiction #read and review #reblog #song fic #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #the marauders #sirius black #james potter #minerva mcgonagall #ao3

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scribbling-stiks · 3 years

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Puppets Extras - Just a Bit of World Building

-Giving a creature a name gives it more power, hence why many of the creatures go unnamed

-Everyone's face is the flag of the country or state they are a resident of or were a resident of.

-If someone is not a resident of any country, they are blank until they become residents. ie. if they are born on a plane.

-If a person has dual citizenship, their flag will change based on which country they are in or stayed in most recently.

-The main visual difference between personifications and citizens is the eyes. Personifications have eyes that have a slight yellow glow, and the citizen's eyes are plain white.

-A second visual difference is that, for personifications, their flag's design can extend past their face.

-Simpler, color-based flags show up more vividly than the more complicated, picture-based ones.

-First-generation immigrants often, but don't always, keep their original flag. Second generations have fewer ethnic flags and third generations are completely based on their current citizenship.

-English is the language of international policies, hence why countries without a large population of English speakers can still communicate in fluent English

-Personifications and citizens alike can have the ability to do magic. The ability is not common.

-Personifications have stronger magic/more potential strength than citizens

-The states all have their own homes in their respective state. They only stay at the main house together during holidays or emergencies.

-The nickname "Mass-hole" came about during Thanksgiving when Massachusetts insisted on calling Pennsylvania "Penny." Eventually, Penn had enough and he shouted, "Shut the f*** up, Mass-hole!" It stuck and the states have used it ever since.

-All states know how to cook their regional food, and America knows how to cook any American based dish or popular dish that the states make.

-Some states are fluent in more than one language and America is as well. This is based on two reasons

>The current languages spoken by their citizens

>Any past mass immigration of foreign people

-Australia and New Zealand have met the states, but because of distance, they do not visit much

-The states call Australia "Spider-Man"

-Most countries have scars from a history of violence in their land. Russia keeps his arms covered because the scars on them are sensitive to touch. Most of the time, long sleeves are good enough, but if unavailable, he'll wrap them in dry, clean bandages.

-New York has a prosthetic leg. He lost his right leg and nearly lost the other during the events of 9/11/2001. His leg ends just below the knee and both legs are heavily scared. His prosthetic is life-like, and you wouldn't notice it was a prosthetic unless he exposes his legs.

-America made sure that all the states know how to swim. Hawaii is the best, closely followed by California and Florida.

-The monsters seen attacking Russia are not necessarily doing it for the same reasons.

-While America is gone, Dixie has attempted to take over his duties. Unfortunately, New York often has to get involved because of the arguments Dixie's involvement has caused with some of the other countries.

-Monsters can not perfectly imitate a person. The ones that are the most accurate at copying faces can not do it for long, and the mimicking cries of others always have strange distortions. Most of the monsters are imitating things to lure people toward them, but only have the intelligence of a wild animal.

-Most of the monsters that roam the North American continent are monitored by the personifications representing the different Native American tribes recognized by the Federal Government. These personifications do not typically interact with America or the states, but if worse comes to worst, they are willing to help.

-New York and New Jersey have the strangest relationship out of the states. The two are opposites but act as best friends. They will go from insulting each other to defending each other if anyone else tried to insult one of them. Jersey's more obnoxious tendencies are only tolerated by New York because he's New Jersey. If any of the other states tried blasting music into New York's office or room when he was on the phone, they would get a much larger reaction than just an annoyed look.

-Wisconsin is in charge of getting cheese, end of story.

-Most midwestern states know how to ride horses, and the southern states know how to grow produce and hunt.

-If someone finds a snake in the Big House, its Florida's problem to get rid of it.

>Alligators go to either Louisiana or Florida.

-During Hurricane season, the states that are heavily hit(Like Louisiana) get sick and are often bedridden until the damages begin to be fixed.

-New York handles most of the logistical things for his family.

-Florida was terrified the world was ending the first time he saw snow.

AND SOME MORE

America's magic runs on the same logic as Massachusetts, just to a lesser extent.

Nations heal the fastest, followed by states, and regular people heal the slowest. Sidenote: Texas, California, and Hawaii heal faster than the other states.

Alabama owns and modifies old cars. Most end up with rocket boosters attached. Indiana occasionally helps.

Countries(and states) all have at least one home in their country, but many have family homes centered between relatives. The larger the country, the more homes they own.

The idea that the USSR crumbled because of new freedoms giving to citizens is where I get my interpretation of Soviet. I read it as he was controlling when his kids were little, but once he realized his kids weren't happy, he backed off, and the USSR fell apart.

America was severely neglected as a child, so when he started finding states(small children) as a young teenager, he wanted to get rid of them. He didn't want them. But when he turns his back on Delaware, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey, their cries draw him back. They sounded so much like his own.

-"Daddy! Come back! Please." -"Where are you going? Why can't I come with you!" -"Daddy, wait!"

He vowed from then on to raise these kids as best as possible, and he made it a goal to do better than UK or England ever had. He likes to think he succeeded.

If a personification dies, their country crumbles. If the country crumbles, but the personification is still alive, they will become less powerful, but still amortal(meaning unable to die of disease or age).

Nevada and New Mexico are NEVER to be left alone together. Chaos ensues.

Florida has several pet alligators that live in a moat around his house in FL. His siblings don't visit often.

Georgia and North Carolina make Moonshine and fight over whose is better.

California is the worst driver.

New York has an attitude that demands respect, even if he's in pjs.

Colorado, Florida, and California do parkour. Texas won't admit that he does too because he doesn't want to have anything in common with Florida and California.

New York and New Jersey like to race each other across rooftops in NYC. New York normally wins, even with his prosthetic. Jersey always demands a rematch.

Louisiana and Georgia can tap dance. New Jersey can breakdance.

Florida can play the grand piano, but his siblings say he can't play any "good music." Even still, he insists that "Never Gonna Give You Up" and "All Star" are perfectly reasonable choices of music.

West Virginia always has a few marbles in his pocket. Always.

Instead of faces, different people have different face shapes, eye sizes, and slight alterations to their flags, mostly colors. Flags keep the same shape.

Extra Facts:

-Had a horrible childhood full of neglect. He was left to fend for himself in brutal winters of the northeast or the brutal heat and humidity in the south east. UK does not know how to be a parent and didn't want to learn.

-America doesn't ever want any of the states to feel the same kind of doubt about themselves he felt, so he showers them with affection as much as he can. Unconditional love.

-The states, though they are a big group, are one of the most functional family units. They can work as a (sometimes) well-oiled machine.

-Philippines was taken in and treated like a state for a while, so he fits right in.

-America allows his states to do as they please, but insists that they have nothing to do with international affairs.

-He knows the states can handle themselves, but if they need help, he'll run in behind them, guns blazing, no questions asked. And he knows the rest of the states will follow him in the same fashion.

-He doesn't really remember birthdays. Instead he will just randomly mail them gifts that remind him of them. So it's like surprise birthday presents.

-The states love him, and will support him no matter what. His asking is the only reason they haven't mobbed a nations' meeting to beat the crap out of the people making fun of their dad.

-America is hyperactive and forgetful. New York took on the logistics early on because he saw that though his dad wouldn't mean to, America would often forget important meetings and dates in time.

-Texas was scared to join another family, but found himself in a group that looked up to him and laughed with him and he was happy. He doesn't care that he was a country(unless it's to tease his siblings), his is one of the states and will deal with anyone who messes with his family.

Table of Contents

#countryhumans #statehumans

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carbrakes-and-stakes · 4 years

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Built for better things | Nell & Alain

Where : Alain’s house (x) Summary : Nell asks Alain for help with the Ring, old scars emerge.

Nell was well aware that she was most likely the last person Alain expected to see on his doorstep. But he’d blocked her online, so she couldn’t warn him that way. And even though she technically had his phone number, she didn’t particularly feel the need to let him know she was coming. Part of her took pleasure in hopefully catching him by surprise, and putting him a little off-kilter. After all, this wasn’t a position she’s ever enjoyed being in, aka asking for information from someone who she didn’t see eye to eye with in the least. However, Alain was the only person she knew that was no longer connected to the Ring, and would most likely have information she wanted. Now that she was free, she wanted the Ring to hurt, and to stop them from torturing innocent lives. She raised a hand to the door, her newly heavily scarred arms on display as she knocked. “Hey, Alain! Guess who!” she called out, already prepared to savor the look on his face when he opened the door.

It was a drowsy looking Alain that opened the door. It was not exactly the time for a nap, but having a lot of sleep to catch up on, he had fallen asleep on his couch while reading Audrey’s notes. He had hoped that somewhere, perhaps, she had written about maras. After all, she was a beast hunter, but he had so far ended up empty handed. Confused at first, this first emotion let room for anger as he slammed the door shut. No, this was not something he wanted to be doing today. This probably had to do with him and Remmy. Either she was here to yell at him, either she was here to mock him about this. It would have been insane to think that the zombie wouldn’t tell everyone they knew, that they saved the life of the very person who had tried to kill them. “I am not in the mood, Nell, go away,” his back against the door, he waited, hoping that this would suffice. Clearly, he did not want to fight, again.

Apparently, Nell had got Alain in the middle of his beauty rest. “Sorry, did I interrupt your skincare routine?” she yelled through the door, not sounding apologetic in the least. Nevertheless, she stood her ground, crossing her recently healed arms over her chest, signaling that she had no intentions of leaving. “It can’t be a very good routine if you still look like that.” She did her best not to think of the time Alain had called her a piece of shit over text as she bit her tongue, knowing this was not the time for a fight if she wanted to pick his brain for information. No doubt he’d lord it over her that she’d come to him for assistance. “We can talk through the door if you want. That’s fine,” she said haughtily before speaking once more. “I just came here...about the Ring.” She let the word hang in the air, the only real thing that bonded her and the Hunter on the other side of the door. Had he heard about the breakout?

“C’est pas possible d’être aussi chiante. Il est quoi ? 10 heures ?” Alain mumbled to himself. He had a look at the clock on the wall. 10.35am. Close enough. If he was going to talk to her, he would need a good amount of coffee. Scratching at his beard, he left the door and went to the kitchen, opening the window so she could hear him speak. “What about the fucking Ring ?” If he had checked his phone this morning, he probably would have had a clue of why she was here. The place was terrible, but he had been happy to find it when he needed a well paying job. It was a place that made him feel useful, then, but he did not miss it, now. Why? Multiple reasons. The major one was that it reminded him of what he had lost. Audrey had gone missing while she was recruiting for them. Often he had wondered if things would have gone so wrong if he had kept working there. They made quite the team, back then. “Are you aware that one of your friend works there? Is this what this is about?” He had poured himself a cup of coffee, and perhaps as a gesture of peace, placed a second cup on the window ledge, for her. Whatever this was about would be a nice distraction from the things he had on his mind lately.

Yet again, Nell rolled her eyes at his dramatics of not even letting her in the house. Not that it really mattered. She’d yell at him through a window if that’s what he wanted. “Well-” she began, not entirely sure how to get this started. “First things first— recognize this?” With that she held her arm up to the window, scars and all along with the metal bracelet they’d put on her for the kidnapping. The thing was dead now, but they hadn’t yet figured how to get it off without killing the person it was on. That being said, she wasn’t sure if he’d recognize the magic-inhibiting bracelet. After all, the Ring didn’t keep that many spellcasters around in imprisonment, them often being more trouble than they were worth. As for her friend working there… “Yeah, Remmy mentioned you know they worked there. That was my fault. I introduced them to it. But we don’t work there anymore.” Nevertheless, she was somewhat surprised by the offer of the coffee, and began to sniff it suspiciously.

Sipping on his cup of coffee, he took a seat on the kitchen counter fronting the window and rubbed at his chin and jaw for a moment, avoiding her eyes. He did recognize those bracelets. They had slightly changed since he had left, but he could only guess that it was only to make them even more effective. “I do recognize this,” he finally conceded, looking at her this time. You could tell that he was worried from the slight frown on his forehead. What had she done to end up with that thing on her wrist? They had similar devices back then to force shifting in some, and block it in others. Obviously, they also were great to keep your talented fighters from getting away. Alain knew how hard it was to find proper talents, after all, it had been his job for almost a decade. “Why ? You worked there. You knew it was a terrible place.” If there was one thing he would haven’t done, it would have been to tell his friends to start working or fighting for the Ring. Getting out of here in one piece was not exactly an option. Now he doubted that Nell wanted to get lectured about this, but he hoped that she understood how awful that decision was. “You don’t work there anymore, but you still have this on your wrist,” he observed. Something did not add up. He watched her sniff at her cup of coffee, but kept his mouth shut. All things considered, he was not too paranoid for someone who had lived his whole life being an enemy to a whole community of things in town. “We need to get rid of that thing,” standing up, he headed to the front door and walked outside. However, a question remained. She did not come here to tell him that she and Remmy had left the Ring. They had not spoken in months (and the blame was shared), and so, there had something else that she came here for. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Yeah, well here’s the thing,” Nell began, “I didn’t know it was a terrible place. Or well- I knew it wasn't the best place but- I didn’t realize they took innocent creatures and people and forced them to fight. Or that they imprison witches who dare tell them to fuck off after putting a collar of her zombie friend.” She thought it was fairly obvious that the last portion of that sentence was referring to herself. “I thought the people bringing the creatures in had the same...rules that I did. I was obviously wrong, though.” Nell was tempted to ask if Alain knew how terrible it had been, but decided not to for the sake of momentary peace, and the information she was looking to get out of him. “Yeah, Luce is working on a way to get it off without killing us,” Nell began nonchalantly, as if they were talking about the weather. “Since, you know- usually only the one who puts them on can take them off and everything unless they like...transfer ownership.” As he walked outside, she turned to him, satisfied that she’d apparently caught his interest. “I’m here because...I want to make the Ring regret ever touching me or Remmy or anyone else who didn’t deserve it in the first place. And I think you might be able to help.”

“Nell, what do you think they needed hunters for ? Audrey and I had one job to find and at least to a certain extent, tame creatures. The feral ones, they clearly don’t ask to be here,” he sighed. There was no way she did not realize that this place was bad. “You once told me that you only brought the “worse” in, but that is not your call to make. Vampires are the worst to me, doesn’t mean it’s true for everyone,” he deadpanned and shook his head. This was not the kind of debate he wanted to start here, but he hoped that she would realize that none of what she had done there was better than whatever he did then, especially now that she came asking for his help, and he was nice enough not to rub it in her face. It was an understatement to say that their last argument had left him with a sour taste in his mouth, after all. “Luce, right.” He shook his head, as if to say don’t know her. But that did not really matter. “I mean, there’s nothing a few tools can’t do,” although he felt like approaching her with anything he had in his garage would not feel very reassuring. “Alright, I’ll leave it to Luce, then,” he declared as he sat down at the table under the shade of an umbrella pine tree. Looking up, his eyes narrowed on a nest in the branches. This was new, and he wondered who was in there. “That’s funny,” he spoke to himself, sipping again on his coffee as he listened to Nell. Ah, revenge. “You worked there, you know how big their influence is,” leaning back in his chair, he sighed. “There’s only a handful of people who chose to work here. You and I, for instance. We are the exception,” clearly, the other 95% were either stuck in cages, or tied with debts. “Anyway, you know I hate this place,” she didn’t per say know why, but he did hate it, “how do you want me to help?”

“I didn’t come here to get told how blind I was, Alain,” Nell quipped back neatly, not exactly looking for a fight, but certainly not condoning the shame he was bringing up in her for her lack of knowledge. “And I did only bring in the worst. I was just wrong in assuming others did the same. I’m also not here to talk about our differences in opinion when it comes to what’s worse and what’s not.” No doubt that would only lead to another yelling match. She and Alain didn’t need to be friends, or even on the same page, they just needed to have a shared goal in the form of the Ring. Nell often forgot the whole town didn’t know of the Vural sisters and their link, so she quickly clarified, “My sister. Luce is my other sister. Not Bea, obviously.” As for the tools, “Maybe in your time, old man. But tinkering with it is what’s most likely to get me killed now so- I‘d rather not fuck with it until we know more about how exactly it works. I’ve seen the results of what happens when you fuck it up.” There’d been enough creatures in the cages desperate enough to try and gnaw it off, and they’d quickly perished. “Yes, it’s workers are limited which is why I’m here. As for helping...I want to find records. Something that will help me better weed out all the people that need to be taken care of, and made sure they don’t keep doing what they’re doing. Do you know where there’s a record room or something?” As for not liking them, her curiosity got the better of her when it came to that. “Why did you quit, anyway?”

“Well that’s a shame, because that’s what you get,” if she expected a red carpet, a bouquet of flowers and a hug, she could fuck right back to party city, or wherever the fuck she came from. Certainly it was not hell, or else she wouldn’t keep on defending monsters. Only people who had seen hell could know how hunters felt. “I’m sorry, you are obviously a model of virtue and kindness. How kind of you. Let’s get you a ribbon that reads goodest goody two shoes,” she couldn’t believe that she was better than the rest because she brought the worst, could she? Of course, she could. Hypocrites. Alain breathed out sharply and shook his head. Besides, who was she to decide who was bad or not? Certainly not someone who was going to defend a monster because it happened to be her friend. He finished his cup of coffee and crossed his arms over his chest, not quite convinced by her offer yet. “And you think your sister will know how to get you rid of that thing?” Okay. If she was so confident in that, who was he to question it. “Speaking of, Blanche, she went there, didn’t she?” If he had tried his best to stay calm when Blanche told him this, and that she had broken a bone too, it did not mean that he was less concerned about her. In fact, he was concerned for Nell too, even if he sucked at showing it. “You two are gonna end up getting yourself killed if you keep going like that,” he rubbed at his face and sighed. Somehow, he doubted that they would stop getting into trouble once this would all be solved, just like he did not, no matter how close he got to dying sometimes. He reassured himself with his accelerated healing, telling himself that at least, it was no big deal to him. Besides, he was already pretty old, all things considered. These kids, they had their whole life ahead of them. “I doubt they moved rooms around since I left,” he finally replied, a slight frown still on his face, “although I haven’t been seen there in over a decade,” still, he had left the Ring in good terms with the owner, and he doubted coming back would be an issue. “Alright.” He rubbed his beard and sighed. “And what exactly do I gain from this?” They had fucked up, messing with The Ring like that, and clearly, that was not his problem. He had his own things to be dealing with, and he doubted that they would return the favor. “Why I quit is none of your business,” Alain barely spoke of Audrey, and Nell was not the first person he wanted to discuss her with. He looked as if he had completely shut down, for a moment, lost in his thoughts, and clearly lost in his sorrow. “I wanted to build something better,” was all he added before he stood up. You could easily guess whether it was to enjoy the breeze, or to hide the look on his face.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Nell reflexively cursed, her temper quickly rising. She’d truly come here with the best of intentions, intending to have a moment of neutrality rather than whatever Alain was trying to dig up. Not one to generally have the best hold on her anger, her fist clenched tight, trying to force the bubbling emotions into that tiny corner of her body. Think of all the people you can help with Alain’s help, she reminded herself. Focus on that so you can get through this bullshit. Try not to engage. “I’ve literally never acted like I’m some model of virtue or whatever else you think I think I am. And we’ve talked about this before over text. When you kindly reminded me that I’m a piece of shit and I fucking agreed. I know that I fuck up and make mistakes.” Her fist began to shake, remembering what she’d seen in the mirrors at the carnival as she held it even tighter. “I don’t know what the fuck you always think you’re going to get from trying to make me, a girl that’s literally half your age, feel like shit by constantly berating her. But I don’t give a shit!” she finished the sentence with a high pitch to her tone, momentarily losing the togetherness she was trying to hold onto. Another long breath and she was back. “I don’t give a shit if you like me or not. Either you’ll help me or not. And if you won’t, then I have nothing more to say to you.” She ignored the comment about Luce and the bracelet, done with talking about things that weren’t what she’d come here for. If Alain was going to be as difficult as possible, Nell would keep this to the barest of bones, no outside talk. She wasn’t even sure where the mention of Blanche had come from, as she hadn’t mentioned her friend, but if Alain wanted information about the medium, he wouldn’t get it from Nell. “Ask her if you’re wondering. That’s also not what I’m here for.” As for getting themselves killed. “Probably. Don’t know where you get the audacity to act as if you care though when literally all you’ve ever done is try to knock me off whatever pedestal you think I’ve put myself on. When I’ve never done anything of the sort.” Nell barely resisted rolling her eyes as he seemed to demand something in return. “I don’t know, Alain. The warm fuzzy feeling of doing something good? And not letting innocent lives get taken?” But if he wanted to build something better, perhaps that was her in. “Then help to build something better, by helping me. It’s not for me.” She wasn’t sure what to make of the way his tone had suddenly shifted into something more somber, but Nell clinged to this small, potential in. “If you want to change it, then change it.”

“When you started saying that some things deserved to die, and some don’t.” To have the nerve to claim that you could judge and condemn others like she did, that’s what he called putting yourself on a pedestal, and adopting an holier-than-thou attitude. Now if you had to ask why he was so annoyed by it? Well good question. Hard to say that he and Nell ever really got along. They had been clashing since the day they met. So why ? Well, it was quite simple. Childish, in every sense of the term. She reminded him of a much younger Alain, one that did not care for the consequences, for what people thought, or for the feelings he would hurt. It had taken someone knocking him down from that tricky position to get a first idea of what life could be without all this violence. That someone had been Audrey. The hunter, lost in his thoughts, didn’t react to anything else she said, until she reached that high pitch, and brought a frown to his face. Ouch. Alain, looking down at her, remained quiet for a few more seconds, as he tried to process what she just said to him. She was being honest, that much he was sure of, and that might have been what worried him. It makes you feel like shit because that’s exactly how I want you to feel about hunting,” pinching at the bridge of his nose, he sighed. Being a hunter, was a huge part of his life, and he could not understand, at all, why she would willingly pick this for herself, when it was the one thing about him that he often wished he could get rid of, his ability to hunt, but also, the fact that at the end of the day, he was not just a normal person, living a normal life. Having spent most of his days putting himself in danger, he had reached this moment in his life when he was tired, completely, entirely exhausted of being here to help others, save others, protect others. Quite ironically so, he had never done this for others. First, it was to impress his father, then it was because he had a sense of duty like not many did. But now, he was tired, and entangled in his responsibilities as a hunter. Alain breathed in, and out, deeply, again. “You, are me, 20 years ago,” he finally explained, “making the same choices, the same mistakes too,” oh he had hurt himself badly, so many times, and just like her, he always got up, ready to show the other cheek. “And I did not give a shit either, but unlike you, I had no one who gave a shit about whether I lived or died. No, one.” His sisters, he had pushed them away. His parents, he had pushed them away, in their graves. And his first year at the Ring, he had spent it pushing everyone away. It was a miracle, that he survived being so lonely, and that might be what would save her, the fact that she had people looking out for her. “See, you won’t even accept that perhaps, I do care a bit for your well being,” if he smiled, his smile looked nothing but cheerful. Melancolia, sadness, and worry. “I do something good every time a spawn turns to dust,” this much he knew for sure. There was nothing but benevolence in getting humans rid of those, “I don’t need guidance through the dark night,” his arms crossed over his chest, he found himself once again thinking of Audrey, who unlike him, had gotten lost into that dark night. “I have to build something better, for me,” his voice faltered, almost to the point of breaking, on those last two words. He kept his back turned toward her. “Now you made it sound so fucking easy, but look at me, I’m old, broken and fucking sour.” A pause. “I’m sorry Nell, I should have been a better person, to you.”

“Alain, that’s literally the exact same thing that you do,” Nell managed to say through gritted teeth. He chose every day whether something would die or not, whether it be a vampire, zombie, or otherwise. But his words about feeling like hunting and making her feel like shit didn’t quite satisfy her, and she was quick to tell him as much. “No, it and hunting don't make me feel like shit. You do. You, Alain Babineaux, go out of your way to bully me and then you have the fucking audacity to call it a god damned lesson of all things.” Her rage was building, the air beginning to crackle in the slightest with the feel of pooling magic, though she was trying her best not to let it build too far. How many times had her mother tried to teach a lesson through the same means? How many times had Nisa rained shame, and disdain on her and then turned around and told her it was for her own good? That it was to help her be better. And how many times had she believed that, before realizing that even if her mother was trying to make her better— that didn’t make it okay that Nell felt small and self-destructive at the end of those lessons. “Learn better fucking ways to teach whatever the hell you’re trying to teach or leave me the fuck alone. Because I’m not going to stand here and let you say you’re hurting me for the sake of making me better.” She’d had enough of that in her lifetime, and she wouldn’t let it happen anymore. “And take responsibility for yourself.” Nell balked at the claim that they were alike shaking her head as she calmed in the slightest, the magic resting back beneath her skin. “You don’t know me. You don’t know the first thing about me. If you did, you’d know better than to try and teach me a lesson that way. “You don’t know anything about my mistakes, and you don’t deserve to know. I give a shit. Just not about you.” Perhaps the words sounded harsh, but at this point— they were the truth. And if Alain didn’t like, she’d resigned herself to finding some other way to get the Ring’s secrets. She didn’t know what he wanted her to say as he mentioned no one caring for him, not particularly in the mindset to offer comfort to the man who continued to anger her again and again. Her voice was hard as she spoke again, cold instead of hot as she turned to stone. Again here he was attempting to say that he cared for her, when all he’d done was try and tear her down. No more. Not after what she’d gone through with her mother. “I don’t accept you caring because I value myself enough to know that I can do better than someone who preys on all the parts of me that I like the least, and then calls it helping. I don’t want it, if that’s what you call ‘caring’. I know better now.” She knew better because she’d gotten friends along the way, friends like Winston and Jared and Blanche. As Alain’s voice broke with emotion, Nell waited, trying to see if he would come to a conclusion on whether or not to help. Instead, she was surprised when an apology came, and it showed briefly on her features. That was new. “You should have,” she simply said in response, not willing to give forgiveness at a time like this. “But I’m tired of talking about the two of us. The Ring isn’t about us. So let’s do it, then. Let’s build something better.”

Wow, the audacity of that girl. Yes, girl. She wanted to be treated like a grown up but it was tantrum after tantrum, after tantrum. She spoke with the maturity of a teenager, relying on insults and basic rhetoric to get her point through. Alain was not impressed, although he did not expect to be. She spoke like she knew the first thing about being bullied, but he doubted that she ever had to spend a good part of her life thinking the cause to all her problems was herself. Alain had been told, from the moment he was old enough to understand it, that he was a mistake, that he shouldn’t exist, and that the only reason he was here, was to rid the Earth of the monsters that were the undead. An insult to nature and God’s work. He had lost faith in God a while back, but he still remained convinced that the undead could not be. You lived your life, and then you died. The end. An eternal life was a life without meaning and it was death that gave meaning to his life, or Nell’s. Both of them wanted to experience things before it happened, and both of them wanted to help others, before it happened. “You think this is a fucking lesson? You keep repeating that I wanna teach you something, again, and again. Do I look like a goddamn teacher to you ?! DO I ?! You call me a fucking bully, which by the way, is fucking proof that you don’t fucking know me. You wanna know why I ended up working at the Ring? It was because Clare, the woman who ran this place, she told me that those skills I have, were special, that I could use them to help her. I was so fucking crushed as a person, when I arrived at the Ring, that this felt immediately like home to me. The Ring, it felt like HOME.” He shouted that last word, the pain and anger in his voice vibrating. What kind of fucked up person could for one second think that a place of death and torture was the ideal place to restart over. “You, you chose to be there, to work there, for the fucking thrill of it. Me, I just fit right in, because I was reduced to thinking that this was where I belong. You could have done anything else, you picked this. And now, you realize that it’s a bad place? Are you fucking kidding me?” He shook his head, the anger on his face leaving some room for disgust. He wasn’t even disappointed, no, he was past that. “I don’t believe that. You liked it, but now, it’s hard to justify it, is it?” He shook his head again, raising his shoulders and lifting his palms up, as if to say: consequences, sucks, doesn’t it? Alain didn’t even reply to that bit about her caring for people, just not him. Nah, she only cared for herself, and her friends, like many people. He did not blame her, it was hard to care for people you never met. Sure, you’d feel sad for a few, but life goes on. Hunters, they were raised having to care for the entire mankind. He doubted that she cared as much for zombies as she cared for Remmy, for instance. “I’m glad to see where you stand. We were raised differently, and we have different views, but I’m telling you to take some time to think about what you really want for your future,” turning around, he picked up the empty cups of coffee and retreated inside his home, putting down the cups in the sink then heading to the kitchen’s window. “Coming from me, I don’t assume you’ll listen,” he added, calmer, just like she was after his apology. “As for talking about yourself, I see that you don’t like that. I don’t blame you, I usually avoid the subject,” he scoffed, rubbing at this face with one hand. “I’m not sure I’m glad I told you all these things about me,” leaning his forearms against the window sill, he looked her in the eyes. “Doesn’t matter now.” He smiled, with melancholy in his eyes. Maybe he was scared of going back to that place. Oh no. He was. God knew what he would find there. The idea felt like ice running through his veins. “Like I said, the Ring is a place where I used to belong. It feels a bit personal to me.” Maybe it did not to her, but to him, it was special. “So, yeah, I will help you. And I’m pretty sure we’ll find things we don’t like, but if this means building something better, together, why not.” His arms crossed on the sill, he pursed his lips. “Maybe working together will bring us both growth, we’ll see.”

Alain couldn’t possibly know that Nell’s entire existence as of late was herself viewing herself as a problem, mistake after mistake being made, so she couldn’t expect him to right the wrong of him assuming she’d never known what it had felt like in any form. Of course, their lives had gone about it differently, but it was still wrong to think that she hadn’t experienced any form of seeing herself as the root of the problem, not when the Hall of Mirrors had shown that it was all she was thinking about these days. Either way, at least she hadn’t raised her voice in the way Alain had. Somehow it seemed she was dealing with this in a more mature way that he was, despite what he might think. Her tone was even calmer this time as she spoke as she shut down, building a protective emotional wall between herself and Alain. “If teaching a lesson isn’t what you meant, then I don’t know what it is you think you’re doing. But whatever it is, I don’t want it. I call you a bully, because that’s how I perceive you. Because all you’d done is bully me by dragging me down. So if that’s not a bully, I’d be happy to hear what it is.” Whatever he tried to call it, it didn’t matter. What else was she meant to call someone who constantly tried to make her feel like shit? “You don’t know why I chose to work there,” she deflected instantly. Because it was true. He didn’t know the first thing about her, and he’d made that much obvious in the past fifteen minutes or however long they’d been standing there. Certainly the thrill of the Ring had been alluring, but it had been the crowd that had made her stay, and the fact that she was good at what she did. It had been nice to have an aspect of her life where she succeeded and was praised rather than ignored or hit with backhanded compliments. “Think about me what you want. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re wrong.” If she’d known exactly how terrible the Ring was, she certainly wouldn’t have given them her in time in the first place. Anyone that knew even the surface concept of who she was would know that as well. “I never tried to justify it, and I never will. I know I made a mistake, and now I’m trying to fix it.” How could he not see that? Why else would she be here on the porch of a man she didn’t want anything to do with? As far as Nell was concerned, Alain had no right to tell her jackshit about her future. He hadn’t earned anything when it came to the witch standing before him. So she brushed past the comment, ignoring it, deciding this would be the way they had to interact if there was any promise of them working together. Her mind was static as he continued to speak, far too tired of trying to figure out whatever hoops he wanted her to jump through, though she didn’t have any desire to jump through them in the first place. “I know what it is to belong there,” was all she said, rather blank as her body continued to go into shut down mode, because of the way he’d so thoroughly attacked her emotions, now just protecting them at all costs. But at least he’d finally agreed to help. “Perfect. That’s all I came here for.” And now that she had his word that he would assist she could leave, and find some way to work herself out of the emotionally numb stupor he’d put her in. “I’ll be in contact.” And with that she turned on her heel, going back the way she came, and leaving the coffee on the window sill.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #para nell #para #built for better things

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theperidotshade · 5 years

Text

@distressedherbalist, here’s the start of the Blind!Ardyn fic, as promised. This is the very rough beginning, the scene will be completed when I’m finished with Thanksgiving-related stress.

Kindness Is the Language

Regis could feel his life starting to slip away as Glauca drew back his sword to stab him once more. He braced himself for the final moment of pain.

It never came.

Regis fell to the floor as a heavy thud echoed behind him, followed by cautious, hurried footsteps and a skittering, clicking noise of some sort.

Darkness settled over Regis as gentle hands framed the wound in his back.

Regis woke to the heavy stench of smoke in the air. He was lying on a cushioned surface of some sort, wind roaring overhead. He groaned, his whole body throbbing.

"Rest, Your Majesty," a voice he thought he should recognize said, "We're almost to safety."

Regis let out a long breath, relaxing into the softness beneath him. He drifted off once more.

Regis woke again. Warmth was spreading through him, easing pain he'd been aware of even in unconsciousness. He stirred, sighing. The hands lifting themselves off his back paused.

"Your Majesty?" a particularly distinctive voice asked. He recognized those tones—but their presence was concerning. He opened his eyes.

Regis was resting face down on what seemed to be a cheap hotel bed—the pillowcase under his cheek scratched as he shifted his head further to the side to look around, and the smell of hotel laundry detergent was hard to forget.

Sitting in a chair pulled up to his bedside was exactly the person he expected—the Imperial Chancellor, golden eyes unfocused and a furrow etched between red-violet brows.

What Regis had not expected was the man hovering behind him.

Clarus sent him a grin. "What, old friend, did you think you'd be rid of me so easily?"

Regis gave a helpless laugh, reaching out a hand. Clarus took it firmly between his own as Izunia rolled his eyes, the motion stretching the scar tissue that covered over half the official's face.

"Do recall that you very nearly were removed to the Beyond permanently by the time I arrived," the Niflheimr said, standing carefully and trailing a hand along the arms and back of the chair to guide himself to the small desk set against the bland eggshell-white wall. He picked up a glass of water and two pills, which were handed over to Clarus.

Clarus, in turn, set them on the nightstand and leaned forward to help Regis turn over and sit propped against the headboard with a bunch of pillows shoved behind his back. He offered Regis the glass and pills.

At Regis' questioning look, Clarus explained. "They're just painkillers. When he healed me, I was sore for a few hours afterwards, and he was just treating me for the impact with the wall. You were run through, Regis, and required a phoenix down and two rounds of healing. It's going to hurt when the effects of his magic wear off."

Regis took the pills, swallowing them down with a few sips of water. The liquid soothed a dryness in his throat that he hadn't known was bothering him. He drank some more.

Then the realization hit him as he processed the full extent of Clarus' statements.

Nearly choking on the water, Regis swallowed cautiously, then tried his best to keep the incredulity out of his voice. "Healing?"

Izunia, moving slowly about the room as he prepared and heated some instant chickatrice broth in the microwave, snorted. "Yes, healing. How else would you foolish creatures have survived what Glauca inflicted on you? I assure you it would have been very unlikely if I'd relied solely on scientific means."

"He calls us foolish," Clarus stage-whispered, "But I saw him warp-strike a magitek armor using his cane. By hearing alone."

Izunia sniffed. "When you've lived without sight for two thousand years, then you can tell me what's foolish or not foolish."

Regis blinked, looking between them. "I…am more confused now than I was when you started speaking."

Izunia sighed, returning to the chair with a mug of broth, which he handed to Regis before sitting. "It's not the most straightforward of tales, though I would have thought this—" he gestured at his scarred face, "Would have clued you in to my…history with magic."

"Well…yes," Regis said, "But I assumed Niflheim had attempted to recreate the Ring."

"Not an unreasonable assumption," Izunia said, running his fingers lightly over the spiderweb of old burns splayed across his face, "But inaccurate. These scars were actually inflicted by the Ring."

Regis' eyes widened. "How?" he asked, stunned.

Izunia smiled sympathetically, patting Regis' knee. "It's quite simple, really. I am…well, to put it frankly, older than the kingdom of Lucis. I held the Ring at its nascence."

Regis blinked, looking to Clarus for confirmation—receiving it in the form of a slow nod. Huh. Izunia…might be telling the truth.

"I think perhaps I ought to hear this tale of yours from the beginning," Regis said about two seconds after the silence stretched out into awkwardness.

Izunia settled back in his chair. "Ah, yes, the beginning. First, you should know that the Lucis Caelum line dates back to Solheim, a noble family very distantly related to the Imperial bloodline that made its fortune manufacturing airships—hence the name, the House of Heavenly Light. When Solheim fell, the second son of that House was the only survivor of all his relations. He salvaged what he could, migrated east to what is now Leide with a group of other survivors, and adopted a lot of the local customs, even translating his family name into the language. He married a Galahdan woman from one of the nomadic trading clans, and they had a daughter, Mira. She later changed her name to Regula, and that is where this tale truly begins, with her."

Izunia turned his face away, rubbing the palm of one hand slowly. "Regula was a political genius, a true prodigy in the art of statecraft. At the age of nineteen, she began to unite the Solheimr that remained, integrating them into the society of the Lucian natives. Within ten years, she led the bare beginnings of the nation that became Lucis—within twenty, she was undisputed Queen of the Kingdom of Lucis. Though we didn't call it that, not until later."

The Chancellor sighed, longing for something indefinable crossing his face. "Regula had two children with a Lucian noble, the first of whom was born in the very early years of her endeavor, nearly a decade before her younger child. The second, her son, you are familiar with: Somnus Lucis Caelum, called the Mystic and the Founder King, despite not actually being the founder."

Izunia half-chuckled, shaking his head. "The first…well, he never cared much for anyone's ideas of what his gender ought to be, so let's just refer to him as her eldest child. He was naturally gifted with magic, a healer of some renown, whose gifts only ever failed him thrice: first, when he could not save his mother from the accident that took her life; second, when the Starscourge made its way out of Solheim proper to decimate the survivors; and third…we'll get to that later."

Regis, listening closely, felt as though he was on the brink of some astounding realization, if only he could piece it together. He watched Izunia's fingers pick at a loose thread on the cuff of one of the official's voluminous coat-sleeves.

The Chancellor continued. "This healer inherited his mother's position of leadership at twenty-five, assuming guardianship of his fifteen-year-old brother at the same time. It quickly became clear that despite the effectiveness of his quarantine protocols, the Starscourge would, if left unchecked, kill off every human in the entire region. So the healer took a risk—he bargained with the Astrals for the ability to save his patients from the Scourge."

The loose thread snapped in Izunia's hand. "Bahamut meddled with the healer's magic, creating three very significant changes—first, he tied the healer to two powerful magical artifacts, granting Regula's eldest child and the entirety of his line the use of other types of magic; second, the King of the Astrals rendered the healer functionally immortal, preventing him from dying of the Scourge he'd be exposed to in the course of healing his patients; and third, and most importantly, Bahamut altered the healer's gift so that he could take the Scourge from his patients—and into himself."

Regis sucked in a breath. Izunia sent him a strained smile in response. "I'm certain you can discern the problem with that."

Regis swallowed, throat dry. Clarus appeared unsurprised by any of this, instead watching Izunia closely…and was that concern in the Shield's eyes? Oh, oh, Izunia was—

"What happened, then, to the healer?" Regis asked, suspecting he knew what the answer would be.

"I was wearing the Ring when the amount of Scourge-parasites I'd taken in became too much for the Crystal to handle," Izunia said. He gestured at his face. "You see the results."

Regis let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes. That—was about what he'd expected, yes, but it was still unsettling to have one's worldview turned upside down in the span of a few minutes.

"So, your name isn't actually Izunia," Regis said.

"It was my father's surname, but as my mother's heir, I always bore the name of her House."

"Ardyn Lucis Caelum."

"Exactly."

There was a moment of strained silence in which Regis tried to process everything he just heard. The mug of broth in his hands grew steadily colder.

"I am so glad you told me this beforehand," Clarus addressed the Chancellor. "I can enjoy the look on his face without dealing with my own shock."

Regis scowled at his friend, who just grinned in response.

The Chancellor laughed, but the subtle signs of strain still remained in his voice and the set of his shoulders.

"Well," the ancient immortal said, "I suppose I'll have to live with the disappointment of not seeing either of your expressions for myself, especially since the rest of my tale will have to wait. I need to check in with my secretary before they think they need to start searching for alternate employment. Excuse me, Your Majesty, Lord Amicitia." He stood, retrieving his cane from its leaning position against the nightstand, and pulling his phone out of his coat pocket. He approached the door, cane tucked under his arm and reaching out to feel his way down the door to first the deadbolt and then the knob.

Regis cleared his throat.

The Chancellor's head cocked, the official pausing with his hand trailing down to rest on the doorknob.

"What do I call you?" Regis asked.

The Chancellor turned his head in Regis' direction with a faint smile. "Call me 'Ardyn,'" he said, "And don't think your lack of sipping that broth has escaped my notice. You'll need to stick to liquids until your insides re-accustom themselves to being whole. Do try to consume some of it before I return, yes?"

Ardyn opened the door, slipping out into the hallway. The door shut firmly behind him, and a moment later the scrape and click of a cane dragging along carpet was heard.

Regis turned to Clarus, taking the healer's advice and sipping the lukewarm broth. It didn't have the most pleasant of flavors, but it was comforting and eased the empty feeling in his stomach a little.

Clarus, noticing Regis' questioning look, came to sit in the chair Ardyn had vacated.

"So," he said, "I guess we have a lot to discuss."

Regis sipped the broth again, savoring the way it slid down his throat. "Do you trust him?"

Clarus hummed, settling back into the chair. "With our lives? Yes, he seems to need us alive, for now. With our best interests? I don't yet have enough observations to hazard a guess. With Lucis? I couldn't even begin to tell you."

Regis nodded. "So we remain on our guard, and hope for the best."

They exchanged grim smiles.

"What happened, exactly?" Regis asked. "I sent the Ring with Lady Lunafreya and Glaive Ulric, but I do not know what happened after Glauca stabbed me."

"Ran you through, you mean," Clarus said with a reproving glare. "I don't know all of it, but after Glauca missed me with the sword, I blacked out for a moment and came to around the time Ravus Nox Fleuret started screaming. Right after you fled into the elevator with the Oracle and Ulric, the Chancellor came in. Glauca was caught off-guard, I think, because he started arguing with Ardyn. I don't think he was supposed to even be in the city, let alone in the thick of things. They only stopped when Ravus pointed out you were getting away."

Clarus ran a hand over his head. "Glauca took off after you, and Ardyn came right over to me. He was wearing these magitek goggles with a matching earpiece that were narrating his surroundings, I think, because he got over the corpses everywhere with no trouble. He knelt next to me and only paused to ask my permission to treat my wounds. I didn't think he could do much for me, but the next thing I knew, his hands were glowing and I started to feel a whole lot less like I'd just been flung into a wall."

Regis hummed thoughtfully, sipping more broth. "Was it at all similar to an Oracle's method of healing?" That could have interesting implications for the application of Regis' ancestral magic…

Clarus shot him a look of fond exasperation. 'You utter nerd,' the expression seemed to imply.

"Do you want to hear the rest or not?" Clarus asked.

Regis sighed. "Fine. Go on."

Clarus shook his head, but continued. "Ardyn told me to stay put while the magic settled, that he was going to see whether you'd managed to escape. Around the time I was able to stand, he came back in a hurry, his hands streaked with blood. He told me you'd been injured, and asked me to carry you to his car so we could all get out of the city. Naturally, I followed him down to where you were lying next to Glauca's corpse, and we got out of there as fast as we could. I'm about ninety percent certain he killed Glauca himself, though I'm not sure how and he's been his usual level of eloquent-while-saying-absolutely-nothing-of-substance about it."

Regis thought over those last few minutes before he blacked out and nodded. "Oh, he did, I'm certain of it. Glauca was about to stab me again, and then I fell to the ground because Glauca had fallen too. The last thing I heard before I lost consciousness was that cane of his." He paused. "Wait, did you say he had a car?"

"That's what you latched onto?" Clarus asked, amused. "Yes, Ardyn has a car. He doesn't drive it himself, apparently—has his secretary do it, mostly, or badgers the Nox Fleuret boy into chauffeuring him around. I drove us out of the city while he kept a watch on your vitals. He's got a ton of medical degrees, he said, in addition to the magical healing powers. Those he told me about while we put some distance between us and anyone who might have followed. As long as I kept my face covered, the Nifs would let us right through the blockades—they know his car, it's pretty distinctive."

Regis laughed. "Is it anything like his clothes?"

"Worse," Clarus said, "The clothes were what he wore back when he could see, according to him, and he just had them recreated in a bunch of different colors and materials every time he needed new ones. The car, he had someone come with him to rate how much each option stood out in a crowd, and chose the one they said was most eye-catching. That was the point, supposedly, because he needs to describe the car to whoever is going to be driving him around."

"Sensible," Regis said, smirking.

Clarus grinned back. "I'm certain that's not the whole reason, though I couldn't get him to admit it. I think he just likes people's reactions to his being outrageous."

"Seems likely," Regis replied, "Did you happen—"

A tap at the door interrupted him. Clarus stood and walked over to the door to look out the peephole.

He gasped, reaching for the doorknob with what Regis thought might be…eagerness?

The door swung open.

There, standing in the entryway looking tired and like he was going to have a nervous breakdown any minute, stood Cor.

Regis stared, mouth opening and closing helplessly for a moment. How in the name of the Six had Cor managed to find them?

"Well," Cor said, "Aren't you going to let me in?"

Clarus crossed his arms. "Not until I know for sure it's you."

"Fair enough," Cor replied, pulling out his phone to show Clarus something on its screen.

Clarus raised an eyebrow, but nodded, and stepped aside to let their friend pass. He shut the door firmly behind him.

Cor strode straight to Regis' side and knelt by the bed. He said nothing, but took one of Regis' hands in both of his own, pressing his forehead to it.

Regis gently rested his other hand atop Cor's head. "I am glad to see you again, my friend."

Cor raised his head, causing Regis' hand to slide off awkwardly.

"Your Majesty," he said, "I mean this with the highest degree of respect, but what the hell were you thinking?!?"

Clarus snorted, covering his mouth with his hand.

Regis glared at his Shield, then turned his irked gaze on Cor. "I was hardly in a position to act otherwise. The treaty—"

Cor rolled his eyes. "Not that. What's this I hear from Ulric about you taking on Glauca alone?"

Regis snapped his mouth shut. Ulric? Ulric made it out…Lunafreya and the Ring were safe. Thank the Six.

Cor sighed. "Look, I know why you did it, but if what I hear from Ardyn is true, you would have bought them very little time at all. The reports I've been getting seem to confirm that most of the Glaives who survived the initial attack were traitors, Ulric the most obvious exception. He says Ostium's on the up-and-up, but pretty much everyone else who was loyal? Dead. The rest would have been in pursuit of Ulric and the Oracle, with all the resources of the Glaive to aid them."

Regis shook his head. "I suspected. But I could not have kept up, not in the state I was in, and it seemed the only way to give them a chance." He paused, reviewing Cor's words. Had he said…?

"Cor," Regis began, slowly drawing out his friend's name, "Why exactly are you on given-name terms with the Chancellor of Niflheim?"

Clarus stiffened, eyeing them warily, ready to spring into action.

Cor smirked. "He's not just the Chancellor. But that wasn't what you were asking. Remember the anonymous source that's been passing intel on to us for years, the one that will only contact me?"

Regis blinked. "Are you saying…" From the corner of his eye, he could see Clarus relax slightly as the implications hit him.

Cor nodded. "I've known him for—decades, really. Ardyn was the one to patch me up after I dragged myself out of Taelpar. His situation's complicated, but he's not in Niflheim entirely voluntarily." He shook his head. "It's not my story to tell. But after he delivered the treaty terms, he confirmed that Niflheim was up to something, and that he intended to act as soon as he could to do damage control. We were going to meet here no matter what happened to touch-base, and I knew by the absence of his usual drivers that he'd succeeded in getting someone out."

#my fanfic #ffxv #Blind!Ardyn #Evil Astrals AU

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akaluan · 7 years

Text

On wounds, healing, and Amira’s fate

So I’ve been working my way through @scriptmedic‘s lovely book Maim Your Characters during my lunch breaks at work (on my phone, luckily, because I’m not sure how my coworkers would react to a book involving maiming~) and it’s actually been making me go back to my OC worlds and consider how healing and injuries in Nekir’s world work.

(Long ramble about healing and wounds and Nekir’s world below the cut, including a potential solution to my issue with how I had written Amira previously)

Magical healing is a thing, of course; it’s a very important Thing in Nekir’s society. In a world where magical ability is determined by the star a person is born under (an entire other potential post, concerning the intricacies and requirements and how everything interacts together, that I still only have partially worked out), someone born under a “healer” star is basically “firmly encouraged” to follow the healing path.

But at the same time, I’ve always planned on having Nekir end up partially disabled about halfway through the book. During one of his less well thought out moments (Okay, to be fair, he didn’t ACTUALLY know the full extent of the potential consequences, but I mean, he’s using an untested weapon of potentially mass destruction. Himself. With no safeguards. CONSEQUENCES, MAN.) he takes an injury to his dominant arm and has to relearn how to, well, do practically everything with his left hand and arm.

I mean everything. All the way from being unable to reliably wield his sword with his right hand to being unable to write. It’s a direct consequence of his actions, it’s an important part of him learning to take responsibility (and that actions have consequences that can’t always be handwaved away), and I stopped today and realized -- he has a healer RIGHT NEXT TO HIM basically from the moment he injures himself. A very talented, very dedicated healer who (platonically!) loves Nekir with basically everything he is. (Reasons, okay. Their relationship grows from strangers to this before this wound happen)

A healer who can potentially derail my injury plot with about a half hour of concentration. Whoops.

I wasn’t, initially, certain of how to deal with this. I can’t get rid of the Healers, there’s an entire segment of their society I’ve already built around how all this works, and I like what I have. Magical healing exists. It’s fast. It keeps people alive through things they shouldn’t be able to survive --

(A bit of research on Aunt Scripty’s medical blog gave me the injury I needed for Nekir, which was basically what I initially thought it should be; a wound through the upper part of the arm near-ish to the shoulder, clipping the nerve and thereby damaging the functionality of the arm itself. Unfortunately this also comes with the potential of clipping a very important artery as well, especially if I clip the bone, and while I COULD handwave that and just say “well he was lucky” and have it be TRUE, it’s still a danger, and something I should keep in mind.)

-- and that pretty well negates like EVERYTHING I need out of this scene. But I can’t sideline the healer. Doesn’t make sense given the man’s loyalty and the fact that there’s not much else going on besides Nekir’s stupid decision to use a weapon he shouldn’t. Which the healer is, notably, against.

But WAIT. I already gave myself the answer. Healing is fast. It speeds up the body’s processes manyfold in order to patch in moments what should take weeks or months. I’d already decided this left a person hungry at best (and that major Healing can’t be done on people who don’t have the reserves, which does become a Thing later on in the story where Nekir and his mercenaries are essentially running on empty; not enough food, too much fighting, too much Healing, and their bodies start to give out under them from the strain.), but what if I go further with it?

The more intricate or hurried the healing needs to be, the worse it actually is in the long run. Scar tissue, fragile mends in the bone, weak or stiffened blood vessels, decreased muscular strength. The body can compensate if given time and rest and an appropriate amount of effort to rehabilitate, but the sort of hack-patch job that Nekir would be getting in the field? Well, that’s going to keep his blood where it belongs, and mean he won’t have the danger of infection (very important!), but his arm is going to be trouble in the long run -- phantom pain from the nerves, weakened muscle strength compounding the nerve troubles, etcetc. Add onto that the deprivation a handful of months later, and that’s more than enough stressors to keep that injury plot on track; I’m mashing Immediate Treatment and Definitive Treatment together in this instance, but on the other side of it the Rocky Road to Recovery still exists. It’s not handwaved away. Sure, Nekir doesn’t have to deal with bandages and herbal remedies and trying to make sure the wound stays clean so he doesn’t get sepsis, but the wound is still a Wound. It’s still a Problem.

A man who prided himself on his skills with the blade, who led the charge, who essentially DEFINED himself by his abilities and skills... can’t anymore. He drops things. He can’t lift his blade, much less swing it. He can’t grip a pen well enough to draw a steady line. And yet he has a responsibility that he can’t give up; he’s a rebel leader, and he can’t just step down. Not only is he a wanted man, but he made promises to those he’s leading and suddenly those promises are both harder to keep and all the more important to him.

(And I think, THIS is going to be his Growing Up arc, instead of that... stupid piece of DUMB I had before, with Amira dying. I think she’s going to Be There with him. I think Nekir will have returned EARLY, instead of late, and he, Amira, his gathered followers, and those of Amira’s loyal followers who were also in residence, will escape and flee to the north together. They’ll all keep their heads down except for guerrilla tactics. Who knows who gave their previous base up -- do they have a traitor? Is the traitor still with them? They don’t dare contact the scattered remains of the original group -- they’ve got enough issues on their own, and all they can do is harry the army to give the remnants a chance to melt away or consolidate again.

I think Amira and Nekir will be Co-Leaders, with Amira being slightly senior due to her age and experience. This will also more obviously settle the two of them into the platonic-love equals that their relationship ends up as. She’s not someone he needs to be strong around for moral; he can complain, and whine, and cry, and vent when it all becomes too much. They’re partners. Not romantic partners, but something just as important. Just as permanent.

@bibliomatsuri it’s been a long friggin time and this isn’t precisely the proper response to our rambly exchange months ago, but I think this is a better answer to my issue with Amira? It feels better, at least. I literally haven’t answered because until I started rambling about THIS I didn’t friggin HAVE an answer. Just more waffling. Augh. I think I started and erased more partial responses than I’ve ever done before. .-. )

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