** Regis is a bad!dad ** non-canon skinny kid Prompto ** repurposed character roles ** depictions of violence/blood
~~~~~~~~
The first time it happens, Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum begins to understand the importance of his station.
He is six years old, ‘Old enough to be punished,’ his father Regis thinks (and says aloud), for the dishes he broke while running through the kitchen, specifically against what his father had told him several times. Noct is being made to kneel before his father at his throne, to bow his head in repentance, but he’s not sorry… he’s just scared.
“Bring the MT,” Regis tells his glaivesmen, and Noct doesn’t know what those words mean. He thinks he’s going to be hit.
Moments later, the two men bring forth, faintly struggling in their arms, a blond freckled boy that looks the same age as Noct. “Bow before your King!” They scream to him, pushing his head and shoulders down to the floor.
The boy is trembling, whimpering softly, but not trying to escape. He knows his fate and is trying to accept it as best as a little boy can.
For the moment, Noctis is confused. He scrambles to his feet and runs to his father’s side, the only semblance of safety he knows.
Then one of the glaivesmen removes a scourge from his belt and unwinds the multiple thongs of thick leather. Noct gets scared tries to hide behind his father’s legs, but Regis won’t allow it. “Watch, Noctis!” he demands, pushing Noct forward and away from behind the long cape. “This is the punishment for your mistakes.”
One glaive tears the shirt off of the boy roughly, nearly pulling him down as the shirt comes over his head. But the boy rights himself up, keeps to his hands and knees like he knows he’s supposed to. He bites his lip and shuts his eyes hard.
The other glaive looks to the prince, then to the king, as he winds his arm back, then sends it forward, whipping the blond’s skin with a deafening crack.
Noct’s eyes are wide as the first blow lands, the dozen or so bands of leather tearing into the skin of the boy’s back. He gasps and his hands cover his mouth, but he can’t close his eyes. The glaivesmen continue to whip the boy, and Noctis stands there helplessly, his eyes spilling over with tears because he can’t close them…
The boy screams every time the whip lands, cries echoing in the large throne room. It hurts Noct’s ears, but it makes him want to scream too. He’s choking with fear, so the screams catch in his throat and he remains silent.
“Enough.” Regis calls after blood starts to drip down the boy’s back. Once the whipping stops, the only sound in the room is the boy’s crying. At Regis’ command, nursemaids come in immediately to gather him, as he is too paralyzed with pain to move his own muscles.
Suddenly, the room is spinning for Noct. His little hands reach out in front of him but find nothing, and he tumbles to the floor, seeing only black.
Noct hears people say the words “fragile disposition” and “naturally weak-spirited” when he wakes up in his own bed and he thinks they must be bad because his father yells at them for saying that.
Later his handmaiden is giving him his bath when he asks her “Miss Monica, what are MTs?”
She pauses, looking away for a moment. “They’re people,” she struggles using the word, “But… they’re… well, it’s complicated your highness.”
“…Are they bad?” Noct asks, his eyes looking big and wet and sad.
Monica sighs, not looking to spoil the purity of a child. “Some people think so, but not all of them are bad. Just like people.” She gives a sad half-smile, lifting Noct’s arms to wash his torso.
Noct ponders her words as deeply as any child can, applying it to the few life experiences he’s had. “Was that boy bad? The one with the freckles?” He lowers his voice. “The one that they hit?”
“N-No…” She answers carefully. “They hit him because you were bad, your highness.” She doesn’t agree with the practice at all, but it is her job to uphold the wishes of her king, so she does. “Your father doesn’t want you to be injured, but he wants you to learn a lesson all the same. Do you understand?”
It was clear that Noct did not understand, but he nods anyway because he wants to look like a big kid.
“If you don’t want them to hit that boy, you have to be good.” Monica tells Noct, tipping his head back to rinse the soap from his hair. “Don’t make your father angry, your highness.”
Noct felt like crying because sometimes just looking at his father was enough to make him angry. He promises himself that he’ll do his very best to be good forever, because he doesn’t want to hear that boy scream ever again.
Fill: Scourge 1/?
** non-canon skinny kid Prompto
** repurposed character roles
** depictions of violence/blood
~~~~~~~~
The first time it happens, Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum begins to understand the importance of his station.
He is six years old, ‘Old enough to be punished,’ his father Regis thinks (and says aloud), for the dishes he broke while running through the kitchen, specifically against what his father had told him several times. Noct is being made to kneel before his father at his throne, to bow his head in repentance, but he’s not sorry… he’s just scared.
“Bring the MT,” Regis tells his glaivesmen, and Noct doesn’t know what those words mean. He thinks he’s going to be hit.
Moments later, the two men bring forth, faintly struggling in their arms, a blond freckled boy that looks the same age as Noct. “Bow before your King!” They scream to him, pushing his head and shoulders down to the floor.
The boy is trembling, whimpering softly, but not trying to escape. He knows his fate and is trying to accept it as best as a little boy can.
For the moment, Noctis is confused. He scrambles to his feet and runs to his father’s side, the only semblance of safety he knows.
Then one of the glaivesmen removes a scourge from his belt and unwinds the multiple thongs of thick leather. Noct gets scared tries to hide behind his father’s legs, but Regis won’t allow it. “Watch, Noctis!” he demands, pushing Noct forward and away from behind the long cape. “This is the punishment for your mistakes.”
One glaive tears the shirt off of the boy roughly, nearly pulling him down as the shirt comes over his head. But the boy rights himself up, keeps to his hands and knees like he knows he’s supposed to. He bites his lip and shuts his eyes hard.
The other glaive looks to the prince, then to the king, as he winds his arm back, then sends it forward, whipping the blond’s skin with a deafening crack.
Noct’s eyes are wide as the first blow lands, the dozen or so bands of leather tearing into the skin of the boy’s back. He gasps and his hands cover his mouth, but he can’t close his eyes. The glaivesmen continue to whip the boy, and Noctis stands there helplessly, his eyes spilling over with tears because he can’t close them…
The boy screams every time the whip lands, cries echoing in the large throne room. It hurts Noct’s ears, but it makes him want to scream too. He’s choking with fear, so the screams catch in his throat and he remains silent.
“Enough.” Regis calls after blood starts to drip down the boy’s back. Once the whipping stops, the only sound in the room is the boy’s crying. At Regis’ command, nursemaids come in immediately to gather him, as he is too paralyzed with pain to move his own muscles.
Suddenly, the room is spinning for Noct. His little hands reach out in front of him but find nothing, and he tumbles to the floor, seeing only black.
Noct hears people say the words “fragile disposition” and “naturally weak-spirited” when he wakes up in his own bed and he thinks they must be bad because his father yells at them for saying that.
Later his handmaiden is giving him his bath when he asks her “Miss Monica, what are MTs?”
She pauses, looking away for a moment. “They’re people,” she struggles using the word, “But… they’re… well, it’s complicated your highness.”
“…Are they bad?” Noct asks, his eyes looking big and wet and sad.
Monica sighs, not looking to spoil the purity of a child. “Some people think so, but not all of them are bad. Just like people.” She gives a sad half-smile, lifting Noct’s arms to wash his torso.
Noct ponders her words as deeply as any child can, applying it to the few life experiences he’s had. “Was that boy bad? The one with the freckles?” He lowers his voice. “The one that they hit?”
“N-No…” She answers carefully. “They hit him because you were bad, your highness.” She doesn’t agree with the practice at all, but it is her job to uphold the wishes of her king, so she does. “Your father doesn’t want you to be injured, but he wants you to learn a lesson all the same. Do you understand?”
It was clear that Noct did not understand, but he nods anyway because he wants to look like a big kid.
“If you don’t want them to hit that boy, you have to be good.” Monica tells Noct, tipping his head back to rinse the soap from his hair. “Don’t make your father angry, your highness.”
Noct felt like crying because sometimes just looking at his father was enough to make him angry. He promises himself that he’ll do his very best to be good forever, because he doesn’t want to hear that boy scream ever again.