#laurent's POV

[laurents-secret-diary]

oh damen we're really in it now.mp4

[castironnbitch]

laurent is high key chaotic at all times and damen laps that shit up like wine

[vikingpoteto]

"Auguste used to protect Laurent," says Paschal.

Laurent doesn't need protection, thinks Damen, also known as the man that would spend the next two books and several short stories protecting Laurent with his own life.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

the book 2 re-read begins!!

[soullesstomatoes]

i would give anything to reread captive prince from laurent’s perspective actually

[carxby]

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Stone Cold

[ID: The title of the story, Sweet Little Lies, written in a pink to yellow gradient over a picture of various glass jars filled with assorted, colorful candies. All other images in this post are decorative dividers. End ID]

This one is a little glimpse into what Cedric thinks about having a person bleeding all over his sofa, again. It's a direct continuation of a chapter quite in the middle of this novella, you should definitely check it out to see how we got here *puppy eyes*

To the one person who clicked omg yes, spoilerz: look away.

Warnings: Some wound care, but the pov char isn't looking 😆

“Then give her a chance to say it to your face.”

Laurent’s hard swallow at these words made Cedric pause. Damn. His friend truly was head over heels in love with that woman. That definitely complicated things.

Tania cleared her throat. “I need some—”

“Warm water, yeah.” Cedric started to walk into the kitchen, leaning heavily on his cane. This was by far not the first time a healer was patching someone up in his living room, and it wouldn’t be the last. “If you need some fresh linen, you know where the bathroom is.”

“Sure do,” Tania said. “Oh, and put another kettle on the stove afterwards. I will need more than one.”

While he waited for the water to warm, Cedric stared at the kettle as if it was to blame for everything that had gone wrong. His friends kept getting hurt—or worse—and it was his fault. He had sent Laurent to test how much this contact knew about him, but also because his ankle hadn’t taken kindly to crawling through the sewers while breaking into the jeweler. And if he didn’t feel guilty enough already for almost getting Laurent killed, now he could feel guilty for messing with his love life as well; a love life that had been pretty much nonexistent in the last decade or so.

It remained to be seen whether that woman was bothered by her suitor bleeding all over her place and dragging the guards into her home in the middle of the night. If he was honest, he wasn’t particularly optimistic, but he would not voice his doubts in front of Laurent. 

A bowl of warm water in hand, Cedric returned to the living room. Tania had unwrapped the bandages from Laurent’s arm and thrown them on the floor in a bloody pile. The swollen, discolored mess that was Laurent’s hand kept Cedric from lingering on the question whether the blood would stain his carpet.

“What did you do?” Tania asked as she turned Laurent’s hand this way and that.

“Tried to grab a knife at the wrong end,” he said.

“Now why would you do such a thing?”

“Better my hand than my— ah.” Laurent squirmed under her touch, the fingers of his free hand digging into the cushions. “Careful, please.”

“Yeah, well, how about you stop—”

“Can you fix it?” Cedric interrupted her. 

Laurent might be reckless from time to time, but this was not his fault, and the last thing he needed was to be scolded for it. Tania whipped her head around, but her fiery stare didn’t last long. It was Cedric who looked away first, finding the softness of her gaze more threatening than her anger had been.

“Probably. Please bring me a cup of water.” Without waiting for Cedric to acknowledge her words, she turned to face Laurent, raising a small glass vial. “It’ll help a bit, but it will still hurt a lot. Can’t knock you out, because we need to make sure your fingers still work.”

“Just my luck,” Laurent muttered. 

Cedric brought the cup of water and handed it to Tania, feeling quite useless standing around next to her. He wished Yvan were here. His husband was much better at comforting people—and at making himself useful. 

When Tania offered the prepared mixture to Laurent, his hand shook too much for him to take it, so she put the cup to his lips instead. Laurent drank slowly, grasping at the sofa once more, his eyes half closed, and trembling all over. If he had turned that guy into charcoal, he might have exhausted his magic. Another thing to feel guilty for. Cedric threw a few more logs into the fire before returning to the sofa with a spare blanket.

“How are you holding up?”

“Splendid.” Laurent didn’t open his eyes, at least not until Cedric dropped the blanket on his friend’s chest. Then Laurent looked up. “What…”

“I’m gonna freeze from just watching you,” Cedric grumbled as he sat next to Laurent, pointedly ignoring Tania’s way-too-knowing gaze. There couldn’t be much of his stone-cold reputation left with her, but for now, he clung to the pitiful remains.

“No one’s forcing you to,” Laurent said, but he did pull the blanket over his bare torso.

Both of them knew Cedric wouldn’t leave, and both of them would rather bite their tongue off than put it into words. 

“I’ll start now,” Tania said. “You shouldn’t look.”

Laurent grunted and leaned his head back, his gaze directed at the ceiling. While she probably hadn’t meant him, Cedric decided on a similar course of action. When he leaned back, his cane that had been propped against the sofa clattered to the floor. His annoyance about the inconvenience was short-lived when Laurent cried out.

“Ah.”

Laurent flinched, then forced himself to relax with a strained exhale. Under the folds of the blanket, his unharmed hand found Cedric’s. As Tania continued cleaning his wounds, Cedric could feel him tremble, could feel him squeeze his hand, even when he managed to remain quiet.

“Can you move this finger?” she asked after a while. 

“Mh.”

“Good.” A pause. “A bit more.”

“Ow ow ow ow.”

Tania tutted, and Laurent barely suppressed a pained whimper, and Cedric wished he were anywhere else but here. While she continued healing, he thought of rocks, and paperwork, and anything else that wasn’t the fact that this was, in the end, his fault.

“Okay. That’s the critical part done. Don’t move your hand yet, it’s not fully healed. The cut on your arm won’t need much magic, but I want to look at the other wound first.” Tania stood up and faced Cedric. “I’m gonna get new water, then I’ll need to be on that side.”

While she went to the kitchen, Cedric used his magic to lift his cane and moved to Laurent’s other side. On a blood-splattered cloth between them rested Laurent’s hand. Several long cuts along palm and fingers looked like they had been healing for a week or two; mostly closed, but the flesh was still raw. Cedric didn’t want to think about how they had looked before.

Tania returned, placing the bowl and a fresh stack of linens on the coffee table.

“Okay. Let’s get this off.” 

She pulled the blanket away and cut the bandages apart, dropping them onto the floor next to the other pile. With a wet rag, she cleaned off the dried blood before she grabbed a small pair of scissors and cut away at the stitches, using a similarly small pair of pincers to pull the threads out one by one. If Laurent’s expression was anything to go by, it was an unpleasant sensation, to say the least.

“Who in Thryvis’ name did this?” She pulled another one out. “Those are the worst stitches I’ve ever seen.”

“Don’t be rude,” Laurent mumbled. “She’s a candy maker, not a healer.”

“What?”

Laurent opened his eyes. “Aurelia. My… A… She saved me.” He swallowed. “I don’t think I would have made it here without her help.” 

When Tania’s questioning gaze met his, Cedric only shrugged. “Not one of us.”

Tania’s eyes darkened. “Laurent Elias Beaufort,” she said in a tone so stern it made even Cedric wince, “are you saying you had some poor girl, who is not involved in whatever the two of you are involved in this time, stitch you up?” When Laurent didn’t reply, she pulled on the last thread with a bit too much vigor, making him flinch with a hiss. “You what—just walked up to her house and bled all over her floor?”

“Actually.” Laurent’s attempted grin turned into a pained grimace. “It was her bed.”

Tania huffed. “And that’s the only way you’ll ever end up there.”

She put her hand on his side, inspecting his wound with her sight and her magic. “You owe her. And you were damn lucky. A bit deeper, and you would have spilled your guts on her bed instead.” She took a clean cloth, dipped it into the bowl and wrung it out, muttering, “Talk about a mood killer.”

“Would have. Saved me. From. You—Ah.” He squirmed under her touch. When he dug the fingers of his injured hand into the sofa, he screamed, bending over. “Fuck. Ow.”

“Hold still. I need to clean this. You don’t want to know what happens if I close the wound around any debris still stuck inside.”

“I’ll win a—Ah. Ow!”

“Can you hold him down?” Tania asked.

“Me?”

She glared at Cedric. “Do you see anyone else here?”

He sure wished he did. After carefully lifting Laurent’s injured hand onto his lap, Cedric put his arm around his friend’s shoulder, pulling him against his chest. The fact that Laurent didn’t take the opportunity to make a witty comment was more concerning than anything. Instead, he clung to Cedric’s arm with his uninjured hand and closed his eyes.

Tania tsked. “Did you make it that hard for her, too? No wonder the stitches looked like shit. I’m surprised she dealt with that instead of handing you over to the guards.”

Cedric’s murderous glare got lost in the back of Tania’s head. When she continued, Laurent tried to squirm out from under her touch, but there was nowhere for him to go. His fingers dug into Cedric’s arm, through the fabric of a shirt that had cost a small fortune and was not made for this kind of treatment. In other circumstances, Cedric might have joked about it, but every thought of commenting on it left him when he saw the shimmer in the corner of Laurent’s eye.

Fuck.

Cedric tucked the blanket around Laurent’s shoulder in an attempt to cover at least the part of his torso Tania wasn’t working on, but he feared Laurent wasn’t trembling from cold alone, just like he feared he wasn’t crying from the pain alone. Not knowing where else to put it, he wrapped his other arm around Laurent as well, holding his friend a bit tighter than would have been strictly necessary. 

Tania didn’t acknowledge the tears, but she did stop with the snarky comments, keeping her communication to short and not unfriendly instructions when she needed Laurent to move.

“That’s the worst of it done,” she eventually said softly. “I’ll start healing now.”

The frown on her face as she closed her eyes and focused on her magic wasn’t exactly reassuring. Cedric could feel Laurent relax, but he still held on, just in case. While not quite as painful, he knew from experience that healing magic was far from pleasant.

Laurent flinched from time to time, but he didn’t struggle against Cedric’s grip anymore. With his head rolled back against the sofa, he stared at nothing in particular. 

“I trusted her,” he suddenly said.

“What?”

“She told me to hide. And I. I did.” Laurent’s voice was husky. “Then I heard their voices. I thought they’d find me. I was afraid she would betray me to save herself, and then I thought. I thought she should save herself.”

In hindsight, it was a funny story, but knowing his friend, Laurent had been just as terrified of her coming to harm as he had been of being discovered himself; perhaps even more so.

“But she didn’t,” Cedric said.

“No.” So much pain behind a single word. “No.”

Laurent closed his eyes, showing no reaction as Tania finished up healing the wound at his side and merely following her order when she asked to see his hand again. From time to time, new tears found their way down his cheeks, and when he opened his eyes, his gaze was far away. In front of Tania was no place to talk about it, though, so Cedric kept pretending not to notice it and kept quiet.

“Okay. We’re done.” Tania put Laurent’s hand down. “And by the looks of it, not a moment too soon. You’re already half asleep.”

“Sorry,” Laurent mumbled, blinking red-rimmed eyes open.

“Shh. You need to rest.”

When Tania shot Cedric a questioning glance, he nodded, resigned. The living room was neither the most comfortable nor the most practical spot for Laurent to sleep, but he didn’t look like he had the strength left to sit on his own, let alone walk up the stairs into the bedroom.

“Do you have something made out of silk in all your fancy shit?” she asked. “A sheet or a shawl or something?”

“Fancy shit,” Cedric muttered as he left the room to check. He wasn’t one for wearing silk, but in one of the storage rooms stood a few boxes waiting to be donated. Even though clothes didn’t fit the range of goods his store offered, they were occasionally included when he took his chances and purchased a complete estate.

Thick fur coats and fine leather boots and ruffled blouses. In the third box, he discovered what he had been looking for, feeling a bit petty as he selected the most unfashionable piece he could find. 

When he returned to the living room, Tania had helped Laurent into a shirt; he must have asked her to fetch it from the clothes chest for him, Cedric realized, because she did not look like she was going to let him get up anytime soon.

“Does that work?” he asked, offering her a hideously patterned scarf.

“Wonderful.” 

Tania took it from him and wrapped it around one of the sofa cushions, which she then placed at the end of the sofa. Supporting Laurent so he didn’t have to put too much strain on his no longer bandaged midsection, she helped him lay down and pulled the blanket up to his shoulders and over his legs.

His eyes were all but closed, his breathing strained. Despite being dressed and covered, he was still shaking.

“You shouldn’t be alone now, so you stay there.” It wasn’t a suggestion. She stood up. “He needs at least two days of bedrest,” she said directed at Cedric, knowing as well as he did that his friend would have to be practically forced to stay put. “More would be better, but knowing him, two is already stretching it. Try to keep the room warm and dark. Did he drink enough?”

“He had a cup of coffee when he arrived.”

“Coffee!” She made a disgruntled noise and stared Cedric down. “You need to make sure he drinks lots of water. Water or tea. And broth, if you can get Yvan to make some.”

Now that was uncalled for. But not wrong. At least she trusted him to make tea. “Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled. 

“And don’t you ma’am me. Not my fault I’m the only one with a sliver of common sense here.” She snapped her bag closed with a pointed clack. “After all the times I’ve fixed you up, one would think you would remember a thing or two about how to take care of yourselves.”

If he was honest, he knew better, but treating Laurent’s condition with the seriousness it deserved would have made it all too real how close it had been. How close he had come to losing his best friend for over twenty years.

“I’m leaving you those.” Tania pointed at the glass vial left standing on the table next to the now empty cup. “Ten drops, twice a day, absolutely nothing more. Understood?” Only when Cedric nodded did she continue, “If it doesn’t get better, or there’s any sign of infection, let me know immediately. Fever, swelling, any kind of discharge.”

Cedric nodded again.

“Two days. At least,” Tania repeated.

“Tania?”

She whirled around, arms propped against her hips and obviously ready to defend her instructions against any excuse Laurent might be about to voice.

“Thank you.”

Her shoulders sagged. For a moment, she just stood there. Then she sank to one knee next to the sofa and wrapped her arms around him. 

“Please stop trying to get yourself killed.” She pressed a kiss onto Laurent’s forehead. “Selene would be heartbroken.”

Cedric decided to close the curtains, now that Tania didn’t need the light anymore. He walked over to the windows instead of using his magic, running his hand over the embedded pieces of quartz.

“Wouldn’t want to… do that to her.”

Cedric did his best to tune out their voices and give them a moment of privacy, but it wasn’t easy to close the curtains this damn slow. He checked the seams and tugged the fabric this way and that. The thread around one of the crystals was frayed. Running his thumb over the crystal, he smoothed the sharp edge that must be at fault for that. He should call someone to fix it, and perhaps to check all the other curtains as well. 

A half soft, half stern “Get some rest, Laurent” sounded final enough, so he turned around, finding Tania standing ready with her bag in hands.

“I’ll bring you to the door.”

Tania opened her mouth, but perhaps he had a sliver of authority left, because she didn’t attempt to decline his offer. She matched his pace as he led her through the hallway and to the front door, pausing with his hand on the handle.

“Where’s Merridy?” he asked.

“At my place. She seemed rather distraught, so I told her I was in the middle of cooking and asked her to watch over my stove until I returned.”

“Were you in the middle of cooking?”

Tania smiled. “My mom’s special stew. It’s been on the stove since this morning and won’t be done for another few hours.” She reached for the door. “I’ll tell her that everything went well and Laurent will be as good as new in a few days.”

Cedric swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat. “Will he?” he asked.

“Yes. He lost a lot of blood, he exhausted his magic, and he will gain a few more scars, but he will be fine. Just make sure he actually rests for once.”

“Thank you,” Cedric said, and he meant it. 

She accepted his thanks with a nod and stepped outside. 

When Cedric returned to the living room, Laurent was already fast asleep. Cedric fetched a second blanket, one made from thicker wool, and spread it over Laurent as well. After throwing a few more logs into the fire and leaving a glass of water on the coffee table, he extinguished all but one glowing crystals. The last one he only dimmed, in case Laurent would awake after sunset.

With heavy steps, he walked up the stairs. He hadn’t used his magic, and he hadn’t lost any blood, but he hadn’t slept a single minute last night, and he felt almost as tired as Laurent looked. Giving the door a wistful glance, he walked past the bedroom and into the study, where he sank down onto his cushioned chair.

With a disgruntled noise, he swiped business correspondence and letters aside, going over everything the alleged contact had promised him in his mind as he opened a drawer to grab a fresh sheet of paper. He was going to find out who was behind the attempt on Laurent’s life, and he was going to make sure that person would spend the rest of their very short and very miserable life regretting it.

Did I give him a middle name specifically so she can call him by his full name? It's more likely than you think.

I should give more characters middle names...

[rollercoasterwords]

What other fandoms do you think you’d write for? Or are you strictly an HP writer?

PS. Love ATWMD and THTF. Your writing is impeccable.

i’ve written a captive prince & succession fic as well so! & have also briefly written fics in some other fandoms when i was much younger which r now too embarrassing 2 name lmao

honestly not sure what other fandoms i’d write for it honestly just comes down 2 whether i’m gripped w an idea for certain characters…would love 2 escape hp fandom lol but i think part of why it’s sucked me in so bad is that i like fucking around w the holes in the canon universe…like most of the marauders fic i’ve written has been either canon compliant or canon divergent & me going “hmmm what would these characters do in this context” & now bc i’ve spent so much time thinking abt & writing them it’s just also becoming easy 2 plug these characters into aus 🤧

actually thinking abt my fic writing experience generally the thing that tends 2 make me wanna write fic is if there’s something abt canon that i wanna patch in…like my captive prince fic is just canon but from a different character’s pov & my succession fic is just “what if kenstewy were canon” lol. have thought abt writing aftg from andrew’s pov & the first book of the feverwake duology from dara’s pov simply bc that’s something i enjoyed doing w atyd & captive prince but never actually did…guess i could also see myself potentially writing spn fic if i came up w an idea i liked…& honestly i think if i ever reread trc i might go crazy for real & could then potentially decide 2 write fic who knows. but atp i feel like marauders fic has just become my comfort zone…it’s just a weird balance to strike where a story has to have characters i love but be unsatisfying (poorly written/queerbait/not actually queerbait but i’m delusional/would be fun 2 see from another character’s pov) enough that there r gaps i wanna fill. so like there r various stories/franchises/series i’ve loved where i’ve just never felt compelled at all 2 read or write fic bc i got everything i wanted out of the story etc!

[hennike]

hands off

this week, a hot new bombshell enters the villa! a follow up to rule break (AO3)

Damen is a friendly guy. Ask anyone in the villa, they’ll tell you the same thing: generally level-headed, easy to talk to, the works. Besides the one slip-up last week with Laurent, no one should have anything bad to say about him. He’s cultivated a rather good reputation for himself at the retreat.

Of course, with the way the cameras are trained on him now, that will probably all fly out the window.

“Easy,” Nikandros says. “Keep looking at him like that and he’ll burst into flames right where he’s standing.”

“Sitting,” Damen replies. “He’s sitting.”

Nikandros snorts. “Right. Sorry. He’ll burst into flames where he’s sitting.”

Damen ignores him, busy watching Torveld sidle up too close to Laurent while they talk. His hands flex where they are beside him.

Torveld is the newest addition to their cast, a curveball meant to throw off the dynamic they had already built amongst themselves at the retreat. Damen isn’t stupid; he’s seen past seasons of the show. He hadn’t been concerned, initially. Torveld seemed harmless enough when he stepped into the villa yesterday morning, all charm and easy smiles.

At least, Damen had thought so, until Torveld set his sights on Laurent.

“He isn’t so bad.”

Damen shoots an incredulous glance at Nikandros, but Nikandros is serious-faced, watching Torveld and Laurent just as intently.

From the twenty-four hours Torveld has been with them, Damen knows three things about him: 1) he’s an investment banker (or something just as dreadfully boring, Damen thinks bitterly); 2) he’s got enough body hair to stuff a pillow and then some; and 3) he wants Laurent.

Damen wants to talk shit. It would make good TV if he did, probably, the cameramen probably foaming at the mouth for it. But he isn’t interested in giving them material right now. He’s sure the scowl on his face is plenty generous.

Damen settles on a response as inoffensive as he can muster. He clears his throat. “He’s bulky,” he says, faux conversational, “if that’s something you like.”

Torveld is a lot closer to Laurent now than he was at the start of their conversation. Damen itches to go over and pull them apart, maybe throw Torveld around a bit, maybe kiss Laurent, damn the money, just to stake his claim—anything. He’s sure Laurent would enjoy it, at least.

He doesn’t. Instead, “Someone needs to tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

“That”—Laurent’s mine, I’m his, it’s non-negotiable—“Laurent and I are partnered up.”

“Is that supposed to be my job?”

“If you’re volunteering.”

Nikandros, if his answering silence is anything to go by, is unimpressed.

To Laurent’s credit, he doesn’t seem very interested. Damen knows what Laurent’s interest looks like, has seen it, received it, marvelled at it enough times to know that it isn’t that. Laurent barely even glances Torveld’s way. If anything, he’s politely pleasant at best.

He watches Laurent cross his leg over the other, elegant and unthinking, as effortlessly alluring as he always is. It’s what makes Laurent so dangerous when he’s deliberate about his attraction, the full force of it nearly incapacitating. Damen usually likes that about him, enjoys the effort of resisting his advances, and giving back just as good.

He isn’t so happy about it now, not when Torveld’s hand creeps closer in that moment, probably ogling Laurent enough to warrant several rule-breaks.

Where is Lana when you need her?

Nikandros nudges Damen’s arm, gesturing to Torveld and Laurent. “Looks like they’re done.”

Sure enough, Torveld is getting up to leave. Laurent stays where he is, face turned to the beach as he waves a hand in Torveld’s direction.

When Torveld is gone, Damen immediately springs to his feet. Nikandros is saying something but he doesn’t hear it, instead making his way to where Laurent is seated on a beach chair.

“You and Torveld seemed cozy,” Damen says. He looms over Laurent, too keyed up to sit. He wouldn’t want to sit where Torveld was sitting anyway.

Laurent hums. “Did we?” He leans back on his arms, his head tilted to look up at Damen. Deliberate.

“You tell me.”

Laurent’s mouth quirks up into an almost-smile. Damen can feel Laurent’s eyes on him, shrouded as they are by his sunglasses, and it’s like cool water on too-hot skin.

“Are you jealous?”

Damen says nothing.

Laurent’s smile blooms with delight, sweetly gleeful. Torveld will never have this, Damen thinks, nor will any other newcomer, nor anyone after the retreat is over. This is Laurent’s gift to Damen, and Damen alone.

He stands on his feet, putting himself in Damen’s space, and says, “Down, boy.” He pats Damen’s cheek twice, then drags his hand down to Damen’s chest, where it remains for some beats before he slides past Damen towards the villa.

Damen stands there, unmoving, and feels the weight of Laurent’s hand burn, hotter than the sting of the ocean sun.

[laurents-secret-diary]

book 1, the face laurent sees on the daily vs the face damen sees

[adamarks]

Hearts flying out of my ass for captive prince

[neopuff]

simon/grace // labour

[altruistic-meme]

i am both technically writing and technically not writing at the same time, which is interesting

[wizardofarles]

Sneak peek at lykmc chapter 6

The Devil You Know — Part Two (Laurent)

(The full chapter will go up on ao3 next Sunday!)

Here’s the snippet, and more below the cut⬇️⬇️

When practice was finished, Laurent walked calmly out of the cathedral with the rest of the choir, forcing himself to move at an unbothered pace back into the main halls of the school. He peeled off from the other students to head for the first bathroom he came across, where he closed himself inside a stall. It was only then that he allowed the hot tears to fall from his eyes. He wiped them away furiously with the back of his hand, cursing himself for his weakness, and for his failure.

The bathroom had been empty when he’d walked in, but Laurent listened with his ear to the door before emerging from his stall anyway, just to be sure. When he was absolutely certain there was no one out there, he stepped out and walked up to the mirror. His eyes were red-rimmed and unfocused.

He practiced a smile, but didn’t like how it looked on his reflection. I look like a stupid child when I smile, he thought miserably. A sad, stupid, naive child. He sucked in a ragged breath and smoothed out his features. Mimicking one of his uncle’s favored expressions, he filled his eyes with cool disregard. I’m not a child anymore, he scolded himself, I can’t afford to be stupid, and I can’t afford to wallow in self pity.

He turned from the mirror and waltzed out of the bathroom, holding onto that impassive expression like a lifeline. He made it all the way to his locker before he felt the first flicker in his mask. I’d better try to distract myself, he decided, just to be safe. He fished around in the bottom of his backpack until he found the book he’d shoved in there in the dark hours of the morning and flipped open to the page he’d bookmarked.

Readings as he walked, Laurent rounded the corner of the hallway … and smacked face-first into a solid wall.

He blinked, and looked up in alarm. The wall was not a wall at all, but a tall, broad-shouldered boy in a red football jersey.

“Sorry, I—Oh,” the wall that was Damianos DiAkielos said, “Laurent.”

Damianos was carrying his helmet in the crook of his elbow. His hair was damp, and beads of sweat ran down his temples. He was covered in a fine sheen of it, making his skin seem to glow. There were grass stains on both knees of his tight white pants, and dirt on the front of his red jersey. He reeked of sweat and grass, and Laurent didn’t know what to make of the fact that he was not immediately repulsed.

Damianos stepped back out of his space and scratched the back of his neck. The hallway was empty but for the two of them. Damianos seemed to be waiting for something.

Laurent realized with a slight flushing of his cheeks that he hadn’t said anything, and was just staring blankly at the giant Akielon in front of him. I have to say something, he thought distantly, but for once he couldn’t think of anything to say.

Damianos’s eyes fell to the floor. “You dropped your book, Your Highness,” he said.

Laurent followed his gaze down. He was right; there it lay, face up in front of his boots. He hadn’t even noticed dropping it. He crossed his arms. “Well? Pick it up, slave.”

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

For all OC's :D

🌷 [TULIP] What is your OC's favourite flower and colour?

Thank you for the ask! From this ask game.

God no why. Yeah, no. POV chars only, tyvm, or I’ll be sitting here still at new year’s eve.

*takes a deep breath*

Caldyn: Jasmine, obviously. He doesn’t care that much about colors anymore :o Before that, probably green, but all shades of green, there’s just so many, and so full of life, and so pretty. Also Gawyn’s eyes </3

Breannan: No idea, probably some obscure thing he’s seen once four decades ago, that only blooms one night every month and only grows two continents over or some shit. He’s like that. As for his favorite color, warm ones, deep yellow going into orange.

Lily: The flowers of the vanilla plant. She was the first who started to grow it at the Tiyatsin, and vanilla is still one of her favorite things to work with. It’s probably little surprise that she does not care about colors at all. “Very funny, now step aside or hand me the flour.”

Damien: Does not have a favorite flower, why would he, and no, it’s not water lilies. As for his favorite color, it’s probably an almost blue gray, but let’s move along before he realizes why that is and gets embarrassed.

Merridy: Lavender, and Lavender! Lol.

Riordan: Dogrose. There was a hedge of wild dogrose bushes behind his parents’ house (or... uh still is I guess?), mixed with baby’s breath (you guys have the wildest plant names in English 😶). He always played near it, and in fall, he was always excited to help harvesting all the buds to be dried for tea. It’s one thing he connects with home. He does not have a favorite color, it depends on the mood or the occasion. You can’t expect a bi guy to pick.

Cedric: He’s not much into flowers. Probably sentimental enough to once have formed quartz around some (possibly wild-) flower Yvan gave him when they were just dating, and has kept it ever since. That specific one is now his favorite. As for colors, purple and gold.

Laurent: Also not really into flowers. Might magically claim that whatever flower is the favorite of the lady he’s trying to court is his favorite as well. His favorite color is a fiery orange.

Valadan: Also nope on the flower front. His favorite color is black, edgy boy that he is. Lately, he really does appreciate a deep green though 😏

Josephine: Do frost flowers count, lol. Her favorite color is silver.

[rollercoasterwords]

So, about The Laurent's perspective ...

I just spent the last three days reading it and just wanted to thank you for finishing it (from the notes I realized you were very busy at the time so finding time to write must have been tricky). I loved every single memory, every single flashback, every single interpretation of the events and I risked melting together with Laurence in all that river of emotions you built for him. I was too impressed with the story of the sleeping beauty who doesn't wake up because she can't fall in love with the prince since she is sleeping and the way you described Laurence's trauma is phenomenal. Now I'm very curious to read also the other things you wrote!

ahhhh thank you so much!! i was in fact very busy while writing that series lol it was my final year of college and i was juggling like...four part time jobs i think. looking back i truly don't know what i was doing i think i just lost my mind a little bit <3

all my other fics are marauders fics, so if u found me thanks 2 the captive prince series i don't know how much more of my writing will appeal to u lmao. but!! laurent's perspective is in fact very very special to me simply because i feel like it's what got me back into writing for fun and it was the first sort of like. long writing project i'd undertaken like that. plus laurent as a character is just. incredibly special to me. writing his story...well it was cathartic for me in a lot of ways, and so it means a lot whenever i do hear from people who appreciate my interpretation of what was going on in his head <3 so thank u for taking the time to send this message!!