#captive child

[hookaroo]

Laden of the Torn (17 of 25)

AO3 link Catch up on tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Tagging @priscilla9993 @cocohook38 @killian-whump <3

Killian could smell the marsh long before his escorts guided him around the final rock wall that marked one exit to the labyrinthian Stone Forest. Pungent mud tinged with a hint of sulfur would have led him there without the need for a guide, in some far-fetched fantasy where he wasn't the untrustworthy captive being allowed to visit on a mere whim. They all took a left turn into near-tangible stench, and as the ground's ridges began to flatten and slope downwards, Killian caught sight of a pathetic wooden cage suspended from a trio of irregular poles, which were tied at the top to form a pyramid shape. In the distance, a single striated tree jutted out from the reeds and rushes, marking his planned escape route. 

At first, the tiny cage appeared empty, but a few paces into the clearing, Killian detected a faint hint of movement within. Then a miniature head appeared, followed by the smallest hands Killian had ever seen. They gripped the bars as Puzzle peered out at the newcomers. Killian was shocked at how small she was; she couldn't be much bigger than his clenched fist. He had been imagining her to be an older child, but she was little more than an infant. Making Chief Lack's designs on her that much more sickening.

The two guards flanking the cage were armed with long spears, presumably more to defend against the venomous marsh lizards than anything else. They watched Killian warily, and when they judged him to be close enough, they pointed their weapons in his direction.

“Chief Lack has authorized this visit,” said one of Killian's escorts, and the guards relaxed slightly but still kept their weapons at the ready. Killian edged closer to the cage, keeping a wary eye of his own. But his concern was not the spears aimed at his heart, but the nearby marsh's edge. 

“They will come,” Patch had promised. “And the guards will not wait around to see the outcome.” 

He needed to buy time until that happened. 

“Please,” he began in a deferential tone. “Will you allow me to get closer? I'd like to assure myself that she’s all right.” 

He let his arms hang loosely at his sides, projecting as little threat as he could. The guards seemed to confer wordlessly for a moment, then the two bearing spears took a few cautious paces sideways, grudgingly clearing the way for Killian to step forward. Puzzle shrank back at his approach until she cowered against the very back wall of her tiny prison. Killian halted, wincing at her obvious distress, and spoke soothingly. 

“Don't be afraid, Princess. I'm a friend of your father's.”

Killian could not tell whether she even understood him, much less believed his reassurances. He turned to glare at the guard on his left. “How can you live with yourselves, keeping an innocent babe locked up like this? I've seen cooking pots larger than that cage. And that so-called bedding is filthy. It's no wonder the First Clan calls you barbarians.” 

The guards merely stared back at him. They did not seem inclined to drag him away yet, so he continued his tirade. 

“How does she keep warm at night? Are you feeding her enough? Where the hell is her access to clean water? Even Chief bloody Lack can't be foolish enough to think that this swill will keep her alive.” 

He gestured fiercely at the opaque muck all around them, and as he did so, he caught the briefest glimpse of a ripple forming on the murky surface.

Deliberately, he turned his attention back to the silent Less guards nearby. “If you intend to completely destroy a child's life, the least you can do is provide for her basic needs. You’d best be damn sure this is what your gods want, because most theologies I've encountered strongly discourage the torture of innocents.”

“Enough,” spat the mangy guard to his right. She took a step forward, and Killian was forced to retreat as the point of her spear neared his throat. “You will not help your princess with blasphemy.” 

The second guard’s weapon came up to mirror the other, and as Killian took another step back to give himself more breathing room, his hand brushed the top of the bandage around his leg. Had anyone been watching, they may have noticed a fine shower of sand-like particles falling to the trampled shore underfoot. But the Less warriors were too focused on Killian himself.

“Return him to camp,” ordered the spokesguard. “He’s had a longer visit than we are obliged to provide.”

Killian's escorts closed the distance, their own weapons at the ready. Killian carefully avoided looking at the increasing movement at the marsh’s edge. He rotated halfway back toward the exit, but growled a final barb to keep their attention on him for as long as possible. 

“If your intent is to further antagonize your enemies, then you are excelling at it. I can guarantee you that the First Clan will not allow things to remain as they are, regardless of your impression of their character, so if you aren't prepared for open warfare, then I suggest you start--” 

The rest of his fabricated warning was drowned out by a violent splash on the fringes of the swamp. All four Less warriors froze for a single heartbeat, fur standing erect as they were gripped by terror. They shifted their weapons away from Killian and toward the new threat.

“Mire Dragon,” hissed one trembling monkey. 

In the next instant, the marshline exploded into a boiling tide of mud-flecked scales mixed with the frothy spray of algal slime. The Less guards shrieked in alarm. A confusing jumble of clawed limbs and spiked tails hurtled out of the muck, accompanied by a sibilant rumble as multiple reptilian figures fought amongst themselves on dry land. Several more rippling wakes in the distance warned of additional dragons approaching. The smallest Less warrior dropped her spear and bolted toward the safety of high rock walls and the rest of her clan. The remaining three held quivering weapons between themselves and the threat as they moved apprehensively backwards in slow retreat. Killian felt one of them fumble half-heartedly at his shirt sleeve, attempting to pull him along with them, but he easily shrugged them off and began to take his own cautious steps sideways.

Another dragon came lunging up onto the bank, and the sight of its dripping fangs highlighted by the mindless hunger in its eyes sent the remaining monkeys fleeing into the stone maze. Trapped in her cage, the frantic Puzzle leapt from corner to corner, chittering wordless pleas for help. Killian took a calculated step in her direction. None of the lizards were remarkably oversized, the largest being half the length of an average crocodile at most. But according to Patch, they were highly aggressive… and, more worryingly, apparently venomous. Little wonder, then, that both tribes of monkeys avoided them at all costs. 

A new arrival flung itself out of the water, its powerful tail colliding with one of the sticks holding Puzzle’s cage aloft. The wood splintered and the whole setup listed sideways, still upright but appearing uncomfortably close to collapse. Killian grit his teeth and willed it not to fall, all the while edging closer to the writhing frenzy of scales, claws, and fangs nearby.

At least four of the dragons on the periphery of the melee were busy snapping up mouthfuls of what would have appeared to the casual observer to be plain, ordinary soil. If any other creature approached too closely, a warning hiss and growl were the interruption of only a moment, and then it was straight back to the dirt feast. Killian thanked the fates that Patch's advice appeared to be working. 

“Mire Dragons are powerful but extremely stupid,” had been her assessment. “They can smell the nectar seed for miles, but they will not associate it with you, even if they see you scatter it. They will occupy themselves with quarreling or licking the earth until all traces have been consumed.”

As Killian inched closer to the fray, he prayed that her prediction bore out. The nearest reptile cast a menacing look in his direction, tasting the air with the flick of a forked tongue, and Killian would not have put a wager on his chances at defeating the creature in a foot race. Gingerly, he wriggled two fingers into the pouch buried beneath the bandage wrapped around his leg and dug out a small measure of the coveted seeds. Adrenaline masked some of the flames in his hand as he calculated where the precious bait could be placed for best effect. He pivoted stiffly to his right, made an awkward underhand throw back in the direction from which he had just come, and kept his feet moving along the arcing perimeter he’d been following. The nearest dragons charged up the hill toward fresh temptation, provoking terrifying snarls from slower rivals left behind.

The fighting grew more fierce. Whenever fangs found purchase among armored scales, the combatants lunged into a death spiral, kicking up vast clouds of dust as they rolled over and over, ceasing only when additional enemies threatened. The whole marshline teemed with the beasts now, and Killian hastily sidestepped one as it raced toward the desirable seeds. Then he froze, watching in horror as a savage wrestling match bowled two dragons directly into the stilts holding up Puzzle's cage. The wood splintered further and the structure toppled, and suddenly, the nectar seeds had competition for most enticing delicacy. 

Killian staggered forward, heart in his throat, fumbling for more seeds as he dodged the excitable lizards. Puzzle’s cage dangled from the ruined stakes, still elevated but low enough to now be within reach of the gathering predators. Killian spotted Puzzle clinging to the bars at the very top, as far away from the dragons as she could get. To his great relief, the fall did not appear to have caused her any harm.

Nearby jaws snapped at his leg as he passed, close enough to feel the breeze rippling the fabric at his ankle. Cursing softly, Killian tossed a handful of seeds onto the backs of three quarreling lizards a good distance away from the cage. Immediately, most of the attention shifted to the fresh offering raining down from the heavens and away from the defenseless baby monkey. Killian scattered another small handful in the same general direction, mindful of the need to conserve his supply for the trek through the swamp. His path now clearing, he hurried to the splintered remains of the structure and knelt to examine the cage.

The door had no lock; instead, it was tied in two places with thick cords of leather. Under normal circumstances, it would have taken him mere moments to undo the knots, but the limited mobility in his hand presented an unwelcome challenge. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the Mire Dragons were all still occupied, then reached for the uppermost cord.

"Just hold on a few moments longer, Princess Puzzle. I'll have you out of there soon; I promise."

Whether or not Puzzle understood all of the words, she seemed to at least recognize her name. Her demeanor as she cowered near the ceiling shifted to include a hint of curiosity amidst the fear. Wide eyes watched Killian as he attempted to grasp the knot's looping center. Excruciating heat raced up the length of his arm with each slight movement of his thumb.

Killian gritted his teeth and gripped a little harder, digging his index finger deeper into the center of the knot. The leather hardly budged a fraction, tied so tightly that it almost seemed fused together in some way. His hand already trembled with fatigue, and it felt like he was holding it directly above a brightly burning candle. He would never free Puzzle this way.

The dragons appeared to have determined a general pecking order, with the only scuffles occurring when a subordinate approached its more dominant counterpart too closely. They chomped greedily at the seed-dusted earth, unconcerned about the high dirt-to-delicacy ratio filling their bellies. Grimacing, Killian risked a moment taking his eyes off the predators to make an attempt at loosening the knot with his teeth. A dusty, smoky bitterness flooded his mouth. The cords were relatively thin, but tough, and it would have taken even the most determined set of monkey jaws a considerable length of time to gnaw all the way through.

Killian sat back and studied the cage once again. The knots certainly seemed to be melted together, but if that were truly the case, then how did they ever open the door to let her out? Or feed her, for that matter? It was possible they had a hidden way to open the cage, but he could feel the anxious squeeze of time draining away and knew he did not have enough of it to search for secrets. 

The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end as restless vibrations from behind him rumbled through his rib cage. Grimacing, he turned to assess the situation with the dragons, and as he did so, his gaze fell upon a discarded spear lying not too far from his current position. Puzzle was small enough that she could almost squeeze through the bars as it was; perhaps with the right leverage, he could wrench one far enough out of place to create a sufficiently large opening for her. Choking back a groan of pain, he pushed himself to his feet and reached for another handful of nectar seeds.

He carefully scattered the seeds in the opposite direction of the spear, waited for the stampede to clear, and hurried to pick up the discarded weapon. Then he returned cautiously to the gently swaying cage. Using his left arm to hold the structure steady, he slid the haft of the spear between two bars, then angled the piercing end away from himself in an attempt to thread the spear butt through the next gap between bars.

Wood thudded frustratingly against wood, jarring his wounded hand. Killian bit his tongue and forced himself to apply more pressure, struggling to guide the haft the extra few centimeters needed to clear the obstruction. 

Two bars would have to suffice. Killian growled and thrust the spear butt through the next available gap. Blood pulsed through his palm like scalding spurts of magma, but he drew a breath and composed his expression into something close to reassurance.

 "Stay back, love," he warned through clenched teeth, unnecessarily, as Puzzle was already as far back out of the way as she could possibly be.

Praying that the spear would not break before loosening one or both of the cage bars, Killian positioned his left arm above the spear-turned-lever, his elbow, forearm, and wrist resting at an angle against the wall of the cage. Then he looped his other arm around the spear haft where it exited between bars. With a sharp intake of air, he braced himself for more pain, then, with all of his strength, he pushed with his left arm and pulled with his right. Short puffs of air hissed through his teeth as muscles bulged in his arms and back. He could feel things tearing, wounds splitting open from the exertion, his hand wracked with spasms that seemed to sprout tendrils reaching all the way up to the tips of his ears and down to his sternum.

Killian dug deep for that last ounce of reserve strength, channeling it into a wild surge of power that pressed the wooden staves into his arms so deeply that he could feel bruises beginning to form. Both the spear and the cage gave off sharp crackling sounds, and the targeted bars appeared to bend slightly, but it would not be enough. His remaining breath left him as a snarl. Panting, he extricated his arms and allowed the spear to fall to the bottom of the cage while he desperately sought inspiration and tried not to dwell on his track record when it came to breaking innocents out of captivity. 

No time for fire, and that would be too dangerous anyway. The spear might be able to cut through the ropes--either the cords holding the door closed, or the thicker ones from which the cage was suspended. If he managed that, he could conceivably carry the whole cage back to the First Clan territory and let them devise a way to get Puzzle out… it would be cumbersome and tiring, and potentially more dangerous for Puzzle should he need to defend them in the middle of the swamp, but it might be their only option.

With renewed purpose, Killian straightened and pulled the spear free. He quickly inspected the blade to determine its sharper edge, then adjusted his grip accordingly, holding much tighter than was comfortable. He could already see that the door straps would require more precision than he was capable of, especially with the lack of stability for the freely swinging cage. So he focused his attention higher, where thicker ropes bound the three damaged sticks together and looped down to dangle Puzzle’s cage like a four-cornered bell.

The coil at the top of the cage was only slightly above eye level. Killian set the spear blade against the outer strand and began to saw, back and forth, aiming for the wooden stake beneath. The friction against his puncture wounds became almost unbearable after only two or three cutting motions, and he did not have to look at his hand to know that blood was seeping through the bandages and staining the haft of the spear. Jaw tight, Killian pressed on, knowing that if he stopped, he may not have the will to resume. 

The first strand started to fray. Killian poured half a year's worth of pent-up, frustrated grief into his task, all the days of worthless leads, every night spent yearning for even one moment in the presence of his little girl, channeled through his wounded hand and along the spear as the ropes were slowly worn away.

“Almost there, Princess.”

The ragged growl did not exactly come across as soothing, but the words were just as much for his benefit as hers. Killian gritted his teeth and attempted to don the jolly father persona that Alice enjoyed so much. Raising an eyebrow, he nodded toward the nearest dragon.

“It’s a shame these empty-headed lizards don’t have a taste for rope, eh, little one? They’d have you out of there in short order.”

As if in response, a noisy argument broke out from somewhere behind Killian, who took a cautious step sideways to bring the combatants into view.

“Oi, scales-for-brains,” he called with forced levity, “where’s your manners? We’re in the presence of royalty here!”

The fight continued, no less intense than before, and he turned back to Puzzle with an exaggerated eye roll. 

“Brains the size of acorns,” he explained. “Probably. If they’re anything like the crocodiles they resemble.”

His hand would not be distracted by the small talk. The spear haft seemed to be wearing a groove into his palm, scraping away the flesh inch by inch and replacing it with splintered wood with excruciating inevitability. Eyes watering, Killian turned a threatening curse into a manic grin. “Bloody hell, your rival clan makes some good rope…”

It was only Puzzle’s shriek of alarm that saved Killian from losing a chunk of his lower leg. Reflex sent him hurtling sideways, just in time to miss a charging dragon’s slavering jaws. Killian staggered, narrowly missed a second beast’s lazy snap, and cursed as the spear slipped from his bloodied grasp.

The attacker hardly noticed that it had failed to connect, and it launched itself against the failing cage supports with berserk power. Killian landed heavily on his knees as he lunged for the spear. The dragon had one of the poles between its teeth and it was shaking its head violently back and forth. Chunks of wood and flecks of venomous slime sprayed from the corners of its mouth as Puzzle’s cage twisted and bucked madly. 

With an aggressive snarl, Killian scrambled to his feet and lashed out with the spear. The tip hardly left the slightest impression on the tough scales at the dragon’s shoulder. Killian tried again, aiming at the nearest bloodshot eyeball. In a flash, the dragon whipped its head around and latched on to the weapon with its punishing teeth. Killian’s weakened fist was no match for the creature’s death grip. The spear slid from his grasp and the dragon began shaking it, much like it had done with Puzzle’s cage. Within seconds, the mighty jaws had severed the tip from the haft. The dragon gave one more scornful snap of its mouth, expelling the remaining wood fragments, then slowly turned back toward the cage.

“One-track mind,” sighed Killian. “All right then, you win. But feel free to take your time fighting it out amongst yourselves.”

Grudgingly, he dug another small portion of seeds from the pouch and flung them several yards away. Or tried to. Enough landed to draw the attention of the intended target, but Killian realized with a jolt of alarm that the majority of the scoop was sticking to his bloodstained fingers, coating them like breadcrumbs. As if he needed to make his injured hand any more enticing to the gathered predators…

Hastily, Killian used his teeth to pull loose the knot securing the bandage around his hand. It wasn’t doing much good in its current state, anyway. But bloody hell, the damn thing was certainly stuck fast, in far too many places…

For the sake of Puzzle’s young ears, it was a good thing Killian’s mouth was occupied and could not give voice to the pained expletives currently running through his head as clot after clot ripped open.

Finally, with one last brutal tug, the long strip of animal hide tore free. He disguised his pain with a tight parody of a smile, gingerly wiped the seeds from his fingers, then folded the bloodstained fabric into a more easily tossable shape. 

“All right then, mate. Don't care to chomp on wood? Try a bit of hide.”

Killian crept toward the discarded spear, noting the positions of both handle and blade. With his boot, he nudged the haft in the direction of Puzzle’s cage, then, as he bent to scoop up the broken-off point, he flung the seed-crusted bandage toward the snuffling hulk nearby. It did not travel very far, but at least it didn’t stick to his fingertips, and the monster would hopefully be tempted by the scent. 

“Careful you don’t eat too fast,” warned Killian as he edged backwards. “It would be a real shame if you were to choke.”

He had barely touched the blade to the rope before he realized just how much the bandage had actually been helping. With a hiss, he pulled his hand back sharply, only for the blade to slip from his fingers. Grimacing, he told Puzzle,

“All part of the plan.”

He must be out of practice: this game of constant reassurance was far more exhausting than he remembered it to be.

Leaving the blade where it had landed, he instead reached for the broken spear handle. After a quick glance over his shoulder to assure himself the dragons were still occupied, he thrust the splintered end between the bars and all the way through the cage until it came to rest against the support poles.

“Sorry about this, love.” Killian reversed his grip and braced the cage as securely as possible. “Try to stay back.”

A few forceful kicks were enough to topple the remaining support poles, allowing Killian to lower the cage carefully to the ground. Tilting the spear tipped the structure onto its side. Then, shifting his stance to bring the closest Mire Dragons into view, Killian drew a breath and prayed that Puzzle would not be injured by collapsing cage bars. He used the spear for balance as he repeatedly stomped down on the skyward wall of the cage with his heel. The wood began to shift. He put more force behind his strikes. Puzzle curled into a quivering ball in the farthest corner, making herself smaller as her prison threatened to buckle in on her. 

Finally, the bars gave way beneath Killian’s heel, splintering inward with a crunch, and he allowed himself a quiet exclamation of triumph as he carefully removed his foot and stepped back.

“It’s okay; it’s over.” He crouched and used the back of his hand to nudge the crumpled bars aside. “You’re free.”

For one chilling instant, he feared Puzzle would bolt in her panic, heedless of the dangers surrounding her. But instead, she immediately scampered up his outstretched arm and settled herself on his shoulder, pressed tightly against his neck as if wishing she could burrow and hide beneath his skin. He could feel her silken fur vibrating in time with her terrified shivers as he retrieved the spear blade, then cautiously stood.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

Killian tucked the blade into the seed pouch, then he pulled the haft from where it rested haphazardly against the broken cage. It would be useful in navigating the marsh ahead, if he could somehow endure holding onto it the whole time. He leaned it against his opposite shoulder for a moment as he fished out a final sprinkling of nectar seeds. Just to keep the nearby mob of dragons busy as he took his leave.

“Make sure you don’t leave any trace behind,” he called to the lizards. “It isn’t worth following us; you’ve got your treasure right here.”

Distraction provided, he turned to face the swamp, expression grim. The pair of escapees were not out of danger yet, not by a long shot. And he was already so ridiculously exhausted. With a grimace, he picked up the spear haft and tucked it beneath his arm. Then he moved down the sloping shore and into the pungent muck at the bottom.

The mud was not as cold as he’d been expecting, though it wasn’t exactly warm, either. The first few steps got progressively deeper, but then the sludgy bottom seemed to even out at a depth just high enough to flood his boots and provide an appropriately miserable experience. Following Patch’s advice, he kept the striped tree directly in front of him, but remained on high alert for the tell-tale ripples of Mire Dragon stragglers. Of course, there was always the possibility of inadvertently stepping on one dozing invisibly beneath the murky water, but apart from testing each step with the broken spear, which would take forever and lengthen the amount of time they were at risk of discovery or predation, there really wasn’t much he could do to avoid that particular misfortune.

Killian’s feet were burning by the time he reached the small hillock upon which the striped tree grew. Of greater importance than the forming blisters, though, was the trail of small blood droplets that had fallen from the tips of his fingers as he waded through the muck. He could not have created a more obvious hunting lane had he been trying. He halted at the base of the tree and took a brief moment to survey the landscape ahead. There were two trees in sight, along with the usual cattails and an impressive blanket of flowering lily pads off to his left, but only the southern tree had the distinctive striped bark which marked his path. He sighed as he stiffly loosened several buttons on his shirt. 

“A true sailor’s quandary,” he mused aloud. “All this water around and not a drop to drink.”

As he worked to unwind the bandage covering his ribs, he glanced down toward Puzzle. She had switched shoulders, seeking shade, and her slender tail curled loosely around his neck to provide additional security as she rode. “You hanging in there, love?”

After he had wrapped his hand in an embarrassingly sloppy fashion, Killian cleaned his fingertips and dropped a few nectar seeds into the mud. Hopefully, any dragons that followed them would now get sidetracked along the way. 

“All right, then,” sighed Killian, turning to line himself up with the next tree landmark. “Onward.”

#ouat fanfiction #laden of the torn #wish hook #rescue mission #pain #bleeding #captive child #baby monkey #lizards #escape #long chapter

[wearenotjustnumbers2]

Meet Mohammed Nazzal, a Palestinian child. He was in administrative arrest (this means he can stay held captive without charge for as long as israel decides, also look it up for better understanding) without charge or trial in Israeli occupation prisons and was released yesterday as part of the hostages exchange.

"They shattered metal bars on me, beating me non-stop on my head, broke my hands. They starved me."

#watch and share these interviews #they put things into perspective esp with israelis going around calling Palestinian kids held captive as terrorists #this child is from the jenin #palestine #gaza #israel #important #current events #free palestine #ethnic cleansing #free gaza #gaza strip #gaza under attack #colonialism #israel apartheid #israel is an apartheid state #israel is terrorist #israel is a terrorist state #free palestine 🇵🇸 #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #save the children #video

[laurents-secret-diary]

the quirked up white boy Of Vere

#laurent of vere #captive prince #kings rising #prince's gambit #MY PASTY GUY #i know he's supposed to be enchanting or whatever but i need him a bit fucked up you know what i mean #if he is anything like how damen describes him then my dude resembles a victorian child huffing asbestos #“his skin almost indistinguishable from the pristine white shirt he wore” #ok? ok?? MY MAN TAKES BATHS IN THE STYX?? #I just find it soooo funny that this is Damen's ideal man. #this frog ass looking aint shit white boy with the brain processing power of an intel i9 card #i bet his hands are always clammy but noone would know because this dude wont let anyone touch him lol #caprisun

[fishareglorious]

Jessica is on the chat, she's just too busy asking Blonney what 'gay' means.

#horropedia #blonney #tooth fairy #reverse 1999 #certified storm moments #i should have a tag for my homemade shitposts actually #r1999 shitpost #i'm never getting over the fact tf gets into a car accident the very first chapters of the main event and in the one dedicated to her #she crashed her car in the main one and hits a child and almost kills him in the worn teeth old marks one. that subaru svx has seen shit #also happy belated birthday to horropedia your autistic and transgender swag has captivated many #including myself

[caramel-flan]

miss columbina 🕊️

#genshin impact #columbina #damselette #arlecchino #arlebina #art things #her angelic demeanor and reputation among the harbingers have captivated me #third rank in the fatui harbingers and power that rivals that of the gods hello? #childe and wanderer warning us to stay away from her hello <333

[guardian-of-da-gay]

simpler times

#this is actually the very first sonic fanart i ever done its just been sittin in my wips for so long #my take on movie!Lara-le #without that ratty lookin toupe thing the Archie comics put on her head #this is a Lara-le's Archie comic hair hate blog #anyway... #hc that she still divorces Locke and leaves #Knuckles Wachowski #has no idea if she's alive or not #but she never came back to the village #and she never sought him out even when he became kinda famous and was somewhat stationary (re:held captive) #this is in the 'before times' #before her kid revealed crazy super powers #and their tribe latched onto him as the one destined to find the Master Emerald #and she saw her child being steered toward a destiny that would take him away from her anyway #so rather than watch it happen #she chose to leave #Knuckles headcanons #knuckles the echidna #baby Knuckles #Lara-le #sonic fanart #my art #Knuckles angst #or is it #Knuckles fluff #baby Knux is livin that pouch puggle life #sonic the movie 2 #sonic the movie #scu

[haliaiii]

she's so crazzzzy! love her!!

#my favorite cringefail girl #my mom walked in and thought I was drawing myself 💀 #fear and hunger #fear and hunger termina #funger #fear and hunger samarie #samarie #f&h samarie #f&h termina #my art #art #digital art #illustration #fanart #csp #clip studio paint #haliai art #kinda like how almost all funger characters have that sickly victorian child look to them #their malnourished and woeful vibe have captivated me

[swordsswordsswords]

some memes from the first book in the Captive Prince series

#captive prince #capri #captive prince spoilers #damianos of akielos #laurent of vere #cw child abuse #cw sa

[hamletthedane]

I hate dating apps I need to meet the love of my life more organically*

*in hand-to-hand combat before the great walls of the City of Troy

#Icariasia daughter of Priam was seized by Artemis who wields the Golden Arrows and the goddess spoke to her: #fast-footed daughter of kings you have run for many a year and bested many great and renowned Trojan men #in all the arts and sports contrived by Athena the daughter of Zeus who bears the golden aegis #but the gods warn you now that you shall soon face upon this blood-drenched field a daughter of the greatest of the Achean kings #who will match you in all of the arts and sports played at funeral games in honor of the gods for practice of war #and though you now curse the name of the golden-haired enraged Achilles for the death of your many brothers upon this field #you soon shall deny my twin Apollo’s libation and make libations instead to silver-eyed Athena goddess of strategy and war #because her daughter of like mind to strategy and arts shall best you in combat and yet shall spare you #and carry you back to the hollow ships beside the sea #and for that favor and for the spangled mind of a child of Athena daughter of Zeus who widens the heavens with thunder #you shall betray your father and return as willful captive to the strange isles where Helen with the lovely woven braids was born #Iliad #homer #sorry uh I think I was briefly possessed by my past life self

[captaindamianos]

A long long time ago @zumurruds asked for Nicaise. I finally tried my hand at him

#captive prince #captive prince fanart #nicaise #my art #artists on tumblr #if anyone wants to take back their child prompts now my messages are open #drawing them never ends well

[savoytrufflephd]

The questions of Laurent’s being and behavior…

I have been informed, via @thickenmyblood’s asks (since mine were apparently not set to accept anonymous asks – which I have now changed) that my opinion about HIUH Laurent’s character is incorrect. I have been informed that he’s abusive.

My PhD isn’t in English (though it is in the humanities), but my wife was an English major and she has often told me that interpretations aren’t right or wrong, but they are stronger or weaker in the sense that they are supported by the text.

So, let’s go…

First things first. Let me be clear about the following:

The question of whether or not Laurent is abusive in this piece of fanfiction has no bearing whatsoever on whether any person you know in real life is abusive.

Similarly, any arguments that Laurent can change or that Laurent deserves a second chance have no bearing whatsoever on whether any person you know in real life can change or deserves a second chance.

Neither HIUH nor any fic should be taken as a life advice manual. Just because there are therapists in this fic does not mean that @thickenmyblood is a mental health professional or your therapist.

I am also not a therapist, nor am I trying to give you life advice when I speak of my enjoyment of HIUH.

But if I were to give you life advice, it would be this: If a piece of fanfiction makes you so angry that you feel the need to send abusive anonymous comments to the author and/or ask that author to pass on your comment “correcting” the opinion of a reader writing about that story, you should probably stop reading that fic. It is clearly not good for you. Metaphorically speaking, you are in an abusive relationship with that fic and you should end it. Write the story off and move on.

Okay, that said, the question of whether Laurent is abusive in HIUH is probably more of a series of questions:

Has HIUH Laurent engaged in abusive behaviors?

If so, do those abusive behaviors necessarily indicate that he is and will always be an abuser?

If not, what evidence do we have that HIUH Laurent can and will stop engaging in abusive behaviors?

If HIUH Laurent stops engaging in abusive behaviors, what reasons, if any, does HIUH Damen have to return to the relationship despite past abuse?

BONUS:

A. Is an HIUH Laurent who harms Damen through abusive behavior mischaracterized relative to the canon source material?

B. Is an HIUH Damen who chooses to be with Laurent despite past abuse mischaracterized relative to the canon source material?

1. Has Laurent engaged in abusive behaviors?

Yes. Although we are limited by a potentially unreliable narrator (Damen), who does not believe Laurent is abusive, we are clearly and intentionally both told and shown in the text that Laurent has engaged in abusive behavior. We are told when Neo explains as much to a skeptical Damen:

“Then you must know I’m only trying to get a feeling on how educated you are on the subject of abuse between romantic partners.” “But why ? I just told you Laurent and I never—” “Do you know what emotional abuse looks like, Damen?” “Yes.” “Give me a definition.” It’s hot in the room, all of the sudden. “It’s… making someone. Feel bad.” “It’s consistent and repeated humiliation,” Neo says. “Gaslighting. Manipulation. Verbal abuse can sometimes overlap with this. Have you ever experienced this while in your relationship with Laurent?” “We weren’t abusive.” “Did you insult each other?” “No,” Damen says. It was so long ago, it was a lifetime back. He can’t remember. “It’s—not like that. Humiliation? We never—” “You’ve said that sometimes Laurent made you feel as though the things you were feeling were inadequate.” You’re being a fucking idiot, Laurent had said about the pink sweatshirt. “What if he was right?”  “It’s never right to invalidate your partner’s feelings.” “We weren’t abusive.” “Damen,” Neo says, the soft caress before a blow. “What if we think about it from—” “There’s nothing to think about. I’m telling you, it wasn’t like that. How the fuck did you get to that conclusion? Because I complained about us arguing?” Neo ruffles his notes. “Contempt. Shame. Hurt. That’s what abusers thrive on. There’s quite a lot of those things in here.” “Laurent’s not an abuser,” Damen snaps. “Maybe not, but he grew up with one, didn’t he? These are learned traits.” Damen folds forward as though to vomit. That’s—He’s made a mistake. They argued, they yelled, they said things they didn’t mean, but they never hit each other or threw cutlery at each other’s heads. They went to bed angry, and Damen slept on the couch, and there would be rolling eyes and huffs and annoyance in the following days, but that’s not—Laurent is not— You’re sweet, Damen had said, hand to Laurent’s cheek. A sweetheart. He remembers meaning it, remembers Laurent not liking it. He also remembers Laurent’s sweetness, scarcer in the end and cloying in the beginning. Breakfast in bed, letting Damen pick what show to watch, giving up half his trail mix bag because he knew Damen liked the dried fruit pieces most. You’ll do great, you always do great. A protein shake prepped and ready to go, peace and quiet the nights before important court days. But also bigger things, biggest things. There was—and sharing a bed, and curling up under Damen to read, and letting Damen carry Nicaise up the stairs, and holding his hand under the table as firm functions, and kissing just to kiss, just because, just— He’s explained Laurent wrong.

And we are shown in the moments when Damen and Laurent talk and Damen expects a belittling response from Laurent:

“There are,” Laurent starts, stops. Starts again, “I didn’t.” He has both elbows on the table, which he used to despise. Tables are for cutlery and food, not limbs. Something about the way he rubs at the skin under his eyes makes Damen’s stomach cower as if expecting a blow. “Agnes recommended it months before you—came back. It wasn’t my idea.”

“I met him?” For once, Laurent doesn’t mock him for his question. “It was at that school play I couldn’t go to. The one Nicaise got that huge part in.”

“I want to know when the twenty-four hours are up,” Damen says, loudly, too loudly, “so we can go to the police station and report him missing. For fuck’s sake, Laurent, will you stop ? He could be seriously hurt, and you’re sitting here, berating me about the way I phrased a question. Do you even give a shit about him? Do you even—” He cuts himself off when he sees Laurent’s expression. Like he did last time with Nicaise, Damen braces himself for what’s to come, goes over the list of things Laurent can hurl at him, tries to minimize the inevitable damage. The comment will be about Nikandros, about his soft childhood in Ios, about the time he tried to discipline Nicaise by himself and ended up covered in vomit.   Nothing happens. There’s only Laurent, turning his face to the side so Damen can’t stare at it any longer. In the silence of the car, Laurent’s breathing shakes.

“Is his name really Dog?” Laurent says, sitting down next to Damen. Between them, the two cups of coffee and the small pile of croissants both steam. “I didn’t believe Nicaise when he told me.” “I,” Damen starts, lie ready on his tongue, and stops. It’s very meta. “I’m not good with names.” Laurent picks up his coffee instead of agreeing with Damen. Instead of mocking. The space between their bodies is comfortable enough—they’re not touching, not even their knees or thighs. They’re not looking at each other either, not with the entire park stretching green and busy in front of them.

2. If so, do those abusive behaviors necessarily indicate that he is and will always be an abuser?

I take this to be one of the major points of contention on the part of the angry readers. As you can probably guess, I don’t think the text suggests that Laurent in inherently abusive. Besides the stuff coming in my answer to question 3, we have several reasons to believe that Laurent’s abusive behavior is the product of particular circumstances rather than a generalized personality dysfunction.

We know, and Neo just reminded us above, that abusive behaviors are learned behaviors. We know Laurent was abused in multiple ways before he was able to leave his uncle’s house. We know that he is still very young and that it has not been that long since his uncle’s trial. We know he has not been comfortable talking to Damen about his abuse, which gives us reason to believe he still experiences a great deal of shame. That shame is hinted at here:

“He respects you,” Laurent says before Damen has made up his mind about the yelling. “He looks at you and sees a standard to meet. Normalcy. It’s hard to disappoint people you respect. Especially people like you.” “Like me.” “You do things your way. Everyone else does them wrong.” “That’s,” Damen starts. The absolute inaccuracy of the phrase leaves him hanging. “What the fuck?” Laurent ignores him. “He doesn’t respect me, and he also knows I have no room to judge. It’s different. We’re—it’s just different.”

We also know that Laurent is specifically and intentionally not abusive toward Nicaise. We have seen that he has been absorbing a ton of anger, vilification, derision, denigration from Nicaise almost entirely without complaint and without lashing out at Nicaise in return. In fact, after the breaking of the paperweight, when Laurent feels that he might not be able to avoid reacting in a way he will regret, he calls Damen to safely remove Nicaise from the situation. Having taken the lock off Nicaise’s door for reasons many parents would no doubt consider justified, he realizes it was a mistake:

Damen doesn’t look down at the twisted little bolts on the floor. “Actually, you should watch this part in case you ever want to dismantle it again.” “I won’t.” Damen rubs his sleeve over a weird spot on the knob. “You’re betting a lot on Nicaise’s hypothetical good behavior.” “It was dumb, taking the lock away as punishment. I…” Laurent’s thumb glides over the edge of the glass. It traces a full circle before stopping and going white, digging in. His jaw twitches like he’s munching on something. “Privacy shouldn’t be a reward.” “Wasn’t this about safety? He locked himself in, wouldn’t come out or reply when you called…” Laurent’s reply is slow to come. After a while, Damen stops expecting it to come at all. He goes back to testing the lock—twice, waiting for that click sound—opens the door, closes it, and rattles the knob a bit. Just to be sure. “My uncle made it about safety too,” Laurent says. “Locks on doors were for adults. Not children.” The lonely ice cube in his glass floats around aimlessly, not quite touching its confines. “The first to go were the bedroom locks. What if there’s a fire and you can’t get out? What if someone breaks in through the window and—well.” Laurent smiles, small and ugly. “That kind of thing. You know.”

He ensures that Nicaise sees a therapist, meets with that therapist regularly, and follows professional advice about putting Nicaise on medication.

Laurent also maintains a strong friendship with Ancel, whose judgment the text has taught us to trust, through Damen’s evolving relationship with him. Laurent is capable of non-abusive, non-superficial relationships.

3. If not, what evidence do we have that HIUH Laurent can and will stop engaging in abusive behaviors?

From the moment we see Laurent interact with Damen in the present of this story, he is trying to treat Damen better. Not because he thinks he can get back together with Damen, but because he realizes he needs to make a relationship with Damen possible for Nicaise. We have already seen above that most of the time when Damen expects Laurent’s ridicule in this story, he does not actually receive it. In very stressful conversations, when Laurent does lash out, he now tends to pull back or even to acknowledge and apologize:

Coffee. Damen takes two long sips, trying to rinse the bad taste out of his mouth. They’ve had arguments in public before, probably louder than this one. For some reason, the thought isn’t as comforting as Damen would have once found it. They broke up to be better than they were together, didn’t they? They should be better. Except this doesn’t feel better. Or different. Laurent says, “That was out of line.” Now, cooled off, Damen feels clammy. Wobbly. He knows Laurent is right, and yet the thought of sitting through a reprimand makes him want to melt away. “It was.” “I—apologize.” Damen looks up from his coffee to Laurent’s profile. He’s facing the wrong way, Damen thinks stupidly, because the window is to their left. “You apologize.” Half a question. “Go ahead,” Laurent says. “Rub it in.” Damen doesn’t want to. Nausea is curling around him, closing in. “I was out of line too, so.”

And we know now that Laurent has thought through some of his past behaviors toward Damen:

“I was angry at you,” Laurent says, “all the time. Sometimes it was justified, but when it wasn’t I just—I found ways to justify it. That wasn’t fair. Of me.” Damen’s palm is numb around the glass. “Why were you angry?” “Nicaise.” “Justified,” Damen says. “And the rest of it?” Laurent is facing him again. “Paschal says I have a tendency to expect the worst from everyone. Especially you. You’d make comments, and I’d think you were being cruel instead of…” “Instead of what? Ignorant?” Laurent doesn’t reply. “That makes no sense,” Damen says. “We never argued about me being fucking sadistic. We argued about you acting like some things were obvious and I was simply too much of an idiot to get them.” “I never thought you were an idiot.” “You said it often enough.” “I’m—sorry,” Laurent says. “It doesn’t change anything, but—even if you had been the biggest idiot in the world, you didn’t deserve…” A blinking spree follows. “I’m sorry.”

We know that Laurent is still in therapy, and we know that he has been talking about his relationship with Damen there because Paschal has suggested couples counseling for them. And Laurent has invited Damen to do that couples counseling, showing that he wants them to build a better foundation for their relationship  going forward.

4. If HIUH Laurent stops engaging in abusive behaviors, what reasons, if any, does HIUH Damen have to return to the relationship despite past abuse?

Damen is deeply in love with Laurent. At the beginning of the story, he is in denial about this fact, but the uncontrollable flow of his thoughts still shows us how much he feels the loss of their relationship. Once he and Laurent are speaking again, seeing improvements in their communication, and experiencing moments of comfort and fun in their interactions – and once Laurent has broken up with Maxime – Damen admits to himself that he wants to be back together. Neo, as usual, prompts the self-recognition:

“I’m asking you to think about what life might look like in two years,” Neo says, “for you and Laurent. Time does not only pass for you, Damen.” A smile, crinkling the corners of Neo’s eyes. “That’d be ideal, wouldn’t it?”  Two years. Damen sits with the question for a while, looking at it, prodding it. In two years, Nicaise will have gone away to college. Maybe Laurent will move, relocate, start over somewhere closer to Vask. He’ll post about his new life on Instagram, or details of it will make it to Damen as second-hand gossip. They could still be friends, over text or the phone or fucking letters, Damen thinks, yet there’s something bitter in the back of his throat, filling up his mouth like vomit. Maybe Laurent will date again. Probably. Most likely. And Damen— When he looks up from the armrest, Neo is looking straight back.  Damen can’t say it. Earlier today, as he typed his last email of the day at the office, he kept drafting a plan for today’s session. He’d explain his argument with Laurent, then the party at Ancel’s, then the way he keeps looking at Laurent in all the wrong lights, in all the wrong ways, and still finds himself wanting to kiss him. Neo would make a disapproving face, maybe, but it would be easy to brush off; anyone that doesn’t know Laurent would find it hard to understand how easy it is to want to kiss him. Except that isn’t all Damen wants. What Damen wants isn’t a settling of the score, a cleaning of the slate. He doesn’t want to do it once for old times’ sake, or twice out of gluttony. He doesn’t want to make any long-distance phone calls, write any letters, see any pictures on Instagram of Laurent and someone that isn’t him. He doesn’t want things to stay like this, in this careful antiseptic stage. He doesn’t want them to be friends. “It’s not what I want,” Damen says, at last. Neo leans back into his chair. He rolls his wrist once. “You think it’s what I should want, right? Letting go and all.” “I wouldn’t say that,” Neo says. “Should and shouldn’t are very loaded words. It also doesn’t matter what I think you should or shouldn’t do, in general. What is it that you want, since we’ve already established what it is that you don’t?” Don’t make me say it out loud. “I want,” Damen starts, and stops. The words look so stupid, jumbled inside his head. I want him back, like Laurent is a toy someone took away and won’t return. Like Damen is a child, begging. Don’t make me say it.   Seconds trickle by, piling into a minute. Then two. “Do you want to be in a relationship with Laurent again?” “I thought I already was,” Damen says. “A friendship is a kind of relationship. You said that.” Neo closes his eyes, keeps them like that for a while. “I did, yes. Let me rephrase that—do you want to be in a romantic relationship with Laurent? Again?” There is no loophole this time, no two-meaning word Damen can latch onto. The truth sits heavy in him, not on his chest but somewhere deeper, inside a little crevice between some (probably important) organs. Saying no would be lying, saying yes would be diminishing.  “I want things to be good,” Damen says. “That’s all.”

And in chapter 19, Damen is brutally honest with himself about how, even after everything, he still wants Laurent:

“You meet new people,” Neo says. “You go on dates, make new friends, find new interests. Despite what you might think right now, Laurent isn’t your only option. Dare I say, Laurent might not even be your best option.” The room is dark, darker than it was when the phone call started, but Damen’s eyes hurt like he’s been staring at a ball of light for too long. Everything hurts in a strange, modest way. A throb here, faint. An ache there, heatless.  “I don’t want other options,” Damen says. “Well.” “How fucked up is that?” “Pretty fucked up,” Neo says. It makes Damen stop blinking. “Luckily, you’re already doing therapy. It’s only bound to get less complicated from here on. Or more, depending on how you look at it.” “I don’t even wanna look at it, to be honest.” “Then don’t. Take time off, let things cool down, think about what’s been said… No one is asking you to choose right this second.” It’s not that anyone is asking. It’s that it feels like he’s already made his choice. 

“You didn’t tell me,” Damen says before he can think not to. “Tell you what?” “How bad it was.” Laurent’s thumb traces the t in team. It’s a bit crooked, even from Damen’s perspective. “It was pretty bad,” he says, slowly, “before you came back. Things were better once he started seeing you again.” “You call that better?” “Yes,” Laurent says.  I would have come back, Damen thinks, if you’d told me. Except it’s not true; he would have come back for much less. He’s here now, sitting across from Laurent in this mediocre coffee shop, talking things out, making an effort, thinking of reaching out to finally, finally, hold Laurent’s hand.  It’s strange, looking at Laurent and knowing he’s the only other person on earth that feels the same way he does. Where else would Damen go? Who else would he talk to? No one will ever get it, not the way Laurent does. And Laurent knows it. He must, or else he would not be sitting here either. There is only this, Damen thinks. At least for him, there will only ever be this.

So there is that. Damen is hopelessly devoted to Laurent. But that doesn’t make getting back together with him a good decision. Love would not be a good reason to return to an abusive relationship.

Another NOT good reason would be Damen believing the fact that he made mistakes cancels out Laurent’s harmful behavior. The text makes that explicitly clear through Neo:

Neo’s pen hops; a period appears at the end of a sentence. “Apologies can be hard to navigate. It’s sort of like… You’ve wronged me, and you know that you’ve wronged me, and now you’re apologizing for it while expecting me to forgive you. It’s quite a lot to put on a person.” “There are degrees to wrong,” Damen says. His chair feels smaller, like it’s locking him in instead of holding him up. The armrests keep getting in the way of his elbows. “And it’s not like I didn’t have stuff I had to apologize for too. I don’t get why you’re trying to make this seem like a bad thing.” “I’m not.” “Then why—” “Do you think you deserved an apology from Laurent?” Damen leans back and back and back, until his shoulder blades find something solid. Did he deserve…? He’d wanted one, once. In Nikandros’s guest room, with only beige and white and terracotta everything around him, he’d had staring matches with his own phone. He’d thought Laurent might call, at the very beginning. Apologizing. Begging. But Laurent never did. “Yeah,” Damen says.  Neo’s head begins to tilt. “You don’t sound too sure about that.” “I am sure.” “All right,” Neo says. “Why do you deserve an apology?” “I told you already. He treated me like I was an idiot.” “How?” “How—what?” “How exactly did he treat you like you were an idiot? What were his actions towards you?” “I,” Damen starts, but something in Neo’s face makes him pause. “He’d say things when we argued.” “Such as?” “That I was an asshole.” Neo nods. “And how did you feel when you heard him say that? Did you feel like it was fair?” “I felt like he was an asshole,” Damen says. “Sometimes.” “Whereas now you feel like he was right?” He was right about Nicaise. And maybe about Ancel, too. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” “I don’t want you to say anything,” Neo says. “I’m just trying to get you to think about things from a different perspective. Laurent apologized, which is an important—not to say crucial—step in rebuilding any kind of relationship. But it seems to me that you’re holding onto this newly found belief that because you acted a certain way, because you made mistakes, you somehow deserved the way he treated you throughout the last stages of your relationship.” “That’s not what I think,” Damen says.  “All right. Then you think you deserved the apology because the way he treated you was wrong.” “Yes. But…” “But…?” Damen’s face feels hot, the heat lodged right over his molars. “Doesn’t it kind of cancel out? Like, we both fucked up.” “Those are two different issues,” Neo says. “So no, they don’t cancel out. What he did to you and what you did to him are obviously connected, but someone doing something wrong or bad is not an excuse to do the wrong or bad thing back to them.” Neo gives his pen a tap. “Or it does, I suppose. It depends on your belief system. But you don’t strike me as an ‘eye for an eye’ fan.” I don’t want any eyes, Damen thinks. 

I interpret the failed second try (or second strike) of Damen and Laurent’s relationship to have been somewhat based on the “cancel out” reasoning from above. The “cancel out” and move past approach  did not work because they failed to address the many insecurities, communication failures, and problematic patterns that plagued the first time around. A discussion with Neo (again) makes this clear. Damen hasn’t yet learned to listen to what Laurent is saying without letting his insecurities and anger get in the way:

But Damen isn’t in Laurent’s position. You’ll never get it, Laurent had said about Nicaise. Maybe it’s true. “I get why he did it. I’ve been thinking, and it’s not—I get it. Nicaise being embarrassed, wanting Laurent in the room because he was the least angry of—” “I don’t think that’s why,” Neo says. “Or at least, that’s not what you’ve just told me Laurent said about the whole thing.” “What?” “Laurent talked extensively about roles. Did you notice that?” “No.” “He presents himself as the scapegoat for Nicaise’s anger, while you’re the one Nicaise admires and wants to impress.” Tap, tap, tap. Damen imagines Neo’s fingers flying across the keyboard. “It seems to me Nicaise wasn’t concerned about the different intensity levels of your—as in, yours and Laurent’s—anger. He knew you were both angry.” “Laurent was better at handling it.” “Was he?” “I couldn’t stop thinking about the guy,” Damen says. Guys, his brain supplies, helpful as ever. “I still can’t. Even now, I know it’s not—that’s not important. I was yelling at Nicaise. I wasn’t listening.” “And that’s why Nicaise didn’t want you to go with him to the clinic?” Damen closes his eyes. He needs to repaint his ceiling, do something about the lack of texture there.  “Laurent said something about abandonment,” Neo tries. A nudge. “You’ve mentioned Nicaise doesn’t do well with change, that he’s got a tendency to latch onto routines and people. Do you think it might be possible that he was trying to preserve the relationship he has with you?” “By keeping me out of a medical examination room.” “Yes.” “That’s what Laurent said.” “Well,” Neo says. “It sounds plausible.”

Damen wanted magically for them to be over their past:

“Right,” Damen says. “You don’t do should and shouldn’t. I forgot.” “Are you upset?” Are you angry with me? “I don’t know,” Damen says. “We were supposed to be past this, and now it’s out there and I can’t—we can’t—” “How were you supposed to be past this, if this had never been discussed before today?” “You said it’s impossible to discuss everything.”

So, I don’t think it’s a strong interpretation of the text to say that @thickenmyblood is trying to present Damen in an unfairly negative light in order to excuse Laurent’s much worse behavior and thereby make it okay for them to get back together. Cancelling out isn’t what the HEA of the story is set up to be about.

That said – and given the fact that Damen is still in love with Laurent – what GOOD reasons might Damen have to try the relationship again?

For one, he is beginning to understand better what the fights with Laurent about Nicaise were about. Moreover, they have now explicitly acknowledged that they are co-parenting Nicaise and Laurent has expressed a clear commitment to them parenting Nicaise as a team.

For another, Damen has a much improved understanding of the role of therapy and the complexities of mental health. He has a long ways to go on this front, but I don’t think we’ll see him dismissing or belittling Laurent’s mental health needs. Moreover, Damen has ways of addressing his own mental health needs and talking things through with a person who doesn’t share his triggers and emotional investments around Laurent.

For a third, he has made a commitment to working through their issues in therapy and has concluded that he trusts Laurent to try just as hard as he will to repair and strengthen their relationship.

Crucially, Damen has also learned to stand up for himself when he feels Laurent is implying that he is incapable of understanding things. This means he can point it out and Laurent can recognize when he is retreating into a defensive, harmful pattern. This also allows Damen to indicate that something isn’t obvious to him and to ask Laurent to explain it kindly and clearly. I think that is the only way they can reconcile their very different life histories and relationships to social normativity.

ONCE AGAIN, believing this about HIUH Damen relative to HIUH Laurent does not mean that I believe this is something all (or even very many) real life people who were previously in unhealthy relationships should aim for or could achieve.  

Which brings us to our bonus questions:

A. Is an HIUH Laurent who harms Damen through abusive behavior mischaracterized relative to the canon source material?

No, in fact, this is not a mischaracterization. Laurent abused Damen in canon. He took him as a slave. He sought Damen’s public humiliation. He had Damen whipped to an extent that would have killed most other people. He placed Damen in a situation that (for almost any other person) would have resulted in a violent public rape. He also forced Damen to engage in public and non-consensual oral sex. Later, when he understood Damen more emotionally and was feeling insecure or threatened, he lied about his feelings and motivations out of shame and self-hatred and with the aim of hurting Damen enough to drive him away.

B. Is an HIUH Damen who chooses to be with Laurent despite past abuse mischaracterized relative to the canon source material?

Damen fell in love with Laurent after all that abuse because he came to understand its source and because he saw other sides of Laurent that were caring and honorable and expressed a commitment to achieving justice, even if not by fully honest means. He came to understand Laurent as a survivor, even before he became aware of what exactly Laurent had survived. He stuck with Laurent through all of Laurent’s attempts to push him away and fought for what should have been an impossible relationship. And throughout this process, he learned about his own naivete and to question key elements of his upbringing, like the quest for war glory and the belief that “perfect treatment” justified slavery.

Captive Prince is a seductive and enthralling trilogy. And we willingly suspend any disbelief about whether Laurent’s trauma can truly be overcome simply by Damen’s noble nature and magical healing cock.

Why not do the same for HIUH? (Or, you know, just stop reading it.)

Although I do think Maca may owe us some healing cock. Just sayin’.

#captive prince #captive prince fanfic #hiuh #damen x laurent #thickenmyblood #hand in unlovable hand #neither my wife nor child reads this fic and i suck at fandom these days but i need to talk about this masterwork #clearly when you are just about to finish your academic book you experience a sudden need to analyze the fuck out of other things

[allovesthings]

Some people in the fandom: Arya was too far gone when she premeditated a murder in Arya X of clash of kings, that's when she crossed the line.

The premeditated murder in question: is the killing of a guard so that they could escape being essentially slaves and prisoners of war which (as they later confirmed by Jaime) saved all of their lives.

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #arya stark #i'm not blaming a child who was essentially a slave for trying to escape captivity even it cost the life of a guard who was perpetuating it

[respectthepetty]

I have never wanted to protect a boy so badly.

#His loser boy energy has captivated me #twins the series #First better accept his feelings RIGHT NOW! #Sprite is my loser child and I love him dearly

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I Can't Cross O'er: An Interlude

CW: Captivity, child of whumper POV, blood, referenced whipping, magical whumpee, siren whump. For @amonthofwhump Tropeathon Day 4: Monster! Monster!

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

-

Six years ago

A door shut, clicking into place, just down the hall. Carefully hidden inside one of the seven bedrooms in this wing of the house, Ford and his sister Nathalie waited, listening, as the man in the hallway took a deep breath. “By God,” The man muttered. “What a voice he has.”

Nathalie tried to peek around Ford's arm. “Is he-”

“Sssshhh.” Ford swatted at Nathalie without looking at her, and she swatted back.

“Like an angel…” The man continued, not realizing he had an audience - if currently a distracted one. “An absolute angel. The way he sings..."

Nathalie poked Ford right in his ticklish side with one finger, jabbing roughly. "Ford-"

"I said sssshh!"

"Don’t you dare tell me to shush, Guilford,” Nathalie hissed.

Ford looked at her, and whatever she saw on his face made the momentary triumph of mocking him with his hated full first name drain from hers. She laid a hand on his arm, then, awkwardly patting, whispering, “I’m sorry. I'm so sorry, Ford, I didn't mean it-"

“Don’t ever call me his name,” Ford said, but his voice was weak. Like always since his mother died, he felt tears rise unbidden and had to fight them back below. “Please, please don’t.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Nathalie whispered. Her eyes were huge and sad in the light that filtered in through the gauzy curtains across the room. “I really didn’t. I’m sorry, Ford. You’re not like him at all. I promise you're not."

He found a smile for her, just to watch the way her shoulders, which had hunched up, relaxed again. “It’s… it’s all right.” There was another sound, and Ford turned back, trying to peek through a crack in the door they were hidden just behind again. He couldn’t quite see the man, but he could hear him still muttering to himself. Thankfully, the Lord Fellswooth spoke to himself loudly enough that he hadn’t overheard them and realized he was being spied on by two of Lord Wentworth’s children. 

Or grandchildren.

Or... prisoners.

Whoever they really were to him.

Seconds passed, and Ford could see in his mind the way the tall, strikingly thin Lord Fellswooth must be patting down his shirt, checking for wrinkles or any detail out of place. He’d been a fussy one at supper earlier, the sort to surreptitiously check the tines of his fork over before taking a single bite, as if checking for a smudge or a bit of tarnish he might make a barbed comment about. He was probably running quick fingers through his hair to get the little curl of salt-and-pepper over his forehead just so - he’d done that over and over since he’d come to meet with Lord Wentworth, as if it were some sort of compulsion rather than simple vanity. 

Ford’s teeth worried at his lower lip as he listened to Fellswooth take a deep breath, murmur it was only a business call, of course, Theresa, that’s all, as if he were rehearsing his lines for a play, before he turned to leave. The two children eased back and away so no hint of them might be seen as he went past them - Ford's eyebrows knitted in confusion at a spot of bright red he saw on the Lord's cheek, smeared like he'd rubbed open a wound. The Lord's steps were nearly soundless thanks to the plush gold-threaded rug that ran the length of the hall all the way to the grand staircase that would take him right out the front door.

The butler met him there. 

Mr. Keller was chilly sometimes but Ford mostly found him kind. His voice filtered up the stairs as he let Lord Fellswooth know his horse was saddled and waiting for him just outside. Mr. Keller had been around forever, he was very old and soon to retire, Father- the man who made them call him Father, anyway - said. He’d made mistakes, sometimes… more often lately.

There had been some sort of trouble with Mr. Keller writing letters that made no sense, begging for rescue from employment, that had led to some distant relations coming to the door last month, worried for his health. 

Father had assured them all was well, and after speaking to Mr. Keller over a few days, the cousins or whoever had gone away again. Mr. Keller had been... different, ever since, but still mostly kind to the children.

Ford’s father read all Mr. Keller’s letters now before he sent them, and he’d put out an advert and told his very important friends he was looking for a new butler, that Mr. Keller was ready to step down and have a well-earned rest. 

If he didn't just get thrown in the pond with the monster, like Ford's real father had been. 

Once Fellswooth was safely gone, Ford eased out into the hall, the well-oiled hinges moving in perfect silence as he swung open the door. Nathalie was on his heels, creeping just behind him. They made their silent way towards the door that the fussy Lord had just come out of.

Ford paused just a foot away and turned to look at his sister over his shoulder, putting a finger to his lips.

Nathalie nodded, solemnly. Like Ford, she still wore a black armband, the sign of mourning after their mother’s death the year before. At ten, her face was losing the child’s roundness and thinning out. She looked like their mother had, more every year, and sometimes it hurt Ford to look at her at all. It would be six more years before their father would want to start looking into marrying her off, which meant only four years until marriage might happen for Ford.

The thought terrified him.

Ford had become a part of his father’s grasping ambitions only a month after Mother died, when she could no longer protect her children from Lord Wentworth’s plans for his family. Ever since, he’d been subjected to endless lectures on business ventures he didn’t care about overseas, tutored for hours every day on how to convince other nobles to speak to his father about those business ventures, or selling land, or… whatever it was that Guilford Wentworth wanted from them. All those lessons, in the end, centered around learning how to lie - or how to bring the aristocrats and royalty to meet with his father and his father’s awful creature.

Alongside all that unwanted education had been a rise in the careless, constant violence that had already dogged him all his life. He was not good enough at the skills Lord Wentworth wanted him to learn. He did not lie so easily, he did not care about colonies and copper mines a thousand miles across the sea. And he paid for not caring with bruises like the ones he wore even now, always and only in places that his clothing might hide.

Nathalie, though, wore no bruises, and neither did the twins. He’d done what he could to protect them all the way his mother had once tried to protect him. If he were married, though, especially if he were married to someone with more money or land and he had to go live with her family, he couldn’t keep Guilford’s anger on him any longer. 

It would turn on his sister, until she was found a husband - and then it would finally turn on the twins, who had never known violence and would have no one to keep them safe any longer

What if whoever was picked for his sister’s husband was cruel, too? What if his own wife turned out to be some terrible witch, like Guilford Wentworth, just with hair ribbons? He’d rather die than be married, but he knew enough about his father’s monster by now to know that it wouldn’t matter what he wanted, when the time came.

He’d want whatever he was told to want, once the monster sang its hideous song. He'd be a dutiful, loving husband, or he'd be a dutiful loving son, or he'd have his throat torn open and turn to bones in the bottom of the pond in the garden, just like his real father.

Ford closed his fingers slowly around the doorknob, turning it as quietly as he could before he gently pushed the door open so he and Nathalie could peek inside.

They had come to peek at the monster. 

The awful thing looked handsome and harmless. It perched along the edge of a heavy mahogany desk, leaning against it and looking away, towards the window, one hand over its mouth. Jet-black hair fell wavy, as if it had only just dried after a swim in the ocean, over beautiful eyes and curled around its ears. Its hair was all mussed up, as if it’d been grabbed at and pulled on, but the creature didn’t seem to notice. 

It looked, with the last of the sunset’s yellowed light shining on its warm brown skin, like a sort of perfectly sculptured mockery of a human man, the most beautiful one Ford had ever seen in his life. It was only a trick, of course - it was more of a demon.

Ford had seen its real face when it killed his real father, a mouth that opened too wide and was full of hideous sharp teeth.

It wore some sort of loose robe that fell off one shoulder. It was covered in embroidered flowers in white against the shining pale blue fabric and tied at the waist. Its arms were crossed in front of itself and it hunched over, just slightly. The markings like tattoos that began just under his jaw on one side disappeared into the neckline where it lay over the thing’s collarbone and then reappeared along one delicately formed wrist, running all the way into its palm and over its long, elegant fingers. One of its legs was marked, too. When Ford looked at the monster’s feet, he could see one was covered in the same markings all the way to the very end of its toes. 

“It's done, for now,” The monster said to no one, its voice soft. It spoke like a melody, a rumbling bass that could just as easily soar to tenor. Ford had taken singing lessons, for a while. He was hopelessly rubbish at it. 

The twins, though, were good. And the monster sang like heaven. 

There was a pause. 

“Done,” It repeated, dropping to a whisper. Its voice cracked and broke this time, rasping. There was a horrible sorrow and anger in the lines of its beautiful face. “For now." Its voice rasped, suddenly, went rough-edged like it was talking around something blocking its throat. "Until the next, and the next, and the next…” 

When it looked to the window, towards the sunset, the light glimmered along trails of shimmering wetness that ran down its cheek. Its body shook, and it dropped its head into its hands, letting out a wretched, shuddering sob.

He’d seen this thing murder his real father, sing him into the pond in the garden and then rip out his throat and stain the water red while Ford had watched, unseen, his own hands clamped tight over his mouth beneath his wide, nearly bulging eyes. He had been screaming, desperately muffling the sound, until he’d run for his mother, and discovered that she… she wasn’t the same either, anymore.

She hadn't died for years after, but really she had been mostly dead already, as soon as his real father was. 

Once the monster sang to you, he took whatever he wanted of you away, and only left what was useful for the family. Which just meant useful for Lord Wentworth, which Ford’s real father hadn't been any longer.

The monster had taken from Ford’s mother even the memory of his true father. No one had cared enough to bother to take it from Ford, or Nathalie. No one listened when they insisted their father was someone else, someone no one in the house even knew had ever existed any longer. The twins had only been babies, and they wouldn’t remember anyway.

Weeping or not, it wasn’t a person, and Ford steeled himself against how much it hurt to watch the thing cry. It might weep like a man, and look like one, but Ford had seen it kill on command.

The creature turned away toward the window, its back now to the children spying on it from the doorway. Ford and Nathalie both inhaled sharply as the robe it wore slipped a little, dipping low enough to show that it was bleeding.

Ford felt something cold and shivery-sick dip in his stomach as he saw stripes of torn-open skin smeared in a horrible too-bright red just above its shoulder blades and down its back, disappearing beneath the shining black satin, only to still show through in spots here and there that seemed to stick to its skin. The blue robe turned the blood soaking through it purple, a sickly color that made Ford think he might be sick all over the floor.

There was-

There was so much blood.

Ford’s throat suddenly felt like it might close all on its own, and he jerked in a hissed breath. He felt sick just looking at it, too bright and too red. His stomach flipped and twisted, his heart racing its way up his throat as if it might come flying out his mouth. 

There was blood on the floor, spattered on the wall by the window. It looked like a murder had been done, and yet Lord Fellswooth and the monster had been alone, and only the monster wore wounds.

What had Lord Fellswooth done to it? 

Fellswooth had lifted his upper lip in a sneer just looking at how dusty Ford had been when he’d returned from the afternoon ride on his favorite horse. He’d run fingers over the washbasin stand checking for specks of dust Mr. Keller and the other servants might have missed. He’d shuddered just walking in the front door when the stable boy’s wolfhound had tried to lick at his palm.

What sort of man who could be so fussy as all that could tear the monster’s back to shreds and simply leave his blood running down his body to drip to the floor as he stood by the window?

How badly must all those wounds hurt? 

Not that Ford cared, or anything. It was a murderous monster creature his false father used to enthrall and get what he wanted out of everyone who came near him. It wasn’t even human, it spent almost all its time in water hiding under the surface, coming out only when Lord Wentworth summoned it. Ford didn’t care about it at all.

But…

But that didn’t mean he thought it should bleed like that.

Even monstrous animals were only animals, after all, and this might be a creature of murder but did it need to suffer for that? For someone else's fun?

The monster, standing before the window staring out at the setting sun, began to sing to itself. Unlike the song they’d heard before when it was alone with Lord Fellswooth, this song was neither strident nor even very loud - it was a private song, one it sang only for itself. Its perfect voice did not swell or even rise much. Instead, each note seemed like a sidestep to the last, a winding staircase of melody that it wrapped around itself like a kind of blanket. 

Ford caught his breath, listening. He could almost hear where a harmony should be, if there had been more of those… things… singing at once. Maybe this had been a song it sang with its own family, if it had had one. 

Did monsters have mothers, like men did? They must. Everything living had a mother at one point or another, didn’t it? 

The song was his pain, Ford realized. Winding and circling itself, neverending, a river even monsters would drown in when they never found shore. It was the creature's way of crying, beyond human tears. It wept, by the window, in a way that stole Ford's breath and made him want to weep alongside it.

“He’s so pretty,” Nathalie breathed, just beside him, her own wide eyes shining with tears. Her voice was too loud but his own felt too caught in his throat to shush her again. “He’s so pretty, Ford, isn’t he?”

The monster’s voice cut off all at once.

It spun around to see the two children who had - without realizing it - leaned further and slid the door a little more open. Ford’s heart dropped to his knees as those fathomless dark eyes locked on his. He and Nathalie both gasped as they fell under the thing's direct regard.

“Oh, no,” He whispered. "Nathalie-"

The monster opened its mouth in a snarl as it pulled its robe so tightly around itself nearly none of its skin could be seen any longer. Ford and Nathalie both froze at the sight of row after row of razor-sharp pointed teeth as it bared them.

“Go!” It snapped, in a voice that was not human, that spoke the human tongue in a roar and with a mouth not made for it. “Go away from me! Now!"

Ford's heart was in his throat "We're-... w-we're sorry-"

"Fear the monster your father keeps more than death itself and get away from me!”

The last was a shrieking command, not a song but a singular deafening note. Ford felt himself turning before he could even breathe. The command took effortless hold and he grabbed Nathalie's hand.

Get away from me.

The children could never have done anything but obey.

They fled shouting their fear of the monster, half-falling down the stairs and racing outside until Mr. Keller, who had seen Fellswooth off, caught them in his arms. Both of them burst into tears, there, while the stableboy and the groomsman stared surreptitiously in confusion. Mr. Keller held them, and shushed them, and finally took them to the stables in the hopes that he could calm their tears before Lord Wentworth overheard.

Inside, Guilford Wentworth’s monster sagged and then sank to the floor, his knees simply giving way until they touched the rug beneath him. He bent over until his forehead brushed the fibrous cloth, and he wept again.

This time, he wept in silence. 

-

Taglist: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood @latenightcupsofcoffee@angelsproject

#amow tropeathon2024 #day 4 #monster! monster! #monster whump #nonhuman whump #nonhuman whumpee #siren whump #captivity #child of whumper #reluctant whumper #of sorts #blood tw #referenced whipping #original writing #original fantasy #original fantasy writing #fantasy writing #original fiction #magical whumpee #bloodied #bones in the ocean

[witchofthesouls]

Archivist Ultron love it. Help him his metal ass is tormented by the horrors

Vision: How you doing?

Ultron: *knees deep in dirt observing insects and archiving* T̶͚͙̂̈h̵̯̚ẻ̴͖ ̶͇͔́̾h̸̨͒͛ͅo̷̥̒r̵̢̬͗r̶̯͝ö̵̹́ŕ̸̯̚͜s̷̨̤̾̃ ̷̲̑ṕ̵̜̊e̵̲̔̍r̵̼͗̊s̵̫͘i̸͈͛̈́s̷̠͎̾ṱ̴̪͌͘ ̵̤͝b̸͙̾͐u̶̬͂͠t̴͍̀ ̴͓̬̿͝s̶͕̪̈́o̸̟̞͊ ̶͔̤̽d̷̹̄ọ̷͕̍͠ ̷̥̐͜i̸̥̝̓͌

Vision: Kay great

Also

Ultron: Did you know a god of destruction is our planet core

Avengers: No??

Thor: I did

Stark: You're not human you don't count

Ahhh, Thor wouldn't know. He's not very deep into history besides the successful military campaigns. Loki could probably feel something in the roots as he travels through pockets.

Tony Stark wouldn't know what to do with Ultron's weird interests but to throw more into it. He's the kind of parent that may not like nor understand their child's interests, but he's throwing his spirit into it.

Vision would be fascinating to Gaea because <mine. Mine. MINE. You are me. I am you. Echo of myself/progenitor/brothers. We are bound for Eternity. >

She would probably put Vision near the other Infinity Stone because she likes the resonance they emit.

Stark is in the background with confused emotions because Ultron is becoming more and more like a hoarder of knowledge, like the owl spirit in Avatar the Last Airbender. He actually wants a movie marathon, but he has no idea if Ultron will take ideas from said cartoon owl spirit and do a kidnapping spree to collect indigenous oral traditions and language preservation.

#ask #crossover #marvel #transformers #ultron #tony stark #vision #gaea #maccadam #my thoughts #ultron is being lovingly dragged across the world because Gaea now has a captive audience in the form of physical relation #tony has no idea what to do with his spiritually-inclined child as a Man of Science #vision and ultron are bonding via Gaea's loving and forceful hand

[kybelles]

re: auguste and laurent’s twelve year old age gap… i’m aware the regent slowly poisoning hennike, weakening her body and laurent being hennike’s miracle baby is a popular theory but what if it was actually aleron who was the reason why hennike had a fragile health? most hotd fans will know that viserys targaryen married aemma arryn when she was 11 (may he rot in hell btw) and the trauma of constant pregancies from such a young age was so great she only had one surviving child and died in childbirth.

so my theory is, what if aleron also married hennike when she was still pretty young and she instantly had auguste? and the trauma his birth caused her body was so great that she was only able to get pregnant again twelve years later? and after laurent’s birth she kept getting worse over the years?

#captive prince #hennike of kempt #tw child marriage #tw birth #so yea i’ve been thinking thoughts :( i really wonder what her relationship with laurent was like