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 We'll find beauty in the pleasures of the beast, Martín <3
Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Mar 9 2017, 03:54 AM
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Tine
7th YEAR
Pureblood
Slytherin
17 YEARS
418 posts
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Looks still cute but lips are sore

Rep: 6 pts [ + | - ]
Florentin DeschampsSlytherin Novice
Awards: 22



The gardens of Hogwarts were quiet at this time of the day, when most people simply celebrated the end of a school day, without bothering to take a walk past rose hedges and all those hidden statues that were covered in ivy and other weeds that took a piece of the antique charm away from them. This was not Beauxbatons - yet out of all places within the castle, Florentin liked to think it was the one place that came closest to the school he had loved so much, and it was the reason why his way after the end of the Defense Against Dark Arts class had lead him right there, where the roses were not quite blossoming, yet the sweet scent of blooming plants and wet leaves was embracing him like an old lover, like a comforting blanket wrapped around him. There was so much beauty within these gardens that he wished he had a camera to capture it all - yet he also knew that this was the kind of environment that flattered him; pale rose leaves making his features look even softer, his colours even lighter.

Florentin Deschamps knew exactly where to place himself to look like an elf king who had lost his realm, although today he was so much closer to taking the throne back. The effects of Professor Dubois’ class were still visible, with those fine, pastel blue wings still sprouting from between his fragile shoulder blades, the wind tugging gently on them. The young man had shrugged off his robes, as he was still feeling a little too warm from the heat charm the old woman had casted. Now he was rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and loosened the Slytherin tie around his neck, as well as removing the hairband from his long, honey-coloured hair so it fell freely over his shoulders again. He did not fail to notice the soft trail of blueish-silver glitter he had left behind, as well as the glitter particles that were now sticking to his clothes and his skin.

It was a small price to pay for the beauty of having wings for a day, although Flo was not quite as fond of the floating. He liked the image of it, how the shade of colour suited him perfectly, and how these wings neither looked ridiculous nor out of place - failure had never tasted so sweet, and he was relieved that his wings had not turned out like Kiljan Leander’s one crippled wing or those tiny baby wings he had noticed on the backs of some other students. Those fairy wings were truly majestic, and he mentally took a note that he would look up this exact spell to perform it again on one day - if only to have a picture taken or a portrait drawn. For once he did not care about how it made him look like a worthless being, something that was not quite human - he just saw the beauty of it, the grace and the elegance, and how he did not even mind the glitter sticking to his hands and spreading all over him whenever he moved.

The young man had seated himself on one of the elegantly carved stone benches in the garden, raising his face towards the cool afternoon sun much like a sunflower, and closing his azure eyes while he was doing nothing but enjoying the moment with his slender hands folded in his lap, and the wings just fluttering very softly - not enough to lift his body, but enough to evaporate even more glitter, while he genuinely wondered what those particles were made of. Fairy physics were quite obviously as much of a mystery as mermaid physics - and he had always envied the sirens in the books for their luscious lips and their perfect hair; hair so perfect no beauty charm could ever achieve this. And believe him that he had tried, several times, as beauty charms were the only thing he really trusted in on most days.

He did not need them, as Deschamps children were blessed with naturally charming physics, a clear skin and long, healthy hair. Yet his confidence was built on these shaky legs of glamour and beauty charms, of more beauty products in the bathroom than most girls he knew. If only he could have wings every day, he was sure he would look even more beautiful.

@Martín Marzán
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Martín Marzán
 Posted: Mar 9 2017, 05:57 AM
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Stells
6th YEAR
Pureblood
Gryffindor
16 YEARS
230 posts
Online
I hear the sirens coming for you baby

Rep: 9 pts [ + | - ]
Martín MarzánGryffindor
Awards: 16



There was this smile spreading over his lips, faint and calm, yet the kind of smile that made people wonder if it was really possible to be that happy. Eyes sparkled as if blue fire, mixing with those green tonalities that gave the Spaniard such a unique gaze. And he strolled down his path, steps taken leisurely as hands rested within the pockets of his pants - the shirt had been tossed back on, sleeves rolled up and remaining unbuttoned to display the defined chest through which ran casual drops of sweat, courtesy of the lingering effects of one of Professor Dubois’ spells. A single piece of jewelry hang from his neck, thin chain carrying a golden ring which was all too small for his perfect fingers, because such ring did not belong to him but to one that was long gone, always being carried within his person as a memento of the mother he did not remember. The tie? It had long ago been discarded, now wrapped around his wrist as if nothing but a bracelet, for the sole purpose of not losing it.

Martín may have as well been the breathing image of self satisfaction, but, out of all the things that made him such a sight to look at, it was the wings that made it all become truly breathtaking. Another of the things the lion had Dubois to thank for, because while he may have failed to cast most of the shields during that Defense Against the Dark Arts class, the consequences had certainly been delightful, specially now that he had been left with his own magnificent pair of golden wings. Through the corner of his eye, he could see the sunlight reflecting on the thin material, making it shimmer with metallic shine and almost making him giggle with delight. Yet another of the things that crazy old bat was responsible for, as the effects of one of her spells had left Martín feeling so lightheaded and happy that he could have sworn he had drank a whole bottle of Chardonnay.

Still, no level of drunkenness was going to stop that divine Spaniard from looking completely flawless and otherworldly as he walked towards his goal, eyes scanning his surroundings as he looked for the person he so desperately needed to find. The thing was that Martín Marzán had a deep appreciation for beauty, the kind of appreciation that could not go unmentioned, and while there had been shouted compliments in French during the class, such thing most definitely wasn’t enough to express what a pleasant sight it was to see Florentin Deschamps sporting wings as if he were some stunning creature extracted directly from the sweetest of fantasies. Sadly, during the class the lion had been all too distracted by the presence of his way too persistent housemate and ‘boyfriend’, persistence he had obviously enjoyed to full extent despite the judgemental looks thrown his way by one good-looking Frenchman. But, now that Orion was nowhere to be seen, Martín was once again a man on a mission, and his mission was to find this all too gorgeous Deschamps boy.

Luckily, Florentin resulted to be surprisingly predictable, as it hadn’t taken too long to find him sitting in the gardens. Flowers were a thing so present at Beauxbatons that now they always seemed to bring back memories of warm afternoons spent in the middle of French gardens, laughing in the company of friends or enjoying the gentle touches of passing lovers. If anything, such memories made Martín feel ever happier, his smile turning into a smirk as he walked towards the boy who he had so recently kissed. “For someone so eye-catching, sometimes you result to be quite hard to find.” He greeted, words spoken with the gentle purr of his accent. He could have sat next to the boy, but that would have been no fun, instead, he chose to stand there as he was, right in front of Florentin with his shirt unbuttoned and hands still in his pockets.

What a sight it must have been to see them both next to each other - one elegant, delicate and full of grace, the other strong, dignified, and absolutely glorious. It almost seemed like a scene fit to be displayed as the most beautiful of paintings. As if they were no longer humans, but two beings which belonged in the realm of the fays.

@Florentin Deschamps
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Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Mar 15 2017, 06:03 AM
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Tine
7th YEAR
Pureblood
Slytherin
17 YEARS
418 posts
Offline
Neutral
Looks still cute but lips are sore

Rep: 6 pts [ + | - ]
Florentin DeschampsSlytherin Novice
Awards: 22



There was a change in the wind - or eventually, it was just the faint smell of a familiar perfume, a tug on Florentin’s memories that made him look up and gaze at the glorious young man who was approaching him. Martín Marzán, a sun brighter like the one that was shining from the sky - and now even more glorious with those golden wings that seemed to glow in the gentle light of this afternoon. It made the French boy smile softly at the lion, as somehow, he had wormed his way into the small circle of people Flo allowed just a little closer. Those kisses drenched in French red wine had obviously helped a little - and somehow, Martín’s glow was not even dulled by the fact he allowed muggleborn boys to touch him. A soft sigh pearled over Florentin’s lips as he adjusted his posture, slender fingers wrapping around the edge of the cool stone bench while he quirked a brow at the younger boy.

It was so hard to tear his gaze away from the exposed chest and the shimmering wings - if he was the cool silver of the moon, Martín was the burning warmth of summer, destroying the fragile souls while making all the flowers turn their heads towards him. And in this very moment, Flo was one of these flowers, dying to bathe in the boy’s glory. The roses seemed to bow in the soft breeze, natural paying its tribute to the God who had just entered. Poetic words and flattering ideas came to easy whenever he watched the beautiful Spaniard, wondering whether Beauxbatons had simply been too distracting by itself to make him realise how pretty the other boy was. The place had been beautiful with all its pastel colours, the statues, the gold and the gardens.

But in this dull environment of Hogwarts, Martín was even more glorious than he would have been in any other place - a king among peasants, a God among men. “If I had been known you were looking for me, I would have chosen a more obvious place to seat myself,” he replied sweetly, quirking a brow at the other boy while secretly wondering why he had even been looking for him. “Did your plaything fly off with his pink bébé wings? I doubt it,” he added, just a little more sharply than he would have needed to. He was not jealous of the Austen kid, as he did not feel attracted to Martín - or anyone, in that context - in this way. He was merely questioning the other boy’s taste in bad, muggleborn company. Although it could always be worse: Austen could be a halfblood.

It was an unspoken dogma in the Deschamps household that halfbloods were worse, given they descended from pureblooded wizards and witches who had meddled with muggles. At Hogwarts, it was not as safe to spout such ideas - yet they were always there, reminders of an upbringing that had been as personality-shaping as scarring in many ways. Florentin did not wish to think about it just yet. All he wanted was to enjoy the sun of his face, the breeze through his hair and wings, the sparkle on his skin and how Martín was paying attention to him and him only.

@Martín Marzán

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Martín Marzán
 Posted: Mar 16 2017, 10:57 AM
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Stells
6th YEAR
Pureblood
Gryffindor
16 YEARS
230 posts
Online
I hear the sirens coming for you baby

Rep: 9 pts [ + | - ]
Martín MarzánGryffindor
Awards: 16



Shame is not a feeling experienced by the divine, by those perfect beings worthy of being worshipped and adored. What could they be ashamed of, when they were so clearly above everything and everyone around them? When their mere presence was a blessing and they could brighten a room with their radiance. Nothing anyone could say would damage the pride of a god, for it was the duty of mortals to respect and worship them - heavy consequences falling upon those who dared think themselves better than their deities. No amount of judgemental stares or comments could affect Martín, nothing anyone ever said could make him change his ways, because despite the way he may have acted, in truth he knew all those people were beneath him. Still, the respect of a mortal is always rewarded, and some of them are even worthy of the attention of deities.

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Beauty was still beauty regardless of where it came from. As a god, it was his divine right to appreciate such things, to deem all beautiful mortals equal regardless of their origins. And he would appreciate the grace of their existence, because when it came to those things, blood status was something absolutely irrelevant. He would allow them to touch him, he would taste the sweetness of their lips, and he would whisper delightful and truthful words, and he would feel no remorse afterwards, for such was the nature of a being as glorious as him.

However, while all beautiful mortals may have been equal, there were those that rose above the many, those that deserved every ounce of his attention, and that also may have had some divinity within them. How else could one explain the existence of people like Florentin Deschamps? “Oh, while I am flattered, I can assure you there will never be a need for such a thing. In a place like this, people like you will always stand out, as if an orchid doomed to grow among weeds. That is, mi hermoso Florentin, if there was actually anyone quite like you.” The Spaniard purred, poetics words so easily coming to mind as he looked at the older boy and his fantastic wings, all of it only enhanced by the lightheadedness the spell had caused.

The smile that curved his lips was as bright as the sun that shone within him, taking the initiative to sit next to the snake with whom he had so recently shared kisses. “Mon cher, does it really make you that mad? Why should I deny my attention to pretty things that seek it? And why would you want to discuss Orion when right now my attention is devoted solely to admiring the gorgeous sight that is your being?” His eyes fell on the Frenchman, aquamarines interrogating him as much as the words were, yet the smile was still there, as being judged for such natural things resulted to be almost amusing - and how could he not smile with such a boy by his side?

“Now, if it’s unpleasant things that you wish to discuss, I do believe you owe me an explanation, do you not?” Martín smirked, because truth be told, he hadn’t only gone there with the sole intention of flirting. Curiosity had been eating at him for far too long, and maybe Florentin would be rewarded for finally satisfying such a feeling.

@Florentin Deschamps

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Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Mar 20 2017, 03:04 AM
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Tine
7th YEAR
Pureblood
Slytherin
17 YEARS
418 posts
Offline
Neutral
Looks still cute but lips are sore

Rep: 6 pts [ + | - ]
Florentin DeschampsSlytherin Novice
Awards: 22



Every God had a temple and willing servants that exchanged the gifts and sacrifices, the flowers and the expensive herbs and spices, locks of hair and blood willingly given. In Florentin’s mind, those were young men and women clad in white tunics, walking around with flowers in their hair and bare feet, fair skin decorated with ornaments that made sense in a time long before their own. Those were the images Martín Marzán woke wherever he went - beautiful people bending and bowing at his will, throwing themselves to the floor when he walked by - and oh, Florentin was sure he would do the same; that if Martín were a God, he would be at his feet, finding religion only to be at the boy’s service. It was amazing what strictly physical attraction could do, but Flo also knew why these things were happenings.

Martín was a bridge between Hogwarts and both their past lives, a memory of Beauxbatons conserved in amber for eternity - almost as if he had brought the glow and glamour of France to Scotland. And Florentin was desperately clinging to everything familiar, everything that reminded him of the good days at Beauxbatons without bringing a certain guilt or shame with them (something that looking at Honoré often caused, memories he wanted to forget washing over him when he did not focus on his brother’s face and let his mind wander instead). Martín made it so easy to focus on anything else, and his words dragged the French boy back to the pale lights of the current situation - the gardens, the roses, the wings and the beauty that surrounded them and radiated from them. They were perfect together - in an aesthetic way of course - and he really wished someone would have taken a picture if only to preserve the memory of utter beauty for a little longer.

Actually, he just wanted to show these wings to Sigurd and wait for the younger boy’s reaction, although he could not quite tell whether his best friend would be as excited about them as he was - it was clearly something that would have to wait until later. It was obvious that Martín was still suffering from more than one after-effect of Professor Dubois’ spells, as his words were the ones of a drunk man - nothing new to Florentin, as he had seen the younger boy drunk on more than one occasion. “Orion Austen is not pretty,” Flo said in an almost disgruntled tone, frowning at Martín. Yet the compliments soothed him slightly again, and he nodded just a little.

He thought about the words that had just left the Spaniard’s mouth, confused what it was about - until he remembered the fair deal, the exchange of the stories behind their transfers, while there obviously was so little to admit behind his own transfer. Florentin had a debt to pay, and he did not enjoy it. “Bien,” he sighed, shoulders dropping a little. “Do you know Sascha Klaus? His parents deceased, and as we are related - his mother was our aunt - my family takes interest in the heritage that has been left behind and moved their business to England instead. That is the reason why Honoré and I are here - it is all their fault, we did not wish to come here.” His slender fingers shaped a fist on his thigh while his pale gaze wandered towards the rose hedges again.

@Martín Marzán

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Martín Marzán
 Posted: Mar 21 2017, 11:17 AM
Quote
Stells
6th YEAR
Pureblood
Gryffindor
16 YEARS
230 posts
Online
I hear the sirens coming for you baby

Rep: 9 pts [ + | - ]
Martín MarzánGryffindor
Awards: 16



At Beauxbatons there had always been beauty, ever-present, always there on everything they laid eyes on. There had been shine, gold, grace and magnificence. There had been elegance, luxury and all the delightful things of which they were both so deserving. For Martín, thinking of the palace awoke memories of parties - of masked individuals dancing in shimmering attires, of gentle lights reflecting on crystals, of the sweet sound of violins harmoniously contrasting with the pounding of a bass, of glamour, of exquisiteness, of smooth lips meeting his in the symphony of a kiss, of poetic speeches and the clapping and cheering that came once his words were over. Oh, how he missed those parties he would so carefully plan. How he missed the attention, the devotion, the adoration, the spotlight that always shone bright above him. How he missed the smiles, the laughter, the friendships and the casual lovers. How he missed the beauty. How he missed his home.

The palace had been happiness, had been bliss, had been the escape from the life he hated and the family he dreaded. It had become the first home the boy had known for quite some time, and he missed it more and more with every single second he spent at Hogwarts. Undoubtedly, there had been good moments since his transfer, he had tried to adapt to his new situation (he really had!), even attempting to understand what was it that his friends found so great about that castle, but he simply could not understand, as hard as he tried… that place just wasn’t Beauxbatons. It wasn’t home. Others probably thought he was just being dramatic, that he was painting the past as if it had been perfect and refusing to acknowledge that Hogwarts really wasn’t so bad at all. The same way he did not understand why they loved this ruinous castle so much, they did not understand why he loved Beauxbatons.

Florentin, however, understood. They may have had completely different lives back at the French school, yet it still held a special place in both their hearts, one that could never be replaced. Ah, why was he caught up in such depressing thoughts once again? He should have been enjoying the beauty of the moment, admiring the presence of the gorgeous boy next to him and appreciating his company. The lion allowed himself a chuckle when hearing the other’s disgusted tone, extending a hand to run fingers over the older boy’s cheek in the most gentle of touches. “Is beauty not in the eyes of the beholder? That which is appealing to the eye should never be affected by the opinions of the mind.” Martín purred out the words sweetly, opinions being turned so easily into poetical words that it was impossible to know if he was being serious or just joking. Still, his eyes, so full of warmth and fire, stared directly at Florentin, and there was no joke within them.

There was a change of demeanor, a tone that spoke of how much Florentin disliked the change of subject, making the Spaniard tilt his head as he listened to the long awaited explanation. Do you know Sascha Klaus? Of course he knew Sascha, in fact, he considered the boy to be one of the people he truly could call friends in that castle - always there to listen to his complaints and offer advice. He would have mentioned this, had he not remembered how angry his friend had been at the mention of the Deschamps, and now, hearing Florentin’s story, all the missing pieces to that puzzle were coming to place. Martín knew all too well what it was to dislike a family member, to hate the fact that the blood which flowed through his veins connected him to someone so despicable, so how could he blame either of them? That would have been awfully hypocritical. “Querido Florentin, I don’t think anyone ever wishes to come to this place. Yet, here we are now, such is our reality. At least you’re not alone. Though, now I understand why Sascha has such interesting things to say about you and Honoré.”

@Florentin Deschamps

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Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Mar 26 2017, 03:18 AM
Quote
Tine
7th YEAR
Pureblood
Slytherin
17 YEARS
418 posts
Offline
Neutral
Looks still cute but lips are sore

Rep: 6 pts [ + | - ]
Florentin DeschampsSlytherin Novice
Awards: 22



One ought to have seen Beauxbatons with overboarding gardens, its statues, its stables with winged horses and its magnificently painted walls, like promises of another empire to reign. Those who had never been there could not understand how it felt to be placed in a castle like this all of the sudden, full of dull armours and gossiping portraits, of spiders in corners of dark dungeons and darkness wherever one walked. They would never understand that it felt like being shoved from a throne up high only to land in the gutter, to dance with the rabble rather than dining with royalty. Sometimes, Florentin was sure that Sigurd understood when he complained - if only because there were people around who disgusted the younger snake enough to somehow relate to how much Flo really despised Hogwarts. The one who really understood was Martín, as both of them had lost their crowns when having been thrown to the rats instead.

Those words offered to him on silver plates and fed to him with silver spoons, dipped in deliciously accented vowels was all Florentin needed right now - much like Bathory bathing in virgin blood, he was bathing in them, regenerating in the shine of such poetry as Martín spoke. The touch almost made him shiver, as it was gentle and soft - like a promise, like a petal touching his fair skin. And while he would have pulled away from anyone else, he allowed the Spaniard this moment of affection, allowing himself to close his eyes and breathe just a little more calmly, his wings still twitching softly in the the breeze, and eventually also influenced by his own movements and emotions - not that he was deliberately doing the latter.

Florentin Deschamps liked to think he was better than most, yet sometimes he was grounded by his own instincts and feelings - the slight yearning that was nothing but physical, as well as the butterfly-wing beating of his heart when being close to his best friend. It was a warm feeling - it wasn’t romance, not the desire to kiss the boy or hold his hand. It was the desperate need to keep him close by and take care of him, to protect him from all those evils of the world. With Martín, his emotions were different. With Martín, he wanted to throw himself to the boy’s feed and beg him to kiss him again - and that was a rather impure thought for the French boy’s high standards.

Now I understand why Sascha has such interesting things to say about you and Honoré. It was his own curiosity that dragged Flo out of those impure thoughts his mind kept producing, gritting his teeth instead before his posture became softer and more appealing, his body shifting to be just a little closer to Martín. “Now, what did he have to say about Honoré and me?” he said softly, batting his long lashes at the younger boy in order to charm him to tell him all the delicious gossip he wanted to know about himself, the words the being was spouting about himself and his precious brother. He wanted to know everything only to write it down and send his to his parents, with the desperate plea to take them back home right now. Was it too much to ask for? And anyway, did he still want to leave as desperately as he claimed to?

@Martín Marzán

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Martín Marzán
 Posted: Mar 27 2017, 03:16 AM
Quote
Stells
6th YEAR
Pureblood
Gryffindor
16 YEARS
230 posts
Online
I hear the sirens coming for you baby

Rep: 9 pts [ + | - ]
Martín MarzánGryffindor
Awards: 16



The sweet scents of nature filled the air around them, his gaze finding greens in almost every place. In his lifetime, Martín had been to many gardens - the ones of his family’s mansions, with colorful flowers that looked up at the warm sun of Spain, the ones of Beauxbatons, so exquisite and well kept. And while those of Hogwarts may have been nothing in comparison to those where he shared so many affections, they did evoque memories that he had thought long lost: tales of shy forest spirits hiding from humans among trees, of beautiful women wearing crowns of flowers and dancing with the breeze, of singing that was like the melody of the leaves. Such tales were part of the many bedtime stories told by his father. Who needs Babbitty Rabbitty when you can have legends and myths, right? That day it felt like they were those spirits, hidden from the horrors of humanity in between flowers, enjoying each other’s company.

Maybe it was because of the wings, because of the way they sparkled under the dim sunlight, diamond dust falling with even the slightest of movements. It suited Florentin, making the other boy seem like an ethereal being not fit of roaming among these filthy mortals, so beautiful and delicate, like a spirit of nature itself doomed to sit in those gardens forever. A creature Martín so desperately wanted to save, to steal away from the terrible reality they were both living and return to the past that was so dear to them. And yet, even a god like him found himself to be powerless when facing the unstoppable strings of fate, only capable of helping the other forget for mere minutes and never forever. After all, was he not trapped too? A divine being with wings of gold, cast down to roam the land of mortals.

Was that why they sought each other? Because even in all their differences, they were the same - taken away from their thrones and having lost the crowns that had once proudly been worn. With Florentin, the Spaniard felt like he was at Beauxbatons again, sitting in his throne and with gold atop his head. Like that castle of grays was a long gone nightmare and like they could once again live the exquisite life that had so cruelly been stolen from them. The boy had never been his friend, but here he was like an anchor, a sweet reminder that kept Martín from drifting off in his loathing for those that had got him stuck in that place. He was thankful for it, for being reminded of what he once had been, for the things that told him that he could once again be the glorious being that shone with the light of the sun that was within him.

He was willing to shine for that boy, as he was for all the people that deserved his light. Was that not what Martín did? Be there to cast away darkness from the lives of those he held dear? Do everything in his power just to see them smile once again? It was interesting how much he had grown to care for someone he had never expected to care for, how this new situation had changed his perspectives, and how his affection for that snake had nothing to do with love or even physical attraction. Florentin was beautiful, and Martín marveled in such beauty, praised it with poetic words and gentle touches, but even that castle was full of beautiful people, and good looks were far from being the only reason why he sat on that bench instead of being anywhere else.

They were much more similar than what even him would have liked to admit, making the lion smirk as he watched the boy’s sudden change in demeanor. Leaning in closer, he kissed the boy’s cheek as he caressed the other, allowing himself a second to whisper a reply ever- so gently. “As charming as it may be, I would have told you without the need for such things.” Martín looked at the Frenchman in amusement before moving away, his gaze finding the flowers, as he was quite certain Florentin would not like what he was about to hear. “Basically, he said that you both hate him and it seems unfair. That you can both rot in hell. Oh, and I believe he also called you a troll.” He shrugged, turning back to look at other just to witness his reaction. While Sascha may have been his friend, Florentin was beginning to become such a thing as well, and Martín was always honest when it came to those dear to him.

@Florentin Deschamps

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Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Mar 27 2017, 09:38 AM
Quote
Tine
7th YEAR
Pureblood
Slytherin
17 YEARS
418 posts
Offline
Neutral
Looks still cute but lips are sore

Rep: 6 pts [ + | - ]
Florentin DeschampsSlytherin Novice
Awards: 22



The sight of blooming flowers paired with the rich scent evaporating from them would always remind him of afternoons spent in their brightly illuminated living room in Neuilly-sur-Seine, when their mother was perched on an armchair with her robes spread around her, weaving delicate flower crowns to put on her sons’ heads and hand them her magazines so full of magnificent gowns and dresses, as both of them would use them to play. Florentin did remember doing his brother’s hair for hours, the preparation of their games taking much more time than the actual game - and even now, as they had both outgrown the phase of playing with each other, there were few things he enjoyed more than allowing his little brother to do his hair, and returning the favour. Did Honoré like the gardens? It was so strange that Florentin did not know, and he took a mental note to remember asking the younger boy if the gardens of Hogwarts were more after his taste than any other place on the grounds.

His own personal favourite were the stables, as they bared a familiarity he seeked so desperately - the same familiarity Flo found when looking at Martín, when turning his face towards the warming sunlight the younger boy was radiating. It was a game of spider and fly, and Florentin was already wrapped too tightly in the spider’s nest, not even wiggling to get free. There was a second of shame, a flush of pale pink running over his cheeks at the comment. As charming as it may be, I would have told you without the need for such things.[i] “[i]Pardonnez-moi,” he whispered back, his breath hitching just a little as Martín’s lips brushed over his cheek, fingers still caressing the other. All of the sudden, the French boy was glad for the high hedges that hid them from the rest of the world for the moment - mostly because he did not mind getting kissed by a beautiful boy with an unbuttoned short while wings were sprouting from his back.

“A troll? Fils de pute. Is it not ironic that someone who has being blood in their vein is calling me a troll,” Florentin said sharply, poison replacing the sugar on his lips almost immediately. He hated how Sascha Klaus got under his skin, how it was so easy to blame him for everything that was happening to him - the transfer, and everything that had followed, including the engagement that seemed to slowly suffocate him. “We were forced to come here because of him - because of his parents. He does not seem to want our company, and neither do we want his. My family...they do not need the money. But they also did not listen to us insisting to stay in France. Everything here is terrible. It is not only Hogwarts….Hogwarts can be...fine on some days.”

It was also their new mansion that neither felt nor smelled like home, the garden that refused to bloom, the cold of Scottish weather. And then, Florentin placed his head delicately on Martín’s shoulder, his own shoulders dropping as he sighed and closed his eyes. “It does not matter, it cannot be changed. I am glad you are here now. You make it a little more bearable.” The confession was an unusually honest one, and it might be the reason why he did not gaze at the younger boy in this moment and simply let the breeze ruffle his soft, shiny hair and the sun kiss his face.

@Martín Marzán

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Martín Marzán
 Posted: Mar 27 2017, 11:28 AM
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It could have been the most exquisite of paintings, displayed at one of those marvelous rooms that were so often found back at the French palace - those with their silk curtains and their chandeliers, with the soft blues and the silver. Martín wouldn’t have minded sitting there for hours in order to preserve that moment forever, next to that boy with whom he shared longing and memories, both of them with their wings and their beauty, with grace and glory. For how much longer would the spell even last for? Did they even have hours? It felt almost like a daydream, a fantasy created by his mind in order to cope with the harshness of reality. If only he had ever been one to get lost in his imagination, but such was not the nature of the Spaniard, he faced everything that stood in his way, like how he faced the horrors of that castle and never allowed them to dim his radiance.

Even at the darkest of times, the sun was still shining, behind gray clouds or allowing the moon to borrow it’s brightness. And he could have been the sun, so full of warmth and power, always shinning, everlasting. Bright like the smile that curved his lips when hearing Florentin’s whispered apology. “Much like begging, apologies do not fit someone as gorgeous as you. Why would you be sorry for being as charming as you are? After all, you truly are beautiful.” Martín gave back, words pouring out so easily of his skilled lips. It was not an uncommon thing for him to offer praises, specially not to those stunning enough to deserve them. There was a lot he was beginning to learn about Florentin in the time they spent together, like the way the boy wasn’t as prideful as he made it seem, like his confidence wasn’t as unshakable as he lead to believe.

It was not something the lion understood. Why would he not be confident? Why would he not be proud? Martín was above everyone around him, something he had understood long ago before even attending Beauxbatons. The Marzáns, the strong, the proud, those who made themselves be feared and obeyed, those who had taught him to be the way he was… those against whom he rebelled. Because while they were great, he was greater. Because he denied everything they stood for, and because they had no real power over him. But they did, because the name shackled him, because he was forced to bend to his grandfather’s will and be at that terrible castle. And so, what he did understand was Florentin’s struggle, why there was so much loathing within him for those who had forced him to leave their dear palace.

Even then, Martín had no bad words to give about Sascha, he could not join in the Frenchman’s criticism about someone who had only ever shown him kindness, who had listened to his complaints and who had never hated him for all the things he had to say about that school. Such was the thing about family, only relatives knew how they were around each other, the secrets that were the foundation of the love or hated that they shared, like the way only he knew why he truly despised his grandfather when everyone around them seemed to consider him pleasing and amiable. “Someday they won’t be able to decide such things for us, but until that day comes, all we can truly do is find enjoyment even in a place like this.” Was Florentin right? Was Hogwarts not that bad? The lion wanted to believe as much, believe that even in a place like that he could find happiness.

There were those people that brought him happiness, people like Victoria for whom he would always smile, people like the friends who had proven themselves to be wonderful despite being stuck in that school. People like Felicia who understood his desire to cause rage to his family, people like Orion with whom he so easily could share affections… people like Florentin who brought him reminders. Florentin who kept surprising him with the more time they spend together. “I’ll be here as long as you want me to be, Florentin. You can’t fade away just because of this.” Neither of us can. Those last words were only spoken in his mind, as Martín was one too prideful to ever display true vulnerability. Yet he believed everything he had said, for the sentence felt like a promise, a solemn vow of friendship, spoken with the strength and warmth of the fire that burned deep inside him.

@Florentin Deschamps

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