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dhiabori · 5 years ago

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BLOODBLOSSOM ―

here’s another drabble (okay, i lie, it’s 3k) featuring julien! this time the other relevant characters are tatian, the leader of the revolution/anti-royalist faction, and jelena, an arms dealer and sadist.

CONTENT WARNINGS ― graphic depictions of whipping; tying up; panic attacks; self-destructive behaviours

TAGLIST ― @doveotions

“Jelena, I assure you, it’s unnecessary. And foolish.” Tatian sighs; controlling Jelena is like putting a steak in front of a starving dog and telling it not to bite.

No. It’s like collaring a wolf and expecting it to drop its prey at your feet; there’s nothing tame in her eyes, in her body, leaning against the windowframe. Everything from the scars on her neck to the dagger dangling mindlessly between her fingers says predator, predator, predator, an insistent thrumming in the back of Tatian’s mind.

If she’s a predator, an idle thought asks, who’s her prey?

Glancing up from toying with her dagger, she gives Tatian a sharp smile. He knows her teeth had been filed in prison, that all Nyrish convicts did it, but— he also remembers seeing those canines stained with blood. “The people would beg to differ.”

The people. The people whose houses she’s razed to the ground, whose sons and sisters and friends she’s punished, toyed with, a vengeful demon.

Tatian takes a step forward, meeting Jelena’s eyes. Keeping his voice smooth; dissent is a distraction, a threat, a loss of momentum. Affording her time he doesn’t have is out of the question.

“The people can differ all they want. Julien is my property, and I won’t allow you to play with him.” He can’t help glancing back at Julien, kneeling at Camille’s feet; the picture of devoted obedience. It’s almost pathetic, how eager he is to demean himself for a scrap of affection — almost, but he still looks more a crowned prince branded and humiliated, leash resting casually in Camille’s lap, than Tatian has ever looked in the mirror.

All Jelena does is shrug, and even that’s a calculated movement, tense with the kind of power he’s only seen in a caged panther. The kind that says, come too close and you won’t live to repent it. “ Tell me, what do you care about more?” Tossing her dagger up, she catches it by the blade. Show off. “Your property, or the loyalty of the people outside?”

“It’s which,” Tatian says, taking another step, slowly circling her. Letting his hand run over the lacquered chest, not deigning to look her in the eye. “Which do I care about more. And don’t pretend to speak for the people.”

“Oh, but they want it. You know they do.”

“They might, but the people have a nasty little habit of regretting their choices. Their desires.”

“And you know all about that, don’t you?”

“What?” It’s all Tatian can get out, but he sees it now, the corner he’s backed himself into. He’s taken this wolf in, fed her, collared her, forgotten it isn’t the collar that keeps her at his heel, it’s the meat. Forgotten that wolves don’t care what’s theirs or what’s his -- all she knows is hunger, and if he won’t feed her, he’ll become her next meal.

Jelena peels herself away from the windowsill, stepping towards him. Slow and deliberate, spinning her dagger between her fingers as she walks so it catches the light in a biting flash. This close, he has to look up to her, has to smell the sulfur and brimstone on her breath.

“Do you regret hiring me?” The words are spoken, but the dagger gives them their edge, wandering carelessly through air. A little closer to Tatian’s face than any employee of his should ever bring their weapon. “Because the way I see it, you need me. You need me to put swords in your men’s hands, bows on their backs.”

“You need me.” Even as the words leave his mouth, cracking under the effort of keeping his voice steady, Tatian knows they’re not true. He isn’t her only buyer.

Glancing over at Camille, all he gets is a pointed stare, a silent rebuke. Not here, not yet.

Jelena laughs, almost a snarl. “Do I? Because I thought I could easily take my business elsewhere. The only thing keeping me playing by your rules is what you can offer me. Your money -- and your pet.”

She looks over to Julien, hungry hungry hungry. More than that, victorious; Tatian wants to scream in frustration, wishes he had a dagger of his own to claw out her glinting eyes, but there’s nothing he can do.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says, voice taut, “Because if you break my property, I can assure you the consequences will be severe.”

All he gets in return is a derisive snort as Jelena strides over to Julien, snatching the lead from Camille’s lap. He does nothing to stop her, only shrugs, removing his hand from where it has been tangled in Julien’s thick, brown curls.

Wrapping the lead around her hand, Jelena jerks Julien to his feet, sending him stumbling a little. “Get up, Your Grace. Your people want to see you.”

Tatian half-wishes Julien would scream, struggle, fight for his life like a deer -- but all he does is freeze like one, a single desperately apprehensive glance before his face softens into resignation and he nods.

With that, she begins to stride out, pausing as she pushes the tent flap aside to say to Tatian: “I can assure you, medvedezdha, you’ll get your pet back.”

Hearing her footsteps recede, Tatian releases a sigh, that turns into a frustrated half-scream.

“Shit,” he hisses, feeling his breath begin to hitch and race, he should’ve seen that coming, should’ve done something. Shouldn’t have seen her without a guard, now he’s lost control, and he’s spiralling, falling, slipping the maw of the past rushing up to swallow him --

He rounds on Camille, because it’s the only thing he can do, and he has to do something, or his skin might split from the itch that rages beneath it, the mounting frustration.

“Why did you let her?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because she wouldn’t hesitate to slit my throat with that dagger?” He can only be grateful that Camille’s words still have a bite to them, that he doesn’t stand -- if he did, it would mean Tatian was slipping again, drifting further from the careful reality he’s constructed.

Tatian sighs, trying to steady himself. “Saints, I should’ve stopped her. She’s out of control.”

Sighing, Camille twists a curl of hair around his finger. “She is, but she has the upper hand now. She must be anticipating a reprisal.”

“Or she thinks she can get away with it,” Tatian returns, glancing towards the tent flap. Knowing she’s taken Julien out there, when he can hardly manage the walk from the castle to the makeshift meeting room -- and he shouldn’t care for Julien, he knows that, but all the same he can feel the affection sinking its roots into his chest, winding its thorny branches around his heart.

His instinct is to run from it. Run from the wolf, then lay your traps -- it’s always been the de Carachelles way, the reason why they survived when the de Carcassonie fell. Yet something in him rebels at the idea. Something in him baulks at leaving Julien to suffer, at letting Jelena break his toy without a witness; it all culminates in a breathless realisation.

“I caused this. I should watch.”

Not waiting for Camille’s response, Tatian pushes out of the tent, surfacing like a drowned man coming up for air. Only the fetid afternoon heat does nothing to relieve him, only clogs his lungs with more doubts as he hurries past the soldiers. What if she kills him? What if the people aren’t on her side? He can’t decide which is more dangerous, only that he has to see for himself. That maybe Julien de Vere is more trouble than he’s worth.

The camp passes in a blur of canvas and familiar, grimy faces as he rushes to the edge, to the sound of a murmuring crowd. They’ve come from every nearby village, drawn in by Laetitia and the promise of food; now the stand, jostling, in a semicircle. Whispers ripple through them like the chittering of birds, all eyes directed to a single, gnarled cypress tree.

Forcing himself to turn his gaze to the tree, Tatian feels his breath catch in his throat.

Julien. She’s tied him to the tree, forcing his cheek into the rough embrace of its bark, face turned towards Tatian. Oh, please let there be anger. Bitterness, fear. Anything would be better than what he can read in Julien’s wide, doe-brown eyes: acceptance.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Jelena’s voice cuts into Tatian’s horror, broken-glass sharp. Only half as sharp as the whip that dangles from her hand as she circles the tree like some demented kind of ringmaster. “You asked, you shall receive. The Crowned Prince, for your entertainment.”

She cracks the whip at Julien’s feet, forcing him to shy away against the tree. Its bark grates against his skin, leaving raw scrapes.

“So.” The whip snaps out again across dusty ground, rearing back, a rattlesnake in its fury. Tatian flinches. “How many lashes?”

Fluttering nervously, the crowd mutters amongst itself. Two hundred or so glittering eyes, nattering beaks, all eyeing Julien with a kind of beady apprehension, the kind that makes Tatian feel sick. You brought this on yourselves, he wants to shout, you fucking decide. You asked for this, didn’t you?

He should be asking for it, too. His mother would. His sister would, she’d be the one with the whip in her hand, breaking the figurehead of the de Veres as they’ve broken her. He should be baying for Julien’s blood, but Tatian finds he can’t. Every time he tries, he chokes on the blossoming of care that’s grown in his chest, caging the hissing, scratching thing with its thorns.

At last, a man steps apart from the crowd. Swallows, then speaks, eyes still fixed on Julien.

“Twenty-five,” he murmurs, and when Jelena glares at him, he says it louder. “Twenty-five lashes.”

Again, uncomfortable whispers flit through the crowd. Jelena only nods, stepping back as if to begin -- but she pauses, lowering the whip.

Tatian hopes for a reprieve. Knows it won’t come, but hopes anyway, watching her approach Julien.

“Someone should really cut off all this hair,” is all she says, almost casual as she gathers Julien’s curls, pushing them to the side. Exposing his back, unblemished except for a scattering of moles. “It’s just impractical.”

His stomach twists at the irony, remembering running his fingers through those same curls. All Tatian can remember thinking is they’re so soft.

Jelena steps back again, more deliberate. Brings back the whip, then --

It snaps down like a thundercrack, and Julien flinches, the muscles in his back taut and straining as his shoulders stiffen. When it falls, there’s a welt, a stark red line picked out in horrible contrast to his dark, brown skin, making Tatian’s stomach twist.

Someone in the crowd calls out, one.

Before Julien can even catch his breath, the whip comes down again, again, breaking his skin. Blood wells up along the line as his chest heaves with desperate gasps; red blood, jewel-blood, petal-blood that Tatian wants to wipe away, but he can’t, he’s rooted to the spot with mute horror. As if whatever was growing in his chest has sunk its roots into the ground, not finding enough sustenance in his body.

The crowd keeps crowing: two, three. Still, Julien doesn’t scream.

Four and five pass in a sickening blur, only the crack of the whip indicating any blows have fallen. Shuddering from the impact, Julien whimpers -- still not quite a scream, but his knees are beginning to give way, the tree his only support. Even that is hardly a mercy, the rough bark rubbing his skin raw every time he flinches further into its embrace.

Grinning, Jelena recoils for another lash, toying with her helpless prey. The whip snaps back, biting into a fresh welt.

Six.

Julien screams, bloody and desperate. Tatian thinks he feels the pain too; a gasp wells up in his throat, a bud about to blossom and fill his mouth with bloodstained petals. It feels like someone has pulled the world from under him, leaving him reeling, bile rising in his throat.

Coward. Coward, he thinks, as the whip cracks again and Julien’s screams mingle with the crowd’s counting.

Seven. Eight. Nine. Julien’s knees have buckled, and he slides down the tree, leaving a smattering of blood from the scrapes on his face and chest. None of that compares, though, to the mess Jelena has made of his back, of his composure: his breath comes in choppy, strained gasps, tears trickling down his cheeks to mingle with fever-sweat.

By the time number ten comes, all he can do is sag against the tree, head dropping in defeat. Tatian wants to tell Jelena to stop, wants to collar and chain her again, but he knows he can’t. He can’t, unless he wants to offer himself as a sacrifice to her ravening jaws. All he can do is watch and choke on the agony of seeing Julien sob, knowing it’s his fault, his fault.

He finds his mind drifting to his mother’s garden, her beloved rose bushes. How beautiful they are, how much careful cultivation they require. Compared to them, the straggling thing in his chest that cries out, aching to hold Julien, is withered and shriveled, but it still aches.

Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Tatian doesn’t even want to watch anymore, doesn’t want to hear Julien scream, then cough, then gasp for breath. He hardly notices the crowd quietening, no longer crowing the numbers. Only staring, hollow and nervous.

Jelena steps back, admiring her shuddering, suffering masterpiece. Her work is enshrined on the heaving canvas of Julien’s back, blood welling up like pigment and trickling down from a multitude of welts. She’s reduced him to a pathetic, cowering thing, and it’s so wrong, so fucking jarring to see him humiliated and broken, stripped of his regal dignity.

The whip, her paintbrush, twitches lazily in her hand; for a moment, Tatian can’t understand why she’s stopped.

“Sigolène?” Only then does Tatian glance round and see Jelena’s lieutenant, watching sullenly. “My arm’s tired.”

“I--” Sigolène looks like she’s about to say something else, stepping forward like an antelope approaching a lion. Unsure whether she’s prey or partner.

“Five lashes.” Is all Jelena says, shoving the whip into Sigolène’s hand.

She looks like she’s about to object -- Tatian’s seen her scars, the luxury of a shared bathhouse, knows how many lashes the army gives for insubordination. But Sigolène simply swallows and nods.

Her lashes come thick and fast, cracks like fireworks exploding behind Tatian’s eyes; there isn’t room for Julien to scream between them, visceral noises of pain tumbling over one another on their way out. Even without the crowd, Tatian counts: fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. Blood, running in rivulets down Julien’s back, damning, damning red.

When she’s done, Julien is left gasping for breath once more. His hair, so carefully tucked away, has come loose, splashing down his back in a cascade. Matted with blood from his wounds.

For a moment, Sigolène freezes just like Tatian. Stares at what she’s done in, the whip sliding from her hand as her chest heaves, rise-fall, rise-fall.

Then she runs.

Tatian wishes he has the right to run; wishes he could be anywhere else, but his legs are still wooden, still rooted to the spot. All he can do is watch as Jelena picks up the whip again, tossing her Nyrish jacket aside. Beneath it, her scarred arms are taut with power.

As she draws back the whip again, Tatian realises his own breath is lurching in his chest. He can’t breathe, can’t even control his own body, and he feels himself teetering on the edge, feels the abyss calling to him. The itch curling through his body, unable to be chased away, even as he digs his fingers into his wrist, scratching, desperate.

He’s lost control. Of her, of everything, of Julien -- even of his future. It hinges on victory, and Jelena can tear that victory apart on a whim, if she thinks chaos would taste better.

Twenty. Julien chokes on his own scream; Tatian feels an agonising blossoming in his chest. Pity. Concern.

Twenty one. The crowd are staring, all staring, beady button eyes and sun-browned skin and they’re human but they’re allowing this. He’s allowing this.

Twenty two. Panting, Jelena draws back again. Stop stop stop stop -- he can’t stop it, he isn’t in control, he can’t breathe --

Twenty three.

Twenty four.

One last time, the whip falls, a crack that snaps through the air, cleaving the crowd’s silence into murmurs of -- relief? Pity? All Tatian feels is dizzy and sick, eyes fixed on the stained-glass destruction of Julien’s back. Some of the welts are almost concealed by a blossoming of blood, more leaking from the wounds as his shoulders heave, struggling to suck in a breath that isn’t a scream or a cough. Wherever there isn’t blood, his back is slick with sweat, the salt inevitably dribbling into the cuts to create a cocktail of agony.

But it’s over. Jelena bows for the crowd, brushing her own sweaty hair out of her eyes -- Tatian’s hit by the realisation that her sweat comes from the exertion, the clammy afternoon she picked to display her masterpiece.

His one consolation is that there’s no applause, only that frightened, fervent murmuring. Shame, that’s what it is. Shame they have no right to, because they asked for this, they fed the wolf. Yet he has no right to it either; he was the one to bring the wolf into his house, to offer it a place by the fire, to leash it.

Slinging her jacket over her shoulder, Jelena strides away, with all the satiation of triumph. Only -- she throws a glance back at Tatian, a smile filled with too-many, too-sharp teeth, sending a shiver twisting down his spine.

At least he’s no longer rooted to the spot; at least he can move, feel like he’s doing something as he rushes to Julien’s side.

“Julien?” Kneeling, Tatian’s heart is in his mouth as he fumbles for his dagger, clumsily trying to saw through the rope that binds Julien to the tree. He casts a quick glance at the crowd, but they haven’t noticed. They’re too busy fleeing, flitting away like starlings, unable to face the destruction they’ve caused. Cowards. “Julien, look at me--”

And he does. Of course he does, because it’s an order, an opportunity to make Tatian happy. He looks up with those melting eyes, even as his breath hitches desperately, even as he sags against the tree.

“Did I--” Julien can barely get the words out without coughing, pain written all over his scraped face. Voice laden with pathetic hope. “Did I do well?”

Tatian’s stomach drops, thorny vines of affection tightening around his heart. He knows, but knowing and seeing are two different things, separated by this kind of visceral pity.

No-one should be praised for what Julien just went through -- but Tatian doesn’t have the courage to withhold the words.

“Yes, you did,” he murmurs, almost reaching out to run his hand through Julien’s hair. Stopping short when he remembers Jelena. “You did, and it’s over now.”

Slumping down even more, Julien finally slides off his knees with a gasp of relief, a hoarse thank you.

There’s a soldier lurking nearby, practically squirming with discomfort; Tatian motions her over, knowing he doesn’t have the time or the luxury to comfort Julien anymore.

“Get him back to our tent and give him some water,” he says, giving his words a deliberate edge. “And don’t break him any more. He’s a valuable asset.”

The soldier nods, slinging Julien’s arm over her shoulder and pulling him to his feet. As usual, he doesn’t put up a fight, only follows like a lamb wherever he’s led.

Only once they’re gone does Tatian let himself glance down at his hands. They’re shaking, the itch raging beneath his skin, forcing him to claw at his arms. Now it hits him harder than ever, how much danger he’s in, the corner Jelena’s backed him into: if it wasn’t clear enough already, his fucking cowardice has proven how he can’t control her.

She can afford to let the wolf free now, knowing he has to keep feeding it. Probably betting on him not having the courage to punish her.

Lurching to his feet, Tatian begins walking back to the tent. Back to Camille -- but he hardly feels able to face him now, knowing Camille would’ve been able to stand it. Camille isn’t afraid of wolves, would’ve known how to properly muzzle Jelena.

The inevitable realisation stabs him all over again, a knife in the gut.

Jelena has to go.

#whipping tw #panic attacks tw #whump #whumpblr #whipping whump #willing whumpee #collared whump #les amoureux #oc: julien #oc: tatian #oc: jelena #oc: camille

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lenaswritingandstuff · 3 years ago

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Losing Game [Antoine Griezmann x fem!OC] (Chap. VII)

Requested: No

Pairing: Antoine Griezmann x OC!Gabrielle Darian; more to be added.

Warnings: English is not my first language!

Wordcount: 4.4K+

A/N: Thank you for still reading! GIF IS NOT MINE. Enjoy!

Previous chapter

“No, I’m not coming! Just forget about me like you did with your oldest daughter!”

Louisa hangs up and throws her phone on the table before she wipes her watery eyes. Starting last night, Louisa’s mother Mrs. Honorin has been calling her to convince her to come to a reception she’s organizing, and also to convince her to put her older sister “on the right track”. Louisa usually manages to handle it well and only gets angry at her mother, but it’s starting to really upsets her. She sits next to me and I put an arm around her shoulders.

“I don’t understand,” she has been saying that ever since her mother called her. “A mother is supposed to love and accept her child, not denigrate her.”

I know exactly how Tatiana feels.

“If you heard her,” Louisa continues, her head in her hands, “it seemed like Tatian was a monster.”

Several tears are shed, but I eventually comfort her after a few minutes.

“When I have a child, I’ll always be there for him, no matter what.”

“I’m sure you’ll be a great mother,” I answer.

I try to think of an activity to make her smile but the clock in the kitchen let me know that I have to leave to Clairefontaine in a few minutes. Maybe…

“You wanna come to Clairefontaine with me?”

She gives me a confused look.

“It would lift your spirit,” I say.

“Are you sure I can come?”

“We’ll know right away.”

I decide to call Antoine, hoping he’ll answer and accept a second guest in the castle. To my surprise, he answers immediately.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

Damn it, Gaby, of course he knows it’s you. I try to ignore the joy it gives me to hear his voice and focus on his answer.

“Are you okay? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, hum, I’m sorry to bother you, I just wanted to ask for…a favor.”

“You never bother me. Tell me.”

“I know it wasn’t planned, and it’s already nice of you guys to allow me to come to Clairefontaine,” I say, uncertain, “but can Louisa come?”

“Hold on a second.”

There are a few seconds of silence and then muffled whispers.

“Gaby? You still here?”

“Yes, yes,” I say, surprised.

“There is no problem in Louisa coming.”

“That’s so sweet of you guys, thanks a lot.”

“Of course,” he says, and I can hear a smile in his voice. “See you later then.”

“See you.”

I hang up and turns to Louisa.

“He said yes.”

She has a little smile, and since we both already ready to go, we leave right away. In the car Louisa asks me questions about my visit to the castle the day before, and I don’t give her the details. We finally arrive at the castle, and I present the badge Antoine gave me yesterday and told me to keep.

“I don’t have one, though,” Louisa tells me, pointing at it.

“Let’s hope Antoine thought about it.”

We enter just fine – Antoine did think about it – and we walk to the castle. I still fell like an outsider, and I’m surprised to see that Louisa feels that way. She looks around with curiosity and also a bit incertitude. Approaching the castle, we see a silhouette sitting in the grass, near the big letters that indicates where we are. I recognize the person right away, as does Louisa.

“Is it Pavard?” she whispers.

“Yes.

I bring Louisa with me to say hi to him before joining the others inside, hoping we won’t bother him.

“Hi, Benjamin,” I say softly.

He jumps in surprise and turns towards us.

“Oh, hi.” he gets up. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you two coming. How are you?”

He kisses me on the cheek and turns to Louisa, then to me again, waiting for me to introduce the two of them.

“Oh, sorry. This is Louisa, my best friend. Antoine kindly invited us to come here today.”

There is a sudden light in his brown eyes, and he nods.

“Oh, yes, Antoine told me. Nice to meet you.”

“A pleasure.”

He also kisses her on the cheek and a small smile grows on his sad face. I look at Louisa, whose cheeks seem to have become pink. I hear a door opening behind us and see Antoine coming out of the building. He walks to us, and Louisa give me a teasing look. Don’t start now. He smiles as he comes to us.

“Hi,” he says looking at me.

“Hi.”

He puts his hands on my arm and then kisses me. I see Louisa looking at the ground, a small smile on her lips. You giggle and I’ll kill you. After we get away, Antoine turns to her and gives her a polite smile.

“Nice too see again. Welcome to Clairefontaine.”

“Thank you for having me,” she answers. “Nice to see you too.”

“No problem,” Antoine says. “Gaby’s friends are always welcome to come. By the way, Benji, would you mind showing Louisa around?”

I’m about to ask why we won’t do it all together – as Antoine told me he’d give me a visit of the whole Center – when “Benji” nods.

“No problem.”

Thanks, bro. We’ll catch up later.”

I’ll admit that I’m not comfortable with the idea of leaving Louisa alone with a stranger, even if it’s a friend and teammate of Antoine’s. But Louisa looks happy so I keep my mouth shut. Antoine takes my hand and we walk to the castle.

“A private visit of the Bleus’ castle,” I say, “How lucky these both girls are.”

“Right?” Antoine laughs. “We’re not going into the second floor, there’s nothing to see in there except for messy bedrooms and video games.”

He opens the door and let me enter before him. I hear whispers and giggles right away. Antoine leads me to some kind of living room with a TV and several sofas. Hugo and Olivier, sitting next to each other, get up to greet me and ask me about my parents’ health and how is the company is. The four of us talk when Kylian arrives, a phone near his ear. He hangs up a few seconds later, a soft smile on his face.

“Was it Helena?” Olivier asks with a smirk.

“Yes,” Kylian answers with a smile after greeting me. “She’s coming to see the match with her mom and Baptiste.”

“You’re coming too, right?” Hugo asks me.”

I look at him, confused. I had no idea they had another game coming.

“Hum, yes,” I say, feeling awkward.

I look at Antoine, who’s looking at me.

“I mean, if you want me to come. I’d understand if you want to be left alone.”

“What? Of course I want you to come,” Antoine says as if he didn’t understand. “It would be awesome. Plus, you would bear me luck, just like last time.”

“You’re good at shooting penalties,” I say quickly. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“I agree with Grizou,” Olivier says. “I’m sure you and Louisa will bring us luck when you’ll be in the stadium.”

Antoine leaves and comes back a few seconds later with an envelope in his hand, which he hands me.

“There are two tickets in there, that way Louisa can come too if she wants.

“It’s very nice of you,” I answer, feeling a bit uncomfortable, “but I could have bought them.”

“Oh, but Antoine is a real gentleman,” Hugo laughs softly.

Yes, I’m starting to be aware of that.

*-*

After a moment of talking with the three Bleus, greeting Corentin Tolisso and Didier Deschamps and visiting le first floor of the castle, Antoine decides to give me a visit of the parc. He points at the younger team’s building, the auditorium and the other building. We walk to the woods which is all around the parc when se see Louisa and Benjamin come back from it, speaking vividly.

“My,” Antoine says with a small laugh, “they do seem like they get along.”

“Indeed,” I say.

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen Benji like that,” he says more seriously. “It’s nice to see him happy. He’s a good dude, and a real friend. I wouldn’t have let your friend with him if I didn’t trust him. His girlfriend left him,” he adds as if we were complotting. “Just like that, for no reason. He really loved her, it almost broke him. He doesn’t feel like seeing someone else yet, so Louisa is safe with him.”

I nod. Benjamin and Louisa come closer, still talking and laughing. They wave at us as we walk to the wood. If Clairefontaine seems generally peaceful – except for maybe the castle – the wood is probably the most peaceful place all around. It’s kind of romantic, when you think about it.

“This is a nice place,” I say without really thinking.

Antoine doesn’t answer and stares at me. His eyes go from my eyes to my mouth and then he kisses me like he never kissed me before. I thought our first kiss after our date was passionate, but it’s nothing compared to this one. The feeling of dizziness is a hundred times more powerful, and I feel something warm in my belly. My arms go around his neck and the kiss gets harder. I feel Antoine making me walk back and a few seconds after I feel a tree against my back. His hands grab my hips and his lips descend from my mouth to my chin and then my neck. Oh my God. The warm sensation inside of me increases and Antoine puts his hands under my shirt. The cold sensation of his hands on my skin makes me shiver as his lips kisses every centimeter of my neck. He suddenly stops, and I’m about to ask him to do it again when his face slightly comes back to mine. I open my eyes and try to catch my breath, feeling as if my heart is gonna come out of my chest.

“What are you doing to me?” he whispers, his eyes in mine.

Before I can answer, he kisses my neck and then comes back to my lips. My hands touch his light brown hair and soon my fingers run through it. His mouth lets out a sigh of contentment and I feel him slightly pulling up my shirt. I should tell him to stop, but I can’t. One of his hands leave my limbs to grab my leg and put it against his hip, without his lips ever leaving mine. Please don’t ever make him stop. At this moment, we hear conversations and laughs from the castle. After a few seconds, Antoine somewhat gets his face away from mine, his nose almost touching mine and his breath on my neck.

“I think they’re waiting for you,” I whisper, hoping he won’t hear the regret in my voice.

He puts me back on the ground, as only one of my feet were touching the ground, and I give him one last kiss. I caress his cheek and when I see his smile, I know he’ll finish what he started soon or later.

*-*

I try to fix my hair as much as I can – because of course Mr. Griezmann ruined it – as we go back to the castle. We see Didier outside, surrounded by his assistant, most of the players and Louisa, who talks with Benjamin and Steve Mandanda. I quickly pray that I don’t have any hickey.

“Training session is on, Grizou,” Didier says. “Ladies, you can watch it if you like,” he ads for Louisa and me.

“Are you sure it won’t be a problem?” I ask, and I see Louisa agreeing with me.

“Of course not,” Antoine answers with an appeasing tone.

“We’re not used to have such a charming public”, Paul says. “so it’s a big change. Right, lads?”

The other approve and we head for the training fields, Louisa walking between me and her new friend. She gives me an interrogating and amused look but I don’t say anything and let her know I’ll tell her later. I’m sure she also has things to tell me – even though I won’t give her all the details of my moment in the wood with Antoine.

I talk with her and Emilien when I notice Antoine observing Emilien in a strange way. Once they’re on the fields, the team get in formation and Louisa and I sit in seats protected from the sun. I try to learn more about the moment Louisa shared with Benjamin, but she remains silent and I eventually give up, perfectly knowing she’ll tell me everything once we’ll be alone. Even if she doesn’t say anything, I see that she keeps looking at Benjamin, who in return sometimes gives her sweet small smiles. If last time Antoine did look at me from time to time, this time their number is multiplicated by two and I feel myself blush. Just like last time, I don’t get bored one bit, and neither does Louisa. The most amusing part of the training sessions is them shooting. They all shoot each at the time, Hugo catching several balls. Antoine walks up, focused. I saw him focused during a match, but being actually near him and seeing his determined face, he’s…hot.

“He really is focused, isn’t he?” Louisa asks me.

“He is,” I whisper.

“He looks at you this way,” she says with a lower voice. “As if you were the only thing in the world.”

I look at her before hearing a noise and a scream of joy.

“Yes!” Antoine scream, toddling. “Gaby did you see this one?

I nod, smile and clap. It’s Emilien’s turn to shoot. He scores too but Hugo protests that it was off-side.

“It wasn’t, dude, I promise,” Emilien laugh, running a hand in his blond hair.

“Not to be rude, brother,” Olivier says in a soothing voice, “I think Cap is right, it was off-side.”

“I think so too,” Antoine adds.

“How about we ask the judges of the day?” Emilien answers. “Girls?”

I don’t know anything about football, bro, why do you have to come to me like that?

“I think the boys are right,” I answer, and Louisa approves. “Sorry, Emilien.”

“Ah, see.” Antoine says.

Emilien is still not convinced, but he gladly accepts to shoot again. This time, Hugo stops it and his teammates compliments him. After the training session, we decide it’s time for us to leave, as I work this afternoon – and Louisa has to leave with me, unless a player kindly bring her back to Paris.

“Stay for lunch, Paul proposes as the other players head for the dining room. “It feels good to have new people here.

“Thank you,” I answer, “but I wouldn’t want to take advantage of the system.”

He stares at me and slightly frowns.

“Who tells you the system is not taking advantage of you?”

Antoine gives Paul a cold look, so much so I think for a second that he’s gonna jump on him. I didn’t think that such a nice and warm person could have so much anger in their eyes. Their a confused moment of silence and I have a hard time figuring out what is going on. Olivier coughs, bringing everyone back to reality.

“He meant abusing your charming company,” he reassures with a smoothing smile to me, “right Paul?”

“Of course,” Paul answers with a nonchalant voice.

“Let’s go,” Antoine says coldly.

He grabs my arm and takes me to the dining room, where we others are already sited. Antoine points at a chair to his and I sit between him and Paul. As for Louisa, she is sat between Hugo and Benjamin. The atmosphere is very joyful and way calmer than I expected. Antoine becomes his normal, joyful self and we talk with Paul and Emilien. The food is delicious and I have to say I’m having a real good time – and watching her talk vividly with Benjamin, Louisa seems to feel the same. After dessert, I check the time and see with regret that I have to go if I don’t want to arrive late at work. I let Antoine know and walk to Didier and the other members of the staff, who have already finished eating and get up at the same as I do.

“Thank you for everything, sir.”

“Please call me Didier. Antoine told me you’re coming to the match against the United-States?”

“Absolutely,” I answer. “Thank you for the tickets.”

“Of course. See you soon.”

When I leave the room, Louisa follows me and greet everybody goodbye before smiling at Benjamin. Antoine walks us to the door, and Louisa greets him before leaving us alone.

“Thanks for everything,” I say again. “It did Louisa some good, and it did me some good too.”

“Us too.”

“Are you sure you’re not have a problem with the coach or that your mates aren’t gonna tease you?” I ask.

The first question is an obsession.

“Oh, we tease each other for less that than,” he laughs softly. “Speaking of problems, though…”

Antoine looks at the ground for a second before looking at the window.

“The only problem I have,” he says, “is that the more I see you, the more I hate watching you leave.”

I have to take a second to understand the information.

“I feel the same,” I admit in a low voice, my eyes lowered. “I don’t like saying goodbye to you.”

He takes my hips, makes me come closer and puts his forehead on mine. I put my hands on his warm cheeks and kiss him. He kisses me back tenderly and it’s somehow as enjoyable as the kiss in the woods. We eventually separate, my hand in his.

“See you.”

“Bye.”0

I hear chairs moving and people going up stairs. I smile at him before opening the door, and at the moment when I lave the building, I swear I hear a sigh. I walk to the car, where Louisa is waiting for me, when I feel like somebody is watching me. I turn to the castle and expect Antoine to be staring at me from the window. But at a window on the second floor, for a short second, I perceive blond hair.

*-*

I drop Louisa to our apartment for heaving up to work. I arrive slightly early and greet the welcoming ladies. I take the elevator to my floor and try to continue the organization of the gala, even if my brain just won’t stop thinking about what happened in the woods with Antoine. I think of his lips on my neck, his hands on my skin and a shiver goes down my spine. I shake my head and focuses on my work. Even if my ultimate goal is to be a translator and I’m taking a course to do that, I’ll admit that organizing a gala isn’t that bad. The most difficult part is to call people when you’re very shy and to pick things that my mother will like. When I’m about to take a break, I take the opportunity to learn more about the Bleus in general and their upcoming games – at least those at home. Searching up on the internet, I find an article whose title is very different from the others. If most articles talk about the upcoming World Cup, players that weren’t called by Didier Deschamps, some of the pictures the payers posted of their families, this article talks of a night club where most of the team went and got in a fight with other people. It’s really surprising considering no other website talk about that night. I tell myself that’s it’s probably just click bait when I’m distracted by my phone ringing. I look at it see my grand-mother’s name.

“Hello, darling.”

“Hi grandma, how are you? I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier.”

“It’s alright, dear, I know you’re very busy.”

If she only knew. She asks about my parents and Noah’s health, talk about her neighbors, her plants, and book club and her volunteering in a charity for people in need. It runs in the family it would seem.

“I’ve read in a newspaper that the mayor is going to increase the library’s budget.”

She’s so adorable, how can I not be happy when she is?

“By the way, darling, was it you I saw in that magazine?”

“Oh, I guess so, it must have been for the gala,” I answer. “I was in charge of the last one.”

“Oh no, dear, I saw articles about the gala weeks ago. That one was talking about you and a boy.”

I almost choke on my water and my colleagues give me a weird look.

“What do you mean me ‘and a boy’?” I ask.

Jesus Christ.

I jump from my chair, my phone on my ear. Ignoring the surprised gazes of my colleagues, I leave the room, take the elevator – for the first time it seems slow – to the first floor and walk quickly to the newsagent nearby, 200 feet from the building. There are not many people at this hour and I walk to the end of the room. I observe all the magazines my eyes can see, and after two minutes I see the magazine my grand-mother wasn’t talking about.

Antoine Griezmann dating : who is his new darling, Gabrielle Darian?

“You’re right,” I say. “It was me.”

I quickly read the magazine before finding the page about Antoine and I. Damn it, I knew it. All around the text are pictures of him and I in front of the restaurant, and there is even one where we are about to kiss. Sighing, I go to pay the magazine and leave. I go back to the building and my floor where I’m alone, as all my coworkers left for a break.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” my grand-mother tells me.

Neither did I, grandma, neither did I.

“Neither did I,” I sigh. “I didn’t even know we were a couple, it’s…it’s very recent.”

“I see. But who is he? Is he famous?”

“Yes,” I answer. “He’s…His name is Antoine, he’s a football player.”

“Professional?”

“Yes, he plays for Madrid and the National Team.”

“Well, well. How did you guys meet?”

I quickly explain to her that we met at the gala – without telling her about him and my mates inviting themselves. She asks me several other questions but is happy for me.

“Can I you a question, Gabrielle?”

Her voice, despite remaining sweet, became serious.”

“Of course.”

“Do you love this boy?”

*-*

After my day is over, I head for the exit of the building, my conversation with my grand-mother being stuck in my head. Do you love this boy? I thought I was in love with the boy I dated when I finished high school, but I realize that what I feel for Antoine is very different, and way stronger. I can’t stop thinking about him, which keeps me from sleeping – which isn’t that bad, though, as I keep having nightmares lately – and as I told him, when I am with him I want this moment to continue. When my grand-mother asked me that question, I answered her that I didn’t know. But the truth is, seeing hos things are going, it will be the case soon. So the real question is: when will I make the mistake of falling in love with him?

I’m so deep in my thoughts that only a small pain in my shoulder is able to bring me back to reality.

“Oh, sorry.”

“No, that’s on me…Gabrielle?!”

I raise my head and see a young woman with blond hair and large grey eyes. I’m about to ask her if we know one another when a memory strikes me.

“Ornella?”

Ornella, Noah’s one-night girlfriend he brought at one of our galas. When I saw her that night she was wearing a pretty nice dress, high heels and make up, today she is wearing a jean, a washed-out jacket and snickers, and her hair is in a ponytail. I’m surprised but happy to see her.

“How are you? What’s brings you here?”

“Oh, I’m visiting my aunt, she lives in the neighborhood.”

We chat, asking about our respective families’ health, and she tells me she is seeing someone at the moment. I’m relieved to hear it, as it happened before that one of Noah’s “girlfriends” can’t move on after their break-up. We exchange our phone numbers and promise to go have a coffee with Louisa soon. I head for the apartment, and when I hear Louisa on the phone – unless she’s talking to herself – I’m afraid she’s fighting with her mother again but I hear her laugh. She hangs up the moment I enter the living room and smiles at me.

“Was it Tatiana?” I ask.

Her smile doesn’t disappear and her cheeks turn pink.

“It was Benjamin.” she answers shyly, almost embarrassed.

“Pavard?” I say, surprise.

“Obviously,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Which other Benjamin do you want me to call? Benjamin Button?

I pour two glasses of apple juice and sit down next to her.

“You two got along well, then,” I tease her.

“Oh my gosh, Gaby,” Louisa says in an excited tone, turning to me. “He is so nice. And so funny and adorable.”

She starts a monologue of fifteen minutes – I counted – about how nice, funny, adorable, hilarious, respectful Benjamin is and she’s so happy that I don’t stop her. Once she’s done, I ask her what they talked about in the woods.

“Oh, anything and everything,” she answers in a calm tone with the same smile. “Of our families – I just told him I had a sister, as you can guess -, of college, of his club. Like you and Griezmann, I guess. Speak of the devil, what did you two talk about in the woods?

“Nothing special.”

“Did you kiss?” she asks with a teasing smile.

“Yes, we did.”

“And?”

“And nothing, we just talked and kissed, that’s all.”

This isn’t technically a lie. Louisa insists, and it’s hard not to tell her anything else. I always thought that she picked her course well, as she is very good at talking with people and make them admit their secrets or things they wouldn’t tell anybody else. When it’s time, we prepare diner and after eating we decide to go to sleep early, her because she works early tomorrow and me because I need sleep. Before entering her room, Louisa turns to me.

“They are very nice, though, letting us come to their place and stuff.”

I look at the last text Antoine sent me, whishing me a good night and I feel something weird in my stomach.

“Yes. Yes, they are.”

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neon-lyte · 2 years ago

Text

here’s a lovely writing piece i commissioned from the amazing @justbreakonme . 💕

This story takes place in Nephfei -> info here

Toyhouse for my ocs: -> Adelaide 💛 -> Tatian 💜

Beautiful Things

The morning bells announcing sunrise woke him as they always did.

Adelaide shifted, yawning and blinking in the first fingers of light snaking into his room, then sat up, hurriedly stuffing his latest smuggled magazine under his pillow. He couldn’t believe he'd fallen asleep reading it, if Tatian had seen...

He didn’t want to think about what would happen.

With another yawn, he reluctantly pulled himself out of the warmth of his bed, kicking the ripped sheet he’d “rescued” from the trash farther under his bed and away from any prying eyes.

It wasn’t as white as it used to be, but he was sure with some bleach and time, he could get it close enough.

He paused in the doorway, taking a deep breath. Bracing himself, in a way, for the day to come.

He’d managed to stay out of too much trouble for the past few days, but he could never do it for long... Just one day at a time, right?

Before he could get too distracted, he started down the hall towards the kitchens. He collected Tatian’s breakfast tray, a smattering of greens, tea, toast, and poached eggs, and stuffed a spare piece of toast in his mouth as he went.

The tray glided along gracefully before him, while he scarfed the toast down in three bites on the way to his office.

The door swung open silently on well-oiled hinges, which only made the clatter of the tray being set down sound louder.

Tatian had one of his latest projects set before him, impossibly tiny gears and wheels arranged in neat rows, a manual open in the air beside him. He looked up over it with a glare, catching sight of Adelaide and shaking his head.

“It’s not enough to make a racket this early in the morning, you have to trail crumbs along after you?”

He looked down, noticing only now how his toast had indeed left a few crumbs leading back down the hallway.

Tatian sighed again, mumbling under his breath. “I don’t know what I could hope to expect...” “I- I’ll go sweep; I am sorry-”

“Go then. Stop making excuses. You’ve already made the most noise for the least reason, there’s no need for more.”

With a wave, he turned a page of his book and brought the mug of tea to his lips, not taking his eyes off his reading.

He turned tail and hurried off, only to turn back to make sure the door didn’t slam behind him.

Not even noon and you’ve already made a mess of things.

His own internal voice seemed to be sounding more and more like Tatian by the day. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

Following the trail of crumbs back down the hall towards a broom and dustpan, he tried to shake the feeling.

Obedience was the only thing that made him worth anything. The only reason he was here at all. If he wasn’t obedient, what was he?

Just a spinxyn. Barely a step up from the dirt he was cleaning from the floor.

He let his mind go quiet, focused on his task, as he made his way back down the hall, past the office and into the main chapel.

He’d always loved the chapel in the morning.

The sun through the stained glass formed puddles of multicolored light on the stone floor, and he was more than happy to give it a clean canvas.

It was quiet this morning, the only sound coming from his talisman dragging behind him and his hooves, most of the residents of Catalis still sound asleep. Tatian called it a sin, but he imagined it must be nice to let the sun get up before they did. Let it warm the streets and the roof tops before leaving the cover of their blankets.

He paused in the light of the largest window, admiring how the colors saturated his hair and glittered off his hooves.

He only scolds you when you need it. After all, if he didn’t want you to be better, why would he give you such a gift?

Why must you constantly doubt his judgement? Or is that just the nature of a spinxyn?

Once he had tossed out the dirt, he returned the broom and dustpan to its place and started down towards the laundry. It was one of his favorite places after the chapel, surrounded by quietly humming machines and the smell of soap.

It was also a good place to find materials, scraps and other bits and pieces otherwise destined for the garbage. He felt a strange joy in them, almost solidarity. He too was nothing special, but he could be, if cut and clipped and pinned and tucked into the right shape.

He could be the best of the worst.

And that would have to be good enough.

He moved the wet sheets to the dryer, careful not to snag them on his needle point spikes or his horn, then the dirty ones to the washer. As he did, his attention was caught by a clattering noise.

Shutting the machine doors, he stooped down, examining the space between them.

A little golden button, likely from someone's coat based on its shape, had bounced back between the washer and dryer amongst the dust bunnies and lint.

Fishing it out, he leaned back and looked around, never sure when he would see watchful eyes appear behind him.

Assured that he was alone, he dusted it off. It seemed to glow even in the dim light, and he grinned.

Pretty...

He hurried up to his room, the newest addition to his collection carefully tucked out of sight as he slunk past Tatian’s door.

His mind was already racing with ideas, letting them unfold and reform in his mind's eye. He might even be able to get away with wearing something like it, after all, if it was off a church members coat it must be acceptable, right?

There are different rules for them. What is acceptable for others is different than what is acceptable for you...

There it was again, Tatian’s words in his own voice.

But it’s just a button, could it truly be that bad?

He supposed he would find out swiftly if it was, once he decided the best way to use it.

Once in his room, he placed it with the sheet, rolling it up in one of the corners so as not to lose it, and then went back to the laundry.

He wouldn’t dare hang around too long, not while there were still chores to be done, and not while he was already walking such a thin line.

He was in the middle of carrying the last basket of clean towels to one of the bathrooms when he heard steps in the hallway behind him. He tensed, turning slowly, hoping he hadn’t done yet another thing wrong.

Tatian was looking over a list but paused to catch his eye. “Adelaide.”

“Yes sir?”

“Are you nearly done?”

“Yes, sir, just these left.”

“Very well. Finish them, then you’ll accompany me into town. I expect you to set an example, do you think you can manage that?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a test. “Yes sir.”

Once around the corner and out of sight, he all but ran. This was his chance to prove that he could behave, to smooth over the mistakes of this morning and keep on his good side.

Even with his stern tone and glare sharp enough to cut diamonds, the idea filled him with a golden, glowing feeling. He was being brought to be an example.

He was still good enough to be the among the best of them.

After leaving the now empty basket in the laundry, he met Tatian quickly by the front doors of the church, his head bowed.

He looked him over, and Adelaide kept his eyes down, his heart pounding.

Please, please, I promise I’m good, I swear...

Finally, he seemed to deem him at least presentable, and off they went.

Adelaide followed a few steps behind as they made their way out into the bustling street. Despite keeping his eyes fixed on Tatian’s back hooves and his head down, he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by everyone and everything around him.

Laughter popped here and there among the chatter, the occasional shout making him jump. He kept his head down, but his chest swelled, hoping Tatian noticed how quiet, how tame he was among the rest of the spinxyn.

Someone shoved past him, calling a quick “Sorry!” after them, and he heard Tatian hum in disapproval.

Look at me, see! See, I can be so much better, right? Right?

Is better good enough?

Even without looking at the buildings, he knew where they were going. Tatian didn’t often leave the church without a good reason, and there wasn’t often a better reason than finding a missing part or piece to his latest automaton.

After a few turns, he knew they were getting close.

Still facing the street, something flicked by out of the corner of his eye, and he looked up without thinking.

Oh...

Pretty...

She was walking by with a few others, giggling and gossiping like everyone else, but her tail...

Unlike his talisman, hers was still fluffy, and strands of it were braided with beads and pearls, making it sparkle with every movement.

He didn’t realize he was staring until he heard Tatian’s voice, far closer than comfortable. There was also his grip on the scruff of his neck, unmoving, but a warning nonetheless.

“Do you remember what the gods say about the temptation of vanity?” he asked, and he knew that tone far too well.

It was the one always used in public, calm and kind and deceivingly patient. “T-that vanity is- That spinxyn are not worthy even for the sin of vanity, sir?”

“Exactly... Now, I’d advise you turn your mind towards why I had brought you in the first place, yes? As an example, not as a tourist.”

“Yes sir, I am sorry sir.”

“Do not be sorry,” he snapped, letting go of his neck and starting to walk again, “Be better.” He turned back to the ground, trying not to let the tears starting to form escape.

“I don’t know why I expected anything more... They’re all the same.” Tatian muttered under his breath, and with that, he felt the last of that warm, glowy feeling dissipate.

Even if he had wanted to, he doubted that he could lift his eyes from the floor now. He let them slide over the doorway to the parts shop, barely seeing the nuts, bolts, and washers that littered the floor. Tatian seemed to find the items on his list rather quickly, and he was grateful.

“They’re all the same.” played over and over on the walk home, and dread had begun to settle as they grew closer and closer.

He hoped that he would be in a better mood, now that he had found the piece he had been looking for, or at least more focused on his automaton project than his spinxyn work in progress.

The automaton was certainly less difficult.

He slipped in the door, silent as the grave, in the hopes that he would simply be forgotten.

“Adelaide.”

His heart dropped.

“Yes sir?”

“There are several stacks of books that need to be reshelved. And when you are done, I trust you can find one of them to review. You seem to need more time to study, considering your behavior today.”

“Yes sir.”

“If you need any further correction,” his voice was as cold and hard as the stone floors they stood on, “I am sure I could find a method of teaching that could get the lesson through your thick skull...”

“I- I understand sir.”

“Clearly not well enough.”

And with that, he was off, leaving Adelaide to watch him go.

It could have been worse.

He started for the library, taking a deep breath as if that in itself could stop his heart hammering.

You could have been better.

The library was empty, and he was grateful.

You could always be better.

The books hovered and spun, slotting into empty spots on the old wooden cases, making little puffs of dust and air as they did so.

While he couldn’t unhear Tatian’s words, he also couldn’t unsee the strangers glittering braids, the way the sun played off her beaded hair.

He would never have the opportunity for something so beautiful, even if it was allowed. He looked back at his talisman, jealousy pinching at his heart.

He pulled down a few books with promising titles, letting them fall open before him to read the first few pages of each. He settled on one with a deep green cover and set the rest back on the shelves before sitting down to read.

Reading was a much better option than Tatian’s methods of teaching; it kept him from frustrating his teacher further.

He had been very, very lucky...

He read in silence until he was shaken by the bells tolling sundown. He folded the book closed with a sigh, letting it slide back into its spot, and started towards his room.

Tatian’s door was open as he approached, and he slowed, walking as quietly as possible as he passed, catching a glimpse of him inside, still pouring over his manual.

Once safely away, he walked faster.

He couldn’t handle being scolded any further, and he had learned long ago that the best way to avoid getting in trouble was to stay out of sight when at all possible.

Once inside his room for the night, he let his shoulders slump. Hopefully Tatian would spend the rest of his night in his offices, and in the morning, maybe he would have a fresh start...

Despite everything that had happened that afternoon, Adelaide still unrolled the corner of the sheet and retrieved the button, turning it in the light of the setting sun.

He couldn’t braid it into his tail, but...

Three strands of his mane began to twist around each other, forming a soft golden braid. He slid the button over one of the strands about halfway down, finishing off the braid by wrapping one of the longer strands around the bottom and tucking it through.

In the now dark window, he looked at his reflection, turning this way and that to see the way it looked. He’d never be able to wear it out, but...

It’s just as pretty...

After one more glance, he sighed and undid it, returning the button to its hiding place and curling up in bed.

How could beauty be so wrong? Was it truly so terrible to look for the beautiful things in a world so full of them?

He rolled over, squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them again.

It doesn’t matter what makes sense to you. It matters what you’re told. You’d think you’d have learned that by now.

He fell asleep that night hoping for a better tomorrow, a more obedient tomorrow. But when he dreamed, he dreamed of beads and buttons, of braids and beautiful things.

#nephfei #justbreakonme #whump #angst #angst writing #whump writing #adelaide #tatian #commission #💕💕💕

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