perdu dans l'abîme

—— pressé de désespoir, mes yeux flambants je dresse ——

[danslabime]

MOVED TO @simioso !!

[etoilesfantome]

anyway i'm aggravated about the damn flight and pouring my irritation into something resembling productivity, so anyway i made simon his own blog because sideblogs suck my soul out, follow him @simioso

[perduxamour]

@danslabime 𓍼 continued...

A moment of vulnerability. Kept in reserve and shared with only a few. These days, it feels as if that number is getting smaller and smaller. They're all at the ends of their tethers; ropes frayed and edges burnt, clinging on by hopes that grow thinner by the day.

She sees it all. It's not sensible to mention it. Some nights, Julie sits in silence, the dancing flames of the camp fire her only company. It's easier. Safer. But lonely.

She finds herself lowering down to sit beside Simon, not to relieve her isolation, but to check that it won't be furthered. He's attentive to his sword, and Julie's eyes follow the movements in comfortable silence before she speaks.

It almost tumbles out of her. The fear. He's going to leave. She's been thinking it for days, and yet no matter how much she ruminates on it, she can't figure out why. Glimpses of resignation, or resolve, or maybe both have passed like a shadow across his face as they've sat in the darkness, opposite sides of the fire. And the others-- either they've noticed it and won't say anything, or they've barely had a chance to catch the differences.

He can reassure her all he wants. Julie's eyes narrow slightly. He is here but... "For now."

She waits another beat, letting him continue. He lays out a plan as efficiently as he might attend to a frenetic nevron. There's a comfort to it. To him. His voice, his experience. Julie hardly knows him well, despite knowing him since before all of this. But fighting alongside another while looking death in the eye tends to build a bond of trust much faster than courteous introductions will do.

She notes the direction in which his eyes flicker and ignores it. Simon trusts their commander. Trusts Verso. If she were to... A shake of her head, barely perceptible. Disguised by the careful words that follow. "A break will do us some good, but it's temporary," she says, "How many will be able to continue, do you think? How many more are we going to lose to stupid mistakes because of desperation, or plain exhaustion?"

Sighing, she leans down to pick up a stone from under her boot and throw it into the distance, with some force. His question... was she okay? No. None of them were. And some didn't appear to care. But what could be done?

"I'm not," she said, smiling with an edge of sadness, "Something... doesn't feel right." She pauses, considering. "Is that why you're thinking of leaving? Giving up on a doomed endeavour?" That wasn't like him, not as far as she knew Simon. But many people hadn't been themselves since they'd set out for the monolith.

[danslabime]

He considers her question, looking out over the others in the camp. If he were being honest, the answer would be not many —— there are some that are injured, some more gravely than others. There are those who are clearly reaching a point where they are terribly close to breaking, and he doesn’t blame them. He would send all of those home if he had the choice, but he suspects Renoir wouldn’t hear of it. 

" Too many, if something isn’t done quickly, " he finds himself saying, an admission that’s a little reluctant but is honest enough. She’s earned that. " But they have more in them than they know. —— Jules, and perhaps Etienne, they should be sent home. Wounds like those —— " He won’t say one of them looks like their wounds are going bad, because he doesn’t want to curse it if he’s wrong. But oh, he worries. " They should be in a physician’s bed, not out here."

He should have known she’d see through him, and she does. Briefly, Simon goes terribly still — shamefully, he’s sorely tempted to lie outright, reassure her that he has no plans to do any such thing. But he’s painfully honest — to a fault, to be sure — and so he swallows tightly, carefully, sitting up as he puts the sword away so he can pay her attention in full. 

" No. It’s because —— " And his voice dips, lowers, is so hushed it barely carries at all: " We’re stalled, here. We haven’t moved more than a few kilometers in days. " He draws in a breath. " I’m going to go forward and see if I can find a path to that Monolith. One man moves faster than a group of many. " And the unsaid: if he can resolve it himself, even at the risk to himself and meaning he won’t come back, it will be a duty he doesn’t regret. 

" If I don’t see a way forward, I’ll come back. But if I sit here and do nothing, we’re going to continue to tear ourselves apart. " There’s a weight to the admission, tired and holding a weight and responsibility beyond his years; he’s only thirty-seven, and though he’s well practiced with a sword it’s not as though he’s had any experience with war and death, either. He only has what he feels is right. 

" Please don’t tell the others, " he says, softer: his eyes are dark, dark, a brown that seems almost black in this light. " Chances are I’ll be back before they know I’m gone. But if I’m not, they can’t follow. They have to take care of everyone here. "

[grcdientshift]

She fights her body's attempts to paint more Nevrons into existence, to send them out at him, to stop his progression forward. She fights, oh but she fights every piece of her repainting, her marbled skin and overflowing chroma, the terrible innate urge to attempt to strike him down where she stands. She is no fighter, not the way he and so many others are; she is a Painter, a sculptor, stubborn and strong-willed and so very in love with the man before her.

Her raised hands grow tense, as if to strike him, but she fights back, restraining these urges that do not belong to her but to the woman who painted her in here, who trapped her, who has decided to keep her a prisoner in her own body. She was powerful, that woman with her face, being able to take her away from everyone and everything she loves and turn her into this.

Simon is unafraid of what she has become, and he comes closer, taking her arm in his hand and guiding her palm to his lips. Her body fights, but she fights harder, craving him beyond the boundaries of her prison.

That kiss to her hand is a relief she can grasp for, anchoring her to something beyond her. Fingers lay gently across his cheek; the now-grey of his skin is deeper than hers, but their chromas meet, they match, a rivulet down his face meeting a gilded crack in her hand, and they are so very close. Even just this gives her a connection grounds her, and her other arm lowers slowly under her command

No, she will not paint more Nevrons. No, she will not be a slave to that woman's whims.

She shifts her hand to cup his jaw in the curve between thumb and forefinger, caressing his skin. Even as it is now, she loves it because it is his. This is him. "My love," she says as she regains herself. Still she pushes into her own limbs, her chest and her legs; she cannot move from this spot while she battles, but she is nearly there.

"You found me." Her words are strained but now her own, pushed through trembling lips and a tongue that tries to restrict. "You saved me."

[danslabime]

Oh, but Simon’s still angry. Not at her, not at she who stands before him and leans against him, but at himself and her other self who tricked him so. He feels soured, manipulated —— he feels like he’s been cornered into an unfaithfulness and disloyalty he has always been appalled at seeing in others. Guilt will chew at him for years ——

But that isn’t now, because now all he can feel is relief. 

He is not a man to weep. He doesn’t look down on it, he doesn’t think poorly of it, but he’s ever had an ironclad hold on his own emotions. But here, faced with this —– god, faced with her torment? He doesn’t even think of his own torture, his own unmaking, his own recreation into whatever he’s become: no, he doesn’t think of that, because that’s so far away when faced with what’s before him. 

The shimmer of golden tears streak down charcoal features, slow and winding. " I found you, " he echoes softly, quietly, his voice quietly ravaged by repainting and emotion and exertion all. It’s a husk, deep and rough, torn and worn. And he would sweep her up and leave his sword behind, but he worries about what awaits them and he only has one good arm. " There you are. You are stronger than her. "

And he bends, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and it lingers there. They are both unmade —— remade —— and he doesn’t know what the world holds for them out there, but as long as he keeps her safe he doesn’t care. As long as she’s out of this accursed prison, as long as she has her will to be herself. 

" Let me take you from this place, my love, " he utters, low, rasping, not moving her himself but letting his weight guide him back just a little — not even a step, not even half a step — and urging her with him. " Let us find a place to be away from all of this horror. She will never have either of us again, I swear it. " 

[danslabime]

Better pics coming later when I get there for photo mode but LOOK AT HIM HE'S SO BEAUTIFUL I'M SPEECHLESS

[danslabime]

What do I taste like?

@cleamaesta

" —— I suppose that depends on where on you I am tasting, " he hums, low and deep; now, his mouth wanders, clean-shaven but not without the slightest coarse rasp of a day’s growth. With a certain reverance, he places a warm kiss upon the back of her neck, his palm caressing over her shoulder and down her arm, and oh, but she can feel the smile curving against skin. " When I kiss your lips, they taste like flowers feel. Soft and warm, but sometimes with a little hidden spine or two. But I like getting caught by it. "

And he gives a low sound of thought, moving so he kisses the top of her shoulder in a lingering kiss, not pulling away as he speaks; his fingers continue trailing down, over her arm and wrist and to her waist. " —— when I kiss your skin, it tastes like how it feels when you walk outside in summer, but not in the hottest part of the day, but in the morning when the sun’s only started warming everything. "

And his mouth wanders back to the side of her neck, just below her ear; his fingers curl against her abdomen, a brush that’s asking a question and showing interest all at once. " And when I’m between your thighs, that tastes like the best of mulled wines, the kind that makes you light-headed as soon as it hits your tongue. The kind that when you drink it you want to take it slowly, because you want to spend as much time as you can with it all, because it is the best thing you’ve had. "

[danslabime]

simon does have a weak point: he can't grow a proper beard. he gets facial hair but it's thin and patchy, naturally inclined towards not having much. similarly, he has body hair but it's mostly sparse. he keeps his face clean-shaven. luckily he has the jawline to carry it. 😏

[inkcobwebs]

i am not meant for casual i was born for soul crushing devotion

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧˚

[grcdientshift]

What has become of him? What has happened to get him to this point? Fragments of his mind trying to push through, and Verso thinks that Simon had been poised to hurt whoever came down here. Perhaps even to hurt Verso, if things had been different. Never before has Simon caused him pain, true pain, physically or emotionally — and he still doesn't now.

The hand that covers his is still gentle in its firmness. Verso can feel a thrum of life beneath his cloth and skin, mimicking bloodflow, breathing a different sort of life into Simon. An immortal life, he thinks, because he knows how chroma like this works. Simon is cursed to a life that can never be undone unless the canvas is unmade. It would be a mercy for them both, though Verso doesn't know how long until that oblivion will greet them, if ever.

And now that he has found Simon again, perhaps something can be done...something can fix him enough to live a different, better life than this.

Verso has never been the Painter his parents were, but he can do something...if Simon would even want that. He's been remade — by who, Verso doesn't know — and there isn't much Verso can do, it might cause him pain, it might not work, it might ruin Simon further...

He loves Simon with every ounce of his being. He loves him desperately and wholly, and he can't decide if he should help him with the potential of hurting him, or if he should try to unpaint the immortality. If he could even be that strong.

Closing his eyes, he places his other hand on Simon's cheek, leaning his head forward to rest their foreheads together. Every selfish part of him wants to try, but it should be a decision of Simon's. Not his own. It's only fair.

"I can try to help you," he says softly. "But it might hurt you. It might make things worse. I can try, though, Simon, and I will if it's what you want. Can you tell me what you want? Even just a word. I, I don't know...help or leave. Tell me what to do." I miss you so much, I love you still, I never stopped looking for you. He says none of that, not wanting to guilt Simon into a decision. And yet, he can't stop the tears that slip silent down his face. Damn them, he thought he was done crying.

Not for Simon, it seems.

[danslabime]

Shattering his memory was perhaps the greatest mercy outside of death that he could ever have been given: to be stuck down here remembering everything up there would have been a torture that would have broken him in so many other ways. And yet: it’s shattered, perhaps, but not utterly gone; it’s like looking through snapshots, pictures of a time long-gone. Some faces are blurred and details forgotten, but there are vivid smears of color and something that feels so much like yearning——

( His journal lays forgotten some distance away, still emblazoned with the Zero on the cover. Oh, how clever they all thought they had been; their uniforms and equipment so organized, so sharp, so pristine. Simon had appreciated it, back in the day, had treated it all with a certain respect one might give any official uniform. But he had also meticulously recorded things in it, even back then; it could be of some value. )

When he had walked away from the Expedition that night, it had not been in abandonment; it hadn’t been because he was afraid, or because he didn’t think they could make it. He did it to save them, the well-meaning fool, and he did it knowing there was a good chance he wouldn’t see them again. There was a grief and a guilt in his leaving, but a duty, too: he had seen the beginnings of this group falling apart and taken the responsibility upon himself of ending it before the Expedition fell apart.

Fingers on his cheek, so forgotten; his forehead pressed to his, and it feels like remembering. Everything about him: the softness, the way his voice pitches when he’s upset, the smell and sound and warmth of his touch. It all feels so familiar it aches, and he hasn’t wept in decades and decades and wouldn’t be sure of the sensation now, except for the shimmering silvery chroma slipping down skin sapped of color.

Tell me what to do —— oh, if only he could. Death would be the greatest mercy, but that’s been tried. What could be worse? The monster could become more monstrous, perhaps, but he’s never feared pain. " I trust, " and the words are like rocks grinding together, pushed from a throat unused to language in so long, " you —— " The word hangs overlong, seeming to take far, far too much effort. The chroma 'round him pulses brilliantly, pure and dangerously unstable — and he fights it even as it shimmers and tries to do whatever it has been written to do. It makes his eyes dimly gleam, makes his scarred brow furrow.

But it fades away again, and this moment still exists; he pulls back to look up, look over the scarred features before him. There’s an urge, powerful, to reach to wipe the tears from his face, and he reaches to do so, his touch almost automatic without thinking. " —— It's, " and the words come like they're dragged slow and heavy from his throat, weighted and careful, " okay. Verso. "

[kaisources]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ : IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT . . . a collection of screwball rom-com ⁽ ⁰⁰³ ⁾ roleplay sentence starters from old hollywood screwball romance comedies from NUMEROUS FILMS, balls of fire genre: romance, slice-of-life, comedy, love, fake relationship.

Hey, who's in there, something wrong?

Who are you? What are you doing?

Take it easy. You're lucky I broke in.

Why don't you go back and mind your own business…like everybody else in [place name]?

Okay, that's the last time I'll save your life.

I wasn't kissing you. You were kissing me.

Why didn't you complain? So I could have met you earlier.

That's one of the things that attracted me to [him/her/them].

I like honesty. All my life people have lied to me, and I can't stand it.

[Place name]. I've been there. I never noticed you.

I was sitting here alone tonight, it suddenly came over me. I have wasted away my whole life for [him/her/them].

Don't start monkeying around with the federal government!

Look, if you need anything, just pound on the wall. I'll come right away.

I didn't know you were interested in reading.

I've seen some of those movies, but this one is like an iceberg.

[Name], what you don't like about [Second name]…is exactly what I do like about [him/her/them].

My life is arranged the way I like it.

You mean you're in love with [him/her/them]?

You wanted to see me about something?

I think [he/she/they] taking advantage of you.

You should change laundries. They're using too much starch.

Please stop mothering me. Thank you.

I saw [his/her/their] face before me and I couldn't go through with it.

Married? Who said anything about getting married?

I've got a perfect setup. Why spoil it by getting married?

That's such a big, dirty, rotten,filthy lie, but it has class.

I'm sorry. I hope I haven't shocked you.

It isn't as if you're planning to pay me, either.

Look, [name], if it is that important you'd better tell me about it.

Sorry to disappoint you but everything between us is a fake.

Don't try to spare my feelings, [name]. I know you were out with [name].

Through? What are you talking about? We're so happy together.

It wasn't your fault. I knew what I was getting into. You have always told me the truth.

You may not believe it, but I have certain standards.

In that case, I'll be proud to marry you.

Tell [him/her/them] to get the hell out of here and come back later.

Look, now that we're engaged… don't you think we should do something to celebrate?

Let's do something we've never done before.

I would not be prejudiced if you were married.

I can always count on you in a jam.

Why? Is there somebody else in that closet?

I've been working for you for almost [number] years… and this is the first time that you have ever invited me out.

I realized that I have no idea of what your life is like outside the office.

What do you do on your vacation?

I'm no sex goddess, but I haven't spent my life in a tree.

I was married when I was very young, but it didn't work out.

I've been talking an awful lot and I'm afraid I'll be late for dinner.

I'm glad we had this little talk. You're a very rare person, sensitive and generous.

I have a feeling that if I found myself in trouble, I could count on you for help.

[Name],I want someone to play the part of my [husband/wife/partner].

At the time, I had my reasons. But I'll straighten that out later. At the moment, I have to dig up a [husband/wife/partner].

Are you quoting [her/him/them], or you?

I don't know how to get out of this one. My happiness lies in your two hands.

You've managed to handle your happiness without any help from me and now you want to use me in this contemptible way.

You just tricked me into talking about myself so that….What you did wasn't very nice. Not very nice at all.

Are you absolutely sure that you love [name]?

I don't want [her/him/them] to end up bitter and unhappy.

Are you absolutely sure you don't love [her/him/them] anymore?

What about your future? What's going to become of you?

[She/He/They] crazy about you. Anybody can see that.

It's not what [he/she/they] said, it's what [he/she/they] didn't say.

It sounded as if they were made with love.

Now that you're getting a divorce, we ought to be more careful. We wouldn't want this to get messy.

I'm afraid I threw this boyfriend thing at you too quickly.

Damn, you're getting as prickly as your damn cactus.

What's going on out there between you two?

Don't try to fool me, I have a very good nose for sexual tension.

I behaved like a dignified, civilized, willing-to-be-divorced [husband/wife]!

Why did you have to bring children? That's what choked [him/her/them] up.

If I can't spend my weekends as I see fit…me and my cactus will be glad to resign!

You must help me…not only as a friend, as a [job name]. It's your professional duty.

You played the part of my [husband/wife] once and you enjoyed it. Admit it. You did enjoy it.

Now here's your chance to play a return engagement. No [actress/actor] quits after one performance.

So I lose a [husband/wife] and gain a lover? At least I don't feel completely abandoned.

Good, wonderful. All we have to do is to find someone to play your lover.

You want me to act the part…and now you want me to furnish my own props?

It's not going to be easy. We have to find someone I know I can trust.

I'm supposed to be your lover, remember? That's the reason you're getting a divorce.

You want me to act natural and flirt with you at the same time?

I know, but now I feel like a spy. Let's go.

Go easy on that stuff. I'm not sure I can pay for it.

I don't think they've noticed us. We'd better push things a bit. Let's dance.

An actor? Isn't that a very insecure profession?

Did we have a date, or didn't we?

I could give you a dozen explanations, but you might as well know the real one. I am a member of the CIA.

[Name], my respect for you is going down every minute.

What do you say we go over to your place where we can be alone

You're going home alone? Without an escort?

[Name] thought you looked so sad and humiliated…[he/she/they] told me to stay with you.

As far as I am concerned, are we supposed to have spent the night together?

I'll buy [him/her/them] a nice present, tell the truth, then we'll get married.

You didn't have to put on that act about being humiliated!

I was hired as a [job title], not as a geisha girl!

You're afraid. Afraid of emotion, afraid of intimacy, afraid to live.

If you call that living, the way you carry on, then you're right.

Funny how whenever people hurt your feelings…they're always doing it for your own good.

What makes you think I'm trying to tell you anything?

You're not a stingy man, but you're not the last of the big-time spenders, either.

Tell me, have you ever been to a diplomatic ball?

It's always a shock when it happens to someone you know.

That present…. I don't know how to thank you.

You're beginning to sound just like a husband.

I thought we were going to have a quiet little dinner?

The minute I decided to do the right thing and marry [him/her/them], I've had only troubles.

I was getting lonesome for the sound of a human voice.

Let's ignore [him/her/them]. After all, my evenings are my own.

Look at them acting so damn polite. They're all rotten.

You must feel as if you were dancing with your mother.

Let's run away and live on your social security.

That's some talk for a man who's planning a divorce.

When you left the club, you were already doing fairly well, blurry-wise.

Did you ever have a gin and tonic but made with tequila?

You know what I've done? I've created a monster.

No, Dr. Frankenstein, this is no creation of yours, this is me. Experiencing new things. Things that I've never done before.

Nobody around so we sat there and watched the sun come up.

My cactus. It's blooming!

Nevermind that. What about your night of debauchery with [name].

Poetic? I saw [him/her/them] kiss you on the neck! There's no such thing as a friendly kiss on the neck.

It's grotesque, a woman your age throwing yourself at a kid like that.

What about that father-and-daughter thing of yours?

You go to your church and I'll go to mine.

I was determined to make up for the time I'd lost. And I intend to keep on doing it.

Every time I felt shaky, I thought about you. Thinking about all those terrible things you said to me.

I don't mind saying I'm disappointed in you, [name]. Very disappointed.

If I didn't know you so well, I'd almost swear you're jealous.

All right, look, so you had a little fling last night. Nobody's knocking it. After all, there was no harm done. Was there?

Why don't you just ask me if I went to bed with [him/her/them]?

What happened out there on my mink stole? I mean, the beach? I want to know.

A husband's right. Let me remind you you're still my wife!

You want a divorce? It's I who wants a divorce!

Don't worry, you won't see me again. That goes for the children too!

I have no patience with people that shilly-shally about these things.

Damn it, I've been swindled!

How come you suddenly decided to un-mess this mess?

Dirty, married bachelor!

I don't know what your game is, but you'll not use me.

Your [husband/wife] suddenly refuses to give you a divorce?

What are you doing coming through the window like that?

I went to see [him/her/them] and I told [him/her/them] that you wouldn't agree to a divorce.

I went and told [him/her/them] that we weren't married.

It was the only way I could get out of marrying [him/her/them]!

My anger disappeared and I suddenly felt a delicious sense of relief. I said to myself, "Thank God, you're out of it. Now you can go home to your [husband/wife] and I suddenly remembered I had no [husband/wife].

You know, it's funny, I feel as if you've always been my [husband/wife]. We don't even have to bother getting married.

[danslabime]

Gave Simon his own page on the Carrd for bg info and verses!

[danslabime]

❛  don't you dare walk away from me when i'm talking to you.  ❜ || have a very spoiled Felix for out of canvas Simon! X

@encreved

And Simon stops, chin tipping down and head tipping back just enough so that he can spot the speaker out of the corner of his eye. He’s a tall man, broad-shouldered; raven-black hair is sleek and tied back into a single braid. It’s not particularly fashionable or even ascribing to any particular style, but he does look neat and collected — if not somewhat timeless. Fingers 'round the drink he just collected from the bar ——

He’s not wealthy; his clothing makes that plain enough. And he exhales evenly, eyes briefly turning skyward as though pleading some higher power for patience; the curse of being as big as he is means that scrappy young bucks with something to prove are often drawn to him to pick fights, try to show their worth, and he has little patience for the whole affair — though he also doesn't rise to it, either.

He hopes that's not what this is. God, he just wanted a calm evening out.

" —— were you saying something? " A twitch of a narrow smile, level and even, calm — but with the certain implication of the offer to start that conversation over. " It seems I must have missed it. "

[danslabime]

volume, drive, wet, fantasy!

@cleamaesta / a-z nsfw headcanons

volume — are they loud, quiet, or somewhere in between during sex? do they get louder over time? are there any activities that affect their volume during sex? do they prefer a loud or quiet partner?

he's a big quiet man who is a pretty quiet lover, unfortunately. 🥲 one can pull noises from him, and he absolutely loves pulling noises out of others — but when it comes to his own, he's vocal in that he'll give constant praise, affirmation, affection —— but sounds of pleasure and such are a lot more rare. that said, if one does get a moan out of him, they know they're doing things just right. for his partner, he doesn't really care, so long as it's not performative. but genuine noises of pleasure and sensation are really hot. ( Which he should also take note of. )

drive — how high is their sex drive? are they hyposexual, hypersexual, or somewhere in between? does it change depending on the circumstance? how often do they have sex?

i would call his sex drive average for a man in his prime. he enjoys it, finds it important to a relationship, but he's also not usually an every-night kind of person unless his partner is. but it's decently robust, and it takes a lot for him to turn it down. he usually will go for longer and more intimate and intense sessions, but also isn't above a quickie here and there. bonus points if his partner will let him sweep them up and hold them up ( effortlessly, might I add, because he's huge ), bonus bonus points if it's sweet and intense and a little silly. he'd probably ask for sex a few times a week given normal circumstance, but it's driven a lot by his partner, their lives, outside stresses. he's not complicated, really.

wet — do they like bath/shower sex? would they have sex in other bodies of water (pool, lake, ocean, etc)?

y e s. god, he's into this, especially deep water. loves the feeling of water on skin. loves tracing his fingers through it, loves watching it bead and shine. Loves how it makes hair sleek and slippery, loves the weightlessness of being underwater. nice slow passionate sex where it's more about touching and feeling and just letting those moments ebb and flow? he could live there, endlessly.

fantasy — do they have any sexual fantasies they'd like to try out? have they ever gotten to act on a sexual fantasy?

he's honestly kind of a simple man for the most part when it comes to sex, and being a service top he'd claim to mostly just be about his partner's desires —— but sometimes he thinks about being able to just close his eyes and relax and be taken care of. be touched, appreciated, desired. also a simple thing: a sensual massage that turns into sex, lmao.

[noahsresources]

A-Z NSFW HEADCANON MEME !

i know this has been done several times before, but if by chance any of the following questions appeal to you specifically, you've come to the right place! this meme contains NSFW content, so adults only please! ♡

afterwards — what kind(s) of aftercare do they like being given? do they like giving their partner aftercare? do they fall asleep quickly after sex?

beg — do they like making their partner(s) beg? do they like begging their partner?

body — what is their favorite body part of theirs? of their partner(s)'? are there any specific body parts they like to pay special attention to (ex. feet, hands, ass, etc)? where are their erogenous zones? where are they most sensitive?

clothing — do they like to have sex fully or partially clothed, or do they prefer having sex naked? would they ever move an article of clothing aside for stimulation/penetration (ex. pulling their panties to the side for penetrative sex)?

cum — how long does it take to make them cum? do they have any kinks relating to cum? do they like when their partner(s) cum(s) inside them? do they like cumming inside their partner(s)? do they like when their partner(s) cum on any of their body parts? do they like cumming on any of their partner(s)' body parts?

delay — do they like having their orgasm delayed/denied? do they like delaying/denying their partner(s)' orgasm?

dirty talk — are they turned on by dirty talk? turned off by dirty talk? is there anything they like their partner(s) to appeal to when talking dirty with them?

drive — how high is their sex drive? are they hyposexual, hypersexual, or somewhere in between? does it change depending on the circumstance? how often do they have sex?

dynamic — are they dominant? do they like to be dominated? how do they show their dominance? how do they show their partner(s) they want to be dominated? are they more versatile or does it depend on the context/their partner(s)?

eyes — do they like to be watched while they're having sex? do they like to watch others having sex?

fantasy — do they have any sexual fantasies they'd like to try out? have they ever gotten to act on a sexual fantasy?

g-spot — do they like g-spot/p-spot stimulation? do they prefer giving or receiving it, or does it depend on their partner(s)? do they like to stimulate the area with toys?

hair — do they shave or wax? do they let their hair grow out?

humiliation — do they like being humiliated or degraded? is there anything specific they like being humiliated or degraded for? do they like humiliating or degrading their partner(s)?

impact — do they like spanking/being spanked? whipping/being whipped? hitting/being hit? any other kind of impact play not listed here?

kink — what are their kinks? do they have a primary kink? are there any kinks they'd be interested in trying? are there any kinks they don't like or aren't interested in trying?

lingerie — do they own lingerie? if so, how often do they wear it? what kind of lingerie do they like to wear the most? do they like when their partners wear lingerie for them?

location — where do they like to have sex the most? would they ever have sex in a 'risky' place (ex. in the office, closet, public bathroom, etc)?

lube — do they use lube during sex? how much of it? do they like flavored lube and/or lube that brings particular sensations? can they become naturally lubricated enough to not need lube during sex?

marks — do they like being marked? do they like marking their partners?

music — do they like to play music while having sex? what kind of music? is the music for vibes, aesthetic, or simply to drown out the sounds they and their partner(s) make (or even a mix of all three)?

names — do they like being called names in the bedroom? if so, what kind of names? are they pet names or are they names to appeal to a praise/humiliation kink? do they like calling their partner(s) names in the bedroom? do they have a daddy/mommy kink?

orgasm — how would their partner(s) know if they orgasm? what is their orgasm reaction like? are they sensitive after having an orgasm? what is the most effective way to get them to quickly orgasm?

positions — what are their favorite sex positions? do they have a singular favorite sex position? are there any positions they would like to try? are there any positions they don't like?

praise — do they like being praised? is there anything specific they like being praised for? do they like praising their partner(s)?

queen — are they a size queen? do they prefer length, girth, or both? do they like textures?

restraint — do they like being restrained? do they like restraining their partner(s)? are they into softer bondage or more hardcore BDSM?

sensation — do any specific sensations turn them on? are they into hot wax? ice? tickling? specific textures? anything else not listed here?

sexting — do they like sexting their partner(s)? do they ever send nudes? do they like receiving nudes? do they find sexting more or less difficult/fun than curating sexual experiences in real life? are they any different while sexting than they are during real life sexual experiences?

size — how big are their genitals? what cup size are they? what are their body measurements?

sounds — what sounds do they make during sex? do they laugh a lot during sex? are they chatty during sex?

stimulation — how do they prefer to be stimulated? do they like being given handjobs? do they like being fingered? do they like being given oral? is/are there any specific spot(s) on their body they like being stimulated the most? where do they like to stimulate their partner(s)?

strip — does your muse like stripping for their partner(s)? do they like when their partner(s) strip(s) for them? do they like their partner(s) stripping them naked? do they like to strip their partner(s) naked?

style — do they like it rough? do they like it soft? do they prefer fucking or making love? do they like a hard and fast pace, a slow and gentle pace, or does it vary/depend on the situation?

top or bottom — are they more of a top or a bottom, or are they more versatile? does it depend on their partner(s)? do they like penetrating or being penetrated more? do they like giving oral or receiving oral more? do they like stimulating or being stimulated more?

tease — do they like teasing their partner(s)? do they like being teased? how do they like to tease/be teased?

toys — do they own sex toys? how often do they use them? do they prefer using them on themselves or their partner(s)?

turn on — what turns them on?

volume — are they loud, quiet, or somewhere in between during sex? do they get louder over time? are there any activities that affect their volume during sex? do they prefer a loud or quiet partner?

wet — do they like bath/shower sex? would they have sex in other bodies of water (pool, lake, ocean, etc)?

[danslabime]

simon's really just a giver. sure, getting there is fun and all in the end (and he prefers it), but he could spend hours getting his partner off as many times as they want. with his hands, his mouth, his cock -- toys, sensation stuff, mix of all the above. holding someone close while they shiver against him? good stuff.

[grcdientshift]

The terror in her voice screams for him to run, yet he draws nearer instead, sweeping through her Nevrons with a frightening ease. He has always been stronger than most everyone, has always done what was right, standing behind his beliefs and fighting for them. Always steadfast, even in his softness, his sweet heart bolstered him, never held him back.

But she thinks that the painted shell encasing her consciousness is too brutal for him to fight for, to want; he should run, he needs to run, please run! Her mouth won't form the word again, and her hands conduct Nevrons to attack as if in a deadly symphony. Simon has but one arm now, and golden chroma stain his uniform, and she will only cause him pain if he stays!

Again, again, another is sent after him, but as she fights for control, he fights through the waves of them, coming closer to where she stands with arms raised. Perhaps he could help her, lower her arms and stop the madness the spills from her fingertips before he falls from exhaustion. Even a being such as what he has become must bear weariness in their bones, right? (Does she? Do her arms tire from the Painting? From the unending and literal danse macabre she cannot fight? Does she? Does she?)

He stops close after felling Nevron after Nevron, just shy of her being able to reach him, and he does not plead for her, but he encourages her; it is not a need for her to fight, it is that he knows she can. Perhaps she had not been a physical fighter before, but papa had often chided her stubbornness in the same breath that he himself was stubborn. Willpower is her weapon right now, against this mindless casing.

The fight can't be seen on the façade of the woman as it plays out internally, save through the fear in her eyes changing to determination. Clea grasps for control beyond this new version, her will working through each bone and muscle as if fitting herself back into her own skin, as if pushing through cement to take it over again. Whatever that woman with her face did, it is terrifyingly difficult to retake herself.

The process is agonizing, and for long minutes, the body can only stand, arms raised, and stare at Simon. He is her grace, her love, her heartbeat. She has been fighting before, but seeing him alive has gifted her renewed vigor. It is subtle, but her lips tremble and her fingers twitch, and she is doing it. Pushing through the blockade of her own being, she manages to speak a single, half-strangled word as the repainted creation fights back.

"Help."

She can do this, she knows she can, but she wants him close again, wants to feel his warmth and how he envelops her with his entirety.

[danslabime]

The Nevrons fall, fall, break apart; he's barely breathing hard by the end of it all. She calls for him and he doesn’t hesitate: with the last Nevron between them felled, there is nothing to keep him from it. Nothing that could keep him from it, not in the end: he would fight endless waves of these terrors, he would rip apart heaven and earth to build them a place of safety. To make sure that she would be safe ——

Here, seeing her, he’s all too aware he failed in that one thing: she slipped from him somewhere, was taken, and now she has paid a price that rips his heart into pieces. Later, much later, when things are quiet and they are out of this place, he will bear the burden of that guilt, but now is not the time.

He is broken enough: unstable repainted chroma, pushing far beyond any limits of what a human should normally be able to withstand — more injury and trauma than a man should be able to stand and take. But he bears it, even if he fears it’s already too late for him; he knew it was desperately unlikely he would be walking away from any of this.

" I’m here, my beloved, " and the voice comes as a torn sound, a whisper, something tragic and pained deep in his chest: a dragged step as the sword falls again, and he only has one good arm to reach for her with but he does it as he can. He’s always been tall, but she who repainted him made him even bigger, taller, wider — but even despite the chroma ripping through him, boiling in his veins, crawling up skin that has been sapped of saturated color and left just a little unsaturated, uncanny, he’s gentle as he’s always been.

He doesn’t know how to help, not really: he’s a fighter, a warrior, a soldier, not a painter or physician. But he sees the fear, the pain, the stubborn will, and knows it well; gently, one broad palm finds her forearm and doesn’t so much pull as guides it down, down, to press a kiss to her hand if he is able. " I have you, my Clea. I’m here. You can fight whatever she has done to you, I know you can. " And oh, the conviction — utter and total, soft and vehement, even if whatever has happened here rips his heart in two. " Yes, just like that, " he utters, feeling the word stick in his throat; he has to find his voice again, and when he does it is raw. " You are strong. Stronger than her. " A waver of emotion, tight in his chest. " Come back to me. "

They are damned, aren’t they. All of them. But at least they can be damned together.

[grcdientshift]

He's become a light sleeper since the Fracture. Ever alert, ever ready. Things had felt comfortable beforehand, nothing like this having happened before, and now it feels like their foundations have shifted — literally and figuratively. He has nightmares now, wondering where Clea is, what might come next. The world doesn't feel safe like it used to.

Simon still feels safe, but the consistency of their time together has wavered, oftentimes only limited to falling into bed at night after an exhausting day. Lumiere split into pieces, all of them trying to understand why it happened, searching for resources and survivors, whether they be alive or just finding bodies to lay to rest. It's taxing on the body and the emotions, and Verso doesn't know how to speak his grief aloud.

His dreams this night had been a bit turbulent, but quiet, it seems, since Simon's thoughts are what kept him awake. The hand on his cheek and the kiss to his forehead bring some semblance of peace to Verso's mind, even for a moment, before Simon stands and Verso simply watches after him. Where he had once carried the worry of trying to be involved with the Dessendre son instead of the eldest daughter, a much simpler worry for a much simpler time, now the weight of their new reality fits itself in the knots between his shoulder blades.

He stands and joins Simon at the window, but behind him, slipping his arms around the man's waist and pressing a kiss to the dip of his spine. "I have, yes," he admits quietly, guilt forming behind his teeth. "Expedition Zero, a more organized search and rescue." An expansion of what people have been trying to do here in small groups with little preparation as they all try to make sense of things. Verso hesitates a moment, then speaks again. "Papa asked me to join."

[danslabime]

Truth be told, he's terribly unsurprised; though it was not explicitly voiced, there's the underlying expectation with the upcoming Expedition that most able-bodied individuals would be lending a hand in one way or another. That may not mean going on the Expedition, but in so many ways ——

Simon, of course, is going; no one ever had any doubt, and he hadn't hesitated in volunteering. He's one of Lumiére's few trained fighters, and has a sense of responsibility and duty that runs through every part of him. But —— as Verso closes in behind him, presses his mouth to his back in a warmth enough to make him shiver, the Sword of Lumiére can't help some weary resignation in it all. Verso's strong, swift, agile; he's in his prime, a force of his own. And yet Simon also sees the musician, the artist. Thinking of those hands wielding weapons against those monsters that have surfaced?

He lets himself feel at ease at the familiar sensation of Verso at his back — not quite leaning into him but against him, a shared weight that slots them together in a familiar hold. " Expedition Zero, " he considers, the number weighted on his tongue with a considering lilt; people don't number things unless they think there will be more numbers to follow.

" —— I thought he would. " There's no upset in it. " Jean Seillière and his son did, too. And Lucienne Vollant —— " Though her entire family is missing, and she wielded fierce desperation like a knife when they tried to keep her from it. He breathes in and then slowly exhales, broad hand squeezing the arm 'round his middle. " I'm going, " he adds, low —— though was there any surprise? There's duty but not pride, precisely; it's what it is, but it is something he had never considered Lumiére to be facing, ever.

A shift of his gaze; he looks back, dark gaze quiet and softer behind the sheet of raven hair. " —— what are you thinking? " It's quiet, a simple question enough: weighted with both love and care and the knowing that he feels he already knows the answer. ( And if he's correct, he approves even though his heart aches for it. ) " What did you tell him? "