L'amour d'un frère

Independent Verso Dessendre from Expedition 33: Clair Obscur Penned by A.

[maskedvisages]

Mirrored Verso knew to a certain extent what was happening. He could feel his mother's and father's chroma at war. His sister's chroma advancing much further than it was when it was left here, back when they were children. His own was being evaporated bit by bit. Painted over. Erased. Ironic, that it was a fight to save this canvas - on Aline's part - and yet she was contributing to it's downfall.

It was easier to call the real Dessendre's his own, and the Painted versions belonged to the version on the other side of the glass. Yet they shared their Maman. They shared Alicia - in a way.

"Do you remember when Monoco died," Mirrored Verso had changed shape when the other Verso had looked away to wipe his hands from blood. He now reflected how he looked at the memory he was about to take them down. Late teens, early twenties. His hair was shorter, and his face still held some boy-ish charm that hadn't been whittled away by adulthood just yet. "Monoco the Second? Alicia was young, she barely understood what death meant. But she saw it all... She needed to, so she could say goodbye. It hurt to see her go through all that pain, but it's a fact of life she needed to learn - Maman and Papa said anyway. I tried- ...We tried, to protect her from it, but it wouldn't have helped in the long run, so they said. So when it was done, we were there for her. Made her laugh again, held her when she cried. Because it's not our job to make life easy for her, it's our job to be there when it gets hard."

He crouched down in the frame, trying to catch the other Verso's eyes. "If you really want to blame someone... Well, Maman didn't have to make the Lumierians, did she? His parents. His grandparents - and so on. None of them needed to exist, let alone die the way they have... It's not up to us to take responsibility for that. All we can do...is what is necessary."

Gustave was a roadblock. It made him ache a little to see it as such, much like Clea taught him to all those years ago, but what choice did he have? They were running out of time.

"Life...keeps forcing cruel choices." Mirrored Verso sounded even younger again. His eyes distant, as if recalling something private for himself. A time he heard those words from Renoir for the first time, when he had to face a deadly choice himself at a young age. "Deterring now will not help you. I know it hurts. Just as it hurt every time an Expeditioner has died that you could have saved. But you need to keep going, for Alicia's sake. Her brother laid down his life to get her this far, now you need to finish his job. Because it's always been our job..."

[poetiquemotif]

They were fighting – tearing the canvas apart to preserve Verso’s memory, the memory of the man behind the mirror he stood in front of. It was exhausting. Verso rubbed a hand across his face, shaking his head a little as he exhaled slowly. Aline wanted to save the canvas, to not lose Verso. Renoir didn’t want to lose Aline. Clea wanted everyone OUT of the canvas, and Alicia just wanted Verso back. It was back and forth, a deeply exhausting cycle, and Verso just wanted to rest.

Verso didn’t feel like either belonged to him, not after the fracture, after he realized what had happened. He couldn’t have been prepared for the following years.

He lifted his head, looking at the other Verso, the mirrored Verso who was younger now, late teens – nearly a decade before he’d passed away in the real world. “We brought her in, and let her pet his fur while he passed. So she could say goodbye.” Verso agreed to the mirror and ran a hand through his hair. I didn’t – we didn’t want to let her in there, but they insisted.” he murmured, crossing his arms over his chest as he did, closing himself off somewhat, discomforted still with everything he’d gone through, everything he still needed to do. “Maman said she needed to see, so she understood. But I didn’t like the thought of her having to see it. We were always too protective of her.” Verso said quietly. The mirror version of himself was younger, softer around the edges and Verso forgot what his face had looked like, when he wasn’t world weary and exhausted.

The other Verso crouched down, trying to catch his eye and he finally lifted his gaze to look at the other man, eyebrows pinching in a furrow. “She shouldn’t have done this. I – this isn’t what I wanted from this. All of this – the Gestrals. They were supposed to bring joy. But then everything here, all the people lost to the gommage. It’s exhausting.” Verso ran a hand through his hair, tangling his fingers in and tugging a little. “We’re getting there. They’re making it farther than any other expeditions thusfar.”

He was right, Verso knew he was right, but losing expeditioners had never been easy. He’d never gotten over it, aside from the one that threatened Alicia – he didn’t dwell on how easily he’d been able to kill them. But then, he’d always been protective of her, being a big brother did that to you.

“I know. I know.” Verso sighed softly, pinching the bridge of his nose before he gave his head a shake, dark curls falling into his face. “It’s a good spot for me to be, Gustave – his sacrifice means that I can introduce myself. To be able to try and get them to Maman, to send her from the canvas. I can’t – I won’t let our sacrifice to save her from the fire...be for naught because she dies here.”

[tati-rey]

VESO & JULiE

[maskedvisages]

Verso had long since realised he was what some would call the 'soul' of the man who died. A piece of him that lived in the canvas had taken on a face of it's own, even as Aline tried to use the rest to created his painted reflection. Parts of Verso's soul were scattered over the canvas. Perhaps that was why the painted version of himself felt pulled here at time. They were pieces of a puzzle, longing to be back together again. Longing to be complete, and gone, for good.

"No need to apologise. I can't imagine it's much fun to face me like this. It would be maddening for anyone." Mirrored Verso shrugged a shoulder with a slight smirk. But the small smile faded as he spotted the blood.

"Do you want to talk about it? I... I feel this is the closest you've gotten us to our freedom. But I can tell it's weighing heavy on you." He invited the other Verso to open up and talk - because who else could possibly understand that weight that sat upon them both? Mirrored Verso was weighed down by his inability to do anything about what was happening to his canvas - painted Verso was weighed by the same entrapment.

But possibly not for much longer...

[poetiquemotif]

Verso didn't know what to do with himself, what to do with his hands; he just knew he couldn't look at them. Couldn't bear the sight of it and he shook his head, blue eyes lifting to the other Verso in the mirror. "It's - ironically enough the most normal thing I've done out here." Verso said with a mild laugh, eyebrows knitting into a furrow. Truthfully out here it was nice to have someone to talk to, even if it was a weird situation to be in. Even if it could also be a bit egotistical to seek himself out for conversation. But Clea wasn't much for conversation - she avoided them like the plague, he couldn't talk to Aline, and talking to Renoir was out of the question.

Verso sighed as the mirror version of himself caught sigh of the blood and he frowned, sinking onto a rock across from the mirror, ducking his head, staring at the blood on his hands, melancholy making it's way across his expression.

"I had to let Maelle - Alicia's brother in this canvas die. And I could have saved him. Like I could have saved the others." He finally grabbed a cloth to wipe some of the blood from them, hesitating before he started speaking again. "I want everyone free from the canvas, the entire Dessendre family. I want to stop. But this is so much worse. I-" Verso pinched the bridge of his nose and he sighed heavily.

"She had to watch him die in front of her, and mm, I'll never forget the look in her eyes." Verso looked up at the mirror version of him, the soul just as trapped as painted Verso and he frowned. "I want to be free of all of this. But I feel. Terrible about making her see that."

[maskedvisages]

@poetiquemotif plotted starter

Time passed strangely here. Verso often felt that he'd close his eyes for a mere moment and years had passed in the canvas. He wouldn't even have the privilege of knowing that if he wasn't so in-tune with this canvas. The paint was an extension of him, the ink was his blood. Despite the only window to his childhood masterpiece being trapped inside a cave, imbedded into the walls, he knew what was going on in his world at all times. And how it had been utterly torn apart. It was barely recognisable in places... Such grief in a world that had once brought so much joy. It was unbearable. He tried to sleep as much of it away as possible. He just wanted it to be over... He wanted his family to stop this madness.

Maddening still was he would find himself looking through the mirror waiting for the only visitor he'd ever have; himself. As insane as it sounded, but it was his only connection to another person. Verso had felt the change in the chroma when Maman had entered - felt the painted version of his family being created. And it hurt, that he could be replaced so readily.

But it seemed she created this Painted version of him too close to the original. Including that rebellious streak... His other self didn't visit often, but when he did, it seemed to always be at a time they both needed it the most...

Verso couldn't always control his form in this would-be mirror. Sometimes he was a boy, other times a teenager or even right up to the point he died. He supposed he reflected what Painted Verso needed to see the most at that time.

"Hello again." Verso greeted with a weak smile, leaning against the frame to the 'window'. "It's been a long time."

[poetiquemotif]

Verso was tired. He was so, so tired. The fracture had happened and that was one of the first times he stumbled upon his mirror - the reflection that was ever changing, himself at different points in his life and he'd been alarmed to say the least. But he came back, not often, not wanting to rely too much on his other self. Narcissism wasn't a flattering trait on anyone. But he'd needed it when he first stumbled upon the mirror - a vision of himself as a child, sitting on the floor at first before standing, arms behind his back with a solemn little smile.

Verso had visited the cave in quick succession after that, after the betrayal with Julie, blood on his hands, his face, his everything. Clothing torn and the grief overwhelming him like a flood.

It was drowning him.

He stumbled into the cave, blood on his hands still - forever on his hands and he'd never been more tired. He wanted this to be over, he just wanted to rest. Verso was so, so tired of burying Expeditioners, eventually there were just too many to, even as the numbers dwindled between the Gommage, painted Renoir, the nevrons painted by Clea, even his own hands. He leaned heavy against a rock, eyebrows pinched into a furrow as he did.

The greeting forced him to lift his gaze, pale blue eyes boring into the dirt - as if he could coax it to swallow him up and let him rest. But of course it couldn't, he was immortal functionally. Anchors of burden that pulled him down, down.

"Yeah. I-. Hah, I really don't know why I came. I just needed-" He grimaced, shaking his head. "I don't know. I'm sorry it's been so long."

[simioso]

" Bleeding, " Simon provides, the word clipped. " You're bleeding, is what you are. "

The trouble is — god, he's frustrated as he cleans the wound, touch gentle despite his size and aggravation — is that he knows he doesn't have any real right to be upset. Verso's grown, he's as strong a fighter as any of them are out here, and he's proven himself again and again. It was a fight Simon himself likely would have stepped into unaided, and while Simon's certainly the more skilled in a fight between the two, that gap is narrowing with all the forced practical experience out here.

Still: that protective need of his has roared into being out here, fierce and unrelenting. So much it burns. He wants nothing more than to end all this so they can all go home ——

His thoughts are running away from him, and it's with a snap back to the present that he realizes the wound's as clean as it's going to get. ( Has it stopped bleeding already? The thought tumbles messily but doesn't stick. )

" Hold this on it, " he instructs as he holds a bandage there, words still short, and when it's in place he moves to find a wrap to keep it in place. " It's not just about that. Wounds out here —— if they go sour, it's not as though we have a physician's office, or proper medicine, or —— " Dark brows draw down, furrowed deep. " We have to be careful. "

[poetiquemotif]

"Yes, that's true. But you're not - and that's what matters." Verso says simply as he leans back, letting Simon fuss over him.

Simon is gentle, despite the frustration radiating off of him as he cleans the wound, hunched a little over Verso as he cleans it away, the blood is more everywhere than he would like, but only because he really wants to smooth the furrow from between Simon's eyebrows, but he doesn't want to smear his own blood on the man, more than it's already on his hands.

"Si, mon cœur, I'm okay." He covers Simon's hand briefly, thumb sweeping over the back of it as Simon holds the cloth down, gruff instructions making Verso smile weakly. "I know we have to be careful, but what good am I if I stand back and let everyone else do the dangerous stuff for me mm?" He asks, soft and apologetic, fingers brushing against Simon's knee, a casual, careful touch. "You think I'll let you do all the dangerous stuff alone and just stand pretty? Non."

Verso won't pretend it doesn't hurt, it does - it feels like someone digging into his skin with a hot poker. But Simon is alive and he's safe and that's worth the burning ache. He's not as skilled as Simon but the gap is narrowing - a surging desire to be able to help somehow. To try and keep Simon and the others safe."

[simioso]

These little toys he makes are simple, uncomplicated. He has strong hands, steady hands, and he's patient; it's a way to pass time, especially out here where he didn't bring books or anything else to occupy spare moments outside of his nightly record of the day in his journal and cleaning equipment. But he's getting better at it; his first ones were blocky and uneven, but this one is actually looking more and more like an actual animal.

Back home, he gave them to the children — here, there's no kids, and so the ones he's dissatisfied with get left behind, and the few that pass his approval get stowed inside his pack. There aren't many.

" There are dozens of you on Montemarte way? " Dark eyes slide over to meet Verso's pale ones, widening just enough. " Merde. Thank you for the warning. One of you is quite enough. " There's a tease, certainly, but there's no bite to his words; it's fond, and deeply so, and shadowed with a little smile. It's no secret that Simon's loyalties run deep, but even more profound are his appreciations. But, too: it's no secret that Verso is a handful ( and a handful he quite likes to keep his hands on ).

He hums a low agreement, and inspects the creature in his palm. It's crude, still, but after Verso's observation, he decides one way or the other. He doesn't say which direction he falls. " Soft, perhaps. But they also have claws longer than your finger. " He grins, just a little; it's fleeting.

" Have I shown you? Papa has a jar of them, from before my family came from overseas. He showed me when I was little. I couldn't imagine hunting something then that could kill you just with a swipe of the claws. " A pause as he sobers, considering — a brief sweep of his gaze goes outward, towards the borders of the camp, and then falls back towards the little half-finished creature. " Now, a bear hardly seems frightening at all. "

[poetiquemotif]

It's been enjoyable, watching Simon work his way through small blocks of wood, learning and polishing his skills the more of the small creatures he carves. The kids love them, the uneven or slightly crooked animals, and Verso treasures each bright spark of joy he sees on their faces, the moments he's been lucky to see - since Simon is such a private man.

He bumps his shoulder into Simon's, a playfully offended gasp falling from his lips as he does so. "And here I thought you had a fondness for me too." Verso says softly, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Consider my heart shattered into a million pieces by this betrayal." Verso can't really keep it up long, before he's returning Simon's private little smile. He knows it's in jest, they have a shared appreciation for each other, the warm bond of kinship and an intimacy that was hard won. Which is why Verso takes no genuine offense, he is a handful and Simon has very capable hands.

Verso hums his assent, leaning back onto his palms as he watches Simon work, ice blue eyes focusing with rapt attention as he smoothes his thumb over the wood, careful, seemingly making his decision. "Mh, yes that is also true, and teeth as big as your thumb depending on their size. But ah, what can I say. I find something deeply charming and perhaps naively romantic in the duality." He says quietly, a thoughtful observation as he taps his fingers on the fallen log they've turned into a bench of sorts.

Verso listens then, to Simon speak, he likes it, the even timbre of his voice, every word chosen with a careful deliberation that makes Verso want to listen - to slow his almost impulsive energy to let the man's words steady him. There's just something about Simon that makes Verso want to still, to seek the comfort of his deeper voice, the slight rasp. "No, I don't think you have unfortunately, though I'd love to see them. Perhaps when we return you can show me them?" The moment slips and Verso is brought back to the somber reality of what they're doing and he sighs, softly, tipping his head back to look into the darkened sky, stars bright above them - unaware of their suffering and he hums. "There's very little I was previously aware of, that seems frightening anymore."

[simioso]

📚

random dialogue from a book - king sorrow, stephen king / @poetiquemotif

" You could have killed yourself, " and it's with gritted teeth, frustration bleeding into the words; despite it all, his touch is gentle, even if the hand that had pressed Verso down into the seat was firm. He wrings out a cloth, water streaming to the ground. " You should have waited for me. "

[poetiquemotif]

Simon had pressed him down and Verso knows that he's in trouble with the larger man. He doesn't really raise his voice, nor is he harsh or pushy - but the frustration in his voice is so much worse than had he just yelled at Verso. "Ah it's fine - I'm-" he bites his tongue, bites down on the word because if he lets it slip Simon won't be forgiving about it. Even if he does view himself as expendable sometimes. Verso smiles weakly, a grimace pulling his lips down as Simon wrings out a cloth. "Ah I knew you'd show up. I had faith in you, you're the best Si."

[simioso]

“I've known a lot of people. none of them were quite like you.” @poetiquemotif

Search and Rescue. That's what they're calling it, but Simon knows by now that they aren't finding any out here alive. None of them are survivalists — even though he knows more than most, they all lived a largely idyllic life before that didn't ask much of them most the time — but even he could sense when the tide shifted.

To what, he doesn't know, not truly. All he can do is hold it together and move forward.

Right now, though, the camp is quiet and he can pretend for a moment that all is going as planned — that there is still hope out there, that they will find some miracle that will mend this shattered world.

He's spending his time with a thin utility knife and a little block of soft wood, carving away little thin slivers of it to bide the time. Words catch his attention; his gaze flickers up to find Verso's own watching him, and he echoes it with a faint little smile —— and for a moment he's struck with the truth that Verso says this about him, but oh, does he realize truly how beautifully unique of a soul he is?

Likely not; the oft-maddening man is plagued with enough self-doubt that Simon often wants to either shake him or kiss him until he sees truth. Perhaps both.

" Hm. I like to think we're all our own. For good or ill. You, for instance, are quite unlike anyone I've ever met, " and you shine all the brighter for it; he swallows the words for now. " The world would be dull if we were all the same. " A shimmer in the wood catches his eye, sleek and silver-golden, and he places his thumb over it; it pulses warm, like chroma. Like it's alive. His brows furrow, deeply, and when he slides his thumb away it's gone and dim.

This world has gotten strange.

He pulls his gaze away, nudging Verso's shoulder with his own as he holds the vaguely quadruped-shaped piece up. " What do you think? A bear? Or perhaps an otter? "

[poetiquemotif]

They were seeking out survivors, trying to find people from the fracture - whatever the disaster was and Verso knew they weren't gonna find anyone. Truthfully, he was certain they all did - at the very least he and Simon did. But they kept up the pretense, hoping that they find someone. It's the only way to keep themselves going, busy hands to keep from thinking about the fallout, at least at first.

Verso is leaned against a rock beside Simon, trying hard to keep his mind on track - though it races - it feels like something is wrong, somewhere deep in his chest and Verso just can't quite put his finger on what's wrong. But it's easy now, in the quiet of the camp, to watch Simon work, blue eyes watch raptly as Simon carves, hands deft. Verso offers him a soft smile, gentle as he runs a hand through his dark hair. It needs to be tied back, but for now he's forgone it to let dark curls fall around his face.

"Hah, I'm nothing special. There's a dime a dozen of me down Montmartre way." Secretly - though he doubts himself more than he lets on, confidence normally oozing from him - he takes a bit of pleasure in the compliment. Though he doesn't necessarily agree. "But yes, I suppose I understand what you mean, our uniqueness. It's the things that help weave together a song, the notes; the chorus." Verso's fingers dance lightly against his leg, notes bounce in his head, slowly filling in for Simon, a song he hasn't quite pieced together yet. Simon furrows his dark brows and Verso tips his head, curious.

He furrows his brows as well, something is very wrong suddenly and he itches to press his hand to his chest before Simon bumps his shoulder against Verso's. He blinks a little before he offers a soft smile at Simon. "Ooh, an otter. I love watching them swim. Though-" he pauses, a look of consideration on his face before he grins, "-bears are pretty adorable. They look grumpy, but I've read they're quite soft actually."

[dessendreapologist]

i've got you.

[simioso]

It's not even like Simon resisted so much as was willfully blind to it all; he'd been born and raised much, much different than Verso had, after all, and theirs is still a world of social and class expectation. Of course —— he's also a man who has often subverted expectation and made his own path, and so while the realization that his friend had that kind of interest in him had been one that required some consideration and thought, he didn't turn away from the thought entirely.

Because who wouldn't fall for one such as this Dessendre rogue? He's beautiful, utterly: charming, talented, ice-cold eyes that could see through to one's soul in a heartbeat. One of those looks could be his unraveling if he had ever allowed it, and what said such interest was returned? Ah, but until it was ——

He breathes, then, watching Verso's swiftly veiled surprise with dark eyes that bordered on humor, but it's a fond and warm kind of thing, only interrupted by the warm and soft kiss that lingers so. " I am biased, " he chuckles with a hum as it breaks, considering. " I'd be a fool to claim otherwise. But even in bias, a man can still speak truth. "

God, though, the warmth of skin on skin; it hums through him, pleasant and hot and arousing but in a quiet way, a way that promises, and it's a way he enjoys. " Verso, " he says, low —— a prompt, soft but firm, guiding, " you do. " And his touch is firm, adoring — god, but couldn't he spend hours memorizing every part of him? Hasn't he already? He's beautiful, utterly, in a way that drives him mad. " You do, mon coeur. More than you know. "

[poetiquemotif]

It was neverendingly fascinating - the differences in the way they were raised - to Verso. He knew he'd grown up in the lap of luxury, a manor with everything he could ever want - though it came with it's own expectations and weight, but Simon had to work through his own familial expectations - because neither of them were free of expectations, they were just different expectations. It had been a little terrifying - admitting to Simon that he liked him, that he felt that way for him. Verso was a confident man, he knew what he wanted and rarely shied away from it. But he didn't want to ruin things with Simon had he not shared the feelings.

But the feelings were shared and Verso held it close to his chest - tucking the knowledge close to show that he made the right decision, taking the risk. How couldn't Verso fall for Simon? The gentle warmth of the man, his stalwart presence that made Verso feel safe.

Verso huffs softly, faintly bemused as he brushes his lips soft against Simon's, against the corner lightly before his palms slip up Simon's torso, touching, gentle and soft. "Well it's a good thing I enjoy your praise. I like hearing your biased opinion of me." He says with a slightly cocky little smile on his lips. "I like listening to you talk in general though, so that's my bias regarding you mon coeur."

Verso raises his head from where his lips press against Simon's collarbone lightly at the sound of his name from Simon's lips. He looks up at Simon, expression soft as he shifts closer, nudging his way more into Simon's space - half draping himself into the larger man's arms. His fingers brush along the curve of Simon's cheek, he's beautiful and were Verso more verbose he'd wax poetic about Simon. But instead the symphonies he could build, dance in his mind, though he's not certain he'll ever be able to translate his feelings perfectly. "I'll always want to do more. Make it ever increasingly better and better for you."

[simioso]

Often, their nights here are a mix of passion and tangled sheets, slow but intense —— it had taken him a moment to be drawn into the flirtation, the attraction, the yearning, but when he did it was full-hearted. He’s not a man who gives in small ways, and oh, but he enjoys giving. Nights where he draws Verso continually to the brink, to the very edge —— again and again, only to hold him there and kiss him deeply, swallowing every sound he makes. Only when he settled and could breathe again would he take him by the hips, roll him over to his back, take him there again ——

But now, tonight, it feels different — or at least there’s a desire in Verso he understands, because he’s so familiar. Simon —— trusts, of course he trusts, but vulnerability is a little more difficult and always has been. Giving himself over to someone in any capacity is a vaguely terrifying thing, and he wouldn’t even be able to define why if he tried.

Still: he laughs, a low and quiet exhale more than sound, and he hums deep as he lets his eyes close at the drifting kisses, the lingering touches. “ I think you do more than you give yourself credit for. ” He moves fully to his back, one hand — gentle, rough-calloused, long-fingered, fingers carding through Verso’s hair and trailing a thumb at his cheek — caressing him gently, encouraging. “ Then I am in your hands tonight, ” he says, gently. “ For whatever you’d like that to mean. “

[poetiquemotif]

As much as Verso enjoys the passionate nights, where Simon takes Verso apart - shamelessly reducing Verso to begging him - fingers clutching at sheets as he shakes apart beneath Simon. The slower nights are equally so good in their measure, it had taken months of persistent - gentle flirting; not that Verso had been trying to wear Simon down or coerce him - moreso to get the gentle man to let Verso closer. He understands it all too well, the inherent fear of being known - of letting someone see such vulnerable, delicate bits of yourself that are so easily exploited. But god has it been so worth it - to let himself surrender to Simon's attention - so deeply and thoroughly given in a way that makes him feel like putty - to be moulded like Clea's sculptures.

So Verso wasn't going to pretend he didn't celebrate a little bit when the larger man let Verso have the reins, gentle and hesitant - like a stray cat who'd spent their years defending every inch of their gained ground with sharp teeth - not that Simon was a violent man, but he was hesitant, wary, and it's with a level of careful, careful reverence that Verso holds this night in his hands.

Verso's hands wander - touching, mapping out the firm lines of his lover's chest, his skin darker beneath Verso's pale hands, scarred lightly in places from a life of skilled work. He drops a soft kiss to Simon's collarbone as he leans up, capturing the man's lips again in a soft, sweet kiss. "Mm, yes well. You're biased - you've made me cry for you; in the best of ways." He says with a wry twist to his lips as he looks at Simon - a faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes as he smiles, leaning into the palm cradling his head, fingers weaving through his curls and Verso sighs, softly. He closes his eyes, just a moment - enjoying the gentle touch before he hums, nodding then. "I'll do my best to give a fraction of what you so often gift me with."

[simioso]

❝ if you can still think, i’m not doing it right. ❞ @poetiquemotif / sweet filthy things

" That's my line, " Simon rebounds with a little breathless laugh, drawing in a hiss through his teeth as Verso withdraws — that tease, that beautiful tease — and he's never been shy about moving his lover where he wants him and so he's certainly not now; he pulls him up, curling a hand under his jaw and kissing him deeply, sweetly, but not without his own passion. He's a man who has so much self control — there's an inherent stillness baked into him, a quiet, something that speaks much of strict restraint and willpower. " Trust me, mon cher, you're doing everything so very right. "

Of course, he lets it bend here, when they're alone — but has Verso truly seen him let it go entirely? Not likely ——

" And what would you do, " he hums, considering —— a low husk somewhere in his words, his dark eyes even darker in this dim-lit bedroom, " if you could have me lose myself so? Lose all thought? " He smiles: a teasing, tempting thing, that ever solid confidence in his bearing —— someone who is more used to making others not being able to think than the reverse. " What would that look like for you? "

[poetiquemotif]

"Mine for right now mon cœur." He teases, lightly as he withdraws - it's playful as Simon pulls him up, guiding him into his space. And Verso goes willingly, draping himself long across his beautiful lover - with his dark eyes and crooked little smile. Sometimes Verso can't believe he gets to have this, to have these moments with Simon - and he melts into the sweet kiss, sighing his pleasure. Simon's passion is warming - deeply so and he hums softly - his own palm coming up to cradle Simon's angular jaw in return. "Mmm but I become such a mess in your hands. I want to return the favor."

Simon always holds himself with a steady level of control that makes Verso a bit jealous at times - he's good with masks, with a wry smile and a casual hand steering conversations. But Simon has a level of quiet confidence - sureness - that Verso has never quite been able to emulate.

He makes a soft noise of contemplation, gentle and curious at the question before he leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of Simon's lips. "You've caught me, honestly I'd probably be beside myself in surprise that I managed to get you to let yourself go that far. Perhaps a wee bit proud for managing it." He presses a kiss down to Simon's jaw, lips brushing along the sharp angle as he does. "I'd see how far I could get you to relax - to let yourself trust me so fully you can't think. And then once I'd gotten you there - take the care of you that you give me." He pressed another, softer kiss to Simon's jaw, lingering gently.

[simioso]

My muse tucks a loose strand of hair behind your muse’s ear, their fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary. (Ignore that Verso is short compared to Simon. Grabs a step ladder) @poetiquemotif

Simon's hair is a point of pride: raven-black, gleaming, soft and silky to the touch. He's meticulous about it to a fault, keeping it braided or tied back much of the time. It's rare that he has it down when he's out and about, for a lot of reasons: it's ridiculously long, it gets in the way, and, unfortunately, it's not in the common fashion.

But here, in the evenings and around trusted company, he can be at ease a little more, and it's a bit of a relief anyway to let it fall free. He likes these quiet evenings, too: these moments of repose where they can retire to one of their quarters, and Verso can play for a little while ( which he often asks for ) and he can get a few quiet moments to read or otherwise work on something else he has going.

Tonight, he's reading some collected serial fiction — something science fiction he's been engrossed in — leaned against the cushions on the floor because he's simply so tall that it's more comfortable than trying to find space on the couch. It's rare he's at such ease: shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, shirt collar undone, hair loose and softening his otherwise angular jawline.

So engrossed is he that he doesn't hear the question, and only blinks up at the lingering touch as fingers pull a wily strand of hair behind his ear. " Sorry, " and it's with a half-laugh, letting the book fall closed with a finger still trapped between the pages to hold his place — but he does lift the other broad palm to cover the one that lingers with a squeeze. " I feel like I've been neglectful this evening. "

[poetiquemotif]

Verso loves Simon's hair, it's silky and well cared for - he loves to sit and brush it on slow evenings - moments when they get to sit and just be in the same place. These secret moments where Simon can take advantage of Verso's expansive library and Verso can revel in the warm - solid presence of Simon at his side. The steadiness of his calm demeanor is good for Verso, it's soothing and easy to sit here.

He's long since stopped playing, content to sprawl lazily upon the cushions of the chaise behind where Simon is leaning. He's contented himself with a book for a while as well, but well, Verso is ever a cat in nature sometimes. Unable to fully still for too long - which makes the contrast between himself and Simon sweeter. The large man is gentle, still and he's a good balance to Verso's more whirlwind nature.

Verso had tucked a bookmark in his own book long prior, pale eyes studying Simon's angular jaw, the slightly crooked nose against the background of a curtain of silky black hair. He doesn't mind sitting still while Simon reads, but he also is content to content himself with studying the gorgeous man before him.

Verso chuckles, amused as Simon closes his book, warm, slightly rough palm coming up to cradle over Verso's own more dainty hand - his long fingers trapped beneath a broad hand. The dark hair will inevitably fall free - but Verso managed to nab his attention, so it's a win of it's own right. Simon's book falls close and Verso hums softly as he leans closer. "It's alright, I suppose I'll just have to waste away, second fiddle to your science novel." He's teasing of course as he dramatically drapes himself over Simon's shoulder. "Truthfully, it is alright. Are you enjoying yourself?"

[aurora-rph]

Arranged Marriage Themed Starter Sentences

I know nothing about you, and yet we are expected to spend our lives together.

We both know this is about money, why pretend otherwise?

I know neither of us want this, but lets try and make the best of it.

Do not think this ring on my finger means you have my heart.

Just because we're married doesn't mean I'm going to share your bed.

If I drink enough, maybe I can forget I don't want to be here.

This is politics, not love.

If I am to be married against my will, I at least am going to be a sight no one will forget.

My freedom is a small price to pay for my people's safety.

At least in front of others, let us pretend we're in love.

I won't hold you to a promise your parents made for you.

I cannot love you, but perhaps we can be friends.

Are we simply commodities to be traded for peace and power?

Perhaps love will come in time.

They were forced to marry me, I can hardly admit I've fallen in love with them.

Is lineage and money all that matters? Whatever happened to romance?

I did not want this either, I won't tell anyone if you wish to run.

I'm not asking for love, just for them to be kind.

Smile. Everyone is watching.

The ceremony is over. You can stop pretending now.

I'll sleep in my office, you may have the bed.

It's not too late to run.

Do you think in another life, we could have chosen each other?

I can't give you my heart, but I will see that you have anything else you could wish for.

[eyesscoop]

just a quick thing

[simioso]

Clea. Of course Simon knows, but he doesn't hold anything against Verso for wanting to keep the name quiet and nor does he bring it up. He assumes it's because Simon's world was upended by the other Clea, the one far away and not the one he knew at all — but to him she's another person from the family he knew, now.

What a damned mess this all is.

But Verso's words are interesting ones, and they make him think. " I'm not sure, " he says, carefully. " I think Renoir did what he could in the end, since he couldn't remove Aline's blessing. " Or curse. More of the second, and that sentiment seeps into his words. " And so if there was any mercy to be had down there, that was it, because I think remembering all those years would have been something I never could have came back from. " It was hard enough, knowing he'd been the reason some Expeditions failed — or been the reason some lost people. He tries not to dwell.

He lets his hand fall, though, with a chuckle. " You say this. And yet when presented with a choice to let someone with incredible powers change me, I said yes. Over and over, I said yes. Even when I came to know it wasn't her, because I thought it was doing the right thing. " He shakes his head. " We're all creatures of —— " His brows furrow, deeply. " will, for better or worse. "

[poetiquemotif]

It's an attempt to be polite - to not bring up the woman that had a hand in what happened to Simon, because it's complicated. Everything is complicated here, the repainting and everything. Verso furrows his brows - pursing his lips a little as he considers the conversation, the situation as it stands. All of this is a mess - and Verso breathes out a small sigh, looking at Simon.

"He always did." Verso murmurs softly, fingers lifting up to pinch at his brows, giving a soft hum as he does. "I think you're right. Having a long memory is. Difficult at best." He murmurs, pale eyes dropping to his hands - as he folds them back into his lap finally. "A long memory - a long life. I would say sometimes it's a curse. Remembering - ah. I would like to not remember some of the years." He smiles, weakly at Simon, lifting his shoulders in a little self deprecating gesture. "Small mercies I suppose, yes."

Verso hums - a thoughtful noise as he looks out at the bay, at the clear water as the waves lap the wave breaks and the docks and he breathes out a slow exhale. "The road to hell and good intentions I suppose." Finally he turns, more towards Simon, pale - pale eyes moving to the city behind them and his lips twist into a wry expression. "We do what we think is best. Despite the cost I think. And that's the purest experience of being a human - mm, alive at least."

[poetiquemotif]

Sorry Verso is so quiet, I mainly made this as a second to Gustave. He's always gonna be my main focus. I check in here regularly but I've also been busy this whole week.