perdu dans l'abîme

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

[simioso]

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—— #SIMIOSO.  TO THE ABYSS.  by rowan ( 30+, he/they) . SIMON from CLAIR OBSCUR: EXPEDITION 33. independent  and  selective. canon-compliant but heavily headcanon influenced. —— carrd temp. linking to other blog: RULES. DOSSIER. MEMES.

:: extremely ANTI-AI. DNI if you use generative AI in any capacity. ( graphics, writing, art, etc. )

:: this blog was moved from a sideblog so forgive some dust. LOW ACTIVITY.

other blogs: @etoilesfantome. @crosaidi.

quick portrayal notes under cut !

while i do ship him with clea and consider it to be canon, i won't assume or auto-ship. also more than open to other ships! i ship him good with verso, ocs, expedition zero folks. post-abyss shipping is harder and will need a lot of plotting or a repainted au.

verses: out-of-canvas parisian, pre-fracture, post-fracture during expedition zero, post-abyss.

he's a fisherman's son to a single father, an only child. he's very sturdy, dependable, and well-regarded.

he's 6'4" pre-abyss. 6'10" post-repainting.

[paintedxghost]

"All excellent points," Verso took his glass gratefully and toasted towards Simon before taking a sip. "Thanks. Anyways, it's not the acting, or the skill that comes with running the camera, that's got me interested. It's the musical accompaniment. In a stage production or an opera, you have vocal performances and the necessary length to tell your story completely.

"In a silent film, the musical accompaniment has to do all that work. Storytelling, emotional moments, the suspense... Most of the time, I'm fairly certain that the musicians don't have sheet music. It's all improvisation, live, while the film is playing. Do you know how much fun that would be?"

The energy and excitement that Verso had picked up while talking seemed to drain away. He sighed again, "It would help my case, I suppose, if the largest film companies weren't also producing gory crime videos. Maman hates the Detective magazines that Clea and I like to read. Histoire d'un Crime wasn't even particularly violent."

[simioso]

Simon can't help the little quiet laugh. " Well, to me, trying to make up music on the spot sounds terrifying, but I think you would be fabulous at it. "

And —— to the rest, he hums a thoughtful sound, letting thoughts drift. " A shame. Those are the good ones. " Simon's preferences go across several genres, but generally settle across the more adventurous and thrilling; he gives a tiny little grin. " Well, she wouldn't approve of my tastes, either. You've seen my pile of penny dreadfuls. " It's the modern era, after all; people are moving past the fanciful in degrees. " They aren't even new. My father had a collection of them from before I was born. "

Of course, it's considered low-brow, but they're in comfortable company and he doesn't care much. But even so: he considers, leaning back and taking a considering sip of the wine. " People are fascinated by the lurid, I think. The —— " he waves the glass, vaguely, " —— expressions of things that the mind can conjure but is too much for polite society. There's plenty of violence in painting, too. "

He has to fight his memory — god, between his own efforts and interest in culture and being with the Dessendre lot, he's absorbed more than he knows. It comes to him in a rush a moment later: " Caravaggio, " he recalls. " And, god, Goya. Géricault, too. He was French, too. And recent! That's more violent than anything they could show on a film I should think. "

[simioso]

simon's bi but probably in that way that literally no one expects and then he's like 'obviously??' and people are like 'no not obviously tf??'

[paintedxghost]

"Anything but a painter." Verso answered immediately with a small snort. It wasn't like he hated painting. He loved creating fantastical settings for his weird little guys to play in. But Verso knew as soon as he picked up his brushes again, it would be treated like he'd lost his drive for music.

That didn't quite answer Simon's question, however. Verso took a moment to really think about it. If he weren't a member of le tout-Lumi, if he didn't have to worry about maintaining his parents' legacy, what would he do? Verso dragged both hands through his hair and scratched at the back of his head.

"Have you ever been to one of those moving picture shows?" Verso asked. "I remember going to see Le Voyage dans la Lune a couple of years ago. The film, the pictures, were moving, but it was completely silent. Instead, there was live music that was helping tell the story.

"Cinematography is so new, though. Who knows if it will take off?" he chuckled sadly. "Experimentation like that is only allowable once I've made it in more established arenas."

[simioso]

The little snort and retort is only answered with a small little smile and shake of his head —— obviously —— and he doesn't prompt him further, instead giving him time to consider. He does rise in the meantime, though, slipping up to feet to make his way to a small cupboard. His hair is loose; he ties it back as he goes, just loose enough to keep it from getting everywhere.

" Once, " he answers, with a glance over his shoulder. " It's been a while ago. " Those tickets are expensive — expensive, and he found it to be terribly short and, while utterly fascinating, not something yet that makes sense for him to be spending that much of his earnings on. But —— that he hadn't thought of, and he just gives a low, considering sound.

" Everything new has to start somewhere, " he says, opening the cupboard and rummaging. " I think it has a lot of potential, especially if they improve it. I've seen some of the things they're doing with chroma lately — some of the new pictos can do amazing things. I wouldn't be surprised if the two come together. "

Ah-hah! He finds a bottle of wine, two-thirds full, and two clean glasses; he doesn't even ask, he just pours them both and brings them all over, handing one of the glasses over. " Well, I shall say it now: someday I'm certain I'll see your name on the silver screen. "

[simioso]

working on things

[korvogrim]

A little practice piece : >

🌿 DM for details if you're interested in joining a private 18+ e33 server with its own siverso corner! ⚔️

[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]

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. “

[paintedxghost]

Simon's point was acknowledged with a dip of Verso's head, and his hands thrown out and up. This particular picadillo had been picked between the two of them so often that he hardly had to comment on it, aside from, "If you remember where you read that, send it my way. Perhaps I'll start leaving passive-aggressive stories of other ephemeral fine arts lying around."

Heaving a great sigh, Verso finally threw himself into an armchair next to Simon. He didn't seem settled as much as he was deflating. Because, as nice as the idea of being his own man felt, Verso knew intrinsically that wasn't the case.

With a sardonic chuckle, he dragged a hand through his hair and said, "That's... only partially true, my friend. It all hinges on whether or not I can actually be successful. You would think our position in le tout-Lumi is at stake if the Dessendre heir were anything other than a painter."

[simioso]

A tip of the head acknowledges — and he will find it, because even as an offhanded remark that's just who he is — but that's decidedly not a now problem. " Mm. Just don't you dare tell her where you got it. " That's with a little narrowing of his eyes sidelong, and isn't entirely serious — if it came down to it, he'd certainly take a fall for any he cares about. " I don't want to be in trouble over your passive-aggressive resistance. "

He watches as he collapses into the chair, and not for the first time Simon considers that he's terribly glad he's a little separated from the artistic high society; even from what he's exposed to, it all seems terribly exhausting.

" Anything but a painter, " he echoes, rueful. " I think you put a terrible weight on your own shoulders, " he sighs. " You and your sister both. " And their parents. And —— god, all of it, really. His father warned him — still warns him — that the high society is all a bunch of charade, and worries over his son's ambition — and times like these are one of the few reminders he gets about how separated his life growing up was. Still is, in a lot of ways. " What do you want? Outside of what your parents want, what society expects. What would your life look like, if you were able to live it like you wanted? What would successful look like, to you? "

[paintedxghost]

"'Music is an ephemeral art.'" Verso said in a mocking tone, disgust written all across his face. This argument seemed well-trodden. "It lacks the lasting impact a painting can have because once you hear music, it's gone." Verso waved his hands around dramatically as he began pacing again.

"Bring up the fact that we can record music now, and 'oh no, that's just a fad.' Never mind that it's been decades now, and musical recording has only been growing. No, the only valid arts are the visual arts. Painting and sculpting. Barely." Verso rolled his eyes. "That one gets a pass because one can use the sculpture as a painting aide."

Clearly, there was more that Verso would like to say on the subject. His throat worked a little, and he even opened his mouth. But instead, Verso sighed and pushed his hair back out of his face. "I'm glad you appreciate what I've been trying to do."

[simioso]

" Hm. I read about monks once who create art out of sand, and then blow it away after they've spent hours and weeks on it. I don't think their art is any less substantial. " Dark eyes watch Verso, calm and easy, as he reclines back in his seat just a little. " I'd argue that there's also not many who sit and look at a painting for days or hours; we take a look and move on. I'm not so sure that's much different in the end, between seeing a piece one time in a gallery or listening to a performance in a hall. "

But he's not trying to argue Verso into a point; it's something they both already agree on, and thus he doesn't overly linger on it —— and, besides, that little aborted comment draws up a lift of his brows, prompting mildly without being overt. " I do, yes, " he says at last, just a little carefully; he's choosing words deliberately. " And I think your mother does, too. I just think she has trouble seeing things as you do, which isn't your fault. "

But that aside: he chews on a thought for a heartbeat, and then carefully adds: " You do know you don't have to be anything for them? You're your own man. Your life to live. " A little quirk of a wry smile. " I don't think there's many of us that get out without a little family disapproval. "

[simioso]

the guilt that simon carries into the abyss ( and after, in post-abyss / repainted verses ) is deep and terrible. he hides it, most the time. swallows it down, because he's ever been the solid one, the rock, the support. he remembers more about being remade than he'll admit. he remembers the blows that should have killed him but left a part of him cold and numb instead, the parts that were patched over with chroma enough to keep him moving. he didn't lose his memory until he was already trapped in the abyss

even after being repainted, there's so many quiet sleepless nights. the ones where he'll slip out to the window, watch the stars. the ones where he'll go on a walk around the harbor, through the streets, trying to forget how many of those buildings he saw uprooted and how many he had to dig bodies out of.

how many he wrecked himself in his pursuit of the hauler ——

but he says nothing. he's the one who bears burdens, not the one who gives them. his burden is his own.

[repaintedvisage]

This world was cruel. This entire painting should've never met such a fate. Verso's heart is in his throat. Even as he himself is a prisoner of the grief and pain that haunts ever corner. He cannot help but feel it for Simon in this moment. He wants to ease his suffering. He wants to see him rest. But is rest possible? Is he the one to offer it? He isn't sure as so many conflicting emotions run through his body. "Who was here, Simon?" He asks carefully, gauging his reaction and ferocity of his response. "Who was----who haunts your memory?" No matter how fractured it may be, he clearly was trying to recount something.

She has him. Those words strike deep into his chest. He didn't want to cause anymore harm. Verso felt such a pain himself. He was the product of such harms. The harm of not being able to let go. Perhaps Simon was no different, made undying, suffering in a maddening state of constant thought and lost memory. A mere shadow of who he use to be. The borrowed memories flashing in his head.

"She has me too, if we're thinking on the same person. She cannot let go of me. Even as I beg and plead for her too." He whispers to him softly and with great sorrow laced into those words. "I will do as you ask, old friend. I am sorry---that you had to meet such a fate. If only I could've---done something---perhaps. I am sorry, so sorry. I will avenge you my friend. That I promise you."

[simioso]

Who? Who, indeed. The question rattles, shoves against every part of his knowing. Everything is so full of holes —— his journal lies forgotten on the ground near, and ever so often he will see it and remember. But just as quickly it will all fade again, swallowed by the raging instability of the chroma that only barely serves to hold him together even as it gives him more strength than any mortal should have.

" The one, " and it's rough, harsh in his throat, " the one who brings the gommage. " It's —– strange, the image it brings. He fights the memory, it's plain: the pinch of his brow, the way massive shoulders go rigid, the way a shimmer of chroma boils around him dangerously. Strings upon strings holding him together — the way he sees the world now is strange, painful. Like threads interwoven, with one tug all it takes to remove them entire. It's a power none should have. It's a power he's used, when under her sway. " Your father. " Words like crumbling stone. " But not your father. She held him here. "

His gaze lifts. His pupils are so chroma-burned they blaze with light; the scars on his face are more dull, but much the same. Light and chroma spilling out of poorly healed cracks in the canvas —— " Clea —— I thought she was the one I knew. She was not. " His head bows, hair spilling. " Tell —— your sister. That I am sorry. " And in that moment comes a sharp pang of clarity, painful, like a crack of light in the darkness: he was always so loyal to the family as a friend, as a presence —— and that old protective instinct stirs from dormancy even now.

" I made my choices, " he says, then, and though those cracked features are terribly difficult to read and his ruined voice deep and rough, there's a firm reassurance to it regardless. " I was set in my decision. By the time I had my regrets, it was too late. You, " a breath, rasped, " are not to blame. "

[paintedxghost]

The first impulse Verso felt was to defend his parents. After all, it wasn't like they were putting roadblocks in Verso's way; they'd paid for the finest education at the Conservatory, and they attended every recital Verso had performed in. It was hard not to feel grateful that the elder Dessendres were so permissive toward Verso's ambitions. Most of the time.

The rest of the time, Verso found himself clenching his teeth in frustration. "Maman again. It wasn't even directly to me this time. She was entertaining a brunch with her fine arts friends. 'Once Verso's finished playing with his piano-' and 'We look forward to hanging his portraits next to his older sister's-'." He huffed and finally looked directly at Simon.

"I have to think it was deliberate that she had them set up in the garden right under my study window."

[simioso]

Ah, yes. The truth that Aline wants Verso to follow in their footsteps has always been plain enough, and Simon would readily admit he didn't entirely understand —— especially since outwardly the Dessendre elders seem to support him chasing his passions fully. But then, he's not part of that world, and perhaps it's just something he wouldn't understand without that intimate knowledge.

The admission makes him stifle a sigh, that old little frustration nibbling, but he swallows it down. " Perhaps it is more about trying to impress them, " he sighs. " Or give her friends something they're familiar with. " God, but how insufferable that life seems; Simon's barely nosed into it, has only really seen it from the outside, and he suspects it would exhaust him if he had to be involved to any extent. But he can't imagine Aline — with all her flaws, she adores her children, clearly — being quite so pointed, but he doesn't live with her either.

" But I don't blame you for being frustrated, " he amends, just in case it sounded like he was making excuses. " Your hand at music is, " beautiful, wonderful, astounding; what he's heard moves him dearly, but he's not sure he's ready to try to put that into word, " something incredible, and should be praised. But perhaps she's also proud of you for both things, too. She plays too, non? "

[paintedxghost]

"I'm fine." Physically, at least. Verso was very clearly agitated. He had barely removed his hat and coat when he'd walked in Simon's door. Instead of taking a seat, Verso paced intermittently around the parlor. He would take one or two steps forward, pause with a clenched fist like he was about to say something, think better of it, and resume his trip back and forth across the room.

"I just." Verso clenched his fists in annoyance. It looked like it was almost painful to say: "I do wish they would take my music career seriously, for once." He glared reproachfully in the direction of the front door.

[simioso]

Smoothly, Simon closes the book he was reading, setting it aside; he watches Verso pace, and the words don't surprise him. If anything, he's sometimes surprised it doesn't boil over more often.

" Your parents? " he hazards, but it's also not really much of a guess; who else would there be? It frustrates him, privately — the way there seems to be this expectation set on Verso's shoulders that he'll simply outgrow his love for music, as though it's a phase to be endured. But, as with many things, it's not Simon's place to criticize, and so he bites his tongue all too often when in their company. " What happened? "

[simioso]

simon's absolutely a top and can range between a soft easy service top to a kind of performative dominant top, but no matter what he's always caring and sweet and checks in frequently and is all about his partner

the one exception to him topping is clea, clea tops the hell out of him, bye

[simioso]

i know you've been keeping something from me. // eyesemoj @cleamaesta / little mermaid

It's no secret that Simon's terrible at keeping secrets —— at least those of his own. To those around him, close to him, he'll hold their secrets to the grave —— but for his own, he's not subtle at all when it comes to things close to his own chest. He usually doesn't even try: honest to a fault, loyal to a fault.

He should have known. He bears a guilt that's a messy, nasty thing, cruel and sharp-toothed, especially when there's part of him that reminds him that he was deluded and intentionally misled, but there's another aching part of him that says he should have known.

Her words are a gentle prod, firm as she always is —— and it's in those moments that he wonders how he could have ever mistaken the other Paintress for her. Ah, but how the unfairness of it aches ——

Here in this room, though, he doesn't quite meet her gaze, which is proof enough of his perceived guilt. Their world as it is has been remade, and they have everything that was taken from them, then, changed as they are. For as much as he likes to pretend that none of what happened before affects him anymore, those who knew him before can see the weight, the guilt, the raw spot so much of what happened during his unmaking and exile that has left on some fundamental part of his soul.

Of course: she, too, has those scars. They both do. The kind of scars that you don't wear openly, but memory has a way of making you remember they're there.

He draws in a breath, letting a hand rest on the back of a chair near the window, his chroma-burned gaze held out the window to the peaceful dark outside. There's an unleashed dog jogging alongside a kid that lazily peddles on a late evening bike ride carrying a heavy package, and he watches them go, briefly envious that their night continues without the weight of difficult questions and past transgressions.

" Yes, " he admits, quietly. " And maybe it's wrong of me. I'm just —— " And his brows knit for a moment before he looks back to her. " I'm tired of everything they did haunting us. Hurting us both. " A brief silence, heavy. " Do you really want to know all of it? "

[simioso]

i consider myself a reasonable person. @paintedxghost / little mermaid

" And I would agree, most the time. " And he means it; such a person is he that he wouldn't make time very often for those who aren't, and most well know it. Still: it isn't often that Verso is so worked up over something or another, and he watches him carefully in the dim, warm light from the flickering lamplight. ( Simon, who is one that enjoys a certain aesthetic, often prefers the warm natural candlelight rather than the cooler boldness of chroma and electricity. )

There's a but hanging on the end of that sentence, though, and Simon can taste it. " Did something happen? " There's a dip of concern, well-shielded; a protectiveness of his own, well harnessed. " Are you okay? "

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM THE LITTLE MERMAID *  assorted dialogue from the 1989 film, adjust as necessary

i can't make out a heartbeat.

this has got to be, without a doubt, the single most humiliating day of my life.

look! he's breathing. he's so beautiful.

you really delight in these sadistic strains on my blood pressure, don't you?

a girl rescued me.

she was singing. she had the most beautiful voice.

i think you've swallowed a bit too much seawater.

we're just gonna forget this whole thing ever happened.

hmm. teenagers. they think they know everything. you give them an inch, they swim all over you.

my nerves are shot! this is a catastrophe!

don't you shake your head at me.

now look at me.

you'll have your looks, your pretty face. and don't underestimate the importance of body language.

i'm surrounded by amateurs.

you want something done, you've got to do it yourself.

first we've got to create the mood.

if only i could make him understand.

i just don't see the way he does.

i just don't see how a world that makes such wonderful things could be bad.

look at this stuff. isn't it neat?

i just don't know what we're going to do with you.

it was ruined! that's all! completely destroyed!

now thanks to you, i am the laughingstock of the entire kingdom!

you went up to the surface again, didn't you?

how many times must we go through this?

they are dangerous.

i'm not a child anymore.

don't you take that tone of voice with me.

if you would just listen...

so much for true love!

i consider myself a reasonable person.

i set certain rules, and i expect those rules to be obeyed.

is it true you rescued a human from drowning?

he would have died.

one less human to worry about.

you don't even know him.

know him? i don't have to know him. they're all the same.

have you lost your senses completely?

the solution to your problem is simple.

the only way to get what you want is to become a human yourself.

gee, you must have really been through something.

i can't stand it. it's too easy!

i'm really looking forward to this performance.

listen to me. the human world is a mess.

are you sure about this?

have i ever been wrong? i mean, when it's important?

this... i haven't seen in years.

do you think i was too hard on her?

we haven't dicussed the subject of payment.

i'm not asking much. just a token really, a trifle. you'll never even miss it.

life's full of tough choices, isn't it?

do you hear what i'm telling you?

i hope that you appreciate what i go through for you.

you gotta look your best.

you gotta bat your eyes. you gotta pucker your lips.

you are hopeless. you know that? completely hopeless.

i've never seen a human this close before. he's very handsome, isn't he?

i'm going inside.

have you noticed she's been acting peculiar lately?

i know you've been keeping something from me.

i feel really bad not knowing your name. maybe i can guess it.

you're under a lot of pressure down here. come with me, i'll take you home and get you something warm to drink.

any sign of them?

what have i done?

isn't this great? the salty sea air, the wind blowing in your face. a perfect day to be at sea.

perhaps you haven't been looking hard enough.

believe me, when I find her, i'll know. without a doubt it'll just... bam, hit me like lightning.

time to come out. you've been in there all morning.

where are you going?

she's a demon! she's a monster!

there's something different.

i lost her once! i'm not gonna lose her again!

you've gotta get away from here.

no, i won't leave you!