#soulpainted

[atlasveiled]

starter for @soulpainted

"Verso!"

As Verso approached the familiar treehouse that call of his name was the only warning he got before Rook launched himself at him after sliding down the expedition rope. In his excitement his hug ended up being more of a tackle, a slight undignified noise escaping Rooks lips when he felt them tip before Verso fell backwards. Laughter bubbled in his chest as he recovered, hands resting on either side of the Verso's head, legs straddling his waist. They are so close, tension that Rook had tried desperately to quell for years finally snapping as he leaned down to capture Verso's lips in a passionate kiss. It feels good, it feels right, a soft noise suspiciously close to a moan given before Rook's mind caught up with his actions; such is the life of one as instinctual as him. He starts to pull back, ready to apologise, to beg forgiveness.

[littlehoundthings]

@soulpainted: they're in camp after old lumiere, and verso definitely isn't looking ashe in the eye.

"Yes, Verso?" Aw. That's the disappointed dad tone. Ashe definitely had noticed that ever since Old Lumiere, Verso had been.... well, not exactly avoiding him, but definitely aware of Ashe's disappointment at the moment.

"Anything else important that you might've forgotten to mention?"

[fatedmuses-archive]

@soulpainted asked: ❝ do you understand how little sense that makes? ❞ / real @ painted verso, teehee

Verso can only stare, for a moment, because how is he seeing his double? That was the whole point, of maman painting him to life here, in Verso's old canvas. Verso was dead, and he had been painted to take his place.

And yet here Verso stands. Speaking to him.

"...there are a lot of things in this world that don't make sense, but this might take the cake," Verso concedes, when he can finally speak. "How... are you here?"

Because maybe Verso doesn't know he's dead. Maybe the timeline has gotten... weird. He doesn't think that's possible, but who knows anymore. The Dessendre families grief has nested in this world, torn it apart at the seams and reshaped it. Maybe anything is possible.

He still wishes he could have had a warning for this, however.

[dxskofthearchivxst]

@soulpainted: " what are you working on ? "

"MERDE- how are you so quiet??" Lily nearly jumped out of her skin as Verso managed to sneak up on her little corner of the camp. Lily clutched a leatherbound sketch book to her chest for a moment, before sighing. "Look, promise not t'laugh?" She asked before steadily opening up the book for Verso to see.

Inside were hand-drawn pictures of every Nevron the expedition had come across, along with notes about weaknesses and where to target them. The art was unpolished, and the notes were simple things like "Shoot here" and "Dislikes Fire", but it was still valuable information.

"It's... our job to leave notes for the future. Y'know, if we fail," a thought Lily had regularly grappled with, judging by the uncomfortable look on her face, but she shook it away and pointed at a drawing of the Contorso they'd faced the other day. "I thought I'd catalogue all the Nevrons we've seen. Y'know-- cause I'm an Expeditioner too. It's things like this we gotta do for those who come after."

A pause. "...Also, pops says that it's important to have a hobby, and apparently throwin' rocks at trees doesn't count as a hobby."

[etoileobscure]

✧ a thing for @soulpainted

the air in lumière always smelled faintly of pigment - not paint nor oil, but the idea of colour itself - as if the wind had passed through a canvas before reaching their lungs; simon had grown used to it. he sat on the windowsill in the upper conservatory, legs long, arms folded loosely across his chest, watching as verso paced below, sword held too tight, frustration flickering in his posture like static.

"again." simon called down, voice even. "loosen your shoulders. you're not fighting the blade - it is your instrument."

as verso stopped and looked up at him, the lamplight caught his cheek, streaked with sweat and what looked like temper; he raised the sword again, striking the air in cleaner arcs now, more music than motion. simon watched him with mild satisfaction - he wasn't a perfect swordsman, not yet, but there was undeniable rhythm in him.

beneath the surface, lumière hummed with a peace they didn't question; gardens bloomed on schedule, the moonlight filtered perfectly through a veil of crystal lattice, the bells chimed at precisely the right moments, never too soon, never too late. it should have felt safe. but to simon, it always felt intentional, like someone was watching, always just beyond the dome.

"that one was better." simon said as verso finished the form and let the blade fall, and allowed himself a satisfied smile. he shifted slightly on the ledge, pale light reflecting in the strands of his hair, painting the pitch black with silver.

simon looked at him then, properly. verso was equal parts grace and defiance, someone who still played piano after training and left the window open for birds. his gaze moved to the skyline of spires and stars, and wondered why peace had started to feel like a memory he hadn't made yet. below, the fountains whispered. above, the star-lit dome shimmered. everything in place. everything perfect. it unsettled him.

he turned back to verso, and asked him, softly: "will you stay? play for me tonight."

he wanted verso's music to anchor him to a world that did not yet know was about to break.

[repeintre]

@soulpainted asked: ❝ i hope you’re right. ❞ / and something earlier in their timeline maybe

A hand reaches out towards Verso's shoulder, to rest there and squeeze for a brief moment. A brief gesture of affection from a man that is stoic and steely, yes, but has not yet shed most of what remains of his humanity for the sake of his family.

"So do I, son." Is Renoir's answer, and there's something wry in his smile: it's a risk, but he thinks it will do his children well, to live among people again. Even with the shadow around them, threatening it all.

"They are wary, as it's their right." He adds, after a moment. "It's on us to prove their hesitation unfounded."

He doesn't yet know how much he'll regret this. How much he'll hate what it does to his children, to have come back, and the rift that time will open between them. For now, he is as naive to tragedy as anyone else.

[inkflowdmoved]

❛  i  think  you  had  a  nightmare …   you  seemed  upset .  ❜ @soulpainted

there was a reason why she didn't sleep much -- aside from the obvious. constantly working was a truth but it was also an EXCUSE, an escape. her dreams were rarely ever peaceful. and she never intended for someone else to witness it, to SEE her in such a way. always the composed one. but here she was, a light sheen of sweat lining her forehead and heart rabbiting in her chest. she took in a quick breath through her mouth, held it.

"it was nothing." a lie. funny how she had always hated when HE lied to her, but now it was her turn to keep some things to herself. a hand rose, shakier than she'd like it to be, a rubbed the back of her neck in an effort to self soothe. it was the beach again. the FUCKING beach. the other expeditioners covered in blood, telling her over and over again how it was her fault. it was all her fault. fuck.

"i should..." should go. should walk it off. should kick herself for allowing herself to put her guard down low enough for something like this to slip through the cracks so that he could SEE. eyes finally found their way to him, soft and exhausted. "i'm sorry. go back to sleep -- i'm... it won't happen again. i promise."

[perduxamour]

family is … complicated.

Julie leans back against a tree, the leaves a canopy over their camp. The night is quiet. Guarded by the oppressive gaze of the monolith. The roughened bark of the tree presses into her, grounding her. She appraises him carefully. A heavy silence falls, and she lets it settle in.

It's not the explanation she wanted, but he's right. Of course he is. Not that she would ever admit it to anyone. Her family had been her whole reason for existing. Her lifeblood in every literal and figurative way. But they had also been the standard she never felt she could measure up to. The reason she wasn't even sure who she was anymore; a reflection of the person she'd loved and longed to be, rather than anything true to whoever Julie might have become.

No, she wouldn't say this to anyone. Least of all the people who knew them. But Verso isn't just anyone. And his father... well, Renoir is an enigma. She's seen looks cast between them. Moments of unspoken understanding and discontent. Julie doesn't want to pry, but complicated seems a word too small for the threads tangled between them.

She sighs, arms crossing around her form. "I— I can't argue with that. Family is complicated. But we're relying on you. Both of you—" She cuts him a sharp stare, imploring him, begging him silently to understand where she's coming from. "You've got to trust us. Otherwise, why are we even here?"

clair obscur starters 𓍼 accepting