Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The intraterrestrial theory asserts the existence of a world at the center of our planet. Jules Verne was a great fan of this theory, so much so that he embarked on a true journey to prove it. Along the way, as his secret diaries tell us, he encountered magnetic fields charged with energy. An energy he couldn't define.

With the magnificence of his power, he was able to capture the energy of these magnificent magnetic fields and called them portals. Using special wood from the intraterrestrial flora, he brought the energy of the portals back to his home in France. The edges of the portals all bear Verne's handwriting, filled with decrees to resist.

He himself claims to have walked through a pair of portals to enter and exit the center of the Earth.

After certain tests, Jules Verne found some interesting and discouraging findings: the writers' scrolls were unable to properly fit these portals; instead, he discovered that the portals fit perfectly onto the painters' canvases.

Jules Verne decided to hide this information to avoid major catastrophes and dedicated much of his life to searching for portals and attempting to connect them to his scrolls, achieving imperfect manifestations.

The last pages of his secret diary, an exclusive Verne family heirloom, describe how much Verne longed to enter, body and soul, the worlds of his scrolls. Shortly after the date of his last writing, he disappeared, leaving behind mysteries and half-answers that his descendants are still trying to decipher.

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“So... why are you throwing stones this time?” Alicia approaches him with her hands clasped behind her back. The academy's garden is huge and vast, the sun illuminating the plants around the lake.

He, with a slightly tired grimace, looks at her before giving her a stone, so she can accompany him in his activity.

“You know this helps me take my mind off things.” In the distance, the Eiffel Tower stands tall and glorious, like everything good in Paris.

“Especially when you're stressed,” Alicia says, throwing a small stone into the lake, making it bounce off the water.

“Engineers solve problems. We're always stressed.”

Alicia agrees. Of course, they all in this country are always stressed. Of all the areas of the city that are in conflict, bars, restaurants, parks, and streets off-limits to musicians, writers or painters, in a cold war so tense that you can feel it in the breezes of Paris, of all those areas, the academy is a neutral place.

Even when the Dessendres forbade their members from leaving home without proper supervision, Alicia found a way to keep escaping to the academy. Just to see Gustave, her great friend and mentor.

The conflict between writers and painters attempted to fracture their relationship, but of course, the bonds between the two omegas were too strong to be weakened by external problems.

It is true that the most important writers and painters have stopped attending crowded or public places after constant threats between the two sides, but neither Alicia nor Gustave are prominent enough in their guilds to be taken into account.

Furthermore, in a desperate attempt by the peaceful faction of writers to reconcile with the painters, some deals have been made between families of great importance.

The Dessendres, from the painters' faction, were therefore involved in unconventional meetings and conversations with an interesting family from the writers' faction, the Vernes.

Jules Verne had been the president of the Writers' Council for most of his life. Their surname was highly respected in the artistic community, even though the man had left his son in charge and since then, they had done nothing but try to maintain the glory in which the legendary man had left them.

One of his youngest grandchildren, Gustave, seemed to have inherited some of the ingenious charm that had brought his grandfather to glory. But unlike his grandfather, Gustave was not as good at writing as he was at inventing. His gift for writing was more of a complement to his engineering, rather than the focus of his creativity. As a result, marginalized and relegated to being “the odd one out” in the family, Gustave had a great deal of freedom, as he was not involved in important matters.

Or so it was until, when they wanted to forge ties with the painters, the Vernes and the Dessendres decided to marry their children. They are not the only families trying to do the same. The peaceful families of both factions were trying to force the war to become neutral with the combination of the gifts of both sides. They would no longer have to fight over who would subdue whom; they would simply become stronger together.

Gustave had forgotten that, in addition to being born without a highly developed gift for writing, he had also been born an omega. Oh, an omega.

The outcasts of society, but also the rarest. In the bosom of a family full of important alphas and betas, being born an omega was a misfortune for much of his childhood. The rarity of his nature did not make his life any easier. Desired and marginalized. Could anyone agree on their value in the world?

That was why, when he met the omega member of the Dessendre family, Alicia, some years ago, getting along with her was a necessity.

Two omegas marginalized in their families full of important alphas and no caste persons, Alicia and Gustave knew that fate had brought them together.

The age difference was not a problem. Of course, there were topics they couldn't discuss, but their shared affection and frustrations were enough to find a mutual accomplice.

Add to that Gustave's need to teach and Alicia's need to learn, the mentor-apprentice duo was naturally formed.

The academy was their meeting place.

And for a girl of Alicia's age, spending all her time at the Paris academy was seen by her parents as a positive pastime. They believed she was a diligent student, and they certainly did not suspect that in the afternoons she had tea and jokes in the gardens with her dear friend Gustave. On weekends, however, she could not escape her mother's arduous painting lessons.

Now that Alicia thinks about it, perhaps it would have been good for her parents to know about her friendship with Gustave. Perhaps that would have shown them that all the disagreements between writers and painters were trivial when they focused on the real, human side of the people behind the artists.

Why did writers and painters have to be on separate sides? Weren't they both artists, after all?

“I heard that... you're going to marry my sister next year.” Alicia decides to address the issue immediately. Gustave tenses up a little when he hears this. “We'll be family.”

She tries to lighten the mood. Clea isn't exactly the sweetest and most tender person in the world. In fact, she's the complete opposite of Gustave. And much worse. It's not that Clea is a bad person, no. It's just that her personality is too sharp for someone as gentle as Gustave.

“I think that's my only consolation,” Gustave says, throwing another stone. “We'll be family.”

“Whatever Clea said when you met at the engagement meeting, I'm sure it wasn't personal,” Alicia interjects.

And it's not that she's trying to defend her sister, no. She just wants Gustave to know that he's not inadequate, as Clea surely made him feel. Clea is just... Clea.

She knows her well enough to know that she ruined it at the first meeting. And she also knows Gustave well enough to know that he was polite and saved his protests for later.

“She started by looking me up and down,” Gustave reports, as if accusing someone of having messed him up before sharpening his voice, falsely imitating a feminine tone. "And then she said, 'For the second omega I've ever seen, I thought you'd be sexier, not a bookworm'”.

Alicia can't help but laugh at that. Gustave lets out an offended sigh about it.

“Forgive her, she's like that with everyone,” Alicia says. Deep down, she can't help but agree with Clea: Gustave is a nerd. He's not the stunning, sensual gigolo Clea was surely expecting when papa and maman told her she would be married to a 'good and exquisite omega'.

“Yeah, well. And I was clearly expecting someone gentler,” Gustave says, throwing another stone. “What the hell are our families thinking? Marrying me to your sister will only cause a rift between us if I don't give her children.” Gustave says, throwing another stone.

"Why do you think you won't give me nephews?”

“If I don't seem sexy to her, uh...” Gustave scratches his chin. "You're too young to understand this."

“I'm fifteen.”

“Like I said, you're too young.”

Despite Alicia's insistence, Gustave keeps changing the subject.

She can't wait to be part of Gustave's family. They'll be brothers-in-law, almost like brothers. That's great.

...
...

Two weeks after the engagement between the Dessendres and the Vernes, Gustave stands in front of the Dessendres' large family canvases.

He thanked the housekeeper who accompanied him before remaining alone in the room. Alicia was the main proponent of Gustave visiting them frequently, revealing their friendship to the family, something that was met with some displeasure. The formal courtship sessions must begin, after all.

Gustave knows well the fact that he, from the writers' faction, was there in the painters' territory added a tense heaviness to the atmosphere.

They had someone from the enemy faction in their home, while at the same time, Gustave was in enemy territory. At least in broad terms.

Gustave, personally, did not consider painters to be enemies; he had never had any conflicts with them, nor had he ever suffered any harm from them. On the contrary, his dearest friend was from the painters' faction. He was going to marry a painter, after all. Prejudices had ended in his mind.

“I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Verne.” The direct female voice pulls him out of his thoughts, making him jump a little. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Clea.” He clears his throat. “I'd prefer you to call me by my name.” Gustave says to his fiancée. “And... yes, I'll take you up on that, I am a little thirsty.”

The woman's expression is difficult to read, and the truth is that Gustave knows he has to be cautious with her. She is not a ray of sunshine like her sister, Alicia.

“What are you drinking?” Clea asks him, approaching a cabinet where she sees a pile of elegantly shaped bottles. “Whiskey? Wine? Rum?”

“Oh, I... I meant a glass of water.”

“Really? Don't be boring,” Clea retorts. Gustave knows it's nothing personal, no.

She pours herself a glass of liquor and drinks it while looking at him, a penetrating and judgmental look. Gustave's palms begin to sweat from the discomfort.

No, definitely not. This marriage will be a failure. May the pacifist writers' faction forgive him, he can't do this. He won't even make it to the damn wedding with this painter.

“You look like a nerd, but I didn't take you for a boring nerd.” She takes another glass of the same liquor.

“Excuse me if getting drunk so early in the morning is not one of my favorite pastimes.” Gustave defends himself sharply, clutching the bag where he carries a gift for her.

Clea lets out an uncomfortable laugh.

“What do you have there?” She approaches him and, without permission, takes the bag.

The action takes the man by surprise, unable to defend himself against such a bold move. He wasn't prepared for his fiancée to be so... so...

“A flower?” She says once she takes the object out. It is a flower, yes. Enclosed in a sphere frozen with resin, ideal for immortalizing some decorations.

She narrows her eyes, analyzing the object. The flower is unusual at first glance, as its color patterns and the brightness of its tips are not something you see even in the finest flower shops in Paris.

“A gift from the Verne family.” Gustave proceeds, because they must give each other gifts; this is an equitable courtship. He expects Clea to give him a gift as well. "It is unique in our world, as it is a species created by my grandfather in his most acclaimed novel."

Clea's light eyes look at him intently as her fingers tighten against the material.

“It looks like a real flower.”

“The one you hold in your hands is real.”

“You said it was created by your grandfather in his novel.”

“We brought it from the world of the book into reality.”

A tense, deathly silence hangs between them for what seems like an eternity.

“Can you bring flowers from the world of your writings into our reality?”

“Objects too.” Gustave looks at her as if it were no big deal. “You know... you create it and then... you bring it.”

Clea has fallen silent after that revelation, her paleness telling Gustave that he has told her more than she expected to hear.

“Gustave!” Alicia's sing-song voice breaks the tension. “Why didn't anyone tell me you were here?”

“Alicia!” He greets her and returns her hug. The tension on his shoulders disappears.

“Alicia, take care of our guest,” Clea says, bidding farewell with a vague gesture and disappearing into the mansion's hallways.

The way his fiancée just leaves him so suddenly doesn't make him feel welcome, but at least he has Alicia.

“He's not just any guest. He's your fiancé!” Alicia reminds her, but Clea turns a deaf ear.

The young woman rolls her eyes.

“Excuse her, you know... painter stuff.” Alicia says the word condescendingly and with a promise of apology. “I bet she saw you and was inspired. She'll probably paint your portrait.”

Gustave sincerely believes the opposite is true.

.

Alicia has left him alone in the room, not because she is trying to be rude. She simply went to run an errand for her parents.
Gustave thinks he shouldn't have refused to bring a chaperone here; perhaps things with Clea wouldn't have felt so tense if that had been the case.

All he can do is stand awkwardly in front of the family canvases. The place smells fresh and serene. In the background, a pleasant melody accompanies his wait. The piano always sounds good in moments of solitude. And this piece in particular sounds... sweet.

Suddenly, Gustave realizes that the piano sound is not necessarily coming from a gramophone. It seems to be live, coming from the end of the hallway.

Driven by curiosity, the man walks slowly down the gilded hallway, following the music. He did not know that the Dessendres hired pianists to play repertoires for them during the day. This family certainly knows how to spend their money. Could it be that they do so because it is a special occasion? After all, it is Clea who must carry out the courtship sessions, and since the Dessendres are so eccentric, it is Gustave who has gone to Clea and not the other way around, as is usually the case.

That's how he ends up in front of the pianist after crossing the long dining room. A man is playing the instrument there. His eyes are closed as he concentrates on his performance. His dark, onyx-colored hair falls softly over his face.
It's always nice to see someone enjoying doing something they love so much. Gustave can see the dedication in every note he plays.

Minutes pass quickly as Gustave listens, not daring to interrupt him. It's not his right, after all.

And, as soon as he finishes, before Gustave can applaud graciously, the man speaks.

“I charge for private concerts,” the pianist says, opening his eyes and fixing his gaze on Gustave.

Oh... he has beautiful, predatory eyes. Something inside Gustave feel threatened, but not in a bad way.

“I'm sorry, I was just listening,” Gustave apologizes politely. “If it bothers you, I can...”

“You don't bother me,” the man says quickly, standing up.

“Won't they mind if you stop playing?” Gustave says, suddenly alarmed after seeing the pianist covering the piano.

“Who will mind?”

“The Dessendres.”

The pianist crosses his arms.

“I don't think they'll mind.”

“Really?”

“Really.” The man smiles very slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Why would they mind?”

“Didn't they hire you to play during the day?”

Both of the pianist's eyebrows rise in great concern.

“Do you think the Dessendres hired me to play?”

“Many families do it,” Gustave shrugs. “Maybe it's a special occasion.”

“And what would that occasion be?” the pianist asks, suddenly curious.

“I don't know.” Gustave reflects. Could it be his visit? After all, it's a first courtship visit between Clea and him. That has to be something special. “Today is Clea Dessendre's first courtship visit, I would think that would be something special.”

The man lets out a laugh more like an ironic sigh, shaking his head.

“I don't know if it's bold to say so, but that courtship isn't special.”

“Why?” Gustave asks quickly, placing his hands on his hips and frowning.

“Her fiancé is... he's a dull omega. From the writers' faction.” The pianist sighs with resignation. “I promise you, he doesn't make us happy.”

“Why do you say Clea Dessendre's fiancé is dull?”

“That's what my sister says.” The pianist shifts his weight to one leg. “Although she sometimes exaggerates, when it is about the writers' faction... she's probably right. Omegas are beautiful. If she says this one is dull and unattractive, probably is.”

Before Gustave can defend himself, Alicia appears in the room, looking for him.

“Gustave! I was looking for you.” Alicia hugs him, rubbing her cheek against his before noticing the other man's presence. “I hope Verso was polite to you.”

“I'm always polite.” Verso responds.

“Allow me to disagree,” Gustave says immediately, causing the pianist, whom Alicia has called Verso, to look at him curiously.

So this is Verso. The most famous Dessendre among the young ladies of high society. He is not surprised by his prejudiced comment.

“I am Gustave Verne,” he introduces himself immediately, bowing quickly out of politeness. “Clea Dessendre's fiancé. The dull and unattractive omega from the writers' faction.” 

“Ah... merde,” Verso says, realizing why the other man looks annoyed.

Before Verso can apologize properly, Alicia takes Gustave by the hand and leads him straight to the guest table where the food is served. Clea is already sitting there, tapping her fingers impatiently on the table.

.

Verso isn't surprised that Clea left as soon as she finished eating. But Gustave's disappointed look suggests otherwise, and Verso almost feels sorry for the omega.
Perhaps it's that same pity that prompts him not to decline accompanying them while Alicia prepares food for the squirrels.

“So...” Verso approaches Gustave stealthily, choosing his words carefully. “I'm sorry for what I said before lunch.”

Gustave looks at him sideways, raising an eyebrow in doubt. But his seemingly angry face does not reflect a real threat.

“Don't worry, you helped me confirm that my fiancée doesn't find me attractive,” Gustave says lightly, shrugging his shoulders.

Verso smiles unironically. Ah, yes, Clea can be cruel at times, and it's not that she does it on purpose, Verso knows that well. She was born with an innate cruelty, and if you add to that her masterful talent for painting, which has earned her much praise throughout her life... well, you have an egocentric, unfiltered person.

“If it helps...” Verso says, without thinking much about his answer. "Now that I've seen you, I can say that Clea is wrong." What a pleasure it is to say that his sister is wrong. "I do think you're attractive."

Verso says it naturally, sweeping his gaze over Gustave's figure a few times. The statement seems to take the man by surprise, and he opens his mouth to reply, but says nothing.
Fortunately, Alicia calls them both over to feed the squirrels.

Alicia is the best intermediary between them, Gustave was feeling intimidated by Verso's presence. Out of respect, Verso has not tried to sniff the omega. He cannot sniff other omegas; even he has the decency and sanity to refrain from doing so. Although, with the few opportunities he has to see an omega, he is really tempted to sniff this one.
The scent of vanilla, however, is the little he can pick up on a superficial sniff.

“Why did your parents name you Verso?” Gustave asks, feeding a squirrel on a twig. “It's the first time I've heard a name like that.”

“To be honest, I have no idea.” Verso shrugs, lying.

“Dad and Mom used to like poems,” Alicia reveals, smiling. “They just named him that because of the rhythmic words. And because they didn't know he would be a boy, they had other more interesting names in mind because the doctors said he would be a girl.”

“Oh, Alicia, shut up,” Verso pushes her lightly as the girl laughs, teasing him.

Gustave smiles at them, showing all his white teeth and the perfect curve of his lips. What a pleasant smile. Oh, no... he shouldn't think that way about his future brother-in-law.

“Gustave loves his name,” Alicia adds, looking at him with a cheerful smile.

Verso looks at him with amusement, raising an eyebrow curiously.

“Oh yes, of course.” Gustave struts. “I like it because it's a big name in France, and I've tried to live up to it.”

“Let me guess... since you're part of the writers' faction... do you honor Gustave Flaubert?”

Gustave grimaces in disgust.

“Actually, I prefer to honor Gustave Eiffel.” The man puffs out his chest proudly as he turns his face to look at the famous Eiffel Tower, which can be seen from the Dessendre mansion. “Of course, my parents wanted to name me Gustave after the famous writer, but I decided to become an engineer.”

A small spark of curiosity ignites in Verso's heart. Finding someone with tastes that differ from his faction is novel.

“You know, Gustave?” Verso whispers close to him, while Alicia is distracted by the squirrels. “Clea was wrong again.”

“Hm?”

“I don't think you're dull.”

After a few seconds, he sees the other man narrow his eyes.

“Oh, who...?” Gustave replies sarcastically.

“You...”

“...consulted you?” Gustave finishes, raising an eyebrow amusedly.

Verso realizes the mockery only a couple of seconds later, only to burst out laughing.

“Sorry, I couldn't help it.” Gustave apologizes, placing a hand on his shoulder.

The touch is normal, without malice. But Verso's skin bristles just from the closeness. A brief scent rebels beneath the vanilla, it is sweet breads in the morning. What a nice scent. His heart feels a little warm.

“All right, all right.” Verso responds, a little flirtatious for his usual tone. But he can't help it either. “I deserve it.”

Gustave nods, still smiling.

Oh, dear, this omega is beautiful. Clea doesn't know what she's missing out on here.