the wind upon the sea

Come back

Verso - Paint and Depression

Kaiju in gouache on black paper

I was tagged by @laterose13, @asaara-writes and @grumblecrows 🫶 Thank you very much!

I tag @ostodvandi, @rhibbet, @avialleso, @calamitysymphonyy, @flowersforthemachines, @versocidal and any of my mutuals/followers who wants to do this.

I'm currently still on the Aline train so have some more childhood memories of hers ✨

Alicia: lurks on booktok. has a nicely curated tumblr page with inspo, moodboards, and poetry. writes and reads fic on wattpad.

Verso: does stupid tiktok challenges for the attention and had to be rushed to the ER after eating tide pods once. also has a secret tumblr where he shares his poetry and music. Alicia and he follow each other but he doesn't know she knows it's him.

Clea: posts photos of her artworks on instagram. the captions are always only the title and materials used, never anything personal. never responds to (or even checks) comments and DMs.

Sciel: instagram influencer though she doesn't see herself as such. actually talks to people unlike Clea. has an eye for finding beauty anywhere and shares photos, musings, and the occasional thirst trap.

Lune: maintains a popular fact-checking account on twitter and is a prolific wikipedia editor.

Gustave: on all the engineering (and rocks) subreddits. always takes the time to give clear and helpful answers, and signs off with "for those who come after." his most upvoted post is the one he made on r/relationships with a throwaway account.

Maelle: memelord. primarily active on tiktok (where she follows Verso and keeps egging him on), but is on all the other sites and runs the orphanage's official accounts. Gustave tries to be a responsible guardian and supervise her social media use, but she always bypasses his attempts at parental control.

Renoir: is a highly regarded member of a few art communities on facebook. still hasn't figured out messenger so keeps leaving his kids messages on his wall, to their utter chagrin (he's doing his best).

Aline: made a facebook account at the same time Renoir did but hasn't updated it since. her only post is a photo of her son's childhood canvas.

favorite thing about them

least favorite thing about them

favorite line

brOTP

OTP

nOTP

random headcanon

unpopular opinion

song i associate with them

Thank you to @randomrosewrites and @asaara-writes for the tag!

This is for chapter 5 of Causality, with Writer!Julie having a totally chill chat with P!Verso about the adventures he and her painted self got up to:

She asks with visions. He answers with memories, and the context behind them he so badly wants to explain and she just as badly needs to understand. There is life. Then there is loss, so staggering a loss it mangles the mind. Friends. A frantic search for lost loved ones. Nevron enemies. Human lovers. Black dreams, white hair. Clea and the barrier. A dead man walking. Dualliste and the fortress. A dead man, walking. Each passing recollection turns Verso's knuckles whiter as he grips the table's edge, gaze fixed to hers by chains of his own design. Everything pieces together into a play in Julie's mind. Combined with one vision left to suck up the air between them and a playwright's feel for storytelling, she sees the light at the end of the tunnel, and her lying eyes cannot prevent her from making out the train. Bile wells on the back of her tongue. Oh, how she loathes being proven wrong. What is eight months to twenty-six years? To sixty-seven? Julie had thought she made her peace with it, her dove sacrificing himself for his family, as excruciating a pill that was to swallow. She knows him, loves him so dearly for it. But to sacrifice her. Part of her wonders what her Verso would have done, had Alicia's guilt been heard by fate and her grave had taken his place. The lengths he would have gone to had Honoré not snipped the burning fuse to this bomb. For all the scioness' skill for realism, whether squinting hard enough would allow Julie to see where the Painter ends and the Painting begins. Maybe this one had been a dove once, with all the gorgeous trappings of his plumage, fit for the cage. It is hard to hear cooing when they stand at two ends of a hall stretching over a century long. He sounds more like a magpie, with that scratch to his voice and the sorrow dripping from his every word. Looks it too, with his black and white streaks. Like the pen has run dry of ink.

Thanks so much for the tag @sky-kiss! I'll admit I've been lacking in my fic writing recently, but this lowkey encouraged me to open up a blank document and write this up today. Aline and Renoir fencing fic getting prepped!