—— #ETOILESFANTOME. PHANTOM STARS. by rowan ( 30+, he/they) . VERSO DESSENDRE from CLAIR OBSCUR: EXPEDITION 33. independent and selective. currently high activity. canon-compliant but heavily headcanon influenced. —— CARRD. MEMES.
:: extremely ANTI-AI. DNI if you use generative AI in any capacity. ( graphics, writing, art, etc. )
blog wide trigger warnings for: suicidal ideation; descriptions of de-personalization, disassociation, and existential fears; canon-typical violence; depression; family trauma.
:: no longer tagging spoilers! due to the nature of the character, if you haven't finished the game, tread with caution. i'll happily write both painted!verso and painter!verso. i default to painted, but if you'd prefer real-world, just let me know!
blogroll:
@simioso ( simon, expedition 33 )
@crosaidi ( paerin, fantasy based oc )
in canon verses, though i write all dialogue in english, he's speaking french natively and is not fluent in english. i don't know the language so i'm not even going to try to mangle it. 💀
in modern verses, his first language is french, but he does speak english with a noticable accent.
immortality is a curse he deals with no matter the verse ( aside from painter/1900s paris ).
painted verso pre-fracture and non-canvas painter verso are very similar people. however, painted verso goes through a lot of trauma, and he's very different and a lot more tired and jaded by in-game time. painted, painter, their respective childhood timelines, and the faded boy are all open for request for threads.
i have an open post-game AU where he's talked out of his plan and returns to lumiere in sort of a mixed ending. feel free to toss him in post-game stuff if you like.
he's depressed, desperate, dealing with a lot of PTSD and trauma, and frequently wars with feeling not real or like a copy of something that was supposed to be. these themes will be heavily present in canon verses.
i place him as roughly 10 years older than alicia, and about a year younger than clea. if you write either of these two and it doesn't work for you, let me know!
verso does not dye his hair. it was a smart remark he made as a joke and that was it. real verso was born with the white streak in his hair. he went through a few periods in his life where he dyed his hair black to hide it, but by the time he was an adult he stopped. painted verso also always had the white streak. [ headcanon ] [ headcanon ] [ headcanon ]
i typically headcanon that he was a little in love with both simon and julie during different parts of his life. if you write these characters, reciprocation is not expected and i won't assume.
Verso's little swears mixed in the litany of praise and begging in the soft way that Gustave loves and it pulls a trail of praise from Gustave as well, desperate and mumbled because he loves this, loves how this feels. "So pretty for me- hah, Verso - mm you're so gorgeous." he can't help the way he wants to praise Verso, to talk about how gorgeous he finds Verso, the way he looks when he comes - especially when it's Gustave's handiwork.
Gustave works his hand over himself only a moment longer before Verso's wrapping his hand around his cock, it's not quite overstimulating, but it's just on the edge of it and god does Gustave shiver under his touch, trembling a little for the man. He's trembling as he's worked through the aftershocks, curling further down into his boyfriend - his lover; it's hard to pick which title he wants to use for Verso - but he goes so willingly into the other man. "You're beautiful." He mumbles - cheeks flushed from the praise and his orgasm and he feels beautiful under Verso's attention.
Gustave huffs, a noisy - playful exasperation as he buries his nose into Verso's collarbone. "Terrible mon cher." He says lightly, but gives a satisfied little sigh as he settles more over Verso - heedless of the mess between them. "That's the death of me you're due to cause. What a way to go though, non? In the arms of a beautiful man." Gustave says with a soft, pleased noise. "Mm, very good morning to you as well." He brushes his lips against Verso's jaw lightly. "Clean up and then breakfast? Else I be tempted to stay in your arms and not eat."
" The perfect kind of death, " he murmurs muzzily in response, the smile still stretched lazily wide. And it's strange, too, because that's a hard thing normally for him to joke about — he often feels like he subverted fate that one day when he survived the fire and that he narrowly escaped something that was supposed to be written in stone. But that's a dour thing, isn't it? Dour and silly and stuck in some old nonsense circling 'round fate.
But now it's hardly a thought at all, and he stretches and groans a little at the satisfying pull of muscle. He ducks his head, burying his nose in Gustave's throat and breathing him in, still a little needy for touch, for closeness. " —— hmph. I take it back. Maybe that will be the cause of our death: not wanting to get out of bed to eat because it's too far away. "
But he's ( mostly ) just grousing and grumbling; he tips his chin up again to kiss him softly. " —— okay. " But even so, he doesn't get up right away; he lays there for a minute more, trying to dredge up the will — but he finally uncurls, pulling himself from the sheets and rising, unbothered about his nudity. He lets his fingers trail over Gustave lazily as he does, heaving over to the bathroom and washbasin to clean up, leaving the door open if Gustave wants to come in with him, though he leaves the invitation unsaid. " Though maybe, " he quips with a little silly grin and wink, angling a look over his shoulder that's just utterly filthy, " having you for breakfast like this counts, him? "
[TXT]: And then you cry about being a tortured artist...
[TXT]: ... I'll bite. Figuratively. What is your collection like? I'm certain it will be more tasteful than a rocket comparison on page 2. Given you are a fellow of quality, and filter your reading.
[ SMS ] :: I like how you have to qualify "figuratively"
[ SMS ] :: Honestly wise, considering this conversation
[ SMS ] :: Hang on a minute
—— about ten minutes later, a photo is sent of a very carefully curated two shelves of bookshelf. there's a separator between two sections.
[ SMS ] :: So the top shelf and about a third of the bottom are the standard faire, but all great. The bottom two thirds is very gay. there's nothing on either i wouldn't enthusiastically recommend. and for more reasons than the smut; there's some great story in most of them. And none of that fairy dragon nonsense, either.
so i bought this controller that's been updated to have full modern capability (full button map of a PS5/Xbox controller) and when i tell you it's now my fav PC game controller and my dumb old millennial heart is SINGING
The kiss is - as cliche as it might be to think it - it's perfect and Gustave could lose himself into this moment as well. His fingers curl lightly at the hair at the base of Verso's neck, the bench isn't the most feasible for being closer - but it's perfect. Gustave melts into Verso - he's never going to forget the way this feels - the taste of their drinks, the smoke lingering; sweet tobacco on Verso's tongue and in his scent. It's a perfect scene, senses full of Verso's presence and Gustave doesn't want this moment to break.
Their knees press together and Gustave brushes his tongue against Verso's - a response to him, open and willing - the potential for deeper passion makes his stomach flip and he knows they'll behave, but the potential hits him with a surge of interest. Gustave responds with his own noise - faint - wanting and he can't stop the soft, soft protesting noise when Verso pulls back.
Gustave's cheeks are flushed, all the way to his ears and he swallows, lightly looking at Verso as his hand slips to cradle his cheek, thumb stroking lightly as he does. This space has certainly been used for dalliances far beyond their soft, traded kisses of exploration, but nonetheless Gustave flushes. He's never done this before. Too caught up in expectations and requirements as the eldest son to even consider doing something just for himself. And it warms him from the inside out.
Gustave's heart skips a beat and he nods, quickly - perhaps embarrassingly too quickly. "I want to see you again as well, please. I can't begin to describe how much I also want to see you." Gustave says softly, a bit breathless as well as he brushes his thumb along the strong arch of Verso's cheekbone - the skin warm beneath his palm. "Coffee - um. The day after next, I have obligations tomorrow - but after, I'm free."
It's difficult to make those plans and he knows it. It's not as simple as dating, courting —— for as complicated as even that can be, at least it's something that's out in the open. This is so much more layered and complex, more difficult, and he's always known it would be. There's a part of him that resents it — god, he's a romantic at heart and would love nothing more than to step into the world openly with it all — but that's not their reality.
Still: even so, his heart thuds in his ears, and the flush of relief is hot and total; he hadn't even realized he'd tensed while waiting for a response. He can't help but grin, a bright flicker of a thing, and he leans into the touch with an open warmth; his hand comes up to close over Gustave's, holding it there for just a moment longer.
" The day after next. Le Dôme Café? " It's newer, and a place that appeals to a more bohemian art crowd, even if it's often crowded. " If we arrive after breakfast, around ten? It won't be so crowded. " God, he feels almost giddy; he can't even remember the last time he felt so.
" I'll even —— oh, hell, " and he pats down his pockets, brows furrowing in sudden consternation, and he slips out of the bench with a long-legged grace. He finds a nub of a pencil in a drawer, snags a napkin off one of the neat piles on the table, and scrawls a series of numbers on a page. Of course the Dessendres have a private telephone line. " Here, " he says, thrusting it over; he has a neat handwriting, precise and clean with a bit of careless flourish. " In case you need to get in touch. " Please keep in touch.
"i don't think romance is real. i think love is real, but not romance." - Clea
@topaintandwrite
For a moment, Verso can only stare as though she's said something that is fundamentally at odds with itself. " You don't? " A hesitation, as though he doesn't even quite know what to say. " They're kind of the same thing, aren't they? Romance, you know — the gentle things, the —— "
And he gestures vaguely, fleetingly, that artfully expressive way he ever has of talking with his hands as though trying to summon words from the air. " It's all part of it. You can have love without romance, I suppose. Like —— family, or friends. But love of that kind without romance sounds terribly dull. "
Not —— that he's ever had much experience. Sure, he's had relationships; fleeting ones, usually, there and gone. But nothing so far has stuck, so one may wonder just how much of an expert he really is. But: he's curious now. " But why don't you think romance is real? "
you know, the whole full screen ad thing on mobile when visiting another person's blog is annoying enough, but when you accidentally click on a blog and the ad that opens it is an unskippable ten minute ad so you have to close the entire app and restart it? that's just diabolical, who coded this
Verso's eyes darken and Gustave's lips curl into something mischievous, light, because he's considered much of the same scenarios he's certain Verso is considering. His desk, his private office. He's not immune to the charms of his boyfriend, nor the potential for delicious mischief.
He can hear the silent curse, criticism of him teasing Verso, and he just smiles - a little more wryly still, smoothing his hand over the silky fabric lightly. He'll hear about it when they're in the privacy of his loft - a playful punishment for teasing Verso so when they couldn't kiss the way he wanted. "I'll bring my schedule then. So I can check the dates." Not that Gustave didn't bring his work home often; a point of contention with exes in the past. Gustave wasn't truly under the impression their relationship wasn't a terribly kept secret from anyone but their students, but he appreciates Verso playing along with it.
"Me? A tease? Never." Gustave smirks as he pulls away, but it's soft as he moves to gather up his jacket and his messenger bag, pulling it on over his head and tucking his jacket so it hangs over it. "A walk sounds lovely. Did you have an opinion on dinner? I have a strawberry wine I'm dying for us to try."
Oh, and Verso's a passionate lover, too: fierce, attentive, heated and wanting. When they're alone he doesn't hesitate to show his interest, to tease and tempt. But here he behaves — even if sometimes he wonders. Oh, he wonders. Wonders what it would be like to pin his lover in that cushioned chair, take to his knees. Wonders what it would be like on that desk ——
He draws in a breath through his teeth. Right, right. His spine feels pleasantly tight, anticipation and temptation warring with no clear winner —— and he likes the sensation, and probably more than he should. It's all part of it, really, in the end.
Pale blues narrow to him, the smile dancing. It conveys his doubt without him having to say a word, but even so he just gives a low hum in consideration. " You tease me by existing, " he returns, wry, but there's a gentleness in it, too: a softer thing, trickling down from the playful banter without leaving it entirely. " And I love it. "
He moves to take up his things, too, and his brows raise. " See, and then you say things like that, and that's even more a tease, " he rebounds with a quiet laugh. " Ugh, I don't know —— you mentioned curry earlier, that's fine. But strawberry wine sounds perfect. " Especially since he can just imagine tasting it right on Gustave's tongue ——
[TXT]: Ah, you two share a personal hobby? I thought you were siding with this student for the hell of it. Not that you had interest or stakes in this discussion. Dare I ask how much you've read in this genre...
[TXT]: I'll pass on this novel, but I do hope you'll have fun with it. I'm impressed it was published at all. I'll see if any other essay comes close to being tedious as this one in the meanwhile.
paris/pre-fracture verso had a fantastic romance/saucy book collection, but also had a far more private and curated gay smut collection that he kept in a chest under his bed. sometimes he illustrated them himself. clearly, he thought he hid it well.
[TXT]: I'd prefer the lovecraft feline to this, or your attempt to 'gallop'. That is far more amusing to this. It's just terrible prose.
[TXT]: No, I would rather burn my euros than purchase this novel. I'm assisting with essay marking. The favours I do for friends are many.
[TXT]: This one is defending bad erotica and decided to die on the hill that is "Rough and Ready" and not... the usual suspects. I didn't know there was a curated list of acceptable smut for debating.
[ SMS ] :: smut is a range. and is an art. i don't know the first thing about literary debating, but there's an absolute mess of awful, a handful of okay, and then some that just transcend
[ SMS ] :: and then there's the experimental ...
[ SMS ] :: but, you know, bad is subjective. maybe this person gets going on bad writing, you never know. don't shame. 😉
[ SMS ] :: ohoh, the digital version is practically free. will report back.
How do you know about the gun? - R Simon cause why not
@topaintandwrite / obsession
He doesn't know why it bothers him. His father has a small collection of firearms, carefully stowed away — most old, more historical than practical. He never was one to be particularly fascinated by them outside of a boyish interest as a child that faded swiftly when even looking at them brought a strange, cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. Since then, he's been mostly unaware — a few outings as he'd grown with a few other young men to ranges, sure, but it never was an interest.
Some people have them. He knows it. And so why does it bother him now? He wouldn't be able to define it if he was even asked, but there's a curl of unease in his gut that won't be ignored, and for everything he is, he's gotten good at watching over the years. Seeing people ——
Outside, the weather is appropriately moody; lightning distantly flickers as drips down the window, the storm's fury likely coming later in the night. A stare flits over, brief and unblinking. " Because I have eyes? " And even though there's no one else here, his voice lowers anyway. " I wasn't snooping, if that's what you're asking. It was under your coat. I thought it was mine. "
He hesitates, and everything — the fire, the escalating war, the fact that even he despite all his misgivings and declarations of wanting nothing to do with the Painters has been dragged back into it all — has made him a lot more suspicious of shadows. Briefly, his jaw works, considering what to say — and then a worry flickers, plain. " —— Simon, are you in trouble? "
