—— #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.
The silence, uncomfortable, stretched on as Gustave waited for Verso to speak again, his fingers brushing over the back of Verso's hand still, a gentle touch. But then Verso speaks and Gustave's lips purse, eyebrows furrowing with it. 'What they thought they had to', sounds like a confession, one with a weight behind it that makes him a little nauseous. He looks at Verso as his eyebrows pinch slightly further.
"Whatever they did. It's not -" he hesitates, speech slow as he considers his words, chooses them carefully so he doesn't push Verso too much, push boundaries that are deeply tenuous. "-we don't do things like that. Especially not to people that are on our side."
"It does matter Verso." He says softly, still so careful as he does. "What they did - whatever they did," Gustave's emphasis is an out, a statement that whatever it was they did; Verso never has to tell him. "Whatever they did was wrong. No matter the situation, we don't. Mm, we're the only ones we have out here. And while they may have been scared and trying to find an answer, don't they...didn't they think you might have been scared too?"
He shifts, moving slowly as he places his hand on Verso's shoulder, giving it a squeeze as he does. "It's unfair to put our deaths on your shoulders, you didn't choose any of this either. And to. Do whatever they did. It's not right. Maybe the first expeditions didn't know what was going to happen. But we knew there was a possibility of dying. It comes for us all, some of us just rise up to meet it."
It's so easy to mentally slip back into those days — his nightmares used to live there, night after night after night. Those days passed a long time ago — along with his ability to dream at all — but he remembers them like he was still living in them.
He doesn't remember much about it all, and he hasn't tried. The reek of fire, smoke, blood —— it set a panic in him that nearly overwhelmed. Memories of dying. Memories of almost dying. Blood cascading in rivers ——
" You think you wouldn't. But when fear, when true fear, when that sets in, you never know what people are capable of. What, " and his voice catches raw in his throat, " you, me, are capable of. " His voice catches. " 56. Expedition 56. It was one of the ones that I was with. My father —— did what my father does. " His mouth twists, his brows furrow, and while he's speaking of this, there's parallels he's avoiding talking of.
" Their captain captured my sister. She tortured her when she wouldn't answer them. She can't answer them, she —— " Gustave's seen her. He's seen the burns. He swallows, and says, more level: " She threatened to feed Alicia to Nevrons. And when I found her, I could have just taken my sister and left, but I made sure she couldn't follow us. "
Strange, isn't it, how there's more bitter anger for that than his own almost identical situation, but he is ever how he is. " When people get scared, they want answers. Some ask. Some get angry. Most, well. Shout and are upset or threaten. And some just want to make something hurt just as much as they do. And sometimes, " and his voice lowers, grim and soft, " I worry I'm one of those. "
It's a romantic notion, escaping away to live in a space all their own. A loft in a city nobody knows their names and they're less prone to questioning lifelong "bachelors" living together. Or a cottage on the edge of a small town - where Verso can play his music and Gustave can continue to try and make life better for the average person. But Gustave is practical, he's a realist. He knows that it's truly just wishful thinking to have that kind of future.
The temptation to take Verso into his arms and kiss him silly in front of all of the smug, high society types is ever present. But again, it's a romantic notion that has no possibility outside of the queer balls they attend together.
Gustave lets Monoco sniff his hand before he's cradling the dog's muzzle, scratching lightly at the coarse graying fur before his fingers curve back to scratch at the base of his ears, giving gentle attention to the older dog. Noco is more reserved and Gustave offers his hand a moment, just in case he wants to be pet as well, or at least sniff Gustave to know who this stranger is. "They're lovely. I always wanted a dog but." His lips curl a little before he lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. "Some people are just boring and think life should be perfectly spotless. Like a painting - nobody can know you live there."
Gustave turns more towards Verso then, leaning in close, too close as he presses the end of his cigarette against Verso's with a steadying, gentle hand. It's as close to a kiss as they'll risk yet, the intimacy of lighting his cigarette with Verso's still gives him a surge of something flighty - romantic in his chest as he inhales, slow to savor the smooth burn of the fine tobacco. He pulls the cigarette away from his lips, exhaling the smoke out before his tongue darts out to wet his lips, hazel meeting ice blue with a matching interest.
"You're far more charming than I." Gustave says with a soft laugh, lifting his shoulder again in a shrug, body angling still towards Verso, subtly. He listens then however, expression softening further. "Mm, to show strength against those that caused the fire." A sign to the writers that they weren't going to be scared away. That a fire hadn't killed any of them, and their manor was still standing despite it. He didn't buy it really either, it was a dirty trick from the writers, and one that would lead to a circling of the wagons no matter the confident facade they put on. "Expectations." Gustave agrees with a wry little smile, a shared understanding of the word.
The cigarette hisses as it lights, warm and sizzling; the cherry at the tip flares bright, and if Verso lingers a little closer than necessary — why, that’s just because it’s being slow lighting, isn’t it? The way his gaze lifts, though, dark brows overshadowing those pale ice-hued points, the smile haunting —— oh, that says perhaps more than words ever would be able to.
Monoco, oblivious of whatever passes between them, soaks in the quiet attention, clearly used to being doted upon; Noco eventually rises and wanders over for some pets, too, tail slowly wagging, and Verso obliges gladly until both dogs wander off just a bit to stay nearby but flop in the leaves. “ I begged for one when I was a boy, ” he laughs as he straightens. “ I wore my parents down, I think. Since then we’ve always had one or two. “
He reaches a hand up, snagging an errant little vine trailing off some of the decor lining the path; it’s overgrown a little, and he gives it a little tug. “ They kept me sane, I think. Especially when my sister started thinking my style of adventures were dull. “ He grins, but there’s something in the way he says it that suggests a somewhat isolated childhood, not uncommon with the wealthy elite. Even friendships as children tend to be so terribly cultivated, especially with the tension of a guild war straining lines.
“ Mm, ” he agrees of the fire — it’s all politics that he doesn’t want to drill into right here, right now, though he’s been dragged back into it to a degree anyway. “ Just so. Why do you think they had me play for them all? “ He snorts. “ I should be thankful I wasn’t expected to paint something to show my resilience, or some such nonsense. “ There’s a bitter note in that, something still angry and simmering — but he shoves it aside.
“ Charming, “ he echoes, humored. “ Am I? ” A flit of a look over, then, the smile still teasing. “ I don’t know. I find you terribly charming. I’m just —— well trained, ” and it’s with a little wave of the hand holding the cigarette and a little scoff, but it’s also not far from the truth. Manners have been drilled into him since he was small. “ At least, ” and this admission is given lower, leaning in as though sharing a secret, fingers ghosting against Gustave’s hip in a flicker of a caress, “ around their company. ”
Gustave is tender all over, deep inside throbs with arousal, Verso is reaching so deep. A part of Gustave worries it'll be too much, how long it takes him to come, how sensitive Verso is. But god if he isn't losing his mind slowly at just how good it feels to squeeze around Verso's cock, to feel the mess of come between them as he rolls his hips. His walls flutter around Verso with the small orgasm and he tugs at Verso's hair - just a little as his head tips back.
He's panting softly when he finally looks at Verso, ducking in to press his mouth against Verso's, teeth lightly catching Verso's bottom lip and dragging it out just slightly before he kisses him again, pressing his body closer to Verso, arching his back and pushing Verso's cock further against his walls. "Verso-" he breathes out, just on this edge of needy.
Verso's ears flush and it's such a good, good response. He bends in, brushing his lips against Verso's ear. "Do you like praise Verso? Do you enjoy being told how good you are?" Gustave asks softly, fingers digging into his shoulder as he presses himself ever closer. There's no judgement in his voice, just curiosity, open and genuine.
Fingers dig into his hips and Gustave hums with pleasure, slipping his hand down Verso's chest, nails scratching lightly through his chest hair. He rocks his hips down with Verso's guidance, letting the man beneath him guide the movement as he drives them both wild. The lips on his neck hurt beautifully, beard scraping against his skin and he moans, hands skittering across Verso's skin for grip as he grinds his hips forward, squeezing around Verso's cock as he does. "Hah, merde. I want you to lose yourself to me. I want you to have me however you want - but I want you to fuck me slowly this way first. And then you can have me however else you want me."
God, but Verso loves being praised. It's not new — that little part of him got awoken long ago — but these days it takes on a sharper edge, something just a little painfully raw in the pleasure of it. It's a needier desire, hot and edging on desperate. It's a desire with claws, setting into the most insecure and worn-down parts of himself and soothing them, a balm over the surface. It feels so powerful it makes part of him want to weep, a searing knot in the back of his throat catching and burning.
But it's good. God, but it's good. It's good and it should be shameful but he would lay here and melt under the warmth of praise and gentle fingers.
But he can only nod numbly to the question, brows furrowing tight, arms curling 'round Gustave to pull him close. " Maybe a little, " he breathes at last, a little crooked grin teasing out of the haze; he tips his head enough so he can drag a kiss down Gustave's jaw, open-mouthed and just a little hot and messy, tooth dragging against skin until he can groan into his ear.
The squeeze around him makes him shiver, and that heat builds slowly again — not fast and uncontrolled before, but in steady waves, easy to relax into, easy to just let swell as Gustave rides against him. And he slips a hand between them, fingers splitting to fall on either side of his swollen dick, pressing in. " You have me at your mercy, " he agrees with a purr, voice deep and low. " You're beautiful. God, look at you. This is how I want you, mon chéri. "
the hat is falling past her ears and obscuring (ey) her vision, but she's maintaining her confidence anyway as she plants hands on her hips. whispers softly, "yeehaw..."
@obscurd
Verso's hat is black with a twined gold and white band, sharply accented by the spill of white hair that artfully refuses to stay tucked under the brim. He reaches a hand over and resettles her hat just enough to where she can actually see.
And he joins her where she stands, quiet, lighting a hand-rolled cigarette and letting the grey-blue smoke curl towards the skies —— and, after a moment, he somberly and with utter gravity agrees: " Yeehaw. "
Verso takes to the water with an ease that Gustave finds impressive on its own. He's impressive - it's like the water is an extension of himself, limbs and Gustave watches him. Hazel green eyes study Verso, watching him strip his clothes off, tossing them back towards the shore and Gustave hums softly. They'll both have to properly wash their clothes, moreso Gustave than Verso - but they still needed it. He sinks more into the water, the orbs warming the water around them as Verso floats easily into the water.
Gustave flushes under Verso's attention, it warms him a little as he relaxes, looking at him with soft eyes, comfortable and easy "Oh - you." He huffs, though his lips curl into something soft and pleased at the compliment still. "Mm, am I? Sorry I'm so distracting." Gustave purrs out, a soft, pleased noise as he runs his hand through his chestnut curls. Verso drifts closer, conveniently so and Gustave reaches out his hand, gentle.
"What if I think you're the one who's distractingly gorgeous?" Gustave's stomach flexes a little as Verso's fingers find his skin, sliding smoothly over his abdomen. It's light, affectionate, and Gustave wants to share a warm bath with Verso, to cozy up with him somewhere safer and warmer. But here, he can pretend it's like a romantic camping trip - flirting with him in the pool of water. The trees above them reach upwards, branches spreading limbs out, the moss and clean earth are charming on their own, and Gustave smiles warmly at him. He doesn't fight Verso when he reaches for the soap, letting him have it and Gustave sighs, softly before he chuckles. "Shame, we'll have to report that to management." He teases lightly, amusement tugging at his lips. But he perks up a little and he grins hopefully at Verso. "Hot springs you say?"
At that playful oh you there comes a dancing look under heavy lidded eyes, smile haunting; he knows, he accepts, and more than that: he enjoys being a menace. " Then I think we'll have to agree on just being distracting to each other, " he chuckles, pleased at the compliment but unwilling to let go of his own so easily; he winks. " I think we're both a little biased, though. "
God, but he must have been a swimmer at some part in his life: the effortless way he moves, the way he hums an agreement and slips around Gustave with a fluid little shift that makes him seem born to it. It's the ease of someone who has been in the water an awful lot, and trained to it as well: it's plain he's a good swimmer. " Mmm. Hot springs. They were part of the old resorts, pre-Fracture —— "
And he slips behind him then, lathering the soap and massaging it deep into Gustave's shoulders, fingers working at any knots as they slide slick against skin. " Now there's no resorts, so they're overgrown. You have to watch out for Nevs, there's some that like to go near, but if you're careful there's a place that's harder to get to. It's always icy and covered in snow up there, so you freeze until you get in the water, but ah, " and he groans softly, the sound almost obscene, " Merde, it feels good when you get in. "
Whether he had cracks anywhere, Monoco hadn't the faintest notion of them. Hardly even a thought in his mind, he couldn't even remember what he'd felt. His joints weren't damaged, that much he knew. They could still move, they just hadn't. The pack that had carried many nevron legs had definitely come apart. Monoco remembered hearing them fall as he'd been helped up. They lay abandoned, with Monoco showing little interest in them at that moment.
Scrapes, maybe. His cloths were more tattered than before. But for the rest of him? He hadn't really stopped to take a look at himself.
What could be seen, however, were signs of damage. There were small scratches almost everywhere. Scuffs on his mask where paint had been scraped off. Splits in his legs made walking all the more difficult for Monoco, but didn't appear to be getting worse as he'd carefully walked beside Verso. All the while, there were bits of those same scrapes, scratches, and what could only be described as carvings on Monoco's left arm. Nothing serious, obviously nothing purposeful, but it was easy to see the difference in color.
Monoco mustered up a small hum of acknowledgement, sounding akin to an old man on the verge of sleep. However, it wouldn't take his mind long to connect a few dots that unsettled him.
"Hole?" He lifted his head up to look at Verso. His mask, blank as ever, could show a stranger nothing. And yet his friend would be able to see that clear distress in his movements, in the face he didn't have. "N... nothing too small, yes?"
Oh, he catches that look. " Nothing too small, " Verso's swift to reassure. " It's not big, but it's —— it's kind of like the first place we had, back when we first went off. " It's a small lie, but not a grandiose one; when they finally limp and drag their way there, it's not awful. A wide crack in the rock gives way to a small but dry cave, a canvas hung from the mouth to keep wind and ice out. The ceiling is high, vanishing into dark.
He's been here on and off for awhile; there's bedding on the floor, several layers thick. Blankets. Cushions that look like they were —— liberated from the manor. A small store of food, drink, tools propped near the entrance, a chroma-infused lamp. A few journals and books. Livable, certainly, and he shoves some things aside to give them both a place to be able to rest.
" I had to find somewhere close if I was going to be digging out an entire mountain. " And there's a little twist of a smile, wry, some attempt at levity that falls terribly flat under the weight of relief, exhaustion, and emotion that shivers so close to the surface that it's almost terrifying. It's too close. Too real. " See? Not so bad. "
He's already noted the small things: the dings, scratches. The paint that's been scuffed free, the little signs of wear. The torn pack, the tattered clothes. That could all be repaired, repainted, made new as it ever could be. It's the rest ——
" I'm sorry it took me so long, " he says, suddenly. Quiet, guilty; he makes a show of inspecting the mask, a careful thumb touching a place of worn paint, and inside a terrible cacophony of emotion threatens. He feels it here, especially, in their relative safety, in their living. " I'm —— " And there's a catch in his throat that betrays so much, but as they ever are, so much often goes unsaid. " I'm going to need to get some new paint. For you. "
