à l'aube.

subdue the regret.  dust yourself off,  proceed.

[luminarm]

   à ceux qui nous suivront. for those who come after.

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[ how violent hope is. ] GUSTAVE, of sandfall's clair obscur: expedition 33. headcanon based, worldbuilding &. theory heavy. EXTREMELY CROSSOVER FRIENDLY, with a plethora of verses available. 21+, minors dni. mature topics present, follow at your own discretion. read carrd before following.

studying ... kindness is not weakness, the father and brother as protectors, persistence in spite of grief, rage and tenderness in the same body, blooming into a leader, hope undying.

carrd. prompts. headcanons. act 2 info. promo.

journeying with, @lamourstre / @pamurais.

graphics and psd: my own work. icon border: minimalistic border 004 by aria psds (with a slight addition.)

[witch1nghour]

𝜗𝜚 ⠀𝗕𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗥𝗜𝗖𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗙 𝗠𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗨𝗠𝗕   ﹔   various  sentence  starters   (   platonic/romantic/antagonistic/etc   )  from   SHERLOCK HOLMES   (   2009   )   .  please   , like   or reblog   if  you plan  on  using .   feel free to change pronouns as needed.   content   warning   :   tw   .   part one.

I  had  hoped  to  start  a  medical  practice  and  settle  into  a  nice,  steady  existence.

the  life  I  found  was  anything  but  nice  and  steady.

my  friend,  my  partner,  my  burden  ...

hhmm,  good  cigar.  who  do  you  work  for?

perfect  timing.

nice  hat.

is  that  your  blood  or  theirs?

knew  I'd  forgotten  something.  thought  I'd  left  the  stove  on.

what  a  shame.  that  wou've  been  fun.

you  should've  waited  for  my  help.

I  can't  imagine  why  they  thought  you'd  need  any  assistance.

what  will  I  do  when  you  leave?

I  smell  burning.

it  needs  work.  may  I  see?

i  can't  but  agree.  my  mind  rebels  at  stagnation.

give  me  problems,  give  me  work.  the  sooner  the  better.

there's  nothing  of  interest  to  me  out  there,  on  earth,  at  all.

have  you  proposed  yet?

it  really  is  a  thrill  to  meet  you.

the  little  details  are  by  far  the  most  important.

you  have  the  grand  gift  of  silence,  name.  it  makes  you  quite  invaluable  as  a  companion.

i'm  sure  I  can  find  my  own  way  from  here,  if  you  have  other  duties  to  attend  to.

so  now  you're  curious  as  to  whether  there's  a  larger  game  afoot,  and  that's  why  you're  really  here.

i  thought  i  might  keep  him  company.

allow  me  to  enlighten  you.

your  mistake  is  to  imagine  that  anything  earthly  has  led  to  this  moment.

your  error  in  judgement  is  to  assume  I've  been  holding  the  brush  at  all  --  I  am  merely  the  channel.

my  only  wish  is  that  i'd  caught  you  earlier.

those  lives  were  necessity,  a  sacrifive.

you  must  widen  your  gaze.  i'm  concenred  you  underestimate  the  gravity  of  coming  events.

you  and  i  are  bound  on  a  journey  that  will  twist  the  very  fabric  of  nature.

I  sense  fragility  beneath  your  mask  of  logic,  and  it  worries  me/

steel  your  mind,  name,  i  need  you.

I  must  say,  you've  come  a  long  way  down  from  the  place/title.

but  i  will  rise  again.

pay  attention!  three  more  will  die,  and  there  is  nothing  you  can  do  to  save  them.

you  must  accept  that  this  is  beyond  your  control,  or  by  the  time  you  realize  it  was  you  that  made  it  all  possible  it  will  be  the  last  sane  thought  in  your  head.

death  is  only  the  beginning.

i  prefer  to  travel  in  the  winter.

i  thought  we'd  have  a  little  tea  party  to  cheer  us  up.

he  has  a  palace  full  of  them.

let's  not  dwell  on  the  past.

by  the  looks  of  things  you're  between  cases  at  the  moment.

why  are  you  so  suspicious?

look  at  you,  i  can't  believe  you  ran  after  her  like  a  schoolboy  again.

allow  me  to  explain.

don't  you  remember  what  she  did  to  you?  she  turned  you  inside  out,  she  made  a  proper  idiot  of  you.

you've  had  your  fun.

these  are  lovely,  thank  you.

it's  nothing  to  do  with  me,  but  leave  this  case.

well,  i  may  not  have  a  choice.  a  man  has  to  make  a  living.

you  know  what,  I've  had  just  about  enough  --

i'll  leave  this  one  in  your  capable  hands.

it  is  not  my  reputation  at  stake  here.

like  it  or  not,  it's  a  matter  of  professional  integrity.

[revelres]

" i know. " sciel is quick to give gustave the grace of not envoking her name, urgent in the way that she steps forward and takes a soft hold of his elbow. she nods, smiles a persistent smile, and releases him after a small squeeze. she remembers what it's like to feel as if the simple sound of someone's name would create a deepening wound — sciel is now liberated by it.

" i think that's a lovely plan, " she agrees after some time spent in thought, properly mulling over gustave's dream with the amount of consideration that it's due. it's a rare beast, dreaming — with it's familiar face and jagged teeth.

" i'd like to continue teaching at the school, " she begins with earnest, her body happily swaying from toes to heels onto the dewy midnight grass. " — and who knows what else. i think i'm more looking forward to letting everyone else dream, to give them the chance to imagine a long life and all it has to offer. that would be my gift to them. "

[luminarm]

“ That's just as lovely, ” he agrees without a moment's hesitation. It's a strange thing, to have hope and be able to imagine a tomorrow without a Paintress and her Monolith, a tomorrow in which the children of Lumiere needn't be conditioned by impending loss. [ Whatever happens, whether they survive or die in the attempt, thinking about possibilities is always somewhat of a comfort. ] Gustave, too, wishes to see his loved ones live without needing to literally count their days.

he lets himself revel in the warmth that blooms in his chest, as though someone had taken a couple of logs from the campfire and stuck them within him to burn slowly but surely. Fatherhood is an idea now well out of reach, but he knows he has something similar with Maelle: he's a father - brother figure, a hybrid of a caretaker that truly fits neither role entirely, and all he wishes is to see the day when his daughter - sister grows into an even finer woman. He chances a look over his shoulder at the slumbering Maelle. Would she still feel alright back home, or would she take him up on the possibility of traveling the continent? It's too early to say.

with a sideways glance at Sciel, he opens a new line of inquiry. “ Are you also looking forward to all the greys in your hair? I have to say, I am. Marks of a life well lived, I say. ”

[eurodynamic]

GUSTAVE Renoir's Outfit + Flowers Haircut Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 (2025) dev. Sandfall Interactive

[obsclair]

" what are you thinking about ? you seem a million miles away. "

@luminarm 🖤

[luminarm]

“ Eh? Oh! ” Lune's voice swiftly brings him back to reality, and he shoots up to sit upright, hands closing around crossed ankles. “ Well, you know, for once I wasn't thinking. Must've just ... spaced out. Useless now, useful tomorrow one of those moments, I suppose. ” Gustave pats the ground next to him, bidding Lune sit. “ Taking a break from journaling? How's that coming along? ”

[lamourstre-a]

WHO AM I, LOUIS ? AM I MY HISTORY I HAVE ENDURED ? AM I THE JOB, I DID NOT WANT ? I DO NOT KNOW ANYMORE .. NO ONE HAS PAINTED ME IN OVER 400 YEARS.

independent & mutually private ❝ the vampire armand ❞ from amc's ❝ interview with the vampire ( 2024 - ) ❞ primarily based in the show verse with flavor & headcanon reliant. follow at your own discretion. interviewed by : pamola. credit.

[mkoshi-moved]

if i'm wrong, just say it, and i'll never ask again. | for soline!

“ you are right, mon ami. i wasn’t sure if anyone would recognize me at this point, ” she grins, admiring the many flowers within the hanging gardens.

“ for many years, i performed for the lumiére opera house. not anymore, considering … ” she trails off, referring to their impending doom of the gommage, as there weren’t nearly as people to watch theatre anymore. soline did appreciate the fact there were still people that appreciated musicality even as the world came crashing down on them. petals whiz past them as the breeze goes by, it’s at least a nice day. one of the last few, she supposes.

“ do you sing? you look the type. you have a certain … feel. ”

[luminarm]

so it really is the famed performer he's speaking to, and who also finds comfort in the hanging gardens overlooking the harbor. Gustave can't blame her: it's a nice spot, even if the view of the Monolith is far too ... majestic for its own good. His natural curiosity nearly gets the best of him, and he almost picks up on the thread regarding the gommage and whether she will be among those wearing garlands next time but he'd rather forget about it, at least for now. Soline brings up a topic of conversation of her own, one that makes Gustave sit upright just a tad more.

“ I'm sorry, a certain feel? ” he echoes, tapping the end of his fountain pen on his notebook in a hardly subtle display of nervousness. “ I have to say, I'm curious about what you think that feel is, but but no, I don't. I mean I can sing but I don't do it, I just never thought of making a career out of it. Engineering was far more in the cards for me than any artistic pursuits. ”

he tilts his head now, watching her. “ At the risk of sounding stupid, how could you tell? I can count the number of people who know about that with the fingers of one hand. ”

[inkpressedpetals]

[cleameur]

THE TOPOGRAPHY OF HER PSYCHE is a never-ending marsh, the terrain too murky to be mapped, let alone traversed. her head swims, fighting a losing battle against her sluggish cognizance, as it turns every thought into a slurry. ❝ it feels… ❞ the barest of pauses. lips part again as if to speak, but the words die on her tongue, extinguished. how does one even begin to explain this? he means well, she knows that. they all do, in their own ways. while she appreciates gustave’s gentle optimism, the careful encouragements meant to bolster her resolve, she can’t help but find them to be a waste of breath, better saved for someone else. someone who could benefit from them. not her. no, SHE IS A LOST CAUSE, has been so since the moment the flying manor became her prison. perhaps before that, too. maybe she’s always been one. ❝ …surreal. ❞ the answer pulls free with some reluctance, knowingly insufficient in describing the enormity of her experience.

clea can’t admit that how she really feels, is utterly disembodied. AN INHERITED LIFE IN TATTERS, cut haphazardly with a pair of rusted shears. little more than a passenger existing on borrowed time. a mere spectator, watching as she attempts in vain to hide the shakiness of her hands, knuckles blanched a sickly ashen colour. she can’t tell gustave that she longs for oblivion, not when he and the rest of the expedition so clearly want to live. but there is nothing left here for her. not anymore. the only family she’s ever known is gone, as is the man she’d once thought would be her happy ending, if such things could even be afforded to their ilk. and verso… verso is still as adept at wearing his masks as she remembers, but he’s hardly present himself. it’s possible that the only reason she sees through his façade, that faraway, glazed look, is because she recognises it in herself, a twisted mirror image. it’d be cruel, then, to burden another with the unbridled despair that rises up in her windpipe. as though this world isn’t merciless enough already.

so when she meets his gaze at last, clea offers a listless smile, a little wobbly, not entirely sincere. ❝ what will you do? when this is all over, i mean. will you go back? to lumière? i hear it’s quite different now, since the fracture. most things are. ❞ a deflection, plain as day. she makes no effort to conceal it. anything to course correct the direction of her musings, to distract from the long-hanging darkness that threatens to engulf her whole.

[luminarm]

surreal is one way of putting it. It wasn't a satisfying term for Gustave when it came time to describe how it truly felt to live again, and it sure as hell can't be satisfying for Clea either. There's simply no way to accurately recount the experience; he should have known better than to ask, but natural curiosity is what drives him. Perhaps what he'd been looking for was someone to relate to: the Expedition has been brought back to existence, sure, and Verso boasts of his immortality ... but Gustave fell at Renoir's hand once, and his survival had been a traitorous miracle. There's something far too particular about experiencing death in such a manner, but perhaps it's a good thing that nobody else has to contend with such a reality.

he wonders, maybe somewhat morbidly ... if Clea wishes she'd been allowed to rest instead of having the damage done by her actual self undone. [ He tries not to think about how it feels to be born from someone else's imagination, and he certainly tries not to think about Maelle. That conscious effort hurts him more than anything. ] Gustave accepts Clea's listless smile and offers a faint one of his own. She wishes to take her thoughts somewhere else? He won't be the one to stop her.

“ Most likely, ” he says, clasping his hands in front of him. “ I joked with Sciel once that maybe I'd go explore the continent instead, and maybe I could get Esquie to fly me around. It's ... different now, knowing that this is but a self - contained fraction of a world, but it would be nice to see it without having to worry about the Gommage or ... or just other Nevrons, really. ” He releases a breath, allowing himself a pause. “ It truly depends on what happens after. Somehow, suddenly having choices feels daunting, you know? ”

[luminarm]

“ I'm ... sorry I came at such a bad time. ” he's sought out the Gestral of his own volition, finally, and in this case it's hard to tell whether he's grateful or not for the lack of eyes to stare into. Gustave worries his hands, most notably his restored left, focusing for a moment on its characteristic quiet creak even as the joints move with complete fluidity. [ He's overthinking, he knows he is, but there's no way he can sleep knowing there are things to say that shouldn't wait to be said. Nobody would blame him for his timing, but fate in the continent is nothing if not cruel. ]

“ He helped save my life. At the village, he ... Noco helped with my arm and my recovery; I was hoping to thank him again, ” he tells @paintedinlight, eyes once again drifting down to the wooden limb just as a pang of phantom pain strikes his chest, almost as if on cue. “ Could Is there really no way for Gestrals to recover their memories? Their their personality? ”

canon dialogue starter call.

[luminarm]

a) most of those starters are absolutely not gonna be based off canon dialogue because apparently my brain likes to juke me (plus i love reverse psychology'ing myself into actually writing).

b) open up y'all, dad's arrived to be a menace.

[luminarm]

❰❰ DANCE ❱❱ sender invites receiver to slow dance ( to cascada ) (this is my revenge)

she looks after him with such ease, it's almost astounding but, as it happens, caring for him is hardly a difficult job. Gustave wears his heart on his sleeve and his emotions on a very expressive face; he has little experience with hiding them, but it'd be useless anyway if he ever did try so he doesn't, and instead allows @krohft to quietly join him at the living room window. [ The weather is greying, and there's no doubt it'll rain soon. ] Lara turns away from him and the window, and Gustave acknowledges nothing else. He's lucky he's got company, even if

“ Dance with me, ” she gently commands, and he knows that tone well enough now to know she'll brook no argument. Gustave turns in time to see her reaching for her phone. He knows where this is going.

she doesn't break eye contact, not even as the first notes of the song begin to fill the silence between them. It's the classic Cascada tune, meant to lift his spirits and get them to act stupid all at one, and it certainly works. It always does.

it's a mockery of a slow dance at first, a haphazard mix between tango steps and a waltz with a slow twirl of Lara's form thrown in the mix (it makes her giggle, so it's worth it). The beat drops next into the chorus and he leads them into a wild sway from side to side, their hands still clasped and Lara's hand clutching his shoulder. [ It's never about dancing, not really. She's a welcome lifeline, a moment of reprieve from his thoughts when they threaten to cloud his vision, and Gustave knows better than to ignore such a kindness. ]

Gustave relaxes in her arms when Lara embraces him next, and he manages to convince them both to head out for a quick supper.

“ You're gonna make that song my ringtone at this point, ” she says while grabbing her jacket. He offers her a highly meaningful look.

“ And who says it isn't already? ”

self - indulgent prompts.

[luminarm]

y'all we got a bonus track album drop?? HELLO??

[luminarm]

he'd felt and heard @darkdevour before he'd truly stepped foot into Lizzie's proper; Gustave may not have known Vasya for too long, but it's been enough anyway to be able to place who that raspy trill of charming laughter comes from. She'd been at the bar, of course, and somehow like two pieces slotting back together, they'd fallen back into the facsimile of a routine: sat on adjacent stools, cradled by music and lights. [ Vasya still has too much fun poking at his past and giving the corpo suit - wearing skeleton a good rattle. Why Gustave presents himself as a willing target is comparable to a partly solved equation. ]

“ 'Been some time. ” he's certainly not exaggerating: between this and that, biz keeping them both busy (and when it comes to V, he never asks what kind), they've certainly been strangers and she, notably and noticeably so, continues to give his clinic a wide berth. “ Any new stories designed to make me look green? ” Gustave gives his glass a gentle swirl. “ I'm drinking, so no better time. ”

canon dialogue starter call.

[eurodynamic]

Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 (2025) dev. Sandfall Interactive

[daylighter-gone]

he knows he’s come to the right person when gustave starts talking his language. the easy acceptance of an external cyberdeck with its insides ripe for use but pathetically out of date. he recalls the last time he had brought the netrunner something close to a gold mine: an arasake original in the shape of a completely portable arm-blade, no doubt a younger replica of what would grow to become the mantis blades — the same ones that trauma team didn’t get enough of waving at his face. an appreciation for antiques is in short supply in night city, but to two who are foreigners themselves in this strange and mutated city, anything other is more than welcome.

and gustave knows more than he does, talking it out without bribing a coin out of him for every spec and detail. he listens carefully, eyes attentive and brows boyishly furrowed. ❛  i want them, ❜  he said quietly, mind made up given gustave’s recall; if the optics were out of production stateside, then there was a chance netrunner’s in night city may flinch at the unexpected copyright. that was all he really needed: a second’s hesitation could turn the tide in a knife fight. ❛  done. i’ll get your scratch. ❜ 

slowly, he presses two fingers to the casing, and after a beat, slides them further up gustave’s desk, handing them over. arms crossed, he debates saying more. his mouth even parts to speak, before it all clams shut and tight. turning about, his voice murmurs out before he’s gone. ❛  tschüss. ❜ 

it’s five days before gustave calls, and seven before he shows up. the missed call on his halo told him as much. the fights hadn’t gotten easier, not when he was competing against a world of high-patched chrome and dodgy fixers who were banking on him dying half-way, so they could rob his efforts and his corpse on the way out. sleep-deprived and itching for this milestone, he knocks sourly against the ripperdoc’s door, shoulder bruised and lip split. ❛  open up. ❜ 

[luminarm]

the pause in @daylighter's step is enough to make Gustave worry for a split second, but then he remembers that there is nothing Kenneth likes best than appearing invisible, unseen, and unnoticeable so he simply files the observation away. He meets the goodbye with a chipper “ Bonne nuit! ”, delivered while reaching for his tools. Gustave has learned to be efficient: even if it's late, there's still energy to spend and work to do, and there's no better time to do it than under the command of an unbreakable attention span.

work alongside his Parisian contacts is a clipped but remarkably fast endeavor, and he's happy to be calling Kenneth two days earlier than his offered deadline but he receives no answer. It's hardly a surprise, especially in this particular line of work. He leaves a text, too, just in case. The worry begins to creep in when the fourth day since he called and texted rolls by without a word.

he's sipping on a cup of Matapang when the motion sensors at his door trigger a holo - call, and a pop - up from the monitor shows Gustave what, or rather who, he's been waiting on for almost two weeks: Kenneth. It takes Gustave a second to actually do as the merc commands, if only because there's no fucking way Ken is simply walking in, taking the repaired cyberdeck, and walking out without some sort of medical attention. The delay is a trap that Gustave can only hope works.

the door to the clinic opens, allowing Kenneth in. “ Putain de merde ... He's back at last, hey? On the chair, go on, ” he all but commands, medical supplies in hand. “ It's not the Medcenter, but I'm convinced you wouldn't step into it anyway. Then you'll get what you paid me for. ”

[luminarm]

while i do all the housekeeping (as much as being at work allows) i said i'd do earlier in the week, this is a very rare but very genuine canon dialogue starter call! no cap, but i will queue these out to come out slowly so as to not overwhelm myself. multis specify, y'all know the drill! let's get cooking again.