—— #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.
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Gustave has been fascinated by the pictos carved in the masts since he was a boy, it was like magic, to see them activated and working. Truthfully it was probably a big part of what drove him to becoming a scientist, to studying the chroma of their world and how to better utilize it. His arm that he'd lost had pictos he'd experimented with, ones that were tattooed, early experiments with the chroma infused ink.
Gustave looks over his shoulder at Verso, expression soft, a little solemn and he nods. "Yeah, I can only imagine what it was like before - before the fracture." Gustave says gently, because he's only read some of the early accounts - much was lost when the fracture happened and the accounts following were a bit more chaotic as they tried to figure out the massive upheaval their world had gone through.
"Hm, well I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks." It's playful, no trace of malice as he grins wryly at Verso. He does think Verso is deeply impressive, his skills with chroma and pictos are fascinating. A level that Gustave would love to be able to replicate with practice. But he handles them so smoothly, like he's pulling from knowledge far beyond what Gustave is capable of, even with all of their research into chroma.
He hums at the soft kiss, the warmth in Verso's voice. It's funny, how easy they stepped into this dance, the warmth radiating between them, and Gustave feels so lucky. Holding out the bar of soap for Verso to take, he sputters out a soft, offended noise at the following statement. "Oh- you-" he turns to face Verso, laughing as he splashes water at the unrepentant man before him. "You little shit." But Gustave is smiling, even as he drapes his arm over Verso's shoulder. "You may not be able to smell me anymore, but I can sure smell you." He teases before falling backwards, dragging Verso into the water with him.
Verso would object —— he would put up his own protests about being called an old dog, would wax poetic about his time in Lumiére and the advancements of chroma and science and magic and all the wonders that came with it —— but he can't, because somebody grapples him and attempts to drown him first.
( Really, he was very much asking for it; he knew it was coming. He was even baiting it to a degree. )
And thus: Gustave's arm loops around his neck and drags him under, and he's floundering and laughing even as he makes a sound not unlike a bucket being forced underwater, all the bubbles pouring out and up in a great big undignified 'blorp'.
He's not undressed — sure, he'd shrugged off his coat and his boots and all the heavier things he didn't want getting soaked — but now it doesn't matter much; he claws back to the surface with a sputtered laugh, hair plastered in his face and streaming water, dripping and pouring. It's deep enough he can find footing but shallow enough that it's awkward, and so he just ends up grinning with hair still in his eyes like a wet mop, and he angles a playful splash back.
" Good thing we've plenty of soap then, " he grins, half coughing a sputter of water. " What, " and he rakes his hair back, pushing back in the water just enough that he can sink to his shoulders, still impish, " here I thought you liked how I smelled. " A pause, and he allows with a performatively dour lowering into the water. " Mm. Most the time, anyway. "
RP blog for 2 original characters (+ maybe others as guests) from an original story of the mun's creation that takes heavy inspiration from fantasy and fairy tales and includes heavy influence from the supernatural, horror and sci-fi genres.
Originally established on Tumblr in 2016, reworked and revived in 2022 + mostly here to write with friends, though I'm glad to meet new ones.
Loved by Marker (they/she, over 25)
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"We still use some of them. Some of the ships in the harbors, there's old pictos - wind and air to be activated and fill the sails when we are moving against it. They're far more enjoyable when not being used for survival." Gustave says softly, a little wistful. "How did they use them in shows? For farming? I know we've used some across the water in the gardens, helping the system move more smoothly, but we use mostly technology for that, gears and the like." Gustave was curious, and this was a rare moment of openness, a glimpse into his past. The name Simon tugged at the back of Gustave's brain, but he filed it away, a question to be asked later. "They're certainly far less painful than carving them into your skin." Gustaves says it apologetically, lips twisting a little.
Gustave can't quite tell if the soap is working or just proximity, but the smell eases from his nose, the clean scent of the bar lingering in it's wake and it's far better. He breathes a little sigh of relief as he scrubs over his skin lightly, listening to Verso talk. He's warm behind Gustave, a nice reprieve from the chill of the water and he just resists the urge to lean back against the other man, to take him up on the offer to wash his back.
"Mmmm my hero." He grins over his shoulder at Verso, leaning back to press a brief kiss to his cheek before returning the soap to scrub over his shoulder to the residual limb, since it was important to keep that skin very clean even still. The way Verso commands the pictos, the light that wells around him like second nature - it's fascinating and beautiful to behold. If a bit terrifying as well. Orbs of light float around him, painfully bright and radiating warmth in a way that makes Gustave shiver. The power is undeniable as it radiates from them and Gustave makes a soft noise, a little hum, a pleased sound as the orbs sink into the water, taking the chill from the water around them.
"Well there goes my plan. Guess I'll have to cozy up to something else." He says with a crooked smile, flirty and playful. "You're incredible, I hope you know that." It's said with sincerity, a softness to Gustave's voice as he stills, enjoying the radiating warmth from the orbs.
Of course, he knows it to some degree — he's watched the slow transformation of Lumiére over the decades from a distance. He knows what they've kept, what they've changed, what they've adapted. He knows what's been lost, and perhaps more intimately so than most —— but for whatever reason that he has difficulty defining, the idea that those have survived puts a lump in his throat. It's a reminder of a different time —— an older time, a more innocent time. A time filled with so much beautiful ignorance innocence ——
He won't let that thought linger, though; this moment is too gentle and too light-hearted to allow himself to sink into the mire. " It was all just so new, " he muses, rueful. " And we had less chroma to pull from, then. The world breaking kind of changed all that. " Made ink chroma leak from wounds like a ripped canvas, made the world bleed ——
Merde.
Still: he's warmed by the compliments, and he gives a little dancing smile in return. " I'm just old, " he says with a wave of his hand, though it's plain he likes it. " I've had plenty of time to figure out new tricks. "
Though it's strange, isn't it? The way he almost feels like he could play with them, make them into something new. It feels like he should be able to, and that's the worst part: he knows that's not his own memory, and it feels invasive, strange. Impotent, too, because he's tried to chase those urges before and nothing happens at all. The memories of the Painter with none of the true power.
He brushes a kiss against the back of Gustave's shoulder, though, a genuine thanks —— and makes to reach for the soap. " As are you, " he says, low, with utter warmth. " But what I think is incredible, " he murmurs in a near whisper, though the impish light in his eye betrays him before his words do, " is how I can barely smell you at all anymore. "
today's been busy between visiting inlaws and such, and we let kiddo stay up late tonight so we've been watching some movies ( he chose Godzilla vs Kong KFJDS ) and keeping the dogs from flipping out from fireworks so i'm not trying to write tonight. xD Hope everyone's having a safe saturday!
Verso throbs inside Gustave, a desperate little noise leaving the brunette as he grinds down in response, bearing down and keening softly against Verso's mouth as he rolls his hips, grinding, shifting so his dick catches lightly on Verso's belly, a slick, sweet grinding against the fuzz of his skin. He's sensitive in the best way, Verso's groan, the gasp and inhale make Gustave throb, slick arousal dripping from him as he rolls his hips in a little circle.
"How many, mm I want to see, ah, how many you can fill me with." Gustave says honestly, fingers digging into Verso's dark hair as he does, toes curling into the grass behind them. Verso is still so deep, the deep grind of his cock makes Gustave shudder, hunger gnawing at his belly. He wants to make Verso come again, his fingers itch to notate these things - how many times he can get Verso to come, what the man enjoys the most. It's probably off-putting but he can't help the urge. "Mmm, three times? Fascin- ah -ating." He tips his head back, baring his throat a minute as he clenches around Verso, not quite an orgasm, but trembling enough to give him a moment of pause.
Fingers curl around his hips, guiding him through the motions, the rock of his hips - dick grinding against Verso's belly and it feels good, the slick pressure of Verso's orgasm and the cock inside him. It's noisy, messy and Gustave tangles his fingers in, gasping soft and pleased at the feeling. The open mouthed kiss makes him hum with delight, but god the way Verso flexes, his dick pressing against Gustave's walls? It makes Gustave gasp, bringing his hand to his mouth to bite at his knuckles as it does pull a small orgasm from him - precursor to when he finally does come again. "Mm, Verso hah, you're so good for me. Such ah, such a good boy." He murmurs, finally wrangling his brain into use again before moving, lifting his hips to fuck himself back down onto Verso, the noise makes him flush, come making the slide even wetter.
God, but he feels like every nerve is on fire —— he's still hard, stiff and aching, and every little movement and squeeze and shift and roll of their weight sends a sharp near-painful shock down his cock, his spine, seizing somewhere deep that makes his toes curl. It's almost too much —— almost, almost —— but it's also so perfectly intense and it makes him so desperately hot.
" Fuck, " he breathes as Gustave shivers around him and tenses, pulsing, the sensation nearly enough to make him see stars; the curse is simple and yet pulled through his teeth like some kind of oath. But over-sensitivity is slowly easing, easing, a warmer and needier pleasure settling in its wake —— a desire to chase that sensation again, and again, and again until neither of them can take it anymore ——
Good boy, he says, and fuck, it's ridiculous that such a simple thing could cause a lump to stick in his throat and a searing warmth to flood up to his ears, but it does. Were he thinking clearly, some part of him might be embarrassed at how much he wants to chase that praise, prove it to him, show his lover just how much of a good boy he can be ——
His eyes close briefly, and he groans deep in his throat; fingers lock around Gustave's hips, helping him guide his weight and also rocking his own hips up just enough. " I want to be good for you, " he breathes, voice rough, raw. " I could, " and he hisses a breath between his teeth, trembling with the almost primal urge to fuck into him harder, faster but he's restrained like this and so can't, and he finds he likes that too. But: he can lean in, sealing his mouth against Gustave's throat with a rough open-mouthed kiss, working down over his collar while his hands squeeze his hips, his sides, the swell of his ass. " I could lose myself in you. I want to. I need to. Fuck, you're beautiful. "
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CHARACTER HEADCANON GENERATOR:
put ✓ for correct &✘ for incorrect.
If Verso was presented with an intergalactic portal, they would enter it without question. | p!verso: ✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓ ( isn't this just canon ——— ) r!verso: ✘ ( fuck that it's scary )
Verso has punched a hole in their wall. | both: ✓ ( r!verso had regrets )
Verso doesn't own a single pair of matching socks. | p!verso: ✓ r!verso: ✘
Verso could easily survive The Hunger Games. | p!verso: ✓ r!verso: ✘
Verso has chronic nightmares. | both: ✓
Verso has an embarrassing old deviant art account. | p!verso: ✘ r!verso: ✓ ( IT'S CALLED A CANVAS MOM )
Verso hates being alone. | both: ✓✓✓✓✓✓
Verso desperately needs a hug but doesn't know it and refuses to ask for one. | both: ✓✓✓✓✓✓ ( but more p!verso by far )
Verso will remind others in the midst of chaos how good they're being. | both: ✓✓✓
Verso is tumblr famous. | ✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓ ( browwaggles )
tagged by: @ingenieurlumina
tagging: all u steal it from me
Gustave doesn't know all that much still about Verso, they've talked - shown bits about themselves, but there's still a part of Verso that is hidden away. Verso seems so convinced though that he is a terrible man, a person undeserving of love or a second chance, and Gustave finds he's so confused as to why the man is so convinced of that.
Gustave hums, quiet and thoughtful as he looks at Verso, tipping his head just a little. He listens, pursing his lips as he considers what Verso says, the unspoken parts of it and it makes him frown a little - just a thoughtful expression. "We have to make choices that are ugly and unpleasant. But it doesn't inherently mean that we're irredeemable or we don't get to try again." Gustave says it softly, with the gentle weight of someone who doesn't necessarily know exactly what he's going through, but he understands somewhat.
Gustave hesitates just a moment before he moves forward, careful, reaching out to touch Verso's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I still don't think you're a bad person, nor that you're doomed by your choices. It's hard to- mm, it's hard to unbury yourself when you get under them all."
Verso's shoulder is rigid when Gustave's hand squeezes — not in response to the touch, but as a matter of course. His thoughts blaze, because Gustave isn't wrong —— there aren't many who can live a life free of regret, free of cruelty, free of mistakes —— but he would bet anything that Gustave hasn't ever——
He doesn't look over to him, and there's a long moment of silence. His gaze is held out over the world before him, craggy rock and suspended floating detritus from a world of before — but he isn't seeing much at all, his thoughts a muddled swirl of memory. There's a place he knows they'll be resting before they move into the Monolith —— a safe place, place where Esquie will bring them down and they will make camp for the night.
He knows it well; he left two journals up there because he couldn't stomach burning them.
" —— during Expedition Zero, " he says suddenly, his voice a harsh rasp, " I found out I couldn't die. My —— " He hesitates, because what were they? He doesn't know. " Julie. Her name was Julie. She saw it. She saw me die, and then not die, and I —— I couldn't just fucking tell her the truth. My father was convinced she was —— that she had been turned against us. But she was just scared. I know she was just scared. I know —— "
His mouth thins, and he's quiet for a long, long moment more; he takes in a deep breath and lets it go slow. " —— she and three others tried to —— " There's a hitch that betrays that he's really not telling the full story here, as the sheer agony that licks at the back of the words couldn't be more plain, " —— tried to convince me to tell them why. " As they tortured him —— tortured him with only terror and desperation, anger and fear taking things too far, but this he doesn't say. Perhaps he doesn't even think to say it. " I killed them all. I killed her, and I let him tell me that it was all part of some plan, and I —— " His nostrils flare. " Whatever good person I ever had a chance to be died that day. I died that day. I'm just still walking. "
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I had intended for this to go with a oneshot where Verso takes his own advice and imagines the things people of the past would say, talking to them one last time in camp before taking on the Monolith in act 2, but I never got around to finishing it... so you get the art!
