ENDBRINGER.

𝐯𝐞𝐡𝐫𝐬𝐨 ⸻ an independent & fandom unaffiliated blog for 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞 from expedition 33. a canvas shaped by childish indulgences, painted with grief, upheld by unyielding & unwanted love. sketched by 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧 ( 25+ he/him ) medium activity. very crossover, au & oc friendly. dead dove & not spoiler free.

@sinblooded requested a prompt / accepting.

fear is scarce, a feeling that no longer runs through verso’s veins as an unquestioned ruler, though perhaps one he sometimes finds himself chasing precisely because it is so determined to remain beyond his grasp. he has felt it before. the fear of being alone, the fear that certain things might never end, the fear of eventually realizing exactly where he is trapped. perhaps those fears pale in comparison to others, the kind that creep over the skin like a shiver along the spine or make a heartbeat pound so loudly it might as well be heard by anyone nearby. but it has been a long time since verso felt truly afraid. a long time since he could look at a feeling, recognize it for what it was, and give it a name. fear. without hesitation and without doubt. without having to wonder whether what stirs beneath his skin is truly fear at all.

❛ me ? nothing. ❜ drawn from his own thoughts, verso’s gaze slowly returns to the world around him, finally lifting to meet levi’s. he has always thought levi looked somewhat boyish. young, not particularly towering in height, with an almost natural curiosity reflected in those green eyes of his. following his own words, and perhaps using them as an attempt to gently steer the conversation elsewhere, verso allows a short chuckle to slip free, his shoulders rising with the next deep breath he draws in. it is a lie, of course, though he is not entirely certain why he chose to tell it. perhaps because telling the lie is easier than telling the truth. that much is obvious.

maybe that is why verso has developed such an affinity for aversion, for carefully stepping around the truth rather than confronting it head-on. though to call it an affinity might be too generous. it is simply efficient. a small white lie here, another there, and suddenly he has found a convenient way out of conversations he is not prepared to have, truths he is not yet willing to voice.

❛ you want anything ? ❜ the question is directed toward levi, though verso’s gaze remains fixed upon the back of the bar, where rows upon rows of liquor bottles stand neatly lined up, waiting to be put to use. he must be two drinks in by now, the alcohol yet to make itself properly known, though he can certainly appreciate the warmth of it as it slowly spreads through his system. a moment later, his attention drifts back toward levi, gaze once again sweeping over his features as though searching for some subtle change, something that might have appeared within the span of the last minute. ❛ you old enough to drink ? ❜ it takes far too long for the question to finally slip past his lips, though thankfully not long enough for verso to realize just how inappropriate it is. a small wave of his hand dismisses it before it can linger any longer than necessary. he shifts in his seat until he is leaning against the bartop, turning his attention toward the other side to catch the bartender’s eye.

it had been early in the morning when verso first left the house, wandering down toward the shore to watch the waves crash against the tall, beautiful cliffs and gently creeping across the white sand, only to retreat with the same quiet persistence. that morning, he had set himself the task of practicing the art of painting moving water, his focus so thoroughly devoted to his craft that he nearly failed to notice anything beyond the shifting brushstrokes before him.

the waves changed and something else emerged from the water. red hair, illuminated by the soft glow of the early morning sun still rising beyond the horizon, followed by a tail unlike anything verso had ever seen before. for a moment, he could do little more than stare, utterly captivated by the sight before him. he had wondered if, somehow, he had once again found himself within another canvas, another dreamt up reality born from his own wishful thinking. perhaps this was merely another impossible thing conjured by a mind that had never been particularly interested in obeying the rules he knew. and yet, the figure had remained there. real enough to be seen and real enough to make him forget entirely about the painting waiting unfinished beside him.

❛ well i... ❜ his gaze darts back to her, the question catching him off guard as verso snaps back to reality. for a moment, he assumes she must be presenting a joke, or merely asking out of curiosity. he gives a light shrug, one hand lifting to scratch idly at the back of his head, as though the gesture might somehow help him find an answer that won't be too revealing. the painting may be just that, a painting. nothing is particularly magical about this one, at least not in any way visible to anyone else. and yet, it depicts one of the most confusing and wonderful moments of his life. a morning that could never truly be retold as a story to anyone else, because they would not understand. because they would not believe him. how could they, when even verso himself had struggled to believe what he was seeing?

❛ people would want to hunt them. ❜ his voice is low when he speaks, jaw clenched tightly as the words leave him. it is true that anything out of the ordinary is so often perceived as a threat when it cannot be understood, controlled, or easily explained. verso knows that better than most. he has lived through the pointing, the whispers, the rumors that spread about a boy possessing the peculiar gift of breathing life into a canvas.

❛ if i were to even claim that i saw one, ❜ his brows knit together in an expression of displeasure, though the reaction is entirely unintentional, before verso steals another glance toward the painting. ❛ i believe the world holds more mysteries than both of us could imagine, dear. ❜ his lips part with a quiet sigh, the air slowly leaving his lungs as his shoulders begin to loosen, the tension gradually draining from his body.

❛ tell me, what would you do if you encountered something so... out of the ordinary ? something so extraordinary ? ❜ rather than allow the conversation to sink any further beneath the weight of it, his hand finds the small of her back, gently nudging her closer to the painting. ❛ she is mesmerizing, is she not ? ❜ his free hand lifts, pointing toward the figure emerging from the water, drawing attention to the very detail that had first made the plain morning feel anything but ordinary. ❛ i cannot say mermaids exists for certain, or that anything else we dream is true. but to answer your question, i do believe she is real. ❜

@fiadhry requested a prompt / accepting.

❛ they were ? ❜ there is little more than feigned surprise woven into verso’s voice, his cadence smooth and calm as ever, carrying the trademark melody of someone entirely at ease. and why would he not be? there is not a shadow of doubt that verso is precisely where he wants to be, nestled somewhere between an excess of comfort and an even greater excess of generosity. perhaps he is one drink, or several, too far into the evening, but he is here for one reason and one reason only. her.

a floral scent fills his senses as verso turns, shifting closer and carefully draping an arm around her shoulders, guiding her frame toward him lest he collide with her side with more force than intended. sparkling champagne, glistening chandeliers, the inevitable murmur of conversation filling the room until even the string quartet is nearly drowned out. everything about the place feels designed for show, a gaudy and somewhat tacky excuse for a formal gathering.

❛ it is quite funny, ❜ to escape the limelight and the suffocating volume of the main room, verso makes use of his newfound hold around her shoulders, gently guiding them toward a more secluded corner. technically, it remains part of the same room, merely tucked behind one of the many tall, ornate pillars scattered throughout it, the stone beneath its elaborate facade cold to the touch. here, at least, the noise dulls into something more distant, enough to make the space feel almost private despite the knowledge that they remain surrounded by people.

❛ in my defense, you were rather distracting. i spent the entire evening making sure you stayed within my sight, so i hardly noticed when anyone else became flirtatious. ❜ a quiet click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth would have echoed through a room this lavish and expansive were it not for the sheer number of people packed into the shimmering event. verso pays not the slightest attention to any of them, his gaze wholly fixated upon melia’s face. her rounded, soft brown eyes now seem to carry an unfamiliar edge, framed by gentle locks of brown hair that fall around her features, while her plump lips gleam beneath a glossy sheen. even blinking feels almost wasteful. each one steals a handful of precious milliseconds he could otherwise spend admiring her, committing every detail of her countenance to memory as though there might never be another opportunity to look again.

❛ certainly you have noticed the way they looked at you ? ❜ every conversation held with him has been as brief as he could possibly make it, verso ensuring he might return to her side before anyone could find another reason to keep him occupied. ❛ and that is merely a look we are talking about, ❜ his hand eventually settles just above her hip, resting against her waist as he steps closer. he is dressed appropriately for the occasion, certainly, though standing beside melia, he cannot help but feel as though he looks almost out of place.

@sungracd requested a prompt / accepting.

a scratch, the faintest line stretching from the side of his forehead and across his cheekbone. verso does not even remember when it happened. it must have been quick, painless enough to go unnoticed, or perhaps simply overlooked amid the chaos and noise. he has yet to tell them, though some part of him firmly believes they already know.

the carefully constructed facade is only the depiction of a thoroughly mediocre life, an existence deliberately mundane enough to conceal what he truly does. hiding behind the ordinary had been his own idea. blend into a society so preoccupied with itself, so endlessly occupied with its own concerns, and of course he could keep his true nature hidden from most. people rarely care enough to pry, just as they rarely think to question whether those around them are anything other than what they have been publicly advertised to be.

adrian might be different. at least, verso believes they are. someone capable of seeing just how fragile, how transparent, that outer layer truly is. someone who does not seem afraid of whatever might be waiting underneath. perhaps that is why they are good company for nights like these.

❛ mmh, ❜ agreement comes naturally enough, for they are not wrong in their observation, having noticed the small injury almost the moment he walked through the door. nothing too serious, certainly, though perhaps worse than it appears at first glance, marked only by a faint smudge of crimson staining the fabric of his shirt. a scratch, a cut, a mistake.

❛ don’t you think a scar like this would be rather charming ? ❜ an attempt at humor, or at the very least an effort to lighten the dense mood that seems to follow him around like an aura. verso’s hand rises to his hair, brushing the dark strands back as a sheepish gaze searches for theirs, his weight shifting atop the wooden chair beneath him. his lips part to make room for a small laugh, hoarse as it is, only for it to dissolve into a quiet cough.

rose-gold hair frames their face, and verso does not hesitate to reach out and gently tuck a few strands over their shoulder, if only to keep them from becoming tangled with the dirt and blood clinging to his own attire. they have always been kind to him, a valued acquaintance who had, inevitably, become a friend. verso would at least consider them as such, though there is a quiet regret in having arrived upon their doorstep in this state, bringing with him the mess and aftermath of whatever trouble he had managed to stumble into.

❛ perhaps it’s unlucky i got away with only a scratch. ❜ though the injury had been far worse only moments ago, accelerated healing has already begun stitching him back together, a morbidly cruel punishment that others might perceive as a blessing. it does not even hurt anymore, reduced to little more than a faint soreness that is bound to dissipate along with the passing hours of the night.

there is a stubborn scab sitting atop the back of verso’s forearm. stubborn in the sense that it refuses to dislodge on its own, stubborn in the sense that it itches and plagues him, demanding attention whenever his mind has nothing else to occupy it. it makes for the perfect idle thing to pick at, the perfect semi-distraction for his restless hands as he worries at its edges, waiting for something. good news, bad news, anything.

mya speaks of fire, of a hazardous minefield made from the one thing capable of reducing people to sheer stupidity, where nothing else truly matters and it becomes the only thing one can see. love, of course. never quite veiled behind any subtle gestures, sometimes a wildfire, sometimes the unimaginable horror of self-obliteration, as she puts it. love when it is not wrapped in fine silks and the numbing, almost idiotic belief that nothing compares to it, that nothing will ever mean quite so much again, that nothing in this world could possibly be worth more than it. perhaps that is what makes it so dangerous. not the fire itself, but the conviction that there is nothing else worth saving once it is set aflame.

❛ you burn all of which you touch ? ❜ his eyebrows lift ever so slightly, just enough to betray that his interest has been piqued. perhaps this conversation will prove to be less dreadful than the others that so often circle the same subjects. death, life, and love. love in particular, which people are so inclined to regard with reverence, as though it were some miraculous cure, the answer to every question they might have. in truth, it is far more complicated than that. a trojan horse of emotion, warm and inviting on the surface, welcomed willingly into the very places one ought to guard most carefully, all the while concealing the sharp claws of its true nature beneath.

❛ self obliteration, unimaginable horrors. ❜ traded for the better parts of love, perhaps even its darker sides might be considered worth the price. a give and take between what is held most dearly and what is feared most. the faint tilt of his head is inquiry enough, his gaze lingering as it follows her every movement, as though further answers might be found in the smallest details; the way her shoulders rise with each breath, the delicate brush of eyelashes against her cheeks when she blinks, the possibility of a tremor hidden within her lips when they part. but mya is strong, much more so than verso at first gave her credit for, strong enough for the possible tremble to seem almost impossible.

❛ now, is that a warning ? a threat ? ❜ verso naturally leans closer, careful enough not to impose upon the space carved out solely for her, yet bold enough to challenge the boundaries of that restrictive little bubble. one hand rises, finding her chin and holding it gently between thumb and forefinger, guiding her head into a slight tilt backward. just a glimpse of her eyes is enough, a stolen look into irises that seem to contain an entire universe, a whole other world concealed within them.

❛ or is it a promise ? ❜ verso’s tongue clicks quietly against the roof of his mouth, lips pressing into a thin line as a low, contemplative hum escapes him. ❛ love is terribly complicated, and the good kind never survives without a little bit of burning. ❜