drunkenlionwrites

[drunkenlionwrites]

Roller skating the evening before one of the most massive attacks on Kyiv.

Sometimes I feel like living in two realities when trying to just live the normal life during the days, but then fearing for the lives of friends and relatives during the nights.

[drunkenlionwrites]

These are my sleeping arrangements as a person living in Kyiv for the past god knows how many nights a month. Feeling the vibrations and explosions from ballistic missiles, and the thin bright sound and a few seconds of silence before the drone crashes is still horrible and you can never get used to this. I’m thankful that my apartment has wide enough corridor to serve as a queen size bed though 🫣

[drunkenlionwrites]

I’m so crazy for Clair Obscur I’m trying to find something in my wardrobe to match the style

Also studying academic singing now 😬😬

[drunkenlionwrites]

I saw your Verso Headcanons and I love you for them.

Awwww thank you, anon 🥰💖

[drunkenlionwrites]

Have you finished clair obscur? because i have a request for verso x reader but it involves one of the endings 🤓

Yup yup, finished it 🫡

[drunkenlionwrites]

Sorry for not posting anything, my past week has been something like this every single day

[drunkenlionwrites]

Anon who sent ask about reader with survivors guilt??? You ate! 🤭🤭

I’m having a very very busy week, but I’m gonna be posting something from the Verso requests I got maybe around Wednesday - Friday.

[drunkenlionwrites]

Hi hello! Just wanted to pop in and say a huge thank you for your Verso headcanons! They feel so organic and fitting and all the things I imagined but better! He is the first character that made me want to create an OC for but all my ideas are too vague to depict in art so your writing is such a godsend giving meaning and structure to those nebulous feelings! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° I am not familiar with how to properly suggest prompts but I’m here for whatever you’ll cook next!

Hi hi hi! Omg, thank you so much for your kind words! 🥰

I totally understand. I sat to write a fic and had a vague idea of what I wanted to write, but was like…wait a minute, how would Verso act with s/o though? He’s such a well-written and complex character as most are in Clair Obscur, it’s a pity we see only a tiny tiny fragment of his life. I would’ve loved to see less jaded and tired Verso. We saw him basically just doing all he can to reach his goals and is in a “now or never” mode.

Also would like to see how original Verso was as a person. Bet he was the best brother there can be 🥺🥺

The gif is literally how this ask feels

[drunkenlionwrites]

Redrawing that one Shirahama Qifrey piece but with Vash

[drunkenlionwrites]

Omg yes 🤣 it would be pure chaos.

If Vash is Typhoon I don’t even know what Boothill is. Mass Destruction.

Boothill starts the fights and Vash tries to end them, but can’t 😬

Idk how to explain this crossover.. two miserable cowboys with similar color palettes activated my neurons

[drunkenlionwrites]

Hello I saw you write a headcanons for Verso. Could you please do the headcanons for Gustave?

Hiii nonnie, I’m so sorry, I’m not writing for Gustave now, but maybe I will at some point 🤷🏻‍♀️

[drunkenlionwrites]

Verso relationship headcanons

Pairing: g/n reader x painted Verso

Warnings: MDNI, canon setting, mild spoilers for the game, some nsfw smutty headcanons in the last part

Writer's note: i have few ideas and wanna write a few little somethings, so just wanted to define Verso a little bit more for myself before I start doing all this. Support banner by @cafekitsune

Verso doesn’t chase people, but he stays beside you. When he first meets you, he’s watchful, quiet. He listens more than he speaks, and his presence feels calm but unreadable. At first, you think he’s simply reserved. Later, you realize: he’s always looking for someone to hold onto.

He surprises you with how funny he is. Not the loud, outrageous kind of funny. Verso’s humor is dry, clever, and timed just right. He’s the guy who’ll quip softly under his breath at the worst possible time just to get you to laugh in the middle of a crisis.

You were the one who made the first move, or thought you did. In truth, he was quietly encouraging you the whole time. The small glances, the subtle closeness, the soft way he said your name - it was all intentional. He just never wanted to rush you.

Touch is sacred to him. He never takes it for granted. When you hold his hand, his fingers curl around yours so gently, like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile.

He’s not overtly clingy, but if you sit next to him, he’ll gradually lean in until your shoulders are touching. If you lie down beside him, he’ll shift closer until his forehead rests against yours, or you're tucked securely under his chin.

He kisses you slowly, thoughtfully. Like he’s trying to memorize it. Like he’s not sure he’ll get to do it again. It’s always careful, but never cold.

He holds you in his sleep. Always. Even if he starts on the other side of the bed, he’ll be curled around you by morning. You’ve woken up to find his hand in your hair, his face tucked against your neck, his breath soft and even.

He likes to do things with you. Even if it’s quiet work - making memos, cleaning weapons, preparing rations - he feels more grounded when you’re nearby.

He’s surprisingly good at small, domestic tasks. He braids rope better than anyone in the camp, and he brews tea like it’s a ritual. If you’re injured, he’s the one you want redressing your wounds: he’s gentle, precise, and always murmuring quiet reassurances.

He remembers everything. Your favorite way to eat eggs. Favorite pastry. Which side you sleep on. The fact that you get cold when the wind shifts. He rarely says anything about it, he just adjusts accordingly.

He doesn’t share easily, but he does with you. Not in big confessions, but in moments: a story, a sigh, a half-finished sentence. You learn to read the things he leaves unsaid.

You don’t know why he sometimes stares at the campfire like he’s mourning something. Or why he hesitates before kissing you goodnight. You don’t know what he carries, but you feel it. You’ve told him before: “Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.” He didn’t answer, but he kissed your forehead and held you until morning. NSFW headcanons:

Verso is gentle until he’s not. He starts off slow. Careful. Every touch is like a prayer. But once you’re his, once you ask for more, there’s a darker edge beneath the surface. He holds nothing back. He can’t.

He doesn’t treat sex casually. Whether it’s your first time or your fiftieth, there’s always an air of meaning behind it. You’ll catch him staring at you mid-act like he’s memorizing the way your body arches, the way you say his name.

He always puts you first. You won’t even have to ask, he’s attuned to every breath you take, every small sound, and he reads your reactions like scripture. Your pleasure is his anchor, his obsession. He needs to make you feel good like it’s the only way he can prove he’s real.

He doesn't do dirty talk per se, bu oh does he talk. He’s not loud, but when he speaks? It's all in that low, close voice that feels like it crawls down your spine. “There… that’s it. That’s what I wanted to hear.” “Tell me what you need. I’ll give you anything.” “You’re perfect like this… you know that?”

He wants to hear you. If you’re shy? He’ll tease it out of you slowly, murmuring praise in your ear, coaxing your voice with his touch. If you’re vocal? He drinks in every sound like it’s a gift.

He struggles sometimes with vulnerability afterward. You might see him get a little quiet after, especially if it was intense or loving. He’ll hold you like he’s afraid to let go but won’t always say why. He’ll just ask, “Was that okay?” with more weight behind it than he lets on.

He does have a praise kink -for yours, not his. He needs to be told he’s doing good. That he’s wanted. That he feels real to you. Whispering, “I want you,” or “You’re mine,” will wreck him every time.

Giving oral? An art form. Verso takes his time, devotes himself to it like it’s sacred. Expect strong arms pinning your thighs down while he loses himself between them. He’d do it for hours if you let him. He loves the way you come undone.

He’s into eye contact. Intense, soul-searching, “don’t-look-away-from-me” kind of eye contact. He wants to see you fall apart and wants you to see how much he feels for you when you do.

Loves it when you take initiative. If you climb into his lap, straddle him, or whisper in his ear that you want him? He gets so still. Like his breath catches in his throat. He’ll blink once, then reach for you with shaking hands, like you just gave him the stars.

Loves aftercare. Whether it was sweet or intense, he’s all about holding you close afterward. Pulling the blanket around both of you. Stroking your back. Kissing the top of your head and whispering, “You’re everything to me.”

There’s always something just beneath the surface. A tension, like he’s fighting something, holding back too much emotion or too much truth. But in these moments, it slips out: The way he touches you like you’re a memory he’s terrified of losing.The way he gasps your name like he’s grateful to be saying it.The way he holds you after like he might never get the chance again.

He never says it during sex, not I love you. Not directly. But it’s in every touch, every look. You feel it more than you hear it.

[drunkenlionwrites]

I love his boots..

[drunkenlionwrites]

Okay, hear me out…

I wanna write a few little somethings about Verso and fem reader when I have time 😓😓

So maybe send me requests, if someone’s interested.

He’s sooooo fine I just cannot

[drunkenlionwrites]

Clair and Obscur🌗

I just created a sfw twitter acc so feel free to drop by, I'll post pics like this there. Here's the link

[drunkenlionwrites]

Ugh somebody talk to me about Vash 😓😓

[drunkenlionwrites]

Meeting old friends

Pairing: Vash the Stampede x Reader Summary: another small town, another regular evening, but you and Vash meet someone from his past.

Warnings: sfw, pre-relationship, a bit angsty, reader is jealous and a bit insecure. yeah, that's it. that's just a jealousy fic.

Word Count: 1.350 Author's note: just had this little something in my head. we all can be insecure and jealous from time to time, no? Just me? hehe Anyway. I feel like it turned out more Stampede coded.

She shouts out his name like it still lives in her mouth. Like she never stopped saying it, even after he left.

“Vash?! I knew it was you!”

You glance up from where you’re leaning by the saloon doorway, just as she steps out into the road like a storm breaking. She's older - late thirties, maybe forty, sun-browned skin, short dark curls swept up with a handkerchief that doesn’t quite hide the streaks of silver at her temples. Strong posture, confident stride. She wears a one piece with well-worn linen duster and carries herself like someone who knows how to use the tool belt slung low on her hips.

She’s striking. Undeniably. The kind of woman who fills up a space just by walking into it. Loud in her laughter. Warm in her grin. And absolutely familiar with the man she’s walking toward.

Vash turns at the sound of his name, blinking in the suns. Then he sees her, and his whole expression lifts, surprised, delighted.

“Junia? Holy crap, how long has it been?!”

He opens his arms without thinking. Not wide, but enough. And she half runs, half walks straight into them.

She hugs him like someone who never hesitated before, arms hooked high around his neck, full body pressed into his without an ounce of self-consciousness. He leans into it with a breathy laugh, one hand on her back, the other briefly cupping her shoulder with a familiar gentleness.

You don’t look away.

But your smile is small. Polite. Neutral. The kind of expression that sits too carefully on your face.

You’ve always been good at that.

He pulls back with a soft huff of disbelief, still grinning.

“Fifteen years? Really?”

“Closer to sixteen,” Junia says, cuffing his shoulder like it’s still hers to touch. “You stopped by when my folks were running the shop. Remember?”

He chuckles. “They put me to work for three weeks straight.”

“Damn right they did. You were too sweet to say no, and too cute for your own good.”

He laughs again, genuine and bright and your stomach twists.

She turns to you after a moment. “And who’s this? Your newest friend?”

Her voice is friendly, casual. She’s not unkind. But she doesn’t need to be cruel - her presence alone is enough.

“We’ve been traveling together,” Vash says, motioning to you with a little awkwardness. “She’s…uh…she’s good company.”

You nod. “Nice to meet you.”

“Junia,” she says, offering a firm, calloused hand. You take it. Her grip is steady. Unapologetic. “You keeping him out of trouble?”

You try to laugh. “Trying.”

She chuckles and returns to Vash’s side like a magnet finding its match. Their conversation picks up again like no time has passed: stories about supply runs, about the mess he made with a busted cargo rig, about nights drinking on the rooftop of the old outpost. Their rhythm is easy. Unforced.

And you?

You just stand there.

Hands tucked into your pockets. Shoulders relaxed, chin tilted just right. You look fine. You know you do.

But something tugs in your chest.

Of course he knows people like her. Of course he stayed in towns like this, built pieces of his life here and there. Of course he had friends. Maybe lovers. It would be foolish, arrogant, even - to think you were the only one who ever saw him laugh like this. The only one who made him smile.

You tell yourself it’s okay. That it’s not your place to feel jealous. That he’s allowed to have history. You have no claim on his past.

Still, watching them talk makes you feel like a child peeking in through the window of a room that doesn’t belong to you.

She’s older. Confident. Gorgeous in a practical, real-world way. You think, while being disgusted that your thoughts even got there, that maybe he belongs in world of someone like her more than in yours.

Eventually, Junia dusts her hands off and steps back with a final smile.

“Well, don’t be a stranger, Vash. You hear me? All repairs on the house. You’ve earned the service for sure.”

He nods, smile soft. “I won’t.”

She gives you a parting glance and a wave goodbye, not unkind, but distant. Then she’s gone, boots scuffing against the dusty boardwalk as she rounds the corner.

Vash watches her leave for a second longer than you expect him to.

And then it’s just the two of you again.

You don’t say anything as he turns back to you. You just nod toward the general store and ask if he still needs to grab supplies.

“Yeah. Good idea.” You walk ahead. He follows. And neither of you says much at all.

The walk back to the inn afterwards stretches longer than it is.

Vash doesn’t talk much at first. Usually, he fills the silence with little stories, observations, half-jokes about the state of your boots or the look on someone’s face back in town. But not tonight.

Tonight, he just glances over at you every so often. Eyes flicking to your profile, then away. His steps are a little slower than usual, like he’s waiting for you to say something first.

You don’t.

You’re not upset. Not really. You’re just… somewhere in your own head. Trying not to dwell. Trying not to feel silly for the way your chest still aches a little after watching him with her.

You’re not mad at him. You’re not mad at her either. You just feel small. He finally speaks.

“You’re being… quiet.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He waits, but you don’t elaborate.

Another few steps.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No.”

Another pause. He watches you more closely now.

“Are you mad at me?”

You shake your head. “No, not mad. Just…” You exhale, slow. “I don’t know. Not great.”

He doesn’t stop walking, but he slows more. Gives you space to decide if you want to say it.

You do. Eventually.

“I know it’s dumb,” you say, softly. “But when I saw you with her, your friend back there near the saloon, I just… felt kind of out of place. Like I was watching someone else’s story.”

He says nothing, but you feel the way his posture shifts.

“She knew you,” you add. “She knew people from your past. Shared stuff with you. And I’m just…” You shrug. “Here.”

He’s quiet for a few beats.

“You’re not just anything,” he says.

You don’t answer.

“I mean it.”

You glance over.

Then your voice again, softer.

“Also… when you introduced me. You said we’ve been traveling together for a while. And that I’m good company.”

He looks over at you, expression suddenly more alert. “I…yeah?”

“I know you didn’t mean anything by it. It just… sounded like I was someone…passing through.”

The silence after that is heavier. Not defensive. Just thoughtful.

He exhales, glancing down at the road.

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

You nod. “I figured.”

“I just… didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to assume anything. Or make you uncomfortable.” You’re quiet for a beat. Then:

“I see.”

You don’t mean it to sound distant. It just comes out that way. A soft fallback.

You walk a little farther before you ask, without looking at him:

“What would you have said… if you hadn’t been worried about that?”

He glances at you again, more carefully this time. Like he’s weighing whether or not to answer honestly.

Then:

“That we’ve been traveling together. And I like having you around more than I probably should.”

You don’t say anything.

He hesitates, then adds, quieter:

“That I feel better when you're near. Even when we’re not talking. Even when everything else is going wrong.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

He looks ahead again, almost sheepish.

“But that felt… like too much. For a reunion with an old friend.”

You smile, just a little. Still subdued.

“Maybe next time,” you say.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Next time.”

And when you keep walking, the silence that follows feels warmer. Not quite settled. But closer.