Idv - Blog Posts

willganji based on that pic of sarah paulson and madonna at the met gala

i made this today lol

Have tiger eli i have nothing else to post rn

Some idv doodles

He sleepin

He Who Has The Power

A 'What-If' for The Economic Difference Between The Miner and Mine Owner's Daughter

Rated Explicit | Warning: period typical sexism, past noncon mentioned, depression, power imbalance

Golden Cave ruined your family utterly.

All because of greed, the families of those dead miners caused such an uproar that politicians are using it to their advantage. Did your father truly cut corners just so he could find the supposed gold in the Golden Cave? The villagers reportedly did warn him both the dangers in the cave, but they also took the work opportunity too… God, this is such a mess! How could this happen!?

When you woke up, the doctor of the mining site said Norton was carrying your unconscious body to the infirmary before the explosion happened. Since that accident, you have been asleep… 

For a year. So much happened in a year, so much time missing.

There were no dreams, no sensation of being asleep for so long! Doctor Dyer even said they started fearing the worst. It is not like that was your concern; it was your father and the miners.

The news given to you is beyond heartbreaking… In a year you have lost everything your father ever owned or built himself, including your home.

When you learned more about the events… The explosion, the suicide pact made by your father, and ordered the workers to follow—There was a research article on the gas that caused the hallucination.

How were the hallucinations they saw so realistic to them that your father would… Why the suicide pact?! Did they truly believe the promises of in the sentences of madness?! A question you know the answer to as the detonation of the charges buried the cave with everyone inside, all those men who worked themselves so often to death to make ends meet— Scarcely.

Perhaps this karma…  As now you are left with utterly nothing.

The mining company went bankrupt to pay the families off… Everything your father owned was sold off by your mother’s side of the family, they did not want to take from their pockets the money needed to pay off your father’s debts.

The life you knew is gone, your mother's family had turned away from you to keep their livelihood secure (though they pay for your medical upkeep), and the families of those miners demanded your blood. It is a nightmare scenario that leaves you helpless.

It hurt that their last words to you were to either find a rich husband or sell yourself at some brothel. They abandoned you, just like they did with your father after your mother died.

Suddenly, you have fallen from the top to now sinking into the bottom.

It was too much for you. The sense of isolation, loneliness, and helplessness quickly takes root in your heart. Your friend, the doctor whose name is William Dyer, visits you from time to time—Visiting as often as he can with his wife when you are transferred to a mental ward.

Your dark thoughts had led you to a dark option as you grieved; staying in a coma felt like a better option.

Yet, you find yourself digging more into it despite the advice of Doctor Dyer given your fragile mental state.

The Golden Cave accident, how could it have gotten so… The more reports say the mine was unfit to be worked in, they say the gas within the cave has a hallucination effect, the canary that was sent in died but your father covered it up.

Everything was your father’s fault, and the sins of the father fall upon his only child.

Doctor Dyer took you in when you were discharged from the hospital. You have nothing but some clothes that do not fit you, and Dyer apologizes that he could not get anything that belonged to you during the year of your coma. You do not mind wearing a man’s overalls and work shirt; you were simply grateful to have a friend in this cold world. You swore to repay his and his wife’s kindness; you will not take this for granted.

The road is not easy, or rather it is especially not easy for a woman to find work, and you are unmarried as well. 

Your name does not help as it brings out different types of reactions—The worst is the one when you were able to fetch a job as a maid for some new money tycoon.

It took a few months, Doctor Dyer told you that there is light at the end of this darkness and you are close to reaching it. The wife says luck is on your side, she gives serious advice though when you tell her about being a housekeeping service. They are popular among the new money as many of their staff are young and agreeable looking. You realize what she means when one of the older women who in is charge tells you a pretty face goes a long way rather than skill (there is a different skill they suggested you to work on).

The old woman says there was a client who specifically asked for you, and you know this going to be risky as your name is well-known. The papers were at least in your favor, but some people will gladly take out their outrage on you.

In a snap of a finger, when the chosen servants entered the mansion, a castle truthfully, to greet their new master; your luck quickly ran out the moment you laid eyes upon the person you will be working for...

Norton Campbell.

Father was never a religious man, he was a firm believer in man taking his fate into his own hands.

Thus it made it strange why he and other miners took their lives in the Golden Cave, the doctor says they were… All of them… Were so firm about following your father deep into the cave to sacrifice themselves. You are never going to get answers, no matter how deep you try to search for them, it is like every answer is buried in Golden Cave, Lakeside Village.

You had to stop at some point, you needed to focus on living and surviving every day with your last name.

With your current job, you are busy every moment of the day; Master Campbell has you working like a dog. Heh, guess it makes sense given the moment he laid eyes on you— The humorous laugh he let out when he had stood in front of you after inspecting the other house staff, he plucked you out of the lined-up team to speak with you in private. Contract modification, he made you his personal maid.

Working for Master Campbell is hell, a twisted penance, he hangs over your head not only being the one who saved your life but the one who was bullied by your father and his lackeys. He told you to get used to sore hands and knees.

The company says the employer can do whatever they wish as long as it is in the contract, signed, and the money in commission to the company and the employee given is the appropriate amount.

Oh, you signed the new contract. It felt like you pricked your finger and signed it in blood. You need the money, you need the housing, and you know this is the only place you are going to get work— Steady work.

Today you timed that Master Campbell is stressed, he usually is this time of year…

After all, it is the anniversary of the Golden Cave incident.

He keeps to himself, staying in his study for most of the day, quiet too. You stand in front of the study dutifully guarding it from any of the staff who may need to ‘bother’ him, you are an extension of him so you may speak for him today.

It is almost a rough day for you, it always has and always will be. Your father's death, the miners’ death, and there is no amount of money that will bring back the lives lost that day. There was a big scandal, the accident was talked about for days, and it suddenly went quiet until you woke up a year later.

You… Still wished you never woke up.

“(Last Name),” You nearly jump at the sound of Norton's voice coming from behind you, the study door is open, “I need you.” Low, his chin resting on your shoulder as he whispers those words in your ear.

You can't help the shiver up your spine, nor stop him from pulling you into the study.

The door closes silently but the lock if it echoes like a deathbell.

In the end, he won. 

“Master Campbell!”

He won, a victory long deserved and he is basking in the light of it.

“Please, Master Campbell!”

Here you are the prize, laid out on his desk, your arms pinned down and eyes gloss with tears and shameful desire. Your uniform is a mess now, the apron tossed to the floor, the top ripped open at the top exposing your chemise— Which he tore open to touch your breasts—, the skirt lifted and old fashion open drawers he has you wear— Only you— Giving him free excess to your cunt.

You are glowing in the afternoon sun peeking from the partially open curtains, you are trembling as you are recovering from the first orgasm he drives you to. He licks his fingers as you are trying to gather your senses, something he doesn't allow as he pulls out his hard cock from his trousers.

A couple of unworthy souls, the burnt scars on the left side of his face and body, and now he has it all. Including you.

It is laughable, he has laughed about so many nights alone in his study with a glass of bourbon, he won it all!

Norton fucking Campbell has made it to the top!

From the bowels of the earth to the highest point of the sky, this bastard has risen above them all! The price is well worth it to have that thieving boss’ daughter right here. Yes, that mine owner's daughter serves that runt Norton Campbell like a whore! Cleaning wherever the chores take you before night falls you here on his bed.

Finally, the sight before him has made the years of torment almost worth it…

You cry out his name, his first name, as he thrusts hard and deep into your quim; he groans with a grin on his face as once more your velveteen blissful walls squeeze around him. Oh, he knows how deep he is, so deep there is a bump at your lower stomach as his cock kisses your cervix, it makes him feral as he can touch it and know you feel it too.

The first time you touch the bump, you nearly fainted from shock, instead you fainted from how many times you cummed that night. Norton is insatiable when it comes to you.

A wolf with his jaws around the perfect sacrificial lamb, he will devour you each time.

“So fucking tight,” Chuckling as he pins your arms above your head with one hand and another groping roughly your breast. “Such a perfect cunt, and it's all mine.”

You bite down on your bottom lip, tears at the corner of your eyes, your body is screaming for him to move. It is cruel how your body welcomes him like a lover, your mind only accepts this as a transaction between employer and employee.

Even if it is inappropriate, you need to survive.

“Yes, Master Campbell…” Knowing he wants to hear you agree, “You are… So much…”

“Pft, you are still terrible at bedroom talk,” It puts one of your legs on his shoulder, “Not like it matters as I am going to fuck you until all you can say barely is my name.” A promise he always makes good on, staff already has heard half of the sexual encounters between the two of you.

Norton is not a mess you do not recall in the Golden Cave, he learned and had fun with others just to ruin you for anyone. You are his toy, his prize, his one and only; so long as he has his status and power, you will remain here.

Forever, he made the perfect gilded cage. You should be thankful you wormed your way into his heart.

The creaking protests of the desk, the slapping of skin, your body falling apart and he is rebuilding each time, and he is pulling you down into the abyss with each kiss on your lips.

“You're mine,” Possessive, “That's it, go on singing little canary, give me your all.” Demanding.

Norton's hands are all over your body, his teeth too as he marks your skin. Greedy.

He is going to pull you into the darkness, he will be your shining false hope like the Fool's Gold he would find during his secret digs. You will breathe him in, become lost in the caverns of his desire, and come to accept it as love.

Spring is here, flowers are blooming, and the waking of Insects is coming.

OMGGGG YESS

ASK: Yan! Andrew, Matthias, and Luca with a reader that's weak and a people pleaser, please? :')

A PUPPET TO ALL IS A PUPPET TO NONE.

( yandere puppeteer & “prisoner” ) + gn!reader

*ੈ♡⸝⸝🔮⋆ yandere characters , mentions of killing + manipulation , I do not condone any of these actions , useage of pet names , reader is considered “weak” and “easy to manipulate” + an INSANE people pleaser , , Luca x Sock /j , little knowledge of chess ik , this is absolute ASS I’m so sorry , Andrew isn’t here b/c I gave up , grammar and spelling warning

INTRO

You've been stepped on and used your entire life, and it didn't help the fact you turned out to be a weak kiss-up either. But that was how you got by. That was how you avoided the worst outcomes and changed your fate for the better.

Your luck ends here though, as the harsh conditions of these "games" leave you feeble, but also delicate. He promises to help you, to keep you safe for as long as he needs to and to only do what feels necessary to protect you from the onslaught of horrors.

꒰wc꒱ 1.7 k

✦— THE PUPPETEER ♟️ | A pawn created to be controlled by the gods above, a loyal piece to be sacrificed for “the greater good”. Although very talented, he is looked down upon by those above him. What happens when this ‘pawn’ grabs at the ropes that bind him to this role?

Matthias Czernin had always been neglected and disregarded as if he was worth nothing his entire life. “Louis” has always taken the spotlight and, even in this wretched manor haunts his every move no matter how many times he tries to abandon him. Fire and ash, he’s watched the puppet's death countless times now. And yet, he always comes back without as much of a scratch on his wooden body.

But then, he gets the chance to meet you, and Matthias doesn’t understand what he’s done to be graced with such a presence. The life he lived before arriving here shouldn’t qualify for this type of privilege. What god had crafted every wrinkle and twitch of your perfect body just to discard you this Alcatraz? It seems he’ll never know, but the Puppeteer will do anything in his power to save you from the wretched forces orchestrating these games. Even if it means getting dirty.

♟️| Matthias Czernin is an introvert at best. He strays away from large crowds and doesn’t start conversations unless needed to. But with you, he finds speaking like second nature. Easy, relaxing, and enjoyable. The Puppeteer likes watching the creases in your eyes appear and the smile you show to him. [He wishes it was only for him.]

↳ It’s not that Matthias couldn’t [communicate], more so he just struggles with the ability to do so. We never get any insight into friends he might’ve had/made, so it’s safe to assume most if not all of his time was devoted to learning the craft of puppetry. Not for his enjoyment, but rather for his fathers as he was seeking acknowledgment and praise from him. [his mother as well, though, it seems Matthias craved it more from his father.]

♟️| Matthias Czernin doesn’t realize why [yet…] he feels this indomitable obligation to keep you entirely to himself. The annoyance he feels when someone comes in between the two of you is unmeasurable to anything he’s ever felt before. So much so that he enjoys keeping a hand on you. It’s almost sweet, whether it be a pinky intertwined with yours or a harsh grip on your wrist.

↳ Either subconsciously or not, Matthias starts to cling to you as if his life depended on it. This tactic seems to work wonderfully for him, as your friends, old and new, start to greatly distance themselves from you. They’re sick of the looming, brooding presence that the Puppeteer gives off, and seemly leave you in the dark about it.

♟️| Matthias Czernin who yearns for your praise above everything else. A puppeteer who’s been controlled with his strings [for his entire life] eventually starts to forget what it means to truly be appreciated. The feeling of want, need, and utter desire sends Matthias spiraling. He needs more, and especially from you.

It’s a quiet, dusk day when it accidentally slips from his mouth. His head in your lap with the two of you alone and away from the world had to be something straight from a rom-com. So when a subtle, yet distinct noise that sounds like a profession of his love is ripped from his throat, he does his best to act like you never heard him. It’s only when you seemingly light up that he starts to think that maybe you reciprocated a bit more than he thought.

The Puppeteer is immediately up and out of your lap, and, from somewhere somehow is filled with the courage to continue where he left off. Yes, he thinks you’re better than everyone here. Yes, he doesn’t care what past actions you’ve committed to land yourself in here, he thinks you’re absolutely perfect. Yes, he would trap you and keep you all to himself if he could. Yes, he loves you. And yes, he absolutely adores you. Albeit, maybe a bit too much.

✦— THE “PRISONER” ♝ | Intelligent, cunning and corrupt, the Bishop is a worthy opponent and is always thinking outside of the box. However, jealousy runs deep through their veins. What’s the next step when they get messy and act on impulse? Breaking their picture-perfect persona in exchange for revealing their true self?

Luca Balsa was destined to be the next big inventor from the get-go. The Balsa prestige was always meant to be written down in history books anyway. So how did he end up here? With the blood of his old mentor on his hands, there’s no erasing what’s already been done.

And yet, a murderer with or without remorse is still just that: a murderer. The stings of electric shock stay as a reminder of the act that has been committed, and the Balsac name that will forever be tarnished. But there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel. This time, it’s you.

♝ | Luca Balsa comes face to face with you during your first-ever match. You’re like a baby bird: completely and utterly unaware of the dangers that will soon show their face to you in only the most haunting forms. You’re scared, frightened even. Is this all just a nightmare? Will someone pinch you and bring you back to earth? It isn’t until the “Prisoner” lends you a helping hand that you realize that, no, this isn’t a dream, but a purgatory turned into your new reality. You leave your first match unscathed. At least, physically.

♝ | Luca Balsa isn’t blind to your shaken form, and who could? After a match like that, the tremble in your legs and the quivering in your speech can be excused [especially since it was your first of many!] So, being the kind, “aristocratic” gentleman he is, the “prisoner” lends his arm out to you as an invitation to dinner. You take it, and it’ll probably be the second worst choice you’ve ever in your life up ‘till now. [number one being you coming here, of course.]

↳ It’s almost scary how quickly Luca begins to stick to you. He keeps it concealed from most [including you], but others can see through his facade. They can tell an obsession is forming, and not a healthy one. [to be fair, none of his obsessions are healthy.]

♝ | Luca Balsa who, whenever you’re not looking, sifts through your belongings, keeping little mementos of you when you’ve been stripped away from his side. [It sounds cute at first, but soon you start to notice that some of your items have gone missing.] So far, it seems the “Prisoner” has pilfered a silver bracelet, a shiny stone, and a singular striped sock. You don’t notice it, but the bracelet is on his right arm covered by his black and white sleeve. The stone, in his left pocket [he considers it lucky]. And the sock? Well, um, yeah.

↳ Luca may or may not have been caught coming out of your room before. He plays it off giving an almost actress-worthy performance. He states that he’d “forgotten something and left it in your room.” Most fall for it, but others [more specifically Ganji & Naib] are starting to keep a closer watch on him. Little do they know, Luca may or may not be planning their downfall.

♝ | Luca Balsa who isn’t afraid to pull at the weak strings of your life, to manipulate the events for his desired outcome to be brought to life. And with you, an easy prey and an incredibly naive person makes his job just that much easier. Whether it’s him whispering lies into your ears or sending threats under the [dinner] table, he’s got you wrapped around his finger in no time.

↳ if you haven’t picked up on it yet, this man isn’t above approaching these situations with more serious accusations. He’s already got blood on his hands, what else is new? [don’t ask about the pocket knife he’s started bringing around now.]

♝ | Luca Balsa is anything but the quiet type when it comes to his affection towards you. His undying feelings for you already started strong, and his blabbering mouth won’t shut up about you. It’s beginning to rub others the wrong way.

Luca Balsa is the type to whisk you away [farther than he’s already done before] and to confess his dying feelings for you in a field of meadows, the action beautiful and strange whilst he presents to you a promise ring. The topaz center glistens and gleams in the golden hour, and everything looks straight out of a romance novel. Unless you knew where to look.

The shiny kitchen knife stowed away in the picnic basket speaks as a warning in it, and the glint of something gold—something like your grandmother's bracelet that’s been missing for weeks now— shines underneath his black and white striped sleeves. But the glint of hope, life, and pure adoration in his eyes has you fooled. Your rose-tinted glasses make every red flag seem a playful pink, and you stick out your ring finger as he graciously slides the piece of jewelry on.

The ring shows itself to you as a promise. A promise to always love and cherish you no matter the wrongdoings you commit [even if he believes you can’t do any] and to hold you so close it would bruise the body he worships oh so dearly. The ring shows itself to you as a promise to not let anyone or anything get in the way of this relationship.

—

note: thank GOD they’re weird people out there like me who give chess pieces personalities. thank the people on the 2012 forum at chess.com.

↳ hi and hello everyone! it’s been a minute, hasn’t it. I personally NEVER thought this fic would see the light of day, but then again, here we are. I want to thank everyone for their patience and for all of the support I’ve earned during my time here on this platform. getting to write for people makes me so happy, and the notes make me giddy — especially when people talk about how much they liked the fic in it. I am so, so sorry this came out so late, and I’m ever more apologetic to all of my tumblr friends who had to deal with my…less than communicating ass. To the person who requested this, I’m personally hunting you down and letting you know this has been in the making since APRIL 9TH 2024. YEAH. [im kidding, it’s not your fault.] thank you all again for the unwavering support, and almost for 300 followers. LOVE YOU ALL!! ⸜( ˃̶͈̀௰˂̶͈́ )⸝ <3

© fishermanshook — no stealing , translating , plagiarizing or reposting my work on other any other sites + reblogs adored !!

Matthias Czernin COa

One of Norton's favourite things to do in his down time in the Eternal Manor is to relax. Especially on the grass, under the shade of a tree on a sunny day. Relaxing was probably a privilege he rarely could afford as he had to spend all his waking hours either working or tending to errands in order to make ends meet. Now that he is in the manor, he can finally laze around as much as he wants when he isn't in a game. One upside of being stuck in purgatory compared to his previous life.

💌⛓️

General Relationship Headcanons: Matthias Czernin x reader

This is the first time I ever written something like this and shout out to my friend who gave me the courage to write on tumblr.

Being in a relationship with Matthias, you would need to have patience with him due to the trust issues that stem from his trauma.

ꕥ Even with his shyness, he likes to hold your hand. It gives him a sense of comfort and giving soft squeezes is enough to make him smile and wash his worries away.

ꕥ Usually, puppeteers make their own puppets to perform with. Matthias would make puppet versions of you and himself to tell stories with. He would spend more time on your puppet than his to make you more beautiful/handsome. Pays attention to every detail of you, so if you see him staring at you it's because he wants to get everything detail correct.

ꕥ He knows how to sew and make you new clothes from time to time. Puts every thought into sewing and proudly shows off his new creations to you with bandaged hands from the number of times he poked himself with the sewing needle.

ꕥ Gift gives like a crow. Matthias finds a colorful or shiny rock and gives it to you. Please ask him why he gave you the small trinket, it would make his day to explain his love for you in a form of a rock.

ꕥ Words of affirmation! Hearing compliments and words of affirmation will make him melt. He's already nervous and happy to be around you. He loves your company even if you two are together in silence. A simple "I love it when you.." or "I love you" will make his heart skip a beat, multiple beats.

ꕥ Matthias loves you very much and is grateful that you're so patient and stay by his side. You have him absolutely smitten.

Luca Balsa self indulgent commission set! Matching stimboard here, more information about commissions here!

game 10 silly doodles

more Bonavita sketches (●'◡'●)

warning: soft angst/gore?

we see in trailer hes put in a cage with lions, one of them is eating a ribcage.. do we think Jeffrey ate the same stuff, or actualy got normal food?

and small personal headcanon (pls dont bully me for that ;-; but fell free to give your own down below :D) ⏬

i love how we can see he's enjoying slide by siting on it with hands up, like a kid

or rope jump spot in Darkwood<?>, it just ads so much to his job as performer at the zoo/circus

what is that metal bar for👁️👁️ are horns unsatable and need support or what (ik its small detali but- ITS THERE)

My last post reminded me of a time I tried to make an idv themed otome game with some oomfs (it never went anywhere). It was specifically for the hunters but we had an honorary Norton route bc this is nortons world LOLL

This was in ~2019 so we had a quarter of the current roster, and no manor lore💀 I think we went with the idea that all the hunters are ghosts but for the sake of kissing them they could have temporary physical forms if they choose to. The heroine was a maid who's kinda lousy at her job but the hunters were sick of being trapped in this dusty musty roach motel so they hire her cos she's all that they can find 😔

Anyway. I was in charge of Wu's route and the premise was like -> only one of them can be out of their umbrella at a time -> they realized they could finally talk to each other again by leaving messages with her -> she was lowkey thirdwheeling whatever they had going on and got fed up so she started tampering with their messages -> accidentally made them both fall in love with her

LMFAOO

Identity V Comic Market 104 (C104)

~Today's event~

Have you all arrived yet? Please stay hydrated and be mindful of your surroundings, and enter in order!

The venue is South Exhibition Hall 3-4, No. 2631. We're waiting for you to come and have some fun together♡

Left

Naib : Did the stream started already?

Emma : Is that Aesop taking off his mask? It's crowded there-

Annie : Shall I tell him that the stream is starting? UwU

Right

Annie : Shall I tell him that the stream is starting? UwU

Alice : Ah, it seems that he just realized that the stream is started

Fiona : Aesop's response, very cute wwwww (Japanese laugh)

Quick Matthias sketches by coffee!

i forgor again

i just want to say..im not that active on tumblr, so if you want to see my works more often, my twitter - k0waiku !<3

A Luca x reader would be nice........... preferably slow burn and y/n is the shy type............. I'm hungry................. Thirsty............ Would beg....... Thank you.... *dying*

♡— The Prisoner with a shy S/O

♡— Oh my god… anon… N-N… NO!!!! Anon please, don’t do this to me… breathe. Oh my god. BREATHE!! *sniff* *sob* i’m… I’m so sorry i couldn’t save you, anon…. I hope you’re in a better place now… *sob*

♡— Warnings: g/n reader, fluff, possibly ooc i’m not sure, word count is 1400

♡— Luca Balsa, despite going through a turmoil of tragic events, never did once even try to stop working on his lifelong passion, god forbid even think of it. Yes, around him there were degenerates, murderers, thieves, even mystical, strange creatures - such combinations would drive any man crazy, as if anyone in here already wasn’t. But after all, finding something you could get absorbed in is the best method for killing time, don’t they say? Not even his developing issue with memory loss can stop him now.

♡— That’s why the prisoner, most of the time, could be found in the comfort of his own dorm, sitting by the desk while brain storming for yet another solution to the new experiment he was currently developing. And to be frank, he did quite like it this way. He had his own corner in the world, didn’t need to worry about money, could eat delicious meals and could even discuss some scientific matters with a few other enlightened individuals. And the prize for winning the game was even more tempting. Just imagine how much quicker he could develop his project with all this cash.

♡— Despite all the focus on his own dreams and scientific infatuations, Luca didn’t stray from engaging in interactions with other people. He’s certainly considered as one of the friendliest and most cheerful people in here. Some wonder if anyone im here ever managed to get on his nerve. He’s just very tolerable towards most, if not all, however, clearly he feels most comfortable near people who are willing to listen to his info-dumps, or engage in smart conversations, ask questions and give suggestions. There weren’t much residents in the manor like this. Most are either uninterested or too weirded out, therefore the prisoner always appreciated the open minded ones.

♡— Sadly, Luca’s past whereabouts left a permanent scar on him, making him a little unaware to some social cues. This man can not pick up on someone being painfully visibly attracted to him. He assumes all people willingly interacting with him are either friendly or just curious. Luca likes showing off and exchanging ideas with his mentor Alva, asking Helena for advice and letting her touch all of his tools or projects, trying to connect nature with science together with Luchino, or even explaining his ideas to the suspiciously fascinated Florian.

♡— And then there was you. A person very shy, awkward even. Everyone didn’t mind your presence, you just existed in your own bubble, in silence. Sometimes, someone would try to include you in some conversation, and while you did appreciate the gesture you just couldn’t grasp why you felt so uncomfortable, barely able to form a meaningful sentence. That was until you first encountered a young, quite charming in his own way man personally. You instantly became fond of Luca Balsa. Something about him just radiated pure happiness. He genuinely wanted to talk with you, sensing your anxiety, and you have no idea whether it’s for better or worse, because, oh God - he made you feel butterflies in your stomach and needles in your heart. You’ve got a crush on the Oletus manor’s „Prisoner”.

♡— You didn’t know what to do. The newly discovered feelings for the boy made your anxiety far more intense than it already was. Something in your head just screamed to not get too attached, after all, this is Luca Balsa we’re speaking of, he most likely doesn’t view you as anything else but a companion in matches. But, of course, the heart always does whatever it wants, ignoring the brain. That’s how you found yourself standing in front of his dorm doors, reflecting on if it’s alright for you to knock on them. What if he’s too busy right now and you’re just going to be a burden? This was a part of your mastermind plan - try to get into his interests and become a closer friend, and then…. maybe the friendship could bloom onto something else? You were in deep wonder, unaware that the doors are now open and Luca was waving his hand in front of your face. Earth to you.

♡— Either way, you spent some quality time with him together. He was very pleased to hear that you wanted to find out more about his projects and shared several insights related to his future plans. His dorm felt oddly cozy. You didn’t even realize that visiting Luca became some sort of a habit of yours, entering his workplace nearly on a daily basis - it made you forget about all the atrocities you witnessed during the bloody games. His voice was so soft and gentle, his eyes beamed as you kept asking questions about what is he doing right now. Luca felt so glad to elaborate and ramble about his passion. He’d even offer you to help him, giving you simple tasks as asking you to bring a certain tool. He was well aware of your shyness, so he was as understanding as he could, not forcing anything onto you. One day, Luchino teasingly called you „Luca’s little assistant”. The intense colour of your cheeks spoke for itself. You were head over heels.

♡— Quickly enough, your small acts of kindness turned into something way more serious. At one point, you felt like Luca’s own caretaker, because he was literally too absorbed in his work to pay attention to his own well-being. After you began frequently assisting him in not only helping to build some programs, you just took care of his needs. While Luca would love to stay up all night and didn’t like when people complained about it, oddly enough, he didn’t hesitate to tuck himself into his bed after you offered the prisoner too. You made sure he went outside and ate enough. Simple gestures like that were your own way of showing him affection, as you were too shy to be verbally affectionate.

♡— The whole situationship was now taking way too long. You were absolutely crazy over Luca, while he viewed you as a good friend and a fast learning companion. Everyone could tell you were following him like a lost puppy outside of matches, and he didn’t mind it at all. You just wished he would finally pick up on your real intentions, but at the same time you felt worried. What if he won’t talk to you anymore? What if there will be weird tension between the both of you if you confess? On one ordinary day, you were sitting by his desk as always, silently reading the notes hanged on the cork board while Luca came to you and asked to help him draw a technical sketch in his work notebook, to which you agreed to. After months of practice in his dorm you already knew how to properly draw a project on a piece of paper with accurate proportions - yet this certain sketch was new to you, you weren’t quite sure how to do it. That’s when Luca held your hand and guided it, helping you be more precise, and what an amazing, ecstatic feeling it was, his hand contained a specific, electric even, feeling on top of that. You blushed so hard you were surprised Luca didn’t even notice, but you knew you can’t be with him this way. You were hurting yourself by not telling the truth.

♡— This is how you found yourself sitting on Lucas’s desk, looking down and fidgeting with your fingers after telling the prisoner to listen for a minute. The whole thing was so stressful you can barely remember anything from that moment, not sure if it’s because of your own anxiety or if it’s the curse of this wicked place you’re stuck in. Either way, your confession to him was probably the most awkward one this Manor has ever seen - and it certainly saw a lot. Luca was surprised he didn’t manage to connect the dots for so long. He was focused on all the wrong things and failed to notice your affection towards him. Those were a few painful months, but he was going to make sure you know he appreciates all the help, not only on the projects, but also helping him take care of himself. Luca asked you for permission to kiss you while holding your hand, which you agreed to, feeling happy like never, making all your shyness go away for once… which did not last long, as Florian entered the room without knocking, making a loud „EWW” sound. Luca was going to make sure no one will interrupt you, scribbling something about a doorbell in his notebook right after kissing you like his life depended on it. Turns out, Luca Balsa now has found something to look forward to in his life other that science and innovative inventions - which was you.

Thank you for your request anon… i hope you can read this fic in the afterlife at least… anyways this my first time writing a fic for a character i’m not very familiar with. I tried to be as accurate as i could so i’m sorry if it’s ooc 😭 anyways it’s 2am now… idv x reader tag how are you doing on this lovely summer night

This ask

VALE boys x shy gn reader

I'm sorry it took so long anon😭

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Victor Grantz

Expressing yourself has always been hard. Being shy makes talking to people a really hard task for you. Victor understood. He isn't good with words but can talk in necessary situations so it's not as hard for him. But he still understands.

Every day he saw how you struggled to keep a conversation and how nervous it made you feel.

He decided to leave notes for you. Notes that had words of encouragement. Notes that showed how much he loved you.

You always found notes in your pockets that had words that calmed you down.

It was his way of comforting you when he wasn't there.

Today was a tiring day. It was Emma's birthday and everyone decided to celebrate it together.

Parties aren't your thing. Kevin dragged you with him to talk to everyone else.

This was one of the most awkward days of your life.

You just stood there while everyone else talked and laughed.

Victor saw you and came towards you. He took your hand and walked to the green house.

The greenhouse is a quiet place. All the flowers and plants make the place feel like another world.

You sit on a chair as the moonlight shines on you.

Victor can't take his eyes off of you. You look beautiful is all he could think of.

He sits next to you and takes your hand.

“[Name].” He says.

“Hm?”

“You know you can ask me for help right?”

You giggle. “Where did that come from?”

“I just don't like seeing you struggle so much to talk to people. I mean you slightly change when you're talking to different people. It's tiring no?”

You look down to the floor. He's right. Altering your personality every time you talked to someone was tiring. You could only be yourself around Victor.

“I know you're worried it's just…I can't do anything about it it just happens.” Your said with a low voice.

“I know.” He said while smiling. “That's why I said you can ask me for help."

You blushed. You felt happy. He was the first ever person you expressed yourself to. The fact that he goes out of his way to tell you this made you feel warm inside.

You lean towards him and kiss him on the lips.

“I love you.” You said.

“I love you too.”

Andrew Kreiss

You've been participating in matches day after day.

You not only have your matches but end up participating in place of others when they can't attend.

This match was a long one. You ended up kiting Bane for pretty much the whole game but in the end you lost.

You came back to the Manor with cuts and bruises all over your body.

Andrew rushed to Emily's office to check on you.

“Are you OK?” He said as he panted.

“I'm OK don't worry.” You said with a weak smile. “I'm just tired.”

He took a deep breath and sat on a chair next to your bed.

He took your hands and sat there quietly.

The sight of you like this made his heart ache but also made his blood boil. Those selfish people. How can they keep giving their work to you?

“Andrew?” You said as you brushed a strand of hair away from his face.

“Why do you keep doing this?” He asked.

“What?”

“This. Why have you been attending others' matches left and right?”

“...Are you mad?”

“Of course I'm angry. I'm angry at you for throwing away your needs. I’m angry at you for overworking yourself. Im angry that you never asked me for help.!”

He went quiet for a second and then continued with a lower voice.

“But most of all I’m angry at myself. At the fact that I’m so useless that I don’t stand up for you…Whenever I think of the times where I could've pulled you away when someone asked for you to do something. The times where if I didn't let you attend a match you wouldn't have been in pain. Whenever I think of those I hate myself. I hate myself because I didn't do anything.”

Andrew understands you well. You two are really similar. So you can understand what he's feeling right now. You know how much he's beating himself up for it.

You drag him into a hug and you don't let go.

You start to kiss the top of his head and caress his hair.

“I'm sorry.” You muttered. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

“Please. Just stop wearing yourself out. For me.” He said in a low voice.

You nod. “I promise.” You whispered.

Luca Balsa

How many times has Orpheus made you “help him” and then dump all of his work on you because “he got a new idea”? You've lost count at this point.

You've gotten used to it but you obviously don't enjoy it but you just can't say no to him. You wanted to a couple of times but you just couldn't bring yourself to do it. You didn't want to turn him down when he asked for your help. Well that was one of the reasons. You didn't want him to dislike you. You don't want anyone to dislike you but Orpheus was one of the people that the idea of him disliking you scared you.

It wasn't only you who was bothered by this situation. Luca was really worried about you. You would come to his room, exhausted and drop yourself onto his bed and pass out pretty much every night.

Luca always stays up late. You have to drag him to bed if you want him to sleep. But after this routine with you and Orpheus started you would sleep without a word out of exhaustion. On some days he barely even saw you.

Orpheus told you to wake up earlier than usual today. You didn't sleep last night which didn't help. You get up, wash your face, get changed and go to the library where Orpheus told you to meet him.

“These are murder case files. I'm going to use these in my Novel.” He says. “So read these papers and write me a summary of them. I need it by tomorrow evening.”

You blacked out for half of the conversation. Your mind started to properly work just now and this is all you understood. You sighed and were about to say “I'll do it.” When you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Sorry Orpheus.” Said a person you cherish. “But I need y/n's help today. I know you had plans but it's really urgent. I'm sure you can do this yourself.” He continued with a smile.

“Oh.” Said Orpheus. “Well I guess I wouldn't mind since they've helped me so much. Then bye for now.” He takes the papers and takes a seat in the library.

“What's wrong?” You ask Luca.

“Come on I need your help.” He takes your hand and drags you to his room.

You enter and he closes the door. “Well?” You ask.

He lays on the bed and pats the spot beside him. “I need you to sleep.” He says with a cocky smile.

“You dragged me all the way here to sleep?” you asked a bit annoyed. “I was supposed to help Orpheus.”

He gets up and sits on the bed. “You call that helping?” He asks. “He is using you. Well even if he doesn't have bad intentions he still doesn't care if you want to do it or not. You can't just say yes to everything people ask of you.”

He sounds a bit mad but he's keeping his cool. You lower your gaze and play with your fingers. You don't know what to say. I mean what can you say? You know he's right.

He sighs and gets up from the bed to stand in front of you and takes your hand. He grabs your chin and gently pulls up your head. “I'm worried about you OK? You're just tiring yourself like this it's not good for you.”

“You're one to talk.” You say annoyed.

He laughs. “Well at least I do something I enjoy. Plus you always make me rest. But you just won't listen to me no matter how hard I try.” He kisses your forehead. “I won't let you try to please people like this anymore. You have to start saying no to them.”

You don't say anything. Instead bury your face into his chest. Luca wraps his arms around you and kisses your head. “Come on. Let's sleep. Neither of us have slept these days.”

You tighten your arms around him and nod in response. Then both of you get on the bed and drift away into a deep sleep.

Edgar Valden

Failed rescues, terror shocks, short kites. You really messed up in today's match.

Well, everyone messes up.

But Freddy came up to you and started bickering with you.

“How can anyone be so bad?”

“Practicing is a good thing you know?”

“If you're going to mess up everything don't play the games.”

“Why did you even come to the Manor?”

His remarks didn't stop.

You couldn't say anything. You knew you did terribly in the match but it happens to everyone. He doesn't have the right to be this mad. But you couldn't say anything. Not a single word came out of your mouth. You just stood there while he said anything he wanted to you.

“What makes you think you can talk to them like that?!” You heard someone shout from across the room.

You look over Freddy's shoulder and see Edgar. He was fuming and coming towards Freddy.

“Your little lover over here messed up the whole game!” Freddy shouted. “Why do they even participate if they plays like this?”

Edgar grabbed Freddy by the collar. “You're disgusting.Have you forgotten how many times you've messed up the game yourself? How many times our win turned into a loss because of you? You think you have any right to be shouting at them like this?”

Freddy was surprised. His face was turning red. He quickly snatched away from Edgar's hand and left the room.

He huffed. Then he turned to you. “Why weren't you saying anything to him?” He looked angry.

You just burst into tears. He was surprised and came to his senses.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it like that. I'm sorry.” He panicked and pulled you into a hug.

“I'm sorry. I couldn't stand seeing you like that.”

You just cried into his chest. Freddy shouting at you like that scared you.

He caresses your hair and whispers “It's OK.” Sometimes.

After you've calmed down he pulls you away and wipes your tears. “Please. Stand up for yourself OK?” Then he pulled you into a hug again.

“I'm always here for you.”

The Red Means I Love You (Edgar×Reader)

AN: This was supposed to be finished and posted on Valentine's Day. However, as you can see from the word count, that was a fool's errand. I wanted to delve more into yanderes since I find them fascinating in writing, and now, here we are. Staining White Day red, I present to you the most generic title for an Edgar fic you will ever see. (Btw, I apologize to Edgar fans- I might've massacred your boy but I swear I tried my best.) Word count: 4.9k words TW: Blood, violence, murder, yandere themes, and blackmailing. Summary: Accepting the invitation of a dubious letter sounds just about as bad as it actually was. Oletus manor is not a name spoken without notoriety, after all. Was that where it all began? Was this your first mistake? No, it was further down the line, wasn't it? Yes, perhaps it was when you became the muse of an artist with no inspiration.

Reality has disappointed you time and time again. The expectations of a life of peace was crushed easily under the hands of society. So, you fled. You fled inside your head, transporting yourself into worlds of fiction. Romance, mystery, fantasy, and the likes kept you alive. It was the only thing you could really call safe.

Among many genres, you favored one above the others. 

Horror.

There’s a certain comfort that comes from these fictional tales. You know they aren’t real, that the killer can’t find you, that these psychopaths don’t exist. Are there people similar to them? Sure, but they aren’t in your life. Thus, they merely stay as silly little people within a book.

But, it’s not quite enough. The thrill of words upon a page cannot compete with the real deal. While you weren’t stupid enough to seek out murderers or the like, you were still dumb enough for Baron DeRoss, apparently.

The envelope is white as a dove, a blood red stamp sealing it shut. It whispers promises and praise, false hope and rewards. It’s an enticing offer, truly. Would you let it guide you astray?

Well, you were never one to turn away from the call of the abyss.

-

“I really don’t get it. I know it’s game changing, but it’s not helpful for anyone else but me! Why do they want me to team up with them?” You huffed, resting your face on your palms. Edgar merely rolled his eyes, flicking his wrist. Focused on the canvas in front of him, he let the brush streak red through white.

“You said it yourself, your abilities are game changing. We don’t even know the full extent of your abilities– who knows? Maybe you could completely uproot the current meta. Besides,” He smirked, peering at you from the corner of his eye. “The hunters are terrified of you.”

You paused, letting your arms fall flat against the table.

“Scared? Of me? I’m just another survivor– what do they have to be afraid of?”

Edgar hummed, tapping the handle end of his paint brush against his lips. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t quite fancy being stabbed.”

Okay, yeah, that was fair.

Most survivors didn’t possess the ability to fight the hunter, not really, yet here you were. When Jack had first chased you, he had the reckoning of his life. You wince at the phantom feeling of stabbing steel into flesh and bone. That was, admittedly, not what you had expected to be your special skill.

You pouted, cheek against the cool wood of Edgar’s table as you glanced around. His room was an odd combination of an art exhibition hall and an actual bedroom. It was big and extravagant, but you wouldn’t expect any less from him. 

Well, kind of.

Edgar confused you. Intriguing, even among the sea of other unique characters within the manor. You suppose that’s why he’s your favorite comrade and closest friend, if you could call him that. He’s never kicked you out of his room or flat out yelled at you, so safe to say he didn’t hate you, at least. 

He’s neutral on all matters within the manor, composed regardless of what he faced. All he cared about was his art, nothing more and nothing less. Perhaps that was how he was unaffected by everything.

You suppose that’s natural for an artist. You can’t claim to understand it perfectly, but in a way, you truly understood.

“It’s like… you’re a moth drawn to a flame, right? Art is something you’re willing to give your life to, dedicate your whole body and soul to. Even if you have to sacrifice your time, energy, or health, for the perfect outcome, you’d do it.” You had said it off handedly, not thinking much of it then. In some respects, wasn’t his passion for art just like your obsession with thrill?

But then he had grabbed your hands, looking into your eyes with such fervor. His gaze burned, a certain desperation flickering within it. What was he seeking so fiercely? What was making Edgar, apathetic, snide Edgar, act like he had found an oasis in the desert?

“You get it?” He whispered, almost pleading. 

“Maybe,” You responded.

That had been enough for him. 

Since then, you and Edgar had become an odd pair. Not quite friends, but too close to be acquaintances. You gravitated towards him, as he did to you. More often than not, you’d ask him if he’d like to team up for matches. More often than not, he’d say yes.

You suppose that’s another reason why other survivors regard you with care.

Edgar isn’t the most difficult person to work with, but definitely not the easiest. He’s all too much and too little: haughty and snide, distant and cold. He’s a reliable teammate, not a likable one. 

Still, the playful sparkle in his eyes as he led the hunter straight to you made you beg to differ. You’d curse him out as you ran, glaring at him after the match was over, before begrudgingly thanking him for supporting you with a painting or two.

However odd it was, you wouldn’t trade your friendship for the world.

-

There’s a letter in your mailbox. 

That isn’t especially weird, considering that’s what a mailbox is for. Letters, mail, packages, whatever. Still, you can’t help but pause as you stare at it. A white envelope with a lovely red seal, the stamp itself in the shape of a camellia. The embossed flower is outlined in gold, shimmering softly in the low light of your room.

Gently, you pry open the seal, careful not to damage it or the envelope. Once you’ve successfully extracted the letter without destroying everything, you stare at it with uncertainty. 

It seemed like this was a love letter from the presentation alone, yet you couldn’t help but feel a bit unsettled. You couldn’t understand why, however. It was beautiful, but simple. It wasn’t overwhelming, nor alarming. So why, from the depths of your heart, was your subconscious screaming at you to run? As though you were about to open Pandora’s box?

You unfold the letter and read.

-

Edgar gives you the nastiest side eye you’ve ever seen. Perhaps you deserve it after the stunt you pulled. Then again, what else were you supposed to do? He was going to be sent back to the manor if you hadn’t let yourself go down.

In the end, thanks to your sacrifice, the potential tie had turned into a win. Sure, you were the one sent back to the manor instead, but a win was a win! Though, Edgar seemed to disagree.

“You’re an idiot.”

You would be offended if it weren’t for the fact that he was wrapping your wounds. The tender touches were barely there, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. He was being careful, making sure you didn’t feel even an ounce of unnecessary pain. The concentration he was putting into taking care of you was something you had only seen when Edgar was painting. 

The subtle quirk of his lips, eyes barely narrowed, and relaxed shoulders expressed more to you than any words ever could. The guilt that pooled into his chest, made evident by the quiet sighs he’d let out, seemed to manifest itself as kindness and gentle care.

It made you really want to tease him.

“Ow!” You hiss, flinching slightly away from the man. Edgar freezes, staring at you with concern.

“Shit– sorry, I didn’t mean to.” The sincere remorse in his voice immediately makes you regret your decision.

“Wait, wait, wait, no, I– gah, sorry. I was just messing with you.”

The painter’s formerly soft expression faded into a scowl, a glare sent your way even as he finished wrapping you up. Edgar immediately stands up, leaving you scrambling to do the same as he leaves the infirmary.

“Ahhhh, wait, I’m sorry! Wait, Edgar, I’m sorry, I swear I won’t do that again! C’mon, don’t leave me like this! I–” You trip on something, stumbling as you lose balance. You fully expect to kiss the ground, what with one of your arms in a cast, when lithe arms catch you.

You glance up at Edgar with a sheepish smile, gazing upon the apathetic look upon his face. Apathetic, to anyone else but you. You can see the little curl of his lips, the faint swirl of amusement in his eyes.

He helps you reorient yourself, hands on your shoulders. Once you’re safely standing, Edgar turns and continues down the hallway. His steps are slower than usual. It’s probably the closest you’ll get to an invitation.

You grin, chasing after him once more.

“So does this mean you forgive me?”

“No.”

-

“How do you manage to stay sane, painting the same thing over and over again?” You ask, half dangling off a couch. Edgar’s room is still as grand as ever, but you can see the changes. It seems more lived in, more homey. There’s a table that isn’t covered in paint, brushes, or other art supplies. There’s shelves with books instead of art supplies. Then, those cabinets have, wait for it, something other than art supplies.

It seems like a small shift to others, though that’s probably because they don’t visit Edgar half as often as you do. The first time you saw the couch, you thought you were hallucinating. 

The Edgar Valden, using something other than a stool? Incredible, revolutionary, absolutely groundbreaking.

He did not appreciate your dramatics, or so he claimed, but you knew he was covering his mouth to hide his smile.

“I’m not painting the same thing, and I am, in fact, going insane.” Edgar responds, frown deepening as he mixes a few colors together. You hum, peeking at the canvas as much as you can from your position. From the sketch, you could tell it was a portrait. A rare occurrence, considering Edgar preferred landscapes.

“Why the sudden interest in portraits?” You ask, sitting more comfortably on the couch. Glancing at the shelves, you skim through the books. Edgar wouldn’t mind if you read one of them, right?

The man pauses, his expression almost bashful. It’s so bizarre you can’t help but raise a brow. Edgar has never been afraid to draw attention to himself. He’s no pushover, willing to fight for what he wants while still remaining relatively neutral. To see him like that, a dust of what can only be blush upon his cheeks, twists something in your heart.

Before you can untangle what exactly you were feeling, the painter coughs.

“Well, I tried talking with Victor about expressing oneself. He suggested letters, or other mediums I’m comfortable with. So…” Edgar stares at his canvas, his smile more so a grimace. “I’m trying out his suggestion, I suppose.”

You tilt your head, humming to yourself as you nod. Sliding off the couch, you grab one of the books on Edgar’s shelf. “Well, then I wish you the best of luck.”

His eyes linger on you, closing softly as his expression relaxes. When he opens them again, he starts creating new hues with more focus.

-

“I’ve been getting letters recently.” You mention, flipping another page in your book. Edgar paused, turning to look at you.

“And?”

You closed your eyes, contemplating. This really wasn’t something you had to tell him. But, well, nothing too interesting has been happening lately. The matches have finally grown duller, the thrill fading as you stayed longer. You were running out of things to ramble about, so why not?

“They’re love letters. Nicely decorated, with neat handwriting. If I had to guess, someone born into privilege.” You think Edgar flinches at that.

“It’s really sweet, honestly. A shame they’re anonymous.” You skim over the words on the page, brows knitting themselves tight. The main character was oblivious to the danger so close to them. How frustrating. 

“A shame, really.” Edgar echoes back, delicately brushing shadows along the red camellias. His painting seemed nearly finished, if you only stared at the beautiful flowers. The rest of the canvas was rather barren, a figure still not yet painted whole.

“C’mon, theorize with me! Who could it be? I put my bets on Jack.” You sighed dramatically, head thrown back with your hand on your forehead. 

You received no response, however.

“Hear me out! He called me darling, dear, and tried to kill me. Obviously, he fell for my sick kiting skills and great looks. I rest my case.” Still, nothing.

You were getting really worried with how unresponsive Edgar was being. Usually, when you started overexaggerating like that, he’d make a snarky remark. Something like “please, you get terror shocked at 5 ciphers” or “you make amphibians look appealing.” 

The silence was really getting to you.

“I mean, he’s got confidence in spades so it probably isn’t him. Still, I kinda hope it is, he’s rather attrac–” SNAP!

Your head snaps up from your book, turning to Edgar so quickly you nearly give yourself whiplash. There, in his hands, are the remains of a broken paint brush. Blood oozes from his tightly clenched hands, slowly trickling down his palm and under the cuff of his shirt. That was reason for concern as is, but the most startling thing of all was his eyes.

Blue, like the sky. Blue, like the sea. Blue, like the wings of a morpho butterfly.

Blue, like the swirling vortex of the night sky.

You rush over, grabbing the first aid kit you know he keeps for you, before standing next to him. You’ve never seen him like this, eyes so dark and blank. It’s honestly scaring you a little, but that means nothing when he’s hurt.

So, you kneel, pulling out tweezers, disinfectants, and bandages. Gently prying his hand open, you discard the larger pieces of the brush. With the tweezers, you pick out splinters of wood embedded in his skin. You whisper apologies as you do, knowing this definitely hurts, but he doesn’t so much as flinch.

By the time you finally disinfect his hand and wrap it, Edgar seems a lot more like himself than before. He gazes at you with quiet consideration, blinking slowly. Languid, calm, almost cat-like.

“Are you okay?” You ask, holding his hand. In all the time you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him react like that. The kinder side of you hopes it’ll never happen again, if only so he won’t needlessly hurt himself like that. The morbid side of you wants to see him like that again, what you can distinguish as cold, searing rage threatening to consume him whole.

Edgar leans his head forward and onto your shoulder. The scent of citrus, chamomile, and something chemical tickles your nose, brushing against you as the painter sighs. He seems… tired.

“Let me rest my head, just for a bit.”

You don’t have the heart to say no.

-

The next few letters you get are… odd. Passionate as always, but far more obsessive. The first few had been sweeter, more tender. This was escalating in a weird direction, and as much as you loved yourself a good horror story, romance and horror never mix well. They were starting to threaten you, saying they’d hurt the people around you, and that was where you drew the line.

So, you start ignoring them. It sounds foolish, especially for a connoisseur of all things freaky, but life is more mundane than fiction. If this person doesn’t have the guts to confess to you, does it make sense that they’d have the guts to actually go through with their threats? Logically, no. 

Besides, even if they did, the people of the manor are strong. They can hold their own. Even if they can't, that person will get outcasted for hurting a survivor, regardless of if they’re a hunter. “No violence outside of matches,” that was the first rule both factions set.

So, it was safe to assume you had nothing to worry about. You have more important things to deal with, anyway, especially with a new survivor arriving. His name was Orpheus, a novelist. You were thrilled, especially since he was the author of some of your favorite series.

You were busy with preparations, practically skipping with joy. The other survivors poked fun at you, both for your enthusiasm and the lack of a certain painter at your side.

Edgar was concentrating on his art, as per usual, and you didn’t want to bother him. He seemed a little lonely, though, so you tried to convince a few people to talk to him. They all just looked at you as if you grew another head. 

“Are we… looking at the same person?” Mike asks, smile strained. You frown, turning away from the banners you were fixing. 

“Yes! Edgar Valden, our resident painter, our sassy rich boy, our lovely old friend. I say he is lonely, and I think you should talk to him. I mean, you’re easy-going, fun, and silly. Who wouldn’t like you?” Even if half of it was an act. Still, Mike was one of the people Edgar tolerated better than most. Perhaps it’s because he’s another form of an artist?

“Why can’t you just, I don’t know, talk to him yourself? You guys get along just fine.” Mike looks away, fiddling with his hands. You narrow your eyes at the sight.

Mike Morton, local funny man, someone with dedication and deceit running through his veins, nervous? It’s not faked, the sweat rolling down his neck and the faster breathing all indicating he was genuinely nervous. Maybe even scared.

“Edgar, I really do love him, but he needs more friends. I think the only people who talk to him on a regular basis are Luca and I. Adding a few more people to that list would be nice, so…” You bring your hands in front of you, clasped tight as if you’re about to pray. “Could you please talk to him?”

Mike deflates, sighing as he nods. You smile brightly in response, promising to make it up to him.

-

“Hey bestie! You excited for the new survivor?” Demi croons, grinning as she tosses an arm around your shoulder. You laugh in response, leaning into her.

“That’s about the dumbest thing you could ask me. Of course I am! He’s written so many good books. God, I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around him. He’s made some stories that have basically shaped who I am now!” You sigh, smiling so widely your face hurts.

“Well, don’t forget your boyfriend in all the excitement! I can see he’s basically seething with envy.” 

You pause, turning to look at Demi.

“Who?”

Now, it’s Demi’s turn to look confused.

“Uh, you know, Edgar? Are– are you guys not together?” She asks, genuinely shocked. You feel your face heat up, your hands itching to cover your blush. 

“Wh– no! We are not! Why would anyone ever think that?”

Demi gives you a deadpan expression in response.

“You two are basically glued to each other’s side, go into every match together, hang out almost every day– Hell, you’re the only one Edgar has allowed in his room without it being necessary!” 

Well, that’s news to you.

You furrow your brows, blinking in shock. Sure, you two hung out a lot, but it wasn’t like you guys were friends exclusively with each other. You had Demi, Mike, Melly, and even Violetta while Edgar had Luca, Victor, Andrew, and Galatea. It wasn’t like you… hung out… every… day…

“Oh fuck, we really do look like a couple.” You mutter, having half a mind to smack Demi as she laughs. She’s completely unapologetic about it, struggling to breathe as slowly calms down and giggles.

“So, you two aren’t dating?” She asks, wiggling her eyebrows. You huff, fighting back a smile.

“Nope, not at all.”

“Then in that case, I’m allowed to flirt with you as much as I want!” Demi cheers. She spins you around, causing a laugh to bubble up from your throat. The two of your twirl around in a silly dance, the faint sound of Frederick playing the piano the only background music.

At the end, she dips you down, smile upon her lips. She leans close to your ear as your smile is wiped away.

“Be wary of him.”

-

With Edgar, it’s like you’re taking three steps forward, then five steps back. Just when you think you’ve got him all figured out, he throws a curveball at you.

That desperation he had in his eyes the day you became his friend, flickering like a brilliant flame, you understand it now. However much he claimed he didn’t need people to understand him, how he didn’t need to understand others, it didn’t mean much. He still craved it, to be understood. To not have to be questioned, to not be approached with dishonesty, with intentions that lied beyond just him being him.

You suppose that’s exactly why you got along. You wanted to understand him, and he wanted to be understood. A match made in Heaven, you suppose.

It’s why it miffed you a bit that you really can’t understand Edgar at the moment.

He hates drawing portraits, yet he draws a figure, the same exact one, in every one of his new pieces. They look familiar, a lot like you, but you’re pretty confident Edgar would rather die than paint you. You’d tease him to Hell and back, all while he complains and swears up and down he’s never being nice to you again.

The landscapes, adorned in reds of all shades, always have that figure in each one without fail. Is he in love with someone? That would explain why he’s so weird lately.

Edgar’s odd behavior was already messing with you, but on top of that, the letters were getting worse. Instead of being slid into your mailbox, they were flat out in your room now.

Normal people would think someone just slipped it under the door. Reasonable assumption. However, unless that person has not only a very thin arm, but a long one, you don’t know how they’d manage to get it all the way to your desk.

You stare at the white envelope, stamped shut with a red seal in the shape of a camellia. The outline of the flower is in gold, though the beauty of the letter and the seal means nothing. Not when it got into your room. Not when it clearly has a splotch of dark red glaring at you.

Your hands are shaky as you open the envelope, a familiar curl of thrill fighting with your new found protective instincts. The letter is white as a dove, the red tainting it made all the more stark.

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you read.

‘I didn’t imagine love would be like this. Wonderfully warm, like the rays of the sun in winter, and unbearably painful, like a knife in my heart. Do you just like hurting me? No, I know that isn’t true. After all, you always look at me with concern when I’m injured. Still, it’s hard to believe you’re this dense.

These past few weeks have been driving me mad. Your attention has been solely on the arrival of the new survivor. You’ve been ignoring me so much I can barely stand it. Can’t you spare even a moment for me? Is that novelist really that important? Seeing you look at him with stars in your eyes… it makes me want to rip his head off his shoulders. He doesn’t deserve your attention, nor your admiration, not like I do. I’ve known you longer, loved you for longer. He doesn’t deserve anything from you, yet he gets everything I could ever want and more.

Did you know? When you’re excited, your smile turns bigger, more genuine, till dimples show. Your eyes crinkle just a little, your hands moving to curl in front of your chest. You stand taller, you shine brighter.

It’s such a beautiful sight, I hate that I have to share it. Sometimes, I wish I could just put you in a cage and never let you go. Then, you wouldn’t look at anyone else but me. You wouldn’t think about anyone else but me. But, that’s not how you should live. You deserve to be free and happy. So, I’ve decided to get rid of anyone that doesn’t deserve to be around you.

I think I’ll start with that novelist.’

Your blood runs cold.

Fuck.

FUCK.

Just who is this? Who are they and just why are they so obsessed with you? Get rid of those who don’t deserve you? Who gave them the right to decide that!?

You take a deep breath, desperately trying to calm your nerves. Your heart is racing, and for the first time, the thrill in your heart turns into true fear.

You’ve never minded being the one hunted. In fact, you practically adore it, the addicting rush of adrenaline pumping through you. It’s why you came to the manor. But your friends? They’re not the same, and you wouldn’t want them to be. You want them safe and happy, not hunted down by some freak who thinks they “aren’t worthy of you” for whatever sick reason.

“Fuck, fuck… Orpheus, I need to find– no, it’s probably too late for him, there’s blood on the letter. Okay, okay, stay calm, stay fucking calm. Who would be the next victim? Mike? Melly? No, it’s probably Ed–” You pause.

Almost comically, everything clicks in place.

Camellias.

Red.

Ignoring them.

Edgar.

You bolt out of your room.

-

Normally, you’d knock. You know Edgar hates it when people barge into his room. However, considering the circumstances, you think that’s the least of your concerns.

You can’t help but pray in your mind. To whom? You don’t know. You don’t think anyone can truly help in this situation. It couldn’t be anyone else but Edgar, but still, you prayed. You hoped against all hope that your conclusion was wrong. 

Edgar would scold you for barging in, sigh, before smiling and asking if you were really that desperate to see him. Everything would be fine. It would all be just a cruel joke.

But just as life is more mundane than fantasy, reality is far cruller than fiction.

The large windows to Edgar’s room let in the light of the falling sun, casting the room in many shades of gold and orange. In the middle of the room, in all his glory, is Edgar. His back is to you, paint brush in hand. You’re hit first by relief, then with the heavy scent of iron.

You shake, hands covering your mouth as you finally process what's around Edgar. Orpheus, drained of blood, head sat on a chair, body left haphazardly on the ground. Jack, ghastly white and face twisted, his horror eternally memorialized in death. Demi, eyes closed and serene, seemingly asleep if not for the purple veins that roam along her arms.

You fall to your knees, the shock hitting you so strong you can’t stand up any longer. He was your secret admirer. The one who kept sending letters. The one who went into your room just to place them on your desk. The one who threatened to kill your friends. The one who did kill your friends.

Edgar, finally, turns around. His cheek has splotches of blood on it, his hands no better. It’s startling just how much of it is on him, but worse yet, you know not all of it is on him. There’s a lot of blood in a human body, much more in two, so where was it?

When he smiles, it’s just as sweet as it was yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. Was this really your friend, or a demon in disguise?

His smile, ever so sweet, only serves to unsettles you, looking more like a nightmare.

“Ah, you’re here! Come, I need to show you my newest masterpiece.” Edgar steps closer to you, dragging you by the hand to a canvas you hadn’t noticed before. He was standing in front of it, so it was only natural.

You numbly follow, heart in your throat. You’re grateful, distantly, that the “masterpiece” is not the corpses of your friends. You think you’re going to throw up, eyes trying to look at anything but them.

So, you gladly look at his so-called masterpiece.

You really wish you didn’t.

There, on the canvas, is a portrait. This time, it’s so painfully obvious it’s you that you can’t even deny it. Surrounded by red camellias, hands curled in front of their chest, with a smile so genuine, dimples showed. Eyes crinkled, back straight, and God, did it have to be so accurate?

The red of the camellias are familiar, as is the red of your blush, the colors of your clothes, your hair. 

It’s all been painted using your friend’s blood.

Edgar comes behind you, his arms circling your waist. A content sigh leaves him, his chin resting on your shoulder. His hold is gentle, but firm, possessive in a way you never thought him capable of. His lips brush against your neck, a kiss much like a collar pressed into your skin. You can feel them curl into a smile.

“What do you think, my muse? The red means I love you.”

I'd die without Matthias Czernin

nah imagine world without Matthias Czernin 🤣🤣😂

How Do They Decode?

Just a little question I mused about for the survivors today.

“Gee, these machines don’t seem to be holding up very well. How can we help them along, so we can GET OUT before they GIVE OUT?”

In other words, the way I see it, ciphers could process on their own, but the issue is that they’re in terrible shape. So, to get them working again, we have three options, one for each side of the cipher a character can use!

Front. Decoding Manually. Who Needs a Glorified Typewriter to Calculate for You?

Emily, Freddy, Lucky Guy, Kurt, Tracy, Helena, Fiona, Margaretha, Eli, Aesop, Norton, Patricia, Jose, Victor, Luca, Melly, Edgar, Ada, Orpheus, Memory, Luchino, Frederick, Alice, Evelyn

Side. Adjusting and Fixing. Just Keep This Hunk of Junk from Falling Apart, and Let Electricity Do the Rest!

Emma, Lucky Guy, Servais, Naib, Tracy, Vera, Kevin, Eli, Norton, Jose, Demi, Luca, Anne, Orpheus, Joker, Qi, Charles, Matthias, Florian

Back. Beat the Cipher Like it Stole Your Lunch Money. Why Not?

Andrew, Memory, Kreacher, Lucky Guy, Naib, William, Vera, Kevin, Norton, Murro, Patricia, Mike, Edgar, Ganji, Emil, Luchino, Lily, Matthias, Florian

A few commentaries:

-Memory is just a child, so in practice she doesn’t know much about these ciphers and will resort to just kinda shaking and smacking them. However, she’s also a creation from Orpheus’s mind, so his education and inclinations show up in her too sometimes, and this is when she’ll type and calculate.

-Helena has memorized a keyboard layout, but doesn’t exactly know what each part on the cipher does and isn’t violent enough to be smacking at it, so she only types.

-Aesop isn’t the best typer, but he doesn’t like getting his hands covered in the cipher’s grease nor does he want any bruises from roughhousing it.

-Lucky Guy is highly adaptable and can fill in wherever he’s needed on a cipher. Norton is similar, though he does prefer adjusting from the side to typing.

-Luchino is primarily a typer, but sometimes, when his stress is high enough or he’s used enough of that serum, his instincts take over and he rages on the ciphers a bit. -Andrew, William, Murro, and Emil have no clue what these machines are or how they work, just that they NEED to work. And you know what? Beating the fuckall out of them seems to be doing the trick well enough.

minor writing smut , hand kink [?]

Luca whose hands are, to put it plainly, dirty. Oil and grease can be found underneath his fingernails from the constant work on the cipher machine, while dirt finds its way in the cracks and slivers on his palms.

Luca whose hands are littered with small cuts and scars from the electricity that bolts through him, refusing to settle down for even one moment before another currency charges through his body.

Luca who uses these same hands to worship your god like body in front of him. His fingers, smeared with black from being burnt poke and prod at the curves and blemishes on your body. The inventor finds it all so incredible how you let his hands, stained with blood, find your most sensitive area. How you let his hands gift you the pleasure you oh so deserve. And how you let him witness your fall into pleasure all over again.

note: consider this my apology for the lack of a proper fic lately, things have been busy. I’m working on two right now, and I hope to get them both out in the coming weeks.!

© fishermanshook — no stealing , translating , plagiarizing or reposting my work on other any other sites + reblogs adored !!

Something meh I wrote for luca, def not my best work due to stress lol

Rated Explicit | Warning: oral (reader receiving), light (very) electro stimulation

Silence. Late evening it usually is quiet in the dormitory area of the manor. The occasional sound of Luca tinkering though but nothing else. Dark and silent, you creep towards the door before you go still in front of the door. He told you if you ever could not sleep, you could join him in his room.

Usually, you stay there listening to him work. The ambiance of an inventor at work is rather soothing and amusing when shouts “Ow!” when he messes up a wire or two. Luca is tenacious and ambitious, though he does not remember much and often forgets to the point he has to journal everything important, he is like the spark of electricity fighting to find a connection.

Currently, though, he is not working when you come to visit. After an intense match with the new hunter Ivy, he had just finished bathing and greeted you with only his pajama pants on, hair wet, and for the first time, you see the scars of what electricity can do to the body.

The Decoder lets you in though it is inappropriate given his both lack of clothing and how late it is, something you both never cared about like some others do.

He sits on his bed and resumes drying his hair with a damp towel, idle chatter as you sit on the poorly maintained couch. It is not uncomfortable but definitely has seen better days. You lay on it while talking, him keeping the conversation going as you expect of a former aristocrat.

Though he was from a family of wealth, and clearly educated, you never felt how you do around Frederick or Edgar… Uncomfortable. The sort of peacock-ness air about them that often makes you not acknowledge even when waiting for a match. In the matches, of course, you help but post you are immediately getting away from them. Luca does not give you that feeling and maybe it is because he has “fallen from grace” sort of speak, or maybe he is just likable.

“You stare a lot these days.” Teasing, he likes to flirt when in the mood.

“Can't help it,” As your eyes shift to his face, “Does It hurt?”

He looks at his chest, his eyes staring hard, “It gets irritated but not so much hurting.” Then looking up, then pointing at the table near the couch, “Those usually help.” Bandages with a bottle next to them.

“Can I help?”

“If you want, you don't have to.” The shyness is unlike him yet you figure it is because no one has seen him like this.

It was unexpectedly intimate, you did anticipate being so close to him using the ointment and applying the bandages would create a new situation. You have been close to both dancing, patching each other during matches, hell, sharing the same bed when you both could not sleep. It was like you are seeing the vulnerable Luca Balsa, not the inventor but a man who is fragile and lost trying to achieve something beyond himself.

When you kiss him it is funny the shock of low-grade electricity that zaps you both, the laughter is sweet and silly.

Luca does not want that to end the moment he has thought of for many days and is trying to build the nerve to get here. He ushers you lay on the bed, his thin frame on top of you. The partly wet brown hair is like curtains blocking your peripheral vision, you can only see Luca and his smiling face. Kissing your lips, face, neck, and a few hickeys on the way down to your chest; the second to remove your shirt before he is on you again.

By the time he is between your legs, your body feels a buzz from his uncontrollably electrical minor shocks and his skillful hands and mouth. Your hands in his messy hair gripping it with one hand as your other hand grips the pillow behind your head.

Identity V x Lawson collaboration is currently in full swing!

The Manor Convenience Store is open today as well 🎵

I wonder what the staff are talking about?

The staff are all different, but will they be able to handle the customers well? Let's take a look together!

(Read from right to left)

Narrator : There's a new convenience store in the manor!

Annie : Welcome customer~

Orpheus : So, protecting the smiles of our customers is of course opening up our own potential through the experience of serving customers... I hope everyone has a refreshing experience like this!

Annie : You talk like some sort of a store manager

Orpheus : I looks the most like a store manager

Annie : Wages...I wonder how much they are paid per hour...

Matthias : I want to eat fried chicken...

Andrew : It's so hot I don't want to clean outside...

Louis : I'm afraid of customer service

Everyone : I want my wages!!!

Naib : This convenience store makes me feel a lot of worldly desires and distractions...

Naib : There's not even a trace of freshness...

Norton : Can I work here?

Ithaqua : Your uniform is not included, no way~

B.Duck Luca icons for your soul 🦆⚡

he is the cutest