Latest Posts by yumesanosuke - Page 4

LOML

happy birthday lucaluca!!!!!

The manor is filled with cute Sanrio costumes! Everyone has their own reaction...and they're all so wonderful✨

Identity V× Sanrio

Illustration by marumoriaki (Twitter)

Read from right to left

Lily : The Sanrio collaboration costumes are too cute!

Lily : I don't mind if the humidity accumulation fills up, but I want to take two shot photos!

Bi'an : I'm not sure if I can pull it off because it's a colour I've never worn before...

Lily : It's cute y'know~!

Mary : I want to have a match in a stylish space that matches the costumes, but it's frustrating that there are only gloomy maps

Naib : We're playing a game of life and death...right...?

Narrator : 5 seconds left from now, there's a reaction when two people with a feud wear cute clothes

Pov: He's choking you to death ^w^

Here's some yandere Nikolai art

sunflower gold 💛

Identity(V) Headcanons: Victor Grantz

Don't mind me, I just love him

-Victor’s biggest struggle in life is his crippling social anxiety. He’s a kind-hearted individual with a lot of empathy, but he’s deeply wounded by the pattern of abandonment he’s had in life (his mother, his uncle, any friends he made in school…) and as a result he’s one of the slowest in the manor to give true trust. He’s terrified of letting people in just to be abandoned again, and he doesn’t trust spoken words easily, so he simply avoids meeting people directly as much as possible. Promises, especially, make him feel gut-wrenching distrust for the one making them.

-(That said, Victor views keeping secrets as a promise of his own. One that others may not know he’s keeping, but a promise for their privacy nonetheless.)

-He believes people are more authentic when they don’t know they’re being observed, be it in-person or on paper. Victor doesn’t trust himself to accurately read someone’s tone or body language up close anymore—he becomes blinded by fear, and sometimes hope, so he takes things at face value even if it’s to his detriment--but he’s good at reading between written lines and gauging things from a distance. In this sense, he’s a decent judge of character. He’s a people-watcher both for enjoyment and to build himself a sense of security around others. (Though, sometimes this leads people to think he’s a bit of a creep, which makes him feel terrible.)

-All that said, Victor does not wish harm on anyone. He’s afraid of cruelty, not just for himself, but for anyone. And this is where his empathy comes in—he really, truly wants for the world and the people in it to be better. If he thinks there’s a chance of helping someone improve, he’s willing to help. If he thinks there’s a chance of saving someone from a painful death in a match…he’s willing to risk himself to see them through. He has some of the lowest pain tolerance in the manor, which is especially surprising to learn when you consider he’s among the most willing to rush into danger to help someone. (I mean he ran into a burning building to save a dog....)

-Ironically, Victor is very big on communication in the relationships he does build. When he finally gets close with someone, he’s not keen on losing them to misunderstanding or misplaced expectations, so he needs an open line—and patience—at all times. He still prefers letters to face-to-face conversation, however, so serious conversations can take a long time to sort through. (This goes for a modern setting, too. I know people think texting can be disingenuous, but Victor gets too stressed with face-to-face conversations and he prefers to have the time to think over and give a thought-out response that isn’t influenced by anxiety or fear.)

-He’s fit from all his walking, but doesn’t have much in the way of muscle. In fact, he’s on the soft side, especially in his arms and stomach area. He makes for a very cozy cuddle buddy, and he’s honestly one of the best huggers in the manor. (If he’s comfortable with the person, that is.)

-Personally, I feel like he’d be bit of a foodie. He’s not a picky eater and always happy to try new foods. (Though, while he doesn’t restrict himself from meat, he prefers fruit & veg.) If whatever he’s eating is dog-safe, he also likes to share bits and pieces of stuff with Wick.

-His preferred Love Languages to give are Acts of Service and Quality Time. To receive, he likes Words of Affirmation and Quality Time. In short, he wants to spend as much time with his loved ones as he possibly can. He doesn’t need you to do things for him because he’s used to taking care of himself, but he does like to receive sweet words (verbal or written) so he knows how much you love and value him! (That may sound counterintuitive given his suspicion for promises and sweet words…but by the time you’re close enough for love languages to matter, he’s gotten over most of those hurdles with you.)

-He’s a bit of a goofball! He’s anxious enough that it doesn’t come out for most people, but he does enjoy a good, silly time. He gets along well with Memory and Emma, for example.

-Victor talks with Wick a lot. Not out loud, or even in writing, just in his head. Social anxiety can get lonely, and having a cute doggy face to put half of his internal dialogue to helps bury those feelings…at least for a little while.

sou posts WORST MEME EVER gets WORLD RECORD for MOST VOTES in DEATH GAME HISTORY

Freak of nature

I'm going to kiss him

i just redrew the essence poster art of him init

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.”

Which characters do you think are more 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 in bed and which ones do you think are normal

I hate to be that person, but what are we considering to be "freaky"? Is choking freaky? A foot fetish? or are you talking about something heavier like dubcon roleplay? There are a LOT of kinks out there. Are we going off specific kinks lending into the freaky title, or is it like the freakiness scales based on the NUMBER of kinks the characters have? Anyway here's a few thoughts.

Under the cut for kinks discussion

There's Jack, but I don't even really wanna talk about him. He's probably the worst of the worst. Or the best, I guess, if you're into that...

Florian has some more manic behaviours, and he's really enthusiastic about meeting your hopes and expectations. Most kinks are fine with him, even if he doesn't have them himself, and he's willing to work with you to play them out in some fashion. Mess doesn't bother him at all, though he is a bit impatient. Things that require a lot of prep and setup might not survive long enough to be repeat uses in the bedroom. (ex. shibari, anal with him receiving) He draws a line at scat, heavy blood play, and certain types of roleplay. (Don't ever ask him to be a "villain.")

Fool's Gold is all the worst parts of Norton wrapped up into a sloppy, egotistical package. He enjoys anything that lets him control or degrade his partner, be that a leash, some harsh words, or even just his powerful grip. (There's some risk of dubcon here, because I don't think he's the type to believe in 'changing your mind' once you're in the swing of things.) And he doesn't care if you walk away with bruises--if you can even walk at all. He expects you to know what you're getting into if you come to him, and as long as he gets his rocks off (heh.) he's pleased.

Aesop is freaky by our standards, but in his own mind he's barely participating. And that's how he likes it. He's fine with restraining and gagging you, using toys and drugs on you (with consent of course), he'll loan you out to others to fuck so you can get your satisfaction--and he'll stay to watch, if you really beg him to.

Orpheus is a mix of Florian and Aesop. He has very few boundaries and enjoys praise and degradation going both ways. Pain and confusion are also fine and dandy, in moderation, and he's not above opening that ominous cabinet of substances. He can also be a very sweet and gentle lover, though. He's a man of many faces, as we all know.

Luchino has no issues being heavy-handed in the bedroom. He knows his own strength, as well as his partner's limits, and can safely toe the line without crossing. He will happily spank, choke, pin, and throw you around. Similarly, he's not interested in heavier blood or injury play, but he doesn't think earning a few marks during sex is a mood-killer at all. Roleplay isn't really up his alley, but if you want to pretend and just need him to call you some name or other (pet, maid) to make it work, that's fine.

Ithaqua, surprisingly, is not that bad. But I'm putting him on here as an honorable mention. He can be a rougher lover, but other than that the kinkiest thing about him is sometimes he wants people to hear you moaning for him. Let them KNOW what he does to you--but they can't see you. Then he'd have to kill them.

Sweet Victor is quite vanilla. He likes a bit of roleplay in the bedroom, but it's low-effort and lighthearted. He's more of a "make love" than "fuck" kinda guy.

Joseph likes to record, and he likes mirrors, but otherwise he's also pretty vanilla and romantic.

Andrew is too anxiety-ridden for anything too complicated or kinky. (Though he does sometimes have an authoritative air to him.) I've been meaning to write the scene, but Andrew 100% has a panic attack during his first sexual encounter.

Ganji is a simple man. He likes to feel pleasure, not pain, and delivers the same.

Matthias is also jittery, nervous, and leans towards the vanilla 9 times out of 10. He may have a few deeply-hidden humiliation kinks that stem from uncomfortable experiences in his past. A controlled environment to heal with re-experince, and what have you.

It is 2 am and I certainly don't have time to be spamming a tumblr's inbox...... but

The other anon commenting about Nikolai being romantic just gave me something to rant about omg. Because i've seen so many people misunderstand Nikolai and genuinely call him insane and a crazy sadist like... ahhsjkdaksjjdks it runs me up the walls

First of all Nikolai's philosophy partially derives off him being inherently good. He wants to escape the mind, emotions it gives, and to sum it up his humanity; so he does things that is against his own self. One is killing. Nikolai literally sees murder and torture as something that is opposite to what his humanity makes him. that's why he does it. And even after mutilating unknown amounts of people he still feels guilt, he still feels emotion (i've seen others say that he was lying to atsushi during that whole speech about his guilt but i don't think so?? He took off his eyepatch, which in every single scene he's done so he's shown to be telling the truth of his character. It's a signifier, a literal 'unmasking'. And he says to himself, when Atsushi says he doesn't get nikolai's ideology that "only dos-kun understands" inferring him being truthful. Plus how he reacts to Fyodor's death which will be covered, too), he still hasn't parted completely from his guilt, empathy, humanity.

And Nikolai loves dearly. Deeply he feels for those who GET him. Nikolai craves connection, another thing he attempts to distance himself from, and found that in Fyodor. And he loves so dearly that once he thinks Fyodor is dead he betrays going against his ideology to do something so human for him; getting down on his knees, bringing Fyodor's severed hand to his face, and mourning him. It took a man who knew him for a brisk time and had to only understand him to be enough for Nikolai to crumble for, at least just once. And it proves after all this mental anguish he's caused himself, he still isn't numb and he will probably never be "free". But I also think because of this all, Nikolai, if given the right set of circumstances, would be a deeply intimate and beautiful human being.

If this makes you lower your word count limits I am so sorry 😭 (i checked, this has (updated) 450...)

Final message: Nikolai is lovely, so so tragic, I need his backstory, need him to crush my head between his thighs and dry hump my face till he cums in his pants, I don't know how to make words on this app small, and your writing is amazing i'm going to sleep now goodnight

i do believe nikolai is a deeply sentimental person at heart. but i also think his insanity and sadism is a part of him. i like to think that, over time of trying to be as monstrous just to detach himself from being humane—perhaps he does feel some kind of euphoria when hurting someone, as he knows he's doing something that's beyond humane. but i also think that euphoria is just temporary, since we can agree that he does feel guilty for murdering and hurting people. and mayhaps, his sadism is also a way for him to cope with his guilt.

i definitely agree that if he's brought up in different circumstances, he could be a very empathetic person. i mean, he is already empathetic to his victims where he made them believe he's just a monster

I'd die without Matthias Czernin

nah imagine world without Matthias Czernin 🤣🤣😂

"crows collecting jewels? that's just a myth."

I still have no idea how tumblr works lmao..

have nikolai!

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 !!

hooked in. fished out.

_ ★₊˚﹟⛮ 'w7ylxn on Pinterest , all characters belong to Netease.

male survivors.

THE PROSPECTOR.

"TRUST IN ME!" (gn!reader)

⤷ a moment in time where you said "I trust you." to them.

THE BATTER.

"TRUST IN ME!" (gn!reader)

⤷ a moment in time where you said "I trust you." to them.

GANJI GUPTA HEADCANONS. (gn!reader)

⤷ ganji gupta h/c's.

WIPE YOUR TEARS, DOLL. (gn!reader)

⤷ a fic about a reader who feels undeserving of love and their boyfriend does his best to make them feel better.

CAPTIVATED BY U! (gn!reader)

⤷ a 'what if' led you to where you are today, but the horrors don't stop there when a particular Batter takes more of a liking to you than comfortable.

THE MERCENARY.

"TRUST IN ME!" (gn!reader)

⤷ a moment in time where you said "I trust you." to them.

WIPE YOUR TEARS, DOLL. (gn!reader)

⤷ a fic about a reader who feels undeserving of love and their boyfriend does his best to make them feel better.

THE ACROBAT.

EVERYTHING (I THOUGHT) WE WERE. (gn!reader)

⤷ rumors spread , and gossip only flourishes. what’re the whispers saying now?

THE PAINTER.

AN ARTISTS GLORY. (gn!reader)

⤷ how to befriend other artists no borax easy /ref

DATE NITE! (gn!reader)

⤷ how does their perfect date go with you?

THE COMPOSER.

DATE NITE! (gn!reader)

⤷ how does their perfect date go with you?

THE NOVELIST.

DATE NITE! (gn!reader)

⤷ how does their perfect date go with you?

male hunters.

FOOLS GOLD.

ROCK HARD! (gn!reader)

⤷ sex h/c’s w/ Fools Gold.

THE NIGHT WATCH.

TO THE STARS ABOVE. (gn!reader)

⤷ b-day fic for @/rieuvie , Ithaqua wishes you a happy birthday.

IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT. (gn!reader)

⤷ in the dead of night , Ithaqua will always be around [for you].

THE PHOTOGRAPHER.

JUSTICE (gn!reader)

⤷ sex w/ Joseph's "Justice" skin. [he's got a savior complex]

~

female survivors.

THE JOURNALIST.

CAMERA SHUTTER. (afab!fem!reader)

⤷ sex h/c’s with Alice DeRoss.

UNWANTED AUDIENCE. (gn!reader)

⤷ performing for everyone means just that, performing for all despite your own personal opinion. your shows have put all eyes on you, even unwanted ones.

female hunters.

n/a [for now]

updated: 06/12/24

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.

GANJI FLUFF. GANJI FLUFF. GANJI FLUFF. GANJI FLUFF. GANJI FLUFF. GANJI FLUFF. GANJI FLUFF. GANJI FLUFF. GANJI FLUFF. GANJI FLUFF. GANJI FLUFF. GANJI FLUFF.

do I make it angst just to make you mad

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 🦆⚡

for a friend

Back from the dead…?

☆ "weeping clown" ; general sfw & nsfw headcanons

pairing / weeping clown x afab gn! reader

disclaimer / possessive nature, choking fixation, body worship, orgasm denial

word count / 1,335 words

author's note / i wanted more miserable, pathetic, lore accurate toxic weepy so i decided to just write it myself.

SFW

☆ a very clingy man that is far too quiet to ever be the one to initiate a conversation with you. after all, how dare he have such thoughts when you’re shining all so bright. altruist you can say but behind it, he is all but possessive.

☆ you will always find letters forwarded to you by someone of anonymity but his handwriting is all but so familiar. you will always feel a set of eyes following you in everything you do around the circus. whether it be practicing for your next act, applying your makeup, eating, or paying attention to your own body care, it's always on you.

☆ weeping clown by his stage name is very self explanatory. even with his wishes of being so much more than what he is branded by, he carries on his sorrowful demeanor behind the stage. meeting you, whether you’re the first to ever truly acknowledge him or give him the light of day of your time, he will think of that interaction of so much more.

☆ he’s completely infatuated by you, not having the guts or confidence to ever approach you, he will make gifts for you in secrecy, going to great lengths to have it personally delivered to you by a postman to possibly hide the fact that it was him all along.

☆ however, you have suspected the clown for awhile now. the way his eyes avoid your own, his stuttering and brightening red state of his. you have always thought of it as normal for the clown, his cowering state, but there is just something about him that rang alarm bells.

☆ weeping is easily flustered. any hint of your attention on him has him already a profused bashful state. especially any physical contact with each other, even if it’s just holding hands, his hands will instantly clam up and become so warm. he gets embarrassed at these times and would begin to avoid eye contact so you wouldn’t have to see him in such a “pathetic condition”.

☆ kissing the weeping clown is rough due to his very chapped lips. he’s a clumsy and messy kisser, having no prior experience and frankly, only kisses with pure want and no thoughts at all behind it as if you’re going to disappear on him. you’ll always feel his hands messily messing the back of your hair and at times, when he’s pushing his tongue down on you, he loves it when you tug down on his scarf.

☆ his love, to be blunt, is completely unconditional. it doesn’t matter if you kill someone with your own bare hands, even if his idea of you shatters, his ideology still stands. he’s a man that is completely obsessed with the idea of you and while it is a harmful train of thoughts, that obsession turns into a sick love.

☆ even if his love comes from a twisted place, he cares for you in his own little way. he’s overprotective of you and attentive to your mental and emotional needs of yours. if someone is bugging you, he’s immediately on the band wagon in planning on how he’s specifically going to privately and in secrecy, handle it.

NSFW

☆ weeping is not a confident man as we all know, and especially in bed. even if he’s bigger than most, around 8 inches or so, he is all but insecure about the approach. he’s a virgin and only has experience by touching himself late at night, clutching a crumpled picture of you and imagining your hands pumping his cock.

☆ he’s always the type to indulge in his personal fantasies and to finally have it happen to him, he’s all but overjoyed but extremely confused and insecure on how you can ever pick someone like him. he has always dreamed of you touching him, even when he’s ashamed of such thoughts when facing you upfront, he’d always go hard over the smallest things from you.

☆ your voice, your lips, your eyes on his, your scent, you brushing skin contact with him even if it’s just a small graze, oh god his dick is practically about to burst out his boxers. he loves the rough feeling of his dick begging to be dicked down and would often grind himself in his own boxers, imagining that friction is your pussy.

☆ he would get so long in those surreal fantasies of his, wanting to just breed you. but once actually having you, his insecurities of having little to no experience comes crashing down once more. you’ll be on his lap and he’ll be completely dumbfounded, absolutely having no idea where to put or place his arms and would stare at you undressing on him which god, is so hot to him.

☆ he’s the type to just cum right then and there in whatever you do to his body. touching his cock, oh he’s already seeing stars and tearing up. your warm mouth on his, he’s grinding his waist and dragging you by your hair to go deeper and deeper, causing you to choke and him getting off by your gagging sounds.

☆ he’s a big crier during it all, his eyes seeming to always tear up whenever he feels absolutely stimulated or from pure happiness, he’ll always throw his head back and bites his lips to the point it begins to start bleeding and then planting his blood soaked lips on yourself.

☆ body worship. weeping clown is ashamed of his disability and amputee, but you praising it and giving it utmost attention (not just only during sex of course) gives him an unexplainable emotion such as relief of your acceptance of him. how you don’t immediately shun him.

☆ he loves to worship you and your entire being, not just being the only one praised. he will always be going on and on, muttering about your beauty. he always feels as though he shouldn’t even have the privilege to be in your presence, let alone touch you. it’s an emotional moment for him the entire time, enveloping himself to your existence.

☆ he absolutely can’t get enough of you, always loving it when he’s the one on your lap or vice versa, he loves to look up at you and you wiping his tears off with your thumb. he loves to nuzzle on the palm of your hand every time you do it. once he’s more familiar and confident with your body, he finds himself more and more lost in sex.

☆ he’s a verbal partner, always gasping and lowering his moans. it’s not a hard feat to have him a mess over you and especially when you’re verbal, he can’t help but feel good knowing he’s the one getting those reactions out of you.

☆ he loves it when you deny him of his orgasm. tie him behind his waist and fuck his cock with your finger, palm, boobs, thighs, anything. he’ll start whining and drawing his voice out, begging for your touch, his tears practically streaming out by then.

☆ bouncing on his cock, he’s still so scared over the fact that you’re in his but he can’t help but get so lost in your touch. he’ll watch you with astonishment, watching your boobs bounce along your actions and begin latching his mouth on the bud of your nipples and sucking on it to the point there’ll be a prominent, red mark.

☆ aftercare with weeping clown would be him cleaning you up with a rag and bringing you the glass of water from the bedside, very quiet and unsure on what else to talk about. it’s a comfortable silence on your part but for the clown, he’s particularly anxious. you’ll have to be the one praising and tucking him for the night. during these moments, he’s especially emotional. he never wants to let go of this moment and then, decide to do everything that he can to keep you by his side no matter what.

he is the cutest

GANJI GUPTA HEADCANONS.

( batter ) aka GANJI GUPTA.

TW: MY H/C’s 😨 , this layout is giving cheese , grammar and spelling warning

INTRO

Who is Ganji Gupta? And how do you know him? As a friend, a loved one, or as a nobody?

*manor au where they are trapped inside.

꒰wc꒱ 641

GANJI GUPTA, also known as the manor's one and only Batter, acts as a lone wolf. He most likely won’t start conversations and will keep his answers short. Though, it’s just another barrier he puts up out of the need for protection. He doesn’t know who he can confide in here and, in his eyes, everyone seems to be another untrustworthy person out for their wants and needs. That’s all that they are sized down to at the beginning.

GANJI GUPTA struggles with being alone, at least, less than most others. He has experience with the feeling, but everyone caves eventually. He, on the other hand, can withstand it for quite some time.

GANJI GUPTA who, after quite some time, starts to warm up a bit more to the manor inhabitants. Realizing that it’s better not to hold any grudges if you’re going to be stuck here for all eternity.

GANJI GUPTA enjoys the company of others most when they play cricket with him. It doesn’t even matter if they’re good or not, he finds the act endearing and appreciates it more than anyone could imagine.

GANJI GUPTA would need a partner who takes things slow with him. Someone who understands that he (sometimes) has his moments, and will give him the time and space to sort through them. That might mean leaving your side for a while or hitting some cricket balls as far as he possibly can, imagining that all his anger flies away with it.

               ↳ However, there are moments where neither of these things can help him and he needs you instead. Help him to breathe again, and talk him through it instead. Distract his mind from thinking about why he was so upset in the first place. Just, don’t treat him like a child.

GANJI GUPTA who can’t help but feel jealous as you laugh and joke around with the others. There’s a part of him that sometimes wishes he too could enjoy the company of the rest but is too shy to say it. Although, if you happen to pick up on it, grab his hand and pull him into the conversation. He’ll find the flow, eventually.

GANJI GUPTA also hates the pit of spitefulness that pools in the bottom of his stomach when he notices someone else flirting with you. He goes red in the face with his arms crossed and looks furious. The Batter can’t seem to grasp how other people aren’t yet aware of your relationship and is quick to wrap an arm around your waist and come up with some lossy excuse to pull you away elsewhere.

↳ You can't help but whine a bit as the Batter pulls you away. You had a friendly conversation going on with the “Prisoner”, what’s the matter? As you continue your complaining, it dawns on Ganji that, you hadn’t realized he’d been trying to court you the entire time.

GANJI GUPTA will always use his last cricket ball to benefit you in a match. Whether it’s to save you from your third chair or to help prolong your kite, he never hesitates to use it for your sake. He’s gotten some rather harsh comments on it before, but he just ignores them and carries on with his day.

GANJI GUPTA deals with frequent night terrors that wake the both of you up. He’s quick to apologize, brushing it off as if it were nothing. Unfortunately, the tears in his eyes give him away. You don’t ask what they were about, and you probably shouldn’t for now. All he wants is to fall asleep in your embrace with the reminder that you’re here. That you are alive.

note: you thought I was gonna post that painter fic? erm whattttt? why would you ever think that???? that’s so weird what….

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

Absolutely NO ONE wants to hang out with Florian at the manor. He doesn't have a reputation with them, so he's just some pasty British guy who talks about fire a lot. Most of the hunters think he's annoying and most of the survivors think he's weird. Stop smiling like that, creep!

I have no basis for this and I am very very sleepy I just think he's a little freak

As a Luca main this is so real

this is why my wr in duos is so low i never see it coming

Hello, I'm not very good at English. If my understanding of the storyline of WWCG is wrong, I apologize.

After I tried playing the game, the characters are very interesting. Crowe is very good at observing others, so I was suspicious at first that he could read minds. And Aspen is very cute, he reminds me of my cat.... But I can't help but wonder about Crowe's personality.

- Why did Crowe look so careless in the first meeting scene in the kitchen? In a hypothetical case, if Aspen was a dangerous person, I think Crowe could hardly defend himself from an ambush from behind.

- I'm not sure if Aspen should be angry that Crowe changed his clothes because from my observation, it seems that the shirt inside was not changed, right?

- I think someone else was helped by Crowe before Aspen appeared, right?

- I've heard that drinking alcohol helps in very cold weather. Does Crowe drink or have it?

- If Aspen didn't call him by his nickname Jewel, what other nicknames would he like to be called by?

- If Crowe didn't do the Blood Pact, how would he live or conduct himself? I think his knowledge and kindness would help him become well-known and popular in normal society.

- I don't understand Crowe's thinking in the Yandere route. Why did he still spare Aspen and stick with theirs? Since Aspen clearly showed that they didn't like his actions, and Crowe could really drug him forever?

- If in the Yandere route Aspen didn't eat the granola bars, how would Crowe take him back?

- I think Crowe's courtship is quite polite and slow-paced. In the route where he is Aspen's lover, could he be the one to take the lead in the relationship, like asking Aspen for a hug? Because I think Crowe might be too shy to ask for something like that directly.

Hello, there! Thank you for playing my game, I'm happy you liked it!! 😊 Also, your English is fine! I will make an exception this time but, next time, please don't ask so many questions altogether 😖. I'm only one person and it can be a bit overwhelming to answer so much at the time 🙏💦 Next time I won't be answering asks as long as this one. Another thing to note, Aspen is not a man. They identify as nonbinary so their pronouns are they/them. Most of these questions contain BIG spoilers so the answers will be below the "Keep Reading".

Why did Crowe look so careless in the first meeting scene in the kitchen? In a hypothetical case, if Aspen was a dangerous person, I think Crowe could hardly defend himself from an ambush from behind. It's important to note that all the people who arrived at Winter Hollow before Aspen got affected by the blizzards. Even if some of them happened to be dangerous, they wouldn't have survived because Crowe has only ever been interested in saving Aspen. Therefore, the scene in the kitchen wouldn't have happened .

I'm not sure if Aspen should be angry that Crowe changed their clothes because from my observation, it seems that the shirt inside was not changed, right? That's why there are 3 different options in that scene, so that the player can decide what they feel is right for them. Canonical Aspen would most probably NOT get angry for having their clothes changed since they understand that Crowe did it to save their life. However, Crowe most definitely changed ALL of their clothes. The clothes were completely cold from the weather, so Crowe had to remove all of them before warming Aspen up.

I think someone else was helped by Crowe before Aspen appeared, right? No, Aspen was the first person that Crowe helped because he felt needed. It felt good for Crowe to have someone need him, and he was also starting to feel a bit guilty from what he was doing.

I've heard that drinking alcohol helps in very cold weather. Does Crowe drink or have it? Crowe doesn't drink alcohol, he doesn't like it. But he does have a few bottles of alcohol for cooking.

If Aspen didn't call him by his nickname Jewel, what other nicknames would he like to be called by? If it's Aspen calling him petnames, probably anything 😂 But I think he'd like it if Aspen called him 'honey'.

If Crowe didn't do the Blood Pact, how would he live or conduct himself? I think his knowledge and kindness would help him become well-known and popular in normal society. Even with the blood pact active, Crowe is a researcher who loves studying nature. I think he'd still do that and eventually sell his books on his discoveries. As for the other kind of job he'd have, he'd sell wild herbal teas/infusions together with Aspen. As someone who prefers to keep to himself and as an introvert, Crowe wouldn't really be interested in helping society or becoming famous. He prefers to do things for himself, nature and the people he cares about (Aspen).

I don't understand Crowe's thinking in the Yandere route. Why did he still spare Aspen and stick with theirs? Since Aspen clearly showed that they didn't like his actions, and Crowe could really drug them forever? Because he is completely obsessed with Aspen in the yandere ending. In the yandere route, Crowe believes he is in love with Aspen (he isn't, he's just obsessed) and is very selfish, only thinking about what HE wants, so he doesn't really care how Aspen sees him anymore. Crowe is determined to keep Aspen forever, no matter what he has to do. That's why he keeps Aspen in the cabin against their will.

I think Crowe's courtship is quite polite and slow-paced. In the route where he is Aspen's lover, could he be the one to take the lead in the relationship, like asking Aspen for a hug? Because I think Crowe might be too shy to ask for something like that directly. The dynamic between Crowe's and Aspen's romance, canonically, is teasing and being teased back. It depends on the choices you made in the story, but Crowe is also very flirty with Aspen when he wants to be and makes Aspen blush a lot as well. Both are flirty and both are shy, it just depends on the situation. In the game in particular, when Aspen is more flirty and eager, you get the TWISTED ENDING, but if Aspen is more neutral and shy, you get the SWEET ENDING. Also, Crowe and Aspen actually become lovers in BOTH the Twisted Ending and the Sweet Ending. It's just that Aspen is more shy in the sweet ending. In the Twisted Ending, while it's true that Aspen is more eager there, the time-skip shows both of them being lovey-dovey with each other.