Of All Things, I Became...

" Thanks for your crossbow, boy. "

Thinking about how . . . ! Rody Lamoree would be as a bf !

He seems like the type who'd have childhood friends to lovers as a trope. It just reeks of Rody Lamoree, try and deny it.

Matching clothes, all day everyday if you let him! He'd try his best to match your pretty ones with his homemade ones. I imagine he learnt sewing just to make clothes of his own when he couldn't buy them. One of your favorite sweaters was made by him, and you wear it every time you sleep.

Despite being lazy, Rody would go out of his way to go on trips with you, whether it be shopping, to hiking, or to even go midnight walking! He's right there sweetheart.

The type to reply with "You're prettier" when you say a certain actor/actress looks pretty. Definitely says that when you guys are watching fireworks too! He's so in love it just hurts.

He likes to tickle you when you're sad or just cuddle you when you're grumpy. He doesn't push you to talk or anything, he lets you open up at your own pace, and he's always patient when it comes to you.

Extremely clingy, would not and cannot let you go in the mornings. Likes to just spoon you and hug you like you're his pillow, it reminds him that he's yours.

Oh, you were staring at a mannequin's pretty clothes? Don't worry babe, he's gonna be working overtime for the next few days! You were craving something to eat? You got it love, he's taking you to that fancy restaurant at his next pay!

It's canon that he tries to spoil his lover, to the point where he just completely forgets about his happiness to prioritize his significant other's own. Even if it sounds romantic, it's incredibly self-sabotaging for Rody, which is also the cause of his frequent nightmares.

Rody believes that if he can't buy his lover anything immediately means they would automatically leave him. He's attached, and he can't just let you go, and that's not in the obsessive possessive way, but rather, in the I don't have anyone else kinda way.

Frequently thinks about marriage, but remembers that he can't really provide you the basic needs you expect of a boyfriend, what more if he were to be your husband? Overthinks about being not good enough, but forgets all about it when he sees you smiling.

© shirakow ! Reblogs are always appreciated <3 also, request box is open for anyone who wants to req any DP, EH, CF and EC fics ! I'm in the mood to write more for you guys !!

Rody, Vincent // Thoughts on S/O

Notes// I've got these random brainrots like, if reader has to play this game connected to the deadplate game in the pov of a journalist to solve some kind of case related to Manon's disappearance-- so Rody and Vincent would be having npcs with extra dialogue lines that talk about their s/o(Y/N, not manon). The other idea of us playing in the pov as the s/o(separate) would be interesting too.

Rody//

•NPC!Rody can be seen walking and catering patrons with a friendly smile. He was wearing roller skates as he often has his hands busy with dish plates during his work shift.

•If you stay long enough to shift restaurant, there is a chance he would stutter his performance a bit as his arms tremble to keep the plates from not falling in his hands.

•When talking to him, his speech is usually rush as he has to shift from one corner of the restaurant to the other, his eyes everywhere as he rambles on yet keeping a friendly aura through his firm smile.

•"Hello- welcome to La Gueule le Saturne! Allow me to guide you to the right table. "

•"Yes? Please stay seated for the mean time, I'll be right back with you soon!"

•"Would you like to order?"

•(asked about S/O) "Oh- Oh? My lover?" *sheepish smile with a goofy blush suddenly* "They're doing great." *easily goes back to work*

•Whether as a coworker or customer. One thing clear is that you're a bit closer enough to know Rody's S/O's name.

•"We can talk later!"

•"What's up? Need a hand?"

•"Uh--- can you take care of the other tables? Thanks!"

•"mmm... I wonder what kinds of flowers I should give for Y/N this time?" *dozing off in the kitchen for a moment *

•(When asked about S/O) "Y/N are at home, and they are taking care of our apartment.. If only i can convince them.to to move a finger.. God, they're so wonderful-- Oh, excuse me." *catches almost getting too deep into the topic before trying to quickly go back to work*

Internal Thoughts//

I love Y/N... I must work hard for them. Without them, I'll be nothing... So I have to do more than my best to give them the love and care they need! I must please them. I must serve them... Well, even if it's too much.. I'm willing to give them everything... my everything.

I promise them a brighter future... where we don't have to worry about money and bills. I just need to earn and save more.

This journalist keeps coming over pretty often--- I wonder what they are looking for? Why are they so curious of my honey? I need to keep them safe from unwanted attention - I'll just try and answer briefly as possible.

___

Vincent//

•Usually you'll see NPC!Vincent in the corner watching the cooks work to check for perfection. No matter how early you are, it's already clear that he's the boss. The one who is the first person to open the restaurant

•Day 4, you can find him walking to the dumpster area to smoke in his break.

•When interacting with him. He'll show a polite, charismatic persona when talking to you as a visitor or patron.

•"Good day, what may I help you..?" *fake smile*

•"Hello, are there any problems with a dish you have ordered? We can try and fix something to recompensate it."

•"Looking for me...?"

•"Oh- may I ask what you are doing here, Monsieur/Mademoiselle? Rody should have informed me about you coming here -"

• (When asked about S/O) "Mm... About my fiancé? They're doing well, thank you for asking." *maintaing a fake smile*

•If you happened to end up working for him as a waiter or cook, his demeanor would probably be a different story.

•"..."

•"What do you need?"

•"......"

•"Why are you still here? You better not try chit-chats on me."

•"...What?"

•(When asked about s/o) "S/O? They're at work. Any business with them? I can let them know on your behalf with anything you need to inform later. Just go back to work."

Internal Thoughts//

I keep mentioning Y/N as "my fiancé " through the press and the public. In reality, We're not officially engaged, but I like the sound of it, and i do it so no one can bother to make advancements on me - I need to be seen as... royally taken.

The journalist keeps asking questions to me... even having the audacity to press on matters related to my Y/N. If they know what really happened to Manon, I must make a backup plan...

And do not fret, mon cher. I'll soon place a real ring on that pretty finger on yours... Once the evidence needs to be rid of from anyone's reach.

thank you doraemon <333

Blood runs thicker than water.

lies of p paring: pinocchio x reader word count: 1159 cw: angst :], mentions of death, blood, beyond canon-typical violence i think, rage frenzy

a/n: welcome to my first real post on this account. i've been obsessed over pinocchio from lies of p since i started the game, then i started listening to chloe ament... you can probably see where this is going. hope you enjoy.

Emotions were not as elusive as they had previously been for the man-made puppet and yet, in this moment, he couldn't identify a singular one he felt. There had been a rush of worry, fright, and terror. But now it was an invasive mess.

His skin reacted to the slight breeze that blew past him, a shiver breaking him from his frozen stance.

Still, he wished for the sight before him to be one of the lies he'd thrown around.

Approaching the scene, Pinocchio would stumble, an imperfection to his typically faultless cadence. The ground below him squelched with wet mud as he did so, a distant sound to his eerily still mind. The loudest noise to him was the rising tempo of his mechanically heart, it rang in his ears, obscuring the sounds of pattering rain and squished mud.

Before him was you, pale as your blood had drained from your face.

You were posed on your knees, arms dangling loosely by your sides as a sword held you up, struck through your chest and into the muddied ground below. Pinocchio's glass eyes trailed the blade of the sword, every few inches was an extended notch of the blade, permitting the relatively upright position you'd been laid to rest in. A wooden sign hung with rope from the hilt of the blade,

Puppet Fucker. It read.

His hurricane of emotions came to an eerie calm.

The dark-haired puppet would take the rest of the paces to you, kneeling by your lifeless form. Pulling the sign from the hilt of the blade and tossing it into the muddied ground below, Pinocchio would do a once-over of your body.

Your shirt was torn, multiple wounds bedded into your skin, signs of struggle ripped across your hands. Your blade was broken in half, a few feet from your person. Your hair was matted and stuck to your face. He watched as the rain paved its path down your skin, some pooling in your stuck-open eyes before sliding down your cheeks. If he had known any better, he'd have guessed you'd been sad.

The puppet would reach forward, silently pressing the pads of his fingers against your top eyelids, pulling them down to finally let you rest your eyes.

A breath escaped him, fogging the air between you and him.

Slowly, Pinocchio would place a hand against your back, then his other between your thighs and calves. Bringing himself to his feet, you'd rest in the bridal position he held you in just a year prior. The tone of that moment was much more pleasant to bask in.

One step at a time, Pinocchio found his way back to the hotel.

He'd kick the door open with a lack of urgency, your fate had been sealed hours before.

Trekking mud, rain water, and dead city grime onto the shiny floors of the hotel, Pinocchio would approach the central Stargazer.

The first to notice him was Sophia, gasping in horror at the large, notched blade sworn through your chest. Antonia, from the other room, would advert her gaze, a solemn expression Pinocchio couldn't read overcoming her face. Eugenie had frozen, leaving Venigni to look around the corner of the wall. Shock was quickly present in his features.

Finally, Pinocchio's eyes would leave your form, his eyes coming into contact with Sophia's, a silent plead shifting his expression. No words were needed in the exchange, a nod coming from her as soon as she saw his face.

Your funeral was small, held in the garden of the hotel. The guest list didn't expand beyond the residents of the safe space, no one of your biological family lived beyond you.

Pinocchio stayed the latest of everyone, knelt by your makeshift headstone, fingers lightly tracing the dirt before it.

The calm of the storm hadn't passed, he'd been near numb to the entirety of it all, earning him a few concerned glances from Gepetto and Sophia. He knew the two of them shared their worries behind his back whenever they could.

He had given the sword to Venigni and Eugenie to inspect, perhaps find its maker, or better yet, who wielded it.

Venigni had an answer two days later. Pinocchio hadn't moved much until given the information he desired. Slowly, and in a fashion that near scared the philanthropist, the puppet rose. His glass eyes trailed the blade Eugenie held behind Venigni. He approached. Carefully, as to not hurt the woman, Pinocchio would take the sword into his palms.

The metal made a horrifying screech as it bent, Pinocchio's Legion Arm doing the majority of the work. When the sword was rendered useless, the puppet would move forward, back into the luxury of Hotel Krat.

He was working out his lack of emotions while he moved, it wasn't a numbness like he had before he began gaining humanity.

It was a silent, simmering rage.

The atmosphere surrounding the puppet was enough to alert Sophia, she started to interject as he approached the Stargazer, but his human-like arm had already reached the glowing center piece.

In a moment he was back to the creepily empty streets of the city, a new mission on his mind.

Pinocchio tore through any puppet trying to attack him on his path, his rapier tearing their arms from their torsos, or their heads from their necks. Oil and Ergo splattered against his clothes and face, nothing the rain couldn't wash away.

Eventually, Pinocchio would kick in the door of a luxurious-looking mansion, the wooden door splintering from its hinges and loudly clattering against marble floors.

Eyes scanning the foyer was nearly enough to send him into a rage. Weapons, all custom made lined themselves against the walls, a list of names under each of them. For some, names were crossed out, for others, the names laid untouched. Though, as Pinocchio entered further into the quiet of the mansion, he'd find his eyes traveling to the central stairs at the back of the main room.

Your name, printed in bold, crossed with a red line, lay under an empty sword mount. Next to your name, under a sword mount with a plain blade, was Pinocchio's, untouched.

A few claps would pull the puppet from his stare, as a man came down the upper level of stairs.

Pinocchio's mechanical heart beat louder, obscuring the words of the man before him, his eyebrows pinching towards each other as he'd throw the sword he'd bent onto the ground between the man and himself. It scraped across the marble floors, leaving a few scratches that would never be repaired.

Whatever the man was saying, Pinocchio couldn't hear. His breathing began to pick up, a trait he'd copied from you, his heart was raising in tempo again.

The man would grab the sword labeled with Pinocchio's name.

An invitation to begin.

Pinnochio found his way back to Hotel Krat, covered in blood that the rain couldn't wash away.

hope you enjoyed my first one-shot ♡

Imagine each new Matthias merch release Louis gets more and more uncanny

It's 100% just the proportions but HEAVENS HULLABALOO IT SURE MAKES HIM ALL THE MORE TERRIFYING

Мой отрядец номер раз У меня, честно, есть обоснование, почему они апхахха

Я не хожу в Бездну (почти), так что на урон мне всё равно.

Аяка тут для быстрого передвижения по миру (ибо Моночки нет). Скар прекрасно летает. А Диона спасает его жёпку от подбития в воздухе. А Казах - это мой любимый мальчик. Сыночек мой~ Я не могу не поставить его в отряд (к своему мужу тем более апхахах)

if you wanna write about one of the idv girls.......... alice deross and a reader who's also a journalist, perhaps working together?

you can wait till she releases ofc!!

📰

hi, sorry for it being so late, but sure yeah i'm open to writing idv girls! to be fully honest, i've never written for alice though (except for one occasion before her release...) but i can try for sure!

request; yes, by anon! requests are closed til i get my current requests taken care of but may open some comms?

wc; 730.

tags; default! journalist (alice deross), jounalist! gn! reader, work relationship, reader admires alice, canon-divergent, first person pov.

summary; an avid reader of alice's columns, you've wanted to be a journalist. and now that you are, for your first assignment, you are to work with alice deross...

rumors spread like wildfire, and this agency was no exception.

i had gotten my dream job as a journalist - since i was still in school, i had always admired a certain writer named alice deross, who wrote articles with a striking amount of detail, as if she herself had experienced what she was writing firsthand (even if such wasn’t the case), while still keeping a certain veil of mystery. that’s why i worked hard to get recruited into the same agency as ms. deross, networking and honing my writing.

and, to say the least, my first day was, indeed, filled with rumors.

rumors about what? why, of course, the famed oletus manor. it’s become a famous place for novelists to center horror stories around, seeing as many strange events are said to have happened there, yet they all seem so wild it’s hard to believe. “participate in a game for a chance to have your wish, no matter its grandness, granted.” who would believe such a thing? was my first thought.

yet, alice deross allegedly was passionate about this very case - everyone else was either scared to enter the unknown or uncertain whether it even existed or if it was a reality warped to exaggeration by the people who spread the rumors.

ms. deross, however, insisted on taking this case.

only she had the resolve to delve into the unknown and only she held such strong beliefs with eyes that could light a fire.

“surely there is something from this manor i can glean. i had prior connections to the manor, so it’s hard to believe such liveliness could be overtaken by these dangerous games,” she had declared to the head editor.

it appeared she had other motivations than producing a good story.

supposedly, it took quite a bit of convincing, but it was only after ms. deross went out of her way to obtain a manor invitation, the reddish wax seal bearing an abstract floral imprint, that the head editor (reluctantly, and much to his chagrin) accepted; clearly, ms. deross was adamant about this case, so as long as she could make a good story, who was he to say “no”?

...must have been what he thought.

i was curious about her said “other motivations” that i was nothing less than certain she held close to her heart, so with the head editor’s approval, i ventured to oletus manor, shrouded in mystery, with ms. deross. my first impression of her was what her writing style conveyed: polite, clear-spoken yet slightly distant. as they say, “style is the man himself,” i suppose.

in fact, i distinctly remember her first question: “i have been curious why you insist on going with me to oletus manor,” she said while i drove through the forested area, “it will likely be a dangerous gig.”

“yes,” i replied back (perhaps my voice betrayed me, for ms. deross shot me a look with a gleam of worry), “i’m fully aware.”

her look of worry diffused then into a wry smile.

“i don’t know whether you are courageous or reckless.”

“maybe both.”

“...regardless, i should warn you: curiosity can kill the cat. i do respect it though, seeing as you even volunteered to come with me.”

those were her last words as i remember parking up at the manor. it was then ms. deross seemed to change her demeanor considerably to the point of tangibility - i could practically taste it.

what had transpired at the manor was already reflected in her eyes before we had even entered its premises.

its happenings are a story for another day. a whole article wouldn’t be enough.

ms. deross handed me an envelope. “remember, (y/n), it is never too late to withdraw. i have a personal matter to settle here, but your life is what should be most important to you.”

she handed me a camera, the black lens reflecting my own face, revealing nothing but the truth at that moment laid bare. when i looked up at ms. deross, meeting her eyes, i couldn’t help but notice a more soft look than usual.

perhaps she had resigned to the fact that, since we both made it this far, i would not turn back now.

“after all, dead men tell no tales.”

(that said, i am alive even now, so for the future, i still have a tale to tell.)

stan and hermes maybe?

Hermes, god of merchants and tricksters 😁