Quick Matthias Sketches By Coffee!

I FORGOT I HAD THIS ACCOUNT

nikolaaaiaiiiiii 💞💞💞💞

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

angsty victor and andrew ( speerate plz ) headcanons

A/N: For frick’s sake I’m not that good with angst but I guess every experience is worth it?

CW:Mentions of death.

General Victor & Andrew Angst H/C’s

~.~ ~.~

💌Victor Grantz💌

• Victor actually doesn’t want to win the alleged prize promised at the manor.

• Winning the prize would mean he would get set free which also means that his boss and their men could come after him again.

• After being involved in an crime organization, Victor grew to hate violence as a whole.

• He tries to keep the peace within the manor.

• Wick is dangerously close to becoming his emotional support animal.

• Even going to the next room without Wick at his side makes him anxious.

• Basically the punching bag of the manor.

• Will do everything in his power to avoid conflict with others because he wants to get it through their thick skulls that in order to succeed in this manor, you need to work good as a team.

• Absolutely throbbing with intense emotions constantly but you would never know.

🌺Andrew Kreiss🌺

• One of the hcs that I have for Andrew is that when his mother eventually passed, he took the locket she had around her neck and placed it around his own.

• Inside is one of the only if not the only picture they have together.

• (It’s a picture of her holding Andrew when he was a baby)

• Now, he never goes anywhere without the necklace as it is discretely tucked inside of his coat.

• If he can’t find it, he will stop absolutely whatever he was doing to find it.

• Contrary to what some may believe given his past, Andrew hates violence.

• Even if it’s just a snide comment about his appearance, he takes it to heart without even realizing.

• From all of the years of being harassed, his self-confidence is below dirt.

• It’s to the point where he will lock himself inside of his room because he feels like everyone is watching him and judging him.

• He won’t even go to the bathroom to shower or groom himself in any way besides taking care of his basic needs.

• And even then, he wouldn’t even dare to glance at the mirror.

• Andrew has a diary as well.

• The things that he writes in his diary aren’t very coherent, if anyone but Andrew were to read them, they wouldn’t make a lot of sense at all.

• They can make out a few words like “monster” and “burden” scribbled over and over.

Note: Thank you to @w-0-r-n-n for helping me with this request!!

haii ><,, i read your pampering fic w mr crawling and i js. UGH. IM SO IN LOVEEEE 😭😭 do u do nsfw drabbles/fics 🤔 i read in ur rules you DO allow nsfw so,, could i request something nsfw abt a first time with him ><??

First Time.

context: First time with your pookie wookie bookie puppy bear.

Homicipher. mr crawling x reader. | Anypov…(?). NSFW | tw: ectoplasm c*m

Nsfw isn’t my strong suit but I have fun challenging myself, I do hope you enjoy this!

first time? ..confusing. And complicated. And clumsy. But oh.. does it feel so good.

It’s definitely a lot of build up over a couple months, like first soft pecks, then making out, slow and clumsy touches.

You have to guide his hands yourself until he gets the hang of it, but I think he’s a pretty quick learner. He’s def good with his hands (I actually think he says that in the game at some point) and his tongue.. (😜)

I’d say your on your bed making out, straddling his lap, your tongues in a heated battle with each other while his hand roams your body and his other hand is gently cupping your face. You’re starting to subtly grind against him, and he makes a chirping noise.

You can feel his erection against your thigh, and when you pull back to look at him, he’s smiling widely at you. He grabs you by the shoulders and switches your positions, pushing you down against the mattress while he hovers over you. He’s whining and chirping, rutting against your leg and wrapping his big arms around you, burying his face in to your chest. He’s so whiny and desperate for you, clawing at your clothes to try and get them off.

I saw someone say he’d be on the smaller side, but yall see how fucking tall that man is?? I def think he’s atleast 6 or 7 inches ..skinny, veiny, with a slight curve.

He’s chirping and making all sorts of noises when he finally sinks in to your wet heat, rutting so sloppily and clumsily. You jolt from how cold it is compared to your hot gummy walls, making you shiver. He has no idea really what he’s doing, but it just feels so good he can’t stop, can’t help himself. How you clench around him, how good it feels, its driving him insane. Burying his face in to your neck and wrapping his arms around you so tightly.

You can tell he’s getting close because he’s getting more vocal and his thrusts are getting even more sloppier (somehow), and you’re clawing at his back, whimpering and mewling. Your walls clench around him, milking his purple-tipped cock, cumming with a sharp cry. His hips stutter as you ride out your high, and he slips out of you, shooting his load on your tummy, rubbing his grey ectoplasm cum all over your soft skin, giggling maniacally.

After you clean yourselves up, you snuggle up to him, pulling the covers up around you both as he pats your head and you drift off to sleep on his arms.

11/11/2024. 9:38 am. @i90o3

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.”

Hello, and congrats for the blog's birthday! :D It's been a pleasure to see you in this blog, so here's a req. from me (hehe):

Luca and Ithaqua (if you write him, but if you don't feel free to replace Ithaqua with Orpheus!)

For Luca, perhaps the scenario would be about insomnia- like, how does he deal w/ it? How would he deal w/ it when his s/o can't sleep? etc

For Ithaqua/Orpheus, maybe some shenanigans in a friendly match! Any works, I just wanna see how these two would vibe if the hunter goes friendly (for Orphy) or if said hunter went friendly (for Ithaqua)

(disclaimer for both: idm if you go platonic or romantic with these, but if its okay, I'd like for it to be romantic.)

Once again, I wish you all the best and I hope you have a lovely day!

— 🌸🍒

HELLO AND THANK YOU SM!! of course - im gonna be writing for ithaqua (and sangria, too) ^_^ you too!!

luca balsa dealing w/ insomnia hcs⚡️

he can't cope for shit honestly. once luca realizes he's not gonna be sleeping any time soon he's making himself a jezva full of strong coffee and sitting himself by his desk

i mean, what else can he do? he just deals with it the most logical way he sees it, no matter how unhealthy it is

although, once you scold him enough times, he's going to be curled up next to you in bed no matter if he likes it or not (he always likes it)

when it's him dealing with insomnia, what helps him the most is having his head held - no matter if it's you curling your arm around his neck, you pressing your palm onto his forehead or laying it onto your lap/chest - and having his hair played with. it's one of the rare things that lull him to sleep immediately, especially considering how he didn't get a lot of physical attention in his life so he melts right under your fingertips

when it's you dealing with insomnia, he prefers being the big spoon (in a "clinging to the little spoon like he's a backpack" way) and gently tucking his head by your neck, will also gladly make you a cup of warm tea at any hour to calm you down

he finds physical affection to be the best cure as he's not accustomed to it and the feeling of safety calms him down almost immediately

ithaqua going friendly hcs🌫

his 1# favorite activity is playing hide and seek, and his favourite map to be friendly on is leo's memory!

very competitive when talking snowball fights. can be a bit of a sore loser too

will use his weapon to drag survivors around in the snow, sounds weird but it's actually quite fun!

itha likes doing parkour and climbing when he's not hunting, climbing onto the trees or up the lakeside boat

survivors can often get evil and swoop his weapon under his feet to make him trip and fall😭 it's just them channeling their inner anger from losing to him so often (or sometimes they just want to make him angry. at least that's not too hard to do lol)

if his s/o is in the match he's going to be subtle, playing with everyone but paying you extra attention - taking his precious time when tying you up or pulling you out of a locker and carry you for what seems to be a minute or two longer than usual... would definetly not mind having some alone time with them either, hidden on the 2nd floor of leo's factory or in the basement, laying their beloved onto his lap and cuddling together where no one can see them🤭

‼️.

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.”

You know how identity v had a line friends crossover well how would naib react to having to wear his line friends skin that sounds like the perfect revenge for being mean

oh he would be damn pissed 😭 watch him refuse to move in a match bc of that bear suit...it's comfortable to sleep with though.

WHERE WINTER CROWS GO MENTIONED OMGGGGGG🗣️🗣️🎤🗣️🗣️🎤🎤🎤⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

📑The games appearing inside (in clockwise order)📑

▸the kid at the back ▸Mushroom Oasis ▸文字化化 ▸14 Days With You ▸A DOUBLE SIDED MIRROR ▸Our Life Beginnings & Always ▸Where Winter Crows Go ▸Duality ▸Error143 ▸A Date with Death ▸MonsterxMediator

Thank you very much for the existence of these games; they have healed my soul (´-ωก`)