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crystalstuff22 · 2 years

Note

Good day! You were taking requests so, may I request separate pocky game fluff headcanons of Naib, Andrew, and Emily from Identity V with a gender neutral s/o?

I don't know if you have a character limit so I hope you don't mind that I requested 3. Thank you!

𝐎𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞! 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭! (𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐌𝐆)

𝑨 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒑𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕.

𝐏𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐄𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 , 𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐚𝐢𝐛

Eᴍɪʟʏ

When you introduced her to this Pocky Game so called , she wasn’t very interested.

But since you were begging none stop to try it AT LEAST one time together she finally gave in.

Poor woman (;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`)

She is the doctor of the manor , one of the most busy people. And YOU are making her suffer when you gave her puppy dog eyes.

Doesn’t know what is doing,but she follows what you are doing.

She doesn’t really like the plain part, likes the chocolate one more!

Doesn’t really care for the game, she is just enjoying her snack, which always leads you winning when you reach the half but you leave her eat her half.

Give her a surprise kiss when both of you are racing and she will be confused and blushy. <33

Aɴᴅʀᴇᴡ

At first really nervous and scared to do it with you.

Not that he hates you of course! It’s just... You know , he overthinks a lot.

Leaves the chocolate side for you and he eats the without one. So you can be happy (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃

But since you kinda feel bad for him, you give him the chocolate side sometimes. He appreciates it <33

But to the main part about the game. The race, who is gonna be the winner!

Secretly eats slower on purpose so you can win. Seeing you happy makes him happy too.

Give him a surprise kiss when you win and he will almost faint.

Asks more for pocky games.

You won’t be expecting him to kiss you since you do it most of the time. When he does , you are a blushing mess.

Nᴀɪʙ

He’s not the shy person like Andrew and Emily . No sir no.

He eats the chocolate side, even if you ask him most of the times if you can have the chocolate, he will cut you with a no.

EATS REALLY FAST. Doesn’t even care about the game rule: when someone reaches the middle part of the snack they win. Ｈｅｄｏｅｓｎ’ｔｃａｒｅ.

What he does that he eats really fast like it’s his last damn meal, reaches the end when your lips are and roughly kisses you. Kinda grossly ngl😭

Would smile proudly when he sees you shocked, confused or flustered.

You both don’t really play it , but Naib insist because he finds it funny. And the snack is pretty good too.

You’re his snack too, ahem kinda cringey but oh well..

Overall he doesn’t play by the rules because he thinks rules are boring.

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

#identity v x reader #identity v x you #idv hcs #identity v scenarios #identity v headcanons #identity v naib #identity v #naib subedar #idv naib #naib x reader #identity v andrew #idv andrew #andrew kriess #andrew x reader identity v #naib x reader identity v #identity v emily #idv emily #emily dyer #emily x reader identity v

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luminescentlyricist · 11 months

Text

✒️ A Prologue - Identity V 💉

CONTENT WARNINGS: IMPLIED DEATH/LOSS

This is modelled around Season 19 Essence 3, with Homesick and Awaiting! The third figure called to is Aging, though she's not mentioned by name.

Once again, I would like to credit @immortalpheus as a major source of inspiration, even though this isn't about Immortal!

Orpheus De Ross was painfully lonely, and had been for a longer time than he cared to admit. He had dragged himself out of bed and to his desk, monocle affixed to his face as always, but the fountain pen he claimed to treasure sat unused in its ink pot. This had long since dried up, as had his motivation to do anything more than dream. Sleep was his only release from the deepening depression that gnawed at him as if eating a hole in his chest. Though the manor’s staff had upheld their duties and attempted to make the place cleaner and brighter for the lone resident, he hardly noticed the changes. The man had been stagnating for an unknown amount of time, and not even the freedoms of his writing felt like they could save him from the haze that enveloped his emotions.

What use was it all if nobody was around to read it?

This phrase whirled around in his mind as he stared listlessly forwards, eyes tracing the heavy velveted curtains that blanketed the space in near-darkness. He’d made a request earlier that week for his bed to be moved into his writing room, for he felt so little motivation that getting from one location to another was a chore. It had only been a mistake. Instead of relief, what little he felt was taken over by a dull regret, being unwilling to accept that he’d weakened so drastically. Laying his head down on the desk, Orpheus longed to close his eyes and float away. If anyone found him in such a state, he knew his already poorer sales would dwindle, and the only source of joy he could find in the greying skies of his life would fade.

Instead he forced himself to be awake. There was no wound clock in the vicinity, but the deepening bags beneath his eyes were no longer a source of concern. All that mattered was continuing to produce works, whatever internal protests his body had in store for him. Taking up the pen, he unfolded a notebook, reasoning that it was useless to attempt extending an actual book. The ideas necessary to make anything coherent and publishable just weren’t going to come to him in such a slump, after all. His eyelids drooped for a moment before he pushed himself back upright in the chair, arms trembling from the strain. There came a knock at the door of the study, but the young man had no voice to answer it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to anyone that wasn’t his own face in the mirror.

That accompanied a sense of loss deeper than even he, a writer by trade, lacked the words to articulate. He often wondered if it was all wrong for him, and others had told him he was free to retire because of his inherited estate, but making others happy with his writing had hardly seemed like a job before. Now, his resolution was wavering, as was his sense of identity - “Orpheus” was simply a pen name assigned to him by his publisher. True to the profession, he moulded himself to suit whoever saw him for the best effect, and spent little time wondering about personal preferences. Nobody had cared about him enough to tell him that was wrong before it was all too late, and he’d forgotten who he was behind the mask of the Baron de Ross. He no longer knew, but at least they did. The soft clicking of the door handle roused him from his morose thoughts in a matter of seconds, and he plastered on a gentle smile for no benefit of his own.

Emily Dyer, unexpectedly, had come to his aid. Though she worked silently, she knew the reclusive novelist would only let a precious few people into the Manor, let alone the study. He needed someone to take care of him, however small the gestures. Pulling the curtains open and tying them aside, the doctor placed a small object on Orpheus’ desk as she passed to leave: a white paper boat, folded carefully and hand-painted with flowers. She looked backwards upon placing her hand on the door, poised as if wishing to speak to him, but swallowed this notion just as soon. What little response she could’ve gleaned from his words wouldn’t be worth the effort for either participant. She left him be after that, as much as she regretted it. He was one of the two most important figures in her life, and guilt would prevent her mind from settling for some time after that. It didn’t much matter that the (perceived) uselessness was unavoidable. It stung anyway.

The light from the window did nothing to improve Orpheus’ mood, but one thing did catch his attention: a small black feather drifted downwards from a tree in the garden. That garden… it was like a mockery of times long gone. Yet every staff member he could muster the will to contact insisted that it would make him feel better some day, and they continued to maintain it to the best of their abilities despite his frequent protest. It’d been quite a while since he’d been out of the manor, and even longer since he’d seen any animal that wasn’t a fish drifting aimlessly in the aquarium of the common area. However restricted they were, the novelist often felt they had more freedom than he did. Not that he had the motivation to fix that, of course.

That feather, though… he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The birds had long since fallen silent, and yet they continued to visit him. The manor was feeling less and less familiar the longer he wandered within its walls, like some sick, reversed alienation tactic. Standing up, Orpheus cleared his throat, pulling a suit jacket on and fixing the angle of his slipping monocle. The flowers embroidered across the lapels reminded him of home, even though he couldn’t quite remember where that was to him. Two special people - Miss Dyer being one of them - had sewn the design onto it long ago, and the feeling of the raised threads against his fingers gave him a small burst of comfort.

To be homesick for somewhere he couldn’t remember was torture, but fate had never been kind to him in the first place. Rubbing a hand across his eyes, he didn’t bother to find a proper brush, instead running his fingers carelessly through his hair. Grease came off onto them, but he simply assumed it was because of hair gel, though the container sat empty on his desk as it had for many days. Taking care of himself was just one more expenditure of strength. Removing the familiar presence of a ball-point pen from his shirt pocket, the novelist scrawled down a simple phrase on the paper, as if beginning to make an outline of the day’s plans for himself: ‘The Novelist visits the gardens.’ Doing so was by no means a regular practice for him, but he had a feeling it’d give him a needed sense of direction in such a slump. Tucking away the pen and the notebook both into his pocket, he came to a stand, eyes distantly scanning the window for any sign of another feather or accompanying bird.

Gently, he unfolded the paper boat, refolding it into the smallest square possible. He wasn’t going to distract himself from the bliss of the moment by reading it. There were people who cared about him, and that was all he really needed to know. Details were irrelevant at that point. Unfastening the three topmost buttons on his dark jacket, with trembling fingers the man folded back the top of his suit’s fabric. Resting against the space nearest to his heart, there was a shakily sewn pocket. Tugging at the stitches, he soon managed to loosen those up the top. Despite how badly he was trembling, Orpheus managed to place the paper inside, searching afterwards for a needle. The pocket was usually kept open or simply buttoned closed on other suits he’d added it to, but he felt there’d be no need to replace it any time soon. Sewing the top up, he buttoned his coat before allowing himself to relax.

Opening the door of his study, Orpheus took a deep breath. The air no longer smelled stale. Hearing his own shoes clicking against the floorboards as he walked down the hallway almost made his head begin to spin, but he bore it anyway. He felt distant, as if he were floating within his body, heedless to the environment around him. As much as he longed to be free of sensation, if only for a moment, that wasn’t going to happen. As soon as he turned the corner to go out to the gardens, an ear-splitting cry rang out. The call was familiar, and bought to mind a sleek black feather. This didn’t make him stop - instead, it only furthered the resolve he thought was lost. For the first time in too long, the novelist heaved open the manor’s doors and stepped into the dimming light.

The garden was there, freshly maintained, but the flowers and foliage were the only traces of life. Not even the insects that Melly had once trailed behind her remained, which was a continual worry for the maids in regards to growing produce. Pollination helped in terms of diversity as well, and it made their jobs a lot easier. Orpheus was oblivious to all of this work, of course. He left the manor with returning reluctance, for the burst of motivation he felt was draining away. The sleek black feather remained in his thoughts, but the appeal of it was lessening because of his sobering mental state. Such quick change was exhausting. The novelist continued on his journey at a more relaxed pace, eyes flickering about to take in the sights.

The maze was still standing. After everything that’d happened within the confines of the hedges, it loomed there as a reminder of Orpheus’ failures. He took a rattling breath inwards, trying not to let the heat creeping on the back of his neck unnerve him too much. It was just a bunch of leaves. Nothing else. There would never be blood spilled there again. There never... there never had been. Whatever was he thinking? Shaking his head to clear his thoughts in a physical manner, he continued to walk, though his footsteps were getting increasingly louder in his head. This strange warping was chalked up to tiredness, as the young man had no idea how long it’d been since he’d had a full night of sleep. The demand for his writing was lowering as he’d become more of a recluse and inherited his father’s estate, but old habits were hard to break. To Emily’s dismay, he’d often find himself asleep at his desk despite having no ideas to write.

Sitting on a small bench with his back to the maze in question, he spied the feather lying on the ground a few metres away. It was being ruffled by a slight breeze, but that didn’t deter him. If the bird it’d dropped from were to return, then that could provide him with the burst of motivation needed to complete his next chapter. Why he was so captivated by a small thing was beyond him, but went unquestioned. As he stood to collect it after a momentary rest to collect his thoughts, the feather was swept up in a gust of wind, and lodged itself firmly beneath a tile on the mosaic covering one of the building’s walls. This mosaic was something he often came to when inspiration was lacking, for the manor’s residents and guests were free to decorate one of the numerous panels as a way of leaving their impressions if they were to leave. Many were those he had painted himself, alongside Emily and his other regular visitor.

With another flick of the pen and notebook cover, a yawn was stifled when Orpheus found his resolution in the script: ’The Novelist continues his search, and will not stop until he has uncovered the truth of the gardens that he seeks - whether this be a feather or something more.’ Truthfully, he expected nothing more than the owner of the feather, but as a story writer was prone to slipping into fantasies and dreams. It was detrimental to others in terms of keeping his attention, but on many occasions Orpheus considered this trait to be the only thing that kept him sane. Awareness to the world outside the manor terrified him more than he cared to admit.

Tugging gently at the feather, Orpheus’ eyes roved across the designs on the tiles. Caught up in remembrance, he hardly realised that he’d almost freed the object until something sharp and familiar jolted him away from the wall, tearing part of the feather’s fluff off in the process - the call of a crow, indignant as ever. Well, that was one way to find out who it belonged to… His gaze flickered up to the crow in question, a small smile dancing across his lips. They weren’t a common sight in the manor grounds, so seeing their sleek forms was always a surprise. This one was adolescent, and fluffed up delightfully against the crisp breeze rustling through the garden. Though it would be a bad idea, he almost longed to climb the tree so that he could feel how soft it was, and perhaps get it to a better place. Heedless of the fact he hadn’t asked anyone about their natural habitats, the gardens certainly weren’t safe enough.

Nodding to the bird as acknowledgement before setting back to work, the novelist bowed his head toward the wall once more. Running his fingers along the grout between the tiles, his bitten nails snagged on something unfamiliar. Pulling his hand back, he heard a soft click. That wasn’t a sign of anything good. Before he could move to alert one of the maids of the maintenance issue, a glint of silver caught his eye. The crow had returned, bringing with it a coat pin that it dropped at his feet before letting out an alerting call and retreating to its branch. Orpheus bent down and picked it up carefully. It was a small snake pin, curled in an infinity symbol and biting its own tail. This was similar to one of the mosaic tiles’ designs, but he had no recollection of what it meant to him at the time of painting. That sort of forgetfulness tended to happen a lot, but the mosaic was there to remind him, not take his understanding away…

This was a hassle he wasn’t quite prepared for, so he turned his attention momentarily to adding another point to the day’s itinerary. Uncharacteristically, he nearly dropped the pen from his hand as it shook as if by nerves. Though the wind was becoming colder when the days wore on, it wasn’t enough to send a significant chill through the thick and dry fabrics he wore. Unable to afford himself another brief moment of respite, he scrawled onto the page, ignoring how harsh his strokes turned out. Unless the paper tore properly or the ink stained, it wouldn’t be a problem to record small things such as these: ’The Novelist confidently approaches his destinations, for his fate can always be rewritten.’ This wasn’t true, but he chose to believe what he wrote anyway. Self-confidence was something he needed.

Stowing the pin safely in his other jacket pocket, Orpheus resolved not to waste any more time ruminating on things that didn’t make sense. The crow had disappeared from the treetops, which filled him with an unexplainable sense of regret and sadness. Perhaps it was simply that morning’s mental fog catching up to him, but they had felt like a companion in the isolated garden. Digging the rest of the feather’s misshapen plume away from the tiles, his fingers lingered around the snake design for a few moments longer. If his eyes weren’t deceiving him, the tile had been pushed in slightly, and he could have moved it aside. The ink on his notepad didn’t lie to him: he’d continue looking around the garden itself, and not stray off the beaten path too much this time. With a huff, he reached up and swept a stray hair away from his monocle. The lens was cracking in some places, but he’d never bothered to get it fixed.

The sky was beginning to darken considerably by that time, so Orpheus’ pace quickened. Before he knew what he was doing, he had circled back into the maze, and was weaving through the foliage with an unnatural steadiness. He’d not visited the maze in a long time, much less soon enough to remember all of the twists and turns with such certainty. The leaves blurred together in front of his face, and he continued to walk even though he could no longer tell where he was going. The branches that hadn’t been trimmed back in some time stung as they cut his face, small gashes that luckily weren’t deep enough to bleed. As the sun truly set, the lights flickered on, but the novelist ignored everything around him. He felt a compulsion from his own instructions was stronger than ever, and he wasn’t going to ignore it just for someone else’s sake.

As soon as he reached the centre of the maze, Orpheus sat down and retrieved the mysterious pin from where it was safely stowed away. His suit was going to get dirty, but the significance and comfort of that particular jacket was, at that moment, the least important thing to him. Running his fingertip over the snake’s emerald eye, he wiped the dust onto his pants. His breathing became so quiet that it was a wonder he was awake, for the rhythm of his chest’s rise and fall was more appropriate for someone lost to dreaming. After a few minutes of this, his eyelids truly drooped. Staying still with his eyes closed, Orpheus was unable to stifle a yawn. Pressing the cold metal of the pin into his palm to renew his alertness, he reached up to fasten the pin to his jacket, but dropped it for the second time. Cursing quietly, he bent down to retrieve it. He decided that he’d prefer not to be interrupted, lest he lose his train of thought again.

The doctor, on the other hand, was becoming increasingly worried for his absence. Though it was true they were both adults and had no need for curfews, she hadn’t been able to tell him important news of the day, and he had hardly ignored her before. Adjusting her capelet’s position and rubbing her arms as a ward from the cold, she exchanged a few quiet words with a maid for preparations to begin a search before slipping out the manor doors. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but if dawn broke and he hadn’t returned, then there would have to be more serious efforts made. The Baron wasn’t simply the most important person to her: jobs needed to be allocated, calls taken, and he was still the novelist she dearly loved the stories of. He had his own occupation and a life to continue.

Turning the pin around in his hands a few times, he observed how the emeralds gleamed dully in the lights. He heard nothing except the pounding of his heart in his ears, the sound seeming to dwarf everything beyond, but paid no mind to it. How had he been so careless? The pin was beautiful… yes! That was it. He had to show her… Staggering to his feet as if swept into a trance, the novelist swayed in place. There was something in the back of his mind, and he was unable to shake it. He’d write it down just in case… disregarding his shaking hands, he drew the pen across the page of his notebook, but was unable to finish the bullet point as his pen began to leak, staining the paper and his hands both with ink.

Without these directions, he was aimless. A dull thud was heard as the pen and notebook, the latter rapidly drying in the wind and heavy with ink, hit the grass. A single tear trailed down the man’s cheek as he looked down towards it, but he had no voice left to cry. He didn’t want to show weakness to the ones who loved him, but that strange pin felt like it was amplifying his emotions tenfold. He’d simply stay out in the gardens, then, and bother nobody with his feelings as usual. Though he felt strange, light-headed and almost feverish, there was nothing he could do to ease the sickness building in his stomach. Sinking to his knees in the maze, he gripped the grass as if it were the only thing keeping him from floating away, letting out an uneasy chuckle.

It’d be fine, right? The young man hoped so. All that was left was to wait, but he wasn’t so sure that he wanted to be found. Sleeplessness was catching up to him, and his thought patterns caved to falsities and illogical conclusions. The pin… He had everything he needed right there, even though the wind bit into his clothing. How little everything else mattered! Ignorance… why, his father had been right to shove everything into his arms. Maybe now he could let everything fade away, and the emeralds could capture the gaze of his adversaries. That crow knew better than people what was best for him! What fools they were, not to listen to the shrill calls of the birds. Blocking his ears had done him no good before, but now he felt enlightened. He was finally finding the truth!

To Emily’s concern, the Baron was making no effort to reveal himself, and she stumbled through the gardens even as the moonlight began to fade. She wished above all else to find him, of course, but there was only so much she would be able to do. Her fingertips were beginning to go numb from the cold, but she didn’t want to lose track of him. Pulling on the gloves that hung at her waist, she wriggled her fingers to check if some of their sensation had returned. They weren’t lined with the same warm black fur as she’d requested for her capelet, but they’d do well enough insulating her for now. And so she continued to search, but everything was fruitless. Returning to the main building in the early hours, Miss Dyer was left to crawl into Orpheus’ own bed, soaking in the warmth from his lingering presence to attempt easing her thoughts.

If he found her, yes, there might have been some questions, but all of the love in the world to go along with it. Though Orpheus had never been a verbally affectionate man, he’d often leave her a paper crane or something of the sort on her bedside to welcome her with a poem in the morning, and she kept all of these. She used them to teach origami, as his folds were always so perfect it showed how much he cared for her. In return, she would nurse his paper cuts, scolding him with a laugh held back in her voice all the while. “Now, Orpheus, you must be more careful! Your hands are important, you know… No, not as much as your heart. Don’t be silly. I’ll take care of that too.”

He’d never make it back to the Manor, after all.

Orpheus had put the pin through his chest pocket whilst trying to fasten it onto his own jacket, tearing the paper so that he’d never be able to read what was written within. To some superstitious individuals, this was tantamount to making the text a lie, but none of the manor’s residence allowed such negativity to reach them. Emily hadn’t been the only one to write it: a child’s small, shaking script echoed the message in their own writing, but the sentiment was a clear truth in both instances. The state of the paper didn’t matter.

“You’ll always have a place here. I love you.”

#🗺️ around the universe 🗺️#luminescent lyricist writes #idv #identity v #idv novelist #idv orpheus #identity v orpheus #identity v novelist #idv doctor #idv emily #identity v emily #identity v doctor #sorry orphy (you're never getting a break)

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acosmicblizzard · 1 year

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Romantic ghost manor au Emily headcanons

For base info on this au go here! Warnings: Mentions of getting sick + medicine, mentions of food

Story type: Fluff, Au

Pairings/Characters: Emily Dyer - "Doctor" x Gender neutral Reader, Emma Woods - "Gardener", Kevin Alonso - "Cowboy"

(pov: kevin and emma play wingmen/woman /hj, possible ooc)

Emily was one of the first ghosts that showed herself to you other then Emma, though Emily was a little nervous about meeting you it turned out to be for the better. Because she didn't hold off on meeting you and hiding her existence it didn't take as long for you to warm up to her as possibly some of the others.

Though some of Emily's practices may be outdated she's still a doctor, and it's always good that you have her around whenever you get sick. She always takes care of you with the most tender smile on her face, gently helping you sit up from bed if needed and reminding you to take medications if you need any.

Emily was sort of touch averse at first, it's not that she hated being touched, it's just that she wasn't use to you. But after she got used too you she couldn't help but start imagining what it would be like to hold your hand, would it be warm compared to her cold one? Or would her coldness make your warmth vanish? She didn't know, but she knew she wanted to be close to you.

Because of her close friendship with Emma she had easy access to flowers and started learning how to make bouquet's. Once she felt one was good enough she'd give one to your along with a note reminding you to take care of yourself, reminding you to make sure to get rest and to drink enough water.

The moment she confesses to you is a simple but sweet thing, she was able to convince some of the other ghosts to help her out. Though Emma is hurt and upset about it, she wants her beloved to be happy and could never bring herself to hurt you. When you come back from work it's strangely quiet but Emily is waiting inside the house for you at the front door. She welcomes you in and continues talking to you, eventually guiding you to the dinning room. She asks you too sit down and said that she and Kevin had made dinner for you. As you sit down she scurries off seemingly bashful and shy, which confused you with how normally composed she was. Kevin soon came into the room and placed a plate of food infront of you and talked with you for some time, mentioning how special you were to the doctor. he left soon afterwards as Emily returned and sat beside you, seemingly more flustered then when she had left. You asked her if there was anything wrong and she sighed in response and began talking to you. Soon these words slipped out of her mouth, "Y/n, though we've only known eachother for the few months you've lived here, it's feels like i've known you for all of time. You mean a lot too me and it feels like the bond we've made feels more then just a normal friendship. Though i've done some horrible things you still accept me, still like me, still...treat me human. I want to be by your side for as long as possible. I want to know, y/n, do you.. love me like i love you?"

You could only sit there flabbergasted at what just came out of this woman's mouth, it took a few minutes for you to process what happened but as soon as you did you took her hand into yours. Even if you accepted the confession in the most awkward way Emily would still be beaming with happiness and would ask for permission to kiss you. Despite being dead, Emily was quite warm for a ghost as you embraced and kissed.

As your relationship continues as lovers you start waking up to seeing her in bed with you every morning, even if she can't sleep she'll still lay beside you in bed. This woman just loves you too much to not stare at your beautiful sleeping face.

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sandwichfordinner · 1 year

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Anon: Hi! Uhm are you still doing matchups? I’m not sure where to request since it’s my first time. But here I’m a Filipino with black hair and brown eyes I’m about 5’0 tall. My personality is that I’m sweet and motherly I do have a short temper tho but I will try to be calm, I’m willingly to helps others. I like books, animals, and music. I hate cheese and rude people. That’s all ;-;

* ˚ ✦ ||Match up request||

╰┈➤note: Of course! I an deeply sorry for you waiting anon.. 😭 But I hope you enjoy!

I match you wiiith..🥁🥁🥁

Emily Dyer and William Ellis!

Emily

🎄She is such a kind soul omg. She is even kinder, not that she isn’t towards the others but she can be a different person when you are alone with her.

🎄Emily gives you sweet kisses on your face mostly. She always has lipstick so that means that there will be a lot of lipstick stains on your face.

🎄Return the affection by telling her how much you love her, how great she is doing and a lot of praises. She loves it lots and always makes her blush and smile.

🎄When you’re injured Emily is always by your side. Then after you are done with patching you up, she kisses you on the nose saying how much she loves you.

🎄You are really kind too, you always listen to her when she has something that bothers her. You always make her feel safe, hugging her, praising her, making her hot tea, just so she can calm her nerves down.

🎄You’re just perfect for her. One time she even cried to you how much she didn’t deserve you, but you calmed her down by telling her that those bad thoughts on her head were wrong and you hugged her tightly. Kissed her on the head too and laid on bed together. Later on she fell asleep in your warm embrace <3

William

🎄William is so full of energy that you sometimes wonder how this boy doesn’t get tired. He is like a golden retriever! Always happy with you and loud sometimes 😭

🎄But you don’t mind it. He just loves your kindness towards him, it makes him feel special.

🎄You’re always here to support him no matter what. Like cheering him while he’s playing rugby.

🎄William isn’t a big fan of books, but when it comes to you he would read one and then a month or two wont touch a one😭 I personally think that he finds books boring im sorry💔💔

🎄When its your birthday he always knows what book you would like cause he always looks at what you are reading and he perfectly knows what kind of genre you love!

🎄 About music he would try to dance with the song you are playing, but it always leaves you laughing because he is just so bad at dancing😭. He knows it too but he just loves seeing you smile!!

🎄There can be times where William could hurt himself , example from tripping and falling, a cat attacking him for no reason, and more.. But you are always here to heal his wounds!

🎄He is just so thankful that you are his precious caring lover! THE PERFECT ONE FOR HIM!

🎄Also is a dog person, im sorry but he is traumatised from cats because of that one cat that attacked him 💔

#identity v x reader #idv x reader #idv hcs #sandwichfordinner #identity v x you #identity v oneshots #identity v headcanons #match up game #match ups #matchups #william ellis x reader #idv william #identity v william #emily x reader idv #identity v emily #emily dyer x reader #emily dyer

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fffiii · 2 years

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i know risktaker’s essence is long over but

#me arts #identity v #idv #idv emily #identity v emily #identity v doctor #idv doctor

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callmeclover07 · 2 years

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hell why do her eyelashes look like fingers she has finger eyes i can't

#identity v #idv meme #identity v memes #idv #idv doctor #identity v doctor #lydia jones #emily dyer #idv emily #identity v emily

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rosemaze-reveries · 1 month

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During an interview, the manor guests suddenly get a question about you.

this is def an experimental format!! i got this idea while reading the character letters. in the POV of an unknown interviewer (not reader). reader uses they/them.

🔗⚰️📰🔮❤️‍🩹💉🌪️✂️🍀🩰🔫🪡🤹🧲🦋🐍

Q. Could you describe your relationship with (Y/N)?

🔗 Ada - "Yes, that's my lover. I would say our relationship falls within the typical scope of that sort of thing. Of course, I believe we share something special, but everyone does when they're in love, don't they?" She covers all her bases in one decisive breath, leaving little room for me to comment.

⚰️ Aesop sits perfectly upright, fingers threaded at his knees. His eyes drift to the side and he seems to begin speaking mid-thought. "I had... cautioned myself not to upset their perception of me," he explains. "But they pried, and stayed, regardless of what they found... For that, I'm grateful."

📰 Alice has kept a sharp eye on me the entire time, but it's at this question that she drops the formalities. "I wasn't aware you would be prying into my personal affairs. Where did you learn that name?" Her frankness pins me in place. For some reason, I end up apologizing.

🔮 Eli can't help a sheepish smile from blooming across his face. "Well, truthfully... I don't use this term lightly, but they might be the love of my life." He has been consistently grounded with his responses, so I'm surprised to catch him flustered, however subtle it is. Personally, I'm touched.

❤️‍🩹 Emil considers for a moment. He doesn't meet me in the eye, instead pinning his gaze on nowhere in particular. A faint smile ghosts his lips. After a while, he answers, simply, "Safe."

💉 Emily's hands are folded neatly on her lap. At the mention of that name, her shoulders tense, but she otherwise maintains her composure. "Someone I trust." Her answer is vague and cautious, but acceptable. I'll try to uncover a deeper meaning behind that 'trust'.

🌪️ Ithaqua - "Mine." He is curt and to the point. Yours? I echo, hoping he'll elaborate. His head tilts to the side, and while I can't see the face behind his mask, a sense of dread suddenly overcomes me. I decide not to press further.

✂️ Jack stretches out his hand of blades, flexing each finger in front of him. I can't deny the cold sweat that drips down my spine just by being in his presence. "May I respond with a question of my own?" he says to me. "Suppose a butterfly loses its way, and winds up caught in a spider's web. Wouldn't you agree that the more it writhes and struggles, the more exhilarated the spider becomes?" I don't have the courage to hear out the rest of this analogy.

🍀 Lucky - "I've always been known as a pretty lucky guy, but the luckiest day of my life was when I met them! I remember it was the—" He drags me down a long-winded story about their life together. I get the idea. Eventually I'm forced to cut him off.

🩰 Margaretha twirls a curl of hair, a meek blush dusting her cheeks. "Have you ever been in love before? You're never prepared for the magic of it all. I feel a new rush with them everyday. I know, realistically, all good things come to an end, so I tried to remind myself to expect the worst, but they've proven over and over that... I'll never feel safer than in their arms." After rambling for some time, a look of surprise flashes across her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go off like that. Oh, but I've just never met someone who feels so much like true love before."

🔫 Martha doesn't miss a beat. "Sorry, I don't know anyone by that name." I look down to double-check the name written in her file. Her watchful gaze follows my line of sight. Are you sure? I try. "Must've been some confusion somewhere," she insists. The next day, I realize all my files on her and (Y/N) have gone missing.

🪡 Matthias - "Wh-What?" he starts, but keeps going before I can repeat the question. "Oh, uh, an ally, I guess." Well, I gathered that much. When I press for more details, his head sinks low, fingers grasping at the armrest. "I don't know what they saw in me. Was it out of pity?"

🤹 Mike's eyes light up and he blinds me with a contagious smile. "(Y/N)'s a sneaky one, and I mean it—they've got me under the trickiest spell of all. Guess what happens every time I think about them?" Egged on by his grin, I take the bait. You get lovesick? I guess. Suddenly, he tosses a handful of butterfly glitter in my face. "I get butterflies!" Very funny, I sigh, exasperated with these carnies. Why did he have that on hand in the first place?

🧲 Norton leans back in his chair, scowling. "What's that got to do with anything?" He snaps a couple times in my face, urging me to "stay on topic." It's hard to say if this question struck a nerve, as he's been uncooperative for most of this interview, but my suspicions point me to prod further. After all, it'd have been much easier if he just said he didn't know them.

🦋 Vera's face contorts into a leery, hostile glower. "Why do you ask that?" Before I can say anything to mitigate the rising tension, she catches herself, and her expression softens slightly. "I'm sorry. That's... someone quite dear to me, so your question took me by surprise."

🐍 Yidhra's follower goes pale, clearly unnerved. "She won't answer that," she tells me through shallow breaths. "Th-This isn't my place to say, but I'd advise you not to involve yourself with that person." As if on cue, I get a sensation I can only describe as a hand slowly wrapping around my neck. It disappears when I move to scratch it. Must've been my imagination.

Part 2