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fishermanshook · 4 months

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"You look, oddly familiar." (surviors! x gn!reader)

INTRO

A prompt where you knew said Survivor before they came to the manor. Your reason for coming here? Probably because of them.

꒰wc꒱ 1.0k words (grammar and spelling warning, mentions of abuse in Female Dancer’s part.)

The Enchantress

You and the Enchantress were together a lot as kids, or has your growing age started to wipe your memory clean? Do you struggle to remember such personal moments the two of you shared? Such a shame, as it's been over 5 years and you've yet to trace her location down. Has she disappeared from the world entirely? Seems like it, doesn't it?

Oh. Wait. There's a memory. An old one for sure, but a memory is still a memory. You and Patricia had spent what seemed to be every waking second together. So much so that Patricia's "mother" had started to see you as her own. Another child to take under her wing, and she gladly would. You understand that, right? Had she not taught you enough? The two of you had made a habit of strolling through New Orleans together, knowing almost every face that inhabited every corner of the city. You'd be down there for any number of reasons. To pick something up, to look for new ingredients, or just to look around the place you know by the back of your hand.

If the two of you had spent so much time with each other, then why didn't she tell you where the hell she went? She never left a note, a letter, or even a single clue as to where she ran off. So yes, when you received a letter stating to know her whereabouts you followed. Was it dumb? Oh for sure. But you would take every chance you could get to find her. You didn't even get to go up to her when you spotted her, she already knew.

"I wish you hadn't come," The Enchantress says with her back turned to yours. "but I can't help but be happy that you did." She chimed, turning around with a smile and a strange-looking artifact in her hand.

The Painter

You were there when it all started. You know, his painting thing. At first, he was a mess, paint slobbered all over his hands and face like a child. But I guess he was a child when he first picked up the paintbrush. Who would’ve known he would never put it down?

As Edgar’s talent increased, he started painting other things. Boats in the river, flowers growing outside, people strolling around the park where the two of you frequented. His drawings decorated his room and cluttered his bedroom floor.

For your 12th birthday, little Edgar (in all honesty) had forgotten about your birthday. The thought of it struck his mind at 1 in the morning as he quickly grabbed for his paints before whisking out a canvas. Throwing himself into his work, he produced his first of many portraits of you. From that point forward, it was a tradition for him to paint you for each birthday. No matter how many fights you had over his short temper or accidental paint spills imported from the other side of the country, you still received a packaged painting. Wrapped in fine silk with a “happy birthday” note tucked in between the folds. For you, he spared little to no expense. That is, until he got older.

It has been over two years since you've seen the man and you haven’t received a single portrait since. Arriving at the manor, you find him in the garden alone, painting a familiar portrait.

“It’s nice that you remember my face, as I’m starting to forget yours.” Your voice nearly makes him drop his paintbrush, as he whips around to meet you. You in all your stunning beauty, god, how you’ve grown from the small child he once knew.

Female Dancer

It is either that you met Nata-Margaretha in Lakeside Village or during your shared time spent in the Hullabaloo circus. Both experiences that you will not forget, but time makes things foggy. It blurs memories that were important to your life that you can no longer recall. But for the sake of going to bed without a piercing migraine tonight, your brain tells you it was during the circus.

Ah, now you're starting to remember things. As memories (some unwanted) come flooding back to you about the circus. A curious place that produced good and bad thoughts. Your mind flashes back to before the accident when time was spent helping Margie (a nickname used widely throughout the circus by many of its performers) tame animals and perform new jaw-dropping tricks to stun the audience.

You remember when your ignorance of what was happening behind closed curtains came crashing down. When Margaretha came crying to you, sobbing that she needed to tell you something. She then began to show you bruises and cuts that littered her body, all deliberately hidden in places that couldn't be noticed unless further expected. To keep it short, you were shocked that "he" could do something this horrible, to decorate her upper body in purple and red marks. It was even more shocking that if anyone noticed, "he" would just brush it off and say that she got hurt while practicing.

At that time, you knew you had to get her and yourself out of there. A lack of knowledge has landed your friend with bruises, cuts, and unwanted love from someone she thought she cared for.

You haven't seen Margaretha since the fire. Actually, you haven't seen anyone since the fire. Not Mike, not Murro, not even Violetta. But following breadcrumbs as to where they all went earned you a one-way ticket to the Oletus Manor, maybe your questions will be answered there.

"Margie?" You almost choke on your words. Seeing her for the first time in so long feels nostalgic. (how old are you again?) She can't even respond, she can’t even believe it's you. All you'll get from her is a death-griping hug and a stained shirt accompanied by her ever-flowing tears.

note: I love you Patricia (writers block is kicking my a rn)

(2024)©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform

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tomebreakr · 1 year

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the story of edgar valden’s no good miserable day started when he was born

#edgar valden #the painter idv #identity v #idv #doodoo.jpg #archive

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the-manors-writer · 2 years

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Heloo, would yoh mind do some Edgar sfw & nsfw headcanons? Thabk you ^°^

Request: General Edgar headcanons

Pairing: [Edgar Valden] Painter x gn!reader

Warnings: General NSFW, degradation, roleplaying, mentions of god and worshipping

Edgar Valden

SFW

Edgar was a menace to everyone in the manor. He was seen as that spoiled little painter brat.

He constantly insulted anyone over the littlest of mistakes made, degrading them to the filth they are.

Edgar sees you as his one and only muse, that perfect model, the inspiration to get him out of his art-blocks.

Hence he treats you differently. Or just a little, insults were still thrown at you – But with a lighter and joking undertone.

The painter always seemed to be mad at everything and everyone if things doesn't go his way. The only time he truly is at somewhat of peace was when he's painting with the utmost of concentration.

Edgar has a bad habit of spitting at people. As though he was some royalty and everyone else around him were peasants.

Edgar was born with heterochromia but he hated how it looked so he wears contacts to hide it. And only you know of this little secret of his.

His paintings' colour scheme usually consists of black and red or any dull and dark colours. But when he paints you, he prefers sticking with more lighter and vibrant colours for the painting.

You are like the sunshine to him, lighting up his day and shooing the gloomy clouds around him.

Edgar often calls you to his room, either to laze around if there were no matches or more posing and painting.

He doesn't usually hang works of his on the walls of his room unless it was the most perfect portrait of himself. But there's a bewitching vibrant painting of you drawn a while ago hung where the sun shines in at.

NSFW

Now Edgar usually refrains himself from insulting you too much, but seeing as how you love it oh so much like the disgusting slut you are, he would gladly degrade you.

He prefers taking control in bed but he wouldn't mind being controlled, only if he's in the mood.

Only in bed, does he find the courage to praise you, to tell you what a good little dog you are.

Edgar loves roleplaying, like taking the role of someone of high status whilst you're merely a peasant mortal.

Looking down at you as you tremble and shiver under his sharp gaze and every little touch to your bare sensitive skin.

He'll be the only god you'd ever call out for.

"'Oh my god' you say? Indeed I'm here, am I not?" "I'm your god, the only one you'll ever worship for."

There are times things went fast in bed, other times he wants it to go slow. As he teases you with the soft clean tip of his paint brush, moving it slowly along your skin, down your sides, up and back down again.

Whispering the lewdest things you've ever heard from his mouth into your ear for only you to hear, as you 'suffer' from his warmth and touches.

[ art credit - @LBZJJAXy7aTYBkt ]

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starryiist · 11 months

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The queen and her alchemist

#the 5 edmelly shippers are eating well tonight #idv #identity v #my art #idv art #edmelly #melly plinius #the entomologist #edgar valden #edgar idv #identity v art #the painter idv

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andy-deer · 1 year

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gender envy art ayo

#idv #identity v #edgar valden #vera nair #Andy-deer #the painter idv #the perfumer idv

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id5cons · 2 years

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ MISC DUMP of icons i made for me + my friends! // psd cred.

╰┈➤ 500 x 500 px.

╰┈➤ reblog if using, credit unnecessary otherwise

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arcticmoonvt · 6 months

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Please read on Ao3 but I'll also post part it below the cut TW: gore and k*lling

That evening, when my whole world flipped, the setting sun seemed to call me to paint it. The sky felt like a moment one would usually call " picture-perfect," at the time, I would have also referred to it as such. But now I know it was just a hollow background for something greater, something my mind would never dare to conjure up on its own. I went on to capture the view as a simple warm-up before shifting my focus to other projects I had kept putting off due to a wall I had seemed to hit in my creative process. The sketch was completed rather quickly; the skyline out of my atelier, though the sky is ever-changing, is one I've sketched a hundred times. So, each stroke of my pencil was familiar and easy to speed through. Satisfied with the rough outline, I began to paint, realizing all too late that I havent enough red to finish. A mistake, though a simple one, is odd as I am one who does not make mistakes when it comes to art. Looking back, this may have been destiny pushing me towards something grander.

Though this was a warm-up, I could not have an unfinished painting as the night's first work. It would set a sour tone for the rest of the night. I quickly shoved my things into a satchel and headed out as clouds began to loom above. Though the skies now spoke of rain, the Store was not far, and I was sure I would return before it started raining. Another mistake, this one less surprising as I am an artist, not a meteorologist and cannot predict the weather, so as I finished purchasing the paints and a few other things I knew I was running low on, it began to drizzle. Though the Store was already close to home, I knew that if I took the back roads and alleys, I could arrive home much faster, and there would be less risk of myself and the supplies I just bought getting soaked. I set out, trying to move quickly through the side streets. Keeping in mind that though this way was faster, it also had its downsides. The side streets are filled with trash and trash-like people who like to lurk in the shadows and pounce on easy targets. It was then when I turned a corner while running, I heard a scream ring out, and I could see a woman in the distance running from something, or rather someone. Flashes of front pages of the last few editions of the paper flew through my mind of "a series of women found dead in gruesome killings," all done by whom they named "Jack The Ripper.". Try as I might, I couldn't recall if they ever managed to catch him because I did not actually read the paper; I had mainly used them to cover the floor when painting. While cursing at myself for my lack of interest in the rest of the world, panic began to sink in as I could now see the woman and the large figure behind her; if I didn't do something soon, I would've gotten caught. I dove behind the trash cans that littered the sides of the alley and backed myself into the shadows. I don't think of myself as someone without a conscience or that I am overly cruel; however, helping this woman was out of the question. What would I have even been able to do for her other than get myself killed in her place? I wouldn't do that for my own mother, let alone a stranger.

#identity v #identityv #IDV #edgar valden #edgar valden the painter #the painter idv #painter idv #jack the ripper #jack the ripper idv #Jack idv #fanfic #fanfiction #idv fanfic

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nightwonder7 · 4 months

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Utterly oblivious. Kinda a "sequal" to this.

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chawawanya · 1 month

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almost there ..

#idv #identity v #identity v fanart #idv fanart #idv painter #idv postman #idv grave keeper #idv prisoner #idv entomologist #idv batter #ganji gupta #victor grantz #andrew kreiss #melly plinius #luca balsa #edgar valden

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kirivon · 3 months

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Silly rich kids fighting

#my art #digital art #artists on tumblr #luca balsa #identity v #idv #idv prisoner #identity v prisoner #edgar valden #idv painter #identity v painter #idv composer #identity v composer #frederick kreiburg

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goocasden2 · 2 months

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random survs

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fishermanshook · 5 months

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Edgar Valden who’d paint ‘till his wrists broke, would do anything for you. You want flowers? He’ll pick some out with the help of Emma and paint a jar of them for you. You want candy? He’ll save up his clues to buy you baskets upon baskets of them, and paint a jar of the sugary sweets while he’s at it. You want him and him alone? The Painter will strip himself of his dignity (and clothes) and work his magic on you under the sheets.

He might as well paint you naked too.

note: this is not the ACTUAL Painter fic, that one should be coming this Sunday, so you should probably follow me so you don’t miss it /hj