#identity v hermit

[iamherefortrains]

Magnetic rocks?

Electromagnetic staff?

In the same room?

Cannot end well

[teddypickrwritings]

A Rare Moment of Weakness - Identity V x Reader

A/N: Some character lore is just so sad and depressing that I start tearing up…I just want to hug them. I’ll most likely do this with more characters in the future!

cw: PTSD

Mercenary

It was obvious just by looking at him that Naib Subedar was hardened by war. That was just the norm for anyone who served in the military. Naib was not one to talk about his experiences, though. Nobody questioned him, they just let him do what he wanted.

One day, while you were in a match with him, you saw his stoic mask crumble. You had managed to escape from the hunter with minor injuries and were hoping that you would cross paths with someone that could heal you. You had stumbled onto Naib’s cipher just as he missed a calibration and it shocked him—literally. The look of terror that flashed on his face gutted you pretty badly. It didn’t take a genius to realize that the sudden loud noise reminded him of bombs and such.

He wasn’t embarrassed that you saw him mess up. He didn’t shrug you off when you instinctively gave him a hug. In fact…he really appreciated it. A lot. Naib held you for a little longer than necessary, only letting go when he realized you were injured and immediately started to heal you.

“I’ll decode with you…or I can do it for you, if you’d like,” you offered once he was done.

Naib nodded slowly, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Thank you, (Y/N),” he mumbled.

Wu Chang

A sudden rainstorm had interrupted your walk and completely soaked you to the bone. Had you stayed outside longer, and if Xie had not come to your rescue, you would have certainly gotten sick. He had immediately left to find you the second the rain had turned heavy. You had begun to protest when he scooped you up in his arms, but quickly silenced yourself when you noticed just how worried he looked.

“(Y/N), I am so sorry. We shouldn’t have left you alone out there,” Xie said once you had changed into dry clothes. He had managed to calm down for the most part, but his voice was still laced with anxiety. “We didn’t know it would rain. I’ll never forgive myself if you get sick…”

“I’m okay!” you reassured with a tired smile. You reached over and gently squeezed his hand. “Thank you for getting me out of there before it got too bad.”

Xie gave a weak smile of his own, but his eyes still looked pained. He paused, seemingly listening to something. Then he nodded and his form changed to represent Fan. The Black Guard checked your vitals, and after confirming that they were normal, held your hands tightly. “He wanted to be able to save a loved one this time,” he explained. And that was all you needed to hear for you to understand.

Hermit

“Alva, do you ever feel frustrated?” you asked tentatively, watching the inventor writing notes in one of his many journals. His quill came to a slow stop as he pondered your question.

“It is natural for one to feel frustration,” Alva said vaguely. He turned in his chair to look at you with an unreadable expression. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just curious…you always seem so composed. I admire it,” you admitted.

Alva allowed a small smile on his face. “Nobody is ever what they seem, (Y/N). Keep that in mind,” he said, beckoning you over with a little wave of his hand. You stood up and went to him, surprised when he enveloped you in a hug. “I am sorry that I do not show emotions very often. I am…still getting used to the feeling by having someone I can trust.”

You could’ve sworn you felt him tremble a bit when he said that. But the moment was over too soon and he released you. “You have a match, yes? You shouldn’t be late,” he said and gave you a little push towards the door. You left with a smile on your face; Alva trusted you. That was all you could think about.

[moonyxpris]

Alva Lorenz sketches

I love my wife guys you don’t understand

[nightwonder7]

But who is your fav hunter is the real question…….

him

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Penance

Based on a request

I want to thank my friend for helping me with this fic and listening to me ramble lol

Rated: Explicit | Warnings: occult, Lovecraftian themes, dark-ish, sadism/masochism themes, flogging

Many do not understand the weight of being a faithful and discreet slave to a Divine Force, to an omnipotent God; the Great Old Ones are demanding but they reward loyalty and unyielding faith. Their motives are a mystery, their voices echoing riddles, yet they have those like you who follow their will without question. The Great Old Ones slumber, the Reverend Patriarch says, when the time has come we of faith will ascend like children answering the call of a parent. The Reverend Matriarch told you that the path of faith is difficult, unknowing to us, and at times confusing; we are lambs being guided by an unseen shepherd but we must follow no matter where it takes us. It is written in the notes of a man who touched the slither of the Great Old Ones’ minds. They hold the answers to ‘all that was occurring in the universe’. They live yet are not alive. They can be seen or rather felt when the stars are aligned and the houses rise and fall in sync.

It is your path to accept and go where the invitation to the manor is your test, the Reverend Ones believe you as their child, one touched by a Great Old One, was chosen to see what the Baron of the Oletus Manor.

And you are tested in every match and every interaction.

You try to keep track of how long you have been here, but there is no telling time, no defined way to count. Is it like time is frozen, or is it in a loop? There are nights you stand in the dark of the dormitory halls and sense the force shielding the manor. It is not one you recognize, but you know it is young, hungry, and curious. Then it pulls away as if you scared it.

You try to contact it despite the one titled Priestess advising you not to seek something you do not understand. It makes you chuckle given she is a worshipper of Yog-Sothoth yet has only scratched the surface of his divine power. A young branch of the Gods, Outer Gods, you know as the notes of the first devouts and sacred texts of dreamers who projected themselves to the first home of the Great Ones, Mount Ngranek.

You are the most abnormal of the two who are connected to the Gods of Old, of the Outer, and of the New; you are the one most of the other survivors are uncomfortable around. They fear the unknown though many of them are touched by the forces they cannot understand. You do not speak about your faith with the other survivors though Eli is curious and Fiona senses your soul is touched by something very Old— Older than Hastur and Yidra. But you are not going to preach as it is not your place as a lamb nor do the Reverend Ones allow the preaching of the Great Old Ones. If the person is chosen then they will seek out their kin.

But you find it is different with the ones who follow the Eye of Darkness.

Darkness is a product of the union between Azathoth and Shub-Niggurath, a mysterious one that lacks a proper name. The symbol of it being an eye and a cat is taken note of as this is new information. Along with it having followers, the two are part of the church while the decoder clearly has been touched yet the Hermit does not recruit him? Strange, you do not interfere.

The longer you are here, new arrivals coming in with connections to the ones who are here first or some with no ties to this place, you can know the young entity is joyful. Loneliness? You try to find spots in the manor where the veil, as some will call it, is thin; a crack within the mirror to push against. This is how you found Miss Nightingale, a bird woman who is deeply connected to the manor.

She tells you when the time is right you will have your answers, the Baron will keep this promise.

So the matches go on, the survivors and hunters play their parts, and you find yourself finding an odd understanding with the one called Herald or as many call her here Disciple, the cat did not like you at first during the first match ever you had with her.

Perhaps it sensed the blessing of kin on you? You are curious about it as it is in you.

No one worships the slumbering Old Ones as the Eldest of the Old Ones is frightening and when summoned to this plane of existence only disaster follows. This is known, and it is not what your brothers and sisters want; no, faith and patience are what is given until their awakening. 

The Hermit only becomes aware of seeking you out when the cat, Apostle, keeps slipping between the boundaries of the hunter and survivor side of the manor to stay in your room. It is disruptive and he was lucky you were not in your room when he got the cat.

Until you were there and greeted him at your door, the cat rubbing and walking around your legs.

“Father Alva,” You are the only person to address him in such a manner outside of those within the church of the Eye of Darkness, “Good evening.”

“Good evening, (Name),” He is tall compared to your doorway, “It was not my intention to dispute your evening routine, but a certain cat decided to play cat and mouse at an inappropriate time.” Knowing the avatar hates to be called a cat by Alva, it is just rude!

“Hah,” You bent over and picked up the cat that made a ‘mew’ sound as if it was disappointing you were not going to fight to keep it, “He was no problem here, in fact, he was very insightful on who I should speak about… Well, private religious matters.” Your hand stroking its head causing it to purr.

To say this is the start of a blooming relationship like many have in the manor would be… Saying you became friends with him, which is not the case.

Alva and your faith clash, he is a shepherd and you the lamb, it is in his nature to try to guide what he believes to be a lost lamb into his flock.

You are a lamb but you are not lost, you have a flock but the Great Old Ones have laid out a path for you to follow; he does not see it nor is it for him to see.

Alva a temptation, the one who tries to use this scepter like a shepherd's crook to catch you.

“My faith remains. They have guided me, my path is as clear as they deem necessary.”

Your words hold the weight of truth, but there are nights when you wonder who in the Dreamland wants to indulge in fantasies and sinful pleasures with the Hermit. Lust is nothing to be ashamed of and some use it as an act of worship, however, you feel guilty.

He is a temptation, questions you with his arrogance, and yet he talks to you as if he is the mentor and you the student.

Praying helps but it is not the way of seeking to rid yourself of wild thoughts.

It has been some time since you have done this without assistance; a Reverend One would be here to oversee this and a kin member would be behind you to lash you.

Though this is not the ideal place to commit the act, it is sacred ground and you know the original present that once graced this place is long gone. The cat being here during matches is proof of that, a hollow husk of a place of worship.

You begin placing the materials on the ground. First, you place a covering over the podium—a long black simmering sheet—to symbolize the vastness of space. Next, you remove your robe and place it beside you an arm's length away. Then, you place a wooden box with the symbol of your church on it, then open it to reveal the velveteen fabric inside and the tool of your penance.

You kneel on steps, an arm up gripping the top of the podium, the other hand grabbing the flogger. It has metal tips that will scratch into your skin, pain is a gift and reminder. You lightly tap it on your back, to caress yourself with a familiar object.

The first strike does not as you did it wrong, so you do it again causing you to gasp in pain. Again.

This is not easy without any assistance but you keep going nonetheless.

Over and over, the pain is sharp and there are marks of bruising and welts forming; each side of your upper back is marked and the tears you shed are held back as much as possible.

"Ah!" The next hit hurts causing you to stop and tremble in pain, a sharp inhale of air before the hissing as the cold air is touching the broken flesh wounds. Thoughts of the Eye of Darkness priest still plague you as you swear you can smell him. Burning incense, the faint hint of bathing soap, and the neutral clean scent of medicine. 

The baritone voice coming from behind you only a few steps away snaps you out of thoughts of how mad you feel, "Your devotion is admirable," The undeniable reality of Father being here, like a man of faith who walks into a confessional, you dare not turn your body around towards him.

The Hermit is here because there is peace in the Red Church, odd as that sounds given his faith lies in what the church will say is the enemy— Fools, all of them.

The cries of someone in pain echo within the church, the slapping of something on the skin.

When he enters he sees you kneeling in front of the altar, the top part of your robes off and neatly folding away from you; the thing he heard slapping skin is a flogger... A part of him was mortified to leave cuts on your back, yet true to his word about admiring your devotion to the Old Gods who will never answer your prayer. 

They are silent, long ago to the aether, however, you debate him and hold firmly to your faith. Always reminding him of the young God he worships, a child compared to the God who has marked your soul.

Apostle, the avatar of the Eye of Darkness, confirms it though it wants your faith. You are special, in what way is unknown. If the feline was here in its usual spot on the podium (it seems, it must have decided to return to Disciple's side for her match).

The podium is covered by a black veil shimmering in the low light, the aura around it is both foreign and familiar. Likely be part of this ritual. 

You look over your shoulder at him. "My flesh is only a canvas—A vessel to exercise my worship and hold my faith within.” Speaking with conviction though your voice trembles from the pain, “This is expected."

"Very well," Walking in long strides to be closer behind you, careful of the blood around the floor. "Confessing to the air and seeking atonement through self-inflicted torture." Those golden cat eyes are on you with his head high as he looks down upon you. "There would be a high priest to administer this..." Gesturing to your position, “Correct?” The marks are uneven on your back and your grip on the flogger is not as strong likely from getting tired and the pain.

"Yes," Looking at the podium. "If you will excuse me—"

"Allow me."

You stopped mid-swing, so it didn't connect yet. You looked up at him, "Why?"

Why indeed.

“One cannot help to admire,” You feel the cold scepter press upon your back, blood dripping onto the metal as he presses on open cuts; the pain moans you let out causing him to draw back his scepter. “If only you…” Alva stopped himself from starting a disagreement, “Such dedication to your faith should be praised.”

“But… Why help me?” You feel vulnerable like this kneeling on the steps of this church, him placing the scepter on top of the podium. 

There is an indulgence drive of greed in the self-inflicted atonement that could be considered blasphemous.

That is all he is thinking as he takes the modified device from your shaking hand. He admires your determination and only wishes to help you in your devotion. It has nothing to do with the soft lines of your body with the deep-set marks... nothing to do with your flushed face glistening with sweat. Your parted lips are swollen and trembling from biting back your cries.

"Because it is my duty."

The Hermit is the shepherd and though you are a claimed lamb, he cannot help but offer a hand to ease your journey. His God does not disapprove, it knows you well and your master well enough not to push. For pushing will only drive the lamb to flee, the conflict on your face telling him to ease you into the idea. The way you go tense as lukewarm leather and metals dance up and down your back, the inhale and exhale as your eyes close before they open. They are alert as you glimpse into the darkness of the fabric in front of you, and then he sees you sit up adjusting your position like the one you had before your body was too weak to keep it up.

“Father,” Gripping the top of the podium, “Your duties are obligational to another, however, it is kin to the Old Gods thus they are permitting you to blend our goals.”

“Pray tell me what goals do you believe I have?”

“That has not been revealed to me, Father.” This is true, you can only see as far as they allow, and as far as your human mind can handle, “Only stop when I say so.” Informing him.

In the matches Alva has had the pleasure of you being in, pain does not hindrance for you but rather empowers you. Faster movements, healing not quite as fast as others, but you can take their pain and feel into yourself. A masochist is what they call you, but the scars on your back say this is your belief and the power given in return. He will follow your words as the first strike has your crying out, words of prayer in a language he cannot decipher. It matches no human language.

Another hit, you refuse to fall. Another hit. Then another,

Though you know his strikes are no less harsh than your own the endorphins rushing through your body make the harsh sting of the leather and metal arc down your spine in strangely warm waves. The fabric beneath your fingertips feels soothingly cool to the touch. 

You take it as a sure sign of your God's approval albeit you feel strangely guilty for it. To need assistance from one such as him feels like a test of faith you've not been taught how to navigate and as the warmth spreads through your body you find yourself gripping the podium tighter as the thought flits through your mind

Is this a test... or an outright trap?

"I will not feign that I know the heart of your God, but if you truly believe in that shared kinship then perhaps this is intended." His voice didn't waver but he couldn't stop the softest of grins to curl the corner of his lip. Your shiver was subtle but he knew he had struck a chord.

He let the leather tresses of the flogger go lax against your back for a moment, the gentle caress only bringing more awareness to the tight and throbbing welts making you bite your lip again to steady your breath. 

"To what end?" You thought you had it but your voice wavered slightly.

His grin deepened as he slowly traced the tails back up. The cold metal scratches against your flesh and draws another harsher shiver from you.

"Perhaps some mutually glorious purpose." He flicked his wrist suddenly drawing the full shock of the device across the one relatively unmarred patch of your back. Your sharp yelp echoed through the abandoned church, the passionate echo dancing across the stone a litany that made his breath catch in his own chest.

You fell forward slightly, clinging desperately to the podium to not fall. His words made sense.

Why else would your God allow him here in this most intimate of devotions?

Alva keeps going until there is more blood on the floor and his shoes; stopping when you collapse, still conscious and able to move enough to try to pull yourself up, “(Name)—” Has he found your limit?

“W-why did you stop?” Upset as if you did not nearly pass out because you did not tell him to stop, “My thoughts are still tainted.” Panting as you get yourself back up as if you have a second wind kicking in to keep going.

“This is ineffective.” Dropping the bloodied flogger, “If your thoughts are truly sullied then we are using my method.”

“Y-your method?” Lying on the floor confused then making an indigent sound when he picks you up far enough to have your legs dangling from the floor, a reminder the hunter has supernatural strength. “Father Alva what are you…!?”

[jacklyneu]

Identity V Fan-art 第五人格 同人画

[deduction-substitute]

[kirivon]

Part 1 Here

Ahwa will fix it instead 😮‍💨

[pddngchi-artblog]

happy pride month to old queers 🌈🌈

[mirshroom]

still one of my fav s skins tbh

[hakurines]

NEW ALVA SKINS HIT ME SO HARD I CRY-

[iamherefortrains]

Magnetism works both ways

(Alva is taking revenge for all the times Norton tossed him across the map as Prospector)

[quoththeowl31]

Meeting the Baron:

From the Journal of Johnathan C(name smudged)

August 13th 193X

I met the current Baron of Oletus Manor today.

I would like to emphasize that I love my Aunt Mel, she's a treasure and she's probably one of the most normal people I know and even then, she has her quirks.

Still what is it about being wealthy that makes one act so...odd? Superstitious and paranoid, I saw it in Roger when he was in the department.

The current Baron was a tall man with white hair and disconcertingly pale skin from what little I could see. He otherwise wore heavy winter clothes in the middle of a warm summer day. He referred to himself as Baron Lorenz...why does that name sound familiar? He also had a notable Lichtenberg Scar I could see on his face.

Baron Lorenz was interested in some of my work about decoding old hieroglyphs and more esoteric subjects and symbols.

I can't quite explain but, Baron Lorenz's presence was...domineering. He spoke politely and respectably as if one colleague to another but it felt as though he was watching my every move and probing for specific answers.

He was especially interested in a book I've been studying lately; the Kitab al-Azif.

I didn't have many answers to his questions as I've barely made much progress with the book myself, but something about his probing made me more reluctant to say anything.

He left while handing me a letter of a job opportunity and the seal of Oletus.

I need to speak to Aunt Martha; this all feels too much like what happened before. I should make sure Orpheus is safe and ask if security at the institute could keep a close eye on him and warn Aunt Melly.

Maybe it's time to find a new apartment too.

[tomochisblog]

I always have problems drawing survivors beside hunters cause you know how come they are so small when they are adult men ? I usually reference luca to alva height according to their lore video .. but in game my luca is too tiny

[isaltychocolate]

Alva is cosplaying cheshirree!!😭😭😭😭

[lymo-lomy]

I am actually happy how I did the face of Alva.

I drew this thinking like a family of cat and the other dog. Both are tired, fathers.

I have some drawings of ideas for this, so I might later put them here.