hes about to do the thing
(Crash his Car)
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第五人格 写真家ジョゼフ記念日2026
応援ファン広告用イラスト
応援ファン広告のイラストを担当させていただきました。
中国の各所にて大型デジタルサイネージに投影されました。
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プロジェクト：weibo 第五人格约瑟夫 超話のスタッフ様方
Live2D：时酥啊 先生
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weiboの写真家ファンの皆様とご一緒できて嬉しいです。
ありがとうございました！
※二次創作ガイドラインを遵守したプロジェクトです
※無償リクエスト物として制作しております
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The second of my four old Identity V fanfics
Buried in Snow - Pastellar1ne - 第五人格 | Identity V (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]
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if any antonio mains are making a second account and don’t know what to call it, “AntonioStellaBottomTile” is an option
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met another wu chang (also female!!) in the public map and we spent like 5 minutes emoting at each other lol
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met another wu chang (also female!!) in the public map and we spent like 5 minutes emoting at each other lol
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“A DAY OF (WOODEN) HEARTS”
- 🧯/📍(florimatt) , 1.8k words , florian pov
- valentine’s fic that’s 1 week late
- no content warnings except slight ooc
- crossposted on ao3
- (lazy) synopsis below:
Florian Brand remembers that Valentine’s Day is a thing and the rest ensues.
Or
Florian seeks a Valentine’s Day gift fitting for Matthias, acquiring the help of a certain toy merchant!
The calendar hung against the wall, an ever-pressing reminder of the date to come.
The date was circled with red ink, a note under it with what seems to be the postman’s handwriting. February 14, Valentine’s Day!
Florian had to take two steps back when he noticed it, eyes widening with slight interest. He paused there for a moment. He was never one to celebrate the holiday, not once ever. Most of the gifts he received during his time of work usually just left sitting on his office desk while chocolates and various other sweets found themselves shared among children or crew members.
This time, however, was very different.
With everything in his life being significantly slower, no longer stuck in the need for miraculous, heroic acts that once bound him, he finally had time to enjoy the holiday for himself.
The fire investigator tilts his head to the side, as if the thought itself weighted on him physically.
Scattered plans wrung itself around his mind, ideas unruly in their spontaneity.
Flowers, the usual of course, but would he appreciate them? Chocolates are nice too, but Matthias was never much of a sweet tooth. Something more personal, perhaps, books or a letter. Something leaning towards Matthias’ personal interests…
Wood carvings?
It was simple, not at all grand in its silence, yet still heavy in its care and thought.
A smile imprints on his lips. It’s decided then. He walks off to nowhere in particular, deciding that being stuck standing like a cold stone statue against the floor isn’t a very good look for the collected, ever-moving fire investigator.
Every step blooms about a new question: how would he get the materials? How would he know what to do? What would he make?
Every drag of his feet against the worn wood leaves a creaking, lingering answer:
There was a workshop inside the manor, he could inquire the artists of their procurement of supplies, find someone familiar with woodworking, with the wide variety of people among it, it would be practically impossible to find at least one who understood even the most basics.
As for that last question…
He traced the string of thought, it’s once chaos now more akin to that of a pin board, linking ideas together in a trail of coherence that’s presence could not stand without it.
Something practical. Florian wanted him to be able to actually put the item to use, but also for it to hold a meaning, a significance and message to tell through silent means of gift giving.
Faint words echo in his mind. Little wooden birds, made to fit the size of a palm, often to soothe through tactile reassurance… comfort birds, that’s what they were, no?
He recalls one of his previous rescues, clinging to the little wooden dove as all other traces of the establishment, which shared the very same material as the only thing anchoring the poor boy, lit up in entrancing flames. He remembers that conversation as clear as day, spoken with soothing tones and reassuring steadiness, met with fragile words and collapsing despair.
Even in the face of what was a great tragedy, what kept him tethered was an artificial avian.
Perhaps it was well wishing, but Florian found it would honestly be fitting. While Matthias wasn’t the most physically affectionate, he was still clearly very tactile. Fiddling with the edges of a fabric, dragging fingers along surfaces, Florian had noticed one too many cases.
He turned a corner, meaningless steps now purposeful in their wake of finding the one person he could inquire for help.
Miss Lester, the toy merchant. She’s made various woodworks in her time here. She’ll also probably be kind enough to help, after all, her and Florian were pleasant acquaintances more or less.
He glanced out the window, the midday sun still among the sea of clouds. Usually, the toy merchant would be working at a time like this. With a goal set, he takes to his destination, a workshop to the far south of the manor.
***
The fire investigator stood at the doorframe, bandaged hands lifting to the dark wood and knocking.
The room inside was quiet for the following moments, almost enough for him to turn away and find the blonde at another place. Soon enough though, the door clicked with the turn of a knob, the old frame creaking with age, bright blonde hair peaking from behind it.
“Good day to you, Mr Brand! What brings you here?” Anne spoke with the same gentleness she carried herself with on the daily, a slight smile resting on her lips.
He returned the polite smile, speaking just as humbly, “Good day to you too,” he noted the messy room behind her. Seems he wasn’t the only one who’s busy for the upcoming day. “I see you’re also busy for next week! Would you mind me taking up a bit of your time? I’m unfortunately a little out of my element.”
A surprised expression framed her face, a pleasant kind, bordering on amusement. “No, no of course not. Please, come in. I’d be more than happy to help, after all you’ve done much for me as well,” Anne stepped away from the doorway, heading off to her the wooden tables that housed her tools.
Florian entered the room in suit of her, immediate observation jotted down mentally. The messy yet organized orientation of the tools and unfinished works, the subtle flakes of wood in the air, it was clear the room was often occupied.
“Valentine’s day is in a few days,” he began simply, a truth many of them shared.
“I was hoping to make gifts, of course. Unfortunately, I’m not very familiar with woodwork. I thought I’d seek you out, you never disappoint with yours,” a bright smile decorated his face as he spoke, it held shame in its cadence, just subtle enough to pull the face of a man far from a task he knows how to do.
There was a hint of pride that brightened the toy merchant’s expression with that last statement. “Oh my, thank you. These toys are a joy to make for everyone,” her humility shined much like her golden hair.
“It would be a pleasure to help you.”
Almost imperceptible, his smile went placid, everything was going as it should.
“I heard of a thing people make when carving wood! Small birds, almost only the size of a hand. If I recall, they’re called comfort birds?”
Anne nodded, she was quite familiar with those and were equally fond of making them. “Yes, yes, I can teach you how to make one. I don’t doubt that you’ll do well at it.”
***
The sun was setting to its slumber now, a warm orange overtaking every surface it drapes.
“Thank you for all the help, Miss Lester,” Florian gave a polite nod, holding the carving in the palm of his hands.
It was a little worn, far from the perfection a craft like this demands, but somehow the imperfections made it stand out from the countless other ones.
Its tail stunted shorter, form a subtly hunched. Miles from noticeable nor did the imperfections strip the meaning nor purpose any less, but Florian couldn’t help but mutter a quiet apology at the mistakes.
Just earlier, a chip in the carving was disguised as an inscription of words. “vše bude v pořádku,” Anne suggested. A reassuring sentence. Everything will be alright.
“It’s no problem,” she smiled once more. “I hope all goes well for you, Mr Brand. See you!” The toy merchant stood at the door, waving just as he was. He departed no later than a few moments, and soon the door to that same workshop was closed once more.
He stared at the gift, much like a fledgling in his grasp. In a way, it reminded him of its soon owner. Quiet and imperfect, yet no less beautiful and purposeful, and maybe one day, just as free.
***
The days finally ticked down, the day of hearts dawning upon the manor. It was busy of course, the baron insisted on having events to celebrate the holiday as per usual, but it wasn’t very difficult to find the time for a few personal rendezvous.
The fire investigator stood in front of Matthias’ door, waiting for a response to his knock moments prior, holding a neat yellow present.
Inside the box laid a wish, a gift, and a gesture of devotion. One he would only want the puppeteer to have.
The door opened seconds after, the dim room contrasting the bright hallway where Florian stood, some of its light spilling inside the room inconspicuously, revealing its messy interior for better or for worse.
Matthias looked down at the blond, the man’s enthusiastic smile never once fleeing his lips.
“Happy Valentine’s day to you, Matthias,” he extended the box to the puppeteer, the bright yellow out of tune with his monochromatic greyish tones.
He took it in his hands. He hadn’t remembered that day was today…
“Thank you, Florian…” he spoke with the same whispers as before, now carrying a shameful weight.
“I hadn’t remembered it, I don’t have anything to gift you, my apologies,” Matthias bowed his head lower, the admissions coming out heavy.
He’d expect disappointment, a chiding word or two if it was anyone else. But Florian?
Florian smiled just as brightly, unwavering despite the confession handed to him. “That’s alright, it’s not an exchange, I just wanted to get something for you,” he replied.
“You’re very dear to me, Matthias. What better day to show it?”
The puppeteer’s face shifted while hearing it, overcome with many emotions. The guilt from earlier, a striking shock despite him having expected a response along those lines, and something else he wouldn’t like to read.
He paused for a few minutes before speaking up once more, “thank you, again… you really did not have to.”
“But I wanted to,” Florian replied, no evidence of hesitance in his tone.
Matthias, admittedly, didn’t know how to respond. Moments like these occurred often between them, he was not used to such acts of kindness, of humanity.
“Anyway, I’d better get going then. Another time then,” Florian added to ease the growing chasm.
The puppeteer’s expression softened from its previous conflicted form. “Right, of course…” he nodded, shutting the door to his room and hearing the footsteps fade.
Matthias sat at the edge of his bed. Messy sheets and strewn blankets atop shifting alongside the mattress. The box rested in his lap, admired with a keen eye.
His hands, mechanical as ever, removed the lid with care, the hushed sound of it accompanying the act.
He stared at the cushioned gift for a few moments. Its surface was smooth, reflecting the soft light gracefully. He was almost afraid to hold it in his hands despite it being the purpose.
Nevertheless, he soon took it from its nested case. A small smile found itself quietly against his face.
Florian always found ways to speak to him even without words. It was an impressive feat, moving in its miniscule yet impactful ways.
He traced the engraved words, a familiar reminder he’d always heard from Florian during his many times of vulnerability.
As he held the bird in his hand, running through its form with care, he vowed that the next chance he’d get, he would return that fire investigator’s own display of affection.
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“WHAT TO DO WITH A DYING FLAME”
- 🧯/📍(florimatt) , 🧯& 🎊 , 1.8k words, lily pov
- cw for su*cide, grief, and fires (duh)
- ooc warning
- crossposted on ao3
- synopsis below:
Lily comes to comfort a much distraught Fire Investigator, after the death of Matthias Czernin, in the former orphanage turned asylum of his past
Or
[[MORE]]Matthias Czernin has just died, by his own hand no less. Unable to process the loss even with such a grief stricken life, Florian returns to the warmth of the flames and the easily repeatable litany.
Lily would usually never find herself in a map like this…
Every single step seemed to echo in the dreary grey walls and empty hallways, like it was a foreign, unwelcome thing.
The worn steps seeped loneliness, suffrage and misery, like the cries that once haunted these walls were still there, just far distant, trapped and silenced, even more than it was when it was still in operation as an orphanage.
Making her way to the hallway beyond the cafeteria, she couldn’t help but feel pity for those that had to be here. Has it always been this… disturbing? Everything is turning and twisting in all the wrong ways it shouldn’t, repeating over and over. It almost makes her sick, if not for the fact that she came here for a very important reason.
She straightens her resolve, gripping the pom poms in her hands just a bit tighter for comfort.
Among the dim and admittedly faulty lighting, a warmly lit room stands at the side of the hall. Dragging her feet just a little bit closer, she’s greeted by foggy windows. It’s cracked and broken, has it always been like that?
The inside of the room was lined with long wooden benches and cracked tiled floors. At the furthest wall towards the front was a few steps leading up to a pedestal. Its carpet was folded awkwardly over itself, a piano stands next to a podium, and most important a wooden carving of a cross hung on the far wall. It was obvious that this was a place of worship—was—the abandonment of such an important place that people probably flocked to day after day gave her chills despite not being the most religious person herself.
Nevertheless, it doesn’t obscure her vision from the thing she searches for.
Florian Brand.
Despite holding the exact same face, clothes and overall appearance, he couldn’t be more different. Disheveled and worn, the bags under his red eyes suggest a restlessness you would never usually find in the composed fire investigator. Most importantly though, the reassuring, ever-present grin on his face was wiped clean, replaced by this haunted look.
A hollow eye that reflected only the light of that flame he seemed to zone in on and none of its own, his lips whispering a desperate prayer to the burning pile, hands clasped together so firmly it was shivering. This was definitely not the Florian she knows.
She was almost afraid of calling him out, to disturb that terrifying focus and devotion he has to that faith. Would he even respond? Even her presence alone wasn’t enough to signal her to the man like it usually would. What would he say? Would he talk like Florian would, the one she knows?
There was one thing Lily knew among the barrage of questions: she could not give up on a precious friend. Not now, not ever. No matter what he’s going through or how different he is. That’s what Florian would do.
Slowly, with ever advancing steps, only growing more determined with one foot in front of the other, she calls out. “Florian?” It was slightly hesitant, like calling towards a mysterious sound in a dark hallway, half unsure if he’s even there to respond at all, yet calling for the reassurance that he noticed all the same.
Lily wasn’t met with silence however. What returned was worse than silence, worse than an angry shout. His prayers only picked up in volume, just as it did with speed. Incoherent words flew everywhere as his eyes zoned in on only the flame—constant and alive—in front of him.
It was almost like he was trying to drive her away, if indirectly but refusing to acknowledge her presence nevertheless. She was torn between calling out for him again. Pulling him out of that muddied sea of thought he finds himself drowning in, and letting him mellow in that very same pool. Let him have some quiet, some time to think it through.
She had never been the best at comfort, nor important decisions.
Lily stands there petrified. Even a determined girl such as her still met things that froze them like stone upon contact. One step, then two, always followed by another, a little less hesitant than the last, a little more convinced she could make a difference. That she could help. She stops just at an arms length away. The distance, or lack there of, proved only to paint a more distressing picture.
The warmth of the flame wasn’t welcoming, it was consuming, overtaking in a way not a hug would be, but rather an unfathomable rage. Florian’s eye looked almost manic, wide and gazing further away, beyond the flames that cackled in its view. It was a little easier to decipher his incessant rambling from this distance. A mixture of written prayers that Lily recognized from her own bible studies along with begging, apologizing, all repeating, constantly.
Lily wonders if he’s lost his mind,
Just one look gives her the answer…
“Florian, I know you can hear me,” firmly now, she tries, only to be met with failure once more.
Unfortunately for the fire investigator, giving up wasn’t exactly in her dictionary. Her hand reaches for his slumped shoulder. “Florian, please,” her voice was pleading more than it was insistent now, asking instead of pushing.
He flinches visibly at the contact. He couldn’t handle this, not at the state of disarray he was in.
He turns his head to face her anyway, mechanical, hesitant—or terrified—in its weakness. He doesn’t even force a smile anymore, doesn’t try to keep up that facade he’s played for all these years.
Truthfully, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to. He wanted nothing more than to look okay, to appear alright as he’s always been, to play that part of a tall and unyielding, like a shelter in the rain. He’d always prided himself as someone who can smile through any obstacles served by fate. But god he couldn’t be here, not now. Not when that wound is so recently fresh and that helplessness clung onto him like a thousand hands.
Even if he knew grief like an old friend, even if he’s learned time and time again that nothing lasts, like a flame can be extinguished, the perfectly preventable cause of this loss burned him like no other ones before could.
It was evident in his stance alone. Lily’s eyes softened at the sight of it—a man she’s looked up to for his strength and courage looking so utterly broken.
“Lily!” His voice was raspy, cracking in all the wrong places. His lips curl into something akin to a smile, as if clinging to the bits of joy he could feel, no matter how forced they might be in his mind.
She falters, terrified almost, but definitely not for too long, no. She wouldn’t let herself be weak. “You always said being alone wouldn’t do me any good when I was sad. Let’s talk?” her head tilted to the side slightly, projecting a welcoming grin on her lips.
As disarming as it was, Florian couldn't—no, wouldn't—he’d get too honest, tell her things she’s not supposed to know, and as broken as he is right now, he’s sensible enough to protect the image he displays to everyone, especially her. He’s strayed from it enough already.
Shaking his head sluggishly, he refuses. Gaze turned back to that fire at his peripheral, the only thing to truly know him, the one constant that never leaves despite being put out. The only warmth that never grows cold.
The cheerleader’s smile drops. Her hand pulled away gently. That wasn’t the answer she wanted nor expected.
She opens her mouth to speak, yet the answer returns to her before the question was even asked.
“I can think better in silence.” Perceptive as ever, despite his disarray, he answers the unmouthed inquiry. “But I appreciate the concern, Lily. Thank you for coming to visit,” he spoke with the politeness seen only through TV screens.
It was more of an attempt to save face, to return and uphold the face she knows him as, even if only slightly. Damage control would probably be an applicable term for his act.
“But-” she paused, trying to find an actual reason to stay, one that would be enough to show her legitimate concerns and wish for solidarity.
“I want to stay, to be here for you, like you were for me. It’s- I can’t leave you here knowing you’re hurting, Florian. It’s not right, it’s not what I learned from you at all.” Her brows were furrowing, hands clenching into fists at her side. Nothing but concern on her lips.
“I know, Lily, I know,” he paused, wetting his lips, waiting for the right words that always seemed to come so naturally, reach him. “But it’s not what I need right now.” A blatant lie, really. He himself knows better than to stay alone with these putrid thoughts longer than a moment or two.
And yet he couldn’t.
Not one more person, not one more observed moment of him absolutely breaking apart.
He’s already ruined enough.
“Go back, please. You don’t need to worry about me.” He smiles gently, a different kind of smile from his usual happy-go-lucky, but a more sincere and human one, tugging at heartstrings.
Lily had always been easy. As bad as that sounds Florian never tries to take advantage of it for genuinely terrible things, just to stir the situation more in his favor. The girl’s naturally ingrained naivety and hopefulness, her tendency for reliance and reassurance easily makes her believe whatever he says with even the smallest bits of sincerity in them.
A moment of silence. It was followed by another. The crackling sounds of burning just at their side filled it with just enough to not become awkward, but still visibly tense.
Lily exhales, her shoulders slumping at her sides as she decides to leave him, as per his own request. Obviously, she was more than reluctant, yet she knew better than to question the fire investigator in his already shattered state. God knows she would hate that if she was in his shoes.
“If you ever need someone to talk to, I’ll be waiting, okay?” She says with one last, forlorn look as she heads for the door of that holy room.
Florian just nods and smiles as she leaves. When she leaves the sight and her footsteps dulled into the hostile silence, Florian turns back to gazing at that flame, visions that no one else would understand once again appearing for him, and him alone.
As lonely as that fate sounds, he didn’t mind. After all, not everyone can bear the truths of a miracle.
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Un andrew chiquito viendo la luna🥺✨️💜 hoy es su cumple wuuuu una carnita asada en su honor
