Idv Prospector - Blog Posts

Feed the boy!

choose wisely

Tbh i think EVERYONE in idv would have occurring Nightmares considering the amount of C-PTSD and abandonment issues, and especially how sudden and sharp they are

The nightmares these two would be cursed with ;; my gosh

I rewatched the “Ashes of memory” and this is just a quick sketches of characters in WoF AU

Like this one. I think it’s might be funny dynamic

lineart by me, awesome colouring by @beach-flamingo

The feeling where Norton’s hunter counterpart easily carries you with one rock hand? But he puts down his pickaxe and use both his hands, letting him see and feel exactly how small you are compared to him in his hunter form. It makes him feel excited that he’s amused when you try to struggle out of his hold. Only to be stuck in his grasp for the rest of the match.

But with your hunter counterpart, you gain a bit of height that you have to look down at his survivor form even though his height reaches up to your chest area. And despite not knowing the reason why his counterpart carries your small survivor form, you decided to do it towards his survivor counterpart. Which he’s embarrassed to be seen by his teammates being carried by his treasure’s hunter form. he can totally see his teammates teasing him about this moment after they all escape.

He Who Has The Power

A 'What-If' for The Economic Difference Between The Miner and Mine Owner's Daughter

Rated Explicit | Warning: period typical sexism, past noncon mentioned, depression, power imbalance

Golden Cave ruined your family utterly.

All because of greed, the families of those dead miners caused such an uproar that politicians are using it to their advantage. Did your father truly cut corners just so he could find the supposed gold in the Golden Cave? The villagers reportedly did warn him both the dangers in the cave, but they also took the work opportunity too… God, this is such a mess! How could this happen!?

When you woke up, the doctor of the mining site said Norton was carrying your unconscious body to the infirmary before the explosion happened. Since that accident, you have been asleep… 

For a year. So much happened in a year, so much time missing.

There were no dreams, no sensation of being asleep for so long! Doctor Dyer even said they started fearing the worst. It is not like that was your concern; it was your father and the miners.

The news given to you is beyond heartbreaking… In a year you have lost everything your father ever owned or built himself, including your home.

When you learned more about the events… The explosion, the suicide pact made by your father, and ordered the workers to follow—There was a research article on the gas that caused the hallucination.

How were the hallucinations they saw so realistic to them that your father would… Why the suicide pact?! Did they truly believe the promises of in the sentences of madness?! A question you know the answer to as the detonation of the charges buried the cave with everyone inside, all those men who worked themselves so often to death to make ends meet— Scarcely.

Perhaps this karma…  As now you are left with utterly nothing.

The mining company went bankrupt to pay the families off… Everything your father owned was sold off by your mother’s side of the family, they did not want to take from their pockets the money needed to pay off your father’s debts.

The life you knew is gone, your mother's family had turned away from you to keep their livelihood secure (though they pay for your medical upkeep), and the families of those miners demanded your blood. It is a nightmare scenario that leaves you helpless.

It hurt that their last words to you were to either find a rich husband or sell yourself at some brothel. They abandoned you, just like they did with your father after your mother died.

Suddenly, you have fallen from the top to now sinking into the bottom.

It was too much for you. The sense of isolation, loneliness, and helplessness quickly takes root in your heart. Your friend, the doctor whose name is William Dyer, visits you from time to time—Visiting as often as he can with his wife when you are transferred to a mental ward.

Your dark thoughts had led you to a dark option as you grieved; staying in a coma felt like a better option.

Yet, you find yourself digging more into it despite the advice of Doctor Dyer given your fragile mental state.

The Golden Cave accident, how could it have gotten so… The more reports say the mine was unfit to be worked in, they say the gas within the cave has a hallucination effect, the canary that was sent in died but your father covered it up.

Everything was your father’s fault, and the sins of the father fall upon his only child.

Doctor Dyer took you in when you were discharged from the hospital. You have nothing but some clothes that do not fit you, and Dyer apologizes that he could not get anything that belonged to you during the year of your coma. You do not mind wearing a man’s overalls and work shirt; you were simply grateful to have a friend in this cold world. You swore to repay his and his wife’s kindness; you will not take this for granted.

The road is not easy, or rather it is especially not easy for a woman to find work, and you are unmarried as well. 

Your name does not help as it brings out different types of reactions—The worst is the one when you were able to fetch a job as a maid for some new money tycoon.

It took a few months, Doctor Dyer told you that there is light at the end of this darkness and you are close to reaching it. The wife says luck is on your side, she gives serious advice though when you tell her about being a housekeeping service. They are popular among the new money as many of their staff are young and agreeable looking. You realize what she means when one of the older women who in is charge tells you a pretty face goes a long way rather than skill (there is a different skill they suggested you to work on).

The old woman says there was a client who specifically asked for you, and you know this going to be risky as your name is well-known. The papers were at least in your favor, but some people will gladly take out their outrage on you.

In a snap of a finger, when the chosen servants entered the mansion, a castle truthfully, to greet their new master; your luck quickly ran out the moment you laid eyes upon the person you will be working for...

Norton Campbell.

Father was never a religious man, he was a firm believer in man taking his fate into his own hands.

Thus it made it strange why he and other miners took their lives in the Golden Cave, the doctor says they were… All of them… Were so firm about following your father deep into the cave to sacrifice themselves. You are never going to get answers, no matter how deep you try to search for them, it is like every answer is buried in Golden Cave, Lakeside Village.

You had to stop at some point, you needed to focus on living and surviving every day with your last name.

With your current job, you are busy every moment of the day; Master Campbell has you working like a dog. Heh, guess it makes sense given the moment he laid eyes on you— The humorous laugh he let out when he had stood in front of you after inspecting the other house staff, he plucked you out of the lined-up team to speak with you in private. Contract modification, he made you his personal maid.

Working for Master Campbell is hell, a twisted penance, he hangs over your head not only being the one who saved your life but the one who was bullied by your father and his lackeys. He told you to get used to sore hands and knees.

The company says the employer can do whatever they wish as long as it is in the contract, signed, and the money in commission to the company and the employee given is the appropriate amount.

Oh, you signed the new contract. It felt like you pricked your finger and signed it in blood. You need the money, you need the housing, and you know this is the only place you are going to get work— Steady work.

Today you timed that Master Campbell is stressed, he usually is this time of year…

After all, it is the anniversary of the Golden Cave incident.

He keeps to himself, staying in his study for most of the day, quiet too. You stand in front of the study dutifully guarding it from any of the staff who may need to ‘bother’ him, you are an extension of him so you may speak for him today.

It is almost a rough day for you, it always has and always will be. Your father's death, the miners’ death, and there is no amount of money that will bring back the lives lost that day. There was a big scandal, the accident was talked about for days, and it suddenly went quiet until you woke up a year later.

You… Still wished you never woke up.

“(Last Name),” You nearly jump at the sound of Norton's voice coming from behind you, the study door is open, “I need you.” Low, his chin resting on your shoulder as he whispers those words in your ear.

You can't help the shiver up your spine, nor stop him from pulling you into the study.

The door closes silently but the lock if it echoes like a deathbell.

In the end, he won. 

“Master Campbell!”

He won, a victory long deserved and he is basking in the light of it.

“Please, Master Campbell!”

Here you are the prize, laid out on his desk, your arms pinned down and eyes gloss with tears and shameful desire. Your uniform is a mess now, the apron tossed to the floor, the top ripped open at the top exposing your chemise— Which he tore open to touch your breasts—, the skirt lifted and old fashion open drawers he has you wear— Only you— Giving him free excess to your cunt.

You are glowing in the afternoon sun peeking from the partially open curtains, you are trembling as you are recovering from the first orgasm he drives you to. He licks his fingers as you are trying to gather your senses, something he doesn't allow as he pulls out his hard cock from his trousers.

A couple of unworthy souls, the burnt scars on the left side of his face and body, and now he has it all. Including you.

It is laughable, he has laughed about so many nights alone in his study with a glass of bourbon, he won it all!

Norton fucking Campbell has made it to the top!

From the bowels of the earth to the highest point of the sky, this bastard has risen above them all! The price is well worth it to have that thieving boss’ daughter right here. Yes, that mine owner's daughter serves that runt Norton Campbell like a whore! Cleaning wherever the chores take you before night falls you here on his bed.

Finally, the sight before him has made the years of torment almost worth it…

You cry out his name, his first name, as he thrusts hard and deep into your quim; he groans with a grin on his face as once more your velveteen blissful walls squeeze around him. Oh, he knows how deep he is, so deep there is a bump at your lower stomach as his cock kisses your cervix, it makes him feral as he can touch it and know you feel it too.

The first time you touch the bump, you nearly fainted from shock, instead you fainted from how many times you cummed that night. Norton is insatiable when it comes to you.

A wolf with his jaws around the perfect sacrificial lamb, he will devour you each time.

“So fucking tight,” Chuckling as he pins your arms above your head with one hand and another groping roughly your breast. “Such a perfect cunt, and it's all mine.”

You bite down on your bottom lip, tears at the corner of your eyes, your body is screaming for him to move. It is cruel how your body welcomes him like a lover, your mind only accepts this as a transaction between employer and employee.

Even if it is inappropriate, you need to survive.

“Yes, Master Campbell…” Knowing he wants to hear you agree, “You are… So much…”

“Pft, you are still terrible at bedroom talk,” It puts one of your legs on his shoulder, “Not like it matters as I am going to fuck you until all you can say barely is my name.” A promise he always makes good on, staff already has heard half of the sexual encounters between the two of you.

Norton is not a mess you do not recall in the Golden Cave, he learned and had fun with others just to ruin you for anyone. You are his toy, his prize, his one and only; so long as he has his status and power, you will remain here.

Forever, he made the perfect gilded cage. You should be thankful you wormed your way into his heart.

The creaking protests of the desk, the slapping of skin, your body falling apart and he is rebuilding each time, and he is pulling you down into the abyss with each kiss on your lips.

“You're mine,” Possessive, “That's it, go on singing little canary, give me your all.” Demanding.

Norton's hands are all over your body, his teeth too as he marks your skin. Greedy.

He is going to pull you into the darkness, he will be your shining false hope like the Fool's Gold he would find during his secret digs. You will breathe him in, become lost in the caverns of his desire, and come to accept it as love.

― interlude

norton campbell x you he finds you crying in your room out of anxiety

(this was requested here)

As you slip out of the manor’s ballroom, the sound of lively conversation follows behind you. Voices blend together the further you go, dulled by the winding hallways, and soon you can’t tell them apart anymore. Once in a while a hearty laugh will ring out, shrill and distinct above the rest—a laugh you can usually identify as Demi’s, her self-restraint long lost to copious glasses of wine.

By the time you reach your room upstairs, the chatter is still thrumming through the floorboards. That rhythm is all you can focus on: the pulse of the party, the drum of your heart. You shut your bedroom door behind you before sinking to the floor. All night you’ve felt like an anvil has been weighing down your spirit, and it’s finally snuffed out the last of your strength. With shaking fingers, you clutch your mouth and choke out a staggered gasp, no longer able to stifle your cries.

The manor’s walls are thin, you know that well. Maybe you should feel lucky that the party under your feet will drown out any noise you make. But you still feel the need to make yourself quiet as a ghost, afraid a single sound might hush the entire downstairs into curious silence. As if they’d be climbing over each other to press their ears against the ceiling, eager for a chance to hear the crying guest upstairs. But the party goes on, and your tears go unnoticed.

Time starts to blur in the dim confines of your room. You don’t care to count the minutes, but enough time passes that you rub your nose raw. Before long it starts to feel like you’re teetering on the edge of sleep: swaddled by the pitch-black room, with the neverending song of muffled laughter and clinking glasses as your lullaby. If you shut your eyes long enough, maybe you’ll really fall.

All of a sudden a foreign sound cuts through your haze. Heavy footsteps, like that of a pair of boots. As they drag down the hall your ears prick up, the entirety of your body freezing over. They trudge along slowly, then stop in front of your door.

It’s Norton. He doesn’t announce himself, but he doesn’t have to. You know it’s Norton from his weary gait and the faint whistle in his breath. He pushes open your door without bothering to knock first. It’s clear he’s not expecting anyone to be on the other side of it, because he loudly clicks his tongue when it jams into you, and keeps trying to force it. The wood thuds against your back a few times before he releases the knob with a scoff.

“It’s me,” he says, striking the door twice with the flat of his hand. “Move whatever’s blocking the door.” His knocks feel urgent, but careful. Even when pressed flush against the wood, you don’t feel the jolt of his usual aggression. Still, your eyes squeeze shut. There’s no strength left in you to muster an answer.

Norton himself isn’t what concerns you. It’s having to show him the state you’re in. He’ll have nothing sensitive to say about it, and you’re not in the right mind to brave through that callous indifference of his. Honestly, the thought of addressing anything feels utterly impossible. You’ve been holding your breath ever since his footsteps came trudging down the hall, wishing you could just disappear.

“(Y/N),” he presses.

I’m sorry, you think.

There’s nothing you can offer him that he wouldn’t be able to find at the party. It doesn’t matter what he wants or if you let him in—your answer won’t change from a mortified I can’t help right now, sorry I’m so useless. At least staying in here eliminates the need to say it to his face. He’ll get the memo eventually.

. . .

. . . .

. . . . . .

When you’re certain he’s not fussing with the door anymore, you lean back into it, waiting for the click! of its close. Then you exhale, shallow, shaky, but quiet still. The fresh air tastes sweet in your lungs. It’s your own fault for holding your breath so long, but you’ve never been kind to yourself, especially not in moments like these.

You decide to wait a few seconds before locking it. Every sound you make is another tick on the time bomb, after all. Counting down to what exactly, you wouldn’t know; that’s a detail you’d rather not uncover.

Right when you’ve decided enough time has passed and you fumble for the lock, the door bursts open again. The force catches you off guard, practically sweeping you across the floor, and Norton strides in before you have the chance to push him out again. His eyes lock on you, shadowed by the dark of your room.

It’s an odd, silent reunion. You almost feel like you’re in trouble for something. He doesn’t even greet you before he tears his gaze away, peeking around your bed and bookshelf. Perhaps he thought you’d snuck off with someone.

“N-No one else is in here,” you croak.

“Where are the matches?” he asks, brushing off whatever you were insinuating.

He digs around your drawer until he finds a matchbox, then lights your bedside candle. From your spot curled into your knees, you gaze at his large figure, backlit by the candlelight. You’re still not sure what he came in here for. Though Norton isn’t exactly known for his transparency, not even with you. While he’s occupied at your nightstand, you try to wipe the puffiness from your eyes. It still doesn’t stop the next wave of tears from welling up.

“I’m sorry…” you murmur. He glances over his shoulder, waving out the match.

“For what?”

For crying. For leaving. For shutting him out. But with your words failing you, all you can do is shake your head — ‘forget it’ — and nuzzle deeper into your knees. It’s embarrassing to be the only one who’s ever crying between you two. Norton closes off his heart so stubbornly that you can’t even imagine a tear in his eye. You’re sorry for that, too. For burdening him and not extending the same care in return.

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Stillness overtakes the room — with him standing by your bed, watching you; with you buried into yourself, soft sniffles leaking through. Finally you hear him approach. He crouches in front of you, bringing the candlestick holder with him.

“Hey.” His tone of voice always has a biting edge to it, even when he’s trying to be gentle. He takes your hands, guiding them away from your bloodshot eyes. “Stop crying.”

I’m trying.

“Why didn’t you come get me?”

You shake your head again. “I’m okay,” you insist between snivels. “You didn’t have to come up.”

What use is there in saying that? One look at you gives the truth away. Norton would never take the bait that easily. He reaches a hand for your cheek, wetting his thumb as a stray tear falls.

“You’re a lousy liar,” he says. His hand is warm. Rough, but warm. It tempts you to lean into it, to rest in its gentle hold for a little while. But even with him wide open in front of you, your lingering guilt anchors you in place. You meet his brown eyes, the flickering candlelight reflected within them. Come here, they say. You’re sure you’re just imagining it.

Seeming to sense your hesitation, Norton makes the decision for you. He scoops you up effortlessly, and as you’re raised into his arms another rush of tears floods through you. At the same time, the heaviness you felt before begins to lift. It’s as if you’ve finally been given permission to cry, no longer weighed down by the shame you felt previously. Or maybe you’re just too relieved to care about that now. You wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders.

“You never have to ask,” he murmurs to you. It’s a reminder you’ve ignored too many times before. He lays you gently on your bed, and you refuse to unhook your arms from around him. He slots himself beside you. You think you mumble out a reply, but you can’t remember what it was before the cloak of sleep comes over you.

Enjoy!!!