Hello, I'm Buns! I'm 21+, overworked, and forever desperate for more x-reader content, so I've decided to make some of my own in the small amounts of spare time I get.
This blog posts ns/fw under the tag "#spicy content" minors, please dni with posts under this tag.
Please read my Rules below before submitting anything!
đRules for Requesting đ
Please do not rush me. Requests will be filled as I have time and inspiration--and because of this, a lot of the time they will be completed out of submission-date-order.
I can write headcanons, short scenarios, rankings, and matchups. Most of what I post won't be longer than a few thousand words tops, so please don't expect anything too elaborate from me for now.
I do not accept "Emergency Requests." While I'm okay with writing heavier subjects, they can be difficult to touch on, so I'll fill them at whatever pace makes me comfortable.
If I've already posted general/relationship HCs for a character, please be a little more specific for any requests regarding them. ie don't send "nsfw for so-and-so" if I've already done basic nsfw HCs. Something even just a little more specific, like "nsfw for so-and-so with a shy s/o" is fine.
I can write for male or female reader, but prefer to keep things gender-neutral as much as possible. If you request a specific gender for the reader in a request, but I determine that it would have no bearing on what I write, I will disregard the specified gender and keep it gn. (if you'll notice in my writing, I try to only use the pronoun "you" for the reader, avoiding even "they" unless sentence structure demands it. Just makes it easier for everyone to be immersed.)
I WILL WRITE- sfw, ns/fw...most things, really.
I WILL NOT WRITE- crossovers (including "reader is like this character), character x character (but poly with a reader is fine), yandere, cheating tropes, non-con, pedo, incest, or glorification of self-harm/suicide
CHARACTERS I CURRENTLY WILL NOT WRITE FOR: Hastur, Violetta, Bane, Bonbon, Will Brothers, Kiegan, Kreacher, Freddy, Servais, Kurt, Murro
Additionally, my baseline treatment for IDV is explained here. I can fill requests with setting differences, just please specify when you send it in.
đFOR MATCHUPS! đ
Matchups can be sent through Submissions or Asks. Please do NOT dm me your information. If you use asks, please be sure to number any split messages so I can keep them together. If you use submissions and would like to stay anonymous, please specify at the start of your matchup so I know not to post the original.
Things I require for matchups
Your sexual/romantic preferences. You may provide your pronouns and/or gender identity if you feel inclined, but it is not required.
A DETAILED description of your personality. Be honest! Specific things that help me are your MBTI, Enneagram, love languages (giving and receiving), social levels, hobbies, personal flaws, life goals, and relationship deal-breakers. The longer the better, honestly, which is why submissions are open.
Things I do NOT require
Your physical appearance. I don't need this at all, but I will keep it in mind if you choose to include it. I might get it in my head that you'd look especially cute with someone in particular.
Matchups that I provide will include a Primary Match, with my reasoning, some headcanons for your ship, and a Runner-Up Match.
I need you to know I check ur blog for updates every day and longingly kick my feet in the air, please come back from military camp
Helloooooo is anyone still here? đ€ I'm alive! Kinda...
This isn't a promise to be back to the activity levels I had before, but I wanted to pop in and say I haven't forgotten about you all or this blog!! I'd like to try coming back, but my schedule balancing isn't the best right now. I am setting a goal for myself to start posting a request or matchup here at least once a week again next year, though! Fingers crossed for me đ€
As for what else I've been up to: I've been getting into streaming IDV now! It was on TikTok, but with that ban going through soon I'll be trying out twitch soon, and you're all welcome to join me there too if that's up your alley
To anyone still tracking this account, thank you so much for your patience and continued support â€ïž
can i please get some headcanons for FG and Norton being the little spoon during a cuddling session and their reaction to it? thank you in advance i love your writting so much
đ§Č Prospector
Norton prefers to be the big spoon. This might be non-negotiable even well into your relationship. Aside from any personal gripes he has about being cradled in someone's arms, he is tall and broader than most, so it's usually the most comfortable position for both of you.
You've tried to be discreet about spooning him: slipping into bed when he's already asleep, drawing the back of his head gently into your chest... But he's a light sleeper and tends to flip around within a matter of seconds. Your current record is a minute and a half.
He catches on to your game of subtly trying to spoon him almost immediately. He never voices any objection to it, but he makes his stance pretty obvious by physically maneuvering you whenever you try it. He's always swift and gentle, it happens before you can blink.
One time, he decides not to do anything. There wasn't any real thought process behind it. Maybe he was curious what you would do. It was sure to surprise you, at least.
He glances down at the way your arms are woven around his abdomen. It reminds him of all the times you've had to chase after him, pleading with him to not to leave you. You'd cling to him from behind and lock your arms around him just like this, desperate to hold him for one second longer. He would always spare you that second, before shrugging you off in the end.
There were also the times he would carry you on his back any time you got injured in a match. Or the times you would yank him tightly against you, hiding from the hunter he missed in his peripheral.
Always, always harrowing situations for you. This is the first time he's ever seen your hands so relaxed while you're curled up behind him. It's definitely an eye-opener.
Maybe he won't be as resistant to it anymore.
âïž Fool's Gold
He's more open to it than his survivor counterpart, but it'll be awkward. Norton's body is so bulky and jagged that you'll be constantly readjusting yourself to get comfortable.
He's mainly just curious how you'll go about it. He's convinced there's no way you'll find it a very enjoyable experience.
Contrary to what you might think, being spooned by him is very relaxing. He makes a conscious effort to turn his rocks to their flatter sides whenever he's behind you. They're warmed with body heat, which essentially means you get your own hot stone massage every time you cuddle.
Things change when you're the big spoon. Apparently Norton "can't see back there" and therefore can't make them flat for you (?). A part of you doesn't buy that & suspects he just wants to make it harder for you. Maybe force you to concede that he's the better big spoon. Either way, you're up for the challenge.
It's actually quite comfortable to spoon him. His head is the softest part of him, so you like nuzzling your face in the back of his hair, arms draped down his chest.
I'm not super sure if this is worth bringing up, but I did want to mention how much commentary and tags on the stuff I wrote helps motivate me to keep going. Likes are nice, of course, but they can also be given in passing, used more as bookmarks and never gotten back to, etc.... And I think everyone can understand that more detailed engagement is more inspiring.
I'm not going anywhere or anything, but I think this is often a disappointment of fan writing spaces, and it's very late and I'm musing about it.
Hereâs sit with me while I tell you my favorite idea đĄ
âšSo the hunters (all if possible) come back to the manor after a long match of smelling sweat and blood upon walking towards their shred room with reader they catch a scent of their lovers perfume- mind going a mile a minute with the idea of their lover being in they arms and just melting from the stress of the day âš
Thoughts đ
ANON. anon...... this is the kind of scenario that makes me CRAZY uegh.. when their judgment's clouded by bloodlust but inhaling your scent brings them back to their senses >>> đ€ let me be your lighthouse home etc etc. sign me UP.
for some blurbs, this turned into a broader "hunter comes straight to you after a rough match" without the perfume bit. kind of misunderstood the assignment but either way, here's this!
đȘïž Ithaqua brings an air of gloom with him into your bedroom. Driven by nothing but a searing want for you, he skips over any pleasantries to tear off his mask and shove you onto the ground. A bed of wind tries to break your fall, but his impatience gets the better of him; he pins you to the floor with such force that he disrupts his own gale from cushioning your way down. Not that you care in the moment. Youâve been waiting to have him in your arms all day. He leaves a scattering of love bites and wet kisses up your neck.
âïž Jack has one particular tune that he hums after his worst matches. Months of living together have left you all too familiar with it. His song begins from the foot of the staircase and steadily crisps itself to your ears as he draws nearer. Afraid of the state you might find him in, you rush outside to meet him at the top of the banister. He pauses with one foot on the next step. âCurious,â he says, greeting you with a cordial smile. âItâs not often a little mouse stands in my pathânot on purpose.â His blouse is soaked a shade of reddish brown, and no amount of easy banter can hide the weariness in his eye. âWell, youâve saved me the trouble. I was on my way to ravage you next.â
đ Michiko drags her nails along the walls of the corridor, leaving a dull streak of blood behind. She doesnât make a sound when she slips inside your room, practised in her delicate step; you donât even feel the dip in the mattress before she has her shoulders arched over you. Eyeing you tenderly, she rolls a warm thumb over your cheekbone. âIâm home,â she murmurs. âYour sweet scent led the way again.â She realizes she left a smear of red on your skin, and her hand jerks away, startled by the reminder of what she had been doing just minutes ago.
đłïž Biâanâs arms wind around the small of your back, drawing you into his chest for a slow, tender embrace. Itâs the first thing he does after returning to the manor: falling straight into your arms. As his lips trail down your forehead, peppering soft kisses in their path, you wrap your arms around his neck to bring him closer. A whisper escapes you about how out of the blue this is, and in response he brings a kiss to the corner of your eye, prompting them to flutter shut. âLet me have you, just for a little whileâŠâ Those sweet kisses heâs so good at descend your neck, growing rougher the lower he goes.
đŽ Wujiuâs arms wind around your stomach, pressing his chest flush against your back. He hasnât uttered a word since returning from his match, aside from a tepid âNothing worth mentioningâ when asked about his day. This sudden affection takes you by surprise. You try to turn your head to face him but he catches your chin, steering your gaze back to the wall. âDonât look at me.â Whatever is clouding his mind today is better left alone, you realize. You lay your hands on top of his, squeezing them, encouraging him to let your presence blot out everything on his mind. Warm breath fans your collarbone as he nuzzles into your neck, drinking in your scent.
đŠ Bane doesnât like to discuss his matches. It makes no difference whether they are quick or slow, a win or a lose, they always weigh on him the same way. He sits on the edge of the bed lost in thought. You decide to break the tension first by greeting him with a hug from behind, your chin hooking over his shoulder. Bane isnât big on physical affection. But after a while he cups a tender hand to your temple, palm taking up the entirety of your face, and presses you gently into him.
đ Yidhra might be the hunter most detached from the nightmares of the manor games. They provide nothing but leisure for her, and sheâs never felt particularly passionate about them, win or lose. Her followers are the ones who give her the most trouble. When they resist her will, her consciousness splinters apart, some days leaving her too weak to herd them back again. These are typically the days she comes for you. You arenât sure when she enters your room, but sometimes you catch glimpses of her tail in your peripheral, never to be seen when youâre looking on purpose. Her voice floats in the back of your mind: Mine, mine, mine, mine⊠There is nothing that binds you to her, yet youâre the only one who never resists her.
đȘ Mary barges into the room clumsily for someone of her poise. She struggles to prop herself against the door, muddy skirt stiff in awkward folds. âMy mind is a mess,â she exclaims, voice clear but breathless at the same time. âWhere are you? Come settle me.â The second she spots you, she sulks over to toss her arms around your neck, finding a seat in your lap. Clearly she isnât concerned about observing her usual decorum today. Her dress is heavy and splotched with muck you donât care to identify, but you donât mind holding her as the burdens of the day ease off her shoulders.
đ» Antonioâs fingers instinctively travel to the liquor cart by the window. He hadnât bothered to turn on the lights, but feeling around to find nothing but an empty platter gives him pause. One resigned cluck of his tongue later, you feel tendrils of hair coil around your waist and wrists. They pluck you up from your side of the bed and present you in front of him as if youâre nothing more than a doll. âNot a drop to console me?â he complains, knowing youâve hidden his bottles again. Then his head tilts slightly, taking in your scent. You can practically see detentionâs fiery glow return to his eyes. âNo, perhaps you are rightâthere is something more intoxicating for me here.â
đ Graceâs mouth is pulled into a taut frown when she flings open the door. You can see a slight quiver in her lip if you squint. Her harpoon clatters on the ground and she drops onto your bed, braid falling out, face buried in a pillow. Thereâs little you can do except rub a soothing hand in circles on her back. When she peeks over her arm with a gentle plea in her eyes, you wonder if sheâs asking for a deeper massageâbut you donât get the chance to ask before her hand latches onto your forearm, tugging you down to lie with her.
đŻïž Philippe settles for a glass of brandy and his bundle of sketches. Heâs resting on the chaise by the foot of the bed, not his work desk where heâd usually be. Rather than drafting new ideas heâs simply thumbing through the old ones, mechanically, breaking from his cycle only for a sip of his glass. Itâs like your loverâs been replaced by a puppet. You feel unnerved enough to intervene: stripping him first of his glass, his sketches, then his monocle, you tip him back onto the cushion. You expect him to complain about having to get back to work, but he doesnât protest. Tonight is for him, you decide. As his dark hair sprawls out beneath him, you straddle his thighs, and his hand reaches up to cup your cheek. âIâm terribly jealous of this magic of yours,â he murmurs, faint lilt in his voice. âItâs always you who brings me back from the stars.â
Hiii, sorry to be a bother but I have a questionđ đ
I thought of a scenario for my oc and wonder how Aesop would react to someone(he barely knows since they're a new survivor) get an anxiety attack over his coffins? Take it as the person having past trauma that was somehow related to coffins, and just by seeing Aesop minding his own business, they recoil in fear from unpleasant memories? Would Aesop reach over to help? Leave that person? Or something else
As much as I love to study characters and their lore I'm veryyy dumb and cannot tell if they would canonically do this and that.. so I needed someone to askđ I hope you have a good dayy
Hiya
Short answer: he's not going to do anything.
The coffins and his makeup box are kind of the only bits of comfort Aesop has in the manor, and if someone shows discomfort or dislike of them, that's the same as disliking him. But he's not going to change and, to him, that's their problem.
Aesop keeps his distance from most people in the manor anyway, and he would just keep doing that. In matches, he would hesitate to embalm the person who was afraid of the coffins--which might be unhelpful, but the alternative is him putting you in something you're afraid of and potentially being expected to comfort you when he's unwilling to. So đ€· Lose lose, he'll save himself the trouble.
Hi so, I have been wondering. I have been thinking how different the earlier hunters and survivors were to the new ones. Like Joseph being a photographer and all of that. Or the Geisha (she doesn't really fit into the storyline of the new survivors). Which is cool, yeah. But then you take a closer look and notice how the newer characters have a very similar theme which doesn't really get shared with the older ones. You can see with most of them how they were used in some sort of experiment or something akin to that. Which begs the question, did they have a change of heart where they wanted the story to go and if yes, what the heck were they aiming for before?
(Maybe I am totally wrong and there is no such thing but I am more of a passive member of the fandom since the last time I played was about, idk, five years or so and I try to read up on the lore. The thing is, the lore is just all over the place on the Internet. Like yeah, the wiki helps a lot but cutscenes are also important and for the love of God, I can't find them. Or maybe they don't do that anymore? I was active when Emma's backstory was released so yeah, it's been a while.)
I don't think the end goal of the story has changed, but yeah, to keep a long-form story game like this going it's common for there to be retcons and filler characters who don't mean much to the actual plot. Geisha is not alone in that--all of the games prior to Ashes of Memory were just added to expand on the history of the manor and don't mean much in relation to Orpheus, who is the main character, and his development. They're just fodder for his plots and stories, and they could have easily been left vague for simple background lore reading. But without them, we wouldn't really have the game. The character roster would be so small....
Beyond the manor, though, I'm not really sure what you mean by experiments in the newer characters.
Just some various scenes of Luchino x my Oc, Evelyne again! This will most likely be the last I share of them as these snippets themselves are a bit old and I haven't made much more for them...but I hope you enjoy! Once again, you're welcome to imagine this as reader insert instead.
No NSFW, but it's under the cut for length.
warnings: mentions of body horror, crude language, hints at cannibalism
A Meal
There was meat on her plate.
Evelyne knew it by the mealâs presentation, but she couldn't ascertain exactly what kind. It was smothered in some kind of fragrant sauce, which blocked the color and smell. The shape could be anything. She needed to cut into it to see the textureâŠ. She ought to.
She ought to do something, she thought, before everyone noticed her hesitation, her shiftiness, the haunted expression she knew she wasn't hiding well.
She began reaching for her silverware, hands cold and weak, but before she picked them up another knife and fork appeared in front of her. Evelyne felt herself seize as they pressed into the mystery meat and cut. And cut. And cut. It was split into several thin rows before being pressed sideways, exposing the white flesh inside. She released a breath she hadn't known she was holding. The fork took a piece from her plate, and she followed its journey to the Professor sat next to her, who fearlessly ate it.
Luchino chewed thoughtfully, and whispered when he'd swallowed it, âIt's chicken.â
Chicken, she repeated internally as she watched Luchino return to his own meal and conversation, unbothered. She supposed she could trust that.
Uneventful Company
âWhat's this?â Evelyne asked, looking over the small spread in the greenhouse. There was a cloth over the metal table, and a tray with two glasses, a filled pitcher, and an assortment of snacks. The room was warm and herbal like ozone. The evening sun tinted the room faintly orange. She and Luchino were the only ones there too, it seemed, and how he had gotten Emma Woods away from her garden she could only guess.
âIced tea,â Luchino says, lifting his filled glass to look at it curiously. âI've been told you won't drink it hot, though if I'm being honest I find this a bit odd.â
âDid you add any sugar before it cooled?â Evelyne asked while walking over. She reached for the pitcher, but Luchino grabbed it first and filled the other glass. She took a curious sip.
âA bit,â he replied. âI don't care for it being overly sweet, myself.â
âTry a bit of fresh lemon next time,â she suggests, taking a seat in the opposite chair. âBut you didn't answer my question.â
âWe're sharing some tea and conversation,â he said, smirking. âWere you expecting something else?â
She was, in truth. She had spent several occasions now with the professor in his bed. And on his desk, in the smoke roomâŠ. They socialized during the day, too, but her point was that all their alone time up to this point had been spent in debauchery. (And somehow still not frequently enough for Evelyneâs liking. Luchino had been true to his word, when he said he'd ruin any other man for her. And yet he often promised his pleasures to others as well.) She knew that he knew that, too.
âWe've never done this before,â she mutters against the rim of her glass.
âThere's a first time for everything,â he says. âMay I be blunt?â
âI much prefer when you are,â Evelyne said. Luchino quirked an eyebrow, looking amused and pleased.
âI've seen your behaviors changing faintly, as of late. I'm now under the impression that you require comfort deeper than my cock alone can reach, so I thought we should just talk.â
Evelyne heard what she thought was someone choking just outside of the greenhouse. Luchino turned to look for an evesdropper over his shoulder, but Evelyne refused to let anyone else see her now-burning face. Part of it was due to that line of his being overheard--though she didn't know why; Luchino had told her several times before that the others would know how they were spending their time. The other part of it wasâŠflattery? That a man as desired as him would seek to know her despite her secrecy.
In Which Luchino Feels a Lot of Pain
The Professor was a private man, but after having spent so long at the manor there was not much he refused to speak about at all. Today, however, was a day which involved one such remaining subject.
The mutation from himself to his Hunter form had already begun, finished, and vanished long ago. His body was in stasis now, unchanging, unaging, and the Evil Reptilian existed separate from the original Luchino Diruse. But some days, for some reason, he felt as if it were happening again. A sick trick of the mind, perhaps, or a cause the manor has decided he'd earned. Regardless, the topic was taboo not because of any punishment or estrangement he felt he'd face, but rather because there was no worthwhile payoff for trying to explain such a convoluted time-defying event. That was, according to everyone else, the Evil Reptilian had been at the manor before the Professor, despite both of them knowing that was not the case at all. Even if he did convince them of the truth, though, no one could help the Professor with his phantom pains in any meaningful way. It simply would not matter in the end.
And so on the days he awoke and felt his bones shifting, muscles tearing, cells morphing with all the relevant and acute pains, Luchino stayed in his room. He abandoned his work, social habits, even meals, and remained writhing in bed for the day. Generally, everyone left him alone. If someone in the manor isolated, it tended to be for a reason, and Luchinoâs closest friends especially treated his room the same as his office and kept away.
Which was why he answered the door when Evelyne knocked. He expected an emergency, not simple nosiness. Least of all from the strange female Butcher.
âWhy werenât you at breakfast or lunch?â She stared at him suspiciously through the crack he opened in the door. Straight to the point, it seemed. âItâs not like you to skip meals.â Luchino might have processed some surprise and flatterâknowing Evelyne was not the âoutreachingâ sortâif he weren't so busy trying to hide that he was feeling his ribs break. He failed, and he saw Evelyne's eyes narrow when his shoulders shuttered and caved in.
Luchino tried to slam the door shut on her, but the sluggishness imparted from his pain was just enough for her to get her foot wedged in the frame.
âEvelyneââ Luchino snapped at her, but any rebuke on his tongue died when he was suddenly wracked with another full wave of pain that sent him crumpling completely forward. His knees buckled and he fell into the door. Simple bodyweight was less of an obstacle than intentional pushback, though, and Evelyne stubbornly began shoving her shoulders through the gap her foot held.
âLet me in,â she whispered with urgency. Despite his best, weakened efforts, she slipped inside his dark room. The door slammed shut, and Luchino could not fight the long and miserable groan or buckling of his knees; he slid down to the floor. Evelyne knelt next to him and looked for a cause of the apparent pain. But there was nothing obvious, which he was sure she found more than disturbing. In matches, even when he was bloody and bruised, Luchino merely breathed heavily and chuckled. He was the type to growl in pleasure, not pain. Which made the sight of him curling up all the more distressing to her. âWhat's going on? What's wrong?â
Luchino merely shook his head at her and dropped to his elbows, unable and unwilling to answer both. His back hunched as if that would stop the phantom break-expansion of his ribs. His muscles flexed to keep them to whole and unripped, fingers clawed grooves into the floor like he might ward off his agony with sheer will. And when his body released it was with a gasp of exhausted effort.
His braids fell over his shoulder, obscuring the tight screwing of his face and the snarling clench of his teeth from the woman he faintly recalled was afraid of his mouth. Less faintly, he was surprised when she touched his face to push the hair back. When his body allowed him to look at her, there was indeed a seed of nervousness in her eyes. Her hands were steady, though.
âI shouldn't have been cause for you to get up, back to bed with you,â she said softly. Bit of a non-apology, that, he thought with a chuckle. But Luchino let her brace under his arm and help him back to his feet. Together, they limped back to his flail-tossed bed, where he collapsed just in time for an actual shout of pain to be muffled by his pillows. He curled into the sheets and growled and roared because he felt his skin erupting with scale-growth burns, his spine separating at each vertebra and spreading out. His shifting and writhing eventually put him on his side, where he opened his screwed-shut eyes and saw Evelyne still nervously knelt next to his bed.
âYou can go,â he told her when he had breath enough to spare.
âIââ she hesitated. âIsnât there something I can do?â
âNo,â he choked. âIt will pass with timââ his words dissolved into a feral cry. He flinched and swung a fist back at his headboard, punching it hard and loud. The pain that bloomed in his hand was a poor distraction from the worse sensations, but he would take anythingâanything at this point. And that was when Evelyne grabbed his hand.
âStop that,â she said. The second his fist uncurled, her hand slipped and locked into his. Her spare hand stroked his bleeding knuckles. âJust squeeze my hand.â
He wanted to tell her not to linger. Not to waste her time. Not to do this when he might very well break her hand in a fit, without knowing. But she sat steadfast on the floor next to him, braced and determined. She was odd, this one.
âYouâll be alright,â Evelyne whispered when the next bout came.
And as Luchino turned and roared into his pillow again, he realized, in the back of his mind, that he couldnât recall the last time anyone had said that to him.
After Death
Luchino awakens faster than the others after his total loss of a match. That's common for him; he suspects it has something to do with his scales, the beginnings of a hunter body with its seeming immunities. As soon as his eyes are open, his feet hit the ground.
And Luchino does something unwise then, something he's not sure isn't punishable by the manor: He marches his way down the hall to Evelyne's room. It's still locked because she's not yet returned from the match, not fully back to herself. But Luchino chooses to take a page from his other self and gives in to his impulses this time. He takes out a tiny pocket knife and jams it into the keyhole, forcing his way in.
When Luchino slips in, her room is quiet. Evelyne is tucked into bed, but there's something odd about her form. She's hazy, shimmery, not fully formed. He's not entirely sure she'll be there when he reaches out to touch her. The dirt and grime are gone from her skin, but fast-fading scars linger on her face almost like being covered by makeup. She looks peaceful, but he feels like she's still there somewhat, lingering in replays of the match's trauma.
Luchino shuts her door behind him (The lock might be broken, but he'll fix it himself later.) and strides over to climb into bed with the once-predator woman. When his knee hits her mattress it stirs something in a way that makes him want to regret this. Evelyne's face twists out of peaceful sleep and she sobs half-consciously. (It might have been his name, but he doesn't let himself be stunned out of action so easily.) He's quick, coils around her through the thin sheets separating them and hushes her. It works, for now. When she fully awakens he's sure there will be more and worse (she didn't handle death well, he's noted before) but at least he will be there, ready.
CoA VII: Foreign Body
âI don't understand how you haven't given up yet,â Evelyne mused aloud.
Luchino was busy with the latest version of his serum, carefully measuring tiny vials of tinctures and powders. He was in his casual wearâsomething she'd learned he only donned when in private, away from the nervous eyes of the others in the Shelterâand she figured it was something he kept from his days as a Professor. A hint of nostalgic normalcy. His infected arm was still wrapped up, though, with silky mycelium strands slipping through the gaps of cloth. But he hadn't had any flare-ups yet that day, and he was taking that as an opportunity to finish some of his more delicate mixing work. Evelyne was sat on the gurney he'd swiped from the medbay for her treatments.
âHumanity deserves better than weak resolutions,â he answered absently, eyeing a flaskâs measurements.
âDoes it?â She asked. When she looked at her own hands, she still saw the blood of old sins crusted around her nails, venom in the veins beneath. The tiny blooms of black mold beneath the first layer of her skin were negligible. Part of her always wondered if the mold saw her as a partner rather than a host because she was a kindred pest from the very beginning. âPlenty of bad in humanity. Maybe the moral scales finally tipped and this is our punishment.â
âPlenty of bad, yes, but plenty of good. I don't believe that all is lost,â Luchino responded. He looked over his shoulder, back at her. âDo you?â
Evelyne did not reply again, lost in her own melancholy musings. Luchino felt a bit bad for her. The state of the world was far from good. Everyone lived in fear, save for the few like himself who instead wallowed in rage. He was able to turn his emotions into action, to fight back against this fate, but most people were not that strong-willed or rational. He was trusted among the remaining general populace, but still had to cover his currently-controlled infection when in their company. Evelyneâs âinfectionâ was far less obvious, but the circumstances of it meant she had to be sequestered away to her room or this lab for safety. He did imagine that the limited and very tunnel-visioned company of the exploration team got a bit old.
He paused his work to observe the solemn woman. Comfort was not the Professor's specialty anymore. He was too jaded, tired. But he decided it was worth trying now, and picked up a small glass display from his desk. He held it out for Evelyne to see when he stopped in front of her, and her eyes fell over a collection of pressed plants she hadn't seen in years. âThere's more to the world than simple good and bad. If humanity has not earned your concern, then consider, as I do, that nature holds no morality. It has earned no punishment, and certainly not extinction. And make no mistakes; right now you are a rare shred of hope for life as we know it. As much as I enjoy destroying the fungus with fire and violence, that will not save us from an internal enemy. Science, medicine, and rare cases such as yourself and Emil will be our saving graces. Even I am proof of that. If it weren't for you being here, I might have already been consumed by my infection. Whatever âbadâ haunts you, surely this is redemption enough for humanity. For you.â Her eyes moved to the silvery strands floating about his forearm, drifting on the smallest wafts of air like fine hair.
âI'm not doing anything, Mister Diruse, but sitting here and letting you poke and prod me with needles and the like,â she mutters.
âAnd very grueling work it is, if I might say,â he chuckles, gesturing to his own infected elbow, littered with injection marks from testing his own medicine. âAt the very least, you're keeping me alive and free. I'm quite thankful for that.â
Evelyne rolled her eyes a bit, fighting back a pointless smile. She dared to touch his displayed hand, ghosting over his tainted knuckles. âWell, I suppose if I do any good,â she sighed. âIt ought to be for you.â
There is really minor violence in this, but please keep that in mind if thatâs something youâre sensitive to. Also, I hc that survivors can communicate via a two-way earpiece!
"The cipher machine is primed. It's up to you now!" Luca's voice exclaims through your earpiece as you make your way to where Naib was chaired. Countless times have you attempted and succeeded in going ahead with risky plans. Still, all that prior experience was not doing much to stop your palms from sweating nor slow down your quickened heartbeat. You had ideas on why that was the case.
For one, the survivors of Oletus Manor have been on an awful losing streak recently, and it's been affecting everyone's morale. Even the survivors with relatively positive outlooks aren't doing so great. If you failed to turn this guaranteed tie into a win, you could practically imagine disappointed sighs and glares of disapproval (directed your way).
There was another idea floating around your mind as you ran, though.
You were nervous about failing him. The ironic part was that you knew he wouldn't hold any true ill-will against you. You're sure he'll call you an idiot, but he's not the type to hold a grudge over something like that. Even the best rescuers fail sometimes. So why were you so worried this time around?
Unfortunately, there wasn't any more time to linger on that question. Not when the chair was in your sight, and Naib's gaze was locked onto yours. He realized what you were trying to do the second he saw you rushing towards him. "Forget about saving me," You heard him say through your earpiece. "Just go for the tie."
"It's too late to do that." You huffed back as you looked away. You hear him let out an amused sigh before he speaks again. "Don't fuck up, then." As you got closer, your eyes scanned around his chair. Nothing. Ominous red light from the hunter? Missing. That was weird, but you convinced yourself to shake it off. Wanting to reach him in time, you forced yourself to run faster, resulting in you almost crashing into him. Almost. Using your hands, you stop yourself by planting them on either side of his head, practically pinning him against the chair.
If you had the time, you would've taken it to admire the sight in front of you. Battle-scarred hands gripped the armrests, and your eyes only traveled upwards, noticing the flex of Naib's biceps through his black long sleeve. Naib's hood had fallen, presumably during the struggle to the chair, revealing his pretty brown hair tied in its usual ponytail. It was disheveled, yes, but you that only made you want to run your hands through it to fix it for him. Yet, that all paled compared to how he was looking at you.
His dull blue eyes were trained on your appearance before reuniting with your gaze. They were filled with something you couldn't put into words, but you'd be lying if you said your heart didn't flutter. Realizing you could've completely misread his expression and he was actually silently judging, you try to save face. "I know I look breathtaking right now; you can tell me about it later, yeah?" You mumbled as you placed both hands on the safety bar and pried it off his lap before carefully taking his hands and pulling him out of the chair.
You were about to finally relax when you felt a shiver down your spine, immediately followed by a butterfly coming from overhead and landing directly in front of Naib. Without a second thought, you go between them and braced yourself. The familiar sting of Michiko's fan blade slashing you made itself known. However, it disappeared as quickly as it came, thanks to Luca popping the last cipher.
With a newfound sense of determination and the pain from injuries you both sustained becoming tolerable, Naib grabbed you by the hand and started sprinting toward the exit gate. "We're almost out. Just hold on a bit longer." He panted as he continued to pull you along. You subconsciously squeeze his hand, and surprisingly, he does it back. Another butterfly whizzes past, this time behind you. He notices and uses the hand holding yours, swinging you in front of him. Michiko barely misses her attack, giving both of you enough time to follow Luca through the exit.
Once you were back at the manor, you beelined to your room. You would've loved to have celebrated the win with everyone, but you were more than ready to sleep. When you were getting ready to turn off your lamp, you heard a knock on the door. You wanted to ignore it, but when there was a second knock, you sighed and opened the it.
It was Naib.
He appeared much more relaxed than he looked during the game, his right hand gently resting on your doorway. It was a good look on him. "Your recklessness never fails to amaze me," he says, shaking his head, which earns him a lighthearted eye-roll from you. "But nonetheless, I'm glad you rescued me despite knowing the risks." Usually, you'd tease him relentlessly for not being upfront with a "thank you," but you decided to play nice. Oh, how you regret not taking that chance.
"You know my conscience wouldn't let me leave people behind. Especially you." You say with a small smile. That second part was an understatement, as you'd drop everything and come running if he asked you to. For the sake of your pride, you didn't tell him that. He lightly scoffs when he realizes you are choosing to be passive tonight.
"It looks like you're getting ready to sleep, so I'll leave you be." He retracts his hand from the doorway, ready to head back down the hallway. Then, remembrance flickers across his face, leading Naib to turn his head back to you. Before you can ask what he was thinking, he suddenly says, "I agree."
"What?"
"You said you looked breathtaking during the game. I think you are all the time, so I agree.
With that, Naib turns around and walks down the hallway, disappearing behind the corner. Quietly closing the door to your room and shutting off the lamp, you crawl under the blankets on your bed. His words continually replayed in your head. Sleeping was going to be a struggle tonight. You would've brushed off what Naib said as him being oblivious (somehow) to how his words could be takenâŠ
If it wasn't for the fact you caught Naib leaving with what looked to be a knowing smile.
He definitely knows.
And much to your dismay, that makes you all the more smitten over him.
Hiiiii I was wondering how you manage to balance reading for enjoyment with reading to hone your craft as a writer? Do you prefer to 'switch between two brains' or just let everything osmose? Lately I've been trying to keep an eye out for more technical things when I read ... but it's been a bit draining.
ALSO YOUR LAST BOOK REC POST WAS SO GOOD. Can you pls spoil us with some more.
I don't LOL
Again, I barely get to do much reading these days, with all the other things I prefer to squeeze into my freetime. When I do, though, I just read. Things I like stick with me, and if I really want to guarantee I remember something, I have a tiny little pocketbook I put quotes and ideas in. Could be quotes from anything, but usually it's poetry or books.
Honestly the books I gave before are all the most recent ones I've read, and if I start reaching back further I don't really trust myself to give a good or accurate opinion on it. Sorry, wish I had more worth telling you about.
