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dark-side-blog3 · 5 months

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Ignore that this Home Alone inspired poly adeuce fic is a month late. Or choose to read it for 2024 Christmas, up to you.

I had a lot of fun writing this! Put it into a word counter just for fun, and I'm surprised to see that my first real WIP I finished in 2024 is 3k long! It was just so fun to imagine a twist one of my favourite Christmas movies, and I got so caught up in the fun of it I didn't make my deadline ^^; It was originally meant to be a short little crackfic, but it was just too fun! There are some cracky, campy elements, but that's just in the spirit of the movie I based it off!

Anyways: MDNI, warnings for standard yandere things, and creepy crawlies.

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"Shouldn't we be pouring salt on the pathway?"

"Nah," you smile, splashing another bucket of water on the front steps. "This is so we can have a nice slip-and-slide for tobogganing tomorrow, Grim! Same reason I'm filling up a little ice rink in the back-- I wanna do some skating. I can't wait for it to freeze over and teach you how!"

Grims' head shakes fervently as he beams; "Just you wait! I'll show you the grace and speed of a master figure skater! I'm gonna be teaching YOU how to skate by the time we're done!"

"Well if you wanna do that, you're gonna need to be well rested. Can you grab us some cookies for before-bed snacks?" you encourage, the monster agreeing and scampering off inside the dorm house to pilfer the cupboard.

You continue pouring water on the steps and trudge around the house's perimeter to check on the steps leading outside to make sure they're freezing over like you intended. You have several other home security measures to check over...

Most of the staff, and students for that matter, went home for the holidays. Family to see, vacations to take... A life to live outside of the school and other people in it. Should anything happen, Crowley was unfortunately unavailable (what else is new, the old bastard), nor was Vargas, Trein, or Crewl. Normally they'd be spattered throughout the holiday to watch over the students. But there are other teachers on the premises, and hardly any students who can't return home for whatever reason, and they let it slip by... One night during the whole winter break when none of your trusted faculty members nor any of your more powerful friends like Malleus or Idia could help if you got into trouble.

And maybe, maybe your brain has been rotted by movies and defending yourself from overblotted students.

But it's better safe than sorry.

With everything seemingly in order, and the sun setting quickly behind the treeline of school woods, you rush over to the front gate to hang a large sign:

NO SOLICITORS

Hopefully, this will deter anyone planning to intrude on you tonight.

You trudge your way back to the front door, carefully avoiding the steps. You spend the next few hours snacking with Grim while watching movies together, playing card games, and chattering about what ifs and would you rather... Before too long, it's time for bed, and Grim is out like a light, thanks to several pounds of turkey stuffing, potatoes, and cookies you still had after the holiday party days ago.

The party was fun... It did leave you with more leftovers you knew what to do with, which is always great. You got to wish Rook Joyeuses Fête, decorate cookies with Jack and Jade (the merman being much better at decorating, likely due to working in the lounge), and say goodbye to everyone dear to you before they left for their own plans... But it also had Ace and Deuce.

Which, on the one hand, they're harmless. You know they are. They're just jerks sometimes.

They should be focusing on their studies, and you had to devote your time to keeping Ramshakle clean, and Grim on task to graduate... The little monster became somewhat of a family member. Surrogate son or little brother you're not entirely sure, but you want him to succeed.

And even if the pair of heartslabyul boys were gifted students that excelled at every course with time to spare, Grim wasn't-- Grim needed your help to study, to get to class, to handle some of his projects for him when his paws would cause accidents in the potion lab. Grim needs your help to get through college, and it keeps you way too busy for a relationship with either guy.

And even though they soured the mood of the party right after you told them as such, it's the truth, and that's what it is. You're not going to jeopardize Grim's future just to date college students.

They acted like jerks for the rest of the winter break.

When everyone was opening presents, they bitched at everyone for the gifts they exchanged, teased relentlessly, knocked over decor, and told each classmate going through the magic mirror over the week to 'take their time coming back, if at all'. Poor Idia had an anxiety attack when they started teasing him; it took you half an hour to calm him down enough to stop puking and stick to just dry heaving. Grim scampered off after Idia fainted a second time... It took another hour after that to help him through the magic mirror, with his robot escorts. You would have walked through with him, but he insisted holding your hand as he left would be enough, only dragging you somewhat through the portal.

It was rubbing you the wrong way how they were picking fights with everyone, and snubbing Grim anytime they saw you and the monster around campus.

Suddenly, the front gates screech open, drawing you out of your thoughts. You peek out the sliver of the window from behind the thick curtain in the bedroom to see two figures shuffle through the snow.

It can't be them. Even if you were just thinking of them, that would be too... Convenient. Like some movie logic. Thinking of people doesn't summon them.

Whoever it is will be getting a nasty surprise in three, two, one--

A muffled thud and string of curses can be heard from the other side of the glass. You sneak your way down the stairs so you can at least see who's at the door.

"Son of a--! Grim!" Deuce shouts. So much for not summoning them.

"Open the door, little buddy! We know that you're in there and that you're all alone... Your precious prefect is spending the last night of the winter break with someone else, right?" Ace yells, quickly being joined by a snickering and rapping at the door.

A shadow presses itself against the window, trying to peer through sheer curtains. You duck behind one of the striped couches on the outside of the room, close to the walls. Through the reflection of the glass cabinet, you can see the figure stay and linger at the window, tapping against the glass with a small can.

"Come on Grim. We've got tuna for ya if you just open the door and have a chat..." Deuce says, cupping his hands around his mouth as he yells through the glass.

His shadow straightens up, before pounding back on the glass, rattling the old pane against the tight frame, the narrow strips of wood being tight enough together that neither of them could just force their way through the window; Even if they shattered all the glass.

Which Deuce just might, slamming himself into the frame as hard as he could.

"I saw you move in there! Don't ignore us!" He shatters a pane, shoving his hand through to grab at the sheer curtains and tug, ripping them.

You duck back behind the couch, scanning for tools to protect yourself. Shut up. Don't be stupid, just think. Think quick, and smart.

The banging stops for a second. Before becoming far louder-- powerful enough to feel the floor shake. Metal creaks against its hinges, and the lock crashes into the strike plate of the door.

Ignore that, focus. Cleaning supplies. Always nearby, the dorm is filthy. Dish soap and mop bucket.

You dart out from behind the couch to grab the bottle of dish soap, grabbing it and rolling up against the wall just in time as the banging stops, the door knob jiggles and a thin wire pokes itself out from the cracks between the door frame. It makes quick work of the locks on the door, before opening, and Ace proudly struts into the room. The second he does, you pop the cap and squeeze the bottle, squirting bright blue goop into his eyes and smarmy mouth! And you splurt the floor for good measure!

You sprint back to behind the couch he pulls back, sputtering, and wiping it from his eyes in thick globs. You watch through the reflection of the cabinet as Deuce shoves his way past Ace as he splatters fistfuls of goop onto the floor, next to the bottle of leaking dish soap. Ace shoves Deuce for the push, and the resulting shove has both of them slipping on the puddle of dish soap you left in your hurry.

"Ahg-- Ace?! Why are you on the floor?"

A visibly wet smack as dish soap arches off Ace's gloves, slapping damply right into Deuce's face as he grunts from under his classmate: "Get off me, you buffoon! Go find the cat-- Grim, I'm gonna skin you for this, you little creep!"

"Don't make threats until after we have the little rat, runt. If he goes tattling we're screwed--"

"There's no one to tattle to! He's all alone in this big house! Even the ghosts aren't here! If we stick his claws in an electrical socket or force-feed him motor oil, no one would think anything of it! He's just a dumb animal that killed himself without supervision!"

Something glints from under the couch. You grasp at it, finding a spare ornament, and an unused ziptie, threaded through the top. There's got to be something you can use to create a bigger distraction and get you and Grim out of here.

There has to be something in reach-- going back to the bucket in plain sight of them is too risky. Shoving your hand under the couch, your clutch the first thing that your grasp: An aerosol room freshener. Score.

Wrapping the ziptie around the spray trigger, you tighten it and roll it over to the boys, still scrambling about on the floor. You watch from the reflection in the cabinet as Deuce gets a heavy spray right in the eyes, hollering in pain!

"AUGH-- Fucker! You think you're so smart, punk?! Your little bomb just gave away your position!" Deuce shouts, whipping out his magic pen, covering his eyes.

You feel a sense of dread. Primal instinct. You leap out from behind the couch just as he summons a caldron to crash into the couch, narrowly missing you as it smashes the solid oak to splinters. Splinters stick to your socks, embedding in your feet as you scamper off to another room, streams of water and gusts of wind being shot after you.

Just as you turn the corner to climb up the stairs and rush to Grim's room, you hear Ace curse exasperatedly, stumbling his way to the end of the hall to stare at you, still wiping his eyes on his sleeves. Another string of sighed curses leaves his lips as he watches you scramble up the stairs, making accidental eye-contact.

They know their plans are botched now.

Gotta climb faster.

On all fours, you claw up the stairs, just as a tug on your ankle forces your jaw to slam into them. Casting a glance backwards, Ace has gripped your ankle with his sticky gloves, grinning madly as you struggle to tug your ankle away from him, and try to dodge the other one of his hands trying to grasp for your other leg, only to end up sloppily groping your ass before trying again. You try to shake and kick him off, getting a hits to the side of his head, but not as effective as if you had room to wind up. He's gripping so hard it feels like he's going to break something. You scramble, shifting your weight side to side to get him off, prying yourself off the stairs and scratching your nails into the old wood. Your nails cling to the baseboard, prying the edge as much as you can, the wood creaking and snapping off with each desperate tug to pull yourself up.

The baseboard snaps, and you find yourself with a small wooden shiv, thinking to whip around and stab it into Ace's hand, leading him to retract for a second long enough for you to scramble up a step again-- before being slammed back down into the wood as you're grabbed again.

A girthy, irrate red centipede wiggles its way out from the hole in the baseboard, defensive of the now-ruined home.

You snatch it up, close to the head and the snapping mandibles as it wriggled and writhed, as you slowly reached back around to Ace, still clinging to your legs as you tried to shake him off. The teen was so focused on keeping you still as he pulled some ducttape off the roll with his teeth, that he didn't see the massive, snakelike body of the centipede until it was too late; And you stick it right on his face.

He seemed to freeze, giving you enough time to tug your leg again, just as he screamed an ear-piecing shriek!

Ace pawed at his face squirming violently on the stairs, thumping loudly on each step back to the bottom as you sprinted your way upstairs, into Grims room, slamming and locking the door behind you!

"What the hell is wrong--"

"PSYCHO PREFECT IS WHAT! Is it in my hair? Fucking thing was thick as a finger, and they put it right on my face! Is it in my hair?!"

"The prefect is home?! Dude! We're so screwed!"

"So go up there and get them, dipshit! Why are you standing still when they're up there getting a fucking bear trap or something ready?! Are you having an aneurysm or something?! Why are you just staring at me like that?!"

"...Ace... Don't... Move."

"Deuce... What are you talking about? Go get them-"

"Don't. Move."

"Deuce..?"

The telltale crash of a cast iron cauldron smashing through your rotten wood floors makes you nearly shit yourself, glancing back at a sleep-stirring Grim.

"DID I GET IT?"

"YOU ALMOST CRUSHED MY SKULL YOU NUTCASE!"

"DID I GET IT?!"

"You fucking moron!"

You snatch Grim up, using the blanket he was sleeping with like a hobo bag to hold him in, and open the window, edging your way carefully onto the roof. If you can just make safely to the other side of Ramshackle, you can try scaling down the ivy. And it will at least give you a head start-- Maybe hiding out in Sams is the best idea. A store owner must have a CCTV, right? And if Ace and Deuce try and kill either of you, then even if something happens to you, they'll get caught...

You wrap the corners of Grims blanket around your shoulders, like a makeshift baby pouch. You can definitely feel him squirming on your back, starting to wake up. You let go of the window, slipping down the rough roof tile. Laying on your stomach, you side-shuffle over, staying as low to the roof as you can to get the most traction. The edge nearly takes you by surprise when your foot doesn't connect with length that's not there. Slowly, you shuffle even closer to the edge, swaying your arm around the edge to find the vines of Ivy.

"I FOUND 'EM, ACE!"

Your head whips around to see Deuce leaning as far as he can out of the window before he scrambles to get onto the roof.

Whipping your head back to focus, you grab a fistful of vines and pull the rest of your body off the roof! You snatch another fistful with your other hand as you fall.

And fall all the way down, watching in horror as the ivy peels itself from the brick walls.

You feel Grim claw his way out of the pouch and onto your face just in time, as you land on your back with a sickening crunch.

"Oh shit," Ace comments, seemingly having been waiting for you at the bottom of the wall. You see Grim flee across the yard out of the corner of your eye, unable to lift your head.

The sound of snow crunching underfoot, and Deuce panting like crazy soon joins Ace in staring at you as you lay helpless on the ground. As soon as he arrives he gets asked: "Are we gonna get Grim?"

"No point, really..." Comes the huffed response; "We were gonna get him to fuck off, and he's fucked right off. Tonight didn't really go to plan anyway."

A boot gently kicks at your side as Ace turns his attention back to you: "Are you paralyzed or something? That was quite the fall."

You open your mouth to speak, but only a cracked whine makes it out. You cringe and try again, but nothing intelligible comes out.

"Holy shit, they're brain-damaged!" Ace grins, laughing as he backs away from you.

You feel Deuce tugging at your legs in the snow, dragging you from your shallow ditch in the snow. He begins tugging you closer to the dorm, before he drops your legs, moving to grab you under your arms and haul you that way, up against a wall. Breaking a window, he shoves you in, head first. The cold floors of Ramshackle are still warmer than the ice and snow.

"Alright. Hey, real quick, can you feel this?" Deuce begins poking you with a wire from an ornament, starting with your legs, and making his way up on both sides. You nod, wincing at some particularly sharp pricks, to which Deuce responds by rubbing the area to dull the pain.

"Can you say where you are right now? Do you know who I am? Who you are?" You nod again, voice stumbling through a pained response.

"Awesome. You're not brain-damaged! You're probably just winded from the fall. Is anything broken? Can you wiggle your fingers and toes? Try twisting side to side. If you can't it means your spine might be broken, and you need a doctor."

You comply, weirded out by the sudden care, but the doctor comment means they will call someone. And that someone will keep you safe, and them away. The pain's already fading, and likely nothing serious, but you could trick them... Deuce particularly seems like a soft touch. You wince as you try to twist, feigning inability.

Deuce makes a worried expression, like he's about to piss himself from fear.

He backs off slightly, giving you a bit more breathing room: "Try crossing your arms and lifting them as far away from your ribs as you can".

You comply again, feigning difficulty,

And duct tape wraps around your wrists instantly. Deuce presses his knee down into your chest to pin you down as he wraps as tightly as he can, while Ace ties your legs from outside.

"This really, really isn't my style. But we've got to get you somewhere that is not here when the teachers come back tomorrow, and we can't have Grim knowing where to find you." Deuce rambles, soaking his glove in a bottle of something, before pressing it to your face. He continues rambling, leaning in closer to whisper: "And I know how this looks! But I promise we won't do anything to you while you sleep. Or when you wake up! I swear! It's all more normal than it seems tonight-- or it can be anyways. And... And if you give me some time, give me a chance, we can even ditch Ace and forget this night ever happened! You just need some time somewhere else..."

The room spins with dark spots as Deuce presses his soaked glove further into your face. He continues rambling at you, while you feel Ace begin dragging you back out the window again. The snow doesn't feel cold this time as you fall into it. It just feels soft.

#my writing!#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere poly #poly yandere #yandere ace trappola #yandere ace #yandere deuce #yandere deuce spade #yandere adeuce #yandere poly adeuce #bug tw #creepy crawlies tw #yandere crackfic #sorta~! It is for sure all over the place. but so is the moive tbh #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #holidays.!

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dzamie · 8 months

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Detecting AI-generated research papers through "tortured phrases"

So, a recent paper found and discusses a new way to figure out if a "research paper" is, in fact, phony AI-generated nonsense. How, you may ask? The same way teachers and professors detect if you just copied your paper from online and threw a thesaurus at it!

It looks for “tortured phrases”; that is, phrases which resemble standard field-specific jargon, but seemingly mangled by a thesaurus. Here's some examples (transcript below the cut):

profound neural organization - deep neural network

(fake | counterfeit) neural organization - artificial neural network

versatile organization - mobile network

organization (ambush | assault) - network attack

organization association - network connection

(enormous | huge | immense | colossal) information - big data

information (stockroom | distribution center) - data warehouse

(counterfeit | human-made) consciousness - artificial intelligence (AI)

elite figuring - high performance computing

haze figuring - fog/mist/cloud computing

designs preparing unit - graphics processing unit (GPU)

focal preparing unit - central processing unit (CPU)

work process motor - workflow engine

facial acknowledgement - face recognition

discourse acknowledgement - voice recognition

mean square (mistake | blunder) - mean square error

mean (outright | supreme) (mistake | blunder) - mean absolute error

worldwide parameters - global parameters

(arbitrary | irregular) get right of passage to - random access

(arbitrary | irregular) (backwoods | timberland | lush territory) - random forest

(arbitrary | irregular) esteem - random value

subterranean insect (state | province | area | region | settlement) - ant colony

underground creepy crawly (state | province | area | region | settlement) - ant colony

leftover vitality - remaining energy

territorial normal vitality - local average energy

motor vitality - kinetic energy

(credulous | innocent | gullible) Bayes - naïve Bayes

individual computerized collaborator - personal digital assistant (PDA)

#image id #ai #artificial intelligence #neural networks #ai generation #linguistics #text #image #rawrs

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cheyrose-13 · 1 month

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Okay okaayokay so I think we've all seen the idea of Ghostface being seen as a "Mentor" for Legion, Imagine that but let's give that role to reader for a sec bc I love self inserts 💀🫶

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Their little group had been fascinated with your antics for *years,* Ever since your kills started showing up in the news, the papers, small warnings from teachers, parents and over adults around to "Not Stay Out Too Late" Given, they hadn't had their taste of blood yet, but that wouldn't stop their true crime loving minds from being totally enamored with your paragraph in the paper.

The clips were cut out, strung up while the four tried to make sense of it all, Not to get a junior detective badge from the police force of course. No, they could care less about a small piece of bronze painted plastic.

They just wanted to know, They just wanted to know what was going on in your head.

Maybe they'd even take some ideas from you - Not to steal them, but it worked out for you, Didn't it?

It lasted, till your spree began to slow down, there were less news reports on you, less warnings, less of...well everything.

They waited for reports, any they could get. All with the wonder, had you finally been caught?

When these reports stopped completely with the idea that you may have finally been caught, They took what they learned from the clippings they saved. And decided to continue your spree for you.

It wasn't necessarily planned, just when the moment arrived they did. The janitor of some store they were trying to steal from.

They didn't expect anyone to still be at the store after closing, but it was their chance to honor you.

The body was later buried, left to rot under layers of dirt and the fresh snow of Ormond.

They were set to go home, go home like they didn't just end someone's life.

Only, this time was different, They couldn't leave the burial site, The woods looked bigger then they remembered, foggier than they remembered, and it looked like it was moving. The dark mist creeping through the woods, moving slowly as if they were the prey now.

It moved, till it swallowed the group of four into a swirling cloud of dark fog.

And when it dissipated? They went with it.

The Entities Realm.

When the fog left their view they were met with a different woods, less snow, less light. It was dark, dense and foggy, a campsite judging by the warm crackling fire. It was inhabited to, inhabited by the other murderers of the game, They saw just about everything you could imagine, creepy, crawly critters, Only what you could imagine to be waiting under your bed at night, to even characters from the shitty slashed movies they used to watch — But they weren't real. Right?

The fog opened once more, inviting in one last killer who was arriving home from a trial, You.

The one They'd been using as a indirect mentor for so long. With four new Moris on your belt.

They could've completely forgotten about the strange fog that just swallowed up their world as they knew it.

It was you.

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#dead by deadlight #dead by daylight fanart #deadbydaylight #dead by daylight #dead by daylight x reader #dbd the legion #legion #dbd legion #the legion #legion x reader #frank morrison dbd #dbd frank #frank morrison #joey dead by daylight #susie dead by daylight #julie dead by daylight

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theexaltedbride · 1 year

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Dead Island 2 Slayers x Reader Headcanons (Part Three!)

(Still having a fun time, and people wanted more, so here you go! Have fun and happy Slaying!)

Amy:

-Amy has a competitive streak to her that tends to leave her very huffy whenever she loses at anything. But all it takes is a couple of kisses from you on her neck, cheek, or lips to brighten her back up. To the point the others joke about deploying you as a secret weapon whenever Amy gets actually angry about something.

-Sometimes she just likes to be held by you in the shower when you are both easing down and soothing your muscles from a long day of slaying monsters.

-It took some doing, but you managed to get Amy talking more about her personal life, and focusing on things besides winning the Paralympics, she actually works as a part time as a teacher for children with special needs, and has several fun stories, including how she met the actress for Space Fox 2250, and only really knew her because one of the kids in her 6th Grade class had an SF:2250 lunchbox with the actress on it. She misses her kids, and hopes they are okay. But you reassure her that they are, and to just keep thinking about the good times, because when you all make it through this, they are going to want to see their favorite teacher.

-Amy has mentioned offhandedly that she enjoys going shopping from time to time, not so much because she likes to buy things, but because she loves the experience of not knowing what you might find at a brick and mortar store. It just feels good getting to move around and see other people going about their day. So one time you cleared out a section of a mall of some zombies, and told Amy it was going to be a shopping day, just you and her. While you can’t bring in other people to walk around, you can at least give her part of that experience again.

-Hates having to clean zombie splatter out of her hair buns, but refuses to wear a hat or hairnet to stop it from happening, no matter how many times you suggest it to her. If you didn’t know any better you’d think that she was doing it so you would always be on hand to help her wash her hair.

Bruno:

-His old life as a hustler helps him to sometimes haggle other survivor groups out of some goods and services, but he also uses it to get things he knows you would like and plays it off as just being part of the deal.

-Bruno hated corruption back in the day, and some of his hustles were meant to expose that. If you offer to help him get some dirt on shitty politicians and other rich people who abandoned all the civilians to die in Hell-A, then he will never forget it.

-He might have ‘borrowed’ some leftover filming equipment from Monarch studios to start recording the best moments between you and him in high definition. He wants to be able to remember your smile in perfect clarity and better quality than just his phone.

-He gets all fussy when he loses his beanie and you can see that his hair is actually a total mess. He wears the beanie to cover up a ruined patch of hair that he had to shave off early in the outbreak when a zombie grabbed some of his dreadlocks and pulled hard enough to rip some hair out. But you assure him he would look good regardless of how he has his hair, or even no hair at all. He’s the one making the style look good, not the other way around.

-Bruno isn’t always the best about sharing his emotions and feelings, but you’ve started to pick up a general vibe that he gets a smart mouth when he’s upset, angry, or annoyed. He’s constantly in this mode when dealing with Rikky, and you tend to tag in when Bruno gets like this so that the group doesn’t start anything with other survivors.

Carla:

-She absolutely hates anything creepy or crawly, be it regular insects or infected who are covered in bugs. So she hung close to you when the group had to clear out the Monarch Studios set for the Rise of the God Spider, since tons of actual spiders were crawling across the floor and spreading real web everywhere.

-Loves when you bring her any nice looking bikes scavenged from the city, even if she needs to fix them. She was a mechanic before and so is always working on something to stave off boredom. You bringing her things to fix (especially if they go fast) really puts a smile on her face.

-Carla is as tough as they come. She’s made her peace with the idea of dying at the hands of the infected, but she can’t stand the idea of losing you. The thought of living in a world without you, after having finally found you haunts her nightmares. You know she’s had one of those nightmares when the following day she seems to constantly be checking up on you and making sure she knows you’re there and not hurt.

-She tends to lose her earrings in the middle of more intense fights, especially when forced to fist fight with Crushers, so she really appreciates it when you pick up her earrings again or find new ones to replace them.

-If you ask very nicely, Carla might decide to bench press you in the gym, lifting you up like you weigh nothing.

Dani:

-Always wants to hear about your family and what they were like, especially any happy and fun memories you have, because she does not have a good relationship with her own family. Maybe she will tell you the full story someday.

-If you let her, she can absolutely cut and style your hair. Though be prepared for her to experiment with it to see what works best for you, results may vary wildly.

-At first you might have found Dani’s constant swearing off putting, but after a while it grew on you and you’ve started to swear casually just like her. She finds it cute but states you will never be able to swear to the same level as her.

-Sometimes she can get very sassy with you, but as time goes on you’ve learned to differentiate her playful sassiness with her being actually angry, annoyed, or teasing.

-Dani won’t admit it, but she loved that you brought her a whole pack of her favorite lipstick. It took some work to find it, but it was worth it, and Dani makes sure to test it out on you frequently by leaving lipstick imprint on your mouth for all to see.

Jacob:

-His time as a Stuntman has helped him survive getting hit by tougher infected as he just relaxes his body and takes the hit, the first time you saw this it shocked you and you thought Jacob had been seriously injured, you only calmed down after seeing him get back up, but that reaction told Jacob you had genuine feelings for him.

-Jacob invited you to a late night party with Rikky and Roxanne. You honestly can’t remember what happened, you partied way too hard and woke up with Jacob on several pink flamingo floaties all taped together, on the roof of Rikky and Roxanne’s place.

-When Jacob found out that there were still chefs surviving at the Blue Crab over on Venice Beach, he went the extra mile to help secure it and bring them supplies so that they could prepare something nice for you and the others (but mostly so you and Jacob could have a date night together and pretend things were back to normal).

-If you are open to smoking with Jacob, he will start you off small and get you used to it (and only the best brands he can scavenge) before you two will be smoking like pros. Given the state of things you might not even live long enough to get lung cancer, or might be immune to it thanks to being a Numen. Either way, Jacob wants you to live it up with him.

-You might have gotten a contact high from Trent’s special blend, but to Jacob its weaksauce, though he does keep some of it handy in case you would like to smoke some, and will keep an eye on you so that you don’t get into any trouble or get hurt with your initial high.

Ryan:

-Ryan absolutely has his Himbo moments, but he’s not as dumb as others might think. He’s better at coming up with quick plans on the fly rather than long projects, so you pick up the slack for him in that regard.

-When you sleep together, Ryan tends to roll over on top of you protectively and you’ve come to appreciate the feeling of him on top of you, almost like a big warm, weighted blanket.

-Ryan actually hates needles and tends to flinch each time he needs to use an autoinjector, needs stitches from an injury, or has to help Dr. Reed with his vaccine stuff. But if you can distract him by holding his hand or keeping his attention things will go much easier.

-Ryan loved seeing the giant spider animatronic over at Monarch Studios because he’s actually a big fan of giant monster movies. So if you happen to surprise him with some while out scavenging its gonna be a fun night of seeing your man geeking out over his hyperfixation.

-Ryan is actually very particular about how he has his coffee made and would rather go to the nearest coffee shop and fix it himself than let someone else do it wrong. The only exception to that rule is when you are the one making the coffee for him. When you do it its always perfect, because its made with love.

All Purpose Headcanons:

-When your lover was thrown into that pit in the sewers by the Eschaton group, full of infected which forced them to go berserk, you jumped in after them without a moment’s hesitation. Your Slayer Lover was rabid, wild, tearing apart infected with their bare hands. For a moment it looked like they might do the same to you, but when their eyes stared into your own, they recognized you, and it started to calm them down, bringing them back to normality.

-Luciana set up some scavenged videogame consoles down in the game room. Your Slayer lover always likes to have you as their player 2 and sits right next to you as you play.

-Curtis likes to hang out there too and while he doesn’t play any games (hands have far too much arthritis and games move too fast for him) he’s grown to enjoy watching the others play them and watching the stories sometimes or even talking about them. During Tabletop RPG nights in the gameroom, he also likes to sit nearby and watch, while commenting on how to properly roll dice like he did back in his younger days as a star when he went to Vegas, or adding random bits of commentary.

-Amanda has been trying to set up a better internet connection in the living room so that she can upload her videos. She’s had no luck so far, but she’s also shown her softer side by asking everyone to write an email to someone they care for on the outside, and saving it on her tablet, so that if she does get a signal, she can send it out as soon as possible before they lose the signal again.

-Everytime you have to go into the sewers you end up needing like a three hour bath to scrub yourself clean, but your lover is always there to help you out, even if they too smell bad from being in the sewers with you.

-Emma doesn’t like it, but you all love using her jacuzzi in the back of the mansion. You all just sit back, take in the sun, relax in the water, and ignore the sound of the Zeds outside. Nothing like taking a break with some good friends.

#Dead Island #Dead Island 2 #Dead Island x Reader #Dead Island Slayers x Reader #Dead Island Headcanons #Slayers x Reader #Character x reader #character x reader shipping #DI2

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lamonnaie · 2 months

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Get to Know Me Tag :)

Thanks for the tag @cornflowershade and @qt-qtoey !! <33

do you make your bed? very rarely lol, i can't be bothered most days 🫡

what's your favourite number? 7

what is your job? i do private tutoring + work at a tutoring place

if you could go back to school, would you? uhh i mean i'm still in uni, med school's rough so idk if i'd wanna ever come back 😭 Although i took a linguistics unit once and it was rlly interesting, maybe i'd like to go back at some point (in the very distant future) to do more of that for fun :))

can you parallel park? nope, still on my learners and i haven't gotten around to learning lol

a job you had that would surprise people? hmm honestly haven't had any particularly surprising jobs? just the regular minimum wage retail stuff <//3

ooh but if we go with something adjacent that people would find surprising, i think irls would be very shocked to know that i write fanfic 😂

do you think aliens are real? Potentially? I feel like there's surely something somewhere out there, idk in what capacity though

can you drive a manual car? nope

what's your guilty pleasure? nothing's a guilty pleasure if you're shameless enough about your interests 😌

tattoos? i like the idea of them but i don't think i'll ever get one :)

favorite color? purple!! hence all the question colours hehehe

favorite type of music? osts of whichever show/movie i'm watching at the moment, that's pretty much the only music i've been listening for the last 2-ish years 😭 i guess most of that will count under pop music!

do you like puzzles? yesss!!! i love any and all types of puzzles <33

any phobias? idk if it's a phobia but i'm definitely NOT a fan of bugs/creepy crawlies, pls stay away from me 🙏🙏

favorite childhood sport? ahahaha i hated sports class with a passion all throughout school 😪 but i liked watching swimming and tennis a lot, i still keep up with tennis sometimes !!

do you talk to yourself? mostly just in my head, i'm surrounded by people most of the time so i wouldn't wanna talk out loud lol

what movies do you adore? i'm not rlly a big movie person, but some movies i've rewatched many times: Tenet, Tell Me How I Die (it's this horror movie with Ryan Higa of nigahiga fame that i was obsessed with when it first came out because i was going through a nigahiga phase 😩), Barbie and the Diamond Castle (the og barbie movies stay superior 💯💯), We Are Champions (only watched this recently, it's a taiwanese movie with my fav fandy fan in it <3 it's a very solid sports movie :))

coffee or tea? Coffee !!! although i like tea too. iced coffee and iced tea ftw

first thing you wanted to be growing up? i don't rlly remember? probably author or teacher :)

tagging @dramalets @xinhua-jun @kess-in-the-perthchimzone @quodekash @buckystilinski @gaiaxygang @moeblobmegane @telomeke @dropthedemiurge + anyone else who sees this, no pressure !! :D

#tag games #thank u for the tag lovelies <33

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edupunkn00b · 8 months

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Where the Air Is Sweet, Chapter 13

Photo by Rachel Martin via Unsplash

Prev - Ch. 13 - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

WC: 871 - Rated: G - CW: fluff! (and storybooks) :D

Patton and Logan read together. The story sparks a question from Logan. -

“‘Isn’t it odd,’” Patton read aloud from the book his students—well, his students and their parents—had given him for Teacher Appreciation Day. “‘We can only see our outsides but nearly everything happens on the inside.’”

Logan softened in his hold and hummed, the vibrations dancing out from the middle of his back and against Patton’s chest and arms. They sat curled together on their new loveseat, celebrating its arrival with stories and cuddles. With Patton’s arms curled around his middle, Logan held the book, the simple text and illustrations captivating them both.

They’d originally planned to each read their own books. Logan was working through The Four Agreements, but he’d looked up with each of Patton’s tiny gasps and coos at the lovely storybook. Finally, his curiosity had burned too brightly to contain and he’d sheepishly asked Patton to start again from the beginning.

That had been well over an hour ago. The soft story of a lonely little boy, his new cake-obsessed mole friend, and a promised fox and horse had kept their attention as the night grew dark.

“‘“Imagine how we would be if we were less afraid,” said the boy.’” Patton continued, then waited for Logan to turn the page.

Instead of turning, though, Logan held the book with one hand and brushed his fingertips over Patton’s knuckles. “What do you think we would be like if we were less afraid, Pat?”

“I wouldn’t need a nightlight,” he chuckled gently, then rested his cheek against the top of Logan’s head. His hair was warm and soft, and lightly tickled Patton's cheek in the most delightful way.

Logan’s heartbeat thudded against Patton’s forearm but he didn’t speak.

“That’s not really what you meant though, huh, Lo?” Patton murmured.

“No,” he whispered. His heart raced in the quiet room until Patton imagined he could hear it. Logan sucked in a sharp breath and slowly let it out, the warmth radiating over Patton’s hands. “I’m not afraid of the dark or spiders”—he tilted his head to smile at him—”Creepy crawly death dealers. But… I do get scared. There are… there are many things that frighten me.”

The muscles in Patton’s arms flexed as he held Logan just a little tighter, pretending for a moment he could banish all of his dearest friend’s fears through the strength of flesh and bone and will alone. “What are you afraid of, Lo?”

“I…” He set down the book, carefully marking the page with the little card the children had signed. “I was afraid to ask you about this loveseat,” he finally said, tracing the weave of the upholstery.

“I’m glad you conquered your fear,” Patton smiled. “I really like being able to sit with you like this.”

“As do I,” Logan admitted in a tiny whisper. “I…” His heartbeat shot back up and he glanced at their bedroom door.

“Lo,” Patton began, very gently. “There’s no wrong answer to this, I promise, but…” Logan shifted in his arms, not pulling away, but turning until he was nearly cradled against his chest. “Is there something else you want but you’re afraid to ask for?”

His answer was a nod. And a bright red flush across his cheeks.

Patton pressed one small kiss into his hair and waited. When Logan still didn’t speak, Patton kissed the top of his head again. “I promise you, Lo… The absolute worst thing I might say is no.”

“I can imagine a great deal worse than a simple ‘no,’” Logan whispered. “In fact, ‘no’ feels like the most I can hope for.”

“You can never get what you don’t ask for,” Patton replied. “I care about you far too much to say anything worse than ‘no.’” Big, dark eyes looked up at him and from this angle, Patton caught a glint of the silver at Logan's collarbone. He tapped gently at the metal. “I might surprise you again.”

Lithe, warm fingers covered Patton’s and something shifted behind Logan’s eyes. He smiled at last, the worry melting from his face. “Promise?” he asked.

“Promise,” Patton said, nodding solemnly.

“If I were fearless,” he began, eyes downcast as though a small part of him was still very much afraid of Patton’s expression. “If I were fearless,” he tried again, “I would ask if you wanted to share a bed.”

The words came out in such a rush, it took Patton a moment to be sure he even understood the question. In his silence, Logan kept his eyes trained down, stiff in Patton's arms. “Do you mean every night?” Patton asked. Despite Logan’s obvious discomfort, he couldn’t help the smile growing on his face. “Not just when I have a nightmare?”

Still looking down, Logan nodded slowly. “While I would never wish distress or a disturbed night of sleep for you, I… I miss it when…” His voice cracked and he sniffled. Despite Patton's assurances, Logan's fear over Patton's response poured off of him in waves, squeezing his heart.

“Oh, Lo…” Patton lifted his chin and smiled when he finally looked up. “My bed feels awfully lonely without you in it, Lo. I'd love to share it with you.”

“Really?” Logan asked, eyes grown misty above a tiny, shaky smile.

“Really.”

#Where the Air Is Sweet #ts logan #ts patton #logicality #Logan Sanders #Patton Hart #Patton Sanders #for the character tags #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #fluff #fluffy logicality stories!

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determinate-negation · 1 year

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In the third grade, my teacher had various creepy crawly class pets, which included three roaches. She let them walk over our hands and told us about the noises they'd make to each other or to whatever threatened them. It has made things much easier and much harder when it comes to encountering them now... for years I have regarded them as kinda cute, but that doesn't stop the immediate revulsion when I find one where it shouldn't be. And what can be done to help it! I'm glad not to be the only one who is saddened by this.

roaches in various natural environments are really important for the ecosystem and they are pretty cute actually like the jungle roaches. i kill them if theyre in my apartment because i have to but i never understand why they are so uniquely disgusting to people. i always played with bugs when i was a kid and i love them so im not easily creeped out. this will probably sound really gross but when i was a kid i would pick up the roaches in our backyard, wouldnt do this now but idk i thought they were like any other bug

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lastleggysee · 2 years

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Substitute Lovers - Sage Lesath (pt. 2)

Okay so I couldn't get Last Legacy off my mind and ended up writing more Sage/Reader (+ FWB!Felix) so here's that. It's also a slow burn now I guess.

Part 1 here!

Word count: 6,635

Warnings: Mentions of blood, slight NSFW (nothing graphic imo), minors DNI

Felix returned, black-clad and brooding, two days later than he initially stated he would.

Before this, Anisa was the only one who worried about his delay, insisting to go on a search for him by sunset on the first day. Sage offered his assistance if she was offering a bounty, mumbling something about “bringing the brat back before midnight”, but you managed to hold their reins until his arrival.

On the morning of Felix’s return, Sage found you reading on the balcony, lightly stroking Stella’s sleeping form on your lap.

“Some balls you’ve got - don’t they teach kids to stay away from monsters where you’re from?” He chuckled, sliding down the wall to sit down next to you.

“Oh Sage, it’s just a book. It’s not going to hurt you.” You don’t look up from the page you’re on. Since arriving in Astrea, your magic largely showed itself in bursts of instinct. You’d managed to familiarize yourself with small spells, party tricks and mildly-impressive-but-hardly-lethal cantrips mostly, but more complex incantations alluded you. It felt like trying to learn a new language while simultaneously running a triathlon, frustrating and exhausting, but you devoted time to bettering your skills nonetheless.

A simple truth belied your determination: You’re the weakest link of the New Starsworn. And if you knew it, the Lord of Shadows and all his creepy-crawlies knew it too.

“I don’t know, you smacked me pretty good with one the last time. What was it again - Transfiguration for Tactile Learners?”

Sage watched your brow furrow deeply. As if on cue, Stella stands up on your lap, stretching impressively, before scampering off into the castle. Your gaze follows her and lingers long after she’s gone.

Do you stare at Felix like that, when he leaves your room? After the blush has finally faded from your cheeks and you’re brushing your hair back into place; after your now-hoarse voice has bid him goodnight. How long do you spend looking at the door after he’s gone? How easily do you drift off to sleep after picturing his face in the ceiling above your bed?

But you turn to face him when he calls your name, more often than not, and Sage has never been the type of man to discount small victories.

This time, though, he does have to call your name twice before you return his attention, face only a few millimeters shy of a scowl. “Lighten up, you’ll get wrinkles if you walk around with a face like that.”

“The only thing here that’ll give me wrinkles is you,” you sigh, reluctantly closing your book.

“Only in your bedsheets, if you’re lucky,” he says. “But now that I’ve got your attention, I could use some help.”

“Oh? I’m so honored,” you roll your head from side-to-side, trying your best to coax out a stubborn crick that keeps itself hidden.

His smile could have melted you then and there, if the wall wasn’t holding you up. The tips of his fangs now exposed, in sharp white contrast to his sun-kissed skin, the way his mouth tilted towards one side as he moved his lips to form his request. You would have agreed to anything he asked, coming from a mouth like that.

“Last night, Anisa got me thinking- I really could use a little extra coin. I’m gonna bag a couple bounties, just enough to pay off my tabs and put some away. I mean, I’m glad to be here and all, but righting wrongs and delivering justice doesn’t really pay the bills.”

“Sage, what bills do-”

He cuts you off. “Tabs add up, but that’s not the point. I’m rusty, literally- I spent half the morning scraping the shit off lefty here.” He thrusts his gauntlet into your face, the image of an overexcited child delivering a handmade macaroni necklace to their teacher, before continuing. “I want to get a few rounds of training in real quick before I go. Just for the afternoon. Unless you’re busy, of course.”

A steady hand over his, and you lower his gauntlet from out of your face. How hasn't he lost an eye yet, walking around with these things all the time?

"I'm yours."

* * *

Your chest is heaving. Sage barely has to put in any effort and before you know it you're flat on your back, the air knocked from your lungs. How brutal must the gym classes in Astrea be, for this to come to him so easily?

It's easy to forget Sage was - is - (does it really matter?) a soldier. That the same hands, wide palms outstretched to you now, have taken lives before. How can he call himself rusty when any fight you're in with him is over in a matter of minutes?

He pulls you up with ease. However, your oxygen-deprived knees aren't quite prepared to resume their duties and support you just yet. You crash into the expanse of Sage's exposed chest, eye-level with a particularly angry-looking raised scar. How powerful could something have been, to have left such a mark on him? You're not sure if you want to know.

"Breathe," he reminds you, strong hands supporting you more than you'd care to admit from underneath your elbows. As if to demonstrate, he inhales deeply through his nose before puckering his lips and exaggeratedly exhaling onto your face, blowing back a few strands of your hair that weren't affixed to your sweat-soaked forehead.

Unable to retort, you follow his instruction, choosing to ignore the insult he added to your pride’s injury. You also choose to ignore his all-too-satisfied laugh as he extricates you from his arms and walks towards the edge of the pool on the outside of your improvised sparring arena. You’re even able to half-ignore the aching in your calves as they protest from overuse.

But try as you might, you’re unable to ignore the way the muscles of his back move as he crouches down to meet the pool, splashing water from his cupped hand onto his face before running that same hand over his scalp. It didn’t help that his usual braid was now perfectly askew, stray strands of pearlescent hair framing his shoulders from behind. No wonder he’s kicking your ass when he’s able to take your breath like this without even touching you. Sage’s fingers idly skim the water in front of him, creating small ripples that playfully catch the sunlight.

“Alright, playtime’s over,” he stands, wiping his hands on the front of his thighs and turning towards you once more. “Not that you haven’t been a lovely punching bag, but I’d better get going while I’ve still got a little daylight ahead of me.”

You want to say something clever, something witty or biting, something about knocking that smug grin off his face, but your words are lost somewhere between the ache in your chest and the thin trails of water running down his. Instead, you nod.

Ever-cavelier, he walks you back to your room at Fathom. His praises of your improved technique (“Who’re you stabbing down when I’m not around?”) are as earnest as his gesture of holding open the door of your room for you when you arrive. He stands in your doorway, perked-up ears grazing the doorframe, and for the first time in your rather long trek back to your chambers, Sage is silent.

He should thank you, he thinks. Should offer to help you stretch, offer to buy you a meal upon his return. Should stop staring at you. Should definitely ignore the gentle working of your fingers through your hair, tying it out of your face. Sage wagers with himself that if he were a smart man, he’d turn around right now and leave - but his eyes remain transfixed on the stubborn tresses of hair clinging to the back of your neck and the ghosting of skin peeking out from the collar of your shirt.

“What’s the holdup? Scared or something?” you hum, kicking your shoes off and into a corner.

His heartbeat quickens. Scared? Absolutely. He didn’t used to think about these things. He’s lived the past five years as an enigma, a shadow, a blood-stained mask held up to the world without anyone to question what was underneath. And you read him so easily.

“No,” of course I am. “Do I look like the type of man that scares easy?” He leans against your doorframe for emphasis. And he’s mostly telling the truth. Sage has never scared easily - about anything in the world outside of this godsdamned room at least.

“Be careful, Sage.” you remind him. He didn’t notice you getting closer until your hand was on the doorknob, form half-hidden behind the heavy door’s wooden frame.

“Oh, you know me. I always use protection.”

“You’re a dog,” you chide, closing the door softly. Sage lets out a mock howl that’s dramatic, even for him, that echoes down the stone hallway as he walks away.

Felix frowns, wondering how a dog could’ve possibly managed to find its way into Fathom, dusting himself off lightly from the portal he just stepped through.

* * *

You dine in your room that night, and the night after that. Your housemates (Castlemates? Comrades? Brothers in arms?) had once again made themselves scarce; only now conveniently showing themselves as you sat down in the kitchen while brewing yourself a cup of tea. Anisa’s visit was short-lived as she sheepishly asked for your help to tighten the straps on the back of her uniform. There must be one hell of a visitor for her to bring out the official colors of the Sunstone Order so early in the morning, but this didn’t surprise you.

What did surprise you, however, was Felix’s voice from across the room asking you to make a cup for him as well soon after Anisa rushed out the door. He looks rough, even for it to be so early in the morning, and his footsteps appear heavy as he slinks towards the counter. Felix nods, not exactly at you, but in your general direction at least, as you sit the heavy-bottomed mug in front of him. You count the seconds between his sips of tea and heavy sighs like thunder following lightning. You focus on your own beverage in a tense silence, waiting for the skies to open up and Felix to reveal the details of his visit home.

“I’ll never understand how Escell managed to ascend to the rank of archmage without the slightest clue of how to brew a decent cup of tea.” His customary slouch appears exaggerated, somehow, giving him the appearance of speaking directly into his cup.

“Beats me. Even in my world, reading tea leaves is pretty common magical practice,” you mutter offhandedly, idly wiping crumbs off the counter. “Maybe he just lied on the application.”

Felix chuckles tersely at this. “Is it, now? Well, I suppose he’s got no excuse then.” He turns the bottom of his mug towards the ceiling, and looks into the cup with curiosity.

“So you’re able to divine what, exactly from the symbology?” Felix is rotating the cup slightly now, his tone pensive. Combined with the far-off look in his eyes, you’re unsure if he actually wants a response or if he’s simply processing this new bit of information out loud. You suppose you can’t blame him, he never seemed to quite grasp the concept of a barista and the duties of the job.

“The future, I think,” your nose scrunches as you dig through the recesses of your memory. “We don’t have fancy magic schools where I’m from, but I don’t know, I think it’s mostly up to interpretation. What feelings you get from what you see more than the symbols themselves.”

“It just feels empty,” Felix’s eyes seem a shade darker as one corner of his mouth raises to form a sardonic smirk. “How fitting.”

He rights his posture to an acceptable level of slouch, clears his throat, and the omen passes. You rise to pour yourself another cup and he’s asking about your studies, Stella’s antics in his absence, your thoughts on the less-than-academic romance novel he lent you a week before his departure - but his eyes linger on the cup for the majority of your conversation. His words expertly sidestep your attempts to inquire about his time away, and eventually you abandon the topic in favor of showing him your novice attempts at a portal spell you’ve been working on.

For the rest of the time you spend together that day, neither of you mention the half-moon indentations etched into his palms.

* * *

Though your drunken conversation with Sage over a week ago still smolders in your memory, you don’t manage to end things with Felix. You would be ashamed of yourself, if you weren’t already so preoccupied with your newest shame: even in a world as fantastical as Astrea, you still manage to find yourself bored more often than you’d care to admit.

You mentioned this idly to Felix one evening, following a particularly enthralling afternoon of arcane research and, lounging on one of the chairs in his study that seemed to be filled with as much dust as cushioning, if not more.

“Doesn’t your family have, I don’t know, a magical amusement park day pass or something? You ask, reluctant to follow suit as Felix flips his way through an impressively heavy tome.

“I haven’t the faintest clue what you just asked me, but if amusement is involved I assure you my family has no part of it.” His chin rests heavily on the heel of his palm, giving his voice a strained tonality. “What sorts of amusements kept you occupied back in your world?”

You avoid his question, reluctant to admit that escaping to the virtual world of Astrea was one of the few pastimes you managed to engage in with any regularity. Instead, you cross the room, ruffling his hair as you pass by him on your way to the door. If he notices your gesture, he doesn’t show it, not looking up from his book even as the heavy door to his study slams shut.

In a valiant effort to fend off the growing sense of sameness (you didn’t realize how much of a difference Sage and his flavor-of-the-day moods and antics made until he’d been gone for a few days), you decided to pay Tulsi a visit.

The sidequest of your evening proved more challenging than you’d care to admit.

And so, you find yourself walking through the dimly-lit streets of Porrima, your mind wandering to a time when Astrea was just a setting in your favorite video game. What did you spend all those hours doing, when the missions were completed? The glow of the moon begins to rise over the western half of the ocean in stark contrast to clouds in the east, casting an iridescent pathway over the water so strongly you could have mistaken it for a bridge, if you didn’t know better.

Not that you knew much better concerning Porrima, all things considered. Your feet felt clumsy walking over the cobblestone streets, as though your bones themselves knew they didn’t belong; that they weren’t ever really meant to walk the paths you’re on. Thankfully, the streets were much less crowded now than they had been during your last excursion with Sage, so you could put on a well enough show of being a native to avoid suspicious eyes. The few stalls still open, manned by sleepy-eyed vendors, appeared even to have lost some of their color under the streetlamp’s lights. Damp, chilled air blowing in from the water leads the lamp’s flames in a precarious dance, casting flickering shadows this way and that. The splendor of the afternoon had been replaced by a still and alluring melancholy. You wonder not if it will rain, but when.

It was on your third wrong turn - taking you past a spectacularly vulgar establishment you approximated to a mystical dive bar before leading to a dead end- that you decided to stop for a break. You sit on the edge of a water fountain and pick at the skin of your thumbs as though the precise memory of Tulsi’s shop was buried somewhere beneath the distressed flesh. Asking for directions tied your stomach into angry knots on your best of days, and you hated to make your status of lone outsider known almost as much as you hated to return to Fathom and gather dust like all of Felix’s old books. Your stomach argues that you should stop into the bar to get a meal (or something close to it), but you know your appetite won’t allow you to put down much. Anisa always scolded you for wasting food. Maybe, if you turned back now, you could find her stash of treats before she returned from her duties.

The steady stream flowing from the fountain behind you washes over your thoughts. You’re unable to make out precise details of the statue’s face, backlit by the moon in a cool white light, but a vase of flowers sits balanced between a large, ornamental pair of horns. Was it a spell or some innate quality of the plants themselves that kept them from withering in the cool air?

The crash of a door opening, a screech of laughter trailing to the nearby alley. It sounds too bright for it to be ringing through a seedy alleyway. Almost eerie, like a bird chirping at midnight.

But you don’t turn your head at the songbird’s calls. Instead, a too-loud and too-familiar voice calls your attention. Of course, where else would fate have him be?

It’s hard for you to focus on their conversation over the pounding in your ears, but they’re making no secret of their intentions with each other. You put a hand on your chest and are almost surprised when you’re not able to feel your emotions ripping their way out from your rib cage underneath your palm. How long had he been back? Was he even planning on returning to Fathom? Had he even spared you a thought?

The alley takes on the dark and guilt-ridden quality of a confessional booth as you give into the masochistic urges to observe. Sage’s partner is nearly as tall as him. They’re shushing him with a finger pressed to his lips, their other hand clasped firmly around the belt on his chest - admiring the same jagged scar you did the last time you saw him. Sage’s eyes, never leaving their face, reflect the dim light as he takes their finger into his mouth. The songbird giggles again, pulling him by his belt in for a kiss. Sage’s hand - where’d he leave his gauntlet? - raises to envelop theirs as his knee slides in between their thighs. His boots are dirty; they’re going to leave marks on the pale fabric of his partner’s skirts.

It’s hard for you to tell whether it was the cold that caused you to lose feeling in your fingers or something else entirely. You abandon the original purpose of your trip, along with the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and spend nearly all of the change in your pocket on what bags of street cakes were left at a vendor’s booth. They’re stale, half-crumbling in your hand before you’re able to lift them to your mouth. You attempt to dodge holes in the pavement on your way back to Fathom. The moon’s attempt to illuminate your path from behind a wall of clouds is futile, and you trip over uneven stone.

* * *

You track mud into Felix’s study. He’s in essentially the same position you left him in, only with a different book and his legs criss-crossed in his chair.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to do anything,” you indiscriminately pull a book from his stack and throw yourself onto a cushion on the floor. “I’m just not about to be alone in this creepy mansion when the storm starts.”

Felix at you for a long moment before shaking his head and returning his attention to his book.

You make an earnest effort to make sense of the words in front of you, but descriptions of alchemical techniques throughout the ages begin to blur together after a while. At some point during your absence Felix had opened the heavy curtains, and although you see the sway of trees in the distance it has still yet to rain.

Why does it always seem like you’re just waiting for the bottom to drop out?

Unable to sit still, you begin to straighten up around the room. Papers and what look surprisingly like small animal bones once littering the floor are gathered into a small pile.

Is Sage still in the alley?

You re-shelve what seems like a library’s worth of novels, brushing dust off of them as you go.

Did he go home with them, or will they spend the night at a motel? Sage was looking to pay his tabs, after all.

You find a small bottle of nail polish underneath a pile of blankets.

Had he spent the afternoon with them? Longer?

Felix had been looking for that particular bottle. He must have at least a dozen missing items in this room.

He’s going to give them the wrong impression, spending time with them like that. Sage doesn’t do relationships, you recall from one of your first conversations with him.

You look for somewhere to place it, somewhere Felix won’t lose it again, but the room still seems half-drowned with clutter.

There was no reason for him to have been that tender, to have taken their hand in his like that while he roughly pushed their legs apart with his knee-

You slam the nail polish onto the desk in front of Felix with more force than you’d meant to. Hair falls from his face as he looks up at you again, his expression unreadable.

It’s none of your business. He’s none of your business.

“Well, are you just going to sit there all night?” you huff.

“I was under the impression you didn’t want to have sex,” He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he closes his book. “Not that I wouldn’t be happy to oblige.”

“Oh, Felix,” you lean down, running your fingers through his dark hair before settling at the nape of his neck. He doesn’t respond, but you don’t question whether or not you’re commanding his attention. You watch his throat rise and fall as he swallows thickly. “If either of us had what we wanted, would we even be here right now?”

* * *

When the first drops of rain begin to drum against the roof, you realize your mistake. Although your bath could have waited until morning, you dreaded the thought of spending the night with sweaty hair stuck to the back of your neck. After a brief debate on whether to try and wait the storm out or not, the tiredness in your bones triumphs over any sense of reason and you brace yourself for the trek back towards the castle.

The warm water of the bath house stood in sharp contrast in your memory to the torrents of cold rain coming down now. By the time you reach the entrance your clothes are soaked. You empty the water from your shoes and abandon them by the entrance, making an effort to wring as much moisture as you can from your saturated attire. The chilled stone against the soles of your feet nearly causes you to leap.

So much of your energy is focused on not falling or freezing that you don’t hear the sound of an additional pair of heavy footsteps over your own muttered curses until they’re too close for comfort. Adrenaline dances with already-intense feelings of aggravation as you ball your hands into fists at your sides. If anyone was going to pick a fight with you, they picked a hell of a night to do so. You turn towards the sound, and almost immediately wish you hadn’t.

“You look awful. Who pushed you in the moat?” Sage laughs, evidently pleased with himself for scaring you. You avoid his face. It’s difficult to see him in the dim light, but you’re able to make out that he’s put his gauntlet on again.

“It’s the middle of the godsdamned night, everyone looks awful.” You turn away from him, shame creating a not-unpleasant burning in your cheeks.

“The storm makes it feel later than it is,” he jogs forward to fall in step with you. “But I’ve got a decent internal clock - it’s still a few hours until sunrise.”

He spent most of the night with them, then. The chill makes its way to your chest.

“I had a hell of a time out there - got enough to settle my debts and then some,” he continues. “But don’t worry, I didn’t forget about owing you from that card game the other night. I was gonna wait until morning, but if you’re up there’s no time like the present.”

“Keep it.” A pebble digs into your heel, but you don’t stop to shake it off.

“Limited time offer, I’d take it if I were you.” he purrs. “I might just find something to spend it on by morning. Or someone, you never know.”

The air around you falls too-still for a moment, louder than the thunder roaring above you. You’re not sure when your hands started shaking, rage like ants pouring from a flooded pile barely concealed by the sleeves of your shirt. You mutter something about where he can shove his money, if he even has it at all. Even with his long strides, you’re walking faster than him now.

“What’s your problem?” Sage reaches out, catching you by the hand. “Gods - you’re freezing!”

Instinct kicks in. A sharp jerk and you snatch your hand from his, the immediate absence of his warmth feeling criminal. You bury your hand in your pocket, turning from him once more. His eyes dig into your back for a few steps, and then the feeling is replaced by heavy fabric draping over your shoulders.

You stop mid-stride, the bottom of the red fabric of Sage’s coat pooling around your bare feet. The breath you take in smells overwhelmingly of him. Even with your still-wet clothes stuck to your body, it’s the warmest you’ve felt all day. It’s soothing. It’s infuriating.

“Coins are in the pocket,” he snaps, impossibly still from behind you. “You’re welcome.” Lightning flashes outside, and your shadows briefly merge, stretching further into the hallway. How fitting for even his shadow to have consumed all of you so quickly.

A dozen half-formed responses float to the surface of your brain, but your energy is focused elsewhere. You will your arms to shake off the coat, but your limbs don’t respond. You will your legs to push your shivering form forward, but you remain affixed to the spot. You take in slow, deep breaths, hoping to calm the rabid creature hammering against the inside of your ribcage. He’ll be the death of you.

“I don’t want your coat, Sage.” You pour as much venom into your voice as you can, but its echo down the corridor sounds feeble. And you didn’t, truly. Since arriving in Astrea you’d yet to see him wash it, and a dozen small tears and imperfections make themselves known as you glance down at the sleeves. Either dried blood or smeared jam marred the outer forearm (Did he throw down with a baker?), infinitely less offensive than the heat of him which clung to the fabric.

He snorts. “You look like a half-drowned rat, I wanted you to have it.” The juxtaposition he creates with the harshness of his tone and the compassionate gesture leave you at a loss for words.

He didn’t do this to hurt you. There was no way for him to know how much damage his needle-sharp warmth caused as it seeped into your skin from the fabric. He didn’t recognize his kindness for the ambush it was. To him, it’s just his coat. You’re being mean. You’re being unfair to him. It’s just his coat, and that’s all it should be for the both of you. His footsteps ring heavy in your ears, and for a moment it’s hard for you to differentiate between them and your own heartbeat. He stops in front of you, cupping his hands over your shoulders.

“Respectfully, Sage, I didn’t ask-” you begin, tone as cold as you can muster. All lessons on telepathy thus far had proved fruitless and frustrating, but his intentions are exact. You meet his eyes, severe and caustic as molten gold, and cringe slightly.

“You didn’t have to. Don’t have to.” he cuts you off. You don’t have to thank me either, but it’d be nice.

“Look, I get it. Shit happens. If you gotta be mad, then fine. Be mad with me. I can take it-” Sage stops himself when you scoff, taking the inside of his cheek between his teeth for a moment. His mind oscillates between a call to escalate the situation - he’d barely said a word to you and you were already working on ripping him a new one - and something else entirely. The tremble of your shoulders underneath his hands breaks his resolve.

“Whatever, be mad then. I’ll be sorry if that’s what you want, alright?” Sage sighs. “But just keep the damn coat. I’ll be sorry, you be warm. Then we both go off and have a shitty rest of our night in peace.”

Sage hasn’t been proud of himself, truly and sincerely proud - not the self-satisfied garbage he spits out onto everyone around him - many times in his life, but these words he works out over his waning patience are enough for him to add another tally to his count. Especially over the past few years, he’s been so used to surrendering to whatever anger comes up and allowing it to consume him. You’ve talked with him about it, and he’s repeated your words to himself in the mirror more days than he hasn’t. It’s so easy to give into the scent of blood in the water; to bite and kick and spit out cruel words, to win. He’s not happy about it, but if he’s got to lose to anyone, he’s glad it’s you.

Too incensed to thank him, too proud to look away before he does. His tone has a finality to it, commanding the conversation’s conclusion without saying so, but his hands have yet to leave your shoulders. Heat from his palms has worked its way into your tense muscles. What an inconvenience it will be when he removes them and finds that you’ve utterly melted into him. What a waste of an act of kindness. What a shame.

Part of you that wants to dive past the point of no return, to tell him how you smolder under his touch, to ask his forgiveness in all languages you speak and that you don’t, to pour every inch of yourself out onto his shoes and beg him to fill you back up. Part of you that wants to hang him by the rafters with his tail and never look back. You do neither, and can hear the laugh of whatever god is out there that’s given you these feelings as the sadistic punchline to their cosmic joke. Their angels say: You’re being mean. You’re being unfair to them. The god replies in the deep breath you draw to steady yourself.

“That was pretty cold of me, wasn’t it?” you say. He doesn’t answer. “Pretty frigid even, I guess you could say.”

He accepts your unspoken armistice as a withering light returns to his eyes. No hard feelings.

“I��m not mad at you, Sage.” you know he picks up on your lie as soon as you say it, but he doesn’t call you on it. His gaze is steady, and for a moment you have to remind yourself that he demonstratively doesn’t have the ability to read your mind. “Not that I couldn’t find something to change that, if I wanted to.”

“You’re sure about that?” The way Sage phrases it is not a question.

“Absolutely,” you reply, rolling your shoulders back and straightening your slouch. An embarrassing CRACK erupts from your protesting joints. “For starters, who buys a coat with no way to close the front?”

Sage half-chuckles, half-hums. “There’s buttons on the inside, I just don’t see the point in using ‘em is all.”

All-too-eager hands immediately seize the opportunity to fasten closed the front of your borrowed garments, but frustration soon blooms in you once more as you struggle. Sage attempts to direct you - something about a flap near the seam on the left side - but your labors yield no fruits.

“Need some help?” He doesn’t know how, if, he wants you to answer. You shrug, still fiddling with the edges of his coat, and Sage holds his breath before leaping into the deep end.

He drops to one knee in front of you, smoothing your - his - (it looks better on you, anyway) lapel between his index and thumb as he goes. You freeze, eyes wide, your hands balling into loose fists at your chest - now almost level with his ears. The air feels thick as you inhale.

“May I?” He asks, his voice half-drowned out by a clap of thunder, half by your racing pulse in your ears. You nod almost imperceptibly, eyes searching in vain for something, anything, to focus on instead of the way he’s fixated on the fabric sitting just to the right of your navel.

For a moment, Sage considers making a joke - asking if you’re planning on knocking his eyes out, a quip about what a shame it’d be to hit a man while he’s down - but the words die in his throat. Your chest rises and falls softly, and his ears twitch slightly as the breath of your exhale tickles his hair there.

He pulls the fabric tighter around you, fingers easily finding the buttons hidden behind tattered seams. Sage has fought for more of his life than he hasn’t. He’s broken fingers, almost lost some, even, more times than he could count. Used his hands and swords and whatever else he could find as a weapon. He remembers sanguine days when it felt more natural to lift a blade than it felt to lift a drink to his lips with his friends, than it felt to lift Tulsi from the floor and carry her to bed. His hands remember more than he cares to admit; scars cannot be so easily erased with a trip to the bar.

There’s a distance between those hands and the hands he uses now to fasten the first button just above your hip bone, he thinks. He works steadily; reverently. In the darkness he has to pause every now and then, running his finger along the seam for a few inches until he finds the next set of buttons.

You know it’s rude to stare, but this view of the top of his head has your sense of reason in a chokehold. Sage is being careful not to touch you, not exactly - muttering apologies when one of his knuckles skims across the fabric of your clothes; throwing gasoline on the fire burning in your stomach with each gesture. How he’d managed to go most of the day with no shirt on underneath is beyond you, but his long hair curling around his biceps as he carefully works his way up your torso looks so warm, maybe the cold really didn’t bother him that much. You hope his grip on your waist now will be enough to keep your spirit from leaving your body; that’d be an embarrassing conversation with Felix. As he gets closer, and the flashes of lightning come more frequently, you’re able to make out dark flecks on his lower lip and right cheek. Mud? It wasn’t raining when he got to Fathom, and you didn’t see him outside. Blood? Whose? Worries like moths flutter above your head.

A particularly bright flash illuminates the corridor as Sage secures a button a few inches below your collarbone, and curiosity gets the best of you. You open your mouth to call his name, but your vocal cords work against you. When nothing comes out you take his chin in your hand, maneuvering his face to better look at him. He makes a noise of discontent, but is pliant in your hand. You run your thumb across his bottom lip, carrying thin red streamers of blood against the corner of his mouth.

“Sage, what did you do?” You ask.

His brows meet in the middle like a car crash. “It’s bounty hunting, not nice bounty conversations over dinner. Like I said, shit happens.”

Your finger traces the outline of scratches running below his cheekbone from his hairline. They should be healing, should have been healed before you noticed.

“This jackass had some kind of enchanted ring or something,” Sage answers the question you didn’t ask. “Got me pretty good across the face, but it’s getting better all the time.”

“Let me help you,” magic is already buzzing underneath your fingertips.

“It’s not that bad.” Sage raises his own hand in an attempt to push yours away, but the look in your eyes stops him in his tracks. “Really - you should’ve seen me earlier, used the last of my socks trying to soak-”

“Don’t be like that.” You feel his eyes on your face as you push loose strands of hair back from the wounds.

Sage mutters a reluctant affirmative, and your fingertips warm as the skin of his face stitches itself back together. You rub away dried blood, scrutinizing the pink lines of skin left underneath your touch. How long would it be until you could control your magic enough to leave no traces of injury, until you could keep others from getting injured in the first place?

Sage feels a stone in the pit of his stomach as your thumb pulls at the skin of his lip again, clinical and calculating. There’s something wrong, deeply wrong, Sage realizes at his own disappointment. He’d set this moment on a precipice and that damn look on your face sent it tumbling off the edge. Your brows are knit together in contemplation; the fevered skin of your palm comforting against the line of his jaw.

There was something about this moment Sage would never come back from. His head feels dizzy, like he’d gone a moment too long underwater, as your tongue moistens the skin of your lips.

Let me help you.

Sage opens his mouth, and is stopped in his tracks by the growl your stomach makes. You apologize, cheeks darkening in the dim light, and the two steps you take backwards from him feel like miles.

“I, um, I’m going to go change. I left some street cakes in the kitchen, if you want some.”

Sage stares at the hall you walked down for long after you’re gone.

* * *

Sage is sitting on the kitchen counter when you arrive, picking through a paper bag of your street cakes. He doesn’t look up at you, but tosses a bag perfectly in your direction nonetheless. It looks different than it did when you bought it.

“What happened to all the snakes?” You ask, picking through its remnants.

“I thought you didn’t like ‘em,” Sage replies, mouth full and still chewing. In the dim candlelight, his fingers still hold half of an intricately decorated cake that looks suspiciously like a rattlesnake.

He was right, you didn’t like the snakes. Neither did he.

The two of you eat in silence.

#sage lesath #last legacy sage #fictif last legacy #sage x reader #sage lesath x reader #felix escellun x reader #felix iskandar escellun #last legacy mc #last legacy #when this fandom dies i hope it takes me with it #which probably won't be long so thank god #again haven't written in years pls be kind

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