#presents for haven

[happycabbage]

Smooth, Romeo... Very smooth....

[autistook]

Elijah Wood | Return of the King: Cast Commentary

[158cm]

𝒊 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚.

kitty cat salem - 25 - they/he - running on q

yapping / venting / personal / aesthetics mutual only blog <3

[youcanthandelthetruth]

how hard is it to get into woodworking

the tools are the biggest barrier, because you do kind of need a range of fairly specialized stuff. like you could try out knitting with two chopsticks and a shoelace to see how you like it before spending any money, but you can't really improv a set of chisels or a jigsaw out of household objects. if you have access to a family member's garage or are willing to prowl estate sales for a few weeks you should be good, don't drop $$ on new stuff if you can help it.

pine 2x4s from homedepot aren't like, good, but you can make a decent object out of them for less money than nice hardwoods. it's fine to start with that. i also have a lot of random boards people found and brought to me because they know i like wood, it is easier than you think to acquire random boards. that said, a hardwood has more consistent grain and will cut and take finish better and easier than pine so it is worth graduating to the nice stuff once you've gotten a little experience

as for actually doing woodworking, it can be hard but if you start basic and let yourself learn from mistakes it's fine. 1000% most important tip you need to learn to read the woodgrain and how to work with it and into it instead of against it. most projects can be saved with glue and enough sanding. random people have been hacking together stuff that was 'good enough' for most of human history, if you make something bad you are just joining the grand tradition of Folk Furniture.

(also most woodworking youtubers have more enthusiasm than knowledge so don't assume they're doing anything the correct or best way. worth it to get a book or take a class)

[whumpwillow]

Demon's Haven 14

💥Flashback chapter💥

he isn't the most powerful demon, he just likes to think he is (or he did...)

—  

masterlist

warnings: blood, torture, past whipping, partial nudity (he's just not wearing a shirt), weird thoughts on purity and sin that isn't specifically mentioned as religion but pretty close, light gore (not described much), clawing at own throat, scratching

—

The angel came back.

Envy had spent an uncomfortable amount of time in these blasted chains, which left his arms without feeling from the position he found himself trapped in. The holy water used to clean his wounds had dried, but the sting hadn’t dissipated. Like the aftereffects of eating overly spicy food, it lingered on after the original offender was gone. He’d suffered through what he thought must have been a day and a night before the angel returned, brightly burning in her righteousness.

Maybe if he begged her to wash the holy water off, she’d listen. He was disgusted with himself for the thought.

The angel stepped inside the cell with the same damned crystal bowl as yesterday, or the day before, or whenever his last torture session had been. It irked him not to be able to tell the time, but he knew he had more pressing concerns.

“I’m still clean,” he said by way of greeting. “Didn’t get up to any trouble, don’t need a bath.”

He waggled his eyebrows in a way that he hoped was condescending. The smile he plastered on his face was a forced effort; he didn’t want the angel to catch how scared he was. Knowing the bite of holy water on his skin and in his open wounds did nothing to diminish his fear of it. If anything, it made it worse. He clenched his hands into fists to keep them from shaking and rattling the chains.

“This is for that mouth of yours,” the angel intoned.

She didn’t look at him, only set down the bowl on a small wooden table that looked to be not a table at all but a giant wooden spool turned on its side. It came up to her hips. She set a white cloth into the water and pressed down, letting it soak up what would surely be Envy’s future pain.

He tried again. “I’m sure I can think of better uses for it, if you give me a chance.”

His voice shook a little on the delivery and he cursed himself for it. The angel wrung out her pristine cloth and Envy watched every single drop of water that came from it fall back into bowl, sending ripples across the surface.

“I need to fix that attitude of yours. Then you be made pure.”

The angel spoke with perfectly even intonation, not a drop of cadence out of place or showing any emotion at all. She strode over to him and stood directly in front this time, rather than moving behind him where the lashes where. At least he wouldn’t be going through that again, though he was sure whatever else she had planned for him was equally as terrible. He hated the anticipation. The unknowing.

Envy tried a different tactic, seeing his options wearing thin and time running out. Water dripped from in between the angels slim fingers. It mixed with his blood on the floor.

“Listen here you little bitch, when I get out of here, I’m going to rip you to fucking shreds. You hear me? I’m the most powerful demon there is, I could compel you to—”

The angel slapped the cloth to his neck. It was so sudden that it cut off the entire tirade he’d constructed in his head and all he could manage was a weak gurgle as the holy water ate through the fragile skin at his throat. He gasped, and the motion alone was enough to bring tears to his eyes. No. He would not cry again. No.

The angel wrapped the cloth around his neck and smoothed it out, then stepped away to admire her work.

“Hck—”

Envy opened his mouth, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t even scream. The holy water ate through the skin at his throat and into the tissue and muscle. He didn’t know where the water started and where the blood began, where he started and where the pain ended. The pain never ended. Tears streamed down his face, and those, at least, washed some of it away.

It burned it burned it burned.

“Ple—ack—ples!” he yelled, coughing in the middle.

The angel watched him impassively. Envy thrashed in his chains, trying in vain to move his arms down to rip the offending cloth off his skin and only succeeding in bloodying them more than he already had.

After what seemed like an eternity, the angel made a satisfied “hm” and took him down from the chains. Envy fell to the ground in a pathetic heap, his limbs not strong enough to support him under the weight of his pain. He wrenched the cloth from his throat and lunged, a feral gleam in his eyes.

He was free he could kill her he could compel her—

The angel kicked him in the face, one shiny shoe connecting with his nose and Envy was back on the floor. A sickening crack reverberated through his skull and lights flashed in the darkness behind his eyes, bright and twinkling like stars. He cried out and raised his hands to his nose. Blood already began to seep from in between them.

The angel put a foot on his chest to keep him down, and he would have been indignant about it if he weren’t so fixated on the bowl in her hands. She poured the remaining holy water over his exposed throat and he screamed. He bucked under her hold, his back arching fruitlessly under her heel, but the angel stayed in place regardless of his efforts. Envy’s hands went from his face to his neck. Fingers scratching, tearing, clawing desperately at the skin to try and remove the source of the pain but there was none he could grasp.

He made a loud keening sound like that of a dying animal, half-gurgle and half scream. Fog filled his vision while a wretched smell invaded his nostrils. He realized it was him—the smell and smoke of his flesh being burned away. He rolled on the ground, ripping up the wounds on his back, grasping at his damaged throat.

He didn’t even realize the angel had already left. When he finally did, he spat weakly on the floor, wishing that it was enough to say he still had the upper hand. He knew that he’d never had it to begin with.

—

next

(taglist in reblogs)

[astrobei]

haven has been cuddling my favorite jacket for THREE HOURS

[noxwithoutstars]

✧｡:*▹ Rose Femme

[ PT/ Rose Femme /PT end ]

✧ Rose Femme is a term for when one is femme , specifically in a feminine boy way , regardless of gender.

✧ Requested by anon

[cloysterbell]

[z-haven]

I feel you linger in the air ep 12 thoughts.

Somehow I ended up watching the cut version of the episode because the uncut version was unlisted. So I did just watch the scenes I missed and then later on I'll watch the entire full version.

But first off, I heard that season 2 is confirmed and this just makes me so happy and seeing Commander Yai in Jom's dream made so much sense because I'm so looking forward to their arc too. But first let me cry about my 1920s Yai and 2023 Jom please because they are literally breaking my heart.

Yai and Jom are connected through dreams and time. A dream would lead Jom to (with Yai's help) frantically dig near a frangipani tree and not find what the dream showed him because it was never his time to find it. Season 2 would hopefully elaborate on the existence of the gold lion designed ring. We know the ring is connected to the other Yai. And remember his words (translated to English) "Jom, listen to me. I may give you this ring so that you'll be reminded that my heart will be only yours forever." A ring placed on his left ring finger and a vow to love him forever. Alright, who's sobbing now?

A quick google search and right at the top of my search page showed that the gold lion ring worn on someone's right hand enhances leadership qualities while on the left increases the protection of the wearer. Jom wears it on his left hand so obviously it signifies him being protected and also loved by Yai.

But in all seriousness I believe that when Jom meets Yai in the other timeline and he receives this ring he will know that the dream he had was meant to come true. But just like he's had the opportunity to experience 1920s Yai's love in real time, so too will he be able to experience 1967's Yai love as well.

But back to the 'current' Yai and Jom. They know what's going on with Jom's fading away and finding ways to come to terms with it and make it easier on each other. Yai will cover all of the mirrors so Jom doesn't have to constantly experience worry over his unusual situation and Jom affirm to Yai through words and touch that he is right here with Yai and that their love anchors them to the present.

Which is why their lovemaking scene felt like it might be their last, or they'll treat every moment like it's their last, like they're holding on to a lifeline. Yai and Jom's tears are a combination of their euphoric feelings during sex and the knowledge that they may never see each other again. But I'd prefer to focus on the euphoric feelings as Jom wraps his arms around Yai.

And Jom, doesn't leave any loose ends unraveling even as he knows that he and Yai may eventually part ways. One of the ways he does this is by letting go of Ohm fully, unknowingly to Khamsaen, by giving him advice about Fong Kaew and the possibility of their future together. A future that has hurt Jom but the fact that he's able to put that 'past' him because he realized that even if someone left a negative impression in your life, there may be some sort of lesson that's learnt from your experience with them. Khamsaen may not fully register Jom's words to him nor will Ohm make the connection to his past life and Jom's involvement but it's a way for Jom himself to let go of all the hurt he experienced with Ohm and focus on Yai, even if they're on limited time.

Pilot scenes are always slightly different either with clothing choices or even setting and personally I don't mind because I'm always surprised by them. Especially since I didn't realize that Yai's little budding artist moment would be the moment Jom isn't just transparent but is literally fading before his very eyes. And what else could they do but hold on to each other, reaffirm their love and Jom's promise to wait for him at the House of Palathip.

Because that house is the focal point for their connection to each other - through time, through dreams and through promises, through Jom and Yai's drawings that connect the past and present and through a letter from Yai that Jom was meant to access after Yai's death, after all these years.

But Yai's here, right in front of him. But how? Did he time travel?Maybe I am reading this wrong. Maybe this is a 2023 version of Yai who knows his past but then he says "I have never left this place." Which made me think that this is still 1920s Yai and that because Yai has penned his love for Jom in that letter, because even drawings can link past to present/future that it acted as a gateway for him and Jom to meet again. Because as they kissed, the scene changes and we're back at the house being the way it was when Yai and Jom spent their time together. Because within that house, they are each other's home.

Edit: (so depending on from whom you reblog whether it's directly through me or through another this may or may not show up). So basically.

We're not sure of a season 2 (Nonkul got my hopes up and there was the after credit scene) but I'm looking at Director Tee with very hopeful eyes "Pretty please"

2023 Yai is Yai Kanthorn - a reincarnation of 1920s Yai who remembers his past. And it makes sense. This is a time travel/reincarnation storyline.

[imnotfinebutimfine]

"the women in BS are too feminine bc they have long hair"

the show is set in 1715 what do you want...

[ficoandleo]

What's the most intense mission you've ever been on?

"I mean I've pretty much only been on the one as far as missions that're a big deal go. Everything else's been, like. Nothing missions in comparison. Even the Takeru mission was no big deal for me--sounds like everyone else had a hard time though. It's boring. I'm hoping our next one's intense though. I have high hopes since I get to be a prison guard🌟! 25 days away everybody get hype~"

". . .it felt more intense than it really was. This anomaly had infiltrated a warehouse that had been repurposed for drug production and we'd split up to do some scouting. The mission itself wasn't a big deal--the workers inside had begun to form a hivemind under the anomalous drug's influence; we only needed to capture the anomaly at the forefront to stop production and recover as much of the materials and drugs that had been produced as possible. It was a bit difficult because the volatile materials meant I couldn't use my stigma and I was wary of using my gun at all. But it was intense for a much more stupid reason--I couldn't be sure the Boss wouldn't give into his urges and consume any of the drug or how it would affect him if he did, and that on top of not being used to being apart from him on missions made it very tense the entire way.

". . .as it happens he did have a little bit of the drug. Doing so apparently told him where we could find the anomaly. By the time we found it it was practically begging me to capture it and it had an awful headache, clawing at its own head and foaming at the mouth and making a racket--I suppose it didn't much like being hooked into the Boss's brain. I can't imagine how it would feel these days.

"The anomaly is in Institute custody and from what that DOF has told me they're examining the properties of the drug for, among other things, its potential usage as a communication tool on missions. Being able to tap into your teammates' thoughts and senses could be handy for stealth missions."

[happycabbage]

Look, @the-haven-of-fiction, @tsuntsunfangirl, I found a new one!

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday part 2

Following this morning's Part One, here comes Part Two, featuring Jak's first conversation with Damas, followed by a timeskip to roughly two months later -- a bit after his second Arena fight in-game. (And yes, Jak took two months to put the pieces together in spite of Damas having the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. He got distracted by getting to drive a buggy for the first time) Part Three comes later today.

______>______<______>______<______>_____

Jak glared at this so-called king across the low table. He might not have been in chains anymore, but he clearly wasn't free to leave. Sig had the keys to the Hellcats, and there were three big Wastelanders guarding the entrance of the tent. He was stuck, unless one of them happened to be carrying enough eco to transform him. But even if he could change form and fight his way out, what was the point? He had nowhere to go, and no one he could trust but Daxter.

His eyebrows dropped lower into a look that left the average KG shuddering. To his irritation, his stare barely fazed his captor. Damas merely raised an eyebrow at him, almost amused, and then returned his attention to his bowl. He was ignoring Jak.

"It's a long flight back to the Central Wastelands," Damas remarked without looking up. "I will not force you to eat -- You've clearly had a...trying day already. But redshrimp don't keep overnight, and we don't waste food. If you're not going to eat it, give it to someone else."

Daxter and Jak exchanged sidelong glances, neither certain whether to call the grizzled warrior's bluff. Eventually, hunger won out and Jak had to swallow his pride -- and whatever was in the weird red stew he'd been given. It was good, he could begrudgingly admit, but food from captors was hard to trust.

"Alright." Jak finally broke his three hour silence. "What do you want?"

Damas set down his bowl and leaned back. "I already told you when we arrived: I want to know what you remember from your childhood. I want to know what the last...eleven? Twelve? Years were like for you."

"What does that have to do with anything?!" Jak demanded, "It's not gonna give you some...new advantage over Haven or whatever!"

"Yeah! We didn't even grow up there!" Daxter chimed in. "Whatever plans you got, you better spill 'em, Spikes. Me an' Jak, we’re done being good little pawns, you got it?"

This time, Damas did smile. "I have no need of pawns. Nor do I particularly require any extra advantages against Haven."

He chuckled darkly. "They do not know even now how precarious their position is."

Jak stiffened. "Are you threatening them?" he asked, almost growling the words. "They held up their end of the bargain."

"At your expense."

That wound was still too fresh for Jak to defend against. Pain welled up under his ribs, almost silencing him.

"That's what you wanted, Wolf. What did you think they were gonna do? Hide a messed-up street rat and let you kill the governor's right hand man? They aren't that dumb."

Damas’s smile fell, and his face settled into a carefully practiced neutrality. "You are...loyal to them?"

The truth was out before Jak even recognized it as truth.

"No. I'm loyal to the those who are loyal to me. And...some of them live in that city."

Damas nodded, and a hint of tension left his shoulders. "A good answer. For these friends' sakes then, I am glad that the rest of Haven did not attempt a betrayal or otherwise harm you at the handoff."

Daxter blinked. He had a bad feeling about this kind of talk. "W- why? Didn't seem like you had much of a problem with violence."

With a casual shrug, the king said, almost conversationally, "If M- Jak had had so much as a scratch on him, I would have razed the walls anyway."

Jak’s mouth went dry. "That's-! That's crazy! You can't do that, there's still metalheads out there!"

Damas picked up his bowl again and leveled a meaningful look at Jak.

"Perhaps they should have thought of that before snatching you out of your cradle and using a child for cannon fodder, hmm?"

What?

Jak set his bowl down with a smack. "What do you know about that?" he snarled, "You're the one who wanted the "Dark Warrior", aren't you?"

For a moment, his captor faltered. A single ripple tipped across the liquid in the bowl, betraying his reaction. His jaw tightened, and Jak wondered if the mask was about to fall. About time. Three hours was a long time to play nice before letting the other shoe drop.

"If I had used any other name," said Damas, halting between words now and then as if gathering his thoughts, "I suspect the Council would have feigned ignorance. I gather there are...connotations to that description of you. I chose it so that they would not be able to hide you from me."

With a frustrated growl, Jak slammed the flat of his hand against the table.

"Yeah yeah, I'm a bioweapon, I know. Precursors, everybody's the same. I'm not a possession, buddy. If you think you can make me fight for you, it won't end well. But hey, I'd love to see you try."

One of the guards lifted the flap at the mouth of the tent and frowned in at them. One hand strayed to his Peacemaker, clearly ready to defend his leader from the prisoner's challenge. Damas waved a hand, dismissing him easily.

That they didn't even try to protest should have warned Jak that Damas was a force to be reckoned with in his own right. But, caught up in his confusion and pain, Jak couldn't think beyond lashing out.

"Jak."

Damas set his bowl down and exhaled sharply through his nose.

"All Wastelanders have known the pain of betrayal at some point or other. We know where your anger comes from. But you waste your energy directing it at the people who are simply trying to free you from the city that kidnapped you."

His air of formality dropped for a moment as he calmly met Jak's glare head-on.

"...and if you go around threatening other Wastelanders like that, eventually someone will take offense and you'll end up getting your ass kicked. Pick your battles, son."

Bristling at the condescending epithet -- why did it sit so heavy in his chest? What was with this guy? -- Jak stood up.

"Why are you doing this?" he demanded, "Why me? It's not because of Sig, or you wouldn't give a rip about my memories. What do you care?!"

The instant of pain that flitted over Damas’s face gave Jak pause for a moment. In spite of himself, he felt a little bad. But why would something he'd said make the Dune-Wolf flinch like he'd been struck? He contemplated bolting when the king stood up, but he wasn't close enough to Daxter for a clean getaway.

But when Damas stood, he was melancholic, rather than angry. He eased a half step closer, then stopped.

"What do you remember about your early childhood?" he asked again. This time, there was a catch in his words.

"The place you were born? Your clan? Your people?"

Daxter scurried over to grip a handful of Jak's trouser leg, willing him to calm down and think for a second. Couldn't he tell what Spikes was getting at? Well, maybe he couldn't. Jak was pretty panicky at the moment. But from outside of Jak's head, it was just a bit easier to put some pieces together. Jak was right: this wasn't just about them being Sig’s friends. This was about the Kid. Or rather, who the Kid had been before Samos found him in Haven. Frankly, it made sense to Daxter for Jak's preschool self to have been the child of Wastelanders rather than some fancy-schmancy princeling like the Underground thought. With the way that kid hated shoes and ran off into danger at every turn, he had to have had parents with Sig-like habits.

"Just- just give him some space," Daxter squeaked, waving a paw at Damas. "He's too worked up right now to hear what you're sayin'. Jak and me, we've been through some bad stuff. Ya have to block some of it out sometimes just to sleep at night, y'know? It's not his fault he can't remember!"

Damas’s shoulders fell, just a little, and he nodded. "I...understand," he said heavily. "He...no longer remembers us."

"Remember you?"

Jak fought the urge to duck his head or avert his eyes. He was missing something important -- something besides his early memories -- and he was sick of secrecy.

"Does everyone in this world speak in riddles? I just want a straight answer for once! Who are you people?"

One foot in front of the other, barely noticeable, Damas approached carefully. He paused with every twitch of Jak's muscles, every uneasy breath. Then he was within arms reach, and he reached out slowly. Tensed, Jak raised his fists in a guard position, ready to defend himself, but Damas showed no sign of aggression. He folded his hands around Jak’s forearms and gently pushed them back down. The guy was definitely stronger than Jak had thought. As they stood there in a strange, awkward stalemate, he searched Jak’s face as though looking for something -- or maybe someone -- he'd lost.

"We- we are your people, Jak," he said quietly, raspy and full of conviction. "Your tribe. You are -- you always have been -- one of ours. And we-"

He stopped and looked away for an instant before meeting his eyes again.

"I. I have- been looking for you for a long time."

_________________________________________

[Time Skip: Jak is too distracted by getting to act his age for the first time to put a lot of thought into getting answers. But a recurring childhood nightmare finally revisits him after two years of only having Errol related nightmares. And the elements of it start becoming too familiar to ignore.]

________________________________________

The lift rattled, interrupting the pre-dawn strategy meeting. Every Spargan present tensed for the same reason: nobody interrupted the council in the wee hours unless somebody was dead, dying, or doing something heinous.

Whoever they'd expected to see staggering out of the elevator, it wasn't Jak. Most of the council had become familiar with him in the last two months -- his antics in the Arena were pretty hard to forget, after all. But the boy standing ankle deep in water now was a far cry from the rash rookie they'd all come to accept as both Damas’s Favorite and simultaneously the reason the king was drinking more coffee than usual.

Damas studied Jak, disheveled and distraught, standing in the artificial stream, and a sense of foreboding filled him. The boy's eyes were red and sleepless, his chest heaving; he hadn't even bothered to put on a shirt before showing up without a summons. Jak never left his fractal-like dark eco scars uncovered. Damas was instantly on the alert.

"What's wrong?" he asked, voicing what the rest of his council was already wondering. Daxter wasn't with him. Daxter was always with him! Had something happened?

All Jak managed to get out was a strangled, "It was you!"

Damas wasn't sure what Jak meant by that, but he hastily turned to his inner circle and cleared his throat.

"I'm afraid I need to call a brief recess in the meeting. Would you give us the room?"

It was phrased as a request, but it wasn't really. They all knew he could've just ordered them out, but he respected them enough to behave as though they were equals. For his sake, they could let him have some privacy to deal with...whatever was happening here. Seem frowned at Jak, but gracefully nodded and gathered their comrades to retreat into the map chamber for the time being.

The room was silent now, save for the musical gurgle of the water. Damas cycled through a few calming breaths, then approached Jak slowly, palms up, attempting to put him at ease.

"What do you mean, son?" he asked, keeping his voice even and calm as much as he could.

He wanted to ask if Jak had finally remembered something, if he'd had the nightmare again. But the fear of the answer being no again stifled the question before he could ask.

Jak reacted to the term of endearment strangely. He wobbled, then laced his fingers through his hair and tugged. His breathing rattled at an unhealthy speed.

"You-!" he gasped, and when Damas had gotten close enough, he let go of his hair to clutch the front of Damas’s tunic.

"Say it."

"Say what, Jak?"

"The thing! That thing that freaked you out from the dream I keep having! I need to hear you say it."

Understanding crashed over Damas like a wave, with no small amount of hope. Somehow petrified, he answered in a shaking voice, "...in this life or the next."

He swallowed hard and made the choice to take a leap of faith.

"I will find you, whether it is in this life, or the next."

Jak almost collapsed then, but Damas caught him by the elbows just as his knees buckled. Jak's fingers tightened in his robe, pulling so tightly that his armor began to shift.

"You were there!" he cried out, "You were there the night with the fire!"

"Yes," Damas whispered, shutting his eyes, "I was."

Jak trembled, too overwhelmed with the desperation of needing closure to process the fact that his fear of rejection had seemingly taken a backseat to clinging to the man he'd begun to look up to like a lifeline.

"Tell me!" he begged, eyes wild, "You have to tell me something! Why did you say that? Why were you, specifically, looking for me? Who are you?"

This was the moment Damas had waited for, for so, so long. It was no longer about withholding his own selfish needs for Jak's sake; Jak needed answers now. It was time. So he forced aside the ache of tears unshed, folded Jak into his arms, and just held him tightly. Let him be an anchor, until this storm had passed.

"I'm here," he whispered, "It's alright. I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Anything, dear one."

This close to Damas’s chest, with his mind beginning to clear a bit, Jak finally began to notice details he'd ignored in the past.

The worn texture of the linen tangled between his fingers, the band of abalone shards around Damas's neck- and the edge of something hanging between the shells he'd never stopped to notice before. He couldn't see it, but the shape he felt pressing through the tunic and into his collarbone was devastatingly familiar.

Two comets orbiting each other, tails of eco trailing.

The seal of the House of Mar.

The last pieces fell into place, heavy as a mountain. It wasn't projection, or trauma-bonding, that fueled those dreams he'd written off as childish. They were fragments of memory. The Seal against his chest was proof, unavoidable and undeniable proof, of the realization Jak was beginning to hope so desperately might be true. But even so, it seemed too great a leap to make. Too presumptuous by far. What if he was wrong? He'd never recover from the shame of it.

His voice leaked out of him before he could stop himself, so small, so weak. Damas had to strain his ears to hear him.

"Are you my father?"

The last vestiges of the ice between them shattered.

Damas sank to the floor -- whether out of emotion or relief, his legs would no longer hold him up -- taking Jak with him. He embraced him so fiercely that Jak's lungs protested. He pressed the boy against his heart and let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob.

"Yes," he gasped, "Yes, Jak, I am. I've got you. Your dad's here. Dad's got you."

Jak's vision blurred, blending everything into a sea of golds and browns. "Then...all of that before; the siege, everything- I- I'm not even the right kid anymore! You...came back for me anyway?"

Damas rested his chin against Jak’s scalp and smiled despite it all.

"Always," he promised fervently, "I told you, son. I told you I would find you, in this life or the next. I'll always come back for you."

[havenlmao]

Happy Birthday Little Brother!!!

[potatoesandsunshine]

the herald of andraste as like... "i don't want to hold this thing but they won't let me put it down" is still so good. auaaagh

[thewhimsyturtle]

My package from friends Aspra, Emerald, and Agatha (thecryptowhiskers) included a special present just for me: A brand new, super soft and fluffy towel! I couldn't stop booping my new towel and STOMPing my feet all over it!