#snippet Thursday

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday (Second, sillier part to follow Friday)

Poll Results: Trespasser Jak

Picking up from HERE, Jak and Daxter have been taken back to Spargus

The drive back to the city was not quiet. Every couple seconds, the kid with the amulet he shouldn't have had was pointing to something else, talking a mile a minute to the fuzzy orange thing. The red rock bluffs fascinated him. The crocadeer on the clifftops fascinated him. The frith-rotted cactus was interesting to this stranger.

Jak started to lean out of the seat again, trying to take in every speck of the horizon.

"Will you stop that?" Damas asked irritably, "You're going to fall out, and I'm not turning this car around to go get you. What are you so entranced by, huh?"

Jak's enthusiasm wasn't dimmed in the slightest. "After they took us to Haven- I thought there was nothing left out there but wasteland!"

"You're in the Wasteland," Damas reminded him.

"Nah."

Jak stood up despite the driver's protests and clung to the turret gun to watch a flock of birds.

"This place isn't wasted. It's alive."

"And you won't be if you don't sit down right now-!"

Damas’s headache only multiplied -- exponentially. once they had actually returned Spargus.

The stranger gawked at everything, sometimes lagging as many as ten behind to look at the most mundane things. Forges. The communication hub/post office. Leapers. A stray chickalope he tried to pick up-!

Getting him into the Gate District garrison building took five minutes longer than it should've, by which time Damas’s patience was almost completely gone. It was all he could do to keep some modicum of professionalism as he herded the boy and the talking spirit thing into a clean, well-lit room for interrogation. He left them with a stern warning to wait there until someone came to figure out who they were.

Then he left to make a very strong pot of coffee. He wasn't going back in there without it.

He quickly decided that needed another kind of drink when he returned ten minutes later only to find Jak, barefoot, sitting on top of the table like a moody teenaged gargoyle. That ratty blue winter tunic was tied around his waist now, and the loose scarf and oversized undershirt didn't quite cover a surprising amount of scars for someone his age -- or maybe not so surprising if he was an Heir, given the proclivity of Haven to put those through the wringer-

No. No jumping to conclusions.

Old burns on the soles of his feet that looked roughly six to seven years old -- a childhood accident or stubborn adventure, most likely -- were the most benign of them. Damas saw old, healed clawmarks, and strange fractal-like patterns not unlike those struck by lightning, crossing his upper arms, shoulders and chest. Here and there he saw raised lines -- the telltale sutures of do-it-yourself shrapnel removal. Regardless of whose blood flowed in his veins, this kid was a soldier. And it looked like he'd been a soldier for a depressingly long time.

Damas pushed the thoughts from his mind and took a seat in the chair the trespasser had ignored.

"Alright. Let's get this over with as quickly as we can, shall we? I have a lot of work to do today."

"Oh...kay...?" Jak gave him a puzzled, wary look and scooted back across the table to rest his back against the wall. "I mean, I can't answer everything, and half of what I do tell you won't sound believable, but that's honestly not my problem."

Patience, Damas. Inhale, slowly. You're just stressed. You can't kill him if he's related to you.

Damas took an exaggerated breath and folded his hands on the top of the table. "I don't much care about your activities in Haven. My agents deliver news regularly enough. No, I want to know how you opened a locked door with a Seal of Mar on it."

The kid looked surprised, and then intrigued.

"Mar? Wait, really? He made it out here too?" Jak looked almost impressed. "Huh! Guy got around!"

"Answer the question."

The orange one answered in the kid's stead.

"Jak here's got the distinct misfortune of being descended from the guy-"

*Allegedly," Jak interrupted. His voice was distinctly harder than before.

"What "allegedly"? Dragging me into the frickin nightmare tomb wasn't enough for ya?"

"Everything we know about that guy we got from Krew, or Samos," his companion argued, "And most of the Oracles didn't bother to warn us that Samos was lying to us our whole lives. So no, I'm not taking that on faith."

Clearly this was a sore spot for the young man.

It just so happened to also be a very sore spot for Damas.

They were just going to act like they so happened to "conveniently" let slip that this boy was supposed to be related to him? Did they think he was a fool?

"What are you playing at?" he snapped, startling them both. "Do you think I am so easily taken in?"

"What-?"

"Tell me, boy," Damas said, much more quietly, "What makes you either brave enough or stupid enough to try to pull that story with me?"

And Jak blinked at him with eyes that were a little too familiar. Wide. Full of shadows and pain and anger but still clinging to the vestiges of innocence. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.

"Um. Who? Are you?"

If this was a con, the kid was a decent actor, Damas had to give him that.

"You're telling me you're a survivor of the House of Mar."

"No? I said other people told me I was related to that guy. People with a vested interest in controlling me."

Jak scoffed bitterly and spread his arms wide.

"Little "abandoned" orphan boy kept isolated to train as a soldier, so he wouldn't know what they planned for him. Wouldn't run. And then magically suddenly he's heir to the worst city on the planet? Give me a break. The guards in Praxis's lab came up with better lies than that."

Damas wanted to agree with the kid. He wanted so much to agree with him. Whatever else he might be, clearly Jak was not the kind of person who bought into delusions of grandeur. In fact, he sounded like he actively resented the thought. Damas could appreciate that. Rot, he could even sympathize with the kid.

But.

He had opened a sealed door.

And the river-weasel had just said something about a Tomb.

He really really didn't want to be right, but if they could give an accurate description of the Tomb at some point, that information would be pretty hard to fake.

"Why did they think they could pass you off as Haven's heir?" Damas asked bluntly.

"Because I can make old Precursor crap work, I guess? And the Oracles like me." Jak folded his arms and shrugged. "They're useless when it comes to actually protecting anyone, but at least they tried to help after the fact. More than most hu'mens did."

Oh. Alright, okay. Maybe he's a sage prodigy and he's never been trained. That would make sense-

"Pal, the Oracle called you a "chosen one". That's gotta mean something."

"Chosen for what? Time looped torture?" Jak's entire posture had become rigid. He was beyond agitated, but Damas couldn't quite pin down if it was anger or fear or something closer to grief.

"....I...sorry." The orange one looked down, clearly ashamed. "That's- fair point. I won't bring it up anymore."

Damas didn't want to hear another word of this. Not one. Without stopping to think lest he talk himself out of it, he drew a knife from the back of his belt. The boy tensed even further, looking like he might snap as he watched Damas pull a sheet of paper haphazardly from the notepad that came standard in all the interrogation rooms. Damas ignored him and placed the tip of the blade to the pad of his thumb, pushing until two large drops of blood dripped onto the paper. The boy's tension eased slightly, but he still looked vaguely alarmed.

Damas wiped the blade and, steeling himself, held it out hilt-first to Jak.

"Your turn."

Jak glared at him.

"Are you nuts?"

Damas remained stonefaced. "You want to prove those people wrong? Blood comparison. Computer will be able to identify if it matches old records or not."

"Then why'd you cut yourself?" Jak challenged.

"Control sample," Damas answered shortly, staring until the boy gave in and set the blade against the tip of his little finger.

He declined to specify whether he meant for or against.

Jak twisted his pinkie between his fingers and let a single drop of blood fall onto the paper. He narrowed his eyes at Damas.

"And this is supposed to take...how long?"

"Two months if they're not busy."

Jak unfolded his legs and slid off the tabletop. "Months?! What good does that do me? They'll probably have found a way to guilt me into going back to Haven by then!"

Hm.

Damas leaned back in his chair and studied the boy with a new perspective.

"You're a runaway. Aren't you?"

Jak scowled and folded his arms.

"I'm not! I'm just...there's something I have to do out here. And I can't go back yet."

Suspicion trickled in cold at the back of Damas’s mind. He folded the edge down over the bloodied paper and tucked it into his belt.

"And what," he asked warily, "is this "something" you intend to do?"

The boy's ears dropped, broadcasting uncertainty despite his belligerent posture.

"I...don't know yet. There's just...something was calling me. And I can't leave until I know what it is."

This boy was going to be a walking migraine trigger, wasn't he? But unfortunately there was a reasonably high probability that he was Damas’s kinsman, which meant that under no circumstances could he just toss the kid back to Haven and say "not my circus, not my moncaws".

Just get through this until the blood tests come back. Who knows, maybe the guy will find a place here in the meantime. Or he might decide to fight the squid and die horribly. One step at a time.

Damas opened the door and beckoned to one of the district guards down the hall. Commander Shui left her subordinates immediately to respond.

"Sir?"

Damas nodded back towards the trespasser.

"Have someone show him to the showers. Once he's cleaned up, see if you can't determine his age."

Shui glanced at Jak, but never lost her stoic expression. "Understood. Is he a candidate for the trials?"

Damas ignored the harsh whispering between the boy and the...okay that was called an ottsel apparently. Didn't have those out in the desert.

"I doubt even he knows. For the moment, we will proceed as though he is a refugee."

He sighed.

"I have matters to attend to. Inform me if he causes any problems."

Jak wasn't sure how to feel about this turn of events. Six days of maddening dreams of eco comets and a broken string of beads. Five days of something pulling on his eco core, or his soul, the way the Precursor Stone had.

He wasn't sorry for leaving Haven in the middle of the night. The Grand Council had been getting more and more vocal with their more...Praxian...views on his right to life and liberty, and Samos just kept telling him to focus on what was "more important", fighting metalheads and new Krimzon Deathbots.

When the Call took him down that ancient eco mine, it had felt like an escape. He'd told himself he'd go back after he found what was at the end of the tunnel. And he'd meant to, if only because he thought he had nowhere else to go. After all, Daxter had built a life in Haven. He had a mentor. A girlfriend. A whole business!

But regardless of all the pretty lies Samos and Onin and Ashelin filled his ears with, Haven was not Jak's home. He would not take responsibility for their evil. And even if he was descended from their founder, they all let Praxis kill whatever blood relatives he might've had! They decided the line of Mar had no say in government, so who was Jak to contradict them?

It was strange -- almost unfathomable -- how his perspective could have changed with a rebalancing of eco. The Oracle down in that desert temple, it had pushed through old scars, given him access to light eco, when he'd thought the substance didn't exist anymore. The constant aches that ruled his every waking moment when it was even slightly cold out, the irritability, the burning in his core, it was gone.

How had he become so accustomed to at least low levels of pain as a daily companion? Jak hadn't realized how bad his condition had been until it was gone. And his mind felt clearer than it had in months. Maybe even years. Home was far behind them now. Sandover was forever lost to them, along with all remains of Jak's innocence. Because of Onin. And because of Samos.

Without his thoughts dulled by pain and lack of sleep, Jak thought of his heartfelt thanks to the manipulative old sage and wanted to be sick.

And now he was on an island, eighty nautical miles from Haven. A wild, living, sanctuary of Wastelanders and open wilderness. They called it "wasteland", but Jak couldn't understand why when it was so beautiful.

That Call still pulled at his heart, told him he wasn't done here yet. And he was relieved, because the longer he spent under clear, blue, sky, the more he hated the thought of returning to that corrupted city.

Just because he'd told Ashelin it was worth saving didn't mean he belonged to it.

Damas -- the angry man he'd startled when they came up out of the catacombs -- left, and a well-built woman about his height entered the interrogation room.

"Holy crap, a lady Sig!" Daxter hissed in his ear.

The Wastelander did have a prosthetic eye -- her left, not her right -- of the same make, but that was really the only similarity. She carried herself like Ashelin -- someone in command, used to cooperation if not obedience -- and that alone put Jak on-edge. He met her searching gaze with a hard stare, determined not to be the first to flinch.

"Hm." The woman clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"I see what he means. When's the last time you washed?"

"Do pools of water count?" Jak asked. If there was sarcasm in the tone, so what? "Expendables don't get time to wash."

"Eesh." The woman curled her lip. "Well that's not going to fly in my garrison."

She turned to shout down the hall, "Strom! Get the rookie to the showers before the flies move in!"

"Oh rot you!"

[itsjaywalkers]

thursday snippet!!

thank u very much for the tag my darlings @messrsage & @inevitablestars <3

this is . to no one's surprise . from nothing happens

“Don’t wanna,” James retorts, his hand leaving his hair just so he can grab him by the chin and force him to look into his eyes once again. “I will never hurt you, Reggie. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did.” “You promise?” Regulus’ questions, his voice breaking towards the end.  “I promise.” James tilts his head forward, until his foreheads are resting against each other, noses touching. Regulus holds onto him so tightly that James can feel his tiny nails digging into his skin to the point it stings.  He doesn’t say anything, though. Doesn’t even think of complaining. For some reason, he finds comfort in that pain.  “Thank you,” Regulus murmurs, his breath hitting James right on the lips and making him shiver.  “You never have to thank me. I’m always here for you, Reg. Just—let me take care of you. Please.” Regulus hums softly, and then he nods once, briefly and fast, before he leans forward, until their lips are grazing each other’s with every move. He moves his legs too, intertwining them with James’, and his grip becomes so harsh James suspects he’s gonna end up drawing blood.  A part of him hopes he does.

no pressure tags: @carniferous @foursaints @quillkiller @sugarsnappeases @imdamagecontrol @static-radio-ao3 @stagpdf

[reniscribbles]

I nearly forgot to post a snippet for tomorrow's Fanfic Friday!! Sorry my friends!

Here it is:

‼️Spoiler Alert‼️

CHAPTER 46 OF "Unlikely Friends":

Diane watched as Rick and Fred put on a playful concert in front of the party. It was similar to one her and Jacob had walked in on together not too long ago. But this time, she actually got to enjoy Rick's private show as he strummed his guitar alongside his friends.

"What are you? A playboy bunny?" A sultry voice said next to Diane. She immediately knew who it was. Tara was dressed all in red, with red fishnets and red horns. She was dressed perfectly as a devil.

"Actually," Diane smiled, excited to see Tara's reaction to her costume. "I'm a lab bunny." She said proudly.

Diane listened to Tara let out a soft chuckle.

"Great costume."

Diane watched Tara's eyes trail down her body before noticing the white fluffy tail that sat on the curvature of her ass. Diane held her breath, feeling her heart beat a bit faster as Tara reached, barely grazing across Diane's ass only to grab and give the plush tail a squeeze.

"Thanks," she was barely able to squeak out. 

[itsphantasmagoria]

Weekday Snippets

Thanks for tagging me @appleslightning ❤️❤️❤️

The ones on the right are smut and are heeeeeavily cropped lol

Tagging whoever wants to do this! (I am tired and brain cells aren’t colliding right now)

[drjemmanugent]

the looks between them towards the end of the vid and the double hand hold!!! 🩵💚💛

*swoons*

c: netflix españa on TT

[ksbbb]

WIP Thursday

Tagged by @hemlocksandfoxgloves

“Yeah, okay. You act like the name Raeken means something.” Liam scoffs, sounding insulted, the expression on the wolf’s face mocking his wounded pride.

“That’s—

“Lost your spark. How pathetic.” Liam abruptly cuts him off, blood soaking his lips, as the fear of his latest victim creates a sting of old memories.

Who the fuck is this guy?

“You’re nice to look at. What a shame.” Liam wipes his hands on Theo’s shirt, still fresh with blood, and walks away.

So…..

Tagging @wolfboy88 @mmoosen @thiamsxbitch @maplesyrizzup @honestlydarkprincess @thiamblogger @fruchtfliege @theoceanismyinkwell @kingofangst @setevulpo

[dawnrider]

Happy Halloween, Ghosts and Ghouls! For #Thirsty Thursday I've got a snippet for the number redacted chapter of From Beginning to End. A little Thirsty Kagome™️ for you. 😈

As always, feel free to send in questions, comments, concerns... recipes. Trick or treats!

“Kagome…”

“You like when I touch you. I can sense it.”

“Of course I do,” he panted. “But I feel like I could go into rut any second. Please. I don’t want to hurt you. The supp…” She kissed him again, muffling the word before he could say it. “Dammit, Kagome. You don’t get it! An alpha’s rut is bad enough. But I’m hanyou too, I could completely lose control.”

Kagome hummed along as though she were agreeing with what he was telling her, all while popping the buttons of his dress shirt loose. Her fingers found his bare skin, the muscles tightening at her touch. Having someone so strong at her mercy was kind of… thrilling.

She marveled at the light tattoo across his right shoulder, creeping up his neck just enough to not be revealed with a collared shirt. Tracing her fingers across the vines and delicate looking flowers, she relished the way Inuyasha shivered under her touch, the way he stared up at her in awe. It was such a fragile looking thing on a man of his size and strength.

Lower, on the ribs, she was met with a similar design, but the flowers were larger and a bit more intricate. The leaves and vines reminded her of old pictures in botanical books, almost like the leaves had been pressed directly into his skin. Someone is a very skilled tattoo artist, she mused, grinning when he sucked in a gasp at her fingers tracing over his ribs and toward his belly.

Kagome shifted her weight backward so she could work on his pants, and he whimpered as her hips moved over his. “Hah… You need to… Ungh.” Incoherent, she wasn’t sure what he was saying, but it was pretty clear that he was enjoying the warmth and pressure.

[steviestits]

witch arranged marriage

Thank you for the ask!

Witch Arranged Marriage: Basically, Steve's parents made a deal with the Munson clan of witches, arranging Steve to marry the clan's heir, Eddie. Eddie grew-up knowing Steve would be his husband in the future. Steve, not so much.

CW: Hinted Mpreg if you squint. It's going to be in the main work, though.

When Steve came down the stairs and into the living room, he was surprised to see that the guest was the man that he’d met at the party and another gruffer looking man who was a bit older. The two were dressed very differently from each other, (the man Steve knew was dressed in all black with silver jewelry adorning his person while the others was dressed down in flannel and jeans) but they both gave off an air of power that couldn’t be denied. They glanced up as Steve entered, with the man in black grinning widely at him from where he stood.

“There you are, sweetheart,” the man said, striding over to take Steve into his arms.

Steve stiffened, not used to the sudden affection. “Mom, Dad, what’s going on?”

“You didn’t tell him yet?” the older man huffed gruffly.

“Tell me what?” Steve asked. “What are they talking about?”

Exchanging looks, his mom and dad tensed, as if they had been hoping that they wouldn’t be noticed. The two of them glared at each other, seeming to have a silent argument about who would address the situation. His dad stepped forward eventually, having lost whatever fight they’d been having previously.

Clearing his throat, his dad said, “We didn’t tell him because we thought that since Steve wasn’t born a girl then you’d be after our granddaughter and thus didn’t feel the need to inform Steve of the agreement as not to pressure him.”

“Why the fuck would I want your granddaughter!?” the man in black yelled.

“Eddie, calm down,” the older man warned. “Just because they’re idiots doesn’t mean you have to shout.”

“I don’t understand,” Steve said, looking from the older man to Eddie. “Why did I need to be born a girl? And why did you think I’d give complete strangers my daughter!?”

“I’m not a stranger, princess,” Eddie said, tugging Steve closer to him. “I’m your future husband. You really should’ve been more prepared, though it explains why you didn’t recognize me at the party.”

“But Steve’s a boy!” his mom shouted. “You said you needed someone to carry on the Munson line! Steve, he- He clearly doesn’t have the right equipment, so you can’t blame us for assuming that you wouldn’t want him!”

“You let us worry about that,” the older man said. “You should know better than anyone else the miracles our line’s magic can work. It got you where you are today, after all.”

At that, Steve’s parents paled, and Steve was starting to get the picture. He didn’t know about the magic part, but from what he could tell, his parents had made a deal with these people to further their riches, using Steve, and his future children, as a bargaining chip to get what they wanted. It should’ve made Steve feel good that his parents were fighting to keep him, but realistically, he knew in his heart that they weren’t fighting for him, instead wanting to keep the heir they had raised.

[libraryofgage]

CW: there is some Major Character Death here, but it's time loop, so they don't really die

Anyway! Here's a little sneak peek at one of the extras for my Modern Steve in 80s Hawkins AU

This part specifically is from the Upside Down's POV about all the previous loops ^_^

The following are just a few of the loops written about in this extra! There's a lot more than Steve and Eddie predicted in the fic lol

It decided to just pick someone. It stretched the web as far as it could, weaving itself into the other dimension so time in that place could be flexible enough for the Upside Down to peek through. People and places and times rushed over it, billions of lives and billions of experiences.  Many were bad, more were good, and even more just were; they were just simple moments of mundanity that the Upside Down treasured for their unfamiliarity. People didn’t seem to like those moments, though. It watched as they expressed disdain for something boring, dreamt of something exciting. The Upside Down decided to choose someone with a life that overflowed with those simple moments. It wanted someone who yearned for a new experience. It needed someone good (a person who felt a fundamental urge to do good things), someone who could be dropped in the middle of chaos incarnate, look around, and decide to fix it. The Upside Down chose Steve Harrington. --------- The Upside Down decided to give Steve a guide for the third try. It dropped Steve in the woods, right after the tunnel digging had started, and sent a healthy demogorgon to help him.  He didn’t immediately run away, but Steve took off when the demogorgon opened its petals to greet him. He didn’t pay attention to unfamiliar woods, tripped down a slope, and bashed his head against a sharp rock. That was, perhaps, a more embarrassing death. Even the Upside Down felt embarrassed watching it happen.  It generously repaired the web, deciding to not count this attempt. --------- The Upside Down pulled Steve to Hawkins before sending him back in time. It gently guided him to the town through his parents, making them dream of a small town and idyllic nature walks and fresh air. It watched as he followed his parents into a new home, eagerly connected its web to the door so he would travel to a week before Vecna made his move, and held its breath. Steve didn’t die this time, but he only lasted three days. He was confused by the door at first, of course. That was expected. He was easily excited once he realized he’d time traveled, and he reacted as the Upside Down had expected: Steve accepted the fact and decided to explore. He didn’t get involved with Nancy or the kids, though. In fact, he never saw them. He ran into another boy first, someone named Eddie, according to Nancy’s memories. The Upside Down didn’t see a problem at first; if Steve was around Eddie, then he’d be there when that first girl died, and his goodness would take over. Steve was there when the girl died. He saw her float to the ceiling, saw her arms and legs break, heard Eddie’s panicked worries about being blamed for everything. And his goodness did take over. It just took over in the wrong direction. He took Eddie (and Wayne, a man that was part of Eddie’s family web) and brought him home, walked him right through time so he wouldn’t get caught for a murder he couldn’t disprove. The Upside Down had been stumped by that one. It didn’t know how things could go wrong quite like that. Shouldn’t Steve have wanted to fix the root of the issue? Why had he just removed himself and two people from the situation?

The Upside Down spared Steve and Eddie one more glance, and then it repaired the web. ------ A few failed attempts later, Steve met Robin for the first time. It was in the past, before he met Eddie, at the video store. They seemed to recognize something in each other and immediately hit it off, trading jokes and friendly barbs that evolved into getting pizza together later. In that attempt, Steve didn’t get the chance to meet Eddie before taking Robin to the future the moment Vecna started killing people.  It was so unexpected that the Upside Down didn’t repair the web right away. It watched Steve and Robin live their lives, laugh and cry and struggle together, and eventually end up in the same senior center. They never changed; they only grew closer and leaned on each other when that feeling of something missing rose up their throats and made their eyes sting. The Upside Down couldn’t watch them die, though, and so it finally repaired the web to try again.

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Snippet Thursday

Following up from last week's poll, this week we have Prisoner Exchange AU: Jak gets in trouble (we all knew it had to happen sooner or later)

The second his boots hit the sand, Jak knew he'd screwed up. He could see Damas waiting in the vehicle pit, having what looked to be an extremely intense conversation with Sig. And Jak knew it was his fault. The idea of facing the wrath of the king was far from appealing, but he disliked the idea of Sig taking the blame for his stupidity.

"So do we face the music, or fake our deaths and flee the country?" Daxter asked morosely from behind him.

The question was answered for him when Damas looked over at them. Oh, he looked calm at first glance, but his eyes radiated fury. He pointed at them, and then to the ground beside him, and his meaning was clear:

Get your you-know-what over here. Now.

"Dun-da-dun: we're dead," Daxter announced.

"Extremely dead," Jak agreed.

Nevertheless, he ignored the way his stomach churned and twisted around his ribs, and picked his way across the sand.

Being in trouble was nothing new for Jak. In fact, most of his memories involved getting punished for one escapade or another. But this was the first time in recent memory that he could remember being anxious about getting in trouble. He'd seen Damas angry a few times before, but it had never been directed at him. In spite of everything they'd gone through, and everything they'd worked to build, Jak felt his pulse racing, and the old familiar instinct to fight for his life.

When he'd reached the men, Jak opened his mouth, intending to defend Sig. Damas beat him to it.

"What were you thinking?" he demanded.

Jak had thought that would have been obvious.

"That...I...was gonna clear out the metalpede nest?"

The glare he got in return warned him to try a different tack.

"Look, don't blame Sig. If he hadn't gone with me, I would've gone without him."

Damas did not appear to like that any more than the last statement. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he narrowed his eyes at Jak.

"I told you not to enter the canyons until you had all three amulets."

"I'm sorry, okay? But we lost seven people to that nest!" Jak defended, flinging out an arm to gesture to the walls. "Egil's goons are already pushing past the river and winter's on the way. We can't afford to lose any more scouts!"

"I cannot afford to lose you!" Damas snapped.

Jak flinched away from his harsh tone. A mixture of confusion, nerves, and wounded pride compelled him to retort, "I'm trying to help! I live here now, remember?"

Damas closed his eyes and took a deliberately slow breath. Sig, Jak, and Daxter exchanged nervous glances. They knew full well this didn't herald anything good.

"Sig," Damas said through gritted teeth, "take the boys to their room, then wait for me in the aviary."

Sig nodded, but didn't verbally respond. He seemed to be feeling much more guilt than Jak did. He stepped to the left and put a hand on Jak’s shoulder. Before they could leave, Damas turned and cleared his throat.

"Wait. Give me your gate passes- both of you. You're all confined to the city until I decide what to do with you."

Privately, Jak thought that being deprived of his gate pass was a heavy punishment already. But Damas seemed mad enough that mentioning it might cause him to prove Jak wrong. He kept his mouth shut -- somewhat belatedly, so much for Damas’s attempts at teaching him negotiation -- and let his father take his gate pass away.

Well, this sucks, he thought, but knew better than to voice it.

When they'd walked far enough to be mostly out of earshot, Daxter remarked, "Well, that could've gone worse."

"Might still get worse," Sig sighed. He ran a hand over his head. "...Damas is right. I almost got us killed out there, cherries. He's got every right to be mad."

Jak tugged at his amulet restlessly. "You didn't want me to go along," he argued, "Doesn't that count for something? He's acting like I didn't take on a Swarm King with just Daxter and a gun!"

Sig ducked into the archway leading to the tower entrance and grimaced.

"No, he's acting like a man who lost his only son for years, and then had to deal with him recklessly risking his life on something that takes an entire team to accomplish. He-"

The big warrior stopped and blew out a frustrated breath. "You scared him, cherry. We scared him. And if anything had happened to you today, it would've been on me."

He shook his head and stomped into the lift.

"Two years I spent tearing Haven apart to find you, and then I let you waltz right back into danger. Unbelievable."

Jak settled into the corner of the lift and waited a few seconds until the silence became uncomfortable.

"Sig," he said, "You knew us before he did. In Haven, I mean. You know what we can do! You wouldn't have been able to stop me from joining the mission."

Guilt plucked at his lungs until he added, "I never meant for you to get in trouble, Sig. Usually we're the only ones who get blamed."

Sig's prosthetic eye whirred as its focus narrowed onto Jak’s face.

"Whatever was "usual" in Haven," he warned, "you're better off forgetting it. Things are different in the Wastelands, you know that!"

"I'm trying to help!" Jak argued. Why didn't anyone get that?! If he was capable of helping, he was obligated to help, wasn't he?

The lift locked into place and Sig pushed him out into the empty throne room. "You want to help?" he muttered, more to himself than to Jak or Daxter, "Maybe quit acting like it doesn't matter what happens to you as long as a job gets done."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Sig shook his head and pointed down the side corridor. "Just...go on back to your room, cherry. Precursors willing, Damas will have calmed down by the time he makes it up here. But I wouldn't be expecting that gate pass back anytime soon."

"You can't be serious," Jak groaned.

He was.

______________________________________

The room had seemed impractically large the first night the boys had been "quarantined" in the tower. Now it felt like the walls were closing in as Jak paced the circumference of the chamber for the fifth time. It had already been an hour, and there had been no sign of Damas. Somehow, that was worse than him being mad. When you knew it was coming, but they made you wait-

That was one of the most terrifying parts of the Baron’s prison.

As Jak started his sixth circuit, tracing his fingers along the wall, he passed Daxter lying on the bed.

"Huh," Daxter said aloud, wrinkling his nose.

"What?" Jak paused mid-step to look down at him.

Daxter sat up suddenly with a furrowed brow. "Say uh...you don't think Spikes was- nah, he doesn't seem that touchy-feely."

Jak thought of Damas holding him, the night he'd finally understood who he was. He thought of fierce embraces and quiet tears and kept them to himself.

"What do you mean, Dax?"

The ottsel fidgeted, and Jak recognized the emotion coloring his eyes as regret.

"It's just..."

Daxter's ears drooped.

"When you go off without me, I know you don't need my help. And I know you can take any monster that comes your way. But I worry anyway -- I can't help it! I lost ya for two years, and sometimes I get scared! Osmo, back in Haven, he called that traumatic stress."

Jak felt a pit in his stomach as he sank back down to sit beside Daxter on the bed.

"Oh," he said quietly.

He'd known, of course. Daxter always wore his heart on his sleeve. But he never talked about it.

"Do- do you think Spike Dad feels like that?" asked Daxter, gnawing on his lip, "cos if he does, I'm gonna feel like a heel."

Jak was silent as he contemplated that. Traumatic stress, huh? What would've set off-

Oh. He'd snuck out. Damas probably found his room empty. Did he have a flashback, like Jak did when doors were locked? Had Jak caused him to panic?

With a groan, Jak put his face in his hands.

"I suck at being a son," he grumbled.

"In our defense, only one of us has been actively parented before this," Daxter suggested, but it was half-hearted.

His ears twitched, first up, then back down again.

"Do...do you think he's gonna yell?"

"If he yells, I'll yell back," Jak answered hesitantly. "But I don't- I don't think he's going to be like Samos. I just...haven't decided if that's a good thing yet."

_________________________________________

Damas entered the chamber well over two hours later to find his son pacing like a caged caracal. By the slightly disturbed furniture, pushed away from walls here and there, it looked as if Jak had been at this for a while now. From all that Sig had told him, he could guess he was in for a fight. Considering what he'd been put through before returning to Spargus, the boy understandably did not take well to any perceived threat to his autonomy. But the moment Jak spotted him, his shoulders slumped.

"So-" Damas began, trying not to read too much into how resigned Jak looked.

"Look-" Jak interrupted, then winced slightly.

"I- We're...sorry," he said haltingly. "I...just wanted- I just wanted to help you."

He looked so earnest. Damas didn’t doubt he and Daxter had managed to talk Sig into letting them turn his scouting mission into a search-and-destroy. It was hard to argue with a face like that. Did the boy even understand what he'd done wrong?

"Oh Jak," Damas sighed.

He lowered himself to the small couch by the window and beckoned him over.

"Come. Sit with me."

Jak hesitated, but complied. The couch was small, but he tried to give Damas as much space as possible. He picked at a scar on his thumb and didn't look up.

"Why you?" Damas asked. When Jak didn't immediately answer, he prodded his shoulder. "Hmm? Why did you, specifically, have to go kill those metalpedes?"

Jak shrugged. "Because I could. Because I'm harder to kill than other people. Why risk them if I don't need to?"

From any other Spargan, those words would've been commendable. Coming from his only child, they burned Damas like brands pressed into his skin. Jak should never have been taught to see himself as expendable. He should never have suffered as he had. And yet Damas had failed to protect him.

"And you gave no thought at all to Sig’s warnings that this was a task too dangerous for one person?"

He watched his son's brows quirk as if something about the question puzzled him.

"Wh- when, um, when we were kids," Jak mumbled, "Nobody actually...cared...if we were doing something dangerous. Not unless it inconvenienced them. They expected us to do these things. To...to earn our keep."

When he looked up at last, Damas was frowning thoughtfully.

"Hmm. I...think I understand."

Damas turned that thought over in his mind. It would do no good to get angry now: Jak would just think it was directed at him. Still, it was for the best that the people of that tiny village were far, far beyond his reach.

"My son," he said, gently but firmly, "You must unlearn what your captors drilled into you. You are home now- you are free now. Those expectations do not apply."

For a moment, Jak said nothing. Then he whispered, "I don't know who I am without them."

Daxter peeked over the arm of the couch with an endearingly miserable look.

"Jak didn't mean to scare ya, and- and Sig just came along to watch our backs! Don't be mad at Sig, er, sir."

An honorific out of Daxter? Hell must have frozen over. It was this, more than anything, that told Damas that the boys truly were sorry.

"Sig didn't do wrong by going with you," he allowed, and dropped a hand over the couch arm to rest over Daxter's head. "But he did not inform me of what was happening, or give me time to form a larger team. That is what he did wrong- and what you did wrong. But we are not here to discuss Sig. We are here to decide what consequences I need to set to ensure that this does not happen again."

Both boys winced, and Damas noticed Daxter curl in on himself as though shielding himself before a blow. Jak schooled his face into an emotionless mask.

Damas regretted his promise to spare Haven for Jak's sake.

"You will be confined to the tower for six days," Damas announced, forcing himself to ignore the boys' reactions. "If you want your gate pass back, you'll have to earn it. Show me that I can trust you to make better decisions."

"And...after the week is up?" asked Daxter tentatively.

The king shifted his weight and ran a hand over his face. Alright, Sig. I'm choosing my battles.

"Before I came in here, I was going to ban you from the Arena trials until midwinter," he admitted.

Jak stiffened beside him, the protest already on his lips.

"But," Damas continued, "as you seem to have a better understanding of the gravity of the situation than I had initially thought, I offer a compromise."

Jak flexed his fingers and glanced over nervously. "O...kay?"

Damas offered a small smile in response. "You will only be barred from the Arena until you can escape me in a sparring match. How long that lasts will be up to you."

Jak sagged with relief -- and Daxter suddenly got a lot more anxious. Sure, Jak could fight metalheads the size of buildings and come out on top. But Damas had something the metalheads didn't: opposable thumbs.

This probably wasn't going to be as easy as Jak was thinking.

"Thanks. For...for not yelling," Jak said unexpectedly. "Daxter doesn't like yelling."

Damas dropped his other hand across the back of Jak's neck and squeezed affectionately, just the barest hint of pressure.

"If you have to shout to make your point, you've already lost control of the situation," he advised.

He caught the incredulous expression passing between the two boys and chose to let it go. They were still learning what it was to have a childhood. Lessons in leadership could come later.

"I know you're still getting to know me," he said hesitantly, "Perhaps the restrictions I place do not make sense to you. But they exist because I care about your safety. I fought to make this city one in which you could choose your own path. So you wouldn't have to fight for your life."

Daxter stretched up on tip-paws. "But that's why Jak fights!" he protested, "Cause he can't stand the idea of anybody goin' through what he did!"

Damas flinched, ever so slightly, and Daxter regretted bringing it up. It was fairly obvious that Damas had the same kind of survivor's guilt that he did.

"I...don't know a whole lot about dads, sure, but he's just doin' what you do, doesn't that count for somethin?"

Damas shook his head, but he didn't appear to be disagreeing. He only whispered, "I should have been there."

Daxter knew what he meant.

After a moment's hesitation, he climbed up onto the arm of the couch and tentatively patted Damas’s shoulder.

"Aw, look. Jak, uh...Jak has always been pretty fearless about runnin' into danger. Even before things went sideways! He used to wade out to the sandbar to save stranded Lurker Hounds, even though he knew they were gonna try and bite him! He uh, he had to learn that from somewhere, right?"

Jak raised his head and blinked. He'd sort of figured he'd learned it from his own elder self in an eternal loop. But...could Daxter be right? Was that wild, fearless, reckless little kid simply acting like a normal Wastelander?

"Maybe you fought so he wouldn't have to," Daxter suggested, merely thinking out loud, "But maybe he decided to be just like you? I mean have you met him? The kid's got a head like a rock!"

"Dude, really?" Jak glared at him.

Damas’s smile was bittersweet at best. "It is...a nice thought, Daxter," he admitted, "Admittedly, Jak...was quite stubborn when he was Mar."

Impulsively, he swung his arms close, dragging both boys into an impromptu embrace.

"However, you are still grounded."

"Darnit!" Daxter fumed.

[rd-eternity]

WIP WEDNESDAY on THURSDAY

Tagged by @wolfboy88

From to catch a wolf aka yet another post-canon Thiam in college fic

“You left early.” Theo doesn’t turn around from where he’s fixing breakfast, shuffling around the kitchen in dead silence.  Liam crosses his arms, blocking the doorway of the kitchen so he can’t leave.  He catches the chimera’s eyes when he looks up at him.  Fuck, he looks exhausted.   “Didn’t think you’d notice,” he mutters.  “I was tired and didn’t want to wait for you to be done.” Liam’s jaw clenches.  The entire evening, he caught glimpses of Theo avoiding the party, not talking to anyone or even making eye contact.  And yes he was a tad distracted.  Even so, when he came downstairs and couldn’t pick up the chimera’s scent, he almost panicked.  The only thing stopping him from going on a rampage trying to find him was Corey, mentioning Theo slipped out. “Did you talk to anyone?” Liam says softly. He shrugs.  “No one there I really wanted to have a conversation with.”  He goes to try and move past Liam, to go back to his room and hide away from this, but Liam doesn’t budge.  His jaw clenches.  “Move.” “No.”  Liam braces a hand on the doorframe, not letting Theo drop his gaze.  “You have to fucking talk to me.”  Even with Theo controlling his heartbeat and chemosignals like always, Liam can still see the anxiety, the pain, in his grey eyes.  “You promised me you’d find at least one new friend,” he reminded him.  “If parties aren’t your scene, that’s fine.” “You liked it,” Theo interrupts.  “Not going to ruin your fun.” Liam blinks a few times.  He spent most of the night, dancing around and teasing the guy who never dropped his gaze, pushing him right up to the point he finally made a move.  And he liked it.  A lot.  And Theo… didn’t.  “Does me,” he pauses, jaw clenching.  “Does me being with someone bother you?��� Theo rolls his eyes.  “Corey’s gay, Mason’s gay, I’m gay, I don’t give a shit Liam.  Doesn’t mean I have to stick around waiting for you to be done fucking a frat guy and then drive home like nothing happened.” Somehow the only thing Liam’s mind latches onto is I’m gay.  Not that he’s surprised, but… But what?  But nothing.

No pressure tags: @theoceanismyinkwell, @transdunbar, @equallyloyalandlethal, @tabbytabbytabby, @outcastpack, anyone else who wants to jump in

[sugarsnappeases]

thursday snippet!!

ty @inevitablestars and @itsjaywalkers for the tags <333

okay guys bear w me for this one okay?? i was having Thoughts about barty being moody in gof and the way that would affect his grasp on who he is etc etc and then i was like... who do we know and love who's desperately clinging on to reality and her identity by one singular fraying thread?? my darling sybill who just so happens to already be in the castle of course!

so this comes just directly after barty kills his dad and i don't think it's a ship?? i think they're just friends... but... i feel like i could be kinda easily convinced to ship them idk... we'll see i think

It was disappointing and it was cathartic and it hadn’t helped to sharpen anything - he had thought maybe it might help him define himself, this murder, this patricide, and he knew who he was, he did, but the lines were still blurred, like trying to count his individual eyelashes by looking into a fogged-up mirror. Barty found himself heading towards the one thing that seemed to help him, even if only slightly, something like a tether, an anchor, if the anchor also needed to be held down - maybe they were both the anchor, and the ship, and the storm, and they tried to help each other however they could. She was the only thing that was really familiar about the castle now, or the only thing that was familiar and didn’t make him want to pull his heart out of his chest with his own two hands and offer it up in apology, atonement for his crimes - like he did whenever he saw that little blonde third year - her daughter, his niece - even as he could never be sure whether it would really be his heart, his hands, his apology, even as he could never be sure quite what he was atoning for, whose crimes, whose transgressions. Sybill Trelawney used to sit next to him in Divination, two chintz armchairs around a little circular table in the tower he was walking towards now, wooden leg knocking harshly against the hard, stone steps.

np tags for @quillkiller @themuseoftheviolets @orbitfalls @fxreflyes and anyone else who wants to!!

[wizardofarles]

Sneak Peek of LYKMC Chapter 14

Auguste didn’t emerge from his room again until Friday evening. Laurent was curled up on an armchair in the library with a book in hand when Auguste clamored down the stairs in his boots. He always made so much noise. Laurent had grown used to a quiet house in his absence. It was still jarring every time Auguste crashed through the house like he wasn’t afraid to be heard.

Laurent caught a glimpse of him through the open doorway as he dashed through the foyer��just a tall blur of denim and worn black leather, and a flash of tousled golden hair. He might have been wearing the same clothes as yesterday, but it was hard to tell. Ever since he’d found it in the attic Auguste wore that motorcycle jacket like a second skin.

He heard the front door burst open—

“Auguste.”

—and close again.

“Uncle,” Auguste said, sounding chastised. “I was just heading out.”

“Where are you going?” Uncle’s tone was smooth and light, but slippery like ice. Laurent sensed the danger in it, even if Auguste did not.

“Just out with Jord,” Auguste answered as Laurent crept up out of his chair and peered around the doorframe.

Auguste’s back was to him, one hand still gripping the handle of the front door. Leaning against the back of the couch in the living room with his ankles crossed was Uncle, regarding Auguste over the rim of a glass of wine he was swirling beneath his nose. He looked comfortable, like he’d been lounging there a while, staring out the entryway to the foyer just waiting to catch Auguste on his way out.

“Jord? Now, there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.” Uncle didn’t seem to see Laurent across the hall. His eyes were on Auguste. “Is everything all right between the two of you?”

“Yeah,” Auguste said brightly, “everything’s fine.”

“Will you be home for dinner? I’ve invited Torveld.”

Auguste hesitated. “I don’t think so, sorry.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Give him my best, though.”

“I will. I know how fond he is of you boys.” Uncle raised his wine glass to his lips. As it caught the light from the window and flashed a red wink, his eyes flicked to Laurent.

Laurent ducked back behind the wall, heart exploding in his chest. Auguste and Uncle were still talking in the foyer, but he could no longer make out their words over the drum of his own heartbeat.

By the time his pulse had slowed enough for his heartbeat to retreat from his ears, he heard the front door close. The following silence that crept in like the tide told him that Auguste was gone.

“Laurent.” Uncle’s voice was calm; he did not shout his name, but Laurent flinched as though he had.

He emerged from the library, reluctant to part from the wall which shielded him, but too afraid to ignore his uncle. There was nothing to be gained from stoking his anger; better to face the punishment he was about to receive for eavesdropping than to add disrespect and disobedience to his list of sins.

When Laurent lifted his gaze and mustered the courage to look his uncle in the eye, he did not see the anger he’d expected there. Instead, his uncle’s eyes were bright with mischief. He tapped Laurent under the chin with his knuckle and offered him a conspiratorial smile. “Your brother always looks so guilty when he lies.”

Laurent blinked back his confusion, like trying to adjust his eyes to a sudden change in the light. “You just let him lie to your face,” he said slowly. “Why?”

“My dear,” Uncle said with a twinkle in his eye, “if I revealed every time I knew he was lying to me, I would only be helping him learn to hide his lies.”

Something shifted uneasily in Laurent’s stomach. Does he know when I’m lying too? Uncle had risen to his feet as he was speaking and was now standing very close to Laurent, his head bent to his level. The thick, sour scent of red wine on his breath was suffocating. Laurent angled his face away, searching for clean air, but Uncle’s wine glass appeared under his nose.

“Have some wine, Laurent. You look pale.”

Laurent took the offered glass and slowly raised it to his lips, trying not to inhale through his nose. He usually liked wine; especially the fancy reds Uncle would let him try when they were alone. He didn’t know why this particular glass was so repulsive to him. He took a small sip, careful not to grimace as it went down.

Uncle did not take the glass back when Laurent tried to hand it to him. He stared at Laurent with a mild expression, quirked an eyebrow ever so slightly, and waited. Laurent looked down into the burgundy depths of the glass in his hand. Before he had a chance to lose his resolve, he tipped the contents into his mouth, draining the glass. He had to fight against his gag reflex to swallow it.

Satisfied, Uncle took the empty glass from his hand, set it down on a side table and smiled at him. A warm flush was creeping up Laurent’s neck and onto his cheeks.

Then the amusement drained from Uncle’s eyes, and he expelled a deep sigh. “I worry about your brother. He’s not well. You saw how he was last night. I just wish I knew who he’s really seeing when he goes out. I hope he’s not putting himself in danger.”

Laurent chewed his lip, momentarily forgetting how much Uncle hated that habit. “There must be something we can do to help him.”

“Torveld is attracted to you.”

The words hit Laurent like a slap, blindsiding him. It was not even a statement he could deny. His uncle had seen them together at his birthday party. He looked down at his hands, where he began picking at a tender hangnail.

Uncle said, “He will try to come on to you this evening at dinner.”

“I won’t do anything to encourage him,” Laurent scrambled to say, “I promise. I’ll tell him I don’t see him that way.”

Uncle clicked his tongue. “That would be rather awkward. I’ve given Torveld my blessing.”

“I … don’t understand.”

Was the room spinning just a little? Laurent wasn’t usually this much of a lightweight. Maybe it was because he’d skipped breakfast again. He tried to take a step backwards and stumbled. Uncle placed his hands on Laurent’s shoulders to steady him.

“All you need to do is play along,” Uncle said. “That is, if you’re sincere about wanting to help your brother.”

[cilil]

Throwback Thursday

Tagged by @ettelene. Thank you, friend! Let's see what I can find...

Now this fic is not super old or anything, but it has a special place in my heart, so please enjoy some Vairë x Míriel :)

"Very well. Tell me then, my dear, what is it that you crave?"  Míriel pondered her question in silence for a few moments. Many thoughts flitted through her mind, yet with every passing second she felt as though the longing inside her grew, awakened by her lady's presence. She had come back to life years ago, but she hadn't returned to the world of living; at times she almost forgot she had a hröa again, her feelings and sensations dulled by the tranquillity and otherworldliness of Mandos. There were needs she had been ignoring and denying herself for too long, chief among them the warmth and touch of another. Perhaps it was improper of her to ask, but she felt emboldened by the Valië's offer and years of companionship the two of them had shared.  "I want to feel," Míriel said, "and to let go without worry."  As soon as those words left her mouth, she could see that her lady understood what desires she had hidden in her heart. Vairë let out a small hum and pulled on a thread she had been spinning with two fingers, holding it in front of her.  "I can give that to you, if you wish."

("The Weaver's Respite")

No pressure tags: @sauron-kraut @lvsifer @urwendii @niennawept @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @demonscantgothere @elevenelvenswords @camille-lachenille @glorf1ndel @saintstars @crackinthecup @nyarnamaitar @holyplasmaball and everyone else who wants to! Please feel free to join🖤

[ksbbb]

WIP WEDNESDAY/ WIP THURSDAY (excerpt from Love is a Twisted Dance of Shadows)

Tagged by @opheliathiams @hemlocksandfoxgloves

“Hmm.” Theo says, failing to answer back with anything more than a simple sound of interest.

It’s absolutely not helping Liam’s point of being a jerk to the one who came to pick him up but he’s too frightened to be calmly talking this out.

Turning some music on, Theo sits down at the kitchen table with the glass he poured and drinks it slowly. He doesn’t ask or beg for Liam to say something more and he doesn’t ask for him to move closer. He only waits for him to cool off.

Liam doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like the calm demeanor of a wolf that is sitting inside while another chimera is getting ready to die.

“Okay.” Theo sighs, and he opens the front door and walks out, puzzling Liam with his unrelenting smile, not reacting to anything going on around them.

Liam’s heart drops, his breathing stalled in a haze of startled panic, observing Theo coldly dragging Noah in from outside and he doesn’t just drag in the other chimera.

He holds him by his neck and slowly walks to the kitchen, torturing Noah with the pain of being held by sharp claws that slice through his skin, but not enough to kill him.

Not yet.

“What do you say Noah? Are you going to make this easy? Or are we doing this the hard way?” Theo growls, his eyes flooding red, and Donavan is suddenly inside too, laughing loudly at bones cracking beneath his feet.

Tagging @wolfboy88 @maplesyrizzup @thiamsxbitch @mmoosen @chasing-chimeras @honestlydarkprincess @theoceanismyinkwell @cozy-writer (no pressure tags)

[kvothes]

i’ve been working on my fic for the past few hours does anyone want to talk about my fic with me i’m dying to talk about my fic