#this still doesn't have a title lol

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday

Ok, part 2!

Part One Here

(Warning for brief violence)

"Okay!" Daxter snapped, flinging a piece of a lever to the ground in disgust, "That is the last time I ever, ever, touch any more stupid Precursor crap!"

Jak would have responded, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the strange place they had fallen into. Hard stone covered the ground in even, flat surfaces, like walking paths made of one solid piece. They matched the gray of drab huts built four or five levels high -- fortresses? -- with equally flat tops and windows covered in a thin, reflective material of some kind. Everything smelled like rotting garbage and the exhaust fumes of his zoomer! What kind of dead ruin was this?

A ruin, perhaps, but hardly a dead one.

Zoomers in bright colors and sleek shapes darted back and forth overhead, mesmerizing the small boy. There were more people on them than he'd ever seen in his life! People walked along the streets in crowds! Was this what Uncle called "city"? It was so much bigger than the villages! And if he stood on the tips of his toes, Jak could see more structures that were even taller!

"There he is!" a harsh voice rang out.

A group of -- were they people? They were covered in armor with goggles that reminded Jak of the giant Precursor robot -- marched towards him, carrying strange weapons. The long, thin things reminded him of the Yellow Sage's blunderbuss. Some forgotten instinct told him that these things were deadly, and never to be played with.

Why were they coming towards him? Had he done something wrong?

Oh no! The broken pieces of the Rift vehicle must have hurt someone!

"Move in!"

In mere seconds, the red warriors had completely surrounded them. Part of Jak wanted to fight, but if they were just protecting their city from what probably looked like an attack, maybe it would be better to stay calm. Jak didn't want to find out what those weapons could do at such close range. But as the circle closed around him, Jak looked up into the face of their leader, and his stomach turned.

This wasn't a misunderstanding. These people were looking for trouble. The tattooed man smirking down at him had the same unreasonable gleam in his eye as Gol Acheron. He didn’t want to talk. He was going to hurt them whether or not they gave him a reason.

Jak took a step back without thinking as his pulse began to thunder in his ears.

What does he want? I didn't do anything to him! Why is he looking at us like that?!

"Step away from the animal!" barked a soldier.

Whoever they were, they understood that Jak was more powerful with Daxter supplementing his attacks. But Jak had never seen these people in his life!

Had he?

The boy cast a frantic look down at Daxter as a soldier began to move towards him.

Run! Run, Daxter!

With a shriek, the ottsel dodged the armored hand and dove between the man's legs.

"GO GO GO!" he screeched, darting off down a side street.

But Jak couldn't follow. The men crowded closer, fencing him in as their sneering leader snapped, "Forget the rat! The Baron wants him!"

Me? Why?! What's a Baron?!

A cruel smile twisted the leader's face as he signaled the man beside Jak.

"We've been waiting for you," he cooed.

Something slammed into the side of Jak's head, dropping him like a stone. Lights danced behind his eyes, and he couldn't think past the pain. Why? Why were they doing this? Were they friends of the Acherons? Rough hands grabbed him by the arms and dragged him to his feet, ignoring his soft whimper. He had to escape. Had to find Daxter. Somehow Jak knew that if he let these people take him, he might never see his friends again.

His throat pulsed and spasmed, but he couldn't force the sound past the lock in his mouth, couldn't cry out for help. Someone! Please, please stop them! Precursors! Somebody!

Somebody answered.

There was an awful, wet sound. Claws through cloth, and flesh, and the horrible, high screams that always followed.

Jak knew that sound. When the Lurkers attacked village outskirts and Samos sent him to clean up the mess, he'd learned what it sounded like when someone was being ripped apart.

His head was swimming, but Jak forced himself to look up. Through leaking eyes he caught the blurry figure of a...a someone, covered in armor. Their head -- or maybe a helmet? Hopefully a helmet -- looked like the skull of the monsters that had flown out of the Rift Gate, complete with the shining yellow thing on the forehead. They were attacking the leader man, the one who hadn't been wearing as much armor as the others.

It seemed the leader wasn't accustomed to close quarters fighting.

He screeched again as the newcomer raked long claws down his face, then bodily lifted him. With a grunt that sounded more human than monster, the creature flung its victim into the soldiers surrounding Jak just as they raised their weapons. There were three flashes of light at once, then panicked shouting and more screaming. The eco that shot out of their weapons had hit their leader as he was thrown, by the sounds of the yelling. "Commander Errol" continued to scream like he was dying. He probably was.

Abruptly the two men holding his arms let go. Still disoriented, Jak staggered and fell to his hands and knees. More yellow eco blasts roared over his head, adding to the ringing in his ears, and the stench of blood grew stronger. Maybe he could crawl out of the way, escape down the side street Daxter took. Maybe-

The creature shot out a red hand and caught Jak by the wrist, pulling him to his feet so quickly his head spun and his stomach lurched. He tried to pull free, but the monster's grip tightened.

"Can you run?"

A man's voice. Was it a creature? Or was this more armor?

Jak wobbled and groaned, and the man-thing seemed to take that as an answer. Without another word, he ducked down to sweep Jak's legs off the ground. He bundled him close to his blood-spattered breastplate and began to run. The jarring of boots against stone did nothing to allay the pounding in Jak’s head, radiating from where the red soldier had hit him. What on earth was happening to him?!

"Hold on tight, Jak. Going to get a little tricky here," his rescuer said.

Wait. He knew Jak's name? How did he know Jak's name?! Did he know one of the sages? Maybe the Yellow Sage, since he seemed like some kind of wild man. If he knew the sages, he'd know how to get back to Sandover! Jak struggled to make a sound the man would recognize as a word or question. Grownups never understood signs, why would this one be different?

"Wait, Jak. We're not safe yet," said the man sternly.

Jak stilled. Whoever this was, he didn't sound like the kind of person you ignored.

Streets flew by as the man ran down alleys and around more corners than he could count. Then his steps slowed. There was something metallic and green -- one of those unusual zoomers that had been flying around, wide enough for two people -- sitting unattended. The man made an exclamation of triumph and hurried over to it. He deposited Jak into one of the seats with a surprising gentleness, fastening two strange belts over his chest with a click.

"That commander's access pass will get us into the agricultural sector," his rescuer said, as if that meant anything to him, "then we'll be out of the city and into the forest. Just stay close to me, no matter what, understand?"

Jak stared at his mask with wide eyes and didn't answer. The man sighed, rattling behind the skull.

"I know. I know you don't recognize me, little one."

Strange, he sounded kind of sad.

"I promise, I'll explain what's going on when we're in the forest. Now: hold onto something."

The wide zoomer, it turned out, was a lot faster than his a-grav zoomer back home. It could hover a lot higher, too. If Jak's head didn't still ache, he would have been a lot more interested in the vehicle. But as it stood, he was pretty sure he was going to throw up. Was this how Daxter felt when they were running around?

Nah. Daxter was one of the toughest people Jak knew. He could roundhouse kick a Lurker in the face and flip back onto Jak’s shoulder without even getting dizzy!

Wait! Daxter!

Frantically, Jak waved his hands as the zoomer careened through and around other drivers, scraping paint more than once. Even though he didn't expect an answer, he signed, "Go back! Go back, my friend is back there!"

Predictably, the man did not go back. But to Jak’s surprise, he did answer.

"We're not going back," he grunted, throwing the craft into a climb that left the engine straining. "That plaza will be swarming with guards now."

Then, a little gentler, he added, "Don't worry so much about Daxter. He's a smart boy, he knows how to keep himself safe until someone comes for him."

Not only did this person know who Jak was, he knew Daxter?

A smart boy. He called Daxter a smart boy.

No one had ever said anything that nice about his best friend before. Especially not adults. Jak had never understood why everyone but Ollie and Mrs. Perch seemed to hate Daxter so much, but it had always frightened him. If they hated a kid who never did anything to them, that meant Jak was on a tightrope every day to keep them from deciding to hate him, too.

But the scary man who grabbed him, he knew Daxter's name. He didn't call him a rat or an animal, he called him a boy! He called him smart! Jak’s previous fear began to melt away. Anyone who talked about his best friend like that had to be a nice person, right? And he was a fun driver, too! Too bad Jak's stomach was trying to crawl up his throat at the moment.

After a tense few seconds, the zoomer leveled out and shot past a fancy fountain, over the heads of people in nicer clothes than what Jak had seen before. A few shook their fists and complained as they flew past. Slate gray paths gave way to the first green he'd seen since first getting into the Rift craft. A long, narrow expanse of grass held several plots of unusually large produce. The plots were being tended by exhausted looking people in much dirtier clothes than the people by the fountain. They didn't even glance up when the zoomer sped by.

They pulled to a stop at a high, forbidding wall. The door shaped vaguely like a skull only added to the sense of foreboding around it, as if it was a warning. A quick glance around revealed that the wall extended as far as Jak could see, so high that nothing was visible beyond it. How could these people stand it? It must be like living at the bottom of a silo!

Jak was snapped from his thoughts by the man yanking the strap things off him with a click and pulling him out of the zoomer. It took him a moment to get his feet under him, but at least he didn't feel like he was going to tip over.

"Hurry," said the man tersely. Almost as if he wasn't thinking about it, he reached down and took hold of Jak's hand. He tugged Jak after him and walked swiftly towards the door.

"Not a little kid!" Jak protested with his free hand as best as he could.

Although, he had a feeling his rescuer could argue to the contrary, considering Jak barely stood as high as the man's ribcage.

"Now leaving Haven City," said a woman's voice above their heads as the door rolled shut behind them. Jak looked around for a talk-box, but couldn't tell where the lady was speaking from. "Haven", eh? Didn't seem like much of a Haven to Jak.

A second door opened in front of them, and a weight lifted off of Jak's shoulders.

Trees, ancient and massive, sprawled across hills and around a creek running placidly down to a lake. Nature didn't care about soldiers and cities and people hurting each other. Nature kept growing and being born and dying and being reborn in an eternal cycle of eco. It was a relief to see none of those entombing walls before them. Strange though, Jak didn't see any signs of wildlife. One bird chirruped several trees away, but everything else was eerily quiet.

The armored man lifted an oddly shaped talk-box to his ear and turned away from Jak.

"Satellite One, this is Lighthouse. We're clear."

"Copy that, Lighthouse. Wait, who's "we"?"

"Oh. Jak. The kid Praxis was trying to ambush?"

"Kid?! Wait, you didn't tell me you were going to grab someone's kid!"

"Don't worry about it," the man said casually, "Focus on the mission."

The person calling themselves Satellite One was quiet for a second, then relented. "...right. I'll...I'll bring him home, Damas. I swear it."

"If anyone can, it's you." The man -- Day-maz? Is that what Satellite called him? -- put the talk box away and took in a deep breath through his nose. Then he pivoted to kneel in front of Jak.

"Alright, let's have a look at you."

He unlatched the mask or helmet and slid it off, revealing a human face beneath a hood. He pushed it off and shook his ears free with a grumble.

"Bah. This disguise is a necessary evil but I can't say I'll be sad to see it go."

The clawed gloves followed, and then rough brown fingers lifted Jak's chin carefully, checking for injuries.

"Look up? Good. Pupils...ah, mmhm. Jak, can you tell me if you feel dizzy or nauseous right now?"

"Yes."

Thin, almost invisible eyebrows rose over violet eyes. "Yes you can tell me, or yes you feel dizzy?"

"Yeah, that one." Jak frowned. "There's no birds."

The Day-mas man released Jak's face and clicked his tongue. "Well, you may have a mild concussion, little one."

Jak's ears drooped a few seconds after the words caught up to him. Aw man! But those take forever to go away without eco!

The thought of avoiding running and climbing for a few weeks was torture!

"There's a green eco vent a couple miles into the woods if we keep going northwest. For a slight brain injury you really need a full vent, but I can give you a little now to make walking easier."

The man pulled off more of the scaly armor and searched around a belt full of pouches before coming up with a tube of some kind of paste.

"Hold still."

Eco in paste?! How did he get it into a jelly?! It sat cold on Jak’s skin, numbing the place the guard had slammed his weapon into. Jak shivered as his mind cleared a bit. With the adrenaline beginning to wear off, he was starting to notice the cold. He'd need to find some yellow eco to raise his core temperature. Absentminded, he signed a thanks to the man and looked around.

"Who are you?" he asked, then belatedly remembered to add, "How do you know me and Daxter?"

With a weird, sad, smile, the man sat back on his heels. "My name is Damas," he said quietly, and then spelled it with his hand.

"You sign?!"

Jak thought adults just weren't capable of understanding signs!

"Yes," Damas signed back, "It's very common where I come from. Come, we need to get you more eco. Explanations can wait until you are fully healed."

He stood and held out a hand.

"I'm not a baby!" Jak complained, but he took the offered hand anyway.

Damas chuckled warmly. "No, you're not a baby. But you are quite small, compared to me. I wouldn't want you to get lost out here in the unknown. You never know what you'll run into out here in the woods."

"No birds," Jak commented again, frowning into bushes and trees as he was tugged along.

Entirely too cheerfully, Damas answered, "No, no birds. You're keeping track of your surroundings, good! There are predators nearby that have scared them off."

"Wha?!" Jak yelped, looking around again.

Damas squeezed his hand and began to make his way along the creek. "You don't need to worry about them, alright? I won't let anything hurt you, I promise."

Jak made a skeptical sound, but squeezed back and let himself be guided deeper into the woods, and further away from the world he'd left behind.

[artzybumpkin]

I Need Your Help...

CW/ mpreg, language, slight angst

Pt. 1

St@nley heard the nauseating sizzle before the pain registered, radiating white hot agony from where the back of his right shoulder made contact with the metallic mass he was pressed against. A tortured scream tore itself from his throat as he tried to wriggle himself away from the hot steel. He crumbled to a heap on the floor, eyes squeezed shut as he gripped his shoulder.

"St@nley!!" F0rd's voice rang as he scrambled up to his feet, a mortified expression plastered to his face as he rushed to his brother, book in hand.

It all happened so fast…

One moment Stanf0rd was explaining the basics of his plan: to take his journal and take it far, FAR away, where it could never be stumbled upon again… and in the next, he ended up tackling his brother to get it back when the latter threatened to burn the damn thing. It turned into a violent game of keep-away, with them pushing and shoving and cursing each other as they each tried to pry it from one another's grasp. The tussle lasted several minutes… and ultimately led him to unintentionally slamming his brother up against the blazing surface of one of his machines.

How could it have gone so wrong?

Breathing harshly through his teeth, St@n stiffly managed to sit upright enough to lean his good shoulder on the doorway, his left hand white-knuckling the fabric of his jacket sleeve as he attempted to quell the feverish throbbing. His vision was blurred, his ears were ringing, and he could just barely make out that a figure was approaching him… speaking to him… or maybe at him, but in that moment it only read as static and noise.

He felt like a cornered animal. And with a fresh rush of adrenaline, instinct overcame rationale in a flurry of pain and pure, pent up rage...

F0rd knelt down in front of him, frantically apologizing and trying to assess the damage. "Ohhh my gosh I'm so sorry!! Are you alr-" but his words were abruptly cut off as St@n's fist made blunt contact with the underside of his chin before he could come any closer, knocking him silly for a brief moment. He stumbled back, dropping the journal, and landed flat on his ass a few feet across from him. He groaned into his hand as it caressed his aching jaw.

"What the HELL is wrong with you??!" St@nley exclaimed scornfully. "Are you CRAZY??!"

"ME??!" came a muffled response before F0rd uncovered his mouth. "You punched me in the FACE!!"

"YOU tackled me to the ground over a goddamn BOOK, you jackass!!" A frustrated, pained sound slipped past St@n's lips. 'Scorched the SHIT outta my shoulder too... fuck!...' he thought bitterly. The pain of the burn was slowly dulling enough to become manageable but was still deafeningly there. "Do you not see how insane that is?? Do you have ANY idea what you could've-... y-you could've..." His face suddenly fell, his complexion somehow paling even more than it already had. Quietly mumbling an inaudible 'Oh no!.,' he shakily fumbled with the zipper of his jacket.

F0rd was about to spat a venomous retort… then all those thoughts vanished as he watched his brother, who's attention was no longer on him at the moment...

Self-consciousness took a back seat as, with a little less effort than he'd like to admit, St@nley all but tore his jacket open... fully revealing the impressively sized bump as he frantically palpated the sides with his free hand. In the heat of the moment, he'd temporarily neglected the fact that he had a passenger on board, and an air of fear and desperation loomed in his eyes as he tried to garner SOME reaction from the babe inside. He couldn't take the possibility of anything happening to them as a result of carelessness on his part. Not after they've stuck with him this long...

After a tense wait, he jumped slightly when he received a harsh yet responsive jab(what was most likely a punch back of annoyance from the little one for disturbing their peace). "Ohhhh you're okay... you're okay..," he breathed, more to convince himself than anyone else, as he let his head fall back against the doorframe.

Meanwhile, F0rd's nerves were steadily building in intensity. Realization hit him with the force of a semi truck, but the shock made it hard to formulate the words that were buzzing in his exhausted brain. How in the world did he not notice until now?!... "St@nley, I... You... Y-You're..?"

St@nley's eyes popped back open, making contact with his brother's... before following his gaze back to his own stomach. He groaned, exasperated. He knew this conversation was coming, he dreaded it the entire drive up here... now the proverbial cat was out of the bag. "Right... um..." He did a half-hearted, one handed mock 'jazz hands' motion. "Surprise, I guess... You're gonna be an uncle."

"Pregnant?!..." came a shrill, horrified whisper.

"Figured that was obvious, poindexter."

"Why didn't you tell me you were PREGNANT??!!"

"Oh I dunno, maybe cuz I thought you were in trouble?? That the message you sent was clearly urgent and you needed HELP??"

Stanf0rd, his head swimming from both the adrenaline rush wearing off as well as the slew of new information he'd just been forced to absorb, promptly flopped to the ground onto his back. He covered his face with his hands, breathing out a rather defeated sound. "I should've never sent that damned postcard..."

St@n huffed. "What? Was I supposed to just NOT come, then?? I didn't haul ass all the way from New Mexico just because! I had to!! You're my freakin' brother, I couldn't leave ya hangin' if I knew you were in trouble!"

"Still..," F0rd let his hands fall from his face and out to his sides. "It was reckless to come all this way when you're in such a..," he fumbled for the right words, " ... condition."

"Do you seriously think I'd skip out on ya over an inconvenience? I'm pregnant, F0rd, not inert."

F0rd opened his mouth as if to respond, but quickly gave up. The pain from where he'd been slugged was starting to made it difficult to speak.

The room went quiet, sans the sounds of machinery blipping, metallic creaking, as well as each of their own attempts to regulate their breathing. They stayed like that for a while, simmering down.

St@nley glanced over to see that the journal, the very thing they were hashing it out over just mere minutes ago, had landed within arms reach of himself. He reached for it, grunting when the movement made his core muscles tense up. He ignored it and and picked the book up. He let go of his shoulder to hold it in both hands, turning it over and inspecting the leather craftsmanship.

Flipping through a few random pages, though the written contents read more or less like Greek to him, it was obvious the sheer amount of love and passion that went into putting the thing together. The time and effort put into the extensive research documented on every single page was astounding. All in his brother's recognizable penmanship…. 'And here I was about to set it on fire..," he thought with a slight pang of guilt.

"What're we doing, Stanf0rd?..," he finally spoke up. "It's not been an hour since I got here and we've already been at each other's throats…"

"Yeah... yeah, no kidding..," F0rd sighed. "We might've lost our heads a bit, there... er, I did..." he admitted, solemnly. "I panicked... reacted rashly..." An apology seemed to hang loosely from his lips, but he didn't quite allow it to slip.

St@nley recognized that but decided not to comment on it. He made an amused sound. This all suddenly felt very familiar. It felt a lot like one of those times when they were just kids, when Ma would not-so-gently encourage them to reconcile after one of their petty skirmishes... skirmishes not unlike that of street cats duking it out over a stolen fish from the boardwalk docks. Seemed it was what Jersey boys did best: Fight. Fight and then make up as if they weren't just about to kick the ever-loving shit out of each other. Oh the nostalgia... Maybe they hadn’t completely changed all that much, after all…

St@n looked back to his brother, who was still sprawled out like a starfish on the floor. A deep sigh rolled from his chest. "Listen..," he started, voice just loud enough to hear over the white noise of the lab, "just so you know, even if there was no emergency... even if there was no rhyme or reason to send for me... I still had every intention to come when you asked me to." He swallowed, hesitating continuing the thought… but pressed on. He needed to say this. "... I wanted to see you, Stanf0rd. I've wanted to for a long, long time..."

F0rd remained quiet, head tilted in his brother's direction, listening.

"I just… after all this time, after all these years, I just thought… maybe you actually wanted to see me again too…"

"..."

"I've missed you, brother…"

F0rd's face softened for a moment, emotions could be seen conflicting behind his eyes. It seemed like he'd wanted so badly to say something... to say anything to clear things up... but right then the appropriate words came up short. He squeezed his eyes shut, steeling himself as he turned back away from St@nley, facing back to the tall ceiling. "You should've stayed home."

And just like that they were plunged back into deafening silence. The gap between them seemed to grow ever so slightly wider once more.

Then, as if on cue (and much to St@horror), an obnoxiously loud but familiar gurgle broke the silence, echoing off the metal bunker walls. His face went beet red as he pressed his hands to his stomach, in a frugal attempt to silence it. "Ah geez…" he mumbled under his breath.

At first it wasn't clear if F0rd had acknowledged the sudden sound or not, as he still laid motionless where he was, but after a moment he let out a soft sigh before limply dragging himself up from the floor, dusting himself off in the process. It was then that he approached his brother... and offered his hand. "Take this to the kitchen?"

From his spot on the floor, St@nley's eyes bounced coldly from F0rd's eyes to his hand before finally accepting the aid. After a quick countdown to 3, and then another as they attempted to get momentum on their side, he was hefted back onto his feet with an unintentional grunt of discomfort. Not only did his shoulder sting like hell, but the already strained muscles in his back knotted up in protest as he stood.

To be honest everything hurt, but he tried not to let it show too much. Instead, he awkwardly shoved his hands back into his pockets.

Er, he attempted to, only to realize in one he still held tight to the leatherback of the journal.

"I didn't come here expecting you to feed me, y'know," he grumbled as he held the book out to his brother, who took it notably less aggressively in comparison to earlier.

"Oh shut up and come eat," F0rd muttered flatly as he passed his brother, meandering lazily towards the elevator. "We'll get a look at that shoulder while we're at it..."

St@n rolled his eyes but diligently followed. His gaze landed on his belly as he walked, where the kid really hadn't stopped moving, obviously still agitated by the rude awakening from earlier. He placed his hand atop the bump just under his ribs, where he could feel what he assumed was their foot. "Your uncle's a real piece of work, kiddo. Remember that."

'But he's family…,' he added mentally to himself, 'Remember that, St@nley...’

TBC

[fbfh]

Hey! Could you please do some headcannons of cuddling with Jay from descendants?

Thank you!

oh fuck yes baby boy NEEDS a snuggle so fuckin bad. Jay is SO motherfucking - his full name is Janasheen Lagmani Mufti btw (successor, born at nightfall, one who gives council or legal advice) - Jay is SO motherfuckin touch starved that he'll get injured on purpose just so he can feel you touch him up. After a while you start to catch onto this because you don't have the heart to tell him he's not quite as slick as he thinks he is. So OBVIOUSLY I have a medieval game OBVIOUSLY I have a jousting game the only way you're gonna get him to turn into your snuggly lil bunbun (yes he does insist you call him that after you say it once as a joke and he loses his mind) is to make him think YOU'RE really the one who needs cuddles. like of course you're feeling kinda sad and tired from all your schoolwork so of COURSE you need a big strong tough cool guy star of the tourney team to make you feel all safe and cozy. obviously it's TOTALLY for your benefit. not at all because Jay was not hugged once as a child! that's hilarious and true and totally not the reason at all! I just washed my hands that's why they're wet! no other reason!

but yeah once you actually start cuddling with him it's going to take approximately less that six seconds for him to become a total and complete velcro boyfriend. it takes longer to watch any vine in existance than it does for Jay to latch onto you like a small baby bird. he did not know that touchy feely stuff could be so... nice. especially when it's with you. he tried giving Carlos and Evie and Mal bear hugs between classes when he's away from you and it was good, but it wasn't the same. Maybe it's because Carlos still thinks he's going to get suplexed whenever Jay grabs him like that or maybe it's because Mal keeps asking if he huffed her spraypaint and that's why he's so huggy out of nowhere (Evie doesn't mind too much as long as he doesn't wrinkle her outfits or mess with her hair and makeup. she actually approves of you two and likes that you're bringing out Jay's more affectionate side. she makes a mental note to give you the friends and family discount on any future designs you order from her.) but shortly after that first time you snuggled up with Jay and had him tell you all about the video games he's been playing and about tourney practice he's full on addicted to your touch and cuddles. Coach sometimes has to pull you off your extra curriculars to give Jay hugs and kisses during practice when he cops an attitude or gets too rowdy. you're known as the Jay whisperer immediately and believe me the nickname sticks. Carlos asks what the hype is once and you give him head scratches and he understands.

[akimojo]

i just saw someone call ffxiii overrated like? what?? it's literally one of the most hated games in the franchise wym "overrated" 😭

[sysig]

Just a bit indulgent, no harm in it, surely (Patreon)

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2024: DESERT CREATURES by Kay Chronister.

Up next! I'm heading back into my Driscoll revision project next month, WHICH MEANS: I can start reading through my Driscoll-vibes TBR shelf again!! I have been promised weird desert body horror (with a side of cannibalism? yikes?), and I'm excited to see how this goes.

[cream-and-tea]

if anyone was wondering i am still writing judge and calliope oneshot its just been taking a long time bc i've hit the part of the story that makes me have to get up and pace around my room every few sentences at least

[sagesfandomspot]

sooo how do we feel about getting the first chapter of the next installment of New Beginnings next Sunday??

[set-phasers-to-whump]

the motherland don't love you, the fatherland don't love you, so why love anything?

prompt: drowning their sorrows

whumpee: kind of all 3 of napoleon solo, illya kuryakin, gaby teller

fandom: the man from uncle

hey!! this fic is a bit different from my usual stuff, it's much more about the angst and kind of the character study type aspect, so it's not whump in a traditional sense. nonetheless i really enjoyed writing it and i hope you like reading it!! (title from ya hey by vampire weekend)

“Listen,” Napoleon says, after his sixth or seventh glass of Scotch. “Fuck the Central Intelligence Agency.”

Gaby raises an eyebrow at him, takes a sip from her glass, and waits for him to say something else. 

Napoleon, however, seems to have lost his train of thought. “Fuck the CIA,” he repeats. “Nothing but a bunch of extortionists.”

“Yeah,” Gaby agrees, with the tone of one who doesn’t know exactly what it is they’re agreeing with but who is staunchly in support of it nonetheless. “Fuck the CIA,” she echoes, giggling at the English curse. 

Napoleon smiles, then grows serious, evidently having remembered his earlier thoughts. He sets his glass down with a thump. 

“No, really. I mean, God knows I’m no saint, but…look at us.” He gestures in a vague circle that encompasses himself, Gaby, and Illya, all painted with bruises and cuts of varying severity, marks of a severely botched mission and the reason for their present collective inebriation. 

Napoleon then gestures to himself, prods at his fresh black eye with a bit more force than is wise. “Ow.”

“We do not work for the CIA,” Illya points out, speaking slowly to avoid jumbling his words. “Only you.”

Napoleon scowls at him. “Not the point, Peril. My point is…my point is, how often have we looked like this because of an UNCLE mission?”

Illya shrugs, scrunching up his face like he’s actually trying to count. 

Gaby answers for him. “Not very often. Not this bad.”

Napoleon points at her. “Exactly. UNCLE has better intel - well, maybe not this time, but you know - and they actually sort of care about us. Like, Waverly probably wouldn’t threaten me with prison if I was a little cheeky with him. Probably.”

Gaby and Illya both nod. 

“And,” Napoleon starts, more to indicate that he wants to keep talking and less to introduce a well thought-out sentence, “and. Okay. I mean, I’ve never been in the KGB and I didn’t grow up in East Berlin, so I can’t really speak for you guys, but my boss here?” 

He stops, considers his use of prepositions, realizes they’re not actually in the States at the moment, and rephrases. “Back in the US, I mean. Sanders, my boss, terrible man, really, talking a big game about the country being on top of the world like he’s the one who put it there. Anyway. He threatens me with prison pretty much weekly.”

Gaby looks at him intently. “Can he actually send you to prison?”

Napoleon shrugs, does his best to be nonchalant. “Probably. It wouldn’t be too hard to convince whoever it is that needs convincing. I mean, sure, I’m useful as an agent, but at the end of the day I’m nothing but a dirty thief who should worship the ground the CIA…well, I guess the CIA as like, a thing, can’t walk, but you know…I should worship the ground the CIA walks on because they kept me out of prison. Not that working for them is anything like freedom.”

“I understand,” Gaby says, leaning slightly against Napoleon’s shoulder, partly as a gesture of comfort and solidarity and partly because everything has gone a little spinny. She waits until the feeling subsides, then speaks up again. 

“In Berlin, they trap us. East Germany is supposed to be a good place, that’s what they tell you, but then they build this wall through the city. And what are we supposed to do? We can’t go over it, they will kill us. It’s like they don’t understand that it’s the same city on both sides. There’s no freedom like that. I don’t even miss it.”

She falls silent, finishes her drink, pours another, contemplates it for a moment. 

“I do miss it, I guess. Is it possible to not miss your home?”

Her eyes have gone a bit glassy. Unconsciously, she rubs at the fresh red scratch on her cheek. 

“It isn’t like East Germany ever cared about me. Or anyone, really. Do you know how many people they arrest every day? For nothing. They questioned me about my birth father once. Two years ago they arrested my neighbor for…how is it in English? Sed… something. They said he was against the state. He was only a painter.”

“Sedition,” Napoleon chimes in, shaking his head. 

Gaby nods. “That’s it. Sedition.” She pronounces the word carefully, committing it to memory. “And even then I - I do miss it. Even after everything. There is nothing left for me there, no one. Still, sometimes I think about how I can never go back, and I think it should feel like…like freedom, but it doesn’t.”

She leans more heavily into Napoleon and shuts her eyes. She will not cry over this. Over a place that does not care for her in the slightest. Over a place that she is indifferent to and misses in the same breath. 

A soft silence. Gaby scrubs at her eyes. Illya shifts slightly in his chair, keenly aware of the fact that it would seem to be his turn. 

He finishes the last of his drink - he doesn’t know what it is, something Napoleon made that had tasted good earlier but is now horribly bitter. He doesn’t know how many of these terrible drinks he’s had. He should have kept count. He shouldn’t be so drunk. But he is, and so his tongue is loosened. He takes a deep breath and tries not to wince when his bruised ribs protest. 

“My father was not a good man,” he says, and then stops. Napoleon and Gaby both look at him, attentive. He looks away, continues after a beat. 

“He was arrested. Sent to Gulag. He stole money from the Party. I thought, they will kill him. But he is still alive. No one can see him. They will maybe tell me when he dies, I don’t know.”

He pauses, considers, formulates the English words. “He is a criminal. Or else they would have freed him. He is in prison for almost twenty years. Oleg Grigorievich, he says to me sometimes… Solo,” he says suddenly, looking at his partner. 

Napoleon looks back at him with startling intensity. “Yeah?”

“You said that Sanders, he threatens you with prison, yes?” Illya asks, and then barrels on atop of Napoleon’s affirmative answer. 

“Oleg Grigorievich also does this. He tells me I will end up in Siberia like my father if I do not perform well. I love my country, I will die for my country, but…I do not love him.”

Gaby nods seriously. “Fuck Oleg Gri…gorievich,” she proclaims, pausing in the middle of the patronymic to hiccup. Napoleon snorts, and she elbows him. He winces. 

“Your elbows are sharp. And I already have a bruise,” he complains. 

“Sorry,” Gaby apologizes, mostly sincerely. 

Illya looks at them. He is beginning to think he should not have begun speaking, because now he is not sure that he can stop. 

“I am good at my work. KGB needs me. I am happy to work for my country. But…”

“Go on,” Napoleon encourages, leaning forward. 

“We won’t tell anyone,” Gaby adds. “Nobody tells anyone anything.”

“Except each other.”

“Obviously.”

“I was just making sure!”

“But,” Illya continues, and Napoleon and Gaby turn their attention back to him. “You are nice to me.”

He doesn’t say anything else. His face feels hot and his throat feels tight. For a very long moment all three of them just look at each other. 

And then, as if by design (though neither one of them had spoken to the other), both Gaby and Napoleon get up and grab hold of Illya’s hands. 

“What are you doing?” Illya asks, scarcely moving despite their straining. 

“Come sit with us,” Gaby says. 

“Please?” Napoleon adds. “So we can all be miserable together.”

“We are already together,” Illya points out. 

“Come on, please?” Gaby asks. 

Illya heaves another sigh that has him wincing. “Okay.”

He lets them pull him to his feet. For a second he gets horribly dizzy and he has to close his eyes. When he opens them again, he’s leaning against Napoleon and Gaby has her hands on his back. 

“I’m fine,” he says. “Just dizzy.”

“So’m I,” Gaby agrees. “Come on, let’s sit.”

The three of them stumble back to the couch and sink down onto it rather ungracefully. Napoleon ends up in the middle, with Illya curled into the corner beside him and Gaby lying her head on his leg. 

“I’m glad you ruined my car,” Gaby suddenly says, not moving her head from its pillow. 

“What?” Napoleon asks. “We destroyed it. Beautiful car, too.”

Gaby shrugs as best as she can given her current position. “If you didn’t ruin my car, we would not be here now.”

She does have a point, Napoleon figures. “I’m glad we’re here,” he adds. “Working for the CIA is mostly terrible. Working with you is fun. You’re…” He trails off, unsure of or unwilling to fully voice any further words. 

Illya shifts a little closer to them, carefully. “At home I am part of machine. I do not mind this, but with you I am something else. Not a machine.”

“Just a person,” Gaby says. “More free.”

It’s different for her, she knows. Her career as a spy has been with Waverly alone. The only person controlling her is someone she trusts and likes. 

And yet Napoleon agrees. “Yeah,” he says, slowly. “I mean, Sanders is still in charge of me, but so is Waverly, and with UNCLE I’m not a prisoner of the US government, or at least I don’t feel like one. Maybe one of these days I won’t be, I don’t know. I’d work for UNCLE, with you guys, even if it was my choice, is what I mean, I suppose.”

“I am maybe not so free at home,” Illya chimes in, leaning slightly onto Napoleon. “This is how it is, I don’t mind. It is important that there is an order, things like this. But we…we care about each other, yes?”

It takes Gaby and Napoleon a second to realize that they’re being asked a question here. 

“Of course,” says Napoleon. 

“Obviously,” Gaby agrees. 

“Okay. We care about each other. And maybe so does Waverly. This is different. I am…I have…I can be something else here. And that is good too.”

“Well put,” says Napoleon. “Now, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m feeling a little bit too drunk and a lot bit like I’d like to go to sleep.”

“Me too,” Gaby chimes in. 

“Yes,” agrees Illya. 

“And I’m not moving.”

“Me either.”

“I will stay.”

Napoleon nods slowly, closing his eyes when this makes him too dizzy. “Glad we’re agreed.”

They rearrange themselves as best as they can, which involves a lot of shuffling around, grabbing of arms for support, and general wincing. Eventually, they manage to configure themselves in a reasonably comfortable manner, all stacked and tangled together. 

“Goodnight,” Gaby mumbles, voice muffled by the fabric of Napoleon’s shirt. 

“Night,” Napoleon echoes, already half asleep with his face pressed into a cushion. 

“Goodnight,” Illya concludes, head propped up at a slightly uncomfortable angle against the armrest. 

In the morning, there will be pounding headaches, empty glasses and bottles to clean up, and various injuries to check in on. But for now, there is only silence and comfort. There is only them.

thanks for reading! this was a whole different kind of beast to write but i really loved getting to explore their characters like this, i have so many thoughts about them that don't often get to come through in my usual 'beat them up' fics. i hope you enjoyed this!!

[nightrae13]

lol, look what nostalgia I rediscovered online.  

~ Enomoto siblings being a mess in the Ima Suki ni Naru arc~

[sparrowsfallingfromthesky]

just saw a murder mystery novel about a premiere league football team 👀

[chicago-geniza]

The human psyche is a fickle thing (many more nominally Significant events have transpired, many more frost heaves have erupted along the paved road of my life, I've gotten a LOT sicker in unanticipated ways with unanticipated consequences, and yet, my agenda for next neuropsych appointment is still "feeling betrayed by [redacted] for acting like the pandemic is over even though she herself is disabled; abiding by communist principles in theory, and very often in practice! but when push comes to shove the most painful part of this weird relationship has been acknowledging & accepting your mom's tongue-in-cheek nickname for her (Bougie [redacted]). Also how she responded to the situation with [nemesis] (doubt, disbelief, asking if you were drunk, if you might have just made a bad decision & be regretting it in the light of day). How if not the former, at least the latter can be legitimately & not-irrationally felt as some flavor of betrayal. The former -- irrationally. And in the future, on this, the centennial of one time history ended during the period we call modernity. How do we move forward (singular-we). How do we make it hurt less.")

[lunarhoneybunny]

sighs. okay tmi posting sorry guys

[imwritesometimes]

I'm so tired. but I'm also so going to try to make Halloween Marchly fic happen this weekend.

[coffeeaddictandinsomniac]

forever stuck in that loop of looking at ao3 to see how a fic is doing, only to remember that i haven't even posted the damn thing.