#and math and writing prompts

[kenjakusbraincum]

Heey, I LOVE your writings on soft sukuna, you write so beautifully🩷 please can you do one where he is jealous (fluff)😭🩷

Thank you sm for the kind words!!! Here's my best attempt at doing your idea justice <3

Sukuna has no real reason to be jealous. He practically owns you, controls every aspect of your life, who or what could he possibly be jealous of? Every servant who dared approach you in an inappropriate way would be dealt with swiftly. And you're a good pet, who has eyes for no one other than your master. You really don't give him a reason.

But there's this one thing... Since you've been so good and obedient, Sukuna has allowed you many liberties. You're permitted to skip around the mansion, watch Uraume cook, even enjoy little hobbies. You've tried many before you found that crocheting particularly piqued your interest. Ever since you've learned the basics, you've been spending hours working on perfecting your skills. At first it was cute, watching you squint in concentration as you move the hook. But then the math became really simple - having this hobby to keep you busy meant you approached Sukuna out of boredom a lot less. And he noticed it. It irked him, but you're not technically doing anything wrong. You were still as happy to serve him as ever, he just had to ask. But why would he have to ask? You should be all over him on your own. He should have to push you away, not beg you to give him attention. He didn't like this disturbance in your master and pet balance that this little hobby of yours caused.

He stands at the door now. You're crocheting again. You and your favorite servant laugh at your failed creation so sweetly, you don't even notice he's waiting. He clicks his tongue to establish his presence, and your servant falls to her knees immediately. You however, are not held to that high of a standard anymore.

"Master!", you call him, and hop up to greet him with a deep bow. Before he can say anything, you've picked up the piece of fabric you've been working on and ran into his arms to show him.

He looks at the ugly form and scoffs. "This is what I'm sponsoring?", he says and pulls a loose piece of yarn, making your little creation fall apart. He always was a bully, but you note his bad mood.

"I'm only a beginner...", you sulk.

"That much is obvious.", he flicks the yarn away and it falls onto the floor. Before you can bend to pick it up, he seizes your wrist and pulls you back. "Aren't you a little young to waste time with hobbies for the elderly?", he asks. You look at him with your cutest, practiced doe eyes, but it doesn't work.

"Come, pet. I know an activity more suitable for your age.", he says when you don't respond, and steps out of the room. You hop after him, unaffected by his condescending comments. You know that they're just for show. If he really thought you were a hag, you would've been gone a long time ago.

"Sitting at your throne all day?", you tease innocently and join him at his side, sliding your arm underneath one of his. You hope your playfulness will distract him from whatever is bothering him. "Or in a bath?" His lower set of eyes peeks at you and smirks, noticing that you're feeling particularly daring today. He's not sure how he feels about that. "Or in your bed." He rolls his eyes gently and opens the door to his chambers.

"At least then you'd be serving your purpose and actually spending time with your master.", he comments and shuts the door. His comment catches you a bit off guard and you stop in front of his bed. He makes his way towards you, and you look up at him with an insulted expression.

"Master, are you jealous of a ball of yarn?", you ask playfully, and squeal when he suddenly pushes you down to sit on the bed. Now you're at eye level... with his crotch.

"You've got quite a big mouth today. Put it to good use for a change, will you?", he runs his hand from the crown of your head to the back of your neck. You seem to have struck a nerve, so it really is the ball of yarn. Is it possible that Sukuna is this clingy?

"Will you?", he repeats and tugs on your hair and narrows his eyes. You smile obediently and reach behind him to untie his obi.

"Yes Master."

-

You try your best to manage the time you spend crocheting from then on, working on productivity in the hours that you dedicate to developing this skill. And it helps that you have a specific goal in mind now: helping Sukuna realize that this hobby is a friend, not an enemy. He still catches you engaging in it sometimes, and gives you a dirty look, but you're as quick as ever to drop what you're doing and join him. That seems to satisfy him.

When you're finally happy with the result of your creation, you look for Sukuna around the mansion. It's not really that hard to find him, as he frequents three places most of all: the dining room, his bedroom and his throne room. This time, he's sitting on his throne, and a small line of people wait for their turn to be gifted his attention. You on the other hand, don't have to wait in line to get it. His lower set of eyes spots you the moment you enter the chamber. You're allowed to roam the mansion, but barging in unannounced is not standard even for you.

Still, Sukuna has learned that you usually only feel daring enough to cross boundaries when you're sure he'll like what you have in mind. So for now, he will let this slide. He's bored as hell anyways. The people are dismissed and you pass by them on your way to his throne, nestled on a pile of bones. You stop in front of it and greet him with a bow.

"Master, I come to you with a humble offering.", you say with your hands on your thighs and your eyes fixated on the ground.

"Show me.", he says simply, but you recognize entertainment in his voice. You climb up the bones and feel his stare scan you from head to toe, before you sit on his knee.

"May I ask you to close your eyes?", you ask and flutter your lashes. Oh the way you seduce him. Who else could ask Sukuna to do something as dangerous as close his eyes? Give his opponent valuable time to land an attack. Who else could dare? And who else would he ever listen to and really close his eyes? Really do as he's told? Oh how safe he feels with you.

You take one of his large hands into yours, and gently pry his long fingers away to open his palm. He has beautiful hands. The only ones you've ever known, but you're sure they're the most beautiful hands in the world. So dangerous, so elegant. You want to press a kiss to his palm, but you hope your gift will have the same, maybe even more profound effect.

Something soft touches his skin, and then you speak, as politely as before. "You may look.", in your softest voice. And when he opens his eyes, he finds himself looking at you first. You're an offering on your own.

Then he looks at his hand. Two crocheted plush figures resembling him and yourself lay flat on his palm, connected through their holding hands. At first glance, it looks like they're two separate creations. In a sense, they are, but... He tries to part them.

"We're sewn together.", you explain. He hums in amusement and inspects your gift more closely. His plush is bigger, recognizable by the pink hair and four buttons for eyes. It's even wearing his favorite kimono. Yours is smaller and less detailed. You look like any other human when placed next to him, insignificant. But in a sea of pets, entertainers and lovers he's had in the past, he would never fail to recognize it as you.

He's spent so long looking at it with that face of his that you just can't read. You're starting to grow restless in his lap, and he feels your eyes dwell into his soul. When he looks back at you with one pair of eyes, your brows are furrowed in worry and you're fiddling your hands in your lap. He pats you on the head and pulls you closer, so you have no choice but to lean on his frame.

"It's beautiful, darling.", his fingers run through your hair, scraping your scalp softly. "No loose threads either.", he looks at you with all four eyes now, and you feel so small in his arms. You're not used to receiving this many compliments from Sukuna at once. Not ones that weren't directed at your body or performance. Especially not when he's looking at you so tenderly, when every word sounds so loving and genuine. "You've improved so much.", his hand is on your face now, and you catch him glancing at your lips. You part them to start thanking him, but you already know how much he hates listening to that.

You stay quiet instead, and lean closer, letting him take you. And he kisses you so softly, fingertips light against your heated skin. You feel like you're floating, like a lily pad in a warm pond. The littlest gesture of his affection has you melting in his embrace. The power he has over you... and how wonderful it is to surrender yourself to it.

None of the liberties and privileges you've been awarded with compare to this. You know that many pets have walked these halls before you. Many warmed his bed and claimed the title of his favorite. But how many loved him like this? Enough to dedicate time of their day to making intricate gifts. How many could say Sukuna kissed them lovingly, for no other reason than to show gratitude and affection?

You're flushed completely red by the time his lips leave yours. You can't hold the intensity of his gaze, as he stares at you in adoration. "I'm happ.. I'm glad you l-like it...", you stumble through the words and win a giggle out of him. You are just so cute. Like a pet should be. He rubs your head again and pushes you away lightly.

"Go now, the people await me.", he says with a benevolent smile gracing his face. "I'll see you tonight."

You bow to him and leave.

And when you visit him that night, he is as gentle as he was when he kissed you earlier, still in a good mood after your gift. Caressing your hair, shoulders and back, as you lay comfortably with your head on his chest. Keeping you warm in his embrace. You're trying your best to follow the conversation, but sleep is slowly taking over you. Sukuna notices and plants a kiss to your forehead, wishing you goodnight. The last thing you see before your eyes close, is your handcrafted plushies sitting on his nightstand.

[unboundprompts]

Hey! Weird request, but do you have prompts for how science and maths could be used in magic scenarios to gain the upper hand and make a battle much easier? So far all I have is using infrared glasses to see an invisible warrior

Science and Math in Magical Battle Scenarios

-> feel free to edit and adjust as you see fit.

Angles of reflection can amplify protective spells. You can design a series of intricate mirrors arranged in a geometric pattern to reflect and amplify your magical shields against an incoming attack.

A sound dampening cloak that absorbs sound waves, making the wearer nearly silent. Using principles of acoustics, the cloak allows the user to sneak up on opponents or escape unnoticed, enhancing stealth tactics during combat.

Sound Waves as Weapons. Combining musical abilities with sound frequency analysis, you can use math to calculate the exact frequency that can disrupt an enemy's concentration or shatter magical barriers, crafting a powerful song that acts as both a weapon and a shield.

A handheld device that scans the environment for various wavelengths of light, allowing the user to see through illusions, detect hidden magical traps, or analyze the composition of materials around them.

Calculating Gravity's Pull. Using physics to modify gravity around a battlefield. By calculating gravitational pull with equations, you can create zones where enemies feel heavy and sluggish, while allies feel lighter and faster, turning the tide of battle.

Using chemistry to concoct volatile mixtures that create spectacular distractions or devastating explosions. By carefully measuring ingredients and employing magical runes, you can cause reactions to target specific enemy units.

Employing concepts from quantum mechanics to create portals that allow you to teleport around the battlefield instantly. By calculating the right coordinates based on your enemies’ positions, you can dodge attacks and reposition themselves strategically.

A small device that releases a swarm of nanobots capable of repairing injuries or armor in real-time. The nanobots can also serve offensive purposes, overwhelming an enemy or disabling their technology.

Light Manipulation. Combine the principles of optics with magic to bend light, creating illusions or cloaking yourself and your allies from view. By understanding how light refracts and reflects, you can create a battlefield advantage by confusing your enemies.

A headset that uses artificial intelligence to analyze an opponent’s movements in real-time. By processing data on their fighting style, it predicts their next moves, providing the user with tactical insights and a chance to counter effectively.

A grenade that emits a short burst of electromagnetic energy, disabling electronic devices and magical constructs in its radius. It could be used to thwart technologically enhanced enemies or disrupt their magical defenses.

[glitter-stained]

Some more movies for your consideration:

Countdown

Steph sports movie where a young woman is a boxer making money in illegal fighting rings to support her mother. One day, she hears about a co-ed boxing tournament (regular, not underground) organised by the Wayne foundation with an extraordinary first place cash prize and decides to enter it despite nobody believing in her. Featuring Cass as the undefeated champion (with blatant, infuriating romantic tension), Tim as the cocky rival, Barbara and Dick as their mentors and Dinah as a retired undefeated boxing champion who gives good advice with a romantic tension sideplot with Barbara.

Nobody dies Tonight

Jason & Cass thriller movie where a rough socially stunted PI with supernatural empathy and precognition abilities tracks down a suicidal retired serial killer to stop him from committing his final kill. (Note that due to the flimsy nature of her powers, Cass only knows that he is preparing for a last kill, the "suicide" part is a twist; there is also some dramatic irony because due to the switches between Jason and Cass' POVs, at first the viewer also just knows Jason is preparing something, and there are hints through which you can figure out little by little that he's putting his affairs in order for his own disappearance.)

The Audition

Mia-centric arrowfam mafia movie with the noble gangster archetype. In order to escape her pimp turned would-be murderer and survive the streets, the resourceful and talented fifteen years old Mia Dearden decides to try her luck and attempt to get herself hired as an enforcer for the mysterious Queen Family; however danger reigns in the streets of Star City and Mia's mentor, a homeless amnesiac man with incredible fighting skills, might be hiding more than one secret of his own... (This is a found family adoption story, except nobody bothered to tell this to Mia.)

Sharpshooter

Roy-centric movie where a ranger fresh out of rehab who lost his parents in a forest fire saves a little girl from a bear attack, only to find himself in a time-loop. Mistrustful, and with scars of her own, she refuses to give him her name. He grows attached to the little girl, even nicknaming her "Sharpshooter" as he teaches her how to use his spare tranq gun to protect herself; but every day, before they are able to escape, a bear or a cliff or a fire or some other catastrophe ends up killing the little girl... (The story ends with Roy managing to find a radio and calling his estranged foster family for help, and they find him, ragged and frightened, holding the little girl tight in his arms and lead them back to safety; the final shot is Roy in the back of a car with the little girl asleep on his lap, watching the sun set over the national park.

[astudyintheburningofhearts]

For unofficial Microfic May – the 13th of May, Beware.

1579 Words. (I'm sorry, I really am).

Harry laughed as Malfoy gave him chase, both after the snitch as the stands roared around them. It being the first quidditch match of the season back from the war, energy was at an all time high.

The rest of their teammates raced around as well, shooting for of the three hoops on either side of the pitch. Harry took a moment to glance up at Ron's exceptional keeping. He'd been on a streak even during their practices. Harry suspected it had something to do with Hermione, the lovesick idiots they both were.

Eyes back to focussing, Harry watched as the ever capricious snitch suddenly darted upwards, heading for the summer sky above them. He quickly manoeuvred his broom, following. The air whistled in his ear as he narrowly avoided a bludger. Which is why he almost missed the uncharacteristic way the crowd silenced around them.

Confused, he paused his assent, levelling his broom and looking down over the pitch.

And then all he could see was Malfoy. Falling. His broom fell alongside him, his robes imitating the wings of an angel. His eyes were closed; despite his downward motion, he was still. Deathly still.

Harry's pulse roared in his ears now, heart pounding with fear as he sped after him. Time slowed, Harry inched closer and yet, Draco remained just out of reach.

The closer they got to the ground, the more desperate Harry got.

Realising he wouldn't make it in time, mere meters from the ground, he stood on his broom and kicked off, launching himself towards Draco, arms reaching for him, hoping to break their fall somehow. His arms wrapped around the other boy, one hand cradling his head while the other clutched the robes at his waist.

And then, by the will of some divine entity, the universe itself, perhaps, he heard Hermione's voice, her scream cutting through the silence as glass sliced through skin. "Arresto momentum!"

They hovered over the pitch for a moment before Harry relinquished his hold on Draco somewhat.

He placed his feet on the ground and then gently laid Draco down beside him, ignoring the bustling of the teachers coming down from the stands.

Heart in his throat, he pressed two shaking fingers to Draco's neck, his wrist, checking for a pulse, a sign of life.

He sighed in mild relief when he found one. It was thready, but there.

The horror returned, however, when he put his hand on Draco's chest and his fingers returned a gruesome crimson. Blood.

Tears threatened to take over as Professor McGonagall and Flitwick finally reached the two of them.

Harry was fumbling with Draco's quidditch robes, trying to find the source of the bleed.

Madame Pomfrey finally kneeled next to them, a swift flick of her wrist undoing the top half of his robes to reveal several gashes across his torso, slick with blood. Sectumsempra, Harry realised with abject terror.

He whispered to himself, hands fumbling over Draco's chest the same way they'd done just two years prior, "No, no – not again, not –".

And then Madame Pomfrey was muttering something to Professor McGonagall and they were taking Draco away. Harry felt like he was drowning.

Professor Flitwick turned to the crowd and used a sonorous to announce the cancellation of the match, but Harry mounted his broom again, racing up toward the sky. He looked over the pitch once more, trying to look for the source of the curse.

He found none, unwilling to admit to himself that the gesture had been futile to begin with.

___

Later that evening, Ron and Neville had to bodily drag him from Draco's beside, and even then, he only left when Madame Pomfrey threatened to ban him from the infirmary altogether.

He'd just sat down and placed a dinner roll in his plate at Hermione's insistence when his ears pricked up.

A couple seats over, a Gryffindor 6th year whose name Harry hadn't bothered learning at the start of the year was snickering cruelly, barely masking his glee as he turned back to his friends, "Well, he deserved it didn't he? Death eater scum– he should be glad I'd found the half-blood prince's book last year. Otherwise I might've just hurled an unforgivable at him," he preened.

All Harry could see was red, and the only thought that flashed across his mind was: 'kill him.'

He barely registered grabbing the boy out of his seat by his tie, eyes only coming into complete focus once he threw the first punch.

Harry hardly gave the boy time to register what was happening himself before he threw another one, dragging him down onto the ground with him, hurling punch after punch.

The rest of the world didn't exist, all Harry could feel was the monster in his chest roaring victoriously as rage continued to wash over him in waves.

Harry felt the boy's arms – that been resisting by clawing at Harry's face, clutching onto his cheeks and digging his nails in to dissuade Harry's onslaught – sliding down as he began to ebb in and out of consciousness.

It took Ron, Seamus, and Dean to pull him away, and even they'd barely managed to keep him at bay. He was shaking. Sweat pooled at his temples and his hands were warm with blood. His face stung, but the monster in his chest cheered. Ginny threatened him with a full body bind.

The boy lay there unconscious and Harry couldn't help but hope he'd succeeded in his motion to murder him. At the very least, he hoped he'd disfigured the boy's face for life, though it wasn't as if he'd needed help with that, having been completely hideous to begin with– with his murky green eyes and his swarthy hair.

Professor Sprout took the boy to the infirmary and McGonagall stared at Harry, steely-eyed as she commanded him, "Potter, my office. Now."

Shrugging his roommates off his back, he followed after McGonagall, his thoughts now drifting back to Draco's nearly lifeless form in the infirmary. He'd go back after he was done with McGonagall, he needed to protect him from that disgusting boy lest he try something worse after regaining consciousness.

---

Once in McGonagall's office, they sat down at her desk, and she stared at him over her ovoid spectacles. She cleared her throat just once, and Harry was suddenly slipping over his words as they streamed out, barely coherent.

"I wouldn't have, Professor, really, but I heard him boasting to his friends that he'd been the one that had hexed Draco, and I–" Harry stopped when McGonagall raised her hand.

"Potter, whatever your reasons may have been, it does not do well to fight fire with fire. You should've reported Mr. Godfrey to me instead, and I would have taken the appropriate measures. Besides, if I recall correctly, you had used the same hex on Mr. Malfoy not two years prior. Surely you see the irony of the situation."

Harry flinched as though he'd been slapped across the face. She was right. What right did Harry have to go around physically assaulting this Godfrey boy when he'd done the same thing before. When he'd been the one to leave Draco marred with scars first.

McGonagall sighed then, "I will see to it that Mr. Godfrey pays his reparations. But you must realise that I need to ensure you make your amends as well."

Harry looked up at her, 'defiant' written into the line of his upturned chin and the slant of his eyes, "I'm not apologising to him."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, McGonagall sighed, "I expected as much, with you. –" a pause, and then "– You will report to the Great Hall each week for a month and write out the Hogwarts rules on student discipline and conduct every Saturday afternoon. And though you will not have to apologise to Mr. Godfrey himself, I want at least 22 inches on why you decided to attack him, though that is primarily for me to use to determine what I am to write in the letter to his parents."

Harry grinned a little despite himself. "Yes, Professor."

Shaking her head, she spoke again, "You are dismissed, Mr. Potter, but do know that the next time you find yourself in such a position, I will not extend such kindness."

"Yes, Professor, I understand. Thank you," he answered, scraping his chair backwards as he left her office. He noticed the blood on his knuckles had dried by the time they were done.

---

The moment he clicked the door to the office closed, Harry sprinted towards the infirmary.

Ahough he was panting by the time he reached Draco's bedside, his touch was gentle and tender as he stroked his cheek with a bloodied hand.

---

The next morning, the general populace of Hogwarts burst into whispers and murmurs as Harry walked into the Great Hall with cuts on his cheeks and bruised knuckles.

And as he heard a girl whisper, "Beware Harry Potter, he'll kill you if you touch Draco Malfoy," all he could do was blush as he recalled how, when he'd explained to Draco why he had several cuts on his knuckles, all Draco had done was gape in awe before pulling him in by the collar.

Through all the gore of yesterday evening and today's gossip, Harry found that the only bruising he cared about now was the bruising, searing kiss he'd shared in the hush over a moonlit infirmary bed.

[schwarz-san]

Imagine this as a superpower.

You're in a place where evryone has superpowers, knda like MHA.Like, then people ask, "dude, whats your superpower?" Then you say Math / Physics/Geometry. They think you're poulling their leg and didn't believe you or they did believe you but thought that "Math/Physics/Geometry? Dude ypur powers are boring" they thought it just make you smart. Then you hit them with this:

[moonlightsprompts]

# 67 Dc x Dp

Danny had been cursed when traveling the infinite realms he was exploring a world where the year was 1528, he had been exploring when a person uses magic to try to bind Danny to himself instead he bonded Danny to the land killing the magic user in the process. Danny became stuck in this new dimension unable to leave, he had no one to look and find him. Over the years many have tried to bond Danny to themselves but ended with their death, and Danny with more chains and being cursed

In the year 1695 people started to settle down in the land that Danny was bound to. Over the years the place became known as Gotham Danny protect everyone he could but he has grown weak because of the chains that hold him down. When Batman appeared and started helping protect Danny's people Danny decided to bless him with protection and each Robin Batman had would be protected

In 2260 another magic user appeared and tried to take control of Danny this time they were able to take control of him, but Danny made sure that the magic user and he could not leave Gotham. Batman had to let The Justices League into his city with a couple of the Justice League Dark. John was the one to tell the bats that the magic user had been able to enslave the Gotham spirit.

[wisteriavines]

A Ravenclaw invents actual time travel to be able to learn and study further in depth about subjects they never got around to in their first timeline

[biscuityskies]

Happy wip wednesday number one 🥳

Here are the lines that finally wrapped up section four out of six on this fic and pushed the damn thing to 11k 😎

The sound of laughter covers Obi-Wan’s hushed whisper next to Cody’s ear. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Not like that,” is Cody’s reply. When next Obi-Wan looks, he’s wearing a smile.

Happy new year!!!! May your fields (wips) flourish and your children (completed works) be exactly as bountiful as you want them to be <3

[datpotatolover]

Romance Story Idea.

She was a princess, isolated and abandoned. Cursed by birth to reduce the power of any being who dared to touch her.

He was a prince. Complex and irrational. Yet possessed a power so mysterious and unknown that could be altered by his will.

Only he was the one, whose power the princess couldn't alter. The first one to embrace her in years he was.

When the princess finally looked at him after her embrace, tears of joy rolled down her eyes, to find his power still and unchanged.

She held him and cried, years of loneliness and pain spilled from her eyes, leaving the irrational prince in a confused frenzy. Her first ever laughter came through her mouth at the sight of his confused face.

Enchanted by her lush laugh, the prince too smiled, and held her in his arms for as long as she wanted.

This is the heartfelt tale of princess d/dx and prince e^x. A cursed princess and an irrational prince.

[danceworshipper]

Ship Week Day 2: Summer, Creatures

💙🦅 m!Rowan/Murphy, post Fifth Year

@hphm-fandom-events

Despite what his parents might tell you, Murphy is not panicking.

Sure, it may look like he’s panicking. He’s brushed Kneil about six more times than necessary, and he can admit that the only reason he hasn’t done it a seventh time is that Kneil extends his claws whenever Murphy gets near him now. His room is immaculate with how much he’s tidied it. He is, in fact, currently wheeling back and forth around the house in what may be considered “pacing.” He’s not panicking, though. It’s excitement. Not nerves.

Maybe if he keeps telling himself that, he’ll start believing it.

See, all his parents know is that a friend from school is bringing his cat over for a playdate with Kneil, and thus they have no idea what’s got Murphy all up in a tizzy. The truth is that Rowan is coming over for the first time. You know, Rowan Khanna. Murphy’s boyfriend. The boyfriend who’s never seen him outside of school before.

And sure, they share a dorm at school. It’s not like they’ve never seen each other out of uniform or anything (not that that stopped Murphy from changing outfits four times already, and he’s considering making it a nice five). They’ve been dating a decent amount of time, too - two months, eighteen days, twenty one hours, forty six minutes, and nine seconds - so realistically, this isn’t an “early in the relationship” type of date where Rowan could decide that actually, never mind, he’s not interested. Although...

They haven’t physically seen each other since school let out. The 30th of June to now, the 22nd of August, rounding up to a full twenty four hours for simplicity, is fifty days out of the seventy seven that they’ve officially been dating, which means they’ve only actually been in contact about thirty five point one percent of the time they’ve been together. And while it’s true that Rowan hasn’t missed a single day of consecutive letters that are absolutely not in a box at the back of Murphy’s closet, fifty days (or roughly sixty four point nine percent of their total relationship) is a long time to not see someone in person. It’s completely possible that the spark is gone. Rowan might see him today and realize he would rather just be friends. Which is something that Murphy would respect, of course, but, well. It’d hurt.

At this point he’s just going to accept that he’s panicking. It seems like the logical course of action here. Of course, right as he’s accepted his nerves and decided that he should probably try breathing, the doorbell chimes.

Unfortunately, Murphy is at the wrong end of the house, so it’s his mother who opens the door to greet Rowan and - oh, wow, that is quite possibly the fluffiest cat Murphy has ever seen. Majestic, really. It’s almost enough to distract him from Rowan in a t-shirt and shorts and oh wow, breathing is important. Where Murphy decided to take a smart-casual approach with a nice polo, Rowan is clearly dressed for pure comfort; for some reason it’s doing things to Murphy’s head.

Kneil is entirely unaffected. He confidently struts up to his fuzzy home invader for a greeting, which Fuzzclaw (very aptly named) cheerfully accepts, and thank Merlin for that, because if their pets had disliked each other Murphy had calculated a twenty two point eight percent chance of a break up, so that’s no longer something he needs to worry about.

He hears his mother exclaim about how cute the cats are - well, cat and kneazle, technically speaking, though they are adorable - before excusing herself to the back garden. He hears Rowan cooing, sees Rowan kneel down to pet the two fluffy new friends, sees the brilliant grin Rowan flashes him. He’s fully aware of what’s happening. It’s just that, well... embarrassingly enough, Murphy is pretty sure his jaw is hanging open. Despite being more of the practical type, there’s nothing but domestic daydreams in his head right now of him and Rowan in a nice house similar to this one but much further into the countryside, with their three cats because of course they would need one together and oh god now he’s picturing kids -

Two months, eighteen days, twenty one hours, fifty two minutes, and thirty three seconds. He’s definitely jumping the starting whistle a bit, which is a foul in Quidditch and usually a bad idea in dating. Murphy finally closes his mouth and enters the room fully instead of lingering in the hall like a crazy person.

Rowan is staring by now, still smiling but likely confused as to why Murphy hasn’t said anything, which is fair, and Murphy definitely should say something, though he can’t quite seem to manage it. A "hello" would be a good start. Although: there are ways to greet people without words, and they are dating...

When his boyfriend giggles into the kiss, Murphy almost sighs in relief.

[sadlynotthevoid]

Okay, hear me out—

Exorcist! Og!Cale.

Exorcise the shit out of White Star, sweetie.

Even better, make it a modern fantasy AU. So, you can have both world's characters and college student og!Cale, who is Rok Soo's young neighbour nextdoor, but also deals with haunted stuff almost every tuesday.

Rok Soo doesn't know exactly what Cale does when he's not at the college, but he doesn't want to know. He almost run on him once outside the building and heard him talking to the air... Then a trash can flew off the floor and disappeared into nothing.

He turned around and left.

When Cale finally meets him, he takes a look at the gloomy smoke surrounding this guy and is like "uh, are you aware of the remannents of a curse clinging to you?". Then he hires himself to clean Rok Soo from the curse because "knowing that there's such a dangerous thing, only an idiot would let it be".

He convinces Rok Soo by telling him it's for free.

Some time later white star is pulled out of his body, sealed into a rock and threw into a fire.

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippet Thursday: Mistaken Identity

Actually quite long (about 42 pages in my tiny notepad), because it's a full one-shot rather than part of a multi-chapter idea. Although that's not to say I won't add pieces later

The distress beacon had been Sig’s, but the shape lying limply in the dust was most assuredly not Sig. The gathered Wastelanders looked at each other with grim expressions: this felt like a trap.

"Circle around," Damas signed to the driver of the second car, "Check for an ambush. I'll see if it's one of ours."

"Be careful," the woman signed back. A dimple between her brows suggested that under her heavy scarf she was frowning.

"I'm always careful."

Even so, Damas took extra care in approaching the crumpled form, gesturing for Kleiver to follow him in case of attack. He'd assumed that the person -- or corpse, hard to tell at this distance -- would be larger up close. But as he drew near, the figure remained small, and slight. They were dressed like a Havenite from the Slums, wearing stained, threadbare layers of clothing. A filthy scarf and dismally battered goggles half covered matted green hair; they didn't seem to have any more protection from the sun than that. Foolish Havenite.

Two small animals lay beside the stranger, breathing shallowly. Pets? That seemed an unusual step for Haven, letting an exile take anything important to them.

Damas glanced at the stranger, but kept his attention focused on the ground, looking for Sig’s beacon. It didn't take long to find, considering it lay beside the stranger's hand. Damas picked up the beacon and turned it over in his hand. There were no obvious signs of tampering. No blood or scorching or anything else to indicate that the beacon had been taken by force.

"How did you get this?" Damas murmured, not really expecting an answer. Whoever this was, they were barely alive.

"Er...lordship?"

It was not like Kleiver to sound hesitant.

"Do you...know this kid?"

An odd question. Damas looked up with a quizzical expression and found the big Wastelander peering down at the face of the figure. Kid?

The king pivoted on his heels to get a better look at their find.

Sunken cheeks. Dark circles under large eyes. A pitiful patch of stubble that might’ve been a first attempt at a beard on an otherwise startlingly smooth face. Precursors, he was a kid, wasn't he? He could've been anywhere from sixteen to nineteen -- in his state, it was hard to tell.

"Scrawny thing, isn't he?" Damas remarked. He took hold of an iron ring strapped to the boy's chest and tried to shake off a nagging sense of familiarity in the boy's features. "A channeler, maybe? We could use one of those. Honestly, I'm impressed that he's still breathing."

He glanced up. "What makes you think I'd know who the whelp is?"

Kleiver looked back at him with an unusually uncomfortable expression. He gestured awkwardly to the boy's face.

"Well he's...I mean- well look at 'im! 'S just weird, is all."

"What's weird?" Damas scoffed and hoisted the boy up by the iron ring.

The boy's head fell back and for just a moment, something around his neck glittered in the fading sunlight. With a curse, Damas dropped him as if he'd been burned. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled back a step, swearing under his breath.

"What fresh hell is this?" he demanded.

That was where Phobos found him after completing her perimeter check: staring in horror down at a much younger version of his own face.

Phobos crossed the space between their vehicles to touch his shoulder.

"Damas?"

"I...who is this?"

"Damas." Phobos shook him gently. "Hey. Hey. Are you just going to leave him lying there?"

The king blinked and inhaled sharply as he seemed to come to. "Right," he muttered, "...right. Pho, take my staff."

"What? Oop-!" Phobos hastily grabbed at the staff Damas all but dropped. "What the-!"

In a daze, Damas knelt and slipped an arm under the boy’s shoulders.

"Gods. He really is scrawny."

He shook his head and hoisted the boy up.

"Kleiver, get the car started. And someone grab those animals!"

Phobos's eyes flicked from Damas to the half-dead castaway, and narrowed.

"Damas...who is that?"

Her husband turned to face her, a disturbed shock stamped clearly on his face.

"I don't know," he said grimly, "but he's wearing a Maridius amulet."

■■■■■■■■■■

The Rift Rider idled, ready to take Samos and the child back in time. Ready to begin the cycle of pain all over again. Jak bit his lip and folded his younger self's fingers back over the proffered amulet.

"No, buddy, you keep it," he said gently. "Try...try to remember something about your family this time. Maybe remember me."

The tiny boy pouted, then threw his arms around Jak’s neck. "Za?" He whispered in Jak’s ear, the closest he'd ever come to saying his name.

Jak closed his eyes and hugged the kid tightly. Precursors knew he wouldn't get a lot of hugs in Sandover. "No, buddy. Za can't go with you this time. You have to be really brave for me, okay? There's...there's a kid on the other side of that gate who really really needs a friend. Can you look out for him for me?"

Sniffling, the little boy let go and nodded. "Brave like you," he signed. Then, rubbing his eyes, he sat back down in the craft.

Jak took a slow breath, then looked to the younger Samos. Doubtless this version of the sage was going to withhold just as much information as the older one. Jak didn't trust him to warn Mar about Errol. And he'd be blasted if he let that swine get his hands on the amulet in any timeline.

"You know, I didn't have the amulet when I got back to the present," he said casually. "I think you locked it up for safekeeping right before we fixed the Rift Gate, but I never saw where in the house you put it."

Samos took the bait too easily. "Oof! Yes, I suppose it would be bad for the kid to meet the Baron with that thing on. Thanks for the heads-up."

All too soon, they were gone. And not long after, so was Jak, headed for Dead Town. It had been a selfish ploy, a bid to give himself some semblance of a connection to his past. He couldn't remember having the amulet yet -- but he'd had trouble remembering a lot of his early years ever since the experiments began. "Traumatic amnesia", Daxter called it.

But if the amulet was there, if his ploy had worked, then maybe he'd get something back.

It took him an hour to sift through all the debris in the old hut, even with Daxter's help. The ravages of time hadn't left many places for treasure to remain undiscovered in. But just when Jak was beginning to fear that someone had found it decades before, his hand brushed over a brick in the old planter circles that lacked the same grout as the others.

Leave it to Samos to hide such an important artifact under a giant, vicious, carnivorous plant. Had he fed it to the thing?! The amulet was down where the roots had once been!

Still, Jak could admit to a sense of relief that washed over him once the amulet was in his hand. Clearly he'd changed the past at least enough to have an emotional connection to the pendant. He tucked it into his tunic, resolving to put it on a chain the first chance he got. He wasn't going to let anyone take it from him again.

■■■■■■■■■■

The last thing Jak remembered was collapsing beside a boulder, desperately trying to stay conscious only to fail seconds later. He could hear a voice -- not Daxter or Pecker -- nearby, and as he focused on that, other sensations began to filter in.

Softness beneath him.

The smell of eco med-gel.

An itch in the crook of his elbow.

A sticky dryness in his mouth, like cotton.

And something off about his skin. He couldn't put his finger on it, but his skin felt different somehow. Cleaner? No, that didn't make any sense. Why would it be clean?

It took a monumental effort to open his eyes, and he regretted it immediately. Light stabbed into his retinas pitilessly, and Jak let out an involuntary grunt of discomfort. In response, a shadow fell over his face, shielding him from the unforgiving glare. First a blur, then a shape, a face slowly swam into focus.

"Ah, you're back with us! Thank the Precursors, that was a close one, eh?"

Jak blinked up in confusion as his brain slowly processed the presence of one of the most beautiful women he could ever remember seeing. Not that he could remember seeing that many women in his life. Her skintone was so deep that the light framing her glanced off her cheekbones in little flashes of garnet and amethyst. Coils of hair spread out behind her head in an artful halo, providing most of the blessed shade across Jak's face. He squinted up at her for a long moment, trying to determine whether he was hallucinating in the desert.

"....'m I dead?" Jak croaked, then winced at the dry soreness in his throat.

The angelic stranger laughed in surprise. "Dead? No, quite the opposite, kid. Although you got pretty close."

"Where am I?" Jak tried to sit up, and something tugged at his elbow.

Instantly, he froze. He knew the shape of a needle.

Bile crawled up his throat, and his heart thundered in his ears as he forced himself to turn his head and look.

A bag of clear fluid hung from a stand beside a cot he'd been laid on. Descending from the bag, a long tube fed the fluid through a needle secured to his arm with bandages. A high whine escaped him, and the room seemed to spin.

"Whoa whoa whoa- kid, kiddo, look at me."

The mysterious woman suddenly took his face in her hands -- rough hands. A warrior's hands.

"Ssshh, hey, you're okay. You're okay, chico. It's just saline, that's all."

"W- what-?"

"Saline. It's a...kinda like a saltwater solution you give to people suffering dehydration."

One of the calloused hands cupped the back of his head, rubbing a thumb comfortingly over stubble.

Stubble?

Jak's breathing quickened and the room spun faster.

"What-!" he gasped, and his breaths began to squeak. "What did you do to me?!"

"Hey now, breathe. Breathe." The woman began to sway back and forth where she sat, dragging him along with the rocking motion.

"Inhale with me, yeah? In and out, in and out. I've got you."

"M- my h- my h- hair-!" Jak squeaked.

The woman clicked her tongue. "Oh, ohhh, you can feel that, huh? Yeah, you were overheated. The mats in your hair were just doing damage to you, longterm. The doctors didn't have any time to waste, so they shaved it out to cool you off."

She continued to cradle his face with her other hand, offering him a full, apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry we couldn't get your okay, chico. But...I mean, you wouldn't wake up! Not even your orange friend could get a response. He gave us the go-ahead."

For the first time since waking, Jak felt something like relief. "D- Daxter?"

"Mm. The mouthy one? Yes."

"Where-?"

The woman pulled back and turned away for a moment. Jak wondered why he felt minutely disappointed by that. He wasn't that touch-starved, was he? When she turned back, she held a cup and pitcher in her hands. The sight of the water trickling from one container to the other made Jak's throat ache all the fiercer.

"Here. Slow sips now, little bird. Don't make yourself sick like your friend did." The woman settled back into her seat at the edge of the cot. She made a vague gesture with the hand not holding the pitcher.

"At least he made a quick recovery. My husband took him back up to our place. When you're cleared by the doctors, we'll take you to him."

Jak gulped down the water, ignoring his visitor's protests. It was cool, although not cold, but even that was like heaven on his irritated throat. Droplets leaked from the corner of his mouth, and the IV tugged painfully as he reached up to catch them. He didn't think he could afford to waste even one drop.

"Hey hey!" The woman reached for the cup, and Jak jerked back out of reach.

"Not so fast, chico, you'll make yourself sick!"

Jak growled softly behind the rim of the cup and hitched up his shoulders. If this lady wanted to take the water away, she'd be in for a fight.

"Whoa!" The woman raised her brows. "Calm down. The water isn't going anywhere, I promise."

"I don't know you," Jak retorted, "How do I know you keep promises?"

Now the woman began to look a little annoyed.

"Fair enough," she begrudgingly allowed. "Considering the state we found you in, am I to assume that if I take that cup you'll bite me or something?"

"I might," answered Jak coolly.

Something bittersweet passed over the woman's face and lingered there at the corners of her mouth as she forced a smile.

"Well that wouldn't be very nice of you, but I can't say it wouldn't fit with every other kid in Spargus."

Jak lowered the cup slowly. "Spargus?" he asked, tilting his head, "What's that?"

"It's home," she answered. "The city of the forgotten and the betrayed -- and the hunter."

Jak raised the cup again and muttered darkly, "Well that's ironically appropriate."

"Let's start over, huh?"

The woman leaned back and carded a hand through her teased-out coils.

"My name is Phobos. I was with the convoy that found you and your friends in the Strider Range."

"...oh."

Jak grimaced. This woman had rescued him, hadn't she?

"I'm, um. I'm Jak."

Embarrassed, he gestured to the cup, the IV, and looked away. "What do I owe you? I don't...I don't have any money."

Phobos shook her head. "It's fine, chico- er, Jak. When people come to Spargus, those who have life debts pay it back by contributing to the overall survival of their new home and neighbors, depending on how old they are when they arrive."

"How old they are?" Jak fiddled with his now empty cup awkwardly. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Phobos gave him an amused glance. "Uh...kids are kids? This isn't Haven, hey? We don't even let people take the citizen applicant training course until we know they're eighteen or older."

She scooted closer and held up the pitcher. "Cup."

"Huh? Oh-"

Jak tilted the cup toward her but didn't let go. He watched her refill it and puzzled over the idea of a city in good enough shape that kids didn't have to work. Maybe there weren't metalheads out here.

"So...do you people normally pick up half-dead people and bring them home?"

"As long as they aren't half dead because they tried to kill us, yeah," Phobos said with a careless shrug. "Strength and survival: it's the two things Wastelanders respect the most. So when we find somebody in the badlands who isn't a dried out corpse, we know we've got the makings of a tough little survivor."

Surviving was, by necessity, Jak’s best skill. But considering the kind of jobs he got when people knew that, and how it had turned out last time, Jak decided not to advertise that fact. It already nagged at him that someone had seen his scars, and the bruises from the arrest, and every other injury he'd gained in the name of helping a city that hated him. Spargus wouldn't get the same freebies.

Eventually, Phobos stood up and put the pitcher back on a low counter that extended out of sight behind a curtain. She dusted off her yellow tunic and stretched her back with a soft grunt.

"Alright. I guess somebody ought to tell Damas you're awake and talking," she said, more to herself than to Jak.

Before Jak could ask who Damas was supposed to be, something careful and calculated slipped into Phobos's voice.

"So...just you and the critters, huh? Your parents know where you are?"

Hands tightened into claws around the wooden cup.

"I never had parents," Jak growled.

One more thing to "thank" Haven for, apparently.

"Ah." Phobos's eyes widened in an oddly dismayed expression. "Sorry, I..."

"Why?"

Jak's eyes narrowed at her.

"Literally no one has ever asked if I even had parents before you. You're fishing for something. What do you want?"

Then it hit him: if the woman had seen his scars, she had seen his amulet as well. Was that what she was getting at? Probing to see if any other ill-fated Heirs of Mar existed?

"Uh..." Phobos puffed out her cheeks and blew the air out. "It's...complicated. I'm gonna let Damas take this one."

"Who's Damas?" Jak demanded.

Phobos made another odd grimace and lifted a radio from the countertop.

"Hey, Damas, the kid's awake," she said, ignoring Jak's question.

A raspy voice crackled through the speaker.

"He is? Has he said anything yet?"

"Well, he threatened to bite me," Phobos joked before growing serious. "Take it easy when you come down, he's pretty worked up. Bring the orange guy if you can."

"Understood. Anything else I should know?"

"Yeah," Phobos sighed. "He doesn't know who we are, where we are, or how he got here. I don't think you're going to get any answers out of him."

"......oh."

The guy she called Damas sounded strangely...emotional.

"Er...alright. I'll...I'll see what I can do when I get there."

Jak glowered at Phobos's back. He hated when people talked about him like he wasn't there.

Out of habit, he reached for his collar to run his fingers over his amulet. That always helped him slow down when his thoughts were racing too fast. His fingers brushed against loose linen; the tunic he was wearing were not the one he'd had on the last time he was awake. Jak's stomach felt like it was plummeting from a precipice as he finally looked down at his body. Someone had dressed him in loose, lightweight clothing. There was no sign of his own clothing.

Or his amulet.

Fighting down feelings of violation and revulsion, Jak gripped the thin sheets in hands like claws.

"Where are my clothes?" he snarled, "What did you do?"

Phobos didn't look overly concerned, which only agitated Jak more.

"They're being checked for trackers or other bugs," she said with a shrug. "Haven's been trying to find our city for years. Can't be too careful. Look on the bright side: it's probably the first time they've ever been washed."

She leaned over the cot, and Jak jerked away.

"Don't touch me!"

There wasn't much room to retreat on the small bed, but Jak tried anyway.

"Who stole my amulet?"

"Hey, calm down," Phobos raised a placating hand, but dropped it quickly when Jak flinched. "Nobody stole it."

"Don't lie to me!"

Jak was over the verge of panic now. He was alone, powerless, right back to being poked and prodded like a doll. Like a lab rat.

"What do you want?!"

Grimacing, Phobos stepped back and grabbed her radio again.

"Hey Damas? Hurry it up, will ya?"

"I'm en route."

"Good. Because he just noticed the absence of a Certain Something and he is losing it right now."

"Rot. Okay, just- rot! Try to keep him calm, I'm bringing it, okay?"

The man's voice rose and fell oddly. It almost sounded like he was running.

Phobos ran a hand through her hair and puffed out her cheeks. This was not going as well as they'd hoped. Could've been worse, she acknowledged, but this kid's reactions were giving her a bad feeling. The scars, the reaction to the IV and having been given new clothing without his knowledge, it all painted a pretty grim picture.

"Damas is bringing your amulet down," she said in what she hoped was a soothing tone. (How did one talk to agitated teenagers?! Why weren't they as easy to calm as toddlers?) "He'll explain everything, chico, I promise. Just...stay here a minute, okay?"

Jak warily watched the woman walk through the curtain, listening and counting her footsteps. By the sound of it, he was in the back of a narrow building. There was someone else up there, wherever Phobos had gone, but they rustled around opening drawers instead of speaking. If there were guards, Jak couldn't hear them. He hoped there were none. In his current state, he doubted he'd be able to fight them off.

A door slid open with the sound of a chime, and Jak stiffened as a heavier tread entered the building.

"About time!" he heard Phobos greet the person, "He's all yours."

"Allegedly," the voice from the radio answered.

"Mmhm. You're cute when you're in denial. Better get back there before the poor kid has a heart attack."

When the curtains parted, Jak was in the act of climbing off the cot to look for something -- anything -- to defend himself with. He froze, locking eyes with a weathered Wastelander covered in scars and armor. He looked like the kind of guy Sig would run with. Jak stared at the man and wondered if this was the guy who allegedly had his amulet. Were those piercings on his skull?! Despite himself, Jak wondered how the man slept without ripping whatever he used for a pillow.

"Easy, young one," the man murmured, holding out his hands as if approaching a skittish animal. "Easy. You're in no danger."

"Usually when people tell me that, they're lying," Jak retorted. He backed up, silently cursing his shaky legs, until his back touched the wall and the IV tugged painfully at his arm. "Where's Daxter? What do you people want with us?"

The armored man lowered himself to sit on the end of the cot and folded his hands in front of him. "Your friend is perfectly safe," he soothed, "Well, unless he tries to use the water wheel as a carnival ride, I suppose. But he doesn't really seem the type to do that kind of thing."

"You didn't answer my other question," Jak said pointedly. "What do you want?"

"Answers," the man -- Damas, probably -- replied steadily, "Just answers."

"Like what?" Jak edged closer to the IV, trying to relieve the horrific sensation of the needle.

Then his visitor reached into a cloth pouch at his belt and drew out a familiar shape.

"What can you tell me about this?" he asked, holding up the amulet.

Forgetting the needle, Jak lunged for the pendant. Pain lanced through his elbow for an instant, hot and dull, and he pulled up short. He'd learned long ago not to rip needles out. There would just be more if he did.

"Whoa!" Damas dropped the amulet on the sheets and reached out as if to steady Jak. "Slow down, boy, you're going to hurt yourself! You shouldn't even be standing right now!"

Jak, unfortunately, agreed. But he locked his knees and kept his eyes on Phobos's friend, just as he had on Phobos.

"Give it back," he rasped, holding out a demanding hand.

Damas frowned thoughtfully. He picked up the chain and considered it for a few seconds before dropping it into Jak's outstretched hand.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

With time-travel being too unbelievable an explanation even to those closest to Jak, he settled for the most open-ended version of the truth he could manage.

"Ancient ruins," he muttered.

The chain slipped down around his neck, and he visibly relaxed once the familiar weight rested against his collarbone.

Damas made an interested sound and folded his arms. "Ruins, eh? How did you find it?"

Evasively, Jak shrugged. "I just...knew where to look."

"And does this happen to you often? "Knowing" things?"

Hm. He might’ve been a little too open-ended there. Jak braced his back against the wall and begrudgingly clarified.

"I'm not a seer. It's just with eco stuff."

Damas nodded. "Ah! I understand. So what made you decide to keep such an odd little trinket?"

He wasn't being very subtle. Jak could do blunt too.

"It's mine. That's it. And I know what you're trying to do."

A hint of tension lined Damas’s neck and shoulders as he tried to play casual.

"Oh? And what am I trying to do, young one?"

Jak curled his lip at the man. "You're trying to get me to say I'm an Heir of Mar, probably so you can get some of his artifacts. What, do you want the Precursor Stone too? Well you're too late."

Any semblance of relaxation dropped from Damas like a cloak. He straightened, and the air filled with an undercurrent of warning. It was almost like eco -- enough that Jak wondered if the man could channel.

"Explain that, please."

It didn't sound like a request.

"What, exactly, do you know about the Precursor Stone?"

Jak gripped his amulet for calm.

"Not a myth," he said shortly, "Not meant to be used as a weapon, and not a rock."

He lifted his chin and met Damas’s hard eyes.

"I opened it. It can't be used anymore."

"Opened?!" Damas recoiled slightly. "You've touched the Stone?"

Suspicion colored his voice, but strangely he didn't seem to be getting hostile.

"Where did you find it?"

Agitated, Jak snapped, "In a tomb designed by some sadistic obstacle-course lover obsessed with "manhood", guarded by a bunch of loudmouth Oracles. Be glad you missed it."

He wondered if he was just setting himself up for problems later. If the Wastelanders knew he could speak to Oracles and traverse ruins, they'd probably make him pay off the medical care by finding artifacts for them. Story of his life.

But Damas looked shaken by the statement, not shrewd. He seemed almost to pale, and drew a hand over his face to rest over his mouth. His eyes bored into Jak's with an unsettling intensity.

"The amulet truly belongs to you, then," he finally acknowledged, in little more than a croak. His fingers pressed into his jaw hard enough that Jak wondered if the man would have fingerprints there later.

"How...how old are you, boy?"

What did that have to do with anything? Annoyed, Jak shrugged.

"Like I know? Fifteen, sixteen, what's it matter?"

"You don't...you don't know?" Damas looked even more shaken. "No one told you your own birthdate?"

Jak didn't want to talk about this. He finally slumped to sit at the head of the cot and crossed his arms sullenly.

"Y'know what, that's none of your business. Where's Daxter? I'm not saying anything else until I see him."

"I can arrange that."

Damas stood and absentmindedly picked up the wooden cup.

"You should er...try to sleep some. Heat exhaustion will leave you weak for a good several days-"

"Are you Damas?" Jak interrupted suddenly, as Phobos's attempted reassurances came to mind.

Damas turned. "Yes?"

He looked like he almost expected something else to follow.

Jak pulled his knees to his chest and rested folded arms on top of them. "The lady who was in here said you'd explain what you people wanted from me. And why you took my amulet."

The Wastelander looked, Jak thought, rather like he had just swallowed a bee. He made a few awkward hand motions -- some of it almost looked like signs -- and tugged on a tuft of hair at his chin.

"Ah...that is..."

He picked up the pitcher and splashed water into the cup clumsily. He was unsettled.

"The crest of Mar has...connotations. Doubtless you've learned by now, but when people see it they form...expectations."

Damas cleared his throat and handed the cup over to Jak.

"I removed it from you before the monks could see it and develop those expectations. I...wanted you to be able to focus on healing without the distraction of history zealots."

Well, that was marginally better than Jak had been imagining. He didn't exactly trust that the man was telling the truth, but at least he hadn't tried to sell it or something. Jak acknowledged his visitor's words with a curt nod and sipped at the water slowly. Idly, he wondered if his general age fit this city's "too young for serious work" bracket or not. After Haven, he honestly didn't know whether he hoped so or not.

Damas was staring at him. It was subtle, but intense, and Jak could feel his eyes. It made his brain itch, and he felt the urge to squirm uncomfortably.

"Are you in any pain?" Damas asked suddenly, apparently in response to the squirming.

"I don't like being stared at," Jak answered gruffly.

"...ah." Damas cringed and looked away. "Apologies. You just...look very familiar. I was trying to place whether I might have met you or someone you were related to in the past."

"Not unless you were in Haven before Praxis took over," Jak grumbled bitterly, "Or you took a tour of his prison labs in the last two years."

You're talking too much, Jak. Wait for Daxter. Why are you volunteering this information?

Well. He knew. He was scared and disoriented and angry, and he wanted to shock someone. Anyone. It was the dark eco talking.

"The labs?!" Damas dropped the pitcher with a crash. A terrible look flooded his face. "Did...was your whole family there?"

"Rot! Why are you guys so obsessed with information about my parents?" Jak was getting tired of repeating himself. "You know as much as I do! Even the freakin Oracles wouldn't tell me what the amulet meant until I got to the Tomb!"

From the front of the building, the third person finally called out.

"My lord, if you keep getting him worked up, I'm tossing you out. He's supposed to be resting!"

"I'm working on it, Petros!" Damas retorted sharply.

He closed his eyes and made a visible attempt to calm himself before turning back to Jak.

"Sorry. I know this is confusing. I am...having a difficult time finding the right words to ask the right questions." He made a helpless gesture. "Finding you, practically on my doorstep, with that amulet has upended my understanding of the world and my place in it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jak demanded.

Damas gingerly took a seat at the end of the cot again and, sighing deeply, reached into his pouch again.

"The last time I was in Haven for an extended period of time was about fifteen years ago, at the end of the last major campaign against the metalheads."

He opened his hand, revealing a second amulet of Mar in his palm.

"After Praxis betrayed me- after the hardships our city has faced over the last few years-"

He shook his head with furrowed brow.

"I- I thought I was the only one left. And now here you are, and I have more questions than answers."

Jak blinked, then blinked again.

"Well," he said in a strangled voice, "That makes two of us."

[quexiclact]

philosophy rpf self-insert fic where you go back in time and meet pythagoras or someone. You have taken a calc class and are prepared to absolutely blow his mind because he does not live in a post-euler society. Only one problem: he won't accept your equations without proof, and you only memorized them without learning to prove them. Follow your adventures attempting to post-facto prove everything you learned in high school with the help of probably-pythagoras, who is much better at math than you but does not have the same context you've spent a decade of math classes learning.

[roblingoblin285]

this is literally insane but whumpee who's forced to do math problems under the threat of torture. like whumper goes "rewrite that polynomial function as the product of linear factors or i'm going to lash you with a hot poker"

[unforgivenn]

WOLLEMI DAY 4- AT WEAPON'S POINT

AU of where Caleb *somehow* managed to escape and just starting out his new life happily... hopefully..

CW: Pet whump, Recaptured, themes of captivity, emotional whump, guns!!, shock collar mention, lil bit of angsttt, fear. a lot of it.

Caleb set down the grocery bags, feeling a sense of relief wash over him, finally back in a familiar space where he could begin to rebuild his life. His parents had tried convincing him to stay with him but he just needed some time alone and thankfully, they understood. He hummed to himself, moving towards his room and his closet but froze when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Well, well, well, look who decided to crawl out of their hiding hole..." He could basically feel the shit eating grin behind him. Caleb closed his eyes letting some tears drop down his cheeks.

"Dominic..." His heart pounded so fast that he felt it might leap out of his chest. Dominic sighed before grabbing his hair and twisting it pushing him to the wall letting the boy let out a pained cry. He looked at him. Caleb hadn't ever seen him this mad.. And he had seen him mad quite a lot.. He was sure he wouldn't be able to even support his weight if it wasn't for the hand in his hair.

"Guess you've lost your manners too during the time." Dominic slammed his head on the wall as he groaned feeling blood drip down his forehead and nose. He suddenly felt the cold, hard metal of a gun pressing against his temple, the weight of the gun, almost as if it's pushing him down. His heartbeat pounding in his ears, loud and erratic.

"Oh god.. please.. sir please.. I-I swear I won't- I'm so sorry- Please.." He spoke in a shaky, unsteady tone, voice filled with desperation and fear. Brief flashes of all those horrific memories filled his mind. A backhand slap shut him up.

"Goddammit. Do you fucking know how long it took me to find you?! This time I've got to make sure that doesn't happen again.." Dominic paused for a few seconds letting the words settle in Caleb's slow and occupied brain. "You ran away in hope of your family. Didn't chya?" Caleb's eyes suddenly snapped up to his. "Now you won't have anyone in hope for to run away right?" Dominic smiled coldly.

A gut wrenching cry escaped his lips as the reality of his loss sinked in. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he realized there was no escape from The Dominic Sinclair. "No.. God.. P-Please tell me it isnt true.. I'm sorry! I-I wont escape again! Just please.. T-They didn't do anything.."

"Oh pet... Something that's done can't be rewinded hm? Now get up. We're gonna miss our flight."

The whole way Caleb was silent, as if he was waiting to wake up from this horrible nightmare. Dominic had forced a shock collar on him if he decided to do something funny, although Caleb was pretty sure that wasn't going to happen.. There was no point anymore..

[amic-the-squid]

Never doubt yourself.

(In math class) X: Huh? Where did he get that result from? Y: No clue... Oh wait, he forgot to add x times 2. X: Oh. Y: Never doubt yourself. X: I wasn't, he's the idiot here. Y: Ah. Good, because I did.