#Free Day Thursday

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday

As per the poll results, we are giving Damas stress via Just Plain Silliness. It builds character. Not that I needed an excuse to Inconvenience Characters in the first place 😆 it's become my favorite way of writing anything. Not Angst or Adventure, but Aggravation of Character in ridiculous ways 😂

This falls into the Trespasser au (last "episode" of that found HERE) a bit before the second Arena fight in the game.

The king of Spargus, Jak decided, was a killjoy.

For a city where strength and survival were supposed to be the most important traits, he sure didn't like any of Jak's demonstrations of strength or survival.

"You can't race Leapers in the middle of the market."

"Don't swim over the reef."

"Stop antagonizing the monks."

"You can't race Leapers on neighborhood roofs, either."

"If I told you not to swim over the reef, why would you assume I'd be okay with you feeding the sea monster?!'

It was like he was vehemently opposed to the mere concept of fun.

Jak folded his arms and tried not to roll his eyes while Kleiver complained about the scuffed up suspension and undercarriage on the Dune Hopper. Sure, he'd cut it a little close on the broken bridge, but he'd gotten away with the artifacts and left the Marauders in a two car pile up, so who was the winner, here?

Not Jak, apparently.

Damas listened to Kleiver yell about how he'd have to redo the entire suspension -- a gross exaggeration -- and how there was half a metalhead stuck in the undercarriage. Now that, Jak hadn't known about. When had he run over a metalhead?

"Hey! We didn't do that!" Daxter protested, "How do we know you didn't put that there last time you drove?!"

"Because I don't take the Hopper if I plan to do a run down Turquoise Canyon!" Kleiver snapped.

Damas steepled his fingers in front of his mouth and examined the damaged vehicle.

"One of these days, kid, I swear to Volcan-"

"What?! I got the job done, didn't I?" Jak protested indignantly. "Did you want the Marauders to get their hands on a functioning power cell?"

Damas’s jaw tightened so much that his mouth appeared to be folding inward. He inhaled slowly, and let it out again, ears twitching while he was very obviously counting to ten.

"There are no jumps in the canyon," he said slowly, "So how did you manage this?"

Jak shrugged nonchalantly. "The 'rauders chased us out to the ruins," he explained, "Ran out of turbo, so I had to get creative with the jump."

Kleiver started swearing very creatively under his breath. Damas turned an interesting shade of red.

"That does it."

The king grabbed Jak by the channeling ring and near dragged him out of the garage before Kleiver could clobber someone with a wrench.

"One more stunt like that out of you," Damas threatened, "and I'm entering you into an apprenticeship. Let's see you foment chaos with an actual structure in your day."

"You're not gonna do that," Jak scoffed.

Damas’s eyes narrowed. "Try me."

Jak did not take this nearly as seriously as he ought to have. In fact, he seemed to regard the threat as more instances of Damas "worrying too much". Damas did not worry too much! If anything, he wasn't worried enough about the insanity this young unknown relative had brought into his city! More than one advisor or guildmaster had been privy to the king muttering darkly, "I'm either going to kill him, or start training him myself. I'll let you know when I've figured out which."

And of course, Jak kept being Jak. Climbing the Arena walls because he saw a Precursor orb someone had dropped. Messing around with some kind of evil alien satellite on the beach. Inciting other inhabitants of the youth barracks to join foot races in the barrack halls in the dead hours of night. And he seemed to regard all of this as perfectly normal behavior. It was like all the impulses he'd had to shove down in Haven, all the ways he'd had to be perfect to fit under the yoke of that terrible word, hero, everything came crashing down in Spargus. He had almost no limits here, and that kind of freedom seemed to awaken a wildness that was above the paygrade of the dorm supervisor.

It came to the point where Damas was actually allowing the kid to go out into a sandstorm, just to get some of that boundless energy out! It wouldn't have been his first choice. Or even his tenth. But the storm rolling in was much larger than anything else they'd seen that summer. And for all his recklessness, Jak was their fastest driver.

"Four scouts have not reported in," the king told Jak and Daxter. His face was grim. "Two just set off their emergency beacons. At the rate this storm is going-"

He shook his head, cutting off his sentence.

Daxter had worried that Spargus would be another Krew situation at first. But here was the king of the cranky lizard-riders, flipping out because a handful of scouts -- one of the lowest ranks in the city -- weren't accounted for before a deadly storm.

In Haven, their absence wouldn't have even been noticed until roll call.

The old timers in the market were right, weren't they? "King's eyes see all." This guy watched everyone like a hawk, didn't he? Daxter wasn't sure if that bothered him, or if it just reminded him of Jak.

He supposed that was fitting, considering the two were probably related, no matter how in denial Jak seemed to be about being an Heir of Mar.

"Where's the Crawler right now?" Jak asked.

The mobile sandstorm shelter wasn't invincible, but it could take a lot. That would be the scouts' best bet.

Damas looked out the windows, glaring at the dark clouds as though he could hold the storm back by sheer force of will. It took a moment to hear his voice over the water.

"The Crawler is in the steppes at the moment. She's not a fast vehicle, Jak. I need you to get those scouts to either the Crawler or the city."

"I will."

Damas turned a stern look on them both.

"No stunts. These are people's lives we're talking about."

"I know!" Jak sputtered, a little offended. "And I won't bust the car up this time, so Kleiver can give it a rest."

"No. I'm serious, boy," Damas warned, "If it comes down to abandoning the car for shelter or trying to drive in the storm, you leave the car. Do you understand?"

Jak huffed. Damas had seen him outrun sandstorms before! What was so bad about a slightly bigger one?

"I got it, I got it," he grumbled.

Damas glared.

"No. Stunts. You get back here in one piece."

"Okay, I got it already!" Jak groaned.

"Jak-!"

"I know, Dad!" Jak complained.

An instant later his eyes widened.

The water suddenly seemed much louder than usual.

Daxter wasn't even sure any of them were breathing.

Three pairs of dramatically widened eyes darted back and forth between them as silence built up like steam under pressure. It was going to erupt sooner or later, the question was how.

Damas made a very small, strangled noise in the back of his throat.

Jak snapped out of his moment of horrified realization.

"Uh. I'll let you know when everyone is accounted for!"

He pivoted and bolted for the elevator before Damas could see his entire face burn crimson.

A guard at the back of the chamber opened his mouth to comment and in one rushed tangle of syllables Jak hissed,

"Youdidn'thearanything!"

Damas didn't blink for a good two minutes after Jak had left.

He didn't move for a good two minutes.

He stood exactly where he'd been, staring blankly at the empty elevator shaft.

The captain of the tower guard, an older man named Cephus, left his place by the windows to lean into Damas’s peripheral vision. He waved slightly, and the king finally blinked.

"Are you alright, sire?" Cephus asked.

Damas made a curious wheeze before speaking through a groaning inhalation.

"Oh no."

"Hm!" Cephus stroked his long beard. "Guess the wild one imprinted on you! Do I offer congratulations or condolences?"

Damas nodded slowly and stiffly.

"....help."

There could not possibly have been a worse time for the monks to finally send him the results of the blood test.

[finncakes]

mothafuckin' tanks bitch!!!! 💥👊💥

redraw of photo under the cut

[shoeberg]

not ashamed to say that this did things to me

[the-bi-space-ace]

Hi. I went to the dentist today and I was very brave about it so headcanons about the clone boys and the dentist for you.

Echo: hates the dentist quite like any other medical thing. He will put off going as long as possible and refuses to go alone. He does however floss every day and take very good care of his teeth. The routine of it all is something he loves doing and it makes him feel put together.

Hunter: honestly just knock him out if you’re taking him to a dentist. His senses hate it here. It’s bright. Everything inside his mouth hurts. There’s too many things happening. Stop. Stop it all. Brushes regularly but won’t floss.

Crosshair: has constant jaw pain and the dentist keeps telling him that the toothpicks are bad for his teeth but he refuses to stop. Bit the dentist as a kid and threatens to do it even as an adult. Worst patient. Insists on a little treat afterwards (Echo always takes him to go get a little treat bc they go together each and every time)

Tech: prepared man. Knows each step and how much it’ll cost before he even books the appointment. He is that Ron Swanson ‘I know more than you’ meme. Him and Echo have a nighttime routine together so they both have excellent check ups.

Wrecker: sweet man loves his candy! He has a few cavities here and there but he does brush regularly! Hates flossing! Has accidentally swallowed mouthwash like it was a shot before though (this isn’t based on previous experience what do you mean shut up)

Cody: if he misses a step he will start over. Doesn’t feel clean without it. Has never had a cavity and thinks it’s some kind of competition. He goes every six months because they recommended it to him in his first adult visit and he just… does it. He wants to win at dentist which is perfectly reasonable and a thing you can accomplish.

Rex: has to be dragged and grumbles the whole time. Is bitter about Cody ‘winning’ at the dentist. Takes decent enough care of his teeth but hasn’t been to a dentist in five years. Cody tells him he’s ’setting a bad example’.

[miyamoratsumuu]

just got to make it to friday just got to make it to friday just got to make it to friday justgottomakeittofriday justgottomakeittofriday justgottomakeittofriday

[bisamwilson]

MOVIES ARE BACK BABEY

[buckera]

Fuck It Friday ☔️

I was tagged by @daffi-990 @jamespearce9-1-1 @eddiebabygirldiaz @wikiangela and @jeeyuns thank youuu 💛

Aside from some editing, my Christmas fics are all done and now I can slowly return to my main wips, so I thought I'll post a snippet from Eddie's pov in the mudslide fic (most of that part is just too spoilery and I rarely share from it, but this bit was waiting to come out for a while now, so here 🫶).

He mostly thought about Christopher; imagined him waking up in the morning, pestering Buck for breakfast and news he couldn't give, going to school and coming home, sitting at the dining table, doing his homework… Just normal things.

He would’ve given anything to be with them right now. To walk out of his room in the morning and see Buck’s sleep-rumpled face, his curls flat on top of his head, his smile lazy and crooked and his bare feet on Eddie’s living room carpet.

To watch the tattoos shift on Buck’s naked shoulders as he stretched and to hear his hoarse voice as he mumbled out a quiet “morning” on his way to the bathroom. To smell the scent of his overnight sweat still lingering on his skin while making their coffees side by side, waiting for Christopher to finally shuffle out of his room for breakfast.

To hear the sleepy mumble stifled in his own ribs as Chris gave him his good morning hug and see the toothy grin tugging at his lips as Buck entertained him throughout breakfast, making him giggle with his silly facts and jokes.

To yell “come on, we're gonna be late” at the front door as Chris ran back inside for a book he forgot and then to yell again after Chris was back but Buck just realised he had left his phone on the kitchen counter.

To sit in the car and talk about after-school plans and listen to the radio on a low volume before dropping Chris off with a hug each and then to bundle back into the truck and head to work together, barely just having enough time to stop for one of those creamy coffee monstrosities Buck liked so much — that somehow Eddie learned to like too, only if to indulge in the fantasy of what Buck’s lips would taste like on his own.

✨no pressure tagging: @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz @nmcggg @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @theotherbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @ladydorian05 @rainbow-nerdss

[leohttbriar]

where in purple hue (ao3 link) - T - 26k

Nyota heard nothing but the normal waves of the universe—the static of distant fusions and feeding black holes and the ever-present radiation still ringing since the Big Bang. Frustrated, she switched her communications-console to Hail. “[Ent] to [SB6]. [Ent] to [SB6]. Respond.” Her ear-piece communicated nothing and then— Pain. Spock fainted. And Nyota collapsed to the floor with a heart-snapping scream.

A year after bonding, Uhura feels T'Pring die, swallowed by a mysterious darkness that no words can hope to penetrate.

A rewrite of "The Immunity Syndrome": For @startrekfemslashweek Day 3: Telepathy

[peachsukii]

It took a week, but I finally had a cold catch up to me from the Green Day show in the rain. 😭

I hope you all have a lovely weekend though!! I’m taking it easy and popping in and out. 💕

[radioactivepeasant]

Surprise Snippet because I didn't get time to post a schedule this week

(Woe: Summer Reading Programs be upon me)

But because I can never resist giving Damas of Spargus a hard time, I propose the following scenario: Jak carries germs from Sandover that modern people aren't vaccinated against. Modern people like Damas. And because Jak doesn't do anything by halves, it's a disease that only effects channelers because it's a non-dark-eco eco imbalance.

In his roughly twelve years as king of Spargus, Damas had dealt with the occasional illness. In the two years before he took the throne, he'd gotten all manner of unpleasant ailments. Crane Cough, White Flu, Dust Colic, even! And that was something most Wastelanders grew out of in infancy! But vaccinations were for the elite. For everyone else it was survive or die, unless you were willing to hand over your entire artifact intake for the week.

Damas had been one of the lucky ones: being a channeler meant he recovered far more quickly than some of the other recent exiles.

He'd grown complacent since then. A germ could be dealt with in no more than a day or two with a little eco and a couple hours of rest. He could pinpoint the early warning signs of every disease common to Spargus and Haven alike.

That was, in hindsight, the first sign that Jak had not originally come from Haven. Because whatever was rattling around in that bullheaded kid's immune system was like nothing the doctor had ever seen before.

It started so innocuously. A slight pain behind his eardrums that he could ignore. Stiffness in the joints that he put down to having finally passed forty. Something sluggish in the chest, almost like anxiety.

He already had Anxiety, that didn't narrow anything down at all.

And then, without warning, the symptoms all combined and intensified. It felt like influenza, but without the respiratory distress. Worse somehow.

The boy was present when the symptoms crossed from incubation to a full manifestation of whatever hell he'd just contracted. The timing could hardly be worse: he'd just finished reprimanding two young scouts for fighting in the vehicle pit. And of course, Jak had been one of those scouts. He'd thrown the first punch, because of course he had, but at least it hadn't been unprovoked this time.

"At least". As if there being two guilty parties was somehow better.

Evidently young Kwan had proposed some kind of bet revolving around artifacts, and suggested that the loser would have to go shirtless for a day and show off their scars.

Damas didn't support Jak breaking his nose, but seeing as he was convinced that every Wastelander under twenty-five had some degree of senselessness, he supposed it was probably a valuable lesson for Kwan.

Which did, unfortunately, make it hard to rule fairly between them.

Ultimately, Kwan was given a sharp rebuke about goading non-consenting comrades into bets -- especially when some degree of their autonomy was on the line.

Jak's reprimand was more along the lines of warning him to either walk away or find an older Wastelander to handle things, blast it all-!

But seeing as Jak was the first one to throw a punch, it was Jak who had to forfeit the artifacts he'd picked up for the day in order to pay for the eco Kwan would need.

Not that this stopped Damas from adding that this hadn't been the first time Kwan's love of bets had gotten him into trouble, but by Volcan it had better be the last.

A rather shame-faced Kwan had just left the tower -- like rot was Damas going to allow them to occupy the same elevator at the same time, somebody would be dead before the ground floor -- when the lung cramps started.

"I'm...sorry," Jak was in the middle of saying, with extreme reluctance, "for fighting in the garages. I'm not sorry for hitting him, though."

When his only answer was an unnaturally wet sounding cough, he looked up to find Damas clinging to his staff for support. His other hand gripped his chest, veins standing out. He'd gone pale.

"Oh shi- Damas!" Jak ran up the stairs. "What's wrong?"

"Are you choking?" Daxter asked in loud, exaggeratedly slow words, "Do you need assistance?"

What's it look like?! Damas wanted to shout, but he could barely get his lungs to expand enough to breathe, let alone speak.

Something bitter and hot flooded his mouth on the next cough.

At least his lungs had reopened with the ejection of the fluid, but he couldn't help wondering if he'd just coughed up a vital organ. Damas spat, and something thick and colorless splattered across his boots. It wasn't bile, nor mucus. There were, on closer inspection, specks of color floating in it. Green, red, yellow, blue- the colors of eco, but far more saturated than they had any right to be.

Jak pulled his fingerless glove off and laid the back of his hand against Damas’s forehead like he was a child. Just as quickly, he removed it.

"Uh. Have you been having like...a lot of aches? Joints and jaws and stuff?" he asked nervously.

Damas glared at him, but ultimately nodded.

"Crap. Crap crap- uhhhh okay. Okay!" Jak ran his fingers through his hair.

"Damas, you gotta sit down, okay? It's Blackwater virus, so altitude is bad, right?"

"Th' rot's* Blackwater?" Damas rasped. He clenched his teeth against the ache in his jaws.

"Pal," Daxter said to Jak, with an unusual gentleness, "They don't have that here. Probably haven't for a long time, you get me?"

The ottsel hopped down from his shoulder. "You stay with Lumpy Lungs there, I'm getting a doc to rule out everything else."

Damas knew without asking that Daxter was trying to spare Jak. That boy had a debilitating fear of exam chairs that went beyond the usual childhood disdain for doctor appointments. And by now, Damas wasn't the only Spargan who had connected the dots between his fear of doctors and his refusal to let anyone see all of his scars.

Jak took hold of his arm and pushed him down to sit on the stairs. Any other day the manhandling would've gotten someone at least a good punch in the gut. But right now Damas could barely catch his breath enough to stand his ground. That was humiliating even without the unidentified fluid still lurking at the back of his throat.

"Okay, okay-" Jak was talking more to himself than to Damas. "Eco's pretty saturated so you're prooooobably right at the beginning of this. Crap.”

The boy dropped to sit beside him with a groan.

"I- crap! I'm sorry, Damas! I didn't think I was in here often enough to pass Blackwater to you! I swear, I thought I wasn't contagious anymore!"

The pinching in Damas’s lungs returned, and with it, the wrenching coughs.

"You-?" he managed to gasp.

Jak winced. He looked so strangely young when he felt guilty about something.

"Two- two weeks ago? Remember I didn't take any jobs for a couple days and you had someone go make sure I was still in the city? I was getting over Blackwater virus. I um."

He tilted his head back and blew out a breath.

"Used to only get it when I was little. But after the- after what Praxis did to me, I'm more susceptible to it than I used to be. Usually I can catch it in the incubation period before it gets bad, but I've been more focused on work than tracking symptoms."

"Why," Damas wheezed, "didn't you just get eco?"

"From the white coats? Rot no!" Jak snapped.

"From. The well." Damas bent double with another cough. "I know. You're. A channeler."

"Oh." Jak looked away and tapped his fingers together nervously. "Good point. But...no, eco doesn't work on Blackwater."

"What?"

"It's the eco that's infected."

"What?!"

* author's note: the use of "rot" as a curse word in Spargus is used as an abbreviation of an older curse. The full phrase, usually lobbed at Marauders during skirmishes, would be "Go rot with your dead gods". That's a bit of a mouthful, so Wastelanders just looking for a handy expletive will shorten it to "rot"

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>

Legend said no one had ever made Damas of Spargus do anything against his will. Or at least, no one that lived to tell the tale. The previous ruler of Spargus didn't count. Just the idea of telling the king where he could and couldn't go was sacrilegious!

...unless you were the new kid, apparently.

In fairness, Damas didn't actually remember Jak talking to the doctor and that blasted moncaw. He didn't remember the moncaw reluctantly giving in to Jak’s...strongly-worded...demands to be shown where Damas slept at night. What he did remember was a ringing in his ears that blocked all sound, and a vicious ache in the front of his skull. He remembered someone slinging his arm over their shoulder, and then he was coughing too hard to actually pay any kind of attention to his surroundings whatsoever.

He didn't remember entering his rooms. But he most certainly remembered the moment he realized he was on the couch he used as a bed when he couldn't bear to unlock the room he'd shared with his wife and child. Jak was all but shouting at a monk who had apparently followed them in.

"He doesn't need eco! You give him that, he's gonna feel five times worse!"

"I hardly think a boy is qualified to tell me the ways of eco."

"It's rottin' Blackwater! You wanna help him, or you wanna poison him?!"

The monk planted his feet. "You will not stop me from treating my king, newcomer." He reached for the flask of eco all monks carried.

Daxter made a sound like a buzzer. "Brrrzt! Wrong answer! Jak, get this clown outta here."

Before Jak could oblige, Damas caught him by the wrist.

"No. Fighting," he coughed, and gave what he hoped was a stern look.

Jak softened his voice immediately. "I'm not, I'm not. Trust me, okay? I'm helping you."

"Sire!" cried the monk, clearly worried, "The scout won't listen to reason! The doctor brought me in because he couldn't identify this poison in your system! Let me give you the eco your body needs to heal, please!"

Jak shook his head firmly. "The virus will use it.”

"What virus?!" Brother Rhys exploded, "These are not the symptoms of a disease, they are the symptoms of a toxin!"

"I am aware." Jak turned away from him. "I get this about once every two months. I know what I'm talking about, okay?"

Daxter hopped up onto the couch as if he meant to intercept any eco. "It sounds counterintuitive, but you gotta go with the old ways on this one, doc. Modern medicine makes it worse."

Jak crouched in front of the couch, ignoring the monk.

"I'm gonna get you some water, okay?" he said in a low voice, "This is pretty much going to wreck your system for a couple days. You should probably cancel any meetings you got coming up."

"Probably?" Daxter sounded offended. "Try absolutely! Blackwater puts you out of commission for days, and you're you!"

"I'm not gonna tell you what to do-" Jak started.

"Yeah we are," Daxter interrupted.

"...yeah, I am," Jak sighed in resignation.

"I know it sucks, okay? But you gotta let this flush itself out."

"And how. Exactly. Will it do that?" Damas growled.

Who did this boy think he was, giving him orders like they were kin? He was barely out of puberty and he wanted to take command?

"Charcoal."

"You must be joking," Rhys complained, "We've gone back to the dark ages!"

"Why d'you think it's called Blackwater?" Daxter asked dryly. "You gotta flush the toxins the old fashioned way."

"Don't think," Damas wheezed around another chest cramp, "that there won't be a reckoning for this, boy, because there will."

"Uh-huh. After you drink the charcoal.”

[gently-decaying-flowers]

crazy how backwards my logic is and now its stressing me out

[albatris]

gotta work tomorrow then I get a week off :3

[backfliips]

In a perfect world I'd sit down and make art all day long but unfortunately I am afflicted with executive functioning issues and many mental illnesses which prevent me from using my leisure time productively

[lovecoredeity]

hi if I just post the adoptable I made here can y’all just give me ideas of how to price it? pricing shit is difficult I’m like hhhh

[catominor]

i did make a . playlist because im mad i dont have time to finish my senator rpf right now tbh

[sunmontuewrites]

Good news abounds!

My car battery was NOT DEAD (so I am now at work and don't start work for another 30 minutes).

Both kids are hale and hearty (still hate being woken up by AC/DC more than Wham!) and are going to school!

I am ALSO feeling better, no congestion this morning.

I have ZERO meetings today.

I have dinner with friends tonight (after parent-teacher interviews).

So all-round a pretty good day...