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spaceagebachelormann · 1 year

Note

This can probably be with any version of Shaggy so do what you will 😎

Shaggy x gn!reader who has crow brain and gives Shaggy little rocks/shiny things because they like him but are too shy to say it straight out.

Cue jealous Fred: “…Why don’t I get any cool rocks :(…”

shaggy rogers with a reader who brings him things.

-> ft. shaggy rogers.

-> warnings. none!

-> mars thoughts. i kinda just merged all the shaggys together so it’s not a specific version!! been waiting for a request for him for forever now <3 divider by @/benkeibear

-> links. m.list || scooby doo m.list || nav.

okay so he’s not the brightest

he doesn’t realize you’re giving him the stuff as a way to show him you like him

even though daph and velma have hinted it like several times

he’s a little dumb <3

when you give him a rock or something he’s like “uh. thanks!”

and he puts everything you give him on a shelf in his room! <3

lets say daphne is coming to your aid on trying to show him that you like him so like she comes to his house and sees the shelf and her heart is racing cause of how cute that is and she asks him “why do you think they give you these?” and he’s like “idk but i love it”

she was so close to shaking him and screaming

anyways moving on

after awhile he starts bringing you things back!! like pennies, rocks, shiny stuff he found on the floor

and it melts your heart

and it starts to become a little trade you guys do everyday

like you’ll be sitting in the back of the mystery machine together and you’ll shyly hand him a butterfly pin

and he’ll hand you something like. idk a quarter?

and daphne turns around in the middle of y’all doing it

and she’s like “awww! you give eachother stuff! that’s so cute!”

she’s your guys #1 supporter

anyways this is where fred gets jealous

he starts pouting in the front seat like “they don’t give me any cool rocks or anything :(”

daphne lovingly hits him and whispers “THEY DONT HAVE A CRUSH ON YOU FRED.”

and just like that it all clicks in fred’s head and he starts helping daphne get you guys together

i feel like after a little while shaggy starts to actually realize that you’re only giving him stuff and not anyone else

and he tells scooby about it first

and cause scoobys also kinda oblivious to everything he’s like “maybe they just appreciate you as a friend”

and shag agrees but still goes to daph and velma about it cause he needs another opinion

he comes to them like “why do you think y/n gives me all kinds of shiny stuff?”

velma hints it to him at first

he doesn’t get it

so daphne gently lets him know you like him (she full on yells “OH MY GOD THEY LIKE YOU!!”)

and everything in his head just clicks and he has a not silent epiphany

he’s so happy!!

the next day he like awkwardly gives you a rock that has something unreadable on it

so later that day you go to fred who enlightens you that it says he also likes you back cause he’s the only person who can read shaggys handwriting

and then uou go find him

and you both start awkwardly rambling and it’s so cute omg

someon manages to cut though that yes, they like you/him, and it’s like a moment of understanding

and y’all become a couple <3

amd you continue bringing eachother random shit because it’s fun

and daphne and velma and fred are all your biggest fans

might come back to this later idfk

hope u liked it!! <3

scooby doo taglist: @presidentroarie

#mars writing 🧈#!! scooby 🚙🐕 !!#scooby doo #shaggy rogers #shaggy rogers x reader #scooby doo x reader #scooby doo mystery incorporated #scooby doo mystery incorporated x reader

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radioactivepeasant · 1 year

Text

Fic Prompts: Snippet Thursday

We return to the Gremlinverse, a bit after Daxter has been rescued because I'm not done with that part yet. Long post incoming.

"Jak?" Damas paused in the hold of the air train and looked down with confusion. "...what are you doing?"

The boy sat with his eyes tightly shut, face scrunched up in concentration. In his hands he held Damas’s staff.

"I'm trying to remember something," he grunted.

A pang spasmed through Damas’s heart, and he winced. Jak's memories -- or lack thereof -- seemed to be becoming an increasing source of insecurity to him.

Taking care to broadcast his movements, Damas crossed the hold to sit beside the boy on the bench seat.

"Don't try to force them," he cautioned, "Let your memories flow at their own pace."

Jak opened his eyes and scoffed. "Why can't I do this?! Mar can remember, so why can't I?!"

He wanted so badly to have the same connections as Mar. To be able to point to a specific place and say "this is where my people are". To have someone who didn't see him as a burden and investment to be pawned off on others -- someone who actually wanted to claim him as their own.

And even if he did unearth some memories, Jak feared the distance he felt from them. Even if he were to remember his parents, even if Damas proved to be someone he actually recalled, would Jak still have any emotional connection to him?

What if he was no longer capable of loving like Mar did?

Unaware of the hurricane brewing in the boy beside him, Damas laced his fingers together under his chin and blew out a breath.

"Mar is...for him, there are only two years between him and his memories. For you, there are twelve. That is a long time, Jak, and your other experiences have buried them. Sometimes, as we get older, our early memories come to us in flashes. But it's not your fault if they don't."

Moving slowly and steadily, he laid a hand on the crown of Jak's head.

"You are still you, with or without those fragments. And you will always have a place with us."

Jak's fingers tightened on the haft of the staff until his knuckles stood out, starkly white against rosy brown. For several seconds, he did not speak. But he didn’t shrug off Damas’s hand, either.

After nearly a minute had passed, Jak turned to look up at the king with haunted eyes.

"I had them sometimes. The flashes, I mean." He swallowed hard. "But...I don't know if they're real. I made up so many things in that prison, just to stay sane. How do I know I didn't just make these memories up?"

Damas smiled at him. It was a bittersweet expression, but hope hovered at the corners.

"Well," he said softly, "why don't you tell me about them? I may share some of those memories, if they took place before your kidnapping."

Jak quailed. "But what if they're not real?"

There wasn't a good answer to that, and they both knew it. Though he wracked his brain for something that wouldn't sound dismissive of Jak's traumatic amnesia, Damas was left with few options.

"Perhaps," he said carefully, "You can think of them as things you want to do, rather than things you have already done? If there are any memories that don't match, I see no reason you can't make them real."

It wasn't much comfort to Jak, but he appreciated the effort. Damas was trying. He'd been trying, since the moment he walked into the Naughty Ottsel. The least Jak could do was try as well. He resisted the childish impulse to lean against Damas’s side -- he wasn't ready for that yet, no matter how much he might wish to be -- and tried to work up his nerve. Twice he opened his mouth and shut it again, and the third time he managed some stumbling, stammering sounds that trailed off into silence. Damas didn’t push him to try again; he waited as patiently as Daxter always had.

Finally, Jak felt like he could force the words out without immediately thinking of the worse memories surrounding the snippets of what might have been his past. He swallowed hard three times, and brought the staff closer to his chest as if it were a favored toy.

"I...sometimes see this...rock. This...this really big rock. There's paint on my hands and I'm really happy about something. I'm not sure what I'm doing."

He glanced nervously up at Damas.

The king leaned back against the hull and stroked his chin. "Big rock..." he murmured, "And you said there was paint? Was it all over your hands, or only in spots?"

Jak squinted as he tried to grasp at the memory. "Uh...I'm not sure. There was a lot though. Kind of blue-ish."

"Ah!" Damas snapped his fingers. "I think I know what that was."

Shocked, Jak twisted on the bench to face him fully. "You do?!"

Damas nodded, and Jak thought he looked wistful.

"There's a couple different boulders around the city that children like to make marks on. Sometimes, when your mother and I had a lot of work to do, some of the teenagers would take you out to play. More than once you came home covered in paint."

He smiled softly.

"You followed those kids everywhere. They...they took it hard when you were taken."

Jak thought of Mar, tagging along at his heels when he was in his older body. "That tracks, I guess."

So that had been a real memory, then. That meant he couldn't immediately dismiss the others as figments of his imagination, either! Emboldened by this knowledge, Jak reached for a memory that used to drive him -- and his adoptive uncle -- crazy back in Sandover.

"Okay, okay. Um...ah this is going to sound really stupid."

"Fire away," Damas retorted.

Jak made a face. "Okay...uh...it's a polka-dot crocadog toy that smells like polished leather. I think its name was Poppy Croc."

At this, Damas physically jolted. His head whipped down with an incredulous expression.

"You still remember Poppy Croc?" he asked in surprise, "After all this time?"

"Ohhh." Jak leaned forward. "Well, I guess that's why Uncle never knew what I was talking about. I thought he gave it to me and I lost it or something."

"It's still in the nursery," Damas replied, still sounding mildly stunned. "I don't know if Mar will share it though."

Grimacing, Jak waved the idea off. "I'm too old for toys."

He sounded like he was repeating something that someone else had told him.

"Anyway, what kind of name is Poppy Croc?"

"You couldn't pronounce polka-dot," Damas answered dryly.

With a thump, the air train hit a pocket of turbulence. Across the hold, Sig opened his eye and grumbled, then readjusted his grip on Mar. The preschooler slept like a rock, completely unaware of the rough air their transport flew through.

Jak watched them for a second, then returned his attention to Damas.

"So...the paint rock was real, and the stuffed animal was real. That's...more than I expected."

"An encouraging sign," Damas said.

"Maybe."

Jak twisted his grip on the staff.

"What about- okay it's...not a good memory. I think it's real, because I don't know why I would make up a scenario of being so upset about someone leaving that I cried until I threw up. I don't even know who it was! I just...really didn't want them to go."

Damas visibly winced at that. For several seconds he was quiet. Then he sighed heavily.

"I...remember that."

"Oh. Uh...Why was I crying so hard?" Jak squirmed a little in his seat.

The words seemed to stick in Damas’s throat for a moment. Then he frowned.

"Your- your mother is a deep-sea angler. She helps provide a massive portion of the city's everyday diet. But- well, every now and then she has to be out at sea overnight."

This was the first time there had been any talk of mothers. Jak's spine stiffened and he latched onto the present tense "is". He -- or rather, Mar -- still had a mother. A mother! What was that like? Neither he, nor Daxter, nor even Keira had ever had one growing up.

"Does she um- does she know about-"

Jak motioned to himself, and then to Mar.

"Aye." Damas tugged at his short beard. "She's steward of the throne in my few absences from the city when Sig isn't present. That's why I was able to infiltrate Haven at all."

Abruptly, he let out a sheepish chuckle.

"She hates it when that happens. And honestly, it was as much her right to come for you and Mar as it was mine. But I know secret ways into the city that she does not, so it fell to me."

"So I- I really did throw a fit until I puked over her going to work?" Jak cringed. "Daxter can not know about this."

Damas leaned back and folded his arms across his broad chest. "You could hardly be blamed. You adored your mother."

"Will I still love her?" Jak wondered.

When Damas flinched, he realized to his horror that he'd voiced the thought aloud.

The king -- his maybe-father -- was silent for a long time after that. And when he did speak again, there was a roughness to his voice that spoke of uncomfortable amounts of emotion.

"Love is-" he cleared his throat. "Love is an action, young one. It is not a possession to be lost or won. It's something we choose to do, though we all show it different ways. But it has to grow; you can't just turn love off and on like a switch."

He tipped back his head and loosed another sigh. "I...certainly hope that you and your friends will grow to care about us and our city-"

"I probably will. I get attached too quickly when people don't treat me like garbage," Jak interrupted with a kind of resigned nonchalance. "That's why I trusted the guy who ended up being the metalhead Swarm King."

Damas’s cheek twitched noticeably at the mention of Kor, but he gamely attempted to finish his thought.

"-but I will hold no expectations over you. You are not required to address us as your mother and father if you do not see us as such. And we will do our best not to hold you back on account of your stature."

He paused.

"Well, you will not be permitted to enter the Arena and earn a gate pass, but that would have been the case regardless of which body you inhabited. It is forbidden for anyone under the age of eighteen to enter the Arena of Death."

"The Arena of what?!"

Jak let go of the staff with a clatter.

"Why do you even have that?!"

Across from them, Sig snorted, badly stifling his laughter. Noticeably, he did not come to Damas’s aid. Instead, he settled more comfortably in his seat and raised his brows expectantly.

Aiming a dirty look at Sig, Damas did his best to explain.

"Before I was king, it was a strictly gladiatorial arena meant for pure bloodsport. Now we use it to determine citizen candidates' merit as warriors."

"By making them kill each other?" Jak did not look impressed.

"Not other candidates, except in cases when someone has a score to settle." Damas waved a hand and realized that this didn't sound much better.

"It's- alright, look: out in the desert there are many dangers, but you can boil them down to three: ambush by Marauders, dangerous environmental elements, and metalheads. If you want a gate pass out of the city, first you have to prove you can handle those dangers in a controlled environment."

"Still sounds weird to me," Jak grumbled.

He scooted just the tiniest bit closer -- pretending not to notice he was doing so -- and tapped his fingers together.

"Alright, this one I know has to be made up: a river inside a house."

Damas’s smile returned in full force. "Four for four, that's right, too."

"What?" Jak blinked. "No it's not!"

"Yes it is!" Damas smirked at him. "My throne room is an indoor oasis. That's where your mother taught you to swim."

"Mar can already swim?" Jak looked over at the sleeping child and pulled a wry face.

"Good thing we never took him with us to the waterfront. He would've given Dax a heart attack."

Then he leaned back -- ignoring the brush of his shoulder against Damas’s side -- and tugged at his lip. "I know there are more flashes. Little broken maybe-memories. But they're like...textures. Smells. There's probably other detailed ones, but I can't remember."

He shrugged.

"I...didn't actually expect any of them to be real, I-"

He cut himself off and looked away, suddenly keenly aware that his control of his emotions was not the same as it had been before the young Precursor's "blessing". He didn't have a name for what he was feeling at the moment, but it was big, and confusing. He had confirmation that he'd had a life before Sandover -- and it was incredibly validating, he wouldn't deny it -- but he was...sad? But at the same time excited? He was afraid to let his guard down and possibly be rejected yet again, and yet he was relieved to have identifiable common ground with Mar's father.

He wanted a father, but he was afraid of having one turn out like Praxis or Samos. He wanted a mother, but he feared disappointing her with his altered nature.

"Um...what about thunderstorms? I think of music when I think of thunderstorms, but that might be something from back in Sandover," Jak said in an effort to distract himself.

"Hm." Damas shook his head. "We didn't have many thunderstorms in Spargus when you were a toddler; you were born during a dry spell. That must've been the coastal village, then."

He tightened one of his bracers and quirked his lips to one side.

"We're nearing summer now. We won't see much rainfall -- if any at all -- until harvest season. Just a lot of damp fog."

Jak wouldn't admit it out loud, but he hated foggy weather. Too dangerous to go out on the water, or exploring. And at night, everything hid from view and he could feel the eyes on him everywhere. It just felt clammy and wrong. He only went out in the fog in Haven when Daxter was with him. Daxter's eyes had been better suited to the low light as an ottsel then. They probably weren't anymore.

As if on cue, Daxter dropped down the ladder to the cockpit with a thunk, wearing a goofy smile. By his flushed face and the pink smears on his lips, Jak had a pretty good idea of why he and Tess had been hiding out up there. That poor pilot, stuck listening to them make out! Jak grimaced, and Damas looked amused.

For his part, Daxter hung from the ladder, humming snatches of showtunes in a dreamy, distracted kind of way. It was not, Jak realized, wholly dissimilar to that time he'd gotten into Krew's booze stash.

Damas shook his head, but his eyes twinkled.

"Sig," he said pointedly, "Go get your boy before he daydreams his way straight out of the hatch."

Sig laughed heartily and reached out to snag Daxter's sleeve as he stumbled past. "First kiss is a doozy, huh, kid?"

"Uh-huh," Daxter sighed happily.

Jak snorted. "Hey loverboy, are we over the water yet?"

Daxter blinked slowly, then flushed and cleared his throat. "Ahem! Er, we're about five minutes from the southwest edge of the Wasteland island. The pilot said he'd drop us at a temple or something?"

"Precursor monastery," Sig confirmed, "Anybody traveling to the mainland leaves a vehicle up there if they're smart. It's suicide to walk all the way home."

"How did you hear anything the pilot said over you and Tess trying to glue your faces together?" Jak teased.

Daxter sank onto the bench beside Sig and Mar. "You'll understand when you're older," he retorted.

"I am older," Jak answered primly, "And I don't think I want to understand anymore."

Damas conspicuously turned to the side and made a valiant attempt at disguising a laugh as a fit of coughing.

#jak and daxter #jak and daxter sig #jak and daxter mar #dadmas #king damas #gremlinverse au #based on the fact that a vivid memory i thought happened when i was 3 was actually a year and a half earlier #in hindsight that does explain the height of the peacocks in that memory lol #hurt/comfort #Damas is trying to be a good dad #mentioned daxter/tess #i realized recently that everything you fight in the Arena is stuff you run into later in the desert #so im pretty sure the doylist reason for the arena of death is a desert survival tutorial for the player #figured I'd just incorporate that into the story #fic prompts #writing prompts #free day thursday #snippet thursday

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