#can't deal with that nonsense

[bearotonin-international]

Nooooo! There's only one Wet Beast Wednesday every week

[ingravinoveritas]

The level of my absolute rage right now at the quotes on this tweet of new pictures of Michael as Prince Andrew calling him "ugly" and "stupid" and a bunch of other names, all because they disagreed with one thing he said/did. The fact that these are set photos and Michael is literally in costume seems lost on all of these pusillanimous amoebae, none of whom should be allowed to operate heavy machinery unsupervised. And he is playing the nonciest nonce ever to nonce, so if he looks old and creepy and unfuckable, that means he is doing exceedingly well at his job, because while it is one thing to thirst over Michael when he's playing a serial killer, thirsting over him as Prince Andrew would be SO much worse.

Also, what really incenses me is that these people were clearly only fans of the version of Michael in their heads, rather than who he actually is, and now the rose-colored glasses are off, so they are pissed. Meanwhile these same people would flip a goddamn shit if someone insulted David's looks or Georgia/Anna's, but because Michael isn't considered "conventionally attractive," it's somehow completely fine and falls right in line with the fat-shaming comments he's gotten recently. This fandom is making me want to drink all the drinks right now...

[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."

[viktoriamagrey]

If any "gen alpha" comes across this, know that generational prejudices are nonsense where it matters and that I respect you immensely! We're in this together. I support you and want to help you however I can. Remember, any "gen Z" who is mean to you is a silly mean bean and already became a cranky grandpa at a young age. Don't listen to 'em. You're cool. Live your life. Enjoy where you're at and when you were born, whatever that looks like. You got this 👍

[brightermorepls]

"Eugh, don't be so nice to me! it makes me want to be nice back." - Astarion Astarion continuing pulling my heart apart piece by piece with his little lines, and his sad little story... only to quickly putting it back together after saying some dumb shit, like calling us all weirdos.

[allthoseotherworlds]

Me, showing up in RTDs nightmares tonight and shaking him vigorously: "What the fuck do you mean all the past Doctors also split off? If that's true, how did Fifteen splitting from Fourteen fix his trauma, if he doesn't actually get the healing that Fourteen is doing? Doesn't that undermine the whole "rehab out of order thing"? Are all the extra split off Doctors also going to regenerate now? I'm sure that won't get confusing at all. Did you actually think about this before you did it or do bullshit ideas just spill out of your mouth like vomit?"

[isfjmel-phleg]

🌋

[write-it-motherfuckers]

Alright, this is kind of an update, but since I’m still waiting to be updated myself, there’s not much I can actually update you on.

As you all already know, I’ve landed in some pretty serious financial trouble due to a whole bunch of things that I really don’t want to go into, and it’s really only gone from bad to worse as time went on, which is why I got so overwhelmed and had to back off from this account for a while. However, as I mentioned in the tags yesterday, there’s a chance that some of that might be getting sorted soon.

It wont fix everything, because like I said, a lot went wrong, but it will take off a significant amount of stress. While that doesn’t mean that I’ll be able to get back to posting properly immediately, it does mean that I’ll be able to start slowly working myself out of the horrible panicked spiral that I’ve been in since it all started. And honestly, that’s all I can really ask for right now, as I’ve been directing all of my mental strength on trying to find a solution, and haven’t actually been taking care of myself as a result.

I’m so grateful for the patience and support, and I’m sorry that I’ve been such a downer with all of this. I’ll try to get semi productive again soon, I promise.

I love you all dearly, and hope you’re all doing well Darling ones 🖤

[glyphosatesolarize]

Aliana is such a gross way that Lily used to very her incredibly racist ideas about black women. Rather than actually try to do better like she screams and harasses so many other people for supposedly NOT doing, LO seems to have instead taken all of her racist beliefs and shoved them into her glorified self—insert character. Aliana is a fundamentally anti—black character in my eyes, as she was solely written from the ground up to be an outlet for Lily’s incredibly gross, racist fetishization of black women. That’s why she’s extremely violent and aggressive towards nearly every single character in the TSR, and why Lily included incredibly racist art of her loving the idea of Rey whipping her in a video that got so much backlash that she actually had to fucking edit it out. Aliana, and the entire TSR in general, have ALWAYS been outlets for LO’s bigotry that she couldn’t otherwise express.

If I recall correctly, that video was actually a Mummy rewrite with different characters, but the black one was very into the idea of the white one brandishing a whip, so your take is otherwise correct there.

The thing too with self-insert characters is that they're not inherently bad, they can do well. The problem with Aliana in this regard is Lily has a shit personality so naturally, so does Aliana.

Aliana has a lot in common with Starkiller, except... and I hate that I'm about to type this... Starkiller's biggest flaw was that he was boring. He didn't have much personality. Sure, he was way too powerful and if I remember right the universe basically folds itself to make him important, but mostly he was just boring. Rey also sucked in canon, but she was at least more entertaining to watch.

Aliana is worse in that she's just a blatant fetishization of black women while also being Palpatine as a young black anime girl.

"Aliana, and the entire TSR in general, have ALWAYS been outlets for LO’s bigotry that she couldn’t otherwise express."

THIS is a really great point overall. We see basically all of it in TSR;

Slavery fetishization (Mayrik)

Racism in a context that doesn't exist in-universe

Incest between sisters (Imagined/Pretend, but it's worth noting that the five-year age difference between them makes this pretty fucking nasty considering their daydream of being sisters and falling in love)

Genocide (Aliana literally blows up a planet, there was 0 need to include this in the story as a planet-wide plague would not justify destroying an entire world; for hating Arthas so much Lily really looked at Stratholme and went "Hold my beer, I can do a worse genocide in my story for the same reason but THIS TIME it'll be justified because Aliana is a sad lil uwu dark lady")

Colonization (Aliana literally erases a planet's culture and replaces it with hers because an older woman didn't like her speaking Sith. Probably not the only planet this has happened to.)

[abelllia]

going feral over “shit that isn’t even remotely canon and will likely never be confirmed as such” again (barnabas bennett being an almost-anchor to jonah that jonah willingly threw away)

[houkagokappa]

Why do we subject ourselves to the opinions of others on the internet?

I did the mistake of reading the comments sections to recent manga chapters both yesterday and today, and for both manga the first comments were excited for the new release, and then jumping to the most recent ones, they were arguing about the most asinine things.

The first manga had some yuri developments, slowly turning subtext to text (in a non-yuri manga), and people were arguing about the sexualisation of underage characters????? While the story so far isn't suggesting anything more than a love confession and kiss. Thirteen year olds are allowed to have crushes and fall in love without it being sexual, so it's just some readers who equate same gender attraction or the appreciation of stories with lesbian characters as something inherently sexual and mature when that isn't the case here/in general, and as a queer person it's sad to see someone imply and deny there aren't any emotional aspects to my identity, it's only about sex itself.

Then I read a gender bending manga and the people are arguing about ...pronouns???? It's so laughable I don't know where to begin, how do you even find yourself in that position? Of course it's people who find the use of "they" confusing, and it's so frustrating when it's been suggested that their gender identity is a little unclear, and how the Japanese language avoids gendered pronouns so there's nothing to translate "correctly" without the text becoming incredibly stiff and unnatural sounding for an English speaker. Also... they do understand who the text is alluding to, if they're able to come argue about it, instead of asking for clarification?

[potatoes-tomatoes]

apologies if this is out of left field at all but do you have any thoughts or headcanons about lucy and schroeder? 😭 they’ve been on my mind sm lately

omg I’m so sorry nonny ;A; this is so late

Charlie Brown listens to Schroeder’s complaints about Lucy barging in, and asks why he doesn’t lock the front door. It’s the surest way to keep her out. Schroder half-heartedly shrugs, admitting it’s crossed his mind before, and says nothing else. That’s all the answer Charlie Brown needs, really.

Lucy doesn’t always lean against the piano– whenever Schroeder’s practicing instead of performing, (never. NEVER. interrupt a musician while they’re practicing) Lucy takes the opportunity to practice playing house, and she’s damn good at it. She can never seem to make a good cup of coffee though…

Schroeder never shuts down Lucy’s nuptial hypotheticals. Lucy’s got an active imagination, and. well, they're kids, so she comes up with funny problems. and Schroeder likes a good brain puzzle, so he’ll slow down on his playing to really think on a good solution.

Lucy’s not a big fan of Beethoven, or any classical music really, but she’s very fond of Sonata no. 8 in C minor, Op. 13 “Pathetique”: II. She walks in some days asking for Schroeoder to “play that lovely Pathetic song”

Lucy finds out that Beethoven was hopelessly in love, and rubs it in Schorder’s face that if he truly wants to follow in the footsteps of his idol, he needs to find a gal to pine after.

Schroeder’s the Piano Guy at gatherings and parties, unfortunately. He likes sneaking in sonatas every other pop song or so, and everyone around him groans. Then, quickly shut up. Because Lucy is death glaring every person in the room. No one dares telling Schroeder to skip his song. If Schroeder wants to play his boring ass sonatas he will play them, thus sayeth the fussbudget.

Schroeder will never. ever. EVER. admit it but… he secretly likes being doted on. Lucy gives him undivided attention and listens to his lengthy talks about music (though she’s always making faces at whatever he’s saying) and Schroeder’s never had a captive audience quite like her before. She’s an audience that responds (see: nags), and the reciprocity inspires his playing.

Lucy believes in Schroeder more than anything. She assuages Schroeder’s anxiety when he has to face a new piece, or worse, when he’s been stuck on a section of a piece for a longer period than he’d like. All she has to do is smile as he plays. He knows that face is genuine, and suddenly he finds he’s unclenched his jaw long ago. Hey, that section suddenly isn’t so hard….

Because of Schroder’s position in the sidelines, he’s able to see when Lucy’s at the cusp of spiraling, doing that Thing where she spreads herself thin for everyone and gets angry, insisting things be done her way. He knows when to step in and remind her that in order to take care of others, she has to take care of herself.

umm as for my thoughts, the only cohesive one I have rn is that I think they were absolutely adorable in "It's the Small Things, Charlie Brown"!! All Lucy has to do is call for Schroeder and he comes a-runnin, ready to play. I have no idea I needed that for their dynamic. Oh! and Schroeder being the one to point out what Lucy's afraid of in "Lucy's School"? His straight to the point delivery, acting as the final nail in the coffin? It's rly important that it was HIM who delivered that line to me for obvi reasons. Just. Yes. yesssss I'm so happy how Wildbrain is handling these two, so delicious.

[a-s-levynn]

.

[pickleprickle]

Welp, I did it. Last week, I went over the principal's head and requested a transfer to another campus for next school year. My department director called today: HR approved it and I'm going back to my OG campus in August. Now the trick is for everyone to keep it on the dl lest my current principal find out, flip her shit, and start targeting me.

[feydfuckernation]

🎁

my thank you present to you for spamming #chess the musical with new (silly) content 😋

first of all thank you for this you wonderful person you 🦁🎁💖 second of all so fun fact i woke up after a VERY late night one night and i opened up photoshop to draw the chess boys from the tirolean spa and instead i was greeted with this monstrosity which i had absolutely ZERO memory of making the night before and now it haunts my every waking moment

[wachtelspinat]

hey i hope you’re all healthy and safe, i just wanted to say i’m sorry to the people i still haven’t replied to, your asks and messages have been sitting in my inbox for over 2-3 months now and i feel really bad about it. there is this urge in me to say so much, to explain everything to you and myself, just... so much to say and it’s overwhelming to form an answer. i end up closing my inbox every time i manage to open it. so i wanted to say thank you to everyone that wrote me, i really appreciate it, and sorry for the lack of replies, esp. to people that asked for art advise and all... i don’t feel very artsy these days, doing a lil tutorial on twitter made me wanna delete everything i’ve ever drawn, so making art and i are not friends rn lol...

so yeah just a heads-up, i think i won’t be posting a lot here for the time being, it feels like i have to dig up a lot of stuff in my head before coming clean here, idk if this makes sense... once i’m over whatever this is i wanna do a nice clean start... and i hope this is the last post of this kind