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radioactivepeasant · 6 months

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Snippet Thursday part 2: Blackmail Au

First

In which Jak has to learn how to properly take care of curly hair

It turned out that the king of the Wastelanders was a little less intimidating when he was arguing with Sig. For all that he retained his commanding presence, with or without his armor, the low stakes of the disagreement seemed to soften him into something more human.

"I'm just going right back to the city again tomorrow!" Sig complained, "I'll do Wash Day when I get back."

"The rot you will," Damas retorted, pointing a comb menacingly at him, "We both know you'd rather shave your head than bother with Wash Day. Just get it over with and you won't have to deal with it for another two weeks."

"Come on, man!"

"You're setting a bad example for Jak," Damas said smugly.

Sig's nostrils flared. "Ohhh you rotsucker. That's not fair."

"I don't have to play fair on Wash Day."

Jak and Daxter watched the back and forth with growing amusement, especially when the indomitable Sig capitulated with some very creative expletives. Why was he making such a big deal out of washing his hair? Daxter washed twice a week if they could get the soap for it. Jak...didn't wash as much, but he tried to at least rinse off the sweat.

"It's just washing hair, how long could it take?" he snorted as Sig dragged out a low stool in front of the sink in the corner.

"An hour at least," Sig grumbled.

"An hour? For hair?" Jak sputtered, "Why would you spend that much time on it?!"

Sig looked at him. Damas looked at him. After a moment, Damas sighed.

"Well, that tracks."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

Damas reached up and fiddled with the crown piercings, sliding them out of tiny metal ports in his skull with a soft click one by one. He set them on the table and distractedly waved Jak over.

"Hair like ours requires more care than your friend there," he explained. "I somewhat doubt you like running around with your curls all knotted and broken together like that. Hasn't anyone ever showed you how to care for them?"

Daxter scoffed. "Self-care was never high on Samos's priority list of subjects to teach us."

Curious but cautious, Jak edged closer to the table to look at the jars Damas had set out. Oils, creams, some kind of soap. Were Damas and Sig really going to use all of these? He picked one up and examined it closely, smelling coconut.

"That's the last step," Sig said, plucking the jar from his hands unexpectedly.

Jak blinked. Without his hood and armor, Sig looked...weird. His hair was close-cropped, but not shaved; olive green coils somewhat smashed into the shape of his helmet. Daxter snickered from behind him.

"Hat hair!" he whispered.

Sig was not amused. He yanked open the first jar of oil and applied it liberally to his hair. "Just do as I do, cherry. No commentators from the peanut gallery."

Damas followed suit with an impish smile altogether out of place on his stoic face. "This is why I don't do helmets."

"Because your head is too fat for them?"

Damas paused in rubbing the oil into his locs to narrow his eyes at Sig. "I know how to override your door lock, you know."

"Oooh I'm so scared. Whatcha gonna do? Shampoo me to death?" Sig taunted.

"I could do that. Or I could add something to your ammunition pouch."

"Add what?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Add what, Daym?"

"You'll find out."

Jak raised an eyebrow at the two grown men behaving like, well, like him and Daxter. They seemed distracted, and he was curious, so after a moment he gave in and poured a handful of oil into his own hair. Presumably they'd wash it out next.

He was wrong.

Thirty minutes he had to sit with the oil soaking into his hair, bored out of his skull. No wonder Sig hated doing this! He couldn't even leave the room, because he didn't know where to find another sink! Equally bored, Daxter started rifling through Jak's jacket pockets until he came up with the bag of trail rations.

"Wanna play Kill-Grid?" he asked, holding up the bag, "Nuts versus beans?"

"We don't have a grid," Jak pointed out.

Sig leaned forward. "Kill-Grid? What's that?"

Jak shrugged. "It's a game we played a lot back in Sandover. You make a grid of sixteen squares. Twelve pieces on each side, the middle row stays empty."

Daxter opened the bag to see if there were enough nuts and beans to even play as he added, "It's...kinda like checkers. Except the board shrinks if a whole row gets cleared out."

"Yeah! If every piece in one row gets captured, you erase that row and make the grid even smaller. Whoever has the most pieces left when there aren't any more open spaces is the winner."

Just speaking about the game seemed to lift a weight from the boy. Damas saw life returning to his eyes, and he actually sounded like a fifteen year old ought to for a moment. Sorrow clawed at his guts like an animal trapped inside. This was his son, his firstborn, and a complete stranger. A young boy who seemed to only barely remember that he was meant to have a childhood. Who didn't even know basic self-care.

"Time's up," he said, gently interrupting the explanation, "Time to shampoo."

"Finally!" Sig huffed.

The chamber fell silent save for the sounds of water splashing and soap squishing into curls. Jak watched Sig with wide eyes, earnestly mimicking every step as best he could. Cross-legged on the rug, barefoot and barefaced, he looked...he looked like he belonged there. Like he always should have. Damas watched his lost-and-found child's face morph into surprise as he discovered how easily his fingers slipped through the tangles now. It wasn’t so very different from teaching Mar to wash his own hair. Just how neglected had Jak been? Damas couldn’t help wondering if Jak and Mar were on equal footing in their knowledge of how growing up was meant to be. It wasn't right for a boy to be so unused to kindness. It wasn't natural.

"Y'know," Daxter remarked, "I really didn't think your hair was that long?"

Jak shrugged helplessly and fumbled with slippery, wet hair, trying to put yet another round of oil into it. Before, it had brushed against his shoulder blades, bulked out with matts and snarls. Now it hung nearly to his waist, and he was getting tired of it sticking to his fingers.

"Ugh," he groaned after having to return to the oil jar yet again. "Sig, can I borrow your knife? I'm not doin' this."

Damas shot Sig a dirty look as the taller man snickered.

"What, ah, whatcha gonna do with it, cherry?"

Jak raised a brow. "Cut it??"

With some effort, he gathered up the thick hair into one fist and gestured to about three inches. "Look, that's gonna get tangled in my holster. I don't wanna deal with that."

"We have scissors, you know," Damas pointed out.

"Knife's faster."

Damas paused and blinked. Somehow, Jak had turned out more like Sig than Mar had, and Mar was the one who actually shared blood with him! As grateful as he was -- overwhelmingly, shatteringly relieved and grateful -- that of all the people to have taken Baby Heart under his wing, it was Sig, he could have done without Sig’s impatience for hair care being passed along.

Even so, there was no bite in his voice when he muttered to Sig, "He gets this from you, doesn't he?"

"I apologize for nothing," Sig joked.

He pulled his knife out and handed it over to Jak.

"Let Daxter do it, kiddo. He can see the parts you can't."

"Fair enough," Jak agreed easily.

"If I get buried in this stuff, I demand financial compensation," Daxter warned as he was passed the knife.

"That's going to bounce up shorter than you think, you know," Damas commented. "Especially with the extra weight taken off."

"Hey, as long as it's not in my face or wrapped around my gun, I don't give a crap," Jak answered. He leaned back on his palms to give Daxter better access to the long curls.

"What was I supposed to do after the second oil soak? Is that it?"

"You can stop there," Sig begrudgingly admitted, "But in your case it...probably would be better to do one last thing of cream, since you don't wear a helmet like me. It'll protect your hair later."

Jak made a face, and Sig didn't blame him. As a boy, Sig had never been the most patient individual. He'd learned plenty of patience over the years, but when he was off-duty? He couldn't help some of the old instincts to just get it done and over with.

It was a good thing his mama couldn't see him right now. She'd box his ears and hold his head in the sink to finish the Wash Day herself. Selda had never let him get away with neglecting himself. Sig supposed he would have to start channeling his mother to ensure that Jak didn't continue to neglect himself.

Daxter set down the knife and examined his handiwork critically.

"Mm...well, it ain't stylish, but you don't look like you let a blindfolded batfinch style your hair, at least."

Damas made a little harrumph in the corner as he wrapped up his own application of a heated oil.

"Oh. Right. I need to change the batfinches' water tonight."

"Come again?" Daxter asked.

Sig picked up a wide-toothed comb and shrugged. "Damas keeps an aviary. He's got- what are you up to now, seven different species in there?"

"Ten, actually," Damas corrected. "The tavus eggs finally hatched. I had to get a pair of rock hens in order to hatch them, though."

"Rock hens? From the mountains?" Daxter asked, wrinkling his nose, "What's a rock hen got to do with peafowl?"

Damas’s eyes lit up with the prospect of actually talking about his birds.

"Rock hens will brood over anything even vaguely egg shaped," he said.

With a click he began setting his crown piercings back into their ports, gesturing now and then as he did.

"The incubators were hatching the peafowl eggs, but without other galliformes, the tavus chicks weren't surviving."

"You got them foster-moms," Daxter guessed, "Right?"

"I did!" Damas smiled. "They're doing quite well, so far."

Daxter stretched up over Jak's shoulder with a serious look. "We're gonna go see those birds, right?"

"After the flut-flut thing?" Jak teased him.

"They're already hatched! I don't gotta worry about gettin' mistaken for anybody's Ma this time!" Daxter argued. "Besides, I'm only goin' for you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, mister "I'm just good with animals"!"

Jak wasn't sure yet. Going to this guy's aviary -- which he talked about with the same enthusiasm Jak used to feel about his bug collection -- felt like it would lead the man to start acting more buddy-buddy with him. Jak wasn't interested in that. He wanted his little brother back, and then maybe they could talk boundaries. But...there were baby animals. And...

He really liked baby animals.

They didn't shy away from him, even when he was in his dark form. If it weren't for animals like the city yakkows and the crocadog, Jak would probably have believed what everyone said about his dark side being some kind of mindless animal.

"Hhh. Okay. We can see the tavus chicks," he agreed, rolling his eyes.

Damas looked so pleased that whatever was left of his intimidating image dropped and shattered on the floor.

If he could find something in common with this boy -- something other than their mutual protectiveness over Mar; a boy his age had no business being made a parental figure to his sibling -- then perhaps they could start over on a better foundation than "I thought you were in danger so I had you kidnapped from Haven City". Even if that had definitely been the right call at the time.

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#jak and mar are separate people au #fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #jak and daxter au #dadmas #king damas #free day thursday #Kill-Grid is loosely based on a Shoshone game i read about Tuknanavuhpi #it's called Tuknanavuhpi and it sounds pretty fun tbh #damas has an aviary and loves his birds. don't ask him about the birds. he'll never shut up about the birds.#jak secretly gets sappy over baby animals #i wish I'd known some of this hair maintenance stuff when i was a kid RIP my 3A ringlets 😅#my edits #made Jak out of Sokka and the Dragon Prince Ezran's hair #i had the same attitude towards hair at 15 as Jak and i Have Regrets now lol #dad sig #damas and sig are platonic life partners but can be read as ship

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radioactivepeasant · 6 months

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Snippets Wednesday Part 2: Blackmail au

(In which Jak is significantly calmer)

First

The two years since leaving Sandover felt like an eternity to Jak. A lifetime without clean air, blue skies, and an endless, unpolluted sea. For all the anguish and anger of the last 24 hours, Jak could almost find it within himself to be grateful that Krew had figured out what not even Jak knew. If he hadn't blackmailed Damas, Jak might never have known there were places outside Haven that were still free. That the entire world hadn't been ruined.

Jak watched the waves foam against the bottom of the rocky spire, again and again until he thought he could pinpoint where the water was deepest. Casually, he slipped out of his boots, lined them up against the wall of the spire, and used them to weigh down his little bag of rations. Then he backed up a few steps, got a running start, and leaped.

Free fall was as exhilarating as ever, and the chill of the water drove his breath from him. He ignored it and pushed further, deeper, until his fingers touched sand. Pure white sand, just like Sandover, fine-grained and soft. With a kick, Jak righted himself and swam back up. He broke the surface with a gasp and treaded water a moment, soaking in the early morning chill with relish.

Something brushed against his leg, and with a start, he stuck his head back into the water to find a bemused lizard of some kind. It flapped ear-like fins on the sides of its head at him, then placidly continued on towards the rocks to search for crustaceans. Jak followed it, watching it pluck a crab up with razor sharp teeth, shell and all. It spit out pieces of shell as it went, then nosed around the rocks looking for more. Jak took another break for air, then went back to following the creature, even reaching out to trail a finger along what appeared to be a small sail on the lizard's back. Annoyed, the animal flicked the sail upright and it flashed a bright orange.

Heh. Sorry, little guy, Jak thought, pulling his hands away. But he stayed several more seconds to watch, even prying a crab free of the rock himself as a kind of apology for startling the lizard.

Jak spent the rest of the morning swimming to and from the rocks, marveling at the feeling of open water with neither gun turrets nor angry Lurker Sharks hunting him down. Even if the rest of the place was a desert, Jak decided he could get used to this.

By the time he'd finally come out of the water, the sun was several hours in the sky. It had been some time since Jak had swum simply for the pleasure of swimming, and his muscles had a satisfying burn to them as he climbed back up the footpath, wringing out his scarf. So there was a new hole in it where he'd tried to scrub out some grime against a barnacle covered rock, so what? Nobody would care.

The majority of the Wastelanders had left when Jak stepped back into the temple, and a few of the creepy monks looked annoyed as he brushed past them. He found Damas and Sig speaking in hushed tones with Kleiver, while Daxter periodically stole their rations.

Of course Daxter immediately noticed the rip.

"Jak!" He clasped a dramatic paw to his chest as though he were about to faint. "You took a bath! Unprompted! I'm so proud of you! Sure, your clothes came out a bit worse for wear, and you're gonna smell like pickled glub, but the point is, you washed!"

Jak flipped him off.

He didn't stink that bad. Usually.

Jak stepped over the three men, ignoring them as if they were Underground members, and settled back on the ledge of the alcove with the ration bag Damas had given him. It was more comforting than he'd expected, being able to carry his own food and know nobody was going to take it away. He wasn't sure what most of the mix of dried vegetables and meats was, but it tasted alright. A little salty, but then, salt was doubtless in abundance on the coast.

"You have to take me back to Haven," he said, boldly interrupting the conversation.

Sig puffed out his cheeks and rubbed his brow. "I'll be honest, cherry, I'd feel better if you stayed here."

He held up a hand before Jak could protest.

"I know, I know. You're still hellbent on killin' Praxis with your bare hands. But it might be worth it to play a longer game. Wait until he's exhausted his options."

"He and the Underground are both looking for the Tomb of Mar," Jak cut in. "They want the Precursor Stone. And if I'm not there, they'll try to make my brother get it for them."

Damas stiffened. He raised his head very slowly, and Jak actually drew back an inch, intimidated.

"They want to send children into the Tomb?" he asked in a soft, dangerous, voice.

"Well. Praxis definitely does." Jak took a handful of a dried green bean of some kind from the satchel and popped them into his mouth. "Underground? I dunno for sure, but I wouldn't put it past them."

Jak swallowed hard, and, sensing his unease, Daxter put a paw on his leg for comfort. After everything, the words didn't come easy to him. Harder now when it was a matter of pride. But for Mar's sake, Jak had to swallow his pride -- and his fear.

"Look," he said, a little uneasily, "I don't, um, I still don't know you. I mean, yeah, that's not your fault or whatever, but we're strangers. You don't know what I'm capable of. S- so you're gonna have to just trust that I can handle myself, and I-"

He swallowed again and pushed through his better judgment.

"...I'm gonna trust you, okay? You say you just want to protect Mar, I'm gonna let you prove it. But if you turn on us, you won't live to tell; I'm just sayin'."

Damas looked at him for a long time and said nothing. Then he rose and held out his arm. Jak stared at it for several seconds before realizing it was that wrist-grab thing Sig sometimes did. He reached back and clasped forearms with the Wasteland king: a silent formation of an alliance.

"Very well." Damas frowned and withdrew his hand. "I am as reluctant as Sig, but it cannot be helped. Kleiver and Sig will go with you -- they have business with Krew as it is."

"Krew?!" Daxter sputtered, leaping to his feet, "What do you want with that shark?"

Sig snorted humorlessly. "Jak was worth the ransom, Chili Pepper, but we can't go letting Krew think he can get away with shaking down the king of Spargus."

"He's going for a long walk down a short plank," Kleiver added bluntly. "Well. Unless we can give 'im acute cirrhosis in under ten hours. I’m pretty sure I got ‘im halfway to that point when I was the heavy."

"Dibs on the bar," said Daxter immediately. "And the booze. Don't give a crap about the artifacts, but the cash register's mine, too."

Jak raised his eyebrows. "What do you want with a bar, Dax?"

"Um, to run it? Duh?" The ottsel rolled his eyes. "Think big picture, Jak! Wars don't last forever and last I checked, "heroes" don't get paid! I wanna job I'll actually like!"

"Sold. Bar's yours." Sig raised a flask in Daxter's direction in a joking toast.

_______________________________________

"Air train makes landings here every three days -- two, if you're willing to pay through the nose for it -- so that gives us about 48 hours to prep for this mission," Sig said brusquely. He swung himself into the driver's seat of one of the two remaining vehicles and turned over the engine. "Ammo, gun maintenance, anything you need before going back, now's the time to get it."

Damas shouldered his staff and paused to drink from the waterfall a moment before following Jak out of the courtyard.

"I think some armor is in order for them both," he remarked, "And some sturdier clothes."

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Jak asked defensively.

"Well I know what's wrong with my clothes," Daxter interjected.

"Oh here we go-"

"That's right: I'M NOT WEARING ANY!"

"Indeed. Not ideal at this time of year," Damas smirked.

He ducked into the passenger side of the larger buggy and narrowed his eyes at Sig. "Don't scratch my car."

"Don't scratch your- when have I ever scratched the Dozer?" Sig rolled his eye. "If you wanted to drive, you shoulda walked faster."

"Yes yes, rules of the Pit," Damas grumbled. "But we both know I'm the better driver."

"If by "better" you mean "more destructive", then I agree."

"Destructive to everything but the vehicle and its occupants, which is the whole point."

Sig elbowed him. "Or you could sacrifice a chip of paint and not put the driver in danger to begin with?"

Jak climbed into the back of the buggy they called the Dozer and took a seat on the floor. As he began tying his hair back in a knot, Daxter leaned over and whispered, "You realize this is gonna be us in thirty years."

First

#jak and mar are separate people au #fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #jak and daxter au #dad sig #damas and sig are platonic life partners but can also be read as ship #snippet wednesday #blackmail au #surprise! it's a two parter lol

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radioactivepeasant · 6 months

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Snippets Wednesday Part 1: Blackmail au

Previously, on the "Jak and Mar are separate people for one time loop" au:

Krew handed Jak over to Wastelanders in exchange for an exorbitant price. It is revealed that he'd been blackmailing Damas, saying he had an abandoned Heir of Mar and would give him to Praxis if Damas didn't pay up. Jak learns that when Praxis took over, Damas had a pregnant lover who had been believed lost...until a DNA test revealed that Jak was the child she had successfully hidden (with an interloper Samos from a collapsed timeline, unfortunately). Jak is struggling to cope with this.

First

Apparently people didn't travel the desert continent at night unless they had a death wish. The gang of Wastelanders that had snatched Jak and Daxter from Haven were all bedded down in the outer courtyard of the temple, taking advantage of the balmy sea air. Jak had been allowed to take a bedroll right back into the alcove behind the statue again. It made him feel safer, knowing he couldn't be dragged out.

Damas stopped at the mouth of the cloister and crouched slightly. He jolted back for a second, then blinked.

"Ah." He leaned back on his heels. "Eyeshine. Just like Mar, then."

"Not so funny when you're the one seeing glowing eyes in the dark, is it?" Sig snorted, thumping Damas between the shoulders as he passed.

"I thought you were exaggerating!" Damas grumbled.

“Nope! Gremlin toddler, staring at me from the end of the bed in the middle of the night.” Sig called back. They could joke about this now. They knew he was okay now.

“Well you shouldn’t have given him milk before bed,” Damas retorted, “That’s why he was up in the first place!”

He turned back to the alcove and shoved a small, wrapped package in.

"I...know what it is to go hungry," he said apologetically, "All Wastelanders do. No one will judge you for keeping rations to hand between meals. No one will take them from you."

He stood again and brushed off his tunic. "To- tomorrow, we're going back to my city. We'll...we'll find somewhere for you to sleep. Then we'll decide what to do about Mar. If you need-"

He cut himself off, looking unsure.

"Er...Sig and I will be over. Over there."

Silence blanketed the chamber for a moment, then on Jak’s chest, Daxter propped himself up on his elbows.

"Well, he seems nice," he teased. "He's no Osmo, but a guy could do worse for their old man."

"Shut up, Dax."

"So...Sig, though. Do you think they're like, platonic? Or...y'know...smmmmoooching right now?"

"We agreed that you would never speak that word in my presence."

"Whaaat? Smooching?"

"Shut up shut up! I will throw you out of this alcove, Daxter."

"Fine fine. So do you think you'll have two dads or is Sig more of an uncle-"

"Omigods stop talking."

Jak shoved Daxter off his chest.

_________________________________________

Jak had gotten very good at feigning sleep. It kept the guards from noticing you in prison, and it was a good way to eavesdrop on Kor and Samos. And when Mar was curled up under his arm, it occasionally softened even people like Torn enough for them to avoid "waking" them.

Jak lay in the alcove and measured his breaths to mimic the easy cadence of slumber. He strained his ears, listening as closely as he could to Sig and Damas whispering nearby.

"You said the baby died during the coup. Heck, Damas, we've been doing a memorial for years! If Jak is Baby Heart, how did he survive?”

Sig sounded shaken. Almost choked up.

There was a soft metallic sound as Damas must have shifted his weight.

"He has my eyes, my complexion, but those cheekbones, and his build...I swear he's the spitting image of Damaris when we were kids. Damaris was smart, she- she must’ve hidden him."

"All this time..."

"I know."

There was a wet, labored breath, another clearing of the throat.

"He's within his rights to hate me. Sig, I- I could have saved him! He was there! My- my own baby was still there, and I never knew-!"

A quieter sound, cloth and skin and armor. Comforting whispers just on the edge of Jak's hearing.

"Hey, hey. Don't do this, Daym. You know it ain't your fault. Praxis told you he killed Damaris, right? You had no reason to think he was bluffing, not after what happened to the rest of your unit!"

Jak didn't want to hear any more. He rolled over and pressed his hands over his ears.

At some point he must have fallen asleep, because eventually he became aware of the smell of coffee brewing. Crawling on his elbows to the mouth of the alcove, Jak squinted out with bleary eyes and found Damas pouring a mug with a blank, foggy stare. Survival instinct took over, and Jak eased into a stealthy crouch, preparing to snatch the cup.

"If you want some, you could just ask, you know," Damas yawned. He didn't even turn around.

"Haven's full of soft nobles. In the Wastes, you don't try to steal a man's coffee if you want to keep all your fingers."

“Hm.” Jak didn’t bother answering.

Speech was overrated, especially before coffee.

Despite his warnings about not stealing Wastelander coffee, it only took a few seconds of silent staring to wear Damas down. He sighed, and handed the cup to Jak.

"Well this bodes ill for matters of rule enforcement," Damas muttered.

But what was he supposed to do? For fifteen years, three months, and twelve days, he'd mourned Damaris and "Baby Heart", the child he'd never even gotten to hold. Fifteen years he'd tortured himself imagining what Baby Heart would have been like. A mischievous daughter climbing everything she wasn't supposed to. A curious son always tinkering. A child neither son nor daughter, trailing along behind him full of questions. Faced with the real, live, Baby Heart -- Jak -- how could he deny him something as small as a cup of coffee? It was, by far, the least of what the boy was owed.

"So. Jak." Damas dug around in his pack, hoping he might’ve stowed a second cup. He knew better than to filch Sig’s.

"Where did that name come from?"

Damaris had always been fond of flowery and frankly pretentious names. The boy was lucky to have escaped them.

Jak shrugged. "Me. I picked it. Don't know what my name was supposed to be."

Damas winced at the expectant glint in Jak’s eye.

"I don't either," he apologized. "You were...you weren't much more than a heartbeat on a scanner when I ruled Haven. The last time I saw you, you were a lumpy little bean-shaped fetus who flipped upside down every time your mother ate something you didn't like. We hadn't even picked a name yet -- although I remember talking Damaris out of "Jupiter" early on."

The boy wrinkled his nose. "Wow. No. I knew a Jupiter, back home. Guy's probably metal-meat now. He was...hang on, what was that word Daxter used- Melodramatic. Really melodramatic."

Damas smiled -- barely a twitch of the lips. "Well. Damaris was too, sometimes."

Jak settled from a crouch to sitting cross-legged at the mouth of the alcove. "So uh...who is Damaris? Or was, I guess. Who was she? I mean like, to you."

Ah.

"That's...a difficult question to answer," Damas admitted. “She was a nobleman’s daughter from the House of Rho -- descendants of the Yellow Sage. We were supposed to be betrothed, but we couldn’t stand the thought of having to be married to each other.”

He cracked a smile. “She was still one of my closest friends, though. Chaos in the form of a scrawny, racing-obsessed girl. My mother used to say the two of us shared a brain cell and only one of us could use it at a time. Harsh, but not wholly undeserved, considering the trouble we used to cause.”

“Oh. So she was your Daxter.”

Damas wasn’t entirely certain what that meant in context.

“I…suppose…?”

That was too much thinking for this early in the morning.

Jak finally came out of the alcove when he'd finished the coffee. He leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets and studied his alleged parent. After an undisturbed rest and calmer heads, he was more curious than suspicious of the man.

"Are you guys gonna go crazy again and drag me back in here if I go outside?" he asked. He wasn't even sure he was being sarcastic.

Damas shrugged and poured his own cup of coffee. "Not if we know where you're going. I don't recommend going far from the beach without a waterskin, but if you want to take the footpath down the spire, I won't stop you."

Jak nodded once or twice. "Good," he muttered.

He'd never taken well to being told where he could or couldn't go.

"Tell Dax I just went to get some air."

It was another ten minutes before the human-in-a-rivercat's-body dragged himself inch by inch down to the cookplate. He groaned like a ghoul, arms out in front of him.

Damas sighed in resignation, and handed over the coffee pot.

First

#jak and mar are separate people au #fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #jak and daxter au #blackmail au #snippet wednesday #the angst now begins to soften into fluffier things #Damas will soon learn that Jak as a teenager hates the same foods he hated in his fetal stage #now he just doesn't eat it though instead of conveying his displeasure through interpretive dance like humans do once they get feet #the computers read Daxter's dna as human and literally no one was prepared for that #damas and sig are platonic life partners but can also be read as ship #Sig is going to have to be the Rules Parent clearly because Jak just went 😶 and Damas IMMEDIATELY caved

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radioactivepeasant · 6 months

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Snippet Tuesday: Blackmail au

First

If he had to answer one more question, Jak was going to punch someone in the throat.

He sat in the same alcove, still out of reach, and glowered at the supposed king from under a curtain of tangles as the interrogation began again.

"What's your name?"

"You already know my name."

"How old are you?"

"Don't know, don't care."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"You can't have him."

"Do you know your father's name?"

"No."

"What's your mother's name?"

"Don't know. Never met her."

"Are you going to come out?"

"No?? I don't know you people!"

"Where is Mar?"

"#$^ off."

"I'm asking nicely, boy. Where. Is. Your brother."

"....go away. Let me go."

And so it went, around in circles again and again. The man they called Damas was getting more and more upset, Jak understood that on some level. But he was past caring. If Krew had told the truth, this was a coward. Someone who had abandoned either him or Mar. Jak didn't owe him anything.

"You may not care about the child-" Damas began, frustrated, and Jak snapped.

"I don't care? I'm not the one who ditched him when Praxis took over!" Jak scrambled out of the alcove and planted both hands in the center of Damas’s chest, shoving him back. “I don't eat so he won't starve! I stay up all night to make sure those idiots don't send him to look for artifacts if they think I'm "busy"! Don't you ever tell me I don't care about him!"

Jak balled up his fists, chest heaving.

Too late he realized he'd played right into their hands.

The man who allegedly sired Jak didn't retaliate after being shoved. Instead, he held up a hand to forestall the reactions of the other Wastelanders, who had been about to intervene. There was something new in his eyes when he looked at Jak now. An understanding Jak didn't share.

"You care about Mar," he said pointedly. Was that gratitude in his voice? Why?

Daxter squirreled out of the alcove and up Jak’s back, baring sharp little teeth.

"No kidding? What part of “he starves himself for Junior's sake” didn't you understand?! You guys got a lot of nerve, kidnapping us and then acting like it's our fault that left Junior without his favorite role model and Jak!"

Damas kept his eyes on Jak’s. "If you had the opportunity to free him from Haven, would you take it? Would you give up his location to people who could save him?"

Defiantly, Jak raised his chin. "And give him to you, you mean? Nah, man. You only get one chance when I get my brother back. If the dog doesn't like you, you're done. I take the kid and we disappear. No one chains us ever again."

Consternation, anger, fear and grief each flickered across Damas’s face in turn -- and across Sig’s. But Jak held firm. Just because Mar was stolen didn't mean this horned king had been a good father before. For all he knew, the guy was just another Praxis!

"Uh. Pal? I don't think you were supposed to say that part out loud," Daxter whispered in his ear.

Sig set his jaw, mouth in a thin, hard, line. "Kid," he said softly, "You don't know the first thing about Damas."

"No," Jak retorted, "I don't. So why would I trust him with something this important?"

Damas turned away. In long, stiff, strides he marched into the antechamber he'd sequestered himself in before. Before sealing the door behind him, he made a vague gesture.

"Sig. Please."

The boys didn't have to wait long to find out what he meant. Sig caught Jak by the scruff of the neck and rather firmly "encouraged" him to follow the Wasteland leader. It did not escape their notice that Sig leaned against the door once it closed, blocking off their escape.

Inside the circular room, benches lined the walls around a brazier and altar. Damas sat on one of these benches and ran his hands over his face.

"I understand your anger," he said dully, "and I do not fault you for it. But I need you to know, here and now, that I did not abandon you. Either of you. You were taken from me."

Daxter reached down and squeezed Jak's shoulder when he noticed him tensing up. "S'ok, Jak," he whispered, "We're stuck here, so we might as well hear him out, right? What if he's tellin' the truth? What if this was just the most half-baked rescue in history?"

Damas twitched as though he'd heard him.

"I would rather the circumstances of your departure had been less...traumatic. But the truth is that I told Kleiver to get you out of that city by any means necessary."

He glanced up.

"I've only known your name for three weeks. Until the ransom message arrived, I believed that you had perished with your mother and other supporters of the House of Mar.”

Jak folded his arms and remained standing. "Ransom again. You can say that word as much as you want, doesn't mean I know what you're talking about."

That got a raised eyebrow and a quick glance at Sig. Sig cringed and shrugged. Damas nodded and took a slow, deep, breath. He seemed to exhale much of his anger with it.

"Almost a month ago," he said quietly, "Krew sent a message to one of my outposts. He said that a young boy, allegedly of my bloodline, had fallen into his "care". And that- that if I did not provide him with a certain "finders fee", as he put it, he would hand the boy -- hand you over to Praxis. I didn't trust him not to take the money and turn you in anyway. Sent Kleiver to make sure everything was on the level."

Jak’s fingers dug into his arms. "I- I don't know you," he argued, "and you don't know me! Why would you do that? What if that computer had said something else?"

Damas shrugged. "Didn't plan that far ahead. I knew it could have been a fool's hope, but how could I risk ignoring it? There aren't that many channelers who can survive dark eco out there. Even fewer who look that much like me. After seeing your face, the blood test was more formality than anything."

"Damas..."

Sig’s voice was soft. Almost wounded.

"I couldn't tell you, Sig." Damas frowned down at his hands. "I promised you- I promised I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize your cover. I would never risk tipping Krew off. You know that."

"For something this important?" Sig demanded, a catch in his throat. “You couldn’t even drop me a message, “Hey, I think Baby Heart might have survived” so I could be ready for something like this?”

"Uh...so...you guys clearly know each other?" Daxter asked uncomfortably, glancing between Sig and Damas.

Damas sat with his fingers steepled against his forehead and didn't answer. Sig only nodded slowly. After an extremely awkward silence, Damas looked up at Jak again.

"You didn't know your mother, you said."

"Nope."

Jak wondered idly if there was a prize for the most uncomfortable conversations ever had. This definitely topped the poor old guy in the cell beside his who had to tell him where babies came from.

"Were- were you in Haven the whole time?" Damas swallowed hard. "How is it that you were only just now discovered?"

Jak’s eyes hardened like chips of granite. "I was free," he said, short and clipped. "We were free. Coastal kids, no walls, no fences. Raised to be a rottin' secret weapon for the sage. He knew what was beyond that transport ring and he just let me walk into a trap. I think-”

He clenched his fists until his nails dug into the skin. “I think he needed me to be old enough to survive Praxis's super-soldier experiments."

Damas clenched own his fists until his knuckles turned white, and Sig cursed violently behind them.

"How old?" Sig demanded. When Jak didn't answer, he repeated himself. "How old were you, Jak?"

It was Daxter who answered on his behalf. "Ei- either thirteen or fourteen. We were never sure, we just know his voice finally broke."

Sig slammed his fist into the stone door and tipped his head back, cursing the Underground, the Baron, and the entire lineage of Praxis in obscene terms.

"I'm sorry." Damas couldn't look at Jak. "Gods, I'm- I'm sorry, boy. If I’d known-!”

He covered his eyes a moment.

“I never got a chance to speak to any of the people I cared about the night of the mutiny. They dragged me out of the city and flew me out to the desert in the middle of the night. I was supposed to die within two days."

He ran a hand across his throat as if remembering an old thirst.

"Praxis bragged that he had "ended my line". He wanted me to think he'd killed you and your mother."

“You’re…really sure I’m this “Baby Heart” person, aren’t you.” Jak frowned.

“There is not a single doubt in my mind.” Damas dragged his fingers down his face and peered out over them. “If I could have gotten back into the city-!”

"They threw you away too, huh?" Jak asked bitterly.

"Runs in the family, it would seem," answered Damas.

He rubbed his chin wearily and leaned back against the wall.

"I know you have only my word to go by when I tell you I would die before letting myself be anything like Praxis-"

"Just your word?" Sig interjected with a very sharp tone.

Damas winced. "You're already upset with me, I didn't want to presume-"

"No, you didn't want to communicate like an adult again." Sig rolled his eye. "If you’d just talked to your partner, I could’ve prevented Jak from flipping out from the beginning. You keep doubling down and I'm not gonna dig you out of the hole you get yourself into next time."

“You told me not to blow your cover while you searched for Mar!”

“I said don’t blow my cover unless it’s an emergency!” Sig made a frustrated wave in Jak’s direction. “I’m pretty sure this counts as an emergency, Daym.”

Daxter snickered, and even Jak had to hide a quick grin at the thoroughly chastised look on the king’s face.

"Love the drama for you, Sig baby," Daxter drawled, "but little ears are present, can you not?"

He pointed to himself.

"It's me. My ears are little. Please stop scarring my mind."

Jak studied Sig’s annoyed posture for a few seconds before turning to him.

"You really trust this guy?"

"With my life, boneheaded though he is," Sig replied immediately, "More importantly, I trust him with yours."

Finally, Jak sank down to sit on one of the other benches. "...Okay, why are you really in Haven?" he asked Sig.

The big man frowned. "I'm...I'm looking for Mar, cherry. Damas was searching this continent, and I was searching the mainland. That was the plan. Playing bodyguard to Krew means I get access to every rumor in the whole godforsaken city."

"So you were actually looking for him? He wasn't forgotten?"

A trickle of guilt squirmed through Jak's ribs. He glanced over at Damas, then away.

"I...uh. Sorry."

"Only a fool would hold it against you, given the circumstances," Damas sighed. As if thinking of Jak's prior outburst, he pursed his lips and asked, "When did you last eat, boy?"

The slightly blank look in Jak’s eyes answered the question a little too well.

"Like...eat what? Anything?"

Jak shrugged and tried to sound tough. "Stole a roll yesterday. And some fruit."

Four grapes, to be precise. Half of them had gone to Daxter, half of them had gone to Mar. And a third of the roll had gone to the puppy.

"And that was yesterday?"

Something suspicious glinted in Damas’s eyes, reflected in Sig’s.

"How much of that did you eat?"

The tips of Jak's ears burned. What did they want him to say? That he was a starving street rat? Apparently that was already obvious. Let him keep what little remained of his pride!

"You...gave it to Mar, didn't you?" Damas asked. His voice caught. "You- oh gods, you only just saw him yesterday, didn't you?"

Flushed with shame for having to admit it, Jak sullenly nodded. He didn't expect Damas to leap from the bench and race across the room to grip his shoulders. Jak tried to pull back, but he was already against the wall.

"Is he alright?" Damas gasped, "Is he hurt? How- how tall is he now? Please, Jak, we- we lost two years of his life-"

Abruptly Damas released him and fell into a crouch before him.

"Two years of his life," he realized, and a guilty wince creased his brow, "...but all of yours. I- I am sorry, Jak. I do want to know what I have missed of your life, I do. I should be asking more about you, too."

"You don't know me," Jak mumbled again. "I don't expect you to."

This time the pain in the king's eyes was that of a fresh wound, not an old grief. He stood slowly and cleared his throat.

"I...er, I'm going to get some trail rations from the Dozer. It's- well, it's not much. But it's protein, and iron. And clearly you need both."

"Huh?"

"Food, genius," Daxter scoffed, pinching Jak's ear, "He's getting us food! Finally!"

Sig caught Damas by the elbow as he neared the door and murmured, "So you know: this conversation is not even slightly over."

"I know," Damas grimaced. "I- no, I know. I just- we'll talk about it later."

"We'd better. We're a team, Daym. You gotta keep me in the loop, no matter how you think I'm gonna react." Sig squeezed his arm affectionately, then let go. "You want me to find a bedroll for the boys? Just need one. Chili Pepper prefers to use Jak's head for a mattress."

"That doesn't suffocate him?!" Damas sputtered, looking back at the two foot mustelid climbing up Jak’s arm.

“Apparently not, but don’t ask me how. I’ve seen those two sleep all of three times,” Sig huffed.

#snippet tuesday #jak and daxter #jak and daxter au #blackmail au #dadmas #king damas #dad sig #damas and sig are platonic life partners but can also be read as ship #jak and mar are separate people au #fic prompts #writing prompts #angst with a happy ending #don't worry they'll get there #in which much angst could have been avoided if damas had communicated clearly instead of acting rashly

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radioactivepeasant · 6 months

Text

Snippet Thursday part 1: Blackmail au

First

Daxter fanned himself rapidly and slid down into the shadow cast by the front seat. "How can you people live like this?" he groaned, "Can we go back to that beach? Let's go back to that beach!"

Jak smirked but said nothing. It was a dry heat, not quite like the humidity he remembered from the Precursor Basin. After two years of the prison, and feeling as if he would never be warm again, Jak felt almost at home.

Home. What a strange thought. What was this man, Damas, going to do once they got to his city? Did he have any intention of letting Jak go free?

What did fathers do usually? Samos complained and criticized and demanded and condescended but he did teach Jak to channel. Praxis blustered and brutalized, he took and he took and he took -- even from his own kin, judging by Ashelin's complaints about risky missions to find relics.

Those were the only fathers Jak knew of. Daxter spoke often and fondly of a man called Osmo, he knew. An elderly man who had opened his home to Daxter while Jak was imprisoned, who treated Daxter like his own child. Jak knew it wasn't fair. He knew it wasn't Daxter's fault. But sometimes he listened to his friend speak wistfully of the home he'd shared with the old man and his son and a bitter envy crawled up his throat like vomit, burning on his tongue. He hated himself for it. Of all of them, surely Daxter deserved it the most! He'd been treated the worst of them growing up, even Jak was "raised" compared to Daxter.

What was wrong with Jak? How could he be bitter about that?

And yet.

Jak folded his arms across his knees and gazed out at the towering red rocks as they passed. The air was surprisingly clean, if hot. He took in a deep breath and glanced up at Sig and Damas. They seemed to be more focused on their surroundings than he'd expected, looking around constantly as if expecting an attack. Well, Jak supposed Kor had mentioned there being really big metalheads in the Wastes.

"Hey, uh-" Jak cringed.

What did he call this Damas guy? It would be a cold day in hell before he called a total stranger "Father" or something ostentatious like that. But it felt a little uncomfortable to call the guy by his name. They weren't friends, after all. Jak would grant him a modicum of respect unless he did something to lose it.

Damas turned instantly with an inscrutable expression. "Yes?"

Jak shifted to lean against the hot metal of what was probably a gunner's seat under normal circumstances. "What are you watching for?"

"Two kinds of enemies," Damas answered. He pointed back the way they'd come. "The southwest coast of the Central Wastelands holds a colony of Frosthold. The Marauders weren't thrilled to discover that the island was already inhabited, and they have a bothersome habit of trying to kill or enslave my people whenever we leave the city."

Jak bristled. The Marauders were slavers? Like Praxis? Dark eco dregs swirled around in his stomach -- mercifully too few to let him transform. He didn't want to know what his alleged father would say if he was That Thing.

"If you see them," he hissed, "Stop the car. I'll kill them."

"Absolutely not. We have a turret gun for a reason." Damas pointed to the construct over Jak's seat. "Sig tells me you're something of a prodigy with firearms. If we come across Marauders, you can prove it."

Daxter waved a limp hand before squeezing further into the shade. "Er...what's the...other enemy?"

"Metalhead Beasts, Chili Pepper," Sig answered without looking back. "Around here, we call em Apex Metalheads. Big-ass suckers, run in packs."

He pointed to a dusty plain ahead where the sand gave way to scrub grass and desert sheoak.

"And they like to graze up here in the steppes, so keep your eyes peeled."

"Graze?" Daxter repeated hopefully, "Like they're herbivores?"

"Graze for unwary drivers," Damas answered with a scowl. "Humans, Leapers, even other metalheads. They'll eat anything."

________________________________________

They make it to Spargus unscathed, and Jak is not as happy about the crowds as Daxter is

_________________________________________

The West Market was loud. Loud, and bright, and crowded. There were dozens of stalls, and scores of Wastelanders wandering between them. Some haggled for fresh fruit, some examined racks of fabric and garments, and some even sat chatting while people did their hair. The nearest equivalent Jak could think of was Rock Village.

"Lord Damas," a stout, cheerful man greeted him, echoed by a boy no older than Jak. "What can I do for you this evening?"

"I need a few sets of clothing for this one, Finn," Damas answered, gesturing to Jak. "Three tunics, two sets of trousers, underclothes et cetera."

"Pre-made, or custom?" Finn asked, raising pencil-thin eyebrows.

Damas looked back at Jak, who appeared distracted.

"Jak. Jak. Do you want to choose the fabric yourself?"

Jak started like an alerted deer. Dark eco heightened the senses, made everything sharper and clearer. In a crowded market, that wasn't necessarily a good thing. He could hear a man ten feet away complaining about prices. Two people at the next stall over were gossiping about someone's love life. There was a baby crying somewhere close by. All of it grated against Jak’s sensitive ears. Damas calling his name was just one more sound lost in the rising babble. He flinched when Daxter squeezed his shoulder.

"...what?" he asked, a little hoarsely.

Wearing an aggravating look of sympathy, Damas repeated, "Do you want to choose the fabric yourself, or do you mind pre-made?"

Jak stared blankly at the men. He had choices? He hadn't been given real choices in years. How many options were there? Was it important? Why did he need so many clothes anyway?

"What's the difference?" he asked after an awkward silence.

The boy behind the counter answered instead of Finn. "Well, pre-made is faster, but there's always a chance that it won't fit you as well as something tailored. But you could also grow into it."

"...I could?"

Damas looked concerned.

"What's tailored?" Jak asked, completely serious.

The other boy didn't seem to pick up on the meaningful glances Finn and Damas were passing each other. He scratched his nose with one hand -- a prosthetic, Jak realized belatedly, with some interest, and shrugged.

"You know, tailored? We measure your neck and shoulders and waist and stuff so the tunic will fit you and only you perfectly?"

It was bragging, just a little bit. But Cairn was very proud of his family's textile business.

He held up his favorite blue measuring tape and smiled.

"I could get your measurements real quick if you want?"

But the other teen jolted.

Jak flinched back, caught somewhere between trying to curl inward and trying to puff himself up to look bigger and more intimidating. He seemed...oddly and noticeably paler than he had been when they'd approached the stall, pupils blown wide. Cairn had seen older Wastelanders react like this before, but never anyone his age. He frowned and looked to his uncle for assurance.

Damas raised a hand placatingly. "Don't take it personally, young one. We are all strangers to him still."

He had hoped Jak would feel more at ease around someone his own age. He liked Cairn. The boy wasn't a warrior, or a scout, but his skill with a loom was darn near prodigious.

Sig placed a comforting hand on Jak’s back.

"We're just not ready for that kind of close contact yet," he apologized, "Just give him time to adjust."

Cairn, thankfully, didn't seem upset. "Oh. Okay, guess you'll want pre-made, then. See any you like?"

Jak looked to Daxter and raised his brows. "Um...do we?"

The ottsel examined the small selection on the rack and nodded. "The yellow one, that's gonna look good on you."

"I like blue."

"Do you see blue?" Daxter argued, winking at Cairn as he skillfully pulled Jak out of his shell, "No? Go for the yellow. It'll bring out your eyes."

"I don't like that shade of yellow! It looks like a pine-pear!"

"So? You'd be a very handsome pine-pear."

"No!" Jak scowled and shoved Daxter, nearly sending the ottsel off his shoulder. "I shouldn't have asked you."

Finn laughed. "Well, we don't have any dark blue at the moment -- the traders haven't brought any more indigo yet -- but we have some woad-turquoise."

He fished around in a basket under the wooden counter and produced a scrap of a dark green-blue.

"Cairn wove this himself," he said proudly, "You won't find a softer, lighter, linen anywhere in Spargus."

"Uncle!" Cairn covered his face in embarrassment.

Hesitantly, Jak reached out and touched the scrap of linen. It was lightweight. Tightly woven, worn smooth and soft. Experimentally, he rolled up his sleeve and laid the linen against his skin.

It felt like barely anything was touching him at all.

What would it be like to have an entire tunic made of this?

Damas watched the boy twisting the fabric around his fingers, over his wrist. There were markings there, the telltale calluses of shackles.

Praxis was going to die. Slowly.

"Finn," he murmured, "Would you make two kurtas in that fabric? And- and a blanket, I think."

The tailor nodded. "I can have it done in a week."

"Thank you. In the meantime, we can take that brown one. What do you want for it?"

Finn shook his head. "You go on and take it, sire. There aren't enough young'uns in the Wastes. I'll not charge; seems the lad's in dire need of a little kindness in his life."

He glanced meaningfully at his nephew's prosthetic.

"Call it returning a favor."

Cairn’s family had never forgotten that Damas had commissioned the boy's prosthetic himself after taking the throne. They'd tried to "pay him back" so many times that Damas was fairly sure that he was the one in debt now.

He chuckled. "Alright, alright. Put it on my tab."

Then he looked thoughtful.

"Can he keep that scrap? Seems to be helping."

"Sure!" Cairn piped up. "I can always make more!"

Jak tucked the scrap into his sleeve and nodded to the other boy silently.

First

#jak and mar are separate people au #jak and daxter #jak and daxter au #fic prompts #writing prompts #snippet thursday #free day thursday #blackmail au #dadmas #king damas #dad sig #damas and sig are platonic life partners but can also be read as ship #spargan ocs #i reuse the same ocs for every au because their whole purpose is to make worlds feel lived in lol #second part to follow this afternoon

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