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radioactivepeasant · 19 days

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Snippets: Free Day Friday

Aka "you've ruined a perfectly good Damas is what you did. Look at him, he's got anxiety"

(For context, I gave Damas a backstory of being last in line for Haven's throne, but also Last Man Standing. This had something to do with Praxis hating "the default king". Long post warning, it's a whole one-shot again)

At some point in his life, the Precursors had decided that Damas was their least favorite Maridius. Any time something went well for him, it had to be immediately balanced by something awful.

He found acceptance and camaraderie that he never had from his elder brothers among the Forward Guard in the war.

And then Menelaus and Nicostratus died stupid, pointless deaths trying to seize glory, leaving Damas the sole focus of his parents' hopes.

He found an escape from the pressures in running the numbers, working out which districts needed food more than soldiers, and which districts needed more protection than most.

And then Father died and Mother shut herself in a convent, no longer interested in anything to do with her disappointing youngest son.

He actually had support from people for focusing on them and not the nest-

And his eldest brother's childhood friend literally stabbed him in the back and left him to die in the desert.

For a time, he'd assumed things would never get better. That the Precursors were tired of reeling him in and out like a fish on the line. But the hook pulled once more and he found himself using the skills he'd learned from the guards who raised him, joining a rebellion against a tyrant and defeating him against the odds.

And then the Precursors let him have ten good years. They let him find love, and family. They let him become a father. And then they ripped it all away in the cruelest way possible.

Damas knew it was foolish to hope that Mar was alive. He knew Phobos had been right to move on from him -- from them -- and throw herself into operating the orphan barracks of the Cliffside district. But he couldn't let go yet.

So he'd endured. Two bitter years he'd endured. And when he found that scrap of a boy in the desert, only to watch him outdo warriors twice his age, he'd thought maybe things were getting better.

Jak was...hard to define. The kid had seen more combat than some of his most experienced scouts. He carried scars on par with the surviving child-soldiers of Atys's reign. And while he shared their distrust of authority in general, he had none of their understanding of ranks and rulers. He just...treated everyone like they were his equal.

And after the kinds of things he must have experienced in his short life, Jak probably had every right to consider himself the equal of any senior Wastelander.

And for a moment, Damas had foolishly let himself hope that the Precursors could leave well enough alone. That they'd just...let him have this-!

Annnnd then Jak had to go and break the one rule. The one law Damas had given him.

Do not compromise the Arena.

Six other candidates had been doing their third trial against the Leucas Freebooters in that Arena. Six other candidates whose results had to be thrown out, who had to wait for full citizenship, because Jak refused to fight, and Sig had decided to waltz into a trial without checking to see what the purpose of the trial was!

Damas was either going to lose his mind, or go fully rogue and declare war on the Precursors. He couldn't discount either option yet.

Deep breaths, Damas. Deep breaths.

Jak knew not to mess with the purity of the Arena. He knew that, didn't he? He couldn't have gotten this far without understanding how important it was to keep the trial balanced for all candidates! He had to have known the consequences for not only compromising the others' trials and putting them at risk of the Freebooters getting the upper hand on them, but open mutiny-!

He wanted to shake sense into the boy. Maybe smack him upside the head and hope it jarred his common sense loose. But he wasn't likely to get that chance.

Even if Sig had caused this, he had all three amulets. Jak only had two. Those two protected him from a lot, but not public mutiny. A challenge in private Damas could have handled.

He knew Jak -- he thought he knew Jak -- enough to make him understand whatever instruction or decision he had a problem with. He knew how to phrase things to make it sound like all Jak had done was ask for clarification.

He couldn't cover this one up. Not with this many witnesses.

Damas knew the name of the creature thrashing beneath his ribs. Terror.

It clawed at his lungs, coiled around them until he couldn't breathe. Kicked at his heart until he felt every beat like a hammer.

I can't lose him too. I won't lose him too!

He didn't know when, exactly, things had changed between them. Was it before he'd admitted that he'd never had a father to teach him- well, anything? Was it before his second trial, when Phobos had pointedly compared the boy to her own students? Was it her less than subtle hinting that he find his closure in helping the boy he'd dragged out of the mouth of death?

Did it even matter?

You've taken enough from me! You can't have him, too!

It was depressingly easy to mask fear with anger. He had been doing it all his life.

In hindsight, so had Jak.

Damas wondered later if that was why the boy didn't seem afraid. He glared at Damas the whole time, but in those eyes was a challenge: I see through you. You don't fool me.

Damas hoped no one else saw through him.

"What have you done?" he demanded, slamming the butt of his staff onto the stone with a ringing clang.

"One of those Freebooters could have shot you in the head -- shot your comrades -- because you threw down your gun! You placed yourself and them in danger!"

I stopped the trial because of you! Do you not grasp how serious this is?!

"Freebooters?!" Sig exclaimed in surprise before cutting himself off.

"And you, you're a veteran of the Arena! You have no excuse for this!" Damas snarled.

He knew he was going to have to set a punishment. If he didn't, the legislative council would. And he knew which of the two offenders they would favor.

"I shouldn't have to tell you the penalty for sabotaging citizenship trials!"

Sig risked a glance at Jak, then set his jaw.

"You're right," he said in a voice as artificially calm as Damas’s was artificially angry. "I don't have an excuse. I take full responsibility. Don't put this on Jak. He didn't know I'd be there."

Interesting. Sig was trying to protect Jak.

But in doing so, he was trying to force Damas into an impossible decision. One that would haunt him the rest of his life if he carried out the known sentence. After everything Sig had done for him, exile felt like blasphemy.

Damas clearly wasn't the only Spargan who thought so.

"Sire, think about this!" One of the Arena guards set foot on the pathway as if he intended to join the offenders.

"It can't end this way, it can't! Sig is one of us!"

One of his comrades, emboldened by his courage, joined him.

"He just came home from assignment!"

"Stop," Sig warned them, but was ignored.

"Lord Damas, Sig’s served faithfully as your spy in Haven two years! Surely it's not that surprising that he might forget to check a roster!"

"Char is right!" The first guard cried, "It's the newcomer who deserves no mercy!"

You'd better shut your mouth-

Damas knew they were just standing up for a fellow Spargan. He knew that if Jak had all three amulets, they'd be rallying on his behalf, too. But it rankled to see them turn on the boy so quickly.

"Sire, if anyone must be cast into the desert, it's him!" Rikard pointed a shaking finger at Jak.

The words were out before Damas had time to plan his next move.

"Absolutely not! I'm not letting him off that easy!"

Oh rot. He had to follow that up with something.

Think, Damas! Use your shiny, spiny, head for once and think like Obed taught you!

He thought of the old captain of the Krimzon Guard -- when that had meant something, when only the king’s honor guard wore those tattoos -- the man who had raised him when his own family hadn't been interested in such a weak channeler.

There's always another way, whelp."

Then you tell me, Obed! I don't know what to do!

He reached for that memory desperately.

*Sometimes, you face your enemy head-on. And sometimes, you wait until you see a weakness. A loophole."

"You're talking about my brothers again."

"Now, did I say that? Clean the gunpowder out of your ears, whelp, before you get me in trouble!"

A loophole. I can do that. I can still save them-!

Damas sucked in a calming breath through his teeth.

"You do make a point about Sig’s record of service. I would not be king if I did not try to keep you all alive."

Let this work, please, Obed, if you're still watching over me, let this work.

"This once, I will give you the opportunity to salvage this. In your absence, metalpedes have settled in Turquoise Canyon and begun harassing our artificact carriers."

He leaned on his staff and hoped no one saw the tension in his jaw for what it really was: fear.

"I want you to drive into the heart of the nest and take out anything that moves."

He turned on his heel to send a hard stare Jak's way.

"Unlike Sig, you get a choice right now: stay here and forfeit your second amulet, or go with Sig and repay the damage you did today with something that benefits your community."

He prayed Jak could hear the emptiness of his threat. That he would know what Damas needed him to do.

Jak was not technology-friendly. Anything that required precision or aiming was more likely to be used as a blunt force weapon. But put him on a turret gun and the boy was a prodigy. If he went with Sig, the odds of them both surviving skyrocketed.

Jak's glare melted into something uncertain, even a little fearful. He was weighing his options. Good. That would sell the act more to the guards -- who were, like all watchmen, incurable gossips.

Damas saw the moment the light clicked on for Jak. He knew that glint.

Jak nudged Daxter, almost too quickly to be seen, and Daxter nodded. To anyone else, it would seem he was responding to Jak.

Damas knew that Daxter was answering him on Jak’s behalf.

Message received.

"I'm not gonna let you send Sig in there alone."

Damas almost smiled. Defiant to the last. Never change, Jak. Unless it's to learn some common sense-!

"Then perhaps something good can come of this debacle. But understand this, boy: coming back from destroying that nest does not mean this discussion is over. I expect you to turn over your gate pass when you return. You're off scouting for three weeks."

"You're grounding us?!" Daxter shrieked.

"Keep talking, I'll make it a full month."

That one wasn't an empty threat. If he'd thought it would keep Jak out of harm's way, he'd keep him off missions indefinitely!

"We're going," Sig said quickly, and grabbed Jak by the arm before he could protest.

"I'd say good luck," Damas said dryly, "But then, luck won't help you."

which is why I'm sending Jak.

The second the elevator was out of sight, Damas dropped into his throne with the most long-suffering, exasperated groan he'd ever made.

"Someone tell me this is a dream and I'm actually dying of boredom in a financial meeting right now," he said sarcastically.

When no such reassurance arrived from the guards, he dropped his head into his hands with another irritated sound.

In the silence that followed, even over the water wheel they both heard him mutter,

"What am I going to do with that boy?"

Rikard was...not a bad guard. He did his job, and he stuck by his comrades. But he had a big mouth sometimes.

"You...favor the newcomer then? Is it his age?"

Damas aimed a tired glare at him over his fingers.

"Boy, if I told you some of the things I did at his age...."

He groaned again.

"This is boundary-testing. I've seen worse. Rot, I've been worse!"

Silence enveloped them again as the two guards stared at Damas, and Damas stared back. He hadn't meant it to come out like that. After several seconds of owlish blinking back and forth, he said simply,

"Crap. I think I adopted him."

Char turned her head quickly to hide the fact that she was trying very hard not to laugh at the king’s slightly stunned expression.

"Do you...think this will be an adequate lesson?"

Rikard winced. At least he knew he was questioning Damas’s choices in parenting. Er, ruling.

"The nest? Perhaps. It's the confinement that's going to get him." Damas snorted. "You know how Wastelanders are about adrenaline. You ground a kid like that? End of the world."

Mar was exactly the same. Gods, if he's as stubborn as Jak at that age, I'm done for. Might as well write the epitaph now: "died of a heart-attack from idiot sons doing idiot stunts".

"As long as he doesn't set anything on fire in the Arena, sounds good to me," said Char, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Are we clear to return to our posts?"

"Can't set things on fire if I don't let him get two yards away from me, right?" Damas grumbled, but he waved a hand in dismissal.

Once alone, Damas dragged his fingers down his face and muffled a scream in his palm. He was going to get Sig for this. Babysitting. Indefinitely. Or maybe make him handle Arena trials for a while, let him feel that stress! And Jak? Jak was grounded. So, so very grounded. If he had to make Jak sit through meetings with him in the throne room to get it through his head, then so be it. No stunts, no racing, no "the Precursors made me do it" nonsense.

Briefly, he glanced up at the statue of the Oracle in his throne room. Gaudy thing, but it did house a lot of parts of the water wheel.

Damas flipped it off.

#writing prompts #fic prompts #free day friday #Damas’s full name in this branch of aus is Xenodamas. named for one of Menelaus sons along with Nicostratus #he was the Daxter of his family #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #alternate version of a scene #jak 3 #brain said write something funny and instead i gave Damas so much stress #but in my defense *I* thought it was funny even if he very much did not #jnd ocs #wastelander ocs #if Captain Obed had survived the metalhead war he'd smack Damas upside the head and tell him to go get his kid #luckily for Obed Phobos is perfectly willing to do that in his stead #Jak knows Damas is covering for him. He does *not* know how grounded he's about to be #good luck getting him back to Haven Ashelin. His dad won't sign the permission slip.

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katieaki · 1 year

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My post-apocalyptic Lesbian Cowgirl Mailman choose-your-own adventure has just updated! Read it here, for free on my Patreon! This is only the third installment of PART TWO, so it's still a great time to hop on board!! I just made a summary of the first part, here, which tells you basically everything you need to know about Lou, her unrequited(?) love, and the ill-advised journey she is beginning as of this update.

In the previous update, we found out (kind of) what the object of Lou's affection wrote to her in that heavily, heavily perfumed letter. In this update, she has to deal with what she learned. Her traveling companion/special delivery, Holliday, is being... quite nice? At least, comparatively? They have a bit of "And There Was Only One Bed" going on, in that they're sharing a tent made for one. That's fun, right? Sleepover!!

Excerpt under the cut!

“I’m sorry to have been the bearer of such bad news, Lou, truly I am,” she said. She stroked the back of Lou’s hung head. Lou was surprised to find she found the gesture comforting, not condescending or overly familiar.

“It’s not all bad,” Lou said, her head still resting face-down on her knees. Her voice sounded pinched and nasal to her own ears and her throat felt almost too tight to speak. The knees of her jeans were thoroughly soaked through with tears. “She said she loves me.”

“Oh,” Holliday said, her brows knitting together. She held her other hand to her chest. “Oh, you poor thing.”

“She said. Right? That she loves me back?” Lou said. “She did say.”

“Oh, honey,” Holliday said. She cupped Lou’s chin and tilted her face up, searching her face for something, but Lou didn’t know what. Her hand was not as soft as Lou had expected it to be since everything else about her was so refined. “Bless your heart.”

Something about having to meet her eye made the tears start back up with renewed vigor. It hurt. It hurt bad. She wanted to say that it wasn’t fair, but that wasn’t how these things worked and frankly, Venus was right. That only made it hurt more. She couldn’t even gnash her teeth and wail against the injustice of it all. Venus was right, she was never around. She was always away. She was unpredictable and unreliable. She’d been so happy to be a rolling stone, gathering no moss for so long and now it was biting her in the ass. Turned out, girls liked when you were a little mossy.

#Wasteland Pony Express #katieakipresentsthewasteland #original fiction #original content #oc #Lou #Louetta Primrose #lesbian fiction #interactive fiction #choose your own adventure #queer western #western romance #cowboys are frequently secretly fond of each other #lgbtq fiction

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bibinella · 1 year

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little lesbian oc buffet 💞🍴

#my work #bibinella #mhu #wasteland gospel #oc #love these babies...

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protosymphonette · 1 month

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more lone wanderer (+butch) stuff... for the first image the bottom 2 are my au where he stumbles his way to the mojave and becomes a courier and yadda yadda you know how new vegas goes. because i love to put him in terrible situations. (is wearing shirt that says Ask Me About My Fallout OCs)

#fallout #fallout 3 #fo3 #fallout oc #lone wanderer #butch deloria #the wastelands unluckiest little feller #he and butch have a very complicated relationship #oc: john vaultman #symphonart

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wachtelspinat · 5 months

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IT'S THE TIME OF THE YEAR in which my dad gets his annual christmas calendar and due to a devastating drought in drawings in the year of 2023 i had to sit down and come up with something real quick. and i thought it would be nice to do my wasteland gals again. the idea has been sitting in my head since the beginning of december but - thanks to work - i wasn't really able to get into it. so it happened that i had to draw these kinda last minute-y... and by that i really mean last minute. i drew these in the last 2 days. and this is in no way a "hooray you did it", but a "you damn idiot you probs get a tendinitis in your drawing hand now" T_T but alas... it is done. and i'm quite happy with it.

hope you all are having some good days, and - if you celebrate - some nice holidays <3

#personal #oc #wasteland gals #art

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lulzyrobot · 6 months

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Playing around with procreate. THR Kass my beloved

#Kassidy #my art #my ocs #mercenary #wasteland

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radioactivepeasant · 1 year

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Fic Prompts: Snippet Monday

Some weeks ago, @sparguscityangel and I were discussing the world map in Jak 2, and it occurred to me that at least one character refers to the northeastern area of the main continent as The Wasteland as well as the island to the west. And in the Jak and Daxter franchise, plot holes are just writer worldbuilding opportunities. So we started tossing around the idea of there being two or three separate communities of Wastelanders, all in different environments, because "wasteland" doesn't automatically mean "desert". And we thought "maybe they're all loosely affiliated and the leaders of the clans meet up every once in a while". For context, my idea of the other clans was Longstump Clan, down where the swamp used to be in TPL, and Foothills Clan, which lives around what used to be the Spider Caves and the base of Snowy Mountain. All this then got incorporated into Adopted Dadmas au with a pinch of Spy Tess. (That bit comes tomorrow)

"Fine young gun you've got there, Wolf."

The chief of the Longstump settlement took a drag on his intricately carved pipe and nodded to where Jak was climbing up one of the old pillars to watch for Marauder activity below. The old man snorted as the boy turned an unnecessarily elaborate flip to make it to the top.

"What is he now, eighteen? Nineteen?"

"Sixteen, by count of his last physical," Damas answered, sparing the boy a glance. A faint smile tugged at his cheek. "Sixteen, impudent, and always climbing, that one."

Sal puffed out a smoky chuckle. "No wonder the Foothills band likes him."

He leaned back and shook out the soft hide vest and tunic common to the inland Wastelanders, rattling with wooden beads and Precursor metal. His hands were wrinkled, and his face creased; Sal was old enough to be Damas’s father, but his hair was the same deep teak it was in his youth, tied back in neat plaits.

"At the rate he's going, he'll have no trouble when it's time for his Proving," Sal observed.

"Hm."

The Proving. That was what the Wastelanders of Longstump called the trials to usher newcomers into their ranks: a three day test of strength against metalheads in the basin, with an amulet awarded for each day survived.

The Foothill Wastelanders called their test Running the Spire. Young warriors or outsiders wishing to join had to race up a dangerous trail on the border of the Marauder homelands, without being caught by Marauders or dangerous wildlife, and infiltrate Snowy Mountain to bring back a piece of Marauder armor.

By comparison, the Arena was a far more controlled environment, with more rules. There was a strange irony in that.

Damas couldn't have said why the swell of pride he felt was so overwhelmingly strong, but he didn't bother to hide it.

"Jak has already passed the first two trials of his Proving," he corrected the Longstump chief with a full smile.

"I predict that before winter, he will join the warriors' councils as an equal."

Sal took another puff of his pipe and shook his head in wonder. "Two amulets and he's sixteen. Shee-oo! You dune-wolves don't do anything by halves, do you? You must be so proud."

Damas looked up. "I am," he murmured, smiling.

From the top of the pillar, Jak seemed to feel his stare. He looked down and made a questioning face. Damas snorted and signed up at him, "No moncaw-business! I'm not stealing light eco from the temple if you fall down and break both your arms!"

Sal laughed out loud beside him. "Ah! I remember telling my daughters that all the time!"

Yvelle, matriarch of the Foothills Clan finally looked up from the trade agreements the three had been exchanging. "Sometimes you just have to let them learn the hard way," she offered.

Damas made a face. "Can't. He convinced an Oracle in Haven city to teach him how to battle-shift -- like the Sages used to in the history books -- and now half the time he just regenerates whatever damage he's done to himself. I tell you, if my hair wasn't already white..."

"Your boy is a War Sage?" Sal sputtered, choking on smoke.

Yvelle's eyes glittered with interest. "No wonder he's half done with his Proving already. Hey, if you need a break, just send him up to the Caves. We'll tire him out."

"In your dreams, Yvelle," Damas scoffed. "Get your own kid: Jak's mine!"

"Worth a shot," the woman joked. "But seriously, my Lurker Wastelanders are asking about taking back their ancestral city in Frosthold. Loooooot of Marauders up there. We could use a War Sage."

Damas leaned back and searched the sky for a moment before his eyes landed on the Day-Star. He frowned. "Let's deal with subverting the apocalypse first. Then we'll see how far I'm willing to let my boy travel unaccompanied."

Of course, Jak would likely have all three amulets by then, and thus be considered old enough to go where he wanted. But Damas wasn't fond of the idea. He'd lost one son, why tempt fate by letting another wander far from home without supervision?

#jak and daxter #fic prompts #writing prompts #snippet monday #adopted dadmas #wastelander ocs #jak and daxter ocs #Sal has four daughters in their twenties and thirties and he's very well versed in Teen Wastelander Nonsense #Yvelle has no children because she'd rather be Bad Influence Auntie to everyone #dadmas #king damas #damas has only recently adopted jak but he's absolutely going to make his peers think he raised jak from childhood #jak plays along because he's never had a dad before and he's loving it #part two to follow tuesday #during the whole meeting dax is having the time of his life ruling the cook tent with an iron fist #spot the Horizon Zero Dawn reference 😉#the Longstump and Foothills Wastelanders have elements loosely inspired by the HZD Nora and Banuk #adopted dadmas au

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katieaki · 2 months

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My ✨ post-apocalyptic Lesbian Cowgirl Mailman choose-your-own adventure✨ has just updated! Read it here for free on my Patreon and vote in the poll! There is a summary of the first part, here, the second part, here, and the third part, here. They have everything you need to know about Lou, her requited-but-complicated love, the religious assassin who just beat the tar out of her, the worst person she's ever met, and the ill-advised journey she is on! There is also now a discord where Pony Express readers from all across god's green internet can gather, here!

Read it for free on my patreon and vote on what happens next! Excerpt below the cut.

She wasn’t so soothed and medicated that she didn’t thrash in panic when someone woke her by covering her eyes with one hand and gripping her injured arm firmly above the elbow with the other.

“Easy, dude, it’s just me,” Artie said.

“What—“

“I have a surprise for you,” she said.

She released Lou’s arm and, still covering her eyes, helped her to her feet. The hand over Lou’s eyes smelled strongly of citrus. Lou had no concept of where she was as Artie led her along. She hadn’t been particularly present as they were making camp and the white noise of the river, the weed, and her lingering sleep disoriented her worse. She reached out and gripped Artie’s belt and the top of her jeans at her hip for stability.

“I made you dinner,” Artie said. “For your birthday. A birthday dinner. Belated. A belated birthday dinner. It’s a regular dinner, too, but, if we just think about it like a birthday dinner, it can be a birthday dinner— a little party. You don’t have to be too festive, I know you’re tired—“

“For gods’ sake, just let her see already!” Holliday interrupted, pushing Artie’s hand away from Lou’s face.

“Hey, come on, man,” Artie said, disappointed.