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eddiebabygirldiaz · 8 months

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WIP Wednesday

tagged by: @ladydorian05 @wikiangela @911onabc @try-set-me-on-fire @loserdiaz @messyhairdiaz @devirnis @rewritetheending @rogerzsteven @spaceprincessem @forthewolves @spotsandsocks @theotherluciferr @hippolotamus @wildlife4life @barbiediaz

thank you darlins! 💖

work has been kicking my ass so progress is slow but here's a little something from paint sex fic (no, i have not yet gotten to the smut, yes it is a little over 20K, i have a problem)

One of Buck’s hands settles into the dip of Eddie’s back and he purses his lips, clearly aiming for a kiss, but Eddie avoids his mouth and continues placing sweet little pecks around the tempting curveof Buck's lips, pressing flecks of adoration at the top of his cupid's bow, the point of his chin, the top of his cheek, the ridge of his nose. Buck huffs and grumbles, trying to angle his face so he can catch Eddie’s lips with his own, whining out a long, high pitched “Eddie” when Eddie continues to evade him, even going so far to stomp his foot a little in frustration. A laugh skitters out of Eddie, clear and pure and simple when it used to be so hard to let loose, when he used to have to fight to feel any amusement, when laughter used to be a foreign force that cut at his lungs and seeped out of his throat alongside ripped flesh and blood, but not anymore. Now it comes easy, thanks to Chris and the family he found and built here, and thanks to Buck. Buck, who has always been able to make laughter fall out of Eddie so easily, like this part of him is perpetually eager to be expelled from his body and given to Buck. And Buck always accepts it with glowing eyes and an awestruck smile, looking like he gains something vital whenever he makes Eddie laugh, his hands cupped so he can cradle the sound and bring it up to his chest so it can wriggle into the heart that only ever opens itself wide open for anything Eddie. But right now he just playfully glares at Eddie, even as a reluctant smile stretches across his face. “Kiss me,” Buck pleads, fighting hard to pull back his smile and poke his bottom lip out in that goddamn pout. “Mmm, so demanding,” Eddie teases because it certainly is true but also because he loves doing this with Buck, loves how playful they can be with each other, loves that these small, simple moments can be so fun. So often, with Buck, Eddie feels like the giddy teenager he never truly got to be, not completely. He is no longer forced to examine every action and word over and over again, weighing their consequences and meaning, trying to be someone he could never be, tearing out the desire for something light and enjoyable out of himself so he can’t feel it, seriousness bleeding out of him and soaking into everything so intensely that nothing else exists. Now, despite being a grown man in his late thirties that has endured the worst things the world has to offer, Eddie can embrace the parts of himself he so roughly shoved down with young, shaking hands.

tagging: @elvensorceress @shortsighted-owl @anxieteandbiscuits @jeeyuns @shitouttabuck @housewifebuck @lover-of-mine @diazass @paranoidbean @bigfootsmom @bucks118 @butchdiaz @bvckandeddie @eowon @monsterrae1 @buddierights @bekkachaos @disasterbuckdiaz @ronordmann @giddyupbuck @cowboy-buck @cowboy-buddie @eddiediaztho @king-buckley @honestlydarkprincess @folk-fae @transbuck @transboybuckley and anyone else who wants to share!

#also desperately trying to find a title for this #and i love how its moniker is the one thing that hasnt happened yet in this fic #paint sex fic #buddie #buddie wip #buddie fic #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley #911 #ryan writes #wip wednesday

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radioactivepeasant · 5 months

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Oops the Free Day Thursday got Long, so you get multiple parts

Part 1

Part Two Here

(Warnings for Angst and brief description of injuries)

To be the king of Spargus was to all but ensure a violent death eventually. Whether by the hands of a challenger, a metalhead, or simply the desert herself turning her back on one who previously had her favor, all kings met their end one way or another. Most took a blasé approach to their own mortality, so long as they could ensure they died in battle like any Spargan worth remembering.

Damas son of Arez was no different.

All things considered, there were far worse deaths -- not that this one was very pleasant. He'd successfully defended his city against corrupted minor deities, and he'd taken out so many in the rescue of the boys that the Dark Makers had resorted to a missile to ultimately kill him. That was the kind of thing that made it into songs and legends. Especially when the most important reason to fight walked away from the crash unharmed.

Having followed his gut, and subsequently having had the opportunity to watch Jak blossom into one of the most formidable Wastelanders the continent had ever seen, Damas felt he could die with fewer regrets than most.

What father worth his water wouldn't be at peace knowing he got to see his son surpass him before he died?

Even if they'd never acknowledged it aloud.

Jak knew, in his heart. He knew what the armor meant, and he'd accepted it without reservation. Damas had seen in his eyes that Jak understood, he understood what he'd left unsaid, but he feared saying it out loud lest it all vanish like a broken spell. And to think the boy had worried about not having a gift for him! As if it was not gift enough that he accepted the bond between them!

Damas heard Jak shout his name, even as he knew his time was growing short. But here, in the razor-sharp margin between life and death, something had changed. Perhaps it was their proximity to the catacombs. Or perhaps it was because he carried the blood of Mar. Perhaps there was no reason at all, mere happenstance. But as he lay crushed beneath the Slam Dozer, Damas felt eco tug at his body with a strength he had never experienced before. Ironic that he should find the power his ancestors wielded at the moment of death.

Light swirled through the earth beneath him, far below the blighted soil. Pure time, stretched into thread and unspooled into the wells of the earth to bring life and healing to whatever it touched.

"I'm...very proud to have been by your side, in the end. Proud of you." Damas pushed the words out of lungs that could barely expand. He took his previous assessment back: this was one of the most irritating ways to go he could think of.

Jak started to get up, promising help -- he was panicking. Damas had never seen Jak panic before. But he didn't blame him. Instead, he caught Jak's hand and pulled him back down. Jak hissed in pain, and Damas realized the boy wasn't as unscathed as he'd thought. He was favoring his left arm and his ribs, and blood ran down his face.

The eco of the planet hummed in Damas’s ears, deafeningly loud. Waiting, just within reach.

The choice was almost too easy to make.

"Promise me one thing, please," he said, tightening his grip on Jak’s hand even as his trapped fingers dug deep into the soil. "Promise me you'll find your brother."

He ignored Jak's sharp intake of breath. "Find my son, Mar. You'll know him when you s- see this-"

For just one moment, Damas released his adopted son's hand to retrieve his old amulet from his belt, doing his best to push through the sharp agony that shot through his chest and torso at even that much movement. He placed the amulet in Jak’s hand, but did not let go.

Just five seconds. That's all I need.

"He's wearing an amulet just like this. A symbol of our family: the House of Mar."

Through the gray stealing across the corners of his vision, Damas saw Jak's face twist, first in confusion, then recognition. He recognized the amulet! But Damas never wore it publicly. Then-

Hope spread through the wreck of Damas’s body, shuttling the pain away to a distant corner of his mind. He knows something! He's seen Mar!

In that moment of elation, the light eco at last responded to his call. In a flood, it poured from the earth and into his body. It could have healed him, it would have been simple. But Damas’s focus was elsewhere. He poured the pocket of life through the amulet and into Jak. It burned through their veins like fever, but once it passed there was vacuum. Void. And Damas could feel it tugging greedily at his mind.

"Stop! You- you don't have a focus ring, it's too much!" Jak gripped his hand, skin steadily darkening to match the sky as he tried to diffuse the eco.

Around them, tiny blades of grass began to push up through the polluted dirt as the damage to the soil began to rewind. Daxter let out a panicked yell that sounded a little deeper than normal.

"What are you doing?!"

"When you find your little brother, tell him we never gave up looking for him."

Damas’s voice buzzed oddly as the raw energy seeped into his throat.

He smiled softly.

"He's...going to love you. And Daxter."

Even that many words were a struggle. He could barely make out anything around him. He couldn't feel his body. He couldn't see. He barely made out one word before the world splintered into starlight.

"Father!"

_____________<><><><><><>______________

Being dead, Damas decided, was very disorienting. If he was dead. He didn't see any ancestors yelling at him for losing Haven city, or Precursors, anyway. He followed the twisting, glittering lights -- not through any will of his own, but drawn along in their wake. Time, if it existed in this plane, was fully out of joint. He saw islands floating in a sickly green sky, just beyond the flickering vortex he seemed to be inside. He would have shuddered if he'd had a body.

Now and then he heard voices -- mostly unintelligible, and none he recognized. But he drifted towards them nonetheless. The light eco seemed to have set him on a predetermined path like a cart on a rail, and his consciousness would not settle into place until it had stopped rewinding...whatever was left to undo when he was no more than a disembodied spirit.

"Damas? Come on, speak to me! Damas!"

Hm. That wasn't Jak. In fact, it almost sounded like-

"Don't you do this to me, boss. I'm not losing both of you in the same month! Snap out of it!"

The ghost of a sensation -- Daxter would have appreciated the pun that crossed his mind -- brushed against where Damas’s shoulders ought to have been. As the light drew him inexorably further down the vortex, the voice grew clearer, and the pressure on his spirit more tangible.

"Seem, get over here! He just- he just flatlined! Don't you dare, Damas, don't you dare die on me-!"

"But I'm already dead?" Damas murmured in confusion. Somehow, this one-sided conversation seemed familiar. A memory, something he'd been half conscious for.

Something struck him in the chest.

He had a chest now?

Damas coughed, and stars burst into his eyes, blinding him again.

The world rushed back like a whirlwind, ripping away the vortex without pity or pause. He was cold, and in pain -- not as much as when the Dozer landed on him, at least -- and one of his shoulders felt wrong.

He coughed again and felt his lungs expand for the first time in -- in what? Minutes? Days? Eons?

Damas opened his eyes and regretted it. Light stabbed into them as he gasped for air, greedily sucking in lungful after lungful. He heard beeping, and smelled antiseptic. A hospital ward?

"My lord!" Seem breathed, obviously relieved, "We feared the concentrated eco would be too strong for your body to handle. Thank the Precursors you live!"

Reaching up slowly to clutch his head, Damas was confused to feel bandages. He'd had his torso crushed, not his head! Slowly, he turned his head to squint up at Sig.

"Ja- Jak," he rasped, "Where's...Jak?"

He knew the answer before Sig opened his mouth. Shock doused him like ice water as he took in the medicated eco patch plastered over Sig’s right eye socket. It had only just been changed, and the smell of antibiotic lingered. The scars on his brow weren't scars, they were raw, red, furrows. Not reopened wounds, wounds that had not yet been given enough time to heal.

Sig tried to raise his brows, then cursed hotly as the movement sent him curling inward with pain.

"Uh...who's Jak?"

It was the Summer of the Long Fog.

Mar had just been kidnapped. Damas had given chase, and nearly been killed for his efforts. Sig had lost an eye, Korah an arm. Several more lost their lives.

That had happened three years ago.

This was impossible! Surely light eco couldn't-

And what do you know of light eco? You've seen it transform Jak into a kind of Precursor himself! Who's to say it cannot transport the mind through time?

But if he was simply reliving this memory, wouldn't Sig have ignored his query? And why would he feel, and breathe, if this was merely an echo?

"What...what day is it?" he wheezed.

Concerned, Sig frowned, stretching his facial muscles as little as possible.

"Sol eleventh, Se'enday," he answered.

Sol eleventh. A week and a half after the kidnapping.

And six days before -- if Daxter's math was correct -- Jak was kidnapped by Praxis.

One of his sons was either on his way to, or already within Haven's forbidding walls, and the other would arrive in mere days to a nightmare he could not escape. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

It wasn't set in stone. Not if he could help it.

Slowly, painfully, Damas pushed himself into a sitting position. The heart monitor shrieked scoldingly at him, and he conceded as he rested against the headboard, dizzy.

"We have to get to Haven," he said between pauses for breath. "L- low profile. If anyone has information..." He let it hang in the air.

"...it's Krew," Sig finished slowly.

He sighed and hung his head.

"I hate that you're right. Who you gonna send? Kleiver isn't exactly "low profile"."

Damas barely twitched his head to the side. "Not Kleiver. Someone Mar would recognize and feel safe with."

Sig leaned forward. "Then send me."

Damas remembered this. Hearing the desperation in Sig’s voice a second time still hurt. It hadn't been Sig’s fault, he understood that better now. It was no one's fault but the soothsayer who betrayed them. Sig did not need to "redeem himself" as he seemed to believe. Damas just needed him to be his eyes and ears.

"No risks," he said. "I'm not losing you too."

Anguish filled Sig’s remaining eye. He reached out to grip Damas’s hand.

"Please! I can do this, Damas. I won't fail you again!"

He reminded Damas of Jak, blaming himself for someone else's betrayal. Damas tightened his fingers around Sig’s and barely shook his head again.

"Fail me? You survived a shot to the eye, Sig. How is that failure?"

"But I-"

"Sig, I trust you." Damas caught his breath. Being temporarily dead had done his lung capacity no favors. "Just- heal first. Mar is alive, and he's- he's so smart-"

Don't break down, keep it together!

"Time is of the essence, I know. But until you've been fitted with the new eye, you're not to take any risks. Just insinuate yourself into Krew's circle. The old shark makes enough enemies to be in the market for a bodyguard. I'll go with you-"

Sig jolted upright. "Hey! No!" He pointed at the king sternly. "You almost died, man! What happens to Spargus if we lose you? You want Kleiver in charge?"

Seem blanched beneath their face paint. "Don't do that to us, sire," they begged, "We can't have committed a sin bad enough to warrant that!"

And Damas laughed. He couldn't help it, it sounded like something Daxter would've said.

Will I find Daxter too? He said they were separated when they landed...

"I told you, we're not taking any risks," he lied, "I'm pursuing a lead, that's all."

Seem frowned. "A lead on Mar? What information can you have gleaned from an eco coma, sire?"

Oh you would be surprised, young one, Damas thought, but kept it to himself. The jury was still out on whether any of this was real, after all. But if it was all some hallucination of a wandering spirit, what could be the harm?

"Not Mar." Damas leaned back and closed his eyes. "Something Praxis is working on. He's laid a trap for-" he paused. "...for someone else. Perhaps a rival gambit to whoever took my son."

He knew it was obvious that he knew more than he was saying. But no matter. This time, he would hobble Praxis's Dark Warrior Program before it ever had its first success. This time, Jak would never know the night terrors that so often drove him to avoid sleep. And if he found Mar while he was sabotaging the machinations of Precursors and Seers, so much the better.

"We foil this trap, snatch the intended victim from the jaws of the Krimzon Guard, and Praxis will flounder. We have five days to foil his ambush."

Damas opened his eyes.

"Prepare accordingly. If you are not ready in five days, I leave without you and you will meet me in Haven's forest. Understood?"

The monk and the warrior stared at him as if he was speaking complete gibberish.

"You're needed in Spargus-!" Seem began to protest, but Sig just groaned.

"Oh no. He's doing The Face. I don't think we can stop him, kid."

"But-! But if Praxis learns that the Heir of Mar is in the city-!"

"Then it would mean Onin betrayed me again and won't live to do so a third time," Damas answered smoothly.

"She was chosen by the Precursors!" the young monk cried, appalled.

"So was I. Yet I have consigned no children to unconscionable suffering for the "greater good". Even prophets can fall."

Damas felt strength beginning to return to his limbs. His body was finally processing the massive dose of eco properly. If this was a dream, it was a satisfyingly vivid one.

"Go. I have much to prepare."

Soon, Jak. You're coming home soon. I'll be waiting.

#fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #jak and daxter au #jnd Wednesday?#dark jak wednesday #except that its Avoiding Dark Jak so that Jak Can Unlock Him On His Own Time #Damas is on the loose #this au doesn't have a name yet lol #part one #part two tomorrow #typical radio: plans crack and gets angst instead #shenanigans in part 2 i promise #fragile things au

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