The wee man I'm babysitting put his Artoo Detoo figurine on top of a moving roomba and left it.

Now whenever I glance at the door to the hall, there's a little R2 unit cruising majestically by on his Roomba steed.

Snippets: Tuesday

Splinter Cell au: Jak found his Seal of Mar from a previous time loop in the ruins of Samos's Hut. Sig doesn't know what to think.

Sig caught Jak halfway to the foundry. The kid was distracted, lost in his own thoughts. Even Daxter wasn't with him this time; unusual, but it made Sig’s job easier.

There still weren't many recruits filling up this new factory of theirs -- few enough that if Damas gave the word, Sig was pretty sure he could take over the whole operation in the name of Spargus. Still, there were two or three men carrying crates down the wide metal stairs, making the perfect amount of noise to cover Sig’s approach.

He tried to put on the friendliness -- heck, the fondness -- he'd had for Jak just four days ago, but the doubts were creeping in faster than he could stamp them out.

Jak is a good kid.

Jak had an amulet of the House of Mar.

Jak is a good kid.

The only people who should've had amulets like this were Damas and The Baby. Mar.

Jak wouldn't get caught up in all that. He'd never do something to hurt another kid.

Jak didn’t always know friend from foe when the battle frenzy took him.

No! Jak is just a kid! He would've been way too young to have been involved!

...but the adults around Jak seem to take it for granted that he'll obey them, no matter how dark or dangerous their demands are...

Sig dropped an arm around the boy's shoulders and tightened it when he predictably jolted. "Hey there, cherry! Where've you been all day, huh?"

Jak made an uncharacteristically sluggish effort to twist out of Sig’s grip. "Cleared out the lower levels for Titan suits," he mumbled, "Power's not rerouted yet. Need to tell Vin."

[[MORE]]

Now that Sig was close enough to get a good look at him, Jak looked worn to the bone. There was engine grease on his cheek, and the skin under his eyes was nearly as dark. Despite the dark undercurrents in his thoughts, Sig felt concern wash over him. He'd seen warriors burn out before. Jak was circling that fire a little too closely by the look of him. Sig clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"When's the last time you slept?" he asked sternly.

Jak finally managed to shrug off his arm. "I'm fine."

He snarled softly when Sig merely caught hold of the leather strap at his shoulder.

"Let go, Sig. I have work to do."

"No you don't," Sig said lightly. Then, with barely any effort, he marched Jak up the stairs and towards the control room that had become one of four temporary barracks. "You have sleeping to do."

Jak dug in his heels, halting them abruptly. "Don't make decisions for me," he snapped, "I know my limits!"

Oh. Right.

Raising his hands in a placating gesture, Sig stepped back. Fair enough, Jak had valid reasons to rebel against the idea of someone overriding his autonomy. But he didn't back down.

"I know, kid. Sorry." He sighed. "I'm just trying to...aw shoot. I'm worried about you, alright? Takin' all this on your shoulders. We got a saying back home: a good warrior takes care of their body like it's their best weapon. When's the last time you took care of yours?"

Jak opened his mouth to argue, but Sig had clearly struck a nerve. He risked putting a hand on the boy's shoulder and grimaced.

"Kid, the cell is big enough to delegate tasks now, I promise. You don't have to be the only one doing the heavy lifting anymore!"

"Well who else is gonna do it?" Jak demanded.

It was probably meant to be a challenge, but he just sounded so, so tired.

Sig frowned. "Cherry," he said solemnly, "if you keep going like this, you're gonna burn out. You know you don't have to..."

He struggled to find words to describe that look he kept catching in Jak’s eye, the way he curled a little further inward when people jumped to get out of his way even here.

"You don't have to justify your existence," he finally settled for, even if he wasn't sure it was adequate, "or, or atone for what someone else did to you. You know that, right?"

The kid looked like Sig had just punched him in the stomach.

"Are you delusional?" Jak hissed at him, pinning his ears back, "You've seen that thing, you know I'm- I'm a-"

His throat bobbed like he couldn't force the words out.

Oh hang it all. Interrogating the boy would wait. Sig couldn't stand seeing his young friend like this.

Jak’s a good kid. Even if he doesn't believe it.

Feigning nonchalance, Sig snorted. "What, you think you're my only friend with spikes on their head and adrenaline issues?"

Damas might’ve been irate at the description, but it wasn’t like there was anyone to tattle to him.

"You're...you're a force of nature, cherry. That doesn't have to be a bad thing."

He jostled Jak’s arm, and affection bled through his last attempt to keep himself emotionally removed from the situation. "I hate to break it to you, but as Wastelanders go, even your more destructive days would measure up pretty average compared to desert teenagers."

Jak squinted at him, clearly incredulous. "Really."

"Kid," Sig snorted, "I took you out hunting with me. You've seen the metalheads out there. You go ahead and take a wild guess what kind of people actually want to live in places like that."

Glassy-eyed, Jak mumbled, "No walls, no guards, no crowds..."

It sounded like freedom to him. Maybe, when this was all over, he could talk Sig into taking him there again.

Perhaps his lack of sleep had loosened his tongue. Or perhaps he had simply become desperate for a confidant who wasn't native to the city that was, more or less, just a larger prison than the one Daxter had rescued him from. Later, when he'd had the chance to rest, Jak would regret having spoken so freely with Sig. He trusted him, probably more than anyone else, but he would still come to dread the potential consequences of revealing little Mar's existence in an open room. Anyone could have overheard!

But for now, he was just an exhausted teenager, glimpsing the possibility of a life beyond the walls.

"Soon as the Baron’s finally dead," Jak admitted, fighting off a yawn, "Me and my baby brother, we're going to travel. I want to go back there. Daxter too, if he can bear to leave Tess for ten minutes."

Sig was taken aback. The kid had family?

"Huh. Didn't know you had a brother, cherry."

Jak scoffed bitterly. "Yeah, well. Neither did I. The sage didn't think I needed to know about that, apparently -- or about anything to do with where I came from, I guess."

"You weren't allowed to know you had siblings? Or your own history?" Sig asked. He sounded disturbed. "Kid, that's pretty messed up."

As if finally realizing he'd been speaking without thinking, Jak shut his mouth with a click. He resumed his sullen expression and looked away.

Sig bit the inside of his cheek. Blast it, the kid had closed up again. His mind wheeled through topics, hoping to coax him into talking again.

"So who keeps your little brother when you're out causing shenanigans?" he asked. "You bring him to the base?"

Jak clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles whitened.

"I...hid him. With the Lurkers. Couldn't trust the others."

"Yeah," Sig admitted, "I guess they don't seem like the most kidproof gang."

Jak shook his head and bared his teeth.

"Samos and Kor wanted to send him into the Tomb of Mar. Alone! I had to strap him to my back and dive in to keep them from trying."

He curled his lip scornfully. "Like I was gonna leave him with someone who thought he could handle those traps by himself-! Aft- After we escaped the Baron, I couldn't find anywhere in the city safe enough for him so I...I gave him to Brutter's tribe. He's gonna be safe with them."

Abruptly, Sig took hold of his shoulders and turned him to be face to face.

"The Tomb of Mar?! I'm gonna need some details, cherry," he said sharply, "How old is this brother of yours? What's he look like?"

Jak floundered, opening and closing his mouth for a few seconds. Then the fight went out of him, and he looked strangely defeated. Sig supposed that asking for help must have been difficult for the boy.

"He's four," Jak croaked, and blinked fiercely. "He looks just like me, but he wears this nasty leather cap he won't let me wash. He...he doesn't talk. At least, not with his mouth. But he can understand just fine. He-"

Jak's hand rose to pluck at a chain around his neck that hung down somewhere under his jacket. Sig knew what was on the other end of that chain. The fact that Jak was playing with the Amulet of Mar out of nerves was concerning.

"Sig...can I trust you?" Jak sounded shockingly vulnerable. "If...if I show you something, will you promise not to tell the Havenites?"

Ah. He thinks I don't know about the amulet.

"What, these city slickers?" Sig feigned a scoff. "They’re on a need to know basis about everything I do, cherry. And 95% of it they just don't need to know. Only way I'd ever tell a secret that wasn't mine was if it meant life or death for somebody I care about."

Trust me, kid. Please, please, trust me enough to tell me the truth. Where did you get that?

With several nervous glances around, Jak finally tugged the chain out of his collar and revealed a battered and very old amulet.

"Look," he mumbled, "I know what the Underground thinks this means. But all I know is I had this when I was...I dunno, I was too young to remember. And the sage took it away from me. Locked it up so nobody would know. My little brother, he-"

Jak took a deep breath. "He's wearing one exactly like it. Well, it's newer, I think."

What.

Sig stared, uncomprehending.

There was no possible way this was true. Jak couldn’t be saying what it sounded like he was saying, no matter how the visual clues fit together. He would've known if Damas had had a kid before Mar!

But...would he have?

Damas kept his hurts and his secrets close to his chest, to be sure. If he'd lost a child before the Baron betrayed him, it might explain why he'd always been so overprotective of Mar. But no, that was getting ahead of himself. He needed all the facts before he jumped to any conclusions.

Sig swallowed hard. "What's...what's your brother's name, kid?"

He knew the answer in his heart even before Jak whispered, "It's Mar."

Jak made a muffled grunt of surprise as Sig suddenly yanked him into an embrace.

"You found him!" Sig whispered in wonder, "By the Precursors, you found Mar!"

He pulled back. "Lemme look at you, kid! By the dunes, how did I not see it before? The resemblance is uncanny, now that I think about it."

"W- what?!" Jak struggled out of Sig’s grip and took a few steps back. "What are you talking about?"

In response, Sig grabbed his shoulder again and resumed their walk to the barracks. "I need to make a call, cherry. You got any proof about where that necklace of yours was? It'll make it easier to round up an army if the Baron messes with you again."

"An army?" Jak sputtered, "Sig, you said you wouldn't tell!"

The barracks were mercifully empty at that time of day. Sig locked the door behind them and grinned widely at Jak.

"Sure did. I'm not talking about Havenites. I mean Wastelanders, cherry! Toughest of the tough! They don't give two craps about "royal blood" or anything like that, don't you worry. But if you can prove that kid is your brother, you're gonna have a lot of people willing to watch your back."

Snippets: Monday

Sons of Spargus au vs Jak X: Combat Racing

The Bloody Hook pub was a hotspot for trouble, and Daxter had become adept at causing a large percentage of that trouble. It was almost too easy to swan in, tell the most absurdly tall tales, and let the local toughs fall right into his traps. Even patrons of the Bloody Hook had their pride, after all, and they couldn't be seen letting some scrawny, shirtless, outsider outdo them with his racing stories. By this point, Daxter had been in the city for only three weeks, and he could already discern the braggarts from the big league racers -- and they'd come to recognize his face as well.

Well, one of his faces, at least.

Nearly a month and they still hadn't figured it out. Without Jak or Tess around, Daxter's primary source of amusement was to rile up Shiv, Cutter, and Edje until the latter two were ready to jump him. Then, it was the work of a moment to start a bar fight, only to turn into an ottsel the instant the racers were distracted and skip out. So far, none of them had seen him in his ottsel form, and none of them knew how he kept escaping a beating. Cutter and Edje, specifically, were becoming increasingly upset every time Daxter made yet another getaway. But each time, they made more threats about their boss, and Daxter got a little more info for his report on Mizo.

Strictly speaking, he was well aware that his adoptive father wouldn't approve of his use of the ottsel form to start fights for amusement. "I have enough trouble keeping Jak from doing that" Damas probably would have said. But hey, it was effective!

Daxter hopped up onto a crate and scampered up a drainpipe to take a leisurely stroll along the gutter. He was in no hurry. Maybe the reading of Krew's will would be delayed by his absence, maybe it wouldn't. He didn't care much either way.

Honestly, why had the wrestling champ-turned-crime-lord written him and Jak into the will at all? Had they really fooled him that effectively into thinking they were loyal to him? Daxter somewhat doubted it. As far as he was concerned, if the will didn't have anything to do with getting The Naughty Ottsel back from the Freedom League, he wasn't interested.

But Spargus was interested, and that was the problem.

For some reason, Krew had also listed Ashelin Praxis, Torn, and Samos and Keira Hagai as beneficiaries. Damas already distrusted the green sage, but hearing that he was going to a will reading in Kras, the headquarters of Krew's biggest rival, made him even more suspicious. That was why Sig had sent Daxter in to gather intel, both on the will and on whether Mizo was gearing up for any kind of conflict that would interfere with trade routes. This was Daxter's first solo mission as one of the Spargan infiltration division, the Gilas, and he was determined to prove that Damas hadn't promoted him in vain.

But still, dealing with Krew? Again?!

The location of the will reading was not the most discreet location on the waterfront, in Daxter's opinion. It wasn't a dive, at least, but a low-end conference room in a mid-grade hotel wasn't exactly what he called "private". Still, the amenities were nice -- though the pool had a few too many chemicals in the water for Daxter's liking.

Daxter slipped in through the window he'd left open and hopped down into a bland, but clean, hotel room. Stashed just under the bed was his satchel, with a series of small bottles he kept well insulated from impacts. He pulled out one of the blue ones and uncorked it, grimacing at the rush of power that flew out. The eco sloshed around the bottom of the vial like a living thing, bright and beautiful and completely unappetizing.

With a sigh, Daxter held his nose and tossed the contents of the bottle into his mouth before he could chicken out.

Light eco transformations always itched. Any little cut or scrape sustained while in ottsel form would rapidly heal, along with the expected growing pains of gaining an extra three and a half feet in height. Daxter was surprised that he only had a few stretch marks to show for his many transformations at this point. At least he didn't shed.

A quick check in the dusty mirror reassured Daxter that all his human features were still in place -- with a disappointing lack of substantial facial hair still prominently on display. Daxter didn't bother doing anything with the wild spray of red hair his goggles were barely holding down. A year hadn't been time enough to teach him to braid properly, and he preferred to let Jak do it. But Jak's ship wasn't supposed to be due until the next morning, and Daxter could survive twelve hours looking like a flut-flut.

This was not the Jak they remembered from their Underground days, or even from the fight against the Dark Makers. The sullen, angry, boy who had reluctantly saved the world had been traded for a confident young man who seemed to have finally found his place in it.

As he set a handful of skull gems down on the desk counter to exchange for local currency, it became obvious to the others that Jak had grown at least an inch taller. He probably stood eye to eye with Torn now; his shoulders were certainly as broad as the commander's. He wasn't wearing the ancient armor or amulet of Mar -- or if he was, they were well hidden beneath his clothes -- but Precursor metal still glinted off of his wrists and biceps, twined around his hair and throat. Jak might have been hiding his status as the Heir of Mar, but he'd made no effort whatsoever to pretend he was anything other than a prince of Spargus.

As the primary trading partner of Spargus, the merchants of Kras had at least a rudimentary understanding of Wastelander society. It was not uncommon, after all, for Wastelanders and Marauders alike to join the occasional racing team in Kras -- though Blitz had yet to convince either people group to host races on their own turf.

The clerk was familiar enough with the clothing of Spargan visitors to have a general idea that Jak was a warrior of higher rank than most. He wasn't wrong. In the ongoing aftermath of the Dark Maker invasion, Jak had earned the rank of Elite Scout -- one of only twenty in the entire city. He held a position on their team that had since come to be colloquially known as "the Warhawk".

If the Scouts absolutely, positively, had to have something wiped out, shaken up, or discovered by sunrise, they sent in their Warhawk. It was a prestigious rank to obtain, especially for someone not even out of his teens, and Jak wore the banded necklace to prove it.

Jak was too proud of how far he'd come from the Dark Warrior Program not to wear it in public.

Keira thought he seemed...lighter. It was like there had always been a great burden lashed to his shoulders, for as long as she'd known him, and now he was free of it. Though he was as blunt as ever, Jak was actually making small talk with the desk clerk -- something she had never seen Jak do -- and even laughing at something the man said. Not even the silent, stifled laughter that had been so common in their childhood; Jak tipped his head back and laughed aloud, light catching on the bronzed rings around his neck. He turned slightly and glanced in their direction. Stibnite paste painted around his eyes served to intensify that look somewhat.

Despite herself, Keira flushed.

The clerk handed Jak a room key, and he pocketed it with a nod of thanks. Then, hefting his bag onto his shoulder again, he strode over to the gathered beneficiaries.

"Hey," was all he said.

Daxter seemed to be the only one who was in no way tongue-tied. He reached out to punch Jak lightly on the shoulder.

"You, sir, are rude. Rude! Letting me think you weren't even going to get here until tomorrow morning!"

Jak just grinned at him. "The tide was with us, according to the first mate. We made good time."

Daxter rolled his eyes. "So you say," he grumbled, then threw an arm around his brother's shoulders. "And here I've been, dying of boredom. At least tell me you brought back souvenirs from the mountains."

This Week's Prompt Schedule:

Disorganized fragments of Jak and Daxter aus. Because.

Monday: Sons of Spargus continuity (aka the only one I've actually posted to AO3 😅)

Tuesday: Splinter Cell au (where Tess and Jak form their own Resistance)

Thursday: Faulty Info au (Jak gets rescued from the Baron early by Spargans)

More fake screenshots via monkeying around with Studio Mir screencaps! This time I borrowed Reidrich from the Witcher movie to use as a base for Damas

Original for comparison ⬇️

What is he worried about? I don't know. The possibilities range from "caught a Marauder spy in the city" to "did I just see Jak trying to feed the Giant Squid by hand?!"

Just messing with Legend of Korra screencaps to make the Jak from my Faulty Info au

Original ⬇️

Jak after two years in Spargus has little tolerance for the Underground giving him "busy work "

Unaltered pic ⬇️

"Don't ever talk to me or my younger self again"

This Week's Prompt Schedule:

Friday: Final Fantasy Friday

I found this while unpacking some stuff

My stars, this is seven years old and I still remember what a pain it was to draw all those lines

You never realize how many small, uncategorizeable things you have until you have to move 😒

Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

Previous Parts: 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

The silence was deafening.

Kor's head lay at their feet, no more taunts, no more laughter. The light had gone from his eyes at last.

The leader of the metalheads was dead.

Jak stared down at him, breathing raggedly. By rights, he shouldn't have survived that battle and he knew it. Without Daxter and his- his father; without Spargus, he would be dead.

Daxter was the first to break the silence. "YEAH!" He whooped and punched the air. "THAT'S WHAT YOU GET! THAT'S WHAT YOU GET!"

He did an impromptu victory dance on Jak's shoulder, then tugged Jak's face to look at him. "We did it! I can't wait to show Tessie back at the bar- drinks on me! Ahhh you're the best sidekick an ottsel could ask for, Jak!"

Jak cracked a smile at last as he pried Daxter off his face. "It's...it's over. It's finally over!"

With a look caught between nervous and cheeky, Jak shifted to glance at Damas. "Think that counts for another war amulet?"

Damas laughed and leaned heavily on his staff, favoring his leg. "I think our city would come for my head if it didn't."

Our city.

Jak beamed.

Yeah, guess it is our city now.

This Week's Prompt Schedule

Thursday: Demolition Trio au