#making them prove themselves by raiding

[dulcewrites]

This photo is kind of unnerved coded 🤨🤨🤨 Martina Fačková ate!

[shitty-proendo-blackout-posts]

[too-deviant]

The three weeks it took for Luke Castellan’s wounds to heal.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Apollo!Reader

Summary: Luke comes back from his quest defeated and angry, and refuses to let anyone see him. But he still needs tending to. You are the lucky sucker who gets to do so.

Content: post-quest angsty luke, reader is awkward, i use the word under’t at one point because i think im shakespeare or some shit

Word Count: 7.6k

Notes: Pushing the agenda that lukes scar is gnarrly like it’s nasty !! not just some faint lil line. the boy was attacked by an actual dragon, like pls. also this hasn’t been proofread so sorry if it doesn’t make sense

part two

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The spring that Luke Castellan spent on his quest was a strange one for the residents of Camp Half-Blood.

For years, campers knew who to go to whenever they needed advice. When they needed help. They knew who to direct the new campers to when they stumbled over the boundary line — and knew they were in good hands. Luke’s hands. He was the big brother the whole camp needed, and not just because he was older than most of them. He just had that aura — and he was undoubtedly kind to everyone he came across. Not to mention the guy was insane with a sword, and had this boyish charm that anyone would fall for. Most campers, if not all of them, looked up to Luke Castellan.

So when he left, nobody knew what to do.

It was pretty tame at first, mostly just awkward. Especially in the Hermes cabin, with Chris Rodriguez in charge in his brother's absence. A Hephaestus kid had taken over the sword fighting classes Luke usually ran, which proved to do more harm than good because he wasn’t all that great at using a sword than he was at forging them, and most of Luke’s students were already better than him.

But nothing went wrong — at least for the first week.

But after the initial awkwardness wore off, chaos ensued.

Chris couldn’t keep the Hermes kids in check — once they realised he wasn’t as authoritative as Luke, they began to use it to their advantage. Everyone got pranked, the camp store was raided three times before Chiron decided to close it down for the meantime and dishwashing duty every night was not slowing them down.

You hadn’t realised just how much the camp relied on Luke until he wasn’t there to keep things under control. Fights broke out with nobody to step in between them, and more and more kids were showing up to the infirmary with injuries that they could take care of themselves — something Luke would’ve told them to do instead of bothering you and your siblings. It was actually unbelievable how much a group of about a hundred half-gods relied on the steady hand of one seventeen year old boy.

You couldn’t wait until he got back so you could finally get some peace and quiet.

Luke didn’t return to camp for two and a half weeks, and as the days went by, campers began to get uneasy. Nobody knew what his quest had entailed, or where he had to go, so the longer they went without news the more antsy people got. You didn’t speak to Luke much — maybe a few shared sentences to be polite — but you knew what he was capable of. You tried your best to reassure the campers, as did your brother Lee and the rest of the Cabin Counsellors.

You knew Luke would come back. You knew he would stumble down that hill with his head held high and meet the group of campers waiting for him at the bottom. You knew there would be a celebration, a party, and a lot of kids out past curfew. But you knew Chiron would let it off, because Luke Castellan was back.

Except that’s not what happened. At all.

It was a warm day, and you were helping some of your younger siblings make friendship bracelets by the lake. Your camp shirt clung to the sweat on your back and you peeled it off with a grimace whenever you stood, straightening out your shorts and checking on the next kid. They seemed happy enough to be in the sun — really, you should’ve been too. Child of Apollo and all. But apparently your father wasn’t feeling the love for you today, because while the rest of your siblings were thriving, you were seconds away from jumping into the lake just to cool down — even if it pissed off the Naiads.

Thankfully, when you stood up once more and looked over the horizon, you saw your brother Aden jogging towards you. You took the opportunity to hide under the shade of the trees by meeting him halfway, and greeted him with a breathless, “Hey.”

He spoke your name with a nod and a smile, throwing a thumb over his shoulder, “Chiron needs you in the Big House. Looked serious. I’ll take over here.”

“Oh, Okay.” You nodded, turning to the kids and telling them you’d be back as soon as you could, before marching your worn converse through the grass and up to where the house sat on the edge of the hill.

Chiron was in the doorway when you reached the porch, sat in wheelchair form and wearing a grim look. You paused, worried. He nodded at you, “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Usually I wouldn’t do this, but…desperate times. Follow me.”

You followed as he led you down the hall, brows furrowing, “What's going on? Is everything okay?”

He looked at you with a serious expression, saying your name lowly, “I need you to ensure that what I am about to tell you will never leave the walls of this house. Nobody needs to know about this until we have deemed it appropriate.”

“Of course.” You said immediately, folding your arms. You weren’t so warm anymore. “What happened?”

He straightened up, and stared, “Luke Castellan is back from his quest.”

That was not what you expected him to say. Dropping your arms to your side and stepping forward slightly, “What? Since when?”

“Ten minutes ago, give or take.” He replied, brows in a concerned furrow, “Mr D has taken him upstairs. He is injured.”

“Right.” You nodded, “I’ll go and—“

“Wait, child.” You stopped, one foot on the bottom step of the stairs, looking back at him, “You must know something.”

Chiron took in a deep breath, eyes glossed over like whatever he was about to say weighed heavily on him, “He is…not in good condition. On top of his injuries, Luke is unfortunately…not in a good state of mind. His quest has affected him, and he requested quite adamantly that nobody should see him until he is ready to see them. I will respect his wishes, of course, but he will still need someone to tend to his wounds. That will be you.”

“Me?” You’d never shared a full conversation with the guy. Maybe some small talk, a polite smile here and there, but you were hardly acquainted, let alone friendly. You told him this.

“Exactly my point.” Was his reply, head held high, “Luke does not want to talk to anyone at the moment, and I’m sure if any of his friends were to be up there, they would simply coddle him. You, on the other hand…”

“I’m a stranger.” You nodded, “Of course. Right. I get that. So, you just want me to patch him up, act like it never happened? I can do that.”

“Not exactly, my child.”

You raised a brow.

“Luke’s injuries are quite extensive. He will need around the clock care until he is healed enough. He will also need someone to bring him food, clean clothes.”

“Oh, so you want me to nanny him.”

He chuckled, but it faded just as quickly as it came, “Unfortunately, he needs it.”

You pursed your lips. It didn’t seem all that hard — it was just like having any other camper in the infirmary. Only this one, everyone was on the edge of their seats waiting for, and you weren’t allowed to tell anyone he was a mere fifty feet away from them, curled up in a bed in the Big House.

No biggie.

i. WEEK ONE

Chiron had ushered you up the steps as soon as your conversation was over, and given you directions to the room Luke was in. Your steps were slow and unsure — you’d never been this far into the Big House before, but Mr D stood idly outside one of the doors lining the second floor hallway, arms crossed and face taut. The floorboards creaked under the weight of your foot when you reached the landing, and he looked up at you.

“He’s in there.” He pointed to the door in front of him, “Careful, he’s a short fuse right now. All the medical thingamabobs you need are in there already. Keep your mouth shut about this.”

Then he slid past you and down the stairs without another word, and you were left alone in the empty hall. Blinking hard to clear your head, you stood a few measly steps toward the door, stopping just outside of it and leaning your ear against the wood.

Nothing tangible. Mostly just the scraping of wood against the skin of your ear, and once you had stopped moving, there was nothing. No mutters, no bed creaks, not even a sniffle. It unnerves you, but you wrapped a hand around the cold metal of the handle and turned it anyway.

Maybe it was because he had been gone for a while, or maybe it was because you never saw him that much when he was around, but you had to blink away the shock at Luke’s appearance. Minus the obvious injuries, he just looked different. His skin was tanned and rough, his jaw taut and his hair hanging messily over his forehead, longer bits curling around his ears after going uncut for so long.

He was sitting on the edge of a bed that had been tucked into the corner of the room. There was a window just above it, but a thin curtain had been pulled over it and blocked out the sunlight that was begging to shine on you. The room was dark, but light enough that you could see what you were doing when you walked over to the desk in the other corner and started shuffling through the medical supplies Chiron had left there for you. Not much, but enough for now. You could always get more later.

Turning, you finally made your way over to where Luke was hunched over, staring at nothing. When you entered his line of vision, his dark eyes slid up to yours, and he blinked. Then he sighed, straightened his back and gave you a look that said do what you have to do and then get out.

But you didn’t move, not for at least ten seconds. Because while Chiron had told you he was injured extensively, he didn’t mention the five inch long scar that ran down the side of his face, cutting through his eye. It was jagged and gnarly, sharp edges carving a path through his skin. It was red all around, and just from looking at it you could tell it needed work. It was fairly new, but he had left it long enough for it to heal over — a thin layer of skin stopping it from bleeding.

He raised his eyebrows at you impatiently, and you nodded, scooting back to the desk and grabbing what you needed before going back to where he sat.

“I, uh…I need to get closer.” You were afraid to speak, to break the silence of the room, but you did need to get closer to his face. You waited for him to turn slightly to his left, hitch a leg up on the mattress and face his scar in your direction. Instead, he just slid his legs apart, inviting you to step between them.

And so you did, albeit a little shakily. You didn’t know Luke well enough to consider him a friend, but you’d seen enough of him to know that he never acted like this. He was never this quiet — all eyes, slow movements. He was charming, always grinning, always offering a hand. His battle instincts and ADHD made him fidgety like the rest of them, but from where you stood between his thighs, he was as still as a picture. It unnerved you more than the scar on his face did. You’d seen nasty injuries before, you’d never seen this.

You picked up a gauze, doused it in rubbing alcohol, and started wiping the area. You started on the outskirts, but when you pressed over the edge of the injury, his brows twitched and you let out a weak apology before lessening the grip. You kept your breaths thin and your eyes on your hand, but he wasn’t looking at you anyway. He had drifted off again, staring at nothing, and you were scared to break him out of his stupor again.

“He’s a short fuse.” Mr D had said. But he didn’t seem that way right now, sitting back silently and letting you do your work on his face. He wasn’t much of anything, if you had to make an assessment. You really wanted to know what happened on his quest, and why he was gone for so long, but you also didn’t want to test Mr D’s words by asking.

“What happened?” He didn’t say anything, again. You pressed on, “I sort of need to know before I reopen it…just in case something—“

“A dragon.” He murmured at once. His voice was rough, like he’d just been screaming. Maybe he had been, and that’s why Mr D had warned you. But it seemed all his anger had dissipated in the time it took for Chiron to get you and explain the situation. Maybe. “Ladon. Poisonous bites.”

So he had been to the Garden of the Hesperides. Presumably to collect some Golden Apples. What for, you didn’t know. You weren’t going to ask. You just grabbed a scalpel, muttered a quiet, “This is going to hurt.”, and started cutting down the scar, following its path across his cheek.

Luke hissed hard, not expecting you to dive in so suddenly, and his hand reached out for something to grab. That ended up being your camp shirt, bunching at your waist from where he gripped it between his knuckles. You didn’t mind it, but when you put the scalpel down and started to clean the inside of his wound, he adjusted his hand so he was holding the side of your waist instead, eyes clamped shut and feet tapping the wooden floor. You paused momentarily, but you couldn’t let him breathe or else it would just hurt more when you went back to work, so you brushed it off and continued your rampage down his face until the whole wound was free of the dirt and grime he had let accumulate inside it while he travelled back to Long Island.

“Sorry.” You finally built up the courage to say.

“S’Okay.” He breathed, “My fault.”

You wiped it over one last time before taping a bandage over the top. You cut it into two bits so he could still see out of his left eye, before stepping back from between his legs and assessing your work. Once you had deemed it good enough, you picked up your supplies and headed back to the desk, feeling Luke’s hand fall from your side.

“Uh—“ You really wanted to leave the room now, “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but how long did you leave—“

“Three days.” He answered quickly. Chiron had probably already asked him that, and you felt stupid for making him repeat it.

You turned to leave, but then remembered what Chiron had said to you before sending you up to Luke’s room. You looked at him.

“Do you need anything from your cabin?” You asked, “It’s, uh, kind of my job to get that, if you do.” You turned to face him fully, “Oh, and are you hungry? Because I have to—“

“Just some clean clothes, thanks.” He quipped. It wasn’t looking like he wanted you around for much longer.

You were quick to leave.

It was hard coming up with an excuse as to why you were stealing clothes from Luke Castellan’s bunk, but you just told them there was a new camper in the Big House and Chiron had run out of spares that morning. They brushed it off, and you ran back up to Luke with the clothes bunched in your arms, and were breathless by the time you dropped them on the bed beside him.

“Did anyone see you?” He asked just as you were about to give him the privacy he needed to change.

You were facing the door when he asked, and turned to answer, but he was already pulling off the marred camp shirt he’d arrived in, revealing his very toned torso. You paused, eyes drifting, but quickly snapped them back up to his awaiting gaze. He didn’t seem to care that he was shirtless in front of you, but neither did most boys.

“No.” You weren’t sure how he would react if you’d told him the truth, even though it was harmless. He nodded and started to unbutton his cargos, and you were quick to turn back to the door and yank it open, “Okay, I’ll…uh, probably be back at…later. Bye.”

The rest of your week was rough to say the least. You had a lot on your plate, and it didn’t help when your siblings kept wondering why you were at the Big House three times a day and why you always made a second plate of food at mealtimes. Eventually, it got around that a new camper had arrived, and you were taking care of them. That's when the rumour mill started running.

“I heard they were older, like twenty or something. Apparently they’re super embarrassed.”

“Well, I heard they were injured super badly on their way into camp, and that’s why nobody’s seen them yet.”

“I heard they got violent when Chiron explained the demigod thing and now they have him locked away in the basement!”

So yeah, lots on your plate. You did little to dispel the rumours, not wanting to allude to the truth accidentally, but when you were the only one who knew the truth, it was difficult to hide from those who wanted it too.

But after a few days, you had developed a routine. Wake up, get breakfast, take food to Luke. Check his dressings while he ate and restock your med supplies if needed. Go to whatever task you were running that day, ignore anyone who asked about the new camper, go for lunch. Take lunch to Luke. Check his dressings. Dismiss curious campers. Go to dinner. Take dinner to Luke. Check his dressings. Dismiss curious campers. Lead the campfire sing-along. Check on Luke one more time. Go to bed.

It was a lot, to say the least. But you didn’t complain — if you did this top secret doctor work right, Chiron might make you cabin counsellor when your older sister Alina leaves after this summer.

And just as you had, Luke eased into the routine too. Every time you entered his room, with a polite knock, he would be perched on the side of his bed, legs open and inviting.

You wondered if he actually did this for you, or if he just never moved from that position.

Sunday morning was slightly different — as camp activities were more relaxed and you had more time on your hands. You strolled slowly to the Big House after breakfast — rather than your usual sprint so you weren’t late to Archery — and knocked politely on the door before cracking it open and heading for the desk. With a plate of food in one hand and a fresh bandage in the other, you made your way over to where Luke sat, readying yourself for another quiet twenty minutes of work. It was quite peaceful, now that you’d gotten used to it. More comfortable, less awkward.

“Hi.”

You blinked, almost dropping what you held, but Luke was there to grab the bandage from your hand as your grip loosened in your shock. He attempted a smile, but winced when it pulled at his scar, and chose to nod at you instead.

“Uh…” You put the plate down into the bedside table, straightening your shirt, “Hi.”

He’d never said hi before.

He didn’t say anything else after that, just let you do what you did, but your mind remained a whirlwind. He said hi. That’s a completely normal thing for him to do, and yet you were reeling from it.

Once you had changed his dressings, you headed for the door and allowed him to eat his breakfast. Your hand wrapped around the metal of the handle and turned it, pulling open the wooden door and stepping one foot into the hall before the voice sounded again.

“Bye.”

You chuckled this time, not looking back, “Bye.”

ii. WEEK TWO

It was an average morning, the blistering sun from last week finally fading and allowing you to walk comfortably outside. You never knew what your dad’s problem with you was last week, but you suspected that it had something to do with the cabin counsellor who slept on the second floor of the Big House with a bandage across his eye.

Like usual, you were heading up the stairs, breakfast plate in hand, ready to give your first checkup of the day. If Luke was healing like he should’ve been, you wouldn’t have to change his dressing at lunch, and you were crossing your fingers that he was.

Pushing the door open with your back, you walked in slowly and headed towards the desk like usual. You grabbed the bandage, made your way over to Luke and put the plate down next to his small lamp. Then you straightened up and put the new bandage under your arm, holding it in place while you moved to unwrap his eye.

Before you could, however, Luke was pulling the bandage from where it was trapped against your ribcage and held it in his own hands. You looked at him, and he gave you a weak smile, “Thought it’d be easier if I held it for you.”

You murmured out a thanks and smiled at him, keeping it there even as you peeled back the old dressings and revealed his still healing scar. Usually, it wouldn’t take this long for a demigod wound to heal itself, but because Luke had gone so long without nectar or ambrosia — or any form of medical help, that is — it was in worse condition. You had to scrape out the infected skin from it a few days back, and it left Luke blinking hard to try and hide the tears.

Nowadays he seemed to be better — not as broody as he seemed last week. But you always caught him drifting off, staring at nothing. You wondered if he was reliving it, asking himself what would’ve changed had he done it differently. Your guess? Not much — you’d read up on Ladon the dragon after finding out it was he who caused Luke’s pain, just in case there was something you needed to know before starting the healing process. He was vicious, not even Hercules could get past him. And while Luke was the best swordsman camp had seen in three centuries, even he would struggle going at Ladon alone.

Once you had redressed his face, you stepped back like you always did, your footfalls sounding out the same metronome as they did three times a day. You wondered if you would wear a mark into the floor from your constant repeating path — door to the desk, desk to the bed, bed to the door. You briefly thought that wouldn’t be possible, something like that would take years to indent, but then you looked back at Luke — his forlorn expression, the bandage across his eye and the bags under’t — and wondered how long it would be before he could build the courage to stand up from the bed, return to a camp that relied so heavily on his skill set, and take the weight of his failure with him.

He pulled the plate onto his lap and you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone look so sad while stuffing their face with bacon.

“Hey, uh —“ You started, hand on the doorframe in an attempt to look casual. You couldn’t just leave him like that, right? “Do you…know — uh, know where the spare practising swords are kept?” A measly excuse, but it had him looking at you again.

He swallowed his food before speaking, “The wooden ones are in these old boxes in the back of weapon storage, but I think the celestial bronze ones are kept in the Hephaestus cabin now.”

You nodded, tapping your hand against the wood. That didn’t work in the way you wanted it to, but you weren’t going to force it. So you turned, went to open the door and leave —

“Why?”

Nevermind!

You whirled around — not too eagerly! You didn’t want to scare him off, now — “Oh! Uh, some Ares kid snapped one in half the other day, we needed a replacement.”

Luke nodded. Shit, say something else. Get him talking!

“Odd weather we’ve been having.”

What?

His lips parted, and he had the gall to look amused, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, yeah.” You breathed, humiliated. You pressed your lips together, ready to give up, until a thought came to you, “Hey, you haven’t been outside in, like, a week.”

Luke nodded, shadows falling across his face like the mere mention of the fact that he hadn’t been outside was a painful reminder of his circumstances, “Yeah, I, uh, don’t think I want anyone to know that I’m back yet. Not until I’m healed, y’know?”

You knew. You also knew that probably wasn’t the only reason he refused to let anyone know he was safe in the Big House, but you didn’t say that.

“Right, but —“ A breathy chuckle, “You need, like, sunlight. Fresh air.”

“I don’t wanna risk it.”

“Ok.” And that was that. You said goodbye, left him to his own devices, and didn’t mention the sun thing again for two days.

It was on Wednesday that you finally gave in. Now that you’d put the thought in your own head, you kept noticing the effects that being cooped indoors was having on Luke. His skin, once tanned and glistening under the sun, was paling by the hour. He winced whenever he had to straighten his back, and even though his scar was healing nicely, he seemed to be more sensitive to the pain of it than he was a week earlier.

So on Tuesday night you formed a plan, and on Wednesday morning at breakfast you put it into action. It started with asking Lee — ever so casually, of course — what the activities schedule was looking like. He started yapping about their cabin, and you waited patiently for him to bring up the Amphitheatre. Then, when he said the Apollo kids were training at two, you said —

“I thought we trained at twelve on Wednesdays?”

“No, that’s Ares and Hephaestus.”

“Oh, but don’t they train at four?”

“No, Hermes and Athena train at four.”

“Then who trains at ten?”

“Nobody.”

Bingo.

Luke was halfway through pulling on a pair of shorts when you burst into the room. He jumped, yanking them up the rest of the way before turning to look at you — his face was a mix of shock and unbridled anger until he realised it was you, then it softened into something calmer. But you saw him, even for just a split second, and the animosity in his gaze made you take a quiet step back. It was fearful almost — you’d seen him annoyed, irritated. You’d even bore witness to the Carden Cross Hot Cross Bun Incident of 2002,

(Carden Cross was this fifteen year old Ares kid. He threw one too many hot cross buns at the Aphrodite table and a then-sixteen-year-old Luke had wrung him out in front of everyone.

Nobody had ever heard Luke raise his voice like that, and Carden avoided everyone for a week straight).

but you had never seen such indignation in his gaze. It was gone in a flash, and you could’ve told yourself it was never there, but it was. You were hit with the humbling realisation that whatever Luke had gone through on his quest was more damaging than you could ever imagine, and no amount of fresh air would change him back to who he was before.

That saddened you, but then you realised he was shirtless again and all morbid thoughts went straight out the window. You grinned at him, “Sorry. But we don’t have a lot of time.”

He stared at you, then at your hands that were empty of breakfast food or bandages, and asked, “Time for what?”

“For some fresh air!” You sang, throwing in some jazz hands as if they would wipe the hesitant frown that had graced his features, “Put some shoes on, let’s go!”

He said your name softly, “I can’t go outside.”

You straightened up from where you had leaned dramatically into the room and sent him a blank look, eyes still sparkling, “You can. I checked the schedule, the Amphitheatre is free from ten till twelve and it is currently…nine forty-five. If we hurry, we’ll miss the post-breakfast rush.”

Luke looked a little more at ease now, but he made no move to put his shoes on. His body twitched like he was thinking about it, but when he couldn’t come up with a valid excuse to get out of it, he sighed and nodded, “Alright. Doctors orders, I guess.”

“Awesome.” You smiled, “I’ll let you get ready.”

It took some convincing, even after you’d gotten him to follow you down the stairs, to get him out the door. But a few firm words (and a couple of threats) and he was basking in the morning sunlight just as you’d planned.

Well — more like squinting painfully. Turns out, after a week and a half in a dark room, it takes a minute to get used to the sunlight again. You ensured nobody was around and took the long way to the Ampitheatre, letting out a content sigh when you knew you were away from prying eyes. Luke seemed more relaxed already, and you could practically see his muscles getting looser.

“Damn.” He muttered, hand over his eyes, “I needed this.”

“Yeah.” You spoke over an unattractive snort, “I’m an Apollo kid, I know a Vitamin D deficiency when I’m looking at one.”

“Alright.” He rolled his eyes at you, amused, and moved towards the steps. He climbed up two before turning and sitting, leaning back on his elbows and blinking at the sky, “Think your dad made it extra sunny just for me?”

“Probably.” You smiled, standing in front of him — but still making sure you weren’t blocking the sun from his face. “After some convincing from your dad.”

Luke’s smile faded. His eyes remained closed but his hands tightened into loose fists, “I don’t think so.”

Now you were desperate to change the subject. Your eyes darted to the wall, and the rack of swords sitting in its usual spot, “Hey, wanna swing some bronze?”

“Gods.” He let out a rough laugh, and you grinned in satisfaction, “Swinging Bronze. Haven’t heard that in a while.”

You nodded, glad he was back to being somewhat happy, “We thought we were so cool.”

“We thought it’d catch on.”

You shared a laugh, and Luke peeked an eye open, looking at you, “How come we were never friends back then?”

A meek shrug, “We weren’t really friends until a couple of days ago. That's if you even count us as that now.”

He just kept looking at you, and his gaze burned into your skin. You stepped back, closer to the middle of the arena space, “We never really spoke.”

He looked at you as if he was thinking hard about what you said, and what he was gonna say next. Apparently he came up short, because seconds later he was clicking his tongue and pushing himself up, joining you in the middle of the arena, “Alright. Let’s swing some bronze.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. This was going well. He was outside, he was laughing, he was about to pick up a sword for the first time since he’d angrily thrown his own at the porch of the Big House when he got back a week and a half ago.

He handed you a wooden practice sword, and you raised a brow. Usually the wooden ones were for first-timers, or younger kids. He shrugged, you let it go.

Despite the fact that you and Luke had been at camp together for five years, you’d never actually gone one-on-one in a sword fight with him. It was rare that Apollo and Hermes were paired together for activities, since they were the two highest populated cabins, but even when Luke was running the practice he always picked the people he knew the best for demonstrations. You lingered at the back, watching.

So you were slightly nervous, but you also didn’t want to show it. Sure, on any normal day Luke would reassure you with kind eyes and that Luke Castellan Smile, but he wasn’t exactly himself right now. You swallowed down your nerves, matched his stance, and swung.

Best Sword Fighter in Three Hundred Years — not an exaggeration. His moves were swift, calculated, and he stayed calm the entire time. It was as if he knew everything you were going to do before you did it, and had three counterattacks on the back burner for when you would strike. Your swords clashed every time you made a move and suddenly you realised why he wanted you to use wooden swords — the clang of wood was a lot quieter than the clang of bronze, it was less likely anyone would hear you fighting. It made sense, but you couldn’t focus on that when he was practically parrying your thoughts with sweat dripping down his temple.

You held your own, though. You were quite impressed with yourself when you blocked his swipes and sidestepped his jabs. It was making him groan in frustration, and the edges of your mouth perked up. You didn’t realise how good you were at this.

Then Luke stumbled. He grunted, righted himself, and swung again. You blocked it, and he steadied his shoulders. You slowed, focusing on the way he heaved for breath, taking in gulps of air, while you were hardly breaking a sweat. The way he kept readjusting his grip on the hilt of his sword, and how his fingers shook on his free hand. He went for you again and you sidestepped him, making him trip up. He didn’t fall, but he did let out a long angry groan at his mistake, throwing the sword to the ground in frustration.

You flinched, “Luke.”

“This was a bad idea.” He snapped. He wasn’t looking at you, pacing up and down with his hands in his hair. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“You’re still recovering —“ You tried to reason, but he wasn’t listening to you.

“I’m the best damn swordsman this camp has ever seen. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I do this? Why —“

“Luke.” You stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He looked at you, “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.” He gritted through his teeth, “I fail one quest and suddenly I can’t do anything anymore? Yeah, that’s typical.”

You shook your head, “You just need time to get better.”

“I was better! Better than everyone else here, I —“ He paused, a faraway look in his eyes that unnerved you for a second before he was looking at you again, “I can hear people.”

You perked your ears up. He was right, you could hear the chatter of camp if you listened carefully enough — but it wasn’t anything to worry about. They were all doing their own tasks, far away from where they were. If someone was coming, it would be more clear. You told him that, but he shook his head.

“I need to go back. This was a bad idea.”

“Hey, it’s okay, we can go —“

“No, not we. Me.” He said firmly, a hard look in his gaze that he didn’t have before, “I’m going back. You’re staying here. And I’m never going anywhere with you again.”

iii. WEEK THREE

You hadn’t seen him in five days.

Chiron had pulled you out of Archery to ask about Luke — and why he had seen him storm angrily back into his room and lock the door. You just told him you thought it was best for him to find someone else to take care of him for the time being. You didn’t think Luke would want to see you again, ever.

All you wanted was for him to be his old self again. The guy you always saw helping out someone else with a smile on his face, the one who made others laugh and laughed with them. The one who waved at anyone who waved at him. The one who was completely oblivious to the flirting and just thought they were being friendly. The Luke Castellan who everyone gushed about, who everyone loved.

That man up there, with the scar on his face and the look in his eye, wasn't Luke Castellan. And maybe he never would be again, not completely. But he could come close — he could still smile, he could still laugh.

But you’d fucked all that up just by bringing him outside.

You didn’t know who Chiron had asked to replace you, because you never saw anyone else get up after breakfast with an extra plate. You didn’t see anyone sneaking out of the Hermes cabin with a pile of clothes. You stood in the fields for hours a day, watching those thin curtains stand stiff at the window, never to open. You thought you’d seen a shadow, but maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you.

The weekend came and went, and you spent the whole time worrying about Luke. Did this new person know that he preferred fatty bacon? Did they know that he liked keeping the curtains closed? Or would they just bring him a plate of pancakes? Ask him too many questions about his quest? Your mind whirred — would they make him worse?

No. That’s not what you were scared of.

Would they make him better?

Would they understand him more than you did? Would they coerce more words out of him? Would they even need to coerce him, or would he be comfortable holding a conversation with them no problem? What if he was better now than he ever had been with you?

You flinched when your name was called. Looking up from the bracelet you were crafting with some younger kids and meeting the eyes of Dionysus, “Sir.”

“Our, uh, special guest is requesting your presence.” He said with a stupid look on his face, “So get off your ass and get up there, I can’t stand his whining any longer.”

You did as asked with a slight roll of your eyes that made the six year old who was next to you giggle into their hands. It brought a grin to your otherwise down expression, unsure of what Luke wanted to say to you.

The room was dark when you cracked the door open — there was no response after you knocked, but you could hear him shuffling inside, so you went ahead and opened it an inch. It was a lot darker than it used to be — or maybe you too had gotten used to the shade after spending so much time there.

You pushed it open more, and there he was, in his usual spot on the edge of the bed. Head down, hands fiddling with something by his eye. He was muttering in frustration, and you stepped into the room in concern. The floor creaked, he looked up, and you gasped.

The side of his face where his scar sat was red with blood — you almost missed the bandage he was attempting to tie around it because it had been stained pink. His fingers were shaking and he pursed his trembling lips at you, “I can’t do it.”

You surged forward, immediately taking the fabric from his hands. He let them drop into his lap as you peeled it back and looked at the damage. You winced — not as bad as the blood had made it seem, but bad enough. The wound had reopened at the top, and the blood was dripping into his eye and along the curve of his jaw.

It took a few panicky minutes, but eventually the bleeding had stopped, Luke’s face was clean of blood, and you were staring at him in shock, your own fingers still red from the damage. He was avoiding your eyes, the only other thing he’d said to you being a strained thank you when you had stepped back.

“What —“ You were at a loss.

“I tried to change them myself.” He shrugged, picking at his fingernails, still not looking at you. “I’d watched you do it so many times, I figured I had it handled. Apparently I didn’t, because I woke up and it was freakin’ bleeding everywhere.”

“Oh, Luke.” You breathed, “Why didn’t you wait for someone to help you?”

“You never came back.” He said like it was obvious.

“What — so you’ve been doing this yourself for five days?” You asked, a shocked exclamation, “Chiron never sent someone else to help you?”

“He asked me who I wanted,” He shrugged, “I said you. You weren’t an option, so I did it myself.”

“You said —“

“I know what I said, alright?” He stressed, head in his hands now, “It was stupid. I was angry, hurt, whatever. It was at myself, but I took it out on you. I’m sorry. I don’t — “ His voice cracked, “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“Luke.” You murmured. You took a step closer, kneeled before him, and gently pried his hands away from his eyes so he would look at you. His expression was so…sad. So distraught. “What happened on your quest?”

And he told you everything.

iv. THE AFTER

Luke was ashamed to admit it — but he had no idea what your name was when you started looking after him.

Sure, he’d seen you around. You were one of the Apollo kids who spent more time in the infirmary than on the archery fields, but he was too good at his job to get injured. Hence why he didn’t know your name. He knew your face, he smiled at you and you would smile back. He was friendly with your brother, Lee. But that was about it.

That’s what made it so perfect.

You wouldn’t ask him about his quest. You wouldn’t try your hardest to get him to open up. You would do your job, and leave him to mope. That was all he wanted.

Until he learned your name.

And just from glancing at your smile — all awkward and nervous as you introduced yourself — he knew he wanted to be near you. He knew you were the type of person he could sit in silence with and walk away from it with a happy memory.

He thought he knew enough about you to determine who you were to him (a stranger). But he didn’t know your name, your voice, he didn’t know your touch or your smile — the real one you give when someone truly makes you laugh. Not the one he thought he knew.

He stood stiffly on the porch of the Big House — three weeks was all it took before Mr D was kicking him out, telling him to get a grip and face the music. Luke was ready; physically. His scar was nothing but that — a memory, faded into his skin forever. There was no other reason for him to keep himself hidden other than the fact that he wanted to. If it was up to him, nobody would ever bear the burden of seeing him ever again.

For weeks he told himself that his quest was pointless. He screamed it at the gods, at Chiron, at you. He cursed his dad every night for sending him on a path to failure and not even acknowledging it. He cursed himself for ruining the first chance he had at gaining his fathers pride in seventeen years — he sat in the dark, fists clenched, and asked himself what it was all for.

The five years on the run, the endless monster attacks, the relentless training, the offerings, the prayers. Would his life be any better had he just let that first monster kill him?

No. Because he wouldn’t have met Thalia, or Annabeth. He wouldn’t have seen the brighter side of being a halfblood — he wouldn’t have met his siblings, he wouldn’t have found his calling. He wouldn’t have experienced the joy of helping a new camper, of being the guiding hand he never got to hold.

But what of his quest? His mission for his father brought nothing but pain — a pointless trip, a humiliating failure, a deep jagged scar. For weeks he asked himself why he was given the quest in the first place, and for years to come he will question himself each and every day.

But each and every day he asks himself what the gods had ever given him, he would be reminded of the day he learnt your name. And he would tell himself had he not taken that trip, had he not fallen to Ladon, he never would have felt the searing touch of your fingertips on his skin.

So maybe it was worth it after all.

He stepped off the porch.

[yanmuffins]

Unfortunately with the p & f reader. I think you’re missing out so much hijinks.

For example:

- luthor thinking reader is his kid and petitioning a paternity test to try and take custody

-or giving a full scholarship to said reader and internship at LuthorCorp

-the league of assassins coming after reader when everyone is out of the house and reader casually home alone-ing their way to safety. (Damian knew, still has no evidence, has no idea what reader did with the bodies)

-reader building a complete android copy of Alfred so he can go on vacation and have help around the house

-_doing the same to Damian for mild psychological warfare. (He started it)_

-improving the bat gadgets because reader is annoyed when they don’t work as well, and gaslighting the family into thinking Lucius Fox did it

-reader making an artificial Lazarus pit but only for pets.

-winning back to back science fairs, being shown in magazines, and has scholarships galore but the family still doesn’t notice. (Much to Alfred and Damian’s rage)

-it taking Damian being nice to her and trying to be a good sibling to actually get the rest of the family’s attention and to reveal her semi secret genius.

this is brilliant!! all of this!!! love how this leans a bit more into the malicious p&f! reader version rather than oblivious one. few things i want to comment:

i cannot even imagine (i can, actually) how bruce would react to lex luthor just waltzing in and saying hey. what if we, high-profile CEOs of huge companies, go to court over the paternity and custody of your child who i think might be mine? that's absolutely not going to be a media scandal :)

this implies either that:

1) lex luthor has fucked p&f! reader's mother

2) p&f! reader's mother has fucked both lex luthor and bruce wayne. who is she.

or

3) lex luthor is aware he cannot be p&f! reader's bio dad but just decided he wanted to try and steal bruce wayne's kid one day because of their brilliance and potential, and that's such a petty?? absurd thing to do just because???

but unfortunately for luthor (and any other villains), p&f! reader is a nepobaby who can very well work in their father's company if they want or need an internship and that's where bruce is sending them. no such thing as "i want to make my own way in the world" for p&f! reader in this one. bruce will not let them work anywhere else.

(on another note, it's so fun writing about a reader who is filthy rich for a change. a villain comes up to them offering full scholarships and a promising internship in their evil companies but like. their father is literally bruce wayne.)

and like. still on the paternity drama thing. lex luthor can always handle that privately, but why would he? and something like that wouldn't stay under wraps, tbh. lex luthor better sleep with one eye open from then on, he might find wayne enterprises has acquired a sudden interest in absorbing lexcorp…

i think i've answered an ask regarding the league of assassins? not sure, but a "home alone" setting for neglected! reader would make such a good one-shot fic in general (christmas is just around the corner too!). i don't think p&f! reader would kill anyone but they would sure know to defend themselves and immobilize any threats through their gadgets and last-minute traps.

there's two possibilities as to how this could end,

1) batfam comes back from whatever mission/vacation they went on to find the manor in complete disarray and a bunch of unconscious bodies piled up on the garage with p&f! reader just standing there, unphased.

2) batfam comes back from whatever mission/vacation they went on to find the manor just the way they left it, perhaps even a bit more tidy. there's no bodies, the footage has been deleted, damian knows the league of assassins has been in the manor but once again, cannot prove it. he's fuming but has a newfound respect for their blood sibling. roll credits.

realistically, they would be made aware of people raiding the house through its security system and come back running, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it's p&f! reader we're talking about here.

as for the gadgets, i can imagine p&f! reader finding out or figuring out their family are vigilantes except the batfam doesn't know they know, and so they come and go the batcave when no one is looking. improves the gadgets out of pure boredom and leaves. except they do it in a way that is so subtle that the batfam take a certain time to consider there's someone messing with their stuff. it's like that one prank where you just keep replacing a person's pen before it runs out of ink.

"reader making an artificial Lazarus pit but only for pets."

that's essentialy pet sematary by stephen king, and we all know how that went. evil little undead pets running around the manor trying to murder the batfam because... p&f! reader was feeling bored and unhinged, i suppose.

you're right about damian being one of the reasons why the batfam starts paying attention to p&f! reader. alfred has been trying to get them to notice their cast-aside sibling for a while now, but damian being close to reader (trying to bust them or just hanging out) makes it impossible to ignore them. first, by associating with damian, and second by being a gifted child who has been pulling dangerous, insane and impossible stunts that deny all logic.

but looking back, it should be obvious. their room is filled with trophies, medals, rosettes, newspaper/magazine cutouts speaking of their achievements, were featured on the metropolis as well as gotham news multiple times, and pretty much everyone seems to know what they're up to. and yeah. "they feel pretty bad" is an understatement.

damian noticed, though. he might gotten into trouble himself for participating in some of those stunts (which he thinks is unfair), but at least he can brag about being a decent sibling and triumphantly say "shame on you" to everyone else but alfred.

[thepenguinweeb]

hi! Uh I saw your requests are open, could I request something for Solo Leveling?

Jinwoo × gn! timid childhood friend, who's a healer. Like they always heal him after a raid and will scold him when he's being stupid and neglecting himself, even though they also neglect themselves secretly (think soft and sweet yet actually depressed as hell)

Then as Jinwoo gets stronger, reader begins to let themselves slowly drift away from Jinwoo since "he's better off without them (aka reader)". When Jinwoo finally finds them again, he realizes how truely delicate reader is, how soft and cozy and cute they are. EVEN WORSE if he finds out readers mental health was just as bad as his when he was E-Rank, even in a worst state from past experiences. (Think constantly buzzing like a bee and 4 seconds from a breakdown)

(Reader is essencially "soft,sleepy and delicate, despite witnessing and enduring horrors beyond anyone's comprehension.)

(Bonus if it makes Jinwoo go MUST PROTECT AT ALL COSTS)

((I hope this is okay. Thank you if you decide to do the request. If not, it's okay,,))

`` You shouldn't just heal others. Take care of yourself, too. ``

[ ♡ Jinwoo x gn!timid!healer!reader ]

[ ♡ You've known Jinwoo ever since you were both small children. You promised that no matter what, you'd always protect each other. But after an incident at one of the dungeons he was sent to, you think it's best if you don't stand in his way. ]

[ Requested by : @shiromay <3 ]

[ Notes : I know it's a crime but I haven't read the Solo Leveling novel yet ;-; I'm planning to real soon!! But if I get anything wrong uhh sorry :( ]

[ TRIGGER WARNING : multiple mentions of self-harm ]

"Catch it, Jinwoo!"

Your small voice called out to the boy as you threw a ball at him. It was always your favourite game to play with him, even if he wasn't great at it.

..As if to prove that point, the ball hit him right in the head and he stumbled to the ground easily.

You hurried over with a worried expression. You could see a few tears in his eyes, then you noticed the bleeding cuts on his knee.

"I.. I'm sorry, I didn't.. mean to.." you mumbled an apology, and to your surprise, he responded with a giggle.

"It's okay. I should have caught it."

He tried to get up, but you stopped him before he could. As he looked at you trough a confused expression, you pulled out a few bandaids from your pockets.

Soon, his knees were covered with pretty pink bandaids which definitely didn't suit him, but you both seemed to think it was amazing.

"Thanks, [Y/N], you're amazing," he complimented, which earned an awkward smile from you.

"When we grow up, I'll protect you from all the monsters," he went on, his eyes shining with wonder. "I'll be the strongest person you've ever seen!"

You giggled and nodded eagerly. "I'll protect you, too! I'll put bandaids on all your wounds and always make sure you're alright!"

You looked each other in the eyes, then said at once,

"I promise!"

You tapped your foot impatiently against the ground as you waited for Jinwoo and his party to finish their raid. You were gonna pick him up - despite him insisting you didn't need to - and, of course, heal him. It would be a miracle if you didn't need to.

With every passing moment, your anxiety became worse. What if Jinwoo didn't come back? What if he died during the raid? What if you could never see him again?

Finally, after what felt like hours, the party appeared with big smiles on every member's face. You scanned the crowd and a relieved sigh escaped your lips when you saw Jinwoo behind them.

Then you sighed again at how battered up he looked. Multiple scratches on his face, bleeding wounds on his leg, one of his arms, a few big bruises and a claw mark on his chest, where his shirt had been torn. Did they not have a proper healer?

"Jinwoo!" You called out. The man noticed you immediately and ran toward you with a smile.

"Hi, [Y/N]," He greeted you in an innocent tone, as if unaware of the frown deepening on your face with every second you spent staring at his wounds.

You shook your head and signaled for him to sit down so you could examine him more. After you finished with that, you hovered your hands over his wounds and used your healing.

"You should be more careful.." you mumbled softly. "This isn't good for you."

"I know, I'm sorry," Jinwoo said while scratching the back of his head. You simply sighed and continued to do your work until you were done, and he was fully healed.

The man stood up with a smile and gave you an appreciative nod. "Thank you, [Y/N]," he said. "You're amazing."

Your expression softened at his compliment. You looked down at the ground and muttered out a 'no problem'.

"I'll take you home.." you said, turning and beginning to walk away. Jinwoo soon followed you too.

Since Jinwoo was released from the hospital, you'd been seeing him a lot less. You visited him fairly frequently while he was recovering, but during those visits you noticed how much he'd changed. You could tell he was becoming stronger, and so, you decided it would be best if you didn't stand in the way of his plans.

You only went to raids which you knew he wouldn't be apart of. You rarely responded to his text messages or calls. But with this, your mental health had started worsening too.

It was a challenge to wake up and get out of bed every day. In all the raids you went to, you did your best to heal everyone, but you could care less about your own health. Who would care if I died, anyway?

You started wearing hoodies and more covering clothing to hide the self-inflicted wounds on you. You could have healed them, but you didn't think you were deserving of it.

The hunters who knew you most noticed this too.

"You okay, [Y/N]? You're usually not this gloomy."

But others just shook it off, since you were always the quiet type.

Today's raid, however, came with an unexpected surprise.

"Jinwoo?" Your eyes widened upon seeing the man in front of you. Not only for how much he'd changed, but just his mere presence.

He nodded, a small smile on his face. "I didn't expect to see you here. It's been a while. How have you been?"

You looked down at the ground, wondering what to say. You quickly decided to just.. lie.

"Fine," you muttered. "But really, what are you doing in a raid for an E-rank dungeon? I thought you moved on to better ones.."

He shrugged. "Just felt like it," he responded, but you could tell he wasn't telling the full truth. Nevertheless, you didn't want to question him about it.

"We're going in, come on, you two!"

The raid proved to be very successful. You could now see with your own eyes how much Jinwoo had improved, and you were amazed. He was so much stronger, and, most importantly, you didn't even need to heal him at all.

"That was nice," he said after you'd come out. "I missed doing raids with you."

You forced a smile on your face and nodded. "Y-Yeah.. it was nice to see you again."

Silence lingered between the two of you for a bit, before Jinwoo decided to break it.

"I'll walk you home," he told you. Despite it sounding like an offer, it was more of a statement. After a few moments of thinking, you reluctantly agreed.

The whole walk was pretty calm. You caught up with each other trough some small talk, but most of the time was spent in silence, the two of you observing the city.

Thankfully, it didn't take long to arrive at your house.

"Thanks for coming with me, Jinwoo," you thanked him with a soft smile. "I'll be out of your way now. See you-"

"Wait."

Before you could turn and get inside, he grabbed your wrist to stop you. His grip wasn't hard, but it was still painful to the fresh cuts on them.

Jinwoo could tell something was off when you hissed in pain at his touch.

"Are you alright, [Y/N]?" He asked, his voice softer than usual. "You've been acting weird this whole time. Is there something wrong?"

You looked down at the ground, desperately trying to come up with excuses. You felt him putting a comforting hand on your shoulder, and you froze up.

"You're not okay," he pointed out. "Please, you don't have to talk about it, but just tell me.. did you do that to yourself?"

He nodded at your wrists, which left you wondering how he knew. Maybe you weren't that good at hiding it, after all.

Too shaken to say anything, you just gave him a weak nod. You could see a frown form on his face.

"This isn't right. You shouldn't do this to yourself." He sighed. "You shouldn't just heal others. Take care of yourself, too. Please."

Tears formed in your eyes upon hearing his words. "I..." you tried to form a sentence through the choked sobs. "I'll try.. it's just so... hard..."

"I know," he said, pulling you in for a hug. "But I'll be there with you. Like we promised each other.."

A/N : oh my GOD did this turn out longer than I expected. Sorry lol I don't usually write so much but I wanted to do as much as I could! This is my first request, so yippee! And I have 2 more in my inbox left, so I appreciate yall sharing your wonderful ideas with me to satiate my hunger for inspiration :3

Dividers by @/rookthorneartistry, ty!!

[autistichalsin]

Some of my favorite voice lines (either because of the lines themselves or because of Dave's delivery) from this collection of every line Halsin had in the game (and some he technically didn't because they weren't Halsin lines at all, but lines other characters have that they had Dave record for some reason):

5:07 "Fancy a b-oink? Indeed, you'll be hard-pressed to find a joke I haven't."

8:26 "I am Halsin. First Druid of the Emerald Grove. And I am here to VISIT NATURE'S FURY UPON YOU!" (From his revenge scene if the grove is raided- just, brilliant acting, gives me the chills every time. Give Dave an award please)

10:10 "Karlach. I am glad you can enjoy the touch of another once again. And I hope you are afforded much more time than you've been told. A lifetime and more, if I have a say in it."

17:33 "Lae'zel could not have wished for a finer companion by her side. You truly love her, I can tell. Just... keep each other safe, please."

25:05 (Tav or Durge line) "Yeah, she's not coming back."

27:44 "Shadowheart. These truths that have been revealed to you... I know they must be painful. But Oak Father as my witness, I know you are strong enough to bear them. You need not walk this path alone."

34:08 "I am sorry, Gale. You tried. Mystra was wrong to turn on you, no matter what mistakes you made in the past."

35:57 "Time can prove to be a trickster on one's recollections. What would be multiple lifetimes for others now separate me from my captivity. Perhaps I have lost perspective on what happened to me."

39:06 "Re-education. As if this sect has not mangled poor Shadowheart's mind enough already."

41:59 "I need you!"

47:08 (Shadowheart line) "Let's see what comfort we can offer a grieving mother."

47:57 "You have carried this burden for too long already. I simply do not believe that ceremorphosis is the only course left to you! Orpheus must help us." (He is so protective of the player 😭 )

52:03 "We need to be gone from here- now!"

53:10 (Tav/Dark urge line) "In my name." (Amazing acting for that line, makes me wish SO BAD we could have Origin Halsin)

1:04:13 "A mindflayer?! What foul trickery is this?"

1:04:20 "I am no stranger to the Underdark. Cruelty comes to Lolth's followers as naturally as breathing. I have seen it- experienced it." (You can tell he still holds so much grief and anger over what happened to him in the Underdark.)

1:04:32 "Do not yield, Karlach. The world has need for you yet. I have need for you yet. Please." (The way his voice breaks here just wrecks me.)

1:10:13 "Let our enemies' corpses nourish the ground!"

1:13:20 "Gale, what's troubling you? We're nearly at the end, I know it."

1:14:52 (Tav/Dark Urge line) "That's what was in there? Those little shits."

1:21:26 "You have upended nature's balance. Only your death can restore it!" (From the Halsin revenge scene.)

1:24:31 "Last Light fell because you could not control the violence in your heart. All those people perished because of what you did to Isobel. You must try harder. You must be better."

1:24:26 "There must be no more Yennas."

1:25:39 "No, it's wooden. Um. I suppose it burns if you find yourself in dire need of kindling, but I hope it does not come to that." (Referring to his whittled duck)

1:35:12 (Karlach line) "Rest in peace, Astarion. You may have been a bloodthirsty murderer, but I liked you all the same."

1:37:03 "Death is nature's final slumber. It awaits us all. Do not punish yourself over those lost, or give in to despair. Not while there are folks in need of your help."

1:40:57 "Do not yield, Karlach. Stay with us. Stay with the ones who love you." (Just breaks my heart. 😭 )

1:43:28 "You deserve so much better, but alas... I understand. Do as you must."

1:57:27 "You seem to be mumbling to yourself- aren't I enough company for you?" (To Shadowheart)

2:08:57 "GLORY?! There's no glory here! Now there's nothing here. Only shadows, and the total absence of hope!"

2:09:37 "I see. Well. Perhaps not all friendships are destined to be balanced and reciprocal. But I remain eternally grateful for having met you, all the same. Rest well."

2:13:27 "We are. Yet there is a burden to being the survivor, the witness to others' tragedies. It only grows heavier with time."

2:16:26 "You worship Shar?! That umbral witch unleashed a plague of darkness on nature! Her followers slew many of my fellow Druids!" (So much pain and anger here.)

2:20:41 "It wasn't just power this needed! It was wisdom, understanding! I suffered along with this place for years trying to understand the curse! And it seems I will continue to do so."

2:21:46 Maniacal laughter (I can only imagine this happens if you get hit with Tasha's Hideous Laughter, and this one was incredible in that it SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME LMFAO I was so creeped out. HUGE props to Dave Jones for that one.)

2:26:15 (Dark Urge line) "In Bhaal's name."

2:33:13 "Poor creature! Locked in a cage, denied her true nature. Civilization would cause her a monstrosity, yet it treats her like this?!"

2:34:54 "What are you doing?! No!"

2:39:01 "Ah, but the glory can be found in the telling! The children love tales of underdogs, facing odds most unlikely! They shall appreciate your story, trust me."

2:40:20 "The Rite of Thorns? No..."

2:42:09 "I was not here to guide them. Now they rest forever, while I carry the weight of my failings."

2:52:35 "Nature cares little for nobility- it is pure artifice. But I can still hold some respect for Wyll's accomplishment. He shall be a fine duke, I am sure."

2:53:50 "Please. Don't sully the gratitude I feel towards you by making excuses for Kagha. My choice was clear."

2:56:01 (Orin-as-Halsin) "Please, wait. I did not want this. I could not stop it."

3:19:56 "Hmm. Perhaps I can substitute the bloodlust and, well, general lust for cuddles and animals in the retelling. The children will be confused, but no matter- they will soon be asleep."

3:23:38 "I am glad to have Gale back with us. The group would be poorer without his insights- and his company."

3:27:00 "That was no killing blow- far from it. What happened?"

3:27:49 "Silvanus guard us- what have you done?!"

3:29:58 "If this is what you truly want, I shall respect your wishes. But know that you shall not die, not truly. Nature's realm shall be yours- in the air, the trees, the waters."

3:32:27 "Don't do this! Your life!" (When a mind flayer character commits suicide in the ending)

3:34:47 Pained groaning (IDK it just sounded so damn real here, I could just imagine Halsin with a giant gaping wound or something here)

3:38:53 "The machine! It's going to blow!"

3:41:12 "Come on, you useless turnip!"

3:46:43 "You can still save yourself, Karlach. You can return to Avernus- it need not be forever. Just long enough to give yourself a chance..." (His voice sounds so small and pleading here 😭 )

3:48:12 (Dark Urge line) "In Bhaal's name." (Just a really good delivery)

3:48:54 "But... friendship is no consolation trophy. I cherish the bond we have forged. Whether it should grow into something else is... not for me to predict."

3:49:20 "Vampire spawn assailing us in the night? I thought we had ample troubles as it was. At least you are safe, Astarion."

3:51:00 "I was never afforded a chance to start a family of my own- serving nature always had to come first."

3:51:07 "You thought she was an imposter- a threat. This was a trap of Orin's creation. Yenna's death is on her hands, not yours."

3:51:22 "Your rage is most impressive, Karlach. If the lesson is not to provoke your temper, consider it well-learned."

3:59:04 "Ha! I suppose I did, didn't I? I was so focused on helping Thaniel that my sense of decorum was neglected."

4:06:02 "Truly? I thought you felt the same way as me. There was a connection, I-I was sure!" (Oh my god he sounds like he's fucking CRYING here and this legitimately made me whimper out loud and hide my face. I have NEVER needed to hug a character THIS BADLY before oh my god give Dave Jones all of the awards please)

4:17:03 "Oak Father, what did I do to deserve such allies?!"

4:18:03 "This... orb. Gale carries a most dire burden. I wish he had shared it with us sooner."

4:18:58 "Time for blood!" (In bear form)

4:19:31 "Karlach has had her mortality defined to her in most cruel terms. I do not know if we can help her, but perhaps we can at least be there for her."

4:23:19 "FINE!" (He just sounds so done lmfao)

4:23:20 "And yet, she fears there are none to inherit her work, so she goes on. Long life can be a burden at times- I know that well."

4:24:45 "You shall live on. And wherever I go, I shall feel your presence, and you mine." (To Origin Karlach in the ending- this whole scene would be really beautiful if they would just fix a few things)

4:27:55 "Your power is buoyed by a sea of innocent blood! I hope you are pleased."

4:28:26 (Tav/Dark Urge line) "In my name." (Gave me chills)

4:30:59 (Tav/Dark Urge line) "What in the hells, Astarion?! You bit me!"

4:32:39 "Remember, whatever evil is trying to control you, I know you are stronger. Resist."

4:35:08 Pained groaning and cries (They just sounded so real and painful)

4:37:11 "Dominate the brain! Do it now, or all is lost!"

4:47:46 "I will not go on without you!"

4:49:18 "Perhaps try attacking the enemy!" (He sounds so done lmfao)

4:49:25 "That contraption looks set to kill you, not save you! Get clear of it at once!"

4:50:27 "A cruel blow. Astarion loved feeling the caress of the sun, only now it gouges him with its claws. Perhaps we shall meet again, beneath the shield of darkness."

4:53:23 Maniacal laughter (Truly terrifying just like the other one)

4:58:49 (Yenna line [yes really]) "Where am I? I don't like this dream!"

4:59:04 "Nature bows to none. It will fight on and survive, no matter what madness your god has inspired you to undertake."

5:03:51 "Stuck, eh? Straight out of bawdy literature."

5:09:57 "Killing Orin won't bring Yenna back, but it may give her some peace, and me... a great deal of satisfaction."

5:11:26 "No! Have you taken leave of your senses?!"

5:15:27 "This may keep the city safe, but to seal all those unfortunates away forever? Death would have been more merciful."

5:16:44 "Stay your hand, Astarion! To sacrifice so many is a tyrant's ambition!"

5:16:52 "I... cannot imagine how you are feeling, Gale. For a goddess to ask a mortal to pay such a price... I am sorry for... for your burden."

5:19:44 "Immortal... and angered. What have I done...?"

5:20:43 "The power of the bear lies within me!"

5:22:47 "In that case, nothing more needs to be said. Farewell." (Said if a player who has low approval with Halsin at the epilogue party says they have no interest in taking the olive branch Halsin extended; I like this one because he sounds like a strange combination of sad and relieved at the same time, which is such a realistic combination of feelings!)

5:26:14 "Slain and stuffed. I would like to do the same to whoever's handiwork this is." (About a taxidermy baby bear)

5:26:19 "My heart grows heavy for Karlach. She can touch once more, yet is her remaining time to truly be so short? I shall pray to Silvanus that it does not come to pass."

5:32:10 "I... cannot imagine how you are feeling, Gale. For a goddess to ask a mortal to pay such a price... I am sorry for... for your burden. Though I wish you had told us of your predicament before."

5:36:33 (Orin-as-Halsin) "I lost control. I felt the bear take over, blood-crazed. And she forced me into a cage, along with... *sobs* with children, taken from the streets." (I think this one is a slightly different version than what ended up used? The sobbing is definitely more prominent if nothing else.)

5:39:28 "I hoped my friends would save me..." (Dave manages to make Halsin's body sound dead-corpse-emotionless and yet sad at the same time.)

5:39:45 "I hoped my loved would save me..." (Same as above)

5:41:08 "Your gold and your loins. Not for me to dictate what you do with either."

5:41:20 "You were not even born when Shar's followers slew my fellow Druids, or when her shadow curse tainted the land. I can get past those... but I truly wish you had trusted me sooner."

5:52:36 "No matter how long I live, I will never get used to the cruelty that infests our world. That such evil is allowed to breathe the same air as us is an abomination."

5:57:33 (Tav/Durge line) "In my name."

6:02:56 "Of course... somehow I'd hoped for a miracle, but of course... the only miracles are those we make ourselves." (He's talking about Karlach/her engine here)

6:03:57 "I was all too eager to surrender my responsibilities towards the Grove, and now it has been sealed away from the world! Perhaps I was never meant to be Archdruid... to be a leader."

6:08:29 "NO! Cease now, before you doom us all!"

6:09:22 (Dark Urge line) "In Bhaal's name."

6:20:05 "I shall endeavor to be more tactful when trying to make friends in future."

6:22:06 "You are afraid because you are alive, and you have something to lose. Hold onto that."

6:26:58 "You will not desecrate this grove! Not while I draw breath!"

6:33:00 "This need not be a parting, so long as you fight on. You and I can each roam apart, until nature compels our paths to cross once again."

6:41:42 "I shall miss him, though I hope he proves to be a kindly god. I've had my fill of the tyrannical sort."

6:42:29 "Do as you must, as shall I. We shall meet again. It is as sure as the break of dawn, or the spring thaw."

6:44:49 "And I have been evicted from the very place I was charged to safeguard. A telling summary of my time as Archdruid, perhaps."

6:45:47 "Stay with me, my love."

6:50:36 "Do not falter, I am here!"

6:51:15 "Karlach. I am sorry. I shall not try to soothe you with gilded words, but... know that I am here for you."

[2hoothoots]

(photographer voice) "okay, now let's do one where canon events play out slightly differently and everyone ends up in a significantly worse place because of it"

here's an au of an au because i have issues watched the genghis khan music video one too many times. lore dump + crops/bonus art below

Due to an unfortunate combination of chance factors, Razputin Aquato arrives at Whispering Rock one day late.

He finds the camp a ghost town. The campers are stumbling around, brainless; the counsellors, nowhere to be found. Ford doesn’t know what to make of this kid showing up out of nowhere – but he’s got promise, and with Sasha and Milla out of action, he’s their best hope. He gives Raz a crash course in what he needs to know, and sends him out across the lake.

Raz pulls through, against all odds. But he never gets the starstruck meeting with his heroes Sasha and Milla that he’d been hoping for; never gets to bond with Lili, or any of the other campers. It’s a harrowing and lonely experience for him, but one that ties a burning knot of resolve in his chest. If he works hard, he can be a Psychonaut just like he dreamed. He can save people.

When the alert comes through from Headquarters that Grand Head Zanotto has been captured, Sasha and Milla scramble the jet with Lili on board. They don’t bring Raz along – Ford’s account of his accomplishments is impressive, but without seeing him in action themselves, neither agent is convinced to bring him along on the mission. Sasha invites him to next year’s session of the camp – after all, he clearly has promise, and the Psychonauts are always interested in nurturing young minds.

Raz returns to camp next year with something to prove. He throws himself into his studies with a single-minded dedication, sparing little time to interact with any of the other campers. This time, he’ll show them. He’ll show them all.

Sasha, Milla and Lili are unable to locate Truman in the Rhombus of Ruin. It ultimately takes a week to locate the Grand Head, following an anonymous tip-off (later found to have been planted by Nick). It takes six months for the ruse to be uncovered. Ultimately, Nick is unsuccessful in finding any clues to Maligula’s whereabouts. Lucrecia will pass a few years later, surrounded by a family that has no idea who she really is. Ford never remembers the truth, and when Razputin is fourteen, he takes the secret to his grave.

Truman’s brain spends almost seven months in a box, under poor conditions with insufficient oxygen. When it’s finally returned to his body, he’s not the same man he used to be. He quietly steps down as Grand Head of the organisation, and spends years of his retirement in intensive therapy.

Lili is heartbroken. Her faith in the Psychonauts is shattered. She never returns to Whispering Rock again. Over the years, she becomes more and more withdrawn; isolated from her peers, estranged from her mother, and struggling with her relationship with a father who on bad days can’t even remember her name. The bitterness grows day by day, blooming within her chest.

She’s sixteen the first time she's forced to turn her powers against another person. Even in his current state, her father has enemies – old foes the Psychonauts can’t (or won’t) protect him from. There’s a raid on her house, late at night. It’s only by chance that she’s still awake. She breaks two of the assailants’ bodies, and when she twists her hand, the plants in her father's greenhouse writhe under her command and rip the third one to pieces. It’s the last time that house ever feels like a home to her. She cuts ties with the Psychonauts entirely, and never looks back; the next time they hear of her, it's under a completely different name.

Dogen Boole never returns to Whispering Rock either. He’s thoroughly traumatized by the events at camp, and his parents refuse to send him back the following year. With nobody to help him learn to control or harness his powers, his episodes steadily become worse as he gets older. Although reluctant, his family is eventually forced to reach out to the Psychonauts to help. Compton is still a nervous recluse, and nobody else in the organisation is quite sure how to handle Dogen’s powers. He spends his teenage years in and out of psychoisolation, and is subjected to more and more intense experimentation in the name of “treatment”. Nothing works. In the end, all he has to show for it are the scars.

His helmet is the only thing he can rely on to stop him mulching the cranium of anyone in a fifty-foot radius. There’s no place for him in “normal” society. Just like Lili, he’s driven to become a villain by a combination of circumstances, trauma, and a bitter feeling of hurt and betrayal towards the Psychonauts.

Raz enters the intern program at thirteen, and quickly graduates to the rank of Junior Agent. The Psychonauts he finds waiting for him is undergoing a marked transition from the organization it used to be. Upon Ford’s passing, the only member of the old guard still around is Otto. Hollis is a Grand Head forced to prioritize efficiency in order to keep the Psychonauts afloat after numerous losses and funding cuts.

Raz enters a passionate, determined boy, remarkably talented but who struggles to connect with his peers. When he gets his promotion at eighteen, he’s the most decorated junior agent the organization has ever seen. At twenty-six, he’s in the prime of his career, honed by years of training into an efficient, meticulous, ruthless Psychonaut.

He’s the perfect agent. As far as he’s concerned, that’s all he needs to be.

under-the-cut bonus, here's some tighter crops on the art, and also a couple extra bits and pieces:

dogen's helmet seals up like a pillbug most of the time, to stop his powers from leaking out when he gets stressed. i couldn't find a way to work it into the art while still making clear that Hey It's Ya Boy, but i think it's a neat visual. the extra pic of lili was gonna be a mugshot - at first i was planning to composit her art into, like, a dossier/file, but i couldn't make it work in the end

[jazeswhbhaven]

I have been save this request just for you...

Autistic MC! havd a meltdown first time in front of the kings (whether be angel raids or other reason that caused it) which causes them unable to communicate normally due to emotion overwhelming.

What will the kings do? (Honestly I think Levi will make things worse, Luci will be concerned, and Satan will like it, unfortunatly? anyways it is your decision...)

Thanks for sending this in, jennaquartz! I think this is interesting to write about as someone who is autistic and weirdly enough yesterday I had a meltdown myself....soooooo this is relevant.

Thank you for waiting as well ^^

Satan: MC couldn't stand it, the constant sounds of slashing and smell of blood consistently having to be on the run finally got to them. Everyone was a target for being screamed at or ignored as MC tries their best to ride out their intense overstimulation. Satan observes and finds it intriguing, he is not new to this but he doesn't make it better for MC at first. Once he realizes he can't really joke or enjoy it he gets mildly annoyed that MC is shutting down and shutting him out. He straight up leaves them alone but has his nobles at a distance checking up on them until the chaos is over and everything is quiet enough for MC to finally mellow out.

Mammon: While nothing bad happens that often in Tartaros, the constant interaction of Mammon's subjects and asking them so many questions eventually leads to a meltdown and MC reacts by shutting themselves away and throwing their new gifts in a pile to lay in them or hide inside the massive pile as further protection. Mammon doesn't seem to understand, trying to speak to MC and even breaks the door down which causes them to further refuse to respond to any attempts made by Mammon to soothe them. He then sits in silence and waits, after having a few items tossed at him with MC being defensive. Eventually MC does come out and Mammon again tries his best to understand what happened with MC and even uses one of his Ai bots to explain MC's vitals and mental state. At least he's trying!

Beelzebub: Oh, he's the worst when it comes to MC having meltdowns. He often mistaken MC's meltdowns for tantrums and treats them like a child, thus doing nothing but disappearing hoping that whatever is happening "stops" when he returns. And funny enough it's his constant disappearing and reappearing that doesn't help in the slighest due to MC's anxiety. It's usually up to Bael to help create a safe space for MC to hunker down and he talks to them after to let them know he won't let anything or anyone hurt them. Bael later explains the process to Beel but isn't hopeful that he'd remember. Luckily MC has seen little notes Beel leaves behind for himself but let's hope he actually remembers he wrote them down...

Leviathan: If we thought Beel was bad, Leviathan is no better. He refuses to see MC's meltdowns as valid and simply instead refuses to interact with them until he feels like it. No safe spaces, no soothing talks, no reassurance. He feels that MC is doing this on purpose for attention despite Foras trying his best to explain what MC needs. It really takes his nobles to help MC, and oddly, being put in a soft cushioned coffin (Glas' because there's a good amount of space in it) helps MC cut out the stressors and usually it lulls them to sleep. Over time, Levi does attempt to try and understand, feeling left out but it's a long time process.

Lucifer: He knows the difference between meltdowns and tantrums. His brother Michael had tantrums, Raphael, meltdowns, Gabriel a mix of both given the situation. He uses his methods that he's used before with MC, and it proves to be fruitful. Lucifer's garden dome is a great safe space, and Lucifer usually is around or next to them to soothe them after they have calmed down to talk out what was the stressor and how they are feeling. Also with his nobles around if MC ends up hurting themselves during a meltdown, it's an easy fix.

Belphegor: Well, he finds the meltdowns being too much trouble to deal with so he simply ignores it. Beleth is the one that offers help instead to MC or Harumon who an excellent emotional support cat! MC is a bit upset that Belphie didn't even try, but it's to be expected for how he is. At least they have Beleth to lean on and if not Beleth the other nobles are pretty knowledgeable in helping/offering aid during a meltdown. Harumon though is winning in this department. He's so soothing and soft and running fingers through his whorls of fur is a great stimming activity.

[heartsforhiccup]

I would like to make a request for a girl who likes hiccup and is intense, what would hiccup be like? <<33<333<3<3<33<<33<3<3<333<

sticks and stones pt 1

hiccup x reader

Summary: You've fought dragons, wield the weapon in your hand with calculating precision, stoicism held in your shield over the vibrations of your heart. Your strength proved to be your greatest asset, keen eyes placed on you as the heir of a long-lasting clan of Vikings before you... Yet talking to Hiccup Haddock? That might just be impossible.

word count: 2,698

tags: pre httyd 1, one-sided feelings, aloof reader doesn't know how to express themselves, gender-neutral language, unedited

Sweat dribbled down the curve of your forehead, dipping between the lids of your eyes to be caught between downturned lashes, your squinted gaze held on the wooden staff clutched between your grip. Thoroughly used, lightweight in your calloused palm and splinters running along the natural direction of the wood — compared to the bludgeon of a club, perhaps an axe or mace, you missed the usual weightiness they held in your swings.

It were the weapons that children used; too young to properly use anything but a pocketknife to cut apples, yet eager to imitate and play out scenes of slaying beasts. You, too, participated in them, fleeting moments of your younger childhood. A simpler time, spent sneaking out to the forest to search for bugs hidden under crumpled leaves and frogs by mud puddles. That night, you would come home with dirty boots and the firm lecturing of your mother.

The cool breeze of early dusk brushed past, pushing back strands of untamed hair to expose your forehead. Your lungs heaved in each breath, shoulders pushed back as your spine twisted up, then released with a sigh. Shoulders loosened, you pointed the staff towards the dummy stood before you. It stood limply on a tilted axis, a sack attached to a pole by frayed rope, clearly beaten far beyond its longevity. It was a pitiful sight. The hold on your wooden beam loosened, blood flowing to the tips of your fingers that splotched shades of red.

Your stamina waned, feet sore under firm cobblestone and muscles strained from exertion. The hunched curve of your neck stretched back, chin tilted up at the metal cage that overhung the arena. Past the scent of salt and rotting fish by the docks, thick smoke permeated your lungs still. Remnants of the most recent raid left a few dozen sheep missing from farmers' pens and new buildings destroyed once more. The thrill of battle did nothing to sate bloodlust, nor the satisfaction of bringing pride to your family. It was a chore; it only brought more issues, if anything.

If you were to have a say in the matter, you wished to be the child of a farmer – the only worries you'd have then were the bountiful blessing of the gods, or if your crops had been destroyed during a raid. Descending from a long lineage of Viking warriors that came to settle on the land you stood on, fighting came easy to you. You'd trade it all for the dirt of soil and soot than warm blood cupped in your palms.

No one told you, nor could you recall a time you realized the expectations placed upon your shoulders; an ask from the gods themselves, perhaps, a subconscious acknowledgment you were born with. Discerning eyes watched you closer during training sessions, noticing the occasional slip of your hands and feet, soon refined into more defined movements. You weren't one to concern yourself with pride – Snotlout's obnoxious gloating further pushed you from that mindset – your family was pleased with your current feats, and you were satisfied with that.

With the back of your hand, you wiped away the sweat on your forehead. The peace of the early morning would end soon, pulling itself up from the sea to wake Berk for a new day. Only another hour until you'd be called to the Great Hall for first breakfast, you guessed.

Your stomach held water and still air, your lips dry. Saliva bubbles up from the back of your throat and coated the inside of your mouth, eating now sounded sickly; you learned from experience it'd leave you more nauseous than to not eat at all. It was a bad habit easy to fall into, a Viking could only last as full as their stomachs were.

Your head craned back towards the bunch of weapons and chipped shields thrown haphazardly into a storage compartment; next to it was your lance. The tip of the blade looked stunted, dull metal that struggled to poke through the muscled flesh of a chunk of meat. The blade had been a gift from your father, once belonging to him, then unto you.

The lance compared to axes or pattern-welded swords was an unconventional choice. Something blunt worked best against dragons; if screaming at it failed, the next course of action would be to smack it on the head until it was dazed. You found comfort in the precision it took to wield a spear; thin and long to keep your distance, much heavier than the wooden pole in your slipping fingers. Being light on your feet made it easier to run away.

Your eyes bored at the lance for a long while, contemplating. Gobber could fix it up in a matter of minutes for you. Your thoughts settled - the pole hit the ground with a hollow clatter as you strode towards the open gates, exchanging it for your lance with a slip of the hand.

...

The forge worked as a well-oiled machine, the firepot sputtering to life in the early hours of the morning, burning off coal till the late hours. Smoke steadily poured from the chimney when you approached, delicately shaped and carved into dragon-esque features. It was one of the few standing buildings that remained untouched from weekly raids, the long-standing wooden structure beginning to rot, burnt shingles lining the rooftop.

Your head dipped out of the way of axes suspended in the air, carefully weaving past barrels of scrap metals and logs of wood laid by the kiln. Swords laid across the wide workbench, partially concealing parchment and smudged lines of charcoal, while the more refined weapons were presented delicately on the wall. The flame flickered and sputtered, warm light cast muted glows and blurred shadows, brushing against your cheek in a featherlight kiss.

The going fire told you that the forge was open for business; the longer you waited, the more you fidgeted in place. With the tip of your blade held to the ground, you stepped further into the smithy.

What you weren't expecting was Hiccup to come out from the back.

Your feet stood in place as if you were stuck in a thick tar, lips parting in a wordless request for what you came here for, unable to force it any further up your throat.

His hands finished tying the knot to hold his smock in place, coming to rest awkwardly at his hips. "Oh, uh, hey."

He sounded defeated, almost, exhaustion clear in the heavy bags beneath his rounded eyes, which only appeared more pronounced in the shadows cast by the roaring fire. He scruffed the back of his head, messing up unruly strands of hair as he tilted his head to your spear. "You want that fixed?"

Your brows furrowed - was the disrepair state of the blade that obvious? He must've sharpened a thousand weapons and then some. You could only nod, presenting it to him with an awkward weight in your palms. "The blade... It's been dulling for a while, now."

"Right." He stepped towards you, not enough to bear too close to your personal bubble, taking it from your grasp and towards the grindstone in purposeful movements.

He hoisted the steel of the blade to the coarse curve of the stone, leaning his weight onto the plank, watching in rapt fascination as the gentle grate of metal on rock stung your ears. He adjusted the angle occasionally, sparks of friction sputtering out, slowing the speed of the wheel as he reached the delicate tip of the metal.

The deft movements of his dirtied hands and precision that felt out of place yet entirely his own, assured confidence in his actions without his usual bumbling clumsiness. You couldn't help but stare.

You nearly jumped when his neck turned to you. "You want a sharper tip for piercing, right?" When you nodded, he turned back, shoulder blades shifting under his tunic as he hunched further. "You'll, uh, want to oil it every use so it doesn't dull too quickly."

You knew that. The way he said it made it sound much smarter than basic sense. You allowed yourself to loiter, the mess of the forge visual noise to your flooded senses. There was a curtain tucked further in, drawn out loosely to hide whatever laid behind it from the public eye. It wasn't long until you grew bored, lingering in Hiccup's vicinity, where he now swiped the base of the newly-honed blade with a cloth.

"Here," he offered it back to you, almost sheepish as he presented the faint gleam of metal reflecting off the flame. "Should be good as new."

You took it a beat after, scrutinizing the remnants of superficial cuts and indents permanently etched into the quality mineral. He did a great job, it was as good as new.

"...Thanks," you muttered, settling it on the wooden end to not damage the tip. You owed him more than a thanks, really. He exhaled slightly in reaction, shrugging a shoulder to say it wasn't a big deal.

You flickered between him, the blade, and something right past him that piqued your curiosity.

"What is that?" you asked with a tilt of the head, your voice sharper than you intended. Your throat tightens, wanting to correct yourself so the vowels come out softer, but nothing comes out to fill the lapse in conversation. Wordlessly, you swallow down the lump, staring at the device to avoid his gaze.

His head jerkily shot up, flitting from you and the contraption, side-stepping in a poor attempt to conceal it behind his scrawny frame. "This? Oh, it's- it's nothing."

You squinted. "It doesn't look like nothing."

You wondered what his project would be this time around. It was clearly much more elaborate than his previous, resembling what you could only guess to be a canon. The wheels looked to be recycled shields, a detail that charmed you greatly. Mismatched scraps of metal and wood hammered together by his experienced hands, built into a device of complex machinery to your untrained eyes.

"Just something I've been working on," he muttered, stepping away for you to get a better look. His hands flung out in a gesture towards it flimsily, lacking the bravo you'd expect. "I call it 'The Mangler'. Uh, pending title."

The name was suitable for... whatever it was meant to be. Very Hiccup. Having more of Hiccup was a good thing, in your eyes.

Forging weapons was just as valuable as being in the fight yourself, not unless everyone resorted to using their bare fists instead - which there were a few. He held more skill than you ever could; Vikings destroyed things in their grasp while he created them. Maybe that was why the sight left you in such awe. Praise for him threatened to slip past your tongue, the words founded and lost the second you hesitated.

"I see," you mused, taking a step forward. You pause when he steps back in return, but you push through, delicately brushing your fingers along the grooves of the wood. You'd hate to break his work if you weren't careful, something he must've spent weeks on. "Does it work?"

His foot twisted with brimming nervous energy, lips pursed into a thin line. "Define 'work'."

Unsure of how to respond, you chose to say nothing at all, carefully observing the details you couldn't see from a mere glance.

Ingenuity was more of his strong suit than the traditional way of doing things, which you appreciated more than any axe-swinging Viking running around like a fool. It was a selfish way of thinking, to say that you enjoyed his odd quirks and skills, because you didn't have the entire village breathing down your neck for being the Chief's son.

Clans of higher status like yours were held close to the Chief's lineage, the strongest assets to the Hooligan tribe. You had a superficial relationship with each of the clans' children back then, when you couldn't so much as hold a battleaxe or fit into your boots proper, including the sheepish boy before you. A boy you used to hunt for trolls with, sneaking off into the Great Hall in search of the bread on people's plates.

The situation came a surprise to you, a rare moment of interaction after who knows how long. Memories of years ago were useless now, a shared history but nothing to show for it. You'd heard of his feats, the news of a recent catastrophic event of his doing circulating around town faster than you could blink, followed by disappointed sighs and the lighthearted jab at his character. You wished they and the gods be kinder to him, any sign that his efforts proved to be fruitful.

The acrid stench of smoke and slowly dying charcoal filled your senses in a thick fog, pulse stuttering in conjunction with each sputter and sudden spark of the kiln. The scent in your nose reminded you of where he spent all his hours, tucked away from the outside world with many sleepless nights. Reluctantly, you turned to meet his gaze, dull green irises reflecting the warmth of the flame and softly outlining the curve of his jaw. The Mangler was much easier to look at than him.

Surely it wasn't that hot to justify the rush that bloomed across the round of your cheeks; you couldn't make sense of it. Your lips twitched sourly before your reflexes could school your expression, turning your head suddenly to study the intrigue of a pebble on the ground. No matter how hard you clenched your fist around the familiar polearm, the direction of blood travelled further until it spread down the hairs of your neck.

"I can show you, if you want?" he stuttered out, the sound you likened to the honk of a goose. It only made that feeling worse. "You might wanna, uh, step back."

He made a shooing motion with his hand, hurriedly shuffling towards it. You smothered the tightness in your chest for the lingering curiosity from earlier. His expression was knitted firmly, anxiety for approval clear as he fumbled around with the hinge and latch, revealing two crossbows attached to the base of the canon with a mechanical click.

It was more impressive than the outside led you to believe, you'd never seen anything quite like it. He was impressive.

"You built all of this?"

He nodded, as if uncertain in his answer. "It's still a prototype, I don't even know if it works-..."

You were about to interject when he attempted to lean on it, sounding off rhythmic clicks followed by the sudden blast of the bolas spinning across the air, gusting right past your cheek. Metal clashed together, dwindling into rattling scrap parts that tumbled to the ground. When you managed to collect your senses, mirth bubbled up to the surface of your chest as you stood in the midst of the chaos.

He muttered something under his breath. "That answers that, I guess."

"You'll figure it out," you offered, only to bite your lip right after. How come everything you said came out wrong? You forced yourself to stay put, anchoring the distilled energy that ran through your spine to the weight of the polearm. "It's better than your previous ones... Keep it up."

You would offer up your help, but you doubt you'd be of much use to him. Hand over tools when asked, or clean the utter mess that was the smithy. No real reason to linger any longer, you reminded yourself. That is, unless, he'd want you to stay...

He blinked at you with an odd look, an expression unable to discern. "Uh, thanks? I think."

"Yeah," you mumbled. "You'll injure someone if you don't fix it."

Hiccup had a habit of doing that, doing more harm than good, no matter how innocent his intentions stood. Of course, he was still the son of the Chief; stubborn to the boot, unwilling to listen. His recklessness should've annoyed you, but one look at him - scrawny and fidgety - had your stomach feeling weightless.

A subdued laugh left him, the sound lacked any real amusement. "Noted."

[media-illiterate]

Fallout 4 Alternate Timeline

Because @datura-tea asked about my tags on this post, and I already have it sitting in my wips folder, I thought I'd post my alternate timeline of events for Fallout 4! It always bothered me that the Commonwealth is still so underdeveloped while the West Coast has trains and a working electical grid. So I tried to come up with a coherent narrative of how it could have backslid into its current state.

Timeline under the readmore because it is, not short.

2077: The Great War occurs. The surviving students and faculty of CIT take refuge in the institute’s underground particle-physics labs, locking the rest of the wasteland out. They live in fear of being discovered by other survivors and raided for their tech, making them paranoid and isolationist.

2097: Building on prewar research, CIT survivors complete development of their Mass Relay teleportation device. Dubbing themselves simply as The Institute, they fully wall themselves off from the surface world and embark on an ambitious plan of underground expansion, scavenging what they need from the surface.

2131: The Institute develops gen-1 synths to act as surface operatives, mostly removing the need for Institute personnel to go to the surface. Now mostly insulated from violence, the Institute much more callous and combative towards surface dwellers.

2163: The Institute isolates samples of FEV from the air, and begins a program of carefully controlled mutation. The resulting supermutants are found lacking, and the program is put on hold.

2176: The Commonwealth People's Government is formed from several prominent settlements. The new nation takes steps to protect its people from the Institute’s aggressive scavenging methods, earning its ire. Though the institute takes steps to try and destabilize the CPG, their new gen-2 synths prove insufficient for the task.

2177: Reactivating their FEV program, the Institute begin producing supermutants from kidnapped wastelanders and releasing them into the commonwealth with the intent to destabilize the CPG. Through careful false-flag attacks using disguised synths, they manage to spark a state of war between the mutants and surface humans that will last for more than a century.

2180: The newly formed Commonwealth Minutemen, a volunteer citizen’s militia created by the CPG, help drive off the initial wave of supermutants from central Boston.

2180-2224: Tensions between the Institute and CPG continue to escalate. Though the efforts of the Institute’s FEV project hampers the young nation’s expansion, the supermutants are too disorganized and scattered to topple the government. Faced with an increasingly cohesive and rapidly developing CPG, the Institute begins work on its Gen-3 synth infiltrator project.

2225: The Institute discovers information on Vault 111. Preparations are made for an expedition to recover a pristine pre-war genetic code from one of the pre-war vault dwellers in cryostasis.

2227: The part where they murder your spouse and steal your kid happens.

2229: An early model synth infiltrator "malfunctions" in downtown Diamond city, exposing the existence of Gen-3 synths to the world. The cause of the malfunction is never found, though escaped synths often claim that it was an intentional suicide-by-cop.

2230: Realizing the security threat posed by the new Gen-3 synths, mid-ranking members of the CPG's nascent spy corps founds the town of Covenant over top of an abandoned tunnel network. Posing as a new settlement, almost no one outside the project know its true purpose: the town is actually a front for researching a method to discern humans from Gen-3 synths.

2233: The Institute begins its infiltration of the CPG using upgraded Gen-3 synths, killing & replacing key individuals at all levels of power. Though paranoia about synths continues to build, most fail to anticipate just how far the tech has advanced.

2235: The Institute finalizes development of an advanced model of Gen-4 synth, dubbed Coursers. Incorporating FEV and cybernetic enhancements, Coursers form an elite corps of assassins that eliminate anyone who learns about the Institute’s plans.

(Side note: I think coursers should have been so much weirder)

2237: Having completed their infiltration of the CPG, the Institute kicks off their plan to topple the CPG.

August 4: The Executive Chair of the CPG council, Robert Gray, is assassinated by his secretary in broad daylight. During the assassination and subsequent arrest, the secretary loudly declares that the Chair has been replaced by an Institute Synth.

August 12: Scandal breaks out as evidence of massive financial corruption is leaked to the public. Protests occur across the commonwealth as the full scope becomes clear.

August 26: A special election is held, and voters elect minister of transportation Patricia Weiss as Chair. She delivers a hawkish election speech warning the Institute to back down.

September 10: A portion of the CPG stages a coup, using claims of mass election fraud as justification amid mass public unrest. They capture most of the CPG council members, and declare them traitors to the people of the commonwealth. Weiss escapes and sets up a government-in-exile out of Quincy with the remaining CPG military. She issues a two week ultimatum to the coup’s leaders, demanding that they release the counselors and surrender.

September 20: Before the date of the ultimatum passes, the CPG council is executed via mass firing squad in the CPG council chambers. Public dissent boils over into active civil war. The Minutemen quickly declare neutrality, but their attempts to protect outlying settlements are hampered by the widespread violence and lack of volunteers.

October 30: Under the guise of a ceasefire negotiation, the coup regime arrests Weiss. She is put through a kangaroo court and hanged as a synth infiltrator, to the shock of the public.

November: Multiple settlements withdraw from the CPG as the violence escalates, Bunker Hill and Goodneighbor first among them. The CPG civil war begins to peter out as both sides lose support, and numerous CPG military units defect to become raiders in search of pay.

December: Loyalist forces gain the upper hand, begin a reign of terror style purge of the remaining CPG officials, and declare the coup defeated. Weakened by the withdrawal of numerous settlements in reaction to the violence of the purge, the Loyalist government promptly collapses. Remnants of the rebel CPG forces attempt to declare a new government out of University Point, but fail to attract any major settlements.

2238: The CPG totally collapses. The remnants of its military forces, both loyalist and rebel, defect to the gunners en masse; many, disillusioned with military life, become raiders. Only the Minutemen command staff, operating out of Fort Independence, remain cohesive.

The collapse of the CPG ushers in an era of violence lasting decades as raider warlords exploit the chaos to carve the Commonwealth up into bandit fiefdoms.

Rumors begin to circulate that several of the key players of the CPG’s collapse were secretly synths. In truth, the entire chain of events was planned to a T, and leaders on all sides had been replaced. Only the Minutemen were overlooked, being seen by the Institute as just ragtag volunteers.

Several synth infiltrators defect from the Institute, seeking a way to free themselves and their peers. The organization they found will eventually grow into the Railroad.

Covenant, its secrecy miraculously intact, becomes radicalized by the fall of the CPG. Their methods become more desperate and more barbaric as time goes on.

2240's: The Minutemen begin rebuilding support for the CPG among the populace, striking back against the raider warlords and defending settlements from their depredations.

2250: Supermutant attacks increase sharply as the Institute releases more and more mutants onto the surface in an attempt to stop the Minutemen from reforming the CPG.

2274: After weathering two decades of freaquent supermutant attacks, Fort Independence finally falls at the hand of a mirelurk queen; unknown to anyone on the surface, this was the work of the Institute, who used their advanced signals technology to drive the creature into a frenzy.

2282: General Becker dies, leaving the Minutemen leaderless. The militia quickly declines, becoming disorganized and factional; raiders quickly exploit the chaos.

2285: Disgusted by his role in the Institute’s FEV program, Doctor Brian Virgil sabotages the program, mutates himself, and escapes into the glowing sea with the accumulated research. Distraught by the sudden lack of new reinforcements, the commonwealth mutants face an extinction crisis. Many begin to question their way of life, among them a mutant named Strong.

2288: The Sole Survivor wakes up.

[kcyars99]

omg

[Verse 1]

Dear Adonis

I'm sorry that that man is your father, let me be honest

It takes a man to be a man, your dad is not responsive

I look at him and wish your grandpa woulda wore a condom

I'm sorry that you gotta grow up and then stand behind him

Life is hard, I know, the challenge is always gon' beat us home

Sometimes our parents make mistakes that affect us until we grown

And you're a good kid that need good leadership

Let me be your mentor since your daddy don't teach you shit

Never let a man piss on your leg, son

Either you die right there or pop that man in the head, son

Never fall in the escort business, that's bad religion

Please remember, you could be a bitch even if you got bitches

Never code-switch, whether right or wrong, you a Black man

Even if it don't benefit your goals, do some push-ups, get some discipline

Don't cut them corners like your daddy did, fuck what Ozempic did

Don't pay to play with them Brazilians, get a gym membership

Understand, no throwin' rocks and hidin' hands, that's law

Don't be ashamed 'bout who you wit', that's how he treat your moms

Don't have a kid to hide a kid to hide again, be sure

Five percent will comprehend, but ninety-five is lost

Be proud of who you are, your strength come from within

Lotta superstars that's real, but your daddy ain't one of them

And you nothing like him, you'll carry yourself as king

Can't understand me right now? Just play this when you eighteen

[Verse 2]

Dear Sandra

Your son got some habits, I hope you don't undermine them

Especially with all the girls that's hurt inside this climate

You a woman, so you know how it feels to be in alignment

With emotion, hopin' a man can see you and not be blinded

Dear Dennis, you gave birth to a master manipulator

Even usin' you to prove who he is is a huge favor

I think you should ask for more paper, and more paper

And more, uh, more paper

I'm blamin' you for all his gamblin' addictions

Psychopath intuition, the man that like to play victim

You raised a horrible fuckin' person, the nerve of you, Dennis

Sandra, sit down, what I'm about to say is heavy, now listen

Mm-mm, your son's a sick man with sick thoughts, I think niggas like him should die

Him and Weinstein should get fucked up in a cell for the rest they life

He hates Black women, hypersexualizes 'em with kinks of a nympho fetish

Grew facial hair because he understood bein' a beard just fit him better

He got sex offenders on ho-VO that he keep on a monthly allowance

A child should never be compromised and he keepin' his child around them

And we gotta raise our daughters knowin' there's predators like him lurkin'

Fuck a rap battle, he should die so all of these women can live with a purpose

I been in this industry twelve years, I'ma tell y'all one lil' secret

It's some weird shit goin' on and some of these artists be here to police it

They be streamlinin' victims all inside of they home and callin' 'em Tinder

Then leak videos of themselves to further push their agendas

To any woman that be playin' his music, know that you're playin' your sister

Or better, you're sellin' your niece, to the weirdos, not the good ones

Katt Williams said, "Get you the truth," so I'ma get mines

The Embassy 'bout to get raided, too, it's only a matter of time

Ayy, LeBron, keep the family away, hey, Curry, keep the family away

To anybody that embody the love for they kids, keep the family away

They lookin' at you too if you standin' by him, keep the family away

I'm lookin' to shoot through any pervert that lives, keep the family safe

[Verse 3]

Dear baby girl

I'm sorry that your father not active inside your world

He don't commit to much but his music, yeah, that's for sure

He a narcissist, misogynist, livin' inside his songs

Try destroy families rather than takin' care of his own

Should be teachin' you time tables or watchin' Frozen with you

Or at your eleventh birthday, singin' poems with you

Instead, he be in Turks, payin' for sex and poppin' Percs, examples that you don't deserve

I wanna tell you that you're loved, you're brave, you're kind

You got a gift to change the world, and could change your father's mind

'Cause our children is the future, but he lives inside confusion

Money's always been illusion, but that's the life he's used to

His father prolly didn't claim him neither

History do repeats itself, sometimes it don't need a reason

But I would like to say it's not your fault that he's hidin' another child

Give him grace, this the reason I made Mr. Morale

So our babies like you can cope later

Give you some confidence to go through somethin', it's hope later

I never wanna hear you chase a man 'cause his failed behavior

Sittin' in the club with sugar daddies for validation

You need to know that love is eternity and trumps all pain

I'll tell you who your father is, just play this song when it rains

Yes, he's a hitmaker, songwriter, superstar, right

And a fuckin' deadbeat that should never say "more life"

Meet the Grahams

[Verse 4]

Dear Aubrey

I know you probably thinkin' I wanted to crash your party

But truthfully, I don't have a hatin' bone in my body

This supposed to be a good exhibition within the game

But you fucked up the moment you called out my family's name

Why you had to stoop so low to discredit some decent people?

Guess integrity is lost when the metaphors doesn't reach you

And I like to understand 'cause your house was never a home

Thirty-seven, but you showin' up as a seven-year-old

You got gamblin' problems, drinkin' problems, pill-poppin' and spendin' problems

Bad with money, whorehouse

Solicitin' women problems, therapy's a lovely start

But I suggest some ayahuasca, strip the ego from the bottom

I try to empathize with you 'cause I know that you ain't been through nothin'

Crave entitlement, but wanna be liked so bad that it's puzzlin'

No dominance, let's recap moments when you didn't fit in

No secret handshakes with your friend

No cultural cachet to binge, just disrespectin' your mother

Identity's on the fence, don't know which family will love ya

The skin that you livin' in is compromised in personas

Can't channel your masculine even when standin' next to a woman

You a body shamer, you gon' hide them baby mamas, ain't ya?

You embarrassed of 'em, that's not right, that ain't how mama raised us

Take that mask off, I wanna see what's under them achievements

Why believe you? You never gave us nothin' to believe in

'Cause you lied about religious views, you lied about your surgery

You lied about your accent and your past tense, all is perjury

You lied about your ghostwriters, you lied about your crew members

They all pussy, you lied on 'em, I know they all got you in 'em

You lied about your son, you lied about your daughter, huh

You lied about them other kids that's out there hopin' that you come

You lied about the only artist that can offer you some help

Fuck a rap battle, this a long life battle with yourself

Yeah Drake is done ATP just hang it up dude you’re better off doing mainstream pop rap or something

[ww2yaoi]

[I caved and started writing a webgott fic even though I'm 23 years late. this ground has definitely been traversed before but I'm an advocate for the webgott 2024 renaissance. here's a taste]

The war is over, and still, David and Joe are butting heads, velvet-shed antlers clashing like rival bucks during rutting season.

David’s not sure what he expected. He thought after the exultation of taking Berchtesgaden and raiding it of its liquour and silverware Joe might lighten up. He’d smiled so much that day, drank vintage champagne straight from the bottle, tore down Nazi flags and ripped them to ribbons. Something had broken in him at Landsberg, David knows that much, but he’d been hopeful that as the war tempered so too would Joe’s ire. Now he knows he’d been naive to think so.

Joe parks the Jeep outside the hotel where they’re billeted and wrestles the keys from the ignition. He climbs out and slams the door without another word, jump boots clomping against the cobblestones as he stalks away. David sits silently in the passenger’s side, Skinny’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head. He presses his lips into a thin line, sucks them between his teeth and bites down.

Captain Speirs had no right to give that order, least of all to Joe. They had no reason to keep fighting, no reason to dirty their hands when the old blood stains still linger. Leave that to the MPs and the military tribunals, their war was supposed to be over.

David gets out of the Jeep but decides not to follow after Joe. He knows the more he seeks Joe out, the more Joe will push him away. Instead, he walks, weaving through the streets of Zell am See, past shops and cafes and chalets all untouched by the ravages of war. Hitler’s home country, the birthplace of so much death and destruction, and it has the ersatz gloss of a resort town. The irony is not lost on David. He’ll write about it later if he gets the chance.

Birds chirp in the trees. Locals stroll past him, well-dressed in their spring clothes and chatting away jovially amongst themselves. They regard him without much fanfare, used to the sight of American soldiers by now. The water of Lake Zell is so blue it makes David’s eyes ache. He fishes his cigarettes from the pocket of his paratrooper jacket and slides one into his mouth, fiddling with his Zippo until the flame sparks and lights the tip.

The first inhale brings David back to the mountains, that cabin on the hill, chickens clucking in their pen. The hit of nicotine had done little to calm his nerves as Joe shouted at the kommandant in his Austrian-tinged German. David had just about jumped out of his skin when the shot rang out and the kommandant burst from the cabin, bleeding from his neck. Joe had bled from his neck in Holland. He has the scar to prove it. Sometimes, when they’re sitting side-by-side in the truck and Joe’s not looking, David will stare at it, curling his fist at his side to stop himself from reaching out and smoothing his thumb over the puckered skin.

He keeps walking, smoking his cigarette down to the filter. Eventually, he comes upon a church, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out. The imposing wooden doors are open to let the tepid May air waft inside. David steps across the threshold and the piquant smell of incense hits his nose, olibanum and myrrh.

The church is empty except for a custodian sweeping the floor by the pulpit, but the man eventually disappears into a room at the back. David sits at the pew closest to the door, the knotty wood ungiving against his back. He admires the stained glass windows, cyan and crimson and gold with the pious faces of saints. The apses vault high above him, the air that rains down from the rafters drafty and filled with dust motes. It would be easy to imagine what this place would look like had the fighting swept through here, but David tries not to. It’s too beautiful a church for that kind of exercise.

David let his Catholicism lapse years ago, before the war even started really. His family was never that religious, only attending services on Christmas and Easter, but David prays now. He doesn’t go as far as kneeling on the tuffet or even interlocking his fingers, but pray he does, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment. He asks God, if there even is one, to take Joe’s pain and put it elsewhere, to spare him the anger and the hurt, the need for revenge that undoubtedly itches underneath his skin. He’s sure if Joe knew what he was doing, sitting here asking his Christian god to save a Jew, he would laugh in his face, but David’s not ashamed of it. If anything, he’s desperate. He’s not sure if Joe is ever going to speak to him again, even though he’s well aware that Joe tends to run hot only to cool back down a few days later.

Maybe this time is different though. Maybe this is what finally breaks the unsturdy bridge David has built between them since he missed Bastogne, possibly to the point of irreparability. He sits there, trying to parse what he feels. Perhaps it would be a relief to let their friendship shatter in his unwieldy hands. No more tiptoeing around Joe’s persistent bitterness, his bad moods that seem to bubble up with the slightest prodding. Then again, David doesn’t think it’d be a relief at all. He’s not even angry at Joe. If anything, he’s upset they’re still here after the Germans have surrendered, stuck cleaning up a mess that was never theirs in the first place.

Sometimes, David is so angry he forgets to breathe. Was he like this before the war? He can barely remember. Back at Harvard, he used to get heated in his classes, arguing passionately with his peers about Proust or Dostoevsky, but he knew how trivial it was even then. It was just a game he liked to play, something to make the hours he spent stuck in lecture halls go by faster. He doubts there’s anything he can do here to make the time pass quicker. There’s probably nothing Joe can do either.

With that, David gets up from the pew and exits the church. He steps back into the golden blare of the Austrian sunshine, headed towards Easy’s billet.

[court-jobi]

Sneak Peek: Just Be Gentle pt 2

Gif credit by @javier-pena

I am SO delayed in this, but WIP Weekend it is! Recommended by the lovely @djarins-cyare, thanks friend!

I have not visited my drafts folder in sooo long, but I'm coming out of an unintentional writing hiatus and have fresh motivation to open the ole lappytop back up for a little sample to share. Part 1 of this fic was much beloved by yall apparently, so it continues here!

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x reader

Words: 1.9K (for now)

For my Star Wars | Mandalorian Masterlist, check it out here!

Paz watched the scene before him unfold; the heat of compassion bloomed in the gut like stoking a fire…

Din Djarin swore on the deed of his ship that he wasn’t exaggerating. He placed a flag solidly in her camp, and would go to arms for her as a returned gesture of loyalty. From that first meeting when the Hunter came back through the alcove to Nevarro’s covert, he spoke on his companion’s competence on several fronts. Namely, in all the ways that resonated with his people: creative thinking, handy know-how, and something more: empathy- a gift not to be ignored when it came to caring for others -himself included- in moments of high stress. 

He praised her talents ‘all across the board’, citing moments in their brief stint together on the Razor Crest as testimony to his Mandalorian clan for her to remain there in shelter– to be the exception to their rules regarding outsiders. Aruetti. 

A surprise to none, Paz Vizsla deemed that it would be up to him to judge such loyalties for himself; as a man more inclined to view actions as proof rather than words. 

But then he met her. Every bit of what Djarin said was true. Better yet, she proved every assumption of his wrong: allowed her to take him by the crook of his arm, surrendered her best vote of confidence, and let him lead. Acquiesced to his strength, protected it, and encouraged him at every turn. Saved him the first of her meals, the best of her scavenged findings. Took to tending to his wounds herself, because he wasn’t gentle enough to do so on his own.

A few weeks have passed since that day, but his fondness for her didn’t wane like the moon’s phases did. Paz Vizsla made it his mission from that moment forward to carry an extra ounce of gentleness, just for her. 

Then, the refugees came pouring in. Her arrival couldn't have been timed more perfectly, Paz thought; he’d only begun to see the full measure of little Song’s magic the moment he saw her skills at work. 

A smaller covert made a quick exit and raced to safety after a raid depleted their stores a few systems over. There had been some rumors of their hunter clans taking the bait of Guild membership in order to make ends meet, as they’d seen in Djarin’s success. The Way instilled a sense of belonging wherever Mandalorians crossed paths, so merging on his covert’s territory for the upcoming season out of necessity was a given.

But now, in light of Nevarro’s storm season, it seems their numbers would be doubling indefinitely. The situation proved to be a strain and test of everyone’s flexibility and resilience, to keep everyone content and organized on such short notice… but with a Vizsla as Alorad, they flourished with the change in plans and watched on as Paz steeled himself against Fear, and made everything suitable. Supplies were rationed and rooms were stuffed to the brim, but they would make do.

While they may not have resources with them in tow, they more than made up for it by pulling their weight in preparation for the underground shelters. And that, would benefit all. 

Song made herself indispensable, true to what Djarin had said. Moreover, she did so with caring smiles and solemn assurances to the migrating Mandalorians -young and old- who felt very out of place. To those men who lost their way in the bustle and found themselves turned around in the tunnels, she would give quick pointers about where to go– and thanked them for their service to the clan, each and every one. 

Learning fast. Paz was grateful.

Upon nightfall, there was less commotion than normal. As the common spaces gradually funneled down, bedchambers were lit and sealed for the night. For the most part, it was the heads of families -adults- who went to rooms for the night as a chance to let down and get their heads on straight after such a sudden move. Surely not all slept right away, but took to tending to their armor and delving into their meditation practices.

 Meanwhile, their children under ten or so were sent off to the creche where they could be watched over. The community room was next to the medstations, and as kids are often ones to complain of very little bout of aches, pains, or simple snotty noses, it was the logical choice. 

Two crechemasters stayed in the spacious alcove of the Medbay annex overseeing the creche, as well as one of the resident tribe’s kitchen aides, a few men as guards near the entrance and supply doors… and a certain someone -with a voice like the Coming of Spring- that Paz Viszla could never refuse pausing for a minute to listen….

Clearly tugged by the soft spot within him, Paz volunteered to serve first watch over the children for their first night, which made their parents feel that much more assured of their protection. So with blankets pulled from every corner of spare storage, canvas mats laid this way and that, and with juvenile excitement despite the circumstances, the children all got to sleep and the staff interchanged periods of rest until all was quiet by the early waning hours of morning. Even the covert’s local young ones came to join this slumber party of sorts. For the sake of welcoming and strengthening bonds, the crechemasters allowed it. 

Right after the 0300 guards changed out, Paz heard it. Inside the alcoves inset bunks, one of the smallest boys -nearly four years old- was making a steady and increasing amount of noise, until he startled himself awake and clearly didn't know where he was. He was calling for his babuir in their native tongue; but by his aimless flailing about, it’s clear he’s looking for just about anyone bigger than him that might come to his cry for help.

Before Paz could overstep one of the sleeping children nearest him to respond, he caught the woman he'd know to know as the 'Songbird of the Covert' slipping out of the window jumpseat like a sparrow off its perch, flying to the child's stuttering form up on the riser.

"Well hi honey, g'morning to you too~ Pretty early, isn't it?"

Seeing a soothing figure coming to his call, little threadbare arms immediately shot out and spoke brokenly in bits and pieces of a particular Sundari dialect. Basic wasn't his strong suit. Then again, it gave way to crying in minutes anyway, so his distress was clear and the language barrier mattered little.

"Hm?-- ohhh, aw c'mere bub..” the woman set the child on a hip as he clutched to her. She set them in a sway, “Yeah, you can stay up with me– I can always use some snuggles, too."

The toddler nuzzled in but by his whimpers, Song moved towards the open atrium with more room to walk around and hopefully not disturb the sleeping of any others. 

Paz met her there. She'd looked his way with a pitiful expression, traipsing about with the little one in her arms and keeping his little shoulders pressed in close.

"Bad dreams, I'd say," she murmured low to Paz, in Basic. "But I can't tell if anything else is wrong. Doesn’t feel too warm, not coughing. Seems trusting though, poor thing. " she shrugged, motioning to how easily the child was settling.

Through his careful watch of her across the room, he’d caught her sneaking the back of her hand to his forehead earlier in a move masked as just fixing his curls, but fortunately, he must not have been found feverish to warrant more worry. 

Paz came to bring a big, steady hand on the child's back. The kid turned his head from her neck to find the new Alorad tilting his helmet to match, and  made a big sniff to put on a brace face. Shy and no doubt aware of this elder’s importance, he snuck out a little wave back in acknowledgement.

"//Be at peace, young one. You're safe in the Reliable one's arms, that you are.//"

Whatever Paz said to this "adika" -as he seems to have called him- brought relief to the child, as he hugged her neck tighter and made himself comfortable again in her arms.

An amused whisper graced his ears as she looked up at him,

"What'd you say?"

"That he has nothing to worry about," Paz shared kindly. "He seems to like you."

 "I wouldn't think these kiddos would trust strangers so easily after what they've been through," she smoothed back the child’s hair gently- thankfully, his breathing evened out into sleepy sighs.

 "They've had quite the eventful last few days."

She kept humming away for a minute, trying to subconsciously lull the child the rest of the way. She looked absently over the nursery if other young ones, but Paz was captivated by her alone.

This instinct must have been what Djarin was talking about. She hadn't hesitated to jump right in, even though she must have been on the edge of sleep herself- if her state of dress was any hint. Shed opted for no outer protective layers for this reason perhaps- a source of comfort for the little ones, and though perhaps it was also to signify to them she was not a warrior or someone too formal for them to shy away from.

Finally seeing the child dozing back fully, Paz offered to take the child from her and set him back on his bunk above them.

 She let him, adjusting her loose cardigan back onto her shoulder. Shed opted for that over her cropped black body glove that acted as a breastband, and the loose comfy pants that honestly have fit Paz better, but she made do with her current wardrobe and didn't bother worrying about outfits too much.

Here, just over his shoulder, she watched the Big Blue tuck -yes, tuck- the child in. Stepping away only when he saw the child try to settle into his new sleep position did he step away and back towards her retreat to her watch corner.

"Teacher and carer? You're the dual package, Mr. Vizsla."

"I do what I can. It's not often I get to see our children be children- I would preserve that wonder in them if I could."

Childlike innocence: to hear the hardest-working, stoic soldier speak on such tender things was a thing of wonder itself. 

“I’ve only ever seen the little ones work their drills here– recitations, history lessons.” She looked about the room. “I haven’t seen kids this young in a year, much less so many crammed into one room.”

“Well, the rooming arrangement is common practice,” Paz explained, his trademark patience a soothing constant- even through the helmet, “You’ll find a nursery like this in every covert across the galaxy.”

Then, a more sobering thought, one that brought pity to the forefront of her mind:

“If– you weren’t all living down here, would they be going to a normal school? Making other friends? At least while they’re young?”

As if she expected any other answer, Paz’s reflex came through the form of his gentle whisper: “This is the Way.”

“That it is,” she firmed up a knowing smile. “There’s so many of them, going through so much newness at their age.”

Paz agrees, though knows no other way than the community that sleeps before them. To watch the woman’s empathy radiate from her being -those angel eyes- was to know the warmest ray of sunshine in the pit of winter. Such a calm presence… that’s what these youth need, after all. She’s exactly where she should be.

[forpiratereasons]

DARCY i am bad at meta and you are good at it, i just finished ep4-5 and something something Stede and Ed are both on journeys to becoming better captains (co-captains?) in what basically amounts to thinking about people other than themselves and truly listening to their crew. And Stede is learning more pirate-y skills too but i think after ep5 what he's learning is to let go of his own desires in favour of what is best for his crew/family I'm completely normal about this can you tell please weigh in I'm desperate for someone with meta skill to comment on thissssss

you're right on i think!! both ed and stede esp in ep 5 are learning how to be better people - and thus better captains. ed's thing in ep five is about making amends - he tries unsuccessfully with lucius by offering an eye for an eye type situation, but he finds a successful path with fang with conversation, listening, getting to know him better, engaging in an activity he likes. he learns to sit with himself a bit. he learns to be proud of himself, even. he learns to open himself back up to stede.

stede's thing is about community, imo. how to be part of the community, part of the family, in a way he never could for his family back home. a huge piece of this is learning to get along with izzy. he and izzy are antagonistic to each other when they meet back up in ep 3, he even dreams about killing izzy in ep 1. he tries to use izzy as a tie-breaker in ep 4 because he thinks izzy will side with him on keeping ed aboard. but in ep 5, he has to deal with izzy as his own thing. stede doesn't become a better captain by throwing punches or swinging on ropes with izzy - he becomes a better captain by seeing what izzy needs (purpose, to prove himself, to trust himself) and giving him an avenue to do that by teaching stede something even though historically they don't like each other. stede even invokes blackbeard in order to overcome their historical disdain for one another because he realises that's what it will take for izzy.

and eventually stede does learn something he actually needs with regards to the cursed suit: izzy tells him that belief has power and that the crew's belief in the curse will eventually make them a danger to themselves. what stede thinks and wants does not take priority over what his crew needs. he tries to offer a compromise, but when he sees it isn't working, he capitulates and ends up having a much better time bonding with the crew on their silly give-it-away raid.

[rebelheartedviking]

𝖁𝖎𝖉𝖆𝖗 𝕽𝖆𝖌𝖓𝖆𝖗 𝕴𝖛𝖆𝖗𝖘𝖘𝖔𝖓

the Viking king of Scotland.

Vidar Ragnar Ivarsson, better known as the fierce Viking King of Scotland, who rules alongside his wife, his queen and his one and only, his Marlena. Proud father of Ragnar Ivain, Lidija Marlene and Ranva Aleen. He is the son of Ivar the Boneless, King of Kattegat and all of Norway and Princess Xenia of the Rus, Queen of Kattegat and all of Norway and is the Prince of Kattegat. He is the little brother of his foster brother Cailan, Edda's twin brother and big brother of Iwan, Finan and Caye. Nephew of Bjorn, Hvitserk, Sigurd and Ubbe and cousin of Illian, with whom he shares a close bond like his father and uncle Hvitserk, Marlena, Ellinor, Baldur, Ragnar, Leja and Thyra and the grandson of the great Ragnar Lothbrok. Although Vidar comes from two ruling houses and is raised strictly by his father as the heir to Kattegat, from an early age he is neither interested in power nor the throne or ruling and rebels against his father's upbringing and the burden of being a king. Although Vidar inherited his father's hardness and natural arrogance, as well as the dominance that was in his blood, he is often compared to Ragnar, whom he resembles more in character. Vidar is curious and open-minded, very intelligent and always likes to challenge others and the gods themselves, not even willing to bow to the gods. The young warrior also has charm and humor despite his dignified, composed demeanor and, behind the determined facade, has a good, pure heart. His family is especially important to the young Viking, whom he loves more than anything else and protects, especially the women of the family, and would defend them with his life and blood. The well-being of his people is also very important to Vidar, who are very popular with him because of his nature, but he does not make any effort and does not care about his lineage. From a young age he took part in raids and battles with his big brother Cailan and Illian, together with his father and uncle Hvitserk, where Vidar learned quickly and proved his talent as a warrior and in bloody battles, in which he always fights hard and mercilessly. Despite the hard, arrogant, introspective and skillful facade, he is always open to his family and the people he loves, sincere and inquisitive and absolutely loyal, especially to his brother Cailan and Marcellus, who go into every battle together, whether victory or Valhalla, which the young king is not afraid of. Despite his open-minded nature, which he does not show to everyone, the King of Scotland, who becomes its king through his marriage to Marlena and is considered a great, warlike, hard but good king, is also haunted by the darkness that he always tries to keep under control, which is why he understands his little brother better than anyone else. The young Viking, husband, king and father remains loyal to his family and his people and would always do anything for them. Together with Marlena, they are considered the great, confident royal couple who not only strengthen Scotland but are invincible. ( ⸺ Vikings. )

[cetaitlaverite]

Into the Dark

Or: The Last Time They Saw Each Other for A Long, Long Time

Masters of the Air - John Brady x OC

another instalment into the millie and brady cut of watm!! this takes place in the early hours of the morning before the münster raid. you can find the rest of their story at the very bottom of the watm masterlist here. hope you love!!! <3

It was chilly in the plane cockpit, but Millie didn’t feel the cold. With a too-big jacket over her shoulders and her cheek pressed to the steady beat of a heart, both of which belonged to her lover, the chill in the air couldn’t find its way to her. In here more so than anywhere else it was warm and safe, the ever-tipping world set steady just as long as she and John were here, were together, were curled in on each other and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, rosy-cheeked and smiley after opening themselves up to each other again and again and again.

“So tired,” Millie confessed into the quiet, her words muffled where her cheek was squished against John’s chest.

John hummed lowly in acknowledgement, running slow, warm hands up and down her back. “You can sleep, Mils,” he told her quietly. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.” As if to prove it, he leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

Millie smiled, turning her face to press a chaste kiss to his chest in turn before settling once more against him. “You have to fly tomorrow,” she reminded him ruefully. “Or today, I suppose. Not sure what the time is.”

Again, John hummed his acknowledgement, but then he confessed, “Find it impossible to let go of you. Don’t think I could even if I wanted to, and I really, really don’t.”

Millie chuckled softly to herself. “I don’t want to go either, but you’re flying tomorrow, Johnny.” She nuzzled her face closer into his chest. “I need you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning to make sure you come back to me.”

“I’ll always come back to you,” John replied without missing a beat. “Always. Nothing could keep me away, not when I’ve got you waiting for me.”

Millie smiled softly again but there was something sad in it, something aching. She hated when he made her promises he couldn’t keep.

John shifted in the pilot’s seat, the one he’d be occupying again in a mere few hours to fly into an active warzone, so he could look down at her where she was resting on his bare chest. “My darling Mils,” he whispered, more to himself than to her, gazing down at her even though he couldn’t see her face. “My beautiful girl.”

As sudden as a strike of lightning on an otherwise clear night, tears filled Millie’s eyes. She squeezed them shut tight, breathing heavily through her nose in an attempt to get them to clear, but then her bottom lip quivered and John must have felt it, because he started to turn her to face him in his lap.

“Mils,” he whispered, his eyes concerned, his lips downturned, his palm warm against her cheek and his fingers impossibly gentle in their caresses. “Baby,” he murmured, tilting his head to the side to try to meet her gaze. “What’s wrong?”

Millie drew in a shuddering breath as she wrenched her eyes open. She never could hide from him. His blue eyes were bright in the moonlight, his hair scruffed and falling into his eyes. Beautiful. So impossibly handsome. The mere thought that a face like this could ever not exist in the world was harrowing.

“I can’t help but think,” Millie began slowly, trying to keep herself from weeping, “about Fred and her old boyfriend. Daniel.”

John knew about Daniel. Immediately, his eyebrows drew together in a concerned furrow.

“I always think -” She had to pause and collect herself again. “I always think that we’re untouchable, you and me. Inseparable. That there’s no version of my life or yours which doesn’t include us doing this at the end of every day. But Fred was about to get engaged when Daniel went down. They were in love, Johnny. And he was taken from her anyway. I just -” Her voice was becoming whiny as she fought the onslaught of tears, high-pitched and girlish. “I just can’t stand the thought of it. I love Fred and it makes me so desperately sad that that happened to her, but I can barely talk to her about it anymore because I’m so desperately scared it’s going to happen to me. I’m so scared, Johnny. And there’s nothing I can do about it.”

John sighed quietly. “Oh, Mils.” His hands on her face were gentle as they stroked her cheeks, wiping away the two solitary tears which had fallen. He ducked down to press his lips to her forehead. “I’m going to keep coming back to you,” he spoke into her skin.

“You can’t promise me that.”

“I can promise I’ll always do everything in my power to get my plane back here after every mission.” Another kiss to her forehead, and then one to the tip of her nose.

Millie sat up straighter suddenly, resolve in the set of her shoulders, the line of her lips. When she met his eyes, his were curious, adoring, fond, but hers were fiery with determination. “Promise me instead that you won’t try to go down with the plane,” she implored. “Promise me that if it looks like the plane isn’t going to make it home you’ll bail, that you won’t be a hero and go down with it. I know it’s a matter of pride not to become a prisoner of war but, Johnny, please. Promise me you won’t go down with it. Promise me you’ll save your life for me.”

“I promise,” John replied immediately. “Anything for you. I’d do anything. I promise, Mils.”

“Promise,” she whispered again, pressing her forehead to his. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” he replied once more, so quietly his words were only barely more audible than his breath. “I promise.”

Millie dipped down to kiss him, got caught up in the slow, reverential press of his lips instantly, as she always did. His hands moved to her waist and hers moved to mess up his hair even more, but then he pulled away suddenly, staring at her hard.

There was something inexplicable in his gaze, unidentifiable. There was the fondness, as there always was when he looked at her, but something more intense, too, the first few licks of flames before a bonfire caught light.

“I love you,” he said simply. There was weight to the words and yet he said them as suddenly as if he was remarking that someone had come on the telephone and he needed to take the call. “Mils,” he continued, “I love you. I love you so much.”

Millie’s reply came out attached to a sob, relief and anger and adoration and fear all at once. “I love you, too.” She laughed and it was wet and weepy but her smile made him smile all the same. “And fuck you, John Brady, for making me say it for the first time right before you go back out to war.”

“Fuck you, Millie Harlow, for making it impossible for me not to say it,” John replied, laughing along with her. “I’ve kept it in for too long. Couldn’t stand it any longer.”

“You could have waited until tonight,” Millie argued.

“Couldn’t,” John disagreed. “Not when you’re wearing my jacket and nothing else, sitting in my lap in the front seat of my plane and looking at me like that. Those eyes, Mils. Couldn’t help it. I’m only human.” He shook his head with a laugh of disbelief, like she was so incredible he couldn’t comprehend the fact she was even here right now. “Gonna come home to you later, Mils,” he continued softly. “And I’m gonna take you out somewhere nice for dinner. I’ll bring flowers and everything - orange lilies for my perfect girl. And then, if you let me, I’m gonna make love to you all night long to remind you that I kept my promise.”

Millie all but collapsed into the kiss she gave him, twining her arms round his neck and pressing her chest against his, humming and sighing into his mouth. “And when you come back we’ll tell everyone about us,” she said against his lips between kisses. “I want every girl in England to know to stay away from you because you’re mine.”

John’s smile was wide as he caught her lips in a kiss once more. It had been her idea to keep them secret but he’d never pushed her to change her mind. Now, though, he was getting his secret wish. “You’re never gonna dance with another man while the band’s playing again, Mils,” he told her, laughing quietly because his smile couldn’t get wide enough to communicate the extent of his joy. “Gonna ruin you for all other men. No one else is gonna dare.”

“You’ve already ruined me for all other men.” They were pressed right back up against each other, hands grasping and tugging, pawing at every inch of skin. “John.”

“Coming back to you later, Mils,” John said, dipping down to kiss her neck. “Promise. And then everyone’s gonna know you’re mine.”

There was blood in her mouth when she realised, later that day, that John wasn’t coming back from his mission. Her teeth were buried in her bottom lip, her eyebrows furrowed tightly, her stomach in knots as she stared desperately out of the tower window.

“Please, Johnny, “ she was mumbling to herself. “Please. Don’t let me down. Please.”

But no one else was coming back. Rosie’s fort was the only one of theirs to return.

Millie wanted to be happy for Freddie, that she had finally given her heart to a man who wasn’t going to break it again, but she couldn’t be. All she could be was furious.

She wrenched her headphones off and threw them to the desk, turning to Freddie with tears in her eyes.  “Fred,” she croaked.

Freddie was there in an instant, waiting to catch her as she fell. “I know,” Freddie whispered to her, her lips in her hair. Millie had no idea how Freddie knew - she had never told her about her secret relationship with John - but she knew that Freddie knew.

“I know you do,” Millie said, her voice wobbly and broken. “It hurts.”

“I know,” Freddie assured her. She paused.

Millie couldn’t bear the feeling in her chest.

And then Freddie added, “He told me to tell you that you look more beautiful today than anything he’s ever seen in his entire life.”

She had had John on her radio.

“He did?” Millie gasped, fighting to hold in her sobs. Last night, when they’d talked about telling everyone about them after he came back - he’d started early. Always competitive, her John, and always wanting to beat her to the mark. He’d told her best friend, even, before she’d been able to - though not in so many words.

“Yes,” Freddie confirmed quietly. “As he was taxiing. Right before wheels up his last thoughts were of you.”

Millie squeezed her eyes tight shut. Her heart felt like it was about to collapse in on itself. The ache inside her was furious, debilitating. “Tell me he’s alive, Fred,” she pleaded.

Freddie hesitated, swallowing tightly. “I can’t,” she confessed.

Millie knew she couldn’t. She knew what this was like. She couldn’t offer her hope if she didn’t know for sure it was well-founded.

“Rosie’ll know,” Millie asserted, pulling out of Freddie’s embrace and wiping resolutely at her eyes. Her attempt to clear the tears was fruitless; they just kept on coming, freshly destroying her newly blank canvas. The ache inside her raged on. “After interrogation Rosie’ll tell me. Or Pappy. Someone will have watched for ‘chutes.”

Freddie nodded, trying for a smile.

“He’ll come back to me,” Millie declared, determined. There was fire in her eyes - anger, resentment. Fury. How could he have done this to her after all the words they’d exchanged this morning? She’d warned him not to promise her this but he had. He’d promised.

She took a deep breath and nodded to herself, the only reassurance she could give herself that it wasn’t all completely lost. “He knows I’ll kill him if he doesn’t.”