#Technical Program Management Training

[akshayroy123]

Technical Program Management Training

Technical Program Management training equips professionals with the skills required to oversee and drive complex technical projects to successful completion. The training begins with a focus on understanding the principles of program management, emphasizing the alignment of technical projects with organizational goals and strategies. Participants learn to develop and manage program plans, considering factors such as scope, resources, timelines, and risk mitigation. Effective communication strategies are emphasized to facilitate collaboration among cross-functional teams, stakeholders, and executives. TPM training also covers the use of project management tools and methodologies to enhance planning, execution, and monitoring processes. Risk management is a critical component, teaching participants to identify, assess, and proactively address potential challenges that may arise during the program lifecycle. The training emphasizes adaptability and the ability to pivot strategies as needed in response to changing project dynamics.

[cent-scratchnsniff]

messy doodles plus with some picked ramblings with them as i process, learn, and progress. yes only some out of many. i talk far too much. i missed so much too im just too tired to talk abt those aspects rifht now

[jobyoda-philippines]

Exploring Career and Job Opportunities in Davao City Philippines

Davao City, recognized as one of the Philippines' most progressive cities, continues to experience remarkable economic growth, creating a vibrant job market that attracts professionals from across the country. The city's diverse economy offers numerous employment opportunities, from entry-level positions to executive roles, making it an attractive destination for job seekers at all career stages.

The Business Process Outsourcing (BPO) sector stands as one of the largest employers in Davao City, providing thousands of jobs across various specializations. Companies in this sector actively recruit customer service representatives, technical support specialists, and quality assurance analysts, offering competitive salaries and comprehensive benefits packages. The industry's continued expansion has created numerous opportunities for career advancement, with many organizations promoting from within and providing extensive training programs.

Part-time employment opportunities have also flourished in Davao City, catering to students, professionals seeking additional income, and individuals preferring flexible work arrangements. The retail sector, food service industry, and education field offer numerous part-time positions with varying schedules and responsibilities. These roles often provide valuable work experience and can serve as stepping stones to full-time careers.

The Information Technology sector in Davao has seen significant growth, with many companies seeking software developers, web designers, and IT support specialists. This growth has been fueled by the city's improving technological infrastructure and the increasing number of tech-focused businesses establishing operations in the region. Tech professionals can find opportunities in both established companies and startups, with many positions offering competitive compensation and the possibility of remote work arrangements.

Davao's hospitality and tourism industry continues to expand, creating jobs in hotels, restaurants, travel agencies, and tour operations. The sector offers positions ranging from entry-level service roles to management positions, with many employers providing training and development opportunities. The industry's growth has also sparked demand for professionals in events management and tourism marketing.

The education sector presents numerous opportunities for both full-time and part-time employment. Educational institutions regularly seek teachers, tutors, and administrative staff. The rise of online learning has created additional opportunities for English language teachers and academic consultants who can work flexible hours from home or teaching centers.

Job hiring  in Davao, the digital economy has opened new avenues for employment. E-commerce specialists, digital content creators, and social media managers are in high demand as businesses increasingly establish their online presence. These positions often offer the flexibility of remote work while providing competitive compensation packages.

Professional development resources are readily available in Davao City, with numerous institutions offering skills training programs and industry certifications. Job seekers can access career counseling services, resume writing assistance, and interview coaching through various employment support organizations. These resources prove invaluable in helping candidates prepare for and secure desired positions.

The financial services sector in Davao has also experienced substantial growth, creating opportunities for banking professionals, insurance specialists, and investment consultants. These positions typically offer attractive compensation packages, including performance bonuses and health benefits, making them highly sought after by experienced professionals.

Davao's agricultural sector continues to evolve, combining traditional farming with modern agribusiness practices. This has created opportunities for agricultural technologists, food processing specialists, and supply chain professionals. The sector offers both technical and management positions, with many companies providing specialized training and development programs.

For those entering Davao's job market, proper preparation is essential. Successful job seekers typically maintain updated resumes, prepare comprehensive portfolios, and stay informed about industry developments. Professional networking, both online and offline, plays a crucial role in discovering opportunities and advancing careers in the city.

The future of Davao's job market looks promising, with emerging industries creating new employment opportunities. The city's commitment to economic development, coupled with its strategic location and robust infrastructure, continues to attract businesses and investors, ensuring a steady stream of job opportunities for qualified candidates.

Whether seeking full-time employment or part-time job in Davao City offers a diverse range of opportunities across multiple industries. Success in this dynamic job market often comes to those who combine proper preparation with continuous skill development and effective networking. As the city continues to grow and evolve, its job market remains a beacon of opportunity for professionals seeking to build meaningful careers in Mindanao's premier business hub.

[foldingfittedsheets]

Mattresses, unbeknownst to many, are a lot like cars. Every year new ones roll out, they’re always tweaking and innovating and you’ll never find the same one you loved decades ago when buying a new one.

Where I sold mattresses had a three month return or exchange program for this reason. New beds take a while to break in, and they’re a big expense. Your body is used to the old one. So we made sure people were loving it. If a bed got returned we’d take it back, sanitize and clean it, then sell it again on clearance.

To sell these we always had to disclose what clearance meant to customers, and they had to sign that they knew what they were getting. (FYI, not every company is as… forthright about the used bed situation)

In clearance we had beds that were floor models, we had returns, and more rarely we had old models whose line had been discontinued. These clearance beds were always final sale, so a bed could only be sold twice.

Now, the manager at the store I was working at had realized a vital fact. Clearance beds in the warehouse didn’t sell, especially old models that salespeople weren’t familiar with. And even more especially in odd sizes, like twin extra longs. So he set up a split king on the showroom floor to exhibit clearance beds, pulling all those forgotten twin extra longs out onto the showroom.

Almost all of these were brand new discontinued models. Beds I’d never learned in training were exhumed to be displayed. The manufacturers had moved on to new lines and they’d been left behind. Why would he take such in interest in selling old stock, you might wonder? Because we made double commission on the sales margin of clearance beds, and if we’d had a bed long enough they dropped the cost in the system so it was a fucking cash cow to sell these. Even with huge discounts the commissions were wonderful so it was a win win.

When I got started I was jazzed about this program, I was so on board to sell weird old brand new beds and make a ton of money. I had a wonderful older couple come in, looking for a split king adjustable set. This was a white whale sale.

The current clearance models on the floor were a latex mattress that was brand new despite being of an age to start first grade, and a tempurpedic floor model. The couple laid down and it was like magic. They each loved the bed they’d laid down on. They wanted to buy the whole shebang.

I. Was. Thrilled. I told them about the clearance program and what that meant, and they weren’t bothered in the least. I wrote up the sale then dashed into the back, fizzing with excitement to tell my manager what I’d done.

“You sold the death bed?!” He asked in delight.

I pulled up short, my smile freezing in place. “What…?”

“Didn’t you check the notes?”

I hesitated for a long beat then slowly shook my head. You see, dear reader, all beds had a personal history. Every clearance bed had logs written up by the person who took the return, as well as warehouse crew after sanitizing. It helped us know what to expect when selling them. “Wasn’t it just a floor model? You said it was a floor model…”

He slowly shook his head. I checked the notes.

It turned out, it had been sold as a floor model. The first time. But the company had made an exception and taken it back as a return two months later. Why? Because it’s owner had passed away.

I stared at the computer in horror and my manager shrugged. “They signed the clearance form. Technically it was a floor model.”

“We know for a fact that a man died in that bed!”

“What they don’t know can’t haunt them,” he said philosophically.

The man came back a week later for more sheets, utterly delighted to tell me how well they were sleeping. I clamped my teeth down around the secret of the deathbed, choosing to let them love their new bed without the stigma. Only one person would be haunted by that deathbed, and it was me.

[poolseason]

more Ninjagelion AU

Setup: In the aftermath of a cataclysmic event on the Dark Island where humans accidentally awakened an entity known as the [OVERLORD] the world was plunged into eternal chaos. 20 years later, Ninjago has managed to rebuild. Now in New Ninjago City, a bustling and lively hub at the heart of Ninjago, has been under attack by monsters- onis, dragons, serpents, unexplainable beasts,- creatures made from the [OVERLORD]'s darkness. Luckily the Special Division ELEMENTS is here to protect the realm from these monstrous threats, with the NINJA mechs. This cant be possible without some valuable members of the team!

Characters, lore, and more ↓

Characters:

Pixal: In this au she's a human scientist, and probably the one person who knows the most about how the NINJA mechs are created. She's in charge of the technical division, and head of research and development. During a monster battle, her order's are second to Cole's. Her highest priority is the integrity of the mechs, to the point she might be a bit negligent of the safety of their pilots. Pixal is deeply involved in some suspicious agendas involving the secret entities hidden under the base, and while she's the most knowledgeable person in the force, she's not the most trustworthy. Pixal is Zane's personal "doctor" and knows more about his schematics than anyone else. She created the Nindroid plugs (aka the Dummy system, an autopilot of sorts) with his personality data. Pixal is also one of the few people who know what happened to the original Dr. Julien and Echo.

Jay: For a little history on him, Jay is on the younger side, have graduated from college a couple of years ago. He originally interned here as an electrical engineer in the Weapons Deparment, but Pixal saw his skill and ingenuity and gave him an unrefusable return offer in the R&D department as her right hand. Jay's parents, Ed and Edna Walker were colleagues of Cyrus Borg and were involved in the engineering and design of the Geofront and NNC's civilian safety infrastructure, so Jay's always been somewhat interested in ELEMENT's work. It was kind of a dream come true when the Pixal Borg hired him. During monster attacks, Jay's in charge of making sure the NINJA mechs operate properly, have access to their weapons and gear, and making sure the NNC fortress moves as needed. Jay's always seen with his goggles and he almost never follows uniform protocol.

Jay is also one of the few Technicians who personally work with the Pilots, he's one of the first people Lloyd warmed up to at ELEMENTS, and he becomes kind of a big brother figure to him after one particularly crazy mission when he has to personally go out onto the field with Lloyd in Unit-01. When Nya arrives the pair work together a lot outside of pilot training, but Nya definitely likes him and he... needs to figure some things out. whoops!

Skylor: Having grown up in the aftermath of the 2nd (Overlord) Impact, Skylor's seen a lot of destruction and cruelty, even first hand from her own father who lead a doomsday cult that wreaked havoc on innocent communities trying to survive in the near apocalyptic event. Vowing to protect the world from similar chaos, she joined the NINJA program's tactical division. When the monster attacks began, she's in-charge of monitoring the enemy's health, pilot life signs, and mapping.

Dareth: His last name is Presley bc of the Elvis hair and inspiration lmao. He's not really a high ranking member of the organization but Cole and the others seem to really trust him, despite his mess ups. Dareth normally handles ferrying radio messages between ground teams and mission control. Dareth is a relaxed guy who values a positive work environment, even if that kind of makes him a bad employee. He's a very good uncle figure to a lot of members of ELEMENTS

MORE Cole: Cole is the leader of the tactical division. He was drafted into the military when he was only a young teenager in the aftermath of the [OVERLORD] but he was recognized by Wu and not long after he completed college and grad school he was quickly hired by ELEMENTS to oversee the tactical division. He's vengeful towards the Overlord's darkness monsters because his mother Lily was the captain of the disastrous expedition to the Dark Island 20 years ago. The dog tags he wears are his own and his mother's.

Lloyd and Zane, on neural headsets: As pilots of a NINJA mech they have a lot of pressure on them, obviously this can cause a lot of mental turmoil and stress. In order to pilot a mech they must synchronize their own mind to their mech's soul*, so stress isn't really a good thing for a pilot to have. Zane was programmed to not experience such emotions, but over the course of the series, its proven that he grows to feel quite strongly and become more human. Despite his programming, the lack of emotion early on was actually a detriment to his ability to pilot, since the NINJA soul wouldn't be able to synchronize it's feelings with an entity that feels nothing. Sometimes its necessary for pilots to wear more complicated neural headsets and spinal connections for more controlled sync testing. During the cross-sync experiment when Zane and Lloyd traded units, they were stuck wearing extra uncomfortable test suits -- too many wires and junk! The only downside to extra connection is that the mech could overload and go berserk. (which big surprise, happened!), so usually Lloyd, the designated Unstable Pilottm, only needs the barebones neural interface in most situations.

[castillon02]

Tim reviews Jason's operations management and makes a suggestion.

"Your first move: hire a head of sanitation," Tim said.

"You think a janitor's gonna solve my suddenly-successful-startup problems? What, by sweeping them away?" Jason rolled his eyes.

Tim steepled his fingers. “The good news,” he said, “is that your drug distribution and community norms enforcement hierarchy is very clear. You also have people doing marketing, program management, HR, facilities, and admin. Your system of rotating duties when people get injured isn’t bad—people generally benefit from cross-training—but you should formalize the top positions and compensate your new leadership team. Including sanitation.” 

“Sure, sure, I'll just tell one of my guys their job is to be head shit-scrubber instead of a badass neighborhood protector!" Jason threw up his hands.

Tim raised his eyebrows.

“It’s bad enough getting them to clean up a crime scene when they’re on my literal shit list! A couple of them thought that lighting the building on fire was an easier way to get it to stop smelling bad and having DNA. Guess who had to add five new slides to his powerpoint about evidence disposal?" Jason glared.

Tim grimaced. "I had an intern in the office who thought that he could just throw trash off his desk for the cleaning staff to pick up."

He and Jason shared a commiserating look that silently said, We were both stupid enough to work with the League of Assassins, and even we wouldn't do that.

“Anyway," Tim continued, "since you're dealing with...that...you can just hire an outside party. Lots of people in Gotham know how to clean up dead bodies and keep their mouths shut. I can advertise the position and send you the likeliest candidates for an interview. I’ll have to incorporate you, of course, but I’ve had the paperwork ready since I got back from the Middle East.” 

“Incorporate me?” 

“Red Hood LLC, technically."

Jason's breathing became calculatedly even.

"Once you’re legit in the eyes of the law, we can work on squaring away everyone’s taxes and keep you from getting Capone’d.” 

“I’m as legit as one of Two-Face’s two-dollar bills!” 

“Yeah, but when you’re an LLC, all your crimes are white-collar crimes, and no one cares about those.” Tim shrugged.

“...Pretty sure that’s not how that works, bud.” 

“It’s how the court of public opinion works. And if anyone tries to say that Red Hood, CEO of Red Hood LLC, and Red Hood, notorious vigilante, are the same person? Tell them to prove it. So what if you have the same outfit? It’s a free country and people can wear what they want. And if they ever get your DNA results, Oracle says no they didn't.”

Jason tilted his head and started smiling. "You want Red Hood to be the Scarlet Pimpernel and Percy Blakeney. At the same time."

"The more blatant you are about it, the better. Rub elbows with Gotham's elite and tell them that you can't imagine why someone would let a Crime Alley vigilante ruin their ability to wear a red hood as a fashion statement, but in your company, people have spines. Especially when they're job creators. If you play your cards right, red headgear will be back in fashion."

"And then?"

"And then," Tim's eyes gleamed, "you start selling merch."

"Oh, shit." Jason's smile turned into a full-on smirk.

"On a sliding scale, of course."

"Those nepo babies are gonna pay me so much money to look cool."

Tim smiled. "And that's how hiring a head shit-scrubber is going to mitigate your high growth and cash flow problems."

[is-the-thing-actually-jewish]

is Jewish Voice for Peace actually Jewish? I've heard a couple different things about that but no sources

@gryphistheantlerqueen also asked:

Whooo boy. So this has been sitting in the inbox for a few months, I wrote up a draft, and then it just sat... until this past week, when some new JVP BS hit the fan and gave me the kick to finish it.

Sooooo...

Verdict: Not Actually Jewish

(updated verdict after finding out about the “self-managed conversion” and “teacup mikvah”) Jewish, technically, and that "technically" is doing a lot of heavy lifting, and is actively debatable without access to a detailed breakdown of JVP’s actual membership rolls. 

In general summation, JVP is a far-left radical antizionist group that is headed by a few visibly antizionist Jews and whose membership rolls are either a strong minority or outright majority of non-Jews, based on variable statistics that they've released. Although they claim that the “majority of their members and staff are Jewish”, this seems to be both statistically unlikely and actively suspicious due to their noted tendency to instruct even non-Jewish members to speak #AsAJew on social media, and their instructions to do “self-managed conversions”.  However, due to their title, they are very popular with people who want a Jewish Stamp Of Approval for demonizing Israelis and Zionist Jews as a result. In effect, they are Jewish in the same way that people like Candace Owens and Hershel Walker are Black—as self-tokenizing minorities who throw the rest of their ethnic group under the bus in exchange for power and political access.

And despite the claims that they are “inspired by Jewish values and traditions” (as put on their website) and “oppose anti-Jewish hatred,” JVP routinely engages in antisemitic rhetoric, up to and including blood libel and antisemitic conspiracy theories, and acts as a shield against non-Jews who also engage in antisemitic rhetoric so long as the non-Jews in question remember to shout "For Palestine!" first. This is not an exaggeration. 

The primary example of their in-house antisemitic rhetoric is their "Deadly Exchange" program, where they explicitly and conspiratorially blame Israel as being responsible for American police brutality and militarization. However, for all of their fearmongering and blame-casting on the subject—as if American cops needed outside help in brutalizing minorities or gaining military-grade handmedowns from the Pentagon, both of which are explicit claims of the "Deadly Exchange" program—they have a hard time actually identifying specific deaths associated with the international training seminars they're holding up as responsible.

One of the the closest they've come to a specific allegation is claiming that "former St. Louis County police chief Timothy Fitch trained with the Israeli military three years before Michael Brown’s killing and the Ferguson uprising." (Note: this was in a video that appears to have since been made private.) But Darren Wilson worked for the Ferguson PD, not the St. Louis PD, and Fitch retired months before the killing. So he was in a completely different police department, and this is the closest JVP comes to pointing to specific deaths or acts of brutality that they blame on Israel. Everything else is literal fearmongering--up to and including the classic conspiratorial tropes of "secretive Jewish governmental influence".

JVP has also happily supported the words of white supremacists like Richard Spencer, taking his “You could say that I’m a white Zionist in the sense that I care about my people," statement at face value, using it as the basis for entire articles where they compared Zionism to White Supremacy as a deliberate misrepresentation of the ideology that is common on the extreme political Left (you can compare that treatment again with how Candace Owens treats the word "Woke" on the Right). Even when the Charlottesville "Unite the Right" march happened, JVP wasted no time in comparing Zionism with the very ideology fueling the people chanting "Jews Will Not Replace Us," saying that Zionism is "Jewish racial supremacy" and calling for a universal condemnation of the ideology as a form of White Supremacy... which was the exact sort of message that many of those same White Supremacists would have happily agreed with.  So JVP is essentially siding with literal White Supremacists,  even as they claim that "Jews are not the primary victims of White Supremacy."

JVP also engages in Holocaust revisionism, such as with this lovely quote from Cecilie Surasky, the deputy director of JVP, “I believe it is critical to situate the genocide of Jews in a broader context, and not as an exceptional, metaphysically unique event. Some 6 million Jews died, but another 5 million people were also targeted for annihilation.”

(another quote, from an article by Surasky, which compares Netanyahu to Hitler.)

This is just straight revisionism of the entire Holocaust and the unique fixation the Nazis had on the Jews. Literally, even when they were losing, they were diverting resources from the war just to kill more Jews. Quote Hitler himself, "Jews must be prevented from intruding themselves among all the other nations as elements of internal disruption, under the mask of honest world-citizens, and thus gaining power over these nations." The very basis of the Nazi ideology paints Jews as an existential threat to the human race's peace and security—a far cry from JVP's claim that the Jewish suffering in the Holocaust wasn't unique or exceptional.

Additionally, JVP ignores or re-envisions Mizrachi Jewish history. They call the very term Mizrachi “Zionist rhetoric,” and refer to Mizrachi “immigrants,” (“Deadly Exchange,” pg. 16-17), and claim “the Israeli government facilitated a mass immigration of Mizrahim” (“Our Approach to Zionism”) as though those weren’t the direct result of the mass expulsion of and violence against Jews in MENA countries. These weren’t immigrants, these were refugees. 

And as for the question of “Are they Jewish?”, well...

Statistically, they are not representative of the Jewish population as a whole, 90% of whom identify as some degree of Zionist in the sense of “Supporting Jewish self-determination.”  One does not need to be Jewish to join JVP, as they proudly state on their website. Their membership rolls are also extremely obfuscated, and the fact that they encourage their followers, whether Jewish or not, to post and speak “as Jews” on social media makes it even more difficult to figure out what percentage of their membership is actually Jewish.  Furthermore, they have instructions for their members to engage in “self-conversions” that are not acceptable to Jewish law or tradition, and misuse/appropriate other sacred Jewish traditions to the point that ��blasphemy” is an accurate description, with their instructions on the mikvah (a sacred bath) being outright offensive.  

(note that one has to be completely nude and bare of any adornment or makeup to use the mikvah, which is a pure pool of collected rainwater to be immersed in, for context on the above... misuse.  Trying to claim this as being “in line with sacred Jewish tradition” is like trying to claim to be Catholic while also saying that the Pope is the Antichrist and that using beer and a doughnut for the Eucharist is acceptable. For more information on mikveh, see: The Jewish Virtual Library, Aish, myjewishlearning, or Chabad.

There's also no altar.

The irony of asking people not to appropriate while doing this is astonishing.)

It’s also telling that they straight up say they are “claiming” the practice as their own.

Furthermore, JVP has hosted panels on “antisemitism” in the past... headed by people who are not only not Jewish, but who have been credibly accused of antisemitism in the past.  

JVP has also endorsed The Mapping Project Boston, which was a Boycott, Divest, and Sanction (BDS) subsidiary, listing every “Zionist” organization in Boston, Mass. This included Jewish schools, elder homes, community centers, disability centers, and more; all of them painted with scary and misleading “links” to non-Jewish organizations to insinuate Jewish control of the state and city governments, invoking age-old antisemitic tropes of a conspiracy of Jews as they did so:

(first image is the Mapping Project, the second is a 1938 Nazi political cartoon)

The Mapping Project also, and this is my personal favorite, accused Harvard University of doing “racist science” for engaging in archeological and genetic studies of Jews and Jewish history.  Tellingly, BDS actually disavowed The Mapping Project (albeit for bad optics, not for the rank antisemitism they were promoting)... but JVP has not, even though the Mapping Project’s entry for the ADL reads as follows:

Masquerading as a “civil rights” group, the ADL is a counterinsurgency and espionage organization whose mission is to protect the mutual interests of the US and Israeli governments, and to eliminate solidarity among oppressed peoples, especially concerning Palestine. The ADL spies on and criminalizes activists (using its connections to governments, police, schools, and corporations) while undermining their work by pushing its own state-sanctioned, pro-“Israel” agenda. And while the ADL claims to represent Jews and to fight “antisemitism” on their behalf, the organization has supported anti-Jewish state violence and sanitized Nazis. The ADL cannot be reformed: it must be dismantled and whatever resources it has should go towards repairing the many harms it has done. (Emphasis added.)

Of course, JVP has also engaged in similar conspiracy-toned antisemitic dogwhistles, such as this fun bit from their first Deadly Exchange video:

So clearly (to me at least), they have no problems with The Mapping Project’s tone and presentation.  

And this isn’t even going into JVP’s routine promotion of blood libel, their egregious double standards, their approving of pogroms, their active support for Hamas terrorists and demonization of Hamas’ victims, their attempted revisionism of Jewish history, their abject rejection of Jewish culture, and their other actions that show not just bias, but outright hatred for 90% of the world’s Jews.  

As one commentator put it, JVP as an organization is very much like Autism Speaks is to Autistic people--a thinly disguised hate group that views the people they’re supposedly speaking for as the problem, and themselves as promoting the Solution.  To this moderator, they’re the equivalent of the Association of German National Jews, who were also known as the Jews for Hitler; they wanted to abandon Judaism and embrace Naziism... and they got sent to the gas chambers anyway.  

Mod Joseph

Sources:

www.adl.org/resources/backgrounder/jewish-voice-peace

www.jewishvoiceforpeace.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/Mikveh-Guide-for-Jewish-Voice-for-Peace-Outlined.pdf

(and also just... a general experience/exposure to them on social media, where even the most progressive actions taken by Israel, such as the recent ruling regarding queer Palestinians being able to claim sanctuary in Israel, being labeled as “pinkwashing”)

[carn4g3]

hello! do you have any crumbs for eyeless jack x fem!proxy reader that got hurt on a mission? thank u!!

Accident Prone | Eyeless Jack x Fem Proxy Reader

Summary: Getting injured frequently isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes, it lets you get closer to one mysterious medic.

TWs: Mentions of violence, injuries & medical equipment (IVs)

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: I'm still trying to figure how I want to write Jack dialogue wise (in the Night Shift I tended to make him more reserved in the sort of shy way, but I'm not sure I like that characterization fully) so pls lmk what y'all think :)

General

I tend to follow the idea that Jack was sacrificed by a cult-like group to their demonic deity as a human vessel--leading to his appearance today. His involvement with the group was passive, at first. As a first year med student in a relatively small program, he didn't know many people and found it easy to befriend his surprisingly talkative lab partner. Much of the cult activity probably flew under Jack's radar until a cold, harsh blade was quite literally ripping through him.

That being said, Jack at least managed a bachelor's degree, probably on some sort of pre-med track, before his normal life came to an end. He holds a bit more technical knowledge than the average person, but he's by no means an expert.

Slender hardly sought out Jack for his medical prowess. It's practically a given that a pawn of the creature knows how to stop themself from dying. Proxies in particular are expected to know anything from basic first aid to treating bullet wounds. Admittedly, trying to stop yourself from bleeding out while in the depths of the woods with only the clothes on your back doesn't lead to many sanitary situations. Amongst other things, Jack does wonders in preventing infection, and Slender would be the last to object to that.

As a proxy, you don't get too many opportunities to interact with anyone who isn't also a proxy. The breaks you get between missions are often only a few days long at most, and there's no telling what you'll have to get done during that time as well.

Similarly, Jack doesn't spend much time with others, but that is much more a conscious choice of his. If you're not under his direct care, it's pretty hard to properly pin his schedule or whereabouts. So, there's really only one way to become close to the demon given: get injured.

You had been a proxy for a few years now. Still considered the newest in technical terms, you were far from that initial probationary-training period. Despite that, your almost permanent residency in Jack's infirmary was as strong as ever-- only rivaled by Toby.

An almost sheepish grin had spread over your face as Jack just considered you silently. Like clock-work, you would appear at his door at the beginning of the week with some sort of injury to be patched or checked. This time, you had all but dragged yourself to Jack's cabin, ankle throbbing from inside your hunting boot. "What happened this time?" If you could see his face, you're sure he would be raising an eyebrow skeptically. "Target tried to break my ankle..." You replied. "Really?" He asked, something like worry in his tone. "No," You admitted, "Just fell..." Jack sighed, less than surprised by the reality of your situation, "Alright, come in."

Your first few visits with the demon medic were certainly a bit intimidating. Seeing his inhuman features for the first time was jarring, and it didn't help that Tim would stand disapprovingly at your side. Too focused on disappointing your mentor or Slender itself, you hadn't really thought to talk to Jack more than a brief explanation of your injury.

As your visits became unaccompanied, you took a bit more care in the person treating your frequent injuries. Letting random topics fall from your lips on a whim, it seemed to work-- occasionally eliciting a chuckle or even a brief response. Now, he seemed a bit more talkative during your visits. Checking if he wrapped any bandages too tight or pausing when you hissed in pain, you always saw Jack as quite the skilled medic.

"If it hurts that bad, just go get pain meds from Jack." You huffed in annoyance. No matter how many times you found yourself having to work with Jeff, you managed to be shocked by his sheer skill at being an asshole each and every time. Despite the gauze pad on your cheek, which hardly covered the bruise that spread out underneath it, the other killer had been whining on and on about his own recent injury. You certainly weren't apathetic towards the stab wound that had taken him out for a week, but was it really still that relevant almost a month later? "Go to EJ?" Jeff barked in disbelief, "That dick would just call me a waste of resources." "Not if you were actually in pain, now get back to work." You scoffed at the exaggeration. "Are we talking about the same guy? He acts like we're running on scraps or some shit." He disregarded your words, as was expected. While you were intent to ignore him this time, Jeff clearly had other plans, " No seriously, does he just give you shit whenever you ask for it?" "Well, yeah. "Maybe if you weren't such a bitch he'd do the same for you." You looked at him in confusion. "Watch it," He snapped, "What'd you do to get him do that, suck his dick or--" "If you don't shut the fuck up, I'll give you a real reason to be bitching about pain meds." You threatened, raising your weapon to emphasize it. "Holy shit, no need to get your panties in a twist." Jeff rolled his eyes but quieted down anyway. After a few moments, he piped up once more, "Ask around sometime. You'll see what I mean."

Imagine

Sleep pulled heavy at your eyelids as they begrudgingly drew open. Even in your haze, you realized the room around you was both familiar and unfamiliar all the same; how poetic. You knew Jack's cabin well, at this point. It was pretty bare-- any decorations being whatever the last tenant "left" around. Each room looked essentially the same, and your suspicion was only confirmed when you took note of the nose burning cleaning chemicals in the air.

You weren't left pondering in the silence for very long, though. As soon as you registered your location, the devil himself stepped in. Maneuvering with ease, his boots seemed to strategically miss the parts of the floor that creaked the loudest. He shut the door quietly, one hand on the door handle, and the other holding some sort of item. Your eyes hadn't fully adjusted to the dark enough to discern it.

"You're awake." Jack spoke without you having to say a word.

He'd briefly explained his enhanced senses to you before, something about breathing being especially amplified to his ears, "If I wasn't you would look real stupid right now."

"To who?" He asked, "The dust?"

"Good one." Despite the sarcasm, you appreciated his dry humor.

Moving closer, he practically towered over the short bed frame. From this angle and lighting, you could see how those dark, soulless eyes could strike fear in the average person. Although, you couldn't quite imagine the role of a victim for long given the plate of food grasped in his left and-- as opposed to a scalpel. With his free hand, he swiftly moved to turn on the small table-lamp beside you. The yellow glow was dim compared to a normal light source, but it still stung your unadjusted eyes.

"If you're hungry," He explained as he placed the plate down, "you're fine to eat solids."

"I'd hope so," You muttered, "I don't think I've lost that many teeth."

His outward appearance didn't change, but you could tell he was amused by the comment, "The healthy amount would be zero."

Oh right, you weren't just in here for fun. Shuffling to the other side of the bed, Jack gently inspected the IV solution hanging up just beside you. Seeming satisfied with his gentle prodding, he regarded you once more.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

"Fine," You shrugged, "You're a miracle worker like always."

Jack scoffed gently, "The medicine is, not me."

You rolled your eyes at his response, but he wasn't keen on letting you get in the final word on that matter, "What happened?"

Hearing the question, you took a pause. Despite the aforementioned pain-meds coursing through your system, you could still feel a dull throb around your calf. It didn't take much for missions to go wrong. Just a split second too long and suddenly you were in the midst of a police chase, K-9 units released along your path like you were some sort of heathen like Jeff.

"Dogs." You answered bitterly.

Averting your gaze to the plate of food beside you, you noted the small wafts of steam still leaving the dish, "Did you just make this?"

"Yes," Jack let you maintain the subject change, "Why?"

"Were you just going to leave it there if I wasn't awake? Seems like a pretty lousy gift" You noted.

"I could tell you were waking up." He attempted to defend himself.

"You can tell through the walls?" You asked skeptically.

"I had to check your vitals." Jack explained once more.

"Why didn't you check the IV then?" A smirk edged its way onto your face as you noticed you had caught him in his lie.

Jack would never admit to that, though, "Eat the food if you want it. I have other things to do."

Stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets, he headed quickly for the door. He never left quicker than when you managed to fluster him, a fact you tended to tease him for whenever the opportunity would arise.

"Sure thing, Jack." You called after him sarcastically.

"Don't let it get to your head," Jack bit back, "Sherlock."

[mediumgayitalian]

“Hide me hide me hide me hide me hide me.”

Nico blinks, watching blankly as Will ducks under his arm, situating himself behind the door and peeking around it. When Nico doesn’t move, he cranes his neck to look at him, face urgent, and says, “Close it, dude, hurry up!

“Solace!”

“Fuck,” Will curses.

Nico blinks again. He squints across the common, trying to suss out what Will’s staring at. It doesn’t take long. She’s hard to miss, especially in full armour.

“Are you…hiding from Clarisse?”

“Am I hiding from —” He scoffs. “No, I’m just behind this door for fun. Fucking obviously I’m hiding from Clarisse, Nico, now get with the program and close the damn —”

“Solace!”

Both of them jump. When Nico looks, Clarisse is already way closer than she should be. Before he can process enough to slam the door, and heedless of Will’s increasingly-harried oh my gods oh my gods oh my gods fuck fuck fuck fuck, Clarisse is closer, and closer, and then suddenly she’s barging inside, pushing Nico aside like it’s not his damn cabin.

Will groans. “Aw, come on, Clarisse!”

She doesn’t bother to humour him with words, choosing instead to grab him by the collar and drag him bodily out. Will does not make it easy, going completely limp and getting his clothes grass-stained beyond belief, because Clarisse tugs him along like a sled behind her, bouncing over every stone. Nico follows, on the grounds that it’s not being nosy if Will dragged him into it technically.

“You have siblings! You have a boyfriend!”

“And yet I’m choosing you,” Clarisse says easily. “I’ve already told Chiron. It’s a done deal, weatherboy. You’re chariot racing with me.”

Will groans, trying in vain to squirm out of Clarisse’s grip. “There is no reason for me to be your partner in the stupid chariot race, I am a healer, I am at camp to heal —”

She shakes him a little to shut him up. “All the more reason. You focus too much on one thing, brat. All you do is heal and study like a big nerd. You need to get out of your comfort zone.”

“Um, no way. I’m very comfortable in it. That’s why it’s called a comfort zone.”

“You could use some training,” Nico pipes up, and the betrayed look Will gives him would be more effective at making him feel bad if it wasn’t so funny. “Last time I tried to teach you how to use a sword you almost sliced off your own face, so.”

Clarisse looks at him with appraisal. “Maybe you do have some sense in you, di Angelo.”

Nico chooses to take that as the compliment it is.

“Ugh,” Will says dramatically, and finally manages to wrench out of Clarisse’s grip in order to embed the appropriate level of drama in his face-down flop to the floor.

Clarisse kicks him. “You’re pathetic.”

“Ugh.”

Notably, he stops protesting. She kicks him again, affectionately this time, and stomps away.

———

“If I work myself into another coma, I don’t have to chariot race,” Will says gleefully, shoving the bottles of nectar Nico hands him onto a shelf. He’s been buzzing around the infirmary all day, healing things he is meant to be healing with a band-aid and a stop being a clumsy dumbass, dumbass with hymns and salves. “I’m gonna try to cure cancer again.”

Kayla, walking by, reaches out and smacks him. “Try it and I’m crack your country CDs in half.”

Will turns to her, opening his mouth —

“Every single one of them,” she stresses, green eyes narrowed.

— and closes it again, huffing.

“I’ll find a way,” he says glumly.

Nico pats him delicately on the back. “There, there.” A pause. “I mean, personally, I can’t wait to watch you fall out of a chariot.”

The look Will shoots him is nothing short of wounded. “You think I’m so uncoordinated I’m gonna fall out of the chariot?”

“Gracefully!” assures Austin from across the infirmary, smiling supportively. He grins brightly when they turn to look, nose scrunching with the force of his smile. “I’m sure!”

Will’s scowl twitches in the face of his brother’s blind enthusiasm. (It is impossible not to be endeared by Austin. He is genuinely the sweetest kid in the entire universe. Nico even gets, to his horror, the occasional urge to squish him. Gently.) He sighs.

“Thanks, Austin.”

“Of course! Love you Will!”

The twitching scowl melts into a full smile. “Love you too, kiddo.”

———

Watching chariot race practices, very quickly, becomes Nico’s favourite pastime.

He sees, now, why Achilles would bring them up, unprompted, wistful look in his eye, every time Nico visited. There’s a beauty in the rawness of it; the whipping winds, wild horses. Squealing wheels and bending axels, open-backed and inches from death at all time. Dangerous, exhilarating. Humanity, at it’s most thrilling and old — some of the first tools, the first domestic animals, the first machines, all at once. It’s pure, raw excitement.

Also, Will falls out of the chariot, like, eight whole times. And there’s nothing funnier than watching him lose his shit at a splintered pile of wood that was once a carriage, helmet thrown to the ground in a fit of rage, accent so thick he’s literally incomprehensible. Nico never gets to see him like this. His stomach actually hurts from laughter on several occasions.

Slowly, though, he starts to get the hang of it. He’s smart — incredibly so — and when he stops spending half his time complaining, and the other half pouting, he actually gets pretty decent. He’s fast, after all, and quick to observe, to respond; the other teams struggle to land hits on him, in practice runs, and sabotage is difficult when your opponent seems to have an almost prophetic gift to see things coming.

He can’t, however, steel himself to hit back.

And therein lies the trouble.

“For fuck’s sake, Will, I’m not asking you to kill anybody,” Clarrise snaps. “You need to get your head in the game!”

Will’s shoulders curl defensively. “I know! I’m trying! It’s just —” He kicks at their broken wheel, in two clean pieces on the ground. “Do no harm.”

“Do some harm. Or I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Will brightens. “And then ask somebody else to be your partner?”

“No, and then make you my partner forever.”

“Oh.”

Will’s sullen face is hard to look at. He’s got those big, puppy dog eyes, round and sad and pouty. Not even Clarisse is immune. (And certainly not Nico, who finds himself halfway off the spectator’s stands and jogging to the tracks before he wonders what exactly, the fresh fuck, he is doing, and sprints right back.)

“Shit, Solace, don’t look like I killed your goddamn mother.” She cuffs him on the shoulder, sending him sprawling with a muffled oof. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s go again.”

Accepting the spare chariot someone wheels towards her, she pulls herself up, making space for Will to do the same. He doesn’t get on immediately, still looking miserable, but concedes eventually.

His forearms look kind of nice when he grips onto the rails for dear life, Nico notices. From a totally objective perspective.

The four practicing teams guide their horses to the starting line, running a few last minute checks. To avoid spilling any secrets or strategies, everyone uses the same practice-issue wooden chariot and wears the same armour, but it’s still obvious who’s who.

The Hephaestus team’s chariot, despite being standard issue, gleams like it’s brand-new. The wood is polished and looks to be altered, barely; a carved groove here, a sharper wing there. Nothing that could really be considered an upgrade, but definitely making the whole thing look smoother. The spears they hold promise a plethora of untold ability hidden within.

The Hermes chariot looks deceptively beat up. There’s a chunk missing from the top of the left side, and one of the wheels appears to be just slightly out of alignment. Upon careful inspection, though, Nico can see clear, hollow tubing attached along the rails and open to the back — definitely a quick rig of some sort. Base (not acid, Cecil had happily lectured him on the benefits of using a base rather than an acid when dissolving anything from steel to human flesh), if Nico has to guess, or maybe Greek fire.

The Aphrodite-Iris chariot doesn’t have to do much to look great. The whole thing seems to coast gracefully to the beginner line, and neither charioteer looks particularly bothered or preoccupied with the competition — if Nico recalls correctly, and he does, their goal is to win through “gay audacity”, which Nico does not understand but supports wholeheartedly.

Will and Clarisse’s chariot, by comparison, is pretty run-of-the-mill. They haven’t done much training with the Ares horses or the Apollo flying chariot, because Clarisse is primarily concerned with training Will — she knows the equipment is fine.

Lacy, standing at the edge of the track, puts a sparkly pink whistle to her lips and blows loudly. It’s not nearly as loud as one of Will’s sonic whistles, but it does the trick, and the teams are off in a blur of movement; Will and Clarisse in the lead, Hephaestus behind them, Aphrodite-Iris in third, and Hermes lagging slightly behind.

As they turn their first corner, positions largely unchanging, Nico hears footsteps from his left — Lou Ellen smiles at him as she climbs the stand, settling into the space he makes next to him.

“What’d I miss?” she asks, brushing dust off her hands.

He shrugs. “Not much. They were in the lead the last practice round, too, but on the last lap Hermes caught up.” He gestures to the heap that was once their practice chariot. “Julia had her sword at their wheels. They were on the inner ring, nowhere to move; the only way to get rid of them would have been to knock her arm, probably dislocate her shoulder. Will couldn’t do it.”

Lou Ellen winces. “Ah.”

There’s a ripping sound, followed by cackling — the Hermes chariot has finally made use of their hasty rigging, setting off an explosion behind them that rockets them forward. It has the added bonus of shaking the ground, slightly, unsettling the other drivers for just barely long enough for them to pull into third place. Far ahead, still in first, Nico can see Clarisse yelling instructions at Will, although he can’t hear what they are. His grip on the rail has tightened.

“Why,” starts Nico carefully, and based on Lou Ellen’s pinched face she knows exactly where he’s going, “does she make him — well, you know.”

Lou Ellen is silent for a good long while, watching the practice chariot race with eyes that aren’t paying attention. Hermes is gaining, but Hephaestus is gaining faster.

“Clarisse has always liked Will,” she says eventually. She meets Nico’s incredulous expression, snorting. “Well, as much as Clarisse can like people. I got here way after he did, so I don’t have any more details there than you do, but he’s never been afraid of her, and she likes that. He’s never been mean to her, either. I mean, I know she can be a bully, but people aren’t exactly light on her, to be fair.”

The Aphrodite-Iris chariot turns out to have some tricks up its sleeve — it starts to glow; barely at first, but quickly blinding. At its crux, everyone has to look away, allowing them to pull into first.

Well, except that Will doesn’t seem nearly as staggered as everyone else. In fact, he doesn’t look bothered at all — for the first time that Nico has seen, there’s something like competition pulling a crooked smile on his face. He stares straight at the still-too-bright chariot, reigns wrapped around his arms as he yanks them forward.

“Is that why she drags him away sometimes?” Nico asks. “To train?”

“Something like that. Most of his training was with —” she falters. “Well, you know who. Medicine and some archery.”

They’re both quiet for a while. Neither of them ever knew Lee or Michael well, if at all, but over time Nico has found himself almost clamming up at the mere thought of them, the way one might tiptoe around an authority figure when they have something to hide. Forbidden subjects, where before Nico simply didn’t think of them often.

“You can’t just not train, though,” Lou Ellen murmurs, eyes trained on the chariots. Hephaestus throws one of their spears, lodging it in the spokes of the Aphrodite-Iris chariot. They come to a very abrupt and very screechy halt, knocking them out of the race in any real capacity. “Not at Camp Half-Blood. She taught him hand-to-hand because she was the only one strong enough to physically drag him to the arena. Everyone else gave up after the first few tantrums — I think she was kind of amused by the challenge. Or something.”

“Or something,” Nico agrees. Privately, he thinks that there is something about Will Solace that makes you want to protect him. Not frailty — he is not by any means incapable — but something about his smile, his genuineness. The stubborn belief that people are good and kind and worthy of everything he has to give. A naivety, except someone who’s been through what he has (what they all have) cannot be naive — his hope in the world is hard-earned and well-won. It makes people want to protect his hold on it, by any means necessary.

Even, Nico reasons, ornery old fuckers like Clarisse LaRue.

The three remaining chariots start the last leg of the race — Apollo-Ares, barely squeezing out in front; then Hephaestus, quickly gaining; and finally Hermes, lagging slightly but not to be discarded. As they round the bend, Nico watches as Clarisse cuffs Will briefly on the arm, clearly proud. This is the farthest they’ve made in first so far, after two weeks of training. Will, reigns safely transferred back to Clarisse, beams at her — bright enough that Nico can see it from dozens of yards away.

With sudden, calculated speed, the Hephaestus chariot surges forward.

As if coordinated, Nico and Lou Ellen inhale sharply, leaning forward. He sees the scattered few other campers so the same in his peripherals, watching with single minded focus as the chariot levels exactly with Will and Clarisse. Nico eyes the spear nervously — of all weapons, they’re the easiest for Will to dodge, to fight off. More impersonal.

But the sons of the smartest god around would know that.

For at least a hundred feet, nothing happens. Ares-Apollo and Hephaestus stay neck in neck, every urge forward matched, every pesky road-blocking stone avoided. The finish line is dangerously close, but no one pulls ahead, nothing changes. Four shoulders remain tense, four helmets stare resolutely forward.

Then, in a quick movement, the taller Hephaestus charioteer hands the spear off to the shorter, swiftly taking the reigns, and the shorter lunges — aiming right for Will’s shoulder. Will’s quick, though, and has his own spear poised to parry in an instant. There’s a barely perceptible nudge from Clarisse, and then Will’s eyes harden, and he lifts his spear to jab right back, needle-thin tip gleaming in the late afternoon sun, right for the chink in the charioteer’s armour and then —

The charioteer rips their helmet off, dropping it at their feet.

It’s Harley.

Hephaestus’ darling; hell, the camp’s darling. One of their youngest and brightest, with big, mischievous brown eyes, contagious smiles, endless enthusiasm. Cute, clumsy Harley, the only one of Hephaestus’ children Will doesn’t have to nag to get treated, who walks dutifully over the infirmary every time he gets so much as a second-degree burn and treats each one of Will’s overcautious instructions with utmost seriousness. Who Will sends away each time with an affectionate kiss on the forehead and a prized purple sucker — who Will, frankly, favours. Who Will would never, in a million years, even consider hurting.

A dirty trick by the Hephaestus cabin.

But an effective one.

Immediately, Will flinches back, spear dropping from his hand and splintering under thundering hooves and spinning wheels. Without a second of hesitation, Harley launches his spear in the same move as before — sticking it in the wheel’s spokes, inertia sending the charioteer’s sprawling, knocking them out of the race.

Except, maybe it’s different when the chariots are so close. Or maybe the chariot was faulty to begin with. Because as soon as the spear gets wedged, the fragile floor of the chariot seems to implode — sending Will and Clarisse under the still-moving machine, instead of flying over. The horses, disoriented from the sudden change, rip free of their harness, adding more force to the already precarious tumble.

There’s a sharp, sickening crack, so loud Nico can hear it as if it’s next to him. In the brief nanosecond immediately afterwords, he closes his eyes, sending a prayer to his father: please be the axle. Please be the axle. Please be the axle.

As the Hephaestus and Hermes chariots rocket past the finish line, Clarisse lets out a shrill, blood-curdling scream.

———

Nico’s off the bench and halfway towards the crashed chariot before he can blink. He’s not the only one — he processes, barely, everyone else’s quick convergence, including the remaining charioteers — but he’s there first, diving into the wreckage seconds before anyone else is close enough.

There’s not a lot of actual debris, chariots being as small as they are, but the dust cloud from the track is so huge and the pieces of wood are so splintered that it feels like there is. As the dust settles, and he kicks some debris out of the way, he starts to see the shape of Will, kneeling, in front of a prone Clarisse and an ever-growing pool of blood.

There’s a bone sticking straight out of her thigh.

As the rest of the campers converge upon them, Will looks up and meets Nico’s eyes. His own blue eyes are dark, steely — determined, but afraid.

“I don’t have time,” is the only thing out of his mouth before he braces both hands on Clarisse’s leg, immediately starting to sing urgent hymns.

Nico understands.

“Lou, Julia, Chiara,” he barks, taking charge in absence of Will’s voice. The three girls snap forward to him immediately. “Sprint the the infirmary and tell them what happened. Austin’s on duty — make sure he doesn’t come with you, we need him to prep a surgical suite. Send everyone else and send them fast. Bring a stretcher.”

He turns to the Hephaestus kids. “Jake, Harley, start clearing the debris to make space. Damien, join them; move the big stuff first, small stuff is secondary. We need a space for Will to work and a space to lay the stretcher. Jen, Butch, Lacy —”

He barks off a list of orders, doing his best to channel the commands he’s watched Will give dozens and dozens of times. In minutes, he has the track cleared, Will’s medical bag dragged over from the stands, and everyone who is not helping stabilize out to the infirmary to help as needed.

As soon as there’s an opening, he rushes over to Will and Clarisse, kneeling by her head.

“Help is coming,” he promises, watching the glow dim and flicker in time with the rhythm of Will’s chanting. The bleeding has slowed, marginally, but he can tell from the volume of blood alone that this was an arterial hit. It’s going to take more than Will’s raw healing power, although there is a lot of it, to keep Clarisse alive and keep her leg functioning in recovery. He needs tools, he needs nectar and ambrosia; he needs the surgery suite. He needs time.

“Is it helpful for me to knock her out?”

Clarisse, of course, is still conscious. Barely — and in so much pain Nico will be surprised if she’s processing anything at all — but enough that every few seconds she lets out an agonised shout of pain, writhing and flinching so hard Will has to focus on steadying her as much as healing her.

Without breaking his song, eyes still trained on the injury, Will nods. Nico breathes, squaring his shoulders, then shuffled forward to rest Clarisse’s head gently in his lap, fingers pressed to her temples. He presses, hard enough to feel the beat of her heart — weak — through his fingertips, and squeezes his eyes shut.

He’s no son of Hypnos, but dreams are the Underworld’s domain. Are his domain, as heir and prince of the Underworld, in every way that matters, that can be counted.

He lets himself sink into careful limbo; body in physical space, mind and soul elsewhere. Not too much — he’s no use if he falls unconscious — but enough to slip into Clarisse’s mindscape, step into her subconscious.

The whole place bleeds white, hot anguish.

Nico stumbles when he first walks in, nauseous despite being nothing but his own mind. It’s been a while since he’s experienced this kind of pain, his own or not, and he has to consciously beat back memories of brimstone and rot; liquid fire, endless red, red, red.

“Clarisse?” he calls, softly as he dares.

She doesn’t respond. He’s not sure she knows how to respond, even if she could. Cautious of the memory and emotion swirling around him, he steps forward. If he focuses, her anguish is pointed — is central. She will be at the centre of it.

He has volunteered, but he’s not sure he wants to follow.

Steeling himself, he shoulders through swirling masses of pain, of hurt, of fear. It’s blisteringly hot, and feels not unlike the sandstorm he was once stranded within, in the middle of the New Mexico desert four years ago. His face prickles; he’s blinded.

He trudges forward.

“Clarisse? Clarisse! Can you hear me? It’s Nico!”

Desperately and uselessly, he wishes he had more practice. Will has offered, the few times he’s needed to anaesthetize someone, but for the most time Nico has foolishly declined. Why on Earth he would pass up a much easier mindscape to navigate through in preparation for something like this is a mystery to him. Fuck.

“Clarisse! Try to — focus on me, can you hear me?”

He forces himself forward, a few more — well, there’s no distance in a mindscape, nothing measurable, anyway. He forces himself to look up, braving the assault to his face, and try to scan his surroundings. The swirling mass is more centralized, now, almost hurricane-like and conal. He’s closer than he was before, but if he can only find…

He looks up, and almost cries in relief: weak against the roaring storm, but still present, is a flickering, golden light. A very familiar light. Nico squeezes his eyes shut, thrusting out his own energy in an uncoordinated mass — boy, is that going to be uncomfortable to extract later — and flails wildly until he finally feels the warmth of Will’s energy entangling with his own, grounding him. He opens his eyes, and suddenly everything is clearer.

Clarisse kneels in the centre of her mindscape, hands pressed tightly to her ears, eyes screwed shut, mouth open in a silent scream.

“Hey,” Nico murmurs, kneeling in front of her. It takes a few seconds, and a few moments of gentle coaxing, before she looks up.

“It hurts,” she croaks.

She’s more vulnerable than he’s ever seen her — eyes brown and big and wet, pained, face twisted and chin trembling and achingly, unbelievably young. She is nineteen years old, but in that moment she appears almost childlike. The years of warrior’s hardness has abandoned her; she is armourless.

Nico swallows the lump in his throat. “I know.”

“Help me. Please.”

“Come here, Clarisse.” He reaches out and wraps a gentle hand around hers, tugging her close. The knee jerk discomfort at close contact is barely a flicker — he is so entwined in her right now that her fear has started to bleed into his; her rawness. He needs this comfort almost as much as she does. Right now she is a person, in agony, and so is he, and it is unbearable.

He holds her until the pain slowly stops.

———

Will is in the surgical suite for seven straight hours.

“Bed,” Nico says softly, rising up to meet him as he exits. It says something about how exhausted he is that he doesn’t even protest, letting Nico place a hand on the small of his back and guide him past the on-call room, past the patient cots, past the Big House living room couches, past Cabin 7. He leads him across the common and right into Cabin 13, with its double beds and blackout curtains, with its insulated, soundproof walls. With Nico.

He helps him out of his bloodstained scrubs, peeling them off his skin and tossing them directly into a trash can. He’d guide him to the shower, usually, but there’s a — glassiness, to his eyes, that there usually isn’t after surgery. Nico chooses instead to skip it, guiding him into the sweatpants he left behind the last time he was here and an oversized The Doors t-shirt of Nico’s, and then to the spare bed he always uses, across from Nico’s. He peels the covers back for him like he’s a child, tucking him in, brushing the hair out of his eyes. He’s asleep in minutes, curled tightly around a pillow, furrowed crease not leaving the space between his eyebrows, even in sleep. Nico smooths it away with his thumb.

“Goodnight, Will,” he murmurs, brushing the backs of his knuckles across his forehead.

He watches him sleep far past what is normal, and then slips back out of the cabin.

———

“On the bright side,” Will says, squeezing the hand that has left to leave Clarisse’s arm, “you’re free from your chariot race obligation! As am I!”

Predictably, she only glowers.

“Not a chance, Solace,” she rasps.

Will helpfully gets her a glass of water, fussing over her blankets while she drinks until she bats him away. Chris watches the whole thing with great amusement, shoulders brushing Nico’s.

“He’s a mother hen, isn’t he,” he comments, tilting his head in Will’s direction, who narrowly avoids having his fingers bitten off trying to feed her a square of ambrosia.

Nico snorts. “Yeah.” He watches the fussing for a few more seconds, making note of Will’s shaking hands, his shakier smile. “He’s guilty.”

“He didn’t do anything. She doesn’t blame him.”

Nico meets his dark look, mouth twisted in understanding. They both know this logic is futile.

“Yeah, well, someone tell him that.”

“Will — stop it.” In a startlingly quick move for someone on as much morphine as she is, Clarisse darts out and clutches Will’s fluttering hands. He hesitates, wondering if it’s worth it to pull out of her hold and possibly jostle her leg. “I’m fine. And you’re still charioting.”

“You’re not fine,” Will frowns, conveniently ignoring the part of the sentence he doesn’t want to deal with. “Your femur snapped in half and tore through your femoral artery on its way out of your leg. You’re going to be on bedrest for a week at least, and it’ll be tender for a good long while besides. That’s what we in the medical business call a Big Fucking Deal.”

She tightens her hold, staring at him until he finally meets her eyes.

“Will.” She narrows her eyes. “You are still participating in the chariot race. I’m not asking.”

“It’ll have to wait until you’re better,” he says lightly. “Besides, we’re focusing on you right now.”

Nico can see in her face when she decides to switch strategies.

“Okay,” she says, stubborn glean in her eye, “then I’m asking you, as a personal request, to stay in the race. Or else I’ll drag myself onto a goddamn horse myself, killing myself in the process, and that will be on your head.”

The tactic works.

Will scowls. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Clarisse doesn’t bother repeating herself, letting go of his wrists and readjusting her blankets.

“I am done talking now. I believe it’s time for morphine-induced unconsciousness. Please remember that I took down a drakon with my own bare hands; it is well within my abilities to drag myself out of heroin-haze and onto a chariot with no legs, let alone one. Good talk.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she leans back on her pillows and passes out. Genuinely, actually passes out — not closes her eyes, not behind to fall asleep; she is unconscious. Snores ring through the air.

“Well,” Chris says carefully, unfolding his arms. “It might be time to let Clarisse rest for a while.”

Will, healer that he is, cannot exactly argue with that. Will, drama queen that he is, decides to make his fury known by stomping out of the room, a feat in flip-flips possible by him alone.

“She is so infuriating!” he shouts the second they’re in the main room, startling several people. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “I put effort in! I failed! She can’t even — it’s not even about spending time together, obviously, since I still have to do it! What does she want from me?!”

Chris, like Nico, has wisely decided to let the hypothetical questions remain hypothetical and stay silent, lest his fury be turned onto them. Ten minutes into Will’s rant, Chris excuses himself to go sit by Clarisse. Nico waves him off.

“Will,” Nico suggests the next time he takes a breath, “let’s maybe go for a walk.” He glances at the group of wide-eyed patients. “I think you’re scaring people.”

Deflating, Will nods, following Nico out the door. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go for a walk.”

The fresh air probably doesn’t fix things, per se, but as they lap around the cabins, Will seems to droop further and further, curling in on himself. The anger recedes from his features.

“I feel really shitty,” he admits softly. “Just, like, generally.”

Nico softens like a goddamn slab of ice cream on hot pavement. For the second time in three days, he opens his arms in offering, although this time it’s significantly less difficult.

“Come here.”

Without even a beat of hesitation, Will collapses into him, arms around his waist, head tucked under his chin. Nico fights the urge to wince — Will, usually, takes quite a bit of pride in his height. He likes to be the one to wrap around people, not the other way around. Nico has been indoctrinated into Will-affection, in the time since the Giant War, and if Will is the one curling into him, seeking comfort, than he is struggling.

Nico hates it when Will struggles. He always feels out of his depth.

“There, there,” he hedges, feeling a good bit like an NPC. “It’ll be okay.”

Will makes a small, wounded noise. “You don’t know that.”

“Um, yes I do, I know everything forever. I’ve never been wrong even one time in my life.”

His awkward attempt at lightening the mood is rewarded by Will’s laugh. It’s slight, and nowhere near the brightness it usually is, but it’s there and it’s genuine and that’s all Nico wanted, really.

“You good?” Nico asks softly, squeezing his arms.

Will nods. “Yes.” He hesitates. “Can I stay here a little longer?”

Nico wraps his arms impossibly tighter, aching at the quiet vulnerability in his voice.

“As long as you need.”

———

The last practice before the chariot race is nowhere near as fun to watch as the others. In fact, it’s not fun at all.

Clarisse, casted and upright, appoints her brother Sherman to race in her place, much to both his and Will’s very vocal complaints. Will’s, because he still doesn’t want to race at all and especially not now that Clarisse is out of the running, and Sherman’s because, well, when isn’t Sherman complaining about having to breathe the same air as someone or whatever.

Clarisse silences both of them with a glare. “Do it,” she orders.

They comply, stomping over to their practice chariot.

The practice race is awful. Nico is surprised, frankly, that they managed to finish at all, as badly behind as they managed. He could practically hear their squabbling all the way from the stands. For as much as Will is generally easy to get along with, he’s impossible when he’s stubborn, and worse when he’s petulant. He takes every command from Sherman like it’s a personal offence, and Sherman, being who he is, does too. Every shout to veer right or deflect an attack somehow sounds like a jab at Will’s speed, or a remark about his general intelligence. When they stomp off the track, helmets thrown in a heap with the rickety chariot, Nico is almost relieved.

“We’re going to lose, tomorrow, and I can’t wait,” hisses Will darkly, fists curled at his sides.

Nico watches him warily. “You’re not even going to try?”

“What, so he can remind me that even when I’m trying I’m a useless idiot? Not a chance.”

Nico has to almost jog to keep up with him, striding as powerfully as he is. He’s not even sure where he’s going — he seems to be, mostly, going away from the track and from Sherman, wherever that may be.

“You’re not a useless idiot,” Nico offers, when some of the stormcloud has lessened its hold on Will’s usually sunny face. “Nobody thinks you’re a useless idiot.”

Will closes his eyes, sighing. “I know.”

“And Sherman is just a generally grouchy person.”

“I know.”

“It feels very, very weird to be the optimistic and comforting one, right now.”

Will snorts, finally meeting his eyes. “I know.” He flops onto the ground, cheek resting in his knees, and pats the space next to him. Nico sits much more delicately. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole lately.”

“You’ve been stressed,” Nico points out. “A little assholery is warranted.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Nico knocks their shoulders together. “I forgive you, then.”

Will smiles. “Thank you.”

For a while they sit in comfortable silence, watching the hustle and bustle of camp. Will’s presence is a comforting one, even though Nico can feel the turmoil leeching off of him. Strangely because of that, actually — sometimes Nico feels like he’s the only one who struggles out of the two of them. Will spends so much of his time smiling and joking and lecturing, hands on his hips, that Nico had almost forgotten that he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, either. He’s just good at faking it.

“I’ll be watching, tomorrow.” He bites his lip. “And I won’t, like, bring pom-poms, or anything, but I’ll be cheering you on.”

Will grins tiredly. “Silently and in your head?”

“Uh-huh.”

His smile softens considerably, melting into something almost shy, before he turns back to face forward.

“Well, then, damn. I guess I’ll have to try.”

———

On the morning of the chariot race, Will acts like Nico is escorting him to his goddamn execution.

“It is a race that will last a maximum of twenty minutes,” Nico says with no small amount of exasperation, “including prep time.”

Will looks no less grim. “A twenty minutes that will never be returned to me.”

Nico rolls his eyes and decides to stop humouring him.

He drops him off at his chariot with a quick pat on the shoulder, jogging back to the stands. They’re full, today, as expected, with every camper and countless others cramped into the minimal space. Nico looks at the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, and is about to consider breaking his promise and fleeing back to his cabin before he sees a doodled-on hand stick in the air, waving wildly. He exhales in relief and heads over to sit in the spot Kayla and Austin have cleared between them.

“How miserable is he?” Kayla asks brightly, tapping her purple shoes. “He left before we woke up this morning. Assumedly to sprint around camp a few times like a feral cat.”

“Pretty miserable,” Nico answers. He reaches over to pat Austin’s head when he rests on his shoulder, knowing he’s nervous even if he tries not to show it. “A lot of it is self-induced, though. Like, yeah, Sherman is going to be a dick and it’s going to be stressful, but I feel like, in the grand scheme of things, this is among the least stressful things he’s ever been forced to deal with.”

“There was that one time he had to remove a brain tumour in the middle of the forest,” Austin muses. “I think that was probably pretty stressful for him.”

Nico opens his mouth. He closes it again.

“Demigod life is a nightmare,” he settles on eventually.

“Hear, hear,” both siblings mutter.

They lapse into silence as they turn back to the racetrack, evaluating the turnout.

Competition will be hefty.

Sherman has finally arrived, Ares horses in tow. The garish things look almost wrong next to the brightness off the flying Apollo chariot, but that may just be the tension between the team’s charioteers that’s so potent it seems to warp the air around them. Nico is vaguely surprised that they’re managing to stand so civilly next to each other, even if they could not be more visibly uncomfortable. Will, at least, tries for a smile, which drops immediately when Sherman mutters something too quiet to be picked up this far.

Nico sighs. This is going to be hard to watch.

There are about twenty other chariots lines up. Hermes, Hephaestus, and Aphrodite-Iris, like at practice, but Athena is competing too, as well as Nike, as per usual, and Tyche. In fact Nico, and by extension Hades, is one of the few cabins not participating — everyone else seems primed and ready for a chance of laurels and extra dessert. And, of course, settling personal rivalries via bloodshed, et cetera, et cetera.

The biggest competition, if Nico had to quantify it, will be Hephaestus, tricky as they were during practice; Athena, for obvious reasons; and Will and Sherman themselves will be their own worst enemy. He can’t tell if it would be better for them to fail out early to avoid racketing tension up further, or last close to the end to keep things at a healthy simmer.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. The second warning whistle goes off, and the chariots rush to the starting line — Will and Sherman at third position, Demeter to their left, Dionysus-Hypnos to their right. The stands go silent, the charioteers get in position, and with a sharp, shrill whistle, they’re off.

The first few seconds, as always, are chaotic.

In the ground with the settling dust are three separate chariots, including, surprisingly, Hermes, whose rigging backfired and sent their entire chariot up in smoke. They are luckily unharmed due to their unusually well-prepared fireproof armour, but neither Julia nor Connor seem too pleased about being out so soon.

The rest of the race continues on without them. Athena has a decent stretch of first place, but Nike is following fast. Behind them, barely a hair’s breadth of distance, is Will and Sherman, rocketing forward smoothly. Unlike Clarisse, Sherman does not care for giving Will any learning opportunities — despite the horses being Ares’, Will is on the reigns. Sherman is armed with his sword and his spear, slashing and jabbing at anyone who gets too close. Neither Ares or Apollo is big on tricks, not like some of the craftier cabins, but together they’re fast and strong and make a formidable opponent.

Or, well, they would. If they were working together, rather than two people simply being in the same chariot.

They cross into the second lap, Will guiding them across the innermost ring to move them up past Nike. They’re gaining on Athena, now, but that won’t be an easy task — challenging the camp’s wisest never is.

Kayla hisses through her teeth. “Shit.” She purses her lip at the trailing Nike chariot — they’re gaining, and they’re seething. Damien — at least Nico thinks it’s Damien, it’s hard to tell with the helmets — has an arsenal of throwing knives poised in his left hand, and as his teammate steers them steady, he takes aim. Nico has to resist the urge to shout a warning.

As the short knife sails towards the reigns wrapped around Will’s hands, though, aim ringing true, Will’s spine goes ramrod straight. Almost as if he can feel it. With an eighth of a second to spare, he shifts and jerks his hands out of the way, avoiding the knife and managing, somehow, to stay on track.

With a skill and ferocity that has Nico’s jaw brushing his toes, Will dodges all eight of the knives lobbed in his direction. In one memorable manoeuvre, he rips his left hand from the reigns, holding them in his teeth, and uses it to shove Sherman down behind the wall of the chariot right before a knife would have lodged itself in his uncovered cheek. Out of weapons, he steers their chariot right next to Nike, allowing Sherman to sever their reigns and send them rolling to a sad, victory-less stop.

Without pausing to look behind them, they race on.

Athena’s chariot has a lead, but their chariot is built for stability, not speed. They’ve accounted for every possible sabotage and built accordingly. They have not accounted for, however, stubbornness and sheer force of Will. The Ares-Apollo chariot gains on them, helmets glinting, skeletal horses gaining faster, faster, faster. Both Sherman and Malcom, Nico believes, have their spears drawn, ready, as the space between them gets smaller and smaller, to fight barbarically for first — for honour.

Nico doubts even Rachel, powers of prophecy fully restored, could predict what happens next.

Either too furious to accept a loss or simply deciding to throw the game, one of the Nike charioteers crawls out from their carriage, darting onto the live track. They scan the ground, looking for something. When they stand in the dead centre of the track, body perfectly tense, gripping something glinting in their hand, Nico gets it.

Austin gasps, nails digging into Nico’s arm. “Oh, no.”

Before anyone can say anything, they take aim. They measure once, twice, and then let the knife loose with deadly precision, knife cutting through the air with ease and hurdling with impossible power towards to two finalists chariots.

If the knife hits the Athena chariot, it will slice clean through the axle. Architectural wonder it may be, the chariot cannot withstand Celestial bronze at terminal velocity, and it will give, and the chariot will crumple. In an effort to lesson the chariot’s load, the Athena charioteers have largely forgone armour. Their fall will be painful and disastrous; as deadly as Clarisse’s, if not moreso. A hit to the Ares-Apollo chariot will be similarly as race-ending, but both Will and Sherman are in full armour. It will be bruising, but not deadly. They will lose, but they will survive.

All they need to do to win is shift, just slightly, so that the knife hits the Athena chariot.

Will, like with all the others before it, seems to feel this knife coming. Unlike the others, he glances backwards, looking at the knife, looking back at the Athena chariot. Sherman follows his gaze, and seems to realize what Will has calculated a split second after he does. He shouts something — presumably an order to move, to shift, to sabotage.

Will hesitates.

The knife hits the Ares-Apollo chariot, slicing through the left wheel.

It careens around, unbalanced, dragged into a heap by untethered horses.

The Athena chariot pulls forward to victory, the remaining functioning chariots quickly following.

The Ares-Apollo canon is left broken and humiliated only a few feet from victory, the almost-first-place.

———

As soon as they come off the track, things get messy. Both Will and Sherman are covered in dirt and grime, striped with grease from the broken wheels, bleeding sluggishly from various scraps. Sherman has his non-flailing hand clamped to an oozing wound on the side of his neck, and Will is limping.

“—and I cannot fucking believe you, Solace! All I asked for was effort!”

“Oh, forgive me,” Will says sarcastically, finally close enough to hear. “In the hustle and bustle of being shot at, I made a couple errors.”

“That gonna be your attitude in battle? ‘Oh, sorry, there was a monster chasing me so I lost all focus —’”

“Battles are not usually fought on a chariot going a hundred fucking miles per hour!”

“That’s no excuse! You need to be —”

“What, Sherman, fucking what? What indisputable flaw do I have, oh great one, that needs to be so desperately remedied?”

It’s startling when Will’s composure cracks. When he goes from bitey and sarcastic, eye-rolling from his usual distance, to right in Sherman’s face. It’s eerie to see him at his full height, no slouching, reminding anyone watching that yeah, actually, their laidback medic is six-two, strong, capable, in more ways than what they’re used to.

Sherman, in usual Ares kid fashion, doesn’t even flinch.

“Your reflexes, for starters,” he says coolly. “No matter what you do, Solace, you’re always one second too fucking late.”

A collective gasp ricochets through the gathered campers. The tension rackets up so rapidly that Nico coughs, lungs suddenly constricted. Will rears back so violently Nico is half-convinced Sherman actual punched him.

Sherman, for his part, seems to realise he’s crossed some kind of line. The cold look on his face twists into a scowl, uncomfortable and apologetic at once. “Look, Will, I just mean —”

“You don’t get to say that to me.”

Will’s quiet voice seems to echo through the entirety of the valley, cutting through laboured breathing of charioteers, pegasus neighing, even the crashing of the waves in the distant shore — everything goes silent.

Nico likes to think he knows Will pretty well. He knows what he sounds like when he’s giggly, watching his siblings argue about nothing; when he’s excitable, rambling about his newest obsession; when he can’t choose between amused and stern at whatever dumb thing Nico has gotten himself into. He knows what he sounds like when he’s exhausted, too, overworked and done with everything; when he’s annoyed, when he’s hurt and sad.

But he’s never heard Will sound so dangerous.

“Of all people.” His words are articulated, deliberate. The usual warmth of his eyes is gone. He’s completely still in a way he never is outside of surgery — no shaking in his perpetually trembling hands, no bounce to his curls, none of the constant energy that seems to constantly exude off him. Still, cold. Icy. “You do not get to talk to me about being one second too late.”

Sherman looks stricken. Guilt is written across each of his features, and for a second he steps back — as if afraid.

“Will, I —”

The son of Apollo turns without another word, striding over to the distant tree line and disappearing into the woods. No one chases after him.

No one even moves.

———

Predictably, the silence does not last long.

“You fucking idiot!” Clarisse explodes, the second Will is out of eyesight. She bats Chris’s hand away from her, and he, surprisingly, lets her go easily — his usually understanding face has hardened. She hobbles towards her brother, remarkably quick with her clunky cast, and starts truly tearing into him. “I asked you to do one fucking thing! One!”

Sherman quickly gets defensive under the scrutiny. “Well, you didn’t make it fucking easy! Just because he’s your protege doesn’t mean he’s my fucking problem —”

Nico doesn’t stick around to listen to their argument. He searches around the gathered crowd until he meets Kayla’s eyes, flicking his head towards the woods. She nods frantically. Knowing he’ll make sure they have privacy, he takes off, aiming for the same place Will went, barely slowing down once he enters the forest.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Will?” he calls, well aware he’s not going to get an answer. “Where are you?”

While there’s definitely no response from Will, he damn near jumps out of his skin when a dryad melts from her tree, shuffling towards him.

“Blond boy?” she asks, leaning close so he can hear her whisper. “Tall? Crying?”

Nico swallows. Fuck. “Yeah.”

“Headed down southeast, ways past Zeus’ fist.“

“Thank you,” he says, hoping she understands how much he means it.

She nods, then disappears back into her tree.

Following her directions, Nico jogs down beaten paths, heading in the direction that he is vaguely sure is southeast and mostly praying that he’ll find Will eventually. He shouldn’t have that much of a head start, since Nico left maybe five minutes after he did, but who knows. Will’s fast, and sometimes this forest seems bigger than it really is. It’s easy to get lost.

He searches for what feels like hours, and might actually be hours; sky darkening as the sun disappears into the lake. The temperature drops significantly. Nico is hoping that he won’t be spending the night sleeping in the dirt when he hears sniffling.

Heart pounding, he freezes, focusing on the sound. It’s muffled, sobs choked-off and sound hidden behind cupped hands. The echo sounds strange, too; it’s close, that much is obvious, but Nico almost can’t tell if it’s coming from the left or the right. Truthfully, it doesn’t sound like either.

On impulse, he looks up. Almost invisible in the branches of a large oak tree is Will, stained clothes blending in with the scratchy bark, leaves covering the rest of him.

Except, perhaps fittingly, his bright, golden hair.

Worried that calling out to him might startle him right off the tree, Nico begins to climb. He’s not great at climbing — he doesn’t have a natural sense of what is and isn’t a good foothold — but oak trees are easy. Every half-step has a branch, and this tree is old enough that the branches are thick, sturdy. He’s twenty feet up before he even realizes, barely breaking a sweat.

He pauses a few feet shy of his target, straightening until he’s standing on an almost flat branch, arm looped tightly around the trunk.

“Will.”

Will startles. He looks around frantically, struggling in the dark, until his bloodshot eyes finally land on Nico. He bursts into more tears, shoulders shaking as he sobs.

Alarmed, Nico crawls all the way up.

“Woah, Will, breathe, vita, breathe —”

He’s not sure what tree-sobbing etiquette is, but regular sobbing etiquette often involves some kind of comforting physical touch, so he goes with that. And Will, he knows, likes to be crowded, likes to be almost suffocated with the sights and touch and smells of other people, to remind him he’s not alone, even if he feels it. So Nico scoots as closely as he dares, legs wrapped around the branch, and slides one arm around Will’s back, one against his chest, and tugs him closely.

Will comes easily.

With a bit of manoeuvring, he’s tucked under Nico’s chin, shoulders hunched and shaking, enveloped entirely in Nico’s arms. He can feel a wet spot growing on his left sleeve, and honestly he should be at least a little bit disgusted, but he barely even notices. He’s too busy fighting the lump in his own throat, blinking back his own tears.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Will’s curls. “Let it out, Will. You’re allowed.”

Will wails, a deep, choking, broken sound, and Nico loses the battle with his own tears. He’s never heard Will like this. He’s never heard anyone like this, except himself, in the echo of this same forest, years ago. It hurts like biting ice.

“It hurts, they’re gone, they’re gone, and I hate them, I hate them so much —” he heaves, dragging in breath like it cost him to say it, like part of his soul was dragged out of his vocal chords — “and I hate myself for hating them, I hate, they’re gone, I’m never —”

He dissolves into sobs, again, words breaking into nothing understandable, crying around the same repetitions over and over again. Nico hides his crumpling face in Will’s hair, wincing at every broken cry, every hitched breath, every moaned word. His heart feels like it’s breaking into a million fractals. He’s never felt so out of depth in his life.

“Let it out,” he whispers again, for a lack of anything else to say. “Let it out, sweetheart, let it out.”

For a long time, Nico had no one to hold him.

When he lost Bianca, he was by himself. And when he thought he had someone to guide him, someone to fix him, he was wrong — he was vulnerable and easy to manipulate. He had no one to hold him until he was too bitter and too closed off to let himself fall apart, anyway, and losing Bianca stayed somewhere rotten inside him, a bruise that never, ever stopped aching.

Until Will.

Last December he had cracked like an egg. He hadn’t meant to — it wasn’t even in the back of his mind — but he’d opened the door to Will’s smiling face on the morning, cold and sad as it was, and just started bawling. Some part of him, some deep, buried part, stomped it’s way from the prison Nico had kept it in and took the hell over, yanking open the floodgates, forcing him to expel every last drop of shadowy, strangling pain that had stayed inside him so long. He thought he was going to die. His entire body shook and jerked like a rowboat in a deep ocean storm, and it had been Will’s lighthouse, his endless, light eyes, his warm hands, his firm hold that had held him steady until he’d dragged himself out to the other side. It was and is the most painful thing he’d ever done in his life. And the most important.

He doesn’t think Will has had anyone to hold him, before, either. Not ‘til right this moment. Not Chiron, not his mother, and certainly not an older sibling. Will has been running on empty for as long as Nico has known him. Longer.

“Let it out,” Nico whispers again, and holds him tighter.

———

By the time either of them move again, it’s pale, early morning, and they’re damp from the dew and Will’s tears. Nico is as stiff as the tree he’s sitting on, but doesn’t dare say a word about it.

“I don’t want to go back,” Will croaks, the first either of them have spoken in hours.

Nico tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, resting a gentle hand on his cheek. “Okay.”

“We can’t stay here forever.”

“We can stay a while.” Nico pulls away slightly, just enough so that he can cradle Will’s face in both hands, tilting his chin up to meet his gaze. “I mean it, Will. As long as you need.”

“What if I’ll never have enough time?”

“Then I’ll stay with you until time runs out.” He presses a tentative, careful kiss to the centre of his freckled forehead; staying when Will shudders, leaning into it. Against his skin, he murmurs, “But you’ll have enough time, vita. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“I don’t want to be strong.”

“So don’t, I gotcha.” He presses another kiss slightly above the first, and another, resting again at the crown of his head. “But you can be.”

They stay like that until Nico’s face starts to go numb, and even then he doesn’t go far, shifting so his cheek lays on the top of Will’s skull. He ignores the slight tickle of his curls against his nose, focusing instead on the brand of his hands on his waist, the shakey but constant inhales, holds, exhales, again, again, again.

“Clarisse is my friend,” Will starts. “She was as important to me as — as Cass, before the war.”

Nico hums. “But she betrayed you.”

“All of us.”

“And you resent her for it, a little.”

Will nods. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s human, Will, Christ.” He moves them around so they’re both sitting facing each other, Nico’s eyes firmly meeting Will’s. “I will never fully forgive Percy for letting Bianca die. Never. It’s not fair to him, and I love him anyway, and I am choosing to move past it. But I will carry that burden. Am I disgusting for that?”

Will glances away. “No.”

“Will, you — look at me.”

He does.

“Clarisse actively chose her pride over her people. So did the rest of her cabin. She’s not fully responsible for that choice, and the blame, as always, lands on Kronos’ shoulders, but —” Nico laughs, a bitter, defeated sound. “Out of all of us, you lost the most. No one lost as many as Apollo. No one burned as many shrouds. You’re allowed to be hurt, allowed to be angry.”

“I forgave them,” Will admits. “I did it publicly and called off the stupid rivalry right after the war. It was the first thing I did as head counsellor.”

“Trying to do what Michael would have done?”

“Are you kidding me, he —” Will scoffs, swiping at the tears trickling down the corners of his eyes. “If Michael were alive, and he found out I forgave them after what happened to Lee, too Diana — he would have been furious. He would stop speaking to me. If I was trying to be like Michael, I might’ve refused them treatment.”

Nico tries to imagine that for a second — Will refusing anyone treatment. It makes something sour uncurl in his stomach, something unsettling.

“You would never refuse someone treatment. I didn’t even — I didn’t think you guys were allowed.”

Will shrugs. “There are no rules to our practice. I just never made refusal an option, and the kids are too young to know any different.”

‘The kids’ — as if Kayla and Austin aren’t as old or older than Will was when he was in charge, when he held the bashed pieces of his brother’s brain as it oozed out of his skull. As he sat, exhausted, hands shaking, next to Nico, and embroidered twelve shrouds. As if Yan and Gracie are his, rather than Apollo’s.

“You forgave them so your siblings wouldn’t grow up bitter,” Nico realises. “Oh, gods, Will.”

He shrugs again, picking at his nails. “For me too. Grudges aren’t healthy.” He tries for a teasing smile. “You’d know.”

“I would.” Nico tries to smile back. It’s easier than he thought it would be, although it fades back into something serious quickly. He reaches out, linking his hands with Will’s to stop him picking before he bleeds. “You can be selfish sometimes, you know.”

“Not in front of anyone.”

“You’re admitting it in front of me,” Nico points out.

Will hesitates. “That’s — different.”

“How?”

“You get it.” He looks down, voice quiet. “You get me. I can —” He meets Nico’s eyes again, a kind of helpless smile on his face. “I dunno. You’re safe. You’re okay with me, even when I’m ugly.”

“Even then,” Nico echoes quietly. He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind Will’s ear again, even though none were loose. His fingertips linger, and the skin under his touch warms. “Especially then.”

“You can, too, you know, I lo —”

“I know.”

Will exhales in relief. “Good.”

He slumps forward until his forehead rests on the swell of Nico’s shoulder, breaths warming the air between them. Nico tries to match his rhythm — in, out, in, out. Hold. Out, in.

“Can we — hide here, for a little bit? Just a little longer.”

“Of course,” Nico murmurs, squeezing his wrists. “I’ll hide you as long as you need.”

[akshayroy123]

Technical Program Management Training

Technical Program Management training equips professionals with the skills required to oversee and drive complex technical projects to successful completion. The training begins with a focus on understanding the principles of program management, emphasizing the alignment of technical projects with organizational goals and strategies. Participants learn to develop and manage program plans, considering factors such as scope, resources, timelines, and risk mitigation. Effective communication strategies are emphasized to facilitate collaboration among cross-functional teams, stakeholders, and executives. TPM training also covers the use of project management tools and methodologies to enhance planning, execution, and monitoring processes. Risk management is a critical component, teaching participants to identify, assess, and proactively address potential challenges that may arise during the program lifecycle. The training emphasizes adaptability and the ability to pivot strategies as needed in response to changing project dynamics.

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Arcturus Three

Part Four - The Unknown

Part Three

———

NASA astronaut training is highly specific, they are meant to complete two years of intensive training before any specialized mission training is going to start. 

All NASA astronauts and international astronauts go to Johnson Space Center in Texas to go through the intensive training to prepare for any extent of space travel. The selection process starts after the initial stage, their “boot camp”. Where the trainees are educated in shuttle and space station systems, along with a variety of other disciplines. 

Everything from simulators, aircraft training, medical training, and the neutral buoyancy lab are held at Johnson Space Center. Other training includes wilderness survival trading, robotics training and procedure preparation. They are prepared for any potential outcome and or emergency that could or would happen while the astronaut is in space. 

The designed training programs are to prepare the astronauts for the strange circumstance that is microgravity, to prepare all future astronauts for the vastness of space. 

It is an ever-expanding program as more is discovered not only about space but space travel. 

For MECHA’s collaboration, pilot training has a great deal in common with astronaut training. In the collaboration agreement, there was an understanding in which the two year training process was waived as pilots were still needed between then and their mission.

Arcturus holds a special place in the collaborations, as all the mech suit pilots are only considered astronauts upon reaching space, rather than while in training. Not labeled as astronauts in training as those going to the ISS or other NASA sanctioned missions. 

—

It had been a long night, even after Rusty suggested that they all get some sleep, to call it good enough, he’d couldn’t help but put in more time, more effort. Even as Deadlock had breathed down his neck, probably trying to get him to stop but it just wasn’t what he’d be able to do. 

This had to be perfect or they would all disappear in a more painful way than they were already expecting. 

He’d spent the rest of the night welding and adjusting each piece, over and over, trying to ensure that the tool box would both work and hide Deadlock, if either didn’t work they were screwed.

When the sun shone through the space, he managed to doze against the workbench for a while. Only waking up when the space was blinding, with a blanket draped over his back and the first crews coming to load up their gear into trucks. His heart stuck in his throat from that moment till they were in the helicopter, till they landed.

Space suits were uncomfortable at best, miserable at worst, especially in the heat. He shifted about in the boots a bit, taking slow and deep breaths, “Fuck me,” Jesse chuckled lightly next to him, still stretching out a bit. They all looked tired, but at least some of them were able to wear smiles.

Looking around slowly, they were hiding just out of view of the stage, next to the building they were about to spend the next three months in. Brushing back his hair a bit, Percy rocks back on his heels before forward on his toes. 

Breathing, he adjusts the sleeves on his suit as Cecilia looks around, “Alright, we smile, we wave, we go in and relax. Take the day, watch the news, then move on. Start rehearsing for the mission. Sounds good?” He nodded, Jesse clapped her shoulder and Ratchet grunted.

They were one motley crew of pilots, well, three pilots and a medic. Technically, one hybrid-pilot, a striker, a scientist turned pilot, and medic scientist. Yeah, that was more accurate. 

Climbing the stairs, he sighed shakily and moved towards his marker on stage. Different pieces of colorful tape, each chosen as if made to match their suits. Even Ratchet’s assistance medical suit. He stopped and turned on his marker, trying to smile. 

The flash of the cameras were blinding, the sheer noise level was grating and he was running on only thirty minutes of sleep in the last two days. Of course, there would be plenty of time for sleep on the inside but right now he was exhausted, bone tired. It was hitting him now,  standing in front of all these people. Coffee had only withstanded him so long, now standing here in the hot Texas sun while wearing a space suit was not his idea of fun.

Then again, his idea of fun freaked out most people. 

Standing on the small stage in front of the isolation door, he was trying to not pick at the scarring on his hands that had become a nervous habit. It had been a nervous habit since he was young, the picking, but now it was at the scars he was creating for the sake of research. 

Each scar was slightly different, all from different times and different attempts to make it perfect. The scars went from nearly the ends of his fingers, up his arms, across his shoulders, slightly down his back, then up into his implants. They all represented a different breakthrough in compatibility sciences, even as he pulled at the healing skin.

More cameras flashed painfully as Percy shifted from foot to foot, face remaining neutral while Swindle rambled on about their mission and purpose. Truthfully, all he could think about was Deadlock and the box he’d designed for him. The crude thing to transform into and wait in, just to ensure keeping him out of Shockwave’s reach.

If he fell into Shockwave’s hands, he wasn’t sure what would happen to him or the lives of new pilots, neither would be good. 

Sending Deadlock up into space, by himself for three months to ensure that he was safe, that was the priority. This alien thing that reminded him of their suits, how he loved, how they moved, it was eerily similar, but Deadlock hadn’t been on-planet that long. Certainly not since the beginning of the next gen suit. 

He was the priority, because he was Rusty’s probity and whatever the doctor thought was right, usually was. 

Ratchet’s hand grabbed his wrist then pulled his hand back, as his skin was welling up red from the scratching and picking, “Breathe Percy, this is just a press conference. We’ll be inside soon.” Nodding slowly, he tried to take slow and deep breaths. Shifting his glasses some, he focused on Swindle for the moment.

”That is why these missions are so important, though we mourn the loss of Arcturus Two, we know that the answer can’t be found here. It will be found up there, where we can level the playing field with these monsters. If we can get answers, then the war will be ours to win.” 

Swindle knew how to talk to a crowd, to convince them that they knew what they were doing, that any of this made sense. None of it did, but desperation was the word everyone was trying to avoid across the planet. Desperation was biting at their heels, same as the kaiju were, same as Shockwave was.

The scientist that had his hands in everything, he wouldn’t say control because if that were true then everyone would start to see it. No, he would merely suggest and things would change. 

He was standing at the back of the crowd, dressed in his old senator persona, he’d been so young when he’d been a politician. Answered the call to his country to become a pilot, then a scientist, now a madman but one in disguise. One he had been foolish enough to follow all those years ago, that and the money. Desperation was the word that had already fallen from his lips, years ago.

The grip on his wrist tightened again and he nodded slightly, taking several more breaths. Glancing towards the others briefly, their different states of composure. 

”Ladies and gentlemen, the pilots of Arcturus Three!” Swindle threw his arm back towards them, and they all waved. Though Ratchet kept hold on his one arm, so they waved with opposite hands. His breath was shaky as his eyes landed on Shockwave again, who smiled softly and waved back.

He looked like he was waving goodbye, then again, they all knew what this mission really was. 

—

This was why he’d tried to leave the program, to stop working with the military and MECHA, because he knew in the long run it was wrong and it would get him killed. Both had never been more true. 

His feet ached, this suit was one of the most uncomfortable things he’d ever had to wear and the boots were not helping. Neither was the stage if he was being honest. 

That stage had been quickly built, even with all the lead up to this day, with three months till take off they’d been planning these events for almost two years. Yet it was still built at the last minute, like everything around them. Quick and easy, up then down.

The only things that weren’t new were the NASA buildings, they’d been here for ages, not painted camouflage to try and prevent attacks, it didn’t always work but it was the best that they currently had. Everyone knew the kaiju couldn't see terribly well, but it wasn’t full proof. This whole setup reminded him of the war fronts he’d seen in old films and news footage.  

Old wars when they were only fighting each other, not the unknown. When the only thing you really had to fear was humans and their engineering. 

Of course, he’d never fought in either, too young for one and not compatible enough for the other. Not that he resented it, he couldn’t imagine being a pilot, not now not ever. Shifting a bit and trying his hardest not to tug at the collar of his spacesuit, Rusty scowled at the flashing cameras. 

They shouldn’t be out here in the open but when did Swindle ever listen to him. At least the man tried to have his back, but now he was going to space, as if that would keep him safe. Out of reach maybe, but no, it was one of the swiftest ways to die instead. 

Trying not to groan or complain too much, they all stood there on the stage like the money bags they were in this moment. The scapegoat, the security that MECHA needed in the ever evolving world and this god forsaken war. Shifting, he kept hold of Percy’s arm, the poor guy was panicking.

Logically panicking, but it was clear to him. It was probably over Deadlock, who he desperately hoped was just waiting on the tarmac, waiting to be loaded into their storage carrier for the Iliad.

Sighing slowly, he nodded as they all did and turned, watching one of the workers from NASA open the overly large and heavy door to their isolation chamber. There wouldn’t be cameras inside that filmed for the public, just one or two for those in ‘Mission Control’, really just those sitting watching them and making sure none of them would have a mental breakdown.

Not like poor Cliffjumper, the jackass, a dead jackass but regardless the man didn’t have many friends among this group.

Climbing through, he nearly stumbled on the lip and Cecilia catches him briefly, “You alright Ratch?” Nodding, he tries to crack a smile, “Never better Captain.” Her smile was also small but full of care as they moved to help Jesse and Percy through. Briefly standing together to wave to the cameras outside before the door closes in their faces.

Like a sealed tomb. 

But it felt like he was able to breathe better once the door was closed, moving to sit and remove the worst of the space suit, Pulling off the pinching boots with a sigh, “One more show then we’ll be free of here.” He rubbed his neck after pulling the ring back over his head, slipping out of the top section of his space suit with a sigh. 

“If it were only one more show, we’d already be on the shuttle.” Perceptor sat down and took off his glasses, rubbing his face tiredly, “This all would be over and we’d be with the others.” He hummed and nodded some, sighing and closing his eyes. 

Jesse glances around and claps his hands lightly, “So, who's hungry?” They all glanced up and stared at him for a long moment, though his smile didn’t waver. Shrugging weakly, Ratchet pushes up and starts over, “I’ll at least make some coffee.” Slowly, the others followed. 

—

It was hours before the television flicked on inside, they’d all managed to get some rest and were starting to settle in, the four of them when it flicked on to nearly full volume. He’d been quick to turn it back down at least before collapsing back on the couch where he’d been napping only moments before. 

Groaning and brushing his hands through his hair, Jesse sits forward and watches, “Hey everyone, they're prepping the carrier ship!” Kicking his feet up onto the coffee table, he grins a bit and crosses his fingers.

Cecilia was over first, landing on the couch next to him and sitting cross legged, leaning back, “Please, please don’t blow up on the pad.” Turning to her, he gaped, “That’s horrible.” Shrugging, Arcee sighed, “I’d rather hope and pray for it to not happen then just wait for it to.” Shaking his head, Jesse looks back as Rusty and Percy moves over.

Slowly, they all sat and started to watch.

They were together, sitting together, watching the screen intently from their bubble. Their bubble of an isolation chamber, it wasn’t much but it could have been a lot worse. For the idea to be this was meant to help them be stuck together on a spaceship, it could have been a lot worse.

It was nearly painfully dull in the chamber, since he wasn’t piloting the ship or manning any major station, but it could be worse.

Jesse was trying his hardest to not lose his mind. Watching the broadcast was helping a little bit, even if it was rather dull.

Typical countdown for a space launch, it wasn’t happening far from where they were at this very moment, but the fact they had to watch it over a screen rather than be there was very strange.

Ratchet’s hand squeezed at Perceptor’s shoulder, Arcee leaned her head against his arm and they sat quiet.

”Do you think we’ll see them loading it on?” He wanted to ask about Deadlock, but knew for the poor guy's safety, he couldn’t; “No, they’ll have loaded everything as soon as it got here.” Percy’s voice didn’t waver, but was flat. The guy was beyond tired, but they still had to watch, to know he made it there safely. 

Nodding a bit, he sighed slowly and fidgeted with his hands awkwardly, watching anxiously. God, this was unbearable, his leg bounced. Rusty glanced over and reached out a hand, which he took and held, “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” This was something he didn’t care if those behind the testing saw, “Yeah, probably.” Rusty’s voice was strained and he squeezed his hand.

Damn those who decided they needed them all out of the way. Everyone from Jazz to the twins to Cliff and now them. Too much of a pain to keep around and all of them are heroic enough to volunteer like the stupid shields they tried to be. For all he knew they’d have strapped the old man's ass to a rocket if they hadn’t locked him out from the suits. 

Glancing at Cecilia, he could see it on her face, the same train of thought. Or at least almost the same train of thought. 

Closing his eyes, he sighed slowly, the burning in his chest cooling as if he were about to fall asleep. The anxiety was tearing him up inside, remembering his own past with Shockwave. Everything from the initial promises, the lies, the torture. He had to know Deadlock was going to be kept away from all that.

Opening his eyes, he looked at Ratchet and Percy, knowing that they’d done all that they could to keep his friend safe. If it wasn’t for Ratchet, he’d have never met one of his best friends and now they were watching him be launched to space. To protect him. So he can watch them die effectively, but at least he’d be away from the monster.

—

She held her breath during the countdown, from a minute, to thirty seconds, to the last ten seconds countdown. She couldn’t help but hold her breath, if this didn’t work their mission would be postponed and her crew's friend would be dead.

The alien, Deadlock, was still a pretty big unknown to her. Only a little while had passed since they met, but she knew what the scientists of this planet were looking for. Better than most. the next big breakthrough for mech technology, a way to end this war.

To not entirely lose.

Because everyone knew as of right now, they were actually losing and no matter how many suits or pilots they threw at the enemy, it wasn’t saving any more lives than it had in years past. 

They were starting to lose more civilians than before and it was dragging them all down. She hadn’t even really known Jazz, knew of him, was friends of friends as it has been but when she’d been changed from rescue to striker there was so much more she wanted to do.

Her time of being an asset was short lived and she knew that would be the case, hybrid-class usually are short lived. Both in their usefulness and their survival rates. It had been obvious when she was pulled from her region, then moved up on the mission rosters.

Asset to liability.

She could only breathe again when the ship was in the upper atmosphere, when Hot Rod was cheering next to her and Ratchet’s breathing evened out. Leaning back, she stared up at the ceiling for a long time. Even as the broadcast ended, as Jesse went off to do god knows what.

As Percy stumbled off to get some sleep and Rusty wandered into the kitchen, she stayed, staring at the ceiling.

Three months of isolation for them, to prepare to go to space. How in the hell do you prepare your mind to go to space? She really didn’t have an answer.

Slowly rising, Cecilia moved out of their general living space and towards the pods. Where they’d sleep and she crawled onto her cot. It was probably only the middle of the day, but she couldn’t run a simulator right now or go through any of the binders. Not today, not right now.

Crawling under the blankets, she was out like a light.

—

Three months had never felt so fast, everything from that first day till now felt beyond fast and their connections had grown deeper. Though she was pretty sure Percy was going to kill Jesse, or Rusty would kill them all. She wasn’t entirely sure anymore but there was no way they were all going to survive this mission.

The space had grown disgusting in that time, of course, but less in a dirty way and more of a familiar way.

Anytime there was breaking news they sat together to watch it, any time a new attack took the lives of pilots they knew things would get broken, they had formed the familiar paths through the space and got used to having to be together in confining moments. 

She’d spent a quarter of her time in the simulator for the actual shuttle, then another chunk with studying the binders but whenever there was a free moment, she was with the others. They were far more compatible with each other than she’d honestly thought they would be, but here they were, shooting the bull while packing up the few things they brought inside.

Sitting on the coffee table, she was grinning at Jesse as he sat upside down on the couch. Rusty leaned against the wall, while Percy was trying to read through one of the binders, again before they’d walk out. get debriefed, then briefed, before loading onto the shuttle. Onto the Iliad, she still thought the naming system they were going with for the big crews was stupid. 

Odyssey, Iliad, and Aeneid. They one hundred percent thought of that at the last minute. 

Shifting forward, she pulls her space suit back up and slips her head through the ring for the helmet, “Alright everyone, we’ve got about two minutes before that door opens again and we see other human beings for the last time. Focus up.” Each of the guys nodded and started to shift their own space suits back into place. 

Though Percy was still trying to read the binder, balancing it on his knee.

Yeah, space suits were pretty uncomfortable and impracticable in their assembly.

Sighing slowly, she turns to the door and picks up her back, standing finally, “Everyone ready?” “Is no a appropriate answer?” Jesse’s voice was filled with his shit eating grin, “We can still leave you on Earth.” Shifting the bag up her shoulder, she winces as the door opens and light starts to stream through. 

The lights in their isolation chamber cut suddenly as the door opens to blinding sunlight. 

Except, they were expecting flashing cameras and dozens of reporters, instead, it was just a few workers from NASA, “Arcturus Three, welcome back. So, debrief is going to occur once you’re strapped into the shuttle.” Stepping out into the daylight, Cecilia winces, “Uh, why?” The staffers shared a look before they started walking, “Dr. Shockwave and the other scientists are currently out of the country, it was deemed that your activity inside was stable enough to institute an instant transfer to the shuttle. Plus, there is a storm system moving in which we intend for you all to miss.”

Glancing back at the others, clearly, none of them were buying it either. This, was not good. 

———

A/N

So, yeah, I just basically didn’t write at all this weekend because of sports. ._. It’s fine.

One more part of Arcturus Three! I’m super excited for it, hopefully it will come together easier than this one did, this one feels… rough. But I hope you enjoy it.

TAGS

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher 

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

[rottenpumpkin13]

Somehow (Gaia knows how) Sephiroth managed to get a cult following. Like a genuine bonafide cult in the SOLDIER program that's quickly spreading to the infantry and other Shinra personnel. Sephiroth isn't sure where it started, but he's not complaining; the cult is less weird than the Silver Elite

He's touched. Unlike the Silver Elite, these people actually respect him, not some glorified hero Shinra carefully sculpted for public consumption. He even attends their meetings—where they mostly just talk about life and training—and offers advice to the younger ones. There's a sense of community, of belonging. It's nice. He doesn't understand why Lazard is standing in front of his desk at 9 AM on a Monday, looking like he's aged ten years overnight.

Lazard: Sephiroth, I need you to explain something to me.

Sephiroth: Of course.

Lazard: Why do you have a cult?

Sephiroth: I don't have a cult.

Lazard: Really? Because I have reports of people gathering in secret at 3 AM to chant your name in a candlelit conference room.

Sephiroth: That's just team bonding.

Lazard: A grunt tried to walk into the training room blindfolded because, quote, "I have faith in Sephiroth, and Sephiroth will guide my blade."

Sephiroth: That's just confidence. I encourage confidence in my men.

Lazard: They built a statue of you at the entrance.

Sephiroth: They're creative. I support artistic expression.

Lazard: They called it "The Great Ascension."

Sephiroth: Dramatic, but not technically illegal. We're doing nothing wrong, director. You're acting as if I'm forcing these people to do my evil bidding.

*Zack enters, wearing ceremonial robes*

Zack: Hey boss! The boys wanna know when we're kidnapping Hojo to sacrifice him to the Cosmic Mother for your peace of mind.

Sephiroth: I was thinking maybe after lunch.

Zack: Cool I'll let 'em know.

*Zack leaves*

Lazard: ………

[snezka-049]

Snezka and SCP-049 beginning (lore)

1. Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski lore (Snezka)

(Events before the containment breach).

In the corridors of the SCP Foundation, where secrets and anomalies are hidden from the public eye, Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski worked. Her life was full of mystery, and this is what drew her to the world of anomalies.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Name: Snezhana Lewandowski

Age: ██

Date of Birth: 27/08/ ████

Clearance Level: Third

Personnel Category: B

Specialty: IT Specialist. Psychologist.

Place of work: Zone 19

Foundation experience: 5 years

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Education

First: IT-Specialist.

Snezhana enrolled in the Faculty of Information Technology at a state university. During her studies, she specialized in cybersecurity and data analytics.

After graduating with a Bachelor's degree, then a Master's degree, she continued her education in graduate school, where she focused on research in the areas of:

1. Information Security.

2. Big data analytics.

She defended her doctoral dissertation on "Anomaly detection methods for system and big data", which attracted the attention of the SCP Foundation.

Second: Psychologist.

After achieving the success she needed in technical education, she decided to fulfill her life's main dream of working in the field of psychology. Due to some unpleasant events in her childhood, she did not have the opportunity to study in this field, so she had to temporarily change her orientation in life.

From an early age, Snezhana has shown an interest in psychology and human behavior. The motivation for this comes from a tough youth and personal traumatic experiences. Her goal was to help those who couldn't make it on their own, as she once couldn't. After enough time had passed, she managed to apply to the academy to study psychology. Upon graduating from the academy, Snezhana specialized in the areas of:

1. Clinical psychology.

2. Experimental psychology.

3. Counseling psychology.

After she got a job in a psychoneurological dispensary, gaining valuable experience and practice, a broader understanding of the inner world of people.

Invitation to the Foundation

Finding contacts and personal information about Snezhana was not difficult for the Foundation. Having noticed her abilities, the Foundation ordered to send a recruiter - ████ ██████ - into her social circle to get more information about the candidate. As a result, the recruiter ████ and Snezhana became close friends.

After some time of observation and communication of the recruiter with her, having received all the necessary information, the Board of the Foundation came to the decision to give her the invitation to work.

Realizing the risks and danger, Snezhana accepted the invitation, having resigned from her previous job after working for about 2 years.

After testing, interviewing and training, she became an employee of the Foundation with a level 2 security clearance.

Career at the Foundation

Snezhana started her career as a junior specialist in cybersecurity, a little later gaining a junior position in psychology.

Her specialization is a unique combination of programming and psychology, allowing her to look at anomalies from two perspectives: both as complex systems that require analysis, and as entities with their own consciousness and motivation.

Incident

While analyzing data, Dr. Lewandowski came across strange signals on the network. These were not just hacking attempts - they were coming from an entity known as SCP-███ She and others in the programming field developed a comprehensive defense strategy. In the process, they faced many challenges: the SCP-███ system was constantly adapting, and they had to find new solutions. Under conditions of stress and strain, Dr. Lewandowski managed to implement their real-time protection algorithm.

After that, for some reason, she was assigned more work in the field of psychology. Also, her success in the incident gave her a promotion to level 3 clearance.

In psychology

Dr. Lewandowski researches and analyzes object psychology. She develops methods of interacting with abnormal entities and helps in understanding their behavior.

Real security is achieved not only through physical barriers, but also through the emotional stability of employees. She took time to help her colleagues through seminars and psychology trainings for the staff of the Facility, trying to create an atmosphere of trust and mutual support among the employees.

For about 2 years, Dr. Lewandowski worked only with Safe Class facilities, and after being promoted to Senior Specialist in Psychology, she was ordered to work with Euclid Class facilities.

This promotion led her to meet one subject that changed her life, and in the future, his too... SCP-049 - Plague Doctor.

2. Lewandowski and SCP-049

(Events on the eve of the containment breach).

Experiment

The first days of Dr. Lewandowski and the SCP-049 subject were formal, protocol-driven. Lewandowski conducted standard interview sessions in an attempt to understand the motives and nature of his subject. The subject was cool and detached.

She knew SCP-049 was dangerous, but she saw him not only as an anomaly, but as a complex, multifaceted individual. His words were full of sadness and loneliness, imbued with longing and melancholy. She understood his logic, his pain, his desire to “help,” even if the methods were questionable, but perhaps all is not what it seems at first glance.

And yet she too had thought similar things to what SCP-049 had said, that the world was sick, humanity needed to be saved. Ever since she was a child, she had had thoughts like his in her mind.

She had a theory that there were no bad people in the world, but wounded people who had not been healed. She believed that a person becomes wounded, after being treated unfairly or cruelly, by similarly wounded people. If a person does not work on their wound, it will not heal, because there are many wounded people in the world that will scratch that wound, making it bigger. And this pain and resentment, like a virus or rot, infects his soul completely, making the person the same as the one who once inflicted the wound. Later that person carries this pain and resentment further, taking it out on others, making more infected. It is an endless cycle that cannot be eradicated completely, but can be minimized. Some can handle it, and some need help. You have to want help, you have to understand the situation and try to solve it too, because no one can help you better than you can help yourself, and that's what Snezka had to go through.

She thought these thoughts were strange, but after so many years, there was a creature that literally reflected her thoughts, with whom you can share this theory, and perhaps get understanding.

She saw herself in him, only a better version of herself, but with the same mental problems.

— How can that be!? He's just an abnormal object, why can't I stop thinking about him!? I can't stop thinking about him, his words. Maybe it's my soft nature, too compassionate, empathic, or maybe it's his anomalous action?

Dr. Lewandowski felt a kindred spirit in him and wanted to have more sessions with him, and most importantly, she wanted to get away from formal conversation, and share her thoughts with him about their common problem.

She decided to send a request to the management above about the idea of having experimental conversations with SCP-049, so that he would see Dr. Lewandowski as genuinely understanding, get comfortable with her, and tell her more about his treatment, himself, and the fever. Approval was granted, but it was a long wait. Finally she could be sincere with him.

Trust

New conversations with SCP-049, but not as formal as before, it took several such conversations before SCP-049 settled down with Dr. Lewandowski.

He told her more about the fever, about the treatment, they began to have deep dialogues about life and death, about philosophy, about society, SCP-049 even began to tell stories from his own life. Lewandowski also told him about her life, but she liked to listen to him more.

She found comfort in his monologues about the world, about death, about eternity, his stories about medicine. Her mind resisted, but her heart could no longer deny it: she felt something more than professional interest in him. It was a dangerous game, bordering on insanity. She knew it, but she couldn't stop. Lewandowski realized that her feelings were illogical, unacceptable, but they were there. Her greatest fear was that the Foundation would suspect something and restrict her access to him, which unfortunately happened...

Another conversation between SCP-049 and Lewandowski, the subject had already started addressing her by her favorite version of her name, Snezka, while she addressed him as Doctor. Suddenly the object fell silent.

— Doctor? Is everything all right?

— ...Yes. Snezka, let me demonstrate something to you, you should know....

The subject held out his hand, as far as it was possible being handcuffed for safety's sake, and nodded, offering to touch her. Sensing that this venture might not end well, Lewandowski extended her palm, and SCP-049 touched it.

— Wait, what...? Oh... My thoughts about your abilities were valid. - Was the last thing Snezka said before the cell door opened and she was summoned to leave.

Reprimand

— Dr. Lewandowski, your experimental conversations with the subject have come to an end. We have all the information we need, you will no longer have to work with SCP-049. Let's be honest, it seems you've begun to abuse your access to the facility, and the Foundation board has some questions about that.

— ...It was part of an experiment, you see.... It gave you a lot of new information, before such experiments such informative results were not observed. - said Lewandowski in her defense.

— Lucky for you that it didn't end in your death! Objects like 049 are dangerous, you can't trust them or reach out to them. Or have you forgotten what he did to Dr. Hamm? And everything was fine at first, too. This object is unpredictable! You're lucky you're a valued member of our staff, and this is the first time you've had an incident like this, otherwise we'd be forced to take action.

Separation

More work with other facilities has now fallen on her. One day, she dared to inquire about SCP-049. But she didn't get a clear answer.

Meanwhile, SCP-049 was asking the same question to the staff - when would Dr. Lewandowski visit?

— We're sorry, but Dr. Lewandowski has declined to work with you, SCP-049.

— ...That can't be true, you're lying! She couldn't have done it, I can feel it!

Subject SCP-049 became hostile to the Foundation, uncooperative and drove all attempts at contact away.

All or Nothing

— "Is the dream and freedom worth risking the lives and safety of others?" — Pondered by Dr. Lewandowski . — "Risking everything, insanity, selfishness(?). But if it's for a great purpose, for the good of all mankind..."

INCIDENT ██-████

(Latest walkie-talkie recordings)

(Static noise and warning signal sound)

Operator One: (Confused) This is operator one. Security protocol has failed! Repeat, security protocol has failed! All subjects... all subjects are at large!

Agent █: Reporting a security breach in Sector 3. Doors unresponsive, cameras disabled. Looks like SCP-███ is out of control.

Commander ███████: be careful! Confirm the presence of the intruder and take action to apprehend him.

(Noise, sound of gunshots)

Agent ██: (panic) This is crazy! Reporting SCP-███ is not alone. There are several other objects present. Very aggressive, we need help, repeat ████████████████ (interference).

Commander ████████: Come in, Agent ██, come in!!! (communication lost).

Commander ████████: Fuck...

Dr. █████: It could be SCP-███! He could have hacked into the security system and released the other facilities.

Commander ████: █████, are you sure? How?!

Dr. █████: I can't say for sure, but... (struggle noise) HOW ARE YOU!? STOP, DOCTOR... (interference).

Commander ████: All personnel to the assault! Stop the targets at all costs! What the hell's going on! Where's all the security personnel!?

(explosions, shouting)

Agent █████: They're all over the place

Agent ██: Where's the ██ squad?

Agent █████: they're holding back SCP-682

Agent ██: he's the last fucking thing we need!

SB-2: SB-1, this is SB-2! We've got-- we've got SCP-███breaking through! We can't stop him!

SB-1: Hold him off at all costs! Support is on the way.

(Siren and explosions)

Operator Three: SB-1, this is Operator Three! The ██ camera signal is gone! SCP-█████... he's out!

SB-1: All SB personnel to camera ██! Isolate SCP-█████! Repeat, isolate SCP-█████! (radio interference)

End of Calm

There has been a massive failure of the entire Foundation security system in Area 19, as well as a power failure. Security protocol, alarms, and warnings went off with a delay with most of the dangerous objects wreaking havoc in the Foundation. The alleged culprit of the SCP-“”" incident. Likely had accomplices, an investigation is underway.

During the incident, a large number of soldiers and staff died. There was a leak of several objects to freedom. The lists of dead and missing were equal. Dr. Snezana Lewandowski and SCP-049 were also listed as missing, among dozens of personnel and facilities.

The SCP Foundation, having suffered loss and damage, is doing its best to restore order after the chaos, but the world is no longer safe as before.

3. Conversations between Lewandowski and SCP-049

Interviewer: Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski, Area 19

Interviewee: SCP-049

[START RECORDING]

Dr. Lewandowski: Good afternoon, SCP-049. I am your psychologist, Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski. It's a pleasure to meet you!

SCP-049: Greetings, doctor, I hope we can work together.

Dr. Lewandowski: I think so! So, how are you feeling today?

SCP-049: (pause) I feel... A burden. A burden that is hard to describe in words. Every day I see suffering, and it depresses me.

Dr. Lewandowski: Are you talking about human suffering? About those whom you refer to as sick people?

SCP-049: Yes. The weathering is not just a physical condition. This world, this wretched piece of the universe, is forever doomed to suffer. (Irritated) Mortals, powerless over their own weaknesses, forever seek salvation in false doctrines and vain hopes. They build cities out of flimsy material, create weapons that can destroy themselves, and cling to life without realizing its true nature. I see their pain, their despair, feel their fear of the inevitable. And I know I can help them. But they don't understand. They fear me! They reject my mercy! They call me a monster, a monstrosity! I see them trying to stop me, lock me up, impose their rules. But can you limit what is beyond their comprehension? Can one defeat that which is eternal? Their attempts are futile. I will always exist. Let them resist, let them fear. It only confirms their blindness.

(A moment's silence)

Dr. Lewandowski: (Sigh)...Have you ever thought about why this “fever” bothers you so much? What exactly causes you to feel so strongly about it?

SCP-049: (sighs) I have witnessed a lot of suffering. I have seen people lose hope, I have seen them fall victim to their weakness. This makes me want to help, but sometimes I feel that my efforts are futile.

Dr. Lewandowski: Do you feel that your help is really effective? Or is there any doubt about your methods?

SCP-049: (with some irritation) My methods are the only way to free people from their suffering! I cannot afford to doubt my vocation. But sometimes... It catches up with me.

Dr. Lewandowski: It is normal to have doubts. Many people face similar feelings. What do you do to deal with these emotions?

SCP-049: I continue my work. I focus on my goals.

Dr. Lewandowski: Maybe you should take time to reflect on yourself and your feelings. It may help you better understand your motivation and calm your mind.

SCP-049: I don't think so, but... You may be right. I worry that if I stop, the darkness around me will consume everything.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Pause)...How I understand that. Sometimes you have to take a step back to see the big picture. It doesn't mean you stop fighting the disease. It can only make you stronger.

SCP-049: Perhaps...

Dr. Lewandowski: This is an important step. And remember, you are not alone in your experience. I'm here to help you make sense of it.

SCP-049: Thank you... I'll try to remember that.

[END RECORDING]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Interviewer: Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski, Area 19

Interviewee: SCP-049

[START RECORDING]

Dr. Lewandowski: Good evening Doctor, how are you feeling?

SCP-049: It would be better if I were allowed to return to my work.

Dr. Lewandowski: Don't worry Doctor, you will definitely be given that opportunity...

SCP-049: Really? Really!? I'm finally going back to work, I'm glad to hear that! When do I get a patient?

Dr. Lewandowski: ...Unfortunately, I don't have that information.

SCP-049: Maybe you could influence this situation? Explain my urgent need to progress with my treatment!

Dr. Lewandowski: I don't think I can... Doctor, you need to rest, you've been working hard. As a doctor, you should know that rest is very important for high productivity.

SCP-049: (Sighs) I wish I had something to do in these four walls...

Dr. Lewandowski: I have a suggestion. Do you like to read? I can bring you some books if the Foundation leadership says so.

SCP-049: That's a very marvelous idea.

Dr. Lewandowski: What kind of literature do you prefer?

SCP-049: I was interested in modern books about medicine, it is interesting to study what is being written about it now. It would be interesting to read something from philosophy.

Dr. Lewandowski: Excellent choice Doctor, we have the same taste in literature. Would you mind if I brought a couple more books on my recommendation for you?

SCP-049: Sounds good, I agree.

Dr. Lewandowski: See you, Doctor.

SCP-049: See you, thank you for such an interesting proposal, Dr. Lewandowski.

[END OF RECORDING]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Interviewer: Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski, Area 19

Interviewee: SCP-049

[START RECORDING]

Dr. Lewandowski: Good evening, Doctor.

SCP-049: Good evening, Dr. Lewandowski.

Dr. Lewandowski: I want to understand how you feel when you look at the world through the prism of your...your uniqueness.

SCP-049: (hesitantly) Uniqueness?

Dr. Lewandowski: I'm talking about wisdom. You have lived for centuries, watching the birth and decline of civilizations. What have you learned in that time?

(Minute's silence)

SCP-049: I've seen nations rise and fall, empires born of dust and turned to stone, ideas ignite people's hearts and turn to ash. (Pause). I realized that existence is a perpetual cycle of birth and death, a constant struggle for survival. People are so hungry for meaning, but it eludes them.

Dr. Lewandowski: Isn't this struggle, this longing for meaning, the very essence of being?

SCP-049: (With sadness in his voice) Meaning... (Pause) It wanders like a ghost through the labyrinths of our consciousness. We search for it in religion, in science, in art, but it eludes us, leaving only emptiness.

Dr. Lewandowski: But don't you see, Doctor? You create your own meaning by helping people to get rid of the disease. You believe in what you're doing, Doctor. You believe it's necessary.

SCP-049: Faith... (Pause) This is another one of those ghosts that haunt us. I see things that others do not see, and it pains me. It pains me to see the suffering that is inevitable for all living things.

Dr. Lewandowski: And you're trying to help, Doctor...

SCP-049: (Interrupting) We are but pawns in the hands of fate. Our actions are insignificant in comparison to eternity.

Dr. Lewandowski: Don't say that, Doctor. You are not a pawn. You are the creator of your own destiny. And I believe you will find your path, your meaning.

SCP-049: (Heavy sigh) But not in this place, not here, not now.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Pause) You know Doctor... I'd like to share with you a thought that has been on my mind since I was a child.

SCP-049: What is it that's bothering you?

[recording interrupted for 5 minutes]

Dr. Lewandowski: I almost forgot, the Foundation gave me permission to bring you some books.

(Took several books out of her bag and placed a stack on the table next to the subject)

SCP-049: (With joy in her voice) Glad to hear that! Immensely grateful to the Foundation and of course to you, Dr. Lewandowski.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Smiling) I'm glad it lifted your spirits. See you later, we'll be sure to discuss what we read next time.

SCP-049: I look forward to seeing you.

[END RECORDING]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Interviewer: Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski, Zone 19

Interviewee: SCP-049

[START RECORDING]

Dr. Lewandowski: Hello, Doctor! How are you today?

SCP-049: Good afternoon, Dr. Lewandowski. I'm feeling... quite well. I've been studying some of the books you brought me at the last meeting.

Dr. Lewandowski: Excellent! Which books did you enjoy the most?

SCP-049: I was impressed with the works on human nature. Their authors convey emotions and experiences in a very subtle way.

Dr. Lewandowski: Yes, literature can indeed be a great way to understand people. Is there anything that surprised you about these books?

SCP-049: I was surprised by how diverse human feelings are. Everyone experiences love, fear, and hope in their own way.

Dr. Lewandowski: Yes, humans are amazing creatures! What about you? Have you ever experienced something similar to love?

SCP-049: (Pause) I'm not sure. My life has been devoted to fighting the windfall, and I haven't given much thought to such feelings. But... sometimes I feel warm when I talk to you. (turns away)

Dr. Lewandowski: I'm glad to see your condition has improved markedly. I feel warm when we talk, too. (Pause) You are an unusually interesting conversationalist.

SCP-049: (surprised) Interesting? I've always thought of myself as rather... odd. But it's nice to hear you say that. You don't hear that very often in this place, in general... I've never heard it from you.

Dr. Lewandowski: Weird people can be very interesting! We all have our unique qualities. For example, your view of the world is something special, not strange. By the way, have you read that novel?

SCP-049: The Master and Margarita? Yes, an interesting work about the power of love and the struggle against darkness.

Dr. Lewandowski: I think there are so many layers and philosophical themes there. You know, you sound like the Master (Laughs).

SCP-049: Hmm... There's something, maybe, and you remind me of Marguerite.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Laughs) That's probably true. Unfortunately, I have to go. Don't forget, you deserve to be understood. And I'm here to help you do just that.

SCP-049: (With a slight sadness in his voice) Your support gives me strength.

Dr. Lewandowski: We all need each other's support.

SCP-049: I look forward to our future conversations.

[END OF RECORDING]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Interviewer: Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski, Area 19

Interviewee: SCP-049

[START RECORDING]

Dr. Lewandowski: Good afternoon Doctor, I would like to know what your thoughts have been occupied with lately?

SCP-049: Greetings. (Pause) Relatively recently, I've been thinking about the nature of human cruelty.

Dr. Lewandowski: Cruelty... (Pause) Unfortunately, it permeates every facet of existence, like a shadow that follows the light.

SCP-049: Yes. (Sighs) I watch people, and it makes me sad how capable they are of terrible things. There is a darkness lurking in their hearts that sometimes overshadows even the brightest impulses.

Dr. Lewandowski: As it happens, humanity is a paradox. On the one hand, it creates beautiful works of art, science and culture, and on the other hand, it is capable of ruthless acts of violence and hatred.

SCP-049: Exactly. I see how people can be kind and compassionate, but at the same time they easily cross the line into becoming instruments of destruction. It causes me deep sadness and bewilderment.

Dr. Lewandowski: I share your feelings and support your thoughts, Doctor.

SCP-049: It is most gratifying to know that, Dr. Lewandowski. My mission is to rid mankind of disease. At times I am at a loss as to what to do about this inner cruelty? How do you heal a society that is tearing itself apart?

Dr. Lewandowski: You see, many of these atrocities come from fear, ignorance and hatred. Or perhaps they were mentally wounded once, and that wound, without proper treatment, began to fester, infecting the whole mind and soul.

SCP-049: (Interested) I like the way you think. Abuse is not just physical violence. It is also words that hurt, betrayals and indifference to the suffering of others. In each of these acts I see a reflection of the disease.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Sigh) Sadly, dreams of a world where humanity can overcome its cruelty and learn to love are utopian.

SCP-049: I'm not so sure about that. It's certainly not an easy task, the whole world and one me, the road to healing is long and thorny. But the more I work at it, the closer that peace comes.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Pause) Perhaps someday people will realize that cruelty is not part of their true nature. Perhaps they will learn to see in each other a reflection of themselves and learn to care for those who suffer. Perhaps... (Pause) But sometimes you get the idea that some people are so rotten in their souls that treatment will be useless, and the only thing left to do is to rid the world of that person so they don't hurt others. This is not humane, but in such a case it is possible to make sure that this person stays alive but is not capable of hurting others.

SCP-049: (Surprised) Your thoughts make sense. We've had a rather pleasant dialog. I've never had such an in-depth discussion with anyone else. I feel much better.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Smiling) That's wonderful, Doctor, I confess I don't often have someone to talk to about this either.

[END RECORDING]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Interviewer: Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski, Area 19

Interviewee: SCP-049

[START RECORDING]

Dr. Lewandowski: Good afternoon, Doctor, how is your mood?

SCP-049: Greetings. My mood is a little down, without my work I'm having a hard time mentally.

Dr. Lewandowski: I'm sorry to hear that, Doctor. (Pause) Let me ask you something.

SCP-049: I'm listening to you.

Dr. Lewandowski: Do you have any pleasant memory from your life?

SCP-049: (Sighs) Unfortunately, there aren't many... (Pause) I do recall one. Yes, it was a time when I was out in the wild, searching for rare herbs and plants in the forest. No people and just the sounds of nature. And then I came to a field, a field of lavender. (Sighs) It's... It was a magical feeling. The field was filled with bright colors and the air was full of a light, slightly spicy aroma. I felt like I was in another world, away from my worries. I walked slowly among the flowers, watching the bees as they worked to gather nectar. The bees are not aware of the suffering that humans are experiencing, they are just doing their job, benefiting the world around them. It made me think: maybe that's what humanity needs - the simple pursuit of the good. (Pause) The whole day I was there. It was wonderful. I dream of being in that moment again one day.

Dr. Lewandowski: That's... It's a wonderful memory, very beautiful.

SCP-049: Yes... It's beautiful. You know, I feel a little better.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Smiling) That's wonderful to hear. Try to remember something else, good thoughts can smooth out your condition within these walls.

SCP-049: I'll try. Thank you for encouraging me to remember this.

[END RECORDING]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Interviewer: Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski, Area 19

Interviewee: SCP-049

[START RECORDING]

Dr. Lewandowski: Good afternoon Doctor, how is your mood?

SCP-049: Good afternoon Snezka. I guess my mood is somewhere between average and good. Good to see you, how are you feeling?

Dr. Lewandowski: I'm not bad. I have something I'd like to give you. I had a hard time getting permission for it from the foundation, but....

(Took out of her bag a small pillow with a lavender flower print pillowcase and placed it on the table in front of the subject).

This is for you. I remember that you don't need sleep, but that's not what it's for. Rather it is for coziness, and your favorable mood. This pillow is stuffed with lavender.

SCP-049: (Surprised) It's for me?! What a wonderful gift, lavender really calms me down.

Dr. Lewandowski: I'm glad the gift is useful to you. I would have brought you something else, but unfortunately the Foundation has only authorized this one so far.

SCP-049: I am honored by such attention, thank you, Dr..... Snezka. (Pause) ...How did I not notice that... Your last name is...

Dr. Lewandowski: (Interested) Hmm?

SCP-049: Lewandowski, that last name comes from the Old Polish word levanda, which means lavender. What a wonderful coincidence, my favorite plant.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Smiles) Yes, that's right, my favorite too by the way. I am amazed at your knowledge, Doctor!

SCP-049: It is a pleasure to be appreciated and understood by you. I must admit, you are not out of my mind.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Embarrassed) Oh... You know, it's mutual. Doctors aren't supposed to have favorites, but I have to admit...(Pause) You're my favorite patient.

(momentary silence)

SCP-049: I wish we could meet more often...

Dr. Lewandowski: I'd like that too, Doctor...

[END OF RECORDING]

Supplement

https://www.tumblr.com/snezka-049/766312832505626624/snezka-and-doctor-reference-and-lore-scp-049?source=share

[mariacallous]

In his first two weeks of office, President Trump signed several Executive Orders (EOs) to fulfill one of his many campaign promises—to reduce the size of the federal government. He has rolled back diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) initiatives, asserting that the federal government will no longer consider race, ethnicity, or other federally protected characteristics in hiring and retention decisions. In recent days, he announced a financial buyout to federal employees who do not wish to comply with the new Return to Office (RTO) mandate, which requires employees to be in an office for five days per week, despite concerns about available office space. The details of the buyout were outlined in an email with the subject line, “Fork in the Road,” sent by the Office of Personnel Management (OPM) on January 28, 2025, to over 2 million federal workers. The OPM also offered deferred resignation where federal employees could resign immediately and still be paid for the next several months. Meanwhile, those who decide to stay are not promised future employment and the memo stated new conditions for employees, that they be “loyal, trustworthy, and to strive for excellence in their daily work”; principles that likely will become benchmarks for future performance reviews.

Under the Trump administration, federal workforce reductions will happen, along with a greater deployment of artificial intelligence (AI), automation, and outsourcing to private firms. These new services will cost millions of dollars to design, deploy, and train the federal workforce, creating new national and data security threats as well, given the level of protected information at stake. But the influence of Big Tech leaders, who are formally and informally advising President Trump and his administration, may be accelerating a smaller government workforce based on their own values about corporate governance. Big Tech companies were among those that led the RTO mandates for their own employees after the pandemic with similar terms and conditions, as well as promises made that were not kept. Many of these same companies are making AI more technically advanced without realizing that millions of people are still impacted in the U.S. by the lack of digital access. As Biden era policies were working to address the connectivity challenges faced throughout the U.S., these programs are now being challenged, which will almost guarantee that even the best of AI technologies embedded in government functions may be inaccessible to most people.

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - December 22-28

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles for 50% off this month only! Starting in January, I’ll also be posting 5 extra news links to Patreon each week (for free since they aren’t my work)

1. These countries all scored major wins for LGBTQ+ rights in 2024

“Consensual same-sex activity became legal in Namibia [and Dominica…, c]onversion therapy was banned [in Mexico…, Greenland] made LGBTQ+ discrimination illegal […, and] same-sex adoption and same-sex marriage became legal [in Greece.]”

2. After trial and error, Mexican fishers find key to reforesting a mangrove haven

“So far, the project has planted more than 1.8 million mangroves that have a 92-94% survival rate, Borbón estimated. [… M]angroves can prevent coastal erosion, store carbon and provide a nursery for all kinds of fish and crustacean species.”

3. ‘Britain’s wildlife safari’: baby boom in Norfolk as seal colonies flourish

“More than 1,200 seal pups were born […] in November, and 2,500 more are expected to be born before the breeding season ends in January. […] “Mortality seems to be much lower than in other colonies[….]””

4. Barcelona's metro trains are helping to charge the city's EVs each time they brake.

“[…T]he energy from the underground trains' brakes is used to power the trains and the stations themselves, while the remainder is sent snaking through cables to the surface to power plug-in stations for privately owned vehicles.”

5. Scientists thought this whale could only live for 70 years – turns out it's double that.

“The data [from repeated “photo identification of individual”s] revealed that Southern right whales can live for more than 130 years, with some speculated to reach the grand old age of 150.”

6. Rural Power Co-Ops Gain $4.37B in Latest US Clean Energy Funding

“[… A power co-op in Florida] will use its funding of more than $1.3 billion to develop 700 MW of utility-scale solar and battery energy storage projects in rural areas, reducing greenhouse gas emissions by more than 3.5 million tons annually[….]”

7. Fish-friendly dentistry: New method makes oral research non-lethal

“[… T]he researchers successfully performed the procedure on 60 fish with no fatalities. […] "This new approach researchers to track tooth replacement and development [in living] rare species or museum specimens that can't be damaged."”

8. These Brooklyn Homeowners Couldn’t Afford to Go Green. Then Help Arrived

“The program aims to repair and retrofit 70 two- and three-family homes […] in the span of two years. […] EnergyFit staff work as case managers to help homeowners navigate the complicated technical and bureaucratic processes, coordinate with tenants and set them up for further upgrades down the road.”

9. 2024 was a fantastic year for energy storage

“[… California] became the first state to pass 10 gigawatts, back in April. [… In Texas and California,] when extreme weather events hit, batteries were able to shore up the grid and lower energy costs for customers.”

10. Amid concern over microplastics, a Maine company creates a kelp-based laundry pod alternative

“"The slurry we're creating is similar to that of paper milling, and […] with Maine there's a lot of old infrastructure from the paper industry [… which] can be applied to our process here[….]” If all goes to plan, Dirigo Sea Farms' first batch of 10,000 kelp-based laundry pods will be ready for online sales by next spring.”

December 15-21 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[lucky-stick]

domestic dog inspired jobs:

Domestic dogs are known for their loyalty and assistance to humans, getting these various careers that embody these traits. this is a list of dog-inspired jobs, categorized by activity level and social interaction.

its a long post and i don't want to clog up people feed but have fun and i hope i inspire some of you

Active, Extroverted, Team-Oriented Careers:

Police K9 Officer: 🚔

Role: Collaborate with trained police dogs to protect life and property, prevent and detect crime, provide court evidence, support victims and witnesses, investigate burglaries, and dismantle organized crime groups.

Requirements: Must be over 18, possess confidence, strong leadership and teamwork abilities, willingness to take risks, and keen observation skills.

(i know most of u are ACAB)

Armed Forces Officer: 🪖

Role: Serve in the army, air force, or navy to protect civilians, holding authority and responsibility over a team of soldiers, with various specialist roles available.

Requirements: Leadership skills, accountability, confidence, physical fitness, ability to work under pressure, and balance.

Search and Rescue (SAR) Professional: 🧭

Role: Undergo emergency professional training to respond to crises and assist in locating and aiding lost individuals.

Requirements: Basic education, physical fitness, emergency medical training, SAR training, technical skills and specialization, experience, certification and licensing, mental and emotional resilience, and commitment to ongoing training.

Lifeguard: 🌊

Role: Ensure the safety of swimmers at pools and beaches by monitoring conditions, enforcing safety rules, and performing rescues when necessary.

Requirements: Minimum age of 16 for pools and 18 for open water, strong swimming abilities, good physical condition, certification and training in CPR and first aid, and proficient rescue skills.

Farmer: 🥕🥔

Role: Engage in the demanding yet rewarding work of growing crops or raising livestock.

Requirements: Relevant education, physical and practical skills, access to land and equipment, financial and business acumen, and necessary licenses.

Security Guard: 🔐

Role: Protect property, people, and assets by monitoring and preventing theft and damage.

Requirements: Appropriate education and training, licensing, physical fitness, and strong observational skills.

Less Active, Introverted Careers:

Therapist: 📖

Role: Assist individuals in improving mental health and adopting healthy behaviors, with various types of therapy available.

Requirements: Bachelor’s, master’s, or doctorate degrees, clinical training, supervised experience, licenses, and essential skills and personal qualities.

Healthcare Caregiver: 🏥

Role: Support individuals with daily activities due to age, disability, injury, etc.

Requirements: Relevant education and training, essential skills and personal qualities, licenses, experience, and adaptability to various work environments and hours.

Careers that work with Dogs:

Dog Handler: 🐕

Role: Train, manage, and work with dogs in fields such as security, search and rescue, therapy, and personal training.

Requirements: Experience with dogs, specialized training programs, certifications, patience, physical stamina, good communication, keen observation, and problem-solving skills.

Dog Groomer: 🫧

Role: Clean, style, and maintain dog hygiene.

Requirements: No formal education required, but certification is beneficial; patience; gentle handling; ability to stand for extended periods; and basic animal knowledge.

Kennel Worker: 🧺

Role: Provide daily care for pets in kennels and shelters, including feeding, cleaning, bathing, and interacting with pet owners.

Requirements: On-the-job training, love for animals, physical stamina, and attention to detail.

Assistance Dog Trainer: 🐾

Role: Train dogs to assist individuals with disabilities, enhancing their independence and quality of life.

Requirements: Experience with dog training, understanding of various disabilities, patience, strong communication skills, and certification from recognized organizations.

i hope you like my new list, i like lists, anyways ill be comjng out with a wild canine, feline, bird and aquatic kin tell me if theres anymore you would like ^^