. I'd Say Thoughts Are Being Had But No Mind Is Blank And Full All At Once This Viggo Has Either Added

. I'd say thoughts are being had but no mind is blank and full all at once this Viggo has either added 20 years to my lifespan or taken them and I don't care which one it is

My friend really asked me to draw these two like this

I'm no longer gonna bring up the fact that I'm late to these things because I'm starting to realize there's no way I can catch up sweats

BUT! Day 7 is here! Almost 7 days late to make it more poetic

I think the reason this one took me so long, besides getting a god-awful assignment, was that I had no clue what to do with this prompt. But alas, here it is (also I'm trying out different ways to post my writing in here so if you see me messing around with the posts formats, yeah Idk what I'm doing but I'm trying my best)

Day 7: Chestnuts

Fandom: How To Train Your Dragon

Summary: Hilda and Boreas go out into the forest to pick up chestnuts for Gothi, and the dragon worries about her rider's bottled up feelings.

Rating: Teens and Up Audiences

TW: Implied self-harm

Words: 2,100

Characters: Hilda Hávarðr (OC), Boreas (OC)

Boreas growled as he found another one, and her rider crouched next to him to examine the find. The burr was mostly brown yet had a soft green hue that hadn’t quite gone away yet. That and the fact that the nut itself peeked from underneath the spiky coat meant it was good enough to pick up. She carefully grabbed it and placed it into her basket along with the other chestnuts they had gathered.

“Good job, big boy. I’m sure Gothi will appreciate your help.” Hilda praised him as she petted her dragon’s neck, making the beast purr softly.

Raising to her feet, she brushed off the bits of dirt that had gotten on her pants and readjusted her coat. This year’s autumn was proving colder than usual, the wind taking advantage of any little entryway left in her oversized clothes to make her shiver. At least it wasn’t so bad as pure winter, when the cold made her suffer from a constantly stuffy and runny nose, and she couldn’t smell anything at all. Now, she felt some sort of relief as she caught the gentle, earthy tones of humid dirt that carried the air and reminded her of autumn.

Despite the persistent pain in her knee — always present right before and after heavy rains — she continued walking through the uneven terrain, her eyes peeled in search of more chestnuts to harvest. Gothi had sent her apprentice in a search for them; something about how they were helpful in remedies against inflammation or even digestive problems, though Hilda had the feeling the old lady just wanted an excuse to enjoy the sweetness they offered when toasted. Regardless of the reason, she had accepted the task, as usual. And as usual, she was stuck now with a dull and time-consuming chore, yet she couldn’t complain.

The young healer sighed as she grabbed another handful of chestnuts, always making sure they were ripe and not the toxic horse chestnuts —if she picked those up by accident, Gothi and her would be more than busy for the next days, given their poisonous properties. 

Boreas didn’t seem enthusiastic about the job either; then again, the woolly howl had a tendency to find many activities boring if they forced him to do something rather than nap and be lazy all day. But he was still there with her, something she appreciated greatly.

The wind picked up unexpectedly, a sharp swoosh breaking the stillness of the forest and making many trees shake and some more chestnuts and leaves fall, Hilda’s scarf swinging along in the direction of the sudden gust. She looked up, only to spot the black and red tailfins of a familiar night fury and another four dragons following closely. The distant laughter of the gang of teenagers carried on the breeze, fading as they soared past the forest'. Her gaze lingered up in the sky for a bit too long, snapping back from her thoughts only as her dragon gently headbutted her side. She smiled gently, giving Boreas a few pats on his head. 

“Let’s keep going, okay?” Her dragon huffed, letting out some mist out of his nostrils. She knew he didn’t approve of her dismissal. Hilda sighed. 

“Come on, we have barely filled this one basket, and we still have two more to go.” 

In protest, Boreas shot some cold air to his rider’s face, freezing the tips of her hair. She flicked it off and rolled her eyes at the beast. She knew where he was going with this, and she knew he was more stubborn than her. 

“Really, now? Can we not?” The dragon’s stare said more than words could. As usual, Hilda was the one to give in. “Fine, you win, you big ball of fur. But we are picking up more of these, too.” She insisted, grabbing another chestnut and tossing it into the basket.

The woolly howl followed, seemingly content with the deal, and looked at her rider expectantly. 

“I don’t even know what you want me to say.” she knelt down, examining the coat of a chestnut that had fallen into a pile of leaves. It looked rounder than the others, and as she tried to peel it she felt it was more complicated, too. Hilda left it on the ground, knowing it was a horse chestnut. “That I kind of wish I could be up there with them and fly around and have fun little adventures?” she huffed. “Sure, yeah, I guess I do. So what? Look at them. They are heroes. They are brave, strong, smart, capable, and they have done so much good for Berk. I almost died the one time I tried to do something by myself. They’ve earned it. I haven’t.”

Hilda’s voice didn’t hold resentment or judgment. Perhaps a twinge of jealousy, but deep down, she knew that would always be there, just as someone envies the friend with a prettier face or the neighbour with bigger muscles. Her tone did show frustration, however. Maybe at them, maybe at herself, but it was there. Boreas snarled, showing disagreement, and his rider let out a dry chuckle as she turned to face him. 

“What? You know it’s true. I mean, come on, do you seriously think I’d fit in there with them? I’m not strong; I’m not a warrior. I’m not brave either. The only thing I got is brains, and even then I’m probably dumber than Snotlout when push comes to shove. All I’ve done, all I’ve achieved, it was dumb luck or just a happy little accident. Fishlegs would have made for a better healer and Astrid would have made for a better Hávarðr and you would be better off with Ebba than with the mess that her big sister is. The hunters were right. I’m nothing if not a little mouse who sticks her nose where she shouldn’t. I could barely heal my little sister, and Hiccup is more capable with one missing leg than I am with an annoying but functional one. I’m not fit to be a Viking or a healer; I’m not made to be a Hávarðr, let alone a rider!”

The forest fell into a deep silence; the only sound to be heard was the wind gently brushing the ochre-coloured leaves now that both the girl and the dragon had stopped walking. The beast’s once challenging look had now softened into an almost pitiful glance. Hilda returned the look to her dragon, refusing to let any tears fall. He didn’t move, still not used to her outbursts, and neither did she. It hadn’t been the first one, far from it. She tended to bottle up everything she felt like it until she was too far gone and finally exploded. Sometimes, it manifested as anger that took out on herself, physically or verbally. Others, she sobbed herself to sleep. 

But there was something that had changed. 

Boreas took a step closer and nudged her stomach with his head. He purred and looked up at her, and despite not being able to communicate with her with words, Hilda felt a tender, soft feeling in her chest. It wasn’t the words that mattered to her. It was the fact that he was still there despite it all. 

He had met her at her lowest point, tricked by dragon hunters because of her childish naivety and unable to fend for herself, yet somehow determined to keep living and make it back to Berk, if only to heal her sister. And now, almost a year later, he was still there. He had seen her ups and lows —her laughter and tears, her relentless determination that made her work harder than she would ever admit, her glances at others with a hint of jealousy for fitting in so nicely while she fought to keep her place in the tribe, and the constant shadow of dread that loomed over her as if she was a fraud about to get caught at any moment. She had tried so hard for years but barely got anywhere. Even Hiccup, who she once considered her equal, was now seen in a new light and a true Viking. Because he was a hero and had earned his place in the village. 

Boreas, the beast that had spared her life, whether out of pity or compassion, had been there for her more than any of the Vikings she had known and helped all her life. He didn’t need her. He had no reason to stay. Yet he did. She was enough for him. 

Overwhelmed by her bottled-up emotions, Hilda crumbled into tears and fell to her knees to hug her dragon, clinging to his fur as if she was scared he’d fly away any moment now. The beast remained quiet, nuzzling his head against her cheek, tenderly brushing away the tears that fell down her face. The basket of chestnuts lay abandoned on the ground, quickly forgotten as the young healer found solace in her dragon’s company. She wasn’t a Viking, or a rider, or fit in in her own village, and her dragon didn’t care. She was Hilda, and that was enough. 

Boreas slept soundly next to her bed, the hut filled with a serene quietness no one dared disturb at those hours of the night. Hilda was the only one still awake by then, at least in her home, where everyone else had fallen asleep long ago. Her eyelids grew heavier with every passing minute, yet she remained seated on her chair, her eyes unmoving from the piece of paper in front of her. 

It had been months now since she last saw the dragon hunters, their territory far too remote from Berk to cross paths once more, yet her mind still toyed with the old offer. “Your tribe must hold you in high regard”, he had said, his hand shifting the hunter piece to face one of her own, “you seem like one skilled healer”. He had won the maces and talons game with a move she could have never seen coming, and had later let her walk into his brother’s trap, not bothering to stop her. Yet Viggo had warned her. In his own subtle way, the businessman had seen something in her and had given her a chance to free herself from that situation, an act of mercy or perhaps still part of his sick mind games. “Imagine the heights you could reach if only your people trusted you more. There is a world of wonders and knowledge for you to explore out there, little mouse. And I can provide it, if you so wish.” She knew he was deceiving, a cunning man with a silver tongue, someone who could sell sand in a desert. But she was curious. And she wanted to do more. She wanted to show everyone just how capable she was. She wanted everyone to notice that same side of her that her dragon and that dragon hunter had seen. 

Her eyes wandered towards her window, meeting the sight of the glorious meade hall, the pride and joy of Berk, the heart of the village. It was a place of unity and celebration, where everyone met and celebrated significant events and festivities, where the chief listened to his people and did his best to aid them. It was also where Hilda’s plan to heal Ebba had been turned down by her own and she had been forced to rely on no one but herself to save her sister from death’s grasp. Despite it all, the healer wanted to help them. She wanted to show she was worthy of their praise and attention, yes, but above all she just wanted everyone to be happy. She wanted to help Berk grow into something better. 

Stoick would have never agreed to her proposal of working with dragon hunters, potentially perilous enemies that went against Berk’s new values and morals. So she didn’t ask for permission. Hilda finished the letter she had been writing, the charcoal moving swiftly on the scroll, before she paused to consider her choice. Maybe the offer didn’t stand any longer after she had not only managed to escape the trap, but also get away with the very same dragon the hunters meant to keep. Maybe it had been too long already and the deal Viggo had once proposed to her was no longer available. Yet she secured the scroll close and prepared it to be sent to the northern markets the following day.

She would help Berk and earn their respect, no matter the cost.

Any ponderings regarding Mike crew? (Perchance do you know of/care about Terminal Velocity?)

Oh I've heard of that! That's a fun one. I think Oliver would enjoy being pulled into the vast, if only so he wouldn't have to see all the tendrils, barring the whole vertigo issue. I miss mike crew, I want him to come back. Don't care that he's killed people he should have killed more

developing your ocs is 50% waiting for bursts of divine inspiration like an oracle sleeping next the vapours seeping from fissures in the temple floor and 50% stalking them in your mind relentlessly like a persistence predator until they tire out enough for you to get close and scamper away with the bloody scraps of "eye colour: brown" and "dislikes: people who think they're funny" clutched in your mouth like a hunting trophy

Another day done!!! Two technically since I fused day 5 and 6—their prompts went hand in hand for me so I preferred doing one fully okay prompt rather than two half-assed ones. So here's some more fun stuff with my OC Nic and the tree peepaw

Day 5/6: Autumnal and Fallen Leaves

At first, it had been subtle. The once vibrant green had darkened with time, the few flowers adorning his beard slowly withering away. Now, the changes were more prominent. A few mushrooms peeked underneath the little foliage he had left, now splashed with ochre tones and shades. Nic found themselves brooming the house every day, fallen leaves making a trail behind the scrybe of the beasts wherever he moved.

The forest had changed, too. Several trees stood semi-naked, if not entirely, and the animals seemed more focused than ever on scavenging some extra food here and there. Nic had followed a squirrel once; it held a small nut of sorts and saw with their own eyes how the animal just stored it inside a tree trunk, not using it or sharing it with others like they usually did.

The young satyr had noticed a temperature change as well. They weren’t used to such harsh cold out of nowhere. One day, they were fine walking around with little more than their top and loincloth, and the next morning, they felt like they were about to freeze to death, cold biting down onto any exposed piece of flesh or fur available. Nic had been forced to track down the trapper and exchange some pelts for foil, putting together a warmer piece of clothing for those days. Back in Botopia, they recalled that there wasn’t much of a temperature difference, even with the passage of time. Around that time of the year, the factory worked harder. Hence, the chimneys and motors radiated more heat and smoke than usual, which Nic had never considered as the reason for the blanket of cosiness and warmth that spread through the town no matter the season. Along with the cold air, mechanically engineered so it travelled through the air conducts in summer, they had grown up used to little to no temperature variation. What they felt now was just plain cruel.

Then again, they had also noticed some changes of their own. Their fur, for one, had turned thicker in a way. It was more of a hassle to dry after washing, but they had to admit it made for a much-needed coat in the colder days. The colour had shifted, too. From a reddish hue, it now looked almost faded grey or brown. Leshy had mentioned it was expected, but Nic wasn’t so sure.

Nic cursed the older satyr as they brought in some more wood for the chimney. While Leshy had been doing scrybes-know-what, they had been working hard, chopping some wood down to have something to keep a fire going. Wasn’t he the master of that whole realm? Why let this annoying season stay, with the biting cold and the sudden rains, when he could just… make it go away? And where was he anyway? Nic had yet to catch a glimpse of him in all day, not at lunch when they came back from Grimora’s, not in the afternoon after visiting the woodcarver, and not now as the sun set and his beloved moon came out.

The fawn frowned without even noticing, their ears dropping and their tail moving restlessly from side to side. They weren’t concerned, of course not. Leshy was powerful. And even then, why would they care if something happened to them? No, they didn’t care. Not at all. They just needed that blasted tree grandpa to show up with food already.

As the cabin door creaked open, Nic turned from the chimney, ready to demand an explanation for the lateness, yet they remained silent as Leshy came inside. The elder satyr dragged his tail and practically his hooves, too, as he walked in, the door closing behind from a gust of wind rather than his own doing. He looked paler, Nic noticed, a darker green shade settling on his skin that was now more visible thanks to the thinning of his once lush foliage. Even now, as he moved, some leaves fell to the ground from his body. Even his fur, supposed to look just like Nic’s, seemed to have lost its robustness. Somehow it looked a bit too thin, fragile even. Nic’s ears flattened as they watched the scrybe of the beast haul a chair in front of the fireplace before slumping down on it with a weary sigh.

“…You’re late”, Nic said in a hard-to-read tone.

“I am. I lost track of time on my way back. Many of my beasts are preparing for winter, and I had to make sure things are proceeding like they are supposed to”, the older satyr explained, his voice laced with exhaustion.

Nic’s ear twitched.

“You didn't bring back food.”

“That I did not. The angler’s catch was sparse today, I'm afraid.”

They nodded, acknowledging his answer. The younger satyr then hesitated, and against their better judgment, they poured some water they had left to boil with the chimney's heat into a cup. They made their way to the cupboards, where Leshy stored the different herbs and spices he harvested from the forest, and reached for a handful of chamomile. After adding a dollop of honey and making a mental note to replenish their reserve the next day, they returned to where Leshy sat and stood in between him and the fireplace. The scrybe opened one eye, looking up at Nic as if expecting them to say something, a mixture of surprise and curiosity stirring within him. The younger satyr remained quiet and just placed the cup in front of him. Leshy looked at it, then back at Nic, one ear twitching in curiosity.

“Drink”, they urged as they shook the cup again in his face.

Leshy blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected sweet gesture. Nic barely did anything for him, only if it was something of mutual benefit, and even then, they sometimes were a bit too proud and petty and “forgot” to do Leshy’s part. Before the young satyr could take back their offer, he reached for the cup and took a sip, the warmth of the tea seeping into his bones in a gentle embrace. He sighed softly, slumping further on his chair.

The warm cup of tea hadn't been the only surprise of the evening. Despite Leshy failing to bring fresh food back, Nic managed to put together a soup with some mushrooms and vegetables on the verge of spoiling, this time without Leshy even needing to ask. The younger satyr navigated the cabin quietly, their movements only punctuated by the creaking of wood underneath their hooves.

The scrybe of the beasts watched as the little fawn paced around his home, begrudgingly picking up the falling leaves he had left behind earlier, cooking for both, and even tending to the fire. Guilt tugged at Leshy for not being able to help, yet he couldn’t help the growing smile on his face. It seemed that despite PO3’s best attempts, this one was capable of feeling empathy. Nic tried to hide it, of course, and to their credit they had gotten much better at it. The once obvious tells, like their tail and ear movements, had become more subtle, not so much as to cover their actual thoughts, but enough to prove a challenge for the scrybe. Now, it was how their leg bounced anxiously, up and down, even as they merely stood up and stared at the soup while waiting for the food to cook. Their right ear tended to twitch softly here and there, too, as if an invisible fly was bothering the little fawn.

It was endearing in a way, seeing the distant and cold satyr suddenly worried about the creature they had repeatedly claimed to despise. There was a hint of anger underneath it all, maybe mild annoyance given how subtle the signs were, but it was clear they weren’t happy about their own feelings and what they were doing. Leshy had to repress a chuckle, aware that any hint of teasing would only spoil the fragile peace they had finally found.

The soup was surprisingly edible, which, given the young satyr’s inexperience in the kitchen, was more like a miracle. They ate in silence, sitting in their chairs in front of the fireplace as a soft rain started, drops hitting the wooden ceiling softly and wind caressing the leaves outside in unison, making Leshy relax. The sounds of his forest, no matter where they came from, reminded him he was not alone and his efforts were not in vain, lulling him into a sense of calm. Nic, on the other hand, seemed to find the sounds unnerving. Huddled in their seat, their knees pressed against their chest, they took the last spoonfuls of soup with palpable unease. It was only natural, given their unfamiliarity to the rain and storms, not to mention the tales Leshy recited for them of sections of the forest getting burnt to the crisp by lighting probably hadn’t helped either. The scrybe chose not to intervene, far too aware by now that they would just get offended if he tried to be gentle with them or help without them asking.

“Can’t you make it stop?” Nic’s voice broke the tranquil atmosphere inside the cabin, drawing a look from Leshy.

“The rain?”

“The season. Autumn”, they clarified. “It’s making you weak. You’ve been losing leaves and getting cold. You are sluggish. The forest might be yours, but it won’t be kind if you show weakness.”

Leshy couldn’t hide the small smile that tugged at his lips, his tail idly swaying behind him.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d be worried about me, little fawn.”

“I’m not”, they huffed, their ears flattening in annoyance, “ but a weak scrybe is a dead scrybe. Your domain is falling apart, it’s starting to get too cold for even animals with fur, and your trees are losing their flowers and foliage. Plus, these rains are annoying. How is anyone supposed to do anything when the dirt is muddy, or when water drops from the sky at the worst times possible?”

Leshy hummed in thought, considering his words as he took one last sip of the soup’s mediocre broth. He looked at the fireplace for a few seconds, lost in the flickers of the flames.

“Do you reckon sleep is useless?”

Nic’s ear twitched as they frowned.

“No. If a machine works for too long without rest, it will overheat and break, maybe even shut down completely.”

“That’s… one way to put it” Lehsy remarked, having hoped for a less technology-related response. “Just as we, and machines, I guess, need sleep, the forest needs its rest, too. Spring is when my realm feels in its prime—flowers blossom and seeds flow within the ecosystem to sprout new forms of life, which in turn makes the task of feeding those who rely on plants and weeds much easier, which allows them to reproduce and with that the bigger beasts get more food available as well.”

Nic nodded, following his explanation. Leshy had shared the concept of the food chain with them before: small animals eat plants, bigger ones eat smaller, then they die, and plants eat them in return. Everyone had a place, yada yada yada.

“Yes, I get that. But now things are dying while in spring they flourished. That’s why spring is good, and autumn isn’t. I’d even take summer over this. Why would you willingly end the season in which your domain thrives?”

“Because now is when my forest needs to rest. It worked hard in spring, thriving as you put it. But I can’t freeze time and make it stay like that.”

“You can, though”, Nic pointed out, knowing the scrybes had enough power to carry out impossible tasks like that.

“I could, I suppose. I have the ability to do so,” Leshy agreed hesitantly “ but that doesn’t mean I should. The old has to make way for the new, and autumn and winter are the seasons tasked with this change. Leaves fall, but newer, stronger ones will sprout with time. Some animals don’t make it through the winter, but their offspring will thrive and take their place, hunting, gathering, or whatever their purpose might be. You are used to things remaining, being built and modelled to ignore decay and remain despite it all. But that is unnatural, little fawn. Things change. Life moves on. We are born, we grow, we learn, we live, and we die. We wither and rot, and something or someone else takes our place.”

He paused, his gaze drifting to the wood the fire consumed in the chimney. “If things didn’t change, then we wouldn’t be eating a meal you made from harvested seeds, or getting warmed up by the fire that ignites thanks to a once-before tree. Even in your home realm, you tinkered with rusty pieces and forgotten ‘code’, as you called it, to improve them and make something anew. To change, for the better or for worse, one must accept the decay of oneself.”

Nic stayed quiet, considering his words. They hated that it made sense. The pieces in the factory they used to work with followed a similar rule, as he had pointed out. They had toyed with many, taking away cogs or screws and adding new parts to get them working again or making something entirely new. Even in the temple of eternity, where they rose above organic beings and their needs and prided themselves on their ability to escape nature, the concept of change still haunted them. Change and death came in different ways, but they arrived nonetheless.

The young satyr looked down at the lower half of their body. The deer-like appendages remained there, no matter how many times they had wished and begged and cried for them to go away. The hooves, the tail, the horns. It was all new. It was all change.

“Sometimes change isn’t good”, Nic replied, a hint of bitterness in their voice.

The scrybe shrugged.

“Maybe. Sometimes, change might seem bad, but later, it proves to be a blessing. Sometimes it’s the opposite. Sometimes, change just is. It doesn’t care if you like it or not, and it certainly doesn’t mind whether its implications are seen as “good” or “bad”. The best you can do is play along and do the most out of the current situation.”

The cabin fell into a comfortable silence after that. The crackling of the fire was now accompanied by the crunch of the previously fallen leaves that burnt within the flames, now used as kindling to keep the heat alive. Outside, the rain poured all over the forest, watering the different plants that needed it and flooding some dens of various beasts, some making it to the surface in time and some drowning in the stream of water that filled their house. The scrybe closed his eyes as his body relaxed with the heat, the sounds around him lulling him into a deep slumber. Thinking he was asleep, Nic placed a thick coat of wolf pelt over Leshy’s shoulders and went to bed, leaving Leshy with a comfortable smile.

Came home to a scolding about how I'm overweight because I don't move and never do anything and I'm destroying my health for being lazy

Just what I needed right now

I also love how they casually forget I have an actual issue with my knee that makes it so I can't do any sport but walking, cycling, and swimming. And guess who gets told I'm coming up with excuses if I try to bring it up as an obstacle. I swear I'm actually scared of doing sport, or even doing as little as going out when it's raining, just because of my knee problem. But I guess it's not that big a deal if they say so

Istg I'd be fine with sport if I had a way to incorporate it into my day-to-day without going so out of the way or if I didn't feel like losing weight was the only way to determine if "I'm doing port right"