It's been a while since I've shared an AU but I have a lot of thoughts about Skizz and Joel joining hermitcraft and I've decided to turn it into G/t.
So basically, Skizz and Joel are joining hermitcraft but something goes wrong. Everyone is starting in a circle for the start of the season but their two newest memebers are nowhere to be seen. Everyone is confused and more than a bit worried when messaging them yields no results.
Meanwhile, Skizz and Joel wake up in a field, only a few inches tall and with no memory except their names and a vague sense of familiarity towards each other.
Because of their memory loss, they reasonably assume they have always been that size and decide to set up a small base in a tree and try to avoid the giants of the server at all costs.
Of course, eventually they get found and caught and a lot of misunderstandings come about it. Because even though these people feel familiar, it's hard for both Skizz and Joel (mostly Joel) to believe they are telling the truth.
Have a little snippet of something I wrote for this! This takes place after Skizz and Joel are caught a second time. (Also, they refer to themselves as borrowers because that is what they believe they are).
Joel held out his sword and as the giant hand came toward him he slashed at it, sending it reeling back. “Ow! Joel!”
Before Joel could react again, Grian’s other hand came at him and knocked him over, holding him down against the dirt. Joel felt the wind get knocked out of him for a brief moment before he struggled to try and get away.
“Grian! Stop, you’re going to hurt him!” Joel heard Gem cry as Joel realized he wasn’t able to get his hands or sword free.
“It’s fine Gem, it’s not like I’m using my full strength.” Grian answered back and Joel froze in his struggle. Realization crashing down on him that, yeah, this wasn’t even close to the giant’s full strength. It was probably barely even any sort of strength to the giant. And yet, Joel couldn’t free himself, because even when the giant was barely using any of his strength, Joel was nothing against him.
He deflated, knowing he was trapped. Knowing he was caught once again.
“Are you done?” Grian asked from above. Joel didn’t dignify him with an answer but he felt the hand around him curl in on him anyway and soon he was being held in a fist and lifted high into the air. He gave a half attempt to try and pull out the arm holding his sword but it was still trapped within the grip.
Joel tried to look at anything but the giants surrounding him, finally noticing that Skizz also seemed to have gotten caught. Though instead of being held in a fist like him, Skizz was being cradled between two hands by Impulse. The two borrowers shared a look, with Skizz looking sympathetic towards the situation Joel had found himself in.
“We really are just trying to help you. And Skizz.” Grian tried but Joel didn’t want to listen.
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Do plant shop clexa own any pets? What if Clarke brings home a kitten one day without telling Lexa because it was a stray? At first Lexa loves the kitten but quickly gets upset when she starts scratching, biting, and uprooting her plants
"Clarke, no." Lexa cannot help the halfhearted, exasperated smile that pulls at the side of her mouth as her wide-eyed girlfriend inches forward tentatively with what looks like a very fuzzy lump of coal in her hands.
Clarke gestures wildly in protest at what she knows will be a defensive argument by her botanically inclined girlfriend, clearly going on the attack to prove her case as the teeny black kitten sails within an inch of Lexa's nose. Lexa goes cross eyed trying to examine the animal as she refocuses, Clarke now cradling the baby protectively into her chest as the kitten meows in protest at the roller-coaster treatment.
"Someone left her all alone in a box outside the studio, Lex. A box-! She has no siblings, nothing, just a tattered little towel-"
Lexa raises a hand halfheartedly to cut off Clarke's indignant rant that she senses gathering like thunderclouds behind stormy blue eyes. She pinches the bridge of her nose halfheartedly to ward off the stress headache that she could feel brewing behind her temple.
She had known it would be something like this when instead of the series of excited voice memos and anecdotes that usually blew up her phone after Clarke had excited her studio for the day, a solitary text with a You home, Lex? lighting up her phone as the sun started its graceful meander below the horizon. Lexa, having loved Clarke almost as long as she'd known her, had signed and poured herself a glass of whisky and settled in to wait for her impulsive girlfriend to arrive home, knowing that she had some unknown in store for her.
Which, as fate would have it, would turn out to be an art studio parking lot kitten.
A neon green gaze peers out from between Clarke's parted fingers, the little ball of soot that Clarke has now named Hiro drinking Lexa in with a keen gaze.
Clarke, sensing that the kitten was having its non-verbal say, wisely held her tongue as Lexa and Hiro stared at each other for a long moment.
Prrt?
Hiro inquires softy at Lexa, the soft chirp punctuated by an inky paw waving halfheartedly through the gap in Clarke's fingers in Lexa's general direction as the small creature becomes slightly more inquisitive.
A long, graceful finger bridges the gap to stroke the fluffy black fur. Clarke fidgets slightly but stays silent as bright blue eyes flick excitedly between Lexa's thoughtful hand and Hiro's tiny frame.
Silence stretches on for a long moment as Lexa softly dances her fingers across the rim of the whisky glass, thinking.
A rusty, quiet purring breaks the moment as Hiro arches into Clarke's hands, rubbing her slender face against Clarke's palm.
Lexa follows the interaction quietly with narrowed eyes, sighing as she drains the last of her whisky.
"Fine, bring her in. But she gets a bath first thing, do you hear me, Clarke? And she's going to have to learn not to chomp any of my plants- do you hear that, Hiro? You have to be good, do you hear-"
Clarke, grinning from ear to ear, sails past Lexa with her miniature void in hand, Hiro rumbling contentedly as Clarke smacks a grateful kiss onto Lexa's cheek before running inside.
Clarke pretends not to notice when Lexa starts snuggling Hiro after long days at the shop, Hiro tucking up into Lexa's lap contentedly while she reads, small paws moving neatly as she kneads Lexa's thigh.
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// a snippet of my oblivion au that I wrote a couple days ago because chat asked for it last night. chronologically this part takes place during the ‘path of dawn‘ quest, several days after this
warnings: they kill a man, dream has a panic attack
Luther Broad’s Boarding House is a lot bigger on the inside than it appears from the streets of the Elven Gardens District. The early afternoon sun casts the room in soft light, by now mostly empty as people move on with their days and return to their duties. Only couple people remain: a gossiping couple of girls with half empty glasses of wine, a middle aged man in the corner who looks up from his book as the door closes behind Dream, and a young man at the bar engaging in conversation with the bartender in a familiar white bandana.
Dream smiles, strolls past the empty tables and takes a seat by Sapnap’s side. The young Blade spares him a single glare, near identical to the one he gave him as he entered his cell. It seems like a lifetime ago. He turns back to his pint and Dream leans on the bar as the owner drops the conversation and asks Dream for his order.
“Just some ale, thank you,” Dream tells him, deflecting any further attempts at an offer of a meal or a bed.
Sapnap chokes on his beer at the sound of Dream’s voice and turns to the dunmer with eyes wide in disbelief.
“Dream?” he whispers as the barkeep passes Dream his drink.
“Long time no see.”
“Long time indeed!” Sapnap shakes his head, looks Dream up and down. His eyes linger on Dream’s curls. “Shit, you look like a whole different person. Or like a dandelion puff. Fuck.”
Dream laughs, short yet sincere, the sound more of a breathless wheeze than a full laugh. “Well, thanks. It’s good to see you too, I guess.”
Sapnap nods, once, twice, and his expression turns solemn. “Listen,” his voice drops into a whisper once more, “I’m being watched. Just do what I say.”
Dream hums in reply. He follows Sapnap’s gaze to the corner of the inn, towards the man with the book.
“I’m going to get up once I finish my drink,” Sapnap explains. He takes a sip from his mug, long and deliberate. “I’ll walk out of here. The guy in the corner will follow me. You go after him.”
Dream glances at the man in the corner. His eyes are fixed on Sapnap’s back.
“Ready when you are.”
Sapnap tips the mug back, slams it back on the barwith a satisfied grunt. “Good. I want to see what he’ll do.”
He stands up then, offering the barkeep a couple pleasantries before the man laughs and nods his head towards the door in the back of the room. Sapnap mutters his thanks and stumbles towards the door with little grace. As soon as the door shuts behind him, the man in the corner stands and follows.
The door never has the chance to close a second time. Dream follows after him quick and slides his foot into the gap before it can shut close, and he makes sure the door makes no sound as he slips in.
The stairway is cast in shadows, the little light coming from below flickering and Dream presses himself to the wall where the light won’t reach.
The man descends the stairs, following the sound of Sapnap’s footsteps, and as he reaches the mid section, his hand goes to his hip, hovering over the hilt of a knife, and Dream curses under his breath.
He doesn’t think, taking two steps at a time as the man draws the blade. He shoves the man, making him stumble and the man shouts in surprise. By the time Dream regains his balance Sapnap has drawn his sword and drove it through the man’s middle. He looks up just to see Sapnap pull the sword out and slice through his throat with ease.
“Fuck,” Dream breathes. The air is heavy with copper as the body hits the old stone floor.
“Search his body,” Sapnap orders, his voice even.
“What?”
“Search his body,” he repeats and flicks his wrist, shaking the blood off his sword. “I’ll keep an eye out in case any of his friends are nearby.”
Dream gapes but doesn’t object, only nodding as he kneels by the man’s corpse. His nose twitches as he’s hit with the smell of blood and piss pooling around him.
The body has little to offer, a couple of septims that Dream pockets before patting the man down once more. He had a book on him, Dream thinks, and he knows it was not left behind on the man’s seat when he left.
He finds it tucked into his coat pocket, a small book bound in deep red leather. A strange book for certain, with ornate cover and a lengthy title in faded gold lettering, though what makes Dream stop is the title of the book, translated below the golden letters into the daedric alphabet. Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes, volume 1.
He stands and steps away, further from the pooling blood and holds the book up.
“I think I got something.”
Sapnap steps over the body and sheaths his sword, pulling Dream into a one armed hug with his free hand.
“Good work,” he tells him, heading back for the stairs. “I am glad to see you by the way, you just caught me at a bad time.”
“I figured,” Dream mutters. He turns back, towards the dead man. “We just killed a civilian.”
“He wasn’t a civilian,” Sapnap corrects him. “He was part of the Mythic Dawn- it’s the cult that killed the emperor.” He pulls Dream away from the body, towards the exit while Dream blinks slowly, and the information processes.
“The what?”
“Apparently they worship Mehrunes Dagon,” Sapnap continues. “Nasty shit. I’ve been tracking their agents in the Imperial City. I guess they noticed.”
“And we’re just- what? Leaving a body here? Sapnap we just killed a person! In a public space!”
“Right, right. Official Blades business. I’ll handle this, don’t worry your fluffy head over it.”
He leads him back to the bar, guides him to sit on a stool as he turns to the owner. Dream tunes the rest of the conversation out and he notices only when Sapnap slides another pint towards him.
“Drink up,” he tells him, and Dream doesn’t have the energy left to object. He takes a long sip, until his throat hurts from swallowing, but the cold liquid clears his mind, if only a little.
“There. You already look better,” Sapnap tells him and he pats his back. “What about you?”
“I found Uriel’s heir,” Dream replies. His voice is too small but at least he found it, somewhere. “I- his name’s George.”
“Oh thank Talos he lives!” Sapnap clicks their mugs together. “To George Septim, then! We shall restore him to the throne!”
“It won’t be that easy,” Dream says as Sapnap drinks his ale. He waits until the Blade sets his drink down. “We lost the Amulet.”
“You-”
“I went to Weynon Priory as you told me,” Dream rushes to explain. His ears twitch. “I found Bad, gave him the damned thing- He told me to go search for George. You’ve- you’ve heard of Kvatch, right? You must have, shit, of course you’ve heard of Kvatch! The city was destroyed, overrun by daedra-” With each sentence he picks up pace, right ear twitching as he thinks back to the charred stone and the smell of sulphur. “He was- I found him in the chapel, but first- the city gate was blocked, and there was- the portal to Oblivion itself, and the daedra kept coming, and there was so much lava and the stairs and it just kept going and I-”
He flinches back when Sapnap rests his hands on his shoulders and he blinks back tears. His vision clears, and Sapnap is looking at him with worry.
“Hey,” he whispers. “Deep breaths, okay? You’re not there anymore. Drink some more, it’s gonna clear your head. We’re back in the Imperial City. No more daedra.”
“I’m sorry.” Dream’s voice cracks.
“It’s okay,” Sapnap says, and then again when Dream does not believe him. “You saved the city,” he reminds. “You saved all those people. You saved George.”
Dream does not grace that with an answer.
They drink in silence, until the ale untangles Dream’s tongue once more.
“I brought George to Bad, and he said it would be best they hide in Cloud Ruler Temple.” His voice shakes as he speaks. “When- when we got back to Weynon Priory, there were these… the same people who were there, back then, when…” When the Emperor died, he wants to say. Sapnap nods when the words die in his throat instead. “We got there late. There were just… a couple left. They stayed behind to finish off who was left in the Priory. By the time we found Bad they fled with the Amulet.”
Sapnap nudges his knee against Dream’s. “You did what you could,” he reassures. “If Bad couldn’t do anything, neither could you. Or anyone, for that matter. You still managed to find George. Hope’s not lost yet.”
How strange, Dream thinks as a smile tugs at his lips. Bad said the same thing.
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when you know a little bit abt the history of something you wanna include in your fic and then you do some research and it turns out the more in depth historical facts actually help bolster what you envisioned for the fic
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"Sometimes on the anniversary of the strange blue symbols appearing alongside the correspondence on the skin of the Bazaar, if you wander through the streets near the spiraling towers at the center... you can hear what sounds like a violin playing on the wind. The sound is distant, hard to tell from where it comes from.
You heard rumors at some point that one of the towers lay unoccupied by the masters. That instead a human had set up residence inside one of the rooms in the tower.
One day when you hear that music again, you decide to look up at that tower. You see the blurry outline of a figure, oh so high up there, sitting on a balcony near a window on the towering structure. Is that...? A violin in the person's hand? So that's where the music has been coming from..."
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sorry for the snippets spam atm i got a lot done yesterday that im excited about lol BUT the fact rin's motivations are actually based in logic and love combined with the fact he's capable of being superrrr smooth and manipulative is so fun bc tell me why i wrote this and it had me nodding along with him. like literally he's looking out for his family this all makes sense! he's innocent your honour
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I have an idea for another AU I’d like to doodle. Won’t say much aside from the fact that, well- let’s just say Merlin does have a full family :3 and I already made a cast for his siblings [cue brainrot noises]
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Untitled WIP - Opening
The WIP idea I detailed in the reblogs of this post. Don’t know if I’ll continue it or how much of this I’ll expand on, though I felt inspired last night and felt like writing it! Hope you enjoy! ✨
- “Hmm?”
- “I asked, what do you think it was for?”
Someone nudged Nattjasmin in the shoulder again, harder this time, forcing the brunette to sit up and take the baseball cap off their face, blinking a few times to get the sand out of her eyes, wincing at the warm uncomfortable pain in her neck from having fallen asleep leaning against the car.
Indira had been pointing at the structure nearest to them, identical to several others that seemed laid out in a grid to their north and west. Their eyes gleamed with quizzical curiosity, evidently having spent the better half of the past hour attempting to surmise some purpose for them.
They reminded Jasmin of sunflowers back home, faces angled, pointed to the sky, the ones her dad used to grow on the roof in Nymoen, a pang of homesickness running through her as she promised herself she’d practice some guitar next time they’d stop, before focusing back on the view. Rising from fields of gold, the same they’d been driving through for the past three days now, they had made quite the impression when the four of them had first seen the giant constructs emerging from the wild wheat horizon. Ant had nearly choked, the nerd. The disks offered little shade at this hour, it was still before noon, though she doubted they would have done so even if the sun had been set at the opposite side of the sky, with how many panels were missing from them. The words once written on the outsides of their bases had faded long ago, and where the spindly legs still held them up, like the twig houses she used to build in the garden, the vines had grown, coating them in deep green, filling the missing gaps of construction. They made odd sounds, shrieking creaks and wails of old metal every so often, when the wind picked up, though they didn’t feel all too imposing… More as though they were singing their own melody, their memories of the days when their metal shone, and panels glinted like new.
When the people who cared for them had been around to do their job.
- “I think I read about these.” She finally spoke, stretching, groaning a bit at the pleasant sensation of stretching after having been asleep in one position for too long, before wincing, her leg having fallen asleep, the pins and needles, sick warmth being a feeling she was familiar with, with the time they’d spend in the car, but nonetheless not one you’d ever get used to. “Satellite dishes, I think. I’ll get you the book with them once Lore and Ant are back, if they haven’t found anything more interesting on ‘em for you to read.”
As though on cue, Lore called in on their comms, the connection decent with the distance being minimal.
- “White.”
- “Over. Ignition on Faulkner, Vesper. 3 go”
Even in fresh air, the Captain couldn’t help but use their on-mission callouts. Jasmin couldn’t blame her though. They got the point across. She closed the comms, putting them back in her inner jacket pocket, and taking out a pair of blue and purple aviators.
- “Cap?” Indira got up, stretching as well, dusting off their pants.
- “Yeah. Pack your shit, and start up Vesper, I’ll get Faulkner ready, I told her we’ll be ready to go in 3 minutes.”
- “They find anything?” Indira asked, being greeted with a zero made by Jasmin by her finger and thumb.
- “Zip. You can ask em about it once we get a move-on. Cars have better comms anyways.”
The two got to work, checking on the tents, the filters, all the wiring and seals, finally getting behind the wheels and starting the cars up, both engines revving with their distinct roars, the ’69 Dodge Charger chassis of Faulkner shuddering, Vespers ’69 Corvette Stingray shaking off the dust as the spherical omni-wheels pulsed twice and started to glow gently, aligning on their own, ready to go.
Lore and Antris arrived not a minute later, their gear already doffed, and packed into their bags, getting in and closing the doors, the cars both auto-sealing.
- “Anything?”
- “Code white, nothing interesting, some random papers, logs with a ton of numbers in em. Found a neat coffee mug and some coasters though, barely chipped.” Lore answered, twisting in her seat to put the gear in its space behind them, brushing the black hair out of her face with a huff.
- “Hmm. Sounds like the usual. Where too now?”
- “There should be a rest stop some few hundred kilometers south-west from here, we’ll make it by sunset if we make good time. It’s bad territory, but the fastest route if we wanna deliver Vesper there on time to Novanc.” She explained, folding out an old paper map with some coffee stains and a few red triangles and other shapes drawn out here and there, pointing as she explained, before clicking a button on the dash and speaking into the comms. “You two lovebirds hear that? I want not a scratch on Vesper or the cut pay is coming out of your cut, got that?”
- “Yeah, rough territory, I got it.” Inidira chuckled before continuing what they were saying to Ant, flipping comms off as they did.
- “So, then, hotshot.” Lore said, taking out a pair of matching aviators, the left lens slightly fractured, smiling brightly, and taking out a stick of gum. “Onto the horizon.”
The radio buzzed, as music began to play, the engine rumbling as they set off. Onto the horizon.
Taglist for whatever I’m naming this! ✨ @jess-p-edits @magefaery Hope y’all enjoyed, and let me know if you want more of these I guess! (And if the formatting should be different to be more readable!)
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This is such a cool idea!! Little member card for Alcor's Sticker Club!!! In addition to the monthly stickers you get a tiny one to put on the card!
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🏀 👶?
WIPs titles ask game: Basket Baby
This will either be the beginning of chapter 1 or 3 (depending on whether I'll opt for prologues or flashbacks later on)
"Mom?" Simon asks, hurriedly toeing off his shoes and peering into the kitchen. "Mom, what's wrong?"
It's a swelteringly hot summer day, one which he and his friends planned to spend at the lake, but his mom's urgent and rather vague message forced him to come back early.
"Why aren't you at work? Did something happen? Why didn't you want Ayub and Rosh to come along?"
He asks all this in rapid-fire Spanish, but falls silent once he enters the kitchen and is greeted with the sight of a strangely long, blanket filled basket and the red-rimmed eyes of his mother.
"Mom?" he repeats, when his mom merely swallows and looks down at the bundle in her arms.
The moving bundle in her arms.
"My love," she says, her voice breaking. "There … there is a letter for you."
At that she gestures at the basket.
Simon's mind is blank as he steps up to it and reaches inside. There is a letter tugged half underneath the mattress, and he swallows when he sees the tiny stuffed frog next to it.
The letter isn't signed and only consists of a single line, but Simon would recognize the handwriting anywhere.
I know I don't have any right to ask, but it'd mean the world if you'd consider Erik as a middle name.
The single sheet of paper drops to the table as Simon sinks into the nearest chair.
He hasn't heard a word from Wilhelm since before Christmas, no one has. Not since the other boy told him he loved him and then seemingly vanished off the face of the earth.
The last and only thing Simon heard was the official press statement the Royal Court released a few months ago, announcing that the Crown Prince was convalescing after a lengthy, but non-life threatening illness, his return to public life unknown.
There is a lump in his throat, and Simon can't hold back the tears falling down his cheeks.
He doesn't want to hold back the tears falling down his cheeks. He wants Wille.
He misses Wille. He's missed Wille so much.
The bundle in his mom's arms gurgles, and he thinks he can make out a tiny fist waving in the air.
"Some lawyers asked for me at work today," his mom says. "They offered me adoption or custody until you're eighteen. It was either that or having him adopted by an elderly couple up North loyal to the crown and never seeing him again."
"What?" Simon asks.
This can't be happening.
"What about Wille?"
His mom doesn't meet his eyes, but instead looks down at the baby.
His and Wille's baby.
"I had to sign an NDA among other things, and there will be more paperwork," she says, evading the question. "He's not in the population register, not yet, and you need to decide on a name …"
She pauses.
"The Royal Court will help us and arrange everything, as long as we promise to never contact it or Wilhelm ever again. It's their condition for letting us keep …"
"Mom?" Simon sobs, overwhelmed and not knowing what to do or say.
He and Wille have a baby, and if he wants to keep him he'll never get to see Wille again.
Not that he will otherwise. Not in person, not if Wille never returns to Hillerska, but …
Where is Wille?
He can't be okay with this.
The last thing Wille told him was that he loved him.
Until now that is. He looks down and picks up the sheet of paper with the single, handwritten line.
Why?
There's nothing else in the envelope.
"Do you want to hold him?" Linda asks.
Simon nods.
The baby's eyes are still blue, and he can't tell who they'll come after, but the mop of dark curls on his head is hard to miss.
He's a father, and he's never going to see Wilhelm again.
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He makes one last journey for the day, or night, rather, going back to his parents’ room. What used to be their room, he tells himself. They have a new room somewhere else now. Does their new home feel empty like this house does, he wonders? Do they feel this… thing, whatever it is, that he’s feeling? Or is their new home full of everything they want, bright and warm and comfortable? Are they happier now? He hopes they are. It would be unfair if they weren’t.
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The giant moved slowly as it lowered the tiny figure in its hands onto the table. Casimir squirmed, trying not to choke on the gag in his mouth as his lungs fought to scream in terror. Unfortunately the ropes he was tied with were done so by well trained hands. The knots, bulky and harsh, burrowed at his skin as he was laid out on a hard surface.
the giant loomed, leaning its face down to peer at Casimir with eyes red as a blood moon. Its fingers stretched out and Casimir closed his eyes tight. No touch came and he cracked open a single eye. The giant's hand hovered hesitantly. Finally it reached down, clawed nails gently brushing against Casimir’s skin. Casimir squirmed on instinct, fear running through his blood and energizing his bones. He knew exhaustion would sooner or later catch up however and forced himself to be still.
The ropes loosened. The hand pulled away. Casimir was still breathing, he took a moment to process his freedom before racing to rip the gag from his mouth. He sputtered and choked, his lungs finally freed to take in air greedily. When he’d stopped shaking he looked up at the giant. Its feline ears were cocked with an expression of concern. Once more it reached out its hand, gently holding a finger besides Casimir.
Casimir grasped the finger and pulled himself to his feet, he was drenched and could feel the weight of water soaked into his fur weighing him down. The giant's ears perked at Casimir’s acceptance of its help. Its eyes focused intently on Casimir for a moment and he felt a buzzing sensation surrounding his mind. It subsided and the giant's mouth opened, its tone no doubt a whisper to its own ears, but plenty loud to Casimir’s “Are… you ok”?
Casimir paused, froze for a moment at hearing his language come from such a foreign tongue. “I, yes I’m ok. Who are you”?
The giant sighed with relief, ruffling Casimir’s fur “Im, well, my name is a bit difficult to translate so you can call me Driz”. Driz paused looking expectantly at Casimir.
Finally Casimir understood “Oh! I’m, uh, sorry, I’m Casimir”
“Casimir” Driz said, testing the name in his mouth, pronouncing it best he could. “I may need a bit of practice for that one”.
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Brain: An ex-priest or priest in training, raised by the church, coming back years later to burn the thing down.
Me: Please stop.
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Im in awe if your writing - Ive stumbled over your Welsknight/Helsknight writings and instantly fell in love. They way you work and describe the connections they have, the feelings they share and this maybe-respect they might develope(?) Its great to see that Hels isn't just the evil guy here; at least, he has his own motivation and his own tennants that he stands by and Wels the one, who fails them! Great job, i hope to see more!
Ah I’m glad you’re liking the writings so far! I’m having a lot of fun with them! And I wholeheartedly plan on writing more, when I get the time and the ideas for them :D
I’m really excited about these two so I’m throwing a rant under the cut, I hope you don’t mind!
Hels is slowly turning into like, my personal love letter to the idea of the paragon knight and it’s really fun to play around with? I’ve always really loved high fantasy, and most knight characters in high fantasy novels at some point have the stereotypical arc where they figure out what “being a knight” means and overcoming their personal shortcomings in order to be this lofty ideal - normally to the tune of finding courage or the power of friendship, etc etc. And normally when they go through this arc at some point they have a mentor figure coaching them patiently the whole time, who represents the paragon ideal the main character is striving for [the Dad who always dies, RIP fantasy dads].
And I thought it would be really interesting, since we already have these two spending a whole song basically arguing about who’s the best knight -
“You call yourself a knight but you’ve never slain a foe.”
vs
“You say I’m not the real deal but what good have you done?”
- and we already have this idea that one of them is the dark side / inner demons of the other, if maybe Hels is this paragon knight ideal that Wels finds himself failing at? So his hels version / evil twin is literally all these unreachable expectations normally tacked on the term “knight”. And Hels has his own autonomy in this. I imagine the hels dimension, whatever that’s like, sucks [everyone is unyielding and rebellious, and trapped in some way], so his version of an ideal knight is probably very cruel and meticulous when compared to like, a conventional paladin knight. But that’s the thing about knighthood - it’s kind of romantic flavor text that a knight be kind and generous, and give wholly of themselves to others. In a lot of the original tenets of chivalry, all a knight needed to do was pay tithes and kill as many enemies as possible.
I also really love the idea of the street going two ways though. If Hels is the paragon knight in all its [terrifying, cruel, unattainable] glory, then to him, Wels is every time he’s ever considered breaking his code of ethics. Wels doesn’t like to fight, he’s more merciful and peaceful, and even when he decides to draw his blade, after all his grandstanding, he says he’s going to banish Hels back to his dimension, not kill him exactly. So then to Hels, Wels is a coward, the idea of breaking a code of ethics for selfish reasons, and a weakness in his impenetrable armor of “paragon knight”.
They are each other’s own darkside, while also, for the most part, not being wrong? Wels makes a pretty good Knight Defender archetype. His character talks a lot about defending hermitcraft, and showing mercy to people who need it, and fighting injustice. And then Hels is a pretty good Crusader archetype. He roots out his enemies where he finds them, he pursues relentlessly, he doesn’t compromise his morals just because of the nature of what has to be done. I think if either character fails its less because the other is right, and more because they’re starting to define themselves based off of someone else’s right. Welsknight’s weakness isn’t the fact that he’s a merciful defender, it’s that he compares himself to Hels and sees that as a fault instead of a feature. Helsknight - well he doesn’t have weaknesses. He’s a paragon. But if he did admit he had a weakness, it’s that in his relentless pursuit of rooting out this impersonator knight at every turn, what started out as a moral crusade has turned into something deeply personal, deeply cruel, and incredibly un-knight-like.
I dunno, it’s fun. It’s cool. I love pitting two concepts against each other that stand up fine on their own but are contradictory when removed from their original context. Fight little block man knights! Fight! And while you’re fighting maybe confront some of your issues and learn from them? And turn into better people by taking on attributes of each other? Haha? Maybe?
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In the bnha story you wrote what happened after aizawa took them home?
Story in question
First he made sure they didn’t actually get hypothermia. It was cold and their clothes were soaked, so it was very possible they could have gotten it. They greatfully didn’t have it, but they did end up with a bad cold. Aizawa persuades them to stay with him while they’re sick so he can watch over them. They’re too small to be put in that weather alone, and he’s a hero. It’s against what he stands for to put them in danger.
During the healing process, the borrower comes to find that they actually like living with Aizawa. His calm demeanor and natural quietness is soothing, and he makes sure his cats are friendly towards them and don’t attack. They both bond over the fact that they have had to live off of nothing at points in their life (Aizawa having been homeless for a while when he was younger). When it comes time for them to leave, there’s hesitation on both ends. The borrower finds the house safe and likes Aizawa’s company. Aizawa also finds he likes their company, and is still largely concerned about sending them out into the world at their height. Aizawa eventually just asks if they’d want to stay, and they agree. They end up living together up until Height Alliance is made and Aizawa has to move into the school dorms. You do end up moving there with him, and you both try to keep your existence a secret, but it doesn’t last long with Class 1-A. (Nezu already knew because he’s Nezu and I also imagine he has had run ins with other borrowers before.)
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the thing about the punk au i won't write is think of the opportunities to make fun of sirius' accent. just think of them. you literally have to just think of them because i won’t write it but all the same it’s worth doing
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