A HTTYD AU I’ve been planning for awhile… just now starting to sketch it out. It’s a literal Alternate Universe… takes places someplace parallel to Earth. Takes place in an era reminiscent of 1910 - 1930.
Hiccup is royalty, but he’d much rather be off flying his secret dragon, which he can’t let anyone know about because dragon’s are despicable creatures that should be hunted and hung up on walls for decorations.
Astrid is a young woman who works for a secret organization which has a dubious intent. She’s kind of a special agent of sorts.
They end up crossing paths and partnering up, but I haven’t really come up with a plot yet so I don’t know what they do. They’re hiding from the law and Hiccup’s father, while doing missions or something of that sort for this organization.
but enough with all that boring stuff. I’ve officially given up trying to make HTTYD characters look like freaking Httyd characters. These look nothing like the characters they’re supposed to.
I need to learn how to draw these characters. So you may not see a lot of this au (even though I’m constantly thinking of it) until I manage to figure out how to make my art not suck so bad.
boku no hero academia is legitimately one of the best manga in serialization right now. the writing and plot are top-notch, the art is phenomenal, the characters both male and female are given loving detail and development… I re-read every new chapter a couple of times over, just to re-experience it and look for new information.
So onemuseleftwrote a thing last night, and since I was the reason why, I figured I should share the words that inspired her fic.
However, they aren’t nearly as fun as hers.
“So is this what you did with my
dad?” Eggsy asks, damn him. The one question Harry would have done
anything to avoid having to answer.
Slumped on the couch, Eggsy is kind of smiling, but in a way that shows he’s unsure
about whether or not he wants to hear the answer. “You teach him how to
make martinis, too?"
"No,” Harry says. Although he would have.
Eggsy just looks at him, holding his martini glass, waiting for
the rest of it.
It’ll be like ripping off a bandage, Harry tells himself. Just
get it over with.
“Your father and I didn’t actually spend any of the
twenty-four hours together,” he says.
Obviously surprised, Eggsy blinks. “Why not?"
"When the candidates were released,” Harry says,
“your father asked me if he could spend the day with his wife and son,
instead of with me. I told him no."
It takes a little bit for the meaning to sink in. Harry watches
Eggsy, waiting for the moment when Eggsy’s hero worship tips the other way,
becomes bitter resentment and righteous anger.
In the beginning, right after Lee’s death, he had hated himself
for that refusal, for not letting Lee spend one last day with his wife and
child. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t have known Lee would not get another
chance. He had never forgiven himself for it – especially once he had actually
met the family Lee would never get to see again.
Eggsy’s eyes harden, just as Harry expected. But he doesn’t get
angry. He just says, very quiet, "So what did he do?"
"Nothing,” Harry says. “He returned to
headquarters and as far as I know he remained there the entire time. I didn’t
see him again until the next day, when it was time for the dog test.” He
looks away. “Your father passed that test, as did James. So we moved on.
Merlin and I took them both into the field. And I believe you know the
Eggsy is silent for a long time. He stares into the alcohol at
the bottom of his glass. After a while he looks up. "Yeah,” he says.
“I guess I do.” He stands up, sets his glass down, and walks away.
Not out the front door, though, as Harry expected. Instead he goes
Harry stands very still, not sure what to do next. Should he go
to Eggsy or not? He has absolutely no idea what happens now.
But Eggsy didn’t leave. No matter what else happens tonight, he
has this much at least. When faced with the knowledge that Harry had denied his
father one last chance to see him, Eggsy had chosen to stay.
Greta laughed, surprised, as she felt herself gathered into the arms of the taller man. Her giggling continued as she pressed her face against Harys’ tunic — so startled at the sudden show of affection she could barely say anything coherent. Tears still clung to her eyelashes, leftover from the crying jag she’d gone on only a moment before. Loud, messy sobs that Harys had no doubt heard.
She’d had it again — the same nightmare that had haunted her for weeks. The one filled with blood and screaming and her body being ripped in two. A nightmare so real she could feel the loneliness and grief clawing at her insides until she was left ragged like a worn doll. A nightmare that you’re supposed to wake up from — relieved that it was only just that.
Voice came out manic, high-pitched. Still giggling. She pressed her face against Harys’ barrel chest, hoping he wouldn’t mind having his clothes stained wet with another woman’s tears. His arms wrapped around the narrow, shaking form of her body, but she kept her own pinned tightly against her, as if she could make herself smaller if she just tried.
“Dream…” Eyes closed, and if she peered through the darkness, she could make a shape out. Something just out of reach. “It was just a bad dream. I woke up and… no one was there.”
For a moment fear had struck her — first an unbearable, choking heat, and then a chill that settled deep in her chest, piercing her lungs. Waking up with no one beside her — it brought feelings of helplessness back in waves. Loss. She’d experienced it countless times before, but never like this. NEVER.
“I’m sorry…” Giggling died down to something soft and broken. A hand reached up, fingers curling into the fabric of the man’s shirt. If she kept her eyes shut like this, she could pretend. Pretend that he’d never been taken from her.
He had been there so many times before.
It was difficult not to recognize a person tormented by a night terror after having experienced them for years now. Through her shaking, chocked giggling & tightly shut eyes Harys could make out a reflection of himself. They affected him in a different way, most times, but that could not fool him, make him confuse them with anything else.
He still wasn’t decided on what was worse — waking up to deal with the aftermath on your own, or being exposed to the wrong person in such a state. He’d get lucky sometimes, if Gryff was there, & although it terrified the younger man just as much, he was still able to help. More often, it’d happen vice versa, & that’s where the giant of a man got most of his experience from( although having experienced it first hand played a part as well ).
His strong arms were wrapped around the other’s miniature trembling frame, slowly pressing her closer, firmly but carefully steadying her & trying to make the viscious shaking subside. He used one hand to rub circles on Greta’s upper back, smooth & rhytmic, as if trying to replace the hectic shaky movements with something soothing, solid. There was a wet spot forming on his shirt where her tears were spilled, & that feeling instantly made him move even closer, lowering his head so that Greta’s blond locks touched the rough facial hair on the side of his face.
“That’s right.” His usual hoarse, steely voice could not seem best-fitting for calming down & comforting, but he had had to lower it & change intonations to something soft & warm so many times it was no longer a challenge. “It was just a bad dream.” The man spoke quietly, but not exactly whispering, right into her ear, as his hand kept on petting the woman’s back. “Everything’s fine now.” Short, simple & legible phrases with brief pauses between them were the best, as they’d be easier for her to perceive right now. “I’m here.”
Continuing to steady Greta with one hand, he quickly moved the other to grab the edge of the blanket & pull it closer, wrapping it around her shoulders. What could be the demons that haunted her in the night? Memories, images & sounds of what? One could think a cheerful young lady would be less likely to have such horrors in her past — the truth was, those who could not protect themselves often have had been through even more than men, that fought their wars with swords & spears, with death accompanying them to the battlefield, always close, always real.
( If someone caught them like this, it was going to be a damn mess — rumors about lady Whitehill & the guard of her brother-in-law sequestering in her bedchambers at night would certainly be fun to deal with. )
“Don’t apologize.” Those thoughts hardly bothered Harys at the moment. Cradling Greta in his arms, he brought one up to stroke her hair, those motions falling into a quiet rhytmic pattern. “You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing of this is your fault.”