To the Horizon
To The Horizon
by Handful Of Stars
Izuku hasn't been in Musutafu since he was a kid, all big green curly hair and scraped knees. He wasn't much different now, perhaps a bit taller and for sure a lot quieter. A part of him finds cruelty in the fact he's returning here, to the school he never thought would accept someone who was quirkless. Yet here he was, on a train with his bag on his lap and the sun in his eyes.
OR: Midoriya Izuku returns to Musutafu with a fully paid tuition to attend UA for reasons he wasn't sure of. The only thing he has is hope, a broken dream, and the mysterious vision of the melancholy velvet room.
Words: 4242, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Persona Series, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia, Persona 5, Persona 4, Persona 3
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Uraraka Ochako, Iida Tenya, Todoroki Shouto, Asui Tsuyu, Yaoyorozu Momo, Shinsou Hitoshi, Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijirou, Eri, Class 1-A, Sasaki Mirai | Sir Nighteye, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Nedzu, Original Characters, Izumi Kouta, Tokoyami Fumikage, Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Jirou Kyouka, Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko, Hadou Nejire, Amajiki Tamaki, Toogata Mirio
Relationships: Midoriya Izuku/Shinsou Hitoshi, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Persona Fusion, Shinsou Hitoshi Replaces Mineta Minoru, Midoriya Izuku Has One for All Quirk, Wild Card Midoriya Izuku, mentions of past bullying, uraraka ochako has an accent, Aged-Up Character(s), Social Links | Confidants (Persona Series), Not Beta Read, Friends to Lovers, Parental Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Shadow Midoriya Izuku, kind of, Nonbinary Todoroki Shouto, Misgendering, The Velvet Room (Persona Series), Todoroki Enji | Endeavor's Bad Parenting, Pre-Canon, muscular uraraka ochako, Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia Manga Spoilers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Personas Have Personalities, Midoriya Izuku moved away, General Education Department Midoriya Izuku
Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31031726
why is my brain like this ....
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CrossOver Mac Crack is a versatile multiplatform supergenius software. You can use it to run various window applications on your Mac OS.
funny hatoful crossover
Navarre’s Japanese voice actor also does the CV for Shuu Iwamine from the Hatoful Boyfriend CD drama
And my OC as the MC from the Shuu ending, but smiley ig
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Wow, I think I just fell in love with the Bee Gees...
They remind me of ELO in a lot of ways, like they're both their own thing, but I think it's the harmonies and the more disco-y songs are on par with ELO's Discovery
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In hopes to attract some more attention to my works, I’m posting a preview of the prologue/first chapter of the 40k x RWBY crossover story I’m writing. A link to the thread on Space Battles Forum will be posted at the bottom of the thread.
Synopsis: Magnus the Red, revived and redeemed through means arcane and ill-understood, has migrated to the world of Remnant after aiding his father in breathing life into a dying empire. With his sons, he will prove himself to the galaxy and to himself, or he will perish alongside the world of Dust he has pledged his life to.
Beacon Academy’s library was not the most elegant structure—it did not need to be. It was pragmatic in its design, generous perhaps in its dimensions, however. Large, with open space allowing for room to grow its interior. Walls that were half-a-foot thick, comprised of materials that could resist the force of a Megaton Bomb, if it were to exist on this strange world.
Despite these shortcomings, it still managed to awe the students as they entered, immediately greeted by a gothic marvel, akin to that of an, albeit simple, large cathedral. The front doors were wide, comprised of dark, well-conditioned and well-made wood that could withstand the blast of a grenade without even a scratch, battened by flat steel reinforcements along its top and bottom sections, riveted with gold and brass. Above that door, arching up to converge at a single point from which a stone gargoyle would sit upon an arched outcropping, and above that stone guardian, was a window. Stained glass in the shape of a nigh-perfect circle, plagued by the imperfections of the tools at hand, but certainly not the craftsmanship. It was no particular depiction displayed in the colourful window, yet many students still claimed to see figures in its visage.
Upon exiting the foyer—entering deeper into the mighty library, dubbed the Magnus Librariae, the Greatest Library, this theme only continues. High ceilings are accented by light fixtures that mimic the silhouette of candles, even giving the faintest flicker every so often to perform its best imitations of a wicked stick of wax. Walls with grandiose architecture that was painted along the curved roof to depict many a battle from that Great War which ended some eighty years before. The murals and the stories told by them, however, ultimately serve little other than to add an air to the building, something it accomplished well. Students respected this place above all others—no fights broke out in its expansive interior. No rules laid out by the quaint, feeble old man that called himself the librarian, were ignored or disobeyed. Books were placed on shelves where they belonged, and they remained nearly as pristine as the day they were taken off the printing presses.
Among the many towering shelves of the Beacon Library, a single book, one with no fancy cover or elegant text upon its spine, a simplistic, yet exquisitely crafted, leather-backed tome, sat upon a shelf. This shelf contained many tomes like it, each one unique in its contents if not its cover, but this one, so simple among such elegantly, flamboyantly crafted tomes, had the luck of catching the eye of the first woman to read its contents in so very long.
Pyrrha Nikos, while not much of a scholarly type in her own right, could still appreciate a good book. A good pastime when one spent as many hours as her or her team did recovering from battle wounds or engaging in the oh so arduous and pressing task of simply finding peace. Pyrrha couldn’t quite place what had drawn her to decide to read upon the topic of history. Perhaps Oobleck’s lessons were starting to get through to her, learning of history, after all, is the best way to avoid repeating those past mistakes in the future. Perhaps it had been the simple cover of the tome, the black sheep among the flock of silver-coated, shimmering lambs. Perhaps it had simply been fate.
Pyrrha took the tome from the shelf, finding herself coughing as long-settled dust was released from its still place along the ill-searched shelf. A brush of her hand and the cover became clearer, the title in simple, bold font along the top sect of the book, not too small that one must bring it closer to properly read, yet not too large as to take up any amount of space wider than a young woman’s hand. On the dusty, sage cover of the historical text, read the title:
SORTIARIUS, THE LOST CITY OF THE SHARPENED DREAMERS.
Pyrrha hummed softly as she mulled over the title. A brief flip-through showed the book in fair condition, with very little wear on its pages from frequent readings like some of the more popular tomes, like that of the Faunus scholar Mitellus and his reflections on the prejudice of man and beast, or the influential military tomes of Taurus Rex that taught many of the young students the advanced combat techniques utilized by full-fledged Huntsmen and Huntresses, or even that of the popular comic series, Pumpkin Pete’s Bizarre Adventure. This one was different, different enough to warrant being tucked under Pyrrha’s arm, against the bronzed cuirass of her outfit alongside the dozen other thick books already waiting, yet still a black sheep among a sea of ebon wool in comparison to the rest.
The shelves of the library were not only tall—dwarfing Pyrrha like a grown adult man to a toddler and then some—but they were dense. Sound had issues fully traveling in some places, especially the historical literature sections and discerning one’s location had become such a crisis that electronic signs would be mounted along the narrow of the shelves in order to direct students to where they wished to go. Even such a knowledgeable woman like Pyrrha found herself using the screens to get back to the main foyer of the library, the notorious two-floored, incredibly simplistic in comparison, warmly-lit main area where students gathered at tables to study and where the more commonly-read tombs were positioned on significantly smaller shelves than their taller, broader cousins in the deep of the library.
Soon enough however, the crimson-haired girl found herself weaving out from the shelves of the library and toward the wooded balcony overlooking the humble librarian’s station, situated cozily against the wall, alongside the main tables, where she would find her friends of Ruby and her wonderful team, alongside her beloved comrades in Team JNPR. Pyrrha quickened her pace, quietly speed-walking down a stairwell off to the right before emerging from past a column which supported the stairs she’d mantled. Ruby was the first to spot her, waving frantically to Pyrrha before the rest of her friends did the same, happy to see their friend alive and in one piece after her oh-so-brave venture into the heart of the library of Beacon, plentifully notorious for having many a student get lost in its winding halls for days on end before being found.
“Pyrrha! We thought you got lost,” Jaune said to his teammate with a smile as he turned to greet her, his blonde mop of hair obscuring the upper parts of his eyes as he shifted. Nora quickly bounced up from her seat like a helium-infused rocket and hugged her dear red-headed friend.
“Haha! I’m glad to see you’re safe—and not just because Ruby and I had a bet over whether you would get lost in the library,” Nora rambled as she embraced her friend, the raven-haired tiny reaper seething quietly at her seat with a hint of amusement drawing at the corners of her lips. Pyrrha allowed herself to giggle a bit at the antics of her friends before sliding into one of the wooden chairs beside Jaune, books neatly taken from the crook of her arm and stacked atop one another. Her eyes drifted curiously down to the sage-backed book at the top, the tale of the Lost City, a story of which she was endlessly curious about now. Not once in any of her history lessons, from the youngest of ages to now, had she even been vaguely made aware of this city, this Sortiarius. It baffled her mind and tempted her as her fingers graced the ribbed spine before gently taking it into her right hand, pushing softly the heavy stack of tomes off to the side in order to make room for the one which now held her full attention. Flipping it open to the front page, she was met with the author’s name and the opening words. She read the words in her mind after taking a deep breath.
‘It is in this tome that I, Helio Kalliston, noble orator of the final dynasty of the Redguard Guild of Serfs and Peasants, enclose the fullest history of the noble city of Sortiarius, from its earliest days as a result of colonization turned to migration by the various nations of the time, to its final days, collapsing at the hand of the damned Grimm…’
Pyrrha was quickly sucked into the elegant words of Helio Kalliston. He described a city borne from the ashes of apocalypse at the hands of Grimm, forged by the ancient and venerable Crimson King, a towering giant of a man who wielded the very weather in his own hands as he led his people from all the way in Solitas as the tyrant-kings rose to power, all the way across the ocean and through many villages, saving those they could from the rampaging hordes of Grimm that followed the melancholic band of knights that followed the King, whose powers were legend among the descendants of the Sortiarians. One story described a knight in full plate that carried the very hand of the righteous God of the Sun along his right arm, melting Grimm with beams of glowering orange heat, whilst the snarling, hateful axe of the God of the Underworld was clasped in his left, using these weapons to strike down any, man, woman or Grimm that dared stand in the way of him and his King. The legends enraptured Pyrrha like few things had done before—the harrowing tales of a city being forged from the fires of a Grimm-infested forest filled her with excitement, whilst the tales of the many dynasties of the philosopher-kings thrilled her, before saddening her upon their deaths upon the eve of long-gone centuries past. Pyrrha had no concept of how much time had passed as she fingered through the pages of the historical literature, allowing the outside world to bleed away until it was only her and the fated words of Helio Kalliston, the final orator of Sortiarius and its dynasties before the city’s destruction, described in the final words of the tome, written in by a second writer who included what Helio could not in the final manuscript. To think that any of this could have possibly been true, even if exaggerated, amazed Pyrrha. She lamented thoroughly how dozens of other records were used to cross-reference and act as intellectual sources for the knowledge of the tome and, though it was long, it seemed almost hollow. Reading the ending sentiments at the back revealed to her the unfortunate truth—that the tome was meant as the summary to a longer line of historical records which would cover in detail the many aspects of life in Sortiarius, from the socio-political battlegrounds to the innerworkings of the nigh mystical Redguard, the angelic warriors who defended the city to the last man, woman and child, the incorruptible few among the fallible many. How she would love to sink into the past and simply see what it may have been… however her fantasies were cut short by a nudge from Jaune. Promptly looking up, Pyrrha found the eyes of their table entirely on her. Cheeks flushed and quietly turning to Jaune for an answer, she sputtered out an embarrassed excuse to her silence.
“I-I’m sorry, I was so enraptured in my reading I didn’t even hear you if you were speaking to me.” Jaune smiled and nodded in understanding.
“I know the feeling. Those Pumpkin Pete graphic novels always have me glued to my seat!” The wholesome smile on their naïve leader’s face was something to be appreciated when it showed, Pyrrha had learn to do as the naivety—or perhaps innocence—of Jaune was enough to bring joy to both their teams in ways that would become scarce in their later years. This moment was no exception, giggles spreading across the table before Pyrrha responded.
“Well… While I can say that I’ve read those, albeit for a children’s charity some time ago… this book is one I don’t think I’ve ever heard of,” Pyrrha spoke with curiosity mixed into her tone, bringing forth that same emotion from her fellows.
“That’s so weird! You’re like one of the biggest bookworms I know, how have you not read this one?” Nora asked loudly as she came in close to her Mistralian comrade, the girl rocking backward to compensate for the distance lost between them.
“Well… I don’t know. It was in the historical section in the deeper parts of the library. It talks about an ancient civilization that was around before any of the four kingdoms, called Sortiarius.” Pyrrha explained the book in simpler terms to her younger and more… immature friends.
“It was this city that existed, well, we don’t know how long ago, but the footnotes suggest thousands of years ago! They were a kingdom, well, closer to a city-state, but they were a big one. Their government was a complex bureaucracy guided by mentor-figures called ‘The Philosopher Kings’ who ruled over the city. According to this book, they had mastered the art of using the soul as a tool that they could perform minor acts of what they considered sorcery. Although, I’m not so sure if that last part is real… ultimately it wouldn’t matter all that much, their city fell to the Grimm and internal strife long before even Vale was around,” Pyrrha explained to the best of her ability. While it wasn’t difficult in by any definition of the word, it certainly wasn’t simple by any means either. She had barely gotten through the first three chapters and it had been at least an hour. She let out a minor huff of irritation as she stared down at the book—as interesting as it was, she didn’t have the free time in any week to reliably put in enough time to read and retain whatever information could be gleamed from the book. However, judging by how the weapons were described in those opening three chapters, she had a fair idea of who might find better use of the book.
Pyrrha Nikos flipped the book shut and stretched out her arms before turning her gaze to the young, raven-haired red reaper.
“Ruby, you love weapons… you should read this. The Redguard—the city’s defense force, huntsmen of the time, they used some of the most advanced-sounding weapons I’ve read about, guns that fired some sort of energy and something called a ‘chainsword,’ among other things.” She placed her hands over the book and thumbed the cover as she asked, admiring the simplicity in the design for a moment before her eyes caught Ruby’s own orbs turning to saucers.
“Chainsword? As in a chainsaw-sword? Guns?! What kind of guns?! Sniper rifles? Shotguns? Pistols? Automatic weapons?! I demand to know moooore!” Ruby all-but belly-flopped onto the table as she got close to Pyrrha and the precious book, hands reaching out to snatch it, though the fiery-haired champion tugged the ancient tome back before her young friend could snag it.
“This book is very old, Ruby, be careful with it.” She was prepared to lecture the girl slightly, though feeling that was more the white-haired ice queen’s—as the rowdier students had nicknamed her, rather rudely—job than hers. The pouty face given by Ruby had not helped much either.
“I will! I promise,” Ruby said softly upon Pyrrha bringing the book closer. The younger girl took the tome in her hands for a moment and did the same as her compatriot—just finding a moment to admire the simple design, where so many others were elegant, vain and loud, this one was… humble. Quiet, soft-spoken. It knew that what it contained was worthy of her eyes, it was confident to such a degree that it did not need such a vain and flashy cover. A simple, leather, sage-green cover with neat, lightly-coloured, tall and bold font to display its title and the purpose of the tome. Something about it relieved Ruby’s mind as she took the book and scooted back into her seat. She slipped it into her bag after a moment of contemplation longer and refocused herself on studying.
Some hours had gone by, studying, socializing, and doing the part of students as best as could be expected of them. Eventually the sun grew tired and dipped below the horizon, allowing for the fractured moon of Remnant to rise in its place. The students, having spent their day studying, were unified with the sun in their exhaustion. So, after a long day of studying, the two teams separated from one another, said their goodbyes, and retired to their dorms. Whilst most members of the teams were quick to lay their heads to sleep, there was one outlier among them.
Through the darkest hours of the night and to the early morning of the next day, Ruby sat at her desk and poured over the tome. Vast in density with its glorious renditions of battles between the mystical Redguard, towering giants that were rumoured to be ancient half-automata half-man, and the darkest and most formidable forms of Grimm that Ruby had ever seen depicted. Real or not, the images were nice to look at and that was where most of her time was spent, for despite the thickness of the tome, it still bore little content. Pyrrha’s assessment of the book had proved painfully correct, as it referred to so many dozens of other books that were likely long gone.
Her hunger for knowledge, always satiable, overwhelmed the young raven-haired reaper and she found herself redressed and quietly sneaking off to the library in those dark hours of the early morning. As she came to those huge oaken doors, Ruby paused.
Would the doors be locked? Would this all have been for naught? No, she would get her answers. Did that mean breaking in? Or did that mean waiting till morning? There were classes and countless trainings the next day, she wouldn’t get a chance like this again. But what if she was caught?
Her endless tirade of paranoid thoughts was stopped when the doors slowly creaked open, startling the girl as the humble librarian quietly pulled the door open and stared at her. He was hunchbacked ever slightly, wearing a brown robe that enclosed a thin body, while frail, had once been muscular and built like brick and steel. His face was wide, likely statuesque in his youth, but years fighting had scarred his face and old age wrinkled the once handsome features.
“You should be in bed, young one,” he greeted quietly after a brief staring contest that might have lasted a few seconds too long.
“I-I know, but I read this book and I just wanted to know more-!” Ruby began to explain in a lapse of mild panic, only for the librarian to raise a hand to silence her as he spotted the ancient tome in her hands.
“I am not one to judge the practices of those seeking knowledge… Gods know that would make me a hypocrite,” he opened the door fully and beckoned the young Ruby Rose in. The library was quietly lit by golden candlelight, the dim flickering shading the librarian’s face in soft yellows and oranges, highlighting the scars along his left cheek, burns, cuts, gauges in the wrinkled flesh. It intimidated the girl a moment, but the knowing smile invited her into the expansive library, and she took the offer gladly, clutching the sage-backed tome in her arms as she entered Beacon Library, the door closing behind her softly.
Soon, Ruby was sitting with a small stack of disappointingly thin tomes that could barely equate to the width of the historical, sage-backed volume, but it was enlightening, nonetheless. A cup of steaming tea sat at the opposite side to the books, on a ceramic saucer. Across from her, sat the librarian, pouring over a quiet-looking book. She shifted in her seat for a moment and waited to see the reaction from the old man across from her. When none came, she sat her head on her hands and sighed exaggeratedly. No response. The young reaper wriggled in her chair for a while before she couldn’t take the silence anymore without books to pour over.
“I still can’t believe that this place used to exist,” Ruby blurted. The librarian peeked up from the book he was reading, raising an eyebrow curiously.
“You’re unsure of the truth,” the librarian spoke softly as he closed his book, sliding it to his left. Ruby hesitantly nodded.
“The way they describe the weapons and these drawings, they just seem… unreal. Like something out of a fantasy book. They said the one captain, Hastar H’Kett, he had a weapon that was like… some kind of lance of orange light and all the pictures show him doing all this crazy stuff—it just… it feels more like a legend than ancient history, y’know?” Ruby ranted rapidly, red-faced and rosy as the old librarian stared at her with an amused expression gracing his features. He folded his hands together and sat them in front of him as he began.
“Well, I can assure you. This,” he pointed to the book, tapping its cover with his index finger, “it is our history. Remnant’s history. Some of those images were… exaggerated, but I can tell you that they very much had weapons like how those flowery words describe.” He grinned as Ruby became bemused at first, her forehead scrunching as her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes darted back and forth in thought.
“It… they’re not lances. They’re guns. But… how could that be possible!?! No Dust weapons could even accomplish stuff like this even now!” Ruby asked incredulously. In return, the humble librarian laughed softly, tapping a hand gently to the table, understating what would be a symbol of exaggerated laughter. Perhaps it was a sign of his age catching up with him, making him more soft-spoken. Perhaps it was simply an action to be amusing to the young student, a goal he readily achieved as Ruby tittered at his antics, something that brought a smile to his aged facial features.
“Well, I can at least tell you a story. Something passed down in my family… it all began in those olden days when most men fought with spears, swords and axes. Not the Sortiarites, they used majestic automata and weapons the like of which would never be known again…”
SB Forums thread:
bro i can tell you things about makoto naegi and izuru kamukura that kodaka himself doesnt know
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✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* rhysand x marvel!reader
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ dealing with the aftermath of the snap and the grief that follows
one morning, rhysand, feyre, and the inner circle are having breakfast when they turn to ash, leaving only rhysand behind. he can feel the bond break as she turns to nothing, the absent tattoo they chose to break burning on his arm, a constant reminder of what should have been. rhysand, unhinged as ever without the presence of his inner circle, scours the world for an answer. amren, the only one who remained, tells him there's no hope. they're gone and there's nothing he can do. still, he searches. he pretends not to notice amren doing the same.
seven months later, the looming prospect of joining his mate in the next world is constant. finally, he gets his answer with the arrival of a girl named y/n.
the snap. a man named thanos. half of everything just gone. he finds himself bitter when he hears her speak; how had whole families made it? whole groups of friends? how had some made it entirely untouched. "nothing made it out unharmed, rhysand," you merely chided. he thinks that isn't true. he thinks that he was fine with the entire world burning if it meant he could go with his family.
the girl had lost a lover in the snap. she'd lost friends, family, and the delight of peace. she tells him she plans on doing whatever it takes to get them back. that rhysand was free to help if he wished.
he feels hope for the first time. he returns to her universe, the large buildings and the skies that carry metal. the strange scent. the hard to breathe air. he hates it. he accepts it. if only to get away from the now-empty streets of velaris. the hollow city that was once bustling with life. away from the mountains of males that he'd once liked to slaughter.
he finds he doesn't mind her company. her foreign tongue, sharp words, odd way of speaking, and the way she speaks of things he doesn't understand gives him a break from the mess going on in his head.
(all he needs is a break. the screaming and the rage. the desperation—)
she feels the same. "we get them back," you said slowly one night. the large windows looked out at the lit city, still shining brightly despite the loss of life. "or we die trying. there—there isn't another opinion. not for me. not for you. all or nothing,"
"all or nothing," rhysand repeats, downing the harsh tasting liquor. that night, desperate for relief, for a break, for anything at all other than the pain in their chests, they tear at each other's clothes. they leave bruises and red welts from nails in the flesh of the other. they welcome the pain. it is both a punishment and small mercy.
it keeps them going another day.
the days are filled with natasha and bruce and a man named tony. they are filled with tears and rage and a void he cannot describe. he was the survivor yet he feels like he hadn't been. a counselor had given him a pamphlet that states being a survivor is an honor. that it is bravery and strength.
(he doesn't think he possesses either of those things. not now. not without her)
he listens to the theories she has. the plans she and her lover had made. he listens to her screams as she mourns. and she does the same for him.
she doesn't balk when he tells her of those early days when he slaughtered those that remained solely because they lived and feyre and his brothers did not. "i did something similar," you shrugged, clear you hadn't wanted to continue the conversation.
slowly, haphazardly in a calm that is both fragile and unbreakable, they force the other out of their hole of grief. it's done messily, some days the other speaking cruelties to the other to brandish them with the pain they feel.
their grief does not lessen. it doesn't become more bearable. rather, they learned to live with it. they learned to cope.
they focus on learning the other's bodies. the language of their souls. the sound of their laughter. the shape of the other's bodies.
they speak of the ones they loved. some days, it feels like they've known them for centuries. feyre and the girl's lover are not forgotten. they are not thrown to the side and abandoned. they are not collecting dust. they're everpresent. they're a living thing. they're nourished on shed tears, the pained laughter, and rose lensed memories.
it's been two years now. the hole is no longer gaping and bruised. it no longer weeps each morning.
he often wakes beside her, the broken bond throbbing in merriment.
(survive, it seems to say. in any way possible)
y/n and rhysand build peace. they build hopes for their future. they do not consider that leaving the other behind will be harder. they do not think of the wounds that will bring.
for now, they're content with what they have.
they're content with each other.
it's all they have to give.
years three and four passes.
the bond between only grows stronger.
drunk on the taste of vodka, renewed grief at the four-year mark, and the touch of the other's bodies, rhysand whispered, "i wish i met you before. i wish i had known you in a life where we weren't ruled by grief. i wish i could have you anyway i wanted. and, cauldron, i want you more than anything,"
he would never have your heart and soul. you would never have his.
you never expected that of the other.
you kissed a scar above his heart, the flesh tingles in response, "in another life, rhys,"
"in another life, y/n,"
in another life, they could wholly love each other. in another life, they would belong to the other. in this life, they're spoken for. in the next, they'd get their tale.
the fifth year gets them what they wanted. five years pass, the girl and rhysand more than surviving. they've built a home. they wormed their souls into the others without remorse.
the morning before the battle, she pulls rhysand close. "in another life."
he had known it for what it was; a goodbye.
his stitched heart tears. his blood runs black and cold.
it ends the way they hoped; their lovers returned to them. at what cost? natasha and tony have died. he wishes to hold you at their funerals. he can't. not with your lover's arms thrown around you.
you refuse to look at him. you can't stand the jealousy that clenches your heart at the sight of the girl you heard so much about. you cannot hate feyre archeron. she, without knowing, has become embedded in your heart. if only because she lies within rhysand.
as you watch him go for the last time, the only thing ringing through your ears is in another life.
it couldn't come soon enough.
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LO SIENTO PERO DEBÍA HACERLO AKSBALDJ-
by Son Izuku
This is a crack one-shot of the meme THINK MARK THINK! SV style.
Words: 451, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia, Dragon Ball
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Yagi Toshinori | All Might
Additional Tags: THINK MARK THINK, Meme, Crack, One-Shot, violence is always the answer, Tis short, Izuku not playing around, Izuku tired of bullshit
Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31181417
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Helping a Friend Out
Helping a Friend Out
by Ghostly Artisty
During Training For the 2nd Year Sports Festival, Denki was training when he spots Mineta training after he saves him from a training accident Mineta has something negative in his mind can Denki figure out what it is.
Words: 1201, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia, Super Smash Brothers
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Characters: Kaminari Denki, Mineta Minoru, Sero Hanta
Relationships: Kaminari Denki & Mineta Minoru, Mineta Minoru & Sero Hanta, Kaminari Denki/Sero Hanta
Additional Tags: Kaminari Denki is a Good Friend, Alternate Universe, References to Super Smash Brothers, Second Year Class 1-A, Mentioned Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead
Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31069709
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Finished posting the first episode of this series on Wattpad :) Excited about this series!
How to Take Out a Ghost by TooFineFoley
DannyMay Day 8 - Gravity
Summary: Valerie wanted to know how Team Phantom got so good at ghost hunting, but this isn't what she was expecting at all.
(she's glad she saw it though; it really helped with her self esteem)
Inspired by @danny-phantom-slut's posts on this tumblr thread
Valerie hovered the mouse over the play button, turning to her friend. “You know, this isn’t what I had in mind when I said I wanted to see how you guys hunt ghosts.”
Sam smirked. “Just watch it; it’s definitely better than anything you were expecting.” Valerie furrowed her brows in worry, but she turned back to the computer.
She hit play.
“Okay Tuck, when you’re ready.” Tucker cleared his throat.
“Hello, lovely people of the internet. My name’s TooFineFoley and today I’ll be showing you how to properly take out a ghost!” he said, hefting a large bazooka with ‘TFF’ painted in big blue letters over the Fenton logo. Tucker made a show of looking around before motioning to come closer. The camera moved forward and he put a finger to his mouth. “Shh, there's one close by,” he whispered.
He pointed upwards and the camera swung up. Above them, Phantom was floating on his back as he admired the night sky with a calm smile on his face.
The camera came back down to focus on Tucker who was now on one knee and aiming directly for the ghost boy. He grinned wide before pulling the trigger.
“Phantom! We need your help; there’s-” A woman in a magician’s outfit appeared out of thin air, directly in the line of fire. Tucker’s face changed from giddy to horrified. Then the hit and his reaction were replayed again in slow motion.
The video cut to the camera being held facing the rooftop, aimed at a pair of black combat boots. In the background, the only sounds are Tucker apologizing profusely to someone about misfires and flower bouquets.
“It’s alright, really,” the woman’s voice said, her urgent tone still present. “But right now we’ve got bigger fish to fry. Or rather, bigger ghosts.”
“Ghosts?” Phantom’s echoing voice was filled with confusion. “But I’m right here?”
“Yeah, we would’ve heard if there was an attack going on.” Sam’s voice chimed in, louder than the others.
“It’s not in Amity Park. It’s up there.” The large bazooka fell to the rooftop, rolling slightly to rest against Sam’s boot in the frame.
“Please please please take us with you!” Tucker begged. “We can help Da-, uh, Phantom take down the ghost!” There was a brief moment of silence. Then the microphone picked up a muffled groan.
“Oh, uh, yeah. They should come.” The magician sighed and mumbled something about there being no time before a bright light engulfed the screen. The camera turned to static.
“You brought kids?!” A voice off screen yelled, followed by the sounds of dozens of heavy objects slamming into metal, something snapping, then a crash.
“She brought Team Phantom!” Sam yelled back. The camera readjusted so that it was now looking at the fight scene in front of them.
Hundreds of glowing boxes and cubed objects of various sizes flew at dangerously high speeds around the room while Green Arrow, Superman, and a few others were attempting to either dodge and weave through the projectiles or fly straight through the chaos to catch the ghost at the center of the tornado. The camera panned quickly to the left where John Constantine swore colorfully.
“Zee I told you to only bring Casper, not his sidekicks!” he yelled, putting up a large magic shield as one section of an air vent came flying at him.
The camera shook as a hand came into view, flipping him the bird.
“We’re not sidekicks!” Tucker said indignantly. Constantine ignored them and turned to Phantom.
“Listen, I don’t know what these chuckleheads did, but somehow a ghost managed to get up here and you’re the only one we know who can take care of it.”
“We’ve been trying to call you for hours!” Green Arrow shouted across the room as he dodged under a speaker blaring Britney Spears. “Where the hell were you?!”
Sam groaned and muttered a soft curse and Tucker chuckled nervously. Phantom yelled something inaudible back as he whirled through the air trying to shoot some of the boxes down. One of the larger boxes came shooting towards the camera and it was about to connect when it was suddenly yanked out of the way.
Something sparked wildly at the corner of the screen and a robotic voice announced the failure of the artificial gravity system. The camera started to float in the air for a few moments before a hand waved in front of the screen and grabbed it, covering most of the lens.
The sound of screeching, air blowing heavily on the mic, loud thumps, and, finally, an introduction.
“I am The Box Ghost!” the ghost yelled. “Master of all things Cardboard and Cubed!”
The fingers slid away from the lens revealing a glowing green bubble around the camera. The camera focused on the center of the room where a short blue ghost in purple overalls held up his arms and wiggled his fingers menacingly.
“Now tremble in fear as I turn the Watchtower into... THE BOX TOWER!” The sound of maniacal laughter filled the large room and many of the lights blew out, while the rest turned an extremely bright blue.
Phantom blew raspberries.
“You guys needed us for Boxy??” He clutched his stomach and laughed his head off. The camera moved from Phantom to some heroes still dodging or destroying boxes and back to Phantom. He continued laughing hysterically, Sam’s snorting and Tucker’s cackling joining in.
When Superman finally got to the ghost and punched through him, the three of them started howling and the camera was left floating freely in the air once more.
The video was sped up. High pitched laughter continued on for several minutes as various heroes passed by the screen, some turning to say something to Phantom who was still clutching his stomach, but now intangible so all the projectiles passed harmlessly through him. The bubble moved quickly a few times to dodge incoming boxes and then Phantom started to calm down. He flew intangibly through the swirling disaster of debris and boxes to float in front of the Box Ghost. The video resumed at normal speed.
“Alright enough games.” The ghost boy pointed to the ground. “Put ‘em down.”
“Foolish child, I-”
“I mean it Boxy,”—he crossed his arms—“or else you get a week of Soup Time.” The Box Ghost pouted, but obliged, slumping his shoulders and letting the boxes and cubed objects float on their own.
Phantom nodded. “Good, now hold on for a minute while I have a chat with the League.”
After several minutes, the camera dropped a few centimeters before fumbling in two pairs of hands. Muffled sounds and one “I got it!” and then it steadied, watching the glowing green bubble slowly recede and turn into a platform. Slowly, the combat boots and a pair of red runners were set down on the floor as the camera swiftly moved to focus on the ghost. He noticed and turned to it.
“I am the Box Ghost!” he shouted, floating over to the camera. “Fear me!”
“Shh,” an echoey voice said off screen. The camera turned to the huddled heroes. Phantom was facing the ghost and put a finger to his lips, pointing to a spot beside the Zeta tubes. “Boxy go play in the corner for a minute, okay? The superheroes are talking.” Grumbling, Box Ghost complied, all the boxes he was controlling moving to create a fort beside the box-stuffed Zeta tubes. A faraway “What the fuck?” could be heard from the group off screen.
Tucker scooted over to the fort followed closely by the camera, he and Sam arguing about the ethics of forcing ‘Danny’ to have a day off. The camera was handed off to a pair of black hands and then the goth yanked the ghost out by his overalls, pinning him against the front wall of boxes.
“When we said ‘get lost where he couldn’t find you’ we didn’t mean space,” Sam hissed.
“Your exact words were, and I quote,”—he pitched his voice lower—“‘You could get lost in space for all I care, just don’t be around Amity today!’”
“Okay that one’s on you,” Tucker said. Sam glared at the camera. It shifted slightly and a hand waved around in front of the screen, unperturbed. “We meant, like, Chicago or something.”
“Or at least not the Watchtower.” She shook her head. “Seriously, were you listening at all when we told you why we wanted you gone today?”
“What does it matter now,” the ghost said, rolling his eyes, “this Justice League will likely attempt to interrogate me as to my goals here,”—he puffed out his chest—“but of course, I, The Box Ghost, could never-”
“You better not snitch,” she said in a low tone, narrowing her eyes. The Box Ghost shrunk back, nodding fervently. “Good.” The girl let him go and the camera was traded off once more.
The camera refocused on Tucker grinning widely. “Oops!” he said loudly, popping off the Thermos cap to ‘accidentally’ suck up the ghost.
Off screen, Phantom yelled, “Tucker!”.
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DannyMay 2021. Day Eight
Danny looked at the girl floating with him, and the accessories around her: a backpack, a notebook and an electrolyte's drink.
On his part, he had chosen to lift with him the Fenton thermos, an actual soup thermos, and his math homework.
Whilst Ochako's stuff was floating around her with seemingly no outside input, his was surrounded by an ethereal glow derived from his ghostly nature, visibly linked to his own ghostly aura.
"I think your levitation is better, at least in control." He said.
"I wish it was more like yours, though! Because even if you can't keep your concentration long enough–" She stopped, turning green, and didn't need to finish her sentence as Danny saw why she'd trade levitation techniques, and why she brought that drink along, and also what she had for breakfast.
- - -
Please don't ask what this is about. I'm just gonna say that 1) the moment I read "gravity", Uraraka came to my mind and that girl didn't want to leave, 2) I tried to make this a drabble and 3) it didn't work :
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Do you think in a setting like Smash Brothers, visiting the specific worlds of the characters would make the foreign characters match that world’s specific visual style? Would it be better if they didn’t?
If say, Sephiroth went to the Animal Crossing world, would it be funnier for him to be reduced to a Villager-like design, or just have his 6’1” self walking around with a butterfly net?
The most I ever did for a crossover between Zombieland Saga and Gakkou Gurashi... ^ via Love Nikki, found a random person who made Sakura so I made Yuki and that’s just how it is?? 😂
Old but I did my best 💪💪
As requested by @bennett-slytherin.
“You’re making that face.”
“What face?” John asked, his eyes still on something else.
“That face you make when you’re planning on how to take someone in a public place.”
He finally turned to Natasha, a grin on his lips. “You do know me very well.”
She chuckled. “Who are you taking down?”
He liked how easy it was with her. She didn’t think it was strange he was considering killing someone during date night. “Can you see those three?”
Natasha followed the direction of his eyes and saw three young men loitering outside a convenience store. “Yes.”
“The other two across the street?”
“I think they’re following two girls that are inside the store.” John informed her.
Natasha looked at the other group again, in silence for a bit. “They have a friend with a van.” She said, clearly reading lips. “They’re waiting for the girls to come out.”
“Now what?” John asked her, seriously.
Natasha hummed. “You pay the bill and I’ll go to the store.”
“Are you sure?” It was a dangerous situation and he knew Natasha would want to protect the girls, but they’d been talking for a good while about going on a normal date night.
“Positive. Don’t take too long.”
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And @ayleecambell second request... The adventures of Sansa and Arthur and an accidental family ;)
Arthur was pretty sure he was having an out of body experience.
He could almost see himself from a distance, talking calmly to Sansa -that Sansa, the girl he’d never forgotten, the one he’d tried to find for such a long time -while his head was going a thousand miles an hour.
He was having this internal freakout, wondering about so many things, trying to accept what was so obvious…
Was that what a stroke felt like?
His head fell to his hands and he took a deep breath in.
“Arthur?” Sansa called softly. “Are you okay? I am so sorry. I didn’t really plan on telling you like this…”
Arthur raised a hand to stop her. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t. “I just need a minute here. It’s a lot of information.”
Sansa bit her lower lip, a sense of dread taking over her. She didn’t want to expect the worst from Arthur, but… Well… He wasn’t asking anything outrageous. He had just found out he had two kids! A minute was a very small request, but Sansa couldn’t stop thinking about…
“The first thing I want to know…” He spoke, breaking her train of thought. “Is if they’re okay. Are they healthy? Do they like school? I could see they are as good-looking as I am.”
Sansa stood there frozen for a minute, then she started crying.
“Sansa!” Arthur panicked and hurried to hold her. She hid her face on his chest.
“I’m so sorry.” She said, amidst her tears. “I was just… I am so relieved that you want to know about them.”
“Hey, Red.” He called softly, like he called her when they met. “Of course I want to know everything about them. I want to see them again, and get to know those kids. I’m sorry you had to go through this alone.”
Sansa looked into his eyes, grateful that he was now there, and she could finally tell him the truth, and get rid of this guilt and maybe…
That was the moment Arya and Robb entered the room. They looked from Sansa to Arthur, their eyes got really big and then…
“DAD! HE IS HERE!”
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As requested by @ayleecambell, more of Sansa x Arthur and the problems (or rewards) of a love potion ;)
Arthur scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah… Oh.”
“But you’ve never…” Sansa couldn’t even finish the sentence.
“Yeah.” He repeated slowly, then ran his fingers through his hair. “I really feel like I took advantage.”
“You don’t even remember it.” Sansa pointed out -not for the first time. He was really stuck on some parts of the incident. “If nothing else, I was the one who took advantage.”
He gave her a look. “How’s that?”
Sansa cleared her throat. “There was a significant delay between you drinking the potion and me doing something about it.”
Arthur arched an eyebrow at her, that damned smirk of his making an appearance. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms and refused to say more.
Arthur stretched his leg, hooking his foot on the leg of Sansa’s chair, then using it to pull her closer.
“Arthur!” Sansa squealed.
He opened his legs so he could pull Sansa’s chair as close as possible, then held on to the seat. “Explain the delay.” He asked.
Sansa felt herself getting red under his look. “Explain what you said about my couch.” She challenged back.
“It’s horrible.” He pointed out easily.
She glared at him, and Arthur chuckled. “And I’d love to spread you on…” She covered his mouth.
“I remember that part.” She cleared her throat. She lowered her hands slowly, her eyes holding his. “I didn’t think you were interested.”
Arthur groaned and let his head fall back. “I’m an idiot, Red.” He brought his eyes back to hers. “I thought you deserved better.”
She gave him a flat look. “And asking me never crossed your mind?”
“That’s why I’m an idiot.” He pointed out -quite happily.
Sansa shook her head. “What do I do with you?”
“You could start by telling me exactly what I said and did.” He offered. “It’s only fair.”
She scoffed. “Fair?”
“Yes. I don’t remember it, but you do.”
The corner of her mouth curved up. “You’ll need to buy me dinner first.”
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