#consider: phantom has a sword when he fights ghosts. how sick is that?

[starry-bi-sky]

There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.

He has an older brother

He was dead

(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)

Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.

The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.

His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.

However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.

Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.

(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)

(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)

(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")

("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")

(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")

(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)

(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)

"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"

Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."

Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.

(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)

But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.

And he scowls even deeper.

And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"

Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.

He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."

The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.

Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.

Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.

His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"

There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.

Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.

Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.

There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.

Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.

Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.

Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)

His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.

Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."

"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."

The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.

Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.

Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.

Danyal kills each one.

The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.

"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.

A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."

"Danya!"

Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.

(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)

The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."

Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.

"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.

Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."

"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.

Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.

Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.

Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."

Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."

"...So be it."

Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.

More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.

It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.

Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.

His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.

But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.

It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.

Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.

In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.

"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"

"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."

That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.

He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.

"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."

Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"

"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."

Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."

"What if one of us faked our death?"

Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.

Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"

"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.

"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."

Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.

Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.

The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."

Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."

Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."

Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.

Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."

The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.

Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.

...Was mother ever going to tell him?

The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.

His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.

His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.

Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.

The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.

So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.

He has an older brother

His older brother is alive.

(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc prompt #i promise this is a prompt #it just got very long #danyal al ghul au #my take on a danyal al ghul au #older brother danny #dpdc #dpxdc crossover #i know the usual gist is that danyal al ghul is a better knife thrower than he is a swordsman but hey #consider: phantom has a sword when he fights ghosts. how sick is that? #his ghost form having allusions to the LoA. its not obvious but its there #did i make danny brown skinned? yeah. because him being white or not is irrelevant to me and i wanted to make him darker skinned #thinking about the angst of bruce seeing his firstborn son going “i could stay with father!” and then said child being visibly crushed #when told no. and that he may never see his father ever. actually. if he fakes his death. and still doing it anyways for damian's sake #danny loves his little brother he just shows it in an unorthodox way. some of it is not his fault #also danny being an absolute grump in amity park is very funny to me. he's an arrogant little assassin child in AP who is only here for #his little brother's sake and safety. he loves his brother but that doesnt stop him from being an arrogant little brat #gremlin assassin child danny is so funny #i know this is very ironic for me to post after posting my thoughts on danyal al ghul aus and their missed potential #but actually this prompt is what spurred that post into creation in the first place actually. #because i was thinking about this au and then went “oh hey you know whats funny--” and then i #thought about it too much to the point where i had to make a post talking about it #tried to find a balance between danny being mature for his age and also still being a kid #like yeah he’s a trained assassin and has killed but also he’s a 10yo boy about to be separated - Assumingly permanently- from his family

[silveryuritextsandquotes]

Something that might be a thing…

S.H.E.I.L.D AU!

So some background information…

I, along with the lovely @silversablinovaallday, love to do a few Roleplays with one another to forget the world is burning. Despite her being Canadian, we get along well and make fun stories!

But if I have to hear another thing about the Canadian McDonald’s that is Tim Hortons-

Anyways I have a good old headcannon that Yuri was “Wraith” as a teen, spending nights fighting the local triad gangs in Chinatown. Some info on that….

She had/has no superpowers

Her suit was homemade from one of those sick motorbike suits she found at a thrift store.

Her mother taught her how to fight, mostly defense, which she excels at, but had learned most of her offense styles from fighting gang members.

Her main choice of weapon was honestly whatever was long and strong enough to act as a staff or whatever was small enough to throw.

She was trained in sword combat, but does not use it because she did not want to be a killer.

Left yellow ribbons at the scene of the crime she stopped/prevented

Was given the name “Wraith” in the English translation and among the local police department. She was mostly called “幻象” meaning ghost, illusion or phantom.

She was discovered by Captain Stacy, who was actually the only positive father figure she had in her life, who convinced her to do more with her life then run around as a vigilante.

She left for the Marines soon after she was discovered, leaving wraith behind as an urban legend.

So building on that! The S.H.EI.L.D AU takes place shortly after her time serving in the U.S Marines. Another bit of information…

Yuri broke her no killing rule during and after she was forced to shoot a member of her unit, and someone she considered a close friend, when he sold out the unit to the enemy causing the deaths of three other members.

Yuri was a medic, she wanted nothing to do with killing out of a promise she made to herself. But she killed him to save the rest of her unit and left shortly after her tour ended.

So the AU picks up after this, normally this is the point where Yuri joins the police department, but instead of the usual timeline, Yuri is picked up by S.H.E.I.L.D in hopes of bringing “Wraith” back into action.

Yuri is hesitant at first, but after considering her options and realizing she’s already taken a life and can do greater things defending others globally, she agrees. She is then gifted a brand new suit and rebranded as Agent Watanabe, aka the “Wraith”.

Have some more ideas to go with it. Mostly with Peter starting out as Spiderman and Yuri training him, but that’ll probably come later. For now, this is what I got.

#yuri watanabe #spiderman ps4 #spider-man ps4 #marvel #agents of sheild #sheild #spider man #the wraith #wraith AU #sheild au

[shyrose57]

Shadow over snowchester au!

I’d like to imagine that Tommy and Purple tell the girl’s fairytales and other story’s right before going to sleep for the night, Clementine alway’s fall a sleep first while Clara stay’s awake till the end to ask questions about the stories like, ‘why did the queen poison Snow White?’ Or ‘why did Snow White eat something a stranger gave her! Didn’t any one tell her how dangerous that is!’.

Tommy alway’s checks on his daughters while at night because A: neither of them can hear or see him coming, so he always catches them awake past bed time, and B: he’s a bit paranoid something might come and take his little girl’s ;-;

Because no one know’s Clara’s birth day they just asume she’s a year younger then Clementine, which she’s okay with!

Clementine get’s jealous easily, even with Michael if he spends enough time with either of her dad’s, so she was pretty upset and moody when Clara showed up and suddenly Clara got everyone’s attention, including daddy and papa! Thus she end’s up running away only to be found by techno and Phil, who both end up bonding with her especially techno because he’s like ‘been there done that’ and return her to her father’s who were worried sick.

Thing’s turn out better in the end with Clara and Clementine bickering constantly, just like Tommy and Wilbur.

Clara enjoy’s the garden/greenhouse and even convinced her Papa (Tommy) to put some sort of play area for the kid’s considering how much of their time is spent in the garden, the area has a marble path and is completely filled with the friendliest of all the flower’s on the garden, any harmful ones are completely forbidden, the area has a huge marble gazebo with no-throned rose’s and vines, it has tables, book’s, Paper, pencil’s, even a chalkboard, fridge, and maps! It becomes more of a kindergarten/ school for the kid’s but overall a hangout place for tea and date’s. ( who work’s / teaches is up to you!)

Tubbo take’s Michael around snowchester as a way to get him to exercise yet they almost alway’s find themselves at the garden hanging out with Tommy, Clementine, and Clara. Clementine and Michael are running around playing l’manburg, and other game’s, while Clara is all cozy and snuggly on Tommy's lap as he tends to a bunch of blue flower’ (courtesy of ghost ur) and Tubbo complains about Michael growing too fast and how it’s not fair Tommy has two children, not to mention fawning over Clara’s adorable way’s.

Clementine and Michael call themselves the together duo, though other’s joke about them being clingy duo the second, especially after they started three repetitive fire’s, pranked almost everyone, and overall created absolute chaos, no one thinks Clementine or Michael had a part in them, instead, this feeds into Tubbo being some sort of god theory.

Ponk, Punz, Quackity, Techno, and Wilbur all have competition on who can spoil their nieces the most. (it never ends well ;-;)

Fairy tales are a very important part of growth! 

Clem and Clara are like day and night, so while Clementine’s always very energetic and bright in the day, Clara’s a night owl-they thought she might be nocturnal for awhile there. So the former’s usually out like a light pretty quick, but Clara takes longer to ease to sleep. 

Tommy’s fear is valid. Seriously, his past history with caring for things hasn’t ended well, with so many fights and grudges. He completely abuses his phantom powers to do this-both because he enjoys sneaking up on them, and because if they’re actually asleep, he doesn’t want to wake them-Clem’s a light sleeper. 

Clara is very mature for her age, and quiet, but the baby fat on her cheeks betrays her true youth, and Puffy’s adopted enough kids to be able to tell their ages easily enough, so they reckon she’s got to be at least a year younger. Maybe more, but who knows? 

Clementine’s an independent child, so I imagine originally, she doesn’t mind Clara that much. Everyone tends to hover over the kids, because it’s dangerous, and they worry, which is perfectly valid, but she’s a free spirit, and she’s never liked being stifled.

Then Clara starts taking more of their time, and they stop being with her so much, and it’s not as great as Clem thought it would be. So she decides to go on an adventure, all by herself, because she doesn’t need her dads to worry over her anymore-in fact, she’ll bring back something cool, just to prove it. 

Of course, Clem gets a bit in over her head. Luckily, Techno and Phil are nearby, realize ‘isn’t that Tommy’s kid?’ and help her out. Techno, much to his dismay, is left alone with the small child while Phil goes to get one of her parents.

It’s not so bad though, once past the initial awkwardness. The kid reminds him of Phil and Tommy, with that adventurous spirit. And she’s got a surprising enjoyment of fighting(cause Purpled and Tommy teach it to her as a bonding activity, and Purpled and Ranboo spar to impress Tommy and Tubbo, and Tommy and Tubbo train together. Just, positive associations with it), which he can get behind.

So Phil comes back with Clem’s worried parents, and Clem has a new sword. Techno insist she took it. But, he has too many anyway, and they’re cluttering up the area, so she can keep it, he guesses.

Tommy, who’s gotten many of his own childhood weapons from that very sentence, just raises an eyebrow. 

After that whole thing, and thinking back to some of Uncle Techno’s stories about his own sibling, Clementine decides she’ll be a good older sibling, and protect Clara like Uncle Tech did Uncle Wilby, and everyone in Snowchester protects each other.

Clara takes it it stride, and Clem makes her act a bit more her age, which is nice for everyone to see. 

The garden is a good place for the kids to hang out, because even the most dangerous of plants know better than to touch any of the kids. But them having their own little area in there away from it all definitely makes the parents feel better. 

Tommy tends to be the go-to house-parent a lot, with Purpled out doing jobs, Ranboo being the voice of reason in the Syndicate, and mining, and Tubbo doing his job as leader of Snowchester. When he wants to go and help Purpled out or otherwise, Tubbo and Ranboo will watch the kids. If not them, then Puffy, or somebody else. The kids usually end up outside drinking cocoa with whoever’s watching them while waiting for their parents to finish up. It’s nice.

Tubbo and Ghostbur coo over Clara a lot. She’s adorable, they can’t help it. But they’re also very helpful. Clara seems pretty happy to hang out with Tubbo when one of her dads can’t watch her, and Ghostbur has experience with taking care of young kids, so that’s really useful. 

Tubbo constantly complains that Michael’s gonna be the one carrying him around eventually, and he dreads the day(he doesn’t, he’s very proud of his son, but he misses being able to tot him around and having to help him reach the counter). 

The Together Duo! Very cute. The first time they proclaim themselves as such, everyone’s hearts just completely melt. Ranboo snapped a picture of Tommy and Tubbo holding their respective kids, and titled it ‘Second generation’s duo’, and it hangs on the wall in both their homes. 

Michael and Clem are a very chaotic duo. How did this end up getting blamed on Tubbo? Who knows, honestly. At this point, somebody could probably say Tubbo invented sheep, and nobody would blink. 

All the kids are very, very spoiled. To the point where their parents have limited the amount of spoiling that can be done-and no, they won’t change it, the last time they let you guys go wild, you nearly crushed poor Tubbo under a gift avalanche! 

An avalanche!

#Shadow Over Snowchester AU #dream smp #dream smp au #tubbo #purpled #ranboo #tommyinnit #captain puffy #ghostbur #technoblade #philza #michael the zombie pigchild #clementine #clara

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 2

Through a misunderstanding and a poorly read application, Ichigo Kurosaki gets a chance internship at the Chaldeas Security Organization. It changes everything. 

 May. It’s May already, and Ichigo has made it approximately a month and a half without getting himself into some batshit insane situation where he almost dies.

 Then Rukia Kuchiki comes along and all of a sudden he’s not a wizard he’d a fucking Shinigami. Which is cool, and a lot easier if he’s being honest, and the world itself isn’t at stake this time so.

 Cool. Cool cool cool.    

 It does mean that Rukia, stubborn and snappish and almost as brash as he was, will be sleeping in his closet for the foreseeable future.

 At fifteen Ichigo would have flipped out about it. At eighteen he’s spent months at a time bunking down with Mash and whatever other servants there were. Everyone from Asterios to Medusa to Shirou Amakusa Tokisada, crammed together in a tent or settled around campfires.

 So he snatches his sisters pajamas and lends them to her and their life begins.

 And it would be fine, really, he doesn’t mind fighting. He likes fighting by himself than having to rely on the others to do it for him. It eases the bitterness of weakness that’s been festering in his heart for years. So it would be      fine, really    , if it weren’t for the fact that all of these hollows that he’s fighting have started to target his friends, too. They’re not even safe at school.

 Orihime was attacked by her own brother and it makes him sick. How could someone attack their own sister? Even warped and twisted?

 It was worse than Mordred and Artoria. At least they had always had a strained relationship, but Orihime’s brother had      loved    her.

 He sat with her after the fact, his hand on her shoulder while he slept against his leg. Rukia had erased her memory, and his families too. He didn’t like it.

 “Everyone has the right to choose their life. And to remember themselves,” he told her solemnly. “It’s how humans grow and change. It’s how we get stronger. These bonds that we make with other people, and even the ones that we break…”

 Rukie eyed him speculatively. “I never would have pegged you for a philosopher, Ichigo.”

 “I’m not.” But he’s got his ideals, and Ichigo is unbending. War has tempered his spine from bone to steel. Idly, he braids a long strand of Orihime’s hair while Rukia is busy changing Tatsuki’s memories. Maybe it will be easier for them not to remember this, but Ichigo will not take back what he said.

 So many friends have forgotten him, so many have never met him to begin with and only his memories live on of their time together. He really hates this…

 But Rukia is his guide in this case, and there’s nothing he can do for now. “This is how it has to be, Ichigo. There is no other choice,” she says firmly, like it’s an absolute truth.  “This is the life of a shinigami.”

 Ichigo lets Orihime’s hair fall into place and lays her on the floor before he stands and turns to Rukia.

 “      Chacun voit midi à sa porte,”    he says it mostly to himself, but it bewilders Rukia.

 “What?”

 “It’s nothing,” he shakes his head. “Let’s go.

 *

 Ichigo has never been out of the country before he’d signed up for an internship at Chaldea. It was supposed to be two weeks studying with the security organization, and the poster at the bus station by his house hadn’t said anything about mages, or time travel, or masters or servents. Di Vinci tells him later that its spelled so only mages or people with potential to be mages can even see it.

 He shouldn’t have seen it to begin with, totally untrained as he was, but somehow he did. Because he did have magic circuits, even if they weren’t used often or much. So hed loaded onto a plane with a half a dozen other master candidates from all around japan. His dad had agreed, all to easily. And now he stood in a breakroom with Romani and Mash, and Medusa and Cu and Olga Marie all standing around him.

 “I don’t get it,” Medusa says, eying the phantom speculatively. “If she’s dead, how is she here?”

 Ichigo shrugs. “ I have no clue. I’ve always been able to see ghosts but I don’t know anything about them.”

 “H-hey what do you mean by that?” Roman asks, turning towards him. “You can see dead people?!”

 “Well, yeah,” Ichigo sort of shrugs. “That’s not the weirdest thing happening here, ya know.”

 Roman can’t really argue with that.

 “Isn’t it obvious?” Olga Marie crosses her arms over her chest, looking down at the two gingers in front of her. Ichigo, sat on a couch, and Roman next to him. They both look at her, clueless until she rolls her eyes in aggravation.

 “It’s just like what happened with Mash. When the bomb exploded and I-” she falters, her yellow eyes darting around before she gets herself under control. “After the explosion, I found the two of them. At the same time Mash formed her contract with him, I must have done something similar. There’s two types of energy,” she goes on. “The energy of the physical world, Mana, and the energy of the soul. Reitsu. Just as Caster, Rider, and Mash are drawing on his Mana as servants, I am now bound to his Reitsu as a soul-based familiar.”

 “Such a thing is unprecedented,” Roman argued, looking somewhere between stunned and frightened. They were all standing on that blade right now. The world had ended and they, a group nowhere near qualified to save it, were now in charge of stopping it.

 “Ah, nae as much as you’d think,” Cu said, his voice lilting and accented. “My teacher, Scáthach, she ‘ad shades an’ such.”

 “The queen of the shadow lands?” Mash clarified, which meant nothing at all to Ichigo. Cu nodded. “It would make sense for her to have such things…”

 “Ah, does that make the director Ichigo’s servant now too?” Roman asked.

 Olga Marie bristled. “I’m no ones servant! I’m still the director here so you better show me proper respect!”

 Ichigo couldn’t help snickering at her. “Man, you’re so full of yourself.”

 “What did you just say?!”

 “Are you dead and deaf? I said you’re full of yourself,” he grabbed her cheek and pulled it until she shrieked and lashed out at him, beating her fists against his chest. Mash did her best to cover her laughter in the background, hands over her mouth.

 “Even still,” Roman stepped between them, carefully extracting Ichigo from Olga Marie’s fury, “This doesn’t explain everything. When someone ray shifts, it’s their spirit that manifests in the location, while their physical body stays in chaldea. So how can two different energies both manifest like that? I don’t understand…”

 Olga Marie puffed her cheeks out. “The answer to that is much more technical. Even though it’s the spirit that is sent back it's still a physical body that a mage has when they interact with the time period around them. It is… a reversal of the third magic, so to speak. The opposite and the twin of Heaven’s Feel, it is your spirit and your soul and your life, but your body is left behind while Ray Shifting.”

 This must have made sense to Roman, but Ichigo was, to put it mildly, completely lost.

 “What’s the third magic, what’s ‘heavens feel’, and what’s ray shifting?” Ichigo asked. Olga Marie face planted, and started cursing his very existence.

 * *

 “I must say, I didn’t expect you to be this good with a sword already,” Rukia admits, watching Ichigo snap the practice sword around, knocking aside each tennis ball she sends shooting at him through the pitching machine.

 Ichigo stands, light on his feet with a sword roughly the size of a claymore. It was heavy and the reach was long but awkward. He’s used to holding broad swords, mimicries of clarent and excalibur while his Saber’s try to beat their lessons between his ears. It feels strange to hold something so long and so heavy. More than that, it feels like something is missing. Like the sword is a couple inches too short, like it doesn’t fit his hands quite right.

 He has to remind himself that it isn’t his sword at all. This power is Rukia’s, not his own. Was this how Mash felt, their whole time together? Borrowing another person’s power to boost your own. It made his skin crawl minutely.

 “I've been in a few fights,” Ichigo says, looking towards her with a shrug of his shoulder. “I’ve got friends who are in the kendo club.” He works mostly off of instinct. He always has, and it hasn’t failed him yet. He blocks each tennis ball, and those he can’t block he dodges swiftly, until Rukia finally calls it a day.

 “You should get some rest while you can,” she advises. “We’ll be out tonight hunting hollows, no doubt, and you still have school work to do, don’t you?”

 “Well yeah, but school feels so unimportant now…” It has since he’d gotten back. What was a test in the face of someone trying to blow up the whole of human history?

 Rukia smacks him hard over the head, until he yelps in offense.

 “Hey!” He rubbed the bump on his head, glaring balefully at the short shinigami. Rukia is, of course, utterly unaffected by it.

 “School is important! You have a life to get back to after I get my powers back, and you need your grades to do it!”

 “Geez, you’re so rough… And fine,  but you’re gonna help me study for friday. You have to take tests too.”

 Rukia looks startled, but she nods all the same, and they walk home together. Ichigo considers telling his dad what’s happening. There’s a strange girl in the house, and Ichigo is putting himself in pretty serious danger lately, but it barely makes a difference if he does. What will Isshin even do? He can not stop them from fighting, and he cannot help them in this fight. He can’t even see spirits.

 These kind of things, he understood, were hereditary. Being a medium, and being a mage both were things that were handed down from parent to child, though they were kept largely separate. Mages dealt in living energy, and usually had little to no spirit energy, and vice versa. He could see spirits, and so could Karin, and even Yuzu could sense their presence from time to time. Yet despite all three children being sensitive to the supernatural, Isshin had no idea.

 Which meant, more likely than not, his mom had been able to see them too.

 She’d never said anything about it, but Ichigo had been so young, where would she even start?

 And now, there was no way for them to find out. Ichigo has questions, but no one has answers.

 “What are you thinking of?”

 He startles, looking down at Rukia. He’d been so caught up in his own thoughts, he’d almost missed the house entirely.

 “I was thinking about my mom,” he admitted. “I was wondering if she could see ghosts like me and Karin can.”

 “Your mother?” Rukia repeated. She touched her chin in thought. “I suppose it’s not unheard of. There used to be quite a few humans who could see spirits. Some could even utilize enough reiryoku to actually combat hollows. But those died out some time ago.”

 “Oh yeah?” Ichigo leads her inside. His sisters were out somewhere, and his dad was upstairs in his room, down the hall from Ichigo’s. They jog up the stairs together, Ichigo’s back thumping hard against his back.

 “Yes. They were called Quincy. They could manifest reitsu into weapons to battle hollows with. But unlike shinigami, they didn’t purify the souls. They destroyed them.”

 “Thats kind of fucked up.”

   * * *  

 Ichigo still can’t tell if he’s here as a spirit or as a physical body, but it’s his living energy, his mana, that Mash is feeding off of when they start their first fight with the locals in domremy. They’re only human, so Ichigo fights too, and runs at Mash’s side when they chase the French soldiers back to their fort.

 It’s there that the monsters attack and Ichigo gets his very first look at a saint.

 She’s barely older than he is, fierce and terrible and humble all at once. She leads with utmost confidence and does not falter, even in the face of terrible odds. She’s… weak, for a servant. Far too weak.

 There is something very wrong with france.

 Ichigo is broken from his thoughts by Roman coming over his wrist communicator.

 “All right, fine job everyone! I was watching with sweaty palms and sweets in my hand! The director is tending to other matters right now, so I’m in the command chair again!”

 “Doctor,” Mash began, looking towards his hologram. “Those were the sweets that I got, right?”

 “Huh? What? ls that right? I found them in the Command Room next to the tea, so I thought…”

 “...I got them as a token of gratitude, for when we return from this Order,” Mash was actually starting to look irritated for the first time since they’d met.  “  Needless to say, they weren't for you, but for Senpai, who no doubt fought bravely on the frontlines!”

 “Mash... you've become such a thoughtful person!” Roman smiled proudly at her and, shamelessly, shoved the rest of the candy into his mouth. “I must say, these are some really tasty sweets. I'm sure Ichigo will be thrilled, too!”

Mash turns towards Ichigo, her mouth drawn in a line. “...Master. When we return to Chaldea, please reserve enough combat resources for one attack. I've registered one more enemy that I'd like to hit with the "back of my blade.".” Which was apparently something a shield had.

 “You’re more violent than I thought you were…”

 Then someone was screaming a ‘dragon witch’, and they retreated again, to the forests outside of vaucouleurs. It takes a while to get their bearings, but Ichigo understands. There’s two Jeanne d’arc’s. The saint that stands before them and a witch that is trying to destroy france. That’s what’s causing the world to fall apart here. So that’s who they have to stop. Only…

 She’s about a hundred times stronger than they are, and she has an army of dragons, and dragon themed servants with her. By the end of the second day Ichigo finds himself with a saint, a queen, a musician, a pop star, and a dragon all following him around like puppies.

 At night he finds himself sitting by the fire, with Jeanne, Ruler, sitting across from him. Kiyohime, a princess out of a story he’d read ages ago is curled up on his lap like a cat instead of a dragon. Her horn pokes at his hip irritatingly, and on his other side Mash has fallen asleep as well.

 He should be more worried about the fact that she’s somehow convinced herself that he’d Anchin, considering the fact that she burned him alive in a bell tower, but thus far all she’s really done is hold onto him a little too tight.

 Jeanne is looking at him too. There’s something about her, a charisma that makes Ichigo want to follow her off a cliff. And he probably would, if he wasn’t so damn stubborn himself.

 “Yeah?” he asks, breaking the silence. “What, is there something on my face?”

 “Oh!” Jeanne turns away, shaking her head. Her strange headpiece glints read in the firelight. “No, it’s only that you seem very close to her.”

 “Who, Kiyo? We just met. She’s the one that latched onto me.”

 “No, not her. Mash.”

 Ichigo looks again at the girl sleeping on his other side. She looks older as a demi-servant, someone halfway possessed by a heroic spirit, but her face is the same. She’s still filled with wonder and innocence.

 “Oh yeah. Well, I’ve got two little sisters at home. Mash reminds me of the youngest one. Yuzu. They even have the same hairstyle…”

 “That explains it, then,” Jeanne’s smile is soft. “I’m the youngest. I had three brothes, and my sister as well. I imagine they’re still in Domremy. Although my two oldest brothers came to fight under my flag, so they might be travelling still.”

 Ichigo tried to think of that. Tried to think of letting anyone in his family get even close to a battlefield and found himself shaking his head. “I couldn't do that. I want to protect my sisters. I wouldn’t be able to put them in danger.”

 Jeanne peered at him over the fire, her smile still somehow serene. It must have to do with being a saint.

 “I wished to protect them too, of course. They are my brothers, and war is a bloody, gruesome hell to walk into. But sometimes we must have faith. In the Lord to guide us, and in the people around us to stand at our sides and watch over us.”

 “Didn’t your people, ya know, burn you alive?”

 “Yes,” she allows, tilting her head towards the sky. “But still… I hold them no ill will.”

 Ichigo decides, then and there, that Saints must be insane.

 The first person they lose, the first person he loses in these wars, is Marie Antoinette. She dies to protect him, and the stinging, bitter taste almost makes him claw out his tongue.

   * * * *  

 “Do you know where you are?”

 Soft fingers run through his hair. Something tickles his nose and he’s assaulted by the smell of roses and daffodils.

 “I’m in a dream,” Ichigo says, huffing irritably. His eyes open slowly, and he finds a deceptively soft smile hovering above him. Ichigo would believe it, if he didn’t know him better. As it is, he tugs at a long strand of off-white hair that falls across the man’s shoulder.

 “Ouch. You’re right, this is a dream. However did you guess? I thought it was a rather good one…”

 Ichigo rolls his eyes at the Caster. He can see his staff, wrapped in ribbons, stuck into the earth beside them. This man was always dramatic.

 “There’s nowhere else I would see you, now is there?” He sits up slowly. His companion doesn’t move back, and in a minute they’re hip to hip, facing eachother.

 “Ah, That is true. You never know, I am a rather famous mage. Mayhaps I teleported you here for my own amusement.”

 “That does sound like you,” Ichigo allows. He paused, squinting. “Did you just say ‘mayhaps’?”

 “You don’t like it? I thought it was eloquent.”

 “Stop acting so weird,” Ichigo scolded, knocking their heads together lightly. “It hasn’t been that long since I’ve seen you.”

 “On the contrary, it's been over 4,500 years.”

 “You never change,” Ichigo rolls his eyes, and his visitor smiles, soft and fake.

 “Perhaps I don’t. One of the aspects of immortality is that people tend to stay the same, you know,” he teases.

 “I don’t, but I guess I’ll take your word for it,” Ichigo figures it’s easier than trying to fully puzzle out the man. He’s always been bewildering, ‘beyond human comprehension’ or something. Ichigo isn’t totally human anymore now. He sits, dressed in black next to his companion cloaked in white.

 “I thought you were supposed to disappear from my memory,” Ichigo says abruptly. He’s not sure what kind of explanation he’s looking for.

 A shrug is what he gets. “I told you once. That’s one thing I can never get used to. Perhaps it just didn’t work this time.”

 “Right,” Ichigo says dubiously, “it’s got nothing to do with us being friends. “

 The mage says nothing, but his smile thins at the edges. He’s still on about it then. ‘I can never truly close the gap, and be friends with a human’. It’s bullshit, because they’re friends and ichigo knows it, and so does he. He’s just stubborn and stuck on the idea of being the mysterious wise man figure in Ichigo’s ever evolving life story.

 “Where are we?” Ichigo asks, letting the tension drop for now. The sky is the palest blue and there’s flowers as far as the eye can see, pink and blue and yellow. There’s no horizon any way he looks, and he realizes belatedly that they’re sitting on top of a tower.

 “Isn’t it obvious? We are on the reverse side of the world. Where there is no beginning and no end, this is the very edge of paradise.”

 The air tasted like sunlight and hope, but Ichigo isn’t fooled by the prettiness of it all. He knows this man. Better than he wants to be known, certainly.

 “Maybe someday I’ll save you from this tower,      princess    .”

 “That is quite impossible,” still a  warm hand lands on his, a strange kind of thanks.

 “I’ve done impossible things before.”

 And he would do them again.

 * * * *

 Ichigo was starting to think that everyone here was made of tragedy.

 France was bad enough. Between executions, and curses, and people just doing their best for others, Ichigo is starting to wonder how any fairy tale ever had a happy ending, for the figures of myth certainly had none. Not Jeanne, the Saint of Orleans. Not Elizabeth Batharoy, the wannabe pop star and future vampire. Not Kiyohime, who had followed him all the way back to Chaldea and now was stuck waiting for them to return.

 And now, Euryale, and Asterios were the same. They were hardly the monsters out of legend. They were just people. Just people clinging to each other, like wreckage in a storm.

 Ichigo leans forwards against the railing of the      Golden Hind    , watching the moon dance across the water. They’re pretty screwed, he realizes. Heracles has to be killed twelve times for them to succeed, and they’d almost all been killed on just the first try.   They’d only escaped because a labyrinth had sprung up out of nowhere, glowing green and winding their way to the center of safety.

 The heafy thump of footsteps on ship wood brings his attention to his newest servant. Asterios. He towers over all of them, almost ten feet tall if you counted his horns. He should have been terrifying, all hard muscles and hulking power. His long hair is matted like it’s never been brushed out properly, and his eyes are a red that seemed to glow in the starlight.

 “Hey there,” Ichigo waves at him, and he comes to a halt at his side. He looks at him, and shifts from one foot to the other. There’s manacles on his arms, and his ankles as well. “Why don’t you sit?”

 Asterios did as he was bid. When he was sitting, he still came up to Ichigo’s shoulder.

 “It’s a nice night, huh?” It was peaceful, sailing on the endless sea. They have a lot of fights ahead of them but for now… He breaths in the sea salt air, and the cool darkness.

 “Yes… It is…      free    ,” Asterios speaks slowly, like making words is a chore. Has he ever really spoken to humans, before now?

 “Yeah. I guess it is,” that’s what Francis had said. The seas were freedom for her and her men. The King of Storms, the endless oceans bowed to her and the       Golden Hind    .  “Have you been here long, Asterios?”

 He perks up when he hears his name, looking up at Ichigo with the strangest expression. Ichigo has no idea how to place it. Hope? Happiness? Either way he’s smiling now.

 “No… Want to … stay… with euryale and… everyone.”

 “I get it,” Ichigo nods to him. “It’s nice to hang out with friends.”

 “Friends…”

 “That’s what we are, right?”

 Asterios smiles at him, and nods. “Yes… friends.”

 * * * * *

 “Honestly… I thought you were supposed to be helpful,” Ichigo knocks on his own bodies skull, watching his dopple ganger wince away from him. “But all you’ve done is get my body torn up and cause a mess. You’re screwing up my ‘cool guy’ reputation!”

 “Hey! It’s not my fault, I wouldn’t have jumped in if you weren’t so slow! Those kids would have died if I hadn’t jumped in!”

 “Oh yeah, and you kicking that hollow again, to protect ants, what are you a saint?!” Ichigo yanks him into a headlock, roughly shoving his fist into his hair. It was weird to be fighting with himself, but honestly? Not even remotely the weirdest thing to happen.

 “Get off!” The mod soul tries to kick him in the face, but Ichigo takes him to the ground in a rough grappling hold. He’s not too worried about his shoulder. His body is strong enough to handle being roughed up, and he’s taken worse hits than that.

 “Let me go! I’m not gonna let you kill me but-” His voice wavers before growing vicious with conviction.

 “I’ll never sit by and let another creature die!”

 Ichigo is so surprised he lets go, sitting above the trouble maker. He won’t make eye contact, his voice dropping low and rough. His hands are shaking, Ichigo realizes.

 “Right after I was born, the soul society they- they decided that the mod-souls had to go. The day after I was born I was chosen to die! Everyday I watched them kill off my brethren. And even after I escaped I still lived in fear, everyday that I would be discovered and killed… And I decided. That I was born, so I have the right to live and die freely, and so does everything else! So I won’t kill and I won’t let even ants die!”

 This mod soul. A creature made to fight, made to die, made to kill all without a single choice. Ichigo’s hands tighten into fists. Just like Mash. Just like Fran. Just like Mordred. A living weapon. Ichigo lets him sit up, and sits back on his heels. The mod soul grips his shoulder, grimacing. It must hurt. This is the first time he’s ever felt human sensations. He was fast, fast as the wind.

 “So that’s it…”

 Abruptly, the tip of a cane shoves straight through his skull, and the pill that had started this whole debacle comes popping out the other side. Ichigo reacts, snatching it out of the air before anyone else can. They’re not alone anymore.

 Ichigo finds himself looking up at a pair of grey eyes half hidden under the brim of a striped hat. They’re looking right at him, even though he’s no longer in his body. He knows, with great certainty, that this man is not human.

 “I’ll be taking that back now,” he says, holding his hand out expectantly. He looks almost harmless. Almost. But Ichigo can see the calluses on his hands and the hardness in the back of his eyes. Whoever this is, he’s a fighter. Even with the geta sandals, he hadn’t made a sound when he was approaching.

 “Hell no!” Ichigo clutches the pill tighter and straightens up. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

 “He’s just a greedy salesmen,” Rukia comes to stand at his shoulder, her eyes narrowed at the stranger with the unsettling eyes. She'd watched the whole exchange between them, between Ichigo and yet another tragedy.

 “I get it. He’s the one who sells you your supplies here, isn’t he?” Ichigo stands, slowly, keeping his hold on the pill tight. This guy had made a mix up, and if he thought Ichigo was gonna let him take this mod soul away, he had another thing coming.

 “My, my, you’re a perceptive one,” the man pulled a fan out of his sleeve and snapped it open over his mouth. “I’m Kisuke Urahara. And these are my associates.”

 “It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out,” Ichigo said blandly. “She said you're a salesmen, and she has to get her gadgets from somewhere.”

 “Either way, I should take that product back. If it’s compensation you’re after-”

 “I already said no!” Ichigo snapped, anger rolling under his skin like a fire. “People aren’t products and I’m not giving this one back to you!”

 “Ichigo,” Rukia cut in, her voice cool and firm. It's ice on a bruise and Ichigo let's her step before him, her dark eyes on the salesman. “It’s fine. I’m satisfied with this purchase, and you don’t exactly work legally. So whatever happens, it’s not your responsibility anymore.”

 Even though he remains largely impassive, this Kisuke guy still stares at them, trying to read between lines that don’t exist. Ichigo is honest, and Rukia has his back in this case.

 So he and his associates leave, and Ichigo pops the soul back into his body once their gone. He finds brown eyes staring up at him, his mouth open in confusion.

 “You didn’t… send me back?”

 Ichigo knocks his head again. “Don’t be stupid. If you give me a dumb speech like that, how can I sit by while you get smashed up?”

 “I - you’re kinda crazy.”

 “I know,” he had to be. “So, do you have a name?”

 “A name? No, no ones ever given me one of those…”

 “Alright then,” Ichigo tilts his head, thinking. A mod soul, a kaizo konpaku… He could go with Kai. But that sounded too cool. He was wind fast, and if he remembered right the inca wind was called… “Kon. You’re in charge of my body while I fight hollows. You can explore, and try new things, but don’t go destroying property or getting peoples attention. Or hurting my body! Deal?”

 He held out his hand, and Kon reaches up and grasps it.

 “Deal.”

#Shattered Chains of Fate #Ichigo Kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #Kon bleach #bleach fanfiction #bleach #bleach/fate grand order #BAMF!Ichigo Kurosaki #Ichigo Kurosaki is Ritsuka Fujimaru #well sorta #olga marie animusphere

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

A State Of Being - A Danny Phantom Drabble

Well, hello there! It has been quite a while since I’ve written some good Randy/Danny/Andrew content, but here we are! You can all lovingly thank @midori378 for this new content as they commissioned the following request of a drabble revolving around the three within the State of Mind universe.

For those who don’t know about State of Mind, it’s an expansive Danny Phantom story I co-wrote with @cheshire-kas that you can find over here at Archive Of Our Own.

If you’re curious about how you can commission me for drabbles like this one, you can check out my Fiverr! 

If you just like my writing and want to see more of it, you can check out my Patreon and see all the cool rewards I have up for my Patrons! 

And if you just liked this drabble and want to give me a few dollars for my next coffee or candy bar, then check out my Ko-Fi!

With all that out of the way, enjoy - and thank you again for the commission, Midori! 

                                              A State Of Being

“It’s considered rude to sneak up on people,” Randy said, tone calm and soft with a laugh embedded in the words that Danny could just barely hear. He heard it all the same, however, and it had him trying to hide a smile as he wrapped himself around Randy’s shoulders.

“I just wanted to see what you were doing.” The possibility of scaring him had only been a bonus, but, as usual, Danny couldn’t scare Randy unless he was on the verge of dying - or wearing clashing colors. “Speaking of, what are you doing?”

Randy was sitting at a stone table and surrounded by an array of glowing flowers, colorful vials and flasks, and an old-fashioned pestle and mortar that was filled with a softly glowing green paste. The room itself was in Vidya, but it was deep in the lower reaches and made of darkly colored stone - it often reminded Danny of what a witch’s workshop might look like.

“I’m restocking our healing supplies. Considering how our sparring sessions have been going, we could definitely use it,” Randy laughed, Danny hearing the unspoken, ‘considering what’s coming.’ Summer, and what that would bring, was only a couple months away, at this point. “What are you doing down here, though?”

“Andy’s been ignoring me,” Danny whined, drawing the words out into something dramatic as he tightened his arms around Randy’s shoulders, floating in the air to relieve some of his weight. Although, he was sure Randy could pick him up with one hand and not even look winded. “I tried to get his attention for half an hour and all he did was ignore me. He didn’t even look up from the screen once!”

“And you’re surprised by this?” Randy was grinning as he pulled on a set of latex gloves before picking up a bottle of blue flower petals that had the faintest trace of an aura. “You know how he is when he’s in the middle of one of his writing binges.”

“That’s no excuse,” Danny whined, rubbing his face against Randy’s shoulder and watching as deft, clever fingers picked the leaves apart into small pieces that were dropped into the green paste. “What are you doing?”

“I could be wrong, but I thought I answered this,” Randy smirked, laughing when Danny tugged on the choker around his neck. “I’m working on a healing tonic. It’s meant to numb the body’s pain receptors, or at least the ghost version of it, while replenishing the energy that’s attributed to speed healing.”

“So, basically it’s a health pot.” There was a second of silence where Danny thought the other was confused before he realized Randy’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.

“I- I suppose that’s one way to describe it.” There was no need to laugh at him. Still, Danny couldn’t be too upset. Randy had a nice laugh, after all. “It’s really just making medicine for ghosts.”

“You know how to make medicine? Like- Like actual medicine and pills and stuff? Could you make some Advil if I asked, then?”

“Sure, if I had the right ingredients.” Randy shrugged, as if knowing how to make medicine wasn’t a big deal. “How do you not already know this? I’ve told you I used to make poisons for the Sect.”

“Yeah, you didn’t mention you made medicine, though!” Poisons were one thing, but this was something completely different! “That must be pretty useful.” It took a moment, but Danny finally noticed the odd look Randy was giving him. “What?”

“You… How can you be the son of scientists and not know?” Randy shook his head, looking more amused than anything else. “Making poison and making medicine is the same thing.”

“What- No? I’m pretty sure they do the exact opposite of the other, Randy.” Letting go of his hold on Randy, Danny flew over to sit on the edge of the table that wasn’t covered in oddly glowing items. “One kills and one heals.”

“They accomplish different tasks, but the way they’re constructed is the same.” With that, Randy was launching himself into a lecture on the similarities between crafting poison and making medicine. Danny might have gotten a bit distracted, but it was hardly his fault. Seeing and hearing Randy slip into his ‘nerd’ mode was always… distracting.

The man even had his pair of reading glasses on and he must have been working with boiling water because not only was there steam in the air, but brilliant white locks of hair had fallen out of his gelled hairstyle and were slipping into curls that draped around his ears. It was a sight that Danny could easily get lost in - which he did, he supposed, seeing as Randy was giving him an expectant look before his lips twitched, “Where did I lose you, then?”

“Uh…” Right. Danny could lie easily. Lying was easy. “‘They accomplish different tasks?’” Except when it came to his mates and fiancés, he supposed. “Sorry. I got distracted.”

“I could tell,” Randy grinned, tone nothing but smug as he leaned in, capturing Danny in a kiss before he could figure out what was happening. It was over as quick as it had begun, however, Danny pouting as Randy went back to working on his potion. Medicine? Glancing to where it was all still glowing, Danny felt safe enough in calling it a potion.

“Why did you come find me, anyways? You usually just stay by Andrew and take a nap when he’s in one of his writing binges.” Randy was pouring the paste solution onto what looked like a baking sheet, kneading it together and rolling it around with gloved hands.

“I dunno. Guess I was just feeling restless, today.” It wasn’t a lie, but Danny knew that Randy could tell it wasn’t exactly the truth. Thankfully the other didn’t press, only continuing to work. “How’d you learn to do this, anyways?”

“Experimentation, mostly,” Randy admitted, pulling over a couple of round, plastic containers that looked to have once held hand cream. “This is a poultice, by the way.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know Andrew put us in a Harry Potter book.” Dodging the swat, Danny circled the table to watch as Randy sectioned out the glowing paste into three containers before pulling his gloves off, tossing them towards a trash bin, and then screwing the lids on. “So, you just rub that on a cut or something and it heals it?”

“It works great on bruises, too,” Randy nodded, pausing for a moment. “I think I’ve used this one on you before, actually. It stimulates the healing factor, like I said, but I designed it so it relaxes the ghost as soon as it touches their ‘bloodstream’ or soaks into their skin.That’s why it’s so great for open wounds, too.”

“That’s… pretty amazing,” Danny said quietly, looking back to Randy and giving a slow smile. He would never understand why people underestimated Randy - including the man himself. “You’re amazing.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Randy laughed, stacking the poultices into a small crate and dusting his hands off. “Alright, that’s about all I can do for right now.” Before Danny could feel too much disappointment, Randy was giving him a sharp grin. “Ready for a spar?”

“Wait, what?” Racking his memories, Danny didn’t remember bringing up the possibility of them sparring, but before he could ask, he felt Randy’s energy wrapping around him. A surge of power and what felt like static across his skin - only without the jolts of pain - and Danny glanced around quickly to see they were in one of Vidya’s ‘training rooms.’

“I know what it looks like when you have energy you need to work off,” Randy said softly, tugging Danny forward by his shirt to draw him into a kiss that was just as soft. “And I know what it looks like when you’re trapped in the same thoughts and fears. So. Let’s break the cycle, shall we?”

“You’re so dramatic,” Danny complained, trying his hardest to hide a grin. “What kind of sparring? Because I’m getting sick of falling on my ass when you insist on hand-to-hand.”

“That just shows you need practice,” Randy teased, letting him go with a laugh. “No, though. I thought we’d work on weapons, today. Still have that sword Frostbite gave you?” Giving a slow nod, Danny focused on his own power, carefully teleporting his sword to him from where he had last placed it. He was still stupidly proud of when it appeared in his arms just like he wanted. “Good.”

With that, Danny watched as Randy held out his own hand, smile wild and sharp as crystalized white energy gathered in a long, thin shape before it sharpened into a sword. It took a moment of watching Randy examine it and give a few practice swings before he was finally blurting out what was on his mind, “You know how to fight with a sword? Since when!”

“Since I was about eleven or twelve.” Oh, well… Danny hadn’t actually expected that answer. “Guns are a useless weapon when the bullets run out, you know.”

“I… guess. I mean, I know you can use knives like Andrew, I just didn’t think of you ever using a sword. It seems…”

“Archaic?”

“I was just going to say old.”

“The Sect trained children in all types of weapons for all types of reasons,” Randy said quietly, smile fading before he was twirling the sword and falling into a stance that looked like something the man had come up with himself. “You have three seconds.”

If this was even a few months ago, Danny would have wasted time asking what Randy was talking about and fumbling with his sword. As it was now, however, Danny brought up his unsheathed sword just as Randy’s came down on it with his, a high-pitched chiming noise echoing across the room.

“Powers allowed?” Danny asked hopefully, pouting when Randy smirked and disengaged with a sharp twist of his wrist, Danny just barely keeping hold of his sword in time to block the next blow. “A no would have worked, too.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Randy knew how to use a sword. Danny had known this after the first hit, of course, but the next ten minutes really showed Danny just how well Randy knew how to use a sword.

It was the longest ten minutes of Danny’s life, it felt like, his chest burning with the need to catch his breath as he tried to keep up with Randy’s brutal pace. Randy was deadly enough with his speed, but he also had the brute force to back it up.

It was at the eleven minute mark that Danny found himself on his back, arms limp and completely numb beside him as he gasped for breath, staring up at where Randy had the tip of his sword pressed against his throat. It was a sight that Danny was not prepared for in the least.

“What the absolute hell I have never seen you use a sword before how the fuck are you that good?”

“It’s called Mimic.” Startling at the new voice, it was only thanks to Randy pulling back that Danny didn’t end up cutting his neck on the sword. “I didn’t know you were that bored, mon cher.”

“Hey, I didn’t choose this!” Danny grunted as Randy helped him to his feet, body long since passed the ‘pleasant’ part of burning muscles. “Weren’t you writing?”

“I was, but then I worried when I realized how long I had gone without being interrupted.” Andrew shot them both a cheeky smile, leaning against the wall. It looked like he had been watching them for a while, which, as annoying as it was, wasn’t something Danny could fault him for, seeing as he had done the same before. “Sparring?”

“He needs the practice,” Randy shrugged, sword disappearing back into energy that Randy tossed at Andrew, the man throwing up a purple shield within a heartbeat. “Your reactions are back to what they used to be, I see.”

“That tends to happen when I’m attacked in the middle of the night,” Andrew drawled, tone as dry as a desert as he lowered the shield and looked back to Danny. “You remember what I told you about human traits becoming strengthened when crossing over?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. You were good at influencing things and Randy could always kind of tell what people were feeling, right?” It still sounded like something out of a young adult novel when Danny thought about it for too long, but he supposed that was the story of his life, at this point. “Why?”

“I have an ability as a ghost that we’ve figured out is pretty rare,” Randy said, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. “Which seems to be par for the course around time keepers and space crafters.”

“Space what now?” Danny, as usual, was completely ignored as Andrew launched into his ‘teacher mode.’ Danny did his best to actually pay attention.

“Some ghosts are mimics - a simple word, but it serves its purpose in conveying the information needed. Certain ghosts and spirits have the ability to mimic powers and fighting styles from others once they’ve seen them used.”

“So, Randy is basically a pokémon is what you’re telling me.” Danny had to dodge Randy’s swat, but it was worth it for Andrew’s burst of startled laughter. “So, wait, you can basically use every ghost power ever?”

“Fuck, that’d be awful,” Randy shook his head even as Danny gave a snort of laughter. “Yes and no, though. I can mimic their power, but it’s never going to be as strong as when they’re using it, and, depending on the amount of power it uses, it can take up more of my energy than if I were to just fight in my own style. Some things are unique, too, like Johnny’s shadow.”

“Huh… Makes sense, I guess,” Danny admitted, thinking about all the other ghost powers that were out there. “You can mimic fighting styles, though?”

“He’s always had a knack for it,” Andrew laughed, crafting one of his throwing knives out of his energy much like Randy had done with his sword. A second later and he was throwing it straight at them, Randy catching it by the hilt. Danny watched as, in one quick motion, Randy kept with the momentum of the knife, twisted it around, spun on his heel, and tossed it right back towards Andrew.

His back was straight, his arm was extended perfectly, and his entire stance was shifted as if ready to move at the next possible moment. It was an exact replica of how Andrew fought with his knives.

“Whoa.” Danny stared up at Randy, slowly grinning. “Is that why the Observants hate you so much, then?”

“That’s part of it,” Randy purred, capturing Danny’s chin and staring at him for a moment before drawing him in for a kiss, only parting when Danny felt the tease of a tongue press against his lower lip. “They also don’t like the fact that they can’t control me.”

“You know, you should really finish something once you start it,” Danny mumbled, grasping at Randy’s shirt and trying to pull him back in. “It’s polite, after all.”

“Mm, I suppose you’re right,” Randy mused, voice soft and lilting as Danny felt the brush of lips against his own. “Alright… I’ll give you what you want. Right after another match.” Danny gave himself a moment to feel dazed confusion before realization clicked into place and he was throwing up a shield to reflect a bullet.

“You’re an awful fiancé,” Danny accused, using Randy’s surprise at the title to throw his own blast back. Randy caught it with his bare hands, the energy turning to a pure white like his own. Danny took a moment to just stare, finally making a noise that was closer to a whine than a groan. “How is that fair!”

“There’s a reason half the Ghost Zone is afraid of him,” Andrew called out cheerfully, Danny grabbing his sword and blocking an attack from Randy’s own.

“Who the hell in this place uses a sword besides the Fright Knight?! I’m pretty sure you’ve never even met the Fight Knight!”

“One of our agemates used a sword,” Randy explained, tone annoyingly even as he began a flurry of quick attacks and sharp strikes that Danny struggled to keep up with. “I learned how all of their weapons worked for two reasons.”

“Reason one was because he was paranoid and wanted to know the best way to defeat them if they turned,” Andrew explained as they passed him. He was amused more than anything else, it looked like.

“Reason two, though, was that I wanted to help them be better.” The strike of Randy’s sword was hard enough that Danny felt his arms vibrating from the attack. “I wanted to see them survive.” Randy’s pace picked up and Danny found himself scrambling to keep up. He knew Randy wouldn’t actually hurt him, but it was still terrifying to see a sword flying for his face. “I did my best.”

“Randy-” Andrew didn’t get to finish as Danny darted in close the second he saw an opening, hand glowing with energy of his own that he pressed against Randy’s chest. The blast hit nothing but air as Randy managed to twist to his side. Danny was braced for a hit before he heard a sharp hiss of pain and the clattering of a sword hitting the ground. It wasn’t from him, though. “Randy!”

Danny caught Randy before he could hit the ground, wincing at the sharply hissed swear as Randy almost thrashed in his grasp, shoulders curled in and shaking as he twisted and moved as if trying to escape something, “Whoa, hey, I’m trying not to drop you.”

“Dammit, Randy, what did you do to yourself this time?” Andrew was at their sides in a moment, Danny frowning as he saw how tense and pinched Randy’s expression was. “Randy?”

“‘M fine. I just twisted the wrong way and hurt my back.” That made it sound very simple when instead Randy had been jerking around like he was going through a seizure.

“Right. Executive decision,” Danny finally said, gathering Randy closer to him. Focusing on the mental image of their bedroom, Danny reached out and grabbed Andrew’s shirt before teleporting the three of them himself. They all fell onto the bed with yelps and grunts, Danny groaning as he felt the sharp pain in his chest like he had just had the worst case of heartburn. “How do you always make teleporting look so easy?”

“Practice,” Randy grunted, curled up on his stomach and still wincing. Andrew was the one to move first, sitting up on his knees and pushing and prodding Randy until he was stretched out on his stomach with his arms down at this sides.

“You’ve been pushing yourself too far again with your own training, haven’t you?” Andrew accused - not that Danny would argue. Randy seemed to have the problem of pushing himself even more than Danny pushed his own self.

“Not that much,” Randy mumbled, not bothering to fight as Andrew phased Randy’s shirt off and tossed it to the side before he was straddling Randy’s hips. Danny was about to make a comment before he winced at Randy’s sharp yelp as Andrew pressed down on his back.

“‘Not that much,’ my keyboard,” Andrew shot back, pressing down again. “These knots are ridiculous, Randy.”

“And I thought I had back problems,” Danny joked, moving to lay down next to Randy and kiss at his cheek, grinning when Randy gave him a small smile in response. “That bad?”

“Not good,” Randy admitted, wincing again as Andrew did something. “‘S been a while since I’ve had it this bad, though.”

“You should have told me sooner,” Andrew lectured, looking to be concentrating fiercely before his lips twitched. “This might hurt, by the way.”

“It’s already- Fuck.” Oh, yeah, that very much sounded like it hurt. Sitting up, Danny moved to where he could easily play with Randy’s hair, scratching at the scalp and lightly rubbing right behind his ear. He saw Randy slump at the touch, tension draining out of him.

“Ah, here we go.” Andrew’s little mumble was followed by a long, low groan from Randy, the man’s expression going from tense and pained to one of absolute bliss.

“I think that worked,” Danny snorted, watching as Andrew paused and glanced at Randy’s face before rolling his eyes. “He’s worse than me, you know.”

“I know,” Andrew sighed, smile coming to his face as his palms rested against Randy’s shoulder blades. “Luckily, I’ve become very good at making self-sacrificing idiots take a break.”

“There’s no need to talk about Vidya like that, as well,” Danny frowned, trying to hold the expression as Andrew gave a low, quiet laugh. Danny’s expression quickly changed to interest, however, when he saw Andrew press down before Randy let out a soft moan, a white flush starting to spread over the bridge of his nose. “Oh.”

“You know, I originally came to get you two for lunch, but I’m sure that could wait for a while longer.” Andrew leaned his weight into his palms, Randy shuddering and giving another quiet noise as the flush spread.

“It’s not like we haven’t had a late lunch before,” Danny pointed out, hand trailing down to tug at the back of Randy’s choker. The man’s eyes flew open, the blue in his eyes fading in favor of a glowing white as he stared up at him with utter focus. “Besides, I think Randy could use the chance to relax more. Don’t you?”

“I couldn’t agree with you more, mon cher,” Andrew chuckle, the sound low and dark and promising as he leaned his weight into his palms and bent down to brush a kiss against the back of Randy’s neck, right under the choker.

Settling back a bit, Danny decided that they could use more lazy days like this one. He knew they were running out of days like this, but… that just meant he’d enjoy this one as much as he could. After all…

Summer wasn’t here yet.

#danny phantom #iambic prose #Of Coffee Grinds and Tea Cups #loyal heroics #loyal fiction #state of mind #freelance work #my fiverr #my writing