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yourneighborhoodporg · 7 months ago

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The Guardian

Chapter 11: Alone (Part 2)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: ANGST (like, hella angst), non-canon character deaths, descriptions of violence, animal injury/death (I’M SORRY), Reader experiencing Trauma TM, Obi doing his best.

Summary: While leading a clone battalion through a routine supply delivery, you suffer a surprise ambush. However, with Obi-Wan away leading the rendezvous as he simultaneously investigates new elements surrounding your being, you are left alone to make the hard-hitting decisions expected of leaders during The Clone Wars. But when the present meshes with the past, how will you perform as deeply buried struggles are forced to the surface?

Song Inspo: Alone — Neil Finn

Words: 9.1K

A/n: Oh boy, this one is gonna be heavy y'all. And that's all I'll say. Enjoy 😈

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

You lose them a thousand times in a thousand ways. You say a thousand goodbyes. You hold a thousand funerals — Sara Seager

“80% of the containers have been secured in the port bay with the rest being carried in as we speak,” Boil relayed, pointed finger strictly scrolling through his datapad that hummed a striking cobalt glow amidst Lanos’s softer, earthy tones.

He stood at the ready to your left with his helm resting under an arm, taking in each and every two-to-three digit number emanating from the device while you surveyed the array of pale blue repulsersleds bustling atop the port’s grayed, metal landing platform. Ferrying tightly strapped cargo into the bay alongside their clone guardians like a flawless, tapered conveyor belt adhering to a strict timetable.

Most notable, however, was the way this living machine collectively dwarfed the sporadic bands of clone lieutenants who, toting their own Republic-issued datapads, coordinated delivery logistics with counterpart supply port stationaries. Though the brighter energies that rippled through the Force certainly haggled for a higher podium, as the latter of those two, similarity garbed groups seemed all the more enlivened by the marginal increase in activity on such an otherwise docile planet.

“The station Sergeant is currently off-base engaging another matter—,” Boil mentioned off-handedly. “—but sends his regards.”

“Thanks, Boil,” you hummed, silver orbs drifting beyond the organized fuss that circled like bees calculating predetermined patterns long ago inscribed in their very DNA.

Those same eyes flitted by the steel, square-cut terrace’s narrowed path which assumed the shape of a bottleneck in its stretch through the far, inner bay. Then, past the raised, blocky, metallic structure trading in checkered viewports for highly reinforced paneling. One that every day offered the station’s clones a welcome retreat from the planet’s emphatically beating, yellow sun. Just as it shielded them from any other element posing as a threat to the Republic’s mission.

To its perseverance through this war.

“I suppose the next step is to finish the delivery before regrouping to return to The Negotiator,” you evenly deduced. “Right?”

The sharp-eyed clone offered a slight nod. “Affirmative.”

But even foreign structures that cried Coruscanti architecture and hammered down brutalist design amidst Lanos’s creamy breezes and florid expanse did little to hold your attention. Those motionless, gray confines battling against any root or creeping vine that dared to snake under its foundation or slither across its walls failed to yank at your outer lip’s muscles.

At least, not with a vigor comparable to the involuntary jolt you felt strike those same nerves just from the swiping flash of a certain bunch of saffron fur scampering by the tree line.

Though, in spite of the curious, fox-like creature’s daring attempts to acquire the title ‘Honorary Republic Recruit’ from afar, the attentive animal still maintained a devoted caution as they steered a wide berth around the manmade metals which, like a disease, thinned the once lusciously stretching trees bordering its walls.

Instead, the well-groomed critter found temporary solace in nuzzling their tail with cheerfully squinted eyes amidst the deeper, healthier greens and sturdier trunks carrying thicker bark. A microcosm of the wider forest’s hilly character, which rolled around the entrenched, and fairly hidden, compound before flinging back out again for miles, like massive waves frozen in time millennia ago to house a countless abundance of life.

“If you’re worried about that animal interfering with platform operations, I can send a few boys to scare it off.”

“No, no,” you quickly assured with a flicking wave of your hand, dismissing the no-nonsense clone while silver eyes strung to distant, peering yellows.

“That’s alright. They aren’t hurting anyone. Just curious.”

“Understood,” he asserted quickly before stretching back into his planned briefing with a muscle memory akin to the dash of his head toward the glowing datapad.

“Because the storm has cleared it should be an easy takeoff. The shuttles will be able to meet us at port.”

“Sounds like our legs will finally get a break,” you teased lightly, sending the horseshoe-bearded man a knowing glance.

A deep, throaty chuckle fell from his lips as you lifted a few fingers to flit away another droplet of sweat rushing down your forehead from the increasingly belting heat and weakening gusts whose dying breaths failed to chill the air.

“I certainly hope—“

A sharp, singeing thread tugged at your prickling senses from within the Force, snapping your neck toward the source of the sensation before the flaring, scarlet bolt rapidly consuming your vision launched your nimble body, arms fanned out, to roughly shove Boil out of the way. Sending you both tumbling toward the unforgiving ground as the steaming blaze just barely hurled above each of your heads.

“Ambush!” You screamed after sorely rolling off the rather surprised clone and onto a less bruised back, primary hand clawing for your belt.

Your madly thrashing heart reigned into a steady chill with the initial pulse of adrenaline beginning to wean. And by pure chance alone, it was in that very brief second, as blood rushed past ear drums, that you began to feel an unexpectedly sudden heat center on your left wrist.

Thrusting that very arm up and into your vision, you spotted the sporadic, bubbling crackles and scarlet sparks of a damaged wrist comm whose drooping, dark metal structure threatened to melt into your already itching arm.

Quickly, you scrambled to your feet, right hand tightly wrapped around your unclasped saber as you levied it to thwack off the sizzling comm, permitting the decaying device to clatter across the dense platform as it sibilated into spare parts.

Having freed yourself of that discomfort, you swiftly ignited the saber’s buzzing, gray glow before angling toward the damage-inflicting direction. Yet even still amidst such a swift spin, you couldn’t help but absorb just how the landscape’s bright aura, which once overshadowed the rear port’s barren metallurgic twilight, now hung moodier as peaceful woods suddenly turned not so serene.

Emerging from the left side of a large hill positioned before the facility appeared an ever-growing array of creaking and whining metallic beasts.

With the prickling hairs atop the nape of your neck, you felt as the rear clones rushed to their assigned stations while a line of at least ten… twenty….. thirty and counting mustard yellow, beaked droids carrying stringy arms and legs jounced through the ground’s apex with grimy, heavy-duty blasters secured in hand.

Interspersed within their ranks and towering at least triple their size inched forward a darker, all-encompassing model whose pointed soles shredded verdant grass into marred, brittle soil. Colicoid-like droids that commanded three jointed legs, two weaponized arms, and a spine contorting into some sort of red-fanged face that curved inwards, all behind a spherical shield which quivered a transparent blue.

That’s what must’ve nearly hit Boil, you surmised, when another one of those cold, rigid arms blasted off a similarly behaved bolt toward a far cargo container. Shattering it into scattering, hot white-and-red shards, and sending a few nearby clones flying by some feet as a cacophony of shocked yells stalked their paths.

And, unfortunately, it appeared that second blast was enough to effectively signal the rest of the progressively expanding battalion to finally commence their full-fledged attack.

Streaks of thick, fiery crimson, slender orange, and harsh blue beams coated the sky like violent patchwork, darkening the planet’s once stilled and luscious atmosphere into one of rising, smoky death. Filling your nostrils with the noxious scent of burning plasma and battering your eardrums with strained voices that desperately shouted all around you.

“Men, with me!”

“I need help over here!”

“Medic!”

“Move back! Move back!”

“You two, blast ‘em Rollies!”

Their echoes careened over the sharp buzz of your saber as it swung through the air to collide with showering beams. And while, foregoing your long lost wrist comm, you remained relatively unscathed, you still struggled to afford the men fighting alongside you that same luxury.

Far to your left, a quintet of clones gradually retreated through a clean, V-formation as blue spires erupted from their phasers. Only for the incoming brigade’s ceaseless fire to clip the far right soldier’s arm, tearing at his upper plate which oozed a deep crimson athwart its snowy glaze.

Another profuse liberation of deadly rain, and an additional victim emerged as a flaming, hot bolt dug its way through the stepping foot of one of the middlemen, eliciting a pained groan while smoke sprang from the blackening wound.

You tried to help them. Mostly by tapping into their interlinkage with the all-encompassing Force as you’d discovered to do in recent weeks. Relying on this riddled tactic to empower your connection against insurmountable odds as you shoved pre-fired blaster heads into non-lethal directions and tugged out the legs from underneath yellowed battle droids while their brethren marched on unfazed and unfettered.

It wasn’t a chief, battle-altering tactic, but it was sure to meet at least one goal you had in mind: doing everything in your power to give the clones around you those precious, few extra seconds needed to seek cover from this overwhelmingly multiplying attack force.

But you only had so much to give.

No matter what, you couldn’t take your eyes off the eternal task of reflecting away each bolt that careened toward your person. And that was all while making every attempt to reduce the droid’s numbers with a deliberate swipe of your saber or a dexterous application of the Force. But it was when you considered the added responsibility of aiding any nearby clone struggling to defend against perpetually growing enemy numbers that the muddling task became quite daunting.

Suddenly, the corner of your vision caught a familiar, garish tone, drawing your gaze back behind the gradually receding quintet and toward a clone marked by an unavoidable, olive-green circle. A symbol that would’ve blended with the planet’s wider greenery had the billowing plasmic smoke been given enough time to clear.

However, unlike the rest of the platoon, this particular soldier chose instead to steadily march forward, soon passing the withdrawing V-formation like passing ships in the wildest of starless space sectors as he covered their retreat with an azure floodlight of bolts flying from his blaster.

“Get back, Getter!” You commanded, saber swinging elegantly in a controlled retreat as you sent an occasional hard glance toward the disobedient clone.

“I’m Forward Line!” He shouted through the muffled feedback of his sound-amplified helmet, failing to spare any glance away from the threat that marched head-on.

His feet crept forward, indefinite tone communicating his plans while the increasing barrage of bolts threatened your versatility.

“I’ll cove—“

A dense, blistering flare of plasma swiped straight through the eye of Getter’s helmet, leaving a charred, flaky perforation in its place that stifled his body like an off-switch.

He didn’t even tense.

Instead, the moment gravity recalled its birthright, he collapsed like a rag doll. Simply becoming a jumbled pile of arms and legs.

Your jaw slackened as a pinprick chill consumed your body.

“Silvey! Orders!?” Boil cried from close behind as his blaster ricocheted into the panoramic mob.

Row upon row unfurled across the hill’s peak, spilling into the valley’s depths like loose marbles from an endlessly deep bucket.

Though the frigidity that repeatedly ripped down your spine seemed to momentarily disconnect you from its horror as your mind focused on the present threat.

Those larger, curved ‘Rollies’ could transform into whirling spheres, empowering them to rocket down the hillside. Treating anything you were unable to Force shove away in time, be it scattered equipment or Front Line clones, like loose pins for the taking.

And it seemed, as your brain dizzied at the lives being ripped out of good men’s hands, that such a manipulation considered effortlessly simple by any Jedi was becoming too much of a task.

“Get a comm to Kenobi that we need reinforcements yesterday!—“ You yelled somewhat hazily as your mind desperately centered a connective blanket around one of the barreling Rollies so to redirect it into another speeding down beside it, coercing their shields to interact and combust into blue sparks and stinging flames.

You heaved in another gasp of chemically tinted, plasmic smoke.

“—And to bring any ideas on how to cut off this slope! Else we’re sitting ducks!”

“Copy!” He called before you sensed him spin on his heel toward the rear command center.

Until your next words stopped him in his tracks.

Because Getter’s sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.

And you needed to do something.

“I’m getting in the trenches to try to cut these rolling things off!”

You creaked your neck sideways as another hot blast whizzed past your tingling ear.

“You’ll need support!” He advised with a hand cupping his mouth. “I’ll redirect a few boys your way!”

Another bolt diverted toward an unsuspecting set of droids smashed a few of the batch’s heads together.

“No!” You slammed, fending off another wall of vivid fire.

No more men die today.

They can’t.

Not during your first command.

Not ever.

Not after—

No.

“You focus on getting that message to the General,” you continued with gritted teeth, saber spinning into a swelling, pallid fireball. “If I need help, I’ll ask. Now go!”

His boots squeaked against the once sun-dried platform, now spattered with occasional streaks of thick, deep-crimsoned goop. Smattering the sound of his voice as the subtle scent of copper trailed in the air like itinerant pollen that clogged your sinuses and sullied your tastebuds.

“Comm to me in the bay!”

—

Oh, Anakin.

That was the repetitive acknowledgment encircling Obi-Wan’s thoughts as he silently observed Master Yoda, Master Windu, and Chancellor Palpatine’s shivering, blue holocomms occasionally snap out of shape, all while he stood casually in one of the ship’s empty, gray conference rooms to ensure a private meeting.

Calling from such distances was sure to elicit additional signal disturbances, and, sometimes, would even cause temporary blackouts. But fortunately, or unfortunately, for the General, none of those occurrences prevented Kenobi from discovering his former Padawan’s unsanctioned change of plans through a similar comm exchange a few hours ago.

Of course, it was his responsibility to ensure the arrival of the escort in Anakin’s charge. Maybe that’s because, whether tied to the mission or not, Obi-Wan always seemed to be the first to learn about Skywalker’s impulsive decisions. This time being his insubordinate choice to rope his own Padawan into a patched-together rescue mission following ambivalent reports regarding Master Plo Koon’s fleet.

He certainly always found a way, didn’t he?

Yes, technically, because it was just Anakin and Ahsoka redeploying, then the convoys would be unrestricted in meeting the arranged rendezvous with the rest of the fleet.

But still, Skywalker was a General now. Could that chestnut-haired man not go off on his own without at least informing another Jedi tasked with this mission first?

Anakin could have told him.

And, honestly, while Kenobi knew he would’ve put up a bit of a fight at the suggestion of such a change of plans, the Jedi Master still fully comprehended that, in the end, he had the trust to watch his former Padawan go.

Because, deep down, Obi-Wan knew that, despite the potential strategic sacrifice, it was the right thing to do.

Not that he had much choice to do anything else since Skywalker had already arrived at the attack site.

And now, consequentially, in his station as both military General and Jedi Council member, Kenobi was the one required to deliver this pesky news to the necessary officials in his place.

“Twice the trouble, they have become,” Master Yoda sighed, rounded eyes dribbling toward the ground in contemplation. “A reckless decision, Skywalker has made.”

The weary Chancellor’s snow-white furrow deepened. “Let us hope it is not a costly one.”

Palpatine exhaled gradually, dipping gaze giving room for the three Jedi hovering subserviently in his presence a moment to absorb the flickers of combat fatigue that affected the deciding politician. Though, despite the momentary pause, the Chancellor was quick to recover, flicking his far-out stare toward the trio with a manufactured smile that struggled to assure that he was, in fact, quite alright.

“I do apologize, gentleman, but I have another meeting with the Senator from Kestos Minor shortly, so I must leave you.”

“Of course, Chancellor,” Kenobi acknowledged for the Jedi in attendance.

And with that, the former Senator’s unstable image evaporated into azure sparks before fading into the room’s wider darkness.

“An eye on your former Padawan, you must keep,” Master Yoda noted, motioning a hand clasped around his irregularly curved gimer stick toward Kenobi. “An update, I request, next we meet.”

“Yes, Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan assured. “I will keep track of him.”

But not before addressing the puckering questions that prodded his brain tissue all afternoon.

At least, ever since speaking with you.

“Do you have a moment, Master Windu?” Kenobi questioned, just as the Grand Master’s digital picture similarly flickered into cerulean specks of nothingness.

The older Master glanced at Obi-Wan out of his peripheral, torso still respectively angled toward the empty cavity where Yoda’s silhouette once stood before smoothly pivoting with a subtly tilted neck toward the inquisitive Jedi.

“I do,” he punctuated with taught features. “And what is this regarding?”

“Silvey,” Obi-Wan plainly replied, allowing his voice alone to carry him through the next few seconds so to disallow himself from failing to speak of these matters at all.

“I was made aware earlier today that they were not fully informed of their condition following the incident. As their Master, and the one tasked with notifying them in place of the Healer, I was hoping to inquire as to why?”

A blank stare of unreadable stillness crossed the thousand light years in a fashion only Mace Windu, complexion of secrets and answers, could achieve.

“As their advisor, I provided only necessary information,” he clarified simply with the gesturing support of his hand. “It was unnecessary to subject Silvey to the past when they successfully recovered.”

Obi-Wan’s lips twitched into an imperceptibly partial frown.

Perhaps Master Windu… knew more than he was letting on?

He talked of deeming certain details imperative to share, which could suggest that there were facts being kept secret, even from you, for reasons beyond the bearded Jedi’s current knowledge.

At least, that’s what Obi-Wan convinced himself.

It would be the only explanation for such a decision, he thought. For seemingly sending you on a mission without any concern for the unknown factors at play, and for this indefinite justification of why.

That would be the only thing that made any lick of sense.

And that also could’ve meant, maybe, just maybe, Kenobi wasn’t the only one beginning to sense remnants of your mind within the Force.

Perhaps Mace Windu already discovered this development. Or perhaps, it was even possible the elder Master had something to do with it.

That, as your ‘advisor,’ he was already a few steps ahead. And that, in your meditation sessions, he found something. Triggered something.

Knew something.

Either way, the General desired to understand.

“And how are we to know that?” Kenobi tested carefully, eyeing the strict Jedi’s cheekbones for any small, reflexive hint. “You yourself admitted to an inability to perceive their mind, the cause of these headaches, or the incident’s nature. By those facts alone, how can it be possible to assume that this is truly in the past?”

Pressing his lips into a thin line with arms confidently folded into themselves, Master Windu intrepidly spoke as broadened shoulders secured his stance.

“The Republic is in need of more Jedi on the field. You of all people are aware of that fact, Master Kenobi,” he stated. “I made the most reasonable decision given our circumstances. Such details are not of our immediate concern. We cannot afford it.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help the taught string of confusion and wiry cords of astonishment that knit across his forehead, muscling down the rest of his features like a sudden tug on the loose end of an interwoven thread.

Mace knew nothing.

And, with that in mind, Kenobi never expected such indifference to be applied to a situation deemed incomprehensible by even the Grand Master himself a few days earlier. Toward a state of affairs clouded by the ever-living Force in a plum of enigmatic readings, which, to the Council, was always a less than desirable sign.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

Said the Code.

So then to brush this all off? And dismiss its repercussions to his own mentee, no less.

Obi-Wan raised a hand, curling a few knuckles to provide his chin a thoughtful rest. All in an attempt to imbue the Force with interim civility as his mind rapidly flipped through Mace’s words.

And it didn’t take long for him to realize that all this… Every decision made concerning you…

It was this war.

It was changing Windu like it was changing all of them. All the Jedi. Causing them to lose sight of what was once important in the days before the Battle of Geonosis.

But this wasn’t right.

Something was clearly influencing you. And, despite the Republic’s shifting priorities, Mace needed to be reminded that this situation, no matter how diverting, was just as important to the Council’s overarching mission as its efforts in this war.

To the Jedi’s purpose.

To peace.

These headaches and their culminated crisis may have evolved into a creature of the past. But it was their state of unpredictability, and the Galaxy-altering implications of a Guardian thrown from commission, which convinced Kenobi that the Council mustn’t lose sight of such solemnity. Especially not during a decade in which the Grand Master sensed the Force to have grown, in some pockets, indecipherable.

And no matter what, you deserved to know the full nature of these incidents.

Obi-Wan’s jaw released, poking away the useless support of bent fingers as his arm fell to the side at a rate equal to the blooming resolution which consumed the bearded man’s blue-eyed countenance. A visual marker, or signature stamp, of the Master Jedi’s acceptance that no war would stymie him from making these very thoughts known to the glitching holocomm across from him.

So much so, that he nearly missed the echoing chime of the conference room’s automatic door as its mechanics whirred open.

“General!”

Kenobi’s neck snapped toward the urgent inflection shimmering from Commander Cody’s tensed lips, just as brightly as the orange embellishments accenting his trooper armor reflected the white lights streaming overhead.

He was leaned into a forward stance, a puff of air proving him not a still-life statue as he caught his balance. All in an effort to suddenly halt a spirited sprint into the conference room that eventually, from the exertion alone, impelled him to expel the rest.

“There’s been a surprise attack on the supply port and the platoon left behind on Lanos.”

A dryness consumed Kenobi’s tongue as another simply armored clone dashed through the same whirring, mechanical door. Sprightly stepping up to whisper a few quick words to his Commander just before the aperture behind him buzzed shut once more.

“Reports of heavy casualties,” Cody parroted with an ear leaned toward the newly arrived lieutenant. “And they are requesting immediate reinforcements.”

“I will leave you to address this more immediate concern, Master Kenobi,” Windu relayed from the twitching holocomm image strikingly emanating from behind; his expression stilled except for the subtle twinge of disappointment drooping the outer corners of his eyes.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan affirmed, clearing his voice as moisture coated a tickling throat.

At least enough for him to sign off with one final message aimed toward his fellow Council member.

“I will see you at the rendezvous.”

—

A burning ache entangled each limb’s muscles like winding vines as you fended off the coming onslaught. Centering yourself in the lowest dip of the valley’s crease wasn’t necessarily the most strategic move given your current predicament. Especially considering it labeled your dodging figure as prime target practice for the ropes of Rollies that erratically spun down the hillside at spine-chilling speeds.

But you didn’t have any choice.

Not if you hoped to become an unbreakable barrier of pure might and agility, impeding a near three-hundred mix of droids threatening the platoon’s lives who hastily regrouped behind you.

Various squad formations would mark the best vantage points atop the port’s landing platform from which to lay fire upon the siege. Though that was the extent to which the battalion could effectively participate. Joining you in the, quite literal, trenches was a death sentence to any non-Force Sensitive individual hoping to take a stand against an attacking strength of this magnitude.

It was your ability, and your ability alone, to navigate the rapidly shifting elements of surrounding energies that empowered you to fight in their place while dodging and manipulating droids who shot walls of steady fire or suddenly sprung at you with their dense, steel bodies.

Yet, no matter your resilience, you still possessed the same weakness every other living being faced in adrenalizing circumstances.

You were growing quite exhausted.

“Reinforcements are almost here!” You heard Boil yell from far behind while he used a nearby repulsersled flipped into a makeshift shield to traverse the compound drowned in chemical fires and bloodied chaos. “You can’t stay there forever!”

You wrapped your fingers around the air as invisible claws shimmied their way around a Rollie barreling toward your figure before rapidly thrusting that same fist to the side, leading the machine’s suddenly bouncing trajectory to hurtle into a group of about eight battle droids.

One in particular sluggishly swiveled its head toward the oncoming sight with subtle reservation as it expelled creaky, undulating words.

“Oh no.”

Until they became another scattered pile of far-flung, broken parts, an explosion colored by blasting crimson and cobalt sparks.

“I’m gonna have to!” You called back, the swing of your saber nearly transforming into a cloudy blur of heat before your very, watering eyes as you deflected bolt after bolt while sidestepping through the uneven hollow. “We’ll lose our only advantage!”

“Excuse me for saying, Silvey, but I think that losing a Jedi will be cutting our advantage!”

You knew he was right.

But you were quickly learning that in war, there was no easy choice.

You weren’t going to lose anyone else.

Maker… you couldn’t.

You just… couldn’t.

A scorching, slash clawed into your left calf, electrifying all the way down to your ankle as a surprised yelp was drawn from your lips.

And it wasn’t long before that very foot and sorely exercised knee buckled under the shocking pressure, slamming both roughly into the dirt as you felt another breeze graze the touches of your back exposed by rips in the fabric. All from those quick tumbles against newly jagged ground with raised rock shards and disturbed mounds formed by the ongoing conflict.

You briefly glanced down to assess the damage, relying on your senses' contextual intertwinement and the dancing light of your gray saber to defend against the ongoing downpour of bolts. Showers that fell from the hilltop with such magnitude that you could’ve sworn the sky was crying smoky tears.

Speaking of bolts, it appeared one had cut you down pretty good as a severely bloodied laceration oozing black, bubbling soot stingingly throbbed the bottom half of your leg. Consuming your vision with its strongly contrasting, dark tinge even amidst your armor’s shadowy undertones.

So much for those Republic-tested shin guards, you internally grunted.

And, regrettably, with one leg out of commission, it didn’t take long for your wearied body and continuously fogging gaze to make another mistake.

Even if it was only for a split second.

While desperately side-crawling toward the landing pad, in an effort to impede an enemy group from its newly-angled, swift approach, you missed an arbitrary bolt that collided with the hilt of your saber. Snapping it out of your hand as its protective covering took the brunt of the blast, but still flung it a few meters out from your grip all the same.

Your head spun back toward the main invading Force, only to be met with an inky black blaster whose cold body was levied mere centimeters from your forehead.

Dark spots crept into your peripheral like a predator surveying its prey as your palms dug into the disturbed dirt below.

“Wow, look guys!” The titillated battle droid exclaimed. “I got a Jedi!”

Shades of flaming red exploded before your very eyes.

But not for the reason you thought.

No, whatever that was, it wasn’t blood.

It was much more…

Much too…

Fuzzy?

Scrapping at whatever strength you had left, you focused your shaky stare above. Only to be met with the strikingly pigmented fox of before, wrapped around the battle droid’s torso like a constricting tendril as it gnawed with growling rage at the mechanical thing’s armed skeletal limb.

“Ah! What is this?” The off-yellow machine bellowed. “Get it off me! Get it off me!”

He spun in unsteady circles, flinging his targeted arm as if fire consumed its nonexistent nerves, drilled feet stumbling over each other while the fox laid savagely into their assault.

Until the droid hoisted its other revolving hand, slamming it down once, and then twice, across the creature’s wet snout. A sickening crack, and its shiny, fur coat slung from the machine before landing as a mangled heap onto the ground.

You thrust a hand toward your saber, scratching at the Force to coax it to your fingers as it catapulted into your grasp.

A reflection of the blaster’s barrel stung your eye.

One squealing pop flung through the air.

And then another.

“Good riddance,” the droid mumbled while it drearily kicked the still warm, but entirely lifeless creature left at its feet.

You were too late.

You were always too late.

Qui-Gon’s paled skin. His glazed, breathless eyes.

And then you saw it.

You swore you saw it.

A flash of that horned, devil face harshly stomped across the fox’s barren throat.

And your blood ran cold.

So frigid, that an icy film must’ve shielded your eyes while they blurred in contest with an increasingly congested mind. The resonating cries of commanding clones, marching mechanical feet, and rushing metal clamoring against loose bolts all melded into a muddled echo of the past. Even Boil’s distended calls, which freely rang around inching droids as he laid down fire, melded into the rest of the world.

Instead, a high-pitched tone displaced their existence, slackening your jaw and dangerously slowing your breath while a weight unlike any other yanked down at your sternum.

And amidst all that drowning havoc, you barely noticed the large, gray shuttle with faint red accents descend before you.

Almost immediately, and with growing intensity, its engines were able to sweep away any nearby battle droids as they flung and tumbled across the grass like loose scraps. Even the Rollies found their maneuverability stifled as they transformed back into a legged form before being tossed away like loose credits via their curvature alone.

Yet, even though the vehicle landed between you and the incoming fire, its rear door descending as a fluttering ivory robe and flashes of white armor darted down its ramp, it was still not enough to rip you out from yourself.

It was only partially, that your awareness sparked, and for a moment oh so brief, as a flash of auburn tufts poked a hole in that stunned cataract.

“Silvey!”

A distant echo among muffled blaster fire, but the ringing tone did seem to partially subside.

“Silvey! Can you hear me?!”

You swallowed, vision clearing just enough to recognize a familiar pair of widened, bright blue eyes.

Though you had no idea how he got here.

“Obi-Wan?” You questioned hazily with scrunched brows.

“Let’s get you to the ship!” He declared firmly, eyes drifting toward your mangled leg as a hint of displeasure creased his eyes.

But he hesitated for only a second before quickly wrapping his fingers around your free arm to tug you that away.

And, truth be told, it was that moment, that single moment, the warm feeling of his grip as plasmic fumes assaulted your senses, that became the last instant of Lanos you truly remembered.

You recalled the gentle pressure of Kenobi’s fingers releasing your arm into the shuttle just before it lifted from the ground while he sprinted off, pearly armor catching the sun’s smoke-scattered glare as he joined the fight. And you could remember the stinging weight that dragged at your muscles as you stood for the first time after the hull abruptly docked at The Negotiator.

A feeling that haunted you with each step you traversed from the shuttle bay to your temporary quarters.

You could even recall the taste of the stale ship air that reigned menial against Lanos’s essence of fresh vegetation and untouched atmosphere. Though that particular memory was hard to forget, considering those same elements pervaded your quarters.

What you couldn’t remember, however, was what anyone had said to you. If anyone had said anything at all. You couldn’t remember when your injured leg was wrapped, or who did it. You couldn’t remember whether the battle was won. You couldn’t remember entering the lift to the residential section of the ship. And you couldn’t remember the familiar whooshing creak of your quarter’s automatic door.

Oh Maker, no.

You couldn’t recall whether that faulty sound tolled when the aperture opened.

You could only trust that the door had, in fact, shut behind you as you ambled into your quarters, deactivated lightsaber falling from your bruised fingers before rudely clacking across the carpeted floor. You could only hope that the walls, too, were thick enough to deafen the sound of your falling knees as they collided with the itchy carpet’s prickling texture.

And you could pray that the falling tears wetting your cheeks and soaking your tunic, and the hiccuping breaths stopping your heart, would somehow ease the agonizing burden that crushed your chest with the bodies of all you had lost.

—

“And the facility was secured?” Master Kenobi inquired once Commander Cody concluded his cursory report on the impromptu attack.

Both general and soldier ambled down the curved, tubular hallway of one of the ship’s upper decks, lined with identically placed doors and overhead lights that perfectly reflected the Republic’s preference for uniformed architecture. Still though, Obi-Wan’s wandering eyes would soak up their every detail, down to the personalized wear of certain entry panels or noticeable scuffs decorating the steel floor whenever he participated in such debriefs.

It allowed his mind to focus on the task at hand. No matter the aeonian tumult that bled into their essence or bordered his thoughts.

“Yes, General,” Cody assured evenly as his long-barreled, black phaser, still warm from battle, patiently hung from a confident grip; swaying with each step that fell in line with his superior’s steady stride.

“And we incurred far less casualties than anticipated,” he continued, with a hint of optimism so subtle that even Kenobi struggled to detect it. “My men report that the General is to thank for that.”

An unconscious hand hovered toward Obi-Wan’s chin, gently stroking his beard’s loose tufts while the Jedi Master continued to absorb his officer’s words like a Bluebell squish would sunlight.

Though his gaze still dallied across the ephemeral doors.

“Had they not stood their ground in the valley’s trench…” Cody liberated. “I doubt much of the platoon would be left standing.”

Kenobi’s chest rose and fell with a gradualness that seemed to suspend time itself. Still, his legs carried him onwards, as a shuttle set on autopilot would transport its passengers by endless star systems, and the beauties in between.

You certainly took a huge risk, he noted. Pushing yourself to the very brink to protect the lives of his own battalion.

But did you know just how close you came to the point of no return?

The Master Jedi considered that even Anakin would’ve deemed the act of entering and remaining in the trenches terribly reckless.

And that was saying something.

But you were Qui-Gon’s Padawan, after all. And Obi-Wan knew better than anyone that drilled into your being was the desire to avoid violence at all costs. To preserve the manifestations of the Force by protecting any and all beings who necessitated aid.

Though you were never prepared for a war that coerced Jedi to conform to a changed Galaxy.

And it coerced him to consider…

Should he say something?

“Sir.”

The General need not rely on Force-attuned senses to notice the Commander slowed his gate into a standstill from the corner of an observant eye. Leashing Kenobi to do the same as he angled to face the solider whose mollified shoulders stimulated satiny brown orbs to soften.

“Some of the boys and I would like to thank the General in person for what they did today,” he expressed somewhat awkwardly, hand jolting up to scratch the back of his head as his eyes dipped off to the side. “Any chance you could share a heads up when they may be up for it, Sir?”

An involuntary twitch tugged at the corner of the General’s tensed lips. Though his revelation after the fact choked the sensation before it had any chance of crawling up to ensnare his bright, cerulean orbs.

No. Not yet, the bearded man concluded.

He couldn’t share his worries.

Because Kenobi dreaded that doing so would risk metamorphosis.

It would be, conceivably, like asking you to transform into a different breed of Jedi. One who’d fail to touch the hearts of men with such infectious reverence and unity.

You were a being who would, no matter what, sacrifice each and every far-off particle of themselves if it meant preserving just one more life, or to cease the wands of conflict indefinitely.

The Way of Qui-Gon’s age, that felt so long ago.

Before its prime was sullied by war…

Suppressing his former Master’s Renaissance teachings in favor of this changed Galaxy, like so many Jedi of late, like Mace Windu, would fundamentally alter you.

And it was that very concept that sucked away the energy of his mind, like a siphon draining liquid gold down through his stiffened spine, and out through his toes.

“Of course, Commander,” Kenobi expelled fluidly. “I’m certain they would valu—“

A gust of pressurized mass flung by the duo with the brawn of a rushing wave, consuming Obi-Wan’s senses and depressing the hairs along his arms like a sudden shift in gravity as his once drained neck flicked toward the impression’s oozing source, located somewhere farther down the hallway.

But while the piqued Jedi Master’s piercing eyes initially saw nothing of concern, it was only a mere second later when the feeling quickly morphed into a troubling array as a pointed hole the size of a marble appeared to form in his ribcage, deliberately expanding into a bleak vacuum that nearly caught his breath.

Then came the pain.

An intense jab whose sharp instrument seemed to pierce the air with progressively afflicting shocks that were surely impossible for any Force-Sensative being to ignore.

At least, for him.

And while this sensation’s source appeared to stray from his inner being, Kenobi could still perceive its utter potency, shattering his thoughts with one, unavoidable clarity:

That, no matter the impenetrability of mental blocks or molecular hints of presence within the Force, the only other being in this sector at all capable of emitting this kind of energy, was you.

And that could only mean one thing.

Something was very very wrong.

Given that you’d nearly escaped with your life not even an hour prior, Kenobi could only fear the worst as he mentally recounted your previously noted injuries.

Unless…

That earlier hesitation…

“General!” Cody alertedly yet curiously called after his superior officer as the auburn-haired man’s once composed posture devolved into a notably rushed jog, his white shoulder and shin guards doing little in the ways of stifling the whipping surge of his ivory robe as it caught the ship’s manufactured atmosphere’s resistance. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m not certain,” he replied with a leveled tone, though never assuaging his gate or turning his chin away from the path ahead as he rushed by door upon equivalent door. “I will comm you if not.”

It was quite fortunate, Obi-Wan realized, that he’d already been returning to his own quarters when he sensed the shift in the Force as they were situated a mere few doors down from your own. Otherwise, given your mind’s weak presence in its endless flow, he may not have caught onto the displacement until long after the fact. Still, he couldn’t help but assign himself preliminary blame for whatever it was he began inwardly preparing to walk into.

He was too distracted to check in with you until now. Too preoccupied with leading reinforcements to turn the tide of that bloody sea of an ambush. And too absorbed in the logistics of determining just exactly how that Separatist attack force landed on Lanos without a lick of intelligence soaring his way. All while the General simultaneously ensured an on-track fleet rendezvous in the background.

But now, stood before your door amidst the heavy rise and fall of a stunted chest in which breath clutched its heels, the Jedi Master gravelly understood once again, fist hovering before its grayed coating in fleeting hesitation, that he had no choice but to rectify another mistake made in his task of certifying The Guardian’s safety.

His knuckles resonantly rapped the cold metal sheen separating you both.

“Silvey?”

But that empty, weighted crevice slithering within his deepest senses persisted, its stinging ambiance threatening to crack open his skin. Quite enough to convince the Jedi Master, as he reached a few fingers toward the door’s panel to levy a couple overriding taps, that your current well-being transcended any and all swirling discomforts rooted in invading your personal space.

Yet, even with such logic secured as firmly on his belt as his lightsaber, nothing could’ve truly prepared Obi-Wan Kenobi for the sight that patiently awaited the mechanical entryway’s opening swish, as his subsequent few steps into your thinly carpeted and modestly furnished quarters delivered an image not easily unseen.

Kneeled just a few meters before the stilled, auburn-haired man was your sternly bent-over figure, back hunched as strikingly as a shadow in a room simply lit by the vast array of stars that glimmered unbothered beyond the far wall’s viewport. Your wears were the same, with the various splotched, grimy stains and ripped, sagging ends of disturbed cloth still hugging your body like fearful younglings. Just as they had during the battle’s peak when Kenobi’s shuttle first landed.

Their drying crackles. Their stretching tears. They caught his gaze as fiercely as a spark of fire with each subtle quiver of your spine, an action which took his mind a moment to register as the trembling quake bedeviling enervated lungs.

From your blood-soiled calf bandage, ruggedly stuck, tussled hair, and sweat-adhered, dirt-crusted arms, Obi-Wan could only assume that you’d remained like this since your arrival. Submitting to your dark surroundings while lacking the inspiration to flip on a light.

And, most eerily, in a muteness that heightened the slightest creaks and far-off humming engines of a periodically groaning ship.

A recognition that deepened the already cavernous void threatening to swallow whole every vein branching from Kenobi’s chest into the muscle of each motionless shoulder.

This was nothing like the incident of days prior, which meant that the General was uncertain of what would help. How to fix this. Or even, what was wrong.

But he veritably knew that dropping a pin in the uncanny silence engulfing you both like a gaseous cloud would shatter his eardrums just as savagely as he assumed it would spiral whatever affliction you were enduring into a perilous state.

And that meant that, for the life of him. The Master Jedi had no idea how to proceed.

He could not breathe for apprehension that it would burst like a spark within an invisible hypermatter leak. Let alone speak a few words, nor your name, unless he knew that, without harm, he could.

So, Master Kenobi did the only thing he dreamed acceptable.

After idling by the entryway in perpetual uncertainty, the cautious Jedi adopted a lissome tread, leading his troubled brows and downturned cerulean eyes to finally seize a glimpse of your collapsed head as he rounded your form.

Your blotched countenance of stained tears and drained listlessness. Loose strands of hair soaked from sweat or anguish he did not know. Still, even your radiantly silver eyes seemed to gray in their moribund stare straight ahead, as if to watch a tiresome scene a thousand parsecs away run its course.

And it was that utter and complete stillness, a feeling invoking time to recede into long-forgotten history, that remained for a tense, immeasurable while.

Unsteady breaths continued to shudder your torso while eyes strung wide enough to perceive the whole Galaxy struggled to maintain their shape following the long sered, torrential flood. The cogs of overflowing thoughts crowding their rusting gears before the speechless man’s very eyes.

It felt near an eternity into the future or past had elapsed for Obi-Wan since he met your distant orbs. Yet their departed state, it seemed, never reflected your true awareness.

You were not trapped within your mind again.

“I spent my entire life on that barren planet,” you suddenly relayed hoarsely.

Or, maybe, in some ways, you were, Kenobi amended, as the sound of your strained voice heightened the General’s alertness all the way up to his hassled brows.

“And a decade of it in complete isolation.”

Laggardly, your jaded orbs lifted toward his own, neck barely shifting while you held his pursed lips and tensed jaw in a vice grip by the anticipation of your slowly spilling words alone.

“And yet—“

A single tear seeped through the dam, etching another stain into your storied cheeks as your chest quickened its heaves.

It was more than enough to have impelled Kenobi toward you. With a hand outstretched and a pulsing drive to somehow bring you any sliver of relief.

But Obi-Wan refrained from all that.

He knew he needed to listen. To understand first. So to learn how best to fix this.

He just wanted to fix this.

“—I’ve never felt… quite… so alone.”

But with those six words, the Master Jedi’s temperance seemed to wash away with the second droplet that traced a serene path down to your chin, proving another chink in the levee.

Promptly, but still with great care, Obi-Wan neared your body, both sets of eyes never severing while he lowered to his knees. Mirroring your form in complete and utter stillness as he encouraged you to continue with a reinforced, steadfast expression.

A tremulous exhale escaped your lungs, silver gaze breaking the connection before sinking to the wayside.

“Not as I do now,” you breathed. “Not when Qui-Gon is gone.”

Those two syllables, Kenobi registered. Two knocks that brought that dam to ruins.

“He’s gone!” You croakily sobbed, a glare that could only reflect betrayal by the Galaxy itself rushing to perceive Kenobi’s affected countenance with an intensity that matched the gushing rain.

You raised a fist, tightening it in the air through a paled potency so sheer that Obi-Wan worried with stitched brows about the sharp damage your fingertips could be afflicting upon the contorted palm. All while silver eyes squeezed shut as if disgusted by the waves of pure agony that surmounted your figure.

“He’s gone for good,” you gnawed breathily. “And nothing will ever bring him back.”

While heaving gasps brimmed the once noiseless, dulled gray walls, amplifying the hollowed suffering emanating through the Force, Kenobi felt his tensed spine and rigid limbs ease with the surge of conviction that steadily overcame him.

Doubtlessness that, like a good Jedi, he felt the need to ease your misery.

More than that. Your pain happened to affect him in such a way, that it felt distressing to do anything but lift his wrist to reach out a bracing palm.

For someone he appreciated as an admirable individual.

And for a being he was beginning to consider a good friend.

Gently, his palm graced the side of yours, signaling him to carefully wrap warm fingers around your strikingly frigid, raised fist. A gesture which relaxed open your tear-brimmed orbs while Obi-Wan cautiously lowered your languishingly trembling clutch. So gradually, that as both your and Obi-Wan’s arms reached each respective knee, the clasped hand was spurred to wholly unfurl, giving Kenobi room to relax his thumb against your flushed palm while he eyed you meaningfully.

“You are not alone,” Obi-Wan firmly assured, his own voice eliciting a momentary shock as he heard its baritone timbre crush the presence of such prolonged and confounding silence.

“He’s gone,” you repeated mindlessly with an empty gaze barely supporting your head.

Yet Obi-Wan’s persistence was as boundlessly unyielding as the grip he maintained on you.

“But, you’re not alone.”

“Obi-Wan,” you wept, nostrils flaring as you shook your head with thinned eyes; swallowing harshly. “Pleas—“

Rapidly, with any fret of heedfulness tossed out the airlock, the Master Jedi brought his unchained hand toward your tottering jaw. Resting a loose knuckle under your chin to lift your searching gaze toward his.

You needed this, he excused. You needed to hear this.

And as your damp, sparkling eyes absently met his, he knew:

Distance be damned.

“You are The Guardian. Anakin is forever tied to you. And you will always, always have the Order. Thousands of Jedi ready to stand by your side because of who you are,” he declared with unshakable conviction.

Until his orbs softened below shattered lips.

“Silvey,” he whispered pregnantly. “Drink in my words.” His fingers tightened around your own. “You are not alone.”

And for a moment, Kenobi could note a subtle lift in your features. A slight lightening of your irises that indicated at least some partial unshackling of an invisible burden. A development that began to stitch closed the gaping crevice nestled within his sternum as it was reflected through the Force, stabilizing against your releasing shoulders and loosening throat.

Though your mind appeared to travel elsewhere.

Still, they were all gradual indications of your calming thoughts. Hints that whatever he was doing was mending something. And signs that first appeared when he touched your hand.

Another theory that added substance to the sealing emptiness Kenobi first experienced through the hall in what felt like eons ago.

So, he leaned into it, gracing his once stilled thumb across your palm’s supple skin as he, bit by bit, traced a messy oval to soothe your thoughts.

And it didn’t take long for your continually calming presence to uncontrollably elicit the soft smile that gradually adorned his lips.

But, as soon as his gentle finger uncovered the aplomb to supply a deeper, more sustained motion of solidarity, it seemed, instantaneously, that this very transference snapped you out of whatever distance your mind had traveled with an unforeseen start.

Your suddenly surprised gape jumped out at Kenobi while a once relaxed hand instantly recoiled out of his own. Chiseling an equally confused expression across Obi-Wan’s face as his brows furrowed at you uneasily.

Still, that did little in forestalling your hurried launch to stand, all done in an effort to put a few strides between you and the bearded Jedi before crossing deeper into the dark shadows enveloping your quarters, a back of tattered robes separating you from Obi-Wan’s probing stare.

The older Jedi felt that hallowed void dilate within himself once more as he observed your sheltering arms fold into themselves, a familiar, throbbing pain emanating into the surrounding Force while he too promptly rose to his feet.

Especially as there was no denying that it was a feeling, Obi-Wan gathered, he’d somehow caused.

A myriad of thoughts swirled his mind as your quarters adopted that familiar aura of soundless reticence. One that rivaled the emptiness of its dimmed lightning that somehow felt far more barren with the presence of two beings blending into its grayed walls.

And the silence was deafening. Thunderous enough to fester a chest-displacing emotion Kenobi sometimes experienced, but knew no Jedi should long entertain.

Guilt.

“Silvey?” He questioned with indecisively parted lips, phonating barely above a whisper.

But you never spoke.

Instead, the Jedi Master received his answer from the tautening cross of your arms and intensifying dip of your head.

The clatter of heavy footsteps and low conversation echoed from the hall, cutting the still air like an endless barrage of saber swipes. Their passing din muffled by your quarter’s steel separation as Obi-Wan partially sensed the handful of clones retreat down the passageway’s other end until their overlapping noise whispered into a distant memory.

And it was following that minor rattle, the long, interspaced stretches of pure stillness, and a timeless affair of observing your statued figure for any hint of an imparting thought, that the General reluctantly accepted the inevitable as pivoted on his heel toward the long gone entourage.

Although he now ambled toward the metal door, he only moved with stalling muscles, still in anticipation that he’d sense some shift, some indication of lightening impressions through the Force. At least, any idea that maybe, maybe you’d say something to him.

But once Obi-Wan’s fingers reached for the green-rimmed panel, releasing open the aperture with a whoosh, he began to come to grips with the fact that his presence would facilitate no locution, and, instead, only make things worse.

Stepping beyond the threshold, Kenobi’s eyes drifted to the side, as if to glance at your enigmatic figure staring out the viewport from far behind.

Though, despite the effort, he never dared to fully turn. Instead, Obi-Wan simply allowed his reluctant features to subdue against the throbbing remorse that struck through his mind like an unruly blaster spear as he murmured through uncertain lips one last time.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

A soft exhale, and the door hissed closed.

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dp-marvel94 · 11 months ago

Text

Face to Face - Epilogue

Summary: When Danny went through the ghost catcher, he expected to be cured of the ghostliness that had haunted him since the accident, not to wake up on the lab floor with his parents saying he’d been overshadowed but everything’s back to normal now. But why does Danny Fenton cry himself to sleep to then dream of flying? Why does Phantom, the ghost who was supposedly possessing Danny remember a life that wasn’t his? Most of all, why do both the human and the ghost feel that something vital is missing, in their very soul? Or: Trying to cure himself of his powers one month after the accident, Danny accidentally splits himself but neither his ghost nor his human half know that that is what they did

First -> Last

Word Count: 5,791

Also on AO3 and Fanfiction.net

Note: Hi friends! It's been a while. Honestly, I was putting off posting this, the last chapter of Face to Face, because it intimidated me. 😅 But I really wanted to wrap this up by the end of the year. So we're finally here! I'm so excited to share the ending with you guys.

Also in honor of finishing this fic, I wanted to share this loving art made by @lilianade-comics on Tumblr. Check out this lovely scene from chapter 51 here!

Happy Reading!

Six months later.

“I must have been here a dozen times at least. And your lair still surprises me every time.” Sidney said, eyes surveying the room.

Danny leaned back on his couch, giving a chuckle. “Hey, I’m just working with what I have. I think the Hobbit vibes are pretty cool.”

“I figured you would want something more modern and sci fi.” His friend shrugged.

The halfa raised a brow. “Like an underground bunker? Nah.” He shook his head. “As cool as quarters on the Enterprise would be, or the inside of the TARDIS…. It just didn’t feel right. Plus,” He shrugged. “I like to be comfy.”

“It is definitely that.”

True to what Danny had imagined all those months ago, the underground house was cozy, warm, and homey. Wooden floors and paneling. Circular rooms and round doorways. The furniture was simple, warm, reddish maple-wood beds, chairs, and sofas accenting each room. Multiple rugs covered the floors and carefully selected books filled one book shelf. Other decorative objects and nick-nacks covered the walls, end tables, and other surfaces.

Some were brought from the material realm. One of his model rockets. A blob ghost plush that had been made by his dad. A Black orchid, a gift from Sam, sat in one corner, a Femalien Poster from Tucker on the wall above it. A shadow box with tickets and a glossy photo of the siblings, smiling in their bowties and fezzes with a certain actor; for Christmas his sister had bought him tickets to Comic Con and a Meet and Greet with Doctor Who actor Matt Smith.

Some objects were picked up from various trips through the Realms. There was a black and white lamp from Sidney’s lair that gave off gray light. A drum head on the wall sported an animated image of blue fire; he’d gotten that when Johnny and Kitty had taken him to see their friend Ember perform.

And some were manifested by the lair itself. A painting of a The Library with swirling spectral clouds in the background. Snow globes from different places he’d visited: Sid’s lair, The Library, Dora’s kingdom, Ember’s concert hall venue. And…. the halfa smiled softly at this last object… photo of his family and two best friends, Danny grinning in the middle in ghost form.

“Jeepers! What is this?!” Sidney’s voice interrupted the half ghost’s musing.

Danny’s gaze flickered to the object of his friend’s attention. “Oh. That? It was a Christmas present from Mom.” He jabbed a thumb at the kitchen counter where a ceramic cookie jar sported half a dozen eyes and pointy teeth around the lid, threatening approaching hands. He grinned. “It’s a Mimic.”

“A Mimic…” For just a moment, Sidney’s black and white brow wrinkled. Then… “Like from that Dungeon and Dragons game Tucker told me about?!”

“Yep.” Danny nodded.

“Fighting a monster like that… that must be the bee’s knees!” The half ghost could practically see the stars in his friend’s eyes.

“You’re still invited to our games any time you want to join.” Danny raised a brow.

“This section of the Realms needs its own group.” Sidney crossed his arms, pouting slightly.

“Dora might like it… and Ember.” The half ghost grinned toothily. “She’s already literally a bard.” He tapped his chin. “Maybe we can get Ghost Writer to let us use a room in his lair.”

“The Library is not the most convenient location though; it’s far away from everyone but me.”

“Hum.” Danny’s brow furrowed, considering. “That’s fair.” Sidney’s lair was the closest to the Library by far. But the other’s…. Ember’s lair was about the same distance from the portal as Sidney’s, except in the exact opposite direction. And Dora’s lair was vaguely below his, a leisurely forty-five minute flight down. If anything…. Danny blinked. “I’m in the middle.”

“You sure are, buster.” Sidney raised a brow, looking at him as if it was obvious.

The half ghost took a second to process and then laughed. “It’s always like that, huh?”

Getting in between the Lunch Lady and his friends. Helping Dora and other ghosts get back to the portal. Making friends with people in this part of the Zone. He rolled his eyes at the irony. The literal half ghost always stuck in the middle. Or rather… maybe he’d chosen to place himself there.

“So I guess we’d meet here. Or…” An idea had been swimming around in his head. A place for the ghosts on this side of the portal to gather, to bond, to help each other and…. “So I’d been thinking-”

Just then, the black rectangular device clipped to the belt of Danny’s suit chimed. “Oh. That’s probably my parents.” He detached the communicator– made by his parents, with Tucker’s help, to work across dimensions and designed to look like the ones from Star Trek– and flipped it open.

His brow furrowed. “I’m not late for dinner, am I? Didn’t think I’d been gone that long.”

“No sweetie.” His mom’s voice sounded from the other end. “I’m sorry to interrupt your hang-out with Sidney. But Mr. Jenkins called from the Salvage Yard about a ghost problem.”

The boy sighed, head rolling back on the couch to look up at the ceiling. “Is it Technus again?”

“It sounded like it.” The wince was almost audible in her voice. “Your father and I would go but Mr. Jenkins asked for Phantom… very insistently.”

Another sigh. “I’ll be right there.” Danny hung up, putting the communicator back on his belt before burying his head in his hand.

“Technus again?” Sidney rose a brow.

The halfa looked up, fixing an eye on his friend. “ I mean, I’m fine with him hanging out in the material world and tinkering with stuff. But…” The halfa groaned. “He keeps trying to blow things up the salvage yard.”

The ghostly nerd chuckled. “All that new fangled modern technology…. That beatnik must think he died and gone to heaven.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “He will if I have to tell him to stop stealing other people’s stuff one more time.”

Sidney shook his head. “You know it’s hard to keep a ghost from his obsession.” Then tapping his chin, he mused. “But maybe if he had his own place to experiment…”

“Hum…” Danny furrowed his brow, considering. He floated up. “Gotta go.” He pointed at the black and white ghost. “I’m serious, you should come to our D&D games next Saturday. Think about it?”

“I will.” The other ghost nodded, also rising. “See you later.”

The two exited through the lair’s door, Sidney flying into the green atmosphere of the Zone. Danny flew up, towards the portal. The clear dome around the structure parted with his presence and he entered.

The boy drifted over the carefully cultivated plants, a particularly energetic snap-dragon snapping at his heel. “Hey! I don’t have time to play right now.” He bent down, patting the petly approximation of a draconic head.

Danny stood again and continued, passing the beds of black lettuce. A ghostly blue lizard darted between the squash vines. In the flowering tiger shrub, a tiny green bird cooed. Other plants were scattered over the area, glowing insects, some as large as his fist, buzzing over them. The boy couldn’t help but smile. Only six months and there was already so much after-life here on his little island.

The half ghost arrived in the middle, the frame of the portal surprisingly at home among the vegetation. Though… green no longer swirled in the frame; instead, black and yellow painted doors blocked the entrance. His parents had installed a set on either side to keep out unwanted visitors.

But Danny, of course, wasn’t an unwanted visitor. With a quick scan of his palm on the panel beside the door, they parted. He flew through, just as the doors on the human-world side opened too.

At the sound, both parents looked up from their work. “Danny-boy!” His dad smiled with a wave. “You want one of us to come with you?”

“Nah. I’m just gonna try and talk to Technus again.” The halfa waved off the concern. He floated up, towards the ceiling.

His dad looked almost disappointed at the decline; trust Jack Fenton to always be ready and eager to soak an annoyance in ectoplasmic goo, whether they were ghost or human. Still both adults accepted the statement.

“Knock his socks off, son! And be careful!” “We’ll do great, sweetie! Call us if you need anything!”

With his parents’ words of encouragement rising in his ears, Danny phased through the ceiling and zoomed off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Banging, clanging, and shouting rang through Mr. Jenkins’ Salvage Yard.

“It’s finished!” Maniacal laughing sounded “Finally finished! I-”

“Finished?! What in tarnation even is-.” A sudden crash. “Woah!’”

“Ah. A few more finishing touches and…” A sparking, sizzling hiss…

“Where did you get a welding gun? Wait! Is that my coffee maker?!”

The ghost scoffed. “It’s not like you were using it.”

“I used it this mornin’, you-”

Danny arrived just as Technus flipped up his face shield. “Tada! My greatest creation!” The ghost spread his arms, grinning proudly.

“You stole my French Press!” Mr. Jenkins yelled.

“Ghost Child!” The adult ghost ignored him, eyes lighting up at Phantom’s arrival. “You arrived just in time to watch!”

Danny fixed Technus with a skeptical look. “What’s going on here?”

“As I was saying, I Technus! Master of all things electronic and beeping have finished my greatest creation yet!” The ghost motioned again, to a tracker-trailer sized collection of mismatched metal parts.

Well, that wasn’t here the last time. “Technus… where did you get all this stuff?”

Just then, a frantic woman came running out of the square building sitting among all the old cars. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Jenkins. I don’t understand how, but the office phone is gone. So are the fax machine and the microwave. And all the computers and-” Her eyes widened, voice squeaking as she spotted Technus. “Not you again!”

“That’s my computer?!” Jenkin’s eyes bulged, his face turning red. “I already told you, this ain’t a junkyard. You can’t take whatever you want!”

“These machines are just sitting here, wasting away! I had to do something with all this beautiful technology.”

“What’s it even supposed to be!?”

“An ingenious invention! And greatly needed!” The green skinned ghost held a finger up. “What kind of junk yard doesn’t have a car-crusher?”

“You’re nuttier than a fruitcake.” Jenkins pointed accusingly at Technus. “This ain’t no junk yard! We’re a salvage yard. We sell used parts!”

“Salvage yard.” Technus rolled his eyes. “That’s ridiculous. You’re just jealous of my brilliance, old man!”

“At least I made it past half a century!” The older man spat.

“I, Technus! Made it to 52, thank you very much! 52 years and then felled by my own unstable experiment! Oh, to die in the pursuit of science! What a glorious send-off! And don’t you know about that, Halfa child! Still wearing that hip and sweet hazmat suit-”

“We are not talking about my death.” Danny interrupted pointedly. “Now-”

“Of course! Enough of this. You came to see my genius!” The mad scientist darted around the metal monstrosity, lab coat flapping behind him.

“Phantom! Stop him!” Mr. Jenkins cried.

“You heard him, Technus.” The ghost boy crossed his arms. “Don’t make me get out the thermos.”

The older ghost ignored the reprimanded, eagerly grabbing at the machine’s controls. “First! The claw will shoot out and snag the car we want. Now which one…” His brow furrowed, then turning and pointing at a red, old-looking convertible. “Ah! That sad sorry hunk of junk will do.”

“Technus! We talked about this!” Danny drove forward, arms out to pull the other ghost away from the controls.

At the same time… “ No! That’s-” Mr. Jenkins sounded panicked.

Danny surged forward but faster than he could process, the mad scientist blinked out of the way. He missed, tumbling in the air and barely missing the side of the car-crushed machine.

The clawed arm lashed out, clamping around the truck. The metal fingers snapped closed with an agonizing crunch of metal and glass.

“Must be out of practice.” Danny mumbled. Then, he lit his hands with ecto-energy, “Technus, I’m warning you!”

“And now! My hyper-efficient car-crusher will reduce this rust bucket to scrap in seconds!” The other ghost laughed maniacally, jamming one of the lever’s down.

“No! No! No!” Mr. Jenkins sounded near… tears?

The arm pulled the car forward, the headlights meeting the jaws of the crusher with a stomach-turning crunch.

“Look! My funky fresh creation is working perfectly!”

The ghost boy let his shot lose, the ecto-energy knocking the other ghost away.

“No! That’s my car!!” Mr. Jenkins fell to his knees.

Danny darted in front of the control panel. His eyes widened. So many buttons, nobs, and levers…. Lights blinked in front of him. Frantic, the boy jabbed at different controls.

“My Oldsmobile!” Beside him, Mr. Jenkins was definitely crying. “That was Pa’s. Me and Pa fixed it up before he passed. No!”

The halfa’s eyes flashed. “How do you turn this thing off?” He turned to the other ghost, demanding.

Technus floated there for a moment, eyes wide and startled. He stared, the previous mad joy completely evaporated, even as he took in his invention. After a blink, his gaze moved from the machine to the devastated human man. The ghost’s face scrunched up, brow wrinkling. Then…

He flew back to the controls. Wordlessly, the mad scientist pushed a series of buttons, metal crunching uglily all the while. He pulled a final lever and the sound of gears and breaking glass stopped.

Quiet fell and Danny sighed, shoulders untensing. Still, he nervously fingered at the thermo’s lid. “Technus, you know I don’t have any problem with you hanging around Amity Park. Tinkering by itself is fine. But when you start taking other people’s things and destroying property…. I can’t let that stand.”

“But it’s just an old car…” The older ghost fixed his head down, voice oddly subdued.

“It’s Mr. Jenkins’ car.” Danny pointed. “It belongs to him.” His tone sharpened. “I wouldn’t come in your lair and mess with your laboratory. Take your inventions without asking. You can’t do that to Mr. Jenkins.”

A long, tense pause fell over the yard. The sound of gravel shifting at the human man stood, as his assistant nervously shuffled. Danny could feel both adult’s eyes on him but his own gaze was fixed on the ghost and his tight, unreadable expression. Technus had stopped the crusher but… why? Did he understand? The boy’s stomach turned, anxiously hoping. That the ghost had listened, that he could find a peaceful resolution.

Technus’s grip on the control panel’s levers tightened. “It seems, I, Technus, made an error. The first tenant of the scientific method…. I failed to gather all the important background information.”

Mr. Jenkins looked up, angrily whipping his face. “You don’t say.”

“I got so excited, I forgot to ask for permission to use the junk…”

“Hey! It’s not-” The human started objecting.

“Or to think about whether the invention would be useful here. I mean, who ever heard of a junkyard without a car-crusher? But apparently, you don’t need one. Which does not make any sense to me. Still, I should not have taken your things and-”

“That’s all fine and good. But my car’s still trashed.” Jenkins interrupted, scowling at the crushed vehicle.

“An honest mistake.” Technus winced. “And…” He held up a finger. “Give me a second.” He darted over to the wreckage. “Here, let me…”

The mad scientist ghost waved his hands over the debris. His aura sparked, spreading out and enveloping the twisted metal and shards of glass. The pieces trembled slightly, rising with a jerk. Technus’ fingers moved as if he was counting, typing, or playing an instrument. The wreckage floated and flowed, swirling in the air and coming together. It coalesced into…

“Well I’ll be damned.” Mr. Jenkins said breathily.

Danny’s eyes widened, just as amazed. “How? You… you-”

“Fixed it!” Technus swung around, arms spread. “I fixed it!”

Sure enough, the car sat in front of them, whole and intact.

The on-lookers just blinked for a long moment. Then…

“My car!” Mr. Jenkins practically ran forward. “Bessie! You’re alright!” He flopped onto the hood, arms spreading wide as if hugging the vehicle. “Better than alright!” Eyes wide and gleeful, he wiped at a spot over the headlights. “That blasted scratch is gone!”

The human man kept cooing over his car and Danny laughed. “He’s worse than my dad with the GEV.” The boy rolled his eyes. Then… “Seriously though. Putting it back together like that…. that was incredible, Technus. Thank you for fixing this.”

“Pst.” The ghost shrugged off the thanks. “It was child’s play!” He laughed almost maniacally.

“Can you uh… put back the rest of the office?” The assistant asked meekly.

Technus’ eyes flickered to her, briefly looking disappointed, before he scoffed. “Can I put the rest of the office back?” He waved his arms, green light again spreading and enveloping the metal pieces. “Easier than differential calculus. Can I, Technus, master of all things mechanical, put it back? Please.”

The different pieces separated, flying off in seemingly random directions, while the mad scientist mumbled to himself.

Meanwhile, Mr. Jenkins looked up from his car. “I didn’t know you could fix things like this, Technus. Incredible!” He popped open the trunk, gaze flickering over the various parts. “She’s as good as new.” He reached inside, tapping something. “Say. One of the new tow-trucks is acting squirrely. Some kind of malfunction with that fancy new, space-age onboard computers. Can’t make head ‘r tails of it. Take a look and maybe I can find some spare parts for you to tinker with.”

Parts continued to swirl away, the car-crusher growing smaller and smaller. Technus tapped his chin. “Is this a problem worthy of I! Technus’ vast expertise!?”

For a moment, both Mr. Jenkins and his assistant looked worried, concerned eyes searching Danny.

The ghost boy nodded sagely. “Of course! Computer technology is so advanced now. Especially in cars! They definitely need someone as genius as you to fix it. Plus free parts!” The half ghost spread his arms. “You can’t pass up a deal like that!”

“You’re right, Ghost Child!” With a final flourish, the last remnants of the disastrous car crusher vanished, the components returning to their proper places. “Come Jenkins!” The mad scientist quickly floated away. “Show me this tow-truck!”

“Not so fast! We mere humans can’t fly!” The human man jogged after.

Danny gave another chuckle at the pair. He flew after them.

“Here it is.” Mr. Jenkins panted, motioning to the car. He unlocked the door and slid into the seat. “The problem is, anytime I start up the car…” He pressed the ignition. “See?”

The ghost nodded from where he leaned over, observing. “Ah! That is confounding! First, let me try…”

The half ghost watched two for several minutes. His eyes slowly widened, anxious core lossening. The two talked and hypothesized, bouncing ideas off of each other.

“Try it again.” Technus instructed.

Mr. Jenkins pressed the start button again. A pause. “Well, I’ll be.”

The mad scientist laughed. “I told you, old geezer. No electronical problem can overcome my genius!”

The human rolled his eyes, good naturedly. “Old geezer? Ya didn’t know what a computer was until last month.”

They were… getting along? “This is great! See.” Danny gave an encouraging smile and spread his arms. “Technus can help you out with stuff like this and you can give him some spare parts to work with. How does that sound, Mr Jenkins? Technus?”

The human tapped his chin. “You know, my brother’s got an auto shop. He’s always needin’ help. Maybe we can work something out.”

“I’m listening…” The green-skinned ghost nodded, face serious. Even as his aura flickered excitedly.

“I’ll give Perry a call and…”

The two talked for a few more minutes. Hope bloomed in Danny’s heart, a smile slowly parting his lips. They had this. Coming up with a compromise together. Without him. In fact…

The ghost boy turned to leave. “I’m going to go check on your assistant and everything in the office. Shout if you need me.”

The two barely acknowledged him, simply waving as they both chuckled over something.

Danny flew away, shaking his head. Moments later, he knocked at the office door. “It’s Phantom.”

There was a shout to enter and the boy did so. His eyes flickered over the room. Slightly disarrayed but… there was the microwave, the phone, the computer.

The assistant looked up from the desk. “Mr. Jenkins is okay, right? I haven’t heard any screaming recently.”

Danny laughed. ��Yeah, he’s fine. Him and Technus are working out tech-help for spare parts.”

The woman blanched. “Is that wise?”

The boy nodded. “Giving the guy something to focus on will be good for him. And I’m sure Mr. Jenkins could use the help.”

The assistant’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “I guess you have a point.” Her face smoothed out, smiling gratefully at him. “Thank you, by the way, for coming and helping with all this.”

“It’s just what I do.” Danny shrugged. “No big deal.”

“Seriously. This all wouldn’t still be standing without you.” She motioned around her vaguely. “We’d be in a mess without you, Phantom.”

“Well then…” The boy blushed at the praise. “You’re welcome… uh, I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Nancy.” She smiled.

“Nancy.” Danny gave a nod. “Everything’s good here so I’m going to head out. Give FentonWorks a call if you need anything.”

“I will.”

With a wave, the half ghost drifted up and phased through the ceiling. He flew over the salvage yard, catching a glimpse of the two men, one human and one ghost. Mr. Jenkins leaned against the vehicle, arms crossed casually. Technus floated, head lifted to the sky. His unique brand of laughter carried on the wind, the human’s hearty chuckle just as real and vibrant below it.

Danny beamed down at the scene. “Yeah. They’re going to be fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny returned home to his ghost researcher parents, both proudly congratulating him on peacefully dealing with Technus. After which of course, both had to blather on about their latest inventions. The boy fondly rolled his eyes.

He tried to invisibly sneak up on his big sister, the super-powered little brother’s prerogative. To his chagrin, he was unsuccessful though; before he could even think of turning her chair intangible, she turned the spray bottle on him like he was a misbehaving cat.

He logged onto Doom and played with his best friends. The boss of the current level decimated their party three times before they gave up for now and started on a new side quest. All the while, they talked about new movies, rumors and gossip at school, Ember’s upcoming concert, and convincing Sidney to join them for D&D.

Family and friends. Ghosts and humans and the two somehow, miraculously existing together. All this and more, in a day in the life of a half ghost.

And now, during the darkest part of the night, that eerie time between the late night and early morning, the Haunting Hour. Now, Danny Fenton-Phantom floated on his back, suspended in the air above the Ops Center.

Blobby snuggled against him, tiny paws kneading biscuits into his side. The smaller ghost purred loudly, now firmly settled into something between a very cat-like blob and a blob-like cat. The boy gently stroked his pet, idly scrolling through his phone.

A text notification pinged and Danny laughed, typing back.

Danny: that’s the most cursed meme i’ve ever seen

Another cursed follow up. And another. Danny snorted, sending his own.

Tucker: 😵 ☠️ Deed. Y u stil up thoigh?

Danny: Dude it’s spooky hour. Getting my haunt on.

Tucker: U lucky basterd. Ony need 4 hrs of skeep

Danny: 😜 Y r u still up?

Tucker: Doom. newd new armor.

Tucker: 😵 stupd skelton killed me😭

Danny: Go to sleep!

Tucker: Neverrttt5454er66wreeqwsd

Danny: ?

Tucker: dropped phome on my face

Tucker: maybe i shoud slep

Danny: You think? 🤨

Tucker: One more meme!

Tucker: Phantomceiling.mov

Tucker: wrong file. 😴🥱😫 Sry. Gd night Danny

Danny laughed softly, shaking his head at his sleepy friend. He could imagine it, Tucker half-way across town, drifting off at his computer, gaming with one hand and texting with the other. No wonder the skeletons, the freaking easiest monster in the game, managed to kill him.

And he sent a random video? Danny tilted his head at the file name, pressing play.

“Woah!” Tucker’s excited voice cheered.

The camera shifted wildly, a blurry tan surface covering the screen. The crispness of the image wavered, in and out until…. tiny, glow-in-the-dark stars shifted into focus. On the… ceiling? Why did Tucker have a video of his bedroom ceiling?

“I can’t even believe this, I’m floating!” This friend’s voice cheered.

The half ghost’s eyes widened, suddenly remembering. This video, the one Tucker made while swinging from the ceiling. Meaning….

The image titled, pointed directly above and… Black suit, white hair, sparkling green eyes paned into view. Danny felt his heart squeeze.

“Say hi, Danny.” Tucker laughed.

“Hi Danny.” The ghost stuck out his tongue, giving a wave.

“Hi Phantom.” The boy smiled softly, waving back.

This video… he’d forgotten about it completely. Hadn’t even realized they had any video from when he was split, all those months ago. And now…

On the screen, Tucker grunted in effort, Phantom’s face deceptively even, eyes twinkling with suppressed mirth.

And now, Danny could remember it like it was yesterday. His feet planted firmly on the ceiling, one hand in Tucker’s, his familiar weightlessness spread through the contact. That was him, trying to hold back his laughter. And yet…

“Come… on.” His friend shouted in frustration. “Come on!” Two voices burst out in laughter, one higher pitched- obviously Sam. And the other….

The camera panned. Black hair, blue eyes pinched closed, mouth open with his laughter.

“Hi, Fenton.” His eyes crinkled, a fond mirth.

Danny remembered this too. Busting a gut at a constipated-looking Tucker, bent over with his chortles, Sam rolling her eyes at his comment. That was him. And yet…

After re-fusing, it had felt like he’d been asleep for a long time. Like he hadn’t really been present; it was all a dream. And yet, he had been right there. He remembered everything. It was like he told Jazz, all those months ago. He was Phantom and Fenton. Fenton and Phantom had been him. And yet he, the Danny thinking this thought, hadn’t really been there. But now….

The video continued, the camera passed around as Tucker cheered, swinging like a pendulum. As Sam had her turn, laughing hysterically the entire time. As Jazz screamed to be put down, before admitting that it wasn’t so bad. All the while, Danny chuckled at the scene. His smile grew, something soft and precious and fond.

“Wait… how?” Tucker wrinkled his brow. “I don’t get it.”

“He’s tapping into our powers.” Phantom righted himself in the air. “I mean, I’m the ghost so I’m technically the one with the powers right now. But we’re still the same person.”

“So I can kinda use them if we’re touching.” Fenton explained. “I uhh… actually turned myself intangible last night, when Phantom did it and I was touching him.”

The video ended there, Fenton and Phantom side by side. The human’s brow wrinkled in thought. The ghost mid-nod, agreeing.

And Danny’s heart squeezed, something nostalgic. “Guys. We made it.” A finger brushed the screen. As if he could reach back to then and reassure both halves of himself. “We made it.”

Danny remembered that day where it started. Sitting with his friends, his burger falling through his hands. That was the final straw, the moment that changed everything. It led to his fateful decision to go through the ghost catcher. A bad decision but it had left him all the better. It had taught him many hard won lessons, changing the way he saw his friends, his parents, and most importantly himself.

And those lessons…. Danny remembered, his dream the night he re-merged.

“I’m going to be okay.” A soft, swirling gratitude. “I won’t forget what I learned when I was you guys. I’ll remember.”

Danny hadn’t forgotten. He’d come back to himself, like finally coming home. And he’d found that he was more. More than just Phantom plus Fenton. More than just human plus ghost.

Letting out a sigh, the ghost boy lowered himself in the air, down to the roof of the Ops Center. To the camping chair left out here for his nightly star gazing. Blobby curled into his lap, the halfa giving gentle pets. His head drifted up, towards the sky.

And he let himself remember his last night as two halves of himself.

Danny closed his eyes and he was back there. Sitting side by side. Pointing out constellations and telling stories, one arm around his other half. And at the same time, drifting off to sleep to the echoing voice, his body comfortably leaned against the familiar chilly presence.

“Hey, I’m very witty. You just happen to share my brain.” The ghost grinned, roughly ruffling his counterpart’s hair. “Can’t get one over on you, can I?”

“I’m the pun master.” Fenton chuckled, leaning into the touch.

“You’re annoying, that’s what you are.” Phantom teased.

A chuckle at the memory. Seeing this from both sides really shouldn’t make sense. Yet it couldn’t be more clear…

“I love you too.” The human muttered, rolling his eyes.

The ghost stilled, his free hand dropping out of the black hair. His core squeezed, jovial teasing giving way to a soft and quiet joy. The tiredness radiated off of his other self, heavy enough that he was starting to get silly. But those words…. Every syllable was real.

Phantom breathed. Teasing and joking was familiar, comfortable even. He was even used to transparency, tender honesty. But this…. The arm still around his human half tightened, his free arm circling around Fenton’s front. He had said earlier, if they had anything else to say to each other while they were still split, they should say it.

Ghost Danny completed the hug. “I do love you.”

Back on the roof, Danny’s hand tenderly rested over his heart-core. Maybe if anyone else had seen that moment, he’d feel embarrassed, ashamed. But that moment was just for him. That same soft and quiet joy rose, quivering in his chest. Splitting himself had let Danny see himself in new ways. He’d learned so much. He’d grown to know, accept, appreciate, and, yes, love both halves of himself. As strange as it was to say, Fenton and Phantom had loved each other.

An overbearing gratitude washed over him at that. Gratitude that they (that he) had been brave enough to voice that, to give him this memory. This proof, this reminder of how far he’d come. Of all he’d learned.

He had suffered and struggled and agonized. He had fought with his own self-hatred and doubt, his shame and fear, with the painful reminders of his death. But with the love and support of his parents, sister, and friends, he had overcome. He had learned and grown and changed. The transformation itself hurt and terrified him. But he had risen above it. And now. Now Danny loved who he had become.

And who had he become? What did loving himself mean now, with his heart and core nestled together, where they belonged? It meant taking care of himself. Letting his friends and family know him and love him. Loving other people. It meant eating enough– both ecto and regular food-, sleeping well, watching the stars during his Haunting Hour. Spending time with his loved ones and letting them share his burdens. Helping others as Danny Phantom.

He saved humans in the town with his powers when ghost animals appeared or over-enthusiastic ghosts wouldn’t listen. He helped lost ghosts find their way back to the portal. He worked to find ways for humans and ghosts to exist together.

The idea from when he’d been talking to Sidney earlier flickered in his mind. A shared place for the ghosts on this side of the portal to gather, to bond, to help each other. A kind of Sanctuary, that was his dream.

That first time he’d almost fused, before telling his parents about Phantom, he’d dreamed of the human in the ghostly, ghostly in the human. He’d imagined truly being both. And now Danny found he was. The life he wanted was here, in the life he was building.

Danny unlocked his phone again, taking the image of Fenton and Phantom side by side. “We’ve come so far.” His eyes softened, full of awe and gratitude. “I said it before, in that dream. I’m happy I was both of you. And thank you for working to grow into who I am now.”

In his lab, Blobby mewed, head jerking up at something in the sky. The half ghost looked, eyes widening. A shooting star, streaming across the vibrantly deep sky.

His core fluttered in time with his heart, swelling with hope. Danny smiled. “Here’s to whatever comes next.”

Note: Thank you all for reading! Whether you joined me at the beginning back in 2019, you started following only recently, or you're binging at some point in the future, I appreciate you! I would never have written this story, let alone finished it, without all the kind comments on here and fanfiction.net, Tumblr reblogs and rambles in the tags, and DMs on Tumblr and Discord. If you ever talked to me about this story, offered your support and encouragement, I am so thankful to you. I am so thankful for the friendships I've found through this fic and for how much I've grown as a writer.

As always, I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter and the story as a whole. I love and appreciate you all!

#Danny Phantom #Face to Face #Double Danny #Split Danny #My Fic

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ego-meliorem-esse · 1 year ago

Text

A Clear Shift

1942(ish), London

Amidst the tumultuous turmoil of war, the Kirkland family found themselves gathered in the solemn atmosphere of Arthur's countryside estate, located on the outskirts of London. The living room, or rather the parlor, served as the setting for this tense encounter. The once-grand parlor, contrary to the turmoils of war itself, was adorned with no signs of wear and tear. The room, bathed in muted hues of deep mahogany and faded gold, bore no witness to the toll that the conflict had taken. The wood paneling had not lost its sheen, its edges weren't marred with scratches or scuffs. The vibrant, newly installed wallpaper, showed no sign of peeling at the corners. It still very much showcased the semi-vibrant pattern chosen by its owner. The room was adorned with antique furniture, the air heavy with an unspoken tension that seemed to permeate every corner. It served as a temporary and solemn gathering place for the Kirkland household. The somber atmosphere hung heavy in the air as if the weight of the world had settled upon their shoulders.

Seated around a once expensive, sturdy wooden table were Matthew, Zee, Jack, and their father Arthur, each one bearing the visible marks of war, bandages wrapped tightly around their weary bodies. Their countenances mirrored the weight of their experiences, etched with lines of concern and shadows of exhaustion. The war had taken its toll on them, physically and emotionally.

Alfred, the only one not seated at the table, occupied the couch on the opposite side of the room. His piercing gaze surveyed the book and its contents. His eyes conveyed an unyielding determination and a sense of detachment. Alfred sat quietly. Much more quietly than he had ever sat anywhere. More quietly than he was known for sitting. For once a grand room was not filled with Alfred's thunderous voice, but rather the lack of it.

Alfred was seemingly in his own world, burdened by his own thoughts and concerns.

Jack and Zee sat opposite their father at the much too-long table, simply watching and enduring the scene unfolding in the room. Or rather, they were watching the lack of a scene. Usually evenings like this resulted in shouting, arguments, and someone getting thrown out of the house by midnight. No such thing happened the entire evening and while they were glad a sense of normalcy engulfed the parlor and its occupants, a sense of unease resided within its walls as well. Namely, the source of that unease sat right opposite of them.

Arthur, for once not sitting at the head of the table, but rather at the side of it, grasped a bottle of not-at-all-expensive American whiskey in his hand, drinking from it slowly and yet with a certain urgency. A lone figure, illuminated by the dim light filtering through the partially drawn curtains. The amber liquid seemed to fuel his frustrations and exacerbate his anxieties. Each swig, lacking Arthurs's usual politeness and propriety, seemed to fuel his frustration. Despite his current engagement in this particular vice, his words weren't any more slurred or unclear. In fact, Arthur had seemed to only find his footing and eloquence in the matters at hand when his glass was only recently empty and refilled as needed. And Arthur had deemed it a necessity indeed.

As the room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the occasional sound of Arthur's ungentlemanly gulps of the American corn whiskey, his children exchanged worried, yet at the same time quite numbed glances.

Matthew dared to suggest that perhaps it was time to retire for the night. His voice was laced with worry.

"Maybe it's best if you put that down and get some rest," Matthew cautiously ventured, his eyes filled with genuine concern.

Arthur, his words surprisingly unslurred by the effects of alcohol, dismissed Matthew's concern with a wave of his hand, demanding the undivided attention of his children.

"Matthew, I unequivocally do not need your lectures today," he retorted sharply, yet not as loudly as he had wished. His tone laced with frustration and alcohol-infused defiance.

Matthew recoiled slightly at his father's curt response, his voice lowering in tone.

"I'm just saying... you'll feel better if you rest, considering your injuries and all," he added, his words trailing off, not knowing how to finish the sentence in a way that would make Arthur listen and comply.

"Oh, now you find your voice?" Arthur snapped, his anger bubbling to the surface. "Now you have the cheek to command men around?" His voice dripped with bitterness, an underlying resentment that had been building over time. Though, presumably, the anger released was not really aimed at Matthew personally. Not really.

"Truly, I would have loved to see that resolve and strength of will during the shit-storm that met us at the damn Dieppe." Dieppe became a textbook example of "what not to do" in amphibious operations. And while Arthur knew that there was nothing Matthew could have done to prevent the disaster, his anger wasn't really looking for a rational approach.

Matthew fell silent, his eyes slightly downcast, his attempt to help met with scorn. He felt the weight of his Arthurs disappointment bearing down on him. In situations like this, where he attempted an altruistic approach with his mentor, the aim of the metaphorical gun only seemed to turn towards him.

At last, he backed off and settled back into his chair, silently pondering his fruitless efforts. As he was used to doing.

In that tense moment, Alfred, who had only come out of his own thought and gazed up upon hearing his fathers scorn filled voice, observed the scene unfold. He rose from the couch without a word, setting down the book he was reading in a calm and slightly eerie manner. He strode purposefully toward the table where his family sat, his expression unreadable and uncanny. The room and its occupants barely registered his approach as he lifted the bottle from the table, his emotionless eyes fixed on his father.

With a sudden shift in tone, Alfred flung the bottle against the wall with all his might. Indicating his disapproval of Arthurs's words and settling the matter without any use of his own. The sound of shattering glass shattered the room's uneasy silence, and the fragments of the bottle scattered across the floor like the exploded shrapnel parts of a handheld grenade.

Arthur, his eyes widening by mere millimeters, did not utter a word. His face was unchanging. Alfred stood tall beside him, his gaze unwavering, an unspoken declaration of his strength and authority. The shift in the power dynamic was never as obvious to the onlookers as it was at that moment.

Alfred turned away, retreating to the couch, his face a mask of unyielding composure.

He picked the book up and reticently continued where he left off on the page.

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of the shattered bottle a tangible metaphor for the fractured relationships and undeniable swap in dynamics within their family. Arthurs's anger, if even present, was meticulously hidden behind a facade of stoicism. He stood up on his wounded leg, aided by his cane for support, and without a single word he made his way through the dark hallway, up the large, creaky stairs, to the master bedroom. The sound of Arthur's footsteps and the rhythmic clack of his cane echoed through the hallway as he retreated upstairs. The weight of his absence lingered in the air, a stark reminder of the changing hierarchy within their family.

Zee, breaking the silence, mumbled under her breath, barely audible but laden with significance, that she too should retire for the night. Her voice carried a mixture of resignation and, surprisingly even to her, relief. The weariness of the situation was etched on her face. Jack, his gaze fixed on Zee's retreating and visibly fatigued figure, followed suit without uttering a word, silently beckoning Matthew to accompany him.

Matthew, caught between the remnants of Arthur's authority and the newfound power Alfred had asserted, rose hesitantly from his seat, his gaze never leaving his brother at the opposite side of the room. He exchanged a brief glance with Jack, the weight of unspoken words passing between them. With a nod, Matthew followed him, their footsteps fading into the distance, leaving Alfred alone in the parlor.

He remained seated, the silence enveloping him as he stared blankly at the word-filled page before him. The room, once filled with the echoes of heated arguments, now resonated with the quiet realization that their lives were starting to and were going to change. Alfred's emotionless facade masked a tumult of thoughts and feelings, his mind a labyrinth of complexities.

Outside, the world engulfed by the night's murkiness continued its relentless march, oblivious to the fractured harmony within the walls of the manor. The war raged on, each passing day leaving scars both seen and unseen.

As the final embers of the candle (because Arthur insisted on candles while they resided in the manor) in the center of the table flickered and died, Alfred closed his eyes, allowing the silence to envelop him even for a moment. Silence was never something Alfred liked. And while that could mean peace to everyone else, for Alfred silence meant unease and boredom. Though unease he could stand, boredom he could not. In the stillness of the parlor, he sought solace by turning on the radio on the cabinet next to the grand table his family was occupying a while ago, finding temporary refuge from the tumultuous realities of their wartime existence, as well as the anxious silence he seemed to avoid like the plague.

The night pressed on, leaving the manor cloaked in darkness, its occupants scattered to their own private realms of introspection and unrest. The only source of sound was the radio Alfred kept on as a way to ease his discomfort with quietude. Alfred couldn't help but wonder about his siblings' worries and the unrest that plagued their minds. He had no doubt in his mind that new, uncertain things were afoot. Change was coming. Change of his own making at that.

Good thing he had no problem with change.

But for now, they remained suspended in the suffocating grip of uncertainty.

Alfred looked at the ridiculously oversized Victorian grandfather clock in the corner whose ticking had stopped a good 5 years ago. He sighed, deciding that 3 am was a decent time to retreat to his room and go to sleep. He calculated that if he fell asleep in half an hour and woke up a bit earlier than 8 am, he'd get at least a solid 4 hours and 30 minutes of rest. Nodding to himself, he turned off the radio, which by now was playing an unknown tune from the 1920s. He went to blow out the candle but realized it had already reached the end of its life. Alfred realized he was sitting (now standing) in almost complete darkness for quite a while.

The remnants of shattered glass glimmered on the floor, which only now started to annoy Alfred. Deciding against cleaning up the mess, he stepped over it and closed the door behind him, leaving the room pitch black.

----

what can I say: Arthur, whiskey bottles and those same whiskey bottles being thrown at a wall are my kryptonite.

I have a part 2 but it's not really all that related to this situation hmmmm

#hetalia #hws england #hws america #hws australia #hws new zealand #meli writes #hetalia fanfiction #historical hetalia #dont take this seriouslyyy #shift in dynamicssss #pater familias is no longer all that powerful huhuhuhuhu

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m0thisonfire · 1 year ago

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*Smacks the top of DeadSpace! Starscream’s helm*

This bad boy has seen so many horrors beyond Cybertronian comprehension-

I know the Holoform Au is gonna win on the poll, but lately I’ve been on a Dead Space kick, and decided to at least get DeadSpace! Starscream’s design and modifications down. Because I love him, and I love putting him through the horrors, and he has not left me alone-

Notable Autobot modifications-

Starscream had his main frame reformatted, keeping his flight frame base but adding denser material for defense and durability for deep dive repairs in more unforgiving environments, most noticeable around his chassis and abdomen. He has flashlights/headlights installed in the front of his chassis for dark environments.

Orange and red biolights have also been added to illuminate dark spaces.

The Autobots have also , reluctantly, allowed him to keep his guns upon the human assistants’ requests and insistence. A mod has been added to his right servo allowing hologram transmissions and holographic control panels he can interact with. On his left servo, a mod was added that allowed a weak telekinetic tether to move objects for engineering purposes.

Human added modifications-

Wings- The humans in charge of helping reformat him decided it would be a good idea to give his wings more mobility and movement for him to easily maneuver into places. With his permission and guidance, they managed to remove certain plating and hinges to allow his wings free range mobility. He noticeably emotes with them, showing many emotions and a new range of body language

Peds- One human noted how quickly he could move with his thrusters. One main concern of theirs was him being able to control the power of the thrust when he was in more compromising positions, especially in Zero-G where gravity and weight couldn’t counter the output. Starscream agreed to have modifications done to his heel thrusters, and now, while forced to output a much lower force at first, can better control hovering and direction changes, even upside down. He still retains his high-speed flight abilities for more speedy requirements, upon his request.

Another ped modification was the addition of voluntary magnetic control. Starscream now has the ability to latch onto metal walls and ceilings at will for better reach and support. Most effective in Zero-G environments

Welding/Gas Mask (planning on redesigning at some point)- An important modification done by the humans, who had the concern of him being exposed to toxic material and high temperatures that could damage his vents and faceplates. Made from the same material guarding and adorning his chassis, his mask allows him to filter toxic air and protect against high ranging temperatures he may be exposed to.

Back Mod- A modification that allows him and human teammates to survey his damage and vitality status. A glowing orange that changes color and placement the more damaged or repaired he gets. The lower the durability to his armor, the lower and deeper red the mod readings become. When he is at full durability, the light is a bright orange.

#dead space au #transformers animated starscream #tfa au #transformers animated #tfa starscream #tfa #DeadSpace! Starscream #putting him through the horrors putting him through the horrors putting him through the horrors putting #m0th draws

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sacredechoes · 1 year ago

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Valentia Side Material and Translations: Resource Masterpost

This post is to organize links to side material for Gaiden/Shadows of Valentia, much of which Sacred Echoes has drawn upon for additional story and characterization details. In the case of translated material, I will link to the main translator's site; if you worked on these translations and have a Tumblr handle you'd like to be credited under as well, please message me and I'll update the post.

Art Book, Valentia Accordion

Includes concept art, full character biographies, and an official timeline. Information here is considered a primary source.

Character bios and concept art translations are hosted on Kantopia's translations blog. Additional translators assisted with individual pages and are credited therein by their Twitter handles.

Lyrics translations of the songs with vocals are available at the above link and were contributed by @mystletainn.

The official timeline was translated by @vincentasm on Serenes Forest.

Drama CD - "Foreign Skies, Daybreak Forest"

Taking place in Act 4 soon after the Deliverance crosses the Rigel border, this drama CD features Alm, Faye, Silque, Tobin, Kliff, Lukas, Forsyth, and Python, as well as three Rigelian characters not used elsewhere. Information here is considered a primary source, and this is the only quasi-official source of information about Alm's mother.

While Clive and Mathilda return to Zofia to quell dissent among the nobility in the wake of Desaix's defeat, the Deliverance are attacked by Rigelian child soldiers armed with cursed weapons. Alm's compassion and sense of justice lead him to try and reach out to these children rather than attack them with military force, and he discovers that they are orphans marginalized by brutal Rigelian customs and being used as pawns by the Duma Faithful. Alm reckons with the reality that Rigelians are not his enemies, but the systemic oppression they face from the empire and death-cult that rules over them, and through his compassion he meets some kindred spirits. Contains some really great characterizations of the Lukas/Python/Forsyth trio as well.

Text translation was done by @garmmy on their translations blog. A subtitled video playlist was created using garmmy's translations with the original audio by @fudgenomnomnom.

Valentia Comic Anthology

Includes over 100 4koma (4-panel, half-page) comics, as well as longer-form one-shots of 8 or more pages. Material here is more akin to fan comics and is thus considered a secondary source.

The 4koma have all been translated and hosted by Kantopia on their blog.

The one-shots are not all in the same place, and not all have been translated yet. Four have been done by @mystletainn a few years ago, while @hypergammaspaces is picking up the remaining chapters:

As Comrades, by Itagaki Hako - TL: mystletainn. Faye resolves to do whatever she can to help carry Alm's burdens, and brings the Ram boys along. Alm proves he loves his friends as much as they love him.

Sweet Delivery, by Watarizora Tsubamemaru - TL: mystletainn. Atlas fails to guard Mae and Leon's fresh-baked cookies, so he, Saber, and Jesse agree to gather the ingredients to replace them.

Fieldwork in Zofia, by Shiroishi Kotoni - TL: mystletainn. Taking place shortly before Act 3, Kliff ventures out to survey the lands north of Zofia Castle and encounters a certain masked knight who has more in common with him than either of them expect.

Only My Big Brother, by Kirai Yuu - TL: mystletainn. Tired of being ignored by Valbar, Leon ropes Kamui into helping him find the perfect boyfriend.

Know Your Enemy and Know Yourself, by Temo Uchida - TL: hypergammaspaces. Lukas and Forsyth try to encourage Kliff to take his combat duties seriously.

Future Wife, by Reku Hayase - TL: hypergammaspaces. Mathilda navigates her thoughts about her future with Clive as she reconciles Clair's expectations of her. Lukas is there too.

Let's Go To Ram Village, by Kazuomi Mochizuki - TL: hypergammaspaces. Translation is in-progress. Clair, having just met the Deliverance, asks to see what life in Ram Village is like, and Alm agrees to show her. Faye isn't too happy about this, but finds common ground with Clair by the end.

There are at least three more chapters yet untranslated which will be linked here as they are completed.

Rise of the Deliverance DLC

This was a set of four story maps set in the year-and-a-half or so before the events of Act 1. Focused around Clive, Fernand, Mathilda, Clair, Lukas, Forsyth, and Python, this added supports and memory prisms between these characters as well as story map dialogue. Scripts, memory prisms, and additional support transcriptions were found on a Serenes Forest forum post by user godzillahomer.

Gaiden manga

One-volume manga by Masaki Sano and Kyo Watanabe, published by Asuka Comics DX. Partial scans have been found on the Fire Emblem (Fandom) Wiki, but no complete scans or translations have been found as of this post. This is the one where Desaix stabs Kliff to death (hence Kliff joking about "maybe we can all get impaled on the same lance" in SoV). Many characters are entirely absent, while both Deen and Sonya appear in Celica's party.

Gaiden novelization

A light novel with a few illustrations throughout. Based heavily on the author's personal playthrough, Silque thus features prominently as she basically hard-carried Alm's party. Neither English FE wiki has a page about this adaptation. I have an acquaintance who owns it but I'm not aware of any full scans/translations available as of this post. This is the one where Kliff and Silque are half-siblings with the same father.

#fire emblem echoes #shadows of valentia #fe15 #fe echoes

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mariacallous · 6 months ago

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As of spring 2024, 20 states have enacted restrictions on how teachers can discuss so-called “divisive concepts”—including race, gender, gender identify, and sexual orientation—in classrooms, affecting roughly 1.3 million teachers and 20 million students. Some local school systems have followed suit, passing an array of restrictions of their own. We estimate roughly a quarter of teachers nationally are subject to local restrictions, including both teachers in states with and without restrictions. Beyond restrictions, teachers may also internalize messages about what sort of instruction is acceptable even when those messages are not formalized into policies. For example, teachers may experience opposition to covering certain topics from students’ families or from the local school community. Collectively, we refer to all these influences constraining teachers’ instruction as limitations. Taken together, teachers say they are experiencing limitations on a variety of topics many people consider to be controversial or sensitive, above and beyond race and gender. So how are teachers in the United States reacting? For this post, we synthesize findings from nationally representative surveys of K–12 public school educators collected via RAND’s American Educator Panels (AEP) over the last several years and draw on other research. The results we discuss reflect the views of thousands of educators, including teachers, principals, and district leaders. Here are seven takeaways from what we’ve learned so far.

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letsquestjess · 2 years ago

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Memento

Summary: Omega shows Echo the scrapbook she’s been working on.

Word count: 869

Warnings: Spoilers for episode 8 at the end.

- - - - -

“They should be back by now,” Echo said, pacing the sparse cockpit of the Marauder. “Where are they?”

“It is a simple supply run,” Tech replied from beneath the control panel, discarding the fried wires and connecting the new ones. “I am certain there is nothing to worry about.”

“This wouldn’t be the first supply run to have gone sideways.” Leaning against the console, Echo surveyed the clearing they’d landed in. Gnarled boughs slouched as though they’d fallen asleep on the spot. Between the trunks of the soaring trees, orange and lilac rays slithered along the wilted grass. “If they’re not back by nightfall and that fog picks up, they’ll never make it.”

Tech mumbled to himself as he worked, and the communications panel purred, booting up in a display of blinking buttons and a deep sigh. “That should work now. Try it again.”

A voice crackled through the speakers before either could attempt to contact their missing teammates.

“Is anybody there?” Hunter huffed. “Echo? Tech? Somebody respond.”

“We’re here,” Echo said. “Sorry. Comms were down. Where are you? You should have been back ages ago.”

“Wrecker and I won’t be long. Had a problem with some supplies, but we got everything we need. How’s Omega?”

Echo peeked around the open door to the lowered steps where the smallest member of their team sat, book in hand and Lula slumped beside her. “She’s all right. She’s reading.” The signal juddered and Hunter’s response drowned in the static. “Hunter? Can you still hear me?” Nothing. “I thought you’d fixed this.”

“The weather is scrambling the transmission,” Tech reported, tapping at his datapad and clicking his tongue. He scanned the forest and hummed. “As long as they are back within the hour, they should miss the brunt of it.”

“And as long as they don’t run into any trouble.”

“If that happens, I am sure we will see it.”

“Follow the explosions, right?” Echo joked. “I’ll go tell Omega to get ready to leave. Let me know if they contact us again.”

Remnants of the dense afternoon fog lapped at the foot of the slope, dwindling to a wispy mist as the next influx prepared to sweep the contorted roots and vegetation. From the city, the acrid scent of smoke invaded the forest.

“Hunter and Wrecker are on their way back,” Echo said to the girl scribbling in a notepad. He glanced over the box of craft materials, pencils and cuts of fabric sticking out of the top. “I thought you were reading. What is all this?”

“Tech told me that creative hobbies are good for keeping your mind preoccupied,” Omega explained, waving for him to join her. “He gave me a notebook to draw in, but it’s also a scrapbook.” She finished her sketch and handed it to him, encouraging him to look through.

A mixture of items clung to the paper, each telling the tales of their adventures. Some scribbled drawings accompanied the assortment of mementos. One showed Lula carrying a carton of Mantell mix, which Omega brightly told him was added in by Wrecker.

“Oh, those are the ones I did for all of you,” she said as he reached the middle of the book, flicking a few pages ahead. “These are yours.”

Echo smiled at the image of a reg manual and a blue handprint, and the drawings of the stories he had shared with her from his early military days. Tiny silver flowers bordered his last page, accompanied by a sprinkling of confetti from a festival he’d taken her to a few months ago and a discarded gold button they’d both found in the alleyway of Cid’s bar.

“I think I remembered the stories right,” Omega said.

“You remembered them perfectly.” He flipped through the rest, reminiscing on their scrapes with peril and their narrow flights from the clutches of some creature or other. Towards the end of the notebook, he found an empty sheet, the word ‘Crosshair’ scribbled in the corner. At his side, Omega fidgeted.

“I don’t know why I kept that one,” she mumbled. “He’s not going to join us, is he?”

Echo wound his arm around her shoulder and wished he had a hopeful response, but Crosshair was about as predictable as their adventures; he couldn’t be certain what the future would hold for any of them. “Who knows? There’s every chance he might.”

From between the trees, Hunter and Wrecker emerged through the spreading gloom, lugging their haul behind them in a trundling trailer. The wheels bumped over the roots and rattled the contents of the crates.

“Come on,” Echo said. “Let’s get these supplies on board and head back to Ord Mantell.”

- - - - -

Departing from Coruscant, the ship shuddered as it crossed the atmosphere and away from their brother. Omega tucked close to the wall of her room as the others spoke quietly between themselves. She dug under her pillow for the scrapbook and opened it onto the section dedicated to Echo, wiping stray tears from her cheek. He wasn’t gone, she reminded herself, slowly turning the page. He was on a mission, and when he got back, she’d have a wealth of adventures to tell him about.

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb #star wars fanfic #the bad batch fanfic #tbb fanfic #sw tbb #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars fanfiction

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eueuphoriaz · 3 months ago

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So I happen to chance upon this blog which talks about the little cold war between Hange and Levi after he revived Armin instead of Erwin in the RtS arc.

Honestly, this is something which I did not delve deeper because it was just too much things happening for that whole sequence when I first watched it. After reading that analysis, and also chancing another post allegedly claiming that Hange's character is too shallow because she didnt show much emotion here when Erwin died, I just had to do something.

So, I just had to dig deeper into the manga and anime again, with the little analysis out there that highlighted Hange's character especially during that scene and decided to split this post into 3 parts, focusinf on Hange's cold war, or how she responded to Levi's decision.

Caution: Certain degree of Levihan lens is on.

--------------

Part 1: Rooftop

Part 2: Walltop

Part 3.1: Double date

Part 3.2: Double date/ Basement

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Part 1: Rooftop

So, that blog talked about the difference betwen how Hange is drawn in the anime vs the manga, and I can agree that the drawing in the manga does indicate a little bit more about Hange's displeasure towards Levi for choosing Armin. I mean, she must have felt so disappointed and betrayed at the same time, after all her therapeutic talk to Mikasa to calm her down, only to lose her squad, Moblit, her commander and her eye. She lost a lot more than Levi in this battle, so of course she will be angry with Levi.

So, here are the panels in the manga which see her looking away from Levi

I also looked into Levi's dialogue at the start, when Floch questioned his decision. Here, Hange looked away while Levi looked towards Floch before talking but in the anime, both of them are looking at Erwin.

So I am guessing that in the manga, there is basically little or no interaction at all between Hange and Levi and Hange made it clear to Levi with her non-verbals. Also, I find it strange that Levi talked about forgiveness. Now, he may mean 2 things in the context of Floch questioning him:-

1) Will you forgive this guy (Levi) (direct reply to Floch but indirect expression to Hange)

Now, I know that the sub translated it as forgive him (Erwin). So I did a Google translation using speaker and microphone. And double checked that the pronounciation Google got and the one Levi said is the same. This is what I got for that paragraph.

Now, I know I am just taking the translation literally by Google and it may be way way off because of how the language is used. So please forgive me if this is totally wrong 🙏

So, Floch was questioning Levi, Hange is avoiding Levi and Levi started his speech, explaining the reason for his choice.

If he had intended to ask Floch and Hange to forgive him, this gives an early indication that he can sense the emotional impact his decision has on Floch and Hange. Indeed, Floch didnt even join in the family discussion when the Armin woke up.

2) Will you forgive this guy (Erwin)?

If he had intended to ask them to forgive Erwin for his conflicting dreams, then I find it quite weird because that would mean that he had to tell them the real motivation of Erwin's drive to led Humanity against the Titans. Would he do that to Floch who is a subordinate? He might have told Hange everything and therefore asking her to forgive Erwin (and thereby understanding his decision). Then that would mean that Levi is basically ignoring Floch as he and Hange watched Erwin take his last breathes. So Floch's "Captain why?" Is sort of a cue for Levi to start talking to break the ice between him and Hange.

Also, isnt Erwin's devil characteristics (ruthlessness, determination, etc etc) the things the Floch and Hange needed for Erwin to be revived and led the Survey Corps after the huge losses? So, why would Levi ask them to forgive Erwin?

I am confused with the language here but these are just some of my observations and curiosities.

So anyway, whether it is the manga drawing of Hange looking away from Levi, or his dialouge, it does make sense to me that there are some tension between her and Levi.

--------------

Now the other panel where the anime draw her looking at Erwin while the manga draw otherwise is when Armin come out of his titan body.

Ok, this scene should be familiar to all Levihan because remember how Levi will always stare death in the eyes when his comrades die but not at Hange in 132? This scene has been mentioned because he looked at Erwin as he die while Hange looked away, in the manga at least.

Similarly, there can be 2 reasons why:-

1) there is still tension between her and Levi and she does not want to have any interaction with him

2) or, she wanted to check that Armin's transformation is ok. Afterall, this is also the first time the Survey Corp stole the power of a titan and they may not know how the whole thing works still. But do note, that she is totally not her "Eren I want to touch that hand!" self.

Imagine Hange, having no reaction to the first time she sees a titan shifter gaining power. I think only Reiss family and the Marleyan warriors got to see that scene but Hange showed no reaction or excitement at all. So, please convince me that she is not sad at Erwin's death. She is obviously very very affected by Erwin's death. Probably she might also be thinking that Erwin could have been the one emerging out of that titan body.

And in all these scenes, when Levi is talking, Hange did not respond, verbally or non-verbally.

The only respond she gave was after Levi gave his comforting speech to Erwin, that she said "he's dead". It is as if Hange is saying, there is no point in comforting him cos he is dead. But does Hange felt comforted by Levi's words? I dont think so.

So I do think that Hange is definitely angry at Levi and this little cold war between the 2 of them are starting to brew at the roof top here.

Plus, I also just want to mention how in-character Isyama has written both Hange and Levi. Remember how Hange used a cockroach to cover up her frustration after talking to Sannes? How she quietly sit down at the wall while thinking about her fears after taking her anger out at Nick? She hides her emotions and it is also clear that she is doing that here as she is processing her grief.

Levi, on the other hand, is so in-character with how he comforting a dying soldier: Complimenting them, affirming them and carrying on their strength and resolute on his shoulder. (I always find it weird that he complimented Erwin but now I get it. It is his way to encourage or send off the dying)

A short clip on the rooftop scene and Levi sending off his soldier in episode 9.

Levihan's Cold War [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3.1] [Part 3.2]

#aot #attack on titan #hange zoe #shingeki no kyojin #snk #levi ackerman #levihan #manga analysis #levihan analysis #hange analysis

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the-apology-dance · 2 years ago

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Knight In Training

Virgil had been getting curious as to where Roman goes most nights. It was unusual for him to leave without giving any of the other sides proper notice beforehand in case they needed him. He was practically invisible with none of them knowing his location in the Mindscape. Patton surveyed Virgil from his doorway as he heatedly strode past it while searching for Roman.

Patton had been given a physical presence before Virgil, meaning that he had been in the Mindscape a lot longer than him. When he showed up, two other sides were already there. Logan and Roman. The two never agreed with each other as both of them had viewpoints from opposite ends of the spectrum. Logan was logic and realism. Roman was creativity and idealism. Real and Surreal.

He had been created to ease the tension and stress that occurred between the two. It worked but it also meant that Patton knew a lot more of Roman’s past than Virgil did. Patton knows how Roman operates and certain things he takes to heart. This was also how Patton accidentally stumbled upon something Roman did that he assumed was a secret and something he did not want to voice to the others.

“Virgil….” He practically gave himself whiplash with the force he used to turn towards Patton. Steadying himself, he waited for the room to stay still. Virgil was not the kind of person that enjoys surprises or jumpscares of any kind. Virgil stood like before as he looked at Patton, who was wearing pajamas.

“Patton… Any idea where in the-“ Patton nodded as his gaze shifted downwards towards the floor. Almost like he felt guilty to have the knowledge of Roman’s whereabouts in the first place. Giving a loud exhale, Patton walked back down the hall.

“Yes. Just let me talk to you first.” Virgil narrowed his eyes at the cryptic response he had just been given from him but he wasn’t going to lie, he desperately needed to know where he was before he started pulling strands of purple hair out of his scalp. Sitting on Patton’s bed, Patton shut the door and started pacing as he spoke.

“Virgil. Though you don’t remember much about your origins, Roman was there when the feeling of Anxiety, or you, started developing. You were younger and that was enough to trigger Roman’s memories of his own childhood, which wasn’t exactly the greatest. This is going to take forever if I tell the whole thing, but to sum it up, Roman knows his past mistakes and knowing him, is trying to fix them as much as possible. He saw you for the first time around when Thomas was in high school, and that was enough for him. He started behaving like this before.I accidentally know why and where.”

“Show me.” Patton nodded and wandered the hallways with Virgil until they came to a very secluded hallway that had a large iron door sealing it shut. Both of them wore worried expressions as they neared the doorway. Patton put his finger to his lips, telling Virgil to keep quiet as he cracked the door open and tugged Virgil behind a large control panel.

Virgil truly didn’t believe what his eyes were seeing, as Roman looked like a completely different side. His ginger curls stuck to his forehead from all the sweat that he was soaked in, which made the tank top he wore stick to his torso. He wore loose red sweatpants rolled up to his knees so he could move easier. He had wrapped his hands to stop him from cutting them up.

Roman had created projections that were set to a specific level as they attempted to hit him. Virgil didn’t believe Roman could actually use his sword, let alone daggers that matched its appearance. Virgil watched as Roman fought back against them, taking each down as they struggled to land a punch or hit him with an object they held. He was pushing himself to his limits, but didn’t seem to have any intention of stopping even though his breathing was incredibly labored.

Patton sighed and pulled up the settings, Virgil looked at the screen curiously wondering why the levels were so specific, including what weapon they attacked him with. He didn’t understand until Patton pulled up another window on above the levels he had it set to. Glancing up, Virgil’s blood froze. Two sides were pulled up, along with their statistics.

Those two people were Remus and Janus. Their statistics matched exactly to what Roman was fighting against and just when Virgil thought it couldn’t get any more concerning, Patton pointed to a scoreboard, watching the number go up as he took out the projections. Virgil swallowed thickly as none of them had managed to even land a hit on Roman. Virgil’s eyes widened as Patton dragged him back out and ran from the location.

“Patton, what the hell did I just see?” Patton sighed loudly and adjusted his glasses. He slowly looked at Virgil, as he was not looking forward to this conversation.

“Virgil. I know you and Roman. I honestly don’t know how you will feel about this, or what you will even do with this information, but for the love of all that is holy. Please don’t take it out on Roman. Please.” Nodding slowly, Patton crossed his arms.

“When you were still in creation, I accidentally heard a conversation between Roman and his dad upon seeing you for the first time. He told him that even if you denied it later in life, you were different. Special. He told Roman he needed him to protect you. For him to always be your knight.” Virgil paced back and forth as he processed it all. His face slowly started to morph into an angered expression and Patton braced himself.

“Patton, I’m not some kid! I don’t need Roman to be some glorified babysitter!” Patton started feeling a rush of anger and sadness, Virgil becoming concerned.

“Fine! Answer this. Are you a dark or a light side, Virgil?” Virgil stalled as his brain went back and forth. Light? But he originally was a Dark side. There was no clear answer. Patton nodded slowly.

“That’s what I thought. Second question. Can Roman be completely sure what side his brother is on? He is Roman’s blood so you’d want to say he’d take Roman’s side in his time of need, but he does stay on the Dark side and kinda wants Roman dead.” Virgil backed down as his eyebrows knitted together.

“There is no clear answer as to just how morally corrupt Remus would be if it came down to the wire with Roman.” Virgil sighed loudly, he knew Patton was right. He couldn’t clearly answer either question. It all would be hypothetical.

“There are a lot of things about the others you can’t clearly answer. Let me explain Roman’s dilemma. Can you tell me with complete certainty that Remus and Janus would never try to take you back to the Dark?” Virgil’s shoulders dropped as he realized why Roman trained as hard as he did. He only would get one shot at it if it did ever happen to Virgil. So the only solution? Train to the point where you can’t get it wrong.

“No….no, I can’t.” Patton nodded as his eyes seemed to darken when he sat down quietly on his bed.

“The others aren't as concerned about helping or hurting Thomas as we are. It is not uncommon for them to manipulate people, Virgil. It's happened more than once and they are good at it.”

#virgil sanders #roman sanders #prinxiety #patton sanders #one shot #roman sanders angst #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides #too many ideas #my headcanons #too many emotions #remus sanders #janus sanders #i don't know where this thought came from

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dramamelon · 2 years ago

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Constructicon Week is here! @constructiconweek

I'll be posting them here as well as reblogging with an AO3 link because they're all short pieces. :)

What Once Was

Day 1: Scavenger | Piston Rating: T Tags: Minimal Editing, Canon Blender of IDW1 & IDW2, Snippets of Larger Story, Abandoned & Destroyed City, Haunted Houses, updated as necessary Fic Summary: In a moment of peace that was either the End of the War or a Temporary Truce (no one was quite sure where they stood yet), the Constructicons claimed the shattered remains of Crystal City as their own. So far, no one else had raised a fuss, leaving them free to rebuild as they wished. Chapter Summary: Perhaps it all started when Scavenger found the primary medical facility surprisingly intact.

On the occasions when Scavenger snuck out to the open street of the broken city his team called home, the random array of items he collected never failed to build a strange tale in his processor. In fact, he had taken to writing them down in what spare time he had—never mind that most of the time they had now was free time. With the pause of hostilities between Autobot forces and those of the Decepticons, everyone had enough free time that it was difficult to know how to fill it. Not Scavenger, though. All it took to keep Scavenger entertained was the freedom to roam the empty streets and buildings of what had once been Crystal City.

His finds, though—his finds!—were the important part of all of it. Scrapper and Hook would be so proud of him when he returned to their ramshackle base with no more than a small selection of the large stockpile he'd discovered. In particular, Scavenger made certain to place the highly specialized pistons that Bonecrusher needed replaced into an easily accessible forearm pocket. Poor Bonecrusher had been at the mercy of inadequate substitutions for vorns, a situation that left him constantly complaining of the ache it caused him. One situation of innumerable situations that plagued the Constructicon team as a whole, situations left unremedied due to lack of the equipment to properly resolve them.

Scavenger couldn't remember off the top of his processor exactly how many pistons Bonecrusher required, so he made a point of shoving as many as he could into the forearm pocket. After a pause, he popped open the panel on his other forearm and filled that pocket, as well. He nodded in satisfaction only when closing the pockets back up proved an effort worthy of the mech the pistons were for. Standing tall to survey the bountiful treasure around him, Scavenger wondered if maybe a few other useful trinkets might be worth carrying back to the others. Behind him, his scoop arm swayed and flexed with his pondering.

Crossing his arms, Scavenger began a slow pace through the wreckage of the medical facility and its astonishingly vast store of still pristine parts. Without thought, he lowered his scoop and let it drag across the crumbling sheets of standard building grade steel. The sensors in his scoop sent tingles of information scrolling across his HUD almost too fast for him to keep up with. All the things he could actually see around him were nothing more than a scratch in the surface of what the place held.

Scrapper and Hook were going to be so proud of him, he knew it! For once in the whole of his functioning, Scavenger was going to be the hero.

He opened his end of the gestalt bond wide enough to communicate with his team members—it was safer for them all to keep their positions close to the chassis, even with the sure knowledge that no one wanted to infiltrate their home. Using their bond meant communication would go undetected by anyone or anything outside his team. ::Hey, guys!:: Scavenger exclaimed over the bond, forever informal with the other Constructicons. They were more than a team, they were family, no matter how some of them (Hook) might grumble about the term. ::You're never going to believe what I just found!::

#maccadam #constructicon week #constructicons #scavenger #day 1: scavenger | piston #💜🚧💚

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beardedmrbean · 1 year ago

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Many morning papers, including Kuopio's Savon Sanomat, carry a review of a new survey by the Finnish Business and Policy Forum (EVA) showing that a growing number of Finns want to see more focus on cooperation in international affairs with other Nordic and Baltic countries.

Sixty-four percent of those surveyed said they think that cooperation with the Nordic countries should have more emphasis in Finland's foreign policy.

According to EVA's head of research Ilkka Haavisto, it seems that the Finns would like the Nordic countries to act as a more united front in foreign policy than at present.

"Traditionally, the Nordic countries have cooperated on many issues, but have rarely appeared as a unified block, because the countries' foreign and security policy solutions have not been aligned," Haavisto points out.

Slightly more than half of respondents were of the opinion that cooperation with the Baltic countries should be given more weight more in Finland's foreign policy, as well.

Greater willingness to cooperate with the Baltic countries is related to the Nato alliance and the fact that the foreign policy of the Baltic countries is increasingly valued in Finland, according to an EVA's press release quoted in the article.

"Russia's attack on Ukraine showed that the Baltic countries assessed Russia correctly," Haavisto says.

A similar annual values and attitudes survey has been carried out by EVA since 1984. This poll includes responses from more than 2,000 people who took part in a Taloustutkimus internet panel at the beginning of this year.

Danger below the Baltic waves

It is estimated that around 50,000 tons of chemical weapons and at least 200,000 tons of conventional munitions lie on the bottom of the Baltic Sea, the agricultural sector paper Maaseudun Tulevaisuus reports.

The weapons include bombs, artillery shells, mines, grenades and other munitions dumped by the Allies at the end of the Second World War. They are known to contain mustard gas, adamsite and an arsenic compound called clark1, among other deadly chemicals.

The paper says that studies have shown that toxins leaking from corroding ammunition casings end up in sediments and aquatic organisms. Hanna Niemikoski, a chemist at the Finnish Environment Institute (Syke) says that small concentrations have been found in, for example, cod, flounder, lobsters and shrimp.

More research is needed on whether the small concentrations of toxins found in seafood affect the people who eat them.

However, Professor Paula Vanninen, who heads Finnish Institute for Verification of the Chemical Weapons Convention, told the STT news agency that the threat to the marine environment and consumers is real.

One reason that the the issue of dealing with World War II-era chemical weapons dumped in the Baltic is topical is the fast pace at which offshore wind farms are being built in the region.

Reining in onboard parties

Helsingin Sanomat tells readers that shipping lines operating ferries between Finnish and Swedish ports have taken steps to curb partying by passengers in cabins and corridors.

It notes that, for example, some of the ships have no plugs in the sinks in cabins. This is to prevent passengers from filling the sinks with cold water to cool drinks.

Cruise passengers are prohibited from bringing their own alcoholic beverages onto Tallink Silja and Viking Line ships. It is also forbidden to consume alcoholic beverages bought from the ships' stores on board. The consumption of alcohol is limited to bars and restaurants.

Viking Line rules says that any passenger who causes a disturbance in cabin areas can be ejected from the cabin and fined 120 euros.

Both shipping companies have limited alcohol purchases from tax-free shops on certain departures and the contents of some passengers' bags are checked before boarding. Among the items confiscated are not only alcohol, but also sound-system speakers and power tools.

Hazardous gusts

Iltalehti warns of increasingly difficult driving conditions in many parts of the country on Wednesday because of heavy rains and high winds.

It points to an advisory from Fintraffic's road traffic centre saying that hazardously high gusts of wind, up to 20 metres per second, are expected in Kymenlaakso, South Karelia and South Savo.

Heavy rains will also affect driving conditions in Uusimaa, Häme and North Karelia.

The Fintraffic advisory reminds drivers to maintain safety distances of the season, and to be especially careful when it is dark.

#nunyas news #updates from up north

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teamarcstechnologies · 1 year ago

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What is the percentage of error in an Online Survey? How does this compare with offline surveys?

The percentage of error in an online survey, like any survey, can vary depending on several factors. The two main types of errors in surveys are sampling error and non-sampling error.

Sampling Error: This error occurs due to the fact that a survey typically collects responses from a sample of the population rather than the entire population. Sampling error can be quantified using a margin of error or confidence interval. The margin of error is usually expressed as a percentage and reflects the range within which the true population parameter is likely to fall. The margin of error depends on the sample size, the variability of responses, and the desired confidence level. Larger sample sizes generally result in smaller margins of error.

Non-Sampling Error: This type of error can occur in both online and offline surveys and includes errors such as response bias, nonresponse bias, question wording bias, and data processing errors. Non-sampling errors can be challenging to quantify and reduce but are important to consider in any survey.

Comparing Online Surveys to Offline Surveys:

The percentage of error in online surveys can be influenced by the same factors as offline surveys. However, there are some differences and considerations to keep in mind when comparing the two:

Sampling: Both online and offline surveys can use random sampling methods to select participants, and the margin of error depends on the sample size and other factors. Online surveys may have access to larger potential sample sizes due to the reach of the internet, but the quality of the sample can be affected by issues like nonresponse bias.

Response Bias: Online surveys may be more susceptible to self-selection bias, where only certain types of people are willing to participate. This can affect the representativeness of the sample and introduce bias into the results.

Nonresponse Bias: Both types of surveys can suffer from nonresponse bias, where some selected individuals do not participate. In online surveys, the nonresponse rate can be influenced by factors like email spam filters or the difficulty of reaching certain demographics online.

To know more: https://www.teamarcs.com/blog/what-is-the-percentage-of-error-in-an-online-survey/

Online research project management platform

online panel management platform

survey management platform

Marketing Research and Insights

#market research #onlineresearch #samplemanagement

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 1 year ago

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Legends Never Die [Chapter Two] Ignorance [Link]

A/n: this chapter is a bit dark. There is no set game that this follows as it's sort of its own thing, but it does take elements from certain LoZ games. Please enjoy.

Warning(s): death, violence, anger, mentions/implies discrimination, murder, LoZ lore, sickness.

For an instant, as the plaza shook and the cobblestone cracked, Lilya wondered if her eardrums had ruptured. Her surroundings moved in utter and eerie silence. She sat on her knees in shock as the inhabitants of Avia ran for their lives.

The Hero's statue, a beacon of faith and a memento of the past crumbled to the ground along with the nearby houses that were caught up in the aftershock, stirring clouds of dust that had yet to clear from the air.

Lilya had never seen anything so dreadful in her entire life. It was unreal; a true nightmare.

Was this war?

When the ringing in her ears started, the sound of screams grew clearer. Lilya raised her shaking hands and blocked out the noise the best she could. Her right ear felt congested and the palm of her hands stung terribly for some reason; a warm and wet substance fell in drops down her heated face, but she assumed the substance to be tears as her vision blurred from both the horror and from the smoke.

Please…I beg. Stop this.

She could not fathom what was happening. But somehow a voice reached her.

A comforting hand grasped her wrists, easing them from her ears. Lilya noticed in shock and fear that her palms were covered with blood and deep scratches.

"Sister, be at ease. You are hurt," Amariel ordered. Her tone was much steadier than usual, but in Lilya's right ear, her voice was muffled.

The green-haired teen turned her head a bit to hear her better and watched as Amariel eased Lilya's hands into her lap with the underside facing up, then hovered her own over them. A sudden warmth consumed her pale skin, followed by a tingle, then all at once the strange sensation ceased.

"I can only do so much," Amariel claimed with a gentle smile. "But I hope it has helped."

Lilya's bottom lip quivered as she opened her mouth to speak.

"It h-has. Thank you."

Amariel rested her hands on Lilyas, squeezing them. Her blue eyes filled with tears.

"I am not brave, sister. Please come to."

Her words were like a burst of icy water. Lilya took a deep uneasy breath. Even as the retainer of Farore, it was hard to find her courage, but she needed to for the sake of the town.

"We must help the fallen," she stated.

Amariel agreed with a hesitant nod. She dried her tears and stood, helping Lilya up as well. The two quickly surveyed the damage and then chose to separate, rushing into the plaza.

In her haste to help an injured man with a gash on his leg, Lilya noticed Raina standing in the chaos, facing the remnants of the statue; her keen eyes stared in annoyance at something the teen could not yet see.

Then out of the smoke and dust sauntered a figure wearing a cape that resembled the wings of a bird made of thin panels of gold-painted leather and adorned with gold bugle beads. Their armor was strange to Lilya, made entirely of black plates and leather with gold accents; their winged mask even matched the scheme. It was neither feminine nor masculine.

With a snap of their fingers, two matte black canine-like beasts with bony armor came leaping out of the smoke, running at the two guardians.

Raina clutched her hand into a fist and shoved it towards the ground. A beast was pressed down by the force of her gravity and crushed, dissipating in a cloud of black smoke. But another soon took its place. She groaned in annoyance and quickly repelled the two at the avian-like figure, but with ease, they materialized a katana with a tempered blade from the shadows and slew them.

Who was this person? Their battle prowess was incredible, able to withstand every move Raina used against them. Raising their arm, covered by a clawed gauntlet accented in shimmering gold, more of the shadow beasts emerged.

As a fellow guardian and retainer of the Golden Goddesses, Lilya could not allow her to single-handedly defend the town. She shouted for Amariel to heal the injured man and tried to weigh her options. Which of her three summons could take on the avian figure?

Apus, her gorgeous Lancewing was not suited for battle, despite being an intermediate-ranked summoning, and the Great Sage - the lowest tier - was too stubborn to assist her without payment.

I have to call on her, Lilya thought. Arachne, The Skulltula Queen.

The blood on her palms was dry and blotchy, not fresh enough to appease Arachne, so Lilya had to improvise. She took out one of her silver hooped earrings and rested the point against her palm, clasping her hand shut as hard as she could. The post impaled her skin, inciting a groan of pain from her, but she pressed through it and drew as much blood as she could, then raised her hand out.

The summoning circle appeared before her.

"Come forth, Ara––"

"Lilya, you must not!" Raina shouted, interrupting her.

The said teen raised a brow in confusion. Was she serious?

"Now is not the time for you to be self-centered!" Lilya argued in annoyance. "You can not do this alone! Let me help you!"

Raina shook her head in disagreement. She opened her mouth to rebuke but a silver arrow suddenly pierced her left shoulder. Her bright eyes widened in shock. No one had ever been able to reach her before. The shaft looked eerily familiar to Lilya, made of a unique metal utilized by the Zora, aquatic folk who possessed fish and amphibian-like traits. But how could this be? The Zora were integrated and although moved from their domain in the Lanayru region they were on good terms with the Hylian race.

Or so she was made to believe.

Several more arrows whizzed through the air over the avian figure toward Raina but she was able to stop them mid-flight, allowing them to drop to the ground with a ting.

As the dust cleared, Lilya could make out the decrepit forms of the Zora in the distance; their light blue skin was covered in white dots, and their fins were either rotted or hemorrhaged. They looked ill. She could not believe how bad things had progressed for them. Their cloudy eyes blazed in hatred as some of them fired upon the inhabitants of the town.

"What have we done?" Lilya asked herself.

Her mind was so distracted that she didn't notice an arrow flying toward her, not until Raina shouted her name. Lilya noticed it was too late to defend herself but the red-haired retainer had her back. She used her gravity to stop the arrow, allowing it to fall soon after; the teen was relieved.

"You have my gratitude!" She shouted.

Raina offered her a kind smile in return, but no sooner than she did, an arrow broke through her defenses and pierced her stomach. She let out a low gasp and then lowered to her knees.

Lilya was terrified.

This isn't possible.

How can someone like Raina be brought down by an arrow? She fought through an entire war and never received a scratch. Her ability made her untouchable.

It is my fault. I…I should have–

Warm tears filled Lilya's eyes. She could be saved, couldn't she?

"Amariel?! Amar— Where are you!?"

In a panic, Lilya searched for the blue-haired healer. When she found her, she waved her down, shouting her name. It took her no time at all to catch on after seeing the condition of her fellow guardian. But as she attempted to run to her, the avian-like figure appeared in front of Raina in a cloud of black smoke, placing their katana against her throat; her eyes remained on Lilya.

"I am sorry," she uttered weakly.

"Sister, please," Amariel begged. "You are not beyond saving."

Ignoring her pleas, Raina kept her eyes on the teen.

"Save your courage. Flee and live today."

Lilya couldn't believe what she was asking her to do. She tightened her jaw and averted her eyes to Amariel. As much as she hated the idea, Raina was right. If they didn't retreat, they both might die.

"Of all the times to be self-centered," she uttered, nearly sobbing.

Picking up the arrow, Lilya darted toward Amariel and grasped her hand, shouting at her to run despite her pleas to help. It was too late for Raina, Amariel knew it. Her power could not heal fatal wounds. They turned their backs on her and ran, heading toward the edge of town.

"Where are we going?" Amariel asked.

"The shelter inside the Conservatory," Lilya answered in haste.

It was the only safe place left in the city. The inhabitants of Avia knew to go there in case of an emergency. Though not constructed with safeness in mind, there was a storm shelter that led deep beneath the greenhouse.

The two darted down the back streets, ignoring the scent of smoke permeating the air. The city shook and crumbled as another bomb ignited somewhere far from them, likely the main street; the sound of screams soon followed, as those less fortunate were caught in the aftermath. It infuriated Lilya, but she made a promise to flee. Once Amariel was safe, she would do her best to fill Raina's shoes. She owed it to her to not let Avia fall.

Clutching the Zora arrow in her hand, she pressed on. But as the two neared the Conservatory, a large and impressive ornate structure with a glass roof and walls, used as a greenhouse and as a classroom to educate the younglings, a bomb went off and knocked them off their feet.

For a moment, time seemed to slow down. Lilya lay on her side and watched as black smoke rose into the air. The glass on all sides of the structure had shattered with the explosion, leaving nothing but the panels. Her entire body was in pain. She allowed her exhausted eyes to close a moment, wanting nothing more than to drift off peacefully but the panicked tone in Amariel's voice reached her, begging her to get up.

Upon opening them, she saw an enormous rocky figure verging on them from the Conservatory; the smoke at its back made it look demonic, almost as though it had crawled from the red earth.

Is he a Goron?

He looked nothing like Lilya had read about. While he was large with a hide of ridged stones on his backside, he looked ominous. His light brown skin was covered in moss, cracked in some places, and when he opened his mouth, broken and jagged teeth could be seen.

"Lilya," Amariel uttered in fear. She eased closer to the teen; burns from the pavement marred her face. "W-we need to move."

Reacting to her, the Goron leaned down and tucked his head. Lilya immediately recognized what he was doing and stood up, despite the pain in her side. She had heard that the Goron were slow with their short legs, but to make up for this, they often tucked and rolled. Quickly she pulled the healer out of the way and began to backtrack through the streets; the sound of rocks tumbling and tearing up the cobblestone followed them.

"Where do we go?!" Amariel shouted. Her breath was heavy and loud.

Seeing the wooden three-tiered deck in the distance, Lilya brought up her hand and created a portal.

"We are going to jump!"

"You can not be serious!" Amariel rebuked.

Lilya had no time to assure her. At the edge of the city, she and the blue-haired guardian leaped, plummeting into the abyss. All the while Amariel screamed in terror, a whisper compared to the whip of the wind and the flutter of wings that soon followed.

As she had intended, Apus caught them.

"You have my thanks," Lilya uttered in relief. She ran her fingers through the creature's feathers. Despite having her faith in it, her heart was pounding out of control.

"I love this bird," Amariel declared with a sob.

Lilya snorted in response. Neither of them was out of the frying pan yet, however.

"We must go to the temple. Please hurry," she ordered the Lancewing.

Apus chittered in response and flew them down to the forgotten town toward the temple. It was selfish of Lilya, but she could not leave her father to die; her mother had long since passed, a notion that she hadn't the time to dwell on at the moment.

As they approached the remnants of the temple, her father, Alaran, was standing in the courtyard, staring in horror at the clouds above. Lilya leaped from Apus and ran to him.

"Father. Avia is under attack."

"I heard the bombs from here," he uttered in disbelief. Averting his eyes to her, he looked her over. "You are hurt."

Lilya didn't know the extent of her injuries, but her entire body was in pain and she was certain that her right ear drum had withstood some sort of damage. If not for the adrenaline, then she would be a sobbing mess.

"I know…but we haven't the time to debate it. Raina is– she is gone. We h-have to leave this place."

It was harder than she thought to admit that her sister-in-arms was gone. Tears blurred her eyes but she fought back the sobs. Now wasn't the time to break down, even though she had every right to.

"How can that be?" Alaran asked. He turned his keen eyes back to the clouds. "She can not be dead."

Lilya rested her hand on his shoulder; the other clutched the arrow tight.

"We saw her die."

Alaran believed his daughter but he was having a hard time accepting the sudden news. He ignored the questions cycling through his mind and glanced between her and Amariel. A switch flipped and he widened his eyes.

"I nearly forgot. Come…both of you. I have something to show you."

"We haven't the– Father!" Before Lilya could finish her sentence, her father darted back into the temple. She growled in annoyance and raced in after him.

Joining him in front of the locked chamber near the base with the missing orbs, she watched as he walked up to the stone door; Amariel soon appeared, standing beside her. An excited laugh from him made her raise a thin brow.

"It's as I thought. I knew it," Alaran declared.

"I do not follow," Amariel retorted.

Honestly, neither did Lilya. She took an uneasy breath and approached her father.

"Please. Whatever is on your mind can–"

"Have some respect, Lilya," Alaran interrupted, raising his voice a bit. He took a deep breath. "Let me finish."

Lilya tightened her jaw in remorse. Whatever he had to show them was more important than his life, she assumed.

"Do you remember the theory I told you about earlier?" He asked.

She nodded in response. He claimed to know where the orbs to open the chamber door were. But what significance did this information have now?

"I did not notice it before, but when you came here, the symbol for Farore began to illuminate. And when you left, it lasted but a short moment before it faded," Alaran explained.

To emphasize his point, he pointed to the symbol on the chamber door. Sure enough, it was glowing, along with the mark of Nayru.

"It is you, the retainers of the Goddesses who are the keys to opening the time chamber," the elder explained.

Amariel widened her eyes. For a lover of history, she was awestruck.

"This is phenomenal. The scholars of Avia had been searching for decades on how to open the chamber door and all along it had been under our very noses. The three retainers."

"We are not all here," Lilya uttered. Her ears jerked in response.

She was thrilled for her father for proving his theory but without all three keys, the door would remain forever closed to them.

A comforting hand rested on her shoulder.

"Some doors, no matter the temptation, my dear, are not meant to be opened," Alaran stated.

Lilya knew that he was let down but he was right. Time was not a concept to be toyed with.

At least now we can–

Before she could finish her thought, a strange force yanked her back and slammed her to the floor. It took Lilya a moment to realize that her father and Amariel were also knocked back by the same force. She had never felt anything like it before.

The sound of soft footsteps filled the chamber, and as she sat up, she saw the person in the avian armor saunter in. Her eyes widened in anger. Fresh blood stained the blade of their katana. Tossing up her hand, she opened a portal.

"Come out Ziegmeyer!"

Bursting from the portal, an anthropomorphic turtle doll with an aging figure and a drawn–out neck, stood in front of her, staring at her with beady eyes. His body was dark brown with a beige underbelly.

"You again!" He shouted. "Didn't I tell you not to call on me unless you had a fair amount of rupees on you? I don't work for free, brat."

Upon seeing the angry tears in her eyes, he lifted a short arm that was connected to his main body by a button and scratched his face. Over his shoulder, he noticed the figure and hummed.

"I see. But it won't be cheap."

Ziegmeyer faced the figure turning his back to Lilya. A small tail hung from his lower back, beneath a moderately large shell with the Hylian shield painted on it.

"Is that agreeable, brat?" He asked.

"Take everything I own. You can have it."

Ziegmeyer sank into his shell, rolling swiftly toward the attacker. Once he was close, with an unexpected increase in speed, he shot into the air like an arrow and bounced off a nearby pillar ramming into their side, hard enough to make them falter a moment. He used that momentum to shoot back and strike at them again but this time, they countered with their katana, tossing him back.

"Do not let up!" Lilya shouted.

Like a ball, the turtle ricocheted off the nearby pillars at lightning speed, colliding again and again into the avian figure, who did their best to block with the katana, managing to get hit a few times.

With a growl of annoyance, they tossed their hands out and an unseen force tossed Zeigmeyer back.

Lilya leaped onto her feet and managed to catch him, turning him upright.

"Are you OK?"

"More than OK, brat," he answered from within his shell. "I can do this forever if your wallet can take the hit."

She was broke, but also certain he knew this.

From the shadows, two canine-like creatures, the same as the ones Raina fought on Avia, darted towards them. But before they reached the two, a tremor rocked the temple, making them halt.

What is that?

Lilya glanced over her shoulder to watch in shock as the chamber door began to open, revealing nothing but inky black as far as she could see; the symbols on the outside were all lit up.

But how?

She didn't have much time to figure out what caused the chamber to come open because once it did, a strong current of air yanked her onto her back, and no matter how much she struggled, it sucked her, along with the canine-like creatures into the opening.

Lilya clutched Ziegmeyer in her arms, not certain if Amariel and her father were pulled in with her, soon consumed by darkness. In her heart, she knew that this was goodbye.

#the legend of zelda fanfiction #link x oc #the legend of zelda

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