#certain survey panel

[alexdswfan]

Hange and Levi's first meeting in No Regrets and what it means to Levi

I'd like to talk about a scene in No Regrets that gets brought up sometimes by certain people in the fandom, which is Levi and Hange's first meeting, but I don't think fandom talks enough about the emotional impact this scene must've had on Levi, or why that first meeting is so important to him. This scene always manages to make me feel emotional no matter how many times I think about it, hence why it's my favourite part of the manga, because for the first time since Levi, Furlan and Isabel got in the Survey Corps, someone treated them with kindness and didn't look down on them.

The first thing we can notice from the way Hange approached them is how genuine and excited Hange is with what they achieved with the Titan, making sure to include them all in the achievement and not only Levi as seen here by how Isabel tells Hange that their group is amazing and Hange agreeing with her.

Hange is interested in getting to know more about Levi's strength, but it's in a way where they want to learn from him and get taught by him rather than in an idea of using his strength as a tool. By bringing the other Scouts in the conversation as seen below, Hange encourages Levi to teach them his tricks so they can all have better chances of survival and also kill Titans more efficiently from now on.

Hange wants to get to know Levi as a person first and foremost, which does impact Levi who hasn't really met anyone in the Survey Corps until that point to be interested in himself as a person and not just as a tool, and in his friends too as he's inseparable from them. Hange doesn't forget about them and even includes them in the conversation in their own easygoing way as seen in this panel.

Continuing on this idea, one of the most important parts of this scene is how Hange isn't only friendly with Levi, but they're friendly with Isabel and Furlan too, going so far as to give Isabel a treat for the start of their new friendship. It might not mean much, but for people who recently left the Underground where getting treats was probably a luxury or at best hard to come by, Hange's action will impact them far more than some people might realize. These three have constantly been called thugs or have been disrespected until they showed their technical prowess with Titans during their first expedition, so to see Hange push past that barrier by wanting a genuine friendship with them is such a contrast to the way they have been treated by the others all this time. And even when Levi is curt with Hange, they don't give up, inviting them all to a meal after the expedition is over, which shows how much Hange wants to get to know them better as people, and not only as soldiers skilled with ODM gear.

I think what impacted Levi the most out of that exchange wasn't necessarily that Hange was kind with him. It's definitely important, but when we know how much Levi cares about the ones he loves, how he values their lives much more than his own, it's that Hange was so kind with his friends that really impacted him the most, and I don't think fandom talks enough about it. How affected Levi must've been by Hange's sheer kindness without expecting anything in return from him in a world where that concept simply didn't exist. Levi was being kind with others, but this is the first time we see someone else that isn't part of his group be kind to him in return. I think what Hange did that day for him and his friends meant a lot more to Levi than we realize. Someone in the Survey Corps finally treated them as they should've always been treated, with respect and kindness and not with disdain or even coercion. And Hange isn't bothered by his refusal to communicate with them as seen by Furlan's reply here: "Anyway, Hange doesn't seem particularly bothered."

They respect his boundaries when Levi doesn't feel like answering since he doesn't want to get attached to new people (we know how that plan failed in retrospect, but he still tried), and that's because Hange doesn't try to force anything out of him. They tried and he didn't want to engage, that was fine with them, they'll still want to be his friend in the future regardless of Levi's answer. And I don't think fandom gives enough credit to Hange in this scene.

This scene will forever remain my favourite in No Regrets because it shows just how incredibly kind and friendly Hange was with Levi since the very beginning. Yes, this has to do with Hange's personality, that it's just like them to be attracted by the new outsiders or misfits and try to befriend them, but the important part is that someone at least tried. And it makes total sense how out of everyone we know, it had to be Hange to carry out that role. Someone caring as much about his friends as Levi simply cannot be hated by him. This scene actually destroys that claim even more, because by this definition, Levi would have to hate the first person in the Survey Corps to actually be friendly with his friends, the most important people in his life at that moment in time. It's again completely nonsensical to say that, and I do think the people who keep saying it either have forgotten this scene exists or they'd rather ignore it because it wasn't included in the OVA. But regardless of the reason, the fact remains this scene is part of the No Regrets manga and is important to delve even further into the relationship of Levi and Hange as it presents the blueprint of their relationship. Supportive and caring for each other until the very end.

Edit: I want to add that Levi definitely felt suspicious towards Hange's kindness at first since genuine kindness doesn't exist in his world. Coming from the Underground, he has all the reasons to be suspicious of Hange (as people have pointed it out in the reblogs). That being said, Hange's intention was to be friendly with him without wanting anything in return from that friendship, and I do think Levi was more appreciative of the whole exchange later in time when he got to learn Hange better. I struggle to say that someone who later in the story becomes one of his closest friends tried to be manipulative with him at the beginning of their relationship like the man with glasses from Bad Boy. Levi would never try to befriend such a person in my opinion. But we all know how their relationship grew instead, where their communication skills are beyond anything we've seen in the manga, so in the end, Hange's intention of becoming his friend proved to be genuine despite Levi's first suspicions. Therefore, I respectfully disagree with the interpretation brought forward in the comments that Hange might've been manipulative with Levi and his friends. Hange has no reason to manipulate them. Let's all remember Hange has no clue whatsoever about the subject Levi, Furlan and Isabel discuss beforehand. They're only interested in the group's prowess and efficiency at fighting Titans, and then later in them as people since they're open to a more meaningful friendship with them three. Someone manipulative wouldn't have cared about being friends with them afterwards.

[cabinetofquriosities]

Everybody Wants to Rule the World || Chapter 4 || Vernon

Agatha x Rio || TW: Smut and violence

Fic Masterpost || Please leave a comment on ao3

—————————————————————

Agatha surveyed her surroundings as she drove into Vermont. Everything was frozen, but beautiful all the same. Webs of small branches were encased in ice. Their trunks were stained with snow. The sky was matted with grey clouds that cast a mask of gloom over the town.

The town was charming, filled with spread out neighborhoods of wood paneled houses. As she drove past a white church with a slanted roof and square tower, she looked across the water to see a looming structure. It was a dark grey cube topped with light grey. Something about the cold structure was out of place in what was in the otherwise warm town. Her phone’s harsh ringtone shocked her out of her trance.

“Harkness,” she said.

“You know, you don’t need to pick up like that on your personal phone.”

“Wanda… Sorry, I got them mixed up. How’s it going?”

“Pretty well… I know it’s short notice, but can you come over tonight?”

“I…” Agatha sighed, “I don’t know. I’m all the way in Vermont…”

“Nope, not taking no for an answer.”

“What?!“

“We haven’t hung out in person for over a month. You’re coming over for dinner.”

“We can hang out this weekend with the boys,” Agatha said, turning onto a bridge.

“It has to be tonight,” Wanda said.

“Why? What is so important about tonight?”

“I want you to meet Nat.”

“O-oh! Natasha? You never introduce anyone. So, things are getting serious with you two,” Agatha said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Stooop. I just… it’s been four months and I thought she should meet my best friend.”

“Has she met the boys?”

“No! Not yet. Thats at least a few months away. Buuut, I want to get your take on her.”

“My… take? Are you sure?” Agatha asked.

“You may be tactless sometimes..”

“Thanks.”

“… But you’re always honest with me. I need that. I get-“

“You give people way too much benefit of the doubt,” Agatha stated.

“Excuse me, I like to think I see the best in people.”

“Even when it’s barely there.”

“Agatha.”

“Fine. I’ll be there at seven.”

“Thank you. I think you two will get along well.”

“Eh, last time you said that, the girl tried saging me the moment I walked through the door.”

“Well, Nat doesn’t have an affinity for crystals or spiritualism. You should be safe from Palo Santo for now.”

“Silver lining,” she said dryly, “I gotta go, but I’ll see you tonight.”

“Alright, don’t be late!”

Agatha smirked as she hung up, happy that Wanda finally found someone who stuck around for longer than two months. She always seemed to find people who never deserved her.

She pulled up to a line of caution tape well outside of the bounds of the grey building. It was the last vestiges of the former Yankee Nuclear Power Station that had been closed years back. She stepped out of her car and was met by Officer Claudia Hawley. She was a short Irish woman with pale, freckled skin and murky red curls peeking out from her tightly wound bun.

“Agent Harkness. Thank you for making the trip here.”

“No problem. Glad to help.”

“A few things to go over. You will need to limit your time onsite and wear protective gear.”

“Sorry, what now?” Agatha asked, her brows shooting up.

“The plant was decommissioned, but the soil and area is still contaminated. The rest of the plant has been demolished, but the only part left standing is the reactor building.”

“Why was it closed?” Agatha asked a bit warily, “Did something happen?”

“I mean, there were a few incidents where radioactive material was found in the groundwater. Parts of it failed at certain points as well, but it never fully melted down.”

“No wonder they pulled the plug.”

“Oh, that’s not why they closed it,“ Claudia said with an air of disdain, “The plant wasn’t making enough money.”

“That tracks. Gotta love capitalism at work. So, what do I need to wear?” Agatha asked.

“A protective suit, boots, and a mask,” she said, “Your partner got here about thirty minutes ago and is already putting hers in at the tent.”

“My what?”

A tall, striking black woman with intensely judgmental eyes walked over. Well, they were typically only judgmental towards Agatha. Her lips were pursed as she looked her up and down. Jenn shook her head.

“Nope, not happening,” Jenn said, turning to leave.

“I’m not happy about it either, but here we are,” Agatha said.

Agatha pulled her phone out, making sure it was her work phone. She called Lilia who answered immediately.

“I know what you’re going to say, Agatha. We’re not doing this.”

“Why her? Out of every agent, you have to pick the most stuck up-“

“I’m, like, ten feet away. I can clearly hear you,” Jen said.

“Agatha. I know you two can’t stand each other, but you are my two best. Like it or not, you make a good team. Do your job.”

“Lili-“ Agatha began before her phone returned to her lock screen, “What the hell, she hung up on me.”

“I guess we need to get through this,” Jenn said, “There’s no use bargaining with that woman once she’s put you in a time-out.”

“What did you do to earn yours?” Agatha asked.

“I called out another agent when he made a wrong move,” Jenn said, pulling her thin, white protective suit up, “I also… may have made a snide comment about him during a briefing in front of the team.”

“That’s not a huge deal,” Agatha said as she took her own suit and kicked off her shoes.

“I know. It didn’t help that his daddy was a higher up, though,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“Not Jenkins…”

“Yep. Little worm. Why were you put in time out? Did you tackle another unsub?” Jenn asked dryly while sliding her arms into the sleeves.

“I maintain that guy already broke his collarbone when he jumped the fence,” she said, looking away with a smirk, “No, I didn’t rough anyone up this time.”

“Bribery?”

“I wouldn’t be that messy.”

“Got it. You may be dirty, but never messy. Tampering with evidence?”

“They’ve never been able to make any of those accusations stick,” Agatha pointed out while zipping the front of her suit up.

“How the hell are you still an agent?”

“Because I get results… and I’m careful not to expose how I get them.”

“You haven’t told me. What did you do to piss Lilia off this time?” Jenn asked.

“You know that case in Englewood about five months back?” she asked, grunting as she yanked the black, heavy boots on.

“The one with that guy beaten to death in the garden?” Jenn asked while pulling her gloves on.

“Yeah. Aaron James. I - allegedly - threatened the local authorities when they gave me the runaround about his background. I also may have ignored Lilia’s order to not look further into the guy and dug up some privileged information using some outside help… again, allegedly.”

“What did you find?” Jenn asked.

Agatha arched a brow at her.

“Oh, come on. I know we’re not best friends or anything, but you know you can count on me to be discreet,” Jenn said.

“Let’s get through today. Maybe I’ll tell you later if there’s a connection.”

“I’ve looked over the case files. I know about the connection to the other murders. I’m not looking to take you down professionally.”

“Only emotionally.”

“Well, yes. But when it comes to our work, I know things can be a bit more grey. It may not be my way of working, but at least the rules you break are the ones that need to be broken for some cases. I can respect that enough to look the other way as long as it’s more helpful than harmful.”

Agatha pursed her lips, her brow furrowing as she considered her options. Jenn may have been a a rival of sorts, but it was undeniable that she was extremely intelligent and capable. She was the only agent apart from Lilia who could spar with her on equal footing.

“Fine. I found out that Aaron wasn’t exactly a saint.”

“How so?” Jenn asked, crossing her arms.

“He had three stalking charges on his record. One was a classmate in high school. She filed a restraining order before dropping out to be homeschooled.”

“Geez, poor girl…”

“They managed to seal that one since he was a minor. The second was his roommate’s girlfriend. He terrorized her for the whole of college, but the school talked her out of reporting it a number of times. A few years after graduating, he began ‘bumping into’ her nearly every day. She caught him idling in his car outside of her apartment building. She filed a restraining order that didn’t do much. When he violated it, his mother - she is a shark of a lawyer - got him off. He kept following her for another two years before she moved to another state.”

“And the third?”

“Ended up in the hospital. They briefly dated for five months in his early thirties. When she broke up with him, he harassed her at work, home, and anywhere she went.”

“For how long?” Jenn asked.

“Six years,” Agatha replied.

“Fuck…”

“She moved from city to city, but he always caught up to her. The police didn’t take her seriously and just told her to keep track of what he did. One morning, she went on an early run and was pulled into an alleyway where he beat her within an inch of her life. From the pictures I saw, it wouldn’t be surprising if he thought he had killed her when he left.”

“And how the hell did he get away with that one?” Jenn asked.

“That last city was the one his father served in as a cop.”

“Of course.”

“That in addition with his mother’s help… it didn’t even go to trial. I wouldn’t be surprised if his victim was intimidated out of pressing charges.”

“Then what?”

“He was dead a month later with tulips shoved down his throat,” Agatha said.

“I mean… I sort of want to find this killer just to buy them dinner or at least a coffee. Is that awful?”

“No. I feel the same way. So far, all of his victims have been terrible men,” Agatha said as the two of them trudged up the hill towards the grey cube that stood in the distance, “It makes me wonder if we’re dealing with a killer who has a moral code of their own. Or someone who’s been abused by men in the past.”

“Lilia didn’t tell you much about the crime scene, did she?” Jenn asked as they pulled their masks over their noses and mouths.

“What do you mean?” Agatha asked.

She opened the door to the reactor control room. It was painted a mint green and filled with grey desks that curved into the center of the room. Along the walls were control panels that bent into an “L” shape halfway down. The bottom half of the panels were resting atop cabinets almost like a slanted kitchen counter that bordered the entire room.

Each panel held switches and dials. On the walls were small circular dials that looked almost like compasses. The red needles within rested on zero. What was once a hub of vital decision making and monitoring was now a rotting relic.

Agatha’s eyes scanned the space before seeing the body bound to a steel chair. The head was slumped forward and the wrists were raw from fighting against restraints.

“She’s a woman.”

Agatha walked closer to the body. The woman was in her late fifties. She was blonde with a once pale face having now turned a slight shade of grey. There were empty plastic gallon containers for water strewn about. Her lips were blue and her face looked swollen. Based on the bucket nearby, it was clear she had gotten sick multiple times while going through whatever preceded her death.

“What the hell did he do to her?” Jenn muttered.

“We don’t know it’s a he,” Agatha corrected in a distracted mumble, her eyes not leaving the haunting scene before them.

“Fair,” Jenn said, “I mean… the flowers are a good tell.”

“And the thought put into each kill.”

“Male killers can also be fastidious planners.”

“I guess, but there is a reason women get away with murder more than men. There is some serious emotional control up until the moment of the killing,” Agatha said, “Like they wait until the actual kill to release every bit of emotion before going cold again.”

Jenn looked over at her, her head tilting slightly. She could feel Jenn dissecting her. Agatha shrugged and rubbed the back of her neck.

“I don’t know. Just a theory,” she said.

“Sure…”

“So… do we know how she died?” Agatha asked as she stepped closer to the bound corpse, noticing the ragged marks around the rope tying her wrists and ankles.

“There’s no blood. No weapon.”

“Just water,” Agatha said, kneeling down to look at one of the unlabeled water jugs.

“Oh shit…” Jenn whispered.

“What?”

Jenn waved her over and pointed at one of the plastic jugs that had a word scrawled in dark blue Sharpie.

“Mason. The town.” Jenn said.

“Why does that sound familiar-“

“Agatha,” Jenn chided, “That town’s been on the news for a year.”

“I watch Netflix, not the news.”

“Really?” Jenn asked sardonically.

“Oh, like you don’t tune out after a day on the job.”

“Fine, whatever. As I was saying, they’ve been on the news because of a water crisis.”

“There was a lawsuit, right?” Agatha asked as her mind combed through vague snippets of overheard small talk.

“More than just one. This company had been polluting their drinking water for years without anyone knowing until it got seriously dangerous.”

“Did people die?”

“Twelve and counting. There’s also no telling if others in the area will end up with cancer down the line.”

“What was the company?”

“Meridian Pharmaceuticals. According to the officers who came on the scene earlier, this is Vivian Brook. The CEO of Meridian.”

“Someone is definitely making a statement here,” Agatha said.

“Laura, how was she killed?” Jenn asked the medical examiner.

The twenty something woman stood up from her crouched stance while looking at the corpse’s extremities.

“Dry drowning,” Laura said, her eyes moving over the woman’s bloated, discolored face.

“Drowning? As in, force fed water?” Jenn asked.

“Yep. I’ve never seen a case up close before,” the young woman said, bending down to look closer at the dead woman’s visage, “It really is fascinating.”

Jenn cringed slightly at Laura’s blatant curiosity before looking back at the woman.

“How long would it take to do that?” Agatha asked.

“From hours to days. Most likely hours with the quality of the water. It dilutes the blood and can confusion and central nerve dysfunction in the early stages.”

“And the later stages?” Jenn asked.

“Seizures, brain damage, and death. It’s incredibly rare for it to happen by accident, but I’ve never heard of it being used to kill someone else.”

“How would someone even do that?” Jenn asked, “I mean, logistically?”

Agatha looked down at the chair the woman was slumped over in. Her skin was cut from twine.

“They tied her down. Emptied jug after jug of water down her throat. Probably held her back by the hair,” Agatha said.

“I think I found the culprit,” Laura said, using her pen to lift a circular plastic ring, “She used this to hold her mouth open.”

“Is that the things dentists use?” Jenn asked.

“It probably made it much easier for the killer to make her drink. I’ll let you ladies know when I figure out anything new. This body has a lot more to tell,” Laura said, a little too happily.

“What about the flowers?” Agatha asked.

“Sorry?” Laura asked.

“There were flowers at every other scene for this killer,” Jenn answered, “Usually embedded somewhere in the body. Like.. in the wounds sometimes.”

“Well, there aren’t any wounds to put any in.”

“Check her mouth,” Agatha said.

Laura used a gloved hand to open her mouth. Jenn looked away. Though she was a seasoned agent, she avoided looking at gore when she was able to. Agatha had no such qualms, looking just as closely as Laura did as the tweezers dipped into Vivian Brook’s mouth. Laura narrowed her eyes at what she found. She pinched it and pulled it up, revealing a slightly crushed sphere of tiny white flowers. Jenn had looked back, seeing the plant.

“Water hemlock,” she said.

“What?” Agatha asked.

“Water hemlock. It’s a poisonous water flower.”

“How did you know that off the top of your head?” Agatha asked.

“I like botany, okay?” Jenn mumbled.

Agatha stood up, thinking to herself.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Jenn followed her out, grateful to get out of the radioactive area. Once they reached a safe distance, they stripped out of their hazmat suits.

Agatha smirked and said, “Maybe you do serve a purpose for this case.”

“Thanks a lot,” Jenn said with a roll of her eyes.

“No, I’m serious.”

“Thank… you?” Jenn said, tilting her head.

“I didn’t even consider the meanings of the flowers chosen for each murder.”

“Well, I can look at the other flowers to see if there are more connections,” Jenn said, “Maybe there are other aspects to the flowers that the unsub used to make their message.”

“They definitely have a lot to say.”

—————————————————————

Agatha pulled up to Wanda’s house later that night. She took the bottle of wine she picked up on the way down from Vermont and carried it with her. She walked across the lawn, forgoing the stone path from the driveway entirely. She knocked at the door, jumping as it was instantly opened by Wanda. Her delicate features were at a sort of ease that Agatha hasn’t seen in years. She smiled as her friend threw her arms around her in a tight hug.

“Geez, you’re acting like you haven’t seen me in years.”

“That’s what it feels like. We can’t go that long again. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Agatha said.

She looked over at a gorgeous woman walking out of the kitchen. Her red hair matched Wanda’s, though she looked different in every other respect. Her features were more prominent. Her eyes were bigger, her lips fuller. Agatha had to remind herself that this woman was already taken by Wanda. She reached out, taking her hand and shaking it.

“Agatha.”

“Natasha. Wanda has told me so much about you.”

“Uh oh. How much?” Agatha asked.

“She wouldn’t shut up about you. It had me worried, to be honest,” Natasha said with a playful smirk.

“No need. We already got that out of our systems in college,” Agatha said.

“Oh?” Natasha said with raised eyebrows, looking at Wanda.

Agatha felt the tension tighten the air as Wanda’s eyes widened. Natasha looked back at Agatha.

“She didn’t tell me that.”

“There’s really not much to tell,” Agatha said, desperately trying to salvage the relaxed mood from before, “We dated for a handful of months before realizing we were better off as friends.”

A few beats passed before the other woman arched a brow.

“The lesbian dating to friend pipeline,” Natasha said with a smile, eliciting a sigh of relief from Wanda and Agatha.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it before. It’s so far in the past for us,” Wanda said.

“It’s alright. We all have friends that started out as something else.”

“Right… wait, we do?” Wanda asked as if she didn’t just admit to the very same thing.

Natasha’s hand rested on Wanda’s.

“I’ll tell you all about them later,” she said.

“Them as in nonbinary or them as in multiple exes who you’re friends with?” Wanda asked.

“I mean, you can’t say much about it now,” Agatha said, earning a dirty look from Wanda.

Dinner passed without further incident. Natasha told Agatha about her work at a defense contractor while Agatha chatted about the FBI. The two of them seemed to have more in common than Agatha had expected. Perhaps Wanda had a type.

She watched how easy Wanda breathed around Natasha, how comfortable they seemed with one another. The other woman always had a comforting touch whenever Wanda seemed to tense or worry herself. She seemed to be perfectly matched with the sweet mess of nerves that was Wanda Maximoff.

Once the night wound down, Agatha could feel her eyelids growing heavy from the long day behind her.

“Thank you so much for dinner,” she said, hugging her friend.

She turned to Natasha, saying, “It was wonderful to meet you.”

“Likewise. Wanda was right about you. You’re a fascinating person.”

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Wanda said.

Once they reached her car, Agatha turned to her.

“Okay, I like her.”

Wanda lit up, happier than anything that her best friend and girlfriend got along. Given how rightfully harsh Agatha had been on her exes, she was relieved to have someone who successfully earned her approval. She hugged her again before wishing her good luck on her own date.

————————————————————

Agatha groaned as she tossed her way through her closet. It had been far too long since she had been out with someone and she wasn’t sure what she owned that would actually fit the occasion.

She pulled on a dark green dress that hugged her figure. It was something she wouldn’t normally feel comfortable in. She was so used to throwing on jeans and a top that anything fancier than that felt foreign to her. She checked herself in the mirror, sighing as she felt doubt creeping in.

“That looks beautiful!” Wanda yelled from the propped up phone.

“Are you sure?” Agatha asked, looking back at her through FaceTime.

“Positive. You look gorgeous in that.”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll wear this one.”

She did her makeup, keeping it understated save for a bold red lip. Her brown, wavy hair fell down her back, sweeping against the small of it. A wolf whistle came from her phone. She let out a snort while laughing at Wanda. Her bell rang and she looked like a startled cat.

“Hey, you are going to be fine. She already likes you. Just have fun,” Wanda said.

“I’ll try.”

—————————————————————

Agatha opened her door to find Alison wearing slacks and a dinner jacket with a silk top underneath. Agatha forgot how to breathe at the sight of a beautiful woman in a suit. She shook her head a moment before saying, “Hi… you look…”

“Thanks,” Alison said with a laugh, “You look… too.”

“Um.. so, where are we going?”

“This new place in Agawam. Vincetti’s. I haven’t been, but it’s supposed to be great.”

“I’m always up for Italian,” Agatha said.

“We’ve definitely earned the carbs from all of the gym time we’ve been putting in.”

“Definitely,” she said, “Lead the way.”

—————————————————————

The anxiety she had from before seemed to melt away beneath the dim light of the restaurant. The two of them talked and joked the way they did at the gym, effortlessly picking up their dynamic again. The wine loosened her up enough to relax, even when Alison showed her glimpses of physical affection. A touch to her arm, holding her hand gently atop the table, leaning over to brush a lock of hair out of her face.

“So, any top secret FBI business you can divulge?” Alison asked with a playful air.

“To the enemy? Nothing.”

“Oh, come on!”

“I would rather not have a group of protesters at my next crime scene, no matter how cute the protester is.”

“I would never!” Alison said before correcting herself, “I would never do that to you. Come onnn. I know there’s something interesting going on if you’ve been skipping your workouts this week.”

“You don’t want to know the grisly details, even if I could talk about them.”

“Are you kidding? I live for morbid details. I bet it’s a serial killer. Am I right? I bet I’m right,” she said.

Agatha hesitated, clearly giving away that Alison had guessed correctly.

“I really can’t. All I can say is that it’s one of the most interesting cases I’ve worked in a while.”

“Okay, you can’t tease me like that without delivering,” she said, her eyes darkening.

Agatha felt a soft blush burning her cheeks. She took a sip of her wine before speaking.

“It’s a very intelligent and impressive criminal. I can’t go more into depth than that.”

“Oooh. Sounds like I have competition by the way you talk about her,” she said.

Agatha’s smile disappeared at the statement. A more manufactured one took its place.

“I never said they were a she.”

“I mean, intelligence with the ability to get away with stuff seems more feminine than not,” Alison said with a shrug, “Sorry. I’m a bit of a true crime junkie and I forget to be tactful about it with people who work in it.”

“It’s okay. And we don’t know the killer’s gender yet,” Agatha said.

“So it IS a serial killer.”

“Shit.”

—————————————————————

Once they were at Agatha’s place, she sat in Alison’s car. They were talking, Alison’s hand on her knee. Alison was cracking up at a story Agatha told about making a TA cry.

“That’s so awful!” Alison laughed.

“He deserved it! He was up his own ass and barely understood the material in that class. I’m sure he healed from being chewed out. He’s a big boy.”

“Well, I bet he never messed with a student after that,” she said.

“He was definitely less condescending to the women there after that.”

“I guess it’s not surprising that you’ve always been a badass,” Alison said.

“That’s one word for it. Other people have been a lot less flattering with how they describe me.”

“Other people are weak. They get intimidated easily.”

Agatha looked at the other woman, her eyes resting on her lips. Alison stopped speaking as a loaded silence fell between them. The question of who would move first hung in the air.

Before she could overthink it, Agatha dove in first to capture her lips. She combed her fingers through Alison’s dark hair as the other woman hummed into the kiss. She pulled it gently as it deepened, coaxing a moan from Alison.

As their kiss grew more frantic, Alison suddenly ended up straddling Agatha in the passenger’s seat. Agatha reached up, undoing her jacket and sliding her hand down her chest.

“I normally have a rule…” Agatha breathed, “To not invite anyone inside on the first date.”

“Good thing we’re not inside, then,” Alison whispered back, kissing her again.

Agatha smiled as she pulled Alison’s shirt from her pants, skimming her fingers over her bare skin beneath the fabric. Alison reached down, sliding a hand up her inner thigh, the dress gathered up around her hips.

Fumbling hands undid Alison’s pants followed by Agatha’s hand sliding inside. Alison let out a moan as she felt her fingers grinding over her. Her own hand reached the apex of Agatha’s thighs, pushing her panties to the side and pushing two fingers into her. Agatha gasped sharply, her back arching.

The two of them moved in tandem, their breathing filling the silence. Agatha looked up into her eyes as she felt pleasure winding itself into a coil within her. Alison bit her lip to silence herself as she shuddered. The sight of her in that moment pushed Agatha over the edge. She squeezed her eyes shut as that coil snapped within her, sending her into a spiral of ecstasy.

The two of them caught their breath, panting and letting out soft, broken laughs at their own messy state. Alison gazed down at her before leaning down, kissing her once more before moving back into the driver’s seat. The two panted, smiling goofily at each other.

“So… did I earn a second date?” Alison asked.

—————————————————————

Agatha felt like she was floating for the next few days. Alison and she texted like a couple of teenagers. It seemed that whenever she had a chance, she was sending something to her.

She finally returned to the gym that Monday, bringing a glow with her that had stuck with her since their date. She looked around the largely empty place for her before getting a text.

Ali: Meet me in the sauna 😈

A smile broke out across her lips. She rushed to the locker room, changing into a towel in record time. Walking into the narrow hallway, she found an abandoned towel mere steps from the sauna. She looked up at the window on the door and felt her heart stop.

There was a crimson stain smeared across the glass.

She held her breath as she opened the door. Steam poured out, revealing the sight of Alison covered in blood. Her eyes were open and lifeless. Red handprints and streaks painted the sauna. The blood streamed down with the precipitation caused by the humidity. Her body was riddled with stab wounds.

In her hands was a rose, the thorns biting into her palms. Agatha stumbled back, slipping on the wet floor. She hit the floor, the impact radiating through her. She let out a scream as the horror of it all set in.

Her screen lit up with one last text.

“Alice left for Wonderland.”

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

New research has found that 33.6% of surveyed healthcare workers in England report symptoms consistent with post-COVID syndrome.

New research from the Institute of Psychiatry, Psychology & Neuroscience (IoPPN) at King's College London, and University College London has found that 33.6% of surveyed healthcare workers in England report symptoms consistent with post-COVID syndrome (PCS), more commonly known as Long COVID. Yet only 7.4% of respondents reported that they have received a formal diagnosis.

The research is part of the wider long-term NHS CHECK study that is tracking the mental and physical health of NHS staff throughout and beyond the COVID-19 pandemic. Other research by NHS CHECK has included healthcare workers’ experiences of support services, prevalence of mental health problems, moral injury, and suicidal thoughts.

The study used the NICE definition of Long COVID, which includes symptoms like fatigue, cognitive difficulties, and anxiety for 12 weeks or more after they've had COVID.

After four and a half years since it was first described, there is still a lot to learn about Long COVID. This study has sought to explore how common Long COVID is among healthcare workers and if certain people are more likely to develop it than others.

“PCS can have a dramatic impact on a person’s day to day life. If we are to ensure that the healthcare workers, and wider population, affected by it receive the best possible care and support, we need to address both the physiological and psychosocial mechanisms behind it.”

-Dr Sharon Stevelink, Reader in Epidemiology and one of the study’s authors from King's IoPPN

The research was led by Dr Danielle Lamb, Senior Research Fellow at University College London’s Institute of Epidemiology & Health Care, who said “COVID-19 has not gone away. We know that more infections mean more people are at risk of developing Long COVID. This research shows that we should be particularly concerned about the impacts of this on the health and social care sector, especially in older and female workers, and staff with pre-existing physical and mental health conditions. We now need to better understand the complex interplay between biomedical, psychological, and social factors that affect people's experiences of Long COVID, and how healthcare workers with this condition can best be supported.”

The study team collaborated with a Patient and Public Involvement and Engagement (PPIE) panel of 16 healthcare workers with Long COVID. The panel helped design the research by developing the study questions, shaping the analysis, and interpreting the results.

The study’s Co-Lead, Dr Brendan Dempsey, Research Fellow at University College London, said “Collaborating with the healthcare workers who formed our PPIE group has been really important in making sure that we are conducting research that is relevant to them. They also helped interpret our results, sharing their own experiences of living with Long COVID and working in the NHS.”

To gather the survey findings, data was gathered from over 5,000 healthcare workers across three surveys spanning 32 months. The research found that potential risk factors for Long COVID included: being female, being between 51 and 60 years of age, directly working with COVID-19 patients, having pre-existing respiratory conditions, and having existing mental health issues.

The lack of formal diagnosis, despite the widespread prevalence of symptoms, raises concerns that healthcare professionals with Long COVID symptoms are not seeking care or are not being diagnosed. The research team calls for urgent improvements in diagnostic practices and access to support for those living with Long COVID in the healthcare sector.

The research was funded by The Colt Foundation and supported by the National Institute for Health Research (NIHR) Applied Research Collaboration North Thames. It was a collaboration between University College London, King’s College London, and 18 participating NHS Trusts.

Study Link: oem.bmj.com/content/early/2024/10/01/oemed-2024-109621.info

[eueuphoriaz]

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

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

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]

[applestorms]

Is there a panel in the manga where Kira’s kill count is outwardly confirmed as a certain number?

really good question!! from what i can remember they generally keep it pretty vague, but here's a few of the somewhat more direct references i could find. if someone can find something better pls pls pls add it i'd like to see as well owo

from chapter 60 (time skip after L's death):

in most cases where the narration talks about the effect of KIRA, they stick to talking about the reactions to the deaths rather than the exact number of deaths themselves. clearly though, the world has been drastically changed-- see the twin towers still standing in the DN universe as shown in the last panel.

from the same chapter, a couple shinigami comment about the worry that they might run out of people if humans keep dying at the rate that they are. this is almost immediately made pushed back against by the implication that these shinigami are particularly out of the loop when it comes to human populations, but the fact that it stood out at all to the point where they could have such a worry in the first place seems notable.

a bit later, in chapter 75 we also get this:

light calls KIRA an undeniable "mass murderer," and that public anonymous surveys show a majority of people are in support of KIRA. (where these surveys take place is not mentioned-- i'm assuming this is either for japan or worldwide.)

at the end, in chapters 103, 104, and onward, we also get a Lot of looks into what the pages of the death note look like themselves:

for that last panel in particular-- this doesn't even appear to be the full page, but from what i can count that's about 6 columns by 28 rows for this one page alone, making about 168 names a page. iirc mikami was writing about a page or two a night while he was at his peak as KIRA, so. you can do the math.

or, actually, if you don't want to-- the film theorists channel did a video on this exact subject. idk how trustworthy it is since i believe they take from the anime too, not just the manga, but it's a fascinating source regardless and i like how they break down each individual KIRA.

TL;DR: light definitely writes the most names as presumably he is Going At It during the time skip with basically nothing standing in his way for at least 5 or so years. misa also writes a lot, though her numbers potentially vary a lot depending on how much light was relying on her eyes during that same time. mikami also by far has the highest rate of kills, again packing All That Shit into one page on the reg, though he doesn't work as KIRA for very long.

[yourneighborhoodporg]

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.

Taglist

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[dp-marvel94]

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!

[pixel7777]

The Downside of Daring Rescues Chapter 18: The Story (FINAL CHAPTER)

📖 A well-earned feast, a few farewells, and a future that looks brighter (and more criminal) than ever. Astarion has a new title, Darla has a new song, and together, they have plans—big ones.🩸🎭

Read here below the break or on AO3!

This is the final chapter! If you made it to the end, I hope the journey was worth it. Your thoughts, comments, and reblogs mean the world—let me know what you think!

The back room of the Hearth and Quill gleamed with candlelight, transforming the usually bland space into something almost magical. Brass wall sconces cast dancing shadows across the rich wood paneling, while fresh flowers adorned the center of the long table—courtesy of Mistress Murding, who had practically fallen over herself arranging everything perfectly for Candlekeep's "distinguished vampire spawn guests."  (Apparently Darla had not been wrong about Mistress Ploomek's network of concerned innkeepers.)

Astarion shifted in his chair, still adjusting to the novelty of being treated as distinguished rather than dangerous. Darla's warm presence on his left and Dal's familiar energy on his right anchored him as he surveyed the feast laid out before them. Roasted meats, fresh bread, and colorful vegetables filled elaborate serving platters—a spread worthy of a Patriar's table. Two warming crystal decanters of deep red liquid sat within easy reach, their contents unmistakable to his heightened senses.

Astarion reached for one of the decanters, pouring himself a measure of blood. The casual acceptance of this act felt surreal after centuries of secrecy.

A full day had passed since Vellioth's death, though it felt both longer and shorter somehow. They'd spent most of it recovering while waiting for Syl's magic to replenish enough for the teleport back. Now here they were, being feted like heroes instead of monsters. Apparently Candlekeep liked the notoriety of being cutting edge when it came to vampire spawn rights.

A shiver crawled up Astarion's spine as unwanted memories surfaced—Yousen's vacant eyes and Violet's twisted limbs as they shambled toward him. He'd been so certain then that his defiance had doomed him, that his newfound strength would crumble in the face of that horror. The wine glass trembled slightly in his grip before he steadied it.

But then Vellioth had left the room, presumably to deal with some commotion upstairs. The rescue party had arrived mere minutes later—Dal leading the charge with a fire in her eyes he'd never seen before, while Syl, Thal and Zee made short work of his chains.

"It must have killed you," he said, turning to Darla with a smirk, "having to play decoy instead of charging in with the others. All that dramatic potential, wasted."

"I managed." Darla's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Though I did propose about thirty unviable versions of the plan that put me in the room before I admitted we needed someone who could both activate the higher level spell for the Forcecage and convincingly mimic Dal for anyone who might have interacted with her before. I just hope you appreciate my selfless sacrifice."

"Well, I think I deserve some sympathy here. I've now missed watching not one but two master vampires meet their richly deserved ends." Astarion took a deliberate sip from his glass. "At this rate, I'll develop a complex."

"It would be in good company," Zee chuckled, reaching for more wine. "You've already got enough to keep a team of mind healers busy for decades."

Astarion arched an eyebrow, maintaining his most dignified posture despite the barb. "Please, darling, all my complexes are carefully curated for effect."

The wine glass felt warm against his palm as he considered the coordinated rescue that had saved him. "Though I am curious how you managed to find me so quickly in that maze of a palace. Last I checked, Syl hadn't spent much time in the palace.  How did you manage the teleport?"

"Ah, that would be thanks to your literary pursuits." Syl's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Your diary proved quite useful for the teleport coordinates."

Heat crept up Astarion's neck—a physical impossibility that somehow manifested anyway. He shot a sharp glance at Darla. "Did you—"

"I didn't read it," Darla said quickly, holding up her hands. "Bard's honor."

"Dal assured us it would be connected to wherever you'd hidden it in the palace during your years with Cazador," Syl continued. "She came along to guide us to the kennels, just in case we landed somewhere unfamiliar."

Dal nodded, her familiar presence steady beside him. "I didn't know exactly where you'd kept it—only that it had to be somewhere in the palace.  It was the only thing in your ruck I was certain was from there."

Astarion's fingers tightened imperceptibly around his glass. That book, rescued from beneath the floorboards of his old bunk, contained decades of carefully hidden thoughts. The idea that it had led his rescuers straight to him felt like poetry—though he'd never admit that aloud.

Astarion took another measured sip of blood, focusing on the familiar motion to ground himself. The ring of Mind Shielding caught the candlelight, and Astarion adjusted it on his finger, its protection a comfort he hadn't realized he'd missed until it was taken from him and then restored.

His thoughts darkened as he remembered their rushed exodus through the palace, gathering objects from each room for future teleportation anchors. Smart planning, even if Vellioth's death had rendered it unnecessary. But then they'd found that elevator in Cazador's study, and—

The wine glass stilled halfway to his lips.

The cages. Hundreds of them. Thousands of spawn, each marked with those infernal runes, waiting to be sacrificed. Some had been conscious enough to reach for them through the bars. Others...

He set the glass down carefully, his fingers threatening to crack the delicate stem. Turning to Darla, he found she had been following his thoughts as they crossed his face unfiltered.

"We'll go back for them," Darla said softly, her hand finding his under the table. "We'll free them all."

"Will we?" The words came out sharper than he'd intended. "And what then? Thousands of broken spawn, all needing blood, shelter, protection from the sun?" He forced his grip to loosen on Darla's hand. "Some of them have been down there since before Cazador turned me."

The silence around the table grew heavy as his companions absorbed the magnitude of what they'd discovered. Even Zee's usual quips died unspoken.

Dal cleared her throat softly. "We have the staff that opens the cells. But we have to be reasonable about using it. Master Adelie and I are working with other scholars on a release treatment program—but at best we can take a dozen a month until we can scale up facilities and trained personnel."

Astarion's jaw clenched. A dozen a month. At that rate, it would take years to free them all. His fingers traced the stem of his wine glass, remembering those desperate hands reaching through the bars. Some of those faces had been familiar—marks he had lured before Cazador had turned them and sent them below. How many times had he walked above their prison, never knowing?

"And what of the ones who can't wait?" The words tasted bitter on his tongue. "The ones like Yousen and Violet?"

He felt Darla's grip hand, but he couldn't look at her. Couldn't bear to see pity in her eyes.

"We'll prioritize the most urgent cases," Dal said, her physician's pragmatism showing through. "Those who are still..." She hesitated, clearly searching for a diplomatic word.

"Still sane?" Astarion supplied with a sharp smile. "Still capable of speech? Still possessed of enough wit to appreciate their rescue?" His free hand clenched beneath the table. "How generous of us to save the easiest ones first."

The silence stretched like a bowstring pulled too tight. Astarion stared into his wine glass, watching the blood swirl against crystal. The memory of Yousen's shuffling gait made his stomach turn.

"It's a bitter pill," Thal said finally, their steady voice cutting through the tension. "But it's what makes sense. And you know Yousen and Violet are beyond saving, Astarion. They aren't spawn anymore—they are zombies. Their souls have moved on.  You know that."

He did know. He'd seen it in their eyes—or rather, in the absence behind them. Still, the knowledge did nothing to ease the ache in his chest. These had been his siblings, however dysfunctional their relationship.

"All we can do is our best," Syl added, her practical tone a welcome anchor. "The priority has to be keeping the remaining spawn safe until we can help them properly." She leaned forward, tapping the table for emphasis. "But we'll need to bring in herds of animals to keep them fed while they wait. That kind of operation won't go unnoticed."

"The Council in Baldur's Gate will find out," Thal agreed grimly. "And they'll want the spawn destroyed. Better to kill them all than risk another Cazador or Vellioth, they'll say."

"And who exactly owns those dungeons now?" Zee asked, swirling his wine thoughtfully. "Because I doubt the deed specifically mentions 'secret underground prison full of vampire spawn.'"

Astarion barked out a laugh that held no humor. The question was absurd—as if property rights meant anything to creatures the world saw as monsters. But Zee had a point. Without clear ownership, they had no legal ground to stand on, even with Candlekeep's recent ruling about spawn personhood.  That only applied in Candlekeep.

"Actually," Dal cut in, setting down her glass with practiced precision, "the scholars were already thinking this through while you were plotting in Baldur's Gate."

Astarion turned to her, eyebrow raised. Trust Dal to have been ten steps ahead while the rest of them focused on the immediate crisis.

"Candlekeep will be bringing a complaint to the Lord's Alliance to claim Szarr Palace and the dungeons—on your behalf, actually."

"My behalf?" Astarion's voice dripped with skepticism.

"You're technically Cazador's oldest surviving spawn, at least that they know of. It's tricky since spawn rights aren't recognized in Baldur's Gate yet, but Candlekeep has a vested interest in preserving the site for research purposes." Dal's lips curved into a small smile. "Via Scholar Ancunín."

Astarion nearly choked on his blood. "I beg your pardon?"

"Don't worry, it's just legal fiction. No actual scholarly responsibilities required." Dal waved away his concern. "The complaint will likely be tied up in politics and bureaucracy for years—which is exactly what we want. It postpones any decisions about destroying the spawn until we can get them all out."

Astarion sat back, processing this revelation. Scholar Ancunín. The absurdity of it almost made him laugh. But Dal's plan was clever—using the very system that had ignored Cazador's crimes to now protect his victims.

He caught Darla trying to suppress a grin beside him. "Not. One. Word."

"It's not perfect," Dal admitted, straightening her shoulders in that familiar way she did when delivering unwelcome news. "But we can't afford to seem ungrateful. Some of the scholars already doubt my claims about finding no additional documentation on the Rite." Her fingers drummed once on the table. "And you know how Candlekeep feels about destroying knowledge—even dangerous knowledge. We should put our best foot forward and try to build on the wave of goodwill and curiosity our performance at the debates created."

"So we need to be on our absolute best behavior," Astarion drawled, unable to resist. "How terribly inconvenient."

Zee snorted into his wine. "Oh yes, we're notorious troublemakers. Just look at us—sitting here drinking wine like common thugs."

"Absolute menaces to society," Thal agreed, face perfectly straight. "Why, I haven't stabbed anyone in at least two days."

"And I," Darla proclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest, "have gone a full week without starting a bar fight."

"Such restraint." Astarion's lips curved despite himself. "I'm in awe of your dedication to propriety."

"We're practically angels," Syl added dryly. "Though perhaps we should avoid that particular comparison given present company."

Dal rolled her eyes at their antics, but Astarion caught the slight upturn of her lips. "I'm serious. We need—"

"To be perfect little scholars?" Astarion raised his glass in mock salute. "Darling, when are we not?"

Astarion watched Zee fidget with his wine glass, an uncharacteristic nervousness in the usually confident dwarf's movements.

"Actually," Zee said, clearing his throat, "speaking of scholars..." He set down his glass with unusual care. "I've taken a position with the Gatewarden."

The table fell silent. Astarion's enhanced hearing picked up the slight increase in Zee's heartbeat.

"What?" Darla's voice cracked slightly. "But—you can't leave us!"

"I can and should." Zee's shoulders squared. "Come on, you've all seen it. I'm the first one down in every serious fight lately. That business with the trolls? The mercenaries? I'm not getting any younger or faster."

Thal opened their mouth to protest, but Zee held up a hand.

"No, listen. I like it here. The beer is excellent, the beds are comfortable, and nobody tries to set me on fire." He grinned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Plus, think how useful it'll be having a friend at the gate when you lot need to sneak something in or out."

Astarion recognized the deflection for what it was—he'd used similar tactics himself often enough. But he also saw the truth beneath it. Zee had been taking the worst of every fight.

"Well," Astarion drawled, raising his glass, "I suppose we'll have to find someone else to smash their way through all the doors with unpickable locks."

Zee's tension eased slightly at the acceptance in Astarion's tone. "You'll manage."

"To new beginnings," Syl said, lifting her own glass. "And old friends."

They all joined the toast—especially Dal, who was visibly pleased to have Zee's ongoing company at Candlekeep—though Astarion noticed Darla's smile didn't quite mask the wetness in her eyes.

Thal's deep voice cut through the lingering melancholy of Zee's announcement. "What about the rest of us, then? What's next?"

Dal straightened, a familiar gleam of organization in her eyes. "The scholar position for Astarion comes with an apartment—quite spacious, actually. You could use Candlekeep as a base of operations, if you like."

"And your research?" Syl asked.

"Master Adelie and I are focusing on recovery treatments first," Dal said. "Though we haven't abandoned the cure research. If we could restore spawn to their original forms..." She glanced meaningfully at Astarion. "It might help those too far gone to recover as they are."

Astarion kept his expression neutral, though his chest tightened at the implication. A cure seemed as unlikely as ever, but the thought of helping those who might otherwise never claw their way back to sanity...

"Well, I'm not ready to settle down," Thal declared. "Too many interesting fights out there."

"Agreed," Syl nodded. "Though I wouldn't mind helping with the research between jobs."

Astarion turned to Darla, studying her profile in the candlelight. "And what about us, darling? What comes next?"

Darla bit her lip, an uncharacteristically hesitant expression crossing her face. "Well... all those animals we'll need for feeding the imprisoned spawn, repaying the Harpers to help them recover from their losses, the new facilities for expanding the treatment program..." She traced the rim of her wine glass. "It's going to take a considerable amount of gold."

Her eyes met his, a familiar mischievous glint replacing the hesitation. "You wouldn't happen to know where we might... liberate some funding, would you?"

A slow smile spread across Astarion's face as he caught her meaning. "Why my dear, are you suggesting we rob the very nobles who turned a blind eye to Cazador all these years?"

Astarion set his glass down, studying Darla's face. Her earlier playfulness had shifted to something more calculated. "You realize you couldn't sing about any of that. Not for years, possibly never."

"I know." Darla's fingers traced patterns on the table's surface. "But there are other songs to sing. Other monsters to face." She straightened, that familiar gleam of adventure lighting her eyes. "There must be vampire lords in every major city along the Sword Coast. And now we're rather expert at dealing with them, aren't we?"

Dal's wine glass hit the table with a sharp click. "We have enough spawn to handle already! The treatment program is barely—"

"But surely they won't all have thousands like Cazador did." Darla's voice held a note of uncertainty. "Right?"

Astarion swirled the blood in his glass, savoring Darla's discomfort for a moment longer. Her shoulders had tensed, and that familiar crease appeared between her brows—the one that showed up whenever she feared she'd suggested something thoughtless.

"Right???"

"Relax, darling. Not every vampire lord made deals with archdevils." He took mercy on her. "Cazador was rather... exceptional in his ambitions. And since our dear Dal has destroyed the records of the Rite outside of Candlekeep—" He caught Dal's slight nod. "—I doubt we'll find quite so elaborate an operation elsewhere."

The tension eased from Darla's shoulders, though that worried crease remained. She toyed with her wine glass, not quite meeting his eyes. "Still, we should handle what we have first. I just thought—"

"That we could save everyone at once?" Astarion's tone softened despite himself. "Believe me, I understand the impulse."

He did understand—far too well. The memory of that first night of freedom rose unbidden: standing over Cazador's corpse, heart racing with possibility and terror, with nothing but a sack of paltry belongings and his fractured wits to guide him. If Dal hadn't encountered him, convinced him to go to Candlekeep...

"Though I must say," he added, unable to resist needling Darla just a bit, "it's refreshing to see you actually consider consequences before charging in to save the day."

Darla winced, and Astarion felt a twinge of regret at the barb. She truly did feel terrible about how she had left him, that first, improbable, bizarre rescue. He could see it in the way she hunched slightly over her wine, in how her usual dramatic flair had dampened to something smaller and more uncertain.

Astarion shifted in his chair, catching Darla's chin with one finger and turning her face toward him. Her skin felt wonderfully warm against his touch.

"My dear, I spent a hundred and twenty years praying to any god who would listen. Do you know how many heroes came to save me?" He traced his thumb along her jaw. "None. Not one."

She started to protest, but he pressed his finger to her lips.

"Until you. Yes, you tried to kill me first—but that worked out rather well in the end, didn't it?" He gestured at their companions with his free hand. "Look at us now. I have a roof over my head, blood whenever I need it, the best friends a spawn could wish for, and apparently a prestigious academic position." His lips curved into a smirk. "Though I suspect that last bit may damage my reputation."

That earned him a small smile. He dropped his hand from her face, picking up his wine glass instead.

"And soon we'll occupy ourselves relieving certain wealthy families of their ill-gotten gains." He took a deliberate sip. "I can't think of a more fitting way to fund our noble cause, can you?"

"Not to mention how satisfying it will be," Darla added, her usual sparkle returning to her eyes.

"Precisely." He raised his glass. "To delayed justice—and the creative redistribution of wealth."

* * *

Darla traced her fingers along the polished oak door frame as Astarion unlocked their new quarters. Their quarters. The thought made her breath catch.

"After you, my dear," Astarion said, sweeping the door open with an elegant flourish. "It didn't take too much hinting to convince Syl and Thal to give us the place to ourselves, this first night."

The apartment spread before them, bathed in the warm glow of magical lanterns. Rich burgundy carpets covered dark wooden floors, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls of the main room. A plush reading chair sat beside a window overlooking the courtyard, with a matching settee nearby.

"Look at this study," she breathed, stepping into the adjacent room. More shelves, these ones empty, waited to be filled. A broad desk dominated the space, its surface pristine except for an inkwell and quill stand. "You can write your memoirs here."

"Or you can compose your songs." Astarion's voice held an unfamiliar softness.

Darla wandered through the rest of the rooms – a proper bathing chamber with copper fixtures, a kitchen nook she'd probably never use, and two bedrooms with real beds. The master bedroom even had a vanity, which made her laugh. "This is perfect for you."

"For us," he corrected.

Darla's throat tightened. She ran her hand along a bedpost, the wood smooth beneath her fingers. "I've never..." She swallowed hard. "The longest I've stayed anywhere was three months in that boarding house in Waterdeep."

Astarion came up behind her, his cool presence steadying. "Well, Scholar Ancunín's quarters come with certain expectations of permanence."

"Scholar Ancunín." She giggled despite the tears threatening to spill. "Gods, that still sounds ridiculous."

"I'll have you know I cut quite the scholarly figure. I used to be a Magistrate, you know," He sniffed with mock offense. "Though this title has more to do with the necessary legal fictions while we sort out the spawn situation."

Darla turned to face him, drinking in the sight of him standing in their bedroom. "It's real, isn't it? We have a home."

Darla caught the slight tremor in Astarion's hand as he traced the carved mantelpiece. For all his composed exterior, this moment affected him as deeply as it did her.

"It's a bit chilly in here," he said, moving to the fireplace. "Let me fix that."

He set about building fires in each hearth, while Darla fetched their bags from the entry.

Their belongings made a pitiful showing as Darla unpacked. Honestly, it was mostly clothes, which made her grin. Hanging them in the wardrobe, she frowned at how quickly the space filled. Between her costumes and Astarion's dedication to fashionable attire, they'd need another wardrobe soon.

She carefully placed their weapons within easy reach – old habits died hard – and tucked away the few personal items they owned. Her journals went into a desk drawer. Astarion's collection of books he stole from the Patriars and his Candlekeep loans found homes on the empty shelves.

When she returned to the main room, Astarion had settled onto the settee. Two glasses of wine waited on the side table, and in his hands he held a familiar leather-bound volume – his diary. The one he'd carried since their first days together, hidden from Cazador for over a century.  The one that had enabled his second rescue.

Darla sat at Astarion's gesture, accepting the wine glass he offered. Her heart skipped when he extended the diary to her, its worn leather cover soft with age.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure?"

"I want you to read it." He took a sip of wine. "Unless you already have?"

"No, I meant what I said. I never looked." The diary's weight felt significant in her hands. "Why?"

Astarion stared into his wine glass, swirling the dark liquid. His silver hair caught the firelight as he tilted his head. "I find myself..." He paused, jaw working. "Words don't come easily, when I try to tell you certain things. About my past. About how I feel."

He set his glass down, fingers lingering on the stem. "But you make me feel seen. Truly seen—the parts I do manage to show you, at any rate. And I want you to know all of it."

A soft laugh escaped him, though his shoulders tensed. "Though I hope you'll forgive some of my earlier accounts. Particularly regarding our first meeting. I wasn't exactly... charitable in my assessment."

Darla clutched the diary closer, touched beyond words by this gesture of trust. "Are you certain?"

"Quite certain." His red eyes met hers. "Start at the beginning. I want you to understand everything."

Darla clutched Astarion's diary closer, touched by his trust, but something tugged at her conscience. "Wait." She jumped up, hurrying to the bedroom and returning with her own leather-bound journal. "Fair's fair."

She extended it to him, fighting the urge to snatch it back. "Though I expect similar charity in your judgment."

"Shall we read together?" Astarion's eyes sparkled with interest. "Perhaps start with our first meeting? We can save our earlier entries for another time."

"Oh gods." Heat crept up Darla's neck. "You first."

They settled onto the settee, pressed close together. Astarion found his entry quickly, and Darla couldn't help but laugh at his clinical assessment of her as a mark.

"'Entirely too trusting for her own good'?" She poked his ribs. "I wasn't that bad."

"My dear, you followed a strange man into a dark alley."

"Before I saw your fangs! And I had a plan."

"Ah yes, your 'plan.'" He flipped through her journal. "'His voice is like honey and silk' – really?"

"You're one to talk. Look at this – 'The mark appears susceptible to flattery and basic charm.'" She affected his accent. "'A simple seduction should suffice.'"

"And yet." He tapped a particular line in her journal. "Someone wrote three paragraphs about my kissing technique."

"Kisses you completely forgot about!"

"Those didn't count." He sniffed. "I was working."

Darla turned a page and burst out laughing. "Oh no, look at this drawing. I tried to capture your hair but—"

"Is that supposed to be me? I look like an angry sheep."

She buried her face in his shoulder, shoulders shaking. "I got better! Eventually."

"Mm, yes. Particularly these more recent sketches." He raised an eyebrow at a rather detailed drawing. "My, my, someone was paying attention."

"Give me that!" She grabbed for the journal, but he held it out of reach, grinning.

"'Last night was incredible,'" he read in a sing-song voice. "'I never knew vampire stamina could—'"

"Stop!" She collapsed against him, laughing. "You're terrible."

Darla's laughter faded as she turned to earlier entries in Astarion's journal. Her heart clenched at the raw fear bleeding through his normally precise handwriting.

'Freedom tastes like ashes. What use is choice when every option leads to destruction? The world wants me dead or enslaved. There is no place for me here.'

She traced the shaky letters, imagining him writing this in some hidden corner, hungry and alone. The next entry was barely legible, ink splattered where his hand had trembled.

'I dream of Cazador finding me. Of crawling back, begging forgiveness. At least in chains I knew my place.'

Astarion's cool fingers brushed her cheek, catching a tear she hadn't realized had fallen. "Your turn was quite enlightening as well." He indicated a passage in her journal. "You rewrote that first song seventeen times?"

"Twenty-three," she admitted. "I kept hearing your voice. 'Another vapid tale of heroics.' I wanted to show the truth of it – how we were both trapped in roles we didn't choose or didn't fully understand."

He turned another page in her journal, revealing draft after draft of what had become 'their' song. Notes crowded the margins: 'Too dramatic here.' 'He's not a victim, he's a survivor.' 'Show his strength, not just his pain.'

"And here." His finger traced a line in her journal. "Your determination to defend me. Three pages of creative threats, my dear? I'm flattered."

"Four pages," she corrected. "You missed where it continued in the margins."

Darla set both journals on the side table, careful not to spill their wine. Astarion pulled her close, his chest cool and solid against her back as he rested his chin atop her head. The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows across their new home.

"Do you know the most remarkable thing about you?" His voice rumbled through his chest. "From the very beginning, even at my worst, you saw me as a person."

"You were." She settled more comfortably against him. "Are. My favorite person, it turns out."

"Yes, well, you helped me truly become one." His arms tightened slightly around her. "More than the legal recognition or Dal's research or even killing Cazador. You made me believe I was more than what he made me."

A thought struck her. "Speaking of Dal's research..." Darla twisted to look up at him. "If she does find a cure, will you take it?"

Astarion's eyebrows shot up, genuine surprise crossing his features. He went quiet, considering.

"I'm... not certain," he said finally. His fingers traced idle patterns on her arm. "You'll think me mad when you read those early entries, how desperately I wanted to be 'normal' again." He gave a soft laugh. "But I've come to... well, to like who I am. Who I've become."

The admission seemed to surprise him as much as it did her. "I'm not as convinced as I once was that I need to change it."

Darla shifted, swinging her leg over to straddle Astarion's lap so she could look directly into those captivating red eyes. Her heart fluttered at his surprised expression, the way his hands automatically settled on her hips.

"Listen," she said, taking his face between her palms. "I love you, exactly as you are. And if tomorrow you decide to be someone different—mortal, immortal, whatever you choose—I'll love that version of you too." Her thumbs traced his cheekbones. "We're going to keep changing the world and each other, but the way I feel about you? That's not going to change."

A mischievous grin spread across her face. "Though I noticed your diary admitted your own feelings first. In writing, even, when you still haven't said it out loud." She tilted her head. "I hope your love won't change either?"

Astarion's eyes softened, and his cool fingers tightened on her hips. "I love you, Darla Daring." His voice held none of its usual artifice. "Utterly and completely."

When he kissed her, Darla melted against him, warmth spreading through her chest. After a moment, she broke away with a gasp.

"Oh! This would make an excellent love song—would you mind if I just took a moment to write down that last bit?" She was already laughing as she said it, knowing his response.

"I most certainly do mind," he growled, pulling her closer. "Though if you'd like to compose something about what I'm about to do to you next..." His fangs grazed her neck. "You're welcome to try."

Darla's mind raced with potential lyrics even as Astarion scooped her up from the settee. Her quill and journal were somewhere—oh, but his lips found that spot beneath her ear that made thinking difficult.

"Wait, I've got one," she gasped as he carried her toward their new bedroom. "'Your touch sets my heart aflame—'"

"Terrible," he murmured against her neck. "You clearly require additional inspiration."

"Fine. 'Your kiss makes my blood run—' No, that's worse." She squirmed as he set her on the bed, his clever fingers making quick work of her bodice laces. "'When passion strikes like lightning—'"

"Darling." He pulled back just enough to slip her blouse over her head. "Are you really going to compose right now?"

"I need to capture the moment!" But her hands were busy with his shirt buttons. "Oh! 'In darkness deep as wine—'"

His laugh vibrated against her collarbone. "That doesn't even make sense."

"It would if you'd let me finish." She arched as his cool fingers traced down her ribs. "Something about... divine..."

Her thoughts scattered as he kissed his way down her stomach. What rhymed with divine? Entwine? That could work...

Darla's mind still raced with potential lyrics, but Astarion's cool lips trailing down ever lower made focusing increasingly difficult. The meter of her latest verse scattered like leaves in a storm as his hands traced paths that sent shivers up her spine.

"The rhyme scheme," she protested weakly, even as her fingers tangled in his silver hair. "I almost had it..."

His laugh vibrated against her skin. "My persistent poet." He nipped gently at her hip. "Still trying to capture the moment?"

"I—" The clever retort died in her throat as his fangs grazed a particularly sensitive spot. Her back arched involuntarily. "That's not fair."

"Neither is composing when I'm attempting to make love to you." His cool breath ghosted across her inner thigh. "Though do continue. What rhymes with 'divine' again?"

"I..." What had she been thinking about? Words? Poetry? His tongue traced patterns that made coherent thought impossible. "I forget."

"Shocking." His voice held wicked amusement. "No more songs?"

Darla's response dissolved into a gasp as Astarion demonstrated exactly how thoroughly he intended to derail her creative process. Her last fleeting thought about meter and rhyme vanished entirely, replaced by the pure joy of being here, being loved, being home.

Some moments, she decided hazily, were better left unwritten.

* * *

From Darla's Journal, tucked between performance receipts and pressed flowers:

The Downside of Daring Rescues

(A Work in Progress)

Verse 1:

I thought I'd save the day

Like heroes often do

But saving you that day

Meant you saved something too

Chorus:

Oh, the downside of daring rescues

Is when they follow you home

But the upside of caring too much

Is never being alone

Verse 2:

Your eyes held secrets dark

Your smile promised sin

I should have known that spark

Would let the danger in

(Bridge - needs work)

From predator to prey

From stranger to guest

From "go away" to "stay"

From cursed to blessed

Verse 3:

You picked apart my pride

Showed truth behind my shine

Until my ego stepped aside

Bound your path and mine

(Alternative chorus - which works better?)

The downside of playing hero

Is when the story doesn't end

The upside of letting you stay

Is finding more than a friend

Margin Notes:

Scribbled at the bottom:

He finally said it! ♥♥♥♥

* * *

Astarion settled at his new writing desk, the candle's flame steady in Candlekeep's still air. The leather of his journal felt familiar under his fingers as he opened to a fresh page.

What a peculiar thing, to read through those old entries with Darla. To see myself through her eyes and the eyes of my past self, page by page. The desperate, hollow creature I was when we met. Using every trick I knew just to survive another night. And now...

He dipped his quill, considering his words carefully.

I have a home, a hilarious new title, a party, allies, friends. But more than that, I have purpose. Real purpose, not just staying alive out of spite.

There are so many of them down there in those dungeons.  Each one as broken and desperate as I was. As I still am, in many ways. The work ahead feels endless. Twelve per month?

But Darla's right — we'll find a way to speed things up. Rob the bastards who enabled Cazador blind and use their coin to fund more resources. Sweet justice, that. And I know exactly which Patriars to start with.

It's strange having so many people I trust. Syl. Thal. Zee. Dal. And Darla... Gods, Darla. Reading her journal, seeing how she fought her feelings for me even while fighting for me. I don't deserve her. But I'm keeping her anyway.

I still wake sometimes expecting to find myself back in that kennel. Still flinch at sudden movements. Still struggle to believe this is real. But it is real. This is my life now. Benevolent thief. Scholar. Rescuer. Lover. Free man. 

We have so much work ahead. But for the first time in over a century, I'm looking forward to tomorrow.

He paused, then added with a smirk:

And if that tomorrow involves redistributing some Patriar wealth? Well. That's just going to be fun.

[ego-meliorem-esse]

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

[m0thisonfire]

*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.

[alexdswfan]

About Levi and Hange's communication skills

A concept I've always wanted to talk about that I haven't really seen many people discuss in the AoT fandom is the communication going on between Levi and Hange whose bond is greatly defined by this concept. They share in my opinion some of the best if not the best communication skills I've ever seen not only in AoT but also in any other form of media I've ever consumed. From the manga evidence I've gathered displaying these characteristics, we can deduce some interesting information about their relationship that I think is worth discussing. I think Levi and Hange are actually closer than what certain people might believe due to these incredible communication skills, and I'll show how communication and closeness affect one another.

A quick heads up, when I say Levi and Hange are close, it's not meant in a romantic way and it will be never be seen as such since neither Levi nor Hange have romantic canon ships in the story. Their closeness to each other will rather be regarded as platonic, almost feeling like a partnership between two friends, and after rereading the manga, I do think Isayama tried to write their bond as a very close partnership rather than some other kind of relationship. Additionally, the fact Levi and Hange are this close doesn't mean that Hange is more important to Levi than other characters with whom he shares a relationship just because he might be closer with them than with others. There's no hierarchy in Levi's heart in regard to his emotional connections with people, meaning that his friendship with Hange means as much to him as his friendships with other characters. Hange brings something in Levi's life other characters don't, but the other way around is also true. I'll only be focusing on the characteristics Hange brings to Levi in this post, but keep in mind that Levi's bonds with others all enrich him in different ways and they're all important to him, and stating otherwise in my opinion is to not understand the fundamentals of Levi's character.

But now back to Levi and Hange specifically, I've seen some people among fandom spaces claim instead that Levi hates Hange or that Levi doesn't care about Hange as much as he cares about other characters, and to that I'd like to counter-argument, explaining why these negative misconceptions can't be further from the truth and how they do a huge disservice to Levi's character in particular.

The first evidence to showcase Levi and Hange's communication skills in a way that's more significant than what we've seen so far happens in chapter 53, Smoke Signal, and is unfortunately a manga-only scene. For a bit of context, this chapter shows the experiments Eren is making in order to improve his hardening skills while the Survey Corps are into hiding, hunted by the Military Police. Then later, after the experimenting session is over, Eren asks about how the experiments went, and we see this interaction occur between Levi and Hange.

There are many details revealed in this scene about Levi's character and how Hange adapts to his personality. So, Levi has a very roundabout way with words when he explains something and no one really seems to understand him. However, Hange is the only person seen to kindly 'translate' what Levi just said so the others present with them in the room can understand better. And in the second panel, Levi acknowledges that Hange understood his words well as he thanks them for their clearer explanation.

This scene shows that Hange needs to have a high level of closeness with Levi in order to be the only person in the room to understand him. Communication is a hard skill to develop with others, therefore this interaction between them can't be explained simply by Hange's intelligence or by the fact that they're good at ‘getting people’. This then means Levi and Hange must communicate extremely well with one another if Hange can even pass as “Levi’s translator” for others. Hange needs to understand Levi's perspective on the world in order to explain his speech to others in a way they can understand as well, which is extremely hard to achieve. The most plausible explanation for this interaction is that Hange and Levi developed a level of communication unlike any other through the years they've known each other, allowing Hange to correctly interpret his words for others who aren't as familiar with his perspective as Hange is. It's possible that in order to reach that, Hange might've been helped by their own innate ability to understand people in general, just like Levi, but the fact remains that communication between them had to be honed and perfected for this scene to happen.

The second evidence that truly solidifies their communication skills happens later on in the manga and anime, and in the manga it happens in chapter 106, Brave Volunteers. For a bit of context, it's a scene that happens during the 4 years time-skip when the Survey Corps have captured a Marleyan ship and have met with Yelena and Onyankopon, the anti-Marleyan volunteers who want to work with Paradis to oppose Marley. Hange and Levi are in a meeting with them to discuss their motivations for going against Marley when this interaction occurs between Levi and Hange.

They are seen understanding each other simply through thoughts (as shown by thought bubbles), which is proof of how strong their communication skills are. They’re literally doing telepathy in a world where such superpower doesn’t exist. They understand each other so well that one glance from the other is all they need in order to communicate together. This level of communication they share is unmatched throughout the series, because in order to do telepathy with someone else, something almost unattainable in real life, the people involved need to have a perfect understanding of the other's mind, the other's inner thoughts, which is something that can be achieved only through getting to know enough that person, and even then it's no easy feat. While it is true that the conversation they've shared wasn't very complicated, it's still surreal that they managed to pull it off so effortlessly. This can only be explained by the numerous years they've spent constantly being at each other's side, and this scene is the literal manifestation of such closeness taking shape in their lives to the point they can understand one another simply through eye contact.

I've seen a few people question the legitimacy of this scene and claim that thought bubbles here mean that they whispered this conversation to each other, however the anime version of this scene is actually what backs up the telepathy theory and solidifies it even further. In season 4, character thoughts are shown through showing the eyes of the character without their lips moving while the voice actor speaks their thoughts in the background. These are two examples of Mikasa and Hange shown when they speak in their minds taken from Season 4 Part 1 Episode 10: A Sound Argument during their meeting with the Azumabito clan.

Back to the telepathy scene, this is how the anime decided to show it from Episode 9: Brave Volunteers.

Only their eyes are shown while their voice actors are speaking with a normal voice in the background. With the anime version, it's very clear to say they spoke through thoughts and not in whispers, which canonically proves they spoke through telepathy in this scene.

With these scenes, we can say that Levi and Hange share incredible communication skills, the best in the whole series, and we've established by now that Hange understands Levi extremely well, but communication has to go both ways: does Levi understand Hange too? The telepathy scene shows that Levi understands Hange as he communicates with them only through eye contact, but another evidence from the manga supports better the idea that Levi also gets Hange when he senses that something is wrong with Hange's demeanour in chapter 52, Krista Lenz. He brings Hange to speak up about what's been bothering them, which is Pastor Nick's death, and then slowly brings back the determination in Hange to fight back knowing full well how much Pastor Nick's death has affected them, which is also one of the reasons why he accepts to torture Pastor Nick's executioner for Hange's sake as seen in his line from chapter 55, Pain: "… That’s probably everything they did to Nick.” This evidence alone shows how much Levi understands Hange too as Levi is a very perceptive character, therefore we can say Levi understands Hange as well as Hange understands him.

These are the manga panels about Levi and Hange's conversation in order from chapter 52.

This is the manga panel of the torture scene from chapter 55.

Now that we've established that Levi and Hange share incredible communication skills and they both understand each other, what does it actually mean for their relationship? To have good communication with someone means that this person must be close to you because you understand the world view of this person. Closeness and communication are interconnected, as communication enhances emotional closeness, which is "the bond that forms through deep feelings of connection, understanding, and vulnerability between partners" (Gardenswartz, 2024) (although this article mainly alludes to romantic bonds, emotional closeness is not inherent to romantic relationships and may very well happen in platonic relationships too). Besides, high levels of closeness do improve one's perception of the other's emotions as this study suggests: "Close friends detected the onset of their partners’ angry and sad expressions earlier than acquaintances. Additionally, close friends were more accurate than acquaintances in identifying angry and sad expressions at the onset, particularly in non-vignette conditions when these expressions were void of context" (Parmley & Zhang, 2014). These findings are consistent with my own arguments about how Hange and Levi correctly perceiving the other's viewpoint and emotions makes them closer to one another.

I also do want to touch up on something I don't see many people discuss, but I genuinely think the events that happened in Shiganshina, namely Erwin's and the rest of the Survey Corps recruits and veterans' deaths, made Levi and Hange grow even closer than what they were before due to shared trauma. For some reason, bonding over trauma isn't regarded highly among fandoms, however it doesn't make the bond less valid because it happened under a traumatic event. Some people like to disregard the fact Levi and Hange remained the last two veterans alive and lost their common friend as if such experiences only affected them individually and not together, but these experiences are important to their bond and it wouldn't be far-fetched to say they both only grew closer from them despite the griefs they might have felt from such harrowing losses. This concept of shared trauma bringing people closer together might look obvious, but science supports that concept as well, as seen by the findings of this particular study: "Sharing painful experiences with other people, compared with a no-pain control treatment, promoted trusting interpersonal relationships by increasing perceived bonding among strangers" (Bastian, Jetten, & Ferris, 2014). An example from the manga somewhat supporting this theory could be Levi and Hange's telepathic discussion which happens years after the tragic events of Shiganshina, showcasing how close they've become to succeed at communicating only with their eyes.

Therefore, understanding Levi in the way Hange does shows they're humanizing Levi and see him for the person he is rather than the tool or weapon many other characters see him for, himself included. Hange took the time to understand Levi's perspective, his values and motivations which shows they care a lot about him. I would even argue that the main theme of Levi and Hange's relationship is this constant care they're mutually giving to each other throughout the series, and why Hange had to be the one to find a gravely injured Levi after his encounter with Zeke in chapter 115, Support, and then nurse him back to a relatively stable state. I believe that scene is the culmination of their theme, and although we could speculate on what other characters would've done for Levi if they were in Hange's position or whether Hange would've saved another soldier the way they saved Levi (they would've since Hange is a caring person), the fact remains that Hange had to be the person to find Levi in that critical state to make sense narratively speaking, as mutual care is all about the theme of their relationship.

To show how Hange's care towards Levi is showcased throughout the manga, I will include an example occurring before chapter 115 to further prove how this theme has been explored throughout the manga. It didn't magically start after Hange found an injured Levi. There are many instances when Hange is seen caring for Levi, but I'll be using an example directly showing Hange's worry about Levi and his squad's wellbeing taken from chapter 57, Kenny the Ripper. This happens in the Uprising arc when the Military Police is out hunting the Survey Corps, and we see a visibly upset Hange asking Erwin about Levi's squad's whereabouts.

The reason I'm showing more Hange's care towards Levi than Levi's care towards Hange is because Levi cares about everyone, and Hange is obviously included in that everyone. Levi is shown caring more about people than people are really shown caring back for Levi in the same way that he cares about them, so this is why this theme of mutual care between each other is particularly more important to show on Hange's side than on Levi's side. However, to prove how the manga is portraying his care for Hange, I'll use again one example among many taken from chapter 79, Perfect Game, during the Shiganshina arc where we see Levi muse about Hange and the others' whereabouts after Bertolt's explosion. He's even considering meeting with Hange's squad to check up on them when Zeke starts throwing his rocks at the Survey Corps. Similarly to Hange's worry about his wellbeing, we're seeing here Levi's own worry about Hange and their squad's wellbeing clearly displayed in the manga.

This brings me to the misconception still circulating in certain parts of the AoT fandom that Levi hates Hange, and how we can see it has been thoroughly debunked by the closeness they share together. Even so, I'll still analyze it in detail for the remaining sceptical people who stumbled on this post.

First, let's start with the fundamental question: does Levi hate Hange? The arguments I've seen for this claim are that Levi is rude towards Hange as he calls them by harsh nicknames, which can be debated as to how "mean" they actually are (his most used nickname for Hange is "four-eyes", so I'll let you be the judge of how "insulting" this nickname is) and that such a "clean freak" like him (in Hange's words from chapter 9.5, Side Story: Captain Levi) could never tolerate someone like Hange who isn't too keen on bath time. These arguments in my opinion are rather shallow as to why Levi could even hate someone because they "don't bathe as often as he would like", and it's a simplistic view of Levi's character. Levi would never hate someone for not sharing a similar lifestyle as him, especially him, the most non-judgemental character of the series. The only person we can clearly state he hates is Zeke, and that's due to how opposite Zeke is in theming to Levi. Zeke is Levi's narrative foil in where Levi values life and fights as hard as he can to not see people die anymore, Zeke has no remorse using people for his schemes and killing them in the process, seeing their deaths as justified for a greater cause. I would even argue that had Zeke shown some kind of remorse or grief to what he has done, anything that would have redeemed Zeke a bit in Levi's eyes, Levi wouldn't hate him as much as he currently does. This is why Levi is more accepting of the warriors like Reiner or Annie because they do feel grief and remorse for what they've done to the people of Paradis unlike Zeke. But we cannot compare Zeke to Hange, except maybe their intellect and the fact they both wear glasses, but the similarities end there. Hange is much closer to Levi in ideals than they are to Zeke. Simply that Hange is the one to have brought the Alliance together to stop Eren's genocide pretty much shows why Levi even accepted to be part of the Alliance as well, which puts Hange at a complete opposite pole from Zeke.

So then, it would make no sense for Levi to now become judgemental with Hange on the basis of such a trivial disagreement on their bathing routines. Besides, this bathing argument is nowhere to be found in the manga. It comes from side material that is sometimes highly exaggerated for jokes (like in Junior High for example). Therefore, I don't think these types of arguments should be taken seriously, and especially not to prove such an important claim that can unfortunately affect the way people in this fandom see Levi and Hange's bond.

Going back to the rather "rude" name-calling of Levi, this doesn't show Levi hates Hange or anyone for that matter, as Hange isn't the only one on the other side of his rude remarks. The majority of the AoT cast has been subjected to some of his name-callings, but that doesn't mean by any means that he is hateful towards these characters. It's his blunt way to communicate with others, which probably comes from his harsh upbringing, and this is something Hange understands about Levi as they have never been offended by his rude remarks and have instead played along with him, creating a certain kind of bantering between the two as we can see in this example from chapter 26, The Easy Path:

We see how Hange has no problems humouring Levi with their answer even if Levi's comment could be seen as unprofessional and borderline disrespectful by our rather polite society. So then again, on what grounds could Levi even hate Hange, the person who understands him the most in the story? The claim then falls flat, as it would be illogical to say Levi hates the person who understands his world view and can communicate with him the best.

Now, on to another misconception closely linked to the first one, namely that Levi cares more about other characters than Hange, or that his bond with Hange is not as special or as important as his bonds with other characters in the story, or even that Hange isn't crucial to Levi's story as they could've been erased from his story and it wouldn't have changed anything in Levi's story (and if some people believe these comments are too exaggerated, these are real comments I've received under a discussion thread, so no, these ideas unfortunately lurk in this fandom). So, we've already established how close Levi and Hange are due to their communication skills and shared trauma with different examples taken from the manga, and how the theme of their bond is mutual care. Why would their closeness and theme be regarded by the fandom as less important than any other themes from AoT, and more importantly, why would Levi in particular care less about his bond with Hange when Hange is the closest to him?

I've already expressed how Levi views all of his relationships equally in terms of emotional impact, and even more so, his care for others is such that he'll care about strangers as much as he cares about his own friends or family. I do think this is a difficult concept to grasp for some people in this fandom as we as human beings all prioritize our relationships with our family and friends rather than the ones we might have with acquaintances or strangers, and this is a totally normal behaviour to have. However, such behaviour doesn't apply to Levi as he is quite literally considered the ideal person, the archetype we should strive to reach as readers or anime viewers learning about his story. And so, to claim that Levi might have "favourites" in his life is completely inconsistent with Levi's own personal theme as a character, which is the value of life. What messages would a character representing such an important concept, even more so nowadays in our troubled times when clearly, the rights of certain people are seen as more valuable than the rights of others, send if he cared more about certain characters than others? It would make no sense thematically speaking, and even worse, it would mean that indeed, some characters' lives are actually more valuable than others, which would only shatter his theme. When I say that no character's life is more valuable to Levi, it's never in relation to the ranking of said character, because by that idea, then of course Erwin as commander is more valuable than anyone from the Survey Corps when Erwin was commander, but more in relation to the intrinsic aspect of life and how that character's life affects Levi, and on that level, the emotional importance level, everyone is equally important to Levi, no exceptions. This is why stating otherwise about Levi and his bond with Hange does a huge disservice to Levi's own character as it destroys the fundamentals of his theme in canon.

If someone isn't interested in such theme and prefers a fanon version of Levi's character, that's totally valid too and I'm not here discussing how people should see Levi fanonically as we all have different headcanons and ideas about him that are all worth exploring in fanon territory, but I do think it's important to make the difference between what themes Levi actually represents in AoT and ideas about him that are fanon, which is something some parts of this fandom struggle to make sometimes. It's okay if some people aren't interested by Levi's incredible empathy and selflessness and would rather see him care the most about their favourite character, but these people should keep in mind this isn't how Levi operates in canon, and therefore claims like Levi doesn't care as much about other characters that aren't their favourites, like Hange for instance that unfortunately receives a lot of these bad takes, should not really circulate among the fandom in the first place. These misconceptions lurk in the fandom because some people genuinely believe Levi canonically has favourites, and that's what I'm trying to debunk with this post that has now become an analysis about Levi's character too lolol. But basically, by saying he doesn't care as much about Hange as other characters paints an image of Levi that's inconsistent with the actions he's taking in canon, and it confuses the fandom as to whether these claims are actually correct or false.

Just to give an example of this doubt that's cast in the fandom about Levi, the main reasons I've seen for people to dislike Levi's character are rooted in this false narrative that Levi is obsessed with the promise to kill Zeke, and by some sort of extension to be obsessed with Erwin (as if the promise was just about Erwin, but I won't start on this topic for this post), which is why they don't like Levi. But what these people actually don't like is this fanon interpretation of Levi, which many other Levi fans and myself don't like either, and that's where the doubt is cast since many Levi haters really believe this is how Levi acts in canon, that he really just cares about Erwin or cares more about him than anyone else (and yes, these two misconceptions are part of the same coin, they're not different) because they've seen this take circulate in the fandom presented as a canon fact, so of course it can be difficult to spot the mistake. Therefore, it disrupts Levi's canon self by stating such misconceptions, going as far as making some people believe these misconceptions to be true. They're not seen how they should actually be seen, as some fanon interpretations that a portion of the AoT fandom has about Levi that you may like or not, this is a personal preference, but regardless of whether these fanon interpretations are liked or not, they're canonically incorrect.

To sum everything up, Levi and Hange are both incredible characters individually and together, and what makes them really strong is this closeness they share which results into mutual care and why such close scenes between each other like in chapter 115 or in chapter 126, Pride, where we see Hange physically take care of a wounded Levi in the forest, even exist in both the manga and in the anime. I also think it's interesting to see how the two "abnormals" of the story seem to be the ones to understand each other the most, which is definitely a very fitting theme for them. While I know it's impossible to stop established popular misconceptions from spreading in this fandom, I hope at least that this post shed a bit of light on Levi and Hange's bond and maybe more people will be discouraged to state Levi hates Hange or that Levi cares more about certain characters than others after stumbling on this post.

[hermit-pride]

Day: 16. I am taking a moment to record a memory that I never wish to forget. My wife and were having an enjoyable day at Casperson beach in Venice, Florida when a small crowd gathered by the water near us. People were looking at some sort of animal that had a fin that was protruding from the water. Shark or dolphin, I had to get closer.

He was in waist deap water and letting the surf roll him from side to side. I caught sight of his blowhole and noticed that he wasn't being careful to completely close it when it was submerged. This dolphin was in trouble! A tourist from Spain who spoke perfect English was also in the water next to me. We wrestled the sick dolphin into a position where we could protect his airway (ACLS) and waited for the authorities to arrive. Perhaps a half hour later a deputy arrived and after surveying the scene called the game warden's office. They sent a person who took pictures of the several scars on his back as they provide a fingerprint accurate means of ID. He was in the system. His name being Harvey. Harvey was 31 years old. A veritable senior citizen for a dolphin living in the wild. The game warden cautioned the Spanish guy and I that he could be dangerous as his fluke is quite powerful. We consented to assuming our own liability on the matter of safety. After all, he did have a toothsome grin but made no effort to brandish it. However, for some reason he made two feeble attempts to escape our care. His fluke gave a weak kick and both of us were knocked off our feet. He was between 8 and 9 ft long. The Marine vet arrived in a panel van and did an exam. He was placed on a dolphin-ready litter and eight volunteers carried him 100 yards to the van. The vet said, "figure 100lbs to the foot. With his natural bouyancy he was relatively easy for two grown men to keep slightly above water. Carrying him outside of the water was a real chore. I took the vet aside and asked if he had already dead. He said, "yes, but the onlookers want there to be hope. Thanks for helping with that"

In retrospect, I am certain that Harvey chose a beach with people on it that might serve to comfort him in his final hours. He could easily have swam off to be alone. I'll never forget the honesty and love in his eyes. Something I see in a very few people, to be honest.

We were informed later that Harvey was a well-known and loved citizen of a 50 mile local area. The necropsy found that he had ingested a fishbone that got lodged in his throat. Over a few days he developed an infection, pancreatitis, and probable sepsis.

Rest in peace Harvey, we love you!

[sacredechoes]

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.

[eueuphoriaz]

Levi's Heart (Part 2)

Before I breakdown his monologue in Chapt 136, which happened to be titled "Dedicate your heart", I think it is important to understand who is he referring to when he is having that monologue in his mind.

Caveat: I am literally taking the translation as it is, both in the manga and anime so I am not sure if the actual Japanese words conveyed a different meaning or not.

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

So, this monologue started after the Alliance agreed to do 2 things:-

1) Kill Eren

2) Rescue Armin.

After the 104 set off to their respective tasks, Levi then started thinking about his promise to Erwin to kill Zeke Hange's hypothesis that killing Zeke will stop the Rumbling, and thereby giving meaning to the deaths of all the Survey Corps soldiers who sacrificed for Humanity.

Sidetrack: Actually this scene conveys a lot more things. It also includes the start of Levi letting go of his slavery to his strength.

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

The monologue can be grouped into these main sections:-

1) Looking for Zeke to kill him to stop the Rumbling and wondering why he cannot fulfil Erwin's last command?

2) What is his (Levi's) purpose in the Survey Corp afterall if he is now injured? This is kind of linked to the earlier analysis because Levi had dedicated his strength to Erwin and trusting his orders without any doubt.

3) Levi questioning the whole deal about sacrificing and dedicating hearts of the Survey Corps, or a certain person.

4) His decision to choose a new future aka Armin.

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

Now, I have read analysis that Levi is actually talking to Hange during this monologue, which I kind of agree too.

".... bungled one of his orders...", ".... his final order....". He is definitely talking to a third party or himself about Erwin's orders.

Looking at the events that happened prior. He needed to kill Zeke to stop the Rumbling. He cannot find Zeke and started to question his strength aka his vulnerability.

He then talked about the main mission: free the titans of Paradise so that the brats can look at the sea. Now I refer to this panel to give some evidence that this portion of his monologue is done with Hange in his mind.

And remember, they were having a happy time looking at the sea cucumbers at the sea. So when Levi was having this monologue up to this point, I am thinking that he is feeling an emotional heart pain (grief and loss) because of he is thinking about those times that he lost when Hange died. Which is why he continued the monologue in another direction...

(Sad eyes)

"...Tell me.....when you all dedicate your hearts... is it to trample on the hearts of others?"

To have your heart trampled, it is an emotional expression of a pain, a broken heart. Why would Levi say this to all the Survey Corps soldiers who had sacrificed themselves? He probably did not have any emotional link to their deaths because he had dedicated his strength to give meaning to their deaths. But up till this point in his monologue, whatever he is thinking about, is actually referencing to Hange. It is her sacrifice that he had felt emotional pain, he had his heart being trampled when Hange decided to dedicate her heart to Humanity.

Remember he didnt want her to dedicate her heart in the No Regrets? He didnt want to be responsible for other lives? But afterall, he cant stop her. (Sidetrack: i think there are also some post from the magazine editors that said Levi would have said "Dont go" to Hange if she had not spoken first in 132)

After that, he answered his question (sad eyes again) "......is it worth dedicating your heart to the idealistic world without Titans...." to Hange with "....it had to be.....".

Now, who else had been idealistic in the pursuit of Humanity's freedom?

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

Now, I know that the translation used a plural for for "you all" so it makes it look like he is addressing the whole Survey Corps. But if I take away the language and just look at the events, or even the illustrations in these panels, Hange stood out among the rest.

Now, the last part of the speech when he directly addressed Erwin now, is the most interesting part.

I have read that he remembers Erwin here but my Levihan filter is showing me the similarity of how Hange and Armin are drawn- the eyes, mouth the entire excited expression.

Levi is addressing Erwin now because he had been talking to Hange. He reaffirms his decision to revive Armin instead because that is the future of the Survey Corps, and the new way they Survey Corps had to fight in a world of Humanity without Titans.

Just a note too: this wraps up neatly because the Alliance had agreed to save Armin, Hange had appointed Armin as next Commander, Levi did not choose wrongly back then.

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

So with this monologue in Chap 136 Dedicate your hearts, Levi has shown that he can no longer dedicate his strength now and he is letting go of his dedication by passing along to the next generation. Him talking to Hange and questioning about their dedication and other hearts being trampled, to me, it is a subtle hint that his heart has been broken, emotionally, when Hange gave hers to the SC cause.

Levi's Heart [Part 1][Part 1.5][Part 2][Part 2.5][Part 3]

[mariacallous]

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.

[dramamelon]

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!::