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nimmy22 · 3 years

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A Mistake: Chapter 12

~ The following day, Saturday ~

"Do something, Wesker! These fucking imbeciles at the papers are starting to question my competence as chief all because of a pathetic group of boys you can't seem to dispose of." Irons seethed, slamming his cup of whisky on the desk, knocking his nameplate to the ground.

Wesker gave nothing away of his emotions, save for a tick in his brow. His hands craved to wrap around Irons’ neck, giving it a swift snap. It's how he felt most of his days at the station. Irons was replaceable. The man didn't realize just how worthless he was to Umbrella. His replacement could arrive this very afternoon.

"We are working on finding the gang's nest. The big players keep using young boys for the jobs but tell them nothing about insider information. There are too many eyes watching us right now. We cannot use any special means to dispose of the group in order avoid questions."

"Just Do your fucking job right. I can't stand the news conferences anymore. the journalist's questions make me look laughable." Irons clutched his glass, throwing it hard against the wall. Tapping a finger on the armrest, Wesker didn't bat an eye at the behavior of the chief of police. One couldn't expect much from such a lowly creature.

"You seem to forget why Umbrella put me as captain of STARS. It isn't to keep up your public appearance but to protect theirs. I'm not the one who isn't doing his job. Deal with the journalists while I handle the little boy scouts." pushing back his chair, Wesker made sure to leave deep grooves on the freshly varnished floors. The scraping sound was like music to his soul. He didn't miss the deathly glare on his way to the door like hot iron rods.

Returning to the STARS office, Wesker ignored the gossiping of Chris and Jill about the newest trouble between their captain and Irons. Shutting the door to his office, he took a seat behind his desk. Through the office blinds, he eyed each present member of STARS. of course, no one was getting any work done, lazing around the office, making meaningless bets.

This simply will not do.

It was time they did some undercover work, gathering information about Raccoon city's newest crime family. These boy scouts wouldn't last long around here, especially since they fell on the radar of the real monsters in the shadows of Raccoon.

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

She sat alone on the staircase, elbows resting on her knees, wondering how the hell she got here. The house was familiar to her. How many times has she looked after Sherry here? Still, it felt strange. It was his space, and she was invading it.

This was now supposed to be her home. The place gave no hints as to who lived here, lacking any personal touch. It was likely the work of an anterior designer following the most fashionable trends. The home of a bachelor.

Speaking of Wesker, he left after dumping her here last night and vaguely pointing her towards the guest room with a 'help yourself' to any food. As always, he gave her the bare minimum of info, not that she asked what he was up to. She didn't care whether he spent the night hiding bodies or doing legitimate police work. She was too terrified to sleep under the same roof, only a few walls apart. Does the man ever sleep? Shower? Eat?

She won't lie. She was glad Wesker left. But even with him gone, she couldn't stop thinking about what happened. More so the kiss than almost becoming a guinea pig. It was a lot to process, and she couldn't even begin.

For the nth time, she forcibly pulled her fingers away from her lips, scolding herself for replaying the memory again. This man was absolute bad news. She needed to get out of the house, and an incoming call from Claire had her scrambling to answer as quickly as possible. Her friend presented an idea, and Cara was all too grateful to join in.

Pulling up Wesker's name in the contacts, Cara's fingers hovered over the letters, unsure of what and how much to tell him. Where did they stand? Did he really mean everything, or was it a trick? Was she free to leave? Did he give up completely on the idea of killing her?

"Going out with Claire. I will be back late." she texted, fully knowing a lot of info was missing. But it's not like he ever gave her a ton.

"Stay out of trouble.' came a replay moments later.

The words were unsaid, but Cara definitely heard them. 'I don't have time to drop everything and run over to the rescue each and every time you get in trouble,'

'I asked for help only once. The other time's nobody asked you to come.' Cara grumbled but deleted what she wrote. she could've gotten herself out of those situations...with a little bit of thinking. Actually, a lot of thinking.

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

Cara had to walk several blocks away from Wesker's house to prevent suspicion. If by any chance, Claire knew the address of her brother's captain, it would be a hole she did not want to leap into.

Standing in front of an old bookstore, she waited for her friend. The building was slightly rundown, its walls covered in graffiti, but the owners were a kind elderly couple. They pushed discounts her way, and she was guilted to buy something. She ended up buying a useless cat plushie toy after seeing that most books were non-fiction or raunchy romance novels. She would rather die than have Wesker coming across an erotic novel lying around his house.

She stared at the plushie as she leaned against the wall outside the shop. Cara considered giving it to Sherry the next time they met. This would be the first present she ever gave the young girl, and she could almost imagine the excitement on Sherry's face. It made her smile.

A helicopter passed overhead, sleek black and adorned with the Umbrella white and red symbol. Cara watched the chopper get smaller and smaller until it disappeared, heading in the direction of the Arkley mountains. she wondered about their business up there was. Looking around, no one else seemed to notice nor care. Maybe it was best to keep all knowledge to herself.

Seeing a familiar redhead and a motorcycle, Cara waved as Claire pulled up, handing her a helmet.

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

The barn smelled of sweat, dust, and old wood. The unmistakable smell of alcohol was thick in the air as it was passed around freely in cheap red plastic cups. She recognized kids from school, but many more were older, likely from Raccoon university. A light disco machine was nailed to the wall, casting the barn in a series of flashing lights. Tall Straw piles of hay distributed across the barn ensured there was no shortage of dark corners for people to disappear to. For a moment, Cara considered hiding in the straw and then going home when the party was over. But seeing the sparkle in Claire's eyes about hanging out with her best friend threw the idea out the window. With a sigh, she followed her friend.

Over the course of the night, the girls danced and drank, carefree. A blond-haired boy was staring at her, Cara noticed. He attempted to walk up to her but turned around before getting within ten feet. He tried multiple times but always chickened out despite his friends constantly cheering him on. Claire thought it was cute and refused to stop openly staring at him and giving a thumbs up. Cara swatted Claire's hands before holding them behind her back in a pretend arrest, pushing her against the straw pile.

"Sorry Officer! I was just trying to help you get laid," Claire giggled. "I hope you're into blonde's though,"

"This is so embarrassing. Stop, or I'm leaving," Cara snapped, feeling a blush heat her face as Wesker crossed her mind. Fuck, why now?

"Oh? so you are into blondes," Claire's smile was cunning. "Let me help you,"

"No. Bad Claire, bad, bad girl. No treats for you tonight." Cara scolded, Stealing the can of beer her friend stole from a guy before cracking it open and downing its contents. She wouldn't yet consider herself drunk, just pleasantly buzzed.

The boy ran off again. Cara felt bad for him and was actually tempted to go up to him instead. His friends kept a steady stream of alcohol into his hand.

"H-hey, " And then he did it, with the help of liquid courage, of course.

For the effort, Cara decided not to openly embarrass him with rejection but not lead him on either. Walking away backward, Claire gave her a thumbs up along with a suggestive motion of the eyebrows, making horrid shapes with her hands. Cara covered her face, hoping to purge the image out of memory. She'll get her back in no time.

Ben was a bit shy at first, but soon they got talking and enjoyed themselves. His hair was a few shades darker and shorter than Wesker's. She didn't have to look up at him as they stood at a similar, comfortable height. Slender and skinny, he would shrink to nothing beside the captain. Cara grimaced, realizing she had been comparing the poor guy to a demon. It wasn't his fault that her mind was occupied with someone way out of her league... the legal kind.

The barn was becoming more and more crowded, and the dancing crowd swallowed them. Sticking out like two sore thumbs, they did their best to dance. Cara felt awkward but seeing the dimples in his smile made her feel better even as it became a tighter fit among the crowd. They had to dance closer lest they got separated.

She wondered what it would feel like to dance with Wesker. He seemed like the sophisticated type. The awkward moves of a teenager would never be adequate for him. Did he ever do anything that was remotely recreational? What do villains even do in their spare time? Manipulating the feelings of underage girls looks like. What stupid, stupid thoughts.

She prayed all these ideas would go away soon, as the thrill of the kiss wore off, and everything went back to normal. Did she want to go back? Why in the world would he like her? she knew who he really was, and he still let her live. Why take the risk with her? she was just a seventeen-year-old. Useless to everyone, with no connections and no money.

Fuck it. Cara refused to think about Wesker anymore tonight. There was a perfectly alright guy in front of her, someone her own age, someone in her league, someone she wouldn't have to hide. Someone who was looking at her with a soft expression, blinking slowly.

Cara placed her hands on either side of Ben's face and pulled him towards her, connecting their lips. He reacted instantly, kissing her back. His hands awkwardly hovered over her arms before stroking them softly.

He was a nice guy, not a terrible kisser, but she hated it. Hated every touch because it wasn't as good as with Wesker. She couldn't stop comparing, and it was frustrating, spurring her to kiss Ben harder.

She continued, out of spite, to kiss the boy who looked at her with affection. in the background, she heard a few boys cheering, likely his friends. This was wrong, very wrong.

A firm hand gave her waist a painful squeeze before it was gone, and she thought it was Ben. Her eyes flew open as she felt a warm breath by her ear. It wasn't Ben.

"If I was not undercover right now, this lesser specimen of a boy would've made some unforgettable acquaintances a lot sooner. You could've done so much better, yet you have chosen to this..." Wesker seethed by her ear, sending shivers down her spine. Her body froze, but Ben didn't pick up the cue. Wesker's muscles were tense as he pressed against her back. She could almost hear the exhale through clenched, grinding teeth.

Then he was gone, slipping through the crowd just as he came. No one notices anything. Cara broke the kiss and shoved Ben away. "I'm sorry, it isn't going to work out." She hurried after Wesker, but he was already lost in the crowd.

She shoved her way through the throngs of people but only managed to find other members of STARS in civilian clothes. None seemed to notice or recognize her. They must've been here on undercover work, but why? she put that question aside as there were more pressing things to worry about.

She felt sick and wanted to throw up, but nothing was coming up. she burst through the doors of the suffocatingly hot bran, raking her hands through her hair. The cool night air hit her heated skin, but she couldn't find relief. She wanted to be swallowed by the ground.

She needed to find Wesker. But then what? Apologize? Apologize for making her own choices? They weren't a couple.

She continued to look for him nevertheless. She walked further from the barn towards an old car junkyard. She thought perhaps a fuming man would need some privacy. A strong feeling in her gut told her this was the right way.

Cara walked far enough from the party that the music was nothing but a distant noise. It was dark and quiet, the perfect place for an assault. If Wesker decided to murder her, no one would find her for at least a week, stuffed in the trunk of a car. If ever.

Grabbed from behind, she was thrown against a car. Sliding to the ground, she cradled her aching arm, squinting in the dark to see her assailant. Wesker kneeled beside her, his civilian clothes dark and expensive.

"Why cut it short? You should've kissed him more while you still can because he will be the last boy you will ever kiss." squeezing her cheeks harshly, he dragged his thumb with heavy pressure over the flesh of her lips, still swollen from kissing Ben.

As Wesker let go of her face, she felt the cold muzzle of a gun pressing against her temple. Her heart skipped a beat, but she glared at him straight in the eye. Daring.

"I don't know what you want from me! You told me to keep out of trouble, and I did. Yet here we are," Cara lied. She knew what he wanted but didn't know why he wanted it.

"Were my intentions not clear enough? Do I have to spell it out for you? But I suppose intelligence was never your strength,"

Wesker pressed the gun harder against her temple, her glare unwavering. "Go ahead. Shoot me. why do you even bother?"

Neither moved, naked eyes locked with no shades between. Cara reached up and pulled the gun out of his hands with ease. He didn't resist, glaring at her with a tense jaw. Looking down, she almost laughed, seeing the safety was still on. This man couldn't bring himself to kill her. It was all a show of intimidation, and she wasn't falling for it. Not anymore.

As she made to stand, his hand pushed her down. Thinking he wanted the gun back, she returned it to his hand and tried to stand. again, he pushed her down. "Can I get up now?" she scowled, staring up at him.

Things happen too quickly for her to process. The hands on Cara's shoulder grabbed her legs, lifting her off the ground as Wesker wrapped her legs around him before slamming her against the car. She was winded, gasping for breath as he watched her with a smirk. She grabbed his arms, digging her nails into his defined muscles.

"You're up now," he whispered before his lips kissed her neck, sucking and nibbling the skin. A moan escaped her lips, and she covered her mouth immediately.

Grabbing both her hands, he pinned them against the car. "I need to clean your mouth of all traces of that boy,"

"Are you going to rinse my mouth with soap or something? This is childish and-" Cara's words settled in a moan as Wesker began grinding a very defined length against her growing sickness. She tightened her legs around his waist, drawing him closer.

Trailing his nose across her skin, he followed the curve of her neck to the ear, taking the lobe between his teeth. She melted against him when his hot tongue entered her ear. His tongue plunged in and out repeatedly like a preview of what he could do to her. Her heart went on an overdrive.

"Just kiss me," Cara breathed, a tension building in her belly. She wanted to taste him. in addition to sparing any additional marks on her neck to hide.

"No,” nuzzling into her neck, he grinded harder against her, earning a series of moans.

"You know who else wouldn't mind kissing me-" Wesker slammed his lips to hers, kissing her roughly, their teeth clashing. Cara melted further, a smile on her lips as her tongue danced with his. She savored everything, The taste of him, softness of his lips, his warmth, and the building friction between their bodies. There was nothing more she wanted.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Three gunshots were fired.

Cara was barely steady on her feet when Wesker dropped her to the ground, his eyes scanning their surroundings. What little they heard of the music was drowned out by distant screams of the partygoers.

"What's happening?" she questioned, grabbing his arm, but his attention was fixed on the barn.

"Stay here," Wesker warned, already talking to someone by an earpiece she hadn't noticed before.

With his gun ready, he took off, running towards the barn. Cara made to follow him but was pulled back towards the car by her hand.

The fucker handcuffed and left her in the middle of a junkyard in the dark.

#resident evil #claire redfield #albert wesker #Albert Wesker X OC #oc

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flutteringdreams-matw · 3 years

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Out of Time (7)

First/Last

Read on AO3

Word Count: 6357

Previously: Danny and Dan clash in the Ghost Zone

Now: What everyone else was doing during the fight, some exposition, angst and answers. Did I mention some angst?

Bonus chapter since I'm feeling generous! Link to the next chapter will be in the replies once posted. As always - please let me know what you think!

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"Danny!" Maddie yelled as she saw her son's transformation. Sam and Jazz turned around quickly at her outburst. "Wait!" It was too late; Danny dove into the portal, completely unaware of her pleas.

Sam gaped at the almost empty side of the lab; Clockwork – who apparently arrived in the commotion –hovered on the ground, red eyes watching the swirling portal with apprehension. "Why didn't you stop him!" the Goth yelled.

Clockwork turned to her, eyes narrowing at her tone. "It is not my place to alter his decisions. Danny made his choice."

Sam opened her mouth to argue, but Ethelwulf stepped forward, putting a large claw on her shoulder. "He's right – let's do what we can to help him hmm?" Ethelwulf walked past her, yellow eyes filled with burning questions for the Time Master. Clockwork said nothing more. Ethelwulf sighed, but stood ready to fight whatever would come through the portal.

Maddie, observing the interaction, finally snapped out of her disbelief as she determinedly went back to the control panel. Jack and Tucker were bantering back and forth about various codes and systems about the Fento-drones as her violet eyes glanced up at the tracker. She could see Danny flying toward the threat, stopping only once as he interacted with the first ghost he saw. The exchange only lasted two minutes before he took off again, flying deeper into the Ghost Zone. "Jazz – you and Sam get the containment field ready," Maddie told her daughter, a plan quickly coming to mind. "Jack- release those Fento-drones as soon as they're ready okay? We need eyes on what Danny's facing."

"Oh, we'll have more than eyes Mrs. F," Tucker said smugly. He connected the control pad onto the main system, finishing the connection before switching it on. Bright lights flickered as two robots flew from the walls, zooming through the air before dashing into the portal. The screens lit up in green as both robots turned their cameras on, giving two different viewpoints of the action. As the robots flew deeper into the zone, Maddie gasped, pointing toward the screen.

"Damn – we've got incoming!" she yelled, grabbing an ecto-gun from her belt and turned to face the first ghost out of the portal.

She nearly dropped the gun when the blue skinned Box Ghost popped into her lab. He looked around widely, desperately looking for something before his red eyes found Maddie. He turned back toward the portal. "This way! Head for the town!" he yelled into the portal, before flying directly toward Maddie. "Ghost Child's parents!" he exclaimed, moving his hands widely. "I have a message for you!"

Maddie's eyes narrowed as Sam yelled from around of the containment chamber. "Is it from Danny?"

"Yes! It is from the Ghost Child!" he yelled. Maddie winced at the volume but gestured for him to continue. Ghosts started to flood the portal, flying up out of the lab in one fluid movement. "He said to close the portal when we get through. Head to the town just like the Ghost King!" He said nothing more, turning intangible and up through the ceiling of the lab.

Jack grunted in confirmation from his position at the console. "Danny must have a plan," he said, monitoring the Fento-drone's path through the Zone. In the distance, he saw a black and white blur racing away from where they were currently. "There! I've got eyes on him."

Tucker frowned, looking over from his screen to Jack's. "I'm switching mine to manual," he said, typing into the computer before manoeuvring the controls. The Fento-Drone he piloted jerked slightly, but steadied itself as it changed its path to follow the half-ghost. His frown deepened as he realized that it was going top speed, but was hardly moving quickly at all. "Mr. Fenton – these are still super slow."

Jack cringed, rubbing the back of his neck slightly. "I didn't have a chance to test drive these puppies after I added the weapons system," he admitted, also changing his Fento-Drone to manual. "But they pack quite a punch!"

Tucker groaned in frustration, but continued to try following Danny past the multitude of ghosts.

Sam frowned, watching her friend pilot the Fenton's machine almost like he was in a RPG game. "Any sign of Dan?" she asked worriedly, holding one panel of the containment chamber open. Jazz's head shot up at the mention of the name but said nothing.

Tucker sighed, sagging slightly. "No, and we lost Danny too," he replied glumly.

As the last of the big wave of ghosts came through and into the town, Frostbite came through the portal, landing on the metal floor with a loud thud. "Mighty Fentons!" he greeted quickly, before turning his attention to Ethelwulf and Clockwork with a frown. "The Great One told me to seek you out. He's gone after Skulker and Ember."

"Skulker!?" Jazz asked, confused. "Why would he go after him?"

Frostbite looked at the red head. "Skulker and Ember volunteered to stay behind when our ice blockade fell. The Great One wanted to help." He turned his large furry head to Ethelwulf, locking eyes with the friend. "It's started, hasn't it."

Ethelwulf moved to answer, but Clockwork responded instead. "Yes," the Time Master replied, reaching inside his cloak. "And we must act quickly." He pulled out six of his time medallions, gesturing to Frostbite. "Here – one for all of you. Ethelwulf – keep yours close. " Clockwork held a tighter grip on his time staff as he moved toward the humans slowly. "I cannot control Time anymore. With these, you'll be able to move freely."

Frostbite took a medallion, throwing it over his head as he observed the lab around him. "I see," he said solemnly, taking the remaining medallions from Clockwork, passing them out to the humans. His eyes found Ethelwulf's, nodding in an unspoken agreement. As he came to Jack and Maddie, Frostibite gave them a toothy grin. "You will need to shut the portal as soon as the Great One returns –there'll be little time before the Monster follows."

Jack and Maddie looked at each other, concerned, but nodded nonetheless.

Tucker made a noise at the console, making everyone turn their attention to the boy. "There's something coming toward us!" he cried, zooming the camera in to try and get a better image. Maddie moved over her husband's shoulder, looking at both her husband's screen and Tucker's. "It looks like…. Ember?"

Maddie frowned as she recognized the fiery blue hair from her takeover of Amity a few months ago. She was being carried by a robotic ghost, recognizing him from Danny's ghost files. Both looked a little worse for wear. "Danny's not with them," she noted, watching the two ghosts zip past the two Fento-drones toward the portal.

"I think he's up ahead," Tucker said, moving closer to the screen. "I see a few explosions in the distance."

Jack's face paled slightly as he watched a particularly large explosion occur across the screen. "Let's head toward it then," he replied, flying directly in the line of fire.

Both drones moved further into the Ghost Zone, noticing the destruction around them.

"Whoa," Sam said from somewhere over Tucker's shoulder. Somewhere in the commotion, both girls had moved back toward the console.

"Dan did all this?" Maddie whispered. Her mouth grew dry as she noticed the flying debris. "Aren't those all realms?"

"What's left of them," Frostbite confirmed grimly, turning back to the portal.

There was a bit of movement before Skulker flew out of the portal, clutching an unconscious Ember in his arms. He looked at Frostbite helplessly, before he collapsed out of the air onto the floor. "Help her," he said, shaking her gently. Frostbite moved toward the newcomers quickly, trying to assess what he could do to help.

Ethelwulf growled at the scene. "I'm going after him," the black wolf said, running toward the portal. "I'm not leaving him in there."

"Stop," Clockwork commanded. His voice made Ethelwulf pause. "He needs to do this without your help."

"Are you blind Clockwork?" Ethelwulf asked viciously. He gestured to Skulker and Ember being helped by Frostbite in the corner. "We cannot let him fend for himself – he's already compromised."

Clockwork sighed, red eyes scanning the room. "He made his decision," Clockwork repeated. "I'm inclined to trust his judgement."

"There!" Jack yelled, pointing along the screen. Two blurs of black and white gained speed, the smaller of the two disappearing and reappearing closer to the Fento-drones. "He's headed back."

"Not alone!" Jazz exclaimed, watching the bigger ghost speed up slightly. "Mom, the portal!"

Maddie nodded, getting to her place at the main console. "Standing by – as soon as Danny gets through, we'll close it."

The humans and ghosts watched closely, waiting with baited breath as the half-ghost kept teleporting away. As Danny teleported again, Dan also disappeared, reappearing in the same spot as the younger ghost. Dan slammed Danny against the rock, a white glove reaching around the boy's neck. They all gasped, watching Danny's legs thrash as he tried to break free.

"Tucker – do something!" Sam yelled desperately.

The techno-geek's hands moved quickly, steering his drone toward the fight. Danny started to slow down, legs relaxing as he gasped for air. "Eat this!" Tucker cried, pressing a small red button on the controller. The Fento-Drone opened a hatch on the bottom side, releasing an ecto-gun. It charged green energy for a few seconds before launching a powerful stream of energy at the evil ghost. It hit its target, freeing Danny from his grip. The young half ghost coughed, regaining himself before the floated up to the two drones.

"Thank you, Fento-Drones!"

A collective sigh of relief made its way through the lab as Danny froze Dan and made his way back. The Fento-drones hovered in place, watching the young ghost speed off toward the portal before they floated back to the frozen Phantom left behind. Dan rattled under the ice, steam coming through the barrier.

Maddie and Jack looked between the images from the drones and the radar showing Danny's status to the portal anxiously. As the evil ghost melted his prison, Jack stared at the blue skinned ghost. Danny had told them about Dan – but they weren't prepared for how much the spectre truly looked like their son. He found Maddie's unsure expression, the shock getting to her also. He turned back to the screen, suddenly very angry at the ghost in front of him. His large hands curled around his controller, pressing his weapons system also. "Bonzaii!" He yelled, flying straight for Dan. Tucker followed suit, both Fento-drones attacking Dan with various Ghost Rays.

"Really?" Dan sneered into the camera of a drone. "My parents' dumb inventions?" He dodged them skilfully. "I wonder who's behind this little plan?" Dan roared in anger, releasing a series of ecto-energy toward both attacking robots. The attack hit Tucker's Fento-drone, sending it tumbling into one of the rocks. Tucker tried manoeuvring it out of the stone or attack, but the small robot was unresponsive.

"I've been hit!" Tucker cried out.

Dan grabbed the drone piloted by Jack from the air. His snarling face filled the screen as he laughed, ripping the robot into two pieces. The camera went dark on the one screen. All eyes turned to the radar, eying that Danny was so close to the portal, but had also stopped. The figure behind him barrelled through the zone, heading right for him.

"I still have eyes!" Tucker told the onlookers, trying to zoom in from his trapped bot. People crowded around him, seeing large flickers of light flash across it. "What the-" he started to mutter as the lab was once again illuminated with white light. Humans and ghosts whirled around; Danny was on his hands and knees in front of the portal, panting as large blue and white sparks flowed through his small frame.

"Danny!" his friends and family called out.

The white haired ghost shook his head. "The portal!" he barked, biting his lip as his body contorted in agony. Ethelwulf attempted to move toward the injured teen, concerned, but Clockwork grabbed his paw.

Maddie hit the button, closing the portal. Danny relaxed slightly as the portal doors closed in front of him, sparks still moving through him. He managed to sit on his legs, breathing heavily as he glanced around the lab. Finally, his gaze rested on Skulker, Frostbite and Ember. Skulker's green eyes were wide at the young ghost in front of him. "Hide here," he told the surprised hunter tiredly. "Blend in, don't cause trouble. Should be safe." He grimaced as the sparks increased moving his hands outward to grip onto the ground.

Frostbite stood up, moving away from Skulker and Ember; the latter had just seemed to start to come to. "Great One – those sparks are attacking your core!" He exclaimed worriedly, moving toward Danny. The yeti ghost stopped as a set of large blue energy sparked outward from the teen. Frostbite's eyes widened with disbelief. "Wait… that's not raw energy."

Ethelwulf stopped pulling against Clcokwork at Frostbite's words, turning his gaze quickly to the young boy. The sparks were increasing now, more blue than white. Danny's green eyes were shut tightly, trying to regain any composure he could. "It's not core energy either," Ethelwulf said soflty, yellow eyes widening as he also realized it.

"What are you two talking about?!" Sam yelled worriedly. Danny's eyes flew open, pupils rapidly changing colours between green and blue. The sparks started to form a dome around Danny as he started to stare into space. "Danny!"

"It's time energy," Clockwork confirmed. His red eyes looked pitifully at the young ghost in front of him, who had gotten eerily quiet. Ethelwulf moved to Danny, dodging the sparks that seemed to want to protect the boy. "Time has stopped."

All the humans looked at each other, slightly confused. Clockwork gestured to the corner of the lab and they were startled to find Skulker and Ember, frozen in place. Danny's body tensed as Ethelwulf got towards him, seemingly unaware of the sparks of energy attacking his body.

"Hello Danny."

Everyone jumped as the heart stopping voice came through the main console. As Tucker turned around, he gasped; Dan was staring right into the camera, smiling smugly.

"Let me guess, Tucker and Sam are probably there too." Tucker, Sam and Jazz all looked at each other worriedly. "Maybe even my meddling older sister." He moved closer to the screen. "You probably think you've won with that little trick of yours." Dan split himself in two, not breaking eye contact with the camera. "But I have tricks of my own." The duplicate's hand lit up green, creating a portal before it flew into it and disappeared. The Phantom on the screen then turned around, and released a large ecto-blast toward the portal. It hit Danny's second shield, making his body twitch as he sank deeper to the ground. "You don't think these shields will hold me for long? I wanted to divide your attention." A shrill beep sounded, causing Maddie to pull up the scanner around the town. A large mass of ecto-energy was blasted across the shield. Maddie and Jack paled as they locked eyes at severity of the attack. "One of them will break eventually." Danny's body twitched again, back arching as he continued to stare off into space.

The Phantom outside of the town suddenly disappeared as the Phantom on screen stopped his attack. "I will break you Danny," Dan sneered. "You and your promises won't save your world." His body glowed dark green, before various shadows started to appear behind him. "I can create a shadow army to attack day and night – but where's the fun in that?" He paused, floating backward as shadows continued to appear behind him. "I'll give you a sporting chance. You have thirty-six hours." Dan's hand lit up in green ecto-energy before the screen went dark.

As the screen went black, Danny's body contorted strangely one last time before it fell limply to the ground. Ethelwulf knelt beside the boy, concerned as he transformed back in his human half. The lab was silent as blue sparks continued to move through the fallen boy.

:-=-:

When Danny woke up, he was dismayed to learn that he had passed out and landed him in the infirmary again. He sat up slowly, groaning at the massive headache throbbing through his brain.

His heart felt like it was ripped out of his chest multiple times. How could they just be gone?

Danny gasped, groaning as images flew across his mind. Sparks started to flow up and down his core. "You know," he muttered, doubling over in pain, "I'm really getting tired of this."

Vlad was saying something. He definitely paid someone off – but he couldn't seem to care anymore. They were gone and he couldn't save them. He deserved to live with Vlad.

Danny gasped again, feeling slightly sick as he realized what he was seeing. He buried his eyes in the palms of his hands, stifling a cry of pain as sparks continued to wrack his frame.

"Come now Daniel, this is for the best," Vlad told him. He felt cold icy rage fill his entire body as the man came closer. The jerk at least had the decency to look sympathetic. "I don't want you to have to hide anymore. Going with your aunt would only hurt you more." Danny felt himself nodding.

"Stop," Danny whimpered, pressing his hands into his face a little harder. "I don't want to see this." He heard the door to the infirmary open, soft footsteps turned frantic as someone called his name. He groaned in response, causing the newcomer to rub his back soothingly.

"You're alright sweetie," his Mom whispered from above him. "They're just Time Visions. They'll pass."

He was angry. Everything was wrong – if they weren't alive then he didn't deserve to be either. If he was a ghost all the time, he would've saved them. His memory of that day drifted back as bile rose in his throat. Never again.

Danny bit back an angry sob as frustration washed over him. "Make it stop," he pleaded, hands moving to his head as he gripped his hair harshly.

Maddie stopped rubbing his back and instead hugged her son closer. "You can get through them Danny," she encouraged quietly. "Clockwork said these are just residual visions from your clash with Dan. Whatever you're seeing is part of an alternate timeline. It's not real."

He hadn't spoken to Vlad since arriving. It's been a week since he had to live with him. Three weeks since the Nasty Burger. All the condolences, people who insist they'll be there for him. They need to feel what he felt; The rage, the helplessness, the grief. If his loved ones were dead – then the world will feel his wrath. Green eyes burned as he looked Vlad in the face.

Danny gasped as the final vision left him. He sat up slowly, vaguely aware that he was shaking and clammy before he managed to look at his mother. Maddie watched him, slowly brushing his hair back with her hand. "You're alright now," she said lovingly as he stared at her with wide eyes, not quite believing she was in front of him. "Yesterday was rough for all of us."

Danny swallowed, nodding in confirmation. He looked down, suddenly feeling self-conscious and ashamed as his memory came back to him. Maddie frowned, but didn't comment at his movement. Instead, she patted his leg affectionately and leaned toward the bedside table.

"You must be hungry – you haven't eaten since you woke up yesterday," she said, grabbing a couple sandwiches. Danny realized that she must have brought them with her. "Sam and Tucker will be here soon. After your second battle with Dan, time energy moved through you continuously and then you just collapsed. The shield you put up to protect the portal was apparently interacting with the time energy, so Ethelwulf put one up. He said you should take yours down so you can focus on the one around the town. Frostbite and his people are here to help – and even Skulker's agreed to help keep the ghosts in line!" She handed him the plate. "Here."

Danny took it from her, staring at it absently as it sat in front of him. Maddie came back beside him, staring at him worriedly. After a few moments of silence, she sighed, settling in closer to her son.

"Danny," she said gently. "You can't bottle these visions up. Clockwork said you were being attacked by time energy – left from the time medallion being fused inside you. Those sparks aren't from your raw energy; it's time attacking your core. These visions are all from moments in time that you aren't supposed to see."

"They can keep them," Danny said bitterly, still not looking at his mother. "I don't want them."

Maddie gave him a sympathetic smile as she continued. "Don't you trust us?" she asked.

Danny looked up quickly. "Of course I trust you!" he exclaimed. His mother raised her eyebrow at him. "Mom," he said earnestly, "I wouldn't have made it through this without you and Dad. I trust you guys completely."

"Then why did you neglect to tell us that Dan was made up of Plasmius' ghost too?" she asked him pointedly. Danny looked away again. Maddie sighed, softening her tone slightly. "Why are you shutting everyone out?"

Danny sighed. "I don't mean to," he said quietly. "I just… I'm afraid I guess."

Maddie looked at her fifteen year old son, looking tired and defeated with a frown. "Of turning into him?" she asked.

Danny shook his head. "Not anymore," he told her. "I promised that I would never turn into him. It's all the other stuff I'm afraid of. I don't want to lose you guys." He clenched his fist in frustration.

Maddie nodded, putting a hand over his. "It must be scary, having to relive it."

Danny looked at her desperately. "Do you have any idea Mom? Any idea how hard it is looking at that ghost and thinking that was me? How one stupid mistake keeps coming back to haunt you and can make the world just crumble around you?" A tear fell onto their joined hands. "Reliving it for months on end and now actually seeing how much it took to get to that point? Everything… it was all my fault."

Silence descended on the pair as quiet tears continued to fall, mother and son looking at each other. Eventually, Maddie reached over and wiped a tear away from his face. "You are not Dan," she told him fiercely. "There may have been a point where you would become him, but you beat him. With Clockwork's help you saved us. You may see these images from time to time Danny, but you are stronger than him."

"You don't understand," he mumbled, looking away again.

"Oh really?" Maddie asked him. "Because I definitely know what it feels like to look one of your mistakes in the face every time there's a ghost attack on this town. How one faulty blueprint caused my fourteen year old son to become a half-ghost hybrid and lie to me for almost a year. To watch him carry such heavy burdens on his shoulders like the world would end if he messed up – and that it was my fault."

Danny cringed heavily. "Mom – I didn't mean," he sputtered. "I never-"

Maddie held up her hand. "I know sweetie," she told him gently. "I know you don't blame me -or your father. And regardless of how it happened, your ghost powers are not a mistake. How can I argue with anything you've done?" She smiled at him. "You're a hero Danny but that doesn't mean you have to deal with this on your own. Regardless of the battles you've faced, any horrors you've seen – you're still my fifteen year old space loving teenager. We're here for you sweetheart."

"You're mother's right kiddo," Jack boomed from the door. Danny and Maddie both turned, seeing the orange jumpsuit wearing man smiling kindly at his wife and son. He walked over to the pair; sitting on Danny's other side. "Now that we've seen what we're up against, it's time to put these fears behind you. You won't be alone. Everyone here is going to fight with you Danny. We'll be ready for him."

Danny beamed at his parents, forgetting everything about time visions and prophecies. They were right – he wasn't alone. They were going to figure out a way to beat Dan, together. "Then let's get to work."

:-=-:

Skulker paced in the air, frowning. Ember was recovering slowly, resting from the battle -The battle that the ghost child saved them from. The ghost hunter growled at that. Who did Phantom think he was? Flying in like that, rescuing them from that…other Phantom. Skulker stopped his pacing, lost in thought.

Even Skulker had to admit it; if any ghost stood a chance against that abomination, it'd be Danny Phantom. The halfa took down Pariah Dark! But this foe… he said he was the Ghost child. After Danny Phantom passed out – almost out of the blue- Skulker watched the human hunters gather close to the boy, talking about time energy and visions.

It wasn't until he saw Clockwork that he realized how important this battle must be. No one ever goes up against the Master of Time – let alone cross him. If the abomination went against the Time Master, and Clockwork has aligned himself with the boy, this ghost must be a force to be reckoned with. Skulker left quickly after that – his priority being Ember and the rest of the ghosts hiding throughout the town. Let Clockwork and the whelp deal with this ghost. He was perfectly content to avoid the next battle while hiding out at his human hunting store.

"Skulker."

The robotic ghost stopped pacing, turning to face Plasmius' crossed arm glare. Plasmius floated a little higher from the ground, glaring down at Skulker with his beady red eyes.

"Plasmius," Skulker greeted.

Plasmius grinned, flying down to Skulker's level. "I heard there were ghosts hiding in my town," he told his employee.

"The Zone was threatened," Skulker said simply.

"Ah yes," Plasmius replied, waving a hand. "I heard from the Fentons. They want me to secure the town and grant you all sanctuary. I had a different proposition for you."

"No."

Plasmius' eyes widened. "No?" he repeated incredulously. "Come now Skulker, this is a perfect opportunity to strike. While Daniel is busy with whatever threat he believe is out there, we can use this as-"

"No," Skulker repeated firmly. "Plasmius – this ghost is not to be trifled with."

Plasmius scoffed. "Please, the only ghost that can get me rattled is the Ghost King, and no one has made that mistake again. Not after last time."

Skulker shook his head. "Whoever attacked us had no remorse, no reason. He was cold, calculating and precise in any movement he did," Skulker explained. Plasmius started to pace, Skulker watching him anxiously before he continued. "He destroyed multiple realms with this… wailing cry." Plasmius stopped pacing, looking at Skulker with wide eyes.

"A wail?" Plasmius asked slowly. "Skulker, please don't tell me whoever you're afraid of doesn't have the same attack as Daniel?"

"Worse," Skulker replied bitterly, shuddering slightly. "If it wasn't for the whelp, Ember and I wouldn't have escaped. Even he could not stop him. The boy's allies said they had over a day to prepare for an attack – less now."

Plasmius looked at him for a moment, thoughts racing through his brain. Skulker waited as his occasional employer seemingly came to a decision and schooled his face with a smile. "Very well," he said smartly, taking flight again. "Hide away here Skulker – I won't stop you."

Skulker watched as Plasmius disappeared, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He stared down toward the attic of the hunting store. "If Clockwork has aligned himself with the Ghost Child, then we must too," Skulker said out loud. He grimaced slightly. "Why can't I just hunt easy prey?"

:-=-:

Danny closed the door of his bedroom, leaning his forehead against the door with a sigh. After a bit of training earlier in the day, a small planning session with friends and multiple interruptions by the Box Ghost, he had wanted to clear his head a bit. He could hear the mumble of voices from the various ghosts in the house, but up here seemed like a dead zone. Deciding to join the party, he walked down the hall towards the steps before he stopped, surprised; Sam was standing at the bottom of the stairs, lost in thought and frowning at… old family photos?

Danny frowned, curious as he started to go down the stairs. "Hey," he greeted from halfway down the stairs. Sam jumped slightly, before smiling back at him. She hadn't even noticed.

"Hey yourself," she replied. Forgoing the rest of the stairs, Danny jumped the rail and landed beside her. "Show off," she said, rolling her eyes.

"We're in the middle of a paradox here, there's no time to waste," Danny told her, a goofy smile on his face.

"I'm sure the world wouldn't end if you walked down the remaining five stairs."

"On the contrary, we don't know if could. Thought I'd take my chances."

Sam scoffed, crossing her arms, but a playful smile danced across her lips as he came up beside her. She was back in her regular clothes now, he noticed; hair pulled back slightly but fell gracefully at her shoulders. A time medallion hung around her neck, shining eerily under the florescent lights. He watched as her violet eyes scanned one of the photos from a few years ago. Her hand brushed against one where she, Tucker and himself were in the back of Fentonworks, looking carefree and lighter than they all must feel now.

"Seems like a lifetime ago, huh?" he said quietly, a twinge of sadness in his voice.

"Do you miss it?" Sam asked him softly. Her eyes were still glued to that photo, fingers gently moving over the three friends.

"Miss what?" Danny asked in response.

"Being normal."

Danny looked at Sam curiously, realizing that it wasn't just worry or nostalgia that brought her here; it was guilt. He frowned slightly, the question looping in his mind as he turned back to the photograph on the wall. Of course he missed being normal – that was all he ever wanted for high school. A nice, normal high school life to just… blend in. Normal kids didn't have to worry that one wrong move might destroy all of reality. Normal kids didn't have to stay up late trying to protect the city. Normal kids could date without worrying that their girl -friends would get possessed by evil plant ghosts. Yeah – he'd love to be just a regular fifteen year old kid… and yet…

He glanced over at her from the corner of his eye before shrugging. "Nah – who needs normal anyway? He replied wistfully. "My family were never normal. Tucker's not normal and he's one of my best friends. Besides, you hate normal – we wouldn't be friends if you thought I was normal before all this."

Sam smiled, a small chuckle of agreement escaped her lips and Danny's heart leapt into his throat. He watched her shuffle sideways, looking for another photo to look at. He watched her smile as she found another one, finding a small smile gracing his lips too.

"Where is everyone?" he asked, feigning interest in one of the photos.

"Tucker's downstairs at the main console," Sam said, not looking away from the photo on the wall. "He and your parents are working on separating your ecto-signature from Dan's." Danny frowned, reality slamming his happiness down in full force. "Jazz, Frostbite and Ethelwulf are prepping the lab and weapons for a planning session later. No idea about Clockwork."

"Ah," he said softly. Sam looked at him suddenly, and he inwardly cringed.

"I wanted to get away for a bit," she replied. "Everyone's working hard to help you Danny. You're not alone."

Danny sighed, berating himself for ruining the moment. "I know," he told her. She raised an eyebrow at him. "I do! I just…"

Sam turned back to the wall of photos, smiling sadly as she looked at family photo with a baby Danny hiding under a table while Jazz sat on top of it with a broom. "Wanted to get away from it all?" she supplied.

"Well, yeah."

Sam nodded. They fell into a comfortable silence after that, looking at the wall of photos and lost in thought. It was just the two of them – no battles, no plans, no fear. Danny felt lighter again, content at this small moment of time.

Tell. Her. Danny jumped as he felt the presence of his ghost half awaken in his mind. He glanced at Sam briefly, his heart bursting with emotion. They were in the middle of the biggest threat they've ever faced… was this really the right time? It could be the only time.

"Sam?" Her name escaped before he could stop himself.

"Hmm?"

Suddenly, his mouth went dry and words were very difficult to think of. "I… um.." he sputtered, cringing at the high pitch that came out of his mouth. She turned to him, amusement sparkling in her eyes. His stomach flipped with nerves. "Do you remember when we faced Nocturn?" he blurted out, panicked that he was pushed into a corner.

Sam's brow furrowed, eyes darkening with embarrassment and confusion. "Uh-huh…"

"And how I had to go into other people's dreams to wake them up?"

Sam blushed and turned away. "I think I hear-" she started, before Danny cut her off.

"I had the same one." The words came out of Danny's mouth before he could stop himself.

Violet eyes met blue, both slightly shocked at the admission. Danny's hand went to the back of his head, rubbing it nervously. There was no turning back now. "Sam, I –"

"Stop" Sam cut across, breaking their eye contact. Her arm grabbed the other, gripping it tightly as she seemed to fight with herself. Confused and hurt, Danny stopped talking, looking at her. "You don't get to do this."

Now thoroughly confused, Danny asked the first question that popped in his head. "What?"

Sam met his eyes again and he saw anger and hurt reflected back at him. "You don't get to say what you want to say and just run off into battle. This isn't some cliché movie scene Danny – this is real life. You had plenty of time this year to say what I think you're about to say. Why now?"

Danny stood there, wide eyed as he watched Sam seethe in anger. "I-" he started, but his voice cracked. What could he say to that? She whirled around suddenly, making an attempt to head back to the kitchen before he broke out of his stupor. "Sam wait!" he reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it slightly. Sam didn't turn back towards him, but did stop. "Sam…" he whispered sadly. "I didn't –" he sighed heavily, staring at her tense back in concern. "You're right. This is real life." She stiffened slightly in his grip, but said nothing. "I didn't know how to tell you – to change things. I guess I was afraid before," he breathed. "I'm not now."

Sam relaxed in his grip and turned around, watching him curiously. "Why?" she repeated, her voice full of gentle curiosity. She moved closer to him, staring up into his face.

He struggled slightly, trying to find exactly what he wanted to say. Sam, to her credit, waited, giving him all the time he might need. "I'm not afraid anymore."

"Right now you're not afraid," Sam told him, frowning at him. "What happens after this Danny? After you say what you want to say and go off to face Dan… would you regret it?"

"No," he said simply. They were inches apart now, staring at each other. Something was shifting in their friendship; it was terrifying for them both, yet it seemed so natural. This was his moment. "Sam –"

A cough from behind them made both teens jump apart, blushing furiously. They both turned, looking at the intruder darkly, before their expressions turned ones of surprise.

"Clockwork!" Danny exclaimed, his voice going higher than intended. "How… how long have you been there?"

Clockwork ignored the question. "We need to talk," he said. Danny's brow furrowed at his tone.

Sam sighed, bringing the boy's attention back to her. "I should be heading back down anyway," she replied with a small smile.

Danny frowned. "Sam wait," he started, but she shook her head.

"It's fine," she told him, her smile was bittersweet. "This can wait."

No it can't he thought bitterly. His frustration must have shown on his face because Sam gave him a look of bemusement.

"It can," she said again. She turned, giving him a small wave. "Let's talk later."

Danny watched her go, sighing as Sam disappeared into his kitchen. Later; he could do later. Turning to the ghost hovering at the entrance of his living room, Danny cleared his head. Clockwork, as always, betrayed nothing. "That was important," Danny said quietly.

"Not as important as this," the time ghost replied honestly. Clockwork turned, floating into the empty living room. Confused and slightly concerned, Danny followed him. Back still turned to the young half-ghost, Clockwork sighed. "Have you had anymore glimpses of the future?"

Danny crossed his arms. "You're the one who's all-knowing. Wouldn't you already know?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. When Clockwork didn't answer nor turned, Danny's stomach dropped in anticipation. "No," he answered. "Nothing else from what I've already told you. Just glimpses of the alternate timeline."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Clockwork's head dropped slightly, making Danny frown in worry. "What's this about Clockwork?"

"Do you remember what I said about paradoxes?"

Not quite seeing the connection, Danny answered anyway. "That they're like dead ends. Eventually they'll go into roads where they have to go on and not have as many turns right? Eventually, they just come to the main parade road and branch out again."

"My powers are fading Danny," Clockwork reminded him. "The paradox is solidifying, meaning that once it starts, my ability to control time will disappear temporarily. As will my ability to foresee any possible futures. The paradox already can manipulate time – as it has already done during your most recent encounter with your future self."

Danny sighed tiredly. "I'm guessing this paradox solidifies when I face him, huh?"

Clockwork finally turned; his solemn face more grave in his older form. "Danny, there are three possible outcomes here. Only one of them is favourable."

Danny sighed again. "Clockwork, I appreciate you giving me the heads up, but –"

"Stop," Clockwork cut Danny off. Danny stared, mouth open slightly before closing it. Clockwork's usual demeanour was gone, replaced by something Danny only vaguely remembered from their first meeting. "The first time we met, you escaped into that possible future attempting to face Dan. Do you understand why I let you go?" Danny, wide eyed, shook his head. "Think – what happened in the future?"

"Ghostly Wail," Danny said automatically, listing it off his index finger. "Faced Valerie and Vlad, found out about the Nasty Burger Explosion, the Time-" Danny stopped, looking at Clockwork in confusion. "Dan fused the Time Medallion in my chest keeping me in the future."

"Precisely," Clockwork said. The old ghost floated closer to him, looking down at the confused teen in front of him. "Time let you see glimpses of the future due to that Time Medallion but contrary to how I describe it – time isn't just a parade. It lives continuously; pulling from wherever it feels is needed. When Dan merged the Time Medallion with your core, Time gave you access to every ghost power you could possibly develop between your time and his. That's how you developed your Ghostly Wail."

Shaken, Danny sat down on the couch, rubbing his chest absently as if to placate his core. "So the Ecto-storm? My core powers?"

Clockwork nodded. "Were all dormant until that point."

Danny swallowed. "But you saw that," he said, frowning in concentration. "You saw all that and still needed to save my family? Why would I need to gain all these powers if I wasn't powerful enough to stop him?"

Clockwork looked at Danny expectantly. "Parade, Danny," he said, a hint of annoyance directed to the boy. "And you did stop him- you just didn't stop the rest of it from happening."

Danny looked down at his hands. "But, he exists outside of time," he retorted. "I sucked him into a thermos and because I couldn't save my family fast enough, he's here and your powers are weakened."

Clockwork sighed heavily. "Danny, you have come a far way from letting your fears control you. Do not let your doubt do the same." Danny sighed, acknowledging he heard the ghost's words. "And you're still missing the point. I knew the outcome of that battle. I knew what you acquire in going to the future. I knew you would need my help, which would make Dan exist outside the time stream. So if I knew all that, why would I let a fourteen year old child create the only paradox that does not let me see past it?"

Danny looked up at Clockwork, realization slowly dawning on him. "You… you wanted this," he said astounded. "The powers, visions… All of it."

Clockwork smiled supportively. "Dan Phantom grew up to be one of the worst ghosts in the history of the Ghost Zone; he destroyed the world, and the ghost zone, multiple times over. In meeting you, he inadvertently created the one ghost powerful enough to stop him. He would have continued to raze the world if I hadn't saved your family, leaving no one left to stop him." Clockwork's smile fell, and dread started to pool in Danny's stomach again. "This paradox is the best shot of defeating him once and for all."

Danny nodded, feeling the crushing weight of his powers and responsibility. "Three outcomes?" he asked, bringing it back to Clockwork's original conversation.

"Three outcomes," Clockwork confirmed, frowning.

"One favourable," Danny finished, closing his eyes. Silence descended on the pair for a few minutes, Clockwork watching Danny's body stiffen as he slowly realized what that meant. "Clockwork," he said eventually in a small voice, looking up at the Time Master. "I'm not… I don't… survive this…. do I?" Clockwork didn't answer. A memory of the Ghost King fight fluttered through his brain. I don't have to win, I just have to make sure that you lose!

Again, silence blanketed the pair, the tension and unease of the current situation suffocating the younger more than he cared to show. "That's why you asked Ethelwulf to train me, why more of these ghosts seemed to help train me rather than fight me? You knew that it might come down to this." Danny put his head in his hands, distraught. "All this time… you knew."

"I thought we had more time," Clockwork said sombrely. "You're fifteen; I gave you this second chance so you could live more -learn more. Even I cannot deny fate for a moment of my choosing." Clockwork's face softened, genuine concern for his young charge peeking through his indifferent persona. "The observants have barred me from interfering with the events of the paradox. It's why I'm telling you this; if there's anyone I believe can defy the rules of a paradox, it is you Danny."

Danny nodded, swallowing determinedly. "One favourable…" Danny repeated, curling his hand into a fist. Determined blue eyes looked up into saddened red eyes. "Okay."

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hardcore-evil-regal · 4 years

Text

Tradition

Summary:

For the prompt 'tradition'. Aang seeks out Toph's father to fulfil an old Earth Kingdom tradition.

Author’s Note:

I can't believe it's been two years since I last posted something!! Fortunately, my muse has returned in time for Taang week and I am excited to have joined the ATLA fandom. This fic is for the first prompt for Taang week and will be part of a series of fics for this event.

In this fic, Aang and Toph are both young adults (like 20's?) and are already in an established relationship.

Enjoy, y'all ^_^

You can either read the fic here or on AO3 or FF.net

"Are you sure you have to leave?" She asks snuggling in closer to his side, seeking more of the glorious heat his body emits. The perks of being a fire bender she thinks. He chuckles at her whining tone and she can feel the vibrations rumble through his chest with her cheek pressed against his firm pectoral.

"It'll only be for a few days," he promises running soothing fingers through the long dark strands of her hair.

She grumbles something unintelligible into his chest, still clearly unhappy with him going away.

"I'll make it up to you when I get back," he whispers in her ear, tracing swirling patterns across the bare skin of her back exposed by the blanket.

He can practically feel her smirking at his words despite the fact that her face is buried in his chest.

"Are you offering what I think you're offering?" She asks, still firmly refusing to budge from her position, her lips brushing against his skin as she speaks.

He traces a finger lightly along the slender curve of her neck and then along the delicate line of her collar bone.

"I guess that depe-" he is suddenly interrupted when she wraps a leg tightly around his own, thrusting her hips and chest up and against his body, rolling them so she can pin his body beneath her own. "Toph!" He cries out and she can't help the laugh that bubbles up and out of her lips at the surprise in his voice.

"What's the matter Twinkletoes?" She teases, her face hovering just centimetres above his own, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders to frame her face, the ends of her hair tickling him where it brushes against his skin.

"I can't believe I'm in love with you," he mutters whilst she lets out an evil little cackle of laughter.

"Don't lie, you love it!"

A smile pulls unbidden at his lips as he thinks about the fact that he does love her, he loves everything about her. The sunlight streaming through the half open curtains lights up her misty eyes and he can't help himself from thinking how perfect she is to him.

"You've got that mushy expression on your face again," she says breaking the silence.

He's stunned for a moment, unsure of how she is able to tell what his face looks like.

"I can feel it in your heartbeat," she whispers softly, her lips brushing the shell of his ear.

__________________________

Her words echo in his mind long after he has left and begun his journey. When he lands Appa and begins the short walk into town, he repeats her words to himself, almost like a mantra to bolster his strength as he considers just turning around and hightailing it back to Toph in Republic City. It feels as if he has swallowed a badgerfrog and his heart is pounding in his throat as he is escorted through ornately decorated hallways. He is ashamed to admit that a part of him almost wishes to face the Fire Lord again rather than face the fiercely stern looking man before him.

"What is your business here Avatar?" The man asks, running a hand over his bearded chin.

"I have come to speak with you, about a private matter," the Avatar states.

"And what makes you think you have any right to just waltz into my home after what you did?" The man asks, raising a questioning brow.

"I uh-" the young Avatar swallows, repeating the mantra in his head. "I apologise for how I acted in the past, but my past discrepancies are not my reason for visiting. As we both know, those conflicts have long been resolved."

The older man squints as the Avatar flushes pink before his next words.

"I come to seek your blessing Lord Beifong, as I ask for your daughter's hand in marriage."

His words seem to hang in the air as a heavy silence falls over them. It is almost a full two minutes before Lao Beifong speaks, breaking the suffocating silence.

"So after stealing my daughter away, you come to me now , seeking my permission so that you might have my daughter's hand in marriage?"

"Uh…" Aang scratches the back of his head nervously as he searches for a response. "It's not like I really stole Toph away or anything, I offered her to come with us and she chose to come along but I guess I needed her too but it was always her choice and I would never want to steal her but I…" the words rush out of him and he flushes red at his nervousness making the words spill out if him without filter.

The other man frowns at him and Aang wonders why on earth he thought it would be a good idea to visit Toph's father.

"Why should I let you marry my daughter?" Lao asks in a carefully neutral tone.

"Well, because I love her," Aang answers as if it is the most obvious reason in the world. "She makes me so happy and I think I make her happy too, and I want to spend the rest of my life together with her, making each other happy." He pauses for a moment to look seriously at his beloved's father. "I love Toph more than anything in this world and there isn't anything that I wouldn't do for her. She has my heart and I her's, and I ask only for your blessing because I know she would be loath to admit it aloud, but you are her father and she loves you, so it would mean a lot if you were to bless our marriage."

It was an old tradition followed in the Earth Kingdom and he knows that despite Toph's previous penchant for breaking rules, she was raised on the traditions of her culture. Regardless of how she might claim to not care about such traditions, he knows that having her father's blessing would mean a lot to her, and perhaps even go some ways toward mending the bridges between the two of them. Aang looks nervously at Toph's father, wondering how the other man will respond.

"You say you love her Avatar," he starts as Aang nods his head, "but if I said that it was in my daughter's best interests never to see you again. Would you walk away?"

Aang pauses for a moment, taken aback by the question.

"How could you ask such a thing?" He looks at the man with hurt clear in his eyes. "I love Toph but I-I couldn't never just leave her, walk out on her like that! It would break my heart and I think it would break hers too! I would never do that or anything that would hurt her!"

The room is quiet for several moments as the older man sits there thinking over the Avatar's words whilst his intense brown eyes scrutinise the young man looking for any impure intentions. Seemingly assured by what he finds, the older man nods to himself before returning his heavy gaze to the young Avatar.

"Listen to me carefully young Avatar, my daughter means the world to me and to allow any man to marry her would be the highest privilege I could bestow upon him. With the Beifong name and a reputation that precedes her, my daughter is hardly short of suitors,” he pauses for a moment, taking in the Avatar’s attire in his bright orange robes.

“However, it seems that somehow you, a monk with no real means of income or wealth, nothing other than your status as the Avatar, have managed to win my daughter's affections where others have failed. I cannot say that I understand it, nor that I am completely overjoyed by it, but if it is true that my daughter does love you; then I grant you my blessing."

Aang stands there for a moment, caught in an expression of surprise as he takes several moments to process all that's been said and chooses to ignore the slight against his person. A slow grin breaks upon his features when he realises he has been granted the blessing of his potential future father in-law.

_______________________________

Removing the face splitting grin from his features, proves an almost impossible task as he tries to school his features into a more subdued smile. He can hear the familiar sounds of his earthbender puttering about their home as he crosses the threshold.

"Toph?" He calls out, alerting her to his presence.

"Twinkle toes!" He hears from one of the rooms further into the house, followed by the sound of footsteps running towards him.

He is suddenly hit with the full force of a Toph sized cannonball as she launches herself at him and into his arms. Stumbling back a step from her momentum, he uses his air bending to keep them upright as he wraps his arms around her, holding her against his chest with her arms and legs wrapped firmly about his torso. He can feel the steady thumping of her heart from where her chest is pressed tightly against his, and when he closes his eyes he can almost feel the way his own heart beats in tandem with hers.

“How was your trip?” she asks as he returns her to her feet.

“It went well,” he smiles nervously feeling butterflies in his stomach, “really well.”

She cocks her head to the side with just the slightest narrowing of her eyes.

“What are you not telling me?” she asks with a hint of suspicion in her voice.

Unconscious of the habit, Aang lifts a hand to rub nervously at his bald head as he lets out a deep breath trying to calm his heart beat.

“Well..” he starts, hoping to the spirits that she will let him finish what he has to say before bending him into the ground. “The diplomatic mission was really more of a personal one. I went to see your father.”

Her brow furrows deeply upon mention of her father and he is grateful that she hasn’t said anything yet.

“It’s not what you think,” he continues, “I went to see him about a personal matter. Something, or rather someone, who’s very important to me.”

He can almost see the way the pieces are falling into place for her as her lips form an ‘O’ shape with the dawning of her realisation. Her heartbeat stutters for a moment when she senses him shifting, moving from his position standing in front of her to a bended knee, hand grasping hers.

“Toph Beifong,” he says softly, feeling the almost imperceptible shaking of her usually steady hands, “I ask with the blessing of your father, will you marry me?”

Her strong fingers squeeze tightly around his own as she tugs him back to his feet.

“Yes,” she tells him as a grin begins to spread across her lips. “Yes Aang, I think I will.”

She smiles as he presses a kiss to her lips, his hands clinging to her small frame as he holds her tightly against him. Just as quickly however, he reels back from her as if stung.

“I forgot!” he exclaims slapping a hand over his forehead as the other rummages through his robes to pull out a small box.

Snapping the box open, he takes the small, delicately carved jade band and slips it on her finger, pressing a kiss to it as she laughs at her adorably lovesick fool.

“I can’t believe you asked my dad for permission,” she tells him as she pulls him back towards her for a kiss.

“I can’t believe she said yes,” he admits as they part for breath before he takes her lips with his once again.

“I can’t believe he said yes either,” she whispers back against his lips, acutely aware of the way Aang’s hands are pressing her tighter against him.

“Can we please not talk about your dad right now?” He asks with a soft groan, pulling back from her just enough so their lips barely brush.

She huffs out a laugh before pressing a sweet little kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Whatever you want, future husband.”

He grins wide at the endearment before wrapping his large hands around her waist and slinging her over his shoulder.

“I like the sound of that,” he tells her as he walks towards their bedroom, her hands slapping lightly at his lower back in protest of being manhandled despite the laughter spilling from her lips, “husband has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it my future wife?”

Notes:

So that's it folks!! My long awaited return to the realm of fanfiction. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think. Also please be kind to me since this is my first time in five years writing a fic that isn't for Agents of Shield. I've never written Aang or Toph before so please excuse me if they seem a lil OOC :P

#taang week #taang week 2020 #toph beifong #aang #toph x aang #taang #fanfiction #these two are just so adorable

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livingdeadinsideyourhead · 4 years

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Free Music in a Capitalist Society - Iggy Pop's Keynote Speech Transcript

Hi, I'm Iggy Pop. I've held a steady job at BBC 6 Music now for almost a year, which is a long time in my game. I always hated radio and the jerks who pushed that shit music into my tender mind, with rare exceptions. When I was a boy, I used to sit for hours suffering through the entire US radio top 40 waiting for that one song by The Beatles and the other one by The Kinks. Had there been anything like John Peel available in my Midwestern town I would have been thrilled. So it's an honor to be here. I understand that. I appreciate it.

Some months ago when the idea of this talk came up I thought it might be okay to talk about free music in a Capitalist society. So that's what I'm gonna try to talk about. A society in which the Capitalist system dominates all the others, and seeks their destruction when they get in its way. Since then, the shit has really hit the fan on the subject, thanks to U2 and Apple. I worked half of my life for free. I didn't really think about that one way or the other, until the masters of the record industry kept complaining that I wasn't making them any money. To tell you the truth, when it comes to art, money is an unimportant detail. It just happens to be a huge one unimportant detail. But, a good LP is a being, it's not a product. It has a life-force, a personality, and a history, just like you and me. It can be your friend. Try explaining that to a weasel.

As I learned when I hit 30 +, and realized I was penniless, and almost unable to get my music released, music had become an industrial art and it was the people who excelled at the industry who got to make the art. I had to sell most of my future rights to keep making records to keep going. And now, thanks to digital advances, we have a very large industry, which is laughably maybe almost entirely pirate so nobody can collect shit. Well, it was to be expected. Everybody made a lot of money reselling all of recorded musical history in CD form back in the 90s, but now the cat is out of the bag and the new electronic devices which estrange people from their morals also make it easier to steal music than to pay for it. So there's gonna be a correction.

When I started The Stooges we were organized as a group of Utopian communists. All the money was held communally and we lived together while we shared the pursuit of a radical ideal. We shared all song writing, publishing and royalty credits equally – didn’t matter who wrote it - because we'd seen it on the back of a Doors album and thought it was cool, at least I did. Yeah. I thought songwriting was about the glory, I didn't know you'd get paid for it. We practiced a total immersion to try to forge a new approach which would be something of our own. Something of lasting value. Something that was going to be revealed and created and was not yet known.

We are now in the age of the schemer and the plan is always big, big, big, but it's the nature of the technology created in the service of the various schemes that the pond, while wide, is very shallow. Nobody cares about anything too deeply expect money. Running out of it, getting it. I never sincerely wanted to be rich. There is a, in the US, we have this guy “Do you sincerely wanna be rich? You can do it!” I didn’t sincerely want to be rich. I never sincerely felt like making anyone else that way. That made me a kind of a wild card in the 60's and 70's. I got into the game because it felt good to play and it felt like being free. I'm still hearing today about how my early works with The Stooges were flops. But they're still in print and they sell 45 years later, they sell. Okay, it took 20 or 25 years for the first royalties to roll in. So sue me.

Some of us who couldn't get anywhere for years kept beating our heads against the same wall to no avail. No one did that better than my friends The Ramones. They kept putting out album after album, frustrated that they weren't getting the hit. They even tried Phil Spector and his handgun. After the first couple of records, which made a big impact, they couldn't sustain the quality, but I noticed that every album had at least one great song and I thought, wow if these guys would just stop and give it a rest, society would for sure catch up to them. And that's what's happening now, but they're not around to enjoy it. I used to run into Johnny at a little rehearsal joint in New York and he'd be in a big room all alone with a Marshall stack just going "dum, dum, dum, dum, dum" all my himself. I asked him why and he said if he didn't practice doing that exactly the way he did it live he'd lose it. He was devoted and obsessive, so were Joey and Deedee. I like that. Johnny asked me one day - Iggy don't you hate Offspring and the way they're so popular with that crap they play. That should be us, they stole it from us. I told him look, some guys are born and raised to be the captain of the football team and some guys are just gonna be James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause and that's the way it is. Not everybody is meant to be big. Not everybody big is any good.

I only ever wanted the money because it was symbolic of love and the best thing I ever did was to make a lifetime commitment to continue playing music no matter what, which is what I resolved to do at the age of 18. If who you are is who you are that is really hard to steal, and it can lead you in all sorts of useful directions when the road ahead of you is blocked and it will get blocked. Now I'm older and I need all the dough I can get. So I too am concerned about losing those lovely royalties, now that they've finally arrived, in the maze of the Internet. But I'm also diversifying my income, because a stream will dry up. I'm not here to complain about that, I'm here to survive it.

When I was starting out as a full time musician I was walking down the street one bright afternoon in the seedier part of my Midwestern college town. I passed a dive bar and from it emerged a portly balding pallid middle aged musician in a white tux with a drink in one hand and a guitar in the other. He was blinking in the daylight. I had a strong intuition that this was a fate to be avoided. He seemed cut off from society and resigned to an oblivious obscurity. A bar fly. An accessory to booze. So how do you engage society as an artist and get them to pay you? Well, that's a matter of art. And endurance.

To start with, I cannot stress enough the importance of study. I was lucky to work in a discount record store in Ann Arbor Michigan as a stock boy where I was exposed to a little bit of every form of music imaginable on record at the time. I listened to it all whether I liked it or not. Be curious. And I played in my high school orchestra and I learned the joy of the warm organic instruments working together in the service of a classical piece. That sticks with you forever. If anyone out there can get a chance to put an instrument and some knowledge in some kids hand, you've done a great, great thing.

Comparative information is a key to freedom. I found other people who were smarter than me. To teach me. My first pro band was a blues band called The Prime Movers and the leader Michael Erlewine was a very bright hippy beatnik with a beautifully organized record collection in library form of The Blues. I'd never really heard the Blues. That part of our American heritage was kept off the major media. It was system up, people down. No Big Bill Broonzy on BBC for us. Boy I wish! No money in it. But everything I learned from Michael's beautiful library became the building blocks for anything good I've done since. Guys like this are priceless. If you find one, follow him, or her. Get the knowledge.

Once in secondary school in the 60's some class clowns dressed up the tallest guy in school in a trench coat, shades and a fedora and rushed him in to a school dance with great hubbub proclaiming "Del Shannon is here, Del Shannon is here." And until they got to the stage we all believed them, because nobody knew what Del Shannon looked like. He was just a voice on some great records. He had no social ID. By the early 60's that had really changed with the invasion of The Beatles and The Stones. This time TV was added to the mix and print media too. So you knew who they were, or so you thought anyway. I'm mentioning this because the best way to survive the death or change of an industry is to transcend its form. You're better off with an identity of your own or maybe a few of them. Something special.

It is my own personal view having lived through it that in America The Beatles replaced our assassinated president Kennedy, who represented our hopes for a certain kind of society. Didn’t get there. And The Stones replaced our assassinated folk music which our own leaders suppressed for cultural, racial, and financial reasons. It wasn't okay with everybody to be Kennedy or Muddy Waters, but those messages could be accepted if they came through white entertainers from the parent culture. That's why they’re still around.

Years later I had the impression that Apple, the corporation, had successfully co-opted the good feelings that the average American felt about the culture of the Beatles, by kind of stealing the name of their company so I bought a little stock. Good move. 1992. Woo! But look, everybody is subject to the rip off and has to change affiliations from time to time. Even Superman and Barbie were German before America tempted them to come over. Tough luck, Nietzche.

So who owns what anyway. Or as Bob Dylan said "The relationships of ownership." That’s gates of Eden. Nobody knows for long, especially these days. Apparently when BBC radio was founded, the record companies in England wouldn't allow the BBC to play their master recordings because they thought no one would buy them for their personal use if they could hear them free on the radio. So they were really confused about what they had. They didn’t get it. And how people feel about music. ‘Cause it’s a feel thing, and it resists logic. It’s not binary code. Later when CD's came in, the retail merchants in American all panicked because they were just too damn tiny and they thought that Americans want something that looks big, like a vinyl record. Well they had a point but their solution was a kind of Frankenstein called "The Long Box." It didn't fool anybody because half of it was empty. It had a little CD in the bottom. You’d open it up and it was empty. Now we have people in the Sahara using GPS to bury huge wads of Euros under sand dunes for safe keeping. But GPS was created for military spying from the high ground, not radical banking so any sophisticated system, along with the bounty it brings, is subject to primitive hijacking.

I wanna talk about a type of entrepreneur who functions as a kind of popular music patron of the arts. It’s good to know a patron. I call him El Padron because his relationship to the artist is essentially feudal, though benign. He or she (La Padrona) if you will, is someone, usually the product of successful, enlightened parents, who owns a record company, but has had benefit of a very good education, and can see a bigger picture than a petty business person. If they like an artists’ style and it suits them, they'll support you even if you’re not a big money spinner. I can tell you, some of these powerful guys get so bored that if you are fun in the office, you’ll go places. Their ancestors, the old time record crooks just made it their business to make great, great records, but also to rip off the artist 100%, copyright, publishing, royalty splits, agency fees, you name it. If anyone complained the line was "Pay you? We worship you!" God bless Bo Diddley.

By the time I came along, there was a new brand of Padron. People like this are still around and some can help you. One was named Jack Holzman. Jack had a beautiful label called Elektra Records, they put out Judy Collins, Tim Buckley, the Doors and Love. He'd started working in his family record store, like Brian Epstein. He dressed mod and he treated us very gently. He was a civilized man. He obviously loved the arts, but what he really wanted to do was build his business - and he did. He had his own concerns, and style, and you had to serve them, and of course when he sold out, as all indies do, you were stranded culturally in the hands of a cold clumsy conglomerate. But he put us in the right studios with the right producers and he tried to get us seen in the right venues and it really helped. This is a good example of the industry.

Another good guy I met is Sir Richard Branson. I ended up serving my full term at Virgin Records having been removed from every other label. And he created a superior culture there. People were happier and nicer than the weasels at some other places. The first time he tried to sign me it didn't work out, because I had my sights set on A&M, a company I thought would help make me respectable. After all they had Sting! Richard was secretly starting his own company at the time in the US and he phoned me in my tiny flat with no furniture. He said he'd give me a longer term deal with more dough than the other guys and he was very, very polite and soft spoken. But I had just smoked a joint that day and I couldn't make a decision. So I went with the other guys who soon got sick of me. Virgin picked me up again later on the rebound. And on the cheap. Damn. My own fault.

Another kind of indie legend who is slightly more contemporary is Long Gone John of the label Sympathy for the Record Industry. Good name. John is famous with some artists for his disinterest in paying royalties. He has a very interesting music themed folk art collection – its visible online - which includes my leather jacket. I wish he'd give it back. There are lots of indie people with a gift for organization who just kind of collect freaks and throw them up at the wall to see who sticks. You gotta watch 'em.

When you go a step down creatively from the Padrons who are actually entrepreneurs you get to the executives. You don't wanna know these guys. They usually came over from legal or accounting. They have protégés usually called A&R men to do their dirty work. You can become a favorite with them if your fame or image might reflect limelight on their career. They tend to have no personalities to speak of, which is their strength. Strangely they're never really thinking about the good of their parent company as much as old number one. Avoid them. If you’re an artist, they’ll make you sick or suicidal. The only good thing the conglomerate can do for you – and they’ve done it recently for me - is make you really, really ubiquitous. They do that well. But, when the company is your banker, then you are basically gonna be the Beverly Hill Billies. So it's best not to take their money. Especially when you’re young. These are very tough people, and they can hurt you.

So who are the good guys?! They asked me when they read this thing at BBC 6 Music. Well there are lots of them. If fact, today there are more than ever and they are just about all indies, but first I want to mention Peter Gabriel and WOMAD for everything they've done for what seems like forever to help the greatest musicians in the world, the so called world musicians to gain a foothold and make a living in the modern screwed up cash and carry world. Traditional music was never a for profit enterprise, all the best forms were developed as a kind of you’re job in the community. It was pretty good, it was “Yeah, I’m a musician, I’m gonna skip like doing the dishes or taking the trash out.” It's not surprising that all the greatest singers and players come from parts of the world where everybody is broke and the old ways are getting paved over. So it's crucial for everyone that these treasures not be lost. There are other people of means and intelligence who help others in this way like Philip Glass through Tibet House, David Burn with Luaka Bop, Damon Albarn through Honest John Records. Shout out to Hypnotic Brass Ensemble. Almost all the best music is coming out on indies today like XL Matador, Burger, Anti, Epitaph, Mute, Rough Trade, 4 A D, Sub Pop, etc. etc.

But now YouTube is trying to put the squeeze on these people because it's just easier for a power nerd to negotiate with a couple big labels who own the kind of music that people listen to when they're really not that into music, which of course is most people. So they've got the numbers. But the indies kind of have the guns. I've noticed that indies are showing strength at some of the established streaming services like Spotify and Rhapsody – people are choosing that music. And it's also great that some people are starting their own outlets, like Pledge Music, Band Camp or Drip. As the commercial trade swings more into general show biz the indies will be the only place to go for new talent, outside the Mickey Mouse Club, so I think they were right to band together and sign the Fair Digital Deals Declaration.

There are just so many ways to screw an artist that it's unbelievable. In the old vinyl days they would deduct 10% "breakage fees" for records supposedly broken in shipping, whether that happened or not, and now they have unattributed digital revenue, whatever the **** that means. It means money for some guy’s triple bypass. I actually think that what Thom Yorke has done with Bit Torrent is very good. I was gonna say here: “Sure the guy is a pirate at Bit Torrent” but I was warned legally, so I’ll say: “Sure the guy a Bit Torrent is a pirate’s friend” But all pirates want to go legit, just like I wanted to be respectable. It’s normal. After a while people feel like you’re a crook, it’s too hard to do business. So it’s good in this case that Thom Yorke is encouraging a positive change. The music is good. It’s being offered at a low price direct to people who care.

I want to try to define what I am talking about when I say free. For me in the arts or in the media, there are two kinds of free. One kind of free is when the process is something that people just feel for you. You feel a sense of possibility. You feel a lack of constraint. This leads to powerful, energetic, sometimes kind of loony situations.

Vice Media is an interesting case of this because they started as a free handout, using public funds, and they had open, free-wheeling minds. Originally a free handout was called Voice and these kids were like “Just get rid of the old! I don’t wanna be Vice, yeah!” Okay. By taking an immersive approach with no particular preconceptions to their reporting, they've become a huge success, also through corporate advertising, at attracting big, big money investment hundreds of millions of dollars now pumped into Fox Media and a couple of others bigger than that in the US. And they get it because they attract lots of little boy eyeballs. So they brought us Dennis Rodman in North Korea. And it’s kind of a travesty, but it’s kind of spunky. It's interesting that capital investment, for all its posturing, never really leads, it always follows. They follow the action. So if it's money you're after, be the yourself in a consistent way and you might get it. You’ll at least end up getting what you are worth and feel better. Just follow your nose.

The second kind of freedom to me that is important in the media is the idea of giving freely. When you feel or sense that someone that someone is giving you something not out of profit, but out of self-respect, Christian charity, whatever it is. That has a very powerful energy. The Guardian, in my understanding, was founded by an endowment by a successful man with a social conscience who wanted to help create a voice for what I would call the little guy. So they have a kind of moral mission or imperative. This has given them the latitude to try to be interesting, thoughtful, helpful. And they bring Edward Snowden to the world stage. Something that is not pleasant for a lot of people to hear about, but we need to know.

These two approaches couldn't be more different. To justify their new mega bucks Vice will have to expand and expand in capital terms. Presumably they'll have to titillate a dumb, but energetic audience. Of course all capitalist expansions are subject to the big bang – balloon, bust, poof, and you’re gone. As for the Guardian I would imagine that the task involves gaining the trust and support of a more discerning, less definable reader, without spending the principal. There is usually an antipathy between cultural poles, but these two actually have a lot in common in terms of the energy and nuisance to power that they are willing to generate. I wish red and blue could come together somehow.

Sometimes I'd rather read than listen to music. One of my favourite odd books is Bootleg: The Secret History of the Other Recording Industry by Clinton Heylin. I bought the book in the 90's because a couple of my bootlegs were mentioned. I loved my bootlegs. They did a lot for me. I never really thought about the dough much. I liked the titles, like Suck on This, Stow Away DOA or Metalic KO. The packaging was always way more creative and edgy than most of my official stuff. So I just liked being seen and heard, like anybody else. These bootleggers were creative. Here are two quotes from the dust jacket by veteran industry stalwarts on the subject of bootlegs in 1994.

"Bootleg is the thoroughly researched and highly entertaining tale of those colorful brigands, hapless amateurs, and true believers who have done wonders for my record collection. Rock and roll doesn't get more underground than this." – that was David Fricke, the music editor of Rolling Stone "I think that bootlegs keep the flame of the music alive by keeping it out of not only the industry's conception of the artist, but also the artist's conception of the artist." – that was Lenny Kaye from the Patti Smith group, musician, critic and my friend.

Wow!! Sounds heroic and vital!

I wonder what these guys feel about all of this now, because things have changed, haven't they? We are now talking about Megaupload, Kim Dot Com, big money, political power, and varying definitions of theft that are legally way over my head. But I know a con man when I see one. I want to include a rant from an early bootlegger in this discussion because it's so passionate and I just think it's funny.

This is Lou Cohan "If anybody thinks that if I have purchased every single Rolling Stones album in existence, and I have bought all the Rolling Stones albums that have been released in England, France, Japan, Italy, and Brazil that if I have an extra $100 in my pocket instead of buying a Rolling Stones bootleg I am going to buy a John Denver album or a Sinead O'Conner album, they are retarded."

So the guy is trying to say don't try to force me. And don't steal my choice. And the people who don't want the free U2 download are trying to say, don't try to force me. And they've got a point. Part of the process when you buy something from an artist. It’s a kind of anointing, you are giving people love. It’s your choice to give or withhold. You are giving a lot of yourself, besides the money. But in this particular case, without the convention, maybe some people felt like they were robbed of that chance and they have a point. It’s not the only point. These are not bad guys. But now, everybody's a bootlegger, but not as cute, and there are people out there just stealing the stuff and saying don't try to force me to pay. And that act of thieving will become a habit and that’s bad for everything. So we are exchanging the corporate rip off for the public one. Aided by power nerds. Kind of computer Putins. They just wanna get rich and powerful. And now the biggest bands are charging insane ticket prices or giving away music before it can flop, in an effort to stay huge. And there's something in this huge thing that kind of sucks.

Which brings us to Punk. The most punk thing I ever saw in my life was Malcolm McLaren's cardboard box full of dirty old winkle pinkers. It was the first thing I saw walking in the door of Let It Rock in 1972 which was his shop at Worlds End on the Kings Road. It was a huge ugly cardboard bin full of mismatched unpolished dried out winkle pickers without laces at some crazy price like maybe five pounds each. Another 200 yards up the street was Granny Takes a Trip, where they sold proper Rockstar clothes like scarves, velvet jackets, and snake skin platform boy boots. Malcolm's obviously worthless box of shit was like a fire bomb against the status quo because it was saying that these violent shoes have the right idea and they are worth more than your fashion, which serves a false value. This is right out of the French enlightenment.

So is the thieving that big a deal? Ethically, yes, and it destroys people because it's a bad road you take. But I don't think that's the biggest problem for the music biz. I think people are just a little bit bored, and more than a little bit broke. No money. Especially simple working people who have been totally left out, screwed and abandoned. If I had to depend on what I actually get from sales I’d be tending bars between sets. I mean honestly it’s become a patronage system. There’s a lot of corps involved and I don’t fault any of them but it’s not as much fun as playing at the Music Machine in Camden Town in 1977. There is a general atmosphere of resentment, pressure, kind of strange perpetual war, dripping on all the time. And I think that prosecuting some college kid because she shared a file is a lot like sending somebody to Australia 200 years ago for poaching his lordship's rabbit. That's how it must seem to poor people who just want to watch a crappy movie for free after they’ve been working themselves to death all day at Tesco or whatever, you know.

If I wanna make music, at this point in my life I'd rather do what I want, and do it for free, which I do, or cheap, if I can afford to. I can. And fund through alternative means, like a film budget, or a fashion website, both of which I've done. Those seem to be turning out better for me than the official rock n roll company albums I struggle through. Sorry. If I wanna make money, well how about selling car insurance? At least I'm honest. It's an ad and that's all it is. Every free media platform I've ever known has been a front for advertising or propaganda or both. And it always colors the content. In other words, you hear crap on the commercial radio. The licensing of music by films, corps, and TV has become a flood, because these people know they're not a hell of a lot of fun so they throw in some music that is. I'm all for that, because that's the way the door opened for me. I got heard on tv before radio would take a chance. But then I was ok. Good. And others too. I notice there are a lot of people, younger and younger, getting their exposure that way. But it's a personal choice. I think it’s an aesthetic one, not an ethical one.

Now with the Internet people can choose to hear stuff and investigate it in their own way. If they want to see me jump around the Manchester Apollo with a horse tail instead of trying to be a proper Rockstar, they can look. Good. Personally I don't worry too much about how much I get paid for any given thing, because I never expected much in the first place and the whole industry has become bloated in its expectations. Look, Howling Wolf would work for a sandwich. This whole thing started in Honky Tonk bars. It's more important to do something important or just make people feel something and then just trust in God. If you're an entertainer your God is the public. They'll take care of you somehow. I want them to hear my music any old which way. Period. There is an unseen hand that turns the pages of existence in ways no one can predict. But while you’re waiting for God to show up and try to find a good entertainment lawyer.

It's good to remember that this is a dream job, whether you're performing or working in broadcasting, or writing or the biz. So dream. Dream. Be generous, don’t be stingy. Please. I can't help but note that it always seems to be the pursuit of the money that coincides with the great art, but not its arrival. It's just kind of a death agent. It kills everything that fails to reflect its own image, so your home turns into money, your friends turn into money, and your music turns into money. No fun, binary code – zero one, zero one - no risk, no nothing. What you gotta do you gotta do, life's a hurly-burly, so I would say try hard to diversify your skills and interests. Stay away from drugs and talent judges. Get organized. Big or little, that helps a lot.

I'd like you to do better than I did. Keep your dreams out of the stinky business, or you'll go crazy, and the money won't help you. Be careful to maintain a spiritual EXIT. Don't live by this game because it's not worth dying for. Hang onto your hopes. You know what they are. They’re private. Because that's who you really are and if you can hang around long enough you should get paid. I hope it makes you happy. It's the ending that counts, and the best things in life really are free.

#iggy pop #idk if anyone posted it here already #I'm just too lazy to look up so #here it is!

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aenwoedbeannaa · 5 years

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Stone Hearts | Geralt x Reader | Parts I - III

Summary: A/U(ish). When fate landed you at Kaer Morhen, you were mostly just happy to have meals to eat and a place to sleep. But, as it turns out, fate may have led you to much, much more. (Basically, you and Geralt are students at Kaer Morhen together. These stories chronicle your lives together.)

Word Count: 7k+

Warnings: Violence, smut, the usual.

A/N: I originally planned on posting this as a series of short stories all at once, but as it is such a long story, I decided I’d split it up into groups of stories instead. So, this one is Part I, II, and III. Let me know what you think – and thank you, as always, for taking time to read my work 😊.

Thank you so much to @jesseswartzwelder for the request/amazing idea!

If you enjoy my work, consider reblogging this post following me for more Witcher fics here and on my personal/original writing blog here. You can also check out my masterlist!

Part I

The sun is hot, bearing down on the crowded courtyard and making you sweat through your leathers even more than you usually do. Still, you refuse to give any inkling of the fact that your blood is absolutely boiling, like your body is burning itself away. You know that it is more than the hot sun—you’ve started taking a new elixir, and ever since, you’ve been aching with fever. One moment, you are burning out of your skin, the next, you are shivering and sweating at the same time.

Your feet move of their own accord, purely out of instinct, as you dodge and parry, pirouette and deflect. You try as hard as you possibly can to breathe deeply and slowly, so as not to exert yourself even more. And yet, the sharp sound of dulled iron striking dulled iron reverberates you your head, loud enough to make you want to flinch.

But flinching is not an option. Not with Geralt, anyways. You don’t like losing, especially to your de facto partner. As usual, the two of you are the last pair left sparring, the others standing around drinking deeply from waterskins or laying on unclaimed ground nursing whatever wounds they incurred over the course of the day. You wish you were one of them, but only a little. If you are honest, you love being the center of attention; you love being one of Kaer Morhen’s Golden Children. You thrive one it.

“Getting tired, Witcher?” you quip, avoiding a slash of his blade with a rolling dodge, landing on your feet in a flash and only just missing him with your next attack.

“Not a chance, Witcher Girl,” he responds with a parry leading to an attack of his own. You manage to block him with the flat of your blade, but you can tell that you are off – not enough for an ordinary eye to see, but Geralt does not have the eyes of an ordinary man.

He’s got you backed up nearly to the wall, leaving you less room than you’d like, and distracting you enough with his smile, a dangerous flash of white, that you nearly lose your footing. But after another turn and other quick flurry of attacks and counterattacks, you do lose your footing – but it has nothing to do with Geralt’s smile and everything to do with a sudden blinding pain that seems to start in your head and travel down your body at lighting speed. You crumple to the ground.

Geralt drops his sword before you even hit the dirt, rushing to you side and placing a calloused hand gently on your shoulder, speaking urgently, “Y/N,” he says as he gently pushes against your shoulder to turn you over, “Are you alright? What happened?” What has him so worried is not that you fell – the two of you never went easy on one another, and each took your share of tumbles. No, he is worried because you had been steady on two feet one moment and wincing, dropping your sword, and thudding to the ground after it the next.

You have, of course, told him nothing about the extra elixir. You’d tried so many at this point that you’d grown into a sense of security, like something that couldn’t possibly harm you. After all, the really deadly shit was saved for the Trial of the Grasses – but even then, the strong ones usually made it, and you are one of the strong ones. But, no matter how many times you tell him not to worry – he always, always does. The same way that you worry about him every time you learn they’re giving him new mysterious concoctions to try.

He is you closest friend, and he has been since the moment you walked onto the grounds of Kaer Morhen and he punched Eskel in the face for lobbing an ill-timed joke at the very timid new arrival and making you cry.

Vizimir was not happy with any of you, and all three of you managed to earn yourselves extra cleaning duties that week. Geralt for punching Eskel, Eskel for making ‘unnecessary remarks,’ and you for crying. Coincidentally, that week was also the week that the three of you began a friendship that spanned even to this day.

You blink up at him, unable to speak, though you want to. Something is wrong, you want to say, Get Vizimir. But, try as you might, you aren’t able to make your mouth form the words. Instead, you just stare up at him with wide eyes. His brown curls are stuck to his brow with sweat, and his eyes are searching your eyes for an answer you can’t give him. You are also vaguely aware of other students abandoning their carefully staked out plots of grass to come and see what the fuss is about.

The only other girl, Estra of Ard Caraigh, chews her lip nervously as she looks on, though you can’t see her. The two of you aren’t particularly close, mostly because she is two years older, so you are surprised when you hear her voice from the growing crowd of onlookers, “They gave you that elixir, didn’t they? The one that’s to make sure you can train every day of the month?”

In your bleary half-consciousness, you see a flash of long auburn hair as she rushes to your side, pressing a hand to your forehead. Her face blanches and she turns back to shout to no one in particular, “Get Vizimir, NOW.”

You try once more to make some sort of sound, but all that comes out is a choked sob. You had not cried since your first day here, and the fact that tears were streaming down your face seemingly of their own accord was mortifying. The only thing that kept your from screaming in pain was Geralt as he took your hand in his own and held on tightly, leaning down to whisper that it was all going to be ok in a voice surprisingly calm given the red-hot fire burning in his eyes and his tightly clenched jaw.

Part II

Your fingers tap the glass impatiently as you peer out the window, checking for signs of life on the road that winds from the gate of the Keep out into the forests surrounding Kaer Morhen, twisting its way through the wilderness surrounding the Snow Pine Mountains. If you’ve calculated correctly, Geralt should be returning today. He left nearly two weeks before with one of the Witchers to help with a contract on a Drowner infestation plaguing a nearby town on the banks of some manmade lake.

Leave it to Kaedwen. Perhaps the people of Kaedwen had grown too comfortable. With Witchers nearby, there wasn’t much to fear from monsters, was there?

This particular excursion was his reward for being the first to return from the Trial of the Medallion – the chance to muck around in the swamps for a few days, cutting down drowners at thirty crowns a head.

Thirty crowns a head.

You still remember a time when thirty crowns seemed an unobtainable amount of money; money that could have lasted your family near a month if it had to. To think that once this was all over, you would be able to fulfill contracts earning multiples of that for each monster slain. Being considered at once a poor victim of a stolen childhood and a mutant freak who had no place existing was a small price to pay for such a steady income.

“Show me a lake, and I’ll show you the drowners,” as Vizimir would say.

Pulling yourself back from the objectively horrifying daydreams of hacking drowners to shreds in return for a sack full of coin, you resume your vigilance.

Accounting for the four days ride from Kaer Morhen, maybe five if any monsters appeared on The Path, and then three days at most to deal with the drowners, and then another four to five days ride back accounting for the supplies they’d be carrying back from the village, he should be arriving back today. Unless of course… No. You cannot allow yourself to even consider the possibility that anything had gone wrong.

You tell yourself you that the nervous energy that has you buzzing is simply born of boredom, or maybe out of frustration that you’d have to spar with Eskel today. After nearly two weeks pouring over books, Vizimir had finally determined that it was time to get back to swordsmanship and, most importantly, sparring. It was about the only thing that broke the general dullness of school.

And without Geralt, you tell yourself, sparring will be just as dull as the bloody books. You determine that this is at least a half-truth. Geralt was the only sparring partner quite at your level. So, it went without saying that sparring with anyone else was dull, mostly a waste of time. In your opinion, fighting an easy fight is not fun. And that’s not even your ego talking; it is purely factual.

And a bit of ego.

And then there is the separate issue; the fact that you hadn’t exactly realized – or had at least pretended not to realize – just how much time you spent with Geralt until he was gone. You’d been happy for him when he won the Trial of the Medallion, of course, but you hadn’t been quite as thrilled when you learned what the prize was. Sure – it was a chance for him to escape form the stone fortress for two weeks, a chance to get out and see the world. But drowners, no matter how easy to kill, could always be dangerous. Or maybe you were just upset that the second place winner – that just so happened to be you – didn’t get to go along as well. You’d finished only second behind him; it seemed unfair.

Despite its unfairness, it was reality. So, instead of out hunting monsters, you were stuck here while time dragged on at an excruciating crawl.

You’ve got other students with whom to pass the time, but to be honest, exploring the grounds of Kaer Morhen Of course, you still have your other fellow students to pass the time with – which you do – but it’s not the same. There is a bond between the two of you that far surpasses your bond with anyone else. No matter how adamantly you try to ignore it, there’s just no way around it.

You sigh in frustration and turn away from the window; you have too many things to do, regardless of how absolutely tedious everything is. Studying with Vizimir, of course. And you’ve got to spar today. At least that is somewhat interesting – even if none of the other students can quite match you; with the exception of Geralt. It is a convenient way for you to explain away any feelings. Perhaps sparring with people who cannot keep up is just boring. As much as you enjoy winning, there’s no excitement winning against people you could probably best in your sleep.

You pull on your last bits of armor – a belt with a small sheath for your dagger, and of course your leather jerkin. Your dulled iron and silver are slung over your back. You won’t receive your silver – a real silver sword – until you pass the trial of the grasses. It would, of course, be a waste to supply every one of Kaer Morhen’s students with new silver swords, considering the unfortunate reality that a majority would never need one.

Gods, you hope you need one.

You move silently through the ancient hallways, bracing yourself for the certain boredom that will greet you in the keep’s library. It is a large room full of old books, most of which are yellowed with age and feel as if they might fall apart beneath your fingertips. Vizimir explains that new books are not necessary, because monsters never change.

“Wonderful of you to finally join us, Little Vampire,” Vizimir says as you push open the wooden door to see several students sitting at the old tables all in various states of half-sleep. You just shrug in response and make your way to an empty chair. You earned the nickname Little Vampire after, during the week you spent delirious with fever, you apparently bit Vizimir’s hand hard enough to leave a scar when he tried to force a potion down your throat.

“Probably off waiting for Geralt,” you hear Stefan say under his breath to Eskel, who is sitting in the chair next to him. You pretend not to hear him; you’ve given up on trying to explain your relationship with Geralt to your peers. And anyway, it would be impossible to explain even if you tried – you cannot even explain it to yourself.

But then, you hear Eskel mutter, even quieter – “He probably won’t be back until tomorrow. Off spending that hard-earned coin the right way.” You know that it shouldn’t bother you; Geralt can do whatever he’d like. And what you’d learned from hearing Eskel and the others when they spoke about their time outside of Kaer Morhen, there was a very specific way they tended to celebrate. It wasn’t your place to be upset about it. And, yet, here you were.

Whatever, you tell yourself. He’s only following the Code. That fucking Code.

* * *

“Fucking hell,” Eskel spits, pushing himself up from the ground, heavily favoring his left ankle. You smirk, sheathing the blunted blade. You don’t need to say anything – knocking him out of the fight as quickly as you had spoke volumes.

“And all this time, we thought Geralt was just letting her win, eh, Eskel?”

You turn and narrow your eyes at Stefan, their dark amber burning like coals as you bore into him. You aren’t daft – you are fully aware of this particular rumor, as ridiculous of a rumor as it is.

“Would have been quite the charade to have been pulling off all these years.”

You have a hard time suppressing your smile at the familiar baritone, but you turn around with witcherlike reflexes regardless. And Code be damned, for all the elixirs they’d given you, emotion flooded you. You refuse to call it love; to be a Witcher and admit to such a feeling would be laughable. But you will call it joy – joy at seeing your absolute closest friend in the world after all this time.

A whole two weeks.

Not wanting to make yourself, and Geralt by extension, the butt of jokes for the next month, you stop yourself from barreling toward him and throwing your arms around his neck like you want to, you settle for smiling instead.

“Finally,” you drawl, “A real challenge.”

Your friend smirks, arms crossing over his chest.

“I’ve just returned, and the first thing you want to do is cross swords?” he fakes offense.

“Of course,” you retort, “This is Kaer Morhen, after all.”

“Damn,” Geralt responds, “Thought it was Ban Aard.”

Several others who had abandoned their activities to listen laughed at that one – you included. Fucking mages and their fancy schools, preaching about the importance of magic Witchers’ reliance on it. Ban Aard and Aretuza were the butt of a good number of jokes at Kaer Morhen, like Kaer Morhen certainly was to them.

“Enough standing around and talking,” you goad, “Grab your sword, Witcher.”

You ignore the hushed conversations around you as Geralt replaces the silver sword slung over his back with a dull iron one. The usual nonsense – something about the two of you thriving on attention and showing off and something else about the two of you needing to “just fuck already.”

He seems to be ignoring the group just as you are, reading himself as you do the same.

“Alright, Witcher,” you smile dangerously, “Let’s see if those Drowners sharpened your skills."

Part III

“It just doesn’t feel real,” you muse, turning over your shoulder to glance at Geralt who sits with his back flush against yours, “Only two days until the Trials.”

“Mhm,” he answers from deep in his chest. While you have chosen to cover up your panic and fear with excitement and fierce pride, Geralt has turned to philosophizing – existentialism and cynicism being his philosophies of choice.

“Geralt…” you mutter, wishing that you could get more than a syllable or two out of him. “It’s going to be ok.”

You are trying to convince yourself just as much as you are trying to convince him. And, given your tendency to turn everything into a game of logic – very useful in calculating opponents next moves – chances are high that you are correct.

“We’ve both responded well to all of the elixirs they’ve given us, hardly any negative reactions at all,” you expound, but Geralt scoffs, making your mouth snap shut.

“Yes, except that one time two years back when you almost died.” His voice is laced with worry, and though you are facing opposite directions, you know exactly what his expression by his tone alone. His eyebrows are knitted together, and his amber eyes are narrowed such that from a distance, someone might not notice that he was undergoing mutations at all. His lips are pressed into a tight line, and his curls fall into his face. That, combined with his bulky form, would make anyone stay away. Anyone except for you.

“That was one time,” you press, “One elixir out of hundreds. It’s a better record than most people.” Kaer Morhen was your home and you truly wanted to become a Witcher. If you’d been left alone in Crookback Bog, you would have died years ago. And if you’d grown up in some backwater village or in the poor district of a city, plague or pox could’ve taken you. For you, the potions and elixirs and the mutations they induced were just the inevitable tradeoffs to life here. If you couldn’t survive the trials, you couldn’t be a Witcher, and if you couldn’t become a Witcher, you’d be on your own with no skills to speak of, no way to make a living. At least Kaer Morhen gave you something akin to a family – it had given you Geralt.

“I don’t care to remember any details of that week,” he mutters, looking at the ground and shaking his head, “But I… I can’t stop thinking about it. About you laying there burning with fever, calling out in your sleep.”

You are stunned. Geralt, while not as closed off as the other students and Witchers liked to say, was not apt to speak with such emotion. You can’t remember the last time you heard him stumble over his words like that – or if you ever had, for that matter. You open your mouth to speak, about how that was quite a regular occurrence for Kaer Morhen’s students as they underwent mutations, but he is already speaking again before you can get a word out.

“You kept saying that you were on fire, your bones were on fire,” you pick at the grass as he continues, “And the elixirs to help the pain only made it worse.”

Truth be told, you don’t have much memory of that week of your life. You were delirious with fever, and only remember brief moments that you could not definitively place in the “real” category or mark them off as hallucinations. But, as he speaks, some memories do pop into your mind. One in particular where it took three grown men to hold you down and force one of the elixir’s down your throat. Vizimir started calling you Little Vampire after that, thanks to the fact that your perfectly average canines managed to dig so deep into his hand that he still had a scar. Now, you supposed, you understood why Geralt didn’t like that one.

“I just… I can’t…” as Geralt stumbles over his words, you cannot tell if you are hearing his heart hammering or yours. You follow your immediate urge and turn around to sit next to him, both of you now looking out towards the grounds of Kaer Morhen through the trees. You’ve had this secret meeting place for years – a place where the two of you would go to talk or just to sit. A peaceful place, away from the constant chaos behind the castle walls.

“Geralt,” you say, placing a hand on his shoulder and shifting so that he is facing you, “You’re the strongest of all of us. Even Vizimir said…well, you remember!” You are referring to a conversation you overheard one evening when you were prowling around places you shouldn’t be. He was talking to one of the other instructors, the two of them comparing notes.

“Geralt, Y/N, and Eskel will be this year’s Three, mark my words.”

“There’s no need to be scared,” you add after a moment, voice quiet. You hadn’t known he was so scared to undergo the mutations. He was always the best in your training exercises, always the strongest, the fastest, the one getting all the special elixirs. You hadn’t even thought that he might still be worried.

Quite suddenly, he turns, placing his hand over the one of yours that is resting in your lap, “I’m not worried for myself. I just… I can’t… It makes me so angry to think of them putting you through that again.”

You look down, staring at his hand on top of yours, which is suddenly the only thing that you can focus on. Relationships at Kaer Morhen aren’t forbidden, but they aren’t common. There had been a handful of moments like these – none of them that went farther than stolen glances and they always left you feeling somehow empty, aching for what you couldn’t have.

Silence stretches between you. The only sound either of you make are the thundering of our hearts and carefully controlled breathing. Though, you notice, each time Geralt breathes in, there is a slight unsteadiness to it, a shakiness, as if he is trying as hard as you are to keep your breathing in check.

Finally, you draw a breath that would be noticeably shaky, even for a person who hadn’t undergone all of the mutations that the two of you had. You tear your eyes from your hand to look up at him and say, “I’m an adult, Geralt. I’m going through the trials willingly.”

Geralt doesn’t respond, just clenches his jaw and lets out a huff, so you continue, “We’ve always known about the Trials, I agreed to it when I came here, and I’ve continued to agree to it every time that I’ve taken any of their elixirs. I’ve...We’ve been training for this for our whole lives. Without Vizimir I would have died without getting a chance to experience real life.”

“I know the speech,” Geralt shoots back almost immediately, pulling his hand away and leaving you feeling hurt.

“Geralt.” You are struggling to keep your voice steady. You can’t decide if you feel like screaming or crying, so you keep to the Code and shove both of those urges down as deep as is possible given the situation. “It’s not my fault we have to undergo the mutations, so don’t fucking snap at me.”

“Fuck,” Geralt says, shaking his head and burying it in his hands, “Y/N, I’m sorry. I know.”

He is silent for another moment before he finally lowers his hands and looks up at you. You realize in that moment how close you are, your faces only inches apart. You can see the gold flecks in his amber eyes and the stubble on his cheeks and have to fight to ignore the urge to reach out and see how his skin feels beneath your hands, and what his eyes would look like if you did.

But then, he reaches out with one hand, hesitantly and ever so gently, to cup your face. You shiver as the pad of his thumb brushes just beneath your lower lip and the very corner of your mouth. Time feels suspended, as if the two of you are floating on some separate plane where the day of the Trials will never come and the two of you can just stay right here, just as you are, forever.

“I hate the idea of you undergoing the Trial because I can’t stomach the thought of losing you, Y/N.” The words are like a punch to the stomach that is somehow pleasant, knocking all the breath out of your lungs.

He leans even closer, until your foreheads are touching. “I know the Code, and I know I’m not supposed to, but I love you.”

You breathe in, memorizing the smell of him. You’ve only ever been this close during sparring exercises. You decide you like this a lot better.

“When I had the fever… The one thing that kept me, you know, here was you, you know,” you breathe. You’ve never told him because you know that no matter how much he had pretended to hate it as of late, he sticks to the Code. The Code, which doesn’t look highly on Witchers being in relationships – especially with one another. “And that’s why—and you’re the reason I know that I’ll survive the Trial.” Your eyes have drifted down, unable to meet his as you confess this – the secret you have been hiding from him for so long.

He is silent for a moment, frozen there with his deliciously warm hand on your face before finally letting his and slip lower, resting under your chin and gently tilting your head up so that he can meet your eyes. “Fuck the Code,” he says, eyes flashing before pressing his lips to yours.

It is your first kiss, and it is pure bliss. Your lips fit together like pieces of a puzzle and the sensation has you drunk with pleasure before he even deepens the kiss. And, when he does, you are ready. You part your lips for him, and he greedily explores your mouth. You keep thinking that it can’t get any better, but yet it does. You moan involuntarily as his hand slips from your chin, ghosting along the curve of your neck and coming to rest on your shoulder, calloused thumb sweeping across your collar bone.

His touch is electric, leaving your skin feeling hot and charged, and longing for more. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling yourself flush against him. He responds with an appreciative grunt, moving his hands to explore your body, starting by sweeping down your sides, just barely grazing the sides of your breasts in the process.

With his hands now firmly wrapped around your sides, he breaks the kiss, leaving you in a huff of frustration and disappointment – you hadn’t had nearly enough of him. But before you can get too out of sorts, his lips touch your neck and you moan, tipping your head back to grant him complete access. You don’t even have time to worry about the fact that you have no idea what you’re doing – that you have never done this before – because Geralt is so thorough, so in control of the situation. It’s like he knows all the right places to touch, and exactly what to do with his mouth to have you breathing heavily, small sounds of pleasure slipping through your lips.

Tentatively, you begin exploring his body with your hands. You love the way that his muscled form feels beneath your fingers, and it makes you want to explore every inch. As your hands move down his chest, you find yourself tugging at his shirt. You don’t know if it is an involuntary reaction to his teeth grazing your neck as his lips continue down to your collarbone or whether it is simply a feeble attempt to pull the fabric away because you would very much like to know what his sculpted abdomen feels like beneath your fingers without the offending material in the way.

Geralt’s hands, on the other hand, have gripped your white linen shirt, identical to his own, and already began pulling it over your head. You raise your arms to make it easier for him, and the moment it is off, you greedily reach for his own tugging the material up and over his head. For a moment, you just stare at him, drinking in the sight of him shirtless before you. It wasn’t as if you had never seen him this way – but you had always done your best not to look too long, afraid that he would notice as question why.

However, he interrupts your moment of slightly embarrassing admiration when he wraps his arms around you, hands grazing your hyper-sensitive skin. You sigh, content to let him touch every inch of you. Encouraged by this, his hands wander up to unlace your bra and you bite your lip in anticipation. You cannot wait to feel his hands on them, arching your back, willing him to make faster work of it.

He grins as he slips the material off your shoulders, grin turning into more of a smirk as he sees you staring back at him with wide, expectant eyes. He slides one hand up your back, easing you down so you are laying beneath him, eyes drinking in the sight of you naked form and making your feel suddenly exposed. But, given the way his pupils dilate, he likes what he sees as much as you do.

He leans over you, lowering himself so that he can bring his lips to yours once more. You greedily bite his lower lip, hands back to their game of exploring as much of his body as you can reach. And then all of a sudden, you feel his stubbled cheek graze against yours as he leans to growl in your ear, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this to you, Witcheress.”

His words add fuel to the fire burning in your core, and you whimper as his fingers brush your nipple. It feels so delicious it is almost painful. You’ve never even allowed yourself to fantasize about this scenario, as much as you may have wanted to. You never thought it would happen – and you weren’t one to dream of impossible things. And yet, here you both were.

“Geralt,” you breathe, completely lost I the feeling as he kneads and pinches your breasts. And then… his lips. The feeling of them against your breast and his tongue flattening against your nipple is warm and soft and better than you could have ever imagined it feeling. Your eyes roll up into your head as he makes use of his free hand to gently twist and pinch the bud not currently receiving the attention of his tongue.

Heat pools in your core, twisting and tightening and aching for his touch, and, oh gods, for his tongue. Any nerves you thought you would have doing this for the first time have evaporated. There is no room in your pleasure-drunk mind for nervous thoughts.

Once again, seemingly able to read your thoughts, he slips a hand between the two of you, unfastening your belt and unlacing your trousers. For a brief moment, your mind blinks to a thought of just how practiced his hands are – but you don’t dwell on it for more than a split second. You are burning with need, and you could care less how many women Geralt has had before you – if the stories of the young man’s exploits on those rare occasions when Kaer Morhen’s young Witchers in training were given leave to take on smaller contracts here and there under supervision of elders – it doesn’t matter to you right now.

It matters even less when his hand slips into your waistband, expert fingers finding their way to where you need him most. His finger dips between your folds, gathering the wet heat pooled there for him, humming appreciatively against your chest as he lets his finger trail back up to the little bundle of nerves. His touch is perfect parts gentle and firm as he circles the small bud, making you cry out into the open air.

“You like that, Witcheress?” he asks gruffly, swirling his finger again and making you buck your hips against his hand. Making yourself form words is pretty much hopeless at this point, with his finger dancing over the hard little nub that no one save yourself has ever touched before, but your pleasured cries are more than enough answer for him.

He loves watching you like this – writhing beneath him, hips moving of their own accord, eyes blinking open and closed again. He especially loves your little gasps; the way your pretty mouth stays open in a constant ‘oh’ as he works you with his fingers. Your ragged breathing turns him on even more; your breasts rising and falling at uneven intervals as he increases his pace and pressure. And, oh gods, he loves the groan that escapes your lips when he does.

“Gods,” you say with a great deal of effort, “That feels… G-geralt!”

He watches you as your body tenses for a moment, amber eyes fixed on you as he watches you fall apart, already committing this image to memory; the first time you’d come for him. You are still twitching as the aftershocks of your orgasm wrack your body when he grabs your waistband and tugs your pants off roughly, breathing in your scent and greedily taking in the sight of you.

Your thighs tremble as he presses his lips to the inside of your calf, peppering the soft skin with kisses as he moves his way up your leg. You are still reeling from your orgasm, but already you need more. His hands follow his lips, massaging the seemingly always sore muscles of your legs and making you sigh with pleasure.

You reach down to run a hand through his hair, and he lifts his amber eyes to meet yours as he moves to your other leg, pressing kisses across ever inch of your skin. His tongue traces the crease between your thigh and your most intimate area, and your hips thrust towards his face of their own accord. But then a thought enters your mind, and you tug at his hair, “Geralt.”

“Yes, Witcheress?” he says, locking you in his intense gaze.

“I should… Shouldn’t I? You know…?” You can feel his bulge through his pants, and you are eager to touch him, to feel his hardness with your fingers, your tongue, and inside of you. But for now, Geralt clearly has other plans.

“Shh, Witcheress,” he says, nipping gently at your inner thigh with his teeth, “I’m not done with you yet.” His words send your mind into a whirl as his hands slip under your thighs to your ass, letting his shoulders hold your already quivering legs apart so that you are completely exposed to him. You whimper as he blows cool air on your heat, making you shiver.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he says gruffly, eyes locked on yours once again, “But first I want to taste you.” He lets his tongue just barely graze your clit, and you whimper again, on the verge of begging. “I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Y/N?”

You can only whimper in response, your need for him an almost painful ache in your core.

“Hmm?” he rumbles, looking up at you with an impish grin, “Didn’t hear you.” You cannot think of a more beautiful sight than Geralt – the boy who was your first friend and the man who you fell in love with little by little until you were mad with it – looking up at you as if you are the only person in the world.

“Y-yes,” you whimper, voice laced with need.

“Mhm,” he growls, finally running his tongue from your opening to the little bundle of nerves. The feeling of his tongue touching you there has you seeing stars. It feels even better than his fingers as he explores you, paying particular attention to the places that make you gasp and tighten your grip on his hair.

He takes his time, savoring the way you taste, better even then he imagined – which he often had despite his efforts not to think of you that way. He’d tried to stick to the Code, he’d tried everything to keep his mind busy – every time he made a trip out of Kaer Morhen, he’d tried to distract himself, but now, as he explores you with his tongue, breathes your scent, feels your soft skin beneath his fingertips, and hears your soft gasps and moans, all he can think is that he has abided by the Code for way too fucking long.

You are absolutely lost in the feeling of his mouth on you. And, when his lips close around your clit, sucking it into his mouth and attacking it with his tongue, you cry out so loud you are almost convinced everyone back in the Keep can hear you, not that you care. He moans against you, delicious vibrations making you cry out again.

His hand has been traveling closer and closer to your entrance, and you find yourself desperately moving your hips, urging him on. This time, he obliges without teasing, seeming as if he couldn’t pull away from you if he wanted to.

He groans along with you as he slips a finger inside of you, stretching you gently. He takes his time here, too, slowly pumping his finger in and out, committing to memory every place that makes you gasp and writhe until he finds that spot. He adds another finger, focusing on the sensitive place inside of you. Your eyes screw shut as he curls his fingers in time with his tongue; he has turned you into a senseless mess.

The pleasure is too much. Every muscle in your body tenses before finally, you release. Your back arches as you cry out, thighs trapping Geralt in place as you ride out wave after wave of pleasure until finally your body goes slack and you fall back against the grass, breathing heavily.

For a moment, Geralt doesn’t move, yellow eyes drinking in the sight of you lying there slowly coming back to your senses. When your breathing has somewhat returned to normal, he slowly kisses up your body until he reaches your lips, capturing you in a kiss that seems to last forever, but still not long enough. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it drives you mad.

You are already reaching down, desperately and clumsily attempting to yank off his pants, wanting there to be nothing between the two of you. He helps you with the task, kicking off his boots and tossing his remaining clothing to the side. You watch him, eyes committing every muscle and every scar to memory, and finally you allow yourself to look lower.

It takes you a moment to realize that you’re staring, eyes wide as you consider the size of him. Not that you have anything to compare it to, but he is huge, and, considering the only thing that had been inside you before this day are your own fingers, you shiver at the thought of it. He lowers himself back onto his elbows, eyes finding yours as he brushes stray strands of hair from your sweat-soaked forehead as you blink up at him through your lashes, chewing your lower lip, feeling equal parts nervous and impatient.

As your heart hammers in your chest, he leans down to press his lips against the sensitive spot at the crook of your neck, positioning himself between your legs. You whimper as he teases you with the head of his large cock, sliding it from your entrance to your clit and back again, pausing there when all you wanted was for him to push himself inside you.

And all at once, he does. You draw in a sharp breath at the mix of pain and pleasure. He holds still for a moment, letting you adjust to the size of him. You hadn’t thought it’d feel this good. You’d not had much in the way of women to tell you about things like this here at Kaer Morhen. Most of what you learned, you learned from the boys – and you’d learn to take anything you heard from them with a grain of salt. But this – gods. It felt like pure bliss.

Finally, he slowly drew out and thrust back in again, groaning into the space between your neck and shoulder. By his third thrust, you were already raising your hips to meet his, wanting more, faster, harder. But Geralt was taking his time, despite your fingers raking his back, leaving red marks that could be mistaken for claw marks, in all honesty.

“Geralt,” his name spills from your lips in something between a sigh and a moan. He responds by kissing your neck, then moving up to kiss your lips, the two of you lying there, drinking each other in, hips moving harder and faster as he fills you up over and over again, somehow hitting every single spot inside of you, making you whimper beneath him.

You are both sweating, breathing heavily, and clawing at each other as if your lives depend on exploring every part of one another. His thrusts are even, though. A perfect rhythm that has you repeating his name over and over like a prayer. Each time, he hits that spot, and you feel that tightening in your belly, like a coil. And then, all of a sudden, it snaps, and you are lost in a sea of pleasure.

He finishes almost immediately after you, thrusts growing more and more sporadic as he finishes inside you.

The two of you lay there, half-clothed but unworried. No one will stumble upon you out here. Code be damned, you are in love. And for tonight, you are just that – not two people about to undergo the Trials, not a future Witcher and Witcheress – just two young lovers, all tangled up together, staring up at a sky fully of stars, watching the moon rise over the Snow Pine Mountains.

Taglist: @fairytale07, @geeksareunique, @jesseswartzwelder, @haru-ririchiyo, @unnamedmaincharacter, @lazilyscentedwerewolf, @stretchkingblog97, @curlyhairedandconfused, @valkyriepuff, @comicbeginning, @alwayshave-faith, @hp-hogwartsexpress, @angelic-kisses13, @holyhumorliteraturelight, @nogitsunelichen

(Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

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incomeb2-blog · 4 years

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Your salary doesn't make you wealthy, Your investment will.

IncomeB

Economists always imply that you don't ever have only one source of income, this can be even more applicable in a recession. There are always good reasons for you to have multiple streams of income. Records of fiscal both crypto and traditional financial documents reveal an unpleasant outcome for people who rely on just one source of income instead of learning several ways to make money online.

online investment

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Our Independent Project

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Why Pharma Remains Particular

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Virtually anybody can decide to invest with as low as $50 and receive a daily yield of 1.25% for 365 days. Investors may also get a 10% bonus each time they refer an investor .

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There are ambitious plans set up for this particular project. In the second portion of 2020, we will release our Ethereum-powered smart token. This will be along with other major announcements but the tentative token will be priced at 0.0025 USD together with the launching date adjusted for November 2020.

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Token

A superb service or product is the one that links the customers to the future.

Even though a lot of controversies are hovering around the state and nature of cryptocurrencies, what's incontrovertible is they will ascertain the future of financial transactions.

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The plan in place would be to set our cryptocurrency towards the end of 2020, specifically around November when the window is going to be opened for everyone to earn money and crypto invest. It is going to also be released with our white paper which is visible on the roadmap. Stakeholders can get free tokens by taking part in the investment program, see more information in the How It Works section. Extra details about the token will be published soon on this site so please watch out.

We're taking time to come out with a correct token and it is because we are coming up with a strong digital token that we have placed the launch time to be around the end of 2020. We aren't rushing to provide a less-than-perfect cryptocurrency however we need something that will last and give us exactly the value we want.

Those with goals make it in life because they know exactly where their destination is and they also produce and design on how best to achieve those aims. Also, every venture on how to purchase and where to spend has its own goal and vision, which can only be reached by implementing a strategy. Like other investment firms, there is a road map in place to guide at every stage.

Our roadmap is a well thought out plan and a compass which guides us directly towards our goal. This roadmap helps us to identify what to concentrate on, as nothing can be achieved without focus. With this roadmap, we never lose focus, and eventually, we could achieve all of the goals that have been outlined.

Various people have different outcomes when it comes to the world of investments. Some have been in a position to make huge gains in regards to investing here and there. Then others ended up with nothing but massive losses. There are all sorts of investment firms but not everyone knows where to make investments.

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There's most likely no era or time period when one ought to have a second income than now. You have to seriously learn how to spend money and make huge profits in the form of secondary income and a very good return on investment. For those who are asking themselves where do I invest my money or people who aren't certain of which investment plans 2020 to execute, IncomeB will be the best bargain for them all.

Although now we can't name these on our management group, our status as a good stealth startup is undamaged. We're adopting this manner so that we could carefully implement the very best principles of wealth direction.

One of the secrets of the wealthy people, compared with the poor, is the former can afford money a lot better than the bad. Wealth and its direction are why some are rich and others are in poverty. Making money is one thing but being in a position to handle and grow those monetary assets is another thing completely.

What's a Stealth Start-Up?

To describe it in the simplest of terms, a stealth startup is a kind of startup company that deliberately shies away from all kinds of marketing -- for various reasons.

As hinted before from the home page of the site, we're best defined as a biopharma startup and we are largely into early-stage research and development (better called R&D) of pharmaceuticals. Our clients are primarily Big Pharma companies. Working at the stealth mode is common in the pharma sector, especially for those from the research and development part. Instead of making noise throughout the place, they gently focus on their research work, softly enter into partnerships and wait until a perfect product is prepared prior to going public with it.

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camgirlsurvivalguide · 5 years

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Why a mask won’t save you

Aside from “how do I cam”, the question I get asked the most often is some variation of “can I cam with a mask on”. I’ve talked about this on the blog several times, I’ve mentioned it in YouTube videos, hell I’ve screamed it from the rooftops at this point. All sass and sarcasm aside (because even I don’t think it’s funny to roast people about this question anymore; I’m too tired lol), it’s clearly a valid question if it gets asked so often - and I think there is more to it than just responding with the TOS, or simply laying out the reality of camming and the absolute ignorance it takes to think you can make a decent income without revealing your own face. I’ve been thinking a bit about an additional layer to the mask ask, which I figured is something worth sharing here on the Guide today.

Let’s just do a little recap for the newbies, in case anyone reading is still curious:

Q: “Can I cam without showing my face? Can I wear a mask, or dress up with wigs and contact lenses so people won’t know it’s me?” A1: No, camming without showing your face is against the Terms of Service because you sign up for a cam site with your own ID, and hiding your identity makes it difficult for the site to know the individual streaming matches their ID. A2: No, because members on a cam site are often looking to connect with the cam model, and hiding your face makes it very difficult for an individual to feel connected to you in any way.

A3: No, because you can’t expect to make sex worker money and not ever be pegged as a sex worker.

I get it: we all want some degree of privacy. I don’t think any camgirl would readily share her home address or her real first and last name just for funzies, because we all know the potential repercussions; we don’t want to be stalked, outed to our offline communities, or be harmed in any way. But there’s a good reason why people are coming to a sex worker blog, asking a sex worker whether or not they can be a sex worker without being a sex worker: it’s because they want to access their perception of “easy money” without becoming a target for stigma. Essentially, they want our cash without having to fight our fight.

Whether this is something they’re consciously aware of or not, it’s true. There’s money to be made on other platforms where you don’t need to take your clothes off. There’s Twitch, there’s YouTube, hell there’s Instagram if you can hustle the advertiser/brand thing well enough to pay the bills -- but the individuals asking me if they can cam while 100% concealing their faces, their most identifiable feature, are looking specifically toward camming because they think it’s a faster or easier way to make cash.

Cam money is not easy money. Sex work is not easy work. You cannot expect to succeed in this industry if you’re not willing to associate your face, at all, with your brand because your face is your brand when it comes to connecting with others, and camming is almost entirely about providing a connected experience to paying viewers. Don’t become a cam model if you don’t want to be a cam model -- and by that, I mean don’t become a cam model if all you��re looking for is this idea of fast, easy money. Especially not if you’re terrified at the thought of ever being associated with this industry, because you recognize that we’re stigmatized as shit but you want to access the “lifestyle” a very select few of us have without bearing the markings.

Obviously plenty of us got into sex work because we needed money, and I’m sure there are plenty of successful camgirls who became camgirls not because they were interested in showing their bodies or fucking themselves online but because they needed to make a living - but there has to be some part of you that’s interested in this line of work, enough to take some pretty significant risks, for camming to work for you.

Being outed sucks. It’s happened to me twice, and both times it’s had some awful fucking consequences; worse than some, not as bad as many, many others, but consequences none the less. I’ve lost a steady, full time job, I’ve lost friends, I’ve lost opportunities at school that I’ve worked for years to achieve. I am sure that I will lose more things in the future, because stigma is a cruel bitch and the risks associated with this job are not separate from me regardless of how much I deserve something, how “good” I am, how much or how little I show my body. Still, I show my face -- not just because I have to (which I do), but also because I take pride in this job. I go by another name, and I keep certain parts of myself private of course - but at the same time, I allow myself to be vulnerable, and I accept that my profit comes at a price.

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umbrahighpriestofgiratina · 6 years

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Rude Awakening Chapter 10

Welp. Here it is. The final chapter other than the epilogue I'm planning. It's quite the finale, I enjoyed putting it together, and I hope you enjoy reading it: Chapter 10: Endgame

Palkia was in a huddle around a table with both her group and Lucina's group. Even Wuzzles was looking over the maps and charts with curiosity. "Okay," said Palkia. "Does everyone know the plan so far?" There were murmurs of agreement among the group. "Alright. Dialga, Lucina, you two had that thing, right?" "Yes, we did," said Lucina. "We should be able to consult with Naga shortly," said Dialga. "Excellent," said Palkia. "Then let's roll." ------- Naga was resting, meditating. Then she opened her eyes and saw Lucina and Dialga, the latter in his dragon form, there. "Dialga! And... Exalt Lucina?" Lucina stared in awe and then bowed. "Oh Lady Naga, it is a most esteemed honor to be in your presence! Let me recite the holy rites of-" ~You can skip it, me and Naga are on good terms,~ said Dialga. "Indeed we are," said Naga. "What brings you here?" "I have a plan," Lucina said. "A plan to stop Grima. But I need your and Dialga's help." "And what exactly do you need?" said Naga. "I read you know a ritual. A ritual to alter the course of time." Naga's eyes widened. "That ritual is extremely dangerous... It could undo all of reality if performed incorrectly..." "I know. But it could be our only hope." "A suggestion, if I may?" said Dialga. "What is it?" said Naga. "Really, I'm a firm believer that the only way to do time travel is to not do time travel," said Dialga. "But! There's one relatively less messy way to do it." "And that would be?" said Lucina. "We create an alternate timeline. We can't save this one... but we can save another, just like it, and start over." "That's... Crazy enough to work." said Naga. "If I can save my father and his friends that way... I suppose it will work," said Lucina. "Excellent. Now hold on..." said Dialga. He closed his eyes, then telepathically reached out to Palkia. ~Sister? We may begin Stage 2.~ --------------- Grima looked out over his desolate domain. Risen dominated the landscape and the skies were gloomy. It was perfect. His human body sat back and chuckled. He was content. The world could spiral further into entropy and he'd just lau- ...Wait. What was that noise? It started soft, but it grew louder, louder, and it soon became apparent that it was some sort of strange... music? Whatever it was it was agony to Grima's ears, and he recoiled and writhed, not noticing his Risen were being drawn towards the noise. ----- The Risen were drawn to an enormous, elaborate dance floor. Sitting there at the DJ table were Giratina and Wuzzles. Giratina raised a claw to greet the incoming Risen. "Yo! You all ready to par-tay?" The Risen gave gurgles and groans reminiscent of cheers. "Well let's get rocking!" Wuzzles turned on a disco ball and lights, and the Risen all started dancing to the tune of Mahna Mahna. ------------ Around the world, survivors took notice of the lack of Risen. They ventured out of bunkers, out of ruined homes, in awe of what was happening. And they were all startled when hoop-like portals appeared near each of them, and a visage of an enormous dijin-like creature appeared in their minds. ~Yo! If you wanna get out of this mess escape is that-a-way!~ said Unbound Hoopa. The people hesitated. ~Let me put it this way... You either accept the help of this giant monster... or let the other giant monster continue killing you all. Your choice.~ With that the people started filing into the portals. ~That'll do it! Just don't touch anything or I'll throw you right back out!~ ------------- The zombie dance party continued. The Risen were raving and grooving and busting moves. It was then Giratina gave a wink to Wuzzles, and Wuzzles pulled out and pressed a button. The dance floor caved in, and thousands if not millions of Risen were dropped into a swirling pit of darkness and blades below. ------------- In some other universe, several trucks wheeled up to a popular fast-food restaurant with a bell-shaped logo. Inside the trucks were a large number of boxes labeled "burito meet". The restaurant employees shrugged and started hauling it in. ----------- Grima recovered as the music faded. He gazed out in horror. The survivors he needed to purge, gone. His forces, decimated. He roared in unbridled rage. "Who did this?! Who has insulted me?! Show yourselves!" "Yoo-hoo!" Grima turned to find Palkia standing before his human form. "I'm back. And I'm here to kick your ass." "How do you dare hope to defeat me, worm?" "Oh, I'm no worm." She stretched and grew until she was in her dragon form. "You killed my best friend in this world. You killed almost all of my friends in this world period. I'm taking you down." "You dare challenge me, false god?" said Grima. "How hilarious. Do your best." His dragon head lunged at Palkia. Palkia responded in kind. ---------------- The children of the Shepherds were all gathered together. Lucina, Naga, Panne, Virion, Libra, and Dialga were looking over them all. "Okay... We seem to have everyone," said Lucina. "...Wait," said Naga. "Where's Morgan?" "Oh!" said Virion. "She said she had to use the restroo-" He squinted off into the distance. "...Oh no." ------- The battle between Palkia and Grima raged on. Grima snapped his jaws and fired bursts of dark energy while Palkia fired orbs of water and sliced with spatial rifts. It was during one of these exchanges, however, that the two heard a noise. "Hey! Jerkface!" The two turned to see a third dragon, hovering nearby. "Guess what? I'm not afraid anymore!" Grima roared and snapped his jaws at Morgan. Morgan quickly darted out of the way, and Palkia moved between them to keep his jaws pried open. "Morgan?!" said Palkia. "What are you doing here?!" "I didn't want to go with the others!" said Morgan. "I wanted to help you fight!" "Grima's dangerous! Leave this to me!" "And just run away?" "Fine! I go for the dragon body, you go for the human body!" With that, Morgan flew down, and confronted Grima's human vessel. "My my my," he said, looking her over. "Look at how you've grown." "You... Dad..." said Morgan. "Enough with your petty sentimentalities," said Grima. "The line of Naga ends here." He conjured a lightning bolt and threw it at Morgan, who flew out of the way. "No!" said Morgan. "You're not my dad anymore and you killed my mom! You end here!" She unleashed a blast of draconic flame that scorched Grima's human body as he yelled in pain. This caused the dragon head to recoil, allowing Palkia to get in a decisive strike. "You still dare to defy me, false god?" "First off," said Palkia, "you're no god. You're a parasite, one that ate someone who cared about me and who I cared about back from the inside out." "The old me was always destined to be subsumed by the true me... Oh, the pathetic little thing fought so hard to avoid it in so many ways.. But I am always the one to emerge victorious in the end. I always find a way." "From what I see your way always involves subterfuge, manipulation, and cold-blooded murder. A showoff, yeah, but nothing special. You're pathetic." She gave a draconic grin. "Second of all... I'm more of a god than you'll ever be. And let me show you exactly how." With that, her body flashed, and Grima's vision was overwhelmed by light. -------------- Space. Infinite amounts of space. Floating within the space were cosmic pearls of various colors and sizes, but all too massive for any mind to comprehend. And yet Grima was being forced to comprehend it, this true form of Palkia's, this raw embodiment of space that made him squirm and scream in agony. His mind had been thoroughly been cracked open. And that was more than enough for a telepathic force to sneak inside. ------------ Palkia was in a void. In her human form she tiptoed around the darkness until she came across a sight that made her heart stop. There was Robin, chained, helpless. His eyes were closed. Palkia ran over to him. "R-Robin! I knew it, I knew you were still in here somehow, some way..." Robin's eyes slowly opened, and opened wide upon seeing Palkia. "V-Valentina?! Is that you? I... Still exist?" "Yes, you do, Robin! Please, we have to get out of here..." "N-No, I can't... I deserve oblivion, I ''want'' oblivion... Please go, Valentina, it will spare us both so much pain..." "Robin, no... Y-you can't give up like this... Grima is not you, he never was you..." "It's too late... I've let him consume me and all I was utterly... No one would want me to go back even if I could... I'm sorry, Valentia, at least... This way... In... a twisted sense... I'm at... peace..." Robin's eyes closed again. Palkia clenched her fist. When her fist opened there was a strange orb of gold light inside. "Here... Robin... Live to the promise Chrom asked of you... Escape..." She touched the orb of gold light to Robin's forehead, where it sunk in and was absorbed. Tears streamed down her face. "You most likely won't remember me if you do... But I don't care... I just want you to be happy again..." There was another flash of light. ------ Grima recoiled and yelled, while Palkia backed off. "Ugh... Fool! You cannot stop me with your tricks! Defying me is futile!" Palkia shrugged. "I don't know, it's a good distraction?" "...Wait, what?" His dragon head looked around. Then his eyes locked on a pinprick of light in the distance. "No... No!" ----------------------- A massive portal had been opened, the children of the Shepherds about to file inside. Virion and Libra hugged Nah and Noire, while Panne talked to Yarne. "M-mom? I'm scared. Really scared." said Yarne. "Steady yourself," said Panne. "You have a duty to fulfill. Find me. Find your father. And you will be all right." "Okay mom..." They hugged. "Uh, guys?" said Dialga. "You may want to hurry up!" The children turned to see Grima and the remaining Risen heading their way. "Everybody now!" said Lucina. In unison, they all jumped in. Dialga, Naga, Virion, Libra and Panne jumped out of the way as Grima and the Risen charged through the portal as well. The portal closed behind them as the ones left behind got to their feet. "Are they... Okay?" said Libra. "They may be scattered... but they will survive," said Naga. "It is in the hands of the people of the new timeline now." Giratina, Wuzzles, Hoopa, Palkia, and Morgan - the last in her human form - converged around the others. "They make it?" said Hoopa. "They did." said Panne. Suddenly, cracks started appearing in the sky. "Wha- what's happening?" said Virion. "This universe... It's dying." said Naga. "Dying?!" said Palkia. "No, it can't be..." "It has been coming a while," said Naga. "With Grima's rise most of the old gods have moved on. I was one of the only ones left. And that ritual consumed most of my power even with Dialga's help. You all need to get out of here at once." "No... Naga, we can't just leave you..." said Dialga. Naga's hands glowed. "I'm sorry Dialga. I love you." There was a flash. ---------------- Everyone found themselves in the Temporal Dimension, Dialga's home. Of the party, however, Naga was nowhere to be seen. "No..." said Dialga. "No, no, no!" He tried to charge away from the others, only for Palkia and Giratina to restrain him. "Let go! I need to save her! I need to stop this! Why won't... you... let me?!" He let out an unholy screech as the stripes on his body glowed a deep orange and the gem on his chest burned red. "Dialga... please... Stop..." said Palkia. "Bro... Please..." said Giratina. "Uncle Dialga!" said Morgan. Upon hearing her voice the glow on his body faded. "...What... what is it?" said Dialga. "I know grandma Naga is... gone... But you can't lose hope. We've gotten so far. We made the new timeline and saved Lucina's friends. And... wherever we are I hope you can show me around." Dialga paused. He turned to Morgan and gave a faint smile. "...I suppose I will." And everyone moved to rest. ***

So yeah. That's that. I'd give thoughts on the whole experience writing this fic but I'll save that for the epilogue.

#pokemon #fire emblem #fanfiction #palkia #grima #yangverse

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