#manny suffering: ITS FINE ITS FINE

[fauvester]

manny caught between wanting to defend Rivera machismo and also grappling with the idea that his boyfriend thinks his dad is kind of a babe (CRINGE!)

inspired by nicktoonsunite tumblr TM TM TM. including the Manny would absolutely think vlad is danny's dad concept

[let-us-cultivate-our-garden]

What's yout opinion on these two Owl House analysis posts (sending them in another ask)

Thank you for the links. Just for future reference though, that blog blocked me awhile back for reasons I can only guess at so I had to find another way to read the posts.

My biggest issue with these kinds of analyses is how it really has to ignore how toh executes its themes and rely on historical and political realities and awkwardly tie it to the show.

Belos may be a metaphor for colonization and oppression but good luck finding anything consistent in the show to actually demonstrate that. Belos may have been inspired by fundamentalists conservatives and he may speak like one, but on a societal level, the Boiling Isles is not a good representation of a world run by a religious zealot.

There are no wild witches that are routinely persecuted; Eda is able to walk around openly (save for one episode) with no fear of being arrested, Luz is able to multi-track despite Bump's initial misgivings about the EC potentially withdrawing funding from the school (something that never happens) no one actually treats the Titan like a divine entity despite Belos' reign being founded on that very premise, and the citizens are allowed to openly defy the emperor's potential execution of Eda--despite being the living embodiment of everything the people of the Boiling Isles are taught to fear.

There is one rule in the isles: no wild magic.

Outside of that, witches are free to live as they wish. Joining a coven is seen more like choosing a career path and not something one must do or risk ostracization. Eda doesn't suffer because she's a wild witch. Not really. The narrative focuses more on her curse and how she isolated herself because of that and had to turn to crime to make ends' meet.

Because of this, it's difficult to really discuss Belos as a metaphor for colonization when the islands don't suffer or at least the show doesn't demonstrate why joining a coven is bad outside it being a requirement. So really the theme is freedom of choice rather than "the oppressed must overthrow the oppressor."

It's Belos' status as a Puritan that's doing the heavy-lifting in any kind of post that makes the claim that toh is about colonization. Which is why so many of these posts fall back on meta-analysis and tossing in historical references rather than what actually happens in the show.

As for Luz being an immigrant to the Boiling Isles....I mean I guess? The problem is that Luz never learns to appreciate the BI on its own terms because everything is handed to her; the issue of humans not being able to eat the BI's food is dropped early and the only threats she faces are scammers. A better depiction of a girl-going-to-a-fantasy world-as-an-immigrant metaphor is Amphibia, in which Anne learns the culture and customs of Wartwood and even earns the title of Frog of the Year because of her progress and growth. We never get anything like that with Luz because Bonesborough doesn't have a distinct identity like Wartwood does. We don't get to know recurring side characters outside of Luz's clique at Hexside. Luz doesn't even work as an immigrant in Gravesfield because her problem isn't framed due to her heritage, the focus is on her overenthusiasm for Azura. Camila doesn't struggle fitting in because she's Dominican (and no, letting her hair get curly again is weak because it's literally the only example of her possibly changing herself to fit in). Her struggle is tied to her daughter and the grief they share over Manny's passing. So there's no evidence of the Nocedas having to "submit" to the dominant culture of Gravesfield because we don't know what Gravesfield's culture is. There's no oppression and Vee gets along fine despite coming from another dimension.

Finally, as for Luz's angst over being like Belos--that her anger makes her like him. Yeah no, this is weak. First of all, this is the first time that she expresses concern over being like him due to her anger. In the previous two episodes, the concern was that she "helped" Belos find the Collector and is therefore responsible for his rise and the subsequent centuries of suffering. Then, she's worried about always making mistakes and how that leads to more people being hurt. Next, in her nightmare sequence, she fears her friends secretly hate her because she helped Belos and is the cause of all this suffering so she might as well be him.

But now, her fear is being like him because she wanted the Collector to blast him and that Belos' desire to save humanity is uncomfortably close to her own.

Sorry what?

Luz previously rejected Belos's stated goal of saving humanity in King's Tide when she called him out on his hypocrisy. At every encounter, Luz calls Belos out on his bullshit, why is it now does she seriously consider that his goals are similar to her own?

Oh, so the Titan can alleviate her fears, validate her by calling her a "good witch," and throw out all the recent development of Belos' character and motivations because don't worry, he's not genuine. He's just a Symbol so we can ignore the hints of his backstory making him a more complicated character. (And believe me, Belos' story is just vague enough that you could interpret him in any number of ways).

To conclude, I've noticed a trend in fan posts that develop a conclusion and work backwards from there, taking what they want from the show that fits to support their idea and ignore everything else. It's terrible analysis even if some good points are made.

[karmas-chameleon]

A short in which Manfred gets surgery finally.

...He also bites a guy.

It was only a matter of time after Manfred and I were married and after he told me about the true reason behind his shoulder scar that I pushed him to take action. I wouldn't sit by and let him live the rest of his life with a bullet embedded in his body, not when I'd seen the physical aches it caused him and the mental pain of holding onto a constant reminder of his regrets. It took months of pleading just to get him to a doctor for the first appointment, but eventually we had everything worked out, and a surgery scheduled.

There was little the operation could do for my husband physically. Unfortunately, over two decades of tissue damage and scar buildup had done its work, and the aches he suffered were unlikely to leave. But that didn't mean surgery was pointless - aside from any psychological benefit, removing the bullet could prevent any potential damage from it in the future. It was practically a miracle that the thing had sat still and intact for so long, but the possibility for it to shift and begin leaching into his bloodstream remained.

I was with him for every step of the process. All the way from appointments to the eventual surgery, I sat by his side, and I would've followed him into the operating room if I was allowed. Instead, I had to sit outside in the waiting room after giving Manfred a quick kiss that I prayed wouldn't be my last.

Hours passed by, slowly as I'd ever felt them. He would be fine, I told myself over and over again, trying to ignore the voice of my anxiety which insisted otherwise. He would be happy and healthy and we could both begin to move beyond this operation and all it entailed. No more regrets, no more reminders.

“Mrs. von Karma?”

I shot up from my seat and rushed over to the door where a nurse stood, poking just out of the door I wasn't allowed through. She didn't look particularly happy.

“Yes? Is Manfred alright?” I asked, and at least some of my anxiety must've shown through on my face as the nurse quickly nodded her head.

“Oh, yes, the surgery's done, your husband is in the recovery room right now. It's just-” she glanced behind her, then back to me with an even more worried expression, “he’s a bit…agitated. We sedated him as much as we could, but…I was hoping you might be willing to come and talk to him. Try to calm him down.”

I stared blankly at her. “Uh, sure.”

“Great, follow me.”

I was hurried through the door and down the hall to a room with Manfred inside. I could tell where he was before I even saw the room's entrance, as I heard his shouting (although heavily slurred) echoing down the hallway.

“Where's the evidence!? I haven't lost a trial in forty years, do you think I'm going to lay down and-”

The door opened mid-shout, and both Manfred and another hospital employee turned to us. The former was tied down to his bed with a sling on his arm and considerably more restraints than the last time I saw him, and the latter was clutching at his hand and glaring at the nurse leading me inside.

“He bit me!” the man snapped. “Your plan better work. I'm out of here.”

He stormed past me as I approached a rather disheveled Manfred. Even after his outburst and apparent act of assault, he looked exhausted, his eyes half closed and focused on nothing but the air around him. I tried placing my hand over his, but he tensed up and pulled away with what little strength he had.

“Manfred?” I said softly. “It's alright, I'm here.”

His head fell onto his pillow and he muttered, “Where is it? The evidence? I can't let him…he can't have it.”

I stared at him for a moment before realizing what he was talking about - the evidence he was worried about losing was what he'd gone into surgery to remove, and whatever he'd been given to either dull the pain or calm him down had muddled his mind entirely.

“The trial is already over, Manny. You won.”

“I…won?”

“Mm-hmm. You don't need to worry about that anymore, okay?”

“...It’s over?”

“All over. You're safe now.”

Manfred closed his eyes, appearing to have lost the will to fight, and I reached over to fix his disheveled hair. Fortunately for my hand, he allowed me to touch him without complaint or resistance. When he looked neat enough, I leaned down and kissed him on the forehead.

As I pulled back, I saw his eyelids fluttering as though he was just waking up, and he focused his gaze on me for the first time. Then, he looked down at the restraints on his body.

“Why am I tied down?” His voice sounded far clearer, if still a bit tired.

I smiled at him. “You, er, wanted to hold onto some evidence. And you fought very hard for it.”

Manfred looked back and forth between me and the nurse standing a good distance behind me, and frowned. “...Oh my. Was I that much of a hassle?”

I heard nothing from the nurse, and let out a nervous laugh which my husband sighed at. He closed his eyes again.

“Everything's going to be alright, Manny. You just have to wait in the hospital for a little while longer, and then we can go home and forget all about this.” I held his hand and felt him squeeze mine back. “Just try to take it easy for a bit, okay?”

Manfred's eyes opened halfway, and I feared he'd try and protest any orders to rest, whether they came from a doctor or his wife. But the sedatives put into him seemed to overpower even the greatest workaholic tendencies, at least for the moment.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said quietly.

I bent down and kissed him with a smile. “Love you, Manny.”

[avelera]

for the fic writer ask thingy, 3 and 18?

also, 19 but only if you really really wanna, no pressure?

3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

It's often the one I've just finished but at the moment, I'm quite fond of "Giving Sanctuary" since it's recently complete and the longest thing I've ever written! I also really enjoyed writing "Banana Daiquiris" and have flirted with writing a second chapter, but that one's so dependent on cracking myself up with Dreamling/Retired-Dream humor that I don't really sit down to write I just sort of let it go at its own pace as ideas occur to me.

18 . What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

Oftentimes my favorite lines are ones that my readers enjoy. I put a LOT of thought into almost every line but I don't fall in *love* with a line until a reader tells me it was meaningful for them too. I probably have at least one favorite line per chapter in Giving Sanctuary but...

Well, if I'm going to be particularly evil, I mentioned in ch. 6 that Robyn's chapter made me cry while writing it. But this is the line where I had to pause writing because I was crying so hard:

"Robyn leaned down and kissed the top of Hob’s head, the moment overlaid with another memory: Robyn as a toddler kissing a bump on Hob’s head, All better. And it was Robyn as a young man, laughing at how his father was now shorter than him, kissing the top of his head to demonstrate, See? Suppose that makes me the man of the house now."

The "All better." is what killed me. Because toddlers can be so sweet with how they try to kiss a cut or a bruise better, when they try to start taking care of others in return. And I just imagined Hob raising his son and something silly happening, bumping his head somehow, maybe while playing with his son, and baby Robyn trying to kiss his immortal father better, and then what it would be like to watch that baby grow up and then to lose him... I don't have children but the devastation of that thought of raising a child only to lose them as an adult but still far too soon just gutted me. Giving Sanctuary the story is so based in the longterm pain Hob and Dream are suffering from losing their children, even decades or millennia after they died, so it was really important not just to show that pain but show it well enough to experience it for the premise to fully work that for any flaws they might have as parents (on Dream's part) or as people (on Hob's part) and no matter how different Hob and Dream are as people from each other, they are both laid low by this particular pain such that it bridges the gap between them.

Also I'm just a complete sucker for characters needing to kiss a loved one goodbye forever. Guts me every single time. Nevertheless, even I was surprised to start crying while I wrote something. That was new.

19. And here's a cheeky little glimpse of "Keeping Sanctuary" ;3

Hob swore under his breath and wrestled with the button on his shirt cuff. His books and papers lay in neat stacks before him on his desk, the larger folio finely bound (and he would know), the single hand-written page tucked away within the cover. The morning light of late spring streamed through the diamond-patterned windows of the Manor House, promising a warm and relatively cloudless day, for England. 

Speaking of the house…

“Manny, could you be a mate and help me with this, please?” Hob sighed and held out his right hand with the trailing sleeve. “I swear the buttons get smaller every year.” 

It was a testament to the year he’d spent living at the borders of Dream’s kingdom and all its accompanying wonders that Hob no longer jumped out of his skin whenever one of his eldritch servants or, in this case, the spirit of the Manor House himself who was technically Hob’s servant, appeared out of thin air. 

“I’ve no idea why you’ve worked yourself into such a state this morning, Robert. You judge yourself far more harshly than Lord Morpheus ever would,” the Manor House, or Manny as Hob had begun to call the House originally as a joke, which unfortunately had stuck. 

[byneddiedingo]

Vera Miles, Henry Fonda, and Anthony Quayle in The Wrong Man (Alfred Hitchcock, 1956) Cast: Henry Fonda, Vera Miles, Anthony Quayle, Harold J. Stone, Charles Cooper, John Heldabrand, Esther Minciotti. Screenplay: Maxwell Anderson, Angus MacPhail. Cinematography: Robert Burks. Art direction: Paul Sylbert. Film editing: George Tomasini. Music: Bernard Herrmann. Alfred Hitchcock's docudrama The Wrong Man is not so anomalous in his career as his rather portentous introduction suggests: It may be based on an incident about a real Manny Balestrero, but there are lots of wrongly accused men in his movies, and this time he simply landed on one who happened to be an actual person. And Hitchcock's gravitation to the theme of undeserved punishment and consequent mental anguish (in this case Rose Balestrero's) was something we could expect from him if we knew of the trauma caused by the notorious childhood incident in which his domineering father had the local constabulary lock young Alfred in a jail cell for five minutes. The lesson learned was less "be a good boy" than "fear the cops," who loom large in many of his films. But the real novelty of The Wrong Man is its tone: There's virtually no leavening of gloom in the film by the usual Hitchcockian humor. Only at the very ending, when we are assured that Manny and Rose and the kids moved to Florida and lived happily ever after, is there any attempt to mitigate the rather oppressive quality of the black-and-white, location-shot tale of the struggling Balestreros. And anyone who knows much about the difficulty of "curing" depression, which Rose suffers from, is likely to feel a little skeptical about that. That said, it's a very good film, making especially fine use of Henry Fonda -- his only appearance for Hitchcock -- whose naturally haunted look is a perfect fit for the victimized Balestrero. Vera Miles, whom Hitchcock was grooming as a replacement for Grace Kelly after her recent elevation to Princess of Monaco, gives a convincing performance as Rose, managing to suggest that her depression was in the cards even before Manny's arrest. The realism of the Balestreros' financial struggle is also well-handled, as is the climactic revelation of the "right" man, accomplished by a double exposure in which he walks into and fills the image of Balestrero in closeup. For me, the other only false note besides the oversimplified happy ending is the invocation of religion as a cure to Manny's dilemma: Mama Balestrero's (Esther Minciotti) urging him to pray for strength and his gaze at a rather kitsch picture of Jesus is too swiftly followed by his deliverance. It turns a serious emotional and spiritual struggle into a cliché as old as the movies. The Wrong Man has been favorably compared to Robert Bresson's A Man Escaped (1956), a distinction I don't think it quite merits, but then what film does?

[abbysfrenchbraid]

So today’s my birthday I was was wonder if we could get some strap on birthday sex with Abby please👉🏾👈🏾

Happy Birthday!!! Okay, I just speed wrote this in the last two hours and I had no time to proofread because I need to leave in three minutes but here you go. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: heavy smut, strap on, language

Birthday Sex

The first thing you felt when you woke up was the sunshine caressing your face and bare chest, welcoming you back into consciousness and predicting a wonderful day for you. Then you noticed the heavy arm lying across your stomach and the soft breath on your neck, your lover snuggling up to you in her sleep. You turned your head slightly to look at the beautiful blonde laying beside you. Her braid had come undone in the night and her hair was falling over her freckled shoulders, forming paths on her muscular back and her small, pale breasts. 

Abby hummed when you tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gently placed a kiss on her forehead. She pulled you closer and buried her face in the crook of your neck. 

“Good morning, birthday girl.” 

She slid a thigh between your legs and rolled her hips against you, slowly kissing up your throat.

“How did you sleep, my love?”

You giggled at the tickle of her hair against your skin.

“I always sleep like a baby next to you, Abby. You’re just so big and warm and cuddly.”

The blonde slowly kissed her way upwards to your lips and continued to slowly grind against you until you opened your legs ever so slightly. Abby pulled back and grinned at you.

“Are you ready for your first present?”

“What present?” 

You had told Abby not to get you anything and instead wished for her to take a day off work and spend your birthday with you. She got up and stretched, the small muscles on her back dancing in the morning sun and her hamstrings and calves flexing as she stood on her toes to get a carton box off the top of the closet. Both of you had slept naked after a long night of drinking with Manny, Leah, and Nora and an even longer lovemaking session to celebrate the next year of your life.

The soldier sat down next to you on the bed and you sat up, excited to see what she had gotten you. Abby’s cheeks were a little flushed and she looked at you for a moment before dropping her gaze. 

“Thank you, baby.” You leaned forward and gave your flustered girlfriend a kiss, then you opened the box and let out a small yelp. “Oh my god, is that-”

It was a black silicone dildo laying on a nest of black straps - a harness?

You looked up at Abby in disbelief. She was grinning, now confident in her choice of gift. 

“Got it on that last patrol run with Leah. We found a sex store.”

You carefully took the toy out of the box, weighing it in your hand and testing the flexibility. It looked completely clean and new, without any signs of its age. It was a decent size, definitely bigger than two of Abby’s fingers. You had never used one of these before and were pretty sure Abby hadn’t either. 

“Do you know how to do this?”

The wolf leaned forward with a devilish grin. “I tried it on already. It fits perfectly. Now we just have to find out if you can fit it, too.” 

Her words hit you like a punch to your lower abdomen and you involuntarily pressed your legs together as you felt something awaken between your legs. You tried to laugh but it sounded shaky and you felt yourself crumble under Abby’s burning gaze. She let you suffer for a moment, then she took the dildo out of your hands, placed it back on top of the harness and pushed the carton aside. 

Crawling on top of you, she put her thigh back between your legs and pressed it against you, making you sigh with relief over the friction you had been needing ever since you woke up. Abby gently dragged her tongue along your jaw and bottom lip while she grabbed your leg and pulled it up to her side in order to get a better angle as she grinded against you, finally kissing you with an open mouth. Your tongues began dancing slowly, then faster as your breathing got louder and you grabbed a handful of long, blonde hair and pulled until Abby moaned into your mouth.

It took all your strength to throw the wolf over to the side and roll on top of her, pressing your hips against her and lightly choking her as you sat up and began riding her thigh. You let your hand wander over her chest and toned stomach, dragging your nails down her leg and back up, leaving red streaks on the soft, white skin on the inside of her thigh. 

Abby groaned and grabbed your waist, guiding your movements and slightly turning you to the side until your dripping core was right on top of her hot, red center. With a sigh, you dropped your weight on her and started grinding your pussy against hers until both of you were coated in each other’s juices. It began as a pulling sensation in your stomach, slowly building as you looked at your lover, beautifully spread out underneath you and breathing heavily in the same rhythm as you. Abby’s moans slowly started to gain volume and she pressed up her hips against you, grabbing you tight with one hand and raising the other to land on your asscheek with a hard slap. The sting made you cry out, letting your head drop as you rode her harder and harder, both of you close to release. You held on to Abby’s thigh and sunk your fingernails into her toned flesh when you heard her scream and felt her convulse underneath you, the sound of her pleasure finally sending you over the edge. A wave of heat and adrenaline rushed over you and your thighs shook uncontrollably as you fell forward onto your lover’s chest. 

Both of you lay in silence for a moment, shaky breath filling the room and the sun warming your naked bodies. You let yourself fall to the side to release Abby of your weight, but she immediately pulled you close and into a loving kiss. 

“Someone is hungry today. You didn’t even let me put on the strap first.” She smiled at you and placed her hand over your pulsating mound, making you squirm under her fingers and twitch from the overstimulation. 

“Who said you can’t still put it on for me?” You looked up at her innocently and pushed your hips forward into her touch, ignoring your screaming nerves and searching for more. 

Abby groaned. “It’s been two minutes. You have too much energy in the morning, babe.”

You pouted for a second until the blonde reached for the box at the bottom of the bed. She got up and took out the harness, pulling it tight around her hips and thighs and placing the dildo in the hold at the front. Staring at her perfectly toned body and the phallic toy that she was probably about to destroy you with, you could feel your dripping wet center become more heated with anticipation.

The wolf kneeled on the bed next to you and let her gaze wander over your naked body.

“You want me to warm you up first? I don’t want to hurt you.”

You thought about it for a second, but you knew you were more than ready and honestly just wanted Abby to fill you up and fuck you until you screamed. Holding her gaze, you slowly spread your legs and moved your hand down your body. When you spread your lips with your fingers for her, her eyes widened and you could see a wave of tension go through her body, small muscles and fingers flexing involuntarily. 

“Oh, I think I’ll be just fine. Now can you please come here and fuck me?”

The blonde finally pulled herself together and quickly positioned herself between your legs. She came onto her forearms left and right of your face and you dipped into your own wetness to coat the tip of the toy in your juices. Then you guided the tip towards your entrance and placed a hand on Abby’s ass, slowly pulling her towards you. 

When she entered you, the sensation was strange at first, cold and harder than the well-knowing fingers that usually made you cum in minutes or hours, depending on Abby’s mood and how much she wanted to torture you. When she was fully inside of you, she stopped for a minute and let you breathe and adjust, then she pulled out again and thrust into you with more force. Your fingers found yourself in Abby’s hair, twisting and pulling it, clawing at her neck and shoulders as she picked up the pace. This feeling was different than what you had known before, the pleasure originated from much deeper inside you and filled every single cell in your body. 

Abby was panting on top of you, a thin layer of sweat under your fingers as you dragged them down her back. She sat up and grabbed your hips, ramming into you from a deeper angle and you screamed out her name, arching your back and trying to find some kind of hold on the wall above your head. The wolf was merciless. She raised her hips and stood tall on her knees, pulled your legs up until only your shoulder blades were touching the bed and held you tight as she fucked you mercilessly, making you cry out with every stroke and grab the sheets until your knuckles were white. 

This time, your orgasm came suddenly. You had been so overwhelmed by the experience that you hadn’t noticed it building, your body gripping on tighter to the strap and your breathing becoming more and more rapid until it was suddenly smothered by a silent scream, your body tensing so much you could not even scream anymore. Beautiful chaos was exploding in front of your closed eyes, white heat was soaring through your body and you felt nothing but Abby on top of you, inside you, her hands all over you and her groans filling the room while you melted in her fingers. 

She slowly lowered you back down on the bed and pulled out of you, leaving you feeling like a hollow shell only filled by the breath in your lungs and the blood rushing through your veins. Your sweaty lover quickly discarded the harness and jumped on the bed to lie beside you, pulling you into her heated body and holding you tight. 

“You are incredible. I just came from watching you come,” she whispered into your hair.

You snuggled up even closer to her and looked up. 

“Seriously? I didn’t even notice.”

She snorted. 

“Of course you didn’t, you were paying a visit to god for a second there. I hope you’re satisfied for now because I’m absolutely wasted. I hate cardio, man.” 

You laughed and lightly pinched her waist. 

“You loved it, big girl. What’s for breakfast?” 

Abby stared at you in disbelief. “Will you give me a break? God, you’re insatiable. In every sense!”

You pulled up the blanket over both of you and gave her a peck on the lips. 

“Alright, 10 more minutes.” 

[poeticpains]

Weapon of Choice

Prompt Fill for the “Escape the Month” Prompt List by @thatotherothersideblog​ Day 16: Weapon Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Ships: The Detective | Matthew Patrick/The Record Producer | Manny MUA (Implied) Summary: Nikita can’t help but to remember the gun. It was her favorite color, after all.

Nikita used to like pink. 

It's bright, eye-catching, a fun pop of color to add to something or center her look around. She liked her bright fuchsia acrylics, a shock of magenta hair framing her face, the skintight bubblegum dress she wore that night. 

Nikita looks down at her makeup drawer, the tubes of her lipstick arranged in neat rows in their plastic holder in a gradient from the palest nudes to deep, burgundy reds. Pink is in the middle row, several different shades, ranging from a soft baby pink to an electric neon shade that she can't help but smile at. 

There's eyeshadow palettes stacked next to them, the one on top a trial she got from a brand to see if she liked it and wanted to work with them, and three of the seven shades are pinks. One of her eyeliners is hot pink. Her setting spray is in a pink bottle, and one of the makeup sponges wrapped in its sheer bag is, of course, pink.

Now, the color just reminds her of that goddamn gun.

Nikita closes her eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath, reaching out to steady herself by grabbing on to the edge of her vanity. She told herself she wouldn't think about it, but a promise to herself not to think about it doesn't really work when every single instance of the color pink makes her remember the fact that she killed her best friend. 

You did what you had to do, Matt had told her, but she saw the devastation in his eyes when she turned around and looked at him and Joey, their faces slack with shock. Of course they looked shocked; Matt and Manny had been pining after each another for the entire night, and she blew that away with a couple well-aimed (she tried her best to aim for the head, looking away as she pulled the trigger and hoping Manny didn't suffer) shots from a bright pink revolver. 

She can still feel the weight of it in her hands. Solid metal, recoiling each time she fired (one, two, three, four, five, six, please be enough, I can't pull the trigger again—) and causing her hands to jump with the force of it. The weapon even matched her dress, like it was always meant to be used by her. 

Manny's eyes were still open when he hit the floor. There was blood running down his face in rivulets, bright and red, and spreading across the white fabric of his straitjacket in seeping stains. She knows she shot six rounds, but there were four wounds, one on the side of his forehead and three scattered across his torso, the source of the blood. 

Nikita told him she loved him. She did. She does. Sometimes there's a part of her that wishes she had turned that gun on herself so she doesn't have to hear his voice begging her not to shoot him in her dreams. If she had died there instead of Manny, then all these emotions would be his problem. 

Then again, they're not her problem, either. She doesn't have a problem. She's fine. She's doing great. She's back to her old routine, her old life, and if she wants to puke at the smell of popcorn then that's nobody's problem but hers, and it's not a problem at all, really, because she never liked it that much, anyways. 

Get it together, Nikita tells herself sternly, looking up at her reflection in the mirror and gritting her teeth. She can just imagine Manny in the corner, examining his nails and smirking at her, telling her to get her shit together and go kick some ass.

Nikita takes another deep breath, tipping her head back to blink away tears before they can ruin her makeup, and then reaches for the neon pink lipstick.

[gerbiloftriumph]

The Silence Between Snowflakes

(also on ao3)

His name was Gwydion–but that wasn’t his name. He lived in Llewdor–but that wasn’t his home.

Alexander escapes Manannan’s grasp and flees to Daventry, hoping he might find a place that he might call home after years of loss and loneliness. While Daventry embraces him, loves him, shows him all the stories it has within it, the country is also suffering under the worst winter in memory. But it might not just be a hard season: there might be something out there, something chasing the lost prince. Something malevolent, intent on destroying the kingdom snowflake by snowflake, spreading a curse across the lands and infecting its king.

~*~*~

8/8

(1: Found Family)(2: Footprints)(3: The Stories that Really Matter)(4: A Rose Among Thorns)(5: Snowbound)(6: Fractals)(7: The Ice Queen)(8: Belonging)

~*~*~

The fixit fic didn’t include the ch4 prologue, because I didn’t see the point in writing it word for word. But just in case, maybe you might want a refresher on [Graham’s Lullaby.]

Seriously, again, special thanks to @captmickey and @theicemancometh for being my betas in part or in full. It wouldn’t have worked at all without you.

~*~*~

Each room in the tower was shrouded in ice. They looked like ordinary rooms, but with their contents replaced by strange facsimiles. He glimpsed a frozen table, frozen curtains, a frozen bed. The furnishings were all as one might expect, but they were cold. Cheerless and unwelcoming and flat and hard, and now he was paying attention, hauntingly familiar.

This was the tower, he knew without a shred of doubt, that had carried him, Valanice, and Valanice together through the clouds. Vee and Neese, his friends. Then, it had been cursed in a way that ensured its inhabitants could never leave. Now, it was cursed with ice, and it spread its curse boundlessly. It had taken on additional buildings and courtyards and walls as it had traveled. Whole huge rooms for its labyrinth. He wondered whose castle walls these had been. Whose courtyard had been stolen. That stable, those barracks, that lamppost. What had been lost to this traveling curse?

He thought of the sculptures of people, in their dizzying array of clothes and styles and features, frozen in the labyrinth, and he amended: who had been lost to this traveling curse?

Valanice...Icebella. Icebella had been lost to it.

Daventry was losing more to it by the moment. It was going to take his family next.

The guards pushed them into a small room and left them alone. The door locked behind them, a cold sound that reminded Graham nauseatingly of the prison he’d been locked in as a brand-new king, shivering and alone and afraid of the dark.

This room wasn’t a proper cell, at least. It was possibly a workroom of some sort, full of tables and chairs of a utilitarian nature. He tried to remember, twenty years ago, what this room would have been, but nothing came to mind. It was now filled with more of those frozen people-sculptures. People like Graham, people from other countries this castle had visited, cursed and frozen and dead.

Manny, recent addition to Icebella’s court, apparently hadn’t known about the ice curse itself spreading to people. Or, at least, hadn’t known the particulars, hadn’t seen an example of it in action. He had been surprised by Graham’s slow conversion. But it definitely wasn’t a secret now. He knew about the power of this place and he could do so much with it. Could freeze anything, anyone, who stood in his way. Steal the pieces of their countries he wanted, grafted onto the original tower like mashing clay toys together.

Did Icebella know how this curse worked? Could she stop it if she wanted, or had all these people frozen beneath her helpless hands? Had she acted maliciously or accidentally, or had she anything to do with this at all? Had it been something Hagatha had done, corrupting everything while Graham and Valanice just barely escaped?

Icebella....

He shivered, pacing to keep warm, the chattering of his teeth setting a rhythm. “We spent that whole spring together. She was Valanice’s best friend. She was at my wedding, Valanice’s maid of honor. She danced with us all through the night, laughed with the royal guards, loved us wholly.” The memories were warm, hazy, bathed in a golden glow of nostalgia and joy. But for the first time in years, he let himself really think about the time after that spring in Hagatha’s tower, this tower.

Somehow, he realized, the wedding was the last time they really spent time together as a trio. And even earlier than that, during the courtship of his soon-to-be-wife, she had stayed distant, less willing to spend time with them. She broke herself away from them, and they didn’t reach out to her as frequently or as hard as they ought to have.

“She wore gloves,” he muttered. “Even in fine weather. At the wedding. I never saw her hands after we left the tower. And I didn’t think. I didn’t ask. I should have thought. I should have noticed.” He stared at his own icy hand, locked up and clear and blue, and it hurt, a cold ache that gnawed his bones. And he wondered. Had he seen her shivering in the sunshine, had he dismissed it as a trick of the light?

“I should have known.”

And, in her fear of being alone, she had carved her own guards with her newfound ice magic in mimicry of Royal Guard Number One’s uniform, had kept a piece of Daventry close by her side, to protect her, even as she sank deeper and deeper into a curse, even as she forgot where the designs had come from, why they had ever mattered to her at all.

“I should have known.”

He paced, and paced, and his steps were slower, and slower, and his breathing grew laborious. The white clouds of condensation from breathing in cold weather were heavier, almost like dark little clouds full of snow. Like the curse was spreading through his chest, crystals spiderwebbing across his lungs.

He realized in his distraction he didn’t know where his son was. The room was small, but the young man was good at finding little nooks and crannies and burying himself in them. Graham found him curled in a corner behind a table, surrounded by reaching ice sculptures, clutching his head in his hands.

“Alexander?”

“Gwydion,” he whispered. “I’m Gwydion. That’s all I’ve ever been. All I’ll ever be. This is my fault. I knew I shouldn’t have come here. Everyone is going to die because of me.”

Lost. So lost. Alone and lost.

Graham knelt stiffly. “My son, my dear Alexander, please, don’t. This is not your fault. You have done nothing wrong. You deserve the world and the chance to make what you want in it. I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. Alexander, none of this is your fault.”

“Manannan wouldn’t have come here if I hadn’t cursed him.”

“You couldn’t have escaped him if you hadn’t. And we never would have been blessed to meet you.”

His son said nothing. He curled deeper into himself, shaking with fear and cold, sure he had brought all this on the sunny kingdom of Daventry, sure he had brought its destruction.

Graham leaned against the leg of a statue, clutching his arm. In a voice laced with frost, he whispered the words to an old lullaby, not sure if he was speaking to his son or himself at this point. An old memory stirring up from the dust as he remembered his friends and his hope. He didn’t sing. He didn’t feel like he could get enough air in his chest to sing. But he could speak, and he repeated the words to a song that he hadn’t thought of in almost eighteen years.

I may be king but you are my prince. If life gets too puzzling, I’ll give you the hints. Your quest has begun, my kingdom you’ll run, I’ll love you forever, my son.

They sat in silence. Graham just tried to breathe. Thinking about cats and curses. Staring off into the cold shadows of the room, the chill seeping into his heart.

After a while, Gwydion said, softly, hesitatingly, “You never finished the story.”

“I didn’t? What story is that?”

“About the goblins. How you escaped. That July. I want…I want to hear the rest of it.”

Graham told the rest of his story, then. It was abbreviated. It lost all of the usual polish and storylike qualities it had earned over the years. He told it haltingly, painfully. Without the fairy tale sparkle, he started remembering the fear more. The fear that his friends were going to die while he watched helplessly from the other side of a locked door. All the smoothness was worn away by the ice in his throat, revealing an uneasy ripple that he couldn’t hide. He couldn’t tell it any other way, with his son watching and the cold strangling him.

Manny had tried to kill him, and he would have succeeded if it hadn’t been for Graham’s refusal to give up, for his reliance on his friends. It ended with hope, but the road had been hard.

And then, Gwydion told his own story. For the first time, from start to finish, willingly. He couldn’t remember all of it. There were eighteen years of it, and much of it was the same: menial tasks for a wizard who was quick to punish if Gwydion didn’t work as fast or precisely as expected. But parts of it were memorable. The manor house itself, for instance. It was just him, and Manannan, and Mordack.

Mordack would watch him with cold pity, and that was almost worse than Manannan’s cruel anger. It meant Mordack didn’t necessarily agree with any of this—but wouldn’t do anything to help. So Gwydion worked, and hid, and scrimped, and survived, but he had a growing fear that something was reaching an end. Something about turning eighteen frightened him, like something major was going to change in the manor and that something wasn’t going to be good for him.

Deciding to escape had been relatively easy. Actually escaping was another matter all together.

The fear of not knowing when the wizard would catch him, where he should hide the tools of magic he stole, if he would be discovered. The challenge of the magic itself, the near misses and tight scrapes. Triple checking every step, every line, again and again, mouth dry with the thought of failure, or worse, being found. Practicing the wrist movements, chanting the ingredients needed, reading the books, sneaking down to the hidden cellar with stolen wand clamped in his shaking fist, afraid of breaking it or marking it in some noticeable way. Finally building his confidence to craft the one spell, the curse, that would save him, to break the cat cookie in Manannan’s breakfast and to try not to give the whole game away too early. To wait for the magic to take. And the difficult decision of what to do next.

“I ruined it by coming here. I should have gone far away, where there wasn’t anyone for him to hurt.”

Graham reached out and touched his son on the shoulder. His Alexander. His brave Alexander. Not Gwydion, never again. “You deserve a place to call your own as much as anyone, and you can carve your place out anywhere. But you came here, Alexander. If you’ll have us, we want you. In Daventry. That’s all we ever wanted. To have you with us, to have you call this place with everyone—Amaya, Whisper, the Feys, Acorn, everyone. To let you, Alexander, call this place home. You shouldn’t allow someone like Manannan decide where you go, who you are. You shouldn’t even let us decide for you. That’s your freedom.”

Alexander, nervously, leaned into Graham’s hand, and then into him, his shoulder pressed against Graham’s chest. He was shivering, but his warmth helped ease Graham’s pain. The king felt like he could breathe again, like the ice in his lungs was melting.

Gingerly, he embraced Alexander, and for once, he didn’t flinch away. His dear son, full of magic, of fire and heat and fear, stifled by the cold but powerful nevertheless. He’d escaped. He’d used Manny’s own tools against the wizard, and he had chosen to come here. He was stronger than he’d ever know. Graham smiled, resting his cheek against his son’s wavy hair, thoughts drifting like icebergs. If only he could somehow convince his son to see that. But it would take more than Graham’s words. It would take a heartfelt conviction. A fiery intensity and determination to change.

Heat. Warmth.

…wait a second.

Warmth. My fiery son.

But the guards burst in, and pulled the two up by their arms (Graham bit back another yelp, wishing people would stop yanking on his aching arm) and it was time for their audience with Queen Icebella.

~*~*~*~*

Valanice was dizzy. She didn’t feel like she could stand for more than a moment, and her boots couldn’t seem to keep traction on the slippery floor. The queen of the castle had linked arms with her and they were proceeding down the castle halls in silence. Despite the normally friendly sort of gesture of walking arm in arm, the queen was haughty and detached, ramrod straight with her cold gaze fixed firmly down the hall, unwavering and unblinking. Valanice walked beside her, feeling slovenly and slumpy and hazy and unfocused. Her vision kept blurring in and out.

She had the strangest sense that she had done this, had walked like this, arm in arm, with this queen before, giggly and full of joy. But that was silly—the queen, Icebella, was frosty and blue and distant, and they had never met.

At least, she thought so. It was so hard to focus. But no one was actually blue. Probably. Maybe. Maybe fairies. Maybe she was with a fairy.

Her head hurt.

“Come, Valanice,” the queen said, and there was a slight echo to the words, like she was speaking from the back of a snowy cavern. “I have asked for a chair for you, by my throne. I am sorry to wake you when you are so exhausted, but I want you to meet this amusing visitor to my castle. He claims he is a king, and his bright red cloak is most grand.”

Bright red cloak. Sounded familiar, somehow. Valanice nodded blearily, not trusting herself to speak and walk at the same time.

The throne room was remarkably bright despite the late hour. Valanice had to squint against the white reflective ice, and she dizzily sank into the chair offered her, only realizing after a few moments that it, too, was made of ice, like everything in this place. She started shivering. Or maybe she’d never stopped shivering.

The cat sitting on the throne beside her seemed to smile at her, pawing its ear. As though cats could smile. She would have given it a friendly pet had she been able to lift her hand, but that seemed too complicated and wearying a thing to do.

Ice guards lined the walls of the room, hands on swords sharp as icicles. She supposed they were meant to protect her and the queen from whoever their visitor was about to be. She wondered if this audience would be safe. But with so many guards, surely she need not feel concerned. She was grateful to them and their grim silence.

It was a lovely red cloak, she decided, as the supposed king stumbled in, propelled along by one of the ice guards. That was about all she could say for it. It didn’t seem to be keeping him very warm. His lips were turning blue. How interesting. Maybe he was a fairy too. A fairy king.

Wait.

~*~*~*~

Gwydion.

Alexander...?

Gwydion. He stood in front of his former master, and Gwydion was all that he could be. He didn’t have a choice. He was clumsy, and he was foolish, and his attempt to escape, to take a different name, had failed. He was before Manannan, as before, as always.

Not entirely alone this time. Gwydion could feel the cold radiating from the king despite standing several paces away. The king’s teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. He tried wrapping his cloak tighter, but there wasn’t any warmth to hold in. And that was Gwydion’s fault, too, for not stopping him from touching the roses, Gwydion’s fault for leading the ice castle here, Gwydion’s fault for believing, even for an instant, that he could be this man’s son.

From the dais, a voice called, “Graham!” The lady of Daventry half stood from her chair, but a wave of dizziness seemed to overwhelm her, and she sank back down helplessly, clutching the chair arms as though that was the only thing keeping her upright. Powerless to do anything but speak.

“V-Valanice,” Graham managed. But he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was fixed on Icebella.

“Do you refer to me? I did command you to stop calling me so,” Icebella said. She stood straight before her throne, her gaze haughty. Frustration made her icy cheeks turn white. “I wished to begin differently, sir, but you try my patience immediately. Perhaps Cat was right, and you are too foolish for my attention. My name is Icebella. It was given to me. My special name.”

“How was it g-given?” Graham shivered.

“Cat is sweet, and Cat said the name suited me, and Cat gifted it to me when I had no other name.”

From the throne, Manny stretched long and luxuriously, tail flicking. He yawned, showing off a fierce row of sharp little white teeth, and smiled, sitting straight. “Names do matter, don’t they, Gwydion? They indicate so much. They tell others who you are, where you belong. Speaking of names, Graham, I’m wondering what name we should carve under your ice sculpture in a few hours. I can’t decide. Maybe we should workshop it. You should pick a pose now, I think.”

Graham ignored this. “Icebella,” he said, stepping forward and bowing to her stiffly, icy arm locked into place at his side. “I apologize for my rudeness and b-beg your forgiveness.”

“I may grant it,” she said. “I have questions for you as a supposed king, after all, and I would regret not being able to ask you about your kingdom if I ordered you thrown out a window for impertinence.”

“Of c-course. But. May I ask you a question f-first, in earnest?”

She hesitated, probably knowing where this was going, and then said, reluctantly, “You may. It does seem only fair, from queen to king.”

“With the full respect owed, and you may ch-choose not to answer me: how long have you been Icebella?”

She frowned, and for a moment she looked like she wanted to lash out again. “I suppose not long,” she finally admitted, after deep consideration. “A few months, at best. Before then, I was no one, I fear.”

“You weren’t no one,” Graham said. “You were special, Valanice.”

“Icebella,” Manny interrupted smoothly. “You are only a person now that you’ve been named. Your name is ice, your name is beauty. Before, you were no one, as you say. You were dark and sad and alone, and I named you, and I saved you, and you are Icebella.”

“Stop calling her that,” Valanice said. “Her name was Valanice. She loved adventures. She loved sunshine. She was competitive and sharp and creative and energetic, and she was all those things as Valanice, and I would bet she is still all those things.”

“You wouldn’t know,” the cat hissed. “You didn’t reach out to her, find her. You didn’t let her know she was still Valanice. She was lost, and I found her, and I named her, and I saved her, and she is mine.”

Gwydion felt the chill, then, in a way he hadn’t before.

Names.

Ownership.

Names are crucial. Names matter.

And I’m not the only one Manannan hurt.

Someone else here had lost her name, and someone else was using her powers to lash out, guided by a monster who only wanted her to do his bidding. Who only wanted to own her and use her.

I was that person too, a slave to a wizard. Lost name. Lost self.

But...he had run away, hadn’t he? Gwydion. Alexander. The power of a name. And...maybe...?

“Icebella,” Graham said. “Valanice. You loved books, and music. You loved puzzles, and you loved art, and you loved stories, and you loved games, and you shone like the sun, not ice. You could d-dance and—” his voice broke off with a crack like snapping an icicle, and he coughed hard, little puffs like snow clouds floating around him, shivering so violently it looked like he was going to splinter into shards of ice.

“And you could sing,” Valanice, the queen, picked up where the king could not, “And you knew all the names of all the constellations. And you could embroider, but you thought it was boring. And you could beat all of us at chess every single time, and you knew every fairy tale, even the rare ones. And you loved us. You were so full of love and life and compassion and care. You weren’t no one, Valanice, even in the darkness. You were Valanice, and you could do so much. And we’re sorry, so sorry, we left you.”

Icebella hesitated, hovering over her throne, looking at Valanice with something unreadable in her expression—perhaps sorrow? But then she glanced toward Manny, and her eyes hardened again. “If what you say bears even a shred of truth,” she said sharply to the Daventry family, “then you have done me a disservice. You spoke not to me when I was...that other person, and I was lost, and I may blame my years of darkness and wandering upon you. Cat came out of the darkness, and Cat saved me, then, and I am Icebella, and shall remain so.”

The smug grin on the cat’s face made Gwydion bristle, made him angry. Alexander had once been angry enough once to teach himself magic, to take his fate back into his own hands, to turn his fear into determination, and to escape.

And he would do it again.

“Your castle moves,” he said. Both Graham and Valanice turned and stared at him, and he stammered nervously, but he had to speak. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say, if he could help or hurt, and none of this was considered, but he had to speak.

“Your castle moves,” he repeated, “but do you ever feel like you have a home? Or do you always feel lost, even now, as Icebella?”

Icebella’s gaze was haughty and angry and he cowered beneath her authority. But he rose again, feeling the heat of the magic he’d taken for himself in his chest. “I always feel lost,” he told her. “I lost my name, too. I lost my identity and my purpose, and I was given another one, one that I didn’t want by someone who didn’t love me, and I walked away from it, and I’ve been wandering, looking for a place that could be mine, a name that I could have.”

“You do not understand loss,” Icebella said, and her voice was colder than the deepest ice cave.

“I lost my home,” Alexander countered. “I lost my family. I lost everything. I wasn’t anyone. But here, in Daventry, I’ve seen people who know where they belong. The bakers, the blacksmith, the knights, the guards, everyone. They live here, and they build stories here, and this is their home. They know their names, and who they are, and they’ve all been trying to help me learn a name I could take for myself. They look frightened when they remember I was once Gwydion, and they want to call me Prince Alexander. But I think I’m just Alexander. I think that’s my name. And I think I’ve found a place where I could overwrite my loss. A place that welcomes travelers, that tells stories, that is sunny and warm even when it’s snowy and cold.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Manannan said. “Shut up, Gwydion, the adults are talking.”

“No, I won’t. I’m Alexander, and this is my home, and I don’t want it to be cold and heartless like you’d want it to be. This kingdom is full of life, and I will protect it in any way I can.”

He looked at his father. “I learned something,” he said, and he was worried and quiet again, like he was taking something from Graham that he didn’t feel he’d earned. “It didn’t help me at first, because I didn’t really understand the point of it, even with all the stories. But it’s a salute that you can do to center yourself, to feel brave when you don’t want to be, to be compassionate when you’re upset, to be wise when you feel confused.” He gave an Achaka salute, thumping his fist into his open palm. “It’s to remind you that you aren’t alone,” he said. “That there are people who will always support you and care for you if you look. People who will tell stories with you and help you belong.”

“This is drivel,” Manannan said. “This whole family is a waste of air.”

“But you admit that he’s part of our family,” Graham said, his voice almost as hollow as Icebella’s now, crackling out. “This kingdom has opened its arms to him and taught him our stories and let him become part of us. If he wants.”

“And I think I do want that,” Alexander said, and he stood tall. “I think that’s what’s important to me. The stories they tell here always show what matters to them. What’s important to them. What’s important to you, Icebella? What was stolen from you? Was it a name? Was it a home? Was it a family? What do you want back? And did Manannan—that cat—give it to you? Has he ever even given you a choice?”

She didn’t have an answer to that.

“This is all very sweet,” Manny said, his tail thumping on the throne, voice oozing disinterest. “But I just don’t see the point of any of this. I’ve still won this game. I’ve captured the entire Daventry family”—he spat the word with disgust—”from the king and queen to the lowly castle guards, and I can dispose of them whenever I see fit.

“Gwydion, you claim this place as your home, fine. It won’t matter, because it’s going to belong to me now, since the king is in-deposed. But first I’m going to ask very politely, very pointedly, for you to lift this curse, and we can be as pointed as we must for as long as we must until I get what I want.” His tail thumped again in emphasis. “I’ve won, and all of this is pointless, pandering, meandering tripe. I have ice guards. I have goblins. I have the queen herself. I always get what I want.”

“I wouldn’t be sure of that at all,” said Rosella.

~*~*~*~

Graham’s neck was starting to lock up now too, but he managed to turn just in time to see his daughter standing inside the throne room exchanging...yes, exchanging a high five with Royal Guard Number One. “An excellent riposte, Princess Rosella,” No1 told her.

Royal Guards Two, Three, Four, Kyle, and Larry were standing in a loose semicircle at their sides, swords drawn. And, crammed into every inch of space between the guards, vibrating with barely suppressed excitement, were rock goblins. The goblins were all colorfully decked out in every color of Acorn’s winter stock, scarves and hats and socks, and they were all bristly with picks and shovels. One or two of them had even managed to recover their regular spears. They were all, to a goblin, glaring at the ice guards. Except for that old familiar forward curl goblin—it graciously tipped its snowcap at Graham.

The room hummed with anticipation, both sides carefully observing the other. Number One especially seemed to be running calculations and expectations: his head never stopped moving, checking every angle while he stood otherwise perfectly poised. There was a breathless pause, and in that pause, Icebella stood, furious about this unexpected intrusion to her audience.

“Guards!” Icebella said, flinging her hand out in command, “to the dais! Protect my royal self and my guest Valanice from these ruffians!”

But the ice guards hesitated for a fraction of an instant, looking to the cat for true instruction, and that was plenty of time for Manny to smoothly intervene. “That seems like an unnecessary waste of resources. I have a better idea. I have no need for this charade anymore, no need for you, my dear—everything I want is right here and I will take it. Guards! Kill Icebella, and take Graham and Gwydion alive. Kill the rest, and the goblins. I won’t need them anymore, not once I’m free of this curse. My magic will be enough.”

Icebella whirled, skirts twisting around her, to stare at the cat sitting in her throne, but ice guards stepped between them, protecting the smug wizard, and she stumbled backward, hands raised not in command but imploringly now, startled and afraid of her own creations. Of her once-upon-a-time friend.

“Goblins,” No1 snapped, drawing his own sword, “defend the royal family!”

“Including the ice queen!” Alexander yelled.

“Really? Very well. Including the ice queen,” No1 amended. He raised his arm, and the goblins streamed around him, whooping and laughing.

The ice guards lining the walls had drawn their own swords. Some took defensive stances, but many of them sprinted forward to fill Manny’s order. They were immediately driven back: there were too many goblins and a crew of very annoyed and very determined royal guards. The ice guard standing near Graham did grab its opportunity. Specifically, it grabbed the king and yanked him off balance, drawing him close and pinning his arms behind his back. His stiff shoulder bent awkwardly. Graham yelped, sure his ice arm was probably going to snap in half considering how many people kept pulling on it.

But forward curl goblin knocked the ice guard out by the knees, swinging its shovel hard enough for the ice to splinter. Graham staggered forward as the ice shattered around him, pieces glittering like dust motes. The goblin gave him some sort of complicated gesture that was probably meant to be reassuring but instead looked rather menacing before scampering off to take down someone else. No1 stepped up beside Graham in its place, sword raised to defend, giving his king a determined nod. Graham returned the nod, clutching his aching ice arm with his good hand.

Around them, chaos reigned, goblins wailing and gleefully attacking their hated bosses, royal guards hacking left and right, ice cracking beneath their swords. The ice guards were fighting back, their icicle blades scraping and tearing winter wear but unable to penetrate rock goblin armor or Crimson Colada platemail, making the fight a series of quickly timed events in favor of the Daventry team. When the Daventry team wasn’t caught unawares or desperately outnumbered, they were quite good at their jobs.

One enterprising goblin managed to tug a frozen tapestry from the wall and went sailing through the air, clutching it like it was a vine and warbling a war cry, its little stocking’d feet slamming into an ice guard. Another pair had gone for the Kyle and Larry route, one charging in with another on its shoulders, both deadly at short range, while the real Kyle and Larry did the exact same thing a few feet away. Still others just went for the general bashing and tackling and pouncing methods. Graham remembered being on the wrong end of those pounces and winced in sympathy.

Near the dais, Icebella drove her attackers back as best she could with her ice magic, but the sheer number of guards that had been close when the fighting began would have overwhelmed her in moments had she been alone. But she wasn’t alone, not now. No2 and a pack of goblins leapt to her side, shouting and slashing and kicking and, at least in the case of one or two goblins, biting. No2 didn’t bite anyone, though he may have considered it. Nearby, Numbers Three and Four and their own small group of goblins stood guard over Valanice. The Queen of Daventry was still dizzy, and she clung to her chair watching everything unfold in silence. Her gaze never left Graham, not once, not even when No3 desperately struck with her sword and took off the arm of an ice guard reaching for Valanice.

The outcry and laughter and mayhem echoed around the throne room, but all told, the fight lasted not much longer than a few minutes. The scuffle had kicked up frost motes, which settled after a moment, revealing goblins sitting on, lounging against, and generally mocking the ice guards, all of which were broken or helpless under their new captors’ hands. On the dais, Icebella, safely ringed in by a handful of determined goblins, stood glaring at one very guilty looking black cat. Manny’s ears and tail drooped, and he seemed very small, all his plans quite suddenly cracked like shallow ice.

“Cat,” Icebella said, sharp and cold. “I do not wish you to be part of my court any longer. Get out.”

“I think that might be for the best,” Manny agreed. He jumped out of the throne and started sheepishly creeping away, until one of the goblins, who had clearly been in this room before and seen this sort of thing happen already, pushed aside a curtain, grabbed a lever, yanked, and opened the floor up beneath the cat’s paws.

“Oh, zards.” And Manny disappeared down the slide. It slammed back into place behind him, silencing his startled cry.

Valanice stumbled off the dais, pushing aside her goblin guard, and ran to Graham. She was still off kilter from whatever they had done to her earlier, and she stumbled, and she fell into him, hugging him tightly. He tried to lift his arm to hug her back properly, but it was completely dead now. Everything was locking up. His vision was blurring, and everything was so cold. Her breath on his icy cheek was warm and nice, but it did not melt anything. She tearfully kissed him, like that could break the curse, like a story would have it, but nothing happened, and Graham’s body was simply giving up. Rosella and Alexander and his guards stood around him, and Valanice flung an imploring look back toward Icebella.

“Please,” she begged. “He’s freezing to death. Please, can’t you help?”

The ice queen stood alone, in front of her ostentatious throne and her frozen tapestries and her snowy carpet and her broken ice guards, and her imperious stance seemed to be diminished. She looked anxious, and confused, and she was shivering. “I don’t know how, Valanice,” she said, and her voice was softer, gentle and sorrowful. “I’ve never known how. If I could have lifted my own curse, I would have. But I couldn’t. I can’t help. I’m sorry.”

“But I...I might be able to help,” Alexander said.

Valanice stepped back. Graham could feel her absence, could feel the cold rushing over him without her, could barely breathe now. He realized his heart had been slowing down, choked by ice, and the lethargy was almost overwhelming, but his knees had locked into place so at least falling wasn’t a concern.

Alexander continued, “This is a curse. It’s greasy, and sticky, and dark. You don’t stop a curse. You break it. Icebella isn’t the origin of the curse. It’s the castle. It moves, it never settles, it’s always looking for a place to belong, right? It’s stealing everything it can to make itself strong. All the buildings in the courtyard, all the people in the labyrinth, and you, Dad. It’s always traveling, always searching, and always taking, and it’s never satisfied. But, Dad, you know exactly where you belong. You belong here, in Daventry. And I think that’s the answer to this, what will break it.

“I’m new at magic,” Alexander admitted. “And it seems to work best if I can use something extra to give it strength. Either my own emotions, or…or I think music might focus it, if it has meaning. And this one…I think it means a lot to you, and to me, and it might be a way to show the curse belonging. I hope.”

Alexander started humming a familiar song. An old lullaby. A song Graham once sang over a cradle minutes before Manannan burst in, stole his son, ruined their lives.

Graham would have stumbled backward in surprise if he could. “You remember your lullaby,” he said, and his voice was as hollow as an ice cave.

“I didn’t remember the words,” Alexander said. “When you spoke them, earlier, they were just words. They didn’t mean anything to me. But...but they fit the melody I remembered. Something soft, this old song that I could rely on when I...when I was upset. I used to hum it at night, when my chores were done. When I felt lost. But I remember them together now. The music and the words together.”

His voice was quavery, and small, and it didn’t seem to have any power to it, but he willingly hugged his father for the first time, and he sang the words gently, and Graham sang with him, stuttering and broken, his voice locking up with ice and fading away, until Valanice let her voice join theirs, and Rosella joined the embrace, and they were warm and gentle and strong together. And Alexander had a warmth to him, some deep spell he was drawing on, some magic he had stolen and turned to his own purposes, the same way he’d melted a hole in the tunnel, a power of his own devising. It was almost too hot, this brilliant shimmering intellect and care and ability, and he channeled it with the music, focused it, and….

Graham’s knees melted, buckled beneath him and he went down in a heap, and his whole family reached out and caught him, and everything was different and everything had changed, and the cold had left him, and he grabbed hold of his son, keeping him squeezed tight in the embrace, and Alexander let him without any complaint, and Graham breathed freely again, and he stared at his hand over his son’s shoulder, flexing his fingers in wonder.

And they stayed like that for a long time, royal guards standing by watching and waiting and protecting, until Graham could finally stand again, smiling.

At least he was smiling until he realized he was also being hugged around the leg by two goblins. They tilted their heads to look up at him, apparently grinning beneath their helmets. The rest of the goblins were staring, too, long fingers flexing on their picks and shovels.

“Rosella, Number One, what did you do?”

“Funny story,” Rosella said brightly. “So, like, under the castle, there were these goblins, and they were building the snow storm, and I didn’t want that, and I...” she frowned, and looked to No2. “I’m telling this badly again,” she complained.

“I think I know a better way to tell the story,” No2 agreed. “Who wants to do a reenactment play!” he called over the goblins, and every single one of them raised their hands eagerly.

No1 groaned. “I will not,” he said.

“Then I’ll play you, that sounds neat, and...that charming looking goblin right over there can be me. Rosella, do you want to be yourself, or maybe an ice guard?”

“Definitely an ice guard.”

“Okay, then I need someone to play Rosella. Hands up again, who wants to be a princess?”

The story, as it worked out, was like this:

One lone goblin, after being abused by the ice guards one too many times, was having a very hard time, hiding behind an ice cart used as a component to generate the perpetual blizzard that powered the castle, helped it move, gave it fuel, gave it strength. Rosella called out to the goblin, tempting it, by whispering, “Once upon a time, there was a very brave little goblin.”

The little fellow had jammed its helmet back on and followed the story like a trail of bread crumbs, until it found itself surrounded by Daventry Royal Guards and its princess a good distance up the tunnel from its companions. It shrieked, and it would have turned and fled, but Kyle and Larry had jumped it and held it, and Rosella said, “Don’t you want to be a brave goblin like the one in the story?”

And that had made it pause, just for a second, just long enough for Rosella to tell another story about a little goblin who was sick of doing everyone else’s chores, and who got all his friends together, and when they were together, they were very strong indeed, and could throw off their tormenters and make the terrible people do all the chores instead. Which the goblin liked very much, it being both rather violent and promising that it wouldn’t have to do any more chores. And also, the story ended with the goblin getting to go home and enjoy the warmth of a dark, damp cave, surrounded by its glowing mushrooms, content and happy.

The goblin had slipped back into the mines, with Rosella and the royal guards watching anxiously after it in case it decided to betray them after all and turn them into the ice guards for the promise of some time off. But it did as they’d suggested, sneaking up goblin by goblin, whispering the plan, and then those two goblins spread out from there, whispering to another two, until suddenly the whole mining operation was giving the ice guards shifty glances and the little goblin gave Rosella a sly thumbs up, and Royal Guard Number One had pulled out his sword and they’d all gone charging in. The ice guards had spun around, ready to fight the royal guards…but they hadn’t been expecting to have to fight their goblin charges, too.

It had been quick work from there on, whispers of Rosella’s story passing from goblin to goblin to goblin, until all the ice furnaces grew still, and all the ice guards were dispatched, and the new and improved team of Daventry could move on and help their king.

The story was told with rather extravagant and overblown gestures, goblins pouncing and leaping and taking each other down to replicate the tale No2 was narrating, having an especially good time telling about the attack, and at the end they all took a ragged bow, out of breath and tired and very, very happy for the first time in what must have been ages.

Graham, Valanice, and Alexander applauded. And then a fourth person started clapping, too.

Icebella had retaken her throne and was watching the story with rapt delight on her normally stern features. She was smiling, her teeth like little ice chips. “That was delightful,” she told the goblins. “I did not know I had such talented people working in my castle. You must have come with Cat, yes? You are much better company.”

“Ice…Vala…” Valanice bit her lip, unsure what to say.

“You may remember me as Valanice,” the ice queen said, and her face wasn’t nearly so dark now, “but I’m afraid I still do not. Your stories of who I was are kind, but I prefer Icebella. Even if it was a gift from Cat given in possessiveness, it was still a gift, and one I have become accustomed to. I should like Icebella, please.”

“Icebella,” Valanice repeated. “Icebella, I’m sorry. I can make every excuse I want, but in the end, you’ve still been hurt by us. We never reached out to you as friends should have, and I’m sorry. Perhaps we can do something for you now? My son…”

But Alexander was shaking his head. “Mom, I can’t. It’s a stable curse. I don’t know how to lift it now it’s been in place for so long. I think only the person who cast it can lift it at this point. I don’t even know who that would be.”

“Hagatha,” Graham said. “I think it was Hagatha. I don’t think she meant to hurt you, Icebella, but. I think her curse spread from this tower to you. I’m sorry, but we don’t know where she is, or if she’s even still alive.”

“I do not mind,” Icebella said, though there was a hollowness to her voice that betrayed her sorrow. She twirled her fingers, and a rose, clear as glass, formed from ice in her hand. “There are many things I can do this way, and I have been Icebella for longer than I can remember being anyone else. But…your story,” she said, looking at No2. “You indicated that my home is hurting yours. And so, I should depart this place, and quickly, so that your home may recover without me.”

Valanice looked stricken. “You can’t go,” she said. “Please, we’ve lost you for so long. Don’t leave us again. Don’t wander lost. You said you didn’t know yourself, before Icebella, and that darkness sounds frightening and lonely. Please. Don’t let that happen again.”

Icebella looked at her ice rose, and crumpled it in her hand. “You cast me away before,” she said, though she bore no hatred in her voice now.

“We were young and silly and in love and these are pointless excuses,” Valanice insisted. “You can’t leave, not when we’ve found you again.”

No1 muttered, in a stage whisper that nevertheless carried around the room, “But the castle needs to leave.”

Valanice nodded sharply. “Then, let’s take the castle away, and return to Daventry after it is safely hidden somewhere, up high in the mountains where it can’t hurt anyone anymore. It is as my Alexander said: this kingdom is a place of stories, where we welcome travelers. It doesn’t have to be your home, unless you want it to be, but you won’t know unless you try it. Daventry castle is enormous. We have a place for you even temporarily. If you don’t have a destination, at least stop with us for a little while to decide. I’ll stay with you into the mountains, and we’ll travel back together.”

“Valanice,” Graham said, warningly.

“No, shush, Graham. It’s a girls’ night and you’re not invited.”

Graham stepped toward her, wobbled on his freshly healed leg, and almost fell over. She caught him and they leaned against each other, and he whispered in her ear, “She did try to kill us. She doesn’t remember her past. Is this fully thought through?”

“It’s Valanice, and you know it, and this has all been Manannan’s fault, as per usual,” she said back. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing. This isn’t some plan for martyrdom, this isn’t some silly rescue that only I can do. But I’m not going to let anyone, especially not a friend we’ve already lost once, go wandering alone in the world with no one she can call on. Not again.”

Graham considered, then nodded. There was relief there, a keen desire to see his dear friend content and happy again. “Okay. But you’ve got to take some royal guards with you.”

“I’ll take Number Three with us, if she agrees.” And she pulled the guard’s arm.

“Agrees to?” No3 asked, warily.

“Girls’ night,” Valanice grinned. “Or, rather, girls’ couple weeks while we take this castle up to the snowy mountains and leave it there and come back.” She looked up at Icebella. “Of course. This is all if you want to do so, Icebella,” she said. “I’m sorry that Manny thought he could own you. I won’t do that to you. If you do want to leave, we shall step aside and let you. In the end, every choice should be yours.”

Icebella looked at her broken rose, at the stem splintered in half and the shards glittering in the light.

“I am a queen,” she said, “of nothing. Of one tower. Of some ice guards. And that’s all. I think in my travels I have hurt people. Stolen people. Even though I don’t think I meant to do it, the curse on this tower absorbs and encompasses and consumes everything. It all seems fuzzy without Cat telling me what to do. But I think…I think I would like to rest, for at least a short time, and your young man’s tale of Daventry makes it seem…like a warm place to do that. May I please rest with you?”

“For as long as you want, my dear friend.”

~*~*~*~

The sun was shining both outside and inside Daventry castle.

Outside: that was perfectly normal. It was the beginning of spring. The snow was melting away, and if you knew where to look, little green sprouts were resolutely starting to poke out of the earth.

Inside: well, that was perfectly normal, too. With the warmer weather came the opening of the tapestries, the huge windows letting sparkling sunlight pour into the castle, making dust motes glitter. But, now, the place shimmered in a way it hadn’t before. It helped that Icebella had created a large number of small ice diamonds, stringing them in every window—their unmelting magic caught the sunlight as it passed through them, splintering each beam into dozens of flickering rainbows.

But it was more than just the passing of the season.

The whole castle felt the change. It was brighter and warmer here, the King and Queen no longer lost and afraid and lonely. The royal guards had more of a bounce in their step, less wary of what might be around the next corner. The townsfolk felt it, too, energized to create more and share more as they realized how curious and excited for life the two newest, recently rescued, members of the castle were.

Graham and Valanice walked through the courtyard, hand in hand, feeling the warmth of the sun. Rosella sat on the balcony above them, glaring at the Duel of Wits board game spread out on the table in front of her and wondering how she’d lost to Alexander yet again. Maybe if she tried moving her pieces like this she wouldn’t lose as often. She couldn’t wait for him to get back so she could try it out.

Alexander had taken Icebella on a stroll through the forest, like his father had done for him. He had so many things he wanted to show her, and now that the snow was disappearing, he wanted to take her to the little overlook that showed off the entire valley, so they both could see what it looked like in the new season. And they could return the next season after that and see the changes in their home. Because it was their home, their place, that had welcomed them. They might both move on, someday, as was their right and ability, but for now, they had both found a place they belonged. And that was all they needed.

For now.

~*~*~*~

The sun had set, but the lanterns had been lit. Little pools of glowing warmth dotted the garden, and night insects chirped. Gart was sitting in the garden on a bench, knees drawn up to his chest, looking very young in the torchlight. His arms were wrapped tight around his legs, and he was staring at the floor. There was a crumpled letter next to him, pinned into place by a rock so it couldn’t blow away.

Gwendolyn took a deep breath. She thought of the stories, of how brave everyone had been, how they had learned so much about identity and home, and she walked into the garden. As she walked, the grass broke beneath her feet, and the warm sweet scent of life surrounded her. The bushes were in bloom, too, filling the air with soft fragrance. Even this late at night, she thought she could hear the distant sound of some passing minstrel with a lute strumming his way along the forest paths, reveling in the safety of the country.

She loved it here. She loved Daventry. It wasn’t her home, not like Green Isles were, but she still had a right to share it with Gart, even for a little while.

But when he looked up at her approach, she saw he’d been crying, and she saw the letter at his side was tearstained, and it looked like he’d crumpled it and opened it and crumpled it and opened it again, smearing the handwritten note that, even from here, Gwendolyn could tell was Grandpa’s handwriting, his signature. Some official looking addendum, with his signet ring’s crest stamped into the wax near the bottom of the page.

“Gwendolyn,” Gart said, his voice thick, “I’ve been a beast, and I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a perfect brute to you lately. It wasn’t fair. You’re still just a child, after all.”

“You’re just a kid too, y’know,” Gwendolyn said, and she tried to smile at him, to make him smile with her like Grandpa would with her, but his gaze dropped to the ground again. “What’s going on? Is it because of…what you said? It…it wasn’t nice.”

“And I’m sorry,” Gart said, and buried his face in his arms. Muffled: “I shouldn’t have said those things. I knew they were wrong. They weren’t what a king should say.”

“First off, I forgive you, honest. Second off, you aren’t a king yet,” Gwendolyn said. “You don’t have to get things right all the time. At least, not right away.”

“I might never be a king,” he said. “Not…not with you here.”

“Gart, you just apologized. Don’t start it again.”

“It’s not that.” He nodded toward the paper, without looking at her or unfolding himself.

Gwendolyn reached down, picked up the letter, and scanned. “This is an addendum about…” she paused, struggling with the level of official legalese the council expected addendums to have. “Oh. This…this says…that the crown of Daventry’s tradition should be reinstated like Edward had it, allowing the crown to pass to any person the king chooses, not just the first male heir in the existing line. Does…that means that I could…?” A sudden image of Grandpa’s crown on her head as she stood in front of the magic mirror flashed before her eyes, and she almost staggered.

“It’s not that,” Gart said, sniffling. “I mean, that’s why I said those things to you, why I wanted you to leave. I was scared of it. But. Read the rest, too.”

And she did. And she dropped the letter, and she sank next to her cousin, and the two turned into each other and pulled each close, because King Graham had written of his illness, what was keeping him bedridden, and his rapid decline, and his imminent death, and the changes that he foresaw coming to Daventry.

But that story was yet to happen.

[auroralightsthesky]

“How in God’s name did you do that?”

Summary: Five people in John’s house had trouble with Marco....but one of them could handle him perfectly fine

#1

“Marco Julian Basilone you are going to bed whether you like it or not!!!” 

“No!!” 

John darted through the upstairs hall after his nephew, barreling after him to try and catch the speedy little four year old who evaded him at every corner. The last thing he saw was Marco’s arm swing out before the laundry basket toppled over, clothes and all before he tripped, head over heels in front of the door to his and Lena’s bedroom. 

“Shit are you ok?!” she asked, helping him up. 

“I swear that kid is like a tornado in an Oklahoma trailer park,” John groaned as he staggered to his feet. “It’s gonna take a God given miracle to catch him.” 

“Just do me one favor?” Lena said. 

“Yeah?” 

“Don’t use the raccoon trap in the garage.” 

He wouldn’t make any promises, but as tempted as he was, John knew that he’d have to keep his word one way or another. 

#2

JP stumbled down the kitchen stairs, his eyes stinging with having to wake up and his curly hair taking on a life of its own. Thank God for John’s Black Rifle Coffee stash in the tin on top of the fridge. 

*CRUNCH!!!*

“AAGH!!! GOD!!!! FUCK!!! FUCKIN!! MOTHERF.....UUGH!!” 

He lifted his bare foot only to find a red Lego clinging to the sweaty sole with small indents in the skin. JP pulled it off and tossed it aside but when he looked up, to his horrified annoyance, the kitchen floor was littered with Legos. 

“HEY JOHN!!!” JP bellowed. 

John came down the stairs but stopped right on the second landing. “Let me guess......stepped on a Lego?” 

JP nodded. 

John bit his lip and shook his head before grabbing the broom out of the closet. “I love that kid to death but I’m gonna kill him,” he said. 

“You want help?” 

“Be my guest,” John replied. 

#3

“Marco c’mon we’ve gotta go inside,” Manny told Marco. 

“I wanna finish the game,” Marco insisted. 

Manny was exasperated. Marco had been outside running around for hours with the soccer ball and clearly showed no interest in going inside, despite the threat of impending rain. 

“Marco, c’mon I mean it we need to go in,” Manny told him. 

“I wanna play more,” Marco insisted as he kept kicking the ball. 

Manny was slowly losing his patience but at the crack of thunder and the sudden downpour of warm rain, he finally gave in. “Ok I’m ready to go inside now,” Marco announced. 

Soaked through to the bone and annoyed as ever, Manny followed him back into the house. “I swear to God this kid is gonna put me in the nuthouse,” he muttered.

#4

Lena made her way back down the kitchen stairs, her wet hair clinging to her in the heat of the summer evening as she pulled it back out of her face, but a rustling noise from the kitchen soon caught her attention. 

She raced down the stairs and came face to face with Marco, perched on the counter with chocolate all over his face and the floor littered with Hershey bar wrappers. “Hi Auntie Lena,” he said cheerfully. 

“Marco I hope to God you ate dinner before you dug into those,” she said. 

Marco smiled and shook his head. 

Lena sighed. With John out of the house and a half devoured box of chocolate bars it was definitely going to be a long night. 

#5

John shut the door behind him before he dropped the keys into the dish in the living room. Hopefully having left Steve alone with Marco all day had gone smoothly, but he couldn’t be sure. 

“Hey Steve-O!!” John called. “Stevie you home?” 

He traipsed up the stairs to find Marco running through the upstairs hallway in his pjs and Steve emerging from the bathroom, dripping wet and absolutely SOAKED. His white t-shirt clung to his torso, the fabric translucent and his jeans darkened from having either been splashed or falling into the water. 

“Do I even wanna know?” John questioned. 

“I tried giving devil-child a bath and it backfired.....miserably,” Steve replied. 

John smiled and shook his head. “Go dry off and get some fresh clothes,” he said. “You’ve suffered enough.” 

“Thank you,” Steve replied as he shuffled off to his room for a spare set of clothes.

#6

John was deeply unnerved by the quiet that had suddenly fallen over the house. Marco hadn’t been heard running around for close to forty minutes and he was beginning to wonder what had happened to his nephew. 

“Hey John you might wanna add some more Dr. Squatch to the shopping list, I’m almost out and....” 

“Shh!” John cut in sharply before Steve could say anything else. 

He stopped right at the second landing on the kitchen stairs with a towel still wrapped around his waist from the shower. “What? You ok?” Steve asked him. 

“Listen,” John said. 

Steve listened but no sound came from anywhere in the house. “What? I don’t hear anything.” 

“Exactly,” John said. “Something is very, very wrong if we don’t hear anything.” 

Steve wasn’t sure if John was just being paranoid, but he too wondered if something was off about the noiseless house. “We should probably go find him before he starts tearing up your room again.”

“Good idea.” 

They headed back upstairs but still no sound of Marco on the path of destruction. Yet when they peered into the upstairs bedroom belonging to their other housemate, they were shocked beyond words. 

Tatum lay asleep on his bed, the air conditioning going with an old, musty Indian blanket pulled over him and Marco who lay fast asleep with his head resting over Chuck’s heart. 

He awoke upon hearing the audible click of the camera on Steve’s phone, his eyes groggy and head heavy from the deep, trancelike sleep. “Sup guys?” he yawned. 

“How in God’s name did you do that?” John questioned. “What did you do to put that kid to sleep?” 

“It was easy,” Tatum replied. “I made him a hot drink with cinnamon, gave him a bath and read him a story. He zonked right out after that.” 

John and Steve glanced at each other with raised eyebrows. Why the hell they hadn’t thought of that in the first place had been beyond them. “How did you know he would....?” 

“John I have eight brothers and sisters, a three year old nephew and an eight week old niece. Believe me I can handle it.” 

John and Steve were impressed to say the least. Nobody had ever been able to handle it before but here in their midst was the master that they were both eager to learn from. 

[littlegalerion]

I’ve mentioned the concept before, but now behold: an alternate reality evil Trechtus! 

From an AU where Mannimarco is a good spirited, friendly necromancer who wants to spread not only magical practice to the common people, but also eliminate the intense fear of lighter necromancy. 

And in the same fashion, Trechtus was never rescued from the ditch on the side of the road. He survived due to unknown circumstances, and later surfaced as a serial killer in Valenwood, his influence spreading into Summerset eventually. 

The first is his elder look, the second is him semi-younger self with his lovely brown hair. 

More under the ribbon if interested! 

BUT WARNING, very sensitive content included, as we are discussing a criminal. I mean, if you can stomach what Mannimarco has done in lore, you should be fine, but be warned. 

My basic concept is that Trechtus was never saved from the ditch. He was noticed, but instead of stopping, all passersby decided to let nature take its course. I highly doubt it would be the first time altmer turned their heads at a lowborn child suffering, let alone dying. He most likely looked disgusting, covered in dirt and muck, so they’d probably reason he was apraxic. 

I’m a sucker for daedra stories, so I’m going to cash in here. The child Trechtus was “saved” by Hircine. By “saved”, I mean a large wolf, which was Hircine, mauled Trechtus, infecting him with both lycanthropy but also with a dose of strength and health. Trechtus survived, got to his feet, and stumbled into the wilderness. Hircine didn’t expect anything. He just knew an opportunity for a random wild hunter when he saw it. 

Trechtus had been vividly aware of those passing by him as he began to flicker out of existance in the ditch. 

Eventually Trechtus found his way to stow away on a ship to Valenwood. He’d survived in the wild feeding while in lycan form, thus not starving, but had heard from nursery tales of the bosmer being wild elves that were welcoming to Hircine’s hounds and religion. Trechtus had no desire to become a worshiper, but he figured he’d have better hunting and less chance at being hunted in Valenwood than in the Isles. Upon arriving, Trechtus snuck off the ship and again was lost to the trees. 

Years later, Trechtus resurfaced, a seasoned lycan and mage. Where he recieved his training, no one quite knows. He either dragged more accomplished mages back to his dwellings and forced them to reveal their knowledge, then killed them shortly after, or perhaps he found fellow mages among other lycans. Either way, while he was no Great Mage, he had considerable power. He began preying on traveling altmeri nobles, very discreet in his actions. 

Trechtus arrived back in Summerset not long after, and mysteriously the remenants of Sollicich-on-Ker’s noble family vanished. Some of the remaining serfs as well. 

In truth, Trechtus had already become a lich, being just as versed in necromancy as any other school of magic. He had kidnapped the remaing noble family, by now the elder children, grandchildren, and maybe great grandchildren, and I sadly have to say they didn’t die gracefully, nor quickly. It’s still up for debate if their souls are even free, or perhaps kept in a soul gem art piece Trechtus has displayed some place. 

One thing is for certain: his mother had still been alive, and her skull still remains close by, whenever Trechtus needs something to vent his anger out on. Most likely her soul is bound to it, forever trapped, and Trechtus relishes inflicting pain on it from day to day. 

So what sets Trechtus apart from our evil necromancer Mannimarco? Well, Manni has a score to settle. He wants to spread necromancy because he was humilated for studying it. He has ambitions to become a god. Manni has drive, goals, resolutions. 

Trechtus lacks all this. His scores are settled. He simply is existing in his hidden lair, poking at the public every now and then for entertainment. Probably the most drive he has is furthering his studies, which he does still actively travel for. But in terms of wanting to spread influence over Tamriel, that’s not on his checklist. Will he still attack nobles, or people he just gets annoyed by in general? Yes. And he’ll justify it with what he went through, but make no effort to help change Tamriel.

Basically, “Yeah my background sucked so my actions are excused. Don’t expect me to help you, though, that’s just how life is.”

He is indifferent, unfeeling, and incredibly selfish. Then of course, he is a lycan, and so he must feed. 

An idea of the crimes he casually has commited:

- struck a bargin with a mage who sought him for knowledge, the payment was killing a particular altmeri noble and then kidnapping their 11 year old child to bring directly to Trechtus 

- the 11 year old joined many other unfortante souls whom Trechtus decided not to kill and use for necromatic purposes, but instead infected them with lycanthropy and then proceeded to enchant them so that their free will was stripped and he now had not only servants but significantly threatning hounds at his disposal 

- literally would pick any random person that he just didn’t like and would have his hounds fetch them, then brought back to be used for black soul gems

- hosted other dangerous criminals in Tamriel, often offering aide if it benfited him- refering to other thieves or murderers, nothing as large scaled as a military issues 

Also, one last fact, Trechtus is a shapeshifter, and not in the traditional lycan sense. He was once,and still can shift into his hybrid form, but in Valenwood he happened acoss a certain spider that took a fondness to him, and taught him some of her many secrets. So sometimes he has spies, but sometimes he doesn’t need any, as nobody really bothers or suspects the friendly stray cat sunning itself on the chapel steps. 

[rebellect-writes]

[SIZE=1][b]Name:[/b] Jess. [b]Age:[/b] 21. [b]How did you find us?:[/b] I didn’t. You found me.

[b]Name:[/b] Ripley York. [b]Nicknames & Aliases:[/b] Rip, Ripper. Yorkie. [b]Age:[/b] 37. [b]Date of Birth:[/b] 12th of April 1975. [b]Gender:[/b] Male. [b]Sexual Orientation:[/b] Bisexual, though he’s more comfortable with males. [b]Occupation:[/b] Works in a bookshop in town.

[b]Animal Species:[/b] Spotted Hyena. [b]Animal Description: [/b] [IMG]http://i672.photobucket.com/albums/vv90/bloodwillout/app%20pics/spotted-hyena_1.jpg[/IMG] He’s your typical spotted hyena. Standing at 3’1 at the shoulders and from snout to rump, he’s 5’5. Ripley’s not very heavy though, only weighing in at 130lbs at large. His coat’s a lot softer then it looks, though don’t get any bright ideas and try petting without asking because his strong bite is worse than his bark. [b]Do you have a hybrid/alpha form?:[/b] Nope. [b]Rank:[/b] Rogue. Will join if the group returns.   [b]How long has your character been a lycanthrope?:[/b] 16 years. (Infected at age 18.) [b]Mindset:[/b] Both. [b]Power level:[/b] Beta.

[b]Face Claim:[/b] Matthias Streitwieser. [b]Description:[/b] [IMG]http://i672.photobucket.com/albums/vv90/bloodwillout/app%20pics/2e2j6md.jpg[/IMG] [i]Height:[/i] 6’2 [i]Weight:[/i] 178lbs. [i]Eyes:[/i] Blue. [i]Hair:[/i] Brown. [i]Build:[/i] Average, muscled in all the right places. [i]Visible marks:[/i] He has a small black star on the inside of his right wrist, and the Chinese characters for ‘Ruby’ at the nape of his neck. Ripley also has faint bite marks along his neck and wrists that you can't really see unless you're looking close. [i]Style:[/i] Jeans, t-shirts and a thrown over jacket. Anything comfortable and practical is best. He will wear suits if he has to do so.

[b]Special Skills:[/b]  [LIST] [*] He does know Greek and Spanish, and he’ll remember how to speak it in his own time. [*] He does know how to hold his own in a fight thanks to AJ helping him out. [/LIST][b]Personality:[/b]   Ripley’s quiet and laid back most of the time. He’s been trained to value manners so you’ll rarely hear him forget them. He’s also been known to lapse into old tricks, where he won’t speak until he’s spoken to. If someone that’s a clear alpha or Master speaks to him, he will rarely look them in the eye unless they say he can do so and it’s little things like that that make things bearable for him. The last thing that he wants is someone to rip out his throat for something he didn’t even mean to do. On saying that, that doesn’t mean he’s completely submissive when it comes to those with more power than he has. Ripley has a deep rebellious and stubborn streak that shows its face at times, mostly when he’s in a sticky situation.

Some may even say that he gets mouthy and sarcastic when this streak of his rises to the surfaces, but Ripley hasn’t honestly noticed anything different except when people give him odd looks. When he’s around people that are younger than him in power, Ripley’s a little more open about things. He likes to laugh and joke around and even though he doesn’t out right say it, he’s the type of person that will give others another chance even though they’ve burned him in the past. Trust is something special to him, There’s only a couple of people that have his trust however, at times when he’s in pain or upset, he even closes down on them to protect himself. Maybe he doesn’t open up fully, but that still doesn’t stop him from being unspeakably loyal to the people that do him a good turn.  

What people don’t know is, and what Ripley doesn’t remember is that he’s got a bad side. He won’t hesitate to do something if an orders given, if that means attacking someone and drawing blood, so be it. Sometimes an order doesn’t have to be given, he’ll go on the defensive if he has to, and the offensive if he needs to, to protect himself and those around him. It’ll hurt him, sure, but half the time he doesn’t even register that pain. He doesn’t like seeing people in pain, but it’s a trigger that’s so deeply rooted in his subconscious that he jumps before he really thinks. Another thing that hasn’t shown itself is that he’s addicted to a vampires bite, craves it and has for over twelve years, will do anything to get the fix. No doubt it will show, but for now, Ripley’s just a mite emotionally retarded and no one’s complained so who knows what trouble he’ll get into.

[b]Likes:[/b] [LIST] [*] Curling up with a good book when it’s raining. [*] Being bitten by a vampire. [*] Cooking. He’s a natural in the kitchen surprisingly. [*] Being stroked in his hyena form. [*] Watching a movie when he can’t sleep. [*] Exploring Jackford when he’s not working. [/LIST][b]Dislikes:[/b] [LIST] [*] When he can’t sleep because of tension headaches. [*] Drama. He can do without it. [*] Others shedding blood for no reason. [*] When he’s reprimanded. [*] Loud annoying music. [*] When he’s talked over by people but he won’t say anything. [/LIST][b]Strengths:[/b] [LIST] [*] He knows when to keep his mouth shut and eyes on the floor. [*] Can follow orders to the letter. [*] Doesn’t let how much pain he’s in show. If he’s in pain. [*] Good at giving people a shoulder to cry on if they need it. [*] He’s got all your standard shifting abilities. [*] Keeping his inner hyena on a short leash and away from others. [*] Giving people what they want to hear most of the time. [/LIST][b]Weaknesses:[/b] [LIST] [*] Won’t hesitate to put himself in the line of fire for someone else. [*] Doesn’t have an alpha form. [*] Can’t repeatedly shift repeatedly in one day, the most is five times back and forth. [*] He’s a bite addict. [*] Silver. [*] Hasn’t even known a true cackle. [*] Doesn’t always tell people when things are bothering him. [/LIST][b]Family:[/b][LIST] [*] Manuel Lagana; Father, died in an RTA. [*] Lucinda York; Mother, died in an RTA. [*] Dominga Lagana; Grandmother, died of natural causes. [/LIST][b]History:[/b]  

During April of 1975, one man’s life came crumbling down around his ears because of a drunken one night stand with his best friend’s younger – and underage, at the time that things got hot and heavy in the bathroom – sister. Manuel came home one evening to find Lucinda on the couch, screaming and hollering as his mother and uncle scurried around trying to stop the baby that was coming one month early. One call was all it took when his common sense kicked in at the sight of the blood, to get Lucinda to the hospital and the help the teenager deserved. Despite the few complications with the birth and the consequences that followed, the baby now named Ripley, was allowed to come home just a little over a month later with Dominga Lagana – the baby’s biological grandmother on Manuel’s side – as the legal guardian, Manny and Lucinda being more babysitters than parents.

Growing up in Leeds; Ripley felt at home in the urban wilderness and it was the only thing that he knew. Lucinda always told him that she was his mum, he believed her, and he’d seen the pictures on Dominga’s albums. What he didn’t get though was why the York’s didn’t approve. They made it known that he wasn’t wanted when Lucinda had to take him along when she went to see her brothers or parents place. In the end, the strain that Lucinda was under, forced her to dump Ripley on Manuel and Dominga more and more, much to his Grandmother’s delight. She didn’t like the prissy little white girl or the judgmental patronising parents that sneered and crossed the street when they were walking the same way as them.  The tension lasted for almost three years and everyone suffered for it, Manuel tried to patch things up and show to Lucinda’s parents that he wasn’t trash and Lucinda tried to show her parents that she wasn’t a child anymore and could look after herself, it was a bit redundant really, Ripley’s mum was twenty and legally an adult capable of looking after the five year old boy with Manuel who was twenty nine at the time. Dominga didn’t like that one bit but there wasn’t much that she could do at the time but sit back and make sure they didn’t kill Ripley by mistake by giving the kid drain cleaner or something instead of milk over his cornflakes in the morning.

Even school wasn’t a big thing in Ripley’s eyes; he was in and out of it for a lot of reasons. The majority of the time though, was for medical reasons; sometimes he wasn’t there because of life at home. By the time he was fourteen years old, he’d been permanently excused from physical education due to his poor health, expelled from two schools and facing being kicked out for the third time because of his slipping grades and general attitude to authority figures in his life. Lucinda even went as far as to send him to see a therapist because of these things and it just sent Ripley spiralling down a path of rebellion and hate to for the world around him. In fact, the only time he really seemed at peace was when he was with Granny Dominga’s dogs and the old gal used that to her advantage. He didn’t go to college, there was no point. Education wasn’t really something he’d excelled at and he didn’t want to stay at home for the rest of his life, so when Granny Dominga offered him a place to stay and work in her small greasy spoon cafe, he snapped it up and moved in with her. It really wasn’t that exciting afterwards; he lived with his Gran and saw his mum and dad every other day when they stopped by after their shifts at work. Basically, it was a rinse and repeat life and that suited him fine.

Fine, until just after his eighteenth birthday. His parents had ‘kidnapped’ him away for the day to have some good old fashioned bonding time; the truck that hit them came out of nowhere. One minute Ripley had been groaning about Britney Spears on the radio and the next there was chaos and the world was spinning as the car was pushed off the motorway and then there was simply silence. Lucinda and Manuel had been pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital and Ripley was rushed into surgery for multiple internal injuries and head trauma.  He didn’t even know that his parents had died until he came around a couple of days later, and he’d had to plead with his Gran to find out what had happened to them. It was a shock, something that shocked him to his core because no matter how much of a brat he’d been to them growing up, he’d still loved them.

No one bothered to inform him, that the blood that had been used during one of several transfusions had been contaminated with lycanthropy. Maybe no one knew, but that was the hand that he was dealt. It probably would have been better if he’d know though, while he was healing up, because the following full moon after a particular nasty bought of the flu – or at least what he thought was the flu, little did he know that his body was changing and if he had, he’d have probably mad a joke about puberty hitting twice. – Ripley was locking up the cafe for the night and the hyena made itself known. It ripped its way out of him and destroyed the cafe when it found there was nothing to eat. The morning, once the animal had gone back, Ripley woke up in the remains of the cafe, sore and confused but feeling better than he had done in weeks, didn’t have a clue that he’d turned into a hyena though. When Dominga demanded to know what had happened, he told her that someone had broken in and trashed the place and that it had probably been a junkie looking for a fix.

The following weeks became a blur, more rinsing and repeating until one evening he felt an unmistakeable pull to just leave work. Just like that. There was no warning, no nothing. He just felt the need to go. He walked across the city to some seedy back alley dive that was home to all the drunken scum of the nation, or well, the city if you wanted to be technical. Defiantly not his place, and from the few others that were milling about that he noticed didn’t fit in, not theirs either. He found out exactly what was up though when they came in, lanky crew, pale, avoided mirrors and standing directly under lights, looked like the supporting act for the guys that did the YMCA. For a moment Ripley had thought that he was being set up by his friends, because bikers with fangs? Really? It was so wrong. So out there, so unnatural, and yet so normal all at the same time, and it just made Rip curious and scared for what was happening next. The crazy red headed chick in the corner that was cackling and stroking a flipping big hyena was even more out there and put the fear of God into him.

Ripley York never came home that day and wasn’t seen by his Gran again.

He was dragged down to Cardiff with the vampires and the red headed bint with a few of the other guys that had ended up in the bar with him. Mistress Ruby – the self proclaimed Queen of the merry little band – told them what was happening, how he’d service the vampires just like the others that had come to her call. Ripley refused and started mouthing off, and so he was punished. Ruby ripped his inner beast out repeatedly before forcing it back over the space of three days. Then Theodore – the king of the band, a big guy that could’ve snapped Ripley over his thigh for disobedience – decided that that wasn’t enough and decided he wanted a taste, and a taste he got and then some. Just like the rest of the rogue band that called the Hyena Queen and Vampire Master their leader because to them, Ripley and the hyenas that had been Called where nothing but animals meant to be used in anyway their Masters saw fit. Theodore didn’t just have hyenas at his beck and call, there were other shifters as well that were pets to the thirteen vampires that he ruled, while he was a rotting vampire, there were Belle Morte rogues and fear masters and beast masters to boot and each and every one of them where young enough to be a power to be reckoned with and still hate the way that the vampire council did things.

Over the next twelve years, between Ruby and Theodore the young hyena started to lose himself. The rebellion and need to fight what was happening to him died, painfully and slowly, but it did die. Gone were the days he had to go around wearing a collar and on the end of a leash and had to be escorted by one of Ruby’s older and more treasured pets. He was no longer handcuffed to the bed of some two-bit vampire Rogue. He was allowed to come and go as he pleased, because they had something he needed, something he craved so badly that he broke out into cold sweats, shakes and shivers. He craved them. Needed them just like the air he breathed some nights that he would go down on his knees and beg to be bitten. It wasn’t always easy either; Ripley would have to do things that he didn’t want to do but did it anyway. Mistress Ruby explained it one time when she’d been waiting for Theodore to wake, she told him that it was them simply asking for a favour because they’d given him a gift.  

That wasn’t to say that it was all doom and gloom, despite his current situation, Ripley made friends. One such friend was Sissy. It wasn’t exactly a fun evening for the both of them. Ruby and Theo’s second in command dragged him along to a local tattoo parlour that had a decent reputation in the inked circles. The Mistress wanted something new and exciting, and the vampire and Rip were only sent along as bodyguards for the crazy bitch. Ripley wouldn’t have done anything if the beast master male hadn’t taken a shine to the girl, oh he’d seen her, she’d been chatting with an artist or something, but the vampire took an instant dislike to her for some reason. The artist was rolled, mentally told to forget that they’d ever existed as the vampire went after Sissy. Ripley was left with Ruby and boy, did he want to help the girl.

The moment blood was drawn; he had an idea and turned to the bitch queen that had sat giggling the whole time. He bargained for her safety, offering Ruby anything she wanted in return. Liking that idea, Ruby pulled the beast master off the red headed girl, and after checking on Sissy to make sure that she was ok, Ripley turned to get what was coming his way. All she asked was that he get a tattoo of her choice in return for the girls life and safety, Ripley didn’t even question it and let the Mistress do what she wanted, sat through the rolled tattoo artist branding him with the Chinese characters for ‘Ruby’ at the nape of his neck, after his Mistress and the beast master got theirs. Theodore never noticed that his servant and queen had left her permanent mark on another man,  if he had then they would have destroyed the parlour, killed Sissy and the artist that had done their work, instead they stayed in town, the vampires and shifters coming and going as they got new ink and Ripley got to know Sissy a bit more.

Eventually the group moved on to a place called Jackford at the back end of 2010; they rolled into town and found that there was so much chaos they could create. They didn’t have to do anything; there was no time because Ruby, during a Christmas shopping break, was smacked down by a blonde harpy. The Oba of Jackford didn’t like another in her territory and she made that clear when she drew first blood, Ripley had grinned at that, seeing the scarlet streaks down on freckled cheek. Ruby didn’t have time to defend herself, and even if she had, Theo was the ruler and he declared no one was to help and Ruby was furious. She gave it all she had, but on her own with no vampires or hyenas to help her, Petra Graves whooped her skanky ass fair and square then told the rest of the mob to take Ruby and leave her town. Theodore was fairly reasonable, as an Old World gentleman at heart, he agreed and they made plans to leave though he requested a little time from Petra because it was Christmas. His logic being that it would be their first proper Christmas together and sadly, Petra agreed.

Over the next three months, the rogue band drifted apart. There’d been moments when Ripley had wondered if he could just slip away and make a run for the Kiss that had been reconstructing itself from the ground up. However he didn’t have to. In February, one of Ruby’s other pets made a big fuss about not being marked in front of Theodore of all creatures. Ruby, desperate to shut the idiot up, snapped his neck but it was too late for that. Theo had heard enough and dragged Ripley close to check and sure enough, the Master saw the tattoo was there. Theodore crushed Ripley’s throat and tossed him aside like trash to die in the gutter, before dragging his whore-queen off to deal with her. The two hyenas bodies where left in a semi completed housing estate, but that wasn’t the end of them, nobodies in a sea of silence.

Ripley should have died, except he didn’t. The male had no idea what had happened but one moment he was choking and struggling for air that wasn’t there and then the next it was daylight and he was blinking up at the faces of two werewolves that called the Fun House home. One of the wolves, Eric, had ripped Ripley’s inner beast out to try and save him and it had worked, mostly. As a result from the event, Rip didn’t know what had happened, who they where, where he was. Nothing at all except his name, and the flashes that he gets sometimes when he’s stressed, he hasn’t spoken of them to anyone at all. So here he is, in Jackford, a ward of the kiss and still a nobody.[/SIZE]

[superwolfiestar]

Partners in Time Ch. 19

Outside, at the Manny Mountain, the heroes coming out of Moob's…butthole (sorry about that…) and falling down.

"WHOOOOOOOOAAAAAA!" they screamed as they were falling.

Thankfully, they landed safely on the ground, until all of the Moob Eggs fell…on Jose's head.

"Ughhhh! What is this, Land on Jose day?" Jose muttered in anger.

Soon, Princess Della using her yellow parasol and landed safely down to the ground.

"Well, we were able to perform a dashing escape, weren't we?" Stuffwell said. "An adventure-filled escape from a massive, pink horror…"

Then, everyone looked up and saw that Moob's eyes closed and became motionless.

"It looks like Moob isn't moving anymore…" Panchito pointed out.

"I would surmise that the eggs supplied that big hungrinator with its energy. Yes, indeed." Stuffwell concluded.

"We better hurry and get these eggs back to the village where they belong!" Princess Della stated. "Seems like they somehow know they've all made it home! Come on, everyone!" she guided the eggs back to the village.

"No idea how she does that…" Young Panchito said astonished.

"I suggest a return to the village to see what's happening." Stuffwell suggested and jumps back in Panchito's pocket.

Back at the village…

"Bwah ha ha!" Young Zeus laughed evilly.

He was enjoying a buffet of Manny Cookies while the Mannys surrounding him watched.

"Listen up! I'm the one who saved you. Me!" Young Zeus said. "So make with gratitude…and the goodies, too!"

"Thanks a bunch, pal!" a red gray Manny thanked.

"Thank you!" a blue gray Manny and a yellow gray Manny thanked.

"Hey…" the Mannys heard a little voice from behind. They turned around and saw the group of four heroes coming to them. By the way, the one who just spoke was Young Panchito. "He's lying. He didn't save you, we did." He corrected.

"Grrrrr! This is NOT happening again!" YoungbZeus yelled. "Lemme guess… You're here for the cookies? Hmph!" he scoffs and resumes eating. "I'll scarf 'em all before I let you touch a single crumb!"

"Umm… You do know you still have the Cobalt Shards in your belly, right? They're occupying a lot of space in it." Jose warned. "If you fill your tummy too much, you'll end up choking, and that's dangerous for babies."

"Oh, shut up! You're not my dad!" Young Zeus scolded, not listening to Jose and ate ALL of the cookies. But then, he started to cough and choke:

"HORK! PLABTH!"

"Told you." Jose crossed his arms.

"Arrrrgh! BLAAAAAAARF!" Young Zeus barfed out the two Cobalt Shards he had eaten.

"The Cobalt Shards!" Jose exclaimed.

"Look! Magic!" the blue gray Manny chirped.

"He's amazing!" the red gray Manny clapped.

"Oops! Whoa, no wonder! I forgot I'd eaten those!" Young Zeus replied in a silly tone. The Cobalt Shards moved on by themselves. "Wait, wha—What's going on?!" to everyone's surprise, the shards dashed at full speed towards Young Zeus and pushed him hard enough to send him flying. "YEEOW!"

"Whoa… I was NOT expecting that!" Panchito was shocked.

"Wow! Awesome! Our hero can fly!" the yellow gray Manny squealed.

"You're the best!" the red gray Manny appraised.

Young Panchito and Young Jose walked over to the shards and took them.

"For the love of LUGGAGE! Those Cobalt Shards hold a pugilistical power!" Stuffwell remarked, surprised about the event that just happened. "There's no record of this in my data banks. I believe we've made an important discovery! BACK TO ADVENTURE!" he jumps back in.

"Listen up, Mannys!" Princess Della came in. Everyone turned to her as she directed to the nine heroes. "These guys here saved you, not that little kid. He was in an egg the whole time!"

"Manny! Manny!" Baby Manny spoke.

"Seriously?" the gray Manny questioned. "Is it true, Baby Manny?" he asked the gray Manny.

"Yes!" Baby Manny nodded.

"Whoa! You can speak a few words now?!"

"Yaaaaaay!" Baby Manny cheered.

"Oh, wow." The pink gray Manny was astonished.

Princess Della turned to the heroes and thanked them: "Thanks, you guys. Seriously."

"You're welcome!" Panchito replied with a smile.

"Yay!" all of the Mannys, including Baby Manny, jumped in joy.

"Well, we have to go now." Jose told the heroes.

They nodded and gathered around her. However, the adult Super Caballeros was surprised that Princess Della didn't want to tag along.

"Are you sure you don't want to come back, Della?" Panchito asked.

"No." she shook her head. "I'll stay here for a while, so that my memory comes back over time. After all, this whole village needs a repair and help."

"Alright, then…" Jose replied.

"Goodbye, our true heroes!" the adult Mannys waved.

"Bye!" Young Panchito and Young Jose waved back. He then looked at Baby Yoshi. "Oh! Goodbye to you too, Manny! I and my best friend will make sure we live in big adventures together in the future! Right Jose?"

“You bet!” Jose let out a cheesy smile.

"Manny!" Baby Manny chirped with a big smile while waving.

Panchito and Jose couldn't help but smile at the kids's words about Manny in the future. But they are still confused about everything they have witness doesn’t appear in their memory. After the goodbyes, they all jump into the time portal and the heroes disappeared from sight in a bright light.

After travelling through the time portal, they reappeared at Boy Princess Donald's Castle Garden in the present day. There, they wasted no time in heading back to Professor Gyro at the throne room.

"Welcome back again, guys!" Professor Gyro greeted them. "So you've got your hands on some of the Cobalt Shards, hm? 2 of 'em?"

"We have also found Princess Della in Manny's Island of the past." Jose told him.

"What! You've found Princess Della? Then why isn't she with you?" Fenton asked.

"Well… She's suffering from amnesia, I'm afraid. She decided to stay there so that her memory would return." Panchifo said. "And we also have a picture that she drew prior to her memory being erased." He hands Professor Gyro the drawing.

"Hm… Ah…" Professor Gyro and Fenton looks at the drawing. "It looks to be a sketch of the Alien princess attacking someone else…"

"Yes, we believe that someone is Boy Princess Donald." Stuffwell informed. "Seems that he's holding off the alien scourge with the Cobalt Star, but…"

"As we know, Boy Princess Donald lost this battle, and the star shattered into fragments. How did this all happen? Was the Cobalt Star alone not enough to win the day? Or did something unexpected and just plain awful happen? Stuffwell, you have any clues?"

"Umm… Well…" Stuffwell looked quite nervous for some reason.

"What's the matter with you? I give you visions of power so you can able to see visions of the past, present and future, don't you?" Professor Gyro questioned. "That's what I made you. You sure you're alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Stuffwell replied. "I'm sorry, professor. I don't have any clues at this moment." He said. But in truth, he's actually lying. What could he be hiding from the heroes?

"Hmm, you're still acting very weird for me." Fenton suspected. "Anyway, it hardly matters. You just find those time holes and collect Cobalt Shards."

"Leave it to us!" Jose exclaimed.

"Oh, and that reminds me, a new time hole has appeared on the third floor of the castle. My readings indicate that this particular time hole is a direct link to Boy Princess Donald's Castle of old."

"Really?!" Panchito and Jose said in surprise.

"Unfortunately, my visions show that the Castle is under guard by the Aliens. We can't go there yet." Stuffwell warned.

"So it looks like we'll have to just focus on gathering more Cobalt Shards for now." Panchito stated.

"You're right, Panchito." Jose nodded. He turned to Stuffwell and asked: "Stuffwell, are you getting another sense of time energy?"

"Yes, I am getting another one." Stuffwell answered. "This way."

He led the heroes out of the throne room. Not too long, they once again encountered both Scrooge's entertaining Young Boy Princess again. They teach the adult heroes the Bros Ball, where they turn into a rolling ball and not only it allows them to move faster, but also allows them to go under walls and tight spaces.

Once the learning was done, Stuffwell led the group back to the second floor. This time, the other time hole was at the top. They jumped inside, wondering what their new destination will be.

[insomniac-reviews]

Black Book

Plot: Comedians Dylan Moran and Bill Bailey star in the much-loved offbeat sitcom about bad-tempered, eccentric bookshop owner Bernard Black and his long-suffering assistant Manny. Bernard has no use for people outside his shop - and sometimes, not much use for the people inside it, either. He prefers to spend his time reading, drinking and smoking. Manny, assisted by Bernard's oldest friend, Fran, who runs Nifty Gifty, a shop down the way, frequently tries to adjust Bernard's attitude and get him to be more social.

My Feelings: You will either love or hate this show.  The humor is dark and dry (very British).  The plot makes no sense and the characters are horrible people.  Yet I adore this show.  I can’t explain it I just do.  It matches my humor perfectly.  I would say give it shot and if its not for you thats fine.  Just try it please.

4/5

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Michael After Midnight: Ice Age

I think this is the saddest I’ve ever been to write a Michael After Midnight. Not because I hate the film I’m talking about, far from it, but because it has become so obscure and overshadowed by the massive succession of soulless, empty sequels that this one has been forgotten…

...which is what I would say if I’d seen more than the first sequel, which was… okay. Not really very meaningful or special, kind of trite and definitely showcasing the things critics and audiences would lambast in the future movies. But yes, I’ve only seen the first two Ice Age films and I’m not sure I care to see the rest; they just don’t look all that appealing to me. And it’s pretty easy to see why if you watch the first film, which has a pretty solid, definitive ending to the point there didn’t even need to be sequels.

The original film tells the story of the curmudgeonly mammoth Manny who meets up with the absolute space case that is Sid the sloth and the shifty sabretooth tiger that is Diego, and together the three go on a road trip across the frozen landscapes to bring a lost human baby who survived an attack on a nearby village from Diego’s pack to its “herd.” Of course, Manny and Sid don’t know Diego is there to get the baby for his pack leader, and neither of them trust him much, but they begrudgingly allow him along since he knows the way, and through a series of comical misadventures the three end up becoming fire-forged friends. Or, I should say, ICE-forged friends. Eh? EH?

Anyway… This film is just impressive because it’s actually pretty heavy with emotion. The death scene of the mother and Manny’s flashback upon seeing the cave paintings late in the movie are the peak dramatic moments, and they really don’t disappoint. Manny’s reminiscence of what happened to his mate and child is such a great, heart-wrenching character moment you may actually cry, and I’m willing to bet you never thought you’d hear anyone say that about an Ice Age film.

The comedy here is actually pretty on point, as well. I think it helps this came out in the early 2000s, before excessive reference humor and constant loudness and over-the-top characters became a trend in animated films, so there’s not really any of that; even Scrat, who you may know as the breakout comedic underdog who constantly suffers in his quest to bury an acorn, is given little screentime in this film and is spaced out as sort of interludes between major plot scenes to either lighten the mood or just act as a cherry on top of a comedic moment before. And because of his limited screentime, he never really overstays his welcome. 

For the main cast, Sid is the comic relief, and he’s utilized pretty well in the film, with John Leguizamo giving him lovable loser qualities that would be needlessly exacerbated in the sequels. Here though, he’s a lot more well-meaning and likable, and he gets a few good jokes in here and there as well as playing off of Diego and Manny very well. Probably the biggest plus, though, is the lack of modern cultural references or anachronistic pop culture jokes. Sure, there’s a couple of history gags, with Stonehenge, snowboarding, and even a Vulcan Salute done towards a frozen UFO, but none of that really stands out as egregious or obnoxious like the characters singing pop songs in the sequel. Overall it’s just very well-rounded in terms of comedy, with most of the humor coming off of how the characters interact.

And speaking of characters, the core cast is very good, I must say. All three of them are likable and entertaining, and it’s really nice to see three people from three different walks of life come together and form something of a family. Their friendship actually ties in pretty well with their backstories as well: Manny’s family was killed by human hunters, leaving him bitter and lonely; Sid was left behind by his family during the big migration, likely because they find him obnoxious; and Diego just doesn’t seem to get much respect from his pack in general. All of them are lost, and yet they found each other and grew to become an unconventional yet still functioning family.

It’s so weird to look now and see Ice Age as a franchise. Frankly, this movie just feels like it would have been fine as a one-and-done deal. It has a good blend of comedy, a fun cast, a story that has room for heartwarming and tearjerking moments, and decent animation that doesn’t look too bad even today, and it ended on an amusing and satisfying note. Even with the second movie, you kind of get the feeling Blue Sky Studio was trying really hard to catch that lightning in a bottle twice and trying really hard to make things work again without truly understanding why their own film worked the first time, a problem that their biggest competitors (Dreamworks and Disney) were also facing at the time with films like Chicken Little, Shark Tale, and Shrek the Third.

Still, no matter your thoughts on the sequel, the first film is a genuinely good road trip movie. I definitely recommend it to people who like animated movies; these days I’d certainly call it an underrated gem, if only because its bloated franchise has kind of crushed it down into a tiny corner where it’s hard to see in comparison. It’s also not a bad choice if you like wacky road trip movies; where else are you gonna see a road trip film that features every single dodo in existence fighting over a watermelon and driving themselves to extinction in an attempt to get said melon? Nowhere, so watch Ice Age.

Blue Sky took a very long time to get respect thanks to its reputation with sequels, but I think that reputation is mostly unfair; while sure, they probably milked Ice Age a bit much, considering they came out the gate with this film and then followed it up with the charming cult classic Robots, I feel like people kind of undervalued them for a while, at least until 2015 in which they unleashed a true modern classic upon us in the form of The Peanuts Movie. You gotta give credit where it’s due; for all the impact, good and bad, that their first film had, it’s hard to deny that Ice Age is a genuinely good film, and maybe even a great one.

[gramilano]

Giselle with Svetlana Zakharova e David Hallberg @ Brescia e Amisano, Teatro alla Scala 2019

Giselle is one of La Scala Ballet’s international calling cards. Together with Nureyev’s Don Quixote, this production has been seen all over the world, and rightly so. The company dances it beautifully, and its staging by Yvette Chauviré (based, of course, on the Jean Coralli and Jules Perrot choreography) would be difficult to better. It is clearly told, the story points being so carefully prepared that focus is always on the right spot at the right time. 

 The sets and costumes are traditional – using Aleksander Benois’s designs created for the Paris Opera Ballet, with Olga Spessivtseva as Giselle, in 1924 – and tone perfect, with a rich palette of harvest time hues at the opening, and the darkest, most threatening of forests in the second act. His old-fashioned gauzes and painted backcloths work their magic and produce a gasp from the audience on every opening of the curtain. The laying out of the set is superlative with a hidden ramp for the court, including Albrecht, to descend from its lofty castle to join the villagers; the entrance to the cottage that Albrect uses to hide his cloak and sword to ‘disguise’ himself as a peasant is towards the centre of the stage so the entire audience can see the essential moments of concealing and discovering his princely regalia; and a distant church is seen during the second act which is illuminated by the warm light of dawn as its bells chime 4 o’clock.

The costumes are sumptuous, so the villagers’ past harvests were clearly astonishingly abundant. Giselle’s first act costume has a generous, plump skirt, as is seen in Benois’s designs. Bathilde, though, is something of a confusion as her costume is so heavy and ornate that she appears to be the Duke’s wife, therefore Albrecht’s mother, not his betrothed. In addition, having her and the Duke entering hand in hand adds to this feeling whereas I remember, in earlier editions, that the Duke entered first and then presented Bathilde as she came on separately, which makes far more sense.

Giselle with Svetlana Zakharova e David Hallberg @ Brescia e Amisano, Teatro alla Scala 2019

The opening cast saw Svetlana Zakharova and David Hallberg in the main roles, bringing them back together after five years. They danced Swan Lake at La Scala in 2014, shortly before Hallberg suffered his devastating injuring (forcing him to cancel his performances at the theatre in Alexei Ratmansky’s The Sleeping Beauty with Zakharova, the following year). How wonderful to report that Hallberg is back in sublime form. He is innately elegant, and his lines are drawn to fit perfectly with those of Zakharova. Though always clear in his mime, he is a subtle actor, and the gentleness as he touches Giselle’s arms from behind as he joins her for their second act pas de deux is typical of his care to give each gesture a meaning. His plié is deep and soft, and the use of his legs and feet are the utmost in expressivity. Zakharova danced beautifully, as the Milanese audience has come to expect, and even though this isn’t her ideal role, she gave a pleasing performance. Her outstanding finesse is in every movement, though she will insist on taking her leg up unnecessarily high on occasions causing her tutu to start slipping down her leg – not a good look. She overdid her makeup a little (though at the back of the house this probably wasn’t seen) which gave her expression a harder edge than is ideal for the young peasant girl.

Giselle with Martina Arduino and Nicola del Freo @ Brescia e Amisano, Teatro alla Scala 2019

The peasant pas de deux with Martina Arduino and Nicola Del Freo was magnificent. Arduino would be better suited to playing Giselle or Myrtha, though she danced the steps ably even if she isn’t a natural for the role. Del Freo, however, was thrillingly perfect. His leg and footwork was extraordinary with steely precision and virile cockiness in each step. Maria Celeste Losa played Myrtha at almost every performance. Whether this is because no one else in the company can approach her level is doubtful, but she excelled in the jumps, gave humanity to her austerity, and her pas de bourrée crisscrossing of the stage was mesmerising. Her two main Wilis were Alessandra Vassallo and Emanuela Montanari, two of the company’s most personable dancers yet they gave suitably glacial interpretations with technically assured solos.

Mick Zeni was Hilarion, exuding suspicion, jealousy and finally hatred, and was pitiful in the second act. Equally suited to the role was Marco Agostino who also possesses some fine acting talent as well as great aplomb in his dancing. Christian Fagetti too never fails to deliver, and La Scala now boasts an impressive roster of male talent, which wasn’t so evident a decade or so ago.

Giselle with David Hallberg Mick Zeni @ Brescia e Amisano, Teatro alla Scala 2019

Giselle with Maria Celeste Losa @ Brescia e Amisano, Teatro alla Scala 2019

Giselle’s mother was played by Beatrice Carbone who is just a couple of years older than Zakharova, but she convincingly inhabited the part from the inside instead of wearing it like a costume. In an alternative cast, however, Daniela Siegrist looked more like a Julie Walters’ character as she bustled about, wringing her hands. Judging these parts can be trickier than tackling the main roles.

Federico Fresi and Antonella Albano were also splendid in the peasants’ pas de deux. Fresi comes with built-in springs in his legs, but it’s a pity that his perpetually anxious look makes him look as though he’s going into battle.

The other Giselle and Albrecht couples during the run were Nicoletta Manni and Timofej Andrijashenko, and Vittoria Valerio and Claudio Coviello. All four gave satisfying readings. The fact that Valerio dances the role well is a given, and La Scala has entrusted it to her many times even though she’s still a soloist with the company. She was paired with Coviello who performed, quite thrillingly, 34 entrechats six in front of Myrtha, and although he was beaten by Andrijashenko on number (36, as Roberto Bolle used to do), they were beautifully executed and on the spot. Hallberg opted for the diagonal series of brises.

Andrijashenko is an extremely good Albrecht and is very much of the upper classes – taking off his cloak and sword probably only fools Giselle. He was sunny and cunning in the first act, though facially he became somewhat invisible in the second act. His Giselle was Manni who was pitch-perfect from the moment she left the cottage – wide-eyed innocence never becoming cutesy, and she made each step appear simple and natural. As a Wili, she was cool but feeling, imploring with her eyes, and loving with the tilt of her head.

It was evident why this ballet remains the pièce de résistance of La Scala’s repertoire.

Giselle with Svetlana Zakharova @ Brescia e Amisano, Teatro alla Scala 2019

Giselle with David Hallberg @ Brescia e Amisano, Teatro alla Scala 2019

Review: Giselle at La Scala with Zakharova/Hallberg, Manni/Andrijashenko, Valerio/Coviello Giselle is one of La Scala Ballet’s international calling cards. Together with Nureyev’s Don Quixote, this production has been seen all over the world, and rightly so.

[drax-is-inthefandom]

For the heartbreak prompts, could I get number 20 with Fenton and Gyro?

20) “I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone break my heart, yet here you are.”

I SUFFERED AT THE SAME TIME I ENJOYED WRITING AND DRAWING THIS.

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- Gyro! Come on, you haven't talked to me in DAYS! What is wrong? D-Did I do something? If I did, I'm sorry! - It's been like this the whole week. Gyro has been colder than usual to his whole team, especially Fenton, and none of them knew which was the reason. Even for Lil'Bulb, the reason was a mistery.

Manny told his partners that they should leave Gyro alone, that maybe with time he would be back to his normal self, but Fenton was simply stubborn and didn't want to see his friend like that.

So he kept pushing.

- Gyro! Please - Fenton waited until Manny had left and to Lil'Bulb to get busy chasing cockroaches to make his move. The duck cornered the rooster to force him to look at him and prevent his escape of their talk.

- You have been acting strange this couple of days, you have been worrying the whole team! Lil'Bulb, Manny, me! - Gyro didn't looked up from the papers he had at hand, Fenton knew he did that when he wanted to ignore someone or something, but he wasn't going to buy it.

- Gyro - He tried to call his attention in a peaceful way

- Dr. Gearloose - He didn't reacted

- Gyro Gearloose! - Then he just grabbed the papers and throw them away, now he had to notice him.

- I just want to help, but I can't do it if you don't tell me what is wrong! We are friends, Gyro - Fenton gave him a hurt look, waiting for him to react. The blank expression in Gyro's face finally faded away after a minute. He sighed and looked to Fenton right to the eye, an intense look that froze Fenton in his place.

- Gyro? -

Gyro rised his hand, at first Fenton thought he would hit him but instead....he stroked his cheek, carefully and slowly. Fenton did not move, he didn't know how to react so he let him be in that caress. It was something sweet and intimate, that even behind the sad gleam in the doctor's eyes, he could notice that he was enjoying it. Gyro stopped but didn't put his hand away.

- When you arrived I only saw you as an annoying intern who wouldn't survive my way of working. After you became Gizmoduck, you made me see that you were something else... An annoying hero - That made Fenton laugh. - You kept growing as a duck and as a hero, you showed to be more valuable than anyone I have known... You became important for me, and believe me, that is difficult

- We became friends

- Yeah... friends... - Another sigh left Gyro's lips. - That is what I may be for you... But you are more for me...

- What are you saying?... - Gyro put away his hand and gave him his back

- I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone break my heart, yet here you are. - His voice sounded broken, sad, panting, as if it had cost him all his breath to formulate those words. Even if it was a whisper more than a phrase, Fenton felt a knot in his stomach when he heard it.

- Are you... saying that... that you...

- That I love you? Yeah, I'm saying that - Gyro put away his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his beak with his fingers, he didn't have the courage to look back to Fenton right know.

- But you are Donald's, Fenton... He was quicker than me in realizing how fantastic you are... He was quicker telling you how he felt and he won your heart... You are out of my reach now... I have seen you, when he arrives to take you out for a date or simply to give you a cup of coffee and see how are you doing... The shine on his and your eyes... Is something I will never be able to make you feel

- Gyro I... I didn't knew you felt like this... I-I should have realized...

- No, no, it is ok... I hided it on purpose... I think... That seeing that ring in your finger finally broke me - Fenton rubbed the ring on his finger at its mention. Of course... How could he not realize that Gyro started acting that weird ... since he got to show them the engagement ring that Donald had given him? He was so stupid...

- Gyro... I... I'm sorry...

- Why? For falling in love with someone that wasn't me?

- For... not realizing sooner...

- Again, it is not your fault... Right now the best you can do, is be happy. Got it? There is no space in this lab for more than one broken soul, it is an order

- But, Gyro - Fenton got interrupted by an alarm on his phone.

By the sound of it, he knew it was an alarm for Gizmoduck, the hero was needed, but the duck wanted to stay.

- Go, Fenton. Duckburg needs you, I will be fine. I will be the same doctor that you have known all this years when you come back

- Gyro...

- I told you to GO! - Gyro dropped his fist on the desk that was next to him with such force that several things in it fell and broke in the floor. Fenton jumped of surprise and stepped away

- Go

- ... Blathering Blaterskite -

The lab fell silent after Gizmoduck left it. Nothing and nobody was heard, neither Lil'Bulb's hammer against the ground nor even Gyro's breathing. It was a sepulchral silence.

Until a sob broke it

- I freaking hate feeling... -